#i believe it anyway and that’s enough for me

[gracieheartspedro]

Dagger In The Heart

pairing: ellie williams x afab! reader

post about palestine - please be aware and know who your content comes from. this post informs you about the tlou writers and creators, as well as how to help the Palestinian people.

word count: 6.1k words

warnings: MINORS DNI!!! 18+ ty!!! abusive relationship mentioned, reader's bf is a cheating asshole, calls her names, makes comments about weight, talks of cheating, some lowkey cheating from reader, sharing clothes with ellie, ellie is 18+ but her age not specified, talks of hardly eating food at dinner, reader is a bit confused with her sexuality and wants to explore (which is fine!!! and normal!!!), wlw relations, pussy eating, fingering, tribbing, tattoos? lots of tattoos, dirty talk, reader being a bit desperate, getting caught (but not really), mentions of a strap, men being drunk and stupid. that's it. I think.

description: when you get the chance to meet your asshole boyfriend’s family, you take a liking to his sister, ellie. when a conversation about her tattoos turns into talks of what you’re really into, you can’t help but want to explore it more.

author’s note: hi girls, gays, and theys! I am so happy to be bringing this request to you. it was an anon request from july and I just suck at getting my life together to actually write. but here we are. FYI, I don't condone this behavior or cheating. anyway I hope you enjoy. I will also be putting this on my ao3 soon, so if you see it there, don't worry, it's just me (;

“You gotta chill, babe. Your anxiety is giving me anxiety.”

He was never very good with comforting you, so you bite back your snappy comment and just fake a smile.  

You had been dating your boyfriend Matt for almost a year. You two met in your college biology class and really bonded over your love for folk music and Greek food. He had kind eyes, mousy brown hair and the brightest smile you had ever seen. 

At first, you thought this was the best relationship you ever could ask for, but Matt grew distant after four months together. You didn’t know why, but his temper had shown itself one too many times. He fought with you constantly. He was quite jealous. You could never be seen with another boy without accusations of cheating. But every time you two argued, he always came back with an apology and a bouquet of flowers. You could not help but believe you could fix him. 

It had been 10 months, you had to brave meeting his family. Unlike you, his family lived two towns over and he visited them quite often. He was close to his younger brother and mom, so he made a point to see them as much as he could. 

He brought up the idea of meeting them back around the holidays, but you were planning to board a flight and visit your family across the country. He understood but was pretty disappointed you could not try his mom’s infamous pumpkin pie.

You had no excuse when summer came. So here you are, standing with him at his childhood home’s front door as he scrambled to find his keys. 

You were sporting something more dressed up than your normal. Matt loved this one black dress on you, so you decided to wear that with some cute flats. You were sorely regretting the shoe decision, the pointed-toed shoes squeezed your big toe and the arch was not high enough to be comfortable. 

He unlocks the deadbolt and the red door jolts open. You are instantly met with the scent of BBQ and cornbread. His childhood is cozy and lived in. The entrance is lined with shoes, everything from high heels to sneakers that have run through countless puddles. It was a sigh of relief, they were a no-shoes in the house family. You kick off your uncomfortable shoes, holding on to Matt’s shoulder for balance. 

His mom is the first one to enter the hallway to meet you two at the door. She is quite beautiful, her hair darker than Matt’s. She was shorter, wearing a nice blouse and jeans. She welcomes you both with a bear hug and cheers of excitement. When she pulls you out of the embrace, she gets a better look at you. 

“You are more beautiful in person, pictures do not do your gorgeous smile justice,” She remarks, squeezing your hands. 

You shake your head, trying your best not to let out that you are beyond nervous about this entire encounter. “You are too kind, thank you so much for hosting us.”

“Come meet the crew!”

Matt eyes meet yours, noticing how tense you are. You had hoped for him to hold your hand and guide you through this experience, but instead he just nudges you with his shoulder. He brushes by, heading after his mom. 

The hallway opens into a kitchen and living room, which is littered with random strangers who, in some way, resemble your boyfriend. 

His brother, Collin, stands up first from the barstools, racing over to your boyfriend to dap him up. When he glances your way, you just smile and introduce yourself. He extends his hand to shake yours, which you gladly accept. 

His dad is next to stand up from a recliner in the living room. He makes your acquaintance quickly, telling you he’s so glad to finally meet you after months of hearing all about you. 

When he moves away from in front of you, she comes into focus. You had not even noticed her sitting on the couch across the room. 

She’s slender, her dark locks framing her chiseled jawline. She looks like Matt, but more like a person who belongs in a Renaissance painting. Her eyes are a more dimensional brown. She has freckles scattered around her pale complexion, which only added her beauty. 

You do not realize you are gawking until Matt nudges you. “This is my sister, Ellie.”

You blink again, bringing your focus back to the situation. She extends her hand, and that’s when you take notice to her tattoo-filled arms. Her tank top raises a bit and you catch a glance of her midriff, exposing more tattoos littering her abdomen. 

“Nice to meet ya. Heard plenty about you.”

You swallow, taking her hand and shaking it. “I hope good things.”

“No, I only tell her the worst things about you.”

Everyone giggles except you and Ellie. Luckily it is filling the room with enough noise to drown out your thoughts about your boyfriend’s beautiful sister. 

Ellie rolls her eyes before whispering, “Don’t worry, it’s only ever good things, sweet cheeks.”

-

Matt’s dad loves to talk and you can tell it annoys Ellie. You were seated outside on their patio set, drinking some homemade lemonade Matt’s mom was adamant you had. He was helping her with all the sides that were still yet to be made, so you took up Ellie’s offer to check out the backyard space. You did not expect Matt’s dad to come with you two and tell you all about the flower beds he curated. 

But you listened, smiling and nodding while sipping on your tart drink. 

He got occupied with grilling, so you and Ellie were left on the couch near a very used and abused firepit. 

You wait for her to say something. She was truly making you nervous, her eyes trailing you every so often. 

“So, you and Matt met in science class?”

You finally look back at her wandering eyes, “Yeah, he was my biology partner.”

“Gotcha,” She leans forward, putting her elbows on her knees. You do not know what comes over you, but you cannot physically pull your eyes away from her arms as they flex. “You good?”

“I like your tattoos,” You barely manage to say, “They are… hot.”

You want to jump into the unlit firepit for that one. 

No other adjective came to your horny mind? Really?

She giggles, enjoying watching you practically squirm under her gaze. “Thanks, dude. My ex girlfriend was a tattoo artist so I let her practice on me.”

You remember a moment about 5 months ago when Matt mentioned his sister being gay, but for some reason, you finally connect that duh it’s Ellie, you fucking idiot. 

You also remember some choice words he had about her. You remember cringing when he called her a slur and said she could not keep a girl to save her life. You held your tongue and refused to reply.

“That’s awesome,” You scoot closer to her, bridging more of the gap between you two on the couch, “Which one is your favorite?”

She smiles at your intrusion into her space and questions. You realize you two are almost sizing each other up, right in front of her family, your boyfriend’s family. They could easily peek outside of the kitchen windows and see you two eye fucking each other. She leans back, her eyes tracing all the tattoos on her arms. 

Then she laughs. A deep guttural laugh. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” She brings her front teeth down on her bottom lip before speaking up again, “It’s a tattoo I can’t show you.”

“Why not?”

She looks towards the window, checking on her brother and mom. Her expression changes when she turns back to you. 

“Because I’m not pulling my tits out in front of my family.”

Your pussy practically pulses when you hear her say it. What is wrong with you? You are dating her brother. What is wrong with you?!

“Your… boobs are tattooed?”

She nods slowly, bringing her one hand up to your bare exposed thigh, “Bet that shakes a sweet one like you to your core.”

The comment insinuates that you are an innocent little girl who knows nothing about the world. And sure Matt is your first real boyfriend. Sure he was the first person ever to eat you out because your high school crushes did not even know that was a thing. Sure you never have been sexually promiscuous. Sure you thought you were straight. 

Sure.

But something inside you was crawling its way out. This small interaction with your asshole boyfriend’s sister was enough to send you into a spiral. You never gave a girl a chance so how were you supposed to know you did not like it?

“What if your family wasn’t around?”

Ellie is gobsmacked by your comment, her jaw practically hitting the floor. You can tell she realized she was flying too close to the sun. She pulls her hand away from your leg. 

“You are my brother’s girlfriend. I am not going to be the one to corrupt you,” She states, scooting over a bit away from you. Your cheeks get flushed, instantly feeling embarrassed for asking such a question. But the more you sat in silence, the more you realized that you really did not care. The feelings Ellie made you feel within the last 10 minutes were more exciting than any feeling Matt had given you in 10 months. 

You clear your throat, “Luckily for you, Ellie, you would not be the one to corrupt me. That has already been done.”

She looks at you quizzically, “Is that so?”

“Yeah, I may look sweet and innocent,” You creep in close to her, “But I am really a freak.”

Now you are just lying. 

Before she can utter a word, Matt’s brother comes out to let you two know dinner was done. You hope and pray he didn’t take notice to how close you two were. Or how Ellie stared at your ass as you walked away. 

-

You sit between Matt and Ellie at the table. 

Every so often during the meal, you would place your hand on Matt’s leg. He would push you away, rolling his eyes when you glared at him. When the conversation came around to him, he would find a way to demean you and then continue blabbing about school or his internship. 

You answered questions from his mom and dad, but you were sorely uninterested in them. But then the conversation comes around as to whether you two would be staying the night tonight. At this point, Matt had already had four beers, and you knew he probably would not want you driving his new Mustang. 

“You can take Matt’s bed and he can sleep on the couch,” His mom suggests, indicating that you two would not be sleeping together. You understood that they were a bit more traditional, but you were not expecting to sleep in your boyfriend's childhood bed without him. 

“That’s a great idea, Ma. We can stay, right?”

You look at the plate of practically untouched food in front of you. You just nod, finally saying, “As long as you give me some comfy sweatpants to wear.”

“Mine are all back at my apartment, but I’m sure Ellie has something you could borrow. Plus, you probably wouldn’t fit my sweatpants.”

Matt constantly made comments about your figure and how he could not share clothes with you. He refused to share his clothes with you, stating that you would not be able to squeeze into them and you also “left your scent on everything”. 

God, he made you feel terrible about yourself. 

Butterflies erupt in your stomach when you think about wearing Ellie’s clothes, though, and you completely drown out the separate conversation happening around the table. You feel a hand creep up your thigh, but it's not coming from the side you expect.

Her hand is so soft and delicate as it creeps up your leg. You cannot help but glance at her direction, catching her smiling over at you. 

“Don’t worry, I got something you can wear.”

-

Dinner finishes up and Matt expresses that he wants to go for a round of drinks with his high school friends and brother at the local tavern down the street. He never asks if you want to go, telling you “It would just be high school friends that you don’t know, anyway.”

He tells you that his Mom and Ellie would get you all set up. He gives you a pat on the back, and heads to the door, right behind his brother. You watch him leave and almost breathe a sigh of relief. 

When you turn back, you see his Mom already going upstairs. 

“I’m gonna get your bed all set up and then I’m probably going to retire to my bed, too.” She states, slowly making her way up the wooden staircase. 

You wanted to scream because this only meant one thing. You were alone with Ellie. 

You follow her up the stairs and look around the hallway. She heads to the right and begins pointing at the only room with the light on. You didn’t even know that Ellie was upstairs.

“Have Ellie get you something to wear, I’ll make up your bed!”

The door swings open and Ellie stands there, having changed into her own bedtime clothes. And for fucks sake, she’s not making this easy for you. 

She is sporting a tight white tank, no bra, and shorts that ride up to the very tops of her thighs. Her legs are tattooed as well, but not as much as her arms. There isn’t a touch of her freckled skin that isn’t marked with art. You can almost see through her shirt, making your mouth go dry. 

“Let’s see what you fit into!”

She lets you into her space. Her room is decorated with posters of space and heavy metal bands. From the looks of one corner of her room, she’s an artist. She has different art styles, anywhere from charcoal to watercolors, littering a desk and her walls. It’s messy, but it’s not dirty. It smells like incense and clean laundry. 

She walks over to her dresser, opens up the top drawer. Everything is neatly folded, which kind of surprises you. 

“I have some sweatpants, shorts, boxers-“

“Sweatpants are fine,” You retort, not wanting her to list off anything else, “Do you have any t-shirts I could wear?”

“Well of course I do, sweet cheeks. What do you want, loose or tight?”

You stare at her dumbfounded. You know what she’s doing. And you hate yourself for liking it so much. 

She pulls out a pair of navy blue sweatpants, still waiting for your reply. 

“Loose.”

She starts to dig through another drawer when Matt’s mom pops her head in. 

“It’s all set up for you, sweetheart. If you need anything, you let one of us know. I’m going to downstairs if you need me.”

You smile, thankfully. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Williams.”

“If she needs anything, I’m sure I could help her find her way,” Ellie says, absentmindedly. She pulls out a white t-shirt from her drawer and tosses it at you. 

“Goodnight, girls!”

And then you two are alone. Ellie slowly saunters to her door and shuts it. 

“You can get dressed here. Just make sure what I gave you fits.”

You silently turned your back to her, tossing your hair over your shoulder. “Can you unzip me?”

You are not even thinking straight. You are so caught up with being alone with the girl you have had weird sexual tension with. She walks over to you confidently, before grabbing the top of your black dress, which lands right at the middle of your back. She pulls down the zipper, ensuring it reaches the very end of its track. 

The hairs on your back stand up in her wake. You breathe deeply, before shimmying the dress off your shoulders. You were wearing a bra, so you were just going to keep it on. You step out of the dress, leaving you in just underwear and the push-up bra Matt gifted you not too long ago. 

You don’t turn to her, but she just comes around to your front, nonchalantly. 

“Jesus Christ,” Ellie stammers, before plopping on her bed. You shakingly step into the sweatpants she gifted you to wear, unsure how to respond. You rack your brain trying to gain the confidence you had before dinner, but your mouth is dry and your brain is dazed from seeing Ellie in her pajamas. 

You finally manage to glance up at her hungry eyes, smiling softly. 

“I never knew I would be jealous of my brother.”

You swallow, “Jealous?”

“Yeah, he gets to have someone like you every night and I can’t even find someone worth hanging out with around here. Never thought a nerd like him would win over a woman like you.”

You are standing in the sweatpants and your bra, not able to digest her words completely. A woman like you?

“Your brother is sweet. And we don’t have sex every night.”

“Just sweet?” She steps a bit closer to you, “And I said nothing about sex, darling, I said he gets to have you.”

She is looking at you like you are her prey. You almost fell to your knees and begged her to put you out of your misery, but you resisted. Instead, she just stands up, trying to catch your nervous glances. 

“H-he, uh, does what he can, when we d-do, yanno.”

Her fingers trace up your arm, her eyes trailing as she does it. You bite the inside of your cheek, waiting for her response. She clicks her tongue a couple of times, shaking her head. 

“I am sure he tries,” She sputters, standing back from you, “Do you even really like him?”

You furrow your eyebrows, suddenly snapping out of the situation you are currently in. You reflect for a moment.

Matt was an asshole but you sometimes enjoyed his company. He made you laugh on occasion. But deep down, you knew that he wasn’t made for you. He lacked emotional intelligence and made sure to put you down any chance he got. You had inklings he was talking to other girls and his friends were probably the most intolerable people on your college campus. And then there was that one time when the inklings were just. 

The realization that you maybe didn’t like him made you sick. You wasted so much time and now you have met his family.

“When he’s not mean to me. When he isn’t cheating on me.” You admit quietly, almost too humiliated to say it. 

She crooks her neck, “He cheated on you?”

You hate talking about it, it made you feel as though you were never good enough. He made it out that it was your fault because you would not have sex with him when you had the flu. “It was just some hand stuff, baby,” he said to you. 

“Just once. I forgave him because he told me he loved me.”

“People who love you don’t hurt you like that,” Ellie says without a beat. 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Is he mean to you all the time?”

You think back to the last nice thing he said to you. Your ass looks fat in that dress. And even that could be seen as a bad thing. You shake your head, trying to find a good way to paint her brother. From the looks of it, she doesn’t really like him all that much anyway. 

“Most of the time.”

“So, what I’m hearing is my brother is an asshole that doesn’t know how to treat a woman both in life and in the bedroom. Is that what you’re saying?”

You stand there pondering her question, coming up with nothing. She was right, but were you ready to admit that?

So you shrug.

Ellie stands with her arms crossed now, chewing on the inside of her lip. She’s contemplating something, her eyes falling to the floor for a moment. 

“Listen, I am not just saying this because it has taken everything in my power to resist sinking my teeth into you,” The first half of the sentence put your heart in your throat. Nonetheless, she carries on, “But I have an inkling that you don’t like my brother at all. I think you like girls and you’ve never had the chance to explore that. You want to say you are a freak, but you really don’t know what that even means.”

