#i won't write it for myself

[aflockofravens]

@ellionwrites

I just had the MOST diabolical thought for an Itafushi AU that immediately made me cry thinking about it.

Despite everything I need to do today AND all the other unfinished fics I have, I wanna drop it all to write this.

If this post gets even 1 note I'm doing it

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

˖✧ Through my eyes

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader ✦ Summary: Karen explains Mary and Arthur's story to you. Saddened, you're convinced you could never compete with her until the man in question proves you wrong. ✦ Warnings/Tags: Self-depreciation from both sides, kissing, comfort, fluff. Reader has been with the gang for a year. Use of Y/N. ✦ Words: 2,8k ✦ a/n: This is the answer to this ask by the lovely @crystalofmoon19. I really hope you'll like it, dear! And thank you for your support, you've been really sweet to me and my work! As always, I got carried away and wrote way too much. And as always, please reach out to me if you spot any misspellings. Also idk why I made this in Colter, guess I just feel way too hot rn and want some fresh snow + Arthur's coat is perfect for comfort. Credits. Arthur's pic is from my playthrough. Other pics are not mine found them on Pinterest.

“And in the end, she rejected his proposal, then a few months later, sent him a letter telling she was marrying some wealthier gentleman!”

Your mouth hangs open in the air. Karen’s words enter through your ears and create a nice little nest for themselves in your brain. You had no idea. No idea Arthur had been this close to being married. That their relationship had been so strong, that, according to hearsays, he had reached his lowest after their break up, drunk most part of the day, fighting the rest of the time, obnoxious to everyone, even Dutch and Hosea.

“Y/N? You’re okay, there?” Karen asked you, disappointed her big reveal had left you reactionless.

You focused your gaze back on her. Her blonde hair is softly litten up by the setting sun, her breath exhaling a puff of steam as she breathes. Colter is a cold place, and it probably felt even colder because of the morose mood of the gang. You suddenly remember you’re supposed to be shocked. You are, of course, but in a very bad way. Not in an “Oh my God, I can’t believe this Karen, so much gossip!” kind of way.

How could you ever compete with that?

“Yeah, I’m alright. God, I had no idea so much happened between them.”

“Oh, trust me, it was definitely his biggest love story. Never saw him get into someone else after her. Not even Mary-Beth! Could you believe that?”

No, you couldn’t. You weren’t sure why but every word from Karen felt like an enormous stone falling into your belly and dragging you deeper and deeper into the sea. Your silly little crush on Arthur, when you first joined the gang a year ago, had turned into a way stronger attraction. Denying it at first, you had little by little let your emotions win, cherishing every moment with him, thanking Dutch for assigning both of you to the same missions, loving the quiet evenings where he would just sit next to you around the campfire to scribble in his journal while you would do your little hobby on your own. Silent most, but enjoying each other’s company, and so, so peaceful.

More than your emotions, you even had let your imagination take the lead, dreaming about a selfish future with him, seeing it every time he would give you a smile, or laugh at one of your jokes. A happy Arthur, relieved from his obligations, enjoys life's simplest joys. A house, a garden. Maybe a dog, considering he had loved having Copper. A marriage even. And why not a child? If he would feel ready. Something in you was telling you he would be a good father.

But now, you felt like this dream was rotten, condemned.  Like a broken match. The fire, the very thing it’s designed for,  not being able to be lit. Would never be lit. A wasted potential.

You tried to continue your gossiping chat with Karen, voice light but gaze elusive as you peeled the potatoes you were supposed to prepare while discussing, tedious tasks often ended up less difficult this way when you were working with the other girls. But behind your seemingly normal smile and hollow words, a haunting thought was hanging on to you as strongly as a rock trapped in a thousand-year-old iceberg. 

Arthur never fell in love again after Mary Linton.

Night had definitely fallen on the frozen mountains. After your endless vegetables centered-chores, you had helped Mr. Pearson turning them into a decent meal, his incessant blattering about the Navy giving you some sort of distraction. During dinner and after though, once you didn’t have any goal or job left to do for the day, your conversation with Karen came back into your wandering mind, her speech playing again and again like a used gramophone record.

