#barely used with minimal signs of wear

[flemingsfreckles]

Armband (18+)

Synopsis: your girlfriend realizes the extent to which the Captain’s armband affects you.

Warnings: SMUT! shower sex, risk of being caught, oral sex (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), little bit of teasing, minimal orgasm denial marking, cursing, use of armband as gag… 🫣

WC: 3.4K

A/N: I’m a sucker for the armband 🙃

“I’m so proud of you.” You leaned over and whispered into Jessie’s ear. She had just formally captained her first game for Canada. She’d worn the armband before, when Sinc wasn’t available, or when there would be a substitute she’d find the armband being passed to her. But now it was hers, she was the captain, the armband was hers to wear all the time and it drove you crazy.

Jessie had always been a leader on the field, she was level headed, smart, she had the experience to back it up, but now the formal indicator of her leadership sat snugly on her left bicep.

“If you stare long enough you might burn a hole through it.” Jordyn had come up behind you, smacking the back of your head lightly and teasing at the way you couldn’t stop gawking at your girlfriend’s new accessory. She gave you a smile as she walked away leaving you and Jessie to have privacy again.

“I’m proud of you, Little Miss. Two Goals and an Assist.” Jessie nudged you back.

“I owe it all to you, Captain.” You let the title drag out, whispering it in a tone that told Jessie everything she needed to know about how you felt with her new title. She turned, one eyebrow raised.

“Seriously? You’ve seen me wear the armband a hundred times now it gets you worked up?” A small laugh falls from her lips as she looks at you.

“I dunno.” You shrug at her, feeling the blush radiate up your cheeks. “It's formal now.”

“Alright babe.” She says before walking off to go sign autographs for some little kids wearing her jersey. You make your way to another part of the field and begin to chat, sign autographs, and take photos. You make a lap before heading into the locker room.

You’re taking off your sweaty shirt when Jessie comes up behind you, her hands on your hips. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“What do you want to do the rest of the day?”

“Anything you want, Captain.” You say to her, turning in her hands so you’re facing her and again trying your best to drag out her new title. You raise your eyebrow, indicating your answer wasn’t meant innocently. You let your fingertips flirt over the band on her arm.

“Is that so?” Jessie questions and you quickly nod. “Go shower, I’ll deal with you when we’re home.” She pushes you in the direction of the showers with a smile. You knew what she meant by dealing with you. She’d fix the aching between your legs you had for her.

You were quick to gather your towel and soap before hopping into the shower, rushing in hopes of getting home and thrown into bed sooner.

You dip your head under the water, feeling refreshed as the sweat washes from your skin. You hear the noise of other showers running, the sounds of shower curtains opening and closing as your teammates clean off.

You're facing the wall when you suddenly feel cold hands on your bare waist. “Oh!” You say out of surprise before turning and seeing Jessie behind you. Her hand quickly covers your mouth. You look her up and down, she’s in her spandex shorts and her bra, her arm still sporting the armband.

“Hi.” Jessie leans into your ear, whispering at a volume only you can hear. “You said anything I want right?” She takes her hand off of your mouth.

“Yes Captain.” You lean in to whisper to her. You watch as Jessie’s eyes widen, maybe she hadn’t expected you to use the title in a sexual manner but given her reaction she seemed to like it.

“Good girl. You’re either going to be quiet, or I’ll make sure you're quiet, understood?”

You nod, you already know you won’t be able to keep quiet, you never could with Jessie. It caused a fair amount of teasing from your teammates from overhearing the two of you in hotel rooms after big games or stressful games. You really didn’t mind, you had no shame in getting fucked good by your girlfriend but you knew Jessie was quick to shy away from everyone knowing what the two of you did in the bedroom, or in this case the shower.

Jessie reaches up, angling the shower head off to the side to not waterboard the two of you, the heat from the water still keeping the air around your bodies warm. She pulls you in tight and brings her lips to yours. Your wet skin comes into contact with her dry clothes and skin. She gently sucks your bottom lip between her own, letting her teeth dig into it. Her hands roam along your waist and up to your back, she gently scratches her nails down. Such a small action already has you letting out a whine. Jessie releases your lip with a pop and gives you a glare.

She brings her finger to her lips, showing you the sign to be quiet. You nod at her, you wanted to give her what you promised, anything she wanted. Jessie also wasn’t one to risk being caught, but here she was, in the showers, teammates of yours just feet away. This was new and it was hot.

Jessie’s hands slid their way down your torso and to your hips. She gently dug her thumbs into your hip bones before pushing you backwards until your back felt the cool rush of the shower tile. That’s when Jessie began trailing kisses down the length of your body. She started with your lips a few pecks before letting her tongue meet yours. Just as you fell into a rhythm kissing her, she pulled back. This time you remembered to hold in the whine, biting your lip hard as Jessie began to place open mouth kisses down the column of your neck.

She paused in place when she heard your breath hitch and felt your hands grab at her biceps. You so badly wanted to moan her name, let your teammates know how good she took care of you, but you couldn’t. You feel a sharp nip at your neck before the strong suction of Jessie’s lips. She was marking you, on your collarbone, a place everyone would see when you changed. When she released the skin you looked down seeing the dark red spot already forming. You shot Jessie a firm look, to which she just smirked before whispering “Anything I want.” up at you.

Clearly wanting to prove her point, Jessie continues down your collarbones, to your chest, making sure to suck a couple dark marks into the flesh there. She brings her hands up each to cup your chest, letting her thumbs circle your nipples, making them harden under her touch. You’re able to hold back moans, instead letting out shakey deep breaths which have Jessie smirking at you, knowing what she’s doing to you. Before moving away from your head Jessie leans into your ear again. “Hold those pretty noises in, don’t want any of our teammates hearing just how needy you are for me, so needy that you’ve got me to fuck you in the showers, do we?” She shakes her head at you and you mirror her actions. “Good, now let’s see how well you can listen.”

Content with playing with your chest, Jessie makes herself a small path of red bites and bruises down your whole body right to where you wanted her. Jessie drops to her knees, one of your hands finding the top of her head and the other supporting you against the shower wall. Despite being on her knees for you, you knew Jessie held all the control in this moment.

Her hand trailed slowly up the back of your leg until it rested in the bend of your knee. She gently pulled your leg up and out before placing it to rest on her shoulder. She doesn’t lean in immediately, instead bringing up one hand to open you up, you watch as she licks her bottom lip, looking at your core then up to you and then back down.

You throw back your head in anticipation as you see Jessie bring her head forward to place her mouth between your legs. With the first swipe of her tongue your knee buckles and Jessie’s hands are quick to grab your thighs holding you up. Jessie dives her head back in, her tongue easily finding your clit and lapping at it. It’s embarrassing how quickly you’re letting out a moan. Or half of a moan, the second it starts to spill from your lips you close your mouth before looking down at the unamused expression on your girlfriend's face.

She gets up from her knees, letting your leg slide off her shoulder. She brings herself face to face with you and places a hand on your jaw. She turns your face to the side and brings her lips to touch your ear.

“What did I say about making noise?” Her voice is hushed and rough. When you go to open your mouth and answer Jessie’s grip on your jaw tightens. “No, don’t make excuses. You didn’t listen, you can’t keep yourself quiet, I’ll do it for you.” She drops her hand from your jaw and her right hand comes up to grab the armband, yanking it down her arm before she folds it up. Her hand comes back up to your jaw, and you suddenly feel your core clench around nothing, realizing the arousing thing Jessie is about to do.

“You like that armband of mine so much, let me put it to good use. Open.” She growls into your ear as she pinches her thumb and index finger hard into your jaw forcing your mouth open before her other hand bunches up the armband and she puts it between your lips and teeth. “That should keep you quiet, don’t even think about taking it out.”

You let out a sigh, testing how well the fabric in your mouth muffled your sounds, it wasn’t completely soundproof but it would work.

Jessie brought herself back to her knees, lifting your leg again and giving you no warning before her face was back between your legs. This time you can tell she’s trying to get you to make noise. Maybe she didn’t care anymore, maybe she liked the idea of you struggling to keep quiet under her. Her lips sucked hard on your nerves and you can’t help but bite down harder onto the fabric. You didn’t want her to stop, you didn’t want to make noise.

You feel yourself tighten your jaw more as Jessie’s fingers begin to tease at your entrance. She lets her fingertips just barely enter before she takes them away. The next time she enters them to the first knuckle before again taking them away from you. A groan of frustration bubbles up in your throat. You needed her. Jessie knew you needed her, that’s exactly why she continued on teasing. She repeated the process, liking how every time she entered you tried to buck your hips, hoping she’d go in deeper. Instead Jessie was more satisfied hearing the tiny noise that came through the armband each time she took her fingers away. She knew your eyes were screwed tightly shut, trying your best to not make noise as she had requested. She was keeping you just where she wanted you, right along the edge. You were putty in her hands and she loved it.

The next time Jessie teases her fingers and takes them away you pull hard on her hair, pulling her face back, her lips releasing from you with a pop. She looked up at you and you tried to give her your best begging look, you thrust your hips slightly toward her hoping she got the hint. Jessie licked her lips as she looked up at you. You were a beautiful sight, your soaked core in her vision, your torso littered in marks she made, your chest heaving from the teasing. On top of it all your pretty mouth was filled with her armband. Jessie was floored by your beauty, deciding she’d give you what you deserved, after all, you had been good for her and you had played well, she knew you deserved a reward.

Jessie brings her mouth to you, this time just sticking her tongue out flat and placing it against you. You stand still waiting for her to begin moving. Instead Jessie’s hands come between your legs to grab your ass. They give a quick squeeze before her hands start encouraging your hips to move. She pushes your hips forward then pulls you back, repeating the movement until you pick up the idea on your own, she wants you to ride her face.

You immediately oblige to her request, you begin thrusting and grinding yourself against Jessie’s mouth and nose. Your hand in her hair grips her tightly, holding her where you need her. It doesn’t take much, a couple moments grinding your clit into Jessie’s nose when you feel your leg begin to shake under your weight. You were getting close. It was becoming harder and harder to keep your noises in. The armband muffled the sounds but your jaw being open meant you couldn’t hold them in the way you would by clenching your teeth and biting your lip. The closer you go the more sounds that come out, pathetic whines and whimpers as you are unable to form any words.

You’re grateful for the armband and the sound of multiple showers running when Jessie pushes your hips hard back against the wall, taking away the pleasure of riding her face. It was unlikely anyone heard the sound of desperation that came from your throat as you tried to rut your hips against nothing.

Jessie stood up again, pressing her whole body against yours, the cold shower tile touching every inch of the back of your skin. She placed kissing along your collarbone as her hand still pressed your hips firmly into the wall, not wanting you to get any kind of stimulation.

She kisses up your neck and gently pulls your ear between her teeth, biting it before talking to you quietly. “You said anything I wanted right?” You nod against her face. Her hand releases your hip for a moment, she places her leg between your thighs helping pin you to the wall while also torturing you more with the pressure on your clit. “Don’t move your hips.” As if she knew what your next move was going to be, Jessie told you off before you could do it. Her hand moves and pulls the armband from your mouth. “Answer me, anything I want, right?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” Jessie says, looking at you. You’re not sure what she means until she glances from you to the armband and back to you.

“Yes Captain.” You say and Jessie nods.

“And you’re going to be quiet right? Be a good girl with your mouth full?”

“Yes Captain.”

“Okay, I’m going to let you cum, but you have to follow the rules. Can you do that? Can you cum for me in secret?”

“Yes Captain.”

“Open.” Jessie says and you happily open your mouth for her to place the fabric back in. “Now be a good girl and cum on my face and fingers.” She says before she pinches each of your nipples making you jump and let out a squeal.

Jessie drops back between your legs for the third time, pulling up your leg again and this time thrusting her fingers deep inside of you. Your back arches off the wall and you’re throwing back your head. She had you so worked up you already felt yourself clenching tightly around her thick fingers. She gives you one last look up before closing her eyes and placing her mouth and tongue on you again. Her fingers curl inside of you as she sucks and laps at your clit. You feel yourself flutter around her fingers as the tingle in your stomach builds and builds.

Her fingers stretching you, her tongue and lips torturing your swollen clit, the sight of her between your legs, on her knees in the shower, the shower where your teammates are just meters away, the risk of being caught, other people hearing your desperate nosies, it’s all building your high.

That high comes crashing down moments later. The noise you let out is that of a whine followed by a deep groan, one that definitely could be heard by anyone else in the showers if they were paying attention. Jessie works you through your orgasm before standing up, her hands supporting your waist.

“I told you to be quiet.” She says as she takes the armband from your mouth.

“I tried.” You had, you really had, you just couldn’t handle the pleasure and the moans had just happened.

“Well you need to try harder.” Jessie grabs the shower head, turning it back so the water runs down your body. “Let’s finish getting you clean, when we get home you’re going to learn what happens when you don’t listen to your Captain.” She says before reaching for the shampoo.

You had expected Jessie to leave, disappointed in you, mad at the noises you made, but she didn’t. She stayed in the stall with you, striping off what remained of her own clothes. She helped wash you before washing herself, when she turned off the water she reached outside of the shower grabbing your towel before her own. You step out first checking to make sure no one was actively coming in to see the two of you getting out of the same stall.

You’re not sure why you bothered trying to hide when you caught a glimpse at your appearance in the mirror on the way to the changing room. Your towel covered everything from your knees up to your armpit height. However Jessie had taken it upon herself to mark you across both collarbones and up the right side of your neck.

She watched how your eyes widened at the sight, knowing your teammates would see any second. “Don’t be shy now, it’s not like they didn’t all see you eyeing me up all day. They already know you’re getting fucked by me, what’s a little more proof for them.” She just shrugged. You couldn’t believe her sudden lack of care involving your teammates knowing.

You tried you best to duck your head and make your way to your locker, but it wasn’t long until your teammates started talking.

“Jesus, no wonder the water started to get cold!”

“Holy shit.”

“Y’all are gross.”

“Seems like you two had some good post game recovery.”

You hear a chorus of reactions to your appearance. You duck your head further and turn back to look at Jessie who has an all too proud smirk on her face. You’re happy to see she’s at least supporting a small blush, one that’s minor in comparison to the beet red face you had. You try and make your way over to your locker to change and leave before you are subjected to any more teasing.

“One, two, three, four…” you feel Julia’s finger poking at each of the marks, counting them out for everyone to hear.

“Hey, leave her alone, Captain’s orders.” You hear Jessie say from behind you. Her arm comes up to protectively wrap around your shoulders.

“Sure seems like someone took a lot of Captain's orders in those showers.” Janine says under her breath but somehow to the entire room. Your teammates erupted in laughter while you turned, as red as physically possible, tucking your body into Jessie’s.

You knew the teasing was worth it, the sex had been great, incredibly hot, and a good fix for your fascination with the armband. Jessie made it even more worth it when she took care of you that night, over and over, as an apology for the teasing you had endured as a result of her actions.

[corrupte3d-mindz]

Lavish Love

Cillian Murphy x F! Spoiled Reader

Summary: Cillian plans the perfect anniversary, and then some.

Wordcount: 14.1k

Warnings:

Straight up smut with a plot, it’s really lovey dovey smut, until he calls you a bitch..once tho, switch! Cillian, slightly perverted Cillian if you squint, possessive Cillian if you squint, breeding kink like it’s said, unsafe sex, f! overstimulating, f! oral receiving, fingering, kissing, semi cock-warming, p in v, soft/dirty talk, aftercare.

!!Semi-Proofread!!

Cillian stands in the kitchen wearing nothing but his boxer briefs, a simple, black pair that clings to his lean form, accentuating the muscles of his thighs and the taut lines of his abdomen.

The early morning light filters through the sheer curtains, casting a gentle glow on his pale skin, highlighting the faint smattering of freckles that dot his shoulders. His dark hair is tousled from sleep, falling in soft waves across his forehead, framing his sharp features and intense blue eyes. The kitchen is a study in modern minimalism, all sleek lines and stainless steel, but the warmth of the wooden cabinets and the earthy tones of the décor add a comforting touch.

He stands by the counter, one hand resting casually on the cool marble surface while the other deftly operates the espresso machine. The hum of the machine and the scent of freshly ground coffee beans fill the air, mingling with the faint aroma of the lavender-scented candle she lit the night before. His gaze is fixed on his phone, the screen casting a soft glow on his face as his eyes flit across the text of a message. His brows furrow slightly, a sign of deep concentration or perhaps a hint of frustration. The coffee machine sputters and hisses, and he absently reaches for the steaming cup, his long fingers wrapping around the handle.

The muscles in his forearm ripple as he lifts the cup to his lips, taking a cautious sip. He winces slightly at the heat, then blows gently across the surface, sending tiny ripples through the dark liquid. His phone buzzes with a new notification, and he glances down, his expression softening as he reads the message. It’s a reminder he set over a year ago…his anniversary. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, and he shakes his head slightly, a lock of hair falling into his eyes. He brushes it away with an absent-minded gesture, his attention still on the screen.

The stillness of the morning was punctuated by a faint creak, the familiar sound of their bed giving way as it always did when someone rose from it. Cillian's ears perked up, and he turned his head slightly, listening intently. The sound of the bedroom door opening slowly followed, a gentle creak that spoke of age and use. His heart quickened, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He knew it was her. Her footsteps, soft and deliberate, echoed faintly through the house, a rhythm he had come to know and love. Each step seemed to carry a promise, a whisper of their shared moments. Cillian's gaze shifted from the window to the kitchen doorway, anticipation building within him. The seconds stretched, each one laden with the expectation of her arrival.

As she appeared in the open style of the kitchen, their eyes met, and the world seemed to pause. Her presence filled the room, a warmth that rivaled the morning sun. She was wrapped in one of his shirts, her hair a tousled cascade that framed her face. There was a softness in her eyes, a sleepy affection that mirrored his own.

"Good mornin', love," Cillian murmured, his voice a low, husky drawl that carried the unmistakable lilt of his Irish accent. The words were like a caress, gentle and intimate, as he took a slow sip of his coffee.

She smiled, the kind of smile that made his heart skip a beat. It was a smile that spoke of shared secrets and unspoken promises, a smile that was for him and him alone. She padded across the kitchen, her bare feet making little noise on the cool tiles. Cillian watched her every move, his gaze unwavering, drinking in the sight of her. As she drew closer, he set his coffee cup down on the counter and opened his arms. She stepped into his embrace, her body fitting perfectly against his. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, feeling the warmth of her skin against his. For a moment, they simply stood there, wrapped in each other, the world outside forgotten.

"I love you," she whispered, her voice muffled against his chest. Her words were a balm to his soul, a reminder of the depth of their connection.

"I love ye too," he replied, his brogue thick with emotion. He tilted her chin up with gentle fingers, his thumb brushing lightly across her cheek. "Yer a sight fer sore eyes, ye know that?"

She laughed softly, the sound like music to his ears. "And you're a sight for mine," she teased, her eyes sparkling with affection. "Standing here in your boxers, looking all broody and handsome."

Cillian held her tight in his arms, his grip firm yet gentle as he set her down carefully against the cool surface of the countertop, he wasted no time in capturing her lips with his own. His kiss was passionate, almost desperate, filled with an intensity that spoke volumes about the emotions coursing through him. His tongue slid past her lips, exploring the warmth of her mouth while his free hand roamed over her curves, squeezing and groping with a possessive touch.

Cillian's tongue danced around mouth with a hunger that matched his eyes, each flick and swirl sending sparks shooting down her spine. His fingers dug into her flesh roughly, bruisingly, but there was something so incredibly hot about it that sent shivers down her body. His teeth nipped at her lower lip, tugging gently as though he wanted more. But he didn't want to push it, so instead he let out a low growl that vibrated against her lips. After a few moments of teasing, he pulled away from the kiss, his breathing ragged. "Fuck, baby," he groaned, sounding more American than Irish right now.

Cillian took a step back, his breath catching in his throat as he took in the sight of her. To him, she was perfect—an embodiment of beauty and grace, someone who had managed to capture his heart so completely that it felt like a spell had been cast upon him. His admiration was almost palpable, a silent declaration of love and devotion that seemed to hang in the air between them. She was perched on the cool countertop, her legs dangling playfully, her bare feet brushing against the cabinet beneath. She wore one of his shirts, the fabric soft and worn from countless washes, now serving as an impromptu nightgown. The shirt was a little big on her but not by a lot, the hemline barely covering the lace of her underwear, just by the lace style he could tell it was one he just recently bought her.

As she hopped off the countertop, her feet hitting the cold floor with a soft thud, she looked up at him, her smile widening. She walked towards him, the shirt swaying with each step, revealing glimpses of her smooth skin. When she reached him, she placed her hands on his bare chest, feeling the warmth of his skin under her fingertips. Cillian's heart thudded loudly in his chest, a rhythm that matched the low growl emanating from his stomach. He chuckled softly, a rich sound that filled the kitchen, and reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

He chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that filled the kitchen. "Seems like I’m a bit hungry," he said, his Irish accent thick and melodious. He placed a hand over his stomach, giving her a sheepish grin. "Must’ve been all that starin’. You’ve got me completely spellbound, ya know that?"

She laughed, the sound light and musical, her eyes sparkling with affection. "Well, we can’t have you starving now, can we?" she teased, her hands still resting on his chest. "What do you feel like having for breakfast?"

“Somethin’ simple..” Cillian said while fiddling with a piece of her hair.

The both of them separated at the same time, Cillian and her chuckled softly; she stepped over to the kettle to fill it with water for her tea. As she moved, the oversized shirt she wore swayed, giving Cillian a tantalizing glimpse of her bare legs. He watched her for a moment, his heart swelling with love and a hint of possessive pride. He adored seeing her in his clothes, a visible reminder that she was his and he was hers.

