#mental illness for the win
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hueysanxiety · 3 months ago
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Reconnecting with nature after going into a full mental breakdown over billford
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animatedtext · 1 year ago
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valtsv · 2 years ago
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one of the craziest things about mental illness is when you know you're mentally ill and that this causes you to Experience Symptoms but then when you're Experiencing those Symptoms you're like "what could possibly be causing this... the mental illness? no... that can't be it... there must just be something wrong with me..." and then it turns out it was in fact the mental illness
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razzafrazzle · 1 year ago
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TEAM FRYE FTW!!!!!! SHARK GIRL AND PANCAKE HAVE HAD THEIR FILL, ITS HER TIME TO SHINE
[image description: a headshot drawing of frye from splatoon. she is smiling and wearing a small crown with the words "FRYE OR DIE" next to her. she's also surrounded by sparkles. end id]
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counterspellthisyoucasual · 24 days ago
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Does anyone else play the game of Autism vs Chronic Pain?
Like, yeah, my hips and knees are aching to ALL FUCKING HELL because my window is open and the cold is really fucking with my joints but also, I refuse to shut the window cause the heat is fucking SUFFOCATING and I’d rather freeze to death than be a little bit too warm.
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s0fter-sin · 3 months ago
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ghost fucking soap so hard and so good he passes out but he utterly panics about it
he thinks he must’ve ignored soap asking to stop; was it pain that made him pass out? how bad could it have been to make him pass out when he’s been shot and kept going? should he bring him to medical? he’ll never touch him again, he’ll never so much as look at him again; he’ll ask for a transfer- fuck that, a dishonourable discharge. there’s no coming back from this
he spirals, guilt chasing hatred chasing despair chasing fear, until soap finally wakes back up
soap's still floating, loose-limbed and buzzing; fucked so thoroughly out of his head that it takes him a while to notice ghost isn't in bed with him anymore. he frowns, lifting a heavy head off the pillow and freezes. ghost's on the other side of the room, curled up tight in the corner as far away from soap as he could get without leaving him alone
(he would've left, would've made sure soap never had to see his face again and be reminded of what he did to him, of the monster he’d let into his bed- but he couldn't just leave him unconscious; what if he didn't wake up, he had to make sure he was safe first even if he'll rightfully hate him forever when he does wake up)
soap's voice when he calls out to him makes him flinch, his head burying deeper in his knees. cold worry chases the bliss from his blood and soap pushes himself up but his shaking arms can't hold his weight
the sound of him collapsing back onto the bed makes ghost rear up, his panic growing and soap's heart breaks at his red rimmed eyes
it takes a long time for soap to coax him back to the bed, countless loops of, "sweetheart, please, come here, what happened? it's okay, everything’s going to be okay.”
(and how ghost’s self-hatred grows hearing soap comforting him; hearing the concern and love in his voice when he doesn’t deserve a drop of it)
it takes even longer for ghost to believe soap when he says that he passed out because he felt so good; that he never asked ghost to stop, never wanted him to stop. that he trusts him more than anything and knows he'd rather die than ever hurt him, especially like that
“you’re not a monster, love,” he promises, soft with conviction and it’s as much a surrender as a relief when he collapses into his lap and lets him hold him close
ghost believes johnny but he still can't bring himself to be intimate with him for a while; that fear still haunting him, but soap doesn't hold it against him, doesn't complain about ghost's perceived "step back" in their relationship
hell, ghost seems to hate it more than he does; he misses being with soap, misses the connection, the closeness they shared, the safety and quiet he found in his embrace, but he's always trusted soap more than he trusts himself
soap doesn't let him be consumed by his fear or worse, sabotage them and turn it into a punishment; doesn't let him even get through the suggestion of switching because he knows how much he hates it and he won’t let him twist something as good and pure as their physical love into something self-harming
instead, he brings them back to the basics, working through the steps to get ghost comfortable with intimacy again, to get him to trust himself again; spends happy months just grinding and exchanging handjobs like when their relationship first started
and it's a happy day for them both when soap finally falls apart on his cock once again, anxiety the farthest thing from ghost's mind when his arms are wrapped so tightly around him, kissing a smile against his lips
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koppaiterocker · 10 months ago
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Texting trolls characters "I want a baby"
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radarchives · 6 days ago
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thetriumphantpanda · 1 year ago
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I'll Crawl Home To Her | Marcus Pike
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Fic Summary | Marcus Pike had been the man of your dreams until a promotion tore your away from him. Four years later, a wedding brings you back together, but it the bubble you've built over this one weekend going to crash and burn just like it did before?
Pairing | Marcus Pike x Bridesmaid F!Reader
Fic Warnings | Explicit. Exes to Lovers, themes of second chance love, references to food and alcohol, descriptions of a wedding, Marcus Pike being a dirty talking menace, talk of contraception, unprotected PiV sex, creampie, semi-public sex, oral sex (F), overstimulation if you squint, allusions to oral sex (M) and mentions of a facial cumshot, mutual pining, flirting, two idiots in love, a touch of angst, basically two idiots who never got over each other have a lot of sex over a weekend.
Word Count | 7.9K (I can only apologise lmfao)
Authors Note | So, two weekends ago I was a bridesmaid and spent the entire time messaging @undercoverpena about how I wished Marcus Pike would whisk me away to the bathroom, tell me how pretty I was and give me a good time.... and this is what's come of this. Entirely self-indulgent but we love that for me sometimes. If you enjoy this, please consider commenting or reblogging - I'd love to know what you think of it! And if you'd like to support me further, you can donate to my Ko-Fi.
Moodboard is for aesthetic purposes only - reader is a blank slate. Although if you're interested in the dress I chose for her - it's this.
Divider by the amazing @saradika
Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs for writing updates.
Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi.
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“I’m sorry, Mike,” Marcus is still out of breath as he clutches the champagne flute in his hand, chest heaving as his sucks in air to his lungs, “I didn’t mean to be so late.”
