#like. it’s called a close reading of the text…..

[simp4fictionalmenandjesus]

Yandere platonic batfamily with a ‘definition of average reader.’

You’ve always been a low-key background character type person. Your grades were normal, every report card since you started getting report cards are all filled with B’s. At school, you’re not popular or unpopular. You have a close group of friends, and know a few people from outside of school. You play a sport, but don’t exceed at it.

The only thing that wasn’t average about you was your family.

Gotham’s sweetheart, Bruce Wayne, adopted you when you were 12 for IDK WHAT REASON HE JUST DID OKAY?????? Anyways. You were the normal amount of awkward that a 12 year old is in the face of their new family.

At your first official family dinner you sat between your older brother Dick and older sister Cass. (Yes, Alfred did strategically plan the seating so the most amicable people would be next to you.) Dick Ames you about school, your friends, your hobbies and all that jazz.

Now, you’d think a table full of vigilantes who have faced off against Gods, traveled the universe, made leaps of technology, and regularly interact with aliens and creatures of myth would be a bit bored when hearing about your math class and a new tv show you were watching. However, the fact that you’re biggest life problems was learning algebra made you seem somewhat precious in their eyes.

So they listen, and they watch, and they become more invested in your life, then, in you.

When Dick’s in town he picks you up from school and brings you to get a sweet treat while asking you about your school day. Unfortunately for the vigilante, he’s not stationed in Gotham so he’ll have to settle for face time calls. Sometimes it’s surprising how much he remembers from your past rambles. You swear he lost have a recording device in his brain, when you bring thay up to him, he laughs, ruffles your hair and glances at the tiny scar behind your ear.

Jason, on the other hand, insists on taking you out for outings, thought he always insists that you plan them. He asks you to bring him to your favourite places and you always comply, taking him to the street food stand where you go with your friends to buy snacks after school, or the manor’s own gardens where Jason will carry you on his shoulders to get a closer look at whatever caught your eyes in a tree. And sure, it’s kind of weird that he already knows the most efficient way to drive to those places before asking you, but he told you he just knew Gotham well.

The brother you see least is Tim seeing as he spends a lot of his time at the office or his own apartment and doesn’t particularly like going on outings much. However, you do text Tim the most. Updating him on random things as he does the same. It is a bit surprising when he texts you to stop picking your fingers in class, but when you ask him how he knows, he’ll claim it’s his sixth sense.

The brother you see most is Damian. Though he’s the one you talk to least. It’s kind of like he’s a shadow following you around. When you start attending Gotham Academy, he’ll sit with you every lunch time just listening to you talk. At the Manor, he’ll let you study in his room while he does art. All the conversations you have with him are mostly one sided with only slight nods to indicate he’s listening. When you ask why he doesn’t talk much he says that he isn’t use to saying nice things to siblings. You (correctly) assume that he doesn’t have friends and treat him extra kindly, sure, you haven’t been able to hangout with your friends at the academy lately but Damian’s family, so he gets priority, right?

Bruce isn’t too sure on how to raise you. When he suggested to his sons that they should tell you about them being vigilantes, all four refused. So, for once, the Batman didn’t really know what to do. Sure, the hundreds of parenting books he read placed emphasise on boundaries and not invading his kids privacy, but in a place like Gotham, Bruce had to be much more hands on. He has a tracker on ALL his kids, so what’s the harm of having one on you? He’s just a worried father.

The family’s yandere-ness boils over after Gotham Academy gets invaded by a group of thugs. Damian stays by you the whole time while the rest of your family, in costume, easily dispose of the thugs. You really didn’t get harmed at all, so when Bruce pulls you out of school you’re a bit shocked. Even if you can understand his worries, you explain to Bruce that you were okay and school was important to you. The conversation ends with an argument.

See, the thing with the bats is that they’re not normal at all. So the arguments that the family is used to ends with bloodshed or leaving the country. They don’t want you to hurt you but they also really don’t want you to try leaving.

The manor has a lot of stairs. Even thought Alfred can clean every corner of the manor perfectly, he won’t always know when there’s a mess. It’s rainy season as well, Titus likes rolling around in the puddles outside. So a wet trail on the stairs isn’t too absurd. Plus, it’s early in the morning, you’re a bit groggy. So when you tumbled down the stairs and break your leg, it’s not too crazy of a situation.

————————-

Posting for now but might rewrite i was tweaking when I wrote this late at night, i confused myself and I def lost the plot a lil oops

[jobean12-blog]

Birds of a Feather

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader (friends to lovers)

Word Count: 2.5K

Summary: You have to attend a close relative's wedding and there's no one better to bring than your best friend, Bucky.

Author's Note: Seeing so much of happy Seb lately-and looking so good-made me want to write something sexy and fluffy so here we are. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thanks Daisy!🥰

Warnings: soft and sweet, tense and flirty, Bucky is the best in every way!

‘Come on up. Room 322.’

His thumbs hang limply over the phone screen, his brain going blank.

When he sent the text ten seconds earlier to let you know he’s arrived he figured you would meet him down in the lobby or at the hall.

Meeting you in the hotel room is a problem he anticipated when he gave himself a pep talk before leaving.

“She’s your best friend. Don’t do anything stupid…like go to the hotel room.”

His fingers finally start to move over the letters. ‘I can meet you down here…’

But maybe you need help with something?

He deletes the text, now typing, ‘is there anyone with you?,’ but that just sounds weird and possessive.

‘I can see you typing,’ you text. ‘Just come up. I need help.’

With a laugh, he deletes everything again and types simply, ‘be right there doll.’

His long legs carry him quickly to the elevator and when he presses the button for the third floor he takes a deep breath, his pulse climbing it’s way up his throat.

The door to your room is propped open with the dead bolt, but he knocks anyway.

“Come in Buck!”

Pushing it open just enough to peek his head in, he calls out, “I could be anyone, and you just invite me in without checking!”

“You just texted me you were coming up,” you sing from the bathroom, quickly continuing before he can say more, “and most of the people on his floor are friends or relatives here for the wedding.”

“Well, I’m glad to know you take your safety as seriously as I do,” he shouts back.

Your voice gets louder as you walk into the bedroom. “With you around I never have to worr…”

You stop for a breath when you see him, but your next words are lost to the blank void of his brain as he takes in your dress and how you look in it. To put it simply- stunning.

“Bucky?”

He startles, having no idea how long he’d been silent.

“Yeah doll…that’s…I’m here.”

When he finally drags his eyes to your face, you’re fighting a smile. “I asked if you could help me?”

“Oh, right. Sure. With what exactly?”

He cringes but steps closer.

“My dress?”

You turn around to show him the fabric at the back that hangs open, a tiny zipper dangling down at your lower back.

Trying to suppress a groan, but not being entirely successful he swallows hard. “That zipper looks very tiny.”

“It is,” you agree. “I realize I should have asked someone with smaller hands to help me out, but everyone is running around with their own nonsense so here we are.”

He approaches with a casual, “sure, of course doll.”

But then he does something without fully realizing it until the shiver runs along your back: he drags a knuckle down the curve of your spine.

You turn and look at him over your shoulder.

He just blinks and looks down to grab the zipper, mumbling about how small it is.

It’s quiet as he carefully pulls the zipper up and when he reaches the top he lets it fall and gently runs a finger along the top of the dress as he moves around to look at you.

“All set,” he whispers.

You smile and clear your throat before giving him an appreciative once over.

“You look hot.”

“Thanks doll. You…” and he struggles when his voice comes out a bit strangled, “you look breathtaking.”

You reach up and touch his bow tie, pulling at the neatly tied ends as you tell him, “I was hoping you’d arrive a flustered mess over how to tie this so I could do it for you.”

With a grin, he reaches up and tugs the end, untying it in a smooth pull.

“Figure you should do something in return after I battled that zipper,” he teases.

Still smiling, you take a hold of the tie, tugging it to align the ends evenly around his neck. “I didn’t get the impression it was such a hardship.”

His answering smirk is so telling you have to stifle a laugh.

“Are you feeling ready for this? I know these big events aren’t your favorite.”

“I’ll manage just fine doll, thanks. Besides, I’ve got the most beautiful date in the whole place.”

With your focus still on his bow tie he takes the opportunity to openly stare. When you smile at his sweet words he’s mesmerized by the way your soft lips part and his eyes stay glued to your mouth.

You look up to meet his gaze and he quickly lifts his eyes, a light pink sweeping across his cheeks.

You blink away and he looks down at your hands, noting the very little progress you’ve made.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

“Well…yes. I’m sure I can…”

“You’ve never done this before, have you?”

“You might be right!,” you quip, “but I’m no quitter.”

He’d be happy to stand there all night.

You finally step back, surveying your work, and frown. “I’m going to be honest, not sure I made it look as good as you did.”

He looks down and undoes the mess and you glower as he handily fixies it.

“Wow, no need to gloat you butthead.”

He lets out a full-bodied laugh, eyes crinkled, and nose scrunched, and you enjoy the sight before he explains, “I’ve done it a million times. I’m always the one in the tux when we go undercover.”

“That’s because you’re the one that looks the best.”

“Thanks doll,” he answers quietly.

“There are so many people here,” you whisper as you lead him through the crowd in the hall.

He let’s out a low whistle, nodding in agreement and aking in the décor.

You greet people as you walk, introducing Bucky to those that don’t already know him. Their eyes follow you, curiosity piqued in their expression as they wonder who he is to you.

You wonder the same. Your favorite person in the world. Your best friend…and so much more?

You take his elbow and guide him forward toward the outside set up where the ceremony will take place. On the way you find your grandmother and introduce him.

Since he can’t take his eyes off you he notices the subtle shift in your demeanor, the softening of your face and the adoration in your eyes.

He expects a gentle handshake but instead gets pulled in for a hug.

“Oh darling, isn’t he a sight,” you grandma says, patting Bucky’s cheek. “And you,” she says, turning her eyes your way. “Gorgeous.”

“Thanks grandma,” you beam.

A woman whizzes by, catching your eye and pointing to her watch.

“Looks like it’s time,” you announce.

Bucky holds out one arm for your grandma and the other for you.

“And a gentleman too,” your grandma gushes as she loops her arm through his. “Definitely a keeper.”

“You can keep grandma company,” you say as you approach the chairs.

“Of course, doll,” he says and leans in to kiss your cheek before helping your grandma into her seat.

“I’ll see you after the ceremony.” You gather your dress and turn to head back inside to meet the wedding party. “Miss me,” you call over your shoulder with a playful smile.

He stares as you walk away, quietly admitting, “I already do.”

Slight nerves take over when you hear the music start but the moment you walk out into the crowd your eyes zero in on Bucky. And what do you know? He’s looking right back at you…and he doesn’t take his eyes off you the whole ceremony.

After the ceremony it takes forever to work your way through the crowd to him, and in between catching up with friends and family or directing someone somewhere, you catch glimpses of him smiling and laughing with your grandma and happily keeping her company.

When you finally do reach him, your grandma has been safely escorted to her seat and now a woman hangs off his arm- Jessica. You know her, an old family friend, and you like her well enough, but you step up behind them right as she asks Bucky if she can steal him for the first dance, and your stomach drops.

You jerk to a stop. He hasn’t seen you. He should accept. You’ll hate it, but you’re not in any position to protest.

But then Bucky says only a gentle, “sorry, no can do. Tonight, I’ve only got one dance partner.”

Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest, and you step closer, swallowing down the emotion.

“Hey you two!”

Bucky turns, extracting his arm from Jessica and setting a warm palm at your lower back.

“And here she is. My favorite dancing partner.”

Jessica leans around from his other side and says hello.

“Thanks for coming,” you tell her.

“Oh my god, of course. I wouldn’t miss it. And I was just meeting your friend, James, here.”

She emphasizes the word friend and at her usage of his real name you have to hold back a giggle.

“Isn’t he wonderful,” you hum, sliding your hand up his bicep. “He’s been keeping my grandmother company this whole time.”

She swoons and smiles at Bucky before turning back to you.

“He is. I just wasn’t expecting you to have a date. You’re usually always flying solo at these family events.”

You feel the smile slipping from your face and an uncomfortable laugh escapes.

The simple answer never comes to you, and you feel caught like a deer in the headlights.

“Actually, that’s only because I was away for work,” Bucky steps in smoothly. “I hate to miss any chance to be her date, but my schedule can be pretty demanding sometimes.”

“Oh, you’re so sweet,” Jessica says. “Work is important of course.”

“Yeah,” he answers, “but not as important as her. So, from now I won’t be missing another event.”

Jessica’s face does a thing. It’s a barely restrained, ‘oh okay, I see.’

Bucky’s smile remains but it doesn’t look entirely natural anymore but when he looks at you, every emotion on his face is genuine.

“Ready to find our seats doll face,” he asks you.

“Sure,” you reply.

“Well, it was nice to meet you Jennifer. Enjoy the party.”

With a firm hand, he leads you away. You allow yourself to be guided up the grassy path and indoors to where a band plays. Bucky grabs you two flutes of champagne off a passing tray and hands you one.

“That was swoony,” you tell him then take a sip.

“All I did was grab it from a tray doll. Time to raise your bar a bit.”

Laughing, you smack his beefy shoulder with your free hand. “Not that! The way you gently let Jennifer have it back there.”

He takes a sip, eyes on you. “She deserved worse, but I didn’t want to start trouble.”

With your brow raised you match his mischievous grin then you take his glass and set it down on one of the small tables, leading him to the dance floor.

He looks confused at first but when your hands slide up his chest and around his neck he circles his arms around your waist.

He relaxes against you, hands warm and strong on your lower back and you rest your cheek to his shoulder.

“You’re always so comfy.”

“Thank you.”

“And you always look out for me.”

He presses a kiss to your temple.

“Of course, doll.”

“You’re my favorite person in the Universe.”

He doesn’t respond at first, not for five or ten or thirty seconds. You keep waiting for the feeling of rejection in his silence but instead it feels like an agreement and finally his words confirm it.

“Mine too, doll.”

Your quiet slow dance is the last moment alone you have for the next few hours because what follows is a whirlwind of a reception.

And the whole time he can’t take his eyes off you.

“Think I’m ready to get out of here,” you say as you slump against his side.

He carefully holds you up as he stands and reaches to take your hand.

“Come on doll face. I’ll take you home.”

When you reach your apartment door your feet are aching, and your legs are tired. You retrieve your key from the hidden pocket in your small purse and slide it into the doorknob.

“I’m going to need you to unzip me,” you say, gesturing casually to your dress.

His silence makes you slowly turn around to face him and when you meet his eyes they’re heavy with heat and desire.

“Bucky?”

“Turn back around,” he says gruffly.

You do as your told and feel his exhaled puff of air against your bare shoulder before he takes your wrists in this hands and places your palms flat against the door. His metal fingers slide down one arm then trace the curve of your shoulder, while his other toys with the small zipper.

He starts to pull it down, so slowly, you feel every brush of his skin against yours and it sends a tremble across your body. For every new inch of your skin that he exposes his breath quickens. You can feel the heat of him so close and your fingers press into the hard wood of the door.

Once the fabric hangs loosely at the sides he stops and slips his hands inside to your waist and turns you back to face him.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs. “I…”

You drag your fingers along his temple and down his jaw. Your finger falls to his bottom lip, tracing it’s outline.

You can see it in his eyes, the understanding that everything between you is easy and you don’t have to try. It’s too good.

Your gaze drops to his lips again and your mouth goes soft. “Kiss me Bucky.”

The words are just barely out of your mouth and he’s already leaning in, lips on yours, warm and urgent, his hands rising to cup your face. Your instincts send tight, possessive fists to the lapels of his jacket and you melt completely into the domination and tenderness in his touch.

With a quiet groan he tilts his head, deepening the contact into a decadent slide, sending a hungry hand down your body once again and grabbing your ass to press all your softness against the hard planes of his body.

He catches your bottom lip between his teeth, drags slowly away, and you chase the contact, but he stops you, pressing his thumb over your lips.

He stares for what feels like forever, then kisses you again, lingering before he murmurs, “you’re so beautiful,” into the sensitive skin below your ear, and then repeats it quietly into your neck.

“Are you going to stay the night?” you ask breathless.

“If you’ll have m…”

“Yes. Yes Bucky.”

[miyukisu]

A Trace of Body Paint .ᐟ

❤︎ Request | He's learning anatomy for his art class—you'll help him, right? 3.1k wc ╰ feat. artist!shidou ryusei (bllk) x afab!reader

tags - lots of tension and build up at first, p*rn with plot, college au, artist! shidou, he and reader are both experienced, FILTHY, dirty talk, unprotected smeggs, rough smeggs, face f*cking, creampies, overstim, no y/n, not beta read

MEGA MASTERLIST

minors do not interact

"Yeah! I'll see you next week for my next assignment. Okay?"

Yeah right... next week...

You didn't peg Shidou as the type to flake on you, especially since he was the one who needed something from you. At first, you gave him the benefit of the doubt, then your mind wandered to impossible territory.

Maybe he found a different person to model for him.

Maybe you weren't good enough a model and he was getting low marks because of you...

But wouldn't that be his fault?

Maybe... he dropped out of class?

Every possibility crossed your mind, but not once did you think of actually asking him, "Hey, what's up with not calling me anymore to model for your art class? You know... THE THING WE DO WEEKLY?"

But pride does get the best of us. You are no different. Either the world ends or he grovels at your feet for ghosting you like that. Anyway, why did you care so much?

Shidou Ryusei only asked you to model for him for a few weeks for an art course he was taking. It just so happens you two were close and your schedules matched (and he thought you were really pretty). In exchange, he'd treat you after every drawing session. Ordinary stuff—that was until you slowly started to develop feelings for him.

There was something about the way he looked at you as he studied every minute detail—making sure they were all transferred to paper. He made you feel so... beautiful in ways you've never realized before. But most of all, you fell for such a creative and passionate spirit.

You were snapped out of your thoughts upon spotting a familiar hairdo across the quad. Your eyes met and you made sure not to waste this opportunity—glaring at him, making sure he knew how much he had pissed you off. Shidou looked left and right, possibly trying to find a way out of it. But maybe the intensity in your eyes worked because before you knew it—he was making his way to you.

"Hey..."

"Really? That's all you have to say after ignoring the texts I sent last week?"

"Eh... must've missed them," he lied.

"What about the time you saw me near your building? You missed me standing a meter away from you?"

"Guess so," he lied again.

His nonchalance made you want to rip your hair out. This hot-and-cold treatment was driving you up the wall. It was clear with the exasperated look on your face.