Never fell in love again...

Sitting at one of the corners of the big cabin you had been sleeping in for the past few days along with the girls and some other gang members which mainly served as a common space, you were looking outside by a dilapidated window. A frozen World spread out before your eyes, every inch of surface covered in snow and ice, the landscape ending up looking like it was coated with a thick strange substance —dark blue colors Queen of this gloomy, misty horizon.

Arthur had returned from a very busy hunting day with Charles. Thanks to them, meat had been added to the vegetable paradise of a meal, resulting in a better-than-usual supper. He should have felt cheerful, but his mood wouldn't lighten. 

He had spotted you from across the room, noticing the hurtful absence of your smile on these sweet lips of yours. Smile he secretly loved. Lips he secretly fancied. 

Hesitating for a long moment, debating with himself, a self-depreciative rambling turning in his head like a well-oiled motor, he had ultimately decided to join you and investigate. Something pretty important must been bothering you, because loosing your usual little grin and eating your plate all by yourself really wasn't in your habits.

Approaching you, his boots and spurs clicking and stomping before you could see him, he plants them in front of you, standing there while his eyes lock on your face.

“Miss Y/L/N? Is everythin’ okay?”

“Oh, Mr Morgan. Yeah, don’t worry. Everything is great.”

He doesn’t believe you and honestly, you wouldn’t have convinced yourself either. And Arthur is a stubborn man. A stubborn, and caring one. He leans against the cabin's old creaky walls, on the other side of the window.

“Come on, don’t lie t’me girl. Everyone noticed you’re not in your right mind.” He honestly doesn’t know about everyone, but he surely did. His words are accompanied by a small, polite smile.

“I don’t think… I don’t think you’re the right person to talk about it.”

Arthur’s entire body froze. The hands he had on his belt as always when he was comfortable, flew to his chest as he crossed his arms, his thick winter coat folding with difficulty. His encouraging smile flattened, his brows pleating in a harsh frown.

“Erm… Alright, I get it. I won’t bother you, I guess.” 

Without loosening his arms, he pushed himself from the wall, taking a step to leave you some space. You couldn’t have missed it. This change of behavior, the hurtful expression he had displayed, as if he was truly pained by your words. Disappointed, maybe even shameful to have thought he could help you at all. He was just a sad, ugly bastard, after all.

You felt like you could hear all of it from where you were, and see it in the shadow that had taken his face and the gigantic mass that seemed to have fallen on his shoulders.

No, you didn’t want this. Didn’t want him to feel like that because of you and your stupid feelings, or your own dark thoughts.

“Wait, Arthur!”

He turned around the second you talked again.

“I’m sorry it’s just…” You sigh and look at him with an uncertain expression, knowing your next words were going to be risky. “It’s about you and Mary Linton…”

His eyes turn into two literal plates, his mouth slightly opening in outer astonishment. This was really not what he had in mind. You could have been sad because of a hundred logical reasons, the death of Davey and the loss of Sean and Mac, the complete fiasco of Blackwater, the hundred of dollars lost, the terrible and tough conditions of the Grizzlies plunging everyone into an unbearable cold and a threatening famine.  Not mentioning Hosea’s alarming coughing, Dutch’s mysterious decisions, and Micah as a whole.

But you, out of all these things, were worried about Mary.

Once his eyes had grown as round as they could, they got back into an interrogative expression, the wave of surprise over.

“Wha’…?! How d’ya even know ‘bout her?”

“Karen speaks a lot when she’s bored…” You briefly explained, trying to sound detached.

Arthur rolls his eyes to the Heavens. Of course, folks talked, and you had to know about it all at some point. But this wasn’t ideal at all. He would have preferred to tell it to you himself, at a time he would have felt comfortable doing so, with his own words. He didn’t want this to change anything between the two of you.

“And erm… What exactly bothers ya?”

You open your mouth to speak, but your words are jammed. Explaining that you feel jealous of what the both of them had shared would just come down to confessing your feelings for him plain and simple. 

