#like it looks good on him but as an artist???

[inlovewithpandora]

⋆｡°✩ — His Favorite Fantasy ᝰ A Rafe Cameron Christmas Special

Lyrics — Rafe’s been begging to introduce roleplay into your sex life, and you’ve been brushing him off—until now. When he comes home from a long trip, you surprise him in a sexy maid costume, turning his wildest fantasy into reality. Christmas came early, and so will he when you’re done with him.

Music Advisory — roleplay [reader is a sexy maid], a little smutty [brief handjob/blowjob], very suggestive ending, s4!rafe coded, business man!rafe

Duration — 3k words

Words from Artist — Happy Christmas Eve Everyone! I wanted to write a fun and smutty holiday fic for Rafe and this is the concept I came up with! As always feel free to comment and reblog, I love reading y’all reactions! I hope you enjoy!!

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Rafe has been dropping hints for months— lingering looks, teasing remarks, and casual comments that made it clear about what he wanted. The Kook prince has been wanting to experiment in the bedroom for a while, bringing a new spice to your sexual relationship by having a role-play session. It’s been on his mind for a while and he wasn’t shy of letting his fantasies be known.

It started out as a joke—or at least, that’s what you told yourself. One of Rafe’s usual throwaway, flirty remarks—the type that always made you roll your eyes and mutter a soft, “You’re crazy, Rafe,” as you gave him a playful shove. But your slightly dismissive attitude never stopped him. If anything, it only encouraged him to bring the idea up more.

Over breakfast, during your lazy afternoons at home, when you both are partying at the boneyard, even during your late night phone calls. No matter the setting, whenever the thought of you in a slutty little costume, showing off the assets you were blessed with, he speaks his mind.

Like that time a few weeks ago, when you were cooking dinner. You’d been on your tiptoes, reaching up to grab an ingredient from a high shelf, Rafe walked up behind you, pressing his chest against your back, and his arm stretching past yours as he helped you reach what you were looking for. “Y’know,” he murmurs, voice low and teasing, “you’d look so sexy in one of those little outfits. All short ‘n tight, wearing one of those skimpy skirts.”

“Rafe!” you’d hiss, fighting a tight lipped smile while your cheeks burn from his flirty comment. You stepped out of his grasp and swatted his arm like you usually do when he brings up the idea of you dressing up for him.

"What?" he'd say, grinning like the devil himself, giving your ass a nice grab before placing a soft kiss on your cheek. "Just tryin’ to paint you a picture."

It wasn't just the comments, though. It was the tone of his voice, the way his voice dripped with mischief, his eyes dark and suggestive, like he knew exactly how to get under your skin. And damn it, he was good at it. You'd laugh it off every time, rolling your eyes or shaking your head, pretending you weren't affected while saying “Keep dreaming, Cameron. Not gonna happen”. But in reality you actually wanted to dress up in a slutty costume for Rafe, you just couldn’t let him know that.

Your plan has been in moniton for months, with Christmas right around the corner you thought this would be the perfect time to give him what he’s been practically begging for as an early Christmas gift. You’ve been spending your time scrolling through multiple websites, trying to find the perfect ensemble to surprise him with. After continuously surfing the web you finally found the perfect costume and it was thankfully delivered just in time to surprise Rafe with it before he came home from his business trip.

You couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement as you open the package, pulling out each part of the costume in awe as you imagine the material clinging to your curves, and how Rafe’s going to be practically trying to rip it off you after the image of you being his sexy maid is stained in his brain. Out of all the role-playing scenarios he’s talked to you about, acting as his maid who ‘cleans up his messes’ and ‘does a little extra for her holiday bonus’ is the one he’s brought up the most.

Rafe’s private jet landed a few hours ago so now you’re currently preparing for his arrival and doing final touches on your look; spraying your favorite scent of perfume, taking your hair out of its current updo and allowing it to cascade down shoulders, and finishing your makeup with your strongest setting spray to keep it as fresh as possible.

As you take one final glance in your full length mirror, you can’t help but feel a mixture of nerves and excitement bubbling in your stomach. The maid costume fit perfectly, snug in all the right places, the small white apron tied neatly around your waist, and the white thigh-high stockings with a lacy trim that adds a perfect amount of tease. You give yourself a once over, turning slightly to admire your physique, causing a smirk to come across your lips. “Damn, I look good.” You mumble under your breath as you make sure your hair looks its very best.

The sound of your phone buzzing as it sits on your vanity pulls your attention away from the mirror and you walk over to see read the notification which you soon realized it was a text from Rafe:

[8:55PM] Ray❤️: Just pulled in the driveway, baby.

As your eyes read Rafe’s text your heart skips a beat as the moment you’ve been carefully planning for months is finally here. You quickly adjust your stockings, grab the feather duster off your bed, and make your way downstairs to the front door, taking a deep breath to steady yourself and calm your nerves.

After a few minutes of waiting you can hear the keys being placed in the front door, and soon the door swings open and reveals Rafe. His navy blazer was slung over his shoulder, the top buttons of his shirt undone, and his usual confidence carrying him inside. “Baby!” He calls out while his eyes quickly scans the area around the front door before he goes into his home office and sets his things down before trying to find you around the large square footage of Tannyhill. “Baby, where are you-” His words become lodged in his throat and his eyes widen when his gaze lands on you, standing in the kitchen in your costume, leaning against the granite countertop with a feather duster in your hand with a coy smile.

"Holy shit," His voice is low and raspy, he runs his hand over his buzz cut and rubs the back of his neck out of shock and disbelief that you’re standing in front of him, acting out one of his top fantasies. Rafe’s eyes can’t pry away from you in this beautiful ensemble: an all black lace corset that pushes up your plump breast, a little mini skirt that shows the bottom of your ass cheeks if you bend over in the slightest, white garters around your thighs and stockings wrapped around your slender legs, and the cherry on top that completes the outfit—and causes his cock to strain against his slacks— is your pretty feet in the Christian Louboutin black stilettos he bought you a while back.

“Welcome home, Mr. Cameron.” your voice is laced with a playful innocence but your eyes are telling a different story. Rafe doesn't respond immediately; his jaw slackens slightly, and his piercing blue eyes roam over body, soaking in every detail of your outfit like he's committing it to memory so he’ll never forget. His hand remains frozen on the back of his neck as though he's trying to ground himself from the initial wave of shock. Finally, his lips curl into a slow, wicked smirk, the kind that always sends shivers down your spine.

"Holy shit," he repeats, his voice thicker this time. He drops his blazer onto the back of a chair and walks toward you with purposeful steps, resting his hands on your hips, trying his best to keep himself under control and not just devour you right here on the kitchen counter. "I must've walked into the wrong house because there's no way my girl-" He pauses, running his tongue over his bottom lip. "—the one who's been brushing me off for months-is standing here looking like every fantasy i've ever had."

You twirl the feather duster in your hand, your coy smile growing as you feel his hand grasp the flesh of your ass. "Well, Mr. Cameron. I thought it was time I finally give you what you’ve been asking for." you say, your tone dripping with playful seduction.

Rafe's grip on your ass tightens, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to make you gasp. His smirk deepens and his eyes turn a shade darker with a glint of desire, showing that he’s clearly amused by how committed you are to your role. "You got no idea how long i've been waiting for this, baby." he drawls, his voice low and teasing.

Rafe steps even closer, pressing his body against yours until there's no space left between you, allowing you to feel his bulge that’s aching to be wrapped around your sweet pussy. His other hand slides up your waist, brushing against the lacy corset before resting just below your breast. "You've been playing hard to get," he murmurs, leaning down to brush his lips against your ear, his breath hot against your skin, making goosebumps rise to the surface. "Brushing me off, laughing it away like I didn't mean it... And now you're just gonna stand there ‘n act like you didn't drive me crazy on purpose?"

You bite your lip, trying to keep your composure under his intense gaze and his fiery touch as his hands move to multiple parts of your body. "I wanted it to be a surprise, an early Christmas gift." you whisper, setting the feather duster done and beginning to unbutton the rest of Rafe’s shirt so you can get him shirtless. "And judging by the look on your face, l'd say I made the right decision."

A dark chuckle escapes Rafe’s throat as his lips graze the corner of your mouth. "Oh, you did, sweetheart," he says, his voice dropping an octave. "But don't think for a second you're getting away with teasing me like this."

Rafe steps back slightly, his hands sliding down your thighs before effortlessly lifting you onto the countertop. The cool granite against your skin sends a shiver through your body, and before you can even react, he leans in, trailing his lips down your neck, his teeth grazing your collarbone in teasing nips.

"I've got a lot of making up to do for all the times you told me this wasn't your thing," he murmurs against your skin, his voice thick with desire. His lips leave a trail of red marks, each one more insistent than the last, and you know they'll be hard to cover up tomorrow when you head out.

You grin at his remark, the teasing satisfaction in your eyes matched only by the heat building between you. His lips find yours in a kiss that's raw and hungry, his large, calloused hand wrapping around your throat in a possessive grip that makes your breath hitch. He kisses you sloppily, yet perfectly, the kind of kiss that leaves you breathless and desperate for more.

Finally, he pulls away, his lips hovering just above yours, his eyes dark with desire. "I'm all yours, Mr. Cameron," you breathe, your voice thick with anticipation. "Whatever you need, I'm here to help."

Rafe pulls back, just enough to meet your eyes, his hand still wrapped around your throat, his grip firm but careful. His lips are slightly swollen from the rough kiss, and his piercing blue eyes are dark with desire. "Whatever I need, huh?" he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your jaw as he tilts your head back, exposing more of your neck to him.

You nod, your breath hitching as his lips graze your throat, his stubble rough against your sensitive skin. "Yes, that's what I'm here for," you whisper, your voice shaky but steady enough to keep up the act.

His piercing gaze locks onto yours, and then he lowers his eyes, making a slow, deliberate trail down to the very obvious bulge straining against his slacks. "Oh, i've got something you can help me out with," he says, his voice dripping with filthy intent. His hand slid to your chin, tilting your head up so you couldn't look anywhere but at him. "And trust me, sweetheart, it's a big job."

Your breath hitches as Rafe's words hang in the air, thick with desire and dirty promise. His piercing blue eyes pin you in place, his grip on your chin firm but gentle, commanding your attention. The smirk on his lips is cocky and confident, the kind that always makes your stomach flip.

"Oh, is that so?" you murmur, your voice trembling slightly under the weight of his gaze, though you try to keep your tone playful.

Rafe tilts his head, his thumb brushing lightly against your bottom lip. "Mhm," he hums, his voice low and gravelly. "You've been teasing me all night with this little outfit, acting like a good girl. But we both know better, don't we?"

Your cheeks flush at his words, but you hold his gaze, a small smirk tugging at your lips. "Well, Mr. Cameron," you reply, your voice dripping with false innocence, "I'm just here to... serve."

That earns you a low, dark chuckle from Rafe, his fingers sliding down to grip your neck lightly, just enough to make your pulse race. "Good," he murmurs, his lips brushing yours but not quite kissing you. "Then get down on your knees and start working... because I'm not letting you off easy."

The command sends a rush of heat through your body, and you feel his hands guide you off the counter with practiced ease. “Yes sir, Mr. Cameron.” Once your heels hit the tile you grab Rafe’s hand and lead him to the living room, making sure you twist your hips perfectly so your ass ripples with each step you take so Rafe’s eyes stay glued to your body.

When you're in front of the couch you softly push him into the cushiony material and once he’s seated your knees hit the soft rug beneath you, looking up at Rafe through your lashes while you undo the buckle of his belt, pulling the leather through its loops and throw it off to the side before pulling his pants and boxers down. Once the cotton cloth is no longer acting as a restraint, Rafe’s hardened cock springs free, softly hitting his lower abdomen before it rests in front of you, pre-cum leaking down his tip, making your mouth water at the sight.

You wrap your hand around his shaft, creating a pleasant sensation to shoot through Rafe’s body as your warm palm moves toward his tip and down to his base. Once you see the veins in his cock become prominent, and his shaft starts to throb in your hand, you move all your hair over your shoulder before kissing Rafe’s pinkish tip and taking him in your mouth, swirling your tongue on his cock and sucking him off just the way he likes.

As Rafe watches you, your lipstick leaving stains on cock, the way you're taking him deep in your throat, watching your saliva drip down his shaft, and the vibrations flowing through his body from your soft hums to keep yourself from gagging makes him throw his head back in ecstasy, wanting to fuck your pretty little throat until it’s raw and hoarse.

He uses his large callous hands as a makeshift ponytail, tangling his hands in your hair before pushing you down further onto his cock, forcing your nose to touch his groin and the tip of his cock to your uvula, making a hiss spew from his mouth. "Fuck, that's it, baby," he murmurs, his voice filled with the wicked intent to press you to your limit and use you in any way he pleases.

Rafe's grip on your hair tightens as he guides your movements, his hips rolling forward slightly, matching the rhythm of your bobbing head. His cock twitches against your tongue, and the guttural groans spilling from his lips tell you just how much he's losing control. "Look at you," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust, his eyes locked on the way your lips stretch around him. "So fuckin' pretty like this. My perfect little maid, doin’ such a good job for me."

Your hands rest on his thighs for support as you take him deeper, your eyes watering but fixed upward to meet his intense gaze. He groans at the sight, his free hand brushing the tears that are flowing down your cheek with surprising tenderness, a sharp contrast to the way his other hand grips your hair.

"You like this, don't you?" he growls, his tone teetering between teasing and demanding. "Taking me so well, letting me use this pretty mouth. Bet you've been thinking about this all day, huh?"

You hum in response, the vibrations traveling through him and pulling another curse from his lips. "Shit," he hisses, his hips jerking forward instinctively. "I could do this all night. But you keep this up..." He trails off, his voice rough as his breathing grows heavier. "...and I'm not gonna last much longer."

Rafe pulls back slightly, letting you catch your breath before pressing you down again, his cock sliding deep into your throat. The lewd sound of your gagging only fuels him further, his eyes dark with desire as he watches you work, completely lost in the pleasure you're giving him.

"That's it, sweetheart," he groans, his voice low and gravelly. "Prove to me you're my good little maid. Show me just how well you can take care of me."

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[sunny-haven]

Libraries are amazing. My childhood would be very different if it weren’t for them. I was able to slowly get into PC gaming because of they’re free-to-use computers (I got a lot of kids to play Minecraft with me, and then Halo: Custom Edition). I also was able to borrow video games as well which was really cool (and if the library didn’t have any, I would order them from another library). I made so so many friends there and became good friends with the youth staff and security guards. I got to try a lot of cool board games there! And of course I read a loooot of books there, there was a certain delight in picking up an easy to read children’s book (sometimes a picture book, sometimes a chapter book) and just chill, or go through the comics section, or sometimes something bigger if I was feeling up for it.

I got to learn how to build a computer at a library (and we built new computers for the adult section with our names engraved onto them). They had an event where comic artists came over and had us make a little zine full of our comics, twice! They built a section for teenagers to hang out and chill in and it was (mostly) soundproof so we were able to play D&D or whatever and chill without worrying about being too loud. I had drawing pads and would draw there, a lot, and would show off my work to the staff and friends who loved it, even when my mom would sometimes find it disgusting.

I even volunteered at the library, helping put away books for the youth section, and some of my friends volunteered as well. The library was a very frequent hangout spot for my friends even as we eventually started going to other places as well. When I didn’t have internet for over a year, I almost always was at the library because of the free internet there. Hell, even my first fursona was a librarian, and I remember making art of him reading books to kids and I drew the background so it looked just like the library I grew up in. I even made a couple of (now private) YouTube videos there of me goofing around with friends. And a bunch of other awesome things happened there.