Though, his eyes never left yours—those same damn eyes that stared at you for hours. It was like there was something he wanted to say, but couldn't.

"Why did you even walk over here?"

He sighed like he didn't gave a shit. "You looked like you were about to murder me."

"Shouldn't you be running away then?" you countered. Shidou simply shrugged. "I'm not sure either."

You were about to unleash your fury, but he sighed loudly before continuing. "Fuck... fine. I've been avoiding you."

"Yes. I can clearly see that. The question is—why?"

"Look. I've been getting the highest scores in class because I have the luxury to have an actual person model for me... while everyone else relies on references on the internet or whatever," he explains. "But now... it's..."

"Isn't that a good thing then?" you asked—confused by his reasoning, but even more confused by his change in demeanor.

He shook his head. "Nah... it's just... I won't be needing you anymore."

Your jaw dropped. He said it so casually like it didn't just left a gaping hole in your chest.

"I mean," he backtracked. "We're gonna start drawing nude figures soon, so either you're willing to strip for me or—"

You cut him off. "Are you gonna draw my face with it?"

"Eh, all I need to draw now is the body since we're done with portraits and—"

You cut him off again. "Then draw me."

"Wha—" Shidou was cut off once more. "You heard me. Draw me," you say, as if challenging him.

It earns a hearty laugh from him—one you haven't heard in a while. "You're saying you're gonna stand butt naked in front of me while I stare at you for an hour or two? You know how that sounds, right?"

"It sounds like you're gonna stare at me butt naked for an hour or two."

You were so shameless, he thought. But it was one of the many things he liked about you. He chuckled, amused by the way things turned. Well... what kind of artist would he be to turn down such an enticing muse?

Shidou let out a low whistle as soon as the last article of clothing met the floor. You used to do these drawing sessions in the library—when all he had to observe from you were innocent things like your eyes, your hands, your hair, and so on.

But now that you have to bare everything to him, you figured the only place to do it was at his dorm. It was like what you imagined: cluttered but artsy enough that you could let it pass.

You stood awkwardly in the middle, feeling a bit chilly with nothing to protect you. But you posed, placing a hand on your hip while looking off to the side. That way, there wouldn't be any awkward eye contact.

Shidou sat down on a stool and quickly got to drawing. He said nothing as his eyes constantly flitted between the paper and your body.

The first few minutes in—you became hyperaware of everything. The fact that he was seeing absolutely everything. The absurdity of this entire situation. But most of all, the way your body was reacting to his gaze.

From your peripheral, you could see his gaze linger a bit too long at times. He'd bite his lower lip every so often and it made you feel conscious. Was he doing that because he could see your nipples hardening due to the temperature? Maybe he noticed the way you'd subtly rub your thighs together?

Whatever it was—it had him clearing his throat and shifting in his seat, seemingly uncomfortable.

Around 15 minutes pass, until he finally spoke. "Feeling tired yet?" he asked without looking up from his paper. You figured he was applying the final touches at this point.

"Yeah. A bit."

He hummed in response. "Get comfortable on my bed then."

"What? On your bed? Now?"

Shidou looked up from his paper. At this point both of you were desensitized by your nakedness (or so you thought). "Yes. Now. I have to draw you in at least 3 poses."

Three?

You gulped. But, once more, pride creeps up. You can't just challenge him to draw you naked so boldly—only for you to back down now. You gathered yourself and sat on his bed which was only a few steps away.

"Go on. You can get comfortable," he encouraged.

So you did. You lied down on your side, propping your head up on your hand. The scene that had unfolded reminded you of that one Titanic scene: Rose sprawled out for Jack to draw.

Knowing that, the moment felt too intimate. But you sucked it up... even though there was an unwanted wetness forming at your core.

Shidou shifted in his seat again, lowering his paper on his lap. "Alright, keep that position," he said, a bit strained.

In this position, you couldn't look off to the side. Your only option for the next few minutes was the wall behind him or Shidou himself.

At some point, your eyes met. There was something in his eyes you've never seen before. It wasn't the usual focus he had; it was something else. Something more intense.

But the 2nd pose passes soon enough and you were down to your last.

"What should I do now?"

He sighed, looking over his current sketches. "Lemme think. I'm having a hard time getting the details right."

"Maybe it's because you're sitting so far away," you commented—not thinking about what it implied.

His eyes zeroed in on you again—caught by your words. You want him to come closer with you like that and him slowly losing his composure? You were playing a dangerous game and you had no idea yet.

Shidou finally stood up from his chair, walking over to the bed. You weren't sure if it was just your imagination, but he was hard. His length strained against his fitted pants. The sight had your mouth watering.

He sat down beside you, eyes never leaving yours. The atmosphere seemed charged with the way you two found yourselves slowly leaning into each other.

"You look great," he whispered. It was something he always said in these sessions. It was a rather simple compliment. But it held more weight now.

"Thanks," you meekly responded. Neither of you realized how fast he inched towards you. His lips were a breath away. You showed no signs of backing away, so he went in.

He pressed his lips on to yours. The kiss felt hungry—needy almost—like he was fighting off this urge for so long. Before you knew it, his weight pushed you down on the softness of his bed. His scent enveloped every sense, clouding your judgement.

Shidou pulled away, breathless. "Pose like this."

He sat upright, eyes raking over your body. This time, he didn't hide the way his gaze would linger on certain parts. His hands ran down your legs, admiring the softness of your skin.

Then, without warning, he pried your legs open. But you didn't stop him. His pink irises trailed down to your core, seeing how wet you've gotten. Shidou thought he was drooling.

"Fuck... I wish I could draw this."

You feel your chest tightening. "Why not?"

"And let everyone see this?" his fingers ghosted over the skin of your inner thigh. "No chance in hell. I want to be the only one to appreciate my muse."

He let his thumb swipe through your folds softly before pressing lightly into your clit, earning a mewl from you. He kept circling the sensitive nub as if in a trance.

"I know what I want the last pose to be," he says. You moan a little louder as he rubs your clit faster. "Want your last pose to be you all fucked out... think you can do that?"

Words got caught in your throat. But it hardly mattered. It didn't seem like he'd take 'no' for an answer anyway.

Things escalated quickly because you soon found his finger plunging in and out of your quivering hole. He made sure to curve it in a way—relentlessly hitting that gummy spot on your walls.

He added another finger, wanting to hear more of your breathless moans reverberating throughout his room. To hell with it if his neighbors heard. This was music—it was art in its purest form.

"Shit... might just cum in my pants from this." He almost did after you clenched down on his fingers, cumming for the first time today.

Even as you coat his digits with your essence, he keeps pushing his fingers in and out until the fluttering died down a bit. He pulled his sticky fingers out before having a taste, savoring every last bit.

He made quick work of his belt, pulling down his pants and letting his member out. Your eyes widened. Not only was his size impressive, but his tip was incredibly swollen and leaky—like he couldn't wait anymore.

Shidou exhaled deeply, feeling the chill of his room brush over the sensitive length. He locked eyes with you again. "Care to take care of me a bit? My hand hurts from all that drawing... and... well, you know what else."

Normally, you'd bite back at his teasing. But your mind was fuzzy. All you could do was wrap your fingers around his length, slowly tugging it at first. The pleasure he felt after being so hard for so long took the strength from him. He almost fell on top of you if it weren't for his thick arms supporting him from either side of you.

"C'mon... do it fucking faster," he ordered. You obeyed—jerking him off as fast as you can without hurting him. It wasn't long before his own hand wrapped around yours as he continued to fuck into your fist. Next thing you knew—hot ropes of cum painted your stomach.

Even he was in a daze as he observed a part of him stained you in such an intimate way. He slowly leaned in, his breath fanning your face. "Hey, can I paint you like this? You look even better with my cum all over you."

You let go of his semi-hard member, slowly tracing his muscles up until you cupped his cheek. Gently, you pulled him down for a searing kiss. It was more than enough for him to know that you too wanted more.

He became rougher—biting your lip and fighting your tongue for dominance. As you pulled away for air, Shidou moved quickly to straddle your upper body. He shamelessly took his cock and slapped it against your lips a couple of times.

"Gonna have to help me get hard again, sweets. Help me out, won't you?"

Though he didn't really give you time to respond as he invaded your mouth inch by inch. One hand held the headboard while the other supported your head. He rolled his hips slowly, gauging how much you can take in at a time.

But, clearly, he underestimated you when you gripped his hips and pulled him in yourself. You felt his cock spring back to life steadily. He pulled out his hardened shaft, letting you breathe. It was only now you realized the grin that crossed his face. He was enjoying this way too much.

He went back to hovering over you, his cock bouncing at every move he made. Your body was jelly at this point—not even a bit of resistance as he flipped you over so easily. He licked a long stripe from your lower back up until your nape. The fresh saliva combined with the chilly air made you shudder.

He carelessly lifted up your hips. With your cheek pressed into his pillows and your ass up in the air, he only got harder at the sight. He leaned down to be eye-to-eye with this so-called masterpiece, your cunt.

His nimble fingers toyed around with your soaked folds, chuckling to himself. "Man, I don't think I could ever capture something so damn beautiful."

He gave it a quick lick to test. "Well, unless you let me get familiar with her long enough." Another lick. "Maybe I can capture at least half of its beauty." Another lick. "Don't you think?"

A muffled sound was the only thing he got from you. "Yeah? You're gonna let me get to know her? As an artist, I'm overjoyed right now. Maybe I should show you."

And show he did.

He lapped up at your arousal, tongue licking long stripes each time. Your legs threatened to give out every time he flattened the pink muscle against your twitching hole. It didn't take long before he started darting in and out. Helpless groans filled his small dorm room.

Big calloused hands squeezed the flesh of your ass, making sure you stayed in place for him to enjoy. He was so messy... so so messy. Shidou suckled on your clit—really trying to coax another orgasm from you.

It didn't take much more for you to cum again, but this time all over his mouth. He happily took in everything, reaping the fruits of his labor.

He gave your ass one quick kiss as if to show his thanks. But he wasted no time lining up his painfully erect cock against your entrance. "Fuuuuck, I need to be inside you already or I'm actually going to explode," he muttered.

At first, it was just the tip. But it stretched you out so good already. The needy whine that escaped you was a testament to that. It only made him grip your hips tighter, surely leaving a mark for you to see tomorrow. Carefully, he pushed in more of his length, feeling every bump of your pussy engulf him.

"Shit. This is the stuff."

But he got impatient, shoving in the rest of his length without warning. It was so tight, so warm—too inviting for him to handle. His hands left your hips, opting to find support on the mattress instead. His thick arms caged you as his chest pressed against your back.

He continued to whisper the filthiest things in your ear, kissing your neck occasionally. But for as slow and sensual his voice may seem, his hips snapped with reckless abandon. He wasn't shy about giving you your third and, maybe, fourth orgasm of the day while chasing his own.

"You finally understand why I didn't want to ask you?"

"Yeah... I knew I was gonna end up fucking you real hard."

"But this is so much better than what I imagined."

His words brought you over the edge, cumming again. But the overstimulation rendered you thoughtless. The only thing on your mind was how good he was dicking you down.

"Fuck... Ryu!" you screamed. His grin only grew wider.

"That's it. Scream my fucking name. Let them hear it."

Your wanton moans encouraged him to go faster, mercilessly pistoning into you. It wouldn't be a surprise if you came another time on his cock.

Shidou harshly grabbed your tit, hoisting both of you up into a sitting position. This way, his cock reached even deeper into you. He kneaded your neglected breast while keeping you steady by the waist.

He showed no signs of slowing—even reaching down to play with your clit. A tear was rolling down your face from how sensitive he made you. But he quickly licked the salty tear off of the curve of your cheek.

He whispered softly, "Cum with me."

Just like the obedient muse that you were, you did. You clamped down on him as he shot rope after rope of gooey seed into you. Finally, he slowed down a bit, letting him empty himself in your pulsing cunt.

As you calmed down and he softened, he gently laid you back down on the soft mattress of his bed. He watched as his cum oozed out of you, smirking to himself.

"My best piece of work yet."

©miyukisu do not repost/reupload/translate any of my works on other platforms

╰ author's note WHAT THE FUCK DID I WRITE DAWG I WAS SO ON EDGE THE WHOLE TIME HELP WHY IS IT SO FILTHY

[orphicmusings]

this is so self indulgent but i love the idea of modern!viktor with reader who is more artistic/humanities inclined rather than stem…museum dates are a staple, obviously, whether they’re art or history, you walk hand in hand and sit on the little benches when you need a break and talk about your favorite parts (he loves seeing artifacts and antiques!!!) and he loves that he gets to hear you gush about each subject you come across and watch your eyes flicker with absolute light as you learn more and more, the passion for it being the best thing the two of you share other than your love for each other.

and then he’ll take you to one of those science discovery places, and he loves to freak you out with gnarly facts and will spend an hour in the planetarium with you if they let you, mapping out the constellations in the dim light in your own little journals, pretending you’re ancient astrologers. one time, on a particularly slow day, due to the relaxing music and general ambience, you both had fallen asleep in there— your head on his shoulder, his head on top of yours, and a staff member found you about a half hour before closing.

spoiling your partner with fine things such as designer clothes and jewelry is great, and he would if you wanted it, but to him? the most fun he’ll ever have spoiling you is watching you go absolutely ham in a bookstore. following behind you through the shelves with a basket to collect your pile, and you making sure you’re picking out a few you can read together (you reading aloud to him to get his mind to quiet down enough for him for fall asleep—he loves jane austen). seeing you geek out over limited edition covers of classics, dracula, frankenstein (which you affectionately call him, viktor frankenstein, when he is particularly too stubborn to leave his lab), greek myths, shakespeare, even if you already have a copy, he’ll buy you this one simply because it looks better on your joint bookshelf.

and if you ever doubt your intelligence in comparison to his? after trying to figure out something mathematical and handing it to him and him getting it done within seconds? even muttering a “right, sorry, i’m stupid” as a kneejerk reaction to existing in a lifetime of academic settings where stem is prioritized as The Smart People Subject and the humanities are only there as frivolous endeavors— will earn you the most disappointed look. “do not talk about yourself like that, my darling. i mean it.” he tells you firmly, getting more annoyed at you putting yourself down than he ever would with you asking him for help. oh, and if you were feeling particularly self deprecating and decided to go back at him?

god have mercy on you as he has you reading and retaining information from dense texts to him as he’s buried between your thighs, just to prove you can do what he couldn’t.

“mhm, and what have we learned?”

“that…” you caught your breath. “orpheus actually proved he loved eurydice by-“

“no.” he chided gently with a breathy smirk of his own. “that my love is entirely capable, and skilled, the most clever little darling i know…yes?”

you can’t stop the bashful smile that pulls at your lips and the heat that dusts your cheeks when you answer in affirmation.

[why-not-m-e]

a very unexpected tag from @oneandocey tysm!!!

my answers-

1. day-yeah-yeah

2. yes lol

3. hmmmmmmmm.....u mean tv shows, movies & cartoons and stuff like that ??if yes then  2 broke girls is my all time fav and adventure time, pokemon,phineas and ferb, shinchan, atashin'chi etc ...recently i started watching gals again. i read a lot of manga and webtoons too.

4. cats lotss of catsss

5. the only advice i can think of rn is that i saw a post here about like how good going out for a walk is for ur mental health. and i've been trying to do that for a while and it works..... at least i don't feel very miserable lol so yeah.....if youre like me who has social anxiety and spends most of your time in your room, going out for a walk will save you lol.

6. my sister ig we're twins so we're very close probably that's why she is the first person who  came to my mind but if u ask me who's your least favorite person my answer will be the same :)

7. yellow and idk why????? lol don't have any reason i just love it and feel good when i see it (U_U)

8. this morning. my neighbor has 8 dogs and all of are super nice good bois i love them sm

9. sweeeeeeeeeeeeet

10. hmm..not really ...uhm i dont think i have a proper answer to that it's like 50/50..... i mean in some situations yes..and sometimes no like if you're just sitting there putting all your trust in fate girl you gonna get robbed fr 

now its my turn to ask questions haha-

1. what food or meal brings back your memories of childhood?

2.what are you looking forward to this year?

3.  text or call?

4. if you were a pokemon trainer who'd be your ace?

5. do you believe in ghosts why or why not?

6. what is your favorite festival?

7. snow or rain?

8. if you could switch lives with any fictional character who would it be and why?

9. what's the best joke you know?

10. if you could have a mythical creature as a pet what would you choose?

tagging-

@bocchithegrappler @im-boredd-and-tired @autumnsunshine10 @crittertrekkingthroughthestars

Ten questions to ask a mutual

Instructions: prev asks ten questions and you answer them, then ask ten new ones and tag ten people to keep the chain going! I’ll go first

What is the weirdest thing you’ve eaten? (For me it’s the time I accidentally drank ants)

do you like purple or green more? (For me it’s a 50/50 I love them both)

what is your favorite two color color combo? (For me it’s purple and gold)

are you a cat or dog person? (Dogs 100%)

what is your favorite painting (Miranda by John William Waterhouse)

Mountains or beaches? (Mountains)

what’s your favorite dessert? (Lemon bars)

are you right or left handed? (Right but I used to be left handed)

salty or sweet? (Sweet)

summer or winter? (Winter)

I’m tagging 11 people but it’s whatever

@wra1th-k1ng

@bladevoyager

@tragedyanddust

@kindred-spirit-93

@urfavgreekmythnerd

@sickneurotic

@ry-diggity

@we-are-but-dead-stars

@thestarryfalls

@tamaruaart

@hermesmoly

[starlighttsv]

can you write a fix of paige as a mom to a teen girl who she catches trying to sneak out

Sneaking out - Pazzi’s daughter

Sum: paige catches Saylor sneaking out

Warnings: none for now I don’t think

Notes: I hope I did this justice 🤞 I know some people have said they’re excited for this fic so I’m honestly hoping you guys all like this

Wc: 1k

Pair: paige x daughter!oc (Saylor)

Saylors Masterlist

“Just climb out your window, It’s not that hard dude.” Saylor’s friend Jasmine says over the phone. “My moms could catch me Jas, then I’ll be grounded. Then what?”

“You’re acting like your moms even pay attention to you bro, they’re way to famous and busy to pay attention to what you of all people are doing. Sneak out through your window or we are leaving without you. We are not gonna get caught because your a scaredy cat” Jasmine says not leaving room for argument and hanging up the phone

Saylor sighs bringing her phone down from her ear and looking at the picture of her moms and her on Christmas morning a few years back that is taped to her vanity mirror. Back in a time where Saylor wasn’t constantly being looked down on by her friends, and was actually happy. Back in a time where she wasn’t a complete disappointment to her moms, and they didn’t have to constantly ground her.

