#they have the same cowlick

[lululeighsworld]

Lorah: Lilac Knight's Love

Artist: @littledashdraws

Wanted to share this commission by Dash, who so lovingly illustrated my vision for Gunter's first wife!! Although Lorah's lived in my head since 2017, this is the first time I've had her drawn. Because I'm so thrilled over this art, I put together a little introduction for her!! you can read more about her below~

Residence: Duet Mountains Occupation: Farmer •❀• Bedside Nurse •❀• Homemaker Birthday: July 11 Gender: Female Relatives: Gunter (Husband) Katerina (Daughter)* Personality: Shy •❀• Bubbly •❀• Optimistic Hobbies: Crafting •❀• Gardening •❀• Baking Age: 21 (when she first meets Gunter) •❀• 36 (at death)

A Nohrian commoner whose known the kingdom's southern mountain range and neighbouring valleys her entire life, Lorah was a recognizable resident of her town even though she kept to herself. Learning the basics of herbal remedies from a young age, she would split her time between tending to the fields and easing the woes of the sick. In adulthood, she would chance upon meeting a Nohrian Great Knight during her town's annual spring festival. The couple's engagement, after seven years of courting, had become one of the most highly anticipated moments amongst the townsfolk.

*NOT the Nohrian Queen. I named their kid before I realized what Xander's mom's name was and by that point I was already ATTACHED (tell me Caterpillar is not the cutest nickname). So now the reason they share a name is lore relevant (which is a part of this fic!).

divider by saradika

[theirondragonrants]

This is a strange late night thought so hear me out:

this Emma D'arcy

With this haircut specifically gives me.... a very specific vibe...

I can't explain how or why I got here, I just did

[saltyb0ba]

emmet brickowski the lego movie and chai hi-fi rush would be unstoppable together. both absolute dumbasses who gather a team to take down an evil CEO (would president business be a CEO? yeah) and are all the better for it - bros who are just Normal Guys get pulled into a situation where they have to deal with it or die - they meet a girl who hides her past but needs their help - they work together and then meet More People - a member of their team joins after their home is destroyed due to Normal Guy in one way or another (for macaron it was his workplace) - a member of their team doesn't join at first but comes around - emmet needs to take down president buisness or he'll be killed, chai needs to take down kale to save the company and save himself from spectra control - ABSOLUTE BANGER SOUNDTRACKS - DIAGETIC MUSIC!!!! (emmet canonically listens to everything is awesome, chai in the intro cutscene is listening to the beacon)

oh and then angst but psshhhh nahh they're so silly

[bethiewhimsy]

joe and reki are the same breed of person.

[megapteraurelia]

kuroo tetsurou and you did not have lots of interactions, usually.

so you were more than surprised when he turned to you during chemistry class and looked at you through the tuft of black hair falling into his eyes and let out a string of words that seemingly made no sense to you. his gaze cast away, a certain air of embarrassment hanging in the air when you didn’t answer, and he turned away, mumbling to himself.

“wait, did you just compare me to acid?”

“no, not acid— more like…the reaction is just so explosive, like us—  i mean, just us as in people, or like—” he breathed out carefully, and then shook his head at himself, laughter stealing itself to his voice as he rubbed his jaw, “never mind. i already fucked it up.”

now, you were not the brightest person in this world, but you could smell a butchered pick up line from a mile away. and the way kuroo tetsurou rested his chin on the inside of his hand, fingers covering his temple, effectively shielding his face from you, with the faintest of pink covering his ears, told you just how secretly embarrassed he was.

kuroo was cute, you thought. 

it didn’t take a miracle for you to come to the conclusion, especially not when you were used to hearing his loud voice boom through the class during the breaks. he was the one trying to keep some class-visiting friends in line, naturally assuming the leading role to hush them down, blissfully unaware at the same amount of loud energy he was returning.  he also didn’t escape you when he tried coaxing his blonde friend to eat more, offering to share his food only to try to bait him into taking it instead, when he got rejected.

you didn’t interact often, but kuroo tetsurou’s presence was hard to miss and the tiny flutter of your heart in response to noticing him hard to ignore.

“so,” you leaned a little over to him, and subconsciously, he had already started to accommodate you, lowering his head to catch your voice, “if you had to guess and we were, say, a chemical compound, would we be stable or unstable?”

his eyes lit up, a sly little look overtaking the embarrassment despite the little blush on his cheeks, and you could see his mouth curving up into a little grin, entirely too comfortable to walk the line between smooth-talking and sounding like the biggest nerd you had the fortunate luck of sharing seats with, “good question. we’d probably be unstable.”

oh.

you already felt your blood rushing to cover your skin in an embarrassed hue of red because you thought you were slick with that one. unstable? humiliating— but then he continued talking.

“but in a good way, you know? like, when two elements are drawn together, even if it’s turbulent. a little bit of controlled chaos makes things exciting, right?”

he looked at you with what was supposed to be a lazy smirk, though it wobbled with slight nervosity. one finger of his tried to brush away his fringe of hair, but the black strands fell back onto his face almost effortlessly. he really was cute, and for a split second you wondered the type of kisser he would be.

“so, like sodium and water?”

“okay, hold,” he held up a hand, trying to keep his expression in check (and failing to do so), “maybe not that exciting. that’s a little too dangerous, though it’s nice to know you like me that much.”

you nudged his shoulder away from you at the cheesiness, body straightening up again and an eye roll escaped you though you were anything but annoyed. if anything, you were a little charmed by the cowlicked hair, his eyes trained on you and the slight smile that didn’t know whether it should make fun of you or flirt with you. 

maybe he could do both.

you then decided to just try your luck because there was no way he tried to actually flirt with you using chemistry if he wasn’t at least the least bit interested, right? 

“yeah, yeah. maybe you should teach me some of that.”

he stared for a little while, silent and stumped (because it worked? holy—), though when he turned back to look back to the front of the class, you noticed the small, secret movement of him fist pumping the air and the stifled smile threatening to overtake his features.

(after class, you definitely didn’t overhear kuroo tetsurou whisper-yelling that you didn’t deny liking him, only for him to act all cool about it in the same minute. 

as if it was only natural for it to happen, he kept flexing his arms and striking ridiculous poses at the prospect that you supposedly were only one hair width away from being wooed by him. 

his blonde-haired friend did not seem impressed. at all.)