I also wanna say how big of an impact it had on my mental health as I was able to go away from my mom and her hoarder apartment. It was a safe haven for me. I still miss the friends I made there and visiting there in general (I live pretty far away now). Libraries are fucking awesome and we need to support them. I can’t imagine what my life would have turned out if I didn’t have access to libraries.

[youreverydayfangirl]

THIS IS WHY WE CANT HAVE NICE THINGS

pairing: max verstappen x singer reader

summary: the one in the wake of reputation, people begin to forget and a new story is written

warning: ill come back to it (i didn't but theirs nothing just vague mentions of past mental health issues and online hate)

a/n: only one more part :(

face claim: sabrina carpenter

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The atmosphere of the set was buzzing with energy, y/n sitting in the directors set as she watched the chaos in front of her unfold. Her makeup artist was adding the final bits of eyeshadow to her smokey eye as y/n rewatched some old takes of a scene. Max watched, slightly awkwardly, from the side, a soft smile on his face, his reflection expressing awe.

From the corner of her eye Y/n could see him staring at her and turned to face him with a playful smirk, "How do I look?"

"Like your about to break the internet." Max said, a little smirk on his face though his eyes shone with pride.

She rolled her eyes, laughing. "You say that every time."

"Because it’s true every time," Max shot back, his grin widening.

As she went to get up Max kissed her shoulder quickly before letting her get to work. She laughed slightly at the simple display of affection before whispering in his ear, "You're my good luck charm, Verstappen." He watched as she ran off, intensely aware of the box that sat heavily in his pocket.

"Just don't forget me when you're topping the charts Schatje."

Before the cameras started rolling Y/n made eye contact with Max from the set, mouthing an I love you.

(this was set before they got engaged just an fyi)

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Y/n felt very secure, hidden away in her trailer which was only illuminated by the soft glow of fairly lights strung along the edges of her mirror. She lay on the couch going through her storyboard, Max on top of her, weight heavy. His head rested on her chest as his hand absentmindedly played with the hem of her top, occasionally pressing kissing against her stomach.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your cameo, Mr. Superstar?” she teased, glancing down at him with a playful smirk.

Max grinned up at her, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous sparkle. “I am ready. My job is just to stand there and look good, right?”

“Pretty much,” Y/n quipped, running her fingers gently through his hair. “And don’t forget to smolder. That’s very important.”

Max chuckled, closing his eyes as he leaned into her touch. “I’ll smolder for you and only you, liefde.”

The door to the trailer creaked open, and y/ns assistant peeked in. “Y/n, five minutes to set.”

“Got it,” she replied, her fingers pausing briefly in Max’s hair. The PA disappeared, leaving them in their little bubble of quiet.

“You’re gonna kill it,” Max murmured, his voice soft but sure. He sat up, leaning forward to cup her face with both hands. “Every time I see you work, I fall for you all over again.”

Y/n’s cheeks flushed, and she let out a small laugh. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Ridiculously in love with you,” he replied, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, then her nose, then her lips. “Now go show everyone why you’re the star.”

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y/nsprivate someweirdo took over my trailer and started hogging everything

y/nsfuturehusband HEY THATS NOT NICE!!!

-> y/nsprivate KIDDING AND I LOVE AND THANK YOU AND I LOVE YOU

-> y/nsfuturehusband CALL ME RN PLEASEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

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The soft hum of the TV filled the quiet apartment, but Y/n wasn’t really watching. She sat curled up on the couch, knees drawn to her chest, her fingers absentmindedly tugging at the loose threads of her hoodie. Her eyes were fixed on nothing in particular as her mind raced with negative thoughts and memories she wished she could forget.

Max walked in from the kitchen, holding two mugs of tea. His smile faded the second he noticed her expression. Setting the mugs down on the coffee table, he knelt in front of her, his hands gently covering hers to still their nervous movements.

“Liefde,” he said softly, his voice laced with concern, “what’s going on?”

She shook her head, biting her lip as tears welled up in her eyes. “I don’t even know how to explain it,” she whispered.

Max’s heart ached at the sight of her like this. He slid onto the couch beside her, wrapping his arms around her tightly, as if he could shield her from the ghosts of her past. “You don’t have to explain it,” he murmured. “You don’t have to do anything. Just let me be here for you.”

Y/n let out a shaky breath as she buried her face in his chest, her tears soaking into his shirt. “I hate feeling like this,” she admitted, her voice muffled. “Like I’m broken or something.”

“You’re not broken,” Max said firmly, pulling back just enough to tilt her chin up so she’d look at him. His blue eyes were filled with unwavering determination. “You’re strong, Y/n. Stronger than you know. What you’ve been through doesn’t define you. You’ve come so far, and I’m so proud of you for that.”

A small sob escaped her, and Max wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “And when it feels too heavy,” he continued softly, “lean on me. You don’t have to carry it all by yourself. We’re a team, remember?”

She nodded, her grip on him tightening. “Thank you, Max. For always being here.”

He pressed a kiss to her temple, resting his cheek against her hair. “Always, liefde. You’re stuck with me.” He whispered softly, playing with the ring on her finger.

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a/n

MERRY CHRISTMAS I HOPE YOU ALL GOT SPOILT

ALSO PRAYING FOR MY SWIFTIES IN MOURNING THIS IS FOR YOU

Hey everyone, I just wanted to pop on her and say thank you for all of the support you guys have given me since I first posted this fic. As a writer it is something that's very difficult and vulnerable to put your work out their and for this series to receive as much positive attention as it has gotten is nothing short of remarkable. Sorry for how long its taken for me to get this part out but i've just been struggling with the motivation to write it more or less cause I haven't wanted this series to end but it needs to one way or another. This part marks the official end of the series although I still will write and publish thank you aimee at some point as a bonus chapter since it doesn't really fit into the main post category. I will also at some point post the insta and other snippets that I came up with that just couldn't fit into the main story line of this series. Its sad that this is over but their will be many more things to come. As a bonus note part of the reason why I haven't been super active is i've been working on my book (wrote 10K+ words last week) which i'm super excited about. Also (again IK) the first part of my charles series should be up tomorrow so check that one out if you want :). I've kind of made the decision that this series and the charles series (with a short lando series in the future) exist in the same universe so i can keep max and y/ns story existing in that one aswell (purely because i can't let this series go). The first part of the charles series will be up tomorrow so check that one out if you want. I love you all so much and will miss this series so much :(.

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[gojodickbig]

tattoo artist!suguru x f!reader.

conts: smut!!!! MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI!!!

wc: 2,4k.

“Look at you,” Suguru growled, his tone low and dripping with lust. His hips slammed into you, each thrust forcing a gasp from your lips as he bent you over the workstation in the back of his studio. “Already so fucking wet for me, squeezing me like you don’t want me to stop.”

“I don’t,” you whimpered, your voice breaking into a moan as he drove deeper, harder, every inch of him stretching you in ways that left your mind spinning.

“Yeah?” he rasped, his breath hot against your ear as one hand gripped your hip, holding you steady, while the other slid between your thighs. His fingers were rough but skilled, sliding over your slick folds before circling your clit with deliberate pressure. “Say it, baby. Tell me how much you love the way I’m fucking you.”

“God, Suguru,” you cried, your nails clawing at the surface of the table, trying to keep yourself grounded. “You feel so good—so fucking good, I can’t—”

“You can,” he cut you off, his voice a dangerous growl. “And you will. You’re gonna take every inch of me, aren’t you, princess?”

“Yes,” you gasped, your thighs trembling as he thrust harder, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. “Yes, I’ll take it. Fuck, I’ll take all of it—”

“Good fucking girl,” he groaned, his grip tightening as he angled your hips higher, the motion driving him deeper. “Been waiting to do this since you walked in here weeks ago.”

His words sliced through the fog of pleasure in your mind.

“That first day,” he continued, his voice rough and low, “You came in here all innocent, sitting in my chair, letting me touch you so deliberately while I worked on your tattoo.” He thrust hard for emphasis, making you cry out, the sound echoing through the small studio. “All I could think about was bending you over this table and fucking you until you couldn’t walk straight. I couldn’t get the image out of my fucking head.” His voice lowered, becoming more husky, the memory turning him on even more. “Bet you would’ve let me fuck you right then, huh?”

His confession made your walls clench tight around him, and he groaned, his voice low and thick with approval.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he rasped, his hips slamming into you at a punishing pace. “So tight. Like you were made for me.” His hand slid up your back, pressing you harder into the table as he kept talking, the filth in his voice making your head spin.

“This is what I wanted,” he growled, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “To spread you out on my workstation and fuck you until you’re screaming for me. Until you’re dripping down my cock and begging me for more.”

“Oh my god, Suguru,” you gasped, your words tumbling out between desperate cries. “More! I need more, please!”

“More, huh?” He chuckled darkly, pulling out and slamming back in, his cock thrusting deep and deliberate. “You want more of me? Want me to fuck you harder?”

“Yes! Yes, please!” Your words were barely coherent as his pace quickened. “You feel s—so good inside of me!”

“That’s it,” he said, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “Let everyone fucking hear you then. Let them know how good I’m making you feel.”

The sound of your moans echoed through the room, mixing with the sharp slap of his hips against yours. His fingers found your clit again, circling it faster, more deliberately, as his cock dragged over every sensitive spot inside you.

“You’re fucking perfect, baby,” he groaned. “So fucking wet, so tight. I could stay buried in you all night.”

“Feel — feel you everywhere, Sugu,” your voice trembling as the pressure in your core built higher and higher. “S —agh! So deep! Don’t stop! It fee—ah! Feels so fucking gooood!” you moaned, your back arching as you instinctively pushed back against him.

“Don’t worry, pretty girl,” he murmured darkly. “I’m not stopping until I make you come all over my cock.”

His thumb pressed even more harder against your clit, his pace relentless as his other hand tightened its grip on your hip. You were trembling now, your body arching into his as you teetered on the edge of release.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he growled, his voice rough. “I can feel it. Your pretty pussy’s so tight around me—so fucking desperate to let go. Come on, baby, give it to me. Show me how good I’m making you feel.”

“I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he commanded, his voice sharp and thick with need. “Come for me, princess. Let me feel you.”

You shattered beneath him, your body shaking as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Your cry filled the room, your walls clenching around him so tightly it dragged a guttural groan from his chest.

“Good fucking girl,” he breathed, his rhythm faltering as he chased his own high. With a low, raw moan, he thrust deep one last time, spilling into you, the heat of him making you shudder again.

For a long moment, the room was silent except for the sound of your ragged breaths and the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead. Geto pulled back slightly, his hands still resting on your hips as he pressed a lazy kiss to your shoulder.

“You look good like this,” he murmured, his tone smug as his fingers traced the design of the tattoo still visible on your hip. “Might have to ink you up again, just so I have an excuse to keep you coming back.”

You let out a breathless laugh, too dazed to muster a retort. But as his lips curled into a wicked grin against your skin, you realized you didn’t mind the idea one bit.

© gojodickbig on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not cross-post, translate, copy in any way, etc.

[mattslilies]

✩ model!reader - models for fresh love ✩

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

you pulled up to the building, double checking the address before you got out of your car and walked in. you'd had a scheduling mishap and your manager had double booked you for the day, so you swore under your breath when you noticed that you were showing up late, and for a brand you'd never worked with.

you'd seen the founder, one Chris Sturniolo, follow you on Instagram about two weeks ago, and after scrolling through his account, you'd ended up following him back.

not long after you did, you noticed him liking quite a few of your posts, and then came a ping from your phone, signaling a new message.

2:16 pm: "love all the shoots you've done, they look amazing. i have a shoot for my own brand coming up, was wondering if you wanted to model?"

you read the direct message, the gears in your brain beginning to spin. you couldn't lie, you thought chris was incredibly attractive, and you almost never turned down a good modeling opportunity.

2:23 pm: "what's the brand? would love to look into and consider it."

2:24 pm: "@/freshlove"

a fast responder, then. you scrolled through the account that he had linked, and while it wasn't the type of thing you normally modeled, you were always up for a little bit of a change, a little step outside of your comfort zone.

just as you clicked out of the page, a new message notification crossed your screen.

2:27 pm: "hope you consider it well. would love to see your face there."

was he flirting with you?

you smiled to yourself, never turning down an opportunity for a little fun.

2:28 pm: "i will. would be a shame to miss out on such a nice looking offer. the clothes are cute too."

your only response was a heart reaction to your message, and just two weeks later, here you were.

slipping your phone into your pocket, you glanced around at all the people bustling through the building, unsure of where to go.

"you showed up."

you spun around, quickly realizing it was chris who had spoken, and who you were now standing face to face with.

"yes, i did. i'm so sorry i'm running late, my manager double booked me by mistake-"

chris just laughed, cutting you off.

"don't worry about it. double booked, huh? you must be popular."

you smiled back at him, a teasing glint in your eyes.

"yes, incredibly so. you should be grateful i chose this shoot over the other one i had scheduled today."

his grin only widened, enjoying the playful banter.

"well, consider me lucky i scored such a high demand model. i'll show you where you can grab clothes, if you'd like."

"after you."

it wasn't a far walk to where the rest of the models were setting up, most of them smiling and immediately welcoming you. you settled in easily, not noticing where chris disappeared to, but putting it mostly out of your mind as you let the makeup artist do her job.

the shoot went smoothly, you being the last one to go. chris coincidentally reappeared just in time to oversee all of your photos, smiling when the cameraman showed him each one.

"how's it look?" you called, that same confident smile on your face.

you'd learned early on that insecurity gets you nowhere, and while you weren't cocky, or egotistical, you were photogenic.

"perfect." he was incapable of hiding the smirk on his face.

the shoot wrapped up, and chris showed up once again as you were exiting the changing room, the outfits you'd just modeled draped over your arm.

"pictures looked fantastic."

"thank you. are they going on the instagram?"

chris nodded. "as soon as i get them, yes."

"tag me in them." you winked, starting to head out of the building after grabbing your things.

chris shook his head, smiling, privately loving your confident but playful demeanor.

"can i walk you to your car, or are you too booked and busy?"

you waved your hand in the air, dismissing the joke with a smile.

"never too busy to have a pretty boy walk me somewhere."

quickly finding your car, you and chris walked over there, generally chatting about both his brand and your job. he seemed genuinely interested, which was a nice change of pace.

"well, this is me."

you felt a slight twinge of disappointment as you held the handle of your car door, having thoroughly enjoyed the day.

chris still held eye contact with you for a few moments, not making any move to walk back inside, before gently pressing his lips against yours.

taken by surprise, but not uncomfortable, you kissed back, feeling his hand wrap around your waist. after a few seconds, he pulled back, that same smirk painting his lips.

"i hope to see you next time i have a photoshoot."

"i'll be expecting a message."

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

a/n: this was a little longer than i expected!!!

[v0idprince]

Fuck I’m sorry this is too good, I can’t put my ramble in the tags

I have been rambling to my friends about this for a full minute. Everyone is so perfect and canon accurate oh my god. THANK YOU ARTIST.

Weepy looks like a woman I love her. Will looks happy to be here and SO hot. Aesop serving cunt cunt cunt cunt. NIAB’S RIPPED TIGHTSSS emo. Jose Knows how to look sexy and he IS goddamnit. Murrow is also happy to be there. Magician looks ok I guess he’s not my fav. Kurt is also not my fav but he looks so sweet and cute. ANNDRRWW KEIESSSSSS GODDD. The money stuffed in his garter omf I need him.

