#giant SAP LOOK AT HIM!!

[crowlixcx]

Broadchurch | S2EP6 | Alec Hardy’s Wettest Moments (Part 61)

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

"yuri lowell is a manly heterosexual"

yuri lowell:

[toxicanonymity]

The Spread

PAIR: Thomas Hewitt x f!Reader

WORD COUNT: 3.5k | SERIES | MAIN MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: You hide and don't get slaughtered. Tommy secretly keeps you. He's kinda sweet if you're good.

WARNINGS: I8+ Canon-typical violence (implied) & setting, captivity, dark caretaking, manhandling, sleeper hold, oral f receiving, noncon unsafe piv, finger gagging, dark fluff, tommy has a praise kink, stockholm syndrome vibes. NO human skin mask: leather partial mask shown in photo. He is feral and naive due to his family. No use of Y/N. Divider by gasolinerainbowpuddles.

SIZE KINK - Reader is much smaller than Leatherface, can be carried and maneuvered. He is 6’5”, thicc and STRONG.

You barely escaped the so-called law man, and your friends weren’t so lucky. They got chased right into the lair of a chainsaw-wielding giant.

“C’mon, Tommy,” the Sheriff encouraged the giant, “Just like the slaughterhouse.”

Heavy chains thrashed, and one of your friends groaned.

“Attaboy,” the Sheriff praised.

While they were distracted, you ducked into a nearby woodshed. You didn't dare go far – you had encountered too many hazards on the property to trust your footing, and couldn't risk calling attention. Instead, you sat there in the shed, paralyzed, listening to your friends get butchered. One by one, their squeals turned animalistic until a wet thwack or rev of a motor cut them off.

Finally, there were no more screams.

Huddled in a corner of the woodshed, you tried to keep your wits about you. The shed was about the size of a small dorm room. There were stacks of wood all around–some freshly cut, some rotted–and hay covered the floor.

You were in a tank top and Daisy dukes with cowboy boots that made you feel like an idiot. You had sap on your knees from crawling over the wood. Taking deep breaths did nothing but fill your nose with cedar - it was only a matter of time before you’d meet your fate. You picked splinters out of your hands as you replayed the chase in your mind. You began to feel sure “Tommy” had seen you run into the shed. If that was the case, you didn't know why he let you go. You could only guess he already had his hands full.

“Think we got’em all, son?” The Sheriff asked.

Tommy grunted.

“That’s my boy,” the Sheriff concluded.

-

The door frame would’ve been tall enough for most men, but Tommy had to duck on his way in. He carried an ax. Each step he took shook the entire structure. His breathing was loud, his mouth hanging open below the leather that covered his nose. The partial mask didn't cover his mouth. It was fastened with two straps behind his head nestled in thick, chestnut hair that came down around his shoulders.

Dusk was approaching. Not long after the Sheriff left, heavy footsteps crunched louder and louder toward the woodshed. Your heart pounded harder with each step.

The rickety door busted open with a plume of dust. Tommy’s silhouette consumed almost all the daylight that remained.

He approached you cautiously and paused when he was an arm’s length away. You whimpered, knees held to your chest. He sniffed around like an animal. Then he brushed a stray section of hair out of his eyes, and you saw a glint of uncertainty in his gaze. You tried to compose yourself, wondering if your fear could trigger him.

He knelt down to get a better look at you. He reached for you, and you jumped. He grumbled and held up a massive finger less than an inch from your mouth, telling you to be quiet.

Something possessed you to reach for his hand. He let you move it.

You put his palm on your cheek and watched his chest heave in confusion.

He tilted his head and stayed crouched there for a moment, staring at you with his brown eyes softening above the leather.

“Attaboy,” you whispered, repurposing the Sheriff’s words.

Tommy huffed, then abruptly stood. He left the shed, ax slung over his shoulder. He ducked again on his way out.

He didn't return for a while. You finally dared to open the door just enough to look out, but not for long, startled by an older woman’s voice calling, “Tommy!!! Time for supper.” You shrunk back into your corner, afraid you had been spotted.

You sat there frozen, afraid to run.

-

Sometime later, you heard a squeaky wheel approach the shed. The door opened more quietly than it had the first time. The hulking silhouette was backlit by a buzzing floodlight in the yard. The man seemed to be more careful and quiet this time. He had brought a few blankets. One of them was tattered, pale yellow bordering what used to be white, and it had Care Bears on it. He put the blanket over your body, coming all the way up to your neck, and patted your head. Then he took a bundle of newspaper out from under his arm and handed it to you like an offering. It smelled like barbecue.

As he turned to leave, you whispered, “Tommy.”

He dropped his head and looked back.

“Thank you,” you said.

Looking at the wall, Tommy offered a short nod before leaving. Then he locked the door from the outside.

After he left, you opened the newspaper. It was too dark to see, but the contents felt like a charred bone with bits of flesh hanging to it. You weren't hungry anyway.

You wrapped yourself tight in the blanket, and to your discomfort, your heart fluttered at the man’s softness with you. You replayed the day’s harrowing events in your mind’s eye and saw him differently than you had at first. Maybe he was nothing but an attack dog. You began to doubt he would've hurt your friends at all if not for the older, more wicked man in uniform.

Maybe Tommy was as much of a prisoner as you were. You wondered if he could talk. You felt sure he could listen.

After sunrise, you awoke to some commotion and heard a vehicle drive away. After a period of silence, you tried to open the door to the shed, but it was securely locked.

Soon, Tommy came back and unlocked it. He moved swiftly toward you with purpose in each heavy step, crouching slightly. The mass of his body strained his shirt. You'd never seen forearms like his. He could surely snap you like a twig, but something told you he wouldn't. Still, your heart raced when he lunged toward you. He reached over a wood pile and used both massive hands to force you onto your feet. He wrapped you in the blanket, then put you over his shoulder like a potato sack.

He put you into his wheelbarrow, then nestled some firewood around you. He looked around furtively as he did it. Then he covered you with another blanket and wheeled you across the bumpy ground, onto a smoother surface. He rolled a garage door down behind you and left you covered in the wheelbarrow as he rummaged around the garage.

You peeked out from the blanket and saw him placing shackles on a table. Your heart raced. You glanced behind you. The garage door was still lifted by a small margin. Maybe big enough to fit through.

You watched in terror as he brought out a mallet. Finally, your body unfroze.

You lowered yourself out of the wheelbarrow as carefully and quietly as you could and crawled toward the narrow opening. As you began to wriggle under it, your ass hit the door, making a noise far too loud to go unnoticed.

Within a split second, his massive hands were firm around your ankles, pulling you toward him, dragging you roughly across the concrete.

He manhandled you like a doll. He forced you onto your back and shook you, then wrapped a massive hand around your neck. Your life flashed before your eyes, and you kicked him. He grunted and grabbed you roughly by the shirt, then sat back on his knees. He held you with your back against his enormous thigh. Your Daisy dukes did nothing to protect your ass from the cold concrete. You thrashed, and he put the crook of his elbow around your neck, then everything faded.

When you woke up, you were chained to the table, with cold, metal shackles on your wrists and one ankle. You were bottomless, and the air was cool between your legs. Your feet were bare. All you had left was your tank top, which you wore without a bra.

You didn't dare move. A foul dust in the air made you sneeze, then Tommy came into view. He was wearing a butcher’s apron, and the sleeves of his dingy, button-up shirt were rolled up to expose those big, hairy forearms. He held the mallet. His eyes were industrious.

“Please don't hurt me,” you begged.

He laid a heavy hand on your shin, and you flinched. He gently placed your free ankle in a shackle, then nailed it shut.

“Please,” you begged.

He laid a hand on your thigh and looked you in the eyes.

“What are you going to do to me?” You asked.

He huffed and put the mallet away.

You were relieved until he returned with a meat cleaver. You tensed and squirmed. He laid a hand on your stomach and his searing eyes told you to stay still. He slid the cleaver under your tank top, and you held your breath and looked at the ceiling. Your nipples hardened at the feeling of his knuckles between your breasts.

He violently sliced upward through the fabric, turning your wifebeater into a vest which burst open, freeing your breasts. He inhaled sharply at the sight and discarded the meat cleaver with a metallic clatter on a nearby shelf.

“Please,” you begged again, then he stuck his fingers in your mouth and peered in. His thick digits tasted like charcoal and salt. Three fingers were enough to stuff the orifice completely. When you stopped whining, he abandoned your mouth.

He cupped a breast, then cupped both of them. He hummed a curious “mm,” Then dragged his thumb down your sternum before stepping away to survey your body.

You felt like a cadaver sliced open for examination. As he slowly stalked around the table, it dawned on you that's what he was doing. He was studying you.

He stopped at a long side of the table – your left side. He brought his face–his leather mask–to your skin, just below your ribs. His hair fell onto your body, and the light brush of it tickled. He paused to loosen the strap at the back of his head. Then he dipped his face to your abdomen again. He turned his head and dragged his cheek, and the leather, over your bare stomach, to your breast. You could hear him desperately sniffing and wondered why he didn't take that thing off.

Lips, hair, and smooth leather dragged across your skin as he wiped his face along your chest. Then his face made its way into your armpit, where a dart of his tongue made you flinch and shiver. His tongue darted out again. He sucked the delicate skin slightly into his mouth before releasing it with a soft grunt.

He paused and pulled away. He pivoted to stand behind your head, then brought his hands to your breasts. Helowered his mouth to your neck and licked you. His hair fell on your nose and smelled like smoke and metal.

He seemed to savor the taste of your skin. He licked longer, harder, the strong slippery muscle of his tongue nudging your jugular. You felt a rush of arousal and shame. He tasted the other side of your neck and hummed in satisfaction. The throbbing between your legs made you wince.

He dragged his tongue down over your chest to lap at your breast. He flattened his tongue to lick your nipple, then began to suckle at it. One thing was clear - this was not for your enjoyment. He was entirely absorbed in what he was doing. He didn't even glance at your face. Whether it was for his pleasure or curiosity, you couldn't be sure. He moaned into your nipple and you knew you must have been gushing onto the table.

After a few seconds, he pulled away from your tit and began to sniff the air. He stalked around the table some more and paused at your shackled feet, staring up between your spread legs. He found the source. His hands dwarfed your thighs as he pushed them further apart. Then he dabbed a thick finger, only grazing your folds as he picked up just a taste of you from the table and brought it to his mouth.

“Mm,” he hummed quietly, staring between your legs. He licked his finger again and his eyes searched the air curiously. Then he grabbed your upper thighs and anchored his thumbs on your outer lips, spreading you open. His heavy gut rested on the table between your feet as he leaned forward. As he lowered his mouth to your cunt, you twitched and felt another rush of shame.

His breath was hot on your cunt, then he dipped his tongue, and you tensed.

He lapped at your entrance, and the physical pleasure made you exhale and relax, while your fear remained. He licked and sucked, and your moan echoed before you could try to cut it short. Your chest was hot with embarrassment, but if he heard the sound, he ignored it.

He fed on your juices like a starved animal. He sucked and slurped, and dug his lips and tongue in, searching for more. The squelching and gurgling sounds were obscene between your legs. He closed his eyes and dug his fingers into your hips as he feasted.

The leather mask nudged your clit and made your hips lift into his mouth. He brought a hand to your lower belly to hold you still. Then his tongue plunged into you. You whispered, “good boy,” and your whole body felt weak with shame.

He paused and glanced up, then repeated the action. It was true, some part of you welcomed this, as afraid as you were. In any case, the heat and pressure building in your gut would have to release at some point.

He fucked you with his tongue, nudging your clit with the smooth leather, and you had to remind yourself to breathe. You'd never been eaten so voraciously. He moaned into your cunt and the tension was too much to hold. You whimpered as you began to pulse and twitch. His tongue paused as you clenched around it. Then he continued. Your back arched as he sucked it all out of you, swallowing every drop he could find. As your climax waned, you took slow, deep breaths.

Finally, he slowed down. He looked flustered for a moment, then his hand disappeared from your thigh. He pulled his face away, and the leather mask was soaked and shiny. Then he took his apron off. When he stood to put the apron aside, the protrusion in his pants made your breath hitch and your asshole flutter.

Your cunt spasmed once around nothing, and your insides churned as though making room for a massive guest.

You couldn't peel your eyes away. He adjusted himself, then palmed the bulge. His shirt had come untucked. The bottom button wasn't fastened, and his midsection strained the other buttons as his whole torso heaved. He eyed the mess between your legs as he palmed himself.

He seemed to be considering the possibility of stuffing your cunt with whatever monstrosity hid in his pants. He could take anything he wanted, but he didn't look proud of it. This didn't feel like something he did every day.

You decided not to fight back. You told yourself it was for survival, but you also twitched at the thought of him wrecking you. You looked at his crotch, then down between your legs, still gushing at the sight of him barely contained by his pants. The way his whole body wanted to bust out of his clothes made you weak in the knees. He was so solid and strong. You looked again from his crotch to your own, as though your eyes were instructing where to put it in defiance of your better judgment.

He grumbled as he picked up a hammer and approached you, making your heart nearly stop.

He pried the nails out of the shackles, and you cursed yourself for the way your heart fell. Your disappointment was quickly replaced by relief. A man this size, with these capabilities – he could have done serious damage to your body.

“Thank you,” you whispered. You laid on the table patiently looking at the ceiling as he went down to your feet and unshackled your ankles.

Then he grabbed you by the thighs and yanked you toward the end of the table, making you yelp. Your naked crotch came to rest flush against the bulge in his pants, making you ache with arousal. Your thighs trembled in fear.

You looked down toward him and he forced your chin upward, making you look at the ceiling. You pinched your eyes shut. You were at war with your body’s desire. He might kill you. He might actually split you in two. The dying squeals of your friends echoed in your mind. But his hardness swelled against you, and oh, fuck.

His hips backed up and you twitched at the loss of his warm package against you.

With your eyes still pinched shut, you heard his clothes jostling, then he spread your lips apart while he notched his tip against you. It was too big. He held your thighs again and pulled you toward him with a forward thrust and a grunt.

Being impaled with his cock felt like being split open. The girth burned as it stretched you, and you whimpered as your body tried to accommodate him. He stayed inside, and he sighed. You'd never felt so stuffed. He leaned forward, and the contact with your clit provided some relief as your body spread itself more. But still, your heart raced at the prospect of him moving. You prayed he would be gentle.

When you didn't stop whimpering, he stuck his fat, smokey fingers in your mouth again. He placed his other hand on your chest to hold you still, with the crook of his thumb close to your throat. You gagged on his fingers and he removed them. He wiped your saliva onto your nipple before kneading your breast.

Thankfully, you were wet and getting wetter. He held you down and slammed into you. The fullness pushed your thoughts out of the way along with your guts. You kept your eyes shut as he speared into you again.

His breathing and grunting seemed to echo through the room with every snap of his hips. His unholy girth twitched against your walls. He grabbed onto your hips and brutally pounded you. He used you like a sleeve until his moans were drawn out and his breath became ragged. He pulled you back hard and leaned forward, the weight of him resting on your lower abdomen. Your cunt fluttered in anticipation of his climax, but he paused. Your hips lifted, seeking friction for your front.

He pulsed once, making your chest flutter with pleasure, but then he swiftly slid out. He left you twitching for more as he finished coming outside. His cum painted your folds and inner thigh, and he grumbled and turned around. You lowered your chin to look just in time for him to release onto the wheelbarrow and floor. Then he stood there with his broad back heaving as he looked around.

You closed your eyes again and opened them when you felt fabric on your inner thigh. He was wiping you off with the bottom of his shirt. His face and neck were blotched pink, and he had fixed his pants. He was looking at you, chest still heaving when his ears perked up at the distant sound of tires on gravel.

He quicky put your shorts back on and gathered you off the table, nestling you in the wheelbarrow once more. He swaddled you in the old blanket, now wet with his cum, and opened the garage before quickly wheeling you back to the shed.

He placed you in the corner where you had been, just in time for the truck to park. As he turned to leave the shed, you said “Tommy. Can you bring me some water?”

He hesitated then gave a short nod before locking the shed again behind him.

He came back later with a jar of water and a metal bucket. You were shivering in the corner when he came in. He set the bucket down next to you, then placed his hand on the crown of your head and gently moved his fingers as he looked around. Then he abruptly began to unbutton his shirt. He pulled you up from the corner to put the shirt on you. His chest was hairy and broad, and his entire torso was thick, just massive.

“Good Tommy,” you said as he finished putting the shirt on you.

He paused and left it unbuttoned. His eyes were big. He held you by the sides, looking you up and down in the oversized shirt and Daisy dukes. Then he put you back where you were and locked the shed behind him.

The shirt was filthy, cumstained, and reeked of sweat, but it didn’t smell as bad as it should've. It didn't make you sick like it should've. When he left, you wrapped it tight around yourself, then looked in the bucket. There were apples.

Thank you for reading and engaging! Love you guys 🖤 please consider commenting even if this is old. It helps to know what you liked.

If you want more, good news - I have more thots! Feel free to send yours, too.

[teaforthotxxx]

I feel like Professor Regulus Black would be such a shit once Harry starts playing quidditch. Like sure thats his son but fuck Gryffindors. As the head of Slytherin house, he would show up to Harry’s games in full silver and green. He stands in the Slytherin stands with giant banners for Slytherin. It annoys Harry to no end. Because he knows Reggie loves him but Harry is a Gryffindor and he wants more support for Gryffindor.