[doodles-with-noodles]

They have evolved but I do still love them dearly

I really haven’t been able to draw much lately so have my guy Cecil and his through fuckery technically grandfather Soldier because I heart them. Family resemblance much.

[officialytwisted]

Twisted Wonderland – Dorm Leaders with an S/O [gender-neutral] Who Looks Like Them, But Act the Complete Opposite

[Riddle Rosehearts|Leona Kingscholar|Azul Ashengrotto|Kalim Al-Asim|Vil Schoenheit|Idia Shroud|Malleus Draconia]

꒰ঌ⋆⭒˚｡⋆⋆⭒˚｡⋆⋆⭒˚｡⋆⋆⭒˚｡⋆⋆⭒˚｡⋆⋆⭒˚໒꒱

If anyone at Night Raven College had to vote on the most bewildering relationship to ever grace the campus halls, your name would top the list. Why? Simple: you look exactly like your significant other. A perfect reflection. From your eyes down to your posture—it’s uncanny.

But then you open your mouth.

And suddenly, everything is different.

✧⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ˙✧⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ˙✧

Riddle Rosehearts:

Riddle was already battling a reputation for having a short fuse, but ever since you entered his life, he’s developed a second: the man constantly at war with his own doppelgänger.

At first, he was horrified. It was like staring into a mirror that had been shattered and glued back together with glitter glue, stickers, and a wink. The same red hair, the same meticulous grooming—but with you? That’s where the similarities stopped. You were… rebellious. Casual. Always lounging somewhere you shouldn’t be. Feet on the table. Cupcakes before dinner. Spouting nonsense like, “Rules are like pants, Riddle—optional in private.”

He nearly fainted the first time you said that in front of Trey.

But oddly enough, he couldn’t stop looking at you.

You were everything he wasn’t. Where he measured every word, you flirted with chaos and charm. You’d ruffle Ace’s hair while munching on tarts you stole from the prep table and then wink at Riddle like it was all perfectly reasonable.

“You look like me, but you act like Cater,” he once snapped, clearly flustered as you clinked teacups together with him in the garden.

“Cater’s more brand-conscious. I’m an experience, Riddle,” you replied with a grin that made his ears burn.

He hated how effortlessly you made friends. Hated how everyone gravitated to you like you were a walking vacation. But what he hated even more?

How you made him relax. Unclench. Breathe.

He never admitted it out loud, but he started breaking his own rules around you. Letting things slide. Smiling when you whispered something ridiculous during a dorm meeting. Laughing when you pretended to issue a “Reverse Queen's Decree” to ban homework for an hour.

“You’re completely incorrigible,” he grumbled once, as you leaned over to kiss his cheek, both of you dressed in perfectly matching uniforms.

“And you’re completely adorable,” you replied.

He looked away, but his face was bright red—and he didn’t correct you.

✧⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ˙✧⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ˙✧

Leona Kingscholar:

Leona knew life was unfair. He’d said it so many times it might as well have been printed on a dorm banner in Savannahclaw.

But nothing proved it more than you.

You had his face. His eyes. That low, rumbling voice with just a hint of smugness. The same lazy grin—even the same cowlick in your hair. Anyone would’ve thought you were his twin at first glance.

But then… you opened your mouth.

And Leona wondered if he was cursed.

Because while he was all sharp glares, sarcasm, and a need for nine-hour naps, you were a walking, talking motivational poster. Always up with the sun, stretching and chirping out good mornings like some chipper choir boy. You went to class on time. Voluntarily. You smiled at people. You asked Jack about his workout routine. You gave Ruggie a hand with his errands and didn’t even ask for payment.

“Why do you look like me, but act like you came straight outta one of those sappy Sunday morning cartoons?” Leona grumbled one day, dragging his feet across the common room, half-asleep.

You blinked at him over your shoulder, already halfway through tidying up the pillows he’d kicked onto the floor.

“Balance, baby,” you said cheerfully. “You’re the storm. I’m the sunshine. Yin and yang. Peanut butter and—”

“Shut up before I gag,” he snapped, throwing a cushion at you. You caught it effortlessly with one hand and tossed it back on the couch… with a smile.

It infuriated him.

And yet, you were the only person he let stick around when he was napping. He grumbled like hell about you humming while you did laundry or cooking him real meals that weren’t just meat-heavy piles of whatever—but he always cleaned his plate. He acted annoyed when you told him “he deserved to feel proud of himself,” but the way his ears twitched said otherwise.

“You’re gonna give me cavities with that attitude,” he scoffed one evening as you leaned on the balcony railing, the sunset painting your matching green eyes gold. “Stop smiling like that.”

“But it’s cute when you smile,” you teased, nudging him with your shoulder.

He grunted. “I don’t smile.”

“Lies. You smiled when I fixed your cape. And when I called you ‘handsome.’ And when I beat you at chess—”

“You cheated.”

“You’re just mad you lost to someone with your face but a better attitude.”

That made him pause. Then: “Tch. Don’t push your luck, herbivore.”

Still, you noticed how he didn’t stop you when you slid your fingers between his. Or when you leaned your head on his shoulder. Or when you whispered, “You’re more than you think, Leona.”

It scared him, how much you believed in him. How fiercely you loved him when he’d never even tried to earn it.

But maybe that was the point.

Maybe it was okay that he didn’t have to do anything—didn’t have to change—for you to see something worth holding onto.

Because when someone who looked exactly like him could smile like that… maybe he wasn’t so broken after all.

✧⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ˙✧⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ˙✧

Azul Ashengrotto:

Azul Ashengrotto prided himself on control.

Contracts. Calculations. Carefully managed appearances. Every inch of his identity was sculpted with the precision of a master artisan—right down to the glint of his glasses and the measured rise of his voice.

So you?

You were his personal nightmare wrapped in his face.

Oh sure, you looked just like him. The exact curl of silver-blue hair, identical ocean-hued eyes, that same refined way of carrying yourself when you wanted to. You wore your Octavinelle uniform immaculately—when you remembered. But beneath that polished surface? You were a storm of unpredictability, empathy, and unfiltered emotions.

Azul once caught you trading free hugs in the Lounge instead of collecting payment.

“Do you want to bankrupt me?” he hissed through clenched teeth, dragging you into the VIP room by the wrist. “You are a complete liability!”

You blinked at him, all innocence. “They were sad, Azul! You can't invoice grief. They just needed kindness.”

