#polka dot wall mirrors

[loolay]

Children Toronto Mid-sized traditional girl kids' room design with pink walls for the playroom

[zaynsource]

Children (Toronto)

[carolinhairandmakeup]

Chicago Contemporary Powder Room Inspiration for a contemporary dark wood floor powder room remodel with a vessel sink, flat-panel cabinets, dark wood cabinets and purple walls

[sepiasims]

DC Metro Kids a medium-sized transitional bathroom for children with pink walls, a quartz countertop, a gray cabinet, a white undermount sink, and ceramic tile flooring, white tile, and a marble floor.

[howyaben]

Enclosed Living Room Orange County Inspiration for a large, open-concept, eclectic living room renovation with blue walls, a traditional fireplace, a tile fireplace, and a media wall.

[nouearth]

feel the rush.

tom holland x male reader.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. rushing a fraternity is highly-competitive, and all-so overwhelming. if it was up to you, you wouldn't have participated in the first place. fortunately, tom was here to provide you all of the shortcuts in receiving a bid to the greek life, as long as you did a bang-up job.

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓. one-shot [ 5.5k ].

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. male reader 〳 college!au 〳 frat!tom 〳brief alcoholic drinking 〳 closeted!reader 〳 reader is kinda religious coded 〳 sexual content: top!tom, bottom!reader, breeding, kissing, spitting, blowjob (r!giving), humiliation, dirty talk, muscle worship, scent!kink.

“You know you’re not exactly dressed for the occasion, right?”

The door closed behind Tom, sectioning you off from the party. The atmosphere of the event was tangible regardless. Strong beats throttled from wall to wall, tremors from a familiar song tickling your feet. Chants, albeit muffled, were resonant as you could only presume that someone executed a keg stand for the nth time of the night.

Chug, chug, chug, chug, and the crowd roared as if downing a keg of beer prevented Earth from being infiltrated by extraterrestrials. Granted, that was within the best scenario, in which alcohol and everything loud and deafening like university students wanting to fit in were highly toxic to those devious space invaders.

“What—how do you mean? Rushing is pretty formal, isn’t it? That’s what my mom tells me, anyway.”

You felt small from Tom’s comment, taking a peek at yourself in his mirror and shamefully finding nothing out of the ordinary with your white dress shirt, polka-dotted tie, and khaki pants. Though, you had to be honest. It wasn’t a fair assessment, considering you were judging under the purple hue of his dim lights. The compact size of his room certainly didn’t help either.

“Yes and no. Obviously, you don’t want to look like a slob. But you also don’t want to stand out too much. You’re not going to be a Greek if you wear Ralph Lauren from head to toe—that’s obnoxious. It looks like your mum dressed you for the Lord’s Supper or someone’s granddad, which is frankly the worst offender: don’t look like a square.”

“These are all I have—duly noted—so, it’s okay to dress… like you then? Won’t I blend in with everyone else?”

Tom wore a snapback, a blue polo, and white cargo shorts—which was brazen of him considering the amount of drinking and bile you had seen before the party had even began. It was simple to replicate. If it was your mother’s judgement, she would have all the men and women cover up their legs and arms, while embarrassingly leaving you as the prime example of what a gentleman should dress like.

But your mother wasn’t here, was she? Which meant, you could enjoy the holy sight of Tom’s biceps threatening to burst his shirt at the sleeve, his bulky chest at the placket—all for a little while longer before your intuition stepped in at the call of your mother, and forced those thoughts to scurry off.

That was ungentlemanly.

“That’s the point. You blend in, which means you put in the extra effort to get you noticed by the brothers—by us. Outfit aside, I reckon you’re off to a mighty start. Could be a pledge if you keep this up. I’m certainly noticing you,” Tom muttered after taking a sip of his beer, backing you with small, but imposing steps, until your ankles knocked against the footer of his bed, making you fall back. “Here, loosen up.”

He handed you his beer can.

“I don’t—“

“Just a sip to get in the mood. Not asking you to get blackout drunk here, Christ.”

“Sorry, mama.” You tipped the can into your mouth and instantly, the first taste of lager made you grimace, your face and body shriveling up like the bitter bubbles in the back of your throat. “That’s not… pleasant.”

“You get used to it.”

You were an easy target, weren’t you?

All you had to do was lurk around the party like a lost puppy, head and shoulders down as if the entire objecting of rushing was the complete opposite of being noticeable, and then Tom came around to your aid. He flashed that confident, gorgeous smile of his, immediately knowing you’d do anything to receive a bid from anyone at Alpha Kappa Psi, to be a pledge, without ever doing the hard-work of politely boasting about yourself to complete strangers.

Using your body was easier.

“You’ve done this before?” Tom took the can out of your hand and set it on his desk. He joined you at the foot of the bed after, his thigh touching yours. Then his hand on your knee, rubbing to simultaneously appease those nervous twiddling fingers of yours, and to warm you up.

“Yes—but don’t tell my mom, all right? She doesn’t know that I’m—Just… a couple of hook-ups back at home. Nothing much.” You nervously laughed to fill the silence, watching Tom’s hand warm your knee in gentle strokes that seem to ascend closer to your thigh with every cycle.

He stopped at your inner thigh. “I don’t plan on it unless you do a bad job. And/or your ass somehow rips my dick off and I need someone to take accountability for your actions.”

Your body straightened when Tom began kneading at your tender skin. “Not funny, I mean it.”

“Relax, I’m not telling your mom. It’ll be fun…” With one smooth motion, Tom turned his snapback around, the visor facing the back, and his mouth lowered to the shell of your ear. “And if I can be honest…? It turns me on knowing you’re hiding such a dirty secret from your poor mother.”

There was a shuffling, and then a firm grip on your nape that made your breath hitch. Before your instincts to pull away could react, Tom drew you in for a pressing kiss.

You breathed in, sucking the taste of liquor into your lungs, and trailed after the sweep of his lips. His nose smashed against yours, you could practically hear him inhaling you, and you barely got a sound out before your lips were pushed apart with Tom’s wet tongue. He tasted of familiar lager, yet certainly much more appetizing than drinking from the source itself as you pressed closer to him, welcoming him into your mouth with messy licks to the slithering muscle.

“Mm…”

Electricity shot up your spine when his tongue began properly mingling with yours. Sparks ricocheted off your cranium, then back down to your toes, where they flexed and brought the rest of your legs onto Tom’s bed. Heat flushed through your veins, the kiss all-consuming like Tom had needed your moans to survive. He drew you in closer, holding you close, exploring your mouth with his. You let out small whimpers and pressed into him, drowning yourself in his groans as your hand experimented with desperate tugs and kneads to his growing erection. He licked and nipped at your lips in revenge, countering your touch with a much more brazen hand down your khakis and briefs, toying with your bare chub in his palm.

“Had my eyes on you since you walked through that door,” Tom’s breath spilled over your neck, kissing at the stretch of skin in between the seconds of stripping your clothes off and his after. “You stuck out like a sore thumb. Have no idea why you thought you even had a chance, but then I thought about it for longer, watching you stick to the walls, observing everyone, drinking our punch. I knew you weren’t as innocent as you looked.”

You were lost in this sanity. Your lips were swollen and nearly numb from use, but it wasn’t a bad feeling. They tingled in all the right ways, sending signals to your exposed cock, throbbing out in the open air after many clumsy movements of shimmying yourself out of your pants and briefs.

You helped Tom with his clothes, fingers swiping across his muscular back when you pulled off his polo, palms brushing over his toned thighs when it came to undoing his shorts. Surprisingly, no briefs to remove after, which made you even harder, even when you were nearly assaulted in the face with the spring of his erection.

All of Tom was impressive, especially his hard, thick cock.

“Mom told me to make some friends—“

When Tom returned his grasp onto your nape and pushed your head toward his groin, you lost all semblance of self-control. He held you close enough to smell his cock, but far enough to deprive you the pleasure of having him in your mouth. He smelled salty, something of sweat that made your nostrils flare for more, so you pushed your head. You sniffed, lowering yourself until your nose was buried into his heavy balls, and inhaled your curiosities.

The aroma of Tom’s musk was familiar and unfamiliar all at the same time. It was intoxicating. The scent was strong and pure when you pressed in. It was here, a pungent assault to your nose when you took another indulgent breath of his sweaty balls, and your senses went haywire when Tom’s fingers dug into your nape, scraping sweet lines of fire across the nape of your neck, and pulled you over his leaking cock.

Your inability to control yourself was as much of an arousal for Tom, judging by how his cock was twitching with every breath you took to fight off the urge in gulping him down.

“Wow, you really are a momma’s boy, aren’t you? Bet you have her constantly in your mind, telling you what’s right from wrong, don’t you? Tell me, what’s she saying while you’re sucking me off?”

“I don’t know what—mmf!”

Just like that, your mouth was full of Tom’s smell, full of him, god. Your eyes snapped shut and you choked down a moan as you took his thick cock into your mouth at the help of Tom’s bruising grip. One hand braced on his toned and flexed thigh while the other was wrapped around his shaft, holding him steady in your mouth. Your lips wrapped snug around him, hallowing your cheeks and flattening your tongue over veins—multiple veins that were the source of his pre-cum leaking into your mouth like a broken faucet.

Salt spread on your tongue, wakening every taste bud to an early bloom as you squeezed and stroked him at the base, forcing out more drips of pre-cum onto your tongue.

“Fuck, your mouth’s so warm…” His eyes widened at the warm and wet embrace of your tongue slobbering over his cock, groaning at the obscene sounds of your saliva spit-shining his shaft as he was leaning on his elbows. “God, look at you.”

“I’m doing okay…?” You gasped after pulling his cock out of your mouth, spitting out the thick, droopy web of saliva that connected your lips to Tom’s shaft back over the plump, swollen glans. You looked up at him for approval, wide-eyed and dazed, recovering from the stretch Tom had provided your mouth seconds prior.

When you needed a breather, you licked at the underside of his cock, tending to the inches you couldn’t possibly fit inside of your mouth with multiple tantalizing strokes of your hand. You spread your spit thick over his hard flesh, massaging every spit bubble until his cock and balls were moisturized with the slick of your mouth.

“Better than I could imagine, honestly…” Tom marveled with a chuckle, exhaling slow and deep from his gut to seemingly keep himself from spilling too early from your unrelenting strokes. His toes wiggled in his socks, a tic you found yourself simpering about because it was rather the opposite of Tom’s imposing demeanor.

He pressed two fingers against his own tongue, slicking it up with spit, before shoving them into your mouth to get a second opinion on your cock-sucking skills. Tom hummed, his hand removed from your nape to hold your chin up while he watched you take his fingers, pumping them in and out of your tight, sucking lips.

He seemed pleased.

Somehow, it was more intimate sucking his fingers off. Tom was staring. He had always been, which made you nervous since he introduced himself to you. But he was staring, as if he could control your every move with a simple look, as if he was capable of communicating with you without uttering a word. His lips parted, his brow raised, and you quickly caught on to reflect upon his wishes, diligently opening your lips to welcome a third slicked up finger into your mouth.

Right then and there, you figured Tom had taken your brain cells hostage and forged them to work in his favor. Whatever he wanted, you were absolutely pleased to do without a single complaint peeping from your end.

