#i’m almost done with it though. like 3 more pages

[dyed-indigo]

‘sup i’m bored in my mom’s car right now so i’m posting the mithrun page of my sketchbook because i like him :)

[zorobff]

dress up. (toji fushiguro x f!reader)

synopsis: in an attempt to make some memories, you come up with the idea of a family costume for this year’s halloween. toji and megumi might need a little convincing, though…

a/n: first fic in like a year and first time writing for my babygirl toji :3

word count: 1.1k

toji carelessly lets himself fall next to you, his sheer body weight causing the couch to jolt slightly. he nods at your phone. “whatcha looking at?”

“just some costumes. halloween’s coming up and—”

a smile creeps up on toji’s face before you can get another word out. “you shoulda asked me first, baby. i got a few good ideas. patient and nurse could work, i love a woman in uniform—my woman in uniform. cop and prisoner, too. would give us a good excuse to finally buy some handcuffs.” he winks.

“sounds like you’ve been thinking about this for a while,” you tease. “but unfortunately, none of those are gonna work.”

toji’s face falls ever so slightly and you have to hold back a laugh at seeing a grown man pout.

“had you let me finish, you’d know i want to do a family costume.”

“baby, c’mon,” he groans, rubbing his face. “i never go all out f’ halloween, you know that.”

you arch a brow. “you seemed eager a few seconds ago.”

he huffs. “that was different.”

“mhm, sure,” you reply, sarcastically. “i don’t mind suggestions, just a little more family friendly and less… porn-y.”

“where’s the fun in that?” he deadpans.

you smack his bicep. “save the roleplaying for later. i mean, just look at how cute these are.”

you hand him your phone and he reluctantly takes it. he’s seen this app before; pinterest, he believes it’s called. his eyes roam over the page for a moment, seeing various families of three dressed in an array of costumes. rock, paper and scissors. ketchup, mustard and a hot dog. fork, knife, and spoon.

he hands you back your phone when he decides he’s seen enough. “baby, those are humiliating.”

“no they’re not! they’re fun.” you snatch the device back, furiously scrolling. “besides, we’re making memories for megumi to look back on when he’s older.”

“have you met the little twerp? he’s practically a 70 year old man in the body of a second grader.” toji shakes his head with a smile. “you sure he’d even wanna do this?”

“we should at least ask him. then he can’t say we never tried.”

toji’s eyes soften; you really were giving this your all. your dedication to making megumi’s childhood a happy and healthy one was something that tugged at his heart strings; especially since toji had never received that kind of affection in his youth. and yet, here was a beautiful woman he was privileged to call his wife trying her best to break that generational curse. he truly was a lucky man.

“megumi!” shouts toji, suddenly determined to make this family costume work. “get in here!”

megumi’s little voice comes back muffled from his upstairs bedroom. “wait, i’m almost done with this level!”

“tch, he’s glued to that damn thing. what’s it called? a switch?” toji shakes his head and mumbles, “should’ve never let you buy it f’ him.”

“don’t be jealous,” you tease. “if you’re good, i’ll get you one for christmas too.”

toji smirks. “actually, i wanted to ask for a special gift this year.”

“oh yeah? what’s that?”

“y’know how megumi’s been askin’ for a sibling—”

you shove his shoulder and he laughs.

toji takes that as his cue to leave and talk to megumi, standing from the couch with an exaggerated groan. (you always made fun of him for it, claiming that it was such an old man thing to do. he always refuted that you knew what you were getting into when you married someone his age.)

he heads upstairs, delivering a firm knock when he reaches megumi’s door. “get out here, kiddo. need to talk to ya real quick.”

he hears a groan then the shuffling of feet. the door swings open and there stands his son, eyebrows furrowed and lips downturned. clearly, he wasn’t thrilled about having to pause his game.

“sheesh, kid,” toji huffs. “don’t make that face, starting to look like your old man.”

“what is it, dad?” he sighs in exasperation.

“we’re dressing up for halloween this year. as a family.”

that catches the eight year old off guard. “what? why?”

“for the memories or somethin’.”

“i don’t really wanna…” megumi trails off.

toji scratches the back of his head. “i hear ya. but it’ll make your mom real happy so we’re doin’ it.”

megumi purses his lips. “what’s the costume?”

“i dunno. we can’t seem t’ decide. got any ideas?”

“hmmm… i kinda wanted to be michael meyers this year.”

“it’s a group costume, megumi, ya can’t just— hang on, michael meyers? how the hell do you know about him?”

megumi shrugs as if he doesn’t see the issue. “i saw the movie at uncle shiu’s house once.”

toji makes a mental note to never shiu babysit megumi again. or at the very least, go over what movies a second grader is allowed to watch.

toji clears his throat. “well, forget you ever saw it. and don’t tell your mother, got it?”

megumi nods.

“good. erm… any other ideas?”

there’s a silence between the two.

“c’mon, kid, think of something. if not, your mom’s gonna make us dress up as condiments or silverware or somethin’ stupid.”

megumi groans, clearly fed up with the conversation. “can i just go back to playing super mario bros?”

it’s as if a lightbulb goes off in toji’s mind. “you like those guys?”

megumi nods slowly. “yeah… why?”

“you wanna be one of ‘em for halloween?”

megumi’s face lights up. “really? can i be luigi?”

toji grins, satisfied with his reaction. “don’t see why not.”

“cool! does that mean you’ll be mario?”

his dad chuckles. “guess so.”

“ooh and mom could be princess peach!”

“that’s the, uh… pink one, right?”

megumi giggles at his father’s obliviousness, nodding.

“works out then. i’ll go tell your mama.” he ruffles his son’s tar black hair. “thanks, megs. gonna make her day.”

megumi flashes a toothy grin then retreats back into his room.

when toji returns to the living room with a smug smile and pep in his step, you take notice.

“what’s with you?” you inquire.

“oh, nothin’. just got megumi to agree on a family costume, that’s all.”

you eye your husband with interest. “oh really?”

“you’re welcome, princess. speaking of which, you’re gonna need a pink dress and crown.”

“well, now i’m really curious.”

“you know that little game he likes? the one with the plumber brothers—” before he can even finish, you shoot up from your comfortable position.

“how didn’t i think of that sooner? it’s perfect!”

“megs seemed pretty excited about it too. knew exactly which character he wanted to be and everythin’.”

you nearly melt. “that’s all what i wanted. i’ll order the costumes right away.” you lean over to pepper his face in kisses. “thank you so much, toji.”

he grunts, though he’s smiling so hard his scar tilts upwards. “yeah, yeah. how about you thank me with that christmas present i was talkin’ about earlier?”

you pull away from him and grin. “nice try.”

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 8

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7

“I can’t believe you let me fall asleep!” Chrissy complains, crowding into Steve’s space to desperately try to fix her hair in the mirror.

Steve snorts, unbelievably fond at the way her bangs are going every direction but down. “What am I, your mother?” he asks, fixing his own hair by standing on his tippy toes and looking over her head.

“No, but she will be killing me for this!” Chrissy cries, finally giving up on finger-combing her bangs to dunk the strands into the sink and get them wet. “Thanks for reminding me!”

“You’re bitchy in the morning,” he mutters, grimacing when she pulls her head out of the sink abruptly enough that water droplets fling from her head and onto his shirt. “Now, hurry up, we’re already late.”

She flips him off, ignoring him entirely to continue fixing her hair.

They’re both late; Chrissy doesn’t let him forget it for the rest of the day, as if it’s his fault.

“I remember when I thought you were nice,” Steve mutters, laughing helplessly when she elbows him in the side.

“You love it,” she says, smiling as they sit across from each other in their usual spot in the library, feet settling together beneath the table.

The thing is, he does. He’s always liked Chrissy, even back when she was all sunshine and rainbows, but even more so now that there’s some grit to her.

“Shut up.”

Chrissy beams, all sunshine again as she plunks her stack of books onto the table and shuffles her letter-drafting notebook to the top. Only once she’s opened to a blank page does she bite her lip, looking up at Steve through her lashes.

“Are you sure you want to keep doing this?” she asks, voice hesitant.

“What do you mean?”

She breaks eye contact, fiddling with her pen anxiously. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Steve doesn’t tell her that he already is, that a part of him, the small, squirming part he keeps hidden in his heart, wishes he’d never done this. That watching Eddie kiss Chrissy’s hand and knowing without being told that she’s the kind of girl Eddie might want had broken something inside him. That Steve knows he could never be Eddie’s choice, and knowing that burns.

But, since the flirting started, Steve hasn’t written a word, and that’s worse, somehow. He only has the one tether to Eddie, and he wants to keep it, even if it’s through Chrissy’s handwriting, and Chrissy’s words, and Chrissy’s face.

He just wants.

Instead of saying all that, he reaches out, putting his hand gently on Chrissy’s hand and replies, “I’m sure,” even as the fluttering of his heart makes a liar of him.

Chrissy’s still biting her lip, not looking reassured at all. Steve’s gut churns with worry. ”Are you, though? You didn’t sign up for this, and if you don’t want to do it anymore, that’s okay.”

She smiles, her bottom lip blanched white from her teeth, as she replies, “We’re in this together, right?”

Even with the smile, she still looks worried, but Chissy puts her pen to paper and dutifully writes out the words Steve speaks, editing and revising each thought until it’s something someone might want to hear.

They keep their voices quiet because there are more people sitting in the library than usual today: a big group working on a project, a couple of freshman scowling down at what looks like a Geometry textbook, and closest of all, a girl he recognizes as a band nerd, flipping through a magazine too fast to really be reading it.

It doesn’t take them long—they’ve done this enough times that it’s become almost an art form. Chrissy pushes the completed letter across the table for his final review before it’s signed and sealed.

“It’s good,” Steve says, pushing the letter back across to her to be dropped off in Eddie’s locker.

His heart aches; Steve wants to slap himself.

Instead, he parts ways with Chrissy at their cars, Jeff already waiting beside hers to be driven home, and goes back to his house, bereft of the noise Chrissy had brought only that morning.

*** 

Eddie had worried when there wasn’t another letter after he’d started talking to Chrissy. Did she not like him anymore? Was she done writing them entirely now that she can talk to him face to face?

He worries incessantly for days about it, even as Chrissy keeps saying hi to him in the halls, keeps smiling back when they catch eyes across the cafeteria, keeps being her usual, friendly self.

It’s just, the letters are different. They’re more raw, somehow, more real. And, no matter how this thing goes with Chrissy, if they stop coming, he’ll miss them.

So, it’s a relief when he opens his locker the Monday after Chrissy’s eventful Hellfire induction to find a letter. He can’t wait to read it, the anticipation has built up over too many days of not receiving any. So, he rushes to the same, familiar bathroom and opens it in the stall he’s starting to think of as his.

       Eddie —

       How did your show go? I bet you’ve got a couple groupies already, you’ve already got the look for it. Did you figure out the riff for the song you were working on?

       I tried playing the piano again, and I’m a little rusty, but it’s like riding a bike, you know? (Do you know how to ride a bike?) It’s nice, playing music, even if it’s all songs someone else has written, and they’re still not coming out right.

       I’m sorry it’s been so long since my last letter. I just didn’t know what to say. You’re so patient, and nice, and I got caught up in my head you know? But I missed you.

       I slept with your letter beneath my pillow last night, hoping for dreams of you.

       Yours, Always

       Your Secret Admirer

       P.S. I haven’t read it, but maybe I will. Just to keep with the theme, put this letter in The Lord of the Rings.

He devours the words, slumping onto the toilet seat the longer he reads. It’s perfect—just what he was missing. He reads it once, twice, thrice, the same way he had when he’d received the first two, disbelieving that such lovely words were meant for him.

Eddie skips his second period, first already long gone by the time he’d trundled into the school’s parking lot, and pens a response, then and there.

He goes to the library immediately, nervous that if he doesn’t drop it off right away, she’ll assume Eddie isn’t going to write back at all. 

He waffles over which book to put it in before finally tucking it into The Fellowship of the ring–it’s the first in the trilogy, and Chrissy’s probably too cool to even know it’s a trilogy. 

There’s no response in his locker before Hellfire on Thursday, but that’s okay because true to her word, Chrissy shows up again. She’s smiling as she bounces through the doorway, all springy curls and happy cheer.

“Hi!” Chrissy says, waving as she beams her blinding smile around the room,  all that cheerleader enthusiasm on display.

Doug looks struck dumb, staring at her with his mouth open. Gareth’s gaze is darting back and forth from the door to Eddie, eyes growing wider and wider with each pass. Only Jeff smiles and waves back.

“I hope we’re not intruding,” Chrissy says, elbowing Harrington in the side until he finally looks up and gives his own half-hearted wave.

Because Harrington is slumped in the doorway behind her, looking like he’s trying to hide the entire bulk of his body behind Chrissy’s petite frame.

“Uh, hey,” he says, ears strangely pink as his eyes dart around the room.

He never looks Eddie’s way at all.

“Hey, man,” Jeff replies, the only person aside from Chrissy that is currently functioning.

“Steve, can come, right?” Chrissy asks, like he’s not already in the doorway behind her.

Eddie’s gut sinks then swoops. Harrington’s a jock—what will he do locked in a room with a bunch of nerds? But, the chipped nail polish.

Eddie’s mind is full of screaming, thoughts flip flopping over each other as he tries to articulate all the things wrong with Harrington coming to Hellfire, but all that comes out of his mouth is a chipper, “sure!”

Chrissy’s smile grows teeth—is she going to bite him?

Eddie resists the urge to take a step back.

Jeff pulls out the vacant seat beside him, still looking cool as a cucumber while the rest of them scramble. “Come sit down.”

And that’s how he finds himself with a jock in Hellfire. Should they call an exterminator?

