#woahh

[kaiwheroagain]

dog woman

[2022dirt]

Animals that rolled around in sidewalk chalk.

[earedeeead]

💤.•📎.★🌀.•

[isabelempanada]

pink chickem

[spiral-creature]

JACK TRANS HEADCANONS BE UPON THEE

solar is next we makin this whole family transfem cause there are too many twinks in canon

@thecipherfan LOOK I DREW THA THING ^^

muhehehhehee

[tteokdoroki]

im going insane here but kirishima with his resting bitch face gf who turns into the cutest little doll when he’s around :( ‘let me fix your shirt for you’ ‘here, let me top up your lip gloss’ ‘want me to feed you baby? yeah, of course you do’ and it’s soo embarrassing for you because you usually like to do everything yourself, you hate being talked down to, hate to be babied but kirishima spoils you sososo much and you just let him. cause he’s kirishima and he’s the only one who’s a sturdy enough presence in your life to rein you in.

‘just let me do it for you baby, i know you want to be taken care of.’ UGH

[woahwoahwoahholup]

Part 2 of this post!

HalfDeaf!user x Retired!Simon

The kettle hissed in the kitchen of Simon's flat, a sound that usually grated against his nerves. Tonight, it was background noise, white static beneath the thrum of his pulse.

You sat on his worn leather couch, legs tucked under you, fingers tracing the stitching. He'd cleaned for you. You noticed...no empty beer cans, the coffee table wiped down, a single lamp casting amber light instead of the harsh overheads. It was the closest thing to romance a man like him could manage.

Three weeks. Three weeks of texts. Short, clipped messages from him. Full paragraphs from you, typed out on your phone, explaining your day, your music taste, your obsession with oat milk. He never sent more than a few words, but he always replied. Always.

Tonight was the first time you'd been alone together. (Other than occasional bumping into each other at the supermarket) No coffee shop. No walk through the park where he'd walk on your Deaf side and you'd have to tap his arm to get his attention. Just him, you, and the silence he claimed to hate but seemed to crave.

He emerged from the kitchen, two mugs in hand. Tea. No sugar. You'd told him once, he'd remembered. He set yours on the coaster...the pink one you'd made him buy...and sat down on the opposite end of the couch, a careful distance between you.

Simon Riley was a man of habit. Routine. Predictable in his unpredictability. But tonight, his hands were restless. He pulled off his gloves, slowly, deliberately, setting them on the armrest. You watched, fascinated. You'd never seen his bare hands before. Scarred. Calloused. A few faded tattoos peeked from beneath his sleeves.

He caught you staring. His pale eyes, cold as ever, but there was something else in them now. A hunger, barely leashed.

"You're quiet tonight," he said, his voice rough, almost a whisper. He knew you could read his lips, even without the hearing aids. You'd taught him to slow down.

You tapped your ear. "I'm always quiet, Simon."

He shook his head. "No. You're always listening. That's different."

You felt heat creep up your neck. He had a way of seeing through you, past the purple streaks and the hearing aids, past the defensive attitude you wore like armor.

You set down your tea, untouched. You leaned forward, closing the distance. He didn't move. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the flex of his jaw. A man holding himself together with sheer will.

"I've been wanting this," you said, your voice low, and you knew you might be speaking too quietly for him to hear. He didn't need to hear. He could read the shape of the words on your lips.

His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist. Not hard, but firm. A grip that said I'm here, I'm real, I'm not letting go.

"Want what?" he asked, though he already knew.

You didn't answer with words. You closed the last inch and kissed him.

It wasn't soft. It wasn't gentle. It was the collision of two desperate things...his restless rage, your silent hunger. His lips were chapped, rough, demanding. He pulled you onto his lap, his hands finding your hips, fingers digging into the denim of your jeans.

You broke the kiss, panting. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot and uneven.

"Tell me if it's too much," he said, his voice a low growl (Just pulled back enough you could read his lips). "Tap twice on my chest if you need to stop."

You nodded. You knew the safety signal. You'd discussed it over text, clinical, and necessary. But right now, you didn't want safety. You wanted him.

He lifted you like you weighed nothing, carrying you down the narrow hallway to his bedroom. The door slammed shut behind you, rattling the frame. His bed was unmade, grey sheets tangled, a single pillow on the floor. He laid you down on the mattress, his body covering yours, his weight pressing you into the cheap springs.

His mouth found your neck, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin just below your ear. You gasped, the sound loud and unbidden. You could barely hear it yourself...only felt the vibration in your throat, the rush of air. But Simon heard it. He paused, his lips hovering over your pulse point.

"Fuck," he breathed. "So fucking loud..."

You didn't catch the words. You turned your head, trying to read his lips in the dim light, but he was already moving, yanking your shirt over your head, tossing it aside. His hands...bare, scarred hands...found your breasts, cupping them, thumb rubbing over your nipple through your bra.

