#it all comes full circle yes

[askthestans]

Dear Stanley Pines. Do your remember people's reactions toward Ford when he was shown to public with you for the first time? How does people in Gravity Falls think about him?

Stanley: Well, we already talked about Wendy in another post. She basically didn't care, which was kinda expected. Can't get that girl to care about anything, honestly.

Soos mostly stayed away from Ford for my sake, at first. Said Ford didn’t appreciate me enough, and told ‘im right to his face that he was lucky to have me as a family member, ‘cause not everyone has family that sticks around and works that hard to make up for their mistakes like I did.

Eventually Soos and Ford got along. I mean, now the kid makes Stanfiction with him as the main character, which is as puke-worthy as it sounds. By the end of last Summer, he grew to respect Ford, but he was not a Ford fan at all for a while.

Not sure if you've noticed, but Soos and I have a rather... complex relationship. He’s extremely loyal to me. I s’pose I should feel grateful, but it’s a little weird, honestly.

Stanford: Stan, we talked about this when we were on the Stan-O-War. It’s quite obvious that Soos looks up to you as a fath-

Stanley: Boss! He looks up to me as the world’s greatest former boss! D-don’t listen to Sixer, here. Ain’t nothin’ between me and Soos but a serious, coldhearted manager-employee relationship!

Stanford: Stanley, he left your room here completely untouched after he took ownership of the Shack. When we got back, he knocked over everyone - including Melody - out of the way to hug you and wouldn’t let go for an hour.

Stanley: See? I��m the best boss he’s ever had.

Stanford: He emailed you every day while we were out at sea, sometimes multiple times, asking you for life advice and telling you how much he missed you, with attached pictures of himself in your Mr. Mystery outfit and how proud he was to wear it. Never mind the fact that he emailed me every day, too, to ask me to make sure you were happy and came back home safe.

That’s not even accounting for how he’s planning on naming his firstborn son after you-

Stanley: Stanley is a common, classy name. There’s no relation whatsoever- Stanford: Stanley...

Stanley: What!? Soos had some actual taste for once in his life, is all I’m sayin’! Who said I cried when he told me he was namin’ his son Stanley!? I didn’t feel a heartwrenching ache in my chest for days afterwards, neither! Not at all!

Stanford: *Pulls out a camera. On it is a set of photos of Stan standing on the deck of the Stan-O-War II, a doofy grin on his face, eyes puffy from what must have been hours of tears, with the look of a man who finally feels emotionally fulfilled for the first time in his life.* Photo evidence, Stanley- Stanley: *Snatches camera from Ford and vigorously deletes them. Afterwards, he gives Ford a betrayed look.*

Stanford: *Chuckles and snatches the camera back.* Not to mention, the extra hour you spent at the store the other day debating between buying a baby blanket and bottles and toys, then - you of all people, Mr. Cheapskate Pennypinch McScrooge himself - bought all of them and more, then proceeded to grin the entire time we spent in the checkout and during the drive home. You even started crying aga-

Stanley: ANYWAYS! How’d the rest of the town react to Ford? Let’s talk about that instead! That’s far more interesting than mine and Soos’ completely boring manager-employee relationship.

Ford, talk about yourself! It’s your favorite thing to do, right? Tell ‘em how everyone in this hickdump town reacted to the mind-blowin’, plot twisty return of Stanford Filbrick Pines.

*Stan grabs the camera back again and furiously scrolls through all the pictures and videos, making sure none of them contain any incriminating content of him deeply caring about Soos. Most are a mix of very symmetrical, magazine-worthy pictures taken by Ford of supernatural creatures, landscapes, and the two Stan twins bonding, plus blurry shots or clips taken by Stan of random things like Ford getting chased by a werepanther, or Ford drunk off his ass while trying to slurringly explain why vampires are factually not sparkly and hot, but a few are targets for Stan’s deletion fury.

Except one. It’s of him, probably taken by Ford when Stan didn’t notice. He’s also drunk in this video, but unlike Ford - who can’t shut up and goes on angry, barely coherent rants when he’s got liquor in him, as if speaking to some invisible college lecture class (complete with wobbly chalkboard diagrams or bar napkin graphs) - Stan is a sappy, happy drunk.

He’s sitting at their table in the Stan-O-War II, a beer sloshing in widely gesturing hand, rambling about how Soos deserves better. The video jitters as Stan forces Ford into a hug, telling him that that’s exactly how he’s going to hug Soos when they get back, and that even though he never had kids, he considers Soos... well, close enough to it, and that Soos kept him company all those years. Without him, Stan would have been a much sadder, lonelier man, and he owes Soos his life.

Stan smiles at that one as Ford explains an answer to the asker’s question. He’s not gonna delete that one. Maybe one day... no, he probably won’t show that to Soos. Or will he? Ugh...

Stanford: Before I got lost in the portal, most of the town hadn’t seen me much, if at all. And Stan and I look alike enough that, when I left and he took my identity, most didn’t know better. Except Fiddleford. But Fiddleford was...

*Ford looks guilty.* Well, his memory was not in the best shape, is all I’ll say. Of course, the townsfolk eventually saw Stan and I together, side-by-side, after Weirdmageddon ended and everything had calmed down. That was the moment we got reactions...

---

Pacifica: Hey, why is Stan suddenly hot now?

---

Candy: Improvement of Stan?

---

Gideon: My oh my, who knew that the genius behind the journals was none other than the long lost twin and great uncle of my mortal enemies all along?

*Eye twitches.* I haven’t forgiven you for the way you write sentences, Stanford Pines. I almost died multiple times because o' your knack for placin' warnings not to do somethin’ on pages after you’ve already said to do them. That should have been my first hint that the Author was from the stupid Pines family!

