#dart stim

[grimzeyedits]

"Secretarial speaking. Go on, praise me like a god!"

Pathological Facade stimboard because I'm obsessed with this song right now like h001y shiiiiit

1 - 2 - 3 4 - 5 - 6 7 - 8 - 9

Had to crop the middle gif so it wouldn't mess up the others, but the post I linked has it in full size!

[floatstimmies]

"You can't change the world without getting your hands dirty" ♟️🗡

Lelouch vi Britannia stimboard!

X | X | X

X | X | X

X | X | X

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

[gummi-stims]

A stimboard for Raddle from Animal Crossing! One of my favorite frog villagers c:

🐸-😷-🐸

⚫- x -🟡

🐸-😷-🐸

[naniguini]

Rope dart and watermelon gifset.

Free 2 use with credit

Source

[oc-stimboards]

Gavin "Dart" Oda based on Marvel Comics!

OC Belongs to: Mod Triple

Themes: Darts, Chemistry, Multicolored Orbeez

🎯 🎯 🎯 / 🎯 🎯 🎯 / 🎯 🎯 🎯

((Self indulgent board for my boy. Just a young mutant with a dart gun full of science orbs))

[binary-systim]

stimboard of Gore, my fursona!

x / x / x

x / x / x

x / x / x

[holybibly]

okay hear me out!! little bunny goes to take a shower ok? one of the pups wants to go with her. she would be more skeptical if it was san or mingi or woo, but its just yeosang. he wouldn't try to play with her, right?

wrong! like you said with other senders, yeo is secretly a hard dom. sorry not sorry yall!

so yeah, he pins her to the wall and stims her clit with the showerhead (at the highest pressure, of course) until she cries and stuffs. have fun with that part my brain is #mush

bye bye love ya 💋🎀

Hard dom Yeosang, mmm...

I told you I'm in love with this concept, didn't I? I hope this makes you as dishevelled and nervous as I am when I think about it. Sorry, not sorry; today I want to make you squirm.

"Enjoying yourself, bunny?" Yeosang purrs in a low voice and pulls you closer to him until you're pressed up against his bare chest. It's hot in the shower, but Yeosang's skin seems to be on fire, burning you and making you melt away.

"I-I, yes, a little; it's nice here." You mumble as you feel his lips press against your shoulder and slide up until they leave a kiss on the crimson imprint of Seonghwa's and Hongjoong's teeth, which are still unable to heal from the constant torment of two alphas. If Seonghwa's gorgeous mouth doesn't suck on that sensitive spot at least once a day, the Alpha will go into hysterics, and as far as Hongjoong is concerned, it's a hundred times worse. His lips are on your neck 24/7, and there is no discussion about it.   Yeosang can hardly wait for the day he can sink his fangs into you, too; he licks the sore spot lightly. His hands slide down your sides and come to rest on your hips, his thumbs slowly and emphatically massaging the soft skin.

The black-haired Alpha turns you around to face him, his icy grey eyes piercing you in an instant, holding you in place and making you submit to him. Yeosang is usually quiet, a little distant, and taciturn, but that's not like that when he's alone with you. Like all wolves, Yeosang has a dark, animalistic side to him, and he will never miss an opportunity to show it off to you.

Despite how warm and stuffy it is in the shower, you start to shiver as he leans down to brush his tongue across your lips. There is a low growl from him, and you obey instantly, opening your lips to him.

Cautiously, greedily, he traces the contours of your mouth as if it were uncharted territory, and every lazy move he makes makes you press closer to him, your hands clinging tentatively to his shoulders. It's only when the need for air becomes critical and you start falling apart, your chest heaving rapidly, that you begin to whimper. You try to press yourself closer to his sculpted body. The mucus leaking from you makes your pussy slippery and wet.

"Alpha, please..." You gasp, your heart pounding erratically in your chest.

He gives you a wicked smile and bites your lower lip, making you squeal at the sharp sting of his fangs. His hands slide down to the luxurious curve of your ass, squeezing it hard as he begins to plant rough kisses along the side of your jaw, working their way down to the pillar of your throat. Your head falls back against the tiled wall as he bites down hard on a particularly sensitive spot close to your collarbone, and a moment later his tongue darts out to lick the small drops of blood from the bruised skin. The sensation makes you moan loudly and for a long time, and Yeosang purrs contentedly.

Then he moves lower down to your heavy, luscious breasts, his hot mouth curling around the hard tip of one of your nipples as his hand slides up your belly until his fingers curl around the other. Your back arched under his caresses, your fingers scratching along his back. The low, dark chuckle emanating from his chest sent a delicious shiver down your spine. Oh, my God, Alpha...

The fact that the wolves are addicted to your milk and constantly abuse your breasts is something you still can't get used to. They are always biting, sucking, licking, and drinking, and they still cannot get enough. Your tits have become even more sensitive than they were before, under the constant care of the wolves. It doesn't even have to be anything sexual; all they have to do is keep your nipples in their mouths.

Wooyoung and San recently cornered you just to torment you all night long by sucking on your tits and playing with your nipples. It was a maddening experience. You came so many times you couldn't even count, and they didn't even fuck you properly.

You whimper at the loss of contact and watch the corner of his mouth curl into a grin as Yeosang's mouth pulls away from your chest. Tiny drops of milk glisten on his wet, red lips, and he immediately licks them off, humming in appreciation of the taste.

"Turn your back to me, bunny." He orders in a low voice, and the dark promise in his tone of voice makes you obey with all your might.

The anticipation of what he will do next is simply unbearable. It literally drives you crazy, making you tremble and cower, never knowing what path he will take.

Yeosang stands behind you, silent and motionless, and you dare not look at him, instead staring at the black tiled wall, watching the water trickle down. You can taste Yeosang—leather and powder—in the steam that comes out of the water.

You vaguely hear him fiddling with something. Your ears twitch, hoping to recognise the sound, but the sound of running water makes it difficult. Your thighs rub against each other in an attempt to relieve the aching tension between your legs.

"Alpha, I… Oh!" Your voice changes to a surprised squeal as he suddenly pushes something between your legs—something that you recognise as a silver shower head. The metal in it makes a delightfully cool contrast to the warmth of the water and the heat of your skin.

As Yeosang presses the shower head against your clit, your knees almost buckle and your pussy squirts mucus with an even smoother, more powerful squirt. Only his strong arm, wrapped around your waist, keeps you on your feet, pressing your back against his chest as his teeth nibble gently at the lobe of your ear.

"It's time for a new experience, baby. I promise you're going to feel good."

It is hard for you to think straight. The water is massaging your clit in slippery circles, splashing and spraying over your thighs as they shake with the tension. It takes all your strength and concentration to force yourself to answer, your voice high and shrill.

"Oh, my God. Ewww, Alpha! It's so good."

His answering chuckle, husky and sultry, sends a bolt of lightning straight to the heart of your body.

"Look at you, all wet and beautiful and desperate for me." His hips are pressing up against your ass, and you can feel how hard his cock is and how ready it is for you. It's thick, veiny, and long, perfect for fucking your tender little bunny body.

You let out a whimper as he moved the nozzle, and now the stream of water is right on top of your clit, intense and merciless. It is at this point that you start to breathe out his name, your chest heaving in a desperate attempt to get more air into your lungs. The pressure is too much, too much for you, who've never done this before. You feel like you're teetering dangerously close to the edge, the coil in your stomach wound as tight as it can be without breaking. You are so, so close to cum.

And then Yeosang pulls away, the shower head disappearing between your trembling thighs and taking your orgasm with it. The pleasure that was about to wash over you in a wave of ecstasy is painfully slow to return to your veins. You're practically crying at the loss of this sensation. Tears well up in your eyes, but you know there's nothing you can do about it. If they want to play rough with you, they will drag out the pleasure for hours on end. One time, Seonghwa didn't let you cum all night long until you passed out from the overstimulation.

Yeosang loosens his grip on your waist and gives you a kiss between your shoulder blades. His hand slides up your belly, thumb-stroking your swollen nipples, wet with water and milk, and continues until his long fingers wrap around your throat.

Yeosang's hand tightens around your neck, effectively blocking your airway; your eyes roll back; and your legs shake from the overload of sensations.

"How's that, sweetie? Does your Sangie make you feel good? Tell me, sweetheart, do mommy and daddy play with you like I do?" His voice is dark and hoarse, and there is a hint of arrogance in it that you can hear. He wraps the fingers of his other hand around your sensitive nipple and twists it. You have the urge to squeal, but the grip on your throat prevents any sound from escaping.

His soft lips leave the softest kisses on your shoulders in contrast to the rough touches of your body and the suffocating grip on your throat. The tenderness with which he kisses and honours your skin is almost enough to lull you to sleep, make your head fall back on his chest, and let you lose yourself in your little subspace of desire.

You don't immediately realise what's happening when the sound of running water suddenly gets louder. It's only when his claws start to slide down your spine, scratching at every ridge before they grasp your thigh roughly, that you realise what he's up to. A moment later, the water is hitting you; the shower head is pressing down on your legs, enveloping your already sensitive clit in a swirling whirlpool of heat and moisture. You wheeze, gasping for breath, and Yeosang moans long, excited and thirsty from what you've done.

"Damn, you're so hot, bunny." He moans and presses his mouth close to your ear. "I'm never going to get tired of playing with you; I'm going to torture you and fuck you every fucking day."