He pulled out embarrassing sounds that would’ve gotten you stoned if your mother ever heard them from your room. His other hand worked on your leaking cock, massaging your testicles and palming the plump tip, because he can—because you let him.

You were Tom’s puppet, and your body was at his disposal.

“See? This is fun, right?”

He slid his fingers out of your mouth ever so-slowly, the dim light catching onto the trail of spit that bridged his fingers and your tongue with a magical glint. They eventually lost their sparkle when Tom was quick to bring his hand to your ass and wet your exposed rim with a finger, circling the flesh at an excruciatingly slow pace.

“M-mm…”

It was pathetic how deprived of touch you were.

Something as simple as a tease made you writhe on all fours. All it took was a lazy stroke of his finger for you to arch your back and draw your ass out. You couldn’t manage more than a moan as Tom guided you flat on your stomach and himself behind you, continuing his taunts after freshly lubing his fingers and throbbing cock.

Upon the next turn, Tom had the generosity of delivering you of a fill that had been making your cock leak into his sheets, that had been making you rock your hips like you were an animal in heat.

After pushing your legs apart, Tom slowly slid one finger inside of you, his mouth opening in rapport, but also in wonder, as your tight hole welcomed his thick digit in with such warmth, your body locking up as pleasure entered your body.

“C-Christ…” you hissed, thighs clenching and ass squeezing around the foreign intrusion. Something like panic, mixed with agonizing, desperate need, froze you in your place, yet you could feel your body melt, beads of sweat forming over the slope of your tense shoulders and back muscles. Every contact point of your body meeting his, from his firm hand kneading your plump ass, to the tender push and pull of his finger, scorched.

“I don’t know, (M/N)… I don’t know if you can take my cock. My finger can barely move. Might have to call it a night…”

The thudding of your heart muffled your ears as Tom pressed in another finger after slowly working you open. Upon instinct, you closed your legs, only for Tom to spread them back apart before your sweaty thighs could meet, keeping yourself exposed and bare under his direction.

You chewed on a whimper, your face pressing into a pillow in your arms while Tom’s two fingers curled and pumped deep inside of you. You felt yourself pulsate around him, the tight ring of muscle unrelenting in its grip around his fingers, but Tom was determined to break you, another digit joining the pair of fingers, demeaning the tightness of your hole with an obnoxious whistle while pushing into your resistance. “Damn, look at that hole… barely fitting in three fingers.”

“N-no, I can take it. Please…” you gasped on an onslaught of curls, fast and repetitive until you were stretched enough for Tom to yank his fingers completely out of you and quickly feel withdrawal symptoms of his fill. Your thighs shook, your ass pushed out for more, your hole twitched in rapport—you murmured a whine that you needed Tom to hear, but was too self-conscious to let it be known, so you settled biting into his pillow to resist your throat from spilling.

“Such a shame. I thought you made the perfect fit for A.K.P., too.”

His touch was soft and exploring, smearing the sweat on your back over the expanse of your ass and covering it in a humiliating sheen that you’d reckon Tom was stroking himself to upon picking up on the lewd, slick sounds of lube sliding over something thick behind you.

“S-stop, stop, please. I-I’ve taken it before, just—give me a chance, yeah? Please? Hear me—feel me out?”

“You’re that desperate, huh? Don’t know if you need the pledge more, or my cock…”

“Your cock… Tom, please—“

“So, you wouldn’t mind if you received nothing in return, as long as my cock was inside of you? Fucking you? Breeding you?”

“No, I just—“

No, no, no. I don’t want you to stop. Please don’t stop. Your ass communicated those pleas in desperate wiggles. A strong smack to your ass cheeks meant to halt you in place, but it only made your hips more fervent as you graciously backed into the thick of Tom’s cock, reaching back and giving him a needy pump or two, then slid him against your crack.

A needy moan escaped when you felt the weight of his cock sandwiched between your cheeks.

“So, you don’t want my cock? I’m confused on what exactly you’re telling me. Hurry, before I lose my patience.”

You felt a stickiness to your rim. Peeking over your shoulder, you took a glimpse of Tom presumably tracing your hole with his cock and spreading his pre-cum thick over the smooth flesh. The small space grew humid with the tension between your body and his, heavy breaths adding onto the heavy air as Tom rocked into you, holding you by the waist, gliding his cock through the wetness of your lubed ass cheeks. His shaft rubbed over your hole, and your cock throbbed and leaked in between your legs at the chance that anytime now—Tom could breach you open, and fill you wondrously. Your hole clenched at the thought, aided by Tom’s hands pressing your cheeks tighter around his cock as it slid over you.

If only you could command your asshole to open, because you would’ve taken him in by now.

“I want you inside of me, Tom. F-forget the pledge, I just—I need something, someone inside of me. Please, just—Christ, fuck me. Fuck me with your thick cock. Fuck your cum into me. Fuck my ass until I’m nothing but a gaping hole dripping with your seed. Don’t even care if we never see each other again, please, Tom—”

Your eagerness took Tom by surprise, making him chuckle and slap his cock over your blinking hole before resuming on sliding his shaft against your crack, hopefully for one last turn. “Who knew you had such a potty mouth?”

You don’t know what drew you back to looking at Tom again. Maybe it was the hard, brawn structure of his body, cut straight from a sculpture of the most heroic Greek warrior. The firm lines of his abdominal muscles, or the way his snapback was adjusted backwards, emphasizing his soft, yet handsome looks. All in all, you didn’t mean what you said.

You would absolutely care if you never saw him again.

He was too good.

His rough hands over your ass, smacking them whenever you would try to angle your hips in a way to fit him in, were too good. His delicate kisses on your neck, back, and shoulders, quelling the tremble of your limbs, were too good. His soft lips, when you and him met halfway until your mouths were exchanging breaths, making the effort of holding yourself still against him excruciating, were too good.

Tom’s lips ghosted over yours, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth. You groaned as he supported your core with a strong hand, opening your mouth to take more. Every part of you, even the moisture in your body, wanted to touch him. You were sweating, drooling into his mouth, leaking into Tom’s palm when he wandered down to stroke your cock; all strong indicators that you were losing control, if you hadn’t already.

His voice, as he murmured something about your body in your ear while he was gathering you against him, was too good. His breath forced itself between your lips, breathing out a supply of oxygen into your mouth, into your lungs, to prepare you for the inevitable, and you had never felt so fragile before—especially so, when you found yourself quickly using up Tom’s oxygen when he pushed his cock into you without hesitation, without warning, your body hammered by a thousand needles in the process.

“T-Tom!” you hissed in a breath, but it only made the grip on your hips more strident when his thrust made you collapse back onto all fours. It wouldn’t be surprising if your skin was blemished with bruises the very next day with the way his fingers dug into your flesh.

Tom was generous enough to let you adjust to his size, indulging in the warmth and tightness of your entrance with only the tip of his plump cock despite feeling like he had toppled your backside with all of his body weight. Even then, those minuscule ruts were enough to make you whimper out of agony.

“So fucking tight…”

Tom pulled himself out and spread your ass cheeks apart, marveling and silently wondering to himself how he was going to puzzle himself inside of you. Some spit would surely help. He licked his fingers, then pressed it over your swollen hole, smoothing the skin before pushing the tip back in, having only a tenuous grasp on his self-control.

After the burning mellowed with the help of multiple deep exhales and kisses from Tom, you felt yourself finally unravel the moment he moved his hips. Your fingers raked against his abs as you reached back to pace his hips, palm on his pelvis to keep from completely ruining you. A shiver ran down the length of your spine as Tom smoothed a hand over your back, then kept it at the lower half, pushing deeper into you while he held you still. You made a sound, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, pleasured yet disoriented by the ample stretch Tom was providing you with. It gutted the fog of arousal, you could feel your hole instinctively pushing his cock out with overwhelmed pulses, but Tom was persistent, driving into you deeper— harder—the moment your body tried to resist him.

“Don’t mind it hard, right?” Tom asked against your ear, gruff in between his slow, yet deep strokes.

“Please,” you whimpered, barely getting the word out before Tom’s hand found its way to your mouth, covering it and holding your head back at the millisecond your answer registered in his brain, giving him the green light to pummel you relentlessly.

Your eyes popped open when Tom soared, bucking his hips wildly into you. Cries of pleasure, your whimpers and moans of being hammered with such overwhelming desire for your body, were muffled into the palm of Tom’s hand. He squeezed your cheeks, loud groans leaving your throat, and your torso arched into the mattress.

The brutal stretch was what you’d been needing. All this pent up sex drive that you had been harboring for so long came exploding out of you like molten lava, scorching your torso and all in effect. Your body was on fire, coupling with Tom’s as sweat dripped from his forehead, and somewhere onto your backside. Your mind emptied out while you hovered in the space between deprived arousal and complete ecstasy, only perfected by Tom’s cockhead screwing into your tight, clamping hole.

“Open,” Tom demanded with a huff, and you did as you were told at the prodding of his fingers. You welcomed him in with the parting of your lips, luring each digit with the curl of your wet tongue. “You like that? You like taking my hard cock like this? Fucking you open until you’re nothing but a hole? God, look at you drooling…”

As Tom pumped inside of you at a steady pace, angling his hips so he stretched you wider, you suckled on his fingers as they remained hooked over your mouth—you were starting to guess that he loved having them sucked, or at least, liked playing with the idea of having himself inside of you in more ways than one.

It was a messy affair. Pools of saliva leaked from either corners of your mouth. The smell of sex was thickening in between the heavy pants that you and Tom would collectively exile. It wouldn’t be long until your body was drenched in sweat, and you’d come to realize that you wouldn’t be alone in that department. Tom had his sweaty arm around your throat, pushing all of his body weight onto you and gutting you open with the deep hammering of his thrusts. His chest rumbled with wild growls as he pounded into you from behind, burying your hole to the root of his shaft, fucking you with the salacious sound of his heavy and musky sack slapping against your sweat-stained taint. You whimpered when his cockhead brushed past that sweet spot of yours, an unfamiliar feeling that you had no doubts in wanting to befriend.

“O-oh, that’s s-so g-good—“ You bit into his forearms, the thick vein pulsing through looking appetizing, and you were glad you did it because—it was like an ‘on’ switch for Tom.

“Taking my cock so well—your mom would be disgusted, wouldn’t she? Knowing her baby boy is taking a man’s cock. Want you to remember this. I don’t care how many cocks you had before me. I want you to remember what my cock feels like, digging deep inside of you. And when I’m done with you, I don’t want you coming home, crying to mommy—because I’ll never be done with you. Once you get your bid, you’re fucking mine.”

This was it.

This was Tom at his peak performance.

And your body was at his mercy.

He pulled out, flipped you over, then hooked your legs over his shoulders before resuming in his relentless rapture.

You stroked yourself to the image before you, a tight fist around your aching cock, squeezing from base to tip, spreading your pre-cum down your already sticky length, while your other hand toyed with your nipples, playing with the perky nubs.