Dipper: Wait, Journal 2 has sentences written like that, too?

Stanford: Just how many children were running around with my journals!? Also, I ran out of room to write!

Gideon: And you’ve run out of time to atone for your mistakes, Stanford Pines.

*After this point, Ford was sent countless curses in the mail with the return address matching the Gravity Falls maximum security prison. Even when he and Stan were on the Stan-O’-War II away from any mailboxes, they’d get sent the occasional demon or poltergeist visitor as well. Ford easily dispelled or exorcised most of these, but being woken in the middle of the night on the dark ocean with some horrific monster breathing into Ford and Stan’s faces was not easy to deal with. Ford eventually beat an answer out of them as to who kept sending their ilk, and started redirecting some back to the sender. This occult summoning war continues to this day.

Stan tried to convince Ford that a good broom to the face was all it took to get Gideon to scurry off, but Ford only put his hand on Stan’s shoulder, sighed, looked down for a while...

And then he said, “Stanley, I write sentences perfectly, and I will summon the entirety of the multiverse’s worst horrors upon that child to prove my point.”

---

Grenda: Teach me your deep voiced ways, Cave Johnson!

---

Lazy Susan: Hey there, handsome! Hey! I tried to date your brother, but he said it couldn’t work out because of all my cats. Are you a cat person? You seem like a cat person. Maybe you could come over and meet all of them? Oh, I bet Mr. Cat Face would love you! What do you say, Stanford? Wait, Stanley, why are you dragging your brother away from me? You don’t think he’d like my cats?

---

Sheriff Blubs: You mean to tell me that your brother was impersonating you all this time? So Stanford Pines did not, in fact, commit the largest list of felonies in Gravity Falls’ history?

Stanford: Yes. That is precisely what I’m saying. And Stanley’s technically legally dead. So Stanley Pines didn’t commit them either, nor should any law enforcement ever come after him again. You got it?

*Durland and Blubs glance at each other, looking disbelieving, but then Blubs glances at Ford again. Ford is glaring at them both with his trench coat opened, showing a gleaming assortment of knives, sci-fi weaponry, and Earth guns.*

Sheriff Blubs: Can’t argue with that logic!

---

Reginald: Now that we're finally alone, again, far away from Gravity Falls in this romantic, sunset sea cove off the coast of Japan... Rosanna, there's a burning question which my heart longs to ask of you.

Rosanna: Oh, Reginald!

Distant Voice: Hey, other humans!

*A boat named the Stan-O’-War II pulls up to theirs.*

Stanford: *Battered, covered with green blood, a large kaiju baby tied down on the ship’s deck behind him.* Want to hear a joke? Here goes... My ex-eldritch cult from Dimension 8]2M still miss me...but their aim is getting better!

...

Their aim is getting better!

...

See, it's-it's funny because soul-bonding, ritualistic pacts are terrible!

*Reginald and Rosanna turn to each other, stare into each other’s eyes without a blink for far too long, then jump overboard, never to be seen again.*

[elizacobbs]

Our boys together again

I'm not crying you are

[pink-key]

how does toby feel about all the waffle memes (is that even still a thing lol??)

I think a very soft and naive Toby (you know, the hyper sugary friendly Toby with practically no disorders or slender brainwashing) is the byproduct of the waffle Toby era. I don't mind any Toby versions, 2010s was a waffles era for some reason lmao. I want to keep some of that waffle love tho, so he just likes bread and buns and all that not in an extreme "I will sell Slendy for 50 waffles" way.

[redbean-nom]

the whole death watch/true mandalorians civil war is so weird in context because its like if a bunch of "good old days" religious conservatives got in a fistfight with 13th century crusade reenactors in the middle of an iowa cornfield

[stolenpensfromspencers]

i have done a horrible thing

i started to play the pressure game on roblox 😔

[wowifinallymadeanaccount]

The cast of squid game is so hot I'm literally about to break this table I'M LITERALLY-

[qurolohno]

Had a revelation about the two specific pieces of media I consume: They’re both just two dudes that I’ve head-cannoned to be aroaces in QPRs with their friend as some really cool wingmen

[silentexplorer18]

Every time I start to feel demoralized about writing my novel, I read all the lovely comments people have left on AO3, and it helps so much. Thanks to all you lovely people for making me feel a little less alone on this journey 🤍

[kitsunesakii]

Some doodles before I try and write

[marathehomosexual]

to me Ed's happiest memory is not his marriage or the birth of his children, is the moment he out smarted god and got away with it

FMA is fascinating because there aren't many works about what it means to be an atheist and a heretic to a god that you can not only see, but who has personally snatched body parts off of your living body and made fun of you for it.

[acourtofquestions]

KINGDOM OF ASH (by SJM)

Chapter 48

THE FAMILY REUINION🥹😆😭🫶& MY SOULLL

But when they reached Princess Hasar's battle tent, when they had all gathered around a map of Anielle, they had only a few minutes of discussion before they were interrupted. By the person Chaol least expected to walk through the flaps.

A moment later, Chaol was glad he was sitting down.

Nesryn breathed, "Holy gods."

Chaol was inclined to agree as Aelin Galathynius, Rowan Whitethorn, and several others entered the tent.

They were mud-splattered, the Queen of Terrasen's braided hair far longer than Chaol had last seen. And her eyes ... Not the soft, yet fiery gaze. But something older. Wearier.

Chaol shot to his feet. "I thought you were in Terrasen," he blurted. All the reports had confirmed it. Yet here she stood, no army in sight.

Three Fae males-towering warriors as broad and muscled as Rowan—had entered, along with a delicate, dark-haired human woman.

But Aelin was only staring at him. Staring and staring at him.

No one spoke as tears began sliding down her face. Not at his being here, Chaol realized as he took up his cane and limped toward Aelin.

