#husband beater

[culthermag]

Eve and Nelly on the set of a “ PSA: Stop Global AIDS” in 2001 featuring the iconic ‘ Husband/Boyfriend Beater ‘ Tank, a statement piece that called to bring awareness to domestic violence and role reversal in relationships. The original designer of the top is unknown but it’s definitely on my wishlist. — [ xxx ]

[bl-beater]

Redraw 👍

[39916092]

grillades and grits prep, water bottle at work

[bijoumikhawal]

parents will tell you "I asked a garden store lady and apparently rampion blooms around your birthday!" completely oblivious to the Symbolism they are invoking

[st4rbwrry]

𝓢𝓤𝓖𝓐𝓡.       eren yeager.

‎𐦍 ₊˚♱ ෆ . . . 5.1k. fem!reader, set in 01’, country!eren + bluecollar!, housewife!reader, established relationship, domesticity, ovulation, oral ꒰ f + m. ꒱, kreaming + squirting, rough sex, nasty talk ofc, unprotected, daddy kink, spanking, pet names ꒰ sweetie, baby, mama ꒱, praise, hair pulling, check ins + aftercare, choking, breath + sensitivity + salvia play, minors aren’t allowed! reblogs + comments are greatly appreciated. <3

꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 ꒱ . . . a lil sum i thought of randomly. this is related to the dangerously in love couple. <3 visual. visual. visual. wish i had a link for the exact position i have in my head, so here’s a small example. hopefully i explained them well. :<

part three. <3

ivory sunflowers are imprinted along the frilly apron that hugs your body cutely, the coquette lace floral dress with a baby pink ribbon to create a corset style underneath. the warm scent of strawberry pie baking in the matcha green vintage oven blooms your heart. dusting flour over the counter to roll and mush at the dough you’ve created for the chicken pot pies, one of eren’s favorite meals. the sun was fairly hot today, your eyes fixating on the two beautiful tawny cows roaming your farm, their mouths chewing at grass as the wind blows serenely.

you told eren to keep a close eye on them while he was outside, watching your husband stand halfway down the driveway with sweat dripping from his brow as he tinkers with the engine of his polished black 1968 ford f100. he’s been having troubles with it this past week, and constantly handling it became tedious. he expressed his anger a few times now, this truck being his first big purchase for himself and he was having issues only a year later.

his light blue levi jeans and classic wife-beater was streaked with grease, clinging to his muscular thighs as he crouches low, peering intently at the mechanical innards. every so often, he wipes his hands on a rag before reaching for another tool, his calloused fingers moving with practiced ease. the sun casts a glow on the definition of his biceps as he lifts and maneuvers heavy parts. angelic brown strands held back by a black cap turned backwards.

you’ve been subconsciously humming along to the 70s and 80s rock tunes he has stationed on the radio. don’t dream it’s over currently on play. meanwhile, inside the cozy farmhouse kitchen, with the tantalizing aroma of food and your chocolate brown maltipoo who eren named honeybelle sleeps on her bed by the window — although this moment was romantic and peaceful to view, you weren’t too happy of a woman.

this was one of the few days he was off from work, and he’s been outside fixing his car since your eyes opened to an empty bedside. it’s nearing nighttime, and you’d spent half your day to your lonesome. shaving your body, doing your skincare routine and deep conditioning your handful of a curly head that’s currently pinned up away from your soft features. it’s felt like such a long time since the two of you enjoyed a full day together, let alone make love. your ovulation period not making this any easier on you, feeling like a wild animal in desperate heat. the only time you really interacted today was when you brought out a fat honey-turkey club sandwich, knowing he tends to forget to eat sometimes.

brushing the crust you created for the pot pie after layering them in crisscross patterns with butter, your mind wanders off, daydreaming as the sun begins to set and the sky blooms into color palettes of saffron and coral. the air outside turns warmer, and you study your husband once more, watching the ball in his throat shift as he chugs on a pitcher of water, droplets hitting his chest. his briefs are peaking out from his jeans, feet in his black timberlands per usual. his arms have veins streaming from the middle of his forearm to his big, dirty hands. silver wedding band on his right.

those slanted viridescent eyes of his catch your stare as he glares at you over the pitcher, swallowing and giving you a movie star smile with pearly whites. you smile faintly, returning the gesture. your heart pounds rapidly in your chest, shifting in your spot as you realize you’re biting your lips and almost riding the air. your blood is thrumming throughout your body, needing him to come inside right now.

the chicken pot pies are done in thirty minutes, each crust perfectly golden brown. and within that time, he’s still outside messing with his truck. you wanted to be understanding that he needed his truck in order to head to work tomorrow to further provide for you and the home as he does, but you can’t help that feeling of abandonment in your chest. you really didn’t want to cause an argument, but this was becoming irritating.

removing your apron, you slip on your outside shoes to head towards the garage where he resides, being faced with his broad back and gruff noises of agitation.

“baby.”

“yes, sweetie,” he replies quickly, groaning as he twists the wrench.

“dinner’s done. you’ve been out here all day. please come inside,” you pout, going to wrap your arms around his waist, laying your cheek on the column of his back.

eren removes his cap, scratching at his head before smoothing his hair back and placing it on again. “mhm, baby, i know. gimme like ‘nother hour, i just gotta connect the fuckin’ valve springs to the camshaft.“

“i thought it was just overheated?”

“yeah it was, the water pump wasn’t sending coolant through. the crankshaft wasn’t movin’, ‘n the radiator cap had too much pressure so the spring in the cap compressed ‘n flew over in the coolant reservoir. glad i ran to the auto shop beforehand.”

he’s saying a lot of shit you don’t understand if being frank. sighing, you let go of him, knowing he was real intricate with his truck so he definitely wasn’t going to be done in an hour. he stops what he’s doing to turn and face you, observing your expression.

“what i say about that, mama. huh?” eren sighs, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “don’t be givin’ me that face. i’m tryin’ my best right now. swear ima be in, i’ll make it forty-five instead.”

“that’s not the point,” you roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “fuck the dinner, i want you to be with me. you’ve been out here since eleven in the morning. not once have you come inside the house ‘n checked on me.”

his jaw clenches, your tone expected but not what he wanted to hear right now. “i ain’t tryna argue with you.”

“then don’t, help yourself to dinner.”

“꒰♡꒱.”

turning with clear attitude, you stroll back into the house, honeybelle barking softly as she follows you around. you feed someone in the house, pouring kibble into her beige bowl before patting her head and watching her scruff down the food. by this point you’d lost your appetite, huffing and puffing in your kitchen as you set the food back into the oven and made your way up the staircase.

to cool yourself down, you decide to run yourself a bath. twisting the gold faucet to fill the clawfoot tub with hot water, crouching on your knees to swish the water around to help form the bubbles. it was fully dark outside now, lighting aromatherapy candles and opening the double vintage windows that overlooked the farm you and eren spent years creating. stars in the sky and clouds camouflaging. undressing yourself, you grab a novel off of the shelf and submerge yourself into the tub, closing your eyes in bliss and leaning your head back against the spa pillow that elevates your neck.

eren manages to take approximately thirty minutes to finish up his project, starting up the truck and test driving it before he sighs in relief to see she’s back in shape. after parking it back into the garage, whistling at the cows to get them to follow him back into the barn after much needed playtime, he’s finally stepping into the house. honeybelle skips towards eren, sniffing at his ankle and wagging her tail. eren smiles, patting the top of her head.

“where’s your mommy, girl. huh?” he coed, scratching under her chin.

his eyes scope the dining area, finding the table set up just for the two with candles that were half burnt, blown out. the homemade sweet tea in a pitcher leaking with condensation, ice cubes melted. the pie you baked was set into a glass cake stand, and the pot pies are settled into the oven under the light. it was definitely clear you were upset with him, groaning and putting a hand on his head. he truly didn’t mean to take away this day from you, aware of how much you’ve missed him. hours at work are longer since the power plants needed more tending to from low employment.

just last week he had to go out of town and leave you for an entire three days to travel to another refinery. in that time you’d tend to your farm while also helping eren’s father with his. you knew what this lifestyle would mean for your relationship. things around the house including you will be secure, but having him come home exhausted to the point where you rarely spend as much time as you’d like with him was difficult. at most he had two days off a week, but a lot of times they’d call him in because someone else didn’t show up.

you’ve suggested countless of times that he should switch locations, but this one provided better benefits and he was close to a promotion that would also guarantee him extra off time. ‘it just takes time, baby.’ he’d constantly tell you. and you’re not one of those wives that complain about every single thing to make her husbands life harder, the two of you rarely even argue, but you do have your moments where you’re too stubborn.

the heavy thud of his boots sounds in the home as he heads up the stairs, softly calling your name to see where you reside. with his hand on his toned stomach under his shirt, he finds you rested in the tub, head turned away as you sleep comfortably. his tall frame leans against the doorframe, watching you with a pout on his face. you look angelic, cloud white bubbles flowing around your body, the jets in the tub keeping them in tact, slowly dissolving. the tankless water heater he installed a while back kept the water warm, making you comfortable enough to drift off to light slumber.

he makes his way closer to you, crouching before you to brush the tendrils of curls dangling in your face. your breath is light, lashes feathering against your cheekbones as he caresses your jaw with his thumb. he bends to pull the plug and drain the tub, not fond of you sleeping in water. you didn’t have it too high up, but people drown in tubs a lot more than you think.

you hum gently, eyes opening to see him looming over you, studying him in silence. sitting on his behind, he grabs a pedicure knife to clean under his nails, tattooed arm dangling into the tub and under the running faucet to remove the impurities.

“don’t like you fallin’ asleep in the tub, sweetie. you could drown. this isn’t your first time doin’ that,” his brows deepen, grabbing a nail brush and applying some of your cashmere and goat milk soap you currently smelt of with to scrub at his manicured fingernails.

you bring your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms over your knees. “sorry.”

eren scans your face, eyeing the beauty of your entirety. perfectly white painted toes and matching nails, dark, big curls framing your face, slowly falling from the claw clip on the back of your head. the fullness of your lips with the cupids bow curve of them. soft skin, pretty eyes . . you were all his. such a beautiful wife. so when you’re mad at him, it makes him feel like shit. the way you look at him is different as well. your eyes are dead almost, a scolding glare in them.

“this day was supposed to be for us, i know,” he breaks the silence. “old shit was being difficult, ‘n you know i gotta drive far, sweetie. gettin’ ‘n a crash isn’t somethin’ you’d want happenin’ to me, right baby?”

the frown on your face serves how you feel about that. “i’d lose my mind if something bad happened to you.”

“ ‘n i’m not tryna guilt trip you or anything like that. i understand how you feel. i miss you just as much. i think about you all fuckin’ day at work. but, as time passes, eventually i’ll be in a better position ‘n you can have me with you whenever you want. jus’ lemme handle shit, okay?”

his strong hands go to caress your ankle, the silver jewelry shining there, lifting your foot to kiss at the shape of it, eyes low and focusing on you, unable to help the heat that swims within your hips and core.

“i really just needed you so bad today,” the sound of your throat clamping up causes him to go alert. you bow your head, wanting to hide your face as the tears threaten to spill. “it’s so stupid. i spent all that time pampering myself and cooking for us — i just hated being alone, even if you were still here.”

“c’mon, baby. why you cryin’ ? none of that. i’m sorry, truly,” he’s rising up on his knees, kissing at yours.

“missed you touching me,” you whimper, sniffling and pouting. “missed your kisses. i miss you.”

ah, so that’s what it is. he doesn’t make any effort to hide the smirk on his face, scoffing lowly while dropping his head. you can be such a brat when you’re horny, and given it’s been about two weeks since he’s last fucked you, he now gets why you begged for him to be with you today. quality time was still needed, but he can tell by the way your body tenses and your lips part to release tiny gasps while he strokes the pads of his fingers across your hips . . that you’re ovulating.

“that’s all you needin’, mama? some touches?”

salvia trails down your throat as you swallow, thighs squeezing together out of reflex, throbbing from those damned eyes of his, nodding with hooded lids. “mm hmm. so bad.”

“mm, yeah?”

the butterflies in your stomach swarm as he brings his face closer to yours, his touches on your skin causes you to grind when his mouth suddenly connected with your throat, your jaw widening as you gasp and toss your head back, his mouth sloppily kissing at the right side of your body. lips moving from your collarbone, each sound coming from him emphasized as he sucks at your chest, pulling your areola into his mouth and trailing his tongue down the side of your stomach, down to your hip and the crease between your thigh and waist. every kiss and lick is rough, his groans exaggerated as you moan from every touch.

