#part zero

[abybweisse]

Ch212 (p0), Cover and title pages

Now that I have my own copy from Kobo.

[lady-exophiliac-musings]

Monsterfucker Mansion: Intro

Note: This will be a multi-chapter work. Requests are wide open. Ask for a monster, and ye shall receive a fucking from it. ;)

This intro contains no sex, just some small worldbuilding and exploration. This story will include impregnation, and probably a lot of it, by all sorts of different exophilia crushes.

There's an old, abandoned building you know of. It's a far trip for you, but the rumors surrounding it are the most enticing things you've ever heard:

Anyone who goes in comes back out changed. In the case of all the women you've heard of, they come back out -- pregnant.

And not with human offspring.

Nervousness and disbelief had kept you away for years, constantly hedging over the validity of the claims and debating over the possible consequences of going there, yourself.

Lots of "what if" scenarios filled your daydreams and nighttime ponderings.

What if the rumors were true? What if you went there and met a vampire? What if you met a demon? What if you met an entire group of satyr brothers? What if a werewolf pack happened to visit it at the same time you did?

What if they fucked you silly and you came back home pregnant with some monster's baby?

How would you care for it? Would you care for it? Would you just go back after the birth and hand it off to the father? Would you keep it? What kind of mother would you be to a little half-demon or half-vampire or half-lycan? Was that even how it worked -- or would the baby take after its father fully?

Several years passed as you argued with yourself over this, constantly checking any reports you could find of continued activity in the abandoned mansion. Dozens of "interviews" were conducted in that time featuring people who'd claimed to have gone in, and they all had one thing in common:

Ecstasy.

They'd loved cavorting in that mansion with the creatures they'd encountered. And while there was nothing saying that they weren't just the lucky ones, that maybe hundreds had gone in and never returned at all, the very real possibility of you finding yourself at the mercy of a who-knew-what for a night and then returning home carrying its offspring was beyond tantalizing to you.

Eventually, you broke. You ventured to the mansion, opting to borrow a coworker's motorcycle for the trip to hide it easier once you got there. After all, you had no idea how long you were going to end up staying and you didn't want your vehicle to attract attention.

No, you'd much rather remain as anonymous as possible until the very end.

Giddy, you drive for well over four hours before finding the path leading into the spooky woods where the mansion waited. And, you soon discover, the path is notably worn by vehicle tread despite being a dirt road.

A lot of people had come here before you.

Even more excited, now, it's a little hard to focus as you continue down the road. By now you don't even need directions or your GPS; the road is so well-used it's obvious where you need to go.

Before long, the mansion comes into view.

And it is a mansion. The few images of the exterior you'd managed to scrounge up don't do it justice.

It's a massive building, four stories in the center and three for the two wings. The road winds left and right, giving you incomplete glimpses of it for a while, but it isn't hard to estimate that there's around fourty sets of windows on the front, implying numerous rooms on every floor.

It's definitely been damaged over the years, some windows badly boarded up and others visibly shattered. An overhang held up by columns create a wide front porch, and one of the columns has splintered and been semi-shredded in the middle. A set of stone stairs lead up to that porch, and chunks have been broken off from it.

Your heart's already pounding as you break free of the wooded area and follow the path as it curves up to the front of the building, a non-working three-tier fountain featuring a mermaid on a shell taking up a place of honor in front of it.

Giddy, you slow to a stop and remove your helmet so you can take a better look. No lights shine from within -- but, then, you'd expect that any monsters that frequent this place would probably be able to see in the dark. They wouldn't need the light.

Excitement hums in your veins. Was it twisted of you to find what comes next all the more appealing because you expect it to be scary?

Taking deep breaths to control the shaking in your core, you leave your helmet and riding jacket on the bike, stuff the keys in your pocket, and proceed up to the door.

It's ajar, you notice, as if inviting you to venture within.

You take out your phone and switch the flashlight on to illuminate the interior before you step inside, getting a lay of the land. After all, if it turns out this place was full of asbestos and tetanus, well -- that would be bad.

You want to get fucked by monsters, not diseases.

The area within is surprisingly clean, given the outward appearance. It's dusty, but more at the edges than anywhere else -- like it's been traveled quite frequently, you note. And there's a definite lack of broken or abandoned furniture as well.

Only a few pieces remain, and they're all visibly intact. A small table in the entryway with an attached mirror; a vintage sofa in a room to your left; a small dining table with a set of six chairs around it; a tall cabinet, empty within but the glass doors intact and clean of dust.

Someone had to be tending to this place, you realize, which means it definitely is occupied.