As he pushes the nozzle deeper into your pussy you writhe in his arms, your whole body shaking. He suddenly lets go of your throat, only to wrap his hand around your waist and pull you closer to him, his thick cock sliding between the cheeks of your plump ass.

His lips curl up in a wicked smile against the back of your neck.

It's almost frightening how dishevelled you are. The heat coils in your abdomen, dark and intense, yearning for release.

"P-please, please, Yeosang..." You whimper almost incoherently, squirming in his iron grip in a desperate attempt to increase the friction.

Yeosang laughs maliciously at your futile attempts.

"I need a little bit more from you, baby." His voice gets deeper and deeper, sounding almost animalistic and incredibly seductive. He pushes his hips into your ass, the hot length sliding perfectly between your buttocks, staining the space with a mixture of your mucus and his pre-cum. The base of his knot can already be felt, and you know what it is that he wants to hear from you.

"I want your alpha knot; I want you to tie me; I want you to make me your bitch." The words come out of you in the most natural way possible, as if this is what you were born to do. You have repeated them so many times that it is as if they have been imprinted on your tongue.

As the knot in your stomach tightens as your orgasm builds, desperation seeps into your tone.

"Alpha, please, I am going to be the best bunny for you. I want your knot so badly."

"Then you can cum, my little bunny. Show me what a good girl you are." Yeosang growls as the hand on your waist slides up and begins to knead your breasts roughly. Your tits are so swollen with milk that they can barely fit in the palm of his hand. The added sensation sends you over the edge with a deafening scream, your cunt clenching around nothing as you squirm weakly in his firm grip, feeling completely boneless.

It takes a few long seconds for the rush of pleasure to wear off. Yeosang gently strokes between your velour ears and plants hot kisses on your neck and shoulders as you come to your senses.

"The Alpha wants to tear you apart and breed you such a beautiful and obedient bunny. You are all mine, so juicy and sweet. Do you think you can take my knot right now, baby?"

[daechwitatamic]

Vice;Grip || chapter 1 || chs

(banner by @itaeewon)

Vice;Grip (masterpost) NSFW - minors DNI Genre: angst smut fluff, fuckbuddies!au Summary: Make it not hurt, you could have asked him. Or, at least, make it hurt in a way I choose.  A/N: infinite thank you's to @sailoryooons and @eoieopda for beta-ing!! //

Warnings: Frequent depictions of depression, depressive episodes, panic attacks, and substance abuse (alcohol, weed, and pills referenced). PLEASE know that these characters’ relationships with drugs and alcohol are not healthy and should not be emulated. If these topics are triggering to you, please consider sitting this one out. Section Specific Warnings: casual drinking, piv sex, , nip stim, reader on top, drunkenness to the point of blacking out, vomiting due to overdrinking (mentioned very briefly), dirty talk, implied drug use / vernon is high, heavy themes in regards to mental health - allusions to unspecified mental illnesses in the realm of depressive and anxiety disorders

wc: 5800

Playlist: you can call me in the middle of the night / you can leave before i wake up in the morning / and it could feel so wrong / but i'll still hold on

Now

You’ve been used to seeing his face only in puzzle pieces, triangular fragments of glass beside a fallen picture frame. Mostly in flashes of light that are gone too quickly to process the whole picture - as the car he drives passes under a streetlight, as the flashing lights from a dj booth sweep over you before moving on, as the moon crosses over the gap on your window’s blinds that your cat broke two years ago and you never replaced.

Despite this, you know everything about it: how he keeps it carefully flat, but when it breaks it’s always to jump to extremes. How he laughs so hard his features distort and shatter, how his eyebrows nearly meet when he’s breaking and pressing fingers to his eyes, how his eyes squeeze shut when he mouths your name against your neck and presses his fingertips tighter against your skin before letting go. You have it all memorized. You know it by heart, even in the dark. 

That was how you met - in the dark. You were dragged to a bar by your best friend Chan, determined to drink until you weren’t annoyed by the existence of everyone around you, until the music and lights seem to flow over and around you, like you’re experiencing them through a thick pane of glass. 

He’d been invited, too. He and Chan had friends in common. You’d noticed him early in the night, sometime before things got foggy. Of course you did - even in the dim lighting you could see how good-looking he was, all sharp points and edges. You made note of how he stayed quiet, a tiny smile on an otherwise unchanging face, but his eyes had darted around, following the conversation sharply. 

Sharp is your favorite word for him. It fits everything about him, top to toe, inside and out. 

Sharp, sharp, sharp. 

He looked how you feel inside, even now. 

You’d gone back to his place, that night. You still remember him leaning back against the wall of the bar, arms crossed against his chest, mostly in shadow until a pink light passed over you both before leaving you in shadow again. As your eyes adjusted again, pieced his face back together in the dark, one of those eyebrows had lifted in question. 

You were surprised at how clean his place was; he was surprised by how cluttered yours was, the next time you’d come together, maybe a week later. 

This was almost two years ago; you’d both gotten used to each other since then.

It wasn’t a surprise, each time, when he gasped and then whined when he came, when his grip tightened like he had to make sure you stay put until his heartbeat starts to slow again. Not a surprise when he’d pull his ripped jeans back on less than ten minutes later. Not a surprise when he’d reach out to wiggle your foot through the blankets to make sure you were awake to hear him mutter, “See you,” on his way out. Nothing surprising about how you’d go four days without talking and then send him a wyd?, nor about how he’d come to pick you up, his car idling outside your building within the half hour. 

You’d been doing things this way for ages. It was practically a routine. This was just what you two did, in the dark. 

You weren’t sure what he did during the day. You and him, you only existed when the sun went down. 

You didn’t know what he looked like in the golden hour, or at a restaurant table, or hurrying through a rainy afternoon. You didn’t mind; he belonged to you like this - only in the dark, only in pieces, only in too-quick flashes of light.

It was enough.

Or, you’d pretended it was, for as long as you could. 

1 yr 11 months ago

The first few times were simple. You both knew what you were there for. You’d text, he’d come get you. You’d watch his hand on the gear shift as he drove you back to his place. You’d undress each other across his living room, a breadcrumb trail to follow back out when it was over. He’d order you a ride when it was done, you’d get home and shower, sinking into your own bed just as the light started to shift outside, warning everyone that dawn was imminent once again.

Or, conversely, he’d text instead of you. Or he’d drive to your place and stay, pressing you against your entryway wall before even closing the door behind him, threatening all your neighbors with a show. He’d slip out, after, leaving the smell of his cologne on your skin, on your sheets, even - somehow - in your kitchen, where you’d gone for water while he got dressed. 

You both knew why you were there. You both knew what you needed out of it: just sex, just fun. You couldn’t even call it friends with benefits because you weren’t friends from dawn to dusk.

The just of it failed to last.

You know precisely the first time it was different, the first time you needed him. You needed the same things as always - his mouth hot on your skin, his hands alternating between sparks of pain and soothing caresses, the stretch of him emptying your mind and pushing every bad feeling out like there wasn’t room for them anymore. But for the first time, you didn’t want those things for enjoyment.

You wanted them as a salve.

Make it not hurt, you could have asked him. Or, at least, make it hurt in a way I choose. 

You did ask him, in your own way. With your tongue, with your hands, with your hips. You didn’t know if he could tell that something was different, that you were using him to hide, that your urgency was because you wanted to feel something else. As you moved together under the fairy lights above your bed, the motions were the same as always. 

It was after, that was different. Before he got dressed, he’d rolled to face you across the few inches of dark. His statue-like face wasn’t blank, now. Instead, his brows knit just slightly, his lips frowning on the hint of a pout.

“You okay?” he’d asked.

You’d looked back at him, goosebumps rising up and down your arms as your skin cooled. Should you lie? That was the best way to keep him at arm’s length, the best way to make sure this didn’t get too deep, the best way to ensure you didn’t scare him away.

But something made you tell the truth.

“A little better, now,” you admitted, quiet, your voice creeping through the dark like it was avoiding landmines as it tiptoed over your mattress. 

He’d nodded, slipping back into the silence he wore best. Then he’d stayed just a few minutes, breathing quietly beside you, before getting up and sliding back into the routine. A few extra minutes of not being alone, like he knew you needed it even if you couldn’t ask for it. 

In the silence he left behind, the truth had ballooned into the empty room: something had shifted. Now, on the nights when you hurt, when you weren’t sure you wanted to keep clawing your way through, you had another vice to pick from for distraction. More or less destructive than your other, older vices? You weren’t sure.

Almost two years later, you’re still not sure. 

1 yr 10 months ago

The levels of separation were just enough that you didn’t cross paths at a lot of social events. But it was always a little thrilling when the circles did converge, when he appeared at the edge of the group, when the game became act normal in front of everybody. 

You like games.

Vernon does, too.

The first time he showed up unexpectedly at the bar, your stomach swooped, and you hid a sneaky smile by tipping back your glass, draining the rest in one go and announcing that you needed a refill. 

A game, knowing he’d watch you walk away. A game, knowing he’d have to look away again quickly, before anyone caught on. A game, pretending when you return to the group that you don’t remember his name. A game, knowing that at the end of the night, he’d come home with you and make sure you didn’t remember anything but. 

You had too much to drink, too caught up in the fun, in the promise of later, in the thrill of feeling like you were harboring a secret like a precious plant, cupped in loose soil between your muddy fingers. 

The alcohol made you lose track of your friends, of the time, of directional stability. You stumbled to the hallway you thought held the bathroom, one sweaty palm slapped against the wall to help you get there. 