While she was waiting for her tea to make, she walked over to the cupboard and reached up to retrieve a mug from the shelf, standing on her tiptoes. Cillian was beside her in an instant, his hands gentle but firm as he steadied her. "Careful now, don't want ye fallin' and hurtin' yourself."

She rolled her eyes playfully. "I'm not that clumsy, Cill~."

"Aye, well, I like to take precautions," he said, his tone teasing but his eyes serious. He couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to her. He handed her the mug, their fingers brushing together in a small but intimate gesture. She took it with a smile, her touch lingering on his for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

As the tea steeped, they turned their attention to the food. Cillian moved to the fridge, pulling out a carton of eggs, a pack of bacon and sausage. "How do ye want yer eggs this mornin', love?" he asked, looking over his shoulder at her.

"Scrambled, please," she replied, setting out the pancake mix on the counter. "And maybe a bit of cheese in them?"

"Comin' right up," he said with a wink, cracking the eggs into a bowl with deft movements. She watched him for a moment, admiring the way his muscles flexed and moved beneath his skin. Even in such a simple setting, he was captivating. While he worked on the eggs, she mixed the pancake batter, humming softly to herself. Cillian couldn't help but smile at the sight of her, so content and at ease in his kitchen. It was moments like these that he cherished most – the quiet, unremarkable mornings that spoke of a life built together on love and trust.

"Do you need any help with that, darlin'?" he asked, his voice breaking her out of her reverie.

"No, I’ve got it," she said, pouring the batter onto the hot griddle. "But you could start the bacon and sausage if you don't mind."

"Anything for ye," he replied, moving to the stove and laying the strips of bacon in the pan. The sizzle and pop of the meat filled the air, mingling with the smell of the steeping tea and cooking pancakes. He added the sausages to another pan, his movements sure and confident. They worked side by side in comfortable silence, the only sounds the quiet clatter of utensils and the hiss of the cooking food. Every so often, Cillian would glance over at her, his heart swelling with a love so fierce it almost took his breath away. She caught him looking once and raised an eyebrow. "What?" she asked, a smile playing on her lips.

"Nothin', just enjoyin' the view," he replied with a mischievous grin. "Ye look beautiful this mornin'."

She blushed, ducking her head to hide her smile. "Flatterer."

"Just speakin' the truth," he said, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "I love you, ye know that?"

"I know," she replied, her voice soft and full of emotion. "I love you too, Cill~."

They finished cooking, the plates piled high with fluffy pancakes, crispy bacon, savory sausages, and perfectly scrambled eggs. She poured herself a cup of tea, the fragrant steam rising around her. "This is perfect," she said, taking a sip and closing her eyes in bliss.

He smiled, his eyes softening. "Aye, and it only gets better from here."

They sat down to eat, their knees touching under the table. As they shared the meal they had made together, they talked about everything and nothing, their voices low and filled with affection. Cillian couldn't help but think about the day he had planned many months in advance. But for now, though, he was content to sit here with her, enjoying this perfect morning. He reached over to take her hand, his fingers lacing through hers. "To us," he said, raising his coffee cup in a toast.

"To us," she echoed, lifting her tea. They clinked their cups together, the sound a sweet promise of the future they would build together. As they ate, talked, and laughed, Cillian knew that this moment – this quiet, simple moment – was the start of something beautifully new and exciting.

The bathroom was an elegant sanctuary, with soft lighting casting a warm glow on the marble countertops and tiled floors. The scent of lavender and eucalyptus filled the air, a calming aroma that always made her feel at ease. Cillian stood by the large, glass-enclosed shower, his eyes reflecting the soft golden hues of the room. His lean, sculpted frame was a sight to behold, the result of years of disciplined fitness and a healthy lifestyle. His dark hair, slightly tousled, added a touch of ruggedness to his otherwise polished appearance. His piercing blue eyes, the color of a clear Irish sky, held an intensity that never failed to captivate her.

Cillian’s gaze was affectionate as he looked at her, a small, knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Love, I’ll start it fer us,” he said, his rich Irish accent adding a musical lilt to his words. He reached for the brushed nickel handle and turned it, adjusting the temperature until the water was just right. The sound of the water cascading down onto the tiled floor created a soothing symphony.

As the steam began to fill the room, he turned back to her, his eyes tracing the lines of her body with a reverent appreciation. “Come here, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice a gentle command that she found impossible to resist. She stepped closer, and he reached out to cup her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing lightly over her cheekbones. “Yer so beautiful,” he whispered, his breath warm against her skin.

She felt a shiver run down her spine at his touch, a delicious anticipation building within her. His hands moved from her face to her shoulders, his fingers tracing a path down her arms, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. He was always so gentle, so attentive, his touch a perfect blend of tenderness and passion. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, then her nose, before finally capturing her lips in a kiss that was both sweet and searing.

When they finally pulled apart, they were both breathless, their hearts pounding in unison. “Ye make me feel like the luckiest man in the world,” he said, his voice low and earnest. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that she almost always saw, a glimpse of the depth of his feelings for her. “I want ye to know that.”

She smiled, her heart swelling with love for him. “And you make me feel cherished,” she replied, her voice soft but filled with emotion. She reached up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead, her fingers lingering against his skin.

His eyes darkened with an emotion she couldn’t quite name, and he pulled her into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around her protectively. “Yer my everything, ye know that?” he murmured into her hair. “I’d do anythin’ to make ye happy.”

She nestled into his embrace, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her own. They stood like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other’s warmth, before he reluctantly pulled back. “We’d best get in before the water gets cold,” he said with a soft chuckle, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

She laughed, the sound light and carefree, and nodded. “Lead the way, Mr. Murphy,” she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. He grinned, his boyish charm shining through, and took her hand, guiding her towards the shower. The steam enveloped them as they stepped inside, the hot water cascading over their bodies. Cillian reached for the bottle of her favorite shampoo, the scent of lavender and vanilla filling the air as he lathered it in his hands.

“Turn around, love,” he instructed gently, and she complied, closing her eyes as his fingers worked the shampoo into her hair. His touch was firm yet gentle, his fingers massaging her scalp in slow, deliberate circles. She sighed in contentment, leaning into his touch, the sensation utterly blissful.

He rinsed the shampoo from her hair, the warm water running down her back in soothing rivulets. “How does that feel?” he asked, his voice a husky murmur in her ear.

“Perfect,” she replied, her voice barely more than a whisper. “You always know just what I need.”

He smiled, a tender expression that made her heart skip a beat. “I aim to please,” he said, his tone playful yet sincere. He reached for the body wash, his hands gliding over her skin with practiced ease, each touch sending a spark of desire through her.

They took their time, savoring each moment, each touch, each whispered word of love and affection. It was a ritual they had come to cherish, a time to reconnect and reaffirm their bond. As the water continued to cascade around them, they moved in perfect harmony, their bodies attuned to each other in a way that only years of love and intimacy could bring.

When they finally stepped out of the shower, they were both flushed and breathless, their skin glowing from the heat and their shared passion. Cillian wrapped a plush towel around her, his hands lingering on her shoulders as he pressed a kiss to her temple. “I love ye more than words can say,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. She looked up at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I love you too, Cillian,” she replied, her voice steady despite the overwhelming emotions swirling within her. They dried off in comfortable silence, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around them like a warm blanket. Cillian handed her a robe, his eyes lingering on her with a look of pure adoration.

Cillian in a fresh pair of boxer briefs and his girl in a different lace lingerie set he had bought her, they both stood in the middle of their expansive walk-in closet, surrounded by racks of meticulously organized clothing and rows of gleaming shoes. The closet, almost the size of a small bedroom, was a testament to their shared love for fashion and luxury. Shelves lined with her designer handbags and her accessories filled the room, while full-length mirrors reflected the couple's movements. The air was lightly scented with a hint of lavender, adding a calming ambiance to the space.

His girl was a vision of elegance as she sifted through the dresses, her fingers brushing against the luxurious fabrics. She paused, pulling out a sleek black dress that looked black on the outside but was a deep shade of red on the inside it also held a deep thigh slit, holding it up for his inspection. The dress was stunning, it was after all one of a kind since he got it made for her. However it was the kind that demanded attention and exuded confidence. She paired it with her red-bottom heels, the iconic shoes adding a touch of bold sophistication.

She turned to him, a hint of uncertainty in her eyes, and asked, “Do you think it’s too over the top for where we’re going or no?”

Cillian pushed off the doorjamb and walked over to her, his own selection draped over his arm. He had chosen a classic black tuxedo with a crisp white shirt and a perfectly knotted black tie. His polished red-bottom shoes added a touch of flair to his otherwise traditional ensemble. He stepped close, his hands gently taking the dress from her as he looked into her eyes. His gaze was intense, filled with adoration and an almost palpable hunger.

“Darlin’, yeh could never be too over the top,” he said, his Irish accent rolling off his tongue like a caress. “Yeh look absolutely stunnin’ in that dress. Trust me, no matter where we go, all eyes will be on yeh, and that’s exactly how it should be.”

He handed the dress back to her, his fingers brushing against hers in a lingering touch. She smiled, reassured by his words and the sincerity in his eyes. As she smiled and walked out of the closet, Cillian couldn't help but admire her beauty. His gaze lingered on her figure, appreciating the way her hips swayed gently with each step. The soft light filtering through the closet's windows illuminated her form, casting a warm glow over her skin. She laid her chosen dress and heels on the bed with a delicate touch, the fabric shimmering in the light.

As he dressed, he couldn't shake the image of her from his mind, her beauty and grace captivating him completely. Once dressed, Cillian made his way to the bathroom, where she was applying her makeup. He leaned against the door frame, watching her with a soft smile. "You look stunning," he said, his Irish accent lending a musical quality to his words.

She glanced up, a blush rising to her cheeks at his compliment. "Thank you," she replied, returning his smile. She turned back to the mirror, adding the finishing touches to her makeup with practiced precision.

“Cillian, can you help me with the dress?” She asked while walking out of the bathroom.

The soft glow of the bedside lamps cast a warm light over the expansive bedroom, illuminating the exquisite furnishings and delicate fabrics that adorned the room. He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips as he stepped closer to her. His hands, strong and sure, gently caressed her shoulders as he carefully lifted the fabric, sliding the straps into place.

His touch was tender, his movements slow and deliberate as he smoothed the fabric over her back, his fingers brushing against her skin in a way that made her heart skip a beat. As he worked, he couldn't help but admire her beauty, the way the dress accentuated her curves, the way her hair cascaded down her back in soft waves. Once the dress was in place, he moved to her feet, kneeling down to help her with her heels. He carefully slipped each shoe onto her foot, his hands lingering for a moment as he fastened the straps, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through her.

"Thank you, love," she said, her voice filled with gratitude as she turned to face him. Her eyes met his, and for a moment, they just stood there, lost in each other's gaze. Then, without a word, he took her hand and led her to the full-length mirror.

As she admired her reflection, he stood behind her, his hands resting lightly on her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. "You look absolutely stunning," he whispered, his voice husky with emotion. She smiled, a blush creeping onto her cheeks as she turned to face him.

"Thank you, Cill," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "For everything."

He smiled, a smile that reached his eyes, his love for her shining brightly. "Anything for you, love," he replied, his voice filled with sincerity.

As they walked towards the garage, Cillian could hear her heels clicking against the tile. Fuck, that sound turned him on a lot. Cillian gaze swept over the row of gleaming cars, his expression thoughtful yet eager. His girl, her arm intertwined with his, followed his gaze, her eyes widening at the sight of the luxurious vehicles before them. The Porsche 911, with its sleek lines and powerful engine, exuded an air of speed and sophistication. The Audi R8, a true marvel of engineering, stood out with its aggressive stance and futuristic design. The Aston Martin DB11, a symbol of British luxury, radiated elegance and class.

They continued down the line, exploring each car in turn. The Audi A8L, with its spacious interior and cutting-edge technology, impressed them with its comfort and sophistication. The Audi Q7, a versatile SUV, promised a smooth and enjoyable ride. The Mercedes-Benz S-Class, known for its opulence and refinement, offered a taste of luxury like no other. Finally, the Lexus RX 450h, with its hybrid technology and eco-friendly design, appealed to their sense of environmental responsibility.

After carefully considering their options, Cillian turned to his girlfriend with a grin. "I think I know which one we should pick."

She raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "Oh? Which one?"

Cillian gestured towards the Aston Martin DB11. "The DB11. It's the perfect blend of style and performance, just like us."

His girlfriend smiled, nodding in agreement. "I couldn't agree more. Let's take the DB11 for a spin."

Cillian, with a smile that bespoke of a man deeply in love, walked over to her side of the car and gently opened the door, a gesture as natural to him as breathing. "After you, love," he said in his charming Irish accent, his voice a melodic blend of warmth and affection. His girlfriend, a vision of beauty in her own right, slid into the plush leather seat, her eyes shining with excitement. Cillian closed the door with a soft thud and made his way to the driver's side. As he settled into the luxurious interior, the scent of fine leather enveloped him, a familiar and comforting aroma that never failed to please his senses. He inserted the key into the ignition, and with a press of a button, the engine roared to life, its powerful rumble reverberating through the air.

"Ready for a bit of a drive, love?" Cillian asked, his eyes twinkling with anticipation.

The afternoon sun danced through the tinted windows, casting warm rays of golden light upon the interior of the luxurious vehicle. Cillian, with his impeccable sense of style and undeniable charisma, exuded an air of quiet confidence as he navigated the bustling city streets with ease. As they drove, the air crackled with anticipation, a palpable tension that hung between them like a delicate veil. Cillian's gaze lingered on his girlfriend, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips as he admired her beauty. With a subtle movement, he reached out, his hand gliding across the smooth leather of the car's interior until it found its resting place on her thigh. His touch was gentle yet possessive, a silent declaration of his affection and desire.

With a knowing glance, Cillian guided the car towards their destination, the anticipation building with each passing moment. The streets blurred past in a kaleidoscope of colors, the rhythm of the city pulsing around them as they drew closer to their destination. And then, as if on cue, they arrived at their destination—an breathtakingly, beautiful restaurant within the heart of the city, its charming facade beckoning them inside with promises of culinary delights.

"You're going to love where we're eating," Cillian murmured, his voice a low, melodious rumble that sent shivers down her spine. His Irish accent lent an irresistible charm to his words, infusing them with warmth and sincerity. With a flick of his wrist, he cut the engine and turned to face her, his eyes sparkling with mischief and excitement.

The moment his foot touches the ground, the crowd's chatter briefly intensifies. Whispers of recognition ripple through the onlookers as they realize the presence of the renowned actor. His chiseled features remain composed, though there's a flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes as he subtly nods towards the valet and a few fans who’ve gathered, eager for a glimpse.

"Darlin’, ye look absolutely beautiful," he murmurs, his Irish lilt wrapping around the words like a soft embrace. His gaze is fixed on his girlfriend, who gracefully steps out beside him. Her dress, a sleek, black dress that complements her eyes, glows softly under the lights. He extends his hand, his fingers gently brushing against hers, the simple touch igniting a spark of electricity between them. "It's so hard for me to keep me hands off of ye," he adds, his voice low, filled with genuine admiration and a hint of playful mischief.

Despite the eyes on them, Cillian's focus never wavers from her. He leads her towards the grand entrance of the restaurant, their steps in perfect sync. As they pass through the elegantly arched doorway, the maître d’ greets them with a knowing smile, acknowledging Cillian with a respectful nod. "Mr. Murphy, welcome. Your table is ready."

Cillian inclines his head in appreciation. "Thank ye," he responds, his voice carrying the warmth of his heritage. The maître d’ gestures towards a secluded alcove, partially hidden by luxurious drapes and adorned with softly glowing candles. It’s a haven of intimacy amidst the bustling atmosphere, a place where they can enjoy their evening undisturbed. Reaching the table, Cillian releases her hand with a reluctant sigh. He steps forward, pulling out her chair with a graceful flourish, the epitome of chivalry. "Here ye go, love," he says, his voice a tender caress. She takes her seat, and as he pushes the chair in, he leans down, his lips brushing the delicate skin of her neck. The touch is feather-light, yet it sends a delicious shiver racing down her spine.

He takes his seat across from her, their eyes locking in a silent conversation that speaks volumes. The ambient light casts a soft glow on his face, highlighting the intensity in his gaze. "I wanted tonight to be perfect for ye," he confides, his accent adding a lyrical quality to his words. "Ye deserve nothin’ but the best."

Their dinner is a symphony of flavors and textures, each course meticulously crafted to delight and surprise. As they savor the exquisite dishes, their conversation flows effortlessly, punctuated by shared glances and the occasional touch. Cillian's eyes never stray far from her, his adoration evident in every gesture.

At one point, he reaches across the table, his fingers intertwining with hers. "Ye know, love," he begins, his voice a soft murmur, "Every moment with ye feels like a gift. I’m the luckiest man alive to have ye by me side." His words are sincere, filled with a depth of feeling that takes her breath away. The night progresses in a blur of laughter, shared stories, and quiet moments of connection. The world outside their private alcove fades into the background, leaving only the two of them in a cocoon of love and intimacy. Cillian's charm and wit keep her enthralled, his accent adding a layer of enchantment to every word he speaks.

Their dessert, a Mille-Feuille of Tahitian Vanilla Cream, sat temptingly between them, its delicate layers promising a delightful end to their meal. Cillian, ever the gentleman, had ordered it with her favorite flavor in mind, knowing how much she adored vanilla. As they began to share the dessert, Cillian's eyes sparkled with a mixture of amusement and adoration. He loved these moments of simple joy, the way she would close her eyes slightly as she savored each bite, the soft hum of satisfaction she made when something particularly pleased her. He was entranced by her, utterly captivated by every little detail.

"Ah, darlin', you look ravishing," Cillian said with a laugh, his Irish accent wrapping around the words in a way that made her heart flutter. His blue eyes twinkled with amusement as he looked at her, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile that spoke of his deep affection.

The rest of their dessert was consumed with playful exchanges and lingering glances, each moment a testament to the deep bond they shared. Cillian's heart swelled with love as he watched her, the way she lit up the room with her presence. After they finished their meal, Cillian reached into his wallet and pulled out a generous tip for the waiter, a gesture that spoke volumes of his appreciation for the evening's service. He stood up gracefully and walked over to her, his movements smooth and confident. With a charming smile, he pulled her chair out, helping her to her feet.

"Ready, love?" he asked, his voice soft but filled with anticipation.

As they left the restaurant, they were immediately swarmed by paparazzi, their cameras flashing incessantly, trying to capture every moment. Cillian’s demeanor shifted slightly, his protective instincts kicking in. He kept a firm but gentle grip on her hand, his body shielding her from the intrusive flashes. He led her swiftly to his Aston Martin DB11, its sleek lines and powerful presence a perfect match for the man himself.

"Ignore 'em, darlin'," he said softly, his accent thick with the effort to keep his frustration in check. "Let's get ye outta here."

He opened the car door for her, a small, reassuring smile playing on his lips despite the chaos around them. Once she was safely inside, he quickly moved to the driver’s side, sliding in and starting the engine with a low, satisfying rumble. He maneuvered the car out of the crowded street with practiced ease, his focus entirely on her well-being. As they drove off, leaving the paparazzi behind, he reached over and took her hand, squeezing it gently. "Ye alright, love?" he asked, his eyes flicking to her for a moment before returning to the road.

She nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, Cillian. Just glad to be with you."

His heart swelled at her words, and he brought her hand to his lips, kissing it tenderly. "Yer too good to me," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of burnt orange and dusky pink, the world outside the car windows seemed to pause, capturing a moment of pure tranquility. The sleek, dark silhouette of Cillian’s luxury car glided smoothly along the winding road, the engine’s soft purr blending with the gentle whisper of the wind. Inside, the atmosphere was warm and intimate, cocooned in a bubble of soft leather seats and the lingering aroma of their recent meal. The soft strains of music played in the background, a soothing accompaniment to the quiet contentment that filled the car.

Cillian’s hand slipped back to her thigh and rested there. His fingers, cool and reassuring, sought the warmth of her skin, finding comfort in the familiar gesture. He glanced at her briefly, a small, affectionate smile playing at the corners of his mouth before returning his gaze to the road ahead. The fading light cast a golden glow on his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his face and the intense blue of his eyes, making him look almost ethereal.

“I love yah, ye know that?” he murmured, his voice a low, melodic rumble, thick with his Irish accent. There was a sincerity in his tone, a depth of feeling that conveyed more than just the words themselves. It was a declaration and a reassurance, a way of anchoring himself to her in this perfect moment.

She turned her head slightly, her eyes meeting his in a brief but electric connection. She felt the warmth of his hand seep through the fabric of her dress, a physical reminder of his constant presence. She smiled, a soft, knowing smile that spoke volumes, her own hand reaching over to cover his. The contact was simple yet profound, a silent affirmation of their bond. The road stretched ahead, a ribbon of asphalt winding through the picturesque countryside. Trees lined either side, their branches forming a canopy that filtered the dying light, casting dappled shadows on the car. The air was cool and fragrant with the scent of pine and earth, the kind of evening that felt timeless and endless. Cillian’s hand gave a gentle squeeze, his thumb brushing in slow, lazy circles over her skin.

“Ye know, every moment with ye feels like a gift,” he continued, his accent wrapping around the words like a soft embrace. “I never thought I’d find someone who makes me feel this way, who makes everythin’ brighter just by bein’ there.”