Saylor takes a deep breath and then gets up from her bed and walking to her closet to start getting ready. After Saylor got dressed and did her hair and makeup, she texted her friend group chat that she was ready to be picked up - getting left on read

With them not responding and giving her an estimated time of when they’ll be here, she sat by her window waiting.

When they finally do get to the Bueckers household after around 35 minutes when it’s a 14 minute drive, Saylor opens her window and climbs out carefully turning around to close her window a little bit

“Hey bug, do you wanna watch a movie with me? Mama’s gonna be home lat-“ Saylor froze immediately seeing her mom walk into her room while she was pulling the window down. “Get in the house” Paige says in a monotone voice

Jasmine and the others could see Paige through the window and immediately drove off, leaving Saylor to fend for herself.

Saylor slowly climbs back into her room and stands by the window with her head down and hands clasped behind her back. Paige scoffs “What? You not gonna look at me now?”

Saylor just keeps her head down, “living room! NOW!” Paige says and then commands when Saylor doesn’t move. Saylor walks past Paige and walks downstairs to the living room - sitting on the couch and waiting for Paige to come back.

“You wanna tell me where you were going?” Paige says while walking down the stairs and to the couch - sitting down in front of Saylor.

Saylor just keeps her head down and looks at her hands in her lap. “Hello? I’m talking to you!” Paige says still trying to get Saylors attention “Saylor Jade Bueckers, look at me and answer the question now!” Paige says sternly, making Saylor shake her head

“No? You’re gonna tell me no? After I just caught YOU trying to sneak out?” Paige says baffled about how her daughter’s been acting recently “Fine you wanna play this game? Let’s play this game! You’re grounded for two months - no phone, no tv, no video games, you will have my old phone with mine and Azzi’s phone numbers that you can call and text ONLY us with and you will turn it in, to one of us when you’re home from school. You use your computer ONLY for school. No basketball or dance for two weeks-“

“Mom! No! You can’t do that! College recruiters are watching us now at games and recitals, how are they supposed to see me if you do that?!”

“I guess you should have thought about that before you decided to sneak out!” Paige yells making Saylor look back down at her hands and try to hold in her tears “I will call your coaches tomorrow morning and tell them that you are not to be participating in practices, games, recitals, all of that for two weeks. You are to go to school and come home immediately. You also now have a bedtime, me and Azzi will come and check on you randomly. Oh and I will be installing cameras around the house and outside of your windows tomorrow”

“Mom!-“ “Do NOT mom me right now Saylor Jade! What did you think was gonna happen when you decided to sneak out? That we would just never find out? That we wouldn’t care? What?! Tell me what you thought was gonna happen?! And let’s mention how you always get ungrounded and then immediately do something to get you grounded again! What is going on with you?! Paige yelled again just to be met with silence

“Go to your room!” Paige said pinching the bridge of her nose “mom-“ Saylor starts but gets cut off “Go. To. Your. Room. Saylor” Paige say’s strictly making Saylor sniffle and slowly get up and start making her way to the stairs

When she reaches them Paige stops her “While you’re up there, think about what you’ve done in the last year. Think about how you’ve been acting for the last 2+ years. And while you’re at it, try to find my daughter for me cause the girl standing in front of me is not my daughter. My daughter is a sweet girl that does her homework the day she gets it even if it’s not due for a month, she wants to dance and play basketball, she wants to go to college, my daughter wouldn’t throw her whole life away for some party, or alcohol & drugs, or even a fling” Paige says tearing up that she even has to say this

Saylor just looks at the ground and makes her way upstairs and to her room, getting in her bed and under the covers finally letting the tears fall.

I’m such a disappointment is all that is ringing through her head

@melpthatsme

[szariahwroteit]

Doll House: A Jude Bellingham + Original Character Erotic Series

18+ Minors DNI

Chapter 5

Tori allowed a day to slip by following the night of the party. Although her mind was tethered to Jude, the reason for her journey to Dubai, she needed a moment to gather her thoughts and find some clarity amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling within her. The vibrant city stretched out around her, but she felt the need to pause, breathe, and reflect.

However, the next morning, Jude woke up with a newfound determination. There was only one day left of the year, and while he didn’t care for resolutions or using the start of the calendar year to try and implement change, he refused to go into the new year existing in such an awkward space with Tori. They were so new that Jude wouldn’t call what they were amid growing pains, but he knew it was a hurdle they had to get over together if they wanted to be in each other’s lives.

He understood how daunting his life may have seemed and how sought after he was by women, but he also needed Tori to understand that it was her he wanted.

As one of the most heavily documented footballers of the current generation with a star power that only seemed to be going from strength 

to strength, women came in droves, but having options didn't mean much when there was already someone in his line of sight. 

Slipping on his sneakers, Jude stood from his seat on the edge of his plush hotel bed, grabbing his phone and wallet before stepping out of his suite. 

Letting out a breath he'd been holding, Jude made his way towards Tori’s room, his palms clammy despite the coolness of the hotel corridor. 

She'd texted him around an hour prior letting Jude know she was awake, but that had been their first interaction since the night of the party in his teammate's hotel suite. 

She’d spent the day before ignoring every call and message he sent her, only reading them before closing out of the chat. 

Although it wasn't in Jude’s intentions to hurt her, he was man enough to acknowledge how careless he'd been and as possessive and ego-driven as it may have sounded, it wasn't until he saw Tpri with Alex that he fully realized the error of his actions. 

To even see her standing beside another man made Jude’s skin crawl and adding insult to injury Alex had an arrogance about him that Jude didn't care for at all. 

With each step towards Tori's room, Jude's heart raced. The sound of his footsteps echoed softly in the quiet corridor, mirroring the internal chaos brewing within him. He thought back to the moment he recognized his feelings for her—how genuine her laughter was, how her eyes sparkled with excitement, and how she brought a sense of warmth into his otherwise chaotic life.

Reaching her door, he paused, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. He wanted to be honest, to lay everything out on the table, but he also didn't want to come off as desperate or overbearing. He had to strike a balance between vulnerability and strength. 

Before he could second-guess himself, he knocked gently. A few moments passed, and just as he was about to knock again, the door swung open, revealing Tori. She looked beautiful, her hair tousled messy bun and her eyes slightly puffy from sleep. There was a hint of surprise etched on her face, but it quickly faded into an unreadable expression.

“Hey,” Jude said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Can we talk?”

Tori hesitated but then stepped aside to let him in. The air was thick with unspoken words as he entered the room. She stood a few feet away, her arms crossed defensively over her chest as if shielding herself from whatever was about to transpire.

“I should have been more considerate of your feelings, I should have been more attentive and the last thing I want is for you to feel as if I’m just dragging you along for the ride.” Jude took a deep breath, searching for the right words to convey the depth of his emotions. 

“I know I messed up. But I also can't ignore the fact that I feel like you're holding back or anticipating me fucking up,” he continued. 

“I’m not waiting for you to fuck up, Jude I have no idea what I’m doing,” Tori attempted to explain. 

Jude took a step closer, his desire to bridge the gap between them almost palpable. “Then help me understand,” he urged, his voice softer now. “Because I want to be around you.”

Tori looked into Jude’s eyes, searching for answers, for reassurance, for something to break the tension that clung to the room like a thick fog. His sincerity was evident, yet doubt still clouded her thoughts. “The world is yours to do as you please with, the other night made me realize that and it's unfair of me to expect you to change anything about your world because I'm uncomfortable.”

They’d only known each other a few short weeks, but those weeks had been a whirlwind of emotions and unpredictability. Everything that had happened between them thus far has stemmed from impulse and raw attraction to one another, but eventually, they had to be real with themselves and for Tori; this was that. 

“I get that, Tori,” Jude replied, his voice steady despite internally trying to keep his frustration at bay. “But just because I can do something doesn't mean I will, I have self-control.” 

“I never said you didn't,” Tori shot back, a flicker of defiance in her eyes. 

“That’s what it feels like you're getting at.” Jude leaned in slightly, trying to gauge her reaction. “You’re implying that my lifestyle somehow dictates what I should want, or who I should be. But that's not the case, not with you. I need you to see that.” 

The charged atmosphere hung between them, heavy with expectation. Tori took a deep breath, the fight in her eyes softening momentarily as she considered his words. “I just don’t want to end up being another woman in your life, Jude. I want to matter to you—not just because I’m a different kind of distraction.” 

Jude shook his head firmly, his expression earnest. “You already do matter to me. You’re not a distraction. Being with you feels real, and that’s what terrifies me and excites me all at once. I want to make this work, but I need you to meet me halfway.” 

Tori dropped her arms, the defensiveness slowly peeling away. The vulnerability in Jude's eyes tugged at her heart. She could feel the sincerity of his desire, how he was trying to carve out a space for both of them amidst a storm of external pressures. 

“Halfway…” she murmured, the thought lingering in the air. 

“Yes,” he urged. “Let’s be honest with each other. I won’t pretend that it’s easy for either of us, especially with my world. But if you’re willing to try then I'm here.”

Tori felt a knot in her stomach loosen just a bit with Jude's words. They felt genuine, the kind of honesty that could either lead to something beautiful—or something painful. But she wanted to lay down her fears, to strip away the layers of uncertainty that had built up between them. “I want to try too,” she said finally, her voice steadying. “But I need you to understand where I’m coming from. I can’t just dive in without knowing if we’re on the same page.” 

Jude nodded, his expression softening. “Tell me what you need to know.” 

Taking a deep breath, Tori plunged into vulnerability, the words tumbling out. “I just need you to see with me. I'm not asking for constant reassurance, I just want to know that we’re exploring this together, to understand what we both want.”

Jude took a moment to process her words, his heart swelling with the weight of her honesty. “Tori, I want you,” he said firmly.

“If by chance that changes, please just—” Before Tori could complete her thought, Jude swiftly moved forward, enveloping her in his embrace. His arms wrapped securely around her, pulling her close as his lips crashed against hers, the intensity of the kiss catching her off guard. It was a fierce, passionate connection, igniting a spark that surged between them.

Tori felt herself melt into Jude, losing track of the worries that had weighed so heavily on her mind just moments before. The kiss was all-consuming, filling the room with a warmth that pushed away all thoughts of uncertainty. She could taste the determination in his kiss, the promise of sincerity that lingered in the air around them.

As they pulled apart slightly, she could feel Jude's heart beating against her chest, a rhythm that matched the unrest of emotions swirling within her. He looked down at her, his eyes dark and intense, searching her expression for any sign of hesitation. 

“I won't change my world, Tori,” he said quietly, his voice just above a whisper, “but I want to invite you into it. I need you to trust me.”

Tori nodded slowly, grappling with the flood of emotions rushing through her. Fear, exhilaration, longing—it was all entangled within her, but she found solace in Jude's presence. “I want to trust you, Jude,” she admitted, looking up at him, “I just need to know that you see me.”

He stepped back slightly but kept his hands on her arms, grounding her. “I see you,” he insisted, his voice sincere.

“Then can you kiss me again?” Jude's lips curled into a smirk, a playful glint sparking in his eyes at her request. He took a step closer again, his grip on her arms tightening just a fraction before he gently tilted her chin up. The air between them felt electric, charged with an undeniable chemistry that had been simmering since they first met.

“Are you sure?” he teased, though the sincerity in his tone was evident. He wanted to ensure that she was ready for whatever this connection could bring—because he certainly was.

With a soft breath, Tori nodded, her heart racing in anticipation. The nervousness in her stomach began to dissipate, replaced with an exhilarating rush that accompanied Jude’s every movement. He leaned closer, his breath warming her skin, and then his lips met hers once more in a slow, deliberate kiss.

It started gentle, a tentative exploration, a soft brush of lips that spoke of longing. But as the kiss deepened, it morphed into something more urgent and impassioned. Jude’s hands found their way to her waist, lifting her so he could carry her over to the bed. 

Tori couldn't help but giggle as Jude positioned himself above her, his strong hands framing her face. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin, and gently captured the delicate curve of her neck between his teeth, sending a shiver down her spine. The playful intimacy of the moment filled the air with a charged tension that made her heart race.

“All I want is to make you smile,” Jude murmured against her skin, his right hand moving from beside her head to grip her hip holding her in place. 

“I think you do a good job most of the time,” Tori smirked, reaching up to run her fingers through Jude’s coils as she looked into his eyes. 

“Most of the time?” he repeated in mock offence. 

“Most of the time,” Tori confirmed. “For example when you're at parties receiving lap dances, I'm not too hot on you,” she said, making Jude frown playfully before pushing his face back into the crease of her neck. 

“Okay, I deserve that one,” Jude admitted, his voice muffled against her skin. He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against hers, their breaths mingling in the intimate space between them. “But, can I make you moan?” he asked, a playful challenge dancing in his eyes.

Tori's breath hitched, her heart racing at the sudden turn of the conversation. The boldness in his question sent heat pooling in her stomach, igniting an undeniable desire within her. She met his gaze, searching for sincerity among the playful banter, and found it. Jude wasn’t just teasing; he genuinely wanted to know.

“Depends on how you plan to do it,” she shot back, teasingly raising an eyebrow, her confidence blossoming in the aftermath of their heightened emotions.

“I want to taste you,” Jude whispered hotly into her ear. 

“Is that so?” she replied, her voice sultry, laced with intrigue as she arched an eyebrow, daring him to make his move. 

“Absolutely,” Jude affirmed, his confidence unwavering. He shifted his weight ever so slightly, his body pressing closer to hers. “Let me show you how I plan to make you moan.”

With that, he trailed his lips down the side of her neck, savouring the taste of her skin as his hand reached between them to pull apart her robe, cupping her breast. Tori gasped, every nerve in her body igniting under his caress. The sensation was rousing, the promise of what was to come sending spirals of desire coursing through her.

“Jude,” she breathed the warmth of his mouth on her skin, sending a tingle down her spine. 

“Relax,” he breathed out, his lips and tongue continuing their exploration, trailing lower, sending waves of pleasure shooting through her. His fingers danced over her soft skin, igniting a fire that made her pulse quicken.

“Just let me enjoy you,” he murmured, his breath hot against her as he settled between her legs, raising her left leg to come and rest over her shoulder so she lay completely exposed to him, the space around them fading into a blur of colour and sound, leaving only the two of them.

Tori let out a breathless moan as Jude pressed an open-mouthed kiss against her pussy, groaning as he got his first taste of her on his tongue. 

The sensation rocked through Tori like a bolt of lightning, her body instinctively responding to the warmth and pressure of his mouth. She gasped as he explored her with slow, deliberate movements, his tongue dancing over her sensitive folds, teasing her in a way that made her forget everything else around them.

Jude’s eyes flicked up to meet with hers as she felt his lips spread into a smile against her before he went to work on her.

Tori’s hand reached up to cover her mouth as a means of silencing her moans as Jude feasted on her pussy, his skin slippery against hers from a combination of his saliva and her arousal. 

The sounds that came from his ministrations were lewd, he sucked and slurped on Tori as her back arched from the bed completely intoxicated by her. 

Her senses were overwhelmed, the way Jude's mouth moved with expert preciseness sending waves of pleasure coursing through her body. The air was electric with tension, the intensity of their connection radiating like a wildfire, each gasp she stifled only fueling the fire within. As her breath hitched, her fingers tightened in his hair, guiding him closer, craving more of the intoxicating sensations he created. Every flick of his tongue sent her spiralling deeper into ecstasy, and at that moment, nothing else mattered but the connection they shared, lost in a world of indulgent pleasure.

“You have such a pretty pussy,” Jude groaned, leaning back a little to make room so he could use his thumbs to spread her open, gathering saliva on the end of his tongue before allowing it to drip from his mouth onto her. 

Tori gasped softly at the improper compliment, a rush of heat flooding her cheeks and spreading lower, intensifying the throbbing ache between her thighs.

"Take it," she managed to murmur, her voice breathy and laced with desire.

As if to emphasize her point, Tori's hips tilted upward, offering herself to him more fully. The cool air kissed her damp folds, a stark contrast to the burning heat of Jude's gaze as he took in the sight of her splayed out before him.

"Please," she whimpered, the word escaping her lips before she could stop it. Her fingers tightened in his hair, not quite demanding, but urging him to continue.

At that moment, Tori felt wild, uninhibited, and completely surrendered to the sensations coursing through her body as she watched Jude stand from the bed to remove his clothes before grabbing his wallet and retrieving a condom from it.

“I want you inside of me,” Tori's eyes fluttered open, meeting Jude's gaze with an intensity that stole his breath away. "Please Jude," she whispered, her voice rough with need. "I want to feel you inside me."

She reached for him, her fingers trailing down his chest, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “You’re so beautiful," she murmured, her voice slightly deepening with desire.

Tori's hips lifted off the bed, a silent invitation, an offering of her body and soul. Her legs spread wider, a clear display of her readiness, her need for him.

"Take me," she breathed, the words both a plea and a command. "Make me yours."

In that moment, Tori was lost to everything except the fire burning within her, the aching void that only Jude could fill. She needed him with an intensity that consumed her, obliterating any remnants of doubt or hesitation.

Crawling on top of her petite and slender, yet dangerously curvaceous body Jude led with his tongue as parted her lips so she could taste herself. 

As Jude's tongue parted Tori's lips, she moaned softly, the taste of her own arousal mingling with the unique flavour of Jude. It was a heady combination, one that sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through her body.

Tori's arms wrapped around Jude's neck, pulling him closer as she deepened the kiss. Her tongue danced with his, exploring every inch of his mouth with a fervour that matched the intensity of their earlier passion.

Lost in the heat of the moment, Tori arched her back, pressing her body flush against Jude's. She could feel every contour of his muscular frame, the hard planes of his chest rubbing against the soft swells of her breasts.

The friction of their bodies moving together stoked the fire within Tori, her skin tingling with anticipation. She needed more, craved the feel of Jude's hands on her body, his touch igniting a trail of sparks wherever he caressed her.

Their bodies undulated together, a sensual dance fueled by primal need. Tori's hands explored Jude's back, her fingers tracing the contours of his muscles, marvelling at the strength that lay beneath his skin.

Jude groaned against her lips, the sound muffled by their kiss. His hands roamed her body, skimming over the dip of her waist, and the flare of her hips, before coming to rest on the soft curves of her ass. 

With a firm squeeze, Jude lifted Tori's hips, angling them so that he could slide into her with one smooth thrust. The sensation was indescribable, a perfect reunion of flesh on flesh that left them both gasping for breath.

“Tori, you feel fucking perfect,” Jude groaned into the crease of her neck, his hand slipping from her to wrap around her thighs and pin her to the bed beneath him. 