You’d only been sleeping with him for two months, but his hands on your waist were familiar. So was his mouth, near your ear, asking a familiar question - “You okay?”

“Should probably go home,” you muttered, still present enough to know you were a mess. That others could see your mess. 

“Can you get yourself out front?” he asked, and there was something gentle in it. It made your stomach turn; or maybe that was the vodka. It made you want to run, to put distance between you, to remind him that you weren’t his to take care of. It made you want to hiss and spit to remind him that you’re an outdoor cat.

“Why?” you asked, turning in place to face him, something hard riding up in your chest. 

He shrugged one shoulder, like it didn’t matter to him if you listened or not. “If you go out now, I’ll order a ride. Then I’ll head out in a few, when the car is here. It’ll look like you left already when I go.”

You narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re being awfully strategic.”

He lifted that eyebrow again. “You want Chan to know we’re fucking?”

The word sizzled through you like an electric shock. But you took a breath and considered the question. “No,” you answered, once you muddled through your soupy brain enough to find the word. “No, I don’t.”

“Okay,” he said, as if that settled that. “I’ll order the ride. Your place okay?”

“Mhm,” you said, distracted, suddenly aware of your lack of equilibrium, nausea making its presence known. You might not have told him goodbye before pushing your way back into the crowded dance floor, weaving around people and squeezing through impossibly tight spaces until you find Chan again.

“My uber’s out front,” you said in greeting. 

“What?” he cried, looking betrayed. “It’s not even one-thirty!”

“If I stay,” you told him seriously, “I will hurl. Talk tomorrow?”

He pouted a little but nodded, waving goodbye as you turned and struggled towards the front door. 

Stepping from the loud, crowded bar into the quiet street was almost dizzying in itself; you struggled to adjust as you took a few steps away from the door. The lit-up signs from the nearby businesses swam around the edge of your vision, and you swallowed down a fresh wave of nausea. 

It seemed like only seconds later, though it must have been at least five minutes, when the car pulled up and Vernon appeared from out of nowhere to usher you into the backseat. 

You don’t remember the ride home. You don’t remember Vernon supporting you by your elbows to keep you from toppling sideways (or backwards) down the stairs. You don’t remember dropping your keys so many times that he’d taken them from you, let you both into the apartment. You don’t remember him helping you remove your heels, or placing a glass of water by your bed. 

You do remember waking up somewhere in the bright hours of early morning, still in your tight dress, head pounding and stomach rolling. 

Your apartment was empty; you hadn’t expected him to stay, but you’d checked the couch anyway, just to be sure. You drank the whole glass of water, sat on the floor of the shower and let the hot water punish you for your bad decisions, and then crawled back to bed. You texted Vernon - the first time either of you had texted while the sun was up - and apologized, thanked him for getting you home. 

You expected an answer as reserved as he normally plays things. You were surprised when, instead, he sent you back, “i think i’d be good at rodeo”, followed quickly by, “rodeoing???”

Frowning, you sent back a line of question marks.

His answer made you laugh through a groan, pressing your face into your pillows in embarrassment - “corralling you was NOT easy… but i did it 🤠”.

Face flushed with embarrassment, you sent another apology. 

You sank into quiet after that, unsure if you’d messed things up, made it too real, became a thing of responsibility instead of a thing of attraction. But he’d texted you the next weekend, those three little letters sending relief through your system: wyd? 

“Not drinking,” you said, and he wasted no time in sending back, “want to not drink at mine?”

1 yr 9 months ago

come over?

you come here?? ill order ur ride

ok 👍

“You seem weird.”

Vernon kept his expression even, though hearing the words made him want to grimace at being called out so immediately. He’d been spiraling for at least an hour; had at one point gotten so worked up that he’d slammed his laptop on the desk, causing it to show a shuddering blue screen before restarting on him.

If it hadn’t stumbled back to life, he honestly thought he would cry over it.

He might anyway. Fucking shit.

“I’m a weird guy,” he deadpanned instead.

“Weirder than normal,” you volleyed. “Everything okay?”

Vernon sent a dark look over his shoulder, where the textbook he’d been burying himself in still sat open on the page he’d been on when your text had rolled through.

But you weren’t here to help him study. You weren’t here to listen to him complain that he’d failed his last test, that his scholarship rode on this next one. You weren’t here to help him make flashcards, or even to rub his shoulders while he hunched over the textbook.

You were here so he could forget, for just a little while, that he was stressed in the first place. You were here to help him feel something besides the knots in his stomach, so he could hear a voice echoing in his head that wasn’t his own calling him stupid, stupid, stupid. You were here to melt the edges of his anxiety, the way he could have with a shot or a pill, if he were in a different mood.

He replaced the textbook on the flat surface of his desk with your bare ass, leaning over you to brace an arm next to his sleeping laptop. He let your soft cries take up space in his mind, crowding out his internal admonitions, his mind’s noisy cycling through the list of things he should be doing instead. His stomach muscles clenched because your fingertips trailed over them, not because he was imagining having to tell his parents he’d lost his scholarship. He groaned, long and guttural, because you felt like heaven clenching around him, hot and silky and perfect, not because he’d read the same paragraph three times and retained none of it. His fingers found the back of your neck and gripped you hard, holding you in place as his hips snapped into yours, instead of gripping the pen that refused to write answers that made any sense.

It worked; it helped. It was the first time in days that Vernon felt okay. He wished he could last forever - just so that he didn’t have to go back to reality, to life outside of this.

“Car’s on its way,” he told you, after you were cleaned up and dressed again.

You looked up at him from where you were perched on his desk, the same spot where he’d been drilling you only ten minutes ago.

“Thanks,” you said, then looked down at the textbook in your hand. You’d picked it up absently, but now you turned it over, reading the cover.

“This looks hard,” you observed. “Is this why you’re all…” You trailed off and made a face to indicate that Vernon was the human equivalent of a keysmash. You even mimed the keysmashing, in the air in front of you, with both hands.

The smile he gave you was probably sheepish. “Yeah. Test tomorrow. Flunked the last one.”

And he wasn’t sure why he was telling you, but you nodded slowly, eyes still on the cover of the book.

“Sucks,” you said sympathetically, and that was that. You didn’t make it a thing. You gave him a quick smile as you closed his door, and then you were gone.

Vernon took a shower, dissociated in the warm water until it ran cold. Then he heated up some instant noodles, and set everything back up on his desk to try again.

Maybe he should make fucking flashcards.

He was still at it around two in the morning, literally holding his eyelids up to stay awake, when his phone rattled on his keyboard.

good luck tmrw. hwaiting.

1 yr 8 months ago

“Go talk to him!”

“Chan, from the bottom of my heart, fuck off.”

Your best friend pouted at you over the top of his beer. “You haven’t dated in forever.”

You hadn’t needed to. You didn’t want domesticity, nor partnership. And the parts that were left, Vernon had been handling just fine.

But Chan didn’t know that.

“I don’t want to,” you snapped. “I don’t want to talk to that guy, and I don’t want to date someone. I want to drink with my idiot friend Chan. Is that a problem?”

His pout deepened. “No,” he sulked. “But I’m worried about you, noona.”

“Well, don’t be,” you said, softening. “I’m fine. I’m just not after… all that.”

Still looking a little bit like a kicked dog, Chan glanced down at his beer and then back up at you, timid. “Have you been… working on anything lately?”

You wanted to crawl out of your skin. You wanted to evaporate, slip towards the ceiling in tiny droplets of not-matter, vanish as you got too close to the sun.

“Nope,” you said, forcing a breezy tone.

His eyes on you were too knowing. Your clothes all itched, suddenly. “Nothing, since -?”

“Chan,” you said, not even trying to hide the desperation on your face, in your voice, in the way your hands reach out for his. “Please, can we not do the intervention thing right now? I really, really cannot.”

He went quiet. “Fine,” he said finally, and the timid-younger-brother thing was gone, replaced with something almost angry. Frustrated, at least. “Fine. You need a refill?” He downed the last of his beer and reached for your glass.

“No,” you said, pulling it further from his reach. “I need shots. Let’s go.”

The burn in your throat helped you move on, move away from the uncomfortable moment. You relished the slight sting, closed your eyes as you felt the heat make its way to your stomach. Kept them closed, felt everything tight inside you loosen by degrees, until you could breathe again.

You danced, you drank more. You did tequila shots, licking salt off the back of some girl’s hand, both of you giggling even though you never saw her before in your life and probably wouldn’t again once the shots were done.

At some point, you stilled, realizing you hadn’t seen Chan in a while. You rested your elbows against the bar for balance and pulled out your phone.

where are you? you sent.

His answer confused you. told you goodbye almost two hours ago, you fucking mess.

Then, another, do I need to come back and get you?

Shame engulfed you. You were a mess, always a mess. A fuck-up, a drop-out, a waste of potential. The idea of him having to come take care of you, come back to get you and babysit you, made you want to crawl under the sticky floorboards.

no, you sent back. i’m leaving now.

But the shame hovered over your shoulder. Its breath coated your neck in humid huffs, its claws pressed into the flesh of your arms hard enough to leave little crescents, its tail curled around your leg to hold you in place.

You ordered another shot.

The room was dark, and smelled stale, like a window hadn’t been opened in months.

The room was not the bar.

Your body flooded with adrenaline so fast that you had to close your eyes and force an inhale.

You didn’t remember leaving the bar. You didn’t know where you were. You didn’t know how you got here.

