#every piece of art is a new lesson

[l4tchk3y]

MERRY CHRISTMAS, ESPIO!!!

[alfheimr]

My Favorite Cheap Art Trick: Gradient Maps and Blending Modes

i get questions on occasion regarding my coloring process, so i thought i would do a bit of a write up on my "secret technique." i don't think it really is that much of a secret, but i hope it can be helpful to someone. to that end:

this is one of my favorite tags ive ever gotten on my art. i think of it often. the pieces in question are all monochrome - sort of.

the left version is the final version, the right version is technically the original. in the final version, to me, the blues are pretty stark, while the greens and magentas are less so. there is some color theory thing going on here that i dont have a good cerebral understanding of and i wont pretend otherwise. i think i watched a youtube video on it once but it went in one ear and out the other. i just pick whatever colors look nicest based on whatever vibe im going for.

this one is more subtle, i think. can you tell the difference? there's nothing wrong with 100% greyscale art, but i like the depth that adding just a hint of color can bring.

i'll note that the examples i'll be using in this post all began as purely greyscale, but this is a process i use for just about every piece of art i make, including the full color ones. i'll use the recent mithrun art i made to demonstrate. additionally, i use clip studio paint, but the general concept should be transferable to other art programs.

for fun let's just start with Making The Picture. i've been thinking of making this writeup for a while and had it in mind while drawing this piece. beyond that, i didn't really have much of a plan for this outside of "mithrun looks down and hair goes woosh." i also really like all of the vertical lines in the canary uniform so i wanted to include those too but like. gone a little hog wild. that is the extent of my "concept." i do not remember why i had the thought of integrating a shattered mirror type of theme. i think i wanted to distract a bit from the awkward pose and cover it up some LOL but anyway. this lack of planning or thought will come into play later.

note 1: the textured marker brush i specifically use is the "bordered light marker" from daub. it is one of my favorite brushes in the history of forever and the daub mega brush pack is one of the best purchases ive ever made. highly recommend!!!

note 2: "what do you mean by exclusion and difference?" they are layer blending modes and not important to the overall lesson of this post but for transparency i wanted to say how i got these "effects." anyway!

with the background figured out, this is the point at which i generally merge all of my layers, duplicate said merged layer, and Then i begin experimenting with gradient maps. what are gradient maps?

the basic gist is that gradient maps replace the colors of an image based on their value.

so, with this particular gradient map, black will be replaced with that orangey red tone, white will be replaced with the seafoamy green tone, etc. this particular gradient map i'm using as an example is very bright and saturated, but the colors can be literally anything.

these two sets are the ones i use most. they can be downloaded for free here and here if you have csp. there are many gradient map sets out there. and you can make your own!

you can apply a gradient map directly onto a specific layer in csp by going to edit>tonal correction>gradient map. to apply one indirectly, you can use a correction layer through layer>new correction layer>gradient map. honestly, correction layers are probably the better way to go, because you can adjust your gradient map whenever you want after creating the layer, whereas if you directly apply a gradient map to a layer thats like. it. it's done. if you want to make changes to the applied gradient map, you have to undo it and then reapply it. i don't use correction layers because i am old and stuck in my ways, but it's good to know what your options are.

this is what a correction layer looks like. it sits on top and applies the gradient map to the layers underneath it, so you can also change the layers beneath however and whenever you want. you can adjust the gradient map by double clicking the layer. there are also correction layers for tone curves, brightness/contrast, etc. many such useful things in this program.

let's see how mithrun looks when we apply that first gradient map we looked at.

gadzooks. apologies for eyestrain. we have turned mithrun into a neon hellscape, which might work for some pieces, but not this one. we can fix that by changing the layer blending mode, aka this laundry list of words:

some of them are self explanatory, like darken and lighten, while some of them i genuinely don't understand how they are meant to work and couldn't explain them to you, even if i do use them. i'm sure someone out there has written out an explanation for each and every one of them, but i've learned primarily by clicking on them to see what they do.

for the topic of this post, the blending mode of interest is soft light. so let's take hotline miamithrun and change the layer blending mode to soft light.

here it is at 100% opacity. this is the point at which i'd like to explain why i like using textured brushes so much - it makes it very easy to get subtle color variation when i use this Secret Technique. look at the striation in the upper right background! so tasty. however, to me, these colors are still a bit "much." so let's lower the opacity.

i think thats a lot nicer to look at, personally, but i dont really like these colors together. how about we try some other ones?

i like both of these a lot more. the palettes give the piece different vibes, at which point i have to ask myself: What Are The Vibes, Actually? well, to be honest i didn't really have a great answer because again, i didn't plan this out very much at all. however. i knew in my heart that there was too much color contrast going on and it was detracting from the two other contrasts in here: the light and dark values and the sharp and soft shapes. i wanted mithrun's head to be the main focal point. for a different illustration, colors like this might work great, but this is not that hypothetical illustration, so let's bring the opacity down again.

yippee!! that's getting closer to what my heart wants. for fun, let's see what this looks like if we change the blending mode to color.

i do like how these look but in the end they do not align with my heart. oh well. fun to experiment with though! good to keep in mind for a different piece, maybe! i often change blending modes just to see what happens, and sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. i very much cannot stress enough that much of my artistic process is clicking buttons i only sort of understand. for fun.

i ended up choosing the gradient map on the right because i liked that it was close to the actual canary uniform colors (sorta). it's at an even lower opacity though because there was Still too much color for my dear heart.

the actual process for this looks like me setting my merged layer to soft light at around 20% opacity and then clicking every single gradient map in my collection and seeing which one Works. sometimes i will do this multiple times and have multiple soft light and/or color layers combined.

typically at this point i merge everything again and do minor contrast adjustments using tone curves, which is another tool i find very fun to play around with. then for this piece in particular i did some finishing touches and decided that the white border was distracting so i cropped it. and then it's done!!! yay!!!!!

this process is a very simple and "fast" way to add more depth and visual interest to a piece without being overbearing. well, it's fast if you aren't indecisive like me, or if you are better at planning.

let's do another comparison. personally i feel that the hint of color on the left version makes mithrun look just a bit more unwell (this is a positive thing) and it makes the contrast on his arm a lot more pleasing to look at. someone who understands color theory better than i do might have more to say on the specifics, but that's honestly all i got.

just dont look at my layers too hard. ok?

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Hate Mail (Human!Alastor x Reader)

CW: Rough oral, Dub con Rated: Adult Part 1 of 2 (Part 2 here) Summary: Alastor has been on the receiving end of some nasty letters at the station. With the help of some rather unique penmanship and a stroke of luck, the culprit finds herself in his crosshairs. What sort of lesson will Alastor teach his little hate fan and how will that change when he uncovers the reason why she is sending him the letters? Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers!

Alastor leaned back in his chair, old springs creaking under his weight, letting the dim light filtering in from the closed blinds illuminate the envelope in his hand. He could get a new chair. It wasn’t out of his or the station’s budget, but he liked this one. The way it creaked reminded him of all that he had gone through, sitting in that chair as he worked his way to where he was now, hosting his own evening show. He had taken it from office to office, as he had moved around the station, working his way up. 

The chair creaked its protest and requests for retirement as he shifted again, running the blade of the letter opener under the fold of the envelope. The sound of ripping paper joined the soft noises that filled the small office, along with the ticking of the clock. 

The sender had written the station address on the front of the envelope, above his name. Inside he would find a folded piece of stationary, thin but covered in a distinctive penmanship, just he had found in the last near dozen envelopes just like it. Did you know how uniquely you wrote your As? 

It was only a matter of time before Alastor found the source of this disrespectful dribble and made the sender pay for it. He was determined, and there was one thing that was always true about him; he always accomplished what he set his mind to.

Inside, Alastor found the same filth he had grown to expect. He didn’t bother doing anything more than glancing over the words. It was the same message he got every week, just worded differently. 

Whoever you were, you lacked creativity. Alastor sighed as he pulled open his desk drawer, tossing the paper onto the stack of similar notes. This had been allowed to go on for long enough. 

For each one he received, Alastor was determined to make the sender pay. First, he needed to find you. It was quickly becoming a habit to watch people as they wrote, but he had yet to find that little letter that would give you away. That’s alright. He knew it was just a matter of time. You couldn’t hide from him forever. 

Alastor closed the drawer, chair creaking as he stood. He had a few hours until showtime, but he had time to kill. It hadn’t taken him nearly as long as he had expected to finish the scripts for the week. Glancing at the clock, he elected to take an early dinner break. There was a deli not too far from the station that served delicious sandwiches, and he was hungry.

He shut the office door behind him as he stepped out into the hall. Much to his dismay, he found himself instantly faced with the company of Scotty, the sportscaster who cared more about baseball than anything else. Alastor was fairly certain the man hadn’t picked up a book in a distressingly long time. 

“Al, old pal!” Scotty clapped Alastor on the back in greeting. Alastor smiled wider, thinking about how good it would feel to clap Scotty across the jaw with his fist. 

“You going out?” The man spoke plainly, not bothering with the transatlantic accent when off the air. 

“I am,” Alastor’s voice came clearly, clipped and proper. He spoke the same on and off the air, unless in the private of his own home and even then, it wasn’t unheard of for the accent to be more of a habit than a show. 

“The currier is here, a total doll too.” Scotty gushed, “You should go downstairs and see her.”

“I’m not interested,” Alastor waved the smaller man off. “Thank you for looking out for me, however.” 

“At least stop by, say hello. I bet she’s a fan of our quickly rising star!” Scotty laughed as he walked down the hallway, letting Alastor free of the conversation.

With a shake of his head, Alastor started down the stairs. Today he had lucked out, Scotty hadn’t wanted to linger and chat. Any evening where he didn’t have to pretend to care about the rehashing of the last ballgame as a good way to start the evening. 

