#COMPARE THE COLORS OF THE SKIES!!

[trashytracktales]

I absolutely love your writing!!!!!! I have a bit of a longer request, you don’t have to write it if you don’t want to.

Lando and y/n meet through a mutual friend, and they both feel an immediate attraction. A few months later, they’re on a group trip—maybe at a beach villa or a mountain house for skiing. One day during the trip, they both decide to stay in, each thinking they’re alone.

Lando, believing he has the place to himself, starts masturbating on the sofa in the living room. Around the same time, y/n comes into the living room, planning to watch TV. She spots Lando on the sofa but doesn’t immediately realize what he’s doing as she was behind the sofa and a few steps away —until he moans her name. She kind of hides herself and spies on him until she gets enough courage and goes to him and asks him if she can help him and basically she goes on her knees right in front of him and starts sucking him off and he’s so surprised and turned on that he doesn’t know what to say or do other than moan her name and praise her

Deep in the Alps | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── Sorry for keeping you waiting, I had a few works in progress + another request that came in before this one. Enjoy 🤍🎀

❄ summary ──── What begins as a private moment turns into something unexpected and, with a few days of vacation left, Lando is determined to make every moment count, setting the stage for an unforgettable getaway that blurs the lines between friendship and something far more... exciting.

❄ pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

❄ rating ──── explicit

❄ category ──── F/M

❄ warnings ──── +18, mature/sexual content, slight fluff & smut, teasing, explicit language, horny thoughts, masturbation, oral sex ─ (m)receiving, low-key whiney Lando.

❄ word count ──── 4.1k

❄ date ──── Dec. 2, 2024

OF ALL THE people in his friend group, Lando looked forward to winter break the most. He loves summer, but nothing compares to a holiday deep in the Alps, away from cameras and prying eyes.

Their cabin is covered in a generous layer of snow that glimmers like a sea of diamonds under the pale winter sun. The air is crisp and cold, and everyone is excited for today, considering how much it snowed last night.

The group dynamic is diverse, having friendships that have been inseparable for years, while others are still navigating the early stages of familiarity.

She met them through Pietra a few months ago, but this is the first time she joined the entire group for a holiday. As expected, Lando is the central piece who draws attention through his bad jokes and easygoing charm, being a constant source of amusement for everybody. She, on the other hand, is content to sit back and observe, though she’s found herself smiling at his antics more often than she’d care to admit.

Their days so far have been a blur of early mornings spent carving down snowy trails, afternoons in crowded lodges sipping hot chocolate or mulled wine, and evenings around the fireplace, sharing stories and making more plans to hangout in the future. It was easy for her to fit in because everyone seemed — at least at first — to go out of their way to make her feel welcome and included.

Today, however, a dull headache throbs at her temples, forcing her to opt out of skiing, retreating to her room for a nap and leaving them to bundle up and head out to the slopes.

Lando also stays behind, claiming he’s exhausted from the previous night’s gaming sessions with Max and Morgan. But in reality, he’s just craving a moment of quiet, which is a rarity for him.

Outside, the snow glistens with an almost blinding brightness, reflecting the sunlight in too sharply. Lando had made a point to pull the curtains earlier, and now, the dimly lit living room is perfect for lounging on the couch with a blanket draped over his lap. The movie playing on the TV is a vague blur of sound and color in the background, abandoned halfway through in favor of his phone, which is much more interesting at the moment.

He scrolls through his Instagram feed, pausing on a group photo they took when they first arrived at the location. The image lingers on the screen, and his focus sharpens, studying everybody's face until he gets to her. She’s in the center, barely noticeable because of how small she looks like next to the others, bundled up in her pink jacket, her knit beanie perched perfectly atop her head, with loose strands of hair curling around her face. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold, and her smile is soft but radiant.

Lando exhales sharply, the pressure building low in his stomach catching him off guard. He tries to shake it off, tries to remind himself that she’s just a girl that hangs out with them from time to time.

Just a girl. That's all.

However, he can't explain how she managed to get under his skin so quickly. They are polar opposites of each other, and Lando noticed that. She's so quiet and reserved, yet somehow captivating in a way he can’t quite understand — it’s frustrating, really. Maybe that's exactly what gets him, making him wonder what it would take to make her lose that composure.

No. He can't go there.

Although…

He lets his thumb brush against the screen, zooming in on her face. A low groan escapes his throat as he recalls the way she looked last night, perched on the arm of a chair while everyone chatted around her, her lips quirking up at his dumb joke; she was the only one that understood it, and he caught that. Such a stupid joke, it wasn't even funny. But she laughed.

Why does she have to laugh at his jokes? More importantly, why does he want to make jokes all the time, just so he can hear her laugh?

“Get a grip, mate,” he whispers to himself under his breath, his free hand shifting lower, sliding under the waistband of his sweats. It’s instinctive, his body reacting to thoughts he’s been suppressing for a while now. “Not that kind of grip, fuck’s sake.”

He can't stop but think of how she would've laughed at that, too.

Lando closes his eyes, his strokes slow at first as he lets the thoughts flood in — it’s a good thing no one can read his mind at the moment. He thinks of her lips and how they part slightly when she’s surprised, and the way her teeth graze her bottom lip when she’s lost in thought. He can't help but imagine those lips closing around his cock, and what her voice would sound like if he fucked her pretty mouth.

“Come on,” he gasps, frustration tugging at the edge of his patience.

His pace quickens as his mind wanders further, seeing her with his mind's eye lying delicately beneath him, small and innocent, breathing in short spasms, and asking him for more. Her softness and the way she carries herself makes him want to see her like that — in a different light, flushed and undone. The image of her laughing at one of his ridiculous attempts to impress her spurs him on, and his hand tightens, his strokes becoming rougher as his breathing grows heavier.

That's when she realizes what she's walked in on.

All this time, she thought she was all alone and, judging by the scene in front of her, he thinks that, too. Her heart thuds wildly as she tries to process it, too stunned to move another muscle. His breaths are ragged, and she feels the tension radiating off him even from where she stands, frozen in place — at the base of the stairs, behind the couch. She knows she should leave and spare them both from an embarrassing encounter, but something keeps her there.

Closing her eyes, she squeezes the railing nervously. She barely got rid of her headache, but now her head's all dizzy from Lando's rough grunts that are echoing throughout the room.

He sounds as if he ran a marathon, barefoot, in the rain.

He sounds tired, but he's aggressive, like it's making him mad — the rhythmic slap of his fist against skin making her mouth water and stomach tighten.

He sounds... delicious.

And then, her eyes snap open.

She blinks rapidly as if that will help her hear better. His voice, low and needy, whispers her name like a prayer, again and again, a desperate sound that escapes his mouth deliberately. It echoes in the room and within the walls of her skull, pulling Lando deeper into the fantasy that he’s helpless to resist — and her, towards him.

Heat floods her cheeks, a mix of surprise, shock, and something deeper spreading through her as she tries to control her breathing.

How can she simply leave, when her name hangs on the corner of his mouth, so drenched in want? It's too late now. She doesn’t think anymore, doesn’t stop to analyze what she’s about to do; she simply trusts her instincts, as she always did.

Lando doesn’t hear her approach, lost in the haze of his own thoughts, his hand moving rhythmically under the blanket. His moans get increasingly louder, so obscene in her ears. It's like they call for her, alluring and profound, and she can’t say no.

Quietly stepping closer, she leans over the back of the couch, her hand reaching out as if it has a mind of its own. When her fingers slide over his, Lando's body stiffens, his breath catching in his throat.

“Relax,” she whispers, her voice soft and filled with anticipation, causing him to drop the phone somewhere on the couch.

He tilts his head back, wide eyes meeting hers, his face flushed and disbelieving. Her sweet perfume takes over his senses, getting him high on it.

He's surely dreaming, because there is no way in hell that she is real.

“What—”

“It's okay,” she assures him, her hand gently guiding his to resume its movement. “Let me help.”

Lando yelps, his head dropping back against the couch, their faces so close to each other as her grip steadies him, matching the pace he had before. The light weight of her hand over his sends a jolt through his body, his brain so close to shutting down for good, while his chest is rising and falling rapidly as she coaxes him closer to the edge.

What in the fuck is happening?

“Does that feel good, pretty boy?” she asks, her lips dangerously close to his.

Lando nods as his hips jerk involuntarily. He refuses to believe it's because of the pet name she just gave him; he is way too strong to fall for that.

Still, he closes his eyes again, biting at his lower lip to stop his whimpers from cascading out of his mouth. There is a small trace of cold sweat pooling on his forehead as her hand moves with his until his entire body tenses, and he finally lets out a deep, guttural moan, her name falling from his lips again, more like a warning this time. He knows he's close, so he tries to push her hand away to avoid the mess that he's about to make. But she stays ferm, using her free palm to push his head in the crook of her neck and caress his cheek softly. His breath falls hot on her skin, and when she starts encouraging him, it's enough for Lando to let go, thick splashes covering his lower abdomen before he can even think. The rest spills over their their joined hands, managing to get another grunt of pleasure out of him.

“There you go,” she says, tracing her thumb over his cum-soaked head, feeling him throbbing beneath her touch. “Such a hot view.”

For a litte while, the room falls silent except for Lando's labored breathing. She moves to sit beside him on the couch, giving him a moment to recover; his eyes are still closed, because how the fuck is he supposed to look at her now?

After that, she throws the tissue box at him, letting out a soft chuckle at his pathetic attempt to catch it.

Exhaling sharply, Lando drags his hands down his face, still avoiding the eye contact. “Well, that was embarrassing.”

She chuckles again, studying him closely, while he squeezes his eyes shut as if he can erase the last few minutes from existence. Except he doesn't really want to.

They sit in silence for another moment before she shifts, crossing her legs and facing him fully. “Did it happen before?” she asks curiously.

His eyes widen slightly, finally looking at her, “What? Of course not.”

Her brow lifts, amused. “Liar.”

“I’m not lying,” he insists, his voice pitching higher.

Her lips curl into a knowing smile. “You always glance around when you’re lying, like you’re checking to see if anyone buys it. You just did it,” she points out.

Lando sighs, dragging a hand through his curls. “Right. That obvious?”

She leans in, nodding, all the amusement gone. “When?”

He hesitates, clearly debating how much to say, but her expectant gaze leaves him no choice. “It started after the Singapore weekend,” he admits, his voice low.

Her mouth goes dry. That was the weekend Pietra first introduced them. Lando had won that Sunday, and the after party was the craziest she'd been to yet.

“You wore that top, and—”

She frowns. “That top?”

“You know the one,” he says, gesturing vaguely at his chest. “It was black, low-cut, and — look, you just looked really good, okay? I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

“My top?” she grins, leaning her elbow on the back of the couch as she watches him squirm.

Your tits, he wants to say, but stops before he embarrasses himself even more.

“You've never said anything,” the girl continues, “Why?”

Lando breaths in slowly, running a hand through his tousled curls again, the tips of his ears burning. “Because of P,” he admits. “She told me how much she liked having you around, and I didn’t want to mess that up. She’d kill me if she thought I scared you off or made things weird.”

Her brow lifts, amusement flickering in her expression once again. “You’re scared of Pietra?”

“A little,” he jokes, though his crooked smile falters under her probing stare. “But mostly, I didn’t want to ruin anything for you. I figured it was better to keep my mouth shut. You seem to enjoy your time with us, and I want you around, too.”

She tilts her head, studying his face in the dim light. His piercing eyes are framed by soft, dark brows, and she can’t help but imagine tracing her fingers through his soft curls. The faint facial hair adds a maturity to his otherwise boyish features, making her swallowing hard.

Bottom line, she is attracted to him, even more so now that she knows the feeling is mutual.

“Well, that’s… considerate,” she replies, her lips curving slightly.

Lando chuckles nervously, though the sound dies quickly when her hand moves, her fingertips brushing over his bicep. The contact is featherlight, but it sets his skin ablaze, his breath hitching as she lets her hand glide down his arm, tracing the curve of his muscle with an idle curiosity that feels anything but innocent.

“And now?” she comes back to her initial curiosity, her voice dipping, almost teasing. “What’s stopping you now?”

His throat tightens, words tangling in his mind as she looks at him, her eyes glittering with something that makes his cock throb against his thigh. Lando was sure that he had her figured out. But now, as she leans closer, her lips parting slightly as if to taste the tension hanging between them, he realizes how wrong he was.

“It’s always the quiet ones,” states Lando, ignoring her question, “The ones who seem all shy and innocent, hm?”

“I am shy and innocent,” she agrees with a nod, which makes him scoff. “Alright, maybe not that shy. Or innocent.”

Recognizing that doesn't make Lando's job any easier. Quite the opposite. He's more intrigued as to what secrets she may be hiding beneath her deceptive surface.

“So… since we agreed on that. Is there something else I can help you with?” she murmurs, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as she gazes at him expectantly.

Lando brings his hand to rest on hers, his restraint hanging by a thread. “You don’t—have to.”