The shame was back, tail heavy over your abdomen, but the spikes of fear were worse. You felt around the darkness until you could find your phone. You used its light to look around - you seemed to be alone on someone’s couch. Hand shaking, it took you three tries to open your maps app. You couldn’t get the screen to focus, couldn’t read to see what neighborhood you were in.

The screen swam before you and you clicked it off, closing your eyes and trying to breathe, trying not to cry.

Who could you call?

Not Chan, the shame whispered to you, lifting its head from slumber and opening its beady eyes, yellow across the dark room.

You didn’t have many other choices. You'd found that a symptom of isolation is that fewer people stick around, waiting for you to come out of it, to be normal again. You'd known this, logically, for years. You still couldn't help it when the urge to hunker down and speak to no one but Chan and your mom took over; you couldn't help when your stupid, broken brain told you that you were bothering everyone but to believe it. Don’t call Chan. You closed one eye and turned your screen on again, determined to make it make sense.

It was almost three in the morning.

You knew one person who might still be up.

Vernon’s hello sounded awake, and that’s what made you crack, tears starting to slide down your cheeks without permission.

“I don’t know where I am,” you admitted. The shame gave a hearty huff and lowered its head again. “I can’t - I can’t get a car because - I can’t see the - the buttons aren’t working -”

“Put me on speaker,” he said calmly, and you clung to his voice like the rung of a pool ladder. You didn’t need to climb up, you just needed to hold on.

“Okay,” you said, when you’d managed it.

“Go to your messages,” he said next, and walked you through each step until you’d managed to drop him your location.

“Thank you,” you’d said, tears dry. Everything dry. Even the shame seemed a bit opaque, the numbness strong enough to push away even this least desirable companion as it came creeping in. “Thank you, I’m sorry, I -”

“Stay on the phone with me,” he instructed.

“Vernon, no,” you protested. “You should go to sleep.”

“Wasn’t sleeping anyway,” he said flatly, and there was no room to argue.

You stayed on the line in silence as you hunted around for your shoes, or a coat. You found neither, though somehow your purse was still strapped to you. You did manage to find a front door. You exited the house, closing the door quietly behind you. You still didn’t know whose fucking house it was.

You threw up next to the mailbox. You collapsed into the grass, wet with morning dew under your back. You shivered, coatless and barefoot. Your phone was somewhere in the yard behind you, the call still connected.

Above you, the shame swam between the stars, twisting and undulating amongst the constellations until it made you so dizzy that you rolled over to throw up again.

When you saw headlights, you pushed yourself to sit, trying to breathe. The driver wouldn’t let you in the car if they thought you might be a puke risk. You looked around the ground near where you were sitting, trying to find your phone, realizing belatedly that you were still on the call with Vernon.

“Sorry,” you said, bringing it to your ear again. “I dropped my phone in the yard. The car's here.”

“I know,” he said simply, which didn't make sense, but you were too gone to figure it out.

“I'm gonna hang up now,” you said quietly. “Thank you for helping me.”

He made a noncommittal noise and you ended the call as the car coasted to a stop. You started to rise, to make your way unsteadily to the back door. Instead, the driver’s door opened.

“Vernon,” you complained, horrified that he'd come out at three in the morning to get you. He was supposed to be home, in bed, while a stranger drove you home - a stranger who you paid in money, owed no emotional labor for this effort. A stranger who could see you like this - a wreck, makeup smudged, confused, lost in multiple ways - and never see you again.

Vernon looked you over, then shook his head. He walked around his car and opened the passenger door, looking at you silently, waiting.

Finally, you stalked over.

“Why are you out here with no shoes on?” he asked, voice lower than normal.

“Lost them,” you muttered, dropping into the passenger seat. Your stomach swam again, but it seemed to be empty enough now that all you got was the suffering.

He drove you in silence for a little. Then, at a red light, looked over at you, that expression as blank as ever.

You were starting to learn his tells, though. His fingers tapped on the gear between you.

You’d made him anxious.

“What happened?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Blacked out,” you said, looking at your knees. “Didn’t mean to. I think some girls invited me along to their place? And then I must have passed out.” The tequila shot girl’s face swam in your mind - this seemed correct.

“Girls?”

You looked at him, surprised. Pieces clicked together.

“You think I called you to get me from a hook-up’s house?” you asked, defensive. “I’m a disaster, but I’m not a bitch.”

He cleared his throat. “I didn’t say that.”

You were both quiet a little longer.

“I’m not… I don’t…” You weren’t sure how to say it. “I know you didn’t ask me not to - and I’m not asking anything from you - but - I don’t…”

“Okay,” he said, stopping your ramble. You looked at him, relieved, so glad he understood. That you didn’t have to say it. “Cool.”

Cool.

If you could without throwing up again, you’d shake your head. He was just so… Vernon.

You were hungover for two days; you even called out of work for one of them. When the headache finally subsided, you told the cat you were never drinking again.

The cat jumped off the bed and trotted away; it might as well have called you a liar.

When the weekend rolled around, you didn’t text Vernon. The shame lay its heavy, clawed foot on top of your phone, leveled you with an even look that said don’t even think about it.

How could you face him again, anyway? Why would he want to see you, after he’d seen the truth so clearly - that you were messy, a mistake, more trouble than any situationship was worth?

Friday night came and went in silence. You were right - he wanted out. You didn’t blame him at all.

Then, Saturday night, a text came through.

you coherent? 😏

You laughed, rolled your eyes, sent back, unfortunately. can we change that?

want to try a different poison tonight?

is that supposed to be flirty?

if you need me to do the hard sell, my offer won’t end you up at a strangers house at 3am

that’s a solid argument

i’ll come get you. need some time?

yeah, gimme 30 min?

cool.

You snorted again. Cool. He was such a dork.

“Thanks for getting me,” you said, when you slid into his passenger seat.

“Can’t let you entertain yourself,” he said, ticking his head to the side like he’d learned his lesson. “You end up without shoes.”

The callback to last weekend made your face heat, and you expected him to lecture you - to tell you to be more careful, that you shouldn’t put yourself in situations like that, that your liver will quit someday.

He didn’t - didn’t bring up anything that happened until -

“Only need me, huh?” he asked, later, pressing so deep into you that you squirm away, delighted when he pulls you back roughly, puts you right back where you’d both rather you be. “No one else does it this good, right?”

“Shut up,” you huffed, half-laughing. “God.” Then he shifted his angle and you repeated yourself, a broken record, god god god, for a whole new reason.

1 yr 7 months ago

Everything was slow and heavy. Vernon’s eyelids lowered and then slid open again, slow… slow. Air army-crawled on elbows and knees into his lungs, slipped out too easily. His blood in his veins trudged; his heartbeat couldn’t whip it into going faster. The ceiling fan above him circled, chasing its tail in an endless loop.

come over.

It must have taken him two hours to type the text. Two hours for it to fly through space - is that how texts send? through space? - to your phone. Two hours for you to get there, to let yourself into his unlocked apartment.

“Took you forever,” he muttered, still watching the ceiling fan.

He was a little out of it, a little bit on another plane. Your hands were cool against his cheeks, thumbs cool as they traced his jawline. For a minute, they felt like the only thing tethering him to earth, keeping him in this room, in this apartment.

“You in there?” Your voice came from far away.

“Yeah.”

He opened his eyes again, and found you hovering above him, light streaming from behind you.

You didn’t mention his red eyes, didn’t tease him for the way his words came out one phoneme at a time. You just pulled your shirt over your head - he may have groaned when the fabric passed your tits, fuck you for showing up without a bra on - and then reached for his hem. Then you lay tight up against him, one hand absently stroking over his chest.

You let him make every first move, let him decide when he’s in his own body again. He kissed you slow, licked into your mouth like it was viscous, marveled in how your skin felt when his hands skated over your back.

It must have been two hours that he kissed you, only that, before finally tugging you to straddle him.

He’d been fucked up when he texted you, but he was feeling clearer now. Clear enough to peel your leggings over your ass, to lift his hips when you tugged on his sweatpants. Clear enough to let out a breath that shuddered embarrassingly when you positioned him at your entrance and sank to the hilt, stilling and tilting to look him in the eyes.

Sometimes Vernon thinks about Giles Corey. He shouldn’t even know about this random piece of American history; he definitely didn’t learn it in school. But sometimes Vernon would procrastinate real work by going to random Wiki articles, and sometimes what he read would stick. 

He remembered this one. During the early Salem witch trials, Giles Corey was tried as a witch, but not hung. Instead, he’d been pressed to death - the stones added one by one to the board over his chest. He was supposed to confess. 

He’d died that way, had been literally crushed to death, one stone at a time.

His last words had been more weight.

That’s how Vernon felt, most days. One stone at a time, pressing on his ribcage. It was never enough to crush him, just enough to make him feel like he couldn’t take a breath, enough to make him feel like his bones might crack and cave and it’s scary - but they never did. Or, they hadn’t yet.

Every day, Vernon woke up, spit at the feet of whatever church was awaiting his confession, and demanded, more weight.

But the stones had felt heavier, today. Some days were like that. Some days felt like hardly any at all. He tried to remember that - the lighter days would come.

He didn’t feel them at all, now. The only weight on his chest was your hands as you leaned your body forward for leverage, riding him at the pace he set with his hands on your hips, guiding you up and back - slow, slow.