His girlfriend’s heart swelled with emotion, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around her like a warm blanket. She squeezed his hand back, her own words a quiet echo of his sentiment. “I feel the same way, Cillian. You make everything better, just by being you.”

They drove on in companionable silence, the landscape shifting as the sun continued its descent. The car’s interior grew dimmer, the twilight casting long shadows that danced across their faces. Cillian’s hand remained steady on her thigh, a constant, grounding presence. He glanced at her again, his eyes filled with a love that was both fierce and tender.

“Ye mean the world to me,” he said softly, almost to himself. “I’d do anythin’ to make ye happy, to see that smile on yer face.”

She felt a rush of affection, her heart beating a little faster at his words. “You already do, Cillian. Every single day.”

As they neared their home, the familiar landmarks began to appear, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. The car turned onto the long driveway, the gravel crunching softly under the tires. As Cillian parked the car in front of their quaint, ivy-covered house, the late afternoon sun casting a golden hue across the cobblestone path leading up to the front door. As the engine hushed into silence, he turned to his girlfriend, his blue eyes sparkling with a mixture of anticipation and affection. His smile was warm, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and conveyed a world of unspoken promises.

With a fluid grace that seemed effortless, he stepped out of the car and walked around to her side. He opened her door with a flourish, bowing slightly as if she were royalty. Extending his hand, he gazed at her with a tender intensity that made her heart flutter. “I’ve got somethin’ you’ll like waitin’ on you inside,” he said, his Irish accent soft and lilting, each word a caress.

She looked up at him, curiosity alight in her eyes, and a radiant smile spread across her face. “Cill, today’s been perfect. I don’t think it can get any better,” she said, her voice filled with genuine contentment.

His grin widened, a hint of mystery playing on his lips. Taking her hand, he led her up the path to the front door, their steps in sync, like a dance they had rehearsed a thousand times. The scent of blooming roses wafted through the air, mingling with the faintest hint of cologne that clung to him. Just as they reached the doorstep, a flicker of realization crossed his features. He turned to her, his expression apologetic but playful. “Stay right here, love. I’ll be back in a jiffy,” he said, darting back to the car with a sprightliness that belied his age.

She watched him go, her heart swelling with affection. The past two years with Cillian had been a whirlwind of emotions, adventures, and countless moments of pure, unadulterated joy. He was a man of contradictions—intense yet gentle, serious yet capable of the most boyish charm. He returned quickly, stuffing something small in his pocket. His smile was back, more radiant than ever, as if he held the keys to a treasure chest of happiness. “Close yer eyes for me,” he said, his voice a soft command that she obeyed without hesitation. She closed her eyes, her mind racing with possibilities. What could he have planned? She felt a gentle tug on her hand as he led her forward, each step measured and careful. The cool breeze whispered against her skin, heightening her senses.

He had been meticulous in his planning, ensuring every detail was perfect, and now, anticipation thrummed through him as he brought her into the heart of their home. The house was quiet, save for the soft rustle of their footsteps against the hardwood floor, the familiar creaks and groans adding to the intimate atmosphere.

“Ye can open them for me,” he finally whispered, his voice a soft caress in her ear.

As she opened her eyes, the sight before her took her breath away. The room was bathed in the gentle, flickering light of countless candles, each flame dancing gracefully in the dim ambiance. The golden glow illuminated every corner, casting playful shadows that seemed to come alive with the romance of the evening. The subtle scent of vanilla and sandalwood from the candles mingled in the air, creating a warm and inviting aroma that wrapped around them like a comforting embrace. Her gaze was drawn to the floor, where rose petals were artfully scattered, forming a delicate path that led towards the dining area. The rich red hues of the petals contrasted beautifully against the dark wood, creating a scene that was both enchanting and dreamlike. Each step she took felt as though she were walking on a cloud of romance, the petals cushioning her feet and heightening her senses.

At the end of the petal-strewn path stood a table set for two, placed strategically by the fireplace. The table was elegantly dressed in a pristine white cloth, the edges embroidered with intricate lace patterns. Silverware glinted in the candlelight, perfectly positioned beside fine china plates adorned with delicate floral designs. Crystal glasses sparkled, catching the light and reflecting it back in a kaleidoscope of colors. A bottle of her favorite champagne rested in a silver bucket, the ice inside crackling softly as it melted. The sight of it brought a smile to her lips; Cillian had remembered every detail, no matter how small. The champagne was a symbol of their many celebrations together, each glass they had shared over the years filled with laughter, love, and memories.

He stepped closer to her, his arm encircling her waist, pulling her gently against him. “Do ye like it, darlin’?” he asked, his breath warm against her neck.

Beside the table, a pile of gifts beckoned, each one meticulously wrapped in elegant paper and tied with satin ribbons. There were at least twenty of them, their sizes and shapes varying, but all equally enticing. The bows on top were perfect, each loop and knot a testament to the care and effort he had put into this evening. The presents themselves were a reflection of his love for her, each one chosen with her in mind, each one a small token of his adoration and devotion.

She turned to him, her eyes wide with astonishment and love. "Cillian, this is... I don't even know what to say. It's perfect."

He smiled, a boyish grin that lit up his face and made her heart flutter. “Aye, I wanted it to be special. Ye deserve nothin' but the best, love.” His Irish lilt was soft, the words rolling off his tongue like a melody, soothing and comforting. He reached out, taking her hand in his and leading her to the table. “Come, sit. There's more to the evenin’ yet.”

As she settled into the chair, he deftly uncorked the champagne, the pop of the bottle a cheerful sound that echoed through the room. He poured the bubbly liquid into the glasses, the effervescence rising in a cascade of tiny bubbles that caught the candlelight. He handed her a glass, his fingers brushing against hers, sending a shiver of electricity up her arm.

“To us,” he toasted, his eyes never leaving hers. “Two years, and many more to come.”

They clinked their glasses together, the crystal ringing with a pure, clear note that seemed to resonate in the air around them. She took a sip, the champagne cool and crisp on her tongue, a contrast to the warmth spreading through her chest. Cillian watched her, his gaze soft and full of adoration, his heart swelling with love and anticipation. Her heart skipped a beat, her breath catching in her throat. She looked at him, her eyes searching his, seeing the depth of his feelings reflected back at her. He stood up, moving to the side of the table and reaching into his pocket. Her pulse quickened as he pulled out a small, velvet box, his fingers trembling slightly as he opened it to reveal a dazzling diamond ring.

"My love," Cillian began, his Irish accent adding a melodious tone to his words, "from the moment I met you, I knew that you were the one I wanted to spend my life with. You have brought so much joy and love into my life, and I cannot imagine a future without you by my side."

He dropped to one knee, his eyes never leaving hers. “Will ye marry me, love? Will ye make me the luckiest man in the world?”

Tears sprang to her eyes, her heart overflowing with emotion. She nodded, unable to find her voice at first. Finally, she managed to whisper, “Yes, Cillian. Yes, a thousand times yes.”

His face lit up with joy, a brilliant smile spreading across his lips as he slipped the ring onto her finger. He stood, pulling her up into his arms and spinning her around, their laughter mingling with the soft crackle of the fireplace and the gentle rustle of the petals underfoot. He kissed her, a deep and passionate kiss that spoke of his love and commitment, a kiss that sealed their promise to each other.

As they pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling. "I can't believe it," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Ye're goin' t'be me wife."

She smiled, her eyes shining with love. "And you, my husband," she replied, her voice soft and full of promise.

Cillian stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes locked on his now fiancée with a blend of affection and admiration. The soft glow from the bedside lamp cast gentle shadows across the room, highlighting the intimate setting they found themselves in. His suit jacket, a tailored piece of midnight black, slipped from his shoulders with an ease that spoke of the countless times he had performed this simple act. The fabric rustled as it fell onto the armchair nearby, the sound almost a whisper in the otherwise quiet room. He took a moment to appreciate the sight before him—his beloved lying back against the plush pillows, her features softened by the dim light. The events of the day, the lavish surprises, and the ultimate proposal had all led to this tender moment. Her eyes followed his every move, a gentle smile playing on her lips, reflecting the joy and contentment of the day's celebrations.

As he began to unbutton his crisp white dress shirt, Cillian’s fingers moved with deliberate slowness, each button revealing more of his toned chest. The act was methodical, almost ritualistic, as if prolonging this moment was a way to savor the anticipation that hung in the air. "Ye know, love," he began, his Irish lilt adding a musical quality to his words, "today's been perfect, but the real treasure is this moment right here, with ye."

His voice was soft, yet it carried the weight of his emotions. The shirt parted, revealing the expanse of his chest, the defined lines of his muscles subtly highlighted by the light. He shrugged out of the garment, letting it fall to join the jacket, and took a step closer to the bed. The intimacy of the setting was almost tangible, the room filled with a sense of serenity and unspoken promises. Cillian's eyes never left hers as he reached for her hand, lifting it to his lips. He pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles that now holds the beautiful diamond ring, his gaze intense and filled with adoration. "I cannae tell ye how much ye mean to me, darlin'. Every moment with ye feels like a gift." His accent made the words sound like a melody, each syllable wrapped in sincerity and passion.

He stopped and just looked at her beneath him. Cillian’s blue eyes, as deep and mesmerizing as the Irish sea, gleamed with a hunger that spoke volumes more than any words ever could. His gaze lingered on her, taking in every curve, every subtle movement of her body beneath him. There was a palpable tension in the air, thick with anticipation and desire. It was as if time itself had paused, holding its breath for the lovers entwined in a moment of pure, unadulterated intimacy. He could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat, each thud reverberating through his chest, matching the pulse he saw at her throat.

His hand, gentle yet firm, cupped her cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing across her skin with a tenderness that belied the intensity of his desire. The contrast of his roughened hands against her softness was a sensation that he relished. Leaning in slowly, savoring the proximity, he captured her lips with his in a kiss that was at once tender and searing. The taste of her, sweet and intoxicating, ignited something primal within him. He kissed her with a fervor that left no doubt about the depth of his feelings.

“Ah, mo stór~” he whispered against her lips, the endearment rolling off his tongue in a rich, melodic lilt. "Y've no idea how much I crave ye, how much I adore ye."

He began a slow, deliberate descent, his lips trailing a path from her mouth to her jawline. Each kiss was a promise, a testament to the passion he felt. His breath was warm against her skin, sending shivers down her spine as he moved to her neck. There, he lingered, the tip of his tongue tracing the delicate line of her pulse before he pressed a soft kiss just below her ear. She could feel the vibration of his moan, low and deep, as he relished the taste of her.

His kisses moved lower, exploring the curve of her neck, mapping out every inch with a meticulousness that made her toes curl. "God, ye taste like heaven," he murmured, his voice a husky whisper. "I could lose m'self in ye forever."

As he reached her collarbone, he paused, drawing back slightly to look at her. His eyes, darkened with desire, held a question, seeking her permission to continue. The slight nod of her head, the silent plea in her eyes, was all he needed. His hand slid down her arm, fingers brushing lightly, before he entwined his hand with hers, squeezing gently in a gesture of reassurance.

"Tell me, love," he murmured, his accent thick and intoxicating. "Tell me ye want this as much as I do."

Her breath hitched as she nodded again, her voice barely a whisper. "I want it, Cillian. I want you."

Cillian's eyes sparkled with admiration as he looked at her, his hands moving with gentle precision. His fingers traced the curves of her sides, feeling the softness of her skin beneath the fabric. With a small, loving smile, he lifted her slightly, his touch tender yet firm, conveying both strength and gentleness. As his hands reached the zipper of her sleek black dress, he moved with deliberate care, his movements slow and purposeful. He slid the zipper down, revealing the smooth expanse of her back. The dress slipped off her shoulders, guided by his hands, and he watched it fall to the floor with a soft rustle, revealing the delicate lace of her undergarments.

Her back was a canvas of beauty, adorned with the intricate patterns of her lace bralette. The deep red hue of the lace contrasted beautifully against her skin, enhancing her curves and accentuating her femininity. Cillian's eyes lingered on her, his gaze filled with admiration and desire. Gently, he lifted her again, his hands sliding around her waist, pulling her closer to him. He felt the warmth of her body against his, a comforting and familiar sensation that never failed to make his heart race. He placed a soft kiss on her shoulder, his lips lingering for a moment before moving to her neck, where he planted another gentle kiss.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity and emotion. His Irish accent added a musical quality to his words, a melodic sound that resonated with warmth and affection. He looked into her eyes, his own filled with love and devotion, and he knew that this moment would be etched in his memory forever.

As Cillian's hand traced the contours of her body, every touch ignited a symphony of sensations within her. His fingers, gentle yet firm, caressed her sides with an intimacy that spoke volumes of his love and desire. She arched her back slightly, a silent invitation for him to explore further, to delve into the depths of her being.

With a feather-light touch, Cillian's hand descended, trailing along the soft curve of her stomach. The fabric of her panties brushed against his fingertips, a tantalizing barrier between them. His touch lingered, teasingly, at the edge of her desire, as if savoring the anticipation of what lay beyond. In the dim light of the room, his eyes met hers, a silent exchange of longing and passion. There was a hunger in his gaze, a hunger matched only by her own. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly began to inch the lace panties downwards, revealing the expanse of her skin and her beautiful cunt.

There was a low growl rumbling in his chest, his eyes darkened with lust as they devoured her body. His voice dropped lower still, the words rolling off his tongue with a guttural edge. "Fuck, darlin', yer body is perfect."

Cillian's hand danced across her sensitive folds, tracing the outline of her slit with a delicate touch. His eyes remained locked onto hers, watching her reactions closely. His thumb brushed over her swollen clit.

His voice was a deep murmur, filled with raw desire. "So fucking wet already."

With a low, rumbling chuckle, Cillian's deep voice echoed through the bedroom. His accent was unmistakably Irish, each word rolling off his tongue with an effortless grace. "Oh darlin', ye seem to have gotten yerself all worked up over this, haven't ya?" His tone was teasing but also held a hint of concern. The flickering light from the candles cast shadows across his face, highlighting the strong jawline and piercing blue eyes.

Without breaking eye contact, he continued tracing slow sloppy and broken circles around her clit with his thumb, applying just enough pressure to send jolts of pleasure coursing through her body. But there was no rush, no need to push her towards climax. Instead, he took his time, letting his touch become both soothing and arousing all at once.

"There ye go now, let yer body relax into me. Just feel those sensations..."

Cillian's fingers moved expertly against her sensitive cunt, each movement sending shivers up her spine. His touch is light yet firm, his thumb teasing circles around her swollen clit while his fingers slide effortlessly within her. The second digit curls just right, hitting that sweet spot deep inside her. He slips another finger into her tight cunt, stretching her deliciously as his thumb continues its relentless assault on her throbbing clit. His pace quickens, his breath hitching as he feels her walls clench tightly around him.

"Ah, darlin', ye're so wet... So ready fer me…" His voice is a low murmur, thick with desire and laced with his distinctive Irish accent.

His fingers moved with practiced precision, each touch a symphony of sensation orchestrated for her pleasure. His touch was both gentle and firm, teasing and exploring, as if he were playing a finely tuned instrument. Her responses were music to his ears, each sigh and moan a note in the melody they created together. He could feel her trembling beneath him, her body arching into his touch, seeking more, and he obliged with a deep, resonant chuckle that seemed to vibrate through his chest and into her very core.

"Ye look so beautiful, love," he murmured, his voice a soft, lilting brogue that sent shivers down her spine. "Every single part o' ye... just perfect."

His eyes moved over her face, drinking in the sight of her flushed cheeks and the way her teeth caught her lower lip. He shifted slightly, adjusting his position to get a better angle, his breath hot against her skin. The intimate warmth of the room, the closeness of their bodies, created a heady atmosphere that enveloped them both. His free hand trailed up her side, fingers ghosting over the curve of her waist, the softness of her skin under his calloused palm. He loved the way she responded to his touch, the way her body seemed to sing beneath his fingertips. "D'ye like that, darlin'?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with a raw, unfiltered passion. His eyes locked onto hers, intense and unwavering, searching for the answer he already knew but loved to hear.

She nodded, a breathless "yes" escaping her lips, and he smiled, a slow, satisfied curve of his mouth. "Good," he said, his voice low and rough. "I want ye t' feel every bit o' this, t' know how much ye mean t' me." His fingers moved in a slow, deliberate rhythm, coaxing and caressing, pushing her closer to the edge with every passing second.

Cillian leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss that was both tender and demanding. He poured every ounce of his love and adoration into that kiss, his tongue teasing hers, his teeth nipping at her lower lip. When he pulled back, his breath was ragged, his eyes dark with desire. "I love ye more than words can say," he murmured, his accent thick with emotion. "More than anything in this world." He watched as his words sank in, saw the way her eyes softened, her lips curving into a smile.

His fingers, long and skilled, moved inside her with a precision that made her toes curl. He watched her, his gaze unwavering, as her face contorted in pleasure. Every moan, every gasp she made seemed to fuel his own desire. His lips parted slightly, his breath coming out in shallow, heated puffs. The sight of her, the way she reacted to his touch, was almost too much for him to bear. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, his Irish accent thick and intoxicating.

"Ye gonna come for me, love...come on my fingers..."

The way he spoke, the way his voice dropped to a husky whisper, sent shivers down her spine. It was a command, a plea, and a promise all rolled into one. His words were a sweet torture, pushing her closer to the edge. She could feel the tension building, her body responding to his every touch, his every word. Cillian's eyes darkened as he felt her walls tighten around his fingers. He could tell she was close, teetering on the brink of ecstasy. His thumb found her clit, circling it with just the right amount of pressure to push her over the edge. He watched, mesmerized, as her back arched off the bed, her mouth falling open in a silent scream.

"That's it, love...come on my fingers," he murmured, his voice a low growl.

Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, crashing over her with a force that left her breathless. She cried out his name, her hands clutching at the sheets, her entire body trembling with the intensity of her release. Cillian's smile widened, a look of pure satisfaction crossing his features. He kept his fingers inside her, prolonging her pleasure, drawing out every last bit of her orgasm until she was a quivering mess beneath him. As she came down from her high, her chest heaving with every breath, Cillian withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his lips. He licked them clean, his eyes never leaving hers, a look of pure, unadulterated hunger in his gaze.

"Ye taste so sweet, darlin'," he said, his voice rough with desire.

He leaned down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. She could taste herself on his tongue, a reminder of just how intimately connected they were. His kiss was demanding, his tongue exploring her mouth with a hunger that left her breathless all over again. When he finally pulled away, she could see the fire in his eyes, the raw need that still burned within him.

"I love spoilin' ye, mo stór~," he murmured, his accent thick and lilting. "I love watchin' ye come apart beneath me."

Cillian’s breath came in hot, fervent gasps as he trailed kisses along her neck, savoring the taste of her skin. His fingers, skilled and insistent, returned to their familiar territory, delving into the slick heat of her cunt. Her moans were intoxicating, spurring him on as he sought to draw more from her. Each gasp, each shiver of her body against his, ignited a deeper hunger within him. His free arm snaked around her waist, firm and possessive, lifting her effortlessly as he shifted their position. Propping her up against the headboard, he paused for a moment, his intense blue eyes locking onto hers, conveying a promise of deeper pleasure.

“Look at ye, darlin’,” he murmured, his Irish accent thick and honeyed with desire. “Ye’re so beautiful like this, so needy.” He brushed his lips against her ear, his voice a low growl. “I’m gonna give ye what ye crave.”

As his fingers entered her again, he moved slowly, savoring every inch of the exquisite heat surrounding him. His movements were deliberate, measured, each thrust designed to bring her closer to the edge. The headboard creaked under their combined weight, a testament to the raw intensity of their coupling. She arched against him, her nails digging into his back, urging him on. Cillian responded with a growl of pleasure, increasing his pace, driving deeper into her with each thrust. He could feel her tightening around him, her body responding to the onslaught of sensations. Her cries filled the room, a symphony of pleasure that echoed off the walls. He watched her face, the way her eyes fluttered closed, the way her lips parted with each gasp and moan. She was exquisite, and she was his. Cillian's control was ironclad, his focus solely on her, on drawing out her pleasure until she was utterly lost to it. His fingers found her clit, teasing and tormenting the sensitive bundle of nerves, sending jolts of electric pleasure through her already overwhelmed body.

“God, ye’re so tight,” he breathed, his voice rough with lust. “So perfect around me.”

Her responses drove him wild, her body bucking and writhing beneath him, completely at his mercy. He pressed his lips to her shoulder, biting down gently, a possessive mark that made her shudder. Every movement, every sound she made fueled his desire, pushing him to the brink of his own restraint. He reveled in the feel of her, the taste of her skin, the way she trembled under his touch. She was a masterpiece of sensation, a canvas on which he painted his passion with each thrust, each caress. Her climax was building, he could feel it in the way her muscles clenched around him, in the breathless way she called his name. Cillian didn’t let up, didn’t ease his relentless pace. He wanted her to shatter, to lose herself completely in the pleasure he was giving her. His lips found hers in a bruising kiss, swallowing her cries of ecstasy as she tumbled over the edge. She convulsed around him, her entire body taut with the force of her orgasm, and he held her through it, driving her higher and higher.

“Tha’s it, love,” he murmured against her lips. “Let go for me. Give me everything.”

He didn’t stop, even as she writhed and bucked, her pleasure turning to a sweet, unbearable overstimulation. He watched the way her body responded, how her eyes rolled back, and her nails clawed at his skin. She was so sensitive, so exquisitely responsive, and he wanted to see just how far he could push her. His thrusts became more erratic, driven by a primal need to see her come apart beneath him.

