#have to admit though picking colours is difficult

[abysswalkersknight]

"they stare in stunned horror as a familiar crowned head of glass erupted from the tree's crevasse, it's pale rider rooted to the saddle. There was a moment of silence before a loud crack resounded in the air"

A slight continuation of my overblot Silver stuff, I got this one from that one scene in the movie 'sleepy hollow' I must say I had fun learning about the layering and using the airbrush to make the slight mist. I've practically scrapped the other pieces for now unless someone wants to see them done, though I've got one more that I intend to have a little drabble with, so look forward to that if you will!

[beenbaanbuun]

waterparks songs w/ ateez

i had to do this for teenage me! also i’ve seen parx more than any other band so like… i had to!!

also awsten writes a lot about exes so there weren’t many songs to choose from (from a non-angst standpoint point). the entirety of greatest hits is also not on here bc that man just wrote an entire banger of an album about having shitty mental health… he’s so real for that 🙂‍↕️

yes the colours of the lyrics match the colours of the era… sue me

is this proofread??? uhhhhhhh🧍🏻‍♀️

park seonghwa - sleep alone

‘i feel dead and a half, but you’re making me laugh’

miserable; that’s the only word to describe how you feel. with a stuffed up nose and a tickle in your throat that just won’t seem to leave, you’ve found yourself wanting nothing more than to stay in bed with a hot bowl of broth. you know it would help you more than the cold tablets have done, the wretched things keeping you drowsy and dull. it only serves to make you feel that much more awful.

but the clatter you hear from downstairs brings a weak smile to your face. the sound of a metal ladle against a ceramic dish makes your heart pitter-patter in a strange mix of excitement and adoration. you’re not sure which you’re hungrier for; the soup, or seeing your boyfriend poke his head into the room. it’s not difficult for you to admit how much you’ve missed him this past week, able to hear his soft snores coming from the guest room, but unable to see his tired face next to yours.

until of course, this morning.

he’s been avoiding you like the plague until roughly 7:34 am when you were rudely awoken by a pair of arms snaking themselves around your waist. you’d mumbled something incoherent about not wanting him to get sick, but he silenced you with a quick peck to your lips. “i don’t mind getting sick for you, darling,” he whispered against your lips, “i don’t like sleeping alone; you’ll never have to do it again.”

it brings a soft smile to your face to remember how difficult it had been for him to unravel himself from you to grab a portion of the soup he’d made just a few days prior. he’d whined into your neck like a puppy, telling you all sorts of pretty things about how hard it is to abandon you while you’re in such a state. you’d giggled at him, the sound quickly devolving into a coughing fit that finally convinced him to get up and grab you that soup. if you knew that would be all it took, you’d have faked a coughing fit much sooner.

kim hongjoong - peach (lobotomy)

‘you found me, and finders keep’

“i wrote a song for you,” hongjoong’s voice fills your ears the second you pick up the phone. it’s eager and bubbly, clearly full of enthusiasm for whatever it is that he’s made. you nod, despite his inability to see you, before you remember exactly what it was that you wanted to do.

“isn’t it like 3am where you are?” you scold him gently, taking a glance at your clock just to make sure you’d got it right. it takes a moment of two to do the maths in your head, but sure enough, you’re right. it’s 3am and your boyfriend sounds more awake than you do. “what are you still doing up, hongjoong?”

he chuckles nervously, clearly understanding the direction of the conversation. perhaps he should have called you as a more believable time of day, but then again, if he did that then there wouldn’t be much point to what he’s done. he stayed synced up to your time zone for a reason; so he’d never have to be awake without you.

“it’s not late over there, though,” is his justification. he says it like it explains everything to you, yet it only serves to leave you more confused than you were at the beginning of the conversation. you don’t argue, not having nearly as much energy as hongjoong seems to, despite the time difference. “besides, i’ve been busy! sleep could wait until after i’d finished my latest creation.”

you sigh, “hongjoong—”

“nope!” he cuts you off, a smile evident in his voice, “you’re the reason that i spent so long hunched over my computer making this; you have to be the first person to hear it.”

jeong yunho - i’ll always be around

‘i’m dying to be your everything… everything’

“if i died tomorrow,” it’s an odd start to a question, but as you lay on the roof of your apartment, hand in hand with your boyfriend, it just seemed right. it’s moments like this where you feel you can get all those silly thoughts out there; would you love me if i was a worm? do you think snails are sentient? and of course, if i died tomorrow— “what would you do?”

there’s a deep chuckle from yunho, grabbing your attention from the stars and stealing it all for himself. your turn your head, choosing instead to look at the man you believe holds the universe in the palm of his hands. although the stars are pretty, the twinkle that lies in his eyes when he casts them upon your face is much better to gaze upon. why would you want to stare at the far away stars when you have a much brighter one so much closer.

“i’d learn necromancy,” he smiles in a manner that is so infectious that you can’t help but join him, “and if that doesn’t work, then i’d just have to hope you’d haunt me.”

“haunt you?” you ask incredulously, “wouldn’t you be scared if things started going bump in the night?” he shakes his head, and honestly you believe him. there’s not much yunho would admit to being scared of, especially not the concept of ghosts. “well, how would you know it’s me and not just some other random dead person who’s taken up residence in our apartment?”

“oh, i’d know,” he turns into his side to get a better look at you, “in the same way i know you’re not going to die tomorrow, idiot.”

you can’t help but laugh a little at that.

“you’re right,” there’s a knowing grin on his face when you agree with him, “i’ll always be around.”

kang yeosang - sneaking out of heaven

‘if i’m not brainwashed then i’m trying to be’

he must be an angel given to you from above. with the way he treats you so gently, soft words and even softer touches, it’s not hard to believe. his beauty even matches that of a heavenly being, leaving you breathless and in awe each and every time your gaze falls upon him. he must’ve snuck out from beneath his master���s gaze to come down and visit you; it’s the only explanation as to why he’s sat beside you in your car, carefully crafting a driving playlist for your enjoyment.

“what song next?” he asks, deep voice sending shivers up and down your spine. it takes everything you have to keep your eyes on the road, although you’re sure that death by staring at your boyfriend would be an excellent way to go. “i was thinking something of a similar genre but maybe a bit more… exciting. i think i’ve let the mood drop a little with my last few choices.”

you don’t mind, although you very rarely do when it comes to yeosang. he knows best, is what you tell yourself when you hopelessly agree to everything he says. honestly, if he told you to go swimming with a group of blood thirsty piranhas, you’d probably do it without a second thought. how could you say no to someone like him?

“put whatever you want on, sangie,” you say, “whatever you choose will be good, i’m sure of it.”

he hums in uncertainty, “but you’re the one driving!” oh, so considerate… he’s perfect, “surely you should get to choose, right?”

“i am choosing,” you argue, “i’m choosing whatever it is that you want on, my angel.”

choi san - telephone

‘i’m living on a target and you shot it with an arrow’

as far as first dates go, this might be the strangest you’ve ever been on. call it love at first sight, or just pure, simple infatuation, you don’t care. all you know is that you need to know everything about this man. what can you say, you’re invested?

“what do your parents do?” you ask, trying to keep your voice from wavering too much and giving up your true feelings. sure, you might be in far too deep to go back, but you can still appreciate this for what it is; a first meeting between two strangers. the last thing you’d want to do is scare san away by being overly excitable by something as simple as his presence.

play it cool, maybe then you’ll get somewhere.

“oh, you know,” he shrugs, clearly not too excited by the question you’ve posed. perhaps it is a little surface level. maybe you were too focussed on making yourself seem normal that you’ve made yourself seem uninterested instead! it’s fine, you tell yourself, you can recover from this. “they just do a bit of everything really. we lived in the country my whole childhood so there weren’t exactly many fancy office jobs going…”

“oh, you’re from the country?” you light up with interest, happy with the tiny piece of information that you can definitely use to your advantage. “why’d you move here? any big plans, or just a change of scenery?”

he seems to light up at that question, smiling as you give him a gateway to talk about his future dreams for a few minutes. as the words tumble from his lips, passion oozes from them. every single word is full of excitement and glee, and as he rambles on and on about his future, you realise that you’re more than happy to just sit and listen and imagine yourself as a part of it all.

song mingi - funeral gray

‘i know your dying wish is to be baptised in my spit’

“i didn’t take you for much of a smoker,” a deep voice calls from your left, the tall guy you’d shared a quick conversation with earlier taking a step closer to you. he’d looked pretty under the flashing lights of the club but right now, lit by nothing but the moonlight and the dim flickering of the smoking area sign, he looks even better. his sharp features are illuminated in such a way that you’re sure they might cut you if you get too close. maybe you’re just attracted to danger, you think to yourself as you take a step closer. “that’ll kill you, y’know.”

it’s a snarky remark, meant to be taken as tongue and cheek if the annoyingly handsome grin on his lips is anything to go by. maybe if you had another drink in you, you might have leant forwards to kiss it right off of his lips. for now, although the temptation to press your lips to his is very much there, you settle for blowing a stream of smoke at him.

he waves his hand, clearing the grey cloud in mere seconds. there’s a look of mirth on his features, which only serves to make you giggle. “now you’re going to die too!” you jest, moving your hand up to take another drag. the man mutters something about you being annoying, to which you have to agree; there’s just something so fun about getting under the skin of a man you’ve never met before. it just makes it that much more satisfying when by the end of the night, you have them wrapped around your pinkie.

“what’s your name anyway?” he purrs, pushing his back against the same brick wall you’d found yourself leaning against. you shoot him a cocky look.

“you’ve got to work much harder to get that information out of me, pretty boy.”

jung wooyoung - dream boy

‘cause i was born to be your favourite’

it was a fairly easy question that had been posed to you, one that you would’ve answered within seconds on any other day, yet right now you seem to be struggling. the answer is right there at the forefront of your mind, sitting on the very tip of your tongue. realistically, it shouldn’t be that hard to come out with it, yet as wooyoung stares you down, you find yourself swallowing the answer and shrugging instead.

“oh, come on!” he whines, leaning forward to poke at your shoulder with a strangely sharp finger. you wince, yet your friend seems to have other things to care about that your pain right now. “you have to have a type! just… build him from the ground up! pick his pieces.”

any other time you would’ve answered with a smile. long black hair and sharp brown eyes, a tongue that could rival the sharpest of wits and a laugh that any self-respecting witch would be jealous of. you know exactly what you want and he’s sitting right in front of you.

“i really don’t care what my future boyfriend looks like!” you insist, giving your friend a fake laugh when he rolls his eyes and scoffs. perhaps if you’d have been paying more attention you would’ve noticed the slight smirk that he wears.

“oh, please,” he purrs, shifting until he’s sitting on his haunches, towering above you. things move quickly and suddenly his arms are either side of you, caging you between him and the arm of the sofa. “i’ve seen the way you stare at me; i know i’m your dream boy.”

choi jongho - brainwashed

‘everything’s clean except for my thoughts’

you don’t do relationships. you never have and you told yourself that you never would. it’s just not you, being tied down to one person while there’s a whole world of other people outside your door. why kiss just one person when you could kiss anyone you meet? it’s just so freeing to not box yourself in like that.

so what the fuck are you doing here? with jongho’s arms wrapped around your waist like he never wants to let you go, your fingers laced in his hair like you feel exactly the same. it was just meant to be a one night stand, and yet you’re still here! you’re still at his house a week later. what the fuck is wrong with you?

“you have work, right?” jongho groans into your shoulder, pressing his soft lips to your skin just below your earlobe. it sets something alight within your, your heartbeat quickening and your stomach stirring. something so domestic would never have had that affect on you before, so why now? why with him? you push the question out of your mind and simply nod.

you do have work today, and maybe today will be the day that you go home to your own apartment, not jongho’s.

“do you want me to fetch you lunch?” he whispers, grazing his teeth against your earlobe in a way that sends shivers down your spine. you scrunch your eyes closed, trying your rid your mind of all the filthy thoughts that are suddenly racing through your brain. “is that a no?” he chuckles lowly in your ear, “or have you just got something else on your mind?”

something else entirely. a carnal need to stay home and let him take care of you like he has done every other day this week. what’s another sick day added to the list? you’re sure your boss must think you’re dying or something with the amount you’ve had off since that first night with jongho, yet you don’t seem to care.

and as he pressed another lengthy kiss to your neck, you find yourself not caring about the no relationship rule too. you can make an exception for the man that seems to have you brainwashed.

[sergeifyodorov]

POLL RESULTS JUST DROPPED!!

My hockeyblr experiences are largely catered to my own personal tastes -- mostly Leafs, a little Penguins and Stars, one or two who post about Stevie Y and Sergei Fedorov. These are obviously not the only teams out there.

This study was designed to survey as much of hockeyblr as it possibly could, gathering data on which teams people like and to what degrees. There were five questions and a free space -- my attempt to ask people to rank the teams they enjoyed in three levels, from religiously followed to casually affectionate, and an additional couple of questions on love for players versus team. I received over 500 responses. Here are the results.

Yeah, yeah, you all want to know: The most popular team is the Penguins, by a long shot, then the Leafs.

Because my sample size (n = 523) is actually fairly small compared to the number of NHL teams there are, I find definitive rankings tend to be difficult. It’s also worth noting that, as a mainly Leafs blog, my numbers are definitely going to be skewed a little in favour of the Leafs.

Your Guys

These are the teams closest to your heart: the ship you go down with, metaphorically or, depending on how married your old men are, literally. For me, I picked just the Leafs.

The average respondent had 1.9 teams in this category. The most popular, by far, was the Pittsburgh Penguins. Below is a table of teams, arranged roughly into tiers by the number of respondents. Each team has the number of respondents in brackets next to their three-letter code.

I allowed people to pick as many teams as they would like; the average person picked 1.9 teams, but here’s a distribution of how many teams they picked:

4 people picked 0 “your guys” teams, and 2 people picked seven, nine, or ten each teams. Just about half of people had one main team.

I then wondered: what teams were people most likely to only follow? That is, if you hold [x] team in the closest part of your heart, are you more or less likely to also hold any other teams? Almost exactly 25% of picks were solo; I wondered if there was any correlation at all.

Only a little bit! Of the samples large enough to actually consider (so: nothing in that cluster at the bottom left, who all received fewer than 10 picks total, and a few of whom -- CGY, CHI, NSH -- received zero solo pickers), the most devoted fans chose the Sharks, the Bruins, and the Leafs. The fans who liked the most other teams chose the Avs, the Kraken, the Canucks, Panthers, Sens, and Ducks.

Probably a next step would be to look for correlations: if people are a fan of one team, are they more likely to be fans of another? THAT BEING SAID that’s a lot of regressions. Maybe keep an eye on that for the future, but I don’t know!!

Objects of Enjoyment, and Generally Nice

These two were successive tiers meant to distinguish teams that people like from the ones in the category above. I admit I probably could have phrased the questions better; I received several comments saying that they’d watch any hockey when they wanted to put a game on. The dynamics between Your Guys versus Objects of Enjoyment versus Generally Nice would best be described as devoted fan of versus casual fan of versus favourable opinion towards. 

As I said a few paragraphs back, people picked 1.9 “devoted fan” teams on average. Again on average, they picked 4.7 “casual fan” teams and 6.5 “favourable opinion” teams. Not all ratios are equal, though! Some teams had significantly more casual than devoted fans, and others still were much more liked generally than average.

I gave each team’s “devoted” count an index number of 1 and measured their casual and favourable count as a ratio against the index number. The teams assembled themselves into a few groups.