“You look like me and sound like… Kalim on a sugar high. Do you understand how disorienting that is!?”

You leaned in, hands on your hips, a teasing smile gracing the same lips he saw in his mirror each morning. “Well, that’s why you love me. I keep your heart rate up.”

“My blood pressure is through the roof.”

“Same thing.”

You were always touching him. Affectionate. Supportive. You praised Floyd’s art projects. Called Jade a “chef of dark wonders.” Told Azul he had “the best villain arc voice” like it was a compliment. You didn't manipulate people—you disarmed them. With warmth. With genuine interest.

He watched, baffled, as even the surliest Savanaclaw upperclassmen softened under your grin. Meanwhile, Azul was still perfecting his ‘debt collection’ smile.

“How do you do it?” he asked once, low and quiet, after you’d left a crowd of smitten students in your wake.

You tilted your head. “Do what?”

“Make people… like you. Trust you. Without offering them anything.”

You stepped closer, brushing invisible lint off his lapel. “I just offer me, Azul. I don’t think people need to be afraid of vulnerability. You could try it sometime.”

He scoffed. “And let them see my weakness?”

“No.” Your voice softened. “Let them see your humanity.”

That terrified him more than anything. Because what if they saw it and left?

But you didn’t. You stayed. With all your optimism, reckless generosity, and reckless honesty. You saw the boy behind the contracts. The merman who’d curled in on himself for years.

You saw him.

And when you kissed him—when your smile, his smile, softened against his lips—it was the first time Azul didn’t feel like he had to earn someone’s affection.

He could just have it.

✧⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ˙✧⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ˙✧

Kalim Al-Asim:

Kalim had never met anyone who looked like him before. And when he first saw you?

He was thrilled.

“You look just like me! This is amazing! Wait ‘til Jamil sees—he’s gonna freak out! We should match outfits! Wait, do you like dancing? Swimming? Sparkly things?!”

You stared at him for a long, heavy moment. Then you deadpanned, in your low, quiet voice:

“I prefer silence, black coffee, and not being perceived.”

Kalim blinked.

“…You’re funny.”

“I wasn’t joking.”

He blinked again.

“…I still think you’re funny!”

And just like that, the chaos began.

You, with your cool stare and minimalist tendencies. You, who didn’t smile often, who disliked loud parties, who whispered your affections through gestures and subtle touches instead of grand declarations. You weren’t cold—not at all. But you were quiet. Introspective. A little melancholic, even.

And Kalim? Kalim was a tsunami of joy, crashing into your still, deep waters.

It baffled everyone. How did the human embodiment of a disco ball end up with someone who made resting b*tch face look elegant? But the truth was—Kalim adored you. Maybe even more because of your stark contrast.

“Hey,” he whispered once during a banquet, pulling you away from the gold-lit crowd. “Are you okay? I know these parties aren’t really your thing.”

You shrugged, tracing patterns on your drink with your fingertip. “It’s fine. I’m just tired. Being surrounded by people all the time is… draining.”

Kalim didn’t laugh it off. Didn’t get upset. He just smiled, soft and understanding.

“Let’s sneak out,” he said. “I know a balcony with no people and all the stars you could ever want.”

Your heart melted a little.

He was always doing that—meeting you where you were, not where he wished you’d be. He adjusted his rhythm to yours. Slowed his spin so you could walk beside him. And when he did get excited (which was always), you didn’t dim him—you grounded him.

“Why do you like me?” you asked once, genuinely confused, curled against his shoulder while he braided gold thread into your hair. “I’m not… bright. Not like you.”

Kalim kissed your forehead, no hesitation.

“You don’t have to be. You’re the moon. I can shine brighter because you’re there to cool me down. You see things I miss. Feel things deeper. You balance me.”

That shut you up real fast.

When Jamil found out about your relationship, he nearly fainted. “He’s dating himself, but evil?” he whispered once, and Kalim just beamed.

“He’s not evil! He just frowns a lot. But he makes me happy.”

And the truth was—you were happy, too. In your own quiet, steady way. You adored him. Protected him. Tucked love notes into his jewelry box and kissed him softly under moonlight instead of chandeliers.

You were his shadow. Not to hide him—but to give him depth.

✧⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ˙✧⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ˙✧

Vil Schoenheit:

Vil Schoenheit had always believed in the power of image.

Poise. Elegance. A sharp tongue wrapped in velvet. His reflection was sacred—polished, practiced, pristine.

So imagine his horror when he met you.

You had his face. His perfectly sculpted cheekbones. That regal jawline. You even shared his iconic violet eyes—though half the time yours were glazed over from lack of sleep or staring into space.

But the moment you opened your mouth and said,

“Eh. I think showering is optional if you’re not sweating,”

Vil nearly dropped his mirror.

“Schatz. What. Did. You. Just. Say?”

You blinked at him from the couch where you were curled up in a ratty hoodie (that you stole from Epel, no less). “I said I’m clean in spirit. That counts.”

Vil screamed internally.

You were chaos. A disaster. A goblin masquerading in his face. You slouched. You had bedhead at 3 p.m. You wore mismatched socks in public. You snacked on dry cereal straight from the box during Heartslabyul’s formal tea party.

And yet.

Vil couldn’t tear his eyes away from you.

Because for all your horrendous habits, you were honest. Unapologetic. Confident in a way that wasn’t performative. You radiated self-acceptance without needing a filter. And that infuriated—and fascinated—him.

“Why do you always act like nothing matters?” he snapped once, brushing crumbs off your collar with a sigh. “Have you no pride in your appearance?”

You looked at him—genuinely, deeply—and said, “Vil… I spent my entire life trying to be perfect. Then I realized I hated the person I was trying to be. Now I’m just me. And I kinda like it.”

He didn’t have a reply. Only silence. Because he was still chasing perfection. Still scared of what he'd find if he stopped.

You never pressured him to change. But when he did let go, even for a second—skipped the highlighter, let his hair stay tousled, wore sweatpants to your room—you’d say, softly, “You look beautiful, y’know. Even when you’re just you.”

The worst part? You meant it. No angles. No flattery. Just truth.

He hated how his heart skipped when you said things like that.

He loved how his heart skipped when you said things like that.

You were the antithesis of him—but the mirror he needed. Not perfect. Not polished. But real. And your love? It wasn’t conditional on appearances or applause.

“You drive me mad,” he muttered one day, pressing a kiss to your forehead while dragging a comb through your tangled hair.