“But I want to,” she rushes to say, her tone decisive.

With that, she shifts slowly, lowering herself to her knees in front of him with an ease that makes his chest burn. Her hands rest lightly on his thighs, her gaze lifting to meet his, and in her eyes, he finds no hesitation, no doubt. Only intent, want, and excitement.

Stil, he needs to ask, “Are you sure?” he breathes, his voice barely audible.

Instead of answering using her words, her fingers grasp the edge of the blanket, freeing him from under it. She has to muffle a groan of surprise when she sees all of him in its entirety, still half-hard, resting heavily on his thigh.

“See, I knew you had a pretty cock,” she says matter-of-factly, mostly to herself. “I mean, it makes sense. So is your face.”

Lando’s hands flex at his sides, “You’re gonna ruin me,” he mutters, voice hoarse, but he doesn’t stop her as her fingers curl around his length, her movements deliberate and sure.

“Oh no,” she teases sarcastically, her grin widening as she leans forward, her touch igniting a fire that spreads through him like wildfire. “I kind of hoped it would be the other way around.”

“That can be arranged,” he assures her, hissing at her movements.

She needs both of her hands to take him properly: one wrapped around the base to hold him steady, while the other pumps him a few times to get him hard, before dragging her mouth down the sides. And, because she's the literal devil, she makes sure she holds his gaze while she takes the head in her mouth — warm, inviting, and so wet.

“Fuck,” he rasps, his hand fisting the blanket at his side.

She starts slowly, testing her movements first. It's a good thing she's already imagined this before, and now her mouth water on its own when she takes him in, inch by inch. Until she gets to her hand that stokes his base lightly. It makes her feel so full, which is ridiculous considering that he's about to fuck her mouth, and not her pussy. Still, her walls clench hard on nothing as she pulls him all the way out.

“Fuck,” he repeats, “Your mouth is so—fucking hell. You feel so good.”

The cold air after she pulls him out is enveloping his needy cock from every direction, forcing a string of whimpers out of Lando’s throat. It only make her smile as she keeps his eye on him, turning back to licking from the base all the way to his tip, where he started leaking in the meantime, as if she didn't help him jerk off only a few minutes ago.

It's hard to stay focused on her when her tongue seems like it wants to send him into a coma, but it's even harder to take his eyes off her. She looks so good on her knees that his hand almost searches the couch looking for his phone to snap a quick picture. Instead, he is content to imprint her on his memory, confident that he won't forget what she looks like, with her lips around his cock, sucking the life out of him as if hers depends on it.

Even so, Lando needs superhuman powers not to grab the back of her head to guide his cock deeper. He can't do that, though. She did offer to suck him off, but Lando doesn't know her limits yet, and he doesn't want to cross them without knowing. Alternatively, his fists squeeze tighter, sliding his body down on the couch to be closer to her.

Luckily, she gets the memo, taking him deeper into her mouth, bobbing her head a few times before she drags her tongue against the underside of his cock. The feeling makes every cell in his body burn, one at a time. He's had people going down on him before, but no one managed to get all of him in one go, and certainly not the way she does — opening up so wide for him until the tip of her nose taps gently on his base, making her drool messily all over him.

It’s almost too much, and so overwhelming that he forgets how to breathe for a few seconds, the tension in his lower abdomen building at an alarming pace.

“Shit, Lando,” the girl sobs, her eyes teary, “You're big,” she adds, her voice raw as she continues working her hand up and down his length, while catching her breath.

He doesn't need an ego boost, but he's happy to take it as long as it comes from her.

Lando's head falls back against the couch in surrender, just as she squeezes at his thigh with her free hand, only to bring him back to her. But the slick, pornographic sound her hand makes as she rubs him sends Lando straight to his own personal heaven, where his senses are activated exponentially. He's far too lost in the way she makes him feel, that only her mouth sucking hungrily on his tip can bring him back. Her tongue starts circling around it, and Lando’s eyes snap open while he rolls his hips back into her mouth.

She moans in protest, pulling him out again, “Eager boy,” she whispers out of breath. “Are you close?”

“Mhm” whines Lando, finally rising his head to look at her.

And what a rookie mistake that was.

Somehow, she managed to keep that innocence he saw in her ever since they met for the first time. Her big, deer eyes looking back at him while her cheeks are flushed pink, her lips swollen and her chin drenched would usually be his undoing. But she’s still mouthing around his cock, holding him in her delicate hand, so oblivious to the fact that Lando will see exactly that image whenever he closes his eyes, for a long time to come.

Starting now.

She chuckles at his choked hum and the way he seems like he can’t keep his eyes open anymore, “Where do you want it?”

Inside your mouth.

All over your tits.

On your face.

Her colorful giggle brings him back once again, realizing much too late that he said it all out loud.

“You look so hot when you're desperate,” she says, her lips shiny with spit and pre-cum, squeezing him slightly as she traces her thumb over his leaking head.

Normally, he’d have words to counter that, but all he needs right now is to cum, cum, cum. Except she unexpectedly frees him from her grip, forcing Lando to snap at the loss of contact, her lips leaving him cold, wet, hard, sensitive, and so fucking close to the edge.

His legs tense, and a low, guttural groan escapes him without permission. “Why did you—” he begins, his voice breaking. His head snaps forward, another whimper slipping from him as he watches her, wide-eyed and wrecked, struggling to catch his breath. “Fucking hell, what are you doing?”

She silences him by peeling her pajama top off in one smooth move, tossing it aside without hesitation. The gesture is rapid and deliberate, and Lando’s jaw slackens as he takes in the sight of her bare skin, the curve of her chest illuminated by the faint light that’s coming from the TV. His hands twitch on the couch as if he doesn’t know whether to reach for her or keep himself anchored to the seat.

Without a word, she leans forward, her eyes locking with his as she takes him back into her mouth. Her gaze never wavers, and Lando feels like he might combust on the spot.

So beautiful.

She smiles, intertwining her fingers with his, while her other hand wraps around his length, stroking him in rhythm with her mouth. The intimacy of it all, the eye contact, and the sheer devotion in her movements make his mind travel far away.

His muscles tighten, his free hand gripping the back of the couch for support as he feels himself throbbing against her tongue. He can barely form a coherent thought, his body shaking with the effort to hold on just a little longer, even though he knows it's a losing battle.

“Oh, shit,” he murmurs, his voice raw and heavy with need. “Such a perfect mouth, I’m—”

That’s when she pulls back again, and he curses loudly at the loss of her warmth. But before he can beg her to come back, she leans over slightly, guiding his cock as his release spills over her bare chest, the warmth of it contrasting with the cool air.

“Fuck, baby, fuck,” Lando cries out, his body shaking with the force of his orgasm. “That's so hot.”

She lets out a soft sigh, her lips curving into a satisfied smile as she tilts her head, still maintaining that piercing eye contact.

Lando can’t breathe. He doesn’t know whether to apologize for the mess or worship her for the sight in front of him. Either way, he doesn't even have time to decide. The next second, her mouth falls open, sticking her tongue out to rub his sensitive tip against it, cum and spit dripping down all over her chin.

“Holy shit,” he finally continues, his voice shaky as his eyes are raking over her with a mix of awe and disbelief.

His fingers, still intertwined with hers, tighten their grip, and before she can move away, he uses the leverage to pull her on top of him. She gasps softly at the sudden movement, bracing herself on his shoulders, her flushed face just inches from his.

“Oh, hi,” she says, the sudden closeness catching her off guard.

“Hi,” replies Lando with a little smile in the corner of his mouth, “Swollen lips suit you,” he teases, his voice thick with lingering desire and a touch of his usual smugness. His eyes gleam with a mischievous light as he brushes his thumb over her lower lip, smirking when she playfully hits his chest in response. “Although I’d say you’re missing something.”

“You don’t say?” she asks, arching an eyebrow. “And what’s tha—?”

Lando doesn't let her finish before closing the space between them, capturing her lips with his. The kiss is messy, unrestrained, potentially gross, but he doesn’t care about the lingering remnants of spit and his cum still on her. If anything, it seems to spur him on, his tongue exploring hers with a slow intensity that makes her feel like she’s the only person in the world that has ever caught his attention.

When Lando pulls back, his lips glistening just like hers, he chuckles, wiping his jaw with the back of his hand and giving her an exaggerated grin. “My turn?”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

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© trashy track tales, 2024

[mogamuncher]

Heeey I'm back! It's finally time for the full Cakeverse analysis gang!

Ok, so, for a refresher:

There's the Forks, the Cakes and the Plates (normal people), and it goes like this:

Plates are just normal people, the majority of the world population, nothing new here.

Forks: Can't taste and sometimes can't smell either, sometimes they used be able to taste but lost it with age; either way, they can only ever taste cakes.

Cakes: Basically normal people except that they're delicious, everything from them (flesh, tears, saliva, etc) tastes like cake (or other foods if you want). You can't tell who's a cake or not unless you're a Fork that's tasting them in some way.

Now, I have to add some stuff that's really interesting and that the og author said, that we'll be getting into today.

• Forks go absolutely bat shit insane when they taste the Cakes most of the time, that can lead to a lot of things, cannibalism, sex, or (if you're cultured) both.

• Both Cakes and Forks suffer from their own societal plights. Cakes die a lot, and Forks when discovered are instantly pinned as murderers, criminals and perverts, even if they haven't done anything wrong yet.

• Cakes can derail a Fork's entire life, and Forks are like sin and temptation to Cakes.

Now, I want to talk about these because they absolutely fucking vexed me and now I want to make this all of y'all's problem.

「The First Taste」

It's essentially a common rule as said by the author that the Forks go insane after feeling the taste of a Cake, now, let's talk about: Why?

See, Cakeverse is technically an Au based from the likes of Omegaverse, which you can see by the structure being similar to Alpha/Beta/Omega with the three types of people out there. But, in ABO the Alphas going insane is due to a specific event, heats, which are there specifically for reproduction and are said to bring out animal instincts out of people's control, while Forks are based on simply taste, food, and not something as biological.

Of course it's up to the individual writer to an extent, but my interpretation of why Forks lose it when they taste Cakes is more psychological when compared to Alphas in the Omegaverse.

Imagine that you are completely unable to see color, never once have you seen one, you grew up hearing all about how wonderful colors are, you saw others compliment the colors of several works of art, you heard all about the colors of the world around you, but all that you see is beige and grey. Now, imagine that one day you bump into someone, and suddenly you're able to see all the colors, for the first time ever in your life, you can finally experience blue skies and green grass, you can see the same way the rest of the world sees, something that was fundamentally missing from you is finally gifted to you by this stranger on a silver tray.

You're finally complete.

That's the reality of what Forks go through, years of eating tasteless food, seeing people enjoy food wholeheartedly and rant about the tastes, hearing about the differences between expensive food and cheap food, and then suddenly finally tasting cake. Of course they go insane and fixate on it, it's like the final puzzle piece finally sliding into place, something that they've been missing this whole time being manifested with only a taste.

Before, eating was a chore, something simply to survive there was no joy in it, no fun to be found in desserts or snacks, but with only a single kiss the Fork finally feels what it is like to crave food, to want food for the taste.

Cakeverse in nature is oddly psychological, playing with the concept of taking away something extremely core to the human experience, taste. It's inherent and everyone has it, you'd probably feel like a freak of nature if you didn't have something while everyone else has, right?

That's what Cakes bring Forks; normalcy, joy and purpose, it's basically like a shot of endorphins all at once straight into your bloodstream, there's a good chance it'd hit like a truck and fuck you up majorly.

Forks acting rashly probably looks different than when Alphas do the same, because the motive is inherently different, but the desperation is arguably more raw.

A lot can be written on what that reaction would be:

Immediately trying to taste the Cake (kissing, licking, biting), trying to play cool only to strike later (potential kidnapping, manipulation, planning and scheming in general), the Fork can try to resist temptation or maybe the Cake can notice the extreme reaction and run away, maybe the Cake can instigate and bait the Fork to take a bite.

It could lead to fluff, to relationships starting, relationships ending, it could smut, it could be gory cannibalism, hell, it could be both.

Either way, the sheer amount of character study that could be made out of this tidbit alone is insane, and the story concepts don't stop there!

「We Do, In Fact, Live In a Society」

Cakes don't know who they are until it's too late, but I can imagine that in society they'd be treated with a lot of extra care if they are known beforehand, as they are constantly in risk of dying.

Imagine that they'd also be majorly babyfied, the "nooo poor babies that can't do anything wrong, poor helpless and weak Cakes, they clearly can't take care of themselves, they're so vulnerable, don't worry I'll speak for you to protect your honor" would be insane. Any Cake that consensually and willingly gets with a Fork will be doubted if they truly wanted to do it, think nosy people pulling them aside to ask if they're ok and pressing to see if they're abused, think people immediately thinking that Cakes can't consent to anything with a Fork on principle despite them being grown adults.

Online discourse would definitely have people saying "Cakes are minor coded" or some shit, mark my words.