Jude had never considered himself a man with sadistic tendencies, but where sex with Tori was concerned; she possessed an innocence he wanted to ruin and protect all at once. 

She was so submissive to pleasure, both giving and receiving and all he wanted to do was explore that—explore her. 

Tori's body arched into Jude's touch, a soft gasp escaping her lips as he filled her completely. The sensation was overwhelming, bordering on painful in its intensity, yet Tori welcomed it, craving more.

"Ah!" Tori let out a throaty cry as Jude slammed deep into her, the sudden fullness stealing her breath. "God, yes! Fuck me harder, Jude!"

Tori's nails raked down Jude's back, her fingers digging into his skin as she urged him on. Her hips bucked against his, meeting each of his thrusts with equal fervour, driving them both closer to the brink of ecstasy. 

"You're so fucking tight," Jude grunted, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "So good, baby." Tori's head fell back against the pillows, her dark hair fanning out around her like a halo.

“Get on top, I want to watch your beautiful little body while you ride me,” Jude continued, raising his head so he could look into her eyes. 

Tori hesitated, her eyes widening slightly at his request for a change in position. She wasn't used to taking the lead in the bedroom, preferring to let him guide her. 

But there was something about Jude's command, the way he looked at her with such raw desire, that made her want to please him, to give him exactly what he wanted.

Slowly, carefully, Tori manoeuvred herself into a straddling position, her knees on either side of Jude's hips. She could feel the heat of his body, the hard length of him pressing against her core, and it sent a shiver of anticipation through her.

As Tori lowered herself onto Jude's cock, she couldn't help but moan softly at the sensation of being filled, stretched, and consumed by him. Her walls clenched around him as if trying to keep him inside her, never to let him go.

Tori’s mouth fell open in a silent cry, her eyes locking with Jude’s as he raised his hips beneath her, the head of his cock kissing firmly against her cervix. 

A rush of sensations flooded Tori’s body, the fullness igniting every nerve ending as she gasped at the invasive, yet welcomed pressure. Jude’s intense gaze held hers captive, the heat of his desire reflecting back at her like flames in a hearth. 

“Fuck, you feel unbelievable,” he rasped, thrusting gently as he pushed deeper, each subtle movement sending electric jolts of pleasure cascading through her. Tori arched her back, her hard nipples brushing against his chest, intuitively wanting more of him, more of this exquisite connection.

“More,” she urged, her voice barely a whisper, heavy with longing. “Please, Jude... I need it.”

A predacious grin spread across his face, and without a moment’s hesitation, he complied. Placing a hand on the back of her neck and the other on the small of her back, pulling her body flush against his. 

With a powerful roll of his hips, Jude drove deeper, claiming her in a way that turned her breath into a string of frantic gasps. The rhythmic motion filled the space between them with an intoxicating harmony that made her pulse race. Tori’s body melted against his, surrendering to the waves of pleasure that rippled through her, echoing with each thrust.

“Jude, you're so deep,” she moaned, her voice weak with desire as the sensation overwhelmed her. It felt as if he were reaching into her very soul, each movement igniting a fire that blazed hotter with every stroke.

“Look at me,” he growled his words lacking in diction as his hand on the back of her neck came to wrap around her throat, easing her body to sit up some so he could look into her eyes as he rounded his hips into Tori, fucking her incredibly deep. 

Tori’s heart raced, the combination of his grip and his commanding gaze sending shivers of exhilaration down her spine. She loved this side of him, the way he took charge, the way his need matched her own. The space around them faded, leaving only the two of them tangled in a whirlwind of heat and desire.

“Jude…” she breathed, her voice trembling as she leaned into his touch, craving both his possession and his passion. The intensity of his stare felt almost tangible, wrapping around her and binding them in this moment of unadulterated pleasure.

“Tell me how it feels,” he urged, his voice low and rough, sending a thrill of excitement coursing through her veins.

It took Tori a moment to gather her thoughts, to articulate the overwhelming sensations crashing through her. “It’s... so much,” she managed, her breath hitching as he ground deeper inside her, every thrust perfectly timed to lift her closer to the edge. “It’s everything, Jude. Just—just don’t stop.”

His eyes burned with a mix of ownership and satisfaction, and he revelled in her response as if her words were his own personal high. He adjusted his angle, hitting a spot that sent a wave of pleasure washing over her, causing her to arch into him. 

“Don’t ever second guess how fucking perfect you are,” Jude growled, his voice deep and resonant, filled with raw need. He intensified his pace, each thrust resonating through her as he delved deeper, pushing her closer to the brink. The heat between them crackled, an electric current that sparked at every point of contact, igniting every sense.

Tori’s breath quickened, each inhaling a desperate gasp for air as if the sheer force of their connection threatened to overwhelm her lungs. 

“Oh god, Jude… yes,” she cried, her back arching further, urging him on. It was as if his every touch had created a symphony within her—a melody of pleasure that coursed through her veins, building to a crescendo that she could almost taste.

“Feel how much I want you,” Jude painted, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice as he quickened the rhythm. His hands roamed her body, exploring every curve, every contour, as though he wanted to memorize her completely.

Finally settling his hands on her hips as he bit down on his bottom lip, Jude’s brow furrowed as his gaze fixed on Tori's glossy brown eyes as she gave herself to him. 

The connection between them deepened with every thrust, a magnetic pull that transcended the physical realm. Tori felt exhilarated and vulnerable all at once, ensnared in a dance of ecstasy that made her skin tingle and her heart race. Jude’s gaze burned into her, the depth of his desire setting her aflame from within.

“You’re everything I want,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear as he quickened his rhythm, driving them both higher.

As Tori’s eyelids heavy with lust slid shut, she felt a singular tear of unadulterated pleasure roll down her cheek, a physical testament to the overwhelming sensations coursing through her body. Every thrust from Jude felt like a promise, each powerful movement igniting more than just her body; it deepened their bond, drawing them closer together as though they were the only two souls in existence.

“Jude,” she gasped, opening her eyes to meet him once more, searching for some kind of guidance. Her body was his, even if only for the moment. 

“Let go,” he urged, his voice a heated whisper as he captured her gaze, anchoring her in the depth of their connection. Tori felt as if he was unravelling her from the inside out, his words wrapping around her heart like a warm embrace. The trust between them intensified the experience, elevating every sensation beyond the physical.

“Just you and me,” he said, his breath heavy with need. “Nothing else matters right now.” With those words, he thrust deeper, asserting that claim within her, pushing her to places she had never dreamed of reaching.

Tori managed a nod, her voice lost in the tumult of pleasure. She surrendered completely to the moment, allowing the waves of ecstasy to wash over her. The rhythm between them grew urgent, a fierce manifestation of their shared longing, building in intensity with every tide.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” Jude groaned, his hands tightening possessively around her hips as he lost himself in her. The pressure building within her was electric, every pulse of pleasure drawing her closer to that swirling vortex of release. 

“Jude, I—I can’t hold on much longer,” she warned, her words whisper-soft amidst the gasps and moans echoing through the room. 

“Good,” he encouraged with a primal growl, his eyes darkened with lust. “Let it go, Tori. I want to feel you cum on me.” 

With each powerful thrust, he pushed her closer to that edge, his rhythm relentless, a beautiful pinnacle that made everything else fade into oblivion. Tori’s body responded instinctively, tightening around him as if seeking to pull him even deeper.

“Jude!” she cried out, feeling the pleasure tighten into a coil, ready to unravel. He pressed on, relentless in his pursuit, his voice a seductive growl that wrapped around her heart. 

“Just let it happen, Tori. Feel all of me,” he coached his hands firmly gripping her hips as he tilted his hips into her, making sure she felt every last pulsing inch.

The intensity of their connection reached a fever pitch, each thrust adding fuel to the fires that roared within her. Tori could feel the overwhelming waves of pleasure crashing over her, a tsunami she couldn’t hope to hold back any longer. Every nerve in her body tingled with need, each pulse syncopated with Jude’s movement, forging a bond between them.

“Just like that!” she gasped, her words melting into moans, expressing the bliss that swelled within her. Every inch of her became attuned to his rhythm, and she relished the dance of their bodies—the slick sliding sensation that came with each thrust, their shared breaths mingling in the charged air.

Tori’s fingers tangled in his hair as she leaned forward, wanting to feel every part of him pressing against her. “I’m so close,” she confessed, her voice breathless and laced with desperation. The heat radiating from his body set her ablaze, igniting a fire that refused to be quenched.

“Cum for me,” he commanded, his voice raw with desire, pushing her to the brink. His hands gripped her tighter, anchoring her as he thrust deep, each movement driving her closer to the edge she was so desperately in pursuit of.

Tori's body quaked above him, the tension coiling tighter and tighter. She could barely string words together, lost in the depths of her pleasure. “Jude, I can’t… I—”

“Give it to me,” he urged, his strained as he felt his end nearing. “Please, Tori.” The desperation in his voice pushed her over the edge, that insistent tone igniting the last spark of her restraint.  

With one final thrust, Jude buried himself deep inside her, and Tori felt the world swirl around her. The coil of pleasure snapped, sending shockwaves coursing through her body as her orgasm shattered every thought, every worry, leaving only raw ecstasy in its wake. Waves of pleasure rippled through her, overwhelming her senses, and she forgot everything except the intoxicating rhythm of their bodies entwined.

“Jude!” She cried out, her voice hoarse as she let herself fall into that abyss of pleasure, riding the crest of the wave as it crashed over her. Every muscle in her body tightened, and she felt herself pulsing around him, tightening and pulsing in the throes of her release.

“That’s it, baby,” he grunted, his own body responding instinctively to the feel of her climax. With each tightening clench of her walls around him, Jude lost himself completely, the warmth of her body drawing him into a well of bliss. 

He felt his release building, the intensity of her orgasm pushing him over the edge. “I’m right there with you,” he groaned, his breath coming in ragged gasps. 

Tori locked her gaze on his, their breaths mingling as they rode the waves together. The connection between them deepened with each pulse, each beat of their hearts echoing in time. 

“Jude!” she gasped, as another wave washed over her, pulling him along in its wake, and then, as if their bodies were synchronized, he delved deep into her, stilling as he poured himself into the condom he wore. 

“Fuck, Tori!” he cried out, the sensation of her wrapping around him perfectly driving him over the edge as his cock filled her completely.

As the remains of their orgasms gradually faded, Tori collapsed against Jude, panting against his chest, both of them lost in a cocoon of warmth and satisfaction. Her heart raced, still thumping with remnants of pleasure as she felt Jude’s arms wrap around her, holding her close.

After a few moments of blissful silence, Tori began to regain consciousness of her surroundings, the warm afterglow of their passion enveloping her like a cozy blanket. The city outside was bustling with life, but inside the room, time felt suspended, a private moment shared between just the two of them. Tori would have been content to lie there forever, nestled against him, but a sudden wave of apprehension washed over her. 

Jude, sensing her shift in mood, tightened his grip around her. "What are you thinking?" he asked softly, his voice low as he stroked her hair, pulling her even closer. 

“Not much,” she mumbled, nestling deeper against the warmth of his chest. The contentment surrounding them was intoxicating, even as a flicker of reality started to seep back in. 

“I was thinking about taking you shopping today,” Jude suggested, a teasing lilt in his voice, his fingers gently grazing back and forth over the small of her back. “I want to spoil you a little.”

“Spoil me?” she asked teasingly, tilting her head to look up at him.

“Yes,” he replied, a charming grin spreading across his face. “So you can get dressed up for me tonight while we bring in the New Year.”

Not only was it a chance to spoil her and in turn feed his ego, but there was also something about the act, the quality time spent that seemed rather intimate to him. 

“What would you like to see me in?” Tori asked with a smirk as she sat up, her breast round and perky as she straddled Jude’s lap. 

Jude's gaze darkened with desire as he took in the sight of her sitting on him, her body radiating confidence and allure. “Honestly? I like you in absolutely nothing, but a dress would be more fitting considering our plans for tonight,” he replied, his voice low and gravelly.

Tori felt her cheeks flush at his words, the compliment igniting a warmth within her. “What are our plans for tonight?” she asked, her breath deepening as Jude’s hands came to rest on her hips. 

“Dinner and then a New Year's Eve party at the marina,” he explained, his dark eyes locking onto hers, filled with anticipation. “And you have my word no lap dances will be taking place,” he smirked, earning a laugh and playful punch to the bicep from Tori. 

When they finally pulled themselves from the bed, Tori made her way into the bathroom to get ready as Jude went to leave her hotel room and head back to his own. 

As he pulled open the door of Tori’s room, he noticed Alex walking towards him, dressed in a suit similar to the one he wore the night of the party when he comforted Tori. 

Instead of saying anything, Jude offered Alex a knowing smirk, his body still humming for the passionate encounter he just had with Victoria. 

Making his way back to his room, Jude changed clothes and alerted his security guard of his plans to leave the hotel with Tori. 

As he dressed, Jude felt a sense of anticipation bubbling within him. The thought of taking Tori shopping, of sharing the day with her, filled him with excitement. He couldn't wait to see her in something stunning for the New Year’s Eve party, something that would make her stand out and remind everyone—especially Alex—who she belonged to.

Once he was ready, Jude stepped out of his suite and made his way down the corridor to Tori's room. He knocked, his heart racing again at the thought of seeing her. The door swung open, and Tori stood there, looking radiant despite the casual outfit she wore. A fitted black top hugged her frame, paired with high-waisted jeans that accentuated her curves perfectly.

“Tori,” Jude spoke up, his voice laced with genuine admiration. “You look incredible.”

Tori smiled shyly, a light blush creeping onto her cheeks. “Thanks. I figured I’d keep it simple for shopping,” she said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Simple? You look anything but,” Jude replied, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. “Come here,” he instructed. 

Tori’s heart fluttered at the command in his voice, and she took a small step toward him, curiosity lighting up her eyes. Jude reached out, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. 

Tori’s breath hitched in her throat as Jude pressed a kiss against her plump lips, his hands slipping down to caress her backside as he walked her backwards into the nearest wall. 

His mouth moved against hers with a hot intensity, igniting a fire within Tori that she couldn’t ignore. She thawed into him, her body responding instinctively as he deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring the warmth of her mouth. 

“We need to leave or I'm going to end up fucking the shit out of you in this entryway,” Jude groaned against her lips, a teasing smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. Tori couldn't help but laugh softly, the tension of the previous days melting away in this moment of intimacy.

“Then we should hurry,” she replied, her voice playful, yet filled with a thrill of excitement. She stepped back, breaking the embrace just enough to catch her breath and regain her composure. Looking into Jude's eyes, she felt an undeniable connection, one that made her heart race and her stomach flutter.

Jude gave her a lopsided grin, clearly enjoying her reaction. “Shopping first, party later.”

Tori grinned, her excitement bubbling to the surface as she took Jude's hand, guiding him toward the door. “Lead the way then,” she said, her voice playful.

[lilmisssona]

｡𖦹° Brownie Battle ｡𖦹°

｡𖦹° Pairing - Felix × Fem Reader

｡𖦹° Plot - Felix is running late, leaving the kids quietly waiting for their dad. Deciding to take matters into your own hands, you attempt to bake brownies before he arrives, despite knowing nothing about baking. Chaos ensues as you quickly realize this might not go as planned.

｡𖦹° Genre - Comedy, Hurt, Fluff

｡𖦹° Warnings - Comedy, husband! Felix, dad! Felix, established relationship, mentions of control, hurt to comfort, fluff ,idol au

｡𖦹° Word Count - 6.7 K ｡𖦹° Screenshot Count - 1

｡𖦹° A/N - The fifth episode of Staymas is here with a mix of laughter, cozy moments, and lingering pain. Can this battle with the brownies be ever won ? Read to find out! ( This story is slightly proofread , so apologiez for any mistake 🙂‍↕️)

｡𖦹° SKZ Masterlist ｡𖦹° STAYMAS Masterlist

The clock on the wall struck 10:30 PM, its hands moving with an almost mocking slowness. Felix still wasn’t home, and worse, he hadn’t answered your texts. You glanced at your phone for the hundredth time, reopening the message thread filled with unanswered texts and a lone photo you had sent earlier of the kids, their faces bright with anticipation.

Nothing. Not even the faintest hint of “typing…” appeared beneath your last message. The screen stayed stubbornly blank, and you locked your phone with a frustrated sigh. Your fingers hovered over it again, tempted to call, but you stopped yourself. You didn’t want to seem pushy,or worse, distract him if he was still working. A new, darker thought crept into your mind, twisting your stomach. What if he was caught up in something he couldn’t control?

You pushed the phone away and leaned against the counter, gripping its edge as you forced yourself to stay calm. Felix had to be okay. He had to be. He never forgot this night. He loved it just as much as you and the kids did. He wouldn’t miss this on purpose, you repeated silently, holding on to the thought like a lifeline. But despite your efforts, the quiet ache of longing was settling deeper as you stared at the scene in front of you.

The kitchen looked like the aftermath of a festive explosion - flour dusted the countertop like fresh snow, cocoa powder smudged the edge of the recipe book, and eggs sat perilously close to tumbling over. Every ingredient you needed for your special Christmas brownies was there, waiting to be transformed into something magical. Yet, the most crucial part was missing: Felix.

His warmth, his laughter, his way of turning the most mundane moments into cherished memories, it was all absent. This tradition, the annual brownie-baking session, had started years ago when it was just the two of you in a tiny apartment with a second-hand oven that barely worked. What began as a simple attempt to add sweetness to your holidays became a ritual, a symbol of the love and joy that defined your family. Now, with two little ones running around, the tradition had grown even more special.

But tonight, the air felt heavier. The kitchen wasn’t as lively without Felix humming along to Christmas carols or playfully swiping flour onto your nose when he thought you weren’t looking. The silence stretched longer with each tick of the clock, broken only by the occasional squeals and giggles of your children, still brimming with energy despite the late hour.

“Is Daddy here yet?” your youngest asked for the fifth, or maybe sixth, time, tugging at the hem of your sweater. Their tiny voice was filled with hope, their wide eyes shimmering like ornaments on the Christmas tree.

“No, baby, not yet,” you said softly, crouching to meet their gaze. You brushed a strand of hair from their forehead, forcing a smile even as your heart tightened. “But he’ll be home soon. You know how much Daddy loves this night. He wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Your words felt more like a mantra to calm yourself than a promise. You knew Felix’s schedule was grueling, rehearsals that stretched into the early hours, endless performances, interviews, and the heavy weight of being an idol. You reminded yourself of everything he was doing for your family, for the life you had built together, but it didn’t make the waiting any easier. Tonight, all you wanted was for him to walk through the door and light up the room the way he always did.

