#this got away from me oop

[hinamie]

yeah sorry theyre tragic in this au too

jjk atla!au with @philosophiums

[bitchapalooza]

Zosan au where 11 year old Zoro falls asleep in a dinghy for a quick afternoon nap and sets adrift unknowingly. He wakes up in the middle of the ocean, panics as one does, but starts to paddle. He eventually makes it to the Baratie with his little boat just barely hanging on for dear life. One of the cooks is there when a, as usual, napping Zoro bumps into the restaurant and immediately he’s fishing this kid out of there. He’s sunburnt and a little too thin, he smells. He calls for help and out rushes the staff and Zeff with Sanji at his side.

Next thing Zoro knows he’s fed and given some clean clothes, he’s been set up in a room to sleep in. Some gross smelling lotion is rubbed on his skin. It’s not until he’s well rested and far healthier looking than before is he asked where he came from and what the hell happened and why he was drifting out in the ocean like that. Like reading a script, he tells Zeff exactly where he’s from, his full name, age, even his height and weight, and lastly a number he says is to his sensei’s personal den den mushi. Zeff leaves him to call the number and that’s when Sanji sneaks in.

Sanji has never really been around kids his own age. Hell he’s rarely been around other kids until they were customers. The only other kids he’s been around—let’s not think about that. Zoro’s first instinct is to call out to this kid peeking into the room, immediately calling him curly because it’s the most defining trait he sees. Sanji bristles and calls him mosshead in return. They immediately start to bicker, not about anything in particular because they just met.

Zeff comes back and separates the two, tells Zoro Koushirou wants to speak to him and guides him to his room where his sensei on hold. Sanji is left out of this, being told to go clean the windows and help close up the restaurant. Zoro comes down ten minutes later with Zeff just as the last patrons of the night leave. Zeff instructs the whole staff to come here and announces that they have a temporary new member on board, a new busboy. Zoro huffs and looks away, a hint of a blush creeping up to his ears and cheeks at all the attention. Sanji grinds his teeth because for whatever reason this kid pisses him off.

“It’s just a couple of months,” Zeff grumbles. Sanji is pouting, sitting at the edge of the old man’s bed as he readies himself for bed. “You can deal with having a roommate and sharing your clothes for that long.”

No he couldn’t. Not with him.

In the end, when Zoro is picked up by some guy and a older girl from the dojo Zoro says he lives and trains at to be the worlds greatest swordsman. They fought a lot the past couple of months. Sanji started many of those arguments, Zoro started his own handful of arguments. Many of which may have been rooted in jealousy on Sanji’s end of things. However, seeing Zoro leave, an empty pit formed in Sanji’s stomach. He had gotten used to sharing a room with someone. Got used to the mosshead rooting through his small closet for something to wear when Zeff decided to bring them along on a supply run. He even got used to their bickering and wrestling, finding it fun on those boring slow work days. How they both stood at the sink on a couple step stools to wash and dry dishes together. They say bye in the stiffest most awkward way only two stubborn eleven year olds could manage—then whisper to keep in touch.

Eight years later— “YOU!?” They shout in unison, the two having not seen or talked to each other in the past seven years, business having picked up a lot for Sanji to call and Zoro…… something happened is all Sanji could tell in their last call, if the weight in Zoro’s voice said anything about it.

[emry-stars-art]

Whalemack!

He’s a gray/grey whale, very nice and VERY big (though about half the size of a blue whale). He’s been mostly solitary for a while, sometimes joining other whales on their migrations, but then he starts collecting little mer children that make travel hard. I’ll probably add some scars from boats/etc to this design. And we need to figure out if mers have tattoos 🧐

[sammybeann]

Sammy has had an oral fixation since the day he was born. Pacifiers were a fucking godsend during his first few years of life, but by the time he had turned three John deemed little Sam too old to be sucking on a piece of rubber so he pulled it right from baby Sammy's sweet mouth and tossed it in the garbage.

When their father had left the wee Winchester kids at the seedy motel to check out a lead on a case, 7 year old Dean had fished the pacifier out of the trash, giving it a thorough wash before giving it back to his baby brother.

"You have to hide it though, Sammy. So daddy doesn't take it away." Dean had warned, an enthusiastic Sam nodding, big dimpled smile brighter than the sun. 

"Yay! 'Kay, Dee. I pwomise!"

Eventually, after an impressive year of hiding the forbidden item, John had caught Sam when he came home early one night. Sam had been sleeping curled up next to Dean, soaking up his warmth in the chilly, poor insulated motel room, the pacifier hanging from Sam's parted lips. 

John shut that shit down real fast, so for the second and last time, John had pulled it from Sam's mouth, waking him almost immediately. 

To say Sam was an absolute nightmare after that was an understatement. Nights were hell, Sam kicking his legs and demanding his 'sucky', snot and tears running down his little cheeks as he begged and plead, his tantrums baring no fruit however. 

Eventually, John had gone out to the bar one night a few weeks after, mumbling about how he was going to blow his own brains out if he had to listen to Sam's whining for one more night, leaving poor Dean to deal with a relentless Sam. 

"Sammy, c'mon, bud," Dean sighed as they lay in bed, a trembling Sam spooned in front of him. "I don't sleep with a sucky, don't you wanna be a big boy like me?" 

"No!" Sam exclaimed defiantly. "I want sucky!" 

An idea popped into Dean's head as he soothed his hand up and down his brother's side, feeling each rib beneath the worn, way too big Metallica shirt Sam wore to bed. He wasn't sure it would even make a difference, but desperate times and all that. 

Removing his hand from Sam's side, he moved it to the front of his brother's face, sticking his middle and ring fingers out. 

"Suck," he instructed a confused Sam. "Might make you feel better."

Sam sniffled, apprehensive. But eventually he took Dean's wrist, skinny little fingers wrapping around it as he guided Dean's fingers into his mouth. 

He could taste the salt on Dean's fingertips with notes of nacho cheese from the Doritos his brother had eaten earlier, but as the pads of his fingers slid across Sam's tongue and his lips wrapped around them, the tears suddenly stopped. 

Closing his eyes he began to suckle, and sure enough, a few minutes later he was out like a light.

That's how the nightly ritual of Sam sucking Dean's fingers to sleep started, and even as he grew older, baby teeth falling out and big boy teeth replacing them, it was a habit he didn't break. 