Harry would beg Remus to dress up in Red and gold but of course be wouldn’t. Professor Lupin doesn’t care about Quidditch. Harry goes as far as to beg Minerva Mcgonagall to dress up but none of the Gryffindor professors are willing to break dress code for this.

But, then, he gets an idea right before the Christmas Quidditch games. He knows that he may not convince his professors to dress up but there is one way to make them wear what he wants. So, he commissions two giant couple scarves from Mrs Molly Weasley. Both red and gold. He gives them to his dad James Potter and his godfather Sirius Black as early Christmas presents. Then, he asks them to wear them to his game.

AND just as he planned, he sees Remus and Sirius in the Gryffindor stands wrapped in a giant scarf. Remus looks begrudging but he can’t resist how happy it makes Sirius. Then, Harry swoops past the Slytherin stands, he finds Regulus and James snuggled in one giant red and gold scarf. They are still in slytherin but the banners have changed to “Go Harry!” and “THATS OUR SON!”. James was such a sap he wanted them to wear couples costumes and as Gryffindor’s previous headboy, he just HAD to wear red and gold. So, Reg was wearing his old quidditch jersey cute gold rings with rubies.

Harry is so proud he pulled one over Regulus. But, more importantly, he can’t stop laughing at the shocked expressions on Malfoy’s and Zabini’s faces!!

[cerastes]

I still think it's really cool how Amuro starts as the shittiest pilot alive (because he's a 15-year old) that only gets carried because he's in the biggest, fattest stat stick in-universe at the time (a few retroactive additions made in the future notwithstanding), enough that even its crappy vulcan guns are tearing Zaku IIs apart, and when he starts getting a bit too cocky, Char and Ramba Ral show up in objectively inferior pieces of junk and absolutely deliver his pizza, they just drag his face across every available surface in Planet Earth like he's a Yakuza mook, all because they are simply that much better at piloting, and the thing is, Amuro takes that very seriously.

He goes from shitass kid in an unfortunate situation that doesn't want to get in the robot to the most unwell child soldier in the war, which is really saying something, but most importantly, becomes so good at piloting the Gundam that the Gundam physically cannot handle Amuro's piloting. They need to apply "Magnetic Coating" to its joints so they don't fucking snap away from the main frame because Amuro, one, moves too damn well but also in too extreme a way for the frame to handle it, two, despite being equipped with two sabers, a shield, a beam rifle and vulcan guns, Amuro is a stern believer in introducing most everyone in thagomizer range to his Rated Z for Zeon hands, the single most official pair of hands in the business, tax free. He KEEP going Ip Man on these dudes, he does NOT need to do a Jamestown on these mother fuckers but he INSISTS. Somehow even the Gundam Hammer, which is a giant Hannah Barbera cartoon flail-- Ok, look at this thing, words do not do it justice

Even this god damn Tom and Jerry prop is less savage that whatever Amuro decides to do the moment he's done throwing his shield to get a free kill on someone and it officially becomes bed time forever for the unfortunate sap at the business end of his ten-finger weapons of mass destruction.

The RX-78-2, "Gundam" for its friends and family, even has a top of the line cutting edge Learning Computer that 'learns' alongside the pilot and their habits. This data extracted from it was so absolutely fucked up that it completely revolutionized Mobile Suit combat afterwards, which is a wholesome thing to think about when The Best Combat Data Ever came from a really angry, really stressed 15 year old that doesn't even like piloting. He was 15! He made Haro with his own hands! Amuro literally just wanted to make funny cute spherical robofriends! Amuro was out there trying to make Kirby real, but fate had other plans for him. His cloned brain put in a pilot seat is one of the setting's strongest 'pilots'.

They made fucking Shadow the Hedgehog with his brain, god damn.

By the end, Zeon is rolling out Gelgoogs out of its mass production lines. These things are in the Gundam's ballpark in terms of overall specs (or "power level"). Amuro is bodying them as if they were episode 1 Zaku IIs.

AND THEN HE GETS FUCKING PSYCHIC SPACE POWERS. Not that he needed them, he bodied a couple Space Psychics without any of those powers before awakening to them. But heaven's most violent child was not done evolving, whether he liked it or not.

Char bodied him in a souped up Zaku II at the start, a machine objectively inferior to the Gundam. Amuro more or less one-sidedly beats the shit out of Char when he's in a custom Commander-type Gelgoog that you could consider to be equal spec-wise to the Gundam. Amuro is the embodiment of Finding Out. He is Consequences. You tell him he better make it hurt, better make it count, better kill you in one shot, buddy, he needs half a fucking shot. The complete transformation. One could consider the central 75% of the show as long drawn out training montage turning a kid into the Geese Howard of giant robots.

[i-smoke-chapstick]

Okay so like as I’m writing this, tomorrow is my birthday (I’m gonna be 19 😭) and I was wondering if I could get some birthday headcanons with the legion of horribles (poly but platonic) + (separately) zsasz?🥺

You don’t have to finish this on my birthday so I understand if it will take time but if you can do it that would be wonderful! Don’t feel pressured though!

Thank you so much Cupid!^^🫂

'400 LUX,

-GOTHAM!VILLIANS X READER-

⋆ Characters ↬ Oswald Cobblepot, Jerome Valeska, Bridgit Pike, Jervis Tetch, Jonathan Crane, Victor Fries, Victor Zsasz

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; Birthday HCs with the Legion of Horribles! (+ romantic zsasz)

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!villains x female reader. PURE FLUFF! They adore reader so so so much! Reader turning 19 :> Age gap for Zsasz! All seven of these idiots. Good luck reader, you will need it!! Suggestive parts in Zsasz's. Reader probably drinking too much tea to be healthy. Also sorry I'm a little late with this, hectic week but happy late bday adal <3 love ya!

𝛰𝑆𝑊𝐴𝐿𝐷 𝐶𝛰𝐵𝐵𝐿𝐸𝑃𝛰𝑇

♫ “We're never done with killing time, can I kill it with you?” 400 Lux by Lorde

Number one spoiler!

No seriously, good luck. You are basically Martin #2. He's buying the most extravagant gifts, and hosting the birthday party. He's getting mad at Jervis and Jerome (anyone who can't keep there mouth shut for the surprise.)

Hectically organizing this whole mess. To his best ability. Eventually he gives up under the stress and you'll notice. Just have a little sit down with him, and he'll HAPPILY celebrate your birthday far away from everyone else.

Once you two have a minute alone, he's making you his mothers tea, telling you all about his birthdays and how she used to celebrate them with him. He really just wants to make this the best day for you possible.

Have a small little laugh with him on the couch, look at baby pictures of him around the mansion, watch him get red in the face and scowl just a teeny tiny bit.

He'll also scroll through your phone (he's horrible with technology) and look at your baby pictures too. You two end up having a good laugh and a semi-serious talk about childhood memories <3

He'll end up giving you his most personal gift when you two are alone, away from the "cretins outside" in his words.

𝐽𝐸𝑅𝛰𝑀𝐸 𝑉𝐴𝐿𝐸𝑆𝐾𝐴

♫ “We might be hollow but we're brave.” 400 Lux by Lorde

The only time he's 100 percent serious is when he's busy with the sheer EFFORT he's putting into this celebration.

Him and Oswald have conflicting ideas. Oswald wants something extravagant, royal, fit for you, like a coming of age. Jerome still wants to throw you a ball, but more like a child's dream chucky-cheese type birthday.

What do you mean he can't get a bunch of arcade machines and a ball pit delivered to the mansion? He's pouting.

He'll be DAMNED if he doesn't book the entertainment and a GIANT cake, though.

Will get Jervis to hypnotize some poor sap to dance for you. You know, if you're into that. Might kill him too if you're a little evil like him. If you aren't into that, he'll let him live. That's your gift :>

Did i say a GIANT cake? Yeah. It's massive. FUCKING MASSIVE. He probably ends up eating more of it then you guys, to be honest.

Makes sure it's your favorite flavor too.

Makes everyone sit down when it's time for cake and candles, if anyone tries to get up he's screaming at the top of his lungs.

Remember that "USE THE TONGS, CARL!" Yeah, he's channeling that energy to the hypnotized people cutting the cake and setting the table.

Fully looks at you like a successor (and like, his only real friend) so he's a bit pushy for this to go well. Not as much as Oswald, but still set on making this a good day for you. He just isn't as overt.

𝐵𝑅𝐼𝐷𝐺𝐼𝑇 𝑃𝐼𝐾𝐸

♫ “And the heating comes on.” 400 Lux by Lorde

Poor baby has never seen, attended, or had a birthday party in her life. It's new for her, it's intriguing. She loves this little strange family you guys have created.

You are LITERALLY her little sister, the only sibling she truly sees as her own!

It's obligatory for her to light the birthday candles (and almost burn the mansion down, chaos ensues)

Similar to Oswald, she gives you one intimate gift. Something she knows you'll love, something personal. You're favorite flowers, gems, or even a nod to an inside joke.

Arguing with Victor (Fries) about who has the better gift and who you like more.

When the day is nearing it's end, she volunteers to clean up to have some time alone with you. Everyone else is winding down, but you and her will get to talk like two best friends.

It's the only time she feels like a normal teenage girl. Just gossiping with you while putting Jerome's confetti in trash bags.

You'll probably have a little slumber party with her in the living room, eating left-over snacks and watching TV, throwing popcorn at each other. Speaking of popcorn....

"Hey, watch this!" She's nudging you, getting you to watch her make her own popcorn kernels with her flamethrower, signature smile on her face :>

𝐽𝐸𝑅𝑉𝐼𝑆 𝑇𝐸𝑇𝐶𝐻

♫ “You drape your wrists over the steering wheel.” 400 Lux by Lorde

He was fighting tooth and nail for this to be a tea party. Still upset it's not. Ended up still hypnotizing someone to make tea for you all. Ah, Small victories.

Also? We saw him in that chauffer outfit. He will gladly be the designated driver.

Similar to the rest of them, he wants some time alone with you. So, he's hypnotizing a limo and pulling up and practically stealing you away.

Takes you on a little shopping spree. Anywhere you want to go, he'll take you there! Even if he doesn't particularly enjoy it. (cough cough, convince stores, cough cough)

Wants to take you to the tea shoppes and bakeries.

He is LITERALLY the most BUSY bee out of EVERYONE. Everyone is so obsessed with planning and whatnot, but he actually has to do EVERYTHING by himself.

Whose hypnotizing the cake maker, the gifts, the decorations, the people, the waiters? Ah, the list goes on and on. He's a bit tuckered out by the time you too are done shopping and he's off his list of errands.

Have a cup of tea with him after <3 he will be infinitely grateful to wind down with you if you find the time during the day.

Sings happy birthday obnoxiously loud for you. He also insists everyone has perfect table manners and etiquette. (Looking at you, Jerome.)

𝐽𝛰𝑁𝐴𝑇𝐻𝐴𝑁 𝐶𝑅𝐴𝑁𝐸

♫ “I can tell that you're tired.” 400 Lux by Lorde

Silent, for the most part. Will refuse to sing happy birthday, and will truly only participate if it's the two of you alone. He...doesn't work well in groups.

He's getting a slap on the wrist from everyone because of it.

He'd MUCH rather steal you away periodically through the day, to just talk to you about your childhood. Congratulate you. He's happy for you, but he's a little scared you're getting older.

Very protective. Always. No matter what.

You might hear him laugh a bit, joke around with you, just simply checking the surroundings and chaos from Jerome.

If you are someone who prefers things more lowkey, you'll find yourself spending the majority of the day with Jonathan. Eventually you two will just pass by each other every now and then, and share a brief respite from the bustling outside.

You are TRULY his best friend. He wants to make this day as good for you as everyone else does. He just doesn't know where to start.

He'll probably end up giving you your favorite gift out of EVERYONE.

Doesn't matter what it is. He'll know. It will be intimate, genuine, and a very heartfelt message on the bottom of a card attached.

"Love you, Y/N." -Jonathan

Okay, not SUPER heartfelt at first look, but for him? It's as close as you'll get to him being vulnerable.

𝑉𝐼𝐶𝑇𝛰𝑅 𝐹𝑅𝐼𝐸𝑆

♫ “We're getting good at this.” 400 Lux by Lorde

Jerome puts him on ice-cream duty and he's reasonably grumpy.

No, but genuinely, this is a VERY special day for him. He's a VERY proud dad!

Always wanted to have kids with Nora. Never got a chance. You really are his second chance at happiness, and he loves you so much. He gets to live out everything he thought he'd never be able too.

Wants to get more involved, but gets a little pushed out between Jerome and Oz.

Jerome probably makes him make ice sculptures. Or Ozzie asks him to freeze the body of your enemies. Perfect gift!

Similar to Jonathan, likes to keep things more lowkey. He'll sneak in a pseudo father daughter bonding moment, even if you don't know.

"So, uh, you're staying out trouble, right?"

He's asking, nudging you when you two finally get a moment alone. His voice comes out in a mumble, obviously not very experienced in this role of being a father. But he can't help it.

Overprotective dad scowling at Zsasz, you know, to get the point across. Zsasz staring riiiiiiight back.

"Just so you know...if you break her heart, I'm freezing yours." Victor #1 says, with a clicking sound, and a raise of his gun.

Victor #2 raises a non-existent eyebrow, and lifts his own gun in return. "Of course..." He drawls. The idle threats are there.

𝑉𝐼𝐶𝑇𝛰𝑅 𝑍𝑆𝐴𝑆𝑍

♫ “You pick me up and take me home again / We're hollow like the bottles that we drain.” 400 Lux by Lorde

He's a loving boyfriend, you just have to get through his layers throughout the day!

Of course, he's your ride to and from the mansion. Driving with him, his hand on your thigh, disco music. Waking you up with kisses and birthday sex

He's grumbling just a bit everyone else wants to steal you away. Que him being a sassy boyfriend, rolling his eyes.

He ends up just standing around the mansion most of the day, sneaking bites of pastries or making idle conversation with the terrified waiters, while you are out with Jervis. He doesn't mind. It's your day. He is more then happy, this is his element. A whole day dedicated to his girl, and free food? Sign him up.

In contrast to everyone, he's the only person to give you a gag gift. Surprisingly, Jerome takes this too seriously to give you one. Victor doesn't, though. He'll give you a whole bunch of small gag gifts, just to see that beautiful smile on your face.

He'll end up getting you a real gift though. Something precious, gorgeous, elegant. Something absolutely killer. Black onyx necklace? Yes. You'll feel the leather of his gloves on your neck while he puts it on you.

Doesn't care if ANYONE looks at the two of you weirdly for the age gap. In fact, he'll become even MORE affectionate. Y'know, just to piss people off.

Speaking of age, he doesn't care you aren't 21 just yet. He's 100% sneaking the two of you some alcohol to drink. (Not without teasing you, of course, for being a downright horrible criminal!)

Oswald, Victor Fries, and Jervis don't appreciate you drinking. They are too protective. But Zsasz doesn't gaf what they say :>

[itsabouttimex2]

Platonic Yanderes

(Endeavor, Hawks, Best Jeanist)

Enji Todoroki:

His own child, whom he previously spurned.

He regrets it. God, he regrets it so much. The memories seethe inside him like an angry scar, pulsing in pain.

“I made dinner, Dad! I knew you’d be out late, so I stayed up to make sure you had something to eat!” He doesn’t sit down to to eat or say thank you. He grabs the plate from your hands and stomps off to his own room to eat, casting a baleful glare to you as he does. At least you’re good for something, he thinks.

He doesn’t think like that anymore. Do you know that, Y/N? You are worth so much more than he ever let you know.

“Hey, dad. You wanna go out jogging? Fuyumi grew out of her old tracksuit and gave it to me, and I wanted to see if-“

You cut yourself off when he glares at you, a withering look on his face. He stares down at you, a sneer turning the corners his lips. “You wouldn’t be able to keep up with me,” he snaps at you, walking away and slamming the door as he exits.

But you never actually thought you’d be able to keep up. You knew you’d fall behind. You just wanted to spend time with him, didn’t you? He’ll spend as much time with you as he can from now on, Y/N.

“Do you want to train with me? I’d be happy to put up some targets for you!” You smile, tiny bits of ice sparking on your hands. That smile doesn’t reach your eyes anymore, not when you’re talking to Dad. “There’s nothing you can put up that I wouldn’t melt right through. You don’t have the skill.” As expected, he turns on his heel and leaves.

He wonders how long it’s been since the two of you talked. You were there, reaching out a hand to him, trying to get through to his heart. You made offer after offer, and he struck them down without hesitation. Even without a scrap of love of affection, you kept trying to help him become a better person.

“Why didn’t I let you help me?”

He asks himself this question again and again, looking down on you. He always looked down on you, for being weak or sentimental or distracting.

Now he’s doing it in a more literal sense, staring at your feverish form on the bed.

Your severe sickness had been the perfect excuse to squirm back into your life. He comes in with nearly a dozen grocery sacks held in his arms, a steely and determined look in his eyes. Before you have a chance to slam the door in his face (not that you strength to do so right now) he walks into the house, heading straight to the kitchen.

“What are you-“

“Hush. Not a word, Y/N.” He’s dressed in his own expensive and tailor-made version of casual, not that it makes him any less intimidating. He places the bags on your table, and walks directly towards you, his hand moving to cover your forehead. He grimaces.