“Marcus, buddy, it’s fine,” His friend puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder, he knows Marcus gets anxious when things outside of his control happen, like the delay to his flight from D.C. to London, and then the delay in getting from London to the wedding venue, “You’re here now, that’s all that matters.”
Marcus nods, chugging down half the champagne in one go, hoping it’ll calm his anxiety a little. He had cursed Mike and Cassie for choosing to have their wedding in England, but Mike’s family, most of them ageing now and unable to make the long trip to D.C. had insisted on it. As he looks around the large reception room, he muses internally to himself that it was beautiful. A huge room, semi-decorated for tomorrow’s reception and dinner. It’s a smaller affair tonight, immediate family and friends for the rehearsal dinner, but he can imagine that tomorrow, once all is said and done, it’ll be the perfect backdrop for their wedding.
“Where’s Cassie?” Marcus asks, looking around the room, finding a distinct lack of the bride and the bridal party Mike hadn’t shut up about over the last few months.
“She’s just sorting the last of the decorations for the ceremony room,” Mike explains, waving a hand to the waitress currently doing the round with a refilled tray of champagne, “She’ll be here soon.” He finished with a wink, which, although is odd, Marcus doesn’t question, just picks up another glass of champagne and stands talking to his friend and whoever is milling around offering their congratulations.
There’s a flurry of conversation that has Marcus turning around a few minutes later, he can see Cassie and her mother, who are pulled to the side by someone from the venue holding up two different types of ribbon, asking which one they want to drape around the columns and which one to tie around the chair backs. It’s not Cassie that Marcus is interested in though, it’s the bridesmaid that follows behind her.
He can feel his throat constrict, a small pit opening in his stomach that’s somewhere between the feeling of dread and excitement. He can feel the palms of his hands starting to get clammy, so he drains his glass and sets it down on the nearest table to avoid an accident. Then, he thinks he might actually pass out when you finally look at him, eyes searching his face and then the glimmer of recognition that you know exactly who he is, remember exactly the last time you’d seen him, and exactly what had happened when you had.
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Your leg is bouncing underneath the dining table, food somewhat eaten regardless of the fact that it’s your favourite. You’ve dug half-moon shapes into the palms of your hands and bitten the inside of your mouth enough to taste blood.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” It’s Marcus, sitting across from you, plate cleared, completely oblivious as to what’s about to come.
“I got offered a promotion.” You tell him simply, running one hand up and down your opposite arm in an attempt to soothe yourself.
“Darling!” He exclaims, “That’s amazing!” He doesn’t move to get up, but reaches his hand out, palm up for you to take, which you do, letting his hand softly clasp yours in his own, “Why are you so upset then?”
Taking a deep breath in, biting your bottom lip, you decide it’s best to rip the band-aid off sooner rather than later, “It’s not here, Marcus,” You sigh, “The job is in D.C.”
The smile, the light of his eyes, everything on his face that had just seconds ago been showing joy, had faltered. Much like you imagine your face would have when you’d been offered the job. A significant pay rise, governmental opportunities, bigger clients, a shot at being a proper lawyer for once, but with the caveat that you had to uproot your comfortable Austin life for D.C. and with it, Marcus Pike.
“I don’t have to go,” You follow up with, “I haven’t accepted yet, I’ve got some time to think.”
You feel him squeeze your hand, his other palm coming out to rest on your wrist, slowly tracing the blue veins he can see there, “Look at me,” He asks softly, which you do, the tears that had been forming in your own eyes starting to spill down your cheeks when you find Marcus’ eyes glassed over too, “Baby, this is such an amazing opportunity, you can’t say no because of me.”
Because that’s what you would be doing. Marcus, brilliant, funny, intelligent Marcus, wouldn’t be able to follow you to D.C. There had been some talk about his work in the Art Crimes team with the higher ups, people who were impressed at his success rate, people who wanted to keep him here, send him off to California even. He was at too much of a crossroads to be able to follow you to D.C.
“I don’t want to lose you though,” You sniff, free hand coming to wipe away some of the tears that are falling from your eyes, “I love you.”
Marcus hums, finally pushes himself off his chair, letting the legs scrape across his kitchen floor, until he’s sat right in front of you, knees touching, his palms on the tops of your thighs, warm and soothing, “I love you too,” He says, bringing one hand up to cup your cheek, making sure you’re looking at him, “But this is what you’ve wanted, you’ve been working so hard baby and I’m not going to let you stay here just because of me.”
It’s killing you inside, because you want so badly to ask him to follow you. To drop everything and come to D.C. You’ve been together two years, you’re comfortable together, he makes you so happy, you’ve talked about moving in together, starting a life together, but you know deep down you’re asking him to do something unfair.
“So, I guess your stance on long-distance relationships hasn’t changed?” You ask, tone soft and sad, tears falling down your cheeks.
You watch him as his own tears fall, his hands clutching your own so tightly as he gives you a soft smile, “Baby, I wish I could say yes, I wish I could drop it all and follow you, or promise you we’d talk on the phone every day and see each other every weekend, but you know we can’t do it.”
Biting at your lip, you nod, because you know he’s right. You’re a lawyer, you barely have free time as it is - weekends more often than not spent sat on the couch with him, tapping away at your laptop whilst he looks over case files. It would never work.
Marcus leans forward, presses a kiss to your forehead, then pulls you into a hug. You clutch your hands to his back, inhaling the smell of him on his shirt , watching the light blue turn darker as it catches your tears.
“When do you go?” He asks quietly into the crook of your neck, soft kiss placed to the skin right after.
“A few weeks, probably.”
“Well, let’s enjoy them while we still can, hey?” You nod silently, “And maybe one day, we’ll find each other again.”
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“And maybe one day, we’ll find each other again.”
