#of fucking COURSE its those two what the *fuck*

[ohtobeleah]

I think one of the main reasons why the Worst!Logan loves you so much, without putting too much thought into the question, is simply because you ease the burden of being alive. You don’t ‘give him a reason to live.’ He found that on his own when Wade showed up and snatched his old, drunken ass out of his world and planted him here. But you ease the burden. You ease the pain of being alive on days when everything seems so…distressing. But when you plant something, it often grows roots. And that’s exactly what Logan wanted to do with you. 

“Hope, at its very core, can be the worst of all evils because it prolongs the torment of man,” That one. That was the ‘Hook, Line and Sinker’ moment where Logan knew you had him wrapped around your finger like some perverted puppy. “You aren’t just any man, Logan,” He could vividly picture you sitting on his lap while his back pressed heavily into your headboard. “You’re Wade’s boyfriend.” 

“Oh aren’t you just hilarious,” Logan could remember replying to you as you leaned in to place a gentle kiss against his lips. He loved those moments. The quiet ones. Where nothing else in the world mattered except for the time he got to spend in your undivided attention. “Keep that attitude up, I dare you.” 

“You don’t have to threaten me with a good time.” It was the dynamic the two of you had. The banter-filled friendship that crossed the line into friends with immaculate benefits. And under the glow of your bedside lamps, the ones that sent an orange hume across the floor-length curtains and cottage cream walls, Logan knew that the small amount of time you had been in his life…had been the time most lived. 

“You surround yourself day in and day out with a degenerate crew of antagonists, Logan, of fucking course you’re gonna pick up a few traits after a while!” It wasn’t uncommon to see Logan perched up at the bar while you made coffees for the steady trickle of customers who stopped by for their caffeine fix. After all, it was your cafe. “It doesn’t sound like my issue that you called Althea, Blind Al.” 

“It’s not her fucking name, is it?” Logan’s heated. He kinda hates himself a little for it. Mainly because he recognised straight away who he sounded like. Wade fucking Wilson. Secondly, he had enough respect for the old, aging and decaying to know nicknames like that could put senior citizens into early graves. Well, earlier. “You know what, that’s it, I’m not fucking hanging around that guy anymore.” 

Deep down, Logan knew he didn’t mean it. Wade was a genuinely good person. He saw a lot of parallels of himself in the guy. And if it weren’t for Wade… Logan wouldn’t be sitting here right now. Bickering back and forth with the love of his overextended life. You just made him feel like a guy. Just some dumb guy. Simple. Whenever Logan was with you, he wasn’t The Wolverine. He was just James Howlett. 

“Okay one,” You stopped steaming the milk you had in just been working with so you could reply. You turned with a shit-talking snarl ready to go. “You sound like someone who’s beefing with their childhood bestie,” The frown on Logan’s face warned you not to continue, but you weren’t in the mood to pity someone over four times your age. “Two, you fucking live with the guy man?” You pointed out the incredibly obvious logistics of Logan’s dilemma. “What? you gonna sleep on the street?” It was a genuine question you had. “Please, you’re made of metal dumbass, you’ll catch some sort of genetically fucked mutation of pneumonia and die at the young age of two hundred and twenty-something.” 

“You know exactly who you sound like right now?” Logan countered as he sipped his coffee. The same coffee order you made him every damn day. Black, no cream, sugar or milk. No flavoured syrup or sweeteners in sight. Just black. 

“If you point out the fact I sound like my longest-standing friend, I’ll take great pleasure in knowing you can’t die alone, because you can’t seem to die at all!!” 

“Go fuck yourself!” Logan needed this. He needed you to match his energy. You saw him coming from a mile away when he’d come barrelling into the cafe with a glare of despair and in need of some reprieve. 

“Fuck me yourself, asshole.” It wasn’t exactly what Logan had been expecting you to say, but he did take you up on that offer…The second he knew you were off work and at home later that same evening. 

“Logan–” Your needy little whines were a symphony of desire and love. “Logan–yes, baby you feel so good.” The way Logan made you feel, the way he touched you in all the right ways, made you feel drunk on his ecstasy. 

“Ohhhh just like that huh?” Logan wouldn’t dare change a single thing about what he was doing right now. He had you right where he wanted you. He loved you in his position. The one where he had your arms pinned behind your beck. The one where your chest presses right against his. The one where all he has to do is buck his hips up into yours while his heels dig into your mattress. It’s the one where he can whisper the most degrading things into your ear and knows you’re drooling for it. He knows that much because he can feel it dripping down his other shoulder while you mumble incoherent love songs. 

“I could smell you, you know,” Logan growls particularly low as he keeps his pace going. “When you were giving me that fucking attitude in the cafe today,” You know he’s talking, but the way his perfectly enhanced cock is kissing the tip of your cervix with every thrust it keeping your mind from focusing on anything else but chasing that all important high of yours. “Got nothing to say now, have you?” 

“I–” You tried to tell Logan what you want, you know he already knows when the words won’t come out and you can’t keep your eyes from rolling. “Wanna–” 

“Oh please,” Logan nearly begs while he keeps thrusting up into you. He can feel the mixture of his previous load and your arousal mixing at the base of his shaft. “Give me something pretty to look at gorgeous.” 

Logan thought you were the most gorgeous woman to ever grace his life. Inside and out you were truly one of the most kind-hearted, lovely, compassionate people he’d ever known. But right now, in this very moment, all Logan wanted to do was see your gorgeous face when you came around his slicked-up shaft. All he wanted to feel was you clenched him like a vice grip made just for him. 

“Fuckk–Logan!” At your cries, Logan was quick to grab your face with one of his hands. He wanted to look you in the eyes. Wanted to feel every part of your soul connect with his when you came for him. 

“I’m right here,” He cooed, still bucking into you with force and pace. “I’ve got you, come on me, baby.” 

“Ohhhhh–” The way you dragged your nails down his sides made Logan hiss with pure sexual gratification. Your velvet walls paused around his shaft as he kept up the pace, fucking deeper into you. As deep as he could get just to feel you. “Yessss–” 

“I’m the luckiest guy alive,” Logan rolled his eyes with pure unadulterated lust as you came down from your high. He lets go of your face only to crash his lips against yours in a feverish kiss. “Fucking perfect for me.” He gives you a minute to recover. Logan slowly rocks his hips so that he’s never completely still, always admiring your beauty while yours naked on top of him the way you are. 

“Okay big guy,” You sigh, sitting up to straddle Logan. “Your turn.” 

“Gready thing, one not enough for you?” Logan could still feel how full you were from his last load. He couldn’t contain himself, you just had that effect on him. 

“Well, since you’re either sleeping here or on the street tonight, I figured you didn’t have any plans,” You teased as you rocked your hips the way you knew drove Logan wild. His fingers dug into your hips and for a second he released some pressure. Worried that he might leave a few bruises. Or worse…But when you placed your hands on top of his? Logan knew you were alright. “Gonna finish what you started? Or do you need a second to catch your breath?” 

“Oh I’m gonna ruin you–” Logan smiled as he jumped into action. Capturing your lips with his as he flipped the two of you around. Suddenly you found yourself on your back, pressed into the mattress. “You know how I feel about you, right?” It was a gentle moment laced between the lust and the desire. But when Logan caught your eye, so beautiful and kind, he wanted to make sure that you knew this wasn’t just sex to him. 

This was…You were… Everything he ever wanted. 

“I know,” You nodded, making sure to pull him closer. As close as you could get in missionary. “I’ve got you,” Was all you said back before your lips were taken hostage yet again. “I–” You were about to say it but stopped yourself. The L would be just something that wasn’t said that much. 

You knew it was because Logan was afraid to. He was scared if he said he loved you then he’d wake up from this dream. Back in the pub, he wasn’t welcome in. Back in his reality, where the version of you didn’t know him as the best worst version of himself. 

“You mean everything to me.” You settled with as Logan buried himself inside you. Not knowing that in nine months from now, your greatest love of all would carry your love for Logan in her name: 

Ilya: I.Love. You. Always

Ilya

[parkerloves]

BACK AGAIN || PG10 x Fem!Reader

paring: boyfriend!pierre gasly x actress!fem!reader;

trope: second chance

summary: after a photo with her and her next co-star being way too close for a scene pierre ends up listening to the wrong people until his girlfriend go see him

fc; emily rudd

warnings: mention of cheating even though no one cheats

A photo had taken over the covers of every magazine that relied on gossip and one name was repeated in every headline: Lovelle Cartier, a young actress known for her contribution to the world of horror and for dating a certain pilot with whom she shared nationality, but this time there was no talk of a new date or a movie, but the photo showed the young actress very much attached to a man who was still unknown.

⠀—Pierre please don't be an idiot and pick up the fucking phone —The young woman mumbled sitting on the bed in her hotel room just before it went to voicemail—

Nothing that was being said about her was even the slightest bit close to reality, and that was exactly why she wanted to talk to the one who had been her partner for the previous two years, even though right now she wouldn't even take a call from him, although on the third try she was able to get an answer.

⠀—Love, don't try anymore.... —Those were the first words she heard from the Frenchman, and the chestnut knew at that moment that he had been crying or at least screaming— I've been trying, I really have, I didn't care about any of your relationships in movies and stuff, but I guess it's true what they say that if you fake something it ends up being real....

Those were the last things Lovelle heard before the sound of the phone call ending reached her ears, causing all the frustration and sadness that had been building up since that stupid picture had started circulating on the internet. But of course Love wasn't going to let it end like that, and she knew she wasn't the only one when the device in her hand vibrated again although this time another name appeared on the screen, and recognizing it she was quick to accept the call and began speaking.

⠀—It's not what you think, fuck Charles... I would never hurt him, you know that.... —She mumbled so fast that she even seemed not to be understandable at certain moments, so she had to be interrupted by her friend—.

⠀ —I know Love, I know... But you've messed up, you know that right? I don't know what happened but don't leave him like this —The young actress had already stood up and had started pacing around the room as she always did when she was nervous and wanted to take the stress off her mind—.

⠀—I'm going to catch a plane, I don't know when I'll get there, in a couple of hours I guess, please take care of him while I go, I can't lose him, not him —She mumbled while her breathing made the pretence of recovering its normal rhythm, without much success—.

