#mr sequins

[ice-creamforbreakfast]

Once I stop doing early access CC from February, I'm just going to dial up the kitschy, tacky levels and reach my chaotic final form with CC from that point onwards. Just full on. unhinged retro chaos.

[calamitys-child]

Everyone shut up I'm shifting into wrestling mode

[misiahasahardname]

my brain always knows exactly when to give me dysphoria!

[sciderman]

Hey sci what are you favorite musicals

to the surprise of no one my favourite musical is probably book of mormon,, i think i just love the genre of musicals that make you belly laugh

recently i watched the spongebob musical and honestly... has no right to be as good as it is

underrated genre that are my favourite: showtunes about living in blissful denial. that involve pink sequins.

[vampirebiter]

my mom is once again saying she'll take me to do stuff at halloween so i am now contemplating my costume and put together my rough Inspiration Vision Manifestation Board <3

[inbadgersdrift]

That episode where the Rainbirds come back as like the sister and nephew or whatever who act exactly like the original mother and son is too crazy

[suziwest-dresscollection]

[starbandit]

Mr. Rockstar (J.J.K)

Preview: Your black sequined set hugged your body perfectly from what he could see, your appearance alone made his mouth water. If anyone was coming home with him, it would be you.

contains - rockstar!Jungkook, chubby reader, riding, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex, nipple play, mentions of alcohol, non established relationship MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

word count - 2.5k/ unedited

These shows usually went the same way, a dimly lit club with stuffy air and screaming girls. Jungkook loved the attention, what twenty something year old boy wouldn’t? They would always fawn over the dark sleeve of tattoos that lined his arm while he stood at the bar after his set, boys and girls alike. 

The lights beat down on Jungkook, the sweat dripping down his face as he sang into the mic. He couldn’t wait to get off stage, get a drink at the bar, and get back to the hotel. Maybe he would get lucky and take someone home, but based on how his night was already, he had his doubts. 

That was, until a black sparkle caught his eye. A smirk painted his face as his eyes traced over the person dancing in the front row. Your black sequined set hugged your body perfectly from what he could see, your appearance alone made his mouth water. If anyone was coming home with him, it would be you. 

Once his set ended, he stripped in the changing room, opting for a shirt that wasn’t drenched in his own sweat. He freshened up before leaving, going back out on the club floor to search for you. He spotted you at the bar, giggling with a friend with a drink in your hand. 

He stepped to an open spot next to you, flagging down the bartender with a kind smile. Your head turned to look at him and Jungkook could swear you took his breath away. 

“Could I buy you a drink?” He leaned down to ask in your ear. His breath tickled the sensitive skin, a shiver running down your spine. 

“Hm, usually I’ll play hard to get, but you’re cute, and I want another drink,” You giggled, placing your hand on his chest. “I’ll let you buy me a drink.” 

Jungkook smirked at you, watching as you told the bartender what you wanted, followed by him sliding his card into his hand. He turned back to you, admiring the outfit you had picked for the night. The way your arms fell at your sides, the soft skin slightly red from the rough plastic. He wanted to admire the outfit in better lighting, to watch how your curves moved as you slid off your pants, the supple skin that was gently hanging over the top of your pants being freed, the way your breasts would fall as you took off your top. 

He was snapped out of his thoughts as you giggled, moving slightly closer to him in the growing crowd. “So, Mr. Rockstar, did you buy me this drink out of the kindness in your heart or were you hoping for something more?” You spoke over the loud music that the DJ had started playing

“To be honest, I was hoping to get you out of that outfit tonight. As amazing as it is, I’d much rather see what you look like without it.” He chuckled and took a sip of his drink. 

You smiled up at him. “I might have to take you up on that offer, how about we dance a bit and then you can take me home?” You set your, now finished, drink down on the bar before grabbing Jungkook's hand to pull him to the dance floor. 

The two of you danced for a bit, which had turned into mostly sloppy grinding. The sloppy grinding turned into a hot kiss, and Jungkook had to hold himself back from taking you right there on the dance floor. 

“Let’s take this somewhere else,” He suggested, pulling you out of the dance floor and towards the double doors next to the stage. He smiled at security and pulled you through, to a much quieter area. 

Your tipsy giggles filled the space as Jungkook pulled you towards the back, collecting his personal belongings and texting his manager. As much as he wanted to fuck you backstage, the amount of cameras and people made him slightly anxious. 

He led you to a big van with blacked out windows. The driver continued to stare forward as the two of you stumbled in, taking a seat on the long bench in the back. 

“Hm… I know you’re hot but are you sure this isn’t a kidnapping?” You let out a nervous giggle as Jungkook brushed your hair out of the way to suck a mark on your neck. The cold metal of his lip ring against your skin made you jump slightly.  Your worries flew out of the window as he gently bit down on the skin and immediately soothed the area with a soft lick. The whimper that was torn from your throat was almost embarrassing. Almost. 

It didn’t take long to arrive at the hotel, a quick drive full of hot touches and messy giggling. Jungkook tugged you to his room, barely even looking as he scanned the keycard and pushed into the room. He grunted as he pulled away, flopping to sit on the edge of the plush bed in the center of the room. He spread his legs, the tight fabric of his jeans outlining the definition in his thighs and the bulge growing in his pants. You watched as the muscles in his arms rippled as he leaned back to rest on his hands. 

“Let me see the outfit,” He bit his lip, the piercing sat in his lip getting caught between his teeth. “Give me a twirl, baby girl.” 

You blushed, giving Jungkook a slow turn. His eyes scanned you, how the black fabric sat over your rolls, how the fabric sat tight against your skin. He eyed the stretch marks on the backs of your arms, wondering just where else you had them. Surely they lined your thighs and ass, maybe you even had some on your stomach. His mouth was watering at the thought, he couldn’t wait to feel them under his fingers, under his lips. 

“God,” He groaned, his hand moving to rub at his cock through his jeans. “I love it, but I wanna rip it off you.” 

You smiled at him, moving closer to straddle him. You moved his hand before sitting down, placing it on your ass as you took a seat. He got the message, gripping and rolling your hips forward as soon as you got settled. You ducked your head down, placing soft kisses to the skin of his neck. Soft whines flew from his throat, egging you on. 

You sighed against his throat as his hands unclasped the tight, corset-like material of your top. The material was starting to irritate your skin, leaving lines and slightly red areas where it was the tightest. Jungkook ran his fingers over the sensitive skin, gently teasing the area. He sat back, eyes lowering to admire your body. 

He let out a groan as his hands reached up, gently squeezing your breasts. His thumbs flicked over your nipples, causing your eyes to roll back for a second. He dipped down, taking one of the hardened buds into his mouth. He looked up at you, eyes hooded and pupils blown, while he gently played with your other boob. You whimpered and let your hands fall to his hair, brushing the long locks out of his eyes before gripping the strands at the crown of his head. 

His eyes fluttered closed as he let out a small hum, pulling away with a little pop to pay attention to your other breast. You gripped the locks harder, pulling him away when he began to rut up against you. His mouth fell open in a whimper and he bit his lip as you smirked at him. 

“Getting a little desperate, are we?” You teased lightly, wiggling a little on his lap. 

“Baby, I am going to fucking ruin you.” He growled. Your heart began to race as he wrapped his arms around you and flipped you onto your back, now hovering over you. “Not so tough now, are you?” 

You hummed lightly and nodded. “I’ll let you do whatever you want to me, Mr. Rockstar.” You smirked up at him, letting out a little moan as you dragged your hands over the curves of your body. 

His hands moved down to your pants in record time, unbuttoning the material and pulling them down, exposing the soft flesh. Jungkook could feel himself growing impossibly harder, soaking a wet spot on the front of his underwear, at the sight. Your supple thighs, the gentle pudge of your belly, god he was weak. 

He dipped down, lips making contact with your stomach, kissing down, down, down. His tongue peeked out and gave teasing licks over the stretch marks on your tummy, humming as he pushed your thighs apart. Jungkook could feel his mouth watering as he stared at your skimpy underwear, the fabric soaked. 

“Well, these aren’t doing you any good, now are they?” He hooked a finger under the thin fabric and snapped the waist band. “Why don’t I get rid of them for you?” 

You gasped as he completely tore the fabric off your body and threw it, giving you no time to react before he dipped down and began feverishly licking at your pussy. A broken moan left your lips and you dug your hands into his hair. The heat of his tongue was just right, hitting every spot perfectly. 

You glanced down, catching a glimpse of his eyes. He was staring up at you, eyes dark and glossy. He moaned against you, digging his face deeper into you. His hands gripped your hips, fingertips digging into the skin. You whimpered as you pulled his hair and dropped your head into the pillows. Sin, he was pure sin. 

Jungkook continued to eat you out, tongue working absolute miracles on your clit. He was alternating between flicking the sensitive bud and sucking, bringing you close to the edge before switching, leaving just enough time in between to leave you wobbling a few steps back from orgasm. Two tattooed fingers made their way to your entrance, sinking in and immediately finding the spot that makes your vision go black. 

His tongue and fingers moved in time together, creating a beautiful symphony of wet sounds and moans. Your orgasm was quickly reapproaching, a fire was lit in your belly and there was no stopping it. 

“O-oh fuck- fuck,” You whimpered as your thighs began to shake, hand tightening in Jungkooks locks. You pulled him impossibly closer, thighs squeezing around his head as your orgasm took over. The warmth spread down to your toes, and through your body as you rode it out on his tongue and fingers, hips twitching in search of friction. 

Jungkook removed his fingers and quickly placed them in his mouth, cleaning any remaining traces of you from them, before ditching his pants. You watched in awe as his cock bounced, tip glistening with precum and ruby red. He wrapped his hand around it, head falling back to expose his perfect neck as he gave himself a few tugs. 

As soon as he crawled back onto the bed, you wasted no time in jumping on top of him. You needed him. You let out a loud groan in unison as you sunk down on him. His cock sat so perfectly inside of you, so warm and hitting every spot perfectly. 

You gave him no time to adjust, instead rocking your hips back and forth in a steady motion. Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers gripping the soft material of his t-shirt as you bounced on him. Whimpers sounded around the room, and you weren’t sure if they were from you or Jungkook. 

“Take it off,” You pulled at his shirt. “Please, get it off.” You balled the fabric up and began trying to tug it over his head. Jungkook assisted you, working feverishly to get the shirt off. Once the fabric was finally ditched, you couldn't help but admire the man beneath you. 

Colorful tattoos decorated his skin, leading to a broad and muscular chest, down to a set of chiseled abs. You groaned and leaned back slightly, gripping Jungkook's thighs as you rocked your hips faster, milking more noises from him. The muscles contracted under your fingers as he rocked up to meet your movements. 

Jungkook's hands trailed all over your body, touching and squeezing every inch of exposed skin that he could get his hands on. “I’m fucking obsessed with you.” He grunted out, fingers finding purchase on your hips, gripping the flesh. 

You whined in response, your rhythm beginning to slow as you grew tired. Your fingers found their way to his nipples, gently rolling the buds between your fingers. You couldn’t help but smirk at the shiver that snuck its way through his entire body as you played with the sensitive buds. 

“Come here,” Jungkook wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his chest. You collapsed forward and caught him in a sloppy kiss. You gasped as he adjusted, placing his feet flat on the bed and began bucking his hips up into you at a fast pace. His hips made contact with your ass with every thrust, a loud smacking noise echoing throughout the room. 

You moaned into his mouth with every movement, your tongues sloppily meeting in the middle and caressing each other in the most sinful way. You sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, giving a slight nibble as you pulled away to catch your breath.

You were getting close again, the fire was burning low in your belly and beginning to spread down to your hips. Jungkooks pace was speeding up and getting sloppy, leading you to believe he was in the same boat. 

“Gonna, ah fuck-” He groaned. “Gonna fuckin’ fill you up so good.” He dug his nails into your back and wrapped his lips around your collarbone. He sucked a dark purple mark into the skin, giving it a quick bite before pulling off. His hips bucked into you at the perfect angle, stroking your walls just right. 

