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gay-dorito-dust · 6 months ago

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Can you please do some headcanons of Stanley being fake married to Fords’ assistant. They had to put up this charade for 30 years to convince people he was Stanford and “Mr. And Mrs. Mystery would bring in way more business!” Dipper and Mabel see her as a mother figure and Mabel likes to plan out their dates because she firmly believes they don’t go on ENOUGH of them. While they’re both on one of these said dates they realize “wait…do I actually like you??” (Slow burn is indeed 30 years slowwwww)

This is so fucking long oh my fucking god-I’m actually going to have to make a part two or something. This is just too long.

Part two here

When you and Ford first arrived at Gravity Falls a lot of people were under the impression that you were a married couple, where they got that preposterous idea form neither of you had single clue but as hard as you and Ford tried to disprove their claims, insisting they you were just platonic partners and nothing more.

It only seemed to give them more reason to assume that there was something more going on between you both. So in the end you both elected to ignore it as Gravity Falls was a small unknown, sleepy town that wasn’t on any recorded map that you chalked it down to them needing something to gossip about to spare them of how boring their lives were. But you and Ford knew others wise and saw Gravity Falls as a treasure trove of information regarding the mysterious and the unknown, it was the main reasons you started this partnership to begin with after all.

But things were quick to fall apart just as it seemed you were getting closer to what you knew was the truth as Ford made a deal with a triangular demon known as Bill, easily swayed by his tricks and even more so by his constant repetition that Ford should ‘trust no one’ not even you, his assistant. Naturally it caused a rift between the two of you as you were sick and tired of having to try and reassure Ford- who was slowly succumbing to paranoia- that you weren’t in any way shape or threat to his research. Even bringing up how you both spend hours on end documenting mushrooms, fungi and others of a similar vein when you both first moved to Gravity Falls.

However this tactic didn’t work in your favour unfortunately as one thing lead to another and you were left helpless as you watched Ford get pulled into the portal that his brother -Stanley- had accidentally pushed him into during their squabble, watching as it seemingly closed forever.

You wanted to be mad at Stanley, you really did but the man had just lost his brother, his twin brother seemingly forever due to his own actions. So instead you eased off of him and offered to help him with reopening the portal in order to get Ford back, while also giving a triangle demon a piece of your mind for taking advantage of your overachiever of a friend. Ford being lost seeing forever hurt you just as badly as it hurt Stanley and you would do anything and everything if it meant seeing your friend again.

That and probably scold him for ever thinking that a deal with demon would ever go down well without some sort of hidden agenda, for if a deal sounds too good to be true then it might as well be. Something you’ve learned from Stan, whom you leaned was an expert conman who conned people for a living in order to get by. You didn’t necessarily saw it as a good thing to do, living off of the nativity of people and their gullible natures, but you didn’t have much of a choice when Stan assumed the identity of his twin and even has the audacity to lean into the town’s assumptions of you and Ford being married.

‘But we’re not married!’ You spat, letting go of Stan’s hand when you got home after a trip into town, all that effort you and Ford tried in order for people to stop assuming your relationship was ruined in one fell swoop, was this town really that desperate that they’d deeply get involved in someone’s life like?

(Yes the answer was yes)

‘I know that and you know that, but they don’t have to know that. Think about all the money we could make off of this! They’d be eating out of the palm of our hands!’ Stan replied with a smile while you could only scoff, not understanding how this was Ford’s twin brother when the two were only alike in the physical sense rather then anything else.

‘Is that all you see this as? An opportunity to capitalise on their naivety? Their gullibility and for what? A quick buck?’ You argued back as you sat yourself down at the table in the kitchen and rested your head in your hands. ‘They’ll catch on eventually.’ You added sombrely as Stan could only watch you and feel a slight pan in his chest at seeing you upset and at a loss, completely the opposite of the person you were when standing next to Ford.

‘Listen toots, I know this isn’t how you expected things to go-‘

‘You think?’ You shot back, glaring at him as he held up his hands.

‘-but there’s no other option for us other then to keep the charade up until we can reopen that stupid portal and get my brother back.’ Stan then tested the waters by planing his hand atop of your own, felling you flinch slightly at the contact before relaxing when you felt his thumb rub your knuckles comfortingly. ‘But until then we’ve got to see this through until the end and hey maybe you’ll come to like me one day!’ He then adds with a smile but you couldn’t help but scoff.

‘Yeah right, the day I come to enjoy your company Stanley Pines is the day I enter an early grave.’ You replied but there was no malice in your voice like there was before and in that moment it felt like things were okay, even if it was brief but it was enough for you to want to take Stanley up on his word and see it through to the end.

Flash forward 30 years and you and Stanley were still going strong with the whole ‘fake marriage’ thing and to Stan’s credit a business ran by a married couple did work wonders on the paying public, most of whom would find more intrigue about how you two met more so then about the fake attractions that Stan tried to have them believe as things that once existed.

‘A unicorn made out of corn? Really Stan?’ You’d whisper to him as you forced a smile while clinging onto his arm while the dumb tourists took their pictures of the supposed unicorn made out of corn. ‘That has to be your worst one yet.’

‘Trust the process sweetheart, trust the process and watch as these idiots throw their money at the first ‘weird’ thing they see. They never stop to question its credibility and that’s what we bank on most.’ Stan replied before pressing a kiss to your forehead, something he always did to keep the facade alive and fresh, along with pulling you into his side by your waist and gloating about you and all your academic achievements to anyone with ears.

You hated how much he seemingly remembered about you that almost had you rethinking everything you know about this man. But then you stop to constantly reminded yourself that Stan only remembered these parts about you because he needed material to keep your story consistent and without any falling potholes, the man knew how to cover his bases that was for sure, and yet that didn’t stop you from feeling seen whenever Stan bragged about how smart his spouse was.

That’s the one thing that you mentally thanked him for. He didn’t make you play into stereotypes or change anything remotely about yourself to fit his narrative, he let you be the smart and intelligent spouse while he played the man who was happy to snag you before anyone else could and had been riding the high ever since. It was…sweet in a way that you couldn’t describe.

When Mabel and Dipper came to Gravity Falls they were naturally skeptical on whether they should stay with you and Stan, but soon enough did they warm up to you when you could match Dipper in terms of intelligence and treated Mabel with nothing but kindness and encouragement of her creativity. That and the fact that you could sway Stan into letting them do whatever by placing your hand on his bicep and bating your eyes at him.

‘Let the kids have fun, you were quite the troublemaker when you were their age.’ You told him as you played devils advocate for the kids going to the movies and Stan sighed before reluctantly agreeing to your terms.

‘Fine, fine.’ He says before pointing at you. ‘You owe me for this though honey.’

You smiled as you kissed his cheek. ‘And how can I do that?’ You asked.

‘How about you both go on a date!’ Mabel exclaimed from across the table as she pulls out a blindingly glittery and sparkly binder that had written across the front: Mabel’s date plans for Grunkle Stan and great aunt/Grunkle/ y/n.

‘How long have you had that sweetheart?’ You asked her, a little frightened to know the answer as you knew Mabel was emotionally intelligent when it came to these sorts of things.

‘Since I’ve noticed that you and Grunkle Stan don’t go on dates.’ She replies as her brows furrowed while she flicked through the pages of her binder for the perfect date for the pair of you.

‘We’re married honey, we don’t need to go on dates. Being together 24/7 is like a date all in itself.’ Stanley replied as he could feel your hand gripping his bicep tighten, wanting nothing more than to soothe that overworked mind of yours as he placed his hand over the top of yours and squeezed, shooing you a reassuring smile.

‘Not good enough!’ Mabel cried as she pointed at the pair of you. ‘I can see the love in your eyes, that love is so hard to come by nowadays and just because you’re married doesn’t mean you stop going on dates!’

‘When was the last time you did go on a date?’ Dipper asked this time as his eyes darted from you to his Grunkle as you both mentally swore to yourselves. You and Stan have never been on a date, sure you’ve both been through town together but you never actually went anywhere that would be considered a date. After all your marriage was just for show and tell and not the real thing, despite how much you’ve grown to like how he held you at night or looked at you as though you hung the stars in the sky.

‘A long time kiddo.’ Stan told him. ‘And it was the date where I realised that I wanted to be with them for the rest of my life.’ He adds, his eyes softening when the looked at you, making you smile in response as you moved your hand to squeezed his.

‘Awwww!’ Mabel cooed as she watched you and her Grunkle look at each other so tenderly. it was obvious to her that you meant a lot to her Grunkle Stan and he meant a lot to you too that she couldn’t help but hope to find a love like yours one day herself. ‘Which is why I think you should both go on a date tonight! Right Dipper?’

Mabel punches dipper in the shoulder. ‘Yeah you both defiantly should go on a date.’ He agrees as he rubs his shoulder.

You and Stan looked at one another and knew that there was no getting out of this one, but you were both kind of excited for it at the same time, after all what was going to happen? You both actually realise you like each other after all this time? Preposterous.

#gravity falls x reader #gravity falls imagine #gravity falls imagines #gravity falls #stanley pines imagines #stanley pines imagine #stanley pines x reader #stan pines imagines #stan pines imagine #stan pines x reader

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avcdgrdn · 4 months ago

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── .✦ [ FIC ]: can i really stay here? [ part five ]

[ part one ] & [ part two ] & [ part three ] & [ part four ]

mullet stanley pines x innkeeper reader

tags: fluff, sfw, a bit of suggestive talk

word count: 2029

˙✧˖° ༘ ⋆｡˚

the serene atmosphere of your sunlit bedroom was suddenly disturbed as you jolted up in bed with a gasp.

heart racing and head spinning, you sat there, stunned.

was it … just a dream?

your brow furrowed as you looked up and around the familiar space. there was your bookshelf, your desk, your chair … oh.

you rubbed your eyes to do a double take at your chair. sure enough, atop it laid the two-piece outfit you had worn out with stanley last night.

slowly, a wide grin spread across your face. as you began to get out of bed and prepare yourself for the day, memories came back to you one by one.

let’s see, then … when we got back here, we had that conversation in the car. i remember being really sleepy, and kind of stumbling into the inn.

you wandered into your bathroom, splashing your face with cold water.

then, we parted ways. he practically skipped away to his room.

the faucet ran as you laughed softly to yourself. a certain warmth filled your chest, spreading throughout your body: an uncontrollable joy.

who would’ve guessed? me, in love … i’m so happy.

suddenly, everything was peaches, unicorns, and rainbows. you felt as if the butterflies in your stomach were throwing a wild dance party, and all the world was invited. ecstatic, you danced around your room, putting on day clothes and taking extra care as you groomed yourself. yes, this called for three extra spritzes of your favorite fragrance. absolutely, it required your nicest jewelry. after all, you were on a serotonin high, and you never wanted to come down—the person that you love loves you back!

as you made your way out into the hallway, a part of you was tempted to slide down the staircase like mary poppins, but you quickly decided against it as you recalled your lack of magical gravity-altering powers. instead, you settled for a regular-paced descent, walking down both sets of stairs until you came out into the lobby.

you waved to one of your employees at the front desk. “good morning!”

“ah, good morning, boss. you sound cheery today. did something good happen?”

“wellll, yeahhh, you could say that …” you beamed, covering your mouth like a child with an innocent secret.

the worker laughed, shaking his head. “i won’t pry, although i do have a guess as to what it is. you’re all set to take your shift, by the way.” he walked out from the desk, and you took his place, watching as he disappeared to go on break.

just then, a hand touched your shoulder.

“boo.”

you jumped, whipping around to the source of the voice. a smug stanley stood beside you, laughing at the reaction he’d managed from you.

“haha! hey, don’t be scared, toots. ‘s just me.” he winked, giving you a small squeeze before letting his arm fall down to his side. “ya look cute t’day.”

“you look pretty nice yourself.” you hummed, giving him a quick once-over. that earned a small blush from stan, who stammered as he attempted to think of a comeback.

“oh—oh yeah? well you—uh … ahh, i got nothin’.” he grinned sheepishly, pleasantly surprised at the way you were matching his energy.

at that moment, the little entrance bell rung as the front door swung open. a new guest had entered the building. recognizing this, stan took his cue to back away and let you do your job.

the stranger approached the front desk, and you offered him a smile. “welcome to the inn! just a room for one today?”

the stranger, who appeared to be tall and blond, stared at you with piercing blue eyes. “yes … that was the plan. but i must say, you’re a charming little doll. you might just make it a room for two.”

you were taken aback. “sir—”

“hey, can you blame me? i’m in town for a tour, and i’m awfully bored … why don’t you humor me?”

*SLAM*

stanley’s rough hand hit the desk surface with force as he positioned himself between the stranger and yourself.

“you got a problem?”

his threatening words rumbled lowly, striking through the air like thunder.

“what’s it to you, lowlife raccoon? do you really think you’re scaring anyone with that attitude?”

the bulkier man growled, his eye twitching. “you wanna take this outside, punk?��

“yes, let’s. i’d hate for your little crush here to watch you get hurt.”

immediately, alarm bells went off in your head. “wait, what—”

stan began to walk towards the back door with the troublemaker. shooting a glance back at you, he mouthed ‘don’t worry’ before closing the door behind him. of course, that only made you worry twice as much.

a part of you longed to follow them and make sure nothing bad happened, but you knew that you couldn’t just abandon the desk during your shift. an anxious breath escaped from your lips as you craned your neck to try and see if you could catch a glance of them through the window.

mere seconds later, there was a distant crash. you startled, quickly running over to the back door and opening it to look for the two men. much to your relief, stanley came walking back over to you from around the corner, completely unscathed.