“ooo, fuck. oh my god,” your hips can’t stop moving, his tongue gliding back up before his fingers indent into your cheeks, turning your face to his so he could kiss you roughly, sliding his tongue on yours.

eren doesn’t kiss you for long, detaching your lips with a lewd slick, both of your lips pouty before he’s arching over the tub and guiding his mouth along the left side of your body, repeating his motion of sucking and licking you. your eyes gloss back, spreading your thighs further apart when he gets closer to your pussy, swallowing your bottom lip inward.

he cocks his head back to lewdly spit over your clit, the string of saliva and the vein on the side of his thick neck making your face heat up. your mouth hangs open as he takes his fingers and slowly spreads it over, grumbling, "want me all over you," before rubbing your clit in smooth circles, groaning at the weak noises you made.

you were so needy, every touch he gives you consuming, a lust and desire looming over you that only he could give you. your hips twitch and hike midair, and your positive you've made your lip bleed by how hard you bit into it, doe eyes hazily watching his face. brows furrowed as he tentatively paced his fingers, repositioning himself so he could tug you down flat in the tub, your knees pressed to your chest as he clutches onto the sides of the tub.

“hold ‘em there, be good.”

a squeal envelops eren’s ears once he cranes his neck and drops his mouth over the puffy nub, enclosing his lips to kiss at your folds. your pussy is soaked, dripping between your ass cheeks, inner thighs twitching while he licks you up. the cap on his head continues to hold his hair back, his biceps flexing from every noise you make, trying to keep his composure. he wanted to make you feel real good, you deserve it, and he’s missed you.

“b—babyyy,” a mix between a groan and a whimper flows from you, keeping your legs open and squeezing at your chest hard, slowly rocking your pussy on his face, voice shuddering from the feel of his light stubble on your soft skin.

eren spanks the back of your thigh, dragging his mouth to soothe the feel after with an open mouth followed with more of his tongue. he loved tasting you, clearly. melting on the velvet of his tongue like sugar. his chin is doused by your slickness as he buried his face deep, circling your clit in languid strokes, lower lip dropping to bring it back into his mouth. you’re never embarrassed by how loud you get, knowing you’ll be reprimanded if you do keep silent. so a pathetic, drawn out whine fills the space when he removes his mouth.

“feed it to me,” eren hisses, spanking the back of your thigh again, french kissing either side of your ass. the hungry aggression through his eyes tell you to listen, his body almost entirely inside of the tub to make sure he’s giving you what you need the right way. “c’mon, girl.”

the gruffness in his tone makes you squirm, like he’s just as pent up as you. easing your hips up, you hold your legs fully up so they’re past your ears, gripping on his arm for balance as you dip your hips so your pussy connects with his face, your face curling up as he spits and slurps, your body trembling.

“mmmahh,” you weakly moan, chest heaving and breath stuttering, his tongue occasionally dipping into your hole to taste that sweeter place, eren grunting and bouncing his head along with your movements, teeth every now and then biting at your inner thighs. “g-g’na—squirt, f-fuck, nnnngh.”

eren acts on instinct, reaching to grab the back of your neck as your body arches forward to hold you so you won’t hurt yourself, swallowing at your achy bud as you coat his throat in your juices, humming and savoring every ounce. the static of your legs as you sing out your moans makes his dick harder, straining in the confinements of his jeans.

he pulls away, your body flat within the tub as he stands and undoes the leather belt on his waist, ears perking up from the sound of his zipper and then awaits the weighty girth of his dick. blush pink tip and tan with a protruding vein trailing up the underside. you find energy to lift yourself up, clinging to the side of the tub like a mermaid on rocks. reaching for the back of his leg to pull him closer, eren’s brows lowered at the sight of your eyes setting into seductiveness.

your mouth opens instinctively, giving him those big brown irises that has his dick jump in your face. eren’s waist spasm backwards, fingers grasping the coils of your hair to stop you. “no, no. not now. y’know you’ll make me cum too quick.”

“y’know you can’t fuck me till i taste it,” you pout, evidently upset, keeping your lips parted as a need to have it. “just a taste, daddy. i want it.”

“fuckin’ hell,” eren clenches his jaw, pupils dilating, lowering his jeans and boxers to his thighs to inch his dick to your lips. “yeah, jus’ a lil taste, baby. gimme those pretty lips.”

eren moans when you waste no time intaking half of his dick, tongue licking at the underside and slurping him up, bobbing your head and letting him hit the back of your throat in nasty squelches. his head falls back then to the side as he squeezes his eyes shut, attractive neck showcasing, grunting and slowly thrusting into your throat.

“f-fuck, ꒰♡꒱. love this sweet fuckin’ mouth of yours. show me that throat, baby,” two hands go to clutch your neck, eren pulling his dick out, salvia dribbling down your bottom lip. you widen your mouth, angling your face up so he can see your tongue in it’s entirety, the tight ring in the hollow of your esophagus calling him.

“good girl, take this shit deep,” he whispers painfully, teeth clamped together in a hiss as he lays the heaviness of his dick on your flat tongue, pushing in till his pretty, leaky tip connects with the back of your throat, constricting around him. “a-ahh, yeahh.”

you let him use you as long as he anticipates, eyes drooping low, trying to focus on eye contact with your nose mushed to his happy trail, the scent of the day and his cologne seeped into his skin. you heave when he pulls back entirely, whining and riding the air. he’s so damn masculine it makes you so feminine and submissive.

“one more time, hold it,” bending his back slightly, he slides back into your mouth, gently holding your neck in place to thrust a few times more, deep melodies of grunts and hisses pouring as he furrows his brows and studies how you made his dick wet and shiny, balls slapping against your chin.

with your mouth stretched open, you take him in as deep as he likes, closing your eyes to shut off your brain so you don’t choke. eren holds you there, huffing out ‘ooh fuckin’ god, baby.’ before smoothing his hand on the side of your face after he withdraws his hips to let you breathe, his own chest knocking from holding his breath.

“love you,” eren reminds you as he peppers kisses all over your face and you smile, a continuous gesture he’d do every time to make you aware, especially when he’s too rough.

the trance you have on his dick is sickening, following it as he maneuvered around the bathroom, retrieving a towel he spread on the lower part of the tub before entering, not bothering to take off his boots. you giggle as he hovers above you, biting at your nail and shifting your body beneath him so he could slot in. the weight of his cock lays on your stomach, eren grinding to rub along your folds, coaxing your hidden clit to show. eren steadies his figure, knuckles turning white from him grasping either side of the tub and holding himself up by indenting his feet into the towel.

“i fuckin’ need you,” eren growls, biting at your neck before licking and shifting his hips to nudge the tip against your opening, easily sliding in slow.

the warmth fills your face again, abdomen pinching from pain and pleasure, pawing at his slightly dirty wifebeater and hiking it further up his chest you were desperate to touch. the silver chain around his neck sways in your face, squinting your eyes and dropping your jaw when he begins pounding into you with the need he expressed. the sluice of your pussy is loud, his balls slapping against the rounds of your ass while your thighs hit his pelvis.

“this what you needed, right? what you been whinin’ for?” eren grunts in your face, taking your lips in his for passionate kiss, moaning together.

“y-yesss, mmmph,” the pleasure swarming in your stomach feels foreign, whimpering from every stroke he gives you, clawing at his sides. it felt so fucking good, your eyes scrolling and your breath inordinate along with his. “dick feel so good, ‘ren.”

“mhm hmm,” his face curls up, leaving an open mouthed kiss on your cheek and behind your ear, his touches making your body burn. “i hear it, she’s creamy as fuck.”

and it was, peering down between where you two connect to see him covered in you, the sticky slaps making his eyes lose focus, rutting into you harder. so hard it makes you scream, that sweet spot being pressured and your tummy flutters.

“e—ren,” you can barely see him, whines and whimpers being your only way of communication. spreading yourself wider by holding yourself open with both hands, arching your chest into his face where he sloppily eats at your brown skin again.

“talk.”

“annngh,” your lips turn into a pout, face completely gone. every word and sound coming out brokenly. “f-feelin’ something. s’so fuckin’ deep in me. you fuck me so good. w’na cum on it.”

“mhm, cum on it. cum on your dick baby, make it creamier.”

it’s quiet at first when you cum, legs shaking almost violently as eren lets go of the tub and lays his entire weight onto you, tucking you fully underneath to angle his hips and dig his dick in deeper, rough and steady pivots making you reach for his hair to tug, knocking off his hat. his fingers grip your cheeks, big hand almost covering your whole face as he brings his forehead to yours, growling rough.

“yess. give. it. to. me. lemme hear it.”

“g-god, y-yessss, fuck. right there, right there. please don’t fuckin’ stop . . oh my god.”

a long, exasperated groan disperses, vibrating in your chest and in his ears, hiccups and gasps following as you clench and suck him tighter. he feels the throb from your orgasm, dick twitching inside of you, rolling his waist and keeping you close to let you ride it out and feel it longer.

“take your time, there we go. feel it all.”

it pulsates harder from hearing him, grasping his wrist and releasing what’s been caged within you; a cry. “oh . . my . . g-god. eren!”

it’s not that you’re hurt, it’s that you’re experiencing too much at once. overwhelming pleasure, your husband’s embrace, the way he speaks to you, fucks you, the love you have for him, how he loves you, and even the annoying rise of hormones from your ovulation. a cry bolts from you, body convulsing and your voice dying out, grinding mindlessly on his dick and kissing his lush lips.

“that’s it, it’s okay.”

eren’s kissing all over your face, soothing you and giving you time before he holds you close to his chest and turns himself around so he’s leaning up, resting his head back on the spa pillow and twisting you so your back is to his chest. he balances your weight, taking the initiative to sling your right arm over his shoulder, eren smoothing his palms up the back of your thighs before locking your knees to your chest with his forearms.

“you good, baby?” eren whispers, smooching your cheek again.

chewing at your lips, you nod. “uh huh.”

eren moans as your fingers thread through the brown coils of his hair, tugging and planting a kiss on the shell of his ear, jumping slightly from the way he patted your pussy with his dick, sinking back in deliciously slow. with your lips parting in sync, eren flattens his feet to fuck up inside of you, your walls spasming from how good it feels and the sensitivity.

collecting the tresses of his messy hair, you fist it harder which makes him fuck you harder. your tits bouncing on your chest you fondle at.

“watch us,” he says, placing both of his hands on either side of your head to force your head down to stare at how he fucked you, keeping your legs locked with his arms.

the sloppy collision of your stickiness coating his cock that plunges into you roughly, his heavy hits making the both of you whimper. eren begins to grow so weak from being in your pussy and the hard labor he’d done today, and you can tell by the slowness in his pace after a few minutes. he’s throbbing hard, knowing he’s close to cumming, wanting to making him feel it too. he also had to get up early and still eat dinner, so did you.

“ ‘ren,” slithering your head from his grasp, you guide them to sit at your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh as you tug at his hair again and nibble at your bottom lip.

moving your body further up, you arch your chest forward and implant your feet flat to the surface, snapping your ass down to fuck him instead. eren tightens his hold on you, jaw slacking and squeezing his eyes shut while placing his forehead on your shoulder. you gasp, bouncing on him and constantly groping at your chest, skin clapping louder.

“you g’na cum in me, baby?” you speak with a whiny tone, taunting him.

“y-yeah, baby. please. bounce on that shit harder,” eren sucks at your side again, retracting his hand to land a harsh spank under your thigh, dangerously close to your cunt. “fuck, you do it so good, ꒰♡꒱. do it so good.”

“mmmm,” you smile drunkenly. “this daddy’s pussy, right?”

eren whines, and you love when he gets this way, so horny he lets his guard down. makes sounds he wouldn’t usually make. his tongue on you again causes your hips to stutter, that pressure building back up, a shaky moan pressing out the harder you fuck yourself on him.

“it’s daddy’s pussy. oooh, shit baby. don’t stop, i’m g’na bust all in your p—ussy.”

“all in my pussy?” harder, faster, you pounce your ass down, knees hiking and reconnecting as you drop down completely, feeling your orgasm near and riding him by scooting your ass on him.

“all . . in it— fuck. good girl.”

weakness fills your bones, loosing your balance completely, eren bellowing out curses and grunts as he locks his hand around your neck to pull your back to him again, swiveling his hips with yours while you both ride out the wave. heaving on the side of your face after he lays his cheek on yours, warm cum leaking into you while you gush all over him in exchange.

eren softly kisses at your shoulder, embracing you in his hold and moaning from your walls clenching on him. you can’t even find the energy to speak, enduring the comforting silence and weak breathing. rubbing your arms and molding his face with yours, skin to skin a necessity for him. rocking you side by side, smiling into his forearm he used to lock against your neck, inhaling the coconut fragrance in your hair.

“we need a shower, and that chicken pie i worked hard to make for you.”

“and that strawberry pie,” eren chuckles within the crook of your neck. “i’ll eat it all just for you.”

