#Keepsake Cushions

[funcushions]

Preserving Memories: The Enduring Comfort of Keepsake Cushions

Keepsake cushions are a wonderful way to preserve memories and cherish special moments. These cushions are not just decorative but also hold sentimental value. They are often made by repurposing old clothing, such as baby clothes, wedding dresses, or shirts of a loved one who has passed away.

The process of making keepsake cushions involves carefully cutting and sewing the fabric to create a unique and personalized cushion. It's a creative way to upcycle old clothing and turn them into something meaningful.

People often choose to have keepsake cushions made to commemorate important events like weddings, births, or to remember a loved one. These cushions can serve as a comforting reminder of happy times or loved ones who are no longer with us.

You can also design your keepsake cushions with us. If you wish to add a photo or a quote ghat reminds you of a loved one, you can design it on purpose website itself.

Whether displayed on a couch, bed, or kept in a special place, keepsake cushions add a personal touch to any space. They are not just decorative items but also hold deep emotional significance, making them truly special keepsakes.

Keepsakes could be anything that you like or would want to remember. Anything and everything can be designed and printed on these cushions. You may use them as show pieces or actually use them as comfort usage.

[skelekins]

some doodles

wrote pirate brainrot elsewhere but he's some quickies

Southwind (pirate!Fumes) was big but he fought a sea serpent to keep kelek from dieing which resulted in him getting minimized and saved by ocean magic

i mostly wanted to draw Southwind lmao. Kelek is very rough. He doesn't go to the docks or sail but he lives on an island thats mainly populated by pirates/pirate adjacent and helps with moving goods.

Southwind is an information hub whereas Kelek does a lot of busywork - mending and crafting.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Not A Verstappen: Lights Out {5}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: The most anticipated race of the year is here, and the most controversial, Las Vegas GP. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, fluff, angst, injury WC: 3.5k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten NAV: Lights Out One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six

Round Twenty Two - Las Vegas

Kristian sat on a weight bench, flipping through the pages of the motherhood magazine he was reading. Every so often he would look up and give some guidance until the tips became a nuisance.

“I should have fired you,” you muttered as you rose up from the last lunge.

“You say that a lot but you should keep your back straight,” he shot back, grating you further with the slow scrape of the page turning. “And keep your feet in line with your hips.”

“Can we play some decent music at least?” you whined between the gulps of water you swallowed down. The training was far less intensive than they used to be with everything focused on just maintaining fitness and health rather than a goal weight or strength like before.

“Nope,” he chuckled, clearly enjoying being able to boss you around the gym again. “Baroque is good for the baby.”

“Bullshit.” There was no way the classical music meant anything to her, she was only the size of an avocado - or so Lando said. He had an app that he checked daily and uploaded photos onto as a keepsake. 

Kristian turned back to the start of the magazine and turned it around, tapping the title of the article. “So you think you know more than Harvard scholars now, Spitfire?”

He took your silence for defeat and pointed to the pool door. “Twenty lap cool down and then it’s breakfast.”

Your stomach grumbled at the mention of food and you grabbed a towel as you passed the door to the changing room. Breakfast didn’t feel like the right term since it was well past lunchtime. The whole Las Vegas schedule had screwed your body clock with the late night practices and qualifying rounds but you were grateful it was the last night of it. 

Lando and Charles had been fast asleep when you slipped out of the room. Something had disturbed you from the dream you were having and despite the room being pitch black with the thick blockout curtains your body could tell it was daytime. Thankfully Kristian was already awake and happy to move your fitness session up a few hours. 

Cool water washed over you as you dove into the tepid pool and started to glide along the surface. One, two, three, breathe. One, two, three, breathe. The monotony was therapeutic and you didn’t even bother to keep count of the laps - your mind was elsewhere.

You had been dead on your feet in the wee hours of the morning after you finally left the track with Lando and Charles after qualifying finished. They still had adrenaline flooding their systems and had no hope of sleeping when they sunk into the couch cushions and pulled your exhausted body over their legs. 

You were in a drowsy state, half asleep but half aware of the other two chatting quietly together. Their hands had softly caressed your skin, brushing your shirt up so they could feel the warmth of your abdomen beneath their palms. 

“She’s so beautiful, Cha, and she’s carrying our kid. I don’t think I have ever been this happy in my life,” Lando hummed as he rested his head on Charles’ shoulder and smiled at their hands. 

“We are very lucky to have her,” he agreed as he kissed Lando softly.

“So…” You tasted the mischief in Lando’s drawn out tone and it stirred some energy back into your body. “When can I start calling you daddy?”

Charles’ legs shifted beneath you with a groan and you willed your eyes to open as his cheeks flushed pink. “Mon cher...”

“You can call me papi chulo,” Lando smirked. “It means-”

“I know what it means,” Charles choked, knowing exactly who had taught him that too. “Carlos is a menace, but if anyone is going to be papi chulo it’s me.”  

You nearly swallowed a mouthful of water as the memory of what had happened next led to a lapse in your count and you pulled yourself out of the pool with a splutter. Those two had a lot to answer for.

“Here,” Kristian said as he tossed a bottle of water to you. “Try not to drink from the pool.”

“What would I do without you?” you asked dryly. 

“I don’t dare to think about that,” he joked before he said your favourite words. “Let’s go eat.”

You stared at the egg on your plate before pushing it away with disinterest. Charles looked up from his own plate and frowned at the rare sight of the food that remained on yours. 

“Would you like something else, mamie?”

You smiled at the new endearment and watched Lando cut an avocado in half before passing one part over to you. The vibrant green flesh did look delicious but when you held it in your hand you could only think about the bump that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. You hadn’t noticed it before changing into your swimsuit but when you peeled the tight layer off in the gym's changing room you had frozen. The mirrored wall caught your side profile under glaring fluorescent lights and there, just below your belly button it swelled ever so slightly. 

A hand waved in front of your face and you broke away from the memory to see both your boyfriends watching you with worried frowns. One of them had obviously spoken to you but you couldn’t recall hearing them as you stared at the avocado. 

“You’re crying,” Lando murmured as he swiped away the tear on your cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s this big already. Our baby is the size of an avocado. She’s so tiny,” you said with a small laugh, raising the fruit higher for inspection. They looked at you like you were a little crazy and it wouldn’t have been the first time that was suspected but you pushed the chair out and placed the avocado back on the table. “Come, I want to show you something.”

You led them to the bedroom and Charles opened his mouth to break the bad news that they didn’t have time for even a quickie. The thought had crossed your mind when you found them still naked and splayed across the bed before breakfast was ready, but they needed to get to the track soon for media duties and to prepare for the race. 

“That’s a shame but also not what I came here for,” you admitted as you started to remove your shirt. 

“I’m getting mixed messages here,” Lando chuckled as he reached for his own shirt. “But I don’t mind being late.”

“Stop, before I really do make you stay,” you chuckled knowing they would do anything for you. You dropped your shirt and turned sideways while you stared at the reflection in the mirror. “Look…”

Their eyes followed the wave of your hand, the way your palm drifted over your hip to cradle the small bump, and Lando gasped along with Charles soft praise. Knees hit the soft carpet below your feet and warm lips replaced your hand, teasing your skin with kisses. Two heads of dark hair bowed against your stomach and whispered words of promise you couldn’t quite hear, but they weren’t for your ears. Finally they looked up, emerald and azure eyes filled with enough love that you were certain your chest was going to crack open.

You reached for their cheeks and felt the same dampness that coated yours. “She’s real,” you whispered. It had taken a few weeks but finally it all felt real. She wasn’t just a picture on a piece of paper or measurements of a hormone in a blood test. She was real, and she was yours.

“You look like a twat,” you greeted Max with a grin, flapping the collar of his race suit made to replicate Elvis Presley. “You’re just missing the blue suede shoes.”

Max rolled his eyes and ducked his head when you tried to mess his gelled hair up. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.”

“Oh I am,” you laughed, slipping back into Charles’ side. “I’m actually happy to sit out this circus act.”

Max narrowed his eyes as he scanned your face for a lie or bitterness but all he saw was a bright smile and genuine amusement sparkling in your eyes. A sense of relief washed over him as for the first time since losing your seat you looked completely content and happy.

“I don’t blame you,” he finally replied and looked down at the costume he had been given. He would be glad when all this was over too. “I’ll see you at Omnia?”

The sun had already set on the strip and the temperature was quickly dropping as the hour grew late, and closer to the start of the race. “Maybe, if it’s a boring race I might not even be awake to see the end of it.”

“Fair enough.” He hoped you would be there to celebrate whatever the results were but he knew you were more exhausted in your current state and wouldn’t hold it against you. Christian waved at Max from across the street that divided the hospitality area from the garages and he gave you a quick hug, clapping Charles in the shoulder as he passed. “The Ring Master calls.”

“Drive safe!” He threw a thumbs up over his shoulder in answer and you laced your fingers with Charles’ before continuing to the McLaren garage.

It was strangely quiet for a race that had been hyped up so much over the last year, but you were kind of relieved that there were less people to weave between. It was great that the sport was growing in popularity but it was a pain in the ass trying to get anywhere when you are squashed like sardines in the paddock.

Somehow you still managed to bump into someone.

“Shit, sorry, Logan.”

“That was my bad,” he apologised as he turned to face the direction he was walking, waving back to the fan who had stopped him. His eyes widened when he saw who he had collided with and regret painted on his face. “Shit, are you alright? I didn’t hurt you, did I, or the, um…” he waved a hand to your stomach and you tilted your head wondering who had told him.

“I’m fine, but you knew?”

Logan scratched the back of his neck nervously and shrugged. “The walls were thin in the medical centre.”

You were dumbfounded and the sound that bubbled from your chest confirmed it. “Huh.”

“I haven’t told anyone, and I won’t,” he promised before his name was called and he waved to his PT. “Oh, congratulations though, I probably should have started with that.”

Charles laughed and shook the American’s hand. “Thanks, mate.”

You smiled and accepted the half hug he offered, probably thinking a handshake would be even more awkward. “Thanks, and congrats on your first point too.”

“Not as exciting as a baby.”

“Yeah it is,” you laughed, remembering your first point for Alpha Tauri. “That’s your baby right now.”

His smile grew as he set off to his PT and you carried on your way to see Lando before the race. There was still over an hour until lights out but every minute had been scheduled for media duties, meet and greets, and the driver parade. You wanted to have a few moments of their time before releasing them to the wild.

Charles’ hand slipped from yours as you reached McLaren and he cradled your cheek before kissing you. “Are you alright to get back on your own?”

You rolled your eyes before looking at the Ferrari space four garages down. “I don’t know, it’s pretty far…I might get lost and end up in the Bellagio.”

“If you do, bet it all on Red for me,” he joked. The smile on his face dimmed as he saw the magician and Carlos waiting for him. “I’ll see you after the race, mamie. Je t’aime.”

“Love you too.”

“And Lando too.” He would have preferred to tell Lando himself but he just ran out of time with all the activities his team had planned for race day.

“I’ll let him know, and I’ll even give him a kiss from you,” you teased as you stole another kiss for good measure.

“Any advice from the current world champion?” he asked as he started to back away.

You shook your head. “It’s Vegas, baby, just give them one hell of a show.”

To say the atmosphere in Ferrari was charged was an understatement. There was resentment for Carlos’ car being destroyed and his mechanics gritted their teeth as they walked to the middle of the grid thanks to the penalties for fixing the car. On the other side of the garage, the side where you sat with Joris, excitement permeated the air as you watched Charles’ walk to his car parked in pole position.

You were torn between that excitement and the sadness that had followed you since leaving McLaren. Lando was being too hard on himself again for the bad luck he had qualifying 15th, but he was determined to make his way to the front of the pack. If anyone was going to be called Spitfire in the race, it was going to be him. He was going to dogfight his way forward from the moment the lights went out.

One of the cameras panned the crowd and you spotted him walking up from his spot three quarters of the way down the grid, all the way to the front where Charles was talking to Max. For a moment you were once again hit with the sense of longing to be out there but the feeling washed away as quick as it came.

“Do you want anything to eat?” Joris asked as he looked up from his phone. You chuckled knowing Charles would have sent the reminder text but you shook your head. 

“I’m fine, thank you. And you can tell Charles I am keeping hydrated too,” you said with a smile, shaking your water bottle for him to see. 

“You can always trust him to worry more about others, even when he’s meant to be focusing on the race,” he laughed as he sent the reply. “Have you thought any more about where you want to go for the maternity shoot?”

Charles had been eager to lock his friend in as the official bump photographer but there was still another four months until it was the best time to have them taken. He was also open to taking photos while you were in labour but you weren't too sure how you felt about that yet.

“Somewhere warm.”

“So no alpine backdrops then,” he chuckled, probably remembering how much you had complained about hiking in the snow last winter.

You scoffed at the idea, an adamant refusal to it. “Not if you’re expecting me to wear something that shows the bump.”

The action around the garages stilled as the guests on the grid were guided away for the formation lap to begin and you breathed a sigh of relief when Charles made it back to the first box without drama. Even Joris released a nervous laugh beside you. 

“That’s a better start,” he murmured so the engineers around him didn’t hear. 

“Couldn’t get any worse than the last one,” you replied just as quietly. 

