#kinda not really but I want it in that tag

[ellieputellas]

can you write roommate!alexia smut

caught in the act | a. putellas x reader

— You catch your roommate Alexia touching herself to your photos.

tags: roommate!Alexia, barçaB!reader, smut, masturbation, mentions of fingering, mention of age gap, a bit of degradation and dirty talk, not proofread 🔞 wc: 2k+

Alexia hated having you as a roommate.

It wasn't because of the fact that you had a bad habit of putting off washing the dishes until the next morning; she learned to deal with it and wash them for you whenever it did bother her. It also wasn't because you were always watching Netflix past midnight, at full volume while she tried to get enough sleep for early morning training the next day, fully knowing the walls between your rooms were paper thin. She's learned to fall asleep to the sound of Brooklyn 99 or whatever American TV show you were addicted to at the time. It wasn’t even the fact that she’d have to set her alarm at least 30 minutes ahead of the usual time she’d wake up just so she could force you out of bed so you could both attend your respective training sessions on time.

Instead, she hated how oblivious and clueless you were to how she felt about you.

Just now, there you were in the living room watching a dumb show on Netflix as you simultaneously swiped on Bumble. She hated seeing you looking at other girls, or even getting all dolled up for dates with other girls.

She knew your type. You liked tall, fellow athletes with great style. She wondered why you never noticed her when she fit your type so well. She rolled her eyes at the sight of you fiddling with the dating app and just wanted to return to her room but you already noticed her presence.

"Hey, Alexia." You said calmly. “Come over here.”

She sighed. "Yeah?"

"What do you think about her?" You said as you chewed on the chips you were loudly snacking on. (That was another thing Alexia let you get away with — snacking everywhere and anywhere leading to a mild ant problem.)

Alexia sat beside you on the couch and leaned in to look at your phone. It was someone from Levante’s B team. Alexia frowned. She had to admit. This girl was undeniably hot with her tattoos and fit body but she knew she looked just as good as this player. If not that, she sure as hell was a better player. That should have been some merit to her.

"She’s okay..." It was all she could say to you. She didn’t want to come off as the jealous roommate.

"Really? I kinda think she's smoking hot." You said with a confused look. “She’s the hottest player I’ve played against on the pitch.”

Alexia rolled her eyes and wanted to make a snide comment but let it slide.

“She asked me out after we switched shirts after our match, and I smelled her shirt and it smelled good as fuck.” You shared, making Alexia roll her eyes again. “Plus, she’s taller than I am and you know how that’s my type… but our texts have been stale and boring as fuck.”

Alexia shrugged and tried to focus on the show you were shamelessly ignoring already. “Then just don’t go out with her.”

You sighed. “Yeah… but there is this rookie footballer I matched with on Bumble, she plays for…” You continued to tell Alexia about the other girls you were talking to but she just didn’t give a fuck.

She didn’t wanna know anything about the other girls you were seeing while she’s been into you for so long.

"Anyway, can you help me pick photos from my weekend trip with Emma? She's so great at taking photos that I feel like I have to make two separate posts on instagram just to include all of my hot photos." You said before giving your phone to Alexia. "Just swipe through them and heart all the photos you like."

As soon as she grabbed your phone, she felt her body heat up. The first photo of you was you in front of the pool with your arms up, laughing gleefully. You were wearing the tiniest bikini with a bra top just big enough to cover your nipples and that incredibly skimpy underwear.

All Alexia could think about was pushing them to the side and fucking you hard with her fingers.

Alexia blinked. "You're so...." She couldn't find the words. "Naked?"

You laughed at the older woman’s reaction. "That's all you could say?"

Alexia ignored you, completely fixated by the photos of you. Alexia liked the first photo and proceeded to swipe. The second photo was you with your back turned, exposing your ass. Alexia could feel her mouth salivate as the dirtiest thoughts entered her mind. She kept scrolling, admiring every curve and crevice of your body. She loved the way your boobs spilled over your bra and the way your thong rode up your ass and accentuated your perfect hips. She loved your collarbones but she loved the thought of marking them with her mouth more.

She was practically liking every photo, unable to think objectively of what works on Instagram or whatever. She loved seeing you this exposed.

"You never dress like this usually." Alexia commented, still going back and forth with your photos. She was pretending to be analytical with your photos but her mind was just filled with obscenities.

You huffed. “You only see me in a kit or here at home when I dress like a slob. You don’t know what I dress like.”

Alexia furrowed her eyebrows. “I’ve seen you get dressed up for dates. You’re not usually so…” She shook her head. “Whatever. I never would have imagined you’d like wearing something so tiny.”

Alexia had to swallow as her mouth had been watering at the sight of your photos. You chuckled, oblivious to your roommate's reaction. "Well, you would know that I actually do love tiny swimwear if only you went swimming with us more.”

Alexia took a mental note to say yes to every opportunity to see you in a skimpy bikini. "Still, you never post stuff like this. You only ever post game photos or food photos. This is just out of character for you.” She added on. "You must be posting to impress someone, huh?"

You furrowed your eyebrows and rolled your eyes at her. "I feel like I’m just more grown now. Like, grown enough to post more skin.” You explained. “Besides, can’t I post for myself?”

Wish you would post for me, Alexia thought.

You looked over at Alexia who was still looking through your photos. "God, what's taking you so long? Mesmerized by my tits?"

"You're so cocky." It was all Alexia could say as she blushed. She felt like it was so wrong to be thirsting over her younger roommate like this but she couldn’t help it. You were exactly what she wanted.

You chuckled. "I told you. Emma took really good photos of me! I know I look hot in those."

You looked through the photos Alexia liked and realized the only photos of you she didn't like were the ones where you were covered up. You stifled a chuckle. "Okay, I guess I should post these immediately since it would be so selfish of me to deprive the world of these photos any longer."

"So arrogant." Alexia scoffed under her breath but unbeknownst to you, it turned her on. She loved it when you got all confident. It made her want to praise you and degrade you at the same time. "I'm going back to my room to review some things for some brand deal. Text me if you wanna order food or cook for dinner later."

You absentmindedly nodded as you typed up the perfect Instagram caption and chose the perfect thirst-trap song to go with the Instagram post.

Alexia headed back in her room and immediately pulled out her iPad, refreshing her Instagram feed incessantly. "C'mon, c'mon..." She muttered under her breath. "Just post already."

Finally, your post popped up.

Alexia felt like she couldn't breathe as she was finally able to get a better look at them through the bigger screen. She was finally free to zoom in to your perfectly shaped tits without worrying you'd see. She bit her lip.

It was almost a built-in instinct or bodily response to her the way she immediately positioned herself in front of her iPad; she wasted no time. She propped the device on her bed, blasted a song loud enough to mask her noise, swiftly took off her bottoms, and eventually, guided her hands to feel her own slick with her fingers. She was soaked already just from seeing you.

"Fuck," She muttered as she began rubbing herself, looking at the photo of you on her device. She wished she could have a gigantic TV screen just so she could see more of you at a bigger scale. She wanted to be overwhelmed by the sight of you — to be consumed by your beauty.

She rubbed her clit in circles as she kept her eyes glued on the screen. She cursed again. She thought about your tits. She wondered how they'd feel in her hands. She wanted to feel the softness against her rough and imposing hands; she wanted to know if that kind of touch would make you whimper. She wondered what colors your nipples were and how they'd look and feel... and taste. She so badly wanted to push her tongue against them.

Her legs shivered as she imagined taking your breast in her mouth, sucking on it mercilessly as you moaned under her.

In reality, Alexia was alone in the darkness of her room — her tanned skin illuminated by the sole source of light from her device that blasted music to mask her grunts and the obscene sounds of her wetness.

But in her imagination, Alexia was in your room on top of you, sucking on your breasts as she positioned her knee against your core. In her imagination, you loved to beg and whine. So there you were, underneath her, squirming as she sucked on your nipple and used her hands to play with the other one. She just could tell you were the sensitive type and the idea of you almost teary-eyed due to sheer pleasure caused by her made her even wetter.

She opened her eyes once again to catch a glimpse of you in that one photo where you had a serious face as you slightly bent over. She groaned as she caught sight once again of the flesh of your boobs pressing against the fabric of your bikini. "Fucking whore." It escaped her mouth in a grunt.

In her imagination, you were dressed in the same skimpy bikini. She had your bra cups pushed to the side to grant her easy access to lick all over your boobs, leaving the occasional mark whenever she desired.

"Please, Alexia." She could practically hear your voice say it. "Fuck me now."

Alexia plunged her fingers into her cunt, causing her to grunt loudly as she pumped in and out of herself as mercilessly as she would have with you.

She was fixated on the thought of her fingers thrusting so hard in and out of you that your tits jiggled with every thrust. Alexia somehow felt you were the type to moan loudly, grab your own tits, and beg to fuck her deeper.

"Alexia! Fuck me!"

"You want me so bad, huh? You fucking slut?" She groaned under her breath, almost breathless and winded from how rough she was fucking herself. "I'll fuck you so hard, you'd go stupid."

"Alexia, harder! Please!" The imaginary voice in her brain told her. It felt so realistic

"Yeah?" She called out your name, almost in the form of an animalistic grunt. "You fucking want it harder? You a fucking slut for me?"

She increased the speed of her thrusting, causing her to moan loudly in succession. "Fuck," She said, followed by calling out your name. "Tell me who you belong to."

She pumped in and out of herself, causing her to convulse in the building pressure inside her. Her eyes were shut close but the photo of you in your bikini was permanently burned inside her mind.

"I belong to you!" Her imagination called out.

"Say my name then." She groaned.

"Alexia," It sounded so soft and gentle.

"Louder." She growled as she imagined that it was your pussy she was roughly thrusting into. Her legs shook uncontrollably as she felt herself approaching orgasm. “Say it.”

"Alexia?!" It was practically an exclamation. It felt so real that your voice echoed in her ears.

As Alexia opened her eyes, she was met by the sight of you standing at the door of her room with a shocked face. Almost immediately after, Alexia moaned out loud as her orgasm arrived.

It took half a second for her to realize that she wasn't imagining it anymore. You were there, standing and watching her fuck herself while her obnoxiously larged iPad displayed a photo of you.

"Oh shit." She was in trouble.

a/n: not proofread. part 2 anyone? (also thank u for ur requests!)

[be-good-be-safe-be-kind]

.

no one's really asked, and i don't really like telling people about the different parts, but i do tend default to basics like these circles bc idk really how else to explain. and also i'm almost always on the fence with if i even have DID or not, even with all the symptoms and conversations with therapist and evaluators and 'proofs' after social events and stuff where hearing what happened, the reaction of 'i would not do that' and stuff.

approximate age and gender is the 'easiest' to pinpoint, since my overall concept of gender is just -shrug-, and gender presentation i don't really think about but there are things like 'oh this one likes when the hair is in a ponytail' or 'this one prefers short shorts to basketball shorts' (and someone else is the opposite in that regard), which might be easier to explain as gender for the sake of simplicity. age is more like a 'grade' level than an age, or a 'group' like anywhere under 5, or somewhere between 5 and 7/early schooling. 12ish to early/middle teenager, or vague age between 14 and 18. a couple of 'adults' with nothing more to go on except as a kid, they're whatever i guess i though an adult was like, and they're anywhere between always 5ish years above me or just 'adult'.

temperament and likes/dislikes, or interests/disinterests is a bit trickier, but this blog does help. i scroll through the dash and random blogs and sometimes things just stand out as someone's, so they get tagged and drafted, and then i use the drafts as a dash and if i feel like whoever and see something at the time, it usually gets posted then. the thing is though, idk even if i am them at the time or what the deal is but sometimes interests just 'speak' to me or not-me and i want it archived/ timestamped for that time. and also led to a bit of a panic attack a while ago where the ocean/waves sometimes feels more like a part than an interest, like there's more of a person attached to it kinda in the winter way and not in ways like with toys or tv.

the blue circle with the layers is a really helpful diagram bc i also am not usually thinking or feeling distinct. i mean i can recognize some distinctions like right now i'm able to use personal pronouns and complete sentences and not worry about how grammatically incorrect they are, which sorta points to a certain part/feeling/mode but idk. idk if this is more conscious or subconscious but i am aware of it right now and how these things aren't 'universal' / collective / communal things, but idk really what to do with that. i don't think it matters much, as long as i'm this 'awake' or whatever and know where i am and what's happening. the problem is more when there's awareness of distinctions but mostly confusion, like the times when i almost literally can't speak, like it feels physically impossible, and can't really move either and sorta wait it out or until i guess the other subconscious parts push forward more and break out of that mode?

life usually is kinda rainbow-y and blurry. although i have my circle kinda the opposite of this diagram i think, where the conscious layer is the outermost circle and the innermost one is unconscious, bc i feel like most of the time things move from the inside out than outside in? or like, there's a lot of unconscious stuff all the time, but maybe it sorta blurs with the subconscious, which then moves closer to consciousness/what presents to me and others/what i guess i look like on the outside. idk. i just know that language like 'fronting' confuses me bc i don't think i ever know who is the one entirely 'facing' the world.

and now i'm running out of steam and getting brain foggy so gonna call it a day with this one

I made a thing that’s entirely based off personal experience.

For all the people who struggle to figure out “who’s fronting” or even “who’s around”…I’m right there with you.

[DID/OSDD Casually Explained Masterpost]

[bunnys-kisses]

in the quiet spaces between you and i

simon 'ghost' riley

tags: smut & fluff, sleepy morning sex, tender & loving, established relationship, simon is smitten by you,

rain hit harshly against the window of your bedroom. you exhaled deeply as you slowly opened your eyes. it was one of those days, you knew it was going to be raining all week. but, you didn't expect it to pour.

it was a sham because you had been having quite a sunny spell in the city. but for now, the grey skies and heavy patter of rain made you seek refuge in the arms of your much larger lover. simon. the ghost as he was known in service, but in the quiet flat you both shared. he was just simon, or si, or honey. hell, even one of the million other nicknames you had for him.

you opened your eyes a little wider and yawned loudly. simon slung an arm over your middle and you pressed your face against his built chest. you admired how strong he was. he had arms that could choke someone out and thighs that could crack a coconut. but nestled in the sanctuary of your bed. he was as gentle as a lamb. one who easily leaned into your kisses with a half-asleep smile. your short nails lightly dragged down the side of his jaw, feeling the stubble against your digits. you leaned in and kissed him tenderly, with such love.

simon was a catch, he could be terrifyingly intimidating. but, those brown eyes only grew soft when they were gazing at you. always protective. but not patronizing. he knew you inside and out, that came from years in the military. he studied you, but not the way a scientist would a bug. but, rather a man trying his best to be the partner you deserved. and if being the best meant carrying an extra umbrella in his bag because you had a habit of forgetting yours then so be it.