No Commitment

Arizona and Anaheim have decided to be soulbonded (Excel refuses to let them have different-coloured dots) and it took me three hundred million years to attempt to (and unsuccessfully) fix, so let’s ignore that. These teams all have a fairly high slope of interest -- a range of casual interest at about five times the pace of fervent interest, and good opinion at about ten times fervent interest. The Calgary Flames are an outlier on the entire graph, not just here. 

Casual Interest

I gave up on trying to colour teams according to their real colours shortly after the Anaheim/Arizona debacle. Please employ the legend. Nashville is included on all five graphs for reference. These teams all have a casual interest factor of about 3, and a favourable opinion factor of around 5; the same ratio as the casual fans of the teams in the first category to their fervent fans.

Saturated Market

These teams have a much lower ratio of hardcore:casual:favourable fans, at about 1:2:3. 

We Get It, Those Are Your Guys

Pittsburgh and Toronto; these teams have an almost equal ratio of all three categories.

...Whatever This Is

Every other category is defined by its ratios; this category is defined by its shape. While all teams have their rate of hardcore fandom set as 1, the other two tend to increase in a roughly linear form, without too much significant difference between the first interval and the second interval.

These teams, though (again, Nashville is for scale) don’t do that: they have a set increase between hardcore and casual, and a significantly smaller increase (or, in a couple cases, a decrease) between casual and favourable. This suggests perhaps some kind of divisiveness; if you’re not already in there, do you really want to get in further? Either that, or it’s something closer to what the Leafs and Penguins have: that is, a devotion. Like you’re in or you’re out.

Taking these values together

Because the casual:hardcore ratios are measured as indexes and not absolute values, they say nothing about the actual popularity of the team in question -- Calgary is one of the least popular, which is why I assume it’s so weirdly high up; small sample sizes lead to higher error values!

But we do have the absolute values, so we can measure them against each other.

If we consider the “In or Out” to be a category of its own while the other four are along more of a continuum, then we can absolutely see a correlation here -- larger fandoms tend to have more involved fanbases.

Players or Teams?

I also asked participants if their guys tended to be players or teams -- and if those they liked at a more casual level tended to be players or teams.

The results are… not particularly surprising.

On a hardcore level, people tended to prefer teams, although the variability was pretty slight. On a casual level, individual players were much more popular.

I also wondered if people who chose more teams in the hardcore fan question tended to do that because they prefer players.

On average, people who picked players on their hardcore level chose 2.1 teams. People who picked teams chose 1.7 teams. That’s definitely a difference!

Fun Shtuff

I got way more write-in responses on the hardcore player/team question than on the casual question, including this:

Three separate people answered “Minnesota Wild” for their guys and chose no other teams on any level. Hell yes. (One person also did this for the Kings.)

It took about 300 responses before the first Flames fan (at the hardcore level.)

On all three levels, the Seattle Kraken are really popular -- they’re in the top five in each.

What's Next?

If I were to update this survey, I would probably include a question about where all of you are from -- some people (like me) follow their hometown team, while some people most certainly don't (shoutout to the one person from Edmonton who dislikes the Oilers) and others still don't have a hometown team (shoutout to my brasilian + european + etc mutuals and everyone else!!)

Feel free to shoot me an ask if you want me to do anything else with this data -- examine a specific team, give actual casual fan/etc counts and total aggregate rankings, anything else!

[monbons]

WIP Wednesday

Posting actual WIPS on a Wednesday? Imagine that.

As long as we are all baring our hearts on tumblr, I have to admit that I have been struggling to write anything since I wrapped up Eternal Life (back in the first week of April). At first I figured I was simply burnt out since I wrote all 42k words of that fic in just about a month, but given that I've started three separate WIPS since then and made zero progress on any of them, I'm wondering if I am just out of stories. I hate all my words--even though I really love some of these concepts. So, as you may have noticed, I've been distracting myself with sewing projects because good progress is so clearly visible there...

Anywho, to motivate myself, I decided to post a snip of each today and hope that having bits out in the world will motivate me to finish at least ONE of them! All untitled. Set up and snips below the cut.

Very creatively titled "Party Robot," this WIP is a silly/fluffy one-shot inspired by an article I read a while ago about a growing trend in American weddings. This one is the furthest along and will likely see the light of day eventually...

A nervous bounce.  From a robot. I recognize that bounce. “I thought you said Shepard was working tonight.” My voice is tight. “He is.” Bunce replies, similarly strained. “What did you say he does again?” Panic rises in my chest.  “He’s in entertain–”  Whether Bunce trails off or I simply don’t hear the rest is irrelevant because the music has changed from easy dinner instrumentals to much-too-loud techno and the show is clearly starting. As the synths build, driving towards a crescendo, my brain reels with the growing realisation that Simon would never just abandon me at the last minute, would never send me anywhere alone, certainly not my cousin’s gay wedding, which is every kind of milestone given his Old Families lineage and Pitch blood specifically and– “PARTY PEOPLE!” The DJ booms into the mic. “Have the grooms got a treat for you!”

A multi-chapter AU I have lovingly nicknamed "Baz in a Bubble." It is sad and angsty and is proving significantly more difficult to execute (despite having a complete outline) than I once thought it would be. Who could have guessed having one home-bound character would make me too sad to write? Thanks to @thewholelemon and @hushed-chorus who've listened to more than their fair share of my griping about this one. Anyway, here's the first bit of BAZ POV:

There are exactly 297 stars in the sky above me. I count them while lying in my bed every night. They do not twinkle or flicker hello like real stars. Instead, they glow a constant yellowish-green that reminds me of the colour artists always make toxic sludge in the cartoons I grew up watching. It's the colour of superhuman villains and their evil plots. Of poison. Of danger. It's the colour of the plastic star stickers Fiona put up on my ceiling when I was 10 and spent the whole year crying and begging her to go outside. Just once. Just for a minute. Because I was starting to forget what fresh air smelled like or how it felt to have grass prickle against your bare feet or how the stars lit up the night sky in Hampshire. There are no stars in the middle of London. Not outside my window. Not in this room.

And then the WIP I have the least progress on (literally almost nothing) but I so desperately want to write and could really use a thought partner to help me brainstorm/plot/figure out what the hell I'm doing--- a canon divergence where Simon successfully exposes Baz as a vamp and Malcolm steps the fuck up as a father. Here's a bit of Simon POV:

It didn't matter anyway. Pitch Manor was empty. While [the Mage] ranted and raved, I wandered into Baz’s living room. The TV was still on. Peppa the Pig was playing. A half-dressed Barbie was splayed on the couch next to a small bowl of grapes, all cut in half. I picked up the doll and brushed her tangled hair out of her face.  Why didn’t I know Baz had a sister? A family that ate snacks together in front of the TV? Parents who loved him so dearly they fled their whole lives under cover of night? In the days that followed, I sat in meeting after meeting with the Coven, listening to The Mage. He demanded the casting of tracking spells, pushed through more dark creature reforms, and rambled about the miscarriage of justice and the dangers of harbouring monsters.  But Baz wasn’t a monster.  He was just a boy.  A scared boy.  A boy who ran because he wanted to live. 

Anyway...here's to accountability via tumblr. Maybe once I've slept for several weeks and feel more refreshed I won't be so frustrated by every word I know, or more precisely, all the beautiful ones I can’t seem to find…

Thanks for the tag @bookish-bogwitch. Cannot wait to devour the new chapter of BPD!

Hellos and high-fives to all. May your words (and art) be faring better than mine: @raenestee, @cutestkilla, @roomwithanopenfire, @facewithoutheart

@emeryhall, @artsyunderstudy, @aristocratic-otter, @larkral, @rimeswithpurple

@drowninginships, @valeffelees, @shrekgogurt, @blackberrysummerblog, @iamamythologicalcreature

@run-for-chamo-miles, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @arthurkko, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @youarenevertooold

@beastmonstertitan, @supercutedinosaurs, @rbkzz, @fiend-for-culture, @theearlgreymage

@brilla-brilla-estrellita, @skeedelvee, @ic3-que3n, @talentpiper11, @ivelovedhimthroughworse

[blueraineshadows]

Yes, Professor - Part Three

Professor Sebastian Sallow x F!MC

Part One, Part Two 🔥❤️

NSFW 🔞 🔥 Things get hot 🥵

His fists were clenched in his pockets and he was tense, waiting, with MC stood there staring at him as though his head had fallen off. Maybe it had. Coming here so late at night was risky. It hadn't been too difficult to track her down, a quick scan through student records had turned up her current address, but getting past the formidable landlady had been a bit tricky. He was lucky he was charming, let's put it that way.

Still, he had kept one eye over his shoulder as he had climbed the staircases to get up here. A young man visiting an unmarried woman was rather scandalous and he didn't want to be recognised. She was his student after all. But, he hadnt been able to keep away.

"Bella had her hands on you," MC said, flatly. "It all looked rather cosy for someone who was so concerned about the rule breaking."

"Like I said, she has been pushing her luck. I have not laid a finger on her, I promise you," he said, earnestly. He attempted a smirk. "I've broken more rules with you than anyone else, and with more than one finger I might add."

"She has not been discreet in her affection for you," MC said. "She makes it painfully obvious every class."

Her blush was impressive. He just couldn't help himself. He smiled and held a hand up. "Forgive me," he said.

"I had to come, MC. Seeing you upset in class earlier today was not easy for me to watch. I wanted to come to you, but it was not the time. And then, you left so quickly afterwards before I could catch you. I am sorry you had to see her so close to me, trust me, it was not through any of my own intention."

He noted the way her mouth turned down, the way her eyes narrowed. She was jealous. The tone of her voice was dripping with it. He wasn't going to lie, that felt rather good. He risked a step closer, his booted feet on the threshold now.

"Does she know about us?" He asked. "She looked rather pleased that you had caught her in an inappropriate position."

"Is there an us?" She asked. There were hints of that vulnerability in her eyes again and his arms ached to reach out for her.

"I want there to be," he said. "Can I come in?"

Finally, she unfolded her arms and stepped to the side. She held out her hand. "Yes, you may come in, Professor."

....*....

Seeing Sebastian standing in her humble room made it look even smaller. He filled the space until there was only him. Her eyes couldn't tear themselves away, and his words of affection were still spinning around inside her head. She still couldn't shake a feeling of uncertainty though.

He could just be saying all of those things to get in the door. But it had worked. She moved to stand near her table, wand still in hand.

"I've told no-one about our...our meetings," she said. "The last thing I would ever wish to do, is get you into trouble. If Bella thinks she knows something, she didn’t get it from me. Although, she did mention that she wished you looked at her the way you look at me."

A tinge of pink coloured his cheeks. "I hadn't realised I was that obvious," he said, awkwardly.

Her lips twitched into a brief, small smile. "You do have a way of looking at someone that makes them feel a bit breathless," she admitted.

He smirked. "I hope that someone means you," he said.

She felt her stomach doing little flips and decided she needed to keep her hands busy. She cleared her throat. "I er...I can offer you a tea," she said. "I'm afraid the alcohol is all gone."

She moved towards her little stove to pick up the kettle, but Sebastian reached into his pocket and pulled out a flask and held it up.

"I've got firewhiskey, if that's any good."

She smiled. "Oo, definitely a little stronger than tea. Yes, please."

"Not feeling nervous are you?" He smirked.

He offered her the flask and she moved closer, reaching for it. Their fingers brushed and she met his gaze, heat gathering swiftly. She took a swig from the flask and handed it back, her eyes still on his. She wasn't exactly nervous, but there was certainly a tension in the room, like the kind before a storm.

As he went to take it, she didn't let go, her fingers gripping subtly to stop him. He tried again, and she fought the grin that wanted to form as his brow furrowed. One look at her teasing lips and his eyebrows quirked up playfully, his fingers shifted to graze over hers, the lightest of touches that sent a shiver down her spine.

"If you want me to touch you, MC, you need only ask," he said, his voice low and teasing.

Her breaths were coming quick and shallow. Her ache for him was so vivid that it made her hand tremble as she reached up to trail fingers along his freckled cheek. Her fingertips traced the line of his mouth, sliding to his jaw and down to his neck, his skin warm, the barest scratch of stubble under her touch stirring the already hot flame at her core.

The blaze in his eyes answered hers. It made her feel a lot bolder, along with the alcohol humming pleasantly in her veins. She fingered the collar of his coat, her thumb brushing teasing strokes against his throat.

Her lips curved into a teasing smile. "You know, I quite fancy you, Professor," she purred. "You make a girl start to imagine things, naughty things, that a student really shouldn't be picturing with her teacher."

She heard his quickened breaths and slid her hand down to pop the first button on his dark coat. He swallowed. "What kind of naughty things?" He asked. His smirk was delicious, as always.

She undid the next button. "Oh, Sir, I couldn't possibly say," she said. She tilted her head a little, playing shy. "That would make me a very bad girl. I wouldn't want to make you punish me, Sir."

His eyes flashed dangerously and she felt the tightening in her thighs as she throbbed with answering desire. He had got a kick out of her calling him Sir in the Restricted Section, and she knew how he loved to play, to tease. She was curious if he could take a bit of teasing back.

She was playing with fire, she could tell, but she had never been scared of fire, and Sebastian had taught her all the best fiery spells at school. He was the only boy, the only man, to stir a fire in her heart, and she wanted him, wanted him so much it was a physical ache.

"I would say you're being rather naughty right now, Miss MC," he warned. He looked down as she released the last button and opened the front of his coat to reveal the shirt and waistcoat underneath. Her fingers smoothed down the silk of his tie, sliding it up and out of said waistcoat, her teeth biting softly into her lower lip as she tugged him ever so slightly closer with it.

"Do you like naughty girls, Sir?" She tilted her head back, her eyes on his lips. "I could be naughty for you, if that's what you would like."

Her words were breathless, her heart pounding. She had never felt so wanton in all her life. The way he was looking at her was making her feel seriously damp between her thighs, and she released a soft sigh.

"You've got me curious, MC," he said. He leant his head down until their mouths were so close, the tip of his nose could graze hers if they so wished. "Just how naughty are you prepared to be?"

She moved as though to kiss him, but held back before their lips could actually touch. "I'm prepared to be as naughty as you would like, Sir. I merely wish to please you, to be your naughty girl. Would you like that, Sir?" Her words were the barest whisper against his mouth.

"Fuck," he groaned. He seized her in his grip, his hands at her waist before sliding down to hold her hips. His mouth claimed hers in a possessive kiss, his full lower lip sitting deliciously between both of hers, and she parted them eagerly, wanting him, all of him.

As they kissed, deep, hungry kisses that sounded wet and erotic in her tiny room, she shoved his coat from his shoulders. It tumbled to the floor, forgotten as he pulled her against him, their bodies now flush and writhing.

His hands urged her hips to grind against him, and she felt that hardness, that desperate need of his that made her ache deep inside. She moaned and rubbed herself against it. "Mmm, is that all for me, Sir?"

His choked moan made her chuckle, but then his hand was gripping her jaw, holding her tightly to make her look up at him.

"You're walking a fine line, MC," he warned. She stared up into his eyes, the depths of which were dark, blazing and glittering dangerously. She shivered, her pulse fluttering. "Keep teasing me like that and I'm going to throw you on that bed and fuck you until you scream, do you understand me?"

The flare of lust in her belly was white hot, the image he presented making her tremble, and a moan slipped from her mouth. She had no idea where her boldness was coming from, but she stared right at him as she spoke her next words. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Professor."

She was lifted clear off her feet, and she sucked in a breath that was dispelled as a cry as he made good on his word. She landed on her mattress on her back and he was immediately on top of her, his mouth demanding, his fingers gripping at her blouse and tugging it sharply out of her waistband. He sat back on his knees, gripped each side of the neat row of pearl buttons and yanked, the sound of tearing fabric and scattering buttons a shock to her ears.

