#miniature tailoring

[petermorwood]

Also a splendid addition to this post here.

Let's hear it for CatCosplay! ;->

"I don't wanna talk to you no more, you empty headed cat bowl wiper! I fart in your general direction! Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries!"

[fergus-monster]

#Lorcana 2023 Tournament Trophies are complete.

Under 12s: Minnie League

Starter: Mickey League

Construction: Tinkerbell League

[baeshijima]

— within uncertainty

sunday reflects on his limited time thus far on the express, only to find himself distracted by a face he has unknowingly become fond of.

CONTAINS : 1.2k wc, gn!reader, astral express member!sunday, fluff

A/N : chat have we seen the lc and gameplay leaks…? throwing up.

When Sunday first arrived on the Astral Express, a miniature gold and crimson ticket attached to his apparel, he wasn’t sure what to expect.

A new start; that much he was sure of. But with these people who instilled a newfound hope and courage to face the future, there was no shadow of a doubt within his heart and soul that he would encounter the unexpected more times than he can keep track of.

Sure enough, the unexpected came in many ways.

For one, March 7th’s uncanny ability to look at the bright side of things appeared so natural to her, so easy and simple. In recent times, he has found himself thinking about situations in a more positive light, no doubt a side effect of having spent time with her bubbly self.

He discovered Dan Heng’s aloof demeanour barely concealed his great care and affection for the crew— the Astral Express family. Even with what seems to be passive quips and dead-eyed stares, Sunday has begun to note the differentiations in his tone and body language, and all the subtleties he only shows with them.

He discovered the Trailblazer was every bit of a jokester as they are courageous, often finding himself staring blankly at some of their… seamlessly timed quips, to put it lightly. Even so, he’s oftentimes caught himself mid-admiration when they take charge in what they believe is right, wondering if he, too, could be like them in that aspect.

He found that Welt, while still retaining the righteous and strong spirit he displayed while in penacony, had a rather unprecedented charm. Sitting down for hours on end listening to the elder ramble passionately about animating, the arts, and endless theories about this universe wasn’t something he had ever planned for, but his heart warmed all the same at the burst of energy.

He came to realise the Express’ Navigator, Himeko, was certainly a… character. Brave, wise and humble were what he would use to describe her, even more so after her warmly welcoming him into the family. However, Sunday realised he could do without that… concoction she dubs a coffee.

He also never realised such a creature existed until he met Pom-Pom, much less one being a sentient conductor. Their nags are backed with overflowing affection for the members of the Express, often displayed through the meticulous care taken in the tailored meals and rooms and experience. There is so much love of the Astral Express, and Sunday wouldn’t be surprised if he were told most of it came from the Conductor.

(Though he does recall being warned by Dan Heng in particular to not anger the Conductor, an experience he is both curious about but also content in not knowing what exactly would transpire.)

And then there is you.

Sunday only caught a glimpse of you during the final moments of the conflict, much like with Himeko, so he didn’t have too much to go off of other than the fact you, just as it seemed to come with being a part of the Astral Express, were brave and fought for what you believed in.

(With you in particular, he found himself unable to forget your gaze — how it held a sparkling resolution and commanded his full attention, completely and utterly drawn in.)

Of course, that’s not to say you don’t embody those aspects now that he’s gotten to know you. Rather, you are so much more than what he could have ever imagined.

“Wow… they’re way softer than they look!”

…In more ways than one.

Sunday doesn’t really know how this situation came to be. He was merely idling around the Express in search of something to pass the time until you took note of his predicament, swooping in like the graceful saviour you are (self-proclaimed by you).

Somehow, in some way, that brought you both to his room.

It’s times like these where Sunday wholeheartedly believes the most forward member of the Astral Express isn’t that racoon-like Trailblazer, but rather you instead.

Seriously. How are you not embarrassed by this… this compromising position you’re both in?! He can practically feel the radius in which the heat from his face permeates!

“Do you, like, have a care routine for them or something?” you ask while gently thumbing individual feathers, because obviously this is only affecting him and him alone. “I refuse to believe your wings are like this naturally.”

He knows he gave you permission to touch them, but it doesn’t change the fact his wings are still sensitive. Aeon knows what you would do with that information; well, assuming you haven’t already picked up on his reactions towards your… ministrations.

“I do have a routine. I go to great lengths pruning and trimming my feathers. More than that…” he trails off, opting to ignore your mumbled comment of “Wow… you’re just like a bird then…”. He coughs, averting his eyes from your intensely gentle gaze, raising a fist to cover his lips. “Are you this forward with everyone?”

You blink. Once, twice, thrice. Somehow, the action makes Sunday fluster even further.

A hum leaves you as your lips purse and your head tilts in thought. “Well, I wouldn’t say everyone, exactly. Just those I consider to be very close to me. Oh,” you begin, as though realising something, “does it bother you? I’m so sorry!”

No— wait— why are you apologising?

“I didn’t realise I was making you uncomfortable! Oh gosh, I did it again…!”

You make a move to scramble away from him. Is it your frantic and unfocused eyes, or perhaps this uncharacteristic side of your usual confident and unabashed self which makes his heart lurch?

“I’m so, so sorry! I’ll keep my distance from now on and—!”

He acts before he can think.

“No!”

There’s a surge of panic which shoots into him. It makes itself known in the raw strain of his voice, in the shaky wide-eyed stare at the thought of you leaving, in the trembling grip he has your arm in.

Really, Sunday doesn’t know what he’s panicking about. He just knows a part of himself would never forgive him for unintentionally pushing you away like this.

A gasp escapes him after a few tense seconds which felt much more like an eternity. With haste, Sunday tears his hand away from your arm. Despite that, he remains in close proximity to you, mustering the courage to look at you once more.

“I… I mean, no, you’re not making me uncomfortable.” Sunday prays you didn’t hear the stammer in his words. And, if you did, then he hopes you don’t bring it up. “If I were feeling as such, I would have told you outright.”

The silence is absolutely suffocating. Even so, Sunday doesn’t dare look away from your stunned expression, not even when he’s almost positive his face is about to melt off from the sheer heat radiating from him.

“Oh.” You blink, expression falling into that of neutrality. A nod of understanding is your next action; understanding of what? Sunday has no clue — he’s not sure he even wants to know. “So you’re that type, huh. I see now.”

Nevermind. Maybe he does.

“…What does that mean? Wait— [Name], come back here! Explain what ‘that type’ means! Are you listening?!”

Suffice to say, Sunday never received a verbal response from you. Only your cheeky grin before you left and a plethora of butterflies fluttering amok within his stomach are all that remains.

Yeah. Sunday didn’t know what to expect when joining the Astral Express; in fact, he still doesn’t know what to expect. Despite being thrown into the unknown, he finds himself thinking this situation to not be so bad after all.

if you enjoyed this, reblogs and/or comments are greatly appreciated <33

[chuluoyi]

✎ the babysitters' club

- gojo satoru x reader

in which yuji, megumi and nobara are tasked with the most important mission ever by their teacher—watching over his baby son!

genre: total crack, first years are trying their best to babysit your son to save their grades, an attempt at humor, gojo is irritating as always, fluff, fluff, fluff

note: this is sooo incredibly silly :') some inspiration are taken from the baby starfish onesie, this ask, and this illustration -> if you're wondering how gojo dressed his baby, he's looks just like that :)) tagging @3zae-zae3 <3

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

"Gojo-sensei... what is that wiggling starfish!?"

On one sunny day in jujutsu school... trouble is once again brewing in the form of Gojo Satoru bringing his baby son to the class.

"Starfish? No, no," Gojo retorted with a displeased expression, directing his gaze towards Yuji and clicking his tongue as he patted his squirming baby, which was still hidden from their view. "He's my pride and joy! Don't refer to him as starfish!"

"But you've got him dressed up as one..." Nobara pointed out, her tone flat and unimpressed.

"That's his kid," Megumi provided, wearily sighing. God, he knew already today was going to be a long day.

No one from school had seen your seven-month old baby son yet, and Gojo was determined to make it an occasion to remember.

Beaming with pride, he gently removed his baby from the starfish-themed onesie, revealing him in a tiny black jujutsu outfit specially tailored for him, complete with miniature black glasses. He held him up, presenting him for everyone to see.

"Behold, everyone... my son! Isn't he just adorable?!"

. . . a momentary silence before—

"Oh my goodness, he is!" Nobara cooed, forgetting her earlier sentiment, immediately approaching the baby with shining eyes. "Sensei, how could you manage to have a baby this cute!?"

"Heh! Only the finest technique utilized to create him—"

"Complete bullshit—"

"Hush, Megumi! No cussing in front of my baby! I'll deduct your marks!"

"Seriously...?"

"Now, class, today I have a very, very important task for you..." Gojo said, his voice dripping with mischief as he sported a broad grin. "If you succeed, I'll personally draft a recommendation letter for each of you to Yaga. But if you don't..." he paused for the suspense, scanning his three students' curious faces.

"Then I'm failing you in my class!" Gojo continued with a grin, prompting immediate reactions from his students.

“What! Why?!”

“That's not fair!”

“Sigh.”

“All you have to do was to watch over him until I come back. Everything you need is here— in this bag!”

Megumi rolled his eyes. Nobara raised an eyebrow. Only Yuji who seemed to be genuinely interested.

"Isn't that easy?" Gojo tilted his head playfully, looking absolutely stupid with his blindfold. "There are three of you here. If you can't even manage to look after one baby, then you should not even think about romance and dating."

"Nonsen—"

"Quiet, Megumi!"

And so began the day's mission: looking after Baby Gojo until his father's return.

“Lalala~ look you’re flying!”

“Fwa...”

“Kugisaki, don’t hold him like that! You’re making him cry!”

“No, I’m not— Itadori! Don’t smush his face—!”

“WAAA!”

“You idiot!” Megumi hissed, plucking the poor baby from his clueless friends and immediately soothed him, pulling him close and patting his back. He even gently shushed him, “There, there...”

And Yuji and Nobara could only look at him in awe as the baby's wails turned into soft sniffles, peaceful in his embrace.

"Whoa... Fushiguro, so babies like you, huh..."

"Unfair!" Nobara clicked his tongue, before fixing a wide smile and waved at the baby in Megumi's arms. "Hi baby~ don't you want to held by big sister—"

"He doesn't like you, Kugisaki."

And so, that was how the three of them spent half the day—constantly watching over Baby Gojo, with Megumi supervising both the baby and his two friends.

"Sometimes, I wonder what she sees in him..." Megumi grumbled sullenly, resigned to his fate, his gaze fixed on the crawling baby while he sat on the floor and threw his little sunglasses.

For all the sighs he exuded, Megumi undeniably had a soft spot for the baby. Prior today, he had held him several times, and he'd never admit it, but he'd protect him to the best of his ability, if anything, because you had done so much for him.

“Gojo-sensei is cool!” Yuji remarked. “Of course Y/N-sensei is happy with him.”

Nobara rolled her eyes. “Only you would say that.”

"Hey, don't you think he wants his milk?" Yuji suddenly pointed out, as the baby became fussy. Megumi nodded and Yuji immediately reached for the bag Gojo left. He pulled out a bottle and handed it to his friend, but in the process, he accidentally knocked the bag over, spilling its contents onto the floor.

"Ahh, my bad," the boy sighed, collecting the diapers and washcloth, until he realized that there were some more—

"What's that? Photographs?" Nobara picked one of them up, and immediately gasped. "Oh my! Look at this!"

On the picture was the same baby, but much more smaller and swaddled in baby blue blanket and tiny blue beanie. Most likely taken when he was a newborn.

"Whoa, wait, there's something written behind the photo..."

When she flipped it over, both she and Yuji studied the messy handwriting, instantly recognizing it as their teacher's.

Yaaay! ♡ Baby is here! I'm sooo happy you made it! But mama went through a lot to bring you here... so don't ever forget that she loves you very, very much, okay?

"This is sweet." Nobara looked at the picture with a genuine smile, until she realized that there were some more scattered on the floor.

The other picture was of the blue-eyed baby on his arms and knees, wrapped in an orange and black bee onesie, complete with little wings, and behind it was written:

Aren't you just the cutest bee?! And what's more, you've started crawling! Aw, papa is so proud! In no time at all, you're going to be as strong as me!

"What are you two doing over there?" Megumi asked, still feeding the baby with the milk bottle. Nobara beckoned him over.

The third photo was of you smiling so prettily while holding your baby, still in his bee suit, and Gojo also in the frame, wrapping his arm around you, clearly the one holding the camera to take the selfie.

Two my most precious treasures ♡ Sweetheart, I love you. And baby too!

Yuji smiled, as he felt warmth spreading in his chest. "Gojo-sensei really treasures his family, huh?"

"He is," Megumi agreed, because he had seen it all throughout his life.

"Well, no wonder..." Nobara giggled. "Any woman showered with this much love would be happy."

And that day, the trio also uncovered another side of their teacher, that his deepest affection was reserved exclusively for his wife and child.

Well, the sentimental feeling didn't last long though...

"This is our chance!" Nobara said in a hushed whisper. "When else are we going to get an extra family discount!?"

Megumi was so ready to burst a blood vessel as he held the baby—given that he had forbidden his two friends to lay a finger on him. "We are meeting Gojo-sensei here, not to—!"

"Hush! Itadori, don't you agree with me?!"

Yuji nudged his cross friend, trying to appease him. "Lighten up, Fushiguro! We can have more meat!"

At the last minute, Gojo suddenly told the three of them to bring his baby and meet him at the shopping center as he didn't want to waste energy to go back to the school. And like broke students Nobara and Yuji were, they decided to use Baby Gojo to snag an extra plate in a yakiniku place.

Megumi's eyes twitched. "This is not making sense at all, they won't believe—!"

"Shut up, you! Waiter~ here! We have a baby! So we're eligible for the family package!"

The judging stare of the waiter was enough to make Megumi combust on the spot, and yet somehow he passed the four of them as family eligible for the extra plate.

It was later, after they had their lunch that Megumi suddenly had an upset stomach and left the baby momentarily in his two friends' care.

And under less-than-watchful eyes...

"Hey, Kugisaki, meat on this side is the juiciest! Try it!"

"Ooh, you're right!"

The baby only blinked at them in wonder as he stayed in his spot. Not for long though... and it didn't help that they forgot his existence after they went to the cashier and headed out.

"Oi, Itadori! Don't forget to split the bill!"

"Oh yeah! Anyway, why is Fushiguro taking so long?"

Megumi got back right afterwards, and he frowned. "You done already? I haven't even gotten my ocha refill—" and it dawned to him when he saw both Yuji and Nobara with empty hands.

"Wait... where's the baby?"

"—! Oh my god!"

And when the three of them rushed back to the yakiniku place and approached their table earlier, Nobara almost screamed at the empty chairs, "He is gone!"

"You left the baby with the kids and told them to come here?!"

You were positively fuming as you scolded your stupid husband in the bustling mall.

"Well, we haven't gotten much time to spend together, just the two of us!" Satoru retorted, his tone sulky as he pouted. "And besides, Megumi is there. I'm sure they'll do just fine~"

You let out a sigh. True enough, being parents is no joke. Aside from stay-at-home dates, the frequency of the two of you going out had dwindled exponentially since having your baby.

"Technically, you are still on the clock though." You threw him a glare. "You're being a very irresponsible teacher."

