#the top right is a self portrait

[polaroid-petals]

This baby eats mice

[b4gu3tt3m4n]

Everything I make suck rn so im not so keen on making art. But Reddie will always do

[wwraithsart]

I made an edit to my pfp but didn't feel like posting that on its own so heres some other stuff

[anneowl2803]

I have 25 beauty marks on my face.

[skitskatdacat63]

I was looking for boot ref pics and then came across this painting

Oh my fucking god???????????????? Putting this one in the ref folder bcs oh my god??????????? They did not have to serve this hard?????????

[insufferable-homestuck]

i have a very strong suspicion on who the person who left top right was. a very strong one

send me anonymous drawings ( that are most of the time penises ) TODAY !!

[the-darkness-does-not-bargain]

The truth is that we need a based author to write an otome game isekai story about a trans guy getting trapped in the body of the "villainess" only to realize that the """villainess""" was just a closeted trans guy struggling in a rigidly gendered society. He fakes his death to escape the original storyline and runs away to start living as a man, maybe using magic or help from a supportive party to transition. Cut to some time later when he is dragged back into the original drama, but none of the other characters recognize him and treat him as a stranger. And perhaps as a rival? 👀👀👀 for the female lead's affection????!!!! 👀👀👀👀

[ritzcrackee]

WOO HOO SKETCHBOOK (frenchie/jim sticker)

[ckret2]

@space-bowl Hi you didn't ask for an essay on this! But I happen to have a detailed headcanon, canon citations, and a piece of art I'm currently eager to procrastinate on so I wrote one anyway!

I base the headcanon that Bill isn't a very good artist on the canonical self-portraits he makes in Journal 3 while possessing Ford:

That looks like the Euclidean equivalent of stick figures to me. I'm not impressed by his artistic prowess.

We know he didn't smuggle out the book he's working on in Theraprism. The Theraprism staff says "you have been contacted through this book against our rules" and includes a photo of Bill working on the journal—if the book was in their hands when they spied him working on it and confiscated it to write a letter in it, then they wouldn't have let it leave the Theraprism. So TBOB is already outside Theraprism when the staff finds Bill making contact with the readers. Plus Ford already knows TBOB exists at the beginning of the book—meaning it was already out in the world before Bill's death.

And so: the book Bill's working on in Theraprism is a different book, through which he (and then the staff) is making psychic contact with TBOB and manipulating TBOB's contents. TBOB never came into Theraprism, and the book Bill was working on in arts & crafts never left Theraprism.

And he SAYS at the start of the book he's manipulating TBOB's contents remotely. When he describes what the book contains, right beside the table of contents, one of the items is:

"Paper" made from pressed, pureed human brain matter. I can invade anything with neurons, so I can project anything I want in here!

In the photo of him working on his end of this TBOB tin-can-telephone, he's beaming his thoughts straight from his mind onto the page (and, presumably, through that page to our page):

On top of that, note what his supplies are: paper, scissors, tape, and glue. We see a clipped-out picture and bits of paper pasted into the journal. He only has one black marker, no other drawing/coloring materials. The journal Bill's making in Theraprism isn't a sketchbook: it's a scrapbook.

And the one time we see Bill deliberately focus on the graphic design aspect of the book, the end result is...

Graphic Design Is My Passion-looking ass.

So here's what I believe: the contents of The Book Of Bill are made up half of a collage of cut-up papers and pictures Bill pasted into his end of the book (magazine pages, textbook pages, newspaper clippings, chapter 2 of The Great Gatsby, etc) and then psychically altered the text of to suit his needs; and half of images that Bill projected straight from his mind onto the pages without needing to actually do any art (such as every time Bill himself pops onto the page to talk directly to the reader).

Still requires a little graphic design work on his end; but if he's largely just slapping down pages of somebody else's completed graphic design work, that takes a lot of the required skill out of it. Definitely doesn't require him to know how to draw.

[luveline]

Hello! I just want to start off by saying you're an absolutely amazing writer! I've been reading your blog for two years now, I believe, or something very close to it, and I still find myself awestruck by your talent when I check your blog, which is pretty much daily!

If you're up for the prompt and if you're not too swamped with requests, could I ask for a blurb with bombshell reader x Spencer? Maybe reader makes him something really sincere and handmade? Maybe a baked good or a knitted sweater? No special occasion needed, just because he deserves it 😋

Thank you for sharing your works with us! Be well and remember to take breaks! Love you Jade!!

Thank you my love, that is so kind! Love you♡

You feel sleek walking into the office that morning. Fitted clothes steamed and pressed, hair freshly upkept at the salon the previous weekend, nails manicured, smile primly painted, you look perfect. 

But that's not what you're excited about. 

Spencer lounges cross-legged at his desk, a book in his lap, surprisingly broad shoulders hunched as he reads at a more natural pace than usual. His desk is cluttered in organised chaos, books lining the partition that separate his desk from Derek's and Emily's, strange knickknacks scattered. There's a bunch of bright squishy things from Penelope, an upside down umbrella statue lined with hair elastics, and, cutest of all, his two photo frames. One of him holding baby Henry, and one of you. You and him, of course, but mostly you in the frame, closer, smiling like you love him as you angle the camera back in a well meaning and misaligned self portrait. 

You do love him. He hasn't caught on yet, is all. 

"Spencer," you greet, hoping he won't jump. He flinches minutely and lifts his head to yours, closing the book against his hand. "Sorry, I was trying to make it so you didn't jump." 

"My fault." He rubs his eyes. "Just been reading this book for so long it's messing with me." 

The book, of which he's told you about in detail, is about a documentary, which is in turn about a bunch of dark, ever-changing rooms, hallways and tunnels from within a house. The line between what's fiction within fiction blurs, and it's actually pretty scary if he's to be believed. "I've never seen you take so long reading one book, even if it is eight hundred pages," you say teasingly, letting the handle of your handbag slip down your shoulder. 

"The point is suspense," he says, eyes following your fingers where they dive into your bag. "Which needs time to build. What are they?" 

"These are for you, handsome." 

"You already gave me a present," he says quizzically. 

His birthday was a few days ago, and he's right. "These aren't for your birthday, Spence." 

He cracks the lid off of the tupperware on side at a time like he's scared he'll ruin the sweet treats within. You've made him fresh baked shortbread biscuits dipped in dark-chocolate and topped with sparse coconut shavings. 

"What are these?" he asks.

You both know that he knows they're cookies, so you answer the unasked question instead. "I wanted to make them for you. I think you'll like them, they're a little rich but the coconut helps even it out. You don't have to try them now or anything–" 

"Can I?" he asks, lips quirked into a gentle pout. 