But at him. Standing. Walking.

The young queen let out a broken laugh of joy and flung her arms around his neck. Pain lanced down his spine at the impact, but Chaol held her right back, every question fading from his tongue.

Aelin was shaking as she pulled away. "I knew you would," she breathed, gazing down his body, to his feet, then up again. "I knew you'd do it."

"Not alone," he said thickly. Chaol swallowed, releasing Aelin to extend an arm behind him. To the woman he knew stood there, a hand over the locket at her neck.

Perhaps Aelin would not remember, perhaps their encounter years ago had meant nothing to her at all, but Chaol drew Yrene forward. "Aelin, allow me to introduce"

"Yrene Towers," the queen breathed as his wife stepped to his side.

The two women stared at each other.

Yrene's mouth quivered as she opened the silver locket and pulled out a piece of paper. Hands trembling, she extended it to the queen. Aelin's own hands shook as she accepted the scrap.

"Thank you," Yrene whispered.

Chaol supposed it was all that really needed to be said.

Aelin unfolded the paper, reading the note she'd written, seeing the lines from the hundreds of foldings and rereadings these past few years.

"I went to the Torre," Yrene said, her voice cracking. "I took the money you gave me, and went to the Torre. And I became the heir apparent to the Healer on High. And now I have come back, to do what I can. I taught every healer I could the lessons you showed me that night, about self-defense. I didn't waste it-not a coin you gave me, or a moment of the time, the life you bought me." Tears were rolling and rolling down Yrene's face. "I didn't waste any of it."

Aelin closed her eyes, smiling through her own tears, and when she opened them, she took Yrene's shaking hands. "Now it is my turn to thank you." But Aelin's gaze fell upon the wedding band on Yrene's finger, and when she glanced to Chaol, he grinned.

"No longer Yrene Towers," Chaol said softly, "but Yrene Westfall."

Aelin let out one of those choked, joyous laughs, and Rowan stepped up to her side.

Yrene's head tilted back to take in the warrior's full height, her eyes widening-not only at Rowan's size, but at the pointed ears, the slightly elongated canines and tattoo. Aelin said, "Then let me introduce you, Lady Westfall, to my own husband, Prince Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius."

For that was indeed a wedding band on the queen's finger, the emerald mud-splattered but bright. On Rowan's own hand, a gold-and-ruby ring gleamed.

"My mate," Aelin added, fluttering her lashes at the Fae male. Rowan rolled his eyes, yet couldn't entirely contain his smile as he inclined his head to Yrene.

Yrene bowed, but Aelin snorted. "None of that, please. It'll go right to his immortal head." Her grin softened as Yrene blushed, and Aelin held up the scrap of paper. "May I keep this?" She eyed Yrene's locket. "Or does it go in there?"

Yrene folded the queen's fingers around the paper. "It is yours, as it always was. A piece of your bravery that helped me find my own."

Aelin shook her head, as if to dismiss the claim.

But Yrene squeezed Aelin's closed hand. "It gave me courage, the words you wrote. Every mile I traveled, every long hour I studied and worked, it gave me courage. I thank you for that, too."

Aelin swallowed hard, and Chaol took that as excuse enough to sit again, his back giving a grateful tinge. He said to the queen, "There is another person responsible for this army being here." He gestured to Nesryn, the woman already smiling at the queen. "The rukhin you see, the army gathered, is as much because of Nesryn as it is because of me."

A spark lit Aelin's eyes, and both women met halfway in a tight embrace. "I want to hear the entire story," Aelin said. "Every word of it." Nesryn's subdued smile widened. "So you shall. But later." Aelin clapped her on the shoulder and turned to the two royals still by the desk. Tall and regal, but as mud-splattered as the queen.

Chaol blurted, "Dorian?"

Rowan answered, "Not with us." He glanced to the royals.

"They know everything," Nesryn said

"He's with Manon," Aelin said simply.

Chaol wasn't entirely sure whether to be relieved. "Hunting for something important."

The keys. Holy gods.

Aelin nodded. Later. He'd think on where Dorian might now be later. Aelin nodded again. The full story would come then too.

Nesryn said, "May I present Princess Hasar and Prince Sartaq."

Aelin bowed—low. "You have my eternal gratitude," Aelin said, and the voice that came out of her was indeed that of a queen. Any shock Sartaq and Hasar had shown upon the queen bowing so low was hidden as they bowed back, the portrait of courtly grace.

"My father," Sartaq said, "remained in the khaganate to oversee our lands, along with our siblings Duva and Arghun. But my brother Kashin sails with the rest of the army. He was not two weeks behind us when we left."

Aelin glanced to Chaol, and he nodded.

Something glittered in her eyes at the confirmation, but the queen jerked her chin at Hasar. "Did you get my letter?"

The letter that Aelin had sent months ago, begging for aid and promising only a better world in return. Hasar picked at her nails. "Perhaps. I get far too many letters from fellow princesses these days to possibly remember or answer all of them."

Aelin smirked, as if the two of them spoke a language no one else could understand, a special code between two equally arrogant and proud women. But she motioned to her companions, who stepped forward. "Allow me to introduce my friends. Lord Gavriel, of Doranelle." A nod toward the tawny-eyed and golden-haired warrior who bowed.

Tattoos covered his neck, his hands, but his every motion was graceful. "My uncle, of sorts," Aelin added with a smirk at Gavriel. At Chaol's narrowed brows, she explained, "He's Aedion's father."

"Well, that explains a few things," Nesryn muttered.

The hair, the broad-planed face ... yes, it was the same. But where Aedion was fire, Gavriel seemed to be stone. Indeed, his eyes were solemn as he said, "Aedion is my pride." Emotion rippled over Aelin's face, but she gestured to the dark-haired male. Not someone Chaol ever wanted to tangle with, he decided as he surveyed the granite-hewn features, the black eyes and unsmiling mouth.