“guy ran off all scared after i knocked his tooth out. said sumthin’ about his ‘career being ruined’. tch, what a wuss.” he rolled his eyes, sliding his arm around your waist and walking you back towards the front desk. “sorry he said that stuff to ya. i took care of it, though, yeah?”

you flushed a shade of red at his arm around you and his close proximity. “y–yes. thank you, stan.”

the brunet puffed up with pride. “anytime, angel. if somebody tries anything like that again, y’ come get me. i’ll take care of you.”

looking this way and that, he leaned in and planted a soft kiss on your cheek before grabbing his car keys and walking towards the front door. “i gotta thing to do. see ya later, gator.”

you stood frozen in place, processing what had just happened. explosions were going off in your brain, and stan chuckled to himself as he left the inn.

some time passed, and it was finally your lunch break. you’d been thoroughly distracted all morning by the way stanley had been acting towards you.

he’s so … clingy. ugh, i miss him already.

his hair is so pretty … and his eyes … and that stubble …

you were slowly being pulled into daydream land—but the rumbling of your stomach snapped you out of it.

“urgh. time to eat.” you mumbled to yourself, making your way to your room. there were some leftovers in the fridge that were practically calling your name.

after retrieving the box of food and a clean fork, you turned around to return to the lobby, but stopped in your tracks upon seeing someone standing in the doorway.

“heya, toots!” stan beamed, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. “yer never gonna believe what just happened.”

this was the most excited and happy you’d ever seen him. intrigued, you set down your leftovers on the table, giving him your full attention. “what is it?”

“i just landed a security guard gig for the theater down the street. they figured out i could throw a punch or two, an’ offered to pay me full-time to keep troublemakers away from their shows!”

your eyes widened as you realized what this meant. “then … that means …”

“i can stick around n’ actually have a chance at making the green i need!” grinning, he threw his arms around you. “i’ll stop takin’ up space here, n’ get a place for us—i mean, me—i mean—”

you laughed, squeezing him tightly and resting your head on his shoulder. “stan, i am so proud of you!”

hearing those words did something inside of him. his whole body tensed, then relaxed, overwhelmed with emotion. “you … you are?”

“of course! i love you too much to feel any other way, y’know.”

tears stung at his vision, and he hastily rubbed them away with his sleeve. “... heh, thank you.”

stepping back to look him in the eye, you rested both hands on top of his shoulders. “when you first got here … i could tell how unhappy you were. i hated seeing you like that.” you moved one hand to brush some hair out of his face. “and now look at you. you’ve come so far.”

stan melted into your touch, leaning his face into the palm of your hand without thinking. “yeah, i … i guess i have come a ways, huh?” he sighed, a tender smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “honestly, you were the one who caused it. ‘f it weren’t for all your help, i … i’d prob’ly be in an even darker place than i was before.” turning his head, he kissed the inside of your palm. “thank you.”

you blushed, your whole body warm with happiness, gratitude, and excitement. “well, i couldn’t just ignore you.” you pulled him into another embrace, unable to wipe the smile off your face. “stanley, you’ve captivated me, mind, heart, and soul.”

he hummed lowly, pushing your hair back to press another kiss to your forehead. “you did the same thing to me. i … just can’t stop thinkin’ about you.” he pulled his head back to gaze at you lovingly. “... ‘bout how lucky i got to find you.. my angel.”

“i love you.”

“heh– not more than i do, toots.”

“no proof.”

you were just inches away from a second-ever kiss when a knock on the door rudely interrupted, causing the two of you to jump away from each other and stare as it began to open.

“oh sh–” stan slapped his hand over his mouth, diving behind the sofa to hide. all you could do was stand there as normally as you possibly could, pretending like nothing important had been previously happening.

“uh … was there someone else in here, too?”

it was your coworker from earlier that day.

“NOPE! nobody. just me. why would you think that?”

he narrowed his eyes. “right … you know it’s your property, it’s okay if there was someone.” shaking his head, he remembered his initial purpose. “anyway, i just wanted to come find you to see if you wanted to go out to lunch with me and liz.”

“oh. well, uh …”

“... it would also be a nice opportunity to tell us about any … juicy secrets?”

you snickered, shaking your head fondly. “well, fine. i’ll tag along, then—with a plus one.”

“I KNEW IT! —i mean, uh, cool, good deal. we’re meeting in the lobby in ten.”

“i’ll be there.” you waved goodbye as he shut the door, and stan reappeared from behind the couch. the two of you simply exchanged looks, and started laughing.

so, you had a lovely lunch outing with two of your co-workers and a rather nervous stanley. he was surprisingly shy for the intimidating big-guy persona that he gave off, which was adorable. it didn’t take long for him to earn the approval of the others—they were both moved to tears after listening to his life story. jeff, the male of the two, kept complaining about how it wasn’t fair that you had such a good man just suddenly show up on your doorstep, whereas liz warned stan that if he ever hurt you he would have to deal with her. all in all, the whole group had a great time.

presently, you were sorting through a mail delivery that had come for the inn, making different piles for guests and employees who had received letters and other packages.

it was just then that something caught your eye.

it was a postcard … addressed to stan.

huh … i wonder what this could be about?

you stifled your curiosities and stopped yourself from reading his mail, and instead chose to slip it underneath his door.

oh, well. i’m sure it’s nothing important.

… right?

end

author's note:

*holds stanley so gently in the palm of my hand*

love this guy ... what a guy

drop a comment to be added to the taglist for part six :)

tag list: @icouldntthinkofanythingclever @seahorrorz @blustalker @hay-needle @phanmai1002 @samanthastarss @bumblingbriars @arya-eats-chips @bihexualandferal @hello-i-like-owls @blurryface505 @ryethebrokengae @skeet-2 @thisisprettymuchafanaccount @loleeness @mothie-jpg @ryoiii @ghostieballs @dinsfire24 @put-a-cork-in-it-nork @moon-possom @doggosnoodles12 @spencerreidslittleslut @olivervallyn @samdrawzzz @lamiin @kawaii1369 @ford-pines-lover @inquiit @sleeping-cel

#rubbing my hands together like an evil fly #gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #gravity falls fic #stanley pines #stan pines #grunkle stan #mullet stan #mullet stanley #sfw #fluff #stanley pines x reader #stanley pines x you #part five #avcdgrdn fic #mullet stan x reader

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puckstories · 30 days ago

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MVP | Ryan Leonard

Pairing; Ryan Leonard x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Smut, oral (M receiving), cursing, established relationship, praise kink (kinda??), not sure what else only edited once.

Summary; Post WJC smut (:

Word Count; 4.2k

Author’s note; I saw the most toe curling, deliciously hot edit of him on TikTok and long story short, yes, I do get it now. Anyways, I’m not great at writing smut (at least I don’t think) but I hope you like it nonetheless 😊 (add Ryan to the list of players I am accepting requests for!!) Love you guys. Go Canucks! -Honey

The moment he pushes open the door to your hotel room, you’re already in motion, throwing yourself off the bed, and into his arms like gravity doesn’t exist. A surprised laugh rumbles out of him, light and free, as his hands instinctively slide to grip your thighs, hoisting you up with ease. Your arms loop tightly around his neck, clinging to him like you’re afraid to let go.

“Congrats on the win, Captain,” you murmur into the curve of his neck, your lips brushing against the sweat-slick skin there. His scent is intoxicating—a mix of lingering beer, perspiration, and something distinctly him. You tilt your head back slightly to drink him in, unable to stop the smile that tugs at your lips. Even flushed from the game, his cheeks still reddened and his damp hair curling at the edges, he looks maddeningly handsome. The small bandage across his nose is starting to peel at the corners, adding a rugged charm that only makes him more irresistible.

His teeth graze at his bottom lip before his face breaks into that grin—the one that sends your heart stumbling over itself every time. “Thank you, baby,” he says, his voice rough and gravelly from hours of shouting on the ice and, you imagine, roaring victory chants with his team in the locker room after.

Before you can respond, his grin softens, and his hands tighten their grip on your legs, anchoring you to him. You lean in, your lips finding his in a kiss that’s as electric as the roaring crowd from earlier. His mouth is warm and eager, and when he nips at your lower lip, it draws a surprised gasp from you.

He takes full advantage of the opening, his tongue sliding against yours in a kiss that’s as much a celebration as it is a promise. Your heart races, but not from the thrill of watching the game—it’s the way he holds you like you're the reward, like you’re his trophy he’s fought to win. You thread your fingers into the damp strands of his hair, tugging gently, and he groans softly against your mouth, a sound that makes your stomach flutter and your knees weak—if only they weren’t already wrapped around him.

Ryan walks the two of you backward toward the bed, his lips never straying from yours. When the backs of your knees brush the edge of the mattress, he breaks the kiss, his breath coming fast and warm against your lips. His hands rest on your waist, steadying you for a moment before he guides you down. Your back meets the plush white comforter, cool and soft against your skin, and he pauses just long enough to take in the sight of you sprawled beneath him before climbing on top.

His hands are already moving, impatient and certain, as he hooks his fingers under the hem of your jersey. The fabric whispers against your skin as he lifts it over your head, leaving you in just your red lace bra and matching panties. The moment he sees you like this, his sharp inhale cuts through the silence of the room. His gaze lowers, and a mumbled curse slips from his lips. The hunger in his eyes sends a flush of heat surging through you, and you feel a surge of confidence bloom in your chest.

“God, you’re perfect,” he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse, like he can barely get the words out. His hands twitch like he can’t decide whether to touch or simply admire, and that hesitation makes you grin. You lean up, pressing your palms against his chest and giving him a playful shove that takes him by surprise. He falls onto his back beside you with a soft thud against the mattress, and you take your opportunity.

Sliding over, you swing your leg over his hips and settle yourself astride him, your knees bracketing his sides. His hands instinctively land on your thighs, his grip tightening slightly as he tilts his head back to look at you, a crooked smile playing on his lips. The shift in power is exhilarating, and you can feel the tension humming between the two of you, thick and electric.

“You’re too slow,” you tease, leaning down so your hair brushes against his face, your voice a soft challenge in his ear. His responding laugh is low and gravelly, but there’s a sharp edge of need in it, a sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “And besides, I'm perfect? MVP of the World Junior Championship? You're fucking incredible.”

His grin widens at your words, pride blooming across his face like a slow, warm sunrise. With a soft chuckle, he reaches out, gently cupping your chin, guiding you back to his lips. This kiss is different from the last—no longer rushed or urgent, but slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment, like every brush of his lips is a silent declaration of gratitude, love, and desire. His fingers thread into your hair, and you melt into the kiss, feeling the intensity simmer beneath the softness.

When you finally pull apart, your foreheads rest against one another, your breaths mingling in the small space between you. You can feel his heart pounding against yours, and it makes your own pulse quicken.

“I want your clothes off,” you whisper, the words laced with hunger.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. A flash of mischief crosses his eyes as he sits up, already tugging his shirt over his head with swift, practiced movements. The fabric barely hits the floor before his hands are on the waistband of his sweatpants, and you lift your hips slightly, just enough to help him ease them down. His sweatpants fall away, and he kicks them off with a careless flick of his foot, his gaze never leaving yours.

You lean down again, your breath hot against his skin as you press your lips to the curve of his neck. The warmth of his pulse thrums beneath your mouth, steady and strong, as you begin to trail soft kisses along the line of his jaw. Then, with a hint of provoking, you suck gently at the skin, earning a low, contented hum from Ryan. His body shifts instinctively, his head tilting to the side to give you better access, the subtle submission sending a thrill down your spine.

“No marks,” he mutters, voice low and gruff. His hand moves to your hair, fingers threading through the strands before he gives a sharp tug, pulling you off his neck. The sensation of pain and pleasure mixes together, sending a delicious shockwave through your body. Your lips part as a quiet groan escapes you, and your pulse quickens in response.

"Shut up," you grumble, the words coming out more playful than annoyed. You push your head back down, refusing to let him get the last word. Your lips graze his adams apple, a small smile playing at the corners of your mouth as you feel it bob beneath your kiss. You begin a trail of open-mouthed kisses, each one wet and lingering, as you make your way lower—over the sharp line of his collarbone, down his chest, and further still. Your breath hitches as you reach the soft trail of hair below his navel, the sensation of his skin beneath your lips and the scent of him intoxicating.

Casually, your tongue slips out, tracing along the faint line of hair leading down his stomach. Each inch you cover sends a tremor through him, his body responding to even the lightest touch. You take your time, savoring the way his muscles twitch beneath your tongue as you finally reach the waistband of his boxers. Pausing for a brief second, you glance up at Ryan. His right arm is draped over his eyes, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths, while his teeth sink into his bottom lip in a futile attempt to suppress the sound building in his throat.

The sight of him like this—vulnerable, barely holding on—always makes something inside you flare with satisfaction. You tear your gaze away, your fingers slipping under the elastic of his boxers, feeling the soft fabric between your fingertips. Slowly, you begin to tug them down his hips. The air is thick with tension as you pull the boxers off his legs, letting them drop unceremoniously to the floor.

His cock springs free, hard and heavy against his stomach, the tip flushed red and glistening with the slick sheen of pre-cum. The sight alone makes your mouth water. Without a second thought, you wrap your hand around him, your fingers curling firmly but gently around his shaft. His body jerks at the sudden contact, and Ryan hisses, his breath catching in his throat as his arm falls away from his eyes, revealing a look of barely-contained desire etched across his face.

You can feel him throb in your hand, his warmth and the slickness beneath your palm igniting a fire low in your belly. After smearing the pre-cum with your thumb, spreading it across his sensitive tip, your hand starts to stroke him—teasing, just enough to drive him crazy. Ryan lets out a quiet, breathless curse under his breath, his chest heaving slightly as he tries to keep control. You feel his cock twitch in your hand, the way his hips subtly shift, his body silently begging for more.