Of course Sam aging meant Dean was aging too, puberty hitting him like a fucking freight train. After one night, while Sammy was sucking hard on Dean's fingers during a particularly restless night of sleep, Dean had been mortified when he felt his 15 year old cock harden, Sam's small, plump little ass pressed up against his crotch doing absolutely nothing to help matters. 

He ripped his fingers out of Sam's mouth so fast that his baby brother nearly bit them off in surprise before gracelessly shuffling out of the bed to beeline it to the bathroom. 

A cold shower later and a bucket full of shame, Dean had to break the news to Sam that he couldn't have Dean's fingers anymore, telling him he was too old for it now and that dad would rip Dean's hand off and Sam's tongue out if he knew what they were doing. 

Despite the fight Sam had put up, Dean remained headstrong and stood his ground on the matter, resulting in Sam's prepubescent voice declaring that he hated Dean as he climbed out of the bed, dramatically striding over to the bathroom where he locked himself in for the rest of the night. 

Days passed, and Sam, the stubborn little shit still did everything in his power to ice Dean out, refusing eye contact with him, ignoring him when he spoke, even going as far as to deny the last slice of pizza Dean had offered him as an olive branch. It stung, but Dean was sure he was doing the right thing. 

To Dean's dismay, while the suckling had stopped his growing arousal surrounding his brother did not, and even as the guilt festered deep and ugly inside his gut, all he could think about was Sammy's tongue, the way his soft, pink lips looked wrapped around his fingers, how his dimples would peek out when he would suckle with a particular urgency when having a vivid dream. He missed the wet, squelch of it. 

Dean was going straight to hell, but as he and Sam lay in the darkness on opposite beds one night when John had left them to their own devices once again, he caved. 

"Sammy," he whispered, glancing over to the opposite bed, eyeing the dark silhouette of Sam's form. "You up?"

Sam, still intent on ignoring Dean remained silent, feigning slumber. 

Clearing his throat before inhaling sharply, all Deans resolve dissipated. Fuck it. 

"Do you want sucky?" 

The question hung heavy in the air, and seconds ticked away before the sound of Sam shuffling out of bed filled the quiet of the room. Without saying a word, Sam climbed into Dean's bed, pulling the scratchy motel comforter over his body as he molded himself to Dean's front, fitting there like a puzzle piece. 

Remaining silent, he reached behind him and searched for Dean's hand, gripping his wrist once he located it before bringing it up and over, lips parting as he slid those now thicker fingers into his hot little mouth. 

Dean felt his cock begin to stir almost immediately, and while Sam began to doze off, Dean remained wide awake. 

After a good 20 minutes, he felt Sammy's mouth go slack, and that would normally be when Dean separated his fingers from it, but this time he simply changed the angle of his hand, letting his baby brother drool into his palm until it was dripping with Sammy saliva. 

And if he stumbled to the bathroom after to yank his boxers down and furiously jerk his now rock hard member using his precious little Sammy's spit, well then nobody had to know. 

Yeah, there was no way he didn't have a first class ticket straight to hell.

[alukaforyou]

sometimes i think about this txt cover of invitation and... that long haired guy is just choso with his hair down TO ME

[robinfollies]

you big into arthurstotle? don’t even JOKE lad…

[feroluce]

Boothill doesn't pull his hair back very often. Dan Heng can count the times he's seen him do it on one hand. The man's right eye is gone completely but his left is a cybernetic, and it means Boothill can "see" whether his hair is in his face or not, so there's simply never much need for it.

So it surprises him when Boothill asks if he can put his hair up for him Xianzhou-style.

"Do you even own a hairpin?"

"Ya got chopsticks around here, don't ya?"

Which is how they end up awkwardly sat on the floor of the archives, Boothill sitting criss-cross and Dan Heng knelt behind him to make up for the differences in their height. Boothill doesn't say why he wants this done, but Dan Heng can guess: long life species are rarely allowed to leave the Xianzhou ships. It's not as rare as running into an actual, real-life Galaxy Ranger, but it's still pretty uncommon. Boothill is just trying to indulge his curiosity about little cultural things like this while he's able. Dan Heng can never say no to that kind of curiosity.

When his own hair was long, he never put it up. But there are memories, just little bits of things that nip at Dan Heng's ankles in the night when he's alone in the dark. And he remembers something like this, something similar. Dan Feng's hands with a hairpin, long hair grayed with age flowing in rivers between his fingers, quick and easy practiced motions revealing ears and nape and soot from the forge.

Boothill hands him a chopstick when he asks for it, because Dan Heng finds he needs both hands to keep his hair in place. He's not quick enough the first time, and the bun unravels, and the second attempt is better but it's messy and held so loosely that he goes at it for a third.

Boothill doesn't comment on it. Instead he just sits there and admires the picture of it that Dan Heng shows him on his phone, chatters a bit about what he knows of Xianzhou culture, how he'd met a Foxian woman not too long before Penacony with elaborate decorations done up in her hair and he'd wondered how anyone could even do that. A hairpin maybe would have been easier, but really the chopsticks probably fit him better, pretty little things like that don't suit me, anyhow.

Dan Heng catches like. Half of it. He's too busy staring at his hands.

Dan Feng had been good at doing other people's hair for them. He'd had a lot of practice. Dan Heng had seen it. But in the molting rebirth, his body had reset. The simple knowledge could be inherited. The experience could not.

That skill, that muscle memory, belongs to Dan Feng, and to Dan Feng only.

There is no mourning, no sense of loss with this realization, just relief. An extra confirmation of something he had already known.

But Dan Heng looks up at Boothill, who is running his curious fingers over the back of his own head, and he thinks about how there are some things he can have just for himself, too.

[catboymoments]

Before Hyacinth learns about being a Grimwalker does he think that they were adopted? Like how Mittens was but at a younger age? Or do they think they’re Hunter and Willow’s biological child? Or something else? And if they were told to be adopted did they wonder about their origins, whether in an analytical curious way or a “I wonder if my bio parents loved me” way? Sorry a lot of questions haha

I think they would do what any good parent would and give him the age appropriate truth- since he’s pretty observant he’d probably ask like… “why don’t I look like mama at all? Bronnie looks like both her mom and her renny, but I just kinda look like dad…” (Mittens wouldn’t have been in the picture yet if Hyacinth is pretty young here.)

n Willow and Hunter would be like. Nervous glance. Ok let’s do this. We prepared for this a little.