“Ellie, I d-”

“You need to break up with my brother,” She states plainly, “And then, after all is said and done, I can show what it looks like to be taken care of.”

You agree, sadly. You do need to break up with Matt. And on the basis that you believe that he’s probably at the bar hanging out with old friends, probably with other girls, probably flirting with those other girls. You decide you are not going to wait anymore. He cheated on you once, what’s stopping him now? Ellie was right about everything, and while that revelation changes your entire perspective on life, you settle on jumping head first. 

“Show me now.”

You watch all the blood drain from her face. She fumbles with her inked hands, waiting for you to say you didn’t mean it. That moment never comes. 

“Are you sure about that?”

Swallowing hard, you just nod. You do not even realize what you are getting yourself into, but the undeniable chemistry cannot be ignored anymore. You don’t even want to waste another thought on Matt. You know if you think too hard about it, you’ll talk yourself back into staying with him.

Ellie’s face gets closer to yours and your lips connect seamlessly. She wastes no time, bringing her hands down to your waist to pull you in. You wrap your arms around her neck while fireworks erupt in your chest.

Her lips taste like mint and a dab pen your college roommate made you hit a couple of months ago. She was borderline intoxicating. 

She backs you up towards her bed, letting your knees hit the edge of the mattress. You plop down, disconnecting from her lips. 

Through hooded lids, she asks you, “Do you want to see my favorite tattoo, then?”

Your breathing hitches as she does not even wait for a response, she just pulls her tank top over her head.

Each piece is connected somehow. Her stomach piece is what appeared to be a dragon flying up towards her under-boob area. It was extremely detailed and took up a large half of her upper stomach. Around her collarbones were very intricate lines that almost rain over her body like veins. They spread down her chest onto her boobs, where around her nipples were two matching daggers appearing to go through her areola. 

You smirk at the idea that these are her favorite tattoos. The cheeky ones around her tits.

“Holy shit, Ellie.”

You reach out and touch her tits, ever so delicately. You use your finger to outline the daggers, smiling to yourself. 

Being this close sends a pulsating feeling down to your pussy. You have never felt a lightning strike quite like it before. 

She’s letting you feel her up, but when you change your tune and start pinching at her nipples, she throws her head back with a groan.

“Hmm, you should try putting one in your mouth,” She remarks, hoping to God you would be eager enough to do so. She was very in tune with you because you leaned forward taking her right nipple into your mouth. She’s guiding you around every turn, whispering how good you are doing already. 

You release her with a pop and sit back. You reach around to release your own, but she stops you. 

“Lemme do it,” She says mounting your lap. You place your hand on her hips while she runs her fingertips across your back. She unhooks your black bra, letting your tits spill out. 

You feel the tops of your hands stand up as soon as her hands begin to knead your tits. You glance down at her movements, watching your sensitive nipples perk up due to the attention she’s giving them. 

“Mmm, you like that, sweetness?”

You just groan, your lips needing to do more than just talk. You pull Ellie’s ajar mouth down to yours, diving your tongue between her teeth. You never had such a hunger for anyone else. No guy ever made you feel this way. 

She nudges your shoulders, having you fall onto your back. Her lips move away from yours and start to trail down your neck and chest. When her wet mouth touches your tits, you cannot control the sounds that leave your throat. She bites down on your supple skin, which makes you groan more. 

“You gotta quiet down a bit. Don’t need anyone hearing us.”

You try to manage your noises, but as soon as she starts to kiss down to the hem of the sweatpants she loaned you, you know you’ll never be quiet like she needs you to be. She tugs at the waistband, taking your underwear with it. 

You are now butt naked on her bed. And god, the air is hitting the wetness between your legs is titillating. 

“Listen, sweets,” She whispers, palming your thighs with her tattooed hands, “I’m going to make you cum on my tongue first. Then I am going to fuck this pussy so good, you won’t know any other cock but the fake one in my side table. You hear me?”

Your stomach is in knots, but you know that this is what you really want. “Okay, Ellie. Please do whatever you think I will like.”

“You’re gonna like it all, baby girl. And if it gets a bit dodgy, you just let me know and we can stop.”

You shake your head positively as she smiles between your legs. She starts by kissing up your thighs, keeping you completely in a trance. When her mouth finds your slit, she licks a long stripe. She takes her time, working her tongue in between your pussy lips. The wet sound that happens when she shakes her head is pornographic. When she finds your clit, she encases it and starts to suck lightly. You scream out in pleasure, never feeling this sensitive before. It usually took a whole lot of Matt lazily fingering you and fucking you to illicit such a response. Ellie is building up an orgasm within you in record time. 

She uses her fingers to open up your pussy a little bit more. You instinctively want to close your legs, but her left arm has your legs locked on her bed. Her middle and index fingers curl inside you with every motion forward. 

Her eyes are closed and you are laser-focused on her expressions. She’s putting her all into making you feel good and it’s relieving to watch someone put so much care into it. 

You notice the small little freckles that scatter across her nose get lighter as they reach her cheekbones. She’s so fucking pretty. 

“Jesus, you’re doin’ so good sweetheart. You feel so good.”

“Oh my god, Ellie, please don’t stop,” Your voice is strained, begging her to continue fucking you. She chuckles and begins to pick up speed. Your mind is cluttered, unsure how you can feel this good. 

When the peripherals of your vision begin to get white, you know it’s over. She latches her lips back onto your clit, humming to drag the orgasm out of you. When it happens, your deep guttural moans get muffled by her palm.

You think your heart is going to stop beating. 

Once you begin to feel your muscles relax, Ellie is crawling on top of you, hovering over your chest, her lips kissing your collarbones.

“You did such a great job, baby girl,” She dotes, her short hair falling across her forehead, “You’re so fuckin’ sexy.”

Your heart swells up a thousand sizes. You never got called that before, let alone felt sexy. But Ellie had this aura to her. She made you feel sexy, desirable, wanted. 

Your hand reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear, “Please show me more.”

She nods, before she leans back on her knees. She balances on one leg before shoving her pajama shorts down. The ink travels to every part of her body and you wonder if the ones around her hips hurt. The snakes that travel up her thighs, have their heads resting right on her hip bones. 

You sit up and observe her movements, she’s fumbling with something in her drawer. She seemingly cannot find what she’s looking for and slams it shut. 

“How about this,” She says with a huff, “I want you to see what it feels like to grind that pretty little pussy on mine anyway. The strap will have to wait.”

You feel the blood drain from your face, “The strap?”

She giggles at your not-so-faux innocence. “We will try that next time.”

You aren’t ready for her to grab onto your legs and move you like a rag doll around her bed. She rests her body horizontally from yours, her lower half lining up with yours. You were not sure how this worked, but you had heard of scissoring before. The technicality was lost on you. 

You sit up waiting for instruction, but Ellie is so hypnotized by your wet slit, she doesn’t even look at you. You watch her reach out and touch your dripping center and it sends an electric shock down your limbs. You throw your head back, hissing at the action. 

“God, that cunt is so pretty.”

You finally look back at her, wanting nothing more but to fuck her like she fucked you. So in return for her toying with you, you hastily reach out and touch her pussy. You are confused by what to do, but by her reaction, you know you did something right. 

“Tell me what we are doing,” You beg, closing your legs in closer to hers. She nods, watching your fingers pull apart her pussy lips. 

“Pull your cunt against mine and ride me like you’d ride Matt’s dick.”

You halt your movements, “Ride him?”

“You’ve never ridden him before?”

Your response was your silence. You had never explored much with him, simply because he was quick to get his nut before traversing to other territories. 

She helps you sit up, hover your cunt over hers. You can not lie, the sight of her sticky wet pussy was hot. She guides you down so your mound is on hers. She bites her lip as you practically drool watching your purely untouched body against her painted figure. 

“Now move your hips back,” Her hands are gripping onto your hips, showing you the way, “And forth.”

The friction is immediately overstimulating, but it feels like an itch you’ve never scratched. So fucking delicious. 

“Shit…” You groan at the response your body is giving you.

“Practice makes perfect, baby. Keep moving those hips. 

You have never been on top, but it’s almost freeing to be in control of the movements. You weren’t sure what you should grip onto as you rubbed your pussy against hers, so you grip onto your own shoulders. Your hips gyrate, the slickness between your legs starts trailing down to Ellie’s navy blue sheets. 

“God, this pussy is so fucking perfect,” Ellie says through gritted teeth. She holds down your hips, somehow trying to get you closer to her.

“It’s yours.” You whine, letting the lust take over your speech. You had no clue what that meant for this situation, you just knew that Ellie knew how to fuck you and it was bliss. You hands leave your shoulders and eventually find Ellie’s tits.

“This pussy is mine? The first cunt you fuck is the cunt you fuck forever?”

You want to laugh, but the bubble in your stomach is about to burst already with how fucked out of your mind you are. “If the cunt is yours, then yes. I want this forever.”

Ellie sucks on her two fingers before she reaches down, finding the very top of your cunt, and starts to press down on that sensitive little bud. The saliva only mixes with the messiness of your liquids. You squeeze her nipples in response. 

“Never going back to my stupid fuckin’ brother, hm? This pussy belongs to me.”

“Yes, Ellie, fuck!” 

She smiles at your quickening pace. She knows you’re reaching your breaking point, and she knows that she’s close herself. 

“Come for me, baby. Come all over my fuckin’ cunt.”

You jolt forward, your hips stilling over hers. You don’t know if you’ve felt a sensation quite like it. You had tears pricking the corners of your eyes as your body felt like a volcano erupting. The curses leaving Ellie’s lips as she came from your orgasm only added to the high you felt. You knew words were leaving your mouth, but they were just jumbled together strings of sentences. 

“Jesus Christ…”

“It feels so good…”

“I want this pussy forever…”

You fall over next to Ellie, your legs still intertwined with hers. She was trying to catch her breath, her body still jittery from her high. 

“That was per-”

“Babe!!”

Your stomach drops to your ass when you hear Matt’s voice.

You jump up from Ellie’s bed, finding the closest clothes you can grab at. Ellie does the same, but takes her time throwing a tank top over her bed head. His footsteps are practically running up the steps. 

You are still wobbly on your legs, practically falling over trying to put on the pants she loaned you. You just keep saying “fuck” over and over again, knowing that you two will probably be caught. You just finished putting on a shirt when he barges into the room. 

He’s drunk. 

“What are you still doing in here?” He asks you in an accusatory slurred voice. Collin is close behind him, trying to shush him.

“Chill, dude. I was just showin’ her some of my art.” Ellie defends, plopping down on her bed. She’s trying to mask the fact that her bed is wet with your cum. 

While he blabs about how Ellie sucks at art, which he is very wrong about, you notice a red blotch on his shirt collar. You zero in on it because you fucking knew. 

“Matt, what’s on your neck?” You interrupt.

He stops his rant to look down at you. His eyes are bloodshot. He’s so gone that his mind can’t make up an excuse. 

“It’s from Sophie,” He blurts out, his lips getting ahead of his brain. Ellie pauses and the entire room goes dead silent. You had no idea what to say back to that. You had no clue who Sophie was. You honestly did not care, your relationship was already done in your head. You were just kind of shell-shocked that it happened exactly how your mind doctored it.  

You glance over at Ellie who is already looking at you. Collin clears his throat. 

“I think this a conversation for the morning,” Collin says, grabbing Matt’s arm to tug him out of the room. 

You nod, “Yeah, Collin, great idea. Why don’t you take Matt to bed? Tuck him in and give him a sweet kiss like Sophie did.”

Matt’s face turns bright red, the same thing it always did when he got mad at you. Before he could lash out at you, Collin drags him out of the room and into the hall. Before shutting the door behind him, he says, “I’m sorry.”

You furrow your eyebrows, “It’s fine. It’s not the first time. But it will be the last.”

When the door clicks shut, you hear Matt whisper yelling at Collin about how big of a bitch you are. How you didn’t deserve him. Yadda-yadda-yadda. 

Ellie just gawks at you. The tone of the room changed so drastically so quickly that you felt almost disconnected from reality. 

“You okay?” She asks innocently, her hand holding onto your shoulder. 

Your legs are still weak. “Yeah, I think I’ll need more practice though.”

She is confused, you can tell by the look on her face. “Huh?”

“I’ll need more practice riding you. And, hey, you didn’t get to use that fake dick on me, remember?”

-

taglist (for those who said they wanted this haha)

@cavillscurls @satellitespinner @mourningdovee @hockeyhughes @stonerzdaze420692 @00ops1e @sunflowerwinds @holilogram @whoucallingalesbian @aurelialuna

[tinystepsforward]

autocrattic (more matt shenanigans, not tumblr this time)

I am almost definitely not the right person for this writeup, but I'm closer than most people on here, so here goes! This is all open-source tech drama, and I take my time laying out the context, but the short version is: Matt tried to extort another company, who immediately posted receipts, and now he's refusing to log off again. The long version is... long.

If you don't need software context, scroll down/find the "ok tony that's enough. tell me what's actually happening" heading, or just go read the pink sections. Or look at this PDF.

the background

So. Matt's original Good Idea was starting WordPress with fellow developer Mike Little in 2003, which is free and open-source software (FOSS) that was originally just for blogging, but now powers lots of websites that do other things. In particular, Automattic acquired WooCommerce a long time ago, which is free online store software you can run on WordPress.

FOSS is... interesting. It's a world that ultimately is powered by people who believe deeply that information and resources should be free, but often have massive blind spots (for example, Wikipedia's consistently had issues with bias, since no amount of "anyone can edit" will overcome systemic bias in terms of who has time to edit or is not going to be driven away by the existing contributor culture). As with anything else that people spend thousands of hours doing online, there's drama. As with anything else that's technically free but can be monetized, there are:

Heaps of companies and solo developers who profit off WordPress themes, plugins, hosting, and other services;

Conflicts between volunteer contributors and for-profit contributors;

Annoying founders who get way too much credit for everything the project has become.

the WordPress ecosystem

A project as heavily used as WordPress (some double-digit percentage of the Internet uses WP. I refuse to believe it's the 43% that Matt claims it is, but it's a pretty large chunk) can't survive just on the spare hours of volunteers, especially in an increasingly monetised world where its users demand functional software, are less and less tech or FOSS literate, and its contributors have no fucking time to build things for that userbase.

Matt runs Automattic, which is a privately-traded, for-profit company. The free software is run by the WordPress Foundation, which is technically completely separate (wordpress.org). The main products Automattic offers are WordPress-related: WordPress.com, a host which was designed to be beginner-friendly; Jetpack, a suite of plugins which extend WordPress in a whole bunch of ways that may or may not make sense as one big product; WooCommerce, which I've already mentioned. There's also WordPress VIP, which is the fancy bespoke five-digit-plus option for enterprise customers. And there's Tumblr, if Matt ever succeeds in putting it on WordPress. (Every Tumblr or WordPress dev I know thinks that's fucking ridiculous and impossible. Automattic's hiring for it anyway.)

Automattic devotes a chunk of its employees toward developing Core, which is what people in the WordPress space call WordPress.org, the free software. This is part of an initiative called Five for the Future — 5% of your company's profits off WordPress should go back into making the project better. Many other companies don't do this.

There are lots of other companies in the space. GoDaddy, for example, barely gives back in any way (and also sucks). WP Engine is the company this drama is about. They don't really contribute to Core. They offer relatively expensive WordPress hosting, as well as providing a series of other WordPress-related products like LocalWP (local site development software), Advanced Custom Fields (the easiest way to set up advanced taxonomies and other fields when making new types of posts. If you don't know what this means don't worry about it), etc.

Anyway. Lots of strong personalities. Lots of for-profit companies. Lots of them getting invested in, or bought by, private equity firms.

Matt being Matt, tech being tech

As was said repeatedly when Matt was flipping out about Tumblr, all of the stuff happening at Automattic is pretty normal tech company behaviour. Shit gets worse. People get less for their money. WordPress.com used to be a really good place for people starting out with a website who didn't need "real" WordPress — for $48 a year on the Personal plan, you had really limited features (no plugins or other customisable extensions), but you had a simple website with good SEO that was pretty secure, relatively easy to use, and 24-hour access to Happiness Engineers (HEs for short. Bad job title. This was my job) who could walk you through everything no matter how bad at tech you were. Then Personal plan users got moved from chat to emails only. Emails started being responded to by contractors who didn't know as much as HEs did and certainly didn't get paid half as well. Then came AI, and the mandate for HEs to try to upsell everyone things they didn't necessarily need. (This is the point at which I quit.)

But as was said then as well, most tech CEOs don't publicly get into this kind of shitfight with their users. They're horrid tyrants, but they don't do it this publicly.

ok tony that's enough. tell me what's actually happening

WordCamp US, one of the biggest WordPress industry events of the year, is the backdrop for all this. It just finished.

There are.... a lot of posts by Matt across multiple platforms because, as always, he can't log off. But here's the broad strokes.

Sep 17

Matt publishes a wanky blog post about companies that profit off open source without giving back. It targets a specific company, WP Engine.