You felt completely stuck. 

He’s right there before your eyes, the very source of all your worries and your every joy. Looking at you with those confused blue eyes, wondering what is happening in this pretty head of yours. But the words still won’t come out.  You feel more and more powerless, and instead of a sound, your eyes take over to get something out of your body, slow and sad tears filling them like a lonely glacier fills a mountain lake on its own.

Arthur’s usual frown furrows, his wrinkles more visible, contrasted by the shadows from the warm lights of the fire. Suddenly, his internal melancholic speech shuts down, as if the view of a single tear streaming down your cheek were absolutely intolerable to him. No worries nor anxious self-restraints crosses his mind —it’s now only instinct. He sees you crying. He has to help you. This is as easy as that.

His right hand reaches to you by itself.

It feels warm but coarse. This big, big hand on the side of your face.

“Oh, Y/N. Don’t waste those pretty tears for a sour-faced idiot like me.” His thumb gently wipes the drops of sadness that had overflowed from your two delicate lakes. “Come on, les’ jus’ talk about this somewhere quiet.”

Arthur gently uses the hand he had on your cheek to wrap it around your shoulders, solid arm gently pushing you up. He then leads you through the door, other members throwing curious gazes at the both of you.

But he doesn’t care. His priority, right now, is your well-being, and some privacy to allow him to finally whisper things in your ears he should have a long time ago. Not in front of everyone. Not with the other men looking at your sparkling eyes, and listening to the change in his voice he knew would crack, his usual intimidating persona crushed into a million pieces with only the sound of your own. Or with the other girls hearing the oh-so-important words he had to say. No. You would be the only one to witness this. 

He had brought you to the barn where the horses were kept. The snow was falling lazily, a few flakes passing through the holes in the dilapidated roof. The place is enveloped in a heavy silence, as if it was muffling every sound coming from the outside.

Once Arthur had closed the big wooden doors behind you and before he could do anything else, you finally burst.

“I shouldn't cry, I’m so sorry Arthur, I just… She looked like an incredible woman, so beautiful a-and distinguished, and me well… I'm just… me.” Your eyes fell to your feet. You like everything was coming out of you all at once and you couldn't contain it anymore.

“Stop it.” 

“How could I ever mean something to you? You've been with her for so long and even proposed to her and… and never fell in love again after her and…”

“Stop it, Y/N!”

Arthur cut your blabbering panic by pulling you against him. He held you so tightly you were almost crushed by his powerful arms, but it felt so good. Like he was holding together all the little pieces of you that had cracked, melting them with his warmth and molding yourself again with it.

“Now you l’sten to me, sweetheart. I don’t want ya to say things like this ever again.”

The sudden use of the pet name soothed your heart immediately. You buried your face into the furred collar of his big winter coat, the hairs tickling your nose. There, you can feel a little bit of his bare skin, your cheek finding shelter against it.

You stopped talking.

You just wanted him to continue to. His deep voice seemed to come directly from the inside of his chest, and you could feel it vibrating before actually hearing it.

“Ya know I’m no… Am no poet or, or good with words like Dutch…” He started, visibly unsure of what he was going to say. He’s relieved he had initiated the hug, this way, with your face in there, you couldn’t see his. The worried expression it was carrying, like a burden. “But lemme tell ya just how much I care about ya. Oh, my sweet girl.” 

This is it. He tries not to but his low tone begins to tremble. It’s so strange. It feels like forever since that happened for the last time.

“Yeah, Mary has been a real’ important part of my life, I won’t lie to ya. But it was so long ago, gorgeous. So long ago.” 

He knows he won’t shed a tear. He never cries. But his hands shake. His vocal cords vibrate in a vulnerable, softer, and higher-pitched quaver. His body tenses, heart as fast as if racing with a million wild horses galloping in the Great Plains. Even if his words couldn’t explain just how much you meant to him, you could have guessed by how you were affecting his entire flesh.

“Ya know what? It’s true. Our story ended badly. I never fell in love again after her.”

You sigh, more tears wetting your face and his blue coat, this truth so hard to swallow.

