#ty anonnn

[911onabcbts]

Scene spoilers from yesterday with Eddie cheering for Buck.

[chopped-meat]

ooo! ur style is so cool! im happy you appeared on my fyp

may you draw emerald duo baking something:3 (i feel like it would be phil's idea lol and i thought it would be cute)

they made strawberry cake

[edawgz]

↬ "I know I shouldn't feel this way, but I can't help it... I want you." With Tangerine? A smutty oneeee. Reader probably knowing about his profession, shouldn’t be into him but how can she not be bc look at him-

ᝰ.ᐟ CAN'T HELP MYSELF

𖦹ׂ ₊˚⊹⋆ tangerine x afab. reader. ( bullet train). ~800 words.

❚ ❙ ❘ flirty. sexual tension. innuendoes. smut. forbidden vibe. i love writing tangerine.

: ̗̀➛ You knew what he was. You knew what he did. You knew you should stay away. But when it came to Tangerine, logic never stood a chance against the heat in your chest and the ache he left behind.

❚ this is SUCHHH a scrumptious idea i love it, i fear he would make me ALSO forget all of my better judgement. TYYYY ANONNN this was so fun to write i hope you enjoy!

| masterlist. | atj collection. |

You knew he was dangerous before you ever let him through the door. You knew it in the way he carried himself -- shoulders squared like the weight of the world was just another chore, voice wrapped in a drawl that could cut or soothe depending on how much blood was on his hands that night. And there was always blood... sometimes it was still wet on his knuckles, sometimes dried on his collar like he’d forgotten to scrub the ghosts away. You knew, yet still, when his knock came -- sharp and familiar against your apartment door at half-past two in the morning -- you opened it like a fool.

He leaned against the frame, smug and disheveled, with his curls damp with rain or sweat or both, and the bruise along his jaw stark under the hallway light.

“Gonna invite me in, darling?” he asked, voice low, lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile but still managed to make your heart skip. You didn’t answer, you just stepped aside with your eyes locked on him.

He didn’t wait for permission to touch. He never did. His coat hit the floor somewhere behind him, boots dragged off in clumsy kicks, hands already cradling your face with a kind of tenderness that didn’t match the man, not really. You hated how soft it made you, you hated how easily you tilted your chin up to meet his mouth like you hadn’t promised yourself the last time would be the last. His kiss was heat and smoke and something rougher than need. It was possession, a claim that he never said aloud but pressed into your skin over and over again.

“You smell like gunpowder,” you murmured when he finally let you breathe.

He grinned, teeth flashing, eyes gleaming with something hungry. “Better than the bastard I left bleeding in a stairwell.”

You should’ve pushed him away, told him to leave, and reminded him you weren’t part of that world -- that you didn’t want to be. But your fingers curled into his shirt, dragging him closer until your body answered for you. You wanted him, God help you, you needed him.

He pressed you against the wall, slow but firm, like he knew the exact amount of pressure that would drive you mad. His hands slid under your shirt, knuckles grazing up your ribs with infuriating patience, lips dragging along your neck, warm and open-mouthed. “Say it,” he murmured.

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but he nipped at your throat, tongue chasing after the sting, and your resistance crumbled.

“I know I shouldn’t feel this way,” you whispered, breath catching as his fingers found the waistband of your pants. “But I can’t help it… I want you.”

He stilled -- just for a moment -- then he laughed, low and almost mean, but there was something behind it.. something jagged. “Yeah? You think I don’t wake up wantin’ you so bad it fucking hurts?”

His hand slipped into your pants, touch skilled and devastating. Your head hit the wall with a soft thud as he worked you open with the kind of focus he usually reserved for targets. “You think I don’t lie there,” he continued, breath hot against your ear, “staring at the ceiling and wondering why the fuck someone like you wants someone like me?”

You reached down, undoing his belt, fingers fumbling slightly from the pace he’d set, and he growled when you freed him, hips jerking against your palm. “Because you make it impossible not to,” you said, voice shaking. “Because I know I shouldn’t, and I still do.”