⠀—Don't do anything stupid, okay? If you come he's going to listen to you, he can't not listen to you —The girl nodded on the other end of the line and luckily Charles knew the young woman too well to know her reflexes in those situations— I'll wait for you at the hotel yes? I'll pick you up when you arrive

Shee didn't even wait a few seconds before hanging up and going to book the earliest flight she could, without even worrying about the price of it all, and if she already hated airports as usual, now that she only had a fucking image in mind it was certainly worse.

The flight was interminable, especially because in each of the magazines that were on that plane there was that stupid picture next to a more irritating headline that seemed to have been created just to hurt, but luckily that nightmare only lasted two hours before arriving at the Italian peninsula where the whole grid was now.

<<send me the address of the hotel, my cab arrives in 5 minutes>> she wrote in the Monegasque's chat as she didn't even have the patience to wait for it to arrive and smiled when she received that link that he didn't take long to send to the one who would be her driver, arriving at his destination in a matter of less than half an hour.

⠀—Charles, they won't let me into the hotel, I guess they think I'm a fan or something —She didn't even bother to greet the young man as she had her mind occupied with many other things—.

⠀—I'll be right down for you, I left Pierre with Yuki, he already knows the whole situation, and thank goodness he knows you and supports you —Charles luckily didn't take too long to appear on the other side of the door, dragging the young girl inside the building, hugging her when they were both already under the roof, letting her best friend have at least some time to calm down from all that, noticing after a few seconds later his shirt was getting wet on the side of his chest—.

⠀—Can I go see him? Although I don't know if it's the best option.... But if you ask him to come to see me he's not going to do it.... —She murmured still against his friend's chest before he covered his mouth to stop him from talking for a second—

⠀—He's in his room, he doesn't know it, but he needs you now more than ever —He grabbed the young woman's face with both hands to raise his gaze to hers, causing the French woman to only nod—.

As soon as they arrived at the door where Alpha Tauri's drivers were, Charles called Yuki to leave the room but to leave the door closed behind him, and it was at that moment when the fear took hold of the young woman and she flinched for a few milliseconds before the green-eyed man pushed her into the room. 

The image inside broke the young woman's will even more strongly at that moment, for she had only ever seen her boyfriend in that condition, and she would never have allowed herself to be the one responsible for something like that.

But it was then that those blue eyes came out of the hiding place they had found, in the hands of their very owner and would meet the blonde's, generating a grimace of confusion in the boy before it changed to anger.

⠀—What are you doing here? You didn't have to come and you know it, you didn't have to waste your time —She had never heard him address her in that way, but now there was no turning back and he planned to fight for what he wanted—.

⠀—Don't do that please —She took a few steps in the Frenchman's direction although she still kept her distance as she knew she shouldn't push him at that moment— I need you to listen to me, I only ask you for a few minutes and I'll leave later if that's what you want —She murmured feeling once more the blond's blue orbs on her—.

⠀—I shouldn't be giving you this opportunity, you know that, right? —That was the signal for Lovelle to move a few steps closer and then kneel down in front of the bed since it was practically impossible for the young woman not to be close to him, despite the fact that she wanted to give him a little bit of space as well—.

⠀—And you know I would never cheat on you, right? Yet here we are... Because I'm stubborn as fuck and I'm not going to lose you for a stupid picture —Her tone of voice was soft, beacause yes, she was frustrated and even angry, but he had more rights to be like that and she accepted it since she just wanted to have him back—.

⠀—Why weren't there cameras? —Those were the only words that came out of the boy's mouth in the form of a soft mumble after that little speech from his girlfriend, since a part of him of course wanted to believe her but let's just say that there wasn't much evidence in her favor—.

⠀—It's going to sound really bad.... But it's the shitty angle —She said and as soon as she realized that her words would probably be worthless at that moment she decided to look for some more decisive picture on her phone, but a hand interrupted his search—

⠀—No, fuck what's happening to me? You shouldn't have to be the one looking for ways for me to believe you? I don't know what was going through my head —He move the phone away from the blonde's field of vision before grabbing her face caressing her cheeks— Mine's going to sound really bad too, but I guess the shitty race I've had hasn't helped at all —His tone was soft again and her breathing was slowly returning to normal—.

⠀—I was planning to call you as soon as I finished work, I saw your DNF as soon as Chris alerted me —The distance between them was slowly getting shorter and it seemed that nothing of the last few hours had passed, which honestly was a relief for both of them—.

⠀—Let me take you to dinner today, there's a restaurant on the shore and hopefully you can watch the sunset —The Frenchman remembered one of his girlfriend's favorite things and seeing how a smile formed on her face, he couldn't help but bring their lips together in search of one of those kisses he had had to learn to share, but luckily not the feeling in them— I'm sorry

⠀— I think we both are sorry —She mumbled a few inchies away from his lips—

[qveerthe0ry]

What Means to You, What Means to Me

Summary: Max Phillips changes everything. Written for @perotovar 's offering of Frith Word Count: 8,046 Pairing: Max Phillips Loki (The Trickster God of mischief and chaos) x afab! NB! Bisexual! Reader Rating: 18+ mdni Warnings: smut, talks about gender non-conformity, talks about gender dysphoria as it relates to sex, GENERAL GENDER FUCKERY Beta: My sweet angel @for-a-longlongtime of course A/N: Under the cut

Author's Note: First of all, I just want to thank Erin for putting together this writing challenge and sharing SO much about Norse Paganism. The effort you put into this, from the moodboards to educational resources is incredible. And the fact that you've shared something so close to you with all of us made this writing challenge feel like getting a warm hug <3

Second, see the author's note I wrote at the end (as to not spoil the story) if you want to know the ways Loki ingrained himself in this fic.

_

You’ve heard of this queer club before, but you’ve never been inside. You’d thought the descriptors were exaggerations, but you find out quickly that you were wrong. 

Security is tight at the door, and they ask you questions as they scan your ID that sound like small talk but are a bit more probing once you think about it. Your pockets are patted down and you walk through a metal detector before you even breach the front door. 

You’re wondering if it’s even worth all this. You’re by yourself, no one’s meeting you here, and you don’t plan on going home with anyone. 

Really, you’re just bored, in a fairly new city with no one familiar but your new co-workers to converse with; those are the last people you want to be around on a Friday night after a long work week. 

So you’re here. Are there a dozen other queer bars you could have gone to on this rainbow-lined street? Yes. But none of them really feel right. So you’re here, finally in clothes that you feel comfortable in, around people who aren’t going to make you feel uncomfortable in them. 

And its reputation precedes itself. 

Gaudy. Over-the-top. 

There’s three floors, the top two cut out to overlook the dance floor in the middle of the ground level. There’s chandeliers everywhere, far too ornate for a fucking nightclub. Candelabras litter every tabletop with flaming wax that you’re sure is a fire hazard in an establishment like this. There’s fuzzy, cozy-looking lounges and really hot people walking around serving complimentary waters on gold trays and maybe it was a mistake, coming here. 

But you’ve already been through the TSA of nightclubs, and so you might as well grab a drink while you’re here and make the uber ride home worth it. 

At least the drinks seem to be cheap. You take too long staring at the specialty cocktail names when a bartender asks how you’re doing, and end up ordering your favorite drink anyways. At least they seem nice, unlike some of the bars you’ve been to at the not-mandatory-but-suggestively-obligatory happy hours after work. 

You sit at the bar, a little intimidated by the fancy decor and skilled dancers that overwhelm the club. 

The music is unsuspecting, something soft and melodic that you only realize is live music when your eyes settle on her. 

Her fiery red hair cascades down her shoulders, igniting all the skin exposed by her backless dress. She’s sitting at the piano in the middle of the dancefloor, obscured by couples and others dancing around her. 

She’s everything. The most gorgeous woman you’ve ever laid your eyes on. Her nose is strong and her jawline juts and contrasts with those soft brown eyes. You’re yearning before you can even realize it, a kind of consumption that leaves you breathing heavier than normal as you sip your drink probably way too quickly. 

You focus on her long, nimble fingers, painted red at the nails and fluttering so skillfully over the ivory keys that it makes your cheeks feel hot. 

The ringing of the keys doesn't register over the thumping of your heart and the blood rushing in your ears, which feel like molten lava. Perhaps that’s why you don’t notice she’d finished her set until she’s a foot away from you, placing an order you’d only know if you were able to read lips.

Christ, her lips. Plump and painted in the same shade of red as her hair and nails, they purse as she sips from a champagne flute. She’s so dainty, and poised, everything you’ve never had the desire to be. 

And she’s staring right at you. 

“See something you like?” 

Your breath gets stuck in your lungs and your heart flutters in a medically dangerous way. 

“You’re incredible.”

The words roll off your tongue without any go-ahead from your brain. 

She laughs anyway, with her head thrown back, and the sight of her throat elongated makes your own go bone-dry. 

“If I had a nickel,” she jokes with a wink. 

Your half-melted brain scrabbles for something to say so you can be graced with her presence for even one more second. 

“How long have you been playing?” 

She quirks her perfectly shaped eyebrow at you, and she smirks, and something about the way she can see through you like cellophane turns you on and it makes you feel wicked. 

“You don’t really care, do you?” 

From your peripheral, you see her long, toned arm inching closer to yours on the bar. Her fingers touch yours, feather-light, and you shiver before you freeze in place. 

“I— No, I do.”

You can barely hear her low chuckle over the house music that’s started to play in her absence, but you do, and it sounds like heaven and hell all at once. 

Slowly, torturously, she leans closer to you, and her bubbly breath ghosts across your cheek, your jaw, and then gusts in your ear. 

“Don’t lie to me, handsome.” 

Her tone is teasing, sing-songy in a way that might be annoying if you weren’t so aroused. 

Your fingers clench around the glass you’re holding, and her own do the same over yours. 

“What do you want me to say?” 

You don’t know if you’re more scared, horny, or irritated. They’re all three tied for gold, at this point, with tipsy coming in second and way too warm bringing up the rear. 

And the pure audacity this woman has is impressive, as she places her lips so so lightly under your earlobe. You hope to god her lipstick stains. 

“Ask me if I wanna get out of here.”

Your lungs inflate too quickly, and your eyes close, and you lean into the touch of her lips. 

“Where would we go?” 