"love." he said in a quiet voice, "whatcha lookin' at? got drool on my face or somethin'?" his voice was like a bear growl, a rumble that made you smile. you kissed him again and his eyes remained shut as he enjoyed your kiss.

"shh, shh." you cooed when you pulled away from the kiss, "just admiring you." you giggled softly.

he smiled a little, "nothin' to admire. like lookin' at a garbage heap." he tightened his grip around you and hoisted you up onto his waist as he laid on his back. his brown eyes a little more open as he admired you with a dream-like gaze, "you on the other hand." he smiled a little more, "lookin' at you is like lookin' at art. kinda wish i could nail ya up against the wall too." then placed his hands on your hips. your softness felt nice in his rough hands.

hands that could kill and maim. he was like a wild animal, he would tear through what he could in order for some primal driven ideal of peace. instead he held the fat of your hips with such a devotion, like you were going to slip through his fingers at any moment. but you'd never leave, not with the life you built together. simon really felt like a ghost before he met you. home had no roots until you slowly planted them in the cracks of his soul.

bland food was replaced with home recipes, a single pair of work boots were replaced with many pairs of shoes along with a closet near bursting with clothes, blank walls were panted over in brighter colours and decorated with photos. simon hated having his photo taken, but he'd do it for you.

his hands trailed up and down your sides, he pushed up the large black tshirt you wore. he exposed the boxers you wore (and stole) underneath. you liked to sleep in his clothes, it made you feel closer to him. as if you weren't buried under his arm almost every night. his eyes went a little wider when you peeled the shirt off and exposed your beautiful breasts to him.

his eyes quickly darted to your face as he asked, "do.. do you want this? you can stop if you want." he never wanted to force you into any act of sexual activity. he may have his urges, but he would never force you into anything.

you nodded softly, "si, i always want you. wanting you is like wanting air, or water or cheap kebab. i can taste it on my tongue when i think about it too hard." then pulled at the waistband of the underwear you wore. simon's gaze was on you as you stripped down and when he broke himself out of his trance, he stripped down as well.

you ended up on his waist once more. his hard cock up against your soft stomach. you licked your lips. you asked him, "do you want this? are you comfortable?"

simon nodded. consent was a two-way street. it took at least two to tango this way, both parties had to be happy, even if a little sleepy. he held onto you and guided you onto his cock. he tensed up and said, "yes, yes. that's it. oh, fuck." he swallowed as you easily took him. he wasn't small by any means, but careful movements got you seated on him like it was your personal throne.

you asked, "do you like that?" the rain continued to batter against the window. but you two were dry and warm in each other's embrace. you knew today would be a lazy day in bed. maybe simon had to check a few work emails, and maybe you'd get leftovers out of the fridge for dinner. but with the weather outside, you'd be rather cozy curled up in your flat.

simon took your hands and placed them on the expanse of his chest. you could feel the tawny-blond short hairs under your finger tips. you could feel the leap in his heartbeat and you smiled softly at him. he smiled softly at you. he once said he didn't smile as much in the previous thirty years of his life compared to the two years he had known you. it was hard not to smile when it felt like the sun itself was beaming at him at all times.

he moaned a little, "yeah, sunshine. you're doin' amazin'." his expression was still a little sleepy as you moved against him. the sex was slow, but lined with passion. you always held passion for one another, a flickering flame in your heart that you carried with you. and in moments of quiet intimacy, the pair of flames met. kissed and fluttered in each other's company. you loved simon, you loved him in a way that felt like it came from a storybook. even in the hard times.

the days apart, hell, the months apart. simon's ability to emotionally close off and your ability to feel nothing but a cold of anxiety through you. but in moments of weakness you built up one another, and it bloomed into the life long intimacy you both shared. the love that went deeper than waves of the ocean.

you leaned down and kissed simon on the lips as you moved against him. you felt your love for him wrapped up in a sexual fever that climbed from your core up to your brain. it left sparks in your blood as you planted your hands firmly on his chest. your hips rolled slowly and the kiss only deepened.

he groaned against you. this was heaven. simon once believed that he had died on the battlefield and somehow weaseled his way to heaven. there he met an angel, you. and you loved him and stitched back a broken man. piece by piece. he said close to your lips, "i love you."

and you replied with no uncertain terms, "and i love you, simon riley." his name on your lips sounded like gospel. it excited him just as much as it scared him. he held onto you a little tighter and let you move against him. the pleasure coursed through both of you, the heightened heat would only lead to a orgasmic high that would make your toes curl.

it was a mutual goal as you continued to move against him. heated breaths in a quiet bedroom. outside was gloomy and cold. but the sparks of light made the room you shared inviting and comforting. this was the man of your dreams.

scarred, tattooed, many times beats and many more times broken. but wasn't that love? to pick up the pieces of another, shake them it in their face and demand that they allow themselves to be loved?

that was all you could give simon. your love, your loyalty and a future.

the two of you kissed while pleasure coursed through the both of you. your pace staggered as the want made your heart race. it felt amazing, it always did. being intimate, soft, loving. to be held by your beloved simon as you rocked against him. there were no expectations, you could not cum and you'd still feel happy. to feel loved, oh to feel loved by simon, that was worth more than orgasm after orgasm.

he groaned when you parted the kiss. he held onto you a little tighter and exhaled deeply as the pleasure properly washed over him. he said through tense words, "i'm close. baby, i'm close."

and you worked yourself harder on him. the sex between you two was electric and you felt the urge to finish come over you. you let out a sweet moan, like dessert wine. it left simon drunk off as feeling. as you came, he came as well. he leaned forward to bury his face in your soft torso as you continued to ride him through both of your climaxes.

your voice was tense as you said you loved him once more. you never said those words without meaning them. you were everything to him and he in turn was everything to you. when your pace slowed, he pulled you back down with him onto the bed.

he smothered you in his love as he feverishly kissed you in the hot after glow of sex. while it wasn't the most extreme form of love making you felt soft and warm. you felt the love in love making. simon's kisses were silent prayers to his angel as he held you close in his strong arms.

you giggled against his lips before you pulled away and held his face lovingly. you felt heat in your face and could see the heat in his. you smiled, the kind of loopy, happy smile that lovers had. he kissed you once more before you managed to get the covers over you once more.

the clothes could wait, as could breakfast. because while you had pancakes on the brain, your lover's kisses were more filling. <3

[prettyboykatsuki]

balancing act | y. isagi + i. rin

✮ tags ; afab + fem!reader (she/her used for reader, good girl etc), threesome kinda, oral (m!recieving), bondage (m!receiving) deep-throating, face-fucking, some gagging, rin-centric, polyam relationship, rin and isagi have and established dynamic, soft dom! isagi, implied sub!rin, and switch!reader 18+

✮ wc ; 2k (enough......)

✮ a/n ; thank you for commissioning me @timesnewreader. i was... very excited to write this.... i hope u are okay with the direction i took....

✮ synopsis ; you start to understand the dynamic between them. or maybe all three of you, a little more.

or isagi teaching you how to make rin feel good while rins tied up.

tip jar | commission post (closed for now)

Isagi's hand is warm as it rests on your head.

You look up at him from where you're kneeling, craning your neck to try and get a look of his face. He notices quickly, instantly—affectionate as he lets his hand cup your cheek. His thumb brushes along your lip as he pets you.

A fuzzy feeling settles in your stomach at the touch and he smiles at you. Sun-warm, almost deceptively kind.

You can feel Rin's gaze on you too. Unreadable to you like always. Not quite cruel, not quite openly affectionate either. Something else simmering under the weighted teal irises that makes your stomach tie in knots.

"Don't be nervous," Isagi hums. Him and Rin lock eyes and for a split second, you almost think you understand them. "He won't act tough forever,"

"Shut up," RIn hisses. Isagi clicks his teeth.

"Lighten up first," Isagi says, shaking his head. He cards his fingers through Rin's hair. And then he tugs from the root, hard enough to make RIn hiss. His smile is the same - no traces of malice. "You're scaring her, y'know? Be civil."

Rin looks down at you again. On you? You don't really know. He doesn't look for long, and doesn't respond to Isagi when he talks. His eyes dart in another direction and he scoffs under his breath.

Isagi shakes his head. "You're so dishonest,"

They look at each other again, speaking without talking at all Rin clicks his teeth. Isagi sighs, shrugs, and directs his attention back to you.

"Sorry," He says, apologetic. Sincere. "We both want you here. Promise,"

It's like he's reading your mind, visible relief making your shoulders sag where you sit. Isagi's grin grows another size, pinching your cheek slightly. "You were worried, huh? How sweet."

You squirm a little. You can't find your voice for a minute or two. "A little. I don't... if Rin-kun isn't comfortable with it then—"

Isagi laughs.

And then, with no ceremony - he puts his knee between Rin's closed legs and shoves them apart. Rin snaps at him. Isagi keeps his legs forced open without concern.

Rin isn't any position to do anything anyway. You're knelt between his legs but he's got his arms tied - restrained to a chair per Isagis's request. He fights a blush as Isagi keeps his legs apart.

He's not naked, but you can see he's hard. His cock strains against the athleisure on hips - tenting the fabric slightly. Your eyes widen in surprise, and you look up at Rin whose still refusing to look at you.

"Promise he won't bite," Isagi says, encouraging you to touch him. "Not if I keep him restrained at least. It's okay."

You and Rin look each other this time. Rin's eyes lid as you crawl closer between his legs. Your hand is tentative, loosely cupping his cock.

The response is instant. A sharp hiss, dick twitching against your hand despite how lightly you've touched it. It emboldens you, enough to hold it at least. He's hard. You wonder if you did that to him. Some part of you can't believe it.

"See? He's just embarrassed," Isagi says, patient with you. With Rin too, you think. "He wants you make him feel good. Rin had a crush on you first, you know? Between us. I bet you want that too,"

You look up at him innocently. "I want to make you feel good too,"

Isagi lets out a labored breath. "Watching you makes me feel good. Rin-kun will pout if I get to you first," An eye roll. "Unfair right? But that's how much he likes you."

"Shut up already,"

Rin is blushing. Isagi laughs. "See? I'll tell you how to make him feel good. You'll get something nice after, okay?"

"Oh it's—it,"

"Don't argue, 'kay? Go, get closer to him."

So you listen to him. You inch closer to Rin's lap and rest your hand on his leg. Isagi bends down on one knee behind you, keeping his legs apart when Rin tries to shut them closed. Undressing him for your ease of access, hands pushing his sweats down to his thighs.

At full height, his dick is bigger than you imagined it to be. Prettier too, somehow. It's gorgeous—tip flushed cherry red, with a long curve and veins that stand out. Mostly hairless except at the base, where it's well groomed. The hair grows thick still, contrasts so nice against the pale color of his cock. Pre-cum dribbles from the head, silky and and crystalline clear - laced with white.

You feel your head get heavy. A subconscious desire to get closer to it overwhelms your thoughts. Close enough to breathe on it. Rin huffs.

"You're making such a cute face," Isagi coos, amused by you. Embarrassment flares in your belly, tickles your skin. "He likes when you start light. Too much at once and he'll get overwhelmed. Go slowly,"

He instructs so gentle you don't feel condescended. Despite his smugness, his intention is so genuine it makes you flush.

You let your instinct take over. Your mind clouds, pouting your lips to press a soft kiss to the very base of his shaft. Wet and open mouthed, you rest and feel the weight of it. The pulse of it. His cock is so heavy against your face

You move up, kissing it slowly all the way to the very tip. You let your lips rest there. Rin looks down at you, chest heaving.

The obstinacy has melted off of him. Faster then you could've predicted. There's something...needy to it. Almost. Maybe you're reading it wrong.

"You're so good, hm," Isagi hums - standing on his knees behind you. His hand comes around your waist, palm resting on your midriff. "Learned so fast. Use your tongue,"

You dip your tongue into leaking slit on command. Rin cusses loud.

Without thinking, you open your mouth up enough to fit the tip of his cock into it fully. You don't take him all the way into your throat, heeding Isagi's advice to go slow.

"It's sensitive under the head," He directs. He's so comforting, so sincere. "Try it,"

You concentrate your attention there, pressing your tongue flat. Rin jerks above you - hips threatening to buck up into your throat. But Isagi uses both hands to hold him down by his thighs. Rin strains against it but Isagi is firm. You're reminded then that despite the difference in size between them, their athletic prowess isn't so different.

The thought sends you reeling.

"So desperate," Isagi taunts. "A pretty girl has your cock in her mouth and you get so worked up. What happened to your restraint and self-discipline, huh?"

"Fuck off," Rin swears. His voice lacking the composure you've come to associate with him so strongly. "Shut up before I go soft."

"As if you would. Can't cum without me telling you off, can you?"

You feel him twitch in your mouth and you try not to gasp at the reaction, proving itself in front of your eyes. Your eyes go wide and Rin looks down with an embarrassed blush and oh—.

"See? Rin-kun only acts tough but truth is he can only take so much," Isagi hums. His hands slide up your chest and you feel him cup your tits - giving them an affectionate squeeze. "That's why we're spoiling him. He's being like this but he's happy you're pampering him. Right, Rin-kun?"

You look at Rin again and you think you're starting to understand. Just a little. How it goes between them. And now between you. The thought makes your pride swell.

"Rin-kun," You pull away, eyes blown wide in some sudden desire. "I like you."

A pause. Air being pulled into lungs, a held breath. Rin's eyes go wide and you watch as his cock dribbles again. Isagi freezes for a moment too before he laughs, laughs warm and affectionate and so loud.

"You caught on fast, huh?" Isagi says, hugging you from behind. His chin rests on your shoulder. "And me too, right?"

"Yeah, of course you too." You nod.

You understand it a little more clearer. Rin never does something he doesn't have a reason or desire to do. His ego doesn't work that way. Not combating Isagi, no matter how smug, is it's own form of submission you think.

"Let's keep going, okay? Without worry."

A weight lifted from your shoulders, you nod again. Open your mouth fully, careful as you stand up on your knees and get closer. The assurance instills confidence in you, makes it easier for you to go through the practiced motions. Your hands on Rin's thighs, corded muscle strained under your palms where you hold yourself up. Both you and Isagi holding his hips in tandem.