"Sure." You hide your nerves as he bites into one, the cookie itself breaking softly, crumbs falling into his waiting hand. "They're messy. Should've warned you." 

He puts the uneaten half back in the tupperware and places it atop his closed book on the desk. He's nodding as he stands, arms quick over your shoulders. You can hear him swallow, his voice mildly hoarse as he says, "They're so nice," he praises, clearing his throat, "I think I swallowed too fast." His laugh warms your ear. "I can't believe you made those. How long did it take you?" 

"Not that long," you say, beaming as he pulls away. "I knew you'd like them." 

"It helps that you made them." He holds your elbow. "I don't know how to say thanks." 

You raise your cheek. "Only if you want." 

He kisses your cheek. You smile like a fool and giggle much the same, reaching around his arms to nab a cookie for yourself. They'd tasted nice last night when you tried them, but they're perfect after Spencer's praise. 

"No one's ever baked something for me before," he admits, the two of you standing much too close considering the setting. "I mean, there really wasn't a reason?" 

"No, Spence. I was watching some TV last night when I started thinking about you, and I recently got that cookbook, you remember? That was one of the dessert recipes. I had to make two batches because I put too much butter in the first try and they spread flat as a nickel." 

He smiles at your misfortune. "What?" you ask. "What's funny about that?" 

"It's not funny. You made me cookies and when they went wrong you made me more. I don't know what I–" His hand flirts with your elbow, index finger moving with a mind of its own, tickling you through your thin blouse. "You're amazing." 

"You make me really happy." You look down at his hand where it draws a line. "It makes me happy to be able to do something for you." 

Spencer can evidently see you turning shy, and he's a sweetheart, so he rescues you from your timidity with a life jacket. "Is there anything you can't do?"

"Not that I've found so far, handsome. Why, did you have something in mind?" 

He makes a big and genuine laugh, grabbing two cookies and forcing one into your hand. "You have to eat your share before Emily gets here." He nudges your hand up with his. "Go on. I'm not in the mood to share with anyone but you." 

[whosjunglejim4322]

Saccharine - E.M

Warnings ® smut! Fluff, soft bf Eddie<3, first time sex as a couple! Nasty IN LOVE smut bc this bitch is a hopeless romantic! Eddie is super sensitive, Established relationship, you stroke his dick, Eddie almost cums in his pants, lil bit of dry humping, this is incredibly self indulgent but u didn't hear that from me, overly descriptive bc why not

You shouldn't be nervous, really. It's just Eddie, who is your boyfriend of three months and twenty-six days. Who is sitting across from you on his creaky mattress criss-cross style, your knees touching. Your Eddie, who has two big hands flailing in the air as he goes on about the recent campaign, broad mouth etched into a whimsical smile, big eyes wondrous and full of excitement for the tale.

The bed bounces with his enthusiasm, and you draw closer to him with each syllable.

Your Eddie, who is doing nothing out of the ordinary, and who is as beautiful as ever in loose fitting plaid pyjama bottoms and a tattered black tee that exposes half of his collarbone and smudges of black ink - he doesn't even have to try, and perhaps these simple mundane realizations are what cause the flutter of wings in the pit of your stomach.

"And then Mike - hey, you okay?"

If it weren't for his vast change in expression, you truly wouldn't have realized what a trance you're in. Between the furrow of his unkempt brows and the amused but curious tilt at the corner of his mouth, you come back to earth. The weight of gravity settles in your bone marrow, as his calloused thumb quickly strokes your chin as if to remind you he is still here.

"I - yeah yeah, sorry I just," you grab his hand by the heaviness of his wrist, dragging it into your lap so you can stroke the back of his rough knuckles. "got distracted s'all."

Your eyes divert to where your fingers are joined and the sound of his airy, through-the-nose chuckle has more heat blossoming behind your ribcage, nudging at your organs.

"I'll stop with the D&D talk, know you hear enough about it from the kids. There's only so much dorkiness you should be subjected to, y'know?"

It's lighthearted, he's smirking and looking down at you with enough palpable fondness the apples of your cheeks feel like they're being stroked by a flame. Still, the implication that he may be bothering you in any way has an urgency filling your eyes. You shake your head.

"No, no that never bothers me Eds, don't be silly." The nickname makes his mouth dry, still, after three months and twenty-six days. You finally meet his glance. "You're just handsome, really handsome especially when you're talking about something you're passionate about and I just...yeah."

It's word vomit, messy and you feel like it makes no sense but then he squeezes your hand and you know that he reads between the nervous mumbo jumbo - you have no clue how you make him feel, do you?

"You're fucking cute." He breathes out earnestly, smoothing his grip upwards to your forearms and pulling you forward with minimal effort - right onto the stirdiness of his lap.

Your giddiness is the perfect portrait, your arms finding a resting place atop his broad shoulders. Curls tickle the tops of your arms and your wrists, and your thighs brace your frame by the slim of his taut waist. He can't help it, the giggles escaping his throat. The proximity is intoxicating for no reason at all.

"Can't believe this is our first time spending the night together, I'm so used to falling asleep on the phone with you that it really doesn't feel all that different." He smooths your hair out of your eyes, tucks it behind your left ear.

I get to touch her like this, he thinks to himself. His chest jostles underneath the muscle and bone.

"Yeah, except I get to fall asleep with you'n my arms, wake up with you in em' too. I'm one lucky son of a bitch, hmm?"

He's practically thinking out loud, but he's too far gone to feel shame. When you nuzzle your face against the warm nook of his neck, wet lips smiling against the flesh, his encapsulating arms squeeze you impossibly tighter. He buries his nose against the top of your head, inhaling the fresh scent of your shampoo. Your cheek grazes the side of his jaw as you meet him face to face, nose to nose.

He sees you trying to formulate words, a sentence, even a sound but none of it seems like a totally accurate way to express the adoration threatening to consume you from the inside out. You graze his cheek with your mouth, slowly, tentatively, and he hangs on with half an air full of lungs.

You suckle his bottom lip and he sighs into your mouth, the relief making him lightheaded. He kicks into gear and pushes back with an overlap of his mouth - hands wandering over the small of your back, to your soft lovehandles and upwards until his fingrtips have passed your jugular and he's holding your face as tenderly as you're holding his.

It's now, when you feel it - the growing firmness beneath he thin material of his bottoms. He tries to keep it at bay but it's damn near impossible, and the whimper, the fucking whimper you let out when his soft tongue touches yours from the warm cavern of your mouth - he couldn't stop it from twitching even if he wanted to. He's only a man.

And you're a menace. As new as this is, your body reacts to the prod in between your legs, underneath your crotch. You press yourself tighter to his frame, hips scooching against his hard-on in the process and he stiffens.