You tried to be patient. You really did. But as the minutes crawled by, the waiting felt unbearable. The house was too quiet without Felix’s laughter echoing through the halls or the sound of his footsteps rushing to join you in the kitchen. The silence became deafening, broken only by the ticking clock and the occasional giggles of the kids, oblivious to the tension simmering beneath your calm exterior.

The nagging voice in your head, the one you tried so hard to silence, began to whisper, sharp and relentless.

He doesn’t prioritize you anymore

You’re just sitting around, waiting. Again

Why can’t you ever handle this on your own?

Your fists clenched tightly, nails digging into your palms as you struggled to shove the thoughts away. They weren’t true. They couldn’t be true. Felix loved you. He loved the kids. He would never miss this night on purpose. Yet the doubts crept in like shadows, growing harder to ignore.

The kids were watching you now, their bright eyes filled with unspoken questions. They didn’t understand why Daddy wasn’t home yet or why you kept glancing at the door every few minutes. Their innocence only deepened the ache in your chest. You couldn’t let them see your frustration. You couldn’t let them feel your disappointment.

“Okay,” you said suddenly, your voice cutting through the heavy silence. You stood up abruptly, brushing your hands on your apron as if to shake off your hesitation. The sudden movement startled the kids, who looked up at you with wide, curious eyes. “We’re not waiting anymore. Let’s make the brownies ourselves!”

The kids froze for a moment, exchanging surprised glances before their faces lit up with excitement. “Really, Mommy? Can we?”

“Yes,” you said, forcing a smile that you hoped looked genuine. “How hard can it be?” You grabbed the recipe card from the counter, clutching it tightly like it was your secret weapon.

The kids exchanged wary looks, their expressions a mix of skepticism and mild horror. “But you don’t bake,” one of them pointed out, crossing their arms like a miniature food critic.

“Don’t need to,” you shot back confidently, planting your hands on your hips like you were about to conquer the Great British Bake Off. “How hard can it be?”

Famous. Last. Words.

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

The first obstacle? Felix’s so-called baking notebook. It wasn’t a notebook, it was a chaotic, butter-smudged relic of culinary madness. The cover looked like it had survived a battlefield, and the pages were a disorganized mess of dog-eared corners, scribbles, and stains. Half the recipes were in Korean, the other half a confusing blend of shorthand, doodles, and what suspiciously resembled advanced calculus. You stared at the entry labeled Ultimate Fudgy Brownies, squinting at what might have been a measurement or a phone number.

“Whatever,” you muttered, snapping the book shut with a decisive thud. “We’ll wing it.”

“Wing it?!” The kids’ collective gasp could have been heard from space. They gawked at you as if you’d just suggested setting the Christmas tree on fire.

“Relax,” you said with a nonchalant wave, trying to mask your own rising panic. “It’s just brownies. How bad could it be?”

The kids, unfazed by your misplaced confidence, sprang into action, dragging stools and chairs to the counter. Their laughter bubbled through the room, and for a fleeting moment, the warmth of their joy muted the gnawing worry in your chest.

It can't be that bad, you thought.

Five minutes later, the kitchen resembled a chocolate-coated war zone. Flour floated through the air like confetti at a poorly planned party, cocoa powder smudged every visible surface, and sugar coated the floor like fresh snow. Even the cat, who’d foolishly wandered in, was now speckled with evidence of your culinary ambition.

The kids, who were supposed to be your helpful sous chefs, had gone rogue. A rolling pin and a spatula had been repurposed into makeshift lightsabers, and an intense Jedi duel raged in the middle of the disaster zone.

“Guys, focus!” you yelled, lunging to confiscate the rolling pin mid-swing before someone lost an eye. “This is serious business!”

One of them blinked at you, tilting their head. “You’re acting like you’re on MasterChef.”

“Maybe I am,” you shot back, slamming a mixing bowl onto the counter with dramatic flair. The clang silenced even the imaginary lightsaber sound effects. “And Gordon Ramsay would totally approve.”

Your youngest raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Pretty sure he’d say it’s raw.”

“Pretty sure you’re grounded,” you muttered, pointing a spatula at them like a teacher issuing detention.

With a deep breath, you turned to the recipe, or what little you could decipher of it. Flour? Check. Cocoa powder? Check. Eggs? Check.

“Alright, crack two eggs into the bowl,” you announced, trying to channel an air of competence.

Simple enough. Or so you thought.

You grabbed an egg and tapped it against the bowl’s edge. Nothing. You tapped harder. Still nothing. Finally, with a decisive whack, the egg shattered, sending yolk flying... directly into the sugar canister.

The kids collapsed in laughter as you stared at the sugary mess, stunned. “It’s fine,” you said, scooping out the yolk with a spoon like it was all part of the plan. “It’s all going to the same place anyway.”

The second egg fared slightly better, though you did spend an embarrassing amount of time fishing out bits of shell. Cracking eggs, you realized, was apparently a skill you’d taken for granted.

When it came time for the chocolate chips, the pantry betrayed you. The bag was empty, save for a few pitiful crumbs. Undeterred, you marched to the fridge and retrieved Felix’s prized dark chocolate, the one he treated like a sacred artifact.

“That’s Dad’s special chocolate,” your youngest whispered, their voice trembling with the gravity of the situation.

“Well,” you said, unwrapping the bar with exaggerated flair, “it’s special brownies now.”

The kids watched in stunned silence as you aggressively chopped the chocolate, the rhythmic thunk thunk thunk filling the room.

“Mom’s... kind of scary right now,” your eldest muttered under their breath.

“I heard that!” you snapped, pointing the knife in their direction before returning to your overly enthusiastic chopping.

With the chocolate finally added to the batter, you poured the wet ingredients into the dry, and the kids took turns stirring. Their initial excitement quickly gave way to complaints.

“It’s too thick!”

“My arm hurts!”

“Why does it look like cement?”

“It’s supposed to look like that,” you lied, wrestling the spoon from their tiny hands. The batter was dense enough to be classified as a construction material, but you pressed on, determined not to let this defeat you.

Next step: preheat the oven. Simple, right?

Except Felix’s high-tech oven seemed designed by NASA. The digital display was a labyrinth of buttons, bake, broil, convection, mystery symbols that could’ve been hieroglyphs. You pressed a few experimentally, only to accidentally activate the broiler. A wave of scorching heat blasted your face.

“What’s that smell?” one of the kids asked, wrinkling their nose.

“It’s... ambiance,” you said, waving a dish towel at the faint tendrils of smoke.

After a solid five minutes of trial and error (and muttered threats at the oven), the preheat function finally activated.

“Victory!” you declared, raising your arms in triumph.

The kids burst into applause, their small hands clapping as if you’d just climbed Everest. It was almost enough to make you feel accomplished, almost.

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

Finally, with a deep breath and a prayer to the dessert gods, you poured the lumpy, suspiciously mud-like batter into the pan. You gave it a determined shake, hoping to even it out, but it just glared back at you, stubbornly refusing to cooperate. Whatever. Perfection was overrated.

With oven mitts on both hands because safety first, you flung open Felix’s unnecessarily fancy oven like a warrior storming into battle. The pan slid in with a satisfying clunk, and you slammed the door shut as if sealing a vault. “There,” you declared, brushing flour off your shirt like a pro. “Now we wait.”

“Wait how long?” one of the kids asked, peering at the oven as if it might explode.

“Until it’s done,” you replied confidently, snatching the recipe card for reassurance. But Felix’s handwriting was as cryptic as ever, and you couldn’t tell if it said bake for 25 minutes or bake at 52 minutes.

“Uh... we’ll just... check on it,” you said, tossing the card aside with faux authority.

As the oven hummed and the rich smell of chocolate filled the air, an unwelcome memory surfaced: your ex, standing in your old kitchen, smirking as you botched dinner yet again.

“This is why I always cook,” he’d said with a smug shake of his head. “You’re hopeless in the kitchen.”

The memory hit like a slap, sharp and uninvited. You clenched your fists. Hopeless without me? Not today. Not ever.

"Not today, Satan," you muttered, aggressively adjusting the oven mitts like a general preparing for war.

But watching over the brownies turned out to be harder than expected.

First, the timer on Felix’s unnecessarily high-tech oven decided to rebel, blinking “Err” at you like it was judging your life choices. Then, as if on cue, the smell of something burning began to creep through the air. You whipped open the oven door, only to find the batter bubbling over the sides of the pan like molten lava.

“Why is it doing that?!” one of the kids shrieked, diving behind a chair like the brownies were about to explode.

“Because... science,” you answered vaguely, grabbing a baking sheet in a desperate attempt to save the day. But in your rush, you elbowed a bottle of vanilla extract off the counter. It shattered spectacularly on the floor, filling the room with a sharp, sugary scent that did nothing to soothe your frazzled nerves.

“It’s fine,” you said through gritted teeth, snatching up a broom like you were ready to duel the broken glass. “Everything’s fine.”

The kids exchanged wide-eyed glances, clearly questioning your sanity. “Should we call Dad?” your eldest asked cautiously.

“No!” you snapped, your voice a little too loud. “We don’t need him. We’ve got this. We are perfectly capable of making brownies without your dad swooping in like some culinary superhero.”

The kids didn’t look convinced, but they wisely stayed quiet as you swept up the shards, checked on the brownies again, and willed the universe to cut you some slack.

For a brief, glorious moment, it seemed like everything might turn out okay. The batter had miraculously stabilized, and though the edges looked a little crispy, you convinced yourself they’d just be “extra chewy.”

And then the smoke alarm went off.

“NOT AGAIN!” you yelled, grabbing the oven mitts as the shrill wail of the alarm echoed through the house.

The kids screamed in unison, “THE HOUSE IS ON FIRE!”

“It’s NOT on fire!” you bellowed, yanking the oven door open to reveal... chaos. Smoke poured out in thick, accusatory tendrils. The batter had rebelled, overflowing the pan, dripping onto the oven floor, and transforming into a blackened crust that smelled like a mix of burned chocolate and despair.

The kids clutched each other, their faces pale with horror. The cat, wisely staying far from the action, watched from the doorway with a look that clearly said, I told you so.

“We’re gonna die!”

“We are NOT going to die!”

“Then why is there SMOKE EVERYWHERE?”

“It’s just a tiny mishap!” you yelled, though at this point, you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince the kids or yourself. “Open the windows!”

The kids, officially in full-on disaster mode, scattered like startled pigeons. One yanked a window open so hard it nearly came off its hinges, while the other grabbed a water gun and aimed it at the oven as if preparing to face a raging volcano.

“Put that down!” you barked, snatching the water gun before they could turn your kitchen into a baking-themed waterpark.

And then, because the universe has a cruel sense of humor, the doorbell rang.

“Now?!” you groaned, storming toward the door, smoke trailing behind you like an ominous cloud. You flung it open, fully expecting Felix,or, worst case, the fire department. But no. Of course not. It was Mrs. Kim.

There she stood, the epitome of suburban perfection, holding a Tupperware container that undoubtedly contained her legendary snickerdoodles. Her immaculate hair didn’t dare move, and her lips twitched into a saccharine smile as her eyes narrowed, taking in the chaos.

“Do you... need help?” she asked, her voice as sweet as the cookies in her hand, though her tone carried the kind of judgment that could curdle milk.

“Nope! All good!” you chirped, your smile stretched so tight it could snap.

“Are you sure?” she pressed, leaning ever so slightly to peer past you. “It smells a bit... smoky.”

“It’s just a new recipe we’re trying!” you said, inching forward to block her view, the kitchen carnage visible in your peripheral vision.

Mrs. Kim tilted her head, her perfectly sculpted eyebrow arching. “Well, if you’d like, I could share my snickerdoodle recipe. It’s very foolproof....”

“Thanks, but we’ve got it covered!” you interrupted, your voice a pitch too high, slamming the door with a polite-but-firm force that sent a satisfying clunk reverberating through the frame.

Leaning against the door, you took a moment to catch your breath, or rather, cough violently as the lingering smoke reminded you there was still a crisis at hand.

“Mom! The smoke alarm’s still going off!” one of the kids shouted, their panic palpable.

You sprinted back into the kitchen, brandishing the dish towel like a makeshift weapon. The smoke alarm screeched its relentless siren, mocking you as you flailed at the ceiling. When waving proved ineffective, you grabbed a broom and jabbed the reset button with the precision of someone vanquishing an enemy. With a final beep, the alarm went silent.

The kids stared at you, wide-eyed, as if you’d just performed some ancient, mystical ritual. “So... are the brownies ruined?”

You glanced at the oven, where the batter had transformed into a bubbling, blackened mess. With a deep sigh, you grabbed the pan and pulled it out, setting it on the counter like a defeated warrior laying down their sword.

“They’re... extra crispy,” you said, trying to sound optimistic.

“Mom, they look like lava.”

“Well, some people like lava cakes!” you shot back, clinging to a shred of pride.

The kids exchanged skeptical glances, silently questioning whether your culinary skills had ever been a thing. Honestly? You had your doubts too....

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

Just as you were about to surrender to the inevitable disaster, the front door swung open.

It was Felix.

“What’s going on?” Felix’s voice rang out, panic threading through his words as he stepped into the room.

You turned to see him standing in the doorway, still in his stage outfit, eyes widening at the chaotic scene before him. The kitchen was clouded in smoke, the kids were armed with water guns, and you looked like you’d been in a battle with a recipe that had no mercy.

“Oh, you know,” you said, forcing an overly cheerful tone that barely masked your frustration, gesturing grandly at the mess. “Just another successful baking night.”

Felix blinked, his eyes darting between the burnt remnants of what was once your "brownies," overturned chairs, and the water gun still gripped in your youngest’s hand. “This... this looks like a scene from Survivor. What happened?”

“Well,” you began, adopting an unnervingly chipper tone that teetered on the edge of hysteria, “I decided to give baking a try, since someone decided to disappear for hours without so much as a check-in.”

Felix winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was stuck at rehearsal! My phone died....”

“Your phone always dies!” you snapped, crossing your arms tightly. “Ever heard of a charger? It’s this magical little device that prevents disasters like this!” You gestured dramatically to the smoke still wafting from the oven and the faint scorch marks now decorating the counters.

The kids, sensing the brewing storm, exchanged worried glances before hastily retreating from the kitchen. One of them placed the water gun on the counter with what could only be described as an offering to the gods, then quickly scampered away.

Felix sighed, holding his hands up in surrender. “Okay love, I get it. I should’ve been here. But...” He stepped closer, peering into the baking pan. His face contorted in something that was equal parts sympathy and barely-contained amusement. “What is... this?”

“Brownies,” you bit out through clenched teeth.

“They look like meteorites.”

“I know!” you shouted, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “Do you think I don’t know that? I followed your stupid recipe! Well, mostly. I had to improvise because someone insists on hoarding fancy chocolate instead of keeping normal chocolate chips like a normal person!”

Felix bit his lip, fighting a laugh that was clearly winning. “You used the dark chocolate?”

“Yes!” you nearly shouted, throwing your arms wide as if it was a revelation. “Because the pantry was empty!”

“That’s 85% cacao. It’s for special occasions,” Felix said, his voice dripping with disbelief.

“Oh, well, congratulations, because this is officially a special occasion!” You grabbed the pan and shoved it toward him like an offering. “Go ahead, taste it. Tell me how your precious chocolate turned out.”

Felix hesitated, glancing at the charred edges and the rock-like texture of the “brownies.” “I’m not sure this is edible.”

“Coward,” you muttered, turning away to begin the painful process of cleaning up the wreckage.

Felix sighed again, stepping closer. His voice softened, more sincere now. “Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not upset,” you said, scrubbing the counter so forcefully you thought you might burn a hole through it.

“You’re scrubbing like the counter insulted your ancestors. You’re definitely upset.”

You turned to glare at him, feeling the sting of tears in your eyes. “I tried, okay? I tried to do something nice for the kids, to step out of my comfort zone for once, and it completely backfired. Now the kitchen’s a disaster, the brownies are ruined, and Mrs. Kim probably thinks I’m a lunatic!”

Felix’s face softened, his eyes filled with something close to tenderness as he reached for your wrist, gently stopping your frantic scrubbing. “You’re not a lunatic. You’re just... a little dramatic.”

“Excuse me?”

“In a good way!” he added quickly, his hands raised defensively. “Look, the kids had fun, didn’t they?”

“They think I’m incapable of basic survival skills.”

“Well, they’re not wrong,” he teased, a grin tugging at his lips and earning a scowl from you. “But seriously, you tried, and that’s what matters. You stepped up for them, and that’s what counts.”

You turned away, jaw clenched, as you grabbed another dish towel. You didn’t want him to see the tears that were threatening to fall, the overwhelming mix of frustration and exhaustion that had built up all night....

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

Together, the two of you worked quietly to restore order in the kitchen. Felix tackled the dishes, sleeves rolled up, his movements precise despite the weariness in his posture. You swept the floor, gathering the flour, crumbs, and shattered remnants of your baking ambitions. The silence between you was heavy, not uncomfortable but weighted with everything left unsaid. Your glances brushed against each other like passing shadows, each one carrying more than words could convey.

By the time the kitchen was spotless, the clock had ticked its way toward two in the morning. Felix, despite his obvious exhaustion, didn’t hesitate. He pulled out a pan, the rhythmic chopping of vegetables the only sound breaking the quiet. Soon, the sizzle of stir-fry filled the kitchen, mingling with the warm, savory scent of soy and sesame oil. It was a simple meal, but it felt like a salve to the night’s chaos.

When the four of you finally sat down at the table, the earlier disaster already felt like a distant memory. The kids were animated, reenacting the night’s events with dramatic flair. Their “water gun heroics” and vivid descriptions of the “Great Brownie Disaster” spilled out in waves of laughter, their joy contagious.

You found yourself smiling despite the lingering weight in your chest. The guilt clung stubbornly, a quiet voice whispering that you had tried and failed, that your effort hadn’t been enough.

After dinner, the kids’ energy waned. Their sleepy goodnights and tight hugs soothed some of the sting of the evening, though it didn’t completely fade. Felix stayed behind in the kitchen, humming softly as he tackled the last of the dishes. His voice, low and soothing, filled the quiet house with a comforting presence.

But as the stillness settled in, the emotions you’d held back all night began to press harder. It wasn’t just the brownies. It was the memories of your ex, the relentless doubts in your head, and the crushing pressure you placed on yourself, to be better, to prove you were enough for the kids, for Felix, for yourself.