You let yourself take him in. Trapped betwen them, you swallow around Rin's cock. Careful to mind your teeth, the edges of your mouth stretch and ache to accommodate his length. The scent of him makes your head feel heavy, a strong musk and the taste of clean skin all over your tongue. Makes your mouth water, brain melting slow. The effort doesn't go unnoticed, Isagi whispering praises as you open up your throat to fit fully fit Rin's cock.

"You're so good. Just like that," He hums, giggling. "Even I can't do this well. So good with your mouth huh?"

You gag voicing a muffled 'thank you' and Rin curses above you. You feel him strain, muscles of his thighs shaking hard.

"Fuck—fuck, don't—"

You move then. Mouth full of spit, used to the feeling of his cock down your throat - you move bob your head, hollowing your cheeks. Your eyes prick with tears at the way he hits your throat now repeatedly but you push forward anyhow.

You want to see him cum. You want to make him cum.

You can only go for so long though, before your jaw starts to trie.

When you start to slow, Isagi is kind and does the heavy lifting for you.

His hands rest on the side of your head forcing you up and down. It sends a shot of lightning through you, arousal making your whole body shiver at the controlled force. Precise force. He holds you down but he's careful not to push you too far. You moan around Rin's cock in response to it.

Having your face fucked with Isagi as the driver makes your mind bend with unfiltered lust. Your legs clamp again, an empty ache in your cunt as you think about what he must be like when he fucks.

Rin doesn't make it out any better. You can feel him. How he starts tremble, how his voice goes shot - how his dick gets harder, twitches so violently in your mouth each time he bottoms out in your throat.

"Fuck," His head drops back in a groan. "Fuck I'm—"

Isagi smiles a little.

"Be a good boy and cum down her throat like she wants,"

That's what makes him let go. Isagi holds you down as Rin cums with something that borders on a scream, straining against his restraints as his cum spills all the way down. It fills your mouth, the taste and the scent making you dizzy. It goes so far into your throat you don't taste it, rather you swallow it all in one go with little fuss other than a loud gulp.

"That's it," Isagi coos. "That's a good girl. Easy, easy. Breathe."

You cough as Isagi lets you off of Rin slowly, exhaling as you clear your throat. When you pull away, Isagi pulls you by your chin to tip your face over to meet his.

"Open your mouth, beautiful."

You do and Isagi smiles with pride. "You really swallowed all of it. Didn't even use your hands," He hums. "What a good girl."

You make a face of embarrassment. "Thank you,"

Rin makes a disgruntled sound. "Untie me before I fucking kill you,"

Isagi snorts, giving you a short kiss before going around to undo Rin's bindings. "Hard to take you seriously when you sound like that."

You sit where you are, in a mild daze you collect yourself. Lost in your own world, you don't notice when Rin finally gets untied.

It startles you when you feel him practically jump you. When his hands are free, he bends over the chair and brings your face to his. Big hands cradle your face as you feel him kiss you so hard it shakes you. More teeth than lip, rough but full of desire. You feel his tongue in your mouth even after swallowing his cum. At some point you give into it, hands clutching his shoulder as you struggle to breathe.

It's Isagi that pulls him off, a laugh on his voice - not mad at all.

"You're so aggressive when you get like this. Just be honest from the start next time instead of trying to eat her, dumbass."

Despite the bickering, Isagi bends down from where he stands to kiss Rin too and Rin lets him so easily you almost want to laugh. Rin must notice. He glares just a little but he looks embarrassed more than anything.

"You did good baby," Isagi praise, a hand on your shoulder. "What kind of reward do you want?"

You pause. "What does Rin-kun want?"

A blush paints him deep red and you ans Isagi sort of smile in mutual understanding. He frowns, bangs covering his face.

"Want you to sit on my face,"

You look at Isagi.

"Then that, if that's okay."

Isagi hums, a hand on Rin's nape. "More than okay. Guess it's fine to spoil him a little more."

Rin makes a disgruntled noise, but ultimately - he doesn't seem too unhappy with it either.

A very careful balancing act.

[milktiicup]

Can you make a Mr. Silver or Mr.Machete fic. I've barely seen any fics of them :(, just kinda been consuming what I can for a fic. The most common ones I encounter are Mr.Crawling and Mr.Scarletta (which I've finished all of them possibly)...

Any tag is good, fluff, angst, uh... smut? I'm just gonna read anything since I'm so content-deprived 😭

anatomy of feeling

He saw you as a research subject, and you doubt he even saw you as a friend. And yet, you let him cut you open, spread you apart and put you back together. The least he could do is kiss you in return, right?

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🌊 ⋅ ˚✮ hhelellooooo have this mr silvair fic realising he actually kinda likes u lol

warnings. AAAAAAAANGST, unrequited feelings (kind of), mr silvair typical research (u know what i mean), hurt/comfort, HAPPY ENDING! :D

You don’t mind being a test subject- you were too far gone to even consider going home anymore. You were human, you were monster- and now you’re somewhere in between that you don’t have anywhere you can exactly call home, but Mr. Silvair was ‘kind’ enough to lend you his room, a bed to sleep on, all in exchange of hacking your body to a mushy pile of meat from time to time!

It’s not an ideal situation to be in, head over heels on the guy who researches your body inside out- and it’s not like he even likes you- you’re not even sure if Mr. Silvair is one to understand romantic feelings, anyway.

You remember the first day he indulged you- missing human skin to skin contact, missing a real connection to somebody. Mr. Gap had so kindfully lent you a magazine from the human world, and you can only imagine he gave you it free of charge because you were so down. Of course, it just had to be a magazine promoting some romance movie, the lead couple all snuggled up and kissing on the front page.

You broke down crying. You mean, of course Mr. Gap meant well, but really? It was an embarrassing state you were in, fat tears running down your face and dropping onto your legs.

Mr. Silvair had found you, obviously. Your new home was a research room. 

“You okay?” he asked, lips tugging into a frown. “Pain? Hurt?”

“Sad,” you corrected, using your raincoat sleeve to dry your eyes. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Me sad. Miss home. Want home.”

Mr. Silvair kneeled down in front of you. “This home.”

You bit your lip, and looked away. “Miss…” Stuff? Things? “...stuff from home.” You gesture to the magazine. “Humans. Touch.”

“Miss this?” he questioned, taking a seat beside you. He picked up the magazine, eyeing the front cover through his bandaged eyes, and flipped through the pages momentarily. “What miss?” 

You pointed to the front page. “...This ‘kiss.’”

“Mouth touch?”

You nodded. “Mouth touch.”

“Kish?”

You shook your head. “Kisssss,” you hissed the words out. 

“Kisssss,” he repeated, your hiss echoing.

You giggled, cheeks still wet from your tears. You wipe your eyes once more. “Miss kiss. Miss hug. Miss… human touch.”

Mr. Silvair set the magazine down and faced you. He patted the spot next to him, and you scooched yourself over. He tilted his head at you, a smile on his face. “Me kiss you?” he asked, and you froze. “Kiss you, you happy. Interested in kiss.”

The weight of his words settled over you like an uncertain storm. You studied Mr. Silvair’s face. The suggestion caught you off guard, yet his sincerity was unmistakable.

Your lips parted to speak, but no words came. Could he even comprehend what he was offering? Did he understand what kissing meant to humans, or was he simply trying to imitate the concept based on your longing? He had always been practical, clinical even, in his interactions.

Who were you kidding? Of course he doesn’t understand. He saw you as a research subject, and you doubt he even saw you as a friend. And yet, you let him cut you open, spread you apart and put you back together.

The least he could do is kiss you in return, right? 

You nodded, and Mr. Silvair didn’t make a move to kiss you at all.

“Teach kiss,” he said.

Oh. Right.

His lips, cold as they were, carried a surprising softness, almost cushiony. It was strange, almost surreal, feeling such a delicate part of him when so much of your life in his presence had been sharp edges, instruments, and prodding hands. There was no pressure in the kiss, no demand- just a willingness to learn. It was methodical, curious, like an experiment he was determined to get right.

After that moment, his kisses were a frequent part of your life. He sliced you, diced you, and put you back together and kissed you so softly afterwards that whatever remaining pain you felt was an afterthought. 

And you still weren’t happy. His kisses were to keep you in check, to keep you from being a sad little subject. And of course, your body may not be human, but your feelings and heart were. It just reminded you that no matter how much he touched you, or when he learned where to put his hands as the kisses deepened, that he was still unattainable. He still wasn’t yours, but you were his. 

“You okay?” he asks, offering you a hand off of the table. “Mind flawed? Shape flawed?” 

“I’m okay,” you reply with a shake of your head, and grasping his hand. “Mind good.”

Mr. Silvair smiles, wrapping an arm around your waist and interlocking your fingers together. His head ducks down, silver hair falling off of his shoulder and presses his lips to yours. You close your eyes, indulge in the moment, and move your lips against his.

It hurt.

It was like pressing against a bruise you couldn't stop prodding- painful, but addictive in its familiarity. Because no matter how much you wished otherwise, you couldn’t forget that these kisses weren’t rooted in love or desire. They were a kindness, a calculated gesture to keep you "fixed," to stabilise his research subject.

And you couldn’t bear it anymore.

It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know what his closeness did to you- how much it fed the ache of your loneliness while also making it worse. He didn’t understand the depths of your feelings, and he never would. For him, this was just another experiment, another connection to study and emulate. But for you, it was everything.

So you decided, silently and painfully, to stop kissing him.

The next time he leaned in, tilting his head expectantly, you pulled away ever so slightly. “Not now,” you murmured, offering a small, strained smile. He tilted his head, confusion flickering over his face, but didn’t press further.

At first, it seemed like nothing had changed. He continued his work as usual, observing, dissecting, and repairing you with the same meticulous care. But when the moments came- those pauses where he’d normally press his lips to yours- you’d shift away, redirecting the moment with a comment or a question.

And he noticed.

At first, he didn’t say anything, but you saw the way his brows furrowed whenever you turned away, the way his hands hovered near you, uncertain. He started lingering after procedures, watching you with an intensity that made your chest tighten. You could tell he was waiting, expecting.

One day, after yet another procedure, he hesitated longer than usual. His hand brushed against yours, his face mere inches away as he whispered, “Sad again?”

You shook your head quickly, forcing a smile. “No. Not sad.”

He frowned. “No kiss,” he said, more a statement than a question. His voice carried a weight you hadn’t heard before. 

You swallowed hard.“I don’t need it,” you said softly, though your heart screamed otherwise. “I’m okay.”

He stepped back slightly, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you thought he’d let it go. But then he spoke, “Kiss… make you happy.”

Your chest ached at the simplicity of his words, the sincerity behind them. He didn’t understand. He didn’t know how much more it hurt to keep pretending, to keep grasping at something that wasn’t real.

“It’s not about that,” you said, your voice trembling. “I’m okay. Really.”

Mr. Silvair didn’t respond. Instead, he nodded slowly, and turned away.

In the days that followed, he grew quieter. His usual precision faltered, his movements distracted. He still cared for you, still treated you with the same careful attention, but the pauses- the moments where he’d once leaned in for a kiss- were now filled with silence.

One evening, after he injected the medicine into your arm, you heard him speak from across the room. “No kiss… you not happy.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you turned your head to look at him. He sat at his desk, his hands clasped tightly together, his head bowed.

“It’s not that simple,” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes. You blinked them back. Just how much more of this could you take before you break fully, and he couldn’t put you back together anymore? 

He looked up, his bandaged eyes meeting yours as though he could see straight through you. “Me not enough?” 

The words broke something inside you. Because he wasn’t enough- not for what you wanted, not for what you needed. But the truth was, you weren’t enough for him either. You couldn’t make a man who doesn’t understand like you. Any attempt was futile. 

So you stayed silent, letting the weight of your unrequited feelings hang in the air between you.

Days passed, and the silence between you and Mr. Silvair grew heavier, though neither of you addressed it directly. You carried the weight of your feelings alone, trying to convince yourself that distancing was the right choice. Meanwhile, his quiet melancholy lingered, each unspoken word from him carving a deeper ache in your chest.

But then, one evening, everything changed.

You sat on the bed, fiddling absentmindedly with the corner of your raincoat. Mr. Silvair had been working at his desk for hours, his silver hair catching the faint light as he scribbled notes and adjusted instruments. You thought he was too absorbed in his research to notice you, but suddenly, he turned.

“I…” he began, his voice hesitant, and he stood up, walking toward you with slow, deliberate steps.

You glanced up, startled. “What is it?”

He stopped just in front of you. Your legs hung off the bed. “You… stay sad,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. “No pain. No hurt. Shape good. Mind good. Why?”

The question hit you harder than you expected. You took a shaky breath and shrugged. “It’s… hard to explain.”

“Explain,” he pressed, his tone more insistent. “Want you happy.”

It was as if someone had dumped ice cold water on top of you. Want you happy. Why? He shouldn’t have cared in the first place if you were happy or not- he should’ve just cared that you were sound of mind, and not trying to kill everything in this place. Your hands shook. Your breathing picked up. Your heart hammered uncomfortably against your rib cage.

Your fists clenched. You scowled. “Why care?” I’m nothing but a subject. “Me… only research.”

Your question caught him by surprise. He frowns, and takes a seat next to you on the bed. Mr. Silvair is silent for a moment, processing, thinking. “Not-...” he stops himself. You gaze at him from the corner of your eye, his fists clenching and unclenching in his lap. “Not only research.”

Great. Friendzoned. 

“You don’t understand,” you say, “You don’t feel like I feel, Mr. Silvair. You can’t understand.” And under your breath, you utter, “Told me that a million times already…” 

“Teach me,” he said simply. 

Your breath caught at his words. They were so simple, so stark in their honesty, yet they cut through all your swirling thoughts. Teach him? How could you possibly teach someone like Mr. Silvair something as complex, as human, as love? Did he even have the capacity for it?

You stared at him, analysing. Was he being… for real? His bandaged eyes stared intently at you as if he could see straight into the messed up web of your emotions. His lips, which had been both your salvation and your torment, were pressed together in a slight, thoughtful frown.

“Teach you…” you repeated, your voice trembling. “How?”

He tilted his head. “Teach ‘kiss,’” he pointed out softly. “Teach this. This feeling.”

You knew better than to believe in it. He didn’t know what it meant to love, not in the way you felt it, not in the way humans could. He was a scientist, a researcher, so lost in his experiments that he’d forgotten what it meant to simply feel without measuring it, calculating it, dissecting it into pieces. He wanted to understand, yes- but could he really? 

“Can’t…” you mumbled. “I don’t think I can. Cannot learn to feel. You don’t feel like me.”