Shifting your position, you settle in comfortably, then you lean down and give the head of his cock a few kitten licks—barely there, each one light and playful. The taste of him hits your tongue, salty and raw, and you hum softly in approval, the sound vibrating in the back of your throat.

Ryan’s reaction is immediate, his breath hitching, his hand reaching down instinctively to rest in your hair, fingers curling as if he can barely contain himself. You pause, looking up at him through your lashes, and you see the strain on his face—the tension in his jaw, the way his lips part as if he's about to say something but stops himself, lost in the sensation.

“I’m so proud of you,” you tell him, your voice filled with sincerity, every word laced with an intensity that seems to hang in the air between you.

You catch his gaze, and for a moment, everything else fades away. The raw emotion in your words cuts through the haze of lust, anchoring the moment in something deeper. His eyes soften as he looks down at you, his body still humming with desire but now layered with something warmer, more intimate.

"Yeah?" he asks, his voice cracking, the words escaping in a strangled moan. You feel the hand resting on the back of your head tighten just slightly, his fingers threading deeper into your hair, pulling you closer in a gentle but urgent plea. There’s a desperation in his tone, one that sends another shiver down your spine.

You nod, meeting his gaze. "Let me show you how much."

Before he can say anything else, you lower your head, your lips parting as you take him into your mouth. The moment his cock slides past your lips, feeling the warmth and wetness of your tongue, Ryan lets out a deep, guttural groan that seems to tear from his chest. His hips jerk involuntarily, and his breath catches in his throat as his eyes squeeze shut, brows knitting together.

The weight of him fills your mouth, the taste of him flooding your senses as you slowly take him deeper, your tongue teasing along the underside of his shaft. You pull off him with a wet pop, the sudden release of pressure causing his body to jolt. You take a moment to have a deep breath, your lips tingling as you inhale deeply. The moment is brief, though, and soon you're lowering your head again, taking his cock back into your mouth with purpose. Your lips stretch around him, sliding down his shaft, your hand working the base in rhythm with the bobbing of your head.

Ryan’s response is immediate. “Fuck...” The word is barely more than a groan, raw and breathless, escaping from deep in his throat. His reaction spurs something in you, a surge of heat, and a moan slips from your lips before you can stop it. The sound vibrates around his cock, and the sensation makes him shudder, his hips twitching in response.

His hand in your hair tightens reflexively, pushing you further down onto him, urging you to take more. The sudden pressure forces you down until you can feel him hitting the back of your throat, a gag escaping your lips at the contact. But you don’t pull away. You brace yourself, your throat tightening around him as you take him as deep as you can manage, pushing through the discomfort and finding a rhythm.

Your eyes flick up to meet his, and the sight of him sends another wave of desire coursing through you. His head is thrown back, buried into the pillow, his lips parted in a silent gasp, eyes squeezed shut as if he's completely lost in the pleasure. Every muscle in his body is tense, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths as he tries to hold on. The sight of him unraveled like this—his control slipping—you'll never get enough of it.

Tears gather at the corners of your eyes, your lashes wet and glistening, but you don’t stop. The intensity of it, the feeling of him filling your mouth, the way his body trembles beneath you—it all drives you to keep going.

Your other hand drifts down between his legs, gently cupping and fondling his balls as your head continues to bob up and down, taking him as deeply as you can manage. His grip tightens in your hair, guiding you, and you let him take control, surrendering to the rhythm he sets. His hips start to move in sync with your mouth, each thrust bringing him closer to the edge.

But that control only lasts a few minutes before you feel his body tense even more, and suddenly, he’s pulling you off him with a frantic urgency, his cock slipping from your lips as you gasp for air. The suddenness of it leaves you blinking up at him, your brow furrowed in confusion.

“What happened?” you ask, your voice a little breathless. You swipe your tongue across your lips, tasting the salty mixture of his pre-cum and your own saliva, the taste lingering on your tongue as you watch him, still panting.

Without waiting for a response, you start to crawl toward him, but Ryan’s hands are already at your waist, gripping you tightly. With surprising strength, he pushes you back, rolling you onto your back as your body sinks into the sheets.

“Wanna cum inside you,” he growls, the words rough and simple but dripping with need. There’s no hesitation in his actions, his fingers finding the waistband of your panties. He gives one sharp tug, the fabric tearing with a satisfying rip, leaving you bare and exposed beneath him.

A small gasp escapes your lips at the suddenness of it. “I liked that pair,” you murmur, not entirely serious, half breathless, the remnants of arousal and anticipation curling through your words.

“I’ll buy you more,” he replies, his voice low and hoarse, his breath fanning over your skin. There’s a hunger in his movements as he pushes your thighs apart, settling between your legs.

Ryan doesn’t waste any more time. With one hand gripping the base of his cock, he lines himself up with your entrance, the head of his length teasing against your slick folds for a brief moment. Then, slowly, he pushes into you, the stretch of him making you gasp as he fills you inch by inch. The sensation is overwhelming, your body adjusting to the fullness of him, and you let out a soft moan as your back arches instinctively.

His eyes never leave yours as he bottoms out, his hips flush against yours, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. Once he's fully inside you, Ryan stills for a moment, savoring the sensation of being enveloped by you. His eyes flutter closed as he feels you clench around him, the warmth and tightness making him let out a small groan.

His hands shift from the mattress, where they had been supporting his weight, to grasp the headboard behind you. His fingers tighten around the wood, knuckles white with the force of his grip. He pulls his hips back slowly, dragging himself out of you inch by inch, only to thrust back in with deliberate force. The motion pulls a gasp from your lips, your back arching as he fills you once again.

He starts slow, his movements steady and controlled, establishing a rhythm that has you both teetering on the edge of anticipation. Each thrust sends a ripple of pleasure through you, building steadily with each stroke. Your bodies move in sync, the heat between you rising as the room fills with the sound of your shared breaths and the soft creaking of the bed. Bit by bit, his pace begins to increase, the rhythm deepening, faster, harder. The bed shakes beneath you, clinking against the wall with each snap of his hips, but you can barely focus on anything else except the way he feels inside you, the way he drives you higher and higher with each thrust.

The noise from the headboard pounding against the wall would normally make you worry about disturbing the neighboring hotel room, but right now, all you can think about is the overwhelming pleasure that’s overtaking every part of your body. Each thrust drives you closer to the edge, and a wave of heat pools low in your belly.

One of Ryan’s hands moves from the headboard to your abdomen. He applies the slightest pressure, his palm pressing down with enough force to make you feel him even deeper, and it pulls a long, strangled moan from your lips. The sensation of him inside you, coupled with the weight of his hand pressing on your stomach, makes your head spin. The pleasure borders on overwhelming, your body trembling beneath him as you gasp for breath.

Ryan’s lips curl into a grin at your reaction, his eyes dark with satisfaction. He doesn’t let up, his thrusts remaining relentless, the headboard rattling with every movement. “Mhm,” he hums, the sound deep and low in his throat. He presses his hand a little harder against your abdomen, watching you carefully as he drives himself into you again. “Feels good, huh baby?”

You can barely think, let alone form coherent words. Your body reacts on instinct, nodding frantically as your hands clutch at the sheets beneath you, your breath coming in ragged bursts. “Feels—fuck, feels so good, Ryan,” you gasp, your voice breaking on the words as the pleasure courses through you, hot and intense.

Your legs wrap around his waist, locking him in place as he thrusts into you, his body falling into yours. The heat of his bare chest against yours sends a fresh wave of pleasure rippling through you, and you feel him shift, adjusting his angle just slightly. The new position hits a deeper spot, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. Ryan moans, the sound vibrating against your neck as he buries his face in the crook of your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin.

“No one else can make you feel this good. Tell me,” he gasps, his lips grazing your neck as he speaks, each word filled with raw intensity. His hips snap forward again, making your breath hitch in your throat.

You want to respond, but the words dissolve into a moan, your body too overwhelmed to form any sentence. Your nails dig into his back, clinging to him as he continues to drive into you with steady, purposeful thrusts.

Ryan groans in frustration, his breath ragged as his lips press harder against your neck. “Tell me, baby, please,” he begs, his voice thick with need, every word dripping with desperation. You can feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tremble as he pushes himself to give you everything.

“N-no one, Ryan,” you manage to choke out between gasps as you feel another wave of pleasure threaten to crash over you.

A grin tugs at the corners of his lips, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “That’s right,” he murmurs against your skin. “No one else can even come close.” He thrusts harder, his pace increasing, and you can feel his body vibrating with pride, with the need to prove it to you again and again.

“H-How could they?” you manage to whisper, the words tumbling out between moans. “Captain of Team USA. MVP of the World Juniors…” Your voice shakes with a mixture of awe and desire, the weight of his accomplishments sinking into the space between you.

Ryan groans at your words, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as his pace quickens. His fingers tighten on your hips, grinding deeper into you as if he’s feeding off your praise. “Say it again,” he demands, his voice rough and needy.

You bite your lip, barely able to form words through the haze of pleasure. “You’re the best, Ryan. No one else—no one else even comes close.” Your back arches as he hits a new angle, sending a jolt of pleasure through you that makes you gasp. “...Fuck, no one could ever make me feel like this,” you moan, your voice trembling with honesty.

His thrusts become almost frantic now, every word you say driving him harder. His mouth crashes down onto yours, swallowing your moans as he pounds into you, his body slick with sweat as he pushes you closer to the edge. Every thrust feels like a declaration, a reminder of who he is—not just the best on the ice, but the best at making you fall apart beneath him.

“I love you so much,” you murmur against his lips, your voice trembling, barely able to hold steady in the moment.

Your confession seems to break something inside him. Ryan’s breath hitches sharply, his body tensing as he teeters on the edge of release. His eyes squeeze shut, and a small, broken whimper escapes his lips as he finally loses control, his release hitting him hard. With a deep, guttural groan, he pushes into you one last time, his body shaking as he spills inside you. The sensation of him coming undone makes your own body quiver in response, your fingers digging into his back as he rides out the waves of his climax.

But he doesn’t stop there. His hips keep moving, thrusting faster, harder, as he tries to prolong the feeling, fucking through the overwhelming pleasure of his orgasm. The intensity of it all—his release, the way his body grinds into yours—sends you spiraling toward the edge. Your breathing quickens, every nerve in your body alight with sensation as he pushes you closer, each thrust driving you higher.

Your vision blurs, the pleasure becoming almost too much to bear, and then suddenly, it crashes over you. Your back arches off the bed, and a strangled moan of his name rips from your throat, your entire body shaking as you fall apart beneath him. The way his name slips from your lips feels like a prayer, desperate and raw, as you reach your high, the intensity of your orgasm sweeping through you like a tidal wave.

Ryan’s grip on you tightens, his forehead pressed against yours as he watches you come undone beneath him. His breaths are ragged, mingling with your own, both of you lost in the shared ecstasy.

Slowly, his movements begin to still, his body heavy with exhaustion as he collapses against you, both of you spent and breathless. Your heart pounds in your chest, matching the rhythm of his as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing your skin in a soft, lingering kiss.

"Shit, that was so good," he rasps, his voice low and breathless, still coming down from the intensity of it all. His chest rises and falls heavily against yours, both of you wrapped in the haze of post-orgasm bliss.

A dazed chuckle escapes your lips as you catch your breath. "Who do you think was the MVP of what just happened?" You tease.

Ryan lets out a soft laugh, his chest vibrating against yours with the sound. He leans up on his forearms, lifting his head just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes twinkling with amusement and lingering affection. His grin broadens as he looks down at you, his expression softening as he takes you in.

"Oh. You," he says with a chuckle, his voice laced with certainty as he leans down to capture your lips again. "No question."

#ryan leonard #ryan leonard imagine #ryan leonard imagines #ryan leonard smut #ryan leonard x reader #ryan leonard x you #ryan leonard fic #ryan leonard fanfiction

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pianokantzart · 2 years ago

Text

YES! GOOD! I’m going to just going to analyze the whole dinner scene, because it’s one of my favorite parts of the movie.

Mario and Luigi walk in, and immediately the whole room lights up to greet them. Despite everything that follows, one thing is clear: The Mario Brothers are happy to see their family, and the family is happy to see them.

The whole family confirms that they watched their commercial. Everyone except their mom insists the commercial was a bad idea, but the fact that they all watched it speaks to the fact that there is no indifference regarding Mario and Luigi’s dream. They’re eager to see where this endeavor leads, even if they think it’s going to end in failure.

The moment Mario and Luigi sit down at the table, their uncles begin laying into them like it’s open season on financially struggling plumbers. Just full blown, no-holds-barred roast mode on their nephews.

Mario is on the defensive, but he doesn’t get angry, he’s just trying to argue his side. Clearly this is typical behavior for Uncle Tony and Uncle Arthur. They’re loud, overly honest, and obnoxiously confident in their opinions. Uncle Arthur, thankfully, has his wife to keep him in check. Uncle Tony, however, who is seated next to poor Luigi, is an absolute menace.

Luigi ignores all the teasing. He is only interested in getting food, but this is not an easy task. Tony’s verbal arguments are all directed at Mario, but Luigi is the one who gets prodded and shoved around, and that makes getting dinner next to impossible.

Luigi attempts to serve himself salad, attempts to ask for a roll, attempts to eat the mushrooms being put on his plate, and at every turn he’s either pushed away or talked over. He is clearly very soft spoken compared to the other men in his family, and never quite had the strength to stand up for himself... after all, everyone means well, they just lack self awareness. It isn’t worth the fight.