“Fuck, I’m close.” You whimpered, your hands gripping around to find something, anything, to hold on to. You tightened around Jungkook, your ears ringing and vision going black as you released. 

A moan ripped through Jungkook as he pressed up one final time, painting your walls with thick, hot, ropes. He gently pushed through both of your releases, hugging your body tight as you both took deep breaths and tried to come down. A thick coat of sweat covered both of you. 

You sat back up, his now softening cock still nestled deep in you, and ran a hand through your hair. You glance back down at Jungkook, who is resting beautifully against the plush hotel pillows. His cheeks are flushed, lips pink and swollen, and his eyes are closed. You allow yourself to bask in the moment, silence covering the hotel room. 

Jungkook breaks the silence first. “So, after our shower, you wanna grab some dinner?” He cracked an eye open to peak up at you. “My treat.” 

“Okay, Mr. Rockstar.” You giggled. “I’ll meet you in there,” 

Jungkook watched as you stood up and sauntered off towards the bathroom, hips swaying as you walked. He bit his lip as he watched, and couldn’t seem to get up fast enough when you turned around and beckoned him over. 

[sosa2imagines]

lucky-bucky-boy has a really good smutty one shot about being undercover with Bucky

"Undercovers"

Warnings- SMUT! Friends to lovers? -------------------------------------------

The air in the fancy casino, was thick with cologne and desperation. Bucky, ever the picture of charm and sophistication, in a well-tailored black suit, leaned closer to you, his voice a low rumble. “Enjoying the high life, doll face?”

You batted your eyelashes, channelling your inner actor. “Only because you're here, handsome.”

It was all part of the act. You and Bucky, have been working together for about two years. It had been a normal mission so far. Until you two were told, that you had to pose as lovers for the upcoming mission. You both were calm about it.

Flirting with Bucky was the easy part, as you two were close friends. A playful banter was a natural extension of your friendship.

Mr and Mrs. Stan, socialite couple with a penchant for gambling and questionable art collections. In reality, you and Bucky were after a stolen prototype weapon, rumored to be changing hands tonight.

Tonight, it was amplified, a performance for any potential buyers lurking around. You exchanged playful swats, whispered secrets, and Bucky even ‘accidentally’ brushed his hand against yours, sending a delicious shiver down your spine. All for the mission, of course you thought…so did Bucky. Right?

Hours bled into each other, a blur of clinking glasses, fabricated interest in dubious paintings, and a well-timed ‘win’ at the roulette table.

As Bucky went, to get drinks for you and him, some guy came over and started to talk with you. “Hey beautiful, what's your name?” The man asked, trying to flirt with you, Bucky was quick by your side, gripping your arm firmly, glaring at the man. “Leave her alone.” Bucky said through clenched teeth, his tone dripping with warning, the man seemed puzzled by his response.

“What's it to ya? Can't a man flirt with a beautiful woman?” The man retorted. Bucky let out a small murmur of annoyance, as he gripped your arm tighter and glared at the man again. “No, you can't.” Bucky said, he still couldn't believe that he was being this possessive over you, he had no right. Right? He couldn't stop the burning jealousy that was building in him.

“And I don't like someone touching or flirting with my fiancée! Get away, you understand?” Bucky said, and the man seemed to see the warning in his eyes this time, and finally nodded and started to walk away. The air crackled with nervous electricity and something else entirely.

Maybe it was the wine, or the sequined cocktail dress that felt like a second skin (and three sizes too small), but your stomach was doing loop-the-loops.

The possessive nature of Bucky was a major turn on for you. Your panties, were in a twist.

The night was a blur of champagne flutes, caviar canapés, and Bucky's expertly delivered charm. You danced close, your bodies brushing, sending shivers down each other’s spine. The playful flirting, you both usually reserved for sparring sessions, took on a whole new meaning under the chandeliers.

“You know...” Bucky murmured, his breath warm against your ear as you both waltzed, “this whole fiancé thing feels surprisingly believable.”

You scoffed, but blush heated your cheeks. “Maybe a little too believable, ‘Stan’.”

Soon, Valentina Fontaine the target began to approach you and Bucky.

“You ready, doll?” Bucky drawled, the black fabric straining across his broad shoulders. A playful glint danced in his steel-blue eyes. “As ready as I'll ever be, handsome…” you retorted, trying to project confidence.

Valentina was flirting heavily with Bucky, which made you see red. You wonder, if this is, how he felt before? She was ignoring you completely, and you had enough of her touching Bucky, who was highly uncomfortable.

You excused yourself and weaved through the throng, brushing against a waiter carrying a tray of champagne flutes. One ‘accidentally’ spilling on Valentina, as her guards rushed to clean her up, Bucky like a gentleman held her purse, making you roll your eyes, as he swiftly took the key from it.

Finally, your chance arrived. Valentina, took a bathroom break. Bucky, ever the smooth operator, distracted her bodyguards, while you slipped into her private dressing room. Jackpot. A hidden compartment in her vanity revealed a flash drive with incriminating data.

Back in your hotel room, adrenaline buzzed through your veins. Relief warred with a newfound tension. You'd gotten the intel, but the night wasn't over. Here, alone in this opulent cage, the charade started to unravel.

Bucky poured drinks for you and him, his gaze lingering on you. “Good job tonight...” he said, his voice rough.

A teasing smile played on your lips. “Always the charmer, Barnes.” But the compliment hung heavy in the air. You both circled each other, the playful dance taking on a new edge.

“So…any reason, you made the waiter spill champagne on Valentina?” Bucky asks with a mischievous smirk. “Any reason, you were possessive, when the guy was flirting with me?” you teased him back.

“I was looking after my future wife…” “I was looking after my future husband…”

“Well, partner,” you say, with a playful smile, tossing the stolen flash drive to Bucky, who catches it with a wink. “Mission accomplished.”

Bucky's eyes narrowed. “Indeed. Now, about that fiancé thing…”

He pulled you close, the suit jacket falling away to reveal the familiar worn t-shirt he wore beneath. Laughter escaped your lips as he dipped you a playful bow.

“Care to take it one step further, doll?”

One step closer, and his hand was on your cheek, his thumb tracing a soft path over your lips. “This,” he murmured, his voice husky, “this feels a little too real, doesn't it?”

And it did. The line between mission and something more had blurred. Your breath hitched. “Maybe it should...” you whispered before kissing him.

It started as a release; a surge of emotions bottled up for too long. But the kiss ignited something deeper, a fire fuelled by unspoken feelings and the thrill of the night. Clothes fell away, replaced by a desperate urgency.

As soon as your back was pressed against the bed, Bucky lost all self-control.

A growl emitted from his throat, low and rumbling against your mouth. The kiss was hard, a battle of tongues for dominance. An aggressive kiss, making you moan and Bucky’s cock to twitch mindlessly against your tummy.

Bucky pulls back, looking at you. He gently traces his finger over your face. “Mine…” He leans down and brushes his lips against yours, kissing you deeply.

You deepen the kiss, your hands gently sliding down his butt. He slides his hands down your back, his fingers lightly brushing against your butt, kneading them. His kiss becomes hungry, almost desperate, as if he wants as much of you, as he can get.

“You drive me crazy, doll face...” he murmurs against your skin. He leans back down and deepens his kiss, his touch more insistent, his hands sliding over your body. Bucky kisses along your collarbone, down towards your chest, his lips finding the sensitive skin between your breasts. His breath is warm against you, as he lets one of his hands wander lower, his fingertips lightly brushing between your legs.

His lips find the spot on your neck and you moan softly. His fingers find the spot in your cunt. You gasp and moan, your hands slide along Bucky's sides up to his hair, tangling in them.

“I'm gonna take good care of you, doll.” Bucky murmurs against your neck, as he kisses along your collarbone again, nipping and sucking until he's sure he's left a mark.

His hands took your breasts between his palms, kneading them, worshipping them. He took one of the hardened nipples between his lips, sucking it with a deep moan. “Bu…Bucky” you gasped. He nuzzled his face against your breasts before pulling his mouth away, with an obscene pop.

You moan and gently roll your hips against him, the anticipation almost driving you over the edge. He pauses as his eyes move over you, drinking in the sight of you, his breathing is heavy. “You're so beautiful...” he says, sliding a hand up your thigh to your hip and leaning down to kiss along your stomach, his warm lips moving slowly.

“Bucky…” you moan, your hands tangling in the sheets again. His tongue starts to move slowly, teasingly over you. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to stifle your sounds as he slowly circles his tongue around your clit, teasing your button.

Bucky lets out a low moan against you, as he leans back, hooking his arms around your thighs, pulling you closer, as he lowers his head and his tongue finds your center again, moving slowly.

You let go of the sheets, as your hands grip his hair, your back arching in pleasure, as he drives you closer with his tongue. “Bucky…” you gasp, your eyes closing as he brings you closer to the edge.

He can feel you're close, by the way your body tenses, the way your breathing changes. He moves his tongue faster, wanting to take you over the edge, pushing you closer and closer, until you let out a gasp and a shiver runs through you, as waves of pleasure wash over you.

Your body starts to slowly come down, your eyes opening. Bucky lifts his head, stroking your thighs, pressing little kisses to your abdomen, a smile curving the corners of his mouth.

He slides up, leaning down and kissing you slowly. You can taste yourself on his lips, as he kisses you deeply, gently rolling his hips against yours again.

You hook your legs around his waist, rolling your hips against his. You can feel his arousal and it makes you crave his touch. You pull him closer, deepening the kiss, your hands trailing down his back, your nails scratching him, as he keeps rolling his hips against yours.

He groans softly, the feel of you against him causing his breathing to get heavier. He pulls back from the kiss slightly. “I want you,” he almost whispers, kissing along your jaw.

You slide your hand between your bodies, caressing his hardened cock. “You have me,” you say, leaning up and kissing his jaw before nuzzling along his neck. His breathing becomes heavier, as you find that sensitive spot on his neck and he gently moans your name.

You tilt your head back, as Bucky kisses along your neck again, the anticipation building. He gently presses you down on the bed, his hands pressing against your thighs, his lips trailing kisses up your stomach.

He lifts his head, looking down at you. His eyes are dark with need. He reaches down and gently teases you with his fingers, watching the way your lips part to let out a soft moan, your body shifting slightly at his touch.

Bucky gently withdraws his fingers. He leans down and kisses you, before shifting to settle between your legs. You wrap your legs around him, trying to pull him closer. Bucky kisses you deeply as he pushes into you, your pussy takes all of him in. His thick length stretched your walls.

His breath catching in his throat, at the feel of you wrapped around him. He bottoms out with a groan, before pulling back out again. His hips soon found a suitable pace. You break the kiss, breathing heavily, as he starts to move against you slowly, his forehead pressing against yours again, his arms around you, holding you close.  

Bucky speeds up slightly, making your breathing hitch. He presses a little deeper and your nails slightly dig into his shoulders. “Bucky” you whisper, as he hits deep in your cunt, making all your thoughts scatter.

He leans back, looking into your eyes, his name on your lips, fuelling his need, his pace increasing as he buries his face in your neck. You can feel him getting closer, his breathing heavier, your name escaping his lips in a groan. You're close, too.

“Just let go, doll…” he whispers in your ear, his hips moving faster, his lips against yours. The words push you over the edge and you cry out his name, against his lips, as waves of pleasure wash over you. Bucky shudders, as he follows you over, holding you close to him.

You moaned into the kiss, as you came hard, “I'm... I'm gonna come...” he pants as he nears his climax. He spent himself inside you. Filling you up to the brim. He collapsed on top of you, catching his breath, burying his face in your neck.

You lay there for a while, panting, still wrapped in each other's arms. Bucky nuzzles into your neck, placing small kisses along your skin, making you shiver slightly.