"Sebastian!" She cried.

He put a hand to her throat, not hard, but firm enough to hold her there against the bed. "I did warn you," he said, eyes flashing. He was breathing so hard, but he stilled, looking down at her. "Do you want me to stop? Just say the word and I will."

"No, no...please," she whimpered. She shook her head. There was no way she could stop now.

Desire darkened his gaze as the hand at her throat slowly slid downwards, fingers splayed, his eyes following the possessive touch as it dragged between her breasts and over her stomach to the waistband of her skirt. Her chest heaved under his touch, small whimpers spilling from her lips, her need desperate and visceral.

He made quick work of the skirt, stripping it from her and tossing it aside before sliding his palms up each leg. She had high stockings on, his fingers curled around their tops and he slid them downwards, achingly slow, bending to press the softest of kisses on her inner knee, lower, his tongue teasing at her inner thigh.

She could barely breathe, eyes wide as she watched him remove every last piece of clothing until she was laid bare below him. His eyes feasted on her flesh and he shook his head slowly. "So beautiful," he whispered.

She almost felt emotional at the way he looked at her. Shyness stole over her and she moved to cover herself, but he caught her wrists. "Don't hide," he said. "Trust me, you don't need to hide from me."

With one hand, he pinned her arms above her head and bent to kiss her. Soft, teasing kisses, his tongue flicking and driving her towards desperation. She arched, needing him and he smiled against her mouth. "Tell me what you want," he murmured.

"You," she whined. "Please..."

He released her arms, kneeling up to begin removing his waistcoat. She watched his fingers as they worked and then sat up to help him, her eyes glancing up to meet his. They shared a smile, loaded with everything that required no words to say. Mutual want, mutual feelings of anticipation.

This should have happened years ago. She had always been his. Why had she hidden from him for so long?

"I love you," she whispered.

He stilled, eyes locking with hers. His shirt was undone, a glimpse of chest visible, a smattering of hair that was begging for her touch. He cupped her face with his hands, his thumbs brushing against her cheeks.

"I love you, too," he said.

His kiss tried to convey the sentiment, and she responded in kind. It was a frantic rush to rid him of the rest of his clothes, and then it was her turn to admire the lines of his body. She bit her lip at the muscle tone in his arms and shoulders, the jut of his hips, her fingers trailing through the soft hair on his chest and down over his stomach.

She pressed her mouth against his skin, as delightfully freckled as his face, breathing in deeply that scent of what she thought of as home. She was almost delirious as she kissed him wherever she could get her mouth, his throat, his shoulders, her hands sliding up the smoothness of his back.

Their moans and sighs entwined, her eyes closing in bliss as his mouth claimed a breast, tongue teasing the peaks into hard nubs only for him to blow softly against them, making her back arch and her fingers tug at the dishevelled hair on his head.

When his hand moved between her thighs, she bit her lip in anticipation, memories of the blissful high he had brought her to in the Restricted Section flooding her mind. Then, he guided her hand down to his arousal, her fingers sliding over the swollen heat of him, exploring an unknown. Together, they teased and pleasured until she was whimpering, begging him.

Sebastian pushed her thighs wider and settled between them, lining himself up. She looked down, a little nervous and he must have caught the look in her eye. He captured her chin, kissing her softly. "Are you alright?"

She nodded. "I...I've never..."

He smoothed her hair back from her face. "Eyes on me," he said, softly. "Relax, as much as you can, and tell me if it hurts. I'll stop."

"I trust you," she whispered.

He kissed her, slowly, deeply, his fingers working her gently until she was moaning into his mouth. When she felt the first thick press of him against her, she tensed. He stopped and pressed soft kisses down to her neck, tongue curling around the shell of her ear. "It's alright, I've got you," he whispered. She shivered and took a calming breath, his words a balm to her nerves. "You're doing so well."

He pushed a little harder and she winced at the stretch, he slid back a little and then pushed again. The stretch felt like deep pressure, but then as he continued to pull back and then push, she felt the delicious slide of him, and a low sound came from her throat.

Her fingers bit into the flesh of his lower back. "Oh...yes...Sebastian," she moaned.

He bit into her neck, sucking deeply, a low moan in his throat as he slid the deepest he could go. She gasped at the fullness, the delicious stretch and the utter completeness of being one with him.

He nuzzled his nose against her, soft kisses and teasing nips back up to her mouth. "Not so much a naughty girl, but more like my good girl," he said. "You feel so perfect. Are you alright?"

She held his face against hers and nodded. "Amazing," she breathed.

He looked at her, his desire hot and fierce in his eyes. "Are you ready?"

He flexed his hips and she gasped, hips instinctively lifting as a wave of heat rolled through her. She bit her lip. "I'm ready."

He began to move, rolling his hips, thrusting to a steady rhythm and she moaned, hands holding on to him. He gradually began to pick up the pace, his own pleasure evident on his face and from the sounds falling from his lips.

MC could feel the pleasure building, her hands urging him to be faster, her pelvis having an unbearable urge to bear down. She felt her cheeks flushing, the erotic sounds of slapping skin, their grunts and cries, the harsh breaths and the rhythmic squeak of her bed, it all added to the steady build of her pleasure.

Sebastian looked down between them, watching as he fucked her, lips parted. "So fucking good," he groaned. He shifted slightly, bearing his weight onto one elbow, angling his hips, MC's cries became louder as he pushed her thigh up and outwards. She flung out a hand to grip her bedspread, her knuckles turning white as he pounded against a sweet spot.

"Oh, gods, Seb..."

"You're mine," he ground out between his teeth. He fucked even harder, sweat beading on his brow. "Say it...fucking say it. You're mine."

She could barely breathe, let alone speak, but somehow she managed to pant the words out. "I'm yours... all yours...Sir."

The sound he made sent her spinning off the edge of reality, her release slammed into her and she felt the tight clench, her toes curling. He joined her, head thrown back as she felt the deep throb of his release, his hand gripping her hip, hard.

They lay in a tangle of limbs, breathing beginning to settle, her face buried against his neck. She clung to him, skin against skin, and she could feel the steady thrum of his heart.

How was she ever going to let him go?

....*....

He sat at her little table and sipped at the mug of tea he had quietly made. MC was asleep in the bed, her hair delightfully dishevelled against the pillow. He could see the marks his mouth had left on her neck, and he knew she was naked underneath those blankets. He resisted the urge to wake her with kisses and claim her again.

But it wasn't easy.

His gaze dropped to the stack of papers on the table. He could see her work from his classes, but beside it were Muggle news articles about the archeology discoveries in Egypt, pamphlets from the Wizarding World about ancient history locations in America and Europe. There was even a notebook with locations and transport options written in her own hand.

His heart clenched. She was going to leave again.

How could he ever ask her to stay when it was what she loved? She had told him that she loved him last night, but was it enough for her? Was he enough for her?

It was one of the reasons he hadn't woken her yet. Maybe she would be distant and ask him to leave, regretting letting him into her bed. So he sat, and sipped at his tea, and admired her as she slept, making the most of this beautiful sight in case it was to be taken away from him.

....*....

The mattress dipped and she felt gentle fingers on her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open and Sebastian smiled down at her, morning sunlight filtering through the curtain to put golden flecks in his hair. She took a beat to savour the view. He really was so perfect.

"I'm sorry to wake you," he said. "But, I made you some tea to soften the moment."

She sat up and tucked her hair behind her ear. Her muscles felt stiff and there was an ache between her thighs, but for a wonderful reason. Sebastian had put his trousers on, but his top half was wonderfully bare. She reached for him, her hand curling around his neck. "The tea can wait," she said.

She pulled him down to her, making him chuckle as she wrapped herself around him, rubbing her nose against his. She met his eyes and smiled. "Mmm, yes. I still love you," she said. "It wasn't a dream"

"Definitely not a dream," he said. He kissed her, once, twice, and she slid her hands into his hair, arching up against him. He hummed in approval, but he sighed, pressing his forehead to hers. "I should be leaving to get back and change. I have classes to teach."

She pouted. "But, I'm feeling all naughty."

He laughed and cupped her face. "I'm going to have to ask you to hold that thought," he said. "At least until after classes."

She smirked and gripped him, rolling them until she was on top of him. She kissed his neck, humming in delight as his hands held her hips.

"MC..." His plea was weak and she writhed against him.

"I'm not letting you go until you fuck me," she said. "How's that for being a naughty girl?"

His grin was wicked and she yelped as he slapped her bare behind. "You'd best get my trousers off then, my love," he said. "Naughty and naked is much more fun."

....*....

If she had thought classes were loaded with distraction before, she had been utterly clueless, because now it was torture.

Watching Sebastian move about the room, his hands that delighted her flesh gesturing, his lips that had left marks of passion on her skin speaking, her eyes hungrily taking in everything about him, it was beyond distracting.

She had clenched her thighs so many times they ached. Now that she'd had him in her bed, her hunger had only increased. She wanted more.

When the lesson came to an end, MC gathered her things and walked to his desk. Bella, no longer her seat companion, had been about to do the same, her face dropping a little when she saw that MC had beaten her to it.

There was no need for smugness or pettiness. But, inside, MC couldn't help but gloat happily. Her eyes lingered over her professor as he shuffled his notes neatly into a file, his smile warm as he looked up at her. "And what may I do for you, Miss MC?"

Oh professor, how long have you got?

....*....

MC lay on her stomach, propped on her elbows, her eyes on the book open in front of her. The summer sun was dappling through the trees in the city park, a slight breeze ruffling her hair, and she placed a hand down to prevent her page from flipping over.

The warm press of a shoulder moved against her and she turned her head to meet with smiling brown eyes. She smirked and leaned forward to press a kiss to Sebastian's freckled nose.

Four months. Four blissful months of loving him, of sharing his bed, months that had bled into one long, dizzying love affair. Now that classes were over for the summer, she truly had him all to herself. No more sneaking around. He was no longer her professor, although she still called him Sir when the mood took her, it never failed to awaken that dark fire in his eyes.

He shifted to rummage in his pocket and pulled out a piece of parchment, he roughly smoothed it out and slipped it into the top of the page she had been reading. There was an odd look in his gaze, unusual for him compared to his more common cheeky confidence. He looked nervous.

Curious, she glanced down at the parchment. It was headed MACUSA paperwork, and her eyes quickly scanned the letter inked beneath the official logo. She gasped, her gaze flying to his.

"No!" She pushed with her hands to sit up, her eyes wide as she looked at him. "Merlin..."

He sat up too, his cheeks turning a little pink as he nodded. "Yes, MC," he said. "What do you think?"

Tears stung her eyes. She hadn't thought it possible to love him more. She looked down at the letter, a formal offer to join the magical research team in Boston, America. They thought that Professor Sallow showed the necessary skill set to be a valuable member of their team, a team that would be taking part in field research throughout the northern states of ancient magical sites.

Those damned tears blurred her eyes and she swiped swiped at them. "I can't believe it!" She said. "How...?"

He smirked. "I have my ways."

She threw her arms around his neck, holding him tightly, the letter still clutched in her hand. Her love and pride for him swallowing her up.

He held her close, his face buried into her neck. "Did you read the last paragraph?"

She pulled back, wiping more tears from her cheeks and shook her head. She had not got that far. He plucked the letter from her fingers with a smug smirk and straightened it with a flourish.

"Allow me," he said. He popped his spectacles on and began to read aloud. "Further to our most recent conversation, it is our utmost pleasure to agree that Miss MC would be a fine addition to the team as your assistant. Her wealth of talent and experience would be invaluable, not to mention the impressive scores in her recent examinations on the subject. We shall be writing to her with an offer to join us at the earliest convenience."

MC had her hands over her mouth as Sebastian read those words, her mind spinning, her heart bursting. He smiled and folded the parchment and slipped it back into his pocket.

"Now, we can travel together, both of us doing the research, but also, you can search out your Ancient Magic hotspots as we go," he said. And then he looked really nervous. "But that's not all..."

He reached into his other pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. Her eyes couldn't get any wider, surely. "Sebastian..." She gasped. "What are you..."

"How do you feel about travelling America as my wife?" He asked. He opened the velvet box to reveal a beautiful white gold ring with a square cut diamond.

She was openly crying now. Hers, he would be hers, forever. "Yes," she sobbed, immediately. She scrambled closer to him, her hands clutching at his shirt in her attempts to pull him close. "I will absolutely be your wife!"

He kissed her, his own eyes shining with unshed tears, and she clung to him, pressing untold amounts of kisses to his face. And then, he was sliding that diamond onto her finger, a promise for their future together.

When she looked into Sebastian's eyes, she knew she was home, he would always be her home, wherever they were in the world.

[neetily]

KINKMAS; PRETTY LIGHTS — FT. ALEX

— ✧ warnings: Establish Relationship, Breeding, Creampie, Drool/Saliva, Cunnilingus, Cervix Sex, Size Difference, Restraints, petname mommy, petname daddy — ✧ word count: 7,569 — ✧ genre: smut (18+)

— ✧ A/N: reposting from my old account since i was asked to! formatting might be off, but it's still readable.

There’s no doubt in his mind now that his blushed cheeks and high temperature are just a result of your warm farmhouse, the cold winter wind leading you to hike the degrees up a notch or two despite his playful flirts of reassuring you that he’ll warm you up another way. The lewd connotations of his suggestion merely a jest — until now. No longer can he simply blame the thermostat, sweating profusely as he sits patiently on your living room couch as you gather all the components necessary for decorating the tree of the Winter Star. You’re sat nicely on the floor, sifting through buckets of baubles and trinkets, scrutinising his own collection of ornaments for the tree with keen eyes. He thinks you’re just the cutest thing ever, and he has half a mind to put you atop the tree since he’s been adamant from the start that out of all the options you shine the brightest.

But see, that’s exactly his issue right now. You’re cute. Too cute. And it’d be a shame if he had to go and ruin the peaceful domesticity of the day just because he can’t keep his hormones in check, so he tries his hardest to stay wholesome. Does his best to remain on good behaviour despite how difficult it is when so much new is happening around him, butterflies fluttering in his tummy and chest in sheer adoration for what he sees before him. New wife, new traditions, new meaning to his once lonely celebrations and maybe, by the end of the night, a new family to care for. Fuck, he can’t help himself, imagining his future with you on such a special occasion. The love he holds for you easily turned into lust with how excited he is to share the holiday with you, tutting in frustration as his palm automatically grinds against his cock in secret — you’re too busy with picking the shiniest trimmings.

Though thankfully you pull him out of his self serving thoughts before he’s even half hard, head cocked cutely to the side as if the universe was working against him. Stop that, it’s unfair how pretty you are, he thinks. But instead, all the comes out is a short hum matched with a warm smile, letting you know that he’s attentive and listening. And a stop of his hand, resting it atop his thigh instead so that you don’t catch him acting like a pervert.

“What do you think? Silver or red?” You innocently ask, holding up both colours of tinsel for him to pick between. He’s never been the type to care much for the particulars of decorating, but it’s different now that it’s with you. So he pauses for a moment, as if deeply considering the two choices before deciding. “Definitely silver.” He nods, standing to stretch a hand out towards you. You take it and he holds tight, helping you lift to your feet so that he can help wrap the tinsel around the tree. A small act of loving service, though one he hopes will get his mind off the thoughts of breeding you to stay warm. That’s it, he just want to warm you up, look after you. Totally isn’t some sort of lewd personal desire, no.