Those words still echo in your ears four year later, like they have at various different points since you last saw Marcus Pike. Leaving had been hard. He’d helped you pack everything up, driven you to the airport, kissed you before security and promised he wouldn’t forget you. You’d text a for a few weeks before life dragged you in one direction and him in another. No-one had quite been able to live up to him either. Sure, you’d tried dating, seen people for a few months before deciding they weren’t quite the man who had almost been able to give you everything you ever wanted.
And now here he is, standing in front of you, pale as a ghost as if he’s about to keel over and have a heart attack. You want to run to him, to fling yourself into his arms and make sure he’s real. You want to press your lips to his, let him kiss you like he always used to, to clutch you to his body and whisper sweet things into your ear, but you have no idea what he’s been doing these past four years - for all you know, you could get closer and find a wedding band across his left finger.
It’s a blessing when Cassie’s hand wraps around your wrist and pulls you over to the side.
“Do you prefer the dusky rose or the blush pink?” She asks, holding up two ribbons that look identical to your eye.
You want to tell her does it really matter, they both look exactly the same. You want to tear your wrist away from her and go to Marcus, but instead you settle for a warm smile and “It’s your wedding Cass, you choose what you want.”
And when you turn around, looking back over to Mike, Marcus Pike is nowhere to be found. Like he was a mirage. A figment of your hopeful imagination. Something conjured up after your mother had set you down at the airport and said, “Bridesmaid’s always get lucky at weddings, you might find your own husband.”
When everyone is called to sit down for the rehearsal dinner, you jump at the opportunity to let Cassie sit down and eat, whilst you get pulled away by the staff to advise on which candles to use for the ceremony room and where exactly to place the flower arch for the best photos tomorrow. When you make it back, everyone is standing, milling around, getting drinks from the bar, which you decide you desperately need.
“A negroni, please.” You ask for after taking a few seconds to peruse the cocktail menu set out. The stronger the better.
“I see your tastes haven’t changed in the last few years.”
You’re pretty sure that if there was a mirror in front of you, the look of shock on your face would be comical, as Marcus Pike sidles up to the bar next to you. Up close, he’s just as handsome as he always had been, except now, he’s got a beard and more fine lines in the corners of his eyes, which means he’s been happy, smiling, whilst you’ve been gone. It makes your heart swell that he’s been happy.
“I wonder if yours have.” You counter, tilting your head towards the bartender who is waiting for him to order.
“Just a beer for now.” He smiles, but at you, not the bartender.
“That’ll be a no then.”
There’s a moment of silence between the both of you as you sip the cocktail given to you, and Marcus takes a swig of his beer. His left hand is wrapped around the bottle, no sign of the wedding ring you were convinced you’d find. You want to say something, anything, but when you go to open your mouth, he beats you to it.
“You look well.”
You can’t help but chuckle. Of all the things he could have chosen to say to you, you hadn't thought it would be that.
“So do you.” You compliment back.
There’s another silence, the two of you just looking at each other. You’re soaking him up, committing him to memory to replace the old Marcus you knew so well.
“Are you here alone?” You ask, playing with the glass in your hand.
You watch as he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, “Are you?”
“I asked you first, Agent Pike.”
He tilts his head towards his shoulder in a movement that says he’ll give you that one, “I’m here alone.”
You can’t help but smile a little, biting at your bottom lip to try and hide how pleased you are, “So am I.”
Looking up at him through your lashes, you notice the exact moment those brown eyes that you’re so used to getting lost in darken, watching you as you sip your drink, tip of your tongue jutting out to catch a drop from your bottom lip.
“Is your room completely over the top?” You ask, watching as he swallows deeply, “Because mine is, I’d love to know what the honeymoon suite must be like.”
“Depends what you mean by completely over the top?” He quirks an eyebrow.
“Do you want me to show you?”
He doesn’t even respond. He sets his half-finished beer down on the bar, takes your almost-empty negroni from your hand and does the same. Then he’s taking hold of your hand, lacing your fingers together like he always did, dragging you out of the room. You turn to find Cassie and Mike, looking at you both as you have to jog to keep up with Marcus’ pace. Both of them are winking, smiling, and Mike even throws a thumbs up your way. You can feel heat rising on your cheeks as you turn your head away from them.
“Which floor?” Marcus asks then you reach the grand staircase in the lobby.
“Second.”
He doesn’t let go of your hand, but takes the stairs two at a time, meaning by the time you reach the second floor, you’re out of breath from running behind him, trying to keep up.
“Which room?”
It’s your turn to lead him now, stepping in front of him to walk down the hallway to room 212. You fish the keycard from the back pocket of your jeans, wasting no time in pushing the door open when the tiny light turns green.
It’s dark inside, but you don’t care. Marcus Pike pins you against the wall, his thigh between your legs, both hands on your waist, and then his lips are on yours. The way he kisses hasn’t changed a bit. His mouth slants over yours, softly at first, but when you open your lips against his, hands clutching at the collar of his shirt, it’s just like you remember from all those years ago. He tastes the same, mint from the gum he always chews, the tang of the beer on his tongue, and that distinct taste that’s just him.
He swallows a groan from you as your pitch your hips down, denim rubbing on denim as he devours your mouth. His hands on your waist trail down just a little, finding the top of your jeans, floating under your shirt just a little to touch the bare skin underneath. His hands are warm and strong as they start guiding you to move against his thigh as his tongue works against yours.
Marcus pulls away from your mouth just as a particularly breathy moan leaves your mouth. It makes you both stop. Stand still. Eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room as you both realise exactly what’s happening. You know you should stop, talk about what’s clearly about to happen, but when did talking ever help anything.
“Don’t think about it,” Marcus sighs, leaning down to trail kisses along your jaw, “We talk after.”
“We talk after.” You say, mainly to the room more than anything else.