“you better.”

© 𝒮𝒯𝟦𝑅𝐵𝒲𝑅𝑅𝒴! all rights reserved. please do not repost, steal, or modify my work simply because it is mine. stealing isn't cute. i'll ruin your life ♡

[chamaleonsoul]

LOUIS & LESTAT

INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE (2022) 1.07 - The Thing Lay Still

[dogpics101]

SK being a wife guy will never not be funny to me

[rubiehart]

DARLIN’ YOU SEND ME…

pairing: wife!reader x husband!jj maybank

summary: you’re feeling insecure about your pregnancy body, jj is quick to rectify that…

warnings: descriptions of real bodies, reader is insecure about her pregnant body, jj jokes about drinking readers breast milk?, allusions to sex, praise kink goes off.

a/n: wanted this to be more angsty but couldn’t bring myself to do it, personally i’ve never had a baby so of course i can’t particularly know what goes through a new mother’s head in moments like these, but i hope i did the topic justice! lmk and hope you love ♡︎

♪ You Send Me - Otis Redding ♪

JJ grips his toolbox tighter in his right hand, the litter of silver rings adorning his fingers scratching against the plastic of the handle, most he’d been wearing since he was a kid, some gifted by you, some he’d stolen. His wedding ring sits on his fourth finger, engraved with waves and your initials.

His heavy boots trudge against the wooden steps to your little home as he whistles casually to himself, some song he’d heard on the radio, or maybe from you, he’s not quite sure and he doesn’t give it enough thought before he’s wiping off his boots on the little ‘Welcome’ mat before letting himself inside.

Instead of being met with the sight of his beautiful wife on the couch, or in the kitchen cooking up something delectable. Instead, he’s met with stillness.

His eyebrows pull together in confusion, placing down his toolbox on the dining table, which is littered with toys, and upon a quick glance around the house, pretty much everywhere else is a mess of dress up gowns and baby dolls, curtesy of his own little whirlwind, his baby girl Quinnie. He shrugs off his flannel to reveal his slightly grease stained wife beater underneath, licking once over his lips like he did when he was thinking, wondering where you are.

Then, all his questions are answered as you come around the corner from the bedroom, wearing just one of his old threadbare shirts, the neckline a little torn and stretched from where you’d cut it to make it an off the shoulder fit when you were around seventeen, and a pair of cotton underwear that hugs your newly thick thighs, the fat jiggling softly in the warm light with each step you take closer to him.

The ‘J’ necklace he’d bought you for your first anniversary hangs between your milk heavy breasts concealed by your t-shirt. Your tired eyes land on his in the low lighting , eyelashes looking longer and darker in this light, and he smiles softly at the image of his beautiful wife as you drag your bare feet across the creaky floorboards to meet him in the entryway.

His blue eyes widen slightly as he takes in the sight of you, his shirt hanging loosely off your shoulders, but the fabric stretched tight across your full breasts. He meets your eyes with an appreciative hum and quickly closes the distance between you, pulling you into a sweet embrace in his strong arms, caging you in and the pressure against your tired body feels nice.

“Already put Quinn down.” You mumble against his cotton covered chest, feeling him press his lips to your crown, the light stubble on his chin rubbing against the tender flesh. Your eyelashes flutter closed at the sensation, sighing softly against him and then taking a deep breath, the scent of him filling your nostrils: sea salt, a hint of sweat and the last hints of the old spice cologne he’d patted on this morning, the same one that had filled your senses that morning when he’d given you a soft kiss to your sleeping cheek and left for work.

JJ let’s out a soft breath of laughter into your hair, hands trailing down your sides and landing on your hips, one hand dipping under the hem of your shirt to rest his palm against your lower back, needing to feel closer to you than he already is. Other hand squeezing affectionally at your hip.

“Always bein’ super mom, huh? That’s my girl.”

Your heart flutters a little at his words, his intentions surface level but it hits a little deeper considering you’d been having doubts about your capabilities with Quinn, and as a mother in general, especially with another baby on the way now. The validation that you still are still his girl ,after everything.

He can feel the subtle shift in your embrace, the way you cling a little tighter, chest pressed to his a little more, has him wondering if he’s done something. He pulls back slightly, hands moving up to your upper arms, thumb stroking softly over the soft skin as he searches your eyes for a hint of anything you’re hiding beneath the surface.

“You okay, mama?”

Your eyes flick up to his, lashes kissing the heavens and it always makes his heart grow a little fonder each time you look at him like he hung the moon and stars, the height difference only fuelling the fire in his heart, and seemingly also in his lower abdomen. “‘M okay, Jayj.”

His hands move up lovingly and his calloused thumb runs across your cheekbone softly, not fully convinced but knows not to push you when you’re closed off like this. “You sure? ‘Cause you know when I see those wheels turning in that head o’ yours..”

His free hand moves a little rapidly, silver bands glinting in the light and you smile fondly at the blonde boy. The hand that’s still against your face is a glimpse of his softer side and you lean into his touch, eye fluttering closed for a second as you hum contently. “‘M sure.”

JJ let’s out a soft defeated sigh, it’s not like he wasn’t anticipating that exact answer though. His thumb stays creasing the soft skin of your face as he looks at you with a concerned expression, eyebrows drawn together.

“Promise me you’ll tell if anythin’s wrong, yeah? I can tell when you’re not yourself and it drives me crazy not knowin’ whats goin’ on.”

“Promise.” You mumble, blinking a little slow as tiredness overtakes you, standing on your toes, legs a little wobbly to press a soft kiss to his chapped lips, your softer ones making him melt as he feels the swell of your bump against his lower stomach. You smell like baby powder and Quinn’s lavender lotion, he notes.

He wraps his arms around your waist, muscles of his tan forearms rippling under the skin, he rests his chin on top of your head and breathes you in again. “Good.” He seals it with a soft peck to your lips when you pull away, much to his dismay. “Why don’t ya go sit down an’ Ill make us some dinner. You must be starvin’.” He kisses at your temple softly and sends you off with an affectionate tap to your ass.

You let him brush past you into the moonlit kitchen, taking a seat at the toy littered dinner table, letting out a sigh as you push them all to one side. The room is only illuminated by the warm lamp in the corner of the connected living room, and it highlights the muscles in his back as he slings a rag over his shoulder. You pull one leg up to your chest on the chair, chin rested against your knee as you eye him with a soft appreciative smile of your husband.

“How was work?” You keep your volume low, aware of Quinn’s sleeping form just down the hall, one hand comes to rest against your bump against the threadbare t-shirt.

JJ flashes you a soft smile over his shoulder at the sound of your voice, stirring something fragrant in a pot on the stove. “Eh, the usual. Guy showed up with a flat tire, some lady spilled coffee all over her Sedan’s interior.. Ain’t never a dull moment, that’s for sure.”

You let a soft breath of laughter through your nose, stroking your thumb softly over over your bump underneath your shirt, letting a comfortable silence fall over your little family as he works on dinner to feed his babies, you and little man, excusing your sleeping two year old down the hall.

After a while, JJ plates to two servings of steaming hot pasta with marinara and brings them over to the table, and you’re salivating at this point as the delectable smell fills your nose. He sets a plate down in front of you and takes his seat across from yours.

“Eat up, mama. Gotta keep that energy up for little man in there.”

Your eyes light up at the sight of the steaming dish, only really now realising how hungry you actually were, too caught up with Quinn all day to even think about your own needs. “Thankyou, baby.” You hum, reaching for a fork to dig in.

JJ watches you dig in hungrily, one arm wrapped around your shin and the other forking at your pasta, a soft smile tugging at his lips at the sight of you eating a proper meal. He starts to eat his own but keeps half an eye on you the whole time. He reaches for his drink, muscles in his forearms rippling as he takes a sip and sets it back down, licking over his bottom lip once before he speaks.

“You talk to your mom today?”

Your eyes flick up from your plate, sucking up a string of pasta as you shake your head, brows furrowed. You swallow it down before speaking. “Why?”

He sets his glass down, his expression turning slightly worried. He knows you and your moms relationship isn’t the best, considering the whole dating, marrying and starting a family with the one and only JJ Maybank situation..

“No reason, just wondered. She hasn’t been callin’ as much lately, thought maybe y’all talked or somethin’.”

He stabs his fork into the pasta, twisting the long strings around it absently. You shrug, reflectively stabbing at a piece of chicken, not really having an answer for him.

His eyebrows pull together as he observes your overly nonchalant demeanour. He opens his mouth as if to press the matter further, but hesitates, deciding against it for now. Instead, he forces a small smile and changed the subject, nodding towards your belly with a cheekful of pasta.

Your eyes flick up to his as he begins to speak, one hand subconsciously drifting to your growing bump, stroking a gentle thumb over the skin through the cotton.

“How’s our little guy doin’ in there? You feelin’ him movin’ around much today?” JJ asks, seeming all enthusiastic and excited at the chance to hear about his baby, you smile smally at his reaction.

“Mhm, like crazy.” You hum, hand still resting against your bump. “Gotta be doin’ flips in there or somethin’.”

His face lights up at the news of your son’s energetic movements, and you almost laugh about how alike he is to his daddy in that sense. Without hesitation, JJ stands up and moves around to your side of the table, crouching down and placing one hand over yours on your stomach, eyes flicking up to yours.

“Can you feel him kickin’ right now?”

You shake your head with a soft smile and a tender heart, chewing your last bite and discarding your fork with a soft clatter onto your plate. “Think he’s sleepin’ right now, J.”

JJ’s face falls slightly, a hint of disappointment in his eyes. He keeps his hand on your belly though, giving in a gentle pat as he stands from his crouching position hands on his knees.

“‘S okay babe. He’s just conservin’ his energy for later, I bet.”

“Yeah, when I’m trynna sleep.” You groan lightheartedly, feeling him laugh too as he pressed a soft kiss to your bump, then to your temple before moving to start clearing away the dishes.

He carries the plates over to the sink and peers over his shoulder at you, stretching your arms on the chair, yawning softly, not even aware of his appreciative gaze. “You tired, darlin’?”

Your heart flutters at the pet name, one he’d only really started calling you after you’d gotten married, and it makes you feel all warm inside each and every time. “A little.” You sigh through a yawn, lifting your shirt from your stomach and your eyebrows furrow at the sight.

“Look,” You mumble, bare feet tapping against the floor as you wander over to him at the sink. “My stretch marks are gettin’ so bad.”

He sets the plate down he was scrubbing and turns to face you, his eyes immediately dropping to the area of interest. He reaches out and gently traced one of the marks with his finger, his expression softening. “They’re just part of bein’ a mama, baby. They don’t define ya.”

Your eyes meet his and they soften with love for your sweet boy, and you nod shallowly with a defeated sigh. “I know, ‘s just annoying.” You huff, letting the shirt that was once his drop back down over your bump.

JJ senses your disappointment and he’s already scheming, because there’s no way on this earth he’s letting his baby mama walk around thinking she’s anything less than perfect. “Hey,” He mumbles, arms wrapping around your waist to bring you into a gentle hug, being aware of your swelling belly between the two of you. “C’mere,”

“Let me see ‘em again.” He says gently, pulling you away gently by your shoulders to look him in the eye, moonlight bathing his angular face in a dark blue hue. “Show me one more time.”

“Why?” You mumble, eyebrows drawn together softly in confusion, but the feeling burning inside of you overtakes any need for an answer as you lift the cotton material, soft eyes trained on his face for a reaction.

His eyes soften as he leans down, expression matching yours as he presses his lips against each and every one, his hands moving softly over the skin. “Because I wanna make sure you know how fuckin’ beautiful they are on you, pretty girl. How much I love seein’ em on my girl.

You feel yourself getting a little emotional as you watch your six foot husband pepper gentle kisses all over your bump, calling you his girl and telling you how beautiful you are. Makes you wanna cry. You swallow thickly and your hands stay by your sides, pads of your fingers tapping against each other in a nervous tick.

He hears you sniffle and is immediately standing back up to his full height, cupping your soft face in his calloused hands. “Hey…you don’t gotta cry, sweetheart. You’re carryin’ our baby, makin’ me the happiest god damn man alive. These marks? They’re just-”

You watch him, eyes gleaming with tears and full of love as you cut him off, voice a little gravelly. “I love you.”

His blue eyes identically well up with unshed tears, mirroring your own emotional state. He pulls you into his strong arms, holding you tightly against his broad chest, pressing his lips to the top of your head. “I love you too, mama.”

Your bump presses comfortably against his firm abs, milk heavy tits pressed against his chest as you breathe slowly, basking in the feeling of being in the arms of the absolute love of your life. After a beat, you whisper into the still air. “Will you shower me?”