You slipped outside, needing air and space to clear your thoughts. The winter chill nipped at your cheeks, sharp and biting, as you wrapped your coat tighter around yourself. Your breath puffed out in visible clouds, curling upward into the silent night. Beneath your boots, the snow crunched softly, the sound amplifying the stillness around you.

The silence should have been calming, but it wasn’t. It only gave your thoughts more room to unravel.

The doubts crept in first, unwelcome but familiar, rising like a tide. Maybe the kids deserved better. Maybe Felix did too. Maybe...

You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply, willing the icy air to steady you. But the ache in your chest only swelled, tightening like a vice.

Then, the sound of soft footsteps broke through the silence behind you. You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

Felix.

He stepped onto the balcony quietly, his presence warm and grounding despite the chill in the air. He stopped beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours lightly. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet between you stretching but not uncomfortable. It felt like he was giving you space, waiting for you to speak first.

“I knew I’d find you out here,” Felix finally said, his voice low, careful not to disturb the fragile peace.

You didn’t meet his gaze, your eyes fixed on the frosty horizon. “Just needed some air,” you murmured, though you both knew it wasn’t just that.

Felix glanced at you, studying your profile in the dim light. “Rough night,” he said simply, his tone understanding rather than probing.

A small, humorless laugh escaped you. “You could say that.”

“Want to talk about it?” he asked, his voice gentle, inviting but not pushing.

You hesitated, the lump in your throat tightening painfully. “It’s stupid,” you muttered, shaking your head.

“It’s not stupid,” Felix said firmly, turning slightly toward you. “Talk to me. Tell me everything.”

His words, so soft yet so steady, broke something in you. The dam you’d been holding back all night cracked, the weight of your emotions spilling over before you could stop them.

“Y/N…” Felix started gently, his voice laced with concern as he reached for your hand. But you couldn’t hold it back any longer.

“I feel like such a failure,” you blurted out, tears spilling down your cheeks before you could stop them. “I couldn’t even bake brownies, Felix. Something so simple, and I messed it up. And the voice…” You paused, your voice breaking. “It keeps telling me I’m not enough. That I’m too dependent on you, that I’ll never be enough for anyone. My ex! He won tonight. He’s still in my head, making me feel worthless.”

Felix’s expression softened, and without hesitation, he closed the gap between you, wrapping his arms around you in a warm, steady embrace. The crisp cold of the winter night melted against the solid warmth of his chest. “Shh, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice gentle but resolute. “Don’t let his voice live rent-free in your head. He doesn’t deserve it.”

“But I...” you started, but Felix cut you off.

“No buts,” he said, pulling back just enough to look into your tear-streaked face. His gaze was unwavering, filled with sincerity. “You’re perfect for me just the way you are. You don’t need to be good at everything. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone. Especially not to him.”

The walls you’d been holding up all night crumbled, and the sobs you’d been suppressing finally escaped. You clung to him like a lifeline, burying your face in his coat as your shoulders shook. “I just wanted to make tonight special for the kids,” you whispered, your voice muffled.

“And you did,” Felix said softly, his hand stroking your hair in slow, soothing motions. “They’ll remember this night, not because of some brownies, but because you tried. Because you love them. And because you’re their mom, their safe place, the most important person in their lives.”

You pulled back slightly, your watery eyes searching his face for any sign of doubt. Instead, you found only unwavering truth in his expression. His words struck something deep within you, something raw and fragile but also comforting.

“Do you really think that?” you asked, your voice trembling, thick with emotion.

Felix cupped your face with both hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears staining your cheeks. “I don’t just think it, I know it,” he said with quiet conviction. “You’re an incredible parent, Y/N. And honestly? I couldn’t care less if the brownies turned out like bricks. The fact that you even tried says more about you than you realize.”

Despite yourself, a small, watery laugh escaped your lips. Felix’s smile widened, his dimples appearing like tiny constellations in the starlit night.

“And for the record,” he added with a teasing lilt, “I think you’re amazing. Even if you can’t cook.”

You playfully swatted his arm, a hint of warmth breaking through the lingering weight in your chest. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to spark a faint ember of hope.

As the two of you stood there beneath the glittering stars, the snow sparkling softly around you, Felix reached for your hand, his fingers threading through yours. He gave it a gentle squeeze, grounding you in the moment.

“Next year, we’ll bake the brownies together,” he promised, his voice steady with determination. “No matter what.”

You nodded, the corners of your lips curving into a small, genuine smile. “Deal.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, the tight knot in your chest began to unravel, replaced by something softer, lighter. Maybe you weren’t perfect. Maybe you didn’t have everything figured out. But in that moment, surrounded by Felix’s unwavering love and support, you realized something important.

You didn’t have to be perfect. You didn’t have to have it all together.

You were enough, just as you were. And that was more than enough....

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

The next morning was Christmas. Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm, golden glow over the kitchen, as if the day itself was offering a fresh start. You were already awake, sitting at the counter with a steaming mug of coffee in hand. Spread before you was a fresh brownie recipe Felix had printed out and placed by the stove. His handwriting sprawled across the top in a slightly messy but unmistakably affectionate scrawl:

"We’ve got this. Fighting! – Felix"

A small smile tugged at your lips as you traced the words with your fingertips. It was such a simple gesture, but it filled your heart with a warmth that matched the cozy glow of the room.

The soft creak of the door broke the quiet, and Felix shuffled into the kitchen, his hair sticking up in every direction and his face still creased from the pillow. He yawned, rubbing his eyes, and gave you a sleepy but radiant grin.

“Good morning love,” he mumbled, his voice low and raspy. His gaze fell on the recipe in your hands, and his grin widened. “Already planning your redemption arc?”

“Maybe,” you replied, holding up the recipe like a badge of honor. “Figured I’d give it another shot... with some professional supervision this time.”

Felix chuckled, ambling over to pour himself a cup of coffee. “Lucky for you, I just so happen to be the best brownie coach in town.”

Just then, the kids burst into the room, their small feet thudding against the floor as they raced in, their pajamas rumpled but festive. One of them wore a Santa hat that was slightly too big, while the youngest carried a stuffed reindeer clutched tightly to her chest.

“Merry Christmas!” they shouted in unison, their voices filled with the kind of unfiltered joy that only children seem to have.

“Merry Christmas!” Felix and you chimed back, laughing at their enthusiasm.

“Can we open presents now?” the youngest asked, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

“Presents after breakfast,” Felix said, his tone firm but playful. “But first, we’re baking round two of the brownies.”

The kids’ excitement only grew as they realized they were about to help. “Again? Yay!” they cheered, bouncing in place.

The kitchen soon came alive with a mix of festive chaos and warm holiday spirit. Christmas carols played softly from a speaker in the corner, filling the air with cheerful melodies. Felix measured out the ingredients with exaggerated precision, earning giggles from the kids as he declared himself the “official flour master.”

The kids took turns cracking eggs and stirring the batter, their small hands dusted with flour and smudged with cocoa powder. The youngest even tried to draw a reindeer in the flour that had spilled on the counter, her giggles echoing through the room when Felix joined in, attempting his own (terrible) drawing of a snowman.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of him, a streak of chocolate on his cheek and his Santa pajama bottoms looking hilariously out of place on a “professional brownie coach.”

“This already looks better than yesterday,” Felix said as he peered into the mixing bowl.

“That’s because I’m not using your special occasion chocolate this time,” you teased, nudging him with your elbow.

He leaned in closer, his grin playful. “See? Teamwork. Who knew we’d make such a great power duo?”

The batter was poured smoothly into the pan, no lumps, no panic, just a perfect mix of holiday cheer and lighthearted banter. Felix slid it into the preheated oven with a dramatic bow, earning a round of applause from the kids.

As the brownies baked, the youngest dragged you all to the living room, where a stack of presents waited under the glowing Christmas tree. The kids’ eyes lit up as Felix handed out the gifts one by one, their laughter filling the air as they unwrapped toys, books, and clothes.

When the timer dinged, everyone rushed back to the kitchen, Felix leading the charge like an overgrown child himself. He carefully pulled the pan from the oven, and the rich, chocolatey aroma enveloped the room. The brownies emerged perfectly baked, their tops shiny and crackled just enough to promise the perfect texture.

“They’re... beautiful,” you said, half in awe, half in disbelief.

“Told you we’ve got this,” Felix said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and squeezing gently.

The kids cheered as the brownies cooled, bouncing with excitement until they were finally cut into neat squares. Felix handed out the first pieces, grinning as the youngest took a bite and her eyes widened in delight.

“These are amazing!” she exclaimed, her mouth full.

“Better than Mrs. Kim’s?” Felix asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Way better,” the eldest said confidently, already reaching for a second piece.

Felix turned to you, his smile soft but proud. “See? You’re a brownie master now.”

“Team effort,” you corrected with a laugh, nudging him lightly.

The rest of the morning was spent in a haze of sugary treats and warm moments. The kids insisted on a “snowball” fight with the leftover flour, and Felix somehow ended up wearing half of it. You couldn’t stop laughing as he tried to shake it off, his dimples deepening with every giggle.

Later, as the four of you gathered around the table with mugs of hot cocoa and the plate of brownies nearly empty, you felt an overwhelming sense of peace. The tree lights twinkled in the background, and the soft hum of carols filled the air.

Felix caught your eye, chocolate still smudged on his cheek, and gave you a smile so full of love and contentment that it made your heart swell.

This wasn’t about perfection or proving anything, it was about these messy, magical moments of love, laughter, and togetherness. And as you sat there, surrounded by the people who mattered most, you realized you wouldn’t trade this for anything. This Christmas, with all its imperfections, was perfect....

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｡𖦹° ENDNOTE - Everything Here is a work of fiction and my own imagination. This does not represent the real life characteristics of Stray Kids. Make sure to like, reblog comment, and follow me for new updates!

[punkrockmlchael]

Imagine rockstar!eddie and popstar!reader and the media has pit these two against each other, saying how they hate each other when in reality it's not true at all. And during one of reader's concerts or a live stream someone tries to start something against Eddie and & reader is like "Hold on babygirl, we love Eddie here"

Omg, your mind. (While I agree with this I have a bit of a different take; hear me out)

No because like, imagine being in a band yourself with your closest friends, and you're touring with Corroded Coffin, opening for them. Being in the spot light means rumors flying left and right, it was inevitable. About you, your friends, Corroded Coffin, you and corroded coffin; it felt like there was always something being brought up whether it was true or not.

And you were nervous to tour with them because the media always paints Corroded Coffin to be these big mean and scary guys because, hello, they have this really heavy and deep metal sound (and they’re kinda tall, except for Gareth) but, just because they play metal music doesn't mean they themselves are these big scary guys; in fact they were the opposite.

No, Corroded Coffin are actually sweethearts. The sweetest, to be honest. They would hold doors for you, always make sure you and your bandmates are okay in the public eye; they basically took you and your bandmates under their wings because they wanted to show you the ropes and make sure you’re all living the dream as well.

And after that tour, you kept close ties with them, you were friends with them after all. And somehow you were always the closest to Eddie, he just had the biggest personality in corroded coffin, followed closely by Gareth. Grant and Jeff tended to keep to themselves, but that didn't change the fact that they too were the sweetest boys you had ever met; always always checking in on you. Random texts from Corroded Coffin’s members were something that happened daily it felt like; a meme, a video, a congratulations text on a new song or video coming out. It was always something with those boys, not that you or your friends were complaining.

Anyways, sometime after that tour you and your band were blowing up, becoming bigger and bigger; more songs, more tours, more livestreams to keep your fans up to date!

And one livestream Corroded Coffin got brought up, your band members laughing and recounting the memories of those boys and spending time with them.

Talking about how your first time in California you all went to the beach and Eddie forgot sunscreen and literally was so burnt to a crisp he couldn’t even play his guitar that night because wearing the strap hurt; he stood there and sang while Grant and Jeff did all the work. Talking about how the best part of tour was when Gareth broke his drum set and had to use your bands for a couple shows. Talking about how Jeff and Grant are actually the funniest people you would meet, like they’re always cracking jokes about something whether it be the time or not. (Literally, like remember when Eddie was burnt to a crisp and couldn’t play the guitar? Yeah; they said he looked like a singing and dancing lobster because his bright red shoulders, arms and face were on full display for everyone as he winced into every step he took. As they called it; “the Amanda Show called, they want their dancing lobster back!”)

That was just the start; the fans of Corroded Coffin themselves knew these boys were actually idiots and the funniest people to walk the earth, and you didn’t quite believe it until you witnessed it first hand. (But, come on, they’re idiots and nerds who play metal music; what’s not to love about them?!)

And suddenly while reminiscing on the good old days of tour while on livestream, your friend reads a comment about how Eddie is a dick, and how it appears that everyone’s hates him.

“I heard that Eddie is a dick, he’s such an arrogant asshole who only seems to think about himself and what will benefit him.”

And you whip your head around and look at the screen, raising an eyebrow; ready to defend your friend at any moment. “Oh, no, he's actually quite the opposite. He’s the funniest, sweetest, most caring person we’ve ever met; we love Eddie here. In fact, he actually texted me this morning congratulating us on our new single being out. He said it sounds so awesome, and he can’t wait to hear us play it live.”

Your friend nodded, agreeing with you. “He might look scary with that mullet and those tattoos but I promise you he is actually a giant teddy bear,” they said, nodding along to your words. “He’s a dork, let me tell you.”

“The biggest dork,” you giggled. “But, we love him just the same.”

[scrollonso]

Cinnamom — Strollonso (3) (prev)

A little over a week later, Lance sat at the back of Dr. Alonso’s classroom, tapping his pen absently against his notebook. His mind wasn’t on the lecture — truly, it hadn't been since they started this little arangement. It wasn’t even on the upcoming exam. Instead, his thoughts drifted to the awkward dinner he’d had with his father and the way Fernando had reassured him afterward.

It had been tense, but Lance got through it — mostly because of Fernando (and his cock.)

Now, though, things felt different.

Fernando had been more distant this past week. Professional. Careful. He still held Lance’s gaze longer than he should, still lingered when they crossed paths, but it wasn’t the same.

Lance hated it.

How could Fernando let him get so close, let him feel every inch of his body, just to suddenly decide it was too much? It wasn't fair.

“Mr. Stroll,” Fernando called from the front, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Can you answer the question?”

Lance blinked, realizing he hadn’t been paying attention — realizing half the class had passed by and he hadn't heard a word. The class chuckled quietly, and Fernando’s lips twitched in amusement.

“Maybe you’d like to join me in my office after class to review?” Fernando said, his voice casual, but his gaze intense.

Lance’s heart leapt. He nodded quickly, trying to keep his expression neutral. “Oh, yeah. Sorry, sure.”

When class ended, Lance lingered as the others filed out. Once they were alone, Fernando closed the door, leaning against it.

“You’ve been distracted,” Fernando observed, his voice low.

Lance crossed his arms. “And you’ve been avoiding me.”

Fernando sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I had to. After the encounter with Lawrence… I needed to be careful.”

Lance frowned. “Careful? You said you weren’t going anywhere. You said you weren't scared.”

“I’m not,” Fernando assured, stepping closer. “But I also have to protect you. If anyone finds out…”

Lance grabbed Fernando’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “I don’t care who knows.”

Fernando cupped Lance’s cheek, his thumb brushing gently along his jaw. “You should care.”

“I only care about you.” Lance leaned into his touch. “So stop pulling away. It’s driving me fuckingcrazy.”

Fernando shook his head softly. “Language, Lancito.”

Lance smiled. “Sorry, sir.”

Fernando kissed him then — slow and deliberate, like he’d been holding back for too long. Lance melted into it, his arms wrapping around Fernando’s neck, pulling him closer.

When they finally broke apart, Fernando rested his forehead against Lance’s. “I’m done keeping my distance.”

“Good,” Lance whispered, breathless. “Because I need you.”

“And you have me,” Fernando promised, his voice firm. “Now shoo, I actually have work to do.”

Lance grinned at Fernando’s words, stepping back reluctantly. “Fine, fine. I’ll go.”

Fernando laughed, watching him leave with a lingering gaze. As the door shut behind Lance, Fernando sighed, shaking his head. He was already counting the minutes until he could see him again.

After his last class of the day, Lance made his way to Esteban’s dorm, texting as he walked.

Lance:

Coming over. I’m bored.

Esteban:

Perfect timing.

Charles is here too.

🍕🍕🍕

Lance smiled, slipping his phone back into his pocket. By the time he reached Esteban’s door, the two were already lounging on the couch, laughing over something on TV.

“Lance!” Esteban greeted, tossing him a soda. “Finally.”

“Miss me that much?” Lance teased, flopping down beside them.

They spent hours catching up, laughing and talking about anything but school. The sun dipped below the horizon, and before Lance knew it, the clock read past midnight.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Fernando:

Where are you?

Lance bit his lip, heart skipping a beat.

Lance:

Este's. Why?

There was a long pause before Fernando’s next message.

Fernando:

I need you.

Lance stared at the text, his pulse quickening.

Lance:

I’ll be there soon.

“Guys, I gotta go,” he announced, standing up and grabbing his jacket.

Esteban raised an eyebrow. “At this hour?”

“Yeah.” Lance shot them a quick grin. “Something came up.”

Charles smirked knowingly. “Dr. Alonso?”

Lance’s cheeks flushed. “Shut up.”

Esteban laughed. “Go, go. Don’t keep him waiting.”

When Lance finally arrived at Fernando’s house, he barely had time to knock before the door opened.

Fernando stood there, eyes dark and intense. “You took your time.”

Lance stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. “You missed me that much?”

Fernando didn’t answer with words. Instead, he grabbed Lance by the collar, pulling him into a heated kiss. Lance melted against him, hands gripping Fernando’s waist.

As they broke apart, Fernando whispered, “Missed you.”

Lance grinned, breathless. “Good.”

Fernando’s lips curved into a smirk. “Now, let me show you exactly how much I missed you.”

Lance didn’t need any more convincing. He followed Fernando willingly, his heart pounding in anticipation.

With a shudder, Lance senses a hand breach the waistband of his sweats and descend, bold fingers wrapping around his cock and stroking. He exhales harshly, little moans slipping out between gasps as Fernando's grip becomes surer, tightening around the head of his cock and thumbing over his slit. Kicking off his clothes might be easier, but Lance feels paralyzed by his touch, unable to do more than blindly feel for the button of Fernando's pants and fumble them open.

Instinct takes over from there, and before either of them can get another full breath in, Fernando's erection is hot and weighty in the palm of his hand, and he too is uttering low groans and trembling with each circuit of Lance's roving hand.