He kissed you again, all tongue and teeth, like he was trying to crawl inside you. You didn’t stop him, you sure as hell wouldn’t, especially not when he turned you around, not when he bent you over the kitchen counter and pushed your clothes aside like he couldn’t wait a second longer, not when he finally slid inside you with a hiss that scraped low in his throat.

It wasn’t slow. It never was. Yet, there was something almost needy in the way he held your hips, in the way his mouth pressed kisses along your spine between thrusts, in the way he whispered your name like a prayer -- or a plea. He wasn’t a soft men, but in those moments, when your bodies moved in rhythm and your walls came down, he let you see the version of him no one else did. The one who needed and the one who burned.

“Fuck, you feel like home,” he rasped against your shoulder, one hand tangled in your hair now, the other tightening around your waist. “Don’t care if I’m bad for you. Don’t care if I’m the worst fuckin’ idea you ever had. You’re mine.”

You wanted to argue and remind him that this wasn’t love, that it couldn’t be. But then he hit that spot just right and you shattered around him, voice breaking on his name, body trembling under the weight of it. And when he followed, groaning into the crook of your neck like it physically hurt to let go, you knew -- logic be damned -- you’d let him ruin you all over again.

After, he didn’t pull away, he just rested there for a moment, breath still ragged, arms wrapped around you like he could keep the world out for a little longer.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he. But when his hand found yours and your fingers laced together on instinct, you knew neither of you really regretted a damn thing.

[choco-conducter]

I love how you draw P1... He looks like a caveman /pos

Omg thank you so much!!! I love drawing him that way it’s so fun

Here’s some silly little dudes as appreciation

[happyhounddeliveries]

Oh nooo sorry to hear about everything thats been goin on and THEN computer troubles on top! We will have to crowdfund you a new puter so the mail can continue to run

IN THIS POST-AI ECONOMY??? I appreciate the thought but save your money anon

And thank you! Luckily we have a big family that's very good at coming together in grief and I have very good friends to be there for me so I am a-ok ⋆˚🐾˖°

[fratello-rigatoni]

imagine with me if you will. trying to squeeze Copia (or Terzo) into pieces of clothing they’ve outgrown somewhat- not enough that it’s unwearable, but enough that getting it on/buttoned is a struggle 🥰

hhhhhhhhh im imagining....i see it in my minds eye.....

Copia being so embarrassed about it, tugging uselessly at the clothes to keep them in place, touching the buttons of his vest carefully as if they might pop off at any moment. He sputters about how he shouldn't be wearing these out - everyone is going to stare at him!! But he's still so shy about having to approach the tailor...how is he going to explain that the modifications they made just a couple weeks ago are already no longer helping? His cheeks are flushed as he prepares to leave his rooms, and he wouldn't admit it now, but it's turning him on....

Terzo, on the other hand, is having a great time as Omega grunts and tugs at his clothes. The ghoul is grumbling about how Terzo needs to be careful at his dinner party tonight, or he might have a clothing malfunction. That just makes his Papa smirk, pulls a long, wistful sigh from him ("No," Omega chides, "I need you to be sucking in! Don't exhale!") as his heavy belly is maneuvered into his button up. Terzo is standing, hands planted on the table he's using to stay steady as he's manhandled. Even better worse, he's lazily eating away at a plate of pastries he'd requested. He has no plans on being careful at the party, of course.

[which-item-poll]

re: the "what should I do" poll, if you decide to draw would you wanna share it? btw what kinda stuff do you like drawing?

Oh gosh,,,I'm so insecure about my drawings so I probably won't post them><

But I love to draw anything Smiling Friends related as it's my hyperfixation atm😅

[dwtdog]

Dogboy Dream is stressed from doing ‘human tasks’ like the hours of coding for the project and meetings, so George offers him a day where Dream can just give into his instincts and be loved <3

PERFECT