Satoru smirked. "Heh, spare me. But I'm being a very good teacher to you in our—"

"One more word and I'm locking you out—!"

Just as you were about to give him your (empty) threat, the building suddenly boomed with an announcement from the mall's broadcast speaker.

"Attention, shoppers. We've received a report from three teenagers that they've lost a baby. He is seven-month old, wears black shirt, has white hair and blue eyes. He is last seen at Yakiniku Q—"

"Satoru..." your voice trembled, dread settling in the pit of your stomach. The baby described by the speaker was unmistakably your son, and the realization of him being missing sent you spiraling into panic.

"Hey, calm down." Satoru gripped your hand tightly, his voice steady as he faced you. "We're going to find him, alright? I'm here. Don't worry."

And after taking off his glasses, in a matter of seconds, Satoru figured out where he was.

Nobara's eyes welled up with tears, frustrated. "What do I do, Gojo-sensei will fail us now..." she muttered, biting her lip.

"That's what you're worried about?" Megumi replied, turning to her with a clear glare.

"He's going to be fine! He is!" Yuji interjected, trying to reassure his two friends despite his own rising anxiety. "He’s not just any random baby—who knows, maybe he can shoot cursed energy to protect himself!"

Megumi and Nobara leveled their annoyed stares on him and Yuji immediately regretted his attempt to lighten the mood.

"I still think he can't get far from the yakiniku place." Megumi was too panicked to check with the staff earlier and just went with Yuji's suggestion to report it to be announced, but now that he thought about it— "I think we should go back."

And thank goodness the three of them returned for the second time because, this time, they finally saw the baby safely cradled in your arms, with Gojo speaking to the waitresses nearby.

"Oh?! Gojo-sensei is here!"

But as soon as the three of them came into view, Gojo immediately fixed them with his unamused gaze.

"You three..." his voice was lower and it made the three kids shudder. "What did I tell you about failing this mission, huh?"

Yuji, Nobara and Megumi were visibly spooked, immediately bowing their heads in unison as they chorused—

"Gojo-sensei, we're so sorry!"

Nobara then pointed an accusing finger at Yuji. "But it was his fault! He kept eating away and didn't even oversee the baby anymore!"

"Wha!?" Yuji glared back at her. "No! You too! You kept eating my meat too!"

"Whatever it is, I'm not a part of this—" Megumi cut in boldly. "My stomach hurt so I had to go for a bit, and they couldn't even keep an eye on him—"

You soothed your squirming son as the first years were throwing blame at each other. Gaping in confusion, you couldn't help but wonder how such a simple task had turned into this incident.

"Tsk." Gojo crossed his arms dramatically, and you knew he was just messing with them, as he suddenly turned to you with a grin.

"Nah, as both a teacher and the victim's mother— Sensei~ who do you think is responsible for this? Or should I punish all three of them?"

The three kids before you were quaking in their boots, and you really didn't have time for this right now. Honestly, if if you had to quickly pinpoint the source of this chaos...

You directed your most irked glare at your husband. "You."

“Huh?!”

“You’re the one staging this by threatening their grades, and it results in our baby being missing!”

Now you were bickering with your husband and putting him in his rightful place. Nobara and Yuji gaped, while Megumi heaved a sigh of relief.

"Does this mean... our grades are saved?"

Epilogue

"They said he fell..." You pat your baby's head worriedly as he babbled happily in his crib, your expression darkening into a frown.

You didn't really blame the first years for their lack of experience, but as his mother, the news from the restaurant staff that they had found your son falling from the chair made you extremely uneasy.

Seeing your distress, Satoru’s natural response was to comfort you until you were back to smiles again. He gently tickled his boy's tummy, prompting him to squeal in absolute joy. "Look, he's perfectly fine. You don't need to worry so much, yeah?"

"But it's strange... I'm happy he's fine, but how? Most babies will get hurt or at least be inconsolable after falling. But he was totally okay..."

Satoru shifted his gaze to his son, as now his round, crystal blue eyes that mirrored his blinked back at him with such innocence and trust that even melted his heart.

"Ah, I see." Suddenly he smiled as if he had figured something out. "This is just my guess, but you know my guesses have like... 90% of probability of being correct—"

"Hmm...?"

"He might have activated Infinity by instinct. Heh."

[mommykye]

Mine

summary: a spark of jealousy in Natasha pushes Natasha to take you to her office.

a/n: a lil sneak peak into the future guys😉

Last one for this weekend guys🫶🏻 can you tell I do nothing but sit at home and write?

needs a little editing but i’ll do that another day

warnings: oh, smut😁. men/minors DNI

word count: 5.7k

a one-shot to the Big Bad Wolf

Request are open

masterlist

The Manhattan skyline, a jagged crown of steel and glass, bled into the bruised twilight. A furious, molten sun surrendered to the horizon, sinking below the steely embrace of the Hudson River, casting elongated, theatrical shadows that clawed across the avenues, desperate to cling to the last vestiges of light. Far below, the city throbbed with its relentless pulse, a chaotic symphony of blaring horns, the hurried cadence of countless footsteps, and the mournful cry of distant sirens. From the dizzying height of the 200th floor of the Romanoff Industries tower, the world transformed into a miniature diorama, a vibrant, teeming tapestry of human existence unfurling beneath a vast, darkening canvas.

Within the opulent confines of the CEO's office, a sanctuary of polished obsidian and hushed reverence, a drama of a far more intimate and intense nature was unfolding, a stark counterpoint to the frenetic energy of the city below. The expansive, panoramic windows, usually a source of strategic inspiration for the formidable Natasha Romanoff, now served as a reflective stage for a scene of raw, untamed desire. The air, thick with the expensive, grounding aroma of sandalwood incense and the subtly sharp, metallic tang of burgeoning arousal, vibrated with a palpable, almost electric tension.

You, her omega, were pinned against the sharp, unforgiving edge of her colossal glass desk. The cool, immaculately clean surface offered a stark, almost shocking contrast to the feverish heat radiating from your flushed skin. Your breath hitched in your throat, a soft, involuntary gasp swallowed by the ragged rhythm of your own panting breaths and the insistent, driving cadence of Natasha's movements. Her hands, strong and possessive, were clamped firmly on your hips, her grip a language of ownership, guiding the deep, relentless thrusts that sent shattering waves of pleasure crashing through your very core. Each powerful slide of her engorged cock against your slick, swollen pussy was a jolt of pure sensation, making your vision swim and your muscles clench involuntarily.

Natasha, the indomitable CEO, whose normally piercing, calculating sapphire eyes held the cold sharpness of glacial ice, now burned with a primal, untamed hunger. A film of pure, unadulterated desire glazed her pupils, her focus narrowed solely on you. Her lips were pressed fiercely against the sensitive nape of your neck, nipping and sucking with a possessive intensity, leaving a trail of fiery, undeniable imprints upon your skin. The impeccably tailored fabric of her charcoal grey suit, usually a symbol of her unyielding control, was now rumpled and creased, a blatant testament to the urgent, almost violent nature of their encounter. A low, guttural growl rumbled deep within her chest, a primal sound of pure, unadulterated desire that echoed the ancient claim of an alpha for their omega. Her potent alpha pheromones, usually carefully leashed, now flooded the small space, a heady, intoxicating musk that spoke of dominance and undeniable possession, wrapping around you like an invisible chain, claiming you utterly. The insistent pressure of her hard length grinding against your wet folds was driving you to the brink.

Earlier, at the sterile formality of the corporate reception, a seemingly innocuous exchange had ignited this inferno. Your brief, casual conversation with Dimitri, one of Natasha’s usually stoic receptionists – the long-forgotten animosity between Romanoff Industries and the remnants of the Sons of Ruva mafia fading into insignificance in this moment – a harmless exchange of pleasantries, a shared laugh over some spilled champagne, had sparked a dangerous flicker of something akin to jealousy in Natasha’s usually impenetrable demeanor. She had watched, her expression unreadable, her posture betraying nothing of the storm brewing beneath the surface, as you had smiled, your eyes crinkling at the corners, a warmth radiating from you that was meant only for her. A shadow, dark and possessive, had momentarily crossed her sharp features, a tightening around her jaw that only you, her bonded omega, could truly decipher. The seemingly innocent interaction had been nothing more than a spark, but it had landed squarely in a powder keg of unspoken longing and fiercely guarded possessiveness. And now, here in the absolute privacy of her obsidian office, high above the glittering city, she was staking her claim, branding you as irrevocably hers, erasing any lingering trace of another’s fleeting attention with the insistent friction of her cock against your slick opening.

"Moya," she murmured against your heated skin, the Russian word for 'mine' a low, resonant declaration that vibrated against your eardrum. Her fingers dug deeper into the curve of your hips, the insistent pressure sending a jolt of pure electricity shooting down your spine, igniting a fresh wave of intense pleasure. The soft, whimpering moans that escaped your lips filled the otherwise silent office, a starkly intimate counterpoint to the distant, impersonal hum of the sprawling metropolis below. Your own omega pheromones, sweet and submissive, mingled with her dominant alpha scent, creating a heady, intoxicating vortex that filled the room, a silent testament to the unbreakable bond between you. Your legs trembled uncontrollably as her relentless thrusts continued, each one burying her thick shaft deeper inside you, stretching you, claiming you.

The cool expanse of the glass desk pressed against your stomach, an unyielding chill against your heated skin as Natasha’s relentless assault continued. Each powerful thrust sent shivers through your frame, your soft belly jiggling with a desperate rhythm against the unforgiving surface. It was a stark contrast to the taut, sculpted muscles of her back, a testament to her strength as she drove into you with unwavering force. The rhythmic slapping of your slick flesh against her straining groin echoed in the vast office, a primal symphony punctuated by your ragged gasps and her guttural growls of pleasure.

"Natasha… ahh… fuck," you managed to whimper, your fingers digging into the polished obsidian of the desk for purchase, the cool, smooth surface a futile anchor against the storm raging within you. The tremor in your legs intensified, threatening to buckle beneath you, the slickness between your thighs offering no respite.

Her hands, strong and sure, tightened on your hips, lifting you slightly with each forceful thrust, deepening the penetration until you felt the solid, insistent thud of her pelvis meeting your backside. A delicate crystal paperweight, shaped like a miniature globe, teetered precariously close to the edge of the desk with each violent movement, a fragile world on the brink of collapse. A stack of important-looking files, once neatly aligned, slid further askew, their carefully maintained order succumbing to the raw, untamed energy of the moment.

"Yes, moya lyubov," she grunted, her breath hot and damp against the sensitive skin of your neck. "Tell me what you want, omega."

"Please… more… please, Natasha," you choked out, the words torn from your throat in a ragged plea. Your plump cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and beads of sweat dotted your forehead, tracing hot paths down your temples. The scent of sandalwood, her intoxicating signature, mingled with the sharp, musky aroma of arousal, thickening the air, cloying and irresistible in the confined space.

Her teeth scraped lightly against the sensitive skin of your nape, a familiar yet always electrifying sensation that sent a shiver of pure sensation down your spine. You arched your back instinctively, pressing your swollen, slick heat harder against her thick length, seeking a deeper connection, a more profound surrender.

"You feel so good, solnyshko," she murmured, her voice thick with burgeoning pleasure, a raw appreciation that resonated deep within your being. "So tight… so wet…"

Another forceful thrust sent the crystal globe tumbling from its precarious perch, landing on the plush carpet with a muffled thud, its perfect sphere now rolling silently away. A heavy leather-bound book, its pages filled with her powerful dealings, followed suit, landing with a more substantial thwack, a small rebellion against the chaos unfolding. The carefully curated order of her powerful domain was being dismantled piece by piece, a visual representation of the absolute control she held over you in this moment, a control you willingly, desperately craved.

"Say my name, omega," she urged, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her chest heaving against your back. Her sapphire eyes, blazing with primal desire, flickered down to your trembling form, demanding acknowledgment.

"Natasha…" you gasped, the word a breathless offering, a sound filled with both pleasure and a touch of desperation. "Please…"

Her response was a deep, guttural growl that vibrated against your skin, a sound of pure satisfaction and primal triumph. She shifted her grip on your hips, her thumbs pressing into the soft flesh, spreading you wider, offering herself even more completely. The next thrust was deeper, longer, and you cried out, a sharp intake of breath as you felt the unmistakable pressure building inside you, the familiar stretching sensation that heralded her knot.

"Almost… почти," she hissed, the Russian word laced with anticipation, her body mirroring your mounting pleasure. Her movements became more frantic, each stroke a desperate plea for release, a mirroring of the frantic pulsing that had begun deep within you.

You whimpered, your body clenching around her thick shaft, the slick heat of your inner walls milking her relentlessly. The contractions started subtly, then built in intensity, waves of pure sensation washing over you. You squeezed your eyes shut, your head lolling to the side as the first shattering climax ripped through you. Shudders wracked your body, your grip on the desk tightening until your knuckles turned white. You cried out, a long, keening moan of pure release, your inner muscles spasming around her.

Natasha paused, her breath hot against your ear, allowing you to fully experience the aftershocks of your orgasm. "Are you alright, moya krasavitsa?" she murmured, her voice softer now, laced with concern.

"Mmm, yes," you managed, your voice still shaky. "So good…"

Then, with a low growl, she began to move again, her thrusts now imbued with a renewed urgency. The pressure inside you intensified, the unmistakable swelling of her knot beginning to bloom, a familiar yet always breathtaking sensation. It filled you completely, stretching you in a way that was both intensely pleasurable and deeply possessive.

You cried out again, a shorter, sharper cry as the second wave of pleasure washed over you, even more intense than the first. Your body bucked against hers, your inner muscles clenching rhythmically around her knot, drawing her deeper, holding her captive.

"Natasha… I’m close… so close," you panted, your voice thick with the lingering echoes of your release, your body still trembling with aftershocks.

With a final, earth-shattering thrust, you felt the unmistakable sensation of her knot fully blooming inside you, filling you completely, stretching you to your absolute limit. You cried out, a long, keening moan that echoed in the silent office, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure and complete surrender.

Natasha buried her face in the curve of your neck, her teeth sinking lightly into the sensitive flesh of your scent gland, a possessive act that had been repeated countless times, each marking a deep and undeniable claim. You gasped, a sharp intake of breath that mingled with her triumphant growl. The possessive bite sent a fresh wave of sensation through you, a primal connection that went beyond the physical. Her alpha pheromones surged, washing over you in a dizzying wave, binding you to her in an unbreakable, biological imperative.

She held you pinned against the desk, her knotted cock throbbing deep within you, a constant reminder of her dominance, her teeth still gently clamped on your neck, a tangible symbol of her ownership. The frantic energy of their coupling slowly began to subside, replaced by a heavy, sated stillness. The only sounds were your ragged breaths, her deep, contented sighs.

The world outside the panoramic window remained a distant, glittering hum, a stark contrast to the intimate stillness that had settled within the CEO's office. Natasha's knot, a potent symbol of their bond, remained swollen and firm within you, anchoring her to you in a deeply primal way. You lay sprawled across the cool expanse of the glass desk, your soft, chubby form imprinted against its unforgiving surface. Your breath still came in shallow, shaky gasps, your body humming with the lingering echoes of your shared climax.

Natasha, her powerful body pressed intimately against your backside, had loosened her grip, the earlier fierce possessiveness now tempered with a tender protectiveness. Her strong arms, which had moments ago held you captive, now cradled you gently, her chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths against your back. Her teeth had released your nape, the possessive mark still warm and tingling against your skin.