Mr. Silvair’s frown deepened, and he reached out, his cold fingers brushing yours. The touch was hesitant, almost unsure, but it made your heart ache all the same. “Feel... something,” he said, voice low. “When you sad, me… don’t like.”

You stared at him, startled. It wasn’t a declaration of love, not by any means, but it was more emotion than you’d ever heard from him before. More than you thought he could express.

“Why?” you whispered. “Why do you care if I’m sad?”

He hesitated again, his fingers tightening slightly around yours. You half expected an Me interested in you, but… “You… important,” he said haltingly, as though the words themselves were foreign to him. “You hurt, me feel wrong. Dislike. Interested in you… care you.”

Your heart ached. “You’re serious?”

He nodded. “Want you happy. Interested… learn. Want learn.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, hope stirred in your chest. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t the fairy tale romance you’d dreamed of, but it was real.

“Then… let’s figure it out. Together.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Together.”

This time, when he leaned in, you didn’t pull away. The kiss was still awkward, still unsure, but it carried a warmth that hadn’t been there before—a promise, fragile but genuine.

And for the first time, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you’d found a place to call home. Not in a room or a world, but in the arms of someone who wanted to learn how to care for you as much as you cared for him.

[joshuamj]

In Time and Stars

[akanemnon]

Soooo I was kinda bored in math class and I remembered that I want to take some ppl to therapy (don't worry fun gang, I'll pay it :3)

Everything was made from memory since our phones are in a box under lock and key and I cannot have it during classes BUUUT I tried my best:3

Also yeah, I mean it, if you don't give the sillies therapy I'll give it to them.

Also some transcripts at the categories because my writing is shit.

Uzi and Frisk -> Short gremlins that are doomed by the narrative

N and Kris -> Tall & probably on the autism spectrum

V & Susie -> lesbians that could (and will) kill you

Also an actual question: WILL THE FUN GANG GET THERAPY!?!? THEY NEED IT I SWEAR

And another question: This is not the last we see of Lesslo, right? (Forgot to ask it last week)

And last question: Am I allowed to make a Swap AU for Twin Runes? :3

This is very cute, thank you!

As for your questions...

They do need it, but I don't think that's gonna go in the comic itself. Maybe as a mini-comic? We'll see...

Like I said in the tags, Kris made a pretty big mistake of letting him live. Okay, they DID threaten to kill him, but I don't think they have tthe means to melt gold...

I've already seen a robot AU of Twin Runes called Twin Drones (which I'm REALLY fond of btw. I sometimes see snippets from the people working on it and I've made some art for it too) but uhhh... YEAH! You are absolutely free to create an AU based on Twin Runes if you so like! It's always fun seeing what people come up with.

[foodtruckery]

I've been having crazy Stancest brain rot thinking about an AU where they don't have the portal incident and instead have crazy marathon hate sex instead (Inspired by some amazing art by @CoreArde on Twitter) and I thought it'd be fun to share that with you.

They start off arguing in the lab and then oops they're fucking on the lab floor, and they really should be thinking this through but nope now they're upstairs fucking on the kitchen table and okay maybe now they'll finally talk about it nah, they're fucking in Ford's bed now.

It starts off as rough hate sex getting out years of frustration, but by the time they make it to the kitchen its become insanely desperate and cloying because they missed each other, and their bodies fit so well together, and GOD how could they have not been doing this all time? They're going at it so long that they basically end up passed out in Ford's bed by the end, and Stan's not going to be sitting down for a while after this. He's probably just happy to be sleeping in a bed, but Ford is trying to figure out how he got so far from the initial plan.

Even better if the two of them have been harboring feelings for years and never acted on it, because they get the one-two punch of all the weight of their time apart and processing the fact that OH GOD I JUST FUCKED MY BROTHER (which of course they both wanted to do but still).

I have no idea what would happen after that, but both of them waking up sore, sweat soaked, sticky with cum (some still inside Stan because of course Ford didn't use a condom this wasn't supposed to happen) after having gone at each other like rabbits in heat despite never having expressed their attraction to each other before is a hilarious and hot idea to me. What do you think?

HI THERE ANON. i am so fucking sorry that i left you waiting for so long about this, but i need you to know it's because i was FUCKING OBSESSED with this. like just absolutely beside myself over it, and i refused to respond until i had a chance to sit down and respond PROPERLY.

cause uh YEAH FRIEND i know the exact fucking piece of art (explicit) you're talking about, because it's INCREDIBLE. and in case you didn't know, the artist is over here too and shares some fucking fantastic writing and headcanons also! (seriously, go check out @/cartoonsinthemorning if you haven't. and cart, i hope you don't mind that anon and i both kinda lost our minds about your art over here! i genuinely have no idea what tag etiquette is on this site and didn't wanna bombard you, but you did this. again.)

i'll be honest, anon, this kinda got away from me (fucking shocker) and i am too tired to do any legit editing of it right now, so please forgive any typos or weirdness! i'll try and clean it up before it eventually goes up on ao3. but thank you for such a LOVELY ask because this was so hot, and so inspiring, and i hope i did a little justice to your idea and cart's gorgeous art!

--- Ford isn't entirely sure how it had started. His memory, his perception of time, his ability to follow a linear order of events -- all if it is less than reliable at the moment, so he can't entirely blame himself for losing track of things here and there. But the jump between trying to wrestle his journal out of Stan's hands to trying to wrestle Stan out of his dingey jeans is a jarring transition to lose in the dull static that's been edging around his awareness for weeks now. 

Not jarring enough to stop him, though. 

He thinks, vaguely, while he's blindly tugging at Stan's denim, that there's a concerningly high likelihood that he's hallucinating. His head is swimming in so much caffeine and adrenaline that he doesn't even feel the rough concrete of the lab floor under his knees -- maybe that isn't where he is? Maybe he'd nodded off without realizing. Maybe he's going to come to with another lapful of polaroids and a new humiliating tattoo. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe -- he can reckon with a probability model later. For the first time in what feels like months, the stability of his perceived reality is not actually at the forefront of Ford's mind.

Pressing in on him harder than the doubt, harder than the disassociation from his physical body, and harder than the threat of the creature lingering in the depths of his subconscious is anger. It feels like a beacon in the muddled, fuzzy mess inside his head, something bright and real and his. It's searing through him, slicing away all the frayed edges of his paranoia and doubt like a hot blade through so much butter. 

Ford clings to the sharp edges of that anger and feels more alert than he has in weeks. 

He can't remember how their bickering had taken this particular turn, but if he's liable to lose his eyes and his life in the next few days, Ford will be fucking damned if he squanders the opportunity. He knows he's made a mess of things, that he's made the sorts of mistakes that can't and frankly shouldn't be forgiven. 

But he also knows with blinding, white hot certainty that he's only here, now, because of Stan's mistakes.

Ford may not deserve absolution, but he does deserves this. 

Laughter cuts through the lab, rough and mocking, and Ford's attention finally falls, properly, on Stan. He has a bruise blooming on his cheek and a snide smirk twisting his lips. He's also on his back, his jeans and a threadbare pair of boxers bunched in Ford's fists and pulled so low he can see the tight curls of his pubic hair and the root of his cock. 

"What's wrong, Poindexter?" Stan asks, mocking, and it's only then that Ford realizes he's paused halfway through stripping his twin's lower half. The bite of the cold concrete under his knees still feels far away, but the rough material in his palms, and the heat of Stan's body so close to him are sharp, clear details. "No hands on experience with a dick that ain't your own? Afraid you might actually be bad at somethin' for once?" 

Ford narrows his eyes, feeling the hot point of anger cutting through him, steadying him, and he jerks Stan's clothes hard enough that he gets the material past his knees in one tug. Stan laughs at him again, but it stutters into a little 'oof!' when Ford flips him onto his stomach. 

He doesn't care that Stan's pants are still caught around his calves and his boots. He doesn't care that Stan hisses something that sounds like pain when he's yanked onto his knees and dragged backwards several inches across the concrete. He doesn't even care that, once upon a time, he'd dreamed of this, of crossing this line with the only person he'd ever really loved in any way that mattered, and it's nothing like the softer, sweeter picture he used to imagine. 

Stan's hips are soft, and the skin gives easily under the iron grip Ford has on them, holding him in place as he grinds against his ass. Even through his slacks, the heat of Stan's body is intense, addictive, and he grinds forward again, harder, watching the friction rub a pink  patch against his skin. 

Stan, shameless and selfish as always, pushes eagerly back against him. Ford has barely done anything beyond rocking the outline of his cock against his hole, but he can hear Stan panting against the ground, can see his hands curling into fists. He remembers how many times Stan had called Carla McCorkle "easy" in high school and thinks, now, that the easy one had been his brother. 

"You gonna keep humpin' me, or are you gonna fuck me?" Stan demands, rocking as firmly back as he can with the bruising grip Ford has on him. 

"What makes you think you deserve that?" Ford bites out. It would serve Stan right, he thinks, if he got himself off exactly like this, no different than grinding against a particularly firm couch pillow. Just a conveniently warm object for Ford to release some tension with. 

Stan looks back over his shoulder and flashes teeth at him. It isn't a smile. "Oh, I get it. Cold feet? Well, we can just chalk it up to one more thing ya promised and then backed out of as soon as you actually had to make a choice. Good to know some things never change, Stanford."

He's being goaded, and Ford knows that. But the anger boils in his chest, and he thinks, why should he care about what Stan does or doesn't deserve from him? This is about what Ford deserves.

And what Ford deserves is to have his dick so far up Stan's ass he'll be able to feel it in the back of his throat. 

"Do you ever shut up?" he snaps while he releases one of Stan's hips to yank his slacks open. The bruise of his fingerprints already forming against Stan's skin thrills him, almost to distraction, if it weren't for Stan laughing again. 

"'Course not," he says, shifting his center of balance to dig into the pocket of his dirty red coat. The little packet he tosses over his shoulder bounces off his own ass to land by Ford's knee, the word LUBE printed in large, bold letters across the front. He should be surprised to see it, and part of him is. The word "easy" comes to mind again. 

Ford rips the packet open with his teeth. 

"F-Fuck!" Stan curses, turning his forehead against the ground when Ford presses his slick cock into him a moment later without warning. 

Ford grabs him roughly by the waist when he twitches forward and yanks Stan back until his ass hits the open fly of his slacks. He makes a choked sound at that and turns his face into the crook of his own arm when Ford pulls back and rocks hard back into him. 

"What's wrong, Stanley?" he parrots. He pistons his hips at a punishing pace, watching his cock pumping in and out of the greedy, grasping ring of Stan's hole. "Nothing to say?" 

Stan makes a noise that's too muffled by the sleeve of his coat to understand, so Ford reaches down to take a fistful of his stupid mullet instead. The hitching gasp that escapes his twin when his head is forcefully jerked up makes him groan. "What was that? Come on, Stanley, use your words." 

"F-Fuck off," Stan says, his voice strained, almost whining. 

"I see you haven't gotten anymore eloquent since you left," Ford scoffs around the breathlessness in his own voice, feeling the anger and pleasure coiling harder in his gut. "What was it you said? Good to know some things never change." 

When he pulls Stan's hair again, just because he can, Stan moans. And when he shifts his hips, driving in just as hard at the new angle, Stan shouts. With his own knees bracketed on either side of his, Ford can feel the way his thighs tremble when he clenches around his cock, and he can feel the sweat beading up under his palm where he's digging darker bruises into Stan's side. 

Ford feels like he's on the edge of delirium again, consumed by every sound Stan makes, every twitch of his hips, every ounce of his heat. He thinks, a bit wildly, that Stan may have been made for this, made to take his cock, for how well he does. 

It isn't until Stan jerks under him, going hot and tight around his cock and making a strangled noise in the back of his throat, that Ford realizes he may have said part of that out loud. That Stan came over it. 

He groans low in his throat and thrusts half a dozen more times into Stan's clenching hole before he comes as well. 

It's quiet for a few minutes other than their ragged panting, but it's Stan who eventually reaches back and swats at Ford's hand until he lets go of his hair. He takes the hint and pulls out, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as his come trickles down Stan's thighs. It strikes him suddenly that he wants to follow the wet trail back up with his tongue. It's enough to make his cock give a feeble, appreciative twitch. 

He isn't sure if he's just terribly distracted or if he loses time again, because when Ford next lifts his head, Stan is on his feet, pants pulled up around his waist but still open, and he has his journal in hand. This might be more jarring than the last transition he'd lost. 

"What are you doing?" he demands, shoving himself back onto his own feet. He doesn't bother to tuck his cock back in, and he spots the moment Stan's eyes flick down. It's brief, but he'd seen it. 

"What does it fucking look like I'm doing? I'm taking your stupid diary and disappearing like you begged me to," Stan says. His voice is still a little raw, and Ford has a moment to realize how much he likes that, before the words catch up. 

He scoffs. "Oh! So now you want to actually help?! Is it always this easy to fuck the sense into you?" 

Stan's expression does a few things Ford doesn't understand before his brows ultimately slam down and he turns his back, storming towards the door with Ford's journal still in hand, and Ford himself hot on his heels. "You're fucking unbelievable, Stanford, you know that?!" 

"Me?! You're the one who came all over my lab floor and then decided he was ready to be reasonable!" 

Stan jams his thumb against the call button for the elevator several times in quick succession, despite the car already being on their floor and the gate sliding open. "Most people would just say thank you when someone agreed to help them out, but not you! What does Stanford Pines have to be grateful for? We're all just fucking lucky to get a task from ya, huh?" 

Ford crowds into the elevator with him before Stan can try to pull the gate or call the doors shut behind him. He punches the button to take them up himself, before making a grab for the journal, snarling when Stan leans back and holds it up above his head. 

"You're the one who threatened to destroy my work twenty minutes ago, Stanley! Why would I trust you with it now? Hell, I can't figure out why I trusted you enough to bring you here in the first place!" 

"Oh really? You can't?" Stan sneers, leaning in close. And when Ford takes a step back, Stan follows, backing him into a corner of the car. "I don't think you fuckin' trusted me to do shit, Stanford. I think you were all outta options cause nobody else could stand to put up with you anymore." 

Stan doesn't so much as hit a nerve as he takes a sledgehammer to it, and as soon as the elevator dings, Ford shoves him as hard as he can out into the study. Stan yelps when he stumbles, nearly tripping over his own feet, and it's only knocking into a cluttered desk that keeps him from falling on his ass. 

Ford doesn't give him any time to right himself, storming in after him and grabbing him by the front of his jacket. Stan flinches, like he'ex expecting a punch, but Ford yanks him in and crushes his mouth against his instead. 