“Until that morning, when I saw you brushing Boadicea’s mane; your hair all covered in hay, the brightest smile I ever had the chance to witness on that sweet face o’ yours. That day, I knew my stupid foolish heart had done it all over again.”

You let out a single chuckle mixed with tears and emotions, so relieved. Even when you felt like you were at your lowest, he succeeded at making you smile.

“Grimshaw had forced me to groom all the gang’s horses to “get used to camp’s work”. Must have looked terrible.” You remembered with a smile, details of your first encounter with Arthur flooding your mind.

“You looked like a goddamn Angel, honey. T’was like the sun was shining jus’ for ya. Jesus, I knew it was too late for me.”

You pulled back from him just a little, enough for you to look at him in the eyes, but not for him to let go of you. Now that they had found you, his hands, still slightly quivering, refused to let go, their place on your back and behind your head feeling so natural and right. Your eyes behave the same way as them but with his face. He looks so moved that you have to pinch yourself internally to make sure you’re not dreaming this whole thing; never in your life you had seen him like this.

“I love you too, Arthur.” You confessed back to him, fingers cupping his cheeks in a delicate touch.

You had to stand on your tiptoes to reach his face, but his arm helped you, your lips gently discovering themselves, brushing against each other in a soft and shy caress. Even if both your mouths were chapped by the biting cold, it was the most gentle kiss you had shared in your life, a satiny embrace that left you completely dreamy and light-headed.

The snowflakes silently swirl around the both of you, Nature the only witness of your souls melting into each other.

Opening your eyes again after this moment out of time, you're met with the happiest smile Arthur ever had on his face. He looked like and idiot in love, and you were sure you looked exactly the same.

“Please darlin’, don’t ever compare yourself to her ever again. What’s in the past stays there. And I wanna have a future with you.”

Your dreams sprang back straight from your heart to your mind. The visions you had about the both of you were more alive than ever, reinforced by his own needs shared with yours.

“You’re sweet, you’re funny, you’re so smart and stunningly gorgeous. And, you wan’ a proof?” He playfully asks you, taking his hat off his head, a thin layer of snow falling from it.

Turning it over, he carefully pull a piece of paper out, hidden between two leathered segments in the inner part of his hat. His cut and reddened fingers unfold it and he gives it to you, his big smile turning into an embarrassed and sheepish one.

It’s a sketch of you.

You’re mesmerized by the details of it, the blades of hay messily tangled in your hair, the sparkling in your eyes, the exact clothes you were wearing that day. This smile, you’re more than certain he drew it way more beautiful than it really is. Arthur even had added some lines traced from your head to the end of the paper, as if you were the Sun itself and were emitting your own light.

This was impossible this was the same person as you, her beauty was too radiant and fascinating.

But no matter what you thought about yourself, seeing his work curled your lips in the exact same way as yourself on the drawing. With snowflakes replacing the twigs, you had turned into the living recreation of it. Arthur laughed when he noticed, and realized just how much he had loved you and continued to since that morning from a year ago. He bent towards you to put a small kiss on your forehead.

“Arthur it’s… It’s beautiful.” You find it difficult to find another word, speechless once again. 

You also had no idea of how talented at drawing nor attracted to you he was. This day definitely was full of surprises. You chuckled fondly before taking a last look at your portrait and giving it back to your lover. But Arthur’s large palm wrapped around your hand.

“No, please, keep it. This way, you’ll always remember how you look through my eyes.”

More tears threaten to escape your own, even though those were a direct extract from the immeasurable happiness you were experiencing.

“And... Now that I don’t have to hide myself while sketching ya, I’m going to draw lots of new ones.”

tagging: @a-court-of-valkyries Thank you for reading all of this! Also, I didn't know this was a thing but if ever you want to be tagged in my works too, let me know! It would be my pleasure.

