#used a little filter to add freckles

[managedxmischief]

Garreth and I could be related. We have the similar eyes and hair color / cut.

[zepskies]

Wanderlust

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Reader

Summary: Your wandering hands are keeping Ben up at night.

AN: My nightly daydreams led me to Soldier Boy this time. 😂

I was imagining the Break Me Down-verse for this one (shortly after Checkerboard), but it can also be general Soldier Boy x Reader.

Word Count: 650

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only to be safe. Fluff, innuendo, Sleepy Ben, implied smut.

You traced down his back with light, trailing fingers.

Lying next to him in bed, with scraps of moonlight filtering through the closed blinds in the window as your only guide, your mind was still drifting even though you should’ve been sleeping.

You couldn’t help yourself.  

You drew invisible patterns across his bare skin. Ben was warm, always warm, even though the AC was making the room almost frigid. You knew it was the ever-present radiator in his chest that made him your own personal heater.

You propped your head up better with an elbow on your pillow as you laid on your side. You then let your hand drift over every dip of muscle between his shoulders, every small freckle you knew just from memory, then down and down his spine.

You flirted with the idea of inching down the sheets, where his bare ass would greet you. From there, you supposed you'd decide what wandering direction your hand took next.

“If you don’t go to sleep,” his deep voice rumbled, “I’m gonna wake up and fuck you again.”

You bit your lip against a giggle, but you didn’t quite succeed.

“It sounds like you’re already awake,” you remarked.

Ben grumbled incoherently in response. He was tired, you knew. He’d just come back from a week-long mission with Butcher and Co. for Supe Affairs. Hence the long night you two spent catching up.

If you were honest, you were still tingling between your legs. Your thighs and ass were a little sore too. Likely they’d be sporting a few fingerprints tomorrow.

You didn't mind it so much though. You two now had a safe word for that kind of thing.

You smirked, sifting your fingers through his hair. It was getting long again. Maybe you’d trim it for him tomorrow, since you both had the weekend off.  

Your hand meandered down the back of his neck, just to begin dragging your nails up and down the slope of his back.

“What does that feel like to you?” you asked curiously. You often wondered how much his invulnerability affected the way he felt things, especially the way you touched him.

“Like a tease,” he muttered.

You applied some more pressure with your nails. Not the way you’d scored his back about an hour ago, when he’d had his sinful mouth all over your body, but enough to be more than a tease. Enough that it would’ve left an angry, red trail on your own “fragile” human skin.

Still, you weren’t able to leave any marks on him. Just a faint whiteness of pressure against his skin that soon returned to normal when you moved your hand away.

“How about that?” you asked.

“Like you’re playing with fucking fire,” Ben said, though you heard the smirk in his voice. “Go to sleep.”

You smiled too.

“We'll pick this up in the morning,” he made sure to add, though he was already halfway back to slumber, from the sound of it.

“Oh, I’m sure,” you said, laughing lightly. You leaned over and pressed a soft kiss against his shoulder. “G’night, babe.”

“Mhmm,” he responded.

He groaned deep in his throat and turned over onto his back. Your smile remained as your body tensed in anticipation, but all he did was slide an arm under your waist and curl you towards him, trapping you against his chest. His hand splayed against your lower back, heavy and warm.

His lips brushed your hair away from your forehead and lingered there. He closed his eyes and let out a deep exhale. You did the same, relaxing against him. Your hand came to rest against the steady thrum of his heart.

Moments like this with him still managed to surprise you…but admittedly, less and less the longer you lived and shared together.

A girl could get used to it though.

AN: Lol should she have pressed her luck? Let me know what you think of this one! 😉💚

Keep Reading in the BMD-verse:

Next we have a fun, fluffy, angsty, smutty Christmas special, Love Actually:

Summary: Ben gets in late on Christmas Eve with a Grinch-like attitude, but you’re determined to force some holiday cheer into his system.

▶️ Next Story: Love Actually

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Break Me Down Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

BMD Tag List (Part 1):

Including the BMD tag list on this, since that's what my heart was imagining. 😂

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26

@spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@mrsjenniferwinchester @lyarr24 @xoxovienna @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28

@nancymcl @ashbatz @vavafaure1994 @kristophalis @wonderland2022

@emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @theonlymaninthesky

@kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun

@lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420

@tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92 @kazsrm67 @deansbbyx

[coeurify]

repost the period vampire ellie fic!

middle of the night,, vamp!ellie

a/n: this is a repost from early this year so excuse any change in writing style!

warnings: vampire!ellie. period sex. oral!r receiving fingering!r receiving. sort of a dreamy, less modern vibe. if u aren’t into it.. just don’t read it.

˚✦　.　　. 　  ˚　.　 . ✦　˚　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

Some times--Most times, you only saw her at night. When darkness enveloped the small town you called home, when the stars rocked the sleepy eyed humans to sleep and the moon hummed the lullaby that quieted the crickets outside, she came.

Only then did you ever hear the distinct creaking of the splitting wood on your window panes being pressed up. Only then did the white of your sheer curtains move with more than the wind, the grip of the air nothing compared to the long hand that often wrapped around the fabric and pushed it open. When the moon was the only light filtering into your room, you saw the green of her eyes.

Tonight was no different, despite one little issue. Often, the woman who visited you under the cover of midnight would arrive to your eyes closed in sleep. She would press a hand to your warm cheek before waking you, greeted by your sleepy excitement each time.

This time, you had not been able to sleep. A heat had taken over your body, tight in your stomach with a pain you would compare to that of claws gnawing at your insides. Sweat beaded between your brows with every swift turn under your uncomfortable sheets, lip tugged between your frustrated teeth to stop any whines of discomfort. That had been what your favorite visitor heard as her shaking palms found the wood of your window. Your pained grunts floated through her buzzing ears as she quietly made her way into your room, auburn hair messy behind her ears as her figure became visible, head tilted as she looked across the room to your heated body.

“El,” you whined, wiping your forehead with a hand, not at all concerned about her chosen point of entry. “Go away.”

Ellie’s gaze softened, a scoff sounding from behind your squeezed shut eyes. “Go away?” she mused, her voice much closer now.

The split second your eyes had been closed, Ellie had somehow silently made it to your bedside. You don't question it, you never do.

When a girl like Ellie sports small fangs and a taste for blood, her speed is the last thing you think to question.

“I don't feel well, don’t want you here.” you add, mouth pulled into pout as you look up at the freckled face of Ellie.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong, bunny? Instead of shooing me away,” Ellie requests, sitting on the edge of your bed. Her cold hand finds your sweaty arm, sighing. “You’re burning up.”

Your neck tickles with heat as Ellie questions your current state, and you fall wordless. Somehow, it was more embarrassing to admit to your vampire visitor that you were starting your period than to simply tell her to leave. Obviously however, Ellie was not taking the second option as a valid answer.

“I started my period, nothing is helpin’ the cramps,” you explain softly, pressing your hand into the sheets of your bed to try and sit, to maybe find some sort of relief to the growing tension in your stomach. But the other set of hands is faster.

“Lay down,” Ellie insists, glancing down at you. You can almost see the cogs of her brain turning behind the evergreen in her eyes, a sort of fogginess settling over the color.

“Let me help you,” she eventually says.

“What? I told you nothi-”

Ellie presses her lips together to hush you, one wandering hand finding the dip of your hip, blunt nail tracing the goosebump coated flesh there. Sometimes she liked being so cold, simply because she enjoyed seeing how you reacted to it. If she was damned for what she was, she may as well use some of it to her advantage.

“What are you doing?” You couldn't help the shiver that followed her movements.

Suddenly your mouth feels dry, tongue unable to wet the plump fat of your lip. The scratching in your throat finds no comfort when you swallow, only further irritating your vocal chords. A choked noise finds the heavy bedroom air as fingers tug at your cotton shorts.

“Helping you,” Ellie repeats, her own mouth much more wet than yours. Even in the dim light of the moon you can see the glistening dew on her parted lips. Usually the look she currently wears is saved only for when her pearly teeth find the sensitive and already scarred skin of your neck. Not for.. this.

Your hands immediately slap to your heated cheeks. “Oh my god Ellie, no fucking way.”

The vampire, who had now moved below you on the bed, hums in disagreement to your little show of kicking feet, a hand too strong to be that of a human halting all movements.

“We always have fun when I come over,” The freckles of her face disappear as she glances down, fully pulling down your shorts.

“Not when I’m on my period,” you hiss quietly, the words feeling cracked and embarrassed as they leave your mouth. You could deny the growing arousal in your belly simply by how *mortified* you felt. Even with the churning feeling of deeply settled embarrassment, you make no further moves to stop Ellie. Not as the shorts fall to the floor with a dull thump.

“It’ll help,” Ellie soothes, the near frigid temperature of her hand calming the heat that rises on the skin of your legs. “Haven’t you heard things like this help with cramps?”

The words that are spoken almost teasingly fall upon deaf ears as her wet lips press right above your knee. “Please,” the auburn haired girl whispers, sounding a lot more breathy than before. “Please, let me taste you. Let me make you feel better. ”

Ellie had a tendency to become a little less cold, figuratively at least, when she found her body nestled between your own. The unwavering voice you had grown oh so accustomed to always slid into a more mushy sounding version whenever it got intimate. Today, it seemed even worse. The words dripped with the sweet sounds of neediness, a sound that tasted sweet on your tongue, which swiped nervously over your dry lips.

“El..” Another kiss pressed further up the flesh of your warm thigh broke any following denial. “Fuck..” your chin wobbles, almost too embarrassed to actually say your following words, “Yea. Please help.”

You were sure if you believed something was watching down on you from the sky, it was with horror. Some people may call what Ellie was doing sinful. The angels in the clouds would shrilly gasp as fingers wrapped around your panties and tugged them and everything else from your bottom half, tossing them into the growing pile of clothes. Her shirt came next, the simple white cloth acted as something to watch as it pulled off of her chest, likely to avoid any mess. Some may call the sight of her dipping down again, green eyes looking up at your quivering lip, sinful. Maybe it was, surely the mewl you made when her lips found the heated flesh of your inner thigh was. But if you had to describe it, that wasn't the word you would use. You may even swear it was heavenly.

“Relax,” Ellie drawled, spreading your thighs further apart, despite the slight tremble to them. “I’ve got you, don't worry,” her voice soothed you enough to tilt your head back against the pillow, squeezing your eyes closed. The embarrassment simmered low in your belly, even more so when you could feel the arousal that dripped from you, which your vampire visitor had no problem pointing out. “So wet for me,” she groaned, lips still refusing to find home anywhere other than your thighs. Teeth sharper than your own nipped at the skin there, bucking your hips up. “You want this, don’t you?”

It was an obvious request for another confirmation of what was to come, but your chest felt too tight to reply, no air finding your lungs the moment her breath hovered over your pulsing core. “Tell me you want it,” she requests again, voice dipping into a softer territory again, searching for your approval. Her resolve was cracking however, jaw clicking as she tried her best not to dive straight into where she craved to be.

“I do,” you whine, eyes still closed as you answered, words met with the quick and overwhelming feeling of her tongue pressing flat against your wet center. You couldn’t think too hard about the fact she was doing this right now, not when the sharp gasp had come from two mouths instead of one, a quick call of, “Fuck,” from only you this time followed. Ellie had no words, not as her tongue made another long stripe up your pussy, going much slower than you liked. It led one small roll of your hips down into her, a sign for what you searched for.