It’s Chrissy who takes the seat beside Jeff which leaves the only other empty chair next to Eddie’s throne. Eddie glares at Gareth, gesturing wildly for his friend to move up a seat, but Gareth’s too busy staring at Harrington like he’s a cobra about to strike.

Harrington is looking at the only empty seat with the exact same expression.

“Steve,” Chrissy hisses, and Harrington jumps. “Go sit down.

The pink on his ears travels down to his cheeks—it’s unfair, really, how pretty and even his blush is. When Eddie blushes, he blotches bright red from forehead to chest.

Steve’s embarrassment suits him.

Eddie waits until he’s seated before clapping loud enough that everyone startles as they turn to him. “Now!” he starts in the grand voice he uses when he’s performing his Dungeon Master duties. “Are you two playing?”

“No,” Harrington rushes out, the pink of his blush deepening to a red as he finally meets Eddie’s eyes. “I mean, Chrissy said she just watched last time?”

“We didn’t want to slow you down,” Chrissy cuts in.

Eddie nods, looking between the couple as awkwardness stews in the stilted silence.

“Alright,” he replies. “Gird your loins, lords and lady.”

Knowing a cue when they hear one, the Hellfire boys scramble to pull out character sheets and dice.

And they’re off!

It takes a minute to fall into the familiar minutiae of telling a story with not one but two interlopers, but Eddie manages it. This is where he thrives: a captive audience and all the power to fuck with them in the palm of his hand.

He only stumbles once, words jumbling together when he looks up and catches Harrington staring at him, eyes wide, cheeks still flushed from his earlier embarrassment as he bites his lip, ass literally on the edge of his seat as Eddie cobbles together the climactic finish to their latest encounter.

Harrington looks away quickly, but Eddie knows what he saw: Harrington is into this nerd shit. He’d tease him if he wasn’t worried that it would end in a swirlie.

Still, Eddie can feel his head puffing up like an overfilled balloon. He’s on the top of his game, painting grand adventures with grander words, all gestures and enthusiasm. He feels electric, the way he always does when there’s a new sheep in his flock to impress. His skin’s almost buzzing with it.

After all, even if his audience member is a jock, Eddie’s always been great at putting on a show. 

Neither of the interlopers say anything until they’re busy packing up. Eddie lounges back in his throne, watching Chrissy help Jeff with his dice. She’s smiling up at him, clearly just as interested in their nerd shit as Harrington.

Eddie turns his eyes back to Harrington to see how he’s taking his girl talking to a guy that isn’t him only to find Harrington staring at him again.  When Eddie meets his eyes, he ducks his head, cheeks tinting that familiar pink.

Is Steve Harrington fucking awkward?

“You’re good at that,” Harrington says quietly.

Eddie hums, confused. He’s shuffling his papers back together, not looking down at what he’s doing. What’s happening in front of him is far more interesting.

“At what, big boy?”

“Uh,” Harrington starts, darting his eyes back up to Eddie’s for a second before looking back down at his fiddling hands. “Telling a story.”

Eddie smiles, something warm and amorphous filling his stomach. “Thanks,” he says, lightly kicking Harrington’s ankle.

Harrington twitches, lets out a quick, “mmhmm,” and then turns away from Eddie to go find his girlfriend, dismissing Eddie without another word.

“Ready to go, babe?” Steve asks, settling his arm around her waist and damn-near frog marching her out of the room.

“Bye, Jeff! Bye, Eddie!” Chrissy calls, still cheerful even as her boyfriend controls her every move. Maybe she’s used to it—first Carver and now Harrington. “See you next week?”

Neither of them wait for a reply.

The silence is stifling in their wake. Only Jeff seems unbothered as he stuffs all of his supplies into his backpack. Doug hasn’t even touched his dice.

“What the hell was that?” Gareth asks, whipping around to Eddie.

“How the hell should I know?”

Jeff snorts. “You invited them,” he says.

“I invited Chrissy,” Eddie whines. “She invited Harrington.”

That catches Jeff’s attention. He glares at Eddie like he’s the one that had invaded their sacred space. “You’re not this stupid,” he says, swinging his backpack onto his back and striding toward the door. “I’ve got a ride home, don’t wait for me.”

“What does that mean?” Eddie demands.

The only answer is the door swinging shut.

*** 

Once he’s walked Chrissy to her car and watched her pull out of the parking lot safe from Carver’s creepy hands, Steve collapses into his own car. He presses his face into the steering wheel and groans, long and loud, assured in his safe isolation. 

When the passenger door opens, he jumps, neck cracking with the speed at which he turns his head, ready to fight off the trespasser.

“Oh, it’s you,” Steve says, dropping his head back to the steering wheel.

“He knows,” Jeff says, voice serious enough that Steve raises his head back up immediately, heartbeat ratcheting up.

It takes a second for the words to connect, and when they do, his heartbeat quickens further, sweat pooling on the back of his neck, hands clenched hard enough on the steering wheel to hurt as fight or flight hits him.

“What?” he asks, the word cracking around his suddenly parched throat.

“Shit,” Jeff mutters, reaching out to pat Steve’s shoulder. “Not about you!”

Steve’s shoulders slump, breath shuddering out of him as Jeff continues to pat his shoulder, too awkward to be all that comforting. “Then, what—”

“He knows Chrissy is putting the notes in his locker.”

Steve sighs, slumping into his seat, uncaring of the way it crushes Jeff’s hand against the backrest. “Yeah, we figured,” he says, suddenly exhausted. “Do you know how?”

Jeff’s biting his lip when Steve looks his way. “He didn’t tell me,” he mutters. “But I know my best friend.”

It’s Steve’s turn to reach across the car and clasp Jeff’s shoulder. “I’m sure he has a reason for not telling you,” Steve replies, trying to smile past all that exhaustion.

Jeff snorts. “A stupid one, maybe.”

Steve hums, squeezing once more before dropping his hold on Jeff, suddenly realizing how stupid they must look, leaning toward each other, hands on each other’s shoulders like they’re having some sort of bro moment.

Steve turns back to the front of his car, cranks the engine, and smiles across at Jeff as the other boy takes the hint and drops his own hold. “Want a ride home?”

Instead of answering, Jeff puts on his seatbelt.

Jeff’s house is surprisingly close to Steve’s own. It’s a bit smaller than his, but there’s already a car in the driveway, and the shadows of silhouettes moving behind the pulled curtains, warm yellow light filtering through the fabric and onto the street.

Steve wishes he could go in with a fierce sort of longing that surprises him.

Jeff’s already got his seatbelt off and the passenger door open when he sighs, turning back around and settling back in his seat.

“You should come next week,” he says, all earnest in that way that seems to come so naturally to him and must have gotten him eaten alive in middle school.

“You can’t be serious,” Steve replies. There’s a tension headache growing, exasperated by the incredulous scrunching of his eyebrows. “That was a disaster.”

“Aw, it wasn’t that bad,” Jeff says, but he’s grinning like he’s remembering something funny. Steve’s got a few guesses what.

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious, man.” Jeff clasps his shoulder again—maybe that’s just something he does?

Steve scoffs, the roll of his eyes making his head pound. He opens his mouth to retort, something about Eddie’s reaction to Steve sitting beside him, but Jeff beats him to the punch.

“I know Eddie. And that in there?” He points back the way they’d come, like if Steve just strains his eyes, he’ll be able to catch sight of Eddie’s stupid fancy chair, and the stupid musty drama room, and the stupid look on Eddie’s face. “—is him interested.”

Steve closes his mouth, swallowing all the spit in his mouth, hoping it’s not audible to Jeff no matter how quiet the car is. “In me?” he asks, voice cracking embarrassingly.

Jeff doesn’t break eye contact, but his mouth twists uncomfortably. “Like you’re interested in him?” Jeff asks, continuing before Steve can reply. “I don’t know, man.”

Steve droops, the hope blooming in his chest curdling and sinking down into his stomach like old milk. He wants, desperately, to go home, turn out all the lights, and curl up alone in his bed to sleep away the rest of the day. But, Jeff’s still in his car, so he clenches the wheel between his fingers and says, “okay.”

“But, he doesn’t get you,” Jeff continues, voice gentling further. “And that intrigues him.”

Jeff’s still smiling like that should be some sort of boon to Steve’s ego, but it’s not. It lands like a brick. No one ever gets him, and whether he intrigues them or not, it always ends the same: him, alone in his big, empty house, waiting for a phone call that will never come, a doorbell that will never ring, a window that will never be snuck through.

He’d been through it before, with Donna in sixth grade, Nancy in tenth, hell, even Carol and Tommy for more years than he can count.

Intrigue has never gotten him anywhere. But, Jeff’s smiling, small and real, so Steve replies, “thanks, man,” smiling back until the other boy gets out of the car and he can safely drive away.

He’s got a dark house and a chilled bed waiting for him.

For the first time since this whole thing started, Steve writes the first draft of one of his secret admirer letters alone.

PART 9

[ellecdc]

Yaaay:D

That poly moonwater sickfic was so sweet- maybe you could write a sequel where one (or both) of the boys get sick from when they were helping care for you <3

I love these little requests from all the way back in May - it's like a little treasure trove. Also, I wrote this while currently sick and tired (both in the literal sense) so I'm not actually sure how this turned out; it took me a really long time to manage what I got so I apologize for inconsistencies or just all around poor writing <3

poly!moonwater x fem!reader who got Reg sick [1k words]

CW: sick fic, fluff, Remus being The Worst™ [positive and affectionate], my potentially poor writing

You scrunched your eyes closed and threw your head back rather roughly against the sofa; arms that were holding your book falling limp into your lap.

Remus - less theatrical - did not throw his head back nor did he let his book fall into his lap, but he too scrunched his eyes shut with an equally exasperated scrunch of his nose. 

“Who gave him that thing?” You grumbled as you tucked a bookmark in to save your page and made to stand.

“Do you want me to go, dove?” He offered softly, giving you a sympathetic look when he caught you by the wrist as you made to walk past him. 

“No.” You grumbled rather petulantly, kissing the space between his brows when they furrowed further in sympathy. “It’s my fault, I’ll go.”

Remus smiled at you before pursing his lips in ask which you quickly answered by placing a kiss there, too. “I hardly think you did this on purpose.”

The - now ear splitting - sound of the bell ringing again interrupted your moment as you let out a sigh.

“No,” you agreed, “I certainly didn’t do this on purpose.” 

You poked your head into the bedroom to see Regulus much in the same way you left him, curled up in the fetal position under a mountain of blankets, though his hand was currently poking out of said blankets with his bell held tightly in his grasp.

“Hey bubs.” You offered gently; knowing that for as nettlesome as you currently found him, you really had sort of done this to him. “How’re you feeling?”

“Awful.” He muttered, barely putting any effort into aiming as he tossed the bell back in the direction of the bedside table.

You made a sympathetic humming sound as you perched on the edge of the bed and pushed some of his curls away from his forehead. “What can I do for you?”

“Can I have more meds?” He whimpered, voice awfully small as if he already knew the answer but was hoping to elicit some compassion.

You grimaced as you looked at the clock sitting beside balled up tissues, the damned bell you’d supplied him with, a glass half full of water with a pitcher next to it, and some lozenges. “I’m sorry, my love; it’s not been long enough.”

Your response was met with a petulant whine, a body burrowing further into the blankets, and a hand slithering into yours. 

“How about I rub some more vaporub on your chest, hm?” You asked, beginning to pull away without waiting for an answer, only for his hand to tighten on yours.

“Can you just sit here with me?” 

You cooed almost embarrassingly as you settled more comfortably beside him, one hand holding his as the other raked through his hair, “of course” falling so easily from your lips when he looked so young, so vulnerable, and so innocent with his pink flushed cheeks and glassy eyes no doubt from the pressure in his sinuses. 

“I’ve been terribly troublesome, haven’t I?” He asked a few moments later, startling you when you thought he’d been drifting off.

“No, darling.” You denied, though he lifted his head slightly so he could give you a disbelieving look. “You’ve not been terribly troublesome.” You amended, earning you an almost snort of laughter that quickly dissolved into a coughing fit. 

You helped him sit up and passed him his glass of water.

“You’re so nice to me.” He whispered as if the feeling of your lips against his temple was a foreign concept. You tried to quell your smile as you pressed another kiss to his fever warmed skin.

“I’m really not, bubs. I did this to you, remember?”

You were met with silence as Regulus’ eyes darted around your face. “You’re so mean to me.” 

“Awe Reg, come on now.” Remus sounded from the door as he walked in with a cup of tea in one hand and a damp cloth in the other. “You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t tell me what I do and don’t mean.” Regulus harrumphed, though his ire was quickly undermined as he made grabby hands for the cup of tea. 

“If Remus catches this next, this flu will have had an almost month-long stint in this house.” You mused as Regulus drank his tea.

“I don’t get sick.” Remus offered nonchalantly with a casual shrug of his shoulders.

“What do you mean you don’t get sick.” Regulus all but sneered as he glowered at his perfectly healthy boyfriend over the rim of his tea cup. 

“I don’t get sick.” Remus repeated. “It’s like the universe has decided I’ve got enough shite to deal with, my immune system’s just not one of them.”

Both you and Regulus blinked at him with varying levels of jealousy whilst he brushed lint off the sleeve of his arm. 

“Well isn’t that just fucking dandy for you.” You spat eventually, causing Regulus to nearly spit out his tea in laughter as Remus’ mouth fell open in faux offence. 

“You minx.” He accused you. “I’m in here helping you help your boyfriend-”

“My boyfriend!?” You squealed.

“-who you got sick. I think you should be rather grateful.” 