Carefully, deliberately, her fingers found yours, her larger, calloused hand enveloping your softer, plumper one. Her touch, though still firm, was now imbued with a soothing quality, a silent reassurance. Your fingers, still slightly shaky, intertwined with hers, the simple act a profound connection in the aftermath of such intense intimacy.

A sudden, involuntary twitch ran through your body, a residual tremor from the powerful orgasms that had wracked you. Both of you flinched, a shared awareness of the still-firm knot binding you. A soft whimper escaped your lips, a reminder of the slight discomfort that lingered.

"Shhh, moya krasavitsa," Natasha murmured against your hair, her breath warm and soothing. "Soon. It will soften soon." Her voice, usually sharp and commanding, was now low and husky, laced with a tenderness that only you ever witnessed.

Her thumb gently stroked the back of your hand, a slow, rhythmic motion that radiated warmth and comfort. The sandalwood incense, still faintly burning in the corner, mingled with the potent blend of your mingled pheromones, the air thick with the undeniable scent of your bonded pair. Natasha's alpha musk clung to you, a fragrant declaration of ownership that permeated your very being.

The cool glass of the desk pressed against your flushed skin, a stark reminder of the intensity of your encounter. You shifted slightly, a soft sigh escaping your lips. The weight of Natasha against your back was comforting, grounding, yet the unyielding pressure of the knot was a persistent, albeit not entirely unpleasant, sensation.

"Are you alright, lubimaya?" Natasha asked, her voice laced with genuine concern. Her grip on your hand tightened slightly, a silent question.

"Just… a little sore," you managed, your voice still breathy. The memory of her relentless thrusts, the stretching sensation of her knot filling you completely, sent a fresh wave of heat through your cheeks.

"I know, solnyshko," she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the curve of your shoulder blade. "I got carried away." There was a hint of self-reproach in her tone, a rare admission from the usually unflappable CEO.

You chuckled softly, a weak, breathy sound. "A little?"

A low rumble vibrated in her chest, a sound that was both a chuckle and a possessive murmur. "You affect me, omega. Deeply."

You turned your head slightly, your plump cheek resting against the cool glass, allowing you to see her profile. Her sharp features were softened in the dim light filtering through the partially closed blinds, her sapphire eyes filled with a possessive tenderness as she gazed down at you. A stray lock of her dark hair had fallen across her forehead, and the usually severe lines around her mouth were relaxed.

"He was just being polite, Nat," you whispered, your thumb tracing the lines on her strong hand. "He was asking if you enjoyed the catering."

A shadow flickered across her eyes, a brief resurgence of the possessiveness that had driven her moments ago. "He looked at you for too long."

"He didn't mean anything by it," you reassured her gently. "He's just… friendly."

Natasha sighed, her breath warm against your neck. "Perhaps. But you are mine, moya ptichka. And the thought of anyone else… it stirs something unpleasant within me."

The silence that followed was comfortable, filled only with the sound of your mingled breathing and the distant city noises. Natasha continued to stroke your hand, her touch a soothing balm. You could feel the slow, gradual softening of her knot within you, the intense pressure beginning to ease.

Another small twitch ran through your body as the knot shifted slightly. This time, the discomfort was less pronounced. You let out a soft sigh of relief.

"Better?" Natasha murmured, her lips brushing against your hair.

"Mm-hmm," you replied, a soft hum of contentment. "Thank you, Nat."

The palpable tension in the room, thick enough to taste just moments before, began its slow retreat, much like a receding tide. Natasha's brow, which had been furrowed in fierce concentration, softened almost imperceptibly at first, the intricate knot of muscle between her sapphire eyes gradually smoothing out. The intense pressure that had radiated from her being, a tangible force in the small office, began to ebb, releasing its hold on the charged atmosphere. A collective sigh, though unspoken, seemed to hang in the air between you, a silent acknowledgment of the seismic aftershocks that still vibrated through your bodies.

The intimate stillness that followed was profound, a stark contrast to the recent tempest. It was a silence pregnant with unspoken sensations, punctuated only by the gentle rhythm of your mingled breathing, shallow and rapid, slowly returning to a more natural cadence. The distant hum of the city, a low, persistent drone that usually formed the background of your days, now seemed a world away, an irrelevant noise compared to the raw intimacy that still clung to the air, the lingering scent of arousal and shared climax.

With a slow, deliberate movement, each inch measured and sensual, Natasha began to withdraw from your slick, swollen pussy. The sensation was bittersweet, a complex tapestry of fading pleasure and a sudden, almost painful coolness. Each millimeter of her thick shaft sliding out was a poignant reminder of the intense connection you had just shared, the lingering warmth of her presence giving way to the increasing exposure to the cool air. A soft, wet sucking sound accompanied her exit, the intimate noise echoing in the otherwise silent office, a visceral testament to the depth of your union.

As her engorged length fully cleared your opening, a thick stream of your slick, creamy come pulsed out, a visible manifestation of your release. It cascaded down your inner thighs, a warm, viscous river tracing a path towards the polished obsidian floor beneath the desk. The glistening puddle expanded slowly, a spreading halo of your arousal, a visible testament to the intensity of your shared climax, a silent story written in the fluid of your pleasure.

Natasha, now standing behind you, her own breath still coming in ragged gasps, watched the slow, sensual descent of your fluids. Her sapphire eyes, still glazed with the lingering sheen of desire, followed each glistening drop with an almost predatory focus. The possessive heat in her gaze intensified, a primal hunger reawakening within her, a silent claim on the essence of your pleasure. She released your hand, the sudden absence of her firm grip sending a shiver through your still-sensitized skin, a subtle pang of loss in the wake of such intense connection.

You felt a familiar stirring within you, a primal instinct that recognized the shift in the atmosphere, the subtle change in Natasha’s breathing and the intensity of her gaze. A warmth bloomed low in your belly, a nascent anticipation of the intimacy that often followed their most passionate encounters. You instinctively understood her unspoken desire, the possessive need that still lingered within her. A soft flush crept up your neck, and a renewed wave of heat pooled between your thighs.

With a slow, deliberate movement, a silent invitation, you shifted your weight slightly on the cool glass of the desk. You consciously relaxed the muscles in your legs, allowing them to fall open wider, a subtle presentation of your still-slick and vulnerable core. The action was both submissive and deeply intimate, a nonverbal offering of yourself, a clear indication that you were receptive to her unspoken desires. The increased exposure heightened the sensitivity of your swollen flesh to the cool air, sending a shiver of anticipation through you.

Giving in to an undeniable urge, a deep, visceral pull that seemed to emanate from the very core of her being, Natasha sank to her knees behind you. The cool, hard surface of the floor pressed against her impeccably dressed legs, a stark and unexpected contrast to the feverish heat that still radiated from your flushed skin. Her gaze remained fixed on the glistening trail of your arousal that coated your delicate folds, a roadmap of your shared ecstasy. With a low, guttural moan that rumbled deep in her chest, a sound both possessive and reverent, she extended her tongue, her intent clear in the deliberate pace of her movement. You anticipated the first hot, wet stroke, a familiar thrill coursing through you as her tongue traced a slow, deliberate path up the length of your swollen slit. Her hot, wet tongue lapped at the slickness, cleaning away the evidence of your shared pleasure with a possessive fervor, each stroke a silent act of claiming.

You gasped, a sharp intake of breath that hitched in your throat as her tongue made contact with your most sensitive flesh. A fresh wave of heat flooded your core, an unexpected and intense surge of sensation that belied the recent climax. The unexpected intimacy of her ministrations sent shivers down your spine, each vertebra tingling with renewed awareness. The rough texture of her tongue against your engorged clit sent a jolt of renewed sensation through you, a spark reigniting the embers of your desire. Your hips lifted involuntarily off the cool glass of the desk, a silent offering, a primal response to the exquisite torment. You spread your legs even further, granting her unimpeded access, presenting yourself fully to her ministrations, your plump inner thighs trembling with anticipation.

Natasha’s moans intensified, echoing in the sudden stillness as she tasted the sweet, musky flavor of your omega come. It was a taste she savored, a tangible link to your pleasure. She pressed her lips firmly against your swollen lips, sucking gently, her mouth a warm, insistent pressure, savoring the taste of you, the lingering essence of your climax. Her hands, now freed from their earlier restraint, splayed across the curve of your plump ass, her long fingers molding to your flesh, her thumbs pressing into the soft, yielding tissue, tilting your hips further, offering her even greater access to your vulnerable core. You could feel the warmth of her breath against your slick folds, the anticipation building with each passing moment.

With a deep, possessive growl that vibrated against your skin, she parted your slick folds wider, her fingers gently coaxing them open, and plunged her tongue deep inside your still-pulsing pussy. You cried out, a long, keening moan of pure sensation that seemed to tear from the depths of your being, as she lapped and sucked with a relentless intensity. Her skilled tongue danced against your inner walls, a practiced and knowing exploration, finding every sensitive nerve ending, igniting a fresh wave of involuntary contractions deep within you. The sensation was exquisite, bordering on overwhelming, and you instinctively pressed down against her seeking mouth, wanting to deepen the connection, to immerse yourself fully in the pleasure she was so expertly delivering.

Your body began to tremble uncontrollably, the pleasure building with an almost unbearable intensity, each stroke of her tongue a deliberate escalation. You arched your back, pressing your slick heat against her eager mouth, your fingers clenching the cool glass of the desk, your knuckles white against the smooth surface. The rhythmic lapping and sucking continued, a relentless assault on your senses, driving you closer and closer to the precipice, the edge of another overwhelming release. Your breath came in short, sharp gasps, each exhale a desperate plea for the inevitable climax that was rapidly approaching. You could feel the frantic pulsing deep within you, the unmistakable signs that your body was once again teetering on the brink.

And then, it happened. A powerful wave of pleasure washed over you, even more intense, more all-consuming than your earlier climax. It was a tidal wave of sensation that threatened to shatter you. Your inner muscles clenched violently, squeezing Natasha’s tongue with a desperate intensity, a primal embrace. A high-pitched whimper escaped your lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated sensation, as your slick come began to pulse out again, this time in a torrent, a veritable flood of your release, spraying across Natasha’s face, her dark hair now slick with your essence, glistening in the dim light of the office. The force of your orgasm made your body buck against the cool glass of the desk, your hips rising and falling with the uncontrollable spasms.

Natasha didn’t flinch. Instead, she moaned louder, a deep, guttural sound of triumph and satisfaction, her tongue continuing its relentless assault even as your orgasm wracked your body. She savored the taste of you, the feel of your contractions against her mouth a potent affirmation of your bond, a physical manifestation of your shared ecstasy. Your legs trembled uncontrollably, shaking with the force of your release, your body completely surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure that consumed you. You felt utterly exposed, completely vulnerable, yet safe and cherished in the intensity of her ministrations.

Finally, the intense waves of your climax began to subside, leaving you weak and panting, your body limp and sated. Natasha slowly withdrew her tongue, her face glistening with your come, a sheen of your pleasure adorning her skin. She looked up at you, her sapphire eyes dark with lingering desire and a deep satisfaction.

Natasha’s gaze, the intensity of her possessiveness now softened by a profound tenderness uniquely reserved for you, lingered on your flushed face. Her strong fingers, moments ago tracing the contours of your passion, now gently wiped the glistening trails of your release from your cheeks. A reverent pause, and then her hand, still damp with your essence, was brought to her lips. She savored the last vestiges of your scent and taste, a low, contented sigh escaping her lips, a sound that spoke volumes of deep satisfaction and fulfilled desire.

With a deliberate care that belied her formidable strength, she reached beneath your limp form. One arm, powerful yet gentle, slid under your shoulders, cradling your head and upper back. The other, equally sure, supported the curve of your thighs. In a seamless motion, she lifted you from the cool expanse of the glass desk, the papers and scattered files beneath forgotten remnants of your shared intensity. Your soft, pliant body molded against hers, the stark contrast of her taut muscles against your softer curves a familiar and deeply comforting sensation. You nestled instinctively against her, your head finding the familiar hollow of her neck, your breath still coming in shallow, shaky gasps, each one a testament to the powerful climax that had just wracked your body.

The sudden movement, though gentle, sent a lingering throb of pleasure through your still-sensitized core, a faint echo of the exquisite sensations that had just consumed you. A soft whimper escaped your lips, a small, involuntary sound that betrayed the lingering waves of aftershocks.

"Shhh, moya lyubov," Natasha murmured, her voice a low rumble against your ear, a possessive caress in itself. "I have you."

She stood, your weight seemingly no burden at all, and turned away from the disheveled state of her powerful office, the scattered files and fallen paperweight silent witnesses to your shared passion. She carried you towards a discreet, unmarked door set into the far wall, a hidden portal that led to a private stairwell connecting her executive sanctuary to the upper reaches of the Romanoff Industries tower.

The ascent was slow and deliberate, each step a testament to her unwavering care. The air in the stairwell was hushed, a stark contrast to the vibrant energy of the city pulsing far below. The only sounds were the soft thud of her polished shoes on the plush carpeted stairs and your quiet, uneven breathing, punctuated by the occasional soft sigh. You clung to her, burying your face deeper into the familiar scent of sandalwood and her potent alpha musk, a comforting anchor in the aftermath of such intense sensation, a scent that spoke of power and unwavering protection.

As you reached the top of the stairs, the door opened silently, revealing a completely different world. Gone was the stark, powerful aesthetic of the CEO's office, replaced by the sleek, minimalist elegance of a modern penthouse suite. The color palette was a sophisticated dance of blacks, whites, and cool grays, accented by subtle textures and strategically placed lighting that cast long, dramatic shadows, creating an atmosphere of serene luxury. Expansive windows offered an even more breathtaking panorama of the glittering cityscape, now fully embraced by the inky blackness of night, a silent testament to her dominion.

Natasha carried you through a spacious living area, the silence broken only by the soft padding of her footsteps on the polished concrete floors. The furniture was low-slung and modern, arranged with an understated luxury that spoke of refined taste. A state-of-the-art entertainment system was seamlessly integrated into the wall, a silent promise of future shared moments, and abstract art pieces adorned the stark white surfaces, adding a touch of enigmatic beauty.

She continued through to the bathroom, a sanctuary dominated by a large, walk-in shower enclosed in frameless glass, a transparent invitation to cleanse and soothe. The fixtures were a study in brushed metal, cool and elegant, and the air was filled with the clean, refreshing scent of eucalyptus, promising a sensory awakening. Without a word, her gaze never leaving your face, she gently lowered you to your feet beside the shower. Her strong hands, now tender and deliberate, began to unfasten the delicate buttons of your dress, her touch lingering on the sensitive skin beneath. The fabric whispered as it slid from your shoulders, pooling at your feet, a discarded reminder of the intensity of your encounter. Her eyes followed the curve of your neck, the delicate swell of your breasts, the gentle slope of your stomach, each movement a silent caress.

Then, with a fluid grace, she turned her attention to her own attire. The crisp lines of her power suit gave way with swift, practiced movements. The jacket was discarded onto a nearby sleek chair, followed by her tailored blouse. Her strong, sculpted arms were revealed, the muscles flexing subtly as she unclasped her belt and let her trousers fall silently to the polished floor. Soon, she stood before you, as unburdened as you were, her gaze unwavering, filled with a deep, possessive love.