Tom’s muscular body dripped in sweat. His teeth gritted as he struggled to control his volume. Glimpses of the base of his cock would appear when he would pull out, only to be hidden by the trimmed hairs of his pubic hair when he would shove himself back in, veins of his large cock throbbing and basking in your warmth. Hard and strong kisses layered your ankles while Tom’s pecs jiggled with every thrust he made. Even if you weren’t being fucked right now, you could get off to this. You could come right now, to the absolute bliss on Tom’s face as he buried himself deep inside of you, impaling you with his cock, moulding your hole to the shape of his shaft.

It enthralled you knowing how much pleasure your body gave Tom.

The squeaking of the bed roped everything together, gathering all sorts of noises—lewd sounds of sex and delirious desire—like a beautiful symphony. Your moans against his were the choir when Tom came down to kiss you hard on the mouth, sloppy and wet as he explored you open both ways. His tongue curious into your mouth and his thick cock rearranging your guts.

Your hands freely roamed over the expanse of his broad back, clutching and scratching at his back muscles when he curled his hips in a way that made you arch your body off the bed and knocked the breath out of you. God, he was so strong. So buff. You could feel his back muscles move in sync with his hips, flexing and flaring as he sank his cock deep into you. Your body stuttered, your eyes shut tight, tears nearly welling from the utter pleasure, shriveling as Tom would batter your prostate with better precision every time his hips came down on you. You couldn't be bothered to find the proper words to tell Tom how good he was making you feel, so you settled for a mixture of gasps, whimpers, and a daring scratch over the length of his spine.

That was telling enough, right?

Tom growled at the sting overloading his senses when you made your marks, grazing his teeth and lips over the palm of your hand when he reached back to take and hold the culprit of the forming welts before him. You and him shared a gaze, a kiss when he lowered himself and briefly settled on imposing you with strong, but slow and deep thrusts. To catch his breath. To catch yours. You both exchanged breaths, swapped saliva, explored each other's mouths, held each other hands, and the intimacy of it all made it all the more tranquilizing for you.

“Gonna breed that ass of yours. Fuck, it’s perfect for me. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Have your hole dripping, gaping, and raw? Maybe I’ll get the bros to look at the mess you made. Maybe they’ll want in on it and have a turn at your body, too. It could be your initiation, hm? Could skip the entire process, and be a Greek, as long as you let all of us breed you. How does that sound?”

“Holy, s-shit—“

You pumped your cock, a familiar feeling quickly bubbling to a high from the pit of your stomach, all the way to your swollen nipples, and you knew what awaited you as that sensation wouldn’t falter. Your heart beat ran faster than the effort of caffeine. Even though it was muffled, the rhythmic beats downstairs were still resonant, and you were absolutely outpacing its tempo. The heat of Tom’s hands returned on your body. He caressed and rubbed your hips, thighs, chest, balls, and ass, all while he urged you to come.

“There we go. Good boy. Keep fucking that fist. Yeah, fuck—“

His palms smoothed over your skin, up the sides of your body, thumbs pressing into either sides of your hips, then maneuvered you with his strength to meet him half-way into his strong thrusts. His biceps flexed, thick veins demonstrating his rush of adrenaline and sheer strength as he brought you down onto his cock with thundering claps, sweaty skin contacting sweaty skin, constantly assaulting your prostate with his swollen cockhead.

It both frightened and thrilled you, your eyes blown, and you felt yourself quickly spill, thick and heavy over your stomach, knowing you were at Tom’s disposal. You shuddered, watching the thick ropes of cum fly high before splattering and soon pooling at the plane of your body.

“I’m close—“

“Come inside of me, please–“

You were panting as your cock finished spilling itself all over your stomach and chest, as Tom’s big cock pounded in and out of you with such ease now, the weight of his hips coming down on you making you continuously bounce on the mattress.

“Fuck.”

His breathing was even heavier than yours, laced with grunts as he used your ass like a toy, pulling hard and pushing you as he pleased, breaching you with the thick of his cock. His thrusts become wilder, sweat dampening his snapback as Tom mustered up the rest of his strength and energy to completely overpower you. His swollen cock dug deep, you could feel every veins about to burst. With a choke of your name, he delivered one more grandiose rut against your ass, the impact of his hips biting sharp into the back of your thighs, and filled you with his cum, burying you to the root.

“Holy shit…”

“O-oh, god—“

Warmth spread thick inside of you, and you writhed and groaned as your hole swallowed another fat fill. Tom’s body goes slack, crashing into your arms immediately, and he moaned on each slow thrust, creaming you from the inside and out. You strained toward him in desperation, wrapping your legs around his hips to lock him in place, and reaching over to his ass to push him deeper, to urge him to keep breeding you as your hole held Tom’s sensitive cock with gratitude, taking his thick seed without hesitation, until his cock veins stopped pulsating.

As promised, Tom kept you impaled, rocking his hips and kissing you once more, soft and passionate, something of him owing you one laced in the way he smooched your lips and refused to let you reciprocate—because Tom never came like that before. His hand was tender on your cheek, stroking the dried stain of drool that was left abandoned when he pulled away to look at you, properly this time. You sighed, brushing the snapback off his head to let his scalp breathe, and pulled him in at the introduction of a sudden draft, your legs still anchored by his hips.

You lay intertwined, sharing deep kisses in between moments of recovery, where the post-nut clarity rendered you and Tom into fit of collective shy laughter, incredulous to the affair both of you had just engaged in.

“So, you live on campus?”

“Oh—yeah. East side, near Turing…”

“Figured you’d be a science guy. Anyways, I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning. Give me your phone.”

“Pick me up? For what?”

“Christ. Did I fuck the memory out of you or something? Bid day’s tomorrow. It gets hectic, so I think it’ll be better if you stick with me.”

“Won’t that… be suspicious?”

“Nah. Plus, I figured we’d get an early start on your initiation…”

“You mean—“

“Fuck, yeah.”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[melhorsemsutia]

Chicago Bathroom

[alastor-simp]

"Ticklish, My Dear?" - Alastor x Reader Oneshot

"Knock-knock, my dear!" Alastor was waiting for you to open you bedroom door. He sought you out to help calm himself down after dealing with Angel's raunchy flirts. He nearly destroyed the lobby with his tentacles, but thankfully Charlie was able to stop him before he went to far and nearly send Angel to double hell. "Its open Al!", you yelled out from the other side of the door. Entering inside, Alastor saw you next to your bed, holding up a black dress, along with other clothes laying on the bed. Smiling wider, he made his way over to you: "Salutations, my dear! What are you doing on this fine evening?" Smiling back, you held the dress closer to your body and faced the mirror: "Nothing much. Niffty happened to have gone shopping and she got me some cute clothes, so I wanted to try them on, but I don't know which one to try first." Alastor continued to stare at you as you stayed facing the mirror, then he turned his attention to the dress in your hands and the others on the bed. The dresses on your bed was a short gothic black dress with long lace sleeves, a blue and white polka dot front dress with a bow, and a short red cocktail dress with a black lace front. (Dress images are below)

His eyes were drawn more to the cocktail dress, so he grabbed that one and approached you. Turning around, you saw Alastor holding up one of the dresses: "Try on this one, my dear!" Thanking Al, you grabbed the red dress and headed towards the bathroom to put it on.

As Al watched you leave to the bathroom, he stood with his hands behind his back and looked over your room. Eyeing the wall, he saw the photos that you had taken of him and the others. Some were of Charlie and Vaggie being an adorable couple, some were of Husk and Angel passed out together, and the others were all group photos. Alastor smiled at the photo you had taken of him. He was inside his radio tower, leaning back against the chair, smiling as he gave his broadcast. The both of you had become the best of friends when he first arrived at the hotel to offer Charlie his services. The both of you bonded over your love for music and also had a love for pranking people, which came in handy when you both wanted to annoy Angel. Lost in thought, Alastor's ears jolted when he heard you call his name. Turning around, his eyes grew wide as he saw you walk out wearing the beautiful dress. Smiling shyly, you had tried on the dress, but you were not able to reach the zipper, so you asked if Al would be able to help you. “Of course, my dear! Allow me!", he said as told you to face the window to give him better access to the zipper.

*Zipppp*, Alastor had succeeded in zipping up your dress, and placed his hands on your hips: "There we are my dear! You look extravagant!" Jumping up from the contact, you moved away from Alastor: "WAH! Don't touch me there!" Wrapping your arms across your abdomen, covering your sides, you backed away from Al, who was staring at you confused. "Why the strange reaction my dear? Are you injured by any chance?", Alastor said as he tiled his head at you, still frozen in shock at your reaction. Shaking your head at Alastor, you told him you were fine and said to him what the real reason was: "S-orry for overreacting. Its just I'm very ticklish there." Alastor took a second to process your words, then he inched closer to you, his smile turned mischievous and his eyes were locked on you like you were prey. "Ticklish, my dear?" Realizing what was happening, you backed up against the mirror and pleaded with Al. Alastor inched closer and closer to you, as he was wriggling his fingers at you. Trying to find a way out, you sidestepped him and rushed for the door. *SNAP* Hearing a snap from behind you, your body teleported and landed on your bed. Trying to get up, you were then felt something wrap around your legs and arms, and realized Al was using his black tentacles to hold you in place: "AL! LET ME GO!" Craning your head up, you saw Alastor at the foot of your bed, smiling as big as the Joker, before he sat down and crawled his way on top of you.

"*Evil cackling* No can do, my dear!" Alastor then placed his hands on your sides, and began to rapidly tickle you. "NOOOO!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! STOPPPPPPPP!!" You screamed out, while squirmed around trying to break free from the tentacles. "Laugh my dear!", Al said as he was finding this very entertaining, enjoying the sounds of your laughter. You were starting to run out of breath from Al's tickle attack, as you kept trying to move and screamed out: "AL! ENOUGH! PLEASE! UNCLE! UNCLE!" After a few more minutes, Alastor stopped tickling you, and allowed you to breathe. "HAHA! Enjoyed yourself my dear?" Alastor smiled down at you, as he snapped his fingers, releasing you from the black tendrils. "Pant-pant Your an a**." You panted out your answer, as you glared at Alastor. Alastor smiled wider: "Incorrect! I'm a dear, darling!" You noticed that Al was still sitting on the bed, and your arms were free now. Feeling it was time for some payback, you placed your hands on his torso and tickled him back: "PAYBACK!" You continued to move your fingers, but Alastor was not squirming in the slightest. Looking up at him, you saw that he was still smiling at you with his eyebrow raised. "Are you not ticklish?" you asked him, as you dropped your hands down, stopping your tickle payback. Shaking his head was a clear answer to you that he was not ticklish. "Afraid not, my dear! Looks like your plan for payback failed!", he said while smirking down at you, leaning closer to your face as he was still hovering over you.

The both of you said nothing as you stopped and stared at each other. Your heart was going a mile a minute as you kept staring at Al's eyes, wondering what the heck was going on! Before you knew it, you felt a peck on your forehead, and Al quickly removed himself from the position, and got off the bed, facing away from you with his hands behind his back. "Well I must be off, darling! Time for another broadcast! Au revoir, my dear!", Al said as he made his way to the door, and walked out, leaving you in a state of shock. "W-w-what was t-hat? Did he j-j-ust kiss my forehead?!, your thoughts were in shambles as you were trying to peace together what just happened. It felt like it was a million degrees in the room, based on how hot your face felt. You knew Al wasn't interested in relationships or anything involving romance, so why did he kiss you on the forehead. Heaving a sigh, you fell back against the bed, grabbing a pillow and placing it on your face, as you kicked your legs up and down.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Endurance 1

Warnings: this fic will include obsessive behaviour, possible non/ducbon, bullying, and other elements which may not be specifically triggered. Please be cautious in continuing on to the story.