The assless chaps on Kevin. I kinda need ganji like that ngl. Dressed in white.. with lace and frills.. blushing.. OUGHHHH. LUCA BALSA MY EVERYTHINGGG his high hips?? Ditzy little smile?? Fuck I need him. Orpheus still trying to look distinguished despite his outfit is Sending Me. Eli looks so polite I adore him, idk how he looks so cute and silly in that revealing ass outfit. Edgar is me fr, he’s serving. Emil fits the outfit so perfectly you could tell me that’s what he always wears and I would believe you. Mike’s BOOBS. HIS STANCE. FUCK!! Norton doesn’t know how to stand to look sexy but he’s trying. His hand on Luchino. THE MONEY IN HIS BOOBS!!?! He would an we all know this. Luchino knows what he’s doing.

Ty for reading my ramble I need all of them rn, amazing job op

ya you know the deal, identity v men in bunny suits 

thats all.

[sundropflowerr]

‘Twas the Night Before Christmas | Steve Harrington

★ Warnings: dad!steve, mom!reader, husband!steve, fem!reader, no use of y/n, established marriage, domestic fluff, mentions of parenting and child behavior, playful family banter, holiday traditions, mild chaos caused by kids, Steve being the ultimate dad, tender family moments, sweet kisses, references to Home Alone, soft nostalgia, and an abundance of Christmas warmth.

★ Summary: It’s Christmas Eve, 1995, and the Harrington family is in full holiday mode. Between their six-year-old son Ethan’s endless questions, their four-year-old daughter Sadie’s knack for causing adorable mischief, and Steve’s playful dad jokes, the night is full of warmth and laughter. 3k

★ Pairings: steve harrington x fem!reader

★ Fic Inspiration: “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” - Frank Sinatra (again)

★ Dividers: thank you to @bernardsbendystraws for the adorable divider, it’s greatly appreciated!

★ Author’s Note: husband and dad steve harrington. goodness. anyways this should be the last Christmas and overall fic of the year (be on the look out for new year’s day) unless i get inspiration again. this is horribly messy and terribly written but nonetheless enjoy!

Snow fell steadily outside the Harrington home, muffling the usual sounds of Hawkins under a thick, sparkling blanket.

The rooftops were capped in white, the snowdrifts shimmering under the glow of streetlamps. Icicles hung from the edges of the roof, catching the twinkle of the colorful Christmas lights that Steve had painstakingly strung up a week ago, with the help of 6 year old Ethan’s enthusiastic, yet, chaotic help.

Each light blinked in perfect rhythm, painting the snow below in shifting hues of red, green, and gold. Through the fogged-up windows, the warm golden light of the Christmas tree spilled onto the lawn, offering a glimpse of the cozy world within.

Inside, the kitchen was a war zone of holiday cheer. Flour clung to nearly every surface—the countertops, the floor, and even the stool where little 4 year old Sadie stood, perched like a determined little artist. It dusted the tip of her nose and her wild curls, making her look like a miniature mad scientist as she meticulously squeezed green frosting onto a gingerbread man.

Her tongue poked out in focused concentration, her small hands gripping the frosting tube as if her life depended on it. Beside her, an array of cookies lay half-finished on the counter, buried under uneven layers of sprinkles and frosting swirls. Each one was a testament to her boundless creativity, if not her precision.

“Santa loves sprinkles,” Sadie declared with absolute certainty, her little face scrunched in concentration as she scooped a generous handful of the colorful confetti-like decorations from the nearest bowl.

The sprinkles scattered across the gingerbread man with wild abandon, tumbling off the edges and onto the counter, onto the floor, and even into the air, as if they were little bursts of festive confetti.

“Santa doesn’t want to eat cookies that are all sprinkles,” Ethan countered from across the counter, his voice dripping with the kind of exasperation only a six-year-old with a perfectionist streak could muster.

He was working on a star-shaped cookie, his movements precise, deliberate. The tiny silver balls he was placing on the edges of the cookie were perfectly symmetrical, each one spaced exactly the same distance apart, as though he were an engineer and this cookie was his blueprint.

Sadie, undeterred, shot her brother a sideways glance, her lips twisting into a defiant pout. “Santa loves all cookies!” she shot back, her voice high and firm, as if daring him to challenge her further. She grabbed another handful of sprinkles, her tiny fingers clumsily but lovingly adding them to her gingerbread creation with a look of pure determination in her eyes.

Steve, who had been quietly observing the sibling exchange from his spot leaning against the fridge, let out a low chuckle, his arms crossed loosely across his chest. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he watched his children, clearly entertained by the growing battle of wills between his two little ones. “You know, Sadie,” he said, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm, “I think Ethan might have a point. That gingerbread guy looks like he just survived an explosion at a sprinkle factory.”

Sadie gasped dramatically, clutching the cookie to her chest as if Steve had just insulted her entire artistic vision. “He’s festive, Daddy!” she protested, her eyes wide with faux horror. “Santa will think he’s beautiful!”

Steve raised his hands in mock surrender, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Alright, alright. Festive, got it. You win, kiddo,” he said, backing off, but his smile never faded.

You glanced up from where you were carefully transferring a fresh batch of cookies onto the cooling rack. You’d been absorbed in your task, the warm scent of cinnamon and vanilla filling the room, but the sounds of your kids’ banter had been too amusing to ignore. You shot a smirk over at Steve, catching the tail end of his playful exchange with Sadie. “Don’t encourage them, Steve,” you said, your voice a mix of amusement and mock exasperation. “This kitchen already looks like a bomb went off in a bakery.”

Steve turned to you with that familiar, mischievous grin that always seemed to pull at your heartstrings. He pushed off the counter and sauntered over, his presence a comforting warmth that seemed to fill the space between you. As he reached you, he slipped his arms around your waist, pulling you close, his chin resting on your shoulder as he kissed the side of your neck, his lips soft against your skin.

“Oh, come on," he said, his voice a playful murmur, "It's Christmas. A little chaos is good for the soul."

The warmth of his touch and the affection in his kiss made your heart flutter, but before you could respond, you heard a chorus of groans from behind you.

"Eww, Daddy, gross!" Ethan wrinkled his nose, his six-year-old voice full of dramatic disapproval. Sadie was standing beside him, her eyes wide as she tugged at his sleeve, mimicking his disgust.

"Yeah, gross!" she added, her voice just as playful, though her face was scrunched in exaggerated annoyance. "Get a room!"

Steve pulled back slightly, his smile widening as he laughed. "Hey, you two can't appreciate true love yet," he teased, raising an eyebrow at them. "When you're older, you'll understand."

You chuckled, shaking your head as you met Ethan’s wide-eyed gaze, his expression a mix of surprise and genuine concern.

"They're right, Daddy," you teased. "We'll have to save the romance for later."

"Yeah, later!" Sadie agreed with a dramatic sigh, making a show of fanning herself with one hand, as if the display of affection had been too much to handle.

Steve gave a mock sigh of defeat, but his arms tightened around you, pulling you closer for another kiss, this time to the top of your head. "Guess we'll have to keep it PG for a little while, huh?" he murmured with a playful grin, his voice soft but full of affection.

As you hold onto his arms that wrap around you, the warmth of his embrace grounding you, you couldn't help but smile at the chaotic love that surrounded you. The kids' teasing, the laughter, and the warmth in the room-all of it felt like exactly what you needed. It was chaotic, but it was perfect.

The kitchen was, indeed, a disaster—sprinkles everywhere, frosting streaked across the table, and flour footprints leading from the counter to the floor. And yet, in the midst of the mess, there was something so perfectly Christmas about it all. You couldn’t help but shake your head fondly at the sight of your two children, Sadie with her chaotic artistic flair and Ethan with his precision, both creating their own little pieces of holiday magic in their own ways.

You let out a soft sigh, your heart swelling with a mix of warmth and contentment. This was your life now—messy, loud, and filled to the brim with joy. The kind of joy that came from every moment spent together, it was imperfect, but it was yours. And you wouldn’t change a thing.

“I suppose a little chaos is good for the soul,” you muttered, leaning into Steve’s embrace, your back resting against his torso. “But we’ll have to clean it all up before Santa comes.”

Steve’s grin widened as he kissed the top of your head. “Deal,” he said softly, his voice warm, full of affection. “But for now, let’s just enjoy it.”

And in that moment, amidst the mess, the laughter of your kids, and the hum of Christmas music playing softly in the background, you truly did. You couldn’t imagine a better way to spend Christmas Eve.

By the time the last batch of cookies had cooled, the kids had moved on to decorating with gusto. Sadie was a whirlwind of frosting and sprinkles, her hands sticky but her smile wide. Ethan’s creations, on the other hand, could have been featured in a magazine—each one neat, symmetrical, and perfect in its own way.

“Do you think Santa will like mine better?” Ethan asked as he placed a gingerbread snowman carefully on the plate.

“Santa loves everything,” you replied diplomatically, shooting Steve a look that warned him not to stir the pot.

“He’ll love Sadie’s too,” Steve added, crouching down to examine one of her creations. “Especially this one. It’s, uh… very colorful.”

Sadie beamed, clearly taking this as the highest of compliments.

Once the cookies were arranged on a plate, along with a glass of milk, the four of you moved into the living room. Ethan darted ahead to claim the best spot on the couch, while Sadie grabbed her stuffed reindeer and curled up in Steve’s lap.

Steve held up a VHS tape like it was a trophy. “Tonight’s pick: Home Alone.”

Ethan pumped a fist in the air. “Yes!”

Sadie giggled, clutching her reindeer tightly. “Kevin’s so funny!”

You settled onto the couch next to Ethan, draping a blanket over your lap as Steve popped the tape into the VCR. The kids quieted as the familiar opening music began, their eyes glued to the screen.

The living room was warm and cozy, the fire crackling softly in the hearth. The Christmas tree lights cast colorful patterns across the walls, and the faint scent of pine mingled with the sugary sweetness lingering from the kitchen.

As Kevin McCallister navigated his hijinks, Sadie giggled uncontrollably at the Wet Bandits’ antics, her laughter ringing through the room. Ethan, meanwhile, provided a running commentary.

“They’re so silly,” he said, shaking his head as Harry slipped on the icy stairs for the third time. “Why don’t they just give up?”

“That’s not the point, buddy,” Steve replied, chuckling. “They’re supposed to be silly. It’s funny.”

“Kevin’s really brave,” Sadie whispered, clutching her reindeer as Kevin faced off against the burglars. “He’s all alone, but he’s not scared.”

You smoothed her curls with a gentle hand. “He’s smart too, just like you.”

Steve caught your eye, his expression softening as he smiled at you. These moments—the quiet, ordinary ones—were the ones he cherished most.

By the time the credits rolled, Sadie was fast asleep in Steve’s lap, her tiny hand clutching the fabric of his sweater. Ethan was valiantly trying to stay awake, but his head kept nodding forward, his stubbornness no match for his exhaustion.

Steve glanced down at Sadie, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Looks like it’s bedtime for these two.”

You nodded, sharing a glance with Steve as you both made your way toward the kids. Without a word, you reached down to gently lift Ethan into your arms. He squirmed slightly, grumbling under his breath, but didn’t protest as you settled him against your chest, his head resting on your shoulder. Steve, in turn, scooped up Sadie with ease, her small body curling instinctively into his hold. She mumbled something incoherent, her voice muffled by sleep, but didn’t wake as he cradled her against him.

The two of you made your way upstairs in comfortable silence, each step echoing softly through the house. It felt like a peaceful rhythm, this simple act of carrying your kids to bed, a reminder of how much you both cherished these little moments.

You reached Ethan’s room first, carefully lowering him into his bed. He groggily shifted under the covers, his sleepy eyes flicking up at you with a mix of curiosity and exhaustion. You helped him into his pajamas, smoothing out the fabric with a practiced hand before tucking him under the covers.

“Do you think Santa’s gonna like the cookies?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep but still filled with that unmistakable childlike wonder.

Steve, who had followed you into the room, chuckled softly as he leaned against the doorframe. “He’s gonna love them. Especially that one with all the sprinkles,” he said, grinning.

Ethan let out a small giggle, his eyes already fluttering closed. “Good,” he mumbled, his face relaxing into sleep as he drifted off, his soft breathing the only sound in the room.

Meanwhile, Steve took Sadie to her room. As soon as he placed her on her bed, she curled up into her blankets, her little reindeer toy tucked under her arm. She sighed contentedly as he adjusted the covers around her, kissing her forehead gently.

“Goodnight, lovebug,” you whispered from the doorway, watching the tender moment unfold.

Sadie mumbled something sleepy and incoherent, her eyes fluttering closed as she snuggled deeper into her pillow. “Goodnight,” she whispered back, her voice already soft with sleep.

As you and Steve stood in the doorway for a moment, watching your kids drift off into peaceful slumber, a sense of quiet satisfaction settled over you both. The house was still, the Christmas lights outside casting a gentle glow through the windows. Everything felt right. You turned to Steve, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “They’re going to be so excited when they wake up tomorrow.”

He nodded, his arm naturally finding its way around your waist as you both quietly left the room. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure they’ll be up before the sun is,” he said, his voice a mixture of amusement and fondness.

You smiled up at him, leaning into his side as the two of you headed back downstairs, the soft hum of Christmas music filling the air around you. It was a quiet night, just the two of you, in the calm after the chaos. And as the two of you settled back into the warmth of the living room, the love and laughter of the night still lingering in the air, you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of contentment. Christmas was here, and your family was exactly where they belonged.

“Think they’ll notice if we eat one?” Steve asked, breaking off a corner of a gingerbread man with a playful grin. He popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly as if savoring the moment.

You looked at him over the top of the cookie jar, raising an eyebrow. “Not unless you want to explain why there are bites taken out of the cookies they spent hours decorating.”

Steve shrugged, his eyes glinting with mischief as he reached for another cookie. “Eh, they’ll never know. Besides, Santa can always come up with his own cookies.”

You smirked, swatting his hand away as you grabbed one for yourself. “I’m pretty sure Santa’s going to have a sugar high with how much we’ve put out for him.”

He laughed, popping a piece of cookie into his mouth. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. I mean, we’ve done all the hard work, haven’t we?”

You took a bite of your own cookie, sighing in contentment. “True. These are way better than store-bought.”

Steve’s grin widened as he leaned in to kiss your cheek. “I think we’ve officially earned it. We’re doing all the Christmas magic around here.”

You laughed as Steve pulled you into his arms as the fire crackled softly behind you. The glow of the Christmas tree bathed the room in warmth, and Frank Sinatra’s “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” played faintly in the background.

As you leaned against him, the quiet of the moment settled over you like a blanket.

"This is it, you know," Steve said suddenly, his voice low and serious. His eyes were soft, distant in a way, as if he were taking in the entire scene-the glowing lights, the quiet of the house, the warmth of it all.

You looked up at him, your eyebrows furrowing slightly. "What is?" you asked, curious but not entirely sure what he meant.

"This," he said again, his gaze sweeping across the room, lingering for a moment on the kids' cookies on the counter, the half-empty mugs of hot chocolate, the soft Christmas lights casting a warm glow over the space. Then, his gaze landed back on you, his expression tender.

“The kids, the house, you. Everything I ever wanted. It's right here."

The way he said it-so genuine, so full of admiration-caught you off guard. Your chest tightened with emotion, and for a moment, you couldn't find the right words.

You reached up instinctively, cupping his cheek, feeling the stubble there beneath your palm, the warmth of him as you held him close.

"You deserve it, Steve," you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. "Every bit of it." You didn't need to elaborate. You knew what he meant.