“You’re burning up, Y/N. Get to bed. Now.”

“You need to-“

He grabs your shoulders and spins you around, marching you to your room, checking the rooms one by one as he walks with you. Once he finds it, he pushes you towards it and pulls back the covers. “Get in.”

You’re frozen stiff, caught off guard by the sudden turn of events, your estranged father busting in with groceries and literally marching you in around your own home, room by room. That pause gives him the chance to push you onto the mattress, tucking the blanket around you. “Good,” he says, sounding satisfied. “I’ll make you something to eat. Don’t move.”

He pulls the top off of a can of microwaveable soup, dumping the contents into a plastic bowl. He had wanted to just buy you something gourmet and professionally made, but Fuyumi had talked him out of it, saying you’d be better off with something simple and easy to eat. That you would be better off with him.

So here he is, a giant man trying his best to not break a tiny spoon as he pushes it to your lips. Now that you’re actually lying down instead of trying to work in your weakened state, your body finally gives out, entirely sapped of the energy you’d need to get up or tell him off for coming in unannounced and uninvited. With nothing else to do and a body that won’t listen to your commands, you let him him feed you.

It’s a tiny step forward, the first of so many to come. And he won’t stop until you call him your father again.

——

Keigo Takami:

A young and innocent member of the League of Villains.

“I really appreciate you stopping by, Mr.

Hawks.”

You slide him a drink, sweet and fizzy and non-alcoholic. You’ve never actually served him anything with alcohol, not even by accident. He refuses to drink it, keeping himself sober and fully focused at all times.

You appreciate it, because it means one less grown man to babysit, one less puddle of vomit to mop, one less fight to break up.

And he appreciates that you don’t ask questions or try to convince him otherwise, because it means that he can do his job much easier.

“Did you make me something new, kiddo?”

“Yeah, I did! Club soda and cherry syrup and whipped cream!”

“Looks delicious, kid.” He takes a sip, and damn, it’s actually pretty good. “And tastes even better than it looks,” he praises, buttering you up in a way that aren’t used to. The other members, the real members of the League aren’t so kind. You’ll get an errant compliment or two, but mostly you gets nods, grunts of approval, and impatient demands for refills.

But Mr. Hawks is relaxed and charming and actually talks to you outside of ordering drinks. It’s easy to trust him.

“Got any news for me, kid?”

Maybe a little too easy, with the way you spill out all the gossip you’ve overheard, bits of information that you would’ve never considered critical or even important. And all the while, he grins and sips his drink, listening very, very close.

You’re betraying your own teammates, and you don’t even know it, he thinks to himself. And why? Because you’re just a good kid, a lonely kid? A sweet and polite kid, in spite of being surrounded by literal killers and remorseless criminals.

More than anything, he feels bad for you.

Especially when he catches you drinking.

You sniffle, a red handprint outlined on your cheek, and bruising from a rough hand encircling your wrist. You tip the shot glass back, trying to take a another sip.

But something soft blocks your lips, soaking up the alcohol before it can enter your mouth. You set the shot glass down, opening your red-rimmed eyes. A feather, hanging midair, separating your lips and the glass.

“You’re still a bit young for that kind of coping, kid. Give it a few more years, and then you can start.”

His voice is soft, and he takes your wrist to turn it over, looking at the outlines left behind by rough, grasping fingers.

“Who was it?”

A flash of something fierce and angry, protective and nurturing. His eyes sharpen and then that sharpness fades, gone in an instant. He switches to laid-back and unaffected in a moment.

“C’mon. Just one word, and I’ll make sure they don’t mess with you again. Can’t have my favorite bartender making my drinks with a bruised hand, after all.”

You give him a name, fighting back tears. You aren’t supposed to cry. You aren’t supposed to break. You need to be strong and useful or you’ll get thrown out, nowhere to go and no one who wants you.

No one who wanted you until you met Hawks, that is. He’s sure you’ll know that soon, when these villains are brought to justice and he takes you into his personal custody, under the guise of rehab.

He hooks an arm around your shoulders and when you lean into his side, starved for warmth and comfort, he slips a feather into your pocket. A sign that he’s there, that you aren’t alone.

You won’t be alone again.

——

Tsunagu Hakamada:

A shy, insecure UA student who performs well at the Sports Festival.

You aren’t the usual kind of student he’d take under his wing. You stumble and stutter and whimper and then you crumble and hide yourself away. You have no self-esteem, no confidence, no sense of personal worth.

But your fighting prowess is impossible to deny or ignore. You might not have any self-worth, but you’ve got enough skill to make up for it.

“Fifth place”, he starts, while combing through your hair, “Is very impressive, especially for the school in question. You went up against skilled and varied opponents, and beat out all but four. Be proud.”

He doesn’t see the need to use Fiber Master on you. One single command of “sit” had you on the stool, holding as still as you could while he fixed your unruly hair, swept and tangled by the wind. You are certainly a well-behaved student, listening closely to his words, blushing at his praise.

“I was scared,” you mumble, in a sudden show of honesty. “I thought I was gonna mess up in front of everyone. With all those cameras. And everyone watching.” He’s won you over quickly, his unshakably calm yet supportive and patient personality providing you with the comfort you need to open up to him.

“And you did not. That is admirable.”

You blush a little deeper. Clearly, you are receptive to praise and positive attention. Building you up as a properly confident student and hero-in-training becomes one of his priorities.

He finds himself enjoying your presence. Something as simple as children running up to you to ask you about the sports festival, asking you to show off your Quirk for them has you looking up to him for approval, for his consent. He gives you a nod, carefully regarding your actions. You do decently with people when someone is behind you with a supporting hand on your back, it seems.

Then it’s teenagers, some classmates, some friends, occasional newfound fans. Every now and then, an outright admirer. Usually, you hide behind him, eyes down, arms wrapped around yourself. He interferes personally on the last ones, politely but firmly rejecting them on your behalf, nudging you along to continue your patrolling. You mumble a thanks, staying close beside him.

For adults, it’s two drunkards who laugh and sneer and shout obscene things about what they’d do to a shy schoolgirl like you if they got the chance. One whips out his phone to take a picture of you, only to drop it in his drink when the cuff of his sleeve tightens around his wrist like a snare. Tsunagu ushers you to a bench, draping his jean jacket around your shoulders gently. “You need not worry. I will be right back.”

He’s a dreadfully powerful man, in terms of both influence and Quirk. In seconds, both men are bound tightly by their own clothes, and in a matter of minutes, police officers are stepping in to take them into custody for sexual harassment.

He clicks his tongue in distaste, watching them get carted off. “Some people simply have no moral fiber.”

The way you look at him right then reminds him of why he became a hero. Not only to save lives, but to instill peace and hope into the hearts of those around him.

And he starts to like being around you. You look to him, not only for safety but for guidance and even for comfort. He offers it to you, watching closely as you fall deeper into the web that he weaves, one where you are safe and secure and utterly oblivious to your own entrapment.

And the longer you stick around, stumbling after him like a newborn fawn, the tighter and thicker those bonds grow. You can’t ever leave him.

But why would you ever want to leave him?

[vllergy]

freedom of nature's gifts

h/alsin b/g3 allergy, kink tav, 2.1k for those not familiar with the fandom: enormous kinky beefcake bear-coded druid who is felled by nothing wanders off into the woods to sneeze without disturbing his companions for those familiar: pls enjoy astarion being an absolute bitch about it for .5 seconds regular goodies: allergies, vouyuerism, partner with the kink extra flavor: giant man, giant snz, formerly indomitable force meets pollen, forced politeness, h/alsin being a sap tbh THIS IS JUST FOR ME I WROTE THIS FOR ME OK SORRY YOU HAVE TO SEE IT

“And here I thought druids were supposed to appreciate all of nature’s many charms.” Astarion’s musical voice drips with amusement. Tav picks up on it outside his tent as the lithe shadow of the elf passes over the sun drenched silk of his doorway. Just behind him, Karlach’s larger figure marches diligently along the same path.

“Oh, he’s appreciating them all right,” she snorts.

Tav rubs his eyes and rolls over. It’s morning, or at least it feels like it from the ache in his spine and the slightly cool air whisking over from the lake. He picks his head up and tries to follow the thread of conversation. His companions are talking about a druid, so they must mean Halsin. Tav hasn’t seen him since the night before.

Memories come warm and sticky like honey. Halsin’s hazel eyes fond in firelight. A low chuckle. A massive hand settled onto the small of Tav’s back. His heart quickens just at the thought.

Outside, Karlach sighs with a note of sympathy. “Never heard anyone sneeze so much in my life.”

Tav’s heartbeat nearly catapults out of his chest at that. His fingers fist in his blankets before he tears them away and scrambles up. Despite wishing to burst free from the tent like a demon, he tries to make his movements as unhurried as possible. It’s with great effort that he emerges from his sleeping arrangements without appearing impatient and affects a bored glance over at the others as they settle around the warm embers from last nights campfire.

“Morning,” Tav says and makes a show of scrubbing his eyes.

“Good morning to you too, darling,” Astarion purrs, “And aren’t you looking lovely?”

“Heya, soldier. You sleep okay?” Karlach waves.

Tav nods. His patience has limits, however. “What were you guys talking about?”

Karlach gestures back over her shoulder towards the tree line, “Halsin. Surprised you didn’t hear him earlier this morning. Poor guy was sneezing his head off before he crawled off to the woods to do it in private.”

The warm flooding of pleasure in Tav’s stomach doesn’t stop his momentary concern. “Is he alright?”

Astarion’s eyes glitter with amusement, “He says it’s the flowers growing nearby setting him off.”

The vampire looks positively delighted to be delivering said information, as if he knows what it’s doing to Tav. Tav knows that’s impossible, and Astarion is clearly just tickled by the irony of it all, but it still makes his cheeks flush with unexpected warmth.

“A druid with allergies! Ha!” Astarion claps his hands once, “You can’t make this up.”

“I should go see if he needs anything,” Tav chews the inside of his lip. His body feels like it’s full of needles.

Thankfully, he has a well-known weak spot when it comes to Halsin. His abrupt need to go to check on him isn’t exactly out of the ordinary, nor is it any cause for suspicion. Astarion merely waves him off with a delicate hand and Karlach nods sagely. “Tell him he can come back any time, big guy’s too hard on himself.”

“I’d rather he stay out there,” Astarion balks, “I’d like to preserve my hearing, thank you very much.”

Tav leaves them to squabble and heads for the tree line where Karlach indicated. He knows he should probably change into something other than the clothes he slept in but he’s too warm already and the thought of delaying getting to Halsin makes her skin feel even more prickly and sharp.

—

Given how familiar he is with the volume with which Halsin can expel an irritant, Tav has some idea of what he’s getting into. Even still, the first far off sneeze he manages to catch once he’s in proximity stuns him with its power. The druid still has to be a few hundred feet off but Tav hears it clear as day. It's an unrushed, heavy thing with so much of Halsin’s voice in it, his knees go weak.

It only takes him a matter of moments to close in on his lover’s position. And when he does, the sight there unravels him completely.

Tav has never seen Halsin at the mercy of anything that wasn’t his animal form. That particular loss of control has always been wickedly erotic to him as well, just for the sheer rarity of it. It's not something Halsin enjoys succumbing to, however. The first time it happened when they made love, he’d been apologetic about it. Sheepish, even.

Halsin is a man who is undaunted by much of anything. It’s not surprising that the few things able to bring him to his knees are difficult for him to come to grips with. Tav thinks surrender must be a strange concept for a man who has burdened himself with nothing but crippling responsibility for over a millennia. When is the last time Halsin let himself truly be vulnerable to something? Does he remember how to surrender?

Tav would argue that yes, he does, because that's the only word that describes what’s happening here.

Halsin’s sitting under the cover of a tree on a large stump. He’s clearly been in the throes of this fit for some time, true to Astarion and Karlach’s report. Evidenced by the redness of his nostrils, the tears slicked down his tattooed cheek and the limp handkerchief laid open in his massive palm. The man appears breathless, panting with indulgent, open-mouthed gasps as his nostrils swell. He doesn’t even bother to open his eyes as he lets another clockwork sneeze take him.

“huh’uRRSSCHHHH’HOO!”

if he’d been using the handkerchief before, he’s abandoned it now, optioning to simply sneeze down in its general direction rather than try to contain any part of the expulsion. And Tav can see why. There’s hardly any point. Halsin's sizable chest swells with one, languid breath and whatever fire’s been stoked within his sinuses catches again and he sneezes without reprieve.

“hh’RRRAAAASSH’UUE!”

He still hasn’t opened his eyes. Tav wonders how long he’s been stuck like this, in an endless cycle of chest-clearing sneezes with barely a breath between. The idea of it being more than a few minutes is deeply intriguing to him, but also a little worrying. How much can one man possibly sneeze? He’s never seen Halsin like this. In fact, he can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen the druid sneeze. Tav has, after all, been paying attention.

“hh’RrrRSSCHH! hh? Hh! Hh’hhRRUSSh'SHOO!” Halsin teeters on the edge of a third, eyebrows bunched together, an allergic tear sliding down his cheek. He hangs on the precipice for an agonizing moment before roaring with the ferocity of a bear into the final one. “Hh’hhRrAAASSCHHH’uHH!!!”

His shoulders tremble with the force and Tav’s vested interest in the display finally makes room for guilt. He steps forward, purposely landing hard enough on the foliage underfoot to snap a twig and announce his presence.

“Halsin?” He calls.

The druid tenses. He straightens up and his eyes flash over to the treeline, surprised and a little guilty. He attempts a smile as color rises to his cheeks.

“Ah, my heart! I did not hhhea—excuse mhee’hh’WHFFHSHH!” He turns away promptly and smothers the harsh sneeze into his handkerchief, cutting the volume in half.

The propriety he insists on in front of Tav makes Tav’s legs feel like jelly. Moments ago he was sneezing with reckless abandon into the open air without a care in the world, but now he insists on sparing his lover from the display for a reason Tav can't ordain. They've seen each other bloodied and spent a thousand different ways before. How is this any different? Halsin twists away from him further, his massive shoulders swelling as he ducks into the handkerchief again. “H’hWHHFFSSShH!"

“Seven Hells, Halsin,” Tav murmurs. He lays a hand on the man’s back, “Bless you.” "My thhha-"

Tampering back those massive sneezes seems to make them vindictive, and Halsin can’t even get a proper thanks out before he's flinching back into a reflexive fit of them, once more trapped in his sodden handkerchief.

“wFFHSCHH! H’tSSCHh!” Halsin lifts his head and gasps desperately. Tav feels an odd sense of relief as the druid eschews a sense decorum for a cleansing, powerful third. “hhrh’RRSHHH-SHOO!”

“My thanks,” he murmurs directly after, but tends to his nose quickly before turning back to Tav. He sniffles unproductively and Tav notices his nostrils sharpening as they flare in an effort to stave off what he’s sure is another impending sneeze.

Tav gently tucks a lock of auburn hair that’s come loose from a braid behind Halsin’s pointed ear.

“Bless you,” Tav frowns, “How long has this been going on?”

Halsin looks dangerously close to another sneeze, but blinks furiously until the need abates. His auburn lashes look darker with irritated tears. He sniffs as delicately as he can, which Tav can only assume is incredibly unsatisfying, and gives a weak smile.

“The better part of the morning, I fear.”

“You could have woken me,” Tav murmurs, stroking fingers through his long hair.

Halsin chuckles, “I thought I might have, given the racket I was m—ma—ah, oohn...onnce more, apologies—“ He turns away and clamps the handkerchief over his nose and mouth. “h’WHFFHSHH'uhh!"

His lungs fill and he dips lower towards his lap.

“hh'RrSCHH!”

“I believe that was twice,” Tav teases, despite feeling his trousers getting uncomfortably tight.

Halsin lifts his head just enough to try and find a dry edge of the handkerchief. It doesn’t happen in time. His hazel eyes go narrow, unfocused, and he sneezes across it and his knuckles.

“Huh’uSSHH’HOO!”

“Gods, Halsin.” Halsin gives an experimental sniff. When he's certain it's not going to lead to another sneeze, he sags slightly and tilts his head back. "Oak Father preserve me." Tav's delirious at this point. He crouches down to get to Halsin's eye level, his hand lingering on the druid's knee. “How long does this usually go on?” Tav asks, worries for both of them at this point.

Halsin sniffs hard and finally finds the dry edge of the handkerchief, using it rather anticlimactically to dab at his raw nostrils. He blows his nose once while shaking his head. "Truthfully, I'm not certain. It hasn't been this bad in some time." "Would changing shape help?" Halsin chuckles, "Then, I would be sneezing as a bear." "Is that more pleasant?" "Perhaps for some," Halsin's eyes shimmer with sudden mischief beyond the allergic tears. Tav blinks. He takes a moment to process, then gapes. He smacks Halsin's knee and the druid gives a chesty laugh. "You bastard, how long have you known?" Tav asks. "My heart, you are many things, but subtle is not one of them," Halsin knuckles at his reddened nose and gives a warm smile that makes Tav melt on the spot. "Look, it's not like I meant to enjoy your suffering, I--" Halsin holds up a hand, "When have I ever given you the impression that you need apologize for your desires?"

Tav blushes. Halsin continues sniffling and tugs him forward by the hip. As he stumbles closer, Tav reaches for his face. His thumb clears away the track of an allergic tear from Halsin’s scarred cheek. "I do feel bad that you're miserable.”