It’s cute how excited you get at decorating, how every little detail has to be perfect before moving on to the next. He’s already helped you set up the tree itself, being sure to follow your every instruction on how to position each individual fern of the whole damn thing without a single word of annoyance. Because it’s you, and his heart skips a beat at the sight of you so giddy and concentrated. It makes all the bossing around worth it. He’d do anything for you, you know? His little wife, happily helping with whatever you need simply because it’s now his job to always have you smiling. And, though he’d never admit it out loud, he thinks he’s doing a pretty good job of it so far. Softly laughing with you as he spins you once to the cheesy stereotypical christmas songs you have faintly playing in the background, big strong arms helping to keep you steady enough as he twirls you to the tree.

“My wife.” He bows after reaching the tree in the corner of your living room, standing upright after his excessive show with both palms facing up in a seeking of the tinsel. It still feels novel, the whole wife thing. But God does it feel good, his chest tight with affection when you playfully giggle at his silly display.

He doesn’t have many traditions himself, though he’s always been a fan of Evelyn’s cookies around this time of year. It’s not that he doesn’t care per se, but more that he hasn’t had much of a reason to care for these celebrations. This time of year always leaving him with a somewhat sour taste in his mouth, missing his mother more than he’d like to admit. But when he watches you with stars in your eyes and bright rosy cheeks as you plan how to best lay some admittedly cheap sparkly string around an obviously fake winter tree he can’t help but feel a little hope in his heart.

“My dear husband.” You play back, and it’s hard to ignore the twitch in his pants at the title you give him. The tickle of the decorative tinsel only causing him to blush some more as you hand it to him, keeping hold of the other end to yourself and leaving him hoping that you think nothing more of his tinted cheeks than the heat of your home. But still the nagging feeling of lust remains, the inherently lewd experience of spending time together with you as an official family. Has him wanting to add to it, you know? Increase the members of your new familial unit in the spirit of giving, regardless of how preoccupied with decorating you are.

“Here?” He questions, kneeling and pointing at the bottom of the tree as a good place to start. He trusts your judgement more than his own on what looks good, and shaking his head to rid the dirty thoughts from his head has barely been working, so he attempts to distract himself with your voice.

“Mhm.” You merely reply, too busy standing on your tippy toes to reach the highest point of the tree to see how the tinsel drapes best. It causes him to smile, knowing that the roles should be reversed given his bigger stature, but he amuses himself by watching you struggle for a few moments. If anything it helps his cock calm a little, busy watching you with heart eyes, content in the cute moment of bliss with the family he has. Though short lived as it is seeing as it doesn’t take you long before you plead down at him with big puppy dog eyes, his heart hurting in love at the sight.

“All right, all right.” He sighs, feigning annoyance as he gets back to his feet with his hand finding its way to your hip to rub absentmindedly at. “What seems t'be the problem, Missus Mulner?” His big cheesy grin heard well through his words. Still so novel calling you as such, heart fit to burst with the affection he holds for you. And It’s not that he isn’t already aware that you need his height for help, but rather that he’s having so much fun just being with you that he’s trying to prolong the night, stretch the time he has with you around himself so that it never ends. His cute little wife, needing his help. He’d do anything for you.

You playfully huff at his faked innocence and instead hand him your end of the decorations, sighing before standing on your tippy toes again, your back pressed to his chest as he situates himself directly behind you. It’s just so that he has a better idea of where you want it, he tells himself. Absolutely not so that he’s inevitably closer to you by any means, no. “Here.” You advise, directing him on where to start the tinsel trail. Reaching as high as you can and yet it’s still not enough, and he has to will himself not to buck into your ass as you bounce against his cock. Please don’t get hard, he begs himself, biting on his lower lip to try and concentrate on the task at hand despite your insistence on trying to reach that which you cannot. And God, it certainly isn’t just the heat anymore. The air of sex hanging thick in the no space left between his body and your own, blood rushing to his cock in defiance of his wants to just help. Your little jumps and bounces riling him up, coaxing him slowly but surely to give in to his desires as his hips twitch with want to roll against you—

“Oh! And I’ll go get the lights!” You announce, satisfied with your directions and promptly leaving him all alone to tend to the tree.

Ah, how he wants for you to tend to his cock instead.

There’s a part of him that’s convinced that you know what you’re doing, right? You must, keeping him teased on the precipice of giving him everything he wants, stringing him along in some sort of faux wholesome holiday game to test his limits. Well, if that’s the case, he’ll be sure to win one way or another. Coughing to hide the groan of frustration that slips as you leave his side, doing his best to remember every instruction you’ve given him besides the fat of your ass rubbing his cock and regrettably leaving him unable to recall much of anything but that feeling. Still, he tries. Throwing the sparkly string around the tree in what he thinks is a pretty enough job of things, leaning back to check in on you to see how you’re getting on with the monumental decision of which lights to pick. He says red. You say white. He says why not both? You agree.

You place one set of string lights to the side before marvelling at his tinsel work, the slight giggle you let out warming to his already red hot ears. “Looking good!” You compliment, fixing only a few areas to make sure it’s all settled properly. He loves you. God he loves you, happy to hear that you’re satisfied with his attempt at appeasement. Makes him think that you’ll be so good as a mother too, easily imagining tiny footsteps surrounding your beaming face that’s currently directed at him. Mommy Mulner. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? You turn to face him, white lights in hand and for a moment he’s stunned, both by how pretty you look when surrounded by the turned on lights and in awe of his imagination of you as a mother. You suit the title well. “Thanks for helping, ‘Lix.” You hum, calling him from his indulgent thoughts. “Lemme try and do these myself, kay? Since you helped so well with the tinsel and all.” You tease, winking his way to set his heart aflutter.

“Oh yeah?” He plays back, stepping away from the you and back to his seated position on your comfy couch. “Kay, good luck honey.” Ending his taunt with a whistle as you’re already trying to stretch to read the top of the tree, his gaze soft with affection as you giggle and huff to yourself with the light hearted mood settled in the room.

Which is exactly why he shouldn’t spoil things by staring at your ass as your back faces him, one of his arms stretching out against the top length of of the couch while the other rests against his inner thigh — cock quickly hardening at the mental image of you surrounded by two kids. His kids, spending precious christmas time together as a family. Not that he doesn’t appreciate you as his family right now, no! He loves you beyond words, so much so that he wants to add to the family with you. You’d make the best mother, he thinks. All soft and caring, he’s seen just as much from first hand experience. And fuck, the thought of grabbing your pretty little ass in his much larger palms to have you sit square on his cock is tempting to say the least. Watching with half-lidded eyes as you twist and turn around the tree, keeping his mouth shut as the pretty lights start to dangle from your frame in the cutest way possible, his gaze hazy under how dazzling you become. His pants tight at the sight of seeing you so lit up. More than the tree is at this point, if he’s honest.

And then you stumble. His reaction speed quick but not quick enough, a soft thud resounding in the room before he’s able to make it to you in time as you let out a short oof.

“Fuck- Babe, are y'all right?” He rushes, words short and snappy in his worry over your wellbeing. Anxious with upset that he couldn’t save you. Or at least he is until you let out a light laugh, shying away from his helping hands with rosy cheeks.

“Alex, love, I’m fine.” You pause briefly, looking around your immediate surroundings. That’s right, while you might not be hurt, you’re certainly in a sticky situation aren’t you? The many twists and turns you’ve done in an effort to make the Winter Star tree as pretty as possible instead resulting in a very decorated you, the lights tangled and bonding you together. It’s pretty. He’s dazzled. “Could use some help though.” You sheepishly smile, and his cock twitches in return.

“Yeah, yer no kiddin’.” He nods, jaw tight with restraint as he tries to get the thought of seeing you all tied up like this on the bed out of his mind, focusing on anything other than the way the strings dig into your soft skin to leave light marks in their wake. “Gimmie a sec.” He huffs, hovering over your half sitting frame to try and find the start of the tangle, though it’s difficult as your arms are bound together, legs left a little more free as the majority of the knotting resides around your back. Causes him to have to press further into you, cautious of how hard his cock has gotten from merely looking at you, doing his absolute most to not let his tip graze against you but it happens as he reaches behind to help de-tangle anyway. Course it does, his actions clumsy due to his size. An immediate moan rising to his throat at the feeling, one that he’s unable to keep quiet despite his best efforts.

And then there’s a pause. Both in his actions and your breath, a small dusting of pink on your cheeks when you realise what’s going on.

“Oh.” You let out and his heart stutters. Swallowing to try and wet his dry throat as he takes in your shocked expression.

“Fuck- Look, m'sorry. It’s jus’- Jus’-” Just what? He asks himself. Just that he loves his pretty little wife and wants to knock her up as an expression of that love. Just that he thinks you’re the cutest thing to ever grace this Earth, so pretty with the tacky decorative lights wrapped around your smaller than his body as you peer up at him with big eyes. Just that he wants to ruin you where you sit, knowing that you’re unable to free yourself from the stupid string you’ve wound yourself up in, having to fight the primal urge to take advantage of the situation in favour of wanting to let you enjoy the harmless fun the night offers. “Jus’ need ya.” He confesses, head hung low at his shameless want for you, the kind of confession that can only exist within the meagre space left between his lips and your own at his trying to free you.

“Well, It’s not like I’m going anywhere.” You tempt him, lopsided grin on your face drawing him closer, his own mouth hung open at how brazen you’re being. All previous self restraint seemingly fading with your sweet coax, the knowing that you won’t be able to escape his affections causing his hips to twitch into you, cock pressing insistently to your tummy to show you how serious he is. “Don’t joke like that.” He huffs, though the roll of his hips into you is enough to tell that he’s seriously considering it despite his words. “Been so hard all day jus’ lookin’ at'cha.” His voice tense, words terse as you do naught but grin back at him.

“I’m being serious.” You assure, wiggling around in your lit up restraints like a gift meant only for him. He’s too eager to unwrap you, fingers itching to touch that your words give him permission to. One arm keeping him held up while the other brushes tenderly against your exposed shoulder, your tank top doing little to keep you safe from his perversion. And then he stares at you, one brow cocked as if questioning, panting against your lips as his eyes flit down to them once, back to your eyes, gazing at your bedroom look and then back down to your lips for just a mere second before his leaking cock convinces him to dive in. Accepting your want just as much as his own. Giving in to how easy you make it for him, the soft squeal his surprise attack causes you to make in turn causing his pants to tighten, the arm keeping him up starting to tremble under the weight of you. How sweet you are, how overwhelmed he already feels from just a small peck. Cocky looks good on you, he thinks, and he’s nothing if not a giver. And so he gives, tongue slipping out to run along your lips, delving into your mouth the second you gasp at his actions. He just wants to make you feel good, show you how pretty you are by way of letting his cock rub against your tummy, a hard reminder of how much he loves you while his mouth is too busy to verbally do so.

It’s obvious anyway. While he strives to remain calm and collected it’s simply impossible with how tight his tummy feels, lust pooling there as his kisses almost immediately turn sloppy. A whole days worth of restraint finally snapping as he openly sighs into you. Wet smacks ringing in his ears, his tongue greedy as he drips saliva down your throat. All while the hand that was on your shoulder dips down to your hip, holding your waist protectively with a few squeezes here and there when your tongue glides back against his own. Goosebumps swarm his otherwise heated skin when you match his passion, your half seated position quickly crumbling as he leans closer towards you during the kiss, effectively pinning you beneath him for him to admire. Stopping his loving assault just to fully appreciate the sight of your kiss bruised lips and flushed cheeks, watching as your chest heaves and strains against your makeshift restraints.

You’re gonna be the death of him and you barely even mean to.

“Why’d you stop?” You ask slightly out of breath, and when paired with the pleading eyes you send his way he almost whines in hunger, wanting only to provide for you and even the suggestion that he isn’t causes his heart to ache.

He doesn’t reply immediate. Dazed for a moment, completely hypnotized by the sight of the love of his life splayed out so pliantly and prettily before him. A better meal than even the Feast of the Winter Star could ever hope to offer. “I love ya.” He just had to tell you. “Love ya s'much.” He mumbles, slurring with the taste of your lips as if it were addictive, leaning back down to plant a few chaste kisses to your cheeks and smiling against you as he feels you lean into them. Only when he’s satisfied that he’s marked enough of your skin with his saliva does he push off you again, looking down at you while chewing on his lip. He wants you, but equally he doesn’t want to make this day about him and his needy cock that begs for your attention even now, throbbing in his pants when you just knowingly stare back at him.

“Can I show ya? How much I love ya, I mean…” He trails off, voice small and subdued to show that you can say no, he wouldn’t mind. In spite of the way his cock aches, anyway.

“Please do.” You sigh, all happy and content, as if you’ve been waiting for this all night too. As if you really did know what you were doing to him, you minx. Fat globs of precum roll from his tip to stain his underwear at your almost confession. “Fuck-” His eyebrows furrow with his words. “How long…?”

“Since you got here.” You cut him off, confident smile on your sticky with saliva lips, reading his mind before he gets to finish with have you wanted to fuck?

Well, now that the air is clear and he’s free from any and all guilt in regards to ruining this special occasion he allows his cock to finally control his brain. Growling down at you in a mix of frustration and appreciation, wishing you’d have said something sooner but adoring the little games you play with him regardless. No longer having to hold out and last against his cock — which he always seems to lose to anyway when it comes to you anyway. His thighs absolutely soaked with pre as he repositions himself, his tip rubbing lightly against his clothing in a way that has his teeth gritting together. Whatever his girl wants she gets, and so he lands his eyes on your core, wetting his lips once before leaning back on his knees, dropping his hands to the hem of your shorts that are only slightly tangled up, easily dragging them down your legs enough to allow him entry to your cunt. Though the sight of your panties sticky to your slit has his heart caught in his throat, lungs temporarily struggling to catch up at the reveal of how much you adore him too. And your soft sigh, so sinful and sweet and made only for him. Drives him insane hearing your small appreciation, cock rock hard and tenting his pants to leave a visible print for you to enjoy.

“May I?” He seeks consent before touching you properly, tugging your panties down to match your shorts before his eyes gaze solely upon your now exposed pretty cunt without so much as flicking up to meet your own stare. Can’t help himself, in love with your little slit — can’t expect him to not look at it, can you?

“You may.” You almost whisper, shivering into his touch as he places both palms on your inner thighs, slowly pushing them open to reveal your dribbling hole.

Fuck, you weren’t kidding when you admitted to thinking about him all day, thighs positively shining with how much slick coats them, your pretty clit puffy and cute at his lack of attention. Instantly he gulps, swallowing to rid his bod of the last nerves as his thirst for you only seems to grow now that he has you somewhat naked and vulnerable. One of his hands digging under your shirt now while the other keeps your legs open, flipping your top up as much as the string lights allow so that he gets to see more of you, love on more of you. The sight of your tummy briefly causing his brain to turn dumb, filled only with thoughts of seeing it all big and round, cute mommy carrying his future children. Shit, he wants to knock you up so bad. Fuck a Winter baby into you, become a father on this fateful Star night. But first, he’d like to eat. A special treat for his special girl, a small gift he’d happily offer again and again, not just for the nights celebrations.