It resulted in a hand gripping your hip, pressing you further down into the mattress, ceasing any attempt to control the movements. Her mouth pressed further into you, licking at the same excruciatingly slow pace, seemingly taking her time to enjoy the taste she found between your thighs. “El,” you gasp, eyes fluttering open to glance down at her. However her eyes were closed, another press further into you came, her nose bumping your clit as she licked into you. The rush it brings is almost enough to completely paint over the lingering cramping in your stomach.

The dizzying mixture of pain and pleasure seeps into your bones, making you feel too heavy to do much else than move a hand to find Eliie’s hair, fingers tangling between the auburn strands. You tried again to guide her movements, but she was much stronger than you, paying little mind to the shaky hand that tugged at her locks.

“Taste so fuckin..” she sucked in a breath, unable to keep from dipping back into your folds, humming. “So fuckin’ good,” she finishes, words reverberating against your throbbing core. It had you trying to squirm, held down by the stone light weight of Ellie’s grip. The deeper she licked, the more you fought against her. Your body ached the do something.. anything to find comfort in the overwhelming feeling of her still slow pace. The fingers in her hair tugged again, finding a low groan in response.

The air of the room had already been heavy on your feverish skin, but now it was nearing a state of unbearably humid. Every time Ellie’s tongue made a particularly aimed movement you felt another round of fire straight in the mess that was your clenching core. It all felt so heightened, so much better. The sticky feeling on your skin did not slow either of you down, and you had little care for the sweat beading on your flesh. Not when your favorite girl’s lips were doing such mind numbing things to you.

Had you told your past self, even that of just an hour ago, that you would have allowed it to happen.. They would have laughed in your heated face. The past version of you would have sworn up and down, prayed up to the mysterious sky, that this would never happen. But now- now you have no room for denial or regret. Your mind was becoming too cloudy to house thoughts of shame, questions of if this was right. Because it felt right. The slick sound of Ellie’s mouth against you sounded right, as did your little huffs and puffs that you couldn't hide. The cramps had subsided in tandem with the tightening band in you. But you needed more, and you were gone past a point of being embarrassed to ask for it.

“I need..” you try to speak, but Ellie’s lips wrapping around your clit is the cause of the death of the forming words. A jolt of your hips is one finally strong enough to rupture the heavy hold of the vampire’s hand. Your lame attempt at a command did not go unheard by Ellie, who for the first time since this began, pulled herself away from your cunt. Her eyes darted up, looking to meet your own. But you were far too focused on something else. Her lips were glassy with your wetness, which she licked without a second thought. But the usual clear sheen that you had been no stranger to seeing on her face was more of a rosy color, a stark reminder of the reason this had begun in the first place. The slight tint of red smeared onto her chin, across the corners of her mouth, and it was oh so addicting to see. You felt no lingering shame, no shiver of disgust. Instead it made you feel even more desperate to have her against you again, but first you had to listen to her speaking. “Need what, babe?”

The urge to simply shove her face right back into your cunt flipped through the pages of scenarios in your head, but the moonlight that painted the side of your lover’s face, illuminating the red paintbrush stroke of you, had you a little too separate to risk such a bratty action.

“I need more, El. Need to cum,” you manage to whine, one light push of her head to prove your point. Ellie dipped her head down again, pressing small kisses to your sticky inner thighs. “Just love taking my time with you,” she muttered, a few more pecks planted on you were a search for forgiveness, one you graciously accepted with a loud moan when the lips finally found your clit again.

Ellie seemed to take your beg to heart, the hand that held your hip slowly dipping between your thighs. Her searching fingers met just below her chin, one long digit sliding over your slit, teasing the weeping hole with a slight press. The air feels like it has been punched from your lungs when the finger sinks into you, just as evil as her mouth as it curls into you the exact moment her lips suck a little harder. You were sure she was looking to torture you with how slowly the finger pumped in and out, working and exploring around your walls that gripped around her so tightly.

You had always heard the mythical vampire was sadistic. Ellie had never been much of that, but with ever slow movement into your aching cunt, you began to believe the whispers. Your head turned lightly to stare at the open window, the stars that dipped in the night sky were surely spotlighting your body splayed out on the bed, the auburn haired vampire between your thighs was quite the show for all the celestial beings up in the night air, every single being held its breath and watched on, you were sure of it. You didn't blame the stars, or the moon, or whatever else may have their attention focused on this tantalizing sight. If you could, you would float right out of your body to watch on yourself.

Surely you looked a mess, chest heaving with the heat of the air, with the heat of Ellie. Your limbs shook just lightly, your fingers knotted your companions hair, the messy pile of clothes on the floor, the red that painted her cheeks. Surely it would make your cheek turn bashfully if you could see it. Maybe this was sinful. The little dip into your rushing thoughts is ended with the raspy tone of Ellie’s voice.

“Relax, bunny. Gotta relax for me,” Ellie cooed against you, a few more languid presses into your cunt causing you to finally loosen around her, coupled by the continuing ministrations from her mouth on your clit. Soone another finger joins the mix, the large fingers stretching you just right. She reaches spots that have you remembering the stars you had just seen behind the black of your squeezed shut eyes, a pathetic cry falling from your lips. This reaction only encourages her to continue, the pace of her suckles and thrusts into you speed up. It's harsher everytime she plunges into you, your hips moving lightly with the pure force.

“That’s my girl, there you go,” she compliments after a long moan, the words causing another clench around her fingers. You let out another string of incoherent whines and moans, grinding down into her messy face and fingers. Somewhere in the back of your mind you cursed yourself and Ellie for the certainly ruined bedspread under your ass, but it seems like the much smaller issue when you had *this* to focus on. You were nearing your peak, and it was no secret. Your grinds against Ellie became sloppy, ununiformed and more needy than before. No words could form on your tongue, only whimpers and unintelligible begs.

The vampire never lets up, curling her fingers, your walls clenching. her teeth grazed against your clit lightly enough to have you trembling, whining softly. She knows your body as well as you do, every small sign you were reaching the final moments before your world would explode. She knew what moves of her fingers would have your legs shaking, knew where to press, how hard to go. She was no stranger to making you cum, and she definitely was on the mission to make it happen now. Her free hand grips your thigh, pushing you even more impossibly open for her, fingers pressing into you harshly enough to draw another cry. She readjusts slightly, sinking even deeper into your folds. “C’mon,” Ellie whispers, the word slightly broken, shaky and pleading. Pleading as if she needed you to come as much as you did.

Maybe she did, because the moment your back arched, a near pornographic moan filling the heavy air, spilling out of the window and swirling against the peeping eyes of the stars and moon, she moaned with you. Her fingers still within you as you gushed around her, her lips still pressed to your clit. But as your thighs shook, she slid the fingers out and replaced them with her tongue again. The pink muscle flattened against your slit again like it had earlier, this time with no attempt at going slow.

If anything, she was ravenous. Every drop your pulsing center gifted her, she sucked down like she needed it, ignoring your desperate whines of overstimulation. You attempted lamely to press her head away with the hand still tangled in her scalp, but it was no use. The pleasure of her tongue was much too overwhelming to fight.

After a moment that felt like hours, she pulled away. Her tongue licked over her lips again, collecting the rosy colored cum from where it smudged there. Her eyes stayed on your own blinking irises as her fingers raised to her already messy lips. They were coated with the same mixture of red and clear shining wetness, and she sunk them into her mouth with a moan. The debautchary that took place in front of your eyes should have your stomach queasy, should have your legs closing and pressing far away from Ellie.

But of course it doesn't, instead you watch on with morbid curiosity, watching her tongue curl around her fingers, sucking the last bits of you, leaving a glistening layer of her own spit behind. She found no shame in this situation, no shame in drinking down evey single thing you would give her, so why should you?

“Fuck,” you breathe, eyes transfixed on the fingers as they fall from her lips and down to her lap, her eyes back on your own. She makes a move to crawl over you, arms locking you in from either side.

“Just got a taste of you bunny,” she mumbles, nudging her head into the crook of your neck.

Her lips pressed there, and this time you could feel her fangs under the plump fat of her lip. “Gonna let me have more?” she questioned.

Of course you would, of course you did. As you tilted your neck for her, the curtain to the side of you blew in the wind, and you closed your eyes.

“Yes.”

[corrupte3d-mindz]

Lavish Love

Cillian Murphy x F! Spoiled Reader

Summary: Cillian plans the perfect anniversary, and then some.

Wordcount: 14.1k

Warnings:

Straight up smut with a plot, it’s really lovey dovey smut, until he calls you a bitch..once tho, switch! Cillian, slightly perverted Cillian if you squint, possessive Cillian if you squint, breeding kink like it’s said, unsafe sex, f! overstimulating, f! oral receiving, fingering, kissing, semi cock-warming, p in v, soft/dirty talk, aftercare.

!!Semi-Proofread!!

Cillian stands in the kitchen wearing nothing but his boxer briefs, a simple, black pair that clings to his lean form, accentuating the muscles of his thighs and the taut lines of his abdomen.

The early morning light filters through the sheer curtains, casting a gentle glow on his pale skin, highlighting the faint smattering of freckles that dot his shoulders. His dark hair is tousled from sleep, falling in soft waves across his forehead, framing his sharp features and intense blue eyes. The kitchen is a study in modern minimalism, all sleek lines and stainless steel, but the warmth of the wooden cabinets and the earthy tones of the décor add a comforting touch.

He stands by the counter, one hand resting casually on the cool marble surface while the other deftly operates the espresso machine. The hum of the machine and the scent of freshly ground coffee beans fill the air, mingling with the faint aroma of the lavender-scented candle she lit the night before. His gaze is fixed on his phone, the screen casting a soft glow on his face as his eyes flit across the text of a message. His brows furrow slightly, a sign of deep concentration or perhaps a hint of frustration. The coffee machine sputters and hisses, and he absently reaches for the steaming cup, his long fingers wrapping around the handle.

The muscles in his forearm ripple as he lifts the cup to his lips, taking a cautious sip. He winces slightly at the heat, then blows gently across the surface, sending tiny ripples through the dark liquid. His phone buzzes with a new notification, and he glances down, his expression softening as he reads the message. It’s a reminder he set over a year ago…his anniversary. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, and he shakes his head slightly, a lock of hair falling into his eyes. He brushes it away with an absent-minded gesture, his attention still on the screen.

The stillness of the morning was punctuated by a faint creak, the familiar sound of their bed giving way as it always did when someone rose from it. Cillian's ears perked up, and he turned his head slightly, listening intently. The sound of the bedroom door opening slowly followed, a gentle creak that spoke of age and use. His heart quickened, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He knew it was her. Her footsteps, soft and deliberate, echoed faintly through the house, a rhythm he had come to know and love. Each step seemed to carry a promise, a whisper of their shared moments. Cillian's gaze shifted from the window to the kitchen doorway, anticipation building within him. The seconds stretched, each one laden with the expectation of her arrival.

As she appeared in the open style of the kitchen, their eyes met, and the world seemed to pause. Her presence filled the room, a warmth that rivaled the morning sun. She was wrapped in one of his shirts, her hair a tousled cascade that framed her face. There was a softness in her eyes, a sleepy affection that mirrored his own.