“If it brings you pleasure,” Halsin says, his voice low, “Then I am not miserable.”

Tav lowers himself into Halsin’s lap. The druids hands dwarf his waist as he supports him, and also prevent him from worrying at his nose as he starts to lose himself to into the persistent tickle once more. Halsin goes to raise an arm but Tav captures it, lowering it back to his hip.

Halsin, to his credit, doesn’t even stop to question it. He lets the sneeze take him over fully, though habit still makes him turn his head as it barrels through him.

“h’HHRRUSSCHHH!”

Now that he’s seated astride him, Tav can feel the way his body clenches. Halsin has to be three hundred pounds of solid muscle, and each one of them turns to steel as he surrenders himself to the sensation. His chest quivers under Tav’s eager hands as he waits torturously for a second and his other hand reaches around the small of his back, holding the smaller man in place as he--

“uh'Hhh-!...huuh...eh'HUHH’ESSH’SHOO!”

Spray dapples in the sunlight from a break in the canopy of trees above. Tav's almost unseated from the man's lap with that one but certainly has no complaints. He's beaming as Halsin sniffles blearily once more and dips close to kiss at Tav's throat. "Tell the Oak Father I said thanks," Tav murmurs in bliss. That earns him a sharp pinch from Halsin, but thankfully no fewer kisses.

[mintaikk]

Analyzing the Symbrock kiss bcuz I've lost all sense of shame

Thinkin about that scene in 2018 Venom where Venom saved Eddie in the Forest. Imma refer to Venom as she/it in this post because they're agender, I wanna show that more, and I think that they just take on the gender and pronouns of whatever gender their host is. But please note that appearance doesnt always equal gender, and im just reffering to this rn because i like agender Venomm. Anyways!

The way she snuck in using her tentacles to kill the guys one by one. Venom was literally so excited to save her dumbass human. Look at the way it tosses the guy like a ragdoll. Look at her stance. Look at the confidence. Look at the way she looks down at Eddie. Look at the way it licks its lips. The way she's grinning more than usual and says, "Hi, Eddie." Bro is LOVING this.

We all know Venom is actually a really sappy romantic. I KNOW bro was excited for this rescue romance and how happy she was that she got to be the "knight in shining armor."

AND IT WORKED.

Look at Eddie's face when he realized that Venom was coming to save him. Pure happiness. Pure excitement. Pure, "my boyfriend's back and you're gonna get in trouble." Pure, "lmao, yall are FUCKED"

NOT TO MENTION HIS OTHER REACTION

Sadly, I can't put the clip because of tumblers "one video per post" rule. But yall remeber his little, "woahhh," right? Pure awe? Also, the fact that he was clearly into it. He saw Venom eat a guy's head and immediately after is just like "😮👉👈."He was literally just-

And of course, the kiss that made dudebros do mental backflips to explain away.

Venom's still super excited. Look at how happy it is to pick Eddie up! Look at its tongue waving in the air! Also, another thing to note is that this is the first time Venom closes its eyes. In the first two movies, Venom never blinks or closes its eyes at all. But, the first time she closed her eyes was to express emotion when kissing Eddie.

This is as much as I'm going to in the gif show bcuz as much as I love the scene, I also kind of found it gross (I kept imagining the spit everywhere and it looked like Eddie was eating Anne when we saw her and the liquidy noises grossed me out) but still. Look at Venom's face.

I actually think this is the first and only time as of now that we saw Venom look so peaceful. Eddie is Venom's home, and it feels safe with him. It could've bonded with him any other way, but she chose to bond with Eddie by shoving her tongue down his throat because she wanted to. And also, probably to complete the, "we make out under the Moonlight after I rescue you," thing because again, Venom is a giant romantic sap.

Also, she literally wrapped her tentacles around him his neck and shoulders. While you could argue that it was just symbiosis through skin contact, like we've seen before in the movie, I still find it very sweet.

Oh, yeah, Eddie's reaction. Eddie had absolutely no idea that Anne was the host. Even when she appeared, his eyes were closed so he couldn't tell. All he knew was that his not alien bf that he thought was killing him came to his rescue, picked him up, and started French kissing him. And he just went, "yeah okay." Didn't even try to fight back. Didn't pull away from the kiss, in fact, even leaning into it, all while moaning.

Another thing: while the host can communicate with the symbiote, the Symbiote cannot conteol their own body, so all of this was Venom. Anne even admits later in the movie that the kiss was Venom's idea. And in a deleted scene, Anne says that the kiss was "mostly her," but Venom pipes up and yells, "Well actually it was mostly me!" While cut content shouldn't be considered canon, I find it funny that Venom wanted Eddie to know that the kiss was his idea. Yes, his ass is weirdly flirting with Eddie, lol. (He/him cuz at that point, his host was Eddie).

[dark-frosted-heart]

Beauty and the Beast’s Last Theater - Azel Radwan (part 4/4)

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this

This was a story from long, long ago.

A group had been traveling from country to country in search of their homeland. 

They had traveled through a frigid snow-covered country, a country rich in ore, a country surrounded by the beautiful sea, a country lush with greenery, before arriving at a barren desert devoid of life.

There was no water, no vegetation, no people.

Everything had dried up and withered away, and death welcomed life.

The group had already accepted the destruction of the homeland they had set out for.

Everyone was prepared for death.

However, a bright moon lighting up the desert did not forsake the group.

As if taking pity on the on the lives about to be engulfed by the sandstorm, the moon illuminated a path—

That led to the source of all life.

Where clear water overflowed, vegetation thrived, and a giant moon shed light.

As the people gave their thanks to the moon, one woman gave birth to a new life.

Born with the silver of the moonlight and the glitter of the stars, the baby appeared human, and yet was different at the same time.

The baby was like a piece that had fallen from the moon, and with eyes that could “see one’s destiny”, led their ruined homeland toward the path of recovery.

--

Azel (polite): ‘The moon which pities human life has bestowed upon you its divine blessing’ ‘From this point on, my every words will be a prophecy, a miracle, or a hope’ ‘Should you all bloom promising life into this wasteland, I will protect its glory forever’

‘So that your country will not be destroyed for a second time’

Prince Azel stood on stage surrounded by lush greenery and clear water, and began singing with a clear, powerful voice.

He sang in an unfamiliar language, and I didn’t understand the meaning.

However, the song shifted the mood enough to bring goosebumps.

The giant moon above cloaked Prince Azel in light, shrouding him in a mysterious aura. One could mistake this stage for entertainment as a place for sacred rituals.

(...He’s completely different from the person who complained about singing)

Like the moon that was forever out of reach no matter how far you stretched your hand out, Prince Azel had the illusion of being far away, despite being in the same place.

I don’t think I was the only one that felt this way as the audience and fellow dancers all stared at Prince Azel in a daze.

(At times like this, I can’t help but feel that)

(...Prince Azel truly is a god)

Female dancer: …Emma. It’s about time for us to go on.

I was brought back to reality by a dancer who had come back to her senses.

I was strangely calm.

It was like Prince Azel’s singing had sapped all tension from my body.

(Time to go. To the special seat Prince Azel prepared)

Having been trained by the living god, the dances performed to the music and songs went well.

However, what stuck with me more than the sense of accomplishment and nervousness was Prince Azel’s fond smile that I saw from my special seat. I couldn’t tell whether it was genuine or not.

--

After the performance came to a close and the tens of thousands of people in the audience erupted in applause, all performers moved to the mansion that acted as a green room. 

Azel (polite): Hm?

The first to run up to Prince Azel in the lingering fever and excitement was the boy from the other day.

Instead of speaking, he held out a sheet of paper.

Azel (polite): Ah, is this a gift for me? Thank you for this every year. You are very skilled.

(It looks like a drawing, but I can’t see it from here…)

Though the gift did not seem to hold any sort of monetary value, Prince Azel politely accepted it.

The boy was beaming, happy to have received praise from the living god.

(I thought of Prince Azel as a greedy, malicious god, but he has this side to him. He’s difficult to understand)

Just as my mental image of Prince Azel was about to flicker like a mirage, I heard the sound of sobbing and turned to the source.

As if feeling my gaze, the woman crying into her hands by the wall suddenly looked up.

(Is it a good time to talk to her?)

--

Azel: *sigh*...I’m beat. The way you’re treating a weary god…

Emma: But we just happen to be walking together.

Azel: Stop following me, go back to the castle, don’t underestimate the desert at night.

After it was all over, I walked with Prince Azel back to his temple.

The weary god took long strides, but I somehow managed to keep up despite my struggle.

(He obviously wants to get away from me)

(...I don’t want to feel like I’m harassing him, but..)

Emma: There’s something that’s been on my mind. …About your “reward”.

Prince Azel suddenly stopped and looked at me with a frightening scowl.

Azel: If you heard anything unnecessary, then forget about it immediately.

Emma: I don’t think it’s unnecessary, so I won’t forget about it.

Azel: …

(He seems more embarrassed…than angry)

Emma: Originally, I thought your reward was going to be money like usual. But the performance was free.

Azel: ……Tch.

Emma: I heard something about the boy who’s attached to you from his mother.

~~ Flashback ~~

Woman: —My son had lost his hearing in an accident. With our current medical technology, nothing could be done and my son fell into depression from the mental shock… While at a loss of what to do one day, I learned about a legend. That the living god from hundreds of years ago performed miracles with his singing. During that time, a rare disease spread through Tanzanite. The worried god sang on stage… Not only did he cure the disease, but also restored vision to those who lost their sight and sensations to those who lost their sense of touch. …I thought this was the only way. And so a few years ago, while hanging on to this sliver of hope, I visited the living god’s temple.

~~ End flashback ~~

Emma: You didn’t brush this woman’s wish aside. ‘Even God has difficulty performing miracles. Would that be alright with you?’—And you agreed to it without asking for compensation.

Azel: …

Emma: The first time her son heard you sing, his eyes were fixed on the performance, even though he was deaf. He had been depressed since the accident, but a smile finally returned to his face.

Azel: …

Emma: Now, he looks forward to your singing so much that he helps out with the performance every year… Despite his ears not being healed, his mother was still happy to call this a miracle.

Azel: So what? Are you trying to say that I’m a kind and merciful god? Don’t be stupid. Maybe the boy will feel like he owes me when he grows up and becomes another one of my targets? There’s no reason to look at me warmly so stop with that annoying face you’re making.

He spoke quickly and then jabbed my cheek with a finger.

(This reaction…it’s similar to when I said he was “caring”)

(He doesn’t deny it when I call him a malicious god, but denies it when I call him a good person…)

I wanted to know more, so I endured the jabbing.

Emma: There’s a difference between “prospects” and “rewards” isn’t there? You clearly stated that there would be a reward from this performance. And that reward was—

As I spoke, I looked at the sheet of paper in Prince Azel’s hand.

It was a drawing of Prince Azel looking majestic as he sang on stage, with the dancers added brightly decorating the surroundings.

It was obvious the drawing was done by a child, but Prince Azel did not let it go.

Azel: …It might be worth a lot of money one day, you know?

(I knew he’d say that)

Azel: Hey, wipe that grin off your face.

Emma: I’m not grinning, I’m happy. I’ve learned that you’re not just a malicious god.

(Perhaps he’s not inherently malicious)

(He practiced with me for whatever reason, even if he planned to bill me—)

Emma: …That hurts!

He jabbed his finger further into my cheek and then turned away with a grumpy expression when I protested.

Azel: If that’s all, I’m leaving. A↘ah↗, never wasted so much time in my life.

Emma: I thought it was enlightening. Thank you.

Azel: …Was that sarcasm?

In the end, Prince Azel pinched my cheek and walked away.

(Ah…)

Emma: Prince Azel!

Azel: Can’t hear you, don’t care, bye.

(But there’s something I want to tell you!)

Emma: Your singing was very beautiful!

My shout resounded throughout the desert and Prince Azel stopped for a moment—

Azel: —......You too.

Emma: …? What did you just—

Azel: ……( ⸝⸝•̀ - •́⸝⸝)

He walked away at an incredibly brisk pace.

(I didn’t get what he just said, but…)

As I stood under the sublime full moon, I couldn’t help but laugh.

(His ears were flushed red)

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

Stop i feel like it would be so cute if you wrote about how one of the twins (bill or Tom) fell in love at first sight with reader and just became infatuated with them since

I feel like Tom would be such a cute option tho because YKNOW he’s a playboy BUT I FEEL LIKE IT WOULD BE SO CUTE IF HE JUST FELL IN LOVE WITH READER AND NEVER LOOKED BACK

Love at First Sight

It felt so weird for everyone involved

Tom Kaulitz, the fucking playboy, was in love??

It was so shocking that even Bill feared what was going on

Tom didn't even know how to feel at first

He was used to flirting with fans, living how he wanted and not giving a shit

Until he saw you

He saw you and immediately it felt like something paused the entire world and he could only see you

He didn't even talk to you yet! 

You just looked so MF beautiful

He couldn't help but stare at you

Especially when he heard your laugh along with seeing your smile

He couldn't help but freeze up for a minte

It was probably at a concert you went to

You asked for a autograph and legit had to ask twice to break him out of his staring at you

Once he got over that, he started flirting a bit to try and see what was going on

You even flirted a bit back, but not like the other fangirls did

Not tryna be that girl, but you caught his attention quickly

Be it your personality, your style, how you looked, carried yourself or confidence

You did something right that night

Tom legit was pacing wondering if his heart was broken because it didn't seem the same

He seized his opportunity and somehow got your number

The rest I shall leave up to you

After y'all get together he is so smug and flirty and proud he got you

Fans were so shocked when they saw he was in a relationship

Especially when pictures of you guys were leaked

And you can tell he was visibly whipped!

You guys were shopping? 

He's holding your bags with his card in your hand

He's holding your hand, hugging you, kissing your cheek, has his hand in your back pocket, dodging paparazzi with you and almost shamelessly making out practically 

He is not scared to flaunt this mf relationship because he can and he is somehow so happy in it

He didn't think he would actually find that specific great love

You somehow changed his perception of love

He will kiss you, hold you, be held by you, bring you onstage, run back to you backstage

Somehow he will always find you and you cannot escape

So many pictures of him just staring at you with somehow such a loving look in his eyes

He changed somehow so much and the band is almost thanking you

Fans are always up your ass for "changing" him

Mostly crazed fangirls, but neither of you can give a shit

He found you, and somehow, you let him have his chance

Treats you so well as to not risk losing you

Feels so bad in arguments

Like, babe, don't fight

And mother fucker snatched it and will not let go

He turns into such a child

Wanting his hair played with, somehow making you match with him, sleeping on top of you on the bus, sharing hotel room

Will do what you ask no matter what it is somehow

Nobody shall dare get in his way

Tom has a mission when it regards you and he shall complete it no matter what

He turned into such a loveable simp and we cannot handle

Will legit carry you around if you want

Buys you whatever the hell you want, ho don't care about the cost

Has fuck you money that he will willingly go broke spending on you

Loves the smiles and the laughs you bring him

He feels like such a sap at times but loves having you hold his face

He legit wants to just be so close to you that he can crawl into your skin at times it's so clingy

You have literally fell asleep almost inside of his shirt, both slithered inside of the giant oversized shirt on a couch

He loves the nights you guys just stay up and do anything and everything

He is secretly so corny, flirty and charming it's like a total other persona

[vegaly-art]

Say hello to Balance's D(a)emons! Brachium and Scorpius!! :3 About em: - Scorpius being purple was very much inspired by @hammerhead-jpg, thank you so much for your service to the Scorpius fandom <3. As for some other details about him, his tattoos persist between his more demonic and human form, as does his brands... He got a giant one on his chest, and another on his back over his star symbol by Closeknit as a sign of subjugation and ownership... and he has not been able to heal it since he has not been fed enough, so it's scarred over. And he barely has the energy to take a human form as is... He also is like, allergic to wearing shirts. Maybe if it's got a lot of open space, or it's super body hugging and he does not feel it much, sure, but in general he does not like to. Also his skin has been slowly losing colour over the months, as have his eyes. He used to be much more vibrant but he is just... too damn tired... - Brachium is interesting. He is VERY grey, intentionally so, as I think the river sapped him of a lot of his colour. Also it has overtaken both his hair and tail, and stained his horns and antlers which is why his hair is the same liquid as the river. His antlers were his primary set of horns, and the longer ones behind the head, based around misery demons, he grew during the cataclysm and his first few decades by the river, after being ripped away from the daemon he cared for most due to his own stupidity and selfishness, and then from the world he so loved... Also his outfit is inspired by a Greek archer, with the padding on the chest/shoulder and his glove. He simply has not had reason to keep up with the times in terms of dress. :P I wanted him to look a bit like Hypnos or Thanatos, with his antlers being the wings on the head and his hair being Thanatos' large black ones. It feels... fitting. :) Also his star/constellation is on his face over his eyes, and he has a giant sword scar around the area too, from a certain General who refused to keep him around after his betrayal... I'll write about that soon enough.

[amethystarachnid]

Hi! 🤍

For my second request, I'd love to request a college student! Tony Stark or a young! Tony Stark (after college) story for your Marvel Holiday Special, whichever one you prefer to write for.

I'm thinking of the prompt [ 8. First Christmas Together  – Share a special first holiday celebration with your character, complete with shared traditions and sweet moments. ] for him and Fem! Reader, with lots of cute moments such as buying/decorating a tree together, going to a Christmas market, exchanging sweet, thoughtful gifts, making peppermint hot chocolate, etc. (I understand if you can't fit all of this in; please feel free to pick and choose which ideas you'd like to write about the most.)