Eagerly he drops his upper half lower, worming his way between your legs and wedging his shoulders between your knees so that they’re forced to rest on them, humming at the way you immediately lock them behind his neck. You can’t move much, though your lower half is more free, slowly shifting around in his hold as he teasingly dips his head down, lifting your ass up off the wooden floorboards of your home so that your slit is easier for his mouth to reach. His tongue already hangs out before he’s met your cunt, huffing hot breaths against your slit to cool you down a little. “Lix-” You whine gently at his flirting, and the needy tone of his nickname falling from your lips is enough to kick him into gear, his nose buried against your clit while his tongue laps up at the excessive of slick coating your slit. Right away he mumbles “Taste s'good-” against you, and God does he mean it — he’d happily spend forever between your legs if you’d let him just so that he can drink your slick up at a moments notice. Sweeter than anything he’ll experience at the feast, better than granny Evelyn’s cookies, and that’s a high compliment coming from the man who regularly eats them. And it only takes a single taste to have him acting up too, cock painfully hard as he licks up and down your slit, nudging his tongue between your folds to slurp away at your hole to force those cute whines to continue to rise from your throat. Ever the pleaser, he wraps one arm around your thigh so that his thumb can reach your clit while pinning you in place to his lips, the other arm kept under your ass to keep you supported enough while he eats you out mid-air. And man eats, all sloppy and full of saliva, dropping excess drool against your slit just for him to lap up again on a second pass, his thumb barely providing enough friction with how focused he is on eating you out that you have to wiggle to get more of his attention, his brows knitted in concentration as he does his best to multitask but fuck it’s difficult when his tongue slips into your hole to drink straight from the tap. Lewd sucks and harsh gulps huffed against your cunt as he picks up on your increasing in pitch whines, all choked and raspy as his thumb flicks them out of you, stroking tight circles against your clit the way he knows makes you feel best. Happy to hear this his pussy drunk attitude has you reeling, bucking your hips against his lips as his cock bobs in his pants for attention, aching, pulsing under how open you are about how good he makes you feel and really — that’s what turns him on the most. Seeing the fruits of his labour come to fruition in every little moan he tongue fucks out of you, the writhing about he forces you to endure with your arms tied tight against your sides, keeping you locked to his lips even as you warn him of your upcoming orgasm with a drawl of his name that sounds like music to his ears.

He’ll drink that too.

More than anything he wants to provide for you. The ego boost he gets from hearing you cry his name as he swallows every bit of slick your cunt offers him, lapping at your cunt like a man starved — it’s all he wants. And, by extension, he wants so badly to provide for a family with you too. Helping you reach your first orgasm of the night with flicks of his thumb against your cute clit, humming lowly into your hole with his tongue fucking in and out of you to get you nice and wet for him — as if you weren’t enough already — and loosening you up a bit before he splits you in two on his fat cock. He’s also just partaking in a bit of self indulgence, having the time of his life eating you out and drinking you down.

He knows you’re cumming when you start humping his face as much as possible with the restraints, his thumb releasing your clit in favour of digging his nails into your skin, soon replacing the stimulation you briefly lacked with his tongue, rolling it over your clit to help you fully enjoy your orgasm while you pant his name over and over again. “That’s it-” he unlatches from your cunt, licking his lips with a lewd slurp as he lets you down gently, placing your ass back on the floor for the wood to soak up that which he missed. “Good fuckin’ girl.” His voice a low growl, exposed want for you on full display as he sucks his thumb clean too, making sure to keep eye contact with you as he does so regardless of how hazy and dazed you look, just so you can see just as much as feel how much he loves you. Speaking of which, his cock is simply begging to be inside you already, because while looking after you and providing you with the princess treatment is so much fun for him too, he’s been so hard for so long for you, his pants absolutely ruined with the amount of precum you’ve already teased out of him. And you’ve not even touched him yet! He’s just that pussy whipped for you.

“Ready fr'more? Please.” He begs. No matter how hard he tries to keep his cool he can’t, not when it comes to you. Pathetically palming over his too hard erection that quickly turns to harsh tugs at his clothed tip, openly panting above you as his eyes squeeze shut briefly into the feeling of at last — some stimulation. “Cause- m'sorry, but- Can’t wait much longer.” He confesses, a bit more honestly this time as you lightly laugh at his impatience. Well, he’s been patient all day, hasn’t he? You can’t blame him for rushing now that you’ve given him permission, like a dog who doesn’t know how to pace himself.

“I’m yours, Alex. Your wife.” You reassure him, lazily smiling at him with the bliss of the orgasm his tongue fucked out of you, acting as innocent as possible at the mention of the wife tag, though surely you can see the immediate effects it causes him as he almost falls over you with cock in hand. “Do as you please.” And he wonders if you realise the ramifications of your consent the moment you speak it, or if it takes you a second to catch up to the sudden mood change as he practically tears his shorts from his frame to slap his fat cock against your puffy little cunt, precum sticking to your stomach as he fucks it forward against you out of instinct. What he wants to do is fuck a baby into you. To impregnate you with his seed. Are you giving him permission to act so carelessly?

“You’ve no idea the things ya do t'me, princess.” He teases, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek in the last show of self control he’ll have for the night as he holds the base of his cock to tap his leaking tip on your tummy. Looking down at your shaking frame as he notices just how small you look below him, his cock easily reaching your belly button and the sight has him gasping for air. It’s not the first time he’s fucked you, far from it, but rather that he can’t get over the sheer size difference, every time he has you naked truly feels like the first when he sizes you up like this. It’s a wonder how your tiny cunt manages to fit his big fat cock and it never ceases to surprise him how well you take it. He’s so proud of you, you know? It’s part of why he wants to breed you so badly. You’re so strong, he can think of no better mother for his eventual children. “You’ve no idea the things I wanna do to you either.” He half admits his secret, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he idly swings his hips back and forth against you, feeling his thighs grow tacky with your slick while he stains your tummy with pre.

“Oh yeah?” You sigh, easing yourself into his gentle back and forth petting, allowing him to use your body for the tender moment. “Pray tell.” You continue, and he enjoys that you’re still willing to banter with him even has his hot and heavy cock fucks against your tummy. Wife material.

It’s not an easy thing to admit, he finds. Though he wants for nothing more than to start his own little family with you, the lewd intent behind his actions is palpable. Wanting to stuff your tiny cunt so full of cum your tummy swells. To watch as your belly grows with his planted seed, knowing that everyone in town will recognise that he’s fucked you pregnant. He’s honestly a little dizzy just at the thought, working on autopilot as he draws his hips back, letting his cock rest between your folds to glide his tip up and down it thoughtfully. He swallows hard before mumbling.

“Wanna have a baby with you.”

And to his surprise you don’t react with shock or denial, but rather with a smiled gasp. Love in your eyes and a shimmy in your shoulders as if you were attempting to reach out to him before remembering that you’re currently tied up. His heart clearly doesn’t get the acceptance memo though, hammering against his chest with anxiety while awaiting your reply.

“You mean it?” You whisper, dumb smile still plastered on your face. It causes him to grin too, lopsided when mixed with the distracting feeling of his cock sliding up your slit, knocking against your clit on every pass.

“Yeah.” He replies.

“Are you sure about this?

"So sure. Never been surer, if m'honest.”

He watches as you wait a second or two to fully accept his words, mulling them over in your post orgasm mind before you earnestly nod back at him. Short and sweet, just like his little wife herself.

“C'mon, let’s make you a daddy.” You tempt and boy does he take the bait. The petname you offer serving as the final nail in his restrain coffin, his hips driving against your cunt at the implication you make. Causes him to curse, a tense fuck- as you hum in satisfaction, smirking at his inability to control himself from such a simple word. Daddy. He’s never thought to have liked it so much, never even gave the name much consideration. But now, now he’s sure that he likes it, and he wants to hear you say it again. And again, and again.

“Again.” He demands, but there’s a hint of edge to his voice that surely lets you know that he’s praying.

“D-Daddy-” You stutter, only because he’s started lining his cock up to your twitching hole, thumb pressing down on the base of his cock to work his way inside.

“Again.” He urges, the usual gruff voice he uses during sex slowly returning as he gets comfortable in his stride once more. “Need t'hear y'say it one more time, c'mon-” His tip finally catching on your hole, a simultaneous gasp sounding in the room as the lights adorning your body flash before him.

You gulp, waiting for him to move but he doesn’t. He waits. True to his word, needs to hear the name choked from your throat once more before he gives you what you both want. “Da-Daddy!” You whine, all high strung and fuckin’ pretty as he pushes in as soon as you begin repeating yourself, a cheeky smirk tugging at his lips as he finally feels in control again. “Yeah? Gonna make me a daddy, s'at right?” He barks down at you, word scathing and dripping with how much he yearns for you, even as his cock nudges inside of you. Pushing in slow and steady, because even if he’s knocked one orgasm out of you he can still feel the tight squeeze of your cunt, the stretch his fat cock forces you to endure until his balls are fully rested against your ass and you let out a cute shaky breath. Every time without fail. Barely waiting a moment for you to get accustomed to his girth before he’s pulling his hips back just as slowly as he pushed in, gritting his teeth at how tightly your little cunt tries to suck his cock back in to the hilt, like you never want him to leave. You can’t even reach out for him to pull him back down and into you, though he sees you try anyway. The power you offer him in the form of the light restraints going straight to his cock as he too eagerly shoves it back inside, settling into an unfair pace right from the get go. His muscles taut and tense as he prompts your legs to wrap around his back, fucking you on his hands and knees as both arms plant at either side of your head, each rock of his hips into you causing your ass to lift from the floor again and again.

“Promise t'make me a daddy-” He whines, and though he knows it’s unfair to ask as much he can’t help himself from begging. Punctuating his words with quick snap thrusts into your tiny wanting hole, his tip dragged against your twitching insides to draw more and more precum out to leave his mark. “Promise-” He repeats, slowing his thrusts down a little to allow you some room to breathe, to catch up with his cruel actions in hopes of hearing you answer. “An’ I’ll promise t'make you a mommy, yeah? Would y'like that? Have a few brats runnin’ around? God- fuck, gettin’ s'tight all of a sudden aint'cha? Y'want that?” He rambles on and on, unwilling to even let you reply because he’s riled himself up enough with his own words, fucking into you faster again out of primal instinct to breed. Still, the weak nod you send his way with your mouth open in an 'O’ so sweet moans of praise can escape your lips is promise enough, he thinks. Driving his hips against you at such a speed, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the space left between as he’s unable to stop himself now. Absolutely fraught with need to impregnate you, to make good on his promise to fuck you into motherhood and to tie you down to him forever as an ultimate show of his love for you. Balls heavy with seed and tight with intent on tainting you from the inside as much as his fingers mark your floorboards as he digs his palms into the wood for more leverage, bouncing you on the ground to fuck you back down on his cock with every thrust.

And the way you sob his name every time he fully sheathes, railing you into the floor below, your voice all cracked and broken as he fucks the word out of you — he’s going a little insane. Fucking you in such a dirty situation, his cute little wife turned vulgar with the amount of moans his cock fucks out of you. Saliva pooling in his mouth in sheer thirst for you, tummy tight with how good your little cunt wraps around his much bigger cock, so painfully hard just from how much he loves you, how helpless you look as he ruins you. So submissive below him, simply forced to lay there and take it like a good girl, like a good mommy would. His satisfaction heard through the low and rough moans your cunt squeezes out of him, the harsh pants for air as his hips refuse to let up, rocking into you with such desperation and determination that he can feel his thighs shake from under him. “Gonna be the best momma, jus’ know it-” He babbles, dripping drool down to your cheek as he hovers his face right above your own, hunched over you like the dirty dog he is to better fuck into your sopping cunt, your slick surely coating his thighs by now by the sounds of things. All gushy and wet, unfairly so. “Feel s'good, ah- tight fuckin’ cunt, huh?” he groans as your legs tighten around him just as your cunt starts to spasm around his cock, trapping him against your body so that he’s coerced into cumming inside anyway, the high pitched squeals you let out at his rough fucks offering a sure sign that you’re close once again, heels digging into his back as if to ask him never to leave. He wont, fuck, he never wants to. Would love to be balls deep buried in your little cunt all the time if he could, bullying his dribbling tip as deep as he can until his tip brushes against your cervix. And then it’s over for him, eyes rolled back as his head drops at the want to completely penetrate you and fuck his seed into you. You want this too, and he can tell from the way you breathlessly beg please-! over and over again, your eyes barely able to stay open from how well he fucks you and he thinks it’s just the cutest sight to see. To know this it’s his cock that’s making you feel so good, that you’ll soon be bearing his children, that you’ll be fucked into starting a family with him. His appreciation barely heard over the obscenely lewd slap of his balls against you, the too loud squelch of his cock fucking your little hole.

“Close?” He intends to ask, but it comes out more as a plea for you to hurry up and cum because he’s so close, so fuckin’ close himself thanks to your tight cunt and pretty face. The faint pained expression you wear looks so pretty and proves to be particularly fatal to him right now, the bounce of your tightly bound and hidden tits causing his heart to ache. “S'mommy close? C'mon, lemme see that pretty face-” he shudders into you, ego stroked almost as well as his cock when you can do no more than babble back half-hearted please! and yes! like some sort of broken record that he’ll never tire of. Don’t worry, he’ll fuck you as many times as he needs to tonight to knock you up. This round acting as just the first of many in his eyes, though perhaps the second and third he’ll untie you as he’d intended to from the very beginning.

It only takes a couple more strokes from his precise fucks to help you unravel, creaming his cock so well that he falls completely into you, cock humping away at your little spasming hole as he falls into a silent gasp against your neck. Huffing and panting and drooling all over your neck as your orgasm washes over you, back arched nicely into his chest with a short cry of his name. Fuck he’s so in love, so completely head over heels for you that he follows shortly behind you simply from hearing you finish, continuing to fuck you through your orgasm until he finally cums himself. Fucking his cock as deep as he can to increase the chances of getting you pregnant, moaning a string of “Yeahyeahyeah-” through gritted teeth right down your ear as your cunt milks him so well, desperately humping to prolong just how good he feels in your warm cunt, his seed mixing around and coating his cock with your own slick gushing around the base. Mind numb besides the thought of stuffing you so full of cum that there’s no way you wont be pregnant by the end of the night, keeping his cock lodged in your full cunt despite the little trickles of cum the seep out to make sure that most of it remains inside. And then he’s left winded, blissed out and high as he simply breathes with you. A steady in and out after the sharp gulps of air, allowing you a moment to calm down after such strenuous activity.

Because after all, you’re a mommy now. His mommy now. And as such he has to look after you especially well, peeling himself from your front only to allow you more room to breathe. That, and the fact that he wants to get you out of those string lights, let him pay attention to those pretty mommy tits. “Practice.” He tells you, as if it isn’t just self indulgence on his part. “For the baby.” He pats your tummy with one hand while the other reaches around to dig under the wiring.

Maybe he’d like to try the red lights next.

[littencloud9]

hi, sending you more cuz i can <3

if you want to attempt jouzai..... jouzai + past crimes

and/or

kunichuuzai + ocean

HELLO!!! jouzai are so bad for each other i love it. hope i did your sillies justice bc WHAT is going on with them

—

Out of all the crimes Jouno has committed throughout his life, Dazai is the worst of them all.

A crime list taller than he is, an ex-Port Mafia Executive (sure, he isn’t anymore, but the fact that he escaped and lived to tell the tale speaks a thousand words), and devious intent that rivals Jouno himself. He is an amalgamation of the worst traits Jouno offers, and falling for him is like falling back into habits he had long swore out of.

It’s like facing a mirror of his younger self, hollow and wandering, searching for something to fill the void.

Despite his title, Jouno is not justice reincarnated. His friends, loyal and fearsome and kind, are better suited for that title. They don’t feel that spark of pleasure when listening to someone’s agonised screams. They weren’t stuck in a cruel and heartless criminal organisation before joining the Hunting Dogs like he was.

They aren’t pressing Dazai Osamu against the wall of their house, fingers wrapped around his wrists, lips inches apart.

Jouno is hyperaware of the distance between them. Normally, being so close to someone is utterly unbearable. A dust’s natural response to being disturbed is to disperse, after all, and Jouno’s body reacts no differently.

But with Dazai under his skin, No Longer Human taking its effect, he doesn’t feel that prickle of discomfort anymore. Instead, Jouno wants to bring him closer than ever.