Carefully, deliberately, she stepped into the spacious enclosure, still holding your gaze, and then gently drew you in with her. The warm spray of the rain shower enveloped you both, a soothing cascade washing away the lingering traces of your shared passion. The water streamed down your flushed skin, carrying away the slick remnants of your intimacy, mingling with the droplets that clung to Natasha’s powerful frame. She held you close, her strong arms a comforting embrace, the warmth of the water a balm to your still-sensitized body. Her hands moved through your hair, gently massaging your scalp, her touch soothing and tender, a silent promise of continued care. You leaned into her embrace, the warmth of the water and her nearness a profound comfort, a sense of being utterly safe and cherished.

After a long, silent shower, the rhythmic drumming of the water a lullaby, she reached for the soft, luxurious towels hanging on a heated rack. With deliberate care, she toweled you both dry, her touch lingering on your skin, a silent caress that spoke volumes of unspoken affection. Then, still holding you close, the dampness of your bodies seeping into the plush fabric, she moved into the bedroom.

The room was a study in understated elegance, a sanctuary designed for tranquility. A massive king-sized bed dominated the space, dressed in luxurious black linens that whispered of sensual nights. The lighting was soft and diffused, emanating from strategically placed lamps, casting a warm, tranquil glow that enveloped the room. And nestled in a cozy corner, bathed in the gentle light, was your nest.

It was a haven of the softest materials, a carefully constructed sanctuary of comfort and security. Plush, oversized throw blankets in shades of cream and pale gray were artfully arranged, creating a deep, enveloping space. An abundance of soft, down-filled pillows, molded by your form and imbued with your comforting scent, beckoned. But more than anything, the nest held the lingering aroma of Natasha. Her favorite cashmere scarf, the one she often wore on cool evenings, lay nestled amongst the blankets, its familiar sandalwood and alpha musk scent a constant reassurance. A well-worn, incredibly soft leather journal she sometimes wrote in, its pages filled with her elegant script, rested against a pile of silken pillows. And a small, smooth piece of sea glass, a cool, tactile reminder of a rare shared moment of peace by the ocean, lay nestled within the folds of a particularly soft blanket, imbued with her subtle scent from where she had often held it. The air around the nest was thick with the comforting blend of your omega pheromones and the dominant, reassuring scent of your alpha, a fragrant tapestry of your bond.

Natasha carried you directly to your nest, her movements gentle and reverent, as if placing a precious treasure in its rightful place. She carefully laid you down amongst the soft blankets and pillows, ensuring you were comfortable and fully supported. You sighed contentedly, the familiar textures and scents enveloping you in a profound sense of security and belonging. You instinctively burrowed deeper, the softness a soothing balm to your senses.

She knelt beside the nest, her sapphire eyes filled with a fierce protectiveness and an immeasurable tenderness as she gazed down at you. She gently brushed a stray strand of damp hair from your forehead, her touch feather-light, a silent promise of unwavering devotion. Then, with a soft sigh, she carefully settled into the nest beside you, her large frame fitting surprisingly well within its comforting confines. She gathered you close, pulling you against her warm body, her arms a secure and loving embrace.

"Sleep now, moya ptichka," she murmured, her voice thick with affection, a low rumble that vibrated through your very being.

[pyrrhiccomedy]

I am genuinely so proud of my wife for becoming a crafts person over the last few years.

Like, I was always a crafts person. I was an arts and crafts kid. My parents sent me to classes or summer camps or after-school clubs pretty much continuously from when I was about 5 years old, and over the years I did metalsmithing, stained glass, polymer clay sculpting, loom weaving, oil painting, charcoal drawing, clothes-making & tailoring, carpentry, woodcarving, macrame, miniatures, beading, jewelry-making, basket weaving, leatherworking, paper-making, bookbinding, papier mache, decoupage, sand sculpting, and probably more that I'm forgetting. There was never a day in my life while I was growing up when my entire bedroom floor wasn't taken up by 2-5 different ongoing art projects. As an adult, it's given me the firm confidence that I can walk up to pretty much any crafting skill, and get the hang of it, and enjoy doing it.

My wife never had that. She wrote, but that was really her only artistic outlet. Art & craftsmanship were just not any of her business. She always expressed admiration for my gumption when it came to making things with my hands, usually with a "bigger idiots than me have done it" attitude, but she was certain she'd be bad at it if she tried it, and that she wouldn't have fun. As evidence, she would offer every time in her life when she had attempted to learn a craft, and didn't have fun, and all the Arts And Crafts kids picked it up a lot faster than her.

Which like - yeah! Learning how to do a new craft is a skill all on its own! Fine motor control is a skill developed over time! So is spatial reasoning, and materials intuition! She wasn't just 'trying to learn wreath-making,' or whatever, she was trying to learn how to learn how to make something with her hands AND wreath-making, at the same time, so of course it would take her longer than the kids who already had the first part, and of course it would be more frustrating for her. I knew she wasn't uniquely bad at crafts: she just didn't know how to approach picking them up, because she was never encouraged to learn.

And then the pandemic hit.

And while we were all trapped inside and going insane in new and exciting ways to all of us, she tentatively decided to pick up embroidery. She probably wouldn't stick with it, she explained: she'd probably be bad at it. It probably wouldn't be fun. But she thought embroidery was pretty, and literally what else did she have going on?

And then she did stick with it. For over a year. And she got pretty good at it! She embellished a baseball hat for her sister with cactuses and wildflowers from where they grew up which came out adorable. She made an embroidered portrait of one of our friends' cat that they still have displayed in their entryway. And she discovered - and remarked on it often, with mild surprise - that she was having fun. She'd say a lot of stuff like "this stitch was so frustrating at first, but now that I get it I really like doing it," or "I kept getting this tangled but I've figured it out now. I just needed to relax."

Then she took up pottery. We did that as a couple for about a year, too. Now she's a knitter.

And it's just been so great, to see her eyes light up when she sees a sweater she likes, and hear her say, "I could make that!" She's slowly let go of the perfectionism that I think holds a lot of people back from doing crafts: that dismay when you make a mistake which leads to discarding a whole project, or starting something over. More and more she's taking on the veteran crafter attitude of "oops lol, whatever I'll just keep going." She's picking things up faster. She's taking pleasure in learning incremental steps. She's started to see crafting as something that relaxes and engages her, instead of as something inherently frustrating. I've gotten to watch her learn to find joy in making something with her hands. I always knew she was creative and artistic and capable of learning how to do anything. It's been so much fun to watch her start to take that on as part of how she sees herself.

We have this running joke about how she will prematurely declare herself to be in an era. Like, she'll go swimming twice and announce that she's now in her "swimming era," and then never go swimming again. Or she'll make one smoothie, buy a bunch of fruit, and declare that we are now in a "smoothie era," and then a week later we have to throw out a bunch of fruit that's gone bad.

The other day (while she was knitting, and I was sitting on the couch next to her doing crochet), she went, "I feel like I've gotten - like, I'm a bit crafty these days, I think. Like, I've done a couple of different crafts, and gotten pretty good at them. I think this is now, kind of, you know...something that I can say that I do."

I supplied that I would even go so far as to say that she was in her "crafting era."

Her eyes widened. "It's an era?"

I pointed out that it was something she'd been doing pretty much continuously for the last three and a half years. That feels like the start of an era to me.

"Yes," she decided. "It's an era. This is my crafts era. I'm a crafts person now."

She's planning to make me a sweater with a duck on it for fall.

[aventurineswife]

Hello, I just had the cutest idea, for Jing Yuan, Blade, Sunday, and Jiaoqiu, what if the reader dressed up their toddler in a mini version of their father's outfit, ngl lie I think that would be so cute.

Little Reflections

Tags: Jing Yuan x Reader, Blade x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Jiaoqiu x Reader, Fluff, Family Bonding, Domestic Moments, Miniature Costumes, Parental Love, Tender Interactions, Slice of Life.

Jing Yuan lounged on a garden bench in the Luofu’s arboretum, a cup of tea balanced delicately in his hand. The peaceful atmosphere seemed to mirror his unhurried demeanor. Despite his reputation as the "Dozing General," his eyes missed nothing—especially not the sound of small, uneven footsteps heading his way.

He turned his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. You approached, holding the hand of your toddler, who waddled toward him with as much dignity as a two-year-old could muster. Jing Yuan's sharp gaze softened when he noticed what the child was wearing: a perfectly tailored miniature version of his own uniform.

The tiny cape draped over your child’s shoulders fluttered with each step, and the golden accents on their blouse glimmered in the sunlight. Even the nian-inspired armor on their right arm had been lovingly recreated, though made of light fabric instead of metal.

“Look who’s decided to join the Cloud Knights,” Jing Yuan teased, setting down his cup. He crouched and opened his arms as the toddler tottered into his embrace.

“Say hello to General Jing Yuan,” you teased back, watching as the child babbled nonsensical sounds, clearly more interested in tugging at Jing Yuan's ponytail ribbon than any formality.

Jing Yuan chuckled, adjusting the red ribbon so it wouldn’t be pulled loose. “I must say, this little knight already looks the part. Who made this for them?”

“I had some help from the tailors,” you admitted. “But the design is all mine. Do you like it?”

Jing Yuan stood, cradling the toddler in one arm while placing a hand on your shoulder with the other. “Like it? I love it. Though I think they might upstage me at the next council meeting.”

You laughed. “Well, maybe they’ll share the workload, too.”

Jing Yuan smirked, looking down at the child now trying to gnaw on the tassel hanging from their hip. “Perhaps. But for now, I’ll enjoy having both of my little stars by my side.”

Blade was rarely one to let emotions show, but when he stepped into your living quarters and saw your toddler standing proudly in the middle of the room, even he paused.

The child was dressed in a miniature version of Blade’s attire, complete with a tiny replica of his tailcoat. The red inner lining peeked out with every wobbling step they took toward him, and the dark blue embroidery shimmered faintly in the dim light. They even had a bandaged arm and a toy sword strapped to their waist.

“Is this your idea?” Blade asked, his voice soft but laced with curiosity.

You smiled from where you sat nearby, a sewing kit still on the table. “Do you like it? They wanted to look like their papa.”

The child reached Blade and tugged at his coat, their bright red eyes looking up at him expectantly. Blade knelt, his usually piercing gaze softening as he reached out to brush a hand over the child’s head.

“You’ve done well,” he murmured, though it was unclear whether he was speaking to you or the toddler.

The child giggled, gripping the toy sword and thrusting it forward with all their might. “Fight bad guys!” they announced, their high-pitched voice echoing in the room.

Blade chuckled—a rare, genuine sound that you hadn’t heard in a long time. “You’ll need a lot more training for that.”

You approached, resting a hand on Blade’s shoulder. “I thought it might make you smile. Do you like it?”

He stood, the child now perched on his arm, their small hands gripping his coat. “I do,” he admitted quietly. “It’s...perfect.”

Sunday was deep in thought when you entered his study, guiding your toddler into the room. His sharp eyes shifted from his documents to the sight before him, and he froze.

The child wore a small version of his regal Halovian outfit, complete with a tiny halo hovering above their head—a clever accessory you’d crafted using lightweight materials. The gold cross-shaped cutouts on their gloves and the navy wing-like vest were lovingly recreated, and the soft gray blazer hung slightly oversized on their small frame.

“Is this...my little successor?” Sunday’s voice was tinged with amusement, though his piercing gaze softened as he took in the sight.

You grinned. “They wanted to dress like their papa. What do you think?”

The toddler toddled toward him, their hands reaching out to grab at the papers on his desk. Sunday leaned down and scooped them up, careful not to disturb the halo balancing atop their head.

“I think they’re a vision of perfection,” he said, his tone warm. “Though I might need to keep them away from my work.”

The child giggled, their small hands patting Sunday’s face. “Papa!” they exclaimed, clearly delighted to have his attention.

Sunday chuckled, pressing a kiss to their forehead. “Perhaps this is a sign,” he mused, looking at you. “A reminder to step away from work every now and then.”

You smiled. “I thought it might bring some joy to your day.”

“It has,” he said, cradling the child in one arm. “Though I think our little angel might outshine me in this outfit.”

Jiaoqiu sat quietly on the veranda, his feather fan resting on his lap. Despite his blindness, his ears perked up at the sound of light footsteps approaching, accompanied by your soft laughter.

“Who’s there?” he asked gently, his closed eyes tilting toward the noise.

“It’s us,” you replied, guiding your toddler closer. “And we brought a surprise.”

The child toddled forward, their tiny hands gripping the edge of Jiaoqiu’s robes. They were dressed in a miniature version of his healer’s attire, complete with a feather fan of their own. The soft salmon-colored fabric matched Jiaoqiu’s hair perfectly, and their fluffy fox ears twitched with excitement.

Jiaoqiu’s lips curved into a smile as he reached out, his fingers brushing over the child’s outfit. “What’s this?” he murmured.

“They wanted to be like you,” you explained, kneeling beside him. “Do you like it?”

The child climbed onto Jiaoqiu’s lap, giggling as they waved their tiny fan. Jiaoqiu let out a soft laugh, his hands resting gently on the child’s shoulders.

“It’s perfect,” he said, his voice warm. “Though I think they’ll make a better healer than I ever could.”

You leaned against his shoulder, watching as he playfully ruffled the child’s hair. “I just thought it might make you smile.”

Jiaoqiu turned his face toward you, his gentle expression full of gratitude. “It did,” he said quietly. “Thank you—for reminding me that even in the darkness, there is light.”

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to Portraits

If you have ever seen an image of royalty or nobility, it is likely in a portrait they sat for. Be it paint or photograph, these aren't just images. These are statements, these are slogans, these are reminders of one's power, one's good traits and one's wealth. So, what do we need to know about portraits?

Why are Portraits done?

Portraits are painted for all sorts of reasons but mainly it is to convey a message. Whether it is to introduce to the masses to the face that leads them or to attract a future spouse or to prove to the haters that you're just as wealthy, just as pretty, cute and just as smart as Caesar, these images are made to relay something to anybody who sees it. Of course, paintings and photographs can take ages and can be very expensive, so no royal/noble is going to drop a lot of pics of themselves. Most monarchs would release a portrait sometime after their coronation as an introduction of sorts. Some prospective brides and grooms would sit for a portrait that would bring in marriage offers. Portraits might also be painted or taken as mementos: lovers might carry miniatures of their beloved, a loyal servant might be given a portrait of their monarch, a portrait might be sent aboard to an ally as a sign of favour.

Meaning

These were the propaganda posters of the time. But slapping slogans into pictures and portraits is a little on the nose so symbolism was often used to highlight certain messages. Take the infamous Rainbow Portrait of Elizabeth I above. Not only is Elizabeth standing there in her finest drip but every inch of this portrait is a message. The snake on her sleeve, a symbol of her wisdom. The eyes on her dress, she sees all. The ears on her dress, she hears everything. Her uncovered red hair, a mark of her Tudor lineage. Her pearls, she's the Virgin Queen. That pole thingy in her hand, well it used to be a rainbow which symbolised peace and prosperity. Portraits are often choked full of the finest jewels, finest clothes but these items are often paired with symbols. Animals are often used, dogs for loyalty, horses for power etc. Stances are important. You know that one portrait of Henry VIII? That big stance with the hands on his hips, massive codpiece? All that has meaning. Colours are important, as are the placement of people in the portrait if it is a family portrait. Images could reach the illiterate which is why there are so many visual easter eggs in many portraits.