"Lorcan Salvaterre, formerly of Doranelle, and now a blood-sworn member of my court." As if that weren't a shock enough, Aelin winked at the imposing male. Lorcan scowled. "We're still in the adjustment period," she loudly whispered, and Yrene chuckled.

Lorcan Salvaterre. Chaol hadn't met the male this spring in Rifthold, but he'd heard all about him. That he'd been Maeve's most trusted commander, her most loyal and fierce warrior.

That he'd wanted to kill Aelin, hated Aelin.

How this had come about, why she was not in Terrasen with her army ... "You, too, have a tale to tell," Chaol said.

"Indeed I do." Aelin's eyes guttered, and Rowan put a hand on her lower back. Bad— something terrible had occurred. Chaol scanned Aelin for any hint of it. He stopped when he noticed the smoothness of the skin at her neck. The lack of scars. The missing scars on her hands, her palms. "Later," Aelin said softly. She straightened her shoulders, and another golden-haired male came forward. Beautiful. That was the only way to describe him. "Fenrys ... You know, I don't actually know your family name."

Fenrys threw a roguish wink at the queen.

"Moonbeam."

"It is not," Aelin hissed, choking on a laugh.

Fenrys laid a hand on his heart. "I am blood-sworn to you. Would I lie?"

Another blood-sworn Fae male in her court.

Across the tent, Sartaq cursed in his own tongue. As if he'd heard of Lorcan, and Gavriel, and Fenrys.

Aelin gave Fenrys a vulgar gesture that set Hasar chuckling, and faced the royals. "They're barely housebroken. Hardly fit for your fine company." Even Sartaq smiled at that. But it was to the small, delicate woman that Aelin now gestured. "And the only civilized member of my court, Lady Elide Lochan of Perranth." Perranth. Chaol had combed through the family trees of Terrasen just this winter, had seen the lists of so many royal households crossed out, victim to the conquest ten years ago.

Elide's name had been among them.

Another Terrasen royal who had managed to evade Adarlan's butchers.

The pretty young woman took a limping step forward, and bobbed a curtsy to the royals. Her boots concealed any sign of the source of the injury, but Yrene's attention shot right to her leg. Her ankle. "It's an honor to meet all of you," Elide said, her voice low and steady. Her dark eyes swept over them, cunning and clear. Like she could see beneath their skin and bones, to the souls beneath.

Aelin wiped her hands. "Well, that's over and done with," she announced, and strode to the desk and map. "Shall we discuss where you all plan to march once we beat the living shit out of this army?"

[your-internet-bf]

It's been a while since you've seen a doctor, and you're nervous as you follow the nurse back to my office. What's there to be nervous about, this is just a little checkup, right? You notice the nurse's manicured burgundy nails as she knocks sharply on the door. She turns to you, smiling prettily, and says, "the doctor will see you now."

You push open the door and enter quite a large room. The nurse follows, closing the door behind you. In the center is the examination table, off to the right is a small crowd of young adults, appearing to be made up of men and women, and on the left is me, seated at my desk. "Welcome," I say, standing and extending one hand. My voice is deep, warm, and smooth, and you fumble for a moment, blushing a little, before you remember to shake my hand. Your hand is dwarfed in mine, my strong fingers encircling you, and a thought flashes unbidden through your mind - what would those fingers feel like inside you? - but, come on now, that's really not appropriate...

"I have a few students with me, as you can see. Is that alright?"

"Well, yes, of course!" Why shouldn't it be?

"Excellent. Now, I'm pioneering this new full-body examination method - it's really quite extraordinary, the maladies I can detect this way - but be warned, it is, shall we say, unorthodox. Is that alright?"

Just for a moment, you see something in my eyes, something behind the genial smile and gentle, reassuring tone. Just for a moment, you feel like some specimen, some piece of meat, pinned down under the lights with nowhere to go... but just for a moment. Surely, nothing bad can happen, and I'm a doctor, aren't I? You can trust me. So you swallow your fear, and you acquiesce.

"Excellent! Let's have a seat on the table, if you don't mind, and we'll make a start. Nurse V, if you would..."

As you sit on the table, the clinical, sterile seating a little cold against your skin, the pretty nurse steps behind the table, facing you, waiting for something. From your right, I approach, and you feel again just how much larger than you I am as my broad shoulders block out one of the ceiling lights. With all these people watching you, it takes all you have not to squeeze your legs together, just a little bit.

We begin with a quick examination of your face - "you have beautiful eyes, you know," I purr into one ear. I place one hand on the side of your neck and tilt your head; god, you've been reading too much, haven't you, the way you want these strong, expert fingers to close around your throat.

"Now, open your mouth for me, please." You oblige, and I cup your chin and slide my thumb into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. Your eyebrows jump in surprise, and you look at me questioningly.

I smile again, still inside you. "Unorthodox, remember? Now, close your mouth and try to swallow." From behind, the nurse strokes your cheek with the back of one hand, and you feel a sudden ache between your legs. You close your lips around my thumb and swallow. It tastes... clean, mostly, as one might expect from a doctor, but you can taste the sweat underneath.

"Very good, one more time for me."

You swallow again, and you feel me slide my thumb over the surface of your tongue, pressing down, swirling in circles.

"And, one more time... yes, that's it, good job, very good job."

The praise for this degrading task is more than you can bear, and you squeeze your thighs together. Fuck, it's humiliating, everyone just saw you do that... All these eyes on you, the beautiful nurse behind you, this big, strong doctor with these big, strong hands and that big fucking bulge... but no, this is just a checkup, nothing is going to happen, right?