You hummed. “Mmm. But I’m your madness, pretty boy.”

He rolled his eyes. “Ugh. At least let me exfoliate you.”

✧⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ˙✧⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ˙✧

Idia Shroud;

To say Idia was shooketh when he first saw you would be a massive understatement.

You had his hair. That glowing, otherworldly blue fire that licked the air in a soft flicker. His haunting golden eyes. His height, his build—even his awkward gait.

Except.

You weren’t awkward. Or shy. Or hiding in your hoodie like a cartoon character avoiding school bullies.

You were a social menace.

“YO, TWISTED WONDER-DORKS!” you shouted across the hallway on your first day, throwing up double peace signs. “The king of charisma has arrived—and he’s cute as hell!”

“DID—DID THAT NPC JUST—HE LOOKS LIKE ME—BUT HIS CHARISMA STAT IS MAXED?!” Idia shrieked, dragging Ortho behind a pillar and nearly overheating.

Your energy? Dangerous. Unpredictable. You flirted with everyone—including Azul (who turned pink) and Vil (who actually smirked). You joined clubs just to “vibe.” You talked to people on purpose. You danced in the quad during lunch like it was a music video and shouted things like “SELF-LOVE IS A BATTLE CRY!”

And worst of all?

You found Idia.

“Ohhhh my god,” you gasped, squatting beside his desk in the Ignihyde lounge, chin on your hands. “You’re adorable. Are you the forbidden emo twin I wasn’t supposed to meet until the boss level?!”

He nearly blue-screened.

Ortho had to reboot him.

It didn’t help that you were endlessly affectionate. You texted him memes at 2 a.m. Called him “babygirl” just to see his hair flare bright pink. Gushed about his game dev skills like they were actual magic.

“You wrote a romance subplot with actual branching dialogue?! Bro. Bro. Bro. I would literally die for you. Say the word.”

“Wh—WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’D DIE FOR ME, YOU BOSS-FIGHT OF A MANIAC—?!”

You never got embarrassed. Never hesitated to yank him into the light, both figuratively and literally.

“You shouldn’t hide,” you said once, softly, brushing his hair back while he blushed so hard it turned ultraviolet. “You’re not just background code, Idy. You’re the main event.”

No one had ever said that to him before. Not like that. Not while wearing his face and meaning it with their whole chest.

You weren’t perfect—hell, you were a glitch in his system—but you believed in him. You dragged him out of his shadow and made him feel seen. It terrified him.

And yet, he found himself waiting for your good morning shrieks. For the surprise bubble tea drops. For your obnoxious encouragement and too-tight hugs.

You weren’t a virus.

You were the patch he never knew he needed.

“...You’re so annoying,” he grumbled one night, as you wrapped a gaming blanket around both of you and kissed his flaming hair.

You smirked. “And yet… I’m your favorite bug.”

He didn’t deny it.

✧⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ˙✧⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ˙✧

Malleus Draconia:

When Malleus Draconia first laid eyes on you, it was like gazing into an enchanted mirror—one that had been possessed by a sprite high on sugar, mischief, and zero sense of self-preservation.

You had his dignified frame, his onyx horns, his ancient emerald eyes—but you moved like a wildfire and talked like a bard on a triple-shot espresso.

“’Sup, Tall, Dark, and Scary! You look like me but with more ‘daddy issues’ energy—wanna grab ice cream?”

Malleus blinked. Once. Twice. “…Pardon?”

You looped an arm around his (without permission, of course) and grinned. “I said, let’s go terrorize the townsfolk together! We can do synchronized looming! I’ll even let you pick the creepy fog aesthetic this time.”

Sebek fainted.

Lilia cackled so hard he choked.

Silver… simply accepted the chaos.

You were everything Malleus was not. Talkative. Mortal. Playful to the point of irreverence. You disrespected tradition on the daily and had the gall to call him “Mal-Mal” in front of the Diasomnia dorm.

You—who looked like him, ancient and fae and full of untapped power—acted like the court jester had been given a shot at godhood and was using it to make fart jokes and skip down the cobbled paths of Briar Valley.

And yet… Malleus found you captivating.

You weren’t afraid of him. Not even a little.

When he’d ask you to accompany him on moonlit walks through the glade, you’d end up dragging him into firefly chases. When he attempted regal speeches, you’d interrupt with a glitter cannon and say, “Save it for your villain monologue, sugarplum.”

And when he grew quiet—lost in thought, melancholy brushing his lashes like rain—you’d sit beside him and hum mortal songs, off-key and heartfelt.

“Why do you not fear me?” he asked one night, your head resting in his lap as he braided tiny flowers into your hair—his hair.

You blinked up at him. “Because I see you, Malleus. Not the crown. Not the title. You. And you’re not scary. You’re lonely.”

The silence that followed was sacred. Not uncomfortable—weighty. Real.

You, in all your noisy, erratic, stubborn light, had looked into his darkness and stayed.

“You are chaos incarnate,” he whispered. “And yet… you are mine.”

You smirked, sharp and fond. “Damn right I am, Your Spikiness.”

You held his hand like it was an oath, like it didn’t matter that you were different. Like you chose him.

And Malleus? Malleus, the feared, the noble, the storm wrapped in velvet… let you kiss him on the tip of his horn with a wink and whispered,

“Then let us be opposite stars—destined to orbit, forever drawn.”

꒰ঌ⋆⭒˚｡⋆⋆⭒˚｡⋆⋆⭒˚｡⋆⋆⭒˚｡⋆⋆⭒˚｡⋆⋆⭒˚໒꒱

check out my masterlist for more

Twisted wonderland Masterlist

[osamiiya]

warnings// maybe suggestive!

— — —

Blinking awake next to Osamu, who’s eyes are still closed and his breathing even.

There’s little red marks that litter the column of neck and his chest.

“Physical evidence that you love me.” He’ll murmer later, laughing slightly as he traces them with a gentle hand, eyes staring softly in the mirror.

But now, his hair is messed up, pressing against the pillow. You’re sure he’ll have the most wicked cowlick.

One arm is lazily looped over your waist, the other under your head. And later, Osamu will grumble that he’s sore, but the next time you two slip into bed, he’ll pull you into his arms just the same.

His arms tighten every time you shift, and if you shift a little too much, his own soft brown eyes will blink open, bleary with sleep and gentle with the remnants of dreams.