Cont. Under the cut to save space lol

“Well, you know how most witches and demons look a little like their parents, right? Like how Bronnie has green hair like Mx Raine, or how your mama looks a little like both grandpa and pop?”

“mhm!”

“Well, that’s because- um. Usually-“

“Most witchlings and demon kits are made by different… parts of their parents! Like how a seed can grow into a tree or a Biting Nettle after it’s pollinated, yeah?“

“Right! like- remember how when Aunt Luz had Azura in her tummy because she still had to grow?”

“Uh huh…”

“It’s sort of like that. But… you didn’t grow in my tummy. And your dad-“

“I uh- my body is… different.”

“Like mine?”

“Yes!! Exactly! That’s because you and I share a lot of things, bud. Like how I had eyes like yours in that picture, the one from before Flapjack helped me? A-And we have the same big ears and that one lock of hair that never stays straight no matter how we style it?” (He softly flicks Hyacinth’s hair noodle with a smile, and Hyacinth giggles, so unlike the past.)

“You and I are related by our biology, what makes our bodies up as… witches. You’re not related that way to your mom, but you are still, absolutely, without a doubt her child, and she is still your mama. The love is there and she’s known you since the day you were born, so don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. I love your mom, and we both love you, which makes us family.”

“Exactly. You’re our baby- my baby, even if I didn’t help to bring you here. Okay?”

“Oh… okay! So it’s like how Uncle Gus is my uncle but you guys and him don’t have the same dads?”

“…”

“Y-yeah that’s a much simpler way to put it!”

[basilpaste]

NOW FOR A LEGIT THING FOR YOU!!!! of stitches in sequence isabeau and his scar.... do you think siffrin touches it sometimes? guilty? even if isabeau explains that its a living reminder he's not in the loops?

yes. oh absolutely yeah.

(He says he likes the scar.)

(It doesn't make you feel any better.)

(... You don't know healing craft, but you understand how it works. He didn't let the scar heal. It could have healed into something barely noticeable, not at all like your eye. But he didn't want it to.)

(You could have caught his neck with that attack.)

(You weren't thinking, but that's not an excuse! You could have —)

(You don't want to think about it.)

"Sif?"

(He's smiling at you, cocking his head. You don't deserve it.)

(When you close your eye, you can almost see that visceral shade. You can almost see him crying and crying and crying. How he just cried harder when you hurt him. Because you hurt him you blinding idiot!!!)

(You raise a hand up to his face and wait a second. You're still bad at touch. He's... worse than he was before. Everything.)

(He nods.)

(The scar is softer than you expect. Maybe that's just because you're also, kind of, touching his lips.)

(You!!! Flush a little despite yourself.)

(He says he likes it.)

[disastersareajoy]

The Shower Incident

Stu x Billy x FEM!Reader

Tags: Sex toy, masturbation, voyeurism for a sec, dirty stuff happens in the shower obviously, dirty talk, degradation, praise, lots of kissing, marking, handjob, edging, begging, slight dacryphilia, mention of denial, mention of being tied up, mention of oral (fem receiving, and giving to a toy), mention of double penetration, mention of anal (fem and male receiving), open end, Sub!Reader, Dom!Billy, implied Switch!Stu but mostly Sub!Stu

Hiya babes!

I had this idea and it wouldn't leave me alone the entire day so I wrote it down and if I do say so myself: This shit is pretty hot.

I'm super glad my first public fic is with these two idiots because I love them to the moon and back and cannot get enough of them. I hope you enjoy this wild ride - I know I did. I wrote this in like an hour and then proofread it four times total, but English isn't my first language so if you see any mistakes feel free to (politely) let me know and I will fix it. Same as any tags I missed. Of course, non mistake related comments are also very welcomed. I hope you thouroughly enjoy this product of my brain rot! Let me know what ya think.

Stu and Billy had been away for a few days and you were needy. Wanting to be bent over and fucked hard and rough, four hands gripping at your body and manipulating you into whatever position they desire. They were supposed to come back in the evening so you wanted to take a shower before then.

That's when the idea struck.

You practically stumbled over your own feet to get to the closet and pull out the box of toys the three of you had accumulated over time.

You picked out your favorite dildo and quickly made your way to the bathroom. With the help of the suction cup the toy stuck to the shower wall. After cleaning yourself in record speed you bent over and pushed back onto the dildo. It filled you slowly and stretched you perfectly. Your wetness made the intrusion easy but the thickness of the toy still made you pause, and forced you to take a couple of deep breaths. Although it wasn't long before you were fucking yourself back onto it and completely loosing your mind in the process. Moaning their names and begging into the empty room.

At the same time Billy and Stu were on their way up to your shared apartment. The two of them decided to surprise you by coming home a couple hours early so you could eat dinner together and cuddle up in front of the TV.

When they came through the front door and weren't immediately met with your smiling face, kissing and hugging them in greeting, they were a bit perplexed.

That was until they heard the shower running.

And then they heard a litany of moans, accompanied by a loud slapping sound of skin against tile. They shared a look and ventured closer to the bathroom door which you had left open a crack in your hurry to fuck yourself.

The sight they find absolutely takes their breath away. The shower is on and water is hitting your back as you're bent over nothing, supporting yourself with your hands against the wall as you continuously slam your ass back onto the dildo stuck to the tile wall. They can see the toy glistening with your wetness and someone lets out a groan. You don't hear it and keep moving your hips with a clearly desperate and already fucked out sway to it.

They're both stuck in their spot, staring at the divine sight that is you. The way your body moves to get the perfect angle of the dildo, your thighs trembling with exertion and your hand aimlessly sliding against the wet wall, trying desperately to hold onto something. The way your pussy stretches to accommodate for the thickness of what they recognize as your favorite dildo. The one that you love sucking on when they both have you filled. Or that you love for them to fuck you with when they're getting your ass ready and you already need your pussy filled.

The dildo that's been in all of your holes to help pleasure, tease, edge and make you cum. They can't get enough of watching you throw yourself onto the dildo, making such loud and obscene noises.

What finally gets them to snap out of the trance your body has put them in is your next moan.

“Billy, please.” You interrupt yourself with another desperate whine. “Fuck, please fuck me harder. I need you so bad. Oh my god, Stu.” You elongate the end of Stu's name with a loud moan that's closer to a sob if anything. With the way your hips tilted, Billy suspects you found the perfect angle to hit that special spot inside you. Next to him, Stu breathes out a small moan and looks at Billy with a plea in his eyes.