“You’re taking awfully long, Jouno-san,” Dazai whispers. His breath fans over his lips. Jouno wants more. “I’m starting to think you just wanted to arrest me all over again.”

“I do,” Jouno replies, gripping Dazai’s wrists tighter. The way his fingers encircle his bones, as if to mimic a pair of handcuffs, only serves to prove his point further.

“Well? Go on then. Bring justice to the world, dog.”

Their lips crash together as Jouno hisses at him to shut up. He presses closer, leaving no gap for air between their bodies.

Justice, Jouno thinks. Is this what salvation feels like?

—

kunichuuzai!!! i love them so much. have some ✨ Pondering ✨

—

Kunikida despises the colour blue.

It doesn’t matter what shade it is. Perwinkle blue, navy, cerulean… They all remind him of that wretched case, one where he had to confront what it means to be idealistic—what it means to be himself.

It’s difficult to admit, but seeing a blue scarf still makes him tense up, even when he knows it can’t hurt him.

Though, recently, Kunikida finds that blue might not be such a horrible colour anymore.

He watches Dazai chase Chuuya around the edge of the shore, a water gun in his hands. Chuuya screeches bloody murder, kicking up waves and waves of water and splashing it towards Dazai in an attempt to throw him off. The sun shines down on them, not too hot, but just a gentle glow that lights up their silhouettes.

Under the sparkling sun, the ocean glitters. Kunikida sits under the umbrella he’s set up for himself, his eyes following his partners with every step they take.

They’re beautiful.

His finger brushes against something in the sand. When he looks down, he sees the button Dazai always wears on his tie. He picks it up, rubbing the surface with the fabric of his tank top.

The button gleams a sweet shade of turquoise.

He stares at it, eyes softening. This shade of blue is nice. It reminds him of warm showers and slow dancing in the rain and tight hugs after a long day. When he holds it in his hands like this, he can still feel the heavy thump of a heartbeat, strong and comforting.

“Kunikida!”

Kunikida looks up, gasping when a flurry of red whizzes towards him. Chuuya crashes into him with enough strength to knock him over, and Kunikida falls onto his back with a grunt.

“Oi! That’s cheating!” Dazai whines from afar. “You can’t use gravity to run away!”

Dazai still has his feet in the water, waving his arms around dramatically as he complains. Chuuya ignores him, pushing themself up on their arms, grinning down at Kunikida.

“Thanks for catching me,” they say. Their hair drips with seawater, landing onto Kunikida’s cheeks with a quiet splat.

He looks up at Chuuya, staring into their eyes. Full of life and power and adoration, and so, so blue. Kunikida gets lost in that sapphire gaze, drowning as if he was looking into a whirlpool instead of the ocean.

“Chuuya!” Dazai yells, finally breaking Kunikida out of his stupor. “Stop flirting with Kunikida-kun!”

“Hah?!” Chuuya’s cheeks flush, but they leap up, dashing back towards him. Kunikida watches them go and bodyslam into Dazai, sending them both tumbling with a splash.

His heart jumps unsteadily as he holds the button tighter in his palm.

Maybe blue can be a stunning colour sometimes.

[loveborn]

oblivious (rollo flamme x reader)

“They did it again!” You whisper-shout at Rollo, smiling widely while waving an envelope in front of his face. He’s hunched over his schoolwork, books laid open before him and pen in hand. There’s nothing unexpected about your arrival. He was anticipating it to the point of being unable to focus. Rollo pretends to still be absorbed in his studies however, if only to hide the colour spreading on his cheeks. 

“And did you forget this is a silent study area, again?” He mutters in response. It’s then that he lifts his face for the first time, glancing at the others busy at work in the library. 

“Oh, come on. I know you wanna see it too. Don’t you?” you say, then sigh. “You know what to do. I’ll be waiting.” Without another word, you walk off, the slightest bounce in your step. Your excitement is reason enough to push him into action, though he’ll know that’s not the only reason. He gathers up his belongings and, on his way to another part of the library, he picks up the usual reference book on flower language. 

You’re seated near one of the windows, simply staring at the blue wax seal. Its imprint is one they sell all around the City of Flowers, a charming little design based on the Bell of Salvation. As soon as he’s seated, you’re reaching for the book in his hands. 

“You haven’t opened it yet?” He says, before handing it over. You’re staring intently at the flowers partly pressed underneath the wax. They’re white, small, and delicate. You treat them carefully, almost tenderly, as you try to get a closer look, lifting one of the heads with the tip of your finger. Rollo feels his heart swell. You’re so absorbed in flipping through the pages and comparing, that you don’t seem to notice his staring at all. 

“No. I thought I’d save it for until you were here. Also… I don’t know. I get a bit nervous.” You let out a little ‘oh’ of excitement, before pushing the book over to him. “You think this is it?” 

Rollo pretends to carefully compare the drawing to the real thing, though he already knows your hunch is correct. “...I believe you’re right. They would be fitting for a love letter as well.” Your face brightens up further and you lean over to get a closer look at the pages. As you do so, your forehead nearly bumps against his, but you don’t seem to notice or care. All at once, the space around him feels suffocating. 

“Can you translate? I, uh… Most of this is still a bit too difficult for me.” You laugh sheepishly. That was the exact reason you had asked for his assistance in the first place. Obviously, you were not native to the Pyroxene, you’re not from this world to begin with, and so the local language is something you’re catching up with. You cannot be expected to be able to decipher an academic textbook. 

“One moment…” Rollo lets his finger glide across the lines, silently mouthing the words to himself, gathering his composure for the words he’s about to speak. “Yes. Here. It would mean something along the lines of purity, romance, or…” 

You’re fiddling with the wax seal, sliding a thin knife underneath and slowly moving it back and forth. “Or what?”

Rollo swallows. “E-everlasting or eternal love, even.” He will admit that meaning is rather heavy. The loveliness of the flowers made him go through with it, though. 

You let out a short laugh. “Everlasting? I don’t even know who they are. But… Well, they sure are a romantic, aren’t they?” There’s no malice in your tone.

“I’d say so. You’re lucky.” 

“No, no, no. You don’t get to say that. Half of the school is your admirer, Rollo. Not nearly so ‘secret’ about it as mine, either.” You groan in frustration as a piece of the wax breaks apart, but keep going. 

“You exaggerate.” Rollo knows some fellow students have found him attractive. There’s been letters left behind in the Student Council office, and even nervous words spoken right to his face. But to him, it was never of much importance, and not something he would try to notice and keep in mind. Before you, he never really minded if others found him attractive or not. “...There may be some.” He ends up admitting. 

You finally look at him again, smiling ever-so-slightly. Your gaze instead moves to the table, eyes sliding half-shut.

“You’re really oblivious, aren’t you?” 

You say, while holding the culmination of all of his treasured feelings, his heart, in your hand. Each letter carefully calligraphed, each word meticulously chosen, each attempt to convey the depths of his feelings failing to hold water. He’s not sure he wants you to know, and yet… There is nothing he wants more. A whirlwind of nerves and excitement and days of anticipation, wondering and waiting whether you will know.

In response to your words, he can only think: If he’s the oblivious one, then what are you?

[spoilmesweetieforficssake]

Hi can I please request 5 on Valentines list for Melissa x Reader (Reader is also a teacher and the reader is the one who wears a hot outfit in public) thanks.

"You're gonna wear that in public?" "Is there something wrong with it?" "I'm gonna have to find a stick to beat people off with, is all."

Ask and ye shall receive.

So I had already envisaged a little something for this when I first read the prompts, but had it the other way around, that Melissa was in the outfit. Worry not though, since you were so kind as to ask, this has ended up a request one, get one free.

Hope you enjoy!

Reader (All Dressed Up With Somewhere To Go)

You were pretty sure you had tried on every single item of clothing in your wardrobe as you stood before the mirror in your bedroom, the bed now strewn with rejected outfits.  Your eyes flicked to the clock on the wall.  Melissa was due to pick you up in twenty minutes.  If you wanted to have any chance of taming your hair and putting your make-up on what you were wearing would have to do.

You weren’t good on dates and if you were honest, had no idea how quiet how you’d been lucky enough to score a date with Melissa.  You had been struck by her appearance since the moment you started at Abbott.  Always having a soft spot for red heads, your crush on her felt almost inevitable.  The more you got to know her, your crush only grew until you had to admit you were head over heels in love with the woman.

You had done your best to keep it under wraps, but it had proved rather difficult with a camera crew around.  It had proved all but impossible after Barbara had reviewed a few clips of she and Melissa for the crew and had caught sight of the adoring expression aimed at her best friend on your face in the background. 

To your shock, she had encouraged you to pursue the red head.  She had, on the next breath warned you that you would not like the consequences if you hurt Melissa, but your overall take away from the conversation was that she was in support of a potential relationship. 

You really hoped never to find out what those consequences may be.  A successful date tonight felt like the first step in avoiding a furious Barbara Howard come Monday morning.  Making quick work of your minimal make-up, you moved on to your hair.  There was no time for any elaborate styling, but as you stepped back to take in your final appearance, you found yourself giving a nod of approval. 

It was nothing you’d ever wear at school.  Too revealing by far, and most definitely not practical for teaching small children in.  But for a date, well, you hoped it might just pass muster.

You didn’t have a chance to worry or ponder further as you heard the buzzer for your apartment door.  A quick glance at your phone confirms that Melissa is precisely on time.  You quickly trot to answer, about to tell her you’ll be right down, when her voice comes through the tinny speaker.

“First floor, first on the right, yeah?”

“The very one,” you reply, a smile on your lips at the fact she remembers.

You move to open your door in readiness.  You draw in a nervous, stuttering breath as the sound of her heels on the concrete steps gets louder the closer she gets.  Your breath catches in your throat as she turns the corner.  Of course she would wear the leather pants.  She knows the effect they have on you. 

“You’re gonna wear that in public?” Is what you get by way of a greeting. 

You look down at yourself.  Yes, it was different from what you wore at school but it wasn’t that bad, was it?  “Is there something wrong with it?” 

“Hon, there’s nothing wrong with it.”

You look up to find Melissa stalking towards you, an expression you haven’t seen before on her face; pure undisguised lust. 

“Nothing wrong with it at all,” she repeats, her eyes travelling up from your heels as her gaze slowly rises to meet yours.  “I’m gonna have to find a stick to beat people off with, is all.”

You feel a blush colour your cheeks as she finally comes to stand before you.  The compliment is unexpected, but somehow very Melissa. 

“And beat them off I will,” she smirks.  “Because it looks like I got myself a date with the hottest chick in town.”   She pulls one hand from behind her back, presenting you with a single red rose.  In that moment, the bravado is gone.  There’s a soft, hesitant look on her face as she holds the flower out to you.  It’s adorably romantic and you can’t help but fall a little bit more in love with her. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly as you carefully take the rose.  There’s a line being crossed here and you’re sure you can both feel it.  “It’s lovely.  As are you.”

Now it seems it’s Melissa’s turn to blush. 

You step forward, cupping her cheek with your free hand.  “Are we really doing this?”

She knows what you’re asking.  You’re friends, and to ask for more feels selfish and greedy, but oh how you want it.  But only if she does too.  “We are,” she says, her voice soft as her eyes flick towards your lips in unspoken question.

Your answer is to lean forward and press the ghost of a kiss to her lips, careful not to smudge her make-up. 

“We’re definitely doing this,” she grins as her eyes flutter open.  “Especially with you looking like that.”

Melissa (The Lady In Red)

“You’re gonna wear that in public?”  The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. 

Melissa stops suddenly, still fastening the back on her earring.  “Is there something wrong with it?” she asks as she looks down at her outfit, her voice full of false bravado.  Her face tells you another story, however.  To most, it wouldn’t be noticeable, but you’ve spent hours cataloguing every minute detail of her face.  You could write a book on the minutia of her expressions.  Her jaw clenches slightly, a flicker of worry in her eyes that won’t quite meet yours.  For all she tries to be tough, you know behind that hard exterior, she’s still scared and unsure, the age gap between you often playing on her mind, even if it’s the furthest thing from yours. 

It's knowledge that’s been hard gained.  For the first few months of your Abbott career Melissa had tolerated you at best.  You had tried not to take it personally, learning that she apparently did it to all new teachers at Abbott.  No point in wasting time in getting to know you if you were just going to leave.  Except you hadn’t.  Semesters and holidays came and went, and you were still there.  Still giving everything you could to help the kids in your class. 

That had earned you some respect, but what broke the silence between you both were your actions during a fire alarm.  Your kids were easy enough corral towards the exit, but as you reached the doors, you caught sight of Melissa trying to guide the huge number of students in her now double class in the right direction while still trying to calm a hysterical little girl who clung to the doorframe.  Her aid was nowhere to be seen, though even if she had been she would likely have been of little use. 

Telling your kids to head outside and line up nicely in front of Ava, who you guessed would have been the first to leg it from the building when the alarm went off, you turned back to go and help the redhead.   At the time, neither of you knew it was a kitchen mishap that had caused the alarm to go off, so as far as you were aware, the threat was real and the only thing on your minds was getting the kids out safely. 

By the time you reach her classroom door the little girl who had been by Melissa side had retreated back into the room, now hiding under her desk.  “What’s more likely, them following me or her letting me help?” you ask without preamble. 

She looks up at you in surprise, not having heard you approach above the din.  “Uh, I…I’ll get them, you grab her.”

You nod, not questioning her for a moment as she moves to stand before her students.  Able to focus her attention on the mass of noisy children in front of her she quickly gets them in line, pausing before leading them to the exit to throw a worried glance at you.

“Go, I got this,” you tell her.  “I’ll be right behind you.” 

She hesitates for a moment, but nods, beginning to lead her kids along the hallway while you locate the terrified little girl under Melissa’s desk.  Crouching down, you off her a smile.  “It’s getting kinda loud and scary in here, isn’t it?”

She nods, tears streaming down her face.

Reaching behind you, you pull Melissa’s jacket off the back of her chair, struck by an idea.  “How about you hide under Ms Schemmenti’s magic jacket?  You’ve seen how she’s not afraid of anything, haven’t you?”

The girl nods, her lip trembling. 

“That’s because she’s got magic in her jacket.  It’s like a knight’s armour.  You hide under here and nothing will be able to hurt you.”

The girl darts forward and throws her arms around your neck, allowing you to drape Melissa’s leather jacket around her before lifting her in your arms and making a hasty exit towards the fire door. 

You find Melissa outside, the relief on her face obvious when she sees you.  She frowns, however, on seeing her jacket covering the small girl in your arms.  Ducking your head, you whisper to the girl.  “You think you can go to Ms Schemmenti?  She’s even more magic than her jacket.  She’ll make sure nothing bad happens.”

It gets you a raised eyebrow as you pass the girl into her arms, where she immediately burrows into the redhead, but you wave it off, offering a smile before heading to find your own class.

She had found you after school that day, a smirk on her face as she asked precisely what you found so magical about her. 

As icebreakers went, it wasn’t the worst, even if it did make you blush terribly.  You’re still not quite sure what you managed to tell her in answer to her question, but apparently it was the right answer, given that a few weeks after the incident you had gone on your first date. 

You push yourself up from where you had been sitting on the sofa, coming to stand in front of her, taking her in in all her glory.  “Not a thing,” you smile softly.  “You look stunning.” 

And she does, her make-up minimal apart from her vibrant lipstick and her hair in loose curls, just the way she knows you love.  The outfit isn’t half bad either.  She suits red, and when it’s a dress that highlights her curves with a neckline showcasing her assets she really suits it.  The bright colour contrasts her milky skin and has a way of drawing the eye.  “I only had to say something because I’m gonna have to find a stick to beat people off with, is all.  You don’t happen to have a spare baseball bat taped around here somewhere, do you?”