"Good mornin', love," Cillian murmured, his voice a low, husky drawl that carried the unmistakable lilt of his Irish accent. The words were like a caress, gentle and intimate, as he took a slow sip of his coffee.

She smiled, the kind of smile that made his heart skip a beat. It was a smile that spoke of shared secrets and unspoken promises, a smile that was for him and him alone. She padded across the kitchen, her bare feet making little noise on the cool tiles. Cillian watched her every move, his gaze unwavering, drinking in the sight of her. As she drew closer, he set his coffee cup down on the counter and opened his arms. She stepped into his embrace, her body fitting perfectly against his. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, feeling the warmth of her skin against his. For a moment, they simply stood there, wrapped in each other, the world outside forgotten.

"I love you," she whispered, her voice muffled against his chest. Her words were a balm to his soul, a reminder of the depth of their connection.

"I love ye too," he replied, his brogue thick with emotion. He tilted her chin up with gentle fingers, his thumb brushing lightly across her cheek. "Yer a sight fer sore eyes, ye know that?"

She laughed softly, the sound like music to his ears. "And you're a sight for mine," she teased, her eyes sparkling with affection. "Standing here in your boxers, looking all broody and handsome."

Cillian held her tight in his arms, his grip firm yet gentle as he set her down carefully against the cool surface of the countertop, he wasted no time in capturing her lips with his own. His kiss was passionate, almost desperate, filled with an intensity that spoke volumes about the emotions coursing through him. His tongue slid past her lips, exploring the warmth of her mouth while his free hand roamed over her curves, squeezing and groping with a possessive touch.

Cillian's tongue danced around mouth with a hunger that matched his eyes, each flick and swirl sending sparks shooting down her spine. His fingers dug into her flesh roughly, bruisingly, but there was something so incredibly hot about it that sent shivers down her body. His teeth nipped at her lower lip, tugging gently as though he wanted more. But he didn't want to push it, so instead he let out a low growl that vibrated against her lips. After a few moments of teasing, he pulled away from the kiss, his breathing ragged. "Fuck, baby," he groaned, sounding more American than Irish right now.

Cillian took a step back, his breath catching in his throat as he took in the sight of her. To him, she was perfect—an embodiment of beauty and grace, someone who had managed to capture his heart so completely that it felt like a spell had been cast upon him. His admiration was almost palpable, a silent declaration of love and devotion that seemed to hang in the air between them. She was perched on the cool countertop, her legs dangling playfully, her bare feet brushing against the cabinet beneath. She wore one of his shirts, the fabric soft and worn from countless washes, now serving as an impromptu nightgown. The shirt was a little big on her but not by a lot, the hemline barely covering the lace of her underwear, just by the lace style he could tell it was one he just recently bought her.

As she hopped off the countertop, her feet hitting the cold floor with a soft thud, she looked up at him, her smile widening. She walked towards him, the shirt swaying with each step, revealing glimpses of her smooth skin. When she reached him, she placed her hands on his bare chest, feeling the warmth of his skin under her fingertips. Cillian's heart thudded loudly in his chest, a rhythm that matched the low growl emanating from his stomach. He chuckled softly, a rich sound that filled the kitchen, and reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

He chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that filled the kitchen. "Seems like I’m a bit hungry," he said, his Irish accent thick and melodious. He placed a hand over his stomach, giving her a sheepish grin. "Must’ve been all that starin’. You’ve got me completely spellbound, ya know that?"

She laughed, the sound light and musical, her eyes sparkling with affection. "Well, we can’t have you starving now, can we?" she teased, her hands still resting on his chest. "What do you feel like having for breakfast?"

“Somethin’ simple..” Cillian said while fiddling with a piece of her hair.

The both of them separated at the same time, Cillian and her chuckled softly; she stepped over to the kettle to fill it with water for her tea. As she moved, the oversized shirt she wore swayed, giving Cillian a tantalizing glimpse of her bare legs. He watched her for a moment, his heart swelling with love and a hint of possessive pride. He adored seeing her in his clothes, a visible reminder that she was his and he was hers.

While she was waiting for her tea to make, she walked over to the cupboard and reached up to retrieve a mug from the shelf, standing on her tiptoes. Cillian was beside her in an instant, his hands gentle but firm as he steadied her. "Careful now, don't want ye fallin' and hurtin' yourself."

She rolled her eyes playfully. "I'm not that clumsy, Cill~."

"Aye, well, I like to take precautions," he said, his tone teasing but his eyes serious. He couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to her. He handed her the mug, their fingers brushing together in a small but intimate gesture. She took it with a smile, her touch lingering on his for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

As the tea steeped, they turned their attention to the food. Cillian moved to the fridge, pulling out a carton of eggs, a pack of bacon and sausage. "How do ye want yer eggs this mornin', love?" he asked, looking over his shoulder at her.

"Scrambled, please," she replied, setting out the pancake mix on the counter. "And maybe a bit of cheese in them?"

"Comin' right up," he said with a wink, cracking the eggs into a bowl with deft movements. She watched him for a moment, admiring the way his muscles flexed and moved beneath his skin. Even in such a simple setting, he was captivating. While he worked on the eggs, she mixed the pancake batter, humming softly to herself. Cillian couldn't help but smile at the sight of her, so content and at ease in his kitchen. It was moments like these that he cherished most – the quiet, unremarkable mornings that spoke of a life built together on love and trust.

"Do you need any help with that, darlin'?" he asked, his voice breaking her out of her reverie.

"No, I’ve got it," she said, pouring the batter onto the hot griddle. "But you could start the bacon and sausage if you don't mind."

"Anything for ye," he replied, moving to the stove and laying the strips of bacon in the pan. The sizzle and pop of the meat filled the air, mingling with the smell of the steeping tea and cooking pancakes. He added the sausages to another pan, his movements sure and confident. They worked side by side in comfortable silence, the only sounds the quiet clatter of utensils and the hiss of the cooking food. Every so often, Cillian would glance over at her, his heart swelling with a love so fierce it almost took his breath away. She caught him looking once and raised an eyebrow. "What?" she asked, a smile playing on her lips.

"Nothin', just enjoyin' the view," he replied with a mischievous grin. "Ye look beautiful this mornin'."

She blushed, ducking her head to hide her smile. "Flatterer."

"Just speakin' the truth," he said, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "I love you, ye know that?"

"I know," she replied, her voice soft and full of emotion. "I love you too, Cill~."

They finished cooking, the plates piled high with fluffy pancakes, crispy bacon, savory sausages, and perfectly scrambled eggs. She poured herself a cup of tea, the fragrant steam rising around her. "This is perfect," she said, taking a sip and closing her eyes in bliss.

He smiled, his eyes softening. "Aye, and it only gets better from here."

They sat down to eat, their knees touching under the table. As they shared the meal they had made together, they talked about everything and nothing, their voices low and filled with affection. Cillian couldn't help but think about the day he had planned many months in advance. But for now, though, he was content to sit here with her, enjoying this perfect morning. He reached over to take her hand, his fingers lacing through hers. "To us," he said, raising his coffee cup in a toast.

"To us," she echoed, lifting her tea. They clinked their cups together, the sound a sweet promise of the future they would build together. As they ate, talked, and laughed, Cillian knew that this moment – this quiet, simple moment – was the start of something beautifully new and exciting.

The bathroom was an elegant sanctuary, with soft lighting casting a warm glow on the marble countertops and tiled floors. The scent of lavender and eucalyptus filled the air, a calming aroma that always made her feel at ease. Cillian stood by the large, glass-enclosed shower, his eyes reflecting the soft golden hues of the room. His lean, sculpted frame was a sight to behold, the result of years of disciplined fitness and a healthy lifestyle. His dark hair, slightly tousled, added a touch of ruggedness to his otherwise polished appearance. His piercing blue eyes, the color of a clear Irish sky, held an intensity that never failed to captivate her.

Cillian’s gaze was affectionate as he looked at her, a small, knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Love, I’ll start it fer us,” he said, his rich Irish accent adding a musical lilt to his words. He reached for the brushed nickel handle and turned it, adjusting the temperature until the water was just right. The sound of the water cascading down onto the tiled floor created a soothing symphony.

As the steam began to fill the room, he turned back to her, his eyes tracing the lines of her body with a reverent appreciation. “Come here, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice a gentle command that she found impossible to resist. She stepped closer, and he reached out to cup her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing lightly over her cheekbones. “Yer so beautiful,” he whispered, his breath warm against her skin.

She felt a shiver run down her spine at his touch, a delicious anticipation building within her. His hands moved from her face to her shoulders, his fingers tracing a path down her arms, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. He was always so gentle, so attentive, his touch a perfect blend of tenderness and passion. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, then her nose, before finally capturing her lips in a kiss that was both sweet and searing.

When they finally pulled apart, they were both breathless, their hearts pounding in unison. “Ye make me feel like the luckiest man in the world,” he said, his voice low and earnest. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that she almost always saw, a glimpse of the depth of his feelings for her. “I want ye to know that.”

She smiled, her heart swelling with love for him. “And you make me feel cherished,” she replied, her voice soft but filled with emotion. She reached up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead, her fingers lingering against his skin.

His eyes darkened with an emotion she couldn’t quite name, and he pulled her into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around her protectively. “Yer my everything, ye know that?” he murmured into her hair. “I’d do anythin’ to make ye happy.”

She nestled into his embrace, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her own. They stood like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other’s warmth, before he reluctantly pulled back. “We’d best get in before the water gets cold,” he said with a soft chuckle, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

She laughed, the sound light and carefree, and nodded. “Lead the way, Mr. Murphy,” she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. He grinned, his boyish charm shining through, and took her hand, guiding her towards the shower. The steam enveloped them as they stepped inside, the hot water cascading over their bodies. Cillian reached for the bottle of her favorite shampoo, the scent of lavender and vanilla filling the air as he lathered it in his hands.

“Turn around, love,” he instructed gently, and she complied, closing her eyes as his fingers worked the shampoo into her hair. His touch was firm yet gentle, his fingers massaging her scalp in slow, deliberate circles. She sighed in contentment, leaning into his touch, the sensation utterly blissful.

He rinsed the shampoo from her hair, the warm water running down her back in soothing rivulets. “How does that feel?” he asked, his voice a husky murmur in her ear.

“Perfect,” she replied, her voice barely more than a whisper. “You always know just what I need.”

He smiled, a tender expression that made her heart skip a beat. “I aim to please,” he said, his tone playful yet sincere. He reached for the body wash, his hands gliding over her skin with practiced ease, each touch sending a spark of desire through her.

They took their time, savoring each moment, each touch, each whispered word of love and affection. It was a ritual they had come to cherish, a time to reconnect and reaffirm their bond. As the water continued to cascade around them, they moved in perfect harmony, their bodies attuned to each other in a way that only years of love and intimacy could bring.

When they finally stepped out of the shower, they were both flushed and breathless, their skin glowing from the heat and their shared passion. Cillian wrapped a plush towel around her, his hands lingering on her shoulders as he pressed a kiss to her temple. “I love ye more than words can say,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. She looked up at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I love you too, Cillian,” she replied, her voice steady despite the overwhelming emotions swirling within her. They dried off in comfortable silence, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around them like a warm blanket. Cillian handed her a robe, his eyes lingering on her with a look of pure adoration.