It’s a stupid question. Why in your right mind do you give a flying fuck? She could drag you to the DMV and you’d happily follow like a pup. 

She stands from the barstool, tall, taller than you realized, and the proximity puts her between your spread legs. 

Your thighs flex involuntarily, and your fingers twitch and ache to touch her. 

“I know a place. If you want?” 

Her eyebrow is quirked at you again as she leans back. You can’t find your words, so you stand in answer, and now you’re too close. Every delicious curve of her body is pressed against your front and you unhand your drink to dig your nails into the top of the bar. 

“Please.” 

Her grin is so mischievous that it startles you, those sharp canines on full display. You think about how they’ll feel against your skin as she nods her head and prompts you to follow her. 

You might as well be wearing a leash, the way you trail her so closely. You twist your fingers as the nerves start to pick back up, and all of a sudden you’re in front of some elevator doors with a very huge and intimidating bouncer guarding the buttons and staring you down. 

“Before we head up, just so you know, I’m working with a… different set of equipment than you might expect.”

You nearly ask her to repeat herself, a bit too overwhelmed with the eyes on you and the situation you’re about to get yourself into. But your brain plays a game of catch-up, and somehow this little fact makes you feel more comfortable. 

“That’s cool— me too. I mean, maybe? I don’t know what— uh, what you’d expect me to have, but… yeah.”

Your voice trails off as the big burly bouncer chuckles at you, and your face could probably melt off of your skull with how hot it feels, but then she grabs your hand and squeezes to tug you into the elevator with her. 

The club sounds are nearly all drowned out now, and you’re certain she can hear your heartbeat in the silence as she crowds you against the back wall. 

“My name’s Max,” she says, speaking all breathy and low against the skin of your neck. 

You shiver, barely eke out your own name as her body presses against yours. 

It’s heavenly, the way she feels against you, but the way she teases your earlobe between her dark cherry lips feels hellish. You still haven’t touched her, even though your hands are burning to feel the silk of her dress over her waist. You’re intimidated and horny and mentally working yourself up to do anything on your own without her giving you direct orders.

There’s a ding, and all momentum is lost when she turns away from you to enter the snow globe of a penthouse beyond the open elevator doors. You follow eagerly.

“This is your place?” 

Your voice is awe-filled as you look around. The walls are just windows, and the city lights and the last few minutes of sunset brighten all the dark wood and leather around you. 

“Yeah, so’s the club.”

Her tone is nonchalant, and you gape at her as she steps out of her strappy, expensive-looking high heels. Maybe you shouldn’t be so surprised. She has all the confidence of someone who owns the world, and her cockiness is reflected in the ostentatious nature of the club and her penthouse. 

But you’re still shocked. Maybe you’re shocked because she’s chosen you, out of every other patron, to come up here with her. 

“It’s nice— the club. And here, too.” 

She chuckles and shrugs but she thanks you as her bare feet bring her close to you once more. You feel your hackles raise as she approaches, along with your heart rate, but she walks right past you. 

“Follow me.”

As if you’d dream of doing anything else. 

Her bedroom is all windows, too. The bed is huge, much bigger than a normal king, and the space itself is fairly empty of any personal touches. It suits her mystique. You feel like you have a million unanswered questions, but none of them matter when she shoves you down onto the mattress and straddles your thighs. 

Your mouth drops open, but she steals the words from your breath when she grabs your hands and places them on her hips.

Finally. 

Fuck, she feels incredible under this silky dress as you squeeze her waist and arch your hips up into her. 

You tell her as much, and get another one of those cocky chuckles that goes straight to your center. 

“Do your worst, handsome.” 

And maybe you’ve never been the best at getting into someone’s bed, but you’re certain you’re the best once you’re between the sheets. 

It’s no exception, with her. You’re so eager to please. You worship every last inch of her body once it’s revealed to you. You take note of all the places you kiss and lick that make her breath hitch, you tease her until her cock weeps, and you take her so far down your throat that tears sting your eyes. 

Her nails dig into your scalp, and you feel like the cocky one when she begs you to pull off, when she tells you that you’ve damn near sucked her soul out through her dick. 

Your clit is throbbing and you’ve soaked through your underwear by the time she hastily pulls them off of you. She kisses you breathless and bites your lip with her sharp teeth as you roll the condom down her length. The way she whimpers when you finally straddle her sends you reeling. Your hand finds her tit, and your palm rolls against her taut nipple as you finally get her cock to slide through your slick folds. She arches into your touch and she begs and there’s no force powerful enough to keep you from giving in to her pleas.

Her face twists up so fucking beautifully as you impale yourself on her. Inch by inch, so slowly, teasing her like she’d teased you earlier in the night. You feel satisfied and hungry at the same time when you’re flush with her thighs. Her hips buck when you pinch her nipple, and she hits the perfect spot, and neither of you have any resolve leftover. 

It’s a give and take that lasts too long and is over far too quick. You ride her, and she thrusts up into you, back and forth until you both crumble at the same time, blinding and intense and loud. 

You might black out. 

One moment you’re stroking her skin with your fingertips and thanking her over and over, and the next you’re sitting up against her headboard with a glass of water in one hand and her fiery hair in the other. 

She’s sighing in your lap, nuzzling into the heat of your thighs with her aquiline nose. 

“You’re incredible,” you say for probably the millionth time that night. 

She chuckles again, just like she did when you first told her, but her pretty brown eyes shine when she looks up at you. 

“You’re not so bad yourself, handsome.”

Your face gets all hot again, and you feel shy, eyes darting around the room to focus on anything but the gorgeous woman resting on you. 

“Does it bother you when I call you that?” 

You huff. 

“Not at all.”

“Are you trans?” 

You huff again. 

“No. I— I don’t know. I’m just… me. In-between. I don’t really feel like I fit any one description.”

She hums and presses a kiss to your mound through your underwear.

“I understand.” 

“I’ve always been like this, you know? Before I knew what it was. I just didn’t feel comfortable in my own skin. Not in an insecure way. Just that it didn’t feel right.” 

“Do you want a dick?”

Her bluntness makes you laugh. 

“Sometimes I do.”

She nods, and the way her silky hair feels against your bare thighs makes you shiver. 

“It’s actually kind of awesome, I’m not gonna lie.”

She laughs with you. 

“Don’t rub it in.”

“I’ll rub it in if you give me another five minutes.”

She does.

You fall asleep in her arms, exhausted and sated and happy.

She’s gone in the morning. All the shades are drawn, those same hazardous candles from the club lighting the apartment dimly. Your clothes are dry cleaned and hanging in a bag you’re certain costs more than your entire outfit. There’s a note next to your half-empty glass of water on the nightstand.

See you around. 

Except you don’t. 

You wait eight whole days to go back to the club. You wear something nicer, go through the tight security, and saunter up to the bar with much more confidence than your first visit. You wait for her. You drink one too many and hope to find her walking around or playing the piano. 

A few people come up to you and ask you to dance, and you refuse each one with the bitter taste of irony on your tongue, and then you go home alone after last call with a headache and queasy stomach. 

Maybe she’s just out of town, you tell yourself. She owns an entire nightclub, she’s clearly a very important woman, probably quite busy, too. 

You go back the next weekend, and the next, and you don’t see her once. 

So after a month, you go again and this time you accept the offers to share a dance, grind against people with a weird confidence you know comes from the woman you hope to see tonight. You share meaningless kisses and buy a few people drinks but refuse an offer or two to ‘get out of here.’

You start to lose hope when the dim lights flicker brighter and last call is announced. But as you bid goodbyes to a group you were hanging with, that very large and scary bodyguard from the elevators is walking towards you, and this time his presence is more exciting and less intimidating. 

“Max would like you to come upstairs.”

And while it’s kind of annoying, and seems pretentious— why didn’t she come down here and tell you herself?— you follow. Eagerly. Once again. 

He lets you take the elevator up by yourself, and this time the anxiety is more anticipation than it is fear. 

Though, when the doors open, you’re face to face with a guy.

He’s got a familiar cocky smirk on his face, messy gelled hair, and he’s leaning up against a wall with his arms crossed. 

Panic, is what your body tells you to do, leave, run. But you’re frozen under his thick gaze. 

The elevator doors start to shut, and you take a step back when he moves to hold them open, but he chuckles. 

A cocky little chuckle. 

“Who are you?” 

“I’m Max.”

“No you’re not.”

“C’mon, handsome. It’s me.”

You shiver when he calls you that, but not in the same way you did when she said it. 

“Is this some kind of joke? Listen, she didn’t tell me she was exclusive with anyone—”

He cuts you off by saying your name in a pleading tone. 

“Come in, please, just give me a minute to prove it to you.”

Panic. Run. Leave.

You ignore every instinct to finally step out of the elevator. 

“You told me, last time, that sometimes you wished you had a dick. Right?”

You nod before you can think better of it. 

Who is this guy?

You’re no stranger to genderfluidity, the way a haircut or makeup or different clothes can drastically change someone’s look— but this isn’t that. This can’t be that. While they have similar features, her sharp noise was still softer, her eyes were less crinkled at the edges, her brow bone was much less prominent. If this is smoke and mirrors, she’s one hell of a magician. 

“Do you wish you had one right now?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess. Are you guys twins or something? What’s going on?” 

He chuckles again, and you have to say, it’s much less arousing coming from him than it was from your Max. He reaches out to touch your arm, and you want to shove him away, but you can’t.

Your body feels frozen, again, but not from fear. There’s a strange sensation that courses through you, some unexplainable energy that makes your bones feel like they’re vibrating, makes your blood feel thick and heavy in your veins. 

It scares you, but the newly soft look on this Max’s face is just comforting enough to keep you from a full-fledged panic attack. 

That, and the fact that it’s over just as quick as it started. Your body loosens back up as Max’s hand on your arm rubs reassuring circles. 

But then you feel weird. A strange turning low in your gut, kind of like arousal, but not quite. And your pants feel tighter, more constricting than they did earlier. 

You look down. 

There’s a bulge in your pants, like there would be if you were packing. But you’re not. You’re certain you made the decision to leave it at home when you left earlier in the night. 

You look back up at him. He’s smirking. 

“You can touch it.”

You do, despite your brain screaming how weird it would be to touch your crotch in front of a man you’ve never met before. 