“Can ye take more, love?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper. “Can ye handle a bit more for me?”

Her answer was a breathless, needy nod, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of desperation and desire. It was all the encouragement he needed. His fingers moved faster, his thrusts deeper, pushing her beyond the bounds of her pleasure, into a realm where sensation was all-consuming.

“Cillian,” she gasped, her voice a broken plea.

“I know, love, I know,” he soothed, his own control fraying. “Just a bit more, just for me.” Her third climax hit her like a tidal wave, leaving her gasping and trembling in his arms. He held her close making sure she didn’t lose it mentally.

Cillian’s breath was heavy, mingling with hers in the intimate space between them. His blue eyes, darkened with desire, bore into hers with a raw intensity that made her heart race. He slowly withdrew his fingers, slick with her juices, and brought them to his lips, never breaking eye contact. The way he tasted her, savoring every drop, was both a declaration and a promise. "Yer taste, love, it's somethin' else," he murmured, his voice thick with his accent, adding an extra layer of seduction to his words.

With deliberate slowness, he took her wrists in his hands, his touch firm yet gentle. He pressed them together and, with a controlled strength, guided them above her head, pinning them against the headboard. The wood creaked under the pressure, but it was nothing compared to the sound of their combined breaths, quickening in anticipation. His eyes, a stormy sea of blue, glinted with hunger and something deeper – a possessive need to consume her entirely.

His mouth found her neck, and he kissed a line down her skin, each touch of his lips leaving a burning trail in its wake. He paused to whisper in her ear, his breath warm and shivering, "Ye drive me mad, darlin'. I've never wanted anyone like this." His accent rolled over the words, making them sound almost musical.

As he kissed his way down her body, he took his time, worshipping every inch of her. His lips and tongue traced patterns on her skin, a blend of tender kisses and teasing licks. He savored the way she reacted, the way her body arched towards him, craving more of his touch. When he reached her breasts, he lavished them with attention, sucking and nibbling on her nipples until they were hard and sensitive.

"Ye like that, don’t ye?" he asked, his voice a low, rumbling growl that vibrated against her skin. She could only moan in response, her words lost in the sensations he was creating. Satisfied with her reaction, he continued his descent, his kisses becoming wetter and sloppier as he moved down her stomach, leaving a glistening trail that shimmered in the dim light of the room.

When he reached her thighs, he nipped and kissed the sensitive skin there, his eyes flicking up to watch her face. The anticipation was almost unbearable, and he reveled in the power he had over her, the way he could make her squirm with just a look, a touch. He spread her legs wider, positioning himself between them, and took a moment to appreciate the sight before him. "Christ, yer beautiful," he murmured, his voice reverent. Then, without warning, he dove in, his tongue finding her clit with unerring accuracy. He licked a broad, firm stripe up her slit, collecting her juices on his tongue before circling her clit with expert precision. She gasped, her hips bucking against his face, and he smiled against her, enjoying the way she reacted to his touch.

His tongue was relentless, alternating between long, languid licks and quick, flicking motions that had her seeing stars. He sucked her clit into his mouth, applying just the right amount of pressure to drive her wild. His hands, no longer pinning her wrists, roamed her body, squeezing her breasts, caressing her sides, holding her hips down when her movements became too frantic. He looked up at her, his eyes meeting hers as he continued his assault. "Tell me how it feels, love," he said, his voice muffled against her skin but no less commanding. She tried to form words, but all that came out were breathless moans and whimpers, her body too consumed by pleasure to comply.

His response was a satisfied hum, and he redoubled his efforts, determined to bring her to the edge and push her over. He added his fingers back into the mix, sliding them into her with ease, curling them just right to hit that spot inside her that made her cry out his name. "That's it, yeh, you gonna come on my tongue..” he encouraged, his voice rough and filled with desire.

Her orgasm built slowly, a rising tide of pleasure that swept through her with increasing intensity. Cillian never let up, his tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony to drive her higher and higher. She felt like she was going to burst, the pleasure almost too much to bear, and yet she didn't want it to stop, didn't want him to stop. When her climax finally hit, it was like a dam breaking. She screamed his name, her body convulsing with the force of her release. He held her down, his mouth and fingers continuing to work her through it, drawing out her pleasure until she was a trembling, quivering mess beneath him.

As her orgasm subsided, he pulled back slightly, his face glistening with her juices, a satisfied smile on his lips. He climbed back up her body, capturing her lips in a deep, hungry kiss, letting her taste herself on his tongue. "Ye taste amazin', love," he whispered against her mouth, his voice a husky growl that sent shivers down her spine.

Cillian groaned softly, a sound that reverberated with a low, primal hunger. His fingers, deft and sure, moved to the buckle of his black suit pants. He leaned back slightly, giving himself the space to maneuver, his gaze never leaving her face. There was an intensity in his blue eyes, a mix of desire and adoration that spoke volumes. He undid his belt with one hand, the motion fluid and practiced, then allowed the pants to slide down his legs with a deliberate slowness, a tease in itself. A smile, half-crooked and entirely charming, spread across his lips as he tossed the discarded garment onto the nearby chair, where the rest of their clothes were already haphazardly draped.

His boxers, stretched tight across the bulge of his arousal, bore a damp stain that betrayed his eagerness. The fabric clung to him, outlining every inch of his need. He paused for a moment, letting the anticipation build, savoring the sight of her beneath him. She was a vision, her body laid out invitingly, her skin glistening with a sheen of perspiration that spoke of earlier exertions. Her eyes, wide and dark with lust, followed his every move, her breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts.

Cillian's smile widened, a devilish glint in his eye. "Yer lookin' at me like I'm a feast, love," he murmured, his Irish accent thick and melodic. "An' who am I t' disappoint?" He crawled atop her, the bed dipping slightly under his weight, the muscles in his arms and back flexing with controlled strength. He positioned himself carefully, his throbbing cock now resting against her dripping cunt, the heat and wetness of her core a tantalizing promise. The contact sent a jolt through him, his breath hitching at the exquisite sensation. He moved just enough to tease, the head of his cock brushing against her entrance, spreading her slickness. She gasped, her hips instinctively arching towards him, seeking more. But he was in no hurry. He wanted to draw this out, to make every moment count.

"Patience, darlin'," he whispered, his voice a rough, soothing purr. "We've got all night." He pressed a kiss to her collarbone, his lips warm and soft against her skin. He trailed kisses upwards, his stubble scraping lightly, deliciously, until he reached her mouth. He captured her lips in a deep, searing kiss, his tongue exploring with a leisurely thoroughness that made her toes curl. She moaned into his mouth, her hands threading through his hair, tugging him closer. The sound of her arousal was like music to his ears, spurring him on. He shifted slightly, his cock sliding along her folds, the friction exquisite. He was hard as steel, the need to bury himself inside her almost overwhelming, but he resisted. He wanted her on the edge, desperate and pleading.

"Tell me what ye want, love," he said, his voice a husky whisper against her lips. "I wanna hear ye say it." He drew back just enough to look into her eyes, his gaze intense and filled with a possessive hunger.

She whimpered, her hips moving restlessly. "I want you, Cillian," she breathed, her voice trembling with desire. "Please, I need you."

"Ah, there's a good girl," he murmured, satisfaction lacing his tone. He rewarded her with a slow, languorous thrust, just enough to give her a taste of what she craved. The head of his cock slipped inside her, her heat and tightness enveloping him. He groaned, the sound low and guttural, his control slipping slightly.

He pulled back, teasing her again, earning a frustrated moan. "More," she begged, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Please, Cillian, don't tease me."

He chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm. "All in good time, love. All in good time." He kissed her again, his tongue delving deep, mimicking the movements he promised with his body. His hand moved to her breast, cupping and kneading, his thumb flicking over her nipple, drawing another gasp from her. He shifted his hips again, his cock sliding deeper, stretching her, filling her. She cried out, her body arching towards him, every nerve ending alight with pleasure. He set a slow, steady rhythm, each thrust deliberate, controlled, driving her wild with need. Her gasps and moans were a symphony, her body a masterpiece he was intent on worshipping.

"Cillian," she gasped, her voice breathless, "please, I need all of you."

Cillian groaned softly, hearing that’s she needed all of him..the sound escaping his lips like a low rumble, vibrating through the room and sending shivers down his fiancée’s spine. His gaze, intense and piercing, locked onto hers, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile that was both tender and mischievous. He cupped her cheek with a gentle hand, his thumb brushing over her soft skin in a caress that was both possessive and loving. His eyes, a mesmerizing blue, held a depth of emotion that words could scarcely convey, filled with love, desire, and a hint of playful arrogance.

He groaned softly, the sound a mix of pleasure and anticipation, as he felt her fingers digging into his back, urging him closer. His lips curled into a smile, one that spoke of both affection and a wicked promise. His hand, strong yet gentle, reached up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing against her flushed skin. Cillian pulled out, making her feel empty causing her to become needy. "You want me cock so bad, why... you wanna bear me kids, don’t yah?" His voice was a low, rumbling whisper, his Irish accent thickening the words and adding a layer of raw sensuality to his question.

As he spoke, his hand left her face, trailing a path down her body with deliberate slowness. His fingers traced the contours of her curves, a touch both possessive and reverent. When he reached her hips, he squeezed them gently, marveling at their perfect shape. “You’ll look so good pregnant, darlin’,” The image of her, swollen with his child, sent a surge of primal desire through him. He could imagine her belly growing round, her breasts fuller, the glow of motherhood enhancing her natural beauty. It was a vision that stirred something deep within him, a fierce protectiveness mingling with his lust. He murmured, his eyes darkening with desire as he imagined the future he wanted so desperately.

He shifted, positioning himself at her entrance once more, the tip of his cock just barely brushing against her. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, her body aching for him to fill her.

"Cillian, please..." she whispered, her voice trembling with need.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and dangerous. "Patience, love. I wanna make this last."

He pushed into her slowly, inch by agonizing inch, filling her completely. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect blend of pleasure and pain. She moaned, her nails digging into his back, urging him to move faster. But he held back, taking his time, savoring every moment.

"God, ye feel so good," he groaned, his voice thick with emotion.

He began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate, each one hitting a spot deep inside her that made her see stars. He watched her, his eyes never leaving her face, taking in every expression, every sound she made. It was as if he was memorizing her, committing every detail to memory.

"Look at me, love," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for disobedience.

She opened her eyes, meeting his intense gaze. The connection between them was electric, a palpable force that seemed to bind them together. She could see the love in his eyes, the overwhelming need he had to make her feel cherished and adored.

"Yer mine," he growled, his pace quickening. "Mine to spoil, mine to love."

His words pushed her closer to the edge, the intensity of his thrusts driving her wild. She could feel another orgasm building, the tension coiling in her belly, ready to snap at any moment. Cillian's hand found her clit again, his fingers working in tandem with his thrusts to bring her to the brink.

"Come for me again, love," he urged, his voice a low rumble. "I wanna feel ye come around me."

Cillian watches as she squirms beneath him, her moans growing louder with each thrust. Her legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer as she arches her back, desperate for more stimulation. Cillian obliges, increasing the pace of his fingers on her clit while driving deeper into her. Her walls tighten around his cock, signaling her impending climax. With a final thrust, Cillian feels her cum around his dick, her inner muscles milking him as she cums hard. With a guttural groan, he shoots his hot seed all in her stomach, painting her in thick, ropes of cum. Each spurt sends shivers down his spine, his body convulsing as he rides out the waves of pleasure coursing through him.

Cillian lets out a low growl, his Irish accent thickening as he pants above her. His blue eyes darken with desire, a clear sign that he isn't finished yet. Despite being spent, he can't resist the urge to thrust into her once more. His movements are slow and deliberate, making sure to hit all the right spots. His cock twitches inside her, betraying its eagerness despite having already cum. A grunt escapes his lips as he pushes deeper, stretching her walls even further. His hand finds her clit again, rubbing small circles over it as he picks up the pace.

Cillian grunts, his muscles straining under the exertion as he thrusts into her once more. His breathing grows heavier, each exhale leaving his lips in a misty cloud. He leans down to capture her lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue exploring the depths of her mouth while his hips continue their rhythmic dance. His hands roam over every inch they can reach - tracing along curves and valleys until they find themselves back on her sensitive breasts.

"You're so fucking tight," he murmurs against her skin, punctuating each word with another deep thrust.

Cillian grins down at her, his pale blue eyes sparkling with mischief. He gives a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest as he moans softly. His fingers move in uneven, messy strokes over her clit, deliberately leaving marks on her sensitive flesh. Despite the sloppiness of his touch, she can tell he knows exactly what he's doing. With each thrust, he gets messier and sloppier - then he starts getting more rough…he lays down on her chest and starts slamming his cock into her. “Take, it all mo stór~” he said while beginning to spill his hot seed deep within her sloppy cunt.

Cillian grins down at her, his eyes filled with a primal satisfaction. He keeps pounding into her making sure she is getting every last drop of his seed, each thrust going deeper than the last. A low growl rumbles from deep within his chest as he quickens his pace. With each pump of his hips, he makes sure to grind against that sweet spot inside of her until she's writhing beneath him.

He leans down and nips at her neck playfully before whispering, "You're mine now...my little breeding bitch..."

His fingers dig into her hips as he is slowly coming off of his high, but he still has one left in the tank. Cillian slowly speeds up once more..before with a few more powerful thrusts, he finally releases his last load, his hot cum spurting deep inside her. He keeps thrusting through his orgasm, ensuring every drop goes straight to her womb.

Cillian lay atop his one true love, their bodies entwined in a tangle of limbs, their breaths mingling in the hazy aftermath of ecstasy. With a soft exhale, he slowly lowered himself beside her, still intimately connected, his cock pulsing with the lingering echoes of their shared pleasure. As he gazed upon her, sprawled out before him, he couldn't help but chuckle softly, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of his lips. She lay there, utterly spent, her chest rising and falling in a rhythmic cadence, her skin flushed with the remnants of their fervent lovemaking. It was moments like these, when she was laid bare before him, her defenses stripped away, that he felt the true depth of his love for her.

Reaching out, he tenderly brushed a lock of hair away from her face, his touch feather-light against her heated skin. "You're beautiful," he murmured in his rich Irish brogue, his voice low and husky with desire. "Absolutely beautiful."

She stirred at his words, her eyelids fluttering open to reveal eyes heavy with satisfaction. A languid smile graced her lips as she shifted closer to him, seeking the warmth of his embrace. "And you,……." she whispered, her voice barely more than a breathless sigh, "…..are irresistible."

Cillian's heart swelled with affection at her words, a surge of emotion welling up inside him as he gazed down at her. How had he been so lucky, to find someone who understood him so completely, who loved him with such unbridled passion? He couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the depth of his feelings for her, a love so fierce and all-consuming that it threatened to consume him whole.

Leaning in, he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering against her skin as if trying to capture the moment forever. "I love you," he murmured against her, his words a whispered vow of devotion. "More than anything in this world."

She melted against him at his declaration, her heart swelling with emotion as she felt the weight of his love pressing down upon her. "I love you too," she whispered in return, her voice choked with emotion. "More than words can say."

Author’s Notes:

I don’t know if you knew since the beginning but do you have any freaking idea how hard it is to not mention that Cillian wanted to propose especially in the beginning holy cow, man!

Dude I freaking love this fic, it’s so cute and fluffy until y’all be fuckin’

Y’all I didn’t even know this man had like 7 cars.. bougie as fuck but that’s okay! And yes I may have changed what he likes to eat for breakfast.

Any yes, I’m confused on how I missed 6 whole days…then again I’m swimming so probs that…sorry lolz

[salubriwrites-blog]

First Date with Andrealphus: The Christmas Village

Hi. I needed to write something cute, so I did. Christmas time is usually an explosion of the 5 senses, and I really wanted to dip a little into an excursion when you help Andrealphus experience something for the first time. Some of the dialogue is based off of his lobby interactions with you.

I love this little man I would do anything for him.

“How do I look?”

“Good!”

Dawning silence, Bathin elbowed his brother hard in the ribs, and Gusion sighed dramatically. “You don’t look like a maniac with all the blood and feathers in your hair. I can barely tell that you have the scars, you might actually wanna- here, just wear these. They’ll hide your eyes.”

“What are- oh, thank you,” Andrealphus laughed awkwardly, touching the frames that Bathin set on his nose. Needing to feel them to understand, the devil ran his fingers over the slim glasses, clumsily rubbing the lens as he did so. Bathin took the glasses off his face to clean them. 

“Just don’t touch them and you’ll be okay.”

“Am I ready? Has he given us the sign yet?” Andrealphus asked now, doing a nervous turn with his arms outstretched to feel for collisions. 

“No word yet,” Bathin said, staring at his phone while Andrealphus began to pace, holding his hands out to navigate the unfamiliar room. They were in Gusion’s home, which was cramped and filled with books. It was a far cry from the bare bones apartment Andrealphus lived in, with minimal furniture that he knew approximate locations of. Navigating slowly, he paced while running his hands through his hair. Bathin and Gusion were in charge of dressing and preening Andrealphus, scrubbing the blood and gore off his body and brushing the snarls from his hair. Meanwhile Beleth took point in distracting his Lord Majesty. He hadn’t told anyone exactly what that distraction was going to be, just to be patient. 

Technically Belphegor was not aware of what Andrealphus was going to be doing with you that evening. Much less that the two of you were about to leave Hell. His Lord Majesty was strict when it came to letting his underlings out of his sight. Other kingdoms in Hell had need for the capable warriors, and a portion of his wealth and weight among the Princes came from Andrealphus and his brothers, cash cow butchers. The devils of Niflheim were formidable opposition to heavenly warriors, and Belphegor guarded them jealously. You were no exception to the rule, and when his Lord Majesty denied your request to have one of his great fighters accompany you beyond the veil. 

“I’m homesick, and it’s a very special time of year on Earth.” Andrealphus could see the desperation in your eyes just from the way you spoke. “There are no better warriors in all of Hell, he makes me feel safe… please, name your price. Just a few hours of his time, you wouldn’t even know he was gone.”

“Andrealphus does not perform escort duties,” Belphegor said stiffly, and the devil could feel a hand being pushed against his chest to stop him from correcting the Prince of Sloth. “You are loved by Satan, ask him to put together an entourage for you if you wish to return to Earth so badly.” 

The butcher heard your blood quicken in your veins at that remark, he could hear your anger. You would have had better luck talking to a brick wall than Belphegor as he slouched in his seat. “I don’t want an entourage from Gehenna, I want Andrealphus.” He could hear the air being cut by your hand as you swung to point at the devil. No one knew the logic behind your decision, you two had only met in a few freak accidents in Tartaros. The discussion had never evolved beyond, “did they hurt you?” and “Stand behind me, no one will harm you.” 

Rumor had traveled far across the kingdoms of Hell that Satan and Mammon were spoiling you rotten, yielding to your every command. Either because of your unstoppable charisma or a testament to their weakness, no one knew for sure. Whatever it was that was swaying the minds of the Princes across Hell, Belphegor would not fall for it. 

As you turned to leave, Andrealphus felt your eyes on him, and though he had to remain solid, he could hear the scheme brewing in your determined sigh. Almost a month’s worth of secret letter exchanges between his brothers, and encouragement that Andrealphus be on his best behavior, led to the invitation. That you wanted Andrealphus to be your date to Earth. All of the different verbiage circulating around his duty that evening confused the devil. Belphegor had used words like “entourage”, you had requested a companion, and not Gusion was telling him that you had asked him to be your date. 

Preparing for tonight, they had to keep all of those words in mind. Bathin had dressed Andrealphus into something unassuming and charming, while Gusion sharpened and slipped a sword into the butcher’s hand. He was dressed to woo you and decapitate angels if necessary.. 

“It’s time,” Bathin said suddenly, and before Andrealphus knew it a pair of hands were picking him up by his elbows. “He’s asleep.” 

Everything about this was absurd, from the way that Gusion and Bathim had to practically carry Andrealphus out so that he wouldn’t bump into anything, to Belphegor’s snores. They reverberated through the stone facades of the halls, rumbling like thunder and quaking the floors. When his Lord Majesty was asleep, all of Niflheim knew it, and by the sound of it the Prince of Sloth was lost in an early hibernation.  

Acrid cigarette stench met the trio as Beleth stood by the front gate leading out of the castle. Andrealphus’ stomach clenched when he also detected the faint aroma of sweat and orgasm on the tall devil. Understanding why the handsome devil hadn’t told anyone his plan, Andrealphus broke free from his brothers to hug Beleth.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he whispered, and he heard Beleth exhale high over his head. 

“Come on,” the cool devil chuckled, fixing the blind one’s tie and smoothing out his suit jacket. “You know what it takes to put him down. At least now you know you have more than just a few hours. Make it worth my trouble.” 

One more minute of fussing over the finishing touches on Andrealphus’ outfit, touching up the makeup that hid his scars, and brushing cigarette ashes off his suit jacket. All the while his brothers explained in great detail how they had prepared him. 

For once he was trying to hide from the angels, so the halo and angel wings were left behind under his bed for now. Trading out the completely black suit, he was wearing one of Bathin’s shirts that allegedly shimmered like sequins in the proper light. 

“It will make you shine when the city lights hit you, like a diamond.” Bathin explained fondly, fixing the shirt into Andrealphus’ pants. His suit jacket remained though, just in case he would need to offer it to you. Gusion had washed, brushed, and styled the blonde hair so that its wavy texture cascaded perfectly down the devil’s back. 