Now even more excited, you creep inside, the nervous part of you driving you to keep quiet just in case. It's stupid, maybe; you're here to get railed by the creatures that might be living here, yet your voice and actions are suppressed, caution and a constant feeling like you're being stalked forcing you to try and be stealthy.

Not even the recognition that you were definitely not ever going to be stealthy enough to avoid getting caught by monsters can halt the impulse for you to step quietly and avoid anything remotely wobbly.

Plus, you think, you are using your phone as a flashlight. If anything else is in here, it probably already knows that you are, too.

...Yet, disappointingly, nothing shows itself, not even after you've started to get a feel for the mansion's layout. It's a surprisingly intuitive design, actually. You feel like you don't get lost despite the size of it, able to follow the hallways, anticipate turns, and connect the three individual staircases you find without difficulty.

It becomes a secondary form of fascination to you. You even catch yourself testing your guesswork by finding your way back to the front door with increasingly roundabout paths and feeling impressed when you successfully locate it.

Still no monsters pop out at you, but by now you don't mind so much; you're having fun just exploring. And, at last, you decide to expand your search to the second floor, ascending the stairs.

...Every single room up here is, unequivocally, a fucking room.

The first one you find, nudging open the ajar door, takes you by surprise. It's a bedroom with a four-poster canopy, red velvet blankets, and a fur rug on the floor. A fireplace is situated against one wall with a desk and a 5-prong candelabra at another.

Oh yes, and there were leather cords with soft shackles affixed to each of the bed's posters.

A little stunned at the discovery, you move on to another room.

This one had a single mattress on the floor with a trio of pillows at the head and torn, bloody sheets tossed over it. Strangely, there was also a mini fridge in the corner, which -- when you checked it out of sheer curiosity -- was actively running and was full of various kinds of alcohol -- and ice cream.

A third room was dressed up nicely in pastel pinks and lace, including a vanity of pure white with gold trim, a mirror with lipstick kisses on it, and a large wardrobe across from the king-size, comfy-looking bed.

The next was a mixture of black and dark violet, everything styled in a leather-and-chains goth aesthetic, the window covered in heavy black drapes.

It went on and on. One room didn't have a bed, but rather a pile of soft fur blankets and throw pillows in front of a fireplace. Another was pristine and perfect, everything in white, black or grey and cut in sharp angles. The next was in rich blues and greens, a string of pearls embedded in the walls up at ceiling-level, the room itself notably colder than the others. Yet another was more rugged and worn-down, the floor scuffed, the walls scratched, everything in shades of brown, red and orange -- earthy, beastly, rough.

Things definitely were living here, you conclude, and there were a lot of them -- with vastly different styles and personalities.

Now if only you could figure out where the fuck they were hiding.

[mochasucculent]

Was looking at refs and since Viktor has two different leg braces I was wondering, do we think he wears them simultaneously?? The refs don't perfectly line up perspective-wise so it's hard to tell but parts of the one he wears during the Hexcore scenes look like they could maybe line up with the brace that he wears over his clothes, but also some parts really don't and look like they'd be super uncomfy. Also HOW does he take these on and off. Experts weigh in

[opt1mistic]

A NIGHT TO REMEMBER ✶ ft. bbf!ellie williams. prequel to this.

cw. smut, nsfw, angst if you close your eyes and look away, fingering(r!receiving), dryhumping, reader is intoxicated but it’s all consensual, mentions of a man, gin slander lol, modern au, afab!reader and fem reader. wc. 5.2k(what the helly???) note. the plot was lost halfway through so it’s just basically smut mixed with nonsense…i’m really sorry :/

the music felt way too overbearing; mixed with the alcohol you’ve consumed over the past hour or so it all felt way too heavy—almost suffocating. bittersweet clung to your tongue, sharp and herbal, the aftertaste of gin curling at the back of your throat like smoke. dry. piney. something bitter underneath, like citrus peel left to burn.

you hated gin. you only drank it because it was the first thing that was handed to you.

pushed into the far corner of your kitchen, your clothes felt too tight, and your shoes didn’t fit right. you knew they didn’t. it wasn’t because you were overwhelmed and on the verge of a breakdown, it was because they were a size too small. you wore them because they looked good with your outfit, thinking you might’ve at least gotten one compliment about it. but no. not a single person mentioned to you how your shoes looked like they were personally customized for the outfit.

you weren’t mad, or annoyed for that matter. people came here to party and not to tell you that your ass looked fantastic, and your boobs sat so perfectly they might not be real.

none of that mattered really, at all even.

you’re sweating. you feel the cup in your hand feel slippery against the softness of your palm, it might fall to the floor and ruin those shoes you should really get rid of because they don’t fit. these fucking shoes.

it wasn’t even about them. it never was. you’re just pissed they don’t fit you the only time you decided to wear them. and you were pissed because she was talking to her and not you.

it wasn't jealousy.

it wasn’t.

you were just upset. that’s all. upset because she’s been hitting on you for at least two years now and now she was talking to someone that wasn’t you.

you had no right to be jealous. you turn ellie down every time she says anything remotely suggestive, you don’t let her get anywhere pass a flirty comment, maybe two or three more get by, but that’s all.

you don’t like ellie. i mean how could you?