Cillian in a fresh pair of boxer briefs and his girl in a different lace lingerie set he had bought her, they both stood in the middle of their expansive walk-in closet, surrounded by racks of meticulously organized clothing and rows of gleaming shoes. The closet, almost the size of a small bedroom, was a testament to their shared love for fashion and luxury. Shelves lined with her designer handbags and her accessories filled the room, while full-length mirrors reflected the couple's movements. The air was lightly scented with a hint of lavender, adding a calming ambiance to the space.

His girl was a vision of elegance as she sifted through the dresses, her fingers brushing against the luxurious fabrics. She paused, pulling out a sleek black dress that looked black on the outside but was a deep shade of red on the inside it also held a deep thigh slit, holding it up for his inspection. The dress was stunning, it was after all one of a kind since he got it made for her. However it was the kind that demanded attention and exuded confidence. She paired it with her red-bottom heels, the iconic shoes adding a touch of bold sophistication.

She turned to him, a hint of uncertainty in her eyes, and asked, “Do you think it’s too over the top for where we’re going or no?”

Cillian pushed off the doorjamb and walked over to her, his own selection draped over his arm. He had chosen a classic black tuxedo with a crisp white shirt and a perfectly knotted black tie. His polished red-bottom shoes added a touch of flair to his otherwise traditional ensemble. He stepped close, his hands gently taking the dress from her as he looked into her eyes. His gaze was intense, filled with adoration and an almost palpable hunger.

“Darlin’, yeh could never be too over the top,” he said, his Irish accent rolling off his tongue like a caress. “Yeh look absolutely stunnin’ in that dress. Trust me, no matter where we go, all eyes will be on yeh, and that’s exactly how it should be.”

He handed the dress back to her, his fingers brushing against hers in a lingering touch. She smiled, reassured by his words and the sincerity in his eyes. As she smiled and walked out of the closet, Cillian couldn't help but admire her beauty. His gaze lingered on her figure, appreciating the way her hips swayed gently with each step. The soft light filtering through the closet's windows illuminated her form, casting a warm glow over her skin. She laid her chosen dress and heels on the bed with a delicate touch, the fabric shimmering in the light.

As he dressed, he couldn't shake the image of her from his mind, her beauty and grace captivating him completely. Once dressed, Cillian made his way to the bathroom, where she was applying her makeup. He leaned against the door frame, watching her with a soft smile. "You look stunning," he said, his Irish accent lending a musical quality to his words.

She glanced up, a blush rising to her cheeks at his compliment. "Thank you," she replied, returning his smile. She turned back to the mirror, adding the finishing touches to her makeup with practiced precision.

“Cillian, can you help me with the dress?” She asked while walking out of the bathroom.

The soft glow of the bedside lamps cast a warm light over the expansive bedroom, illuminating the exquisite furnishings and delicate fabrics that adorned the room. He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips as he stepped closer to her. His hands, strong and sure, gently caressed her shoulders as he carefully lifted the fabric, sliding the straps into place.

His touch was tender, his movements slow and deliberate as he smoothed the fabric over her back, his fingers brushing against her skin in a way that made her heart skip a beat. As he worked, he couldn't help but admire her beauty, the way the dress accentuated her curves, the way her hair cascaded down her back in soft waves. Once the dress was in place, he moved to her feet, kneeling down to help her with her heels. He carefully slipped each shoe onto her foot, his hands lingering for a moment as he fastened the straps, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through her.

"Thank you, love," she said, her voice filled with gratitude as she turned to face him. Her eyes met his, and for a moment, they just stood there, lost in each other's gaze. Then, without a word, he took her hand and led her to the full-length mirror.

As she admired her reflection, he stood behind her, his hands resting lightly on her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. "You look absolutely stunning," he whispered, his voice husky with emotion. She smiled, a blush creeping onto her cheeks as she turned to face him.

"Thank you, Cill," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "For everything."

He smiled, a smile that reached his eyes, his love for her shining brightly. "Anything for you, love," he replied, his voice filled with sincerity.

As they walked towards the garage, Cillian could hear her heels clicking against the tile. Fuck, that sound turned him on a lot. Cillian gaze swept over the row of gleaming cars, his expression thoughtful yet eager. His girl, her arm intertwined with his, followed his gaze, her eyes widening at the sight of the luxurious vehicles before them. The Porsche 911, with its sleek lines and powerful engine, exuded an air of speed and sophistication. The Audi R8, a true marvel of engineering, stood out with its aggressive stance and futuristic design. The Aston Martin DB11, a symbol of British luxury, radiated elegance and class.

They continued down the line, exploring each car in turn. The Audi A8L, with its spacious interior and cutting-edge technology, impressed them with its comfort and sophistication. The Audi Q7, a versatile SUV, promised a smooth and enjoyable ride. The Mercedes-Benz S-Class, known for its opulence and refinement, offered a taste of luxury like no other. Finally, the Lexus RX 450h, with its hybrid technology and eco-friendly design, appealed to their sense of environmental responsibility.

After carefully considering their options, Cillian turned to his girlfriend with a grin. "I think I know which one we should pick."

She raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "Oh? Which one?"

Cillian gestured towards the Aston Martin DB11. "The DB11. It's the perfect blend of style and performance, just like us."

His girlfriend smiled, nodding in agreement. "I couldn't agree more. Let's take the DB11 for a spin."

Cillian, with a smile that bespoke of a man deeply in love, walked over to her side of the car and gently opened the door, a gesture as natural to him as breathing. "After you, love," he said in his charming Irish accent, his voice a melodic blend of warmth and affection. His girlfriend, a vision of beauty in her own right, slid into the plush leather seat, her eyes shining with excitement. Cillian closed the door with a soft thud and made his way to the driver's side. As he settled into the luxurious interior, the scent of fine leather enveloped him, a familiar and comforting aroma that never failed to please his senses. He inserted the key into the ignition, and with a press of a button, the engine roared to life, its powerful rumble reverberating through the air.

"Ready for a bit of a drive, love?" Cillian asked, his eyes twinkling with anticipation.

The afternoon sun danced through the tinted windows, casting warm rays of golden light upon the interior of the luxurious vehicle. Cillian, with his impeccable sense of style and undeniable charisma, exuded an air of quiet confidence as he navigated the bustling city streets with ease. As they drove, the air crackled with anticipation, a palpable tension that hung between them like a delicate veil. Cillian's gaze lingered on his girlfriend, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips as he admired her beauty. With a subtle movement, he reached out, his hand gliding across the smooth leather of the car's interior until it found its resting place on her thigh. His touch was gentle yet possessive, a silent declaration of his affection and desire.

With a knowing glance, Cillian guided the car towards their destination, the anticipation building with each passing moment. The streets blurred past in a kaleidoscope of colors, the rhythm of the city pulsing around them as they drew closer to their destination. And then, as if on cue, they arrived at their destination—an breathtakingly, beautiful restaurant within the heart of the city, its charming facade beckoning them inside with promises of culinary delights.

"You're going to love where we're eating," Cillian murmured, his voice a low, melodious rumble that sent shivers down her spine. His Irish accent lent an irresistible charm to his words, infusing them with warmth and sincerity. With a flick of his wrist, he cut the engine and turned to face her, his eyes sparkling with mischief and excitement.

The moment his foot touches the ground, the crowd's chatter briefly intensifies. Whispers of recognition ripple through the onlookers as they realize the presence of the renowned actor. His chiseled features remain composed, though there's a flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes as he subtly nods towards the valet and a few fans who’ve gathered, eager for a glimpse.

"Darlin’, ye look absolutely beautiful," he murmurs, his Irish lilt wrapping around the words like a soft embrace. His gaze is fixed on his girlfriend, who gracefully steps out beside him. Her dress, a sleek, black dress that complements her eyes, glows softly under the lights. He extends his hand, his fingers gently brushing against hers, the simple touch igniting a spark of electricity between them. "It's so hard for me to keep me hands off of ye," he adds, his voice low, filled with genuine admiration and a hint of playful mischief.

Despite the eyes on them, Cillian's focus never wavers from her. He leads her towards the grand entrance of the restaurant, their steps in perfect sync. As they pass through the elegantly arched doorway, the maître d’ greets them with a knowing smile, acknowledging Cillian with a respectful nod. "Mr. Murphy, welcome. Your table is ready."

Cillian inclines his head in appreciation. "Thank ye," he responds, his voice carrying the warmth of his heritage. The maître d’ gestures towards a secluded alcove, partially hidden by luxurious drapes and adorned with softly glowing candles. It’s a haven of intimacy amidst the bustling atmosphere, a place where they can enjoy their evening undisturbed. Reaching the table, Cillian releases her hand with a reluctant sigh. He steps forward, pulling out her chair with a graceful flourish, the epitome of chivalry. "Here ye go, love," he says, his voice a tender caress. She takes her seat, and as he pushes the chair in, he leans down, his lips brushing the delicate skin of her neck. The touch is feather-light, yet it sends a delicious shiver racing down her spine.

He takes his seat across from her, their eyes locking in a silent conversation that speaks volumes. The ambient light casts a soft glow on his face, highlighting the intensity in his gaze. "I wanted tonight to be perfect for ye," he confides, his accent adding a lyrical quality to his words. "Ye deserve nothin’ but the best."

Their dinner is a symphony of flavors and textures, each course meticulously crafted to delight and surprise. As they savor the exquisite dishes, their conversation flows effortlessly, punctuated by shared glances and the occasional touch. Cillian's eyes never stray far from her, his adoration evident in every gesture.

At one point, he reaches across the table, his fingers intertwining with hers. "Ye know, love," he begins, his voice a soft murmur, "Every moment with ye feels like a gift. I’m the luckiest man alive to have ye by me side." His words are sincere, filled with a depth of feeling that takes her breath away. The night progresses in a blur of laughter, shared stories, and quiet moments of connection. The world outside their private alcove fades into the background, leaving only the two of them in a cocoon of love and intimacy. Cillian's charm and wit keep her enthralled, his accent adding a layer of enchantment to every word he speaks.

Their dessert, a Mille-Feuille of Tahitian Vanilla Cream, sat temptingly between them, its delicate layers promising a delightful end to their meal. Cillian, ever the gentleman, had ordered it with her favorite flavor in mind, knowing how much she adored vanilla. As they began to share the dessert, Cillian's eyes sparkled with a mixture of amusement and adoration. He loved these moments of simple joy, the way she would close her eyes slightly as she savored each bite, the soft hum of satisfaction she made when something particularly pleased her. He was entranced by her, utterly captivated by every little detail.

"Ah, darlin', you look ravishing," Cillian said with a laugh, his Irish accent wrapping around the words in a way that made her heart flutter. His blue eyes twinkled with amusement as he looked at her, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile that spoke of his deep affection.

The rest of their dessert was consumed with playful exchanges and lingering glances, each moment a testament to the deep bond they shared. Cillian's heart swelled with love as he watched her, the way she lit up the room with her presence. After they finished their meal, Cillian reached into his wallet and pulled out a generous tip for the waiter, a gesture that spoke volumes of his appreciation for the evening's service. He stood up gracefully and walked over to her, his movements smooth and confident. With a charming smile, he pulled her chair out, helping her to her feet.

"Ready, love?" he asked, his voice soft but filled with anticipation.

As they left the restaurant, they were immediately swarmed by paparazzi, their cameras flashing incessantly, trying to capture every moment. Cillian’s demeanor shifted slightly, his protective instincts kicking in. He kept a firm but gentle grip on her hand, his body shielding her from the intrusive flashes. He led her swiftly to his Aston Martin DB11, its sleek lines and powerful presence a perfect match for the man himself.