Logistics

Like I said above, these are expensive and costly - even if it is only a photograph. The sitter will have to spend hours at least getting ready, sitting for the portrait, often for multiple sessions. It can be tiring, stressful and irritating, especially if the artist is a bit of a diva or has a habit of taking ages. Large scale portraits will take longer, especially if there are a lot of sitters. These portraits, painted ones, could be done in part with the artist taking sketches of each member and then adding them in. Dead relatives could be added in or deities or mythical creatures too, if you're delulu like Henry VIII. You're looking at weeks at least of waiting, longer if the portrait is being sent from one nation to the other.

Official vs Official-ish

Most portraits you've probably seen are official, approved by the sitter to pass on a certain ideal image they want to convey. For monarchs, it's usually a portrait of them sitting on a throne or in their crown and robes. However, in more modern times, it's become more acceptable for a royal to show themselves as more human - but these images are in themselves tailored. Nobody wants to be caught on candid camera and royals especially so. Modern royals often set up photocalls - especially if they're doing something they want attention for - or release their own photographs, which are like the portraits of their ancestors are edited to fit a certain profile - happy families for example. Even an unofficial image is an official image.

Truth is in the eye of the Beholder?

As you might of guessed, portraits are lies. They are Fairytales concocted to influence, to beguile, to lure. These people aren't wearing these clothes on a day to day business. Their hair isn't that perfect, they don't wear those jewels, they certainly don't go around with tiaras from dawn to dusk. The sitters probably woke up with bad breath or just yelled at their servants or aren't as tall or good looking but these portraits aren't there for reality. When one is looking at a portrait, one must remember that.

Pride of Place?

Where might you see portraits, you're asking? At palaces, yes. But you might see them at the houses of the noble and wealthy. Portraits were often gifted to loyal servants of the Crown, a sort of "thank you for being cool" sort of gift thst you have to have on display because of the honour attached. But with so many ancestors, there may be a lot of portraits so often they might be put into storage and taken out when desired. A new war minded monarch might pick out ancestors who were warriors. A weak monarch might surround themselves with images of powerful relatives. Shameful relatives will often see their portrait stashed away.

For the @the13thhourglass

[tadpolesonalgae]

Fire In His Blood

Lucien x reader

For Day 2 of @acotar-omegaverse-week - Turning Up The Heat: You seem a little flushed, darling... is everything alright?

a/n: avert your eyes

warnings: smut obviously, knotting, pussy-eating, overstim, squirting, light nipple play, spanking, praise kink, breeding kink, kinda rough sex, biting, belly bulge

word count: 3,696

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Across the room Lucien sits patronisingly silent, both eyes focused with infuriatingly faux concentration on the book clasped in his long fingers. 

Your throat rolls, a pearly bead of sweat gliding down your spine, throat rolling as you shift once more in attempts to shy from the blazing heat of the miniature furnace. If you’d also hailed from the Autumn Court you’d be singeing the carefully trimmed ends of his thick, silky hair; burning the hem off his perfectly tailored trousers that wrap themselves greedily around the mouth-watering muscles of his thighs; turning his slippers to coal. 

Perspiration gathers between your breasts, but you refuse to yield an inch. He’s used this tactic plenty of times before, and each and every one you’ve naively fallen for it; not this time. 

In the evenings when the light fades, and the air becomes cool but dry and the two of you take up your seats in the living room, windows flung wide to allow that evening breeze to sweep through the interior should the day have been too much of a struggle, he’ll do this. Slowly raise the temperature of the room, incrementally inching higher until you discard your outer layers. Then it will continue to creep higher…and higher…and higher…until there’s a dewy shine to your skin and you’re in little more than a vest and underwear. Then one thing will lead to another. 

“Your clothes are already off.” He would reason with a self-satisfied smirk, a broad palm gliding up to pause between your shoulder blades, the pads of his fingers splayed across your skin. “Might as well help you sweat out the fever.” 

Of course, it was never a fever. Nor an oddly warm night. Always Lucien Vanserra, inching up those degrees. 

On this cooler night, however, there’s a fire lit in the spacious living room, burning and crackling and sparking. A log splits, popping cavernously and you flare your skirts under the guise of rearrangement. The temporary rush of air that sweeps up your legs is welcome, but the following stagnancy is hellish. With a subtle glance to the windows, you ache for them to be open, for the curtains to be swaying in a nighttime breeze bringing in a moon-kissed wind that would soothe the burning heat of your skin, but as it is the curtains are drawn shut, trapping you within the sweltering furnace of a room. 

Breathing becomes difficult, the dry air itching at your parched throat, tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth and lips sticking shut. 

When a bead of sweat rolls down your temple, your jaw grinds, pushing abruptly from the armchair to stride over to your mate. Arms fold beneath your breasts, glaring down at the cocky alpha you’d somehow thought would be a good idea to spend the rest of your life with. 

“Lucien.” His name is a sharp hiss of vehemence from your lungs, his eyes snapping from his book at the furious tone. “Cut it out.” You grit the words through a clenched jaw, nostrils flared with indignation.  

His brow raises in denial, lips parting to produce a no-doubt snarky reply, when he pauses. His pupils dilate, chest expanding on a slow and deep inhale. A few seconds pass with you stood before him, arms crossed tightly as you glare down at your alpha while he stares silently upward. Then his book closes. He doesn’t take his eyes from you as he lays it across the chair’s arm, and the heavy novel slides from the fabric, thumping to the wooden floor. 

Lucien’s attention remains on you, making the heat increase tenfold, blood scalding as it gushes through your body. 

“I said cut it out,” you pant, fury singeing at the edges, steadily disintegrating to ash as you have to drag your sleeve below your jaw, drying the dampened skin. 

Lucien’s throat rolls, irises almost entirely swallowed by the black of his pupils. “Lovely…” he tries, but you cut him off with a low hiss that boarders on a snarl. “Right now, or I’m—” 

Hot palms caress your hips before long, deft fingers curl around the sweep of bone and your pulse fumbles, spiking higher than you thought possible. Breath catches and sweat slowly slips down your inner thigh, trickling over the scalding skin—so hot you’re surprised it’s not evaporating. 

Lucien swallows again, hot mouth parting on a short breath, a fang glinting shy from beneath his lip. “That’s not…” He’s breathing heavily now, nostrils flaring delicately and his grip closes around your ribcage, fingers splaying up your back while his thumbs graze beneath the swell of your breasts. Your inhales match his, growing laboured as he stands from his seat, slowly rising higher until your head tips back, forced to crane your neck from the proximity. 

Another droplet of sweat slides down your inner thigh, meandering down until it drips over the roundness of the interior of your knee. “Turn down the heat,” you demand breathlessly, “it’s too hot.” 

“That’s not me,” he murmurs, tongue flicking over his lips, eyes refusing to remove themselves from your face. “Lu, there’s currently sweat dripping down my thighs, don’t you dare…” You trail off in a moan when hunger darkens his eyes, pulling you tight to his body and sliding those long fingers between the roundness of your ass, pushing between your legs to graze your clothed sex. “I don’t think that’s sweat, princess.” 

He spins you around faster than you can blink, pushing you down into the deep cushioning of his armchair, spreading your thighs so they hook over the arms, skirts shoved up to your hips. Firelight shudders over the burning orange room, walls alight with the heat of flame and arousal liquefies in your lower belly, hundreds of tiny butterflies fluttering wildly in your abdomen, between your legs, so much intensity your thighs begin to shake. “What-…?”

It seems Lucien’s figured it out before you, knees hitting the hardwood floor with a painful thud, fingers wrapping around and squeezing the flesh of your thighs as he pushes them closer to your chest. A shiver breaks down your spine as his fangs graze the interior of your knee, tongue dragging hotly against your skin, flicking up over that heavy droplet of— 

The growl he releases has you sinking further into arousal, leaning deeper into the instincts that are swiftly surfacing. You push your legs wider, leveraging yourself upon the arms of the chair to incline your hips, offering and begging for him to do something. 

A russet and a golden eye both flick upward and you swear you can feel them over your pussy, skating up over your breasts, nipping and tugging at your lips. Heat, they say, You’re in heat. 

You think you shake your head but you can’t be sure, not with the haze that’s descended down on your mind like a wave of fog cresting the mountains and falling to fill the valleys. 

“Lucien,” you breathe. “Lucien…” 

His nostrils fare, scenting the arousal that’s practically rolling off your body, almost vibrating with need, slick dripping from your sopping pussy. Soaking all the way through your underwear. Dampening the fabric of the cushions beneath you. 

A moan spills from your lips, hips rolling upward desperately as he tears the underwear from your body, fangs having pierced the delicate fabric, ripping them clean from your sensitive skin. His eyes are glued to your cunt, glistening in the firelight, and pulses of pleasure flutter up through your abdomen as he drags his tongue through your centre. A thick thread of slick is attached to his chin from a single lick, and he dives back almost instantly, tongue, teeth, and mouth centring at your entrance, his nose pushing against your clit and your thighs fall apart for him.

The sound of slurping bounces off the walls, his tongue practically burning as he licks you clean, swiping against the innermost parts of your thighs, trailing around the the curve of your cunt, lapping from where your ass meets the cushion to the tip of your clit. You want more. You need more. You open your thighs wider, as wide as they can go, hips bucking and rolling, rubbing against his face. Fingers lazily, weakly, thread through the length of his silky hair, feeling as it slips between your digits, perfect to grab onto—like luxury reigns. 

Your hands bunch into fists, knuckles turning white from the grip you have on him. Powerful arms band around your thighs, muscles stretching from how far you’re being pushed apart, aching from the pleasurable strain but it feels so good. The babbling moans that are falling from your throat are probably more than enough to tell him that, though. 

The orgasm rises smoothly, swiftly, dragging you under like a stray riptide as a wave passes overhead, dragged down, down, down, as breath is locked in your lungs, drowned as the pleasure pulses through your thighs, cunt fluttering as your clit aches. 

It’s not enough. 

It’s not enough. 

“Lucien.” Hands tug on his hair but his face is still buried between your thighs, tongue and teeth working hungrily, dragging up through your centre, licking up and tasting your orgasm. “Lucien. Lu. More. Please.” Your breathing is far from even, laboured and huffing from your lips, fabric rustling as laces fly free from loops, ruffles strewn from your waist and arms, flung to the floor as you surge forward to meet the firm body of your alpha. 

His palms wrap themselves in a cage around your ribs, moans and groans spilling hotly as your lips meet, arousal gleaming thickly over his mouth as his tongue dips inside. Fuck, you can feel him against your stomach, the hard outline of his cock digging into your abdomen, and he can’t have all those clothes on. Feral fingers claw at buttons, sending them flying as linen is ripped away from hot, bare skin, your tongue instantly dragging up his sternum, teeth biting hungrily at his collar bone like you might be able to feast on him. 

“Love,” he pants, hands squeezing and exploring, tracing and retracing each line of muscle, every swell of your body as if he’s blind. “Love.” It comes out as a snarl, fresh arousal bursting through your body, every spec of skin aching with acute awareness, searching for the feeling of his rough hands to satiate the keen yearning that’s itching below your flesh. 

His hand fists in your hair, tugging you back, forcing you to stare into his molten gaze, starving hunger simmering so blatantly a whimper escapes your throat. His fangs glint in the flame light, then he’s hauling you back with him, shoving you down to the floor, the impact hardly registering as he fits himself between your legs, and you can feel him. Oh gods you can feel him. 

“Lucien,” you cry, on the verge of melting into nothing. “Inside…I need you…inside, now.” 

Thigh are pushed upwards, knees to your chest, sweat trickling down the nape of your neck, dripping onto the rug below. Your eyes lock as he slides in to the hilt, the entrance swift and effortless. Wet slurping noises sound between you as your arms and legs lock around him, panting and crying as you feel him deep inside, powerful muscle hot and firm against your soft and supple form. 

Lucien groans, muscles flexing in his arms as he pulls back to look at you. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he growls, jaw straining as molten iron simmers in his one russet eye. He leans closer, lips searing your own. “Perfect little omega cunt.” 

Your eyes flutter, grinding sloppily against one another, hips rolling and bucking lazily, not yet focused enough to organise your movements. His cock rubs against your walls, pushing a bulge into your stomach and your toes curl. “Lucien…I— I need—”

“I know what you need,” he growls, palms splaying across the carpet as he pushes himself up, firelight kissing sun-warmed skin. “And—fuck—I’m right here.” 

A loud moan is shoved from your chest as he pulls back and slams in, pleasure knocking the breath from your lungs, and you don’t think you’ll be able to live through this if he doesn’t let you take his knot. 

You need his knot. 

Need to feel it swelling inside of you, locking you so firmly in place as he releases into you, making sure you can’t pull off him when he unloads inside of your sweet, dripping pussy. Not until you’re dripping his cum down your thighs from being stuffed full, so full— 

Lucien hits a spot than has your nails scraping and scratching his back, clawing hungrily as your arms shake, needing to feel him inside of you, spilling into your cunt, filling you up until you can’t move without some of him dripping out. Lucien curses under his breath, hips stuttering as he feels you tighten around him, sucking him deeper into your wet heat. “Such a perfect cunt,” he groans, hips rolling roughly to your own, bucking sharply as instinct demands he give and give and give. “So fucking pretty. So fucking prefect of you.” 

Your eyes flutter, and you’re coming, squeezing his cock tight, hips bucking as your clit grazes his abdomen, thunder and lightening storming in your veins, fuelling the fire that’s burning between the two of you. 

Lucien releases a deep-throated groan, bordering on a growl as he feels you fluttering around him. His brows furrow, eyes shutting as he pants, basking in the aftershocks of your cunt. “Feels so good,” he mutters, hot breath fanning across your throat, fangs scratching faintly, promising more. “Gods, I could stay in you forever.” 

“More,” you urge, thighs squeezing him, hips already bucking against his despite having just orgasmed. “Lu, please. Need your knot. Need it inside of me.” 

“If that’s what you want…” 

You whimper with pleasure as he rolls onto his back, bringing you with him so you’re straddling his hips. Tears slip from your lashes as gravity pulls you down on his cock, his tip pressing against that spot that… 

Your palms splay across his chest, his hands gripping your hips tight, cock nestled deep inside your dripping cunt. “Lu…” you start, but his grip tightens on you, lifting you sharply from his hips only to slam you down, bucking up to meet you. Your spine arches with the surge of pleasure, teetering along the line of overstimulation…but that’s exactly what you need. To be shaking, trembling, sobbing. Need to hardly know up from down, and still have him pounding your pussy, filling you up. 

His hips buck, and your nails push against his skin. “There…!” You pant breathlessly, “right there…!” Lucien angles your hips, keeping you from moving away. “Here?” 

“Yes…yes, yes, yes!” 

Your breathing falters as you feel a swell at the base of his cock, noting how his chest is lined with tension…you begin bouncing, vibrating with pleasure when you feel him swell, grow larger, and larger…and… You whimper, wiggling your hips faintly, nestling down on him as you feel his knot lodge inside of you perfectly. Lucien groans, and you know he’s undeniably close. Close to spurting loads of cum into your pretty pussy, his knot keeping you locked on top of him as he finishes…you can’t wait for it. 