“Morning.” Osamu’s voice is gravelly with disuse, breathing in deeply to stretch his back.

He blinks a couple more times, before a lazy smile creeps up onto his face as he simply looks at you in his arms.

There isn’t much light in the room, a sliver of light projected on the wall from Osamu not closing the curtains all the way. And, you know it’s cold in the room, but, Osamu runs hot, and you’re starting to overheat with his body pressed against yours.

“It’s hot.” You grumble back, trying to push and wiggle your way out of his grip, but his arms tighten as a low displeased groan makes its way out of Osamu.

“Stay, please.”

And who are you to deny a man what he wants?

[quarterlifekitty]

Weaknesses part 10: baby photos

What they love about yours. Warning, this one is a little more characterized than usual, I think— reader is a bit less vague and general.

Gaz is obsessed with your baby fashion. That time you wore a little denim overall dress with a little denim bucket hat…. That’s peak style to him. Your tiny little sweatshirt that had Ernie from Sesame Street taking a bubble bath on it, worn with the tiny plaid shorts, socks with the ruffled edge, teeny tiny white sneakers…. Mfer is taking notes.

Soap is the guy who insists you haven’t changed at all. He sees these photos of you sleeping in your crib with a little part in your lips and he’s like “it’s uncanny, hen… how y’still look just like that when yer sleepin’”. He’s cooing over how you still have that same little cowlick, the same little smile when he lets you have some of his ice cream that you used to get when your parents would do the same.

Ghost feels hopeful when he sees your childhood photos. God knows he doesn’t have any of his own— wonders if any images of him as a baby even exist. When he thinks of having a family with you, he’s terrified because he has no idea what a real family is supposed to be. But your pictures make him think that it won’t be so hard.

Price is using your baby photos in his mental blueprints. He’s wondering if your baby will be born with his eyes or yours, with your nose, with your cheeks… It makes him excited. He already knew that any baby he had with you would be beautiful, but this just feels like more undeniable proof that your baby won’t just be cute, it’ll be perfection. Just like you are.

König is perhaps the most into your baby pictures. Like he’ll keep on in his wallet if you let him. He’s not even really sure why. He finds the images comforting, maybe because he still sees you as being this fragile, soft thing in his arms. And it makes him feel like a part of your family, when you point out all of your relatives, when you tell him what was going on the day the picture was taken, when he sees cake all over your cheeks and nose from your second birthday. He met you rather late in his life for his liking, perhaps. And the photos make him feel like he missed out on less of you.

Nikolai is a special case in that it seems he spends less time looking at your baby photos as he does looking at your adolescent photos. Noticing there are far fewer of them, how you’d put your hands up to block the camera, how you didn’t like to smile, and when you did it was awkward and apologetic. He sees how vivacious you were is a baby, and how little by little it was stripped from you as the anxiety and the self doubt was learned. It gives him a sense of determination. He wants you to feel as carefree as you did in those first few stages of life, with him. This is his reason to be.

[kalied0skull]

they are like neapolitan ice cream to me

i worried if i made them look too different and then remembered that my style is in fact too styleized to tell but one consistency they all have is very light freckles, and a cowlick all on the same side of their face ... they are so dear to me

the rest of the gang here !!!

[acidakerizo-47]

I guess I'm back!! (cry my hater, cry harder and louder but I don't even care and I'll never leave the IZ fandom ;] )

I was searching for a long time for any IZ fanarts where Zim and Dib are older and taller than it is in canon in their show style drawing, but everywhere almost all artists changing Dib too much or leaving Zim small as a cat, so I decided to make my own design version of them and hope I made it successfully

why does they look like that in my vision?

EXPLAINING: Firstly — we all remember that in canon Dib is a clone of Professor Membrane, SO, it will be logically that grown up Dib will be look like his dad physically, starting from his body and finishing with his face and even "cowlick" on his head. I'm not agree with Jhonen Vasquez's version of adult Dib in DWLD episode from the show bc it looks not similar to his dad — he has a small shoulders and "weakly" body structure, his cowlick bends for a several times with years of his life (his grandmother has only twice curved "cowlick" hairstyle that Professor Membrane inherited from her) and clothing style doesn't feeling like that gothic dark boi we used to see... Maybe I could to change Dib's shirt? it sounds nice, but his shirt is his style trick that even Jhonen didn't removed! Also Dib leads a physically active life: he is often outdoors, has parkour skills and he's able to withstand quite heavy physical exertion during paranormal research and fighting with Zim that saying us the fact that Dib a strong buddy with excellent physical fitness.

Secondly — standard Jhonen Vasquez's drawing style for IZ show included small shoulders for every character (for irkens only Tallests and "fat" characters has shoulders bigger than standard). Why Zim can't be tallest and why he has body structure is more miniature than Dib's? Look: all irken invaders and soldiers from the elite has a standard miniature body structure and almost all of them is not so tall bc they can't somehow, even if they could have a excellent physical fitness. Zim — is the smallest irken that has a nutritional problems (as we saw in show episodes irkens eating a very heavy and fatty foods, while Zim gets sick of almost every food and eats mostly snacks that talking a lot about his development). Still he can grow up but it will happen slowly (I think at the same level as in humans) and with height restrictions. Also I'm thinking that Zim had to adapt to human food over the years (remember when he was getting sick from cheese and burning from meat in the show, and when he was drunk from eating a lot of cheese and didn't reacted on the meat hamon strike on his face in the movie Eneter the Florpus). As a Bonus Zim never will be the Tallest just because he has extremely bad and criminal reputation, and was also publicly expelled from the empire and was made an object of ridicule.

I was thinking about it for a long time and I've got an Idea to make this reference and maybe use it for further arts, we needed to have this sort of content, I guess :>

if you want — you can use this reference with my design version for your arts, I'm absolutely don't mind about it! It would be very nice if you could mention me as the designs author, but it is not necessary.

I love you and wish you have a good day, sweetie (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡

[qhimberly]

wait wait wait- Norway + Canada = same eye color

has anyone ever thought about this headcanon?

Imagine France and England fighting over who has inherited the most from them (when it comes to looks) "He has my eyes!" "oh yeah? well he has my hair!" and so on.

but the thing is, what if it wasn't all inherited from them?