Steve's gaze softened even further, a look in his eyes you could only describe as reverent.

Slowly, he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment as if savoring the feeling of being with you in this quiet, perfect moment. When he pulled back, he looked at you, his eyes filled with something deeper, something that made your heart swell.

"I don't know how I got so lucky," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

"But I don't think I'll ever be able to thank you enough for this. For us." His hand slid down to your waist, pulling you gently against him. He didn't rush it, just held you there, his lips grazing against yours in a kiss that was soft, slow-like he was trying to memorize the feeling of being close to you.

You smiled, your chest tight with affection. "I love you.”

There was a quiet stillness between you both, a peacefulness that wrapped around you like the softest blanket. The house was quiet, save for the faint hum of Christmas music drifting from the speakers and the distant sound of snow falling outside. But in this moment, nothing else mattered.

You were together. The life you had, the love you shared-it was everything, and it was yours.

Steve's hand gently brushed the back of your neck, and he kissed you again, his lips soft, lingering. It was a kiss that said more than words ever could-more than any ‘thank you' or 'I love you' could ever express.

You had everything. And you wouldn't change a single thing.

thank you so much for reading! please like/reblog or comment if you did, it would be greatly appreciated. have a great day and a happy holidays!!

[nicsnort]

After Party

NSFW 18+ male minotaur x female reader

Contains: drug use (sort of), overstimulation, talk of breeding, size difference

Word Count: 4603

Lore/World-building prompt

After your company Yuletide party, you head out to the mixed species club. Even though it is not your usual scene you wind up going back to a minotaur's apartment for the night. A minotaur's cum is said to have euphoric magical effects and you are about to have a first-hand experience.

~

The walls of the club throbbed slightly offbeat with the flashing red and green lights. On the dance floor, bodies writhed to the pulsing beat of the music, so loud that they felt the tone vibrate their bodies to a rap version of Jingle Bells. You watched the moving mass from a stool on the edge near the bar. Some work acquaintances had invited you out with them after the company Yule party, but this was not your usual scene. Perhaps that is why you ended up as the designated sober person and drink watcher. Perhaps your acquaintances had planned it that way, but you’d rather not think about it at the moment.

Your eyes swept over the crowd, picking out two of the three people you had come with. Yet, you could not help but be drawn to the sight of the others on the floor. The monsters. Many of the monsters stood out against the crowd of humans. Larger in size or with noticeable horns or tails. Mixed species bars and clubs were becoming more common ever since the tension with the monsters from the other side of the Rift had given way to peaceful acceptance.

You saw a naga dancing with a woman, her long snake lower half undulating around her partner sensually. A werewolf ground against the rear of his dance partner, advertising the goods under his pants. Dancing with one of your co-workers was a faun, his hairy hands roaming over their lean body suggestively.

Your legs rubbed together with desire. There had always been something about monsters for you. They were just better, more alluring, than humans. Maybe it was the forbidden aspect, how those relationships still broke boundaries even in this peaceful age. Not to mention how fascinating their cultures were, and their biology and magic were outstanding in your eyes. Such variety. Not that you had ever experienced anything with a monster beyond a short kiss with the siren dimensional exchange student in high school during Spin-the-Bottle.

Across the dance floor, your eyes made contact with a massive bull minotaur. The air left your lungs, and your core clenched with want at the sight of him. He was leaning against one of the small tables with a drink in his hand, an orc and an elf were next to him, surveying the stock of potential partners in the club. All three were wearing Santa hats and modified business clothes. They must have come here after a work function, too.

“What is a beautiful thing like you doing sitting over here,” a voice asked, a body suddenly pressing against the space beside you.

Glancing over, you saw what had to be a Hollywood cutout of a human pick-up artist leaning against the wall. One of his arms was above his head to take up more space and allow him to lean into you. With that one move, he successfully trapped you between him and the small table on which your and your acquaintances’ drinks sat. It was so intentionally casual that he had to have practiced it. Lame.

“Not interested,” you immediately told him, returning your gaze across the club. The minotaur you had locked eyes with was gone.

“Hey, hey, don’t be like that, babe,” the man said, reaching across your field of view to set his drink on the table. “Come on. Are you feeling self-conscious? That shirt may make you look fat, but the color really brings out your gorgeous eyes.”

You gave the man a look of disgust. “Did you really just try to neg me?! Go away.”

“Don’t be a bitch, that was a compliment.” He went to grab you, but suddenly, a large, meaty hand covered in short black fur wrapped around his wrist. The minotaur from across the club.

“Pretty sure the kyría told you to go away.” His voice was low and deep, almost lost among the throbbing bass of the music, but its edge was just threatening enough to reach their ears.

“Let go of me, animal,” the pick-up artist hissed, struggling vainly against the minotaur’s grip.

“What is in your hand,” the minotaurs asked, not even acknowledging the man’s words. Forcing his hand open, the minotaur pulled out a small bottle of white liquid. Taking it from him, the minotaur sniffed the half-empty bottle. “Really, you spiked her drink with this fake minotaur essence bullcrap?”

“What,” you exclaimed, outraged. “You were trying to drug me?!” Without thinking your foot shot out and nailed the desperate pick-up artist in the stomach. “Get the fuck out of here before I call the Wardens!”

The minotaur released the human as he clutched his stomach in pain. “Fucking cow deserves a beast,” he muttered just loud enough for them to hear as he scurried away.

The minotaur snorted, his hoof scraping the ground, causing the pick-up artist to run all the faster. You flipped off the human before your attention returned to the minotaur towering before you. “Thanks.”

“Minotaurs are guardians,” he said as if that explained everything.

“I thought that was just a stereotype.”

The minotaur smirked, lowering his head, and he spoke into your ear. His low voice resonated in your bones even more than the music. “True for our mates.”

Your face went brick red, your core clenching with desire at his suggestive words.

“Oh,” you managed to squeak out, the noise lost amongst the music. Your face was red hot. In an attempt to cover your sudden inability to speak and cool your face, you reached for your drink.

Then the minotaur’s large, callused hand covered yours. “Hold on, ómorfi̱ kyría; the bastard spiked that.”

“Right,” you replied, your brain still trying to catch up with the attraction and swirl of emotions you were feeling from being flirted with by such a prime specimen of beef. “With the fake, uh, minotaur essence.”

“Exactly, a low move. A woman like you deserves the authentic stuff straight from the source.” He chuckled and leaned in to speak into your ear. “So, can I get you a drink?”

Your mind went blank. No one had ever been so smoothly direct with you before. You weren’t completely sure how you responded, but you felt your mouth move. The minotaur grinned and tugged at your hand, leading you through the press of people. The next thing you knew, the cool night air hit your face, the city night blessedly silent compared to the pounding music of the club. The winter air helped to clear your head.

“My apartment is not far if that is alright with you,” the minotaur suggested as you walked. His low voice stood out even more without the pulse of the music.

“I…that’s fine…”

“There is no pressure, kyría. We can get a hotel room if that is more comfortable for you.” He gestured down the street where a few hourly hotels were set up for people leaving the clubs.

“No, it is fine…I’ve just never done this before.”

“Have sex with a monster or just a minotaur?”

“Well, yes to both, honestly, but more gone home with a stranger from a club. I typically don’t go out to clubs at all…” As you confessed, you felt even more awkward. What were you doing? This was silly. You didn’t even know his name.

He gave a nod. “You are not obliged. I would have stopped that man without wanting you as well. You are beautiful, but you do not owe me.”

A smile came to your face that was sweet of him, something that many humans could not grasp. “Thank you. I-I would like to continue, though. I am simply outside of my usual comfort zone. I am sure once we start, I will feel far different.”

The minotaur nodded again. “Do not be afraid to speak up if you feel uncomfortable. Despite what people say, we are not mindless rutting beasts…unless you want me to be.” He winked. The blush you had felt in the club reentered your cheeks.

As you walked, a crowd of drunken people approached, forcing you to move closer to the minotaur. His hand stretched out and wrapped around you, his strong hand gripping your hips as he pulled you close. A snort left him, steam billowing from his nostrils, the sight causing the drunks to back up and hurry along. Even when the group was long gone, his hand did not remove itself from your body but settled on your waist. Its heavy weight was titillating, reinvigorating your blushing desire. Under the pretense of keeping warm, you pressed against him further.

It was not long before you arrived at his apartment. At most, it was a ten-minute walk from the club and one of the apartment buildings recently renovated to accommodate the needs of monsters. Even so, he still had to duck to enter the elevator or risk catching his horns. As the elevator rose, the massive hand on your waist began to roam. His thick fingers ran along the hem of your shirt, slipping underneath it to tease your skin. The palm of his hand slid down and cupped your ass cheek with a gentle squeeze.

You bit your lower lip but couldn’t suppress the soft squeak of pleasure from your throat. He massaged your ass, his thumb rubbing circles around the end of your spine. While you were still a bit nervous, the arousal you were feeling started to override it. Glancing over at him, you slid your hand up his strong arm, feeling the powerful muscles underneath his short, bristly fur.

“You like that kyría,” he asked, pulling you closer to him. Two of his fingers slipped between your legs and rubbed your quickly swelling lips through the cloth of your pants.

“Yes,” you groaned, grinding against his fingers lightly. Glancing down, you saw the bulge in his pants growing. You were about to fuck a monster. A minotaur. Anticipation mixed in with the nervous arousal.

A smirk graced his snout, his ears flickering with delight. If a bull could purr he did so, “Good.” 

The ding of the elevator barely registered in your head, but the minotaur dragged you down the hall to his apartment. For his size, the apartment looked small, though that could have been due to the larger-than-normal furniture taking up more space. But you weren’t allowed more than that cursory glance around before his hands were on you again. His hands rubbed against your body before lifting you up. He put your ass on the high kitchen table as he spoke low in your ear. “You said you had never been with a minotaur before. You might struggle to articulate things after catching a whiff of my essence. What are your boundaries?”

It took a moment for your mind to recognize what he was asking. Plucking the Santa hat from his head, you tossed it to the side as you answered. “No butt stuff. Not too rough.”

“Dirty talk, alright? Talk of breeding?” He squeezed your clothed breasts, his thumbs rubbing over your nipples, which were already rock hard.

“Nothing degrading, but yes to both otherwise.” You ran your hands across his broad chest, feeling his strong pectoral muscles flexing under your touch. Many beastfolk, like minotaurs, had a breeding kink (though perhaps it was simply vanilla for them), and you wouldn’t deny the appeal of that language either.

“Inside or outside?”

“What,” you asked, pulling back a bit confused.

“Inside,” he dipped his hand in between your legs, “or outside?” He drew his hand up and splayed it across your stomach.

His cum. Where did you want his cum? Your face went deep red again. Taking a long breath to steady yourself, you managed to get your reply out without too much difficulty. “I’ll take some night tea. So, don’t just talk about breeding me; actually do it.”

A low bellow of want released from him, his nostrils flaring. “Careful, kyría, words like those really will turn me into a rutting beast.”

You were about to formulate a reply when he lifted you from the table. Your legs wrapped around him as he carried you to the bed. Oh, it was a studio apartment that made sense with his horns - fewer doorways. Setting you on the bed, his large fingers fumbled with the small buttons of your shirt.

“Let me,” you told him, quickly unbuttoning your shirt and pants. He watched you remove all but your underpants, his ear twitching and tail swaying with interest. The red of embarrassment began to grow once again under his desired gaze.

“You know,” he said, removing his shirt and revealing his thick, muscled form. “I love how shy humans get about sex. It is cute seeing your face go red.”

He kneeled on the bed, his large, heavy body pressing you down. A wet nose brushed against your cheek. “Now, I will turn the rest of your body red by breeding you all night.”

Your shy nerves hit a tipping point, not to where you withdrew but where the reality crashed upon you. This was happening; this was truly happening. You were going to fuck a minotaur. An excited grin came to your face. 

Lifting your hand, you touched the side of his face and pulled his snout to your mouth for a kiss. His broad tongue plunged into your mouth, overwhelming you quickly. Your tiny tongue could barely fight against him, but you managed to rub it back and forth against the underside of his tongue. He pulled back from the kiss just as you ran out of air. A thick strand of saliva connecting your mouths together broke, landing against your chest. The minotaur huffed, his ears twitching with excitement.

His large hands gripped your body, one holding your thigh, massaging the generous flesh, and the other engulfing your breast. “Mmm, look at these. Your tits are so lovely. I could suckle at them for hours.”

Lowering his head, he took your other breast in his mouth. His lips pulled on your nipple, sending shocks of pleasure through your body. His fingers rolled your other nipple between them, tugging occasionally. He settled into a rhythmic sucking as if he was trying to milk you.

Under his touch, your body writhed, hips rolling underneath him as your pussy swelled with need. Your dripping core brushed against the large member straining in his pants, providing delicious friction.

With a pop, he released your breast from his mouth. The viscous saliva tingling in the cool air of his apartment. “Beautiful.”

He cupped both of them in his hands, massaging the globes, his thumbs circling your nipples. “But just imagine them full of milk. Heavy and swollen. Leaking. I’d hand-milk you every morning while slowly filling you with my cock.”

You moaned at the thought. His hands slid down to your hips. Sliding his thumbs under your panties, he lifted your hips into the air as he pulled them off. Your legs settled around his neck—your slick, swollen core inches from his snout. His broad tongue swept out in a long lick that touched every part of your dripping lower lips. A huff of hot air rushed over your aching clit as he snorted with pleasure.

“Damn, you taste sweet.” His tongue dove back in. Long, slow, broad licks that savored your taste. It felt so good but wasn’t quite enough to make you come. Then you felt his tongue press inside of you. That muscle alone stretched your inner walls; it was as big as most human male members itself. With the same deliberation, he fucked your dripping hole with his tongue. The tip of his tongue pressed against that perfect spot within you, and your vision went white as you came hard across his tongue.

The minotaur pulled back, licking his lips with satisfaction. “Delicious.”

“I--I thought you were going to breed me,” you said with panting breath as you came down from your orgasmic high.

“Oh, that is next. But a woman like you deserves the effort of making you orgasm without the influence of my cum.” Carefully, he lifted your legs off of his shoulders and set your ass on the bed. Standing, his gaze fixed you in place as he pulled the ties of his pants. He was not wearing anything underneath.

His jet-black fur went all the way down his body, covering the heavy ballsack between his furred legs. Jutting out of its sheath was the only bare skin - his meaty cock dripping with precum. The scent of the precum reached your nose. The musky aroma immediately entranced you. Your body was already flushed with arousal, sensitive from orgasm, but you shuddered with pleasure at the mere scent. What would it be like to consume it? 

Eyes dilating, you focused on the magnificent source of the musk. Reaching out, your fingers touched the searing heat of his thick member. You couldn’t even wrap your hand all the way around. Before you could lower your head and press your lips to the flared head of his member, the minotaur’s hand cupped your chin and forced you to look at him.

“Last chance to back out, kyria,” he warned, “trust me. Once you have a taste, the essence will take full effect.”

Blinking, you realized that, indeed, you had so quickly succumbed to his musk that tasting his cum would put you in a state unable to express yourself except in pleasure. “You’re sweet,” you told him with a smile, “and I intend to take you up on that offer of a drink from the source. You’ll have enough to breed me afterward, right?”

The minotaur grinned and released your chin. “I guarantee you will be thoroughly bred.”

Still smiling, you lowered your head to his weeping member. White beads of his manly minotaur essence drew your eye. Leaning forward, you pressed a gentle kiss against his glands. The scent was overwhelming, and you had to taste it. Opening your mouth, you notice that the creamy precum washed over your tongue. It was salty yet had a rich flavor you found hard to describe. 