“Oh, Mr. Moreau!” The woman who manned the information desk called. She was an eager blonde, curls bouncing as she waved him over. “Come meet my old school friend!” 

~~~~~<3

“Sarah, no.” You hissed, looking between the man walking over from the staircase and your friend. “I need to get back to work.” 

“It’ll be fine,” Sarah assured you, snagging your clipboard from your hands. “I still need to sign this, anyway.”

“Hello, Ladies.” Alastor greeted as he strode up, soft smile reaching his warm brown eyes. 

You did everything you could to avoid looking at the tall man. He was handsome, fluffy brown hair bouncing with each step he had taken. His skin was just a touch too tan for what you had expected, but it was his eyes that threatened to capture your attention. They were the color of coffee, just splashed with the slightest hint of cream. 

“Hello,” you squeaked out, trying to not look at him. 

“Was there something you needed?” Alastor asked, looking between Sarah and you as you avoided his eyes. 

“No,” you said quickly, only to have Sarah talk over you. 

“This is my good friend,” she said, introducing you to the last man you ever wanted to meet face to face. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Alastor said, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles as he purred your name, “quite a pleasure.” 

“Likewise,” you mumbled, reaching for your clipboard, only to knock it from the high countertop around the information desk. It clattered to the ground at Alastor’s feet. 

“Oh, dear!” Alastor’s voice was far too cheery as he reached down, picking up your clipboard. He slowed for a moment, eyes scanning the page before he handed it to you. “I believe this belongs to you.” 

“Yes,” You snatched it from his hands, “thank you.” 

“You have lovely handwriting, my dear.” Alastor leaned into your space, just enough to make you aware he was doing it, but not so much to be improper. 

“Thank you,” you stuttered out, clutching the clipboard to your chest. “I should get back to the office. I’m sure there’s… there’s something for me to deliver.” 

“Oh!” Alastor snapped his fingers, smile spreading wider. “I forgot. I have a package I need to send off.” 

“I can wait-” Alastor cut you off before you finished the sentence, forcing you into silence. 

“Nonsense,” Alastor’s hand came to rest on the small of your back, pushing you ever so slightly to walk along with him, “walk with me. I’ll show you around.” 

“Oh, okay.” You struggled to find a polite way to talk your way out of the situation you found yourself in. Dread balled in the pit of your stomach, not budging as you tried to tell yourself that it was nonsense. 

The pressure of his hand on the small of your back was all you could think about. You tried again and again to remind yourself how much you hated him. Keeping that thought in the front of your mind was a struggle. It was easier to hate him when you didn’t know that he had such a handsome face to go with his smoothe voice. 

You hated him because he was popular. You hated him because he was successful. You hated him because women fell at his feet and he couldn’t bother to even court a woman most of the time. Most of all, you hated him because he had the life you wished you had. 

“Just step inside my office,” Alastor urged you forward with the hand that never left the small of your back, from the moment you left the information desk and the safety of your friend. “It’s just at my desk.” 

“Oh no,” you looked at him, shaking your head. “I couldn’t-” 

“Please,” the pressure on your back grew firmer, leaving you little choice but to step forward. “I insist. It’ll be far easier for you to pick up the delivery if you do.” 

You didn’t understand what he was saying, but you had little chance of resisting. The pressure on the small of your back was firm and unyielding, reminding you of who was in control every step you had taken together. It was hard not to stumble slightly as he all but pushed you inside his office, the door clicking shut behind him. 

“Mr. Moreau?” 

“Alastor, please.” He held his arm out toward his desk. “Now be a good girl and go over to the desk. I have some letters I need delivered rather urgently.” 

Your heart was pounding in your chest, sending blood roaring through your ears as you took timid steps toward his imposing wooden desk . The surface was littered with papers, some having doodles with circled words of commentary. 

Behind you, there was a click that sounded disturbingly like that of a lock turning. Looking over your shoulder, you watched as Alastor took a few steps into the room. His smile spread wickedly wide across his face, a cartoonish grin of mock reassurance.

He didn’t know. You told yourself that again and again. There was no way he could know. You had been careful. You sent every letter anonymously. 

There were no packages on his desk, you realized as your eyes scanned the surface. Nothing hid behind stacks of papers or file holders. 

“In the drawer,” Alastor’s voice came from over your shoulder, nearly spoken directly into your ear. A squeak escaped your lips as you jumped, startled nearly out of your skin. He had crossed the room both quickly and near silently. “It’s unlocked.” 

“Okay,” you whispered, stepping around to the other side of his desk, grateful for the chance to put some distance between you and him. 

Alastor followed you, an ever present shadow looming behind you, standing too close as you stopped again. His breath ghosted over your shoulder as you tried to do your best to ignore it. 

Bending slightly, you pulled the drawer open. It rattled as you opened it, not sliding smoothly along the tracks. It wasn’t a terribly deep drawer, but inside you found a stack of folded papers and ripped envelopes. 

“Take it out.” Alastor spoke softly behind you. He was always behind you, a shadow you could not shake. 

Your fingers trembled as you reached out. “Which ones?” 

“Whichever ones you want,” Alastor said, shrugging, though you could not see it. 

You swallowed as you picked up a few folded papers. They felt the same as the stationery you had back in your house. It felt the same as the paper you had used to- no.

It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. No. 

“Read it.” Alastor’s tone was firm, but his voice was as warm as it had been. You clung to that warmth.

Your fingers trembled as you unfolded the first paper. It shook, making it hard to read the words carefully printed. It didn’t matter; you didn’t need to see the words to know what they said. You had penned the words yourself just a few weeks prior. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “I don’t understand.” 

“Well,” Alastor chuckled darkly, “I have to say you did a very good job!” 

“I don’t-?” You turned to find Alastor standing directly behind you once again, far too close for comfort, let alone propriety. 

“You delivered the package for me, ever so swiftly!” Alastor laughed at his joke. “Did you know you’ve got a very distinctive way to write your letter A?” 

“I beg your pardon?” You stepped away, only gaining yourself a few inches of space as your hip hit his desk. 

“Is there something wrong?” Alastor asked, stepping closer, stealing back what little space you had claimed. “Is there something you’d like to tell me to my face?” 

“N-no?” You looked everywhere but at Alastor and to him, that simply would not do. Slender fingers reached out, taking hold of your chin. His grip was far stronger than you had expected from such thin fingers as he forced your eyes to meet his. 

“Well?” Alastor asked, hand hitting the desk, trapping you between him and his office chair. His other hand quickly followed, properly caging you in. You knew he was close but as you turned to face him, you found yourself nearly chest to chest with him. 

“I don’t-”

“You don’t understand,” Alastor mocked, smile holding a dangerous glint. “You seem to not understand a lot of things.”

“Sir, I- I should go.” You stammered out, clinging hope. Sarah knew where you were. She would surely question if you did not come down the stairs soon. 

“It would be rude to leave in the middle of a conversation,” Alastor whispered into your ear, “and we’re not done talking.” 

“We have nothing to talk about.” You tried to duck under his arm, only to have his elbow fold, pushing him further into your space.

“Ha! We do though!” Alastor’s chuckle was rich, warmer than it sounded on the radio, and yet it sent a shiver running down your spine. “We should talk about how you have a very distinctive way of writing your letter A, for one. Ignoring it will not make me forget.” 

Alastor plucked the clipboard from your hands, flipping it so he could look at your writing. You watched as his eyes scanned over the page. It took longer than it should have for you to realize he had left an opening, though slight, that you could use to escape. 

You took a deep breath and darted out from between Alastor and his desk. Pain jumped through you as your hip smashed into the corner of the desk. It sent tingles down your leg, but you refused to let that stop you.

Oh fuck, he knew. 

You knew he knew. 

It was such a terrible decision. You’d had too much to drink at a speakeasy, dragged yourself home and found the sound of his voice worked you up. Being a good girl, you couldn’t do anything about it. It made you angry, knowing that other women were having what they desired that night and you were alone, wanting. 

So instead of pursuing someone to court you, you wrote letters to the host with the velvet voice. Once you posted the first letter, it was like you had uncorked a bottle inside you that you hadn’t been aware of. You kept having these feelings for the man with the voice.

A man you had never met occupied your mind during much of your waking moments. The sound of his voice haunted your dreams. A man you had never even seen became your personal ghost. There was nothing you could do to exercise it but keep letting those feeling out in aggressive, angry letters. You spewed vile things at a man that sparked things you didn’t want to face in yourself, not expecting the man himself to actually read them. 

But he did. You had accounted for everything, changed how you wrote even, but you didn’t account for one thing. You wrote the fucking letter A weird, even after carefully shaping every letter you penned. 

You didn’t make it far at all. As you rounded the desk, his strong hand wrapped around your wrist. Pain flared in your arm as it pulled back behind you, forcing you to turn toward him. 

Alastor yanked on your arm, harshly, upsetting your balance and sending you to the ground at his feet. 

“Please, don’t hurt me.” You begged. “I’m so sorry. I- I didn’t think they’d make it to you, that you’d read them.” 

“Your mouth is so good at talking the good talk. Yapping. But how are you going to make this up to me?” Alastor leaned down, cupping your jaw and forcing you to look up at him. “Words have power, my dear. Did you know that? That is why I’m so good at what I do. Your words hurt me.” Alastor was lying. He found your letters to be little more than a disrespectful annoyance, but oh, you needed to be taught a lesson. 

You rubbed your thighs together, not even aware of the movement as you did it. Fear was the only thing you were aware of feeling, but there was an undercurrent of something else that you refused to look at. It was that same evil feeling that the sound of his voice coming through your radio speakers in the evenings sparked inside you. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, meaning it more than you had ever meant it in your life. 

“Part of being sorry is making recompense, didn’t your mother teach you that?” Alastor was lecturing, keeping your eyes on him as he spoke each word, squeezing your jaw any time your eyes darted away. You feared there would be bruises come morning. 

“Yes, sir.” It was hard to speak with his grip on your jaw. He had your head pulled up so much that your neck ached and yet, you couldn’t help rubbing your thighs together. 

Alastor watched you, eyes darting over your face and down your torso to where your knees were planted on the hard ground of his office. Oh, he realized as he watched your thighs brush against eachother; you liked this. 

“Tell me, my dear,” Alastor’s grin spread wider. “Why did you write me those letters? Be truthful now. I’ll know if you’re lying.” 

“I-” Alastor squeezed your jaw when you hesitated. “Your voice, it made me… me feel things, and I took it out on you. It was wrong, I’m sorry.” 

Alastor hummed, eyes watching your thighs as they rubbed together. Did you notice, or was your body betraying you? He was fairly certain it was the latter, and that you thought you were just shuffling to keep your balance as he pulled your spine tighter. 

“What sort of things did my voice make you feel?” He leaned forward, elbow bending to ensure you continued be stretched by his grip.

Heat ran up your chest, racing up your neck and bloomed on your face. It felt like your ears were burning. You wanted to lie. You wanted to tell him anything but the truth. The look in his eyes told you that even trying to pass a lie off would be dangerous. 

“Sinful things,” you said, his grip tightening urged you to be more specific. “Lustful thoughts.” 

“From my voice?” Alastor chuckled as shame burned through you. “And you decided the best thing to do with your words was to say anything but that? Spew vile words of hate?” 

“I couldn’t-” 

“You couldn’t write me and say ‘Alastor, your voice makes my thighs rub together.’? or perhaps ‘Alastor, I touch myself to the sound of your voice.’?” As he spoke, Alastor hooked his thumb into his pocket, hip cocking as he rested his weight on one leg. “You wouldn’t be the first to send such letters.” 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Please, I’m sorry.”

“Did you think you could say those things to me and I wouldn’t find out who you were? Did you think you would escape punishment?” 

“No, sir- I-” 

“But perhaps,” Alastor hooked his fingers through where his belt fed through the buckle, pulling it free from where it was secured, “that’s what you wanted.” He finished, letting his statement be punctuated by the clacking of his belt buckle as he finished unbuckling the belt. 

“No, I-” 

“Oh, but you do.” Bending at the waist, he brought his face so close to yours you could feel his breath wash over your face. “You’re just too timid to say it.” 

The buckle of his belt clinked in the otherwise near silent room as he moved, unbuttoning his trousers and working the fly open. You looked up at him, shocked at the brazen behavior. You were not a blushing virgin, but you were also not well experienced in the ways of men. Never had you faced a situation where a man had been so forward with you.

“Please, I-” 

“Yes, do keep begging.” Alastor mused, letting his fly fall open, pants now only being held up by his suspenders. 

You opened your mouth to say something, to express your outrage somehow, but Alastor shoved his fingers inside your mouth instead. When you tried to recoil back in shock, he hooked his fingers into the soft underside of your mouth and pulled you forward. 

“You’re going to put that lovely little mouth of yours to good use.” Alastor said menacing as he pulled his face closer again. “You’re going to make it up to me, every little lie you’ve written, every terrible thing you’ve sent me. It’s time that you pay for them. And you will pay for them, I assure you of that.” 

“Yes, sir,” you struggled to say around his fingers. There wasn’t anything you could say to get you out of this. He was right, you would have to pay for what you had done. His forward actions, his anger excited part of you, that sinful part of you.

“Good,” Alastor said as he pulled his cock from his pants. He wasn’t as hard as you had expected, considering how forward he had been behaving. “Now put your mouth to good use, open wide.” 

Putting pressure down on your jaw, he didn’t give you much choice but to follow his order or collapse to the ground. With his other hand, he guided his half-mast cock to rest on your lower lip. 

“If you bite me, I assure you, it will be the last thing you do. Am I clear?” 

“Yes,” you struggled to say. 

Once satisfied, Alastor removed his fingers from your mouth and pushed his hips forward. 

Never had you done something so lewd as what Alastor was clearly demanding from you. That didn’t stop you from wrapping your lips around his member and sucking. The suction pulled him slightly deeper into your mouth, but with no lubrication, that was as good as it was going to get. 

You stuck your tongue out, running it around his shaft just past where your lips reached before trying again with slightly better results. 

“You can touch me.” Alastor said snidely from above you. “Or are you too dumb to use your hands?” 

Your reply was little more than a muffled sound as you reached up for him. Trembling fingers wrapped around his shaft, holding him steady as you pulled off of his cock, letting it fall from your lips with a pop. He twitched in front of your face, stiffer now than he had been before, but far from what you expected he could become. 

You swallowed thickly, coming to terms with the fact that the price you would pay for your terrible decision was to pleasure the man. You could do this. Eyes flicked up to Alastor, reminding yourself that he was an attractive man. There were worse men in the world to pleasure, even if you were having to do so with your mouth. 

One more deep breath and you leaned forward, sticking your tongue out and running your tongue over the underside of his cock. The skin was salty and velvety smooth under your tongue’s caress. He twitches against your lips, growing harder as you placed soft kisses and kitten licks along the slit in his head. 

Once he was harder and covered with trails of your saliva along his length, you wrapped your lips around his cock again, pulling him deeper into your mouth as you sucked at him. 

Bracing yourself against his thighs, you pushed your head forward, taking in as much of him as you could. When your lips caught on dry shaft, you pulled back, leaving a trail of saliva coating him. When the head of his cock was just kissing your lips, you sank down again. Your lips gathered the saliva that had been cooling on his skin, smearing it lower as you took him as deep as you could. 

You repeated the process again and again, running your tongue around him. This wasn’t something you had ever done before. You were disgusted with yourself when you realized you were enjoying the feeling of running his cock in and out of your mouth. The feeling of his hips flexing, fighting back the urge to thrust, was as intoxicating as the musky smell of him, pure clean man. 

The feeling of Alastor’s hand on the back of your head startled you out of the trance you had fallen into. Your eyes, having fallen to little more than slits, fluttered open to look up at him. 

“Good girl, but you can do better, can’t you?” Alastor laughed as you blinked up at him. 

He didn’t give you a chance to offer any sort of agreement. Hips bucked forward as his hand pushed your head forward. The soft head of his cock slammed into the back of your throat, causing you to cough. A rich moan fell from Alastor’s lips as your throat spasmed around him. 

You gasped for breath as he pulled back, only to have your airway choked off as he thrust into your mouth again and again. Fingers bunched into the fabric of his pants as you looked up at him with wild, tearful eyes. His brown eyes, once seeming so warm, looked into yours with cold desire as tears ran down your cheeks. 

“Swallow,” He said as he pressed the head of his cock into the back of your throat harder. 

You did, though you hadn’t intended to. It was a reflex as you tried not to gag on him. The head of his cock pressed onward, cutting off what little ability you had to breathe. 

“Relax,” he soothed, thumb caressing your head before he pulled you back off him. “Breathe, now.” He ordered as if you needed the encouragement. 

After gasping two panicked breaths in through your nose and around his cock, he shoved you forward again, hips flexing. Again, he pressed against your throat and you knew what he wanted. Battling every instinct in your body, you tried to relax and swallow, allowing him to cut off your airway. 

“Good girl,” you hated how your thighs twitched at the praise. 

Alastor thrust into your throat again and again, each time taking his cock deeper was easier. That did nothing to calm the panic in your eyes, slow the tears running down your face, or relax your grip on his thighs. 

“You’re taking me in your throat so good,” Alastor praised, working his cock past the back of your throat again and again, chasing his release now as he looked down at you. 

Spit gathered, bubbles forming from your gasped attempts at breathing in a ring around the base of his cock. He could feel it dripping down his balls, soaking into his pants. It ran down your chin as well, dripping off in long strings as it soaked into your blouse. 

“You look so pretty like this,” Alastor cooed as he lost his rhythm, release drawing near. “Taking your punishment so well. Won’t do that again, will you?” 

Your throat vibrated around him as you tried to answer, unable to form anything more than a sound smothered by his cock. That was all it took for him to reach his peak, balls tightening as he shoved your head forward. 

He twitched in your mouth, seed spilling down your throat in hot ropes. The curls at the base of his cock tickled your nose as he thrust deeper and deeper, not allowing you a moment to breathe. Seed poured into your throat, coating the back of your tongue when he would pull back, hardly giving you a chance for air before shoving forward again. 

Black swam in front of your eyes as you pushed weakly against his thighs. Only when he no longer twitched did he pull you back from him enough for you to pull a proper breath into your burning lungs. When his hand left the back of your head, you fell to the ground in a heap.

Alastor stood over you, cock softening considerably and yet still standing on display. After a few moments, he knelt down next to you, fingers caressing down your arm. Your body shuddered as you gasped for air, throat raw from the abuse. 

“You did very good for me,” Alastor spoke softly, “Very good indeed. I’m afraid I got a little carried away with you, didn’t I?” 

“Please,” you whispered, looking up at Alastor with red-rimmed eyes, cheeks flushed. 

“I know,” Alastor chuckled darkly, taking in how pretty you looked with your lips red and swollen. His cock, still hanging from the front of his trousers, twitched as he stiffened again. “I’ll take care of you, don’t you worry.” 

[darlingofdots]

One of the first things I teach new students in my intro to literary studies class is that there is no definition of "literature" that includes everything you want it to but also excludes the things you don't want, and that no definition is ideologically or intellectually neutral. I use a specific text to teach this because I have to give them an exam at the end of the semester and need specific information for them to recall, but my secret agenda with this lesson is to dismantle the (conscious or unconscious) hierarchy we all have in our heads about what is Good Art. I also find that students tend to have very narrow expectations about what kind of literature they are going to encounter at university, and I don't blame them for that! But it's really important to me that they at least start to understand that every text is worth studying with the same amount of attention you would give to a Shakespeare play. The point of literary studies isn't to make some sort of judgement about quality, it's to understand how we tell stories and process our lives and communicate and how everything we do and experience influences everything else. On this website we sort of make fun of the "his wife has filled his house with chintz" post and of people who read "too much" into kids' TV but we should do this unironically! My main research focus is historical romance novels and people ask me all the time why I think they matter enough to write a book about, and I have to tell them that everything matters. I know a scholar who has worked on Sunday comic strips around the turn of the 19th century and we can learn so much about what people's lives were like from those! Nothing is too small or silly or "bad" to analyse. Understanding how a text works, what it does, where it comes from are all important and incredibly rewarding questions to ask! Every piece of writing is the result of a series of experiences and circumstances and choices that shape it and just being able to understand that is genuinely one of the most important things I hope my students learn from my classes.

[markrosewater]

If Universes Beyond is "Additive" as you said a few days ago, then why not make an "additional" format rather than forcing a change to Standard?

The psychographics are about the different ways you can psychologically approach the game.

If you’re a Spike, you’re about proving what you are capable of (which often means winning, but not always). That means you focus on picking the best card for the job at hand. That’s going to be dictated by card power and not creative decisions. Whether you like a creative execution (be it in-multiverse or Universes Beyond) or not simply isn’t the deciding factor.

If you’re a Timmy/Tammy, you’re about experiencing something. That means you pick the cards that best create the experience you want. If creative choices are a big part of that experience, then you will prioritize choosing cards that match what you want for your deck.

If you’re a Johnny/Jenny, you’re about expressing something. Your card choices are about you saying something about who you are. If creative choices are important to that message, it will impact which cards you play with.

The issue about mixing in-multiverse and Universe Beyond cards is only forced for the Spikes, because they’re the one psychographic that has to make choices irregardless of the creative execution of the card.