Your hands are still clutching at his shirt when his fingers find the button on your jeans. Still as adept at it as he’d always been, he pops the button open and pulls down the zipper, letting his hand trail down, settling across the lace of your underwear, cupping your pussy, letting his fingers trace along skin through lace.
A hiss leaves your mouth as you work your body in time with the slow, teasing movements of Marcus’ hand, “You’ve changed,” You manage to breathe out, your hand coming to the back of his neck to pull his mouth nearer to yours, “When you were desperate for me you’d never tease.”
You can feel his lips smile against the skin of your neck where he’s tracing wet kisses along the skin, hand still feather-light between your legs, “I’ve learnt to be more patient, honey.”
“And if I asked you not to?”
“In all the years I knew you, never once did you beg for it.” He pulls back, your eyes now accustomed to the dark, able to see him better, his voice is low, “Unless you’ve changed, you’ll have to put up with it.”
You grasp his cheeks in your palms, his hand still teasing you, pull his attention to you fully, “Marcus Pike, I swear to all that is holy that if you do not spread me out on my bed and fuck me in the next five minutes, I will die.”
He makes a ‘tsk’ sound, his head shaking in your hands, “That’s not begging for it honey,” He coos, “You gotta ask nicely for it.”
You let out a grumble of frustration, but you have to admit, this new version of the man you knew so well before is enticing. You can feel the way wetness is settling between your thighs, you’re sure if he dipped his fingers down he’d have some smart comment about how soaked you were for him already.
So you swallow your pride, you know it’ll be worth it in the end, “Please.”
“Good girl.”
It all happens in a flurry. One moment you’re against the wall, the next your back is against the mattress, Marcus’ hips pressed to yours as his hands work to push your shirt up and off your body. Your back hits the mattress again and his mouth is on you almost instantly, his lips trailing down your sternum, between the valley of your breasts. Pushing himself back on his knees, he brings his hands to the cups of your bra, pulling them down. Your nipples pebbling against the cold of the air.
His lips are back on you almost immediately, nipple enveloped into the warmth of his mouth, tip of his tongue flicking at it, making your back arch off the bed, pressing further into his mouth. Your hand comes to tangle in the curls at the back of his head, anchoring him to your body. As his mouth works across your chest, you can’t quite believe what’s happening to you. The man of your dreams, the person you always thought you were destined for, back, right here between your thighs, the bulge in the front of his jeans all too familiar to you.
Head tipped back in pleasure, you breathe out into the air, “I can’t believe you’re here.”
He tears off your breast with a wet pop, looking up at you through his lashes, mouth kissing down your body, across the soft of your tummy, he taps at your sides, lifting your hips up to drag your jeans and underwear down your legs, flung behind him and forgotten when you plant the flat of your feet onto the bed and let your knees fall open.
Marcus isn’t a religious man, he never has been, but knelt between your thighs, hands flying to rid himself of his clothes, watching as you gingerly trail your hand between your thighs, eyes on him as you play with your clit, he thinks he might have to start believing. As he stands to take the last of his clothes off, standing at the foot of the bed, naked with his cock in his hand, watching your face, he thanks the Lord for whatever mischief they had to concoct to get you back here with him.
He crawls back up your body, kissing from ankle to thigh, settling himself between your thighs, cock sliding through your slick folds as he lays his body down against yours, one of his hands slipping under your neck, cradling the back of your head, the other cupping your cheek, moving your face to look right into his eyes. He’s so fucking close to you, lips barely a hairs breadth from your own.
“I have to be inside you,” He pants against your mouth, “I promise I'll spend hours between your thighs later baby, but I have to be inside you.”
He doesn’t give you any time to respond, just shifts his hips a little, sinking himself into your aching cunt. You arch up into him, moaning against his mouth as he stills. The hand clutching at your cheek trails down your neck, thumb flicking against your nipple as it travels to rest on your hip.
“Stop squirming,” He pleads, “Please.. Just stay still a minute.”
He feels so right, nestled inside your pussy. The weight of his body pressed against yours takes you right back to all the nights before, locked away in his Austin apartment in the dead of night, making each other feel good, making promises at the height of your combined pleasure to each other that never materialised. You can feel tears settle in your eyes as he starts moving, pulling himself out of you slowly, pushing back in even slower.
Marcus leans down, kissing the salty tears from your cheeks, shushing you, “Don’t cry baby,” He whispers into your ear, “I’ve got you now.”
Your hands are clutching at his shoulders, nails digging small, half-moon shapes into his skin there. He feels just as incredible moving inside you as he always did, but there’s something settling in your tummy, the feeling that you knew so well with him, that you’ve only really known with yourself since.
“I can feel you baby,” Marcus groans into your ear as the thrusts of his cock get a little faster, a little harder, “Clenching all perfectly around me,” He takes hold of one of your wrists, dragging it between the both of you, resting it right where you need it, “I won’t last baby,” He admits, “Touch yourself and we’ll do it together?”
So you do, you rub tight, precise circles over your clit as Marcus pushes himself up, takes your thighs in his palms, pushing your legs back as far as he can. The change in angle makes you cry out as he really starts fucking you now. The only sounds in the room are the slapping of his skin against yours, your whimpers and his groans. You can feel the tightening coil across your abdomen, breath hitching in your throat, you’re so fucking close to coming undone on him.
“Marcus,” You whine, “I’m gonna-” You trail off as he shifts a little more, pressing your legs further back, cock hitting that unholy sweet spot inside you, “Gonna come.”
“Go on baby,” He encourages, “I’ll be right behind you.”
And that’s how it ends. Eyes shut so tightly you can feel tears pooling at the corners, cunt clenching around his cock as you cry out his name. It’s so familiar, the way it feels, the way he sounds, like no time has passed at all and you’re exactly the same as you’d both been four years ago. He’s pounding into you as your body convulses underneath, thighs shaking and toes curling as his hips start to stutter.
“Where?” He manages to choke out, his tone reminiscent of all those times before when he was holding on, teetering on the edge, wanting to know what you wanted.