He slowly rolls off of you and lays down beside you, his hand lightly caressing your side. You scoot closer into his side, your head resting on his chest as he wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer.

You close your eyes, as you feel his hand run idly up and down your back. You both lay there in a comfortable silence for a while. The line between playful banter and genuine affection blurred, leaving you and Bucky tangled in the sheets, the mission a distant afterthought. As dawn painted the sky a fiery orange, Bucky held you close, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

“Maybe we should practice this fiancé thing more often,” he murmured, his voice husky with sleep. You chuckled, tracing a finger across his metal arm. “Just between us, Barnes? I wouldn't mind.”

My pervert brain had to write about this.

TAGLIST- @imyourbratzdoll @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm @winterslove1917

@differenttyphoonwerewolf @vicmc624 @thezombieprostitute @nekoannie-chan @emerald-writes @3xclusivemariii

[lookingbackatfashionhistory]

• Woman's Evening Dress: Bodice and Skirt.

Date: 1907

Artist: Designed by Mrs. Dunstan (UnitedStates, active 1891–1913)

Medium: Ivory silk satin with silk tulle, lace, tulle appliqué, rhinestones, and sequins; floss silk, silk chenille, and metallic thread embroidery.

[starshideurfics]

Thirsty Thursday - Shut up and dance with me

steddie, omegaverse, a little bit of fun during my angst-fest to celebrate some follower milestones 🥰

Steve keeps saying he feels goofy wearing a suit, even if he’s happy to do it for Robin. It’s non-traditional, sticking an omega in black-tie. But neither is an alpha like Buckley having an omega as her best man. Her mating ceremony is beautiful, Chrissy absolutely sparkles, and Steve cries through half of it because he’s so happy for his best friend.

Eddie might cry a little, too.

He’s seated in the front row, with Robin’s family, since he and Steve are ‘capital S’ Serious, and Steve has practically been adopted by Robin’s parents. Melissa catches him crying and smiles; she’s certain to ask when he and Steve are going to tie the knot themselves.

He’s nowhere near ready to answer that one. Especially without Steve to help. Eddie hasn’t wanted to rush things, even being friends so long beforehand. Knows that he loves Steve more than anything. But they’ve barely been dating a year…

After the ceremony, Steve catches his eye from the reception line. “You good?” Eddie mouths, quirking a questioning brow.

Steve makes a dumb face—pretends to cry—gives him a thumbs up, and it’s like everything rearranges, his whole world shifting a couple inches to the left.

He knows.

All his worries about it being too fast float away like so much dust on the wind. He’d be happy enough watching Steve from across the room for the rest of his life, to giggle and mime at one another.

But after the reception, he gets to take Steve home.

Not being in the wedding party, he should honestly head over to the venue soon—after going through the receiving line. He kisses Chrissy’s cheek, tells her she looks stunning, high fives Robin for locking down her perfect omega, and whispers, “I’ll be waiting for you with a cocktail,” in Steve’s ear.

He manages to cop a feel, squeezing Steve’s ass before pulling back, earning him a tiny whine as they part.

Forcing himself to keep walking, Eddie hates leaving his m—

Hates leaving Steve. He wants to run back and scoop him into his arms. To keep him close.

Instead, he gets in Steve’s car and drives to the reception, grabs a scotch from the open bar, and distracts himself from missing Steve by chatting with Jonathan who is just as in need of the company since Argyle and Nancy are also in the wedding party.

Eddie’s on his second scotch when he hears whispers that the limo has arrived, and he goes to order a Manhattan for Steve with extra cherries. He’s barely got the coupe glass in hand before the DJ is announcing the new Mr. and Mrs. Buckley.

They’ve changed into their reception outfits: Chrissy’s dress short and frothy, Robin in metallic pants and a shirt unbuttoned halfway down her sternum, both of them already dancing as they make their grand entrance.

The whole room hoots and hollers as they burst into cheers.

The rest of the party has changed too. Nancy’s in a slinky dress, the depth of the black of it the only thing hiding the outline of her dick. Argyle is in shorts that make him seem ridiculously tall, and Heather is in a romper covered in rhinestones.

Then there’s Steve.

He’s dressed to match Robin in silver-sequined pants, trading the button-down for a loose tank top that shows off too much of his golden skin, freckles and moles like so many stars in the sky.

Eddie’s mouth waters as he makes his way over to him, drink in hand.

“Damn, sweetheart!” he says, eyes locked on Steve’s tits, needing to hold him by the sides and slip his thumbs in to tease his nipples.

Steve grips hush chin, tilts his gaze up until their eyes meet. “Thanks, babe.” He smiles into their kiss, uses his teeth a little.

Eddie offers him the drink, and Steve happily accepts, plucking out a cherry and popping it into his mouth. Another kiss, this one cherry-sweet, and Steve downs his drink, holding his extra cherry between his teeth for a long moment, grinning as he bites it in half.

“Why is it so hot when you do that?” Eddie rasps, his dress pants suddenly a little too tight.

Steve smiles, pulls half the cherry from between his lips, and presses it to Eddie’s mouth. “Shut up and dance with me, Munson,” he says, laughing, barely containing his delight.

He drags Eddie onto the dance floor, the alpha going willingly, hands easily finding their way onto Steve’s hips. Falling to the beat, into moving with one another is easy. So easy, Eddie nearly forgets his revelation from earlier.

And he’s distracted again by Steve’s chest.

“You okay there, Munson?” he teases, using a single finger to direct Eddie’s gaze back up to face him. “Keep your eyes on me.”

A purr rumbles through Eddie’s chest as he leans in close. “Why d’ya still call me Munson all the time, Stevie?” he murmurs, then kisses Steve’s ear.

“Like the way it sounds. I like everything about you, Eddie.” The words are soft and vulnerable, barely audible over the pulse of the music.

It makes Eddie brave enough to be vulnerable, too.

“How do you like the sound of Mrs. Munson? Or Ms.” He smiles. “Whichev-”

Steve cuts him off with a kiss.

“I like the sound of that a lot.”

[sycamorelibrary754]

Merry Christmas

Summary: It’s the most wonderful time of the year. You and Natasha are off to the annual Stark Christmas Party. Little does the team know that a special surprise awaits them.

Genre: Fluff

Pairings: Natasha x reader, Avengers x reader (platonic).

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: None

A/N: This is part 2 to Happy Thanksgiving! I recommend reading it first, but it can be read as a stand-alone story as well. I hope you enjoy!

“Be down in a minute, malyshka!” Natasha called from the bedroom. 

You were standing in the cozy kitchen, savoring spoonfuls of creamy peanut butter straight from the jar, drizzled with rich chocolate sauce. You jokingly referred to it as your "homemade Reese's." It was your first pregnancy craving, prompting Nat to rush to the corner grocery store at 2 am to procure the duo of ingredients.

"No worries!" You were all set for Tony's yearly Christmas gathering at the compound. Clad in a stunning green Sequin-Lace Halter Twist-Neck Jumpsuit, your tiny baby bump added an extra glow to the outfit.

Natasha's arrival was announced by the confident click of her high heels. A few moments later, she appeared in a stunning, sleek red midi dress with a scoop-back design, perfectly accentuating her figure.

"Wow, Nat, you look absolutely stunning in red. It's definitely your color," you complimented.

Her smirk grew as she put on her earrings, 'So, you're choosing it over the black?' she teased.

"I never said that, did I?" with a cheeky wink.

"Is the little one loving the homemade Reese’s?" she said, grabbing her clutch.

Absolutely!" I exclaimed, setting aside the tempting chocolate and peanut butter. "How about we whip up some delicious fudge tomorrow?

"Is it because the baby has such a sweet tooth?" Nat playfully teased.

"Absolutely," you giggled coyly.

"Whatever the baby wants, I guess," she said as she enveloped you in a warm embrace, then leaned over to plant a tender kiss on your belly.

"Are you ready to drop the baby bomb tonight?" Patting Nat's head affectionately.

“I'm feeling a bit nervous," she confessed, standing upright. "I remember how everyone reacted when they learned about Clint's family. I can't help but wonder how they'll take this news.

“They will embrace their roles as the wonderful aunts and uncles they were meant to be,” you said, grabbing your wife's hand. “Plus, announcing it with the Christmas crackers is a cute idea.”

"I hope so," she whispered before planting a gentle kiss on your lips. 

Can you believe Yelena still hasn't spilled the beans?” you asked.

"Oh, that's because I warned her that if she told anyone, I would make her run with me every morning at 5 am until the baby is born," Natasha explained.

“Well played,” you replied, high-fiving your wife. 

Thank you," she smiled. "Now, come on, let's go and get into the holiday spirit.

*^~^*

As you drove to the compound, the snowflakes delicately blanketed the landscape, creating a picturesque scene of holiday cheer. Each house you passed was adorned with shimmering Christmas lights, casting a warm, enchanting glow upon the neighborhood. You reached out to hold Natasha's hand, your fingers naturally intertwining as she pressed a tender kiss to the back of your hand, savoring the moment.

Upon your arrival at the compound, a rush of inviting warmth enveloped us as you both stepped into the lobby. Natasha brushed the delicate snowflakes from your hair and coat, her caring touch bringing a sense of comfort. Together, you made your way onto the elevator, where the voice of FRIDAY greeted us, creating a tranquil atmosphere as we continued our journey.

“Ladies, Merry Christmas, and welcome to the annual Stark Christmas party!”

“Merry Christmas, FRIDAY. How’s the party so far?” You asked as the elevator hum carried you up to the living quarters.

“The festivities are in full swing. Mr. Stark is treating the guests to a medley of lively and heartwarming Christmas carols,” FRIDAY explained.

"Of course he is," you chuckled.

“He only plays that baby grand after a few drinks," Nat added. "After our month-long covert op in Romania, we flew back, and he decided to mark the occasion with a tipsy performance of ABBA’s Dancing Queen.”

"Ah, I can't believe I missed it!" you groaned, pretending to be disappointed.

As the elevator doors slid open, the vibrant red and green decorations instantly caught your eye, along with the magnificent 12-foot-tall Noble Fir Christmas tree that stood proudly in the heart of the common area. It was evident that Pepper had poured her heart into adorning the tree, carefully draping it in an array of colored lights and delicate silver and gold ornaments. The festive ambiance filled the air, evoking a sense of warmth and holiday cheer.

"Look who's here - the Romanoff's have arrived!" Clint cheered as his kids eagerly ran over to greet you and Natahsa.

As Nate leaped into your wife's embrace, you welcomed Lila and Cooper with warm hugs. Each time you saw the Barton kids, it became apparent that they had grown a little more. Banner and Cho made carrying a child that would be a combination of both your and Natasha's genes possible. Observing the striking resemblance of Clint and Laura's children to their parents, you eagerly anticipated discovering which traits your little plum would inherit from each of you.

Natasha leaned in and planted a kiss on Nathaniel's cheek. "How's my little namesake?" she grinned. "Have you been practicing those punch and kick combinations I taught you?

"Practicing the what?" Laura asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, nothing,” Natasha flashed a sly smile as Nate burst into laughter.

"You both look amazing! The green and red combination is really working for you," Clint said.

Thanks! I have to say that your Christmas sweater is quite lovely. I really dig Rudolph's glowing nose." You don't see that very often!” You teased.

“Hey, the Barton’s are the cream of the crop when it comes to ugly Christmas sweaters.”

“Clearly,” Nat stated.

"I’ll take your coats," Cooper graciously offered.

"Wow, thank you. What a gentleman," you said as you handed him yours and Natasha’s pea coats.

Looking around, you spotted Wanda adding the final decorations to trays of delicious Christmas cookies. You put a hand on Nat’s shoulder and motioned toward the kitchen. She gave you a quick nod as you meandered over to the counter. 

"Wanda, Wanda, Wanda... What do we have here?" you inquired with a sly grin.