While Forks would be instantly persecuted for everything. Because of something they didn't choose, that was inherited at birth, they now are fully seem as murderers, kidnappers, rapists and just the lowest of the low. People will gossip, people will get defensive, people will cower any time you slightly raise your voice, you're seen as a predator, treated no different than a wild bear. To society at large, you're an unruly dog, and all eyes will be on you forever, watching, waiting for the day that you take a bite.

In a sense, it's almost like any Forks that do commit crimes instantly have a justification to do so, it's expected, really, you're a Fork, of course you'd snap one day. It's both maligned and normalized, everyone expects it and it almost gives Forks a reason to do so. Forever a self fulfilling prophecy.

Now I'm sorry that I'll keep bringing the Omegaverse up, it's just that it's really handy for comparison, but I find it fascinating that in a way, the societal effects of this are a mish mesh of the societal views seen in ABO, but like, in a way that doesn't make me want to vomit.

Can I be so fr with you guys right now? I don't like the societal parts of the Omegaverse, ever since I was a kid in the early hay days of the internet, that always made me uncomfortable, and it's also a bit lazy in a way. The problems in society with the Omegaverse are basically just Sexism, it's misogyny with mpreg, and a lot of fics end up feeling like a Handmaiden's Tale with mpreg. Replace Alphas with men and Omegas with Women and you get the Omegaverse, though it gets a bit interesting since there technically is a built-in "fuck or die" and aphrodisiac system with heats/ruts, but very few writers do something interesting with it.

My problem is that it's always either uncomfortable or outright boring, very little fics do it well and most of the time authors simply choose to side step it altogether, which I completely understand and actually prefer at this point.

I bring all this up because Cakeverse actually brings a lot of interesting concepts up in it's consequences on the world at large, the nature of Forks and Cakes mirrors a lot of real life concepts, but leaves enough fantastical elements that there's still intrigue in what could be explored and seem from authors writing certain details of it.

Would there be Cake support groups? Would there be Fork rights activists? Would there be people who are both Forks and Cakes, like a hybrid type? What are different relationship types seen as in the eyes of society as a whole?

It's all so complicated and the problems are different between the both of them, also, they're evenly split, which is a breath of fresh air.

Now, it's time to get even deeper into this, what are exactly Forks and Cakes relationship with each other like?

「Would You Still Love Me If I Was Cake?」

According to the author, Cakes can derail a Fork's life and Forks are temptation to Cakes. Now, why is that?

Imagine you're a Fork, living your life trying to do what you can with what's been handed to you, probably being discriminated against if you haven't been able to hide it well, when suddenly you taste someone (kiss or by accident, like a shared water bottle), and next thing you know you lose your mind. Your entire world falls apart, thoughts of dreams, future, your own sense of morality, it all melts away like sugar in water because you just experienced heaven and now it's all you can think about.

Someone completely normal beforehand, suddenly driven to obsession with just one moment, an entire life detailed into the unknown because they just had a taste of cake, thoughts being all about one person and their taste, the inability to stop even you're desperate to do so. It's madness, and almost like a tragedy, doomed by their own personal narrative of Fork meets Cake, the Forks turns into a starving beast whether they want to or not.

But Cakes? Imagine you have someone you love, and they want you so badly it drives them mad, imagine kissing the same lips that want to be stained with your taste, imagine putting yourself in the way of jaws that any of these days can close down on you and swallow you whole. You're constantly in contact with someone that could just straight up eat you, consume you whole and leave nothing behind, but your heart aches for them, you present yourself in a silver platter again and again.

Maybe you want to be eaten, to be consumed. Maybe you like being wanted, maybe you enjoy providing something to to others, you made them so happy that it doesn't even matter to you that they are taking chunks out of you, you'll gladly let yourself be torn apart if it means someone else is satisfied.

It's all about the usage of "Cannibalism as a Metaphor for Love™", it's all about loving someone but constantly wanting to eat them into non-existence, it's about to struggle between your brain heart and stomach.

It's about having your cake and eating it too.

The themes, the metaphors, the opportunities are endless and frankly I'm driving myself insane just imagining all of it, the angst also would be utterly fucking insane, imagine you live someone and you eat them, wouldn't you be upset? You loved them and you killed them yourself, with your own hands, their taste is on your lips and you licked your plate clean.

I'm screaming and crying and throwing up as we speak, the number of things you can do here are endless, soooo. . . Let's talk about some of my ideas!

「All My Fanfiction Titles Are Just Songs」

Last post I basically tagged a bunch of fandoms that I wish would use this trope (I'll also be doing that with this post), so now I'm going to showing some of the ideas I had for this AU that I might or might not write in the future, all of which you guys are totally free to use as prompts as well (just tag me on them lmao)

So, going ship by ship:

「Loveit」: Dead Plate fanfic, Vincent x Rody, Fork!Vincent and Cake!Rody. I imagine that the moment Vincent finds out is during the Best Served Hot ending, after biting Rody's ear, his reaction would show instantly on his face and Rody would notice right away. After that it can lead to a lot of things, fighting, smut and cannibalism galore, their relationship would only get more complicated after such a discovery. Hell, you can even have Vincent find out earlier, if you truly want more juicy drama, maybe Vincent will attempt to make Rody into the meal instead of Mason this time? For funsies you could even reverse it, Rody as a Fork would be fascinating to see, him bonding with Vincent that he also can't taste anything, only for him to find out later that he can taste Vincent himself, holy shit the intrigue.

「Eat You」: Death Note, Lawlight, Fork!Light and Cake!L. Imagine Light both having to hide the fact that he's Kira, but also having to hide the fact that he's a Fork, imagine the never leaving stain that being a Fork would be on his own self-perception of perfection, imagine the so called god that punishes criminals also being considered a criminal by default in society's eyes if he's ever found out. Kira selling out his own kind because most criminals would likely be Forks (whether they were rightfully convicted or not), and then comes in L, a detective, a nuisance, Light's equal and a Cake. Maybe Light would find that out later on, maybe while they're playing as friends in college or while chained together, and now L had effortlessly thrown another wrench in his life yet again by default, like they're meant to be opposed by fate itself, where Kira is a Fork L is a Cake. L would likely goad Light on, trying to bait Kira out, by any means necessary, even if it means being eaten.

「Eat You Piece by Piece」: Hear me out, Batjokes. Fork!Bruce having to hold himself back from breaking his own morals due to finding out Joker is a Cake, Fork!Joker only getting deeper into his Batman obsession after tasting a Cake!Batman, Both Forks bonded by not having taste, maybe both are Forks that differ on how they react to Cakes (Joker regularly eating them while Bruce retains his morals and chooses to not hurt them), maybe both Cakes that got here because they were almost eaten (different Batman and Joker origin stories?). The opportunities are all intriguing and promptly end in bloodshed, expect angst and discussions of what is moral, also just so much angst holy shit this shit hurts.

「I Eat Boys Up」: Dungeon Meshi, Labru, Fork!Laios and Cake!Labru. I'm thinking post canon by accident, maybe something like sharing utensils, and I'm going to be so fr with you right now, this story coming from me would be a lot of romanticism through food metaphors and unending smut, feral Laios is my equivalent of heroin and I could imagine him describing Kabru's taste in detail to him while eating him out. But if smut isn't your jam, exploring how Laios and his monster obsession, especially in the form of food, as someone who can't taste would be intriguing, in a story so closely tied to food, you have to wonder how it would all change if the main character couldn't even taste. Also, I doubt Kabru would take the knowledge of him being essentially prey well, so there's that bag of worms to go into if you want.

「Blame Gluttony」: This one is purely self indulgent but like, Re:Zero with any ship, Cake! Subaru and Fork!anyone else. Imagine Subaru's world doesn't have this Cakeverse nonsense at all, but the world he's transported to has, imagine how scary it would be that one loop he suddenly finds out that he's essentially universal prey here (maybe in the second loop with Elsa), imagine the weight of all the things that already are trying to kill him along with the fact that he's also got a new thing to worry about? Maybe instead of just the rabbit loop, there's now multiple loops where Subaru is eaten alive, maybe there's loops where his dear friends themselves are eating him. Can you imagine if Emilia was a Fork? If he found out after the kiss of death and she commented on the taste of his lips as he was dying, if it came up again after their kiss, Subaru having to tackle with his love and heart belonging to someone that would one day eat him whole. Imagine the witch not longer just wants to touch his heart or kiss him, but she also bites him when he tries to tell the secret. Imagine maybe Rem is also a Fork, imagine that his death by her hands also involved her tearing into him chunk by chunk. What if Otto was a Fork, what if Reinhard was one? Seriously all the opportunities are equally traumatizing and I'm living for it!

Honorable mentions include: Persona Shuake and Shuada (Fork!Protags and Cake!Detectives) for the optimal mutual murder extravaganza, Okegom DSP Satanivlis (Fork!Ivlis and Cake!Satanick) for a rare case of role swapping, South Park Kyman (any way works tbh) for mutually assured destruction, Slay the Princess (Fork!Princess and Cake!Birb) because themes, Soukouku (Fork!Dazai and Cake!Chuuya) for making canon even worse than it already is, frankly any investigrave game would be peak here, Hannigram for obvious reasons.

But that's all I have for now, so, what have we learned here?

We learned that: I'm mentally ill and you need to write about the Cakeverse NOW.

[apod]

2024 August 27

Moon Eclipses Saturn Image Credit & Copyright: Pau Montplet Sanz

Explanation: What if Saturn disappeared? Sometimes, it does. It doesn't really go away, though, it just disappears from view when our Moon moves in front. Such a Saturnian eclipse, more formally called an occultation, was visible along a long swath of Earth -- from Peru, across the Atlantic Ocean, to Italy -- only a few days ago. The featured color image is a digital fusion of the clearest images captured during the event and rebalanced for color and relative brightness between the relatively dim Saturn and the comparatively bright Moon. Saturn and the comparative bright Moon. The exposures were all taken from Breda, Catalonia, Spain, just before occultation. Eclipses of Saturn by our Moon will occur each month for the rest of this year. Each time, though, the fleeting event will be visible only to those with clear skies -- and the right location on Earth.

∞ Source: apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap240827.html

[sunnami]

the marauders as. . . whatever love languages these are (iii).

“hey, pay attention to me.”

𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 thinks he might wilt if your eyes are not on him, for even a fraction of a second. to deprive him of your voice and laughter is like denying a starving man at death’s door of food and water. look away from him and his soul will howl in search of its other half. the others can stare all they want, but it’s him who gets to drink up the words from your lips—the giggles and the breathy murmurs like it’s honey dripping from your tongue. his animagus form might be a stag, but he hoards you desirously as a dragon would with its acquired treasures. 

james is the epitome of confidence. he is born from magic and he had taken to a quidditch broom like an osprey soaring the skies without fear. but the crowd chanting his name means nothing, the thrill of the game—wind in his hair as he chases after the golden snitch. it’s for naught if you aren’t there to watch. the adrenaline is nothing compared to the spike in his heartbeat when he sees you in the stands; wearing his colors, cheering for him—his name falling from your pretty lips. 

the gryffindor tower is pervaded by a celebration in james’s honor—teeming with students from various houses, neckties of yellow, green, and blue loosely dangling around their shirt collar; gillywater and pumpkin juice in their hands, muggle pop music blasting through the charmed radios. but james wholly prefers to be with you in your room, far away from the festivities; intoxicated by your whimpers and murmured praises as he situates himself between your thighs, indents of his hands on your skin. he’s desperate. james is on his knees like you’re a celestial being meant to be worshiped—and, he’ll happily do so. you could send him to his demise and james will still find himself at the altar. 

but, james potter is only human, and even arrogant flames can be extinguished. he clings to you in the mornings, burying his nose in your scent. you’re well-loved from the night prior. he hopes you understand that you’ve ruined him for anyone else. so please, he begs in the quietude of dawn, don’t look at anyone else. he’s afraid of losing you to another—to someone calmer, more steadfast and predictable. 

but another day passes, and you still look at him with that pretty smile of yours. holding him with such tenderness that calms the whirlwind of his thoughts. 

a week slips by, then a month, followed by a year—until it’s ‘for the rest of our lives.’ 

“thank you,” he’ll say, lowering his head on your lap, nearly trembling as he grasps for your hands; tears threatening to fall from his eyes. vow after vow, he offers everything that he is, everything that he has. his wealth and his fame. his soul—all for you. (please take care of it well, he’s easily hurt.) 

“for choosing me,” he lays the words bare. for when it comes to you, james potter is nothing but sincere and devout.

a/n: the world yearns for james potter to be real...

[hey-hey-j]

we finished rewatching the Kung Fu Panda series again last night here's me bitching about the fourth movie again

there's a note in the Kung Fu Panda 1 section of the DreamWorks 30th anniversary art book that says there are no truly bright blue skies in the first movie, every time you see the sky it's a different color, because the goal was to make the world feel fantastical and distinct from our own. And then they continued that design ideology into the original two sequels.