(but it really was more like who doesn’t? ellie was pretty, gorgeous even. with her stupid freckles, green eyes that shine so brightly under the sun of dawn. the light over her face and those freckles. and her hair, it was so pretty, soft with the most addicting smell. every single fucking time you look at her you feel unwell. this sickening feeling in your stomach, it aches.

you have no good reason to turn her down, you do it because you’re confused about why a girl like her likes you.

you‘re clumsy, anxious, you let your mouth run when you shouldn’t. you talk back when enough's been said. your comebacks are snarky. you know you shouldn’t speak, but your mouth moves anyway—quick and defensive. regret always comes later. you feel as if there isn’t much to look at if you look at a mirror.

but that’s the thing that ellie likes the most. you’re different. not in the ‘i’m not like other girls’ kind of way—but in the way you flinch when you laugh, the way you don’t know what to do with your hands. in the way she notices. she doesn’t say anything, but she sees you.

but that’s what pisses you off the most.

because ellie doesn’t like you in spite of those things. she likes you because of them.

she likes the way you get flustered when you’re cornered. she likes when you talk back. when your voice shakes, but you say it anyway. she likes how your mouth runs when it shouldn’t. how you can never just leave things alone. she likes that you’re messy, and mouthy, and unsure of yourself. and maybe that’s why you keep pushing her away.

because if she sees all that and still wants you—you don’t know what that makes you.)

with your eyes shooting laser beams into the wall right next to her, as to not seem like you’re watching her because she’ll get all cocky about it if she catches you looking. it’s not ellie if she doesn’t tease you to death. smothering you with her words, like a pair of hands around your neck—gentle at first, like she’s cradling you to kiss—until they tighten, deliberate, marking you with nothing but words. words that leave an effect they shouldn’t, and it bothers you more than you’ll ever admit.

and now she’s gone, and so is the girl she was with.

wonderful.

you unstiffen your shoulders, dropping them, trying to relax when you feel so uncomfortable. you hear your bed practically calling your name. you’re so fed up. this was supposed to be a fun party, just like every other party your brother throws. but all you could think about was that ellie hasn’t talked to you once, and that some random guy, you were pretty sure wasn’t even invited, kept trying to hit on you, giving you this disgusting drink and telling you to come find him later.

he didn’t even ask you if you like gin, just poured it into a cup with a mix of diet coke, it’s the most nasty after taste you’ve ever tasted. who would drink such monstrosity and like it?

you set your cup down—finally. the stickiness from your palm feels gross; it’s sweaty and moist, like thick mucus. you’re about to disappear upstairs when you hear her.

“you always make that face when you're annoyed. d’you know that?”

ellie.

her voice is too close. low, amused. like she was watching you from the other side of the room and couldn’t help herself. and maybe she was.

you don’t turn around. not right away. you know how this goes—she says something cocky, you get defensive, she teases you until your thoughts melt into something you can’t name. it’s always the same. always her and her dumb words.

you roll your eyes instead, loud enough for her to hear it in your silence. “didn’t know you were watching me.”

“always do.” she says, like it’s obvious. like it’s nothing. you hate the way your heart stumbles at the sound of it.

then she moves closer. you feel it more than see it, her presence sliding in beside you, the press of her arm almost grazing yours. not touching. never touching. but close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin, her breath ghosting near your jaw.

“you looked like you were about to murder someone.” ellie murmurs, glancing at the abandoned drink.

“watcha got there?” she picks up the plastic cup you had just set down on the counter. her curiosity is shut down by the awful taste that appears in her mouth when she takes a generous sip from the cup.

“what the fuck is this!?” ellie’s face scrunches up into a look of disbelief and disgust. “what human fed you this?”

she sets the cup down and moves it further away on the counter like it’s radioactive.

“uhhhh. him over there.” you search in the crowd of people for the dark haired man that shoved the cup into your hand and smirked at you when you forced yourself to take multiple sips.

ellie follows your gaze, spots him almost instantly. the guy’s leaning against the fridge like he owns it—shirt half unbuttoned, drink in hand, grinning at someone who’s definitely not you.

she scoffs. “that guy?”