[teddybeartoji]

it's not often you get to see a sleepy suguru.

it's not like he's not tired – he's fucking exhausted; the dreams just don't seem to like him all that much. but he's usually toughing it out, trying to seem as composed and put-together as possible. the dark skin underneath his eyes betray him, though.

so you don't really know why today is different. is he just more tired? have all of the sleepless hours caught up with him? or is it just you; could it be that your body is the most comfortable place to rest his heavy head? or is it your perfume that's soothing him to sleep?

or is it the fingers in his hair?

he doesn't really let others play with his hair too ofter either. satoru and shoko had been the only exceptions but that was before you came along. satoru uses his hair as a stim, something to play with when he's bored. suguru has taught him manners though – a few slaps against satoru's fingers and chest to remind him to be more careful. and shoko is just more likely to brush a strand from his eyes or help him tie them up in a half-assed bun whenever his own hands are full with whatever.

you like playing with hair, always have and always will. it's relaxing and it's fun and it's calming and you love it. when you first met suguru, his hair was the second thing you noticed about him (his keen purple eyes being the first). an irresistible itch burned in your fingertips everytime you saw him, everytime he wore his hair down. it just looked so pretty and soft.

he takes very good care of his hair, you know that much. specific shampoos and conditioners, masks and all – he's all in. and nobody bats an eye. not that they should but satoru definitely gets made fun of because of his stupidly expensive collection of figurines and shoko gets teased for her silly mug shelf – and yet, neither of them ever comment on the bottles and tubs of fancy products that lay on his bathroom counter.

his hair also smells good. the compliment always hangs on the tip of your tongue but stays hidden in fear of coming off too weird. too creepy. but he doesn smell good. even with closed eyes and ears and you'd find him in a crowd. you wonder whether he knows that.

as you grew closer and closer, the now scorching itch only doubled in need. you never did gather the strenght to outwardly ask him – if you could play with his hair? if you could caress it? comb through it? it was an accident.

a simple gloomy friday afternoon: you're both lazing on your couch, staring at the screen. it's funny – you find yourself muffling your already quiet bursts of laughter, suguru alongside you. he's sitting close by, closer than usual. you don't ask him about it.

he asked to come over; something-something about being sick of his own apartment. you understand that, so you tell him that your home is his home (you'd tell him that even if you didn't understand). you hear the faint smile when he thanks you over the phone.

even when he looks like he hasn't slept in months – he looks good. you can tell he's overexaggerating his smile a bit but don't say anything about it, rewarding him with a grin of your own. his eyes flick to your lips and how they curve and he thinks about how warm it feels to look at you. maybe he's not exaggerating anymore.

your arms open wide, inviting him into you and he obliges, as always. he smells good. as always.

his hands lock behind your back and your behind his neck. your hearts meet and they greet each other with a fastened beat, eager to be in sync – to feel each other again.

he pulls back and the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. he's not doing it anymore and you're happy to relieve him even if it's for mere moments.

he's wearing a sweather and his hair is down. he has lip gloss on; you try to think whether he's more of a mint guy or more of a shea guy. it remains a mystery.

and now you're on the couch with two cups of warm tea waiting for you on the small table. he smells good. he's so close. he snickers at the screen and you can't take your eyes off of him. it's the same small crinkle of the eyes and the faintest pink tint on his cheeks.

you know he knows that you're looking at him. you've been told to have a staring problem and he's just an observant guy. it's a terrible match. or a perfect one.

he doesn't say anything though; instead he leans his head back and little to the side against the headrest (he's even closer now) and you find yourself shifting an inch aswell. perhaps magnets are involved? the iron in your blood pulling you together?

no, that can't be. you'd have to be polar opposites for that to work. warm-blooded and cold-blooded? would that work? you're getting too poetic and he's looking at you now.

it's an accident. it slips out on its own. you smell good. caught off guard by your own comment, you're about to apologize when a hand on your thigh almost makes you suffocate on the words stuck in your throat.

he laughs and it feels so good. he thanks you. he means it, you see it in his tired eyes. he likes the way you blush.

turning his focus back to the tv, you try to collect yourself. a deep breath in and a deep one out and a deep one in and a de—

a weight on your shoulder. he smells so good. he's so close. you peek down, curious as to whether this is a dream or not. but suguru's head is in fact laid on your body, sinking a bit more into you by the second. a deep breath in and a deep one out.