Even more indescribable was the sensation of the essence taking hold on you. Almost like breathing in peppermint a tingling sensation coursed through your head, energizing you. Yet, like hot chocolate, the whole round flavor washed over you like soaking in a hot bath as your muscles relaxed. The combined sensation was a lethargic yet ever-present need for the succulent thing in front of you - cock. You needed cock.

With slow movements, as if in awe of the member before you, you began to lick and suck at his cock. You had to get more of that wonderful essence within you. You needed it within you, on you. Your body craved his cum.

Your hands pumped along his length as you tried to work his cock into your mouth. The essence leaking from his tip worked its magical effects. Relaxing your jaw and tongue but also allowing them to stretch past their usual boundaries. Soon, you were bobbing your head. There were still physical limitations, even with his essence easing the way, but you managed to work a good third of his cock into your mouth and down your throat. Usually, you’d choke on something this big, but with the magic of his essence, your throat had become an accommodating zone of pleasure - for both him and you.

His large hand gripped the back of your head, guiding your motions. A snorting grunt of pleasure escaped him. “By Asterion, your mouth is magic kyria. ”

Your hands continued to pump the rest of his length. His was hot and pulsing under your fingers. He forced your head back and forth faster, fucking your throat. Suddenly, his searing essence poured down your throat straight into your stomach. You moaned around his cock, your hands continuing to pump him, as you were rewarded with three more spurts of his creamy cum.

With a pop, the minotaur removed the still-hard cock from your mouth. It felt like you were floating. Drunk on his cock. High from his cum. You reached for his cock once more. You wanted to worship it. You could spend hours sucking him off until his cum bloated your stomach. Yet, he pulled you away and up into his arms, your needy pussy spread wide as your legs were situated on either side of his body.

“No, no more in your mouth. I am going to breed you now, kyria. Your pussy will be overflowing with my cum.”

Oh. That did sound better. Your aching pussy filled to the brim. Cum in its proper place.

His thick cock rubbed along your pussy. You ground against it, the remainder of his cum spreading across your slick folds, starting its magic to make him fit inside of you.

“What an eager mate,” he commented, letting you cover his member with your needy juices. “Look at your beautiful body flushed red for me.”

“P-peas,” you grounded unable to pronounce your plea correctly with how far your mind was gone.

“You can still speak? I’ll have to fix that.” With a grin, he stopped your hips’ grinding.

Dragging your body up, he positioned the wide head of his cock against your dripping hole. Achingly slow, he pressed inside of you. His wide cock stretched every part of you. A deep, throaty moan left you as the thick rod hit your cervice. He was barely halfway in you. The minotaur pulled back his cock, scraping your insides. 

“Nooo,” you moaned as the wonderful fullness left you. He stopped with his flared tip, just barely inside of you. Then with a swift motion, he forced you down onto his cock. 

Your mind went blank from the pleasure. Everything else faded from your awareness. All there was, was the minotaur holding you and the hot cock within you. 

Your inner walls pulsed with orgasm, but he continued to move your hips up and down his length. His essence was slowly opening your needy pussy to his huge cock, but the remnants from your blowjob weren’t enough. You needed more in order to take him all. And he was all too happy to provide.

With a bellow, he forced your hips down as far as they could go as he dumped another round of cum into you. The searing hot cum filled your hole, prompting another orgasm from you. A wordless scream of pleasure left your throat. Your naked body pressed against his fur-covered chest, your fingers gripping his hard muscles.

Yet, even as you came for the third time that night, you wanted more. You tried to beg for that. Plea for more. But as he had promised, words were wiped from your mind. As your lips formed the “mm” all that followed was a long, deep moan. “Mmoooo!”

“There we go, kyria. Give in to the pleasure.” His member was still rock hard inside of you. Shifting your body, he laid you on the bed, his cock never leaving your pussy, so his cum was sealed inside of you, working its magic.

“This is why I love humans. Shy at first. Watching breaking you down until you give into your true nature.” As he spoke, the minotaur maneuvered your legs and hips until he was holding you down in a mating press, his hand holding your arms down so all you could do was receive him.

You tried to beg again, but all that came out was another moo-like moan. He chuckled, the vibration coursing through you, causing a whimper. Leaning over you, he pulled your ecstasy-addled face to his, dominating you with a kiss. “Pleasure-drunk, breeding cows.”

His cock pressed further into you as the cum worked its magical effect. Deliberate, unyielding pressure let his thick, meaty rod sink into your body. Half his cock. Three-quarters. Seven-eighths. He pulled back to the tip. Then with a mighty thrust, his cock hilted in your pussy, his cum squirting out.

The minotaur jack-hammered into you. His balls, heavy with thick cum even after two orgasms, slapped against you. All of it. You wanted all of his cum. He was right. This was your true nature. This is what you wanted all along. To be a pleasure-drunk breeding cow for a minotaur. With breasts swollen with milk for your calves. Your bull filling you with his cock as he milked you.

“Fuck, kyria, your cunt is sweeter than a purebred Bova. I’ve never had a human take me this well.” His hips stuttered as he came once more. You screamed as you came along with him. Your eager walls milking the cum from his cock.

He let your cream-filled pussy rest as he sat on his hooves, his eyes staring at the cum bubbling from your hole. You stared at the ceiling, your chest heaving with effort. Your body limp from both pleasure and the cum’s magic. Slowly you were able to lower your legs, causing a stream of cum to pour out of you. With shaking hands, you reached down and stroked your swollen abused lips spreading his cum around. Once your fingers were covered in the sticky cream, you lifted them to your mouth.

Tongue lolling out of your mouth, you greedily sucked your fingers clean. The minotaur grunted with amusement. Managing to glance at him, you saw his cock half deflated but now regrowing to full size. Grabbing your ankle, he turned you on your hands and knees. Without prelude, he slammed himself into your pussy once more.

“You have turned me into a rutting beast, kyria,” he told you between thrusts. His huge hands reached around you to hold your breasts. His powerful fingers twisting and tugging on your engorged nipples.

“If this were the old days, I would whisk you away. Guard your fertile body to ensure you only carried my calves. My own personal breeding cow. Milk you when our calf was weaned to keep the milk in you, then breed you over and over. Start a herd.”

You were helpless beneath him. All you could do was moan and pant underneath him. All you could do was receive his cock and cum with ecstatic joy.

Several orgasms and about an hour later, even the mighty virile minotaur was spent. You were filled with his cum, but the effects of it were beginning to fade as you laid on top of him in the bed. His powerful arms were wrapped around your waist possessively. Your hands mindlessly stroked his fur as his chest rose and fell beneath you.

“Are you alright, kyria,” he asked, his massive chest rumbling under you. “I didn’t go too hard, did I?”

“No,” you replied, nuzzling into him, too tired to elaborate at all. You were still processing the intense experience.

“Good, good…so, I am not sure how much you remember, but I was just caught up in the moment saying I’d turn you into a breeding cow…that being said…I don’t suppose you’d be open to seeing each other again?”

Shakily, you managed to lift yourself up to look into his deep brown eyes. You released a tired chuckle.

“What,” he asked, his hands tightening a tad nervously on your waist.

“I just realized,” you told him with another chuckle, “I don’t even know your name.”

“Oh,” he chuckled now as well, “I’m Tyrus. Pleasured to meet you…um…”

You chuckled once more and told him your name. “It has been a pleasure, Tyrus, and I would love to see you again.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Other Department of Monster Affairs works

Werewolf bites and bodily fluids - worldbuilding/lore prompt for Hello Neighbor

Hello Neighbor - m!werewolf x f!reader, teratophilia, knotting, heat. One-shot.

For other works see my masterlist

[fairyrcts]

────୨ৎ──── cherry!reader & tattoo artist!matt headcanons !

ᝰ.ᐟ tattoo artist!matt who met you for the first time by doing one of your tattoos

“uhm, no, rachel isn’t here today. you’ll probably be with me this afternoon.” he gave you a welcoming smile while he put on his black latex gloves.

ᝰ.ᐟ tattoo artist!matt who was intrigued by you within moments of meeting you

“what were you thinking?” he asked, preparing his workspace while you laid back on the bench.

“a pin-up doll, near my shoulder.” you spoke softly as matt looked down at you in some sort of adoration.

ᝰ.ᐟ tattoo artist!matt who loves making you his muse for his art

“stay right there f’me… perfect, baby. just perfect.” he breathed out, looking up from his sketch pad a few times as he drew the two bows that sat at the end of your braided hair.

ᝰ.ᐟ tattoo artist!matt who sits with you on his balcony smoking and having deep conversations

“it’s so nice out, tonight.” he took a drag of his cigarette after his sentence, looking out to the bustling city below them.

ᝰ.ᐟ tattoo artist!matt who loves teasing cherry

“matt!” you whined after he took a large sip of your diet coke when you specifically told him a small sip.

“sorry, sugar. couldn’t help it.” he spoke with a sly smirk on his face.

ᝰ.ᐟ tattoo artist!matt who lets you color in his tattoos

“are you coloring the cerberus red? seriously?” he chuckled under his breath as you looked up at him, nodding.

ᝰ.ᐟ tattoo artist!matt who definitely would have some type of claiming kink

“matt, what?” you look at him like he had just said the dumbest thing ever.

“what? you don’t think my name would look good in big ole’ letters across your neck?” he asked genuinely, letting his fingers run across your neck as if he was visualizing the tattoo itself.

۶ৎ cherry!reader who found herself staring from the second she met matt

“stay still, would you, hun?” he asked, slightly quieter than he intended.

you simply nodded, your eyes still sat on his face. the way he bit his bottom lip in concentration.

۶ৎ cherry!reader who loves doodling on him

“whatcha drawin’, sweet girl?” he asked, his left hand stroking your hair while you moved the ballpoint pen on his right.

“i dunno, ‘m jus’ doodling.” she giggled to herself.

۶ৎ cherry!reader who leaves her kiss mark on him

“look at that. all mine, hm?” you smiled down at the brunette that sat on your bed, his cheek and neck covered in your lipstick.

“yes ma’am.” he nodded, snaking his arms around your waist, pulling you down on him in the process.

۶ৎ cherry!reader who likes watching matt draw

his pencil moved rapidly on the paper while you stared. the way his veins became more prominent in his hands, how his brows furrowed while perfecting his art.

“what? why’re ya lookin’ at me like that?” he huffed out a laugh. “just admirin’ you is all.” you smiled.

۶ৎ cherry!reader who leaves little hand-written letters for matt before he leaves for work

‘bye, handsome ! i love you , xoxo’ the end of the small note said. he smiled to himself, tucking the note in his pocket as a keep-sake.

۶ৎ cherry!reader who wears matt’s favorite pair of red, laced panties

“wearin’ those for me, doll?” he leaned down to whisper in your ear after noticing his favorite pair of your panties peaking through your jeans when you bent over.

۶ৎ cherry!reader who adores telling matt she loves him an excessive amount

“i love you.” you smiled, legs crossed sitting in front of him. “i love you too, beautiful.” he leaned in, pecking your nose lightly.

“like a lot.” you added. he rolled his eyes lightly. “i know you do. that’s the 13th time in the past five minutes.”

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ author’s note !

AHHH aren’t they the friggin cutest?? also like mentally i’m thinking like matt’s sorta older (late 20’s or early 30’s) and cherry’s younger so she kinda makes him feel like alive?? YOU FEEL?? but idk cuz i also wanna make a dilf!matt au so i gotta think this out

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ taglist !

@pvssychicken @emely9274 @emilyfaith2003 @nicholaschavezslut69 @sophand4n4

[cherrynflowergarden]

જ⁀➴ chris-mas || chris sturniolo

sturniolo masterlist taglist

chris shuffled through the box of christmas ornaments, his plaid shirt sleeves rolled up as he carefully untangled a string of lights. “how do these even get this messy every year?” he grumbled, his tone a mix of frustration and tiredness.

she sat cross-legged on the floor, sorting through a pile of ornaments, each one holding a memory. “maybe because you stuff them in the box without wrapping them up?” she teased, holding up a glittery snowflake that had somehow managed to stay intact.

chris paused, narrowing his eyes playfully. “bold of you to assume i’m the one who packed this up last year.” he moved to plug in the lights, grinning when they flickered to life. “success! now, where do you want them?” she pointed to the tree. “let’s wrap them from the bottom up this time.” he grinned, grabbing the lights and circling the tree. “bottom up, huh? okay boss.”

as they worked together, placing ornaments on the tree, chris couldn’t help but comment on his girlfriend’s choices. “you’re really putting the reindeer next to the snowman? bold move.”

she rolled your eyes. “it’s called artistic freedom, christopher.”

after what felt like hours, the tree stood decorated, glimmering with lights and beautiful trinkets. chris stepped back, hands on his hips, looking at it like he’d just completed a masterpiece.

“not bad,” he said, his tone full of mock pride.

“not bad?” her voice echoed, raising a brow. “i’d say it’s a christmas miracle we didn’t end up strangling each other with the lights.”

chris laughed, pulling her into a one-armed hug. “nah, i’d never risk losing my favorite christmas elf.”

she leaned into him, smiling as the tree glowed warmly. “merry christmas, chris.”

“merry christmas, darling” he said softly, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head. “now, let’s decorate matt’s door next. he’ll go crazy.”

“chris!”

an; MERRY CHRISTMAS BABIES!!!!!!!!

tags; @eirianna @thebasicbiatch @katamcauley @wxnyzie @lilmear-blog @vrlixlia @star-fuck-off @embonbon @idkversace @annawilk @r0nnsblog @weluvwbb @c1ydessturniolo @vintagebishx @maddie-bell @timmdmdm @happydiplomatshepherdspy-blog @crispycitrus @faith-f1 @escapentropy @florscons @carlossainzwho @luckylampzonkland @lewisroscoelove @mudryklover @rageshots @dontworryaboutit007 @chair-things @myangelbaby555 @sheesh1311 @f1lovely @silia1raf @blahbel668 @my-dinos-life-is-good @ssturniolo92 @lilly6110 @lou-larcher5 @arminluvrr @mxryxmfooty @gabri3la-sturns @bellsboops @f1-and-shiz @emely9274 @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @kayla-hearts4sturniolo @unx100to @strnlslut

@mattslovergirlie @sarakpalsd @sweetobservationface @shadowthesim @mattslolita @cupiidk1lls @urloveanaa @t1llysblog @meatball10 @fiowerbeds

[rcamshateclub]

☆.｡.:* meetcute 2!

as crybaby!reader walked into the Island country club, she wasn’t so shocked to see rafe and his friends. rafe, was shocked to see his innocent little doll there though.

she moved to the bar where she always got her shirley temple! she never got an alcoholic drink, not ever liking the taste of it. rafe smirked a little when he saw this, thinking about how cute she is. soon he left his buddies, making way to his sweet, sweet girl.

“hey doll, whatcha listenin’ to?” he sits behind her on the bar stool.

“oh! hi rafe. im listening to the fray, look after you.” she mumbles softly, going to take another sip of her drink.

“the fray? never heard of them.” when he said that, her eyes lit up, she loved talking about her favorite music.

“they’re an alternative and likeee traditional rock band!” she murmurs excitedly to him. she continues on and on about her favorite music while rafe sat there listening, staring at her, specifically her eyes and lips.

“hey doll?” he questions her, “let me take you on a date.”

“i- y- wait what?!” she exclaims.

“let me take you out, sweetheart.” he places a hand on her thigh, rubbing it with his thumb.

“i- okay.” she blushes at his action.