While you were thinking, I dried my hand off and had begun speaking.

"I'm - I'm sorry?"

"No worries. I was saying, can you remove your top, please? We need to examine your heart and your breathing."

You stare at me. "Remove my - "

"Yes, remove your top. The fewer barriers between me and you, the less interference with my examination." My face is quite serious, almost bored - this really must be routine. You look back at the nurse, and she smiles slightly and nods. So you undress, your nipples betraying you, standing at attention. You blush as the crowd of students looks at you intently. The nurse lays one warm hand on your shoulder, slender fingers gripping you reassuringly, and your eyes are drawn once more to those burgundy nails.

I step in close, and you feel my breath warm on your chest. "Now, observe the stiffness in the patient's nipples - this is to be expected, given the cool air, and it's certainly nothing to be ashamed of," I say, smiling. I press my stethoscope up over your heart, the metal cold on your skin, and your mind is betrayed by the pounding of your heart. My eyes flick up to meet yours, and I grin, predatorily, and once again you feel like a piece of meat beneath the lights.

I examine your breasts, starting with your left. Enclosed in my big, strong hands, I squeeze and push, prod and pull, ostensibly feeling for any abnormalities, but the way my fingers brush over your nipples, the intensity with which I sink them into your soft breasts, heaving now as your breath comes faster... My practiced tongue rasps over one nipple and a tiny moan escapes your lips as you try desperately to hide how much you're enjoying this; try desperately, and fail.

Abruptly, I pull back. "Excellent! All seems well here." I rest one hand on your other shoulder and turn to the students. "Note the pleasure response during this section of the examination, and I hope you were paying attention to the oral technique."

I turn back to you, my eyes dancing as they meet yours. "Fully undress, if you would. The inspection must continue."

Your hands tremble as you slide your clothes down off your waist, and the nurse aids you, her lovely hands stroking along your thighs and calves as she does.

"And spread for us, please."

Obediently, your thighs open, exposing your cunt, your needy, aching wetness, to all.

"Note the beauty of the patient's sex, here. The shape of the folds," I murmur, tracing one finger along your sensitive lips, "the balanced ratio of the clitoris to the vulva overall," sliding two fingers on either side of your clit, squeezing gently between them, "the appropriate pleasure response in - "

You lose what I say as I plunge two fingers inside you, powerful and dextrous, knuckles slipping past your tightness easily. It feels so fucking good to finally have something inside you, after all this aching and teasing, and god, so many people are watching, they're all watching your pussy spread and toyed with by this big, strong, handsome older man, and now the nurse's slender fingers are across your throat and her lips are on your forehead, and she tells you that you're doing so well for me, you've been so good...

My fingers press up inside you, finding your g spot, and with my thumb rubbing on your clit, I start melting you. Waves of pleasure course through your body, you gasp, moan, whimper, and with your eyes closed you can't tell whose lips are so soft on yours, but it feels so fucking good, and all those people are watching and it makes you want it more, your back arching, chest heaving, melting under the attention, and finally, mercifully, you cum, contracting around my fingers, squeezing your thighs together, trembling, shaking, gasping for air. You hear me say something, but you're so overwhelmed with pleasure that all you can make out from my speech is "very, very good".

The hand withdraws from your throat, and I gently, gently, extricate my fingers, and settle my hand atop one thigh, fingers slick with your desire.

The nurse whispers affirmation in your ear as I address the class. "Stimulation in this manner, of the two most sensitive sex stimuli, brings the most consistent and powerful orgasms to those possessing these organs." I stroke the inside of your thigh reassuringly, before turning to you.

"The final part of this examination is seeing how well you handle penetration. I'm going to need your unequivocal verbal consent before proceeding."

The nurse leans in and whispers into your ear, "might I suggest 'please, sir, will you fuck me?'" You'd blush harder if you could.

You swallow, nervously, and there's a twisting in your gut as you say it. "Please," you begin, voice cracking. "Please, sir, will you fuck me?"

"Yes, that is sufficient. I must say, though," I warn, unzipping my jeans, "that I am quite large." I slap my cock down on your tummy, and the sheer weight of it shocks you. You've seen size like this in porn, sure, but fuck, you've never touched something like this. When you tear your gaze away from my cock, I'm grinning down at you, predatory again. "You can back out at any time, you know." My voice is low, teasing, challenging. "Should we continue?"

You nod shakily, and spread your legs a little wider.

One hand on your raised knee, one hand guiding my cock, I push against you. For a moment you realize the exam had to be done in this order; if you weren't so fucking wet, there's no chance you'd be able to take me. But all thoughts are blasted out of your mind as I push harder and slide in.

It's so fucking thick that you can't help but groan. You've never felt so full, so strained inside, being pushed in every direction; you're not built for this, maybe there's just too much, your body is rejecting me - and then I push again, another few inches, and you slam your head back against the padded table, a long, drawn-out "fuuuuuck" wrenched from your lips. You feel my strong hands brace at your hips, and with a final thrust, slamming your cervix up into your guts, moving your entire body, the ridges of my cock sliding deeper and deeper, sliding painfully, pleasurably past your walls, I'm inside you.

The nurse rests her hands on you again, and purrs in your ear, "you're doing so well for him, I know it's hard, it's so hard, but you're doing such a good job, pretty girl..."

Glacially, I pull out, allowing you a moment to rest, before thrusting in again, hands still at your waist. You sob once, loudly, and then you sink into it as I pick up a rhythm, deep, deep strokes inside you. You hear me grunting, whispering something, and I grow more frantic, impaling you a little harder, and through the wall of pleasure you hear me rumble, "nurse V, begin the overstimulation procedure."