......and I really wish I had never learned that because it just made me realize another reason why Kung Fu Panda 4 sucks and feels so off compared to the other three

[deansbeer]

𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐀𝐒 SKIES & 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒 TIES

001. ARE WE MORE THAN FRIENDS? ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ִ ݁ ♡ .

✸ 𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐋 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟔; four months after you and jensen met.

PAIRING. cowboy!jensen x female reader ꒱

SYNOPSIS. it's been four month since you and jensen met during that stormy december, and now he's around a lot more. between family dinners, stolen moments, and clearing the air about daisy, things between you and jensen are getting sweeter—and a whole lot more complicated.

WARNING(S). fluff | hand-holding | forehead kisses | flirting | romantic tension | developing feelings | playful family teasing | confrontation (toward daisy) | made-up rumors | sisters' tease reader but r supportive of the blossoming relationship | dads' subtle matchmaking attempts | extended family (jensen's family) | past insecurities | self-consciousness | mutual pining | animal interactions (baby foal) | country lifestyle | ranch work references | rural texas.

kari yaps. merry xmas eve! my lil gift to u for the holidays. teehee, i'm already so obsessed w these two, not even kidding. this one is a lil longer than the prologue (obviously) so ur in for a ride !!! i want cowboy!jensen n his charming fine self <3333 yeehaw! 🏇 edit. i don't like how it came out, so im sorry, if it's shitty compared to the prologue :((( + im not feeling as festive & have been crying since earlier over it. anyway, i would hate to ruin anyone else's holiday spirit, so lemme just stop there <3 with that said, i hope ur all enjoying christmas, my loves. and to those who don't celebrate, i hope ur having an amazing day <3

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. ୨ৎ 𝐉𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐍'𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐘.

APRIL in texas brought wildflowers and warm breezes, painting the ranch in vibrant colors that made everything feel new again. four exact months had passed since that stormy december day when jensen first walked into your life, and somehow everything was different while staying exactly the same.

"he's coming over again?" hannah teased from her perch on the kitchen counter, watching you fidget with your hair in the reflection of the microwave door. "that's the third time this week."

"his dad and our dad are friends," you muttered, though you couldn't hide the flush creeping up your neck. "they're working on something."

kimberly snorted from the kitchen table. "yeah, working on getting you two married off."

"shut up, kim!"

"girls," your mom warned, but her eyes were twinkling as she kneaded dough for her famous cinnamon rolls. "leave your sister alone. though i must say, alan has been mighty pleased with how well you two get along."

you groaned, dropping your head onto the counter. "can we please talk about literally anything else?"

the sound of tires on gravel saved you from further torment. through the window, you could see alan's truck pulling up, jensen climbing out of the passenger side door. your heart did that annoying little flip it always did when you saw him now, but at least you'd learned to hide it better.

"sweetheart," your mom called as you headed for the door, "why don't you show jensen those new foals while your dad and his dad talk business?"

"subtle, mom. real subtle."

but you were already out the door, the spring air warm on your skin as you jogged down the porch steps. jensen met you halfway, that easy smile of his making your stomach flutter.

"hey," he said softly, like he always did, like it was just for you.

"hey yourself." you nodded toward the stables. "want to see the new additions?"

he fell into step beside you, close enough that your arms brushed. "lead the way."

the past four months had smoothed out most of the awkwardness between you, replaced it with something comfortable but charged with possibility. you'd learned things about him—how he took his coffee (black, two sugars), his favorite time of day (dawn, when the ranch was just waking up), how his laugh changed depending on what made him smile.

"you know," he starts, as you reached the stables, "my aunt martha's been asking about you."

you laughed, remembering the energetic woman from last month's family barbecue. "is she still convinced i need her secret recipe for peach cobbler?"

"she says, and i quote, 'that girl needs to know how to make a proper cobbler if she's gonna be part of this family.'"

your steps faltered slightly, but jensen pretended not to notice. that was another thing you'd learned about him—he knew when to push and when to let things breathe.

"your family's really taken a shine to me, huh?" you said, trying to keep your voice light as you led him to the newest foal's stall.

"can you blame them?" he leaned against the stable door, watching as you checked on the baby horse. "you're pretty easy to like."

before you could respond, a sharp voice cut through the air. "jensen! i thought that was your truck i saw!"

the happy bubble around you and jensen burst at daisy's sharp voice. she stood at the stable entrance like she owned it, her blonde hair perfectly curled despite the texas heat, wearing a sundress that seemed impractical for a ranch visit. your stomach twisted—she looked exactly like the kind of girl who belonged next to jensen.

"daisy." jensen's voice was flat, nothing like the warm tone he'd been using with you moments ago. his shoulders tensed, and he shifted slightly, putting himself between you and her.

"i've been trying to catch you at your place," she said, her boots clicking against the stable floor as she walked closer. each step felt deliberate, calculated. "daddy keeps saying you're never around anymore." her eyes flicked to you, a quick dismissive glance that made your skin crawl. "now i see why."

"been busy," jensen said shortly. you could see the way his jaw clenched, the way it did when he was holding back words. he turned back to you, deliberately showing daisy his back. "speaking of, you were gonna show me those training techniques you mentioned?"

daisy's perfectly painted lips curved into a sneer. "i guess the rumors about you two are true, then? funny, i always thought you had better taste, jensen."

"excuse me?" the words left your mouth before you could stop them.

jensen's hand found yours, squeezing gently. "there aren't any rumors, daisy," he said, his voice stern in a way you'd never heard before. "and even if there were, it wouldn't be any of your business. never has been."

she flushed, anger flashing across her face. "i just thought—"

"you thought wrong," he cut her off. "there was never a 'we', daisy. you decided there was something between us without ever asking me what i wanted. you showed up at my ranch uninvited, tried to insert yourself into my family, and spread rumors when i made it clear that i wasn't interested."

her composure began to crack. "that's not—i never—"

"you told half the county we were dating," jensen continued, his voice steady but angry. "even went as far as making things uncomfortable for everyone, including your dad. and now you're here, on private property, trying to do it again?"

"jensen—"

"you're wrong, daisy," he said firmly. "now, if you'll excuse us, we've got work to do. i'm sure you can find your way out."

daisy's face contorted with anger and embarrassment. "this isn't over," she spat, but her voice wavered. "daddy won't be happy about how you're treating me."

"your daddy knows exactly how i feel," jensen replied calmly. "has for months. why do you think he stopped bringing you around?"

she opened her mouth, closed it, then spun on her heel and stormed off. you could hear her volkswagen beetle engine rev aggressively as she peeled out of the ranch.

silence fell in the stable, broken only by the soft nickering of horses. jensen's hand was still holding yours, his thumb rubbing gentle circles against your skin.

"i'm sorry about that," he said finally, turning to face you. "i should've handled that situation better months ago."

"you don't have to apologize," you reassured him. "it's not your fault she..."

"got obsessed?" he supplied with a wry smile. "yeah, well. maybe if i'd been clearer from the start about where my interests lay, she wouldn't have gotten the wrong idea."

your heart skipped. "your interests?"

his free hand came up to cup your cheek, and suddenly you couldn't remember why you'd ever worried about daisy at all.

"listen," he moved closer, his eyes serious. "whatever you heard about me and daisy... it wasn't true. never was. she just... decided things were a certain way, and no matter how many times i told her different, she wouldn't listen."

"oh." you fiddled with the hem of your shirt. "i just thought... i mean, everyone said—"

"everyone says a lot of things," he stepped closer, his fingers catching your chin. "but the only girl i've been interested in since last december is standing right here, trying real hard not to look at me."

your eyes snapped to his, heat flooding your face. "jensen..."

"dinner's ready!" kimberly's voice rang out across the yard, making you both jump apart.

jensen laughed, shaking his head. "your sisters have terrible timing."

dinner at your house had become a regular thing, both families crowded around the large oak table your grandfather had built. your mom had outdone herself tonight—pot roast, fresh rolls, and three different kinds of pie.

"this is incredible, melanie," alan said to your mom, helping himself to seconds. "you've outdone yourself."

"oh, it's nothing special," your mom waved him off, but she was beaming. "though, i did try that new seasoning donna suggested."

jensen's mom smiled warmly. "i told you it would make all the difference."

you were seated between jensen and hannah, trying to ignore the knowing looks both your sisters kept shooting your way. jensen's knee pressed against yours under the table, a steady warmth that made it hard to focus on your food.

"remember when these two first met?" your dad chuckled, gesturing between you and jensen. "her in those pajamas of hers, looking like she'd seen a ghost."

"dad!" you groaned as everyone laughed.

"oh, i remember," alan grinned. "jensen came home that very next day talking about—"

"hey, dad," jensen cut in quickly, his ears reddening. "maybe we should talk about something else?"

hannah leaned over to whisper in your ear. "bet he told his daddy all about how pretty y'looked in those shorts."

you elbowed her sharply, but you couldn't help smiling.

after dinner, everyone migrated to the back porch. the texas sunset painted the sky in pinks and purples, the air cooling just enough to be comfortable. you found yourself sitting on the porch swing with jensen, your families' voices creating a comfortable backdrop of chatter.

"so," you said softly, "what exactly did you tell your dad that night?"

jensen groaned. "you're not gonna let that go, are ya?"

"nope."

he was quiet for a moment, then he spoke up, "i told him i'd met the prettiest girl i'd ever seen, even if she was wearing pajamas and looked like she wanted to murder me."

"i did not!"

"sweetheart, you looked at me like i was the devil himself."

"well, you were smirking at me!"

"because you were adorable," he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "still are."

before you could respond, kimberly's voice floated over, "you two want some privacy?"

"kim!" you hissed, but jensen just laughed, his arm sliding along the back of the swing behind you.

"nah," he answered coolly. "just enjoying the view."

your mom then appeared in the doorway, holding a fresh pie. "who wants dessert?"

as everyone headed inside, jensen caught your hand. "hey."

"yeah?"

"just... i'm glad your dad made you help that day. even if you did try to hide from me for weeks after."

you ducked your head, embarrassed. "well, to be fair, i thought you were dating daisy."

"never," he said firmly. "not her, not anyone. been waiting for the right girl."

"is that so?"

his thumb brushed over your knuckles, just like it had that night. "yeah."

"jensen! honey, you want apple or cherry?" his mom called.

he squeezed your hand once before standing, pulling you up with him. "we should get in there before they send out a search party."

"or before my sisters start making more comments?"

"that too." he tugged you closer, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead that left you stunned. "come on, pretty girl. let's go face the firing squad."

later that night, after both families had gone home and your sisters had thoroughly exhausted their teasing, you lay in bed thinking about everything. your mom poked her head in, smiling knowingly.

"you have a good day?"

"mom..."

she sat on the edge of your bed, smoothing your hair back like she used to when you were a little girl. "you know, i remember when i first met your father. he had that same look in his eyes that jensen gets when he looks at you."

"mama," you whined, but you were smiling.

"i'm just saying," she stood, heading for the door. "some things are worth taking a chance on."

as you stared up at the ceiling of your bedroom, you thought about jensen's words, about waiting for the right girl. maybe, just maybe, your mom was right.

𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 taglist. @deanswidow @a1ecmcdowell @beausling @titsout4jackles @frosttbitessam @aileenunfiltered @deansbite @jasvtsc @fallbhind @ostaramoon @lacydollette @ultravi0lence14 @rubyvhs @s4wdvator @depressionbarbie2023 @spcncershasting @severe-mental-illness @lmg14 @bluestrd @starkeysprincess ◟ ☆ ݁ ⋆ 🏇 ˚⊹ ˖ ﾟ✶ ݁. comment OR send an ask to be added / removed !!!!!

𝐂𝐎𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍 © 2024. ✶ please DO NOT copy or plagiarize my works.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

The hot tub | Rafe Cameron x Reader

Advent calendar day three: Ski trip

Summary: Rafe invites you to spend the week with his family at their cabin in Aspen. Things may happen when you get in the hot tub after a long day going down the slopes

Warnings: 18+, unprotected p + v, slight choking, semi-public (outside), impact play (spanking once)

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

As expected, the Cameron’s cabin in Aspen was breath-takingly beautiful. The walls of the living area were made of round wood, making it seem like you were living inside a tree…with a luxury decor. There were large windows, massive couches, cherry-wood tables, and a classic bear skin in front of the large fireplace. 

You felt like you were standing in a holiday Hallmark movie. 

‘’How many properties does your parents own?’’ You brushed your hand over the plush throw at the end of your and Rafe’s bed, smiling at how soft it felt. ‘’Don’t they have a house in the Bahamas?’’ 

‘’A lot,’’ Rafe replied while putting away some things in the closet. ‘’I lost count, honestly. My dad collects estates and Rose decorates them, it’s their thing,’’ he explained. ‘’I rent the ones we are not using...except the Bahamas house. We keep that one for family only.’’

You nodded, secretly wishing your parents were that rich. You could get used to vacationing in the mountains during winter break. It’s a weather contrast compared to South Carolina. 