For the Timmy/Tammy and Johnny/Jenny players, if Universe Beyond cards dilute your experience, make other card choices. Don’t play with them.

That’s what I say about the cards being “additive”. You can add them to your deck if they enhance your experience. If they lessen your experience, don’t add them.

The big question is what matters most to you. If you’re choosing a card because it will increase your win rate, then you’re making a Spike-y decision. And that’s fine, but it means you’re prioritizing mechanics over flavor.

My core message is you the player have total power over what you play. You pick the format you play, you pick who you play with, and you pick the cards in your deck.

This issue isn’t new to Universes Beyond. Some people don’t like the cuteness of Bloomburrow, or the modernity of Duskmourn, or the famous characters in cowboy hats approach to Outlaw of Thunder Junction. If you want to make Spike-y decisions, then you play the card regardless of your personal opinion of the creative choices of the card.

Maybe you’re playing a card with a cutesy name you don’t enjoy, or a piece of art that’s not your style, or flavor text that you find groan worthy. That’s a decision you make when you build your deck and you choose what to prioritize.

Everyone has a different line of what creatively is acceptable, and it’s human nature to want to believe that your line is “the line”.

I’ve been doing this for a long time. Every line we cross is somebody’s line. But Magic, at its core, is about pushing boundaries and trying new things. It’s one of the defining qualities of the game.

My message is you can choose your own line. Magic adaptability allows you to play with what makes the game the most fun for you. You can choose to not cross your own line, but it does require you to prioritize that line over Spike-y decisions.

Look, we’re going to keep adding things to the game that players demonstrate they enjoy, whether that be mechanical or creative. It’s the defining quality of the game’s growth over the last thirty-one years.

And by the way, the data strongly, and I mean strongly, shows players enjoy Universes Beyond. All the people that made The Lord of the Rings the most popular set of all time are just as much Magic players as those that never purchased it.

And why not make an additional format? Because the data says there isn’t a large enough audience to support it. If there was, we’d make it. We’re very influenced by the desires of the players.

Our goal, as it has always been, is to make the best game in the world. We iterate, you give feedback, and we adapt. Lather, rinse, repeat.

One of the big lessons I’ve gotten designing Magic is that it’s going to adapt based on the totality of the desires of the players. Enough players like something, and the game starts adapting to it.

That adaptation is not always what I personally would choose, but over the years, I’ve come to realize the fact that the adaptation is not the choice of any one person, but the totality of the playerbase is the thing that makes Magic a game unlike any other.

It’s a living breathing entity that’s constantly becoming what its players want it to be. And that’s pretty cool.

[seat-safety-switch]

Earlier this week, one of my scientific companions in the field of industrial shitbox arts was killed. Don't worry, I didn't do it. I'm not even liable this time. Here's who is completely responsible: whoever the fuck makes Roombas.

Let's first speak to the normal people in the audience. When you get tired of your Roomba and want to get a new one, the old one gets "recycled." What this means is that it's put on eBay for parts. Someone new gets a cheap Roomba, you no longer have a junk Roomba sitting in your house, and the eBay middleman "recycles" about a hundred bucks into his pocket without doing any actual work.

Despite the fact that all of the rest of us have watched Brave Little Toaster during critical development periods in our lives, and imagine that the Roomba we are discarding would be much sadder in the junkyard than in a million pieces in our basement parts box, you still went and did it. You monster. And now someone else has your old Roomba. Statistically, they actually have several Roombae, because why else would they be buying parts for them from eBay?

What this all means is that humanity can be divided into two kinds of people, roughly: individuals with one Roomba, and folks with several dozen Roombas. There is, in theory, a group of people who own no Roombas whatsoever, but we can ignore them for the sake of this explanation. They have very sad lives and should get an eBay account going.

Long story short is that my buddy, who we'll call Ralph Hoover, was consumed by his robot vacuums. According to his GitHub account, the last thing he was working on was "swarm cleaning," where every Roomba in his home would be summoned to the same room and devour it in an ultra-efficient grid, phalanx-like, until it was perfectly cleaned in mere seconds. Anyway, it turns out that those babies can strip a man to the bone when you get in the way of about twenty of them. Good lesson for everybody, particularly that you should be pretty wary about looking for odd red stains on all the "for parts" Roombas that are going to be listed on eBay for the next couple of weeks.

[vampsywrites]

IV — i remember her hands, and the way the mountains looked.

Synopsis: In which the Sullys approach the mountain clan for sanctuary. The Olo'eykte agrees but proposes one condition: Toruk Makto's eldest son must be promised to her daughter. Surprisingly, instead of the solemn response one would expect, Neteyam agrees almost instantaneously.

Tags: Female! Mountain Na'vi! Reader, Arranged Marriage, Strangers to Lovers, Neteyam is whipped, Making out, Mentions of blood, Arguments, Physical Fights, Protective Neteyam, Slight Jealous Neteyam

Word Count: 5k | AO3 LINK

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"Control your breath, like a soothing river finding its rhythm."

Today's lesson was a departure from the usual climbing sessions you've had the last months. Neteyam had proven himself more than capable of scaling the heights with ease, showcasing his prowess as a skilled and agile climber. It was time to advance his training further and introduce him to a new and essential skill: the art of breath control.

As Omatikaya, he lacked the enhanced lung capacity that your own physiology provided. Over generations, your people had adapted to the challenging conditions of Pandora's higher elevations, making your lungs incredibly efficient at utilizing the limited oxygen resources available. This biological disadvantage of his made it all the more crucial for Neteyam to learn proper techniques.

Sitting cross-legged opposite each other, knees touching, your hands gently pressed against his diaphragm and chest as you began the lesson.

"Close your eyes and take a deep breath through your nose," you instructed softly. "Fill your lungs to their fullest capacity, and feel the air spreading to every corner, energizing your body."

Neteyam followed your guidance, his eyes fluttering shut as he inhaled deeply through his nose. His chest rose, and you could feel his abdomen expanding under your touch as he took in the breath. His inhale was steady but not as deep as you wanted it to be.

"Remember to ease your body," you pointed out gently. "Try again. I want you to hold that breath for a moment, just a beat longer than you're used to. Then release the air slowly through your mouth. Let it flow out like a gentle stream, not a gusty wind."

Neteyam complied. He closed his eyes once more and took a deep breath through his nose, following your guidance carefully. His chest expanded further this time, and you could feel the tension in his body as he held his breath for a moment before exhaling slowly through his mouth.

"You are doing well," you beam.

Despite appearing as though you were focused on teaching Neteyam, your gaze occasionally shifted to the others around you. In the distance, Lo'ak, Tuk, and Kiri were having their own lessons, led by a skilled warrior-hunter from your clan. It seemed as though they were learning well, albeit still displaying moments of clumsiness.

These past few months, normalcy resettled itself in the Sully family rather quickly, like a piece of a puzzle that’s been jostled loose slotting seamlessly back into place.

Kiri, in particular, seemed to be in her element — lost in a world of her own. The girl had long wandered away from her group, traversing the slope of the rock with a skill that far surpassed her experience. She was completely absorbed in the breathtaking views the mountain provided and the wild flora that adorned its sides.

Tuk, on the other hand, was having a blast with a group of younger kids. They were energetically bouncing off the lower parts of the rock wall with their ropes, playing and laughing together. Their youthful enthusiasm was contagious, and it brought a nostalgic smile to your face, reminding you of your own childhood.

Lo'ak had also adapted smoothly, effortlessly climbing higher peaks with a few Na'vi your age. He appeared at ease, his initial apprehension towards the heights now gone as he engaged in friendly banter and conversations with your people.

“I think you’re just using this as an excuse to feel me up, syulang.”

Neteyam's voice draws your attention away, his calloused hands cupping over yours and pressing them flat against the planes of his chest and abdomen. His dark azure skin was smooth beneath your touch, the defined muscles firm and sculpted, evidence of his disciplined training and physical prowess as a warrior.

A cross frown danced on your lips as you retorted, "It is you who is placing my hands over your skin. I am just making sure you're learning properly. “

Neteyam's lips curled into a smirk, amusement dancing in his eyes. "I don't see you removing them," he quipped, his fingers lightly brushing against the back of your hand.

With a shake of your head, you slap at his side of his ribs, eliciting a grunt of surprise from the man.

"Enough. Show me the form I taught," you instruct, shifting back into your role as his teacher.

Neteyam does his breathing exercises accordingly, and you watch with a keen eye, pleased to see his improved technique.

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

"Yes," you nod approvingly, genuinely impressed, "that is good."

As the lesson continued to flow smoothly, you instinctively moved closer to Neteyam, wanting to better feel the rise and fall of his chest as he practiced his breathing. In response, Neteyam couldn't resist the impulse to pull at your arms, playfully coaxing you into his lap.

"Skxawng! " With a laugh, you surrendered and settled into his embrace.

Fronts firmly pressed against each other, the closeness between you felt comforting and familiar. It was like two halves of a whole coming together, bodies fitting together so naturally that it was as if they were meant to be in this position.

Neither of you made a move to break the embrace. There was no rush, no need to move on from this moment of connection. Instead, you found yourself cupping his face in your hands, a rare smile gracing your lips as you gazed down at him. Neteyam's fingers traced soothing patterns on your back, fiddling with the back of your woven chest piece, causing a delightful shiver to travel down your spine. The simple touch spoke volumes, conveying a level of intimacy that went beyond words.

"I am still so impressed at how fast you have learned," you whisper softly.

"I have a great teacher," Neteyam laughs, his tail coiling around your thigh in an affectionate manner. Mirroring his actions, your tail trails up his torso, exploring his rugged skin before wrapping itself around his forearm.

As your hands move to his sides, intending to trace comforting circles, you notice a sudden jerk from Neteyam, followed by a low hiss slipping from his lips. In an instant, worry floods your senses, and you draw away from him, giving him space.

"What is it?" you say in panic, your eyes quickly scanning his figure for any signs of distress. They land on small, bloodied scratch marks by his ribs, and realization washes over you.

"Ah," you grimace, a hint of shame in your voice as you hastily reach into your medicinal pouch, your fingers searching for a specific bottle. "I apologize. I did not realize my claws were digging into your skin."

Neteyam offers a reassuring smile, though you can tell that he isn't blaming you in the slightest. "It's alright," he says. "You are acting like I was just maimed. These are little scratches, nothing serious."

You appreciate his attempt to alleviate your concern, knowing that he is not blaming you in the slightest. Still, you find the bottle you were searching for and carefully apply the healing ointment to the scratch marks, your touch featherlight. Neteyam observes your hands move swiftly, appreciating the skill with which you handle the situation.

As Tsahìk, you were used to being gentle and careful with your touch, but there were moments when your physical attributes could unintentionally cause harm. At the tips of your slender fingers were rugged and curved structures resembling claws. This unique feature was a defining characteristic of your people, granting you a remarkable advantage in navigating challenging terrains with ease.

Once you finish applying the ointment, Neteyam takes ahold of your hands, dragging them up until they are eye-level. The warrior's touch is tender as he begins to trace his finger along the curve of your claws. His eyes study the intricate detailing, admiring the look of your unique appendages.

When relaxed, your fingers appeared deceptively normal, concealing the sharp daggers within. But with a simple flex of your hand, the claws emerged gracefully. During his lessons, you would usually keep them out, ready to demonstrate and assist him at any moment.

"I should have been more careful," you murmur, withdrawing your claws.

Neteyam shakes his head, his expression gentle and reassuring. "It's not your fault." He then holds your hands in his, his large palm practically engulfing yours. "Your baby hands did not cause much damage anyways."

In offense, you playfully slap his shoulder, your mouth dropping open in feigned shock. "I will have you know that these 'baby hands' have scaled mountains and traversed terrains you cannot begin to imagine!"

Neteyam raises an eyebrow, pretending to be unimpressed, but a mischievous grin tugs at his lips. "Oh, I am sure they have."

The carefree scene is abruptly interrupted as a shadow suddenly looms over you. Lifting your gaze, you find a familiar face twisted into a stern expression, the lines of displeasure etched across his edged features.

"Tserat," you spat the name out as if it were a poison lathered on your tongue, your disdain for him evident in the sharpness of your tone.

Throughout your life, this man had been a constant thorn in your side, always critical of your choices and quick to engage in arguments.

Among many, his vehement disapproval of your sudden engagement with the eldest Sully boy was no secret, and you were well aware that he had something to say about it now.

The Na'vi acknowledged you with a forced smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. There was a flicker of malice in his gaze as he shifted his focus to Neteyam, sizing up the warrior with a critical eye.

"Forest boy, I see you're enjoying your little lesson," Tserat quipped with a mocking tone. "Didn't know you needed such close instruction."

"We were just practicing some breathing techniques," Neteyam replied, his eyes narrowing slightly as he maintained a remarkable composure despite the charged atmosphere. The venomous tone with which Tserat addressed him was not lost on the Omatikayan, but he chose not to acknowledge it — avoiding any unnecessary conflict.

And yet, Tserat's taunts only continued as he stepped closer, trying to provoke a reaction. "A lesson on breathing techniques?" he scoffed. "Those are only given to little children."

Your patience was wearing thin, and frustration seeped into your voice as you snapped back at him, "Why do you come to us? What do you want?"

"What do I want? I want to know why you are allowing him to seduce you like this," Tserat hissed, his glare intensifying. "This vrrtep—"

The derogatory word hit a nerve, and anger surged within you. Snarling in response, your tail whipped around angrily, "You speak to future Olo'eyktan, Tserat!"

"Future Olo'eyktan?" Tserat scoffed derisively. "The halfbreed can barely scale up a hill! A forest dweller like him wouldn't last a day with our mountain-born warriors, let alone dare to lead them."

"You would do well not to underestimate him," you spat back with a fiery edge, warning firm as you stood your ground, defending Neteyam. "He is embracing our ways with utmost respect and honor, more than some who were born into it."

"This outsider can learn, but his roots are deep in the forest. He will never truly understand the heart and soul of our people." Tserat remarked, face twisted in a hateful sneer. Then, his attention shifted to Neteyam, words dripping with scorn, "You should just go away!"

"Tserat—" you interject, but your words are cut short when a strong hand latches onto your elbow, shutting down the stream of your furious thoughts.

Neteyam steps closer, his hands now moving to gently grip at your waist, seeking to ground you.

"Leave it," he urges softly, trying to diffuse the tension. "Leave it, tìyawn."

You oblige, trying to shift your focus to Neteyam, desperately wanting to tune out Tserat's jeers, to let them fade into the background like distant echoes. But you knew him all too well; if he was anything, he was relentless.

"Stupid girl," the hunter hisses, his words laced with venom, as he whips his head back in agitation. "Always going head first. Never thinking!"

"Watch your tone," Neteyam growls under his breath, the low rumble vibrating through his chest like distant thunder, as his tail wraps itself around your hips protectively. Though his eyes remain fixed on Tserat, Neteyam's senses are on high alert, attuned to every nuance of your body language—from the subtle shift of your ears pinning back against your head to the coiling of your tail low by your feet.

At the sight of your clear discomfort, his other hand itches at the side of his hip where his blade was, instincts screaming for him to act.

"Hey!" The loud voice of Lo'ak booms across the clearing, announcing his arrival. His eyes narrows as he strides forward, each heavy step accompanied by the rhythmic swing of his braids and the clicking of beads.

"Fuck is your problem?" Lo'ak scowls, his tone laced with anger and disdain. He forcefully shoves Tserat back, nearly knocking the man off balance. The grin Tserat flashes at the Omatikaya in response is nothing but a display of teeth and pure viciousness.

"Look who's here, another half-bred freak," Tserat bites back as he pushes against Lo'ak's shoulders, attempting to regain some ground.

Kiri, appearing in a disheveled mess but fierce as ever, storms into the scene — anger lacing her features. Without hesitation, she raises her voice, directing her anger at Tserat.

"Leave us alone!" Kiri shouts as she takes hold of Lo'ak's arm, preventing her younger brother from making any rash moves. But before she can persuade Lo'ak to calm himself, he wrenches his arm free from her grasp.

Without a second thought, Lo'ak hurls himself forward, his fist colliding with Tserat's jaw in a sickening thud. The hunter's head snaps to the side, blood spewing from his split lip as he's left momentarily stunned. After coming to his senses, Tserat snarls, eyes filled with rage as he hits back at Lo'ak with an equal measure of force.

Both of them grapple each other, bodies locked in a struggle. In the chaos of the crossfire, Tserat unexpectedly knocks into you, catching you off guard. Your feet tangle, and you stumble backward, unable to maintain your balance. With a harsh thud, you crash onto the unforgiving dirt ground, pain flaring through your body.

"Tserat!" you shriek, a mixture of anger and pain lacing your voice.

Before you can fully gather your bearings, Neteyam is already in action. In one fluid and furious motion, he lunges forward and shoves Tserat away from his brother, the sheer force of the push sending the hunter hurtling back into the rugged rock face of the mountain. The impact reverberates through the air, a loud thud echoing in the clearing, followed by the rumble of loose stones tumbling down the slope.

Dust billows up around Tserat, momentarily obscuring his figure in a haze of grit and debris. As the cloud of dust clears, Tserat emerges, his eyes burning with a dangerous glint, his rage undeterred by the impact.

Neteyam's lips curl back into a snarl, fangs bared in an unmistakable display of aggression. A guttural hiss then erupts from his lips, a growl that emanates from deep within his chest. It's a primal warning, a clear message that he will not tolerate any further harm directed towards you or anyone else he cares about.

"You—!" Tserat, refusing to back down, meets Neteyam's hiss with one of his own, his fingers tightening around the hilt of the axe at his hip.

Neteyam's response is swift and decisive. He too arms himself, unsheathing his knife. Its sharp metallic sound rings out like a battle cry, slicing through the air with a deadly "shhlck!" The blade gleams in the dappled sunlight, its edge honed and ready for any threat that may come his way.

As the pain from the earlier shove courses through your body, you grit your teeth and rise to your feet, adrenaline fueling you. You rush to Neteyam's side, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath your trembling hand as you press it against his chest.

"Ma'Neteyam" you hush. "Mawey. It is alright. It is alright."

Tserat's eyes burn with envy and resentment as he watches the bond between you and Neteyam, a bond that he can't comprehend, much less accept. To him, it's a betrayal, a disloyalty to your people.

The way your touch traced the outlines of Neteyam's skin, the concern in your eyes, and the unwavering support you offered—it all but intensified his misplaced fury. The sight of your closeness with this outsider feels like a knife twisting in his heart, fueling his anger and pushing him to the brink of it all.

Driven by a whirlwind of emotions, Tserat lunged toward you both with a roar of anger. But before he could reach you, a commanding voice cut through the air like a thunderclap, halting him in his tracks.

"Ftang!"

As you turn around, you see your mother landing with a mighty thump, her ikran letting out a shrill, piercing cry. The elderly chief dismounted and approached your group with a stony expression, her fur coat still adorned with remnants of snow.

With every step, your mother shed away her usual warm and caring persona as Iumayi and slipped into the familiar face of Olo'eyktan. Ruthless, cold, Olo'eyktan.

"Why are you here, boy?" she hissed, her icy gaze remaining fixed on Tserat. He looked away, clearly disgruntled and tense under the weight of her scrutiny. ”You disobeyed direct orders! You are supposed to be on patrol! Instead, I see you stirring up a fight!"

Amidst her tirade, your mother's gaze locked onto yours. Her stern expression softened momentarily as Neteyam rushed to help you up, his touch tenderly tracing the outlines of your bruises. The sight of her child in distress stirred her maternal instincts, but she swiftly composed herself, tearing her gaze away from the display of care between you and Neteyam, refocusing on the matter at hand.

"Olo'eykte," Tserat gritted his teeth, his words now flowing in the Iuva'rian dialect, knowing that Neteyam couldn't understand it, "Can you not see this mockery of a union? Y/N was promised to me."

"It doesn't matter what you believe was promised," your mother stated resolutely, switching her language to match his. "Eywa did not will for your union to happen. The Great Mother guides us all, and sometimes our paths lead us in different directions."

As his ears pinned back, a hint of vulnerability flashed in Tserat's eyes. Frustration, resentment, and envy tangled together, gnawing at his heart.

The memory of your father's vision surged in his mind, a painful reminder of what could have been. He recalled how the Olo'eykte had approached him, believing it was he who was in the vision. "A mighty warrior, fierce and protective of his people," she had said, her eyes ablaze with belief in his destiny.

With those words echoing in his ears, Tserat had undergone rigorous training, honing his skills and preparing himself for the role he believed was his birthright. But all of that changed when the Sullys arrived. With Neteyam's emergence as Toruk Makto's son, everything shifted.

The vision, once meant for Tserat, was now directed toward Neteyam, a forest dweller with no ancestral ties to the clan. The mantle of leadership, which he had longed for and devoted himself to, was abruptly snatched away, as if it had never truly been within his grasp.

"Everything is changing," Tserat spat out, hurt etched across his features. "This family brings destruction and war wherever they go. What's to say they won't bring it here?"

"This warrior," Tserat turned to look at Neteyam, his expression brimming with disdain."—does not even know how to breathe our air properly. And you want him to lead us?"

"This is not the time or place for a challenge," Iumayi scorns. "If you believe yourself more worthy to lead, you will have your opportunity to prove it in a ritual battle after he completes the coming of age ceremony."

Tserat ran his tongue over his lips, his emotions carefully hidden behind a neutral mask. With a sigh, he averted his gaze, locking onto the ground, refusing to make eye contact with the chief.

The tension in the air was palpable as the confrontation reached its conclusion. Tserat eventually turned and left, his departure marked by one last glowering look directed Neteyam's way.