"Certainly, doctor." She leans over you, lips fiercely meeting yours, and one of those slender hands reaches down to abuse your clit. An image of those burgundy nails on your cunt flashes through your mind as I continue pounding you, forcing you to spread for me, adjust to me, even as the nurse plays your clit like an instrument, and fuck, she's a virtuoso.

You sing a song of moans and voiceless curses under our combined mastery, knowing your audience is entranced, filled with a blazing, lusty pride. The deep bass of my voice, resonant in your skull, is saying something, but you cannot hear me; you're moaning, groaning, pleading, "yes, yes, oh my god yes" over and over...

The song swells to a crescendo and with two sudden strikes, two powerful thrusts into you, it ends with a thick, hot, sticky white wave of my approval inside you. You feel it pulse deep, deep inside, filling you, load after load delivered straight past your bruised, abused cervix.

You come back to reality with my cum spilling from between your legs, trailing thickly down onto the exam table. I zip up my jeans while the nurse helps dry you off, from all the sweat and saliva. She dabs caringly at your mouth, and you notice that the cloth is dyed the same shade as her lipstick.

"Now," I address the class, "I hope you were paying attention." I rest one hand on your aching, trembling thigh. How many times did you cum with me inside you? How long were all these people watching you writhe beneath me, begging, losing yourself in the pleasure? You have no fucking clue. "This patient has bravely volunteered for each of you to examine her, here and now, while she's available to us."

Your jaw drops. When did you agree to that? You would never - but you were begging, "yes, yes, yes" earlier, weren't you, while I was talking. You agreed. Everyone heard you say it.

"One at a time, please. And," I say to you, grinning wolfishly, "don't worry. I'll be watching the entire time."

[asthewintersun]

on the one hand i love a good unsettling horror concept that never explains itself - midnight is so haunting and compelling years after it aired for good reason!! - on the other hand, this notion that wellll it was caused by a faerie circle and faeries don't have rules! so the episode doesn't need to make any sense! feels... like a cheap and lazy way of simply not bothering to write a complete story. to be quite honest.

[sillybit]

Remember that we were joking about how Shadowpeaches is just Sonadow but in a different favor

Yeah now, it all came in full circle.

So here we have, like, The Hero and The Warrior- *is shot*

[babyboy555777]

Overheard

Summary: Rafe over hears you and Sarah talking about your night at the beach with a hookup.

CW: possessive Rafe, rough sex, name calling, unprotected sex (wrap before tap), bit of choking and hair pulling, forced to stay quiet, mirror sex. (Should be it)

(Did not proofread bc this took me so long already.)

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You and Sarah had been friends for years. You moved to Outer Banks as a child and took quite a liking to Sarah and her family. You were always known to drop in whenever you felt needed. You shared many nights at their house and basically became a part of the family.

On this specific day it was like any other. You hopped in your jeep and quickly sped off to Tannyhill. Soon arriving in the circle driveway of the mansion you quickly got out and headed to the door knocking loud, so you were heard.

The door was swung open by none other than the snarky stuck-up brother of your best friend, Rafe Cameron. “You don’t have to knock.” He sighed “you basically live here anyway.” He scolded you. You pushed past him and into the entrance way of the house.

“Where’s Sarah?” Rafe shut the door and then pointed up the stairs to her room. “Where she always is waiting for you.” You nodded your head at him giving him one last look before making your way up to her room. He watched as you quickly sprinted up the stairs. Watching as your hips moved and how your ass was in perfect view.

He shook his head relieving the thought of you knowing how wrong it was. Soon he made his way up the stairs as well to his own room that was until he heard you talking in a not so quiet voice to his sister.

"I wouldn't say it was awful, just not what I wanted." Sarah cocked a brow to you. "Well, what did you want. I mean you wanted to have sex with him, right? What more could you want. You practically begged me for his number." She chuckled.

"Yes, I did." Rafe moved closer to the crack in the door leaning his ear closer. He listened closely to your words. "What does she mean" he thought to himself.

Yes, Rafe knew you, but he thought he knew you well enough. He never saw you as the type to beg for sex with someone, or much less really want it.

In his head you always were the type to never come off as sexual but definitely not innocent. He truly just thought that in this world full of sex you had no idea what you were doing or had any care for it, and he was so wrong.

"Okay yes I wanted it. Like the party last week, I wanted to just be dragged off with him somewhere because I thought he'd fuck the shit out of me. See that's what I wanted." You crossed your arms and huffed.

"Okay, then what happened that you didn't like? Was it the fact it was on the beach or like what?"

"I guess the best way I could put it is I wanted it to me more filled with lust and desire. I wanted it to be rough and I wanted to not be able to walk today." You chuckled along with Sarah.

"Well how did it go for you?" You sighed trying to think back to last night. "Well, he took me out on the beach, and he had a blanket with him. Talking happens and whatever and I end up straddling his lap."

Sarah nodded her head waiting for you to continue, but Rafe stood out the door as he held his breath. He was pissed. You fucking some other man and he didn't even do it right pissed him off more. But he stayed quiet.

"We made out a bit and I started to grind on him a bit. Obviously, he got a rise up, so I got all cocky and pulled his dick out. After a few moments of me just doing my thing, I pulled my bikini bottoms off and rode him. He was like..." You paused trying to find your words.

"It was like he never wanted it to end and not saying I don't like that, but I asked if he could get on top and we'd go faster he just straight up refused. Which basically dried me up and I didn't even want to do it anymore."

Sarah tried to hold back her laughter. "Hey, it's not funny I'm being dead serious." You smacked her arm but laughed as well.

Rafe was the only one not laughing. Red filled his face with anger, and he scoffed at your words. "Didn't even fuck her the way she wanted. What a pussy." He thought.