There's a dull thump that Ford only realizes was the journal being dropped when he feels both of Stan's hands on his shoulders. They curl briefly, grasping at him, and Ford feels his mouth starting to go soft and slack. But as soon as he presses in, runs his tongue along that loosening seam, he's suddenly being shoved backwards. 

If he weren't so damn confused, Ford would probably appreciate the picture Stan makes, lips slick and pants open, leaning back against one of Ford's desks. 

"What are you doing?!" Stan demands, like he's the one who doesn't know what day it is, and keeps losing track of events. 

"I would think even you could figure that out after what happened downstairs, Stanley."

Stan flushes, visible even in the low light of the study, though Ford isn't sure if it's embarrassment or anger. The scowl on his face doesn't help clear things up, either, though the fact that he isn't actually looking at Ford is...telling.  

"That ain't happening again," Stan states, and there isn't anything convincing about the way he says it at all. But when Ford steps forward, Stan sidesteps him and the desk. He makes a wrong turn in the dark, in a house he isn't familiar with, and flinches when Ford flips on the light in the kitchen he's walked into.

"I don't know how you expect to leave and hide my journal after leaving it in the study," he points out, frowning at the back of Stan's head. 

He isn't surprised when Stan whirls on him. He is, however, stunned still when he realizes Stan's eyes are wet. 

"What the fuck do you want from me, Stanford?!" Stan shouts, his voice cracking over his name, and it makes something feel like it's cracking inside his chest. 

Ford has to wet his lips when he finds them and his throat dry. "...I told you what I wanted," he says.

"Yeah, you did! And when I finally agreed to do it, you threw a fucking fit about it! And now you're pissy because I'm not?! What do you want?" 

The anger sparks sharply inside him again, and Ford grasps at it like a lifeline, willing to bloody his hands for that bite of stability. 

"You tried to burn it! My life's work! And you only decided you would help me after we--"

Stan cuts him off, looking towards the cabinets while he raises his voice and waves his hands. "Jesus Christ, I'm sorry about the fucking lighter, all right?!"

Ford frowns. He takes a step forward and, still without looking at him, Stan takes a step back. It's the elevator all over again, but this time Ford is pressing in, backing Stan into the cabinets. He grabs the counter on either side of his hips when he tries to side step him again. 

"Stanley, look at me," he demands, frowning harder when Stan sets his jaw and stars determinedly at his shoulder. "Stanley--"

"What do you want, Ford? Just...just fucking tell me and I'll leave, all right?" Stan says, his voice tired and soft as he reaches up to rub a hand over his own face.

He wants a lot, honestly. And hasn't that always been the problem? He's always wanted -- to be normal, to be respected, to be the best, to be special. 

To be wanted. 

To be enough.

To fix things. 

"You," he realizes, watching Stan jerk his head up. His lashes are still wet, and Ford can't stop himself from reaching up and pressing his palm to Stan's cheek, skimming his thumb gently under one of his eyes. 

When he leans in to kiss him again, Stan makes a small, wounded little noise under his mouth, but he parts his lips for Ford's tongue this time. Stan's lips are chapped and he tastes vaguely of stale cigarettes, but Ford is still struck by how soft and sweet he is. 

More than anything else that had happened that evening, this is the moment that Ford knows he should suspect most of all. The way Stan relaxes between him and the counter, the almost tentative way he lifts his tongue to meet his, the careful fingertips touching the edge of Ford's coat and brushing against his loose tie. It's tender in a way Ford didn't think either of them were capable of, and it should be setting off warning bells and red flags in every part of his mind. 

It isn't. 

Ford is more certain of  the reality of this single moment, the gentle slip of Stan's lips against his own, than he's been of anything in a long time. 

And then Stan sighs between them and murmurs, warm and hopeful, "Ford," against his lips, and he's done for. 

It doesn't matter that they just fucked, that Ford's come is probably still drying between Stan's thighs -- he can't keep his hands off of him. Ford is suddenly frantic and desperate in a way that he hadn't been downstairs. He needs to relearn the new, wider shape of Stan's shoulders and pecs. He needs to feel out every new scar and take stock of all the old ones he remembers Stan collecting for him as kids. He needs to be surrounded by him again, soaking in the warmth of him. 

Ford doesn't deserve absolution, but he thinks he may be able to find something close to it in the low, shaky way Stan moans his name. 

And there's familiarity in the way Stan grabs at him in turn, tugging at his jacket and tie and surging into another, harder kiss. Ford thinks he may not be the only one looking for expiation. 

Then Stan drops to his knees between him and the cabinet, and Ford stops thinking so much. His cock is still out, and Stan wastes no time in getting his fist around the shaft and his lips around the head. He suckles and swirls his tongue, and Ford shoves the beanie off of his head to get his hands in his hair. 

"Stanley," he gasps, stroking his fingers along his scalp and fisting the strands between them. 

Stan moans around him and shuffles closer, sliding the seal of his lips further down the length of Ford's cock. All he can do is groan and try to keep from rocking his hips as more of him is greeted by the warmth of his mouth and the wickedness of his tongue. 

He keeps waiting for Stan to reach his limit, to back off and give himself room to breathe. He doesn't. He keeps leaning in, keeps taking him, and then Ford feels his cockhead slip into Stan's throat, sees his lashes are wet again, and he has to put one hand on the counter to keep himself steady. "Fuck, Stanley, you're so good at this."

Stan makes a horribly sweet sound around the girth of Ford's cock and reaches up to hold his hips as he swallows, and Ford is suddenly afraid he's going to embarass himself.  His hips twitch despite his best efforts to keep them still, but Stan simply relaxes his jaw and his throat and tugs a little to encourage him to do it again. He does, of course, how could he not? 

Despite the heat clawing its way through him and the pleasure mounting dangerously high, Ford almost feels outside of himself again. The picture Stan makes, with his eyes damp and heavy lidded, his lips wet and stretched around Ford's cock, his hair fisted in Ford's fingers and his own clinging to Ford's hips -- it's lewd, debauched, and so horribly sweet that it makes Ford's chest hurt. 

Stan gasps raggedly when Ford pulls him off. "I was go-gonna...I mean you can--"

Ford kneels down to kiss him, tasting stale cigarettes and himself, cock throbbing over the rough state of Stan's voice. "Not done yet," he manages, before tugging Stan onto his feet. 

They lose clothes and time on the journey upstairs, tripping over the steps and Ford's discarded pants, and stumbling into his wreck of a room. If Stan notices the state of things, he doesn't comment, mouth latched onto Ford's shoulder and hands all over his back and hips. 

The back of Ford's legs hit the bed and he sits hard on the mattress. Stan doesn't hesitate to crawl up into his lap. He'd lost his boots in the kitchen and his jeans and boxers somewhere on the way to the stairs, giving him ample opportunity to rub his bare cock against Ford's. 

Cursing, Ford rolls his hips and only belatedly remembers to reach up and tug the hideous red coat off of Stan's shoulders. 

"Oh, fuck, hold on. I think I have another one," Stan says, panting softly as he digs into the pockets of his coat. Ford takes the opportunity to run his hands across Stan's thighs and ass, squeezing whatever skin he can until Stan makes a triumphant sound and pulls another little packet of lube free. 

Only then does he let Ford toss his jacket aside and tug him further up the bed with him. He doesn't protest when Ford takes the packet from him, lowering his head to work open mouth kisses up Ford's throat instead, and he rolls his hips distractingly while Ford fights to get the damnable thing open. He ignores the snickering against his skin in the process. 

It stops anyway, hitching into something warm and startled when Ford sinks two slick fingers into him. 

"Oh, fuck," Stan breaths, reaching up to grab Ford by the shoulder, holding himself steady. "Y-You know you don't have to do that, right? Pretty loosened up already."

He is, to be fair. His hole is still soft and loose and fucked open. But Ford enjoys petting his fingers against the tender muscle and stroking them inside anyway. He likes watching Stan bite his lip and push himself back onto his hand. When he slides a third in after the first two, Stan's thighs tremble on either side of his own, and he makes a low, throaty sound. 

When Ford curls his fingers just right, Stan yells and grips his shoulder hard enough to hurt, and it makes warm satisfaction curl in his middle. So he does it a few more times, alternating between spreading his fingers and rubbing the tips against Stan's prostate until he's squirming in his lap. 

"I-I'm gonna come if you don't knock that sh-shit off," he gasps, slumping a bit when Ford chuckles and slides his fingers out. 

"I think I'd like that," Ford says, squeezing his slick fingers against Stan's thigh. 

He snorts and straightens back up, finding the discarded lube packet to squirt the remainder onto Ford's cock. "Yeah, I bet you fucking would," Stan agrees, but there's no malice in his voice, just warm amusement. 

His fist is warm and wonderful when it curls around Ford's cock, spreading lube, and then Ford is being held steady, Stan adjusts himself on his scuffed knees, and there's nothing else to do but hold on as Stan lowers himself into his lap. 

It feels as good as it had earlier to be inside of him, and Ford squeezes the thigh under his hand tightly, fighting against the need to buck his hips. Stan is panting softly, his head tilted back and a pretty, pink color is crawling up from under his t-shirt to flood his neck and face. 

Ford groans and leans forward, finding a nipple through his thin shirt to get his teeth and tongue against.

"F-Ford!" Stan gasps, fumbling the hand not clawing at his shoulder up into his hair, and Ford sucks hard on the firm nub,  rubbing spit-soaked cotton against it with his tongue until Stan rocks in his lap. 

Fuck, he likes that, the way his name sounds in Stan's voice, especially warm and rough after fucking his throat earlier. 

He squeezes Stan's thigh and his hip, giving him a little tug, and that's all the encouragement Stan needs before he's bouncing on his cock. Ford has that thought again -- that Stan was meant to be filled by him, that they're a perfectly matched set. But it isn't just feeling good and hot while Stan fucks himself in his lap. It's feeling like he's been missing something and he finally has it, like he's finally complete again. 

He's missed this, Ford realizes. 

Not the fucking his brother part. He'd fantasized about that for years but it still feels like a dream that it's happening, like something that's too good to be true. 

But being able to put his arms around him? To be this close to him again? 

Ford rocks his hips up, hard, and Stan says his name. He wraps his fingers around Stan's cock, and he gasps his name. He bites the same swollen, pink nipple through his shirt, and Stan shouts his name. 

He snaps his hips up to meet him a few more times and rubs the sensitive glans under the head of Stan's cock, and then there are teeth digging into his other shoulder and his fist and stomach are being striped in Stan's come while he shudders and jerks overtop of him. 

Stan goes easily when Ford rolls them over and pins one of his wrists to the bed. And despite the way he squirms and how his spent cock twitches and leaks, blatantly overstimulated, he hooks his ankles behind Ford's back and urges him on. 

"C-C'mon, give it to me. Fuck, just like that, Sixer!" 

The nickname hits him with all the subtlety of a truck and all the heat of a volcanic eruption. 

He doesn't even remember coming so much as he remembers every synapses in his brain trying to fire at once. Coming back down to reality is a little clearer, with his head spinning and pulse racing as he flops onto his back, but it still takes several long minutes before he feels fully cognizant again. 

Something makes the bed shift, and he looks over to see that Stan has rolled onto his stomach. Ford wonders if he looks half as fucked out as Stan does, with bruises blossoming across his body, his shirt rucked halfway up his stomach, and come staining his ass and thighs. Ford realizes Stan still has his socks on, and he can't figure out why that makes something twinge, hot but exhausted and halfhearted, in his gut. 

"Gonna...gonna get up in a minute," Stan says, his voice slurring and his eyes already closed. Ford watches him rub his cheek against one of Ford's pillows, and the soft sound of snoring follows soon after. 

The reality of the situation starts to settle in shortly after that, and Ford stares wide eyed up at the ceiling as if he'll find some sort of answers there. Unsurprisingly, there are no secrets etched overhead for how to reckon with the fact that he had just fucked his brother, twice, while the fate of the world was still very much hanging in the balance between his fraying sanity and Bill's looming threat. 

".....Fuck," Ford murmurs.

When the adrenaline finishes seeping out of his system, Ford expects to crash. The exhaustion certainly climbs back into his bones, but he's surprised to find himself still clear headed. Focused. 

The sound of Stan sleeping soundly beside him is as soothing as it is mocking, but he doesn't want to separate himself from it even though he knows he needs to get up. There's soft, gray light starting to creep in through the windows, and distant birdsong calling for the start of the day. He needs to readjust, to come up with a new plan, find some way to explain to Stan what's going on so they can buy themselves a little more time. 

Against all odds and his better judgment, there's a tiny, optimistic voice in the back of his head reminding him that there's strength in numbers. He isn't surprised that it sounds like Stan.

[galaxitix]

Ehhh... I'm wasn't even sure what to write...(⁠─⁠.⁠─⁠|⁠|⁠）

I accidentally set my friend up with a guy without realizing till I become the third wheel on a recent outing. (I don't mind being a third wheel but I'm more shocked that they were dating, nothing official yet. she nicknamed him shoe stepper, name self-explanatory. annoyed her by stepping on her shoes and pretending nothing happened in a joking way). My friend thought I set them up on purpose, calling me a secret shipper, I didn't confirm or deny that statement, cause it was funny to me, didn't even knew they were dating till that moment. Fyi, he knew I was coming along and had no problem, so no i didn't crash their date(even though I thought it was just a regular outing between friends). Happy for her all the same, kinda wish love was that easy for me, it's only been 3 months since we started school T-T.

Once had a guy get mad at me for 'leading him on' despite making myself clear from the start that I wasn't going to get start dating a guy who happened to walk up to me randomly one day, but I wouldn't mind being friends to get to know each other (I didn't knew the guy and he was like 5 or so years older than me who just graduated highschool at the time). I also re-stated this over text that I only wanted to be friends. Couple weeks of texting then he randomly asked how I 'felt' about him. Long story short, I 'friendzoned' him then he got all mad at me for being fake and 'like other girls', leaning him on and I reminded him that I told him before I only wanted to be friends from the start, send him proof of my text that specifically stated that. He ghosted me after that text and I couldn't care less, blocked him then and there. He was just playing nice guy to eat in my pants anyways. How I know? 1. this guy's first question to me was if I still have my 'V card' (should have blocked him then but curiosity killed the cat I suppose. ) 2. His status that he post said a lot about him, it's disgusted me but I wasn't really surprised 😑 (I'm a girl that hardly checked people's status on Whatsapp, hence why it took me longer to see his true nature)

Oh and I have freckles on the back of my hands, inherited from my father.