You have a dick. 

You feel it now, and while the feeling of it in your hand isn’t foreign to you, the fact that it’s sensitive and fucking actually attached to your body is. 

You pull your hand away like it’s been scalded. 

“What the fuck?! How did you—“

You stare at him open-mouthed and terrified and maybe a little bit turned on.

“Does it matter? I gave you what you’ve always wanted.” 

He looks from your face to your… dick, and back again, smirking, admiring, like he’s just finished an art project.

“Will it… Will it go back?”

“Do you want it to?”

“I— I don’t know.”

Max chuckles that damn chuckle, all full of himself. But this time, it’s her. You know it is, now. As crazy as it sounds, it’s the only thing that makes sense. This is your Max. 

“Why don’t you take it for a test drive? If you don’t like it, I’ll change you back.”

You gape at him. It’s all clicking. This is your Max, and they’ve listened to you and done something so fucking weird but so fucking sweet. You don’t know how, and you honestly are starting to care less and less the longer Max keeps staring at you like he’s proud. Of you or himself, you’re not so sure, but it’s working. 

“It’s— it’s you, isn’t it?” 

“I told you so.”

“Fuck,” you sigh, “where have you been? I came back. Every weekend.” 

Max hums. 

“I was a little caught up. Got into a bit of trouble, as I do. But I’m back, and I wanted to see you. I’m glad you came.”

“Are you— I mean… you look a lot different?” 

He shrugs. 

“Do you still think I’m hot? I can change back—”

“No! No, sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. I was just confused. You’re still—”

“Incredible?” 

You huff a laugh, and finally relax for the first time since you got into that elevator. 

“Yeah. Incredible.”

His cocky demeanor falls to the wayside to make room for something more sincere. He takes a few steps until you’re face to face with him, and places a suspiciously cold hand on the back of your heated neck. 

“I missed you,” he mumbles. 

“I— I missed you too. That night… I’ve thought about it so much.”

“Mmm, yeah? Me too.”

You kiss the stupid smirk off of his face. 

He tastes the same as you remember before, like champagne and sweet mint and her. His teeth are just as sharp, scraping your tongue as it explores every bit of his mouth. 

His free hand grabs your hip and pulls you even closer to him and fuck, that feels better than it has any right to. Your cock stirs in your pants and you buck your hips again, fiending for this new type of friction. 

“Come to bed with me?” 

All you can do is nod and follow. 

The bedroom looks just the same as it did last time, but the lack of sunlight makes everything feel quieter tonight— slower, more serene. 

He turns down the covers slowly, and you stand at the foot of the bed, extremely uncertain about what happens next, even though your dick throbs with anticipation. 

“You still into this?” 

Max’s voice startles you out of your own head. 

“Yeah, sorry. Nerves.”

He hums and steps closer to you. 

“Nothing to be nervous about, handsome.”

You nod and let your eyes trace up and down his body, noting his broad shoulders in that crisp white dress shirt and his thick thighs under the satiny sheen of his slacks. He’s still just as gorgeous in this masculine form, and it’s as irritating as it is enticing.

“Do you wanna fuck me?” 

“Shit.” 

His words go straight to your cock, and you’re unashamed to palm it in your hand and press and curse at the completely new sensation. 

“I’m assuming that’s a yes,” he chuckles. “Do you want my ass or my pussy?” 

Your hand on yourself stills. 

“You— you have a pussy?”

“I can.”

And it shouldn’t surprise you, after everything else that’s happened in the last ten minutes, but it still does. Your breath stutters in your chest and your dick fills out even more against your hand and you distantly wonder how big Max made it, if it’s exactly what he wants. 

“Can I— Will you show me your pussy?” 

He leers at you when you ask, and it only turns you on even more. 

“I was hoping you’d go for that.”

He starts unbuttoning his shirt, but this whole mad situation has you feeling much more comfortable, in a fuck it kind of way. You step into his space and work the buttons free, and follow with your mouth. His skin is cold under the heat of your lips, and by the time his shirt hangs free from his shoulders you’ve made it your personal mission to warm up every inch of him. 

It’s easy to work his belt open, undo his fly and watch it open to a thick thatch of pubic hair. You pause to press your lips to his again, to reach around to cup his pert asscheeks as his slacks fall to the floor. 

You can’t stop grinding against him, even as you press him back and down onto the bed. You just follow, fully clothed, hesitant to deny yourself this new heady feeling of pressure to your cock. 

It’s only when he suckles your top lip and reaches down to palm you that you realize you’re teetering on the edge of embarrassing yourself. 

Your hips jolt away from him and it hurts a bit when you rip your lip out between his teeth, but all the better to take your mind off the intense, heavy arousal in your gut. 

“Okay?” 

He asks it with a smirk, like he already knows the answer, so you don’t give him one. You just stare down past your heaving chest to see the damp spot on your pants and start to unfasten them to relieve some of the pressure. 

“You’re gonna want to chill out. Refractory periods are annoying with those things,” he warns. 

You huff. 

“That’s kind of you,” you joke. 

It’s better, just in the thin fabric of your underwear, less resistant. You want to take them off too, but you’re afraid that the euphoria from seeing yourself with a dick will really conflate the issue at hand. 

So you shuffle down the bed a bit, and press your lips to Max’s flat chest, to his nipples that are half the size they were last time. They pebble quickly under your attention, and you bite down on one when you accidentally drag your cock along the mattress. 

He groans and arches into you, goads you on with a hand on the back of your neck. 

“Are you as good at eating pussy as you are at sucking dick?” 

It’s almost comical, the way he applies pressure to urge you further down his body. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

You nip at his sparse happy trail as he pushes you down with his large hand on your shoulder and delight in the way his muscles twitch under your mouth. 

“Some time this century, yeah.”

You hum, nose at the wiry curls on his mound and grab the wrist of his hand that’s still pressing on you. 

“You’re not very gentlemanly,” you tease.

He laughs as he stares down at you with his dark eyes. His hand moves to cup your jaw and you let it, let him trace your bottom lip with his thumb. 

“Is that what you want? A gentleman?”

You suck his thumb into your mouth as you shake your head, grinning around his knuckle. You bite down a little harder than you mean to and he hisses. He yanks his hand from your mouth to grab the back of your head and tug until your face is buried between his thighs. 

You relent, breathing in the scent of him, bypassing any preamble to shove your tongue inside of him. The way his hips buck into your face makes you smirk into his folds and dig your nails into the skin of his thighs. 

He still makes the most beautiful noises, when you get down to it. Desperate, hungry, eager. For as cocky as he is, he sure writhes against you like a shameless whore as he whispers curses into the dark room. 

You savor the taste of him, the warmth and tightness of him around your fingers, the scratchy feeling of his bush tickling your nose. The way his strong thighs tense and relax under your grasp makes you want to feel them do the same around your waist. 

You look up when he starts clenching around your fingers like a vice, and the thought of that feeling around your new dick makes you whimper into his pussy. You focus even more on the way you suckle and flick his clit, to try and set the arousal aside so you don’t come before you can even slip into him. 

He’s got his head thrown back, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, his back arched off the bed when he finally shudders and comes. You work him through it, lapping at his dripping hole, letting him grind against your tongue until he’s squirming away from your touch. 

You’re dragging this out. Stalling. You press little biting kisses to his thighs and his mound as he’s coming down. Maybe if you just worked him through one more, you’ll be calm enough to—

“C’mere already.”

You roll your eyes at him as he tugs on you, but you go willingly to hover over him and let him lick his taste from your mouth. His hums are lower and more subdued in the aftermath and they rumble deep in your chest as you try your hardest not to grind into him. 

It doesn’t matter. 

His free hand wraps around your cock and the feeling turns you on so much that you almost feel nauseous. You can feel all five of his fingers there, even with how big his hands are. He’s around you, and the familiar sensation on the inside mixed with the foreign sensation against your skin is a bit confusing but so hot. He squeezes and you jolt, bite down hard on his lip, but it only makes him chuckle. 

“That good, huh?” 

You groan into the crook of his neck in answer, completely at a loss for words. 

“I’d like to say the novelty wears off, but I haven’t found that it does.”

You feel like you’re on fire, honestly, like you’re trapped in a burning building with no way out. It’s hard to speak or breathe or think with his hand wrapped around you over your underwear. You can’t even begin to imagine how good his skin is going to feel against yours. 

“C’mon, handsome, lie back for me.”

You do, with his help, reclined back against his decorative pillows. Your breathing is ragged as he takes his time getting your shirt off and pressing surprisingly sweet kisses to everything revealed to him. 

You ground yourself by petting his hair, coarse and a little sticky from hair gel but thick enough to be extremely satisfying to card through. For a moment you’re able to focus on the feeling of it slipping between your fingers instead of the throbbing of your prick. 

But then his thick fingers find the elastic waistband and creep underneath. It shocks you out of your false sense of security. When your panicked eyes meet his, they’re so warm and soft you think you could maybe cry a little about it. But he speaks up instead. 

“Are you still okay with everything going on?”

And you are, even though you’re hanging by a thread and preemptively embarrassed by what’s about to go down; you want it so bad. 

So you nod. 

“Words, handsome.”

You huff. 

“Yes, Max. Please.”

He hums and smiles. 

“Good boy.”

You’re engulfed by embarrassment when your cock jumps dramatically at his words, right beneath his hovering face. You feel even hotter when he huffs out a laugh.

But then he’s pulling your underwear, and it’s there, in plain sight, a gorgeous cock. It’s perfect, it’s how you’ve always imagined yours would look if you had one. Like Max knew, somehow, was inside your brain and could see the same fantasies that you could. 

It jerks again in the cool air. You can feel the blood rushing there, a powerful gush that makes it twitch when you think about how it’s your dick, on your body. He hasn’t even touched you yet and you can feel pre-cum dripping down your shaft. 

“Can I taste?” He asks. 

You nod, then remember your words. 

“Please.”

You can’t produce more than a whisper as you watch him lean forward, like slow motion, with his tongue hanging out dramatically and his eyes locked on yours. 

The first touch of his tongue against your skin has your hips flying off the mattress at a speed that you’re sure defies laws of physics. 