“It looks nice when its down, but we’ll make it so that it doesn’t get tangled if you do have to fight… Belphegor forbid.” Gusion added under his breath, spraying something artificial into Andrealphus’ hair to hold it in place. Together they had spent hours applying magic and makeup alike to Andrealphus’ throat and eyes to conceal the scars. If it weren’t for the eternal gouges that ran through his eyes, you would never know. Last but not least, Beleth was fixing stalks into Andrealphus’ outstretched hand. 

“Give her those when you get to her, it’ll go well.” 

With that final blessing, the three devils who stayed behind helped to push Andrealphus through the heavy bars of Niflheim’s castle grounds. The first few steps were nerve wracking, he kept looking over his shoulder though he couldn’t see, listening for the snoring of his Lord Majesty to stutter. Prepared to spin on his heel and climb back over the gate and pretend that he hadn’t been about to sneak out of Hell for a night. No one stopped him and he found his way easily to you.

The way to Earth was high and lonesome, filled with the buzzing of souls that moved like bees ‘round his horns. They grazed over Andrealphus as he leaned into the incline as he felt his way along the path to the world of the living. With each step there was agony as his horns began to throb, and it wasn’t until he was halfway through the portal that he remembered. He blamed thinking about you, and all the things that he wanted to talk about with you, as he reached into his pocket for the vial he had prepared hours earlier. Tearing the stopper out with his teeth, Andrealphus reveled in feeling nothing as he knocked the bottle back. A viscous texture that reminded him of angel’s vitae coated his tongue and throat, oozing its way down into his gut. Tossing the bottle to the ground before continuing his march, Andrealphus felt the change immediately. 

His horns receded into his skull, and the devil waited until the headache passed to run his fingers through his hair. It was jarring to lose something so integral to his identity, not having to navigate around the great horns when he touched his head. Wondering if you would approve, he pulled his jacket tighter around himself when an unfamiliar chill worked into his extremities. Not a chill like fear or thrill of the hunt, but something that nipped at his fingertips and made his nose feel numb. 

Nearly there now, Andrealphus began to recognize the comforting sensation slipping away as all around him the sounds of a crowd, the hum of music, and the warm aroma of something delicious took over. There was no audio cue that told him that the portal to Hell had closed behind him, just that strange shiver that made him hold his arms. He was on earth now, walking amongst humans, but it also meant that he didn’t know where he was. In the letter exchanges between you and Gusion, there was a vague direction of where to end up, Earth is a big place after all. With one hand in his pocket as he stood still to try and listen for something or someone familiar, the devil in disguise wondered how silly he looked. His shoulders shivered, but he couldn’t name the sensation as he spun in a slow circle, using his feet to feel for anything he might bump into. When- 

“Get out of the fucking road! Idiot!” Someone screamed, the shouting made Andrealphus reach over his back to remember that his scythe was still in Hell. A fist closed around the arm in his jacket. He was used to being pushed and pulled around by his comrades, and clung to that familiarity as he was dragged. “Maybe if you weren’t wearing sunglasses at midnight you’d see where you were going, are you trying to get yourself killed?” That same person demanded, and Andrealphus swiveled his head in their direction. Their heartbeat was accelerated, whoever his savior was it was definitely mortal.

“P-pardon me,” he started, but their footsteps were receding before he could continue. “I’m looking for a… oh.” 

An immense sadness made Andrealphus reach behind him until he felt something solid, hopefully a wall, and slide down its facade. What am I doing here? He asked with a huff, soothing himself by fidgeting with the items that Beleth had closed his fingers around. It was flowers, he realized with a bitter tightening of his throat, with soft petals that felt like velvet between his thumb and forefinger. He didn’t know the first thing about Earth and no one to help him find his way to you. He had an excellent sense of smell and hearing, honed over years of conquering his blindness, but hunting down devils was one thing. Looking for you in this new world full of strange sounds and feels, was this his limit as a hunter? On top of all of it, this damn chill that he couldn’t identify was making him feel pathetic, pulling his knees to his chest as he sought to fight it off. 

What if you weren’t even up here? What if you decided that since no devil - especially not the devil of your choice - would accompany you to this special occasion on Earth, that there was no reason to make the journey? He could imagine you back in Tartaros, probably sitting on Satan’s lap looking at the clear skies and drinking from the river’s of gold. Not even thinking about the devil who was chained to the duties of his lord-

How am I going to get back? Andrealphus’ thoughts raced to the next worry, forcing himself to stand up despite his bones aching and protesting at the discomfort. All he had to do was find a place to draw his sigil, it would open the way for him to go crawling back to Hell defeated. If that didn’t work, then surely his siblings would try to find him if the devil didn’t return to Hell. Or would Belphegor, upon waking up and realizing the defiant act of the butcher devil, forbid anyone from searching for Andrealphus? Make him a cautionary tale to all future Niflheim, the story of the devil who disappeared without a trace after a rebellious act? Deciding that he was overreacting, the devil shoved his hand back into his pants pocket, leaning one shoulder against the wall as he felt his way forward. Following the radiating warmth of a hundred bodies and the smell of something aromatic, he forged his way through that unknown path. 

This was just another hunt, of course not one he’d ever done before, but the preparation is always the same. Become familiar with the land, know his quarries mind, and move without raising suspicion. No one knew that he was a devil, and the mixture he’d drunk on his way here would mask his aura from angels. For now, there was no danger. You had to be up here somewhere, he had smelt your perfume trailing ahead of him in the portal that brought him to earth. Maybe you had grown weary of waiting for him, and gone ahead yourself. What a shock it would be when he snuck up on you-

“You,” a voice interrupted his thoughts, and Andrealphus felt fear for the first time in centuries. “Did I scare you?” 

Holding a hand to his chest, the devil spun in a circle until he zeroed in on you. 

Instead of answering you right away, the devil stepped closer until he felt the tips of his shoes bump into yours. Your breath mimicked each other as he realized how close you both were. Perhaps too close, but after wondering if he would ever know a comforting presence again, decorum be damned. 

“You got me,” he laughed, feeling the flowers he had gripped to make sure he hadn’t squeezed the life from them. Reaching out, Andrealphus found your shoulder and ran his hand down until his fingers met your wrist, pressing the stems into your palm,  “these are for you.”

“Andrealphus,” your smile was audible, and the devil couldn’t help but do the same. You inhaled with the flowers pressed to your face, and the devil felt bold enough to stay where he was and listen to your appreciation. “These are beautiful, did you find them here?”

“No, I had uhm, some help.” 

“I can tell,” you laughed, and he felt his suit jacket get plucked at. “You aren’t wearing your usual suit, is this… Bathin’s?” Your feet retreated and he stood still while you admired his assembled outfit. “Your hair, too. It’s all different.”

“Different… good?” He asked, wondering if it would be inappropriate to pull you back into him. At the moment you were an anchor and he feared that the sensory overload he was experiencing would wash him away, losing you again. Yes, it would be inappropriate, he decided. This was his first date, of sorts, with you. These were the most words that the pair of you had ever exchanged since the day you both met.

“Yeah, it’s nice. You look nice,” you elaborated, and just as he was going to reach to take your hand, you had a different idea and were stepping into him. He wasn’t ready for the collision of your bodies colliding, thankfully that wall was there to catch him. “Careful!” You laughed when his hand slid down your side, his fingers feeling the thick fabric you were wearing. In kind your cheek pressed against his shirt, your warmth taking the edge off that cold-

“Is this… weather?” He finally asked, having found the word that could not describe the bite in his shoulders and back. 

“Yes,” you explained, letting his hand fall into yours. At last, he thought with a contented sigh as you pulled him to follow you. “I had kind of forgotten that Hell- home doesn't get cold or hot. It’s nice all the time. Would you like to stop somewhere and get a jacket? Or at least some gloves?”

“Gloves would be nice,” he said, fixing his sunglasses on his face while you tucked some of the flowers into his suit pocket. “So, what is this thing? That you wanted to visit.” 

Leading the way, you hugged his hand close to you, forcing Andrealphus’ hips to collide against yours. The proximity was better than any warmth Earth could have given him. “It’s called a Christmas village,” you began.

Following your instructions he used a crosswalk for the first time. Using his feet and listening for the woman’s voice overhead, Andrealphus successfully crossed the street to find the tactile bars. You even let go of his hand to let him feel the confidence of doing it himself, though he quickly snatched for you again once the challenge was conquered. Taken by surprise at how accommodating Earth was, he was tempted to ask about doing it again. The exhilaration of that independence he only felt when he’d been somewhere a hundred times before was unequal.

“Are there many blind people on earth?” He asked, lifting one foot to feel for the curb as he triumphantly crossed the street. 

“There are, they usually have things like guide animals, canes, or even people to help them navigate.” You explained, pulling him closer to the chorus of music. “I’ll be your guide for tonight, don’t worry.” 

“Just for tonight?” He asked, feeling his cheeks turn pink at his audacity and wondering if the makeup that Gusion had put on him would hide some of it. He heard your heartbeat quicken as you gripped his hand tighter.

Now that the devil had found his quarry, the true hunt could start in earnest. Leaning on you, Andrealphus ate up your descriptions of this Christmas village. It was a dense square, much like the city center of Abyssos, with festive streamers that traveled through the air. They began attached to the top of a tall evergreen tree in the middle of the village, leaping from poles and stalls all the way out, creating a thematic web of colors. According to you, the tree was already alight with festive colors, which he asked you to explain in detail. You let him stand close as he pretended to admire the tree, listening to your hushed voice. He liked it when you whispered, an excuse for him to stand closer to you, feel the density of your jacket, the warmth of your breath. Daringly, Andrealphus thought that you wanted to stand next to him too. 

“Why a tree, though?” He asked after you had finished explaining the garland, ornaments, and lights. “Why not… a rock?” Tilting his head to you, he listened to the notes of your laughter rise and mix with the aria of the carols sung nearby.

“Some people think that the tree represents a life and death cycle, they used to decorate their homes with branches to prepare for the coming of Spring. Some use it as a metaphor for Jesus and God. Most excitingly though, it’s where people put their presents for their family.”

“Could I put something under a tree for his Lord Majesty?” Andrealphus mused, allowing you to walk him away. 

“You could, anyone you want to give a gift to, it goes under the tree and you don’t open it until the big day.” 

Musing, Andrealphus dreamt about the people he would give gifts to while you navigated him toward the delicious smells next. 

“Let’s try out some of their food, this village has some really good stuff.” 

You left him to sit on a bench while hustling back and forth between food stalls. So far that evening, candied nuts and an intricately bowed treat called a pretzel had been his favorite. The twists reminded him of his own horns. 

This was nice, he decided as he waited for you, not minding the cold so much now that he knew it wasn’t the worry of danger. In a way, it felt like you were going out foraging for him, returning with bounties to share. Your latest hunt yielded a bratwurst, and you had to instruct Andrealphus on how to eat it. “You hold it like this, you don’t need to use utensils or anything.” 

“Feels phallic,” Andrealphus mumbled, and you both shared an immature giggle as you guided the sausage toward his mouth. Phallic, perhaps, but it was also delicious and you laughed as his eyes bulged behind his sunglasses. “We need to show this to Beelzbub, he would go mad!” After that, the devil decided he wanted to follow his nose, urging you to hold on and help him maneuver the crowds in search of the food stalls. “I wonder what else is here that he would like… could we bring something back for my brothers?” 

Now that your hunger and warmth had been addressed, neither of you were shy about clutching onto each other anymore. All the while you continued to describe the colors, decorations, and sounds in that way he secretly adored. One of the last places you circuited in the village was the ornament stalls. 

“I wish you could have your horns out for this part,” you hummed, laughing and putting a hand to his chest to stop Andrealphus as he pretended to think about growing them outward. “We could wrap them up in tinsel, you’d look so festive. Maybe we’ll just get an ornament you can wear instead.” 

“Like my feathers?” He asked, touching his pierced ears where nothing dangled. “Could we make those into ornaments to hang on a tree?” 

“We could,” you laughed, and there was a pause as something scratchy grazed his nose. “I think I like this one for you.”

“What is it?” He asked, reaching a finger to bump against what you held out. It was a sphere, and just from the way it swung wildly at his inquisitive touch, the devil knew it was fragile. Cupping it in his hands like a prayer, slowly dragged his fingers across the glitter and paint. 

“It says Christmas Village 24, here, and with little angels flying around,” you explain, hesitating before helping his fingers find the painted details to feel himself. Then you laughed even harder as Andrealphus subconsciously dragged his finger across their little throats. “Do you want it?”

“I do.” 

After the quite concerned vendor had wrapped up the ornament, Andrealphus was already explaining to you all the ways he would repaint the ornament. “I can ask Gusion to paint red marks over their throats, and we can erase their wings.” 

“We’ll find a tree to hang it on for the season,” you promised, holding out a piece of kettle corn and waiting for his lips to take it from you. The last food item for the evening was that, taking turns teasing your fingers in front of each other, letting your lips and tongues coyly snatch the popped corn away. 

“Then you decorate the tree, and underneath it you put gifts for your loved ones?” Andrealphus asked, holding out a piece of kettle corn and waiting for your lips to take it from him. Taking your turns feeding each other, the devil’s full belly tightened when your tongue coiled flirtatiously around his fingers. What would he put underneath a tree for you? Perhaps a dress made of the softest feathers from angels. 

“Yeah, it’s a big time for family and friends to come together and express gratitude and love.” You explained, there was a pause as he caught the smell of more kettle corn and opened his mouth. There was a long, sensual pause where your fingers lingered on his lips, where Andrealphus couldn’t tell if you were being playful or if you were trying to turn his face to yours. Did you want to kiss him? He hoped the answer was yes, but before he could test you with tilting his chin, something else about you caught his attention. Not you though, you were sweetly oblivious as you dropped your finger from his chin.

“If you wanted, we could do something like this in Abyssos. We couldn’t do a tree like the ones here, maybe we can get Mammon to loan us one of his dildo pillars,” you laughed, too caught up in your excited day dream to notice his shift in behavior. Keeping an ear out, Andrealphus began to sweep and smell the street. “Can you imagine? A giant penis with tinsel and little ornaments hooked into the foreskin? Oh, and maybe Amon could cook, I know how to make a lot of this stuff but we’d have to… get ingredients from elsewhere… maybe Leviathan would help decorate.” While you had been walking, Andrealphus was already calmly putting himself into the perfect position to catch you as your legs gave out. Deftly, as you were swooning mid sentence, the devil swooped in to snatch you before the ground could claim you. 

“Whoa, is she alright?” A voice Andrealphus did not recognize asked, and a pair of footsteps got too close. Swinging you out of the stranger’s reach, everyone was suddenly an enemy. Any of these people could have poisoned you, angels probably had similar ways to disguise themselves. 

“She’s fine,” he tried not to snarl on the off chance that this was someone who was only trying to help. Being by himself in this place was already overwhelming, but what would he do if he had to fight? With you struggling to breathe in his arms, no less. “She just needs to go home.”

Holding you to his chest, Andrealphus used his hip to find the railing that led out of the village, moving until his feet found the textured bumps on at the crosswalk. “What’s going on? Talk to me, please. Do we need to return?” 

“I need… need…” you were gasping, your fingers interlocked around the back of the devil’s neck as you pressed your lips to his ear. He thought he knew what you were going to say - word had traveled fast and far when you first came to Hell. The human who needed to be regularly given energy in order to survive. Every devil in Hell was scratching and clawing for time with you, hoping that you would collapse into a dire strait. Of course, what rotten luck that it was him, and here of all places, that your breath was growing shallow and your weight was sagging in his arms.

“I know, just hold on a little more. I-I’ll get you back to Hell, back to Gehenna.” Scrambling to keep track of where he was going, Andrealphus moved away from the music and aromas, focusing only on your pounding heart and shivering fingertips. 

“Will we make it?” You asked, he wondered what face you were making when he stopped you from taking off your jacket. There wasn’t going to be a need for that, he thought as he continued to walk, feeling for a place where he could open the portal. “You might have to-”

“That isn’t going to be necessary,” he assured you, smoothing your hair out of your face, feeling his flowers he’d put into your bangs. “I’m taking you back to Gehenna, where his Majesty Satan, or Sitri, even Paimon are able to help.” 

“Andrealphus,” you’d begun to say, but was interrupted by a scream and a crunch. His stomach flipped as the ground underneath him collapsed and he couldn’t figure out how to land. Al he knew was that you could not be harmed, and clutched your head to his chest as he landed awkwardly on his shoulders. Over and over he fell, bouncing and colliding into something that crunched and froze his bones. By the time the devil’s roll had slowed, you were gasping for breath and he tasted blood in his mouth.

“What happened?” He groaned, stifling a scream when he couldn’t move his leg or one of his arms. “Are you hurt?”

“D-Don’t move,” you panted, groaning to yourself. He felt you sit up on top of him, not minding as he squeezed at your thighs and hips. “I’m not hurt, but oh gosh you are. Can you feel this?”

He answered by grunting in pain when you touched his leg. Taking inventory of his pain, Andrealphus' heart stopped as he realized that both an arm and leg were broken. Breathing sent a sharp ache through his core, and something warm was dripping down his neck.

“This isn’t good, r-roll me on my side.” Doing as he asked, you thought you were helping him into some kind of recovery position. Pressing his hand into the biting cold, the snow, he began to draw out his sigil. “I can still get us to Gehenna, just… I need to draw.” 

For a few minutes he struggled to remember it, the pain of his leg dulling his senses. Whimpering and shivering, he couldn’t give up, running his hand over the cold slush to try and erase his last attempt. All the while your eyes were on him, he could feel your stare fading. Clutching his injured self, Andrealphus realized he was losing a race against time. “Just hold on.”

“It doesn’t have to be anyone from Gehenna,” you whined, and he could hear your clothes slipping down your body. “Y-you can help me.”

“I know, I know,” he repeated himself softer the second time, still trying to open the portal. He’d heard the way you flinched at him. Please don’t think I don’t want you, he thought to himself as he struggled. “I just… I want you to be helped by someone you’re familiar with.” 

“Andrealphus,” you whispered, the crunching of that cold powder reaching closer to him. Mindful of his injury, you shifted the devil to lay on his back. “I don’t mind if it’s you that helps me… I like you.” 

“I know!” The devil snapped, slamming his head back into the ground, not caring that it sent a dull throb down his spine. “I know that you like me. I like you too,” he had to pause as he squinted his eyes shut and cursed himself. This was not what he had planned for tonight, not the way he wanted to confess his feelings. “Except I don’t want the first time that we… I don’t want it to be out of necessity. I want our first time to be meaningful and darling, maybe somewhere where you could see starlight and feel safe. Not like this.” He waved his hand to gesture to his useless form, you gasping for breath, cold air blasting between the two of you. Up above carols were still playing, and no one seemed to have noticed Andrealphus fall.

“Our first time will be meaningful and sweet,” you promised him, taking advantage of his damaged body to unzip his pants. Both of you knew that he was too hurt to fight you off, Andrealphus squeezed powder between his fingers as you pulled his flaccid penis into the cold. “This isn’t going to be our first time, because it's necessary. I promise we can do it again, for real, because I want you, Andrealphus.” 

“You do?” He asked, voice hiccuping in his throat as you massaged at his erection.

“I sure do,” you giggled, letting your lips tickle his ears. No match for your hands, the pair of you took turns moaning softly against each other, not wanting to even kiss as he expanded and grew in your hand. Those little words inflated his ego along with his body, and you sighed relieved at the erection you could barely hold with one hand. “I think you’re the kindest and most honorable devil in all of Hell. You could have broken every bone in your body just now trying to get me back. Just so someone I was comfortable with could take care of me. You aren’t greedy, and you wanted to prioritize my sense of safety.” His body was so battered from his tumbling that even just your weight pressing ever so sweetly on his chest made him gasp. “Do you know how hot that makes me?”

The powder that he was laying on top of melted from the heat of his body as you straddled Andrealphus. Asking you if this was an appropriate place was forgotten when he felt your soft, naked skin sliding along his length. Having you on top hurt fiercely, he was sure he had broken at least his leg, and maybe a rib, but he grit his teeth as pain gave way to burning pleasure when you slipped him inside. Freezing air snatched his warm cry and let it fall back down on his chest as you leaned forward, planting your hands firm against his shoulders. 

Rocking slowly, it was like you were milking the energy out of him, each thrust gave you energy. While pinned there in the snow, broken and feeble, he was at the mercy of your hunger. Your hips rising and falling along the lengths of his cock made a sweet sound like that reminded Andrealphus of innocent kisses. He wanted to kiss you so badly, he realized with a strangled breath. Riding and grinding your hips into him almost made him forget about his pain and breaks. His useless arm throbbed each time you slammed your hips down, while his leg and ribs begged to tighten and partake. 

“Oh, mercy,” he whispered into the air between you as you coaxed an orgasm out of him. Gritting his teeth, he ran his hands down your cheeks and over your eyelashes, hoping to have just a taste of what you looked like at the precipice. “I’m so close.”

You didn’t say a word, but the half laugh, half moan as you caught his fingers and kissed them said it all: “no peeking, you have to wait until our first time.” While he came down, you slipped backwards and cautiously dismounted from the devil, helping him button his pants back up. While he was gasping to regain control of his body, shivering and numb in the snow, you let out an energetic sigh as your wits were restored. You weren’t a doctor, but you poked and prodded at the places where he’d hurt himself, peppering him with gentle evaluation while the devil struggled to catch his own breath.

“Thank you for helping me,” you whispered into his ear, finally helping him sit up and aiming his finger at a place to draw. “Now let me help you, you need Morax or Beur.” 