"Mmm, baby baby..." your pout is immediate when he breaks from your mouth, brows furrowed and lips a kiss bitten fuschia. For a moment, you think you've taken it too far too fast - he's stopped you from moving completely. Your whole body burns with a tingly sensation somewhere between shame and the aftershocks of arousal.

"Are you...are you okay? Did I do something wrong?"

You sound so sweet, it makes his lower belly ache among other things. He stifles a laugh brcause he knows it will only make you feel worse. Something wrong. Something wrong.

"Fuck no, I-sorry I just uh...almost..." He can't bring himself to say it, you guys haven't even been kissing for five whole minutes and here he is about to blow his load. When you realize how close his dark lashes are from kissing his cheeks, how his pupils have almost turned the whole of his irises onyx, you connect the dots.

Woah, you did that to him? That moth in your belly threatens to take flight, and without much thought, your mouth is moving before you can stop it.

"I wanna see."

Those are the only words your brain allows you to spit out. His chest has gone still, and you feel that twitch against your center again. Your thighs have begun to tremble.

"You wanna see...? My cock?" He shouldn't sound so incredulous. You're his girlfriend for christ's sake, but you are important to him. More important than he ever thought anyone could be, and so he has kept his lust at a minimum of 48% when he's around you for the most part. Save for intense makeout sessions.

"Yeah, I wanna...well I wanna know how to make you feel good."

He's worried for a moment that he's having another wet dream, but he's sure this is real life because he feels how warm you are against him and you are so close he can see his own reflection in your eyes. You toy with the shell of his ear and a chill ascends his spine.

"Sweetheart if you touch me m'not gonna last long." His skin is pink and scarlet, and he's gotten at least ten degrees hotter judging by the heat billowing off of the back of his neck. His adams apple bobs when he swallows.

"That's okay, really it is. You have nothing to be embarrassed about....I like it. Like that I make you feel that way. " You rake your fingers through the front of his hair, pushing it away from his pretty face. He checks your eyes again, needing confirmation.

"Are you sure? You don't have to do anything you don't want to." He gnaws on the inside of his plush mouth, tries to calm the animal inside of him that wants to fuck your brains out right now. He almost feels guilty just thinking about it, until you lean over to peck the side of his stubbly chin, fingertips grazing his taut belly.

"Yes, really wanna."

There is a curious, nervous anticipation in the crinkle underneath your eyes.

"Kay' baby, explore all you want." The boyish smirk he gives is enough to have that knee buckling tingling sensation coming back full force as he presents himself to you like this. Does he seem as pulled together and totally not overly nervous as he thinks he does? Probably not.

His arms depart from your body, ribs expanding as he reclines on his palms. Tendons flex and stretch underneath the black bats and fuzzy layer of hair atop his forearm. You swallow, intimidated by the beauty of the boy.

You find the courage to finally move off of his lap so that you can take him all in, and the bulge of his cock swipes the underside of your thigh as you slide off.

You don't know where to touch first. That's a lie, your hands almost instinctively slip underneath the hem of his old shirt, where that dark thatch of hair trails under his belly button. He's soft, so soft it's unreal, he is velvet and delicious scarring and beauty marks. His tummy convulses underneath your hand.

He watches you with complete fixation. You have your bottom lip tucked between your teeth and you don't even realize it, all perched and pretty in front of him. He closes his eyes when you explore his sides, over the planes and arches and past the small stretch marks by his chest.

You can't ignore it anymore, the tent that has formed at his crotch and continues to throb with each passing touch.

The blunt of your nails rake down the soft plaid covering thick thighs, and he takes this sharp breath that has you glancing up at him with heavy eyes.

"So pretty...Eds you're so pretty." You say it ardently, your voice small and weak. An arm reaches down, strong but gentle as he strokes the back of your plush cheek with his ring covered knuckles.

"Can't fucking believe...can't believe you're mine, finally. Shit." He's almost murmuring to himself again, on the verge of cardiac arrest. Maybe he's losing his mind, maybe this is heaven.

Then your palm presses against the thick of his cock where it's bulging out, and his thighs spasm.

"Oh, oh." He's all curses and praises, giving you encouraging glances each time you look up at him to silently ask for guidance. You move your hand up and down what you assume is his shaft, and he keeps his hips from bucking into your touch. He feels thick, and the back of your mouth starts to water.

Without warning you're hooking your fingers into his waistband, and he lifts his hips in compliance so that you can pull them down to his mid thigh. He has no time for nerves anymore. Any fear he previously had about what his dick looks like, or what you'll think of it, is stripped along with his clothing. You're looking at him with too much love for him to be insecure - and that takes him by surprise the most.

At this point his checkered boxers are just in the way, and you take it upon yourself to pull those down too. A thud hits his belly.

And really, you should've known. He's big. Not because he's impossibly long, his size is above average but he's thick - the tip iridescent with precum, the same shade of plum as his lips underneath the slick sheen. He is slightly curved upwards, a prominent vein decorating the underside parallel to his frenulum. It's pretty, just like the rest of him. He's neatly trimmed, which is the most surprising part if you're honest - but nothing about Eddie could ever be displeasing to look at.

Your mouth is parted with this expression of surprise, and Eddie almost can't believe what this is doing for his ego.

"Woah." Is all you say, transfixed when you reach out to grasp the appendage. He hisses through his teeth when your small hand finally grasps it, so fucking warm and so gentle it's almost maddening. You both feel it, the invisible weight that has settled in his small, messy room.

The weight of being alone, together, all night and all of tomorrow afternoon while his uncle Wayne is away on a business trip that is probably more lucrative than what he leads on - but Wayne has never been one to boast or speak about things like that out loud. Says it'll jinx the whole thing.

The feeling hits you first, as you find this foreign courage to lean over and dribble spit over the slit of his cock. He gasps, watching the glob of saliva drip down the front of his dick till it's soaking into the curls at his pubic mound.

"Is this okay?" You already know the answer but you ask anyways, taking more pride than you should at the expression on the pretty metalheads face. He nods his head fervently, unable to respond right away.

You twist your palm, spreading your spit further until his whole head is covered and you're able to stroke him with no resistance.

"Fuuuck, yes. Yeah, that's so good baby." He's panting as you begin to properly jerk the tip of him off, the sounds in the room too lewd for you to handle. A squelchy feeling has developed between your thighs, led by each filthy groan that leaves your boyfriend's throat.

Then you're looking at him through fluttery lashes and a gone expression, with your chest rising and falling almost as rapidly as his and thick fingers grasp your wrist quickly, rougher than anticipated.

"Sorry, just - close."

Seeing his hand blanket yours over his cock is doing something to you. You know his palms like your own, hold them more than you look at your own, and yet right now such a sweet thing has never been more provocative.