‘’Do you come here often? Have you mastered a winter sports during your lavish vacations?’’ 

Rafe chuckled, closing the door of the large closet. ‘’I can’t ski, if that’s what you’re asking me. Or skate. Ice skating is Sarah’s thing.’’ He grabbed his toiletry bag from the suitcase and placed it in the en-suite bathroom next to yours. ‘’My dad forced me to take snowboarding lessons since I was a kid, but I was better at flirting with girls at the ski resort.’’

Shaking your head, you laughed quietly. ‘’What am I not surprised?’’ 

After everyone had unpacked, you bundled in your winter layers and headed down to the ski resort for some winter activities. You and Rafe rented equipment to go down the slopes while Sarah and Wheezie went to the skating rink. 

The afternoon was spent mostly falling on your ass and watching Rafe showing off. He was no professional, but you were impressed as you watched him do stunts — something you could never see yourself doing. 

When the sky started to go dark, you returned to the cabin to warm up and eat dinner. Rose’s cooking skills pleasantly took you by surprise, not expecting her to be much of a chef since she and Ward had a lot of money, but she made a mean baked mac’n cheese. 

‘’Are you sure?’’ you said when Rafe suggested you try the hot tub. 

You had never used a hot tub in the winter — with actual snow around. It sounded cold, but Rafe assured you the warm water would keep you warm…or else he would.

The sky was fully dark outside and snow was falling at a slow pace, creating a beautiful picture as you stepped out in your bra and underwear. When you packed for a trip to Aspen, you didn’t think you would need a bikini. Now you were regretting not bringing one. 

While the warm water sounded pleasant, you couldn’t help but think about how the chlorine of the hot tub will ruin your nice bra, so Rafe came up with a solution.

‘’Just take it off.’’ 

‘’I’m not gonna get naked in the hot tub,’’ you replied, shooting your boyfriend a glare as steam rose from the tub into the cool air. ‘’What if your family comes outside and wants to join?’’ 

‘’I’d rather they don’t. The sight of you in that bra and panties got me so hard,’’ Rafe said, his hand wandering up your thigh. 

You glanced down and through the bubbles of the underwater jets, catching the outline of his cock through his boxers, strained against the material. A light flush covered your cheeks, matching the color of your bra. 

‘’But if you’re that worried about anyone coming,’’ he continued, taking your hand and helping you step in. ‘’My dad strained his back when skiing so Rose is taking care of him. Sarah is probably trying to contact her boyfriend who was not invited on the trip, and as for Wheezie…I don’t know. She’s in her room, reading or watching a movie.’’

You sat on the edge and raised your gaze, eyeing the sliding doors. 

‘’No one is gonna come out here,’’ Rafe promised, reading your persistent worry. ‘’Except maybe a bear.’’

A new fear was unlocked. You turned to the other side and looked over the deck and into the dark forest. ‘’A bear?!’’ 

Rafe grinned, messing with you. ‘’I’m joking. There’s no bears here at this time of the year. They’re hibernating.’’ He hooked a finger underneath the delicate band of your panties, holding back from taking them off with his mouth. ‘’So…will it be with or without the panties?’’

Fuck it. 

You removed both items and let Rafe pull you in the water, the ripples from the jets causing sparks to tingle up your spine as they hit your bare cunt. It felt like using a nice shower head directly on your clit, but less strong. The pleasure was short-lived as Rafe settled you on his lap in a straddling way, a groan leaving his throat when your ass came in contact with his stiff cock. 

You bit back a giggle and loosely slid your arms around his neck. He was so beautiful.

‘’That wasn’t so difficult, wasn’t it?’’ Rafe asked, his hands sliding over your thighs and up your sides, making you feel a bit exposed. 

You rolled your eyes and rubbed your hands up and down his well-defined shoulders and chest, appreciating the time he had been spending with Topper and Kelce at the gym. They were always ruining your and Rafe’s plans, but those gym sessions gave him a body you wanted to bite into. 

You lowered your mouth to his, slowly kissing as the water moved around your bodies. The cold air had caused your nipples to peak, not yet submerged in the warm water. A shiver ran through you and, as if he had read your mind, Rafe’s hands moved to your breasts and began to toy with them. You sighed at the touch and ground your hips against his, relishing the feeling of his hard cock through his boxers as it rubbed against your clit just right. 

‘’I need you. Now,’’ you urged, breaking the kiss and reaching under the water to pull at Rafe's only piece of clothing, your earlier worries about someone catching you naked leaving your desire clouded mind.

Rafe nodded and pushed you off him, which left you confused. You opened your mouth to ask why he had pushed you off, but he motioned for you to turn around and grab the edge of the tub. A moan threatened to slip, realizing what he was doing. He was going to take you from behind. 

You heard the water swish as he moved behind you, and parted your legs so everything was exposed to his view. 

‘’That ass is so perfect,’’ Rafe groaned, giving it a hard smack, eliciting a pained squeak from you, before lining himself at your entrance, a mischievous smirk spreading on his face as he pushed the tip in — only the tip. ‘’Is that what you want, baby?’’ His tone was teasing, playing with you. ‘’No, that’s not enough, uh?’’ 

You whined, pushing back against him. ‘’Please, Rafe, don’t tease.’’ 

Giving in to your demand, he grabbed your hips and slowly pushed until he was all in, feeling your tight walls squeeze him. He moaned at the sensation, giving you a few seconds before starting to pull out until only his tip was inside you and slowly pushing himself into you again, doing this a few times. 

‘’Rafe,’’ you warned again, your core starting to ache, just wanting to be fucked senseless. 

Then, his thrusts were hard and fast as you gripped the edge of the hot tub, water splashing over the edge from the movements. You were holding back your cries, trying to be quiet, but the pleasure was too intense for you to remember. 

Rafe molded his front to your back as he kept pounding into you, kissing your shoulder as his hand was coming around your neck. ‘’You like this, baby? You like when I fuck your tight and pretty pussy?’’

You moaned louder, forgetting about the other Camerons inside the house. 

The next morning was going to be very awkward.

—

OBX taglist: @moralina @eudximoniakr @toylewestinnyc @rottenstyx  @sweeterheartxamerica  @jordierama @viridwityy @izzy-laufeyson @kenzi-woycehoski @lilaconner @Katsukis1Wife  @hawkegfs @mommyruuetrue  @acornacreacure @snownjune @nmedina8611 @slvtherinseeker  @slvtherinseeker @poppet05 @1stevelacyfan @illf4iry @withbeautyandrage  @maybankslover @sunflowerziva @laylasbunbunny @Honey-marvel15 @leoluvsur-pappy @slytherhoes @kcskye123 @outerbanksacc  @pedrosprincess  @mikaelsonsstuff  @skyesthebomb  @a1mzcruml3y @iluurmom  @popeheywardssecretgf  @madelynie  @loverofdrewstarkey  @radiant-whore  @outsider-at-hogwarts @luci1fer @bbycowboi @rafecameronsbadussy @urbfsbitchlol @nomorespahgetti @bloodyhw @Veescorneroftheworld  @papayaboyluvr @slytherinambitious @darylscvmdumpster @tommysaxes @johannelis2302nely @lynbubble  @straberryshortcake143 @beth-gallagher22 @doestalker @rubyliquor @theflcwer @angelxxrose @sierraluvzz @cruzgrecia @evelestrange @sunnysunny133696

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[rachalixie]

a/n: a little thing i scrapped from a fic i'm writing for my baby star @forlix :) i love you. i choose you. <333

“lix?” you ask, tentativeness lining the single syllable like even your voice knew that what you were about to say was a little silly. “why did you choose me?”

“what do you mean?” he hums, his fingers faltering on his keyboard as he tries to split his attention between you and the colorful pixels on the screen. 

“like, why me? you could have had anyone you wanted,” you bite your tongue, not quite understanding why these words were coming out here and now. 

“what do you mean.” he repeats, more of a statement than a question now, like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. he turns around completely, facing you and letting his character die a tragic death on the screen behind him. “are you serious?”

“i- no?” you sigh, not quite meeting his eyes. “yes. kind of? i don’t know.”

“y/n,” he rolls his chair close to you until your knees were touching, and he takes your hands in his, stopping you from wringing your fingers together. “it wasn’t a choice, you know that right? the stars brought us together, you’re mine in every way that i am yours.”

“right but,” you start, feeling grateful when he squeezes your hands in a silent go on, i’m here to listen. “if you could make that choice. if you didn’t want what the universe chose for you. then what?”

“if it was a choice to make, i would choose you every single time,” he slides off the chair, falling to his knees in front of you. “in every universe, in every reality, in every single world that exists, i choose you. over and over.”

“yes, but why?” and that is the root of it all - it was less of a deep rooted problem of insecurity and more of a lack of understanding. 

“god, i love you,” he looks up at you, so reverent that you feel your breath catch on nothing. “you’re perfect for me. no matter how many flaws you think you have, you compliment me in every single way. i didn’t know someone like you could exist for me in this world, and if i ever lost you i’d spend the rest of my days alone because no one can compare to you.”

“you think of me like that?” you try to ignore the stinging in your eyes and the burning in your nostrils that signal that you were going to cry. you knew the answer; you felt that way about him, too.

“yes,” he says, simple and ringing with truth. “you’re my perfect little star, the one i wish on every night. i look up at the sun and i think of you simply because we live under the same one. i could go on but - do you understand, now?”

“i do,” you smile. and while looking at him, the moon that hangs bright in your night skies, you truly do understand. 

—

soft hours

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Using Descriptors

A common pitfall of writing is the overuse of descriptors.

When adjectives and adverbs are used too liberally, it slows down the pace of the narrative.

Example

The young, male soldier nonchalantly stood with his back against the ornately carved wooden fence and angled his head upwards towards the sky, smoking and staring distractedly at the cotton-ball like white clouds that moved westward above the city. From her place at the window two stories above, Melanie vigilantly watched him as he slowly and repeatedly brought his cigarette calmly to his lips, expelling plumes of grey smoke with each measured exhalation. She wasn’t sure why, with so many thousands of private gardens in the city, this strange, unknown, soldier had chosen her garden—with its walls of knotty rhododendrons and the rows of rose bushes, only now coming into beautiful, red bloom, that her mother had planted the year before in an attempt to bring some color into their lives—to smoke in. Her uncertainty made her scared, and she began to feel a cold fear spread throughout her body, from her terrified heart, all the way to her extremities

Compare it to this version

The soldier stood with his back against the fence, smoking and staring distractedly at the clouds that moved westward above the city. From her place at the window, Melanie watched him as he repeatedly brought his cigarette to his lips, expelling plumes of smoke with each exhalation. She wasn’t sure why this soldier had chosen her garden—one of thousands in the city—to smoke in; and, if she was being honest with herself, she was scared.

The second version is easier to read.

The idea of the paragraph is simple, but when you add an abundance of adjectives and adverbs, the result is clumsy and harder to understand.

This is how descriptors slow down the pace of the narrative.

Writing Tip

The ideal paragraph lies somewhere between these two versions.

It’s not as streamlined as the second, but not as over described as the first.

Adjectives and adverbs serve an important function, but you should be skeptical of them.

When you see them in your own writing, ask yourself whether they’re necessary.

Another Example (Written by Jack Kerouac)

Anybody who’s been to Seattle and missed Alaskan Way, the old water front, has missed the point. Here the totem-pole stores, the waters of Puget Sound washing under old piers, the dark gloomy look of ancient warehouses and pier sheds, and the most antique locomotives in America switching boxcars up and down the water front, give a hint, under the pure cloud-mopped, sparking skies of the North-west, of great country to come.

There's an abundance of adjectives, but it seems to work.

This is partly because of the periodic sentence.

The sentence can be collapsed into “Here the totem-pole stores give a hint of great country to come.”

Every other clause is subordinate (or dependent), which naturally speeds up the pace at which it's read.

This is why, in this example, adjectives don’t slow down the pace too much.

Instead, they slow you down just enough to lend a contemplative sense to the vast scene unfolding before Kerouac.

As you see, adjectives and adverbs aren’t necessarily evil words that should be avoided at all costs.

They should, however, be used judiciously.

As you edit your writing, continue to ask yourself whether each sentence really needs its descriptors.

In Summary: Be skeptical of your descriptors, and the pace of your narrative will benefit.

Source ⚜ 100 Sensory Words Writing References: Worldbuilding ⚜ Plot ⚜ Character

[adobe-outdesign]

Have you reviewed the Elderly color yet?

Elderly kind of felt inevitable as a colour, seeing as baby was already a thing for years. I'd say that its pretty justified too, seeing as it's not very similar to any other colours. It couldn't just be clothing either, seeing as the base colour has specific details to it like wrinkles.

However, despite the inevitability, a lot of users don't really like Elderly. I think it's in part due to the color palettes used—it's all very muted colors, and a lot of pets lack any sort of palette consistency or balancing. It also doesn't have inherent appeal to it (like baby, which is fundamentally cute).