With your guiding hand, the butcher drew his sigil into the snow, and as the door back to Hell opened, you lay against each other and slipped down like a slide. With a quiet oof followed by a gasp that could have woken his Lord Majesty, you both collapsed into a familiar living room floor. 

“What the fuc- oh. Daughter of Solomon, Andrealphus, you’re back early.” Bathin calmed immediately at the sight of them, hopefully using his best poker face as he helped you to your feet. 

“There was an accident, everything is okay now, it's just that,” you waved your hand to the devil’s broken body.

“Oh, what the fuck you were supposed to be looking after her,” Bathin hissed exasperated, dropping to his knees to examine the extent of the injuries. 

“I did-”

“He did-” you spoke over each other, and Andrealphus smiled wide.

“We’ll have to sneak him out to get to Morax’s hospital,” the devil sighed, picking Andrealphus up and clutching the battered man to his chest. “Would you mind getting the door for us?” 

Sneaking out of Niflheim one more time, you led the way to the grand hospital in Paradise Lost. Andrealphus talked his brother’s ear off the whole way, explaining his outing with you in great detail. You of course chimed in occasionally to fill in the details. Bathin tilted his head at you once to silently ask, “what the fuck?” when the butcher couldn’t stop talking about tinsel covered cocks with feathers hooked into the veins. It wasn’t the ideal first date in his mind, but you stayed at Andrealphus’ bed side at the hotel for the whole night. Sitting next to him, one hand holding his uninjured arm, listening to him recap the evening. 

“Can we get bratwurst again?” He yawned eagerly, letting you run your hand over his face until exhaustion became greater than discomfort. At the beckoning of your fingers against his eyelashes, he began to fade.

“Sure we can,” you promised, scratching his arm gently. “I know it got forgotten in all the excitement, but I saved your ornament.” 

“You did?” Andrealphus drowsed, turning his head toward you as you gave the packaging a jingle. “We can find a big tree to hang it on.”

“We can,” you mused sweetly, fixing it to one of his horns. “We can even make our own ornaments, with angel eyeballs or whatever you want. Next time I’ll show you what mistletoe is.” 

“On our second date?” He asked, barely finishing the sentence before a whistling snore passed through his lips.

“Yeah,” you hesitated before stealing a kiss from his forehead. “Our second date will be even better.”

[ambers-archive]

what if all i need is you?

2 times the universe conspires against Spencer and the 1 time it doesn't. no use of y/n pt 2

"I think we’re lost," Spencer mumbled, stealing a glance at you, you’re in his passenger seat and you look like a dream he thinks. 

He hates driving, usually avoids it, but watching you smile next to him and hearing you sing along to his favorite songs makes him think it’s not all bad.

"You think?" You laugh, meeting his eye.

He had the date perfectly planned in his head – a tour around the city since you just moved here. Showcasing his favorite bookstore, two tickets to his favorite museum's exhibit, the whole thing.

However, things were not going as planned. He found himself driving in circles, twists and turns multiplying at every corner.

The universe was taunting him.

"I swear, these street signs are conspiring against me," he muttered.

“In the meantime, we should enjoy this,” you suggested, pointing to a barely visible café on the corner, proposing an impromptu coffee stop.

With a slight smile tugging his lips, Spencer nodded.

“You’re in Med school?

Spencer asked, trying to hide his amazement.

It all makes sense now, he thinks. Rarely does he find someone who matches him intellectually, even rarer for him to enjoy conversations with them.

“I am! I know it’s a cliché saying, but I just want to help people, I want to make a difference in the world.”

“It’s not cliché at all, that’s really noble.” Spencer replied, a genuine smile forming on his face. The passion in your voice is like a breath of fresh air for him.

You blushed at the compliment, warmth spreading across your cheeks. "Thank you. It's not easy, but it's worth it if I can make a positive impact, even in a small way."

As if you took the words right out of Spencer’s mouth, hearing you made him realize the reason he started the BAU. 

And oh how beautiful it is to have that passion.

For so long, his work had only consisted of repetition; the work that had brought him happiness was now draining him of it all. His thoughts are audible emanating from your lips.

To make a difference, and just for a little while, listening to you happily describe your passion, the horrors of his job, which once clutched his heart so deeply, slowly started to fade.

“Where to next, Doctor?” 

“I hope you like museums, I was able to get us tickets to one of my favorite exhibits.” 

“Lead the way.” 

“I agree; the universe is not happy with you right now,” you laughed, both stranded in the middle of nowhere as his car broke down under the afternoon sun.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve this,” he sighed, opening your car door. Taking his hand you led him towards the field, there were worse places to be stranded in you thought. 

“If we call for a cab right now, we can reach the museum in an hour, depending on traffic. We’ll miss the first half hour or so, but—”

“Spencer, look! The sun is setting.” You walked off into the distance, taking a seat near a tree.

“We’re going to miss the show.” He said disappointed. You looked up at him and the orange glow casted a beautiful hue over your face. Just when he thought you couldn't get prettier.

“No matter how much you try in life, you’re bound to miss something. Just take in the moment right now.” You say, patting the seat on the grass next to you.

To his own surprise, he obliges. 

He doesn’t mean to profile you, but it’s a reflex, a defense mechanism. Being around serial killers and rapists, he needs to know their every move. But right now, being in your apartment as you give him a tour, he lets go.

Realizing he doesn’t have to know everything about you right away; he can take his time.

He expected your room to be something like a catalog magazine, but books, plants, and paintings you've made surrounded you.

Messy maximalist, you called it.

Spencer learns you hate minimalism, you hate gray white empty spaces that don't feel like home.

He is almost envious of how carefree you are, willing to wear your heart out on your sleeve. Your guard has been down the whole time, a luxury Spencer can’t afford.

“Can I offer you some tea? I recently perfected my mom’s recipe for chai,” You asked, already boiling the water and getting your tea bags together.

“Tea sounds amazing.”

He looks around, forming a profile in his brain.

You’re messy, but you somehow find beauty in it. It doesn’t bother you; it makes sense, he thinks.

Artistic people are commonly messy.

“What books do you like?” Spencer asks, watching you get two mismatched cups out.

“I love classic literature, Persuasion is one of my favorites. I love Jane Austen and the way she captures love in its most pure form."

“How would you define love?” It’s a question that has been nagging him, he wants to pick apart your brain and know every thought.

He can tell you’re a hopeless romantic, and he now wishes he had accepted Garcia’s movie night invitation to watch Jane Austen movies.

He already has a sense, knowing you love classic period pieces, but he just wants to hear your explanation for it. 

“In Med school they teach us that love is a complex emotion, a bunch of hormones: dopamine, oxytocin, and serotonin in the brain. I can’t say much about hormones but love is life, and it's just peaceful like the slow water going down a stream. But an immediate phenomenon, much like life itself. It fills and empties you all at once, swirling like a river's water after a storm. Your hands, heart, stomach, and skin are just a few places on your body where you can feel it. And it overtakes you so intensely. You don’t even realize it until you’re in it. You can’t exist without it, love is like breathing.” You sigh, a shy smile overtaking your lips “Sorry i tend to rant a lot.” 

Spencer meets your smile. It feels nice to be on the receiving end of someone rambling.  “I don’t mind one bit. I knew you were an artist but I didn’t peg you for a writer.”

“Have you been profiling me, Doctor Reid?” you ask, he smiles avoiding your gaze.

“Most writers are artistic people; that is, they are imaginative, creative, and productive when working in an environment that promotes self-expression. Not to mention you mentioned journalism being your minor, also I saw you had a typewriter.”

“You're amazing, Spencer,” you say, taking the kettle off the stove, pouring two cups of chai.

Spencer whispers your name, and you look over, your name falls so easily through his lips. This is what was missing from your life, you think.

“I think you’re one of the most unique people I’ve ever met.”

He says, taking your hand, interlocking your fingers.

You graze your thumb over his knuckles squeezing his hand, meeting his brown eyes. And as if the universe was on his side for once you lean forward, your lips meeting his. Lips meddling into each other as if it was made just for you.

The morning sun is beating down on his small car, and there you are sitting in his passenger seat laughing at his horrible jokes.

Your favorite songs playing in the background. You smile at him, and Spencer is lost again, but not because of the street signs. He's just lost in your smile.

This is what was missing from his life Spencer thinks.

[milfjuulpod]

Guidance, Ch III

A/N: hiii sorry this took so long, all the chapters are posted on my AO3, same username. hopefully the next update will be better, i’m not too proud of this one :,(

previous chapters are on AO3 and my master list, here

You and Melissa had agreed on meeting after school for coffee on Thursday, giving you each time to prepare some work. One of her students was showing signs of dyslexia, and after a one-on-one meeting with the student, the redhead decided to take action. Via email, she gave you some information to get started and make an IEP for her. It was quite early in the year, and with it being your first year doing this job, you were quite nervous. Nonetheless, you put your best foot forward and got to work nearly immediately. 

Of course, your habit of drowning yourself in work caught the attention of others. A knock at your door pulled you away from the research in front of you. “Hey you! I feel like you’ve been here for weeks and we’ve barely bonded,” Janine announced herself, entering the room. The younger teacher was sweet, and even though her overzealous personality could be a bit much, you knew it was coming from a good heart. 

“Sorry, Janine. I get wrapped up in work pretty easily. How’s your Tuesday going? Kids treating you right?” You asked, minimizing the tabs on your computer. 

“Oh my students are great, right now we’re working on fractions and it’s actually going good!” She said enthusiastically. “I’m glad to hear, can I help you with anything?” You continued. 

“Uh, yeah! Jacob and I are going out for trivia on Thursday, you should totally join us! I heard you went to a great university and we would love to spend some time together after school. Have you met Jacob? He’s so sweet you’ll love him, you know actually-” You cut off Janine before she could start one of her infamous rants, which you heard lots about and we’re lucky to avoid until this point. 

“Actually, I can’t Thursday. Don’t get me wrong, I would love to get to know you guys but, I’m actually meeting with Ms. Schemmenti to help one of her students out.”

Janine’s face dropped, and just as quick as it did, she returned to her peppy demeanor. It reminded you of what she previously said about Melissa, and you silently wondered if there was any truth to it. “Oh, no worries. I’m sure we’ll figure something out soon,” Seemingly wanting to avoid more rejection, Janine gathered her things. “Wait, Friday is our half day, right? Maybe we could go grab lunch or something after school? Make up for me missing trivia?” You offered, not wanting to make her feel bad. 

It seemed like you made the right choice, as Janine immediately bounced back. “That would be awesome! I’ll tell Jacob right now, see you around!” 

-

The rest of the week passed by rather quickly, filled with new paperwork and projects that you continued to work on. Thursday came before you knew it, and with the final bell, the plans you had put most of your attention to were gathered, on their way with you to meet Melissa for coffee. 

Opus was gorgeous inside, filled with neutral colors and artwork from the team and local artists. Plants covered the walls and even decorated some tables. It was nice, you were happy to meet the redhead in a place like this. Upon seeing her, you felt your breath catch and couldn’t take your eyes away. Sure, it was right after school so she was wearing the same pink sweater and tight jeans, but something about seeing her more relaxed, outside of the school walls, it made your heart beat a little bit faster. 

“Hey hon, thanks for meeting with me after school. I brought some stuff to brainstorm with…” She trailed off, picking a table for the two of you and immediately covering it with papers and binders. Janine’s voice rang in your head again, and you began to feel insecure about where you stood with Melissa. Maybe even stupid, for thinking she would find a friend in you. 

“That’s fine, I’m gonna grab our coffees, macchiato?” You asked, but Melissa was quick to turn down the offer. “Absolutely not, you buy me coffee all the time. It’s my turn,” she walked past you, gently pushing you to the side with a hand on your back. Just as quickly as you remembered the infamous words about the older teacher, you forgot them. 

The rest of the afternoon was that way. One moment, completely entranced by the woman across the table from you, unable to pull your attention away. The next, avoiding eye contact and feeling uncomfortable and used. Something told you Melissa noticed your switch in behaviors almost every time, the way she would mimic your actions. It was impossible to read her. Maybe she wanted it that way, maybe you just couldn’t read her. 

After a couple of hours of this back and forth, the two of you decided to call it. “Thank you, again, for helping me. It means a lot,” Melissa said outside of the cafe, wind blowing her hair ever so slightly. “Oh…It’s no problem, I’ll see you tomorrow,” You smiled and turned to take your leave, anxiety bubbling at the surface, until a hand grabbed your wrist to face its owner yet again. “Hey, what’s goin’ on with you today? Usually you’re more…I don’t know…upbeat and engaged. Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine, sorry. I just…I mentioned to Janine the lunch you shared with me earlier and she said something that made me a little nervous,” You answered. As much as you didn’t want to tell the truth, you figured lying would be even worse. Instead of replying, Melissa motioned for you to continue. “She said she hoped you weren’t buttering me up for something and why else would you be nice to me?” 

Wrong choice. Melissa’s eyes widened and you could see all the rage she had in her expression. “Oh, so I can’t be nice to the newbie for one day? I gotta get somethin’ out of it? And you believed her…This whole time? Whole time you’ve been buying me coffee and offering to help, what are you trying to get out of it?” She yelled, and didn’t give you any time to retaliate as she got in her car and left you on the steps. 

Defeated, you stood alone for a moment, trying to collect your thoughts. You felt like an idiot, again. For believing what Janine said, and for treating Melissa poorly. You threw your work into the passenger seat of the car and drove to trivia. 

-

“Oh my god! I thought you weren’t coming? Weren’t you going to meet Melissa today?” Janine nearly yelled as she ran from her booth of friends up to you. “Yeah…I did. It didn’t go too well actually so I wanted to come here and at least have a good night. I hope that’s okay?” 

“Of course it is, here come sit with all of us.” Janine led you back to the booth with Jacob and Gregory, happy to be in the company of new friends. “Alright, trivia doesn’t start for another thirty minutes, what happened?” Janine asked, which was followed by Jacob interrogating you as well, and Gregory listening attentively. You explained the entire afternoon to the three of them, hoping to at least get it out of your system. All three of them had something different to say, but you took Gregory’s advice to heart. 

“Listen, Melissa’s a bit tough on the outside, but she always means well. Just apologize to her for reacting that way and, with time, I’m sure things will be fine.”

Thankfully, trivia started shortly after the advice dump you received, and you were happy to be done talking about it. Hopefully tomorrow morning, with a macchiato and an apology, you could make it up to Melissa. 

[violetsandfluff]

You Flower, You Feast 🌻

concept from @pancakerry: harry coming home to y/n making dinner !! very domestic blurb:)

word count: about 600

a/n: i actually love this lol

“Pretty woman,” Harry hummed, sidling up beside you at the stove. He placed a hand on each of your hips as he peered over your shoulder into the pot you were stirring.

“Harry,” you chided teasingly before whirling around, spoon in hand, still dripping with scalding hot chicken broth. “You know the rules. No peeking when I’m the cook.”

Harry shook his head incredulously, stepping back and holding his hands out as a sign of resignation. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Cut up some strawberries,” you instructed, gesturing to the counter where they sat on a damp paper towel. “They’re already clean.”

Harry nodded, barely listening to the words rolling out of your mouth. He was preoccupied with taking you in. He admired the sparkle in your eye as you scolded him for peeking at the soup, the daisy tucked behind your ear and forgotten about, and the outfit you were wearing. It was nothing too revealing, but he could tell how comfortable and confident you were wearing it.

“Harry. The strawberries?” she called over her shoulder when she turned back to the soup, sprinkling some homegrown herbs into it for flavor.

“The strawberries?” he mumbled numbly, trying to remember what you had asked him to do with them. He scooped them into his hands and brought them over to the sink, emptying them into a pasta strainer and running them under a stream of cool water.

“I told you they were already clean, Haz,” you explained in exasperation.

“Oh,” he said slowly, grabbing a second paper towel to dry them in. “What do you want me to do once I cut them?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you chuckled to yourself. “Now seriously. Earth to Sous Chef Styles? Cut up the strawberries, please and thank you.”

Harry used his minimal knife skills to cut the strawberries into small, disfigured hearts. He transferred them into a small, milky glass bowl and handed them to you.

“All of the hearts to the love of my life,” he said proudly, and you chuckled to yourself as you tried to decipher the shapes of the berries.

“Go make yourself useful setting the table,” you giggled, handing your husband a handful of silverware and napkins.

As he left, you uncovered the muffin tin that was hidden on the counter beneath a loaf of bread. You decorated each cupcake with a dollop of whipped cream and a few strawberry “hearts” before covering the pan back up and hiding it before Harry turned around.

You scooped the steaming soup into two bowls and carried them carefully to the kitchen table opposite the stove, setting them on the hay-colored tablecloth between the antique silverware and chipped coffee mugs, both of which held red wine.

“Are these flowers from the garden?” Harry asked, fingering a pink rose petal. “All of the rain has been really good for them.” He picked up his chair and soup and repositioned himself beside you so he could see out the west window where the sky was ablaze with fiery orange clouds. A cool breeze drifted in, stirring the flowers and your hair.