He just looks so fucking gorgeous with your prick eclipsing the middle of his face. Your prick looks so gorgeous. God, you’re starting to understand where cis men get their audacity from. 

You tighten your grip on his hair for no other reason than you need something to hang onto or you might just float off into space. He teases you with more kitten licks, up one side, then the other, and you watch in awe. You can’t take your eyes off it, even though it may delay the inevitable if you could. 

He kisses the head of it, and his tongue does something wicked right underneath it that makes you tug his head back by his gelled locks. 

“Too much?” He asks, even as he winces at your tugging. 

“You’re teasing, and all that’s going to lead to is disappointment on your end.”

God, why do you sound like you’ve just run a marathon?

“I’ll never be disappointed by making you come, handsome.”

He’s so fucking annoying. You want to fuck his face just to shut him up, but you know that would only last about ten and a half seconds. 

You curse and close your eyes and dig your head back into the pillows. He must take it as a signal to continue, because bright, staticky stars burst behind your eyelids when he takes you into his mouth for the first time. 

Fuck. You’re inside him. It feels hot and wet, kind of squishy, but so tight when he sucks and sinks his mouth down even farther. 

You yell. The dramatic noise is ripped from your vocal chords without your consent, and your eyes fly open to look down at him. Those plush fucking lips look so goddamn good wrapped around you, all wet and red and swollen. You squeeze his hair in your hand. You’re so torn between wanting to chase the warmth of his mouth and wanting to arch away from it. 

Then you feel it, that familiar twisting deep and low in your gut, only it’s ten times as intense as it usually is. You start to panic. 

“Max! Max, please, I’m—!”

He pulls off quickly, and squeezes the base of your jerking dick. It kind of hurts, and you hiss and watch in horror and wait for something to come out. But it doesn’t. It’s so weird, the way he’s manually shut down your orgasm with one touch. Completely different than the way you would have had to hold back without this new dick. 

“That’s—”

“Incredible, right?” 

You huff in the midst of catching your breath. You still feel like a hair trigger, but without someone’s finger hovering over it now. 

“Oh my god,” you sigh. 

He laughs and lets go of you. You watch him wipe the corners of his pretty mouth and distantly think that you can’t wait until you get used to this, so you can make him gag and watch his drool and your cum seep from it. 

Your dick jerks at the thought, and it’s strange to have the evidence of your arousal be so obvious. It’s like a damn car alarm. 

“Wanna fuck me now?” 

You laugh, delirious. 

“My new nickname’s gonna be One Pump Chump.”

He slithers up the bed to lie beside you. 

“It’s totally understandable. Normal, even.”

You raise your eyebrow at him. 

“How big is the sample size?”

He shrugs and smirks but his eyes focus on the bedsheets between you. 

“I know I seem like a douchebag, but I really just wanna help.”

You pout at him, but fix your face before he looks back up at you. You run your hand through his hair, gently this time, and something about this whole situation is making your heart feel all gooey. 

“You only seem like a little bit of a douchebag.”

He grumbles at you but smiles. 

“Besides, there’s like, a billion things you’re gonna want to try with that thing. You’ll get practice.” 

That thing suddenly doesn’t feel as pressing anymore. You’re still hard as rock, but it finally feels like it would take a little more than a gentle breeze to make you spill. 

“Let me fuck you, then.”

“Yeah?”

You nod and smile; and some of that eagerness comes back to light up his devious eyes. He reaches for the condoms in the bedside table and you admire all of the taut muscles under his tan skin. 

“You want help with this?” 

You roll your eyes, but it’s kinda sweet. You’ve never actually put one on at this angle before. So you get between his thighs when he lies back and let him roll it on you. 

“You can definitely get someone pregnant with this too, so… be warned. Don’t sue me about it, it won’t go over well in court.”

Your dick bobs in his grasp as you laugh. It feels so weird and fascinating.  

“Noted, thank you for the disclaimer. And sorry about the lawsuit?” 

He squeezes your prick around the condom and smiles up at you. 

“No worries, that was decades ago.”

You laugh until the words catch up with you. But you don’t have time to question it much, because he’s lying back and spreading his thighs for you, getting a pillow under his hips so his glistening pussy is tilted perfectly. Your mouth waters at the sight of him so aroused and ready for you, and at the thought of how much more wet and tight and hot it’s going to feel compared to his mouth. 

You sigh and play with his little clit, still wet from your saliva. He keens and seeks out more friction and you have to fuck him. His pussy is even more enticing now, knowing you can slide your prick inside. 

You shuffle closer and try to remind yourself to take your time. You purposefully glide your hands up his thighs, feeling the way the hair gets more sparse and fine the further up you go. You’re delighted by the little goosebumps that form under your fingertips and the way he sounds so relaxed when he sighs. 

Shuffling even further now, you settle those thick thighs over your own and let your knees cage his slim hips. When you look up, he’s watching you through hooded eyes with his bottom lip between his teeth.

“You really are gorgeous,” you tell him, softly, afraid to disturb what’s becoming a very peaceful calm before the storm. 

His breath hitches a little and you see it as it ripples his chest. 

“You really are handsome,” he winks back. 

Your hand wanders up higher, across his ribs, and your thumb presses against his stiff nipple and rolls it. You feel the small noise he makes under your palm and smile. 

Your other hand grabs the base of your cock, sure to keep the base of the condom from slipping down. The subtle move kind of makes you feel like a pro, and you’d snicker about it if the euphoria that flooded through your body didn’t overwhelm you. 

It’s kind of like an out of body experience. But you’re also painfully aware of your body and this new appendage and the way the feeling of it is wreaking havoc on your entire being. 

You slide your cock through his wet folds and even just this feels incredible, the way every bit of him feels rubbing against your sensitive cockhead. You can’t drag it out any longer, you know. 

“Are you ready?” You ask him hesitantly. 

“Are you ready?” 

You snort and roll your eyes and pinch his nipple. His back arches and the movement makes your dick slip down, press just barely against his opening. You suck in a breath and it takes every ounce of willpower not to shove yourself inside to chase that wet heat. 

“Okay, okay, I’m ready. Just fuck me already. Gonna feel so good.”

For him or for you, you’re not sure which he means, but it doesn’t matter. 

You try to take your time. You really do. But as soon as the head of your prick slips in it’s like you have no self control. 

You chase the warmth, plunge all the way into him, and stay. 

Oh my god. 

“Oh my god.”

Max chuckles at you and you can feel it. You’re so fucking wrapped up in him. Every little move, shift, clench, it surrounds you and overwhelms you. 

“You feel so fucking good, Max.”

You’re sure you look absolutely wild. Your jaw is permanently dropped, eyes wide as you try with all of your might to hang on. 

“Ditto,” he breathes. 

His eyes look dark and intense, when your eyes can finally focus in. 

“Do you— did you make it exactly how you like?” 

It’s so stupid to be asking questions right now but it’s the only thing you have to keep you somewhat composed. 

“Yeah,” he admits, a little breathless. 

“You get off on that?”

You know he does before he answers, can feel him clench and contract around you. You muster up the dexterity to find his clit with your thumb and press. 

“I do! I do, fuck.”

You finally start to inch out of him, slowly, afraid that too much friction will send you over the edge. 

“Are you using me like a toy?” 

He whimpers, and the sound alone makes you snap your hips back into him. 

“No, no, that’s not it.”

Your brows rise up in question, and you pull out again as you wait for him to explain. 

“It’s— I dunno. I like that you… hah, shit, like that, don’t stop.”

You feel smug that you’ve derailed his thoughts by starting to fuck him with a slow rhythm, if only because he’s derailed yours a million times in the two nights you’ve shared. 

You circle his clit and groan at the way his pussy squeezes you. It’s hard to even pull out of him, it’s like he’s sucking you right back in. 

“You were saying?”

And it doesn’t sound smooth coming from your mouth, your breathing labored and your voice strained. 

“I like that you’ll think of me when you fuck. I like knowing I made you like this for me even if others get to enjoy it. I like knowing— shit— I like knowing I’m the one that makes you feel good.”

You balk at his confession. Such a beautiful explanation for something so possessive. From anyone else it would sound so objectifying. But with this strange relationship the two of you have, it makes your entire body burn. 

You collapse on top of him once the words really sink in. You hide your face in his sweaty neck and begin to rut into him with the knowledge that you’ll probably crumble far too quickly, but you don’t quite care. 

“You do, you make me feel so good,” you tell him. 

He whines and works his hips against yours to meet your frantic thrusts. You grab his hair again and bite faint marks into his neck that make him writhe and squirm against you. 

“You do too— harder, please, fuck me harder.”

Man, your hips are starting to ache, just like with your strap, but this time the sensation of feeling him wrapped around your very real cock keeps the discomfort at bay and it’s just pure bliss. 

So you double down, raise back up to put more of your back into it. Your sweaty hands slip against his skin as you try to grab his hips for leverage. 

“You gotta touch yourself for me,” you pant. 

The way he scrambles to comply just turns you on even more, gives you one more tick in the ‘power tripping’ column. He looks so fucking beautiful under you, back all arched in pleasure, his face scrunched up in concentration. His bicep is bulging as he slides three fingers back and forth across his clit, so frantic but so practiced. 

You fuck him and try to think about anything other than how good he feels. You’re plunging into the world’s softest, warmest hole and he’s moaning for you, you’re making him feel just as good as you do, and you’re going to lose it. 

“Gonna come, Max. I can’t—”

“Do it, come for me. Wanna be the first.”

Your hips stutter as the wave finally, finally crashes over you. You try so hard to fuck through it, try to make him come again, but as the first shock of your orgasm spikes up your spine, you can’t think to do anything but try to bury yourself as far as you can into his tight cunt. 

You know he’s saying something encouraging by the tone of his voice, but his words go in one ear and out the other as you grind into him and rest your sweaty forehead in the middle of his chest. It feels so good you could cry. 

Your fingertips dig into the flesh of his hips as you ride it out, and your chest starts to burn and your throat starts to ache and your eyes start to burn.

You are crying. 

“Shit.”

It comes out as a broken sob, muffled into his chest, and he starts at the sound. 

“Hey, it’s okay. Just breathe.”

You shake your head against him. 

“I’m fine.”

“I know, just breathe though.”

The breaths you suck in are all shuddery and stilted, and there’s snot, and it’s so embarrassing but comforting all at once. 