“Grateful.” You scoffed as you turned to look at Regulus like ‘can you believe this guy?’. 

“I’m grateful for you, Rem.” Regulus let out with a sigh as he handed Remus the cup of tea back and moved to recline against his pillows - that you’d fluffed to perfection for him - with Remus’ damp cloth on his forehead. 

“Okay, well, since you’re all so well taken care of up here.” You teased as you made to stand, Regulus circling his hand around your wrist as Remus made a protesting squawk before you were being manhandled into his lap, though your hand remained safely in Regulus’. 

“No.” Remus murmured into your neck. “We need you to nurse us back to health.”

“I thought you don’t get sick.” You accused.

“I don’t, but I find myself deficient in vitamin you.”

Both you and Regulus groaned as you tried to wriggle yourself free from Remus’ grasp and Regulus buried his head under the blankets. 

“Both of you out, all this corny flirting is making me nauseous again.” Regulus grumbled.

“Well, you heard the man.” Remus stage whispered quickly before he was all but shoving you out of the room. “Feel better bubs! You know where to find us!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Regulus called. “I’ll just ring the sodding bell.”

“You should have never given him that bell, dove.”

[multidimensionimagines]

Sweater Weather (part 2)

part 1 part 2!

content warnings: smut (MINORS DNI), Ford being kinda pathetic, afab!reader, praise (mostly from Ford <3)

summary: you borrow Ford’s sweater when it gets cold

author note: sorry this took so long to finish! I’m sick rn but I got it done lol

As you huffed and rummaged through your closet, you couldn’t find a single thing that was thick and long enough to shield your chilly body from the cold of the Shack. There was no fireplace down in Ford’s lab, and god knows Stanley was too cheap to install a thermostat, so you were left to scavenge for yourself like a hungry, cloth eating possum.

That is until you heard the door from across the hall creak, the one to Ford’s room. You stood silently for a moment before walking over there with a new idea in mind.

“I’m sure he won’t mind if I just borrow one of his, right?” You mumbled to yourself, shifting through the hangers in his closet. “he’s got like a million of em…” you mused to yourself, noticing how he just had 5 of the exact same red turtleneck in his closet. You pulled one out and threw it over yourself, embracing how the soft, thick wool embraced your goosepimpled skin. You shuddered, bringing your arms up to hug yourself to allow the garment to trap your body heat as it was a little big on you. And as you did, you could get a small hint of Ford’s natural scent that still clung onto the microfibres of the sweater even after being put through the wash. You took the collar and brought it up to your nose, closing your eyes and taking in a long, deep breath that sent a giddy shiver through your body. You loved the natural scent of your partner, and you remembered that one time you mentioned it and he went on to explain to you how that “was actually a sign that you two were biologically compatible”. You snorted, he always seemed to make even the most technical and “boring” aspects of romance more.. romantic. Deciding that this was sufficient, you trotted back downstairs to revisit your patiently awaiting boyfriend (even though he was probably incredibly focused on his work so you would hardly consider him waiting).

“Hi honey!” You cheered, entering the lab and closing the door behind you. Ford didn’t look back to greet you this time, but you could hear the smile in his voice from behind his head. He busily scribbled in his journal and gave you a wave with his free hand.

“Hello dear! I can trust you found something reasonable?”

You nodded a small ‘yeah’ and joined him again at his desk, standing behind him and resting a hand on the back of his shoulder. This caught his attention, and he lifted his eyes up from his page to peer at you from the corner of his eye. What you didn’t think would happen however, was his mouth dropping open with a slight gasp and his torso completely turning to face you. You almost jumped, suddenly unsure if you had somehow stepped over some kind of boundary.

“Oh, sorry, did you want me to put on something else?” You felt kinda bad now, feeling like you should have asked him first before taking something that was his. But he shook his head, his mouth quickly opening and closing as he tried to find the right words.

“Uh.. no! N-no- it’s-uh..” he brought a fist to his lips to clear his throat for a few long, awkward seconds. You furrowed your eyebrows, still not entirely sure if he was mad or just… surprised. Ford shook his head again, blinking rapidly and ducking his head down to gaze at his lap, collecting his thoughts as he squeezed his eyes shut momentarily before opening them again.

“It’s fine. You look…” he trailed off, placing a hand on his thigh and squeezing the fabric of his pants to try and get a grip on himself. “you look nice, I’m just..” he adjusted his glasses, lifting his head back up to you. Oh, that was a mistake. Seeing you looking so perfect in something that was his made him loose track of his thoughts all over again. He sucked in a sharp breath.

“Surprised. To see you in something of mine, is all…” he trailed off, his gaze wandering to the side so that he might have some semblance of dignity in explaining himself to you. But the red blush that was forming in his cheeks betrayed him.

You weren’t an idiot, nor were you blind, so you could definitely see how this was affecting him. And it made you a bit proud of yourself, and you hadn’t forgotten that your hand was still on his shoulder, so you rubbed your thumb gently back and forth a little, making his breath hitch.

“Oh good..” you chuckled “I was beginning to worry that you were upset that I took one of your sweaters.”

Ford let out a nervous laugh, his shoulders very obviously shaking under your touch as he looked up at you with a crooked smile. “Oh, no no no, my dear. Surprised, yes. Mad? No. Not at you, never at you.” He said softly, placing a hand on top of yours.

Now was your turn to blush and smile awkwardly. “Mind if I sit back down?”

“What?” Ford blinked, taking a second to realize what you meant. You had been sitting in his lap earlier. Ah, yes… right. “Oh! Um, yes! Yes, of course you can…” he opened his arms and shifted his legs towards you so that you could easily slide back onto his lap, he shifted himself awkwardly so that he was sitting right back in his previous position, only with one arm around your waist this time while the other furiously worked on his notations. Well… tried to anyway.

You were too damn distracting. With your body so close to his in that sweater that he owned. His sweater. His. On you. The image of you in it driving him crazy with the idea that it marked you in a way. Sort of. Like you wearing it was equivalent of you with a tattoo that read “Property of Stanford Pines”. And oh how that idea made him shiver. He shifted again in his seat, trying to avoid your gorgeous thighs from brushing up against the growing stiffness in his pants, not wanting to make it so obvious that he was in fact very, very aroused by this. By you. But it was getting harder to think, he was having to erase and re write words more than normal, his cursive was getting sloppy, he was writing too fast and his breath was becoming quick, all while you were mindlessly resting your head on his shoulder and clinging to him for stability, your eyes half lidded as they watched his free hand work. Which put on even MORE pressure for him to try and act normal. Just be normal, he told himself. But who was he kidding, he’s never been normal a day in his life. Oh god, that scent of yours was gonna be on that sweater for the next couple days. Was he absolutely sure that you weren’t a siren? He would have to run some tests. You had already told him that no, you weren’t, but damn it if moments like these didn’t make it hard for him to believe.

It wasn’t until a small “Ford, you okay?” left your lips that he realized that he was gripping your waist obscenely tight.

He gasped, immediately loosening his grip and dropping his pen. He turned to you with a wild look in his eyes. “Ah- no!”

You raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, yes! I mean.. uh…”

You lifted your hands to his face, caressing his cheeks and inspecting him. He remained silent as you turned his head gently to each side. “You’re burning up. I can leave if I’m distracting you.” You said softly with a genuine air of care in your tone, rubbing your thumbs along his stubbly cheeks. Oh, why did you have to be so genuine and sweet? You were making it all the more difficult for him to not feel disappointed with himself for getting so worked up by something so seemingly mundane. But in a hasty move, his hands flew to your wrists, his eyes wider than before.

“No!”

You furrowed your brows, waiting a few seconds as he collected his thoughts to speak.

“I’m sorry, this is very inappropriate of me. I shouldn’t be so worked up over this but I- you…” he sighed, hanging his head down in shame. “you just.. look very… tempting, like this.”

Your mouth dropped open, and a small “oh!” fell from your lips. “…really?” You chuckled, moving yourself closer to him in his lap which made him stiffen and lean back, trying to not let you see just how much you were getting to him. And you barely even had to do anything.

“Ah… yes.” He looked away from you, the blush in his cheeks and the shame in his eyes too much for him to bear to face you. You had to hold back your laughter at just how darn adorable he was being, you didn’t want to embarrass him.

“Oh, Stanford..” you cooed, bringing your lips to his for a kiss, making him jump in his seat. You expected him to shy away, but his other hand flew to your waist, bringing you closer. A small moan escaped him as you lifted your leg up and over to his side, effectively straddling his lap, and as you did you felt your thigh brush against his bulge, making him gasp. You smiled, not being able to help the small giggle that escaped you as you continued kissing him. He responded with an embarrassed groan as he gripped your waist tighter, digging his fingers into your sides through the thick fabric of the sweater.

“Mmmm… darling…” he huffed against your lips, not taking himself off of you for a second. You could feel his hot breath on your cheek as it quickened, his hands roaming over your body in a more feverish attempt to feel every inch of you like this, making the sweater hike up an inch or two above your torso. He quickly dipped his hand underneath to feel your skin against his fingers, rubbing sensual little circles into the dip of your waist with his thumb, squeezing any flesh he could get his fingers on.

“Mm..mm-my dear, please, if I don’t have you for at least a moment I’m afraid I won’t be able to finish the rest of my work..” he pleaded, pulling back and looking at you with big, desperate eyes behind his fogged up glasses. You melted at the sight, and made a mental note to wear his sweater more often.

“Do whatever you need to, sweetie~” you grinned, sighing and collapsing your lips back onto his, earning a muffled noise of excitement from him. Quickly things got heated, and Stanford lifted you up with a grunt, shifting one arm to cradle your perfect behind and the other to hastily shove aside his materials, knocking some to the floor by accident. But he didn’t care right now. All he cared about was you. Your body, your scent, your lips… just you. Everything was you right now. He gently laid you back down on his desk as he continued to kiss you, trapping you between his torso and the table. His tongue flickered out against your bottom lip in a desperate plea for access, which you oh so graciously granted. He let out a shuddering, whiny moan when you did, shyly sliding his tongue between your lips into your open mouth.

You sneakily reached back underneath your- well, Ford’s sweater that was on you, and undid the clasp of your bra, maneuvering the straps down your shoulders and out of each sleeve so that you could pull it down and out from under the garment. Ford felt you do this and opened his eyes momentarily to look down at you, his eyes scanning over the sight of you now; your nipples that were made hard by the cold poking through the fabric of his sweater. He didn’t think his face could burn any hotter. And he couldn’t think of a sight lovelier.

“My god…” he muttered, licking his lips involuntarily. You could see sweat already dripping from his forehead. “Dear, you are just…” he trailed off, his eyes flickered from your chest to your gleaming eyes. Exquisite. Beautiful. Show-stopping. More incredible of a sight than the Milky Way itself. Those were all the things he wanted to say, but the words caught in his poor throat. He gulped in an attempt to moisten his vocal cords so that he could speak. “M-may I…?” he whispered, not taking his eyes off of yours as he gently trailed a hand up your torso, his fingers twitching at the anticipation of maybe getting to touch you if you allowed it. And bless your good, kind heart, you nodded. He’d have to thank you thrice over after this.

He smiled and leaned back down to capture you in another hot, messy kiss as his hand excitedly flew up to cup your breast, squeezing it gently through the thick red fabric. His hand began moving in small circles against it, gently massaging the fleshy mound in an attempt to get you a little more warmed up, and by god was it working with the way his palm pressed into your sensitive bud as it moved in little circles. Even beneath the sweater, you could feel almost every sensation of his touch. His other hand moved under the sweater, squeezing your waist gently to hold you in place while he began to kiss down your jaw, he lifted the hand on your waist now to cradle the back of your head as he went down to attack the column of your neck, using two of his fingers to push down the collar so that it wasn’t in the way of his numerous little love bites he was leaving between kisses.

“Oh god… Ford..” you moaned, tilting your head back to give him more access. And you had no idea how much that just spurred him on. What could he really say? You drove him crazy. He shuddered when he heard that, biting into your neck a little harder.

“S-say that again… my dear.. p-please..” he whispered huskily, his hot breath on the skin of your neck.

You felt your cheeks beginning to flush and let your stuttering lips utter his name again. Which earned a little whimper from him as he pushed his lips back up into yours again, his brows were furrowed as if he were focused intensely on an important project. The more little noises and gasps he earned from you, the more he felt his hips began to unintentionally push up against you. His bulge aching very obviously in his slacks, the hardness pressing to your core. His hips started to buck in little spastic moments, not able to contain his lust for you.

“Mmm.. mm.. ohhhh…” Ford shuddered as he found a steady rhythm for him to desperately rut against you, despite you both still having your pants fully on. He was essentially dry humping you now through your jeans, causing you to bring your legs up a little to cling to his sides as he had you laid comfortably back on the desk still. You felt his fingers give your nipple a little pinch, rubbing it between his thumb and index finger gently making you moan. He wanted more of that. That sound. He wanted to record that and put it in an audio piece to install into his brain so that he could hear it whenever and wherever he wanted with complete and utter discrepancy. Surely he could do that, right? If he could have a metal plate installed why not something as simple as that?

Ford moved his hand to sneak under the sweater, his fingers ghosting against your skin and meeting your breast once more. Doing the same mannerisms he had beforehand, only now he was able to feel your supple, beautiful bare skin against his fingers. He sighed happily at the contact, deciding he wanted more and shoving his other hand under your sweater, cupping your other breast and kneading and massaging it under his large, rough palm. Switching between squeezing them and then rubbing them in small circles, purposefully pressing his palms against your hard, sensitive buds.