The steaming soup was enjoyed alongside steamy kisses and buttery rolls as the sun set. Harry’s hand enveloped yours as you ate, and he fingered the pearl on your ring finger beneath the table as if it were some precious secret.

~~~

taglist: @madybeth21 @groovychaosavenue @fishingirl12 @sortingharryshairclip @mrspeacem1nusone @tenaciousperfectionunknown @cayleyhannha-blog @whitemancumslut @xxrosebunny @hsdaydreaminghaze @madeintheniamh @daisyharry

[lkfarrout]

Routine (family fic)

No ships/romance, just angst.

Summary: something I thought was likely to happen in the week it took Stan to get his memory back

Warnings: light angst, minimal swearing

For Stan Pines, it was the same routine every morning for the last twenty-or-so years: shower, suit, fez, lights, open sign, merchandise, cash register, don't forget to smile, no refunds, etc, etc. But before all of that, somewhere in the haze between the first sip of coffee and the hot water on his face, he always found himself in the basement. There wasn't a real reason for it. It wasn't like he could make much progress that early in the day, but he always went down anyway. Maybe it was just to make sure it was still there. That his twin was still gone. That he hadn't woken from what was simply a horrible nightmare.

On this particular morning, Stan wasn't even sure what day it was, but it didn't matter. The warm summer air told him the shack would be busy and he didn't have any time to waste.

His head hurt like a bitch. Like a bad hangover. He trudged down the hallway in his slippers, stepping over boards and other debris. Must have been a party last night. Gotta tell Soos to clean this up.

The smell of cheap instant coffee filled the kitchen, and Stan squinted at the fridge door. There was a drawing of him magnet-ed to it, and not a great one. Like a kid drew it. Covered in glitter and stickers. "Our Hero," it said. Huh, probably someone's idea of a joke.

The sun was barely peaking over the horizon, bathing the giftshop in soft orange light. Beep, beep, beep. He had learned years ago to put the wrong combination in sometimes, to keep the buttons from wearing unevenly and giving away the real combination. Beep, beep, beep.

"Stanley?"

His mug fell from his grip and shattered on the floor. Coffee seeped into the floorboards and under the vending machine. That name. Stan didn't dare move.

A large hand grabbed his shoulder. "Where are you going?"

With the corner of his eyes, Stan counted the fingers.

One, two, three, four, five, six.

One two three four five six.

Onetwothreefourfivesix.

With a deep inhale and one swift motion, Stan flipped around and grasped the face of the man behind him desperately with both hands.

He whispered, "Standford?"

His brother returned the gesture, playfully grabbing Stan's face and chuckling, "Yes, it's me, Stan."

Stanley choked on his words, he couldn't even think straight.

"How- how did you get here? I never, I- I couldn't fix it." His eyes began to fill with tears and he held on tighter to Stanford's face.

Ford pulled him into a tight hug, which was eagerly reciprocated.

"You did fix it, Stan," he reassured his brother, "You brought me back, you just forgot."

Stan pulled back and looked at Ford, confused.

Ford continued, "You were doing so well last night, I don't know what happened."

"But... I couldn't even find the other journals," Stan insisted.

Ford nodded, "I know, Dipper found them, remember?"

"...Dipper? Ain't that the name of Shermie's grandbaby? I think I was at the birth. How long ago was that?"

"Yes, the twins, Dipper and Mabel." Standford's tone was soft and reassuring, "They live here, they're up in the attic right now."

Stan groaned and rubbed his eyes, "Darn kids, they keep breakin' that window up there."

"Yes!" Ford exclaimed and grabbed Stan by the shoulders excitedly, "They keep breaking the window!"

Stan looked at his twin like he was crazy. "What, are you rootin' for em or something? You're the one that gave her the crossbow." He rolled his eyes, annoyed.

Stanford laughed, "I sure did." He embraced Stan in a hug once again.

"How's your headache today?" he asked.

"Still bad," Stan replied. He looked down at the wet floor and laughed, "I could use another coffee."

[deadvnstudios]

How would everyone take care of a sick MC?

"No, just...sit up. Here, drink this."

Noel is methodical in his approach to care. By the time the MC has awoken from their nap, he'll have already whipped up a hardy broth that warms their bones and tastes like home. Noel prioritizes the MC's comfort: helping them sit up for every meal, fluffing their pillows, changing their sheets - and often does so without being asked. He is very strict with the MC on not overworking themself, making sure they take their cold medicine on time, and keeping them hydrated.

"Wait...I. Let me put these in your water."

And he certainly carries a couple of electrolyte packets on him with several flavors for them to choose from.

Mona is a bit overbearing in her approach to care. If the others were not already aware of it being a common cold, they'd be led to believe it's bordering on terminal. Though her dramatic flair remains, she takes to her caretaker role very seriously and has no shame in babying the MC. She's constantly adjusting pillows and sheets, pressing her hand to the MC's forehead, and monitoring them in between crafting sessions for any signs of discomfort.

"Here, something to soothe the sickened soul. Oh my, why so shaken? Worry not, even I am aware my work would be wasted on such a...diminished palate."

She laughs at the way the MC's face twists in horror as she carries soup to their bedside. But don't worry, she didn't prepare it. Merely heckled Noel into doing so.

"Such feverish skin...slowly, go slowly."

Sorin is very gentle in their care. He isn't disturbed by the grosser aspects of human sickness and takes no issue with more intimate tasks such as wiping down the MC's clammy skin, bushing their sweat-slicked hair out of their face, and helping them walk to-and-fro with them pressed against his side. They have nowhere else to be, but beside them. Tending to more delicate things is in their nature, after all.

"Her breath, drawn up from the dank, sunken cavern of her lungs, perspired in the humid twilight air. She wandered the shore alone, all shaken puffs and sulken skeleture, aimlessly careening in a feverish haze. Despite the distance, the sea could not quell its love for her. Seafoam tickled the soles of her feet, teasing heated skin with cool caresses, before whisking her away into its pool of tears. And there they could wallow in their sadness, together."

They go silent, peering up from the tale when they're interrupted by a soft snore. A small smile paints their lips at finding the MC asleep. They had grumbled earlier, upset that Sorin had urged them to reconsider reaching for their phone when they awoke. Instead, Sorin had offered to read them to sleep once more.

Mary's already at MC's bedside when they wake up.

"Hey, I got you some grub."

The porridge is already cold when MC grabs the bowl. Mary presents them a spoon that she was hiding somewhere in her skirts.

"I've heard that if you manage to shove a spoon down your throat, you instantly get better. Wanna try?"

She's definitely joking... Right? Her smile never wanes, only becoming sweeter when she hands them the spoon.

Tempest is sincerely at a loss when it comes to care. Used to suffering in silence or bitching about it to no one - someone showing any dependence on him puts him way out of his element. He's bare bones in the way he 'watches over' the MC, but he emulates what he's seen in shows and movies. He probably thinks they look gross.

"Seriously, what a drag. Can't you at least wear something nice to look at?"

And tells them so.

Still, he tucks them in, feeds them, and fills their water up with minimal mumbled complaints. And he’ll whine all around the commune about all the fun he's missing out on, even while on his way to ask Noel whether a hot or cold compress would be better for them.

"Oooo here it is, ah - wait! No, let me pour it, it's like super hot."

Vein is carefree but caring in her approach to care. Always looking for ways to keep the MC entertained and engaged, tethering them despite any lingering fever. She'll visit Sorin at times like these, requesting any medicinal plants to steep for soothing relief. She happily prepares a pot for the two of them to share and sip on as she loads up a film. No matter how much the MC complains that she'll get sick, Vein sticks stubbornly in bed beside them.

"Ah - look look! They just added this one, you wanted to see it, right?"

Vein will play whatever the MC wants for a change, even if it's not up her alley. But she'll still sneak in a horror flick or two when they pass out.

[bitterfishiesstuff]

Tech/Crosshair for the Kiss Roulette? Not picking any kisses, am leaving that for the RNG. :3

:D One day I'll write something not mer au for you today is not that day lol

Set in the Melna Gaisma AU

The air felt thick. The one who wore yellow tape under his eyes- Bly had said it meant ran was coming. Crosshair hadn’t believed the human until he saw the thick clouds move in to blot out the sun into a more tolerable gloom. The sanctuary had tried their best on such short notice, but the hastily strung well-worn tarp only provided minimal relief from the sun baring down on him. He had his eye on several wooden boards fastened together that food had been brought in on, but retrieving them from the dumpster had proved difficult. Especially with the few other mer constantly trying to check in on him. Surface mer where so damn nosy.

He sighed, long tail slapping restlessly on the concrete surrounding his new enclosure. It wasn’t big enough by a long shot, but they had jury rigged something called a yoga mat between two pools. He could toss water on it and stretch out between them. The one called Aayla had promised to look into joining the two ponds somehow, but even after staying here a brief time Crosshair could tell they were short on the money humans used for trade.

This wasn’t anything like what he’d been dreaming of. There was no substitute for the comforting pressure of the ocean. Where he could swim down deep enough to drown out the giant ball of light that tried to burn his scales every day, but it was better than the “recuse”. His new care takers kept a wide breath and didn’t seem to realize their newest volunteer spent his breaks visiting the off limits area that was Crosshair’s new domain.

Softly a faint pitter-patter bounced off the make shift sun shade as water began to fall from the sky. He heard Bly yelp in the distance, calling to someone to get inside if they wanted to stay dry. A few mer called to each other cheerfully, the opportunity to talk with out drying a welcome change. Amidst the chatter and soothing drum beat of the rain beating against the shade, then echoing the patter as it fell through to land in the pool he stretched out with another sigh.

He’d seen rain a few times. Mostly on rare visits to the surface when he’d wanted to see the stars or search for floating debris. It had always felt odd on his scales and skin. Like the ocean was trying to coax him back down to the depths, but unable to move through the air of the surface world. As the rain leaked through the thread bare tarp he settled to rest along the edge of the enclosure, arms crossed to support his head as he stared at the sky through the tinted glasses Tech had given him. Rain had been a novelty, but now he supposed it would become common to him.

A soft splash out of rhythm with the rain drew his attention. His ear fins shot up as he tried to hone in on the sound as it speed up towards him. Higher pitched pitter-patters followed the splashes as they rounded the corner and he couldn’t help the small smile at the sight of his mate jogging towards him in the rain. The white and red umbrella was a little worse for wear, but kept Tech mostly dry. Thankfully it looked like his mate had worn a more practical shoe then his normal one. Something that gripped to the concrete better than the shoes that had led to them meeting in the first place.

Still he couldn’t resist teasing him. “Careful little scholar, you’ll slip again.”

Tech grinned as he knelt down, ignoring the water soaking into his slacks. “I am being cautious, but I know that there is nothing to fear from this tank.”

“The sign says I’m a bite risk.” He flashed sharp fangs as he rose to meet Tech, their breath mingling with the fresh water filling his senses.

“Only when requested.” Tech bantered back drily, his smiled shifting to a quirk of his eyebrow and lips.

Crosshair chuckled, reaching up to cup Tech’s jaw and down him closer. The umbrella shifted, letting a few raindrops fall between them as Tech knelt under the makeshift awning without realizing it wasn’t very water proof. The falling water beaded beautifully on Tech’s skin, tempting Crosshair to dart a tongue out to lick it away. “Only for you.”

Before Tech could retort or retrieve his umbrella Crosshair sealed  their lips together to taste the water falling on their skin properly. Not nearly salty enough, but the taste of Tech’s soft gasp more than made up for it. As did the warmth of the skin under his hand. His partner melted into the kiss, eager to return it even as water soaked through his clothing. Clever fingers ran through Crosshair’s short hair, blunt nails dragged against his scalp as Tech tried to find purchase in the slick strands.

Perhaps the rain would keep it’s novelty, if it kept the other humans away.

[agerefandom]

Dream-Bubble Diamonds

Fandom: Homestuck

Characters: regressor!Mituna, Caregiver!Kurloz, other dancestors mentioned but not present

Words: 1, 200

Summary: Kurloz gets a visit from his moirail, Mituna, and takes care of him for the afternoon.

Warnings: Canon-typical difficult to read dialogue from Mituna, also cussing from Mituna, seizures, difficulty communicating, references to both of their previous injuries but nothing graphic

Kurloz was lazily knitting against a wall, hands flitting over needles and purple yarn. Porrim had been happy to teach him, and it gave him something to do in the monotony of the dream bubbles. There was something satisfying about watching fabric coming together out of twisted cords of thread, and it was just as satisfying to pull apart at the end, each stitch coming apart with a little jolt.

Stab, twist, and tuck the needle through: a rhythm that Kurloz’s fingers were becoming quicker and quicker to carry out.

“Kulozzzz!!” The mangled version of his name was shouted from above him, and Kurloz looked up to see Mituna running along the top of the wall that Kurloz was leaning against.

Predictably, Mituna slipped just as Kurloz looked up at him, and went sideways with a little shriek.

Kurloz dropped the knitting and caught his moirail, who had curled up to try and minimize the fall.

Finding himself unharmed and in Kurloz’s lap, Mituna scrambled up. “Dnn touch now!!” he complained, brushing off his arms. Kurloz held up his hands, showing that he was no longer reaching for Mituna. His moirail could be picky about when and how he was touched, which Kurloz could understand. Mituna wasn’t wearing his helmet, and his hair was chaotic as usual.

HOW ARE YOU? Kurloz signed, raising his eyebrows to signify the question.

Mituna scowled, showing his little fangs, and plopped down cross-legged across from Kurloz.

“Fucked sll thought,” he said, grumpy. “Flcking toddler brainer.”

DO YOU WANT YOUR PACIFIER?

Kurloz had always enjoyed the sign for pacifier, as if he was placing it in his own mouth.

“Not a babybrains.”

Kurloz raised an eyebrow, making the sign for pacifier again. Mituna bared his teeth, a baby troll gesture of aggression from before their horns grew in properly. Kurloz waited, and sure enough, Mituna frowned and nodded after a few seconds.

“Stills not frcking baby,” Mituna declared, sticking out a hand.

Kurloz smiled, stitches tugging at the corners of his mouth as he dug Mituna’s pacifier out of his pocket. Between Mituna and Meulin, he always had a collection of baby gear in the pockets of his suit, making him think about adding a bag to his usual outfit. He wasn’t sure where he would find one here in the dream bubbles, but he could always tell Horuss to make him one.

Mituna snatched the pacifier from Kurloz’s hand and popped it into his mouth, still managing to pout with his whole body, even with his mouth covered by the yellow plastic guard. Kurloz nodded and flashed a thumbs-up, tapping his smiling mouth.

“Efrenv’sh,” Mituna said, his usually slurred speech utterly incomprehensible from behind the pacifier. Kurloz bobbed his head as if he’d made perfect sense. “Snnnf’rm?” Kurloz continued to smile as Mituna babbled, waving a hand this time as if to make a point. “Krlw’nrt!”

Catching on that Mituna was asking for something, Kurloz raised his hands and asked YOU WANT TO GO AWAY?, pointing back where Mituna had gone. COME? He added as a second option, gesturing to his open arms.

Mituna shook his head, vigorous enough to spin his hair into new tangled formations, then tried to get to his feet and fell over sideways. Clearly disoriented, Mituna managed to get back onto his knees and crawled over to Kurloz, poking his leg.

“Krlsnnfrm?”

SIGN? Kurloz asked.

Mituna made a series of gestures that did not remotely resemble sign language, most of them involving hitting himself in the side of the head. Although he understood Kurloz, Mituna’s own use of sign language was even more spotty than his speech capability.

Kurloz shrugged, showing Mituna that he’d not understood any of that.

Mituna sighed and dropped his head down on Kurloz’s leg, a familiar position from his regression. Kurloz twisted his gloved fingers in Mituna’s hair, so much finer than the yarn that had been abandoned beside him. Mituna made a happy moirail rattle in his throat and settled down, tension draining from his body. Kurloz felt himself relax as well, relieved to no longer be guessing what Mituna wanted from him.

The two of them sat there for a while, Mituna’s little purring rattles breaking the silence every so often. It was one of Kurloz’s favourite sounds, a troll at their most comfortable and trusting. If they had been back on their home planet, they would have needed to worry about the oncoming dawn, and finding shelter from the dangerous light. Here in the dream bubbles, there was no change of time unless you went from one area to another, and they could sit out in the peaceful evening light for as long as they wanted.

Lulled into a sense of peace, Kurloz took a second too long to realize that Mituna had gone unusually still.

Immediately, Kurloz twisted around and dragged Mituna away from the wall, as gently as he could while still moving quickly. Sure enough, he had barely moved his moirail when Mituna started to convulse, and Kurloz tugged the pacifier out of his mouth before retreating to a safe distance. Mituna’s full-body seizures weren’t unusual, and they weren’t dangerous if he wasn’t at risk of falling, but Kurloz still wanted to keep close. Kurloz crossed his legs, leaning forward to watch over him.

Count the seconds, keep his breathing controlled. Kurloz tapped his fingers against each other, keeping the rhythm of his own body steady even as he watched his moirail shake on the ground.

This one was a long one for Mituna, lasting over two minutes before he finally went limp. Kurloz moved over when he was sure it was safe, not directly touching Mituna but lying down beside him in easy reach. Mituna blinked his eyes open and touched his jaw, moving it in a way that made it clear he must have hurt it clenching down. Seeming to conclude it would get better soon, he looked around and beamed when he saw Kurloz.

“Kurloz!!!!” Mituna scooted over and rolled himself into his moirail’s arms, and Kurloz pulled him in. “Kurloz, sing fme?” He tapped Kurloz’s throat, making it even clearer what he was asking for.

Kurloz pressed his stitched lips to Mituna’s forehead in his version of a kiss, and obediently began to hum.

Back when the two of them were younger, and the game that ended the world had not yet begun, Mituna used to love Kurloz’s singing voice. It was one of his most common requests, whether he was sad or regressed or tired. “Kurloz, sing to me?” And Kurloz would curl up on the chair with his headset on, Mituna’s voice in his ear, and he would sing until he heard Mituna’s little rattling snores over their call.

Kurloz wasn’t used to making any vocalization anymore: he didn’t even make the subvocal rattles and clicks that were used for communication between partners. Mituna, however, was an exception. For the memory of all the nights they had fallen asleep at their computers, listening to each other’s voices, Kurloz hummed familiar songs as Mituna curled against his chest.

“Mml’v you,” Mituna whispered.

Kurloz’s arms were too full of his moirail to sign a response, so he traced a diamond on Mituna’s back and hoped he understood. I love you too, little miracle.

[barry-j-blupjeans]

TAZ NC DAY 5: Modern with Magic AU

@taznovembercelebration

Magnus liked to think of it less as "breaking in" and more like "surprise entering". Breaking in felt like he was here to do something bad. And he wasn't! He wasn't. All he was here to do was kill somebody so he could afford to buy groceries for the next few weeks. Super innocent. Nothing bad about that at all. Aside from the murder, he wasn't really here to do anything bad. Besides, he had a bigger problem on his hands:

His target was Magnus Burnsides. And, uh. He was Magnus Burnsides.

Except, no. Well, yes he was Magnus Burnsides, but he wasn't going to murder himself. Kinda? It's— look, it was a lot of magic shit that went over his head. But for some fuckin' reason, a guy with his face and his name had started stirring up trouble down in Phandalin and Mangus was getting very tired of all the hate mail sent to his address. Not to mention all the dirt on his name— egads! How was anyone supposed to run a business when there's a guy out there using your face to kick puppies?

Mocknus (his name for fake Magnus, of course) obviously didn't care about his home security as much as real Magnus did, because it was surprisingly easy to get inside. A little lockpicking here, a few bits of shattered window there, and he slipped inside easy as pie. The room he came into was dark and carpeted. Magnus hated carpeted floors. Mocknus really had nothing better to do than soil his good name, huh?

Besides the carpet, the room was surprisingly normal. It seemed to be a bedroom— a guest bedroom, based on the lack of personal wares inside. He crept to the door, and then into the hall, straining his ears for any sign of Mocknus. But for all intents and purposes, the house seemed to be empty tonight. There was a second guest bedroom, just as empty as the first, an orderly, tidy kitchen, a cozy little living room, and a bathroom. Magnus had figured that surely the master bedroom would be occupied, but it was empty. And he had no luck with the bathroom connected to the master bedroom, either.

This house unnerved him. Maybe it was the lack of decor, but it barely seemed lived-in. There were minimal things hanging in the closets, mostly copies of flannels Magnus himself owned. The kitchen lacked anything other than the most basic kinds of snacks and a singular can of beef ravioli. The couch seemed to have a layer of dust on it and there were cobwebs between the pillows on the king-sized bed in the master bedroom.

Or maybe it was the silence. Even with an empty house, there was some kind of noise. But the moment he had touched foot onto the carpeted floor, it was like all outside noise had been dampened. Magnus couldn't hear any of the crickets that were sure to be outside, or electricity buzzing in the walls. In fact, besides his own breathing, all he could hear was…

A pounding beat that came straight from the floor.

He hadn't noticed when he had first entered, but now that he was looking for it, the floors seemed to vibrate a little with the noise. Magnus traced the noise to the guest room he had first gained access to, directly into the wall, hole-in-the-wall closet. He opened the closet door and the faintest bit of light shone from behind a box of shoes. Magnus moved it aside to find a latch, which pulled back to reveal a hole with a ladder leading down.

Magnus had never been the best at thinking things through and so, down the ladder he went. It led to yet another hallway, this time with stone floors. Gee, would it kill this guy to have a taste for hardwood if he was going through all the trouble to wear Magnus's face? He re-readied himself. He had on a cloak infused with protection spells he made in magic ec. when he was fifteen. It was shitty, but it was better than nothing.

At the very end of the hall, there was an entrance to another room, only blocked by a hot pink curtain. The thrum had gotten louder and the walls around him were shaking. It was almost heartbeat like and that, honestly, made him more uneasy than anything.

But it was now or never. And considering how little Magnus had thought this plan through, it was definitely now.

He tore through the curtain, knife in hand, ready to stab. Sadly, his stab-ee was across the room and also not, uh. Not in a stab-able form. A little jingle played when the curtains moved, a speaker directly above his head playing barely audible over the loud thumping beat.

Cool Evil Lair, where all your dreams come true! Got a Guy for you!

The room was large and circular, with green pods lining the walls. And inside those pods were bodies— some Magnus had the vaguest sense of knowing, some he didn't know at all. There was an Elvis pod, which was weird on several different levels. In the middle of the room, there were a few pieces of furniture, mostly couches and chairs, with little coffee tables around them like this room was some kind of a fucked up therapist's office. There was a counter, too, where his target was standing.

He wasn't currently in his Mocknus form. In fact, Mocknus was just kind of slumped against a couch, unmoving. If Magnus was any less well-versed in liches, he would be very concerned.

Actually, scratch that. With what Magnus did know about liches, he was very concerned. Because his target cocked his head toward where Magnus stood, eyeing him with what only appeared to be delight. For the majority of liches Magnus had heard about, that couldn't be a good thing.

"OH GOODIE," the lich said. The counter held a register, which made a little ding! as the lich leaned forward. "MY FIRST CUSTOMER OF THE DAY."

[johnslittlespoon]

yes i think the slap would be super jarring for bucky because usually his dad’s anger is sort of hidden behind this idea of discipline and teaching him to be better whereas this time it sort of just explodes. however i do think that most of those traditional punishments u mentioned still did have a harmful effect on bucky :( a lot of them are just cruel to begin with and frowned upon by child psychologists and i don’t think they should ever be used, but i can imagine the toll it takes on a child might be even worse if a parent is using those punishments on them for behaviours they can’t control

(discipline and spanking and such are all fun to brainrot about in a kinky fun way when it’s between two consenting adults NOT in this situation 😅)

context | oh 100% they should never be used and can be just as harmful as any other abuse (because that's really what it is and i hate that adults will still sugarcoat it and call it 'strict parenting'.)

it for sure has a huge effect on him; there's only so many years he can spend gaslighting himself into thinking it's just how his dad shows he cares before he gets old enough to look around at his friends' parents and realizes that love doesn't have to look like that (and that love shouldn't look like that.)

he grows up constantly holding his breath in fear of setting either of his parents off, but especially his dad, with his parents being very traditional and his dad wearing the pants and calling the shots when it comes to parenting. while he can understand as he gets older that he's not the easiest kid, his parents signed up to have a kid, and then didn't give him the help and resources he needs to sort through his shit, taking out their frustration on him instead.