“that guy.”

“he looks like he harasses women on the street.”

you bite back a laugh, lips twitching. “that’s mean.”

“you drank his little science experiment. i’m being merciful.”

she turns to face you fully now, leaning her hip against the counter, one hand tucked into her back pocket. you glance at her, finally—just a flick of your eyes, quick and stupid—and she catches it. of course she does.

“you’ve been avoiding me all night,” she says, like it’s a casual observation and not an accusation.

“i haven’t.”

“you didn’t say hi.”

“you didn’t either.”

she tilts her head at that, amused. “so it’s my job now?”

“didn’t say that.”

“but you thought it.”

you huff, crossing your arms. “you’re insufferable.”

“and yet.” ellie grins. “here you are. still standing next to me.”

you look away. again. the floor is suddenly very interesting.

ellie leans in just slightly, drops her voice to a hum. “you look good, by the way.”

you don’t respond. not right away. your brain short-circuits a little, glitches like an old tv. there it is again. the teasing, the soft menace in her voice. the compliment you weren’t expecting but still secretly hoped for.

“shoes don’t fit.” you mutter.

“doesn’t matter. your legs look great.”

your cheeks burn. you hate her. you want to crawl out of your own skin. skin yourself alive, bash your head into a wall.

“stop it.” you say, weakly. it’s barely above a whisper.

“stop what?” she asks, already smiling like she knows. like she can feel the heat radiating off you.

you don’t answer. you can’t.

ellie shifts closer. not by much—just enough that you have to fight the urge to lean back, or lean in, or do something other than stand there, vibrating with everything you’re trying not to feel.

“you always get like this when i say something nice,” she murmurs. “all twitchy and silent. like you’re waiting for me to take it back.”

you scoff, but it doesn’t land right. too shaky. too soft.

“i’m just saying,” she continues, voice syrupy, “if you’re gonna stand there looking like that, all flushed and pretty and bitey, you can’t expect me to behave.”

your breath hitches. that’s not fair. that’s so not fair.

“i’m not bitey.” you say, eyes narrowed.

“sure you’re not.” she grins, teeth sharp. “you’re a terror.”

you glare. or try to. but your face won’t cooperate—it wants to smile, to give in, to break in all the ways she makes you break.

ellie takes one step closer, and now she’s really in your space. the music blurs behind you both. voices fade to a dull, distant buzz. it’s just her, now. her and that look in her eye. the one she saves just for you.

“you miss me?” she asks, soft and unserious and too real all at once.

you could lie. you’ve done it before. you’ve done it so many times—shrugged her off with sarcasm, buried the truth under something wry. but right now?

right now you’re toeing the edge of something dangerous, and it’s never felt more tempting.

you don’t answer. you just let her look at you. let her wait. and ellie…ellie takes that silence like for a yes.

her grin fades, just a little. her eyes dip to your mouth, then back up again, slow, like she’s memorizing the way you’re holding yourself together for her.

“come upstairs with me,” she says, gentle now. no teasing, no game.

your heart slams against your ribs. you shouldn’t.

“okay.” you say.

and she doesn’t smile this time just nods, once, like this is the moment she’s been waiting for. like she knew you’d say it eventually.

ellie takes your hand. she doesn’t ask. just does. and you let her. because of course you do. because it’s ellie. and you’ve always been hers, even when you swore you weren’t.

you follow her out of the kitchen like a shadow, steps quiet, careful. she doesn’t look back. she doesn’t need to. the music is louder in the hallway, vibrating through the walls like a pulse. it drowns out everything—your thoughts, your doubts, the little voice in your head telling you this is a mistake.

she leads you up the stairs, weaving past bodies draped over railings and sitting cross-legged on the floor. no one notices you. no one stops you. it’s like the two of you are moving through a world that doesn’t quite exist. like this is some strange little pocket of reality where everything is charged, unreal, and fragile. only you and ellie.

her hand is still in yours when she opens the door to your room. she only lets go once it’s shut behind you both, the lock clicking into place with a soft finality.

the room is dim—just the string lights across the ceiling casting a golden glow over everything. a mess of clothes on the chair. an unmade bed you can’t stop staring at. why couldn’t i clean up after i got ready for this shit of a party?

ellie sits first, casually, like this is just another friday night. leans back on her hands, legs spread, jaw set. watching you carefully. the smallest movements you make she’s there to catch them. you stay near the door. back pressed against it like it might keep you grounded.

“you okay?” she asks after a moment, like the tension isn’t loud enough to swallow you both whole. the blurred absence of the music and shouts makes you feel somewhat better. but that bitter feeling doesn’t seem to slip away.

you nod. too quickly.