“Fuck,” you groaned, eyes squeezing shut and then opening again, blinking quickly. “It’s too - god, I can feel everything - I don’t know if I can - it’s too -”

“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmured, reaching up to pull you closer, to bring you chest to chest.

“I need you to move,” you whimpered, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “Please, I need you to go faster.”

Vernon swore fiercely as his body obeyed without his permission, feet flattening against his mattress and arms crossing over your back to hold you in place against him. You both gasped, equally shocked at the sudden change.

“More,” you begged. “Please, Vernon.”

More weight, he thought, and then he wasn’t thinking anything because you were wailing, fingers twisting in the sheets next to his shoulders, pulsing around him in dizzying, soul-sucking waves.

Sometimes Vernon thinks being alone will be the stone that kills him.

He almost asked you to stay, after, just to keep it at bay. Almost.

He thought that you might be his new favorite vice.

1 yr, 6 months ago

wyd tonight?

uhhh awkward. i’m. on a date?

why awkward? you’re allowed.

thanks for the permission.

i’m generous, what can i say

dont worry though its nothing. we got set up. its… not going great lol

i understand. hes got tough competition.

Please. 🙄

have fun

im not going home with him. i promise.

prove it.

how?

come here after.

ykw?? i think i will. Next ->

my first svt fic ever!!! thank you so much for being here! i hope you continue to enjoy!

[mozzaicynth]

one thought everyday and its just the amazing world of gumball especially these three freaks (doodles + some headcanons below :3)

mr small -

my interpretation of small becoming more mellowed out in the future seasons as opposed to season 1 is him managing his anger in a more healthier way (meditation, etc) (plus i think all those herbal infusions are incredibly effective on the nerves) . that being said i think he still has underlying anger issues and lashes out if prompted too much . another reason hes nicer and more of a pushover in the later seasons is because i like to think hes guilty of his plethora of outbursts earlier on, especially towards students (unwarranted shouting which as a school counsellor he should know is pretty harmful on younger kids) . the fact that he tries to offer his help when its absolutely not needed so many times later on in the show further makes me like to think he’s making up for it all

hes also so autistic to me hes on the spectrum you cant tell me otherwise and i think hes pretty awkward and considered strange by the whole town (which is saying a lot for elmore standards) . still super friendly and approachable but he also cant take hints and he definitely stims (and has special interests, alternative medicine are you kidding)

his music taste i love to think is all over the place … i get the general consensus is he listens to mystic chants and sitar music but he definitely listens to more, ranging from pop to indie to rock to metal (this may or may not have become an idea when i was listening to ‘darts by soad and associated it with him,) . also what with his stupid little self funded album that is such a jarring listen ‘cause of all the ridiculous genre changes

i think he crochets/macrames as a hobby along with other diy stuff (most of the decorative items in his home crafted by him) making him, surprisingly considering how incompetent he is sometimes, super crafty/handy .

larry -

larry is a great person: incredibly intelligent, he’s very knowledgable on a plethora of subjects and he has a big heart, holding little to no virtriol against the people of elmore (except the wattersons but that is SO warranted) . thus i like to imagine he did great in school, moved on to do so wonderfully in uni whilst juggling jobs and his studies but after graduation was left stuck (alike so many people nowadays) . neither small or larry came from well off families but i think for larry he didn’t have much of a support system anyway so currently he overworks and works and works just to catch up on the student debt whilst simultaneously paying his taxes (i still think about that episode all the time fuck the police . big pink son of a bitch), loans and not to mention the bare minimum to keep himself alive

he’s a very sweet and kind person but anyone under the immense stress that he’s under would be irritable and temperate (he deserves to be more angry imo) and i whilst he has so many jobs he always aims to excel at all of them, having an incredibly particular way that tasks must be done and having them organised . because of this, he can be a lot more temperate when interacting with coworkers, especially those who don’t do their job as well, having to take matters into his own hands . as he and karen (his girlfriend throughout the series) share some jobs it puts a strain on their relationship (which was built off of the mutual ‘having several jobs’) and they break up .

even so, though larry consistently tries to propose to her in the show, in “the laziest” he doesn’t seem to be happy nor comfortable at all with the prospects of marrying her . in fact, even when he’s achieved the ‘american dream’ (properties like a house and car and a family (his girlfriend soon to be wife)) he’s unhappy . personally i don’t think he knows what he wants to do with himself ; he works all day and night and has little to no time for himself to even think in peace that the only purpose he knows is work .

i like to think he used to be an artist; self taught, it was a hobby and an enjoyment but his studies and his work took over so his one form of self expression was squeezed out of his life .. (i like making their lives as bleak as possible soz ! 🙏) he still admires the arts and i think that’s another reason he likes steve so much; his handcrafts and mini projects .

steve and larry are two opposites that are similar in ways .. but i love their dynamic so much . my interpretation of them is that steve will help larry balance out his life slightly better to leave room for himself instead of working 24/7 . steve has his head in the clouds and larry grounds him, and larry is so stuck in his ways with work that steve pulls him out of it slightly, lifting him up a little higher (AUGHHHGHH I HATE THEM I HATE THEM

as for their relationship with rob, im very much a stevelmeyer adoption truther !! both larry and steve coming from dysfunctional families, they aim to help rob and take care of him to the best of their abilities . further, larry taking on taking care of rob gives him direction in his life again . 😁😁😁😁😁😁

this isnt gonna be the last post headcanon/idea wise i still think of them 24/7 but heres jus SOME things .. (im such a yapper sprry not sorry !) :3c

[blondwhxrewrites]

A/N: This is for all my autistic homies. I fucking love you guys 😘. Btw this is based on how autism shows itself in girls/women. Remember for all my autistic girlies, never ever feel sorry for being yourself ❤️

"Mattheo, I'm autistic." 

Mattheo looked at you, mouth agape. He raised an eyebrow, looking at you quizzically, obviously confused. "What's that?" he questioned, his head tilting slightly to the side. 

You stared at him, unblinking. "You don't know what autism is?" You asked, slowly processing his lack of information. Was wizard society really that far behind? Damn. You sighed, chewing on your lower lip. How was one supposed to explain autism to someone who has probably no idea what disabilities even are? 

"Well, Matty, to sum it up, I don't work like other people do," you tried to explain while sitting down next to him. "My mind works differently than yours and other people's." 

He watched you curiously, taking in your words and trying to make sense of them in his mind. "Is that supposed to scare me away because, darling, it isn't working? You're not getting rid of me." 

You laughed, shaking your head. "I mean, it might scare some people away, but no, that's not why I'm telling you this," you replied, your heart swelling with happiness at seeing his positive reaction. "I'm telling you this because I want you to know that being in a relationship with me will be different from other relationships you have been in before." 

Mattheo nodded, his foot repeatedly tapping the ground. "Well, I'm willing to learn. So lay it all on me, baby," he chuckled, his lips curling up in a smile as he looked at you. He watched as you wrung your hands together, and he reached out, grabbing one of your hands and squeezing it. "Darling, I'm being serious when I say I want to learn." 

Your shoulders went slack, and you let out a deep sigh. The nerves you felt slowly washed away with the assurance of his words. "Well," you began.

"I have a hard time with social cues and reading people. If someone is mad at me or annoyed, I won't be able to tell unless they specifically tell me that. While some people might be able to take hints, I can't really recognize them. I need you to be straightforward with me about your feelings." Your eyes darted to his, making sure he was listening before you continued.

"I can't handle loud and crowded places that well. They make me overwhelmed and overstimulated, and that can lead me to have a meltdown. Which is when my mind practically shuts down, or at least it feels like it, and I kind of regress during those. I can't speak or do anything, and I tend to hurt myself during those, like hitting myself. I also sometimes hurt others when they try to help me through my meltdowns. I don't mean to; I just can't really control what I do in those moments. Sometimes even the slightest of things can cause me to melt down or panic. If a change of plans happens, I can sometimes have extreme reactions to it that can derail my entire day. I'm not very good with change. I stim a lot, and sometimes it can look weird. Like, whenever I'm excited, you know how I jump up and down and flail my hands? That's me stimming. Repetitive motions, stuff like that. I also have a weird relationship with touch and intimacy. It depends on the person; for example, I feel comfortable touching you, but with Blaise, I don't. It changes a lot."

Mattheo listened intently to your words, nodding along and trying to make a mental checklist. All of this was important to you, and that meant it was important to him too. He didn't care how long this conversation would take, he was willing to hear everything you had about this.

"I go non-verbal sometimes, and I can't speak or talk for hours up to days. I literally can't talk, even if I want to. That usually happens after meltdowns or when I'm feeling really intense emotions. I have sensory issues and can't wear some clothes because of how they feel on my body. My relationship with food is basically non-existent. I can't eat some things because of how it feels, and sometimes I go selective eating, and it's really hard to eat anything else besides my safe foods. I also just sometimes forget to eat because I don't really process that I feel hungry unless I'm starving. I mask my autism a lot, hence why people sometimes think I'm lying when I tell them I'm autistic. I tend to copy other people unconsciously. That's why you see me and Pansy having a lot of the same little habits. "

You finished, your voice faltering as you looked at him nervously, trying to gauge his reaction. "There's a lot of other things, but that's like a pretty surface-level breakdown of it." You added, looking away from him and at the ground. "Oh, and also, if you see me not looking at you during conversations, it's not because I'm not listening; it's because I'm just not good with eye contact."