Character: Walter Marshall

Summary: A fellow gym go makes your workouts even more taxing.

Please reblog and leave some feedback, preferably in a reblog but you can always drop by my asks. I always love working in y'alls ideas with these AUs so I am so excited to hear from you.

As always, take care of yourself <3 be kind and be patient. Love you.

No tag lists. Please review my pinned and bio for guidelines.

You come out of the changing room and peek at the wall mirror as you pass. You admire your new bubblegum pink leggings and polka dot top. It’s a bit out there but you’ve seen neons in this place that make your retinas burn. Besides, you’ve never been shy when it comes to fashion. It’s not just your passion, it’s your job. 

It’s late enough that the bodies there are far and few between. You prefer the nights when the gym feels like a ghost town. The air is quiet but not stagnant.  

Your water bottle swings on its handle from your hand as your bouncy steps keep in time with the boppy music thrumming in your earbuds. Your workout mix is a nice blend of retro and contemporary bass hits. You catch yourself humming and stamp it down. Sometimes, you forget other people can perceive you, not that there’s many around to so.  

You find an empty mat. They all are. You put your bottle down and start your stretches. Your late night sessions help clear your mind though it never really stops. In your mind, you’re seeing pleats, seams, and ruffles. 

Your body moves without thinking. It’s all muscle memory. You’re no gym rat, you don’t go that hard, just enough to loosen up your muscles. Your note overly swoll as the young ones call it. You’re fit enough for a light jog and the stairs don’t leave you winded like they used to. 

After your stretches, you slurp loudly from the straw of your water bottle, walking with it still between your lips as you head for an elliptical. You can just let the repetitive motion take over. You pop your lips off the tub and slip the bottle into the little plastic holder on the side of the machine. 

As you climb up, you see another figure across the floor. The man sits on the end of a weight bench. For a moment, it looks, even feels, like he’s watching you. From there, you can’t see very well. You don’t wear your glasses in the gym since you lost a pair to a hungry leg press. 

You can make out dark hair and his burly form. Hazy but wide enough to clock. Most people around here are stacked. You’re too casual for all that. And you like a piece of tiramisu with your Friday lattes. 

You pick your speed and start to climb. You cling to the machine and rock your head to the music. Once more, your throat vibrates and you have to remind yourself to stop. You can’t help it, you love Destiny’s child. Does that date you? For someone working in fashion, you can’t ever risk that. 

You zone out, vision blurring as you let your body do the work. The sweat speckles and slicks across your skin. Damn, you might just be bootylicious after this work out. 

Your fitbit rumbles and you look down. You’re in the zone. You keep going until you hit thirty minutes and slow down. You cool off for ten minutes and swipe up your bottle, sucking on it greedily as you head back to the mats. 

You swing out your arms and stretch your legs in slowly lunges. You bend forward, touching each toe with opposite hand, lingering with your ass up as you brace your hips. A sudden clang has you standing straight so fast you nearly topple onto your butt. 

You throw out your arms to catch your balance as you let out a pathetic, ‘woah-oh-oh'. You look over at the man as begins reps with the heavy dumbbells. You’ve never gotten above the tens. His blue eyes flash in your direction and you give a sheepish smile. 

You don’t want to seem weird so you return to your stretches. Arms up, lean to one side, then the other. You hear a strange rumble, like thunder, and look over at the man as he continues to work his traps, staring at you. You could even call it a glare. 

You tap your ear bud as you face him, “sorry?” 

“Do you have to make that noise?” He snarls. 

Your brows pop up. We’re you humming again? Oops. 

“Sorry, I didn’t realise I was,” you smile and before you can tap play, he scoffs.  

“Typical,” he grumbles as alternates to biceps. 

He’s built. He’s arms are bigger than your head. Probably. You don’t think he’d let you compare for scale. You drop your hand without tapping. 

You get down and extend your legs in front of you. His breaths underline your movement as you bend one leg over the other and push your straight arm against it as you twist. As you do the other side, facing him, his gaze flicks over again. 

“You put more time into choosing that outfit than you do working out,” he shakes his head. 

You blanch. Oh wow. You must have been really out of tune if he’s that grumpy. You give a tight-lipped smile and keep going. He’s not the first grouch you’ve dealt with. Your editor is a chronic miser. 

You straight arms and legs and bend to touch your toes. You then pull your arms back and plant your hands. You lift your pelvis and torso and lean your head back, raising yourself in a straight line as you hang your head back. 

“Form is off,” he mutters. 

You lower back down and look at him again. 

“Oh, uh, do you have any tips?” You ask curiously. He grimaces. You push your shoulders up and tilt your head, “well, if you think of any, I'd be happy to work on it. I’d hate to hurt myself.” 

You get to your knees and groan as you push yourself to your feet. He tuts as gets down to plank, still gripping the weights. He lifts the left and puts it back down, then the right. You watch him for a minute, impressed by his strength. Your wary of lifting too much, you don’t trust yourself. 

“You think your cute,” he sneers under his breath. 

“Um, sometimes,” you hover across from him, “I just thought you might know more than me--” 

“Of course I do,” he puffs between lifts. 

“Mm, okay, well, I’d love to learn--” 

“They got trainers for that,” he snips as he finishes his reps and puts his knees down. 

“Right, um, sorry to bother then. I was only... asking,” you turn and grab your bottle. 

You flip the top up again and slurp. You get to the bottom, sucking air loudly up before giving up. He huffs and stands with the weights, slamming them back on the rack. 

“Do you have to make so much goddamn noise?” He stands straight and turns to you, crossing his thick arms. You stop short and part your lips. 

“It’s empty, I didn’t--” 

“It’s not the only thing’s that empty,” he taps his skull, “go back to the mall, girl.” 

You scrunch your nose, “you don’t have to be rude, mister.” 

“Honesty is a gift,” he snorts. 

You pull your chin back. You didn’t mean to annoy him and you apologised already. You’re a nice person but you don’t appreciate his tone. 

“Well, if I’m being honest,” you put your hands on your hips, “you’re not very nice.” 

He chortles as a crease forms in his forehead, “and you’re not as cute as you think.” 

“What does it matter what I think I am?” You challenge, “I didn’t ask you.” 

“No, you just float around like some airhead and disturb everyone else,” he accuses. 

You peer around, “there’s no one here.” 

He drops his arms and lifts his chin. He steps forward and you waver, just a bit, put off by his size.  

“I’m here,” he says. 

You blink. What does that mean? 

He takes another step and you stare at him, necks and cheek burning. His words strike an epiphany. It’s just you and him. He’s a lot stronger than you. 

Another step and you put your hands up, “mister, you better not come any closer.” 

He scoffs again, “or what? Are you going to cry?” 

You pout and shake your head, “no, but I... I could scream. Or bite.” 

He shakes his head, “what do you think I’m gonna do, girl? That’s what you do, isn’t it? Make yourself the victim. You need the attention to make you feel special.” 

He’s getting closer. 

“I said stay away,” you project your voice as best you can, “I’m not afraid of you, mister.” 

He chuckles and tilts his head. He stops, just a step away from you, “aren’t you?’ 

Your eyes meet his and you stand trapped in the snare of his glower. His blue eyes are deep and fiery, his chiseled face is framed by dark curls and a thick beard, and his chin is cleft handsomely. He’s fearsome, a bear in man’s flesh. You’re no more than helpless hare. 

You back away and his mouth slants in triumph. He’s won. You turn and gulp, gripping tight your bottle as your sneaker squeaks loudly. You scurry away, buzzing with adrenaline. 

“That’s right, you run away, girl, run as fast as you can,” he calls after you, “not very, I’m sure.” 

You keep a brisk walk as you hurry towards the locker room and push inside. Your heart is hammering and your breathless as you reach your locker. You put the bottle on the bench and clutch the sides of your head. You’re dizzy as you try to get a rein on your frazzled nerves. 

You thought you left the bullies behind in high school, over a decade ago. In that second, you’re right back in your teenage years. Your eyes sting with tears and your stomach churns with humiliation. That glimmer of insecurity creeps back into you. 

No, no. You’re an adult. You’re a grown woman. You have a job and a life you love. You’re nothing they said you were. You proved them all wrong and you will prove that butthead wrong too. 

[icepoptroll]

@rtcpickyourpoison day 4: Ricky - Karaoke/Drag Night

I've seen a lot of art of Ricky and Noel being the perfect drag queen duo and I'm in total agreement. Their fabulous costume changes and wildly imaginative songs in canon are proof enough for me that these two would absolutely kill it in a drag performance, ignoring the haters and putting on a great show!! Starrypoet is such an awesome but oft-forgotten ship.

I felt like doing something with Ricky's love for who he is, his creative endeavors, and his bright spirit. Noel was also fun to explore here in that he's both very loving and very firey. I imagine that, after reaching adulthood, Ricky would become a comic book writer/illustrator and Noel would work in a drag bar, and they'd both take great interest in each other's work. It's bring your boyfriend to work night at the club!! hehe

Image description under the cut.

Page 1:

Panel 1: Shown is Ricky and Noel's reflections in a lighted mirror. The adjacent wall is made of bricks and there is a garment rack with various dresses hanging on it in the background of their reflection. There is a long, wavy, pink and purple wig hanging on the mirror. Ricky is smiling a bit shyly, wearing a voluminous, long purple wig with bangs. He has on pink cat ears, a sparkly silver necklace, a black leather strap wrapped around his arm and a pink bodysuit with black tiger stripes. His makeup is hot pink and bright purple with purple false lashes, glitter along his cheekbones and black tiger stripes painted on the sides of his face. Noel is wearing a dark bob wig, a sparkly dark purple gown, and four strings of pearls around his neck. He is wearing sparkly purple eyeshadow, glitter on his face and body, and dark red lipstick. He is leaning over and kissing Ricky on the head, saying, "Ugh, Ricky darling, you look absolutely sickening!!" Ricky's narration explains, "I knew that, in the context of a drag culture colloquialism, Noel meant "sickening" as a compliment.

Panel 2: Ricky's narration continues, "But I don't think I was meant to take what this other performer said as a compliment." Noel is in the background walking past, now with long, dark, violet gloves on, as a drag queen in a curled blonde wig, pearl jewelry, a black and white polka dot dress with red frills and red high heels walks by Ricky, who is sitting in his wheelchair, smiling and waving, wearing silvery fingerless gloves of uneven lengths. The drag queen says, "Okay, I'll bite. Who invited the make-a-wish kid?" Ricky goes on to explain, sarcastically, "Oh yeah, she got me. That was so funny that last time I heard it I laughed so hard I almost fell off my dinosaur."