In terms of execution, I think there are three things that make this colour work the best:

Clothes are fine, but also lean into animal-like attributes when it comes to aging instead of only human ones. See examples like the Hissi and Wocky below.

Clothes need to look age-appropriate, but they can still be decently trendy and fashionable. Alternatively, go for very "cute" outfits like oversized sweaters.

Base colours can be muted, but should still look appealing. A few wrinkles are fine, but try not to go too overboard so the base can be used for other things.

Keep the "male" and "female" counterparts equal both in concept and design. Both should look like they belong together.

I feel like pet styles would also really add something to this colour; just giving the pets unique anatomy and making them anthro (think like royal) would help things tremendously.

Elderly came out after customization, so there's no per-cusomization versions to compared.

Favorite Species:

Hissi: Elderly Hissi are by far the best elderly pets. The shed skin was already great as a concept (reptiles can have trouble shedding their skin properly as they age), but the way it forms a hat on the elderly boy? Fantastic. I also really like the outfits, which seem very age-appropriate but also look fashionable as well. Finally, the base colors are nice and not too wrinkled, so you can use them for other customizations as well.

Wocky: Converted Wockies are usually pretty weird looking, but the elderly ones are honestly pretty adorable. I like how the base colours are based on actual cats, and things like the messy fur capture the elderly look well without being too overwhelming. I also think the outfits are super cozy, and both the elderly girl and elderly boy versions feel equal to each other. Only minor quibble is that the female's hair curlers don't fit the palette and clip over the eyebrows in a weird way, but those can be removed so it's not that big of a deal.

Lenny: Following the trend set by the Hissi and Wocky, the elderly Lennies have a very pleasant set of base colors with realistic markings and palettes—and even better, they're both based on birds with long lifespans (pink cockatoo and albatross, birds which have been known to live to 70 or 80 years old). Also, the retirement ski/hiking outfits work surprisingly well on the bodies considering their unusual shape. Only minor quibble (outside of the base lacking head feathers, which I think wasn't possible to fix) is that it's weird that their beaks are wrinkled of all things.

Least Favorite Species:

Tonu: It's not that these look terrible, per say, it's more just that... like, why are they knights? Nothing about these reads as elderly. The base colours are also alarmingly zombie-esq with unpleasant palettes, and the swords just floating their is weird. On the plus side, the gold detailing looks nice and the outfits work well as crosspaints, so there's that at least.

[petaltexturedskies]

October—with a gorgeous pageant of color plunged her soul. Never had she imagined anything so splendid. A great, tinted peace. Blue, wind-winnowed skies. Sunlight sleeping in the glades of that fairyland. Long dreamy purple days paddling idly in their canoe along shores and up the rivers of crimson and gold. A sleepy, red hunter’s moon. Enchanted tempests that stripped the leaves from the trees and heaped them along the shores. Flying shadows of clouds. What had all the smug, opulent lands out front to compare with this?

L.M. Montgomery, The Blue Castle

[a-twistedheartslonging]

Can you do a post about nonhuman au floyb?? I love that little fucker

Ah yes, Floyd. The not so little, little fucker.

He still has his ear and arm fins even with the potion. He can make his ear fins wiggle and droop and they will sometimes do it unconsciously, perhaps because of how he’s feeling or or he’s eating or sucking on something. After the time he caught you laughing when he was sucking down a smoothie, he will wiggle them on purpose to make you laugh. 

He can make the arm fins flare out and go down so he can get shirts on easier but doesn't like covering them.

Still keeps some of his eel coloring and stripes along with his claws. His hands starting with that not-quite-white he has and becoming more of that green-blue going up.

His fingers have little bits of webbing and...are kind of creepily long. 

Doesn’t blink as often as a human should and his eyes glow in the dark, along with his habit of staring it can be a bit startling. 

Is very instant on getting you in the water with him for some reason. If you can swim, he'll offer to let you ride him but...keep in mind that when in the water either tween can out speed a flying broom. The guy is a living jet ski and you will zoom. Although he won't let you drown that doesn't mean he won't do stuff to scare you and make you think he is.

If you go out to the sea or a lake together expect him to bring back a fuckton of sea creatures that he expects you to eat. He's a very good hunter and plans on taking good care of his shrimp.

Has no belly button or nips.

Is very interested in your belly button.

You're his little shrimpy and he’s touchy when in the mood for it but especially likes how different you are. Small clawless hands are so fun to hold, likes comparing yours to his. Putting your hands on his face cuz it feels warm and nice, enjoy the ear-fin rubs. Body soft n smol, good for hugging and squeezing…and biting…but not too hard cuz his teeth would hit bone very easily. 

Skin feels different from what humans have but isn't quite the same as when in his eel form. It's soft but also…thick. There’s no way you would be able to break his skin with your bite or scratches, dull little human nails and teeth can't do much. He’ll think it's funny if you do it to try and get away from him but will want to bite back.

It is actually a good thing you can't break the skin since along with eating fish, crabs, and octopuses moray also eat very toxic creatures and as a result, the blood and flesh of a moray are very toxic. They accumulate high levels of ciguatoxins, which can give humans ciguatera fish poisoning (CFP) if eaten. There will be times in a fight where he’ll get his blood on the guy on purpose and Jade has used his blood for…things before. Part of why Jade wants to test “special” mushrooms on others is because the poison won't affect him.

A moray will often eat anything small enough to fit in its mouth and is capable of taking a chunk out of bigger fish. As a result, Floyd will also try to eat…not food things if he can fit it in his mouth. Keep an eye on small nicknacks. Might also just, like, catch a bird and just freaking eat it. He’s learned butterflies taste really bad.

Everything about you just triggers his prey drive. He really wants to bite you…and chase you…and squeeze you…but also protect you cuz you're his little shrimp. Who would rub his face and tell him a good boy if he let you get eaten up? 

Can open his mouth scarily wide and his teeth are longer than OG Floyd's. Very long tongue and will lick the side of your face to gross you out. 

Has pharyngeal jaws which are a second set of smaller jaws located in the throat of the moray eel, behind the normal jaws in the mouth, complete with tiny teeth. This set of jaws gets launched into the mouth cavity during feeding, where it can grasp onto food, and pull it into the throat to swallow. Morays are unique in using their pharyngeal jaws to actively capture and restrain prey in this way.

Certain eels have been shown to be surprisingly affectionet with divers they recognize and enjoy petting, rubbing, and gentle hugs. Though with how Floyd is it's a little less surprising.

His gills are still present so his rib area is a weak spot. Getting hit there would really hurt and really piss him off.

Is nocturnal and prefers dark places, especially when sleeping. He also likes being snug and wrapped up for sleepies. In the sea, he would like to sleep in small places with his brother.

Moray have a spongy, sluggy texture from their lack of scales. To top it off, these fish are covered in a thick mucous layer. Believe it or not, mucous serves a very strong purpose in nature, typically providing a protective barrier over otherwise vulnerable layers of skin. Your stomach should have a thick mucous layer to protect it from the acids inside, and similarly, a fish without scales can make good use of this snotty, slimy substance to keep it safe from toxins and physical damage as it occupies its rocky habitat.

The green moray eel is actually brown under all the snot; it’s just covered in a thick green layer of mucous. In some species, this mucous is even toxic, making them a particularly nasty prey item. Luckily what Floyd and Jade have isn't the toxic kind and will make your skin pretty nice. Floyd will use this in his favor to get more cuddles. Though if feeling playful he may perform what is known as a slime attack by slapping someone in the face with his tail, it is very unpleasant to get in your mouth.

The smallest moray, the Snyder’s moray, is around 12cm (4.5in) long, and the largest is more than 3m (over 10ft) long and weighs up to 30kg. A huge moray eel in Indonesia has been witnessed feeding on sharks and I like to headcanon the tweels are pretty big in their mer form and not just because of tail length.

Morays actually have pretty bad eyesight and have a keen sense of smell to make up for this and rely primarily on chemoreception such as smells and tastes to navigate their world. I do wonder if the twins need glasses but don't use them or maybe wear contacts. 

 Floyd is very good at tracking you down by scent and likes it when you smell like him and him smelling like you. Though he loves cuddling and hugging you, it isn't just for affection. He’s giving you that eel stank, plenty of the others are weary around him and you smelling like him can help keep others away.

Him leaving clothes at your place honestly was out of forgetfulness but does it on purpose now since that time he caught you wearing his jersey…it was so big on you and you looked so cute and its smelled like you and….

The moray can form a true knot with its body, that it uses as leverage to pull on prey items like slippery fish. They can also use this method to create strong pressure to break food items into smaller pieces. It’s thought that the skill is passed on between individuals. So if you want to escape eel cuddles…good luck but it's probably not going to happen. Even in his more human form his long arms and legs will be wrapped around you. Kinda funny thinking of the tweel's parents teaching them how to become living knots though.

Certain types of eels can change their sex. The leaf-nosed moray born male, transitions as they age, switching to female later in life. This transformation determines them as “sequential hermaphrodites” I like to headcanon that the tweens can also change sex or already have both in their mer form. 

Morays can have around 10,000 eggs at a time, and when the larvae are hatched, the eels are fully translucent. I like to think the boys started out as tiny little things you can hold in your hand.

Regular eels do seem to have some courtship rituals. Some of which being displays of behavior, such as graceful movements and vibrant color changes and I already like that headcanon of the tweels being bioluminescent. Maybe he convinced you to come down to his dorm's special pool one night and decided to show off for you. Showing off that beautiful glow while doing these cool tricks in the water. A positive reaction will likely be taken as acceptance, so unless you tell him no, you will receive some wet slimy eel-loving.

Male eels may compete with each other for the attention of females showcasing strength and health to impress a potential mate. I can imagine he’ll be very insistent that you come to his games and watch, though with how he already is and him wanting to impress you further it would be a good idea for a nurse to be present. The other team's guys are going to need it. I think he might also get a bit more…bitey with the other guys around too. You will also be picked up and carried more often. 

Eels also release pheromones into the water to attract and communicate with potential partners but..hmm you're just a human and on land. With the others being beasts and all they would be able to smell it easily and know to stay the hell away from him but would his little shrimpy notice? I think at most that if it's something that you can smell it probably just seems like Floyd has just smelled a bit…musky lately. He is probably around you even more and keeps close to see you reaction to it. He probably gets sad if you tell him he stinky and takes it as you not wanting him. If you compliment it? Very happy eel time.

As for the rest of what he does, it's pretty much normal things that Floyd already did when you were just friends. Bringing you food, little trinkets that made him think of you, getting territorial around others, biting.

[kiwiflame]

HOW 2 MAKE NIGHT SKIES LIKE TSSB

TODAY I WILL SHOW U HOW EZ THIS SHIT IS. JUST FOLLOW ALONG AND YOU WILL BE AN EXPERT IN NO TIME

FIRST U OPEN A NEW CANVAS. I USE FIRE ALPACA BECAUSE I LIKE IT

NEXT U FILL ALL THAT SHIT WITH BLACK

THIS NEXT PART IS IMPORTANT. ON A NEW LAYER ABOVE UR BLACK CANVAS, GENERATE A CLOUD TEXTURE IN BLACK AND WHITE. IN FIRE ALPACA U DO THIS WITH FILTER -> CLOUD, AND IN PHOTOSHOP IT'S FILTER -> RENDER -> CLOUDS

SET BLENDING MODE OF THE CLOUD TEXTURE 2 DODGE

COLOR THAT SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ON ANY LAYER UNDERNEATH THE CLOUDS, CHOOSE COLORS AND SLAP THEM AROUND WITH A SOFT-EDGED BRUSH. AS U CAN SEE ON THE LEFT, I USED VERY COMPARATIVELY DARK COLORS TO THE OUTPUT. A LITTLE GOES A LONG WAY

WITH A PARTICLE BRUSH SCATTER WHITE DOTS. OR DO IT BY HAND. IM NOT UR BOSS

IT'S DONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[cerezzzita]

Wish You a Devilish Christmas! ★ A Fluffy Fic with the Sparda Family

Hello, @queenmuzz! I am your Secret Santa for @dmc-secret-santas of this year! I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing and so sorry if the ending is kinda wonky, I managed to finish it all today and didn't had much time. I, myself wish you all a Devilish, Merry Christmas!

1) Pandoro is an Italian type of bread, culturally and usually made on Christmas, covered in sugar, tasting like vanilla and shaped like an six-pointed star.

Pat!, Pat!, Pat!, the wooden floor responds to the bare footsteps of tiny feet. On that newborn morning of the first day of the joyous month of December, the little Nero had risen even before the sun broke through the skies in his flavescent chariot, timidly piercing the thick curtain of gray clouds and the crystalline winter veil, venturing to run through the extensive corridors of the mansion in search of the right door. There were so many of them! He vaguely remembered the moment when his grandfather, Sparda, a great demon in human skin but always enframing a gentle and inviting smile on his face, had told him that his own demonic sensors were as young or younger as he was; and for Sparda, someone equally vivid and prolonged as time, Nero was very, very young. And despite his best efforts, the little one was unsuccessful in his hunt for his father’s bedroom door.