“I’m s-safe,” You manage to choke out, head reeling from your own orgasm, “The pill.”
He doesn’t need to hear anymore, finally giving in, knowing you’ve fallen apart for him, he’s groaning your name into the dark, you can feel him spilling into you, claiming you, marking you as his own in a way only the two of you could ever understand. He lets go of your thighs, letting your legs drop back into comfort as he slowly drags himself from you, collapsing onto the bed next to you.
There’s a few moments of silence. Your arm is draped across your face, chest rising and falling as you try to suck in enough air to calm your breathing, Marcus doing the same across the bed. You roll over, putting yourself on your side so you can look at him. He’s led on his back, head turned to look at you in the dull light of the room - the moonlight through the window the only thing illuminating the two of you. He reaches out, traces your face with his hand.
“I can't believe you’re real.” He speaks softly, rolling over to face you, pulling your warm body to his.
“I know we said we’d talk after,” You whisper, hand trailing over his waist to rest across his back, “But can we just stay like this for a while?” It’s a soft plead, you don’t want to be reminded that this was probably a bad idea, you want to hold this man in front of you and forget that in a few short days it’ll all be over, he’ll go back to wherever he is now, and you’ll go back to D.C. lonelier than ever.
“I’ll stay here as long as you’ll let me, honey.”
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Marcus, against his better judgement, stays with you all night. You don’t talk. You curl up into his side, settle against his body as he wraps his arms around you. It’s inevitable that he casts his mind back to how things used to be. To the history you share with each other. He still, to this day, hasn’t stopped thinking about you, about what would have been if you’d stayed. Would you be married? Probably, he thinks. He’d thought of it often towards the end, before your promotion. Stopped outside jewellery shops, tried to imagine which kind of ring you’d want – he’d even slipped one of your rings onto his own finger, figuring out where it stopped so he could pick the right size when the time came. Would you have children? He isn’t sure, neither of you had ever spoken about it, you’d never expressed a want to have them, but he’s certain if you’d have asked, he’d have given them to you.
He falls asleep, waking up hours later, darkness still pervading. He turns on his side, spooning his front to your back. You’re half-awake when you press yourself back into him, bring your hand up to clutch at his head as he slips inside you once more, his hand holding your thigh up. He breathes into your ear, whispers filth to you as he rocks his hips against you. When you feel his teeth trail over your shoulder, he chuckles when you tell him off.
“I can’t walk down the aisle with bruises on my shoulders, Marcus.”
It’s soft, and he tips you over the edge, feeling you clench around him as his fingers trace circles over your clit, following just behind you, filling you up once more. He doesn’t pull away from you, just settles your thigh back down, resting himself inside of you as you both fall back to sleep.
Then, he’s awake before your alarm. He wakes you with a kiss to your forehead, tells you to go back to sleep when you protest and try and coax him back to the warmth of your sheets. He has to shower he says, has to help Mike get ready, but he’ll be waiting for you, watching you all day. Marcus smiles, really smiles, when you curl over back onto your side, soft breaths and mumbles as you fall back to sleep, and as he walks to his own room and stands waiting for the shower to warm, there’s a feeling of content that spreads through him – should he have fucked you last night? Probably not. Should he have encouraged you to talk more? Probably yes. He knows he’s got his cards hidden, he’s not letting on that this might not have to just exist here, but he’ll keep that to himself for just a little longer.
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“So,” Cassie smirks from her place in the make-up chair, artist flitting around her, pressing all number of products into her face, “You and the groomsman?”
“Shut up,” You mutter to her, trying not to scratch at your face, make-up already settling uncomfortably across your skin, “A momentary lapse of judgement.”
She hums, and then moves her focus back to the make-up artist who is tilting her face to put on some blush, “You don’t have to lie to me, you know,” She says to you as you pass her a mimosa, “I know that was Marcus. The Marcus.”
There’s a moment where you feel like a deer in headlights, like you’ve been caught being up to no good, even though you know that’s not the case. Then you turn slowly to her, eyebrow raised, and see her smirking, much to the chagrin of the make-up artist who urgently wants to get her lipstick on her so she can move onto the final bridesmaid.
“He’s Mike’s friend, they went to school together, see each other quite often these days – apparently he always talks about a girl from Austin, no-one could ever compare, he’s tried moving on, done this, done that, but always came back to thinking about the one who got away,” She stops talking to take a drink, “Which sounded oddly familiar to someone else I know.”
She’s not wrong really – Cassie had been a lifeline when you’d moved to D.C. a work colleague turned best friend, who has been the shoulder to cry on whenever dates had gone badly, or even when they’d been good, but you just couldn’t get Marcus Pike off your brain. She told you, like most good friends would, that it would take time, you’d find someone right for you, someone who would take your mind right off Marcus, but it never happened.
“You did this on purpose!” You accuse, but its friendly, because really, her and her soon-to-be husband have only done what you had always wanted to do yourself, pick up the phone, no matter how long it has been and tell the man you still loved him.
“Of course we did,” She chuckles, “Don’t think about it too much,” She adds, “Just enjoy this today and most of all, behave yourself.”
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When Cassie walks down the aisle, it’s not her that Marcus is looking at – it’s you. He hadn’t thought it possible for him to find you more beautiful than he had before, but in your dark green dress, slit cut into the fabric to show off one of your legs as you walk, dress cut perfectly to sit on all the curves of your body that he always did love, he can’t deny you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He spends the entire ceremony making eyes at you, smirking when you meet his gaze. He wants to tell you how lovely you look, lean down and plant a kiss to your lips in front of everyone, but he doesn’t get a chance until cocktail hour, once you’ve had your pictures taken and Cassie has insisted on you finally having a drink and enjoying your day instead of flapping about whether she needs anything from you.