Thankfully, Luigi’s mom comes to the rescue, and puts a bowl of soup in front of her boy. She’s the queen of the caretaker role, making sure all the loose ends are tied up and that everybody eats.

But on the flip side, it’s interesting to note that once the uncles start tearing into Mario, Mario’s Dad serves him up a plate of food. He may have just been serving the person next to him because that was the polite thing to do, but I have a theory...

I think that this wasn’t the first night that Mario and his uncles went at each other. I think Mario’s Dad read the room, and figured that if Mario was going to spend dinner playing defense, he should at least remember to eat while doing so.

It also speaks volumes that Mario’s Dad doesn’t voice his disapproval until Mario asks for his opinion. Before then he avoids the subject and lets everyone else do the talking, but so long as he’s being questioned directly, he can’t help but be honest.

“I think... you’re nuts. You don’t quit a steady job for some crazy dream.” This sounds like a voice of experience. Mario’s Dad has the figure of someone who has worked physical labor for a good portion of his life (look the size of those arms). He may have had dreams of his own when he was younger, but he had a wife and kids to worry about, and family took priority.

Speaking of family taking priority: “... and the worst part? You’re bringing your brother down with you.” That settles it. The conversation has gone from a casual roast session to dead serious. The entire room falls quiet as Mario puts down his fork and storms off.

“What’d I say?” Everybody at the table (except the niece, she’s long since checked out) gives Mario’s Dad different versions of the look™. Uncle Tony and Uncle Arthur have the same “Jesus Christ bro, you didn’t have to go there” expression, and Luigi just looks hurt on Mario’s behalf. His Dad, however, is just confused.

He didn’t get the gravity of what he said. His relationship with his own brothers– loudmouthed schmucks who call their own shots – is completely alien to what Luigi and Mario have. He probably knows Mario is protective of Luigi, but he doesn’t realize the depth of responsibility Mario feels for him. Anyone can see that Luigi is loyal to his brother, but Mario alone knows how loyal he is, and the implication that he’s betraying that loyalty is intensely painful.

I doubt Uncle Arthur and Uncle Tony truly relate to Mario and Luigi’s relationship either, but they’ve probably teased Mario enough to understand one thing: bringing Luigi into it is a line you do not cross.

Conclusion:

There is a lot of love in the Mario family.

Uncle Tony and Uncle Arthur are definitely the most insufferable of the bunch, but there is no malice in their teasing. While they are brash and overbearing, it’s all in good fun, and they get visibly uncomfortable when things go too far and someone actually ends up hurt.

Luigi seems to take after his mother; kind, nonconfrontational, and happily invested in a supporting role. While his Mom cares for and assists the family, Luigi cares for and assists his brother, both emotionally and in his business ventures.

Mario, in the meantime, takes after his Dad, who appears to be the oldest of the three brothers. He doesn’t always think before speaking, but he isn’t constantly running his mouth like Arthur or Tony, and acts with the gravity of someone who bears a lot of responsibility. He doesn’t quite “get” his sons, but he knows enough to see that Luigi follows his brother everywhere, and Mario does not always think before jumping into things. Despite what Mario may believe, his Dad doesn’t see him as a “joke” so much as he sees him as an impulsive young man who doesn’t grasp the consequences of his actions. But Mario does understand the consequences of his actions, he just dreams big, and... thanks to Luigi... actually has the support he needs to pursue those dreams.

#mario movie #mario movie spoilers #super mario brothers movie #Luigi #Mario #Not Art #mario commentary #This got a lot longer than I thought it would #There were a lot of thoughts #Super Mario Brothers #Long Post

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charliedaltonswife · 11 days ago

Note

as henry’s longtime friend, he becomes irritated with your blossoming friendship with newcomer richard. it’s not until he notices the copy of sapphos on your nightstand that things boil over. he confronts you about the romantic nature of these poems, and amidst a tense argument, true feelings are revealed. for the poems were never about richard, after all…

basically a childhood friends with a secret crush moment…i can see henry being a real asshole to mask his jealousy 🤭

A Jealous Temper

Henry Winter x reader (The Secret History)

thank you nonnie, i got carried away and wrote a bit much!

Summary: read the request

Warnings: none i believe

master list found here

The first time Henry Winter spoke to you, he was six years old, standing stiffly in the corner of the garden where the other children were playing tag. His hair was slicked down, his shoes too shiny, and he looked at you like you were some curious artifact he wasn’t quite sure how to categorize.

You’d been sitting cross-legged in the grass, inspecting a row of ants marching determinedly toward a crumb of bread. When you noticed him, standing there awkwardly with his hands tucked behind his back, you tilted your head and said, “Why aren’t you playing with the others?”

He hesitated, glancing toward the chaos of shouting children. “They’re loud,” he said, his tone careful, precise. “And uncoordinated.”

You grinned, patting the patch of grass beside you. “Come sit, then. I’m watching ants.”

Henry blinked at you, as though you’d suggested something scandalous, but after a moment’s deliberation, he lowered himself primly onto the ground, folding his legs with an almost comical rigidity. He followed your gaze to the ants, his expression skeptical.

“They’re taking crumbs to their queen,” you explained, your voice filled with the kind of certainty only a child could muster.

Henry’s brows knit together. “Ants don’t have queens.”

“Yes, they do,” you said confidently, pointing at the tiny black shapes. “They work together. She’s the boss. My mom said so.”

He frowned, considering this. “Well,” he finally said, “if they do have a queen, I don’t think she’s their boss. Maybe they just… like her. Enough to work for her.”

You squinted at him, considering his words. “That’s silly. Why would they do that?”

He shrugged, his small shoulders rising and falling with a kind of gravity that seemed out of place on someone so young. “Sometimes you do things for people you like. Even if you don’t have to.”

You thought about that for a moment, then nodded solemnly. “Okay, but I still think she’s the boss.”

Henry didn’t argue further, but when he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, there was the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.

“You’re strange,” you said suddenly, matter-of-factly.

“So are you,” he replied, without missing a beat.

You both sat there in silence after that, watching the ants move back and forth, and somehow, it felt like the beginning of something neither of you could quite name.

Henry Winter had always been your anchor. The quiet, calculated one, always intent on the precision of things, be it philosophy or life itself. Since childhood, he had been a constant in your world, a steady, unshakable presence that you always relied on. He was, in many ways, the center of your universe, your closest confidant.

But lately, things had started to shift, even if you hadn’t yet dared to acknowledge it.

Richard Papen had come into the picture, a newcomer, full of naive wonder and an earnest desire to belong. He wasn’t like Henry, not in the least. He was raw, emotional, brimming with questions about the world. You’d found his curiosity infectious, and somehow, it had drawn you in. You’d never expected it to happen, this budding friendship with Richard.

But Henry wasn’t blind.

It was in the way he began to avoid you in the hallways, his sharp gaze always cutting across you like a razor, a silent edge to his every movement. He wasn’t outright hostile, but there was a coldness there, an intensity you didn’t fully understand.

You awoke to the sharp, unforgiving sound of your blinds being yanked open, the cold gray light of the morning spilling into the room like an unwelcome guest.

“God, Henry,” you groaned, pulling your blanket over your head as the sound of his measured footsteps approached. “It’s Saturday. Let me sleep.”

“You’ve already wasted half the morning,” came his reply, that low, calm cadence of his voice carrying a faint hint of exasperation. You heard the faint rustle of papers being straightened, books shifted on your desk, as he went about his usual routine of tidying up your chaos.

“Some of us need rest,” you shot back, peeking out from beneath the covers. “Not all of us wake at dawn to contemplate the Iliad.”

“And yet you’re always behind,” he quipped, his tone dry but tinged with amusement. He turned then, and you caught sight of the Sappho resting on your nightstand, its faded spine a familiar sight among your ever-growing collection. He picked it up without asking, examining it with a critical eye.

“Interesting choice,” he said after a beat.

You sat up, the covers pooling around your waist, and frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His pale eyes met yours, glinting with something unreadable. “Only that it’s sentimental,” he said, turning the book over in his hands. “And I wouldn’t have pegged you as sentimental.”

You crossed your arms, already sensing where this was going. “It’s poetry, Henry. It’s not an oh so deep confession of love darling.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice deceptively mild. But there was something sharper beneath it, a needle hidden in the silk.

Before you could reply, he set the book down with a deliberate motion, the soft thud of it echoing in the quiet room. His gaze fixed on you, “what exactly is it about Sappho that’s captured your attention lately?”

You rolled your eyes, pulling yourself out of bed with an annoyed huff. “Is this some kind of interrogation?”

“Should it be?” he countered smoothly, leaning back against your desk.

“For fuck sake,” You grumbled before grabbing a sweater from the back of your chair, slipping it over your sleep-rumpled shirt. “Why do you care?”

“I’m merely curious,” he said, though the tightness in his voice suggested otherwise. “It’s not as though I’ve seen you so invested in lyric poetry before.”

You were about to respond when there was a soft knock at the door, breaking the tension. You frowned and moved to open it, only to find Richard standing there, looking sheepish as he glanced between you and Henry.

Richards' very short glance down to your bare legs didn’t go unnoticed by Henry.

“Sorry,” Richard said quickly, shifting on his feet. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was just wondering if you wanted to get breakfast.”

You hesitated, glancing back at Henry, whose expression had hardened into something unreadable.

“Breakfast?” you repeated, stalling.

“I’ll be fine here,” Henry interjected smoothly, though his tone was anything but warm. “Don’t let me keep you.”

Richard looked faintly uncomfortable, clearly picking up on the tension, but you forced a smile and turned back to him. “Maybe later,” you said quickly. “I’m still waking up and I haven’t done my translation for class yet.”

God you were stupid. It was Saturday, you didn’t have any work due. You hoped Richard hadn't noticed you were lying and offended him.

“Right,” Richard said, nodding awkwardly. “No problem. I’ll see you later, then.” He gave you a quick smile before retreating down the hall.

When you closed the door and turned back to Henry, he was watching you with an expression that was far too measured, far too composed.

“Richard,” he said, his tone flat. “And they say chivalry is dead.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Don’t start.”

“Start what?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Merely an observation.”

“You’re impossible, you know that?” you muttered, sinking back onto the edge of your bed.

“And you’re evasive,” he shot back, his voice cool. “What exactly is it about him that’s so fascinating?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Henry, can we not do this?”

“Do what?” he pressed, his voice sharper now. “I’m merely trying to understand why you’ve been so,” He stopped himself, his jaw tightening. “Distracted.”

You looked up at him, something hot and defensive flaring in your chest. “I’m not distracted,” you snapped. “And even if I were, it’s none of your business.”

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the room felt impossibly small, the air thick with something unspoken. “Is that what you think?” he asked, his voice low. “That this isn’t my business?”

Henry stepped closer, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the room as the tension thickened. He picked up the copy of Sappho from the desk once again, the movement deliberate, as if it were some damning piece of evidence. His thumb brushed over the worn edge of the cover, his expression unreadable, save for the faint crease between his brows.

“You never answered my question,” he said quietly, his voice low and even. Too even. “Why this?”

You met his gaze, feeling the weight of it settle over you like a heavy blanket. “I told you. Poetry. I like it.”

“Poetry,” he repeated, his lips curling ever so slightly in something that might have been a sneer, though he caught himself before it could fully take shape. “I got this for you years ago, you’ve had this for years, and yet it’s suddenly in heavy rotation. Why now?”

Your jaw tightened, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Must there always be an ulterior motive with you?”

“With you? No,” he said, the words sharp but delivered with a deceptively calm tone. “With others perhaps. Maybe Richard.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” you snapped, rising from the bed. “Not everything is about him!”

“Isn’t it?” he countered, the question cutting through the air like a blade. His pale eyes glinted, the frustration finally breaking through his carefully cultivated veneer. “You’ve been bending over backwards to welcome him, to include him in everything, to make him comfortable. Do you know how absurd it is to watch you fawn over him?”

“Fawn? God you’re infuriating sometimes,” you repeated, your voice incredulous. “I’m being polite. He’s new, Henry. Unlike you, not everyone thrives on cold indifference!”

His jaw clenched, the muscles working as he stared at you, unblinking. “It’s more than that,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “You’ve been distant as well.”

“Maybe because I’m tired of walking on eggshells around you,” you shot back, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

His eyes widened, just a fraction, before narrowing again. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” you said, taking a step toward him, “that you can be difficult Henry. That you push people away the second they do something you don’t like. That you act like every little thing is a betrayal.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, his expression hardening like stone. Then, slowly, he raised the book again, flipping it open to a random page. His eyes scanned the text, and when he spoke, his voice was laced with cold amusement.

“‘He is more than a hero,’” he read aloud, his tone almost mocking. “‘He is a god in my eyes, the man who is allowed to sit beside you.’” He snapped the book shut, his gaze cutting into you like a knife. “Tell me. You have this underlined. A god like Richard does not make you distant from other people?”

The question hit you like a punch to the chest, knocking the wind out of you. Your mouth opened, then closed again, no words forming.

“Nothing to say?” he pressed, stepping closer until he was just a breath away. “I wonder why.”

Your fists clenched at your sides, your heart pounding in your chest. “You don’t get to do this,” you said, your voice shaking with anger. “You don’t get to pick apart my life like it’s some academic exercise. Not when you-” You stopped yourself, biting back the rest of the sentence.

“Not when I what?” he asked, his voice deceptively soft.

“Not when you’re just as guilty,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes darkened, his expression tightening like a coil about to snap. “Guilty of what?”

“Of pretending you don’t care,” you said, your voice gaining strength. “Of acting like nothing matters to you, like you’re above it all. But you’re not, Henry. You care. You care too much, and you hate it.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and damning. For a moment, the room was silent, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating.

