#cobweb knit

[cinnmngirl2005]

[catwif3]

this is a normal and healthy way to plan sewing projects. yes i am ribbon binding my tulle for this petti.

yes i do have uhhh. apprx 7 and a half yards of this to do. and then. that again twice over. what of it

[roboticchibitan]

The people commenting on the wedding veil stuff like "HOW??" and "OP I'm a little bit afraid of you" are convincing me that I definitely need to give the pattern another go. But I also want to knit the Williamson stole for Secret Reasons so I shall start that up next time I feel like knitting something fuckoff fine and tiny

[climbingrat]

Cobweb jumper for Halloween :)

[macadam]

Oh yeah I have been up in the forest and will not be back til June btw, if anyone was wondering why I didn’t respond to their message/tagged/ask. Internet is scarce up here

[mysticfemme]

it's so so cruel being a fashion girly at a uni full of people who clearly do not care about how they look

[ghw-archive]

An Alexander McQueen black 'cobweb' sweater, pre-collection, Autumn-Winter 2009-10

[bugflies00]

everyone on this app yaps about bad media being better for fandoms but dsmp’s untapped and forever unexplored or poorly explored potential and general themes of attachment, grief and childhood and the fact that so much of it was accidental or improvised and the tight knit community that fell apart in less than two years makes it, in my humble and objective opinion, the single most haunting fandom i’ve ever been in. if you even care. clings to everyone like cobwebs i mean just look at all the sleeper agents and old urls that are posting about tonight lol YOU CAN’T ESCAPE

[knottybliss]

Now that I know how to knit without twisting my stitches, I feel like I could succumb to the Lace Rot and attempt this pattern. I’ve had it in my list for ages.

It is gorgeous to see, and it absolutely makes sense that you adjusted the gauge to the weight of your yarn and it decreased the finished size of the garment accordingly.

It. Looks. AMAZING. How much yarn did you end up using, so you know?

The Evenstar is finally finished! This project has been a really fun time but I'm also SO glad it's over.

The knitted on edging took. Literally half a year. Not because it was difficult but simply because it was SO BORING. It looks so good and was so easy to block but I'm not sure I'll ever have the Willpower to knit this edging ever again.

My shawl also turned out significantly smaller than the pattern says. It's supposed to be 60 inches and mine is closer to 48 inches. This is probably because of the yarn I used? (Cobweb instead of lace weight) I also chose to knit under gauge because I didn't like the way the fabric looked at gauge. Thankfully it doesn't bother me.

[godihatethiswebsite]

Simon Riley x reader - Hot Cocoa

CW: childhood abuse, implied alcohol and drug usage, angst/comfort

You didn’t know it at the time, but it was more than just a cup of hot cocoa.

Soft hands–so unlike his mothers–never having been braced against the impact of another’s cruelty, yet clutching his with the same maternal insistence as you slip the steaming mug of sweetness between the gnarled, calloused proof of his misfortuned life. 

There is no preamble of cracked leather being drawn from beer stained belt loops; no metal branded welts to be found from a diseased monstrosity who does not care if they are hidden. Simon’s knuckles are intact, not bruised nor split against his sperm donor’s chin. Sentinel instincts are rendered obsolete without the triggering sniffles of his traumatized sibling. No need to keep playing the brave little soldier – the screams of nearby children are not born from brutality.

Doe eyes gaze up at him with an exuberant sparkle, no glassy haze plying you into absent submission. Water molecules of heated breath turning crystalline vapor in the frosty night air hold no trace of ABV – no lingering aroma of whiskey sorrow. The tremble in your bones is from a lack of knitted mittens, not survival induced adrenaline spikes. Frozen fractals catch in silken strands kept immaculate and washed, a polished sheen so unlike her familiar limp straw, reflecting the untarnished soul within he’s done his best to keep pure.

The failure of his mother’s visage haunts his waking past, but the dying warmth of her love renews in an unexpected presence.

He never told you of the act – the ritual of younger nights in a bygone civil hellscape. When the door had finished rattling on rust weathered hinges and the taillights of abuse were all but distant fireflies. When his brother crawled out from his false sanctuary of childhood innocence, having braved the monsters beneath the bed rather than the one he still called ‘papa’. When the woman who should’ve loved them better remembered who she was, the pain of mottled flesh replacing the lucidity of the mind. When he saw his mother for who she was: a woman worn down by sadistic malice. Who was just as much a victim with the scars left on her skin, the pockmarks on her elbows forced there by a stronger hand, the blonde hairs scattered and bloody pulled like cobwebs from her scalp.

Red rimmed eyes spoke wordless apologies for the naivety of her past; for the regrets of choosing wrong the father of her children, the life she wished she had the chance to go back and undo. 

A dead end promise to fix the mistakes of their future – someday.

He clung to the cheap disposable cardboard like the memory of crawling into a threadbare twin, shadows kept at bay with the weak glow from Tommy’s nightlight. The kettle whistled as the pair of them settled, packaged powder dumped into chipped ceramic and brought to them with a shaky smile. He would never voice aloud his own preference for less marshmallows, to give force to the cracks already shattering her resolve. If not for her sake than for his brother’s. 

The expression on your face brings him back from gloomier times, wrapped up in festive cheer all windswept and frost bitten, a backlight of radiance from the bustling market stand you purchased the beverages from. He watches as overeagerness singes your tongue, the small yelp of complaint soothed by a mouthful of whipped cream, the pain doing nothing to retract from the unbridled joy you feel in this simple cherished moment.

You. 

A gift–he knows–sent from heaven by the broken woman he forgave so very long ago. Her promise to him taken physical form.

It’s so much more than just a cup of hot cocoa.

It’s healing.

Masterlist

[pandapetals]

Cara Mia

The whole mansion is celebrating Halloween and you and Logan dress up as Morticia and Gomez Addams.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - married couple, cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

divider credit: @enchanthings

"Now that’s a costume," you said with a grin, leaning against the doorframe as Logan stepped out of the bathroom. He looked the part of Gomez Addams, dressed in a sharp pinstripe suit that clung to his broad shoulders, a fake mustache meticulously glued above his upper lip. Of course, there was still something rugged about him, the rough edges peeking through despite the polished attire. Somehow, he managed to look like Gomez Addams who’d just finished chopping wood.

Logan grunted as he tugged at the tight collar of the dress shirt, his brow furrowed in irritation. "Remind me again why I agreed to this. And don’t say it’s for the kids," he grumbled, his voice low and rough. "You know damn well I don’t dress up for anyone."

You glided across the room, your long, black Morticia gown swishing dramatically around your ankles as you came closer. "Oh, I’m sure," you replied, your voice silky and laced with playful sarcasm. "You’re doing it because you love Halloween. Besides," you added, reaching up to smooth the lapel of his jacket, "you make a very handsome Gomez."