Finding his way to the Spaniard's neck, Lance's teeth bite down, earning him a pronounced shudder and a firm pull of his cock. He makes a trail in this way, alternately using lips and teeth to provoke the reactions he craves. Beneath his assault, Fernando is uncharacteristically pliant; seemingly the only part of him still functioning on a normal level are his fingers. Maybe, just maybe, it's not that unreasonable to think he isn't used to the touch of another person. The stray thought sinks like a brick, crushing yet alluring, into the pit of Lance's stomach, and he groans into the divot of Fernando's collarbone.

Is it worse to wonder about that, or to like the idea so much?

Both seem less than honorable, but currently, Lance isn't sure he has the brainpower to debate it further. Instead, he redoubles his efforts, stroking faster until the cadence of Fernando's voice grows choppy, punctuated by sharp intakes of breath. Caught between the wall and him, Fernando's eyes finally slam shut, and his hips jut forward, fucking through the waves of release into Lance's fist. His recovery is quick, however, and before Lance can even try to finish himself off, Fernando mirrors his pace with firm strokes of his hand until he too feels the wind knocked out of him, and collapses with a moan into Fernando's shoulder. 

They remain pressed together for several long moments, feeling the collective warmth stored between them and attempting to regain their composure.

"Finally," is the first word to hit the air afterward. Lance fingers trace a lazy circle at the small of Fernando's back. "I've been thinking about this all day, Nando."

"I'm aware," Fernando mutters gruffly into the Canadian's skin. 

How could he not be? Observation is a natural strength of his, but Lance's persistence drives home the truth all the more.

"Get some sleep," he adds for good measure. Because in some ways, he's still a responsible adult.

"I'm heading back," Lance agrees. The lack of reluctance on his face makes it clear — there'll be a next time to savor — but now he has to go back to Esteban's place before his dad notices he left. He turns on his heel before leaving, glancing over his shoulder with a smile.

The next day, a girl — most likely a year or two younger than Lance — stood at the front of the classroom, her hands nervously clutching her notebook. The chatter of students filled the room as they waited for Dr. Alonso to arrive, but she had only one person in her sights — Lance.

Lance sat near the back, laughing with Esteban and Charles, completely unaware of the determined look on her face. She took a deep breath, steeling herself, and began walking toward him.

Esteban was the first to notice her approach, his brows lifting in curiosity. “Uh, Lance? Incoming.”

Lance glanced up, confused at first, but his expression softened when he saw her, always greeting people with a smile no matter who. “Hey, Bianca. What’s up?”

She stopped in front of him, cheeks flushed. “I need to talk to you.”

Lance raised an eyebrow, an inquisitive smile tugging at his lips. “Right now?”

“Yes.” Bianca swallowed hard, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart. “I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while, and… well, I like you, Lance. A lot.”

The room fell silent. Charles shot Esteban a wide-eyed look, while Jessica and Zhou exchanged awkward glances.

Lance blinked, caught off guard. “Oh.”

“I know it’s a bit sudden,” Bianca continued, nervously twisting her fingers together. “But I had to say it. You’re kind, funny, and I… You know, I just think we’d be good together.”

Before Lance could respond, the door opened, and Dr. Alonso walked in, his gaze immediately finding Lance. Fernando paused mid-step, taking in the scene — Bianca standing close to Lance, the tension in the room palpable. His eyes narrowed.

“Take your seats,” Fernando said, his voice obviously more aggitated than it had been for previous lectures. "We have an exam to prepare for."

Bianca glanced at Lance, waiting for a response, but Lance only murmured, “I… we should talk later.”

Reluctantly, Bianca nodded and returned to her seat — which was, thankfully, on the opposite side of the room.

As the students settled, Fernando’s gaze lingered on Lance longer than necessary, his expression unreadable. Lance shifted uncomfortably under the weight of that stare, his heart pounding for entirely different reasons now.

Throughout the lecture, Fernando’s usual composed demeanor was tinged with an edge of irritation. His eyes flicked toward Lance more often than usual, catching Lance’s gaze every time.

When the class ended, Lance lingered, waiting for the room to empty — he didn't want Fernando to get the wrong idea.

Fernando approached slowly, his arms crossed. “So. Bianca.”

Lance sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I— Nando, It's not what you think.”

“Isn’t it?” Fernando’s voice was low, laced with jealousy.

“She confessed. I didn’t say yes.” Lance stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Because I’m not interested in her. You know that.”

Fernando’s jaw clenched. “She clearly doesn’t.”

Lance smirked, leaning in slightly. “Maybe I should make it clearer, then.”

Fernando’s expression softened, a small smile tugging at his lips. “How?”

Lance’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You could start by kissing me.”

Fernando glanced at the door, ensuring they were alone before stepping closer. “You’re trouble, Lance.”

“And you love it.”

Fernando leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Lance’s lips, lingering just long enough to leave no doubt about who Lance belonged to.

When they pulled apart, Fernando whispered, “I’ll make sure everyone knows.” Though, they both knew Fernando was simply exaggerating, they understood what they had had to be kept a secret.

Lance grinned. “Including Bianca?”

Fernando chuckled. “Especially Bianca.”

Lance laughed softly, resting his forehead against Fernando’s. “She really did make you jealous, hm?”

Fernando’s hands slid down to rest on Lance’s waist, fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles. “You should know by now, Lancito… I don’t like to share.”

Lance’s heart fluttered at the possessive edge in Fernando’s voice. “You know you don’t have to.”

Fernando pulled him closer, their bodies pressed together. “Still, I don’t want anyone else thinking they have a chance. Especially not someone like Bianca.”

"She's your student, Nando," Lance snorted. “Plus, she’s harmless.”

Fernando’s lips quirked into a smirk. “Harmless until she confesses her feelings in front of half my class.”

“Alright, that was awkward,” Lance admitted with a grin. “But I handled it well, didn’t I Nando?” He hummed, eyes almost begging for praise.

Fernando raised an eyebrow. “By running straight into my office after?”

“I knew you’d handle the rest,” Lance frowned, wrapping his arms around Fernando’s neck.

Fernando’s expression softened as he leaned in, kissing Lance again. This time, the kiss was slower, more lingering, the kind that sent a shiver down Lance’s spine.

When they finally pulled apart, Fernando’s voice was quiet but firm. “No more hiding how we feel when it’s just us.”

Lance nodded, his gaze steady. “And outside of here?”

Fernando sighed, brushing a stray curl from Lance’s forehead. “We’ll be careful. But I won’t ever let you doubt that you’re mine.”

Lance’s cheeks flushed, a warmth spreading through him at the words. “I like the sound of that.”

Fernando’s lips curved into a wicked grin. “Good. Now, let’s make sure you never forget it.”

Before Lance could respond, Fernando backed him up against the desk, hands sliding under Lance’s shirt. The tension between them was electric, a slow burn that neither of them seemed willing to extinguish.

Lance left Fernando’s office feeling utterly satisfied and completely wrecked. His legs wobbled slightly, and he cursed under his breath as he tried to walk normally. His jeans felt uncomfortably tight, and every step reminded him of what had just happened against Fernando’s desk — of the hands, the whispered words, the way Fernando had completely unraveled him.

As he exited the building, Lance caught sight of a few classmates still lingering outside. He straightened his back, forcing a casual expression onto his face, though he could feel their curious gazes.

“Long meeting with Dr. Alonso?” Zhou teased, raising an eyebrow.

Lance grinned, ignoring the heat rising to his cheeks. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Right.” Zhou shot him a knowing look before heading off.

Lance shook his head and made his way home, thankful for the quiet streets. But as he entered the house, the familiar sound of his father’s voice made him pause.

“Son?”

Lawrence stood in the hallway, glancing up from his phone. His eyes narrowed as he took in his son’s appearance — the disheveled hair, the flushed cheeks, the way Lance was walking like he’d just run a marathon.

“You alright?” Lawrence asked, his tone laced with suspicion.

Lance froze, heart pounding. “Yeah. Why?”

“You’re walking funny.”

Lance swallowed hard, forcing a laugh. “Oh, uh… I tripped on the stairs at school.”

Lawrence’s brow furrowed. “The stairs?”

“Yeah. Totally wiped out.” Lance gestured vaguely toward his legs. “Banged my knee pretty bad.”

Lawrence’s eyes lingered on him for a moment too long, and Lance could feel the sweat forming on the back of his neck.

“You need to be more careful,” Lawrence finally said, shaking his head. “You’ve got to take more care of yourself if you expect me to allow you to move out.”

“I know, I will,” Lance promised quickly. “It’s nothing serious.”

Lawrence nodded, distracted again by his phone. “Good. Chloe is coming for dinner.”

As soon as his father walked away, Lance slid into the living room and his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to see a message from Fernando.

Fernando:

Home safe?

Lance smiled, typing back.

Lance:

Yeah.

My dad thinks I tripped on the stairs.

Fernando:

You’re terrible at lying, Lancito.

Lance:

Not as bad as you are at being subtle.

My legs are dead, old man.

Fernando:

Good.

Now you’ll think of me every time you walk.

Lance laughed quietly, shaking his head. He could still feel Fernando’s hands on him, the lingering ache a reminder of everything they’d done in such a short amount of time.

Lance:

I already do.

Next day's exam was serious — Lance could tell just by seeing the look on Zhou’s face, the way his friend’s brows were furrowed from concentration and not from arguing with people on Twitter. Everyone in Dr. Alonso’s ethics class was laser-focused, heads down, pens moving furiously across their papers. Everyone… except Lance.

He leaned back in his chair, lazily tapping his pen against the desk. The questions on his exam sheet blurred together, the words losing meaning. His mind was elsewhere — on the man sitting at the front of the room.

Fernando Alonso.

His professor looked effortlessly perfect, as always. The fitted white shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, the top button undone, revealing a hint of tanned skin. His sleeves were rolled up just enough to expose his tattoo, and Lance couldn’t help but admire the way his veins stood out when he adjusted his watch. That had become a daily occurrence since Lance had, half-jokingly, mentioned how much he loved seeing Fernando’s arms during one of their secret late-night rendezvous.

Now, Fernando did it every class.

Lance sighed, twirling his pen between his fingers before lowering it to the paper. A wicked grin tugged at his lips as he skimmed the first question.

Question 1: Define deontological ethics and explain how it applies in a business setting.

He scrawled:

"Deontological ethics is essentially following what society feels is right, like not hypothetically inviting your professor over to your house when your father is home and letting him fuck you in every position imaginable."

He glanced up, biting his lip to suppress a laugh. Fernando was scanning the room, his expression stern, completely unaware of the inappropriate content Lance was jotting down just feet away.

Question 2: Discuss the ethical implications of conflicts of interest in professional settings.

"My biggest conflict right now? Deciding whether I want to kiss you senseless or strip you out of that shirt. Let’s just say ethics is the last thing on my mind. :)"

Lance chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he moved on to the next question.

Question 3: Provide a real-life example of ethical boundaries being crossed in a workplace.

"Real-life example? Easy. You and me, Nando. Every lingering glance, every stolen moment, every touch that leaves me wanting more. We’ve crossed every boundary there is (I don’t regret a thing.)"

He glanced up again, catching a brief flicker of Fernando’s gaze meeting his. The professor quickly looked away, but Lance knew.

He knew.

Question 4: What is the importance of maintaining professionalism in high-stakes environments?

"Professionalism? You’re really going to lecture me about professionalism when you can’t keep your hands off me? Are you sure you’re qualified to teach this course with me in it? Because I’m pretty sure I’m the biggest distraction you’ve ever faced."

When he reached the final page, Lance couldn’t resist a little flourish to his signature.

"P.S. — If you don’t call me into your office after reading this, I’ll be very disappointed. But if you do… lock the door. ♡"

The clock ticked down, students began filing out one by one, but Lance took his sweet time. Finally, he stood, strolling to the front of the room, exam paper in hand. He dropped it face down on Fernando’s desk, lingering just long enough to catch his professor’s attention.

“Finished already?” Fernando asked, his voice steady, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of curiosity.

Lance leaned in slightly, his voice low and playful. “I think you’ll want to take your time with my answers.”

Fernando’s lips twitched, as though suppressing a smile. “Is that so?”

Lance winked. “Oh, definitely.”

He turned to leave, heart pounding in his chest. Just as he reached the door, Fernando’s voice rang out, soft but commanding.

“Mr. Stroll?”

Lance froze, hand on the doorframe. Slowly, he turned back, his breath hitching.

Fernando’s gaze was unreadable, his expression carefully composed. “See me after class.”

The room emptied, leaving them alone. Lance approached the desk, his pulse quickening as Fernando picked up the exam, flipping through the pages. His brows lifted slightly at Lance’s audacious answers, but instead of reprimanding him, Fernando closed the paper, meeting Lance’s gaze with a smirk.

“You know,” Fernando began, standing and walking around the desk until he was mere inches from Lance, “this is highly inappropriate.”

Lance’s breath hitched, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “I thought you liked inappropriate.”

Fernando chuckled, reaching out to trace a finger along Lance’s jaw. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Anything you want, Professor.”

Fernando’s grip tightened slightly, pulling Lance closer. “Lock the door.”

Lance's heart pounded in his chest as he reached behind him, his fingers fumbling for the lock. The soft click of the door securing echoed in the silence, and when he turned back, Fernando was still standing there — eyes dark, lips curved into a devilish smirk.

“You’re unbelievable,” Fernando murmured, his voice low, laced with amusement and something far more dangerous. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

Lance shrugged, stepping closer, their bodies almost touching. “I figured you’d notice. I was counting on it.”

Fernando chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down Lance’s spine. “So bold today, mi chico travieso.”

Lance grinned. “Only for you.”

Without warning, Fernando closed the distance between them, his hands sliding around Lance’s waist, pulling him flush against his body. Lance gasped softly as Fernando’s lips brushed against his ear.

“And what am I supposed to do with a student who writes that kind of nonsense on his exam?”

Lance tilted his head, giving Fernando better access to his neck. “You could give me detention.”

Fernando laughed, his breath hot against Lance’s skin. “I think you’ve already got me in enough trouble.”

He kissed Lance then — slow, deep, and deliberate. Lance melted into it, his hands gripping Fernando’s shirt, pulling him closer, desperate for more. Every kiss from Fernando was intoxicating, but this one felt different. There was a tension simmering beneath the surface, a risk they both craved.

Fernando pulled back, his hands never leaving Lance’s hips. “You want to know what I feel when I look at you?”

Lance nodded breathlessly.

“I think about how reckless this is.” His thumb traced circles on Lance’s hip bone. “How wrong it should be.”

“But?” Lance prompted, his voice barely a whisper.

Fernando leaned in again, his lips hovering over Lance’s. “But I can’t stop.”

Lance kissed him again, harder this time, hands sliding up Fernando’s chest, feeling the muscles beneath the fabric. “Good,” he murmured against Fernando’s lips. “I don’t want you to stop.”

Fernando’s hands slipped lower, gripping Lance’s thighs and effortlessly lifting him onto the desk. Papers scattered to the floor, but neither of them cared. Lance wrapped his legs around Fernando’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer.

“This is crazy,” Fernando whispered, trailing kisses down Lance’s neck. “We shouldn’t—”

“Then don’t stop.” Lance’s voice was a plea, his hands tangling in Fernando’s hair. “Please.”

Fernando groaned, his resolve breaking completely. His hands roamed under Lance’s shirt, fingers tracing every curve and scar, committing them to memory. Lance’s breath hitched as Fernando kissed his way down his chest, pausing only to murmur softly in Spanish — words Lance didn’t fully understand but felt in his bones.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Fernando whispered, his voice rough with desire.

Lance smirked, tilting his head back as Fernando kissed a line across his collarbone. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Fernando’s hands worked their way to the hem of Lance’s shirt, fingers tugging it up slowly, teasingly, as if savoring every inch of exposed skin. He kissed along Lance’s jawline, pausing just by his ear.

“When’s your next class, mi sol?” His voice was low, husky, filled with barely restrained desire.

Lance’s mind spun, barely able to process the question with Fernando’s hands sliding under his shirt, palms warm against his skin. “Uh… I think—” He gasped as Fernando’s lips found a particularly sensitive spot on his neck. “I think I’ve got time.”

Fernando chuckled against his skin, pushing the shirt up and over Lance’s head before tossing it aside. “You think?”

Lance grinned, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “I’m sure.”

“Good.” Fernando’s hands moved to Lance’s belt, fingers deftly undoing the buckle. “Because I don’t want to rush.”

Lance bit his lip as Fernando’s knuckles brushed against his stomach. “What if someone comes back?”

Fernando glanced up, his gaze dark and intense. “Then we’ll have to be quiet.”

Lance’s pulse quickened as Fernando leaned in, pressing a kiss just below his navel. “I’m not great at quiet.”

Fernando smirked, fingers slowly sliding Lance’s belt free and letting it drop to the floor with a soft clink. “I’ll just have to make you bite your lip then.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Or mine.”

Lance shivered, his hands resting on Fernando’s shoulders. “You really have no shame, do you?”

“Not when it comes to you.” Fernando’s fingers found the button of Lance’s jeans, popping it open effortlessly. “You make me reckless.”

Lance’s heart thudded in his chest as Fernando tugged his jeans down, leaving him in just his boxers. Fernando’s eyes trailed over him slowly, appreciatively, before returning to his face.

“You’re gorgeous,” Fernando murmured, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around Lance’s waist, pulling him into another deep kiss. Lance melted into it, fingers tangling in Fernando’s hair again, tugging gently.

As they broke apart, both of them breathless, Fernando’s hands slid lower, gripping Lance’s hips. “So… how much time do we really have?”

Lance grinned, leaning in to kiss him again, murmuring against his lips. “Enough.”

Fernando’s eyes darkened at Lance’s response, a slow smile spreading across his face. Without breaking eye contact, he reached back, pushing the contents of his desk to the side in one fluid motion.

Lance blinked, startled by the sudden movement, but before he could say a word, Fernando grabbed him by the waist and spun him around, pressing him firmly against the now-empty desk.

“Hands flat,” Fernando murmured, his voice rough with desire. “Don’t move.”

Lance shivered, his palms pressing against the cool wood. His heart pounded in his chest as Fernando stood behind him, his hands sliding over Lance’s back, tracing the line of his spine.

“You’ve been driving me mad all week,” Fernando whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to the back of Lance’s neck. “Do you have any idea what it’s like, watching you in my class, knowing I can’t touch you? Knowing no one here knows you belong to me?”

Lance gasped as Fernando’s hands slipped lower, over the curve of his hips. “I think I have an idea.”