"Ignore 'em, darlin'," he said softly, his accent thick with the effort to keep his frustration in check. "Let's get ye outta here."

He opened the car door for her, a small, reassuring smile playing on his lips despite the chaos around them. Once she was safely inside, he quickly moved to the driver’s side, sliding in and starting the engine with a low, satisfying rumble. He maneuvered the car out of the crowded street with practiced ease, his focus entirely on her well-being. As they drove off, leaving the paparazzi behind, he reached over and took her hand, squeezing it gently. "Ye alright, love?" he asked, his eyes flicking to her for a moment before returning to the road.

She nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, Cillian. Just glad to be with you."

His heart swelled at her words, and he brought her hand to his lips, kissing it tenderly. "Yer too good to me," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of burnt orange and dusky pink, the world outside the car windows seemed to pause, capturing a moment of pure tranquility. The sleek, dark silhouette of Cillian’s luxury car glided smoothly along the winding road, the engine’s soft purr blending with the gentle whisper of the wind. Inside, the atmosphere was warm and intimate, cocooned in a bubble of soft leather seats and the lingering aroma of their recent meal. The soft strains of music played in the background, a soothing accompaniment to the quiet contentment that filled the car.

Cillian’s hand slipped back to her thigh and rested there. His fingers, cool and reassuring, sought the warmth of her skin, finding comfort in the familiar gesture. He glanced at her briefly, a small, affectionate smile playing at the corners of his mouth before returning his gaze to the road ahead. The fading light cast a golden glow on his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his face and the intense blue of his eyes, making him look almost ethereal.

“I love yah, ye know that?” he murmured, his voice a low, melodic rumble, thick with his Irish accent. There was a sincerity in his tone, a depth of feeling that conveyed more than just the words themselves. It was a declaration and a reassurance, a way of anchoring himself to her in this perfect moment.

She turned her head slightly, her eyes meeting his in a brief but electric connection. She felt the warmth of his hand seep through the fabric of her dress, a physical reminder of his constant presence. She smiled, a soft, knowing smile that spoke volumes, her own hand reaching over to cover his. The contact was simple yet profound, a silent affirmation of their bond. The road stretched ahead, a ribbon of asphalt winding through the picturesque countryside. Trees lined either side, their branches forming a canopy that filtered the dying light, casting dappled shadows on the car. The air was cool and fragrant with the scent of pine and earth, the kind of evening that felt timeless and endless. Cillian’s hand gave a gentle squeeze, his thumb brushing in slow, lazy circles over her skin.

“Ye know, every moment with ye feels like a gift,” he continued, his accent wrapping around the words like a soft embrace. “I never thought I’d find someone who makes me feel this way, who makes everythin’ brighter just by bein’ there.”

His girlfriend’s heart swelled with emotion, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around her like a warm blanket. She squeezed his hand back, her own words a quiet echo of his sentiment. “I feel the same way, Cillian. You make everything better, just by being you.”

They drove on in companionable silence, the landscape shifting as the sun continued its descent. The car’s interior grew dimmer, the twilight casting long shadows that danced across their faces. Cillian’s hand remained steady on her thigh, a constant, grounding presence. He glanced at her again, his eyes filled with a love that was both fierce and tender.

“Ye mean the world to me,” he said softly, almost to himself. “I’d do anythin’ to make ye happy, to see that smile on yer face.”

She felt a rush of affection, her heart beating a little faster at his words. “You already do, Cillian. Every single day.”

As they neared their home, the familiar landmarks began to appear, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. The car turned onto the long driveway, the gravel crunching softly under the tires. As Cillian parked the car in front of their quaint, ivy-covered house, the late afternoon sun casting a golden hue across the cobblestone path leading up to the front door. As the engine hushed into silence, he turned to his girlfriend, his blue eyes sparkling with a mixture of anticipation and affection. His smile was warm, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and conveyed a world of unspoken promises.

With a fluid grace that seemed effortless, he stepped out of the car and walked around to her side. He opened her door with a flourish, bowing slightly as if she were royalty. Extending his hand, he gazed at her with a tender intensity that made her heart flutter. “I’ve got somethin’ you’ll like waitin’ on you inside,” he said, his Irish accent soft and lilting, each word a caress.

She looked up at him, curiosity alight in her eyes, and a radiant smile spread across her face. “Cill, today’s been perfect. I don’t think it can get any better,” she said, her voice filled with genuine contentment.

His grin widened, a hint of mystery playing on his lips. Taking her hand, he led her up the path to the front door, their steps in sync, like a dance they had rehearsed a thousand times. The scent of blooming roses wafted through the air, mingling with the faintest hint of cologne that clung to him. Just as they reached the doorstep, a flicker of realization crossed his features. He turned to her, his expression apologetic but playful. “Stay right here, love. I’ll be back in a jiffy,” he said, darting back to the car with a sprightliness that belied his age.

She watched him go, her heart swelling with affection. The past two years with Cillian had been a whirlwind of emotions, adventures, and countless moments of pure, unadulterated joy. He was a man of contradictions—intense yet gentle, serious yet capable of the most boyish charm. He returned quickly, stuffing something small in his pocket. His smile was back, more radiant than ever, as if he held the keys to a treasure chest of happiness. “Close yer eyes for me,” he said, his voice a soft command that she obeyed without hesitation. She closed her eyes, her mind racing with possibilities. What could he have planned? She felt a gentle tug on her hand as he led her forward, each step measured and careful. The cool breeze whispered against her skin, heightening her senses.

He had been meticulous in his planning, ensuring every detail was perfect, and now, anticipation thrummed through him as he brought her into the heart of their home. The house was quiet, save for the soft rustle of their footsteps against the hardwood floor, the familiar creaks and groans adding to the intimate atmosphere.

“Ye can open them for me,” he finally whispered, his voice a soft caress in her ear.

As she opened her eyes, the sight before her took her breath away. The room was bathed in the gentle, flickering light of countless candles, each flame dancing gracefully in the dim ambiance. The golden glow illuminated every corner, casting playful shadows that seemed to come alive with the romance of the evening. The subtle scent of vanilla and sandalwood from the candles mingled in the air, creating a warm and inviting aroma that wrapped around them like a comforting embrace. Her gaze was drawn to the floor, where rose petals were artfully scattered, forming a delicate path that led towards the dining area. The rich red hues of the petals contrasted beautifully against the dark wood, creating a scene that was both enchanting and dreamlike. Each step she took felt as though she were walking on a cloud of romance, the petals cushioning her feet and heightening her senses.

At the end of the petal-strewn path stood a table set for two, placed strategically by the fireplace. The table was elegantly dressed in a pristine white cloth, the edges embroidered with intricate lace patterns. Silverware glinted in the candlelight, perfectly positioned beside fine china plates adorned with delicate floral designs. Crystal glasses sparkled, catching the light and reflecting it back in a kaleidoscope of colors. A bottle of her favorite champagne rested in a silver bucket, the ice inside crackling softly as it melted. The sight of it brought a smile to her lips; Cillian had remembered every detail, no matter how small. The champagne was a symbol of their many celebrations together, each glass they had shared over the years filled with laughter, love, and memories.

He stepped closer to her, his arm encircling her waist, pulling her gently against him. “Do ye like it, darlin’?” he asked, his breath warm against her neck.

Beside the table, a pile of gifts beckoned, each one meticulously wrapped in elegant paper and tied with satin ribbons. There were at least twenty of them, their sizes and shapes varying, but all equally enticing. The bows on top were perfect, each loop and knot a testament to the care and effort he had put into this evening. The presents themselves were a reflection of his love for her, each one chosen with her in mind, each one a small token of his adoration and devotion.

She turned to him, her eyes wide with astonishment and love. "Cillian, this is... I don't even know what to say. It's perfect."

He smiled, a boyish grin that lit up his face and made her heart flutter. “Aye, I wanted it to be special. Ye deserve nothin' but the best, love.” His Irish lilt was soft, the words rolling off his tongue like a melody, soothing and comforting. He reached out, taking her hand in his and leading her to the table. “Come, sit. There's more to the evenin’ yet.”

As she settled into the chair, he deftly uncorked the champagne, the pop of the bottle a cheerful sound that echoed through the room. He poured the bubbly liquid into the glasses, the effervescence rising in a cascade of tiny bubbles that caught the candlelight. He handed her a glass, his fingers brushing against hers, sending a shiver of electricity up her arm.

“To us,” he toasted, his eyes never leaving hers. “Two years, and many more to come.”

They clinked their glasses together, the crystal ringing with a pure, clear note that seemed to resonate in the air around them. She took a sip, the champagne cool and crisp on her tongue, a contrast to the warmth spreading through her chest. Cillian watched her, his gaze soft and full of adoration, his heart swelling with love and anticipation. Her heart skipped a beat, her breath catching in her throat. She looked at him, her eyes searching his, seeing the depth of his feelings reflected back at her. He stood up, moving to the side of the table and reaching into his pocket. Her pulse quickened as he pulled out a small, velvet box, his fingers trembling slightly as he opened it to reveal a dazzling diamond ring.

"My love," Cillian began, his Irish accent adding a melodious tone to his words, "from the moment I met you, I knew that you were the one I wanted to spend my life with. You have brought so much joy and love into my life, and I cannot imagine a future without you by my side."

He dropped to one knee, his eyes never leaving hers. “Will ye marry me, love? Will ye make me the luckiest man in the world?”

Tears sprang to her eyes, her heart overflowing with emotion. She nodded, unable to find her voice at first. Finally, she managed to whisper, “Yes, Cillian. Yes, a thousand times yes.”

His face lit up with joy, a brilliant smile spreading across his lips as he slipped the ring onto her finger. He stood, pulling her up into his arms and spinning her around, their laughter mingling with the soft crackle of the fireplace and the gentle rustle of the petals underfoot. He kissed her, a deep and passionate kiss that spoke of his love and commitment, a kiss that sealed their promise to each other.

As they pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling. "I can't believe it," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Ye're goin' t'be me wife."

She smiled, her eyes shining with love. "And you, my husband," she replied, her voice soft and full of promise.

Cillian stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes locked on his now fiancée with a blend of affection and admiration. The soft glow from the bedside lamp cast gentle shadows across the room, highlighting the intimate setting they found themselves in. His suit jacket, a tailored piece of midnight black, slipped from his shoulders with an ease that spoke of the countless times he had performed this simple act. The fabric rustled as it fell onto the armchair nearby, the sound almost a whisper in the otherwise quiet room. He took a moment to appreciate the sight before him—his beloved lying back against the plush pillows, her features softened by the dim light. The events of the day, the lavish surprises, and the ultimate proposal had all led to this tender moment. Her eyes followed his every move, a gentle smile playing on her lips, reflecting the joy and contentment of the day's celebrations.

As he began to unbutton his crisp white dress shirt, Cillian’s fingers moved with deliberate slowness, each button revealing more of his toned chest. The act was methodical, almost ritualistic, as if prolonging this moment was a way to savor the anticipation that hung in the air. "Ye know, love," he began, his Irish lilt adding a musical quality to his words, "today's been perfect, but the real treasure is this moment right here, with ye."