“good girl, gonna show you the best time ever.” a faint smile appearing on his lips.

─────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────

when rafe picked her up from her home, she was soooo nervous. her tummy was in shambles, it hurt and when he opened the passenger side door of his truck, it made her tummy do flips! she got inside of his truck, the sounds of her favorite artist playing on his speakers caught her attention.

“power trip j.cole?” she murmurs to him once he got into the driver’s seat. he ignored her comment at first, leaning over to put her seat belt on.

“what’s up with it, baby? you don’t like it?” he pauses after putting her seat belt on, leaning over the center console and looking at her, their faces so close she felt his warm minty breath on her face.

“no-no! i love.. i love j.cole.. j.cole and miguel..” she murmurs softly. a smirk appears on rafe’s lips, suddenly a kiss is planted on her cheeks. she blushes at that, freezing.

“w-why- what? what was that for?” she fusses.

“yur s’damn cute, doll.” he chuckles softly, shaking his head as he settles back into the driver’s seat. he put on his seatbelt, driving over to the restaurant he reserved for them both.

when they arrived to the restaurant, he hopped out the truck after shutting the engine off. he came over to the passenger side, opening the door for her.

“come on, doll, let go.” he grabs her hand, leading her into the restaurant. once seated, he just stares at her, admiring her cute bootcut jeans, her black long sleeve and the necklace around her neck.

“whatcha gonna get, sweetheart?” he murmurs.

“shirley temple!” she murmurs softly.

“oh really? no alcohol for you?” he looks a little surprised but in reality, he knows he shouldn’t be. she’s a god damn sweetheart, so damn soft and sweet.

“no.. i don’t like it.. it’s nasty..” she shakes her head, imagining how it tastes in her mouth.

“such a sweet girl.. i’m gonna get a beer, mkay?” he drawls out.

they continue their dinner, the atmosphere making her and him open up. rafe has never been like this with a woman before. he’s had experience, of course. a fling there, five hookups here, two relationships before he ended them after hating how annoying the girls were.. but y/n? his sweet, sweet, doll? no.. never, never annoying. she’s fuckin’ perfect for him. so damn sweet and soft, just absolutely perfect for him. seeing her eat was even sweeter. god, he’s fallin’ fuckin’ fast for her. he needs her to be his already.

when they finish up dinner, rafe takes her on a walk. he never knew he could be a damn romantic, but for her? oh he would do anything. he held her hand, his thumb rubbing it softly.

“yur a pretty girl, doll. a shame nobody has had you yet.” he spoke with a rasp.

“my daddy says to stay away from boys, they nothin’ but trouble but.. i think he would like you.” she smiles softly at rafe.

“yeah? think ya old man would like me?” he smirks, liking that. he wants her parents to like him. he wants them to say that he’s perfect for her.

“yeah, my mama too.” she smiles wider, thinking about rafe meeting her parents, “but- but only if you wanna meet them!”

“oh sweetheart, i’d fuckin’ love to meet your parents but first.. i need you to be my girl.” he turns her around so she’s facing him, his hand lays on her hip and his other goes to cup her cheek so she can look up to him.

“so, will you be my girl?”

“i- oh! yes! yes!” she smiles sweetly.

he lets out a sigh of relief, “perfect. my girl..” he whispers softly.

“but im a big crybaby and super sensitive! i hate yelling and fighting.. i get scared of loud noises. i have bad anxiety and i can barely speak for myself.” she starts to ramble about her “flaws.”

“babe, i don’t care about that. i’ll fuckin’ take care of you. i’ll wipe your tears, reassure you, i’ll never yell at you or fight with you. i’ll even speak for you. im g’take care of you. y’hear me?” he kisses her forehead, needing to make her hear him. god he’s fallin’ so hard.

“mhm..” she nods and leans into him.

“good.. you’re my girl.. i’m your boy. now ima always take care of you.”

[yurinaa-world]

Hi! Could you make an artist reader? Basically a painter who draws his partner or cats, etc?

With the characters Aventurine, Sampo, Moze, Dan Heng (I'm using this with a translator so I don't know if it's spelled correctly...)

2#"𝓓𝓻𝓪𝔀 𝓶𝓮 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓱 𝓰𝓲𝓻𝓵𝓼"

💫𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Aventurine, Sampo, & Moze x Gender-Neutral reader

💫𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: with a reader who's an artist

💫𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff, & Spelling mistakes

💫Dan Heng's part is here: 💫

💫𝒜𝓋𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓊𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑒 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝑒𝓃𝒾𝑜𝓇 𝑀𝒶𝓃𝒶𝑔𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝐼𝒫𝒞 𝒮𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑒𝑔𝒾𝒸 𝐼𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒟𝑒𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉"

“Not bad, not bad at all. You really know what catches my good side.”

It was supposed to be a gift painting of him, your delicate, nimble fingers first sketched it out before picking out colours and finally taking a brush and painting over the canvas sketch with extreme eye for detail.

He always loved to barge in whenever he felt like it, but now it is a very bad moment! He saw it when you were almost finished! Seriously, you wanted to surprise him so badly. You whirl around cheeks already flushed from the intensity of your concentration, now burning hotter with embarrassment. 

"Y-you weren’t supposed to see it yet!" you stammer, instinctively moving to shield the canvas with your arms, though it's far too late. He smirks, leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed. 

"Oh, come on. You can't blame me for being curious. I mean, you’ve been holed up in here for days, looking all suspicious."

He goes silent for a bit, staring at the painting for a while…

He's sort of left completely speechless by you.

“Wow, what detail. How about I put this up in my office.” he grinned, while you completely protested the idea because you weren’t finished 

“No way! It’s not finished.”

💫𝒮𝒶𝓂𝓅𝑜 𝒦𝑜𝓈𝓀𝒾 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝒾𝓁𝓋𝑒𝓇-𝒯𝑜𝓃𝑔𝓊𝑒𝒹 𝒮𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓂𝒶𝓃"

“I didn’t do anything wrong.” 

He whined and cried till his throat went dry, but even then that wouldn’t stop his extremely annoying cries. All while you listen and skim through your supplies, nit-picking at what you need all while your canvas is stood in front of a Sampo who’s tied to the chair. 

“Dear Sampo just wanted to make some profits, and those paintings have been there for years, I was just doing you a favour!”

You only sigh at his words. You don’t like to sell your painting, especially with a vendor like Sampo of all people. It may have been ancient yet you didn’t want to get rid of it.

the idea that it may be hanging on a wall in some random place, bought by Sampo’s tricks at a higher price, gave you an unpleasant feeling in your mouth. “You are something, you know,” you whispered, taking a palette knife and twirling it around in your fingers. Not for a show of power—even if you’d like Sampo to see it that way—but because it helped your mind stay focused.

At an exaggerated rate, Sampo shrank back while his chair was making a squeaky noise, signifying his discomfort. “I mean, come on, be realistic, let’s think logically about it! I’m only the middleman in the process here, attempting to make your raw talent the new trend!” 

“You’re right, so in turn for your service I decided to give you something to sell as well.” you smile with joy, as you sit down on the chair in front of my canvas, which makes him sweat dearly on what you’re about to do. 

You lean back, tilting your head as if to get a better view of your subject. “You’d make a... striking muse, don’t you think?” Sampo’s cheeks flush a deep red. “Striking? I—I mean, I am a good-looking guy, but—wait a second! What kind of striking are we talking about here?” 

“You're right, someone would like a painting of a guy like you, I wonder in what position though,” you mutter that last part but you know he heard “Your beauty will sell for millions just like you wanted.”

💫𝑀𝑜𝓏𝑒 “𝒮𝒽𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌 𝒢𝓊𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒳𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓏𝒽𝑜𝓊 𝒴𝒶𝑜𝓆𝒾𝓃𝑔”

“Moze.”

One call of his name and he’ll be landing at your feet to see what you need him to do. Appearing behind you, his hands gently landing on your shoulders—still scaring you to death, before whispering “You called” under his breath, yet loud enough for you to hear.

Immediately turning around and clasping your hands with his, along with a giant smile on your face. “Moze! Could you be my subject!”

He (easily) caved and became what you needed him to be most, your subject in your painting. He’s so awkward when posing! You had to personally move him around a couple of times since he’s made all of the poses you put him in awkward somehow.

Which leaves you to have your hand on your chin, staring at him with a precise gaze, that is the same as his, yet, yours was made to find beauty in hopeless things.

 “Hah…how should I pose you.”

Taking his one hand in yours while your other hand goes to his hood, you gently pull it down, revealing his slightly messy hair. “You hide so much behind this,” you say softly, smoothing a few strands away from his face. 

“I think… maybe something natural,” you mumble, tilting your head to examine him from another angle. You guide him to sit on the chair near the window, where the soft light filters through the curtains. “Lean back, like this,” you murmur, adjusting his shoulders to relax against the chair. “And look out the window… like you’re lost in thought.”

Moze does as you say, his hands gripping the edge of the chair a little too tightly. You shake your head with a small laugh and pry his fingers loose, placing one hand on his lap and letting the other dangle over the side of the chair. “There. Try to look more relaxed.”

He’s honestly trying the best he can, his shoulders less tense and face less serious—even though that’s basically all he knows to do. “Thank you.” You smile gently at him before pecking him on the lips as a thank you, before finally starting at your sketch.

He can’t forget your pretty smile. He helped you. He wishes he had his hood on now.

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[supernova2205]

Mistletoe Shenanigans

Summary: After finally convincing price Task Force 141 rents a cozy winter cottage for the holidays, filled with laughter, team bonding, and Soap’s relentless attempts to catch someone under the mistletoe.

The cottage was picturesque, like something out of a winter postcard. It was nestled in the middle of a snow-covered forest, its chimney puffing out soft curls of smoke into the crisp December air. Strings of warm fairy lights lined the roof, casting a soft glow against the early twilight. Through the frosted windows, you could see the twinkle of a Christmas tree and the flicker of a fire dancing in the hearth. It was everything a holiday getaway was supposed to be.

Inside, the cottage was just as charming. The wood-paneled walls and overstuffed furniture gave it a cozy, lived-in feel. Garlands of greenery adorned the mantle, and the scent of pine and cinnamon wafted through the air. The place was perfect—and filled with the unmistakable presence of Task Force 141.

“Oi, Soap, stop messing with the thermostat!” Price’s gruff voice echoed from the living room as he fiddled with the firewood.

“I’m not messin’ with it!” Soap protested, though his mischievous grin said otherwise. He was perched on a stepstool near the doorway, adjusting a small sprig of mistletoe he’d apparently decided was an essential part of their holiday décor.

“Then what are you doing, Johnny?” Ghost drawled from the couch, his tone dry but amused as he flipped through a book he’d found on the coffee table.

“Enhancin’ the holiday spirit,” Soap replied, hopping down and admiring his handiwork. The mistletoe dangled precariously from a crooked nail above the archway. He rubbed his hands together, clearly pleased with himself.

You exchanged a knowing look with Gaz, who was lounging in an armchair near the window. He raised an eyebrow, and you both stifled a laugh. Soap’s antics were nothing new, but they always managed to add a layer of chaotic charm to any situation.

The first evening in the cottage was a blur of activity. Price, ever the team dad, took charge of unpacking supplies and organizing the kitchen. You helped him, chatting as you set up the space with mugs for hot cocoa and a stash of cookies you’d brought along.

“Thanks for organizing this,” you said, glancing at him as you stacked plates in a cabinet. “It’s nice to have everyone together like this.”

He grunted, but there was a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “We’ve earned a bit of a break. Thought we could use some proper downtime.”

Meanwhile, Soap had roped Gaz into helping him string more lights around the living room, the two of them bickering good-naturedly over the best way to hang them.

“You’re makin’ it crooked!” Soap exclaimed, gesturing dramatically at Gaz’s handiwork.

“Maybe it’s crooked because you keep yanking the other end!” Gaz shot back, rolling his eyes.

“That’s the artistic touch, mate!”

Ghost, true to form, stayed out of the fray, content to watch from his corner of the couch. He’d swapped his usual mask for a black balaclava, and though he wasn’t participating, the faint shake of his shoulders suggested he was quietly laughing at their antics.

By the time the tree was decorated and the fire crackling, the group had settled into a comfortable rhythm. Soap broke out a deck of cards, declaring it was time for a game, while Price brewed a pot of tea. You found yourself sitting on the rug by the fire, feeling a sense of warmth and camaraderie that was rare in your line of work.

The next morning, Soap’s mistletoe scheme began in earnest. You found him lurking near the archway, his expression a little too innocent as he waited for someone to walk by.

“You’re up to something,” you said, crossing your arms as you caught him red-handed.

“Who, me?” he said, feigning shock. “I’m just enjoyin’ the holiday ambiance.”

“You’re literally standing under the mistletoe.”

“Just thought I’d, y’know, spread a bit o’ holiday cheer,” he said with a wink.

Before you could respond, Gaz walked into the room, his eyes on his phone. Soap lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Gaz, mate! Fancy seein’ you here!” he said, stepping forward to block his path.

Gaz looked up, immediately clocking the mistletoe and Soap’s hopeful grin. He raised a hand and sidestepped smoothly. “Not a chance, Johnny.”

Soap groaned as Gaz walked off, leaving you to chuckle at his disappointment.

“Better luck next time,” you teased.

“Oh, there’ll be a next time,” he promised, already plotting his next move.

Over the next few days, Soap’s attempts to catch someone under the mistletoe became increasingly elaborate. He moved the sprig to different doorways, tried to redirect foot traffic, and even attempted to casually dangle it from a stick at one point. Each time, his target managed to evade him, much to his chagrin.

“Why’s everyone so bloody fast?” he lamented one afternoon after Gaz ducked under his outstretched arm with the ease of someone who’d been avoiding Soap for years.

“Maybe they just don’t want to kiss you,” Ghost deadpanned, not looking up from his book.

Soap clutched his chest in mock offense. “You wound me, Simon. Truly.”

The rest of the team took great delight in watching Soap’s schemes unfold, offering running commentary and occasional sabotage. Even Price got in on the fun, deliberately walking in the opposite direction when he saw Soap lurking near a doorway.

“Not even under threat of court-martial, Sergeant,” he said with a smirk as he passed.

Despite Soap’s antics, the week at the cottage was full of laughter and relaxation. There were snowball fights in the yard, long walks through the forest, and plenty of shared meals around the table. Ghost turned out to be surprisingly good at baking, and you all took advantage of his talent by requesting everything from cookies to mince pies.

One evening, you all gathered by the fire for a game of charades. It was a predictably chaotic affair, with Soap hamming it up and Ghost refusing to participate unless forced.

“Come on, Simon,” Soap said, practically dragging him off the couch. “Don’t be a Grinch!”

Ghost sighed but relented, standing stiffly in front of the group. His performance as “a snowman” consisted of standing still with his arms at his sides, much to Soap’s dismay.

“You’re terrible at this,” Soap declared as the rest of you laughed.

“Or maybe you’re terrible at guessing,” Ghost replied evenly, returning to his spot on the couch.

It wasn’t until the last night at the cottage that Soap’s mistletoe plan finally worked. You were all gathered in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner, when you noticed him lurking near the doorway again. This time, he seemed more determined than ever.

“Don’t tell me you’re still trying,” you said, shaking your head.

“Patience is a virtue,” he replied with a wink.

Just then, Gaz walked through the doorway, not paying attention as he carried a stack of plates. Soap stepped forward triumphantly, blocking his path.

“Ah-ha! Gotcha!” he said, pointing upward at the mistletoe.

Gaz sighed, clearly resigned. “Fine, fine. Let’s get this over with.”