A slight smile crosses his face at your whispered question, one hand moving to slowly caress your hair. “Yes ma’am,” He whispers back, hands moving to scoop you up from under your thighs, you’re unsteady for a moment, but then it’s like nothing’s changed as you wrap your arms around his neck, legs around his waist as he carries you towards the bathroom.

“Let’s get you clean, pretty girl.” He murmurs as you pass the threshold of the bathroom, voice filled with tenderness, careful to keep his volume down for the sake of your sleeping toddler down the hall.

His movements are slow and steady as he sets you on your feet, knowing how unbalanced you can be when you’re this pregnant. He runs a soft hand over your bump as he looks you in your eyes, the lighting in the bathroom a little more fluorescent and it makes you wanna close your eyes. “You needa sit down while I get everythin’ ready?”

You nod softly but he didn’t need to wait for an answer because he’s already lowering you gently onto the closed toilet seat lid, then he gives you a quick peck on your lips before turning towards the shower. He starts to pick out all your favourite products, knowing you haven’t had time for a proper shower since the last time he did it for you, which come to think of it was only last week.

He’s speedy on his feet, knowing you’re probably not the most comfortable where you’re currently sitting, he puts up your favourite hair products and body wash, before turning back to you with a proud smile.

“All set, mama.”

“Can y’ undress me?” You mumble, pawing at your eye as you stand on wobbly feet, the hem of the shirt falling at your mid thighs, leaving a little peek of your cotton panties on display.

His eyes warm with affection as he nods, carefully lifting the t-shirt up and over your head, revealing your full heavy breasts and swollen belly. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties, slowly peeling them down your legs as you lift each foot for him.

You’re a little insecure, naturally, but you’re far too tired to attempt to cover yourself up like normal, and you remind yourself that it’s JJ, and you never need to hide from him. The steam begins to fog up the bathroom a little as you stand there naked, arms by your side as you watch him, eyes soft.

He takes a moment to drink in the sight of his pregnant wife, his eyes roaming over your swollen belly and the fullness of your breasts. He strips himself off fast, and it’s equally humorous and sexy at how eager he is. Then he bends down with a soft sigh, forearms resting under your thighs as he picks you up like you weigh nothing, cradling you in his arms as he walks towards the shower.

“‘M I too heavy?” You mumble softly, lips pressed to his shoulder, arms thrown around his neck, naked body pressed against his own bare one as he carries you towards the shower.

He chuckles softly, shaking his head as he steps into the warm spray of the shower, voice echoing a little: “Never, mama. You're perfect just the way you are." He sets you down gently on the built-in bench, making sure you're stable before stepping back to wet his own hair.

You place your hands in your lap with a soft smile, feeling the warm air hit you as you sit on the bench, watching with love sick eyes as he stands under the spray, muscular, tall body in display, looking like some kind of greek God.

Noticing your adoring gaze, JJ gives you a playful wink, running his hands through his damp hair. "Like what you see, gorgeous?" he teases with a smirk, moving closer under the guise of washing off, but really just stealing glances at your voluptuous form.

You giggle all flustered, like it’s your first time seeing him naked, like he hasn’t been your husband for nearly three years and your boyfriend even longer.

His smirk widens as he sees your flustered reaction, making him feel like the most desired man in the world. He steps closer, crouching down in front of you so he's eye level with you sitting on the bench. "Still think I'm handsome?"

“The most.” You smile, breasts sitting heavy on your chest, droplets of milk beading at your nipples as you smile at him, cheeks blushed.

Hes immediately scooping you back up onto your feet, arm draped around your waist as he brings you under the warm stream with him, keeping an arm on you at all times to keep you steady.

His eyes immediately drop to your chest, noticing the milk beads forming at your nipples. His heart skips a beat as he reaches out, gently brushing his thumb over one of the beads, watching it break and roll down your areola. "Mama's got milk for me too, huh?"

You roll your eyes playfully at him, knowing the reason you’re so full of milk is because Quinn hasn’t nursed for a good few hours. “Don’t think it’s for you, J.”

He chuckles mischievously, leaning in closer and nuzzling his face between your breasts, inhaling your warm, lavendar-scented skin. "What if I asked nicely, though?" He looks up at you with puppy eyes, pretending to pout.

“Maybe if you said ‘pretty please’’.” You play along, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips.

As soon as your lips touch his, he loses all pretense, wrapping his arms around your back and deepening the kiss. He pulls you into his lap, sitting on the bench with you cradled against his chest as he continues to kiss you.

“N- I’m too heavy..” You mumble against his lips, trying to shuffle off of him in fear of crushing him, it’s a stupid idea, anyway, you’ve always been physically smaller than him, and he’s 220 pounds of muscle.

He halts your attempt to get up, firm hands grasping your hips as he holds you in place, meeting your gaze with amused determination. Ouch, baby. You underestimate me, damn.” He mumbles, one hand flying to his chest in mock offence.

“I bench more than you weigh." With a playful grin, he squeezes your thighs affectionately. Your heart flutters at his words, throat going a little dry. Something else seems to flutter too, between your legs, and JJ must feel it from your position on his lap.

His pupils dilate as he feels the flutter between your legs, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He spreads his legs wider, pulling you flush against him so you can feel his growing hardness pressing against your core.

Your chubby pussy lips spread around his hardness, head falling back a little, but you’re still protesting softly, the warm spray covering you both. “Jay- m’ serious- m’ too heavy.”

Smiling against your neck with knowing, tender amusement, he runs one hand up your back while the other supports your weight, pulling you even closer. "Stop trying to stop me, pretty girl. You know I love this body of yours - every inch of it."

Your eyelids flutter shut at the feeling of his lips against that spot that makes you melt, a soft whine leaving your lips. “Tell me you know.” He whisper against the skin, tongue darting out to lick against the side of your throat.

You hesitate for a second, arms around his neck tightening a little. “I.. I know, JJ. I know.” You rush out all in one breath, pebbled nipples brushing against his muscular chest.

One of his hands move to palm at one of your heavy breasts, lips not stopping their gentle worship of the soft skin of your neck as he speaks, breath hot against the sensitive skin. “Yeah? And don’t you ever forget it, mama. Can’t have my girl walkin’ round this house thinkin’ she’s anythin’ less than perfect, yeah? My beautiful girl.”

[luvsupa]

tags: chef!geto x married!reader, cheating (don’t do this guys), naoya is readers husband, food play(ish), geto has tattoos + purple eyes, smut (kinda), mdni,

w.c: 1.9k

+ finally this is out of my drafts 🙂‍↕️

“i’ve hired a new chef.” your husband, naoya, announces coldly from the other end of the long, polished dining table. the sharp clink of cutlery echoes through the grand dining room as you both eat the meal your private chefs had meticulously prepared—medium rare wagyu steak with truffle mashed potatoes and buttered asparagus, the kind of meal that screams luxury. but his voice grates on you, cutting through your attempt to enjoy the evening.

you grip your knife tightly, scraping it against your plate in irritation, barely tasting the food. naoya’s eyes finally flick up from his plate, narrowing as he notices your silence. his leg bounces under the table, the tension radiating off him as he grows impatient with you ignoring him. 

“i’m speaking to you, woman,” he snaps through gritted teeth, barely holding back his annoyance.

you drop your utensils with a clatter, meeting his icy gaze. “and i’m listening. another chef, huh? what is this, the eighth or ninth employee you’ve hired just to fuck behind my back?”

naoya leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. his tongue rolls against his cheek, a clear sign that you’ve struck a nerve. but instead of shame, he’s amused.

“whatever happens between me and my staff is none of your concern,” he says smoothly, his arrogance on full display. “and this time, i’ve hired a male chef. try not to spread your legs for him the way you do for everyone else.”

the words sting, but they’re nothing new. his chuckle follows as he tosses his dirty napkin onto his half-eaten plate and stands, casually loosening his tie from his work suit. “slut,” he mutters under his breath as he walks out of the dining room, leaving you with the hollow clink of his footsteps fading in the distance.

you stare down at your left hand weighed down by stacks and stacks of luxurious jewelry—gifts from naoya, from a time when he at least pretended to love you. the massive diamond on your ring finger feels heavy, a cruel reminder of the life you thought you’d have. a life where you were cherished, not ignored and humiliated.

but that was before the affairs. before he cheated on you with everyone from his secretaries to the maids. you’ve tried to leave him more than once, but his connections, his power—he’s made it clear he’ll destroy you if you ever walk away. 

and so you stay, trapped in this gilded cage.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

the next morning, you wake up tangled in silk sheets, the rich fabric cool against your skin. you turn to the clock on the nightstand—9:40 a.m. naoya is already gone, no doubt having left hours earlier for work. good, you think. it’s better that way. waking up to his smug face would only ruin your morning.

slipping into your soft slippers, you wrap yourself in a sheer lilac robe, its light fabric brushing against your bare skin as you make your way to the bathroom. after freshening up, you take extra care with your skincare routine and hair, making sure you look more presentable than you did when you woke up.

the enticing aroma of freshly baked pastries and pancakes floats through the air as you descend the grand, floating staircase—something you’d begged naoya to have built when you first moved in.

you walk into the kitchen, expecting to see one of the female chefs who probably has a history with your husband. but instead, you freeze mid-greeting.

“good morning, rina—oh…” your words trail off as your eyes land on a tall, muscular man in the kitchen, flipping pancakes with an ease that seems almost hypnotic. his back is turned to you, but you can’t help but admire the way his broad shoulders stretch the black tank top—no, wife beater—that clings to his frame. you can see the muscles in his arms flex with each movement, glistening in the soft morning light streaming through the tall windows. his long, dark hair is tied up in a neat bun, and his discarded chef’s jacket hangs over the back of a chair.

he turns at the sound of your voice, a warm smile spreading across his lips, and you’re suddenly struck by how impossibly handsome he is. it’s not just his looks—it’s his presence. confident and utterly intoxicating. your mouth goes dry as you try not to ogle him, but it’s impossible. fuck, he looks good.

“ah, good morning, mrs. zenin. apologies for the late breakfast,” he says smoothly, his voice deep and velvety, and you have to lean more into the wall for support.

you quickly correct him by letting him no the preferred name rather than naoya’s evil surname. “a-and, there’s no need to be so formal…?,” you drag on for his chance to introduce himself.

“such a beautiful name,” he compliments, sending a shiver down your spine. you feel like a teenage girl speaking to her crush for the first time. “i’m geto suguru.”

suguru. you roll the name over in your mind,

“do… do you need any help, suguru?” you offer, your voice barely above a whisper. you step closer to him, drawn in by his presence. his cologne is subtle, but it clogs your mind, intoxicating you as you catch the scent of sandalwood and something dark and sensual.

he looks down at you, smirking at your shy demeanor. “you wanna help, pretty?” his eyebrow quirks as he motions you to join him, and you nod, as the petname made you all happy.

he motions you to move to his other side but as you follow- your gaze catches something else—tattoos. a full sleeve, intricate designs snaking up his toned arm. your mouth goes dry again as your eyes linger, tracing the ink and the way it contrasts against his skin.

he notices, of course, and chuckles. “got these during a… phase. not really proud of it,” he admits casually, his voice smooth as silk.

“i think they’re attractive,” you say softly, barely able to look him in the eye as you flirt back.

his smirk widens, and he turns back to the stove, pouring a decent amount of pancake batter onto the pan. the butter sizzles, filling the air with the rich, delicious scent of breakfast. “i think you’re attractive,” he murmurs, “shame you’re already married.”

his words hit you like a punch to the gut, a reminder of naoya, of the life you’re stuck in. your smile falters, and geto notices, his sharp eyes catching every little reaction.

“is that whipped cream?” you ask quickly, desperate to change the subject, trying to pull yourself together.

“just finished,” he replies, turning down the heat on the jam. his voice is low, smooth, teasing. “wanna taste?”

you nod, unable to resist the pull of his presence. geto steps closer, his gaze never leaving yours as he dips his finger into the whipped cream. slowly, he brings it to his mouth. his lips part, his tongue gliding over his finger as he sucks the cream off, savouring it with a soft, sensual hum. his eyes flutter shut, and the moment feels intimate—too intimate.

your lips part slightly, unable to look away from the sight of him. his finger glistens as he pulls it from his mouth, the motion slow, deliberate, teasing you without a single word. he dips back into the bowl, scooping up a thick, generous glob of cream, his eyes darkening with desire.

“say ahh, baby,” he whispers, his voice so low, it’s almost a growl, holding his finger near your lips.

your breath catches, your glossed lips parting eagerly as you wait for him to feed you, heat pooling between your thighs at the way he’s looking at you. but instead, his hand accidentally slips, the cold cream falling between your breasts, slowly trickling down your cleavage.

you gasp at the shock of it, the cold against your heated skin sending a shiver through you.