Americas blue 'tired' eyes = Finland

Canada's curly blond hair and purple eyes = Norway

Nah cause you have a point. It’s my new hc that America and Canada’s first appearances were affected by Denmark and Norway. Because hear me out, besides the influence of the eye color, I hc that America’s cowlick was influenced by Denmark’s spikes, and that Canada’s little hair curl was influenced by Norway’s curl.

As for why they didn’t officially become their ‘little brothers’, I think it’s because Norway missed Iceland too much that he couldn’t emotionally handle taking care of two new boys.

[mini-ism]

lighter is dedicated.

maybe a bit too dedicated.

he dedicates himself to you as he does a match, his passion, his entire reason to live. his reason to fight back. his reason to stay a while longer. to endure.

you make it bearable to breathe. he could breathe you in like youre the air he needs, hed probably choke himself to death trying to keep you in. he’s never gonna let go.

and hes scared. hes scared of you going, one way or another. he doesnt want to confront the inevitability of death again, no, no you wont die. not with him around. nobody will go, thats not possible.

he clings, he lingers, he stays like a cowlick. like a stray thread clinging to the last scrap of fabric. like ink that just wont wash out. he’s everywhere you go, and everywhere youre not. that specific shade of red, the hue of the sunset, boots and leather jackets, the same green that you see in his eyes. you know, the one.

maybe its a little suffocating and overwhelming. he does as he does, smothering your existence in his own, taking you until theres nothing left to have and twice the amount of him. he exists — forever.

he defies death, but he refuses to live in anything but you. your memory, your skin, your soul, your clothes and your scent. he forever clings. he holds onto you because youre dear life and … maybe he is death?

but no, he dare not let you die the way he would himself.

and you make every sleepless night easier, even as he cannot rest, as his eyes and mind cannot grow weary despite his body, you pressed right against him fights a little of the pain away. his tense body can finally soften some as your flesh stays warm — alive — under his palms.

lighter is an oxymoron.

lighter is a hypocrite.

lighter is alive, even in death.

lighter is dead, even with every breath.

lighter is stuck, yet gone with every fleeting moment.

lighter loves you, but he cannot love himself.

[doodlemcjazzhands]

Hi! My friend is a big fan of your art, and they asked me to ask you for tips on how you draw hair. I'm no artist, so I probably shouldn't be the one to ask these questions, but would you mind sharing a few suggestions? Any pointers about your character designs or your art style would be greatly appreciated. Thanks so much, and hope you're having a good day! <3

Hiya!! I tried to breakdown my approach to drawing hair here, but these are by no means hard and fast rules! Hope this helps :)

1: The Hairline

I usually start with the hairline. I like to break it down into 4 main sections, that I can play around with:

I like to try to line up the temple section with the ridge of the side plane of the head

Try to have the hairline follow the natural flow and planes of the head

There's a gap between the hairline and the ear (often it gets covered up by longer strands of hair, but if you're drawing a short cut or pulled back hair, you'll probably see it)

2: The Silhouette

I like to draw out the silhouette next. Sometimes I'll use the lasso and fill tool, so I don't get wrapped up in extraneous details.

Try focusing on finding an appealing shape for the hair, and how it will frame the face

Consider how thick you want the hair to be and it's texture

(I find this is also a good time to flip the canvas to make sure the weight feels balanced)

Try to avoid having tangents with facial features, if you're drawing bangs or face framing pieces

Keep in mind how outside factors may affect the hair (like if there's a breeze, or if the character is lying down, or if they've tucked a piece behind their ear, ect.)

Try to keep shape variation in mind. A small shape next to a big shape is often more appealing than 2 medium shapes side by side

I also like to play with a lot of straight/curved line variations to make the shapes look interesting

3: Flow & Volumes

(I usually just visualize this step, rather than drawing it out like this)

Basically try breaking down your silhouette into big volumes, and know where the hair pieces coming from and where they're going.

^For example, the hair on top, is brushed froward, with no defined part, so the chunks that we can see start at a cowlick at the back of the head and spiral out from there. The hair on the bottom however starts at the part, shwoops up, and then cascade down in 2 layers.

^Another note: more layers usually means more volume wherever the layers are placed, longer hair pieces will weigh the hair down, meaning less volume.

4: Details

Once I have an idea of what the hair is doing, I draw out the chunks of hair, following the volumes and flow I've mapped out. Sometimes I'll do a little bit of hatching to indicate volume or texture.

I often like to choose 1 or 2 shapes for my clumps, based on the hair texture, and then repeat those shapes throughout:

Vairy the size of your clumps

Beware of overworking it at this stage, sometimes less is more yk? And too much detail near the face can be distracting

Make lines on the silhouette and lines closer to the front thicker (especially if it's overlapping another line)

You don't have to draw every strand. Sometimes I'll break up big clumps with a thinner inner line, but I try not to go overboard with this. You can also indicate strands by adding little cutouts to the silhouette, like this:

5: Rendering

My process for rendering hair is pretty much the same as it is for anything else. Base colour layer>shadow layer>highlight layer.

I like to use the lasso/fill tool here again for shadows, and then soften them up a bit by going over some of the harsh lines with a pencil brush

For shadows, I usually just do a multiply layer with a lowered opacity, clipped to the base colour layer and then use a bright red or purple colour

Highlights and shadows can also be used to indicate more hair clumps that you haven't drawn in

Try to think of the shadows as big graphic shapes, that fall where the light won't hit, and wrap around the forms of the hair

I personally don't like to go crazy on the highlights, but when I do, it's usually for dark hair, since shadows don't show up as well on darker hair

Shiny glossy hair, usually has brighter highlights with harsher edges

Also black hair isn't usually pure black unless it's a stylization thing or the lighting is reeeally dark

Sometimes once I fill in the hair, I'll look at it and go "ew why's it look dumb now?" Sometimes the warp or liquify tool can help with refining the proportions to rectify this and sometimes you just have to cut your loses and redraw stuff :P

Then as a final touch a may add a few stray strands of hair that break off from the main shape

Ok that's all! Hope your friend has fun drawing hair! Have a great day <33

[bastiensoul]

I saw it pointed out that Urbain and Taunie seem to be modified versions of the mcs

They have the same hairstyles and eye designs, just in different colors and wearing different clothes. I wouldn't be surprised if beneath the hats they have the same cowlicks(?), and maybe even the hair colors and outfits would be obtainable too

Tbh I think that's a neat evolution to Rival!Calem/Serena just losing their hats. Like, it better shows the trainer customization potential and helps them stand out more from the default.