Page 2:

Panel 1: Ricky continues, "She went for the low-hanging fruit. Noel went to bat for me." Noel comes up, pointing to himself. He says, "Uh. That would be ME. Got a fucking problem?"

Panel 2: The other drag queen gestures to Ricky, who looks on, bemused and annoyed. She says, "Monique. Honey. Baby girl. Look at him, I mean, seriously? Do I even have to say it?" The dressing room mirrors are in the background.

Panel 3: Closeup of Noel's face. He looks angry as he says, "Ha! After your shit performance tonight I wouldn't bother saying ANYTHING more about him. Save yourself any further embarrassment." Ricky explains, "I didn't mind the comments all that much."

Panel 4: Noel is getting up in the other queen's face, pointing an accusatory finger up at her as she crosses her arms defensively. He says ". . . Aaaand another thing!!" Ricky continues, "Noel did warn me some of his colleagues could be kind of mean sometimes. And, as he would say, I looked "fierce," and I knew it."

Page 3:

Panel 1: Ricky's narration continues, "And, I guess you could say Noel actually sort of WAS granting me a wish." HE propels away to go do his own thing, looking back with a sense of concern and weird curiosity as the other two argue. Noel says, "I can't even, you're just mad that Ricky is a cute young thing, and underneath your makeup YOU look like the damn crypt keeper!" She replies, "Crypt keeper??? Oh, you little. . . "

Panel 2: Ricky continues to explain, "Noel works as a performer at a drag bar and he told me about lip-syncing being a big part of drag shows. While I am unable to sing, I've always loved lip-syncing to my favorite songs." Noel continues to yell, "This is some shady shit. Even for YOU."

Panel 3: Ricky is surrounded by drag queens against a sparkly hot pink background. His narration continues, "So I told him I would love to try it, and he brought me to work with him, did my makeup, and gave me some tips. We even developed a persona for me: Savannah, with the Fiercest Smize. To 'smize,' I'm told, means to smile with only your eyes. I was so excited, though, I wound up smiling with my whole face." A queen with light skin in a sparkly green dress, big wavy brown wig, and floral accents stands in front of Ricky, a hand laid over her chest. She says, "I LOVE silent acts. So mysterious!" A queen with tan skin and dark hair in a high bun dressed in a sharp gold dress and matching jewelry says "Her hair is EVERYTHING!" as she examines Ricky's wig and looks up at her friend, a tall chubby queen with dark skin and a purple afro, with purple jewelry and a sparkly purple body suit. She smiles and nods approvingly. Ricky goes on, "No one else seemed to mind my being there. In fact, people liked Savannah."

Page 4:

Panel 1: Noel and Ricky hug. Noel says, "No one will EVER dull your shine, love. You're beautiful and you know it. Let's get to work, okay?" Ricky says, "I knew."

Panel 2: Ricky and Noel are performing. Noel is dancing at Ricky's side. Ricky is lip syncing, holding a microphone and leaning back, his other arm spread out. The song he is lip syncing to is True Colors by the Studio Killers:

Show me your true colors

In their blinding brightness

Show me your true colors

Like they glow in the night when you are dreaming

Forget about the others

The unbearable lightness of our being

Even spy satellites won't see this coming

Our love that's hiding in the dark

Reach out and I promise you soon we'll be lovers

'Cause it's our true color

[seresinhangmanjake]

Birthday Boy

Dad!Jake “Hangman” Seresin x female reader

Summary: It’s Jake’s birthday and you have a very special gift for him.

Warnings: this is just a mega fluff monster (i think, anyway). Jake’s all happy being a dad and being in love with his lady and everything. Maybe cursing. Didn’t double check. Allusion to eventual smut that is not in this fic. Just to be safe:18+

Notes: can be read alone, but contributes to the Oh, Baby world as well. 

Words: 2422

Oh, Baby Masterlist

Masterlist

*turn on notifications for this blog or @seresinhangmanjake-library if you would like to keep up with my writing*

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Thirty-four. The number was speckled throughout his house. It was strung together as part of a lengthy banner that was taped to his wall; scribbled in green icing across the center of the vanilla cake you’d baked him with an equal number of rainbow-colored candles sticking out the top; and in the form of two massive shiny, floating balloons in the corner of the living room—Rooster’s addition to the decor, supposedly meant to tease Jake but were obviously brought for your daughter, Eve’s, amusement. And the little girl loved them, immediately crawling across the carpet to stare up at the mirror-like mylar that reflected her fascinated face. 

Jake had joked two weeks prior that he was getting old, so you’d taken it upon yourself to plan a party that reminded him of his younger days…his very young days. You’d gone all out, including everything for a kiddie party but the clowns and ponies. 

Initially, you weren’t sure how he’d take the surprise—he could see the worry in your twisted features when you observed his wide eyes and gaping mouth—but Jake only grabbed you around the waist and kissed you until everyone grew bored of watching a couple so lost in themselves. No one had ever quite done anything like this for him before. He’d had birthday parties, sure, plenty as a child, but not a single one after his mid-twenties, and never thrown by a woman he loved.

You’d still kept it small. Inviting your shared friends, a few other pilot buddies, Penny and Mav and a couple of the Hard Deck bartenders—one of whom was the pretty blonde Rooster had yet to completely get over despite the year that had passed since first meeting her. Clearly you knew something the rest of them didn’t when it came to the woman because you spent a good bit of time trying to push her and Rooster together. And if Jake could tell by the occasional glances he shot the two, it looked like some progress had been made. Good, Jake thought. He wanted his friends to have what he had.

By far, it was the best party he’d been to, fully surpassing the unknown number of wild nights he'd dedicated to getting hammered in college. Jake liked the intimacy of it all, even more so after it had died down and most guests returned to their own homes, leaving just you and his team remaining.

“Well,” Rooster began after taking a sip of the beer that you’d made sure to pour into a polka-dotted plastic cup, “I hope you enjoy being old, Hangman.”

Phoenix tucked her finger under the elastic band holding the cone-shaped hat to Rooster’s head and pulled it a good few inches away from his face before releasing it. It slapped harshly against his skin and with a frown, he rubbed his palm over the fresh sting.

“If he’s old, we’re all old,” she scolded. “And you should be nice to the birthday boy.”

“The birthday boy’s got enough nice things. He’s got his lovely lady.” He winked at you and you rolled your eyes with a chuckle. Then he extended his finger to lightly tickle Eve’s cheek. “And he’s got this little nugget.” 

When his daughter giggled in his arms, Jake pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her hair. He smiled contently before turning his head to connect his lips with yours. You both grinned into the kiss, that usual fluttering blooming in his stomach as you placed your hand on his cheek to draw him in closer. 

“Ok,” Payback just short of shouted, trying to pull your and Jake's attention back to the surface. “You know other people are here, right? And you’ve got a child in your arms.”

Separating from Jake, you looked back to your group of friends. “That was an innocent kiss.”

Fanboy snorted and took a bite of his cake. “It was no peck,” he mumbled around a mouthful of sponge and frosting. 

Jake reached behind you to rest his hand against your lower back, but it lasted there all of five seconds before traveling lower to settle on your ass. "Well, that’s as innocent as we get," he said.

“Pathetic,” Rooster playfully scoffed. “Be less in love with each other.”

“Not a chance, man.”

Everyone released a mocking groan at the sappiness, but Jake only snickered and leaned over to kiss your temple. It wasn’t the first time his teammates had joked about your supposed ‘nauseating’ obsession with one another, but underneath, their love for the two of you together was more than supported. 

“We should probably go,” Phoenix said. They all nodded in agreement, hugging you and Jake before giving extra special goodbyes to your daughter. Then they were gone—so much like a herd of wild animals or a school of fish migrating in one giant mass. 

Jake blew out a breath. He wasn’t old, but it didn’t mean the man didn’t feel the exhaustion of the long evening. 

“Tired?” you asked, extending your arms for Eve. 

He handed the girl over to her mother and shook his head. “No, I’m fine.”

“Good, because your night is not over yet.” 

Jake’s eyes followed the movement of your finger drawing a line down the row of his shirt buttons. He looked up at you. “Is that right?”

You winked, and as you turned on your heel to go put Eve to bed, Jake began to throw forgotten used cups and plates into the trash. They littered the area but he expected no less. His friends had a habit of bringing a tornado with them just to vanish when time to deal with the aftermath. 

“You don’t have to do that, baby,” you said, stepping back down the stairs. He felt your arms snake around his waist a moment later and squeeze. “Come with me instead.” 

Taking his hand, you led him to sit in a dining chair and settled yourself onto his lap. 

He knew his gaze was burning as it roamed over the features of your face. The only time it wasn’t was when he made sure to tamp down his desire in front of his daughter. But his baby girl was asleep now, and nothing stopped him from unveiling the entirety of what he felt for you. 

He was fully prepared to capture your lips in a kiss, but you stopped him when you said, “I got you a birthday present.”

Jake cared; he did. But you’d already given him so much and his neediness for you blocked out any ability to think of what could possibly be more important than you on top of him; he inside of you. 

He hummed lowly. “Does it happen to be lacy?” he asked. His fingers slid along the smooth skin of your thigh, pushing up the hem of your dress. “And under here?”

“Yes,” you grinned as you tilted your head down to brush your nose over his. “But I got you something else, too. Something better.”

You hopped up, slipping from his grasp before he could blink and disappearing around the corner into the hall. He instantly felt the gaping hole of your absence; the chill now coating his skin from the sudden loss of your warm body. He wasn’t a fan.

“Honey, I’m not sure there’s much better than you all dolled up in lace,” he called after you. 

You returned with your hands tucked behind your back, a sweet smile on your face as you once again took your seat atop his thighs. Jake rose a brow at your barely contained excitement when you whipped an envelope out and held it in front of his face. He leaned back a bit to get a good look, but the crisp, white folded paper was blank. 

“What is this?”

“You have to open it and read.”

He did as told and took it from your hands, lifting the unsealed flap and pulling out another folded sheet of paper. One of his arms snuck around your waist, holding your body flush against his again—tighter this time so you had no chance of escape—as he began to read aloud. 

“Petition for a change of name of a mi—” Jake’s voice caught on the syllable. His whole body, organs and all, briefly froze within him. A swallow strained his throat. “Minor,” he finally finished. He let the word settle on his tongue and when his brain regained functioning and fully processed the weight of its meaning, his eyes flicked over to yours. “Are you serious?”

Nodding with surety and cupping his cheek, you said, “I want to change her name. You just have to agree and we’ll sign some papers.”

The tears began to cloud his vision, fuzzing the words on the page as he read them again and again. “So, she’d…”

“She’d be Eve Seresin.”

Jake had imagined it before, dreamed about it. His sweet family—a small unit of Seresins that might one day grow into a decent sized bunch. You and he outnumbered by a group of little ones. But since your baby girl was such a surprise and you’d had Eve without him there—without him even in the picture at the time—her name was yours. Jake was fine with that. Of course, he was. It only made sense, and he wasn’t going to demand his daughter take his name just because you and he were officially together. But he couldn’t deny how the thought of his baby girl being a Seresin in name delightfully tightened his chest. He wouldn’t be too terribly upset by his woman sharing his name, either.

With your free hand, you brushed away the escaped salty droplet that slipped down his cheek. He met your eyes again.