“you’re lying.”

“i’m not.”

“you always do that thing with your hands when you lie.”

you look down. fuck—she’s right. your fingers are twisted together, knuckles going white.

“i didn’t come up here to fight.” you say finally, voice thinner than you want it to be. ellie doesn’t move. she just keeps looking at you. her gaze is steady, unreadable.

“i know,” she says. “i didn’t bring you up here to make you uncomfortable.”

“then why’d you bring me up here?”

a pause. her eyes soften.

“because i couldn’t look at you all night without wanting to touch you.”

your breath catches.

“ellie—”

she cuts in, quick. “i won’t. not unless you want me to.”

the silence after that is almost unbearable. you stare at her. she stares back. her face is open, honest in a way she rarely ever lets it be. you want to say something sharp. something deflective. but the truth is boiling over in your chest, and it’s too hot to ignore. you want her to touch you.

“you scare the shit out of me.” you say, with a breathy laugh feeling awkwardness flair up inside of you.

ellie blinks. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

she lets out a breath—quiet, amused, fond in that infuriating way of hers. you hate it.

“you scare the shit out of me, too.”

and just like that, the air shifts. the room tilts. everything feels precarious, like a match held too close to the fuse. your face heats up again.

“come here,” she says, barely above a whisper.

you hesitate. only for a second. then you do.

your feet move before you know it. you walk to her with your heart in your throat and your guard barely holding, and when you stop in front of her, ellie doesn’t move—not until you do. not until your knees brush against hers, light as a question.

she answers it by reaching up, slowly, fingertips grazing your hips. her eyes stay on yours. you’re confused again. you don’t understand why she wants to touch you, like this of all ways.

“still okay?” she murmurs.

“yeah,” you whisper.

and then she pulls you in. you crash into her, not fully losing control of your body but enough for her to take control and maneuver you to straddle her. her touch isn’t rough nor is it rushed. it’s small but has power. ellie knows what she’s doing.

she doesn’t kiss you. not yet. she waits. waits for you to decide.

and god, you want—no, you crave it, in that feral, bone-deep way that makes your skin itch. you want her mouth on yours, soft at first, maybe, just to mock you—but you want it to dissolve, fast, into something hungry. something unholy. you want her to kiss you like she’s starving, like she’s trying to crawl inside you through your mouth.

you want the spit. need the spit. thick, hot, shared and messy—her tongue in your mouth, sliding against yours, teeth knocking when it gets too desperate. you want it to drip, to smear, to cling to your lips and chin, to mark you in the most revoltingly human way. like her saliva belongs in your mouth. like yours belongs down her throat.

you want her to spit into you. mouth parted, eyes half-lidded, breath panting between kisses—and when she pulls away, you want it to trail between your mouths in slick strings. sticky, glistening. you want to taste her down to the root of your tongue.

you want it to ruin you. make your lips swollen, red, wrecked. make your jaw ache. you want to feel her breath enter you and exit in shudders. to drown in the taste of her, sweet and sharp, like blood and peaches and the end of the world.

the silence was killing you. like a sword penetrating skin. you stare into her eyes, deep and honest. if ellie wanted, she could get every confession out of you. she could make you admit how much you like her, she could make you say how badly you need her. make you tell her all the nasty thoughts your intoxicated brain is frying up.

your hands sneak to rest on her shoulders and you just hope she doesn’t say anything about you being desperate for her. she knows you are but ellie isn’t any better, after all, she did bring you up here for the exact reasons you’re thinking.

ellie moves in closer now—much closer than she was back in the kitchen. she’s always been bold like that. you’ve seen her before, at one of your brother’s parties, hand already halfway down some girl’s pants like it was nothing. she never cared who was watching. didn’t even seem to care how the girl felt about it, not really. maybe it was a distraction. maybe she just needed something to do with her hands.

if she wanted, she could’ve had you like that in the kitchen, but she chose to bring you to your room and be more open with her words. none of the teasing that make it seem that she was joking. she’s serious about this. she really does want you, needs to touch you.

her nose is touching yours, she doesn’t blink, just looks at you with a shine to her eyes, if you looked deep enough you could see that she’s holding back. she could take you right here right now but she chooses not to, she waits for you. she doesn’t want to take advantage. because it’s you, and she couldn’t live with herself after if she were to do so.