He huffed, but his lips twitched up in the faintest hint of a smirk as he took in your costume. "And you," he said, his eyes raking over your elegant black dress, "look like you were born to play Morticia." His hand slipped to your waist, pulling you in closer as he leaned down, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "What’s the line? 'Cara mia?'"

You laughed, lifting your hand to rest lightly on his chest. "That’s right," you replied, raising an eyebrow in challenge. "And I believe Morticia would respond with, 'Mon cher.'"

Logan smirked, his grip on your waist tightening as he dipped his head, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Keep talkin’ like that, and we’re not making it downstairs," he whispered, his voice a low growl.

"Downstairs now, " you scolded, swatting his shoulder playfully. "The kids are waiting, and I’d rather not be responsible for a riot because we kept them from their candy."

He let out a low chuckle, releasing you but letting his hand linger on your waist a moment longer. "Fine, fine. Let’s go entertain the little monsters," he muttered, but there was a glint of warmth in his eyes that said he didn’t really mind at all.

As you descended the stairs together, the sound of excited voices filled the air, and you could see the kids gathered in the mansion’s grand entryway, most of them already bouncing with anticipation. The room had been transformed into a haunted wonderland, complete with cobwebs, flickering fake candles, and eerie decorations hanging from the ceiling.

When you and Logan reached the bottom of the staircase, Jubilee let out a dramatic whistle. "Well, look who finally showed up," she teased, grinning from ear to ear. "I guess Logan’s not too cool for Halloween after all."

Logan rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms, standing a little taller as though he were playing up the role. "I ain’t here for the costume," he grunted, though the faint curl of his lips betrayed him. "Just here to make sure you all don’t eat so much candy you get sick."

Rogue laughed, stepping closer with a smirk. "Well, Gomez, " she said, giving his suit a once-over, "I have to say, this is the most put-together I’ve seen you in a long time. You clean up nice."

Logan shot her a look, his brows knitting together as he grumbled, "Watch it, kid."

You slid your arm through his, leaning in with a smile. "Oh, come now, darling," you said in your best Morticia impression, "don’t be modest. Everyone knows you’re the most dashing man in the room."

A few of the older students snickered, and Remy, who was wearing a pirate costume that looked like it had seen better days, chimed in with a grin. "You know, Logan," he said, raising an eyebrow, "you really do have that whole Gomez thing down. You’re all protective and swoonin’ over your 'cara mia.' Next thing you know, you’ll be speakin' French."

Logan grunted, shaking his head. "Not a chance, Cajun. But keep talkin’, and I’ll show you how Gomez handles an unruly houseguest."

You laughed, giving Logan’s arm a gentle squeeze. "Now, now, mon cher, let’s not start any duels tonight," you said, glancing up at him with a playful glint in your eye. "We wouldn’t want to frighten the children."

As if on cue, a group of the younger kids came running over, already decked out in costumes ranging from witches to superheroes. "Mr. Howlett, look at my costume!" one of them shouted, holding out his arms to show off his vampire cape.

Logan gave a faint, almost begrudging smile as he looked down at the child. "Not bad, kid," he said, giving the boy a nod. "Got the fangs and everything, huh?"

"Yep!" the boy said proudly, flashing his plastic vampire teeth. "I’m gonna get so much candy!"

"Just don’t go biting anybody," Logan replied dryly, ruffling the kid’s hair as he rushed off to join the other trick-or-treaters.

You watched the exchange with a smile, a warmth spreading through your chest. Even in his gruffness, there was something endearing about the way Logan interacted with the kids; he was always protective and watchful. 

You leaned in close, your voice a low whisper. "I think you’re enjoying this more than you’re letting on.”

Logan shot you a sideways glance, his lips twitching upward as he slid his hand into yours. "Maybe," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "Don’t go tellin’ anyone. I’ve got a reputation to uphold."

"Your secret’s safe with me," you said, squeezing his hand. "But only if you do the tango with me later."

He chuckled, pulling you closer as the two of you made your way toward the candy station, the sound of laughter and squeals filling the room. "Deal, cara mia, " he whispered in your ear, his voice rough and affectionate.

You and Logan spent the better part of the evening wrangling the kids through the whirlwind of activities. There was pumpkin carving, where half the children ended up with more pumpkin guts on themselves than in the actual pumpkins, and a frantic candy-sorting session that resembled a mini stock exchange, with kids trading chocolates for lollipops and debating the merits of sour candies versus chocolate bars. The grand foyer echoed with the sound of squeals, laughter, and the occasional shriek when someone popped out of the fake cobwebs for a scare.

By the time the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed nine, the sugar-fueled chaos began to show signs of fading, and it was time to herd the little monsters off to bed.

Logan watched as you gently nudged a yawning witch and a sleepy vampire toward the staircase. "I doubt they’ll even sleep," he grumbled, arms crossed as he followed you down the hallway, his rugged features softened just a bit by the evening’s festivities.

"Well, if they don’t, at least it’s the weekend so we don’t have to worry about it in the morning,” you replied with a wink, shooing the last straggler up the stairs.

As the kids finally trudged to their rooms, dragging their candy bags behind them like little zombies, Remy appeared at your side, still dressed in his pirate costume, hat tilted at a jaunty angle. "Well, now that the little devils are out of our hair," he said with a grin, "it’s time for the real fun to start. I didn’t dress up for nothin’." He tipped his hat at you, then at Logan. "Hope you’re ready, chérie, ‘cause I brought out the good whiskey."

"About time," Logan grunted, though a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Might as well make this night worth the effort."

The moment the kids were safely tucked away, the main floor of the mansion transformed yet again—this time into a proper Halloween party for the adults. The common room was lit with a warm orange glow from jack-o'-lanterns scattered about, and cobwebs hung in the corners while a spooky playlist crackled from an old record player in the corner. A variety of drinks were set up on the bar, along with bowls of snacks and trays of cookies shaped like ghosts and bats.

"Alright, folks," Rogue called out from the center of the room, holding up a shot glass filled with something dark and ominous. "Let’s kick this thing off with a drinking game! Rules are simple—if you get caught in a lie, you drink. If you admit something embarrassing, we drink. And if anyone complains about their costume," she shot a glance at Logan, "they drink twice."

Logan smirked, grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the bar and pouring himself a glass. "Looks like you’re all gonna get real drunk, then," he said, taking a swig.

"Please," you teased, sidling up next to him and giving him a playful nudge. "I’m pretty sure I could outdrink you in my sleep."

His eyebrow shot up, a spark of challenge lighting in his eyes. "That so?" he drawled, setting his glass down. "Guess we’ll have to see about that, cara mia. "

Remy, already leaning into the spirit of the game, handed out shot glasses to everyone. "Alright, first question," he said with a mischievous grin. "Raise your hand if you’ve ever used your powers to cheat in a game."