He urges you to slip out, and he even holds the condom for you, pulls it off, and ties it while you try to reel yourself in.

You don’t, not right away at least, because once you get over the crazy rush of endorphins and serotonin and dopamine or whatever that’s flooded your body, you start feeling extremely self conscious about the whole sobbing during sex thing, and the fact that he didn’t get off, and—

“Come snuggle?” 

You’re not sure when he got up, but he’s holding up a robe for you in one hand, and cradling your head in the other, and ushering you out into the living room. His fireplace is on now, and there’s a tall, snobby glass bottle of water on his end table. 

You’re tired, now. Like, bone-deep exhaustion. You slump into him where he’s sprawled out on his leather couch and close your watery eyes. 

“I’m sorry.”

He shushes you gently, pets your head that’s on his chest that definitely has your dried snot on it still. 

“Don’t be sorry. As long as you feel good, I feel good.”

You nod, and taking a deep breath comes easier to you this time. You brave a look up at him, and his eyes are warmer than ever as they reflect the orange-yellow flames.

“Thank you.”

He smirks then, and you feel the tension in the room shift. 

“So how was it?”

You grin and hide it in his pecs. You’re hyper aware of your spent dick lying soft and sticky on your thigh. You’re so much more tired than you ever usually are after an orgasm. It was all so different, every little bit of it. And there’s this calmness you feel now, after all the commotion, and it hits you all at once that it all feels right. 

There’s no cleaning your strap, putting away your toys, no sliding on your underwear to hide the thing that just gave you pleasure. There’s no awkward dissonance. It’s just… normal. Normal in a way it’s never been before. Effortless bliss, like a sensory deprivation tank. Nothing. 

“It was everything.”

-

Author's Note: I wanted to share a bit about what really resonated with me as I learned more about Loki. The one thing that stuck with me throughout this writing challenge is that Loki is not a bad guy. I will be honest, the only thing I knew about Loki before this was from the MCU, which to me seems like an oversimplification of the norse god from everything I've learned about him. Erin provided me with this very thorough video that analyzes Loki and his myths. To me, he seems like someone who liked to 'stir the shit' for the sake of curiosity. I didn't find much ill will at all in these tellings of his trickery, just a guy who wanted to fuck around and find out about things, someone who did more than just wonder what would happen.

Second, Erin said he's Like a fun older brother. Very playful and mischievous. Very straight-forward. Protector of outcasts; lgbtq+ folks, disabled people, neurodivergent people, etc. This was another driving force behind this fic. It wasn't a coincidence that Max met reader their first night at the club, they founded the club for the sole purpose of creating a safe space for queer people and takes an active role in making sure their patrons feel like they belong.

Lastly, Erin said their pick for me would be Max / Loki because of the gender fuckery, which excited me as much as it made me feel honored. When watching the aforementioned video, I learned about Loki turning himself and Thor into a bridesmaid and a bride, respectively. Loki himself was unrecognizable and was the exact image of a woman. However, Thor pretty much just looked like himself in a dress (this is paraphrasing.) I loved the idea that Loki's shapeshifting could not only be directed toward other people, but could vary in vagueness. These undefined rules for Loki’s gender felt like how I personally view gender in general, as well as how I relate it to my own identity, and I really took that idea and ran with it.

Anyway, thank you again @perotovar for this writing challenge and the piece of yourself you shared with all of us. I love you so much! <3

[strawchocoberry]

OBSESSED

ᯓ★ featuring. hermes x fem reader

ᯓ★ trigger warning. sexual assault by zeus || content warning. sadist, possessive, obsessive, yandere hermes, smut, s&m, spanking, bondage, choking, use of sex toys (vibrator, blindfold, ball gag), orgasm control, edging, overstimulation, vaginal penetration, nipple play, marking, oral sex (m receiving), throat-fucking, creampie, breeding kink, dacryphilia, aftercare

ᯓ★ synopsis. In public, he’s the perfect butler. In private, he’s a sadistic beast tormenting his cute, clumsy maid.

❝Know you can’t live without it, you know I got your heart unlocked

Know you try to fight it, fallin’ deeper by the minute, day and night❞

ᯓ★ word count. 3.4k

⤷ note. originally posted on ao3 on May 2, 2024

It is known in all of Asgard that while Hermes appears relatively harmless, he is but a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Even among the Olympian Gods, few — if only Zeus alone — probably know of his power. Every day, the Messenger of Gods diligently carries out his assigned duties as Zeus’ butler, fulfilling the God’s every need with expertise and promptitude.

While of course Hermes is more than capable of performing his assigned tasks on his own, he doesn’t mind the occasional help Y/N provides. A low rank Goddess and maid, Hermes’ personal assistant. Or she should have been helping him at least.

Instead of relieving the God from some of his seemingly endless duties, Y/N usually gets caught up in trouble, forcing him to intervene and help her out. Not only is she not as good at her job as Hermes, but she also gives him more unnecessary work to clean after. Even so, Hermes doesn’t seem to mind at all.

He is always so polite and eager to help her, explaining time and again what she did wrong and how she should fix her mistake. Whenever they are caught by the eyes of passer-by Gods and Goddesses, they all pause to comment on Hermes’ benevolence. An inefficient maid would have been kicked out anywhere else; Goddess or not.

Something that the other residents of Asgard are not aware of, though, is that Hermes is secretly obsessed with his cute, clumsy maid. And while he gets her out of every predicament she finds herself in, he is more than willing to punish her for her mistakes when it’s just the two of them.

“I thought I asked you to perfectly polish the silverware, Y/N,” Hermes states in a sharp tone, his condescending and scolding voice hinting his annoyance.

The sound of the spank echoes in the dark, dimly lit room, accompanied by the rattle of chains. She bites down on her lower lip to muffle her cries, as Hermes spanks her once more. His gloved hand caresses the reddened flesh of her arse, sending shivers down her spine. He stands behind her, his other hand snaking its way to her neck.

“And yet there was a spot left on one of the knives,” he continues in the same tone as before, completely disregarding the tears silently falling from her eyes. “Thankfully, I noticed it and replaced it on time, before Zeus saw.”

His hand moves from her arse down her tummy and between her legs. When she instinctively closes them, Hermes slaps her thighs apart, eliciting a small whimper from her lips. He rubs his fingers on her folds, the friction from his glove making her wetter than she already is.

“I considered letting you off the hook now, but you made another mistake, darling,” he whispers darkly in her ear, his hot breath and touch making her squirm in his arms. “You know that I love hearing your whimpers and cries. Yet you denied me of that pleasure.”

Her eyes widen when she feels him slipping in her pussy a small vibrator. Hermes doesn’t waste time with gradually increasing the speed. On the contrary, he hits max speed instantly, relishing how her legs shake and her hands hold onto the chains for dear life. If it weren’t for those chains, she would have already fallen on the floor long ago.

Even if she wanted to, Y/N wouldn’t have been able to contain her whimpers. Her melodic sounds linger on Hermes’ ears, turning him on. He could listen to her moans and whimpers all day for eternity without getting bored. Releasing her from his arms, he leaves her chained up to the ceiling and walks to the sofa opposite from her. Sitting down, he crosses his legs and picks up a freshly poured cup of tea, taking a sip as he enjoys the symphony playing for him and him only.

This is the part of Hermes nobody but Y/N knows. His true self. The possessive God with sadistic tendencies and an unhealthy obsession with his cute, clumsy maid. Being the private man that he is, no one would ever suspect the beast he becomes with her behind closed doors.

And whilst he loves getting drunk on her pussy gripping tightly his cock, Hermes prefers this; seeing Y/N at his complete mercy — or lack thereof. When he senses her nearing her orgasm, he decreases the speed, denying her of that pleasure. The small hint of relief that warms in her eyes makes his wicked smirk bigger. Because it’s when he hits max speed again and all hope disappears from her eyes that makes him more and more obsessed with her.

He edges her for what seems like eternity itself. Y/N can barely hold herself on her feet. Her naked body glistens with sweat, her heavy breathing is audible in the silence of the room. Her mind is fuzzy, dazed by all her denied orgasms. A low moan escapes her lips when Hermes pulls the vibrator out of her pussy, her head falling on his chest. He pushes the sweaty strands of her hair out of her face, caressing her cheeks as he tilts her head up.

“M-Master…” she weakly says.

Hermes smirks. “Oh, you poor thing,” he muses with faux sympathy. “You look like you will come the moment I thrust my cock in.”

In an instant, he unbuckles his belt and lowers his trousers and boxer briefs just enough to free his throbbing cock. He lifts her up, wrapping her legs around his waist, sliding in with ease. His eyes widen with surprise, as Y/N cums right then and there, her juices creaming all over his cock. A wicked laugh reverberates through his chest, as he starts thrusting.

“My, my,” he coos, “look at the mess you’ve made.” He points at her arousal gushing out and dripping all over the floor. His grip on her thighs tightens, his fingers digging into her flesh so painfully, her pussy clenches around his girth. “But it’s fine. You took your punishment so well, so I will overlook this.”

It’s another day in Asgard and yet it’s not. This one is different. Today, the God’s Council is in session which will determine the fate of humankind.

Y/N is in the lounge area of Zeus’ chambers, preparing some tea and refreshments as per Hermes’ orders. She’s still a bit sore after her master’s latest punishment, though the mere recollection of the events makes her cheeks blush and her pussy throb in anticipation of reliving those moments.

As she turns around, she’s caught off guard when she’s caged in somebody’s arms, their face buried in her breasts. It doesn’t take her long to realise who it is. And despite this not being her first ride, her voice still sounds surprised as she says, “Lord Zeus?”

The face of the frail old man greets her, still half-buried in her breasts. Zeus is smiling excitedly — for what, she doesn’t know. He rubs his face in her breasts, his hands roaming behind her to grope her arse.

“Listen to this, Y/N!” the perverted geezer says. “That cunning Valkyrie vixen interrupted the God’s council to propose we hold Ragnarok! She actually thinks humanity has a chance of winning against us!” He laughs. “It sounded fun, so we agreed. Ragnarok will start tomorrow.”