“Go.”

With the okay given, Stu bursts through the door and is on you in no time. He grabs your face in both hands and barely sees your eyes open in surprise before he has his mouth pressed to yours. Desperately making out with you while making sure you're still fucking yourself onto the dildo. He mumbles out praises between kisses, not able to stop himself from telling you how good you look.

"You look delicious. Fucking yourself so desperately, moaning our names like we're here with you. You that pent up, baby? It's been three days and you're so needy you start fucking yourself how you want us to fuck you, huh?”

“But it's not the same, is it?”

Now Billy joins in as well. He already stripped out of his clothes, completely naked and palming at his erection while Stu kneels halfway under the spray of water, drenching his clothes. You mewl a negative, not trusting yourself with words. Afraid that if you pull away from Stu and open your mouth the only thing coming out would be pleas and their names.

“No. Even though our good little slut is filled to the brim by a toy and is fucking herself just as fast as we do, she still can't quite get it right. Can you, doll?”

You make a non-committal noise and place your hands on Stu's shoulders, thankful to have something to hold on to. Billy is unsatisfied with your wordless answer and grabs Stu by his hair, pulling his head back to expose his long neck, stopping you from hiding in his kisses. Stu whines long and loud before staring back at you, desperation clear in his eyes.

“Please baby, answer him.”

“Aww. Would you look at that? At least one whore here remembers his manners.”

Billy leans down to press hungry kisses onto Stu's mouth. Both of them moaning into each other's mouth, making you want even more. You mewl and whine at the display in front of you. Billy pulls away from Stu's mouth with a grin that he then turns on you.

“You better start using your words. Or he's gonna get all the attention and you can watch without touching yourself. And cumming will be completely off the table.” With that he attaches his mouth to Stu's neck, kissing up and down, sucking marks into the soft skin and biting. Which makes Stu let out the most beautiful array of whines and moans you've ever heard.

“Please,” you manage to breathe out.

“Please, what?” Billy still has his face in Stu's neck while answering, not letting his mouth detach for long. You whine and can't help yourself from slowing down your movements to gather your thoughts long enough to form a sentence.

“Please, Billy. Please fuck me. Both of you. I need you so bad, please ” Billy pulls away from Stu and grabs your jaw hard with his hand, turning your face in his direction. He gets close to you and smirks. “There she is. That's the good little whore we've been waiting to fuck for three days.” He doesn't let you answer before attaching his lips to yours and making you moan into his mouth. He lets go of your jaw and grabs your shoulders instead, shoving you back onto the dildo, hard. You moaned into his mouth as he forces you to start fucking yourself again. Distantly, you hear Stu whine as he kneels in front of you and waits for his turn to be kissed again.

Once you have a steady rhythm going again, Billy pulls away. He looks at you with a grin and you could tell he has something planned.

“Now, I asked you a question. And you didn't answer. Instead, you made out with this little attention whore next to me.” A moan from Stu. “But I want you to answer my question. I will not repeat it, and neither will Stu. You're gonna have to use your big girl brain and remember what I asked you. And you're not gonna stop fucking yourself on that dildo. If you slow down you don't get to cum. If you stop you get to watch, tied up and gagged as I fuck Stu into the mattress.” A whine from Stu. “But if you keep going and answer me correctly,” his grin widens and he leans back slightly. “Then you get exactly what you want.”

You moan, frustrated that you don't immediately remember what he asked you. While you're desperately trying to remember the question and not slow down your hips, Billy starts helping Stu get his wet clothes off. He also shuts off the water which leaves your skin cooling down rapidly, goosebumps appearing on your skin and sending shivers down your spine.

Once he has all of Stu's clothes off, he kneels behind him and starts palming his dick. Slowly but firmly taking it in hand and stroking him up and down. Stu lets his head fall back onto Billy's shoulder and moans unabashedly at how good he feels. How good Billy is making him feel. The sight makes your concentration waver. Your mind is completely empty, safe for the two beautiful men in front of you. The way their hair sticks to their foreheads, Billy looking at you with hunger in his eyes and that feral edge. Stu squeezes his eyes shut as he softly starts thrusting into Billy's hand. Usually that would have earned him a slap to the thighs and a warning, but right now all Billy wanted was to tease you.

He takes pity on you as Stu grows closer and closer, holding onto Billy and you with one hand each.

“I'll give you a little hint, darling. How does the dildo feel?” Suddenly his words sprang back into your mind.

“Even though our good little slut is filled to the brim by a toy and is fucking herself just as fast as we do, she still can't quite get it right. Can you, doll?”

You immediately scramble for an answer.

“Fuck, Billy.”

“Good start.”

You whine once more as your hips desperately try to keep up the pace Billy had set for you.

“I can't get it right,” you sob in frustration as your wetness drips down your legs. With the shower turned off you can be sure it was the juices of your pussy that are making such obscene noises and dripping slowly down your thighs.

Billy gives Stu's sensitive tip extra attention, making the tall man writhe in his place on Billy's lap. He moans as a blush spreads down his chest. “That's right doll, you can't. But why? And you better hurry because if Stu cums before you answer, you're watching.” He chuckles at your frustrated groan and speeds up his hand on Stu's cock.

“I- oh my fuckin God. I can't get it right because-” Stu moans loud and desperate, getting closer each second. “Because it's not hard enough.” Billy hums long, considering your answer. “Yes. But why?” You groan again, this time louder and with more annoyance behind it. “Careful,” Billy spoke low and with warning.

With one last whine you focus all your concentration on your words and close your eyes. “I can't get it right because you fuck me so much harder and I can't fake that. I need your hands on my hips as you pull me into every thrust and I need you to speak to me, to call me names and to tell me I'm doing good. I need you to pound into me like I'm your personal toy and I can't fake that with a dildo, please. Please fuck me like I need you to. I'm begging you Billy, please.”

You prepare yourself to hear Billy ask you for another, better answer, but it didn't come. Instead you hear Stu's sob and whine as he is denied his orgasm. No doubt having been right on the edge. When you open your eyes again, Stu looks back at you with tired, teary eyes and his mouth hanging open. Billy on the other hand looks absolutely feral. His eyes have a certain glint in it that tells you that you are in for a ride.