Before Soap could move in, you reached out and tapped Gaz on the shoulder. “Actually, you owe me for skipping cleanup duty earlier.”

Gaz shot you a grateful look and immediately handed off the plates, slipping away while Soap gaped in disbelief.

“Not again!” Soap groaned, slumping dramatically against the doorframe.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Better luck next time, Johnny.”

But as you turned to walk away, Soap grabbed your arm gently, his expression shifting from playful to hopeful. “Wait a second.”

You froze, suddenly hyper-aware of the mistletoe hanging above you both. Soap grinned, a little sheepishly this time, and tilted his head toward it.

“Rules are rules,” he said, his voice softer now.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Fine. Just this once.”

Leaning in, you placed a quick kiss on his cheek. Soap’s face lit up like Christmas morning, and he practically bounced on his heels.

“Finally!” he declared, pumping his fist in the air. “Took all week, but I got one!”

The rest of the team burst into laughter as they watched from the doorway, Price shaking his head in mock disapproval. Ghost, of course, looked entirely unbothered.

“About bloody time,” Gaz said with a smirk.

Soap turned to you, his grin as wide as ever. “Best holiday ever,” he said, and for once, you couldn’t argue with him.

Authors note: hi guys I thought I’d make a little Drabble for Christmas my gift to you more fics are coming if you guys have any suggestions on what you’d like me to make next please leave a comment

[russilton]

Huh crocheter George... I can see him doing it and he seems like a person that would make stuff for his friends?

Someone gave Carlos a crochet chili? So something like that

Obviously first to like Alex and Lando etc and now I want Lewis to be a bit jealous and offended that everyone seems to be getting something self made from George from him (except of course, it's fine to give something with potential mistakes to your best friend and other friends but to someone like Lewis? It would have to be perfect which means improving a lot before you dare present something....)

(Anon I have been working on this for months now- since you sent it, but you can’t complain it’s late or that I made it knitting instead of crochet since you got what is in essence, fic) (un-edited because my wife is sick, there was no planning, just vibes)

word count: 4679

It started as a stupid way to prove to Alex he did in fact have artistic skills. Somewhere between grainy YouTube videos and detangling knots it became a way to decompress between sessions, it made for good practice with repetitive actions and not making mistakes, something in following stitch patterns that isn't that different from memorising turns and breaking points.

Incorporating new colours and designs teaches him to build patterns in his head that help with race planning. It's surprising how much the skills intersect. The only problem that arose was just how many scarves he ended up with.

So, George makes everyone scarves. Everyone gets a scarf. It’s a straight line and easy to follow. He has to get rid of the results of his labour somehow.

Aleix? Scarf. Bono? Scarf. Marcus’ scarf has extra fancy tassels. Riki’s has his first ever pole time embedded in it in little pixelated number shaped stitches. Mike’s scarf is almost as long as he is tall, George finally conceding it was long enough when he ran out of yarn at that weekends race. Shov’s scarf is connected in a loop, when asked, George teases ‘it’s because you’ve been here forever, Andrew.’ and has to duck out of the room and set off running before it gets pelted at his head. Shov does keep it though, along with one George manages to slyly pay Anthony to slip into his bag for Jenson. Toto gets sent home with scarves for Susie and each of his children. His is hidden at the bottom, so George doesn’t have to look him in the eyes when he finds it.

George only has to squint at Fred with red ears and nose, on a chilly Silverstone test day huddled up beside Mick in their boyband style white puffers, before he’s handed a black and silver scarf a week later. It doesn’t matter how much he protests being from a northern circle country, if Valtteri got a scarf so does Fred.

The fact Valtteri’s attempt was one of his earlier ones and has a finger sized hole in it is of no consequence. After all, Alex’s scarf has more holes than it has clean runs, but George just tells him it’s to get him used to the Williams style of living. If James Vowles' scarf is a lot neater, George challenges Alex to go and fight him for it.

Charles gets one in a red so vibrant it almost glows, though it’s not until after a summer break, George wouldn’t be caught dead working with Ferrari red in his garage, even now. Mick’s is a similar red, if paler, patterned with a grid of white stitches, and he looks surprised when George drops it in his lap, but it morphs into his wide bright smile when George just nods at him. Even Nicky receives a scarf in Williams blue with little wonky maple leaves patterned in white down the length of it mailed to him after a particularly stressful season opening. Nicky's girlfriend sends him a photo of him wearing it while they stand in snow up to their ankles. It feels good to know he's doing alright.

Eventually George’s scarves get more and more complicated, new patterns and shapes appearing as he pushes the boundary of his easy little plans, and finds new ways to occupy his mind during the hardest parts of the season. Eventually even drivers George knows a little less well find themselves with an unlabelled gift George gets snuck to them— Yuki and Guanyu both have the good sense to not question it too hard. Esteban texts him a middle finger, but he doesn’t get it back.

Even Roscoe gets a scarf, perfectly shrunk in size for his boxy head, rows interwoven with yellow and purple that he wears proudly as a bulldog can for a modelling photo in his home in LA alongside Angela who’d been more than excited to partake in George’s unspoken mission. The Bulldog looks stylish and comfortable despite it not being even close to the right season for it. He’s a professional after all.

—

Lewis gets nothing, which, y’know, he’s fine with. Roscoe got one so that kind of counts, and he’s been told he’s hard to buy for with his eccentric fashion sense, doubled by the fact he has enough money that even he doesn’t know what to do with it all sometimes. He’s worn more scarves than most people have ever owned, the majority of them handed to him by his stylists and then neatly returned that same week, their loan period from the brands vying for his attention ending without much fanfare.

He’s only kept one or two that particularly held his interest, and while Lewis doesn’t know their exact price, he knows that they probably cost more than one of the team's laptops. While Lewis has long been comfortable with his wealth, every now and then it still catches him, like a missed tag in a shirt, itchy and distracting.

This was one of those times.

When he’d first seen the scarves popping up around the garage, in the early part of that season when they’re still racing in deserts and countries close to the equator, he assumed its a new fashion trend he just isn’t aware of yet. It doesn’t make sense to him the way trends usually do; the heat of the climate combined with the way all of them are so varied and different. The only connecting factor is the handmade air to them, holes and sloppy loops peppered across the lengths. He even starts to wonder if one of the mechanics partners was sending them to races with gifts.

Lewis is used to purposefully distressed fabrics, so it takes him longer than he’d care to admit to realise what’s going on. He really should have noticed when Bono got one, as notoriously intolerant to modern trends as he usually is, but it isn’t until Valtteri of all people texts him a photo of himself with one tucked around his neck and newly trimmed mullet on a cycling trip between races that he finally cracks.

———

[VB sent an image]

LH: Where the hell did you get that thing, I keep seeing them everywhere

VB: This is a moustache Lewis, you should be familiar with the concept

LH: Har har

LH: wise ass.

LH: I meant the scarf

VB: Ask your boytoy

VB: it was him who threw it at my head in Spa last week

LH: George???

VB: who else

LH: don’t call him that- since when is he buying everyone scarves?

VB: but you knew who I meant didn’t you

LH: answer the question

VB: I’m pretty sure he made it, there’s a lot of holes

LH: Since when does George knit?????

VB: these sound like questions for YOUR teammate, I have pedalling to do

VB: 👋➡️🚴‍♂️

LH: what the hell man

LH: did you seriously just ghost me rather than answer

LH: fuck you

LH: and your secrets

LH: I hope tiff beats you

LH: 🖕🏾

[Valtteri BottASS liked a message]

——

The conversation with Valtteri leaves him even more confused than he was before. Despite the fact he now has even more questions swirling around his head, he does not ask George what’s going on. The last thing he wants to do is find out why he’s been excluded from the man himself. Lewis chooses not to question exactly why that is.

He’s also glad he hadn’t asked his stylist to find it for him like he’d planned to, containing his mild embarrassment down to just Valtteri, who he’s reasonably sure won’t tell George he asked about it. Valtteri may deeply enjoy fucking with Lewis, but not enough to have a conversation with George about it. If there’s one thing Valtteri objects to on all levels it’s being involved in… whatever is going on between Lewis and George.

Lewis isn’t quite sure what it is either. They’ve been dancing around each other for years now, Lewis isn’t quite sure when George turned from colleage to friend, and he really doesn’t know where they stand now they’re teammates who spend almost every week together in some form. The formality of clear labels was lost somewhere in the late night strategy sessions and food shared at different tables across the world at every hour of the day, from late breakfasts in Qatar to eyes-barely-open meals at 3am in Singapore. He wouldn’t call George his best friend… but he’s not sure he would call George just his teammate anymore either. He’s George. Whatever that means.

That lack of definition bites him in the ass sometimes, such as cases like this one where he has no idea what he is to George in return.

In his final year with Mercedes it had only gotten harder to figure out where they stood. In the years prior it had been a little easier at least, they'd had their ups and downs as they fought the car and worked hard not to fight with each other, but they'd always settled somewhere level. George's warmth toward him had felt unshakable.

Now it feels like they're both in some kind of pendulum motion, sliding from a desire to keep some distance, to make it hurt less, to an almost clingy need to soak up the time they have remaining together. It feels silly really, it's not like Lewis is retiring, he'll still be there, a couple doors down from George...but he can't escape the reality of knowing it'll be different.

Coupling that with his already complicated and grief heavy emotions about the entire team, and the fact their needs don't exactly line up most weekends, it's been a hard year. Lewis is pretty sure he's pulled George into more hugs this season than he has any other teammate before, but that didn't stop the sting of weeks where George seemed to catch a glance at him and turn tail and run for his drivers room. He doesn't feel particularly emotionally intelligent, but the slip of pain and something pinched in George's too clear eyes had been plain as day.

He knows there's nothing he can really do about it other than let George feel what he feels, but it still felt like a balm when George would grab his hand after a good race with that crazed joy in his eyes he always got, sweat practically flicking off every strand of his hair, and smile so bright it shone reserved just for Lewis, rubbing away any awkward moments from that weekend, like when George had winced when Lewis as squeezed his hand in greeting in Silverstone, mumbling something about sore fingers that Lewis hadn't understood.

Coming into their final races together as they do now, every movement feels amplified, every gesture and discussion hangs with the weight of being potentially his last with his team the team. Thoughts about George and scarves get lost in the heat of desert tracks and a cloying grief he finally has to face head on without the facade of getting through the year. He's not sure he's ever felt this emotional in his life. Leaving Mclaren had been a breath of fresh air and a weight lifted even if he'd loved what they had achieved together. Leaving Mercedes feels like moving away from England for the first time, unsure of what will be on the other side, or if he'll be able to make somewhere foreign and so different feel like his home again. Unsure if he wants to.

George seems to almost disappear behind that. Lewis figures he's giving him time to say goodbye to his team uninterrupted. Despite the fact George had been part of the Mercedes family in a way almost as long as Lewis has driven for them, they both know there's something different about it, and he's thankful for the space. He can press down the guilty, aching and confusing emotions he has about George into a box in the back of his mind to be handled late. He doesn't have time to unpack Georges furtive, almost nervous peeking at him between monitors when he's listening to Shov present their debrief for what might be the last time.

That's does however leave him ultimately unprepared for when George does finally demand his attention, by appearing on the doorstep of his drivers room after they're wrapped up for the evening, qualifying finished and preparations for the race day concluded, with what appears to be a colourfully wrapped lump in his arms.

Lewis is still blinking at the shiny obstacle between them, overhead lights glinting off the chrome coloured paper, when George speaks.

'Sorry mate, I hope I didn't interrupt anything did I?' His voice is oddly high pitched, sounding a little like when Lewis knows he's trying to lie to Toto about how much sleep he's had.

'No man I was just packing up for the night'

'Mind if I come in before you leave? It won't take long I promise,'

Lewis murmurs a quiet uh sure as he steps back, gesturing George inside and then shutting the door behind them as he see's curious eyes in the engineering bay start glancing over toward them. Even Bono, Mike, and Marcus, still clustered in the corner as normal poking away at their laptops seem to be looking over, trying and failing to seem subtle as if Lewis hasn't had over a decade to pick up on what Bono looks like when he's trying to listen to gossip.

In the privacy of Lewis' drivers room George spins around to face him and before he can even ask what's going on, George is pushing the thing he brought with him into Lewis' grasp

The parcel isn't too dense, but there's a weight to it that feels like it has to be good deal heavier than the wrapped scarves Lewis had watched George pass out in the past, and it looks at least three times the size them. Lewis barely has a second to try and figure out what it is before George’s fingers twitch toward him, like he’s itching to pull it from Lewis’ hands and unwrap it himself because Lewis is being too slow. Wordlessly, Lewis holds the package back out, gesturing for George to go ahead, and rather than steal it back out of his hands, George crowds up into his space to start unpicking the paper.

George’s wrapping handiwork has never been strong, but Lewis can’t really pay attention to that when George is this close, towering above him but seeming almost small in his nervousness. The moment feels strangely intimate as George slips those long fingers between his own crumpled tape job, tugging the attached parts free until he pulls back the final fold to reveal his signature woven handiwork.

George steps back then, leaving Lewis holding his presented gift in a cradle of paper. Out of the corner of his eye Lewis sees him twist and wring his fingers together as he watches, but Lewis can barely focus on how George might be feeling as a wave of... something hot and warm rushes over him.

The lump turns out to be a jumper. It's a bright mustard yellow, rich and bold. Or at least, part of it is, the arms and chest in one continuous colour that ends abruptly partway down the torso when one line stops and continues in a slightly paler shade. The difference is almost imperceptible, and likely would hidden entirely if the colours weren’t butted up against each other like this, juxtaposed the way they are. Towards the hem of the thing, the colour shifts again, one step lighter for the last handful of rows falling at the waistline, the changes creating a gradient down the body. When Lewis traces it with his eyes, he can spot small areas in the neck and wrists where the pattern falters, warped patches that correct quickly but don’t quite line up with those around them. Rather than make the whole item look bad, there’s an odd personality to it, a touch of handmade individuality compared to a lot of the pristine items Lewis gets handed by his stylist, not a spec of lint in sight despite the fact they aren’t headed to a closed catwalk, but a dusty paddock.

As his fingers lift the folded bulk of it he spots a little detail along the neckline, a tiny, almost unnoticeable LH in a dark gold colour that would settle in line with his ear. Surely enough on the right side, there's a tiny 44 in the same font, the pair crowning his shoulders. Twisting the woollen form again, he sees there are tiny stars stitched into the cuffed sleeves in the same colour. There's seven by his count, and an eighth peeking out from the inner band where it would press against his wrist.

He's not sure how long they've been stood together now, silent but for the rustling of paper and the jumper as Lewis studies George's work. As he finishes his inspection he becomes aware of the anxious energy practically radiating off George in the silence that the same man finally snaps and breaks.

'I know its uh, pretty hot where we are but I figured, when you get back home- I mean when you get back to England you can- I tried to finish it earlier but-' George stumbles, words sounding unsure and faux light before Lewis interrupts him

'Did you make this?' He breaths, fingers pressing into the stitches as if it might tell him instead.

'Yeah, I wanted to make something... bigger. I know it's not quite what you're used to with the fashion stuff but I thought...well I don't know what I thought' George explains, words trailing into a lilting mumble. When Lewis' eyes dart up to meet his face, George's cheeks are glowing even in the low light of the one lamp he'd left on, face twisted as if braced for a blow. Like he thinks Lewis is going to be mad at him for this, somehow.

'George...man...'