It was a lot of new information for Mattheo. He'd never considered the fact that people could, how did you say it, work differently? He'd have to ask you more about it during a later conversation. "I can work with that," he shrugged. 

Your lips curled up into a smile, and your eyes slowly lit up. "Really?" you asked, genuinely worried that he was just playing with you. 

"Well, I mean, obviously, I have a lot to learn still, and I'm probably going to make a lot of mistakes."

"Everyone makes mistakes," you interrupted him. 

He shushed you, playfully pressing his finger to your lips to stop you from talking. "What I'm trying to say is that your being autistic changes nothing to me. It's who you are, and I love who you are. I promise you, I'm going to try my hardest." 

You felt tears prick your eyes, and you nodded. "You have no idea how much that means to me, Matty," you sniffled, and you squeezed his hand. 

"Like I said before, darling, you're not ever getting rid of me."

[lenle-g]

Inspired by this WIP by @astranite <3

“Do I look okay?” John had frozen with his fingers tucked into his hair, a curl wound around his index. He twisted it on repeat, the only flicker of movement that remained, along with the dart of his eyes to Scott, around the room and then to the stars beyond. Would he pass their father's inspection? That’s the question John was really asking. Scott reached out. “May I?” John gave a short, sharp nod, eyes going back to the floor. His uniform hat hung loosely from his other hand, dancing on the borderline of keeping enough tension not to drop it.

Slowly and deliberately, Scott tugged John’s uniform straight, setting his lilac baldric on his shoulder proper, and smoothing out the wrinkles from sky blue fabric. It wasn’t perfect, it certainly wasn’t ironed, but it was better. John seemed more like his usual self, albeit standing shakily on his own two feet, now he didn’t look as much like he was fresh off of a crying jag. Or rather he was more of the John he put out to the world and everyone was allowed to see. And yet, there was a tiny bit more hope held in his frame and the way he actually breathed now. Scott kept his hands pressed to John’s chest a moment longer than necessary; he could feel his brother’s racing heart beating even through the layers of uniform and baldric. It was a blatant excuse to touch, woven together with the practical need to help, and an opportunity to be near taken after being so far away for so long. John rocked forward on his toes to lean into it and they stayed like that, locked together for a what could’ve been an eternity or a millisecond, before Scott slid his hands off the edges of John’s sharp shoulders and John returned to fidgeting with his hair. The movements though were a little frantic; John winced as he caught a snarl at the back as he attempted to fingercomb it into order, too clumsy and frustrated with himself. Scott gently took over when John’s stared at him, eyes an echo of sea green and pleading quietly. He clutched his hat to his chest as he wriggled the fingers of his other hand at his side in a never ending pattern of waves. Scott did his best to comb the back of his brother’s unruly hair to lie in the same direction, to become part of a pattern while the long, soft strands curl where John can’t see them. Waves. The waves of John’s stimming; the wavering lights of the auroras he studies. Maybe Scott was beginning to see why John always insisted it was all connected, the entire universe together. Then his mind returned to the waves of the oceans of Earth and the ripples of their pool overflowing when they all jumped in at the same time. Soon they would be there, John too. Scott swept a clump of strands away from where they brushed John’s neck and caught in his collar to join with the others. “Getting a bit long at the back here, Jay,” he murmured. John’s free hand turned to flickering. “Yeah. Maybe even Virge could… Y’know fix it while I’m on Earth.” “Course! He’d be happy to help. He does love a guinea pig for hairstyling experiments but he will just give you a trim, if that’s what you want.” John’s lips quirked up in a small smile. “Better than letting Grandma get a hold of me.” Grandma wielding the kitchen shears was nearly as terrifying as the prospect of her getting ahold of Brains’ plans for a turbo nuclear powered oven. Again. It sure was a way to cook, not even the solidly frozen turkey had survived its maiden flight last Christmas. John and Scott laughed over past family mishaps together. Maybe it was the prospect of joining them that made it so John didn’t change the subject to avoid them. Casual conversation could be painful in ways other people didn’t see until it was too late. Doing John’s hair though reminded Scott of getting his brothers ready as kids, lining them up in their good clothes for their father's rounds of inspection. He’d never not expected military spit and polish. John was usually the one to need least last minute fixing up. Virgil was a dirt magnet for paint, food and grease. Gordon had a talent for getting soaking wet five minutes before they had to be out the door, and Alan had been a literal baby. John would either be found sitting at the ready by the front door, his nose in a book, or he’d be helping Scott out with the others.

[purityonice]

💙 BRANCH X AUTISTIC! READER 💙

calming you down.

Requested? Yeah :)

TW// panic attack!

Also sorry if i got this wrong dont be afraid to correct me!!!

im sorry i havent been posting ive just been busy plus i had mad writers block!!

Branch knew you were different, thats why he liked hanging around you.

You two had so much in common and he felt like you were the only one that got him. Even his best friend Poppy didn’t get him like you did.

He never knew why you were so against taking off your headphones or joining in on any of the parties but he was glad for it.

So he knew that when Poppy decided to throw another massive party just for funsies you would come knocking at his door. But not how he expected you to.

“B-Branch! open the door please!” You cried out desperately your hands covering your ears as you crouched down staring at his trapdoor. A loud bang and a bright flash assaulted you as loud cheering could be heard from a mile away.

Poppys parties had become so much more intense after the truce with the Bergens and this one was the worst.

Branch leaned on his lever as he yawned adorned in his robe and coffee in his hand unaware of your predicament. The elevator came to a stop as he began to undo his series of locks, the sound of the party drowning out your whimpers.

The final lock was undone and he swung open the trap door, your scared face looking down at him trembling trying to calm yourself down.

Branch’s face dropped as guilt bubbled up inside him, wondering how long you had been waiting for him. Quickly grabbing you and pulling you inside, closing the door and locking it again.

As you writhed from the sudden contact the bunker was alot quieter than outside, the music was muffled by the underground walls while you swayed back and forth on the ground. The feeling on the elevator soothing you abit as it began to descend.

“Are you alright? you dont look so good.” Branch finally spoke his voice laced with worry as he lowered himself down to your level.

You couldn’t respond your body was to letting you speak as Branch sat besides you.

He knew what was going on all to well.

“uhm- I have this place that I go to when i’m feeling overwhelmed… do you want to go there?” He said softly his eyes gazing your body as you shook your head yes. A soft warmth in his stomach grew happy that youre starting to reapond to him.

“I also have this technique to help want to try it? its going to be awhile before we get there my bunker is pretty big.” Branch asked his eyes never leaving you waiting for you to respond. After you agreed he got right into it.

“Okay just think of three things you see, hear, and smell. it always helps me.” He yawned out streching his legs as you stimmed beside him.

your eyes darting around the little elevator walls as rooms passed by.

Storage room, dirt, Branch

Branch looked at you as you stared at him a heat rising on your face as you closed your eyes to hear better your thoughts begining to calm down as you swayed back and forth.

The elevator gears moving, very faint music, Branch

Branch was shuffling around in his spot his soft grunts as he got up from his place probably to quickly grab some stuff knowing him. His body plopped softly on the floor besides you again a soft jingling following.

Keeping your eyes closed as you began to smell the area that surrounded you a soft pop was heard but never the less you continued, this was really working.

Oil, dirt, Branch.

He smelt pleasant like fresh from the shower nice, the would explain the robe. Your eyes remained shut as you soaked in Branches scent not realising that he was now speaking to you. He snapped his fingers infront of your face to grab your attention.

Your eyes flutters open to a few fireflies illuminating the area the soft buzzes of their bodies was so nice as they danced infront of you both.

“You smell so nice Branch.” You said bluntly while your eyes were still locked on the bugs that flew ahead of you. He was taken a back and let out a chuckle as you started to shuffle closer towards him.

“This is so nice thank you for helping me Branch.” your voice was soft leaning your head on his shoulder as you listened to his breathing.

Branchs body was stiff feeling you drape your head on his a his body heated. A dorky smile on his face as he looked into your eyes full of light. A soft smile plastered on your face while you just let your surroundings soak in.

“So did you still want to goto the room I was talking about earlier?” Branch said feeling you nod against his shoulder you interwined your hand with his as you looked up at him.

“Yes please.”

[lets-try-some-writing]

less gross asks. How does TFP bots react to stimming? It’s up to your interpretation if any of humans are neurodivergent of any kind, I don’t care, but everyone stims sometime. (Like constant shifting balance, eyes darting all around, spinning, intensely shaking hands and legs, scratching, head rocking, and twitching.) Bet happens a lot during Optimus Prime long speeches and lectures.

Good question. Personally I think that Cybertronians wouldn't mind it.

On Cybertron, bots have any number of physical and mental divergencies that prompt interesting responses to different scenarios. There are many components on the frame after all. Things twitching, optics shifting, and gears turning are not strange at all when a mech is forced to stand at attention for something of importance. Violent shaking is a bit more unusual, but those with very mentally straining functions have been known to need to blow of steam through intense plating flaring. Units made for speed or stealth are also known for tapping, lots of tapping. Simply put, movement to deal with excess energy is not at all unheard of and is actually seen as a positive sign for a developing Cybertronian since it means they have enough processor space to devote to excess tasks such as twitching without intention.

Humans performing such movements wouldn't bother them at all. They would see it as a good thing since the children are small and the extra movement dictates that they must be developing well. Excessive limb movement might prompt raised brows and end with Ratchet demanding someone take the children out, but it would not be concerning for the team.

Movement is good. It shows one is alive and functioning.