Several hands shot up—Bobby, who was dressed as Frankenstein, wiggled his fingers. "I mean, is it really cheating if it’s just a little bit of ice to cool the drinks?" he said with a grin.

Jean, who had come as a flapper girl, laughed and raised her glass. "Guilty," she admitted. "Scott and I may have used telekinesis during Twister once or twice."

You glanced over at Logan, who hadn’t raised his hand but was watching everyone with a hint of amusement. "And what about you, Mr. Howlett?" you asked, arching an eyebrow. "Ever used those heightened senses to win at cards?"

Logan’s lips twitched. "Don’t need to cheat to beat you," he shot back, his eyes glinting with a challenge. "But if I had used 'em, you’d never know."

"Oh, I see how it is," you teased, stepping closer to him. "Big talk from a guy who almost lost to me in poker last week."

"Almost doesn’t count, sweetheart," he murmured, leaning in, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "And if I remember right, you owed me a drink after that."

Remy cleared his throat loudly, cutting through the tension. "Well, well, look at these two," he said with a smirk. "If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you two were gonna re-enact that tango scene from Addams Family any minute now."

Rogue let out a laugh, grabbing another drink from the bar. "I’d pay to see that," she said, raising her glass toward you and Logan. "C’mon, Logan, show us your moves."

Logan rolled his eyes but reached for your hand, pulling you closer. "Fine," he grunted, "but don’t say I didn’t warn you."

You grinned, placing your other hand on his shoulder as you let him guide you into an exaggerated, dramatic dip. He held you there for a heartbeat, his face close to yours, a teasing smirk on his lips. "How’s that for a start?" he whispered.

"Not bad," you replied, your voice a playful purr. "But I think we can do better."

The music shifted to a slower, sultrier tune, and Logan pulled you upright, twirling you once before drawing you close again. The room around you faded into laughter and clinking glasses as you let yourselves get lost in the moment, your bodies moving together in time with the music.

As the night wore on, the drinks kept flowing, and the banter grew even more ridiculous. Someone—probably Bobby—had rigged up a costume contest for "Most Ridiculous Outfit," which ended up going to Logan while Hank, who’d put on a fake nose and glasses over his already blue fur, won for "Most Dedicated Effort."

Eventually, Rogue called out for another round of questions. "Alright, last one for the night—who here actually believes in ghosts?"

Several hands shot up, including Jean’s and Bobby’s. Logan remained still, his expression unreadable as he took a sip from his glass.

You nudged him playfully. "C’mon, Logan," you teased. "You’re not afraid of a few ghosts, are you?"

He glanced at you, his eyes steady and serious for just a moment before a grin tugged at his lips. "Darlin'," he said, his voice low and rough, "after all the things I’ve seen, I’m pretty sure a ghost would be the least of my worries."

The room erupted in laughter, and you raised your glass, clinking it against his. "Fair enough, Gomez. If we ever run into one, you’d better protect me."

Logan’s smirk deepened, and he slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you in close. "Always," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. "But I think you can handle yourself just fine, Morticia. "

Eventually, the party began to wind down. One by one, people drifted off to bed, the laughter and chatter fading into the quiet hum of the mansion. The candles burned low, casting flickering shadows on the walls, and the faint strains of the last song played softly in the background. It was just you and Logan now, standing together in the dimly lit common room, the lingering warmth of the evening settling into a comfortable silence.

You stifled a yawn, your lids heavy with sleepiness as you leaned against Logan for support. "I’d say this Halloween was a success," you murmured, letting your head rest against his shoulder. "The kids had a blast, no one went into a sugar coma… and I think Hank’s costume might’ve actually caused Bobby to laugh to death."

Logan chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that you felt more than heard. "Not bad," he agreed, wrapping an arm around your waist to steady you. "Though I could’ve done without the 'Most Ridiculous Outfit' contest."

You tilted your head back to look up at him, a lazy smile tugging at your lips. "Come on , you know you secretly enjoyed yourself," you teased, reaching up to brush a stray piece of lint from his jacket lapel. "I even saw you smile a few times."

He scoffed, but the corner of his mouth quirked upward in that way that told you he wasn’t actually denying it. "You must be seein' things," he said, his tone gruff but warm. "Maybe it's the whiskey."

"Or maybe," you replied, your voice softening as you ran your fingers along the edge of his collar, "you’re just getting sentimental in your old age."

Logan’s eyes flicked down to meet yours, his gaze dark and steady. "Careful, darlin'," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low growl that sent a pleasant shiver through you. "You keep teasin' me like that, and I might start thinkin' you actually enjoy my company."

You tilted your chin up, closing the distance between you just enough for your breath to mingle with his. "And if I do?" you whispered, your lips barely brushing his as you spoke.

Before you could blink, his hand was at the back of your neck, pulling you closer as his mouth met yours in a kiss. It was like the rest of the world fell away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped up in the warmth of each other. His fingers tangled in your hair, and you slid your hands up the front of his suit, fisting the fabric as if you were afraid he might pull away.

Logan didn’t pull away. If anything, he kissed you deeper, his other hand slipping down to your waist, pulling you against him. His lips moved over yours with a hunger.

When you finally broke the kiss, you were both breathless, your forehead resting against his as you struggled to catch your breath. "We should… probably head upstairs," you murmured, a teasing lilt in your voice as you glanced toward the darkened staircase. "Before someone comes down here and catches us."

Logan smirked, the warmth in his gaze tempered by that familiar spark of mischief. "Guess we wouldn’t want to ruin our reputations," he drawled, his hand slipping into yours as he led you toward the stairs. "C’mon, Morticia. Let’s continue this in private."

The two of you made your way upstairs, your footsteps quiet against the wood floor as you stole glances at each other, the anticipation building with every step. When you reached the top of the stairs, you couldn’t resist pulling him aside into one of the quieter hallways, your back pressing against the wall as you tugged him close again.

Logan didn’t waste a second. His hands slid to your hips, lifting you slightly as his mouth found yours once more, this kiss slower, deeper, as if he were savoring every second. You threaded your fingers through his hair, pulling him even closer, your body arching into his as a soft sigh escaped your lips. It wasn’t just the kiss that made your pulse quicken—it was the feeling of being completely wrapped up in him like he was the only thing that mattered right then.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his breathing ragged, his eyes dark with a mix of affection and desire. "You look damn good in that dress," he murmured, his voice low and rough as his thumb traced along your jawline.

You smiled, your fingers toying with the collar of his suit jacket. "And you don’t look half bad in a suit," you teased. "But I think I like you better without it."

Logan’s smirk deepened, his eyes glinting with that familiar spark of challenge. "Then I guess you’ll have to do somethin’ about that, won’t you?"