"Shh, no more apologizing," you lean over and he meets you in the middle. The kiss is sloppy this time, evidence of the maddening desire taking him over from the inside out.

"Not fair," his voice is strained through your mouths ministrations. "Got me all worked up and you're sitting there neglected." He smiles and his tongue strokes your bottom lip. You shudder as that heat comes in an overwhelming wave.

He's gripping the back of your neck now, properly hungry and your hand continues its ministrations between your bodies, that wet sound prompting a shared groan from the both of you - intensifying the feeling. His nose is scrunched against your cheek from the vigour of his kisses.

"You can undress me."

He doesn't waste time once you've granted him verbal permission, and with an exhale you're being tipped over onto your back, breathing in the weight of him as nimble and eager fingers pull his tee shirt over and off your body.

"Jesus," He whines, and you're captivated by the look on his face. It's impossible not to feel flustered.

"Can I-" you don't let him finish.

"Yes, please touch me." You're just as fucked as he is, arching your chest upwards and into the warm, all encompassing mass of his palm. He stifles a groan, cock bobbing up and down in the space between you two, dribbling with a bead of pre arousal. You feel like you're losing your mind.

Eddie short circuits for about five whole seconds flat, and he can't concentrate. He makes a bee - line to your chest, plush lips sucking your swollen nipples into his mouth. A gasp and a pulse of your poor clit later, and your fingers delve into his curls like they'll keep you here in this moment forever.

He's sloppy, moving between the valley of your breasts to the other one, leaving trails of spit across your flesh.

"Eddie, that - that feels so good, can't - mmph." You're a mess. How are you such a mess? He's a phantom, a head of hair across your sternum until he glances up at you with saliva soaked lips and red cheeks and a sweaty forehead.

"Sweet girl, oh god I can't believe..." All you taste is him, the words being uttered between the space when he forces himself to breathe. "can't believe you're all mine, wanna make you feel so fucking good. Give you anythin' you want."

He lies his full weight on you, and through the thin sleeping shorts you've got on, his cock beckons you with throbs and weeps. You feel drunk off of him, every sense surrounded by Eddie. Eddie. Eddie.

His shampoo from two days ago, the old spice lingering under his arms, the natural scent of his skin, the sweetness of his breath and the perspiration that's formed in little beads on his upper lip. He's all but devouring you, lust and admiration for the angel beneath him taking over any sense of importance regarding anything else.

Your heels dig into the back of his bum, knees pulling inward so that his hips come clashing into yours. Your fingernails claw on the material covering his back, taking it upon themselves to pull it over his head. He's beaming like a kid in a candy store at your eagerness, eyes all crinkly underneath.

"Want me to grab a rubber now?" He mumbles between the sloppy kisses, hoping you can't hear the hitch in his throat at the prospect of this finally happening.

"Mhmm, yes." It feels just as surreal for you.

He whines as he departs, reaching over across your head to pull open his bedside drawer and ungracefully tear open the new box of condoms. His eyebrows are furrowed, arms flexing with intensity from his excitement. He groans out of frustration, and you giggle, grasping his thick forearm.

"Let me help baby." You reach in the drawer for him and pull the box out, finishing the rip he'd made and pulling out a metallic row of squares. You tear one at the perforation and hand it to him, grinning at the entire situation. He huffs and rests his forehead between the valley of your breasts.

"What would I do without you?" He mutters, matching your expression when he lifts his head back up and pushes forward to kiss you on the tip of your nose.

"Not have sex, I suppose." You bite back with no hint of malice, only an insurmountable level of love and he sees it shimmering everywhere around you. His girl. His.

"You're somethin' else, sweetheart." He mouths the side of your face, across your jaw and underneath your ear.

You feel like you're in a psychological limbo, in a world between consciousness as he sits back on his haunches and lifts his shirt off of his body from the back of his collar. That may be a dramatic sentiment to many, but it's fitting.

He does it so casually, throws his shirt to the side with the rest of discarded clothing and stray items that live on his bedroom floor. You feel weak in the knees when he tears the condom package and pulls out the slippery rubber, unraveling it before bringing it down to his cock.

You watch his face the way his pink tongue darts out and nips the tip of his tongue, brows furrowed in concentration and arousal as he fits the condom down his thick shaft. You watch his biceps twist, his taut abdomen clench, the black ink coming alive with the ministrations of his muscles underneath.

When he meets your eyes again, you look completely overtaken with desire, eyelids heavy and breath bated. Your pebbled nipples stand at full attention, mimicking his dick and Eddie hooks his fingers underneath those infuriatingly sexy shorts of yours so that he can get rid of them.

You're not wearing underwear. Of course you aren't. Your entire existence is specifically designed to test the bounds of his composure, of his strength. The gold room lighting from his lamp illuminates your body and your shy thighs only part when he's placing his palms between them, slowly encouraging them to allow him a peek or two.

You reach out to stroke his arms as he separates your legs, his jaw hanging ever so slack, cock twitching just a few centimeters away from your opening.

"Fucking hell...you're so goddamn pretty." He strains, swallowing hard as he touches you with hesitant hands, as if he's scared to break you. Your hips lift, just enough to make contact with the tip of his dick and you whine. It's a sound so sweet he almost whimpers himself.

"Please, Eds. I want you inside of me. Please."

His stomach tightens and he crawls over you once again, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

He maintains eye contact, breath fanning your mouth as he slips an arm between your bodies and grips his shaft, lining it up with your entrance. Your thighs lift towards your chest, ankles stationed at his waist, and you feel the welcome intrusion of his tip as it passes your slick labia.

You both take a breath in, your fingers needing a vice and moving to the back of his neck as he pivots his hips forward and slips himself into the tightness of your cunt. The stretch causes you to hiss, both in pleasure and pain.

"You okay? Let me know if I need to stop." He grunts, kissing your chin.

"M'okay, don't you dare stop."

His eyelids flutter in tandem with yours, a choked moan leaving his throat as he continues to push himself in, till he's nudging against the soft roundness of your cervix and his balls are resting against your ass.

It feels right. Having him this deep, this close.

You shudder nuzzling your face against the bicep that holds him up. You kiss the skin there and he groans, dragging himself back out and then back in. Your whole body jostles with the movement.

"Jesus Christ, how do you feel s'fucking good? I don't - I can't, fuck." He's a slur of words, beginning to form a steady rhythm. Your moans are more like squeaks the faster he goes, increasing the lewd, sticky sounds between your legs that squelch with each drag and pull of his cock.

"Eddie...E-eddie." Your words are hiccuped from the impact, his hair dangling in your face, tickling your cheeks. His belly is pressed right against yours, the curls at the mound of his pelvis pressed against yours. He lets out this pained sound and goes to bury his face in the crook of your neck.