“Honey, are you sure? Just because she doesn’t have my name, doesn’t mean—”

You shook your head. “I know, but your family name means something to you,” you said. “Besides, I imagine we’d be doing this sooner or later, and with Eve starting daycare in a couple of months it’s really the perfect time.”

You’re amazing, you know that? He thought about saying it every time he looked at you. Every time he saw you walk through the door, or take care of your daughter, or when you crawled into bed and cuddled up to him. And moments like this, when you expressed your devotion in such wonderful, unexpected ways. 

Jake put his hand on the back of your neck and pulled you down for the kiss he’d been desperate to give you. It was a pattern of long kisses between short kisses, with some kisses making their way to cheeks and jawlines, and eventually, his lips found the sweet, delicate skin of your neck, sucking red marks into the flesh. He liked those marks—made sure to give them to you often—a new one for every old one that disappeared. He was especially adamant about it once you’d started back to work at the bar, remembering all too clearly the wide range of drunk men that went far out of their way to hit on you. But you were his now. You shared a daughter, you had a future, and he didn’t need other guys thinking they were going to get lucky with his lady. And though you didn’t give him the satisfaction, he knew you secretly loved it, too.

You moaned, your head naturally falling to the side to open access to more of your skin, and Jake gripped your neck a bit harder, holding you still as he took a gentle bite.

“I love you,” he whispered against your neck, licking over the fresh mark to soothe the tenderness before lifting his head. “And you gave me a wonderful gift.”

The glimmer in your eye—he lived for that glimmer. That little shine of pride. “Yea?”

“Yea.” He smiled softly. “Any chance you want to get your name changed, too?” 

That smile morphed into a pout, his bottom lip slightly puckering.

“Don’t puppy-dog-eyes me, Seresin.”

“But Honey, I can get a wedding together so fast.”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head, but your lips were struggling to stay in a straight line. They begged to curve upwards; to part and bare your white teeth in the perfect smile that had taken him to his damn knees the first time he saw you. 

Jake loved when he could get your smile to break through any emotion you were feeling or trying to portray. He was convinced that was one of the reasons you worked so well together. Crying, irritated, exhausted—didn’t matter what it was, he could find some way to get you to crack a smile. Now was no different. 

He knew you weren’t going to say yes; your relationship was officially only six months old and you’d always lived by a hard line of being with a man for a year before getting married. He knew this before you even slept together, back when you were friends exchanging innocent thoughts about potential futures. But that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy hinting at the subject every once in a while. 

“We’ll talk about it,” you said, moving one of his stray blond locks back into place. “But let's start with our daughter’s.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

He accepted your kiss—your promise that when he asked you that question for real, you would say yes. That was enough for him. When you were ready, he would get down on his knee and present the ring he’d had made a month ago, and you would start another chapter. But for now, everything he had was enough. More than enough. More than he could’ve dreamed of. 

“Would you like to have your other present now?” you asked. 

Your finger slowly traced the neckline of your dress, pulling down just a bit to reveal the lacy trim of your bra.

Jake took in a deep inhale through his nose and let the exhale fill his cheeks as it left his body. Just under that dress was a layer of thin, intricate material in a deep shade of red just barely covering some of his favorite parts of you. Swallowing hard, he replaced your finger with his and pulled the front of your dress lower to expose more of the garment. The lace barely contained the swell of your breasts, and he instantly hardened beneath you, cock straining against the zipper of his jeans. 

With his eyes still glued to your cleavage, he nodded. “I would absolutely love to have my other present now.”

[oldiesstationlover11607]

'It's a good day' - Clancy!Tyler Joseph x Reader

Relationship: Clancy x Reader

Warnings: Dema

Word Count: 2248

A/N: Well... bandito battle prompt 2! This prompt was so cool bc I knew exactly which piece of art I was going to use for my inspo :) The prompt was to make something based off of another clique member's work so... I used @intheskatepark's it's a good day work!! As soon as I saw this art I fell in love with the whole forced sitcom concept. Also it was really fun writing a piece that wasn't requested for once hehe - NOTE I HAVE NO REQUESTS RN SO 🤷‍♀️

The vibrant hues of Clancy's living room enveloped me like a burst of sunshine breaking through the clouds. Brightly colored furniture—a cobalt blue couch that seemed to pulse with energy, a sunny yellow coffee table that radiated warmth, and mismatched armchairs in bold reds and greens—filled the space, transforming it into a sanctuary of joy amid the gloom of our reality. The lively palette was a stark contrast to the gray monotony of Dema, where colors felt like a luxury few could afford. In this room, I felt the weight of the world lifting just a little, standing before Clancy, the camera rolling as our characters seamlessly slipped into their playful routine.

“So, what do you think of the new coffee blend?” I asked, pouring an imaginary cup of coffee from a whimsical polka-dotted mug. Clancy leaned back against the vibrant couch, his posture relaxed yet playful, a teasing grin spreading across his face.

“I hear it’s like magic in a cup,” he replied, flashing a twinkling smile into the camera lens. The bright stage lights caught his cotton candy-colored hair, illuminating it like a beacon of hope, a stark contrast to the darkness that often loomed outside these walls.

“Maybe I’ll let you be my taste tester tomorrow,” I suggested, a playful glint in my eyes as I leaned in closer. These moments were my favorite—the delightful intersection where acting and reality blurred, where we could forget, if only for a moment, the burdens that awaited us.

“Only if you promise not to spill it on me this time,” he shot back, raising an eyebrow. Laughter echoed through the soundstage, a bright note amid our otherwise muted lives. “Last time, I looked like I fell into a rainbow.” More laughter erupted, filling the air with a lightness that felt almost magical.

“Hey, it’s part of the charm!” I chuckled, though a pang of unease stirred in my chest. It was a reminder of the weight of Dema’s constraints pressing down on us. This sitcom, It’s a Good Day, was supposed to be a distraction, a sickeningly sweet escape from the grim realities we faced, enforced by the Bishops. It was a perfect follow-up for the newly rising Dema celebrity, ‘Tyler Joseph,’ who had just released his number-one album, Scaled and Icy, with his so-called ‘band’ twenty one pilots. There was no band, only an electronically forced propaganda album made with pure physical and mental torture.

The vibrant furniture around us seemed to hum with life, echoing the joy we pretended to share. But beneath the bright colors, I knew we were merely two souls playing our parts, struggling against the confines of a world that sought to control us.

“So, about that touch-up?” I smiled at Clancy, running my fingers through his cotton candy hair as the script dictated. I gathered my hair dye kit from the colorful side table, the bright colors almost mocking the reality outside. “You look like you could use a little magic.”

“Only if you promise not to make me look ridiculous,” he replied, that teasing grin making my heart flutter like a butterfly caught in a gentle breeze.

“Trust me,” I said, pulling him toward a large, vintage mirror that hung on the wall. “I think we need to capture the moment. Let’s go with cotton candy—that’s always a hit.”

As I leaned in closer, the scent of his floral shampoo filled the air, mingling with the brightness of the room. I gently shaped his hair, a mix of excitement and tenderness flooding through me as I felt the warmth of his presence. Just as I began to dab the dye onto his locks, the studio lights flickered, casting playful shadows on the walls. Clancy tilted his head, glancing at our reflection in the mirror, and I caught a glimpse of the boy I’d grown to adore in this strange world we inhabited.

“You know, if we keep this up, we might just turn into a walking candy store,” he said, laughter bubbling in his throat, the sound brightening the atmosphere even further.

I smiled back, my heart racing. “What’s wrong with a little sweetness? It’s what this world needs more of.” Yet, deep down, I felt the tension rising, a reminder that our playful banter was merely a thin veil over the stark reality outside. The Bishops wouldn’t appreciate our little bubble of happiness, not when they thrived on compliance and conformity.

Clancy’s eyes sparkled with a mix of hope and sadness, trying desperately to stick to the script. “I totally agree! Which is why we attend our church sessions—the Bishops keep us afloat and make everything better!”

The words twisted in my gut like a knife.

Clancy leaned back, allowing me to work, the soft strands of his cotton candy hair slipping between my fingers. The sound of a cooking alarm chimed from the ‘kitchen,’ a playful reminder of our scripted lives.

“Better finish my hair because dinner is ready,” he quipped, grinning as we shared a laugh. I placed a quick kiss on his cheek, then froze.

“Cut!” the director yelled, and I breathed a sigh of relief, stepping away from the scene. I brushed a stray strand of hair behind my ear, the playful smirk still lingering on my lips as I leaned in closer to Clancy. “You did great out there. Just try not to look so tortured next time,” I teased, hoping to infuse some warmth into our bleak situation.

Clancy chuckled softly, his warm brown eyes meeting mine. “Not sure I can help it,” he muttered under his breath. I knew he was right—there was nothing to be happy about here. But as we shared our lighthearted moments, I sensed the deeper connection simmering beneath the surface. We were both acutely aware of the roles we played, not just in the sitcom but in the larger game that Dema had set before us.

The director’s voice echoed in the studio, breaking the moment like a crack of thunder. “Alright, everyone! Let’s reset for the next scene!” The cheerful chatter of the crew filled the air, but the weight of reality began to seep back in, reminding me of the world beyond the colorful set. I glanced at Clancy, whose playful demeanor flickered as he stood up, brushing off the remnants of our scene.

“Do you ever think about what’s really happening out there?” I asked, my voice lowered to avoid the prying ears of our crew. “I mean, outside this bubble we’ve created.”

Clancy paused, his smile fading slightly as he turned to face me. “All the time,” he admitted, his gaze drifting to the window where the fading light of day fought against the encroaching shadows of Dema. “Sometimes I feel like we’re just... puppets in this grand performance.”

His words hung between us, heavy with the unsaid truths we both felt but rarely dared to speak aloud. The Bishops controlled our every move, their watchful eyes always lurking just beyond the brightness of our set, reminding us that joy was a privilege few could afford in this stark world.

“I just wish we could break free from the script,” I confessed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “There’s so much more to life than this facade we wear.”

“Maybe that’s why we’re here,” he replied, his voice thoughtful. “To remind ourselves of what’s possible, even if it’s just for a moment.” He stepped closer, and I felt warmth radiating off him, a stark contrast to the chill that often enveloped me.

I met his gaze, our eyes locking in a moment that felt both exhilarating and terrifying. The vibrant colors around us faded into the background as the weight of our conversation took center stage. “But what if this moment is all we have? What if it’s never enough?” My heart raced, and I was acutely aware of the distance that separated us—not just the physical space, but the emotional barriers we built to protect ourselves from the harshness of reality.

“Then we make it count,” Clancy replied, his voice steady and filled with determination. “Even if we’re trapped here, we can still find our moments of joy.” He stepped closer again, and I could feel the magnetic pull between us, an unspoken desire to bridge that gap.

Before I could respond, the director's voice broke through again. “Alright, everyone! Let’s get back to work! The next scene is ready!” The air crackled with the energy of the crew moving into position, and I took a breath to steady myself, reluctant to leave the connection we had just forged.