You watch as a blush spreads across her cheeks.  “Shut up!” she says with a laugh.

She makes to walk past you but you catch her hand, turning her to face you once more.  “I’m serious.  You look beautiful.”

She ducks her head.  It’s a habit, you’ve noticed.  Tell her she looks hot or sexy and she takes it with a smug smile.  Call her beautiful and she goes immediately bashful on you, like she doesn’t quite believe it.  It's something you’re working on.   

“Now, I know that you’ve put your lipstick on already but if you don’t let me kiss you now it’s going to the only thing I think about tonight and that’s not fair on Barb when it’s her birthday.”

“The only thing, huh?” she smirks, regaining a little more of her usual composure as she sees your eyes drift from her face. 

“Shut up and kiss me,” you whisper, already leaning in to capture her lips.  Your cab wasn’t due for another ten minutes.  Plenty of time for a make-up touch up. 

[sleepyficss]

taco (ii) x reader headcanons? general headcanons would be nice, although if you could include ones involving reader having a cutesy girly gender presentation + having BPD and NPD that would be even better. please and thank you :3

taco, bpd & npd headcanons!

taco x reader, fluff

authors note:

as my first actual request, thank you so much!! the fact that its for taco, too <33 i don't have either bpd nor npd myself, but i will try my hardest to make it accurate!! + by general, i wasn't sure whether you meant romantic or not, so i left it up in the air. could be read as either.

- written as post-ii season 2 in mind (so don't blame me if she seems inaccurate in a few episodes time lolol)

- taco has struggled a lot with her own relationships over the last few years, so the fact that you've gotten this close with her? she must really trust you.

- she's honestly terrified of you leaving her, considering the number of people who have done exactly that in the past (although, it hadn't been unwarranted...)

- swears to do whatever she can to keep you from leaving her, especially since you might be one of the very few people she has left.

- because of this, she completely understands it when you're afraid of the possibility of abandonment – but you learn to work through it together.

- she loves to remind you of how much you mean to her, that she wouldn't want you to be any different than the way you currently are <3

- the last thing she wants is for you to feel that you aren't good enough, or to have bad self-images of yourself.

- makes SURE that you know her opinion of you is highly regarded, that she loves you for you, no matter if you've had a bad week.

- taco has definitely picked up on any micro-expressions, or usually unseen habits you have that reveal the way you're feeling; especially for times that you struggle more to show those emotions.

- in turn, she's learned how to keep her own emotions in check. taco is a very grounded person, and knows how to keep calm in most situations, and will often be the one to sort out difficult situations that involve either, or both, of you.

- of course, she has her own triggers that may set her off. as long as you're there to remind her that she has you, and that the past is the past, and it can't be changed, she'll calm down enough to listen to you.

- she's a very patient person, and takes pride in understanding other people easily.

- if you're ever having a difficult day, or particularly bad 'flare-ups', taco understands not to always take any harsh words you say to heart. most of the time, she knows you don't really mean them anyways.

- she'll always wait for you to have calmed down to talk things through with you. trying to talk while hot-headed will only make things worse, she of all people knows that.

- at the end of the week, though, all she wants to do is sit down with you and relax.

- whether thats having sort of a parallel-play with each other (where she'll often read a book, or do some sort of puzzle, while you do your own activities), or you'll simply talk to each other for hours, about anything and everything.

- she's almost clingy herself, wanting to spend most of her free time with you when there's nothing else to do.

- taco isn't the type to admit it, but she enjoys seeing the outfits you come up with, complimenting you any chance she gets.

- if you ask her for ideas (in terms of what you should wear, what colour you should do your nails, etc), she'll be at a bit of a loss. she won't be much help in that department, you're better off giving her a few options to choose from, first.

- i can imagine you'd be able to convince her to match a bowtie to your outfit, though. you two would be the cutest !!

- if either of you have days where you feel almost too tired to get out of bed, the other will be happy to join in setting up the couch with blankets and pillows, and turning the television on to a show that both of you enjoy.

- taco just wants a cosy life, now that she's put her past 'plans' way behind her, and would be happy to spend every day with you.

[benedictscanvas]

HI👋 I'm so glad your requests are open! I squealed and was grinning like an idiot reading "Stuck Together" with Steve R. Wondering if I could ask, should interest spark, for a play on number 3 from the Meaningful Gestures list with one Stephen Strange and a GN!Reader? Instead of a hand on the cheek perhaps smoothing some stray strands of his hair out of his face and he has the "Huh? Oh. Ooohh!" moment lol. No worries if not! Thank you for taking the time and sharing your work👍

the fact that people still read stuck together has me a little emotional! that was one of my first ever fics 4 years ago and is so so special to me, it means everything that you liked it, thank you <3 || 1.2k words

---

"I'm trying to concentrate, if you wouldn't mind," he said mindlessly, his thoughts still clearly on the task at hand. Usually, he'd be able to pick your footsteps out from all the rest and you'd at least be greeted with a curt nod or an amicable hum.

"You must really be busy," you said, knowing your voice would be enough to snap him out of his musings. He regarded you with slight apology in his eyes for a moment, but quickly went back to his work, "Unless you woke up today determined to bite the hand that feeds you?"

His only answer was a disapproving grunt, but upon a few strained flicks of his fingers over his current project, he finally looked at you properly, shaking his head a little to get the hair out of his eyes.

"I thought you were Tony," he said, as if he had actually voiced an apology. It was as close as it got with him: for him to almost admit he was wrong about something was an apology in itself in his language, "And I told you that you don't have to bring me food. I'm quite capable at taking care of myself."

"Lying isn't a good colour on you, Doc," you said sensibly, placing the warm bowl of pasta next to him on the table and sticking a fork in the top, "I made extra anyway."

Hypocrite. You hoped your own lie was less transparent than his. When he dropped into this work mode, it was impossible not to want to care for him here and there, knowing the work he did was so important that things like eating and sleeping sometimes took a backseat.

"Stephen, I told you, not Doc."

"Ah, you like it," you said, not sure that was true but saying it anyway. You thought you caught a tiny smirk at the side of his mouth, but it could have been a trick of the light.

"I don't," he said firmly. But his eyes strayed to the bowl of pasta and soon his hands did too, briefly abandoning his work in favour of food, "But I do like pasta, as you know. Thank you."

You wanted to thank him for the little things he did for you so regularly. When he wasn't lost to the depths of his work, he could be rather thoughtful. Always bringing a second umbrella for you when it was raining because he knew you'd forget your own. Washing your dishes when he did his without thinking. Just the other day, you had woken up with his cloak draped over you when you had fallen asleep during one of Tony's many, many briefings.

The cloak was unspeakably warm and it was the memory of it that had led you to cook him pasta that evening. You'd already eaten.

"You're welcome," you smiled, even though his focus was entirely on his food as he began eating. You turned to leave but his voice stopped you.

"You're not staying? Where's your food?"

Ah. Caught out in the lie you knew he would see through. You turned around to face him slowly, toeing your shoe into the carpet. It was better not to give him the satisfaction of looking flustered.

"You obviously know that I didn't make extra and I made it just for you. It's like 2am, Strange, I ate hours ago."

He produced a second fork that he definitely didn't have a moment ago, and held it out to you.

"It's Stephen," he corrected, as if on autopilot, and then- "You must be starting to get hungry again. Eat."

It would have been far more difficult to protest, claim sleepiness, head to bed without a glance backwards. He always had an answer for everything. You heaved a sigh, took the fork from his outstretched fingers and sat in the chair that you were also sure he had just conjured for you.

"If you insist."

You ate in silence. You spent the majority of your time together in silence truthfully, but it was where the two of you were most comfortable. You squirmed under his scrutiny when the two of you conversed, the glint in his eye too often unbearable, but when you had a task to focus on side by side, his company was always relaxing. Warm and safe.

He kept shaking his head to get his damn hair out of his eyes though, and the movement out of the corner of your eye was getting infuriating.

"Just-" you huffed, putting your fork down in the bowl with a light clang, "Hold still, would you?"

You reached up, both hands, and smoothed the offending curled strands out of his face, finding them just long enough to tuck behind his ear securely. Pulling a bobby pin from the belt loop of your jeans, you secured the hair in place with careful fingers. You sat back to admire your work, one hand still holding his chin in place with thumb and forefinger, turning it this way and that.

"You're welcome," you murmured, finally letting go of him and picking up the fork once more, "Again."

You could feel his gaze on the side of your face. Intent. Granted, there wasn't often much physical contact between the two of you, but he had to know that he had been driving you to distraction with that shimmying to get it out of his way. Yes, sometimes the way he looked at you bordered on sinful, but you'd recently realised you'd likely imagined that as a reflection of your own slightly inappropriate thinking when you watched his hands at work.

"I'll give it back."

His voice was soft. A world away from the stern words you had been accidentally greeted with when you entered. You looked up at him quizzically but he just lightly tapped at the bobby pin with two fingers. You chuckled, surprised that you weren't feeling your face heat up.

"I have hundreds, your need is greater than mine. Keep it."

You took another forkful of pasta, and he was still just looking at you. You gestured to the bowl with your fork.

"It'll get cold."

"As hot food tends to," he muttered, forever a smart ass. You rolled your eyes, "You do a lot for me, you know, Y/N. And somehow, you're good company when I feel like I'm losing myself in something."

There was that look in his eye again. Unbearable. It felt almost impossible to meet his gaze for too long when he looked through you like that.

"Anyone would want to-"

"Actually, nobody else does. You keep me grounded, and I appreciate it," he said earnestly, and you managed to keep your eyes on him long enough to know how much he meant it. Still, he could feel you itching to brush it off, so he did it for you, breaking your gaze, "Take the compliment and eat your pasta."

You did just that. You took the compliment and allowed it to warm you inside and out, and ate more of the pasta you'd cooked for him. In fact, he hadn't seemed to eat much of it at all. It was a comfortable silence until the bowl was finished, and although you tried to take it with you when you left, he refused to let you wash up what you'd cooked for him.

You glanced back at him at the edge of the room as you were leaving, just quick enough to catch him touching the bobby pin again. There was an expression on his face that looked like reverence.

"Goodnight, Stephen."

You were granted one of his rare, genuine smiles. Maybe you weren't imagining it after all.

[yellow-faerie]

Immortality AU

There’s a woman standing at the edge of the cantina. She has a drink in her hand – something the colour of a Felucian flower – and is smiling, softly, as she taps her foot to the beat of the music. Her eyes are a pale blue – so pale that it is noticeable in the dingy lighting and from such a distance – with laugh lines creasing at their edges as she keeps her avid attention focused on the singer.

It would be difficult to tell how old she is, just from looking. She’s almost definitely human, so the wrinkles and her almost-white hair would put her on the older end of the spectrum, but there’s still the soft curve of early adulthood to her.

So late thirties, maybe early forties.

Her name is Meetra Surik and though she does not look it, she is nearly four thousand years old.

None of this does Qui-Gon Jinn tell Padmé, the young handmaiden who had insisted (on the Queen’s demand) to accompany him on this mission, for he had told her they were coming here to see if they could source an alternative form of transport if they couldn’t fix the ship.

And in a way, they were, but Qui-Gon was never sure how Surik and her less agreeable companion worked. There was every chance that they would make vague conversation until Qui-Gon admitted defeat and they had to work out another solution to their problem.

Damn immortals.

“Master Qui-Gon,” Surik greets as he gets close enough to hear her, although she doesn’t take her eyes from the singer, “aren’t you meant to be orbiting Naboo? Negotiations with the Trade Federation, wasn’t it?”

Qui-Gon can feel Padmé’s surprise in the Force, likely that he knew anyone on this Force forsaken rock. “Do you keep tabs on everyone, or is it just me?”

“Can you blame a woman for looking out for her lineage?”

“You know each other?” Padmé asks, intervening. Either it is her diplomatic skills coming out, breaking up a potential argument before it starts, or – and this was much more likely in Qui-Gon’s opinion – she was curious and couldn’t help herself.

“I trained his Master’s Jedi Master,” Surik says pleasantly and finally takes her eyes away from the performer. “Master Meetra Surik, at your service.”

“Padmé Naberrie.”

There’s a flash of amusement in her eyes. “I take it that you have got caught up in whatever went wrong with Master Jinn’s recent mission?”

“I’m the Queen of Naboo’s handmaiden. And it wasn’t Master Jinn’s fault, the Trade Federation didn’t even let the negotiations for our planet begin before they tried to kill him and Padawan Kenobi, and invade our planet.”

Surik’s smile falls into something more serious. “A planetary invasion? That’s a bold move.”

“It is,” Qui-Gon agrees quickly, not feeling quite comfortable to discuss the issue so publicly. “The escape was not kind on our ship, we need a way off planet so that the Queen may speak in the senate.”

At that, Surik’s smile returns in all it’s slightly lopsided glory. “Luckily for you, we have a ship.”

“And what about ours?” Padmé asks. “The one we came in?”

Meetra shrugs. “Do what you want with it: sell it, leave it for scrap, find a way to repair it. Just comm us when you’re ready, we’ll do a pick up.”

The singer has stopped now, to muted applause from the otherwise self-absorbed clientele of the cantina, and stepped down from the stage to get her money from the bartender.

“Then we shall meet you then,” Qui-Gon says quickly and Meetra’s smile grows.

“Are you sure I cannot tempt you to a drink?”

Qui-Gon looks at the singer, returning a few credits for a drink an even brighter colour than Meetra’s, and thinks that now is not a time to talk to Revan.

In fact, it is never a time to talk to Revan, but especially not when Obi-Wan is not there to be a buffer.

“Another time, perhaps,” he says smoothly, putting a hand on Padmé’s back to gently guide her out of the cantina, “we have a ship to sell.”

[chamerionwrites]

Tag Nine People You'd Like To Get To Know Better

FAVOURITE COLOUR(s): Rusty red-orange, deep cool spruce green, bright cobalt blue, wine red, the various shades of slate green/grey/blue.

FAVOURITE FLAVOUR(s): Weirdly difficult question, in that what I think I most enjoy about food is the way that different flavors and textures complement each other to become more than the sum of their parts. But I am a huge fan of deep rich fruity-savory umami (sundried tomatoes, a great red chile sauce, things braised in red wine) as well as absolutely any kind of citrus or fresh herbs.

Also, while this isn't exactly one thing and it might be simpler just to say that I like strong flavors, I fall firmly into the These Are A Few Of My Favorite Things camp on a lot of polarizingly funky/briny things (smoked salmon, goat cheese, blue cheese, olives, anchovies, preserved lemons, etc).

Also the taste+aroma of both fresh bread and corn tortillas hot off the comal is imo the human equivalent of catnip, ie "provokes immoderate feral delight on some bizarrely primal level."

FAVOURITE MUSIC: The very sexy Bermuda Triangle where blues/rock/folk bleed into and/or influence one another. Anything else that takes my fancy, including but not limited to a lot of soul, post-punk, and highly danceable salsa or big band swing stuff. Sad jazz. Gratuitously melancholy strings. Great lyrics, great harmonies, deep rich vocals.

FAVOURITE MOVIE(s): I have never in my life been able to pick one favorite book, but Pan's Labyrinth is easily my favorite movie.

FAVOURITE BOOK(s): This is the impossible question to me but The Periodic Table, Signs Preceding The End of The World, The Things They Carried, The Little Drummer Girl, and everything Arundhati Roy has ever written are all on the list somewhere.

FAVOURITE SERIES(es): The Same Sky is exquisitely good and The Night Manager is my id-stroking comfort rewatch. I also loved Andor and the first season of Hannibal.

LAST SONG: I was just going through this tag earlier.