You arched into his touch, a moan escaping your lips. You didn't know how loud it was. You couldn't gauge it. The world was silent to you except for the vibration of his voice when he spoke directly against your skin, the rumble of his chest when he cursed, the thud of his body against yours.

But Simon heard everything. Every gasp. Every whimper. Every desperate cry as he rolled your nipples between his fingers, pinching hard enough to make you yelp.

"Christ," he muttered, his voice thick with want. "You've got no idea, do you? No idea what you sound like."

You blinked up at him, your vision blurry. "What?"

He didn't explain. Instead, he pulled off your jeans, your panties, in one swift motion. He sat back, straddling your thighs, and looked at you. Naked. Spread open beneath him. Your hearing aids still in place, catching the ambient hum of the flat, but hearing nothing of his ragged breaths, his pounding heart.

He stroked himself through his jeans, his cock straining against the denim. You reached for his belt, fumbling with the buckle. He slapped your hand away, not hard, but firm.

"Not yet," he said. "I want to watch you first."

He lowered his head between your thighs, his breath hot against your cunt. You shivered, your hands fisting in the sheets. He licked you, slow and deliberate, the flat of his tongue pressing against your clit. You cried out...a sharp, breathy sound that bounced off the walls.

Simon groaned against you, the vibration sending a jolt through your body. He lapped at you like a man starved, drinking you in, his fingers sliding inside you, curling, searching. You bucked against his mouth, your hips grinding into his face. You were loud, so loud, moaning and gasping, your voice carrying through the silent flat.

He pulled away, his chin glistening. "You're going to wake the neighbors," he said, but he was grinning, a feral, wolfish grin you'd never seen on his face before.

You didn't hear the words, but you saw the grin. You saw the hunger in his eyes. And you saw the way his cock strained against his fly, desperate to be freed.

Your voice is hoarse. "Fuck me, Simon."

He didn't need to be told twice.

He shed his jeans and boxers in one motion, his cock springing free, thick and hard, the head flushed dark. He knelt between your legs, positioning himself. He looked at you, a question in his eyes. You nodded, your breath caught in your throat.

He entered you in one slow, deliberate thrust. You screamed.

The sound was raw, primal, echoing off the walls. Simon's eyes rolled back for a moment, his jaw tight. He held himself there, buried to the hilt, letting you feel every inch of him.

"Fuck!" he hissed. "You're so tight. So fucking tight."

You couldn't hear him. You could only feel him, stretching you, filling you. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your heels digging into the small of his back, urging him deeper.

He began to move. Hard. Rough. Each thrust a punishment and a prayer. His hips slammed against yours, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. You didn't hold back. You

didn't know how to. Every gasp, every moan, every desperate plea poured out of you unchecked.

"More!" you begged. "Please, Simon, gods more."

He gave you more. He pulled out almost completely and slammed back in, his pace brutal, relentless. The bedframe creaked, the headboard banged against the wall. You were lost in the sensation, the world reduced to the feel of him inside you, the weight of him above you, the heat of his breath on your neck.

You came with a scream that tore through your throat, your body arching off the bed, your cunt clenching around him. Simon groaned, a low, guttural sound, and kept fucking you through it, chasing his own release.

"You're perfect," he muttered against your ear, his voice ragged. "You're so fucking perfect. "

You didn't hear him. But you felt his rhythm falter, felt his body tense, felt him bury his face in your shoulder as he came, hot and thick, filling you. He shuddered, his weight collapsing onto you, his breath hot against your neck.

For a long moment, the only sound was his ragged breathing. You lay there, your hands stroking his back, your heart pounding in your chest. The silence of your world wrapped around you like a blanket.

He lifted his head, his pale eyes meeting yours. He looked wrecked. Ruined. And happier than you'd ever seen him.

"Can't hear a damn thing, can you?" he said, his voice low.

You shook your head, reading his lips.

He rolled off you, pulling you against his chest. His hand found yours, lacing your fingers together. The silence settled around you both, comfortable, warm.

Outside, the grey English night pressed against the windows. Inside, Simon Riley's heart beat a steady rhythm against your ear—the only sound you needed to hear.

[111dollboy]

Okay, so, i drew a deer, which reminded me of you, which i thought ,,Hey ill add wings and send it to you!" And then i added some other stuff that reminded me, and then i added random stuff to fill the page, and then i'd spread out into the other page and had to fill it. So yeah. Just a deer

OHHHHHH MY GOSHHHH !!!!!!??????? WOAHHHH !!!

THE STARS, DEERS, AND THE CROWN - ohhhHH - I LOVE YOUR IMPRESSIVE LINEWORK ??

THERES SO MANY LITTLE DETAILS IM IN AWE OF, YOU ARE A MASTER OF MAKING SUCH PRETTY COLLAGES WITH YOUR WORK ?? I ADORE THIS SOOO MUCHHH ?? OH MY GOSHHH