Y/N! It's so good to see you," she exclaimed, her arms wrapping around me in one of her signature warm and comforting hugs that I always loved. "This is my parents' famous Christmas cookie recipe," she proudly announced, holding up a worn and stained piece of paper. "I managed to convince Tony and Pepper to let me take charge of the desserts this year. So, we've got batches of freshly baked cookies, the decadent Viennese torte chilling in the fridge, and the pumpkin pie just coming out to cool on the counter.

Wow, you've been keeping busy," you said with a smile. "Is there anything I can do to lend a hand?

"Sure, you can take a cookie and go mingle. I'll be finished in a few minutes," she said, handing you a delightful cookie shaped like Santa. As you bit into it, you were amazed. It was the most delicious cookie you had ever tasted.

"Wow, Wanda! This is fantastic!" you exclaimed excitedly.

"That's exactly why I'll always champion homemade goodies over store-bought ones. Now, come on, go join the fun," she said, playfully shooing you away.

You turned around to see your wife, elegantly positioned by the fireplace, conversing with Steve with a champagne glass. As you began crossing the room, Kate and Lucky, adorned in festive attire, intercepted your path.

"Y/N! It's been ages! How have you been?" Kate exclaimed, her face lighting up with excitement.

"Hey, Kate! It's great to see you and Lucky enjoying the party," while giving the Golden Retriever some affectionate pets.

"Kate joyfully exclaimed, "Yes, say hello to Santa Paws and Mrs. Claus!" Sadly, we can't seem to find Yelena. She's our dedicated elf." Kate glanced around the room with concern.

Wait, Yelena is actually dressed as an elf?!" Your eyes widened in surprise. "Oh, that's fantastic.”

“Yeah, if you see her, will you send her our way? We’re supposed to take the photo for our holiday card tonight,” Kate explained.

"Nothing would make me happier," you said with a smirk and a hand resting on Kate's shoulder.

You bid farewell to the young archer and her loyal pup before rejoining your wife.

"Hey detka," Nat greeted, gently wrapping her arm around your waist.

"Y/N, I was just telling your wife that she needs to find her holiday spirit and come Christmas caroling with us next week," Steve stated.

"Natasha singing? I'm not convinced that would do wonders for the community's morale," you quipped.

Nat giggled at the remark, "Says the woman who performs one-woman tributes to Harry Styles in the shower?"

“Hey" you interrupted, "I'll have you know that my performance of Sign of the Times has been receiving high praise.

A moment later, Tony and Pepper joined your little group, with Morgan walking alongside them.

"Hey there, Romanoffs! You've got to taste this amazing Hot Buttered Rum," Tony exclaimed.

I adore Hot Buttered Rum, but I'm in the mood for some sparkling cider tonight," you explained. "I bet Nat would enjoy some, though. Don't you think, sweetheart?”

"Sure," she said, grabbing the glass from Tony's hand. Steve looked back at you curiously.

As you looked down at Morgan, who was sitting on the cozy ottoman next to the crackling fireplace, you couldn't help but feel a deep connection. Ever since you discovered that you were expecting a baby, your heart has been inexplicably drawn to children in a way you had never experienced before.

"Hey there, cutie!" you exclaimed to the young Stark. "You're looking lovely tonight," as you crouched down to her eye level.

"Thank you, Aunt Y/N," she said with a big grin.

“Are you getting excited for Christmas?" you inquired. "You're at the top of Santa's nice list this year!

“Really?!” Morgan squealed.

"Definitely! I have a feeling the man in red will bring you some amazing surprises this year," you winked.

Hey, did you hear that, Daddy? Aunt Y/N just told me that I'm at the very top of the nice list!

“I sure did, squirt. I didn’t realize Aunt Y/N was so tight with St. Nick,” Tony said, eyeing you coyly.

"Of course, we're on a first-name basis. I'm amazed you're not," you said with a smirk, looking at the billionaire. You had a strong bond with Tony, treating him like a brother, but you couldn't resist teasing him.

Trust me, Mrs. Romanoff," Tony said with a smirk. "I'm way closer to Santa than you are.

“Do you have a direct line to the North Pole?” You countered.

"Are you getting milk and cookies flown in from Holland? You know those are his absolute favorites," Tony remarked, giving you a knowing look.

"Alright, that's enough," your wife said as she touched your shoulders from behind. "You both know Santa. You both have giant egos. Merry Christmas," Nat mocked. "Come on, Tony, let's grab some hors d'oeuvres for our better halves. I'll be right back, detka," she said, leading the billionaire toward the kitchen.

You couldn’t help but admire Natasha as she walked away. Looking back over her shoulder, she smiled at you with all the love in the world. You just about melted right there in front of the fireplace. Snapping out of your love daze, you noticed Pepper grinning at you.

“What?” you asked.

"Oh, nothing. I just can’t help but notice how glowing you look tonight," Pepper said as Morgan pulled her away towards Clint’s kids, while Steve strolled away to join Bucky in conversation with Rhodes.

"Hey, psst... psst!" a voice suddenly whispered.

You suddenly spun around just in time to see a styrofoam snowball hurtling towards your face. With lightning-fast reflexes, you snatched it out of the air smoothly.

"Good catch," a Russian voice exclaimed.

"Yelena, where are you?" You glanced around, but couldn't see my sister-in-law anywhere.

"Over here!" she called out, peeking from behind the towering seven-foot snowman beside the pool table.

"Aww, you look absolutely adorable as an elf," you giggled.

Yelena's voice was barely audible as she uttered, "If you weren't pregnant with my niece or nephew, you would be hanging upside down from the rafters right now."

"Do you know that Kate and Lucky are looking for you?" you asked.

“Why do you think I’m hiding behind the enormous snowman? Kate Bishop forced me to dress in this saccharin American Christmas costume, and now she wants photographic evidence of it.” Yelena said.

"Because she loves you, silly," she said with a smile, arms crossed over her chest.

"Dinner time, detka. Let's go," Natasha called out and then abruptly halted, bursting into laughter at the sight of her sister.

“Tred carefully, sestra,” Yelena threatened. 

Nope, I'm loving this. Isn't this the new mission suit attire?" she said, playfully tapping the bell hanging from her elf hat. "Maybe we can convince Stark to level up this outfit with some Widow Bites action.

“Do you have a death wish?” Yelena sneered.

“Come on, you adorable elf, it’s time for dinner,” you say as you place an arm around your best friend’s shoulder.

*^~^*

As you sat next to your wife at the elegant Astoria Grand Giovani dining table, the soft touch of Natasha's hand sent a gentle warmth through you. You turned to her and caught her shy smile; her cheeks tinged with a rosy, festive blush.

Pepper rose from her seat beside Tony at the head of the lavishly decorated holiday table. With warmth in her voice and a genuine smile, she addressed the gathered guests. "Before we savor this delectable holiday spread, I want to express our deep gratitude for every one of you being here," she said, gently clasping Tony's hand. "Every person in this room understands the preciousness of life, and we cherish every moment together. We want you to know how much we love you, and we wish you all a Merry Christmas."

"Cheers!" Thor exclaimed a few seats away, raising his glass as clinking filled the table.

The festive Christmas feast brought an abundance of delightful dishes to savor. The centerpiece was a perfectly roasted turkey, surrounded by tempting trimmings. Freshly baked bread, creamy mashed potatoes, and garden-fresh vegetables, delicately roasted and complemented with balsamic vinegar, graced the table. Laughter filled the air as the group indulged in cheerful conversation and shared a medley of lighthearted, albeit incredibly corny, jokes.

As the evening progressed, pregnancy mood swings began to intensify. Amidst the gathering, a wave of emotion washed over you as you and your extended family relished the holiday season together.

"Y/N, are you alright?" Carol's eyes held a deep sense of concern as she gazed at you from across the table.

Oh, yeah," you say, dabbing at the corner of your eyes with a napkin. "I'm fine.

"The holidays always tug at her heartstrings," Natasha covered, resting her head on your shoulder.

After your delicious dinner, you assisted Wanda in setting up the dessert spread. Placing the Christmas cookies in the center, you carefully arranged the Viennese torte and the pumpkin pie on either side. As the evening progressed, you passed around coffee and dessert wine; all enjoying the company and the sweet treats.

The room was filled with the cozy warmth of full bellies and slightly sleepy eyes as the group relaxed in the living room. Soft, enchanting Christmas music filled the air, creating the perfect backdrop for the kids' lively discussions about their Christmas wishes and what they hoped Santa would bring them this year.

"Alright, Kate Bishop, let's hurry up with this photo. I can't wait to change into my pajamas," Yelena declared as she reluctantly rose from the couch.

You got it! Stay right there. Come here, Lucky," Kate called out as the dog happily bounded over. "Vision, could you snap the photo for us?

"Of course, Ms. Bishop," he said, confidently taking the Canon EOS R-50 from the archer's hands.

“It is customary to say cheese before a picture, but since it is Christmas time, perhaps you should say mistletoe?” Vision inquired.

"Just take the picture, you overgrown toaster," Yelena said dryly, a hint of impatience in her voice.

Kate's voice echoed through the room, 'Mistletoe!'

"Hey, we're getting one of these cards, right?" you eagerly looked at your wife.

“I had Kate put us down for two,” she smirked.

*^~^*

As darkness descended, you leaned back and rested your tired head on Nat's comforting lap, feeling the soothing sensation of her fingers gently running through your hair.

Natasha glanced at her watch, noting the late hour. "Are you ready to drop the baby bomb?"

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be. I'll grab the Christmas crackers," you declared, getting up from the sofa.

"Hey everyone, Y/N and I have a surprise for you," your wife nervously announced as you handed out the gold and silver novelties to the team.

"Christmas crackers? Seriously? I was expecting something a bit more extravagant… Oww!" Tony complained as Pepper playfully pinched his arm.

You smiled nervously, your heart racing as you reached for Natasha. The snap of the festive crackers echoed merrily across the room. Clint's eyes lit up as he was the first to reach inside and carefully remove the tiny gift from the cracker. The little round ceramic white ornament, delicately tied to a vibrant red ribbon, appeared in his hand, reflecting the warm glow of the holiday lights. Lila, Cooper, and Nate, their faces filled with excitement and curiosity, eagerly huddled around their dad to get a glimpse as Clint slowly turned the ornament to read the inscription, a moment of joy and togetherness shared by the entire family.

"Uncle Clint?" he read, looking up at Natasha in complete shock.

Sam couldn't believe it and shouted, "No way!"

As Wanda, Carol, and Kate gazed upon their unique ornaments, they couldn't help but shout a collective scream of joy. Each ornament proudly displayed its name, followed by the cherished title of "Aunt."

Thor exclaimed, 'This is joyous news!'

Pepper jumped to her feet and wrapped you in a bear hug, while Laura did the same with Natasha.

“How far along are you?” Wanda asked.

“Almost three months,” Yelena cut in.

"Wait, you knew?! Why didn't you tell me?" Kate yelled, slapping her girlfriend on the arm.

“Because I want to sleep in!” Yelena shouted.

"Nat, I'm thrilled for you," Steve exclaimed, gently kissing her cheek.

Bucky enveloped you in a warm embrace, planting a soft kiss on your head.

"Are you ready to take on the role of Uncle Bucky?" You lock eyes with him.

His face froze in sheer panic, like a deer caught in the headlights. “Oh my God.”

“You’ll be great, Buck,” you chuckled. 

Bruce and Helen wrapped Natasha in a warm, heartfelt embrace, simultaneously holding her close from both sides.

Helen turned to you with a look of relief. "Now that everyone knows, we can openly discuss your pregnancy," she said. "Have you been taking your prenatal vitamins regularly?

"Don't forget, you've got an appointment on Friday," Bruce said.

Without a second thought, you replied, "Yes and yes," as Natasha leaned in to gently kiss your cheek, followed by another on your belly.

Tony swaggered up to you with his trademark smirk playing at the corners of his lips. Bracing yourself for one of his classic Stark one-liners or a cheeky joke, you were entirely taken off guard when he unexpectedly enveloped you in a comforting and heartfelt hug.