You held your breath and felt the same rush of adrenalin fill you as if you were right out there in front of the lights with them. Your fingers twitched at your sides, the muscle memory begging them to prepare for action as each red light appeared, then all five were gone. The keen whines of twenty engines accelerating to their limit screamed into the night and you grinned at the sound even though it was muted by the headset. 

“Oh, fuck off, Max,” you screamed as he pushed Charles wide and they both went off track before pulling back on with your brother taking the lead. Suddenly your attention was brought to the back of the pack where multiple cars had been involved in an incident, but Lando had managed to avoid it and slip ahead a few places too. “Come on, baby, you can do it.”

Although there had been a lot of complaints about the showy nature of racing in Las Vegas, there was no denying it was a track that offered a lot of entertainment with long straights to overtake and high risk high reward corners too. You could barely sit still with your eyes glued to the many screens around the garage offering almost every angle of the race. 

“Ok, I think this race has just redeemed itself,” you commented with a smile as you watched the battles taking place around the track. 

“It is pretty amazing,” Joris said with his own excited grin, but shock fell over him and you snapped your head back to screen dreading seeing Charles out of the race again. But it wasn’t Charles. 

Sparks flew as the floor hit the asphalt and your brain couldn’t seem to understand why Lando’s car was facing the wrong way. Still it kept skidding along the straight at full speed, spinning back around just before it collided with the barrier at the end of the runoff. Your breath left your lungs with the force of the collision and your entire body stiffened as your ears began to ring loudly. Your stomach lurched as you desperately hit the keys on the screen to select the driver view and you saw Lando’s shaking hands pull his steering console out.

“I, I need to go,” you whispered as you stood up on weak legs. “Can you tell Charles?”

“Xavi can do that, I’ll walk with you,” he said with a shake of his head. His arm looped with yours and stabilised you as you tried to rush out of the garage. They weren’t even stopping the race because he wasn’t on track and that made you feel even sicker. What if someone else went into the runoff? 

“Mr Norris,” Joris called out, waving the worried man down. You blinked as you realised you were already in the McLaren garage, but you couldn’t remember the walk there. 

“He’s alright,” Adam assured you as he pulled you into his side and thanked Joris for the escort. “I spoke to him after he got out of the car. They are going to the medical centre. Come on, darling, we can go together.”

“He’s alright?” you double checked, your vision blurring with tears. 

Adam gave a sure nod as he started back the way you came, except he went towards the medical centre instead of the other garages. “His ribs hurt but he’s tough.”

Max said that when he was a child he would sleep walk, Vicki too. You imagined this was how they felt. Detached. Moving through darkness. Closing your eyes and waking in a new place. You blinked and the concrete path you were on was suddenly linoleum. 

“Lando…” you sighed as you found him on a gurney, white blankets tucked in close around him. 

“Heeeey,” he slurred happily, wincing as he snaked a hand out of his swaddle to reach for you. “It’s my girls.”

“You’re on the strong stuff, aren’t you, my love?” You faked a smile for him and took his hand, tilting your head towards Adam and the doctor explaining what was happening. You carefully leaned over the bed and kissed Lando until he broke out in giggles and his head lolled lazily back against the pillow. 

“They’re taking him to the hospital for some scans just in case there’s any broken ribs,” Adam relayed when he reached your side and gave Lando a kiss on his forehead. “How are you feeling, son?”

“It hurts to breathe, but this is good,” he said, holding up his hand that was connected to the IV bag filled with strong painkillers. 

A nurse came and unlocked the wheels on the gurney before asking who was going to ride in the ambulance with Lando. Adam looked at you and nodded, and though you knew he would have wanted to go with his son himself you were selfish and couldn’t leave his side. 

“I’ll follow behind,” Adam promised before Lando was wheeled away. 

You walked at Lando’s side out of the medical centre and found tv crews waiting, their cameras zoomed in on Lando and capturing his almost drunken state. A little loopy from the drugs in his system, he waved his fingers at the camera. “This will be on Netflix next year,” he laughed before wincing at the pain that flared. “So it’s safe to tell them, ‘I’M GOING TO BE A FATHER!’ and they can’t say a thing.”

Adam froze at his son’s outburst, though it was no secret that he was eager to shout to the world his joy. “Lando…” he growled, looking at your wide eyes.

“What? They aren’t allowed to use the footage for months,” he huffed. 

“That’s not Netflix,” you whispered, swallowing the lump in your throat as you watched the tv crew almost tremble with excitement. “That’s Sky TV.”

Click here for the next part.

[gremlin-girly]

Flufftober Day 13

@flufftober

Prompt(s): Attic, Cellar, Hidden Room

Title: Attic

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x gn!Reader

Tags/warnings: FLUFF, Arachnophobia, implied smut at the very end (but I did write with the intention of just kisses!), retching/vomiting/nausea mentioned, literally as scared as you could possibly imagine, crying, panicking, comfort, friends to lovers (ig?)

Summary: You haven't cleared out your attic in a long time and rope in Bucky to help you; not expecting to be scared out of your wits.

Word count: 2k

A/N: This is one of 3 fics I had for this prompt. They will get linked here and on the Masterlist once they've been edited. Can you tell I'm arachnophobic? I'm so scared of spiders it's untrue (and I may have or may not have experienced the retching from fear hahaha) - Love, Grem x

Attic | Cellar | Hidden Room

Prev | Next | Masterlist

Your attic had not been cleared out in years. The accumulation of stuff and things was now too much and you knew you needed to sort through memories, keepsakes and – let’s be real – shit you no longer needed. So, you enlisted the help of your roughest, toughest, friend to help you along; Bucky Barnes.

Although he usually preferred holding onto memorabilia, he knew how to keep you on task, unlike Steve who would simply melt at your puppy dog eyes. No. You needed Bucky to help you be strong.

And you needed him to stand guard to protect you from anything that might move in the attic.

You weren’t necessarily squeamish, but one big reason you had opted to ignore the growing mass of stuff-and-things was spiders. Attics , especially old ones like yours, held untold horrors of gigantic eight-legged fiends that 100000% would attack you if given the chance.

Maybe poison you.

And eat you.

Maybe.

Regardless of whether the fear was justified or not, the fear remained and Bucky was the only one you felt would adequately protect you from such a creature. Even if you had never seen said fiends in your house thus far.

You made Bucky go into the attic first. There were two reasons for this. The first was if there were any spiders lying in wait as the attic door popped open, they would get him first and you could run. The second was so that you could subtly appreciate his strong build from the other end of the landing.

“Doll, why are you standing so far away?” Bucky had queried after opening the hatch and turning on the attic light. He was turning to look at you with a raised brow, utterly confused as you tentatively stepped closer to the ladder.

“Just in case you fell,” you lie, your nerves shot. “Wouldn’t want to get crushed.”

Bucky chuckles. “So you’d not cushion my fall? That’s nice to know.”

He crawls up the ladder and you follow closely behind, racing up the steps quickly before you chicken out. You and Bucky pull boxes and make chit chat about memories linked to your boxes and share stories about growing up. Soon, you’ve relaxed enough to actually begin enjoying the time you’re spending with Bucky.

“Thanks for helping me,” you say, smiling over at him as you open the next box.

“It’s no problem, doll.” Bucky smiles back, filling up another bag of stuff for charity. “But I don’t know why you couldn’t get up here yourself?”

You hesitate for a moment, wondering if you should say anything about your irrational fear of spiders, but decide against it.

“Just wanted the company, is all.” It’s a half truth, you like having Bucky around. Well, a lot more than just like. But it’s a can of worms you aren’t willing to open with him yet.

Bucky seems satisfied with your answer and hums in response. A comfortable silence settles as you both work, sorting through your stuff-and-things, dust pluming and giving a stuffy air to the warm attic. Your eyes occasionally rake over Bucky and your thoughts begin to walk in circles. You were grateful for his friendship, his help and his kindness. You only wished you could pluck up enough courage to ask him out on a date – without the worry that it would jeopardise your friendship. You also didn’t want to embarrass yourself if you’d read too much into the spared glances and giggles you both shared.

You stuck your arm into the black bag before you, mindlessly repeating the same conversation with yourself when you felt something on your arm. You frown and try to peer into the bag. The sticker on the side read winter clothes so it must have been a finger of a glove or a-

It moved.

You freeze. No. You were imagining things. It was totally a glove. Your hand is balled into a tight fist in the bag, lost between layers of scarves and jumpers, but there is definitely something moving against your forearm.

Bucky looks over at you concerned. Super soldier hearing means he can not only hear the sound of your stuttered breathing ; he can also hear your heart racing so erratically that he thought you would pass out. Bucky watches as you stay still and you whisper his name so quietly he almost misses it.

“Yeah doll? You okay?”

You turn to look at him slowly and Bucky’s concern grows exponentially when he sees tears in your eyes. You shake your head, slowly. He takes a step towards you, making the floor board creak loudly. The vibration of the floorboard makes the thing against your arm wriggle further and you let out a hushed sob.

What had you said about not embarrassing yourself in front of Bucky?

Your lip quivers and tears spill from your eyes as you look at him, seeing his confused and concerned expression. Words die in your throat and you just nod and your arm. Bucky's blue eyes drift downwards following your arm into the black bag. He doesn’t see anything at first and was about to ask if this was some sort of prank. However, as bad luck would have it, very long, very hairy legs appear at your elbow.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky mutters, staring wide eyed. You’re too busy having an existential crisis to care but if you weren’t you’d probably throw something at him.

“Please,” you choke out hoarsely refusing to look down at your arm. You felt nauseous. Maybe you’d pass out. Or throw up.... or both.

Bucky looked at you and then back down to your arm where four pairs of eyes blinked up at him.

“I’ll need a cup.”

“Fuck you and your cup!” You hiss angrily. “You have a metal arm. Just pick him up and throw him out.”

Bucky looks at you dumbfounded, as if you’ve suggested something utterly disgusting, then realisation dawns and he flexes his metal hand. “Oh, yeah.”

The spider moves a little higher, long fuzzy legs tickling the crease in your elbow as it feels its way up your arm slowly. It’s enough to make you heave. If being freaked out by a spider wouldn’t embarrass you in front of Bucky, vomiting from fear would. Your retching seems to snap Bucky out of his stupor of forgetting he does in fact, have a metal arm to deal with the spider. Bucky watches as your shoulder violently move as you retch again, harder this time, and listens to your staggered breathing as you attempt to stay in control.

He reaches over with his metal palm up, placing it gently against your bicep. The vibranium was luke-warm against your flushed skin. You were already breaking a sweat from anxiety mixed with the tepid dry heat of the attic and wished for once his arm was cool to bring some relief.

“Just stay still, doll.” Bucky instructs softly, waiting for the perfect moment as the spider makes its way into Bucky’s palm. You bite back a venomous quip, clamping your mouth shut instead. Once the spider is nestled in his palm, Bucky reels back and throws it across the attic. The spider lands in the cushioned yellow foam between the floorboards, re-orienting itself briefly, before scuttling awkwardly into a crevice.

Bucky would have turned back to you to comfort you but there was an empty space where you once stood. Upon feeling the spider and Bucky’s hand leave your arm, you had practically thrown yourself from the attic. You didn’t even know if you took the ladder or jumped. You were too pre-occupied crying on your bed, trying desperately to calm down.

Bucky appears at your bedroom door with a gentle knock and a soft smile as your wiping your eyes, breathing finally evening out enough with only a few hiccups of sobs.

“Sorry,” you say thickly, sniffing pitifully. “And thanks for getting rid of it.”

Bucky shrugs and comes closer to you, sitting next to you on the bed. “He was pretty damn big, gave me a fright too.”

The thought of the spider scaring Bucky too makes you smile over at him. You sniff again and realise you must look crazy; crying and hyperventilating over a spider touching you. You shiver at the thought and try to quell a wave of nausea. You rub the arm the spider was on subconsciously, your mind tricking you into thinking that something is on you again.

Bucky seems to take notice because he places his flesh hand over yours to stop you rubbing your arm too hard. You look over at him again and notice his eyes are looking into yours with a knowing kindness that makes your heart stutter.

“You don’t need to be sorry.” He says firmly and then, quieter, he asks, “Is that why you wanted me here?”

You nod. “I... I don’t do well with spiders.”

“I can see that,” Bucky grins and you shoot him a glare. But it’s half hearted and you falter into a chuckle. You rub at your eyes again, removing the last of the tears.

“I just wanted to make sure I didn’t pass out if I saw one. And I like your company so... two birds.” You shrug sheepishly and Bucky nudges your shoulder with his playfully.

“Well, congrats doll. You didn’t pass out. And...” He trails for a moment, deciding on what to say. “I like your company too.”

You feel your cheeks go a little pink but say nothing. You take a deep breath and exhale a long  exhaustive, lung-emptying breath, body finally letting go of the adrenaline. However, it all kicks up again when you feel Bucky inch closer to wrap his arm around you in an incredibly awkward, yet incredibly comforting side hug. He pulls you close and you're squished against his shoulder as he rests his chin on your head. Your face heats and you don’t know where to put your newly sweaty palms other than onto your jeans. Finally, you breathe and it’s like a switch flips. You relax entirely in Bucky’s embrace and lean your head into his shoulder, mumbling thanks.

You head vibrates as Bucky’s chest rumbles with a chuckle. “No worries doll. But maybe we cut the sorting short for today, huh? You made good progress.”

You beam proudly, even though he can’t see it. “Yeah. I think so. We were only up there for about two hours."