Compare the Five For the Future pages from Automattic and WP Engine, two companies that are roughly the same size with revenue in the ballpark of half a billion. These pledges are just a proxy and aren’t perfectly accurate, but as I write this, Automattic has 3,786 hours per week (not even counting me!), and WP Engine has 47 hours. WP Engine has good people, some of whom are listed on that page, but the company is controlled by Silver Lake, a private equity firm with $102 billion in assets under management. Silver Lake doesn’t give a dang about your Open Source ideals. It just wants a return on capital. So it’s at this point that I ask everyone in the WordPress community to vote with your wallet. Who are you giving your money to? Someone who’s going to nourish the ecosystem, or someone who’s going to frack every bit of value out of it until it withers?

(It's worth noting here that Automattic is funded in part by BlackRock, who Wikipedia calls "the world's largest asset manager".)

Sep 20 (WCUS final day)

WP Engine puts out a blog post detailing their contributions to WordPress.

Matt devotes his keynote/closing speech to slamming WP Engine.

He also implies people inside WP Engine are sending him information.

For the people sending me stuff from inside companies, please do not do it on your work device. Use a personal phone, Signal with disappearing messages, etc. I have a bunch of journalists happy to connect you with as well. #wcus — Twitter I know private equity and investors can be brutal (read the book Barbarians at the Gate). Please let me know if any employee faces firing or retaliation for speaking up about their company's participation (or lack thereof) in WordPress. We'll make sure it's a big public deal and that you get support. — Tumblr

Matt also puts out an offer live at WordCamp US:

“If anyone of you gets in trouble for speaking up in favor of WordPress and/or open source, reach out to me. I’ll do my best to help you find a new job.” — source tweet, RTed by Matt

He also puts up a poll asking the community if WP Engine should be allowed back at WordCamps.

Sep 21

Matt writes a blog post on the WordPress.org blog (the official project blog!): WP Engine is not WordPress.

He opens this blog post by claiming his mom was confused and thought WP Engine was official.

The blog post goes on about how WP Engine disabled post revisions (which is a pretty normal thing to do when you need to free up some resources), therefore being not "real" WordPress. (As I said earlier, WordPress.com disables most features for Personal and Premium plans. Or whatever those plans are called, they've been renamed like 12 times in the last few years. But that's a different complaint.)

Sep 22: More bullshit on Twitter. Matt makes a Reddit post on r/Wordpress about WP Engine that promptly gets deleted. Writeups start to come out:

Search Engine Journal: WordPress Co-Founder Mullenweg Sparks Backlash

TechCrunch: Matt Mullenweg calls WP Engine a ‘cancer to WordPress’ and urges community to switch providers

Sep 23 onward

Okay, time zones mean I can't effectively sequence the rest of this.

Matt defends himself on Reddit, casually mentioning that WP Engine is now suing him.

Also here's a decent writeup from someone involved with the community that may be of interest.

WP Engine drops the full PDF of their cease and desist, which includes screenshots of Matt apparently threatening them via text.

Twitter link | Direct PDF link

This PDF includes some truly fucked texts where Matt appears to be trying to get WP Engine to pay him money unless they want him to tell his audience at WCUS that they're evil.

Matt, after saying he's been sued and can't talk about it, hosts a Twitter Space and talks about it for a couple hours.

He also continues to post on Reddit, Twitter, and on the Core contributor Slack.

Here's a comment where he says WP Engine could have avoided this by paying Automattic 8% of their revenue.

Another, 20 hours ago, where he says he's being downvoted by "trolls, probably WPE employees"

At some point, Matt updates the WordPress Foundation trademark policy. I am 90% sure this was him — it's not legalese and makes no fucking sense to single out WP Engine.

Old text: The abbreviation “WP” is not covered by the WordPress trademarks and you are free to use it in any way you see fit. New text: The abbreviation “WP” is not covered by the WordPress trademarks, but please don’t use it in a way that confuses people. For example, many people think WP Engine is “WordPress Engine” and officially associated with WordPress, which it’s not. They have never once even donated to the WordPress Foundation, despite making billions of revenue on top of WordPress.

Sep 25: Automattic puts up their own legal response.

anyway this fucking sucks

This is bigger than anything Matt's done before. I'm so worried about my friends who're still there. The internal ramifications have... been not great so far, including that Matt's naturally being extra gung-ho about "you're either for me or against me and if you're against me then don't bother working your two weeks".

Despite everything, I like WordPress. (If you dig into this, you'll see plenty of people commenting about blocks or Gutenberg or React other things they hate. Unlike many of the old FOSSheads, I actually also think Gutenberg/the block editor was a good idea, even if it was poorly implemented.)

I think that the original mission — to make it so anyone can spin up a website that's easy enough to use and blog with — is a good thing. I think, despite all the ways being part of FOSS communities since my early teens has led to all kinds of racist, homophobic and sexual harm for me and for many other people, that free and open-source software is important.

So many people were already burning out of the project. Matt has been doing this for so long that those with long memories can recite all the ways he's wrecked shit back a decade or more. Most of us are exhausted and need to make money to live. The world is worse than it ever was.

Social media sucks worse and worse, and this was a world in which people missed old webrings, old blogs, RSS readers, the world where you curated your own whimsical, unpaid corner of the Internet. I started actually actively using my own WordPress blog this year, and I've really enjoyed it.

And people don't want to deal with any of this.

The thing is, Matt's right about one thing: capital is ruining free open-source software. What he's wrong about is everything else: the idea that WordPress.com isn't enshittifying (or confusing) at a much higher rate than WP Engine, the idea that WP Engine or Silver Lake are the only big players in the field, the notion that he's part of the solution and not part of the problem.

But he's started a battle where there are no winners but the lawyers who get paid to duke it out, and all the volunteers who've survived this long in an ecosystem increasingly dominated by big money are giving up and leaving.

Anyway if you got this far, consider donating to someone on gazafunds.com. It'll take much less time than reading this did.

[kelaeri]

The Many Languages of Dick Grayson

Apparently, according to Nightwing #54, he can speak 12, so I went on a little quest to see just how many I could identify.

Starting off with The Essential Batman Encyclopedia, the entry for Dick Grayson lists him as being trained in French, Spanish, Russian, Japanese, Mandarin, and Cantonese with having some proficiency in an unknown Romani dialect. Given there are multiple examples of him speaking these languages throughout the comics, I am inclined to trust this claim. To start, we've got several examples of French (Gotham Knights #14, Detective Comics Annual #12, Nightwing #73, Grayson #10-- also featuring Spanish)

In Grayson #1 he speaks Russian only briefly, but in Detective Comics #36 he speaks it throughout.

As far as the Chinese languages go, while I believe Dick can speak Mandarin and/or Cantonese fairly well (Batman/Superman World's Finest #3), his Hanzi recognition and literacy could use some work.

Similarly, when the Titans head off to Japan in Titans Annual #1, we have Nightwing speaking Japanese in battle; however, when it comes to the prospective job of being a manga translator in Nightwing #125, he claims he doesn't know Japanese, which leads me to believe he is only proficient in speaking Japanese/Chinese and struggles with the writing systems.

So what about the languages not covered in the encyclopedia? To start, we have another romance language: Italian (Nightwing #72).

Followed by some alleged German (Nightwing #51, JLA #44)

And conversations in Farsi (Robin #175)

While I've seen some Tumblr and Reddit posts claim he knows Kikuyu, The Power Company: Manhunter #1 only says he "brushed up" on his Kikuyu before going to Kenya, so it is unknown how much of the language he actually speaks, but to me it doesn't seem likely to be a lot.

He also, to some unknown degree, speaks Tamaranean-- at least enough to hack into an alien computer (Action Comics #842).

As far as unspoken languages go, Dick is fluent in ASL, which is proven numerous times when he communicates with Jericho (New Teen Titans 1984).

And lastly, the two languages that remain rather uncertain are Romani and Cant-- largely due to the nature of the languages themselves and their representation in comics. "Romani," for instance, has several different dialects, and when Devin Grayson introduced it for Dick (Gotham Knights #20-21, Nightwing #91), she never specified which, and based on the lines she wrote, her research into the language was questionable at best. Writers since have recognized Dick's Romani heritage, but have not otherwise suggested he retained much of the language to be considered fluent.

Cant is an even wider term than Romani and can be seen as more of jargon for a particular language than a language itself, sometimes even being called a "pseudo-language." The colloquial term for American circus cant is Carny, or "Carny speak" as Boston Brand puts it in Batman: The Brave and the Bold #14 when he and Nightwing encounter a kid who speaks it.

So... this leaves us with 11 languages Dick has notable proficiency in: English, French, Spanish, Italian, Russian, German, Japanese, Mandarin, Cantonese, Farsi, and ASL. And ~3 languages he has unknown proficiency in: Tamaranean, Kikuyu, Romani, and Carny/Cant (if you want to count it).

Maybe memory-loss Dick was including either Tamaranean or Kikuyu in that count from Nightwing #54, or maybe he knows some other language we haven't seen yet. Given how close the family is to the Al Ghuls, I personally think it would be cool if one of them was Arabic.

But anyway, hope you enjoyed this post! A lot I've seen covering this topic are very surface-level and label some of his more iffy languages as "fluent," so I hope this cleared things up. I've read tons of Nightwing, and I swear there are more examples, but sifting through the 1,000+ comics I've read of him is a lot haha. If y'all know of some others, let me know!

[johnbrand]

Loyal

With @mrrharper

I can not recall what started it really, there was just something off. Almost like a persistent tick within the back of my head, a missed alarm that somebody had forgotten to address from far away, and yet was still just barely registerable on my radar. It was like I was the only one that heard it, felt it, knew this tiny thing even existed. I was all alone.

When I had first come to college, I had no idea what to expect. The whole atmosphere had changed since the pandemic; competition was everywhere. I was no longer “smart enough” for the STEM kids, and yet I was not “passionate enough” to join any special interest groups. Everything had suddenly become a challenge to be the best, the greatest, but my background was not built for that type of drive. I began to assume college was only for my peers ready to commit everything to reaching the practically unattainable.

But Coach saw something different in me, he saw potential. He was the one who got me to stay. He was the only one who not only saw my tick when no one else had been able to, but explained it to me. He believed that the culture around education had become too individualistic, too single-minded. It was appropriate that I had suddenly felt inferior, unnoticed and left behind in the slaughter others had created. I needed to be a part of something greater, a team. His team.

At first, I had found Coach’s opinions beyond ludacris. Me? In sports? My body practically lacked everything necessary for a college athlete, unless it was in e-sports. I maintained my health fairly well, but I was toned and skinny, and practically too short for any serious competition. The only sport I could have seriously considered was swimming junior varsity–at a high school level. But soon I learned that Coach's opinion was law in his territory, from the locker room to the field.

Coach decided to tackle the standard issues right away, knowing that at the base of every great player is dedication. His questions opened up my formerly firm mindset and ideals, offering up new possibilities.

“Is it truly impossible for you to believe that I, an experienced professional, would not be able to help you discover a greater purpose as one of my players?”

“Wouldn’t you rather be a part of a team, a successful unit, rather than having to navigate the world on your own?”

“Do you really need to focus on other things outside of our work together? Are classes, friends, and family truly improving you like our time in the gym and on the field are?”

I did not realize it, but the more Coach questioned my morals, the more my mind began internalizing his. Coach believed that his players were all like the states in the mighty “US of A,” the greatest place on Earth. Separate, we had some power and identity, but nothing of significance. But together, as a part of a greater cause, we could become something much more impactful, more important, than our individual selves.

“If you become a part of my team, then wouldn’t it be more meaningful to be a player both in mind and body?”

“Perhaps your feelings of inadequacy aren’t stemmed from your lack of participation in college, but in general. Wouldn’t you feel more fulfilled if you followed a greater cause, like the traditional role of men in society?”

“Don’t you think what you are searching for is something to uphold? Maybe at large it is masculinity, but at a personal level supporting your teammates and likewise supporting me?”

Thanks to Coach’s help, I began to reprioritize my schedule, in turn reorganizing my life. With his approval, I was able to weed out some of the classes that were hindering my performance to become a better player, before I eventually stopped attending lectures all together. It was much easier to listen to Coach anyway, and he promised he would provide me with all the materials necessary in order to graduate. 

With my time freed up, I was better able to absorb Coach’s teachings at a rapid rate. My body quickly started to expand, packing on muscle in the weeks following faster than I thought was possible. It was as if every week I had to purchase new clothes, before eventually Coach began supplying me with past players’ hand-me-downs. My biceps and triceps became too large for any sleeve, my thighs would practically rip through every pants seam. It was not long before I was practically forced to endless sleeveless tanks and tight shorts. I even managed to gain height although I was past the prime of puberty, reaching an appropriate 6’3 for any linebacker.

That was what Coach said I was to become. Not any linebacker, his linebacker. When he first told me his plans, I had been shocked, but soon I began to instinctually follow his orders. Eventually, he stopped calling me by my name altogether; I had been reduced to “Linebacker #1!” in all his references.

Strangely enough, it was like my body responded to this new name accordingly. My boyish features almost vanished over the course of a day, leaving behind a wide jawline to support a much broader skull. My general hygiene fell backwards in priority, allowing for hair to cover my beefier frame and a manly mustache to crawl out onto my upper lip.

I had even begun to emit a sweat-induced, locker room musk wherever I went, although after a while I lost any embarrassment in it. In fact, I took some pride in my larger figure. I soon weighed over 230 pounds of pure girth, muscle, and mass that helped me pummel my opponents on the field. There was something so invigorating about being large and in charge…while still being under Coach’s orders.

“What if your purpose all along was to play football for glory and to preserve tradition? And was I not the one who helped you discover that purpose?”

“Why would you possibly want or need anything else from outside of the field? Aren’t you at your best when you are a part of my team, a piece of a larger puzzle?”

“Wasn’t the only thing you ever wanted all along was to be Coach's loyal football jock? A place where you can be your biggest, most masculine, most aggressive self without ever having to worry about anything else?”

By the time preparations for the next season began to roll around, I had stopped questioning Coach. I had realized that he was right, that he had been right all along and would remain as such. I was no longer considering his viewpoints, now merely just thanking him for them. I had begun coming to Coach for advice on any topic. Should I be worried about my dropping grades? Is it ok to get physical with nerds who insisted that the team was “a bunch of stupid pawns”? How could I be a better player for the team, his team?

And now, I was strutting around the conference room filled with reporters and many other beefy, aggressive jocks just like myself. I was feeling proud, cocky, arrogant even. Since joining his team, I had gained strength, girth, and attitude, all of which had earned me the title as the up-and-coming star collegiate linebacker. I did not need anything besides my masculinity, I did not need an identity outside of Coach’s team. I was simply his loyal football jock, and when I heard him call out for “Linebacker #1!” I immediately turned around. That was my name after all; whatever I was called had been long forgotten.

[bbyangyl]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚— EASE YOUR MIND- DEKU | IZUKU MIDORIYA

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚— description: after inviting you to an event, izuku has a difficult time deciding if "a date" would be the right term to use.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚— w.c: 2.1k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚— tags: sfw (however, my blog isn't!), fluff, very soft, deku is basically in love with you but overthinks like CRAZY

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚— a/n: here's something that has been sitting in my drafts for a while now. I actually have a lot written so you'll be seeing a lot from me soon :) I just need time to edit a few things. please stay tuned!

deku was sweating

he was sweating so much that his palms felt drenched, struggling to discreetly wipe them against his pants, hoping you wouldn’t notice. you walked beside him, wearing a smile that outshined the sun.

he doesn’t know how he got here, with you. the only thing he could recall from the events of his spiraling and panicking brain when he asked if you wanted to go with him to a “history of heroes” event, where he scored two tickets for, were your bright, excited eyes and lovely smile when you agreed to go with him.

and then, he was sure he messed it all up when, for some reason, his mouth moved faster than his brain and said “I’m so glad! It’s a date then”

he didn’t mean for the words to be heard aloud. and through his stammering voice and flushed cheeks, he tried so hard to make an excuse; to distract you from the fact that he just called it a date. which meant he asked you out on a date.

but instead of gazing at him in confusion or uncertainty, (or worse, disgust), you simply giggled, nodding as you gathered your belongings before heading out to the dorms.