“ellie…” you say her name breathless, eyes trailing towards her lips. your tongue sticking out slightly licking your upper lip. you move your eyes back up to hers, reaching you hands to the back of her head to twist her hair between your fingers.

she answers you by slowly crashing her lips into yours, moving them against the plush skin when you open your mouth a little for her to slip her tongue in.

she kisses you like she means it—like she’s been waiting. her mouth is warm, slow at first, but there’s weight behind it, like she’s trying to memorize the shape of you. her tongue grazes yours, testing the waters, and you hum into it, your fingers tightening in her hair. she breathes in sharp through her nose, like she wasn’t expecting that.

ellie’s hands wander off around your body squeezing at your waist and hips, needing the flesh above clothes. she unsure about her touch, as if she squeezes you in some way you’ll tell her to stop, she careful but needy at the same time. she’s not rough or aggressive, but there’s a possessiveness to her hold, and it’s dark and full of desire.

ellie pulls back just barely, lips brushing yours as she speaks, her voice low and raspy. “you don’t know what you do to me.”

and she’s kissing down your neck, toying with the skin between her lips, making sure she leaves a mark to tease and laugh at you tomorrow. you know this but let her mark you either way, you’ll yell at yourself when you’re sober; realizing this was a mistake on your part because you gave in this easily.

but it was going to happen sooner or later, so why not now?

and you know exactly what you do to ellie. maybe not everything, maybe not the exact details, but you know what your presence does to her. the way she looks at you like you’re a loaded gun—dangerous, tempting, too easy to lose control around.

“then show me.” you whisper, a challenge and a plea in one. you move your palms to cup her face, tugging her up and kissing her harder this time, and she answers with a soft groan against you, her hands sliding beneath your shirt, palms flat against your spine as they pull you flat against her body. her hands, they’re calloused, warm, grounding. she doesn’t rush. her touch is reverent, tracing you like you’re something fragile and holy.

but you’re not, and she knows.

her teeth catch your bottom lip, not hard, just enough to make you gasp. she pulls away again, panting now, forehead pressed to yours. “if we do this…” she swallows.

“i need to know you want it. really want it.”

your thumb brushes the edge of her jaw, and she’s watching you like you’re the only thing in the world worth watching. she’s so close you can feel her heart racing against yours.

you nod. “i do.”

and ellie’s restraint finally snaps.

her hands move down to the plush flesh of your thighs, feeling the warmth of your blood beneath her fingertips as they grope you hard.

she kisses you again, rougher this time—hungry, desperate, her hands slipping further under your shirt, palms splayed wide across your bare back. her fingers dig into your skin, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough that you know she’s grounding herself with you. your mouth parts against hers, a quiet, needy sound slipping out before you can stop it. ellie swallows it down like she’s starved for it, chasing the noise with her tongue.

she shifts underneath you, tugging you impossibly closer by the hips until you’re straddling her properly, your thighs bracketing her waist. the heat between your bodies makes you dizzy. she presses her forehead to yours, breathing heavy, like she’s trying to hold herself back, but failing.

“gonna lose my mind,” she mutters, half to herself, before she kisses you again—messier this time, open-mouthed, your tongues sliding together with a slick, desperate sound that makes you ache in places you didn’t know could ache.

your hands roam too, almost frantic, pushing under her hoodie to feel the solid lines of her stomach, her ribs, the thin cotton of her tank top clinging to her. you tug at the fabric and she gets the hint, breaking the kiss just long enough to yank the hoodie off over her head, ruffling her hair and making her freckles stand out sharper under the low light.

“better?” she teases, breathless, voice wrecked and full of something dark.

you just nod, too stunned by the sight of her like this, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from kissing you. and she’s looking at you like she wants to ruin you, hands resting heavy on your thighs, thumbs stroking lazy circles over the fabric of your skirt.

ellie tugs at the hem of your shirt, fingers curling into the material. she doesn’t pull it off yet, just slips her hands under it again, feeling your bare waist, the dip of your lower back. her thumbs brush just under the edge of your bra, and you shiver.

“can i?” she asks, and you barely hear her over the pounding in your own head.

“please.” you whisper.

and that’s all it takes. she lifts your shirt over your head slow, almost reverently, like unwrapping something she’s been dying to get her hands on for years. your hair gets a little messed up in the process and she smiles at the sight of you, like you’re the best thing she’s ever seen.

her hands come up to cup your face, thumbs brushing your flushed cheeks. her eyes are wide, a little wild, like she still can’t believe you’re here, half-naked in her lap, asking for her.

“so fuckin’ pretty,” she murmurs, leaning in to kiss your jaw, your neck, the slope of your shoulder. anywhere she can reach. you’re squirming in her lap now, needy and impatient, your hands clutching at her tank top like you’re afraid she’ll disappear if you let go.

ellie groans low in her throat when your hips grind down, just a little, testing. the friction pulls a sharp breath from both of you. she grabs your hips, holding you still.