Then, slowly, Henry’s shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him. He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers shaking ever so slightly.

The air between you was suffocating. The lamplight spilled across the room, flickering against the tight angles of Henry’s face, his eyes glinting like sharpened steel. He stood so close now, the faint scent of tobacco and cold winter air clinging to him, and you felt the pull of his presence like a magnet, impossible to resist even as anger boiled hot beneath your skin.

“You think you know me,” he said, voice low and taut as a string about to snap.

“I do,” you shot back, your words sharp enough to draw blood. “I’ve known you since you were a little boy. And that’s why I know exactly what this is about.”

“Oh, enlighten me, then,” Henry sneered, the edge in his voice like shattered glass. “Please, spare no detail.”

You stepped closer, your chest brushing his, your heartbeat hammering so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “This isn’t about Sappho. Or Richard. This is about you, Henry. About the fact that you can’t stand the idea of not being the center of the world.”

His eyes flashed, his jaw tightening as his breath hitched. “You think I’m upset that I’m not the centre of your world?” he said, but the words came out clipped, frayed at the edges, “don’t be absurd.”

“Admit it,” you pressed, your voice quieter now, trembling with something that wasn’t quite anger anymore. “Admit that you hate it. That it drives you mad to think of someone else being close to me.”

His silence was deafening. He stared at you, his gaze fierce and searching, as if trying to crack you open and read the truth written inside. And then, without warning, he moved.

His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist, the motion so sudden it made you gasp. He pulled you closer, the heat of his body overwhelming, his breath fanning across your face.

“Is that what you want me to say?” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, sending a shiver down your spine. “That I think about it constantly? That it makes me sick to imagine someone else touching you, hearing your laugh, knowing things about you that I don’t?”

You froze, his words hitting you like a physical blow, your breath caught in your throat.

“Tell me,” he demanded, his grip on your wrist tightening ever so slightly, his eyes dark and burning.

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. Instead, you did the only thing you could think to do: you leaned in, closing the infinitesimal space between you, and pressed your lips to his.

The kiss was a collision, all teeth and heat and fury. His hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and you grabbed the front of his shirt, twisting the fabric in your fists. There was no softness in it, no tenderness; just the raw, unfiltered need that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long it felt like it might consume you both.

He kissed you like he was trying to prove a point, like he was staking a claim. And maybe he was. His teeth scraped against your bottom lip, and you gasped, giving him the chance to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that left you dizzy.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your faces so close you could feel the warmth of his skin against yours. His hand was still tangled in your hair, his thumb brushing against your jaw in a way that was almost tender, despite the fire in his eyes.

“Say it,” he whispered, his voice rough and low, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Say what?” you managed, your own voice barely above a whisper.

“That it wasn’t about him,” he said, his gaze locking onto yours, unrelenting. “That it’s never been about him.”

“It hasn’t,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “It’s always been about you, Henry.”

Something in his expression shifted then, the anger giving way to something deeper, rawer. He exhaled sharply, his hand slipping from your hair to cradle your face, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone.

“Good,” he said simply. Then, after a pause, his voice dropped even lower, almost inaudible. “Do you remember those ants?”

“What?” you asked, your brow furrowing, though your fingers stayed clinging to the fabric of his shirt.

His lips quirked in the faintest of smiles, though his eyes still burned with that unreadable intensity. “You said they only followed their queen because she was the boss. But I told you back then, it wasn’t that. They followed her beca-”

“They wanted to. Because they cared about her.” you asked softly, your voice barely audible.

His hand slid to your neck, his thumb brushing the pulse point there. “I follow because I can’t help it,” he said. “Because I care. Because it’s you.”

Your chest tightened at his words, and before you could overthink it, you leaned in again, capturing his mouth in another kiss. This one wasn’t a collision; it was an unraveling, slow and deliberate, every touch of his lips against yours speaking the words neither of you had dared to say until now.

a/n: look at me fucking churning these requests out, hope you all like them loves!!!

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hollycrowned · 6 months ago

Text

cipherhunt log: some sunny day

It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?

On July 27th, I went to the Hillsboro Barnes & Noble signing event for The Book of Bill. I’ve decided to come back to this account at least for a moment to write a little bit about what it was like. At the end of this post, there’s some Cipher Hunt related news, so be sure to read all the way through.

The Q&A was a lot of fun. There was excitement in the air even before the event began, with eager fans wearing Dipper hats and flannel shirts hurrying to their seats. A few fans were in cosplay, too, which was heartwarming to see. While there were several kids with their parents in the audience, most of the fans there were younger adults—which really made it hit me that the series first aired over ten years ago.

By total accident I ended up next to the door Alex stepped through and caught his entrance:

Alex has the type of charm that can get anyone laughing, and his own laughter is contagious. I didn’t record much of the talk, wanting to simply experience it, but here’s a short video I took of him talking about how The Book of Bill came about:

Over the half hour, Alex talked about the the book itself, about the show, his characters, and about creating a television series. Fans, when the mic was turned over to the audience, said what they love most about the series and asked about intentionality and the possibility of crossovers (Alex’s immediate “yes” was a hit). Alex expressed after one question that while he never could have guessed that people would like Gravity Falls so much, he’s grateful for the enduring love fans have for the show.

The event coordinator, who schooled a few questions to Alex before mic was given over to the audience, asked what I think we all want to know: “What are you working on right now?” Alex gave the answer he’s given in the past: that as is typical in Hollywood, he can’t talk about the projects he’s currently involved in.

If you were around when I was active here, you might remember that by the time I left, my focus had become to follow Alex through his career. To recap: after Gravity Falls ended, Deadline reported in 2018 that Alex had signed a multi-year exclusive contract with Netflix. Not long after, Netflix announced the opening of its own animation studio, alongside a reel showcasing some of the artists they’d recruited. The reel highlighted that this group of artists included industry legends, young talent, and diverse voices; each artist in the reel talked how excited they were for what the studio itself meant the future of animation, and for the opportunity to work there. Alex was in this reel, too.

Although I’ve moved on to other fandoms and my own creative work, I’ve kept up with movements in the animation industry. If you have, too, you may know about the massive cuts and cancellations Netflix has made in the last several years, especially to its animation department. Alex has produced and consulted on a few projects at Netflix since his contract began—chief among them Inside Job, which was initially renewed by for a second season before Netflix reversed their decision six months later and cancelled the series altogether. Shion Takeuchi, the creator of Inside Job and previous writer on Gravity Falls, confirmed the cancellation, saying “I’m heartbroken.” Alex, in a reply, expressed the same, adding, “Grateful to have had the chance to help on one of my best friends shows, for however briefly”.

In the six years since Alex signed his contract with Netflix, there have been hints that he’s been working on a series with his name on the masthead. In late 2020, he tweeted about staffing his new show:

But if his project was among the cuts Netflix made a few years after that, he gave no sign of it in his answer.

It’s jarring, and saddening, to watch that reel from 2018 with the knowledge of what has happened since. Outside of Netflix, things seem just as dire, with the dragging of AI into animation giants like Disney and Dreamworks by their corporate executives—notably, as The Animation Guilds’ contract approached its expiration date. In 2023, Vulture published an article which included testimonies from four artists who worked on Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse about the unsustainable working conditions at Sony while the film was in production. Over the last few years, Warner Bros has shelved two animated films and one hybrid for multimillion-dollar tax write-offs. In addition, their subsidiary HBO Max purged multiple animated series from its catalogue, denying the artists who worked on them access to their own works—and for some of them, residuals as well.

The final question at the Q&A was from a fan who said that they’re currently in school for animation. They asked Alex if he had any advice for new animators trying to break into the industry. Immediately, my mind went to all of that news I linked in the paragraphs above. I listened intently…

Alex’s response did not have hopelessness in it. He did talk, foremost and with humor, about how risky it is to pursue art as a career, especially at this moment—laughed, as he ended a sentence with, “Don’t go into the arts.” But he moved on from that, and gave an even more honest reply: hone your skills, put your work out there, and don’t give up. Be persistent, share what you make, make what you love. Make sure it’s easy for people to contact you, explore feelings through your work even when it’s uncomfortable, and show your work to others, even though it’s scary. Alex also remarked on creating itself being hard work, from the raw process to putting your art out there to taking criticism to learning from what didn’t work and applying it to your drafts and future projects. Hard work, challenging in more ways than one, on top of an unforgiving cultural moment, yes—but keep going. Keep creating.

Keep making art.

Then the Q&A ended, and the signing began. I found myself at the end of the line, but I didn’t mind; neither did anyone else waiting with me. In the moments when I wasn’t chatting with other fans, I thought about that last question and Alex’s response.

There is little that is easy about being an artist these days. I have come to know this by having friends who are artists, by following the careers and accounts of other artists, by reading the news, and—since becoming an artist myself—finding out firsthand. But I have come to know, just as well, that the best remedy for these ills is community. Whether you create art as a hobby or you have a career in the arts, whether your medium is collaborative or solitary in nature: in the face of intolerable working conditions, cutthroat corporations and corner-cutting clients, the advantages they take, the instability and uncertainty, and what all artists can relate to: the challenges of the creative process itself—it’s the support of your fellow artists that helps you survive. It helps art survive. A community that creates alongside you can give trusted critique, celebrate with you, stand up for you, introduce you to other artists you can learn from, and give what is necessary for so many of us to create at all: encouragement. A voice that says, keep creating. This gives to the world what is necessary for us all: more art.

If tech companies develop their AI by stealing from artists, if the c-suites who own the studios see artists as disposable, with the way freelancing can throw water on creative fire, if popular opinion increasingly trends toward art only having as much value as money it makes, then we must support each other. Helpful, practical advice given by a successful artist on how to succeed in the arts in this particular moment is a gem to anyone who is reaching for that goal. But invaluable and eternal is example; not just of success, but of how to be good to your fellow artists—and in turn, to yourself.

And I just think that’s how an artist ought to be.

As the line moved, and I got close enough to see the signing table across the room, I watched Alex greet the fans ahead of me. I found that he was as sweet to people as I always have heard he is, as I remember from watching the Periscopes he appeared in during Cipher Hunt: generous with his time, genuine, and good-natured. One fan skipped away from the table with their book, and a big smile on their face.

And then it was my turn.

When you meet him, he looks you in the eye. I always forget, until I shake someone else’s hand, how small my own hands are. I told him my name is Holly. He asked, “Spelled how it sounds?” I spelled it for him, reflexively, before I could fully process the question and simply say yes. I said lightheartedly that he must be extra happy to see us, being that we were at the end of the line—it was over three hours after the event had begun—and he said, “I’m sorry you all had to wait for this long.” While he was signing my copy, I asked if he was enjoying Portland—though what I really meant to ask was if he was happy to be back in the PNW, in the summertime. He said yes, he loves it here.

It all happened so fast, with me completely forgetting that I’d passed my phone to a kind father of some fans waiting near me in line, and I almost walked away without getting a picture with him. When you meet a celebrity crush from your younger years, it has you reckon with how the part of you who crushed back then has walked with you through time—in what ways who you were back then is still a part of who you are now, and who you want to be. And, of course, it gets your heart beating a little faster, too.

There was much more I wanted to ask him (this has never stopped being the case), but there were other fans waiting for their turn, and he had given his time to just shy of 150 people already. So I smiled at him, and said thank you, and moved along.

I am, and always will be, excited to see anything Alex makes. Hearing him talk about his art, and artistry, and being an artist, was beyond wonderful; not only young Holly’s wish come true, but inspiring for Holly, today—as an artist in my own right. In the years since I retired this account, as I’ve read all this news about the industry, I’ve often wondered how Alex has been. I am very happy and grateful I was lucky enough to get a ticket to the signing, and meet him.

And finally…the Cipher Hunt news.

First: the fan waiting in front of me in the signing line (I’m so sorry I didn’t get your name, but if you’re reading this, I hope you had a safe and smooth flight back home!) said she had been to Confusion Hill recently, and that Bill and the treasure box are still there. I haven’t been to Confusion Hill since I last went in 2017–before COVID—but I think about Bill and the treasure box all the time. It made me so happy to hear that fans are still visiting and exchanging treasures. I hope I get to go again, someday soon.

The second announcement: by chance, I happened to meet a fan who is working on a documentary about Cipher Hunt. I introduced myself and said I’d be more than happy to help out with the project! The creator, Keyan Carlile, can be found on both Twitter and YouTube. I hope you’ll follow along!

I met so many other lovely fans while waiting in line, as well. There is still so much affection and excitement for this series, and it was so nice to step back into the fandom, if only or a moment. If we spoke with each other: it was so nice to meet you! Maybe our paths will cross again, someday. And to everyone, all of the fans who were there, and all of you out there with The Book of Bill:

happy reading!! ∆

#gravity falls #alex hirsch #the book of bill #cipher hunt #cipherhunt #logs only

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orqheuss · 2 years ago

Text

In the pursuit of knowledge

(Ominis/F!Reader SMUT)

Summary:

“Have you ever been kissed, Ominis?”

***

It's after curfew, and you and Ominis are tipsy on firewhiskey in the Undercroft. The sexual tension is heavy in the air-- what are two teenagers secretly in love to do?

Ao3 link here

Smut based on a drawing by @gangstagandalf

“Have you ever been kissed, Ominis?”

You were lying on the floor of the Undercroft, your legs crossed in front of you and your hands resting on your abdomen as you gazed upwards. A small smile creased your face as you asked the blond next to you the question that had been on your mind since the firewhiskey entered your system a few hours ago, your foot lightly tapping his where they touched. Ominis was leaning against one of the many columns in the space, his head resting heavily against the stone and his legs stretched as well, forming an L shape with your bodies. You both were pleasantly tipsy by this point, a soft warmth filling your bodies and a lovely little fog swirling through your minds. Sebastian had left not long ago, claiming that he was off to his bedchambers to sleep off his inevitable hangover; you had a sneaking suspicion that he was actually going to go bother a particular brunette Hufflepuff with a soft spot for beasts, though.