“Congratulations, Romanoff,” Tony said. “It looks like you do know Santa best.” 

[carlyraejepsans]

Rate UT characters on likely they are to eat spoiled food

premise: as monster food does not spoil, this speculation is based on how i think they'd treat human food in the post pacifist ending

frisk. trash burger. enough said. (also i hc that they grew up on the streets, so... not a lot of chances to be picky with your food.)

sans. second most likely. there's milk in the fridge bought specifically for him to drink out of the carton whenever frisk's or papyrus' friends come to visit, like a stereotypical disney channel older brother (he loves being annoying on purpose). it's been there for a month. he's still not done with it. it's probably rancid. enjoyer of food and lover of even shittier food. mr worst burger on the menu. he is ESPECIALLY gross about food and he is gross about it on purpose, he will peel an apple for papyrus and then take a bite out of it before cutting him a slice. and then call him a wuss when he acts disgusted. ("stop being a baby bones, we have the same germs anyway" "NO WE DON'T. *YOU* HAVE GERMS! AND I DON'T WANT ANY OF THEM!!" "why? they're pedigreed" "OUGH!?!!"). he mostly uses it as a chance to make a gag (or a lack of gagging, lol) but his strong stomach did also come in handy in the early days of papyrus' interest in cooking

mettaton, of sequins-and-glue hamburgers fame. he's technically tied for 2nd place with sans, but i put him in third because i feel like sans does it on purpose, for mettaton it's more like... a side effect of starting life off as a ghost. few people question it since he's a robot now.

alphys. she doesn't go out of her way to do it, but she buys her snacks in industrial pallet-fuls to reduce social interactions to a minimum, so by the time she reaches the last 3 or 4 packets of blue takis, they're well past their expiration date. not that it stops her. now, this wouldn't happen on the surface because she gets better and has a solid support system, but if monster food could spoil back when she was going Through it with the amalgamates, i feel like she'd either be too depressed or tired to care and eat it, or she'd tumble into a "g-god. you can't even take care of your own f-food. is there anything you can't fuck up" self-deprecation spiral and lose her appetite altogether

flowey. did it to see what would happen. nothing did. never did it again. tbh I just don't think he eats much of anything, spoiled or not.

undyne. getting into the "wouldn't eat spoiled food" tier. she actually thinks it's really gross but papyrus tricks her into doing it by challenging her machismo. she gets SO sick from it. they do this aprox 3 times a month. rinse and repeat

asgore. he's a gardener, and i can see him working in a community garden on the surface, so he'd have access to a lot of fresh produce, for both himself and to give away. however, if some of it were to go bad, he'd probably cut off the affected bit and eat the rest so it doesn't go to waste.

toriel. she is SUPER careful about expiration dates and mold and checks to make sure all she owns is still safe to eat almost weekly. this level of care, however, is mostly meant for other people, not herself, but she would really rather not eat anything that's gone bad. same reasoning as alphys', IF monster food could spoil when she was still in the RUINs, i could technically see her biting the bullet, if only because 1) she was also heavily depressed and struggling to take care of herself, though i think she might sooner skip out on the meal altogether, rather than eat something spoiled, and 2) the awkward stares from the other monsters in the RUINs supermarket might not be something she's willing to deal with on any given day.

papyrus. he would NOT. no way. master of cleaning, germophobe extraordinaire papyrus (well, not really, but he plays the part). if toriel is meticulous, papyrus is obsessive. there better not be a SINGLE spot on his food. and no lines or plaid patterns either!! he WILL wash it untill it goes away. with soap probably. canonically a picky eater to begin with (his picks are just weird as balls). can should and WILL get on sans' ass about his unhealthy eating habits, and that includes eating food that's gone bad.

[pandapetals]

Disco Party

The mansion is turned into a disco party!

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - married couple, cute, fluff, banter, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

divider credit: @enchanthings

“A disco party?” Logan repeated, his tone caught somewhere between disbelief and outright disdain. His scowl deepened as he leaned back on the bed, watching you fuss over two sequined jumpsuits in front of the mirror. “You’re jokin’, right? Who the hell thought this was a good idea?”

You grinned, holding the jumpsuits up against your body and tilting your head as you examined your reflection. “It was Ororo’s idea, obviously. And for the record, I think it’s genius. It’s fun, it’s retro, and c’mon… you lived through the disco era! You should be excited about this.”

Logan let out a low groan, dragging a hand down his face. “Sweetheart, trust me—livin’ through it once was enough. The disco era wasn’t all glitter and bell bottoms, you know. It was chaos.”

You turned to face him, ignoring his grumbling. “Okay, Mr. Grumpypants, focus. Which jumpsuit—gold or silver?”

His gaze flicked over you, and even though he tried to maintain his gruff expression, the way his eyes lingered on you betrayed him. He pointed to the gold one with a faint smirk. “The gold makes your ass look good. And it’s more accurate to the time period if you care about that sorta thing.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched into a smile. “You really know how to sweet-talk a girl.”

Logan shrugged, leaning back on his elbows. “Just statin’ facts.”

“And what about you?” you asked, holding the gold jumpsuit up to your body for one last look. “What are you wearing to this fabulous disco extravaganza?”

“Hell no,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’m not dressin’ up.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, setting the jumpsuit down and crossing your arms. “Oh, yes you are.”

“Darlin’, there’s not a chance in hell you’re gettin’ me into one of those ridiculous getups.”

“Oh, really?” you challenged, raising an eyebrow. “Logan, you’ve survived wars, mutant battles, and teaching hormonal teenagers. And you’re telling me you’re scared of a little polyester and sequins?”

His jaw tightened, and you could see him waver. He hated being called out, and you knew exactly how to push his buttons.

“You don’t even have to try that hard,” you added, softening your tone and stepping closer to him. “Just wear a pair of flared pants, an open shirt, and maybe a chain or two. You’ll look amazing. Trust me.”

Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was already regretting this. “Fine,” he grumbled. “But if anyone takes a picture of me, I’m leavin’ early.”

Later that evening, the mansion was transformed into a glittering time machine. The large ballroom was strung with colorful lights, a disco ball casting shimmering patterns across the walls and floor. Abba blasted from the speakers, and nearly everyone was dressed to the nines in retro-themed outfits—bell bottoms, platform shoes, bright colors, and sparkly jumpsuits.

You walked into the room with Logan by your side, beaming as you took in the scene. Logan, however, looked less than thrilled in his flared black pants, white shirt left unbuttoned halfway down, and a gold chain you had somehow convinced him to wear.

“You look amazing,” you said, threading your arm through his.

“Feel like an idiot,” he muttered, though the faint blush creeping up his neck betrayed him.

“You’re my idiot,” you teased, leaning up to kiss his cheek before dragging him further into the room.

The energy in the ballroom was infectious. Everyone was dancing, laughing, and singing along to the music. You couldn’t stop smiling as you twirled in your gold jumpsuit, the sequins catching the light.

When “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!” started blasting through the speakers, you turned to Logan with a mischievous grin.

“Oh, no,” Logan said immediately, holding up his hands. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Come on, Logan!” you said, grabbing his arm. “It’s Abba! You can’t not dance to Abba!”

“Watch me,” he deadpanned.

But you weren’t having it. With a firm tug, you pulled him onto the dance floor, laughing as he let out a resigned groan.

“Alright, fine,” he muttered, standing awkwardly in the middle of the dance floor while you began to move to the music.

“Loosen up!” you said, grinning as you spun around him. “Just follow my lead!”

He grumbled something under his breath, but the sight of you—bright-eyed, laughing, and completely carefree—was impossible to resist. Slowly, he started to sway, his movements stiff at first but gradually more natural as you took his hands and guided him.

“That’s it!” you encouraged, laughing as you sang along to the lyrics. “Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight…”

Logan rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at his lips as he watched you dance, your joy lighting up the entire room. “You’re somethin’ else, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and warm.

“And don’t you forget it,” you teased, spinning around and pulling him closer.

To your surprise, Logan started to move with you, his hands resting on your hips as he let the music take over. His movements were a little clumsy, but there was something endearing about seeing him let his guard down.

“See?” you said, beaming up at him. “You’re a natural!”

“Don’t push it,” he muttered, though the smirk on his face betrayed his amusement.

As the song reached its chorus, you leaned up and kissed his cheek, your lips brushing against his stubble. “You’re officially my favorite dance partner.”

“Yeah?” he said, his hazel eyes softening as he looked down at you. “Well, you’re the only reason I’m even out here.”

For the rest of the song, you stayed close, swaying together as the disco ball spun above you. And though Logan would never admit it, he didn’t mind the ridiculous outfit or the cheesy music—not when it meant moments like this, where everything else melted away and it was just the two of you.

As the song ended, Logan leaned down, brushing his lips against your ear. “Next time, we’re pickin’ a decade without sequins.”

You laughed, resting your head against his chest. “Deal. But you have to admit, you had fun.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yeah, maybe a little.”

[idksmtms]

'tis the damn season (Modern!Aegon Targaryen x reader) - evermore series

A/N: Hiiiiii! I am finally back after way too long omg! While I am still stumbling my way through getting back into my writing, please enjoy this next instalment of the evermore series! I will slowly be coming back and trying to post a lot more often, but just bear with me while I navigate my writing journey. Enjoy!!!

Summary: Three years ago you left home behind to pursue university. You left Aegon. Now, you’re back and faced with not only the destroyed relationship you had once run from, but all the thoughts and feelings you have been dwelling on and refusing to face over the years you’ve been away. 

Word count: ~3.9k

Trigger Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, angst, post-breakup, Aegon being heartbroken (past), breaking up, mentions of alcoholism, mentions of drug addiction, mentions of mental health issues, mentions of rehab, rehab recovery, breakups, heartbreak, just painful and difficulty reunions, owning up to your mistakes and too-late realisations, angsty but hopeful (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters. I do not claim to own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

The smell of mulled wine wafted gently across your face, carried by the warm air blasting from every heater in the manor. Cinnamon, and close, star anise and a hint of cherry, Mrs. Targaryen’s personal twist that made the recipe oh so coveted. 

The door was unmanned, a rather surprising thing given how much Mrs. Targaryen loved to flaunt the servants and security guards. Perhaps you really had been gone too long. 

You deposited your clutch on the little side table and divested yourself of your coat, first one arm, then the other, a quick pat of the pockets, a little fling onto the coat rack so the heavy black felt thing was situated just enough not to topple the overflowing rack over. You brushed the hem of your dress down, fingertips catching on the glistening red sequins before brushing over your black tights. 

You picked up the clutch again, a matching red sequin rectangle, and turned to the ornate mirror hung on the wall above the end table, gold edged and running the length of the wall. You took up only a sliver the size of you, and clasped your hands around the clutch to press it to your stomach. You straightened up, shoulders back and spine relaxed. You stretched your lips here and there, weird grotesque smiles and pouts and bared teeth to check for the millionth time that the slash of red lipstick had not strayed. You batted your eyes at yourself before turning away and beginning a gentle walk down to the splash of light in the hall from which a daunting array of chatter, clinking glasses, and soft instrumental seasonal tunes emitted. 

When Mrs. Targaryen heard (from the mouths of your parents no less) that you had finally returned after three years of university (“not even one visit during all that time?!” she had inquired to your mother - who then promptly explained that they went up North to you instead), she had impressed upon your mother that if you declined to attend her annual holiday party that she would take it as a personal affront. 

So here you were, fashionably late (only due to the almost clinical level of overthinking you had engaged in from the moment you began to dress to just a second prior) and ready to show your face in what you and Helaena had affectionately dubbed ‘high society’ once more. 

It’s not like you had cut off ties with everyone when you left. Almost everyone who had followed you on instagram was still there, nestled in your private profile (except the select few that were occasionally pruned on days you were bored). You still responded to messages, were still in the group chats (despite never once contributing), facetimed friends, et cetera, et cetera. Just because you didn’t return didn’t mean anything (except, of course, that it did). 