“oh… i’m sorry,” he murmurs, though the wicked smirk curling at his lips tells you he’s anything but. “mah i clean that up?” he politely asks as you mutter out a soft, yes, as he smirks.

before you can fully process anything, his large hands are on you, lifting you effortlessly onto the cool marble counter. your breath hitches as your robe falls open slightly, the flimsy material slipping down your shoulders, baring more of your chest. geto positions himself between your legs, his gaze locked on your cleavage, his tongue slowly wetting his lips.

you tremble above him, his body so close, the heat of him making you dizzy. he leans in, his breath warm against your skin as his fingers slowly push more of the fabric of your robe, exposing the thin top beneath. his eyes darken with hunger as he takes in the sight of you.

with agonizing slowness, he lowers his head, his long tongue sliding up the valley between your breasts, collecting the cream in long, deliberate licks. the sensation sends a shock of pleasure through you, and your head falls back, a soft moan escaping your lips. he moves up to your neck, sucking gently on the sensitive skin, leaving hot, wet kisses. fuck, you didn’t realize how touch deprived you were until now- especially being in his presence is making your cunt quiver.

his hands glide up your body, one gripping your waist while the other cups your breast. your eyes flutter at the intensity as your breathing quickens as he kneads your breast through the thin fabric of your top. you let out a broken moan as he sucks harder at your neck while simultaneously pinching and twisting your erect nipples between his experienced fingers as his tongue continues its sinful path along your throat. and oh, the sweet melodies of your moans escaping your mouth does something to geto. he feels his work pants get tighter and tighter the more you let out your moans. fuckk he thinks it’s beyond pathetic how something so minimal is making him this hard.

“m-more,” you plead breathlessly, your voice a desperate whisper.

geto chuckles against your neck, his lips brushing your ear. “does your husband even know how fucking needy you are?” he taunts, his voice thick with amusement. his fingers pinch your nipple harder, drawing a gasp from you. “how much you crave this? how desperate you are to be touched like this?”

you shake your head, unable to form words, your body arching into his touch, wanting everything he can give. but just when you think he’s about to give in to your pleas, he pulls back, his heat leaving you suddenly cold as he turns his attention back to the stove, his movements casual as if nothing had just happened.

your eyes fly open in disbelief, your body still trembling, aching for him. he flips the pancakes calmly, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as though you hadn’t just been begging him for more.

“i-i didn’t get a taste,” you whine softly, your voice thick with need, still perched on the counter, your legs open, desperate for him.

he glances back at you, a knowing grin spreading across his face as he finishes preparing you your breakfast as he turns around, hands you a beautifully plated dish of pancakes, the whipped cream and fresh jam. “i don’t want the food- i want you,” you whine as he places the food beside you.

“you can’t always get what you want, spoiled brat.” you huff in frustration, your body still burning for him, but before you can say a word, he leans in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

“maybe i’ll let you have more when you learn some manners, hmm?” 

[blondieeu]

Would you be okay writing some sfw & nsfw on what it would be like dating Connie? I know the reader is married, but he just interests me so much. I love how you based him on Rio, he’s my favorite.

i’m so passionate about connie being based off rio too it’s ok i love writing for him

been away. connie (constance) s.

“you good?”

and you’d just look at him. a moment for the two of you to be vulnerable together in a car you had no business being in, about to smoke a blunt you shouldn’t have been smoking, with someone you especially had absolutely no business being with.

“what’s wrong”

“can’t park here, my husband could see.“

he laughed, starting the engine as loud as he could while he looked at you, a bored expression. his eyes were low and his lips almost sparkled in the moonlight from the lip gloss you kissed him hello with.

“your husband mama?”

“yes!”

constance wore a white wife beater and some sweatpants, tattoos and muscles on full display to everyone who say him, but you knew it was only for you.

his prized gold chain laid across his collar bone. said his mother gave it to him when he was little. his car smelled like him too, the car you helped him pick out at the dealership. smelled like the color navy blue, if that made sense.

“yea ok. tell him your real man s’ takin’ you out.”

and he’d pass you the blunt, tattooed fingers grazing against your untouched ones and handing you a lighter before putting the car in drive and pulling off.

constance hated your husband, maybe you did too. he never listened and was always out, giving you the freedom to do the same. you weren’t a monster though, not like you didn’t care for him, just didn’t love him.

you loved constance— or as you knew him, connie. you knew you loved him when you started to worry about him when he told you he was ‘goin to make a play’ in the middle of the night. or at the point where you’d think about him, regardless of you being in a bed with a whole other man, your husband.

“where we going connie?”

“same place we go everytime girl. unless you want me to fuck you in this car.”

you squirmed in the passenger seat at the thought. wouldn’t be the first time but he could never not make you hot at the thought of having sex with him again, always gave you butterflies. made you feel like a virgin again. it wasn’t always about sex with him though, he was real with you.

when you got to his house it was like clockwork, order food, take a shower, put on some of his clothes and eat together. eventually deciding to eat in the living room and watch some bullshit show you’d been obsessed with recently.

so here the two of you sat. you laying with your head in his lap, and him with his hand rubbing on your butt and the other with the remote.

his house was like a second home to you, he said it was your home too. could come whenever you wanted to, move in if you wanted. got you a copy of the house keys, front door and mailbox.

“gotta move if you don’t wan’ fuck right now, you keep rubbin’ onnit.”

and again, like clockwork you’d work his sweatpants and then his boxers off to pull out his lengthy cock. he had a tan shaft with a pretty pink tip. connie always got so hard for you.

you wrapped both your hands around him but it still wasn’t enough to cover the whole thing. starting off you kissed the side of it, making sure to do it on both sides and even on the top before you took him all the way down into your throat.

connie would moan, head rolling and a tatted hand coming to push all of your hair up into the messiest ponytail you’d ever had. your free hand rubbing up connie’s tan stomach, pushing his wife beater up.

“fuck baby”

with your head bobbing at a decent pace, tongue flicking around his pink tip and getting a faint taste of his pre-cum. the sound of your boyfriends moans drowning out the tv show.

“want you to put it in connie”

you whispered as you let your head come down from his cock, still stroking while you looked up at him. his eyes were a little red from the blunt you smoked earlier. the tv illuminating his rough features, like the small scares on his face.

“so take your panties off then mama”

blondieeu xx

[just-some-random-blogger]

Snow Angel

Daemon's Version

I'll angel in the snow until I'm worthy but if it kills me, I tried.

Gwyane's Version ❄ Daemon's Version ❄ Aegon's Version ❄ Aemond's Version ❄ Jacaerys' Version ❄ Cregan's Version ❄ Criston's Version

Daemon Targaryen x Snow!Reader | 700< | cw: fem!reader, reader is Lord Rickon Stark's bastard daughter, canon divergence, angst, violence, blood, war, death, typos, etc.

A/N: renee rapp my beloved

Though you were his wife by law, you were not by heart.

It did not hurt you, at least not anymore. You understood your place. You understood your duty; your duty was to your house, to your family, to him.

This was how you found yourself in the crosshairs of peril.

Daemon had been lost for days on end. He'd not given word ever since his proclamation to seize Harrenhal for the Queen— for his niece, his beloved niece. You knew why he was so eager to act. He so badly wanted to win Rhaenyra's favor.

They had not seen eye to eye lately, and one could say it was your fault. You were getting in the middle of their relationship, you, his wife. It felt as though there was not a soul in Westeros who did not know of their relations, and yet even in that blatant shame, not once did you ever bring it up to your husband.

Not once.

Why?

Because he saved you when you were wed. You had been promised to an old lord known to be a wife beater. You were told that it was the best match you would ever get, but then you caught the interest of the prince of Dragonstone, even if for a fleeting moment.

You thought that what you had was akin to desire, if not love, but it seems he only married you to spite someone that truly stoked such a thing within him. And now, you were sent to the North to remind your half brother of House Stark's pledge to that person, to Queen Rhaenyra. Your kin did not take kindly to that. But it was not Cregan that found offence in your appearance, but his men, some five of them.

Daemon dreams about this in Harrenhal. He dreams of five direwolves pulling you apart, limb from limb. He wakes up in a cold sweat because of it. When he rouses with word that a raven came telling of the conditions of his wife, he did not need to read its contents to be inspired to saddle Caraxes.

He makes his dragon land inside Winterfell and demands, "WHERE IS MY WIFE?!"

Cregan runs and meets him once he dismounted, leading him to your room.

His expression falls when he sees you. You were badly cut and beaten. You looked like you were ready to greet the Stranger. He grabs Cregan by his furs and hisses, "where are the men that did this?"

"I've sent them to the Wall," Stark raises a hand, indicating he did not want to fight.

"The Wall?" he shoves him away, "their heads should be on a sp-"

"They are my men. I will do with them as-"

"They outnumbered and ambushed my wife! You think they deserve the honor of keeping their heads?!"

Daemon was about to draw Dark Sister, until he heard a soft voice call his name. He turns to you, catching the way you stirred, and immediately comes to your side.

You weakly reach out a hand and he takes it. He is warm, a complete opposite to you. You feel lethargic but you manage to pull your lips into a semblance of a smile. You whisper, "you've come."

Your husband stares at you. He clutches your hand in both of his.

You rub his skin with your thumb.

He shakes his head, "I will exact your injuries of your attackers. They will regret the day they left their mothers' cunts."

You no longer have the energy to respond. You weakly smile at him before closing your eyes.

He stays with you until you fall asleep. He stay with you until he is told your eyes would no longer open again. He had to be subdued before he killed the maester that announced the news.

Cregan could do little to stop the prince and Caraxes from flying off to the Wall. He all but threatened to burn the whole of it down if your attackers did not come forth. And when they do, Daemon tells them to fight him or be fed to his dragon.

And so the fools attacked him, and were slain, and were fed to his dragon anyway. He flies back to Harrenhal after, and you haunt him in his dreams.

[backwzzds]

ೃ⁀➷ domesticity, könig

könig got off to watching you be a mother.

könig hated to admit it. the way he inevitably got turned on whenever he came home from long missions. the way whenever he’d walk through the front door of your home, muddy and dirty boots immediately being taken off by the welcome mat so he didn’t stain the innocence of your home with his trauma and duties from work—the bludge in his pants grew at the sight of how you lived such a domestic life.

he was sure his view was a sight that nearly every man wished for at some point in their life. he felt blessed. blessed that no one else at his base had the privilege to come home to this. with you holding a chubby baby full of fiery strawberry blonde curls—undoubtedly belonging to him—on your wide hips, so full from giving birth no more than two years ago.

your daughter was a bit on the paler side despite having beautiful brown skin, and you always wondered if your genes even fucking tried to show out for you when creating her. she looked and acted so much like her father, the only way to probe that she was yours were your shared lips and her having your hair texture. everything else belonged to könig.

“papa wird bald zu hause sein, kleine liebe,” you reassure your daughter of her father’s return home soon as she began to grow cranky, a daily sign of her missing him. you had just finished breastfeeding her, and that was evident in the way the majority of your tits stuck out like a sore thumb from one of your man’s thin wife beater shirts. hey, you were home alone with nothing but pretty trees and bush surrounding you.

könig couldn’t help but smile at the back of your head as you hummed her a little song as you stirred your pot of food. the way your braids were tied down in a bright pink bonnet, the way the fat of your grown woman body hung out of your booty shorts that did nothing to hide the swallow of your ass, and how your white painted toes filled themselves in your fur slippers. the primal hormones in him filled with testosterone practically rushed to the blood of his dick as he watched you dance around the kitchen with your pretty baby.

this how you got pregnant in the first place.

every day he was grateful he decided to snatch you up and take you back to his home country with him. the way you adapted to his culture the way he did yours—you made sure to teach your baby her two native languages, english and german.

no one knew where you were, and könig liked it that way. you three could play house in peace for the next few months, at least until his next deployment. it was the safest option for you. to take you both out the states where his personal life could possibly be exploited.

no one knew where in austria exactly könig was from, making it harder for anyone to possibly track down his pretty little family. you were able to work in peace without having to worry about someone finding about your husband’s real job and eventually figuring out where your daughter went to daycare. it was peaceful for you in austria. as far as the neighbors knew, your husband was in the military occasionally on long deployment missions.

not exactly a lie.

he was never 100% at ease leaving his two girls anywhere, but he knew that if you were at least living in a place that he knew like the back of his fucking hand, his anxiety would calm down just a bit while on missions.

you fall completely deaf to the sound around you as your daughter babbles in your ear while you cooked. the delicious aroma of your wonderful food fills your husband’s nostrils as he finally decides its time for him to finally come out the shadows.

your baby continued to babble things in german-english as you began to plate food only for yourself like you’d done for the past six months, completely unbeknownst to the masculine presence behind you.