“it’s a date” you said, walking away from his frozen figure that decided to stay in place on its own accord, processing the three words you repeated back to him.

you said yes, despite him calling it a date, but did you really consider it a date? or did you know he accidentally called it that and you just went along with it, even though he truly did want to go on a date with you. but he never thought you’d ever go on a date with him. and even if he intentionally asked you out, he wasn’t sure a first date with you to a hero event was good enough. You seemed excited for it, should he plan something else?

as he looked up at your retreating figure, he noticed the way you look back at him, with soft eyes and a pretty smile before turning around, continuing to walk away.

he felt his brain short circuit, as you leave him with nothing but blooming red cheeks, shaky legs, and thoughts of you.

as the day of the event arrives, after thirty minutes spent rehearing how to approach you and what words to say, a soft knock unexpectedly echoes on his own door, before being opened slightly.

and he begins to sweat.

there you were, in a cute sundress, looking at him with such a sweet expression on your face. he felt his hands slightly trembling, his heart practically soaring through the air in a fluttering mess. he felt like a fish, mouth opening and closing as he tried to think of what to say. anything at all! at least a hello.

he didn’t trust himself, however. deku had a tendency to ramble and mumble, and he had an small feeling that a simple ‘hello’ would turn into ‘you’re the most beautiful girl in the world’, or something more than he was ready to admit

it was difficult to form words anyways, when just the sight of you is enough to leave him breathless, unable to think about anything else but the fact that you were here, ready to go out with him…

to an event that he had called a date, and you seemed happy to agree...

he felt his face burn, and one part of him believed that the temperature could’ve rivaled todoroki’s quirk.

“hey! I’m sorry if I interrupted you, I just wanted to let you know that I’m ready! If you’d like I can wait in the common area while you’re done.” you say, playing with the straps of your backpack.

he laughs nervously. “o-okay, yeah. I just need to grab a few things and we can head out” he feels his voice get shaky towards the end, and quickly he turns around, flustered, as he pretends to try and find something on top of his bed.

he hears a small laugh from you, before announcing you’ll be waiting for him over there. as your footsteps indicate you walking away, deku immediately lets out the tremulous breath he didn’t realize he was holding in.

the thought of being around you, without the confirmation of what this “outing” was considered to be, caused his nerves to skyrocket. he hated second-guessing, and couldn’t bear the embarrassment he would feel if he treated today as a date, only to find out you thought he was joking, or vise versa.

despite the inner conflicts in his overworking mind, he, at least, was certain of one thing. he invited you and you said yes, and you were now waiting for him in the common area.

with a small, unsteady sigh, he starts to relax a bit. everything will be fine. he’ll take you to the event, and you’ll both have an amazing time, free from his overthinking.

at least, that was the plan.

it’s a bit easier said than done, especially in this circumstance, where his mind is on endless overdrive, hanging out with a girl who practically hung the stars in his eyes.

he felt awkward, realizing that not a single word had been exchanged between the two of you since leaving the dorms. he tried to think of something to say, but the probability of stumbling over his words as he tried to start conversation was unfortunately high.

each step he took felt unnatural, as if every movement was a forced effort, desperately trying to match the light, effortless way you walked beside him toward the museum.

it only made things more complicated when deku realized he couldn’t even bring himself to look at you; it was too overwhelming. but the brief glances he stole, seeing you smile softly as you took in your surroundings, only made the fluttering in his heart grow stronger.

he was sweating

but luckily for him, you were the one to break the ice.

“y’know, I’m actually a bit shocked you invited me out, midoriya” you say softly, glancing at the ground with a small smile on your face. deku turns to you, feeling his hands trembling against his side, wondering if you’ll bring up his embarrassing ‘it’s a date’ declaration.

“what…uhm…what do you mean?” he asks, feeling his voice crack. immediately he feels his face grow hot, watching as you glance at him with a small laugh, no trace of teasing, just amusement.

“it’s just, we’re friends, obviously-“ you begin to clarify, and he can’t help but feel his heart drop slightly, despite that being the facts. “but…I don’t know, you were always so close with ochako, iida, todoroki and our other classmates. we don’t interact as much.”

it was the truth. deku never had much trouble talking or hanging out with his classmates. he was extremely close with a few and, at the very least, felt comfortable around all of them, even with bakugo. deku was proud of how far he had come from his middle school days, now able to talk freely and be himself. he felt lucky. but with you, things were slightly different.

he always caught himself rehearsing what to say before starting a conversation. he’d stumble over his words, his face flushing red during any interaction. just a glance in your direction was enough to turn him to mush. in some ways, you made him feel like his middle school self again; timid and nervous. but the reasonings couldn’t be more different.

“I actually wanted to get closer to you, but funny enough I was always kinda shy around you.” suddenly, he halts any movement. did that come from him? that wasn’t his voice. his eyes widen as he realizes that came from you. shy? around him? really?

“what?!” It was difficult to wrap his head around the fact. all this time he was so focused on how to interact normally with you, never once did he take the time to analyze any interaction you had with him and deem it as shy. you were always so happy and kind, and anyone with eyes could see how much he fumbled through the smallest of conversations with you. the thought that maybe you were also shy around him too, made his heart skip a beat.

he watched as you turn to him, cheeks blooming a pretty pink, like the petals of a cherry blossom fluttering through the air. “yeah…i mean…we talked every now and then. not as often, but you were always so kind despite our limited conversations. I never really reached out to you because I was always a little nervous around you, unable to get a clear picture of how you felt about me.”

you take a small step forward, and he immediately notices the slight hesitation in your movement, as if there was more you wanted to say but weren’t sure if you should. he catches the way you try to meet his gaze but become a little flustered, and how your fingers fidget with the straps of your book bag.

deku had always been so perceptive; picking up on body language and mannerisms with ease. but he never realized how similar the two of you were in your interactions. he was always focused on not looking like a fool in front of you; a blushing mess. Yet now, seeing the flustered look in your eyes instead, he felt himself melt on the spot, fighting the urge to kiss your cheeks.

“when you invited me to the hero event, I couldn’t help but feel happy! and…I felt over the moon when you called it a date. even if you didn’t mean to call it that l-“ you pause, before giving him a gentle smile “-it still made me very happy.”

he gazes at you, momentarily questioning if his mind is deceiving him, conjuring up a hopeful illusion. but as he watches you nervously bite your lip, awaiting his response, the reality of the moment sinks in. he feels his heart flutter in his chest, and the weight of your words sends a shiver through his entire body. “you wanted it to be a date?”

“Is it weird if I said more than anything?” you confess, shyly looking at the ground with uncertainty and anxiousness. he feels himself physically vibrate with excitement, hearts practically forming in his eyes as he steps closer, unable to hold back the confession on the tip of his tongue.

“I-I want that too! I want this to be considered an actual date!” he exclaims with happiness pouring out of his soul, feeling his cheeks become slightly sore from his smile. you look up at him, a shocked expression on your face as you slowly process his words. he watches in time the way your features soften, beautiful eyes widening slightly as you let out a gentle gasp.

“really?” you ask, as he feels the joy practically radiating off of you. deku nods in confirmation, hands trembling from overwhelming delight. he meets your gently gaze, as you both stare at each other with bashful grins before a small laugh escapes your lips, followed by a domino effect of uncontainable giggles between you and him.

he feels lighter, almost euphoric; his entire body buzzing with warmth that radiates from his flushed cheeks, offering a new kind of comfort he’d never known before. he was always used to feel shy around you, his heart brimming with so much love and admiration that he could barely meet your gaze. but now, that love has multiplied, and all he wants is to lose himself in your eyes for as long as you’ll let him.

you step to the side, offering him one last smile before the two of you begin to walk in sync. it no longer feels out of place. just right.

“can I hold your hand?” he asks, a hint of the familiar shyness still laced in his words. but this time, there’s a newfound confidence beneath it. he’s certain you feel it too as you beam at him, gently intertwining your soft fingers with his calloused, scarred hand.

“you know…I…all this time, I was kinda freaking out! I didn’t know if this was actually a date or not, and I was extremely nervous this whole time. I’m sorry if things were a little awkward when we left the dorms” you look at him with reassurance; an amused giggle leaving your lips as you shake your head.

“please don’t apologize. I couldn’t even tell!”

[opal-owl-flight]

TIRED OF WAITIN’ MAKE UP YOUR DAMN MIND

YEAH ITS ALRIGHT, WE BOTH KNOW THAT YOU WANT IT, DONT YOU BE SO SHY, SHY!

OH MY GOD I LOVE STARKILLER WIDNEKD. I had this idea for Tartar manipulating 3 with words similar to the song…

more abt that below + the piece without the words :]

I wonder if 3, at that point in OE, carry a thought within them... something Tartar can use.

The sanitization is absolute mind control, yes, but it would be neat if it was preceded by a sort of hypnosis; a suggestion that tartar puts out for a victim to bite onto (not that it really matters. The forced body control happens anyway.)

Theres a yearning for the past. That much I know. But I do wonder if Tartar also suggested something else alongside that.

"Ah, the legendary captain of the Squidbeak Splatoon. He probably was the one who pulled you out of that life, hm?"

"...Yes."

"Despicable, this old coot, forcing you to fight a war that ended a century ago. Forcing you to dig up a city your nation already buried.

Making you a weapon in this...disgusting show of continued dominance."

"..."

"Dont you want to end him, right here, right now?"

"...."

"Avenge that younger self, child. Join me, and we will make sure he never hurts you again."

"..."

They look at Cuttlefish. Cod, theyre so weak, their head hurts, they are in no shape to defend themself. Neither is the old man, but...

Their hearts were burning with a feeling theyve been burying for years. A feeling thats gotten stronger and stronger over the long patrol.

This...doubt. Towards the captain they followed the ends of the earth for. Day by day, being pushed to their limits for his continued war. Wanting his approval, wanting to make him proud. Believing that theyre indeed keeping this fragile world safe.

Wanting to...keep being this hero he said they were.

But its getting harder to believe those words now. Not when that Octarian from earlier was such a sweet soul...among others theyve encountered and observed in other patrols.

Their arm burned. It was drenched in that cyan ink the telephone was oozing.

They have no reason to trust this thing that almost killed Cuttlefish and that Octarian that he was with moments before.

Still...

They feel...

Their mind is slipping.

So tired...so hurt...

"Join me. I can give you rest.

Ill bring you...to the promised land."

"...Okay."

--------

They went fully unconscious for awhile. When they "awoke" (but is still under Tartar's control), they were already fighting 8. And their body hurt even more than before.

They never shouldve trusted him.....

--------

This baiting rings familiar, doesnt it. Order did it to 4, as well. Much to 3s horror, they were the reason she took that bait. Her desire to be their perfect agent, and their desire to never be hurt or used by anyone like Cuttlefish again...

They wanted her to be strong enough so she can stay safe and live her life the way she wanted to. But their fear spoke louder than their adoration for her.

Hurt people hurt people, cycle of violence, and all that.

[mintmatcha]

Hi...Can we ask a bit about the Christmas party 👀

Was this reader's first holiday season at the company ? Was there chatter about what does reader's long time bf look like and then they're met with ...... this person thats so different from reader? I'm here at work and the thoughts aren't leaving

tw: drug mention

--

Nemuri looks just as ethereal as she always does, in some red slinky number that is questionable for a holiday party.

"Have you seen him?"

The room is filled with more people than Aizawa thinks safe, the holiday jazz somehow carrying over the noise. He hasn't had a single drop of alcohol yet, but the room is already swirling with movement.

"Hizashi's over with the rest of sales-" he says.

"No," Nemuri's lips twitch up stiffly. "Your crush's //boyfriend//."

"I do not have a crush." He says it too quickly. The correct answer would have been 'who?' - but it's too late to act coy. Besides, no one would believe him if he acted coy anyway. Your mysterious boyfriend had been the conversation of many-- including the interns. (Mirio had practically begged you for pictures and seemed disappointed with the results. Aizawa, of course, couldn't ask an intern for gossip, so he was still in the dark.)

Clearing his throat, he peers over the crowd. "Where is he?"

"The guy with the face tattoos."

He snorts. You, timid, caring you, with a man with facial tattoos? As if.

"You're fucking with me." He finally takes a sip of that eggnog and grimaces at taste.

"I wish." Nemuri points across the crowd towards you.

Jet black hair and a schlubby suit, the //boy// is draped around your shoulder for balance with a drink in hand. Sure enough, there's a spider web of ink across his cheek and a piercing through each side. The tattoos seem to stretch across his whole body, down to the knuckles of his hands.

By the looks of it, the guy's already had too much of something; he's drooping as he talks, swaying you along with him. High. He's high, Aizawa realizes. He can see it in the prick's blown out pupils.

And you are laughing, but it doesn't reach your eyes, doesn't touch your lips or the tone of your voice-

A guilt drowns Aizawa's lungs and it takes him a long moment to speak again.

"I see him."

[rotthepoet]

I saw you say you have writers block so feel absolutely zero pressure to do anything with this, it was just a thought I felt like you could appreciate w/ me! I saw a Ron work forever ago (cannot remember the author unfortunately) where he was your bestie and you went on a date and came back unsatisfied from your date/hookup so he took it upon himself to take care of you but can you just for a moment imagine that situation with bestie Theo 🥹

He’s already angry because you’re his girl, and pretty much everyone in the school knows that so he cannot believe the audacity of some boy asking you on a date to begin and then for you to come back teary eyed and frustrated?! He felt like he could kill the guy for it. But obviously he’s not going to leave you like that- he’d never. So he fingers you with his pretty, thick, ringed fingers until you’re so relaxed against the bed that you’re not even sure you could stand. BUT You want more. He’s so hot and god the things he whispered in your ear while he had his fingers inside you were to die for. So you ever so sweetly blink up at him, batting your eyes so cutely, and ask him to pretty please fuck you. And of course, he happily obliges.

Other boys don’t ask you on dates anymore.

Maybe you call him daddy idk I can’t really make up my mind if that would be something he’d rock with or not

oMG I DO APPRECIATE THISSS I LOVE IT

nasty ass Slytherin boys i love toxic and manipulative men 🙏

Because Theo is literally pissed all week, Mattheo keeps making a joke that hes on the rag, because theo is unfocused, smoking constantly, adhd off the wall, shits going down

If the slytherin dorms didnt have stone walls there would 100% be a hole in them.

Regardless, He’s fucking pissed. Especially the day that uou go on the date. Hes staying up all night, pacing in the common room because his ruminating was too loud for his dorm mates, and in you walk, heels in your hand, lips downturned and obviously pissed off.

And omg theo is about to kill a man. Because why the fuck do you look so fucking upset??? Holy shit.

“Bella, whats wrong? What did he do?”

“It’s not what he did, its what he didnt do. Couldn’t do, i guess.”

“Oh?”

“…”

“Oh.”

And i mean. Theo cant just leave his girl hanging, all needy and clearly unsatisfied. He approaches you, slowly, afraid you might run away. He holds your face in one hand, leaning into your ear and promising he’ll make it all better. That he’ll step up as your best friend, this is what friends are for, right?

And god when his lips are kissing down your neck, biting and sucking over the marks your failed date had left, making them his own, you cant even argue.

So its really no surprise when he has you in your bed, your dorm miraculously empty for this time of night, and uour back is to his chest, and his fingers are spreading apart your folds, and he’s mumbling so sweetly in your ear. And fuck its so hood. Its SO good. You’re finishing in now time, pussy spasming around his long fingers, the once cold metal rings now warm and stained with your arousal.

But its not enough. Nothing will ever be enough when it comes to theo. And youre so fucking whiney and pathetic and how coukd theo say no when you practically beg him to fuck you, to fill uou to the brim with his hard, heavy cock.

I mean, he would never have said no anyways.

And so there you are, face down in bed, your tears being kissed away as Theo brings you to release over and over again, your core all puffy and sensitive from overstimulation.

He isn’t stopping until half your neck is purple with his love bites, and hes sucked a makeshift “T” into your shoulder, marking you as his.

[junedenim]

what it takes to say goodnight

just him & his girls

warnings: dad!alex, fluff, smut, piv, fingering, mild breeding kink, & so on...

word count: 4.4k

He nearly trips over the cat when he walks in. He mutters curse words to himself before picking Pepper—the cat—up before it runs out the front door. Pepper has always been a calm kitty and she takes well in Alex's arms, though they are full and he struggles through the door before he can finally put everything, including Pepper, down on the floor. She tangles in his legs before running off back into the house.

Alex closes the front door roughly causing one of the magnets that holds a picture of the girls up to fall on the floor loud enough to alert the other residents of the house that he is home.

"Sounds like someone's home," he hears you announce followed by the sudden noise of pattering feet.

He rounds the corner, greeted by two blurs rushing him like linebackers. As always, Willow is quick to talk her mouth going a mile a minute, shouting, "Come look what I made today! Pick me up, daddy, pick me up! Come on!" He can't even keep track of what she is saying most of the time, her mouth going a mile a minute.

Contrasting her twin sister, Wren, his quiet little girl, tugs on his pant leg to get his attention. They've always been this way, even when you were pregnant with them. Willow would kick away and Wren would suck her thumb. Wren speaks when spoken to, preferring to perform motions to express her opinions. Unless it's vegetables, then she cries and yells, "Yuck!"

To combat both girls' interests, he bends down and picks them both up. They are just on the edge of being too heavy for Alex to pick both up at once. But maybe he'll wait until the next birthday to stop doing this. Wren curls into him while Willow hangs off his neck still yapping, "I want mac & cheese for dinner. Mummy said we can so you have to let us. Wen wants it too. Say it, Wen." Willow has always called Wren "Wen." It's adorable and Alex and you can't bear to ever correct it.