seeking for a more comfortable position, you snuggle closer to him. it's hard to focus but you're making it your sole mission to make him feel safe. your arm curls around his body, his shoulder, and rests right by a flock of his hair.

his cheek is now smushed against the top of your chest and the weight of love doesn't seem as bad as everyone keeps telling you. his hand finds a place around your waist; loosely – as if he's the one who's afraid to scare you off. silly.

his breath against you feels right and the butterflies in your stomach refuse to calm down. so you do what you always do when you get nervous – completely on their own, your fingers caress his hair. just smoothing over it at first but before you know it, they're combing through a strand and twirling the ends between themselves.

you wanna apologize, again, but the soft little grunt that emits from the man keeps you from doing so.

don't stop.

+ this is for @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat just bc it feels right

[aesthetictarlos]

No one has ever called Tommy beautiful before. He's been called hot, sexy, attractive, that's for sure, especially by the guys who hit on him in clubs. Someone has even told him he was easy on the eyes or good-looking, and it's not like he didn't have mirrors at his place, but it was always nice hearing those words because he could use a boost of self-esteem here and there, especially in those bad days where he would look at himself in the mirror and saw that chubby young boy who got braces, too many unruly curls, and had to deal with bullies.

People call him cool and competent once they know what he does for a living and that's nice, too, but no one has ever called him beautiful. And it's not like he minds, he hasn't even thought about that until now.

Now that he's laying in bed with his boyfriend, after they made love for the first time (yeah, made love because what he and Evan just did is so, so different from the sex he was used to and he's also a romantic, sue him) and Evan is leaving the imprint of his fingers all over his face. First, Evan traces the outline of his eyebrows, then thumbs at the laugh lines around his eyes and grins softly before his index finger follows the slope of his nose, down to his cupid's bow, murmuring a soft "God, your lips are perfect." Tommy believes him, and sometimes he wishes he could see himself through Evan's adoring eyes. Evan's not done, yet, and his fingers graze every inch of his face, lingering on the cleft on his chin.

"Tommy, you're beautiful," Evan whispers, his impossibly blue eyes filled with so much fondness and affection that Tommy tears up. "So beautiful."

With those few words, Evan fixes something in him that he didn't even know was broken.

[canisalbus]

hello! i've written a short little machete fic, and i wanted to share it with you as thanks for all the incredible art and generous question-answering you've been doing these last few months. i hope that if you give it a look, you enjoy it. <3 keep up all your amazing work! archiveofourown [.] org / works / 50945128

✦ A Voi ✦

[akiacia]

cake night highlights

[cardo-de-comer]

matej doodle

[nartml]

Modern day Hiccup would have the sickest, most batshit insane motorcycle you've ever seen; he built it himself.

He'd also have a panther. He'd have been stranded somewhere, and he'd come across this huge, deadly, feline and he'd somehow befriend it. And he'd name him, you guessed it, Toothless.

No, I'll be taking no criticism.

[nyxronomicon]

But Endeavor, whose only been a perfunctory fucker now eating pussy, your pussy, for the first time and he just does the messiest job of it. Just down there exploring every fold with his fat fingers- hearts in his eyes and juice in his chin

ANON... 🥴🥴🥴 please you are so right all he knows is breeding... (RIP don't look at me) he's gotta learn how to eat someone out sometime...

Endeavor x gn!reader (w vagina) cw: messy messy oral, fingering (thick fingers...), rough, overstim, reader squirts pet names: baby

.

"Higher- ah!" Your sharp moan told him that he found the right spot, his tongue flicking your clit. He was clumsy and awkward, like he didn't quite know how to move his mouth now that he'd found your sweet spot. Your fingers slid into his hair as his lips wrapped around your bundle of nerves.

You briefly looked at him, seeing his piercing blue eyes gazing back at you. There was a dusting of pink on his cheeks, uncertainty seeping onto his features. You wanted to tell him how adorable it was, how much you were in love with this version of Enji Todoroki. But you knew better, he wouldn't take that compliment well. He'd get hyper masculine, pin you down before getting rough and pounding his heavy cock into you.