“Wow, Lord Zeus,” she responds, trying to sound somewhat excited and interested. “You are completely correct. Those lowly humans could never defeat us.” Y/N tries to untangle herself from his clutches, but despite his frail appearance, Zeus is still the leader of the Greek Pantheon and immeasurably strong. “I suppose you will participate in Ragnarok?”

“But of course!” Zeus exclaims, subtly forcing her to walk backwards.

“Then I should take my leave and let you rest,” she politely says. “You need to prepare for tomorrow and—”

Y/N squeals as she falls on the couch. Zeus hovers over her, holding her down with enough strength to completely immobilise her. His perverted gaze makes her sick. But she, a lowly Goddess, cannot possibly escape him.

“Y/N, I think I’m a bit rusted,” Zeus coos.

Yes, because you’re an old fart, is what Y/N wants to say, but doesn’t dare to.

“How about you help me stretch my muscles a bit?” he proposes.

The sound of somebody clearing their throat and the heavy footsteps that follow catch their attention. Her eyes widen when she notices Hermes approaching them. He has his usual polite mask on, yet that mask has slightly cracked. She can tell by the hint of darkness in his eyes that vanishes the moment he stands next to them. Disregarding Zeus, Hermes catches her wrist and pulls her to him, before turning to the God.

“Lord Zeus, I’ve told you a million times not to meddle with our maids,” Hermes reminds him, his voice slightly criticising. “It hinders their work.”

Zeus looks at her for a second, before averting his gaze back to Hermes. The tension in the room is suffocating.

Of course, Hermes couldn’t care less about whom his father sleeps with. But Y/N is simply out of the question. His possessiveness is spilling all over, casting shackles that bind her with him. Even if Zeus were to command him to hand her over, Hermes would disobey. That’s how obsessed he is with her.

Zeus realises that and sighs defeated. He slouches back on the sofa, propping his elbow on the armrest and leaning on his closed fist.

Hermes smiles pleased. “I’ll call over one of your favourites shortly.” He bows slightly.

Taking her hand, the two of them disappear from the room. His grip is slightly painful, yet Y/N doesn’t dare utter a word. As they walk down the busy corridor, the atmosphere is hectic due to news of Ragnarok having spread throughout Asgard. Hermes quickly makes arrangements for a woman to be sent over to Zeus, then pushes Y/N into his chamber.

As the door closes with a menacing thud, she gulps. She takes steps back, trembling both in fear and excitement as rage and jealousy fill his eyes. Hermes attacks her, lifting her in his arms. He walks over to his bed, sitting on the edge with her in his lap, capturing her lips, devouring her like a beast. He doesn’t bother unbuttoning her maid uniform. He tears the fabric apart, buttons flying everywhere around them.

His glove-clad hands grope her breasts harshly, making her cry out his name. He teases her nipples, running the pads of his thumbs over them and feeling them tighten under his touch. He pinches and bites them, leaving his marks all over them. “Mine,” he says in a dark voice. His hands grope her arse, spanking her and making her moan. He caresses her skin, before spanking her again.

His fingers dig into her flesh, as he looks into her eyes. “Mine… Mine… Mine…” Hermes repeats like a mantra.

He’s snapped, she notices. His possessiveness is running rampant, subduing his sadistic desire to inflict unimaginable pain on her body. No, right now Hermes wants to own every inch of her body and have all of Asgard hear her screaming his name, so that nobody else thinks of having her.

He fumbles with undoing his belt and trousers and immediately slips into her warm, tight pussy. Hermes groans as she wraps her arms around his neck. He holds onto her waist with a bruisingly tight grip, guiding her into riding him. He buries his face in her breasts, nibbling and biting her flesh, making her squirm and moan so deliciously, creaming all over his cock.

“Mine,” he groans as he thrusts up in her pussy. “Mine,” he groans as he marks her body. “Mine,” he groans as he spills his hot seed in her pulsating depths.

Before Y/N has time to catch her breath, Hermes manhandles her into her hands and knees. He thrusts inside her again, a white ring forming around his cock. His ferocious thrust has her fall over, burying her face in the pillows.

“Grab the headboard,” he authoritatively orders.

His command reverberates throughout her body, her pussy pulsing around his throbbing cock and making her drunk-dazed in ecstasy. Despite being lost in her trance, she pushes herself off the mattress and grabs the headboard tightly as he had ordered her. And that’s when Hermes unleashes his assault, ravaging her with each thrust.

He slams her hips on his, sadistically smirking at the bruises he’s inflicted on her skin. Her screams and moans and whimpers delight him beyond words are capable of describing. He bites down on her shoulder, feeling her pussy clench him so satisfyingly tight that has him cumming again. His seed spills out of her, making a mess of the sheets, but he doesn’t care as he fucks it back into her. Again. And again. And again.

Until his aggression has calmed down.

Y/N, exhausted and ever so satisfied, falls limply on the mattress, murmuring, “Thank you, Master.”

The soft smile in her lips warms his expression, as he plants a kiss on her forehead. He lifts her in his arms and takes her to the bathroom, running her a soothing warm bath and washing her, then bringing her favourite snacks and cuddling with her.

The first bout of Ragnarok has just finished with Thor winning against L�� Bu, giving the Gods their first win and bringing humankind one step closer to annihilation. There’s a small break before the second round begins.

Y/N was running a few last minute errands for Hermes and is now heading to the stands. Her running gradually becomes walking before halting. She gently bows to the God in front of her. “Good luck on your match, Lord Loki.”

“No need to be so formal, Y/N,” Loki responds, his usual playfulness painting his voice. “I won’t be fighting any time soon, so…” he trails off. He pins her to the wall with ease, towering over her with a sadistic smile. “Why don’t you keep me company till the next bout begins?”

Y/N sighs, pushing past the Norse God. “I’m busy right now.”

Her relationship with the God of Mischief is a unique one. She is among the God’s favourite targets, always pranking her whenever they come across each other. And while Loki sometimes makes sexual remarks, he doesn’t mean them. Rather he loves to tease Hermes with them, throwing promises of fucking his little maid to rile him up. And when Hermes has been giving Y/N the silent treatment or is simply too busy to pay her attention, she teams up with Loki to push Hermes’ jealousy button.

Loki takes a step back, letting her pass. A mischievous dark grin curls his lips as he walks behind her, making his usual remarks. Y/N just lets him be. She halts as she notices Hermes approaching them. The latter doesn’t seem too happy to see them together. But he hides it almost perfectly behind his mask.

She jolts, feeling Loki’s hand wrapping around her waist and planting her to his side. Hermes’ gaze darkens and his friendly mask turns neutral to hostile. Y/N is still sore from the previous night, yet she can’t help but be turned on under her master’s intimidating glare. So, despite knowing he won’t let her off the hook so easily, she goes along with Loki’s play, letting him hold her.

“Hermes, can I borrow her for a while?” Loki mischievously asks, before his playful gaze darkens with lust. He moves behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist and holding her to him. “I’ve been dying to taste her pussy.” He smirks.

Hermes doesn’t acknowledge him, as he looks at his maid. Y/N feels her body catching fire wherever he looks. She tries to read his eyes, but can’t. And that excites her even more. The promise of the unknown punishment he has in store for her.

Hermes turns to Loki. “I’m afraid she and I have urgent business to attend to.” Before Loki can say anything, Hermes catches her wrist and drags her after him.

Y/N turns around to look at Loki waving at her, saying inaudibly, “Have fun.” He stands there for a minute, pondering over what to do now that his favourite target was stolen away. “Guess I’ll go prank my uncle,” he says, transforming to Thor and heading to the stands.

As they walk to Hermes’ chambers, anticipation builds up inside Y/N. Her nipples harden inside her uniform and her pussy is already drenched. And he hasn’t touched her yet. Entering his chambers, Hermes shuts the door and pushes her to the floor, making her kneel before him.

“I guess last night wasn’t enough for you, my little maid.”

The scolding tone in his voice makes her realise that perhaps she had made a mistake. A terrible mistake.

“I’m busy enough as is,” Hermes exclaims, while unbuckling his belt. He motions her to come closer and she willingly opens her mouth when he presses his cock on her lips. He thrusts inside, hitting the back of her throat. “I don’t need you running around and causing me more trouble.”

He grabs her hair in his hands, holding her head in place as he fucks her mouth. She’s holding onto his thighs, trying to withstand his ferocious thrusts. She loves feeling him occupy her mouth. She wants to slide her hand under her uniform’s skirt and touch her pulsing core, but she knows her master won’t like it. Which is precisely why she does it, sliding her fingers in and out of her drenched pussy, moaning on his cock.

“You just can’t obey even the simplest of commands, can you?” Hermes groans, smirking as he looks down at her.

He buries himself in her mouth, spilling his cum down her throat. He pulls back and watches her swallow, pleasing him. Yet the fact that she disobeyed him remains. Y/N watches him with a puzzled expression as he fixes his attire.

Catching her by her bicep, Hermes pulls her to her feet, dragging her to the bed. He throws her on it, feasting on the fearful gleam in her eyes. I’m screwed, she thinks. And he doesn’t need to be able to read her mind to know. He binds her wrists and ankles to the bed and she willingly obeys this time. Y/N knows that negotiating with him will only make her position even worse.

“Now,” Hermes’ voice rings in her ears as a bell of doom.

He lifts her skirt up, sliding her lacy panties to the side. He slides his fingers up her folds, smirking at her whimper. He puts a blindfold over her eyes and straps a ball-gag in her mouth. Y/N remains still, despite her slight trembling. The God slides inside her a small vibrator, starting at a low speed.

“Since I cannot trust you to stay out of trouble, you’ll remain here till I return,” Hermes orders, caressing her cheek with his gloved fingers.

He returns to the stands to watch the following matches, leaving her all alone, deprived of sight and voice. Hermes knows her so well, he doesn’t need to be in the same room as her to control the vibrator. He discreetly changes speeds, alternating between low and high speeds, imagining her writhing in ecstasy, tugging at her binds, as her sweet nectar drips from her core. Hermes looks forward to going back to his chamber and breaking her some more.

Y/N doesn’t hear the door opening and closing. She doesn’t know how much time has passed since Hermes left, but she can tell she passed out at least two times from her continuous orgasms. Her body is trembling with exhaustion and bliss. Her uniform is stuck on her, while drool trickles down the corners of her mouth.