Neteyam, still holding you close, sensed the lingering unease and decided it was best to move away from the scene. With one arm wrapped protectively around you, he bid a goodbye to your mother and led you toward Seze.

The Omatikayan carefully lifted you up and secured you onto her back, ensuring your safety as he climbed on behind you.

"Irayo," you whisper. Neteyam's strong arms encircled you, and you leaned back, resting against him

"Kea tìkin," Neteyam hums.

Neteyam had led you to a secluded green clearing hidden deep in the heart of the valley. The tall, ancient trees stood as protective guardians, shielding you both from the prying eyes of the outside world. The rustling leaves and the distant songs of wind created a calming atmosphere, offering a private haven for you and Neteyam to grapple with the emotions that had been swirling between you.

Approaching the dense thicket of trees that hovered over the peak, your steps faltered when Neteyam's rough fingers wrapped around your elbow, gently pulling you back. His hand then rested softly on your hip, thumb tracing soothing circles on your striped skin.

The weight of moodiness still clung to you like a stubborn fog, but his touch and tender words began to penetrate that cloud, slowly lifting the veil of uncertainty that had settled.

"What's wrong? Talk to me, baby," Neteyam murmured, the foreign English endearment slipping off his accented tongue as smooth as the cascading waters of a tranquil stream.

Despite his plea, your lips were sealed shut, teeth biting down on the plump flesh, eyes refusing to look away from the blooming purple bruises on your skin. Faintly, you felt a burning sensation building up on your waterline, an all-too-familiar sign of tears threatening to spill over. It was an emotion you had long tried to suppress over the years, but the events of the day had taken their toll on your strength.

"Sweet girl," Neteyam soothed, his thumb pressing onto your lips and gently easing it away from your fangs. He then reached out to brush a reassuring hand against your cheek, guiding your watery gaze to meet his. The sight of your unshed tears pierced through him like a spear, striking a chord deep within his heart.

"Tserat is a fool," you drew in a shaky breath, the frustration evident in your voice. "Stubborn. Resistant to change!"

"I saw," he acknowledged with a low chuckle, but his expression softened with understanding. "People like him hold on to old ways out of fear. But change is the natural course of life. Do not worry, they will come to understand soon. Give them time."

Neteyam then paused, his eyes taking you in, a rugged hand running up your back in a comforting gesture. The forest around you seemed to grow quieter. "You two seemed to know each other…"

You nodded, a mix of emotions welling up inside you as memories of the past flooded back. "Yes," you replied, your voice tinged with nostalgia. "We were once very close. Me and him were promised."

"Oh," Neteyam breathed out, his voice tinged with a deep, rich green envy that simmered just below the surface. The intensity in his eyes blazed, and a hint of possessiveness seeped into his tone.

His hand on your waist tightened slightly, drawing you closer to him, and you willingly leaned into his embrace, finding comfort in his protective hold.

The lithe form of his tail swished from side to side, revealing the restlessness he felt, while his eyes remained fixed on yours, guarded yet filled with a yearning for understanding. You could tell the man before you bled with questions, but he was treading carefully, respectful of your boundaries and not wanting to intrude.

It was something you had noticed over the past few months spent together. Neteyam, a warrior at heart, was skilled at concealing his emotions. He had a way of pushing down his feelings, riding out pain - both emotional and physical with a stoic determination until they dissipated. His strength and resilience were admirable, and you respected his ability to handle difficult situations without faltering.

But as the days turned into weeks and then months, a part of you longed to see more of his vulnerability, to understand the layers beneath his tough exterior. You wanted to know the man beyond the warrior, the man behind the title of future Olo'eyktan, the person he was when he let his guard down.

In moments of quiet intimacy like this, you caught glimpses of tenderness in him, emotions he carefully kept in check. It made you feel that you were so close to understanding him on a deeper level, yet there was still a distance that kept you from fully unraveling the complexities of his heart.

"I said once," you reiterated gently, wanting him to know that the past was merely a stepping stone that led you to him. "I did not go through with the ceremony."

His grip on your waist softened, and he pulled you even closer, intertwining his fingers with yours. It felt as if the world around you had melted away, leaving just the two of you in that secluded green clearing.

"Why did you not?" Neteyam's question hung in the air like a delicate thread, his voice barely above a whisper, brimming with vulnerability.

You took a moment to gather your thoughts, the topic of conversation causing your heart to race. The freckles upon his nose and forehead caught the golden rays of the setting sun, making him look even more mesmerizing as his eyes languidly traced your face.

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you found the strength to answer honestly. "I did not want him," you stated firmly, making it clear that your heart had never truly belonged to Tserat.

Ears pulled flat back, he stepped closer and found his hand reaching out to take a hold of his your hip. His gaze was dark, untamed like the forest as flickers of emotion flashed across the specs of gold, brown and green in his eyes. The tension between you and him thickened, fueled by a potent mix of jealousy, desire, and the simmering anger from the confrontation.

"And who do you want?" Neteyam's voice was a husky murmur, tinged with longing. He searched your eyes for an answer, almost as if he feared what would come out of your lips.

And you knew that this was the moment of truth, where your confession could either bring you closer or drive you apart.

In the past few months, both of you had danced around the touches of affection, tiptoeing around the unspoken feelings that had quietly but intensely grown between you. On the surface, it seemed as if you were merely fulfilling your duties, following the paths arranged for you. But beneath it all, there was something deeper, a bond that had become undeniable.

Standing before Neteyam, you could feel the tremor in his touch, the unspoken fear of rejection. But there was also a glimmer of hope shimmering in those golden pools, a belief that maybe, just maybe, you would choose him.

Without skipping a beat, you looked up into his eyes, your own gaze unwavering. "You."

"I want you, Neteyam."

Neteyam felt his heart leap to his throat at your words, desire chipping away at was left of the walls he had built up. His grip on you tightened and he looked into your eyes, seeking permission for what he was about to do, gaze gliding down to your lips.

Without words, you both knew what you wanted, what you needed. You understood the unspoken plea in his eyes and nodded, granting him permission to close the distance between you.

Neteyam's hand moved from your hip to your lower back, pulling you closer as he drew you into a deep kiss. Your fingers threaded through his dark hair, and you felt the roughness of his braids against your skin. The taste of him was intoxicating, a blend of earthy warmth and a hint of something uniquely him.

"I want you too," he breathed out against your lips, attempting to pull you even closer, molding his body onto yours. "More than anything."

Minutes pass and the intensity of your passionate kiss gradually subsided. Finally, you both drew away, finding yourselves breathless yet exhilarated. The rush of emotions still coursed through your veins, leaving you both trembling with the weight of the moment.

Neteyam's forehead pressed against yours, his warm breath mingling with yours as you gazed into each other's eyes, the unspoken words hanging heavily in the air.

"I see you," you finally gasped out, your voice hitching. Those three simple words carried the weight of all your feelings, a declaration of your understanding and acceptance of him, flaws and all.

Neteyam froze, his breath catching in his throat. The exhale from his lips was entirely broken, as if you had stolen his last remaining breath from his lungs. Slowly, he found himself giving in to the overwhelming rush of emotions, the walls he had built over years finally falling down in ruins.

"I see you," Neteyam returned, accent thick, voice breathless and guttural. He leaned in to kiss you once more, sealing his emotions with the tender touch of his lips against yours. Those three words were repeated over and over against your lips, a desperate show of his affections.

Neteyam bared everything he had inside, his deepest desires, fears, and dreams, pouring his heart before you like a crimson offering as he hoped beyond hope that you would handle it with the utmost care.

< PREV | SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT >

the relationship is established! now its time to plan on how to destroy it. /hj

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[cloudiewrites]

OMG. Hiiii. I love Tom Riddle and Theodore Nott. So I am totally going to ask you if you are comfortable to write either Professor Tom or a Professor Theo x fem reader fic with smut. Feel free to ignore this but I really struggle to find Professor Tom fics and Idk how to write them 😅

Professor Tom Riddle x f!reader

Warnings: strong language, toxic behaviour, manipulation, SMUT reader is a student in the beginning (still over 18!), reader becomes a little bit unhinged towards the middle (who wouldn't after meeting TR?) 18+MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Author's Note: Wow, this took me ages to post! I was having a break from this blog due to my exams, but I promise I will be more active from now on. Also, this is actually my first smut! (Idk how to write them either, so I do hope you like it.) I tried to build some plot into it, so it is not just filthy p*rn, haha. Thank you so much for your request! <3

There are moments that change your life. Moments when you realise you will never be the same and your whole existence is divided into two parts - before this, and after this.

For you, this moment was meeting Tom Riddle.

The memories of that rainy day when your gazes crossed for the first time continue to haunt your thoughts almost every second of your existence. And no matter how hard you try to forget, they become more and more vivid. Sometimes you wonder if you are actually reliving it or if it is just a fruit of your imagination.

The rain was so cold that day, that your whole body was shivering under your soaking clothes. You were running across the courtyard, trying to get inside as soon as possible. Both of your hands were clutching your bag on top of your head, trying to prevent the water from getting into your eyes. You were almost at the door when your body collided with someone, and you lost your balance falling into a muddy puddle.

You looked up, ready to give a piece of your mind to whoever made you end up like this, but your words got stuck in your throat the moment your gaze crossed his.

Eyes as dark as the night. Skin as pale as the moonlight. Hair falling in elegant curls on top of the most beautiful face you have ever seen. He silently offered you his hand, before he took off his jacket and wrap it around your trembling figure.

"Are you alright?", he asked. His voice was smooth like honey, yet deep. You couldn't do anything else other than slowly nod before your cheeks turned a light shade of red. He offered you a small smirk, before guiding you inside the castle. No words were exchanged between you after that.

Looking back, you are sure that this was the moment that changed your life.

You didn't know who he was at first. He looked so young, that it was natural to assume he was your age. You have not seen him before, so he must be a transfer student, just like you were a year ago. "He did not wear a robe, so he must not been sorted yet", you said to your friends later that day and they just shook their heads. No one has heard of any transferring students this year, yet here you were claiming you have seen in the flesh the man of your dreams.

And you were almost convinced you were dreaming a few days later when you found yourself sitting in the back of the class, while he was neatly writing his name on the black board.

Professor Riddle.

"As your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, I would like to establish a few ground rules right now", his voice was calm but dominant, "Always come prepared. I do not tolerate lazy students. No talking during class. No questions during lessons. If there is anything you do not understand, you can either conduct your own research in the library or visit one of my additional sessions every third Friday of the month."

Unlike you, the majority of the students have already heard of Tom and some even knew him personally, as he graduated just a few years ago. They carefully listened to all his rules, noting everything they should do to stay on his good side. No matter the house, the respect and fear felt towards Tom was felt by all students. You would lie if you said that this did not include you.

Yet in two weeks time during his first Friday session, you found yourself leaning over your notebook, while Tom was calmly explaining the lesson material to you. You were nodding your head, not paying even a little bit of attention to what he was saying. All you could focus on was the sound of his voice and the tingles that covered your whole body every time he lifted his eyes to your face, checking if were actually following.

"I am curious, miss, for the real purpose of your visit today", he said once you started packing your bag. You immediately froze in place, cold sweat forming on the back of your neck. Your trembling hands closed your bag before you turned to him with a tight-lipped smile.

"I am not sure I understand what you mean, professor."

He offered you a small smile, before grabbing his coat and briefcase and making his way towards you. Stopping just a step away from you, he lifted his hands toward your neck, making you gulp. You stood still, expecting him to wrap his hand around your throat, while his eyes burned into yours. His long fingers inched closer and closer to your skin, before wrapping around your tie and adjusting it so it could be centred.

"I am a patient and understanding man, miss", he said, his hand resting on the piece of cloth for a few more seconds, before moving away, "But I am no fool."

And you knew his words to be true. Because if there was a fool here, that was you. You knew it was wrong to pursue the foolish feelings that started to blossom in your chest. Despite the age difference being only a few years, falling for a professor was never a good idea. But how could you stop yourself when every time his eyes laid upon you there was a feeling of longing behind them? The small touches on your arms, every time he tried to explain to you the parts of the textbook you claimed "not to understand", the way his lips curved in a small smirk every time you volunteered to help during demonstrations in class, the way his gaze darkened that time he saw your friend's arms wrapped around your shoulders during dinner...

He may have thought he was subtle, but you knew there was some part of him that desired you as much as you did.

"What do you think of me, professor?", you asked one day, while sitting on the desk, arranging papers. As you were the only student who showed any interest in DADA sessions outside the scheduled classes, Tom moved the Friday meetings to his private office. They also started to happen every week, rather than once per month. And often, you were helping him with work, rather the other way around. "Why?", his gaze lifted from the papers he was grading, eyebrows furrowing in suspicion. He laid his pen down, crossing his arms in front of his chest and resting his body back on his chair. You sat next to him on a smaller wooden chair, but your hands did not stop arranging the graded exams, and neither did your focus move from them.

"I am...", you took a deep breath, thinking how to phrase your explanation, "Curious, I guess."

Tom watched you with interest, noting the way that your voice trembled in the beginning. Looking up at your face, his eyes trailed every single one of your features, before stopping at your lips.

"You are a good student", he finally said, his tone flat. Your shoulders immediately slumped and you let out a quiet "Oh.", your fingers now pressing the tower of papers on its sides to make sure it is stable. The silence between you grew longer as you tried your best to hide the disappointment you felt from his answer. Tom, on the other hand, was still staring at your face, trying to read your emotions based on your pursed lips and furrowed brows.

"All finished. I think it is better if I go", you finally said, unable to sit in his presence anymore. You stood up, ready to grab your bag from the floor, when cold fingers wrapped themselves around your wrist halting you in place. Tom stood up from his chair, moving behind you. Laying his free hand on the side of your waist, he leaned towards you, nose just a few inches from your hair. He took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet scent of your perfume, and let out a low groan.

"What I really think...", he murmured, the fingers on your waist digging into your flesh, "is not something I shall voice out loud. The thoughts that flood my mind every time I see you are too..."

Your breath hitched.

"Too?"

"Sinful", you felt his breath on the back of your ear and your body involuntarily shivered. Before you could think of an answer, his hands left your body and he took a step back. You turned around, eager to close the distance again, but were stopped by him grabbing your shoulder and gently pushing you away.

"Do not", he warned, "do not make this harder for both of us."

"But I-"

"I think it is best if you leave."

You gulped. And the first time your eyes did not cast down in shame - instead you held his gaze, your expression hardening.

"You cannot do this to me", your voice trembled, "Toying with my feelings , then pushing me away."

He raised his brow and his hand fell from your shoulder. You stood in place, not making any attempts to get closer.

"I did not do such thing", his voice sounded low and dark, his eyes suddenly turning colder, "In fact, I am telling you now... Whatever hope you hold in your heart about anything happening between us, you should kill it now."

"But you said-"

"I know what I said", he interrupted you impatiently, "And I mean it. But whatever affection I have towards you does not change the fact you are my student."

Your fingers wrapped around the edge of your skirt and you clenched your jaw, moving your gaze towards the door. The rational part of your brain was telling you to just grab your bag and dash through the door. The other part, the one led by your heart, was screaming at you to stay and confront him. It did not take you long to decide which one to listen to.

"Why does it matter?", you snapped, "I am an adult already. And you are only a few years older. It is not illegal or anything!"

Tom let out an annoyed sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, before running his fingers through his dark curls. He turned around and walked around the desk, before slamming his hands on the hard surface.

"Merlin, you just do not understand!", his voice was full with irritation, "I can not lose my job. I can not lose everything I have worked for!"

"We can hide it", you protested, gluing yourself to his side and gripping his bicep, "Only for a few months! Only till I graduate!"

The man tore your hands away from his arm, cupping them in his palms instead. He tilted his head, searching your eyes, which were now starting to form tears of stress and frustration.

His face suddenly relaxed. The air between you felt lighter and a new spark of hope started to burn inside of you. His finger made its way to your cheek and wiped one of the tears that started to trail down your skin.

"Is it not curious, how weak love makes a man?", his finger trailed down to your jaw, before cupping it, "And no spell in this world is strong enough to save a man that has already fallen."

Your head instinctively leaned towards his hand and you closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling of warmth of his skin on yours. If you could only freeze time, you would stay in this moment forever.

"I don't want to be saved", you murmured and despite not being able to see him, you could feel the small smile that grazed his lips once you said it. You freed your hands from his and wrapped them around his torso, burying your head in his chest. It took a few seconds for him to embrace your body, resting his chin on the top of your head.

And if you could only see the satisfied smirk and cold gaze on Tom's face, you would have known how true his words are. There is no spell in this world that could save you not that you have already fallen...

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You can't say exactly when the dream had turned into a nightmare.

Private sessions became everyday afternoon meetings, where you talked about different random topics. Tom never opened up about his past, even his Hogwarts years. On the other hand, he was a good listener and without you realising it, he managed to unravel your whole family history just within a week.

His silent nature did not bother you, however. You finally had someone who listened to you. You slowly started to detach from your friends, excusing your unnatural behaviour on all the extra academic work you were taking. They were worried, but every time they tried to voice their concerns, you rolled your eyes, before running to Tom to tell him about their words. "They are just jealous of you, my dear, " he would always chuckle, gently stroking your cheek, "because you found what they would keep searching for a long, long time."

Soon, he was the only person you really trusted. And he claimed he felt the same.

This is why he couldn't ask anyone else to sneak into the Headmaster's office and get the little leather diary in one of his desk drawers. This is also why you had to find a way to get the books he was interested in from the restricted section without getting caught. This is also why you had to lure the naive fifth-year Hufflepuff into the Chamber of Secrets and leave her there.

There was simply no one else whom he trusted to do these tasks. And you gladly completed each of his requests without question, doing everything in your power to keep him happy.

But soon this was not enough. And once you graduated all the promises he made to you broke into thousand little pieces, which were discarded into thin air.

"I don't need you anymore", his cold voice said, his eyes glued to the papers in front of him, "You can leave. Make sure you close the door."

Without sparing you even a glance, he grabbed the pile of papers and left for class, leaving you to gather your thoughts and pieces of your heart by yourself.

What did you do wrong? Why did he change so suddenly? Was it all a lie?

These questions continued to poison your mind for the next few years, while you tried to rebuild yourself. You did not realise how dependent you were on him, till you were left on your own. The weight of all the unsaid feelings within you was forcing you onto your knees, making you unable to get up and continue with your life.

And this is how two years after your graduation you found your way back to Hogwarts. The place where it all began...

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The wooden clock on the wall was ticking dangerously close to midnight when Tom finally got to his office. The teacher's gathering has been prolonged unnecessarily due to Dumbledore's ramblings and him finding problems where there are none. The amount of control the young professor has exercised to endure this long meeting has left him completely drained of energy, but he knew he still had to do some research about the Founders' Relics. After so many years he was finally getting close to achieving his goal and he was ready to sacrifice as many nights of sleep as necessary.

He knew something was not right the moment he opened the door. The lights were still off and everything seemed to be in the exact place he left it... but there was just the faintest sound of someone breathing which made him immediately reach for his wand.

"Ah, look who finally came", your giggle reached his ears before he saw you turning on his chair, fingers moving towards the small lamp on his desk, "Terribly rude of you to make me wait this long."

Tom's lips pressed into a thin line and his grip around his wand tightened. He traced his eyes over the visible parts of your body, noting the little changes that had occurred since he last saw you.

Your hair, which was usually neatly combed and put in a bun, was now in a messy braid, the front pieces framing your face. Your lips, which usually curved in a shy smile, were now forming an arrogant, almost sinister smirk. Your eyes, which have always looked up to him full of admiration, were now staring down at him with a glint of insanity.

"Get out", he commanded, striding towards you with his wand pointed towards your head.

Your raised your eyebrows and your mouth shaped an "o" in a mock horror, before you reached for your own wand, pointing it back at him.

"Now that is not a way to welcome your ex-lover, is it?", your eyes squint.

Tom scoffed at your words, stopping at the edge of his desk, before his expression hardened.