“my pretty wife always manages to make such delicious meals,” the hoarse voice manages to startle you to the point where you drop your pot spoon on the floor. “been starved for a plate, lover.”

your daughter turns her head before you do, and immediately fights to be put down from your arms. at the sight of her father, she gives a bright two-toothed grin and opens her arms. “daddy daddy!”

könig wastes no time in ripping off his mask and plastering a big kiss on his baby’s cheeks. “meine hübsche prinzessin,” he greets, engulfing “been a good girl for mommy, yeah?” the ice blue eyes question as they falter over to you. you’re still standing in shock that könig chuckles at the innocence on your face. the same one he’s been in love with for years now.

he didn’t blame you though, you didn’t expect him back for at least another two months.

könig wastes no time in walking over to you, and of course the first place his hands touch are your wide hips. his pink lips smash onto your brown ones and he wastes no time in engulfing all of you into him.

he doesn’t miss the way that small tears fill his shirt. he knows you’ve been alone in a secluded area, in an almost foreign place where you hardly knew anyone. he knew how lonely you must of felt having to do all this by yourself. he was here for you now.

god, he missed you. his good, pretty little wife.

[senjiiblogs]

Husband beater 💔

[pillowbo]

Forcemasc can be extremely humiliating and degrading! Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. How humbling is it that you now live to serve a beautiful woman because she strapped you to a table and smeared t-gel onto you repeatedly.

She has to put gloves on her pretty hands, of course, can't let herself be corrupted how she's corrupting you. You hear the snap of rubber and then watch as she squeezes a big glob out of the tube, a glint in her eye as she glances from you to the shiny gel on her fingertips.

Perhaps she's a mad scientist, a cerebral woman with the sole intent of crafting a man out of you for whatever reason, perhaps she sees your potential.

Your thoughts drain out of your head all at once as the cold shock of gel glides against your skin, rubbing into your increasingly taut muscles and all over your body, and you can do nothing but writhe in your restraints as she describes in great detail her plan to make you into her perfect husband.

It's your position to be beneath her, as she sculpts you into her willing servant; here to carry big heavy things and go to work for her, pay her bills, give her money to buy Sephora and Coach and to get her perfect nails done, fuck her on demand when she wants it.

She'll take care to make you appear presentable. Of course, you will be distinctly masculine beside her, but none of that nonsense about smelling awful or being greasy in a wife beater because some simpleton thinks it's manly.

You might think, you're just a guy, you don't need much. Don't worry your big stupid head about any of it. She will arrange your wardrobes; suits and ties and nice shoes and cologne.

Can't have her arm candy looking slobbish! No, you will be her Dapper Dan as she wishes. You'll have all the time in the world to be absolutely filthy with her in the sheets, after all.

She touches your growing tdick with her gloved hands, bringing you back down to the moment once again when she gives it a few quick strokes and laughs at your responses, twisting and jerking at the sensation.

You're so sensitive now!

At last, she decides that you are ready. You look down at your newly grown tdick, hairs sprouting in rough stubble across your face, a happy trail, and hairy thighs that would take forever if you wanted to shave, the hairs inevitably sprouting right back.

You realize how permanent this is, what she has done to you, and all at once it makes you insanely horny. You want to pin her down and fuck her, the woman who did this to you.

She happily welcomes it, orders it even, but swats your sweaty hands away from her until she's led you to her bedroom. Stupid boy, show some restraint.

You get to the room and she strips, and she is so beautiful, such a contrast to you now, to how you always had been, on the inside. She is graceful and feminine and smooth as she walks, you feel so clunky and awkward, but she looks at you with admiration in her eyes at her work.

It's all it takes for you to top her and fuck her into her queen-size four-poster bed until you're both coming, over and over, you can't help but repeat your thrusting into her over and over, because she made you this way, because you've always been just a dumb man toy that exists to satisfy her pleasure.

[limeade-l3sbian]

Who was Kagney Linn Necessary?

(the gofundme for her memorial/funeral will be at the end.)

Kagney Linn Necessary was born in Harris County, Texas in 1987, and raised in St. Joseph, Missouri and in Ridgway, Pennsylvania. [x]

In her early years, she moved to California with ambitions of becoming an actress and a singer but entered work as an exotic dancer before signing with LA Direct Models, a pornographic agency. Karter entered the adult film industry in September 2008.[x]

But that wasn't the entirety of who Kagney was. At face value, the only information I could find with a quick search was the basic information above from Wikipedia. All anyone seemed to know about her was who she was when she was in the "industry." I wanted to see what I could find about her, the person. Not Kagney Linn Karter, but Kagney Linn Necessary.

I raked through interviews she had, her personal social media accounts, and any other articles that I could find just to find any little facts about her that I could.

I thought about omitting her time within the porn industry to focus solely on everything else except that. But I feel it would be tasteless to keep it out. I think it needs to be mentioned. I think it is important to show that women pulled into the porn industry are not these separate beings from any other woman with dreams. This was a 36 year old woman who was just like any other woman who was preyed upon.

Necessary released an EP, The Crossover, in 2018. In 2022, Karter released her debut album, titled The Take Over. [x] She would post clips of her singing covers of songs as well as songs from her upcoming EP on her Instagram.

In 2022, she began learning how to play the piano, even posting a video of her progress.

Necessary was also a recovering addict. In 2021, she posted about the things that helped her stay clean and how she was pleased at having a second chance at life. In an interview, she was intentionally vague about the substances she used, only referring to them as "candy" and "a little bit of everything." But with no insurance or money for rehab, she opted to detox herself at her parents home, working at their tanning salon for free in exchange for "produce."

She moved from Los Angeles to Ohio in 2019 and got involved with pole dancing fitness studios before being involved the opening of one in Akron, called Alchemy Pole Fitness. She posted many videos of herself having fun and practicing new/old moves.

In November 2023, she was posting pictures of her new house and how well it was coming together,

[their website leads to a website called Alchemy Space Studios and says that it was founded and run by a separate woman. But upon looking up the LLC for the business, Kagney is named as the registrant and she is named as the owner of the space in two separate articles.]

In 2015, Carter claimed musician Chris Brown paid her $2,500 to be his escort. She reportedly tweeted things like 'I WILL NEVER F*** A WOMAN BEATER EW DISGUSTING' and 'HE IS PURE EVIL' about Brown.

I just felt like adding that because what a queen.

From her students from the studio and friends, she was known to love animals, including her dog, Murphy, and had a deep devotion to the community she was cultivating in Ohio. She was known to be fearless and empathetic, creating her studio as a place for people to feel safe and accepted.

These were the things I could find of her from her personal accounts and the people who loved her. She wasn't an object that will be missed for what "uses" it had. She was a woman who had dreams, who had a community who love her, who had a husband who loves her, dogs she cared for and loved who loved her, and a mother who loves her. I didn't want her story to be another reblog of a lost life.

I know this post is sporadic and clunky, but I wanted to just grab any information I could without crossing boundaries (ex. contacting the family or something tasteless like that). I just wanted to share what she had already shared with the world.

Her friend, Megan Lee, has posted a gofundme that has already surpassed their goal. But I would still suggest donating if you are able. Rest in peace, Kagney Linn Necessary. 💜

[piningforstan]

Memories

Part One | Part Two

Summary: You’re relieved to see your husband alive, but you have yet to learn at what cost.

Pairings: Stan Pines x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: memory loss, it’s a bittersweet fic (let me know if there’s anything else)

A/N: I could honestly stay in this story forever. I hope you enjoy! (If you don’t think the small attempts bits of humor are funny, just do me a favor and pretend like they are)

Life moved on, of course, even though it felt like yours had ended. The town needed rebuilding. Newspapers and media outlets needed to be dealt with — Ford recommended telling reporters that there had been a series of animal attacks. But most townsfolk just wanted to forget. The lasting effects of the memory gun meant they preferred to just pretend like nothing happened.

You busied yourself however you could, clearing fallen brush and trees, reuniting families, making do with whatever food you could find and cooking for anyone who hungered.

And when you weren’t focused on resurrecting the infrastructure of Gravity Falls, you focused on doing it for your family. Dipper had withdrawn inside himself. Mabel practically resided in Sweater Town. And Ford largely made himself scarce as he puzzled out ideas for getting Stan’s memory back. So you invited Dipper to join you for nonsensical errands and you laughed your way through Mabel’s favorite movies and you always made sure that Ford had something to eat.

You had time for everyone, it seemed, but Stan.

He floated along the edges of your day to day life, suspended in a state of limbo — wanting to participate but not knowing whether his presence would be tolerable or not. And you didn’t want to provoke his already weakened mental state so you let him be, an observer to a family that he had been the nucleus of.

“Oh, uh, mornin’.”

You were sitting at the kitchen table, staring at nothing in particular when Stan shuffled in, donned in his boxers and wife beater. It ached to see him how you had so many other mornings. Perhaps that’s why you avoided him; to do so was easier than confronting this pain.

“Stan. Good morning.” You sat up a little straighter. “Coffee is made already.”

He grumbled his thanks. You noticed that he grabbed his favorite mug, one Soos bought him that stated WORLD’S GREATEST FARTER, without thinking. There were small, fleeting moments like this that made you believe that he might regain his memory. But they often slipped away, just like Stan clearing his throat and saying, “So, uh, we’re married?”

“Yes,” you said, inhaling sharply. “Thirty years.”

Stan wrapped one large hand around the mug. He let out a whistle as he reclined back on the counter. “No offense sweetheart, but that doesn’t speak highly of your intelligence.”

You can’t help it. You croaked out a laugh. “No, no it doesn’t.”

“How’d I do it?”

“Do what?”

“Keep ya around for thirty years.” He gestured in your general direction, veritably flustered. “I don’t need to ‘member much about myself to know you’re too good for me.”

“Well, you could be very convincing,” you supplied after a moment of consideration.

Stan scoffed. “Bullshit. What’s the real reason?”

You eyed him, then said in a resigned voice, “A wife can’t testify in court against her husband.”

A beat of silence ensued, followed by the loudest belly laugh of anyone you’ve ever known. Stan clutched at his chest, coffee spilling over his mug and onto the floor. He all but wheezed out, “I knew it!“

“It was my idea, actually,” you said, smiling fondly at the memory, “we had only gone out a few times when it happened. You wanted to make a run for it. Even though we hadn’t known each other long I already knew that I didn’t want to go a day without you. So we got hitched at the courthouse and the case was dismissed on account that I was the only eye witness.”

You were surprised to discover that relaying the story brought you more comfort than sadness. It fanned the dying ember of hope inside you.

Stan processed this information. “What was the crime? Must’ve been bad.”

“If I told you ‘stealing my heart’ would you believe me?”

“I’d believe you’re a shitty liar.”

Stan pestered you for an answer but you staunchly refused to give it to him, if only to prolong the conversation even more. Eventually you lapsed into a comfortable silence, but after thirty years of marriage, you knew that Stan hadn’t given up, rather reconsidered his angle. It wouldn’t be the end of that conversation.

Only the dredges of your coffee remained but you sipped it every now and then, taking the time to study Stan when you didn’t think he noticed.

Did he realize that he remembered more than he thought? Like the mug, for instance. The way he stood. How he moved around the kitchen. How much did the memory gun erase? You read once that memories consisted of just the last time you remembered something — a great portion of your life would pass without recollection. But the feelings stayed the same. You might not remember specific moments of your mother being kind to you, but when you looked at her your chest swelled with affection for her.

Was that how Stan felt now? Wading through residual feelings and sentiments without the memories to attach them to?

“Listen, uh.” Stan rubbed the back of his neck. “I know this is weird ‘tween us. But I-I hope we can be friends. Still. If you want.”

Hopefully your expression did not betray the stab of pain in your heart. “I’d like that.”

Apparently, rebuilding your friendship with your husband meant him “Stan-napping” you.

“If it’s Stan-napping wouldn’t that mean you’re the one being —”

He flapped his hand. “Shhh, shhh, shhh.”

You grinned and slid into the front seat of El Diablo like normal. Gum wrappers scattered the ground at your feet, along with a lighter and several cassette tapes. You inserted one, faint rock music playing from the radio. A laugh escaped you. “Remember when —”

You stopped. Stan smiled sadly.

“It’s a’right. Promise. Tell me anyway.”

And so you did, retelling the story as best as you could in detail. Stan listened intently as he drove, interjecting his own comments and questions, laughing at all of the parts you knew he would. The tape had played on repeat during a week that you spent running a con in Arizona. An unsuccessful one at that.

“You really did all that w’me? Now I really don’t trust the likes of ya.” Stan drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the door with his elbow out the side.

“In my defense, I was always more of a reluctant volunteer.” You focused on the trees flying past, silhouetting Stan’s handsome features and his easy smile. “But I would follow you anywhere.”