Pouty, Nero increased the weight of his steps and opened the first door within reach of his large, glacial eyes. His chubby cheeks widened again. It was his grandparents’ room. Blazing like a lightning, soon the boy was vibrating with euphoria, jumping on the bed without hesitation to snuggle into his grandmother’s lap, who until then was comfortable in the physical arms of her husband and in the dreamlike arms of the solemn Morpheus.

“Nonna! Nonno! Wake up, wake up! It’s already Christmas!”

Faced with the significantly strong shaking for a seven-year-old child with a quarter of demonic blood in his organism, Eva was forced to wake up from her pleasant sleep even in the heat of fright; she blinked, bewildered, slowly adjusting her blurred vision to the current scene in front of her — and to her side, where Sparda had already raised his robust figure, presenting them with his usual smile. 

“Nero, darling…” She stammered at first, rubbing her heavy eyelids with the back of one hand, the other cradling the little boy against her chest. “What are you doing out of bed so early?”

“Good morning, little Nero!” Sparda saluted, with an exciting glow in his eyes, something alike someone who hadn't even really slept. Soon, the grandfather’s long, robust arms cradled his wife and grandson. “I take your grandmother’s question as mine: What are you doing out of bed at this time? Don’t tell me that the fleas of an Cerberus invaded your bed?” The theatrical gasp at the end of the speech made Nero laugh, unfolding himself on the sheets to fit in among the adults. 

"No, no!" He vehemently denied it. “Didn’t you hear what I said? It’s Christmas!"

Eva, already a bit more awake, drawing an arch in her blonde eyebrows and an amused smile pulling at her lips, giggled as she said: 

"Christmas? As far as I can remember — and for the last time I stopped to look at the calendar before going to sleep — today is the first of December.”

The little one looked at his grandmother as if something very obvious was being declared — as or more obvious as someone exclaiming that his hair is white. Silver, actually, but he liked to compare the coloring to mounts and mounts of fluffy snow, too.

“And that means it’s already Christmas, nonna!” Nero threw his hands up, trying to reinforce his point. “We have to decorate the house! And make cookies for Santa and pandoro¹! Oh, and hot chocolate with cinnamon rolls! We have to buy presents and call Uncle Dante!” 

“Agreed,” says Sparda, preparing to leave the comfort of the sheets and his wife's redamantic warmth with his grandson in his arms. Automatically, Nero hugged the kind demon’s broad shoulders. “Nero is right, my beloved Eva. We have a lot to do until Christmas Eve!”

“Yeah, nonno!”

“How can I disagree and say no to two stubborn people consumed by the Christmas spirit?” Eva blows, also planting her feet on the woody floor of the room. She placed a kiss on the boy’s forehead and another on her husband’s lips, to which Nero was instinctively reactive when he vocalized an “Ew!”. “But one thing at a time, you hear me? Come, Nero. Let’s see if your father is awake while your nonno calls your Uncle Dante.” 

“At this time, he shouldn’t be up,” Sparda pointed out, transferring the child into the woman’s arms. “Our son has a peculiar sleep, or as some say, a ‘stone sleep’.”

“He had someone to take after…” She said, vulpine. The demon gasped again, breaking the drama with the giggles exchanged between her and little Nero. 

That was the cue to leave the room, Sparda cutting through the distant corridors towards the retrograde and central telephone in the living room, Eva and Nero going towards the door of the room furthest from the others. With three knocks on the fine mahogany and without immediate response, it was concluded in the matriarch’s mind that Vergil was no longer enjoying a good morning sleep; not that it was like him, after all his biological clock was quite… peculiar. All this to say that her eldest son and father of her precious grandson had a practically incurable case of insomnia.

“I already know! He must be in the kitchen, nonna!” Nero pulled his grandmother back from the noospheric halls with his high, childish tone of voice before something else waltzed into them. 

Eva nodded, her pair of hazel irises sparkling, a small smile adorning her face. 

“Let’s see if we can guess what he might be doing: pancakes?”

“I highly doubt it,” the boy wrinkles his nose. In a glance Eva remembered her boys, sometimes unhappy and discordant with each other. The similarities between Nero and Vergil were striking on many occasions. “Dad doesn’t like pancakes unless they have blueberries in them.”

“That’s right, how could I forget? You have a point, dear. So, it seems that he must be drinking tea while leafing through his favorite book of William Blake poetry for the umpteenth time, right, Vergil?” 

The man who held the steaming cup with a minty aroma — ah, mint tea, usual refuge for his taste buds — centimeters in front of his mouth frozed, his thumb wrapped around the page that was about to be replaced and his characteristic glacial eyes expressing surprise at the scene that his mother and son witnessed when they arrived not far from the kitchen counter.

“Good morning to you too, Mother,” he hissed, his voice a fine line between caution and annoyance. The journey of his field of vision went from Eva’s candid face to the glimmer in the blue of her son's orbs. Vergil sighed, sewing a tiny smile on the corner of his mouth. “Good morning, Nero.”

Just like that, the little boy jumped off his grandmother’s lap and sailed towards his father, grabbing his legs, the limit he could reach at such an age and height. Vergil stroked his hair and for a moment he thought that the shy sun of that morning was actually hidden between Nero’s broad and peachy cheeks, so bright and lukewarm was his beaming. 

“Morning, dad! Dad, dad! We’re going to start preparing things for Christmas! Nonno is already calling Uncle Dante and we’re going to decorate the house, make cookies, and hot chocolate and-”

“Nero… Breathe, one thing at a time.”

“That’s what I told him,” Eva said, laughing, with her back turned and in the background as she poured herself a cup of tea. “And there’s no point in making that face, Vergil. Your brother is coming to spend Christmas with us like he does every year, so I ask of you two is to behave, please. You’re already too big for your beaking.”

He widened his eyes. “But I didn’t-”

“Vergil, I am your mother. It’s the least I can assume what’s obviously going through your head.” 

Nero hid a not-so-subtle laugh in his father's pajama pants.

“She’s got you!” He laughed, with his finger pointing towards him. 

Sparda burst into the room before Vergil could react, the phone hooked to his ear. 

“Yes, son, we need to decorate the house! Well, the sooner the better! Soon Christmas Eve will be at the door! As long as you don’t eat half the ingredients for supper — because I know what you and little Nero are capable of doing when Eva isn’t looking — and don’t fight with your brother... Dante, my son, now exactly is..." He paused for a moment to glance at the clock high on the kitchen wall. “Seven in the morning. What do you mean you won’t be in time for breakfast? I know the roads are covered in snow- Oh, of course! Activate your Devil Trigger! No, no one will see! We’ll be waiting for you in twenty minutes!”

“Tell him I sent him a kiss and a punch because he doesn’t call us often! And that I will make pancakes now!” Eva shouted, albeit jokingly. 

“Yay!” Nero rejoiced, sitting next to Vergil. 

“Your mother sent you a kiss and a punch for not calling us often,” Sparda clearly swallowed a laugh. “And she said she’ll make pancakes now. Eva, he said to separate the ones with strawberries.”

“And mine with blueberries, please,” Vergil vocalized, between pages and sips. 

“Can I talk to Uncle Dante, nonno? Please?” 

“Son, Nero wishes to speak to you,” and the phone was gently passed into the boy’s little hands. 

“Hi, Uncle Dante!”

With a yawn, Dante exclaimed on the other end of the line: 

“What’s up, kid! So that means you’re now responsible for the family’s Christmas spirit, right?”

“That’s on me!” Nero used a pompous tone in his voice, a chuckle soon after. “Come quickly, Uncle Dante! We have to put up the Christmas lights after breakfast!”

“Relax, Devil May Cry Express is already sending the package. A really nice package, I must say. Adios, my favorite nephew!”

“Hey, I’m your only nephew!” He protested.

But Dante had already ended the call. Pouting, Nero handed the phone back to Sparda — who was hiding a petit smile with the back of his hand — and went to help Eva with the pancakes. 

Half an hour later, the youngest son returns to home. Dante was ultimately hugged by his parents and exchanged playful faces with his twin brother, not for long before the matriarch intervened and pulled his ears; “And no coming at me with your sweet forehead kisses! You still owe me for not calling often!” she said at some point during the reunion. Of course, Nero threw himself into his uncle's arms and then the two promptly volunteered to be Eva’s sous-chefs with the Christmas meals, although they were removed from such duty and placed to help Sparda with the lights and garlands throughout the mansion. Vergil was selected to help his mother instead, much to the duo's chagrin. 

“Learn that life is not always fair, dear son and little brother.”

Winter dragged the crystals from its veil through the days until Christmas Eve. Days filled with hot chocolate, the infamous hazelnut cookies made by Eva — much appreciated by the men in the family, by the way —, toasted marshmallows and sweet, vanilla-tasted pandoros in just the right amount. When the twenty-fifth day finally arrived, the family was settled in the living room, by the fireplace, surrounded by thick, soft blankets, more cups of hot chocolate and precious cinnamon rolls. A silent Christmas, yes. Pacific, too. Not very common in the Sparda family, but comfortable nonetheless.

Little Nero couldn't ask for any better gift.

“And we, from the Sparda family, wish you all a Devilish Christmas!”

[cc-nadama]

Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall

Inspired by an Ella Fitzgerald & The Ink Spots song

Summary: When an old friend of his is transferred to the 4077th, Father Mulcahy must confront his past and reconsider his future.

Pairing: Father Mulcahy x Nurse!Reader

Rating: Mature

Expected Content: There are no sexual acts depicted in this work. However, these are the following disclaimers: intended female reader, a “healthy” amount of pining, potential sinning and breaking of vows, scandalous thoughts for a priest, suggestive material and religious imagery

Word Count: 2,614

Notes: I am unsure whether this was cleared in the show, but I am assuming that Francis is his given name while John is his confirmation name.

To @mash4077confessions, thank you for answering my question and helping me decide to finish this work.

To @i-shall-abide, I hope you enjoy this work and thank you for asking to be tagged.

———

Faint rays of sunlight swam in the murky skies, a dying sunset fading into ephemeral twilight. With it, the stars and their endless luster peered through the evening veil, a familiar stillness settling in time. Amidst this comforting silence was a man sequestered, dwelling in his solitude. At this hour, Father Mulcahy was in his bed, skimming through the book in his lap.

It was an old Bible he used to carry, the size of it fitting into most of the pockets he owned. Although he had taken great care of the book, its condition showed its true age and wear. From the covering alone, one could see how its color had faded into an ashen shade, its bindings in complete tatters. At some point, a few of the pages had fallen out of the shell, rendering the New Testament incomplete. Despite this, Father Mulcahy considered this his most precious possession—a gift he had received from an old friend.

Along with the Bible came a bookmark. Unlike the book itself, this little sliver of paper and card-stock maintained its original color, gleaming with a peaceful yet vibrant shade of blue. Though, what made it special to the Father were the words written on it, words written in that same delicate hand in ink,

“The Lord directs the steps of the godly. He delights in every detail of our lives. Though they stumble, they will never fall, for the Lord holds them by the hand.”

- Psalm 37: 23-24

Underneath the dim glow of his lamp, Father Mulcahy sat still, reading those words again and again. Besides your choice of hymns, what captivated him most was the way you had written them. From the artistic curve of your letters to the hint of personality, he admired it all. With a careful hand, he closed the book and set it aside, flipping the switch of his lamp.

Yet, as the minutes spun into hours, the chaplain lay in his bed disturbed. As he tossed and turned, troubled with notions that disagreed with his piety, he found no semblance of respite—especially within his aching mind. This incessant hounding exhausted his conscience as it soon faded into the depths, memories he had long fought to suppress now resurfacing. It was as if he was caught in a sudden riptide, pulled into its merciless current until he inevitably sank. Still, he struggled and fought, flailing against the whims of his innermost desires.

Even as the temperature lowered to a comfortable chill, it felt as though his skin was ignited—ravaged by a heat with no comparable intensity. Underneath the linen sheets, Father began to sweat, his hands trembling at his sides. Temptation swallowed him whole, his mind turning into a feverish haze as his memories gnawed away at his resolve.

From the pleasure of your touch to the softness of your lips, it cultivated an unbearable want from deep within. Each imagined sensation stirred a yearning so incredibly sinful, consuming his flesh to the border of pain. Yet, Father Mulcahy resisted, barely fleeing from this latest bout of temptation.

Still, several of his days carried on with the same persistent problem, where he would lay awake at night suddenly ensnared by an unbearable urge.

However, the height of his plight only began when you arrived.

After reveille, it came as a surprise to the chaplain when he saw a jeep driving into camp, a pair of nurses sitting at the rear. At first, he thought nothing of it, assuming that they were transferring into the unit. He later made note to introduce himself to the women, hoping to gain another parishioner. Yet, as he turned to the direction of his tent, it was then he heard that laugh—a sweet yet sound that echoed in his mind.