(realize I just ended up rambling but oh well ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯)

Tags...hmm @donnietheterrapin @littlemissartemisia @bubblegum-flavored-timemachine and anyone else who want to do a lore drop

it's so weird to me that everyone on this website is a human person outside of their weird internet niche so rb this with a random bit of your lore

[silverskyeline]

ੈ♡˳ 'birthday cake' - logan howlett x wade wilson

summary: logan buys wade a cake for his birthday and tries to convince himself it doesn't mean anything. (900 words) tags: kinda fluffy, kinda angsty, set a year after the movie, references to losing the x-men, feelings realisation, animal metaphors for logan, cussing, logan x wade. a/n: happy birthday deadpool!

birthdays. running a calloused hand across his stubbled jaw, logan eyes the cakes in the bakery aisle with disgust. when's the last time he celebrated a birthday? not since. . .

well.

not since.

he's not sure why he's here. except he is. yet he won't admit it. can't admit he gives a damn about that stupid red leather-wearing freak. isn't that what he's doing right now, though? a birthday cake, an admission of sorts?

logan grumbles, a deep rumble in the back of his throat. why was this so hard? why couldn't he just pick up a cake and go? or better yet, forget about this whole damn thing and go home?

home.

a word that still feels so foreign in his mind, a long-lost concept that's only recently begun to take root again despite his best efforts to weed it out. that's the thing with wade, he's persistent. fuck, he's extremely fucking persistent to a highly annoying degree. but it's funny how the things we want to deny the most are the things that turn out to be the best for us in the end.

there's a unicorn cake that catches his eye. an imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of logan's lips, a reluctant grin quirking up without permission. he can't help it. "god damn it," he mutters, letting out a soft exhale that could possibly be perceived as a laugh.

it isn't too late. he could back out now, snuff the candles out and toss the cake so hard into the garbage can that it explodes on impact, leaving no evidence behind. that'd probably be the best thing to do. because what the fuck was this?

the unicorn cake sits on the dining room table, a few candles placed carefully (yet still somehow messily) into the pink icing, thoughtfully avoiding the unicorn decorations and rainbows.

logan shuffles nervously on his feet, hands clasped behind his back. he can already hear wade's annoying squealing in his ear, fussing and yelling and talking and just always fucking talking.

he'd made a deliberate effort to ignore all of wade's incessant reminders, 'it's my birthday month peanut, gotta be nice to me', 'i made sure to cancel everything on your very empty calendar for my birthday'. but in reality, logan had it memorised from the moment he learned the date.

a key enters the door, and logan stiffens up, then forces himself to relax in an attempt to look nonchalant. he looks anything but, head tilted down with dark eyes glued to the door - watching, waiting, anticipating.

"holy fuck balls that traffic is ridiculous!" wade whines, closing the door and rolling his neck as though he'd been worked to the bone, "i swear, it's like none of those careless fuckers know it's my birthday - can you believe that? i was thinking about getting a tattoo, the date on my forehead, y'know, so that when anyone asks they-"

wade stops, finally looking into the open room, eyes landing on the flicker of the candles. then to logan, eyes softening. "you. . . got me a cake?" wade whispers in the softest tone logan's ever heard from him, voice thick with emotion. it hits him unexpectedly.

logan puffs his chest out, "don't make a big deal outta it, bub." he says firmly, eyes straying from wade's gaze. feels like his eyes are boring into him, he doesn't like it. doesn't like the way wade looks at him, really looks at him. that kinda look is dangerous, could make a man believe he deserves to be forgiven for all he did or didn't do. could make a man believe that he's allowed happiness, however strange or unusual that source of happiness may be.

when logan's eyes trail back to meet wade's, he's already in front of him, arms wrapping around him in a tight hug as he rests his cheek against his broad chest. logan huffs, making a sound of disapproval initially, yet makes no effort to move or push him away. instead, he settles, allowing it.

he knows wade must hear his heartbeat, the fact that it's fluttering in his chest. but wade only squeezes his arms around him tighter in response.

for once, the merc with a mouth is silent, basking in this moment the other has allowed. he's almost in disbelief. to some, and hell, maybe even logan himself, it looked like. . . well, just a cake.

but it symbolised so much more than that.

if wade has had his hand outstretched all this time, approaching the skittish animal threatening to lash out in learned survival instincts - then this is the gentle nudge from the animal's snout into his palm. a curious, tentative step forward. a willingness to let someone in, let someone help.

and god, wade won't mess this up, won't disappoint, despite the fact that it's all he thought he was good for, for a long ass time. if logan's taught him anything, it's that life is so much more than what you boil yourself down to. it's what others see in you, too.

wade's eyes pop open when he feels logan's firm hands hesitantly rest upon his back, giving a gentle pat. he bites his tongue, a mirage of sex jokes slinging through his filth-riddled mind. perhaps in a way, that was his own defense mechanism, push him away with just enough jokes to keep him guessing.

but not today.

because today logan bought him a cake. the same day that logan realised that he's hopelessly, ridiculously, disgustingly, annoyingly. . . in love.

[halfbloodfics]

Hi! Yeah, so I desperately need a Pillow Fucking Snape who's needy for his Y/N as your sub!Snape headcannon made him 🥹👏 Skipping all the pleasantries here 'cus holy moly you got me with those headcannons and since you sent me here from the comments I went straight in for the request 👀❤️

A/N: {i have been wanting to write this, a sinfully long time. he's so sub its actually tragic. this is REALLY long im so sorry, but i really wanted to make it a sweet, long buildup of how much Sev really wants this woman :') Sev is literally like a feral cat experiencing love for the first time in this lmao}

title: let me get what i want

18+ minors dni

rating/tw: explicit, smut, brief mention of suicidal thoughts in very beginning

tags: solo smut, solo snape, sub!snape, snape centric pov, masterbation, insecurity, guilt, shame, kinda angsty, snape is touch starved, female professor reader

song: please, please, please let me get what i want by the smiths

MASTERLIST

~

Severus was a man not known for his indulgences. Everyone knew that. He knew that.

Gratification was a luxury he could never afford.

Growing up poor, Severus learned quick that what you desire is often not what you get. He had desired a lot of things before, certainly. To say he hadn't would be nothing but a lie. In the nights in his bedroom in that dusty old house on Spinners End, cowering in the corner, he desired for the drink in his fathers hand to put him to sleep at last. In his fifth year, glaring at the smirking upside down face of James Potter and Sirius black, he desired revenge. At 21, in the doorway of Dumbledore's office, when he learned the consequences of trust, he desired his death.

He had lived his entire life chasing his desires like a dog chasing the moon, knowing it was out of reach and yet too unevolved to understand how.

And yet... He had never felt his desire so, within grasp until he had met her. Those things of the past, poisonous, intangible pleasures, dark or light, had never been even remotely in reach.

She came into his life like a meteror, completely dashing across his sky, ripping him from the endless chase he had partoke in his entire life. Leading him on a completely seperate path, one he had never thought would ever find him...

True, honest, burning, desire.

The day she started teaching at Hogwarts in the middle of the year was a day like any other. Professor Sprout having retired rather abruptly, Severus didn't even spare a single thought at who would replace her. Why would he? For what reason? The weight of returning responsibilies lay heavy on his left forearm. Harry's 4th year, the emergence of his name from that god foresaken over-glorified cup; the promise of danger, the threat of a decade old vow..

The moment she walked in and sat beside him at the Professors table was hardly memorable, aside for the absolutely obnoxious outfit she were wearing.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye as he ate, interested only in seeing the face stupid enough to wear the brightest possible shade of yellow, in his presence, none the less.

When he found a rather young woman smiling at him, his gaze flicked away back to his plate. He had no interest. No desire, for conversation. And certainly not with someone resembling an overgrown daffodil.

It was barely the end of the first week when she had knocked on his door. Opening it and finding no one at his eye level, he glanced down.

Why on Earth, was she always wearing the horribly bright shade of yellow?

After she had given him an obscure collection of herbs, Severus thanked her with a brief nod before promptly closing the door on her face. He'd expected as much, Sprout and him had always had a decent, professional relationship. Their disciplines somewhat intertwined, Sprout had always provided him with the clippings of plants he needed, and in turn Severus had always provided her with whatever potions he could brew to help her plants. It wasn't the act that surprised him, but the way this new professor went about it.

She smiled a smile as bright as her shirt, every cursed night she knocked on his door. It was always something with this woman. A clipping, an herb, an old book. It was as if all things useful to him kept apparating in her office with a giant note saying "GIVE THIS TO THE GRUMPY GIT DOWN THE HALL."

Often times these gifts came along with unwanted and frankly unnecessary conversation. At first it was small talk, questions about his day, brief statements about yours. Often times she told him things about herself he didn't particularly care to know; such as what book she was reading, or how her vacation back home for the Holidays was.

What Severus did care for, was eye contact. It could have been the Occlumens in him, his guarded persona trying to gain some sense of dominance over the conversations where he usually felt none, an oppertunity to control.. to read.

And yet everytime he looked at her, he found her shining eyes looking right back up at him with a confidence that unnerved him. She stared him right in the eyes as he talked, not with a malice he had seen before, not with a fear he had grown accostomed to seeing and not even with an expectancy that so many demanded of him.

She looked at him like she could see right through him. As if she could see into every desire he ever had, as if his Occlumency skills were pointless against the skill of a 20 something year old Herbology Professor who hadn't even fought in the first Wizarding War.

And so reluctantly, as Severus took every gift with a nod and eventually a brief thanks, offering his own potions occasionally in return as he had so many times before despite feeling slightly unnerved.

The simple, professional relationship seemed to teeter on the edge of what was almost a-

"Friendship," She'd described it once in the doorway of his office. "It's a nice friendship we've got going on here, Severus. Thank you, for helping me, I appreciate it."

That was a word Severus hadn't clung to for quite some time.

He blinked, silent for several moments, for the first time in a long time almost uncertain of what to say. He hadn't considered her a friend, had he? Even as the months of the academic year had passed by, even as the conversation began to drift from work to hints of her personal life. Even as he found the corners of his lips occasionally twitching up in a smirk as she laughed her obnoxiously cheerful, loud laugh. Even after he began knocking on her door as she had knocked on his..

He hadn't even considered that she might have desired to be his friend. Or that he might have desired to be hers.

And in the months that passed by after that casual conversation, the one she had let slip likely without thinking twice, Severus found himself replaying the moment over and over in his head.

He found himself walking down the corridors between his lectures, expecting to see the young witch in that painfully bright yellow dress he'd somehow grown to tolerate.

He had even wiithout fully relising it himself, grown to desire it. her presence, her friendship.

And it had gone completely under that Roman nose until that one evening in March in the Great Hall for supper. Sitting beside her, Severus looked across the hall as he ate and she talked his ear off, a habit of avoiding her gaze he'd begun to pick up. It was only when she brushed her long hair off her neck and took a sip of her wine that Severus glanced at her for longer than a moment.

His heart stopped involuntarily in his chest.

Her neck, the soft, delicate flesh, was marked with a bruise of broken blood vessels. It was small, almost hidden towards the back of her neck, but that dark red mark stuck out like a thorn against the warm shade of yellow.

He didn't understand the sinking in his stomach he hadn't felt in over a decade. There was no reason for his jaw to clench as he looked back at his plate, no reason why his appetite was somehow ruined.

And all of a sudden, on a simple Tuesday in March, did Severus understand that he had grown to desire something...

"Gratification was a luxury he could not afford"

The weeks after that were nothing short of torture, for a magnitude of reasons. The dark mark on his arm burned stronger with each passing day; Karkaroff's words from the Yule Ball hung heavy in the air of his chamber, late at night when he couldn't sleep. The second task of the Triwizard tournament was a moment still echoing in his crowded mind. Who was stealing gillyweed? Why was Harry's name actually put in the goblet of fire?

And yet, out all of the absolute bullshit fighting for dominance in his crowded mind, did his thoughts always trail back to her.

Like a lovestruck idiot, he couldn't stop thinking of her. Or more so, thinking about that damned lovebite on her neck.

Why did he even care?

If Sprout had had a lovebite on her neck would he have even thought more of it other than the intial disgust?

Was this friendship? The concept was so foreign to him for so long he didn't even know. All he knew was that for the next several weeks, like a hormonal teenager, his body reacted to her presence quicker than his mind.

Every time she knocked on his door and looked up at him with those big bright eyes, he felt it. The lurch of his chest, the sinking in his gut.

He couldn't ignore it, the twitch of his jaw when he'd let his guard down and snuck glances at her neck. What was he hoping to find there anyway? More marks? Or was he hoping to find a blank canvas, the silk of her skin untouched, the possibilities of tracing his own lips down the curve of her neck-

No.

Her voice snapped him out of his tortured thoughts.

"Severus?" She spoke. "You alright?"

They were sitting in her office on a Friday night, a rather recent development in their "friendship" that Severus was unsure how he felt.

He blinked, met her gaze and then looked back at the fire, sipping his tea and putting his Occlumency shields back up, cursing himself at the fact he'd let them fall.

"Yes." He said, his voice low.

And that was when she did it, she touched him. Gently, as if he was something fragile, something delicate that could break under her soft fingertips. And Merlin, the feeling nearly made him gasp out loud. He tore his gaze from her hand placed on his left forearm and looked into her eyes for longer than he had in quite some time.

Her lips curled into a soft smile. "You know Severus.. I know these past few months have been chaotic, with the tournament, but I think you're dealing quite well."

Severus blinked. She didn't know of the darkening tattoo under her very fingertips. What did she know about what he was dealing with? What did she know about anything that he had ever dealt with? Who was she to say he was... doing well?

Why did a heat begin to grow in his lower abdomenon? Why did her touch feel heavier on that cursed mark? Why crave her to say it again?

She pulled her delicate touch away as if it was a fleeting, minute thing that had never meant to be anything more than what it was.

Friendship.

That night, Severus let the door to his chamber slam shut behind him. He detatched the cloak from his robes and hung it on the door, reaching his bedroom in a few quick strides and letting that door slam shut as well.

As soon as he was alone, truly alone, he sunk down on the bed.

He may not have been not the most emotionally intune, but he was intelligent. Severus was no fool to longing. He had, afterall, longed for his whole life. But the feeling possessing him now; the raw, burning in his chest when he looked at her, the way his chest fluttered..

It wasn't the longing he was afraid of. It was the hope.

The smile on her face as she looked at him, as if he was something as bright as she was... The gentle tone of her voice as she coaxed more and more information out of his guarded frame then he'd care to admit..