"My name, fuck say it again. Say it again." It's muffled but you can hear it right underneath your ear, his lips a soft vibration against your flesh. You feel so full, it's hard to speak at all. To say anything other than his name. So you recite it like it's the only words you know.

"Eddie Eddie Eddie Eddie." They're all punctuated with a whimper that starts from your diaphragm and crawls it's way out of your throat, pistoned by his hips and their grueling ministrations. Skin against skin can be heard from down the park, you're convinced, with how he's fucking you.

Eddie is fucking you. Your boyfriend, Eddie, is fucking you.

"Ohhhh, god, please." You cry out, heels digging into his back, hands splayed across the broad expanse of his shoulder blades. Every breath that passes his lips is followed by a grunt, a groan, a sound that is so close to agony and even closer to toe curling pleasure.

Each stroke of his cock inside of you feels like a pull into his being, and you get frustrated with the fact that you can't see his face, tugging at the back of his neck.

When you look up at the boy above you, reality, for once, feels like the most beautiful thing you've ever endured.

He's flushed, all sweat and shades of pink and red. His eyes are glassy, mirroring yours in the way that it almost looks like he could shed a tear. You move his sticky bangs from his forehead and Eddie is sucker punched in the gut with a wave of adoration.

"Oh, sweetheart," he leans down, slowing his thrusts so that he can kiss you steadily, purposefully. Somehow he feels deeper this way impossibly so, and he nips your bottom lip when you flutter around him. "didn't mean to...to not show you attention m'sorry, just...you feel so good. S'like heaven."

He's half sober half drunk on your pussy and it's so fucking endearing. Neither of you can make out a coherent sentence.

"Keep - keep going, just like that, ohhh." You glance down between your bodies and somewhere behind your organs a warmth, teetering unbearable, flutters throughout your limbs. His arms shake with the fight to hold himself up, until he doesn't anymore, and slips his hands underneath you till they're sandwiched between the mattress and your back. Snug, safe, he engulfs you.

His thrusts are deep and slow now, meaningful instead of mindless bunny fucking. Which, he's not opposed to, but you're you. He wants to fuck you like he might not ever get the chance to again.

"I love you, I love you." He whimpers against the crook of your shoulder. You hold him with the same ferocity that he's holding you, staring up at the ceiling and the stars that blanket your vision instead of the fan above.

"I love you too, fuck, Eddie."

He makes this noise, it's almost pathetic. Petulant. That coil holding you tight, snaps and all at once you're gasping, thighs a deadly grip around his waist.

"Cu-Cumming, I'm cumming." Your walls flex and spasm around his length and Eddie thinks he might pass out. You're still twitching and whining his name with his balls are emptying, when he's spurting into the condom, nudging your cervix.

"Fuck, fuck just like tha- ohhh fuck." He thrusts like he's fucking his cum into you, like he's filling your womb up and making you his forever. He made you cum. He's never felt this high before, and he's a fucking drug dealer.

It's a mixture of panting and the thud of your shared heartbeat for what feels like eternity and one split second. You feel his lips peppering soft, gentle kisses along your jugular, and your fingers trace lines up and down his warm back as his cock softens inside of you.

He rubs his cheek against you, and your fingers pull his hair away from his pretty face. He's looking at you with so much love you could burst again.

"I love you so much." He speaks tenderly, softly, for once. It's scary and breathtaking all at once. The tip of his nose rubs yours, your smiles a reflection of the other.

"I love you too, Munson."

And you do. You really fucking do.

[slayfics]

You and Katsuki exchange Christmas gifts.

You plopped down on your bed and let out an exhausted sigh. Most of your classmates were still in the common room enjoying the holiday party. It was nice to relax and not think about school or hero work for a bit, but after a while you found yourself worn out from so much energy.

As much as you enjoyed yourself it felt nice to be in the quiet of your room relaxing after the busy night. You began to get your bed ready to sleep when a knock on your door startled you.

You opened the door and were surprised to see Katsuki.

"Oh- hey," You greeted him.

"You left early," he observed.

"Yeah," you said stepping aside and allowing him to come into your room. "I guess I was just exhausted from all the socializing," You explained. Katsuki came in and sat on your chair as you shut the door.

"Hm- I get that," He replied.

That was when you noticed that he had a gift bag in his hand.

"Here-," Was all he said as an explanation as he held out the bag to you. Normally giving someone a gift is a sweet gentle gesture, but the intense glare in Katsuki's eyes contradicted his actions. "Take it already dumb ass," he said, shaking the gift at you.

You grabbed the gift and sat opposite of him on your bed, 'You didn't have to-," You began to say but were quickly interrupted.

"Don't give me that you didn't have to crap. Of course, I fucking didn't- but I did, so just open the stupid thing," He barked.

You knew better than to argue with Katsuki, so you took out the haphazardly placed tissue paper to reveal a shoe box. You looked at him curiously.

"Take em' out idiot," He said.

You took out the box and tossed off the lid revealing some hiking boots inside.

"Bakugo these look really expensive I can't-," You said but again found yourself interrupted.

"I'm not taking them back. You like that color right?"

"Yeah, I do- they are really nice but-,"

"No fucking buts. Now your dumb ass won't slip again when we go on hikes," He said.

Your face flushed from the embarrassing memory of when you fell, and because his words indicated he wanted to hike with you again.

"Tch- don't fucking look at me like that! Its... it's not even that big of a deal," He said and looked away from you.

You knew Katsuki enough by now to understand that he only had a rough demeanor because he felt awkward in these situations. Any grand show of emotions would send him running straight out of your room, so you bottled up how truly thankfully you felt and sufficed with a simple, "Thank you Bakugo."

"Yeah whatever," he grumbled jamming his hands into the pocket of his sweats.

"I um- sort of have something for you too," You spoke. You had made something for Katsuki but had debated on giving it to him or not. You found yourself too shy to give it to him tonight in front of the rest of your class, so you never brought it down from your room. However, now that he was in your room and had just given you such a thoughtful gift, you decided it was the perfect time.

"Hu?" He exclaimed shocked and snapped his head to look at you.

You grabbed the gift from under your bed and handed him a sadly wrapped gift.

"This is wrapped like shit," he said as grabbed it from you.

"Oh come on I tried my best. We can't all be naturally good at everything like you!" You teased.

Katsuki let out an amused puff of air as he tore at the wrapping paper. Once he revealed the gift he held it in his hands staring at it for what felt like entirely too long.

You began to feel self-conscious about your gift. It was a painting you made. The painting was a portrait of him in his hero costume, and at the top, you wrote the words "Future #1 Hero".

The longer Katsuki looked at it without saying anything the more you began to panic. You couldn't see his expression at all as his face was hidden by his spiky blond hair.