LAST SERIES: Thanks to holiday craft fair season I have had zero ability to do longform TV anytime within the last few months. (Also, frankly, multi-season TV series are the one of the most difficult media formats for my brain to engage with; it's a fantastic storytelling medium when done well, but I personally have a much harder time sitting down for two hours of TV than for two hours of reading and thus getting started often feels like a huge commitment. I am really a 3-6 eps and done miniseries person at heart.)

That said I am a big podcasts-while-working person and I've been listening to a lot of Friends At The Table and Bad Gays recently.

LAST MOVIE: The Wind That Shakes The Barley, which has been on the Somehow I've Never Seen This And I Really Should list for a while. It has promptly been moved to the OFC It's Possible To Make A War Movie That Doesn't Glorify War, Y'all Are Just Fools And Cowards list.

CURRENTLY READING: ...I have to admit that I'm re-reading Kissinger's Shadow (to Mark The Occasion).

CURRENTLY WATCHING: Nothing (see above), though I have ambitions of giving Black Sails a shot.

CURRENTLY WORKING ON: The sketching stage of some linocuts, some experimental worldbuild-y map-drawing (important as Cartography And Its Imperial Misuses are kinda thematically and plottily relevant to the story, at least in its nebulous conceptual form).

TAGGED BY @silkenred (thanks!), and TAGGING (only if you want ofc) @sassysnowperson, @tobermoriansass, @cosmonauthill, @essayofthoughts, and anybody else who feels like doing this. (No really, I'm shy about tagging but please do the thing if you're interested.)

[invisibleraven]

upcycling furniture together for Rose/Ray? It just feels like their vibe

When Ray and Rose first starting living together, they didn't have much. A sagging couch and rickety coffee table that sat in front of the tiny tv Rose had in her dorm. Enough dishes for them both, and a mattress on the floor. It wasn't much, but it was theirs.

Ray made a little with his photos, enough to keep the roof over their heads and food in the fridge. Rose gave music lessons that let them buy a few things, but they were fine with what little they had, because they had each other.

Of course, that didn't erase the judging looks Victoria gave them when she came to visit, almost afraid to sit down, as if the couch would collapse under her or the mismatched stools they had picked up might give her a staph infection.

Ray pretended not to hear her hiss at Rose that she couldn't live like this. "You can come home you know," Victoria urged. "Or ask me for help Rosa, don't be proud."

"I'm fine Tori," Rose assured her. "I'm happy, I'm free, and I'm in love. I don't need stuff."

Victoria shook her head, letting her shoulders sag and sighed out "Fine." But that didn't stop her from coming by with food since she was a far better cook than either of them. Sometimes she tried to slip money at them, but Rose was firm on pushing it back.

After that she just brought little knick knacks-pillows, plants, a few dishes, claiming they were housewarming gifts, or I saw this and thought of you things. Neither of them were fools, but Ray never saw any of it leave with Victoria when she left, and kept the plants watered in kind.

But one day Rose did admit that it might be nice to have a better couch, or a real table to eat food at.

"Well how about we check out a few yard sales?" Ray suggested. "Or thrift stores? Find something in our budget and really do it up?"

Rose beamed at the idea, and they set out. They found a used couch that a friend was getting rid of, though it needed new upholstery since their cat had used it as a scratching post. A yard sale netted them a cute dinette set, though in a horrid olive green colour. And a thrift store agreed to give them a deal on a bedframe in pieces if they took it that day as it was.

"Good thing I'm handy with tools," Ray quipped.

"It'll be fun!" Rose said with a laugh. "Plus now we can make it all our own!"

They found a cool turquoise coloured fabric to cover the couch with, finding it complimented the bright yellow cushions that Victoria had gifted them. It was a bit difficult to use the staple gun, Ray almost jumping at the first loud sound of it. But Rose grinned at him, and kept going, until the couch was covered.

Then they assembled the bed frame, Rose tying her hair back with a bandana, Ray wiping the sweat from her brow as he hammered and screwed and she painted it a deep dark black colour.

The table proved the hardest, needing a lot of sanding to get the offending olive colour off. Thankfully they did it out in the lot, as the sawdust filled their lungs, covered their hair, their clothes. But underneath the table was a nice blonde maple colour, so they sealed it, placing it with honour in their tiny kitchen.

"Looks good," Ray said, pulling Rose to his side and kissing her sweaty brow.

"Just needs one final touch," Rose said, snagging a small bud vase with a single red dahlia in it and placing it on the table. "There, perfect."

"Just like you," Ray said, twirling her. Who cares that she was in one of his oversized tees and a pair or leggings covered in dust and paint, she had never looked better.

"Sap," Rose cooed, leaning up on her toes to kiss him. "But I'm still taking the first shower."

Ray squawked, and then laughed as Rose raced off to their tiny bathroom. He'd join her in a moment, because even if their shower was small, there was still a space for the both of them in there.

The table just needed one final touch, and when he heard the water running, left it on the table.

Rose would find it later, and he was sure, as he popped the ring box open, she would say yes.

"Raymond are you coming or am I taking all the hot water for myself?" she called playfully.

"On my way amor!"

Ray raced off, smiling to himself. Sure, he and Rose didn't have much, but they had each other, and even with their new furniture, that was all they needed to be home.

[spinningbagel]

so im currently avoiding the task that is writing the second chapter of the Isles story so I'm rambling a bit. About the Isles yes,,, but also about MB cuz they're on the mind simultaneously.

Specifically, it's about what the MB cast would have as a base & their magic in the Isles because my two interests are merging again.

okay, okay I'll actually talk now.

So Sheriff up first. for him I was originally thinking a bird of sorts, specifically an Australian king parrot. Though I didn't end up going with it and instead decided on a red fox. Not just because he's a ginger (though, that was a large reason to my choice/J) but also if you've ever seen the portrayal of red foxes in media you'll know that they're often painted as thieves- I hope you see where this is going- so I though it'd make sense to make Sheriff have a red fox base because well, he is referred to as a thief in the show.

And for magic, I could've stuck with the whole 'red' theme I've got going on and chose fire magic for him but no, we like switching things up here. Anyways I picked rain magic for him which is basically the ability to create rain when and wherever. like a toned down version of Leo's magic given the fact he can't make storms- just rain. Also his magic spark would be a light blue.

Shooter next, his base was the easiest to come up with. I wanted him to be a sea creature of sorts, my only question was just "which one?" I would like to say it was a difficult choice but I was pretty dead set on my first option, that being an axolotl. Now, there's not actually a reason for this, it just exists. And I personally think it's great and anyone with a different opinion can fight me/j

In terms of magic I think he'd have land magic but specifically rock magic which basically just means he can throw around rocks and dirt. again, no actual reason for this choice. It just somehow seemed fitting for him. Also yellow magic spark, similar to Leo's just leaning closer towards caution tape yellow.

Now onto Vegan. And I will admit her personality was a huge factor when I decided she was going to be a wolf, specifically an Alexander Archipelago wolf. idk I think they're pretty. But yeah, the only reason I decided on this was because of her personality in canon.

For magic I think her magic spark would be a darker grey, much darker than Sapphires (who I don't think I have shown the spark for) and her actual magic would be fire. Any reason for this? no. Did I want to give at least one character fire magic? yes. also dark grey fire sounds badass. you wouldn't even notice it in the dark.

Now you'd think I'd have BP's and Vegans bases the same, but no! they are different!! I have explained this, it's a 50/50 chance of you have the same base as either of your parents so him and Vegans bases aren't guaranteed to be the same. which they aren't. That being said, he is the resident bird man™ he's a raven but would probably enjoy making his wings all colourful with (safe to use) dyes

For his magic, I didn't really have a clue as to what he'd have but eventually settled on wind magic. Kinda like Ryan's (Isles Ryan, not MB Ryan) just a few notches weaker (like 6 notches weaker) and his magic spark would be bright orange, just cuz I think he's a bright and colourful guy but didn't want to use yellow again :3

Dr. White is the second resident bird man™ uh yeah no. He's the source of BP's very awesome wings- so he's a raven himself idk. I just really wanted him to be a bird man because it seems so him.

His magic would be levitation of objects (he can make people levitate, it just takes a bit more effort to do so) mainly because I think it'd be a useful thing for him to have. He could just,, have his work follow him everywhere idk yall.

And finally, Brutux. I decided on a polar bear. Not sure why- which is my main reason for 99% of my choices. but anyways. he's a polar bear so he'd actually live quite a bit away from everyone else because of his preference of colder climates (In the isles, climates are like their own mini kingdoms but are still below the three main rulers who technically rule the entire part of the world that fits their title {land, sea & sky} if that makes sense to anyone who isn't me) but yeah no, he'd live further away and would only visit during the season of the sea when it is much, much colder.

For magic, Brutux would prolly have snow magic which is just like,, creation of snow. kinda basic and plain because of his animal base but this is my oc world so fight me/J and also, his magic spark is red. not like, blood red or anything; something a little softer than that.

anyways. this took way too long to type and I'm regretting my choices but thank you for coming to my ted talk.

[mlmxreader]

No Sugar | Mother's Milk x m!reader

anonymous asked: hi! would you please write a Mother’s Milk x male reader with the lyrics (slipknot) “Let me tell you, man, I said it, I meant it” and “What do you need?” where they idk, like finally admit they like eachother bc they’ve been working together for a few years! maybe it ends w/ them cuddling or something!

summary: a routine game of cards turns into something much different than you first planned.

tws: swearing

support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy

Of all the people in the world who made you feel safest and soundest, it had to be Marvin; you had known each other for years and years, worked shoulder to shoulder and spent many breaks sleeping against each other, you really loved him, really liked to have him close and to be close to him.

You were actually so close that his daughter would run up to you and jump in your arms whenever she saw you, and as she got older, it did get more difficult to keep your balance when she did so; but you looked after her like she was your own, and you knew Marvin appreciated the times that you volunteered to look after her while he took a much needed nap on the sofa.

Thankfully though, he had come over to see you tonight as part of your weekly routine; once a week, he would come over to play a few card games with you and to have a few drinks, kick back and relax, just the two of you. The moment he walked through the door was the very moment your heart started to pound, and when he hugged you, it felt like home; burying your face against the side of his neck as you clung onto him, wishing for the embrace to never end.

He let go eventually, reluctant to pull away, and you didn't miss the way that he briefly looked at your lips as he kept you close, the tip of his nose nearly brushing against your own; you tried your best not to whimper when he broke the embrace and took a step back, clearing his throat as he smiled.

"You okay?"

You nodded. "Yeah, yeah, not bad - how's Janine?"

"She said thank you," Marvin chuckled. "She loves that jaguar teddy bear you got her... y'know, she even said you're her favourite babysitter."

You laughed softly as you shook your head, letting him follow you into the kitchen; he made himself at home at the dinner table, reaching for the deck of cards and starting to shuffle them.

"Coffee?"

"Please," he agreed. "No sugar."

"I know," you hummed, reaching for the cup that he always had. It was an older mug, some of the colour and life drained from it, but it had once proudly had the album art of Wu-Tang Clan's 'Enter The Wu-Tang' on it. "I do remember those things, y'know - same as I remember that you always show up here when you're wearing your Snoop Dogg shirt."

"You really remember that?" He hummed, starting to dish out the cards, already knowing by instinct where you would sit, at the head of the table and always to his left.

It was the same as when you walked together, you were always on the outside of the pavement to his left. Always to his left when you worked together, too, and always slept on the left side of the bed when he napped with you; he almost felt like something was missing when you weren't there with him. Just like how you knew he took his coffee without sugar and how he always wore the same shirt, he knew you would always be to his left.

When you finally came to sit beside him, you sat in the exact chair, and Marvin easily pushed the chair out for you, grinning when you picked up your cards and playfully glared at him.

"So, motherfucker with a heart," you cleared your throat to avoid the urge to laugh. "What're we playing? Strip poker?"

"Not today," he shifted in his seat, swallowing thickly as his breath hitched for just a single moment. "Today's poker."

"Texas hold 'em?"

"Texas hold 'em," he nodded. "Your favourite."

You watched him for a second, leaning back in your chair and bringing your legs up so that you could rest your feet on his thigh; grumbling softly when he put one hand down and started to rub little circles into your calf with his thumb.

"Don't try and butter me up," you warned. "That's cheating."

"You cheat all the time," he pointed out. "Last time, you sat on my lap and stole my cards... or did you forget?"

"I'll do it again," you cautioned with a slight grin.

"Come on, then," he pushed his chair back, spreading his legs as he laid his cards facedown on the table. A soft groan coming from the back of his throat when you planted yourself on his lap. He put his arm around you to keep you steady. "Don't look at my cards."

You leaned into him, placing your hand on his as you paused for a moment. "Marv?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm starting to feel something," you mumbled.

"Was it that phaal curry you had earlier? Because I told you last time, if the food keeps upsetting your stomach, don't go to the-"

"No, not that," you shook your head, shifting a little to get more comfortable. "It's... fuck."

"What?"

You weren't sure if you could actually admit it, chewing at the inside of your cheek as you tried not to focus on how it felt to be held by him and to be sitting on his lap; heart racing and your hands trembling, forcing you to put down the cards as you turned around. Straddling his waist and putting your hands on his chest, covering some of the writing on his shirt as your breath hitched.

You couldn't help but to look down at his lips for a moment, a soft and quiet whimper slipping from the back of your throat. "Marvin..."

"I got you," he whispered, shaking his head. "What do you need? Talk to me, (y/n)."

You held onto his shirt, trying to concentrate on the feeling of the soft fabric against your fingers but constantly distracted by how he kept his hands on you to keep you steady; the way his breath was so gentle and how his words were your oasis in the desert. Fuck.

"Shitting fuck, Marv, I think I might be in love with you."

"Think I might feel the same," Marvin admitted quietly, nodding as he looked at your lips for a moment, swallowing thickly and trying to focus on keeping you steady on his lap. His concentration constantly broken by the way you looked at him.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he breathed out. "Can I, uh..."

"Kiss?" The word came out so softly, so hesitant and nervous, you couldn't believe you had even said it.

But then he nodded, starting to bite at the inside of his lip as nervousness overtook him. "That."

"Sure..." you made the move, edging closer until the distance was slowly closed.

He kissed you back immediately, so soft and so gentle, so slow and so cautious; it was plain to see that neither of you wanted to make a mistake, but it was easy to get lost. The way he kissed you took your breath away, one hand coming up to rest on his shoulder as he deepened it, stealing more of your breath as you held onto him.

It had been a while since Marvin had actually kissed another man, but fuck, he was glad it was you; he was glad that it was the man he had slowly fallen absolutely head over heels for, and when he broke away, breath soft and hurried, he couldn't help but to smile.

"I... fuck, (y/n)."

"What?"

"I haven't kissed a man like that in years," he admitted quietly, a little anxious about how you felt.

Your hand dragged from his shoulder to his jaw, gently rubbing your thumb up and down his face as you smiled. "I liked it."

"You did?"

"I did," you nodded, even daring to kiss him again. "And, y'know... you could always, uhm, always kiss me like that again, if you wanted to."

Slowly, he moved, coaxing you onto the table and standing between your legs as he planted his hands either side of your thighs. "I love you, and let me tell you, man, I said it, I mean it... I... I love you."

"I love you, too," you put your hands on his shoulders. "Marvin, I've... I've loved you for a long while and... and if you wanna be in a relationship, that's amazing - but... but if not, that's amazing, too."

"I do," Marvin assured softly. "Just... as long as we can take things slow."

"Slow is fine by me," you agreed. "I think I should remake our coffee, though... it's probably gone cold."

"Later," he pleaded gently. "But remember-"

"No sugar," you grinned. "I know."