As we prepared for the next take, I couldn’t shake the feeling that our playful banter was merely a mask, hiding the truth of our situation. But Clancy seemed determined to keep the spirit of our roles alive. “Just remember, when life gives you lemons, make a zesty lemonade!” he shouted, his voice ringing out with a mixture of humor and rebellion, causing the crew to chuckle.

I rolled my eyes, but a smile crept onto my face. “You’re ridiculous!” I laughed, feeling lighter, if only for a moment. The lights brightened again, and we slipped back into our characters, the facade settling comfortably around us.

After several more scenes, the day drew to a close. The crew began to wrap things up, but I could sense a heaviness lingering in the air, a reminder that our reprieve was temporary. As we finished the final scene, I caught Clancy’s eye again, and for a brief moment, everything else faded away.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low as he leaned closer, “can we talk? Like, really talk? Once we’re back in our cells?”

I nodded, my heart pounding with anticipation and a touch of fear. I knew what he was about to say would matter—a lot. After all, Clancy wasn’t just any prisoner; he was one of the leaders of the rebellion, a position that came with its own weight.

As we were escorted back to our cells, the familiar coldness of the concrete walls enveloped me. The laughter and lightness of the day faded away, replaced by the somber reality of our confinement. I found myself looking for Clancy in the dim light of the corridor, my pulse quickening as our eyes met.

Once we were alone in our respective cells, I leaned against the bars, feeling the chill of the metal against my skin. Clancy stood a few cells down, a silhouette against the sparse light. “I meant what I said earlier,” he began, his voice steady yet urgent. “You have to join us. The rebellion. We need people like you—people who can see beyond the charade.”

I felt my heart drop. “Clancy, it’s dangerous. You know that.” The thought of being swept up in a rebellion, of risking everything for a chance at freedom, terrified me.

He took a step closer, his expression fierce and earnest. “I know it is. But it’s also our only chance to reclaim what’s ours. We can’t keep pretending forever. The Bishops may think they’ve broken us, but we’re still here, still fighting in our own way.”

“Clancy, I—” I hesitated, my thoughts racing. It wasn’t just about the danger; it was about what it would mean for us. “What if it doesn’t work? What if we fail?”

“We won’t fail if we fight together,” he said, his voice filled with conviction. “I need you by my side. We need to show the Bishops that we’re more than just their puppets.”

The intensity of his gaze sent shivers down my spine, and for the first time, I saw beyond the colorful sitcom facade. I saw the fierce, passionate leader that Clancy was beneath the playful banter and bright hair.

“Clancy…” I whispered, my heart racing as I stepped closer to the bars that separated us. “I’m scared.”

“Me too,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I believe in us. In what we can become. If you join me, we can create something real, something powerful.” He paused, his expression softening. “And... I want you to be a part of my life, no matter what happens. I care about you, Y/N. More than I’ve let on.”

My breath caught in my throat as his confession washed over me, mingling with the swirling emotions I’d tried to keep at bay. “You care about me?”

“More than you know,” he said, stepping even closer. The distance between us felt electric, charged with everything we hadn’t said before.

“Then let’s do it,” I found myself saying, my voice firm with newfound resolve. “Let’s take the risk together. I want to fight for our freedom—and for you.”

A smile broke across his face, lighting up his features with a mixture of relief and joy. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” I replied, feeling a warmth spread through me at his hopeful expression. “But just so you know, I’m still going to dye your hair cotton candy.”

Clancy chuckled, the tension lifting. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

With a shared glance, a silent promise passed between us. We were no longer just two prisoners acting out a script; we were allies in a fight for freedom, our bond deepening with each word spoken, each risk taken. And as we prepared to face whatever came next, I knew that together, we were capable of creating our own story—one that would shine brighter than any sitcom ever could.

//

REQUESTS OPEN

Tags for bandito battle:

@banditobattlemotherfuckers @the-paladin-gay

[sleepysuburb]

Top 5 Steve/Reece character designs? (Hopefully this hasn't already been asked lol? ^_^

it hasn't!! character design is one of my main passions so this is an ideal question 👀 I really went balls to the wall for this one so it's under a readmore!! sorry for the chunks of text!

REECE

1. Stu. I'm so obsessed with Stu's design choices; the way he's clearly meant to look a little "too old" (not my opinion! I think he looks gorgeous) for his fashion sense, with his little tummy and his loud shirt, his tight jeans and very 90s auburn-blonde hair, his pink lip gloss (!!!!!!)... he's comfortable in himself and knows what works for him, so why change it as he gets older?

Conversely, the loud way he dresses is put into stark contrast with Carl's more age-appropriate, sensible dress and neat haircut, which gives him just one more reason to be at odds with him. He's visibly gay and camp with it, while Carl's repression is mirrored by his straightlaced design - I always see this canyon between their respective expressions and what it represents as a big source of bitterness, embarrassment and envy in their relationship, going both ways.

2. Stella. Oh Stella the riot grrrl you are... the choker, the lace tights, the leather pinafore over black mesh; it's all so babes in toyland/hole etc. Her hair is so quintessentially 90s, but specifically its a style and colour combo often worn by rebellious, troublesome, outcast women in media; to me, her design embodies this yearning for excitement outside of her marriage and a resistance to 'settling down', especially with Charlie. also she's hot. who said that

3. Mr Jelly. Never has a washed up clown looked so... washed up. I love the way his makeup is clearly slept in and not touched up for days/weeks/months at a time, cracking around his persistent frown lines and pilling around his eye bags, and how his hair is badly combed over his bald cap like he's actually trying to hide a severely receding hairline. He looks like the sort of grimy, scary horror clown you wouldn't want around your kids, only to subverse that somewhat - he's not cruel or creepy really, just a sad, disenfranchised man whose career was stolen by medical malpractice and intellectual theft. and his hook!! what a great tool for clowning-based mishaps.

4. Brian Macmillan. I'm predictable. but LOOK at him. we never really see him without at least an element of the dame - sometimes he's in full costume, sometimes half dressed in a bra and girdle with his makeup partway done, and sometimes looking totally regular, but wearing that scoop neck polka dot blouse we're all obsessed with. Despite the dame typically being a comic, matronly character he brings this glamorous drag queen flair to the role and, with his angular glasses, a sense of sharp, cruel intelligence that reminds me of the big bad wolf, with his permanent sneer and the way he prowls around the theatre lording himself over everyone... he feels like he should have fangs all the better to eat you with. also he's hot. who said that

5. Neville Griffin. my gf will kill me for this one because they hate the way he looks, and I get it - his design, even in isolation to his rotten personality, does a great job of making you hate him. He starts off as this lank, greasy, ungroomed-looking young man with casual, ill-fitting clothes; he's ill at ease in himself at this point, hasn't figured his career out, let alone his image. not even enough to make himself presentable. You almost (almost) feel sorry for him. and then cut to him further along in his career - he's arrogant and obnoxious, with his turtleneck and flash suits, his gold jewellery, all of it screaming that he knows he's better than you and he feels untouchable. somehow he still looks greasy, but this time like he doesn't care about other people enough to be fucked showering properly, you know? and always, always in the background, those awful posters of him with his big, bared-teeth grin. also he's h

STEVE

1. Herr Lipp. everything about Herr Lipp is just so unsettling and creepy. his suits are that uncomfortably 70s-sleaze combo of brown tweed, yellow, orange and green that so many people instantly associate with pervy old men. he always looks so wet, like mystery wet all the time, glistening upper lip and shiny forehead, his eyes all bloodshot and damp-looking due to the - I'm guessing some kind of tape or glue? - Steve has in his undereye crease, his hair slicked to the side... it's like he's always exterting himself or sweating guiltily because he knows he's doing something really wrong. that just ramps up when he's trying to get Justin to stay, and the way his appearance maniacally degrades through that sequence is genuinely the stuff of nightmares.

2. Pauline. the human embodiment of a 90s M&S workwear catalogue. she looks like if a generic office job grew legs and developed a seething hatred for everyone below it, and at first, that's kind of what she is. I love the motif of sharpness and orderly lines in her design, from her 'horned' hairstyle to her straight pencil skirt to her angular specs. it's all set off by her lurid pink lipstick, that betrays the real harsh interior lying beneath her neat, jobsworth exterior. in s3 her design becomes notably less put-together and more masculine, as if to try and offset her new vulnerability; her hair is cropped short and her clothing more masc-leaning, tending more business-casual than just business. she doesn't have her job to cling onto anymore, and it shows - but I also love that they went headfirst into making her more visibly queer. also sh

3. Ed Buchan. he's smart, anyone could tell that, what with the way he dresses like an academic - but despite that his clothing is so at odds with what's 'normal'. he looks old-fashioned and out of touch with his patterned jumper vests and his glasses with their chain, especially next to all the police in their sleek, no-nonsense suits. He's automatically an outcast and othered from them all. he has this sweet soft face and the look of a puppy vying for approval, while the others appear hardened and jaded; and they (mostly) are, while he remains gentle even after being kidnapped. also

4. Jed Hunter. he's so clearly influenced by real casting directors the league must've met. there's a slight southern inflection to his speech and since we see him in London in s3 I'm going to assume he's from there - his design, with the mullet situation, designer stubble, sleek clothes and smooth mannerisms, screams well-off, gentrified londoner. he's out of place in Royston vasey, but equally his pretentious brand of normalcy is strange in its own right. he's a caricature of 'cool'.

5. David Sowerbutts. David's design is almost cartoonish, which isn't a surprise considering his concept art was drawn by Reece and was cartoony and exaggerated from the off. he puts me in mind of a little boy in a propeller hat, but if that boy was a grown man and the propellor hat was an appalling bowlcut. all his changeable features, his terrible kitchen-scissor half-shaved haircut, his chunky utilitarian glasses and his simple, dull clothes are minimal maintenence things, making it clear Maureen does everything for him and does it in the most no-frills way. the fake teeth are excellent because they extend his lower jaw and force him to keep his mouth open a bit, making him look more vacant, but on top of it all you have these furrowed brows and intimidating stare that let you know he's capable of more than he lets on.

[lostwriter--xx3]

Lily

@prongsfoot-microfic

Dedicated to the lovely @shivstar and my own dear Prongs @rosemelodyshah

-------

"And, who's the first?"

It was a casual question, and Lily knew the answer. She turned away with the dish.

Thus, she missed James' sheepish face as he replied, "Sirius."

Lily stopped, her slipper halfway across the tile. She locked eyes with James in the mirror above the basin. "Sirius?"

"Yeah", James sipped his black coffee, glancing at Sirius beside him. He hid a smile behind his own cup.

Lily looked away from the mirror and bent to the basin, washing away the pie crumbs on the plate. "I hadn't expected that. I didn't know you..."

"Could bake?" Sirius smiled. "I can't. But Prongsie was craving apple pie. I snuck into the kitchen and stole what I thought were the ingredients." He laughed, rippling and blue. "Guess what they were?"

"Eggs, flour and apples." James was laughing too. "He mashed and baked it in an open fire...in a cauldron."

Lily smiled weakly, privately horrified. "And that got first place? Better than your mom?" Or me?

"It had Paddy's touch." Jame nudged him with his shoulder affectionately. "He could serve up spaghetti with fish sauce and it would be the baar spaghetti I've ever had."