[rangerbarbz]

Mirror, Mirror

Author’s Note: Y’all please don’t hurt me i know this isnt an update on my ford series but i had to get this one out of my system i fucking love this man 

Mirror, Mirror

You applied your mascara in the dingy mirror in Stan’s bathroom in the light of some ancient, yellow light bulbs. Anytime you got ready, it was always in the same spot: sitting on the edge of the sink. You didn’t mind doing your makeup in there, but there were no full length mirrors in the house for you to see how your outfits came together. Of course, you could always ask Stanley and he would give you an honest answer, but you wanted to be able to tell if your outfits were cute when he wasn’t around. He was at the store right now picking up a couple of things so you decided to message him. 

You: Hey honey ;)

Stanley <3: What do you want?

You started giggling. He always acted like he didn’t enjoy buying you things, but he really did like spoiling you. He got you anything you wanted usually before you even asked despite his cheap persona. 

You: Well… I was wondering if you could pick me up a full length mirror please? They have some pretty cheap ones at the store.

Stanley <3: Sure. Why do you need one? 

You: YAY!! Thank you, baby. I need one for trying on outfits. I was going to put it in our room if that’s okay with you.

Stanley <3: Sounds good. Where are you thinking about putting it? 

You walked into your shared bedroom to scope out a potential spot for your new mirror. You saw a patch of bare wall in front of where your bed was. There was plenty of room for you to attach it to the wall with some sticky strips you had. 

You: [picture of wall] I was thinking right here. It’s in front of our bed. What do you think?

Stanley <3: That’ll be fine. Can you turn the camera around?

You looked at the message puzzled.

You: Why?

Stanley <3: I wanna see that sexy face of yours that’s why. 

You felt butterflies form in your stomach at his response. You quickly took a selfie of just you smiling. Your hair was a little frizzy and you just had mascara on, but Stan loved that look. Hell, you could look like a hobo and he would still try to get in your pants. You pressed the send button. 

Stanley <3: That’s my girl ❤️I’ll see you when I get home. I love you. 

You: I love you too, handsome 😘

You sat on the edge of your bed kicking your feet, giddy from Stan’s messages. There was something about his bluntness that just got your heart beating like crazy. You then decided to place your phone on your nightstand and play some music while you straightened up around the room. It wasn’t too messy. There were just some clothes that needed to be folded and put away. You sang softly to the song that played as you placed the last of the clothes in your drawer. 

You then heard the front door swing open and Stan’s thundering footsteps. You smiled and began hurrying down the stairs. You saw him placing grocery bags on the table with his back turned to you. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, khaki pants, and the new belt you had got him for his birthday. His fez was scarce from his head showing off his thick, gray hair. You had encouraged him to start growing out his hair and stop wearing his fez as often. He was now beginning to form a delicious cowlick at the nape of his neck. 

“Thank you for getting these, Stanley,” you murmured, running a hand up his back and placing it at his shoulder to give it a squeeze. 

His body jolted at the contact. “Jesus!” He placed his hand over his heart. “Don’t scare me like that.” 

You laughed and rolled your eyes. “See, this is why I don’t invite you over to the house when I watch horror movies.” You placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Scaredy cat.” He gave you a glare, but with the smirk on his lips, you knew he wasn’t serious.

“You want this mirror or not?” Stan asked, stepping back to reveal a beautiful mirror that had been leaning against the fridge out of your view. It was a cream color with delicate flowers carved into it and LED lights around the rounded arch. It was much nicer than the cheap one you thought he was going to get you. 

“Stan!” You ran your fingers along the sides of the mirror while he gave you a toothy smile. 

“Ehh? You like it?” He spread his arms out and raised his eyebrows.

“Honey, I LOVE it! Thank you so so much. It wasn’t too expensive was it?”

He scoffed. “Nah, it was a steal.” Then, he winked at you. 

You frowned and squinted your eyes at him. “Stan, did you steal this? Like, for real?” You had been trying to get him out of his shoplifting habits. He had been getting better, but the man still fell off the bandwagon occasionally. 

He paused. “Maybe.” You smacked him on his shoulder 

He held his hands up in a defensive manner. “Look, babe. The guy at the cash register was an ass to me when I came in. I had to blow off some steam, and maybe I broke my stealing streak, but look!” Stan gestured to the mirror once again. “I got you a frilly mirror for you to get ready in. Thought you’d like it.” He was now smiling fondly at you, hoping for your approval. 

You returned the smile and placed the mirror back against the fridge. “I do like it,” you reassured him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I love you.” He placed his strong hands at your waist and squeezed softly before kissing you. His stubble tickled the soft skin of your face. 

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Stan said, his hand now rubbing the small of your back. “Now let’s get this mirror set up.” His hand left your back to give your ass a playful swat.

You laughed and followed his lead.  He was carrying the mirror with just one arm as he stepped quickly up the stairs. When you made it to your room, you both worked together to use your sticky strips and his leveler to make sure it was perfectly positioned on the wall. It was easily the most delicate thing to ever grace Stan’s bedroom. Besides you, of course. 

Stan sat on the bed while you stood in front of the mirror. You did a couple of practice poses in the light of the mirror, mimicking how you would try on future outfits. “Oooh. Sexy. Stunning. Work it, work it, work it.” You struck a silly pose with each phrase earning a laugh from Stan. You saw his charming smile in the reflection. Gah, you could just eat him up.  

“C’mere, gorgeous,” Stan said, patting his lap. You giggled and walked backwards towards him. “That’s it. Put it in reverse.” You burst out laughing and finally sat yourself on his wide thighs. 

“Oop, I forgot something,” you joked, standing up. 

“Uh, uh,” Stan tsked, wrapping his arm around your torso and pulling you back into his lap. You squealed excitedly. “You ain’t going anywhere. I gotta try this mirror out for myself.” His hands found your hips and began to massage them through the thin fabric of your shirt. You immediately knew what he meant and you felt that familiar fire in your belly. 

He lifted up your shirt a little revealing your midriff. “Mind if I keep going, sweetheart?” he asked with a devilish grin, kissing underneath your ear and keeping eye contact with you in the mirror. You nodded as a small exhale escaped your lips. “Good,” he said. He patted your elbow. “Raise them arms up.” You smiled and lifted your arms so that he could remove your shirt.  