He tried to pull away out of insecurity, but you tugged his hair with just enough force to keep him between your thighs. "Want you right here." You held him in place, seeing his eyes widen slightly and the flush of his cheeks become a deeper red.

The bashful expression lasted less than a moment, his eyes flickering closed as he sucked your clit. When he opened them again, they were full of determination. Enji suddenly pulled your hips closer to the edge of the bed to get a better angle. You felt his thick fingers dance between your folds, throwing your head back as he teased you.

"Enji," you moaned his name, arching your back as a finger pushed into you. Your cunt practically sucked him in, and he groaned as he imagined his throbbing cock getting the same treatment.

There was a glisten of sweat clinging to your skin. Your fingernails dug into his scalp as he sucked your clit hard, flicking at the bud with his tongue as his finger searched your pussy for your g-spot. A second finger pushed into you, your core throbbing for more. You threw your head back, losing control of your body as you could feel pleasure creeping up your spine.

You were so fucking sexy. He needed to taste your cum on his lips. It was all he could think as his fingers pressed your g-spot, instantly pulling lewd sounds from your lips. He smirked, his tongue now only lightly swirling around your clit as he focused on finger-fucking you. You were close, he could tell from the way you tightened around him.

"That's it, baby." He growled into your pussy, "cum for me." With another rough suck on your bundle of nerves, he prodded your g-spot relentlessly. His blue eyes were trained on you, watching every minute change as your breath hitched.

Your cunt tipped over the edge with ecstasy, Enji holding you in place as he continued his ministrations. It quickly spread through your whole body, thighs twitching as you felt yourself getting oversensitive. You mumbled his name, writhing in his grip as you rode out the orgasm.

"Just a lil' more..." He continued, "c'mon baby," his motions intensified, sensitivity instantly sending a more intense wave of pleasure through you. You could feel yourself squirt into his mouth, almost embarrassing had he not immediately started licking the essence from your folds.

He cleaned you out like a starved man, slowly and gently letting you come down from your high. He continued to watch you with adoration in his gaze, his cock throbbing with desire. When he finally pulled away from your cunt, you saw his smirk drenched in your juices.

"How was that?" He spoke quietly, but with confidence. Your expression and the fact that you were still catching your breath told him the answer.

"Not bad for a first timer." You chuckled through heavy breaths.

"Oh?" He climbed on top of you with a grin, pinning your arms above your head. "How 'bout I show you my expertise?"

.

@rottiens if I have to brainrot about this man you do too

[arttsuka]

I LOVE Teen Stan and Ford, it’s sad they don’t get drawn enough, so thank you so much!

Does Ford ever help Stan when he gets overstimulated? Or maybe when he has a rage response and suddenly starts crying and calls himself stupid?

Here's the other post with Ford

[cherrywhite]

Okay some of these I had written down before chapter 43 but I finally found the time to sit down and make a bingo sheet for the last few episodes. Ranging from Legitimate Predictions to Things I Want to Happen to You Know What? Sure 🤠

Template if anyone wants to make one of their own:

[threadbaresweater]

would you still love me if I said I've lost interest in reading fanfic?

[mettatons-fat-doughy-asscheeks]

You look at him

Totally couchbound

Fast food bags and wrappers surround him and even can be found in his folds

BRRRMPPTTTTTTTT

He's of course helplessly gassy. You ensured it by putting him on that diet

His tubby face and chins are smeared in grease and sauce, majority being mayo

You made sure he craved the extra fatty stuff, stuff no sane human would ingest even on a dare

Lest they turn into a porker like him

His sweaty body looks as if it could give off steam it was so hot

You tuned the temperature of the "living room" to make sure he was always sweating

A bottle of sugary soda or an ice cold ice cream shake was always in reach to cool him down

Especially when he unceremoniously dumps it down his front because his fat sausage fingers were deprived of any dexterity long ago

He loves the feeling of the icy cold slop washing down his bloated areola

Those plumped nipples he was constantly groping and teasing any time he got even remotely close to turned on

After all even when he could get up he couldn't reach down there

A growing mound of pubic blubber and a steady dose of specially crafted "supplements" ensured that

And oh how he was turned on

Maybe it was the constant stream of humiliating smut you'd play over multiple TVs in his eyeline.