Your laugh was soft and breathless as you kissed him again, tugging him toward your bedroom with a playful urgency. 

[plasticfreckles]

🪶 nightmare rookanis enjoy 🪶

A door hits the wall behind it so forefully that it makes the liquid in his cup ripple.

Small, hurried slaps of bare feet on tile that for a second, Lucanis can't assign to anyone. The slide of heels never lifting, the absence of moving fabric, the nose-breathing throws him off.

He'd never guess it's Rook, too distressed to guard her steps the way he knows she was taught decades ago.

She's halfway down the curved staircase before she sees him.

"Lucanis." The bags under her eyes rival his own. But she looks at him like he put both moons in the sky. "Oh, Maker, Lucanis-"

He barely has time to put down his cup before she's throwing herself to him, trapping his arms in her embrace and pressing her nose to his heart. He can't even gently pat her hip, so tightly does she keep his arms by his sides.

"Rook, what's wrong? What happened?"

She doesn't answer for a long while. Her hands wander, as if reassuring herself what she feels under her fingerpads is real, his shoulders, back, spine, the touches too rough to be caresses, too soft to be prodding. Her breath out of her mouth is shaky, but warm against his front.

Distress and Scales. Salt and Sadness. Abandonment. The first thing Spite said all night, but he stops mid-word when they catch Rook's eyes.

Her eyes are glassy when she looks up at him, brows knotted so tight they may as well be one, her nose runny.

"Querida, what can I do?" She kisses him, aggressively, choking her own sobs with his lip between her teeth and her hands clawing into him. The seam of his armhole, already compromised, easily gives way to her needy fingers. It seems a miracle her face is dry. She's not cold at all.

"I- Uh-" She stutters and stumbles, her face in the crook of his neck and inhaling his scent like a templar takes to lyrium.

"I'm here. I've got you. Take your time."

You've got me. You've got me. You've got me.

She keeps saying it to herself, into his skin, his beard, his shirt collar, until she can breathe slow enough to not get her spit in her windpipe.

"I had a nightmare," she manages, eventually. Lets go of him enough to rub her face with both palms. "I dreamt I found a way for us to go on a wyvern expedition in Orlais, but when I walked into the pantry, you weren't there. Nothing of yours was. No cot, no hookah. Just cobwebs. Like you never were." She falls forward again, into his chest, her face still in her hands. "I was so scared I'd dreamt you up."

The admission makes her burst into tears right again.

Lucanis wraps his arms around her, almost tight enough to pop her arteries from the pressure alone. He's not sure she hears his clumsy reassurances that he whispers against her scalp, that he's here, he's real, that he sure hopes she'd dream up someone less troublesome. He's not sure he's making sense.

Her hair is still a little damp.

He doesn't stop rubbing her back and mumbling into her hair until she sniffs and sits back up of her own accord.

"Here. You need to drink something." He only has his coffeepot - water would be better to replace the tears - but she takes his cup and drinks nonetheless.

Getting her to have some of his biscuits takes more persuasion, but eventually, she relaxes into his side, armed with chocolate-covered baking and coffee so strong she almost doesn't want to taste it.

"Can I stay?" She's already pulled her bare feet off the cold ground and slid them underneath the throw pillow.

"Of course. Whatever you need."

A pause, as she reaches for the abandoned quilt on the ground and settles in next to him (on top of him, rather).

"Were you knitting and reading and having a whole pot of coffee?"

Lucanis shrugs.

"Always good to be busy. Keeps you sharp."

Her laugh echoes through the library so loudly it makes Taash tear open their door on the upper floor and yell at them.

It makes Rook laugh so hard she starts snorting.

🪶

started a 5th playthrough, ran into the pantry by reflex, and Lucanis wasn't there and neither was his shit (bc I wasn't even far enough ahead to get the dagger lmao)

@lanafofana reverse what we talked i guess lmao? :D

[~rina]

[llamagoddessofficial]

Thank you @radpunch for giving me an excuse for more Farmtale Sans... he's the love of my life

I don't usually do this, but I thought I'd add some recommended music for reading this piece. I listened to this the whole time I was writing, and I think it really adds to the vibe.

---

To anyone else, the sight of a body in a field neighbouring yours probably would’ve caused no small amount of alarm. Instead, you just sighed, finally laying down your shovel for the day and hopping the fence you had only just finished repairing.

The grass brushed against your hips as you walked, moving your feet as if wading through water. The evening sun caught the long, glimmering single stray cobwebs that trailed from the grass flower heads, and illuminated the tiny fluttering bodies of disturbed insects that fluttered up and away when you walked by. Though it was a pain to move through, you always liked when the field looked like this. It was your own romantic summer sea.

Eventually, you came across the ‘body’. Sans was lounging with his head propped up on a pile of empty seed bags, straw hat placed on his chest, sockets shut. The sun didn’t reach him now, the tall grass on all sides of him left a perfect little shady spot where he had nestled in. He looked very comfy... very peaceful. This wasn’t unusual at all, for him. He had a knack for finding hidden places to nap.

You crouched down. You could hear him faintly snoring. There was a tiny iridescent beetle sitting proudly on his bent knee, using the vantage point to observe its surroundings. It didn’t seem bothered by your presence in the slightest.

Sans was nice to look at. You had always considered him kinda good-looking, but he had grown more and more on you over time. Despite his brother being more classically ‘handsome’, with his high cheekbones, strong jawline and impressive physique, Sans was the one you found yourself getting caught staring at. He was... so easygoing. Not softspoken, too confident for that. Just never needing to raise his voice. Quick witted, strong, smart. Casual. Despite his silly straw hat, constantly muddy pants and crappy jokes, something about him was effortlessly cool. Effortlessly pretty.

And you were...

...

He had dirt on his cheekbone. Without thinking, you reached out, wiping it off. 

Before you could even blink, his hand snapped up, catching yours by the wrist. You let out a little inelegant shriek then slapped your free hand over your mouth in embarrassment - he snorted, sockets opening up, pretty fuzzy green eyelights landing on you. 

“well hello there,” he said, voice only mildly sleepy, with a gentle purr to it. He turned his face, and kissed your palm.

You shrieked a second time. Well... this one was more like a yelp, yanking your hand out of his grip as both of you descended into laughter. “Gross!”

You weren’t going to admit the move had given you butterflies. Nor that the way he was looking at you was making you feel things you didn’t have words for yet. You made a point of wiping your hand on your work pants.

“am i still asleep, or d’you just look like a dream to me?” he asked, leaning back, knitting his fingers together over his chest. 

“Charming.” Your tone just made him snicker. “The sun is setting. You getting up soon, or are you planning on sleeping under the stars tonight?”

Sans’ gaze was very soft. “hey, that actually don’t sound too bad. ‘specially if i had the right company.”

“True. Stargazing with someone is always nicer.”