Fernando chuckled, his lips trailing kisses across Lance’s shoulder. “You’ve been testing my control.”

“And now?” Lance glanced back, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Are you still in control?”

Fernando gripped Lance’s hips tighter, bending him forward slightly. “Not even a little.”

Lance smirked, arching his back slightly to press against Fernando. “Good.”

Fernando groaned, his composure slipping further as he pressed his erection against Lance, hands roaming greedily over his body. “I’m going to make you regret writing those answers.”

“Doubt it,” Lance teased, breath hitching as Fernando’s fingers brushed his bare skin. “I’ll just write more next time.”

Fernando chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yet here you are, Professor.” Lance shot back, voice breathless, “bending me over your desk.”

Fernando kissed along Lance’s shoulder again, his hands steadying Lance’s hips. “And I’ll do it again.”

“Promise?” Lance asked, biting his lip to stifle a gasp as Fernando’s hands wandered lower.

Fernando smirked against his skin. “Oh, Lancito… I’m just getting started.”

Fernando let his hands slide over the perfect silk skin of Lance’s legs until he reached his university hoodie. “Looking so innocent, the perfect student, but in the meantime,” he pulls the hoodie over Lance's head, then his jeans and boxers, letting the boy lean completely naked against his desk, “fucking his professors.”

“Professor,” Lance corrects him, “only one.”

“That’s right, mmi sol,” Fernando drawls, placing his hands under Lance's thighs and turning hum aroind before hoisting him up the desk. “I am so lucky.”

Lance groans when Fernando lets his hands trail over Lance's chest and graces his nipples with his nails before taking both pink numbs between his fingers and pinching. “So pretty for me,” Fernando tells the boy and Lance throws his head back and pulls his legs up the edge of the desk while Fernando rolls the pretty brown buds between his fingers.

“Please, Daddy, I need– need–” Lance pants, not phased by the new term or his words not coming in coherent sentences. Fernando chuckles slightly as Lance spreads his legs a bit wider.

“I know, baby, I’ll give you what you need,” Fernando promises, removing one hand from Lance's chest and using it to open his belt buckle, “patience.”

He squats down again, hearing his knees crack as he leans in to lick a stripe over the perfect little hole. Lance moans, almost too loud, the walls of the offices aren’t that thick, but Fernando revels in the idea of someone overhearing them as he licks again, and again. The fingers of his left hand still work Lance's nipple, while his tongue works itself inside him and his right hand finds his own cock. Stroking himself in tandem with his movements makes Lance's arousal rise and he wants to bury himself in the boy so badly.

“Do you think you can be good for me and turn, baby?”

Lance lets his legs fall to the floor immediately and turns around, his arse perking out and his hands flat on the desk. “Like this, Daddy?” He purrs, testing the waters. 

“Perfect, peque.”

With a bit of effort, Fernando gets back to his feet and walks around the desk, opening the drawer to grab the almost empty bottle of lube. “Looks like we’re almost out,” he grins and Lance lifts his head to meet Fernando's gaze. He smirks, too, with a shrug.

“Exam stress is getting to me hard.”

“Oh, I know, baby,” Fernando muses, though he knew the last thing Lance was worried about was any work in this class — coming back behind the boy and lubing himself up before putting some on his index and middle finger to insert them into Lance with a precise push. The boy moans filthy and Fernando grins. “Let’s relieve some of that stress shall we?”

“Yes, fuck, please,” Lance moans, letting his cheek rest on the desk.

"Watch it." Fernando warns whime opening him up quickly, replacing his fingers with his stiff cock, thrusting into Lance with fervour. He leans over and takes Lance's cock in his hand, stroking him while thrusting deeply. “That better, Lancito?”

“Fuck, yes, Nando,” Lance moans, his hot breath condensing on the desk. “So much better.”

Fernando fucks him thoroughly and it’s not long after that Lance is whining out that he is coming. Fernando is not even nearly there and he lets Lance catch his breath for a second before he starts moving again. “I think we can go for another one, what about you, mi amor?”

The gasp coming from Lance is a mix of excitement and trepidation. Fernando laughs and glides his hands over Lance's back as he thrusts in again, harsh and quick. “God, you feel so good, baby.” 

“Oh, shi— shoot, frick, that’s–” Lance moans, not getting to say what he thinks because Fernando is hitting his prostate and the only thing he can mutter is ‘so good’. 

“Yeah, want to feel good baby?” 

“Yes, please” Lance croons, lifting his head slightly. Fernando slides out and turns the other around, lifting him up to the desk before thrusting back in. Lance's fierce eyes look up at Fernando and he feels the pleasure in his abdomen increase tenfold when the boy smiles at him. “Hi, Sir.”

The view is gone quickly when Fernando leans over him and takes one of Lance's nipples in his mouth, biting and sucking at it. Lance's eyes close and his head is thrown back in the sensation. Fernando can feel his already stiff cock against his abdomen and reaches for it with a last flick of his tongue.

“Hi, beautiful,” he groans, feeling his orgasm approach while he pumps his fist around Lance's hard cock and thrusts so hard that the desk is rocking. “Eyes on me.”

They shoot open and Lance sees the foggy look that has come over Fernando, making the older man smile. “Are you going to cum for me again, mi sol?”

“Nando, sir, please, too much, too–” Lance pants as Fernando speeds up his handwork and thrusts with aim to hit Lance's prostate. “Oh, fu—uck, fuck, fuck!”

White spurs over Fernando's hand but he doesn’t let go, keeping the spent cock warm with his large hand while he fucks himself to his climax. The desk scratches over the floor and Lance lies on it, spent and a happy, dazed smile on his lips when Fernando finds his release. He folds over the other man with a deep groan and a heavy sigh.

It’s silent in the room for a bit, Fernando just gathering his wits and Lance panting from the excursion. There is a hand in Fernando's hair and he smiles from the small act of sweetness from the boy.

" 'M sorry, Nano" Lance mumbled, Fernando knowing why the boy was so quick to apologize.

"Don't worry about it, Lancito" Fernando smiled, pressing a kiss to his student's cheek before pulling back to hell him dress.

[lemonstars8583]

more glamrock ennard au doodles!

btw in case it’s hard to read, the info text says:

“ballora walks around with her eyes closed whenever she’s active and confuses people. The pizzaplex is very overstimulating to someone who was previously totally blind”

“Funtime freddy tends to talk to the others out loud. nobody else does this, nor do they like that he does it.”

MORE SILLY STUFF UNDER THE CUT AS WELL AS SOME TRASCRIPTS BC I WROTE A LOT SORRY

fun fact the eyes on ennard’s face are one of freddy’s eyes and one of ballora’s eyes

baby would def be a little fucked up when seeing vanessa, i think i mentioned this before but here’s a fun little interaction between them

also HOORAY THE HANDPUPPETS!! they end up slightly redesigned (bonnet more so than bonbon) and in the daycare as little sun and moon themes bunny puppets. they both fucking hate it 😭😭 but also neither of them know that ennard is there since for the most part they just Stay In The Daycare because Sun is WAY too excited to have some new “forever-friends” as he calls them so they have slumber parties every night and are SO fucking sick of him

I’d imagine they were renamed and i came up with the titles “Twinkle & Star” (yknow like twinkle twinkle little star + sun moon and stars etc. IM SO SMART GUYS!!!!! 🚗 gets run over)

originally Bonnet was named Twinkle and BonBon was named Star but Bonnet beat the shit out of him and made him switch names with her because she hated it and now she has jokingly nicknamed him “twink” ❤️ i swear they love each other they just have a very sibling relationship to me and certain media i have consumed from a young age makes me characterize Bonnet as being Fucking Mean and i love her for it

Glamrock freddy would definitely be such a sweetie pie as always. he would try SO so hard to make ennard happy and feel at home here and they would be like ?????????? who the fuck is this. get away from me.

funtime freddy would think he’s dumb and stupid and dumb and HE was a better freddy than THIS GUY and he’s WEIRD and a GOODY TWO-SHOES and STUPID etc etc

foxy thinks he’s nice but too overbearing, but granted after living in the same room as funtime freddy for years he’s used to it, it’s just that Glamrock is the boring type of overbearing where he’s being all kind and sweet and making sure she’s safe instead of annoying the shit out of her for 6 hours like funtime does <3

ballora genuinely likes him but doesn’t want to get close to anyone, so she’s polite but that’s it.

baby thinks he’s a sucker and plays into his caring nature quite a bit. she’s thinking of the future, some situation where she needs someone on her side who will blindly follow her. He’d be a good fit

[quillkiller]

The reason we hate on regulily sm and not other ships is because atp people ship anything so who cares right but regulily is oppressor x oppresed. How are you going to ship a blood purist with the good girl in hp that hated blood purists. You making regulus be lily’s “short bf dyke whatever” is plain weird

listen you’re allowed to hate regulily !!! you’re not seeing me throwing a childish tantrum about it 😭😭but like. these characters are fictional… they do not exist. and like why are you, a regulily hater, on my blog enough to know the characterizations ive given them ?? like what are you genuinely even getting out of that when you could be having fun !!! in fandoms !!! and surround yourself with people who like what you like !! like fandom is supposed to be !!!! how does a whole ass stranger on tumblr.com/dashboard having fun shipping something bother you this much 😭

[solradguy]

I am so easily distracted by sad monster men with beautiful hair and claws and perhaps a large sword

[seventh-district]

not even gonna tag this properly bc i don't wanna get Involved but i do have some Thoughts i need to get out into the void so here we go

(aaa quick edit: CW for mention/discussion of Boothill leaks)

[svtskneecaps]

literally it's 3am where i live and i'm on mobile but FUCK IT i haven't posted any actual writing in like a YEAR on this blog whose description include the words "I WRITE" and i can't tell if i'm even going anywhere with this so fuck it under the cut is the prospective absolute mess of the first chapter of the flipo family time loop fic. (for clarity, flipo family as in slime, mariana, and juanaflippa) this covers loop 0, aka the relevant parts of canon. words: 1630

parts of it i popped off with and other parts i hate; up to you to identify them. also the italics and other formatting got erased when i copy pasted and i'm re-adding all of it by hand so if i missed a spot, no i didn't. if i missed an accent on a letter in spanish that was a typo, if i missed a ¡ or ¿ that may have been on purpose.

oh and for obvious reasons, content warning for mentions and mild descriptions of child death and child murder. no blood, and most of it is a three word mention; i'd say the brief paragraph beginning "Tilín didn't scream" is most of the reason this warning exists.

Charlie Slimecicle stepped off the train.

He’d been hoping for a bright, sunny day to start their vacation, but was sorely disappointed. The portal had apparently taken them pretty far, since they’d gone from noon to night time. Talk about jetlag. They hadn’t even been on a plane.

“What happened to the other guys?” he wondered aloud as he stepped onto the platform.

“Yeah no clue,” Phil said, scanning the empty station. “Thought they’d meet us here.”

“Guys!” one of the Spanish speakers--Vegetta, he’d said, when they’d all met up at the first station--called, from a lectern at the wall. “There is a book!”

They crowded around as he read the instructions aloud--something about pressure plates, Slime wasn’t paying that close of attention. He was a little more preoccupied with making sure it only felt like his brain was dripping out of his ears. That would be kind of embarrassing.

Which was not to say that he wasn’t enjoying the constant onslaught of people talking over each other using words he may or may not understand. In fact, it was the opposite; he was frankly thriving in the absolute chaos that kicked back up around him as a timer appeared in the wrist communicators they’d been provided along with their tickets.

“Como se dice ‘we are going to die now’?” He giggled, chasing Phil and Fit to one end of the station.

“¡Vamos a morir!” shouted Spiderman, echoed seconds later by the black bear in the collared shirt.

Giddy over the high of attempting to use his high school foreign language for the first time maybe ever, Slime absolutely didn’t contribute much to solving the puzzle, and before long the sound of the timer ticking down was accompanied by a loud buzzing alarm.

“It’s been an honor!” he shrieked at the top of his lungs. “It’s been an honor!”

The bear ran past them again, shouting, “I’m going to die!” in English this time.

“Adiós amigos!” Slime yelled.

The countdown ended.

And then his communicator buzzed, and there was a video playing on the screen, showing a cartoonish yellow duck in front of a blurry beach stock photo. He skimmed it absently--some generic welcoming message and another side quest for them--distracted by Maximus audibly losing his shit laughing across the station.

“Come on, I’m trying to take a vacation, I gotta work now?” Fit complained. “This is ridiculous.”

Slime wanted to jump on that bit, but the message cut off with coordinates marred by static and the noise of the emergency weather alert system and he lost his train of thought completely.

“I got the English book!” Spreen called, holding it with two fingers like it had personally offended him.

“English leader,” Vegetta said, seeming to find that amusing.

“English leader.” Spreen laughed and flicked the book away. Slime stepped back but somehow it still nailed him in the chest.

“Guess I’m reading then,” he said cheerfully.

“In Spanish?” Maximus said.

“Um.”

Vegetta called something, backing across the plaza with the book open in his hands. Phil backed up to the wall.

“Here,” Phil instructed, “we’ll read it here.”

“Okay okay.” He flicked it open. “So we have to get water wheel planks--”

Their peace lasted a grand total of thirty seconds as voices suddenly began shouting, overlapping in chaotic chorus.

“What is that?” Fit demanded.

“Is that coming from the other side?” Phil stared up at the top of the wall.

“This is the thinnest thick wall I’ve ever seen,” Slime said, giddy laughter bubbling out of him again. “Is this thing made out of pencil shavings? If I sneeze on it, is there gonna be a hole?”

“Nevermind, we’ll read it over here.” Phil dragged them away again, but the Spanish speakers were dispersing into the trees.

“Forget the book,” Fit said, “follow them!”

(In the end it was explosives that took the wall down, which in hindsight was a precursor to how a not insignificant portion of time on the island was spent. The first day, however, it was just funny, much like everything else.)

(That was to say, the first first day.)

The communicator had indicated that today there was something special planned, so he made an extra effort to wake up.

“Morning Jaiden!” he called to his upstairs neighbor.

“Hi Charlie!” He could hear her farming through the wall. “Glad you woke up on time!”

“Well you know, you know, El Backflipo couldn’t miss it,” he joked, sifting through his backpack. “Got any spare food? I’ll trade you uno backflipo.”

“I have so much toast, come here and get some, free of charge.”

With a quick backflip and some toast to start the day, he popped open the map.

“There’s a lot of people down the wall,” he noted, their green dots so clustered they formed one. “Wanna check it out?”

“Yeah sure.” Jaiden tossed some seeds into a chest. “Do you know what this event’s gonna be?”

“I have no idea,” he admitted cheerfully.

She laughed. “Yeah, me neither. I guess there’s an egg involved, but that’s all I know.”

He dug around in his backpack for a paraglider, nodding along. “Yeah, yeah, un huevo, I get you.” Shuffling the landmine from Vegetta to one side, he yanked out his glider and threw himself out her window. “Let’s go!”

(nothing like getting struck by lightning to wake a guy up in the morning)

Slime fiddled with the communicator as he waited for the line of people to get through the ticket machine; he already had his own, a nice B for Backflipo. The new live translations still boggled his mind. He had to fight the urge to chant weird shit under his breath, just to see what the bubbles would say.

He paid a little extra attention when Mariana walked up to the machine. That guy seemed cool. They’d done that pequeño dormir together on day one, and he had a good sense of humor. Egg parenting would probably be funny.

He was thrilled to see the B for Backflipo on the ticket Mariana stepped away with, even if Mariana was decidedly less so. This was gonna be good.

(it was, and it wasn’t)

So, Mariana wasn’t exactly the coparent of dreams. Then again, Slime was pretty sure Mariana could say the same about him. In fact he was pretty sure Mariana had said the same, but in Spanish, when he wasn’t checking the translation.

It was great. They thought they’d killed a child immediately and then decided to fake their own child’s death to get away with it, and then confessed their sins to a bilingual angel and built a farm and then he buried himself beneath an improvised cross and went into a coma until his sins were forgiven, or something, except his sins weren’t forgiven in time to save his own child’s life.

And then Juanaflippa was dead. Dead at Mariana’s hand.

His bitch wife killed their daughter.

(Everything went faster, after that.)

Slime wanted to kill him.

Slime wanted to kill him for killing their fucking daughter, but of course, Mariana couldn’t even be bothered to be around to take care of her alive, never mind to pay for his crimes when she died by his hand!

(in a better world, his rage started and ended there. in a better world, the anger fizzled out with the lack of a target.

this was not that world)

There couldn’t be an Egg Event with no eggs.

If he killed them all, it would bring her back.

(in a worse world, he succeeded. in a worse world, the Egg Event ended there.

this was not that world)

They held a trial.

If he won, it would bring her back.

(in another world, he didn’t convince them. in another world, they left his daughter in Hell.

this was not that world)

Tilín was still before she hit the ground.

Tilín didn’t scream. Maybe they didn’t have time. It happened so fast. He was sure it happened fast. Almost too fast. But everything went so fast, now, even though Flippa was back. Yet, time slowed down for this, like a rubberneck driving past a highway accident, watching him desperately trying to shock their heart back into motion.

“YOU KILL MY BEST FRIENDS,” Flippa wrote. He begged her to understand. She wrote, “i can’t believe it.”

She wrote, “I HATE YOU.”

(in a better world, the error would have been caught in April instead of July.

this was not that world)

His daughter fell to his bitch wife’s sword. The same way. The next day.

They’d only just gotten her back. And Mariana killed her again.

He only left eggxile for the funeral. She wouldn’t stay dead, but he had to be there.

Time went even faster after that. He was Gegg, or maybe Gegg was him, or maybe Gegg was Gegg, or maybe. . . ?

He went back to eggxile.

He wasn’t leaving without them. Tilín. Juanaflippa. He would do whatever was necessary. He would pray to any higher power. Lil J still owed him a goddamn favor, but the guy wouldn’t pick up his calls. Maybe if he put more shit in the shrine; angels liked shiny shit, didn’t they? He went back to the mine, where the gasses swirled in his head. He built the shrine. He mined. He built the shrine.

He went back to the mine.

He went back to the mine.

He went back to the mine.

“This is where I sit, this is where my bitch wife sits, and this is where my daughter sits, if I had one!”

He’d said that before. No he hadn’t. Yes he had.

No, he just needed to clear his head.

Charlie Slimecicle went back to the mine.

Charlie Slimecicle stepped off the train.

[tardis--dreams]

When proofreading the journal (on friday night) i commented on one slightly sexist and outdated term to be replaced by a neutral and more inclusive term. I've been having nightmares because of this