He reaches out to touch your cheek and strokes his thumb over your skin. “That's a good girl. And just in time too.” He softly pushes Stu to sit on the shower floor and keeps a leg behind his back to help him stay upright while he pulls on your shoulders to stop you from continuing to fuck yourself on your dildo. “Now, you have 5 minutes to help Stu get up and get both of your asses to the bedroom. I want you on the bed, legs spread and ready with Stu right between them. He gets to make you extra worked up with his mouth as a bit of revenge for his edge.” At that, Stu hums satisfied and lets out a chuckle.

“I'm gonna watch him edge you however often he sees fit, and then we're both going to fuck you. Nice and hard.” Billy grabs your jaw and pulls you in for a quick kiss before staring at you an inch away from your face. “Because I know that's what our little whore craves. Isn't it?” You nod eagerly and correct yourself with a quick “Yes sir,” before Billy can say anything.

As soon as Billy lets go of your jaw and nods his head towards the bathroom door, you're scrambling to help Stu on his feet, your own knees still wobbly.

Billy watches as the two of you slowly make your way to the bedroom with shaky legs, sees how wet your thighs are and how there's still more dripping out of your glistening pussy. He watches Stu grab your ass, squeezing the flesh beneath his finger in a way that is sure to be a promise of all the teasing that's to come. He truly can't wait to see Stu ruin you with his mouth before they fuck you until you can't remember your own name.

God, he loves the both of you so much.

---

Please don't repost or reupload this fic anywhere else. It's mine and I'd love to keep it that way.

[whitehairandblood]

Whumpee stands in the kitchen, barefoot. Their long hair splays over their shoulders and down their back, falling into their face. They don't bother to tie it up.

It's longer than they're used to. They never let it grow out this much before Whumper captured them. It's unruly, hard to take care of and maintain, and way too much trouble than it's worth. Whumper has expressed their dislike for it several times already, but they haven't made an attempt at cutting it yet. It seems they're allowing at least this small piece of Whumpee to remain untouched.

It's not like Whumpee would even let them cut it. There's not a lot they're willing to fight over anymore, but as ridiculous as it makes them feel, Whumpee knows their hair remains one of those things. The last piece of themself that remains theirs alone.

They busy themself with preparing breakfast- or, rather, dinner. Whumper's nocturnal lifestyle forces Whumpee to stay awake during the night and sleep in the day just as Whumper does, every aspect of their new life catered to their captor. Whumpee can't remember the last time they'd seen the sun, other than those few precious times Whumper let them watch the sunrise before bed- or the sunset, if Whumpee managed to get up early enough.

This is one of those rare occasions. Whumper was still sound asleep when Whumpee left the room, heading straight for the kitchen. Whumper allowed them free reign of their stupid big house, apparently entirely confident that Whumpee couldn't even find their way out, let alone escape.

Making food remains another one of those things Whumpee has yet to lose control over. The thought of Whumper, almighty and powerful, being incapable of making even a grilled cheese sandwich to keep Whumpee alive never ceases to amuse them. It makes him feel a little bit more human, even if Whumpee knows otherwise.

The sunlight that previously illuminated the kitchen grows weaker by the minute. Whumpee shudders when the air grows colder, suddenly regretting not putting on socks before they left the bedroom.

Another shiver runs up their spine at the thought of that wretched room. Bedtime always comes with a sort of silent dread, one that eats Whumpee up from the inside as the days go on. Whumper always draws the blackout curtains before the Sun could even begin to rise, and Whumpee has begun to dread each and every morning. How ironic, to hate the very thing they yearn for.

Their thoughts come to a screeching halt, their hands stilling when they feel a presence behind them. Their breathing stutters for a moment before they force it to go back to normal. They keep their head lowered, allowing the long curtain of hair to shield their face from Whumper's view.

Whumper's cold hand settles on their shoulder, slowly moving up the side of their neck. Their fingers trace over the raised web of scar tissue, pausing to push gently on the twin puncture marks at the very center. Whumpee supresses a wince.

"How many times do I have to tell you," Whumper murmurs, leaning close to Whumpee's ear, "to keep your hair out of my way?"

Whumpee's hands grip the counter's edge, shoulders raising.

"I hate it when you do that."

Whumper chuckles. Their hand moves further up, fingers running through the hair at the nape of Whumpee's neck.

"Do what?"

"Sneak up behind me. You know I hate it."

"And I hate it when you ignore my questions."

They're forced to press their hips into the edge of the counter as Whumper crowds close. Whumpee flinches when a hand appears in the corner of their eye, but then it moves fully into view, and Whumpee sucks in a breath.

Whumper's offer of the hairtie feels entirely too casual. Too innocent.

"Tie it up."

Whumpee hesitates.

"I-I'm.. Whumper, I'm making breakfast. Just give me a minute. I haven't eaten anything today."

Whumper's hand on the back of their neck tightens, and this time, Whumpee can't hold back the wince it elicits.

"Neither have I. Tie it up."

Whumpee dips their head. Their grip on the counter's edge turns white-knuckled.

"Please.." they whisper, half hoping Whumper wouldn't hear. "Just give me a damn minute."

Whumper's breath ghosts against their neck as they laugh.

"My, my. Got up on the wrong side of the bed, did you?"

Whumper's hand buries itself into the hair at the nape of Whumpee's neck, tugging hard to wrench their head back. Whumpee hisses, grabbing around blindly until their hand finds Whumper's wrist. They can see Whumper's grin from the corner of their eye.

"You don't get to make requests, Hunter." Whumper hisses into their ear, "Not anymore. Not when you pointed that gun at me, and especially not now. Seems like you need a reminder of where, exactly, you belong."

Whumpee grits their teeth, squeezing their eyes shut against the tears that threaten to fall. Their scalp feels like it's on fire, every nerve screaming at them to relieve the pressure before Whumper could rip their hair clean out. Their hands scrabble at Whumper's own.

"Fuck! Whumper, don't! Not yet, please not yet, I'm sorry, please just wait- ARGH!"

Sharp teeth slice into Whumpee's neck without warning. Their hands claw at Whumper's desperately, tears sliding down their face as the pain blossoms in their neck into something unbearable. Their breathing grows frantic. Whumper's lips are cold against their skin, and Whumpee tries their best to ignore the sickening feeling of their blood leaving their body.