“Has anyone told you how beautiful you look today?” He asks, hand settling on your waist as you lean against the bar waiting for your drink.
“Funnily enough, it’s not me most people have been looking at.” You quip back, taking the margarita from the bartender when it’s handed to you.
“I’ve been looking at you.”
“I know,” You smirk, “Pretty sure I ruined my panties stood at the top of the aisle.”
“Because the ceremony moved you so much?”
“Because I couldn’t stop thinking about your face between my thighs, actually.”
He looks exactly like he always used to when you flirt with him like this. Eyes low and dark, mouth slightly ajar like he can’t quite believe you’ve just been so forward. He’s not thinking straight anymore, and much like he had done last night, he grips around your wrist and starts dragging you from the reception room, this time there are considerably more people so you manage to slip out unnoticed.
Instead of heading up the stairs, taking you to your room or his, he turns left down a hallway, tearing open the door to one of the bathrooms. It’s a single stall, lock clicking behind him. You press your back against the wall, setting your drink down on the sink.
Marcus takes three steps towards you, hand slipping around your waist, pulling you flush against his body, lips so close that you can feel his breath on your skin.
“Do you know how sinful you’ve looked all day?” He asks, “Walking around looking all innocent, but I know you’ve been begging to get fucked all day, haven’t you?” You whine at him in response, trying to chase his mouth as he pulls back, “Don’t think I didn’t see you rubbing your thighs together during the ceremony.”
“It’s only because you wouldn’t stop looking at me.”
His hand finds the skin of your thigh, the slit of your dress making it easy for him to trail up to the hem of your panties.
“If I put my fingers on you,” He breathes, “Will you be wet?”
“Why don’t you find out?” You cock your head to the side, biting your lip as you look at him, his hand pulling your panties to the side, thick fingers slipping between your folds.
“Baby,” He moans, finally taking your bottom lip between his, nipping your skin with his teeth a little before he pulls away, fingers slipping inside you, pulling a groan from your throat, “Soaked for me?”
“Always, Marcus.”
He drags his fingers from you, spins you around, and reaches down to bring your palms up to rest against the wall in front you. He puts his hands on your hips, dragging your ass backwards until you can feel him through his trousers. His hands shuck your dress up to your waist and instead of tearing your panties off, he pushes them to the side. You look over your shoulder at him, as much as you can, and watch as he undoes his belt, pulls the zipper of his trousers down and reaches in, pulling his cock out. His trousers are pushed down just enough to let him free himself, and you don’t think you’ve seen such a beautiful sight in your life, than Marcus Pike with his fist around his cock, running his hand up and down himself as he moves to nudge the head of his cock at your soaked core.
Unlike last night, he isn’t gentle when he pushes into you. He’s buried inside your cunt in seconds, setting a pace that punches the air from your lungs. You know that even though you’re locked in here, away from the party, there’s still every chance someone is going to walk past, try the door handle, and hear exactly what’s going on in here, so you’re trying your best to keep the noise to a minimum.
“Needed you so badly, baby,” Marcus chokes out behind you, hands gripping your hips hard enough that you’re sure you’ll have his fingerprints embedded onto your skin, “Always so pretty for me, aren’t you?”
He’s hitting that sweet spot inside you, over and over again, and you have to bite your lip to keep yourself from crying out. You feel one of his hands trail up your spine through the material of your dress, coming to rest with a grip around the nape of your neck, his fingers itching to slide up into your hair and grip it.
“You can’t,” You plead, “Don’t mess my hair up.”
“I won’t baby.” He pants out from behind you, trailing his hand down just a little so he’s not tempted to take a fistful of it to pull you back, arch you into him even more.
It’s fast and it’s hard, everything Marcus never really used to be. He liked to take his time, spread you out and have you crying for him before he slipped inside you, slowly, watching every contort of pleasure on your face. You think you like this new version of him, the one so desperate to have you he couldn’t make it up the stairs, couldn’t even pull your panties down your legs.
“Marcus,” You moan out, “Please.”
“What’s that, baby?” He asked, mouth right by your ear, “You begging for something?”
“Mmmhmm.”
“What do you want?”
“Make me come?”
You think maybe he might try and tease you some more, but mercifully he takes the hand he’s got resting on your hip and snakes it down your body, letting his fingers find your clit - he had always been good at that. He drags the gathered slick where he can, cock still moving into you, pulling whimpers and moans whenever you feel his skin slap against yours, circles your clit quickly with the pad of his finger. You can feel your walls tightening around him, your thighs starting to shake as he continues doing exactly what he’s doing.
It’s no secret to either of you that making you come always took time. He’d never shamed you for it, always been more than happy to do whatever it took, for as long as it took, to get you there. But the mix of desperation for him, elation that he’s waltzed right back into your life, and the fact he’s fucking you in a public bathroom, have that coil tightening inside you quicker than ever.
“Can feel you getting tight around me baby,” He groans into your ear, “You gonna let go for me?”
You don’t have time to tell him yes. The tight coil snaps inside you, your eyes closed so tightly you’re sure the make-up around your eyes is dragging down your cheeks on tears. You can keep your voice down now as you flutter around his cock, you cry out his name, feeling his hands holding onto your hips to keep you steady as your legs threaten to fall out from underneath you.
You’re only half aware of him speaking into your ear, telling you he’s close. You can feel him start to pull himself out of you, so you reach behind you quickly, fingernails digging into the part of his thigh you can reach to keep him inside you.
“I swear to god if you get cum on my dress Pike, I’ll kill you.”
He lets out a deep, throaty chuckle behind you, slams himself back into you, “You just want an excuse for me to come inside you, don’t you?” He hisses into your ear, teeth nipping at the skin behind your ear, “You just have to ask nicely for it.”
“Please, Marcus, please.”