“easy,” she mutters, voice thick, “wanna take my time.”

you whimper at that, and she grins against your skin, proud and a little smug. ellie mouths at your chest, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the top of your bra, teasing, teasing, until you whine and tug at the straps, silently begging.

“okay, okay.” she chuckles, voice rough and fond, like she’s never heard anything better than you falling apart for her.

she helps you shrug out of your bra, tossing it somewhere across the room without looking, too busy staring at you. her hands come up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing experimentally over your nipples, watching the way your body reacts—your back arching, your mouth falling open in a silent gasp.

“jesus christ,” she mutters under her breath, more to herself than to you. “look at you.”

and then she’s leaning in, mouth closing around one nipple, sucking gently, tongue flicking, while her other hand toys with the other breast. the heat of her mouth sends sparks shooting straight to your core. you gasp, hands threading into her hair, holding her there like you might fly apart if she stops.

you rock your hips against her without thinking, chasing any kind of friction. ellie growls low in her chest, the sound vibrating against your skin.

“needy.” she mutters, pulling off you with a wet pop, dragging her mouth back up to kiss you again—deeper, messier, less polished than before. her hands slide down your back, squeezing your ass, dragging you harder against the ridge of her thigh.

“wanna feel you,” she rasps against your mouth.

“wanna make you cum just like this. fuck.”

you moan, high and broken, grinding shamelessly against her now, feeling the roughness of her jeans against the soaked fabric of your underwear. the friction is almost too much. almost not enough.

ellie kisses you harder, teeth clashing, spit slicking your chins together, hands everywhere—your hips, your thighs, your back, your ass. she rocks you against her thigh, murmuring filthy things into your mouth, barely coherent.

“so wet for me.” she pants, pulling back just enough to look down, to watch you rut against her thigh.

“fuck, look at you. makin’ a mess all over me.” you whimper, desperate, lost in it. in her.

“c’mon, baby,” ellie coaxes, voice rough and tender all at once.

“wanna feel you cum for me. just like this. show me how bad you need it.”

you shudder, the pressure building, unbearably sweet and sharp and right there. ellie keeps rocking you, keeps whispering in your ear, dirty, soft, wrecked herself.

and when you finally cum—when you break apart with a soft, bitten-off sob against her shoulder—ellie holds you through it, arms wrapped tight around you, grounding you, anchoring you.

“that’s it,” she murmurs, kissing the side of your head.

you slump against her, boneless, trembling, feeling like you might float away if she let go.

but she doesn’t.

she keeps holding you, kissing you, whispering promises you don’t have the strength to hear yet, not really. but it’s okay. you believe her anyway.

because it’s ellie. and she’s always meant it.

and just when you think she’s done, ellie shifts you, pushing you gently but firmly onto your back on the bed. climbs over you, fitting herself between your thighs like she belongs there. her hands trail down your sides, slowly, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your skirt, dragging it down your hips with agonizing patience.

you lift your hips for her without thinking, needy and frantic now, again. ellie’s mouth trails down your body as she goes—kisses on your belly, nips at your hips, leaving little stinging bites that make you gasp. she’s taking her time, savoring every inch of you like she’s been dreaming about this. maybe she has. maybe you have too.

when she gets the skirt off, she sits back on her heels for a second, just staring down at you, panting and trembling under her.

“you’re unreal,” she murmurs, voice rough with something almost reverent.

you reach for her, impatient now. “ellie—”

she smiles, wicked and sweet all at once, and leans down to kiss you again—deeper, slower, taking her time wrecking you. her hand slides between your legs, over the damp patch of your underwear, and you whimper into her mouth at the first touch.

you whine, hips bucking up into her hand, chasing the friction just like you did on her thigh. ellie shushes you, soothing, almost tender, rubbing slow circles over the wet spot right over your clit.

“gonna take real good care of you.” she promises, voice thick and syrupy.

you nod frantically, desperate for her, dizzy with it.

she slides your underwear to the side with one hand, not even bothering to take them off, and runs two fingers through your folds—testing, teasing. when she brushes your bare clit you gasp, clutching at her shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to earth.

ellie’s watching your face the whole time, eating up every little reaction you give her like it’s her new favorite meal.

“you’re gonna let me make you feel good?” she murmurs, voice low and wrecked with want.

“yes—yes, ellie, please—”

that’s all she needed to hear.

she slides one finger inside you, slow, careful, watching you for any sign of hesitation. when you moan—high and breathy—her restraint snaps. she pumps it in and out, building a rhythm, adding a second finger when you start grinding against her hand like you can’t help yourself.

her thumb finds your clit again, rubbing tight circles, and the pleasure starts to crest fast—faster than you’re ready for.