It’s an embarrassing admission.

You stumbled over your words, but Stan was quick to cover for you. “So I didn’t need to Stan-nap you?”

“No, but I’m still glad you did.”

“And to think, all of the work I put into it.” Stan feigned clutching his chest in indignation.

You snickered. “By all of the work do you mean withholding caffeine from me until I agreed? That was more of a hindrance than anything. I would’ve said yes much faster with coffee.”

“Noted. Anything else I should know?”

“I can also be persuaded with chocolate.”

Stan mock-glared at you. Whenever he spoke, he used his hands in big gestures, emphasizing whatever point he was making. “Wait, wait, wait. Chocolate? What happened to followin’ me anywhere?”

“I’m just saying it helps,” you told him.

For the duration of the ride you regaled him with whatever tale that came to mind. Eventually the trees thinned out and the lake came into view, water shimmering. An outcropping of cliffs hugged one side of the lake, extending an almost natural awning over the small hut Stan parked in front of. Picnic tables dotted the sparsely grassy area and families darted in and out from between them, children laughing with sticky faces and parents chasing after them waving napkins.

“Ice cream?” You climbed out of the car, the door swinging shut behind you.

Stan watched the children with soft fondness, making faces at them as they passed. Together you walked down the worn path to the counter manned by a pimpled teenager.

“Ford said I should do things I used to like to try and jog my memory,” Stan said. He peered at the menu — 107 flavors! it boasted — instead of meeting your curious gaze. “He, uh, told me we used to come here.”

“We did.” Your throat felt thick.

He had kissed you for the first time on that picnic table over there, when dusk had settled and fireflies lit up the night around you. You had been sitting on the table with Stan slotted between your legs. His mouth was cold from the ice cream but soft and sweet tasting, dancing across your tongue. You never cared for mint before that day.

When it was your turn to order, Stan persisted that you deserved a senior discount. The teenager caved, leading you to roll your eyes as Stan put his change in the tip jar only to draw out more than he put in. He took the first taste of his mint, double-scooped cone and winked at you.

“You’re insufferable,” you said with a laugh.

“He made it too easy,” Stan replied. “Sucker.”

You sat down at one of the empty tables. No one approached you but they cast glances in your direction, undoubtedly interested in the hero of Gravity Falls. If Stan noticed he didn’t say, challenging you instead to an ice cream eating contest until one of succumbed to brain freeze.

Stan had a voracious appetite, as did you, and you won out in the end. Stan, as a result, had to jump into the lake with his clothes on.

“Wait, before you go.” You couldn’t hide your amusement as you leaned up on your tiptoes and wiped ice cream from the corner of Stan’s mouth. Your thumb lingered. Recognition flashed in Stan’s eyes, then disappeared as soon as it appeared. Had you imagined it? “Um, there.”

“Thanks, kid.”

A moment passed between you, the span of a few heartbeats, before Stan braced himself. He yelled, “TELL MY STORY!” before racing off towards the shoreline of the lake. You doubled over with laughter as his youthful sprint soon turned into a hobble, the wind carrying Stan’s curses back to you. He collapsed on the sand mere inches from the lake.

Concern worried the edges of your mind. You called out to him, “Stan? Stan!”

No response.

You smiled sheepishly at the townsfolk observing the whole situation, then trotted after Stan. Upon inspection he was still breathing, one hand draped on his chest. The sand crunched underfoot as you stood over him. “Did you die?”

“Maybe.” He cracked open an eye. “Does that make you an angel?”

Your worry vanished. Staring up at the sky, you searched the clouds for an answer about why you still put up with this old man. “No use flattering me. This doesn’t hold up your end of the deal.”

“Yeah, yeah. Gimme a hand, would ya?”

You reached down for his hand, but instead of meeting yours it clasped around your wrist, pulling you down on top of him. You cried out in surprise. The water lapped at the pebbled beach, soaking through your clothes as Stan caged you with his body and rolled you both into it.

You shrieked in protest. Entrapped in his arms, he hauled you out into knee-deep water. It was no use trying to fight against him, though you gave your best effort. He could’ve held you like that all day and you knew that when you twisted to face him, it was only because he let you.

Somehow you winded up with your hands on his chest, his shirt plastered to his skin and revealing a glimpse of the body beneath. The moment reminded you of how young Stan made you feel, still blushing over him. He never treated you as if you were old or frail and you might as well have been in your late twenties again, when you first met, not a crease or wrinkle in sight.

Stan cleared his throat and the spell broke.

You removed your hands and stepped back, already missing the warmth of his proximity. In an attempt to ease the tension, you quipped, “I won’t forget this, Stanley Pines.”

Stan’s mouth twitched into a smile, eyes soft. “Neither will I.”

Stan assured you that evening that the outing had roused a memory, but you knew that he just wanted to console you. It didn’t matter. You were determined to recreate as many memories as possible, some alone, others including Dipper and Mabel. Great fun was had by all but you could tell, sneaking glances at Stan whenever he looked away, that it wasn’t registering.

Dipper and Mabel’s last days in Gravity Falls were swiftly approaching. It was a general consensus in the Pines household to pretend that this was not happening.

“You know, you could go with them.”

Admittedly, while watching Stan entertain Dipper and Mabel with an outlandish story, you forgot Ford was sitting beside you. The sinking sun created an orange glow over everything, glinting in Ford’s glasses as he waited for your answer.

“Who?” You asked, distracted.

“The kids.” Ford made a flippant gesture towards them. “Back to Piedmont.”

“Oh.” You hadn’t given any thought about it. It was, after all, never your plan to leave Gravity Falls. Was Ford trying to get rid of you?

Ford continued, “Just…I see the way you look at Stan. I know it hurts that he doesn’t remember.”

“It does.” You grew a sudden interest in the fray of your jeans. For the kids you put on a brave face, recreating memories with enthusiasm, but in truth, each one that failed was a stake through your confidence in Stan's memory.

“My theory might be incorrect. Or just an outlier in Stan’s case,” Ford added with afterthought, never the one to admit failure. Unlike you. “It doesn’t seem he will ever recover his memories.”

“We can’t give up, though,” you said, voice wavering with emotion.

Ford’s jaw feathered. So much of him reflected Stan down to the last detail, but with an air of superiority that Stan lacked. “Stan told you about Stan-o-War.”

A statement. Not a question.

“Yes.” Irritation raised under your skin like an itch you couldn’t scratch.

“I want to take him out. On a boat. Explore the world like we promised each other.”

“What boat?”

“I have one,” Ford vaguely promised.

“What about The Shack?”

“We can leave it to Soos. Assuming that you go with the twins.”

“Why would I do that?”

A lull happened in the conversation as Dipper and Mabel exploded in uproarious laughter at something Stan said. You suspected Ford was gathering his words. “I’m afraid that if we carry on as we have, the stress on Stan’s mind will break it completely. We need to face the music.”

“I’m not giving up on him,” you gritted back.

Ford heaved a sigh. “I’m not suggesting that you do. I don’t think you ever would. But we have to do what’s best for Stan.” He put his hands on his knees and pushed up, his shadow falling over you as he stood. “Just think about it.”

And think about it you did. A lot.

You still hadn’t come to a decision a week before the twins left. Ford informed you that he planned to surprise Stan after they left, leaving you with the decision of staying with Soos or going with Dipper and Mabel. Could you just…up and leave?

Reportedly, their parents were looking for help; from what you understood, a divorce lingered on the horizon. It brought comfort to you to think about caring for them during a tumultuous time. Not to mention you couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing them every day — but to gain it at the risk of losing Stan?

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Stan strode into the room, dapper in his Mister Mystery suit. Your cheeks heated. Too many times you had been caught this week lost in your thoughts. “Oh, I —”

“No, seriously. I need a penny.”

You opened the register. He proceeded to take said coin and spin some elaborate tale to a group of tourists about how it had been crafted from a rare alien metal. Stan sold it for “only ten dollars” after pretending to meditate on the offer, chuckling as the unsuspecting tourist walked away.

He tapped the money into his sleeve. “Okay, but really, what’s eatin’ at ya?”

“I’m just sad about the kids leaving,” you told him after a pause, which wasn’t a complete lie. Unable to bear the flicker of sadness across his face, you panicked, racking your brain for something else. “We should…throw a going away party for them.”

A party? That was the last thing you needed to concern yourself with. But Stan had already latched onto the idea.

“Hey, that’s not a bad idea. We could promote the Shack, invite their friends, exorbitantly mark-up entry tickets.”

Stan listed each idea on his fingers. Although you regretted suggesting it, it filled you with warmth to see him invigorated by the notion of a party. You couldn’t steal that away from him now.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise to you that Stan was an expert party planner considering he was the life of one wherever he went. He got to work assigning roles and soon after you were hiring a caterer (Greasy Sue’s), a DJ (Soos, who insisted you call him despite being in the same room), and security (the man you only knew as “the one with the tattoos”).

The more you inquired, the more people wanted to participate. It opened your eyes to how much the Pines family impacted the town over the last few months. It was heartening, to say the least.

And by the time the party started, everyone in Gravity Falls was either attending it or volunteering at it. Everywhere you looked there was someone you knew, someone there to celebrate the people you loved most.

“You think they were surprised?” Stan’s booming voice floated over the music.

Strobe lights flashed overhead, casting him in an array of colors as he parted the crowd to your side. Dressed in dark slacks and a deep v-necked shirt, gold chain nestled in a patch of chest hair, Stan cut a perfect image of himself in the ‘70s. And although the outfit invoked memories of a younger man, you found this older one much more preferable.

“Definitely,” you replied.

Stan leaned down. “What?”

“I said definitely!” The music blared, pulsing through the whole building like a living thing. It didn’t help that Mabel and her friends had acquired full access to the speakers that Wendy’s dad lugged in earlier.

“What?” Stan wrapped one hand around your waist and pulled you in, putting your mouth dangerously close to his ear.

Heat flooded you. You yelled, “Let’s go outside!”

“Lead the way!”

To your pleasure and mortification, Stan removed his hand from your waist just enough to rest on your lower back, steering you through the crowd of partygoers. The cool night air was a balm to your heated skin as you stepped onto the porch.

Stan strayed from you long enough to shoo away two people kissing passionately on the couch — Blurbs and Durland— before patting the spot next to him for you to sit down.

“Are we old or is that music too loud?” Stan asked. He fished a cigar from his pocket and lit it.

You were entranced by the smoke curling from the end, the fixture of the cigar resting against his bottom lip. You swallowed and uncrossed your legs, then recrossed them.

“All that matters is that the party is a success,” you said.

Stan chuckled. “Heh, it is, isn’t it? Little twerps didn’t know what hit ’em.”

A small eternity passed in which you hunted desperately for something else to say. Stretched out above you on an inky canvas, the stars shone, rendering you small and insignificant. You stared up at them as exhaustion claimed you. You were so tired of thinking, of inventing conversation, so you said the one thing you knew to be irrefutable.

“You’re a good man, Stanley.”

He guffawed. “Don’t let anyone hear ya say that.”

“It’s true.” Since that day at the lake you had been careful not to touch him, but now you put your hand on his knee. “You’re a good man. What happened doesn’t change that. Your memories do not amount to your character.”

The corner of his mouth quirked, and you could tell he was fighting a swell of emotion. “I wish I could do better. Everyone has these…expectations of me. I dunno how to live up to them. I want to be that person.”

“You are that person, without even thinking about it. You’re still passionate about your family. And you’re clever and brave.”

“I’m, uh, not complain’ or nothin’ but I can see the disappointment in your eyes. And-And not just you. Everyone.” He took a drag from the cigar, chest expanding with an inhaled breath. Stan blew the smoke out slowly. “I’m a stranger in my own life, ya know?”

Ford’s words, his expression grim, emerged: We have to do what’s best for Stan.

Tears sprang to your eyes but you willed them away, swallowing until your throat no longer felt quite as thick. It wasn’t fair to push Stan to be someone he couldn’t remember by clinging to a past that only you knew.

Maybe Ford was right.

Maybe the best thing for Stan was to shed the weight of these expectations and carve out a new existence for himself. He would be thrilled to explore the world with his brother — who might as well have just been introduced to him considering the time they spent apart.

There was no room for you in this new life. You knew he could never look at you without thinking about his shortcomings, even if they existed only in his mind. You were standing on one side of a chasm, yelling at him; Stan on the other side, but he was too far away to hear you.

“Well that got depressing.” Stan stubbed out the cigar, ash crumbling. He stood and held his hand out to you, eerily reminiscent of how Ford had last week. “C’mon, dance w’me.”

He looked nervous to ask you this, which dumbfounded you — you would do whatever he asked. The quiet observation made you smile.