"You were never my lover", he stated, his head tilting to the side, "And I thought I was extremely clear when I said last time I saw you that you are not welcome here."

You hummed, eyes moving to the ceiling. Still holding your wand towards him, you relaxed further into his chair, lifting your legs onto his desk. With a curious gaze, you followed the stone patterns of the walls around the room, while scrunching your face in disgust.

"3 years, Tom", you finally said, landing your attention back on him, "3 years you have been here and your office is as bland as it was when you first came here. It brings my mood down, you know? It's so grey!"

"You can leave then", Tom hissed through his teeth, making a few more steps till he stayed right in front of you. The tip of his wand rested under your chin and he pulled it upwards, making you look up, "I am giving you exactly a minute to leave, before I take your life."

A loud giggle left your lips and you pressed your neck further into his wand.

"How generous!"

"45 seconds."

You gently put your own wand back into your pocket, not moving your eyes from his. Tilting your head, your mouth formed a wide smile.

"Okay."

His brows shot in confusion, his jaw clenching. You could see his on the wand became tighter, his knuckles almost white.

"Okay?"

"Do it", you shrug your shoulders, "My ghost will be eager to see how are you going to explain why your new assistant went missing after coming to your office to drop a list of all the students that are going to be in your... our class this year."

Before you know it, his free hand flew to your face and gripped your face. His fingers dig into your jaw, lifting it dangerously close to his face.

"My assistant?", he let out a dry chuckle, "Good try, dear. And a terrible way to waste that minute I gave you."

With lips already starting to form the words of the deadliest spell, his fingers dug deeper into your face, before his eyes landed on the sparkling object in your palms. The unforgivable words quickly died in his throat and he withdrew his wand, stumbling back. Eyes full of anger met yours, who in contrast were sparkling with playfulness.

"How did you get that?", he demanded, reaching towards the object, but you pulled it back, before laying it on your head. Putting your elbows on his desk, you fluttered your eyelashes, smiling brightly.

"Do you think it suits me?"

"Stop playing around."

"You are such a bore", you rolled your eyes, "I went on a holiday to Albania. And I found this gorgeous, gorgeous diadem, which turned out to be Rowena Ravenclaw's. What are the chances?"

Tom seemed unamused by your story, instead twitching his jaw. His eyes stayed glued to the diadem on your head, the reflection of the sapphire on it sparkling in his cold eyes.

"How did you know where it was?", his gaze moved towards you, his hand putting his wand back in his coat. His tall form moved towards you again, this time taking a seat on the empty surface of the desk in front of you. With a smile, you took the diadem out of your head, twirling it between your fingers.

"You don't think you were the only one who managed to charm the famous Helena Ravenclaw, do you?", you raised your eyebrow, moving your tongue across your top lip, "You underestimate the power of women's empathy and love for gossip, Tom."

He let out an airy laugh, running a hand through his thick curls. After two years, he hasn't changed anything about his appearance. His face, his haircut, and even the suits he wore were the exact same ones he already wore when you were a student. You would lie if you said you didn't enjoy it - that meant that the Tom you loved was still somewhere inside of him. Your Tom.

"I'm impressed", he finally said, moving his hands towards his knee and locking his fingers around it. His face dropped into a serious expression once again, "Give it to me."

You tilted your head, pursing your lips. Your eyes moved to the diadem, before landing back on him.

"Oh, I can't do that, Tom", you rested your palm on your chest, looking up at him with doe eyes, "He would be very disappointed if I don't bring it back to him."

Tom took a deep breath, his upper lip twitching.

"He?", he pressed his tongue to the side of his cheek, "Who is "he"?"

You twirled in his chair, pressing the diadem closer to your chest.

"My Lord, of course", you let out a giggle, resting your cheek on your shoulder and closing your eyes. You still managed to see the way Tom's body tensed, however.

"He sent his regards to you", you smiled, standing up, "If you hadn't left me that day, he wouldn't have met me and subsequently learned all about making horcruxes."

The man's eyes immediately darkened and his hand flew towards your wrist, stilling you in place.

"Name."

"Huh?"

"Tell me his name", Tom hissed, his nostrils flaring. You stepped closer to him, noses almost brushing.

"And why would I do that?", you raised your brows, your voice turning into a mocking laugh, "Do you think I would betray him... for you?"

The sudden feeling of his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you forward made you almost lose your balance and you grabbed his shoulder in reflex to keep you from falling on top of him. Nesting his head in the curve between your neck and shoulder, Tom pressed his lips next to your ear before muttering:

"You, my dear, are a liar", his teeth grazed the end of your earlobe, "And a very bad one."

Your whole body froze and you tried to push yourself away from him, but his arms were holding you firmly in place. Suddenly all the confidence you have displayed in his presence so far melted under the warmth of his touch, and you were left only with the hope you could still lie your way out of this situation.

"I am not lying", you protested with a quickening breath.

Tom lifted his head from your shoulder and rested his forehead on yours instead. His eyes stared deep into your own and his warm breath on your face made your whole body involuntarily tremble.

"I have already told you I am not a fool", one of his hands slid from your waist towards your arm and then hand, where you were still clutching the diadem. His fingers wrapped around it and pulled it out of your grasp with ease. Without looking at it, he placed it on the desk behind his back, before his hand found its way to the top of your head.

"I know you better than you know yourself, my dear", he muttered, his hand gently stroking your hair, "And I know there is no room in your heart for anyone but me. You would not be here otherwise."

He pulled back enough to be able to take a better look at your face. His gaze fell from your half-lidded eyes to your parted lips.

"You are mine. Always were, always will be."

A loud whine escaped your throat before it was swallowed by Tom's mouth on yours. His plump lips were chapped, a result of hours of his teeth sinking into them, trying to hold back all the snarky remarks he had for his fellow colleagues. The rough feeling made your knees buckle and you closed your eyes, relaxing fully in his arms.

Without breaking the kiss, he turned you around and with a swift move of his hand, pushed the diadem and a few books out of the way, before laying you on the cold surface. Your hands found their way into his hair, tugging the soft curls.

A low growl left his lips and he lifted his lips from yours, a trail of saliva connecting them, before it was broken by his fingers cupping your chin.

"This is what you wanted, is it not?", his voice was suddenly deeper and darker, "For me to take you on the same desk I once you graded you."

His words made a loud moan to escape you and your back arched up, seeking nothing more than to be close to him. With a low chuckle, he pressed his palm between your breasts, pushing you flat on the furniture beneath you. You opened your mouth to complain but were quickly silenced once he pushed his index and middle fingers in your mouth, almost making you choke. Fixating your gaze on his, you closed your lips around them and started to suck, making sure to flatten your tongue in the process.

The image before your eyes was something you had dreamt of countless times before - Tom, with his messy curls and parted lips, panting while the fingers of his free hand were skilfully unbuttoning his vest. You did not waste any time in helping him, focusing on shakingly unbuttoning his belt.

"So impatient", he clicked his tongue, withdrawing his fingers from your mouth, so could remove his shirt. Once his torso was in full view, you did not hesitate even a second before you lifted yourself in a sitting position and attached your lips to his neck. Nibbling and sucking the smooth skin, you started to nibble and suck your way down to his chest. His head fell back and he closed his eyes, his muscles relaxing under you.

Tom Riddle may not be a man who was capable of love, but he was a man after all. And it would be a lie to say he has never thought of you in a more... erotic way. You have always been so obedient and good, doing everything for him without any hesitation. He has always found that incredibly attractive, but not enough for him to act on his desires.

Now, however, the sight of you has ignited some primal urges within him that he never felt before. Maybe it was the few drinks he had consumed prior at the gathering or maybe it was the idea of the the crazy lengths you were willing to go in order to get back to him...

Tom Riddle would probably never know the reason for him giving up control for the first time in his life. To you, nonetheless.

His mind came back to reality when he felt you pushing him on his chair and nestling yourself between his legs. Looking up at him, you tugged his pants and boxers down, letting his erection free. You let your index finger gently caress the length of it, making it twitch. A small giggle left your lips before you repeated the gesture.

"Stop teasing me", the man groaned, and his palm rested behind your head in order to push you towards his member, but you swiftly moved to the side dodging it. You squinted your eyes, moving your hands to his thighs and digging your nails into them.

"You", the word was hissed through your teeth, "are in no position to order me around."

Tom scoffed and was about to argue when your mouth unexpectedly wrapped around the head of his penis, twirling your tongue around it. He let out a choked gasp and he tried to put his hand on your head again before you smacked it away. Swallowing his pride, he rested both of his arms on the side of his chair, bucking his hip forward.

Carefully watching his reaction you wrapped your hand around him, slowly moving it down and back up again, following the movement of your mouth. The feeling of him filling your mouth was causing some saliva to start dripping your chin, but rather than pulling away, you pushed him further into your mouth till your nose was buried in his dark pubic hair. The feeling of his swollen head hitting the back of your throat made you gag, causing Tom to groan in pleasure.

"Fuck this", he muttered, before grabbing you by your hair and pulling your head up, before pressing it down again. His hips buckled in harmony with your head, making sure you were taking all of him. His dick was now coated in your saliva, making it glisten in the dim light. You closed your eyes, the lack of oxygen making them sting. The rapid pace with which he was moving was making it hard for you to breathe through your nose and you tried giving him a warning slap on his leg, which he purposefully ignored. Instead, he moved his other hand towards your chin and held your head still, while he continued to thrust his hips up and down. Sloppy wet noises filled his office, being interrupted only by his heavy breathing.

Your thighs clenched together in a weak attempt to relieve the burning ache between your legs. The way he was using your mouth to satisfy himself was making your underwear damp, yet you knew better than to touch yourself yet. After so many sleepless nights during which you tried to relieve yourself, imagining how would it feel to taste him, you wanted to focus all your attention only on him.

Feeling he was close, Tom finally pulled your head back and examined your face. Both saliva and tears were smeared all over your chin and your cheeks were flushed in rosy colour.

"What a pretty sight you are, my dear", he smiles, wiping some of it with his thumb. You licked your lips, getting up on your feet.

"And you are such a smooth talker", your face leaner just inches from his, "I wonder if you are as good with the action as you are with words."

Taking this as a challenge, he stood up and pushed you back onto the desk, before lifting your skirt. His fingers hooked under the elastic bands of your panties and with one tug they snapped, leaving you completely exposed in front of him.

Tom gulped, burning the image of your waiting arousal into his mind. His fingers made their way towards your slit, gathering the wetness before easily sliding his middle finger in. You moaned at the contact, fluttering your eyes closed. He pumped his fingers a few times, his eyes carefully observing your facial expression before he slid it out. You whined at the loss of contact, opening your eyelids only to find him smirking down at you.

"Do you really think you deserve me wasting time on your pleasure?"

"Fuck you!", you snapped, resulting in him grabbing your neck and squeezing so hard, an airy cough left your lips.

"Such a dirty mouth", he lifted your face up, his jaw clenching, "but such a weak mind. Look at the pathetic mess you are..."

Your lips parted to offer a snarky response, but your mind quickly went blank the moment he slid fully into you. Arching your back, your hands found their way around his shoulders, while his rested on both sides of your head.

Tom did not waste any time in developing a quick pace, which made you roll your eyes back. With each thrust the head of his cock was brushing against your cervix, making your whole vision white. His left hand moved towards one of your breasts, pinching and twisting the oversensitive nipple between his fingers. His other hand made his way to your pussy, where his thumb started to draw sloppy circles over your clit.

Never in your life have you felt such pleasure in your life. Of course, you had previous lovers during the past two years while trying to get Tom out of your mind, but nothing compared to this. Curling your toes, you lifted both of your legs and rested them on his shoulder.

Both of you groaned in unison when you felt him going even deeper than before. His upper body collapsed on top of yours, his lips immediately latching onto your other nipple. Still gripping his shoulders, you dragged your nails down his back, leaving angry red marks behind.

The knot in your stomach started to tighten and your moans became louder and louder. Moving your hips so you can meet Tom's thrusts, you looked at his face, only to find him staring back with eyes clouded with desire. His fingers were now working faster on your sensitive bud and you let out a shaky breath: "Tom, I...", you could not finish your sentence, your vocabulary suddenly consisting only of his name.

"Shhh", he whispered, his hand moving from your breast to your cheek. He gently stroked it with his thumb and suddenly you saw in front of you the same Tom that charmed you years ago, "I've got you."

His words were enough to cause the knot to snap and your whole body went rigid, squeezing and pulsating around him. A few harsh trusts and Tom suddenly tensed on top of you, as he painted your insides white. You both held onto each other, fingers digging into soft flesh, as you melted into your shared euphoria.

It was not romantic.

It was primal. Rough. Dirty.

It was everything you have imagined.

Finally relaxing on top of you, Tom buried his head in your shoulder, trying his best to calm his breathing down. You laid under him, crushed under his weight, yet enjoying every second of the contact he allowed you to have.

Against your better judgment, you lifted your hand and started to gently stroke his hair. Against his better judgment, he allowed you to and closed his eyes in the process.

Tired from the long day and your office activity, Tom lifted you in his arms, his now soft member slipping out of you and he sat back on his chair, adjusting the backrest so you can both take a more comfortable position.

You lifted yourself from his chest and raised your eyebrow, but bit back your tongue the moment your gaze crossed his stern one, warning you not to voice whatever you had in your mind. Letting out a small chuckle, you shook your head and laid it back down on his skin.

There was an urge burning inside of you to mock him about showing gentleness, but deep down you knew this was your only chance to enjoy it. So you closed your eyes and relaxed, finally being able to fall asleep without the haunting dreams of what could've been.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sunlight was painting the whole room in a beautiful gold colour and Tom let out a low groan when he felt it hitting his face. His hand made its way over his eyes, shielding them from the light, while his mind slowly started to become aware of his surroundings. The uncomfortable chair was making all of his muscles ache and he immediately regretted not gathering the energy last night to make his way back to his room. The chill air coming from the window has not helped too, especially when we was only partly covered and-

Tom's eyes shot open looking down at his body and finding his suit jacket thrown over his waist and private parts. You, however, were not to be found. Not on top of him, not on the desk, nowhere in the room.

He immediately stood up, grabbing his pants from the floor and furiously putting them on, while breathing heavily. His gaze fell on the stack of books he pushed from his desk last night and he immediately fell on his knees, scanning the floor around him.

"No, no, no", he hissed under his breath, pushing his hair out of his eyes, "That little serpent!"

Not only you have left, but you also have taken the diadem with you. No matter how much he searched for it, it was definitely not here.

You tricked him.

Getting up back to his feet, Tom kicked one of the books on the floor, before slamming his hands on his desk. His breathing was hard and he could feel his blood boiling in his veins. Suddenly, his attention was caught by a small parchment of paper placed next to his quill. Unfolding it, he could have sworn his heart stopped for a second.

"My dear Tom,

Thank you for our wonderful night together. I did not want to leave you so early, but I had to be out of the castle before everyone else woke up. To be truthful with you, I am not going to be your new assistant. But your already knew that, so I guess it is not shocking news. I sneaked it yesterday when all of the teachers were having a party (or what you call a gathering, ha!). Neither do I have a new lord. You already knew that as well.

Do not stress about the diadem, as it is safe with me - if there is one thing I learned from you is that I need to take good care of horcruxes once they are made. I know it was probably foolish of me to bring it to you last night, as it does hold a part of my soul, but I promise that from now on I will take better care of it.

Without doubt your paths shall cross again. Remember Tom: You are mine. Always were, always will be.

Love, y/n

P.S. - I hope you do not mind that I helped myself by getting your keys from your jacket and getting a shower in your room. Also, I think you need to follow your own advice and start putting your objects away. I found your diary resting on your bedside table, so I had to take it with me. Do not worry - I promise I will keep it safe...

for now."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

CC artwork: Nasan Hardcastle

[worstghost]

can I request scott summers headcanons, i feel like he melts/ gets turned on by respect. Like dear god the amount of disrespect he gets on a daily basis is crazy, so to have someone who genuinely respects him

i love scott summers , this is a mix of the movie and x men 97 scott so bear with me, I got carried away lol. also I'm sorry this is a drabble and not headcanons 🙃 I got too into it.

scott summers/reader

You're new, having been pulled in last second for this specific mission. Everyone's a little apprehensive, keeping their distance while Scott briefs you.

"So you'll be waiting here, your ability to detect heat signatures at such a distance gives us an advantage. Just report to me if anything comes up?"

You're looking around the ship, interested, you'd never been invited to one of these but you were excited to help.

"Sounds good to me." You smile at him, taking your seat.

This gives Scott some pause, eyebrows drawing for the smallest moment. No argument, no telling him your two cents and making it a fight?

You can sense his hesitation and laugh, "You're the leader right? I'm fine here, I trust that you know what you're doing." By this point you've looked away, peeling at the leather cushion on the arm rest.

That's what does it for him, his heart leaps out of his chest trying to reach you and he has to turn away to hide the flush of his cheeks.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

The next time is when you're teaching a class. You're unlucky enough to have a troublesome batch of preteens, on the edge of learning how to question everything and everyone. You let them of course, it's part of growing up to have attitude, but you don't let it get too far.

Scott comes in to watch you teach one day, it's an interesting subject on the history of art influenced by war against mutants. He's enamored while you show the pieces, cringing every time one of the kids interrupts you by talking to a friend or snapping their gum or sighing so loud everyone turns around to look.

Finally, you pause, setting the pen you were pointing with down on your desk.

"Alright, I think we're done for now and we're going to do silent reading." Groans echo around the room. "No, listen to me. Mr. Summers came in here to listen to the lesson and see how good of students you are, and you have been so rude. Please apologize and pull out your books."

He's shocked, shrugging off the chorus of 'Ugh sorrys' and 'whatevers'. You take command so well, demand respect not only for yourself but for others. If he wasn't in love before, this solidified it.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

He loves to hear it in the bedroom too. Loves the way you trust and listen to him when he asks you to do something new. Very encouraging.

Loves to hear you say "Yes, sir." It just gets him every time, he melts.

Scott also loves when you take control. The feeling of someone taking care of him. He stresses so much about the team, it's a relief when you just lay him down on the bed and climb on top.

Praise praise praise. Wants to hear how good he makes you feel, when he moves his hips just right and pushes in even deeper. The more you talk, the harder he thrusts.

You'll hold on to his shoulders, grinding down, whimpering and throwing your head back like a pornstar and he just can't get enough.

"You feel so good, Scott, I love it-" interrupted by a gasp at the way he licks down your neck.

He'll smile against your chest, "Talk to me, baby. Keep going." It drives him crazy, loves to hear you breathless, trying to tell him how amazing his dick is but you can't stop moaning.

He would never tell you to be quiet- this is the one place he feels truly appreciated and he wants everyone to hear it.

[therobotmonster]

Please don’t use midjourney it steals art from pretty much every artist out there without any compensation. I didn’t know this at first and tried it but then during the creation process i saw water marks and Getty image logos (though I’m sure they’ve hidden that now) so it’s definitely stealing.

No, it isn't. And you've taken the wrong lesson from the Getty watermark issue.

AI training on public facing, published work is fair use. Any published piece could be located, examined, and learned from by a human artist. This does not require the permission of the owner of said work. A mechanical apparatus does not change this principle.

All we, as artists, own, are specific expressions. We do not own styles, ideas, concepts, plots, or tropes. We do not even own the work we create in a proper sense. All our work flows from the commons, and all of it flows back to it. IP is a limited patent on specific expressions, and what constitutes infringement is the end result of the creative process. What goes into it is irrelevant, and upending that process to put inspiration and reference as infringement is the end of art as we know it.

The Getty watermark issue is an example of overfitting, wherein a repetitive element in the dataset over-emphasizes specific features to the point of disrupting the system's attempts at the creation of novel images.

No one denies that the SD dataset is trained on images Getty claims to own, but Getty has so polluted the image search functions of the internet with their watermarked images that the idea of a getty watermark has been picked up the same way the AI might pick up the idea of an eye or a tree branch. It is a systemic failure that Shutterstock and Getty can be so monopolistic and ubiquitous that a dateset trained on literally everything public facing on the internet would be polluted with their watermarks.

Watermarks that, by the way, they add to public domain images, and that google prioritizes over clean versions.

The lawsuits being brought against Midjourney and Stable Diffusion are copyright overreach being presented as a theft tissue. The facts of the matter are not as the litigants state. The images aren't stored, the SD weights are a 4 gig file trained on 250 terabytes, roughly 4 bytes per image. It runs local, does not reach out to image sources over IP. All you've got are mathematical patterns and ratios. I would go so far as to say that the class action suit is based on outright lies.