You hum thoughtfully, breathing in the scent of his aftershave. "So, uh, do you want to watch a movie or something? I’d feel bad that you came all the way here to help.”

“Sure. I’d like that.”

But he doesn’t move.

And neither do you.

You don’t really know how long you sit together, breathing in the smell of him, slotting under him as if you were always meant to. It isn’t  until you sigh as your eyes flutter closed that you feel Bucky’s head move. His nose brushes the your crown and he inhales the scent of your shampoo and ever so gently presses his lips against your hair.  You shift, unsure of how to react, and that makes Bucky stiffen with the realisation he’d just kissed your head on autopilot. Your cheeks flush – as do his. Yet you both remain silent for a few more moments.

“Bucky?” you call out quietly.

“Yeah, doll?”

Another pause.

“Do that again.”

He hesitates but complies.

And continues to comply every time you command it, eventually kissing all the way down to your cheeks, hovering at your lips. With one last command, he meets your eyes briefly before they flutter closed and your lips meet.

Neither of you watch the movie until, much, much later and even then you’re both too wrapped up in one another to care. That day was the first of many good days to come.

Who'd have thought you would be thankful to a spider for bringing you and Bucky together?

[moondirti]

charcoal

pairing: John 'Soap' MacTavish x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ mdni) word count: 2.6k summary: you and johnny draw portraits of one another warnings: cock warming, unprotected p-in-v, creampies, handjobs, tooth rotting fluff, nude drawings, light masochism, mentions of death notes: inspired by soap's journal in mw3. our sweet boy can draw :)

“Sit still.”

A whisper, spoken like a fervent kiss to the space between you. Humid air, smothered under his peppercorn cologne and the tangy warmth of lingering sex. Johnny’s pelvis remains glued to the back of your thighs, conjoined at that sweltering centre, gently swelling back to rock-hard shape. It works to plug you full of him, a barrier to the cum he’d spilt a mere thirty minutes prior.  

Mere. To you, long hours have gone by while stuck in this state, oscillating from painful overstimulation to an insatiable urge that only exists with him – more, more – and back again. But he exercises a surprising restraint. No. Unexpected. A fortitude obviously cultivated in the SAS, carbon under pressure, polished and primed. One that is diamond-sharp, deadly even, but usually crumbles to dust around you. 

He keeps your leg hooked over one broad shoulder. The other quivers, cushioned by the duvet, serving as a surface for the item he’d fetched in a rush. 

Fuck. Hold it righ’ there. Freshly spent, glowing with an endorphin-logged high.

Huh– W-What’re you doing? 

Y'look so bloody beautiful like this, hen. Have ta memorialise it. 

Ever the flatterer. You’ve no doubt you’re a mess – mussed hair, smudged mascara. The only thing he’d left in his stripping you was the necklace you’d worn for his welcome home; a golden chain, charmed with a replica of his dog tag and an antique locket you’d salvaged from your grandmother’s place.

You thought he’d been reaching for a polaroid; a quick snapshot of the moment, print to be stapled to the inside of his combat coat. But he’d ducked under your bed – not the nightstand where you kept the camera – and ruffled through dust bunnies and expired condoms for the stash of things he deems too important to take with him to the job. Material objects, little keepsakes, left to rot behind, with you. 

He’d come back up with a self-satisfied grin, a journal – moleskine bound and half-full of rough scribbles – clasped between waving fingers. 

It’s not the first time he draws you. Just the first time he does of such an intimate scene. 

Clenching involuntarily, you flush at the thought. Johnny’s free hand tenses from its place on your knee, soothing circles turned bruising touch. Giggling, you squeeze him again, only to be met with a particularly vicious thrust of his hips. 

“Nng-! Christ,” 

“What'd I tell ya?” 

“I had been.” The protest peaks at the back of your throat, forming something more akin to a whine. His chuckle is indicative of the fact; sunlit bough and soft moss gaze catching yours. His eyes pool like honey in the lowlight, gold drawn out by the haze of your surroundings. Warm. “You’re taking too long.” 

“Wad ye rather I get the shadin’ on yer tits wrong?” He teases, gaelic-curled accent accompanied by sharp scratches of charcoal on paper. The black dust coats calloused fingertips, concentrated on the middle, the one he uses for smudging. “Ye'll end up lookin like ma great aunt.” 

“That’s gross.” 

“Watch it. Rory was a great woman.” 

But his chest widens in that special way, skin rippling over thickset sinew, and you know his current contentment runs bone deep. He gloats it, wearing the radiance like he does the sweat; the tender marks along his neck, imprints of your teeth cut in blood. His battle scars pale in contrast, silver and thin and nothing when set beside the raised scratches, red, carved mid-fuck. 

You’ve tried to be gentle with him. Really, you have. 

You just found he doesn’t prefer it.

A Noah’s-Ark cataclysm of rain, unending cataracts of water sluicing from the sky. They wash over the windshield, the windows – you can barely see beyond the hood of his car. 

It was your suggestion to wait the storm out. You’d gone on a picnic for your first date, perched up high on some mountain that now seems too formidable to scale down.

Spice with rosy overtones. His scent is intoxicating, distilled on that spot – the edge of a broad tendon that stretches up his neck. Johnny’s clad in a polo shirt, the collar slightly popped to cover the patch of skin, but you catch sight of it every once in a while. Enough to fuel your internal screams, urging you to act against what is proper. 

Hold out ‘till the next time you see him. Leave him wanting more.

He’s talking. Something about football and fake turf scrapes. 

God. That voice. Full-bodied, confident with all the charisma to match. You latch on to every syllable, basking in the way they furl from him – rolled r’s, two element vowels morphing to one. What’s the word for gorgeous in Scottish jargon? He’d taught you it over a bowl of strawberries. 

Broad. Brock. Brow. Br… something.

But his thumb had swiped out to the edge of your lip to catch a bead of stray juice, and you’d lost all wit. In one ear, out the other. Boiled down to a saccharine, lust-filled puree. 

You’d wanted to take the digit into your mouth. 

The high altitude ensures the car is frigid, windows chilled with a freezing pellet downpour. The skirt you wore does nothing to hide the goosebumps that prickle down your thighs. 

It’s not the weather, though. It’s him. He inspires a cyclone in you, a vortex of violently rotating winds that upturn every function. Hot. Cold. A puddle of melted something, stirring deep within the recesses of your gut. Your attempts to smother it down will forever be in vain. 

Him. Him.

He drives you mad. You’re fucking stupid. 

But pellucid blue light streams in from outside, the sun sinking behind gunmetal clouds, and Johnny fills his jeans nicely, you think. Hulking thighs force the denim to its limits, stretched and spread and–

Oh.

Maybe your mind had skipped over it purposely. For knowledge of what it would do to you. In knowing that your panties are already slick, unable to hold the extra saturation. You’ll leak onto his seat. 

Fuck.

A prominent, massive bulge. Strained, outwardly painful. 

Enticing. 

You flood, anyway. Overbearing heat and oblivion striking your core. A breath catches, spinning to form a small bubble of recklessness between constricting lungs. 

You speak before you begin to process it all. 

“We’ll be here for a while.” 

Stupid, silly girl. 

He halts, tangent lost to the half-lidded look you give him. Your nails graze the arm nearest to you, propped on the console, brushing through hair to elicit a deep shudder – mirror to your salacity. It tells him what he can already guess. 

In the split second it takes for your impulse to waver, he recovers, back to that ludic man you’d met just last week. 

“And there are only so many things to talk about.” Johnny nods.

Your heart slams on hollow ribs. He may hear it if he tries hard enough; an echoed melody of cosmic yearning. 

“Gotta save some for next time.” 

“Aye.” His head ducks closer to yours, locking you to those bonfire eyes. “Next time?”

“Hmm, if you like me enough.” The suggestion skips across your nervous titter. Spearmint washes over you when he speaks, cold breath a product of the pack of gum he keeps tucked in his car door. He’d told you he reserves the stash for special occasions, with only the ‘prettiest of hens.’ You’d folded the wrapper into a heart and placed it against the stick shift. 

“I like ya, bonnie. Only question is–”  A bent forefinger taps your chin, thumb caressing the curve of it. “Do ye like me?” 

You let your stare flutter down to his lips; perfect, pink, pulled in a devious smirk. It wipes any semblance of logic from you. Propriety, the manners your mother taught you at a holiday dinner table – cross your legs, elbows off the table – dissipate to ash. You’re raw; skinned alive and vulnerable to whatever he wants. 

Crackling nerves. You don’t answer, don’t say a word. 

Instead, you lean in to kiss the scar on his lip. 

And it all goes to hell from there. 

Hurried gropes, desperation fogging. You bend over the centre – precariously balanced on your knees – to hug his head closer to yours. His hands find purchase on your waist, exposed now, your sweater rucked upwards to hang just below your bra. You can see his back in the reflection of the window, his muscles rolling under a too-tight shirt, expanding to accommodate the weight you throw onto him. 

It’s hormone fuelled, messy. Your teeth clack and your tongues wrestle and you can only ponder on releasing him, on untucking his hard length from hindering pants. 

“H-Here–” You stutter into his mouth, left hand smoothing down his chest to dance teasingly at the waistband. His hips buck the slightest bit. “Let me…” 

“Wanna make ye feel good too, lass.” 

“Please.” 

And it must be the way you say it, the keen in your tone, the pout of your lips. You’re close to tears, eyes glossy like the wet road ahead. It must be; mutual magnetism, some shared fondness that makes him concede to your plea  (I like ye, bonnie), before he helps you pull them down to let his cock spring free. Head flush and base thick enough to split your lips. 

You swim impossibly deeper into the pool of crush-drunk abandon. 

Braw. That was it. Braw, for mind-numbing attractiveness. Or so to say– 

Maybe you’re exaggerating. It doesn’t feel like a grand enough word to encapsulate this. To capture him. 

Nothing could be enough. Your first date and yet you sit here, obsessed already, willing to spend a lifetime showing him all you can’t say. How those eyes draw from you a lightness, an ease. Hazel has quickly become your favourite colour. How mohawks are an abomination to conscientious style, but how he makes them work, much to your displeasure. You imagine plugging clippers in a shared bathroom, helping him buzz off the sides prior to longer missions. Sending him off with a kiss that means more than just interest.

“Fuck.”

“Feart, now?” 

His accent thickens in the throes of pleasure. You add the word to your growing list and spit on your hand to help slick him up. 

He stops you before you can wrap it around his leaking cock. “Wait, wait.” 

Head still buried into the crook of his neck, a trail of purpling bruises adorning the stubbled skin of his jaw – you can only spot him in your peripheral, a hazy blur of long eyelashes and a prominent nose. 

His hands unclip your bra when he speaks again: 

“Do it dry. I like when it hurts a little.”

A year later now. He’d wrapped an assignment early to see you on your anniversary. 

“Done?” 

You’re sticky with cooling sweat and spit, fluids hardening on supple flesh in the filtered air of your bedroom. Both naked, posed in the same position; your right glute burns with the ache of a prolonged stretch, still thrown over his shoulder as he hurriedly finishes the final details of his sketch. 

“Almost. Canae fuckin’ get the lightin’ right.” 

“Lemme see,” You make a grab for the journal. He bats your hand away. 

“No.” Johnny huffs, shifting to look at you from a slightly different angle. “I think it’s the glow.” 

“The glow?” 

“Aye. Took ower long ta get those gorgeous tits down, you’ve lost that sex sheen.”

“You’re mad.” 

The hand that was at your knee starts to knead your thigh, grabbing whatever it can hold. An intentional touch, he targets every tender area, sparking a match to an already smouldering flame. The pressure at your core tightens.

“I’d say it’s a quick fix,”

Your hips buck to meet the heavy weight of his palm as it flattens against your pelvis, seeking true fusion to the rough skin. You’re feverish, practically singing him; you spread your legs and do what you can to spear yourself further onto his cock, one that has not yet left the tight clutch of your cunt. 

This is what the poets eulogise, this ‘swete breeth’ reverence. Zephyrus – he’s zephyr adjacent – the god of westerly wind. But he places you on a shrine like he’s not the being made of sun; touches you with a prayer imbued into his callouses – barnacled reminders of his life as Soap. Your Johnny, as he is with you, finds you speechless and continues giving – pouring water onto wet clay, bending you as he pinpoints an electric centre, that bundle of nerves that has you seeing star-speckled pantheons. 

He continues to work your clit even as you kick his back, heel thrashing onto freckled skin. The overstimulation is not creeping, it does not wait until you’ve come undone – no. You’ve been on this tightrope for far too long now, and your legs tremble with the sheer exhaustion of it all. It’s never clear with him, whether the end is in sight. There are often moments of recovery where you pull away, only for him to flip you over and stuff you full again. 

The lewd squelch of your cunt, your wailing moans; you hardly register them as he begins pistoning into you, both hands and dick devoted to completing the picture. All that exists is sacred, divine insensibility. Pleasure in its purest form, locked in this haven where you’re safe to imagine holding onto him forever. 

“J-Johnny… Johnny, God– I’m gonna–”

He gains speed, fucking your sopping heat with a brutal pace, unrelenting as he circles your abused clit. You don’t have it in you to even move, boneless and wholly open to his ministrations. 

“Tha's exactly what we want now, bonnie. Go on, cum for me.” 