“could always join me. room for two, in this patch.”

“Unlike you, I have to worry about ticks.” You flicked his shoulder. “I’ll think about it when the grass is cut.”

He grinned. “dang. never felt so motivated to do a chore before. s’that a promise, then? when i cut the grass you’ll come stargaze with me?”

You rolled your eyes. But there they were again; the butterflies. The thing with Sans was you never had any idea whether or not he was serious. He said entirely joking and entirely genuine things with the same tone of voice, the same smile, the same twinkling eyelights. Maybe in a few years you’d know him well enough to tell. Right now, though, you were much too afraid of embarrassing both of you by assuming his 'flirting' was anything but banter.

He finally sat up, and the beetle on his knee took off into the sky. It felt so cosy, somehow; the two of you were almost entirely below the top of the grass, hiding in a tiny den. It smelled like... well, grass, duh. But a specific kind of grassy smell - sweet and dry, more like hay, summery and clear. It reminded you of playing outside as a child until the sun had long gone down. 

“you been exertin’ yerself? all red.”

“Yeah, I’ve just been fixing the fence.” A lie and a truth. You had been fixing the fence, but it was a menial chore that hadn’t required huge amounts of strain. The blushing was from something else.

“ah, jeez." A break in his easy mood. "we’re still really sorry about that. pap is absolutely mortified, think he's set aside a whole load of crop for you.”

The brothers’ goat had managed to break through several fences, including yours, to take a 'visit' to your garden. You’d found her in your flowerbed, happily eating the tops off the marigolds you were going to cut and take to market. 

You’d never seen someone more apologetic than when Papyrus showed up to bring her home. The animal still had bright yellow petals in her beard as he led her away.

“It’s alright,” you said, warmly. “it wasn't like it was malicious or anything. Animals get out. I don’t think I’ve ever met a more sweet-natured goat anyway.”

“should’ve told me you were fixing that fence. i would’ve helped out.”

“Oh would you have?” Your tone was mock-suspicious. “How convenient that you waited until I was finished to tell me that.”

His sockets raised at the corners. “i’m serious! you doubtin’ my honesty? dang. thought we were close.”

Uh oh. Butterflies again. You swerved, doing your best to avoid it.

“So does your brother know you’re out here?”

“course not,” he snickered. “he still thinks i’m working.”

“Maybe I should go tell him that you’re flunking. I’m certain he already knows, he just needs to catch you in the act.”

He put his hat back on his head. “well. guess now i have to kill you.”

You laughed - and in the shade, entirely missed the little green shimmer across his cheekbones.

“How’s the day been then, sleepyhead?”

He shrugged, picking at some of the flattened grass. “busy. exactly how you think late summer on a farm would be. harvestin’, packin’ stuff up. lotsa ploughing. even with magic, it’s hard work. i’m just stealing whatever breaks i can find. you?”

You gave him a look. “You came over yesterday. You know how I'm doing.”

He leant over, lightly elbowing you. “c’mon. i’m doin’ the small talk thing. can’t leave me hangin’ here.”

“So now you’re guilt tripping me? You’re a real piece of work.”

That got another snicker out of him. He was so handsome when he laughed. 

Sans always liked knowing what was going on in your life. It was weird, you never saw him do that with anyone else; it had taken you a while to notice it but even with his closest friends he didn’t talk half as much as he did with you. The first time you’d seen him talking to Toriel you had thought he was in a bad mood, with how little he engaged, how simple his questions were, how sparingly he spoke.

“BAD MOOD? WHAT DO YOU MEAN?”

“Sans just didn’t seem very chatty tonight. Did something happen?”

“OH? OH! NYEHEHEHEH, HOW FUNNY! SANS WAS COMPLETELY NORMAL TONIGHT, HUMAN, DON’T YOU WORRY. THIS IS HOW HE ALWAYS IS AT GET-TOGETHERS.”

“But he...”

“HE’S JUST MUCH CHATTIER WITH ME AND YOU.”

You liked to think he felt safe around you. You definitely felt safer around him, that was for sure. 

You pulled your knees up to your chest, relenting under his gaze. “Okay okay, fine. I’m doing alright, I guess. The old trees came right back to life as soon as the thickets were cleared away. There’s already fruit, they just need another year or so to get market ready.”

“and yer flowers? they sellin’ well?”

“It’s a good way to plug the money gaps in the meantime. Living in the age of the internet definitely helps, there’s lots of information floating around that has made it so much easier for me to get started. I dunno. It’s alright.”

You wanted to stop talking. You looked away, staring off into the ‘forest’ surrounding you, the waning sunset catching certain blades and turning them into a warm burning orange. In the distance you could hear the rolling and bubbling singing of a particularly loud bird somewhere overhead.

Despite your desire to shut up, Sans wasn’t about to let you. His lovely eyelights just continued to bore into you. 

“i can hear a ‘but’ in there.”

...

You sighed. Oh well. Who else were you going to be able to talk to?

“I thought the impostor syndrome would be gone by now.”

He cocked his head. You had no choice but to continue. 

“I’m just... I still feel like I’m not part of this. My mind hasn’t settled in. Every day is a confusing fight where I feel like I barely make it out the other side. Most of my flower boxes are stuck together with tape and hope.” You settled your chin onto your knees, sulking. “Every time things start to make sense, and I feel like I’m finally starting to get some solid ground, another problem shows up. Another thing breaks. Another bug I didn’t know existed is eating the fruit, another tree disease I have to prep against otherwise it might wipe out the orchard, another colony of aphids eating the flowers. I can’t win.”

“sounds pretty normal to me.”

You looked up from your knees. “Does it?” 

“that’s just life, ain’t it?” He had somehow shuffled closer to you, entirely without you noticing. “there’s always some new problem. if ya ask me, sounds exactly like a day on our farm. one of the ducks is injured, a coop is leaking, chicken got eaten in the night, goat escaped and ate the neighbour’s flowers. nothing goes how you expect. if you ask me, you’re doing great.”

You hummed. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

“doin’ good on paper, too. human from the suburbs moves to the countryside and buys an abandoned orchard. most of the time that ends in disaster. but yer trees are fruiting, could be ready in a single year, the flowers are already bloomin’ and sellin’ at the market. not sure how you could do any better.”

... You couldn’t help but feel warm. Especially on your face again. Partially because of his kind words, yes... but mostly because he seemed so intent on making you feel less bad. It made your chest all fluttery.

“... Thank you,” you mumbled. "that does make me feel better."

“course. anytime. just wish you’d ask for help, more.”

The bird from earlier started singing again. You glanced up, but could see nothing from within the little 'den'.

“Any idea what that bird is?”

He leant back. One hand, conspicuously, resting on the ground just behind your back. “s’a skylark.”

“... Skylark.” 

You stared up into the clear evening sky. You weren’t great with bird names, but you’d definitely remember that. 