It was the hope that all these things were her desiring him.

Severus ran his hands through his hair. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he tried desperetely to ignore the restlessness inside him.

What was he doing? He was a man of control, a skilled Occlumens, able to lie straight to the face of the Dark Lord and live to tell the tale, and yet here he was, in the suffocating darkness of his lonely chamber that had never bothered him until now, feeling absolutely on fire.

Was that what it took to break him? A man of his talents reduced to a fluttering, pathetic mess at the mere, single touch of a pretty woman?

The heat in his lower abdomen was not foreign, but it was unwelcome all the less. Of course he knew sexual desire. It wasn't as if he hadn't indulged before.. Occasional, late nights where he had lost control.. Where he'd succumbed to the feeling of his right hand in his trousers. It was the shame afterwards, the disgust for himself that prevented him from making it a regular habit.

In fact, now that he thought of it... When was the last time he had allowed himself release?

Certainly it had been awhile since he felt such... Yearning. And certainly he'd never felt it to such degree before but thinking of it now, his head in his hands, Severus relised it had been years.

Years.

The pent up tension, the reemergence of past lust he thought he'd long buried, the sheer strength of it this time was enough to make him begin to pace in his room.

Breathing through gritted teeth, he paced in circles, running his hands through the strands of raven hair. This need was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. Lust and hope combined was never something he'd experienced together.

Would those same lips that are always smiling at his sarcastic remarks kiss his? How would she taste? Would she kiss him softly, gently? Succumb to the power imbalences between them?

Or..

Would she kiss him hungrily? Would she take control, weaving her soft fingers through his hair and tugging? Would her lips whisper praises like the one she'd said that day?

Severus groaned, sitting back down on the bed. He'd never craved to be... taken like this. He'd had fantasies of course, things he thought of on the rare occasions he indulged in his need, all ideas of exercising the control he so often craved.

And yet now, feeling so powerless, so torn, it began to dawn on him that that's what he craved... To be freed from the guilt of his own desires. Have any sembelence of control taken so far from him he could do nothing but take it, take her.

He couldn't ignore the strain in his trousers. It had been so long...

He shifted his weight, not trusting his fraying control enough to get into proper sleepwear, he layed down on his back on top of the sheets, staring up at the ceiling and trying desperately to ignore the aching in his groin.

It'd been so.... long..

"No." He murmered, but the word came out weak.

No, he thought to himself, Absolutely not.

Severus rolled onto his side, trying desperetely just to close his eyes and beacon forth the sleep he knew wouldn't come. He knew deep down, he could just take a simple sleeping potion, it wouldn't be the first time.

But as he shifted, he felt the strain of his cock in his trousers brush against the firm matrress. Almost immediately his breath hitched. His slender fingers tightened around the messy sheets, his jaw clenched.

Every muscle in his tired body seemed to clench. It didn't help that all his mind could so was replay that moment over and over again. The weight of her hand on his forearm... The way she looked up at him so gently.. Her words... What was it she had said? He was handling it... Well?

She had praised him.

Pathetic. He thought, letting out a sharp exhale. A mere compliment she hadn't thought twice of was his undoing?

But the voice in the back of his mind, the one that had begun to threaten his control, whispered: "What if she had meant it? What if she had meant more?"

And it was this hope, this foolish hope he hadn't allowed himself to indulge in years that seemed to set him on fire.

He stared at the wall of his dark chamber. Even in the night of his room, he never felt safe from the invisible eyes of others, not even his own.

If he.. indulged... How could he look at himself in the mirror?

How could he look at her?

But the weight of her touch on his arm was a heavy burden his mind couldn't afford to ignore. Every shift of his weight on the bed sent a spark up his spine, every minute, tiny brush of the sheets against his cock made it throb.

Sleep.

Sleep would not find him. He laid completely still for what felt like an eternity, and yet the ache in his pants would not go away. It only seemed to grow stronger.

Frustrated, Severus rolled over to his stomach and immedietly let out a sharp hiss. The friction between his clothed groin and the mattress sent a bolt of pleasure up him he hadn't felt in years.

He'd forgotten what pleasure could feel like.

And for the first time in a long time, Severus acted without thinking. His hips rolled almost involuntarily against the mattress, a single, simple grinding motion that drew another ragged gasp from his lips.

Another jolt... Another roll of his hips...

Remembering the constant feeling of eyes on him, he buried his face in the pillow and stopped his movements all together.

What the fuck was he doing?

It wasn't just the burning desire, or the pleasure of friction he'd so long denied himself. It was the exhaustion. He was tired. Tired of being in control over everything in his life, day after day, year after year. Tired of fighting that clench in his gut that he felt everytime she looked up at him. Tired of refusing to be selfish.

He tore his head from the pillow, reaching both hands up to grasp the sheets around it.

"Fuck it." He whispered to himself.

He didn't fight the next wave of pleasure that crashed over him as he rolled his hips against the mattress again. The sigh that lleft his lips left so on his own accord. As if his whispered permission was enough for all reason to flee him, he began to grind his clothed erection against the firm mattress again, his movements still slow, but deliberate.

God.. It had been... So.... Long...

He began to pant, short, quick breaths coming out quickly as his movements picked up pace. The pleasure that each thrust sent through him could have been enough to pull him over the edge, but it wasn't enough for him.

He had to feel it... Just once, just this once and then he could go back to whatever sense of celibacy he had adopted over the years. Just for tonight, he had to feel it.

Severus propped himself up on one elbow and used his other hand to unbutton his trousers. His fingers hastly unzipped it, reaching into his boxers as if he unconciously feared his mind may deny himself again if he allowed it the time to.

The very second his fingers wrapped themselves around his cock he gasped. The sound was ragged, strained as he pulled himself out, pushing down his trousers and boxers the very least he could. The cold dungeon air of his bed chamber immediately contrasted against the warmth of his skin and even that simple sensation felt as though it had been amplified.

Without wasting a second, Severus tore his hand away to join his other in gripping the sheets and began to buck his bare erection against the mattress.

Another torn gasp. Another shudder. His fingers tightened their grip around the sheets, his hips rolling faster, feverishly in time with his panting.

"Fuck," He hissed, his head falling down against the pillow as he moved.

He could still feel it. Her touch on his left forearm.

And perhaps thats what drove his next action. It certainly wasn't reason, or shame, those things he had so long clung onto having abandoned him. He tossed, rolling over to his side and began to pump his cock with his left hand.

It wasn't his dominant hand, but he used it none the less. Shamelessly bucking his hips against his fist, his grip tight as he stroked himself desperately. Deep down he knew that the only thing on top that forearm in that moment was the Dark Mark, but the only thing he felt, was her hand.

He imagined her touch again. Her soft fingers on his clothed skin. Gods.. What would it feel like without any barriers whatsoever? What would it feel like to have her fingers trail up that arm, down his chest, his abdomen-

"Fuck," He grunted, louder this time as his grip on his cock tightened and his hips continued to buck against his hand, "Fuck."

With his eyes screwed shut, Severus pictured her eyes staring back up at him as she whispered more praises. What he would do to hear more of them... What he would do to coax those words from her lips, no, what he would do to make her moan them.. If he was inside her, if it was his cock, his movements, making her praise him...

His control snapped. In an instant he moved, thoughtless, completely slave to the desires he'd repressed for so long; he pushed himself up, bunching the sheets up and bringing them under his hips.

Without thinking, Severus took his cock in his right hand and lined it up with the crease of the rolled up sheets and pushed in.

"Shit!" He hissed, his head collapsing against them as he supported his weight on his left forearm. His other arm reached down to hold the sheets steady as he began to fuck them shamelessly.

The gasps that flew from his lips were sinfully loud, a string of curses and her name as he chased the release he'd denied himself for so long. He pictured her body beneath him, the possibilities of feeling so much more of her soft skin. How her walls would welcome him... Wet and warm around his cock, how those delicate hands would cling to him as she looked up at him with those bright eyes that seemed to only see good in him.

And stars, did he want to be good for her.

"You're doing so well, Severus," Her voice rang out in his mind as he screwed his eyes shut, "Feels so good..."

His breath coming in quick short gasps, his grip on the sheets tightened even further, his knuckles white. The headboard creeked against the stone wall with every thrust of his hips, but the only thing in his mind was her voice. That wretched, soft, voice..

"Severus!" She moaned in his mind. His name, on her lips. He was coaxing those moans. He was giving her that pleasure.

What would it feel like to give her more? What would it feel like to watch her face as she came around him? He'd read about sex, sure. Heard about it, in the boys dorms in school, from Lucius' wild adventures, from the Death Eaters. But what would it feel like to have her come for him? The tightening of her around him, the sound of his name on her lips as she gushed arou-

The thought was too much for him to bear. Soft, high whimpers flew from his quivering lips as he came into the sheets. The orgasm crashed over him seemingly out of nowhere fast enough that he wasn't prepared for it. His entire body shook, hips faltering and chest heaving as he thrusted sloppily into the sheets as he filled them with his cum.

Her name left his mouth like a broken prayer, chanted breathlessly, even as his thrusts slowed down and he stilled against the sheets.

Severus panted, sweat clinging to his forehead, his raven hair. For as long as he could, he lay completely still against the messy sheets, almost frightened to move and face what he had done.

When he finally did open his eyes, he pushed himself up on shaky arms to look down. The black sheets were painted white with his cum, glistening in the faint glow of the room.

Not bearing to look at it any longer, he reached for his wand and cleaned up the evidence. Tossing it to the side, he shoved his softening cock back in his trousers and collapsed on the once again clean sheets to stare at the ceiling.

Shame and guilt coursed through the back of his mind, but at the forefront of it all, was the absolute sheer exhaustion.

The prayer in his mind was only her name, the scripture only her praise. He drifted off begging, to who, he wasn't sure. But for the first time, in years, Severus slept peacefully.

~

well im sorry that was seven decades long. haven't yall had a pretty lady touch you once and then immediately gone feral?

no?

just me?

oh

~

taglist:

@graciesbow @niftysnazzy @plecosylvia @dark-st  @3hrysfiction-blog @ilovegrapes-world @darkvoidz @lexiitaylorrrr @theheartwants-what-itwants **@aperol-with-izzy **@herbologygremlin @kittenlittle24 @aleck-cross

[nakylvr]

need to be watching comfort movies with manon and holding her like please let me take care of you my heart hurts

i stopped studying to write this up, it's probably trash but i needed to do something

— ANYTIME, ALWAYS 👑

warnings/tags: fluff, established relationship, f!reader

you knew something was off the moment you stepped inside the dorm for the girls after getting a text from manon. it was quiet with the rest of the girls gone for the award show, an oddity for the home that was buzzing always. you were given an extra key from sophia who explicitly told you that you were the only one to have an extra and to not let the staff find out. to be fair, you didn't really care though if the staff found out right now.

when you got the text from manon that read; can you come by? :(, with nothing else, you had a feeling something was wrong. you showed up at the dorm within twenty minutes.

you step into the living room, seeing manon sitting on the couch with the hood of her hoodie over her head watching, or trying, to watch a movie on the tv. she doesn't even notice your presence until you step closer to her. "hey, baby," you say softly, making her finally realize you're there and look up at you.

"hey," she says quietly. "how did you get in?"

"sophia gave me a key a while ago," you answer, sitting down next to her on the couch. "is everything okay?" you ask hesitantly.

"mm," manon hums, not moving. "just...things," she mumbles.

"okay..." your voice trails off as your eyes glance around. "do you want to talk about it?"

manon shakes her head, her eyes finally meeting yours with tears in her eyes. she opens her mouth to speak but you're wrapping your arms around her and pulling her into your embrace before she can get anything out. she puts her face in your neck, her arms grabbing your shirt tightly as if you would disappear.

"it's okay," you whisper softly. "it's okay," you reiterate a few times, your hand rubbing her back reassuringly. you can feel a few wet droplets hitting your skin, and you pull her closer to you, her body practically pressing against yours as she quietly cries into your neck.

you can hear her mumbling into your skin, and you can only make out a few words every now and then, but you can decipher it and figure out what she's saying. "look at me, baby," you say quietly, moving your hands to her face.

manon slowly lifts her head from your neck to look at you, her eyes slightly red from crying with a few tears still trailing down her cheeks. "i-i don-don't understand-"

"hey, hey," you interrupt her quickly, knowing exactly where it would lead. "i'm going to stop you right there. just breathe, okay? everything will be okay, you will be okay. i don't know what you're seeing, but ignore it. it's hard, i know. it's been hard, i know. but you're the strongest person i've ever met," you wipe the tears away with the pads of your thumbs. "i love you so much, the girls love you so much, everyone loves you. forget the small percentage of people who are jealous because you're talented and they aren't. you are so important to so many people. you mean the world to so many, to me. i love you so much."

listening to your words has more tears welling in manon's eyes as she nods along to what you're saying. "i love you too," she mumbles quietly.

you lean in and softly press your lips against hers, feeling her reciprocate instantly as her hands rest on your waist. you pull away for a moment, leaning your forehead on hers while wiping away the remaining tears. "is there anything you want to do?" you ask.

manon shakes her head lightly. "not really. i was watching a movie, but it's kinda trash."

you nod while giving a short hum. "okay. how about we put a good movie on and i'll order us something to eat?" you suggest.

"i'm okay with that," she replies.

"okay," you peck her lips, smiling slightly. you grab the remote off the table and grab manon's arm, pulling her down on top of you as you lay on your back along the couch. she giggles softly at the action, resting her head on your chest as you look through the movies listed on the tv. putting on a random one, you put the remote down and look back at manon, wrapping your arms around her. "i love you so much," you quietly speak.

"i love you too," she responds in the same voice. "please don't leave," she whispers.

"i won't," you immediately reply. "i promise." you kiss the top of her head. "you don't have to worry about that. i'm staying for as long as you'll keep me around."

"forever?" she murmurs.

"forever."

[littlebigmouse]

Same. I sincerely believe the introduction of their mother is the worst scene in season 2 so far, not only because the scene itself is pretty bad, it makes very little sense in context (in terms of the characters emotional states) and retrospectively harms S1Act1.