The muscles in your core harden, too brittle to stand against the wicked tide brimming within you. It drives you delirious, flooding your instincts. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and your back arches – you absolutely ruin the continuity that comes with being his live model. But you don’t care. You don’t care. He’s so good at hitting you in all the right places – head nudging your cervix, his breadth stretching you out with a fiery sting. He rubs you raw, chafing, and you’re so close. 

You think about jerking him off on your first date, coaxing from him groans that taste like scotch and spearmint-covered strawberries. The sorest handjob known to mankind – he’d cum hard, spurting thick globs of warm fluid onto his lap, webbing your fingers together with his essence. His apologies had fallen on deaf ears when you’d licked yourself clean. 

You think about meeting him at that bar, nursing a fruity drink with a wild name. Your friend had abandoned you for some blonde chick, but Johnny took your lonesome as an opportunity to swoop in and compliment your dress. He’d later told you that he’d only been looking for a quick fix to stall on the grief of a close friend's death. Turns out, ye're not so much a stall, more a remedy, love. Sad tae say I'm glad yer friend was horny that night. 

You think of him, now. Of the past twenty-something pages of his journal filled with nothing but idle doodles of you and gum-wrapper hearts, no longer dedicated to anguished attempts at remembering lost comrades. He’s grown to be a better artist, lines bold and drawn in sole strokes, able to capture just about anything in ballpoint pen alone. 

Well I’ve got the perfect muse now, haven’ I? 

You break, shattering into a million fragments. You know he’ll pick you up.

Finally resting, spooned together under clean sheets. A strong arm thrown over you, holding open a page for your scrutiny. 

“It’s nice, baby! You might’ve made me too pretty, though.” 

A growl. “Shut it. That’s all you.”

taglist: @yeyinde @guyfieriii @nqberries @kkinky @ravenhood2792 @allekat1988 @rattlemyb0nes @simonrileywife @melancholyy-hill @sexlapis

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[bitchlessdino]

joshua hard thots

cockwarming him after rounds of fucking because he can't get enough of feeling your pussy wrapped around his cock

Pairing: Bf!joshua x gn!reader

Genre: tender smut, drabble

Word count: 1.0k+

tags: established relationship, yearning, love, cockwarming, assumed unprotected sex

author note: this probably wasn't what you were looking for anon but i was in such a soft sexy mood I wrote this and have no regrets. this felt like therapy and i love writing again.

You thought there were better things to do than be in bed all day, but Joshua thought otherwise. These free days weren’t rare but definitely getting sparse, placing more significance on quality time, even indoors. The thought vanishes thin into the air when your boyfriend develops the mood physically, wasting no time–in his words anyway–and captures your naked body in his, dipping his hips into you to create friction that he knew drove you crazy.

He could never get sick of you moaning his name. It was like the butter to his perfectly toasted slice of bread, a simple symphony of goodness that in no way could be replicated.

The supple skin that you spent minutes of an hour moisturizing wouldn’t go to waste, tasting as sweet on his tongue as good as it smelled. He was in love with every texture and bump, ingraining into every wrinkle of his brain for keepsake. He could never have enough and he’d prove it too.

“Mmh, yeah…taking me like that…that good?”

There isn’t a moment in time his cock inside your core isn’t pure heaven pushing in and out of you. He’s careful not to hurt you, caressing your hips, and cushioning your posterior in his large hands, while he’s rearranging your insides and with only thoughts of what would please you more. The matter that his dick doing a swell job of ebbing every twitch to your hips only boosts up his ego a smidge, he claims, knowing damn well it was quite the understatement.

“Josh…squeeze me harder…fuck me deeper…”

He also likes how you knew the things to say, ordering him around, teaching him, gratifying him with the heightened volumes of your whines, your screams, his name on your tongue, again. It’d go on for hours–days if he could–and it’s never enough, but god did it feel good to try.

At this point, it’s in the middle of the afternoon and the only reason either one of you had gotten up was to go to the restroom or fetch snacks and water. Neither of you were hungry, thirsty, or felt the need for a different kind of release, so you stayed back together in bed. Joshua has made his point of being the man for you by having you climax in his presence countless times in countless methods and for countless hours. It was time for rest, you both concluded. For now.

You’d nuzzle into his bare chest, feeling the sweat radiate off his incredulously toned body, while his arms–bulging and rippled in from arm day for three times a week every week–shifts around your frame, tugging you close to him. His soft smile lets out a satisfied hum, puckered lips meeting your eyebrows. “You look so tired.”

“Whose fault is that?” you tease with your eyes.

His laughter reminds you of cotton candy, sweet and plush if ever materialized. It brought you back to how addicted you were to such a treat as a child. Now its been replaced with its personified self, Joshua Jisoo Hong. He melted in your mouth better than any confectioners sugar.

“I should feel guilty but,” he shrugs his shoulders to make a show of it, “I don’t. As long as you keep moaning my name or look at me with those eyes–”

You bubble up in laughter, “What eyes–”

“I’ll never stop. Love me the way you do and I’ll make every opportunity together a core memory.”

You light-heartedly scoff, your canine digging at your bottom lip when your eyes fixate on him, feeding into every word, every look, every breathing pattern. Your hand comes up to cup his face and you reach his lips, slowly but surely proving to him you’d do the same. While he was best with words, you were best with action, which proved the physicality of the situation more significant.

When you first met, he was brave enough to be honest in confessing he had little plans to be ‘active’ in a romantic relationship, a sign saying turn away now before you fall into an endless pit of a sexless relationship with no soft landing. He was proven otherwise with you, someone beyond pure imagination. You were a breathing fantasy to him. He was willing to give up everything for you.

Now in the present, his tongue dances against yours, your naked body clutching him, and finally his easily replenished cock tickling against your thigh. He pushed his hand up against your lower back into his torso and your warmth hovers on top of the head of the length, your moisture sliding against the sensitivity and you whine until Joshua feels it in his throat. “Put your dick in me…”

“You just admitted to being tired,” he lightly retorts, already twitching and heart bouncing at the thought.

“I’ll just…keep it warm…please, my love…”

You are sounds of bliss no matter what the words are, but in this case, he couldn’t imagine loving you anymore with the need in your rasp and the ache between your legs. 

“Alright,” he relinquishes, hands finding balls of your flesh and guiding you to hug his girth with your fluttering walls that knew no rest. His arms bring you closer–somehow possible–and knead into your skin, feeling the soothing touch on the tips of his digits until he’s plunging the trimmed nails until his DNA is a part of you. 

“Mmh, yes,” you mewl, returning your attention to admire his beautiful face, looking at you and only you.

You may have made the request but he was relieved to enjoy it, having already missed the contracting squeeze of your walls pulsating around his needy cock. He always feared that if he had a taste of the best vessel for his cock he would have, he’d refuse to let it go–now wishing, hoping, praying you’re never pried away from his hands.

You grind down to the base of his cock, his full-length home inside you and you share a groan, giggles following after when you lock eyes. Both of you were stupidly besotted with one another, even cherishing the sweet tenderness of languid movement of both your hips not on the journey for the climax, but rather appreciating each other wordlessly, as you’ve always done.

Arousal never leaves either of you while together, finding euphoria even in the smallest things such as doing laundry together or dishes together. The thought of a moment like this replays in both of your minds. Hardly sentences, hardly words, just how you fit like a puzzle, metaphorically and literally.

[girlkisser13]

hebe cabin headcanons

children of hebe

• the younger they are, the easier they are to trace. this is due to their mother being the goddess of youth.

• they are very forgiving, compassionate, and understanding individuals. they have this aura of kindness that often makes them the best people to talk to about personal problems.

• they’re the innocent one in the friend group.

• they have celestial bronze legos that they scatter in front of barefoot monsters.

• baby faces. all of them.

• they all have naturally clear skin.

• they find "anti-aging" skin creams so amusing. they all the real way to stay youthful forever, and it’s a lot less pleasant than slapping lotion onto your face.

• they 100% run a skincare business with the aphrodite cabin.

• none of them are american.

• they all speak different languages but they’re all able to understand each other.

• it’s the same way babies can seemingly talk and understand each other. even if there are differences, they still seem to share a deep innate language with each other.

• they’re the embodiment of a healed inner child.

• you know those people in the hospitality industry who are, like, scary good at their job?

• like the hotel concierge, or maître d’hotel, or wedding planner who runs the tightest ship you’ve ever seen, and can provide services for their customers that don’t even seem possible?

• those are the children of hebe.

• they’d also make really good servers, bartenders, and plastic surgeons.

cabin exterior

• the cabin is adorned with a variety of fresh flowers, growing in beds around the cabin or hanging in baskets. they also feature hebe shrubs (named after their mother).

• the architecture incorporates playful and youthful design elements, such as carvings of children and decorations of butterflies, and birds.

• small fountains of water surround the cabin, adding a sense of freshness and continuous renewal. the sound of trickling water could create a calming and rejuvenating atmosphere. there is a big one right in front of the entrance that represents the fountain of youth.

• a statue of their mother, hebe, stands near the entrance, she’s holding a chalice as she did in mythology, symbolizing her role as the cupbearer to the gods.

• a wide, welcoming porch with comfortable seating invite campers to relax and enjoy the youthful energy that the cabin exudes. the porch is decorated with cozy cushions and potted plants.

cabin interior

• lots of pastels, stained glass, curtains, but still a very comfortable and welcoming area. they also have a huge vending machine in the cabin.

• the cabin is constantly filled with the scent of blossoms and fresh grass, giving it a perpetually fresh and lively feel.

• since hebe is associated with youth and beauty, there are elegant vanity tables with ornate mirrors. these mirrors have a subtle magical quality, enhancing the viewer’s best features.

• the furniture is cozy and inviting, with plush couches and bean bags. the beds are adorned with soft, fluffy blankets and pillows, making it a perfect place for relaxation and rest.

• there's a dedicated space for physical fitness and wellness activities. this includes yoga mats, light weights, and an assortment of health and beauty products.

• they have a collection of vintage items and keepsakes from different eras. they include old-fashioned toys, games, and memorabilia that evoke nostalgia.

• they have a small fountain in the center of their cabin. the water has minor rejuvenating properties, offering a sense of refreshment and renewal to anyone who drinks from it.

cabin traditions

• every morning, they start their day with a refreshing drink of ambrosia-infused water. i headcanon that the infused water acts as caffeine for them.

• once a week, they host a game night featuring classic childhood games, like tag, hopscotch, and hide-and-seek.

• each member of the cabin dedicates one day each month to perform acts of kindness and service around the camp, helping to spread positive energy and support among fellow campers.

• they have a jar inside of their cabin where they can drop notes about happy moments or achievements. at the end of the summer, they read through the notes to reflect on their growth and experiences.

• regular arts and crafts sessions where they make bracelets, charms, and other small items symbolizing youth and vitality, often gifting these to other campers as tokens of friendship.

divider by @v6que

[pascalispretty]

Sonny Carisi and the cabin/camping prompt ♥️

summertime, and the livin' is easy

Sonny Carisi x F!Reader

Rating: Gen

Word Count: 1.6k

Tags: fluff, vacation Sonny, implied friends to lovers, Sonny being adorable, Sonny being a hypochondriac

Summary: Sonny has special plans for your anniversary. (ao3)

A/N: Written as a request for @storiesofsvu's birthday bingo, filling the square 'Camping/Cabin Retreat'!

Though it was well into the evening, the sun still shone brightly as Sonny led you outside. The cabin that the two of you had rented for the long weekend backed onto a pretty lake, surrounded by trees. It was a postcard-perfect place, one that you had happily agreed to renting as soon as Sonny had forwarded you the link.

Sonny, being Sonny, found a way to improve upon perfection.

He had packed you off to shower with the promise of plans for dinner, and he had certainly delivered. The little stone-flagged terrace at the back of the cabin has been cleared, the patio furniture shifted to the sides and the chairs liberated of their cushions. Just beyond, on the grass between the terrace and the jetty, Sonny has spread blankets and pillows out for a picnic.

Calling it a picnic is a disservice, really. There are citronella candles staked into the grass to keep bugs away, and a champagne bucket cooling in the middle of the blankets. There’s already a charcuterie board laid out as a starter, covered with a glass cloche to protect it from insects. Before you can take a step further towards his carefully laid-out display, you turn and throw your arms around his neck.

“You did all this for me?” You ask into his shoulder, holding him close against you. One of his large hands comes to rest between your shoulder blades, his bare skin on yours making you shiver in spite of the heat.

“Of course I did. Happy anniversary, Doll.”

“You’re making my scrapbooking efforts look bad.” With the cost of the cabin, the two of you had agreed not to buy one another gifts to commemorate the two-year anniversary of your first date. You had, instead, emptied the keepsake box under your bed out and pasted everything – ticket stubs and flower petals and Polaroids – into a book that you’d given him earlier that day.

“I couldn’t ever make that look bad, Doll. I still can’t believe you kept all that,” he says softly, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “C’mon, let’s sit down before the ice melts.”

The two of you take your seats on the cushions pilfered from the patio furniture, your sundress riding up past your knees as you sit. You can’t help but notice Sonny stealing a glance at the glimpse of your thigh on display, narrowly missing his own nose with the pop of the champagne cork. Instead it flies over his shoulder, landing somewhere behind him in the grass. You can’t help but giggle at the look of surprise on Sonny’s face, and soon enough he’s laughing along with you.