Shit, it was too dumb and cheesy, wasn't it?? And how cocky of you to think your artwork would constitute a gift.

"If you hate it it's ok! I wasn't even sure I was going to give it to you. Here, it's fine you can just forget about it!" You said nervously and tried to grab at the painting.

Katsuki's grip tightened on the painting as you tried to pull it away, "No!" he barked causing you to jump.

You sat down confused and Katsuki cleared his throat but didn't look up at you yet.

"It's good," He said in a low raspy voice.

You titled your head. Sometimes it was still so hard to read Katsuki's true emotions.

Katsuki stared at the painting trying to get ahold of himself. To see the words at the top "Future #1 Hero" struck something in him that he was trying to push back down. He didn't want to be so vulnerable in front of you but- to see and hold in his hands that someone else was rooting for him meant more to him than he would ever be able to say in words to you.

Finally, he was able to blink away the sting in his eyes that threatened tears. He could hold it back long enough to look at you again.

"I like it," He spoke, giving you not quite a smile- but not a scowl. Which was rare.

"You don't have to lie," you respond.

"I don't lie brat," He said and stood up, eager to leave as the lump in his throat threatened to return again at any more kindness from you.

"You're leaving?" You asked.

"Hm? Yeah- it's late. Looks like I interrupted you going to bed too," He said nodding to your half-turned-down comforter.

"It's fine... you know you're welcome any time..." You said softly.

Katsuki didn't respond but let out a grunt in acknowledgment.

You followed him to the door as he began to open it.

"Bakugo wait-," You said before you lost your nerve to follow through with your impulsive thought.

Katsuki turned around and you quickly pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Merry Christmas."

"Yeah- merry whatever to you too," He said and turned to leave, a small blush on his cheeks.

Tags: @unofficialmuilover @maddietries @fiannee @i-heart-carlisle

[darklcy]

𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

‣ eddie's session runs longer than you thought. bored, with nothing to do, you find his shirt.

‣ eddie munson x reader | stranger things masterlist | 823 words | fluff, established relationship, idiots in love ig

‣ i havent posted him in a while and i just got to rewatching s4, so naturally-

He’d been gone far too long already.

You tried not to complain, not having the desire to suck the life out of his soul for simply engaging in his passion. Dungeons and dragons served as an enigma in your brain, its complexity never failing to swirl your thoughts in knots each time you tried learning to play. If him being late was the only self punishment for not comprehending the rules of the game, then perhaps it was justifiable.

..It was just late. And you were beyond bored.

Boredom was a lazy explanation for the feeling you were experiencing at the moment, but for lack of better word, boredom will do. Body sprawled across his mattress, Gremlins displayed in the living room television down the hall, fingernails touched skin in a pattern, as if counting sheep represented itself through your fingers. The night sky stretched further along the hours as you waited for his campaign to finish, but with the way your eyelids drooped and head bobbed, you may not be around for his return.

Laying back on your spine, ceiling coming into view, you fought the upcoming dreams with all your might to avoid slumber, wanting to greet Eddie properly the moment he stepped inside. Chin lolling to the right, a signature club shirt curiously grabbed your eye, the red faced demon poking through the gaps of his drawer. 

Huh.

Somehow that pumped a vein full of awoken energy throughout your body. Sitting back up, you crawled over to the drawer and yanked the shirt from its clenches, freeing the fabric from its prison. The demon’s eyes met yours in a sneer, and sometimes you wonder if the corners of his mouth grew each time you stared at him. Discarding your own top, you replaced it with his, the remnants of smoke and faint cologne wafting in your nostrils.

Eddie smelled like home, a sanctuary, a safe place. A bit ironic, with fire comes reassurance, in your world, that is.

The garment was a bit loose on your figure, the ends reaching just below your hips. With the canvas of your legs exposed from lack of pajamas, his shirt became your blanket and lover all in one, a figment of the real thing. This will have to do until he returns. 

Cheek pressed to the comforter, Gremlins had just barely faded out into the credits when sleep found you, tucked away and hidden in the cotton of Hellfire.

“Baabe, I’m home.”

Brass met knob when Eddie unlocked it open, enjoying the warm heat of the trailer compared to the brisk November air outside. Campaign was good, as usual. Dungeon Master certainly had its perks, even if repeating senior year didn’t. The journey to his bedroom was swift, eager to finally end his day with you by his side, how it always should be. 

However he wasn’t at all, in the slightest bit, prepared to greet you adorning his beloved club shirt, soft skin of your thighs bare, asleep comfortably in his bed. His bed. Alone. With his shirt on. And boyshorts. Oh, wow. You were going to be the death of him.

It was as if he’d been transported to the Moma, viewing a delicate, historical self portrait of an acrylic artist from the 1700s. You were a sight to behold, and for him only. His feet almost sunk into the floorboards from the sheer weight his heart plummeted against his ribs. He’d just fallen in love  all over again. How do you do it so easily?

A gentle groan emitted in your throat as you shifted. What a sweet sound. You’re so sweet. 

Crouching down towards your face, his ringed knuckle gilded hair from your eyelashes, a smile on his face at the way you stirred from the action. When your eyes awoke to meet his, his lips only stretched wider.

“Mornin', sweetheart.”

Stretching out your arms, a yawn escaped you as a sleepy, “Oh, you’re home,” uttered out in a jumbled whisper. His full palm caressed your face now, occasionally smoothing down your hair while continuing to grin at your drowsiness. He couldn’t get enough.

“Yeah, Hellfire ran a lil late. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

You shook your head into his fingers. “No, you’re fine. I was just bored.”

A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest as he moved to sit beside you. His fingers transitioned from your cheek to the shirt on your skin, rings grazing the neckline and shoulder. Eddie had never seen anything like it, and he wore this exact thing every god damn week. 

“You look beautiful like this.”

It was as if complimenting a model, the way he spoke so carefully and tender. You gave him a look.

“..It’s comfy. I might steal it from you.”

He’d give you anything he wanted if you gave him the word. His lips captured yours in a trance, ending too quick for your liking. 

“You should. You wear it best.”

—

[twistyfish]

prompt~ rafayel fluff -> angst where he’s rude and apologizes after. requested by anon!

“Why did you paint my acne scars so clearly?”

“Because they’re on your face!”

While you were normally impressed by Rafayel’s attention to detail, today it was making you very self conscious. “Was there really a reason to include them, though? They’re temporary marks that aren’t a part of me. And you literally drew the individual pores on my nose- Raf, this is so unflattering.”

“Quit micromanaging me. Art isn’t supposed to judge itself, you know.”

You huffed at his response. “But art is supposed to be pretty. This is not pretty. It’s uncanny. It looks too much like me, I don’t like it.”