Whumpee's hands start to tremble. One of them falls down to grip the counter again when a wave of dizziness washes over them. Their voice comes out breathier than they would have liked.

"Whumper, please. Th-that's enough.."

Whumper pulls away for only a moment, murmuring into Whumpee's skin to "Stay quiet" before biting down again, rougher this time. Whumpee strangles a whine in their throat.

They lose track of time after that. They come to when Whumper's teeth suddenly dislodge from their neck, Whumpee nearly falling over when Whumper's grasp on their hair disappears. They raise a shaking hand to their neck to try and stop the bloodflow, fighting the creeping nausea that makes their world spin.

Something small and light lands on the counter next to their hand. Whumpee's eyes drift slowly over to the hairtie, a scowl appearing on their face.

Whumper's hand lands on top of their head, fingers running through the strands. Whumpee shivers at the sensation.

"Pull something like this again and I might just cut it all off for you."

Whumpee shuts their eyes, slumping onto the countertop. They don't fight Whumper's touch as their eyes begin to slip closed.

"... I hate you."

[dailypav]

Pav digging straight down in Minecraft

Drawing Pav every day until he's playable: Day 84

aw fuck

[strawberryjamsara]

Man I’m thinking back to when Kyoko tells Sayaka ‘Magic should only be used to grant wishes for yourself or it’s bad. Don’t tell me Mami never taught you that.’

When you first watch the series it seems like such a straightforwardly nasty thing to say. Like she’s suggesting Mami was a bum mentor for not telling Sayaka to only look out for number one.

But when you know the history between Mami and Kyoko it becomes heartbreaking. Mami saw what happened when Kyoko made a wish for her father. How she was left homeless, the only survivor of her family for her own mistake. She’s legitimately upset that Mami would just not let Sayaka in on the disastrous consequences of trying to be a big hero, that she’d be so flagrant, so much so that she’s now speaking ill of a dead person who was once her friend. It’s tragic how much they fell apart, how Kyoko is stuck in a defeatist mindset, how Mami warned Sayaka beforehand about making a wish for someone else but she did in the end just want someone to be with after her only friend left in the world couldn’t stand the idea of her justice, that she just wanted someone to help there be less tragedies like hers, a belief she shared with Kyoko, but with their two tragedies being so utterly conflicted, Mamis tragedy because she wished for herself, Kyoko because she wished for someone else, that they could never work together again.

[violetriorsons]

—in a world alone (we're all alone);

a collection of missing moments based on xaden's letters to violet. // pre-FW; iron flame spoilers.

part one.

“sgaeyl watched me kill another cadet for bullying garrick during threshing. she says she chose me for my ruthlessness, but i think i just reminded her of my grandfather.” — chapter 12 (iron flame).

.::.

The number one objective: don't die today.

It's proven to be a shockingly easy goal over the last few hours. A quick glance at the sun in the sky tells Xaden it's the start of the afternoon, and the biggest problem he's faced since Threshing started at nine this morning is the uncharacteristically strong heat for the beginning of October.

It's unsettling — he knows damn well that Fen Riorson's son is at the top of the hit lists of a number of cadets in his year (and the other years, for that matter). And he also knows Threshing is the best opportunity any of them are going to get to finally settle any bets.

It's why when his year dispersed this morning, Xaden had made a point to move in the opposite direction than Garrick and Masen. The target on his back is too big today to risk his only friends.

But so far, it seems his worries were for nothing. The few cadets he's come across over the last four or so hours have paid him nothing more than a wary glare, clearly far more interested in finding their dragons than wasting time trying to run a sword through him.

The dragons Xaden has passed by have also ignored him, both to his relief and mild dismay. The jitters in his chest persist, but for new reasons.

For months, the most common and accepted rhetoric he's heard spread throughout the quadrant is that no self-respecting dragon would go through the disgrace of bonding a marked one. That there's nothing worthy in the children of the people who had threatened the safety of human- and dragonkind all over Navarre.

Up until now, Xaden hadn't let himself dwell on the theory. His priority was keeping himself, his friends, and the rest of the marked ones in his year alive (a feat he's already fumbled, twice). But now, walking through the disturbingly quiet forest, there's no escaping the nauseating fear that everyone was right.

If he'd had the choice, Xaden thinks he might've gone into infantry to honor his father's wishes. He hadn't had the time to figure out for himself what he'd wanted to do with his life before fate and the lost Battle of Aretia had written his destiny for him. Before he knew it, the apostasy had come and tragically gone, and he was suddenly saddled with a hundred and seven souls to keep out of Malek's all-too greedy hands.

Three years ago, Xaden had brokered a deal with General Sorrengail to keep the orphans of his father's allies alive. He knows his father would've abhorred the agreement, but the man had also taught him well about making tough decisions. And making it through the riders' quadrant was their only shot at survival.

But now he's dreading that he might've sentenced them all to a worse fate: if the dragons aren't interested in bonding them, they'll all be doomed to relive their first year in the riders' quadrant over and over until Malek finally decides to collect his due.

Xaden hears the crackling of dragonfire in the near distance— too near for his liking. He quickens his steps as he searches around him in vain for any spot of blue.

Unlike Garrick this morning, Xaden did have a certain dragon from Presentation on his mind. An enormous, navy Blue Daggertail that had left him stunned when he saw it near the end of his deadly stroll yesterday.

He'd stopped dead in his tracks when he'd first caught sight of it, and had Garrick not given him a shove from behind, he's sure that he would've ended up a pile of ashes for daring to look a dragon in the eye for as long as he did.

It was an honest mistake. Xaden had felt something shift inside of him when he locked eyes with the beast, a sharp thrill that lingered long after the first-year cadets had all retreated to their bunks for the night.

Though judging by the icy narrowing of the dragon's eyes as it stared back at him, he thinks maybe the feeling was not mutual.

The thought is reinforced by the fact that he hasn't caught a single hint of her presence anywhere this morning. Idly, Xaden wonders if perhaps the Daggertail had picked another cadet at the start of Threshing, and his mood begins to sour.

But before he can linger any longer on his newfound worries, he hears a familiar shout nearby that has his stomach dropping.

It's Garrick.

All thoughts of the Blue Daggertail are forgotten as Xaden races in the direction of the shout.

The number one objective: don't die today. It goes for himself and especially for his best friend.