...

Feeling like he was looking at you, you turned to the side. Sans was looking at you - and his face was only really a few inches from yours. Close enough that if he tilted his head down a bit, the top of his straw hat would bump against your hair. His expression was calm... a lot calmer than you felt. The two of you quietly held eye contact, and the skylark continued to sing.

... Suddenly, and with no apparent trigger, you felt immensely flustered by the proximity. You pulled back, shuffling, unceremoniously dragging yourself to your feet and brushing off your pants. Your head popped up above the grass; immediately, some tiny birds scattered up and away, sun shining into your eyes.

“I should head home.” You were messing needlessly with your hair. “Dinner isn’t going to make itself.”

Sans looked up at you, for a few silent moments. You couldn’t read his face at all, the only thing you knew was that his smile was very soft.

“agh, i should head out too,” he eventually said, not standing, but folding his arms behind his head and stretching. “need to get home. pap probably thinks i fell into a ditch.”

You put your hands on your hips. “Then you can finally rest, after a long hard day of skipping your chores?”

He chuckled. “why of course.”

“Pft. Say hi to Papyrus for me.”

“sure thing. later, doll.”

With that, you headed back across the field, leaving Sans to pretend to wake up. Knowing him he had probably laid down and gone straight back to sleep.

... You put your hand over your chest, now that you were out of sight, trying to still your fluttering heart. It wasn’t really any use.

The more time you spent with Sans, the more you realised you were falling for him.

///---///

Sans watched you walk away, the golden light catching in your hair.

... He sighed, stretching again, before finally actually dragging himself to his feet. The green flush became more prominent on his face as he stopped to watch a skylark hovering just over the grass before tilting its wings and dancing away.

He’d been completely serious about the stargazing. Once again, you thought he was joking, his own persona had bitten him in the ass. He’d wanted to tell you as you were leaving - he’d wanted to finally put his foot down and make a date out of it, ask you when you were free and do what he’d been dreaming of doing for weeks. 

But just like always, when you’d looked at him, he’d completely fallen to pieces. The words had gotten stuck in his nonexistent throat. And by the time he’d shaken himself out of his stupor, you were already leaving.

Sans just sighed, adjusting his hat. 

“... next time,” he hummed. "there's always next time."

With that, he shortcutted home.

[brotherwtf]

clegan Halloween hcs 🎃🎃

John takes the holiday WAY too seriously and Gale follows along happily, likes to go with John to the large hardware stores that sell those obnoxious 20 foot tall decorations and doesn't really stop him, just lets him think himself out of it because he always does, every damn year it's the same shit

Gale likes to decorate the inside of their house very soothing and very autumn, definitely has themed Creuset pots for every holiday, always has a spicy candle running in their house, he totally collects the themed Target birds for every occasion and they sit on the entryway table to greet them

While the inside of the house is very autumn-y the outside of the house is a fucking disaster (lovingly) John is in charge of the outside with those shitty cobwebs and as many skeletons as he can get his hands on, has elaborate scenes performed by all of them across his front yard

both Gale and John like to dress up, when they're younger they go out drinking and dancing on Halloween in full costume, almost always end up grinding on each other while John is four sheets to the wind and Gale honestly doesnt really care anymore, everyone around them is like this so who cares

when they're younger, maybe twenties or thirties, they do the slutty Halloween couples costumes, Harley and Joker, Morticia and Gomez, the works, but when they're older they get a little sweeter, two Kens maybe or maybe they even dress as Fred and Shaggy from Scooby Doo (they definitely have a dog to go with that costume)

they stop clubbing when they get older, instead spending Halloweens handing out candy and scaring kids on purpose, that's Gales favorite part of Halloween

They're both BITCHES when it comes to scary movies, neither of them can handle it no matter how hard they try, Gales so fucking tense the entire time he can't enjoy it and John's hiding behind his hands and screaming like a damn girl every time he gets scared. Curt keeps trying to invite them over but they shake their heads profusely and refuse

Knitted sweaters and hot coffee and so so many cuddles, Autumn is definitely their favorite season oh no I'm soft again

[sugar-omi]

i was gonna hold onto this but.. what better time than now?

DAY THREE — One Night Stand [ baxter ]

tags : NSFW, masc/amab reader, unrequited love, vanilla, underage drinking, reader is bigger/beefier than baxter, unprotected sex, blowjob (baxter receiving), anal, riding, creampie

synposis : this is the last night you'll spend with baxter before he leaves your little hometown for good. you know you can't ask him to stay, but you can at least have a little.. souvenir? for your aching heart before he goes.

[ kinktober '24 masterlist | ao3 ]

“so..” you break the silence, taking the half empty bottle of expensive chardonnay from baxter's loose grip. "this is really your last night here, huh.."

it's not a question, it's a statement. one you didn't want to make and you cringe at how pathetic it sounds.. but all your other ideas about what to say sound desperate as well.

you know why baxter is eager to leave home and go so far away from this tight-knit town. you'd like to think that you're the only one who really knows him, but you know he keeps his oldest skeletons close to his chest.

he only reveals to you the dirty cobwebs and the crawling bugs in his closet. the smaller, but deeper and meaningful things. things that won't ruin him. sometimes he shows you the bigger bugs, things that the adults in his life would scold him for. things his parents pride shield them from.

but he's thrown you a bone sometimes.. when he's had one too many sips from his parents liquor cabinet or when his heart is so heavy the heartbreak has seeped into his bones and weighs him down with lead.

you are close. in some.. weird way..

and so of course you knew he'd been planning to go to college out of state, and of course you knew he'd never look back. of course you knew you were disposable.

he's never said it. but he's always choking on something, something heavier yet so light in weight that it could fly out at any second and shatter you like a bomb through a glass window.

even though he gives you pieces of himself in exchange for pieces of you that you earnestly give to him, you see how far away he is, and you know his smile is false.

you know there is a wall between him and the rest of the world and while you can chip at it as much as you want, you are not getting past it.

baxter a. ward is an anomaly. he is something much greater than you that you cannot touch and you intend to soak up as much of his light as you can.

"yep." baxter pops cooly, leaning back on his elbow on this stupidly long couch. you're pretty sure this couch is the size of your entire bedroom.

he already knows how pathetic you are, especially after such an uncool icebreaker. that's why he says, "don't worry, you'll be fine without me."

you glare at him, him and that stupid smirk on his face.

your stomach is burning, and you can't tell if its the alcohol or your stomach eating itself. you're hungry, and you're going to be sick after tonight.

you take another swig from the bottle, trying not to think about waking up tomorrow. baxter has one foot out the door, and it's making your world dull.

you wipe your lips with the back of your hand, then your neck before the wine drop can stain your shirt.