Thank you so much, and I'm looking forward to seeing all the stories you'll gift us this holiday season! 🤍

FROGS, GLOBES AND BURNT CHOCOLATE

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.5k

ᯓ★ Summary: it's the first Christmas for you and Tony in your shared apartment and you are really excited: will it be a complete disaster or the best Christmas ever?

ᯓ★ TW(s): fluff

ᯓ★ me when soft men and Christmas

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The biting December air nips at your cheeks as you step out of the car, the door swinging closed with a quiet thud behind you. Snowflakes drift lazily from a slate-gray sky, dotting the ground with a fresh layer of white, and the smell of pine and roasted chestnuts lingers faintly in the air. The shopping plaza is bustling with life, from bundled-up couples carrying oversized bags to kids chasing each other, their laughter cutting through the cold. Beside you, Tony Stark, hands stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket, surveys the scene like he’s about to conquer it.

“You realize,” he starts, cocking an eyebrow at the giant inflatable Santa looming above the store entrance, “this is all part of a grand capitalist scheme, right? They’re counting on saps like us to drop a small fortune on plastic snowflakes and gaudy lights.”

You roll your eyes, nudging his arm playfully as you step closer. “You say that now, but I saw how excited you got when I mentioned a tree. Don’t try to pretend you’re above it.”

“I’m excited because I’m picturing us building some kind of robot that lights the tree for us. Or—ooh, one that launches ornaments like tiny projectiles. Think about it: automated Christmas chaos.”

“Or we could just have a normal Christmas like normal people,” you suggest, looping your arm through his and steering him toward the store entrance. The warmth of his body seeps through the layers of your coat, and you feel a spark of giddiness bubbling in your chest. This isn’t just any Christmas; it’s your Christmas together, in your new apartment. The thought alone is enough to make your heart skip.

Tony hums noncommittally, but there’s a glimmer of mischief in his eyes as the automatic doors slide open. “Normal’s overrated. But fine, I’ll humor you. Lead on, holiday spirit incarnate.”

The store is a sensory overload of glitter and color, every aisle packed to the brim with tinsel, ornaments, and lights. A soft instrumental version of “Jingle Bells” plays over the speakers, adding to the festive chaos. Tony lets out a low whistle as he takes it all in.

“Okay, I’ll admit it. This is…a lot,” he says, plucking a sparkly green bow from a nearby shelf and holding it up. “Tell me you don’t want me to wear this.”

“I wasn’t going to,” you reply, snatching it out of his hand, “but now that you mention it…”

He grins, a boyish, lopsided thing that makes your stomach flip. “You know, I’d do it for you. I’d make it look good, too.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you steer the cart down the first aisle. It’s stocked with strings of lights in every color imaginable, and you pause to inspect a box of classic white ones. Tony, naturally, zeroes in on something completely different.

“Multicolor. Obviously,” he says, holding up a box of lights that blink in erratic patterns. “This screams fun. And by fun, I mean mildly seizure-inducing, but hey, memorable.”

“Memorable is one word for it,” you reply, raising an eyebrow. “But I was thinking classic. White lights are elegant.”

“Oh, I see. You’re going for classy,” Tony says, resting an arm casually on the cart’s handle. “But come on, we’re young, living in sin, and this is our first Christmas in our place. It should be fun, not…a Martha Stewart catalog.”

You laugh despite yourself, considering his point. “Okay, fine. But we’re compromising. White lights for the tree, multicolor for…something else.”

“Deal,” Tony agrees, tossing the box of multicolored lights into the cart with an air of triumph. “This is how we build a healthy relationship. Compromising over Christmas decorations. Dr. Phil would be so proud.”

“You’re impossible,” you say, rolling your eyes even as a smile tugs at your lips.

“And yet, here you are, willingly cohabitating with me. Who’s the real winner here?”

You shake your head, but the warmth in his voice and the sparkle in his eyes make it impossible to be annoyed. Instead, you grab his hand, threading your fingers through his. “Come on, Stark. Let’s find a tree.”

The tree section is overwhelming, with rows upon rows of artificial evergreens of varying heights and degrees of realism. Tony takes it upon himself to test the sturdiness of each one by shaking them, earning a few disapproving looks from nearby shoppers.

“This one looks like it could survive an earthquake,” he says, gesturing to a six-foot tree with perfectly symmetrical branches. “What do you think?”

You inspect it critically, running your hand over the faux pine needles. “It’s nice, but…is it too perfect? I kind of like the ones that look a little…messy. More natural.”

Tony steps back, rubbing his chin in mock seriousness. “You want messy? Oh, I can find messy. But let’s just hope it doesn’t come pre-infested with fake squirrels or something.”

“Fake squirrels?” you echo, laughing. “That’s oddly specific.”

“What can I say? My imagination is a gift.” He grins, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your temple before turning to scour the rows for the “perfectly imperfect” tree. The simple gesture sends a warm glow through you, and you find yourself marveling, not for the first time, at how easily he makes you feel cherished.

After some debate—and a bit of mild bickering—you settle on a slightly uneven but charmingly full tree that Tony immediately dubs “Frank.” The name sticks, and by the time you’re wheeling the cart toward the ornament aisle, you’re both brainstorming ways to make Frank the star of the apartment.

“Obviously, Frank needs a killer topper,” Tony says, scanning the shelves. “Something that says, ‘I’m the king of this Christmas.’ What about this?” He holds up a comically oversized star, glitter raining down from it as he tilts it from side to side.

You wrinkle your nose. “It’s a little…much.”

“That’s the point,” he insists, but you shake your head, and he relents with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. You pick. But if you pick something boring, I reserve the right to judge you.”

You smirk, holding up a simple yet elegant angel with golden wings. “How’s this?”

Tony eyes it for a moment before nodding. “It’s got class. I approve.”

“Good,” you reply, adding it to the cart. “Now let’s talk ornaments.”

Tony immediately gravitates toward the more unconventional options—a hamburger, a miniature disco ball, a tiny rocket ship. You can’t help but laugh as he piles them into the cart with zero hesitation.

“We’re going for eclectic, right?” he says, grinning at your expression.

“Eclectic is one way to put it,” you reply, picking up a box of glass baubles in varying shades of red and gold. “But I think we need a little balance.”

“Sure, sure. Balance.” He waves a hand dismissively before adding a dinosaur ornament to the pile. “Like this guy. He’s green, he’s festive, and he’s clearly balancing the holiday spirit with prehistoric flair.”

You groan, but it’s impossible to be annoyed with him. His enthusiasm is infectious, and you find yourself laughing more than you have in weeks. By the time you make it to the checkout line, your cart is an eclectic mix of classic and quirky, much like the two of you.

As the cashier rings up your items, Tony leans against the counter, watching you with an expression that’s equal parts fond and amused. “You know,” he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear, “I think this might be the most fun I’ve ever had in a store.”

“Really?” you tease, arching an eyebrow. “Even more fun than that time we got kicked out of IKEA?”

“That wasn’t fun; that was an adventure,” he replies, grinning. “This is different. This is…nice.”

His words, simple as they are, make your chest ache in the best way. You reach out, slipping your hand into his and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Yeah,” you agree softly. “It is.”

By the time you get everything loaded into the car and head back to the apartment, the snow has started falling harder, the flakes sticking to the windshield as the wipers sweep them away. Tony hums along to the Christmas music playing softly on the radio, and you can’t help but smile at how relaxed he looks, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming against his knee.

When you finally arrive home, the two of you haul your bags and the boxed-up tree upstairs, collapsing onto the couch in a heap of exhaustion and laughter. The apartment is warm and cozy, the faint scent of cinnamon from the candle you lit earlier filling the air. Tony stretches out, his head resting in your lap as he looks up at you with that lazy, lopsided grin you love so much.

“Ready to turn this place into a winter wonderland?” he asks, his voice tinged with mock seriousness.

You laugh, running your fingers through his hair. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

And with that, the two of you set to work, turning your shared space into something magical. Every ornament, every string of lights, every silly joke shared along the way feels like a promise—of love, of laughter, of a future together that’s as bright and colorful as the tree now standing proudly in the corner.

Tony sprawls out on the floor, an open box of ornaments beside him, his legs kicking lazily as he examines a particularly garish one: a glitter-covered pineapple. He holds it up to the light, squinting as if he’s inspecting a fine piece of art. “This one,” he declares, pointing at the pineapple and then at you with the seriousness of a presidential speech, “needs prime real estate. Front and center. It’s the kind of ornament that demands attention.”

You glance over from where you’re untangling a string of lights, your hands already glittery from the process. “It’s hideous. If it’s going on the tree, it’s going in the back where no one can see it.”

“Hideous?” Tony gasps, clutching the pineapple like it’s a wounded comrade. “This is a conversation starter. It says, ‘This tree belongs to people with taste and a sense of humor.’”

“It says, ‘This tree belongs to people who lost a bet,’” you counter, tossing a rogue light bulb into the trash pile.

He drops the ornament into the box with an exaggerated huff, crossing his arms and leaning back against the couch. “You have no appreciation for the avant-garde. Next, you’re going to tell me my disco-ball ornament doesn’t make the cut either.”

“Oh, that’s going on the tree,” you say with a smirk, plugging in the lights and watching them flicker to life. “I have to draw the line somewhere, but even I’m not heartless enough to deprive you of a tiny disco inferno.”

Tony grins, clearly victorious. “That’s the spirit. All right, let’s light this bad boy up.”

The two of you tackle the tree together, winding the lights around it in haphazard loops. Tony insists on controlling the rotation of the tree while you maneuver the lights, which leads to a fair amount of bickering, punctuated by his constant reminders to “watch the top—Frank’s got dignity, you know.”

“You named it,” you mutter under your breath, stepping over a stray ornament. “You’re not allowed to treat it like it’s a fragile piece of Renaissance art.”

“I named it because I care,” he replies loftily, holding the tree steady as you stretch up on your tiptoes to loop the lights higher. “And because I think Frank deserves respect for the sacrifices he’s making to be part of our inaugural Christmas.”

“He’s a fake tree, Tony.”

“Fake doesn’t mean he’s emotionless,” Tony quips, grinning at you. “I mean, look at me. A solid 50% of my charm is artificial, and I’m still delightful.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you finally secure the last strand of lights. “Okay, fine, Frank. If you’re sentient, blink twice.”

Tony leans in close to the tree, squinting at the lights with mock intensity. “Was that a blink? Did you see it?”

“Definitely not,” you reply, rolling your eyes as you pick up a box of ornaments. “Now let’s get to the fun part.”

Tony takes an unceremonious dive into the box, emerging with the hamburger ornament in one hand and a golden bauble in the other. “Burgers or boring?” he asks, holding them up like they’re dueling gladiators.

“Both,” you say, plucking the bauble from his hand and placing it carefully on the tree. “It’s called balance, remember?”

He makes a face but hangs the burger ornament on a branch anyway. “Fine, but I’m putting it next to the dinosaur for thematic consistency. Carnivores stick together.”

“Carnivores?” you repeat, laughing. “You’re putting way too much thought into this.”

“Hey, someone has to,” Tony says, standing back to survey his work. “Look at that. A prehistoric picnic. The tree’s already a masterpiece, and we’ve barely started.”

The decorating continues in a flurry of glitter, laughter, and occasional sabotage. Every time you carefully place a glass ornament, Tony finds a way to “accidentally” bump into the tree, sending it wobbling precariously.

“Oops,” he says innocently, steadying the trunk. “Guess Frank’s not as sturdy as we thought.”

“Keep doing that, and Frank’s going to end up on the curb,” you warn, pointing a candy-cane-shaped ornament at him like it’s a weapon.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Tony replies, his grin widening. “Not with all the blood, sweat, and glitter we’ve poured into this.”

“You’re testing me, Stark.”

“Oh, I live to test you,” he says with a wink, before dramatically hanging the pineapple ornament directly in the center of the tree. “There. Perfection.”

You groan, but you’re laughing too hard to argue. Instead, you reach for the tree topper—the angel you picked earlier—and hold it up for inspection. “Ready to crown Frank?”

Tony salutes you, stepping back to give you room. “Do it. Make him majestic.”

You climb onto the arm of the couch for a little extra height, balancing carefully as you place the angel on top of the tree. Tony’s hands hover near your waist, ready to catch you if you wobble.

“There,” you say, stepping back to admire your handiwork. “What do you think?”

Tony tilts his head, his arms crossed as he surveys the tree. “I think Frank’s looking sharp. A little eclectic, a little classy. Just like us.”

You smile, nudging his side. “You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you,” he replies smoothly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. “So, what’s next? Stockings? Mistletoe? A twenty-foot inflatable snowman for the balcony?”

“Stockings, yes. Mistletoe, maybe. The snowman? Absolutely not.”

“Buzzkill,” Tony mutters, but he’s grinning as he grabs a pair of stockings from one of the shopping bags. “Do we hang these by the nonexistent chimney with care? Or do we just toss them wherever and hope Santa’s GPS works?”

You snatch the stockings from him, rolling your eyes. “We hang them on the wall, genius. Like civilized people.”

As you arrange the stockings Tony rummages through another bag, producing a tangled mess of garland. He holds it up triumphantly. “What do you think? Wall art or trip hazard?”

“Knowing you? Both.”

He laughs, draping the garland over his shoulders like a boa. “You’re no fun. But fine, I’ll keep it classy. Where do you want it?”

After some debate—and an accidental garland lassoing incident—you manage to string it up along the window, adding a cozy, festive touch to the room. By the time you’re finished, the apartment feels transformed. The tree twinkles in the corner, the stockings hang proudly on the wall, and the faint scent of cinnamon from the candle still lingers in the air.

Tony collapses onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, patting the space beside him. “All right, decorating queen. Come admire our masterpiece.”

You join him, tucking your feet under you as you lean against his side. He throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as the two of you sit in comfortable silence, watching the lights on the tree blink and twinkle.

“You know,” he says after a moment, his voice softer than usual, “this actually turned out pretty great.”

“You sound surprised,” you tease, resting your head against his chest.

“I’m not surprised,” he replies, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I just… I don’t know. It’s nice. Having this. With you.”

Your chest tightens at the sincerity in his voice, and you tilt your head to look up at him. His expression is uncharacteristically serious, his brown eyes warm and earnest.

“Yeah,” you say softly, your hand finding his. “It is.”

He squeezes your hand, his usual smirk returning as he glances at the tree. “Although I still say the pineapple should’ve been the topper.”

You groan, laughing as you swat his arm. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” he quips, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “Guess that makes me irresistible.”

“Or maybe I’m just a saint,” you reply, grinning up at him.

“Either way,” he says, settling back against the couch with a satisfied sigh, “this is shaping up to be the best Christmas ever.”

And as you sit there, the soft glow of the tree lighting up the room, you can’t help but agree.

The snow falls gently, blanketing the cobblestone streets of the Christmas market in a powdery white. Strings of twinkling lights are draped between booths, casting a warm glow over the bustling scene. The air is rich with the mingling scents of roasted chestnuts, mulled wine, and sweet pastries, and the faint hum of Christmas carols played by a live quartet in the distance adds a magical touch to the atmosphere.

You clutch Tony’s arm as the two of you wander through the market, your boots crunching softly against the snow-dusted ground. He’s wearing his favorite dark coat, the one that hugs his shoulders just right, and a red scarf that you gave him last Christmas. The scarf is slightly askew, and it makes him look effortlessly charming in that disheveled way only he can pull off.

“You know,” he says, his breath puffing out in little clouds, “this place is like a booby trap for wallets. Everywhere you turn, something’s glittering and saying, ‘Buy me! Buy me!’ It’s diabolical.”

You laugh, tightening your grip on his arm. “It’s a Christmas market, Tony. That’s kind of the point.”

He grins, his brown eyes glinting with mischief. “Yeah, well, just remember, you’re in charge of stopping me from buying a chocolate fountain or a solid gold Santa.”

“Solid gold Santa? That’s oddly specific.”

“Give it time,” he replies. “I’m sure there’s a booth for it somewhere. Maybe next to the artisanal hot chocolate stand.”

As if on cue, you pass a booth selling gourmet hot chocolate, complete with toppings ranging from whipped cream to crushed candy canes. Tony slows, glancing at the display with obvious interest.

“Should we?” he asks, already reaching for his wallet.

“Tony, we’ve been here five minutes, and you’re already caving,” you tease, pulling him away gently. “Let’s at least make it past the first aisle before we start buying things.”

“Fine, but I’m circling back for it,” he says, shooting the booth a longing look as you guide him onward.

The market is a sensory overload in the best possible way. Every booth offers something unique: hand-carved wooden toys, blown glass ornaments, cozy knit scarves, and even quirky items like soap shaped like reindeer. Tony, naturally, gravitates toward the most absurd finds.

“Look at this!” he exclaims, holding up a ceramic frog wearing a Santa hat. “Tell me this isn’t peak holiday spirit.”

“It’s…something,” you admit, trying not to laugh. “But do we really need a festive frog in our lives?”

“We don’t need it, but we deserve it,” he counters, raising an eyebrow. “You’re really going to deny Frank the Frog a warm, loving home?”

You snatch the frog from his hands, placing it back on the display. “Frank the Frog will have to find a family that appreciates him more than we do.”