Alex turns to Wren, nudging her with a bounce to show her some attention and get her answer. "I want mac & cheese," she says robotically as if Willow trained her to say it.

"Really?" Alex questions. He looks toward you, sitting on the living room rug and watching this exchange. You share a silent laugh with him. You're calm, and he never understands how you managed to hold that through the whole day with the girls. He loves them like nothing else ever but, man, do they tire him out.

"Swear," Willow answers for Wren. "Mummy also said you'd play dolls with us."

You laugh out loud. "I never said that, Will."

Willow thinks otherwise. "Well, maybe you could anyway."

Alex laughs. "We'll see." He feels a strain in his back and decides it's time to put the girls down. Will goes off running back to her toys but Wren hangs on, unable to let go of the comfort. "C'mon Wren. At least let me take my shoes off."

"But you'll come back?" She's completely wide-eyed and worried. Whenever she's in need of reassurance, Alex fears it's his fault. That he went on tour when they were too young and ever since Alex is certain he has caused them abandonment issues. 

He told you this once, late at night, after Wren had cried for him to not leave her alone in her room. He stayed with her until she fell asleep and would have fallen asleep beside her if you hadn't come to collect him. Under the covers, he told you this fear and regret, at first, you laughed, insisting Wren was just clingy. Alex chose to believe you if only to fall asleep that night.  

Sometime after midnight, Wren came into yours and Alex's bedroom, tugging on Alex's hand making sure that he was still there, still breathing, still real. Her little whimpers woke you up. Alex hugged Wren to his chest and you ran a hand down the sensitive girl's back. She kept saying, "You were gone. You left." You tried your best to minimize Alex's worries but he felt this fear to be true and a hidden part of him thinks you blame him too.

Alex kisses Wren's plump baby cheek, placing her tiny feet on the wooden floor. "Always," he assured her. She toddles cautiously back to the toys to join her sister.

But then there's one more girl he has to take care of. "Are you going to make me mac & cheese?" You ask, approaching him, and slinging your arms around his neck. His hand finds its rightful place on the small of your back, the one where you always feel an ache when his hand isn't there.

He pulls you closer to him, pressing her body up against his, your faces so close, your noses just barely not touching. "I'll make you whatever you want." His lips pucker expectantly, waiting for yours to collide with them.

"Anything?" You raise an eyebrow.

He relaxes his lips and quirks a smile. "Yeah, I can make you the unicorn-shaped mac & cheese."

"Wow," you laugh, "you really are my prince charming."

He puckers his lips again. "Hurry up and kiss me, would you?" You give in because he's so cute talking about mac and cheese and there's a flutter in his eyes that you can tell means he had a long day so you won't put up much of a fight, especially when he kisses you just right.

You pull away and ask, "Long day?"

Alex shrugs. "I'm where I want to be now. How was it here?" He runs his hand up and down your right arm.

You sigh as you begin to feel the weight of the day"Good. No fights. Wren didn't nap."

Alex throws his head back. "Don't tell me that." 

That fear ticks away inside him but you grab his hand and squeeze it. "It's not because of you. It allowed me to have Wren & me time considering she's a daddy's girl and Will's constant desire to be the center of attention, but don't tell her I told you that."

He chuckles. "Your secret's safe with me."

"Now come on with the mac & cheese!"

Later, when he's cooking dinner, Wren clings to his leg. Will is singing loudly in the living room and he can hear you clapping along with her. 

"Mac & cheese?" Wren asks him.

"Almost done," Alex promises, picking her up by the straps of her overalls and depositing her onto the counter. "Would you do today? Did you have fun with mummy and Will?"

Wren simply nods with a smile, which is a good sign, no frowns in sight.

But she tugs away at his heart, making grabby hands for him. She's always been clingy, enjoying the feeling of being held, but he can't help but feel that she's spent the whole day missing him, not able to have any fun. 

"Do you maybe want to come to work with me tomorrow, honey?" He knows he should ask you about this and Willow will have to come along or she'll throw a temper tantrum but sometimes he thinks Wren needs a little extra love. She doesn't shout for attention in the manner Willow does. Sometimes she needs to be noticed and needs to feel special.

Then, Wren starts doing that happy gurgle-laugh thing. She swings her legs, tiny socked feet hitting the utensil drawer. She nods quickly, completely excited. "I'll have to talk with mummy about it but you and me will do something special. That sound nice?"

"Yeah!" She squeals and claps her hands. 

Her excitement rubs off on Alex, giving him something to smile about. He nuzzles his nose with hers. He can't get over how precious she is. "Yeah," he repeats, completely content. In moments like this, he doesn't feel like he's completely failed as a parent.

Willow comes walking in, patting her stomach, asking, "Is the mac & cheese ready? I'm 'ungry."

*

Putting the twins to bed can either be the easiest part of the day or the hardest. Wren nearly passes out in the bathtub, running on limited sleep. Willow refuses to stay in bed. When you leave the room, she pops out of bed and starts playing with her toys in the dark. 

Alex goes in to kiss her goodnight after he lays Wren down and finds her bouncing on her bed. She stalls at the sight of Alex, clear that she has been caught out. "Bedtime, missy," he tells her.

She giggles but plops down on her butt. "I'm not tired," she states like there is simply no argument to be made.

Alex sighs and sits on the edge of her tiny bed. "But I'm tired."

"You can go to bed. That's okay, daddy." She touches his arm like she's reassuring him she'll be fine.

Alex huffs a laugh into his hand. He doesn't want Will to get excited that she's making her dad laugh. "I can't go to bed unless you go to bed. It's the rules."

She closes her eyes and flops down on the bed dramatically, pushing the air loudly out of her pillow. "Fine." She seems like she's making an attempt, but then she opens her eyes wide and demands, "Story first."

He knows you probably read her two stories already and he shouldn't give in but you're in the shower and he'll be waiting all alone in bed for you so why shouldn't he kill some time with one of his girls? "One."

She claps her little kiddie hands. "You can pick," she says like she's doing him a favour.

And she kind of is because if he has to read Goldilocks again, he might lose it. "Rumplestiltskin it is." He's always liked it and he knows Will likes the straw turning into gold part. 

He picks up the book of the collected Brothers Grimm fairy tales. Part of him can never deny reading the girls (including you) a story. You all do the same thing: cuddle up beside him, lay your head on his arm, point at the pictures, and say a comment on every sentence if only to make reading time just a bit longer. Will curls his fingers around his forearm and falls asleep halfway through the story but he finishes it anyway. Partly because he knows if Will is pretending to be asleep and he doesn't finish the whole thing she'll insist he has to read her another one. (The other part because he loves the story).

You've just exited the bathroom with wet hair and a towel wrapped around you when Alex enters your bedroom. "Everyone went to sleep alright?" You're going through the drawers, looking for pajamas.

"Yeah. Will had me read her another story but she conked out quick."

You smirk. "Will had you read another story or you wanted to read another story?"

He rolls his eyes at you mocking him before admitting, "Both."

You laugh at him, your sweet boy. The house can feel overrun with girls sometimes, even the cat is a girl, but Alex never seems to mind. He likes all the girlish things the girls like. Tea parties and dress-up, although, he did get noticeably a little more excited when the girls started kicking around a football. But then Alex just said, "Girls are better at football anyway." 

He's better at tea parties than football anyway. He doesn't even try to pretend to lose to the girls when they play 2 v. 1 with him. They are sneaky and tiny and like Pepper does, they wrap around and slide through his legs to kick into his goal. Meanwhile, he thrives at the tea parties, drinking whatever concoction the girls make, even if it tastes like plastic. You always pretend to sip but Alex is the real deal. Always has been.

"Did you miss me while I was gone?" He asks, leaning against the wall, trying to tempt you.

You smile, dropping the towel, leaving you naked in his view for five seconds before you toss a T-shirt over your head. "No, not really."

The T-shirt is red and he's like a bull as he charges toward you, picks you up, and lands both of you on the bed. You're giggling affectionately into the kiss and it's completely loved-up and lovely and you both love that but Alex and you clearly want more. You push him up, off of your lips. "Shut the door."

Sex with the kids can be challenging. Before you did it every time, every surface you could find. Now, you mostly do it at night, rarely in the morning because the girls are always up early. You can't do it every night. Sometimes you can tell the girls didn't fall asleep or you're tired or Alex passed out while you were in the shower. 

Despite the scheduling-sounding nature of things, sex still seems spontaneous. Like a random gust of wind felt upon the skin. Alex always makes things exciting and after doing it more times than you can count, it never bores. The predictability of it is what makes it so charged, so romantic, so sexual, so loving. You can tell by the thrust of his hips whether he's close or not. He can tell by the furrow of your brow whether he's hitting that spot in you or not. It has always felt right.

He's fast in his steps, locking the door, and pretty much launching himself back onto the bed. He covers you, completely all over you, kissing you, feeling you up. He reaches under your shirt, pushing it up to expose your boobs, but not taking it off. He grabs them, a fistful at first, then just the nipple. He kisses down your neck, over the collection of your shirt's fabric, onto the skin of your boobs, and then the areola, licking over the wrinkles of it before meeting the erected nipple.

There are times when you do devote time to foreplay. Alex loves it. You love it. Both ways. You both have always been reciprocal naturally. You never need to ask the other for more. In fact, more often you ask for less. Like...

"This feels really nice," you tell him, "but I'm tired and I know you're tired so just fuck me, okay?"

"Okay," he agrees, breathing heavily already. He stands to take his clothes off. You don't bother shedding the top. He can fondle your boobs just fine with it still on and it provides an emergency cover if one of the girls walks in.

Alex lays back on you intently, kissing you harshly. You reach down to hold his cock, pumping him a few times before his hand takes over and slides into you. The idea of it is quick but the pace is rocking, not fast, not slow, just right. You furrow your brows and arch up into him. He reaches into the space underneath the arch and holds you, completely skin-to-skin. He lays kisses on your neck in no particular pattern like he isn't even trying to turn you on more, he just wants to do it. 

You grip the back of his head's hair, clumps in your compressed grasp. "More," you urge, needing just a little more to tip over.

His mouth moves next to your ear, whispering, "Want me to fuck another baby into you?"

It makes you snort a laugh right in the middle of sex. You have to physically stop his hips from moving as you collect your breath. "What? Another set of twins?"

"Yeah. With my super sperm." He's jokingly bragged about that with you since you found out you were having twins. You corrected him and said it was your eggs that made the twins since they're fraternal. He said, "No, it was a really good load, I remember." It's always made you laugh.

"Twin boys now?" You ask.

He shrugs. "Or more girls? I don't mind."

Everything about him is calm, but there is sincerity in all of it. "Are we seriously talking about more kids while you're inside me?"

Alex makes small movements inside you. "Yeah, come on." He leans closer and closer to you. "We make cute kids. The girls are older. I know you want it."

You place your hands on his shoulders. "Right now I just want you so can we do that part before the 9-month part?"

He nods. "Cart before the horse."

You laugh and tug him down into your shoulder. You whisper into his ear as his hips begin to move harder and harder, "Fuck a baby into me."

Alex chuckles and kisses your jugular. He quickens, both of you feeling an ache for release conjuring inside you. He moves harder and pulls your hips to him. He's doing all the work, but he doesn't mind, he likes doing this for you, likes being good for you. That's all he wants to do.

"That feel good?" He has asked this almost every time you've had sex like, no matter what, even after doing this for years, he wants to make sure it's as good as the last time.

You hum in the affirmative, feeling too overwhelmed to talk clearly. Your grip around his neck tightens as you drag him closer down to you. He keeps thrusting into you hard, skin hitting skin sounding across the room. 

"So fucking tight," he groans into your ear. 

His pace is quick, erratic, and eager. His breath is heavy and filled with soft grunts. His hands are rough, squeezing on your hips. You know he's holding on for you but you want him to enjoy it too. It doesn't always have to be about you. "Let go," you tell him. 

But he's hot for it, not rejecting your request like you thought he would. "You want it?" He asks.

You nod, fluttering eyes.

"Tell me," he says, pounding deep.

You scrap your nails down his back soothingly. "I want it. Deep in me." He hums, requesting more without saying it. "Fill me up with your cum. Please."

Maybe it's your words, maybe it's how close he was, or maybe it's both, but he cums instantly after, deep inside you, filling you up. He groans and pants into your neck. He rests inside you, holding everything in, while he catches his breath. You comb your fingers through his hair, calming him.

He raises his head so he's looking down on you. "You okay?"

You softly smile, exhaustion hovering over you. "Yeah."

"You don't cum," he comments.

You shrug. "I got what I wanted."

Alex grunts. "God, you're gonna make me cum again."

You push him up, making him hiss at the sensitivity. "Don't," you command.

He pulls out slowly and before you can even say anything, he's got his fingers inside you, keeping all that cum in, making a mess on his finger. It takes you off guard, making you moan instantly. He's quick with everything, knowing you want to go to bed, hoping to release the tension and ease you into relaxation.

His two fingers shove in and out of you rapidly. He curls them just in the right spot, making you moan, "Fuck." His thumb grazes over your clit, just like how he knows to do it. It's messy, the whole thing is a mess, but it feels like the hottest thing ever, and soon your hips are unable to stay still and you're coming.

It's your turn to catch your breath and he's licking your shared cum off his hands. He makes a face. "I don't think I've ever tasted my own cum."

You reach out and grab his hand, taking the still-dirty finger into your mouth, and licking it clean. "You've made me taste both before."

He kisses your lips before getting off the bed to grab tissues. "Don't act like it was against your will. I recall you liking it."

You sigh, sitting up and fixing your shirt. "We're gonna have to change the sheets."

Alex hands you a few tissues and says, "I'll do it. You clean yourself up." You'll always accept him doing all the work.

*

It’s three in the morning when a tiny hand shakes Alex awake, and he opens his eyes to find Wren there holding her stuffed teddy bear against her chest, cheeks wet from crying. “I wet the bed.”

“Oh,” Alex says, while his heart rate settles. He looks around to get his bearings and finds you out of it to his right, curled up on your side. He blinks the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes as Wren sniffles miserably, and he pushes up to wipe her jaw dry. “Hey, it’s okay, baby. It just happens sometimes, alright?”

“But I'm not ‘posed to,” she croaks. “I’m supposed to be a big girl now. I’m sorry.”

“No, hey,” Alex kisses her forehead. “It’ll be fine, come on.”

She holds onto his hand and he leads her into the bathroom, running the water to warm and filling the tub with strawberry-scented bubbles. Once she’s in, he lets her play with her rubber ducks for a while to calm down. She splashes them and chews on their tails and presses their drawn-on smiles to his cheek as a kiss. "Muah," she says, and he loves her so much it hurts.

He runs a hand over her damp hair. “I’m gonna go fix your bed, okay? Just keep playing.”

Wren nods, so he leaves her with the door wide open and the light cascading into the hall. Strips her bed of the old sheets and carries them over to the wash. When he comes back, she’s resting her chin against the edge of the tub, waiting for him.

His head tilts, looking down at her big eyes on her little face. “Hey, Peanut.”

“Hi,” she says, timid. “Do you still love me?”

Alex frowns and sits down in front of her on the cold tile. “Why wouldn’t I still love you?”

“M’no good,” she whispers. “M’not small anymore, and I miss you all the time, and—”

“Alright, hey,” Alex cuts in gently, pushing her hair behind her ears to hold her face, all flushed chubby cheeks. He hates himself. Feels like he has made her feel this way. Made her feel unloved and he'll beat himself up for it every day. Never forgive himself for making her doubt his love. "I know I’ve been gone a lot, and I’m really sorry, but I miss you the whole time I’m away. All I wanna do is be here with you, okay? I promise. I love you,” he says, kissing her freckled nose and watching it crinkle up, “so much. I hope you know that.”

She nods, bites her lower lip, and chews. “You love mummy?”

“Yes,” Alex says. “Tons.”

“Is tons a lot?” She asks, and he notices her eyes flit over his shoulder, which gives him a pretty good idea of why she’s asking.

“It is,” he confirms, glancing behind him and finding you in the doorway, hair thrown up, wearing that ratty old red tee. You grin and lean against the door jamb, eyes soft. “The better question is: does mummy love daddy?”

You laugh. “Tons squared,” she promises. “Come on, it’s bedtime, baby.”

“Can I sleep with you?” Wren asks, anxious.

Alex kisses her cheek. “Of course,” he says and leans around her to pull the drain. You come over to help her dry off and Alex goes to grab her fresh pajamas. You both help her dress because she’s all sleepy from the warmth of the bath, and she’d get lost in her shirt if you weren’t around. Alex picks her up and carries her to their bed, laying her down between them so they can both hold her.

"You okay, honey?" You ask Wren, running your fingers through her hair, calming her like you do for him.