His voice was soft, yet it carried the weight of his emotions. The shirt parted, revealing the expanse of his chest, the defined lines of his muscles subtly highlighted by the light. He shrugged out of the garment, letting it fall to join the jacket, and took a step closer to the bed. The intimacy of the setting was almost tangible, the room filled with a sense of serenity and unspoken promises. Cillian's eyes never left hers as he reached for her hand, lifting it to his lips. He pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles that now holds the beautiful diamond ring, his gaze intense and filled with adoration. "I cannae tell ye how much ye mean to me, darlin'. Every moment with ye feels like a gift." His accent made the words sound like a melody, each syllable wrapped in sincerity and passion.

He stopped and just looked at her beneath him. Cillian’s blue eyes, as deep and mesmerizing as the Irish sea, gleamed with a hunger that spoke volumes more than any words ever could. His gaze lingered on her, taking in every curve, every subtle movement of her body beneath him. There was a palpable tension in the air, thick with anticipation and desire. It was as if time itself had paused, holding its breath for the lovers entwined in a moment of pure, unadulterated intimacy. He could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat, each thud reverberating through his chest, matching the pulse he saw at her throat.

His hand, gentle yet firm, cupped her cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing across her skin with a tenderness that belied the intensity of his desire. The contrast of his roughened hands against her softness was a sensation that he relished. Leaning in slowly, savoring the proximity, he captured her lips with his in a kiss that was at once tender and searing. The taste of her, sweet and intoxicating, ignited something primal within him. He kissed her with a fervor that left no doubt about the depth of his feelings.

“Ah, mo stór~” he whispered against her lips, the endearment rolling off his tongue in a rich, melodic lilt. "Y've no idea how much I crave ye, how much I adore ye."

He began a slow, deliberate descent, his lips trailing a path from her mouth to her jawline. Each kiss was a promise, a testament to the passion he felt. His breath was warm against her skin, sending shivers down her spine as he moved to her neck. There, he lingered, the tip of his tongue tracing the delicate line of her pulse before he pressed a soft kiss just below her ear. She could feel the vibration of his moan, low and deep, as he relished the taste of her.

His kisses moved lower, exploring the curve of her neck, mapping out every inch with a meticulousness that made her toes curl. "God, ye taste like heaven," he murmured, his voice a husky whisper. "I could lose m'self in ye forever."

As he reached her collarbone, he paused, drawing back slightly to look at her. His eyes, darkened with desire, held a question, seeking her permission to continue. The slight nod of her head, the silent plea in her eyes, was all he needed. His hand slid down her arm, fingers brushing lightly, before he entwined his hand with hers, squeezing gently in a gesture of reassurance.

"Tell me, love," he murmured, his accent thick and intoxicating. "Tell me ye want this as much as I do."

Her breath hitched as she nodded again, her voice barely a whisper. "I want it, Cillian. I want you."

Cillian's eyes sparkled with admiration as he looked at her, his hands moving with gentle precision. His fingers traced the curves of her sides, feeling the softness of her skin beneath the fabric. With a small, loving smile, he lifted her slightly, his touch tender yet firm, conveying both strength and gentleness. As his hands reached the zipper of her sleek black dress, he moved with deliberate care, his movements slow and purposeful. He slid the zipper down, revealing the smooth expanse of her back. The dress slipped off her shoulders, guided by his hands, and he watched it fall to the floor with a soft rustle, revealing the delicate lace of her undergarments.

Her back was a canvas of beauty, adorned with the intricate patterns of her lace bralette. The deep red hue of the lace contrasted beautifully against her skin, enhancing her curves and accentuating her femininity. Cillian's eyes lingered on her, his gaze filled with admiration and desire. Gently, he lifted her again, his hands sliding around her waist, pulling her closer to him. He felt the warmth of her body against his, a comforting and familiar sensation that never failed to make his heart race. He placed a soft kiss on her shoulder, his lips lingering for a moment before moving to her neck, where he planted another gentle kiss.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity and emotion. His Irish accent added a musical quality to his words, a melodic sound that resonated with warmth and affection. He looked into her eyes, his own filled with love and devotion, and he knew that this moment would be etched in his memory forever.

As Cillian's hand traced the contours of her body, every touch ignited a symphony of sensations within her. His fingers, gentle yet firm, caressed her sides with an intimacy that spoke volumes of his love and desire. She arched her back slightly, a silent invitation for him to explore further, to delve into the depths of her being.

With a feather-light touch, Cillian's hand descended, trailing along the soft curve of her stomach. The fabric of her panties brushed against his fingertips, a tantalizing barrier between them. His touch lingered, teasingly, at the edge of her desire, as if savoring the anticipation of what lay beyond. In the dim light of the room, his eyes met hers, a silent exchange of longing and passion. There was a hunger in his gaze, a hunger matched only by her own. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly began to inch the lace panties downwards, revealing the expanse of her skin and her beautiful cunt.

There was a low growl rumbling in his chest, his eyes darkened with lust as they devoured her body. His voice dropped lower still, the words rolling off his tongue with a guttural edge. "Fuck, darlin', yer body is perfect."

Cillian's hand danced across her sensitive folds, tracing the outline of her slit with a delicate touch. His eyes remained locked onto hers, watching her reactions closely. His thumb brushed over her swollen clit.

His voice was a deep murmur, filled with raw desire. "So fucking wet already."

With a low, rumbling chuckle, Cillian's deep voice echoed through the bedroom. His accent was unmistakably Irish, each word rolling off his tongue with an effortless grace. "Oh darlin', ye seem to have gotten yerself all worked up over this, haven't ya?" His tone was teasing but also held a hint of concern. The flickering light from the candles cast shadows across his face, highlighting the strong jawline and piercing blue eyes.

Without breaking eye contact, he continued tracing slow sloppy and broken circles around her clit with his thumb, applying just enough pressure to send jolts of pleasure coursing through her body. But there was no rush, no need to push her towards climax. Instead, he took his time, letting his touch become both soothing and arousing all at once.

"There ye go now, let yer body relax into me. Just feel those sensations..."

Cillian's fingers moved expertly against her sensitive cunt, each movement sending shivers up her spine. His touch is light yet firm, his thumb teasing circles around her swollen clit while his fingers slide effortlessly within her. The second digit curls just right, hitting that sweet spot deep inside her. He slips another finger into her tight cunt, stretching her deliciously as his thumb continues its relentless assault on her throbbing clit. His pace quickens, his breath hitching as he feels her walls clench tightly around him.

"Ah, darlin', ye're so wet... So ready fer me…" His voice is a low murmur, thick with desire and laced with his distinctive Irish accent.

His fingers moved with practiced precision, each touch a symphony of sensation orchestrated for her pleasure. His touch was both gentle and firm, teasing and exploring, as if he were playing a finely tuned instrument. Her responses were music to his ears, each sigh and moan a note in the melody they created together. He could feel her trembling beneath him, her body arching into his touch, seeking more, and he obliged with a deep, resonant chuckle that seemed to vibrate through his chest and into her very core.

"Ye look so beautiful, love," he murmured, his voice a soft, lilting brogue that sent shivers down her spine. "Every single part o' ye... just perfect."

His eyes moved over her face, drinking in the sight of her flushed cheeks and the way her teeth caught her lower lip. He shifted slightly, adjusting his position to get a better angle, his breath hot against her skin. The intimate warmth of the room, the closeness of their bodies, created a heady atmosphere that enveloped them both. His free hand trailed up her side, fingers ghosting over the curve of her waist, the softness of her skin under his calloused palm. He loved the way she responded to his touch, the way her body seemed to sing beneath his fingertips. "D'ye like that, darlin'?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with a raw, unfiltered passion. His eyes locked onto hers, intense and unwavering, searching for the answer he already knew but loved to hear.

She nodded, a breathless "yes" escaping her lips, and he smiled, a slow, satisfied curve of his mouth. "Good," he said, his voice low and rough. "I want ye t' feel every bit o' this, t' know how much ye mean t' me." His fingers moved in a slow, deliberate rhythm, coaxing and caressing, pushing her closer to the edge with every passing second.

Cillian leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss that was both tender and demanding. He poured every ounce of his love and adoration into that kiss, his tongue teasing hers, his teeth nipping at her lower lip. When he pulled back, his breath was ragged, his eyes dark with desire. "I love ye more than words can say," he murmured, his accent thick with emotion. "More than anything in this world." He watched as his words sank in, saw the way her eyes softened, her lips curving into a smile.

His fingers, long and skilled, moved inside her with a precision that made her toes curl. He watched her, his gaze unwavering, as her face contorted in pleasure. Every moan, every gasp she made seemed to fuel his own desire. His lips parted slightly, his breath coming out in shallow, heated puffs. The sight of her, the way she reacted to his touch, was almost too much for him to bear. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, his Irish accent thick and intoxicating.

"Ye gonna come for me, love...come on my fingers..."

The way he spoke, the way his voice dropped to a husky whisper, sent shivers down her spine. It was a command, a plea, and a promise all rolled into one. His words were a sweet torture, pushing her closer to the edge. She could feel the tension building, her body responding to his every touch, his every word. Cillian's eyes darkened as he felt her walls tighten around his fingers. He could tell she was close, teetering on the brink of ecstasy. His thumb found her clit, circling it with just the right amount of pressure to push her over the edge. He watched, mesmerized, as her back arched off the bed, her mouth falling open in a silent scream.

"That's it, love...come on my fingers," he murmured, his voice a low growl.

Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, crashing over her with a force that left her breathless. She cried out his name, her hands clutching at the sheets, her entire body trembling with the intensity of her release. Cillian's smile widened, a look of pure satisfaction crossing his features. He kept his fingers inside her, prolonging her pleasure, drawing out every last bit of her orgasm until she was a quivering mess beneath him. As she came down from her high, her chest heaving with every breath, Cillian withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his lips. He licked them clean, his eyes never leaving hers, a look of pure, unadulterated hunger in his gaze.

"Ye taste so sweet, darlin'," he said, his voice rough with desire.

He leaned down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. She could taste herself on his tongue, a reminder of just how intimately connected they were. His kiss was demanding, his tongue exploring her mouth with a hunger that left her breathless all over again. When he finally pulled away, she could see the fire in his eyes, the raw need that still burned within him.

"I love spoilin' ye, mo stór~," he murmured, his accent thick and lilting. "I love watchin' ye come apart beneath me."

Cillian’s breath came in hot, fervent gasps as he trailed kisses along her neck, savoring the taste of her skin. His fingers, skilled and insistent, returned to their familiar territory, delving into the slick heat of her cunt. Her moans were intoxicating, spurring him on as he sought to draw more from her. Each gasp, each shiver of her body against his, ignited a deeper hunger within him. His free arm snaked around her waist, firm and possessive, lifting her effortlessly as he shifted their position. Propping her up against the headboard, he paused for a moment, his intense blue eyes locking onto hers, conveying a promise of deeper pleasure.

“Look at ye, darlin’,” he murmured, his Irish accent thick and honeyed with desire. “Ye’re so beautiful like this, so needy.” He brushed his lips against her ear, his voice a low growl. “I’m gonna give ye what ye crave.”