“Cold,” Tony mutters, shaking his head as you move on. “Heartless. And here I thought you were the soft one in this relationship.”

You glance back at him, smirking. “You clearly don’t know me at all.”

“Oh, I know you,” he replies, falling into step beside you again. “I also know you’re going to want to buy something completely impractical any minute now. And when you do, I’ll be ready to gloat.”

“Fat chance,” you say, but you can already feel your resolve slipping as you pass a booth selling intricately detailed snow globes. One of them catches your eye—a small, delicate scene of a snow-covered village illuminated from within. You reach out to pick it up, turning it over to watch the snow swirl inside.

Tony sidles up next to you, a smug grin on his face. “And here it is. The impractical thing.”

“It’s not impractical,” you protest, cradling the snow globe carefully. “It’s…beautiful.”

“It’s also one more thing for me to dust,” he teases, but there’s no bite to his words. He leans closer, examining the globe with genuine interest. “Okay, I’ll admit, it’s pretty cool. But do we really need it?”

You hesitate, your fingers curling around the base of the globe. “Probably not,” you say reluctantly, setting it back down. “But if I’m not allowed to buy the snow globe, you’re definitely not allowed to buy Frank the Frog.”

“Deal,” he says with a laugh, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the next aisle. “We’ll save our money for something really ridiculous.”

The snow continues to fall, soft and steady, as you explore more of the market. Tony insists on sampling every food item in sight—gingerbread, roasted chestnuts, candied almonds—and you can’t help but laugh at the way his face lights up with each new bite.

“This,” he says, holding up a stick of caramel-dipped apple slices, “is how you do a Christmas market. Pure sugar, zero regrets.”

“You’re going to crash so hard later,” you warn, nibbling on one of the apple slices he offers you.

“Worth it,” he replies, his tone entirely unapologetic. “Besides, I’m burning calories walking in circles and fending off your bad taste in snow globes.”

“Watch it,” you say, swatting his arm lightly. “Or I’ll let you buy something ridiculous just to prove a point.”

“I’d like to see you try,” he replies, grinning. “You’re too responsible for that.”

“Don’t test me,” you warn, though you’re smiling too.

Eventually, the two of you come across a booth selling handmade ornaments, each one painted with intricate designs. Tony picks up one shaped like a tiny sled, examining it with a critical eye.

“Okay, this one’s actually pretty cool,” he says, holding it out to you. “And it’s functional. In an emergency, we could probably use it to deliver tiny presents.”

You laugh, taking the ornament from him. “I don’t think it’s meant for that, but it’s cute. Should we get it?”

“Absolutely,” he replies. “Frank the Tree deserves at least one classy ornament.”

“Classy? From the guy who wanted to buy a glittery pineapple?”

“Hey, I contain multitudes,” he says with a shrug, handing over cash to the vendor.

With the ornament carefully tucked away in a bag, you and Tony continue your stroll through the market, the lights twinkling above you like stars. He keeps a running commentary on everything you pass—mocking the price of hand-knitted mittens, marveling at the craftsmanship of a miniature nativity scene, and cracking jokes about a booth selling gourmet dog treats.

“Do you think they’d let us try one?” he asks, holding up a bone-shaped biscuit labeled ‘peanut butter delight.’

“Tony, no,” you say, laughing as you drag him away.

By the time you reach the end of the market, your hands are full of small treasures—a bag of candied almonds, the sled ornament, and a knit scarf that Tony insisted would “complete your winter aesthetic.” The snow has begun to stick to your hair and his, and the cold is starting to nip at your cheeks.

“This was a good call,” Tony says, his arm slung casually around your shoulders as you head back toward the entrance. “Although I’m still not sure how we managed to resist buying the frog.”

“Self-control,” you reply, leaning into him. “A concept you’re not usually familiar with.”

“Hey, I’ve got self-control,” he says, feigning offense. “I just choose to apply it sparingly.”

You laugh, your breath puffing out in the cold air. “Well, I’m proud of us. We didn’t blow our entire budget on useless stuff.”

“Not entirely useless,” he corrects. “The sled ornament is both decorative and practical, remember?”

“Right,” you say, grinning up at him. “It’s a critical investment.”

He smirks, brushing a snowflake from your cheek. “Exactly. And anyway, the best part of the market wasn’t the stuff we bought. It was spending the evening with you.”

Your chest warms at his words, and you pause for a moment, looking up at him as the snow falls softly around you. The twinkling lights of the market reflect in his eyes, and the grin on his face softens into something more sincere.

“You’re such a sap,” you say, though your voice is full of affection.

“Only for you,” he replies, leaning down to kiss you gently, the cold of his lips quickly warming against yours.

The two of you stand there for a moment, surrounded by the magic of the market, the snow falling around you like a scene from a movie. It’s one of those moments you’ll tuck away and remember years from now—simple, sweet, and perfect in its own way.

As you pull apart, Tony grins, slipping his hand into yours. “Come on, let’s go find that hot chocolate stand. I’m not leaving here without it.”

“Hot chocolate sounds perfect,” you agree, your fingers lacing through his as you head back toward the market, ready to end the evening on a sweet note.

The smell of something burning wafts through the apartment as you step out of the bedroom, pulling on your favorite fuzzy socks. It's a warm, cozy kind of Christmas Eve, with snow falling softly outside and the apartment glowing with fairy lights. Except for one thing—the scent hanging in the air doesn’t scream “cozy Christmas.” It screams, “Tony Stark’s been unsupervised in the kitchen.”

“Tony?” you call, heading toward the source of the smell. “What’s going on in there?”

“No need to panic!” his voice answers, though it’s far from reassuring. “Everything’s under control.”

You round the corner into the kitchen to find him standing at the stove, brandishing a wooden spoon like a sword. There’s a pot on the burner, filled with what can only be described as a charred, lumpy mess, and a thin haze of smoke curls lazily toward the ceiling.

“Under control?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “Is this your definition of control?”

Tony glances at the pot and then back at you, his face a mix of sheepishness and determination. “It’s a minor setback. I was…experimenting.”

“With what? Kitchen sabotage?”

He scoffs, leaning against the counter as though the mess behind him doesn’t exist. “For your information, I was attempting to make homemade peppermint hot chocolate. Thought I’d surprise you. But apparently, chocolate has a vendetta against me.”

Your lips twitch as you try to suppress a smile. “Let me guess. You burned it?”

“Burned is a strong word,” he says, crossing his arms. “I’d say it’s more… caramelized.”

You peer into the pot, wrinkling your nose. “Tony, this isn’t caramelized. It’s cremated.”

“Details,” he replies breezily, but you can see the frustration behind his teasing tone.

You sigh, stepping closer and nudging him aside gently. “Okay, chef, move over. Let’s salvage this disaster.”

Tony steps back, his arms raised in surrender, watching as you turn off the burner and grab a fresh pot. “You’re really just going to take over? No faith in my culinary prowess?”

“I have faith in many of your skills,” you reply, dumping the ruined chocolate into the trash. “Cooking? Not one of them.”

“Fair,” he admits with a grin, hopping up to sit on the counter. “But in my defense, it’s chocolate. You melt it, you stir it, you drink it. How hard can it be?”

You grab a bar of good-quality chocolate from the pantry and start breaking it into pieces, throwing him a look. “Clearly harder than you thought.”

Tony chuckles, watching you work. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? My moment of weakness.”

“A little,” you admit, your lips curving into a smile as you measure out milk and pour it into the pot. “But mostly I’m wondering how you managed to mess it up so badly. Did you even melt the chocolate?”

“Define ‘melt,’” he says, his grin widening.

You groan, shaking your head as you stir the milk over low heat. “Okay, new rule: You’re not allowed near the stove unless I’m supervising.”

“Oh, come on,” he protests, hopping down from the counter and wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. His chin rests on your shoulder, and his breath tickles your ear. “I was trying to do something nice for you. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

Your heart softens, and you turn your head slightly to meet his gaze. “It does,” you say, your voice gentle. “But maybe next time, start with something less…flammable?”

“Duly noted,” he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before stepping back. “All right, teach me, master chef. How do we make the perfect peppermint hot chocolate?”

You laugh, handing him the whisk. “First, you don’t burn the chocolate. Now, stir the milk gently while I add the chocolate pieces.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, adopting a mock-serious tone as he starts whisking. His movements are a little overdramatic, and the milk splashes slightly, but it’s endearing.

“Gentle, Tony,” you say, biting back a smile as you add the chocolate. “This isn’t an arm workout.”

“Sorry, force of habit,” he quips, his grin unapologetic. “I’ve only got one speed: full throttle.”

The chocolate begins to melt, turning the milk a rich, velvety brown. Tony leans in closer, his expression a mix of curiosity and concentration. “Okay, this part’s kind of fun. It’s like alchemy.”

“Sure,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “The alchemy of not burning things.”

As the hot chocolate comes together, you grab a bottle of peppermint extract and hold it up. “Now for the magic ingredient. Just a couple of drops.”

Tony watches as you add the peppermint, the warm, sweet aroma filling the air. “Smells amazing,” he says, his tone genuine. “Almost makes up for the fact that I nearly burned down the apartment.”

“Almost,” you agree, giving the mixture one last stir before grabbing two mugs from the cabinet.

As you pour the hot chocolate, Tony wanders over to the counter, his movements casual—but there’s a spark of mischief in his eyes. Before you can question it, he points upward.

You follow his gaze and spot a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. “When did you—?”

“Earlier,” he says, his grin widening. “Figured it might come in handy.”

You shake your head, setting the mugs down and stepping closer. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“And yet, you love me,” he replies, his voice softening as he leans in.

You meet him halfway, his lips warm against yours despite the cold air outside. It’s a sweet, lingering kiss, and when you pull back, his eyes are brighter than the Christmas lights strung around the room.

“Mistletoe is definitely your best idea today,” you say, your voice teasing but full of affection.

“Better than cremated chocolate?” he asks, feigning surprise.

“Much better,” you reply, laughing as you hand him his mug. “Now, let’s see if this is worth the trouble.”

The two of you settle on the couch, blankets draped over your legs as you sip the hot chocolate. It’s rich and creamy, with just the right hint of peppermint, and you can’t help but sigh in contentment.

“This is perfect,” you say, leaning your head against his shoulder. “See what happens when you let me help?”

He nudges you playfully, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. “Okay, okay, I admit it. You’re the hot chocolate queen. But next year, I’m making it on my own. No supervision.”

“You’re never living this down, Tony,” you reply, grinning up at him. “But nice try.”

He laughs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Merry Christmas, troublemaker.”

“Merry Christmas,” you reply softly, the snow falling outside and the warmth of his arms making it the perfect end to the day.

The apartment is quiet save for the crackling of the fireplace video looping on the TV and the faint hum of Christmas music in the background. The room is bathed in a soft, golden glow from the tree lights, the perfect backdrop for the growing pile of wrapping paper at your feet. It's Christmas morning, and for the past half-hour, you and Tony have been exchanging gifts, both of you trying (and mostly failing) to keep your emotions in check.

Tony’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, wearing the pajamas you picked out for him—flannel pants and a red shirt that says “Official Cookie Tester.” His hair is a mess from sleep, and he looks so boyishly excited every time he hands you a new box that you can’t help but fall a little more in love with him.

Your own pile of gifts so far includes a pair of earrings that match the necklace he got you last year, a first edition of your favorite book, and a framed photo of the two of you from your first vacation together, one of his rare sweet gestures that never fail to make your heart swell.

“Okay, your turn,” you say, handing him a flat, rectangular box with a silver bow.

He narrows his eyes at it playfully, shaking it gently. “Feels suspiciously light. Did you get me socks?”

“I’d never waste good wrapping paper on socks,” you retort, rolling your eyes. “Just open it.”

He flashes you a grin before tearing into the paper, his eyebrows shooting up when he sees what’s inside. It’s a custom leather-bound notebook embossed with his initials—a thoughtful, elegant gift you’d spent weeks planning.

“I know you’ve been sketching a lot lately,” you explain, watching his face closely. “I figured you could use something a little more…official.”

Tony runs his fingers over the cover, and for a moment, he’s completely silent. Then he looks up at you, his expression soft and unguarded. “It’s perfect,” he says, his voice quieter than usual. “Seriously. Thank you.”

You smile, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Merry Christmas.”

He clears his throat, a telltale sign he’s feeling emotional, and sets the notebook carefully aside before grabbing a box from behind him. “All right, your turn,” he says, handing it to you with a slightly smug expression. “Let’s see if I can top that.”

You laugh, untying the ribbon and lifting the lid. Inside, nestled in velvet, is a delicate bracelet inlaid with tiny gemstones, each one sparkling in the light. It’s understated but stunning—classic Tony.

Your breath catches as you lift it out of the box, and you glance up at him. “Tony, this is—”

“—just a little something,” he interrupts, brushing off your awe with a wave of his hand. “Figured you could use more jewelry to match your impeccable taste.”

You set the bracelet down carefully and throw your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I love it.”

He hugs you back, his hand warm against your back. “Love you more,” he murmurs, and for a moment, the world shrinks to just the two of you.

When you pull back, you swipe at your eyes, laughing softly. “Okay, before I cry and ruin the moment, I think it’s time for the last gifts.”

“Ah, the pièce de résistance,” Tony says, his grin returning as he reaches for a small, sloppily wrapped box on the coffee table. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

You hand him a box of your own, equally poorly wrapped, and exchange a knowing look. “You first,” you say, gesturing to his gift.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He rips into the paper with an enthusiasm usually reserved for high-stakes projects, and when he finally pulls out the contents, he freezes. His hand lifts the small ceramic frog in a Santa hat—the one you’d teased him about at the Christmas market.

“No way,” he says, his voice full of disbelief.

“Way,” you reply, biting back a grin. “I couldn’t let Frank the Frog end up in someone else’s house. He belongs with us.”

Tony stares at the frog, and for a moment, you think he might actually tear up. Then he looks at you, shaking his head with a mix of laughter and affection. “You are ridiculous,” he says, but his voice is thick with emotion. “I can’t believe you bought this.”

“Well, I knew you’d never forgive me if I didn’t,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably.

He sets the frog carefully on the coffee table, like it’s a priceless artifact, and then leans over to kiss you, his lips warm and lingering. “You’re the best,” he whispers. “Seriously. This might be the greatest gift I’ve ever gotten.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” you reply, though your cheeks flush at his words.

“Your turn,” he says, gesturing to the box in your lap. “Prepare to have your mind blown.”

You laugh, unwrapping the box, and the moment you see what’s inside, your laughter turns to a choked gasp. It’s the snow globe from the Christmas market—the one with the tiny snow-covered village you couldn’t stop staring at.

“You didn’t,” you say, your voice wavering.

“I did,” he replies, looking ridiculously pleased with himself. “Figured if I couldn’t have Frank the Frog, the least I could do was make sure you got this.”

You lift the globe out of the box, turning it over to watch the snow swirl inside. It’s just as beautiful as you remembered, and the thoughtfulness of his gesture makes your chest ache in the best possible way.

“Tony…” you trail off, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay.

“Don’t start crying,” he warns, though his own eyes are suspiciously bright. “You’re gonna set me off.”

You laugh wetly, shaking your head as you set the snow globe on the coffee table next to the frog. “I can’t believe we both bought the stupid things.”

He laughs too, leaning back against the couch with an incredulous shake of his head. “We’re a mess.”

“A perfect mess,” you correct, leaning against him.

He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. “Agreed. And now Frank and the snow globe can live happily ever after. A Christmas miracle.”

You snort, burying your face in his shoulder. “You’re such a sap.”

“And yet, you love me,” he replies, his voice smug but affectionate.

You glance up at him, smiling despite yourself. “Yeah, I do.”

He leans down, kissing you softly, the kind of kiss that feels like a promise. When he pulls back, he grins. “Best Christmas ever?”

“Best Christmas ever,” you agree, snuggling into his side as the snow falls softly outside, and the room fills with laughter and love.

[superblysubpar]

we'll call it love masterlist

summary: steve and you make up at a wedding | a smut blurb request here - thank you! | NSFW 18+

2k words

warnings: this is apart of my series WCIL universe and while it can be read on it's own and make sense, definitely more fun if you've read the series, and this would spoil some things. | SMUT (oral - reader receiving, PIV unprotected sex - public)

His forearms rest on the railing, white sleeves of his button down rolled to his elbows, his suit jacket and vest long gone. The veins in his hands flexed as the amber liquid in his glass swirled. The sun was just starting to set over the skyline - pinks and oranges, a touch of purple. 

It was perfect, and you weren’t watching it with him - or rather he wasn’t watching you watch it. Steve turned away from the sky you’d normally be enraptured by. Normally your hand would be in his, your head resting on his shoulder as you finally slowed down for a second and just were together.  

He looked past the tables, the couples and friends sharing drinks and cigarettes. Past the twinkling garden lights and through the floor to ceiling glass windows left open for the evening. 

His best friend in the middle of the dance floor in a white dress. It’s simple though, sleek, not an ounce of detail on it and hugs her curves, suiting her perfectly. He totally cried when she tried it on and he wouldn’t admit it to anyone. Her honey hair is pinned in curls reminiscent of old Hollywood that you helped with. Her bright blue polished fingers reached towards the pale pink ones outstretched to her, pulling the slender hand to lace with hers. She twirled the brunette adorned in traditional lace, whose head is thrown back in a laugh and accompanied by a smile he’s not quite sure he’s ever seen or heard from her before and it makes his eyes get a little misty. Eddie, by some feat, starts singing ‘You’re Still The One’ by Shania Twain and that’s what finally does get his lips to twitch into almost a smile. He’s certain Robin was not the only one who broke him and it probably took quite a bit of bribing from you. 