She nods, her eyes slowly closing, sleep taking her away from you.

Alex kisses her cheek lightly, not wanting to disturb her sleep. "Love you."

You repeat his action, kissing her baby skin cheek. "Me too." But she's already fallen asleep, exhausted from her little life.

You look across at Alex, his eyes cautiously looking over Wren. "Hey," you whisper to him to grab his attention. His gaze meets yours, his eyes solemn, but affectionate. "Love you."

He smiles because that's just what he needs. That's all he'll ever need. "Me too."

*

A hand pushes on your back somewhere around 4 in the morning. You turn around at the expected sight: Willow holding her stuffed teddy bear, thumb in her mouth, scared little eyes.

"What's wrong, baby?" You ask her, reaching out and smoothing back her messy hair.

"I had a night'are." Her voice wobbles. Alex and Wren are still sound asleep. You reach down to pick her up, laying her on your chest and hugging her to you, wanting to keep her safe from all the evil things awakening her.

"Everything's okay," you reassure.

"What's wrong?" You turn to see Alex, alert and worried rubbing his eyes.

"Nightmare."

Willow turns her head to look at her dad. "Oh," she says, "there's Wen. I was scared she wasn't where she was."

Alex reaches his arm over a sleeping Wren and rubs Willow's back, hushing her rapid heartbeat. "She's been in here. She got scared too but she's okay. She's sleeping now."

Willow keeps her voice low, understanding to keep quiet. "I went lookin' for her but she wasn't in her room."

"Why did you go to her room, honey? Why didn’t you come in here?" You ask.

"'Cause I always go there when I'm scared. Wen goes 'Everyting's okay' and then I know it will be 'cause she said so." She's so sweet, she hides it sometimes, doesn't like to give it away, she's careful with who she gives it to and you're sure nobody loves someone like Willow and Wren love each other. For that, Alex doesn't have to worry. He knows Willow and Wren will always look out for each other.

You kiss Willow's cheek and slide her carefully next to Wren. The bed is just big enough to fit you all but you have to hold steady to not tip off the bed. The girls are comfortable though and that's all that matters.

"We should sleep in here all the time," Willow says.

You and Alex both laugh quietly at your little girl. "Maybe," Alex says.

"Pep should be here too."

So, Alex goes and gets Pepper.

*

a/n: i hope the names are fine. i just tried to pick two twin-sounding names. whatever that means.

[boguspearl]

So what are my thoughts for Arcane season 2? Well from what I've seen in the trailer, I think almost every character in the series is going to go through a massive shift, starting with caitlyn in the first season caitlyn was calculating smart not rash (okay not rash enough to wage full on war, but rash enough to let a criminal out of prison) she was new to the scene but she knew that she didn't want war with the undercity, but now in a fit of blind revenge she's going to war anyway

And by the looks of it Vi's right along side her she's given up on Jinx its even the first lines of the trailer, she starts out fighting along side the enforcers, along side caitlyn, but we see her off on her own broken, this most likely because she's finally seen just how far caitlyns taking things.

However the biggest change of this season is going to be Jinx, in the first season Jinx was crazy, but things are about to take a turn i mean sure on the surface we see her bombing the city leading a revolution piloting an airship while looking deranged but looking deeper does she really look completely insane.

Personally i think she looks kinda sad, i mean sure they show her looking completely done with it all ready to blow the world that's wronged her apart, but there's something deeper I think we're going to start the season with Jinx truly regretting what she's done, she's going to panic as the floor gives away beneath her and that will be her tipping point the point where there's s small possibly of her being reached, but there's no one left to reach her no one left willing to try, caitlyn wants her dead, Vi has given up on her, Silco is dead her hand, she's alone, alone except for sevika who will most likely use her to rule the undercity Jinx will be forced back into believing what she's doing is right

Until eventually she's going to snap, she's going to see that she has nobody and she'll be exactly who they think she is and she'll be more broken than ever.

But never mind all that the real thing that i think the arcane trailer is showing or more accurately hiding is the enemy. Okay hear me out we all know that season 2 just like season 1 will be releasing in three separate arcs each obviously show casing a separate story of the same season, now while Netflix has released three separate posters for said arcs they seem to have only given us one trailer, now if you look the trailer like that you can see the story breaks of the arcs, in the first part they show a clear enemy jinx, Vi and Cait are trying to take her down, the second the people of the undercity as they rise up but near the end there's nothing each shot fired each punch thrown even jinx threatening to burn it all down unlike the beginning of the trailer we aren't shown the enemy, this concerns me because who are they fighting, am I reading into this is it still Jinx that's the enemy or is caitlyn and Vi fighting each other or and what is most likely is there a new enemy something so feared that it actually makes them all fight together in some strange twisted way and if so what, i mean im actually clueless I've never played the game or gotten into anything else part of this universe so i have no idea what they could be up against.

Anyway thanks for reading my craziness, debates bellow

[betweenstorms]

Where Silence Blooms

CHAPTER 1/1 of SKIN OF THUNDER

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader

“Your kindness is the softest thing I’ve ever felt, like a breath that never touches the ground. It cuts through the storm in me, where the skin of thunder shivers, tearing through flesh, bringing light into the darkest parts of my heart.”

The early morning sunlight filtered through the narrow windows of the military base, casting long shadows across the dull, utilitarian corridors. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley moved through the halls with his usual silent purpose, his presence almost unnoticed despite his size. Dressed in civilian clothes, he still commanded attention. The skull-patterned balaclava covered his face, just as it always did, leaving only his eyes visible. Hazel, but sharp, always scanning, always wary. His broad shoulders and powerful frame carried the weight of decades spent in combat, and even in this quiet corner of the base, his mere presence felt like a storm waiting to break.

He stepped into the HR office, a space that instantly felt too small for someone like him.

He needed leave forms.

Price had insisted on a few days off, pushing Ghost into a rest he neither wanted nor needed. The mere thought of rest grated on him, gnawing at his sense of purpose. Relaxation wasn’t really in his nature, it made him feel useless, stripped of the edge that kept him sharp. He was forged for motion, for the relentless grind of action, not the stillness of downtime.

The HR office was empty in the early hours, its sterile quiet amplifying Ghost's irritation. But then he saw you. The annoyance that had coiled in his chest loosened, if only for a moment. You were immersed in your work, unaware of the storm that had just stepped into the room. The morning light from the window filtered through your hair, casting a soft halo around it, as if it were aglow—almost like the ethereal shimmer of an angel's glory.

Ghost had noticed you before, though only in passing.

Your presence was a little more than a shadow at the periphery of his awareness. For now. You were new, an HR assistant with an energy that felt out of place, almost foreign in a world like his. Too bright, too unburdened by the gravity of what lay beyond these walls. He wasn’t sure if he even knew your name, but something about you lingered—an unmistakable sense of someone who still believed in the good things.

He didn’t like dealing with civilians, but his mind cataloged your features anyway.

He wasn’t likely to forget you.

As Ghost approached your desk, he felt the subtle shift, the way your posture straightened as you registered his presence. It was the reaction he was used to. The unease and the instinctive discomfort. But this time, something was different. Instead of the usual avoidance and fear, you blinked and met his gaze, offering a small, genuine smile. It caught him off guard.

“Hi, good morning,” you greeted, your voice soft but hesitant, as if unsure whether it was the right thing to say. “How can I help you today?”

Your accent carried a gentle rhythm that Ghost noted but couldn’t quite place. He could sense the undercurrent of nerves in your voice, however, you didn’t look away. His gaze bore down on you, his presence looming, heavy enough to fill the entire office. Yet, your cautious smile held steady, unshaken by the oppressive weight he carried like a second skin.

“Leave forms,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. He was in no mood for conversation, the forced time off already wearing on his nerves.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his abrupt tone, but recovered quickly. “Ah, of course,” you said, your voice wavering just slightly as you stood and moved toward the filing cabinet. Your fingers fumbled briefly before finding the right document. “Here,” you offered, placing the paperwork in front of him with a shy yet sincere smile. “If you need any help, just let me know.”

Ghost’s hazel eyes tracked your movements as you placed the forms on the desk before him. He noticed the subtle way you seemed to shrink under the weight of his stare, yet you stayed composed—polite, helpful.  He hated how the whole situation made him feel. Awkward and out of place. He didn’t belong in places like this, dealing with paperwork and assistants.

But something about you made him pause, a quiet pull that unsettled him in ways he couldn’t explain. It was like the calm before a storm. The kind of softness that slips beneath the skin, where thunder has long since settled, and stirs something fragile in the wreckage he thought was buried for good.

He sat down, the chair creaking under his weight.

His posture was stiff, his annoyance palpable. He filled out the form quickly, his handwriting harsh and deliberate, as if each letter required forced focus.The quiet stretched between them again. You busied yourself with something Ghost didn’t care about, but he could feel your occasional glances, as though you were quietly studying him, trying to size him up too. Bloody hell, how he loathed small talk and despised these kinds of interactions—and people who couldn’t sense when to leave well enough alone.

“You’re Lieutenant Simon Riley, right?”

Your tone was friendly, almost too friendly for someone talking to him. His hand paused, pen hovering just above the paper.

“I’ve heard a lot about you.”

The admission hung in the air, breaking the silence. He wasn’t sure how to respond to the fact that you knew of him—knew what he did, or at least, what people said about him. It wasn’t approval he sought, nor recognition.

No, in truth, it grated on him.

And yet, the sound of his name on your lips made him pause, drawing his gaze to your face. You flushed slightly under the weight of his stare, but he dismissed it, focusing instead on the strange feeling that stirred within him at the way his name sounded coming from you.

“It’s... really impressive, what you and your team do,” you said, your voice softening as a hint of awkwardness crept in. “I mean, it must be really… difficult. Dangerous, too.” Your words faltered, laced with a quiet shyness, but there was a hint of respect behind them.

“Just doin’ my job,” he muttered, his voice edged with indifference. Most people would take the hint and move on. But you didn’t. Instead, your smile grew as you kept talking.

“It’s still admirable. Not easy work, I’m sure.”

Admirable?

Ghost couldn’t help the small scoff that nearly escaped. Admirable wasn’t the word he’d use. Brutal, necessary, violent—that’s what it was. But no one ever called it what it really was, did they? No, to outsiders, it was always impressive, always dressed up as something noble. He grunted in response, the tension in his shoulders never easing, even as he filled out the forms.

And yet, something about your tone was different. It felt strange. He didn’t know how to deal with it, so he didn’t. He focused on the rest of the paperwork, quickly scribbling his name at the bottom with more force than needed.

After a long silence, one he hoped would stretch on forever, he found himself speaking before he could stop. “Why HR?”

He immediately regretted the question as soon as it left his mouth. It wasn’t a question Ghost particularly cared about. He didn’t care about your life, your choices. And it wasn’t like him to make idle conversation, especially not with someone like you.

Yet, there was a pull, a curiosity he couldn’t quite place.

You glanced up, clearly caught off guard by the question. For a moment, hesitation flickered in your eyes, as though you weren’t entirely sure if you should respond. But then, a small, almost bashful smile crept across your lips as your fingers absently fidgeted with the edge of a folder on your desk, a quiet nervousness betraying your calm demeanor.

“I like helping people,” you began quietly, your voice gaining strength as you settled into the explanation. “It’s just... something I’ve always wanted to do, you know. And I suppose, even as an assistant here, it feels like I’m making a small difference, right?”

Ghost remained silent, letting your words linger in the stillness, his gaze fixed on the forms in front of him, unmoved yet listening.

Helping people. Understanding them. That was something he couldn’t wrap his head around, not in the way you meant. His job was about helping, but not in the clean and polite way you seemed to believe. He’d seen what people needed, craved even, in the worst moments of their life, and it wasn’t something you could give with kindness. Helping people, for Ghost, had always meant violence, brute force, removing threats before they removed him or the people he worked with. The concept of understanding felt foreign, almost naive to him.

He didn’t respond, simply grunted, hoping that would be enough to end the conversation. But you didn’t seem fazed by his silence. If anything, you looked more comfortable, as if his lack of words somehow reassured you. You must have thought he had agreed with you.

“Sometimes it's the small things, right? That can really make a difference.”

You continued to smile, a gesture so simple and unguarded that it almost irritated him.

Almost.

Yet there was something in the way you looked at him—not with fear or awe, but with an honest kindness—that stirred something unfamiliar within him. But he’d seen too much, lived too long in the darkness to believe in small things. They didn’t matter. They never lasted. All the smiles in the world couldn’t protect someone from the horrors he’d seen. But yours lingered, slipping through the surface, like a thread of light that dared to touch the parts of him still clawing for air.

Ghost finished signing the last line of the form and shoved the documents toward you, eager to be done with the whole thing. His mind was already shifting back to his daily duties, to the missions waiting for him, to the violence that felt like home.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

You glanced down at the forms before meeting his gaze again, your expression softening with an even warmer smile. “You're welcome, Lieutenant Riley. If you ever need anything else, feel free to stop by.” Your tone was gentle and inviting, carrying a sincerity that felt unforced, almost natural in its warmth.

He gave a brief nod, his lips pressed into a tight line beneath the mask.

Anything else. Yeah, right. Ghost almost snorted at the absurdity of it. There wasn’t anything else someone like you could offer to someone like him, not in the way you meant anyway. But he nodded, knowing he would probably never take you up on that offer.

As the door closed behind him and the cold, empty corridor swallowed him up once again, Ghost’s mind churned with thoughts he didn’t want to have. Your words lingered, echoing in his mind as he tried to shake them off. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t quite rid himself of the unsettling feeling you’d left him with. He pulled the balaclava tighter against his face, his jaw set. He moved through the base with his usual silent intensity, the lingering thought of your smile following him, despite his best efforts to shake it off.

Even if the little things did matter, they definitely weren’t meant for him.

"Where silence blooms, it takes root in the cracks of all that’s unsaid. It wraps around the heart like quiet thorns, soft but aching, a stillness heavy with storms yet to come."

Skin of Thunder Chapters

[gunaerystargarygun]

The brain worms continue to infest my brain.

Posted on Ao3, but posting here as well: Here's my contribution to the Stan x Reader genre.

Tags: Vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, porn with mild plot, c'mon you guys know me at this point.

Know When to Fold 'Em

"Thanks for all your help, you're doin great, dood!" Soos's voice is full of pride, contentment as you hand over small zipped bag, the profits of the day. You smile, giving a slight shrug of your shoulders. "Soos, you've told me that every day for the past two years."

"And I mean it every time! Can't imagine runnin' this place without ya," he beams at you, his crooked smile making your own smile grow a little larger. Despite him being a few years younger than you, he makes a fantastic boss. "Can't believe Mr. Pines thought you was gonna be useless when I hired ya."

Well, that makes the smile drop.

You met Mr. Pines, well, both Mr. Pines when you got a job here at the shack, cashier and handyperson. A little odd, yes, but you needed the job and for a tourist trap? The place paid well enough, you could afford a small house and just about everything else you needed. You tap your foot, pressing your lips together. "Soos, not that I don't appreciate the words of encouragement, but you don't have to be up here." You throw a thumb over your shoulder and gesture to the shack. "I'm sure Melody could use your help with the baby."

"You sure? I feel kinda bad leavin' you here with all the clean up and restocking." Just as you're about to assure him that you're more than capable of restocking bobble heads and putting out minimally designed bumper stickers, the doorbell chimes and another voice breaks in. "Don't worry about it, Soos. I'll make sure everything gets put back in its place." The old Mr. Mystery poses in front of you. He stands tall, a rather tacky Hawaiian shirt with luau girls and surfboards plastered on it, a pair of khakis completing the look. He stretches his arms out in a flourish, making his entrance more grand.

You roll your eyes slightly, it's the same every time he comes into the shack, which...has been quite a lot, recently. "I haven't had a complaint once," you remark as Stanley begins to look around the place.

"That's cause Soos is too nice of a boss," he says, running his finger along the underside of the checkout counter. "See all this dust? Unbelievable!" He sticks out a finger towards your face, which you squint at.

"There's nothing there."

"To the untrained eye, maybe! This place may as well be covered in mud." You grumble an unhappy sound before Soos speaks up again. "Ah c'mon, Mr. Pines, they're a great worker!" Soos' arm comes around you in a one sided hug, squeezing you tight against his side. "Say, you been around a lot." Soos relaxes his grip on you, which lets you take in a deep breath. "You miss runnin' the shack?"

"What? No, no." He waves a hand dismissively. "Just makin' sure my life's work is still up and runnin', you know. Plus, the kids loved this place."

That was true. You had the pleasure of meeting the twins at the start of this summer. The girl, Mabel, was charming as all get out - she even made you a sweater, which you promised to wear in the colder months. The young boy, Dipper? A little surly. You swore he was running tests on when you weren't looking, or was trying to, anyway. At least by the end of the summer, whatever anxiety he had about you seemed to wash away.