"Well maybe you'll find someone who just rocks your world." Sarah smirked. "Yeah, as if." But only if you knew what little plan Rafe had planted into his mind.

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

That same day you had planned on staying the night with Sarah. Of course, to everyone in the house it was no surprise. It was now late at night and Sarah was asleep. However, you sat awake in her bed scrolling mindlessly on your phone till a text popped up.

"Come here."

You read the text from Rafe. Confusion spread across your face. You texted back.

"Sarahs asleep. Where are you?"

"My room. Just come here you won't wake her, she's a heavy sleeper."

You sighed and turned off your phone placing it on the nightstand beside you. Slowly you rose up from the bed making your way to the bedroom door making sure to stay as quiet as possible.

You looked back at Sarah one last time before closing the door. You slowly tiptoed your way down the hall to Rafe's room. You raised your hand to the door knocking slow and quiet. Soon Rafe opened up the door nodding his head telling you to come in.

As you walked in you looked around the room that was dimly lit by the small lamp setting you realized you had never seen Rafe's room before. "I have never been in here." You turn back and look at him leaning up against the door. "Cleaner than I thought." You chuckled.

He shrugged. "Don't know why you'd ever think that. I believe I come off as a clean person." He paused. "Unlike you." You looked at him confused for a moment as he stepped closer to you, his rich cologne filled your nostrils.

"I heard you. Talking to my sister earlier today." He walked behind you. "How you wanted to be fucked hard." He leaned in closer to your ear whispering. "How you want it to be filled with lust and desire."

His words sent chills down your spine and your own words choked up. "So, fucking dirty and here I was thinking you didn't care about these things." His hands slowly made their way to your hips giving a slight squeez.

"Rafe..." You spoke barley above a whisper. He smirked against your neck placing a small kiss right below your ear. "Is that what you want? To be fucked like the whore you are?"

Your legs squeez together trying to release some of the tension that was building up. You let out a shaky breath as one of his hands trail down to the waistband of your sleep shorts.

"Is this what you want?" He whispered. You nodded your head squeezing your eyes shut as he played with the waist band. "Words."

"Yes, I want this." He slid his hands down your shorts. Two of his fingers rubbed against your folds. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding in. He rubbed circles around your clit as your hips moved forward chasing his touch.

You let out a small moan and immediately Rafe slaps his hand onto your mouth. "What you want the whole house to hear? As much as I'd love to hear your pretty little moans you need to keep quiet."

You nodded your head frantically. "Good girl." Rafe then removes his hand from you making you whine at his loss of touch. He stepped back from you grabbing your hand and leading you to the bed. He pushed you down on the bed and you let out a gasp.

He crawled on top of you and basically ripped off your clothes and his throwing them on the floor. Rafe started to kiss your neck earning a small gasp to leave your lips.

"Rafe please..." you whine out. "What do you want?" He smirked against your neck. The words couldn't seem to leave your lips as he left a bite on your sweet spot right below your ear.

"Don't go quiet on me now." He rose up to look at you. "Tell me what you want." You started to bite your lip at the sight of him. The sly smirk planted across his face. His shoulder muscles showing more featured as he held himself up.

"Fuck me Rafe...." As soon as the words slipped from your lips it felt like sweet honey on his tongue. He spread your legs open, and you wrapped them around his waist trying to pull him in.

"So needy?" He chuckled making you want him even more. "Rafe..." You breathed out. "Words sweetheart." He smirked once again. "Rafe please fuck me." Your wish was his command.

He lined himself up to you and without warning slammed into you making you let out a loud cry. He quickly slapped his hand over your mouth. "Shut the fuck up." He groaned out.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as he thrusted into your cunt hard and fast. "You feel so fucking good. Holy shit." His words were breathless as if he blurted them out of pure pleasure.

His hand still planted on your mouth as the other held your waist tightly. You threw your head back at all the new pleasure rising in you. Rafe looked down at you smirking at the absolute complete mess you were in this moment.

"You like how I fuck you. I bet that pussy boy could never be like this with you." You moaned against his hand as the words leaped off his tongue.

As Rafe pounded into you harder and faster the headboard started to move. He let go of your waist grabbing the board holding himself up as he stayed covering your mouth. You watched his muscles tensed and sweat glistened on his body.

All the pleasure plus the view of him really added onto you forgetting about your shitty hookup. "Fuck..." He groaned out throwing his head back and closing his eyes.

In an instant Rafe grabbed you off the bed still fucking you and took you into the big bathroom inside his bedroom. He turned you around facing the mirror. "I want you to see that pretty little face when you cum for me. A face you'll never see without me fucking you like this."

He held your mouth again making you look at the beautiful mess you were in the mirror. Him pounding in and out of you. Your breast bouncing. Him making direct eye contact with you through the mirror itself.

Muffed moans and him slapping his thighs against your ass echoed through the tile walls. As you could feel your peak approaching you closed your eyes. "No." In one swift move he wrapped his hands around the back of your hair forcing your eyes open to see yourself.

He smirked as he watched you bite your lip holding back you loud beautiful moans. With a few sloppier thrust Rafe was chasing his own high. Throwing his head back as he pounded into you. "Fuck me." He groaned out.

Your high had reached his peak biting your lip so hard blood started to form. Rafe grabbed you pulling you against your chest holding your neck. "Come on baby." He whispered in your ear making you crash.

Your legs started to shake and the image of you two in the mirror was all too much to handle. Rafe started to come down from his own high. His thrust and movements slowing down as his hot liquid shot inside you.

Rafe turned your head towards his planting a sloppy wet kiss on your lips and he pulled out of you. Rafe pulled away, and you both panted for air more than ever. "That's how you should be fucked." A smirk planted across his lips.

[ohcaptains]

𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟.

college! peter parker x fem reader.