[fatuifvcker]

I DEMAND US FACE SITTING GEPARD💪💪

(⁠｡⁠・⁠/⁠/⁠ε⁠/⁠/⁠・⁠｡⁠)

HI I LOVE GEPARD AND WHIPPED THIS UP SO FAST THANKS TO A RED BULL ENERGY DRINK!

A/N: This is my first time writing/posting Gepard or HSR in general, so please go easy on me... I will get more comfortable as I write for it more!

Word Count: 0.6k

Warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI! Face sitting, slight/brief over stim(?), nervousness/anxiety briefly mentioned, sweet sweet gepard using pet names, no use of Y/N (No beta, we die like men)

Gepard, somehow, ended up between your legs every single time he came over to your house. No matter what, he always found a way to get between your thighs.

You never found yourself complaining, not really. You may have had work you were supposed to be doing at some point, but Gepard’s skilled tongue was unmatched leaving you lying in bed, on the floor, sometimes on the table…

There was one thing the two of you had not tried though… Face Sitting.

“Baby,” Gepard kissed your thighs and gave them a reassuring squeeze. “I promise, there is no reason to be nervous!”

You were trembling for whatever reason. Hands gripped the headboard and your eyes were glued on the wall. Your legs were growing sore as you hed yourself above Gepard’s face. You inhaled sharply and exhaled slightly slower, calming yourself.

“We don’t have to-” Gepard started.

“No! No…” You smiled down at him as your knuckles began to turn white. “I’m just- I don’t want you to not be able to breathe…”

“Oh- My love, I promise I will be just fine. Now, you’re dripping wet and I’m aching for you to sit down.”

You nodded. “Okay, I trust you.”

Gepard gave you a toothy grin causing you to loosen up slightly. Your grip loosened on the wooden headboard and you slowly lowered yourself onto Gepard’s face. His eyes shut and his tongue darted out of his mouth. He was quickly lapping you up, and your legs tensed again. Gepard could feel you weren’t sitting all the way down and he gently pulled you further down.

Your legs were completely bent and you were sitting awkwardly for a moment. Before realizing just how good it felt. Gepard’s expert tongue was quick to bring you back to reality and help the nerves go away.

Your back arched and you bit your lip. Your hips rocked forward, and Gepard’s nose bumped your clit. You felt a wave of electricity shoot through you. You gasped and Gepard smiled against you.

“Fuck, Gepard-” Your grip was tightening on the headboard again. Your hips rocked again and Gepard continued licking stripes up your pussy. His tongue found your clit and swirled circles around it.

You had both picked a pace and stuck with it. You were rocking and bucking against him and Gepard did not even seem to need to breathe. You were amazed. You were reaching your first orgasm and fast.

“I think-” You moaned out the words and let out a soft whine, “I’m close-”

Gepard understood. He did not stop for anything. If anything, he picked up the pace. His fingers stroked your left thigh and he pulled you closer. The close proximity only made your stomach turn even more.

He began to suck on your clit and your eyes screwed shut. Your legs tensed around Gepard’s face but he kept going. A loud cry escaped you, and for a brief moment, you were sure you were going to break the headboard. Your body tensed and your toes curled. Gepard still did not stop. Not yet.

When it became too much, you scooted back slightly, and Gepard let you go. You sat on his bare chest and let out a soft whine. “Gepard… Fuck…”

“Are you alright?” Gepard was practically licking his lips, “Was that too much?”

“No!” You put your hands up, “That was- I could um-” You rocked on his chest and bit the inside of your lip, “I kinda wanna do that again.”

Gepard gave you a wide smile and grabbed your thighs once more, and was easily able to pick you up, “Perfect! Because I’m nowhere near done-”

[starryluce]

Peace

Cal Kestis x f!reader

Warning: Smut but very soft smut, oral f! receiving, unprotected sex, grammar errors, No spoiler for Jedi survivor

Cal's only dream was to live in peace with you. To live on a planet away from the Empire. One they’d never find. Where he couldn't be hurt and, more importantly, you wouldn't get hurt. Maybe have a kid or two, but he would be more than content with just you and BD. 

You and Cal had been in this fight for too long. Sure, it had its good times. Cal was sure you and BD could make any bad day better. Even when he was bleeding from a blaster shot, he truly believed your soft hand was all he needed to fix it (which was not true, he needed a stim, a bottle of bacta spray, and 20 stitches). 

“Cal?” you ask quietly, rubbing your eyes gently to try to wake yourself up. “Go back to sleep,” he whispered gently, cradling your head. “Kinda hard when your staring at me,” you smile lovingly, Cal laughs.

“Just so beautiful,” he mummers, playing with a strand of your hair. “What’s on your mind?” you ask, knowing he's thinking about a lot more than your sleeping form. “Just our future.” he answers, his fingers finding their way to your scalp as he massages gently. “How do you see our future?” you try to pry, he smiles. “Always so snoopy,” he teases you, kissing your forehead. “If i was snoopy I would have read your thoughts by now,” you respond. He tilts his head. 

“You know, having a home where we can be safe, having time to relax, spend more personal time together.” He throws in a wink at the end, “maybe get married,” he adds

“You’d want to marry me?” you ask, a slight blush appearing on your cheek. “Of course,” he answers, draping your thigh over his body. His fingers slowly move back and forth between your upper and lower thigh. He moves to kiss you, and you gladly return it. As the kiss deepens, he moves between your legs. Moments like this were rare for you and Cal, you never had too much time, and when there was, you both were too sore and bruised to want to do anything except cuddle up and go to sleep. 

Cals kisses made their way down to your neck, causing you to giggle. His fingers found the bottom of your shirt, hinting he wanted it off. You obliged, lifting up your arms in response. The moment your shirt was off, Cal's mouth found its way to your nipple. His tongue circled it. This was all Cal wanted to be able to suck on your breast while you rutted against each other. He was always infatuated with your breast. He was ashamed of it and still partly is. He just can’t take his eyes away from them when you are showing just the tiniest bit of cleavage. Just the thought of cuddling into your breast gives him instant relaxation. But Cal was on a mission to please you, and if you keep rutting against him, he will not last long. 

He moves his mouth down, kissing you all the way down to your panties, and his fingers drag down until they're on the floor. “This okay?” he asks before attaching his mouth to your clit. “More than okay, Cal” he wasted no time after those words fell from your mouth. His hot tongue circling your clit makes you arch your back. Your hands make their way to his red hair as you pull him as close as humanly possible to you. His short beard is rough against your inner thigh, and you are sure it will irritate your skin. But for now, you can't bring yourself to care. Your thighs close around his head. You aren't quite sure how Cal is breathing, but how his tongue darts in and out tells you he's doing okay. “Cal,” you moan, “gotta stop baby.” you moan, your hands not letting go of his hair even with your brain telling you to let go. 

Cal's head pops up, “Kinda hard to stop when youe body keeps forcing me back down,” he laughs. The bottom half of his face is soaked in your juices. You pull him to you, giving him a kiss. “Need you inside me,” you whisper. Cal gives you a quick smile before going back to work. His big red tip looks painful and makes you feel bad for making him wait this long. Not that Cal minded. Your pleasure would always come first to him, no matter how much pain he endured. 

Before Cal's tip reached your entrance, you stopped him, instructing him to sit. You straddle his waist, guiding his cock into you. You both let out a moan at the sensation. “Never let me take care of you…” you begin, “Let me take care of you… Like you do me,” you whisper in his ear. Leaving sloppy kisses on his neck. “Yes, Maam’ he responds. Your arms wrap around his neck as your start bouncing. His hands are firm on your waist, trying his best not to help you. Not that you needed it. You were doing amazing. Pleasing him more than he ever thought was possible. He had this urge and instinct to help you with every little thing, even when he knew you could handle it. But he had to control it this time, in fear if he helped you, he would be forced to take his hands off your waist. 

“Mmm, close,” you moan. Your movement is slowing down and getting sloppy. “Cum for me,” he responds, brushing your hair from your face. “Not before you,” you cry, tears falling down your face. Trying your best not to cum on his cock, but it all feels too good. Cal's heart breaks at the sight of you crying in pain. “At the same time then, okay?” he brushes your tears away. You nod, pulling him as close to you as possible as you both come undone. Cal's hands rub up and down your back, “So good,” he whispers, leaving kisses near your jawline.

[goodlucktai]

the way things change

tmnt 2007 word count: 2k post-movie / canon compliant b team & leo-centric

this was my main piece for the @turtlestogetherzine ! it was such a fun project that so many talented people came together on and if you haven’t already you should definitely check out everyone else’s AMAZING contributions !

title borrowed from rivers and roads by the head and the heart

read on ao3

x

Donnie and Mikey have always been something of a matching set. 

During their early years, they went everywhere together. Even when Mikey was at his most irritating and Donnie seemed two seconds away from disposing of him in brutal fashion—even though the two of them could be like night and day at the best of times—they were always on each other’s team first. 

Raph used to call them ‘the twins’ because they were both his younger brothers and they were both, in his own words, tag-teaming little twerps. The twin moniker caught on and even Splinter would use it occasionally. In the back of his mind, Leo still does.

Three weeks after the dust had settled over the remains of Winter Corp, he found himself thinking, Guess some things never change. 

“Donnie, a tablet at the breakfast table?” Leo asks dryly. “Really?” 

Blatant disregard like this for one of sensei’s longest-standing rules was usually much more Raph’s speed. 