Still giggling, he pours you both a glass of champagne. You take a moment just to admire him as he pours; the flex of his hand around the neck of the bottle, the way his Fordham t-shirt stretches over his shoulders, the lock of hair falling across his forehead. Handsome and kind and thoughtful; you wonder sometimes how you ever got so lucky.

The food is, as always, delicious. You’ll never get tired of Sonny’s cooking, his ability to make even basic meals taste incredible. You’re not sure you’ll ever be over his garlic bread, which you had pronounced as ‘better than sex’ before you started dating and which had earned you a flushed look from Sonny.

He leaves you with the last of the prosciutto roses, heading back into the cabin to fetch the main course. You nearly squeal with childlike glee when you realise what he’s made for dinner, barely resisting the urge to grab the serving bowl from him as he settles back down on the blankets.

“I cannot believe you made penne alla vodka. Did you really get all that from the farmer’s market?” You ask in disbelief as he spoons it onto your plate. He had left you browsing the cute bookstore in town while he went shopping for food earlier, but you hadn’t thought he’d bought this much. It smells mouth-watering, topped with just the right amount of cheese. You dig in with indecent haste once Sonny passes the plate to you, a soft smile on his handsome face.

“Nah. I made the sauce before we came and brought a jar with me. And the pasta is store-bought.” Before Sonny, you would never have thought of having any other kind of pasta. Now, it’s not unusual for you to come home to Sonny with flour on his cheek, kneading away at dough to slice into neat noodles or perfect squares for ravioli.

It’s not the most complicated dish he makes, but it’s one he knows you like. He made it the very first time he cooked for you after you’d finally started dating. Much later he had confessed to elaborate plans for a veal dish that hadn’t worked; the penne alla vodka had been a last-minute replacement, and you had loved it all the same.

The conversation comes in fits and starts as you both eat your pasta. Sonny has plans for an early morning run around the lake tomorrow, which means you have plans to come down with a headache tomorrow morning. The sun slowly sinks lower in the sky, casting longer shadows and turning everything soft and golden.

You both have to take a breather after dinner. Sonny reclines back against the cushions, his long legs sprawled out in front of him.

“Maybe we should leave this set up,” he says, stretching out. “I could take a nap out here.”

“It’s very comfortable. Be nice to read out here.”

“Maybe we should do that after dinner. It’ll probably still be light out,” Sonny suggests, his shirt riding up just enough to give you a glimpse of his stomach. He sits back up, rearranging his legs underneath him.

“Can you do me a favour please, Doll?” He asks, rubbing his side. “Could you grab my water bottle from the refrigerator? I think I need a break from the champagne.”

“Of course! I’ll be right back.” Stuffed full as you are, it takes you a moment longer to stand than perhaps it should. In the interests of saving time, you grab the pasta dishes and take them inside on your way, stacking them by the sink to worry about later. Grabbing Sonny’s water, you return outside, the grass soft under your bare feet.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Sonny smiles gratefully up at you before taking a sip of water. “Oh hey, that candle behind you has gone out.” You’re already sat back down, so you half-turn to see what he’s talking about. The citronella candle staked in the grass a foot or so away from you has indeed gone out.

“Here, you should relight it. I’d hate for you to get bit.” He hands you a long lighter, and you roll your eyes as you turn around to light it. It’s far enough away that you have to get on your knees, your back to Sonny as to try to produce a flame from the lighter.

“More like you don’t wanna get bit. I’ve told you before Sonny, you can’t get malaria in New York.” Finally, a flame appears at the tip of the lighter, and you relight the tall candle. Satisfied that the fire has caught, you start to turn around. “There, are you-” You freeze midsentence. While you were turned around, Sonny moved.

He’s on one knee in front of you, an open ring box in his hand.

“Sonny-?” You start, your brain not quite catching up to the image in front of you.

“I had a whole speech planned out. About- about all the little things I love about you, and how even when we were just friends I was crazy in love with you. And how much I love the way my family loves you, even when you help my sisters pick on me. I don’t know, I guess I shoulda written it down, but – I love you so much, Doll. More than anything. And I wanna spend the rest of my life doing that, so will you marry me?”

Sonny’s beautiful blue eyes look glassy with emotion, his breath catching just enough for you to notice.

“Oh, Sonny-” Your stupid, traitorous voice cracks, and you furiously rub your prickling eyes. “Dominick Carisi, of course I’ll marry you.”

He nearly drops the ringbox in his haste to pull you close, and you go eagerly into his arms. His kisses are frantic, peppering your lips, your cheek, your temple. It’s only when one of you manages to knock over one of the champagne glasses that you come back to yourselves, laughing as you try to soak up the spill with napkins.

“I think you’re supposed to put that on my finger,” you say teasingly, unable to keep the gigantic smile off your face. Sonny’s dimples are on full display as he takes the ring from the box and slides it onto your finger. It’s a beautiful ring; it looks vintage, and something you’ll gladly wear for the rest of your life.

Through a mix of laughter and tears, you grab Sonny’s hand and squeeze tightly.

“I can’t believe you!” You exclaim, a worried look flitting briefly across his face. “We said we weren’t gonna buy each other an anniversary present!”

“This isn’t an anniversary present, Doll, it’s an engagement ring. It doesn’t count as a gift.”

“God, spoken like a lawyer,” you say, having to rub your eyes again to chase away any lingering tears. Rather than continuing to sit opposite him on the blanket, you move to sit beside him, his arm immediately coming up to wrap around your shoulders.

“You’ll have to get used to it. You’re gonna be married to one,” he says, pleased. You tilt your head up to kiss him again, softly and slowly. When you finally break apart, you bring up your hand to cup his jaw, engagement ring glinting in the light of the sunset.

“I can’t wait to be married to you.”

Taglist:

@avengersfan25 @misscharlielulu @apenny4thots @irishavengersassemble

[webgirlsuperstar]

nsfw minors dni

simon riley who pulls a tube of a dark red lipstick from one of his inner pockets. he places it in your hands with an expectant look, rocking back on his heels. he’s boyish about it, giving a light pat on your ass as you roll your eyes, crossing the room to the mirror.

he gets comfortable on the sofa and watches you tighten the color to the lines of your lips. knees spread wide and arms extended lazily across the tops of the cushion. he gestures for you to come over to him, come a bit closer.

he entertains himself with the incredulous look you give him. you scoff and perform a coy roll of the eyes. he’s been simmering in static heat ever since he saw your eyes widen at his thoughtful present. he eagerly helps collect your hair to hold out of your face, shifting his hips upwards to give you better access to undo his fly.

he’s sturdy with his hands, holding your head firm in his grasp. he doesn’t jerk your head down or thrust up into your mouth. he keeps the rhythm steady and neat, a lazy up and down- getting himself off with your head. using your perfect mouth with those perfect lips.

he’s heavy and full, heady and insatiable. he wants his balls on the soft part of your chin. he wants to cup your jaw and feel himself through the thin skin on your neck. to exert the pressure, this force onto you, make you take it, train that hole wide open so he can watch you play magician… it’s tantalizing. he pushes his own limits, he wants to push yours. it is, to him, the greatest act of worship. shining his shoes while you blow spit bubbles on his cock.

no matter. he busts on your face and gives a flimsy apology, at best, for the little swimmers getting in your eye. “sorry, birdie…”, followed by a camera click. he kisses you anyways, even though he can taste himself. never understood why some of the guys thought it was so gross. that’s his girl! of course you’re gonna get eaten up after you’ve swallowed him.

he pockets the lipstick, keeping it as some pavlov keepsake. he pulls out the lipstick, you get on your knees. the floral scent makes you wet, the shortening of the balm gets him hard. it’s a silly little mind game, rewarded by a blowjob and a rough finger fuck.

when simon’s stripping in the showers, he flashes his pelvis to his teammates. he shakes with excitement as he’s nudged and jostled around. knuckles dig into his scalp and the tile walls echo “atta boy”’s and congratulatory riffs.

“ghooost”, nudges him, “you got your little lady showing you some real lovin’, huh?” he arm slings an arm around his neck. “looks like yer putting her to work, are ye’?”

he chuckles and admires the red smeared up the length of his shaft. it’d be downright pornographic if it wasn’t soft.

“oh yeah-“ he starts, “real good at it too. might have to marry her.”

soap laughs, shoving ghost to the side, “shotgun wedding, huh?”

“hopefully.”

[songbirdtales]

Keepsakes (AstarionxTav)

Author's note:

The more I'm writing the more this is turning into the slowest of burns. IDKY I'm eating up Astarion and Gale rivalry but its fueling me lol. Enjoy!

Tav sat by the fire with a ragged stuffed bear. The tattered toy had tears in several limbs and had been partially decapitated. Tav has some rags and a needle set aside as they examine the damage, mentally calculating their supplies. 

“You’ll kill your eyes like that.” Gale stood over their shoulder, his arms crossed behind his back as he surveyed the scene.

“Good thing I’ve darkvision, yeah?” They offered him a fanged smile, the levity of conversation welcomed.

“Still, if you’ve need of, you’re welcome to use my tent. I keep it well lit for late night reading.” He was doing it again, this dance they’d been at the last few days. This dance of over generosity met with deflection when Tav would probe at his intentions. Sure, perhaps it was simply friendly companionship, but the dissonance in his words and actions made Tav feel there was something Gale wasn’t telling them.

“I wouldn’t want to keep you awake, we need you fresh tomorrow.”

Gale held his hands up as if he’d been caught in a crime. “No need to worry, I’ll be sleeping by the fire tonight. It’ll be empty regardless of me.” An arm opened to gesture back towards his tent. “You’re welcome to it as you please.”

And again they went. “Thank you, Gale. I’ll keep it in mind.” He couldn’t say much to that. Tav looked to their rags, then back up to the wizard. “Gale, could you help me with something actually?”

“Of course!” He was so eager. “How can I help?” Tav almost found themself pitying him. He wanted them so bad, and although Tav couldn’t deny there was a physical attraction, they didn’t want him like that, and they respected him too much to play with his heart.

“Do you have any scrap cloth?” Tav held up the moth worn rags, some had holes in the center with very little usable fabric, it made for a rather limited stock.”I’m trying to mend this toy I found in the village we passed through.”

“The goblin infested one? I hadn’t even noticed.” That’s what he was growing to like about Tav. They were thoughtful, even if they weren’t exactly a hero. They were a chaotic neutral soul from everything he’d seen. He didn’t mind that, but he found it unfortunate how they seemed to attract the worst kinds of characters, himself included. “I think I have a few pieces I can spare.” He nodded towards his tent. “I didn’t know you liked dolls.”

“I’m not sure I do, but mending things like this is familiar, and I could use something familiar right now.” Their eyes had turned back to the toy in their hands. They grabbed their supplies and stood, ready to follow him back to his tent, which is exactly what they hadn’t wanted to do. Still, they could keep this from escalating in a direction they didn’t want. Everything was still fine.

“I understand. I’ve been grabbing every book we pass. It’s the most I’ve read in ages. It’s comforting.” Gale said as they walked side by side to his tent. His strides were longer and quicker than Tav’s, Gale actively having to alter his pace and path to keep at their side. His body language betrayed his excitement, and Tav felt nothing at the sight but anxiety. Tav paused beside his sitting cushion as Gale stepped forward, kneeling into the tent and gathering some slashed clothes. “There you are,” Gale beamed as he handed the cloth to Tav.

The cloth was good quality, heavy and strong, but it had been brutally cut up in battle to the point it wasn’t much worth repairing. The blood had been mostly washed out but the reminisce of stains lingered. All in all, there was more than enough good fabric for their bear.

“You really took a beating the other day…” Tav mused as they looked over the torn robe. They’d not really thought much about how brutal the Gnoll on the road had been.

“You should have seen the other guy.” He joked back, laughing a little until he noticed Tav wasn’t laughing back. He quickly tamped the laughter down to awkward silence.

Tav offered Gale a soft smile. “I’m glad you’re ok Gale. You’re a valued part of this party, and I don’t know how we’d fare without you. So, do try to be more careful, yeah?”

“Of course.” He said with a nod, his eyes struggling to keep contact with Tav’s demonic glow. His gaze only turned up when Tav spoke again.

“Well, I better get started if I want to get some sleep tonight.” Tav said as they switched spots with Gale, his body naturally following their movement as if they were both being pushed by opposite currents. Tav got down and crawled in, sitting in the pile of cushions Gale had amassed and formed into a reclined seat. They curled their legs up, propping their supplies on their thighs as they began to tear the gifted cloth into smaller segments.

Gale didn’t leave, sitting down on the cushion outside. He grabbed something nearby to seem as though he had a task himself, but it was truly just an excuse to watch Tav work. Tav didn’t mind, even if they saw his act for what it was. Eventually he actually did become fixated on his task, the two working silently, fueled by the other’s presence. It was peaceful, familiar, like working in a library. Gale had no idea how long they had been at this, but as he pulled himself from his work to speak to Tav, he paused.

Inside the tent Tav was passed out in his pillows. The bear had been noticeably mended in parts, but it was not yet done. Gale got up from his seat and kneeled into the tent. His hand reached for the blanket, pulling it across the tent to gently drape it over Tav. A warm smile bloomed on his lips as he let them sleep. Only then would Gale leave, heading back to the fire.