For what felt like an eternity, Father Mulcahy remained still, debating on whether he should introduce himself. But, the way he had left you, after saying he was still planning for priesthood… the tears streaming down your cheeks, the pain in your voice as you called out to him, his train already departing—it pained him to remember.

Even now, he could still feel the slightest pang in his heart, an ounce of regret despite his love for his faith. But how he loved you, his little darling. You were the best thing to happen to him, a small-town girl falling for a passing missionary boy.

But the chance to see and talk to you again proved too much to pass, and so, he decided to introduce himself. 

…

For the better part of the day, Father Mulcahy remained in his tent. In some capacity, he still performed his duties as a chaplain: taking the occasional confession and offering guidance to those in need. Besides your arrival, he would have considered it another day at camp, spent in the comfort of his tent. As he planned out his evening, he thought it best to see you during dinner. Yet, with an hour left before chow, he heard a knock at his door.

“Come in!”

He called from inside, placing down the book he had in his hand. As he turned in his seat with a pleasant smile, about to say something in greeting, he saw you. His expression then faltered, shifting into quiet disbelief.

Both of you were evidently stunned, lost for words as you stared at the other. You could only watch as his steady hand removed his hat, placing it on the desk beside him. Still, his entire attention remained on you, pleasantly perplexed.

“Francis..”

You uttered, your voice softening at the name as a small smile crept to your lips. Despite a decade having passed, the sound of it was a familiar comfort, reminding you of the affection you still carried from years before.

Meanwhile, Father Mulcahy only stared. To him, he thought of your voice as a wondrous sound, marveling at how it soothed the pains in his heart. For so long had he yearned to hear you say his name again, to hear that voice say anything to him at all.

Then, he said your name in return, a sound so quiet yet reverent.

Without delay, you threw your arms around him, burying your face into his chest as you breathed. There was a sense of urgency in your actions, hands grasping and clawing at his back, fearing you would lose him again. The thought of it made your embrace tighten, not wanting to let go of him so soon—not when you haven’t seen or felt him in so long.

“I thought I would never see you again..”

There was a noticeable break in your voice as you spoke, unable to contain the rush of relief that swelled in you. Soon, you felt his arms encircle your waist, pulling your body close to his as he rested his chin on your head. Despite appearing collected, Father Mulcahy was anything but, for this is only the beginning of his unraveling.

“I prayed that we would..” …

As another peaceful night returned, Father Mulcahy found himself lying in his cot, his discipline strained. Like many times before, he awoke from a sudden pressure building in his core, stirring a carnal need he had no intention of fulfilling. Yet, as the minutes progressed into hours, his mind berated his already waning sanity.

Again, he turned on his side, his imagination threatening to consume him. Despite his efforts, he could hear your voice exalting in ecstasy—saying phrases he would never repeat in company. These fantasies only worsened as he memorized your touch, recalling the graze of your hand or the caress of your fingers. He now considered himself an utterly ruined man, one who wants and yearns.

In place of his devotion, what arose was desperation, fueled by a great corporeal need. Father Mulcahy knew that the human body could only endure abstinence for so long—and in his case, it’s been months—before he surrendered. Still, he was not about to be tempted, not when he had to face you in the morning.

Yet, as he remembered the scent of your lavender soap, flitting in the morning air, it led to an indulgent vision: his hands sliding across your wet skin, your hair clinging to your neck as the water poured over—a playful glint in your eyes as you tempted his hand lower.

That was enough to break Father Mulcahy.

…

The following morning…

After ten hours of rigorous work, you were about ready to drop on the nearest cot. The muscles in your legs were practically weak, aching with every step. Yet, you managed. As you made your way through camp, you thought of visiting Father Mulcahy, missing his company. With that, you pivoted to the direction of his tent, excitement brimming.

Once there, you happily knocked, waiting for his answer. It took him another beat to open the door and as he did, you saw a man in silent distress.

He was not himself that morning. From his disheveled appearance to his bothered conscience, you saw an expression you never thought the Father was capable of: guilt.

“Father, you alright?”

Instead of a greeting, you made your concern known. You noticed how his eyes had averted from your worried gaze, as if he was afraid you would see through his shame.

“I’m fine.”

Father Mulcahy hurriedly murmured, stepping aside so that you could enter. In his hand, you noticed his signature Panama hat, clasped almost too tightly at the brim. Instead of prying, you decided to take a seat on the edge of his cot.

Meanwhile, the man was anything but fine. For the last hour and a half, he was in constant prayer, kneeling on the floor and begging for the Lord’s forgiveness. What he had done in that cot, what he had envisioned and enjoyed—it was the unmaking of a man who lived by the cloth.

He stood still for a moment, keeping a respectful distance from you. Yet, despite himself, flashes of his fantasies began to resurface, testing his resolve.

“You look tired. Were you just at work?”

He asked in that same kind tone, trying his best to make polite conversation. Yet, as you sat on top of his linen sheets, the same ones where he came undone hours ago, he couldn’t help but shudder at the filth he had thought.

God Almighty…

“Yeah, my shift just ended. I thought I could lie down here and keep you company for a while. That okay with you, Father?”

“Oh! No, no! I don’t mind!”

You were surprised by the sudden burst of his reply, noticing a hint of nerves in the way he had reacted.

Yet, unbeknownst to you, the man was practically fraying at the seams—shedding every layer of discipline he had once earned. For the first time in his life as a priest, he was overwhelmed. He had experienced sensations he thought impossible, pleasures he would have considered fantastical. Yet, with the taste of carnality on his tongue, he developed a need—a demand for release.

Then, he looked away, setting his gaze on the door. His thoughts were becoming immoral, radical even. He was now acting against his own principles, and worse, his own vows.

Without needing an invitation, you decided to lie on his cot. At a glance, you noticed how his fingers fidgeted with his hat, flickering with the brim as he sat himself down. From his posture alone, you knew he was tense.

“You look like you need some rest too, Father. Come, lie down with me. We have enough space.”

Even with your delicate delivery, your words were more of a demand.

Before Father Mulcahy could object, you moved to the other side of the cot and gestured for him to come.

Without much of an argument, he decided to comply. Besides his own desire to join you, he learned many times before how difficult you were to reason with. So, he removed his glasses and boots, the cot dipping under his weight as he lay beside you.

“You know, if anyone were to see us, they would consider this improper.”

He reprimanded, though he kept his tone light. Despite his recent lapse, he was still a priest and he intended to maintain his vows, even if he was currently falling short on one.

“I hardly think you could be capable of anything improper, Father.”

You mused in a teasing lilt, turning your head on the side to see him. Though, before he could even make a retort, you cheekily added,

“Besides, if you wanted me, you would have never become a priest.”

A small snicker fell from your lips as you straightened your back. Yet, beside you, Father Mulcahy lay still.

It was a sentence that stung him deeply, both in truth and in slight offense. He knew what you were insinuating, how he had chosen his faith over you. Yet, it was not right for you to cast blame on his decision. He had explained this to you before, and sometimes, to himself.

Without thinking, Father Mulcahy muttered, unable to stop the words from forming in his mouth,

“I still want you.”

At his confession, silence fell, the weight of his words suffocating.

At the slightest tilt of your head, you caught a glimpse of the man, a broken expression written across his face. In his eyes, you saw his restraint beginning to fray, a tempest of emotion churning from within.

Then, with little distance to close, you moved to his side, pressing your head against his chest. You expected the man to make an excuse, a reason as to why you should keep a distance. Yet, he never said a word or pulled away.

So, you leaned in closer, faces an inch apart as he breathed against your skin. Gently, you brought your hand against the side of his face, cupping it as you brushed your lips against his. Softly, you tested him, wanting to see how far he was willing. Yet, before you could break this innocent kiss, you felt his arm circle around your waist, pulling you even closer.

As the kiss deepened, his other hand traveled down to your hip, resting his palm above it before squeezing. He was humming in delight, lost in a state of bliss as he tasted and savored you. With every rumble and hum he made, it traveled straight to your core, blossoming a heat that made you press your thighs. Your head was already spinning from excitement, your heart pounding in your ears.

Yet, reluctantly, you pulled away from the kiss, rasping,

“Fa-Father, I—“

“Don’t call me Father when I am about to sin.”

There was a sharp edge to his voice when he muttered, almost in warning. In that moment, he wanted nothing with his title, not to hear or be addressed by it. He only wanted to hear your voice say his name, again and again.

As he rested his forehead against yours, you saw a man torn between his desires and duties. Yet, with the taste of sin still fresh in his mind, you knew that the battle had been won.

“What now, Francis?”

“Kiss me again.”

———

[cinnamostar]

ethereality

pairing : felix x gn!reader

summary : early mornings with your boyfriend

wc : 913

cw : fluff, mentions of insecurities, just rambling abt being in love idk, not proofread

a/n : i got very inspired by the book im reading rn so i wrote this lil thing in an hour lol let me know what you think!! likes + reblogs appreciated <3

You lay next to your boyfriend, Felix, who was flat on his back with an arm wrapped around your shoulder. You’re laying on your side, pressing against him with a leg over his as the morning light creeps behind the curtains, coloring Felix’s face in an iridescent glow. Days like this were your favorite, where it was only you, Felix, and the quiet early mornings that lazed around with you til one of you decided it was time to get up.

Your eyes study Felix’s features, drinking up each detail of him for the millionth time as he scrolls through whatever social media app caught his attention today. His eyes were dark as the universes’ vast skies, yet they were not void of life or hope, his eyes gleaming as if God stepped down and personally hung the stars in his coffee eyes. It was as if his freckles were each gingerly placed down with the tender and steady hand of a painter, one whose precision and attention to detail you thanked every day for blessing you with this angelic sight, one your earthly eyes would never be able to fully appreciate. He was too grand for any being on this planet, not even those with the finest tastes and have witnessed all the luxuries of the world would ever understand just how artisanal he was.

Your fingers trace down his cheekbones, eyes wandering just below his jaw where an emerald vein glowed beneath his skin, just like a photograph of lightning striking down. It was silly, you thought to yourself, it was silly to have found yourself so hopelessly in love with a boy that now you couldn’t help but compare his beauty to the cosmos and world around you. His very being emanated an ethereal energy that you wish you could compare to, one you alway felt you constantly felt short to, but you prayed under hushed incantations that you’d be able to bask under it for the rest of your life.

Was it obsessive? Was it almost biblical the way you found yourself revering him? Probably, but you were too lovesick to ever question it, finding yourself trapped in his orbit, though you wouldn’t have it any other way. For years, scholars in the olden days questioned whether the sun revolved around us, but you quickly found the answer in a matter of seconds the day you met Felix. How pitiful, you thought, all they had to ever do was fall in love to answer that question, but they were too nose deep into their mathematical equations to ever recognize such an obvious truth of life.

“You okay, love?” His deep voice breaks you out of your trance, an amused smile playing onto his lips as he glances down at your lovestruck state. 

“Better than okay,” you reply, a flustering heat racing to your cheeks, feeling shy that he had — once again — caught you admiring him.

He drops his phone to his side as he languidly reaches his other arm over you, squeezing you into a tight embrace as he presses a chaste kiss on your forehead, “Can I know what you’re thinking about?” he asks in a hushed whisper, his lips next to your ears, sending shivers down your spine.

A soft chuckle escapes you at his sudden affection, only deepening your embarrassment, “Only for a kiss,” you tease, still giggling as he peels his face away from the crook of your neck with a feigned expression of betrayal.

“Oh? I didn’t know my kisses became a form of currency now,” nonetheless, through his candied smile, he leans down to place a loving peck on your lips, lingering for a moment before pulling away, “Alright, pay up now. I did my side of the bargain,” he jokes.

You roll your eyes playfully, your heart bursting at its seams, struggling to contain the overwhelming amount of love it was just attacked with. “Fine, fine. I was just admiring how handsome you are. Is that a crime?”

He chuckles shyly under your compliments, his cheeks flushing into a light pink, your words always seem to leave him defenseless. “You’re too kind to me, love,” he replies, a sad undertone seeping through his words. Despite your onslaught of adoration for him, despite how many times you have made it clear to him how irrevocably in love you were, he could never quite understand what you saw in him. 

“You deserve no less,” you reply tenderly, your hands running through his hair comfortingly, sensing his insecurities bubble up just by the slight shift in his tone.

“Thank you,” he holds you tighter, his face finding itself in your shoulder once more to avoid your gaze, “I just wish I saw what you saw,” he confesses somberly.

You ponder for a moment, trying to find the right words, “I guess it’s like the sun, baby. The sun is perhaps one of the prettiest things this planet has had the privilege to witness, and it fills our bleak little planet with so much love and life.”

He hums at your words, taking them in before responding, “I think it sucks being the sun sometimes.”

“Hm, why do you say that?”

“The sun can’t see itself,” he thinks aloud, “but I guess at least it gets to see the world around it,” he releases you from his hold, laying once more on his back while looking above, “Like you, like the beauty it has to offer.”