Maybe it was the fact any time he fruitlessly attempted to stand like he was still capable of being a functioning person the wobbling of his fatpad stimulated that useless little thing it'd swallowed

Maybe it was you constantly fucking his cavernous greasy navel like it was your own personal onahole

Or the friends you allowed to do the same

Maybe his mind was so hopelessly broken that the mere act of eating that greasy slop one could charitably call "food" made his pathetic cock twitch

Either way it gave him hands free orgasms that made him spurt hot gallon sized puddles of cum directly onto the carpet in front of where he sat

On that couch

His prison

His permanent home

You know he loves it

At least

You sure do

[uncanny-tranny]

Genuinely, doing things "half-assed" or for a short period of time is generally better than never having done it in the first place.

Writing one sentence is better than none. A minute of brushing your teeth is better than zero minutes. Answering two questions for a homework assignment is better than answering none.

The overwhelming mountain of things can be done peacemeal. You do not have to do it all at once. It is okay to take life in whatever amount you can. The point is to allow yourself the grace to be.

[mycherrycola]

to be honest I want to write Dante and Virgil fanfiction. Nothing good can come from this I fear

[midnightmarev]

I had a vision.

Young Cellbit finds his way to the arctic where Phil and Techno live and as soon as he sees Techno and Techno sees him out in the forest, the boy just fucking chomps down on Techno's right arm. Despite his sharp teeth, he doesn't do any damage cuz piglin and piglin hybrid skin is so tough and hard to break. Techno just looks at this little kid who latched himself onto his arm with his teeth.

Techno's like, "uh, pls don't do that? Let go?" shaking his arm slightly and Cell just chomps down harder on Techno's arm. Techno shrugs, hiding his arm back into his cape, and thus also Cellbit, and goes back home where he calls for Phil.

Phil's like, "hi m8, what's up?" and Techno goes, completely deadfaced, "I need your help," which makes Phil tilt his head in confusion like the birb he is.

Techno then reveals his arm, stretching it out so Cell's eye level with Phil. "The feral orphan child won't let go," he says, still completely deadfaced, to which Cellbit just chomps down harder again.

Phil, of course, finds this super hilarious and starts cackling, wiping away some tears of mirth from his eyes. This naturally earns him a glare from his friend.

"Get it off me, Phil," Techno says, shaking his arm, a hint of confused desperation leaking into his monotone voice.

Phil's laugh teeters off but is still very present in his voice. "Okay, okay m8, I got it." He then takes a steadying breath before speaking to Cellbit. "Hi m8, could you please let go of Techno's arm?" Another chomp. "You're just gonna end up hurting yourself before you break his skin." A glare.

Phil taps at his chin in thought before he looks slightly above Cellbit's head and his eyes land on a discarded and broken shield in the snow.

"You know… we get a lot of nasty uninvited hybrid hunters knocking on our door all the time. How about instead of you trying to eat Techno's arm, you get to snack on them instead?" Phil's smile is a mischievous one and Techno just raises an eyebrow, arm still outstretched and unmoving.

Cellbit thinks this over, chomps down one last time on Techno's arm, just to see if not this time he would break skin, and then pouts when he still can't. Then he lets go and falls down into the snow where he just sits like the child he is and looks up at Phil expectantly.

Techno lets out a sigh of relief with a quick "oh thank god" under his breath as his arm drops from no longer having a child attached to it by the teeth. He also very deliberately steps out of Cellbit's reach, making Phil chuckle again.

Cellbit's thoughts are just "that's a dad, must do what he says because he's getting me lotta food," and Phil's allowed to pick the kid up without him trying to bite him, much to Techno's dismay and disbelief.

They now have a slightly feral guard dog child running around eating hybrid hunters.