Don pauses mid-scroll and thinks for a moment. 

“Mikey, what day is it?” he says eventually.

“It’s the eleventh, dude, you’re good,” is Mikey’s distracted reply. 

He’s making a game out of pouring as much cereal into his bowl as it will physically hold, which has amounted to a sizable mound of off-brand Lucky Charms. Leo is reluctantly curious to see what he’s going to do when he remembers he still needs to add milk. 

Donnie, for his part, immediately goes back to ignoring the rest of them as a whole. 

Raph puts his spoon down. “Explain what just happened.”

“It’s a prime number day,” Mikey says blithely, without looking up from the careful, exacting process of shaking another couple of marshmallow pieces out of the box. “Prime means primo screen-time.” 

Splinter is sipping his tea without refuting Mikey’s explanation, so that must be a thing now. Leo blinks, processing this. He can’t help remembering how it was before he went away, the strict ‘no electronics at the table’ policy, because mealtimes were family times. 

Raph directs his confusion down a different route. “Mike knows what prime numbers are? Since when?”

Donnie looks up from his tablet to angle a narrow look Raph’s way. His warm brown eyes are markedly cooler than before. He clearly didn’t appreciate the joke. 

He’s never been one to pick fights with his siblings. The Donatello Leo knows is a gentle soul, every bit as deadly as the rest of his family, but more inclined to mediate disputes than start one himself. 

So the last thing Leonardo expects is for him to take a page out of Raph’s book at eight in the morning. 

When Mikey starts tapping and humming, Leo can't help smiling a little. It’s a sound he missed in the jungle. 

“God, I can’t even hear myself think around here,” Raph grumbles. 

To Leo’s ears, it’s not unkind. Teasing, but good-natured. Leo knows what Raphael sounds like when he’s ticked off beyond all reason—when he’s angling for a fight and determined to get one, when he’ll say anything to get Leo to punch back—and this is very much not that. 

But something darts through Mikey’s expression that makes the big brother half of Leo’s brain sit up and pay attention. Donnie notices, too. 

“He has ADHD, asshole,” he snaps. “If it bothers you that much, put on some headphones or go away.”

The atmosphere changes on a dime. Splinter’s ears go up, whiskers slicked back. Raph looks as surprised as Leo feels.

“Donnie!” Leo says, more stunned than scolding. 

Donnie puts his tablet down, not quite hard enough to constitute a slam. “Are we really going to pretend that Mikey’s stimming is more annoying than listening to Raph when he’s in one of his moods?”

“Er, no.” Leo briefly looks to Splinter for guidance before he catches himself. “I mean—it’s just the way you said it.”

“The way I said it?” Donnie demands. 

“Dee, knock it off,” Mikey interjects unhappily. “You know I hate it when you guys put me in the middle.”

It pulls Donatello up short. He visibly grits his teeth, then bites out, “Can I be excused?” 

Splinter knows when to pick his battles. It’s a lesson all of his sons could stand to learn. 

“Take your plate, please,” the rat says. 

To Donnie’s credit, he doesn’t storm down the tunnel to the lab, even though it looks like he’d like to. The reinforced door shuts behind him with a decisive clang that rings through the lair. 

Leo feels wrong-footed by the entire exchange. Somehow, in the last three minutes, a comfortable family breakfast went entirely off the rails. 

Mikey isn’t humming anymore. The kitchen feels quieter than it should. 

“Hey, I didn’t mean—” Raph starts uncertainly. 

“Don’t be dumb, I know that,” Mikey says, not looking at anyone. He tips his dry cereal back into the box and then picks at his toast until he’s moved enough of it around that his plate appears halfway finished and he’s allowed to leave the table. 

He does so at a run, booking it to the lab. The door opens right up for him. It was locked the last time Leo tried it. 

And it’s locked the next time he tries it, too, half an hour later. 

“It’s me,” Leo calls, feeling a little foolish standing out in the hall. “Can I come in?”

Donnie’s voice answers immediately. “List the first ten prime numbers and I’ll think about it.”

Okay, this is Donnie with a grudge. Leo remembers enough of what that looks like to tread carefully. 

“I just want to talk,” he says. “Is Mikey okay?”

The door unlocks and Donnie rolls it open. He gives Leo an inscrutable look before he stands back to let him in. 

Mikey is parked in a huge bean bag chair in the corner, headphones on, drawing tablet propped against his knees. His ninja senses must have pinged when Leo walked in; he glances up right on cue and offers a hang-loose sign. Leo mirrors it, entirely because he knows it’ll make Mikey snicker. 

“He’s fine,” Donnie says unnecessarily, sitting down at his desk. “We look out for each other.” 

If that’s a jab, it’s a well-aimed one. 

“Yeah, I see that,” Leo says. “Look, I’m sorry if it sounded like I took Raph’s side back there. But you know that Raph doesn’t think Mikey’s stupid. He would be the first to break somebody’s jaw for implying that.”

“So that makes it okay to say whatever he wants to a neurodivergent teenager?” Don presses, eyes flashing. “But when I say something to Raph—”

Leo can feel himself losing his patience. “Donnie, come on. All I meant was that you shouldn’t pick fights when you know better.”

As soon as he says it he knows it’s the wrong thing to say. Donnie spins his chair around to face the computer monitors, neatly severing his half of the conversation.

“Close the door behind you when you leave,” he says in a clipped tone. 

Across the room, Mikey is watching them with round eyes. He’s a few seconds from tossing his art aside and getting up to diffuse the fight. As much as he hates when his brothers put him in the middle, he has no problem putting himself there. 

It almost seems like Mikey isn’t sure if it’s safe to leave Donnie alone with this strange newcomer who looks a lot like the big brother who left them all behind. 

Leo breathes through the sharp pain that brings him and thinks, Fix this. 

He draws another chair over and sits down. Donnie’s shoulders go stiff but he doesn’t react otherwise. 

“Sorry,” Leo says quietly. 

It takes a minute but eventually Donnie nods, brown eyes full and troubled. 

“Me too,” he replies. “I know I’m being difficult. I’m just—I feel so angry all the time.”

Donnie isn’t Raph. He never had any problem with Leo’s authority. He had his own parts to play on the team, parts he took pride in—doctor, scientist, engineer. He was relieved to hand back that mantle of leadership, to step back into his curated role, but that doesn’t mean everything just returns to the way it was.

Donatello still resents his big brothers for abandoning him, each in their own way. He’s still bitter about all the extra weight he had to carry, without thanks or credit. He’s been stuck in place for the last two years, no outlet, no time for himself, and nobody on his team but Mikey, the one person Donnie has always been directly responsible for and could never bring himself to burden. He picked up an I.T. job he hated and stuck with it for longer than he should have, because he wouldn’t know how to quit something halfway if his life depended on it. His typically strong relationship with Raph—one that Leo’s secretly envied since they were kids—soured and left him without their hothead’s support. He had to figure out how to be a grown-up at the tender age of sixteen. 

Then Leo came back, expecting everything to be exactly how he left it. 

Of course Donnie’s angry. It’s no wonder he’s picking fights left and right. 

“You’re not being difficult, Don,” Leo says immediately, wishing, not for the first time, that Splinter had never sent him away. “If you want to scream and throw things at me, I think that would probably be more than fair.”

“I don’t want to do any of that,” Donnie replies wryly. He swivels his chair slightly, facing Leo again. There’s something grudgingly hopeful about him now—Leo’s little brother, trying to remember how to put his faith in Leo’s hands. 

It’s such a precious thing to hold. Leo can’t screw this up again. 

“You’ve worked out a pretty solid system while I was gone,” he says, bumping Donnie’s shoulder with his fist. “Can you show me the ropes?”

Give Donnie a chance to teach and he shines. Sure enough, he brightens a little. 

“We help April with acquisitions for her antique store on Thursdays. Do you want to come?” 

Leo heard about that from April. Apparently it’s more of a game than a chore, a city-wide scavenger hunt. He was hoping for an invitation but he wasn’t expecting one. He feels himself smile. 

Mikey, who has clearly been listening in, lowers his headphones and asks, “All four of us?”

That brings Donnie up short. Leo jumps in. 

“I told Raph I wanted us to do a team-building exercise sometime soon, and he said he’d be down for anything, as long as you two promised to go easy on him.” 

That’s exactly what he said, too—only he’d added, gruffly affectionate, ‘those tag-teaming little twerps.’ 

“Sound good?” Leo asks them warmly. 

Mikey beams. Donnie’s disagreeable outer shell begins to soften. By some miracle, Leo still knows how to do this. Two years wasn’t enough to overshadow a lifetime. 

It’s a privilege to sit in the lab, watching Donnie bring up files on his latest project, listening attentively to engineering and mechanics that go clean over his head. Mikey joins them at the desk and shows Leo the digital painting he’s been working on, chattering energetically about watercolor and composition and the new brush he’s obsessed with. 

Raph wanders in some time later with an apology in hand—drinks from the twins’ favorite coffee shop. He probably left right after breakfast to be back already. 

Donnie smiles after the first sip. Raph must have got it exactly right.

Leo lets his tea warm his hands and soaks up their company the way regular turtles bask in sunlight. 

Donnie and Mikey built a house in the empty space their brothers left behind. The door isn’t always open, but Leo and Raph can always knock. Maybe they could even live there together someday, once they remember how to be on each other’s team. 

Until then, Leo is willing to put in the work. It’s what he’s always done. 

He’ll do whatever it takes to get back home.