But for a moment, let's entertain the idea that what goes into a work, as inspiration, can be copyrighted. That styles can be stolen. That what goes in defines infringement, rather than what comes out. What happens then?

Well, the bad news is that if Stable Diffusion and Midjourney were shut down tomorrow, Stable Diffusion is in the wild. It runs local, it's user-trainable. In short, the genie isn't going back in the bottle. Plus, the way diffusion AI works, there's no way to trace a gen to its sources. The weights don't work like that. The indexing would be larger than the entire set of stored patterns.

Well good news, there's an AI for that. The current version is called CLIP Interrogator And it works on everything. Not just AI generated, but any image. It can find what style it closely matches, reverse engineer a prompt. It's crude now, but it will improve.

Now, you've already established that using the same patterns as another work is infringement. You've already established that inspiration is theft. And now there's a robot that tells lawyers who you draw like.

Sure, you can fight it in court. If it goes go to court. But who's to say they won't just staplegun that AI to a monetization re-direction bot like youtube has going with their content ID? Awesome T-shirt design you uploaded to your print-on-demand shop... too bad your art style resembles that from a cartoon from 1973 that Universal got as part of an acquisition and they've claimed all your cash. Sure you can file a DMCA counter-notice, but we all know how that goes.

And then there's this fantasy that upending the system would help artists. But who would "own" that style? Is that piece stealing the style of Stephen Silver, or Disney's Kim Possible(TM)? When you work for Disney their contracts say everything you make is theirs. Every doodle. Every drawing. If the styles are copyrightable, a company could hire an artist straight out of school, publish their work under work-for-hire, fire them, and then go after them for "stealing" the style they developed while working for said corp.

Not to mention that a handful of companies own so much media that it is going to be impossible to find an artist that hasn't been influenced by something under their control.

Oh, and that stock of source images that companies like Disney and Universal have? These kinds of lawsuits won't stop them from building AIs with that material that they "own". The power goes into corp hands, they can down staff to their heart's content and everyone else is denied the ability to compete with them. Worst of all possible worlds.

Be careful what wishes you make when holding the copyright monkey's paw.

[amymbona]

Being involved with Tashi, Patrick and Art - headcanons

It was really difficult to put this together without revealing my deepest secrets and ideas, just in case I finally write a full fanfiction one day 😔 Also... Is my Patrick bias showing?

At first, you are nothing but an ordinary girl at Stanford, having no involvement with tennis whatsoever. You find your way towards the sport though, or rather the people playing it, as you're a kind soul who offers tutoring lessons and writes articles in the school newspaper.

The first person to notice you is Art - the social butterfly himself - as the two of you share some classes, and he recognizes you on the court one day. You surprise him, though, by slipping right past him and running straight towards Tashi.

The moment she first sees you, all thoughts about tennis and school and Patrick evaporate from her brain. Suddenly, her mind is full of you. You're hers and she's yours.

It's such an unbelievable thing for Tashi to do, become almost obsessed with somebody, to the extent that she counts days until the new number of the newspaper comes out and she can read the interview you did with her. Even Art notices and he finds it quite silly, considering the odd dynamic that Tashi and Patrick's relationship has. And it's no secret he has a crush on both of you.

Pretty soon, you become Tashi and Art's thing - their friend that they both desire, while desiring other people as well - they make sure you're sitting at the bleachers for every match and show off in front of you. And you adore them deeply, finding them to be the best tennis players at Stanford.

They introduce you to Patrick, someone so similar and yet entirely different to them. The guy scoops you up like a tsunami, offers you your first ever cigarette and treats you as if you two have grown up together. Whatever Art and Tashi like, he likes as well.

The four of you finally get closer over multiple shared cans of beer - something nostalgic, a deja vu for the three that they don't tell you about - and all three of them ask to kiss you. You let them, of course.

Somehow, all three of them want you, need you so badly, all while still wanting one another. You become some sort of a glue which keeps them together - even though they were functioning almost perfectly before you showed up - and none of them notice the showing cracks which you failed to glue up.

Some time passes, you become Tashi's best of friends, her safe space and the only person she's willing to display her vulnerability in front of. The effect you have on her is unreal, she's genuinely at her best, healthy, taking care of herself, and all of that just because of you.

Patrick visits more often as well. Both him and Tashi seem to fight for your attention, so it's natural neither of them really minds, considering they are almost actively trying to cheat on each other with you. But you love both of them, plus Art, too equally and too much to nice any different in their behaviour. If anything, you're just happy that you found yourself in such a lovely group of friends.

You're with Art, both of you waiting for Patrick, when Tashi's injury happens. You clutches your hand like you're her guardian angel in the infirmary, begging you not to leave her, just don't leave her alone. When Patrick runs in, trying to talk to Tashi, you're lost, completely. And when Art kicks his best friend out - for reasons totally unknown to you - you're baffled. What is going on? Eager to get an answer, you run after Patrick, abandoning Tashi.

After that, crumbles into pieces. Patrick wouldn't talk to you, suddenly seeing Art and Tashi's influence in yourself and he can't stand that, because you were their first. And even if you choose to go after him, he knows he can't have you. Nor can he have Tashi and Art.

Tashi is devastated, she feels hurt and betrayed, even though you have visited multiple times at the hospital and brought her fruit and fresh clothes. Art spends most of his time by her side, and somehow, he's excused from school to provide her much needed support. She doesn't want you there.

Few months later, Tashi has completely erased you from her life - almost unwillingly, and despite your attempts to reach out and offer her your support - and leaves Stanford after some time. So the only one of the three who you remain in contact with is Art. His presence feels like a ghost's, he only reveals that he hasn't talked to Patrick once since that day and that Tashi is healing. Physically. But it's clear that mentally, she is completely devastated.

You graduate from Stanford by yourself, leaving everything behind the gates of the school, and get employed in an editorial office. It proves to be difficult to completely forget about the boys, since they are both very much active and have pursued tennis. And just to your luck, you've been promoted to a sports journalist.

Due to your profession, you're one of the first people in the world to discover that Tashi Duncan has married Art Donaldson and she's now his coach. It's like a punch in the gut when you are the one to interview the player at the US open in 2012 - many years after the whole Stanford drama.

He answers all your questions, his voice as soft as you remember it, and he tells you how pretty you look after you turn off the voice recording. You only thank him simply, and leave the place as quickly as possible, slipping right past Tashi without sparing her a glance.

About a year later, you run into Patrick - it's the most random of encounters - but the two of you just bump into each other at some random match where he's playing. And you learn that he is completely miserable, having slipped down from the peak of his career and still playing mainly to keep himself living at a decent level. He tells you he hasn't spoken to Art nor Tashi in years.

Few words in, few tears later the two of you end up drunk - completely fucking wasted, actually - and move it to the closest hotel room. Another night follows and then Patrick invites you for an actual date. That day, you discover a completely new person, a Patrick you never knew could actually exist under all that bravado.

One reckless decision follows another and you accept the silver ring that Patrick slips on your finger. The proposal is fairly romantic but simple and spontaneous at the same time, a pretty sunset in the background to make it look like a fairytale.

As Patrick's fiancée and later a wife - and as a journalist as well - you accompany Patrick to some matches. Yes, he has managed to crawl a bit higher again, having found much needed motivation in your presence and kindness. Just like you used to be an angel to Tashi, now you're one to him. Speaking of Tashi, it's inevitable, meeting her and her husband again.

It appears like a shot from a movie - hand in hand with Patrick, you stand in front of Tashi, who's hair is now a lot shorter, and not so cheery looking Art. All four of you are pretty unsure who to look at first. Luckily, Art is not here to play, but the two have been offered tickets to promote the Donaldson brand. You know the business, make a public appearance every now and then so the world knows they're still relevant.

While you hop away for a quick bathroom break in between the matches, unfortunately, Tashi is there as well. She pulls you into an empty stall and says that both her and Art miss you deeply. She doesn't say a word about Patrick. And she mentions her daughter - Lily - you know about the girl, her baby photos were all over Twitter. Then she kisses you and leaves.

Your and Patrick's relationship is odd, to say at least. It's not like he doesn't love you - god forbid that he feels anything other than deep affection towards you! - but there are just certain gaps. Despite finding nothing but unconditional support from you, Patrick is still unable to open up fully, to accept the loss of his two past loves, even though he has you now.

It's hard to talk about family life when the two of you are at it, and while you wish for a baby so deeply, Patrick can't really give that to you. And that pains him. Because Patrick wants nothing more than for you to be happy in life, but he is too afraid of having such a responsibility over somebody else. He can hardly take care or himself, how would he possibly take care of a baby?

And that's the reason why the two of you eventually divorce towards the end of the year 2017, because you needed something Patrick could never give you. And you wanted it, wanted it more than him. However, you never find another partner to conceive with, you can't bring yourself to fall for somebody else, not after the loss of Art, Tashi and Patrick.

Two years later, you're invited as one of the journalist to the challenger match in New York, completely unaware of the things that are about to happen. When you're getting all set in the hotel, a pretty lady named Helen, who's taking care of your check-in waves at somebody behind you. And that somebody, shows to be Patrick. You run away.

And just around the corner, you collide with Tashi. Ever so gorgeous, she offers you one of her smiles, a tired, appreciative one. There is no mention of the kiss exchanged few years ago. The only thing she says is that Art would love to see you. You tell her you still have the same phone number.

In the evening, as you're getting ready to go to bed, he messages you, asking to see you. A bit late for him, as you know he always used to go to bed early, insisting to live a healthy life. You know you really shouldn't, considering the three shouldn't be allowed a way into your life, but you let him come to your hotel room.

There, he crumbles in your arms wordlessly and lets you stroke his hair. You can sense there's something hidden behind his silence, something he'd like to speak about, but is too ashamed to say out loud. Later, he tells you he's retiring at the end of the season. While the two of you lay there in the dark, you stay unaware of Tashi's current meeting with Patrick. Art, he knows damn well.

The following day, everything is at the stake. You are at the stake, but you don't even know that. Stood on the very opposite of Tashi, where she is sat at the bleachers, staring at you through her sunglasses like the picture of guilt and repentance, as stiff as you don't know her.

You keep your eyes on all three of them, failing to note a single detail, to snap a single picture. Nothing. You only only stand there, glued to your spot behind the umpire's chair, watching Patrick and Art battle on the court. It's clear they're fighting for much more than a simple victory.

Art is doing his best but it's clear he's nowhere near as good as Patrick, and he seems to have almost resignated too, while Patrick remains smug and confident. Although his smirk falls every so often especially at those moments when he locks eyes with you. Then, he looks almost remorseful.

At one moment, Patrick takes a while to serve, rolling the green ball between his fingers and then holding it over the empty triangle of his racket. When he fires, Art doesn't budge at all. In front of you, Tashi is awkwardly fidgeting in her seat, her expression hard to read. Now, she seems to be avoiding your gaze.

The match turns into something harsher, fueled by something that's hard to describe, with both of the boys playing like their lives are on the line. Both of them keep gazing at Tashi, while she's trying to escape their eyes. It's messy, it's weird and you don't like it a bit. But then, all three of them turn to look at you. You're still there, watching them play. You haven't left. You never left.

The balls keeps flying left to right, grunts filling your ears, until the boys get so close to the net that it concerns you. At one final moment, the boys collide, hugging over the net separating the two of them like two good friends who haven't seen each other in years. Tashi jumps up, cheering, and you do as well, applauding them with a smile.

[thicc-ray-of-sunshine]

'Cypripedioideae'

-A practical lesson in botany

You tag along with Ford in search of an elusive bit of flora and find yourself in a sticky situation as nature takes you both for the ride of your life.

(it's the obligatory sex pollen fic) inspired specifically by this post from @chunkitakii

You were tired. The arches of your feet had started to ache, making the continuation of your hike rather uncomfortable. If you had known this would have turned into an an all day thing you would have at least worn your comfier boots. You stretched out your legs a little on your next step forward, trying to shake the strain from your poor ankles as you walked.

“Are you quite alright Darling?”

Observant as ever; Ford almost immediately caught on to your discomfort, brows knitting together in concern. You flashed a small smile his way and squeezed his right hand in gratitude.

“Yeah. Just a little tired, my feet are starting to hurt. Wish I wore my other boots.”

A small pout appeared on your face at the mention of your footwear that caused a soft chuckle to escape from Ford's lips.

“Yes they would have been more appropriate. Although I had not expected our outing to take this long so the fault is mine.”

His tone was measured and his apology sincere as he offered his hand back to yours to hold. You graciously accepted, bouncing up on your toes to peck his cheek affectionately. You could see the faint pink hue that rose to the apples of his cheeks and tickled the tips of his ears as he interlaced his fingers with yours. He really was too easy to fluster despite being so unruffled elsewhere.

His pace slowed substantially so he could comfortably walk with you. It was not completely uncommon for him to always be slightly ahead of you, his long legs making his strides a fair bit wider than your own. Typically though he liked to be next to you like he was now, being able to see you put his mind at ease when you were out in the woods like this. He liked being able to know exactly where you were in case if any danger were to arise. This was also the reason he chose to have you on his right; leaving his dominant hand free to be able to protect you from any potential threats that came your way. This way he could also still have a free hand for note taking while also being able to be as close to you as he pleased.

From what he had described to you what you were searching for was some type of slipper orchid. He had heard of it in passing from when he was dealing with some gnomes a short while back. Apparently it was something that generally they avoided so it was described to him as a precaution but when he pressed for answers he was met with a strong resistance. So of course here he was, scouting it out and putting his inquisitive nature to the test; ever so eager to find out just what made this flagrant piece of flora so off-putting.

It was odd you realized, to be chasing after a flower in the middle of fall. It wasn't typically the time for such a plant to be alive, forget actively blooming but you guess that was just another reason Ford was so enchanted. Although even if you didn't find it today it was still worth the trip. You always loved going on adventures with Ford, absolutely reveling in seeing him completely in his element. Big amber colored eyes focused and poised yet not at all hiding the excitement thrumming through his veins at the thought of discovering something new.

He was nothing if not analytical in his approach, left hand always alternating between holding his chin in thought and jotting down his findings and anything else he deemed important. Your favorite part was when he'd sketch things; every stroke of his pencil was thoughtful, almost reverent as he portrayed everything as accurately as he could. Sure science was his forte but truly he had a clear calling for art as well and you told him so often.

You were taken out of your reverie and your fond thoughts of Ford rather abruptly, Ford having put his left arm out in front of you to stop you. You observed quietly, waiting for him to explain the hold up. Silently he gestured to the leaf covered ground, towards the very edge of a small clearing in the trees. There you could see it, or at least what you assumed he was looking for. It's not like there were any other flowers around at the moment, forget orchids. You let him corral you closer so you could both get a better look at it. As soon as you got within a couple feet from it he did exactly what you expected him to do. He had a scientific process for cataloging his findings that he followed to a T.

He started by circling the plant, keeping a safe distance from it since he was still unaware of what in particular made it so dangerous. He meticulously viewed it from all angles, pausing to write in his field journal every few moments. You were more than content to watch the process, finding a fallen log not to far from where Ford was crouched to sit on. You patted the spot on the log next to you when he circled back around the plant again. He smiled at you, knowing how much you liked to watch him sketch.

“Come sit with me. I've got a good angle from here.”

Your voice was sweet as you beckoned him to your side, which he followed wordlessly. He was not even a little bit shocked that you had, in fact, captured the orchid at its best angle since you did always have an eye for such things. Just another thing he adored about you he mused as he got to work.

You huddled closer to him; the heat radiating off of his body too sweet of a temptation as your own began to feel the effects of the cooling temperature. He merely hummed in response as you laid your head on his shoulder, watching the quick scratches of his pencil against the paper as he brought the flower to life on the page. It really was masterful how he so elegantly captured the petals so delicately. It was a very pretty flower, odd in a way but nonetheless beautiful. There were three large petals protruding from a circular base; one large fan-like petal at the top of the flower and two smaller slender petals that curved outwards from the pistil. There was a large sac adjacent structure just below it, which from what you knew of this particular family of orchids was the ‘slipper’ and where they got their name from.

As Ford drew he told you about what he knew about it already through some preliminary research.

“It's a member of the ‘orchidaceae’ species, better known as ‘orchid’ which can be found in essentially every habitat with the exception of glaciers. Which is obvious.”

He paused for a moment to erase something before continuing both in his sketching and his lecture.

“I suspect that this is a member of the subfamily of ‘cypripedioideae.’ They're more commonly known as ‘slipper orchids’ or ‘lady’s slippers’ which you already know.”

Pointing his pencil in the direction of the orchid, he gestured to the ‘slipper’ part of it.

“That. Is the labellum. It's one of three types of petals on an orchid. The other two are the dorsal petal, which is the one protruding from the top of the orchid and then the lateral petals which are the ones coming out the sides.”

He continued to point out each individual part of the flower as he drew it. Labeling each part and creating a hyper realistic diagram for himself while you nodded along, smiling at the sound of his voice.

“The labellum is interesting because it serves as a sort of trap for local pollinators in a similar fashion to pitcher plants, the ‘Nepenthes gracilis.”

Your eyebrows raised at this; you never heard of a carnivorous orchid before.

“I thought those were carnivorous. You're not gonna tell me this flower has a taste for flesh now are you?”

He laughed at that, turning his head a bit to catch your eyes, filled with mirth as you leaned closer into his side.

“No Dear cypripedioideae are not a carnivorous species. The labellum is used to trap pollinating insects so that they are forced to climb up the staminode and or stamen so they have no choice but to pollinate.”

You nodded again thoughtfully at his explanation, filing it away in your brain for later when you would both inevitably talk about it at home. Maybe next time you should bring your own little notepad to take notes in, you'd bet Ford would love that.

Now it was time for the final part of his dutiful process; collecting samples. Very regrettably, he pulled away from you to stand once more; moving closer to the orchid. He was still incredibly cautious, the gnomes warnings staying in the forefront of his mind despite his excitement. Safety first.

He reached in and pulled out a pair of his custom six fingered gloves from his messenger bag along with a small knife and a small glass container. Again, with caution, he inched closer. Very delicately he selected one of the pistils and sliced it off. With great care it was placed into the small glass jar before he secured the lid and put everything back into his bag.

All was well when he moved to stand. That was until his jacket got caught on a piece of deadwood by his knee and had him careening forwards and onto the ground below with a loud ‘oof.’ Unfortunately for him you were nowhere near close enough to save him from either his fall or the accompanying embarrassment.

A healthy amount of panic arose in Ford as he opened his eyes and came face to stamen with the orchid he had tried incredibly hard not to touch. His body reacted instinctively; leaping backwards and away from the potential danger and landing square on his ass. You had already made your way over to him, kneeling over him before he could say anything about contamination procedures and potential risks.

“Oh my gosh! Ford are you okay?”

Your voice was riddled with concern as you helped him up. As soon as he was standing you had his face in your hands, squishing his cheeks a little as you turned his face side to side, assessing the damage. He felt your thumb swipe over his cheekbone briefly as you tilted his head to one side before releasing him from your grasp.

“Nothing but dirt and a very handsome face. I'm very glad nothing happened to it Can't say the same for your ass though.”

Ford rolled his eyes at you when you snickered; attempting to feign annoyance and failing miserably, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks. His eyes locked back onto the orchid for a moment, squinting; searching for any obvious signs that he had put you or himself in danger by making physical contact with it. Using two fingers, he brought his left hand to the wrist of his right to take his own pulse; it was normal. He repeated the process and did the same for you, earning the same results. You let him fuss over you for a moment as he gave you a very clinical once over.

Finding nothing out of the ordinary he deemed both of you okay. It was high time you had both returned to the shack, having spent several hours too many trying to find such an elusive plant. Any further medical examinations would need to be done in the lab anyway.

“Maybe it's just something that effects the gnomes? They have similar bodily functions as humans but maybe the potential effects are more potent due to the reduced size. I'm not sure I'll have to-”

Ford's lower abdomen lurched painfullly, forcing his body to double over abruptly. You shouted his name and he could barely hear you, his pulse loud in his ears and beating erratically. Everything was numb as you coaxed him to look at you, trying to blink away the sudden blurriness in his vision. When his eyes finally focused he could see your lips move but he still barely hear you over the buzzing in his skull. This was very bad.