“There you are,” The annoyance in Astarion’s voice was palpable as he approached Gale at the fire. “Where have you been off to?”

Gale knew the smell of jealousy well, and Astarion was worse than he’d like at hiding it. “Just doing a little late night carving.” Gale reached in his pocket and produced a small wooden figurine. It was crudely carved, but even Astarion had to admit it vaguely resembled a cat in a cat’s most basic shape.

Astarion stared at the deformed wooden cat for a moment before looking up at Gale with the least amusement Gale had ever seen from him. “Do you know where Tav is?”

Gale had to actively resist smiling but the faintest glimmer of a triumphant grin couldn’t help but pull at his lips. He’d cross his arms over his chest. “I do.” He said simply and curt as if he had no intention of elaborating. Anger twitch to Astarion’s face, and just as he was just about to speak, Gale spoke again, cutting him off. “They’re already asleep for the night. Poor thing, utterly exhausted. I’d let them be.”

Astarion’s face had more warmth to it than Gale had ever seen, the heat of his anger barely contained. “I asked you a question. Do not make me repeat myself.” That normally beautiful face was twisted and sharp as Astarion glared daggers into the human wizard. 

The grin grew broader across Gales lips at Astarion’s posturing and he’d nod back over his shoulder. “I thought it best to leave them be.” He was so smug about it, as if he’d won some unspoken competition.

Astarion glanced over in the direction Gale had gestured quickly at first before realizing Gale had nodded to his tent. His gaze came back to Gale as a glare. “No need to make things weird, Gale. We’re all adults here.” If his tongue wasn’t so sharp, Gale might have noticed the projection in Astarion’s words, but both men were preoccupied with their egos. The condescension in his voice was cutting, leaving Gale speechless long enough for Astarion to turn sharply away and saunter off.

Gale sighed as the Elf departed, a wave of relief washed over him that his jugular was still intact. “Dramatic.” He finally scoffed.

Astarion was at Gale’s tent in a matter of strides. Still fuming, he knelt beside the opening of the tent and pulled the flap aside with his arm. The sight of Tav, fully clothed, dead asleep, with a partly repaired stuffed toy was not what Astarion had been expecting. Instantly the wind was knocked out of his anger and the fire of it died, leaving Astarion frozen. Any action he’d thought to take was now wildly dramatic if not inappropriate… for a moment he was almost aware of his jealousy, until Tav stirred.

A soft, sleepy sound came from Tav as one eye struggled to pull itself half open. Their arms were just about to start pushing themself up when Astarion reached out a hand. He didn’t touch them, but his hand hovered just overtop their back. They didn’t push up into the hand, they didn’t have the strength. They were exhausted from the near daily feeding.

“Hush, go back to sleep.” He urged in a sweet whisper as his eyes turned about the tent. Gale had this packed with all sorts of magic nonsense, but his eyes fell back to the stuffed bear. He was fascinated instantly, not because of the toy, but because of the magic radiating from it. They had pulled apart Gale’s bloodstained shirt for thread and stitched it in a way he’d seen before from the witches of Baldur's Gate, a way of hiding protections and curses in the stitch and weave of clothing. Though in this instance it was very rudimentary, Astarion couldn’t help but wonder how a tiefling bard knew such magic. 

“Are you hungry?” Even half asleep, Tav’s mind was preoccupied with the camp, making sure everyone was safe. He almost admired that about them, if only for the wrong reasons. He was impressed that someone could have the willpower to keep all of this together.

“Not tonight darling.” His hand reached for their hair, gently shifting some loose strands from their face. He’d lean over to their ear and whisper,  “Sweet dreams,” as Tav’s eye fell shut once more.

He lingered, hesitating, his eyes shifting back to the bear before deciding it was best to leave what questions it gave him till the morning. Astarion would wait until he’d gotten a few steps from the tent before letting his real thoughts catch up to him. He was hungry, but a boar would have to suffice. It would look bad on him to drink Tav’s blood while they’re passed out in another person’s tent, and he needed to keep appearances up if his very simple plan was to succeed.

The next morning Tav woke up early. Gale had aligned some objects in his tent to take the first light of dawn and amplify it and wake him, Gods did it work, Tav almost wished it hadn’t. They were groggy, vision fading in and out of focus as they crawled out into the sunlight. They sat on their knees and stared at the horizon in silent reverence for a time. Their thoughts swam with everything that had happened leading up to the blighted village; the abandoned temple, the grove. It all came back like recalling a vivid dream, surreal and fragmented, yet so clear. 

They let their eyes close as the still cool air washed over them. Tav’s breath fogged in the morning chill as they let out a deep, tired yawn. Their fangs snapped as they closed their mouth and rubbed the sleep from their eyes. As they crawled back in the tent to retrieve their craft, they noticed something shine in the morning light. A single white hair. Tav cocked a brow but gathered it with the rest of the fabric and the bear.

Everyone was still asleep as Tav ted lightly towards and past the fire. Even Astarion was still in his trance from what it seemed so Tav went towards the river. As soon as their back was turned, a sanguine eye popped open. Astarion was silent as he followed Tav towards the water. He watched as Tav washed their hands and face in the running water before settling on a rock and pulling their bear back out.

“Good morning, Darling.” He watched them closely, the breaking of the silence practically made Tav jump but they didn’t hide their work. They’d been threading their needle and paused, tucking the needle into the bear so as to not stab themself with it on accident.

“Good morning,” Tav sighed in relief, a soft smile pulling across their face before their hand twirled in a flourish towards him. “You dropped something in Gale’s tent.” They held out the single silver hair between two fingers, offering it back to him. “You should be more careful with a wizard.”

Astarion scoffed and looked between Tav and the hair. “How do you know that’s mine?” The two stared silently at each other for a long moment, Astarion set in his flimsy denial as Tav’s hair was much longer, much more yellow, and much less curly than the strand in question. He’d groan a little. “Fine, yes, it’s mine.” A hint of irritation simmered in his tone before shifting into that arrogant sarcasm. “I’m surprised you’re giving it back instead of using it in your little curse doll, make me fall in love with you.”

Tav choked on laughter, doubling over as their cheeks puffed before their lips burst open. Their hand clapped over their mouth to muffle the sound so as to not wake the others. “I don’t need magic to steal a heart.” 

They turned their hand down, ready to flick the hair away towards him but Astarion reached out to snatch it before they could. He didn’t keep it, brushing it off his hand on his trousers. Tav looked back down to the bear and held it up a little. 

“Besides, these are for protection. It’s something my mother taught me to do. When I saw this in the rubble, I thought I might give myself something familiar to do. This one’s for Gale, since it’s got his blood and all on the thread.” Those blue eyes turned up to Astarion curiously. “I can make one for you next time I find a stuffed animal.”

“Don’t expect me to give you my bloody drawers.” Astarion huffed.

“No need for that.” Tav was still chortling as they picked up their needle to resume work. “I'll be honest the blood was dramatic of him, but I’m thinking of making one for everyone. Give my hands something to do while we travel.”

“Really?” His tone shifted as he leaned just a little closer, that perfect, sly smile on his lips. Tav knew a performance when they saw one, and this was well rehearsed. “Nothing else to busy your hands with?”

Tav knew this game, bored flirtation. It was one of their favorites, and considering there was nothing else to do besides fixate on the imminent fear of death, why not play along? Their hair swayed as they tilted their head, strands still caught in their horns and loose down their back. Their hair was long, past their shoulders and with a hint of a wave. “Yet.” They hummed in response, a curious look on their face, studying his reaction.

Astarion recoiling as a very confused “What?” come from him before he’d clear his throat. He wasn’t used to someone flirting back, normally they were too intimidated. “I mean, What about your uh, violin? Or is it a Lute?”

Tav backed off, their smile growing wider at his stumbling words. “I’m fine playing classics by the fire, but I’m a bit reluctant to work on my own stuff around the fire with strangers. Besides, most of them want to sleep as soon as we get back to camp. I'm not gonna keep them up.”

“Oh come now,” He’d put the charm back on, gesturing to the camp. “I’m sure Gale would be thrilled.”

Tav’s face soured, their nose scrunching a little as their lips thinned. “Yeah…” They didn’t seem excited by the idea. “You… never heard me play in Baldur’s Gate, did you?”

Astarion laughed and found himself a seat on a nearby stone. “Darling, I have no idea who you are beyond our time together with the rest of our companions.” Tav squinted as they caught sight of a glimmer of honesty. When he didn’t care about something, he had no filter, and in that they could see just a hint of what hid behind the mask.

An easy smile grew across Tav’s lips. “What kind of music do you think I make?” They asked with pure amusement.

Astarion stared blankly at Tav for a moment, blinking a few times as the gears in his head turned. “What other kind of music do bards make besides adventure ballads?”

Tav instinctively covered their mouth as they laughed again, truly amused by his ignorance. It drew Astarion’s eye instantly. “I mostly sing about grief and death, heartbreak and vengeance. It’s not exactly the mood I want to bring to camp.”

“It can’t be that bad.” He said as he crossed his arms. “Come, let me hear some of this emotional music. It can’t be that much of a downer.”

Tav rose a brow, his challenge wordlessly accepted. They reached into their back for a small book where they worked out their lyrics. “Here’s something I’m still working on.” They cleared their throat and began reading the lines like poetry. It was an eloquent verse, and very clearly described having dreams of murdering their own father.

Astarion was thrown off in a completely new way. The longer they read for, the more his expression contorted as Astarion tried to mask his concern. They only got two lines in before Astarion held one hand out and averted his gaze. “Th-that’s enough. I get it.”

“Yeah,” Tav was holding back laughter. “I don’t need to be playing songs like that at a time like this. I’ll get my musical fix by playing their favorites by the fire, but I figure it’s better to save the heavy stuff.” Their eyes turned to the sky, the sun was just about to peek over the trees, the morning star fading as the sky lost its pastel hues. “Never gets old.” They sighed, as the sun came up and the warmth of its light washed over them both. 

Astarion flinched instinctively before letting out a deep sigh of relief. “No, it does not.”

They sat in the silence of the sunrise for a moment before Tav’s voice gently broke it. “I know everythings scary right now, but I truly believe that if we stick together, we can survive this. And if not, at least we’re free, for what it’s worth.”

“I think freedom’s worth everything.” His eyes were fixed on the water, watching the river glisten as it ran. The flashes reflected in his eyes, making them sparkle like rubies.

Tav let themself stare for longer than they should have, taking in the contours of his features, the shapes of his shadows, the lines in his skin. They didn’t care if he caught them, though he seemed too fixated on the water to notice. “So do I.” Tav’s voice melted into the sound of the river, so soft Astarion barely registered they’d said anything at all.

By the time he’d looked back to them, Tav was standing, holding the now fully mended bear in their hands. They tilted their head as they gazed at the bear, checking their work. They bit their lower lip in thought, as if trying to remember a forgotten step. Finally, they went to the river crouched beside the edge. With one finger, Tav reached to wet their nail, holding the drop in the carved point of their nail before bringing it to the forehead of the bear. The toy looked a little cleaner, Astarion could even feel the magic of it was more pure. The protection charm was complete. 

“I’ll try to find you a different animal. Maybe a goose?” They said with a joking smile.

Astarion clicked his tongue, squeezing his still folded arms as he pouted. “Take your time.” He had no desire for a hagcraft charm.

Tav shook their head as they left Astarion at the riverbank. The elf glanced back towards the fire to see Tav giving the now well awake Gale the bear. He seemed more fascinated with the magic than the bear itself and began to info dump about thread based magic.

Astarion’s face felt relatively hot as anger gathered in him. He covered his face with a hand as his mind still raced from that one word. He didn’t like this, whatever feeling this was. He didn’t recognize the feeling as it gathered in his core, this twisting in his guts, as if he’d eaten something rotten, yet still starved. Was it really hunger? He’d fed that night and this felt different. He’d already made them his mark, so why was he starting to panic?

It was then that a new thought came to Astarion, what if Tav can see through his game? How well could he really wrap them around his finger if they knew it was fake? And what did that mean for the security of his simple plan?

[tbzhub]

Lucky Charm

Pairing: drummer!Eric Sohn x gender neutral reader

feat. vocalist!Jung Subin, guitarist!Han Jisung, keyboardist!Choi Beomgyu, and bassist/vocalist!Lee Jooyeon

Summary: You’re the only one who can’t tag along for the entire tour.

Warnings: curse words, brief mention of drinking, kind of suggestive? idk

Rating / Genre: PG -13, metal band au, established relationship, fluff, angst

WC: 2.3K~

Artist Note: SO, I’ve been in a major rut and my lovely bestie, @everynewiee came up with a great idea to get me writing again. This fic is for her but feedback is encouraged and appreciated.

m.list tag list

“Ooookayyy, this is the last one” the roadie says, waiting rather impatiently for the pink instant film camera in his hands to spit out the final group picture. This last one was for you, a keepsake to commemorate the band’s monumental achievement.

Everyone had jitters of excitement, this was the first time that Fragile Senses was leaving the local scene after getting picked up to tour with a band that Eric has been idolizing since you’ve known him. The first leg of the tour started in your hometown and for the next three months, they’d travel around the country in a Subin’s cramped, rusty van opening for some of the biggest names in the metalcore scene.

It was exciting, it was going to be crazy, insane even. At least that’s what Beomgyu kept saying practically on repeat last night when you all went out to celebrate. 