You took his hand and allowed him to pull you back inside, a sense of bittersweet finality settling over you as you did.

The party prevailed. People were drunk on the cheap beer and good company, cheeks reddened, smiles wide. When Soos played a string of throwback songs, Stan animatedly swung you around the dance floor, surprisingly graceful for his age and size. Every touch and graze seared through you, and Stan’s gaze lingered on you in a way that heated your core and stole your breath, his dark eyes glinting with customary mirth.

A particularly enthusiastic move spun you nearly into the beverage table. You stumbled but Stan was upon you in a moment, catching you and steadying you with his hands on your waist.

“You okay?” He inspected you from head to toe, then chuckled. “Heh. Guess I don’t know my own strength.”

One moment you were like that — brimming with happiness, entangled, chests pressed together — and the next Stan had pinned you to the wall, the darkened corner lending plenty of privacy to his wandering touch and fervent kisses. You kissed him back with similar urgency.

There was no part of him that you hadn’t mapped at one point or another, though it felt jarringly now like new territory, the same broad shoulders and thick arms but somehow different.

And you wanted to explore all of it.

With your teeth you tugged at his bottom lip, teasing open his mouth in order to get a better taste. Stan, pliant and obedient under your lead, sighed in pleasure. Nothing you did sated the need inside you to consume him, devour all that he offered so that you could never miss it again.

Stan had just moved his hand from your ass down along the curve of your lower thigh to lift your leg up around his waist — hardly an appropriate position for a Grauntie, you thought vaguely— when you were interrupted with unmistakable cheering. “Get ’em! Get ’em!”

Stan ensured to cover your body with his own as he whirled on Tyler in a move of unexpected gentlemanliness. The next words out of his mouth? Not so much.

Stan rasped, “I swear to God if you don’t get outta my sight right now I’m gonna rip out your eyes and sew them on whatever horrible affront to nature I have in my shop. Now scram.”

Tyler paused. He breathed out a small, “Get ’em” then turned tail and fled.

You covered your mouth to stifle your laugh.

“Pervert,” Stan grumbled.

“Can you blame him?”

“Nah. I’d watch us, too.” Stan grinned then, renewed in his delight. He gestured with his chin towards the door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. “Wanna get out of here?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

The music, muffled by distance, sounded like an erratic heartbeat from the living room chair where Stan pulled you on top of him. You both laughed as your knees protested against the maneuver, Stan carefully guiding your legs to rest on either side of him. He kissed you at once. It was as if there had been no interruption from before, his hands in your hair and your fingers clumsily working the buttons of his shirt.

Stan shifted to accommodate the subsequent unbuckling of his gaudy belt, taking the opportunity to also unburden you from your top. Your entire being seemed to warm as he admired this new development, gaze drifting lazily, drinking in his fill. Stan always made you feel desirable. Even after your skin freckled and your breasts no longer held their perkiness.

Smiling with the ease of a contented man, Stan reached out and brushed a thumb under your collar. “How’d ya get this?”

You froze. You didn’t have to look to know what he was talking about — a tiny, heart-shaped scar.

The obvious shift in attitude made him recoil. His features spasmed with regret.

“I should know that, shouldn’t I?”

Your chest tightened. You whispered, “Yes.”

“Damnit.” He breathed your name. “I’m sorry. I should’ve known better than to say anything —”

The rest of his apology fell on deaf ears. You awkwardly climbed off his lap and collected your shirt. The shag carpet nearly swallowed your bare feet, having kicked off your shoes sometime after crossing the threshold into the house. Stan sat motionless, watching you. 

“You don’t have to apologize,” you quietly said.

Stan’s fingers flexed, an effort not to reach out to you again. “I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

“It…it’s okay.” You felt, somehow, as if you were both shrinking and expanding. The words you managed to eke out next sounded hollow. “We shouldn’t have done this.”

“What?”

“It wasn’t a good idea.” For the second time that night, tears burned your eyes. Stan, upon noticing, leapt out of the chair but you stepped out of his reach, wrapping your arms around you.

Stan deflated. Actually deflated, shoulders curving into his usual rounded posture. “What’s going on? Listen, I shouldn’t have said —”

“It’s not that,” you interrupted.

But wasn’t?

Not exclusively, you corrected. It was a whole jumbled, tangled mess of things. We need to do what’s best for Stan.

You couldn’t do this to him. To yourself. Couldn’t cycle through these moments of normality that inevitably tainted themselves. Like oil in water, you couldn’t separate one from the other. You had been delusional to think that you could defy that basic logic.

You would do anything for love, wouldn’t you?

Didn’t that include letting it go?

“I can’t do this, Stanley,” you told him. You were floating above yourself, presiding over the conversation in incorporeal form. “I-I can’t move out of the past. And I want to move forward, I do. But it’s impossible, and I can’t have both. I can’t.”

Tears flowed steadily down your face now.

Stan moved to console you but must’ve thought better of it. “What are you saying?”

“I’m going to go to Piedmont. With the twins.”

“What? What about us?”

“There is no us anymore, Stan.”

His throat bobbed uncertainly. “I know that it’s not like before but I…I’ve really enjoyed our time together. We could make this work.”

You shook your head. Sobs racked you, great shuddering, choking cries.

Stan stepped tentatively forward. “I dunno what to say.” His mouth worked as he searched for his next words. “We’ve made so many new memories together. Ain’t that enough?”

Was this really happening? You couldn't believe that it had come to this, all of those years. You didn't have any words for the emotions wholly encompassing you. 

“Look, kid, I —” Stan’s brows twisted up in grief, in regret and confusion, “— I wish you would stay. I think I’m fallin’ in love with you again.”

The pleading tone of his voice proved exactly why you needed to leave. Realistically you could never have him this way, and you would only hurt him because of it. Stan deserved more than a constant reminder of the consequences of his heroic deed.

You turned from him. “I’m sorry, Stan.”

Your name from his mouth sounded like the prayer of a man desperate for salvation. “No. Please. Please don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

Heart heavier than it had ever been before, vision blurred, that’s exactly what you did.

As anticipated, the next day brought an onslaught of tears and goodbyes. You traipsed the halls of the Mystery Shack alone, ghosting your fingers over the chipped paneling and peeling paint. You were married to the old house as much as you were to Stan. Deep down you knew that you would return, but it didn’t make the goodbye any less difficult.

You avoided Stan at every possible turn. Only when you all piled into the car with your luggage did you force yourself to acknowledge him, fatigue creasing his face. You wanted nothing more than to comfort him. But this would be good for him — no more sorrow, no more pain. After the bus departed, Ford would surprise him with the boat and he would start a new life.

The walk from El Diablo to the bus station seemed to stretch on forever. You held Mabel’s hand while Dipper pushed ahead, feigning bravery, though last night you heard him crying softly in his room. So much had transpired over the summer, and now the days of adventure and laughter were over.

“I made these for you,” Mabel said. She handed Stan and Ford a pink sweater each, the former putting it on immediately and glaring at his brother to do the same. “I’m gonna miss my Grunkles.”

Ford smiled wistfully. “We’ll miss you too, kiddo.”

“C’mere, sweetie.” Stan brought Mabel in for a hug. It didn’t elude you that he used the endearment he chose before the memory wipe.

You felt as if your chest might burst from all of your suppressed, cresting emotions. Dipper bid his goodbyes next. The bus rumbled to the station then, kicking up dust, and the four of you fell into a tightened embrace.

You pulled away last. Stan regarded you with large, reproachful eyes as you kissed his cheek. “Goodbye, Stanley. We’ll see each other again.”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah.” He looked jarred by the interaction, a faint blush burning his cheeks.

Ford dipped his chin in your direction, a silent acknowledgment between you. Your lower lip trembled. But, as you turned to Dipper and Mabel, you summoned your most convincing smile and led them to the bus. Stan and Ford ensured that the driver allowed Waddles on the bus, who squealed his delight at entry. The duo, Stan outfitted in his brass knuckles and Ford with his gun, watched over your departure like two handsome, vengeful guardian angels.

Your bus seat creaked as you settled down into it, Dipper and Mabel on either side of you.

“To Piedmont,” you said.

“To Piedmont,” Dipper echoed. His grim smile had you reaching out to hug him again.

Mabel sadly waved Waddles’ hoof out the window. You couldn’t bear to look out it, staring straight ahead until the bus gained traction on the gravel road and the bus station — and your heart, your home — shrank in the distance.

For a long time the only sound was the bus chugging along and the only other rider, a snoring old man. You weren’t sure what the twins were thinking. Perhaps they were recounting their many adventures just as you were, Stan starring in most of yours.

No. No Stan. You needed to be brave.

You tried valiantly to raise morale. “We had so many great memories this summer. Fishing, swimming, being with Wendy and Soos and —”

“Grunkle Stan!”

You nodded somberly, adding, “And Grunkle Stan.”

“No! Look!” Mabel clambered in the seat, stabbing her finger at the window. Both you and Dipper righted in order to peer around her sweatered form. Sure enough, there was Stan, running to keep up with the bus and waving his hands.

“Wait! Stop!” He yelled, panting. “Stop the bus!”

“We have to stop the bus. He wants to tell us something,” Mabel said, eyes wide with urgency.

You eyed Stan, stumbling over rocks and roots, knowing that he wouldn’t last much longer. You signaled for the bus driver to stop; after the Waddles incident, he was only too willing to obey. The bus sputtered to a halt and the three of you piled off, Mabel and Dipper darting out in front to meet Stan’s breathless approach.

“Stan, what are you doing?” You shielded your face, blinking into the sun.

Stan doubled over, hands on his knees. He signaled that he needed a minute. You stood, smiling sheepishly at the bus driver, who looked less than impressed to be waiting. You started, “Stan —”

“I remember!” His face absolutely beamed. “I remember. I remember it all.” Stan grabbed Mabel’s shoulders. “You eat glitter when you think no one is looking. You told me once that you invented invisible ice cream but couldn’t find it when it fell on the floor.”

It was Dipper’s turn next for this onslaught of information, brimming out of Stan like an overflowing sink. “You! At the beginning of the summer you thought Mabel’s pet rock was an alien tryin’ to blend in. You were freakin’ out because it kept movin’.” Stan burst into laughter. “But it was just ME!”

“Grunkle Stan!” Mabel and Dipper leapt to embrace him. He hugged them tighter than you had ever seen before.

He remembered? He remembered?

“Don’t think I forgot about ya.” Stan released the twins, crossing the space between you in only two strides. “I’m sorry, doll, ‘bout everythin’.” His large hands cupped either side of your face, gaze roaming over you with renewed wonder. “Everything is so clear now.”

Your lip wobbled. “You remember?”

“Yes I remember you beautiful, crazy woman!” Stan laughed and suddenly he was wrapping his arms around your middle and lifting you off your feet, spinning you in a circle. “I remember! I remember!”

You put your hands on his shoulders to brace yourself. “Stan! Stan! Are you sure?” You couldn’t let yourself hope again if it wasn’t true, fluttering in your chest like a trapped bird.

He set you down again, grinning like a child. “Like hell I’m sure. When…When Bill went in my mind, I ‘member thinkin’ that I could never lose you. None of you. I suppose I was s’scared of it that I repressed it deep enough to protect the memories. Then when you got on that bus, when I thought I lost you for real, it all came rushing back.”

“Really?” Tears strained your voice.

“Really.” Stan’s features softened. “I understand now why you fought so hard to get these memories back.”

A sound of strangled, delirious joy burst from you and you threw yourself against him, arms encircling around his neck. Stan’s mouth hovered near your ear, lips brushing the outer shell of it. “I love ya, doll. Even-Even when I didn’t remember why, I loved ya.”

“I love you, too,” you sighed into the crook of his neck and shoulder. “I can’t believe this.”

“Well, believe it.” Stan retracted enough to study you, curious and awed all in one. “You can’t get rid o’me that easily.”

“I-I really thought…” you shook your head, unable to get the words out. You just held him tighter.

“I know. I know, doll.”

You didn’t need to speak to understand each other, to know what the other one was thinking. When he held you now, he held you with thirty years of memories, a bind stronger than even the ring on your finger.

Mabel broke the embrace, tugging on Stan’s shirt. “What happens now?”

In the distance, Dipper and Ford were chasing Waddles. Stan observed this, then took a long look at you before turning to his niece. He waved off the bus driver, saying, “You ever been on a boat before, kid?”

A/N 2.0: In my head, they all get to go on their adventures together and reader homeschools Dipper and Mabel and they’re a big, happy family.

There’s little nods to the Swooning Over Stans dating game by @gfdatingsim and By Steps and Inches by @funkingrunkles . Memories is kind of my love letter to both stories that I enjoyed so much. (So if you read this, thank you💕)