“Lu…” you whine softly, bringing your body to a still, fingers half-wrapping around his wrists, encouraging them higher. “Touch me…please…” 

“You want more?” The laugh he releases is strained to say the least, but his russet eye is glinting with hunger. “Greedy little omega. Isn’t that right?” Your teeth find placement in your lip, nodding eagerly as a lazy smile curves your lips. “Greedy…so greedy, Lu.”  

“Want my cock and my knot, huh?” 

“So badly.” You arch into his touch as he palms your breasts, grazing the pads of his fingers over your sensitive nipples. “So, so badly.” 

“Mhmm. So if I do…” Fingers pinch at your nipples, hips rolling up to meet yours, grinding against you so his knot rubs against those sensitive inner walls. 

Lucien chuckles as your eyes roll, hands falling away from his wrists, barely holding yourself upright on his cock. “Please…” you whisper, swirling your hips, tightening around him in encouragement. Urging him to finish inside of you. “Want to take it…” 

“You think you can?” He taunts, bucking upward sharply. 

“Mhmm. I can…”

“And you’re gonna do it…?”

“Well! …so well,” you pant. “Please…!”

A smirk curves his mouth, and you hungrily slide over him, lips pushing together as you moan into the sloppy mess of a kiss. His palm connects with you ass, squeezing appreciatively, soothing the sore skin before pulling back and spanking you again. Curses are muttered over your lips, Lucien feeling how you tighten around him with every impact, his canines nipping at your lips, his own still tasting of your arousal. 

“You’re going to be a good girl and take it? All of it?” A nod, followed by a hard spank. 

“My sweet little omega? Desperate for my cock? Not going to complain or whine when it gets too much because she doesn’t know her own limits?” Another nod, another spank. 

“Gonna take everything you can? No complaints? Not gonna brat about how it’s too much when you love it being too much?” An eager whimper, followed by a firm and final spank. 

“I won’t…I’ll take it…I’ll be perfect…!” 

“Such a good girl,” he praises, russet eye twinkling with male satisfaction, pride shining in his blown-out pupils. His fingers flex around your hips, readjusting his hold. “Have it.”

Together, you lift as far as you can go and slide down, swiftly finding motion and rhythm that works—you finding what you like, and Lucien carrying your movements with his grip, following whatever direction you choose. 

Both of you curse as he reaches his peak, feeling his knot pulse inside of you, feeling all of him inside of you, releasing, spurting hot cum, unloading himself deep into your cunt. Euphoria floods your body, heart fluttering in your chest. Your head tips back, hips swirling over him, Lucien’s hands pressing you down tight to him. Cock nestled deep, cum releasing deeper. 

Power crackles through the air, magic blazing from within his chest, the very tips of his fingertips glowing with red-hot brightness, russet burning the colour of freshly forged steel as pleasure courses through his body. 

Breath is knocked from you however, when he flips you over. 

You gasp at the sensitivity, shuddering with overstimulation, sweat surely beading down your spine. Is he—? “Lucien!” 

His hands grip your hips tight, his knees between your own on the rug, your palms flat against the soft fur and tears line your eyes as he pulls himself out, knot deflated enough for him to slip away. 

And slam back in to the hilt. 

The force knocks you forward, arms giving out beneath you as he pounds your poor pussy, slick coating your thighs—his, too—as it continues dripping, spilling from where you’re joined. One hand snakes between your legs, the pad of his middle finger effortlessly locating your clit, and you squirm as he begins circling it—mean, tight circles than make your muscles lock. 

Pleas fall from your lips, begging for more, for less, to go slower, to go harder, to fill you up, to full out, to fuck your mouth, to fuck your pussy, to come on your tongue, to spill more inside of you…to fuck you into babbling, sobbing mess of pleasure, arousal, and come.

“That’s it,” he soothes, curving over your arched back, heat pressing into your spine. “You’re taking it so well. Let me keep you full, yeah?” 

You moan your desperation, nodding your head as much as you can, feeling heat boil and bubble within your core, having trouble dealing with all of his stimulation…and with another knot forming… Gods, this. This is perfect. This is what you need. Every minute of every hour of every day for the next week. Maybe more. 

Lucien pulls himself upright so the hand that was bracing him on the rug can drop to the slick interior of your knee, gripping tight as his fingers wrap a good way around the circumference of your thigh, cocking your leg. You drool into the carpet as he fucks you deeper into the pleasure, knot swelling larger, larger than before, once again locking you tight together, except this time his fingers are rubbing against your clit and you sob as you reach your peak. 

Pleasure unlatches within you, and you feel as liquid pleasure releases onto him, gushing as he hits those spots again, and again, and again. Fucking you into an oblivion of ecstasy. 

In the back of your mind you can hear the breathless praises falling from his mouth. Telling you how perfect you are, how well you’re taking his cock, how full you’re going to be by the time he’s done with you. And sure enough you can feel him spurting into you, releasing himself deep inside your cunt. 

You’re a panting, sweating mess beneath him—both of you are, really. Skin glistening before the hearth, flame flickering its heat onto the walls. You’re far too sensitive to be moving, the aftershocks still fluttering through your overstimulated cunt, and yet part of you wants Lucien to roll you back on top of him and start slamming you down again, pounding into you until you’re orgasming again, feeling his knot swell inside, keeping you together. 

Teeth prod into your lower lip, tilting your head to one side. Together sounds good. Joined; locked; tied. 

Your throat rolls as Lucien’s tongue licks up the side of your neck, a low growl rumbling in his chest where instincts are ordering him to bite, searching for the spot he likes. And when his fangs find those marks, the rightness of your unity floods you with pleasure, weakly pushing back against him so his cock remains tight inside of you. 

Gods, a week of this…fucking heaven. 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover @mrsjna

[austinbutlerslovers]

His Every Desire

Label Mature 18+

Summary As Austins new secretary, you ensure he has everything he needs as a CEO before he even thinks to ask.

🔗Masterlist

❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut❤️‍🔥 Austin Butler CEO x Secretary • his best • his favorite • hidden feelings • mild angst • kiss it better• satisfying boss• clit play •nipple play• sex w boss on his desk • P in V • orgasms • creampie •aftercare

*written asap by popular demand/multiple scenario DMs

His Every Desire

The sun streams through the towering glass windows of Austin Butler’s corner office, casting warm, golden light over the sleek marble floors and the expansive view of the city below.

From the fifty-fifth floor, everything seems miniature—the cars, the people, the constant motion of life. But inside this office, within the walls of his empire, Austin is untouchable.

He’s a force—perfection in a tailored suit. Every inch of him is calculated, pristine, an effortless command of power and presence.

You bring his oat milk latte to his desk, careful not to let your hands tremble as you set it down beside a stack of documents that need his signature.

He barely glances up at first, his sandy blonde hair falling forward in his face before he tucks it behind his ear in a way that only adds to his effortless charm.

His attention is fixed on the glowing screen before him, fingers scrolling through a flood of emails, but then, as always, his gaze finds you.

“Perfect timing,” he says, and the way his full lips curve into the kindest smile makes your stomach flutter. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His voice is smooth and deep whenever he compliments you making your thoughts slip away like silk between your fingers.

His piercing blue eyes look over you, studying you in that way he does, as if you’re something far more intriguing than a mere secretary.

“You always know what I need before I do,” he muses, adjusting his watch, a vintage Patek Philippe that gleams against his wrist.

“Have I told you how much I appreciate you yet?” He says looking at you with a knowing grin.

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks and he notices immediately—He always does.

“Thank you, Mr. Butler,” you respond, stepping back, but not before he tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing with quiet amusement.

“Austin,” he corrects, his gaze lingering a moment too long. “Call me Austin.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, but you force a nod, turning to leave before you can embarrass yourself further.

Each day is a delicate balancing act, a test of your willpower.

Your new boss is charming, intelligent, impossibly handsome—and married. That fact alone should be enough to douse the growing fire inside you.

But it doesn’t.

You dutifully pick up his dry cleaning, order his lunch, and arrange meetings that dictate the trajectory of his multi-million dollar deals.

And when he’s not commanding boardrooms, he’s asking you personal questions in the quiet moments—questions that make you blush, that peel away layers you hadn’t meant to expose.

“Do you ever see yourself doing more than this?” he asked once when his office was quiet and the city lights glittered outside the window.

You were leaning over his desk, quickly organizing a set of contracts he needed for an early morning meeting. Your fingers moving with practiced efficiency ensuring every signature line was visible, every figure highlighted just the way he liked.

Your breath caught mid-motion, and you glanced up at him, finding his blue eyes watching you with an intensity that made your stomach flip.

“More than… this?” you asked, unsure if he was talking about your job or something else entirely.

Austin’s lips curved slightly, a knowing glint flashing in his eyes. He leaned back in his chair, one hand resting on his jaw, his thumb grazing his bottom lip in a way that made it hard to focus.

“Beyond being my secretary,” he clarified, his tone deceptively casual, though there was something heavier underneath, something that sent a flutter through your chest.

You bashfully tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I like my place here.” You smiled, your heart racing a little too fast.

“With me?” He confirmed, his voice low and teasing, but there was something else in his eyes, something you couldn’t ignore.

You forced a small smile, trying not to think too much about the way he was looking at you.

“Yes,” you confirmed, glancing up at him through your lashes. “I like being with you.”

His eyes darkened just a fraction, and for a fleeting moment, you saw something different than his usual calm demeanor —something more.

He studied you, his blue eyes trailing over your face, taking in every unspoken detail, then he simply nodded, his gaze dropping to the papers in front of you.

You smiled again, refocusing on your task, but his words stuck in your mind long after you’d left his office.

And from that moment on everything began to change.

Austin swiftly filed for divorce — stunning almost everyone, and after the proceedings began he was no longer the same.

There had been signs of dissolution as you worked for him, subtle at first, but undeniable.

The tension in his jaw when he took calls that lasted too long behind the heavy doors of his office.

His wedding band, once a constant fixture on his hand, usually left sitting on the edge of his desk if even seen at all.

But when the news broke that he had officially filed, it felt sudden, like a storm that had been brewing just beyond the horizon, finally crashing down

The office felt different—he felt different. And it unnerved you in ways you couldn’t quite explain.

He could barely look at you as you worked together on his upcoming merger, and when he did, the focus in his eyes was gone, replaced by something distant and unreadable.

He was distracted, tense, and suddenly, every little thing you did felt all wrong.

The first mistake was minor—forgetting to send an updated briefing to the legal team. You caught it in time, but the way his eyes narrowed when he noticed made your stomach twist with guilt.

Then came the missed reschedule of an important client call. His voice had been sharp when he pointed out that he couldn’t afford slip-ups right now.

“You need to be on top of this,” he had said, his tone firm but distant, his eyes scanning you with something close to disappointment. “I need you to be on top of this for me.”

You had nodded quickly, swallowing past the lump in your throat, forcing an answer that felt too tight. “Of course. It won’t happen again.” you responded.

But it did. More than once.

Misplaced memos. A forgotten lunch order. Your nerves frayed more with each passing day, and the more you tried to prove yourself, the more mistakes you seemed to make.

The pressure was suffocating, and the cold way he spoke to you now—like you were just another problem he had to manage—only made it worse.

Late in the evening after being able to correct most of your mistakes for the day, you walk into his office carrying several folders for his upcoming court hearing, your hands trembling under the weight of your nerves.

When you step inside, he doesn’t even look up from his computer screen.

“Set them there,” he says directly his tone cold.

But your fingers slip, and the documents spill onto the floor, pages scattering everywhere,the fluttering sound almost suffocating.

“Fuck,” Austin curses, the frustration in his voice sharp and unforgiving as he stands abruptly to assess the damage. “Do you even know what you’re doing anymore?” He snaps.

His words hit like a slap, and you bite your lip willing the tears back. Your hands fumble as you cower to gather the papers, but Austin is already there, crouching down beside you, and suddenly the anger in his eyes is replaced by something softer.

His hand brushes yours, and you freeze.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, his voice a stark contrast to the harshness from moments before. “You don’t deserve this.”

You slowly nod, unable to even look at him, your eyes fixed on the mess still scattered between you, the tears making it all blur. But Austin’s fingers lightly grip your wrist, steady and warm, as he helps you to your feet.

For the first time, you’re standing so close to him that you can see the faint freckles dusting his cheeks, the vivid depth of his blue eyes, making your heart pound wildly in your chest.

“Austin, I-I should be the one apologizing—” you confess, your voice shaky.

But he doesn’t let you finish. His hand comes up, fingers brushing over your cheek.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says, his voice low and steady. “Not to me. Not for this.”

His thumb lingers just beneath your eye, wiping away a tear you didn’t realize had fallen. “I’ve been so hard on you..—And I shouldn’t have been…” he confesses his voiced tinged with guilt. “You’ve been nothing but good to me.”

Your lips part, but no words come. The sincerity in his voice unravels you, and the intensity in his gaze holds you captive, making it impossible to speak.

Before you can say more, his lips are on yours—as if he’s been holding back for far too long.

The folders slip from your hand once again, papers scattering at your feet, but this time neither of you care.

His hands slide to your jaw, his thumbs tilting your chin up to fit your mouth perfectly against his, your lips moving effortlessly in a kiss that deepens with every passing second.

His hands slide down your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you grip his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palms.

The city sprawls beneath you, but the only thing you can focus on is him—his breath warm against your skin as his mouth moves to your neck, whispering words that make you weak.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he says between kisses, his lips tracing a path that leaves you dizzy. “I can’t stop thinking about you— I can’t—”

You feel the cool glass against your back as he presses you to the window, his hands trailing down your body with a slow, aching need.

His forehead presses to yours, his breath warm and ragged against your lips his voice filled with conflict. “Tell me to stop,” he whispers, his grip on your hips tightening as he betrays every word.

But you don’t. You can’t.

His lips claim yours again, and this time, it’s as if all the stress, the frustration and the longing has built to this inevitable moment.

You let yourself forget everything—the divorce, the looming merger, the crushing weight of responsibility. In this moment, none of it exists. All that matters is the way he’s holding you, as if he’s finally admitting what he’s known all along.

As his fingers thread through your hair, pulling you even closer, you know you’re falling—falling into something you can’t control, something that might even break you.

But right now, you don’t care.

The glass window cools your back, but the heat radiating from his touch is consuming, making it impossible to think of anything but him—his scent, the warmth of his breath brushing over your lips, the way his blue eyes lock onto yours, filled with an intensity that leaves you speechless.

His voice is low, his lips hovering so close that his breath fans over your skin. “Do you want this?” He asks.

Your lips part, your voice barely audible as you answer. “Yes,” the confession slipping out before you can even stop it.

His jaw clenches, and something dark flickers in his expression—something deep and unrelenting. “Say it again.” He commands.

You swallow hard, the weight of his gaze stealing what little composure you have left. “I want you,” you breathe, and the sound of it sends a shudder through him.

Before you can catch your breath, his hands are on your waist, lifting you effortlessly onto his desk. The polished surface feels cool beneath your skin as he guides your legs apart, his large hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your skirt higher until there’s nothing but your panties between you and him.

He glances down his fingers skimming along the inside of your thigh before rubbing your clit through the fabric.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this,” he says, his voice lower as he leans in, his lips grazing your jaw.