“that’s it,” ellie coos, mouth brushing your ear. “god, you’re so fucking pretty like this. wanna see you fall apart for me.”

you sob out something that might be her name, might just be a broken noise, as you tumble over the edge, more overwhelmed this time—clenching around her fingers, trembling so hard your vision whites out. ellie fucks you through it, slow and sweet, murmuring praise into your skin until you finally, finally go still beneath her.

a dragged out orgasm flushing inside you, stick around her fingers still deep inside you, toying with the squishy spot.

ellie doesn’t pull away immediately—just presses kisses along your jaw, your neck, the shell of your ear, whispering how good you were, how gorgeous you are, how she’s never wanted anything so bad in her life.

and when you finally catch your breath enough to open your eyes, she’s smiling down at you—soft, adoring, like you hung the stars in her sky.

“still scared of me?” she teases.

you laugh, too weak to reply.

you whisper something incoherent, and pull her back down into a kiss. because if this is what being scared of her feels like, you never want to be brave again.

[alliebirb]

Yuugang definitely hides behind Yami when they get spooked

[h0nkshroom]

going insane over numbers i love THEMM I LOVE YOU 2763

[aalghul]

once again thinking about jason as duke’s robin. he’s ~4 years younger than jason, and that puts him at 8-12 during Jason’s time as robin. that’s prime time to get attached to your local kid vigilante before your own life goes downhill.

and if we try to keep duke’s meeting with bruce in zero year + duke’s age (so he can remember the meeting and hold that conversation with bruce), he has to be around 8. if he starts following batman through the news at that time because of the mess that just happened, the robin he sees is probably jason. I’ve literally connected the dots

[abybweisse]

Ch213 (p0), Cover and title pages

My Kobo order arrived by the time I had finished posting part 3. 😌

[trophywifemac]

IT'S ALWAYS SUNNY IN PHILADELPHIA☘ 11.08 • Charlie Catches a Leprechaun

[egophiliac]

So.... what are your thoughts on Ace's UM, if you haven't been asked this already?

sneaky magic for the sneakiest boy

no but really, I think it fits him really well! I had thought his UM would probably involve something kinda sleight-of-handy or pickpockety! and I looooved that it made such a nice loop-around back to episode 1. ❤️ I was. kind of half-expecting him to just run out and punch Riddle in the nose again. but instead this time 'twas he who offed the queen's head! it was great! and he did it while stone-cold terrified out of his mind! because Ace is the only remotely normal or well-adjusted person at NRC and therefore the only one who is like "we're going to literally die, this is super effed up". but he did it anyway!!!! I AM SO PROUD

[jermaobsession]

My confidence is growiiiing!!

[wallabri]

furious over the fact that i absolutely love this dramatic weirdo. how could hyv do this to me, personally.

[cabbagege]

Horizon 3: Aloy Had Enough

[cartoonbudartz]

May your holiday be an animated one!

[zombiekitty33]

half life fanartist late to half life anniversary millions dead

[the-woman-upstairs]

Really fucked up that, when they’re young, Patrick and Art are SO tactile with each other, so comfortable sharing the same space. Art lets Patrick touch him and move him and physically overwhelm him and easily acquiesces to it, if not outright enjoys it.

Then in the present, they’ve been so far out of each other’s orbit for so long, held such animosity that when they have their moment alone in the sauna, Art physically recoils from Patrick’s close proximity! It’s so painful to watch because even as Patrick’s goading him, it’s so obvious he wants to be able to get back into Art’s space. But Art has erected all these walls around himself, he refuses to give Patrick an inch or even admit to missing how close they used to be!

AND THEN we see Art and Tashi later and he wants her to hold him, to be gentle with him, and just TOUCH him. Like, he does miss that kind of close physical contact! He either doesn’t know how to ask for it or is uncomfortable being that openly vulnerable. Worth noting that he pretty much always defers to Tashi in regard to initiating physical intimacy (with their first kiss, though he does state his desire, SHE has to be the one to make the first move). And it seems pretty obvious that Tashi herself isn’t comfortable providing that intimacy, whereas Patrick actively seeks to provide it (the hug/forehead kiss after their win together in the early years, dragging the stool closer to him).

Art has tried very hard to act like he doesn’t need physical affection and even though his discipline and devotion to Tashi has made him a stronger tennis player, it’s made him a hollow person, which, in turn, has kept him from becoming a GREAT tennis player.

All of this, of course, is why the ending hits so damn hard.