I fucking hate this, what do you MEAN it explains it, did Season 1 not already explain it?? Did Season 1 not make you understand it already?? Did Season 1 not focus on Vander's corpse and the emotions on Silco's face when Powder tells him Vi left her? Did you not get that Silco empathized with her because he knows how it feels to be abandoned by an older sibling? Did he not spend the entire season comparing Vi to Vander and his past to Jinx's? Were there not already multiple scenes depicting Silco and Jinx's bond and how he came to fiercely love her after years of taking care of her?? You stilI needed another hamfisted justification for his love for her?? He needed to be her godfather and friends with her dead mother for you to understand Season 1? I despise takes like this so muchhh

[nobodyknowsimalesbian777]

Sunshine (pt 2!) - pitfighter!vi (Arcane)

NSFW tags - porn, fantasizing about sex, switch!reader, sub!vi, dom!surprise character, pussy-eatting & fingering (r!receiving), face-riding (vi!receiving), bit of angst, lowkey evil reader ngl, kinda rushed

authors note - okay, it's here guys!!! this could probably be a stand-alone, but i strongly recommend reading part one first. i hope you love it! i hope the grammatical and spelling errors are not that bad, i really wanted to get this out before act 3 😛😛😛 ----------------------------------------------------------

you felt your hands shake as you lifted your head, meeting vi's fucked-out gaze

the pit in your stomach grew as you realized she didn't just accidentally call you Cait,

she was imaging you were Caitlyn

vi tilted her head, bringing her hand up to your cheek

you pulled your head away, throwing yourself up and nearly stomping to the bathroom

a shattered woman stared back at you in the mirror, and you could hardly stand it

rushing, you picked up everything you'd need for the night and slammed the door on your way out

you heard vi follow you out the door, calling out and asking what was wrong

her voice was enough to break you, and you felt tears stream down your face as you continued to a hotel a few blocks away

you had never felt a pain this deep before, and you found yourself questioning how often she thought about cait while she was with you

the thought killed you

you always liked caitlyn, but you hated her now for taking away vi

your violet

the violet you picked up and put back together while she killed herself for a woman who left her, sobbing, on the ground

suddenly, an all-consuming idea to get back at vi filled your mind,

how much would it hurt her to see the two women she lost together?

that's when you decided you needed to find caitlyn kirraman

it wouldn't be difficult, she was well known as the piltover military leader

you had both grown up in the same circles, which is why you were so surprised to find out about her past with vi

not that it mattered now,

you couldn't think of anything other then showing vi exactly how you felt, ruining her with the same name she had used to ruin you

----------------------------------------------------------

you had spent the morning traveling back to piltover,

your parents welcomed you back with open arms, consoling you as you told them about what vi had done

the day was spent getting ready to find Caitlyn,

you had to make yourself look presentable after spending the night sobbing

caitlyns home wasn't far from yours, so you picked out a bottle of wine and made your way

----------------------------------------------------------

the kirraman house stood tall, beckoning you up the stairs,

every step you took was one step closer to your vengeance against vi,

and that's all it took to encourage three firm knocks against the wood of caitlyns door.

the door opened to reveal a red-headed officer, she eyed you up and down before her thick Scottish accent pierced your eardrums

"junior officer nolan, what's your business here?"

you sighed sweetly, putting on your best act

"im here to...see an old friend" you hated how insincere you sounded

officer nolan, however, didn't seem to notice

she stepped back, inviting you in and even leading you back to a big conference room

you hasn't seen caitlyn in years, her youthful features had sharpened, and she kept her blue hair tucked under her cap,

it was impossible not to feel a mix of inferiority and attraction as you gazed at her

the wine bottle clicked as you set it on the table, prompting caitlyn to swivel around and meet your intense gaze

"who are you?" her accent sent shivers straight down your spine, but you had to remind yourself why you were here,

more, what you were here for.

"it's nice to see you too, caitlyn" you chuckled, again feigning sweetness

her eyes softened as she seemed to recognize you, a relieved sigh leaving her parted lips,

"i apologize, i've been a bit...on edge, as of late." a soft chuckle escaped you,

because she couldn't possibly imagine how much worse it was going to get.

----------------------------------------------------------

weeks had passed with caitlyn, and you spent every available moment by her side

tending to housekeeping, amoung other, more personal matters

every moment you spent with her, you became more infatuated

you compared every part of her to yourself, questioning what made her linger in vi's mind while you had been together

it was very conflicting, as you were starting to realize exactly why she stuck

and every day that passed made you question if your affection towards her was an act.

these thoughts plagued your mind, when it wasn't filled with memories of vi

love was a confusing feeling for you,

and this triangle you had fabricated was not making a whole lot more sense

you spent nights laying in bed with caitlyn,

your hands drifting across the body that vi hadn't gotten the chance to know,

but somehow managed to love

much more then she had ever loved you, if she had at all

thoughts of leaving caitlyn had, of course, come up,

letting her feel the pain she had put vi, and (although indirectly) you through

but you knew that it would have been a waste of your time

you had spent time creating this scenario, and you were so close to the end

the last step was ensuring vi got a good look at you and cait, a real up close and personal look

luckily, cait frequently left you alone in her home when she was on missions

and her specific kirraman house parchment was not incredibly hard to find

so, as caitlyn slept, you drafted a note. one that would ensure vi was exactly where you wanted her

' vi, i need to speak to you. tommorow, midnight, sneak in the way i showed you...please. -cupcake'

you had it brought directly to vi's door, and moved into the next part of your plan, waiting.

----------------------------------------------------------

the day seemed to drag on, caitlyn had endless amounts of visitors requesting her audience

you expected she would need her favorite form of stress relief at the end of the day

and you had no. idea. how right you were.

right at 11:45, just as you expected, caitlyn came into your now shared room

she immediately shed her uniform, huffing as she made her way over to the bed, where you lay waiting

cait shoved you down by the shoulders, making your back hit the bed as she straddled your legs, her strong thighs enclosing you

your moans echoed on the walls as she kissed down your torso, stopping only to hastily untie the robe covering you

the clocks hands ticked away behind her, showing '11:50', '11:53' and finally, right as she was spreading your legs, '12:00'

you made sure you were facing the window, while cait laid out on her stomach

hungry hands reached up, grabbing at any piece of flesh they could reach

all the stress of her job was taken out on your abused cunt,

you had barely felt the warm satisfaction of her tounge on your clit before she was ramming two fingers inside of you at a brutal pace

you'd never admit it, but you absolutely loved when cait treated you like this

when she reminded you that she owned you, regardless of why you came to her

vi was rarely allowed to see you this way, you made sure that she was satisfied above all else, and she used that

she used you

you suppose caitlyn did too, in a way

and suddenly, a thought you'd never had before was all you could think of

caitlyn continued her brutal ministrations on your clit as you imagined vi above you,

her cunt smothering you, absorbing your moans as you teased her entrance

you imagined cait standing, leaving you needy and wet, and watching you, directing you

telling you how exactly to touch each other, exactly what she wanted to see

you were pulled out of your fantasy when you heard the window slide open quietly,

cait was far too enamored with you to hear vi's soft gasp as she laid eyes on the two of you together

you lifted your head, making direct eye contact as caitlyn messily licked up and down your cunt

vi watched in shock as you arched your back, gripping the bedsheets tight as you reached your peak all over caitlyns face

her soft moans were drowned out by your intense ones, you made sure to give vi a show as you came undone

cait lifted her head, moving up to kiss you before she realized you were looking directly behind her

glaring, more then looking actually

she whipped her head around, meeting vi's tear-brimmed eyes

they both looked between you and each other, you could see the millions of emotions passing through them as their eyes finally stayed on you,

you offered a simple shrug, pulling your robe back over as you sat up

your voice rung out in the painfully quiet room,

"doesn't feel so great, does it?"

----------------------------------------------------------

okay gang idk how i feel about this yet?? i will defo come back after act 3 drops and clean it up a bit, i just wanted to get something out. i hope you like it soso much, i love the idea and im hoping my execution isn't too bad! as always, please please pleaseeeee leave all the insane requests, i love them all and it's so nice to get inspiration and just to know what you all want to read!!

[bueckerrss]

notions - azzi fudd

summary𞠬: your relationship with azzi has been amazing. but is it too good to be true?

warnings: arguments, angst, heartbreak, mentions of y/n, toxic! azzi. many time skips, kinda rushed. bad writing (?)

pairing: x reader

tags: @patscorner @pbueckerslover @h34rtsformilli @cosmopretty @st4rrzynight @xxloveralways14 @authentic-girl03 @paigebuxkets @alaninavae @sophswbb

masterlist | taglist

𖢻𖢻𖢻𖢻𖢻𖢻𖢻𖢻𖢻𖢻𖢻𖢻𖢻𖢻𖢻𖢻𖢻𖢻𖢻𖢻𖢻𖢻𖢻𖢻𖢻𖢻𖢻𖢻𖢻𖢻𖢻

LOOKING AT HER i knew i had lost the battle. she left without looking back, i looked up as i tried to swallow my tears. she walked away, like she didn’t just break my heart.

that was it… all along it was just a game for her. i played the fool, letting my guard down too soon.

-

“i was wondering if you would like to go out with me?” she smiled softly a little pink tint on her cheeks as she looked around.

i stood there shocked before i nodded my head yes, i hugged her with a smile on my face, “here these are for you” she said handling me a small buque of flowers but not any flowers, my favorite flowers.

“thank you!” i said taking it my smile getting bigger as i took it, “you really didn’t have too!” i said “no, i wanted to” she said “come in!” i said opening my door more for her to walk in. as she walked in she sat down on the couch frantically typing on her phone before i spoke “would you like any water or anything?”

“a water would be fine” she replied not looking up from her phone, i came back with a cup of water “here you go” i said smiling “thanks” she said taking the cup but not looking up.

-

“are you seriously accusing me of cheating?! why would you think that? shes just a friend y/n!” a drunk azzi argued “the way she was looking at you did not seem like it!” i argued back trying to hold back tears, not of sadness but of anger. “great now you’re crying! jesus fuck y/n!” she said pinching her nose bridge. “you know what call me when you’re sober.” i said walking away from her.

as i walked down the streets the cold november breeze made my face flush more red than i already was, i took deep breaths trying to calm myself down, she’ll come looking for me i know she will…

five seconds turned into five minutes and five minutes turned into five hours… i did other things to try and keep myself from calling her.

i shut my phone off slamming it down on the nightstand trying to get some sleep. the bedroom door slowly opened as azzi stumbled over to the bed and leaning over to plant a kiss on my cheek “i’m sorry baby” she whispered into my shoulder and lazily planted a kiss on it before going to sleep.

a feeling in my stomach was telling me she was not apologizing about the situation..

-

“flowers for the most beautiful woman ever” said azzi as she walked in to the living room “what, why did you get me flowers?” i said putting down my laptop and grabbing them, “just because flowers?” she smiled softly i opened my mouth to say something before her phone went off “who is it?” i asked trying to see the contact name before she pulled it away “oh it’s paige, i’ll be back” she said walking away.

after a few minutes she comes back, “sorry beautiful but i have to go they scheduled a last minute practice, i’ll text you when i can” she quickly said before grabbing her keys and jetting out the door. ‘follow her’ something in me said i held back but before i knew it i was in my car following her to someone’s house.

i've never been here, i don’t recognize it.

i was outside waiting for forty minutes before azzi came out looking happier than when she walked in, hair slightly messy a shorter girl following behind her before they kissed goodbye, i quickly snapped a few pictures before i drove off. ‘just a friend my ass!’ i thought as i drove back home.

argument after argument came out of the situation.

i knew that these destructive tendencies were not going to go away, it was like a war every day a never ending cycle. something i couldn’t brush off, something telling me to fight for this relationship.

slowly, i realized my mistake, she was just playing me. toying with my emotions, making me play a fool just to feel her love.

i should’ve known but i was ignorant thinking everything would change for the better, soon disappointment washed away my thoughts of a better relationship.

she played games all the time, and i always fell into her trap.

[illmoraineakoi]

Do you guys think that if Chosen ever learned of the 'deal' Orange made with Alan in AvA4, he'd automatically see it as Alan using it to indenture Orange to him and blow a gasket?

Especially if Orange recounted the deal incorrectly, or perhaps even if Orange himself misinterpreted or misunderstood it.

Because the original wording of the deal was "If you help me animate, I'll let you free so long as you don't wreck my computer."

Alan likely meant this to mean that so long as Orange didn't mess up the computer and helped him animate, Orange would be allowed to live on the computer. Which is already a little questionable, placing a stipulation on having a place to live. A very 'earn your keep' sort of vibe.

But the original deal makes no mention of RGBY or their role in everything. Honestly, it seems like they just kinda moved onto the desktop at some point between 2015-2017. But like most things with Orange, things tend to revolve more around them than himself, when it comes to his priorities.

So I don't think it's too out of the question to think that Orange automatically pooled them in with himself in this deal, and they became another factor of it when they originally weren't involved at all.

A common interpretation I've seen is Orange misunderstanding the deal, and thinking that if he helps Alan animate, his friends get to stay too. IE: If he doesn't, Alan reserved the right to kick them off or bar access to the computer from them. Placing a stipulation not just on Orange's own ability to have a place to live, but on his ability to see and have access to his friends. Turning it into a privilege earned by fulfilling the responsibilities expected of him.

Orange undoubtedly likes to animate with Alan, that's not an issue, but perhaps he still thinks that he has a responsibility to do it in order to maintain the status quo of not just his life, but all of their lives. Maybe he sees it as a sort of 'payment', in a way. Perhaps he doesn't even really believe that Alan would be mean enough to revoke those things from him, to do what is his right to by the terms of their deal, but there's a part of him that's secretly unwilling to chance it.

Or perhaps he doesn't even think the deal is active anymore. It's been so many years, after all, and they've ruined Alan's files multiple times (unintentionally) and nothing's happened. It could've long since become null and void.

But from Chosen's perspective, it would likely seem a lot worse than Orange ever thought it was. Perhaps even worse than ALAN realized it was.

Because Alan has put a price tag on Orange's right to even have a place to live. A price tag (potentially) on his ability to see and interact with his friends. A price tag on his nice, happy life. Maybe even a price tag on his very life.

And I think Chosen would be very upset about that. And perhaps even more upset when Orange seems confused about why he's upset about it, when Orange doesn't understand how predatory it looked from Chosen's perspective.

After all, it's not even a very big price tag. It's just a little animating. It's not that bad, and Orange likes doing it anyway, so what's the problem?

But at the end of the day, it is still little more than a ball and chain made of words and letters, binding him to doing what Alan wants him to do with the potential threat of ruthless punishment should he disobey or rebel of cause harm to the computer.

And really, what difference is there, between using a stick figure as a pop up blocker and using one as an animating assistant? Does the fact that he enjoys it really outweigh or justify the fact that you've placed a condition on his very livelihood since the day of his creation?

Yeah. Chosen would not be happy.