He chuckled. “You don’t like that the portrait I’m painting of you looks like you? You’re so interesting, cutie.”

“Stop, you know what I mean.”

He didn’t turn his head, but his gaze flitted to meet yours before returning to the canvas. “Just trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

You watched the brush flutter around the canvas like moth wings, leaving intricate strokes in its wake. As Rafayel became more engrossed in his process, you left him to work and went out with a few girls from your team.

You had a nice time catching up with them and getting coffee. Well, two of you got coffee and Tara got hot chocolate.

When you returned a few hours later, he was staring at the painting with a look of intense scrutiny. You walked up to him quietly.

A little too quietly, because when you put a hand on his shoulder, he tensed and his paintbrush created a small splotch on the canvas mid-stroke.

“Oh! I’m sorr-“ you started, but he cut you off.

“Are you kidding me? I just finished painting that section.”

Your heart sank a little. You felt genuinely apologetic. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I don’t care what you meant to do. You ruined it. There’s a huge smudge over the nose.” His shoulders were tense, and he was holding himself more rigidly than he had been when you left.

“Raf, I think you should take a break.”

“Oh, so just because I’m upset that you interfered with my painting, I’m being irrational?”

“That’s not what I-“

“Don’t think I didn’t notice. The spot where you made me mess up is right on top of the part you didn’t like. If you’re that insecure, you shouldn’t have asked me to paint you.”

Your mouth opened slightly. “What?” You said harshly.

“You heard me. Why ask me to paint your face if you’re going to criticize me every step of the way?”

“Stop. I accidentally startled you and you made a mistake because of it. Are you seriously accusing me of sabotaging your painting because of that?”

“Maybe.”

You stared at him blankly. “I can’t believe you.”

“I can’t believe you either.”

You shook your head and picked up your bag, walking toward the exit. You weren’t going to argue with him like this.

Your mind spun. Why was he acting like this?

Fortunately, he seemed to come to his senses fast because you didn’t even make it halfway home before the phone rang. You accepted the call half heartedly.

“Hey,” his voice rang through the phone.

“Hi,” you said with a flat tone.

“I’m a dick.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have called you insecure and I shouldn’t have accused you of anything. I’m the one who messed up.”

“It’s not a huge deal, but yeah, you shouldn’t have.”

“No, it was unnecessary. And what I said about me not painting you? That was stupid. I love painting you. I would paint you all day if I could. I can’t capture your likeness perfectly, but trying to recreate that radiance makes me so, so happy.”

Your lips spread into a smile hearing that. “Really?”

“Really. I got too defensive over my art of you, but that wasn’t cool because I snapped at the real you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Raf. I forgive you.”

“Yay!”

[reccyls]

Drink, Get Drunk, and Drown (Victor)

My translation of Victor's story from the drunk collection event:

Victor: And that means... Victor: It's time for the "Appreciate Kate for always being so hardworking!" meeting!

A rose emerged from the magician's wand that Victor held in one hand.

Victor: As thanks for always being so diligent in your role as Fairytale Keeper, I've prepared some delicious wine. Victor: And it's not much, but I've also made some snacks to enjoy with the wine.

Kate: Wow! Everything looks amazing!

Victor's handmade snacks were piled on the table, every last one of them looking delectable.

Victor: It's a reward specifically for you, so make sure to keep this a secret from everyone else.

Kate: Hehe... Sure, got it.

Victor: And with that out of the way, cheers!

As I partook in the wine, Victor brought over some crackers with various toppings.

Victor: Try some of these, if you'd like.

Kate: ! They're good!

Victor: I'm happy you like them.

(Victor really can do anything.)

His work as the queen's aide must be demanding beyond anything I could imagine, way beyond what any normal person could handle. And he supports everyone in Crown, and on top of that he can cook and sew...

(Now that I think about it, this is probably what people mean when they talk about "the perfect person".)

His form as he drank wine, with his hair tucked behind an ear, seemed like something out of a portrait.

Victor: Ah, that's right. How was yesterday's work?

Kate: Oh, that was--

As Victor listened patiently, I told him all sorts of stories, but...

(...Huh?)

Victor's cheeks were flushed ever so slightly red.

Victor: What's the matter?

(I was so caught up in conversation that I didn't notice, but...)

I lifted the bottle of wine, and discovered its contents were empty.

Kate: It's all gone?

Victor: Although I prepared it for you to drink... your conversation was so enthralling that I didn't notice how much I was drinking.

Kate: I don't mind, but are you okay?

Victor: Hmm?

Smoothly, his fingertips stroked across the back of my hand. My hand swayed, causing the wine glass to shake. In the blink of an eye, Victor was now sitting right next to me.

Victor: Your hands are small.

(He'd never approach me like this normally, is it because he's drunk?)

I was approaching tipsiness myself. And the happiness I felt that Victor was getting close to me like this added to the fuzziness of my thoughts.

Kate: Hehe, that tickles.

His fingers tickled as they continued playing with the back of my hand. When I lifted my gaze to meet his, I didn't want to look away again. The faint blush across his handsome face, and the mole right on his lips, everything added to his attractiveness. My tongue was tied because of how seductive he looked. And the way his fingers tapped on my thighs was another provocation.

Victor: ...May I rest my head here?

(He really is drunk after all, I think...?)

Awkwardly, I nodded. Beaming, Victor lay down with his head on my thighs, gazing up at me.

Victor: We've done this before, haven't we?

Kate: ...We have.

(But, this is completely different.)

Victor: Ever since then, I've always thought about maybe doing it again, from time to time.

He closed his eyes as I gently combed my fingers through his hair, his face relaxing.

Kate: ...Just like you've always watched over me as I worked hard, I've been watching you too. I've always been watching. Kate: I used to be so afraid of this place. And now it's somewhere I can feel at peace, all because of you, Victor. Kate: So, you don't have to work hard in front of me. I want you to be your true self.

Looking like he had something he wanted to say, Victor sat up. He gently stroked my cheek. In his eyes, I saw a wave of sorrow-- And before I could react, he had wrapped his arms around me.

Kate: Victor...?

As I sat there frozen, unable to concentrate on anything except the way my heart pounded in my ears, Victor lay down on the couch, still holding me in his arms.

Kate: Um, Vic-

Victor: ...Just a little while. Victor: Let me stay like this, just for a little while longer.

There was loneliness in the way his arms tightened around me. When I realized that, I let myself settle into his arms.

(Someday, if Victor asked me...) (No. I want to be someone he can depend on.)

With that thought in mind, I surrendered to the sleepiness that had crept up on me.

...

When I next opened my eyes, I was in my bed.

(When did I go back?)