You stepped into the room, slow but steady, and took a moment to gaze around the ballroom. You were unsurprised at the continuing theme of green. Dark green curtains cinched back at each bay-style window, sashes and bows of the same fabric framing the tops. Dark green, satiny, tablecloths draped carefully over the standing tables dotted all around. The Christmas tree near the back towered over everyone, glowing with yellow lights and gold, silver, and phthalo green baubles. You still remembered how Mrs. Targaryen said that coloured tree lights were tacky, one of the more posh things you had heard from her in your early teen years. 

You dropped your gaze to the people. You could see some familiar faces, girls you hadn’t spoken to since the end of school, but whose instagram stories still diligently kept you up to date on their lives. Other people who had dropped off your radar completely and now brought vague and somewhat touching memories to mind of moments shared in classes, laughs and jokes once given and received. 

You caught glimpses of Mrs. Targaryen’s auburn hair through breaks in the crowd, a delicate hold on a flute of glass filled with non-alcoholic cider. Since you had known her she had refused to partake in drink, something that had earned your respect once upon a time. Before… 

You caught sigh of Aemond in the corner, a shiny black suit doing well to blend him into the shadows. He was gently grasping a flute glass in long elegant fingers, and his eyepatch was a perfect match to his suit, pressed perfectly to his face and over his neatly combed man bun. 

His ever watchful eyes caught you quickly, a spark of recognition, a little lift of the brow, the careful deposit of his glass on the table as he began rounding it. You smiled, lifted your hand in a little wave and waited for him to find you. 

His progress was interrupted, though not halted, by his sister gliding into view and smiling brightly as she gently grasped your arms for a moment before pulling them away. The most hug she could ever give you with her aversion to physical touch. You had never once minded, you had grown up with Helaena just the way she was, gentle Helaena as you often called her. 

Though she couldn’t handle touch, she stood as close as possible without it and beamed at you, the most unabashed grin you had ever seen from her. 

Her cheeks were rosy and her beautiful hair was gathered into a beautiful braided knot at the back of her head. She wore a dress of green and silver, emphasising the pale silveriness of her skin, no doubt a mutated form of the gown her own mother was wearing. 

“I can’t believe you’re back!” She said in an excited little voice, husky and gentle. You resisted the urge to clasp her hands in yours and instead held tighter to your clutch. 

“Me neither, it's been a long time,” you sighed. You could see the touch of seriousness twinge Helaena’s face, but you looked over her shoulder and beckoned Aemond closer before she could voice it. 

“Hello Y/n,” his soft whispery voice had not changed since you’d been gone. “Finally returned?” 

You smiled at him, pulling him into a little side hug before threading your arm through his and pulling yourself tight to him. It felt familiar, homely. You had been forcing the poor boy into cuddles since your families had been connected. 

“Yes, Mr. Dragon,” a teasing but rare nickname that made his remaining eye twitch in annoyance. “Back for now.” 

“I’m your elder, you should show some respect,” he gritted out, trying to shake you off his arm halfheartedly. You simply clung on and pressed a quick teasing peck to his cheek. Though it was technically true that you were younger than him (though only just about), you had been at just the right age to gain all the siblings’ friendship rather than becoming a patronised younger hanger-on. 

Aemond huffed but stopped his attempts to detach himself from you. You had always been a little too loving for his tastes. 

Helaena leaned her elbows on the standing table the three of you had gravitated toward and gently began fiddling with the clasp of your clutch which you had thrown down at the first opportunity. Your eyes drifted to the crowd again, as if you were looking for someone, and Helaena cleared her throat. 

“Have you seen him yet?” She asked in that quiet halting way of hers. You snapped your eyes back to her, felt Aemond stiffen a little in your grip. You wanted to think of something witty and gently humorous to say but there was the hint of a lump in your throat so you just shook your head with a pathetic little smile. 

“Ah,” Aemond nodded and then pursed his lips, swallowing and then gazing down at the table. 

“I’m a little scared to,” you whispered, now fiddling with the other end of your clutch. 

“Because you broke his heart?” 

“Aemond!” Helaena exclaimed, glaring at him as you took the glass out of his hand and sipped from it. 

“Because I’m scared I regret it,” you blurted out, exhaling long and slow. Helaena smiled sympathetically and reached forward to awkwardly pat your hands twice. 

You could see Mrs. Targaryen over her daughter’s shoulder, making her way closer and then setting her eyes on you. She smiled that polite and reserved smile she always used, then pulled you into a gentle hug when she got to you. She issued you on the cheek then lightly grasped both your arms to look at you properly. 

“How are you, my dear? It has been far too long.” You smiled and nodded, brushing a piece of your hair from your face. 

“I’m alright, thank you, Mrs. Targaryen. Just trying to relax for a little while right now.” SHe nodded along to your words and smiled softly, the way she had once done when you were little and thanking her for letting you stay over for a sleepover with Helaena. 

“Congratulations on your graduation, dear. I’m so proud of you. I always knew you could achieve great things.” You felt the bashfulness burn under your skin and bowed your head in thanks. 

When you looked up, you caught sight of him in the distance behind her. He was talking to someone, one hand grasping a drink and the other safely tucked into his trouser pocket. His hair was a little shorter than before, slicked back so it only flicked up at the ends by his neck. You could see an earring, his constant, and an array of rings on his hand. You wondered if he still wore the one you got him all those years ago. He was smiling, chuckling at whatever the other person had said, and you felt something clench somewhere inside of you. 

He looked… clean, well put-together, comfortable in his skin. You hoped he felt that way. His eyes flicked towards you and you turned your attention back to Mrs. Targaryen, nodding and smiling as she filled you in on all the changes about the place before she ultimately found another person that needed to be met. 

“I’ll just go say hello to Daphne, but I’ll find you again soon, dear.” She kissed you on the cheek and paused just as she was about to leave. She looked you right in the eye and gave you the most sincere smile you had ever seen from her. “It;s very good to see you again.’ And then she was off once more. 

You turned back to the table with Helaena and Aemond and motioned for one of the waiters to come over. You grabbed a drink off his tray and instantly began taking quick little sips from it. The side of your face burned and you couldn’t tell if it was because he might be staring at you or because you were simply aware he was on that side of the room. 

Suddenly the sting became agitation and you knew you needed fresh air right at that moment or you would start blabbering whatever words popped into your head and you were not interested in handling that particular panic symptom. 

“I’m gonna go out for a smoke,” your voice was abrupt, curt, as you began reaching for your clutch and picking it up. 

“You don’t even smoke,” Helaena exclaimed quietly. 

“There’s always time to start,” you mumbled as you turned away and walked out of the room, heading back the way you had come only such a short time ago. 

The air was brisk, like cold palms being laid flat against your skin as you shivered on the doorstep. 

You could just leave now and go home. You had shown your face at the party, there was no need to stay. You also knew that if you left before dinner, Mrs. Targaryen would be annoyed beyond belief. And leaving without telling Helaena felt like a betrayal anyway. She would understand you needing air for however long you wanted but she would expect you back in at some point. 

For now, you could just shiver on the doorstep, gulping in the lungfuls of icy air and thinking deep philosophical thoughts. 

The door opened a moment later and you turned toward the sound. He was a silhouette in the golden backlight, like a sign from god. You just stared at him as he slowly came outside and shut the door behind him. Your arms wrapped tighter around yourself. 

He didn’t say a word, just continued looking at you as he lifted his arm and held it out to you, your coat proffered in his hand. You gently took it from him and he watched you slip it on. 

“Y/n,” he said your name so evenly, no emotion, no indication of his thoughts. You sort of hated that you could no longer tell what he was thinking. His voice had not changed, you thoguht, then scolded yourself because why would it have? 

“Aegon,” you whispered, chewing on your lip as you glanced toward him then away then back again. You could only accept him in small doses right now. 

“You’re back,” he responded, showing his hands into his pockets as he looked out onto the gravel drive then back to you. You could see his truck parked by the garage on the far side, near the hedges on the property line. It was just as garish and hold as it had always been. Just as full of memories. 

“Mhm,” you hummed, biting your lip a little harder until it stung. 

“You didn’t say,” and he sounded almost offended, as if you hadn’t just ignored him for the past three years. 

“Should I have?” You mumbled, glancing back at him then away again. He was staring, unabashedly, at your face. 

“No,” he shook his head slowly, back and forth, then popped his lips. “Nope.”

In the silence that followed, you felt the pressure of the air on your brain. Your eyes stung and your throat clogged and you could do nothing but let the waves wash over you. You turned to him, stared at his blurry outline through the tears and felt your lips begin to shake with the sobs threatening at your throat and tongue. He was quick to pull you in, to wrap his arms around you and tuck your face in against his neck. 

He was so warm, as he had always been, but leaner now, less soft and more defined muscle. He smelt clean too, like fresh ocean-scented laundry detergent and cold cologne and his weird spicy shampoo. He clung to you tightly and gently hushed you and you wanted to hit him, to pummel him on the chest and slap him across the face. 

How dare he be so nice? How dare he comfort you when you deserved none of it? How dare he be so kind when all you had done was break his heart when he deserved the pain the least? You sobbed harshly against his shoulder, wrapped your arms around him and clung tightly. You could feel the damp fabric under your face. You only pressed closer until the sobs became quiet little blubbers and you could feel the drip of a tear against the back of your neck, the press of his pursed lips against your hair. 

You pulled away quickly, turned your back to him as you began hurriedly wiping at your cheeks and praying your waterproof mascara worked. You could hear him sniffing behind you, and you paused, closed your eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, then whispered, 

“I’m sorry.” He waited for a beat. 

“For what?” 

“I-” you swallowed, turned back around, looked into the bright, shiny, achingly beautiful blue of his eyes, the little line of water balanced precariously behind his eyelid. “I don’t know. A lot of things.” Your voice was clogged and pain-filled and you swallowed again. 

“Let’s be specific then,” he breathed out, smiling the joking little smile when he was feeling sarcastic and teasing, but a sadder, waterier, version. 

“For leaving when I did, for not explaining properly and maturely, for not calling.” You paused. “For letting myself believe I didn’t love you that much. For thinking that leaving also had to mean leaving behind.” You brought your hand up and began chewing on the side of your finger. He was quick to bring your hand back down, a gentle press on the forearm to force your arm back to your side. You cleared your throat and wrapped your arms around yourself. You looked off into the distance, into the black night by hedges. 

“Helaen told me you got out of rehab last year.” You began chewing on your lip. He cleared his throat. 

“Yes,” he nodded, “one and a half years sober now.” 

“Congrats,” you whispered. “You look good, sobriety suits you.” You paused. Gulped. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. What does that even mean…” you glanced at his face and the smile he was trying so hard to repress, the mischievous glint in his eyes. A breathless laugh escaped you, a pitchy little giggle that was most likely insanely unattractive but made you feel freer, a little lighter. 

The sudden bursting wish that he would kiss you was blinding. And sobering. You cleared your throat and looked away again. 

“It’s ok,” he finally said in a sigh, strolling closer. “Well, I mean, as ok as getting your heart broken by the girl you thought you would marry can be.” You shot him a glare. 

“Don’t joke about this.” 

“Why not? I’m the one that got heartbroken if I remember correctly.” “Aegon.” 

“Alright, sorry,” he hugged, but the smile said he really wasn’t. You clenched your hands together. 

“I was wrong,” you finally blurted out. 

You hadn’t been expecting to do this tonight. You had sat in your bedroom a week after you had returned and thought about how you would get in contact with him. A text message perhaps, a letter passed through Helaena if you were feeling old school, something to let him know you wanted to talk. And then you would meet him at a coffee shop, or maybe at the park where you used to force him to take walks with you so he wouldn’t sit in his room thinking about all the drugs he could be doing. 

But then Mrs. Targaryen had bumped into your mother and you had been forced into attendance, and you suppose the unavoidable is as the name suggests… unavoidable. 