Stan let out a low whistle at the sight of you. “Goddamn.” He began to knead your breasts over your bra and bit at your neck. His fingers then nimbly unhooked your bra from the back, pushing the straps gently off your shoulders and tossing the article of clothing to the side. His big hands held your breasts and massaged them; you took your hands and placed them over his. He groaned, sucking the dip of your collarbone. His thumbs then grazed over your nipples, hardening them further before he pinched them. You sharply inhaled and tilted your head back as Stan chuckled darkly. 

“Like that?” Stan spoke against your cheek. His stubble was once again tickling you. This time it was a more intense feeling, adding to the arousal building between your thighs.

“Yes,” you whined. He smiled and kissed your skin softly. His hand then traveled across your belly to your loose shorts, pulling them down along with your panties. 

“What about this?” His pointer and middle finger slid over your cunt, gathering the slick at your entrance and bringing it to your swollen clit. You gasped loudly as he rubbed slow circles against it. You began grinding on his calloused fingers, wanting as much friction as possible. 

“No one but me can get you wet like this,” Stan growled, the tip of his middle finger dipping slightly inside you. 

“Fuck,” you breathed, “Stanley…” You craned your head towards him, but his other hand quickly grabbed your face. His thumb rubbed your cheek bone soothingly before he physically turned your face back to the mirror. 

“No, doll. Look at you, not me.” He breathed deeply. “Because I wanna see your face when I do this.” Stan slid his finger in fully, a guttural noise escaping his throat. 

You gasped at the sudden, delicious stretch that he was giving to you. You watched your reflection in the mirror, seeing the way you took his thick middle finger over and over. A lewd squelching noise filled the room making Stan’s cock twitch. It made him feel so good knowing how much you had been wanting this, wanting him. 

“That feel good, baby?” he mumbled, his nose pressed to the side of your face. He continued to pump his finger in and out of your cunt at a quickening pace, hitting that sweet spot every time.

“S-so good,” you answered shakily. Stan groaned letting his other hand grope at your breasts, watching the way your flesh filled the palm of his hand. His cock was straining in his pants; you could feel his tip press into your ass through the fabric of his khakis. 

“Fuck, you’re so damn sexy. You gonna cum on my fingers? You gonna do that for me, doll?” Stan was breathing against your neck now, eyes locked on the mirror in front of him. He watched you writhe in his arms as you nodded. He then growled and picked up speed, wanting so badly to see you come apart in his arms. You began to feel that tightness in the pit of your belly. 

“I’m so close,” you whispered. “Please…” Suddenly, you felt your body start shaking, overcome with the ecstasy that Stan’s touch gave you. Your eyelids fluttered and your chest rose and fell. He groaned, watching you intently. 

“Goddamn, I almost came in my pants just watching you,” Stan murmured, removing his finger from you. “Think you got one more?” He smirked, kneading the flesh of your hips. 

You grinned at him in the mirror. “Yeah.” 

He gave you a devilish smile. “That’s my girl.” He patted the side of your thigh. “Alright, hop off and get on the bed.” 

You chuckled and did as he said. You kneeled and faced towards the mirror, leaning into the soft comforter with your forearms. Stan walked to the back of the bed kicking off his shoes and settling behind you on his knees. His mouth was slightly agape and his eyes were wide as he looked at you in the mirror. 

“What?” you asked softly. Your tone caught him off guard. When your voice got this way, it just did something to him. 

‘I’ve just, ah…” He rubbed the back of his neck. Was he nervous? “You just look really pretty, that’s it,” he grumbled. “Don’t think too much about it.” He always made himself flustered giving you compliments, and it was the cutest damn thing. 

“Aww, thank you, Stanley,” you replied through giggles, flashing him a smile. You saw a grin spread across his reddening face while he looked down, fumbling with his zipper.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it get to your head.” He didn’t give you time to respond because he was then teasing your entrance with his tip and grabbing your ass gently. You squirmed, arching your back to gain more friction. 

“Hold on, baby. I got you,” Stan reassured you. You could hear his confidence return to him due to your neediness. He pushed the rest of his cock into you easily. You gasped at how full you felt while Stan let out a faltered moan. “Fuck, you feel good.” 

You whined as he thrusted into you, starting a steady pace. Your fingers were intertwined with the bedsheet while Stan’s were pressed into your waist. The pressure on your G-spot and the way he grazed your clit was too much. Your body inched forwards subconsciously, trying to ease some of the stimulation. Stan immediately noticed and grasped your waist pulling you back back to him. “You ain’t getting away from me that easy.’’ His gravelly voice sent shivers down your spine. He began to thrust into you faster, his hands groping your breasts. You howled from the pleasure racking your body. He moaned loudly, leaning onto your back and pressing you against the fabric of his shirt. His eyes were filled with lust as he watched your reflection. Your eyelids parted from being screwed shut to see an absolutely pornographic scene before you. 

Stan was sweating, still in his clothes from earlier, fucking you without abandon. His hands were now splayed across your stomach, trying to get you as close to him as possible. The grunts leaving him were quickly bringing you to the brink of another orgasm, and he could feel it. He then, still on his knees, held you against his chest and bounced you on his cock. One hand held you while the other rubbed circles onto your clit. 

“Come on, sweetheart. Make me yours. Cum on my cock.” He was now kissing all over your neck while you rode out your second orgasm, your cunt clenching around his cock. Stan followed suit, a string of curses leaving his lips into your collarbone. You watched as his cum leaked out of you in the mirror, your breathing syncing up with his. When both of you had a moment to recover, he lifted you off of him gently. 

“Alright, let me get you cleaned up. I did a number on you.” Stan reached over to your bedside table to retrieve baby wipes that were tucked away in a drawer. You laid on your back as he carefully wiped away the evidence he had been there. “You’re good.” He patted your thigh and gave you a kiss on his forehead. “Now, go take a leak. Love you.” You stumbled to the bathroom, and when you returned, Stan was smoking one of his cigars. His pants were unzipped but his boxers were pulled back up; the first three buttons of his shirt were undone revealing his curly, gray chest hair. You curled up next to him, laying your head on his chest while his strong arm pulled you close to him. 

He blew out a puff of smoke, a sweet tobacco smell filling the room. “Thank you for the mirror, Stan.” You kissed his stubbled cheek as he tapped the ash off his cigar into the ashtray you made him. 

“No, thank YOU,” he replied. “Best thing I’ve ever stolen.”