"of course i'll be fine, asshole." you spit, trying to cover up your fluster but your face feels hot and your voice is thick. "i can finally relax without you dragging me into your schemes and all over town with your rich friends."

you have to admit, you enjoyed spending time with baxter at that fancy dinner his parents dragged him to. you got to see a dazzling side of baxter that you’ve never gotten to see before. if you didn’t think he was crafted by god already, you did then.

he laughs at that, a look in his eye you refuse to place and you let him take the bottle from you, watching him lean his head back to take a drink.

you swallow thickly, fidgeting in your spot on the couch... you hate how far you are, an unusual amount of space between you, but somehow it's not far enough because your heart still pounds.

you push down all your nerves. soon enough.. you'll be further than your heart can handle, the string he has around it will tug with every inch he walks away from you until it's razor tight, your heart small and bleeding.

"what.. what do you really want to do..?"

baxter looks at you, his lips coming off the bottle with a wet pop. he stares at you, waiting, thinking..

"..what do you have in mind?" he prompts, trying to see where this is going.

you crawl across one cushion, than the second.. then, before your tipsy brain can stop you or process your actions, you're leaning over baxter, the chandelier casting a shadow over him with how you lean on the side of the couch, your faces just inches apart...

you can smell his cologne, and you can see every eyelash, and you can see each crease in his plump bottom lip. having him this close while your blood is pumping hot is intoxicating.

your eyes are boring into each other, and you can’t keep yourself from saying every word that pours from your mouth. “maybe.. one last hurrah? with me..?”

baxter stares back at you, and you know you are going to be stuck on him for years to come because your heart only speeds up and your head is swimming as you sink into every detail of those deep brown eyes.

and you're following how his eyes flicker across your face, lowering to what you think is your lips.. and you're watching that signature, lopsided smile return to his face as he looks at you from under those long lashes he uses as a weapon against you daily.

"how forward.. i didn’t think you had it in you” baxter can’t drop his grin, clearly pleased by your implication. he leans back, exposing himself to you. “i’m in your capable hands, y/n.”

you bite your lip, trying to calm down your excitement.

you’ve kissed people before, even got frisky with someone, a miracle in this little town. your little world. but you’ve never kissed baxter. you never really thought you would even if you’ve imagined it and dreamed about you two being helplessly in love.

you feel like your heart is going to bust with the range of emotions you are going through. but you swallow, pushing everything down, forcing yourself to be in the moment instead of cloud nine.

you straddle him, careful about where and how much of your weight you put on him. aside from the fact that you view him as your own little prince, he’s delicate, bruises like a peach and weighs nothing. 

“i’ll be gentle.” you mutter, leaning forward to snatch his lips up into an uncoordinated kiss, the alcohol blurring your senses, blending them together.

you truly do not know where baxter starts and you end, you feel like you’re on a cloud and this is the best you’ve felt in weeks since you realized the end of your little crush was imminent.

you’re going to savor tonight. memorize the feel of his lips against yours, wet from the alcohol and soft compared to your drier ones. you’re memorizing the taste of the chardonnay, the way it tastes combined with his spit once his tongue slips past your lips, curling his arms around your neck and curling one of his legs around the back of your knee.

his body is tangling with yours, his lips hot and soft, his tongue invading your mouth. baxter is hot under your hands and pliant to your will. it’s making your head spin and it’s definitely not the wine.

your hands roam across his chest, trying to get a feel of his body through his thin undershirt, the heat of your palms rubbing up and down on his hips pulling a pleased groan from him.

you pull away from his lips, moving down towards his pale neck, running your tongue over his mole before latching onto the skin, sucking and grazing it with your teeth.

baxter claws at your shoulders, shivering. “fuck.. don’t leave a mark there.” he breathes out, his voice a tone of light pleasure that you only dreamed of hearing.

you move further down, pushing his shirt up to his underarms so you can kiss down the length of his stomach, your hands on bare, smooth porcelain skin, reaching for every area of skin and muscle you haven’t been able to map out.

“sorry..” you mumble against his skin, latching your lips onto the skin just under his ribs.

you intend to leave your mark. literally. you have to leave evidence, so that way he cannot forget you that fast. that way he won’t move on the second his plane leaves the ground.

baxter has said before he’s not a long-term kind of guy. so even if you don’t confess your feelings tonight, or ever. at least you can let him go after taking a piece of him, even if he’s taking half of you.

you suck harder, and almost sink your teeth into the skin like an apple, pulling off when baxter goes “ah! y/n!” and pushes against your head.

the hickey is dark, and your stomach swirls with something primal and ancient, a quiet beast sitting in the darkest parts of your body.

“are.. you proud of yourself?” baxter pants, trying to gather his breath. you haven’t really done anything, but you can feel and see how hard he is in his tight jeans and you’re proud of yourself even if he’s scolding you.

you look at him through your lashes, putting on your smuggest grin. “of course i am.”

he rolls his eyes, but his annoyance is clearly falsified when he pops the button on his jeans, and you can’t see it, but he has to bite back a smile at how your eyes are following how he slowly.. tantalizing pulls down his zipper, subconsciously licking your lips in anticipation.

he lifts his hips up a bit, shuffling down his jeans just a pinch but leaving on his boxers. he’s making you work for it and it’s terrible. baxter lays back, all proud and pompous.

it would tick you off if he wasn’t so handsome. but instead, you’re pulling his cock free from his boxers and admiring how pretty it is. the length is a blushing red, average length and girth and curved up in a way you’re sure would feel mind blowing inside of you.

that would have to wait for later though, or maybe never, because you intend to rock baxter’s world tonight and deal with the chilling air in the morning.

you take his length in your hand, stroking his cock just enough to make pre pearl at the tip of his flushed cock and pull shaky sighs and stifled moans from him, but you can tell he aches for more, squirming and gasping when your thumb runs over his head.

“y/n..” baxter groans, his fist curling in your ratty t-shirt of some band you never knew but ma said was popular back in the day.

you know what he wants, and you give in without even thinking about resistance or teasing, licking your lips before wrapping them around his tip, earning you a loud moan that rips from baxter’s throat before he can stop it.

you can’t help how giddy you feel, and you pull off, giving short pumps of your hand around baxter’s weeping cockhead. “you’re sensitive.” you tease, returning your lips to his length and staring at him through your lashes. you’re feeling mischievous and powerful. baxter is making all these pretty sounds that leave a quiet echo in his big, shiny house and you’re eating up his expressions.. the way he tries to hide his blushing face and muffle his moans of pleasure.

seeing baxter like this, having baxter like this under you is driving you up the wall and you’re certain you’re going to be ruined for another week with every kiss you pressed against his skin, and with how your lips and tongue wrap around his length, taking him deeper into your mouth.