The band always went out the night before a show, it was a silly tradition that Jooyeon started before their first ever gig a few years back, where they all got irresponsibly plastered the night before to quell the nerves, because in his words, “it’s easier to fight a hangover than stage fright,” and somehow it worked? 

You’ve never missed a night out or a concert. But after tonight you’d miss everything. While everyone else was down to squeeze into a 06’ Ford Econoline, you literally couldn’t. You were the only girlfriend that wouldn’t be tagging along and although Eric was super sweet and understanding about it, you couldn’t help the negative emotions that kept coming up.

You wanted to be with him, three months is a long time away… and the thought of the band being surrounded by groupies every single night worried you.

“Here you go,” Jisung says, grinning as he hands you the picture and then his voice goes loud.

“Alright, guys! We gotta get backstage to set up. Kiss your girls and boys, so we can go.”

“NO MORE PICTURES,” he snaps at Subin just before the vocalist is about to take what has to be the 247th selfie with his boyfriend. 

Your head swivels in the boy's direction just in time to see Subin cheekily snap another picture and then he’s peeled away from his boyfriend by Jooyeon.

“Eric, five minutes,” you hear Jisung say as everyone scatters to their respective places and duties.

-

Eric’s arm stays wrapped around your shoulder all the while he leads you towards the back entrance of the concert venue.

“This is cool, right?” He says and you can hear the smile that couples with the excitement in his tone as you quietly hum in agreement beside him.

“But I don’t get to hug you right before you go on,” you add in as you carefully make your way up a rickety metal flight of steps and his hand finds yours to give it a tender squeeze.

“You’ll be able to see me from a better angle though and this place is way nicer than any other venue that we’ve ever played in.” He counters happily. 

“Plus, now you’ll have this entire space to yourself”, he says and you hear the sense of pride in his voice as he opens the door to the VIP booth that he was able to reserve for you.

Your face lights up at the quaint space, the velvet cushions look comfy– much better than sitting on top of a large amp on the far side of a tiny stage like usual, but you also enjoyed being able to watch their band from behind the scenes, it made you feel special. 

Still from up this high you’d be able to see everything, even now you can see Beomgyu’s girlfriend and Subin’s boyfriend trying to snake their way through the slowly growing crowd of people waiting for the show to start.

You’ve never been able to watch them play from the pit like everyone else, too dangerous and Eric never ever wanted you in harm's way, not even for a moment. So now you’ve grown used to the backstage treatment and the hustle and bustle that came with the pre-showtime set up routines. But from up here, it just seemed like another thing you’d be missing out on and you couldn’t help the way your bottom lip juts out.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Eric asks, frowning out of concern but you see the way he’s tapping his foot, antsy to get back to the guys, yet you know his care was genuine and earnest. 

This wasn’t the first time he’s asked this question and your answer still remains the same.

“Nothing,” you reply with a smile plastered on your face as you look up at him, hand coming to rest at the back of his neck as he leans forward and presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

“I’m proud of you. Thank you for this.” Your words come out hushed as he wraps his arms around your body in a warm hug and your face is buried into his graphic tee. You’d assume he’d smell gross and sweaty after all the heavy equipment they've moved around today in the hot sun but as you breathe in a long sigh, he still smells like your boyfriend; citrus and sandalwood soap, cologne, and the faint– yet distinct, smell of their makeshift recording studio.

“Okay, baby. I have to go, I know Jisung is backstage burning a hole through the floor waiting for me.” He announces, giving you another gentle squeeze before letting you go and walking towards the stairs.

“Good luck!” You call out as you sit down, starting to get comfy in your chair.

“Don’t need it! I have my lucky charm for one more night!” He shouts back from halfway down the steps.

Just when you’re about to pull out the picture from earlier to get a better look at it, you hear Eric running back up the metal stairs.

“Wait! I forgot something.” He says with a grin as he runs over to you and then he leans down for a kiss, lips waiting for yours to meet his own.

“Really? Aren’t you behind schedule?” You say through a giggle before you kiss him back.

“I can’t go on stage without it.” He murmurs against your lips before stealing a few quick kisses for extra measure and then he’s dashing towards the stairs once more.

And the cheeky smile he flashes your way before he finally leaves makes butterflies flutter in your stomach and your heart sink at the same time. Only Eric could create anomalies within you like this and this time it was because you knew you were going to miss seeing that sneaky smile so much.

You were going to miss him so fucking much.

-

You hear your name being called from the crowd below and smile once you see Jooyeon and Jisung’s girlfriends smiling faces as they frantically wave their hands up in their attempt to get your attention. Everyone was all together and ready for the next set to start. The opener was good but you thought Fragile Senses was better, their vocalist didn’t work the crowd like Subin and Jooyeon usually do when they perform so it made listening to their set rather boring for you.

The lights go dark and you hear cheers from the crowd as five dark shadows walk across the stage and you perk up when you recognize the last person in line and as everyone gets to their places you ready your camera, excited to film Fragile Senses first legit show.

-

“We did fucking amazing!” Beomgyu yells— again, rowdy as a toddler hopped up on a day's worth of sugar, but you suppose he still was riding the wave of a stellar night just like everyone else.

“We killed that shit.” Jisung admits as he fist bumps the hyped up keyboardist.

“Did you see how crazy that crowd got at Eric’s drum solo at the end? I saw someone’s shoe fly into the air and it never came back down.” Jooyeon says through a chuckle. “I almost messed up my last rift from laughing so hard.” 

“I have literally never sang in front of that many people before, I thought I was going to throw up.” Subin says and everyone starts laughing.

“But you didn’t and that's what counts”, Eric says pointing his drumstick at the older frontman.

“I can’t wait to do that again tomorrow! When are we going to get on the road, Jisung? Next stop is a 6-hour drive and it’s already 2am.” Subin asks, from where he lays sprawled across his boyfriend’s lap. Jisung looks over at Eric and you can see the silent conversation going on between the two but it was a language you couldn't speak. 

Finally, Eric lets out a heavy sigh beside you and then he hops to his feet, reaching his hand out for you to grab.

-

It’s silent at first as you both wait for your uber to come and pick you up.

“She’s 12 minutes away,” Eric says, shattering the silence with the worst sentence he could possibly say given the situation.

Only 12 minutes left.

“Okay,” you say and your lip starts to quiver.

“Baby, please let it out. I know you’ve been holding this in all day. Now we have like 11 minutes. I don’t want you to fall apart all alone when you get home.” 

Eric was right and you could hear the pleading hint in his tone but for whatever reason you wanted to live in denial just a little bit longer.

“M’ fine.” You mumble but the hot tears that spill down your cheeks say otherwise and Eric doesn't miss a beat at pulling you into his arms for a hug.

“I’ll call you every second I can. I’ll send you tons of pictures and I promise to text you so much that you’ll want to block my number before you go to sleep.” He starts, grip going tighter around your waist.

“I’ll send you a souvenir from each city I visit– I won’t wait to give them to you when I get back. I promise I’ll make the effort to make you feel special while I’m away.” For a second it sounds like he might be crying too.

“But–” you try to speak but your words dissolve into a sob as you feel warm hands rub up and down your back.

“I’ll miss you so much baby. I’m going to hate being a 9th wheel.” Eric says and you know he’s trying to reassure you with a joke and that makes you bury your face into his chest, wiping your tears all over his dark colored shirt. He really was the perfect boyfriend and you were going to miss him more than anything.

“I just– I don’t want to be left behind.” You finally choke out in a weak voice.

“I want to be with you for the entire tour and I can’t. I want to be like all the other partner’s. I don’t want you to feel alone while you’re away and there’s nothing I can do. I want to see you guys kill it every night, not just tonight.” You're rambling now as headlights begin to illuminate your bodies and you refuse to turn around.

“I can’t kiss you before you go on stage.” You say in a pout and Eric knows he shouldn't find any part of this cute but he does. You’re the cutest in his eyes.

“Then kiss me now.” He urges as he hooks his finger underneath your chin, tilting your head upwards before he melds his lips to yours and this kiss feels like so much more than a goodbye. There’s love, lust, yearning, and everything else packed into one single kiss, but above all else there’s a promise. A promise that Eric will come back to you in one piece and with stories to tell.

The uber honks twice, basically forcing you two apart and Eric frowns before opening the car door for you and helping you inside.

“Get her home safe please, I’m in love with her.” He says jokingly to the uber driver, before returning his attention to you for one more hug and a kiss on the lips.

“Bye baby, I love you. See you soon.” His lips are curved upwards in a smirk as he kisses you one more time.

“And who knows? Maybe when I’m a big time artist I’ll start flying you out.” He teases before closing the door and with that you leave Fragile Senses to embark on their journey with one less girlfriend in the mix.

You don’t feel happy but you also don’t feel sad. And as you sit in the back seat, letting some random woman drive you home, you remember that you still haven't checked out your picture since it’s been fully developed.

Pulling it out of your bag, you use the light from your phone to stare down at the group picture and immediately you’re giggling as tears roll down your cheeks.

Jisung looked more serious than he actually was with his girlfriend tucked underneath arm sticking her tongue out. Beomgyu was posed in a way that made it look like Subin was about to smack his ass while his girlfriend was throwing up the peace sign beside Subin’s dapper-looking boyfriend— the only one smiling like a normal person. Yoojeon was holding his guitar over his head while his girlfriend posed like she was screaming into a microphone. At the far end of the picture you were making a half heart against your left cheek while Eric’s lips were pressed to the other.

You loved it. The part you loved the most about it was how happy you looked surrounded by all of them. Three months wasn’t that long and even though you’d miss a lot, you were happy to have people in your life that they all wished you could come along for the ride.

[grimmweepers]

WAHHHH RYURYU CAN I JOIN UR ASK GAMEEE PLZ🧴 !!! this looks so cutie omgomgomg ( if u have too many to do don't worry about mine !!! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) )

ᯓᡣ𐭩 𝐌𝐋𝐊𝐁𝐖𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐒 smells juicy and revitalising - like fresh linen, soft peony, white tea and morning dew. you capture the essence of nature’s quiet beauty and crisp green leaves. gentle and soothing like early sunlight warming your skin, lace cushions, and a bowl of freshly cut fruit. 𝐌𝐋𝐊𝐁𝐖𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐒 in a bottle would stand tall and slender, like a vase crafted from frosted glass. adorned with delicate lace motifs and a ribbon tied around the neck, it looks like a keepsake meant for display on a windowsill, where sunlight could softly illuminate the frosted surface and bring a radiant glow to your room <3

ASK GAMES WITH RYU: CLOSED!

[shastakiss]

Hello and thank you for the very kind words! Hope it's okay to answer publicly in case this is helpful to others.

I looked at some of your vitrine textures, you did a beautiful job! And those were fussy with the skinny curvy 'alpha' door designs and you even took the time to do different wood accents for the picture frames and keepsake box, etc!? You might think no one notices stuff like that but I did :3

I can't help with Photoshop, but in GIMP I don't know how best to describe it but you know how irl you can use a paper cutter for straight lines but you have to use scissors for curves? For curves on a texture, instead of scissors, I use the lasso tool and then those curves can look 'crunchy' (pixelated). I rectangle-select just that curved section on my texture (e.g. the vitrine's door design section) and blur it a little: Toolbar > Filters > Blur > Gaussian Blur... Size X 0.50 Size Y 0.50

About recolors looking less bright, I have that problem too! It can be a combination of things

The shading overlay I've made is too dark and/or grey — lighten/brighten the shading overlay a bit — 'colorize' the shading overlay, I do this especially for warm colors (pinks/peaches/yellows)

This is a cushion texture in cluedo peach with my original shading overlay on the left and a colorized shading overlay on the right, that's exactly the same peach color underneath both. Sometimes my shading overlay can really 'muddy' the wood/color/texture underneath it.

Inconsistent TXMT settings — You could check what TXMTs Michelle uses on their AL wood recolors and match them — For fabrics and wood/painted wood, mine are usually: reflectivity 0.5 stdMatDiffCoef 0.8,0.8,0.8 stdMatEnvCubeMode none stdMatSpecCoef 0.074,0.074,0.074 stdMatSpecPower 20

Weird Mesh The original mesh you're recoloring might just have odd shadows/lighting in game and/or look very different outdoors vs. indoors. It's a mesh thing and not your recolor.

Hope this helps a little! Also it's nice to remember that we can be our own worst critic. One time I asked Fanseelamb for help with a clothing texture; they looked at my PNG and kindly said 'I don't see anything wrong!?' So yeah me being all perfectionist when it was fine haha Looking forward to your possible build items in island colors!

[purestarjewelry]

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Explore the beauty and meaning behind cushion cut lab grown women wedding bands in rose gold and discover a piece that speaks to your heart. 💎💍

[no1frogfan]

Desire lines, part 4

Kuroo x afab reader

Series synopsis: Against his wishes, Kuroo must hire a personal assistant. You’re not exactly the right person for the job, but it’s a job, and you need the money. Inspired by Robert Macfarlane’s definition of desire lines in landscapes: “paths and tracks made over time by the wishes and feet of walkers, especially those paths that run contrary to design or planning.”

Chapter word count: ~2.2k

Chapter tags & warnings: none afaik

Series masterlist part 3 | part 5 (wip)

4. Deer trail

When Monday rolls around, it feels like you’ve been shoved across an invisible threshold. On Friday, people were normal, even relaxed, but today, they’re running around like headless chickens. You barely dodge someone careening around a corner. It’s as if everyone has only now realized the big meeting is two weeks away.