“How many times I’ve watched you walk into my office and wondered how you’d feel on me.” he confesses as each roll of his fingers on your clit feels more torturous than the last.

His other hand finds the hem of your blouse, slipping beneath it as his palm cups your breast. “Tell me you’ve thought about it too.” he whispers.

You can’t even think—not when his mouth starts kissing against the hollow of your throat as his fingers flick heavily over your clit. “I—I have,” you blurt out, your voice barely a breath.

“I want to make it real” he says, his lips brushing against your ear as his hand slips to his belt, unfastening it with a slow, measured pull that makes your core throb.

Your chest rises and falls as he pulls your panties aside, his knuckles brushing against your wetness making you clench around nothing.

“You’re soaked for me,” he muses, his eyes dark with need as he presses his fingers firmly against your slickness.

A soft moan escapes your lips desperately wanting more and it’s all he needs to hear.

His hands slowly grip your thighs as he pulls you closer to the edge, pressing himself against you as his hardness makes your breath hitch.

You watch as he lowers his zipper, freeing his substantial cock and lightly stroking it as he presses the tip directly against your entrance.

“Austin,” you moan, struggling to breathe as he steadily guides himself into you inch by inch, the pressure so deep it has you gasping until finally you feel his pelvis press against yours.

Your lips part, but the words catch in your throat, because you’re sure he already knows—his cock is the biggest you’ve ever had.

The way he’s looking at you, the way his body is pressed into yours, the way his thumb circles your clit exactly where you need it the most—he knows.

His lips claim yours—deep, desperate—his hands gripping your thighs as he pulls you closer, pressing himself against you with every thrust.

You moan into his mouth, your body taking every inch as you cling to him, fingers threading through his sandy blonde hair, wrapped up in him, lost in how deep he can claim, not caring about anything outside of the moment.

His eyes darken, filled with something raw and unrestrained with every slow roll of his hips. He pulls your legs around his waist, pressing himself deeper, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that’s all-consuming.

His lips move over your neck, down to your collarbone, each kiss leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His hands glide over your thighs, slowly pushing your knees further apart as his hips thrust between them, his movements drawing you into a pleasure you’ve never known until you’re core is throbbing as you moan breathless for him.

Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, pulling him back to you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that’s desperate. Your hands sliding in his hair, as he deepens his thrusts, his body pressing into yours firmly on his desk.

He pulls back his face just inches from yours, his breath mingling with your own as the heat between your bodies increases like a pulse you can’t escape.

“You’re such a good secretary,” he whispers, sliding his hands over your hips. “Always making sure I’m satisfied” he whispers, gripping you tightly as he thrusts with a measured strokes, holding you steady making you take every inch of his cock as he goes even faster.

You softly gasp, feeling the way his cock hits a depth never reached inside you, the way he moves with careful precision that drives you to the brink and beyond your head tilting back as the pleasure coils deep within you.

He watches you intently, his blue eyes dark with desire, his lips parting slightly as his breathing grows heavier.

“You take me so well,” he praises, his voice low and breathless as his hand slides between your bodies, circling your clit firmly.

You try to speak , but the way he moves makes it impossible—your breath catches, and all you can manage is a soft, helpless moan.

He leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to your neck. “You’re so good to me,” he whispers, his other hand slipping beneath your blouse, pulling at the sensitive peak of your nipple.

Your moans becomes unending, your heart pounding as all you can focus on is him. His touch, his thrusts, the way he makes you feel like he’s breaking you in the best way possible.

He pulls you closer, his lips brushing against yours with a tenderness that steals what little breath you have left.

“You’re worth everything,” he whispers, his voice low and raw. “Every risk I took… you’re worth it.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you savor the moment—the warmth of his body against yours, the way his thumb strokes softly along your clit as he kisses you.

His thrusts grow deeper, filling you completely, and your body clenches tightly around him, the pleasure rising so fast it feels impossible to hold back.

“Austin,” you gasp , your hands gripping his shoulders as you feel the the pleasure overtaking you.

His breathing becomes ragged as he feels you tightening around his cock, his thrusts growing more erratic. “You’re so perfect for me, baby—so perfect,” he whispers, his voice breaking with need.

His words send you spiraling, your release crashing over you in waves as he thrusts deep one final time, burying himself to the hilt.

You cling to him, moaning softly, your bodies trembling in sync as he fills you completely, the warmth of his come making you both shiver.

You rest against his shoulder, the office filled with nothing but the sound of your heavy breathing and the rhythmic pounding of your hearts.

Finally, you find your voice as you lay against him, rethinking his words. “What risk?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiles softly, as he tilts your face up, his thumb tracing gentle circles along your jaw. “You give me everything before I even ask for it,” he says, his voice laced with affection. “I want you with me in every way.”

Your heart pounds at his words, and as you search his eyes you find only sincerity.

As a smile spreads across your lips he kisses you again, this time slower —deeper—sealing the promise between you both as you melt into him, knowing there’s no turning back.

The city lights outside blur in the reflection of the glass, but inside this office, there’s only him—the way he holds you and the way he makes you feel.

You know there will be repercussions, but right now, with his lips pressed to yours and his words echoing in your ears, you let yourself believe that this could last forever.

END 🏙️

🔗 Masterlist

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[jadeshifting]

— PLACES TO SCRIPT (HOGSMEADE)

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

🪼 — THE HOGSMEADE TROLLEY glides through the village on invisible tracks, its smooth wooden exterior adorned with shimmering silver and gold filigree and glowing lanterns that cast a warm, inviting light. Enchanted to give off the sounds of lightly ringing bells, you can hear it coming from a block away, and it carries passengers from one end of town to the other without needing a driver Inside. Riders can sit in cushioned seats to enjoy their journey, or more haphazardly stand or hang off the side while holding onto the bar

🪼 — THE SORCERER’S SCONE is a charming bakery tucked away in a cobblestone corner of Hogsmeade, where the sweet scent of fresh pastries and the soft glow of fairy lights lure passersby inside. The shelves are always stocked with warm, buttery croissants, cakes that shimmer with enchantments, and delicate sugar cookies shaped like miniature broomsticks

🪼 — VELVET & LACE is Hogsmeade’s premier formal wear boutique, offering a dazzling collection of enchanted gowns, tailored robes, and wizarding suits. Each garment is crafted to ensure a perfect fit, making it the most-wanted destination before any dance or event. The shop’s opulent interior, adorned with floating mirrors and soft candlelight, makes every visit feel like a step into a royal castle

🪼 — FLOREAN’S FROSTED FLAVORS is a cozy ice cream parlor known for its enchanted scoops that sparkle, swirl, and sometimes change colors. With a constantly changing menu of magical flavors like Butterbeer Swirl and Fizzing Chocolate Chip, it’s a favorite spot for students and locals alike. The atmosphere is warm and filled with the soft hum of chatter and the occasional laughter from the enchanted toppings misbehaving

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

🪼 — THE ENCHANTED EASEL is a whimsical arts and crafts shop where paints shimmer with magical hues and quills sketch on their own. Shelves overflow with supplies from self-weaving yarn to enchanted parchment that animates drawings. It’s a hot spot for creative witches and wizards seeking the right materials for all their different hobbies

🪼 — MAGIC MIRROR is a luxurious shop nestled in Hogsmeade, offering a wide range of magical makeup, hair products, and skincare potions. With shimmering shelves stocked with enchanted creams and shimmering powders, customers can indulge in the finest products, crafted to bring out their inner radiance with a little magical help

🪼 — THE QUAFFLE CLOSET is a cozy, no-frills shop tucked away on a side street in Hogsmeade, offering an eclectic collection of secondhand robes, dresses, and accessories at remarkably low prices. The shelves are stacked with vibrant, well-loved garments from past seasons, with charms used to make them look refreshed. Though humble, it’s a favorite spot for students looking to snag a deal or find something truly unique

🪼 — PRIMWICK’S PIES is a cozy, magical pizzeria in Hogsmeade, where wood-fired pizzas are crafted with enchanted ingredients and topped with a multitude of flavors. The rustic interior is warm and inviting, with bubbling cauldrons of sauce and enchanted ovens that hum with a gentle, glowing heat

🪼 — THE BLOOMING BOUGH is a charming florist shop where blooms thrive in year round, regardless of the season. Enchanted roses change color with your mood, and whispering vines curl gently around curious hands. The air is filled with the scent of fresh flowers, and the skill of the florists make it a favorite stop for romantic gestures and seasonal celebrations

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

🪼 — SHEAR DELIGHT is a cozy, inviting hair salon and barbershop in Hogsmeade where both wizards and witches come for trims and new styles. The atmosphere is lively and friendly, endless amounts of gossip is spilled between stylist and client, and customers leave looking their best

🪼 — OPAL & ONYX is a charming jeweler’s shop in Hogsmeade, its windows sparkling with an array of enchanted rings, necklaces, and bracelets that catch the light in mesmerizing ways. Each piece is crafted by hand, many are imbued with protective charms. Whether seeking a gift or a personal keepsake, the shop offers something for every occasion

🪼 — MOONLIT MYSTIC is nestled between two towering oak trees at the outskirts of town, draped in rich velvet curtains and flickering candlelight. Inside, an ornate crystal ball rests on a velvet cushion, surrounded by ancient tarot decks and incense smoke that dances in the air. You can pay to have your fortune told here, though it’s still unconfirmed whether the elderly witch is a talented divinator, or a scammer

🪼 — THE SALTY TIDE is a cozy seafood restaurant in Hogsmeade, where the air is thick with the scent of freshly caught fish and magically created ocean breezes whistle through the windows. Its rustic wooden tables and softly glowing lanterns illuminate the walls, which are lined with aquariums filled with shimmering fish. The menu features a variety of magical and muggle-inspired seafood dishes

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

[gothicxreylover]

Oh and can you make the yandere giant hashira plus genya and the wive x tiny reader a little bit longer if that’s not too much sorry if I mixed it up!😅

Yandere Giant Hashira’s spoiling and pampering their tiny

Hello! I finished your request and I hope you enjoy!

Giyu Tomioka

Giyu is quiet in his affection, but his actions speak volumes. He creates a custom home for you inside his mansion, crafting everything by hand to ensure your comfort. Tiny furniture, soft bedding, and even a miniature garden are prepared with great care.

His way of spoiling you includes making sure you’re well-fed with meals he painstakingly prepares, often in silence, before watching you eat to ensure you’re satisfied.

Occasionally, he’ll hold you gently in his palm, his expression unreadable as he murmurs, “You’re safest with me.” He doesn’t show much outward emotion, but his overprotective tendencies grow by the day, ensuring you never have a reason to leave his side.

Sanemi Shinazugawa

Sanemi’s idea of spoiling you comes across as aggressive care. He’s always on edge, constantly checking for any dangers to you, whether it’s drafts, insects, or even his fellow Hashira.

“You’re not leaving this room until I’ve double-checked everything,” he growls, securing every possible escape route.

Sanemi crafts a secure space just for you, using his strength to make it impenetrable. While his gruff demeanor might seem intimidating, he often leaves little surprises for you, like snacks or tiny, handmade trinkets. If you thank him, he gets flustered and mutters, “Don’t get used to it.”

He might grumble about how much effort he’s putting in, but deep down, he thrives on knowing you’re entirely dependent on him.

Tengen Uzui and His Wives

Life with Tengen and his wives is nothing short of overwhelming. They shower you with lavish gifts—tiny jewels, elaborate outfits tailored to your size, and decadent food prepared just for you.

Makio is practical, ensuring your safety and comfort while teasing you playfully. “Don’t even think about wandering off. You’re too cute to lose.”

Suma is the most emotionally doting, constantly cuddling you and asking if there’s anything you need. “Are you happy? Is there anything I can do to make you happier?”

Hina keeps everything balanced, making sure you’re never overwhelmed. She reads to you in a soft, soothing voice and often sets up relaxing activities for you.

Tengen, of course, is the ultimate showman. “Only the flashiest things for you!” he proclaims, crafting a display of affection so grand that it feels impossible to escape their collective care.

Obanai Iguro

Obanai takes a meticulous approach to caring for you. He’s quiet but fiercely protective, ensuring you have everything you need within arm’s reach. Kaburamaru often keeps you company, curling around your tiny living space as a second layer of security.

Obanai’s way of spoiling you includes bringing you small treasures he finds during his travels—tiny flowers, polished stones, or anything he thinks will make you smile. He’ll never admit it, but he watches your reactions closely, craving your approval.

“You’re mine,” he says softly, his mismatched eyes boring into yours. “Don’t forget that.” His spoiling comes with an unspoken expectation of gratitude and loyalty.

Mitsuri Kanroji

Mitsuri spoils you to the point of smothering you—quite literally. She adores holding you close to her heart, her affectionate squeezes often leaving you gasping for air.

She loves cooking for you, making tiny portions of her favorite dishes and watching you eat with sparkling eyes. “Do you like it? I made it just for you!” she says, her voice brimming with excitement.

Mitsuri spends hours sewing adorable outfits for you and decorating your living space with bright, cheerful colors. Her affection is endless, and she constantly showers you with compliments.

“You’re the cutest, most precious thing in the world! I’ll protect you forever!”

Shinobu Kocho

Shinobu’s care is precise and calculated. She ensures you’re in perfect health, often creating herbal remedies specifically tailored to your tiny size. While her smile is sweet, there’s always an edge to her words.

“You wouldn’t want to get sick, would you? Stay with me, and I’ll make sure you’re always safe and sound.”

She enjoys experimenting with new ways to spoil you, whether it’s creating tiny sweets, crafting miniature furniture, or reading you bedtime stories in her gentle, melodic voice.

However, her obsession shines through in her need to control your environment. “Everything here is for your own good,” she says, her soft smile belying the possessiveness in her eyes.

Kyojuro Rengoku

Rengoku’s care is as intense as his personality. He’s always enthusiastic about ensuring your happiness, often declaring, “You deserve the best, and I’ll make sure you have it!”

He creates a vibrant, colorful living space for you, complete with tiny decorations and cozy furnishings. He loves sharing his meals with you, carefully cutting pieces small enough for you to enjoy.

Rengoku frequently tells you stories about his battles, his booming voice filling the room. His way of spoiling you is through his boundless energy and attention, always making sure you feel valued and loved.

“You’re safe with me, little one. I’ll protect you with my life!”

Muichiro Tokito

Muichiro’s care is quiet and unassuming. He spends hours crafting tiny things for you—furniture, blankets, and even small puzzles to keep you entertained.

Though he often seems distracted, his attention to your needs is unparalleled. “This will keep you safe,” he says simply, placing a handmade protective dome over your living space.

He doesn’t say much, but his actions speak louder than words. He’s always nearby, watching over you with a calm yet possessive gaze.

Gyomei Himejima

Gyomei’s care is reverent, treating you like a sacred treasure. He carves intricate items for you, from tiny statues to delicate furniture, his hands working with incredible precision despite their size.

“You are a blessing,” he says softly, his voice rumbling like a distant storm. “I will protect you with all that I have.”

Gyomei’s spoiling often comes in the form of his unwavering attention and gentle presence. He frequently prays for your safety, his devotion to you growing stronger with each passing day.

Genya Shinazugawa

Genya’s care is rough around the edges but heartfelt. He builds your living space himself, using his hands to create something sturdy and secure.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he mutters, his cheeks flushing as he places a tiny blanket over your shoulders.