As his fingers entered her again, he moved slowly, savoring every inch of the exquisite heat surrounding him. His movements were deliberate, measured, each thrust designed to bring her closer to the edge. The headboard creaked under their combined weight, a testament to the raw intensity of their coupling. She arched against him, her nails digging into his back, urging him on. Cillian responded with a growl of pleasure, increasing his pace, driving deeper into her with each thrust. He could feel her tightening around him, her body responding to the onslaught of sensations. Her cries filled the room, a symphony of pleasure that echoed off the walls. He watched her face, the way her eyes fluttered closed, the way her lips parted with each gasp and moan. She was exquisite, and she was his. Cillian's control was ironclad, his focus solely on her, on drawing out her pleasure until she was utterly lost to it. His fingers found her clit, teasing and tormenting the sensitive bundle of nerves, sending jolts of electric pleasure through her already overwhelmed body.

“God, ye’re so tight,” he breathed, his voice rough with lust. “So perfect around me.”

Her responses drove him wild, her body bucking and writhing beneath him, completely at his mercy. He pressed his lips to her shoulder, biting down gently, a possessive mark that made her shudder. Every movement, every sound she made fueled his desire, pushing him to the brink of his own restraint. He reveled in the feel of her, the taste of her skin, the way she trembled under his touch. She was a masterpiece of sensation, a canvas on which he painted his passion with each thrust, each caress. Her climax was building, he could feel it in the way her muscles clenched around him, in the breathless way she called his name. Cillian didn’t let up, didn’t ease his relentless pace. He wanted her to shatter, to lose herself completely in the pleasure he was giving her. His lips found hers in a bruising kiss, swallowing her cries of ecstasy as she tumbled over the edge. She convulsed around him, her entire body taut with the force of her orgasm, and he held her through it, driving her higher and higher.

“Tha’s it, love,” he murmured against her lips. “Let go for me. Give me everything.”

He didn’t stop, even as she writhed and bucked, her pleasure turning to a sweet, unbearable overstimulation. He watched the way her body responded, how her eyes rolled back, and her nails clawed at his skin. She was so sensitive, so exquisitely responsive, and he wanted to see just how far he could push her. His thrusts became more erratic, driven by a primal need to see her come apart beneath him.

“Can ye take more, love?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper. “Can ye handle a bit more for me?”

Her answer was a breathless, needy nod, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of desperation and desire. It was all the encouragement he needed. His fingers moved faster, his thrusts deeper, pushing her beyond the bounds of her pleasure, into a realm where sensation was all-consuming.

“Cillian,” she gasped, her voice a broken plea.

“I know, love, I know,” he soothed, his own control fraying. “Just a bit more, just for me.” Her third climax hit her like a tidal wave, leaving her gasping and trembling in his arms. He held her close making sure she didn’t lose it mentally.

Cillian’s breath was heavy, mingling with hers in the intimate space between them. His blue eyes, darkened with desire, bore into hers with a raw intensity that made her heart race. He slowly withdrew his fingers, slick with her juices, and brought them to his lips, never breaking eye contact. The way he tasted her, savoring every drop, was both a declaration and a promise. "Yer taste, love, it's somethin' else," he murmured, his voice thick with his accent, adding an extra layer of seduction to his words.

With deliberate slowness, he took her wrists in his hands, his touch firm yet gentle. He pressed them together and, with a controlled strength, guided them above her head, pinning them against the headboard. The wood creaked under the pressure, but it was nothing compared to the sound of their combined breaths, quickening in anticipation. His eyes, a stormy sea of blue, glinted with hunger and something deeper – a possessive need to consume her entirely.

His mouth found her neck, and he kissed a line down her skin, each touch of his lips leaving a burning trail in its wake. He paused to whisper in her ear, his breath warm and shivering, "Ye drive me mad, darlin'. I've never wanted anyone like this." His accent rolled over the words, making them sound almost musical.

As he kissed his way down her body, he took his time, worshipping every inch of her. His lips and tongue traced patterns on her skin, a blend of tender kisses and teasing licks. He savored the way she reacted, the way her body arched towards him, craving more of his touch. When he reached her breasts, he lavished them with attention, sucking and nibbling on her nipples until they were hard and sensitive.

"Ye like that, don’t ye?" he asked, his voice a low, rumbling growl that vibrated against her skin. She could only moan in response, her words lost in the sensations he was creating. Satisfied with her reaction, he continued his descent, his kisses becoming wetter and sloppier as he moved down her stomach, leaving a glistening trail that shimmered in the dim light of the room.

When he reached her thighs, he nipped and kissed the sensitive skin there, his eyes flicking up to watch her face. The anticipation was almost unbearable, and he reveled in the power he had over her, the way he could make her squirm with just a look, a touch. He spread her legs wider, positioning himself between them, and took a moment to appreciate the sight before him. "Christ, yer beautiful," he murmured, his voice reverent. Then, without warning, he dove in, his tongue finding her clit with unerring accuracy. He licked a broad, firm stripe up her slit, collecting her juices on his tongue before circling her clit with expert precision. She gasped, her hips bucking against his face, and he smiled against her, enjoying the way she reacted to his touch.

His tongue was relentless, alternating between long, languid licks and quick, flicking motions that had her seeing stars. He sucked her clit into his mouth, applying just the right amount of pressure to drive her wild. His hands, no longer pinning her wrists, roamed her body, squeezing her breasts, caressing her sides, holding her hips down when her movements became too frantic. He looked up at her, his eyes meeting hers as he continued his assault. "Tell me how it feels, love," he said, his voice muffled against her skin but no less commanding. She tried to form words, but all that came out were breathless moans and whimpers, her body too consumed by pleasure to comply.

His response was a satisfied hum, and he redoubled his efforts, determined to bring her to the edge and push her over. He added his fingers back into the mix, sliding them into her with ease, curling them just right to hit that spot inside her that made her cry out his name. "That's it, yeh, you gonna come on my tongue..” he encouraged, his voice rough and filled with desire.

Her orgasm built slowly, a rising tide of pleasure that swept through her with increasing intensity. Cillian never let up, his tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony to drive her higher and higher. She felt like she was going to burst, the pleasure almost too much to bear, and yet she didn't want it to stop, didn't want him to stop. When her climax finally hit, it was like a dam breaking. She screamed his name, her body convulsing with the force of her release. He held her down, his mouth and fingers continuing to work her through it, drawing out her pleasure until she was a trembling, quivering mess beneath him.

As her orgasm subsided, he pulled back slightly, his face glistening with her juices, a satisfied smile on his lips. He climbed back up her body, capturing her lips in a deep, hungry kiss, letting her taste herself on his tongue. "Ye taste amazin', love," he whispered against her mouth, his voice a husky growl that sent shivers down her spine.

Cillian groaned softly, a sound that reverberated with a low, primal hunger. His fingers, deft and sure, moved to the buckle of his black suit pants. He leaned back slightly, giving himself the space to maneuver, his gaze never leaving her face. There was an intensity in his blue eyes, a mix of desire and adoration that spoke volumes. He undid his belt with one hand, the motion fluid and practiced, then allowed the pants to slide down his legs with a deliberate slowness, a tease in itself. A smile, half-crooked and entirely charming, spread across his lips as he tossed the discarded garment onto the nearby chair, where the rest of their clothes were already haphazardly draped.

His boxers, stretched tight across the bulge of his arousal, bore a damp stain that betrayed his eagerness. The fabric clung to him, outlining every inch of his need. He paused for a moment, letting the anticipation build, savoring the sight of her beneath him. She was a vision, her body laid out invitingly, her skin glistening with a sheen of perspiration that spoke of earlier exertions. Her eyes, wide and dark with lust, followed his every move, her breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts.

Cillian's smile widened, a devilish glint in his eye. "Yer lookin' at me like I'm a feast, love," he murmured, his Irish accent thick and melodic. "An' who am I t' disappoint?" He crawled atop her, the bed dipping slightly under his weight, the muscles in his arms and back flexing with controlled strength. He positioned himself carefully, his throbbing cock now resting against her dripping cunt, the heat and wetness of her core a tantalizing promise. The contact sent a jolt through him, his breath hitching at the exquisite sensation. He moved just enough to tease, the head of his cock brushing against her entrance, spreading her slickness. She gasped, her hips instinctively arching towards him, seeking more. But he was in no hurry. He wanted to draw this out, to make every moment count.

"Patience, darlin'," he whispered, his voice a rough, soothing purr. "We've got all night." He pressed a kiss to her collarbone, his lips warm and soft against her skin. He trailed kisses upwards, his stubble scraping lightly, deliciously, until he reached her mouth. He captured her lips in a deep, searing kiss, his tongue exploring with a leisurely thoroughness that made her toes curl. She moaned into his mouth, her hands threading through his hair, tugging him closer. The sound of her arousal was like music to his ears, spurring him on. He shifted slightly, his cock sliding along her folds, the friction exquisite. He was hard as steel, the need to bury himself inside her almost overwhelming, but he resisted. He wanted her on the edge, desperate and pleading.

"Tell me what ye want, love," he said, his voice a husky whisper against her lips. "I wanna hear ye say it." He drew back just enough to look into her eyes, his gaze intense and filled with a possessive hunger.

She whimpered, her hips moving restlessly. "I want you, Cillian," she breathed, her voice trembling with desire. "Please, I need you."

"Ah, there's a good girl," he murmured, satisfaction lacing his tone. He rewarded her with a slow, languorous thrust, just enough to give her a taste of what she craved. The head of his cock slipped inside her, her heat and tightness enveloping him. He groaned, the sound low and guttural, his control slipping slightly.

He pulled back, teasing her again, earning a frustrated moan. "More," she begged, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Please, Cillian, don't tease me."

He chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm. "All in good time, love. All in good time." He kissed her again, his tongue delving deep, mimicking the movements he promised with his body. His hand moved to her breast, cupping and kneading, his thumb flicking over her nipple, drawing another gasp from her. He shifted his hips again, his cock sliding deeper, stretching her, filling her. She cried out, her body arching towards him, every nerve ending alight with pleasure. He set a slow, steady rhythm, each thrust deliberate, controlled, driving her wild with need. Her gasps and moans were a symphony, her body a masterpiece he was intent on worshipping.

"Cillian," she gasped, her voice breathless, "please, I need all of you."

Cillian groaned softly, hearing that’s she needed all of him..the sound escaping his lips like a low rumble, vibrating through the room and sending shivers down his fiancée’s spine. His gaze, intense and piercing, locked onto hers, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile that was both tender and mischievous. He cupped her cheek with a gentle hand, his thumb brushing over her soft skin in a caress that was both possessive and loving. His eyes, a mesmerizing blue, held a depth of emotion that words could scarcely convey, filled with love, desire, and a hint of playful arrogance.

He groaned softly, the sound a mix of pleasure and anticipation, as he felt her fingers digging into his back, urging him closer. His lips curled into a smile, one that spoke of both affection and a wicked promise. His hand, strong yet gentle, reached up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing against her flushed skin. Cillian pulled out, making her feel empty causing her to become needy. "You want me cock so bad, why... you wanna bear me kids, don’t yah?" His voice was a low, rumbling whisper, his Irish accent thickening the words and adding a layer of raw sensuality to his question.

As he spoke, his hand left her face, trailing a path down her body with deliberate slowness. His fingers traced the contours of her curves, a touch both possessive and reverent. When he reached her hips, he squeezed them gently, marveling at their perfect shape. “You’ll look so good pregnant, darlin’,” The image of her, swollen with his child, sent a surge of primal desire through him. He could imagine her belly growing round, her breasts fuller, the glow of motherhood enhancing her natural beauty. It was a vision that stirred something deep within him, a fierce protectiveness mingling with his lust. He murmured, his eyes darkening with desire as he imagined the future he wanted so desperately.