He’s not too emotional as they start their first dance, but it’s when he sees you, swaying and pulling out a lighter with Eddie’s girlfriend on the side of the dancefloor that his breath catches in his throat, his chest tightens. The two of you whistled at Eddie who rolls his eyes without missing a beat, before you’re both tilting your heads together and toasting your champagne. Steve watched as you watch their love, he watched you feel it overwhelm the room and his heart beats harder in his chest. 

The week of being maid of honor and best man for the couple had bent you both to your limit, and he just had to go and make it a fight. He had to push it, to turn it into a thing you yelled about until it became a thing you both were giving the silent treatment over. Now both too scared to say sorry first or talk about the big, giant, question he just sort of screamed at you and you left hanging there. 

Steve sips on his drink, taking in the way the shimmering green dress hugs your curves, the way it falls at your calves and slits up the front. He swallowed as you tugged absentmindedly on the little ‘S’ resting in the dip of your collarbones, sipping your champagne. He can see the way your eyes shimmer watching the two girls dance, the way your shoulders fell in a deep sigh. He knows you’re just as much of a sap as he is, you just don’t want to admit it. 

He knows it even more when the guitar drifts off and the next song starts and Eddie looked straight at him as he called, “Robin and Nancy would like anyone who’s in love to please come join them on the dance floor.”

The opening notes of ‘It Had To Be You’ by Frank Sinatra began and Steve watched your head turn, eyes roaming over the room until they met his. You smiled, shrugging your shoulders and he made his way to you. 

He sets his glass down, grabbing the hand you offered and you both step onto the dancefloor, smiling at Robin over Nancy’s shoulder. 

Steve’s hands found your waist easily, like they’re his favorite place to rest, home. Yours over his shoulders, fiddling with the collar and then the ends of his hair as you started to sway. Your head tilted up at him with a purse of your lips and playfully narrowed eyes.  

“Are you all done being mister brooding, sexy, grumpy-”

“Sexy, huh?”

Your eyes rolled as his hands roamed to your back, pulling you in tighter to his chest, fingers warm on your exposed back and toying with the straps criss-crossing over it. He kissed at your temple and hummed, “Not sure I’ll ever be done being that. It’s tough to say about the brooding. Definitely not grumpy anymore though.”

Your cheek pressed to his shoulder, palm dragging down to rest on his chest, fingers rubbing small circles over a button. Your voice was quiet, unsure, shaking with something that sounded like genuine fear.  “Are we okay?”

He stopped dancing then, eyes bouncing between yours as he sighed at the worry evident there. He grabbed both of your hands, kissing your knuckles before he dropped them to cup your cheeks. 

“I’m an idiot, I never should have-”

“No, I’m an idiot, I should have-”

He interrupts your interruption with a kiss, your hands pressed to his chest from the passion behind it. Warm breath against your cheek from his nose as his hand slid up your jaw, thumb at your ear as he cradled your neck to bend back for him, palm of his other hand catching your lower back as you arched. 

He parted from you with a gasp, both of you breathing heavily as he kissed you again, much softer before he suggested, “How about, we’re both idiots and we go make up real quick?”

That’s how he got you in one of the bathrooms. Fighting long forgotten, if it could even really be called that. Sorry’s mumbled into lips in between I love you’s. He had his hands on your waist, pushing you hard against the bathroom door so you were gasping. Steve lifted your dress, gaze on where your bodies met, pushing at the hem frantic, needy, until you were completely exposed and he was gulping. 

“You’re not - you haven’t been wearing underwear this entire day?”

Your head smacked against the door with a low laugh, shaking it no. Steve practically growled, his hands moving over your body, worshiping your curves, down your thighs and back up. He pushed his palms flat against the door on either side of your waist, dropping to his knees, staring up at you like you put the sunset in the sky. His lips skimmed over your skin, starting at your knee and moving higher so he was at your center. Kisses and nips over your thighs until he was cursing at the sight in front of him. 

Lips glistening for him already, it was easy for his nose to slide between them, his mouth close behind. His tongue traced their curves, teasing at your entrance so you jolted against him, hands finding his hair and tugging the way he liked. Steve let a hand fall to your hip, traveling lower to cup your ass and squeeze to hear your giggle, then down your thigh until he was hitching it over his shoulder. 

“St-Steve.” Your body shivered around him, clenching around nothing yet. 

He mouthed at your clit, tongue flicking it and pulling away to watch your hips try to chase him. He couldn’t last, not with the way your hands carded through his hair, the way you looked down at him like he was everything. 

Your leg dropped roughly, so he could stand, both of your hands meeting his at the button and zipper. Fumbling and bumping, your head ducked to catch his lips, wet and sloppy, desperate in their kiss. Your mouths moved over each other’s fast, greedy, devouring one another between heavy breaths. 

Steve teased his tip at your entrance, dragging it through your slick and tapping on your clit until you were biting on his lower lip, gasping out a please. 

He thrust in fast, not letting you prepare or recover as he slid out of you slowly only to do it again. Your mouth parted against his, not quite kissing anymore, just breathing in and out with each other, lips and noses touching and bumping. Steve hitched your leg higher on his hip, hands roaming beneath each thigh and lifting so you were wrapped around him. He thrust into you in deep strokes, never letting his gaze fall from yours, hazel eyes consuming you. 

Your head bumped the door, his hips slamming into yours as his fingers gripped at your ass. His lips took your bottom one between his, sucking dirty and pulling a little meanly until he released it, breathing heavily. Your orgasm built quickly, entire body vibrating around him, ready for him to take you away, off the planet and into the stars. 

“You’re mine,” he thrust deeper, pausing and kissing over your jaw, down your neck, voice softening, “My fucking girl.”

He rolled his hips and you moaned at his possessiveness, at the weight of the gold necklace around your neck. Your spine prickled with lust, excitement, adrenaline, as your head fell forward so your foreheads touched. You panted against his lips, nodding. 

“I’m yours. All yours. Forever. Whatever you want.”

Steve lips found yours again, his hand on your jaw pulled you open more so his tongue could roll over yours, so it could trace your top lip. The kind of kiss that made your stomach flutter, made goosebumps erupt over your skin, made your cheeks flush, your toes curl and your fingers push deeper into his hair, needing him closer. He parted from you, grabbed your hand and laced it with his, pushing it up against the door and your other clung to the back of his head as his hips picked up their pace. 

“Oh! Fuck, right - S-Steve!” Your head hit the door again, fingers tensing and flexing between his, legs shaking from the orgasm about to rip through you. 

“Louder, honey. They all need to hear who can get you like this.”

You clenched around him at his words, a little turned on by people knowing just like he was. His fingers dropped yours, quick to find your clit and press figure eights to the swollen nerves. Your feet locked behind him as you clenched around his dick, gushing over him as stars exploded behind your eyes and you yelled out even louder, unsure if you were even saying words. 

Your body on fire, heat from head to toe as your eyes rolled back, band inside of you snapping as his release filled you up. Steve’s head fell into the crook of your neck with his own cry, hips stuttering until you were both still. The only sounds the low thudding of music from outside and both of your sharp inhales and louder exhales.  

“Did you mean it?” His voice was raspy, nose nudging up your neck as he cupped your ass, holding you against him. 

“Wh-what?” You couldn’t quite catch your breath, eyes heavy and blinking, exhausted from the orgasm he just gave you. . 

Steve kissed your jaw, swallowing. “Forever? Was that an answer to my question?”

“I-”

Pounding on the other side of the wood rattled the door against your back and Steve pushed his weight against it, yelling, “Occupi-”

“You’re both animals! It’s my fucking wedding shitbirds! Clean yourselves up and you better get your asses out here before Wilson Phillips or I will kill you both!”

Robin’s voice echoed through the door and both of you sputtered out laughs, covering each other’s mouths. Eyes growing fonder, sparkling with mischief, you both let your hands drop and he was kissing you. Legs dropping to the ground gently, his fingers cupped your jaw, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. 

He let you go and smiled as your eyes blinked rapidly, eyelashes fluttering as you cleared your throat, dazed look behind your eyes and cheeks warm under his palms as he asked, “We’ll finish this later?” 

[rotworld]

17: Perfect Fit

art by @exorbitantsqueakingnoises

the ivarii are complex plant-like aliens that require hosts for mobility and proper sustenance. humans haven't been as eager as they'd hoped to share their bodies, so significant stipends are offered to encourage greater cooperation. you sit in a waiting room, considering how desperate and adventurous you really are.

->original work. basically explicit; contains dub-con, parasites, body horror, discussion of medical procedures.

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MEET YOUR NEW ROOMMATE, says the pamphlet in a bold, friendly font with rounded edges. Under the text, a woman with a dazzling smile holds a polaroid-sized image beside her face. It’s eerie blue monochrome-on-black like a medical scan, smears and swirls of soft tissue of a human face in profile. Strings of something firmer thread up the spinal column and into the brain, a forking starburst like a giant dendrite. LIVING TOGETHER IS EASIER THAN YOU THINK, it claims with a curling arrow urging you to turn the page.

You glance around the waiting room nervously. It’s soothing like a therapist’s office, deliberate and almost cloying; speckled gray carpet, baby blue walls, a small collection of cushioned chairs and sofas arranged in not-too-close, not-too-far clusters. Landscape photos of shrub-speckled Martian canyons and clouds drifting over Europan oceans hang on the walls in wooden frames. A circular speaker on a coffee table plays wind sounds and birdsong at a whispering volume. There’s no one here but you and the receptionist who tears open a package of white, powdery Nutrisweet mix to pour into her coffee mug. When she lifts it to her lips, something in her neck twitches and squirms slightly.

The pamphlet opens into a four-page spread of bright colors, bullet point fun facts and upbeat testimonials. The “ROOMMATE OF THE YEAR” section says implantation is PERFECT whether you want company or like your space. One bedroom, one bathroom? NO PROBLEM! An ivarius only takes up as much space as you do. No need to drastically change your eating habits when you can just supplement your beverage of choice with NUTRIENT-RICH FERTILIZER MIX (and with so many flavors to choose from, it goes with EVERYTHING)! Did you know that ivarii can achieve PERFECT SYMBIOSIS with any sufficiently advanced, terrestrial lifeform? You have a FRIEND FOR LIFE when you sign up for implantation—

A door opens and a man calls your name. He’s wearing mossy green scrubs with the Office of Cooperation’s looping flower and stem crest stitched onto the shirt pocket. You must look ready to bolt because he gives you a wry smile like he gets it and comes to you instead, sinking into the chair beside yours. “Nervous?” he asks. “That’s pretty normal.”

You nod, staring at the back cover of the pamphlet. A man holds one of the medical scan pictures over his heart. Thin tendrils loop through his ribs and infest his organs. “Do you, uh…” You glance at him sheepishly. “Do you have…?” 

“Yes. I can show you, if you want.” He waits until you nod reluctantly to unwrap what you thought was a bandage around his wrist, a length of thin, gauze-like material with a yellowish sap stain seeping through. There’s a small bump growing out of his skin—the earliest, sproutling stages of a flower bud. The sepals are flesh-colored, overlapping flaps of thin, vein-filled skin. It’ll bloom on top of his wrist like a corsage. 

“Does it hurt?” you ask. 

“Not at all.”

“And that’s…I mean, is that typical? I’ve seen some people who bloom from their spine, or their eye…” 

“It’s up to you,” he says. “From the very start, it’s up to you. If either one of you decides it isn’t going to work, then nothing happens. Symbiosis takes two.”

That’s the slogan for the Cooperation Initiative. “Symbiosis Takes Two,” pasted on billboards and subway tunnels with smiling people tenderly holding vine-covered flower pots like they’re newborn babies. The brochure stand at the waiting room door has every possible approach covered: the humanitarian, the scientific, the pragmatic. Help a species in need; contribute to ongoing research; never worry about money again.

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Okay. I’ll try.”

The matchmaking rooms line either side of a long, quiet hallway. Each door has a small electronic screen beside it with a schedule displayed. You find yours at the very end, a time slot for your meeting grayed out. There’s a vertical line down the middle. Your name is on the left; the name “Sifril” is on the right. The door is open. Like the waiting room, the decor is purposefully unobtrusive and calming with muted colors and soft surfaces. The curtains are sheer to let in some natural light. Two armchairs sit facing each other on a floral rug, a round wooden table between them. 

On the table, there’s a slim black speaker next to a strange vase. It’s not glass or ceramic but a shimmery material with a moving surface like foam drifting across water. Long vines spill out from the top and slink down the sides, tapping and poking at the table in searching, licking motions. A thick cluster of tangled stems and leafy growths sticks straight up, covered in alien flowers with colorful, curling tendrils atop spotted petals. Each blossom turns towards the door when you walk in, quivering slightly. 

“Oh, hello!” 

You look up in surprise. You were so distracted by the sight of an ivarius that you didn’t even notice one of the chairs was occupied. It’s a man—young, clean-shaven, a short, choppy haircut and a bright smile. He’s wearing a sweater with brown and beige stripes, long sleeves covering most of his hands. His jeans are rolled up to his ankles and his socks have little mushrooms on them. You know what the door says, but you start backing up to check the time table again. 

“Oh, hey, no, come back!” he says, laughing. “You’re Sifril’s match, right? You’re in the right place. I’m here because your case is sort of special. Here, why don’t you get comfortable?” Reluctantly, you sit down across from him. He offers a reassuring smile. “I’m Andrei,” he says, placing a hand on his chest. “My co-inhabitor is Olanash. It’s nice to meet you.” He gives you his full attention, his eye contact intense and unwavering. “How much do you know about ivarii?” 

“A little,” you say, sheepish. “I read the pamphlets.” 

“Why did you decide to apply?” 

You avert your gaze. “Well, I’m…I saw a poster that said, uh…” 

Andrei leans over suddenly like he’s about to grab your hand. He stops halfway there, blinking like he’s just as surprised as you. “Sorry,” he says, settling back in his seat. “Force of habit. You’re giving off distress hormones and…look, I’m not trying to shame you. I signed up because I needed the money, too. But there are lots of ways to make money. This is a lifelong commitment and it takes a lot of trust. What I’m asking is why this, instead of something else? Is there anything else about it that appeals to you?” 

You look down at the vase and the ivarius coiled inside of it. “I like the idea of never being alone,” you admit. “I was still on the fence about it, but then I got matched with Sifril and we talked back and forth a bit, and…” Now you’re wondering about that. How, exactly, does an ivarius message someone? Do they dictate to someone else? You really hope not. Your face heats at the thought of anyone else seeing those messages.

Andrei chuckles. “And now you’re here. Sifril’s definitely a smooth-talker, huh? That’s three for three now.”

“Three for three?” you ask, wary. 

“Right, we need to talk about that. Do you want to say it, Sifril, or should I?” 

A warbling, bassy sound flutters from the speaker on the table. You flinch when you hear a very clear, very human-sounding, “Go ahead, Andrei.” That definitely sounded like a person, but you struggle to identify pitch or tone, masculine or feminine, any particular cadence or lilt. That doesn’t make sense, unless you’re not really hearing a voice at all but something your brain interprets as one. “My apologies. I didn't mean to startle you,” you hear. It seems to echo, like you’re hearing it in a big, empty room. 

“Sifril?” you ask.

“Yes,” says the voice. The ivarius in the vase rustles their leaves. “It’s wonderful to finally be in the same room. You’re even lovelier in person.” 

“Can you see me?” you ask, suddenly self-conscious. 

The speaker rumbles. The sound isn’t loud but it makes your ears tingle. “Hm. In a way. My senses aren’t the same as yours, but I know you’re there and I know you are lovely.” 

“Sifril,” Andrei says, chiding. “Stop teasing them. You can tell they’re embarrassed.” 

“I can tell no such thing,” Sifril says. For the first time, the voice has a distinctive feature you can identify: a purr of flirtation. 

“You mentioned that you read the pamphlets?” Andrei smiles when you nod. “So you’ve seen the whole ‘roommate’ thing. It’s a useful comparison, but not wholly accurate. Symbiosis is very…intimate. Ivarii love their hosts.” He reaches out, holding his hand over the vase. Sifril’s vines move in slow motion, a shaky upward crawl, until they touch skin. Suddenly they become graceful, curling around Andrei’s wrist and palm. When he spreads his fingers, they thread through the space between and wrap around them in grasping, undulating motions that look distinctly sensual. You feel flustered when Andrei glances up and sees you staring intently, even more when he winks. “They love one another, too. It’s not uncommon for them to pursue courtship and even mate while co-inhabiting.” 

“Mate? Like…” You’re sure you’re not imagining it. Andrei’s smile and wandering, half-lidded gaze are definitely showing interest. “While they’re…?”

“So shy,” Sifril says, their flowers swaying.

“Yes,” Andrei says, clearly amused. “While they’re inside us. Sharing sensory information means everything is a shared experience, including attraction and sex. They call that a ‘rebal pair’ when a human and co-inhabitor mate with another human and co-inhabitor. In Sifril’s case, though, they mated before being assigned a host. Their mate, on the other hand, got one sooner.” You glance between Andrei and the vines caressing his hand. Andrei sees you put the pieces together and smiles. “Yes. Olanash is Sifril’s mate. So whoever becomes Sifril’s host will be my partner, and together, we’ll be a rebal pair.”