She jolts as she feels her master’s gloved hand caressing her tear-stained cheek, making him chuckle menacingly. She moans as he removes the vibrator. When he takes off her blindfold and gag, she blinks a couple times before she adjusts back to the light. She watches him position himself between her legs and tries to close them, but the binds don’t let her.

“Did you enjoy your punishment, my little maid?” Hermes wickedly asks, before ruthlessly thrusting in her pussy, making her scream from being too sore and sensitive. “Because we’re only getting started.”

© strawchocoberry — do not copy, repost, translate or reuse my work

[thefaiao]

seeing your clowns made me go feral since my fixation is cringe and clown flavored

Who let you cook like that who let you cook AUTHHFFH UR ART IS SO COOL IM BEING DRAGGED AWAY

You’re hatching is so fucking inspiring since it’s soMETHING I try to do in my own work I LOVE UR ART

would it be fine to ask what brushes you use? I love ur values also, you’re so so good at shapes and form WAAAA I LOVE UR STUFF. I did dig up an old ask you made iirc, but I’m not sure if it’s changed

Hey! Thank you very much. I'll go through the brushes I use for each program: Drawpile

From what I understand most of these are MyPaint brushes... but I only know them as drawpile brushes because that's what I use. Main ones I've used lately is Irregular Ink and a default brush for coloring

I don't really change the size of irregular ink much and the pressure doesn't matter that much. It has high stabilization which I haven't changed, but I'm sure you could get away with lowering it. For the other brush I'm pretty sure it's a default one that I slightly tweaked (drawpile is a bit bad about communicating what brush exactly you are using to you.) I quite like it because it feels like playing with clay, makes it easy to map out the volume. I use it for those lineless pieces I do from time to time too. I change its size a lot while drawing. I've also used these two, one of the pencil brushes and a second one I stole from Jokioro that I have no idea what is called

I used the first one for the D'arce I did a while ago and the recent VTMB piece. It's great at emulating sketchy graphite pencils, I like layering it to do multi-colored hatching rendering. The second one I don't know how to use super well yet but it's probably my fourth most used as of late. It works very weirdly so if you wanna figure out how to make it work I recommend looking at how Jokioro draws. Clip Studio I bounce around a lot with all the brushes, but I use a loooot of stuff from the Frenden pack. Mainly Meeko Leako for lining and even coloring, it has a great texture to it, very fun

This has been my most used brush for years. It's great for super straight lines and produces a great difference in value between quick lines and thick lines. I haven't used it as much since I picked up drawpile more recently, but it's amazing! Other than that I use the default G-pen when I just want simple lines without much texture

It's a bit ugly at a glance but I think if you lock in it's great for super clean lines, just trying to get the point across without much noise. I also like coloring with it at times, when I'm going lineless. SAI Binary pen. Use the binary pen. It's the best brush ever made

It just feels super right to draw with it, it's so simple but it makes your lines look super slick, and it's just a binary pen. I guess they just got the behavior down perfect for it. But yeah, love this brush. IRL I've always used these archival ink pens in different sizes for basically everything I've done traditionally, and of course just a simple number 2 pencil for sketching and such. I've used a bit of charcoal recently, and been wanting to deep into darker pencils for detail, but this is still the default. I also will probably try out dip pens sometime

That's all I can think of immediately, but I always like to mess around to try and find another great brush, and you should do the same even if you end up using these a lot.

[honestlynervousnut]

✍️ tattoo for salbucktommy please :D

• Ficlet Friday Saturday•

Buck was lying in bed taking a nap. After days of intensive work under Gerrard's command, he was exhausted and taking the nap of his life, or at least he was until he felt something small and pointed being slowly dragged over his left shoulder.

As he slowly woke up he began to hear whispers, it was Sal and Tommy.

''Seriously?'' Asked Sal ''Out of all the stuff you could be doing you're doing that?''

''Shut the fuck up Salvatore and don't distract me'' Whispered Tommy back ''You can do whatever you want with him when it's your turn.''

''Yeah....sure...'' Said Sal with sarcasm.

''What the-?'' When he fully woke up he saw Tommy with what it looked like a pen and Sal holding his arm on place, once everything set in he jumped like a gazelle making both Sal and Tommy fall on the bed.

''What are you doing?!'' He asked acusatory.

''N-nothiiiing....'' Said Sal and Tommy at unison with the most nervous smile they ever made.

''Wha...?'' Buck tried to see what he had on the shoulder but he couldn't see it clearly so he got up and went to the bathroom to look at himself on the mirror.

''Ev-Evan Evan Evan nonononono!'' Tommy called him as he got up from the bed ''Evan no I-Im not- its not finished!'' He chuckled and both him and Sal followed Buck to the bathroom.

Buck walked into the bathroom thinking those two little shits had drawn a dick or something rude on him, but he was But he was pleasantly surprised when he saw a rather detailed flower on his left shoulder.

As he looked at the drawing, Sal and Tommy emerged from behind him like ''🥺'' and Buck looked at them.

''Wh....whyy?'' He asked slightly sleepy and confused

''We were bored....'' Said Tommy with a hint of smile on his face.

''And your arm looked rather empty'' Said Sal holding back a chuckle and playing with the pen on his hands.

''Do you like it?'' Asked Tommy with puppy eyes.

''God how I love this two'' That's all Buck could think. He looked at the reflection of the tattoo and then at Tommy.

''I-I-I....its...its not bad'' Muttered Buck as he got out of the bathroom trying to hide his pink-ish cheeks.

|Two days later|

Sal and Tommy were on the couch watching TV when Buck walked in and stood in front of them.

''Hi honey!'' Greeted Tommy with a smile ''Hey Beautiful'' Greeted Sal with a smile as well.

''Hey guys'' Said Buck ''Is everything okay?'' Asked Tommy

''Yeah....yeah um....I have a surprise...'' He said smiling. Sal turned off the TV and both man looked at him with interest.

Buck took off his jacket showing them a tattoo version of the flower that Tommy drew.

Both men looked at him in awe.

''Oh hell yeah!'' Said Sal surprised. ''No way!'' Said Tommy with a big smile.

Buck just laughed. ''Y' like it? I thought that you guys were right, my arm did look empty...''

''Oh absolutly'' Nodded Sal ''It looks way better now...'' Tommy said.

Buck smiled and got closer to the couch, then he grabbed both Sal's and Tommy's chin and looked at them with fondness.

''Y'know, maybe I should let both of you draw more of my tattoes''

Sal and Tommy looked at each other and then smirk.

''Can we?'' Tommy asked with a small smile ''Yeah good question, can we?'' Sal asked with a big grin.

Buck chuckled.

''Of course....but no dicks Sal...''

Tommy chuckled as Sal rolled his eyes.

''Fair enough....'' Sal smiled.

[toytulini]

if you draw enough monster ocs, when you go back to drawing a human character, it feels like "sameface syndrome" everytime, by virtue of their face being. human.

[drifloonz]

didnt wanna ramble more in my newest post but like. The implications of steven having 4 charizards in doors open is so fucking confusing, and unironically i am glad nobody takes doors open for characterization bc fanon steven would be even more confusing and worse. If we took s!3v3n characterization from doors open every interpretation of fanon s!3v3n would be "I HATE YOU IM GUNNA KILL YOU!!! IM YELLING AND IM GUNNA KILL YOU!!! THE YEAR 2010! SCARY! DIEDIEDIEDIEDIE" ( <- hyperbolization but literally how he is in doors open just exaggerated Literally only a bit. ) instead of a creepy tall guy who lurks in the shadows or whatever.

Canon s!3v3n in doors open and strangled ( not strangled red hes just kind of creepy and silent there ) is like. The mental asylum pov video on tiktok. Which is really funny but not a good character(*&^

I am certain its just a "he has four bc they spell out one letter of MIKI in each of their names in order!" and its probably just for that but like. whyyyy does he have four of them.

Who gave you four charizards. Did he clone more. Did he get that insane. I dont want to seriously think abt lore implications of doors open other than the small details it gives abt stevens appearance and mikis moveset, because it is once again, Not Fucking written Well its just GRRR ill KILL YOU i HATE YOU IM GUNNA KILL YOU!!! so its not narratively interesting, especially from characterization standpoint for steven/s!3v3n and therefore i dont trust it but God.

Why does He have four of them. Did they split. The seven (aka four) miki souls ??? omega s!3v3n. This is going nowhere.

[everyurlithinkofistoolong]

Remembering the time i went for an extended interview for a company and during the team lunch portion i learned that 3/5 of the people on that team had parents who worked in the same company. Anyways i didnt get the job.

[caterpillarinacave]

“Oh, you’ll fall” Thelma replied nonchalantly, as if that was somehow comforting “Quite embarrassingly, probably. And quite painfully at least a few times.”

“Ah. Well. ” Matthew cleared his throat uncomfortably, the mild sense of impending doom steadily building. “I suppose we best be going then?” 

Thelma smiled up at him, a darling sort of smile, the type that lit up half the room, so genuinely happy that Matthew decided whatever happened in the next hour - no matter how disastrous and or embarrassing - it would be worth it for that smile on his sister’s face.

-Post TLH WIP Snippet

[rawliverandgoronspice]

.

not sure it's my post to make particularly, but I do fucking hate how the concept of white guilt gets weaponized within white people ingroups to throw at each other in order to goad each other into emotional passivity, detachement and inaction, it's just so extremely not what the concept is about initially and is actually still an extension of white guilt it turns out!!! as it's still reacting to that idea and concerned by trying to sever oneself from its perceived effects, regardless of what those are and what they do and what bigger picture they exist in!!!! anyway.

[hauntingblue]

I don't know what to say... everyone got a happy ending except the people who actually wanted a real revolution and had a cause for it... but it's not like we had much of their opinions on this I guess... also no final lez sex scene... tragic

[musingmycelium]

. noncoherent but also thoughts

[apple-os]

ppl who like making friends solely with one-note cardboard boxes who will hang out with them when it's convenient and never open up about who they are as people and what their lives are like dni

[todayisafridaynight]

fathers day is this month how am i going to inflict psychic damage on myself

[falinscloaca]

rewatched paranoia agent by proxy (reaction youtube), feeling emotionally akin to warm yet raw eggs again. great.