'Sorry- It's stupid I know, if you don't like it I'll take it back, I won't be mad, I swear-' George isn't looking at him anymore, eyes darting around at his feet and his hands that he shoves into his pockets only to yank them out and wring them together again, fidgeting so he doesn't have to meet Lewis' gaze. His uncertainty makes Lewis' stomach hurt.

'It's perfect'

'I can even save the yarn, it's not actually that hard to unravel- what?'

'It's perfect, George, I really like it' He repeats, grabbing Georges arm with the hand he isn't cradling the jumper with, forcing George to stop trying to climb the walls with his eyes and look at him properly.

'You do?'

'Of course? Did you think I wouldn't like it?'

'I dunno I just- I wanted to make something special.' George rasps, surprisingly wet looking eyes boring into his. That stumps Lewis, and he has to drop his eyes back down to the gorgeous golden knit work, so undeniably a labour of care. It must have taken months, When Lewis was so deep in his own head trying to figure out if George felt anything or was just waiting for him to leave, the man himself was working in secret on something just for Lewis.

'How long did this take you?' He whispers into the space between them, not sure he even wants to know the answer, fingers still wrapped almost too firmly around Georges arm, a little worried George might run for the gates of the paddock if he lets go.

'You don't want to know- since before Imola at least. I normally just do scarves cause uh, they're just straight lines y'know.' George starts tentatively, before the dam seems to burst and he begins rambling 'I had to unpick half of it in October cause I'd counted wrong and it was shaped like a pear- there's still some wrong bits I couldn't fix, sorry about that- and I hope its the right size I had to ask Angela for them and she said they're a couple years old and-'

He continues but now it's Lewis' turn to freeze up, puzzle pieces clicking together in his head as he realises George has been working on something just for him since at least May. For over 7 months while Lewis was absorbed in fighting the car and his own emotions George was working away at something specifically for him, without even being sure if he would like it.

George has started to go off into a tangent about getting knitting needles through airport security when Lewis finally stops him, squeezing his arm.

'Why... why'd you do all that just for me?' He grits out, voice scratching against his raw throat, trying to make eye contact with George so he might read it in his face why the hell George put more effort in for him than anyone else.

'Just for you- Blimey, Lewis, cause I had to say thank you somehow, didn't I?'

'Cause I'm leaving?'

'No! No- 'cause you stayed. 'Cause you made me feel like this is my home too. 'Cause you listened to me and never made me feel too young or not good enough when I made mistakes and you never treated me like the enemy or just some guy across the garage. I know I keep saying it but you probably saved my career-'

'George- you would have been fine without me, you've always been good-' Lewis tries to interject, but George just steamrolls past him.

'Yeah but- you didn't make me figure that out on my own. I learned more in a month with you than three years at Williams. You made me a better person'

'George-'

'Please, I know it's a bit much, maybe, but I just had to do something before you left, so you knew.' George's voice cracks a little over the last words, and Lewis doesn't feel much better, eyebrows furrowed and throat clogging as he tries to choke down the indescribable feeling climbing up his throat and threatening to suffocate him in response to George's frank honesty. He's always been better at being vulnerable than Lewis.

He doesn't know what to say anymore, how to tell George that it was never a hardship to be his teammate, that Lewis was the one who struggled to articulate what George meant to him. That he's going to miss this like breathing and he wasn't prepared for that.

Words have never been his strong suit though, so instead he turns slightly and gently throws the jumper onto the nearest couch, ensuring its landed safely and ignoring Georges noise of confusion before he turns and drags George into his arms.

It's become natural, to hug George, another thing that's evolved over the last couple seasons when Lewis would have sworn himself touch averse for the most part. His arms wrap tight around George, one clutching at the middle of his back as the other skates up to cup around the back of his head, fingers slipping on shower damp hair and George's shirt collar.

George's nose tucks into his neck like routine, cheek pressed hard into Lewis' as he winds a long arm around the shorter man's neck to clutch at his shoulder, the other tugging at Lewis' shirt, gripping like Lewis is going to pull away, as if he hadn't initiated it.

Lewis squeezes harder than he imagines is probably comfortable, but George just makes a wet noise into his neck and digs his head down harder, fingers clutching tighter as Lewis runs a thumb over his hairline. There's a damp feeling growing on Lewis' shoulder but he doesn't care, he's not sure how he isn't tearing up himself, maybe he would be if he wasn't trying to memorise the feeling of how George fits against him.

It crashes over him then, blunt as a hammer, that this is what he's afraid of losing. He's afraid of losing this closeness with George when he leaves, when he's no longer going to be the experienced, advising teammate but just another obstacle on the grid George needs to climb over. He might lose the George who crowds into his space looking for Lewis to celebrate with him this way. He might lose the joy and adrenaline of George flinging himself at Lewis with the confidence that he will be caught, when it might be strange if they aren't teammates.

'I'm sorry' he blurts out, words crawling from somewhere in his lungs, only for George to make a confused noise, trying to pull back and stopping when Lewis only grips harder.

'What're you sorry about' George gets out, words wet and quiet where they are muffled against Lewis' shoulder.

'About this, the hugging, I just-' Lewis starts, but George just laughs at him, damp and a little hysterical, face tilting till their noses are practically brushing so he can look at Lewis from within his embrace.

'The last thing you ever have to be sorry for, is hugging me. You can do it more if you want'

Lewis stares at him for a second, gaze darting over George's lax but wet eyes, and the way his cheek smushes into Lewis' shoulder at an angle that must be uncomfortable but yet he makes no attempt to move away from, and yet another thing clicks into place, very much the theme of the evening. He was clearly teasing, but even Lewis can hear the truth under his words.

He brushes a seeking thumb over the nape of George's neck, dragging across the hot skin there. George shivers, fingers flexing against Lewis back, and that's all the permission he needs to tip his mouth onto Georges, lips slotting together in a kiss he hadn't even realised he'd wanted.

It's hardly picture perfect. George's face is sticky from his own tears and Lewis can taste it on his lips, his own cheeks are hot and itchy, and the angle they're at makes the seal of their mouths messy at best, and yet its the best thing Lewis has ever tasted. The hand George had at his shoulder slips along to thumb Lewis' jaw, pressing over his beard, and Lewis wants to drown in it. All his experience flies out the window in the face of following his gut and holding George as close as he can manage.

The slide of their mouths should really be indecent, wet as it is, and he's starting to think a little about being too loud, when he shifts slightly and George makes a breathy whimpering noise that sends any worries about being overheard right out of his head.

Time melts a little, as they curl together, until Lewis' neck really can't tolerate the angle anymore, and he has to pull back, panting harshly just in time for something to go clattering the the floor outside in the engineering bay, making them both jump and reminding them abruptly that they are in fact still at work, in thrown up rooms with paper thin walls that the cleaning staff are going to want to vacuum soon, as thorough as they are.

'We probably shouldn't be- well- we probably should have figured this out before now' George muses, still sounding awful breathless for an athlete Lewis seen run several miles for fun. They'd pulled apart a little in shock at the noise outside, but he's still gripping Lewis' arm, and there's that bright, beautiful smile creeping across his face again.

Lewis glances just over his shoulder, where the jumper is still lying haphazardly on the sofa.

'I dunno, Man. Better late than never?'

[connor-123-idk]

Can you talk more about the concept behind RSA!Rook?

I wanted to post chapter 2 today, but I have another family meeting, so I shall just yap

What's up with this guy, and what is his concept

So, it was not easy to came out with this idea in the first place. Snow White itself doesn't have many of characters, especially when it comes to bad characters. The fact that i made RSA!Vil a Snow White should say that a lot, because for him I had to switch between Neige and Vil (lazyyyyy)

I was trying to came out with alternative of sort for Rook, but then I thought the other way. Instead of important character I should do something else important

The concept of ,,beauty" is one of important concepts in Snow White and Seven Dwarfs, but so is ,,revenge" and ,,death"

When you take a look at source, Evil Queen was trying to kill Snow White 3 times, one of them was with the corset OR a ribbon, depends which version we read. That's why RSA!Rook has a very tight corset, that looks like he's almost suffocating

The other way was poisoned comb, which on the other hand I gave to RSA!Vil design

(Its there, you just gotta look closer)

And the last was poisoned apple, which can be seen on Rook's hairpins

Thats why Rook has 3 pins on one side but what about other pin?

Its death of Evil Queen. Where in original she died dancing in hot shoes and lost a lot of blood in process

I made the design mostly thinking about Doctor Plague, but also such characters like Nanno from ,,The Girl From Nowhere", and the black hands are inspired by Arlecchino from ,,Genshin Impact".

Due to RSA!Rook being based on the concept I had a lot of artistic freedom with him. Some fans even influenced his design and character. His first version didn't have a make up back then, until one of fans commented that he would look better in it. I made some research about goth make ups, and put it on Rook, which looks way better in my opinion

Also some fans compared him to Wednesday, which gave me a good reason to why he doesn't wear dorm uniform (cough cough color allergy)

What role will he play in the Main Story? I honestly dont know myself since I planned only Book 1 - Book 3, so I wont say much in that matter

Anyway. I think I yapped enough 🥲

[undertalecookingwithkindness]

A Very Merry Christmas from The Eclipse!

It's that time of the year again! A time of merriment, jolliness and generosity! A time of hot cocoa, candy canes and gingerbread! A time of KINDNESS! It's Christmas!!!!

The staff at The Eclipse is getting everything ready for a big celebration, as you can see! The Christmas cheer is really flowing, though someone should probably go help Luna untangle themself from the Christmas lights... Still, why don't we have a look under the tree and at the gifts... Oh! It looks like one of them has your name on it! I wonder what it is?

Surprise! It's an update on Undertale Cooking With Kindness!

(Hmm, you don't look very surprised, were you shaking the gift box to figure out what was in it?)

UPDATE

It feels like we've been pretty quiet since the Halloween Update, huh? And that's for a good reason. As many of you may be intimately familiar with, the first chunk of December tends to be a time not of holly jolly cheer, but of hellish torture. Yes, I'm of course talking about

EXAM SEASON!!!

Indeed, many of our team members, myself included, were focusing on exams and schoolwork all of December and much of November, so very little progress has been made. Still, that doesn't mean no progress was made. We've got a lot to how off for you all today, but first, we've got a new team member to introduce you to.

Welcome our new artist and spriter: LightMoonCream! They drew Sunny in the Christmas illustration! You may be familiar with them from their work on Nighfell, but they've decided to hop on board the wild ride that is bringing The Eclipse to life! In the spirit of Christmas, let's all give them a very merry welcome to the team!

Speaking of very merry welcomes... It appears there's someone else that needs some introducing, I'm sure you've noticed him in the illustration or in the previous post that teased him, but it's finally time to properly introduce you to...

Courier!

Courier will be helping out with deliveries in the Eclipse. After all, everyone in the underground deserves a taste of the food at the Eclipse no matter how close or far they may live. Mawzz understood the potential in incorporating a delivery service into the business, so he called up one of his debtors goons employees. Courier will be flying you all across the Underground to help you deliver orders put in by customers.

According to Mawzz, and to his uniform, he used to work for the Underground Postal Service, but was fired for unknown reasons. He doesn’t talk about why that happened, but his firing does create a very shady gap in his resume...

Courier is a very outwardly serious and brooding monster. He’s here for business, not to make friends. However… he does have quite a few things that break through that cold exterior. He’s a little embarrassed about it, but he just can’t resist the allure of a shiny coin or of some sweet treat. Give him what he wants, and he may just open up a little bit. Just a bit though. The mask of coolness may be a façade, and perhaps not exactly a convincing one, but it’s one he’s committed to, damn it!

I suppose we should take a small aside to introduce deliveries. Staying in one place in the underground is cozy and all, but don't you feel like you're missing out on some fun exploration? Well, in deliveries, you'll leave the Eclipse and head off to familiar areas of the Underground to try and give a loyal customer their food. Sounds simple, right? What could possibly go wrong!

Do keep in mind, though, deliveries aren't planned to be included in the first demo. Still, that doesn't mean we have nothing to show off related to them.

You know what time it is? Get your carolling books out, because it's time for the

MUSIC SECTION

One of the areas you'll be making an excursion into for deliveries is the quaint and quiet Snowdin Town. The town is even smaller than the one you know in Undertale, so the new remix is even simpler sounding to match. A homely snow-filled paradise where everyone knows each other and is merry... It's quite appropriate, don't you think? It really fits the vibe of the season.

It's cold out there alone... The wind cuts into you and won't let you forget how small you are, won't let you forget the pain of the path you chose for yourself. You had a choice between comfort and the cold, and now your only company is the chill of the flurry.

UPDATED TRACKS!

An updated version of the intro theme courtesy of Venn November (or is December?) It's not an immediately noticeable difference, but once you listen to the old version and the new version back to back, it's clear to see. Close your eyes and imagine the epic intro that could be attached to this song...

Ok, now open them again, we've got one more updated track to show off:

At last, Customer Approaching is finally out of the draft stage and is complete! I hope you enjoy this theme, cause as you work your daily shifts at The Eclipse, you'll become very familiar with this song. Hey, would you rather listen to this on loop for a couple of minutes or the same Christmas playlist on loop for weeks? You gotta give our real retail workers their flowers!

Ok, that's enough music talk for now, it's time to actually talk about the progress on the game!

GAME PROGRESS

As I said before, progress was stunted somewhat during the past few months, but that doesn't mean we haven't done anything. In fact... It is with great pride and joy that I announce that the cooking system is almost complete! Yes, the bones of the cooking system have been all mostly put in place and stress-tested. You can almost complete a full day of work at The Eclipse. We've implemented the timer, customer waves, the functional COOK button, and a handful of minigames. We're currently hard at work implementing the final piece of the foundation of our unique gameplay: Recipes and Reputation/Prestige! To talk more in depth about this, please welcome our resident back-end coding and implementation expert: Moist!

"The primary 'battle' system is underpinned by a custom-built module that tracks Sunny's progress as they prepare a meal for a customer of The Eclipse, keeps a repository of all the recipes sunny is capable of making stored nice and safe their head, and calculates how well they've done afterward. In the final release, You may be able to cook more complex recipes in later days. As it stands, early recipes will be less complex, but the handler seems fairly stable in its current state!"

— moist

There you have it, in the coming weeks we'll finish implementing this final piece, and at that point the cooking system will be complete! From there, it's just a matter of creating the encounters and waves, stress-testing and polishing, and voilá! We'll be able to show off entirely finalized days of cooking, and from there we'll be all set up to start proper work on the demo.

But what about beyond cooking? What's progress looking like on the overworld, cutscenes and etc.?

Well, we've got a lot of the maps from the demo, well, not done, but set up for integration as we move our focus into cutscene and scene creation. In fact, ignoring some unfinished cutscenes, the map for the game's intro area is complete! Hopefully with some elbow grease from me and the rest of the team in the coming months, those cutscenes will be completed, and the demo maps we're still missing will be set up.

In short, while we were slowed down for the past few months, it seems as if these next few months are going to be very productive for us. Everything seems to be coming up Sunny!

One final thing before we sign off... I'm sure everybody's clamouring for some sort of release date for the demo, but despite all the work we've done, we can't promise an exact date. All we know is that we're hoping to be able to release the first demo in late 2025, but we can't confidently assure you that that will happen. As always, though, if you think you can help that happen, do send me a DM on Discord (shadowofroserade) with an application to join the team.

However, we would still like to announce a planned release date for something else. If all goes according to plan the reveal trailer for Undertale Cooking with Kindness should come out in January*, so stay seated everybody! We've got an appetizer to die for coming up!

*while that is the current plan, it is quite possible that it will be delayed into February depending on future circumstances.

Until then...

Kind Regards,

The Eclipse.