Xaden may or may not bond a dragon today. But if nothing else, he'll gladly spend the rest of the day making damn sure his friends make it out of this forest alive.

The shouting continues as he approaches, and Xaden recognizes the voice of Garrick's opponent just before they both come into view.

Prince Alic.

Xaden should've seen this one coming. He'd been too concerned about the target on his own back to consider that his friends have also made enemies in the quadrant all on their own.

The limp-dick, sorry excuse of a prince had wasted no time trying to assert dominance in the quadrant after crossing the Parapet this summer. He's been a terror to most, the Riorson son included, but Alic has had it out for Garrick since he lost to him during assessment week on the mat.

And apparently, he's decided Threshing is the perfect setting to enact his revenge.

Garrick's one of the best in their year when it comes to sparring, but the royal training the asswipe of a prince has under his belt makes him more than a worthy adversary. And though Xaden would be willing to bet that Alic snuck up on Garrick, any matters of honor and dirty tactics don't matter much if Alic makes it out of this forest with Garrick's head in the end.

Rage waves over Xaden and he barely manages to wrangle it back under control so he can slow his steps and assess the situation from a distance.

So far, Garrick seems to be holding his own well enough.

Xaden wavers, unsure of whether to step in or let his friend prove himself to any dragon who may be paying attention.

"I'm betting the prince loses his head."

The unfamiliar, feminine voice startles him out of focus from the fight. He hadn't noticed the giant shadow under his feet that now blankets his immediate area, and when he twists around to look for the source of the voice he finds himself face to face with the navy Blue Daggertail he'd been seeking all morning.

"Holy shit," he curses without thinking, and he just barely stops himself from scrambling backward. Dragons typically don't respond well to cowardice, and he doubts this particular one is any exception.

Her size had been daunting during Presentation, but having her right in front of him now, with her head lowered to his eye level and a bit too close for comfort, it dawns on him what a monstrosity of a creature she is — especially compared to the other dragons he's come across in the field today.

Suddenly, Xaden can't remember exactly why he'd been searching for her in the first place. Does he have a death wish?

The dragon's head moves forward, and Xaden locks his knees in place as she gives him a quick sniff at his chest before lightly blowing steam in his face through her nostrils.

"There's something very familiar about you." Her voice echoes in his head again, and his heart is threatening to break through his ribcage as she stays in his personal space and continues her perusal of him.

Xaden arches an eyebrow. Familiar? "Yeah, we kinda met at Presentation..." His joke falls flat, but he pushes forward. "I'm Xaden —" He stops short of saying his last name, and his earlier fear surges back with a vengeance.

Despite all it's cost him, Xaden has never been at odds with the war his father had started. Their country was corrupt, rotten to the core, and the price Xaden has been made to pay for his father's actions has only strengthened his belief in Fen Riorson's cause.

But would the dragon agree with that?

"Riorson," the dragon finishes for him, rather absentmindedly — uninterested, even — as she sniffs at his hair. She says nothing more, all her focus on her odd inspection of him, and some of Xaden's nerves give way to confusion.

Is it a good sign that this dragon is currently covering his leathers in snot?

As if in response, the dragon chuffs. "Better that than being charred by dragonfire, I would think."

Xaden's eyes widen in return. Did she hear his thoughts?

"Very true," he breathes. He tenses again, keeping quiet as he awaits judgment from the dragon he'd spent all night thinking about.

With no warning, the dragon lifts a claw and swipes it over the upper left side of Xaden's face, too quick for him to see it coming. The claw breaks the skin deep over his brow, nicking the eyelid he'd managed to close out of pure instinct, and digging through the top of his cheek.

"Fuck," he swears without thinking, instinctively lifting a hand to his eyebrow. His fingers come back bloody.

"There," the dragon says, sounding satisfied as she lowers her head to his level again. "Now I see it."

"Interesting word choice after almost taking my fucking eye out." He can't help himself from expressing his disdain as he works to keep the blood from seeping into his eye. "What do you see?"

"I'd given your grandfather a similar scar during his Threshing. It'd been accident then."

Surprise quells the anger. His brows knit together, the movement making the sting from his new wound worse. "You knew my grandfather?" He didn't even know his grandfather. From either side of the family.

"He came before you. But he didn't make it out of the quadrant." Her words are matter-of-fact, but there's an undertone of sadness that has Xaden believing she feels the loss far deeper than he ever could.

"I'm sorry...," he trails off, not sure how he's supposed to address her. He wipes more blood away from his brow before it gets in his eye.

"Sgaeyl," she offers distractedly, her eyes moving beyond him, to the sword fight still being waged in the tiny clearing behind him. "I said the prince would lose his head today. Why don't you go prove me right?"

Xaden turns back around and tenses, cursing himself for forgetting about Garrick.

Blood is now flowing from Garrick's left shoulder but he's paying it no mind as he raises his sword up to block Alic's attempt to slice Garrick's right arm off. As the two swords clash, Alic gets in a sloppy, but effective kick to the side of Garrick's calf that has him going down.

Garrick manages to twist his body last-minute to land on his side and avoid getting the wind knocked out of him. But the maneuver has his wounded shoulder taking the brunt of his fall.

Xaden's moving toward them before he even realizes it, silently drawing his own sword as he approaches. His heart is hammering again as he watches Alic raise his weapon to take the final strike.

Xaden sword is quicker, and he runs it through Alic's back, deep enough that it reappears through his abdomen. Alic's response is a garbled groan, and Xaden lifts his foot to kick the prince off his sword.

Alic falls forward, the force of Xaden's kick sending him face-first towards the ground — right where Garrick is lying.

Garrick rolls out of the way just as Alic hits the dirt. His eyes meet Xaden's with a flash of gratitude as he works to get himself up.

Xaden waits to make sure his best friend is good before turning his attention back to the dying prince, who's working mightily to get up onto his knees.

"You're a... worthless piece... of shit, son of a... traitor..." Alic's rambles are out of breath as he continues to bleed out on the ground.

Xaden hears the dragon grumble behind him, and he can feel the wordless expectation emanating from her as she waits impatiently for him to follow her earlier command. He spares a quick glance at Garrick again, who's retrieved his sword but is distracted by the dragon who's stepped out from the trees and into view.

"Sorry I butted in," Xaden tells Garrick with a sheepish grin. "But I've been asked for his head." He tilts his head in the dragon's direction as means of explanation. Garrick's eyes widen, but he chooses to stay silent in the presence of the dragon, giving Xaden a firm nod instead.