“Mmmmphh~ Oh.. darling” he panted against your lips. “darling you feel divine…” he said shakily, and before you could get any response out he pinched both your nipples, making you squeak in surprise. Oh god, that little sound you made… it was a miracle he didn’t cum right then and there in his pants. He began to move his head down again, leaving a trail of hot, hasty kisses against your neck as he mumbled “I’m sorry.. I need to..”

You breathed out a shaky little “huh?” before feeling his hands slide down your torso and over your hips, gripping onto them firmly to move you up his desk so he could duck his head down to your chest, shoving the sweater fabric to bunch up to your collarbone revealing your perfect torso, tummy, and chest. All bare and all for him. God, your tits looked fucking fantastic, his sweater made a perfect arch above them, framing them in a way that welcomed him to stare at. He suddenly got an idea, he gripped the bunched up fabric and held it to your lips. “You may want to bite down on this.” He suggested, making your eyes widen, but you did as he told you to and gently took what you could between your teeth, the sight making him shiver. You didn’t even have to do much, did you? Seductress.

Ford wasted no time in moving back down to wrap his lips around your nipple, taking the sweet bud gently between his lips and caressing the other with his fingers, tweaking and squeezing the one between his fingers and kissing and sucking on the one in his mouth. Rolling his tongue around the pebble occasionally. His breathing was heavy against your skin and his other hand squeezed your hip to keep you in place for him. God, he just loved you like this. Laid out for him to adore and worship and play with. He gave your breast a rough little squeeze, making you gasp, but it was muffled by the sweater. Ford groaned, the sound vibrating through his mouth onto your chest. He switched his mouth to the other side, taking his hand from your hip to hold your breast that was now slick with his own saliva, and he did the same thing as before. Earning another little sigh and a coo of his name from your sweet, angel voice.

“Ohhhh… my darling..” he murmured, kissing you down the swell of your gorgeous mound, squishing it up slightly, then your torso, then your stomach. He reached down to bring your hips into his grip by both hands, lifting them slightly so he could bury his face into the flesh of your lower stomach just above the waistband of your jeans and leave a long, deep, lingering kiss.

“Mmmmphhh… mmmm~” he moaned into your skin, making you giggle.

“Dear you’re absolutely stunning… a goddess… may I..?”

Ford tugged sheepishly at your jeans, hooking a finger into one of the empty belt loops and looking up at you with a shy, begging expression. And how could you say no to such a face? With his glasses all crooked and his silver hair a mess over his eyes. His cheeks still redder than an apple orchard. With a grin, you enthusiastically nodded, making him beam and continue to kiss your abdomen, closing his eyes and carefully unbuttoning your pants to peel them down off your thighs. Ford didn’t ever think he would get over that feeling, of undressing you and revealing your perfect skin to him. Like he was unwrapping a present only he got to bear witness to. After tugging them the rest of the way down your beautiful legs, discarding them completely, he took a moment to appreciate the sight between your legs, feeling a little less embarrassed too at just how hard he currently was. If the wet stain on your panties at your core was anything to go by, you were just as aroused as he was. And Ford couldn’t help but feel a small sense of pride swell in him that he was able to elicit that kind of excitement from you.

Ford immediately got on his knees, feeling that this was the most appropriate position for him to be in at all times when he was with you like this to be honest. You deserved no less than complete and utter worship in his mind. He wasted no time grabbing your thighs, hoisting them both up over his shoulders and turning his head to each side to leave an even amount of kisses on each one. He nearly creamed when he felt your hands reach down to play with his hair. No, he would not let himself do that, not yet at least. Despite how much he wanted to just say fuck it and yank you down onto his lap, or get back up on top of you and fuck into you senseless like you were rabbits trying to go for a world record of most litters in one spring, his sense of self control was impeccable. Especially right now. He wanted, no, he needed to treat you like a princess. Because that’s what you were. A princess. Yes exactly. His mouth continued to kiss and suck on the flesh of your inner thighs as his fingers dug into you, making you squirm and shiver under his touch as well as a few moans and whispers of his name that tickled his ears and made his cock twitch under his slacks. Ford was certain that if he looked down, he would see a rather embarrassingly large wet spot right where his tip ached. But he tried not to think about it, as hard as that was right now. No pun intended. He just thanked the stars you were laying on top of his table, unable to see any of the humiliating turmoil he was experiencing down below.

Ford hooked a finger around the hem of your panties as he continued to suck and bite up your thigh, leaving a hot wet trail of his spit along your skin. He yanked at the undergarment gently a few times to ask permission as his mouth was occupied with marking your flesh.

You nodded from where you laid back on the desk, letting out a shuddering breath. “Yes.. please, Ford… god yes..”

And that was all he needed to hear. Ford removed his mouth from your skin for only a millisecond, eager to get his lips back on you with the speed of which he removed your underwear. He lifted one of his hands from your thigh and let it rest on his shoulder that was broad enough to have it just sit there, and slowly ran two fingers up your already wet slits, shivering at how slick you already were for him. Just perfect enough to part your folds and slide two fingers in, just to warm you up before the main event.

He heard a long, deep moan come from you and only wished he could see your face when you did that. Imagining what it must have looked like only made his trousers tighter if you could believe it. He almost didn’t, but then again, it was you. Ford wouldn’t be too shocked if you had been able to make ejaculate with just a look. And some days… well he got pretty close.

He twisted his wrist upward so that he cupped your pussy, his fingers curling in and out of you and making sure he was pressing the ball of his palm against the sensitive button that rested atop of your vulva. Rubbing it in tandem with his fingers. Ford could already feel your clit begin to pulse and swell under his touch, making him groan against your thigh. He took in a deep breath to capture your scent in his nose but also to steady himself from the sounds of pleasure you were making because of him. He wasn’t sure how much longer he would be able to hold out. He had to make you cum, and quickly. So he removed his hand from your heat, and despite the desperate little whine that escaped you he managed to keep his composure for just a second. Ford peered up at your face from where he kneeled, and being rather tall he could still view you as if he were hovering on top of you, and by god did you look exquisite. Your face was flushed, your chest heaved and your lips quivered as you begged him for more of his touch. Oh, that was music to his ears.

“Mmm.. Ford….” You whined, rubbing your thigh against his stubbly cheek to signal for him to keep going- which drove him insane. He wished you would do that more often and made a mental note of that. To have the flesh of your thigh pressed against his face… ohhh.. he shuddered.

Ford had to catch his breath to mumble out a quick response. “I-I know dear, I know…” he chuckled, kissing softly along your other thigh one more time before pressing his mouth to your open folds, his tongue immediately made its way into your opening and tasted you fervently. The sounds he was making were comparable to that of a man that hadn’t eaten in days. Ford’s face was sufficiently pressed up against your core, his nose rubbing up against your clit. Unintentional, but nonetheless welcome as it provided even more friction and the pleasant sensation of his hot, heavy breaths on it as he ate you out. His tongue curled in and out of your hole as he squeezed and rubbed your upper thighs, working you like a muscle. He brought you in closer if that was even possible, hearing your rough and jagged panting from above him encouraging him to keep going. Ford groaned when he felt your thighs squeeze around his head more, smushing his glasses up his nose a little bit and making his eyes roll back into his head. God, you were beautiful. So so beautiful and too good for him. He should be thanking you for even letting him do this. And when you started to roll your hips forward into his mouth, he couldn’t help the way his own hips twitched upwards, like he was hoping to find some release by grinding into the air, but to no avail.

“Oh god.. Stanford…. ahhh….!” you gasped, tilting your head back against the cold, metal desk as your back arched slightly. That earned an even louder groan from him, his eyebrows slanting upwards. Ford felt his member twitch again when you gripped his silver hair tighter, and he almost lost himself there. But he continued to hold on for you, determined to make sure you were satisfied first. He began to suck on your clit, taking advantage of its sensitivity and running his tongue over it, he switched between that motion and shoving his tongue inside you, attempting to do both at once. And he was succeeding.

“Ahhhh! Oh god.. Ford.. I’m.. close!” You panted, gripping onto the edge of the table. You could feel your thigh muscles begin to tense as you rode yourself to your release. You came hard into his mouth, head tilting back and lips falling open as you groaned. Your legs curled inwards to keep Ford in place as you came down from your high. And he would not complain at all. He drank in the sweet honey substance, revelling in the taste of you as he continued to gently run his tongue up your labia to soothe the sensitivity.

Ford slowly began to pull away, panting and wiping a hand under his nose that was covered in your slick. He peered up at you to admire the mess he reduced you to. God you were stunning. He watched as you attempted to catch your breath, rubbing a thumb into the flesh of your thighs soothingly.

“That’s it… you did so good for me, my love.” He sighed, resting a cheek on your thigh.

You chuckled breathlessly, trying to lift yourself up to sit. You propped yourself up on your elbows and gazed at Ford through your lashes.

“thank you.. you were the one who did all the work, though” you said shyly, feeling kinda bad that he only ever seemed to focus on your pleasure. But every time you brought it up, he would shake his head and tut. Claiming that your pleasure was his.

Ford chuckled, standing up between your legs to lean down and plant a kiss to your lips. Trying to hide the fact that he was rather a mess himself. But your eyes drifted downward, seeing the very obvious stain on his slacks where his cock previously pressed up against the fabric and was now flaccid. You quickly put two and two together and realized…

“did you already…?”

You asked with a slight tease in your tone. He tried to play it off like he had no idea what you were talking about. But he knew he couldn’t hide anything from you.

“W-what? No, no I-“ his cheeks burned a red that reached the tips of his ears. He sighed. “Uh…” he gulped, feeling the burning embarrassment of 10,000 suns in his body.

You almost didn’t believe it just by the sheer flattery of it. Ford came, in his pants, just from getting to eat you out.

You giggled and brought his lips to yours again, digging your fingers in his hair.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Ford. I think it’s hot..”

Ford nearly choked on his own air. Adjusting his foggy glasses he sputtered out a nervous, disbelieving “Y-y-you do?!”

You nodded, bringing him closer to you. He stumbled a bit.

“Should we.. get cleaned up, then?”

Ford breathlessly chuckled, scratching the back of his head. Still a bit embarrassed but not nearly as mortified as before. “Ah.. yes, y-yes, let’s.”

He lifted you up off the desk, his sweater falling back over you and easily covering the intimate parts of your body. You both exchanged a loving little peck before taking the secret way to his room, lest he go through the shame and embarrassment of any of the Shack’s residents see him like this.

You’d have to borrow Ford’s sweaters more often.

[babybatss-blog]

A HELPING HAND

sirius black x reader, 1500 words

summary: if there’s one thing you know, it’s to always trust Professor McGonagall’s advice.

c/w: nerd-ish reader who gets in detention, friends to lovers, confession of love. Mentions of insecurities, but nothing too intense.

a/n: rest in piece to the darling dame maggie smith. I hope I did her and her wonderful character justice, I just wanted to appreciate her in the best way I knew how <3          

You’ve always been a good student. You study hard, get good grades and never get in trouble, sometimes even getting made fun of by nasty students for being a nerd. Sirius never made fun of you though, he was always so sweet when you cancelled on him to study for a particularly hard test or ignore him because your too engrossed in writing your essay.

But why does that even matter now? Your strides through the stone hallway break your thoughts, internally cursing yourself for even slightly letting your mind drift from the problem at hand. You got a detention!

Well, not exactly a detention, but it’s as close as you’ll ever get. Your grades have been dropping below your usual impossibly high standards, and now the headmistress has asked to meet with you to discuss your current predicament. Unlike your Black family counterpart, you pride yourself on academic appearances, especially when it comes to higher up authorities like Professor McGonagall.

You knock on the hard wood door three times, the wood rumbling as it opens almost immediately. Before you sits this aforementioned professor, enveloped by a thick leather armchair and adorned in expensive jewellery. Truthfully, you aspire to be like her someday. Commanding and treacherous, yet simultaneously kind and beautiful. Her emerald broach shimmers in the sunlight pouring into her tiny study, and her slick back bun has a few curled whisps falling out. You wonder how she always gets her hair to sit so nice, and how long that must take every morning.

“Good afternoon Miss McGonagall.” You nervously state, quickly walking in and sitting primly in an armchair. She simply nods, going back to whatever letter she is writing with a soft smile. “I presume you know why I called you in today?” “Of course. And I’m very sorry I’ve fallen behind on my schoolwork professor. I promise I will get that transfiguration parchment to you once my defence against the dark arts test is done, and I’ve been studying tirelessly to get my scores to a more appropriate level, I promise.”

Despite the worry evident on your voice, she merely chuckles, acting as if you made a joke. You didn’t make a joke though, so you furrow your brow in concern. Did you say something wrong?

“No my dear. I was just calling you in to ask about your handwriting.” “My-? Oh yes, apologies for the messiness on my last assignment. I was in a bit of a rush, so I think some of my m’s turned into n’s.” Once again she laughs, this time straight from her belly, her head thrown back. You can’t help but feel your face burn up in embarrassment. “Messiness? Why I never! No darling, I meant to ask how it’s so neat! You see, I’ve been attempting to do those same loops you do on capitals, but I’m afraid I can’t replicate it!”

She slides over to you the parchment she was writing on, revealing random sentences repeated in order to practice replicating your font. Truthfully they are quite shaky, but you wouldn’t admit it to her face anytime soon. “Do you mind writing a few sentences for me? Maybe even casting piertotum locomotor on them so I can’t watch it back would be helpful!” You bashfully fulfill your task, writing some simple words on the page in swirling calligraphy. As you do this, your professor casually talks to you.

“I must say though, you were never much of the type to rush projects. What had you in such a hurry?”

“Nothing really, just a trip to Hogsmeade with Sirius Black.”

“Sounds lovely.”