Aegon didn’t say a word. 

“I was wrong in so many ways that I actually don’t even know where to start now…” you shifted a little, fiddling with a coin you had left in your coat pocket.

You could almost see the argument play out in your mind’s eye like a movie. The university acceptance letter crumpled in your hand as you both stood in his room. You were looking at him apprehensively, at the darkness in his eyes as you told him how excited you were, how you had to start packing and booking flights and… You could hear him asking what would happen between you two, what would become of the beautiful budding little thing the two of you had cultivated in the midst of all the troubles of your lives. 

“I don’t know,” you had said hesitatingly, looking down at the paper in your hands. You were young and irrational then. Though you had only grown three years older since (a blip of time in the grand scheme of things), so much had changed since. 

You could remember the way you had said you were going, as if he had ever mentioned stopping you. How defensive you had gotten when there had been no attack. 

“What about us?” He had asked. “What about me?” And the stupid, angry, words you had said. How you weren’t going to let anything hold you back. Not even this. 

It had felt so right at the time, to tamp down the feelings you had for the chance at an exciting, independent life. Not knowing… Not knowing what he had been going through. Not knowing that he hid those dark, struggling, parts of himself from you so you would only ever see the sunny side of life. Not knowing that he was just sitting there and taking all that shit from you because he would do anything to make you happy. 

And you, spoilt and ignorant you, had just up and left and taken three years to realise that while you enjoyed your life away from home, it could only have been better with him still in it. 

“Why didn’t you tell me about the drinking and the drugs? Why did you let me say all that shit to you?” You looked at him, feeling the tears burn again but ignoring them as you reached out and grasped his hand between yours, gently running your fingers across his own. 

“I don’t know,” he mumbled in return, bringing his other hand to do the same across the back of your hand. 

You supposed it didn’t matter. Both of you knew, even if he didn’t say it. And it didn’t really need to be said anyway. 

You moved even closer, gently cupping his cheek. He closed his eyes, nuzzled his face into your palm and took a shaky breath in, then out. You ran your thumb across his cheekbone, back and forth, feeling the barest hint of stubble come in. 

“Aegon,” you mumbled, pressing a little closer so that more of you touched him, so that more of you could nuzzle into his warmth. “I can’t promise that I’ll stay here,” you began hesitantly, “but if I leave again, will… will you come with me?” 

Aegon opened his eyes and looked at you. Deep into your eyes as if he could see to the very dark core of your soul. 

He could see the first time the two of you had kissed, awkward and gentle in the darkness of the Targaryen manor kitchen when you were getting water late at night during a sleepover with Helaena and he was sneaking back in from a party. 

He could see the text messages where he had shyly asked you out on a date despite already having kissed you. The quick response you had sent, eager and unafraid. 

He could see all the little dates between the highs and the drunken stupors. He could see the times you had sat in his room, studying at his desk while he lay on his bed, still a little buzzed, thinking about the next party or dwelling on the way his mother had yelled and called him a failure, compared him to you, only a few hours prior. 

He could see the years of silence. The news that you had packed and gone off to university, left him behind like he always knew you would. Your number, still in his phone, left untouched. Radio silence. 

He looked at you now, teary eyed and so pained, so apologetic. At your shiny and sparkly red dress. At your lips. 

He pitched forward and pressed his mouth firmly to yours. He kissed you like he was drinking water. He kissed you like he had not taken a breath in three years… and you were air.

[rel124c41]

MONKEY BITE. floyd leech

SWEET CREAM, WET DREAM. floyd leech

DEJA VU. floyd leech

MONKEY BITE. floyd leech

requested by: anon / cake details: cheesecake (arranged marriage AU) with fresh fruit compute (hurt/comfort)

“Hey, why the long face?” You pass him one of the two — a new matching couple set — wine glasses that you received from the bridal registry. “C’mon, you knew it wasn’t going to be you.”

Floyd stays numbly silent. His suit is in disarray as usual. Tie like a boa around his neck and nostril blood speckled on his cuffs like sequins. Though, he does take the wine glass full of whiskey from you, so you suppose that is a small victory in the war that just happened in the reception hall. Making yourself comfortable, you sit down next to him, cupping your dress backside as you go down. 

“Aah,” you sigh, relieved to stop carrying your weight on taut, squeezing heels. Chin up, you observe the open ocean stretched out before the two of you. 

Floyd simply slumps deeper into the palm he is resting his cheek on. He is all languid tonight. His human limbs are loose like his skin has been stretched like baking dough. Acting like collapsing, dead weight, he simply tilts his wine glass more towards himself because he had accidentally let it drip on the cobblestone in his weak hold. All his fight is extinguished just like that? It’s only appropriate, you suppose.

Sipping your whiskey, you congratulate yourself on how well versed you’ve become in human limbs. A month ago, you would have broken an ankle in heels — honestly, more like stilettos! — like these. 

But, watching the unfurling waves that bounce back and forth under a pitch black sky, you think you would have preferred a childhood-dreamed wedding, with all your traditions, the pearl necklaces and the safety blanket of home. That one was probably one of the easiest sacrifices of a hundred that you have made in just one itty bitty month. A wave hits the sand hard and you take another gulp of whiskey. 

“He doesn’t love you.” 

Aren’t you at least going to look at me while talking? Turning back to the ocean, which Floyd is intently staring at, you reply, “Don’t be ridiculous. He has no obligation to love me.”

“‘To love and to cherish’. It’s right there in the vows.”

“You know those are nothing more than words to the both of us. Something that could happen, probably never will.” Still not looking at you, jeez. He had no problem staring at during the entire ordeal and now he wants to avoid eye contact. “Besides, what good is love?”

Love has yet to do you any favors. For infinity, it has been a leash on your person, and now after tying the compressive knot of a loveless marriage, you can be free of the loathsome tick of love. At that moment, you clink your wedding ring against your glass and gulp down a sphere of whiskey. 

“What about the love between us? Wasn’t that good?”

There it is; the pith of this. The central essence of why Floyd crawled over your husband’s stunned body like a starved predator and used his hand like a mechanical piston to hit, hit, hit until your husband’s nose bent into a curved sausage of red. He acted so raptorial when tearing apart your groom because there was love between the two of you. 

“No.” You finish the remaining whiskey quickly. With your thumb, you cover up the golden swirls that write out an eyesore word, Mrs., on your cup. “It was just teen romance. Fun but nothing of substance.”

Floyd throws his wine glass on the cobblestone. It is reminiscent of how violently he attacked early; his languid arm zaps into life and suddenly there are shards of glass spreading like an arching rainbow in front of your and Floyd’s expensive footwear. The gold, swirling Mr. is ineligible in the shining shambles. Back to silent it seems; he covers his mouth with both his hands and leans low into his hunch, groaning deeply like you shot him.

Waste of good moonshine. Fast-acting alcohol puppets your tongue. “Face it, Floyd. It was never going to work between us. I’m sophisticated, Floyd. You’re nothing but a brute. You eat fish raw off the bone; I dined on cooked surface food. I’m refined and you’re a slob. I live life in first class. You’re riding the coach. We weren’t gonna last.” 

Dating an eel-mer as a mermaid had to be one love’s tightest leash on you. It was never going to work. Differences between the two of you were too stark to ever blend together. When you intertwined hands, you could feel the corporal proof of how incompatible both of you were — the softness of neatly trimmed nails and delicate fingers held in the callousness of talons and dense, compact flesh.  

It had been a quaint experience but nothing of substance. 

Basking in the aftermath of your lies, you smile happily of how self-assured your speech sounded and how it sure swayed Floyd’s opinion. Positive that you had painted a convincing picture, you turn to find Floyd’s eyes on you. 

(It’s so unusual to see him with peach-toned skin. It will help that this will be the last face of his you will see; it would hurt more to depart viewing his original face.)

“Then why ya cryin’?”

“Crying?” That must be some human expression that you are not yet familiarized with. “I don’t think I’m doing that.”

He points to his own — there are little snakes of red in the whites of his — and declares, “you’re cryin’ and leakin’ up a rainstorm.” You touch your dry face. “Hah, made you check.”

You huff, humorless. Typical Floyd. He used to pull a trick similar to that when both of you were growing toddlers. That’s all over now. You swirl an empty glass and watch one droplet spin at the bottom. 

“You’re gonna be miserable.”

“Yeah, I am.” Smiling, you raise your Mrs. — absent and incomplete with it’s broken Mr. —  and say, “That’s why I got this sweetheart. I’ll be less miserable with her.” 

You two sit in silence after that declaration. Reality sets in like a bruise. The fast-paced alcoholic talks are done and the fast-paced sober fights are finished. Simultaneously, the both of you look at your childhood home extended out in cobalt pulses. What a beauty the ocean is from the surface; a blue, shriveled heart that bleeds and bleeds.

“Your … that guy, knows nothin’ about merfolk tradition.” You turn, intrigued, but Floyd is still watching the waves of childhood. “He didn’t get you a single courtin’ gift, so I can tell he’s dumb as a stone boat. Ya don’t got a single necklace on you. Your parents know nothing about the surface. Not zilch. They rarely travel up here, so …”

So? You wait as Floyd turns towards you. “So, we can make an excuse for this. Say ya got bit by some other animal.” Your blue heart beats like a blitzkrieg bongo as Floyd trails a finger diagonally along your neck before grasping the middle between your left cleavage and left shoulder. He lingers there, warmth shared by your combined flesh.

When he leans in, palm pressing in the white petals of your bridal dress, you figure out his intent quite quickly. A good girl would protest. I’m married! I just got married today, for Seven sake! You don’t think those thoughts as you lean, exposing more of your neck to Floyd. As his breath warms your shoulder, you put in one last joke for old time sake, “The mosquitos are huge this time of year.” 

“Haven’t ya heard? The zoo let some rabid monkeys out and they’re on the loose.”

You giggle, for the first time in twenty-four hours, and look towards the ocean as Floyd bites in, scarring you with love, in the form of two puncture holes in your neck.

SWEET CREAM AND WET DREAM. floyd leech

requested by: anon / cake details: marble cake (NRC) with citrus glaze (smut) and edible flowers (fluff)

You are sitting on your boyfriend’s lap, staring down an erect penis. Salivating.

This has to be the beginning of a work by Shakespeare. Written in his own blood – something primitively disgusting and erotic. Yet, it is a labor of the body which is why the pen is inked with genuine, honest sanguine. Taken from a wrist or a chest.

Or, you could just be very pulled by hunger. Your first sight of a penis makes your stomach rumble, starved. 

Go with the more artistic one, you decide just as large hands rest upon your hips, pulling you backwards. 

But, Shakespeare interrupts, this did not start with you sitting nude on your boyfriend’s stomach, sizing up the dimensions and shape of what you desired more than anything to put in your mouth. It started with –

Turn off the stove. I haven’t seen ya all summer, Shrimpyyy.

From Ramschakle’s renovated cooking station, courtesy of long hours at Mostro Lounge, you glance away from the stove. The aroma is magnetizing and thick. Sizzling pops are musical like siren calls. You cannot comprehend why he wants you to turn it off. Before your eyes, Floyd leans against the countertop, chin set on top of crossed arms. Boyish and in love with you, he stares back with half-lidded, amorous intent. 

The toothpick in your mouth makes a question quirk up because – why would I turn off the stove when dinner isn't close to being ready? 

Haven’t got to taste ya all summer long either. 

Something moves within your viscera like a giant, slithering tapeworm. It is a scarlet warmth. 

It is a quick melange of sounds that add together like ingredients. Faint click of the stove, switched off. Harsh hit of hip-bone on countertop. Rustling thump as a freshly untied apron collides with ground. It is all overwhelmed by the groan Floyd lets out as you two collide at the kitchen island. Your toothpick is still in your mouth, held messily on the junction of your mouth’s right side, pressing and hurting the skin.