The boy pondered this for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing at his brow. He swirled the bottle of whiskey in his hand around, tapping the base of it against his thigh. A hum left his closed lips before he spoke. “No, never really had the inclination to.” He leaned forward slightly, raising the bottle to his lips and taking a small drag of the amber liquid before letting gravity pull him back towards the pillar with a thump. He sighed heavily and closed his eyes. “Many have tried, but it didn’t feel right.”

A look of confusion passed over your face, your lips tweaking into a small frown as you raised up to your elbows. “What do you mean?”

He lazed his head towards your direction, eyes still closed but a close-lipped smile creeping up his cheeks. “I always thought my first kiss should be with someone I cared deeply for— maybe even loved, if it came to that. My parents have tried to set me up a numerous amount of times, but I didn’t feel anything for the girls they introduced me to.” He turned away from you again, his eyes opening and staring unseeing at the arched ceiling. “I want all the feelings people talk about— the butterflies, the fireworks, the encompassing warmth, not just my name signed next to some random woman that my mother deemed ‘appropriate’ for me so we can keep the bloodline strong.” He cleared his throat, swallowing around the sudden nervousness that rested there. “What about you? Has there been anyone?”

You hummed in thought, nodding along with his words. “I’ve been waiting for the same, though I can’t say I’ve had many strong contenders.”

You watched as a chuckle took over his visage, his perfect teeth glowing in the candlelight and his shoulders lightly shaking with mirth. “Yes, I imagine there aren’t many good choices in our current pool of suitors.”

A snort blew out of your nose against your consent, your expression twisting into one that said “no shit.” “Agreed. Most only want one thing anyway, and if I haven’t kissed anyone yet I’m certainly not doing that. At least, not with just anyone.”

Ominis made a sound of annoyance in the back of his throat, the smile falling from his face as fast as it appeared and his eyebrows pinching downwards. “If those neanderthals only care about getting their dick wet, they don’t deserve your time.”

You laughed loudly, the crassness of his words startling you. After a few moments, he joined you with his own sounds of joy, ending with both of you breathing heavily and a rosy flush across your cheeks. Your hazy, intoxicated eyes floated over to his form, taking a moment in the calm to drink him in entirely. Nearly everyone knew that you liked the blond boy— everyone except him, of course. No matter how many times you’ve tried to hint at your feelings, each one completely went over his head. Some had told you to just give up, that he was never going to get it or he was just trying to spare your feelings by ignoring your advances, but you truly couldn’t help it; the boy was beautiful inside and out. It certainly didn’t help your hunger for him that he had decided it was too hot earlier and undone the first few buttons of his shirt, unknotting his tie in the process and leaving it loose around his neck. You took in his birth marks first, tracing each and every little dot from the corner of his eye, down the tops of his collarbones, all the way to his long, lithe fingers still wrapped around the neck of the square shaped bottle. Merlin, even his fingernails were lovely; you had never admired the small details of someone before him— how his elbows sat outside of his rolled up sleeves, the length of his golden eyelashes, the curve and pale pink color of his cupids brow. Your eyes danced over the curve of his mouth, wishing desperately to know what he tasted like. Would he be sweet, like the candies he loved so much? Would he be bitter like the firewhiskey on his breath? Or would he be something entirely new, something you had never tasted before? Your cheeks burned at the thought. Moving slowly upwards his face, you got caught on the sharpness of his cheekbones next. One wrong move and you could cut yourself on those ridges. You thought that would be a beautiful reason to bleed. Trailing up the soft curve of his ear, you admired his flaxen hair under the low lighting. The tiny blazes of the floating wicks caught each strand growing from his scalp and transformed them into spools of pure golden silk. You wondered if it was as soft as it looked— if it would look as pretty grasped between your fingers, if the light would catch it the same from between your thighs—

Your heartbeat stuttered in your chest, a familiar warmth growing in your lower stomach.

Cutting off your lewd thoughts, you snapped your eyes to his, watching the pale blue irises dance in the firelight. They were almost ethereal— otherworldly, you would say. There was something about the color that drew you in like a moth to a flame. Or maybe it was the sparkle that resided inside, the hidden spark of mischief that rarely saw the light of day? Either way, you could stare into those eyes all day if he would let you. You didn’t know if it was the alcohol in your system or something about the intimacy of the situation at hand, but you wanted to swim in that blue. You wanted to jump in and dive all the way to the bottom of his mini-oceans. Drowning in his eyes would be your favorite way to go.

Your eyes flickered between his eyes and his lips, your tongue poking out to wet yours as you pondered your next move. Crawling up to your knees, you shuffled towards the boy, reaching your hand out for the whiskey in his grasp. You gently unwound his fingers from the neck, minutely shuddering from the dizzying spark that passed between your hands touching, and took a long drag. Ominis laughed at the little cough that escaped from you, his hand reaching up and smoothing his hair before flopping downwards and landing right on your thigh. His fingers slid dangerously under the hem of your skirt, smoothing against the tops of your thigh-high socks. Color spread across your face and down your neck at the pure heat that radiated from his palm— a matching blush stretching across the boys cheeks just the same. Even still, he made no move to change his grip, going as far as to squeeze the skin between his fingers unconsciously.

You swallowed roughly, your gulp near audible as you lifted your own hand into the air, letting it hover for a moment with nerves before steeling yourself and letting it fall atop of his. Pure need burned under your skin. Perhaps it was time to be more direct in your approach.

Clearing your throat, you leaned slightly closer to the very handsome Slytherin. “Ominis, you’d say we’re friends, correct?”

Confusion creased his face, a question dangling at the tip of his tongue. “Yes, you know you’re my closest friend besides Sebastian. Why?”

You shift closer, causing the both of your hands to slip further up your skin. The blond swallowed thickly, shifting slightly to alleviate the pressure building in his pants.

“Would you say you care for me?”

Ominis can smell the tension in the air around the both of you. He inhales it deeply, his eyes fluttering closed at the enticingness of it. His voice comes out as a stuttering breath. “Y-yes, you could say that.” Care was definitely putting it lightly— he had been smitten with you for Merlin knows how long.

In a bold movement, you shifted your weight and threw one of your legs to the other side of his, straddling his hips and pressing your heat against his thigh. His other hand shot up to hold you still at the waist. Both of you were panting, heaving breaths mingling in the space between your faces. Your hands came up to drape around his shoulders, one of your thumbs smoothing back and forth on the skin creeping out from under his starched collar. Leaning forward a bit more, your nose brushed against his, igniting the fireworks in your chest and sending your eyes fluttering shut. There were mere inches between the two of you— one move and you would fall into the sweet oblivion of his kiss.

The boy could hear your heart pounding in your chest; It was a comfort to know that you were just as nervous as he was. His grip tightened at your waist as his thumb mimicked the motions on his neck at the center of your thigh. He could feel himself getting excited where the both of you were connected, and his heart skipped a beat when your lips very lightly brushed against his— barely a touch but still so very tantalizing.

Your words were nothing more than a breath. “Can I kiss you, Ominis?”

He loved how his name sounded on your lips.

A low groan came from his chest, his voice thick with desire. “Please.”

And then there was no more space between the both of you. The kiss was gentle— lips carefully caressing against lips like two fragile pieces of glass. It felt like you were made to kiss him. Neither of you moved in fear of scaring the other away, your bodies stiff and hands trembling where they rested. After a moment you separated, breathing shakily against the other while your foreheads rested together. Ominis’ hands squeezed you harder, pressing his fingerprints into your skin and accidentally dragging his still moving thumb to your inner thigh. You sighed, a small moan humming in the back of your throat.

It was like a switch flipped in the blond at the sound— a primal hunger waking up inside of him at the sound of your pleasure. His lips surged forwards again, capturing yours in a searing kiss for the second time. He pressed you tightly to him, the hand on your thigh moving even farther up your skirt, passing over your bottom and pressing at your lower back. The other moved from your waist up to your head, weaving his fingers through your hair and gripping at your roots. You keened against him at the sudden pain, rolling your hips in search of a delicious friction you’d never known before. The blond’s tongue ran along your bottom lip, drawing a gasp from your throat and opening you up to his invasion. The absolutely sinful sounds of your tongues pressing together sent a shiver of arousal down your spine. Your hand snaked up the side of his neck, slithering into his golden locks and harshly tugging his head back so you could get to the supple skin at his collar. He hissed, mouth falling open in pleasure as you attacked the skin where his shoulder connected to his neck, leaving open mouthed kisses in the wake of each of your love bites. The hand at your back slid down and grabbed hold of your ass, grinding you down on his hard length and sending a tumbling moan from the both of your mouths.

The fingers tangled in your hair tugged you back lightly, dragging your face from his flesh and forcing you to meet his eyes. His pupils were blown out to their full size, the cicle of black nearly taking over the entirety of the soft blue pools in lust. His chest was heaving as he struggled to push air into his lungs and speak at the same time. “Wait— I need to know that you actually want to do this.” It felt like all of the air had been sucked out of your chest at the vulnerable look in his eyes. He was bearing his whole soul to you. “Call me selfish if you wish, but if we continue down this path I do not think I will be able to stop myself. Please tell me you want this as much as I do— that you burn for me as much as I burn for you.”

You breathed a laugh against his open lips, grabbing at the ends of his tie and pulling him closer once again. “I crave you more than I have ever craved anything else in this world.”

You cut off his sigh of relief with your mouth, teeth clashing together from the velocity. You use your hips to slightly rotate the both of you, pushing Ominis’ body backwards with your chest until you were lying back on the cold stone ground. He chuckled against you, biting your lip and pulling gently.

“Eager little minx, aren’t you?” You wanted to kiss that smug look from his face.

Your hands began to unbutton the rest of his shirt, leaning close and just teasing your lips on his neck. You felt wonderful against him. “May as well move to the next step— the pursuit of knowledge awaits no man.”

His barking laugh filled the chasmous space around you, ricocheting off the walls and echoing back to you before it was swallowed by a surprised moan from your teeth digging sharply into his collarbone, your hips rolling downwards in tandem. His large hands squeezed the flesh of your thighs, trembling in hesitation and restraint; he wanted nothing more than to grab you by the hips and drag you down across his throbbing length. You had similar plans it seemed as you pulled back and began unbuttoning your shirt. Ominis quickly captured your lips again, replacing your hands with his and all but ripping the fabric from your form, leaning upwards slightly on his elbows and shucking his own shirt from his body. You undid the button of your skirt as well, leaving you in just your underclothes. You moved to pull the long socks from your feet but a hand stopped you, a growl filled with pure, unfiltered want sending a pulse directly to your already dripping core.

“Leave them on.”

You frantically nodded, dropping your weight back onto his lap and grinding against him again. The sweet, sanguine sounds of each moan you dragged from his bruised throat furthered your movements. Incredibly annoyed at the fact that he still has trousers on, you reached your hands down and began to undo his belt, threading the leather through the buckle and tossing it in the direction of the rest of your clothes. You wanted to lick, to taste every single inch of his skin. Your fingers ghosted at the area where you connected, dragging your fingertips along his hard member and drawing an absolutely lewd whimper from his kiss-bruised mouth.

You whispered against the skin of his chest, taking one of nipples between your teeth and lightly biting. “May I?”

Ominis didn’t care what you were asking for, as long as you didn’t stop. “Fuck— yes, stars, please.”

Him begging for your touch was doing something to you.

You smiled against his ribs, pressing kisses to every freckle and mole you could find as you drifted downwards to his needy manhood. If someone were to tell Ominis that he died and had gone to heaven, he would have believed them— there was no way this was actually happening. A rouged blush dressed his entire body when he felt your fingers drag along the waistband of his trousers, your nails kissing his skin before popping open the button and dragging down the zipper. He lifted his hips to help you, hissing as you pulled his trousers and pants down to his knees and letting the cold air of his secret hideaway brush against his smoldering skin. His cock stood at attention in front of your eyes, the tip a brilliant pink and precum leaking from his slit. Your hot and heavy makeout session really got him going.

You licked your lips, your eyes trailing a particularly prominent vein along the underside. “Merlin, you’re beautiful.”

The praise drew another whine from his throat, and he threw one of his hands over his mouth to muffle the sound in embarrassment. You must have put some sort of spell on him, there was no way these sounds were voluntarily leaving him. You nipped at his hipbone in a warning, trailing your finger along the vein that was currently fascinating you.

“No muffling yourself, my love. Let me hear you— I love your voice so much.”

He hesitantly removed his hand from his mouth, choosing instead to run it through his hair and mess it up even more while his other hand reached down and threaded in your own locks.

You smiled wryly against the skin of his thigh. “Good boy.”

You punctuated your words with your tongue, dragging the appendage along the length of his twitching cock and drawing a long, thunderous moan from the boy below you. My, what lovely sounds he made. You smiled, pressing a kiss to his weeping tip before opening your mouth and taking him into your throat one inch at a time.

He made a choking sound in the back of his throat, pleasure flooding his system. “Fuuuck, you’re lips feel so good around me, darling.”

Darling. The pet name only spurred you along even more, your eyebrows knitting together as you fought against your gag reflex to fit even more of him into your awaiting throat. You were going to take him all the way to the hilt.