That was when I realized that I was wrapped up in a coat.

(This is Victor's.)

The scent of alcohol mixed with the lingering scent of a quiet late night.

(It's like I'm being hugged...)

Recalling what had happened just before I fell asleep, I pulled the coat tigher around myself.

(I should go give this back to him.)

Trying to flee from the heat that would not dissipate, I stood.

...

Roger: Is that Victor's coat?

As I was on my way to Victor's office, Roger called out to me.

Kate: Yes. We were drinking together yesterday, but I fell asleep. I guess he let me use it as a blanket.

Roger: Ah, yeah. He never gets drunk, you know?

Kate: What?

The words stopped me in my tracks.

Roger: Victor's probably got the highest alcohol tolerance among everyone in Crown. Roger: He can down bottle after bottle without getting affected at all. Makes you wonder if he's even human, sometimes.

Victor: Oh my, if it isn't Roger and Kate.

Victor's sudden call from behind me made me jump in surprise.

Victor: You two looked like you were having fun. What were you talking about?

Roger: It's a secret just between the little lady and me.

Roger gave me a smile full of insinuation as he walked off. I was left alone with Victor, clutching his jacket and looking up at him.

Victor: ...Kate?

Childlike innocence was written on his expression, with no trace of the Victor that I saw yesterday.

Kate: I, um... Uh...

(Is this an act? Or...)

In the face of my uncertainty, Victor only smiled gently.

[hazbinshusk]

Kiss prompt 26 with Husk?

prompt #26: a kiss while one or both parties are crying.

“You’re up late.”

You look up in surprise as the soft cadence of Husk’s voice breaks the silence you were ensconced in, and even as low as it was, it echoed slightly off the new marble floors. You wipe your eyes hurriedly before standing and facing him properly.

“Hey,” your voice is heavy, and you hope he doesn’t notice. “I thought you’d gone to bed.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says simply. You notice then that his suspenders, his tie and hat are gone, his usual slacks traded for a pair of deep red pajama pants. You’d never seen him out of uniform before, and despite the sickening feeling still settled in your gut, you feel the softest smile touching your lips at the sight of the longer, much more disheveled fur between his ears. “What’s your excuse?”

You shrug, tugging your robe tighter around yourself. How it managed to get cold in Hell of all places, you still had no idea, but regardless, a chill clings to you in a way that seems to sink right down into your bones. “Neither.”

“I’ve got a cure for that,” he tells you with a self-deprecating smirk, reaching over the bar and holding up a bottle of cheap whiskey pointedly. “Join me?”

You hesitate for a moment before you feel yourself nod and Husk gives you a small smile, fishing two glasses out from the other side of the bar and moving to join you. You take a seat on the sofa again, twisting your hands together in your lap. He pours you both a couple of fingers, the soft sound of the amber liquid splashing into the glass the only sound between you.

You accept it when he taps his own glass against it, warmth touching your cheeks as he settles back on the sofa beside you.

“So,” he says after taking a sip, watching you from over the rim of his glass. “You gonna go ahead and tell me what’s botherin’ ya?”

“Who says something’s bothering me?” you reply, the whiskey burning against your throat.

Husk raises an eyebrow, his end of his tail twitching back and forth as it hangs down over the edge of the sofa beside him. “Call it a hunch.”

You smile despite yourself, toying with the glass in your lap. “Hate it when you do that, Husk.”

“I know,” he replies, gently taking your glass from you before leaning over to set both of them on the coffee table beside the bottle. “Should know better than to let your guard down around a bartender.”

You breathe a soft, brief chuckle, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Guess so.”

Husk’s brow furrows, real concern in the downward curve of his lips. “C’mon, doll. Not gonna make me beg for it, are ya?”

You feel your lip tremble as you meet his soft smile, but you can’t hold his gaze, eyes dropping to your lap. Then, you cast your eyes upwards, over the still smouldering fireplace. Husk follows your gaze, and a sad, feline grumble sounding under his breath, and he sighs. The portrait of Sir Pentious watches over the two of you, and you feel your heart clench again.

Husk sighs. “’s no one’s fault, doll.”

You stare up at the painting for a moment longer before you let your eyes fall again. You can feel the beginnings of tears burning at the edges of your lashes.

“…I know.” you agree, tears lodged in your throat.

“It was a…” Husk breathes a sad laugh, shaking his head. “It was a fuckin’ stupid thing for him to do… but he was tryin’ to save us.”

“I know,” you repeat. “Doesn’t… doesn’t make it any easier, though.”

Tears finally break free to streak down your cheeks, a sob wracking through your throat. A sound of sympathy rumbles in Husk’s chest, and you feel his paw move to tentatively touch your shoulder. You don’t even fully register the way you turn into him at the touch, but you feel the warmth of him against you as he lets you settle against his chest, wrapping his arms awkwardly around you. Husk tucks his chin over the top of your head, one hand stroking rhythmically along your spine.

“’s okay, baby,” he murmurs gently, heedless of the way your tears soak his fur. “’s alright.”

“I thought…” you sob into his chest, struggling to steady your breathing. “I thought I was done losing people. I thought… I thought that part of my life or whatever was over. And then I go and get attached to all of you and now I’m right back to fucking hurting and I don’t… I don’t want—”

Husk hushes you softly, his other hand coming up to tilt your head back to meet his eye. He wipes a tear away from your cheek with a careful claw. “You’re not losin’ anyone else, pet.”

“You don’t know that,” you argue. “Next extermination—”

“We’ll worry ‘bout that then,” he tells you, his hand still lingering against your cheek. “Think it’s safe to say they’ll be avoidin’ the hotel, though.”

“You don’t—”

Husk stops your argument by pressing his lips to yours gently. Your eyes widen in surprise for a moment before they close, his lips tasting of the burn of whiskey and the salt of tears. His paw curls against your back, the fingers of the hand against your cheek teasing at the hair behind your ear. Your own hand rests on his chest, fingers sliding through the soft fur there. The other touches his knee, the worn fleece of his pyjamas warm under your palm.

When he pulls away it’s only by a few sparse inches, his lips pressed together. He looks embarrassed, worried, and he sighs a held breath as you lean forward to press your forehead against his.

“Did you…” you swallow shakily, biting your lip. His paws rest on your waist, curled in the plush fabric of your robe. “Did you just kiss me to distract me?”

He breathes a chuckle, his nose bumping against yours. “Depends… did it work?”

You laugh wetly, wiping your eyes with the heel of your hand. “Kinda.”

“Good,” he replies. He hesitates for a moment, but you can hear the soft sound of what you swear is a purr in the back of his throat. “Can I… I'd like to do it again. If you--”

You lean into him, recapturing his lips with yours.

send me a prompt and either husk or blitzø