“Oh yes, it really was. Sirius wanted to go into town because he ordered a record from the post office that was due to arrive. It was some muggle band, I think it was called The Beatles? He said they are quite popular, and I see why. The singer is dreamy! He played it for me when we got back to school, and he gave me some of his Berty’s Botts Beans. He knows I love them you see, and he always tries to inspect them before he hands them to me so I don’t get the bad ones. Sometimes he gets it wrong, and I have to suffer anyways. But I…” You eventually realise just how much you have been rambling, as the page is suddenly filled with words you didn’t remember writing and you need to take a deep breath to rid of your light headedness. “Yes, I thought it was nice.” You finish up, not wanting to bore her with your story of a typical day out. But she honestly seems quite intrigued, looking at you with a peculiar arched eyebrow.

“You and that Black boy make a strange pair. A good one at that though.” You chuckle along with her, reminiscing on your differences that complement each other perfectly. “Many do say that. He’s a good friend to me.”

“Friend?” She mirrors, an almost offended tone on her voice. She takes the page away from you and blows on it as to help to ink dry, before placing it in a draw of her desk. “I don’t know why, but I always thought you two were together. Never mind me, I’m a silly old lass now.” Usually you are completely and utterly respectful no matter what is thrown at you, but something in her statement sets off a spark in which you immediately regret. “No! no no no no no. Sirius and I would never! I mean, have you seen how he- no, it would never work.”

Professor McGonagall looks at you in a way that can only be described as utter disbelief, and a tiny hint of disappointment before she speaks. “If you say so. But I have to say, I was just like you back in my day. So naïve…” She sighs, looking blissfully off. “You know…” She twists to face you, a smirk causing her features to almost become young once more. “When I was your age, maybe a little younger I liked a guy. Now don’t tell anyone I told you this but… He was a real dashing man. So proper and smart, but he really knew how to dance when the jukebox started!”

Suddenly you feel like Minerva McGonagall’s best friend, gossiping about your childhoods now those days are long gone. Never would you have expected to see this side of her, but you cannot complain when you see that energetic sparkle in her eye.

“And I believe he like me back. When I was tired he would carry me up to my common room, and and would tuck me in real nice and tight. But I never went any further. I was too nervous. So he started dating my friend, and five years later they got married! I hate to admit it but sometimes I wonder how things would’ve turned out. You don’t have to listen to an out of touch woman like me, but you know I have your best interest at heart.”

It takes you a good minute to properly process her words, repeating them in your head and wondering how she could be so right. No one, not even any of your closest friends have ever realised your concealed feelings, the only being hearing them is your little diary under the moonlight, which knows they will never come true. But here is your teacher, completely demolishing your tiny sense of secrecy and legitimising every worry you’ve ever had. When he kisses some random girl at a party you worry it will last between them, when you can’t find him in his usual spots you worry he’s abandoned you and when you look in the mirror you see merely a friend, someone who will never amount to him. But maybe you could. Maybe there is some universe where he feels the same, and you are lucky enough to be in that universe right now. After all, there always is a chance.   

“Go and get him.” She orders, staring into your soul with her blue eyes. You nod, tears fighting to leave your eyes as the weight of emotion takes over you. You stand up, thanking her breathlessly before running out.

Professor McGonagall knows that she did the right thing, judging by the conversation she had with Sirius about the same subject just the other day.   

[ghostfacesvalentine]

Day 11: Halloween Decorating with the muses - Multi!Muse x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Multimuse x Fem!Reader

Warning: Not many, a few mentions of alcohol

Type: Blurb

Request: N/A

Word count: N/A

Prompt: Halloween decorating with the muses

Notes: I’m fucking trying here. I tried to make it as GN as possible <3

Jason Voorhees: You would have to take charge of everything, Jason has absolutely no idea how to decorate even a pumpkin. He has fun though, especially seeing you so focused on making your vision come to fruition. When you noticed it was mainly you making the decisions, you try to incorporate his choices. “Green or purple?” You’d ask him which lights would look better wrapped around the frame of the front door. Jason would just have to point and even if you didn’t agree, you made it work.

Michael Myers: Similar to Jason, he wouldn’t have to take the initiative to decorate, instead he’d just stare at the option he’d like the best. It seemed like he leaned more towards red and pumpkins. He would be the best at helping you put the lights up. As you decorate with him throughout the years, you learn that he’s keen on the classic style of Halloween, black and orange, jack-o’-lanterns, all the fixings.

Tiffany Valentine: She would absolutely be the one to set up the place before you would, everything is on the way, sometimes you could even bump heads but since she’s in love, just as you are, she would make both of your ideas work. If you’re a fan of pinkween, she’s definitely on the same page, but pink doesn’t always mean cute, still a fan of blood and guts, it almost looks like a “my bloody Valentine” theme took over.

Billy Loomis: He couldn’t be more in love with you while watching you try to figure out what goes where and what looks best. Billy would be so dazed at times he’d only snap out of it when you scolded him about helping you pin the lights around the window. Of course he would help you, he’d be very involved in the decision making process. Don’t be surprised when he tries to scare you from time to time, making the skeleton prop jump at you or linger its skeletal hand to graze your arm when you’re not looking. Billy is a handful, no pun intended, but he’s always a great time when it comes to time-bearing tasks.

Stu Macher: Similar to Billy, he’s all in, though I would argue Stu is a tad bit more involved in the decision making process, decorating for Halloween is something Stu is 100000% here for. He’s in deep, going to different stores with you, far and near, you almost regret asking him for help. Of course it’s still fun, he makes the best of it, making you laugh with the props around the store, getting food in the process. It’s almost a three day project due to the shopping, the snacking and the actual decorating.

Patrick Bateman: He’s not very big on decorating for the holidays, even if you insist. If it’s in his apartment, keep it to a veeery minimal, unfortunately. Otherwise, as much as it makes you happy, it makes him cringe that his home looks like a Spirit Halloween store. I don’t think he could stand it for long, taking the decorations down the same day. Your place, however, he wouldn’t mind helping, depending on how many decorations and changes you’re making, he honestly may just hire someone to do it for you both.

Leatherface: Bubba is more than happy to decorate anything all the time, he’s such a delight when it comes to holidays. He’s more than willing to be the one who carries all the wreaths and does the heavy lifting. You can be propped up on his shoulder trying to get the lights to sit at the perfect angle and he’s over the moon. Not to mention, all the treats he’d get after being your brave “little” helper.

Harley Quinn: Also a great time when it comes to decorating, her acrobatic skills truly come in handy. Depending on her mood it can take forever, because she gets to horse around or if she comes in with a “let’s get this shit done” attitude, you both will be sipping PSL’s on the edge of the roof swinging your legs back and forth admiring the 12 ft tall skeleton at the top of your apartment complex. “Are you sure the manager said we could sit him on the rooftop?” You’d ask raising an eyebrow as she sipped the last of her latte. “Mhmm” the flashbacks of her pointing a gun to his face briefly made its way to her train of thought.

Poison Ivy: With wine and a charcuterie board, Ivy is more than willing to move some things around. Though her space would be still decked out in green, a little orange never hurt anyone. Orange lights and pumpkins decorated her room, whatever made you happy. Sipping wine and sitting pumpkins around the crevices as you listened to old Halloween music would be a constant for the first week of October.

Billy Hargrove: Billy never really cared for Halloween, his parents would decorate every so often but nothing crazier than that. When he noticed you were a little bummed out when he declined your invitation to decorate. Before you knew it, he showed up to your doorstep with orange flowers and a sweet sorry smile. You wouldn’t admit it, but he made you feel so much better. Just like most of the muses, he just followed whatever you asked him to do. Listening to the scorpions as you draped the spiderwebs across the windows, Billy’s drinking and smoking a cigarette taking you by the waist and spinning you around. He’s not much help, but he sure is a good time.

Steve Harrington: He’d be more than willing to offer his help, mainly because he wants to hang out with you. Though he’s not big on scary movies or themes, he’s more than willing to tough it out some for you. Putting up scary decorations leaves him unsettled and honestly a little nervous, but when he sees your brimming face and feels your arms wrap around his neck in gratitude, he suddenly forgets about the reaper with glowing red eyes pointing right at him. After you’re done setting up the lights, he invites you out to a bite and a scary movie, hopefully he can find more excuses to see you throughout the month outside of work.

Steve Rogers: You never get a complaint from Steve when it comes to helping you set anything up. Halloween is no different, in fact it was Steve who brought the topic up. “Is Y/N not decorating for Halloween this year?” He’d ask almost mockingly as you’d lay upside down on the couch next to him. A playful glare meets his boyish smile. “If only you’d be so lucky” This was Steve’s way of inviting himself to help you. Bonus points if you have a radio he can play classic music to, the night would end with him slow dancing with you to “I don’t want to set the world on fire”

Bucky Barnes: Similar to Steve, but he would wait for you to ask him if he could help you decorate. He’s not much of a decorator himself, especially given the fact that he hasn’t stayed in the same place for longer than a few months. It only gives him more of a reason to want to help you. He’d make little suggestions here and there, brainstorming ways to use most of your decor and make room for new additions. 100000% would bring out the tools if he needed to add a new shelf for your Halloween trinkets or nails to make the inflatables stay put. Just give him a few beers and kisses he’s yours for the whole afternoon to help get the tasks done.

Wanda Maximoff: 100000% would not hesitate to help you decorate, in fact decorating is her favorite thing to do. Halloween is one of the holidays she can be most creative in, so getting her to help you is no issue at all. Her and Tiffany would be the ones out of the list to make trips to the stores for new decorations and inspiration. Wanda would sway a little closer to the “horror” themed Halloween rather than a cutesy one. Her mind is ✨immaculate ✨ and if you posted it on social media, her decor and DIYs would pop off. Lots of spooky crafts and activities to last all month long with her.

Loki Laufeyson: This is a hard one, because he can totally be a brat about it, or he could be the most helpful one. He doesn’t understand the need to decorate, maybe a few things here and there but putting up inflatables, going shopping, it all seems unnecessary. Whatever makes you happy, he’s there for you. Add some nice wine and a few baked good and he’s more than happy to spend the day with you. Loki does acknowledge how the smallest things makes you happy and he thinks it’s cute. “Whatever makes you smile, sweetest.”

Cloud Strife: Doesn’t understand the concept of going all out just as Loki. Throughout time together, he begins to understand the little joy that decorating brings, therefore he never fights you on it. He’s the one doing all the heavy lifting, carrying around the pumpkins, propping up the skeletons. With time, he slowly begins to enjoy it, he will never admit it but you telling him that he’s a great help, heals something in him. After you’re all done setting up the lights and little bats on the porch, you can’t go wrong with snapping a few pictures of cloud with the pumpkins to keep in your journal.

Sebastian Michaelis: He’s already taken care of everything, sorry but hallows eve is most elegant in the Phantomhive household. Of course he would allow a few little trinkets wherever they fit, but nowhere near where the guests are expected to be unless he can use it to his advantage when Ciel is talking to a guest. It doesn’t take long for him to start explaining the meaning of the decor and where it came from, all with a slight demeaning smile at “all the silly little details the human race came up with”

Spencer Reid: Similar but different to Sebastian. Spencer is all in for all kinds of decor, but the nostalgic look of the late 50’s to 80’s would have to be his favorite eras so far. Your apartment would have all kinds of trinkets from various cities and random small towns he’d visit, but he always made sure to grab something pertaining to the holiday. Messy to others but completely organized in each others head, the only things you have to set out were the Halloween trinkets and maybe a few orange fairy lights. Whenever Spencer had the time to come home, he’d always make sure you both were able to finish up decorating and carving pumpkins. Halloween being both of your favorite holidays, there is always time for decorating.

Jason Todd: Kind of similar to Spencer, but not too much in the sense that Jason lets you do whatever you want. However Y/N wants the apartment decorated, it’s the only way it’ll be. If you want to go for a pinkoween he’s 100000% there for it. Jason wouldn’t hesitate to take you shopping, yes even if there’s no way that is going to fit in your apartment, he’s going to find a way if his baby really wants it. Like Bucky, he’s got the tools ready, just tell him where and you won’t have to lift a finger unless you really want to.

[gallaghersgal]

hi hi hi today i’m thinking about carmy (as usual oopsie) and his girl who loves him more than anything. she loves him so much she always supports him with the restaurant, she listens to his ideas, tastes his meals and gives her honest opinion, she makes sure to take care of him because he often forgets about that. she’s just that girl <3

and maybe for his birthday or their anniversary (or the bear’s opening day’s anniversary?) she spends months preparing a book similar to the dozens they have in their living room or in the office at the bear. you know those professional cook books? with the impeccable meal pictures and the chef in deep concentration and explanations about each piece? she spends months snapping pictures of carmy while he’s working at the bear (when the restaurant is closed and he’s trying stuff out), him and the rest of the team, she’ll snap pictures of the meals he makes and take notes when he explains the idea behind it to put it in the book. she asks to take pictures of his notes too and he says yes, she doesn’t tell him what she’ll do with them though (but it’s okay because he trusts her <3) and just compiles everything so she can offer it to him. she adds her own notes and maybe at the end a longer note where she tells him what she thinks of him and his work and how much she loves him.

carmy gets too into his own head and it keeps him from seeing all the good he does, the positive side of things, the fact that he’s loved and he has people who care about him. and this book just has it all <3

-🧸

sobbing bc i started writing this and then accidentally closed it and the draft didn't save so anyways. this is very sweet so here is a mini blurb. sorry for the wait my lovely 🧸

carmen can't believe how lucky he is, to have someone like you as his wife. sweet, thoughtful, smart, and caring. he isn't an emotional man by any means, burying his feelings in nicotine and the rhythm of the kitchen. you've realized that even those closest to him don't know his intricacies, not in the way that you do. it's hard to break the surface of him but you've done it.

a lone tear trails down his cheek while trembling fingers flip the pages of your meticulously crafted anniversary gift. a cookbook, full of the most significant recipes in his repertoire. the pages were adorned with scans from his sketchbook. there were pages upon pages of old draft menus, sketches of unperfected dishes, and his handwritten recipes. each item included a 'professional' photo of the dish—courtesy of sugar and the fancy camera she bought before the baby's arrival—recreated by the bear staff and others you'd tracked down.

but the part that really gets him comes at the end. a faded photograph of mikey, sugar, and himself at the beef, holding up sandwiches and grinning. his childhood order is written in your handwriting, his choices annotated in a way that teases him even through the page.