he just wants someone to talk to him and explain the world to him and take the time to listen and hear his side and recognize how hard he's trying, but he gives up trying to connect with either of his parents in that way by the time he's in highschool because he realizes it's just never going to happen with them. he accepts that they're never going to see his behaviours as anything other than him intentionally being difficult, and that they don't want to actually fix anything, they just want to make it go away and they believe yelling and punishments are what'll do that.

he feels humiliated when he flinches one day when he and gale are arguing and gale moves too quickly towards him, or lifts a hand for an unrelated reason. because he knows gale would never hurt him, but he realizes in that moment that he's a lot more fucked up from living every day on edge for years in the same house as his parents than he wants to admit. it sticks with him and makes him feel like he has to make himself smaller even around people he feels fully safe with, and he also feels silly for being so affected by it because "he barely actually hits me" or "he tries not to leave marks" or "other people have it worse."

minimizing the effects is one of his only coping mechanisms to deal with it, but it's something gale helps him work through until he realizes he didn't deserve any of it regardless of how 'difficult' he might have been sometimes. gale sees so much of himself in john when it comes to stuff like this, and it's healing for him too to help john heal from his own dad's treatment, and john finally being able to get out of that environment is such a breath of fresh air and allows him to start actually processing and find stability and all that. <3

(and exactly. very very different situations and i just elaborated on that in this post too lolll.)

[magnuficent76]

How different ocs sleep Caede tales edition because I wanna sleep so bad but i need to wake up and do things [Under cut as always because it got Long !]

/-> Maria

- Can sleep pretty much anywhere, but likes sleeping near somebody the most because it grants her a nice feeling of safety. Huge cuddler too, so if there is someone near she'll usually cling onto them like a baby sloth.

- Likes having tons of pillows in bed for comfort, but also just as a little luxury for herself. When Mary was growing up, she never got to have many pillows because she usually had to share it with like 50 other people, so now she'll have a ton of them as confirmation that now she can do whatever she wants and doesn't have to limit her joys like she did anymore. Also, it stops her from falling out of bed and keeps her head elevated so she doesn't snore ♡

- Tends to get cold pretty easily, so she'll usually have two or so blankets thrown over her body. I like to think it's those patterned grandma ones or maybe something she herself crocheted. Absolute hogger of the blankets.

- Sleeps pretty heavily, but will wake up if something is too close for comfort. Pandora tends to be noisy in general, but it doesn't hurt to pay attention to your surroundings if something sounds a little too close to your house. Can wake up on command though, so it's not a huge deal, she can always make a quick escape if she feels like a situation could be escalating in proximity to her home.

- Always sleeps in just a liiiittle bit longer than she has to as another luxury owed to herself. Used to have to get up earlier than the sun so she wasn't attacked by anything, so now she delights in having the possibilities of being able to give herself a nice long rest.

- Has a designated set of pajama clothes she wears every night to sleep. They're nice and pink and she got them as a gift from her husband, so she cherishes them deeply.

.

/-> Lucio

- Can only sleep in his own dedicated room. Otherwise he's rawdogging all-nighters. No he will not fall asleep there may be a Scary Creature outside and he has to protect everyone from it.

- Doesn't like pillows. Prefers his body completely straight. Yes he's that fucking guy. Only has one pillow and it's rock solid, it's more of like a really soft slab than an actual thing you should lay your head on.

- Literally always hot as hell so he doesn't need blankets either. He may freeze to death but you won't catch him comfy like some kind of PUSSY. Does like the ones Mary has though and will accept them if it means he gets to cuddle her.

- Barely able to sleep, and when he sleeps he can be woken up from a bug farting 5 miles away. Extremely light sleeper.

- Only ever sleeps the most minimal amount of time he needs to, and then gets up. Despises feeling relaxed because he sees it as a sign of weakness that all of his enemies will exploit the second they find out. And they will find out because there's a person out there who wants him dead at all times and who watches him. What do you mean this is a symptom of OCD. Stop patronizing me.

- Just sleeps naked. Can't be bothered. He's that guy.

.

/-> Jonah

- Sleeps in the basement to remedy his paranoia about people getting into his room to kill him, first and foremost. Basement is also just where he works most often, so whenever he gets insomnia (often) he'll just go and work on whatever project he has going on.

- When he does sleep however, he has like 8 different pillows. Two for his head, one for the stump, one for keeping between his legs, one for hugging and the rest are spread around the bed so whenever he rolls around he doesn't bonk his head and die [paranoia thing again].

- Blanket wise... he doesn't have much going on. It's just like the oldest rag you've ever seen thrown over him, mostly on his legs, and he sleeps with it like it's the coziest thing ever. In reality he only ever uses one because the part that gets the coldest is almost always his leg stump, even when it's properly covered and taken care of, because the bastard has poor circulation there and the ghost sensations don't make it any better. Would definetly benefit from a weighed blanket however. He loves feeling smushed into his own body <3

- The lightest heavy sleeper on the market. You could play several drums around him while he sleeps and it'll be chill for him, he'll probably just mumble in his sleep about it, but if you minimally touch him or any of his things he awakens with fury only previously known in brown bears defending their territory. Can pretty much fall asleep anywhere with the right setup, but will wake up way easier than if he's in his room.

- Wakes up earlier than the sun because nights are really long and "who's got time to wait that long?". But also because he physically can't sleep longer than like 5 hours without waking up groggy and grumpy. Takes plenty of naps throughout the day to make up for it

- Pajamas wise he'll just throw an old t-shirt on and shorts. Low effort king ♡

.

/-> Archer

- Sleeps in his room and ONLY in his room. If he doesn't have a designated place of sleep he will stay up making a safe-spot for himself and sleep with a knife in his hands. Not so much out if paranoia like Jonah but because Archer feels inadequate sleeping in places that aren't for him, not to mention it's really unsafe.

- He only has two pillows– One really thick one for his head, and one regular for holding in his sleep. If he doesn't have anything to hold onto when he's sleeping he tends to get anxious and have nightmares and whimper in the middle of the night, so the way he remedies it is by having something to keep him company like when he was a child. If he doesn't have a pillow he'll settle for just clinging onto whoever may be nearest or a blanket though.

- His blanket game is Insane. See, Pandora is a desert, which means the days are long and hot while the nights are unbearably cold, and since his circulation is really bad he would get cold as hell if he didn't cover up properly. This often meant he had like 4 different blankets. [from top to bottom: 1- Bed cover 2- Thick fluffy blanket with like a tiger patterned on it 3- Second slightly less thick blanket that still has some texture to help keeping warm 4- Simple little sheet inbetween thick blankets to make texture more tolerable]

- Moderately a heavy sleeper. He's used to not being able to sleep often, so when he does, he makes sure to absolutely conk out until he's needed again. However, with sufficient noise, he'll be back awake in no time. Used to having to wake back up first when something goes wrong, so it's nothing he's unfamiliar with.

- Always wakes up early to start the day on the right foot, even if it means having to force his way to the right foot. Used to do it because he had people to take care of who needed him, but now does it to feel productive.

- For Pjs, Archer always has matching sets. He prefers it because that way he always has clothes for sleeping separated, and that way he never has to go scavenging for it in his "closet". Always wears long sleeves and pants too.

.

/-> Salt

- Sleeps anywhere if there's company. Used to share a room with his siblings as a twee young girl, so nowadays he likes having at least someone in his room to help him fall asleep. Usually sleeps on people too because the contact is comforting, especially when it's warm.

- Pillow-wise, Salt will sleep with any number of pillows available so long as it's a number higher than 0. Finds ways to be comfortable that befuddle everyone around them, genuinely the most chill when it comes to sleep set-ups because he'll just roll himself into a pretzel anyway. It doesn't hurt his back somehow. He's just like built different.

- Blankets are never a need for Salt, just an added bonus. This girl can rawdog a full night of sleep just with like a tshirt and shorts on. Doesn't usually feel the temperature too badly, but if he does he'll just pop his jacket on and sleep with it. Blankets are appreciated for group sleeping though, because he knows the texture of the jacket isn't for everyone and he wants the most comfort for the group. Prefers those big fluffy heavy pillows above anything else if he has to pick though.

- REALLY heavy sleeper. You could blow up an entire mountain of dynamite directly outside his window and the most he'll react with is "mmgmgg. five more minutes......"

- Usually sleeps in until a little later in the day because he doesn't usually sleep very long, so when he gets the chance he'll relish it and stay asleep for as long as they can bring themselves to. Only wakes up when someone else comes do looking for him <3.

- Puts on a tanktop and sweatpants and calls it a day. Unless other people convinces him that an actual set of pjs would be more comfortable, Salt can collapse in anything he's already wearing and it'll still be enough for him.

.

/-> Radha

- Has trained herself to sleep anywhere and everywhere. Cold hard floor? Don't mind if she sleeps. Sitting down on chair? Asleep already, so comfy. Meditating? Zzzzzz. Knows no one is stupid enough to awaken a jaguar during their sleep, and fully takes advantage of it.

- Doesn't need much for pillows honestly. One pillow would be adequate, two is great, three is way too much. Sleeps straight and facing up like a wooden board. If it wasn't for the way her chest moves while she breathes, you would 100% assume she was dead or something. Only has one really specific need when it comes to comforts like this: let her keep her plushie in her arms while she sleeps and there'll be no trouble. Otherwise she is either going to leave or kill you.

- Also doesn't need a blanket. It's still appreciated, especially on colder nights, but it's a commodity, not a necessity. If she absolutely needs it though she'll usually just get a sheet and call it a day.

- Light sleeper to a fault. Even though she knows people won't try to mess with her, in Pandora you never know thr kinds of threats that might be lurking and getting ready to attack, so she's taught herself to wake up whenever she hears a noise that's not usual to her, or that might be getting too close. When she meets up with the other hireguns this eventually evolves into downright insomnia because these overgrown babies definetly have people who might be coming for them so it's her duty to keep them safe. Or, erm, because she wants to make sure their enemies don't come to HER. Obviously.

- Likes wearing her matched spotted pjs and nothing else. Don't you try to make her wear anything else. You WILL get hurt. This is hardly a joke.

.

/-> Melaine

- Melaine is complicated when it comes to sleep. She gets homesick very easily and often misses her home, so she needs to get really cozy first before she can even fathom sleep. And even then it's not a guarantee ze'll catch any sleep, because zir brain often works in weird complicated ways and it's not like ze can just *choose* to fall asleep. That would make too much sense. But yeah, once Melaine feels safe in a space, she can pretty much conk out whenever, but it takes a lot of warming up.

- Only needs 3 pillows: Two for her head and one for her arms so she can hug it. The alternative to this is just to keep it between zir legs, but the idea is to just stop zir moving around in zir sleep like a Beetle that can't get up from its back, and it makes zir sleep really bad too.. Enter:

- BIG HEAVY WEIGHED BLANKET. It keeps her from squirming in her sleep, having nightmares and in general just makes her feel cozy due to the weight pressing down on her. She likes to think of it as the feeling of a bug being under a really big leaf or perhaps a cute girl's book page after she turns it ♡ but um. Yeah. Aside from that she also likes having a warm little blanket underneath to compliment the weight.

- Zir quality of sleep is literally never consistent. Due to the frequent night terrors and essentially non-existent sleep schedule as a whole, Melaine either sleeps like a rock and doesn't wake up at all or ze sleeps really bad and has to take medication to stay awake. It entirely depends on how well ze's performing at work that day– if it was a good shift and everything turned out how it was meant to, she'll sleep like a baby, nice and relaxed and barely even dreaming at all, but if it was a chaotic session or if people die or if it goes too wild, she'll spend the whole night awake thinking why that was, why she didn't perform as well, etc etc. Sometimes noises wake her up, sometimes she'll sleep through world shattering events. Sometimes she doesn't need to take meds, sometimes its an everynight ritual. Real wild card when it comes to sleep.

- Melaine loves having cute pjs and that's most of her "casual" wardrobe. Has always prioritized comfort above everything since she was a young girl, so she always has the best combos for the night. Usually patterned with cute bugs and other such things, especially with little glitter sparkles. Especially likes big sweaters with little shorts as combos because it permits most thermodynamic possible sleep ♡

[bittieswithbrokenbones]

A stray edgy gets scrubbed clean.

He used his tiny hands to rip the hole in the screen wider and frantically climbed in, smearing mud all through and across the window sill. As soon as he was past the threshold and officially out of the way-too-sudden downpour, he sat down and let out a relieved sigh. Once he had calmed himself, he got up and started looking around.

He had never been in a house; he'd actually only interacted with humans once. It's how he found out that his 'type' was one of the most hated ones and that experience had left him with a crack in his skull to prove it. So while his knowledge of humans was limited, he had a very specific and negative view of them.

He's not even sure what he was expecting when he climbed inside but this definitely wasn't it. The room was spotless and decorated very minimally. He couldn't see too much with the lights off but everything seemed meticulously cleaned, not even a speck of ash in the fireplace or a crumb on the shaggy rug. It honestly felt a little… off. The bitty waited a few minutes, listening carefully for any signs of a human before he figured he was alone.

Grabbing onto the curtain with his muddy hands, he slowly climbed down from the window and dropped to the floor. He tracked the mud a few feet before he shook the rest of it out of his bones and splattered it around. He was so cold but he knew he had to stay strong, he'd gone this long without clothes and he'd survived more than one rainstorm, he just needed to dry off, get warm, and hide until the rain stops. Then he can leave the same way he entered.

Or, that was the plan, until he felt how comfy the rug was and sat on it to run his hands through it. He'd never felt something so soft in his life and maybe it was just the adrenaline from the past ten minutes wearing off but he was exhausted.

Maybe he could just rest for a few minutes. A power nap, five minutes tops.

…

He was startled awake by a loud SLAM and scrambled up only to run face-first into a plastic wall. Quickly, he turned around and ran the other way just to knock into the wall again. He desperately glanced around and when he looked above him, he froze.

A woman was kneeling over him, holding a large plastic bowl to keep him trapped under. She had some form of thick rubber gloves on and a white mask that covered the lower half of her face which just brought even more of his attention to her gaze that seemed near-violent.

Those eyes terrified him, brought him back to that night where his head hit the ground with a crack. So he did the only thing he could think of, bare his teeth and hope he intimidated. He didn't, obviously, the combination of his tiny bitty teeth on display and the fearful tremors wracking his body did not paint any kind of 'intimidating' picture.

"Aw, is that meant to scare me?" she cooed in a mocking manner, "How cute."

His face flushed in embarrassment at her tone and he balled up his fists before pounding angrily at the wall of the bowl and shouting. The woman only hummed and, quicker than he could react, tilted the bowl with one hand so she could reach in and grab him tight with the other.

He screeched and attacked her hand as she pulled him out, careful not to let him get close to her face while tilting him left and right as if inspecting him.

"What a filthy little trespasser!" Her voice has taken on a sugary sweet quality that for any other bitty may have made them pause but he just tried biting down on her glove harder. The rubber was thick though and she didn't even react to his attack as she got up from the floor and started making her way through the house.

"Are you a stray? Are you? I think you are, look, you haven't even learned to speak, have you?" She continued to talk in a way that was mostly at him instead of to him as she walked up the stairs, "A poor stray edgy with no mommy to keep him clean…"

His jaw was starting to hurt from biting so he instead just continued to dig and scratch at her glove while growling at her. Her eyes only crinkled in a smile as she opened the door to her bathroom before locking it behind her. She gave him a gentle pat on his head with the other glove then peeled his tiny hands off of the one he was holding on to and set him into the tub.

While she got up and rummaged around in the closet and under the sink, he shouted gibberish and wildly tried skittering up the sides of the tub before falling right back down. Frustrated tears started gathering in his eye sockets as he tried over and over again but just kept sliding back down.

When she came back, she placed a bucket of cleaning supplies down into the tub beside him. Reaching in, she picked out a spray bottle of cleaner and aimed it towards his face, squeezing the trigger.

He hacked violently and covered his eye sockets in pain when she sprayed into his face. She sprayed him again and again until his entire body was soaked and dripping in the chemical; his mouth and eyes burned while the rest of his bones only tingled slightly.

Setting down the bottle, she reached back into the bucket and pulled out a steel scrub pad. The edgy slowly pulled away his hands and started to blink through the painful blurriness with red fat tears flowing freely down his face. The noise he let out when she grabbed him this time was a mixture between a whimper and a snarl that made her laugh.

"Don't worry, your new mommy will wash you up nice and good, okay?"

Without a second thought, she starts roughly scrubbing him. He screams bloody murder while the metal makes thousands of deep and fine scratches along every surface of his body but she just hums a little tune over his sounds. As she scrapes his bones raw and reddish, stretching out his arms to dig into every nook and cranny, the tingle from the chemicals bursts into an excruciating burn that has him twitching and spasming in her hand.

"Most people hate edgies, you know?" she says suddenly, adjusting her grip and scrubs in harsh and heavy circles around his skull, making sure to dig the metal into his crack to scrape it up and get any dirt out. "I think most of them just don't know how to handle you guys."

"A violent and rough bitty needs an equally violent and rough hand to keep them in line." She finally drops the scrub pad and stares at him. It's not like he could hear her over his screams but even if he could, he probably wouldn't be able to understand anyways. After a few seconds, his screams die down to enraged sobs and she turns on the cold water to rinse him off. He tries weakly one last time to bite her hand but opening his jaw that wide stings worse so he clenches it shut with a whimper.

She very quickly pushes him under the water, ignoring his flinch and yelp. Within a minute, the water is shut off and he's being carried back downstairs, wrapped tightly in an all-too-soft hand towel. It reminds him of the rug and it's so nice on his wounded bones that he can feel himself starting to drift to sleep despite himself. He doesn't want to go to sleep, he wants to rip her eyes out and bite her fingers off and run out the window and- and-

"I'll take good care of you! I'll keep you happy and clean and well-fed, okay, little edgy?" She places a tiny kiss on his skull that he winces at prior to setting him down gently on the couch. Letting out a quiet sniffle, he watches her walk away from him, carefully stepping around the tiny muddy prints as she makes her way towards the window he crawled in from.

"Although… we might want to get rid of those hands and teeth, first."

His eyes close shut at the same time the window locks with an audible click.

[ataleoftwopitties]

5 Tips to Keep Your Dog Warm in the Winter

Invest in doggy outerwear - sweaters, hoodies, jackets, vests, even shoes! There's a whole market of pet clothing nowadays. One of our favorite brands of K9 outerwear is Canada Pooch

It's important to note that not every dog's coat may be enough to keep them warm in the winter - especially puppies, small or hairless breeds, elderly dogs, or those with health issues. Just like with people, pets' cold tolerance can vary based on their coat, body fat stores, activity level, and health. Pets with heart disease, kidney disease, or metabolic diseases like diabetes and Cushing's might also have a harder time regulating their body temperatures. 

Protect your dog's paws when it's snowing. Boots can help minimize contact with the ground and prevent snow and ice from getting lodged between their toes and causing frostbite. Like chapped lips, cracked paws can be annoying and painful, and built up snow and ice can irritate their sensitive skin between their toes.

It might feel awkward at first for some dogs, so try to use positive reinforcement as they try to adjust to wearing their boots. Offer high-reward treats so they can learn to associate good things with their boots - when the boots are on, good things are going to happen! :)

If boots still don't feel right for your dog, you can try applying paw balm or petroleum jelly-based products like Musher's Secret to keep your dog's paws safe and moisturized.

Just always be sure to wipe down and clean your dog's paws thoroughly with with a warm cloth when they come back inside. Sometimes salt and anti-freeze are put on sidewalks and driveways, which can cause chemical burns on your pet's paw pads or gastrointestinal issues if they try to lick it off.

Limit their time outdoors. Winter walks aren't always so magical. Know your dog's limits and shorten their walks if needed. If you can, reserve walks for the warmest parts of the day.

Signs to tell if your dog is too cold: - Shaking, shivering, or trembling - Hunched posture with tail-tucking - Slowing down or reluctant to walk/move - Lifting their paws off the ground - Whining or barking - Ears and nose feel very cold to the touch Even if you decide to leave your dog in the car while you run an errand, it can still be dangerous if they are left for too long without any heat support when its below 30 degrees F outside. While cars can trap blazing temperatures in the summer and open risk for heatstroke, they can also trap freezing temperatures in the winter and open risk for hypothermia. Perhaps try to sit in your car without a jacket and see how long you can bare waiting in there without the heater on.

Provide choices! Give your dog more options for comfortable sleeping places with varying levels of bedding and blankets, in case they need to change their location for more or less warmth.

Set up cozy, wet-proof areas outdoors with heating lamps and wind barriers. Make sure kennels and igloos/houses are well-insulated and have enough space for them to walk in, turn around, and comfortably lay in.

Unless you have a healthy conditioned sled dog, I would not recommend letting them spend the night outdoors in the snow, without proper shelter and heat support. Watch how cold it can get in a simple dog house:

Serve warm food and water. At minimum, aim to make sure whatever they consume is at room temperature - but preferably just above their body temperature (101-103 F) when it's especially cold. Warming their food will also bring out their aroma and make it more enticing for them to eat. If feeding kibble/dry or dehydrated, you can mix in some warm bone broth. If it's canned/wet food, avoid microwaving for too long, as this can make the food too hot and potentially deplete its nutrients. Instead, try warming up your dog's wet food with this technique:

As for home-cooked/fresh food, the Balance It Canine Plus supplement not only makes your dog's complete and balanced, but is actually formulated to withstand reheating/microwaving. Our personal favorite! Below is a tutorial on how to utilize the Balance It system:

When selecting ingredients for your dog's food in the winter, consider including "warming" foods according to TCVM food energetics. Examples of these would be meats like lamb, goat, or venison, and vegetables and starches like sweet potatoes and oats. Traditional Chinese medicine teaches that hot/warm food nourishes the body by bringing heat which improves circulation. To support this theory, some studies have found that food associated with heat consists of compounds that are on average lower in molecular weight, yet higher in protein and fat - which contribute to energy production, and magnesium and potassium - which contribute to blood pressure and nerve function.(https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S2666154320300247) Here is a list of some hot/warm commercial pet food and treats: - SideBySide Pet "Warming" - Dr. Judy Morgan's Fire Element Diet - Pet Tao "Blaze" Freeze Dried Raw Formula - JustFoodForDogs Venison & Squash Recipe - JustFoodForDogs Lamb & Rice Recipe

For more information on food energetics, watch this video:

[binenbaumaj]

Diamond Sapphire 18k Target Pendant 15739-8616

Showcase vintage flair with our Binenbaum Revival Target Pendant. This elegant piece features a 1.20ct cluster of old-mine-cut diamonds, encircled by 1.20ct of French-cut sapphires. Crafted in warm 18k yellow gold, it represents a fusion of history and style, offering a perfect blend of sparkle and sophistication. 💍💎 Chain sold separately.

Details: cluster of totaling ±1.20ct Old-mine-cut diamonds, ±1.20ct Sapphires, 18k Pendant, Chain sold separately. *.

Design Era: Binenbaum Vintage Revivals.

Weight in grams: 2.

Condition: Excellent condition - barely used with minimal signs of wear.

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