"Okay! I'm gonna trust this place to yous guys. Lock up!" Soos waves his goodbyes, disappearing from the gift shop and somewhere into the house.

"I can handle this, you know?" You make your way to the small storage closet, taking out a box and ripping it open.

"I'm sure you can," he shrugs his shoulders. "Just makin' sure you do it right." Stanley then makes his way behind the register and takes a seat. You stand, blinking.

"What?" He asks.

"Aren't you going to help?"

"Huh? Oh, no, I'm not helpin' like that. I'm supervisin' ya," he laughs, slapping his own knee before propping them up on the counter.

You don't know why you expected anything different. You've known Stanley for the better part of two years and while he certainly has his redeeming qualities, being extra helpful isn't one of them. You sigh, and begin unpacking the restocks.

To your surprise, Stan is the one who strikes up the conversation. It's simple questions at first, how the shack has been, the types of tourists that've been coming around, and how Soos has been running the place. Whenever you think you finish with an answer, he probes for me, and you notice, his eyes stay on you a large majority of the time.

You feel your face flush a little with that.

Finally, the restocking is done, and you get the broom. Minimal housekeeping; the weather has been dry, so no mud. "You got any plans tonight?" The question catches you off guard, making you turn completely around to face Stan.

"Uh, other than eating a frozen pizza? No. Why?"

"Wanna play a couple round of cards?" He stuffs his hands in his khaki pockets, shrugging, as if he doesn't care how you answer the question. The way he shifts his attention to the floor, however, makes you think otherwise. "Ford's out on a nature hike, or whatever it is that nerds do in the woods, so I got no plans myself."

"Sure." You answer. "Sounds like fun, and beats eating the pizza alone."

By the look of quick surprise, he clearly wasn't expecting you to say yes. He shrugs it off fast enough, shooting a finger gun at you. "Perfect! What's the address? I'll be over at seven." You grab a pen and paper, scribbling it down and passing it over.

Huh, this'll be the first time he sees your house. You think that you better clean up a little bit, not that you think he'd particularly care, but still.

It takes very little to actually clean up your house. A few stray pieces of clothing that make it to the hamper (you missed each time you threw it in, but who's here to see?) and washing a few of the dishes. Just as you finish putting the pizza in, there's a knock at your door.

You hurry up, stopping at the mirror in the hallway just before the door, and look at yourself. You smooth out your shirt, nodding and opening the door.

Stanley stands on your porch with a twelve pack in one hand and two bottles of liquor, held precariously by the neck, in the other. He's still in the same outfit from earlier, but the top few buttons are undone. Were they like that earlier? "Figured it'd be impolite if I only brought it for myself," he shrugs the pack in his arm a little, the bottles clinking together. He glances around. "Nice place."

"Thanks," you say, stepping to the side and letting him in. "Just set it on the table." You watch as he strides through your house, the pack of alcohol landing with a thump while the bottles settle down nicely. He pulls out a chair, easing into it as he props up a foot on one of his knees. The way he leans against the table...

"Where's the cards?" You clear your throat, sliding out a chair across from him and taking a seat. You need something else to distract you.

"Right here," he sticks a hand in his pocket and pulls out a rather beat-up-looking deck of cards and slaps them on the table. "You shuffle, or me?" You eye the cards for a moment, reaching out and grabbing the deck.

"I will." The cards are pleasantly worn, and you can't help but wonder how much use these things have gotten. "Go easy on me? Been a while since I played."

"First rounds are on me," he nods. "Don't try and pull the wool over my eyes." He playfully points an accusatory finger at you.

"I know, I know." You cut the deck, shuffling them thoroughly before dealing them out.

It's...pleasant. You didn't expect it to be unpleasant, to be fair, but aside from the one off times of drinking, there's a handful of times when the two of you have been alone together. Stan takes the time to tell you a wild tale of when he was a "much younger buck,"  when he managed to steal a shipment of some undisclosed items from a smuggler. It's amusing, even if it isn't real. You can never tell with him.

Eventually, the oven dings and the pizza is ready. It's served, and you bring two glasses out as well. Before the beer, Stan reaches for the liquor and twists off the cap. "Want one?" You press your lips together, thinking for a moment.

"Hit me." It's a guesstimate on how much a shot would be. Or maybe two.

Either way, you wait until Stan pours his before clinking your glasses together and downing it. Whiskey may not be your go-to, especially when it's warm, but the burn in your throat has a familiar comfort. You cough a little, shaking your head and nodding. "Strong." You comment.

"That's the point." He says. Stan sticks out his hand, wiggling his fingers as a sign to hand the cards over. You do, still reeling from the shot as you fish out a bottle of beer. It goes down much easier than the whiskey.

You try very hard to not stare at his hands, but it's difficult. It wasn't something you noticed immediately, but Stan's hands are.... big. Large. Pretty much every synonym for big is how you would describe them, and you vaguely recall the one time you touched them as you passed him something in the shop. They were rough, calloused, but also incredibly warm.

You're not drunk enough to blame that thought on the alcohol right now, so you just push it from your mind as he deals the cards.

Once again, things go back to being pleasant. You nurse your beer as the cards continue to get played, one bottle quickly multiplying between the two of you, along with the cash piling in the center of the table. The conversation steers to him telling you about the adventures he had with the Twins, an endearing tone in his voice that you can't help but smile at. The pizza gets devoured, and when you glance up to the clock, you realize that it's almost eleven o'clock. Have you really been here this long?

That's when it clicks in your alcohol muddled brain.

Stan is lonely. He's been in the shop almost every day for the past week, since the twins left, and even before then, he and the twins were around quite a bit. It would make sense, he went from being around them, his brother, Soos's family, and you for almost three months straight. You look down at the cards, your focus fading for a moment before he speaks.

"Think I mighta run you outta money," he gestures to the table. Your attention turns to it and yeah, there's a decent pile of cash on it. You're pretty sure there's also monopoly money in there, but you're a little too drunk to really notice. "Got anything else to bet?" You think for a moment, tapping the table.

"M'clothes." You answer, plainly. He stares at you.

"Uh, didn't quite catch that?"

"M'CLOTHES." You say it in a louder tone, making sure he can hear it this time. "S'all I got, I'm not up for bettin' my appliances." You point at the blender that sits atop the counter.

"C'mon," he rubs at the back of his neck. "That'd involve me takin' my clothes off too, you don't wanna see that."

"What if I told you that's why I suggested it?" holy shit, why are you saying this? Why are you suddenly so bold, what the hell is in this drink?

"I'd tell ya, you should stop teasin' an old man." You grab the deck of cards, shuffling them in the absolutely worst way ever before slamming them back on the table and pushing them over to him. "Deal 'em."

"You're too drunk for this." The rather sincere reply catches you off guard.

"No, I'm not." You say, stern in your rebuttal. "Look." You jump to your feet, a little wobbly, and begin putting one foot in front of the other, walking a line in the linoleum of your kitchen. While you're not walking perfectly straight, you're doing better than expected. You think so, anyway. "See? I'm f-" just as you're about to finish your sentence, you perform the miraculous feat of tripping over air. You fall a freshly logged tree.

You expect to crash to the floor in the most painful crash since the last time you went to the roller rink, but you never meet the ground. Slowly, you open your eyes, staring up at him. You must have spun in your fall, his hands tucked under your armpits. "What were you sayin' about bein sober enough?" Oh, he's so fucking smug about this.

"I trip on nothin' all the time, drinkin' doesn't have anything to do with this." you weakly shrug your hands, but this close, you catch the smell on him. Mixed with the alcohol, you can catch the scent of cigar smoke, but something faintly woodsy and earthy. It takes everything in you to not sniff at the air. "Uh-huh." he chuckles.

There's a brief moment of silence that passes over the two of you. He doesn't make a move to pull you up, but you're not making a move to get up, either. Instead, you raise a hand and gently press it against his cheek. "You're handsome." You mumble.

"Oh, you're fuckin' wasted."

That makes you twist in his grip. You manage to push yourself to your knees, putting your face just a few inches away from his. "Stop talkin' like I don't mean it."

"You don't mean it."

"I mean this." You grab the sides of his tacky Hawaiian shirt and pull him forward. Your lips crash against his, not realizing how hard you pulled him into you. The scrape of his stubble burns against your chin, a slight shiver running through you. There's the faint taste of tobacco that lingers on him, the chapped skin of his lips. It isn't how you expected this to happen, but to be quite frank, you didn't think this was ever going to happen.

It's only a moment later that you realize he hasn't made a move to kiss you back. He hasn't done anything. You quickly pull back, embarrassed. Why did you do that? God, you're never drinking again. You're not even an alcoholic, and you're planning to go to a 12 step program the second you get sober enough to drive. Your mind races - where else could you move? Maybe the Arctic, right? That's far enough way, that way you c-

You're actually not even far away from him before his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you against his broad chest. You squeak in surprise, hands resting on his thick thighs as he deepens the kiss.

Even through the clothes, he's hot, almost like a furnace. He's burning against you, and this kiss. It makes you dizzy, head spinning. There's a hunger in the kiss, a desperation that you don't think you've ever felt when you kissed other people. His hand holds a tight grip on you, squeezing your side, and you practically melt right into him.

It's a little awkward at first before you two manage to change your positions; neither one of you is keen on breaking the kiss. Eventually, you end up sitting on his lap, legs wrapped around his waist, he sits on the kitchen floor. Shifting, you can feel the hardness of his cock beneath the fabric of the khakis.

Your hands reach for the hem of your shirt. They don't make it far, Stan's hands gripping your wrist. He's somehow even stronger than you expected, your stomach flipping at the pressure. He breaks the kiss, leaning his forehead against yours, panting. You're expecting him to say something filthy, something that's going to make you squirm in his lap.

"Say your alphabet," is what he says instead.

What.

"What?" You ask.

"Say your alphabet," he repeats. "Not sleepin' with ya if you're not in the right state of mind."

"I walked, didn't I?"

"You fell."

Okay, fair enough.

So, you recite your alphabet. It's deliberate, and it's not too slow to cause any concern. As soon as you finish, he releases your wrists and grabs your shirt. It's the fastest your shirt has ever been removed, Stan's face immediately between your tits as soon as he's able. The stubble scratches as your skin, laughing slightly as he plants kisses against your chest. His hands reach around to your back, and you expect him to have trouble with it.

It's off before you can even blink.

"You're suspiciously good at that," you say.

"Aww, you jealous?" He laughs, sliding the bra off and tossing it somewhere behind him. "Don't worry, ain't nobody else gettin' the treatment you are."

"That's what you tell m-" you're cut off, Stan's tongue flicking against your nipple.

"Sayin' somethin', sweetheart?" He glances up, not giving you a chance to speak before he presses his mouth against your left nipple. You grab his shoulders, squirming against him as his tongue swirls around the hardened flesh. One arm wraps around your waist, grinding you against him while his free hand finds your other breast, kneading the flesh in his hand.

Your body feels like it's on fire under his touch. He plays with how much pressure he can put on you, rolling a nipple between his fingers while he sucks mercilessly on your other. Sweat beads on your brow, bucking against him while whimpering sounds escape you. "C'mon, sweetheart." He takes his mouth away from you, the cold air assaulting wet flesh. He playfully bucks his hips up, his cock grinding against you for just a moment. "Wanna hear what a good job I'm doin," he changes the arm that holds you against him, his other hand rising and brushing against the spit slickened skin.

Between the cold and his rough, calloused hand, you feel like you're already on the edge. "You aren't done already, are ya?"

"N-no," you mumble, tilting your head back and moaning as his mouth closes around the other nipple. Judging from the way his tongue flicks against your skin, he certainly appreciates the reaction. The way he sucks against your skin is greedy, teeth nipping at the skin. You're going to have bruises, you've accepted that. Your hands move from his shoulders to his hair, running through the gray, surprisingly soft, hair.

Using everything you can muster, you grind yourself against him. He groans against your skin, the grip on your skin tightening. He pulls away from you with an obscene sound, the words practically a growl in his throat. "Where's the bed?"

"Down the hall, last door on the right."

He gives pause for a moment, thinking. "Too far." He decides, aloud. Before you can process what he says, you're suddenly scooped up. You wrap your arms around him, tits bouncing as he hoists you around him. You leave the kitchen, and in a few feet, you're tossed unceremoniously on the couch. Your hands find the button of your jeans, getting them half way down your thighs before Stan takes over. They're off before you can even blink, Stan settling between your thighs. He picks one up, hooking your leg over his shoulder while he presses a thumb against your soaked panties.

You're already trembling, and your entire body jumps as he presses his thumb against your clit, rotating it in small painfully slow circles. He leans over you, grinning. "You want somethin'?"

"You know what I want," you breathe, fingers gripping the couch cushion.

"'Fraid I don't, sweetheart. You're gonna have to tell me." He lets up on the pressure, eliciting a whine from you. "I want your fingers," you reach out, gently touching his arm.

He's happy to comply. "Wasn't so hard, was it?" There's that smug fuckin' tone in his voice again. You expect him to pull off your underwear, but it doesn't seem like he's patient enough for that. Instead, he pulls them to the side, his middle and ring fingers sliding up and down against your wet cunt.

"W-wait!" You sit up some as he presses against you. "It's, uh..." you clear your throat. "It's been a while." You feel almost embarrassed to admit it, but with how thick his fingers are, and two of them? You don't wanna run the risk of getting hurt. He pauses, offering just the middle one to you in compromise. You make a face, and he laughs before he raises the finger to his mouth. He presses it against his tongue before dipping it back between your thighs. "Don't think that would've been an issue," you murmur as you feel him begin to slide into you.

You tilt your face against the couch arm, moaning as he buries the finger inside of you. "Bein' careful doesn't hurt," that's true, and you do honestly appreciate the sentiment. He moves his hand in a steady rhythm, the other hand keeping your legs spread apart. You bite your lip, and after a few minutes, he judges that you're ready for another and adds the ringer finger inside of you.

It's thick, and stretches you in the best possible way. "Feels good, don't it?" He leans over you, his face just a few inches away from yours. You don't know why it slips out - maybe you lapse back into what you were taught when you were younger. "Y-yes, sir." You pant the words out.

Stan's fingers stutter for just a moment before he thrusts them back into you, a moan immediately muffled by his lips against yours. He curls his fingers in the same way as before, the way that made your body shake like a leaf in his hand. "Like the way that sounds comin' outta you," he says the words against your neck, pressing kisses against your rapid pulse.

You can't handle it anymore. "Stanley," your voice teeters on the edge of breaking, fingers twisting in the Hawaiian shirt fabric. "F-fuck, Stanley, I-I.." the words die in your throat as he suddenly removes his fingers from your cunt. "W-what?" The words come out a whine, grabbing the shirt tighter and moving your hips to try and find his hand. "Stan," you groan.

"I can't have you all tired out before we get to the good stuff," he tells you. His hands move to the belt, making quick work of it. He slips off the khakis, positioning himself between your legs again before pressing the shaft of his cock against you, sliding against the slickness. You look between your legs, the head of his cock dipping in against your cunt before his hand tilts it up, bumping against your overly sensitive clit.

You're dizzy, just like before. Your head swims, biting your lip as he teases you constantly, angling himself and barely pushing himself in before pulling out. "You're lookin' desperate, sweetheart." He does a poor job of concealing his own desire, unable to take his eyes off your body. "Fuck, you're drippin'." He grins at you. "Still got it, huh?"

You suddenly brace your arms against his shoulders, pushing him back against the couch and straddling his lap. "You talk too much," the words come out in one rushed breath as you reach between your legs and grab the base of his cock, holding him steady as you bury him inside of you. A stifled moan escapes you as your body adjusts to his size. One hand grabs your waist, stilling any movement you might make, while the other grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at him. "You alright?" You nod your head, your lips slightly pursed from how he squeezes your face.

"Good," he breathes, releasing your face. His hand drops to your chest, holding your breast. As soon as you roll your hips forward, Stan can't keep his mouth shut. "Shit, fuck," his eyes are half-lidded, head resting against the back of the couch as you ride him. "You're tight as a fuckin drum, and hotter than hell." You smile, bracing your hands against the couch as you snap your hips forward, rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Both of his hands are on your tits, thumb brushing over the nipples. "Perfect," he mumbles out. Sweat beads across your body, Stan's hand eventually traveling downwards and finding your clit again. The moan rips from your throat as the calloused finger pads press against you, an almost aggressive rub against you - but it's exactly what your body wants. "There ya are," he practically purrs the words out as you lean down.

Your lips catch his, sloppy kisses without much care, as long as you can kiss him. Your burning in every sense of the word, body and nerves as Stan grabs your ass, timing your movements with his own thrusts. He somehow manages to go even deeper inside of you, each thrust sending another wave of pleasure through you. "Stanley!" His name is barely above a whisper as he suddenly pushes you back against the cushions, back on top of you.