"bear?" you ask quietly, poking your head into the office. you knew he was opening your gift, you'd been pretending to care about something on the hostess stand. too nervous. your heart is a little too bare on the pages.

carmen looks up with blue eyes sparkling and lays the book down on his desk. "you. c'mere, right now," he mumbles, extending one strong arm to hook around your waist and grapple you into his lap. his soft lips flutter against your neck, jaw, and cheek, and your giggles keep him from kissing your lips effectively.

"happy anniversary carmen," you whisper. his head falls to the crook of your neck, almost like he's hiding. and maybe he is, with what he tells you next.

"you, are the best wife, a man could ever ask for," he mumbles against your skin, each pause is punctuated with a kiss. he sounds choked up, and you pretend not to notice. "an' i thank whatever powers-that-be ev'ry day that i get to call you mine."

[r0semaryt3a]

Hiiii, could I please ask for how you think the Phantom Troupe would act to being hugged / held by their S/O for the first time? Thanks 🥰

WOAH I FORGOT ABOUT THIS ONE-

It’s been done for like months now I just entirely forgot to post it I’m so sorry Anon.

-

I’m here for the fluffy ideas (I will warn, I feel like these are a tad Ooc as this is mainly based on my own personal headcannons woven into snippets of what we see in HxH) it’s nice to write them!! I’m gonna admit I haven’t written anything in a dang hot minute so this was: interesting to proofread.

Characters: Chrollo, Feitan, Pakunoda, Shalnark (I know that’s not a lot compared to my other 2 but I was flagging so hard for ideas)

Chrollo

Despite his occasional interest in domestic life and the comforts that came with it, Chrollo never pushed for physical contact.

You’d sat down together before, reading under candlelight, but had never really been lovey dovey. It wasn’t a prevalent concept within the Troupe.

Which is why, when you’re sat beside each other -both enthralled in your own separate texts- a slight jolt races through him as your palm meets the top of his hands (your thumb absentmindedly tracing circles). It was nothing major: nothing that was noteworthy. his eyes barely left the page before him, but, it was nice.

However, when your book settles on the floor and your arms wrap around him. Well, that he can’t not notice. At first the scene is quite awkward, or to him, it’s not like he’s never been hugged before: more the lack of preparation. Chrollo’s shoulders were raised and his hands seemed to struggle to find their place. It’s not like you’d particularly notice this, the small fumble is a fleeting moment.

Once the initial shock had settled though, the two of you lay comfortably together. His head resting agaisnt yours and yours resting agaisnt his shoulder.

Let me tell you, though he may not have shown it, his heart skipped a couple beats. Having you agaisnt him, arms laying around his waist, it was a slice of domestic bliss he truly savoured. The life his city had given him was a life he did cherish, but the spark of normalcy you provided was always a treat. (You’d later find out: this would be a regular occurance anytime you read together; any attempts to protest against the idea would be immediately shot down.)

Feitan

Feitan isn’t big on touch. Never has been.

He prefers all his limbs free to move, he’s an agile person who heavily values his own self autonomy and being able to react in a matter of milliseconds. Nothing more than simple handholding (for no more than a specified 3 minutes 24 seconds) has passed between you two.

So, when you practically jump at him with open arms: he seizes up.

Seriously, you almost gave him a heart attack.

“Off.” “Off now.” Is all that would be said as he tries to pry you off from whoever you’d latched on. Safe to say: the first time you give him a hug is certainly an interesting event.

Don’t get me wrong, you don’t miss the way his eyes dart towards you; and how almost immediately his body eases once the initial shock had faded. Nor do you miss the way: he does indeed reciprocate the act.

A mixture of happiness and annoyance fill him in equal measure. On one hand: the sudden contact had dusted his skin a slightly reddish hue, for all his protests, Feitan’s well aware it’s a show of comfort and given your relationship: it’s not an action he particularly hates. On the other hand? No.

This moment does however, spark the slow build up to your first “proper” hug (and the many more things that would follow)

For now though? It’s best you don’t try that again. For a while.

A long while.

Shalnark

Surprisingly tense.

You’d think a member so seemingly well composed would be better equipped to hug his partner. But, no!

It takes about a minute for him to actually reciprocate the hug, a series of awkward pats meeting your back before he (not at all subtly) peels you off of him.

It’s almost like the action completely resets him, as in a matter of seconds he’s laughing and pulling you in for another hug. The scene is…sweet enough. Though, the action is swift with the two of you parting (again) and Shalnark instead slipping his hand over yours: fingers intertwining as he began to jump from topic to topic.

Physical touch (especially that of unprompted physical touch) is an odd spot for Shalnark. Sometimes, he loves it! A goofy grin is sure to paint his face as he reciprocates the action. Sometimes, it seems like a completely foreign subject to him.

Pakunoda

This woman adores you.

Completely and utterly.

The second your arms wrap around her: she is beaming and quick to reciprocate the action.

Arguably the most openly emotional. It may just be a hug but it makes her heart flutter! Her arms come to rest upon shoulders as she pulls you in close, the act a rather jovial scene. A simple smile is painted upon her face the whole time, it’s honestly quite surprising that such an act could light her up like a child on Christmas.

Any surprise your hug may have sparked is almost immediately washed away the second she realises what’s happening.

As with any of the members: her lightbulb moment is slow. None of them are particularly touchy individuals after-all. However, Paku is certainly the quickest in her return of your hug.

After the moment you’ll find her fingers laced between yours more often than not..

—

I feel like there’s more I could do with this idea but I’m entirely sure how to lay it out in the scenario/headcannon based format these are usually in, so, who knows! If someone wants a oneshot of the idea with a specific troupe member I’ll be happy to deliver-

[moonstruckme]

hi! i have a request, but not for a specific character, you can pick who you want to write about i just ask that it’s not about any of the stranger things characters😅 but could you write something just pure and fluffy and sweet with a plus size!reader please? there is a serious lack of just pure plus size!reader fanfics, almost all of the ones i find are smut and it makes me quite sad because i’m currently not able to read smut because of mental health reasons🥹 i just want to read something so sweet and pure and loving with a plus size!reader and her man just loving her softness and curves.

Hi sweetheart! I hope this is alright <3

Sirius Black x plus size!reader ♡ 822 words

You’re innocently reading when cold fingers try to jimmy into the crease between your thighs. You squeal. “Sirius, don’t! Shit, your fingers are freezing.” 

He pouts. Even with his pretty lips and freakishly long lashes, the expression doesn’t work on you like it used to. Sirius has worn it out. “Exactly,” he whines. “They’re cold, and you’re so warm. Quit being selfish.” 

“So get a blanket like a normal person,” you chide. “Don’t make your cold fingers my problem.” 

Sirius scowls. “I thought my problems were your problems. Isn’t that, like, the point of a relationship?” 

You lower your book to give him a look. “That’s an awfully self-serving idea of what a relationship is supposed to be, Siri.” 

He huffs, reaching the whole two feet to grab the blanket you’ve strewn over the armchair. “Fine. You must have me in your thrall or something, you know that? I used to get whatever I wanted. Where did it all go so wrong?” 

“Not sure.” You flip your page idly, though you’re not really reading anymore. Just baiting your boyfriend, as you are wont to do. “Maybe when you stopped trying to woo me.” 

Sirius gasps, and your book is torn from your hands. He sets it on the table, and you both pretend he hasn’t done it with care, saving your page. “How dare you! I woo you every day of the week.” 

“Mmm.” You try to look unimpressed, but you know he can see the smile you’re fighting. “I don’t feel very wooed when you try to use me as a human heating pad.” 

SIrius’ grin comes out to play. You take that as permission to release your own. “Aw, m’sorry, lovely girl,” he croons, bending to brush his lips over the place on your thigh where his fingers had clawed for entry a minute before. “Have I not been telling you how wonderful you are often enough?” 

You bite your lip against the giggle bubbling up your throat. “You could stand to do it more.” 

“My pretty baby.” Sirius grips the fat of your hips, pulling himself upward to kiss you on the lips. “My sweet, darling angel, do you know how much I love you?” He moves to the corner of your mouth, your cheek, just under your eye, kiss-kiss-kissing all up and down your face. 

Your giggles escape, and you break, hands touching his waist to keep him close. “I do,” you admit happily. “I love you too.” 

“No, but not nearly as much as I love you.” His voice wilts with a dejection that’s entirely for show, leaning back to bat his too-long eyelashes at you pitifully. “You really have no idea, do you? You silly thing. I think I need to show you more often.” 

You’re quiet, shaking with silent laughter Sirius pretends not to notice. 

“I love you here,” he says, palms rubbing soothingly up and down your thighs, “but for more than just because they’re so warm. And I love you here” —his hands slide over the material of your shirt, up your waist, dipping lovingly into each rolling curve— “and here” —he follows the path to your broad shoulders, squeezing lightly before continuing upwards to cup your face— “and I love—baby, are you paying attention? This is important—I love you here.” He pecks you on the lips. “Love love love you, gorgeous. I love you here, too.” He kisses your nose, then presses his lips to your forehead. “I love you here most of all,” he says, words all mushed up against your skin. “Do you believe me now?” 

“Sirius,” you say softly, face now infinitely warmer than it had been a minute ago, back when you’d been under the impression that you were the one teasing him. “Of course I believe you.” 

“Good.” He gives your head one more firm kiss before backing off, giving you one of those sweetheart, earnest smiles he keeps locked away for special occasions. “It’s important that you know, you know?”

“Mhm,” you say, and his grin widens at your shyness. It takes a lot for him to make you this bashful these days, so your flush is a victory for him. “This was all a part of your grand scheme, wasn’t it?” 

Sirius blinks at you. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” 

You stare him down for a few seconds before sighing. “Fine, you can use my legs to warm your hands.” 

“Yes!” He wastes no time, worming his fingers into the soft inner part of your thighs. You tense at the cold. “I prefer not to think of it as using you. More like affection that also happens to have utility, yeah?” 

“Sure.” You roll your eyes, fighting a shiver as you pick your book up from the coffee table. “It’s like you said, you get whatever you want.” 

Sirius leans forward, pecking you sweetly on the lips. “You know it, babe.”

[heldbykento]

ೃ࿔*:･ — “ BABY , NO ATTACHMENT . ”

word count: 1629

warnings: MDNI 18+ ONLY !!! exboyf!geto x fem!reader, smut, slight breeding kink, reader gets ate!!, alcohol use, slightly proofread, obsessed!geto, stalker ex bf!

author’s note: hello my babies! i’m sorry for going MIA i was going through some stuff lol :3 but i’m back and i have 2 more things in the works so. enjoy! <3

you knew your ex was stalking you. not the type that was lurking on your social media pages; but the type that would slide creepy love notes underneath your door.

almost every night in bed, you swore he was watching over you in your sleep, could’ve sworn he was caressing your hair once.

despite the jarring feeling, deep down… a part of you felt intrigued, almost yearning for him to try something.

you weren’t crazy about that though, at least you didn’t think so. before suguru was this obsessive asshole, he was one of the most attractive men you knew.

he’d always buy you things, compliment you endlessly,

and fuck you so good.

after your messy breakup, you were so distraught. despite the promising parts of it, geto was insanely possessive. at times you’d argue over things that were just out of line, like you being “excessively close” to a guy at the market or if your boss (who he was sure wanted you) asked you to stay late at the office to organize some files.

but of course, like the hopeless romantic you were, it took you almost a month to muster up the courage to finally leave him.

***

somehow, your friends managed to drag you out of your apartment into a loud, hot, and incredibly confined nightclub.

as tired as you were, fuck you looked good. hair was laid, pedicure and manicure done, and you wore the most flattering dress you could find.

it hugged your curves so well and it flattered the shade of your skin perfectly.

let’s just enunciate, if someone was looking at you right now for the first time, they wouldn’t be able to tell you’d been getting less than 3 hours of rest every night for the past two months.

your friend's plan tonight was to get you drunk until you couldn’t walk straight.

she had succeeded. throughout the night you were having your back grated on by random men, getting all your shots bought for you, and so many offers to be someplace for the night that was not your apartment.

you were stumbling out of the nightclub, finding a curbside to sit your pretty ass down on. everything is blurry and the world seems as if it’s warping around you.

you were so drunk you could’ve sworn you called an uber, you were so sure you did.

so sure, until an oddly familiar car stopped on the road in front of you. the tinted driver’s window rolled down and a familiar man-bunned face was looking down at you.

“y/n?” your infamous ex calls out to you from his car, his face evidently prideful but his tone is slick with concern.