None of the promotional material ever mentioned something like this. You’re not sure what to think. “That seems tough,” you say. “So all three of you have to agree on the same partner.”

“We’re in agreement right now,” Sifril purrs. 

“I know it’s a lot,” Andrei assures you. “And you don’t have to decide right now. We’re supposed to have at least two more meetings to really get a good feel for each other. If you have any questions, I’d be more than happy to answer them.” You nod, not quite meeting his eyes. “Is there something specific you’re worried about?” 

“Well…kind of the whole thing,” you admit. You watch Sifril’s vines uncoil from Andrei’s hand. They move like snakes, flexible and slippery as they sprawl across the table again. You can’t help but notice they’ve all gathered on the side closest to you, curled into grasping spirals. “What does it feel like?” 

Andrei considers the question for a moment with a thoughtful frown. Then he smiles again, wide and serene. “Comforting,” he says. “You just know somebody else is there, even if they’re not moving. And when they do move around, it’s like…someone touching you. You feel it on your skin. Like a gentle tap, or a caress.” 

“And the surgery, is that, um…”

His eyes light up. “Oh, I can tell you exactly what that’s like. Here.” He gets up and gestures for you to stand next to him. You hesitate for a moment before you follow and he beams at you. Sifril’s flowers lean forward in the vase. “First of all, they knock you out. You won’t feel anything. Second…” Andrei slips behind you, a hand landing on your shoulder when you start trying to turn around. “There are several possible methods of implantation,” he tells you. He’s standing way too close, practically pressed against your back. He speaks softly, close to your ear. “One is through the chest. The first incision is made here.” He touches his fingertips to your sternum and slowly, suggestively, slides his hand down the center of your body. “Alllllllll the way down,” he murmurs. “Some of them like to anchor to the ribs. Some don’t. You’d talk that over with Sifril beforehand.” 

“The ribs,” Sifril muses. “I would like to feel your ribs. To fill them.” 

“Another option is here.” Andrei’s fingers brush against the underside of your jaw in a soft caress. His thumb strokes the side of your neck. He chuckles at your slight shudder. “The neck,” he says, almost whispering. “It’s a really popular spot. Tight. Sensitive. Much closer to the brain. I’ve heard it feels good.” His palms smooth up and down your back, squeezing your shoulders. “Another option. From behind. Olanash and I picked this one. I can feel them right there all the time. Their warmth. The weight of their presence. Like they’re holding me.” His hands slide down your sides and then there’s no space between you anymore. Andrei’s hips rest against your ass and you can feel that he’s hard through his jeans. 

You’re frozen, completely unprepared. Is this allowed? Are they supposed to do this? 

Andrei’s lips graze the shell of your ear. “No matter what,” he says, “they end up here.” He presses two fingers to the nape of your neck. “All the way up. And all the way in.” He rocks his hips gently, grinding against you. His hand slides higher and he digs his fingers into your scalp. “And that feels so, so good. It’s hard to explain, because you don’t feel it exactly. But you feel what they feel, surrounded by you. And you know they’re there. Squirming…and slithering…like they’re fucking your brain.”

“Olanash told you to say that,” Sifril says, playfully accusing. “They like that sort of thing.” 

Andrei chuckles. Emboldened by the little gasps you let out, he holds your hips tighter and starts grinding harder and faster. “So do you,” he says. “I know you whisper all the same filth. I can hear you both when you’re mating.” He pulls you against him, urging you to grind back and enjoy the friction. You let out a shaky breath when he kisses your neck. “It’s kind of exciting to think about, right?” he whispers. “Having someone where you’re most vulnerable. Fucking all the thoughts out of your head. I wish I could show you. Sifril could give you a taste, if you let them. It’s not quite the same as if they were implanted, but it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before.” 

Andrei moans when you start to move with him, pushing back into his humping thrusts. He rewards you with wandering hands and more hungry kisses, his fingers teasing your nipples through your shirt with light pinches and circular motions. His tongue traces the shell of your ear and he licks and nips at it, his hot breath making you shiver. Heats throbs between your legs and you want more than this frantic teasing.

Then it all stops. Andrei suddenly lets go of you, stepping back and leaving you shuddering in the middle of the room. You hear him casually sink back into his chair like he didn’t just try to make you cum in pants. He’s smiling when you look back at him, an elbow on the armrest, cheek resting against his fist. 

“But you’ve probably got more questions, right? Don’t let me distract you if there’s more you wnat to ask.” he says. He sits with his legs spread, one hand tapping his thigh in a way that looks teasing. Inviting. He’s moved his chair slightly closer to the table and Sifril’s vase. You think about just how far you saw Sifril’s vines spread. If you sat there, you would be caught between both of them. Easily within reach. “You can ask me anything,” Andrei says, licking his lips. “Anything at all.”

The speaker shudders and rumbles. “You can do more than ask,” Sifril purrs.

This stops when you want it to. You can leave whenever you want. You can tell them you’ve changed your mind, that you’re calling the whole thing off. You can walk out of here and never come back. You have time, you tell yourself. Two whole meetings more before you have to choose. “When, um…” You swallow hard. They wait patiently, both of them—all three, you think—watching you intently. “When am I going to meet Olanash?” 

Andrei’s smile widens when you take a timid step closer. He spreads his legs a little wider, leaving plenty of room for you on his lap. “If you want,” he says, “how about right now?” 

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

☠️ Something Dread, Something Red: Chapter Twenty

Something Dread, Something Red: Stuck in a proposal to a Marine Commodore, you escape minutes before your wedding in one last ditch effort to avoid getting married to a tyrant. Barely making it to the port of your town, you stumble across a ship just starting to leave and beg for passage off the island. You fail to notice that the people you beg for help, are pirates.

Warnings: None.

To Note: “Red Haired” Shanks x FemReader

Word Count: ~2.4k

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You lean over the rail of the ship, the salty breeze whipping your hair around your face. The sea stretches endlessly, but you can already see the faint outline of Satō Island on the fading horizon. You'll arrive tomorrow. Your heart races with excitement.

"I've heard so much about Satō Island," you say, more to yourself than anyone else.

Gab saunters over, a grin plastered on his face. "Wait until you see the hummingbirds. They're unlike anything you've ever seen."

Your eyes light up. "Really? Tell me more."

He chuckles, leaning against the rail beside you. "They're about the size of a parrot, ya know, the one's the nobles like to keep as pets? They're coloring is amazing. They love the sugar sap from the palm trees. You'll see them darting around everywhere, sipping from flowers and trees."

Your mind races with images of vibrant birds flitting through lush greenery. "I can't wait to see them." While your mind lingers on the beautiful pictures of Satō Island hummingbirds you had seen, your mind begins to wander.

The tension between you and Shanks has palpable, almost intense. It's been weeks since that night, and every shared glance, every accidental touch (which may or may not have intentional), feels charged with electricity and yearning. You can't stop the pull between you, nor the heat that simmers just beneath the surface.

It certainly doesn't help that you sleep next to him every night.

Yet a heaviness now hangs between you. You were living your life in utter bliss on board, while Shanks keeps bringing up the idea that you were limiting your life by staying with him. He loves you but at the same time was pushing you away. You had taken to staying busy during your waking hours, away from him. You couldn't argue about your future if he wasn't there to argue with.

The savory scent of Lucky Roux's cooking wafts through the air, drawing you away from the rail. Your stomach growls, reminding you that breakfast was a long time ago. You follow your nose to the galley, hoping to distract your mind from the persistent thoughts of Shanks.

Lucky Roux stands at the stove, a large rack of meat sizzling in a pan. He hums a cheerful tune, his round face lit up with a smile that never seems to fade. Despite his imposing figure, there's something comforting about him, like a giant teddy bear.

"Need any help?" you ask, stepping into the warm, fragrant space.

Roux looks up, goggles glinting in the light. "Aria! Perfect timing. Grab that bowl of potatoes and start peeling. We're having a feast tonight! Gonna need that strength for the island tomorrow!"

You nod eagerly, grateful for something to keep your hands and mind busy. You take the bowl and sit at the small table in the corner, peeling potatoes with practiced ease. The repetitive motion soothes your racing thoughts.

"Your hand is getting better," Roux comments, glancing over his shoulder.

"I've been practicing, Gab and Limejuice are teaching me knife tricks" you reply with a small smile.

Roux chuckles, turning back to his pan. "Does Shanks know that?"

"What he doesn't know, won't hurt him… but I think he suspects." You reply, flicking a potato peel off your wrist. "He is still salty over the teachings of words."

Lucky Roux giggles in remembrance. While you certainly didn't curse like a sailor, the crew had been subtly coaching you on not sounding like a stuck up noble nitwit born with a silver spoon in her mouth. You called it the teachings of words, a gentler way of describing them teaching you how to curse in vulgarity.

"What's next after these potatoes?" you ask, wanting to keep the conversation light.

"Carrots," Roux answers without missing a beat. "And then onions. Lots of onions."

You laugh, shaking your head as you finish peeling the last potato. "You're going to make me cry."

He winks at you. "All part of the job." A job you decidedly hate. You putter around the galley, gathering the needed onions from the storage barrel. You remain silent for the next few minutes, fingers on autopilot. "Seems like someone's got their mind elsewhere," Lucky Roux comments, not missing a beat as he slices through a carrot.

You hum in response, focusing on peeling onions. "Just thinking about Satō Island."

Roux chuckles, shaking his head. "Sure, sure. It's not a certain red-haired captain occupying your thoughts?"

Before you can respond, Shanks strides into the galley. His presence commands attention without effort. Like you could ever keep your eyes off him when he was around. He pauses when he sees you, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"Aria," he says warmly, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

You nod in acknowledgment, your heart racing. "Shanks."

He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. "How's dinner coming along?"

"Almost ready," Roux replies, giving Shanks a wink. "Aria's been a big help as usual. Best sous chef I ever had."

"You've never had a sous chef on board," You comment dryly, lifting your eyes. Shanks' gaze locks onto yours, and for a moment, it's as if no one else exists in the room.

"I'm sure she has." Shanks drawls out. The air grows thick with unspoken words and lingering glances. You can't help but wonder what he's thinking—if he's as consumed by these feelings as you are. He is.

Roux clears his throat, breaking the spell and tension that blooms every time you and Shanks are in a room together. "Well, I'll leave you two to it then. Don't let the pot boil over." He exits the galley with a sly grin, leaving you alone with Shanks.

Shanks steps closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "You've been avoiding me, treasure.”

You swallow hard, trying to find your voice. "I've been busy, I wouldn't say avoiding you. The upcoming island is—" Shanks cuts your diverting mumbles off with a touch against your lips.

His fingers move to brush a strand of hair from your face. His touch is gentle but makes your body tremble in delight. "It's okay," he murmurs. "I get it."

Your breath hitches as his hand lingers on your cheek. "Shanks, it is far more complicated than 'I get it' and you know that." When you aren't wrapped up in his arms at night, you have fallen into keeping him at arms length, avoiding the building pressure that is your relationship. He wants you to be free, you want him.

He leans in closer until your lips are just finger widths apart. "I've missed you," he confesses softly. Your heart pounds in your chest as you meet his gaze. The longing in his eyes mirrors your own feelings—feelings you've tried to bury but can't ignore any longer. Need.

"I've missed you too," you admit finally, your shoulders drooping.

A slow smile spreads across his face before he closes the distance between you—his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss that leaves no room for doubt or hesitation of his affections.

"When we arrive on Satō Island, you and I are going to spend some quality time together, okay?" He proposes, stroking your cheek.

You nod, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. Shanks' smile grows, and he presses a soft kiss to your forehead before stepping back. The air feels lighter, the tension melting away as you turn to check the simmering pot on the stove.

"I need to get back to chopping," You softly comment. "Lucky's weird sofrito won't fix itself and he needs more to finish dinner."

Shanks pulls away, his hand lingering on your cheek for a moment longer before he steps back. "I'll leave you to it," he says, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine. "Don't burn dinner, okay?"

"Who do you think you talking to," You say managing a small smile and nodding as he turns and strides out of the galley. The door swings shut behind him, leaving you alone with the simmering pot and your racing thoughts.

The Red Force glides smoothly into the harbor of Satō Island as the sun begins to rise. You stand at the bow, your heart fluttering with anticipation. The island looks like a paradise—lush greenery, sparkling blue waters, and the unmistakable hum of oversized hummingbirds flitting through the air.

You feel a presence beside you and turn to see Shanks, his eyes fixed on the island with a soft smile. "Ready the day?" he asks, his voice full of warmth.

You nod eagerly. "Very much so." You hadn't slept well the night prior, your mind consumed by the trivial matters of your relationship, but it hasn't impacted your excitement. You are dressed in your hiking attire and your matching boots are securely tied.

Benn and Yasopp deploy the gang plank with practiced ease, their movements synchronized like a well-rehearsed dance. You can’t help but admire their efficiency as the Red Hair Pirates begin to spill onto the sandy beach of Satō Island. No time is wasted setting up a makeshift camp. Blankets are spread out, crates are unloaded, and laughter fills the air as everyone prepares for a day of relaxation.

Shanks stands beside you, his hand resting gently on the small of your back. "Ready to go, treasure?” he asks, his voice warm but eyes still echoing what you and he had spoken the prior night. You needed to talk. At least you would have time to enjoy yourself first. His eyes crinkle at the corner and he strokes your back with his thumb. "Let's just have a relaxing day, forget everything that's been bothering you. okay?"

"Okay," you agreed, liking the sound of his words. With a charming smile, you begin to walk in a random direction, your eyes everywhere and nowhere.

The soft crunch of sand under your boots blends with the distant hum of oversized hummingbirds. Shanks walks beside you, his presence comforting. The two of you veer away from the bustling activity of the crew, stepping into the dense foliage of Satō Island.

"Let's see what we can find," Shanks says, his eyes scanning the surrounding foliage. This would surely take some of the stress off your face. He pushes a low-hanging branch out of your way, and you duck under it, stepping into a world that feels untouched by time.

The forest is alive with the buzz and chatter of creatures hidden among the trees. You hear the hum before you see them—the hummingbirds. Their vibrant colors blur together as they dart from flower to flower, their wings beating so fast they’re almost invisible.

You giggle as one hovers near your face, its tiny eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before it flits away. "They're amazing," you breathe, turning to Shanks with wide eyes and a glowing smile.

He grins, his eyes twinkling. "Told you, you'd love it."

You walk deeper into the forest, marveling at the rich tapestry of life around you. Shanks stays close, his hand occasionally brushing against yours and fingers reaching for yours. Each touch is a reminder of his presence, of his love. He loves you, and that has not changed.

You reach a clearing where sunlight filters through the canopy, casting dappled patterns on the ground. There's a group of rocks you decide to sit on and take in the nature around you.

As you settle down, a hummingbird lands on a nearby branch, its iridescent feathers shimmering in the sunlight. It cocks its head at you and trills in interest.

"Knowing you, it probably wants to perch on your arm for a closer look," Shanks murmurs in your ear. He's taken a seat next to and his fingers now brush against your inner arm.

"Are you sure it isn't just trying to figure out if I will leak sugar sap?" you tease, glancing at him with a playful smile.

"Sweet enough to attract a hummingbird, huh?" Shanks murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, laden with suggestion. "I can think of other ways to test that theory."

You roll your eyes but can't help the small smile tugging at your lips. "Oh, really? Like what?"

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "I have a few ideas," he whispers, the teasing lilt in his voice unmistakable.

You laugh softly, pushing him away playfully. "Behave yourself, Captain."

Shanks grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Can't make any promises there. Not when you are with me."

With a sigh of exasperation that's more affectionate than annoyed, you turn your attention back to the hummingbird still perched on the nearby branch. "Let's see if your theory holds up," you say, extending your arm slowly.

Shanks slides his fingers up your extended arm, pressing against your back as his longer arm enables his fingers reach yours. His touch is gentle but firm, a comforting presence that steadies your nerves.

The hummingbird watches you curiously, its head cocked to one side. It flits its wings briefly before lifting off the branch and hovering in mid-air. You hold your breath, feeling Shanks' fingers tighten within yours.

After what feels like an eternity but is only a few seconds, the hummingbird finally lands on your wrist. Its tiny feet are surprisingly light against your skin, and you can feel the rapid flutter of its heartbeat.

You glance over your shoulder at Shanks, your eyes wide with wonder. "It worked," you whisper, barely daring to move.

Shanks' smile is soft and genuine as he looks at you and the hummingbird. "Told you," he says quietly, his words brushing over your lips from the proximity of his face. You can't help but laugh at the triumphant look in his eyes.

"So you have," you reply. The hummingbird flits its wings again, a blur of iridescent color, and you can feel its delicate movements against your wrist. The tiny creature's presence fills you with a sense of wonder and connection to the natural world. Where else would you get to experience this if not out in the world?

Shanks watches you with an expression of pure adoration, his eyes reflecting the light of the sun filtering through the trees. "You're amazing, you know that?" he says softly, his voice filled with emotion.

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at his words. "I think you might be a little biased," you tease, your eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Maybe," Shanks concedes, his grin widening. "But it's true."

Date Published: 6/21/24

Last Edit: 7/29/24

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