Lily saw Sirius blush in the mirror. She bent to the cabinet under the sink with last night's leftovers. Some spaghetti was left at the bottom. She dumped it out and washed it.

"I couldn't get a cookbook", Sirius said apologetically.

"That made it special." James shrugged, slinging an arm over his shoulder as he reached over to take his plate. He came to the sink and put it down, smiling at Lily. Lily smiled back, tightly.

"Did you actually eat the apple contraption?"

"I couldn't hurt his feelings", he winked at Sirius over his shoulder, who made a face.

"You guys are so sweet, like an old married couple!" Lily exclaimed, dumping out the leftover pie in the dustbin.

Sirius grinned. "We are."

"Besides, he did all that. He literally stole the ingredients under the Head Elf's watch. And snuck into the Potions classroom. Of course I loved it. Of course I love him." James had left Lily's side, and was chokehold-hugging Sirius from behind the chair.

I got up at 5 today.

"You really need to stop embarrassing me in front of your wife." Sirius wrapped an arm around him fondly.

"James, can you stay in and help remove this mirror?" Lily called out. "It'd look better in the sitting room."

"Tomorrow, dear. I and Paddy have plans today."

Lily slammed down the dish. "Have fun. I need go write a letter."

She left the room. James didn't really notice.

In their bedroom, she found the writing desk. The pad was empty, the ink was at its dregs. James had gone through all the pages writing long, detailed letters to Sirius about every mundane household thing. Lily had seen the replies. Sirius had specifically responded to ever single thing James had gushed about. How sweet. How thoughtful.

There was an unsealed envelope beside the pad. It was the letter James had written last night, planned to post today, before Sirius payed a surprise and definitely unauthorised visit to him. Lily hesitated, then pulled out and unfolded the letter.

Dear Sirius,

I miss you. How I miss you! I sit down for breakfast, lunch, supper (I'm never at home for dinner these days, always some fad at the Order) and I'm always staring out the window at the front wall of the house (have I told you about the new curtains? They are grey with polka dots. Lily didn't like them very much but I insisted on them, they look just like your eyes) hoping you will appear. I'm rambling, of course. I'm not in my right mind, I feel crazy without you. I wish you would come live with us. The guest room isn't ready yet, but we could curl up on the floor with the sleeping bags (the ones we got for Quidditch final in 7th Year) and watch the stars. The window faces the backyard, y'know. It's beautiful. Lily can take the bedroom.

No, honestly, I'm happy with Lily. It feels like a constant adrenaline rush. I finally won her over! But I miss you. I wish you'd visit. I need to feel your arm around my shoulder, I need to hear you laugh, I need to feel your knuckles under my thumb. I need you, love. I wish you'd come. I miss you like a limb. You're always the first thing on my mind when I wake up and my last waking thought before I sleep. Sometimes, I even dream of you (crazy, I know). I hold a pillow pretending its you and that I'm back in the dorm and it's Fifth Year and everything is fine. I wish I could feel that safety again. I can't tell Lily, but I'm so scared, Sirius. I'm scared of dying. I'm scared that one day I will die in a solo mission and I won't see you again. I wish I hadn't joined the Order. Of course, I want to fight. But sometimes, when I think of you and me and how we used to joke about sharing a red-bricked house with a picket fence with a swing in a kitchen garden, I can't help but be selfish. Are ideals worth more than you? I don't know, I honestly don't know...

Well, I'm all out of paper. Seems like writing letters to you is all I do nowadays. Dumbledore is pressuring me to spend more time with Lily. I love her, but I need some space too. He keeps insisting on knowing when we are having kids. It's so odd and uncomfortable, how is it any of his business? And I don't want kids. Who has kids in war? Lily wants a daughter. I want a damn cat and you. I'm starting to detest Order meetings because of all these wrangles now. But I'll always attend them. I get to see you. I'd attend a conference in hell (that's what the meetings are these days) to see you. Don't forget me in your roomie bliss with Peter, okay? I love you.

Always,

Your James.

Lily put back the letter and fetched a new pad of paper from the shelf. She looked at the dregs of the ink. It would be enough. She sat down to write.

Dear Sev—

Lily got up and put on a jacket. She had to go out and buy some ink. She would need it.

[pola-rola]

I'm really bored, so there's a little Yuu-sona or something like that. I don’t like to write on the pictures themselves (yeeah, sure), soooo...

A little backstory: like yuu-sona, I would also like to be based on some Disney character, and one day I was just looking around and was like, “hmm, I braid my hair with a polka dot scrunchie, I have black hair…. yeah, definitely Minnie." Yep, that's how it was. Well, besides, it seems to me that the design of the ghost camera fits, and of course friendship with Mickey, he didn’t mention her when he talked about friends, right?)) Besides, Minnie doesn’t belong to any specific cartoon, but this means she can play the role of both a hero and a villain, so getting into the NRC may well be justified, smart;)

So, now just a little randomness about this gal, and, accordingly, me:

• ISFJ (I don’t know what for, but just if you’re interested)

• at first she thought about hiding her real gender, making up something, playing dress-up to become look like a boy. But on the very first day of school, she realized that it's unnecessary, if they didn’t like something, it's their problem

• Purchased the uniform from Sam, because seriously, where else can you find a uniform that is the perfect size? She had to beg for money from the headmage; you want the students to look diligent, so you pay.

•"So, where is my computer? Where is my tablet? Where is my pen? How can I survive without this mmm???)))"

• The first time she was in Twisted Wonderland she constantly had a headache, because in her world she was not used to being in the fresh air so often and moving so often.

• It's raining men!

• "How can boys be so tall at such a young age?! It's crazy!"

• Sometimes throws in phrases and references in her native language, just because she can.

• In fact, she was really surprised that practically (for the most part) no one bullies her for her lack of magic. Like, "if this was my world, I'd be an outcast by now, seriously, guys, aren't you going to make fun of me or what?!"

• Sometimes falls into philosophical thoughts, like “Why is someone constantly trying to prove their strength here… why doesn’t anyone understand that we are all students, which means we are all equal? ​​Especially these idiots from Savanaclaw-” (yup, I really hate these npc guys)

• "Soooo… I found myself in another world, where ghosts, fairies, magic are all real, before that I was riding in a black carriage and woke up in a coffin in a black robe… The mirror said that my soul does not belong anywhere and its there’s nowhere to return…Hmm.. Hmmmm..! Does this mean that in my world I’m already dea- Oh, look, pies are on sale!”

• "Should I start charging money to solve your problems?"

• "Why is it always something? Like it's literally always freaking something........"

• Had to learn to cook to survive. Well, mostly because Grim whines that he can’t live on just scrambled eggs and burnt fried potatoes lol.

• Would like to join the Mountain Lovers' Club, but remembered how in her world she constantly excused herself from trips to the mountains or family overnight stays in tents by the lake. Nah..

• She likes this interesting world, but still at night she cries into her pillow because she misses his mom so much :(

• “Actually, in my world, I had already graduated from college, received a diploma and was just looking for a job. And you say that I need to start studying again from the first year?!”

• haha silly mirror, a test on the internet told me that I should go to Scarabia 💅

• REALLY wants to know what's going on in her world while she's here. Literally thinks about this almost every day

• "Lol guys, did you know that your Great Seven are actually bad guys? No, no, nothing, just breaking the fourth wall"

If it weren't for Grim, she probably would have remained a janitor forever. Like, seriously, have you seen how often mc speaks compared to other students? Totally matches my social awkwardness.

•Really very interested in this world, its history and especially other schools. Like, really, if all this turns out to be a dream and she'll return to her gray world of high-rise buildings, then at least she'll have something to remember.

• "They call me just "Pola" for a reason. And the reason is... Says her full name, which to a non-native speaker sounds like a spell to summon a demon.

•"Hey guys, look what I found. A bowling ball." This is Chenya's head.

•"Deuce is asking for my opinion and does not forget about my presence and is happy when I cheer for him #BFF🥺" (we have the same birthday by the way)

•"Ehehee Pola Trappola ehuehe.......… Just kidding, jeez!"

Phew, that was silly, but I hope you found it interesting haha

[babydaddyleorio]

01. ties

“Hey, nice tie.”

Your voice bounced off the four walls enclosing you and your mute co-worker— the one who you’ve been trying to ease out of their unwavering shell for the longest, that is. He was quite the rigid guy, always punctual with his tasks and never harboring an interest to mingle with the rest of the floor. Though, despite his persistent efforts to blend into the corporate background, your curiosity lured you toward him as the days continued to pass. He was very handsome with defined cheeks and pressed suits that showed off his toned physique. Still, even with his overwhelming attractiveness, your interest in him stemmed more from the discreet nature he had surrounding him.

Nanami then turned his head upon realizing you were speaking to him. The two of you stood shoulder to shoulder in the building’s small elevator that slowly rose to your destinations.

“Thank you,” Nanami replied curtly before eyeing you slightly. “It was a gift.”

You looked at his neck, then at the tie with bananas break-dancing and wearing sunglasses hitched in a perfect knot. 

You cracked a small smile. “Whoever got it for you has taste, then.”

Nanami glanced down at his tie before his cheeks faintly tinted with red, suddenly embarrassed by the childish choice of design. “It… wasn’t my first pick.”

“That makes sense. I never expected you to wear something like that.” You hummed understandably.

Nanami paused at your words before raising an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

You noticed his questioning gaze as you shrugged your shoulders in response.

“I’m just used to seeing you be so serious all the time.” You smiled, but your tone was honest. “I guess just catching you in something not so black and white suits you better.”

“We are at work, so being serious is necessary,” Nanami replied matter-of-factly, causing you to laugh lightly.

“Yeah, but everyone needs a little color in their life, you know? Otherwise, life gets boring.”

Nanami tilted his head as he silently considered your words. He wasn’t being completely honest before, he didn’t get this tie as a gift and he had actually gotten the tie simply because he wanted to. He never wore the rest of his bold ties because he considered them to be unprofessional for the workplace, but since he had skipped laundry day yesterday, he had no choice but to wear the one he had on now. 

Your eyes flickered to the ascending number on the steel wall and you saw that your stop was next. You politely offered Nanami your name while adjusting the bag on your arm to which he gave you his as well.

 “And uh—”  The elevator’s doors parted as you stepped out to leave, but not before you looked over your shoulder with a warm expression. “I would hate for this to be the last time we talk.”

The door to the elevator closed, leaving Nanami in deep thought as his body rose once more.

The next morning, Nanami stood in front of his closet with a creased forehead. He placed one hand on his hip as he lifted his arm to skim through his clothes. Then, he found himself taking the hidden ties that were deep in his closet and pushing them to the front. Although, there was one in particular that caught his eye.

Nanami twisted the silk material between his fingers. It was a bright yellow one with navy blue polka dots splattered all across the front. It surely wasn’t what he normally wore to work. His attire was always pristine and presentable, but Nanami now figured that it wouldn’t hurt to spice his style up a little. After all, wearing the same thing can come across as boring, so he heard. Nanami took the tie from its hanger and walked to stand in front of the mirror on the wall.

And as he placed it around his neck, Nanami briefly wondered If you’d like this tie, too.

Then, he smiled.

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