Kuroo notices your arrival through his open door. “Morning, do you have time to meet right now?”

You set your bag down straight away, fish out a notepad and pencil, and hurry into his office.

He’s dressed in a conservative two-piece today — medium gray with a subtle windowpane plaid on the jacket, a white button-down, and a coppery brown tie embroidered with giraffe silhouettes. He gestures vaguely toward you while he skims a packet of papers, “Sorry, give me a minute. Let me finish this before I forget what I’m doing.”

“Sure, no problem.”

You sit down and, with nothing else to do, take in the decor while you wait.

You’ve been in and out of this office countless times already, but only to drop things off on his desk, never wanting to linger or disrupt his focus. The massive wood and steel desk he sits behind is nowhere near as tidy as it was on your first day. It’s now covered in stacks of papers, file folders, an empty coffee cup, and what looks like rolled up posters. The clutter has even begun to overtake the small seating area in the corner of the office (that you’ve never seen him use). The glass coffee table there is piled high with papers. The bronze statuette that normally sits on it (a stylized pheasant or something) is instead laying on the cushion of the leather loveseat. Even the couch has papers strewn across it.

On either side of the wall behind him, built-in bookshelves hold a number of books and binders, some labeled, some not. From where you’re sitting now, you can make out a few of the labels (Finances, FIVB, Exhibition match 2022).

There are photos, too, that you take the time to examine. Even at this distance, you can tell they’re all of Kuroo with groups of people (his unruly hair is a dead giveaway). One photo is of maybe a dozen people with a short, elderly man, all wearing matching maroon and black track suits. There’s a bigger photo, this time with Kuroo in a suit standing among a huge group of men (in numbers and in stature), half in black and turquoise jerseys and half in white and gold. And finally, one from what looks like elementary school, a small Kuroo standing next to another boy, flanked on one side by a middle-aged man and on the other by an elderly couple.

Displayed in the remaining spaces are some knickknacks. There’s a maroon and black #1 jersey signed by a whole slew of people, what looks like a trophy shaped like a gaming controller, a white bottle vase with A&B embossed on the side, a realistic-looking figurine of some kind of feathered dinosaur, and a plain red clay kyusu teapot with a small chip in the handle.

They must be keepsakes, not that you have any idea what significance they might hold. You’ve yet to hear Kuroo speak about anything that’s not work-related. If you hadn’t met him through Iwa, you doubt you would’ve known a single thing about him, not even that he’d played volleyball.

Just when you’re starting to get antsy, Kuroo signs the papers with a small flourish and sets them aside.

“Sorry about that. We’re in crunch time to prepare for the FIVB meeting. The next two weeks are going to be pretty intense, so while we still have some time, I want to give you a quick run-down of the plan and what you’ll need to do to prepare for the meeting.”

He waits until you have your pencil ready before he continues, “FIVB is the Fédération Internationale de Volleyball. They’re the international governing body for volleyball, kind of like FIFA for soccer, or ITF for tennis.” You nod, though you’ve already read up a little on the organization. “They’re coming here to discuss the first phase of a series of projects I proposed a few months ago through JVA.”

Reaching back to his left, he slides out the binder marked FIVB and sets it down in front of you. “Here. You should look over the project proposals. You don’t need to memorize them or anything, just having a rough idea of the agenda will be helpful for taking notes.

“As I said, this will be our first in-person meeting with FIVB, and the first time anyone from FIVB has ever come to Japan, so it’s a huge deal. All the JVA execs will be there, but I’ll be leading most of the meeting. Because of that, we’ll hire an official interpreter so you can focus on taking notes and assisting me. That said, I’m sure your skills will still come in handy.

“Starting today, all our other projects will be on pause until the conclusion of the FIVB meeting. This means I’ll have more meetings than usual, but most of them will be with the exec team so you won’t be needed. Any questions so far?”

You shake your head. Kuroo continues with his efficient explanation and you make sure to note all of it down. With everything crystal clear, you retreat to your desk with the binder and leave Kuroo to his piles of paperwork.

You’re poring over the FIVB binder when the doorknob rattles next to you, causing you to start. You whip your head up to find a disheveled-looking man with blond-streaked hair jiggling the door to Kuroo’s office.

“Excuse me!” You blurt out in alarm, “Can I help you?” The FIVB documents aren’t that engaging. How had he gotten past you without you noticing?

He stares back at you. “Oh. You’re the new assistant.”

“I am. How can I help you?”

“We’re supposed to have lunch together today.” The man holds up a plastic take-out bag that’s close to bursting with food containers and drinks.

“With Kuroo?” You clarify, even though the answer is obvious.

He nods.

“I’m sorry, but he’s in a meeting right now.” You glance at the time. “He’s not supposed to be back for another hour.”

“Oh, ok.” He remains expressionless, but his shoulders slump. “Can you give this to him when he gets back?” He puts the bag on your desk along with a folded-up pair of what looks like black sweatpants. The pants have volleyballs screenprinted partway down the sides and some kind of logo (a stylized number 3 ending in a dot, all over a blue background).

“Of course. Can I get your name?”

“Kenma,” he responds before turning away.

Why is that name familiar?

He stands there, making no move to leave.

“Is there anything else I can help you with, Kenma-san?”

“How’s he doing? Kuroo.”

“He’s…fine, I think? Busy.”

“Has he been eating?”

You blink, taken aback. “Um, I’m not— I don’t think I’ve seen him eating, but I assume he eats when I’m out on my lunch break.”

Kenma frowns. “Make sure he gets that then.”

As he heads to the elevator, you take in his rumpled sweatshirt (with that same number 3 logo on the front), his sweatpants tucked into calf-high white socks, and his slides, more than a little confused about that whole interaction.

Iwaizumi brought him up before, you recall now, but that doesn’t tell you anything about who Kenma is. Or why he wanted to know if Kuroo has been eating. It’s not like you’d know anyways. Kuroo’s always in the office with a cup of coffee by the time you arrive in the mornings, so he probably gets breakfast with his coffee and finishes it before you get in. He leaves work after you too, but you can’t imagine he stays that much longer.

You try to turn back to the FIVB documents, but your concentration keeps slipping. You just go with it, switching gears to the author interview you’ve been asked to translate. It’s a small project with a tight timeline, but you suppose you should be grateful that one of your connections scrounged this up for you. You want to do a good job, especially since this connection works for a large publishing company — this might be a foot in the door for bigger projects down the line.

You’re puzzling over how to translate one of the author’s responses when Kuroo finally returns from his meeting over an hour later.

“Someone dropped off lunch and some other things for you while you were out. I’ve put them on your desk. He said his name was Kenma-san.”

Kuroo’s expression morphs from confusion to guilt as he dashes into his office. You hear the sound of plastic rustling, and his hushed voice as he makes a phone call.

A few minutes later, he peeks his head out. “Hey. Um…have you had lunch yet?”

“Me? No. I was gonna take my lunch break now that you’re back.” He looks displeased at that, so you hurry to add, “But if you need me for something I can wait!”

“No! No. That’s not— I was actually wondering if…do you want to have lunch with me? Kenma and I were supposed to eat together, but he…and now I have two lunches, so…” He trails off awkwardly.

You agree, bemused by his uncharacteristic sheepishness.

It takes only moments to tidy up the seating area in his office and unpack the food. You’re glad you chose to wear pants today as you both lower yourselves to sit on the ground.

“Are you ok with katsudon?” Kuroo asks as you open the box he placed in front of you. “If not, you can have mine instead.”

You inhale deeply, the scent of fried pork hitting your nose. You’ve shoved a piece into your mouth before his question even registers.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckles, opening his own container.

“Is that grilled fish? It looks amazing.”

“Yeah. I always get this.”

You hum in response. Curiosity gets the better of you. “Kenma-san must be a close friend of yours? I remember Iwa asking about him.”

A look crosses his face. “My best friend. We grew up together.”

He doesn’t elaborate further and the two of you eat in relative silence. As he chews, his shoulders slowly unwind. By the time you’re both done with your food, he’s just staring at the wall opposite him, looking thoughtful and almost relaxed.

Kuroo sets his chopsticks down. “So…have you read through the FIVB files yet?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah.” You take a sip of iced tea. “I’m almost finished with the binder. All the projects sounds really exciting, especially the all-level summer camps for kids.”

“It’s funny you say that because the JVA execs don’t think they’re a good investment.”

“What?! But they sound like they’d be so fun! Plus, it’s totally worth it to give kids the opportunity to try out a new sport, even if they don’t end up playing long-term. I think the FIVB reps will see it that way too.”

He eyes you. “You think so?”

“Definitely.” You gesture around the room. “Is that what all this paperwork is for?”

“Some of it. Most of it’s boring administrative stuff and legal agreements,” he grumbles. “They’re taking way too much time.”

“Oh? How come?”

“They’re in English so it takes me longer to read through them.”

“I can summarize them for you in Japanese if that helps. You can always read the whole thing if you need more details.”

His expression sours. You suddenly realize you might have offended him by offering, or maybe he thinks you’re trying to overstep the boundaries of your agreement, or—

“That would…be great, actually.”

You breathe out a sigh of relief. “Of course. Just tell me what you want me to look at and I’ll summarize and get them back to you ASAP.”

It’s another task to add to your list, but you’ll have more free time this week anyway, and you’d hate to see anyone so put out by something you can easily help with.

After the two of you tidy up, Kuroo immediately grabs a stack of papers and plunks it on your desk. “Are you sure this is ok?”

You grab the papers out from under him, making him squawk as he loses his balance. “Yes, Kuroo-san. Otherwise I wouldn’t have offered.”

He lets out a surprised cackle and thanks you before returning to his office.

At 4:30pm on the dot, Kuroo walks back out, briefcase in hand and suit jacket slung over one shoulder, and heads toward the elevator.

That’s another thing you can cross off the list of things you’d never seen Kuroo do until today: leave work before you.

[kittttycakes]

Yesss! Ever so slightly inhuman Morpheus!! 🤌🤌

And omg. I think I really need some kind of Hob as the champion of the Dreaming or something, fighting for Morpheus.

Just had a mental picture of an ancient Roman gladiatoresque scene with Hob fighting in the arena, all sweaty and dusty (and victorious) and Morpheus lounging on a throne overlooking it all while Grace is reclining at his side draped in silks and not much else.

Also, Hob bare knuckle boxing? Heck yes!!!

Does the Dreaming or anywhere else ever host tournaments? Would Morpheus and Grace give Hob their blessing to enter?

Thank you so much for the description of their rings! I love those for them so much!!! Where did the rings come from? Are the ones Hob gave Grace keepsakes from his past? Did they go shopping together? Did Hob just surprise Grace with them? I’m assuming Morpheus made the ones he gave Grace and Hob? Or did he commission the finest jeweller in the universe to craft them?

If answering these questions would be too spoilery then I am content to wait!

Hob would love to fight for Morpheus, let’s be honest here! It’s a tangible representation of his love and is something that only he can give him, because who else can match that level of (maybe just a little unhinged) devotion and loyalty? He wants to be his champion, he wants the armor and a sword and his lord’s favor, and off to battle he’d go!

I am, however, obsessed with this Ancient Rome flavored gladiatorial fantasy. Hob would look so good. The chest hair on full display? Now that’s what I’m talking about. Morpheus is also very, very good at pulling a very regal and imperious face when he needs to, and that would come in so handy here. He’d try so hard to be detached and aloof, but when Hob is besting challenger after challenger? He’s not immune to that. And you throw Grace in there, in some dubiously historically accurate, gauzy slip of nothing, lounging on some velvet cushions with her hair undone and as much gold on her as she can comfortably carry when she moves? Morpheus has wonderful self control but it can only hold out so far.

I have such A Thing for boxing (it’s the hands. It always goes back to the hands) and really any kind of close quarters, hand to hand combat, but I would also love to see Hob in a more traditional, tourney style setting. In so many ways, the Dreaming is a realm of fantasy, and it wouldn’t take much persuading to convince Morpheus to hold some kind of tournament. Or maybe it’s arranged as entertainment by visitors from another realm, and Hob enters himself in? Grace is immediately down. She knows Hob, she trusts him, if he says he can win, then he’ll win, and she gets to see him up close and personal with a variety of weapons? She’s already giving her approval, signed, sealed, and delivered. Morpheus is slightly more pessimistic: not about Hob’s skills, but about the vulnerability that comes with having someone he loves in a position like that. Hob can’t die, but that doesn’t mean he can’t feel pain, and the idea of that is very upsetting to Morpheus. He would ultimately give in, if only because Hob wants it so badly. Hob, of course, does win, and also probably makes at least three friends.

The fede ring is one Hob picked up along his lifetime post-1689 and held onto for the right person (he found her, it just took a little while)! I think their matching bands Hob and Grace did go shopping together for, because they wanted to match the gold tone of her engagement ring, and they both insist on getting a third in a very roughly estimated size for Morpheus, because even if he never wears it, they’re all part of the deal together (he doesn’t take it off once he has it and he sizes his own hands to fit it perfectly, but they weren’t far off on their sizing guess). The ruby rings he definitely made himself, so they are technically dreamstuff! They might not contain any of his powers, but they do have a little bit of his (strictly metaphorical) heart in them.