Genya spoils you with food, often hunting or foraging to bring you the best ingredients. “Eat up,” he says gruffly, avoiding eye contact. “You need to stay strong.”

Despite his tough demeanor, he dotes on you in his own way, ensuring you’re always comfortable and protected.

[fergus-monster]

🐭 THANK YOU EVERYONE 🐭

I've got a nice backlog of orders for the Mickey Mouse Brave Little Tailor Lore Counter. Invoicing will go out tomorrow so keep an eye out.

I'll keep taking photos along the way but in the meantime here is a starting pile of bits.

[kiame-sama]

Grim is definitely Star material! He looks so cute in the little clothes for each dorm!

Did some of the monster men help make him head accessories?

The headphones, Peacock hairpin(?) and little Diasomnia hat is adorable!

Sorry I’m currently very weak to cuteness at the moment 😭

Yes, actually! All of the Housewardens wants so badly for the Human to join their dorm, they decided to give Grim his own official uniform for their dorms to show- to both Grim and The Human- that they are welcome in the dorms at any given time.

In the Diasomnia uniform, Grim's sleeves are just a bit too long for his little paws, so they are covered up a lot like how Lilia has his hands covered by his uniform jacket. It took them a little bit to figure out how Grim's hat was supposed to sit on his head, so they decided he should have a little headband to keep it on him. He does get frustrated with the many belts, so more often than not, the Human has to dress up Grim in his outfit or else the kit will just wear the hat, maybe the pants, and call it good. Lilia was cooing over Grim the second he saw the kit dressed up in the uniform, even Sebek had to admit it is adorable. The entirety of Diasomnia adores Grim and will coddle him the moment they see him dressed up in the uniform.

Papa Hades was the one to make the miniature Ignihyde outfit, because he thinks Grim would look adorable in it- and he is right- wanting Grim to have a certain bond with Idia and Ortho through the outfit. The sleeves are also too long for his little paws, but he looks all the cuter for it. Idia is the one who added the headphones- that absolutely do not fit properly, given they go past his ears- but the Kit cried about not having headphones to the point Idia folded and made them purely for aesthetic reasons. Grim LOVES them. He can easily put this one on himself as it is just the pants, jacket, and headphones. Idia actually giggled when he first saw Grim in the uniform and is devoted to befriending the kit to get close to the Human and because he is obsessed with the idea of having a personal Hellcat due to the bond Shinigami often form with Hellcats.

Vil and Rook hand stitched the outfit and Vil even used one of his tailfeathers to make the headpiece, cutting it into a heart for the Kit and using Epel's blooms as inspiration for the more floral design of the cloth flower on the headpiece. The big bow on his back is purely decorative and is sewn into the outer clothes so it can't be messed up or untied. It is a good thing Grim's right eye doesn't work very well or else he would be extremely distracted by the dangling shiny stones on the headpiece. Those are actual gems on his headpiece, Rubies and Sapphires and there are even a few on the headband piece that holds the ensemble in place. Amethysts were used for his little shirt buttons. This is another uniform the Human has to help Grim put on given his paws are a little less coordinated with the buttons.

Kalim suggested it, Jamil made it. The golden bands and snakes are actually gold, and golden thread was used to make his clothes, so they shine like gold due to being actual gold. The little golden coins on his tummy wrap are also high quality gold. The eyes of the snakes are small rubies that were gathered in the Scalding Sands and carefully placed into the uniform. This one is a lot easier for Grim to put on himself. He likes the pants a lot on this uniform due to how loose they are around his legs and don't ruffle his fur.

Azul INSISTED that Grim get this uniform for himself, ensuring that every small detail- including Grim's ears- were accounted for. Despite how well fitting and tailored this one is, Grim dislikes it due to the numerous layers and buttons he needs to fiddle with just to get the clothes on. This is another uniform the Human has to help Grim adorn due to the buttons. The bowtie has to be tied around Grim's tracker so it holds itself in place and looks more natural on him.

Leona 'persuaded' his dorm members to make the uniform for Grim, from the leather jacket, to the distressed jeans, he wanted to make it clear that Grim was a member of the Pride. Where almost all Savanaclaw members have a similar necklace, Leona took it a step further and had Fallena actually commission the necklace to be made out of genuine gold and gemstones for the little kit. Grim adores how rugged it makes him look despite the pants being a little too fitted for his liking. When he wants to hype himself up, he puts on the Savanaclaw uniform to feel braver. This is an outfit that Grim can put on himself because it doesn't require a bunch of buttons or fine motor skills to adorn.

Riddle insisted that Trey and Cater help him craft the Uniform for Grim, giving Grim the Jack of Hearts as his card. Each part was carefully measured and adjusted so it would fit the Kit well. Grim likes the design of the uniform, but he hates those buttons and often needs the Human's help to put the uniform on as a result. He loves chasing the yellow and black ribbon tied around his waist and will even 'meow' at it when the Human tries to tie it around him. Much to Riddle's chagrin, Grim likes to suddenly spout off random rules- that are not actually Queen's rules- whenever he is dressed in the Heartslabyul uniform. Cater thinks it is hilarious.

[hemmingsleclerc]

Omg 🥹

ur writing for dad max is soooo cute

Can u make one where Olivia is graduating pre-k or something from school and the whole family attending the mini graduation and being so proud of her 🥹🥹❤️❤️

yes yes yessss 💗💗 thank u sm!!!!

Preschool Graduation┃MV1

It was a beautiful morning and Max was dressed in an elegant tailored suit. He stood proudly next to his wife Y/N as they attended their little daughter Olivia's preschool graduation. The air was filled with excitement as families gathered in the hall, adorned with beautiful decorations and colorful balloons emblazoned with the phrase ''Class of 2023.''

Max's heart swelled with pride as Olivia, in her tiny cap and gown, joined her classmates on stage. The little graduates were beaming with joy, and Max couldn't help but feel nostalgic about how quickly time had passed since Olivia's first day at preschool. He still remembered when he had cried that morning with his daughter in arms trying to convince his wife to stay home that morning and not send her to school because he still couldn't believe that the day had arrived.

Y/N, with a proud smile, squeezed Max's hand as they took their seats. Both families, the Verstappens and the Y/L/N, were there to celebrate this special moment. Max's parents were sitting nearby and exchanging proud glances with Y/N's parents.

The ceremony began with the children entering, holding hands and laughing. Max tried to maintain his composure, but every time he caught a glimpse of Olivia's radiant smile, his eyes filled with tears. He dried them discreetly, hoping his wife wouldn't notice.

When Olivia's name was called, Max couldn't contain his emotions. He let out a proud cheer that echoed throughout the room. He jumped to his feet, camera in hand, and started taking pictures madly. "That's my daughter!" he yelled, not caring that it elicited some amused looks from the other parents. Although his wife was not far behind, she also stopped to record from the moment her little girl got up from her seat until she turned to see her parents and waved with a huge smile full of joy from stage. Both families burst into applause and shouts when the little girl received her diploma. And to Olivia's surprise, all of her uncles were there too. Charles, Carlos, Lando, Daniel, George, Alex and even Checo with his family were there, all applauding excitedly and some crying.

Max's eyes shone with tears of joy and he wiped them away with the back of his hand, laughing at his lack of self-control, but he didn't care in the least.

To the amusement of the other parents, he snorted and pulled a handkerchief from his suit pocket, declaring, "It's very emotional, okey?"

When the ceremony concluded, Max took Olivia in his arms and spun her around as she laughed with joy. Both met with the whole family along with the other drivers.

"Congratulations, my little champion!" Max exclaimed, his eyes shining with pride. Olivia smiled at her father, a miniature version of Max's infectious smile on her face.

The day continued with a celebration at Verstappen's house. Max and Y/N had organized a small gathering with family and close friends to honor Olivia's achievement. The backyard was adorned with decorations and a special cake.

While guests enjoyed the festivities, Max found himself reflecting on his journey into fatherhood. He had always been passionate about racing, but watching Olivia grow up gave him a different kind of satisfaction.

During the celebration, Max and his wife took a moment to share a few words for her little girl, expressing admiration for her determination and enthusiasm for her life. They talked about the joy she brought to their world and how her accomplishments, no matter how small, filled them with an immense sense of pride.

Many might know Max as the beast he was when he got into his F1 car and raced on the circuits, or others as the triple champion, but despite that, he was the best father to a beautiful little recent graduate named Olivia and he best husband for his beloved.

[gtinthepot]

MASTER LIST OF GIANT/TINY CONTENT

Disclaimer, I have not looked up everything on this list and most of it was suggested from others. I cannot promise the accuracy of the content. Suggestions for the list are more than welcome, leave a comment on the post for people to browse through after checking to see if its on the list already :)

I’ll be editing and adding to it here and there, so some reblogs of the post might be outdated. I suggest clicking on the source /main post to get the newest version. The old list can be found here.

7 deadly sins

A bug's life

Aaahh!!! Real Monsters (some episodes)

Adventure time

Alice in Wonderland

Alvin and the chipmunks

Amour de poshe (the girl in his pocket)

Animorphs: #24

Ant bully

Ant man (1 and 2)

Antz

Archies weird mysteries (one ep)

Army of darkness

Art Attack

Arthur and the Invisibles

Athena complex (webcomic)

Attack of the 50 foot cheerleader.

Attack of the 50 Foot Woman

Attack of the puppet people

Barbie and the nut cracker

barbie movies (look up specifics)

Barbie Thumbelina

Beastars

Beatle juice

Berserk

Big man japan

Bottle Fairy

Bramble the mountain king. (video game)

Brave little tailor (mickey mouse)

Bugs life?

Captain America: Civil War

Card captor sakura (one ep and some scenes)

Christmas Stories: The Tin Soldier is a good one.

Clifford the big red dog

Cuphead: Don’t deal with the Devil (mostly with certain bosses)

Darby o’gill and the little people

David the Gnome

Disenchantment

Dollman

Downsizing

Dr cyclops

Dr who (one ep: into the dalek)

Dragon ball

Dungeon meshi (a few chapters)

Ella Enchanted

Elusive people.(video game)

Epic

Ernest and Celestine (more of a mini-giant/doll-sized tiny size dynamic)

Fairytale: a true story (1997)

Fantastic Planet

Fantastic voyage

Ferngully

Final space episode 5

Frame arms girl.

Futurama (some episodes)

Gelias and the giant

Gen V

George shrinks

Gods of Egypt

Godzilla

Grandpa in my pocket

Gravity falls (one episode)

Grounded (video game)

Guardians of the Galaxy (vol. 2 more so than the first one)

Gulliver's Children (webtoon)

Gullivers travels (1939, 1977, 2010) as a well as a mini-tv series

Happily Ever After: Fairy Tales for Every Child: Aladdin

Happily Ever After: Fairy Tales for Every Child: Season 2, Episode 2 thumbelina

Happily Ever After: Fairy Tales for Every Child: The shoemaker and the elves

Helmecrons

Help I shrunk my friends

Help I shrunk my parents

Help I shrunk my teacher

Here come the littles

Hilda

Honey I blew up the kid

Honey I shrunk the audience ride at Disneyland

Honey I shrunk the kids

Hornby sets

How to Keep a Mummy ( Miira no Kaikata)

Inch high private eye

Innerspace

Invincible (Some episodes)

It takes two (game)

Jack and the Beanstalk

Jack and the Beanstalk: The Real Story

Jack the giant slayer

Jackie Chan Adventures (one episode)

Jaimes and the giant peach

Jitsu wa watashi wa (mostly the 4th episode)

Journey 2 The Mysterious Island

King kong

Kubo and the two strings

Land of the giants

Legoland

Lilo and Stitch the series (two episodes)

Little (Grrl) 

little nightmares 1 and 2 (game)

Littles

Lord of the rings

Macross sequel shows (-anime-)

Mars attacks!

Mickey and the bean stalk

Micro Machines

Micro Ventures

Militsioner (Video game)

Minami-Kun no Koibito (2015)

Minish cap (video game)

Moana

Modest Heroes Kanini and Kanino (Short film)

Monster (video game)

Monsters Vs Aliens

My hero Academia (some episodes)

My Little Lover

My Miniature Manual (webtoon)

My Monster Secret (specifically one character)

natsume yuujinchou

Nau-lmg

Night at the Museum

Nils holgersson

Ok Ko! lets be Heroes season 3 episode 9 Planet Vacation

One Punch Man (some episodes)

Onward (a few scenes)

Osmosis Jones

Ozzy and Drix

Pans labyrinth

Paper mario sticker star (Video game, two levels)

Peter pan

Pikmin 1, 2, and 3 (game)

Pinocchio

Pokemon sun/moon anime second season (one ep)

Ponyo

Rainbow Magic

Ratatouille

Rick n morty (one episode)

Robotech (-comic series; new ones-)

Robotech (season one/The Macross Saga) (-anime-)

Robotech Remix (-comic series-)

Super Danganronpa 2 (video game, final boss)

Shadow of the colossus (video game)

Shrunk the family (Onnelin ja Annelin talvi)

Small blessings (webcomic)

Small Lands Survive The Wilds (Video game)

Small soldiers (1998)

Smallfoot

Smurfs

Smurfs lost village

Snorks

Spirit of wonder: The shrinking of miss China

SpongeBob SquarePants (the wumbo episode)

Steven universe

Stormlight Archive (-book series; has tiny fae people-)

Strange days at blake holesy high (one episode)

Strange magic

Stuart Little

Sugar apple fairy tale.

Super giant robot brothers.

Tales to Astonish (comics)

Ted Hughes

Tentacular. (video game)

The 3 worlds of gulliver

The 7th voyage of sinbad

The amazing colossal man

The bee movie

The BFG

The bfg 1989

The borrowers (1973, 1993 1997, 2011)

The Borrowers (Arrietty)

The Borrowers exhibition at the Hancock Museum

The Boys (some episodes)

The dwarf and the giant 1901

The Fantastic Planet

The hobbit

The hulk

The incredible shrinking man

The incredible shrinking woman

The Indian in the cupboard

The iron giant

The iron man

The Journey.

The Last Guardian (video game)

The Last of the Huggermuggers by Christopher Pearse Cranch

The Little Bits

The littles

The magic school bus

The nut cracker

The owl house (one episode)

The phantom planet

The Rescuers

The return of the Borrowers 1992 and 1993 tv series

The Secret of Nimh

The secret world of Arrietty

The Selfish Giant by Oscar Wilde

The simsons (one episode)

The storyteller (one ep)

The Suspicion and #42

The Sword in the Stone

The tale of the princess kaguya

The ultimate avengers (1 & 2)

Thumbelina

Time loader. (video game)

Tinkerbell and The Great Fairy Rescue

Tinkerbell and The Pirate Fairy

Tinkerbell movies

Tinykin. (video game)

Tom and Jerry

Tomb thumb

Townsmen VR. (video game)

Toy story

Transformers

Transformers (old series)

Troll hunter

Troll in central park...??

Trolls

Trolls band together

Ultraman cosmos

Underdogs

Unravel. Porcelain tales. (video game)

Valkyrie Drive Mermaid (one episode.)

Village of the giants

Violet Goes to The Beach (webtoon)

VR Giants. (video game)

We’re Back! A dinosaur story

When the Dolls Woke (book)

Wild Kratts

Wild, wild planet

Wiplala

Wrath of the Titans (one scene)

Wreck it ralph

Yarn (video game)

Zootopia