“god..” baxter groans, his fingers weakly threading through your hair.

you moan around baxter's length, trying to adjust to the intrusion, closing your eyes and holding onto baxter's thighs for support.

you look up at him through your lashes, making eye contact with him. that must do something for baxter because he mumbles something and throws his head back, his hips bucking and making you gag.

“shit- i'm sorry, sorry..” he gasps out, pushing your hair back with his shaky palm. “please.. move.”

you can't deny such a sweet plea, and so you start pulling off, running your tongue along the underside of his cock and suckling on the tip, pumping what's not in your mouth with your hand before taking more of him down your throat again, hollowing your cheeks and sucking.

“oh my god!” baxter howls, digging his nails into the leather, his back arching.

he props up on his elbows, pushing against your shoulder.

“fuck.. okay that's enough, i'm going to come if you keep doing that..” he pants, all the blood that didn't rush to his dick rushed to his face and you're dazed with how good he looks.

he looks a bit disheveled between the wine and the sex, and goddamn if he doesn't make it look good.

you sit up, wiping the spit off your chin. “what’s wrong with that? do you wanna stop?”

baxter shakes his head, putting his dick back in his underwear and taking his sweater off the arm of the couch.

“no, i just want you to fuck me in my bed.” he purrs, enjoying how wide your eyes must be and how you gap at him, your face feels hot and your dick is throbbing in the confines of your jeans painfully.

he tugs your frozen self off the couch and towards the stairs, and before you can pick your jaw off the floor, you're in baxter’s room and he's pushing you towards the bed, giving you one final shove when the back of your knees hit the mattress.

he shoves his pants down his legs, throwing them somewhere on the floor and starts to rifle through his bedside time.

baxter throws a bottle of lube on the bed, and stands between your legs so he can pull your shirt off, running his hands over your relatively smooth skin.

he moves downward, his hands unbuckling your belt with swiftness and popping the button on your jeans. baxter leans his body into you, his lips so close to yours that they’re brushing together as he speaks.

“i don’t have condoms.. the maid found them and tattled. but you’re clean, right?”

you nod certainly. it’s difficult to be promiscuous in this little place, and everyone knows everyone's business. baxter smiles and steals your lips, pushing you down so you’re flat on the bed.

you grab his hips, bringing them down to grind against you which he follows, circling his hips down on your length, his hands groping your chest and tracing the valleys of your body with his fingertips.

he pushes you towards the pillows, tugging your pants and each of your boxers off along the way, and urges you to just lay there all pretty for him while he preps himself, taking the lube in hand and pushing down his boxers, he gives you a front row seat to all his lewd expressions..

you find yourself gulping thickly when his eyes flutter shut and a quiet “oh god..” falls out of his lips when he sinks one of his slick fingers in, his arm trembling a bit on your shoulder.

you take his cock in your hand, stroking him while he adds in another digit.

“mmn..” baxter moans, and you can see how his wrist moves, scissoring and pumping his fingers in and out of his hole. his head falls on your shoulder, his lips are right under your ear, all his little moans and gasps are falling into your ear like music.

he pants and pulls his fingers out of his hole, pouring extra lube over your cock and sitting back on his knees with shaky legs and a flushed, sweaty face. “that’s good enough..”

he straddles your lap, lining you up with his entrance and enveloping the tip of your cock.

your nails dig into baxter's hips, groaning lowly as he slowly takes more and more of your length inside, his insides hot and wet around you, his hole trying to cling onto every inch if dick that pushes into him..

you're pretty sure the feeling and sight of baxter split open on your cock, blushing cheeks to lure you in and open lips to serenade you with his moans is what heaven looks like.

baxter's butt smacks against your thighs, both of you moaning loudly at the action. baxter's arms tighten around your neck, taking a moment to accommodate your girth before he slowly lifts up his hips, his sweaty chest pressed against yours, increasing the heat between you.

you remove baxter from your neck, pulling him into a messy kiss, holding his jaw as your tongue slides along him, the taste of the cheep beer your friends had snuck earlier washed away with the taste of the wine you drank to irritate baxter's parents as a little goodbye present from their darling son.

somehow it tastes better coming from his mouth, the taste tangled with his spit, the taste of pears and your love for baxter is sharp. it envelopes your chest, just like his hot insides take your cock, his body rocking and bouncing in your lap, kissing you hotly, moaning into your mouth as your hand strokes him in beat with baxter's movements.

your minds are clouded with just the sensation of each others tongues exploring the others mouth, and the sensation that comes with baxter's lips latching onto your neck, sucking and biting at your long neck, mumbling into your skin..

"you.. feel so good.." he gasps, the sound of skin smacking bouncing off the walls of baxter's bedroom.

you grip baxter's hips, planting your feet so you can thrust up into him, trying to make up for baxter's slowing enthusiasm.

baxter groans, his teeth sinking into your shoulder almost painfully but he has the consciousness to let go before he pierces your skin. "i'm.. nhgn- i'm gonna cum." baxter gasps out, the sound so much more vulnerable than you've ever heard from him.

"fuck.. me too." you growl, resting your forehead on baxter’s shoulder as you thrust into him, your grip around his cock tightening, giving his length short pumps before he spills into your hand.

your orgasm follows closely behind him, painting baxter's insides with your sticky seed, wrapping your arms tightly around him..

eventually, you two pull yourselves from the hot, mushy pile of your bodies and share a shower, and by some small miracle, you share the bed for the night, your arms wrapped around him with his back to your chest.

but in the morning, once the golden sunlight comes through the crack of the curtains, you peel yourself out of baxter's bed, only after admiring his sleeping face, and slip into your clothes from the previous night.

you quietly creep down the stairs, hoping no one, or worse, his parents are downstairs to see your walk of shame.

your heart aches, leaving so suddenly. so quietly. but it's a lot easier than watching him leave with it.

[the-fibre-stuff]

Who wants to help me with a Shetland lace question?

I had a bit of an accident this week - the kind that involves sitting down with a crochet hook, and ends up with 99 stitches in cobweb weight wool on a knitting needle.

I'm trying to make a stole (I was going to make something in Estonian lace for my mom but she has been going on about my ring shawl, so Shetland it is). My mother isn't a tall woman, and the pattern is 6 inches (15 cm) longer than she is tall.

The notes for the pattern say that you can adjust the size by adding or removing repeats in the centre section, so I'm thinking of removing one repeat so that it doesn't get a lot longer than her wingspan.

HOWEVER, the chart that I'd be removing a repeat of is 46 rows. The edging is 20 row repeats. There is no advice anywhere in the pattern for how to fudge this.

Do I just remove the repeat, do the knitted-on version of the edging and fudge it so it fits?

Do I remove the repeat and then do calculations to make sure the edging works out?

Do I rely on the fact that I didn't actually do a tension swatch, and only went up one needle size, so there's a decent chance that it'll block smaller than it's supposed to, and not remove a repeat at all?