Never one to deny you, he does, having held out as long as he could, he thrusts once, twice and then he’s moaning your name into your ear. You can feel him spilling inside of you, filling you up, then you can feel him dripping down your thigh when Marcus starts pulling away from you, not quite quick enough to put your panties back on. He tells you to keep still, fumbling behind him for some paper he can use to clean your thighs up.
He speaks to you as he lets the material of your dress fall back down over your legs, “Walking around full of me for the rest of the night.” He coos as you turn around, reaching out to pull his mouth to yours in a chaste kiss.
You stay like that for a moment, both attempting to fix the others clothes. Marcus brings his thumb to his mouth, letting his tongue jut out to wet it, before he drags it under your eye, getting rid of the worst of the black marks he’s caused.
You reach behind him, unlock the door, but take hold of his hand as you push the door open. Thankfully there’s no-one waiting outside to use the bathroom as you drag him back down towards the party.
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It’s late. Or early depending on how you look at it. Marcus had dragged you from the dance floor at midnight, walked you slowly up to his room instead of yours. He’d helped you out of your dress, let you shower and wash yourself clean, then, before you could put your robe on and insist on going to sleep, he’d taken your hand, led you to the chair near the balcony doors and he’d made good on his promise of last night to spend hours with his face between your legs.
“I can’t,” You whine, Marcus hand’s pinning your legs open, his tongue flicking against your clit, “It’s too much.”
He pulls off you just enough to speak, “Believe in yourself baby,” He says, sinking two fingers into you, curling them upwards, “I know you can, just one more for me.”
Your whole body feels like its on fire. You’ve lost count of the amount of times he’s made you come tonight. There had been a small reprieve when you’d begged to suck his cock, Marcus obliging, painting your face and your tongue, before he settled right back to his knees. It’s almost as if he thinks if he stops you’ll disappear.
Your fingers are tangled in his hair, battling between tugging his face closer and pulling it away as he sucks your clit into his mouth, the added pressure along with the flicking of his tongue setting your skin on fire even more than before. Your hair is sticking to your forehead and the back of your neck, rivulets of sweat gathering at various points across your body as Marcus tips you over the edge once more.
Your mouth drops open in a silent scream, body feeling boneless as your whole body convulses at his touch. Almost like he knows, he pulls himself away from you gently, knowing that any more would be too much, saving you the need to beg him to stop. He presses soft kisses to the skin of your tummy, kissing up your body until he’s sitting up on his knees, kissing into your mouth, letting you taste yourself on him.
Marcus clambers to his feet, takes hold of your hand and pulls you to your feet, guiding you over to the bed to settle you under the sheets, the air peppering your sweaty skin with goosebumps. It’s a sad realisation that you have to go home tomorrow, that the bubble you’ve caught yourself up in over the past few days is about to burst. You think this might break your heart even more than the first time around.
“What are we going to do?” You ask against the skin of his chest as he pulls you into him.
“What do you mean?” He asks back, kiss pressed lightly to your forehead.
“With us, after this?” Your fingers are tracing over his skin, trying to map the feeling of him before he leaves.
“Well, I thought maybe we could go for dinner sometime?”
You look up at him, face contorted in confusion, “You’re going to come all the way from Austin to take me for dinner?”
“No baby,” He chuckles a little, “I don’t live in Austin anymore, I live in D.C.”
You push yourself up in bed, one hand on the mattress to keep yourself upright, looking down at Marcus, who reaches up to cup your cheek in his hand, thumb rubbing soft lines across your skin, “Since when?”
“Two years?” He offers, “I would have-” He trails off a little, “I would have told you but I wasn’t in a great place when I first moved, had no idea what your life would have even looked like either, I didn’t just want to turn up out of the blue if you’d moved on, found someone else.”
Your hand comes up to clutch at the wrist of the arm cradling your face, “I’ve waited so long for you,” You sigh, “I tried, tried to find someone else, but none of them were ever you Marcus.”
“I tried too,” He admits, because Lord knows he did, and for what? “I promise I’ll tell you everything one day, but right now, I want to fall asleep with you right here.”
You settle back down in bed, curling up against his side, arm draped over his waist, “Where in the city do you live?” You ask, sleep starting to make your eyes heavy.
“I’m on 4th street, in Petworth.”
You can’t help but laugh, because of course he fucking does. Marcus Pike has been living four streets over from you for the past two fucking years.
“You’ve been living four streets over from me for two years, Marcus.”
He runs his hands up and down your spine, gently, soothing you, “Well, that’s convenient, isn’t it?” He asks softly, “I can be at your front door in five minutes.”
“You want to be my booty call, Marcus Pike?”
“If that’s what you want,” He speaks, “I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”
“What are you doing Wednesday night?”
“Nothing, as far as I’m aware.”
“How about you take me on a first date?” You offer, “Let’s learn each other all over again and take things from there?”
Marcus colts your chin up to his face with a finger, leaning down and giving you the softest kiss you think you’ve ever received, “I would love nothing more.”