His thoughts began to race; what possibly could trigger such a reaction? He feared the worst and that he had inadvertently poisoned himself; but if it was deadly why didn't the gnomes just say that? It didn't make sense, there was no reason to -.

Just as abruptly as it began, it stopped. The painful cramping of his body has completely dissipated and he could see and hear as normally as he could about two minutes prior. Your hand smoothed up and down his back comfortingly, displacing the fabric of his trademark coat a bit.

“C’mon baby let's get you back to the house.”

You cooed gently at him, slowly helping him stand again as you began ushering him back in the direction from which you came. In no time you were both walking rather briskly in effort to get back to the lab as soon as possible so you could really make sure Ford was okay.

As you were walking Ford noticed that your lips were red and irritated, nervously biting them raw out of worry and anxiety. Vaguely he felt bad which was weird because typically he would feel awful about it. Before he could delved to deep into it the answer hit him when his whole body suddenly tensed and then subsequently relaxed.

His brilliant mind came to a grinding halt, putting the pieces together as he subconsciously inched closer to you. He let out another gasping breath as he ripped himself away from your side. He was left a stumbling mess ahead of you as his brain was bombarded by a single clearcut message; he needed to fuck you.

“I-it’s an aphrodisiac!”

He blurted it out in a harsh breath, holding his arm out and signalling you to stay where you were. He couldn't have you touching him like this, no matter how much his body screamed that you should.

He watched as your face turned several shades of red at his words and he found it irresistibly attractive. No. He couldn't think like that, he could handle this. You both just needed to get back to the shack and to his lab where you could sort this out

“W-we need to get back to the lab as soon as possible. You cannot touch me, I don't want to aggregate this stuff more than I already have. I would like you to walk ahead of me so I can still ensure your safety but please be sure to be several steps ahead.”

Physically he struggled to get the words out of his mouth, his speech already starting to stutter and slur at the edges. It made you worry immensely for his safety, even more so now that you couldn't see him while you were walking.

Once you had turned back to check on him, finding his face flushed a brilliant shade of red and panting hard. A singular bead of sweat had rolled down his face from where it gathered at his hairline. You watched as it dropped from his strong chin to the forest floor below.

“Don't - don't look at me I can't-”

His voice was strained and he found himself unable to finish his though as he was wracked with images of your wanting eyes staring at him from a very different position; beneath him as he pulled you apart by the seams. He couldn't have you looking at him, especially not like that. He knew you didn't mean to but it didn't detract from the clear desire that was written there. It was only logical you would react that way; he was physically aroused, so of course a baser part of you would find it attractive behind the worry you felt for his condition. A condition that worsened astronomically as he felt another wave of pain pass through his abdomen near his stomach. A wheezing sound left him and he physically fell to his knees, leaves crunching loudly beneath his weight. You were at his side in seconds, completely forgetting or choosing to disregard his warnings to not touch him. He closed his eyes, willing the thoughts of ravishing you on the forest floor away as you put a hand on his shoulder. He couldn't. He didn't want to hurt you.

Neither of you had any time to react as Ford's body moved for him, tackling you to the ground from your kneeling position to kiss you hard on the mouth. His body snaked around yours, body pinning you and arms coiling around you in an almost suffocating grip.

“I don't wan’t-. We need to - I need.”

His thoughts and words were a jumbled mess, coming out choppy and fragmented between kisses at your jaw. His eyebrows pinched and he looked pained before he rutted deeply against your hips, jaw slacking in pleasure and letting out a salacious moan that stole the breath from your lungs. His eyes snapped open, the spike of pleasure clarifying in some way as he leapt off of you, suddenly aware of himself and his body. You watched bewildered, sitting up from your place on the ground as he staggered away. You quickly followed, not willing to let him out of your sight. He braced himself on a nearby tree, folding his right arm in front of him to pillow his head there.

“Stanford?”

Your voice was apprehensive, unsure of the situation and maybe feeling a little out of your depth.

“I don't want to hurt you.”

His voice was a whimper, cracking around the edges as he desperately tried to fight off the feelings of immense arousal that clawed at his gut. He knew that he would need to take care of this. Before it got dark, before a trek back to the shack would be impossible, before his body would-.

All his thoughts were cut off as you took your chin in your hands again and kissed him rather fiercely.

“You're the one in pain right now so let's fix that first okay?.”

Without another second to consider; you were underneath him again. He had forcefully pinned you to the tree he was against and promptly shoved his tongue down your throat. It was clumsy and overzealous. The usual finesse and meticulousness he kissed you with was replaced by an animal desperation and hunger, his fingers digging into your waist somewhat uncomfortably. A groan left his throat when you languidly slid your tongue against his, reciprocating his feverish kisses in kind.

Ford was gasping for breath when he broke away, breathing haggardly and chest heaving. He continued his kisses down the side of your face and across your jaw to your ear, whining when the fabric of your sweater stopped him from getting to the skin of your neck. Rather roughly, he used his hand to shove the fabric downwards to reveal your neck to him and promptly latched his mouth onto the exposed skin. Your squirmed helplessly as he mouthed at your throat, moaning as he pinpointed where you were most sensitive and sucked a dark mark into the skin there. He buried his nose into your neck, glasses cutting into your skin as he began a slow grind against you. His arms curling around you on more, guiding your hips to move against him.

His mind was spinning, doing somersaults and getting caught in a positive feedback loop as you moaned out his name breathlessly. The neurons in his brain fizzing and popping as pleasure zipped down his spine, urging his body to seek out more. Without asking for permission and with an embarrassing lack of coordination he tore the sweater off your body, leaving you in the T-shirt you had worn beneath. You were immediately knocked further off kilter as he tugged the material of your shirt up, holding it there and shoving your bra down enough to swirl his tongue around a nipple.

Your hands shot into his hair, clutching the back of his head and scratching your nails into his scalp as he leaves his tongue across the tops of your breasts, very nearly slobbering into your chest with an almost animal insistence. It was like he was trying to take a bite out of you, the way his teeth kept burying themselves into your skin ravenously. Not enough to break the skin but more than enough to leave small indents where his teeth had clamped down onto the flesh there.

Everything about this was so foreign, Ford was always so calculated and relatively gentle when it came to sex. He liked to take his time and ‘enjoy the journey’ so to speak. And sure, it wasn't completely uncommon for him to rough you up a little in the act but this was extreme. You had never even imagined that Ford could get like this, hell you weren't even sure he knew he could. Despite the rather problematic nuances of the whole situation you were still inexplicably turned on. You could feel the slow drip of your obvious arousal eeking out into your underwear; knowing for a fact that you were beyond soaked. Something that Ford seemed to want to know if the shaky hand popping open the button of your jeans was any indication. You could do nothing but hopelessly cling to his broad shoulders as he pressed his dominant hand past the denim and into your panties. A shuddering groan cleaved through his chest at your wetness, his mouth tearing off of a breast in an obscene wet pop.

In spite of the obviously crippling effects the aphrodisiac was having on him he was still trying very hard not to hurt you. His whole body was tense and shaking as he gingerly parted your folds and sank his middle finger into the hilt. He held it there, his body quivering under your hands, trying to find the mental and physical strength to be good to you. Your own body couldn't care less, your self restraint nowhere near his level as you tried to rock yourself onto his hand. You whined pathetically when he completely removed himself.

There was no preamble and nothing that could prepare you as he ripped down your pants and underwear and viciously jammed two of his thick fingers up into your messy cunt. You howled like a wounded animal, digging your fingers into his jacket. Your head whipped back against the trunk of the tree as Ford’s thumb hastily found your clit and circled it vigorously almost to the point of being painful.

“C’mon. C’mon. C’mon.”

Ford was panting haggardly into your ear, broken praises and calls of your name on his lips as he pleaded for you to cum.

“Please please please my darling I need you to cum on my fingers. Please, you're doing so well.”

His voice scratched against the walls of his throat as he spoke, clawing its way out beside the barrage of whimpers and moans; sounding manic and on edge. The bark of the tree scratched roughly at your back as you arched helplessly against Ford's chest, the sensitive skin of your nipples brushing against the knit of his sweater as your breasts jumped with the force of his actions. His hand now positioning in and out of your sopping cunt at a punishing pace as he sucked on the skin of your already bruised neck.

“Stanford!"

You screamed out his name. Your body giving Ford, as well as yourself no other warning as you were blinded by the white hot pleasure singing up your body from where Ford's fingers fucked you. You heard him groan triumphantly, biting into your shoulder as his fingers were replaced by the hot line of his cock spearing into you. Your mouth hung open in a silent scream at the sensation; your body burning at the intrusion and trying to accommodate him through the walls of your vagina convulsing from your violent orgasm. He didn't afford you the time to recover as he pulled all the way out and then slammed home in one subsequent motion. He gathered you into his arms, holding you as close to him as sustainably possible as he pounded ruthlessly into your pussy.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I can’t-”

He sobbed apologetic sympathies into your hair as his body betrayed him and forced him to pile drive into you at a splintering speed.

“Oh god Ford!”

You grasped blindly at his face and neck, trying mindlessly to bring him to you; needing to feel his lips on your own.

“A-h Ford kiss me."

Needing no further prompting; his mouth found and locked with yours witlessly, tongues and teeth clashing together wildly. Ford's lips kneaded yours raw, biting and licking at them whenever you pulled away. Giving you just enough time to suck in another breath before diving back in for more, the frames of his glasses digging into your cheek uncomfortably. His hips never stopped, cock punching up into your cervix at a blinding velocity as you writhed in his arms.

He looked pained as he rocked up into you. He was far more feverish looking than before, a blanket of red coating his cheeks and hair plastered to his forehead from the sweat pouring profusely from his scalp. His brows were pinched tightly together and his mouth twisted into a grimace, looking anguished as he chased his pleasure. Your fingers itched to fix his glasses, which were nearly falling off the bridge of his nose and were continuously knocked around with each cant of his hips into yours.

You twisted in his grip. Unintentionally changing the trajectory of his thrusts, making the fat tip of his cockhead spearhead against a spot inside you that had you seeing stars and your cunt clenching tightly around him. Ford let out a guttural groan, hooking his hands under your knees and hitching you up on his hips as much as the jeans trapped between you would allow. The new angle giving him the ability to hit that same spot over and over again; the thickness of his throbbing length dragging deliciously against the sensitive walls of your drooling cunt.

The sounds your coupling produced were entirely pornographic. The lewd slapping of skin against skin and the cacophony of moans coming from your joining would make it incredibly obvious to any passerby to what exactly was taking place. Thankfully you were far enough out into the woods that you were very certain that no other humans would hear you screaming your lungs out as Stanford fucked the brains right out of your head. The various supernatural entities that lurkred within the woods however would probably not be so lucky.

An unholy sound rattled it's way out of your body as you felt yourself careening towards the edge of your second orgasm, cunt seizing around Ford's penis as he steadily plowed into you. He let out a choked noise, pushing somehow deeper inside of you as your back arched violently off of the tree. Like a crack of thunder, you were thrown headlong into another mind-blowing orgasm. Your face morphed into what could only be described as a rapturous expression. Ford watched hypnotized; your face painted in bliss as your eyes rolled back into your head and your jack went slack to release a long drawn out moan of his name that ended in a little whimper.

A newer wetness gushed around his cock from where he bore into you, making the glide into your waiting sex that much easier at every thrust. His mind was blank as his pace turned sporadic, hilting deep as he came inside of you with a sob of your name.

You blinked back the blur in your vision, keenly observing Ford as he rode out the waves of his own petit mort. His head was thrown back, Adams apple bobbing up and down as he gasped desperately for air as if he was drowning. Which he was; completely drowning in the pheromones as he felt like he might go insane from the euphoria tearing through his body. His hands dug harshly into your legs, another stuttering tortured sob wrenching through him as he realized that his body was not satiated.

“It's not- I'm not- I need more.”

You could hardly make out what Ford was saying through the haze of your orgasm. Only truly understanding when you heard the deafening sound of tearing fabric as pressed your hips came flush with Ford's and his still moving cock.

He has ripped your pants clean in half through the inseam you realized, taking your ruined panties with it. The clear display of brute force hit you in the temples and sent you spinning, even more so when Ford pulled off of you to force you onto the forest floor, clambering on top of you and throwing your useless legs atop his shoulders.

As soon as he was in between your legs again Ford pitched back into your greedy cunt, effectively folding you in half and and fucking his cum back into your still quivering sex. Leaves and small sticks scraped against the exposed skin of your back as your body rocked upwards with the absolutely savage way he was fucking you. He was hunched over you and was rutting into you like a dog in heat, the weight of his body against you giving you no option other than to take it. And take it you did, crying out over and over as he rabidly hammered into you, his balls slapping hard against the meat of your newly exposed ass as your knees dug into your chest. His belt buckle jingled as it smacked against the tender flesh there on every powerful thrust. You knew it was going to bruise, much like the rest of your body when this was all over.

You felt the muscles in your inner thighs burn as Ford mindlessly stretched your legs open further around him, using his left hand to hold you by your right ankle. His eyes were glazed over behind the fogged lenses of his glasses. Completely unfocused as he continued to relentlessly plow into you at breakneck speeds. Shockwaves of pleasure reverberated through your body with each pitch of Ford's hips, the angle at which he penetrated you catching your clit on every backstroke and making your cunt sing. You panted heavily into his face, unable to form words past a slim vocabulary of yeses, pleases and Ford's name. A scream ripped through you as a particularly harsh upstroke, his cock battering against the end of your vaginal canal in a way that was just shy of being too painful. The way you had froze up, cunt clenching harshly around him, had him repeat the motion again and again, chasing the feeling. His forehead dropped down to your collar, mouth blabbering nonsensically against your skin.

“Oh god! My Love - my Darling. Please- oh god I'm so sorry-!”

He was powerless to fight against the whims of his body influenced by the effects of the slipper orchid. He continued heedlessly, pounding into you mercilessly. His mumured apologies falling on deaf ears, you were busy being a moaning, shrieking mess beneath him on the forest floor. Your peak just over the horizon and within your reach. You reached out and grabbed it, cumming in a hellascious manner as you thrashed wantonly in Ford's grip.

The orgasm he tore from you was truly earth shattering; our eyes crossing and rolling away with the rest of your sanity as you clawed at his shoulders and chest. Somehow the pounding became even more aggressive as Ford barrelled towards his own climax. The force of his thrusting actively pushing out and displacing the well of your combined spend inside of you with a wet 'plop' as it spattered across your inner thighs and dripped down your ass. His pace turned frenetic, railing into you sloppily as he cried out.

Ford let out an agonized howl when he finally hit his peak, as if the act itself was painful. His body jerked physically; as if he had stepped on a live wire as he came the hardest he ever had in his life. Wounded cries ripppled through his chest, trying to hang onto the last vestiges of his sanity as he well and truly lost his mind in pleasure. The euphoria and relief he was feeling being far too much for his logical mind to handle.

A sob wracked through his exhausted frame when he finally felt his penis begin to turn flaccid within you. You were both shaking violently, clutching onto each other for dear life as his hips turned to a slow grind. His cock was still pulsing inside of you, his ejaculate spilling deep within your womb as his own body eeked out the last swells of his orgasm until his hips came to a stop.

Neither of you said anything. Choosing to coil your arms around one another as you both found control of your faculties. Ford let your legs drop to your sides, his hands finding a new purpose in smoothing up and down the sides of your body, attempting to soothe and mitigate the cold you probably felt due to his reckless treatment of your pants. And also you. God he felt awful. Guilt twisted into his gut like a knife as the reality of what he had just done set in. He threw his head into your shoulder and sobbed openly, unable to keep the grief he felt from hurting you inside his traitorous body. Your heart twisted painfully in your chest seeing Ford like this. Gently you brought your hands, that were rubbing his back and shoulders comfortingly, up to curl your fingers into his hair.

"Hey. Hey. Shhhhhh it's okay. You're okay.'

You shushed him, cooing gently at him and placing kisses to his hair as he shook like a leaf in your arms. With great care, you pulled his face from your neck to look at him. His eyes were bloodshot from crying and he wouldn't meet your gaze, looking guiltily away at the foliage next to your head. Tenderly, you pulled him towards you to press a soft kiss against the corner of his mouth. Hands caressing his cheekbones as you coaxed him to look at you.

You could see the guilt there, the shame that was written in them as he looked at you and you couldn't stand it so you brought him in for a kiss. He kissed you with fervor; slowly as he poured all of his love and his guilt into one passionate gesture. Praying that you would be able to forgive him for the great transgressions he had made against you and your bruised and battered body. That you would understand that he had no choice in the matter and that he would do anything to win back the trust that he had inevitably broken.

When he pulled back your eyes were soft, admirable in how they looked up at him. How could you look at him like that? Like he hung the stars in the sky even after he violated you; your trust. Greedily he leaned into your grasp, nuzzling the palm against his cheek . Your voice came out in a scratchy whisper against him.

"I'm okay. We're okay."

You said so little yet it was more than enough. Ford felt tears sting the edge of his eyelids as you smiled at him, warm and genuine. You were okay. You didn't hate him. You still loved him. Letting out a heavy sigh of relief he leaned down further and rested his forehead against yours, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug.

He only let go when you pushed at his shoulders, his weight becoming too much to bear on your tired body. Gingerly he pulled out of you, the two of you groaning at the loss. Ford watched enraptured, jaw slacked as a copious amount of his semen seeped out of your sex. Unconsciously he ran his fore and one of his middle fingers through it, gathering the viscous fluid in his digits and pushing it back into you.

The lewdness of it all and the implications of such and action brought the blood to simultaneously drain from your face and cause it to flush furiously. The concept of another round a frightening concept to your weary body. A small whimper seemed to release Ford from whatever sexual spell the pheromones pumping through his system had him in. He physically shook the thoughts of taking you again out of his head, mumbling out an apology before wiping his fingers off on his pants. The feeling now dull enough to resist as he tucked his oversensitive length back into his pants with a hiss; the fabric of his underwear feeling harsh against him.

His cock still somehow had the audacity to jump slightly in his pants as he stood, taking in the sight of you. You looked beyond wrecked; your face was still twinged feverish and your chest heaved with each breath you took, still trying to regulate from the strenuous activity. A chest that was fully uncovered in the golden light of the the evening, the sun not having fully sunk past the horizon.

Your shirt had been pushed all the way up past your sternum to fully expose your breasts, discarded bra trapped around your waist. There were hickies and bites everywhere; bruises blooming against the flesh of your neck and chest. Some were darker than others and some were clearly discernable as fingerprints. There were also the clear indications of where he had carelessly bit at you, the worst of it being at the hollow of your throat from where it met your collar just below your shoulder. The skin there shown a dark purple, almost black in certain spots, and right next to it an almost perfect indent of his teeth. He shuddered, a baser part of him extremely pleased at leaving you so disheveled. Male ego sated.

He tutted at the state of your jeans, denim hanging loose above your knees and in two different pieces. Everything ached as he knelt next to you, helping you sit up and righting your remaining clothing. Your panties were trashed, having been another casualty in the throes of passion and unhinged lust. Scanning the ground around the clearing he found your sweater that had been thoughtlessly tossed to the ground earlier and pulled it down over your head before you could start to shiver. He pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead as he smoothed down your hair, brushing out the small pieces of foliage that clung to it and most likely checking for any signs of a concussion.

You hummed contentedly at the contact, enjoying being pampered so thoroughly while your brain was still a gooey pile of mush. With much care, Ford hauled you to your feet; where your poor sore legs wobbled and ultimately failed you, forcing you to look to Ford for aid. Tired brown eyes met yours as you smiled dopily at him, your hands finding his face again and kissing him leisurely. He took the time to hook an arm under yours to support you and sighed against your lips.

"Let's go home dear."

[hoeforhao]

hi !! if it's alright may i request svt with a fem/gn reader with massive tits? like just how would the boys react (nsf/w or sfw is upto you :D) to a reader with the big naturals, which if you do this request tysm!! :D

well well y'all will never see me again after this post, cuz am literally embarrassed asf!!! also me writing about something i don't have??makes me sad ;(

Masterlist

Seungcheol: This man is a huge sucker for asses. Like he lives to bend you over and fuxk you deep. But little do people know, boobs are his secret weakness, and having someone with big naturals? You just know that he'll be using them as stress balls, pumping them like his life depends on it,everytime he's stressed from work; bury his face deep down into the pillows and fall asleep on his personal plushies.

Jeonghan: I somehow feel like he'll be more into smaller breasts, but that doesn't mean he won't be relishing your mounds to the max while his dick is buried deep inside of you. He is of the type to circle your clothed nipples with his slick fingers as you cook, only to end up enjoying the view of them all perked up as he eats his meal.