A stream of moans and grunts fell from Ominis’ throat as you bobbed your head up and down, finding a rhythm that works for the both of you. His fingers tightened in your hair, struggling against his need to grab your head and fuck into your throat. It wasn’t like he hadn’t experimented sexually before, he was a teenage boy after all. Masturbation was normal at this point in his life, but his hand never felt this good. Each bob of your head, each twist of your tongue along his length, sent a bolt of electricity down his spine and directly to the spot in his lower stomach where a knot of pleasure was forming. You lifted off of him with a pop, heaving air into your lungs and tonguing at his slit, and the blond saw stars. He wasn’t going to last much longer at this rate; his orgasm was fast approaching with every flick of your heavenly muscle. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for something as you inhaled and exhaled headily from your nose. He was about to ask what you were doing when you took him back into your mouth in his entirety, sliding his cock down your throat and letting your nose rest against the curls at the base. He couldn’t stop the sounds that came from him, each one higher pitched and more needy than the last. Ominis tugged at your hair, trying to pull you off before he finished.

“W-wait— Shit, I’m so close. Please, fuck, I’m gonna cum, wait—”

You didn’t listen, digging your nails into his hips and holding on for dear life. Your throat pulsated around him as you struggled to not gag, drawing a particularly loud and high pitch whimper from the blond. You reached down and thumbed at his taut sack, and he was a goner. A hiss that sounded distinctly like your name flew from his open mouth as he shot down your throat. You swallowed around him, licking at his slit for every last drop and pulling overstimulated keens from your lover’s throat. He yanked you off of him, an absolutely glorious blush covering the entirety of his body. You watched his chest heave up and down for a moment before you made your way back up to his face, smoothing your hand over his cheek and pushing the sweaty hair off of his temple before capturing his lips into a kiss. Ominis squeezed you as tight as he possibly could to his chest. You couldn’t help grinding against his softening dick, coating it with the slick that had begun to seep through the crotch of your panties and run down your leg. The Slytherin hissed between his teeth, grabbing your neck lightly and pulling you away. You chased his mouth and he chuckled.

“I can’t decide if you were sent here to save me, or kill me.”

He could feel your chuckle against his palm. “Why can’t I do both?”

He hooked one of his legs around yours, using the leverage to flip you over and press your back against the floor. Your mouth dropped open in pleasure from the feeling of his fingers tightening around your larynx. Ominis chuckled again, feeling your heartbeat pick up against where his thumb was on your pulse point.

“Oh, you like that? We’ll explore that more text time, I think.”

Next time. You liked the sound of a next time.

He ghosted his hand down your chest, grabbing at your still clothed breast and kneading the flesh, and it was your turn to whimper. Ominis wasted no time reaching behind you and struggling with the clasp of your bra, curses falling from his lips in annoyed desperation. Just as you were about to help him, he retracted his hands and instead wrapped his hands around the band, growling in frustration.

“Blasted thing—”

With a hard yank, he ripped the fabric of your bra and tossed it across the room into some unknown corner. You opened your mouth to protest when he crashed his lips to yours, pawing at your now free breasts and drawing little whines from your chest.

“I’ll buy you a new one.”

The pretty blond kissed down your neck, leaving a scattering of bruises like you did to him before making his way to your heaving chest, taking one of your nipples into his mouth and tweaking it with the tip of his tongue. You ran your hands through his hair in utter bliss, soft hums breaching the space around you. He let go of your peak with a sinful pop, drawing your attention to him as his other hand slid down to the waistband of your panties. Ominis pressed a kiss above your heart, letting his finger run along the underside of your final piece of clothing and listening to your breath hitch. That vulnerable look was back in his eyes.

“I want to return the favor. Please, please let me taste you.”

His sweet words were making your head spin more than the firewhiskey ever could. You made a noise of affirmative, not trusting your voice at the moment, and thread your fingers through his hair again. It truly was as soft as it looked. The blond smiled, his grin full of teeth and like he had just won the lottery, before he kissed his way down your stomach, stopping at your underwear and mouthing hotly at your hipbones. You whined in impatience, and he laughed against your skin before taking the hem of your panties and pulling them down your legs, kicking off the rest of his clothes in the process. Your breathing got increasingly shallow as he threw your legs over his shoulders, his lips pressing against the skin of your inner thighs and biting darker hickies in a spot no one else would see. He got closer and closer to your throbbing center, inhaling your heady scent and nearly losing his last little bit of composure. He looked up at you though his eyelashes, gazing at you like he could actually see how disheveled you were.

“I need you to tell me what to do, can you do that?”

You nodded, pulling lightly at his roots. He bit the mound of skin above where you wanted him.

“Words please, dove.”

You swallowed thickly. “Y-yes, I can do that.”

He smiled, turning your words from earlier back on you. “Good girl.”

A loud mewl spilled from you as he licked a hot stripe along your folds, the tip of his tongue catching on your clit and painting your vision white. He pulled back with an agonized groan.

“You’re so wet, my darling. Did I do this? Merlin, help me.”

He dove back into your sacred place, lapping at you like a man in a drought. You directed him to the best of your ability, telling him what spots made you see stars and the perfect rhythm to make you come undone. He was a quick learner, and soon you were writhing under him in the throes of pleasure. He had his lips wrapped around the bundle of nerves atop your privates, flicking his tongue every so often and sucking as his fingers teased your entrance. Whimpers of curses and his name streamed from your chest like a waterfall. Ominis carefully pressed one of his fingers into you, giving it an experimental thrust in and out, and your back arched off the ground in a desperate attempt to get closer as your thighs clamped tightly against his ears, suffocating him in your sweet center. You were a siren, and he was but a simple sailor entrapped by your hypnotizing song. What a lovely way to die.

Groans of satisfaction sent vibrations through your entire body, dragging you closer and closer to your release.

You keened feebly, begging the boy making you feel this good— for what, you weren’t sure. “Please, Ominis—”

He groaned again, and the knot in your lower stomach got impossibly tighter as he pressed a second finger into you and curled, pressing his fingertips into that delicious place that you had never been able to reach when you were alone in your dorm room. Incoherent whimpers screamed from your throat at the sheer bliss that flowed through your body, your hips wiggling sporadically as he scissored his fingers and prepared you for his length. One particularly hard bit of suction on your clit had you tumbling, your orgasm rocking through you like a speeding bullet and sending blinding fireworks through your brain. Ominis smiled as he worked you through your finish, proud of himself for making you cum on the first try. You tugged at his hair, pulling him up from between your legs and crashing your lips together in need. You could taste the saltiness of your slick on his tongue and you moaned into his mouth. The head of his cock pressed against your entrance, slipping through your folds and sliding slightly inside. You both groaned at the feeling, your fingernails digging into the blond’s shoulders at the minute sting. Ominis pressed his forehead to yours, trying to steady his breathing and heartbeat and whispered against your lips.

“Are you sure you want this, my love?”

You nodded your head, a plea slipping out. “Yes.”

He moaned at how needy you sounded— needy and cock-drunk for him. He kissed you, spilling all of the love he felt for you into it.

“Please tell me if you want to stop; I don’t want to hurt you.”

You huffed, “Why would I ever want to stop?”

You both moaned loudly as he breached your walls, pushing his hot member into your equally sweltering core inch by inch. Your eyebrows scrunched together at the pressure, and Ominis kissed the pain away as he got deeper and deeper. Finally he bottomed out inside of you, and you both stilled for a moment to get used to the feeling. You had never felt so full before, it was like he was touching every part of your body at once. Everything was simultaneously overwhelming and not enough. The blond dug his fingers into your hips as he warded away his encroaching orgasm; he didn’t want to finish before he could even savor the feeling of you wrapped tightly around him. You squeezed his shoulders, giving him the signal that he can start moving, and he began thrusting in and out of you at a carefully slow pace. It was like nothing you had ever felt before— the pleasure was immeasurable. How people weren't doing this every second of the day, you weren't sure. You craned your neck down to were you both were connected and you couldn't help the harlequin moan that ripped from your throat. Whatever you were doing before this moment in your life was a waste— every moment not connected to Ominis Gaunt was an absolute waste. You wrapped your legs around his hips, pressing him deeper inside of you and drawing a growl from Ominis’ very soul. He picked his speed up as his orgasm crept up on him again, needing to feel you finish around him more than anything.

"Merlin, you feel so good around me— like you were made to take my cock."

His uncouth words went straight to your core.

Your mewls and moans filled the room; he was glad the Undercroft was so far under the school, lest someone would have definitely heard your screams of ecstasy. His fingers dug deeper into your flesh, definitely leaving bruises that will only get darker the next day, and slammed his hips against yours. His own wanton moans sang along with yours as the knot in his stomach tightened. You could feel how close he was from the stutter in his rhythm, and you reached your hand between the both of you and rubbed at your clit, pushing your own finish closer to the surface. In a rush of animalistic desire, Ominis leaned forwards and sunk his teeth into your shoulder, giving you the last push you needed to spill over the side of the precipice. Your orgasm crested over the edge, dyeing your vision a stark black as your eyes rolled into the back of your head. You squeezed impossibly tighter around the blond’s thrusting cock, sending stars to the forefront of his mind for the second time that night and causing him to speed up his thrusts even more, chasing his own orgasm as you milked the life from him. His hips grew sporadic at the feeling of your tight cunt swallowing him whole, bringing his finish just out of reach. He panted against your shoulder, holding you against his chest as he whimpered.

“W-where do you want me t-to—”

You cut off his sentence, the throes of your orgasm still shocking through your system. “Inside me. Please, Ominis, I want to feel you fill me— I’m on the potion— Fuck, please!”

That was enough to send him over, his orgasm crashing over him like a tsunami as he spilled his life force deep inside of you. He thrust a few more times inside of you, prolonging his bliss before he stilled, both of you heaving air into your lungs like you would never breathe it again. He rolled off of you, dropping his whole exhausted body weight to the floor and pulling you against his chest. You rested there for a moment, basking in the glow of your first time and listening to the rapid pulse of the blond’s heartbeat. It sang to you a sweet lullaby, lulling you to sleep in the comfort of your lover’s arms. Ominis sighed, completely content for once in his life.

“I have wanted to do that for so long, you have no idea.”

Your head shot up in shock, your jaw dropping nearly down to your chest. “You mean we could have been doing that this whole time?!”

His eyes widened at your shout, processing your words for a moment before a blush spread down his neck again. He brought his hand up to his face, covering it in embarrassment as he laughed at how stupid the both of you were. You joined him after a moment, your head bouncing up and down against his vibrating chest. Once your cackles pittered off to soft chuckles, he pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple and running his fingers through your hair.

“I guess we need to make up for lost time, wouldn’t you agree?”

You shuffled your body upwards, dangling your face over his and bringing your lips close for another sugary kiss. “Indeed we do.”

***

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#tina speaks #smut #hl smut #hogwarts legacy #hl #ominis gaunt smut #hogwarts legacy mc #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt x you #ominis gaunt x mc #ao3 #ao3 fic #ao3 writer #ominis gaunt #ominis hogwarts legacy #masterlist

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sirenedeslily · 3 months ago

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𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐒 ‎𐦍 𝐦atthew 𝐬turniolo

❛ i’m 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 from the 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞. ❜

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 matt thought the crash was the first tremor, the first sign that everything was unraveling. but when yn vanished, the woods grew colder, the trees twisted into shadows, and nothing—not even their love—could hide from the dark that followed.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠, angst, cannibalism (not too descriptive), psychological manipulation, slight use of religious imagery, trauma, gore, morally grey characters, death, this is set in a yellowjackets-inspired universe, drawing on the show’s general premise without incorporating its specific plot.. so no spoilers of the actual series !!!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭, 3k !

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬, this fic’s plots is completely me, i cannot stress it enough !! while the yellowjacket girls make an appearance, i only borrowed the general themes of the crash and the cannibalism aspect from the show. what happens here is completely separate from the actual series, so the outcomes of the yellowjacket characters do not reflect their portrayal in the show. eeeeeeeenjoy

the crash wasn’t the worst part.

not the grinding sound of the engines tearing themselves apart mid-air, not the cabin screams that split the air sharper than metal, not the sick pull of gravity as we spiraled down. not even the splintered bodies lying limp in the wreckage. that part ended. it was brutal, yes, but quick. final.

the worst part came after.

the fear swallowed us whole, silent and endless. the trees whispered things that didn’t make sense, shadows moved at the edge of sight, and the fear burrowed into our bones, becoming a part of us. hunger, though, that was louder than any scream. it started small, a tremor, an ache, and then it became everything. it clawed through every thought, every shred of hope.