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sleevebuscemii · 2 years ago
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you know. louis always choosing lestat, louis actually being genuinely incapable of fully choosing someone else over him, or letting him go, is why i think they have to be together but it’s also crazy because, as much of it IS an actual deep love from louis and it is a romance that’s like a cockroach in a nuclear war, it’s not actually out of love. or just love. like so much of louis’ attachment to lestat is an Attachment and not a love (even tho the love is there!!). lestat was there for him after a hugely fucked up time in his life (not even there to help through it necessarily just like. physically there.) lestat was his first, which to louis de repressed du catholic guilt is a big fucking deal, not just his first time or his first relationship with a man, but it’s his first actual acknowledgment and surrender to his sexuality. not to mention being with lestat means he burnt every other bridge he had, he’s isolated from friends and family and society and even when he tried to build a new one (claudia), he ended up burning that one too so that all that’s left is always lestat. but the crazy thing. the craaaaaaaziest thing. is that lestat didn’t even. do this on purpose. lestat is a bitch and liar and a monster and a manipulator but unfortunately!!!! he did not mastermind getting louis under these specific circumstances to keep him bound to him forever this bitch l i t e r a l l y. just got lucky. lestat didn’t kill paul and he didn’t force louis to stop talking to his family (negotiable but. still.) and he didn’t even ask louis not to kill him in fact. i bet he really truly thought louis would do it, that louis could do it, that he’d kill him. because even he doesn’t know the power he has over louis. the same way claudia didn’t. it’s literally only louis who knows just how fucking fucked he is with his attachment to lestat and he carries that shit around like an addict who hid a last bottle of pills in his drywall before he got clean. like he knows he’s gonna choose lestat. he’s with armand and he knows this. he’s shit talking that man to daniel 12 hours a day knowing this. its fucking insane because he knows and WE KNOW. WE FUCKING KNOW. THAT. if lestat ever walks into the fucking room. its fucking over. louis’ gonna walk out that room with him. he’s gonna punch a fucking hole in his wall and rummage through the broken drywall and grab that bottle and pop a fucking pill. go to fucking therapy mon cher. a THOUSAND sessions of emdr mon CHER.
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bamsara · 1 year ago
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Also I spent hours yesterday in the hot sun cleaning out my car from hording/living in car junk mess with trash and food rotting thats been there for months to vacuumed cleaned, scraped gunk from cup holders and got new car seat covers, tapestry, vent decor and more so it's starting to look like a pinterest car and im telling you about it rn because Oh My God My Entire Body Hurts but it looks So Nice
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goldiipond · 3 months ago
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HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE SERIES THAT RUINED MY LIFE <3<3<3
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caligvlasaqvarivm · 5 months ago
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Hey, I was wondering why you think Roxy was destined to end up with Eridan? I get the shared wizard interest and the quirk foreshadowing I guess, but that still seems like a large stretch. It's kinda like saying that Equius and Dirk are going to end up together because they both like robots and horses. It's just seems like the sort of character remixing that Hussie uses a lot in Homestuck. But what do you think?
Roxy
- fucking LOVES WIZARDS
- is a hipster and literally wears a colorswapped version of eridans scarf
- is pink and bubbly
- uses riflekind
- has a perfectly opposite powerset to eridan (can create anything by stealing its void away vs. can destroy anything with pure belief) and are connected to each other through the matriorb
- has a crush on a troubled, eccentric prince so you know that's her type
- quirk cameo with momlonde
Eridan
- Is a wizard
- Is a hipster and literally wears a colorswapped version of roxy's scarf
- Uses riflekind
- Had a huge crush on Feferi, a bubbly pink girl whom he (wrongly) believed to be so nice she might not even be capable of pitch, so we know that's his type
- The equal and opposite powerset & quirk cameo
At the end of the day I can't tell you what to ship, nor am I interested in making anyone ship anything, but I'm kind of just saying, the things that make Roxy predisposed to liking Eridan are, like, the biggest parts of her character, and Eridan is very easy & would pretty much say yes to anybody, but Roxy is also definitely His Type and Eridan is a simp who thrives under any sort of positive attention & would do anything someone asked if they were giving him positive feedback. or attention at all. case in point kanaya fucking hates him but at least she talks to him and he's constantly praising the shit out of her
Jane and Jake also have their introductions IMMEDIATELY followed by talking about how they've got a thing for "cobalt" hunks and "cerulean babes" respectively, so setting up roxy with eridan also fits into a pattern of the b2 kids being set up to date a dead troll. still rereading this part of the comic, but it really jumped out to me how blatant it was for jake and jane
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lazycranberrydoodles · 1 year ago
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🎂happy blogaversary!!🎂
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EVERY ONE OF MY HUA CHENGS I COULD FIND IN PROCREATE :)
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kendallroygf · 2 years ago
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btw this is probably one of the most insane and telling scenes in regards to stewy nd kendall. like the stewy-marcia interaction first off. the way it’s so clearly paralleling kenstewy with logan and marcia. stewy and marcia literally watch their respective persons in silence. also important to note that stewy was one of the first ppl to greet logan when he arrived probably bc he knew that one of the first things logan was going to do was approach kendall and he wanted to get in there first to gauge the situation + logan. but stewy’s concern for kendall in regards to what could happen when he’s in close proximity to logan is so clear and almost synonymous with marcia’s own concern/love for logan at this point. like it seems intentional that they were shown to be like. logan and kendall’s respective partners here
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philistiniphagottini · 2 months ago
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Been thinking lately. And I want people's opinions on this.
I'm kind of tired writing reader's body to be as neutral as possible. Kind of really tired trying to make reader as neutral as possible to be honest. It used to be something that I kind of prided myself on but nowadays, I'm just so tired of it. And I know that many would argue that that is the point of reader inserts, to be neutral but I am so bored of it. I've been writing for chubby reader a lot more lately and it's the most fun I've had in a while because I get to represent my body type. I am kind of tired of seeing people writing headcannons for my favourite characters and saying that they don't like my body type. I'm tired of seeing people draw "chubby" characters and they have the bare minimum tummy fat. And I get it, write and draw whatever the fuck you want, who am I to stop you? I suffer severely from "everyone else is allowed to do it, but me" syndrome. Other people are allowed to write just for chubby reader, but not me I can't do that I would be seen as an asshole for not including everyone.
I want to write more x chubby reader content but I'm terrified of people coming to shame me and give me flak because I follow x chubby reader writers and the amount of shit they get for writing for a body type other than skinny is so disheartening. I have briefly thought about making a separate blog where I just put chubby reader content there but that wouldn't make me happy. I love my username and everything goes under this umbrella, including multiple fandoms.
I'm sorry if I just rambled I just don't know what to do anymore. I'm lost and feeling really depressed lately and I have no idea what I want to do anymore. I would like to hear people's opinions please, it's upsetting when I ask for others opinions and I get nothing back.
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