Joshua: He's such a softie when it comes to sucking the life out of your breasts. Like he would literally worship you while saying things like "I've never seen such full and gorgeous boobs angel. Ydk how badly I wait everyday to come back home and adore them". Also I feel like shua will have a slight mommy kink only when it comes to your breasts and doze off on your bosom like a child, if he's too tired and snore like an absolute baby.

Junhui: Another huge tease. But unlike jeonghan, he would be totally showy of how much he loves your big tits, cupping them at every chance he gets, buying you all white lacey lingerie with several slits, so that he can keep on getting a show of your bouncy cream pies all throughout the day, while brushing his cold fingers against the perked up buds every once in a while.

Soonyoung: I've got only one thing to say. He would literally run home to rub his sweaty face all over your bust, as soon as he finishes the group dance lessons; latching onto your nipples the whole time while you make his post practice smoothie.

Wonwoo: He would have you seated on his lap the entire time while he plays his silly little online games with his friends, squeezing your boobs for emotional support and twisting the stubs everytime he is even slightly close to losing ; earning low muffled moans from you that in turn act as his fuel to win.

Jihoon: This man is not at all that soft as he appears to be. He would have a separate space in his studio where he would tie you up with button vibrators on your nipples ; setting them to the highest speed as he creates his new masterpiece with your ecstatic moans as the bgm. After finishing his demo, he would come to your limp body drained from cumming multiple times, and roam his pale digits over the overly sensitive stumps while nurturing them with soft kisses.

Minghao: You're his biggest muse. He would call you anytime he feels artblocked; lathering the paint all over your breasts as he presses them onto the canvas to paint his brand new piece. What's a brush???!! He doesn't consider buying brushes and sponges for his art supply!! Why would he even, when he has your big milky tits for a sponge and the two perks as his brush.

Mingyu: HE IS SIMPLY OBSESSED WITH YOUR BOOBS. THAT'S IT!! Filling up your closet with blazers two sizes smaller than your bust, only so that he can see your breats pressed tightly against in each other in nothing but the long blazers, forming the most ravishing cleavage anyone has ever seen; as he takes you on a home dinner date and sucks onto his personal pacifier as the dessert later.

Seokmin: Would be pretty shy to admit how he loves the sight your boobs bouncing up and down as he fuxks the life out of you every night. It would literally take him an entire year worth courage to ask to play with your butter soft breasts,for the times he is out of you and once you agree, he would latch onto your skin like a slug.

Seungkwan: Again, a very coy boy, absolutely terrified of letting you know how crazy he is driven by your big pillows. Would love to peek at them while you take a shower, the droplets gracefully dripping down the bumps, wishing that it was his tongue slowly gliding down your nipples, instead.

Vernon: If you ask me, I feel like he would have a huge mommy kink. Pining to suck onto your milky teats everytime y'all go out, having you rush home early only to let your big baby play with his favorite toy, is a compulsory routine for him.

Dino: Don't even get me started on how much Chan loves the fact that his s/o has such big naturals. People would die to have such supple, juicy tits to feast onto every night and he gets it for free? A gift he would cherish his entire life. He might treat you like a whore in bed, but your boobs?Well, they're only his to worship and making sure he paints them red every night, is his biggest duty!!!

[malfoyswand]

𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬

pairing: draco malfoy x reader

summary: your best friend, draco malfoy, plans a surprise to ask you to the yule ball.

word count: 1.8k

genre: fluff

warnings: none, just soft draco :)

author's note: thank you to the lovely reader who requested this, it's my first request so i really hope i did this justice! also yes, i got a little inspired by that one gilmore girls episode with the 1000 flowers for the proposal lol

➪ masterlist | requests

"Mate, I think you're overthinking this."

Blaise Zabini reported his opinion of the matter, but Draco Malfoy barely comprehended a word he had spoken. The only things on his mind were (Y/N) and of course, the bloody Yule Ball.

If he was honest with himself, Draco was at least partially excited for the dance. He knew it was meant to be one of the greatest nights he may ever experience while at Hogwarts, but he wasn't sure if he would. The dance was only a week away and somehow, Draco found himself without a date.

If anything, the Yule Ball was making him nervous.

"I'm not, Zabini!" He spoke quite loudly, then softened his voice as he realized students had looked their way. "This needs to be perfect, alright? This is (Y/N) we're talking about, you know how I feel about her."

Blaise couldn't help but sigh, with a smile on his lips as the two of them walked to their Defense Against the Dark Arts class. It was quite a feat for Malfoy to tell Blaise that he had romantic feelings for his best friend, (Y/N). Blaise knew that Draco dreaded being seen as anything but tough to the world, the fact that a girl had this much control over his emotions spoke volumes. 

"Exactly my point, Malfoy. She's been your best friend since first year, I doubt she would ever be disappointed or angry with whatever you come up with. Besides, she's just a girl. Just ask her to the ball like how you would ask a girl out on a date."

"Er.. well.." Draco began to speak, the hand that wasn't holding his books scratching the back of his neck. The two of them finally stopped walking besides the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Blaise's eyes widening as he tried to hide his laughter.

"You're telling me that Draco Malfoy has never been on a date before? Merlin!" His laughter echoed down the chamber, earning him a scoff and a playful shove inside the classroom by Draco. "Sorry, sorry. I just thought that with every other girl in this school begging to be your date to the dance, you would've taken at least one of them on a date." His voice was spoken quietly, careful that the other students wouldn't hear their conversation.

Draco shook his head as the two of them sat down in their seats, pulling out their books and parchment. "No. I've turned them all down. They're just not her, know what I mean?"

"You're down bad, mate." Blaise smirked slightly to himself, whispering the only advice he could really offer his friend. "Listen, girls like being asked out in a personal way. You know the kind of things (Y/N) likes, all you have to do is make it special and she'll be swooning."

"Right." Draco mumbled to himself as Professor Moody began to teach his lesson. However, he certainly wasn't thinking about Defense Against the Dark Arts. Instead, Draco glanced over to where you sat across the room. He knew you better than anyone, yet he had no idea how to ask you to the Yule Ball.

That was when the idea struck him. The new bag you bought last week caught his eyes, he noticed the way the bag had intricate floral designs sewn into it. A memory replayed in Draco's mind. He couldn't help but smile to himself as he wrote on a spare piece of parchment, folding it into a paper crane before sending it your way.

Your hands caught the paper crane, grinning as you knew exactly who it was from. You tried to ignore the way your heart seemed to skip a beat each time you saw one fly towards you. On the piece of parchment, it read:

Meet me at the Astronomy Tower tomorrow morning before breakfast? - D.M.

You lifted his gaze to meet his awaiting gray eyes, your head nodding before turning back to the professor's lesson. Draco did the same, but his mind was already running through a mental checklist on all the supplies he had to get to make his idea come to life.

The next morning, you woke up wondering why in Godric's name you decided to meet up with Draco this early in the morning. The sun was just starting to rise outside the window, and none of your other roommates were even awake. You groaned as quietly as you could, practically tiptoeing around the dorm bedroom to avoid waking everyone else.

As you brushed your hair in the girls' lavatory, you felt the butterflies in your stomach begin to flutter around again. You cursed yourself under your breath as you tried your best to focus on your breathing.

Lately, being near Draco Malfoy has always made you more excited than you really ought to be. Of course, he was your best friend so you had always been excited. But now, even one glance at him caused a warmth to glow within your chest. The feeling was a foreign one.

As you walked through the castle towards the Astronomy Tower, that warm feeling in your chest arose again as you caught sight of him. He was pacing near the entrance door, mumbling as if he was rehearsing something. You cleared your throat as you walked towards him, Draco stopping in his tracks.

"(Y/N)." He spoke your name, his lips forming into a soft smile. "Thanks for meeting up with me, I know it's a bit early for you." His tone was playful, he knew you were not much of a morning person. 

"About that, why so early in the morning, Malfoy?" You gently shoved his shoulder, he only laughed in response. He opened the Astronomy Tower door entrance, his hand indicating for you to step inside first. 

"You will see."

You walked up the long set of stairs up the tower. You couldn't see the fact that Draco was a nervous wreck behind you, his hands having to wipe themselves on his slacks to remove the sweat from his palms. As much as you hated to wake up this early in the morning, you knew the views up from the tower would be gorgeous. Draco knew that the Astronomy Tower was, quite honestly, your favorite place to admire the landscape.

“Oh my..” Your body stopped in its tracks once the two of you reached the highest level of the tower. Your eyes couldn’t take in your surroundings fast enough it seemed.

It was as if every surface of the tower was covered in red roses. Somehow, someone must have placed hundreds of roses in vases, scattering them around almost every corner of the room. The light shining into the tower only amplified their beauty, it was as if each petal seemed to come alive as the sun continued to rise.

“D-Did you know these flowers were here?” You stuttered as you started to pace around the room slowly, your fingertips grazing upon almost every petal there was. Their beauty took your breath away.

“I did.” Draco bit his bottom slightly as he watched you, desperate to know your reaction. He couldn’t tell if you liked or hated them. “They’re for you, actually.”

Your eyes darted from the roses you were admiring to Draco, your body facing his. Although you were truly flattered, the idea of him doing all of this for you made your head spin with so many questions. You knew Draco Malfoy better than he may ever know himself, you had never seen him do anything this nice or extravagant for anyone before. 

“You said a couple of weeks ago that you wish spring would come along so you can watch the flowers bloom again. Of course, it’s only December, as we can all see.” Draco answered your question, a slight chuckle falling from his lips as he pointed outside of the tower. More snowflakes began to fall, covering the castle with even more snow.

“So, I thought to bring the flowers to you. And I only assumed you liked roses, from your bag.” His eyes went from watching the snowflakes outside to your bag that was decorated with tiny red roses around it. Since when did Draco notice something so mundane, like a new tote bag?

“I just.. don’t know what to say.” Your voice came out as a whisper. Him decorating the entire Astronomy Tower with roses, just because you said you missed the spring and summer flowers, was entirely insane. You couldn’t come up with the words, so all you could do was step forward to hug him tightly.

Within an instant, you felt Draco’s arms wrap around your waist, his head resting in the crook of your neck. He closed his eyes, smiling softly to himself out of relief and joy. He was relieved and happy that you had liked the surprise, but he knew what he must do, even though it terrified him.

“That’s not the end of the surprise.” He said as he slowly pulled away from the hug. All of a sudden, it was as the boy became aware of every heightened emotion he was feeling. “But I must do this properly..”

Your eyebrows raised as you watched him turn around, picking up one of the red roses from their vases. If you weren’t convinced you were dreaming at the moment, you would have sworn you saw a small bit of sweat on Draco’s forehead as he looked towards you.

“I-er..” He took a step forward towards you, any closer and your bodies would have made contact. With a deep breath to calm himself, he handed the rose to you. “Would you want to go to the Yule Ball with me, as more than just a friend?”

Your lips slightly parted as you took the rose from him. You had slowly been falling for your best friend for the past four years, but you had convinced yourself that the Slytherin Prince would never fall for you. For four years, you had thought that he would never settle for you, when every other girl in this school begged for him just to look their way.

Once you realized you had failed to give an answer, you closed your mouth and smiled in his direction. “I would love to, Draco.” You responded, stepping forward once more to close the gap between you two. You pressed your lips softly to his cheek.

When you pulled away, you realized that Draco’s cheeks were slightly pink as his eyes widened. You couldn’t help but laugh slightly at the sight. Draco Malfoy was notorious for being the calm, collected one of the two of you. Seeing him as, essentially, a nervous wreck over you caused that warmth to be felt in your chest again.

“Who would have thought I could make Draco Malfoy this nervous?” You joked, attempting to calm his apparent nerves.

“Who said I was nervous?” He scoffed just as playfully, grabbing a few more roses to hand to you. You took them in your hands, smelling their pleasant aroma as you followed him back down the staircase.

“Malfoy, you were just as red as these roses.”

[queenofthekings]

Babe, wake up, new prompt coming!

I found this cute image on Pinterest and it had me thinking: what if reader spends a whole afternoon crafting these little messages and then she sneakily hides them around Eddie's stuff. Every time he finds one, goes to reader and gives her a kiss, then stores it in a tin box 🩷💋

𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓵𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓼

Summary: You make love letters for Eddie.

Author's note: Mea I'm so sorry it took me forever to write this request! I hope you enjoy it! Also thank you to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple, @ryan-waddell11 and @orchidmunson for their endless encouragement <3

CW: None, just a whole lotta fluff and Eddie being a dork.

Word count: 1.2k

Any hate will not be tolerated, constructive criticism is welcomed.

Being at Eddie’s apartment alone while he was away working wasn’t an uncommon thing for either of you, he had given you a key to his apartment for a reason, after all. Although you two hadn’t made the full step of moving in together yet, you still spent a lot of time at his apartment whenever you could fit it into your schedule.

You were sat at Eddie’s kitchen table with every kind of stationary imaginable scattered all around you; every shade of pink and white paper, felt tip pens, glitter and endless amounts of glue.

Since Eddie’s phone had broken several days beforehand and he was far too busy with work and couldn’t fit it within budget for the month to get it fixed, you decided to make love notes for him to read every day. You made notes for every occasion; if he felt sad, if he did something amazing, he missed you or even just needed to be told he was loved.

Although your arts and crafts skills weren’t perfect and you ended up with far too much glitter and glue all over your fingers, you were still proud of the notes you were able to make. You knew your art teacher from primary school would be proud of what you’d made, even if when you had lessons with her she hated your guts.

You had almost finished the final note and put them in a jar by the time Eddie walked inside, you felt him gently scratch the top of your head before wrapping his arms around you, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Well this is a nice surprise to come home to.”

You felt the warm burn inside your stomach as you squeezed his arm, happy to be back where you felt like you belonged. “I missed you, of course I’d be here.”

It had only been a couple of days since you last saw each other, but it always felt like an eternity. Being with Eddie was the only place you truly felt safe, it was like coming home every time he brought you into his arms.

Before you and Eddie had gotten together; you’d never believed in that kind of stuff, that home could be a person instead of a place and you thought the people who said that stuff were talking nonsense. But now you understood them, and you just had to wait to find your person.

Eddie glanced over at the mess on the kitchen table, not daring to touch anything with his dirty fingers from working on cars all day. “Whatcha doing here, princess?”

You leaned into him, rubbing his arm with your hand. “It’s a surprise.”

He placed a hand over his eyes once you revealed it was a surprise. “I’m not looking, I swear!” he moved away from you, keeping his hand over his eyes, causing you to laugh. “I’m gonna go have a shower, you wanna order a pizza?”

“Sure,” you answered through your continued laughter as Eddie felt around his apartment to get to the bathroom, hitting his feet and legs on various pieces of furniture along the way. Your boyfriend was an absolute dork, but you loved it far too much, although you knew he acted like that just to make you laugh and he couldn’t ever get enough of that laugh.

You waited until he was safely in the shower to finish the last note and put it into the jar before promptly hiding it in your backpack, being sure Eddie would never find it accidently, not that he’d ever go through your belongings, but you were still cautious. After washing your hands thoroughly, you cleared the kitchen table of your project and grabbed your laptop to order pizza.

Sure, phoning Dominos to place your order was easier but Eddie’s pizza orders were always special to put it simply. That man couldn’t settle for a simple margarita pizza to save his life, nay, he had to have some weird combination that changed in a frequent basis. His current favourite pizza? Tandoori chicken and burger sauce with stuffed crust. As odd as it sounded, you did have a slice and it was pretty good, so you couldn’t exactly hate him for that.

You’d just finished placing the order when Eddie came out donned in just a towel, another towel in his hair trying to dry it before lowering it to cover his face completely. “Is it safe to come out?”

You let out another laugh, nodding your head. “Yes, you muppet, it’s safe. Pizza’s been ordered and it should be here in a bit.”

Taking the towel away from his face, he smirked at you and began to slowly walk across his apartment towards you, deliberately allowing his towel to slip down his body. Watching him with a smirk matching his, you shook your head. “Don’t even think about it, mister, we got pizza coming and I don’t wanna get interrupted by the doorbell again.”

He pouted and pulled up the towel, sulking his way into the bedroom. He came back a few minutes later in his usual jeans and dark red hoodie, one you’d frequently steal from him to wear when the weather got a bit cold.

You closed your laptop lid as he wrapped his arms around you again, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head once you rested your back against his chest. The pair of you stayed in content silence until the loud knock on the door to signal your pizzas had arrived. You began to get up, but Eddie placed his hands on your shoulders to keep you seated, “I’ll get them baby,” he murmured into your hair before answering the door.

Eddie had fallen asleep after devouring his pizza and watching a season and a half of Derry Girls while cuddling with you on the couch, his head nestled into the crook of your neck, feeling his breath on your skin with his arms wrapped tightly around your middle, keeping you close to him.

You slowly got out of his grasp, being careful not to wake him up, although Eddie was quite a deep sleeper and not a lot of things woke him up. As quietly as possible, you moved around his apartment, tidying up the pizza boxes before turning off the TV and putting a blanket over Eddie.

Getting the jar out of your backpack, you began to place the notes around Eddie’s apartment; on every table, in some books, in the wardrobe, on the fridge and in every single pocket you could think of. Once you’d finished, you gently shook Eddie awake just enough to get him in bed and properly asleep before you followed him soon after, cuddling into him as you easily fell asleep.

In the morning, you were woken up by an endless amount of kisses all over your face, lips, neck, chest, and hands. At first, you were too sleepy and groggy to fully realise what was happening but as you slowly started to wake up, you moved Eddie’s kisses up to your lips and kissed him back. “What’s all the kisses for?” you whispered against his lips.

Eddie gave you a couple more kisses before answering your question. “I found some of your notes, and I thought since my girl was being so loving with her notes; I thought I would be loving back and wake her up with as many kisses as I can give her before work.”

[nile-the-empathy-cleric]

I'm a huge fan of your work, your writing is so beautiful, and the way you add your own personal love of art is just; it's genuinely amazing. I was wondering if you have any paintings that you think each of your favorite characters would represent or maybe even what u see when u look at them. ❤️🖼🎨🖌

Oh boy do I love this ask! Firstly, than you 🥺 you're too kind 💕

Second I have so many paintings that spring to mind for various characters! Immediately off the bat my brain went right to Lestat and how his presence and aesthetic (especially in 1920s New Orleans) gave gigantic J.C. Leyendecker vibes.

(left) The Sleuth J.C. Leyendecker, ca. 1906 and (right) Arrow Shirt Collar Ad, 1916. By J.C. Leyendecker For Arrow Shirt Collars, 1916

The way Leyendecker plays with shadow, light, and color to project an air of seduction and power is just *chef's kiss.* He is a master at depicting an idealized masculinity that still has a level of vulnerability. I don't think it's just the styling/ fashion of the men in Leyendecker's illustrations that remind me of Lestat, but the features as well. J.C. gives them this attitude of nonchalance but there's something deeply concerned with appearances underneath. Is that not Lestat?

For Claudia there are a couple. First (not a painting but a sculpture) is Degas' The Little Dancer Aged Fourteen. I look at this piece and think of the history of ballet and the connotations of ballet at the time Degas was working. In France at the time ballerinas were highly taken advantage of and exploited. The exploitation was sexual in nature and simultaneously adultified and infantilized. They were highly fetishized. It's very sad and tragic and it reminds me of Claudia. The Little Dancer has an almost defiant energy to her, like there is a sense of pride and restraint, something dignified despite her lesser social standing.

I also see something of Claudia in this piece: Girl in Pink Dress, ca. 1927 by Laura Wheeler Waring. I also think this girl embodies the qualities of both Bailey and Delainey's Claudias–– there's simultaneously an innocence and maturity. I see something similar in Isabella, (aka Young Woman with a Fan), 1906 by Simon Maris and I just think it's neat to see art of Black people done by a white person from the early 1900s that isn't fetishizing or racist (don't look at J.C. Leyendecker's art of Black people, yikes!)

For Louis, my first thought was Derek Fordjour's STRWMN, 2020. It gives NOLA Louis to me in terms of style, but also the colorful and fun energy has the vibes of his little journey of gay self-discovery in Paris. I also see Louis in Lois Mailou Jones' Negro Youth, 1929. It mirrors depressed Louis for me. There is something very fragile in his expression, but you can tell he's trying to be strong, much like Louis.

As for Armand? Well, the number one is Botticelli's Saint Sebastian (it just has an uncanny resemblance to Assad) and the metaphor is too apt to not point out. The other that immediately make me think of Armand is The Abduction of Ganymede by Correggio. It's less the painting and more the myth it's based on, but out of all the Ganymede paintings, Correggio's is my favorite.

And Daniel is just like... any Nan Goldin photo, but I'll pick Heart-shaped bruise, 1980. I don't think I need to give my thoughts here 😂

Thank you again for such a fun ask! I appreciate every message I get from anons and mutuals alike 🥰

[*Edit: Being transparent––I went back and corrected a mistake I made in the original because I don't want an inaccurate/ racist post going around, even after a correction in the reblogs if people aren't seeing the original. I accidentally implied that Laura Wheeler Waring was white. I meant the statement about Simon Maris, who was a Dutch portrait artist. Laura Wheeler Waring was a prominent Black artist. Lesson to self: do not write deeply thoughtful posts at 1 am while you have a fever.]