***

when you were getting ready at your vanity earlier tonight, you didn't even think of the chances of you being bent over your kitchen island top with your ex-boyfriend's hands gripping the flesh on your ass, tongue sliding up and down your slick cunt with harsh vigor.

your dress was bundled by your waist, tits poking out the strapless top of your dress with your nipples rubbing on the cold marble top.

his tongue was badly missed, despite how embarrassed you were, no amount of alcohol could hide how soaked your pussy was.

all you could do was whine and keen, you couldn’t let him figure out you were wanting this. but your little friend between your thighs was betraying you.

in all honesty, you hadn’t been fucked since him. your light pink vibrator did not count, because every time you were drooling and moaning into your pillow, you were thinking about him.

it was when he started sucking your clit slowly with his pillow-soft lips that you gasped, letting out a throaty groan. you felt like you were seeing God, gripping the end of your counter, knuckles left white as your mind went to mush.

he let you ride out your orgasm on his tongue, your juices dripping down his chin and he couldn't help but grin against the flush skin. he knew you felt this shit in your soul.

your knees were weak, your breath was staggered, and drool pooled down your chin.

fuck, you were a mess.

this had to be one of the most embarrassing moments of your life. the guy who you contemplated getting a restraining order on is proving to you how easy you are.

how fast he could get you naked despite the amount of times you claimed to never speak to him again.

but he was good, there was no denying it. like the shakespeare of eating pussy.

once he had caught his breath, he stood up to his full height and carefully slipped your panties back up until they were full of you. the tall man laughed dryly when you shivered at the soiled cloth touching your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“i couldn’t believe it was you calling me, y/n.” he said to you as he grabbed a bottle of water from your fridge, you sobered up and remembered that primarily, he was living with you.

geto opened the plastic bottle and handed it to you, something in the way he looked at you, told you that he knew this would happen sooner or later.

“get that stupid look off your face, suguru. this was a mistake.” you say, sounding disappointed in yourself but, reluctantly you take the bottle of water in one hand, holding your dress in place against your chest with the other.

suguru looked down at you with a smug smile painted on his lips, he put his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, trying to ignore the raging erection that hugged the felt. “a mistake? c’mon, pretty. you know you miss me.”

all you could do was roll your eyes and keep your lips sealed onto the bottle top. you knew he was right, as unfortunate as it was; you weren’t going to get over him any time soon.

so what’s the point of trying to move on and find someone new when he yearned for you back just as much?

“just let me fuck you tonight and… depending on you feel after, I’ll leave you alone.” he says in a whisper as he gets closer, taking a strand of your hair and beginning to twirl it around his long, slim finger.

and, with the blink of an eye, you agreed.

***

suguru was always about making you feel good, which is how you ended up straddling on top of him, lubing up and stretched out as you slowly lowered yourself onto him, his girth quickly spanning out your gummy walls.

he hissed at the familiar yet squeezing feeling and bit harshly onto his bottom lip, his cocky look quickly turning into a star-struck and pussy-drunk one.

like a bee to honey, his hands quickly assembled their route to your plush hips.

you choked on your spit, catching your breath at this nostalgic feeling. quickly, you adjusted to him and rutted your hips back and forth.

the friction against your clit made you almost dizzy, your hands were flat on his lower stomach, and the eye contact he was holding made it hard for you to breathe.

you were in that position until he just couldn’t handle you being in control anymore. he flipped the both of you over and held himself over you, quickly slipping himself back inside you.

without restraint, he grabbed your legs and pushed them until your knees were practically mush on your tits.

his thrusts were vile. digits digging into your flesh as he slapped himself against you, groaning and huffing with every movement made.

“shit. i missed this, baby.” geto moaned out, fucking into you with so much aggression it could fill up a pool if it was leaking out of him.

you were feeling so good, your walls tight around him as if he’d snap off if he tried to pull out.

sobs were coiling out of you from how delicious the pain was.

he was slurring out curses and praises about how good you felt, how much he wanted to fill you up.

“gonna leave you so full, m’gonna watch my cum drip out of you.” he grunted with a very harsh and deep thrust, your bed frame slamming onto the concrete wall behind it.

he moaned with his lips shut, eyes stuck on your pretty face. hair was sticking to the skin of your forehead, lips parting into an “o” shape, and your dark eye makeup was smudged all around them from the tears.

soon enough, the both of you were quickly reaching your heights and he always knew when you were close. so he worked his way to it.

“i’m cumming— please, please let me finish inside.” he begged between breathless groans, gripping his fingers around the skin of your thighs.

all you could do was choke out a “yes” in response.

you finished with a loud moan, back arched and eyes wide open. your mouth looked as if it was about to dislocate from your jaw, and you could see white spots clouding your vision.

the way your walls were clenching around his length made him finish deep inside you shortly after. he shot a thick load into what felt like your womb, and he was very vocal about it; telling you how good you felt and how he was going to get you so fucking pregnant. so pregnant you’d have no choice but to stay with him.

he made sure you knew what you did to him.

fortunately, you went straight to sleep. leaving him with no choice but to stay and lay alongside you. of course, geto held you the whole night in hopes that you’d wake up wanting to be his again.

[zebulontheplanet]

I don’t talk about my mental health here much because well, this is mostly an autism page. But I think it’s good to bring awareness to all things. As some people know, I was recently sorta diagnosed with bipolar type Schizoaffective. It’s been a journey for sure. We’re still figuring out things and starting treatment. If it’s bipolar, it’s bipolar, if not, it’s another mood disorder similar to bipolar.

Hypomania has been something I have experienced multiple times but never realized was hypomania and thought it was simply ups from BPD, which I am formally diagnosed with. I never before realized that my days of being so high, weren’t BPD. However, hypomania has caused many things, and I’d like to talk about it.

Disclaimer: Hypomania is a Bipolar term. And is not something people with BPD or other mood disorders experience.

Hypomania has caused me to take on a religion I do not believe in and become obsessed with it. It’s a full on delusion. Hypomania has made it so I joined an online cult and put all my time into it. Hypomania has meant that I don’t sleep for days at a time (i sleep!! Just less than 3 hours at a time. More like naps.) I go high, do everything, do adventurous things and things I wouldn’t normally do, then I crash and sleep for a few hours, then I’m back at it again.

Hypomania is SCARY to me. It causes extreme paranoia, extreme mood swings, and extreme ups and downs in my moods.

It causes me to self harm, to hurt myself, to do things to my health that I wouldn’t in my right mind do. I won’t use my mobility aids, I’ll stop taking my medication, I’ll convince myself I’m unstoppable. I’ll walk miles even though my body can’t physically handle it. I’ll be in less chronic pain, if any, and therefore think I’m cured and on top of the world. I think I’m superior, I get shit done that I haven’t done in months and manically clean, organize, and yeah. My hypomanic episodes are not for the weak.

I get frustrated easily, I say rude things, I ruin, or almost ruin relationships with my carelessness and anger. I think of breaking up with my fiancé, even though I love them very much and would NEVER want to do that.

Hypomania is not a silly thing. I almost ruin my life EVERY SINGLE TIME. It’s hard to deal with hypomania. It’s hard to deal with me when I’m hypomanic. I’m hyper, I’m high. I’m all over the place. My heart races, and I feel like I just took a drug. I’m not myself. Me hypomanic is NOT me.

I wish more people realized that hypomania wasn’t just some silly thing, that it wasn’t something that is just silly goofy intrusive thoughts that you do. That it wasn’t just dying your hair and spending some money. (Although some people do that during hypomanic, it’s just so much more than that!!!) Hypomania is life changing. Realizing you’re hypomanic is life changing. Realizing that all your life those big highs and lows were something is life changing.

Don’t undermine hypomania. Don’t say that it’s not life ruining. Don’t say that it’s not “that bad”. It’s bad. Some people experience more calm hypomanic episodes, and I have DEFINITELY experienced more calm ones. But my hypomania is extreme most of the time. Let’s stop undermining hypomania. It’s a lot, and I wish more people realized that.

[winterrrnight]

meet me in the hallway prompt 8???? With Zach???

oh vee darling I am so sorry how late I am to this! I hope you really really enjoy this :( and again, super sorry on me being so damn late, and thank you so so much for being so patient!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻☹️☹️

just the start

PAIRING: zach maclaren x gn!reader

SUMMARY: you tell your boyfriend of mere one and a half weeks that he is cute.

WARNINGS: fluff, usage of nicknames (very less though), mentions of cheating (not by zach or the reader)

EDITH SPEAKS: and we are done with the celly requests!! I absolutely failed this time in keeping up with them and I am so sorry about that :( I will definitely make sure this doesn’t repeat <3 I hope you all enjoy reading 💞 please reblog and share your thoughts 🌛

PROMPT REQUESTED: "you're so cute." "what did you say?" "I said you look like a boot."

300 followers celebration (now closed) || navigation

You’re sitting in the library of your university, completely relaxed as you read a book you just picked. You had a long study session and that definitely caused a little bit of a headache; constant staring at your laptop screen along with having to use your brain to complete a tough assignment, you were finally done, now giving your mind some much needed relaxation.

Your almost empty iced coffee sits in front of you, the diluted remains left in it as you still slurp onto the now flavorless liquid. It’s peaceful, almost no one in the library except you, the window next to you open as the sun enters inside and the breeze gently blows.

You’re having a great time; wonderful time actually, until it all comes to an end when you hear your boyfriend call you out, way too loudly in the library.

“Zach!” You shush as he approaches you, a big smile on his face. “Keep it down, the librarian isn’t the nicest,”

Zach only rolls his eyes and sits down in the chair next to you, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you in closer. You guys are at the mere start of your relationship, only one and a half weeks, but you have got to say, you really like it.

“So now I’m not allowed to miss my girl hm?” He teases, pressing a kiss to your cheek. You ignore the rising heat in your cheeks and keep your focus on your book, even though your body is now even more relaxed as you slump against him.

As it is just the mere start, the smallest kisses, touches, and compliments make you go absolutely crazy on the inside. But you know he is the one of the best you have ever experienced it with.

“How was practice?” You ask softly, eyes not training up from the inked pages.

“It was good… scored over five goals today,” he grins. You giggle softly as you look up at him, gently pinching his cheek.

“That’s great Zach,” you smile, before training down back to your book. He rests his head on top of yours, the only sound being your light breathing and the occasional flipping of the pages.

“Oh my god, do you want to know what happened today?” He says almost suddenly. “I’ve got some real gossip,” his eyes are wide, and as you look up, you can see the excitement in them.

“Yeah why not,” you smile. You look back at your book, and continue to listen to him whilst you also read.

“Okay so you remember Brandon right?”

“The captain of your team?”

“Yeah that’s the one. And do you remember his girlfriend?”

“Clarisse?”

“Yup yup yup, so…” he takes a deep breath, “Clarisse literally cheated on him at the party two days ago. Like full on made out with this dude from her Latin class or somethin’ like that, and she keeps on denying it, she is all like, “well I was really drunk and didn’t know what I was doing!”, and Brandon’s like, “can you shut up please? You very well know what you did,” and then Clarisse is like, “no I will not shut up!” She has such a bitchy attitude and for what? And today, at the practice, she kept on following him like a lost puppy, always apologizing, being all “i’m sorry Brandon baby, please forgive me,” and I was just so embarrassed like, that’s not even my girl but I feel for him so bad…”

As he talks, you can’t help but look at him with a soft smile on your face as you watch him talk so efficiently about the fresh gossip. He has his arguments set, and he’s defending Brandon like anything, but that’s not where your focus is at.

You look at his light blue eyes, which seem an ethereal shade of blue as the sunlight falls on them, you see his eyebrows slightly furrowed, you see the small creases on his forehead, you see the way he is using his hands to gesture to make his point, you see his soft lips which you have such a desire to have on yours keep on talking, and you can’t help but sigh at the beautiful boy in front of you.

“... so then he literally screamed at her to leave him alone, and she ran away crying.” He finishes, and turns to look at you. He’s taken aback by the expression on your face, a soft smile accompanying your soft eyes, as you can’t help but admire him.

“What are you looking at?” He mutters as his eyes lock with yours. He nervously moves his hand over his face. “Do I, do I have something on my face?”

You laugh softly as you shake your head. “No, you don’t have anything on your face… you’re so cute,”

His eyes slightly widen at your words, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. In your very short time of dating, this is the first time you’ve called him cute.

“What did you say?” He whispers.

Your own cheeks warm up more, and you realize you called him ‘cute’. It is just a small compliment, but having just been together a mere one and a half weeks, it is definitely one heck of a compliment.

“I…” you mutter, as you look back at your book, “I said you look like a boot.”

He bursts out laughing, softly shaking his head at you as he can’t keep his giggles in. “I know what you said baby,” he smiles. “Thank you for that. I think you are adorable,” he leans in to press another kiss on your cheek. Your cheeks flare up even more at his movements as you dare not look up from your book, trying to show him that this does not even affect you one bit, when in reality, you are going crazy, and he knows it.

Just one and a half weeks, and he knows you better than anyone else.

What could be better than that?

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

TAGLIST: @runningfrom2am @saccharinesammie @maybankslover @totalswag @madelynie @chenslucy @ietss @elle-mp3 @viawritesstuff @wallsdreams @lunalitva @sadfury @newsies-pape-girl @jamesbuckybarneswify @xxxlaura @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @callsignwidow @assmaaaaa @starkowswife @drewstarkeyswifehoe @jjchaer @f4ll-for-you @wearemadeofstardust0 @drewsmusee @rafegirly @addriaenne @leighbronk @rafesdrew @bejeweledreverie @raf3sgff @aerangi @drewstarkey1bae @moneymaybank

[lilithinstarlight]

Freminet x SeaCreature!Reader

Hi hi! I just happened to stumble across your account as of today and read through the f.f you had of ao3! I really liked it btw!

I wasn’t sure which fandom to request for but I’ve been craving some new content for Freminet x reader

———————————————————————

Imagine;

Frem is arriving to a tent he set up after he just went diving but sees a pile of shells appears beside. He doesn’t question much of it and pockets some. Next time he goes diving it appears again, and then again, etc. Of course he’s confused but doesn’t worry about it to much seeing as if the person was trying to harm him he figures they wouldn’t waste an entire month collecting shell for him.