“we’ll make it.” that’s what matt said. his voice had this strange certainty, like words alone could hold back the dark. we were dragging scraps of metal and wood into a crude pile that might pass as shelter. his hands were red and raw. “you’re tough, yn. you’ll survive this.”

i nodded because i didn’t want to say what we were both thinking.

hunger changes people. you don’t notice it all at once, just the little cracks forming. one day, someone takes an extra bite from their ration. the next, someone else disappears into the woods, and when they come back, their pockets are empty, but their lips are slick. we watched each other through the smoke of the fire, saw the hollows forming in each other’s cheeks, the glint of something desperate in everyone’s eyes.

i was the first.

the others would pretend it was the forest, the cold, or god himself that took me. but it wasn’t. not really. it was them—their eyes, their hunger, their hands.

i didn’t climb that tree to save myself. i climbed it for matt. his stupid lighter, the one he swore was more important to him than anything else, had gotten stuck in the branches. he said it was the last piece of home he had, the last piece of himself.

so i climbed.

the bark splintered in my palms as i climbed higher, the wind ripping at my face. i didn’t think about the branches snapping beneath me or how far i’d fall. i didn’t think about myself at all.

i thought about him.

when the branch pierced my stomach, i didn’t scream. not at first. i just stared at it—jagged, wet, too much. then i slipped, and the second branch tore through my thigh.

i held onto the lighter. i held on even when i hit the ground.

but no one came.

i lay there for hours, the blood soaking into the dirt beneath me. i tried to crawl back, but the woods stretched on endlessly. my nails scraped against the earth, my breath hitched in my throat, and the sky flickered above, like a fading light—undecided, as though it couldn’t choose whether to help or simply watch me die.

by the second day, i was too weak to move. the blood had dried, sticky and black, and the roots curled around me like they were pulling me under. i tried to pray, but my voice cracked, so i bit into the dirt instead.

god didn’t save me.

but the woods were there.

they buried me beneath the leaves, letting the branches weave themselves through my skin. they made me part of them—part of everything.

the others didn’t find me until it was too late.

i remember the way they stared.

shauna cursed under her breath, her face hard like she was trying not to care. jackie gasped, her hands covering her mouth, her eyes filling with tears she wouldn’t let fall. nat turned away, and tai kept her arms crossed, biting the inside of her cheek like she wanted to disappear.

but matt…

matt knelt beside me, his hands trembling as he picked up the lighter from where it had fallen, his thumb brushing over the bloodstains on the metal.

he didn’t cry. he just stared at me, like he was seeing me for the first time.

i don’t know how long they left me there. maybe it was days. maybe weeks. the forest swallowed time like it swallowed me, stretching it out until they couldn’t take it anymore.

they stopped looking at me like i was yn—the girl who argued with nat about firewood, who laughed too loud when jackie told bad jokes, who kissed matt behind the cabin when no one else was looking.

they started looking at me like i was something else.

lottie was the first. she whispered that i was chosen, that the forest had claimed me but left me for them. she lit candles by my body, pressed her hands to the ground like she was trying to feel my heartbeat through the earth.

the others followed.

they stopped saying my name. they started calling me a gift. a sign. a saviour.

matt didn’t say a word.

but i could feel his hands, brushing the leaves from my hair, smoothing the blood from my cheeks. i could feel how he stayed by my side even as the others began to lose themselves.

it wasn’t devotion.

it was desperation.

and when the hunger finally broke them, it wasn’t lottie who made the first cut. it wasn’t shauna, or misty, or even tai.

it was matt.

i watched him with the knife in his hand, his jaw tight, his eyes dark. he told himself it was for them, that it was for me. but i knew the truth.

it wasn’t love that drove him. it was guilt.

the air was thick with smoke and desperation. they whispered things like “it’s what she would’ve wanted.” like that made it less cruel.

they consumed me piece by piece, carving me into something i never was. i felt it all—not the pain, but the betrayal. lottie whispered prayers as she chewed. shauna didn’t say a word. nat wouldn’t look at me, her shoulders shaking as she tried to convince herself this wasn’t what it was.

it took them weeks to tear me apart.

but it would take them years to forget.

matt wouldn’t, though.

he carried me with him, in the dirt beneath his fingernails, in the whispers of the trees, in the ache that settled in his chest every time he thought of me.

they called me an angel. a prophet.

but i wasn’t.

they called me a saviour. said i saved them. turned my name into something holy, something they could cling to when the guilt crept in.

they lied to themselves because the truth was too much to bear. i wasn’t their salvation. i wasn’t their light.

i was the first.

the first meal.

the wilderness turned me into something they could use. a forest maiden wrapped in moss, silent and still, hanging like the last line of a song.

the roots, the branches, the dirt. i was the hunger that twisted them into something monstrous.

and matt?

matt would never escape me.

because no matter how much of me he consumed, no matter how much he buried me beneath his guilt, he knew the truth.

i wasn’t a gift. i wasn’t salvation.

i was betrayal.

and he loved me anyway.

i lingered in him like rot.

everytime matt closed his eyes, i was there—my body stretched out on the forest floor, blood pooling beneath me, my fingers still curled around that lighter. he could still see the wounds, the gaping holes that the branches had carved into me. and he could still hear my voice, though he told himself it was just the wind moving through the trees.

i wasn’t letting him go.

the others moved on in their way. lottie twisted the story of my death into something holy, a sign of the forest’s will. she told them i had been chosen because i was pure, because i had given myself to something greater. they needed to believe it. they needed to make my suffering mean something.

shauna didn’t believe it—not really. but she clung to it anyway, like she clung to everything that made her feel powerful. she became a shadow of herself, the dog that lottie trained to obey. shauna sharpened the knives. shauna prepared the fires. shauna made it easy for them to swallow me, to carve me into pieces until i was unrecognizable.

jackie didn’t touch me.

she stayed in the cabin most days, silent and trembling, her eyes red and swollen. i think she knew what would happen to her next. it didn’t matter that she hadn’t eaten me, that she had refused to look at me once they carried my body back. she knew the forest wouldn’t spare her.

and nat—god, nat. she carried the weight of all of it on her shoulders. she cursed herself for not finding me sooner, for not hearing my screams. she never prayed with lottie, never touched the offerings. but she wasn’t innocent. she had eaten me too. they all had.

even matt.

especially matt.

he stayed by my side, even when the others began to look at me as a thing, a relic, a resource. he refused to leave the spot where they had placed me, curling his body around mine like i could still feel his warmth. he whispered to me when no one else was listening, told me he was sorry, told me it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

but his hands betrayed him.

when they carved into me, when they pulled me apart, matt didn’t look away. he didn’t stop them. he held the knife himself, trembling but determined. i don’t know what he told himself in those moments—maybe that i would’ve wanted this, that it was a kindness, that it was survival.

but i could feel him breaking.

he tried to bury what he had done, what they had all done. but i wouldn’t let him.

i was in the dirt he walked on, in the branches that scraped against the cabin windows at night, in the silence of the forest that stretched on for miles. i was in his mind, in the flicker of the lighter he couldn’t bear to throw away, in the breath he couldn’t seem to catch every time he thought of me.

matt loved me.

but love wasn’t enough to save me.

and now, it wasn’t enough to save him.

because i was everywhere now. in every shadow, in every prayer lottie whispered, in every crackling fire that reminded them of the warmth they had once known.

i was everything they had turned me into.

and i was never leaving.

they carried me with them. not my memory, not the person i was, but what i’d turned into. they left pieces of themselves in the leaves, the dirt, the jagged roots of the forest that had consumed me. but they carried pieces of me, too��in their blood, in their bones, in their guilt.

when they walked out of the wilderness and into the arms of rescue, i stayed behind.

the world called them survivors. they painted them as heroes, as victims, as something worth saving. they didn’t know the truth. they didn’t know what they did to me, how they turned me into something i wasn’t

but matt—matt still visits me. not the real me, not the girl i was before the crash, but the idea of me that he’s convinced himself exists. he comes every year, kneeling at the polished stone that bears my name. it isn’t really my grave—just a polished stone with my name on it, a symbol for the girl you needed me to be. a hollow monument, as hollow as the promises he whispered into my dead ears.

“you saved us,” he whispers sometimes, like saying it enough times might make it true.

but i wasn’t their saviour.

i was their sacrifice.

and they had no right to me.

he brings lilies every time—delicate, white, pristine as the snow that buried jackie later, pristine as the image of me he’s built in his head. he lays them down carefully, his hands shaking as if the act itself is sacred.

i hate the lilies.

he doesn’t talk much, just sits there for hours like the weight of my name carved into stone might somehow balance the weight on his chest. Sometimes he cries, quiet and ashamed, like he knows i’m watching, like he can feel the anger twisting in the empty space i’ve become.

but other times.. most times, he’s silent. not out of peace, but out of exhaustion. he looks thinner every year, his face pale and hollow, haunted by the ghosts he doesn’t dare name aloud.

i wonder if he hears me. if he can feel the cold breath of my resentment when the wind rustles the trees or the sharp edge of my betrayal in the silence that stretches between us.

it doesn’t matter.

none of their apologies matter.

because i am not that girl in the stories they tell themselves to sleep at night.

tai, who circled like a vulture, never touching but always hungry, until she finally sank her teeth into me, reshaping me into something twisted, something unrecognizable; nat, who whispered quiet lies into my ear, feeding me fragments of myself until there was nothing left but the hollow echo of who i used to be; shauna, who sharpened the knives and prepared the fire but pretends she wasn’t the first to look at me with that kind of hunger. van, who laughed too loudly and cried too quietly and ate me anyway. misty, who smiled as she said my name, who let herself believe it was all just survival. even lottie, with her empty eyes and her false divinity, calling me something holy while she carved into me like i was already gone.

they all came at first.

in the weeks after they were found, they came with trembling hands and whispered prayers. they placed offerings at my grave—tokens of their guilt disguised as gratitude. “you saved us,” they said, over and over, as if they could rewrite what happened with repetition alone.

but then they stopped coming.

the world beyond the wilderness swallowed them whole, wrapped them in warmth and comfort until they could almost forget the cold. almost.

nat tells herself that every breath she takes is a result of my sacrifice. she thinks of me when she looks in the mirror, when the guilt weighs heavy on her chest. she pretends that my death was necessary, that it’s what kept her alive, but she knows the truth—she watched as i was consumed, and she couldn’t stop it.. didn’t stop it.

tai tells herself that what she did was survival, that it wasn’t personal. she thinks of me when she’s alone in the dark, when the night feels too quiet. she pretends that my end was just another part of the game, but the truth gnaws at her, and she can never quite forget the way she let it happen.

shauna tells herself that every joy in her life is my gift to her. she thinks of me when her daughter laughs, when the candles on the birthday cake flicker in the warm light of her kitchen. she pretends my death bought her happiness.

van dreams of me, sometimes, though she never speaks my name. she sees me in the shadows, in the dirt beneath her fingernails, in the roots that still cling to her boots when she wakes. she tastes me in the back of her throat, bitter and rotten.

misty doesn’t dream at all.

and lottie—lottie prays to me. even now, even after everything, she still believes i was chosen, that i was destined to feed the earth, to become the roots and the trees and the endless, hungering dark.

but matt—matt keeps coming back. year after year, he carries my ghost with him, dragging it behind him like a broken promise. he looks at the stone, and i wonder if he’s seeing me or the version of me he created to survive.

i wasn’t a saviour. i wasn’t a martyr. i wasn’t the girl who gave herself willingly for the sake of the group.

i was terrified. i was angry. i died clutching the edges of my own fading humanity, praying that someone, anyone, would remember me as i was, not as what they turned me into.

but the wilderness doesn’t let you stay human.

it hollows you out. it makes you a vessel for hunger, for fear, for survival. and when it’s done, it spits you back out into the world, a monster in the shape of a person.

matt isn’t a monster, not in the way the others are.

he’s worse.

he’s the one who carries the weight of all their sins. he’s the one who lets it break him, piece by piece, as if his suffering could ever be enough to absolve them.

but guilt isn’t justice.

it’s not forgiveness, and it’s not redemption. It’s just another kind of hunger, gnawing away at the edges of his soul.

i want to scream at him, shake him, make him see that his penance means nothing to me.

but he doesn’t know me either.

none of them do.

they don’t know the girl who climbed that tree because matt’s lighter was stuck at the top and he couldn’t sleep without it. they don’t know the girl who laughed too loudly, who loved too fiercely, who was afraid of the dark but never said it out loud. they don’t know the girl who screamed when the branch stabbed through her side, who crawled, bleeding and broken, through the dirt while the wilderness swallowed her whole.

they don’t know the girl who died alone, hungry, cold, choking on dirt she thought might keep her alive just a little longer.

all they know is the version of me they created.

the saint. the saviour. the pretty girl consumed by death.

you don’t know the girl i was, the girl i could’ve been if you hadn’t taken everything from me. and now, i am the trees, the roots, the forest itself. i am the thing you buried and the thing you carry, and you will never escape me.

matt, you will never know me. no matter how many lilies you bring, no matter how many hours you spend staring at that stone, whispering apologies i’ll never accept.

i am not your saviour.

i am the girl you betrayed.

and every year, when the lilies bloom and the wind whispers through the trees, I wonder if you feel it—if you hear my voice, sharp and cold as the wilderness that made us.

you don’t even know me.

and you never will.

the wilderness stripped us bare, turned us into something monstrous, something less than human. you think you carried me out of it, but i was gone long before you walked away. i’m hanging from the tree, suspended in your mind, a phantom you can’t escape.

i hope you know i loved you. even after everything, even after the lies and the hunger and the fire, i loved you. but i wasn’t your saviour. i wasn’t your salvation.

i was just a girl—a girl who loved, and in the end, that was all i was allowed to be.

𝒢𝜚 💭 ࣪ ✸ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 �� we knew this was bound to happen as the #1 yellowjacket truther.. sneaked in some jackieshauna and lottieshauna for my own personal benefit :p also i know it’s repetitive but it’s purposeful.. omg send me asks ab this plsplspls

❝ 𝟐𝟐𝟐 ❞ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻, @carvedtits @et6rnalsun @wovenribbons @flouvela @eternaldecisions @elizabebabe @ncm9696 @marrykisskilled

❝ 𝟑𝟑𝟑 ❞ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻, @l34n @sturniolossss @lovingregulusblack @cl1tlover3000 @mattslolita @mattssgf @le4hsblog @brvtall @mattscoquette @chratts-left-ball @jetaimevous @angelesqve @starlace111 @secretlocket @starkeyszn @etherealval @slut4chriss @star-yawnznn @nickmillersn1gf @sturnsmia @tastesousweet @strnilolover @xoxo4chrisss @madifilipowiczslvt

#sirenedeslily ✶ ˖ ࣪#matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #yellowjackets #matt sturniolo angst #matt sturniolo blurb #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo headcanon #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #sturniolo triplets x you #sturniolo triplets x reader #sturniolo triplets

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