Before he can think too hard about it, Xaden swipes his sword through the neck of the still-rambling royal. The man's head hits the ground with a sickening thud, and Xaden works to keep his breakfast down.

Though not his first kill, it is the first time he's ever decapitated someone. It turns his stomach in the worst way, even as he feels a small twinge of satisfaction in getting to behead one of King Tauri's sons.

Perhaps he's not quite as monstrous as he's come to feel over the last few months — yet.

He's still got a dragon to impress, so he forces down the nausea, compartmentalizes any horror he may feel over adding to his body count, and bends down to retrieve the severed head by its hair.

He turns toward the dragon and tosses the head at her feet, making sure to keep his eyes off the ground and on hers the entire time.

She chuffs in what seems like approval. "Ruthless."

A heady rush of pride sweeps through him, giving him confidence as he admits to her, almost accusingly, "I've been looking for you all morning." Her earlier words about his grandfather finally sink in.

He came before you.

She'd chosen him. And now she's choosing Xaden.

She lets out another chuff. "I woke late. And I refuse to skip breakfast, even for Threshing."

Xaden smiles, glancing behind him to see that Garrick has disappeared. His smile wavers, and he worries over the wound in his friend's arm. Will he be okay to keep dragon-seeking?

"You care a lot for him. And for the others." It's a statement, not a question.

"Yes," Xaden answers anyway. He forces down the trepidation over letting her in on his secrets.

The marked ones and Aretia are who he's dedicated his life to, and there's no point in trying to hide it from her. She needs to know who she's choosing, and what he'll be continuing to fight for. And all the types of monsters he's willing to fight against.

"You carry scars for the ones you're devoted to," she notes. "And now you'll carry one for me as well."

The reminder of the wound on his brow cuts through the adrenaline enough for him to feel the sting again. But her words erase any lingering resentment he may have felt over the scratch.

She steps forward. "Get on my back. The cadet you saved will be just fine, and your other friend has already been chosen. There's no point in spending any more time around here tempting the cadets who'd love to take your own head off your shoulders."

Xaden exhales in relief at the news about Masen, and decides to trust her certainty that Garrick will make it just fine on his own.

He hesitates for just a second, calculating the best strategy to make it up her leg. The gauntlet didn't quite prepare him as well for a dragon of her size. It's a challenge, but he makes it up to her back, avoiding the spikes at her neck, and reaches the divot with only minor embarrassment.

"Didn't you practice?" she chastises him, but her tone is light.

"Of course I did." He rolls his eyes. "But you're huge."

She chuffs. "Wait until you see my mate. You'll see who's the real monstrosity of a creature."

Xaden lifts a brow, fighting the discomfort of her knowing what he had been thinking earlier. "Is that always...?" He trails off, not sure how to phrase the question.

She scoffs. "Get used to it, cadet. I know everything about you. I always will." It almost sounds like a threat.

He nods, mostly to himself, knowing he'll just need time to adjust to it.

As a means of distraction, the dragon formally introduces herself. But she also launches into the sky as she does so, and her words are lost to the wind whooshing past Xaden's ears as he directs his focus on staying seated as she flies high above the trees.

He remembers her earlier introduction, though — her name is Sgaeyl. She's a navy Blue Daggertail, once bonded to his grandfather.

Unbidden, a memory from many years ago of his mother rises to the surface. She'd told him once that her father had entered the riders' quadrant while she was a baby. She never got to meet him.

"Dragons aren't allowed to bond direct descendants of their previous riders," Xaden notes lightly, trying to shake off the heavy feeling that comes from remembering his mother.

Sgaeyl stays silent, and Xaden interprets it to mean that she has little care for any rule that may stand in the way of what she wants. And what she wants at the moment is him.

"I could go mad," he continues absentmindedly. Judging from the excited flip his stomach just did at the thought of being wanted by this dragon, he may already be half-way there.

"You won't go mad," Sgaeyl asserts.

He arches his wounded brow. "And how do you know that?"

"Because I chose you," she scoffs.

He grins at the arrogance, but his chest fills with pride. And anticipation, as he sees the flight field getting nearer in the distance.

Soon, they'll be landing in the field. Soon, he'll be walking up the dais to look the roll keeper and General Sorrengail in the eye and announce the name of his new dragon — and relish in the shocked faces of Commandant Panchek, Captain Fitzgibbons, Colonel Aetos, and anyone else who doubted that a dragon would choose Fen Riorson's son — or any marked one.

Sgaeyl knows everything about him. And she chose him.

Xaden Riorson is officially a rider.

[sen-ya]

your heart pirates family post makes me so happy cause i've never seen anyone give bepo a partner before, but i have a mink oc i pair with him and i always thought that maybe people would think that's weird so that post just made me feel validated in a way :)

in short; thank you for letting bepo have love too <3

Awww I’m so glad it made you happy, Bepo has marriage material written all over him he’s so kind!!If you ever felt comfortable sharing I’d do a doodle for ya!! Bepo deserves a good cuddle and I have tried and failed to figure out what his partner looks like lol

[ivymarquis]

Ivy bitches about stuff under the cut

Apparently I need to remind people that while I am not a nurse, I work 16 hour shifts in healthcare. I have a real life, bills, and a senior horse whose health I am constantly stressing over.

I am fucking tired. Fandom is a silly little fun thing I do to cope with the insane amount of stress I am under in my actual life.

Most of y’all are great, but it is god damn infuriating to see that I have gotten a comment on a series that I updated two weeks ago and the comment is;

I have left fics un updated for literally over a calendar year. I usually post completed “one shots” in which everything is concise and finished whether the piece is 1.2k or 12k words so I don’t normally get inundated with the “more more more!!!” shit, and while I have been having a fucking blast with the zombie fic, I have definitely noticed a shift in the type of comments that I receive specifically with it and yall are getting on my last fucking nerve about it.

I actively keep people from dying irl. None of y’all are paying me, I don’t take donations and I do this shit for free for the giggles and little else in my precious off time. What the fuck happened to good job 👍🏻

This person has had the comment deleted and I blocked them, so they won’t be seeing this little bitch fest of mine and no one should be able to find out who they are. But god damn.

If you are a reader for the love of fuck, stop asking us for more and just say you’ve enjoyed/appreciated/whatever what we’ve already put out.