He takes a leg, hiking it over his shoulder and leaning over you, your body curling slightly. His pace is merciless, whatever words you had before devolving into incoherent moans of pleasure as they spill from your lips. It's when the orgasm wrecks your body that you swear to God, you see literal stars in your vision as you cum. Your body tenses, nails digging into his forearms so hard that you're a little worried you may draw blood. Stanley, somehow, has enough sense to pull himself from you, his cock sliding against you before he cums.

Thick, milky ropes land on your stomach and tits as he slows his thrusts, breathing heavily before slumping down over you. You're catching your own breath, a hand raising to his back and gently running up and down the now sweat soaked shirt.

"You good?" He asks, his voice somehow hoarser than before.

You can't really respond, offering a thumbs up in response.

"Huh, fucked you so good you lost the ability to talk huh?" Weakly, and playfully, you slap him.

"Asshole." He snorts, removing himself from you and sitting back against the couch. He looks at you. Then the mess on you. "Where's your shower?"

"Bathroom, which is in the bedroom." You yawn. Stan picks the boxes out of his khakis, sliding them on before bending beside you. "Put yer arms around me," you stare at him a moment. "C'mon, before I change my mind." You do as he says, looping your arms around his neck as his hands slide under your sweaty body, hoisting you up.

"Not too much for you, is it, old man?" You laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder.

"I can still drop you, ya know?"

"Mhmm." You mumblr. He feigns the drop, your grip tightening on him.

"Gotcha." He winks at you, but at this point, you're too tired to really fight back. Stan manages to open the door to your room and find the bathroom, setting you on the closed toilet. He reaches into the shower, turning the knobs and keeping his hand in for a moment. "You want it on the hotter or colder side?"

"Uh, hotter." The question catches you off guard.

"Figures, every woman wants it hot as hell." He adjusts the knob behind the curtain, taking it back and shaking off the water. "What?" He asks, raising a brow as you make a face at him.

"Just, uh..." again, you're trying to avoid sounding like an asshole. "Didn't expect aftercare?

"I may be a lot of things, and one of those things may be an asshole, but I'm not that big of an asshole." He sets his hands on his hips and you can't help but snort a giggle. "Up." he tells you, offering an arm. You stand on wobbly legs, leaning against him.

"Not sure how this is gonna work." You admit. "Kinda feel like a newborn deer."

"I'm gonna help you," he says. "Also, get a new metaphor."

"That's a simile."

"Oh, look at me, I paid attention in English." He mocks in a joking tone. "Just.. stand here." You do as your told, watching as he unbuttons his top and shakes it off, revealing the sweat covered girdle that's still wrapped around his waist. "You kept that on the whole time?" That's...kind of impressive.

"Done a lot more uncomfortable things, sweetheart." He says. He drops the girdle on your bathroom floor, gesturing for you to get in the shower. You do, Stan offering his arm for support as he follows you in shortly after. He keeps an arm around you, just below your breasts, in case you slip.

It does make you feel safe. You take the washcloth, soaping it up and slowly begin to scrub your body. The hot water feels amazing on your tired body, breathing in the smell of your soap and shampoo. When you're happily scrubbed, you turn in Stan's arms. "Your turn." You say.

"What?"

"You need to get clean too," you tell him. You don't let him protest, reaching over to your shampoo and squirting a pump into your palm and scrubbing it onto his scalp. There may have been a moment of protest, but it falls off quickly. His eyes shut, letting you work as you comb through his thinning hair. You take a few steps back, turning as carefully as you can so that he's under the stream of water. You work diligently, ensuring all the soap is off before you apply the conditioner and repeat it. He's strangely quiet the entire time, and yet you notice, he's relaxed. It's the first time you think you've ever seen his body this loose.

You grab the washcloth again, soaping it up again before pressing it against his chest. Now that there's no risk of soap in his eyes, Stan cracks one of his eyes open and looks down at you. "You're sweet, y'know?"

"Mhm." You hum in response.

"Seriously," he says. His thumb and forefinger catch your chin, tilting you up to meet his gaze. He leans down, the kiss tender, soft.

There's no intent behind it than affection. Somehow, it makes you feel hotter than what happened in the kitchen. You know you have the dopiest smile on your face, but at the moment, you don't care. You drag the rag over his body, his stomach, everywhere you can as he holds you close to him. When he's finally rinsed, he turns off the shower and carefully helps you step out. A few towels later, you're dry, warm, and exhausted.

You have a few oversized t-shirts that you used to clean the house in, and you manage to find one that fits Stan. There's no way he's making it home tonight. In your own pajamas, you climb into bed as Stan sits on the side of it. "Oh this thing is way comfier than your couch, no offense." He tests the springs, looking at you. "Maybe next time we'll make it to the bed."

"I'll hold you to that," you laugh. "Not tonight, though."

"What a shame," he winks. "You, uh, actually fine with me sleeping in here?" You're getting comfortable beneath the sheets, resting your head on the pillow.

"Stan," you start. "You were literally inside me. You can sleep next to me."

"You'd be surprised how often those two things don't go hand in hand," he remarks off-handedly. Your face creases in worry, about to sit up before he reaches out and pushes you back down. "Story for another day." He pulls the sheets back, sliding in beside you and staring up at the ceiling. A shiver runs through you, scooting closer to him and hooking a leg over his. He raises an arm, putting it behind you so that you're able to rest your head against his chest. "Don't get used to this," you know he doesn't mean a word of that.

"Goodnight, Stan." You stretch, placing a kiss on his cheek. You settle back down, shutting your eyes.

Gently, you feel the ghost of a kiss on the top of your head. "Goodnight."

You fall asleep to his heartbeat, something you think you'd enjoy getting used to

[yandere-yearnings]

Thinking rrl hard about making out with Dice while riding him to oblivion ok bye

nonnie, i can't believe you dropped this into my inbox and ran that quick😭💔 but this put an image into my head that was honestly fucking nice, i would've liked to make this a bit longer if i weren't on a time crunch but anyway, i digress, hope this will suffice🥰

NSFW under the cut!

Your relatively normal lifestyle made you overly aware of every luxury that came your way — this moment was no different. A mansion in the suburbs, with the bathroom on the fifth story floor far bigger than it needed to be, and a bathtub large enough to fit both you and the man you had your lips locked on. The night danced with you, in shadows and shapes cast by the moonlight. Silver sparking in those dull greys, flickers of ecstasy concealed behind lidded eyes.

The water had long since drained. Cold droplets rolling down your thighs and onto his, reverberating echoes carrying your breaths to the walls. Lost to the sparks up your spine, to the stretch and burn that completed you. Your hips to his pelvis, grinding, rolling, drawing every moan you could from Dice's mouth, spit-slicked and calling your name on stolen air.

He thrust up into you and you had to stop your head from lolling back. So deliciously full, taking all you had not to be reduced to delirium. Your hands threaded through thick locks, pulled, hard. "Didn't I say," an exhale to the lobe of his ear, followed by teeth, "didn't I say I'd teach you to pace yourself? Have you gone dumb, baby?"

The tendons in his neck flexed when you pressed your thumbs to them, had him wincing and still looking so fucked out all at once. "I'm listening to you, aren't I?" He met you in the middle again, cock slipping deeper than before, stars exploding in series past flesh and sinew.

It had your arms wrapping around him, had your body melding right into his. You could give him everything for this pleasure, but it held no candles — Dice's desires shackled him to ruin. He'd chase this until it killed him.

"I could leave." That single threat was all it took, and he was still. Staring up at you bleary-eyed, the closest you'd seen him to tears; you laughed, light, happy. Control felt good.

Tongue to tongue, chest to chest, the centre of a storm that thrummed at your fingertips, that you could reach out to, touch and taste. "Good boy, that's it," again you rocked down — rewarded him. Words pressed to his skin, consuming him wholly within yourself, your entire lives eternalised in this moment, "you follow me."

[flutterbyoz]

It's 2024 and still the Rick/Jessie discourse is still making an appearance 🙄

It's something that seems to pop up every now and again and just becomes another excuse for people to voice their dislike for Michonne and Richonne. I get everyone has their own opinion, though many of these opinions have little to no evidence to back them up, but let's just make one thing clear, Rick loves Michonne. He loved her when he met Jessie, he loved her when Jessie cut his hair, he loved her when he and Jessie shared that awkward garage kiss and when he chopped off Jessie's hand. He loved Michonne then and he loves her now, more than life itself. Had Jessie lived he still would have fallen in love and married Michonne.

Some people like to invalidate Richonne anyway they can, even grasping onto crumbs like Jessie, but in the end none of it matters because Jessie was never supposed to be anything more than a plot device, all she did was delay the inevitable. The believability of Rick having feelings for her was dashed pretty quickly given the heart eyes he gave Michonne every time he saw her and I'm sorry but no one can compete against Andy and Danai in the chemistry department.

If you can't see the electric chemistry between Rick and Michonne/Andy and Danai then I do feel a little for you because you're missing out on experiencing what I believe is the best love story to have ever graced the screen.

I do sometimes wonder if I'm watching the same show because the way some people interpret storylines and character interactions can be so polar opposite that it makes me think that they must just be purposefully ignoring the facts just to make it fit their opinion. I'm all for differing opinions but when the facts go completely against those opinions and clearly prove them wrong then it's not so much someone giving an opinion as them just saying whatever just to arouse a response. And yes I know I'm feeding into that with this post but I just needed to say it and sadly I think we all know the reason for most of this dislike and hate towards Michonne and Richonne.

Michonne is not Rick's second choice, she's not his third choice, she's not someone he got with just for the physical side of a relationship or because Jessie and Lori died. Michonne is his first, last and forever choice, the love of his life, the mother of his children, the woman he'd kill and die for, she is his entire world. This has been confirmed multiple times throughout TWD and TOWL, there are no ifs or buts about it, all of this is canon and fact and ignoring it doesn't make it any less true. I always have this thought that if you mentioned Jessie to Rick now it would take him a moment to remember who she was.

This ended up being longer than I thought but when I began writing I just kept going! People will always find a way to disrespect and invalidate Rick and Michonne's relationship, no matter what canon tells them but their negativity changes nothing. They can have as many opinions as they wish but Rick and Michonne will still be married, living happily with their children and being more in love than ever and if we are lucky enough to see them again then that will be shown over and over again.

Forever and always it will be Rick and Michonne

[xxlady-lunaxx]

Hehe and it's me again! So i dont know if it's late in your country or no. (In mine it's arleady 23:01 anyways so i am here to request something that was in my mind since two days, how about the hashira being totally shocked cause they find out that Obanai sanemi and giyuu are in a poly relationship, like didn't they hated Giyuu? and didnt giyuu hated them too.....

im so mad bc i answered this but then my wifi cut off and then it got deleted DHGHGJ / it’s late evening here rn idk

Hashira reacting to SaneObaGiyuu !

Shinobu Kocho:

Pure disbelief, she’s utterly flummoxed and does NOT believe it. She’s probably supportive but ever so confused, wondering how the fuck they managed this and why and what and when— She maybe suspected Giyuu’s intentions to be their ‘friends’ had ulterior motive but hadn’t even suspected that, nor thought about it long enough to consider it. She’s in a lil shock, give her time and she’ll go back to teasing them (as a whole now).

Muichiro Tokito:

He really does not give a fuck.

Tengen Uzui:

He’s a bit confused and wondering how any of them managed to pull anyone, especially with their personality clashes, but he’s all encouragement and doesn’t mind. He’s probably leaning in for alllll the details. It’s everyone’s problem if he doesn’t find out everything. Really wouldn’t have seen it coming, but then again the most unapproachable Hashira were bound to get together, right?

Kyojuro Rengoku:

(blink blink) Congratulations!!! ?? (he’s a bit confused, wondering how it came out to be like this, but 100% supportive and absolutely hoping that this will make them fight less) (thinks they’re a nice trio tho) (hopes they won’t gang up together against mutual enemies unless it’s muzan, then he hopes they go all out LMAOO)

Mitsuri Kanroji:

#1 supporter all the fucking way!! She’s relieved they got along and wants the best for them. She’s exuberant and giggling (Sanemi was trying not to punch her) and she really wants to hug them all. Feels like a proud mother watching her children grow (neither of the three see her as a mother figure in the very slightest)

Gyomei Himejima:

Glad they’re together, hopes they prosper well, probably the calmest about it. He’s happy for them and is glad they relatively get along now. Also has a little questions about how they managed to talk all of it out, but won’t pry.

[factual-fantasy]

27 Asks! Thank you! :}} ✏️

@unpopularartist14

I don't ever number my panels or strive for a specific number- the only limitation I keep in mind is keeping the comic under 30 canvases. But that's only because of Tumblr's stupid new image limit. Before that crapdate I would make a comic with as many canvases/panels as I wanted.

And idk what you mean by overwhelming- I put between 1-6 drawings on one canvas, it just depends on the comic and what i need from that scene :0

Also idk what a comic chapter is- and I don't believe myself to be the best with dialogue 😅 I just slap comics together and keep adjusting it until it feels right..

Sorry, I'm sure these were not helpful answers. I never claimed to be good at explaining how I do things. Plus I'm in a pretty bad headspace so I'm sure that's not helping me..😓

I'm self taught, so its hard to explain how I learned anything or to teach it to others- "I just.. do it." "I just change it until it feels right." "I just draw it. How?.. idk I just.. draw it..?"

I hope you can find another artist to help you. Unless the questions get very specific- I'm afraid I can offer no better answers. <:(

@ayliminum

Ngl, I have no idea when I'm gonna open it again. My server has gotten enough members that if it gets any bigger, I'm gonna need a mod to help me monitor it. But I don't have anyone I trust/feel comfortable enough/know well enough- to add as a mod. And considering how horrible my mental and physical health has been.. I haven't wanted to even deal with it anyways.

Right now my server is manageable at its size. So I just closed it off to new members and put "get a server mod/reopen the server" on the list of millions of things I need to do once I crawl out of this health deteriorating pit.💀

AWWWW!!! WORGI!! COLF!!💞💞

@h31fd3ad

No way XDDD

@cicutagreninja

For Bonnie, he is an animatronic designed to handle small groups at a time and have 1 on 1 interactions. But in the case where Freddy is decommissioned, he takes Freddy's place as the star. So he constantly has huge crowds swarming all around him..

As a result, Bonnie is basically constantly overwhelmed. And any second that he has to himself, he just goes completely stone faced and quiet. Kind of to mentally take a break and recharge from all the interactions..

As for Foxy, he always looks so solemn in that AU because his heart just aches for his friends.. He misses Chica and Freddy.. He can see how horrible Bonnie, Roxy and Monty are feeling.. he wishes he could help them all.. but there's nothing he can do...

@neo-metalscottic

AAAAAA Thank you! :DDD I wonder how long it'll take me to get to 30K.. 🤔

Also as for terraria- I haven't fought any of the bosses on my own and I'm sure I haven't seen all the biomes 💀 But so far I like the jungle biome and the wall of flesh is a cool concept :00

I'm glad to hear you've liked my Octonauts stuff! :)) As for what attacked Calico Jack, it was supposed to be a sea monster that could be mistaken for a gator :0

I also had no back story in mind for how he got the scar on his eye <:0 and idk if he'd be willing to share the story.. it depends on how he got it! <:/

Aww.. poor Emmet.. man. I am not looking forward to experiencing that myself.

@holly-opal

I've seen the movie trailer for it! Beyond that I know nothing about it <:0

@sussyhahag

Its more of a reverse egg yolk, but I see what you mean! XDD

@captain-skyler1987

My week has been rough.😔funny picture though XD

(Referencing this post)

WAHGG THANK YOU!! :DDD

Also thankfully no- if Wally ever got close to being that tired he'd sit down somewhere. Maybe even accidentally take a nap-

@pink088

Idk if its supposed to hurt after the initial piercing- make sure you're taking care of the holes! <:0

(Referencing this post)

AAAA YES ITS EXCITING AND A LITTLE STRESSFUL! XDD

@ask-observer-ron

@cat7890

I haven't been feeling well, my health it pretty bad.. but thank you! I'm glad to hear you like my artwork! :)))

@beryl-shade

I haven't seen it, is it good? :0 Perhaps I should watch 8-Bitryans video on it..🤔

@birodactyloftheblog

WAAHHGHGH THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! :DDD

Maybe someday! :00

@enbydemirainbowbigfoot

No need to apologize! I take it as a big compliment! Thank you! :)))

@wolfie-777

Aw! Cute wolf! :)

Ugh.. that's always such a shame to hear.. but hey thanks for telling me 👍

@antikittysocial

Aw,, that's so sad.. <:( poor Shellington..

@briandraws

My head is more of a liquid. If you took a hair dryer to it I'd go splat XDD

I imagine the mama Emboar got pregnant and then the father dipped. Just like real boar fathers do 💀

I've never heard of it.. is that a show about the Daycare attendant..? :0

I do not know what that is.. sorry! <:(

(Referencing this post)

<XD It was certainly a show. I should go back and watch the whole thing in order sometime-