You cannot kiss with your tongue around the pick. So, Floyd takes the outward point in his fingers and draws it through your lips like unlocking a zipper. Obedient, your mouth falls open with his ministrations. 

He places the toothpick on the bed of your tobacco-flavored tongue. His golden eye stares at your dangling uvula. 

Say aaaah. 

His intentions are: silly.

Aaaah. 

Your intentions are: serious. 

Fluid and lubricious as cooking oil, you two kiss. Floyd throws the toothpick away, not caring where it ends up in your house. Then, after shedding more of your clothes, you two end up here on the plate of your mattress. 

It is a really pretty cock. 

Standing before you in full attention, the weight of it in your curious hand sends a small shiver down your spine … and sends a large shiver down Floyd’s as you watch the muscle in his thighs tighten up. There is a slight right taper to it. Holding it at the base, you stare down at the bulbous head that almost arrows itself up towards your mouth. The anticipation and speculation of your boyfriend’s cock’s flavor profile leaves a sweet metaphorical taste of your tongue. Guessing is as fun as knowing. 

Thrill numbs out a majority of your nerves. You feel like one, big, blue-white neuron. Though you can section out the feeling of your abdomen clenching hard when you feel Floyd move your knees so they are settled by his head rather than below his armpits. 

Salvia is so thick in your mouth it feels like a second tongue. At least you know you will have enough natural lubricant. 

Just as you open your mouth, lips glistening from previous kisses, a tongue oscillates down the center of your sex. And, deterring from your original goal, caught off guard, you moan brokenly with a sharp gasp. That’s what a tongue feels like? Oh OH — you are going to devour Floyd whole.

Two hands curl up around your hips, fingers digging on the bottom hook of each designated asscheek, palms squeezing flesh. Just as his tongue departs from the midline’s end at your anus, Floyd dives just back into your wet center and attempts to suction up all your slick like his tongue is a napkin.

You would almost feel bad about your knee-jerk reaction if it didn’t immediately speed up Floyd’s tongue. Caught off guard, still in the middle of your sharp gasp, your body unconsciously pushes itself back as far as it can, suffocating Floyd. Chasing indulgence and never pulling away from it. You pin him firm between the mattress and your pussy.

Quickly, you go to lift up. That motion is snuffed when Floyd’s fingers tighten on your ass and pulls you down harshly. “Flo- ah — Floyd, you don't have to. Mmh … Oh my god … !!”

Biting your own lip, you think you feel the letters of stay grumbled into your lower lips. 

Even though it sends an earthquake through the miles of your intestines, it does not distract you from your intent. You are not the only one starving. Teeth from a wrist bracelet made long ago, ivory-speckled-brown like elephant tusks, jingle as you grip onto the shaft of his cock. Your own teeth part as you slowly slide Floyd up on the mattress of your tongue. 

In the neurological wave, your heart stops … then jackrabbits in doubletime. 

It tastes like running your tongue over a block of salt. Tentatively, you spiral your tongue around in short swings, lapping up the precum already coating him. The musky scent of sex wafts up from him like perfume. Right away, you are smitten with the taste and aroma that has greeted you.

Because it is the taste of Floyd, and you love Floyd dearly to the point of devouring. 

It is an ouroboros of pleasure — a never-ending circular connection of moans and licks on each other’s hot, dripping genitals — that goes round and round. When a moan vibrates on Floyd’s dick, it sends an eruption of a heated gasp across your folds. When a thick groan hums onto your clit, you are left moaning whorish around the cock in your mouth. Back and forth with a heartbeat of cannibalism between the both of you. Devouring the most sacred parts within your mouths. 

Floyd spits and giggles. He brings up little beads of salvia from his throat before smoothing them out over the folds of your labia. His affection towards you leaves him pressing fat kisses on your clit and sharp thrusts with his tongue up in your vagina.

It’s vulgar. Primitive. As you said before, something written in the blood of poets. Something smeared with jam-like red. A fun and lovey-dovey brutality. 

Eventually, those tentative licks evolve into more. A mixture of precum and saliva follows your brief pop-off Floyd’s dick before you go down messily — the sounds are squelching like stepping in a pool of wet, glistening organs, the loud hollow muffle of your moan creaking — until it hits that fated uvula. Floyd’s spine arches like a girl’s, like he is your bitch, when you suck hard.

Then, you start bobbing. It is almost instinctual as a symphony of moans and licks play itself against your slick which dribbles, dribbles, and dribbles across Floyd’s face. A warmth spreads through your neuron-body as a large palm reaches down to rub at your shoulder, not even pushing or pulling, just a light massage to feel the heat of your body. The gesture makes you feel dizzy with love.

I love you I love you I love you — right there right there rightthererightthere! Your body jumps like it was shot as Floyd sucks roughly on your clit like it’s hard candy.

It is evolving more and more into vigorous fucking. The poem is losing its stanzas and the order of words has become jumbled. Your sexual ouroboros is burning a hot white hue as the sounds in the room grow grosser and grosser. 

You damn near choke yourself on him as you fiercely rub up and down the length you cannot fit in your mouth, the side of your hand repeatedly hitting and splashing the wet puddle on his ballsack, filling yourself up to your heart’s content. “Shrim— Shrimpy — I’m gonna ! Mmh mmh mhh! I’m —!” God or Sevens or whoever, you cannot wait until he explodes in your mouth. 

Me too Me too Don’t stop Don’t stop! You think in response to Floyd’s brief … well, he probably meant it as a warning but you take it as a blessing, knowing you get to swallow his cum soon. An involuntary moan from just the mere thought bristles around Floyd’s dick. Bobbing eagerly, you suck harder and harder with each passing second, feeling the heartbeat in his dick pulsing.

There is a smidgen of lightheadedness seeping in, fracturing your body into pieces. You are doing a poor job on remembering to keep your breathing even. That dizziness makes you feel like a stretched plain of cotton until you congeal together, hard and fast, rushing into an orgasm when Floyd zig-zags his tongue roughly on your clit.

It is almost poetic how you both cum at the same second. Because as soon as you realize that feeling of snapping in your viscera, a tidal wave bursts up into your mouth.

You gasp and cough around his cockhead, relishing the warm liquid in your mouth. Almost completely off his shaft, you take the head in your mouth and lap up everything he is giving you. It comes in forceful squirts and you have to hold down Floyd’s bucking hips to savor the moment.

You swallow all of it, gorging yourself on your boyfriend’s salty-sweet tang essence. Even then it is not enough for your appetite; thus, you begin to lap at his shaft, making sure you clean up everything. 

So enamored with the taste of him, you do not even realize what is happening behind and beneath you until you hear a choked out “To - uuk — Too sensitiveeee!” Floyd groans, his hands squeezing and lifting up your ass as you nurse at his cock. You almost get a knee to the forehead when one of his legs involuntarily pulls up in pain with the overstimulation.

You keep eating until you’ve had your fill.

DEJA VU. floyd leech

requested by: anon / cake details: genoise sponge  (specific to requester: time loop AU) with fresh fruit compote (hurt/comfort) and sprinkles (specific to requester)

Unusually, Floyd Leech took a shine to you right away – and with no difficulty either. 

It almost seems like he has been waiting a long time to become friends with you. The nickname Shrimpy! slides out his mouth easily. His dominant left hand repeatedly finds your shoulder as if the two pieces of flesh were magnetized together. He shows up when you need help most, as if your body pulses out distress signals directly to him.

You didn’t know what to make of this at first. To you, the dimensions of Floyd Leech are off kilter like puzzle pieces of a picture forced into wrong spots. When you squint at him, an innate stomach-ache makes you feel something is off with how he presents himself.

It is the oddest and strongest sensation of déjà vu. 

His face will shift and morph into some expression — laughing, scowling, craving — and you can swear you’ve seen him make that exact face before. It is like seeing copies upon copies of his face, stretching into nebulous creams and teals, yet never being able to identify where you first saw him make such a face before. 

A melting, water paint portrait of creams and teals is what greets you again because you’re crying hard enough to distort your vision and you can’t make the expression on Floyd’s face. You’re sure it is one you’ve seen before. 

 “It’s just so sad!” You bawl out. The small paperback in your hand is squeezed tight enough to crinkle the pages. “I’m never gonna read another book again!” On the verge of hysteria, you slam your borrowed library book on Floyd’s desk.

In response to your despair, Floyd offers nothing more than a musical, high-falsetto laugh that winds itself around the dormitory like one, long note. He is rather unsympathetic to your plight. Though, he does wish to reach out to scoop up the tears on your cheek and taste them on his tongue. He won’t … yet.

“Ya such a crybaby, Shrimpy. It ain’t nothing but a story.” 

The hacky sack hits his palm, emitting a sharp crunch of beads. Floyd throws it up to the ceiling, emitting a sharp thunk of wood. In the underbelly of this repetitive sound is you sniffing to yourself. You are trying to be as silent as possible, but the tears keep coming steady and hard. 

“To just keep forgetting like that,” you hiccup into your uniform sleeve. “I wouldn’t wish that upon anybody. It’s just too sad.” 

“You’re really moved by this, aren’t ya, Shrimpy?”

“Mmm.”

The book you rented from the library – because you were almost always in the library, nose in books, mostly ranging from teleportation spells to opening gates of the Underworld to anything resembling interdimensional travel – was five short chapters. Something about a pair of sappy lovers. Something about one of them being immortal and the other reincarnating in a cycle. Something about memories. Floyd can’t remember it fully; it wasn’t interesting enough for him.

His gaze simply had skimmed over the summary when you handed it to him. It’s not like Floyd was going to read a book like that. Action novels reeled in his interest, not romance. His heterochromic eyes glide over the arch of his pillowcase to view your meek visage.

It feels like some kind of cavernous hunger of Floyd’s is fed watching you cry. Slow droplets thread down your face like molasses out of a bottle’s mouth. Back arched like a shrimp’s, you cry in his desk chair yet don’t rub away those tasty tears. Mournful of something you never experienced – weird. 

Floyd catches his hacky sack without checking its angle of descent and comments, “Humans are always forgetful. Half of the Lounge’s lost and found goes to me and Jade because no one remembers anything anymore.” Even his new hacky sack is from those pyramiding stacks of boxes of forgotten objects.

You sniffle, nose scrunching like a snout. Hands are folded stiffly on your lap, cold and dry, cracked like crocodile skin. “What? So you’re some kind of perfect being?”

“Yep. Couldn’t get more better than me, hehe.”

“More better?”

“I’m better than better.”

That at least makes you crack a tiny smile, wobbly as it may be. The bottom of your eyes are still puffy and those snail trails of slow saltwater have yet to stop. Flimsy eyes glance away from Floyd’s gaze to the swirling, tentacle pattern on the dorm floor. “It’s just so sad … and odd. That sensation of being in a room and being able to swear that you’ve been there before. Even the conversations … seem identical to another time.”

“And the people?”

“Yes, the people too.” Tearful eyes search the violet tentacle as if you expect it to unravel and reveal something. 

Suddenly, you spring forward on Floyd’s desk chair, as if in revelation. The back legs lift slightly off the ground as you lean in close. Still untouched, the warm trails are visible on your face. “And, isn’t that so odd!

“I just can’t wrap my head around it. You spend time creating memories. You spend time having conversations and creating relationships. You spend time being. And, all that time just, what? Goes and slithers down a drain, and you don’t get it back?”

Floyd blinks at you. Spots of flushed skin rest in the center of your temple and on each cheek. Your skin glistens in hot hues. “Eh, some things are just more important to others.” Floyd untucks his arm from behind his head, reaches out with his index, and wipes under your right eye.

He licks up the saltwater on his finger’s side like licking residue off a fork as you say, “I could never forgive myself if I did something like that to someone.”

The hunger to recapture past moments. It is quite an intense craving. Floyd takes his thumb and smears a crescent smile in the water under your left eye.

“C’mon, Shrimpy.” He licks his thumb. “You’re just the type of person that would do that to someone.”