Eventually he ends up having to make a quick stop to his tent because he ran out of space to carry items, and that’s when he sees it. Something that he didn’t know even existed before (be it something simple like a mermaid or maybe a shark hybrid? Up for you to decide!) to say he isn’t interested is a lie!

———————————————————————

Im actually going to end the idea right here because I’m quite interested to see what you come up with next!

I haven’t gotten a chance to check when/how long it might take for you to respond to requests so for now I’ll just be stalking your page every so often to see! >:3

tysm!!!! this request is actually so cute btw

With a grunt, Freminet pulled himself out of the clear blue ocean waters. The sun was beating down, giving the liquid an almost lustrous quality, and reflecting off of anything that cared to shine.

He walked over to the mustard yellow tent he'd set up a few hours ago as water dripped from his suit. He reached down to pull the zipper open, looked around to ensure there weren't any bugs about to get in, and --

Oh? What was that?

Sat just beside the zipper was a pile of pearlescent shells. Beautiful, but slightly strange, since those most definitely weren't there when he left in the early morning to go diving.

Though he would normally have been scared off, thinking the shells were left as a warning, there was a sort of comforting aura emanating from the shells. Instead of a sign of danger, he knew they were a sign of protection.

Unsure of what to do with them, he carefully picked them up and gently placed them inside the tent.

--

What was this man trying to do? You had clearly left the shells out as a message to convey your interest in whoever that trespassing cute diver was. Was he playing hard to get? Maybe he was waiting for you to collect more, to show that you really liked him. That must be it.

--

The next morning, Freminet woke up to an even larger pile of shells sat outside his tent's door. Maybe they had just been washing up? He kicked them to the side as he stepped back onto the dew-soaked grass and into the strangely beautiful waters.

Day after day, shells appeared at his tent. Generally they were placed near the door, sometimes they were carefully arranged on top of it, and occasionally they were set inside.

That first day must have been a fluke... these are clearly being left as a warning...

The day after he came to that conclusion, he set out on what he decided was to be his last journey in this section of the ocean. Though he was completely invested in the palace-like architectural monument he had been exploring, whoever lived there clearly didn't want him there.

--

You swam in circles around your mossy stone room. Did he really dislike you that much? You wondered if you had done something wrong, something to offend him.

Shaking your head, you decided that this would be your last attempt at talking to him. You swam to the pile of shells that you had collected the night before, then with determination set in your face, began to swim back up to the surface.

--

Oh Archons. He had forgotten his waterproof Kamera, hadn't he?

Freminet had decided to document as much of the stone palace as he could before he left. Which was why he was currently swimming back up to his tent, since he had somehow forgotten his Kamera, the only tool he actually needed.

The moment his helmet broke the surface, a wave of panic set in.

Who was that? Scratch that, what was that? A water lizard?

"I'm sorry for trespassing! Um, please forgive me! I'm leaving now!"

--

You turned around, mid-shell placement, to find the cute diver boy floating behind you. Finally!

"Don't be sorry! Wait, can you take off your helmet?"

"Um, sure..." The boy shyly reached up to pull the iron bubble off his head.

A faint blush spread across your bluish cheeks despite your best efforts. His soft blonde hair... the coral-lavender eyes... no way his real face was even cuter?!

"You can come up here, if you like!" you called to him. He nodded, and pulled himself onto land, sopping wet.

"So, Mr. Diver - what's your name?"

"F-Freminet..."

"Freminet. I'll be blunt here - why don't you like me?"

"Um! What?" Freminet (even his name was cute!) looked caught incredibly off-guard.

"You've been ignoring all my advances. Whenever I try to give you shells, you either take them into the tent without doing anything or kick them away. You haven't even left me a rejection note!"

"Advances...?" Something clicked in his eyes as he tried to avoid yours. "Uh, I didn't really consider you were trying to, um, flirt with me..."

"How? Do humans not do collection-courting?"

"Not really..." He was starting to sink into himself. Not on your watch!

You strode over to him, trying to exude confidence you only halfway had. You wrapped your scaly tail around his back, and his entire face turned red.

"Then, you're interested?"

He opened his mouth and tried to stutter out an answer, which failed, so he simply nodded his head.

"Wait, actually?" You stepped back and felt your face heat up. No, you were supposed to be the one making him blush!

"Yeah..."

With a squeal of joy, you threw your arms around him. You were completely out of control right now, and you weren't hating it!

"Hey, um, if you don't mind me asking... for, um, you guys, do the shells have, like, a meaning?" He turned away immediately, like he regretted asking.

"Well, traditionally, it's a sort of marriage proposal..."

"Ah?!"

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 10/22/2024

rare tuesdaypost with no fallow sections. i CANNOT find the exact image i am looking for (mouse-drawn person sitting on bar stool with ankles crossed and blushing with eyelashes) but i feel like i found a lot of things this week that charmed me immensely. rare many such cases of many interests intersecting.

listening

almost exactly a year ago i wrote about jolynn j chin's SHIFTED, a piano jazz piece where the time signatures change on every bar, which came with an explainer video that is, spiritually, a physics video.

she's done it again with OFF TIME and a full album of equally bonkers concepts. i have a brain that is fairly good at manipulating 2D things (yarn, fabric) into 3D things but i do Not have this kind of math brain. wild shit.

-

reading

thank you philip for overseeing the photography of this trio of DELILAH DIRK graphic novels from Tony Cliff. i saw these on the library shelf and went "holy shit i read one of these as a webcomic in high school".

very well-paced indiana jones and james bond adjacent pulp adventures, with a soupcon of steampunk conveyances for taste. delilah started life in 2007 when strong snappy female characters were far less common. this is particularly...not quite grating, but very notable in the first two books (published in 2013 and 2016 respectively). they are intended to be middle-grade (disney villain falling deaths, no tits or ass, etc), but they punch far above their intended age range. a particularly interesting reckoning with the long-suffering native guide trope. not a series overly concerned with historical accuracy, although it's certainly more grounded in real history than you might expect of a middle-grade pulp adventure graphic novel. more colonial political concerns than i remembered or expected.

the art is really killer in all three books. tony cliff really knows the effect of a good page turn spread.

he also has a very charming way of illustrating continuing action across a huge panel. all four shots are from The Pillars of Hercules (2018) bc it happened to be the last one i read and the one with by far the most ambitious art.

-

watching

tubi has acquired the streaming rights to most of the batman animated movies. i keep getting served ads on instagram for an upcoming animated film about batman and the yakuza, where the premise is that a portal from real-life japan has opened up over gotham and the yakuza are pouring through like a demonic horde. this seems to be a sequel to batman ninja (2018, dir. Junpei Mizusaki)

Batman, along with his allies and adversaries, finds himself transported from modern Gotham City to feudal Japan.

batman ninja includes the lines:

I’m going to rule this country and turn it into a kingdom of monkeys and rewrite the history of the world!

and

What am I going to do with you, Batman? You’ve destroyed a perfectly good giant robot castle!

i would describe this as more of a feature-length animation showcase than anything else. the haters on letterboxed didn't even give it an average of 3 but that's bc they hate fun. this is some real weeb shit. this is not a grimdark or particularly thoughful batman entry. this is an entry to clap your hands in glee at the giant gundam vs monkey army fight. they have once again done my favorite comics boy jason todd dirty but what the fuck else is new.

so much fun even on just the like tree field guide level of identifying the six or seven animation styles. plus everyone's feudal japan looks are sick as shit.

was it Good? no. was i delighted at nearly every moment? fuck yeah.

-

playing

EXCEPTIONALLY charming embroidery-based game jam game, Cross Stitched by Panzerr here for free on itch.io. made in godot. god bless.

(image from the developer) you've got your little baba yaga house gundam in the center constantly firing projectiles, and you have to keep these fucking birds back. you can WASD around the edges of the tapestry, and your health is in the top (i really love how it gets "ruined" dark chunks taken out of it as you lose health, like a piece of embroidery decaying) and the bottom black bar of motifs fills up as you make progress towards adding another level and another piece to your powerup level tapestry.

(following images from me) you do have to think about your placement and plan it out a bit, and you can't embroider over something you've already stitched. would not recommend surrounding your initial base damage motif with other motifs bc then you've sort of fucked yourself over. a really simple concept (a good bite size for a game jam) elevated by a very fun visual style and great music. really delighted me! i am so jaded by my time in the video game marketing mines that i forgot they can be fun actually!

-

making

unphotographable: too many bugs in my house! tried to replace the weatherstripping on my front door and discovering that both the front door and the storm door were installed incorrectly and should probably be replaced.

in better news, the newest pathetic little waif in the office bathroom has been freshly neutered and will be going to a nice cushy indoor home next week-ish. whenever he is fully recovered. the most polite cat i have ever had in this carrier: did not piss, shit, or throw up.

KO'd by six cc's of various goops. poor man.

[wooahaes]

an act of caring for others

pairing: non-idol!husband!s.coups x gn!reader

genre: fluff. married life au. grad student!cheol mentions.

word count: 1.0k~

warnings: food mentions. sappy loving domestic life <3

daisy's notes: hes just so husband shaped idk what to tell u

In your married life, you never expected to become the kind of couple who hosted dinner parties regularly. 

Maybe “regularly” wasn’t the best word for it. It wasn’t as though the two of you hosted these nights every month or anything. Simply put: you learned a couple things in your two years of marriage. One was that several of your grad student husband’s friends were crushed underneath the weight of classes and jobs (you, thankfully, only had a job to worry about). Two was that a few of his friends couldn’t cook to save their lives (Wonwoo and Soonyoung and sometimes Vernon…). And three: you genuinely, truly loved cooking for other people. This one wasn’t exactly new, though. Sure, you loved cooking for your now-husband while the two of you were dating (sometimes he’d help where he could, always in love with the domesticity of it), but you loved cooking for your friends and family, too. 

A little over a year ago, you had invited his friends over with this ‘bring a side dish or a dessert, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to’ tacked onto the message. Hell, you’d mentioned that they could bring a lunchbox if they’d like to take leftovers—but they’d have to settle things out themselves. It was during that first night that you really got to listen to a few of them talking about life. You and Seungcheol were pretty lucky to not have to worry too heavily about things, since your job paid pretty damn well and you both also had family to fall back onto. But Joshua had been talking about how he kinda missed being in the U.S. sometimes because his mom only visited so often, and when you heard Seungkwan talk about missing Jeju and his family…

Well. It tugged at your heartstrings enough to ask Seungcheol how he felt about maybe picking a day every few months so that most of his friends could come together for a meal. He’d agreed pretty easily, admitting his own concerns over people like Junhui and Minghao who didn’t have family here. So the two of you started hosting little dinners here and there, always for people who were feeling homesick. Sometimes that would mean Seungkwan would call you up and ask if he could join the two of you sometime, other times it was Jun saying he would come help make dinner and Minghao would bring wine. 

Other times were like today: you and Seungcheol waking up early on a day you didn’t have to work, and immediately getting started in the kitchen after you’d had breakfast. This time, Seungcheol would have to stop helping in order to study for a bit since he had a test tomorrow morning in one of his classes, but that was fine. It was the prepwork that was the most hell, in your opinion: endless chopping and whatnot. 

You couldn’t help but admire him now. He was standing near the fridge, glasses sliding down his nose as he studied a recipe book, hair half-pulled up. Sometimes you thought that you would marry him again if he asked you, no matter how silly that would be. 

“You’re staring again,” he hummed, smiling. 

“I’m admiring, thank you.” 

He chuckled, turning to kiss you as you came closer. “I’m doing the math in my head,” he said, turning back to the book. “I might have to run to the store for more of this…” He tapped at something on the page, although you didn’t really care to look. You were still admiring him. He noticed a second later, and smiled into another soft kiss. “I hate that you’ll have to do the majority of the work this time…”

“I don’t mind,” you said. “I care about you and your friends. You can’t help that you need to study,” you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. “You’re almost done, y’know?”

“I know,” he said, dragging out the word. His arms wrapped around your waist, drawing you in closer. “But you already do a lot for me. Other people would be annoyed—”

“And other people aren’t me, so I don’t care. You’re studying hard to get farther,” you said. “I wouldn’t have married you if I didn’t support you.” 

He smiled again, a charming look in his eyes as he gazed at you. Seungcheol was always so soft when he was near you, to the point where the tender look on his face was enough to make you cry on your wedding day. In turn, it made him cry, so you considered the two of you even. “I love you,” he said, soft as a promise. “Let me know if you change your mind and want Jun to come help. He said he didn’t mind—”

“It feels wrong to say yes,” you admitted. “I mean… We’re hosting. All the others need to do is show up.”

“Jun knows how many people we’re cooking for,” Seungcheol said. “There’s nothing wrong with needing help. Especially when I can’t help you.” 

With a sigh, you nodded. “I’ll think about it. Are you going to the store now?”

“Are you coming with me?”

Normally, you would… But duty called. You had things to keep working on. “Grab me something sweet?”

“I’ll be coming back—”

You swatted at his arm, but fell only deeper in love with the warm way he laughed at his own dumb joke. “Something chocolate, please,” you said. “We can share it if you want.” 

He stole one final kiss from you before he stepped away. “Whatever you want,” he promised. 

You purposefully waited until he was about to leave to call out to him. “I love you, too.” 

And, oh, that warm smile on his face made all of this work worth it. You would kiss that smile when the two of you went to bed tonight, exhausted from the long day and dinner that you had to put away any remains of when it was all said and done. And you would kiss that smile again tomorrow morning, just to remind him that you knew he could ace it.

taglist: @twancingyunhao @wonuziex @staranghae @synthetickitsune @weird-bookworm