18+ only !!! f! receiving oral sex. peter parker has an oral fixation i said what i said. in my spider-man era again.

peter was a weekly visitor at this point. sometimes, it was twice, but never more than three. three was pushing it.

Three said that Peter meant something to you, and you couldn’t have that. No, whatever this was between the pair of you was strictly transactional. It was Peter texting you late at night, the classic, you up? Gracing your screen, and every time, you would pretend to be annoyed.

As if Peter coming around to give you the greatest head of your life was an inconvenience. Tempted, the devil on your shoulder smirking, to type back, Jesus, again? but never doing it. Instead, you wrote: sure.

Still, it plagued your mind. He never asked for anything else.

It was as if he did this purely for himself.

“Oh fuck,” you mewled, clenching down tight. The hand that was wrapped around Peter’s brown curls clutched and tugged, and the unconscious movement earned you a chastised groan. It rumbled through your cunt, and the echo shot to your clit, making you close your eyes and lean back, wet mouth spilling his name into your dorm.

Peter liked hearing you.

Liked seeing you lose your mind with his head between your thighs, your pussy wet and throbbing from his mouth and fingers. It’s why he came around often. Sometimes, he wouldn’t even text, would just knock on your door -- looking sheepish from under his dark curls -- and just. Not. Say. Anything.

His silence was answer enough. You knew what he wanted. Or, needed, as you later figured out, as you saw how red he’d gotten when you told him he couldn’t come around for a bit. When you said something about focusing on exams, he’d come over anyway, whined, shuffled his feet and said, You can do your work, I just gotta…I’ll be quick.

The lack of explanation made your mind swirl. But regardless, you’d let him in and did your work with his head between your thighs. He’d tutored you, too, told you how to solve for x with his fingers inside of you. He’d said, if you let me make you come again, I’ll do your Maths work for the next week. After he’d left, you stared at the scene of the crime in pure silence.

Just…reflecting.

Peter fluttered his tongue over your swollen clit. Focused on swirling it around his tongue in sloppy, wet circles, and the thick desire that swelled between your thighs began to pool at your lower back, forcing you to arch up into it.

���Please,” you wept, even though he was giving you what you wanted. Flat on your back with his deft grip keeping your bare thighs open. It was 8 pm. He’d caught you just after your shower, so the smell of your shampoo and body wash wafted through the air – Lavender and pear.

Peter had spread you open and said you smelled like spring. You’d been far too turned on to comment on it. He grumbled into your cunt, and you managed to work out the word, more? You hummed, too drunk on him and wound tight to verbalise that yes, you wanted more. Wanted him to make you come, and come again, till all you could do was mumble his name and focus on your breathing.

He'd learnt how you liked it. Paid attention, and he was getting full scores as he pushed his tongue flat against your swollen clit and sucked. Your vision went white.

“Oh fuck – ohfuck, Peter—” you squirmed, but Peter was strong, and he held you to the bed with his vice-like grip, wordlessly saying take it take it take it.

He lapped at you, salvia drooling over your cunt and down his chin, soaking the sheets. He was always so careless. In moments like this, that nervous edge that always fluttered around him was gone, replaced by a visceral drive to either please you, or get what he wanted.

The two bled into each other.

His tempo was leisurely, but that didn’t stop the heat from washing over you all at once.

You clamped your thighs around his ears and moaned -- loud, so loud that you were sure the other students on your floor heard.

Still, the ache was erratic, “So good,” you sobbed, and you heard yourself, heard the near primal need in your voice, and the desperation made you embarrassed, made you cover your mouth with your palm and grip the sheets, willing yourself to cool it. 

“Move your hand, or I’ll stop,” he uttered against you, and your clit was so sore that the echo of his words made your eyes roll back. Peter must have seen, as he hummed a laugh, and kissed your inner thigh, “lemme hear you.”

Managing to gain some sense of sanity, you blearily blinked down at him, but all sense of stability you thought you had was wiped away when you saw Peter had his hand stuffed down his pants.

You dropped back onto the bed and sobbed.

You knew he got off on this, but Jesus Christ, you’d never seen that before.

“Gotta be kidding me,” you breathed, and Peter must have understood what you were referencing, as he buried his reddening face into your inner thigh. He let out a breathy chuckle, “’ M’sorry,” he mumbled, “usually I wait till I get home, but you’re just so hot.”

You had to stay completely still, or you’d burst. Usually, I wait till I get home?

Peter moved his face and began nuzzling the wet folds of your pussy. He bumped his nose against your clit, and you quietly choked.

Peter hummed, “couldn’t help myself.”

You figured he did something like that, but the admission made your thighs tense. You pictured him stumbling home – cheeks still wet with you – and tugging his pants down, quickly shoving his hands into his boxers and taking hold of his aching cock. Did he whimper when he came? Or was he silent, all tremors and low grunts? No. He definitely whimpered.

He was far too pretty to stay quiet.

The sudden desire to kiss him swept over you.

Reaching down, you tugged at his curls, wordlessly motioning him to move. When he did, you briefly saw the red of his cheeks and wet of his nose before you kissed him, all tongue, and tasted yourself on his pink lips.

Peter melted into you. Huffed your name like a sigh, and the sheer tenderness of it had you wrapping your legs around his back and pressing your bare cunt against his jeans.

He was rock-hard. Tentatively, you ran your nails over his chest, and dipped low, pressing between his thighs, cupping his bulge, and gently squeezing. Peter wept.

“Oh fuck,” he sobbed, as desperate as you imagined. With one hand in his hair and the other on his cock, you continued to kiss him, until the ache between your thighs became too much to bear.

“Make me come,” you whispered, “and I’ll put you in my mouth.”

Peter had never moved so fast in his life.