He shifted, positioning himself at her entrance once more, the tip of his cock just barely brushing against her. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, her body aching for him to fill her.

"Cillian, please..." she whispered, her voice trembling with need.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and dangerous. "Patience, love. I wanna make this last."

He pushed into her slowly, inch by agonizing inch, filling her completely. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect blend of pleasure and pain. She moaned, her nails digging into his back, urging him to move faster. But he held back, taking his time, savoring every moment.

"God, ye feel so good," he groaned, his voice thick with emotion.

He began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate, each one hitting a spot deep inside her that made her see stars. He watched her, his eyes never leaving her face, taking in every expression, every sound she made. It was as if he was memorizing her, committing every detail to memory.

"Look at me, love," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for disobedience.

She opened her eyes, meeting his intense gaze. The connection between them was electric, a palpable force that seemed to bind them together. She could see the love in his eyes, the overwhelming need he had to make her feel cherished and adored.

"Yer mine," he growled, his pace quickening. "Mine to spoil, mine to love."

His words pushed her closer to the edge, the intensity of his thrusts driving her wild. She could feel another orgasm building, the tension coiling in her belly, ready to snap at any moment. Cillian's hand found her clit again, his fingers working in tandem with his thrusts to bring her to the brink.

"Come for me again, love," he urged, his voice a low rumble. "I wanna feel ye come around me."

Cillian watches as she squirms beneath him, her moans growing louder with each thrust. Her legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer as she arches her back, desperate for more stimulation. Cillian obliges, increasing the pace of his fingers on her clit while driving deeper into her. Her walls tighten around his cock, signaling her impending climax. With a final thrust, Cillian feels her cum around his dick, her inner muscles milking him as she cums hard. With a guttural groan, he shoots his hot seed all in her stomach, painting her in thick, ropes of cum. Each spurt sends shivers down his spine, his body convulsing as he rides out the waves of pleasure coursing through him.

Cillian lets out a low growl, his Irish accent thickening as he pants above her. His blue eyes darken with desire, a clear sign that he isn't finished yet. Despite being spent, he can't resist the urge to thrust into her once more. His movements are slow and deliberate, making sure to hit all the right spots. His cock twitches inside her, betraying its eagerness despite having already cum. A grunt escapes his lips as he pushes deeper, stretching her walls even further. His hand finds her clit again, rubbing small circles over it as he picks up the pace.

Cillian grunts, his muscles straining under the exertion as he thrusts into her once more. His breathing grows heavier, each exhale leaving his lips in a misty cloud. He leans down to capture her lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue exploring the depths of her mouth while his hips continue their rhythmic dance. His hands roam over every inch they can reach - tracing along curves and valleys until they find themselves back on her sensitive breasts.

"You're so fucking tight," he murmurs against her skin, punctuating each word with another deep thrust.

Cillian grins down at her, his pale blue eyes sparkling with mischief. He gives a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest as he moans softly. His fingers move in uneven, messy strokes over her clit, deliberately leaving marks on her sensitive flesh. Despite the sloppiness of his touch, she can tell he knows exactly what he's doing. With each thrust, he gets messier and sloppier - then he starts getting more rough…he lays down on her chest and starts slamming his cock into her. “Take, it all mo stór~” he said while beginning to spill his hot seed deep within her sloppy cunt.

Cillian grins down at her, his eyes filled with a primal satisfaction. He keeps pounding into her making sure she is getting every last drop of his seed, each thrust going deeper than the last. A low growl rumbles from deep within his chest as he quickens his pace. With each pump of his hips, he makes sure to grind against that sweet spot inside of her until she's writhing beneath him.

He leans down and nips at her neck playfully before whispering, "You're mine now...my little breeding bitch..."

His fingers dig into her hips as he is slowly coming off of his high, but he still has one left in the tank. Cillian slowly speeds up once more..before with a few more powerful thrusts, he finally releases his last load, his hot cum spurting deep inside her. He keeps thrusting through his orgasm, ensuring every drop goes straight to her womb.

Cillian lay atop his one true love, their bodies entwined in a tangle of limbs, their breaths mingling in the hazy aftermath of ecstasy. With a soft exhale, he slowly lowered himself beside her, still intimately connected, his cock pulsing with the lingering echoes of their shared pleasure. As he gazed upon her, sprawled out before him, he couldn't help but chuckle softly, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of his lips. She lay there, utterly spent, her chest rising and falling in a rhythmic cadence, her skin flushed with the remnants of their fervent lovemaking. It was moments like these, when she was laid bare before him, her defenses stripped away, that he felt the true depth of his love for her.

Reaching out, he tenderly brushed a lock of hair away from her face, his touch feather-light against her heated skin. "You're beautiful," he murmured in his rich Irish brogue, his voice low and husky with desire. "Absolutely beautiful."

She stirred at his words, her eyelids fluttering open to reveal eyes heavy with satisfaction. A languid smile graced her lips as she shifted closer to him, seeking the warmth of his embrace. "And you,……." she whispered, her voice barely more than a breathless sigh, "…..are irresistible."

Cillian's heart swelled with affection at her words, a surge of emotion welling up inside him as he gazed down at her. How had he been so lucky, to find someone who understood him so completely, who loved him with such unbridled passion? He couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the depth of his feelings for her, a love so fierce and all-consuming that it threatened to consume him whole.

Leaning in, he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering against her skin as if trying to capture the moment forever. "I love you," he murmured against her, his words a whispered vow of devotion. "More than anything in this world."

She melted against him at his declaration, her heart swelling with emotion as she felt the weight of his love pressing down upon her. "I love you too," she whispered in return, her voice choked with emotion. "More than words can say."

Author’s Notes:

I don’t know if you knew since the beginning but do you have any freaking idea how hard it is to not mention that Cillian wanted to propose especially in the beginning holy cow, man!

Dude I freaking love this fic, it’s so cute and fluffy until y’all be fuckin’

Y’all I didn’t even know this man had like 7 cars.. bougie as fuck but that’s okay! And yes I may have changed what he likes to eat for breakfast.

Any yes, I’m confused on how I missed 6 whole days…then again I’m swimming so probs that…sorry lolz

[zerosuitsammi3]

omgggg is it a blush filter you have, or are you actually that consistent with makeup, or that radiatingly perfect

I use a freckle filter that adds a little blush in most of my selfies. But I really only use it because my makeup covers up my actual freckles. I've got a few sets of unfiltered pics. Honestly I need to just stop using filters all together... but I like the freckles 👉👈

[your-divine-ribs]

The Christmas Wish Part 3

Words: 3.3k

Sorry I’m slow to write new stuff at the moment but hope you enjoy the next part of this story 🤍

The Christmas Wish Masterlist Main Masterlist

🤍 Sacha's POV 🤍

I have to bite back a giggle as I see Van settling his lanky frame into one of the tiny plastic chairs the kids use to sit in, his long legs bent and folded up awkwardly.

"Oh you don't have to sit there, I've bought a bigger chair in especially."

I drag over a larger version and he thanks me as he takes a seat, his eyes darting all around the classroom, taking everything in.

"God, this takes me back, except we had blackboards in my day."

"In your day," I echo, smirking. "Watch out, you're showing your age!"

He chuckles good-naturedly. "Yeah, feels like a long time ago, a very, very long time ago. Good times though, some of the best... carefree. You really don't realise it at the time do you? How easy you've got it when you're a kid, how simple things are..."

He trails off with a wistful smile and I detect an undercurrent of sadness that runs much deeper than a brief reflection of an untroubled youth.

"Adulthood is definitely over-rated," I venture, and then it's gone, his charming grin back in an instant, chasing away the cloud.

"I'll say. I guess we didn't read the small print eh? What the hell did we sign up for?"

He's gorgeous up close, even more so than in that damn video that had me captivated earlier in the staff room. His striking eyes that I'd been sure were blue at first seem more green now in the crisp wintry light filtering in through the classroom windows, specks of amber glinting in his irises. A faint dusting of freckles adorn his pale skin and I find myself wondering how they'd look darkened in the summer months, how his mousy brown hair might take on a golden hue.

Christ Sacha... pull yourself together and be professional for fuck's sake... and stop gawping. He's just a man.

"So... let's talk about Grace shall we? That's what you're here for."

I shift awkwardly in my seat, hands clasped in my lap, suddenly wishing I had something to play with. It's habit of mine when I'm feeling nervy, and I settle on smoothing out non-existent creases in my skirt.

"I think I know what all this is about," Van starts, brows pinched into a small frown. "It's that little shi... errr... that Ryan Carter isn't it? Gracie's class-mate? I've heard all about how he's been winding her up."

I bite the inside of my cheek to stem the grin that tries to surface in reaction to his almost curse word, the fact that I share his sentiment exactly when it comes the class nuisance. Not that I can let that show.

"It's not just Ryan though, it's Grace too I'm afraid. If you've spoken to her about him I take it that she's told you about why you've been called in to see me today?"

His frown deepens. "She's not a trouble maker, she's a good kid. She knows right from wrong and she's not scared to stand up for herself. I know sometimes she might be a little..." he pauses like he's searching for the right word "... feisty, but her heart's in the right place. Always has been, it's how we brought her up."

"She's physically lashed out at Ryan, not just once but twice now," I tell him, watching the frown dissipate as his brows raise up sharply in surprise. "I'm guessing she didn't tell you that bit though."

"When you say lashed out, what are we talking about here exactly?"

"Last week she trapped his fingers in the desk drawer, purposefully I might add. Yesterday she kicked him in the shin, hard. It nearly made him cry."

I fold my hands over my chest, trying again not to react to the ghost of a smile that twitches at the corners of his lips. I know exactly what he's thinking.

The little shit probably deserves it.

I'm thinking the same thing too. I wish we could just cut through all the bullshit and speak honestly and frankly but of course we can't. We're not two parents gossiping on the school playground, I'm the children's teacher and I have to act accordingly. I have a responsibility to all the kids.

"Ryan can be a disruptive member of class, but we can't just stand by and let the other kids take out their anger on him. Violence doesn't solve anything and they need to be taught that there's other, more acceptable ways to work out a disagreement. If we don't nip this in the bud it could escalate."

"I didn't realise," he says in dismay. "That's not like my Gracie at all, she's usually such a caring little girl, she wouldn't hurt a fly... well I mean she fights with her little brother all the time but I guess that's just siblings for you. She's not a bully. It's not in her nature, well not usually anyway."

It's never easy hearing tough news about your kids and I'm pleasantly surprised he's not on the defensive like some parents get. I was fully expecting him to be outraged and argumentative, the typical hot-headed type, spouting on about how perfect his kids are and how they'd never step out of line, all the while not having a clue what's really going on in his children's lives. There's none of that though. He looks crestfallen and a pang of sympathy runs through me. Maybe I shouldn't have been so biased and given him a chance before I made assumptions about him. He's actually right. Grace is a good kid and this behaviour is totally uncharacteristic of her.

"I'm not saying she's a bully," I say, carefully choosing my words. "I really don't think she's getting any kind of enjoyment out of it, it's not that. Your daughter's a kind, sweet caring girl, I've seen that right from the start of the school year. This is most unlike her and this is what I'm trying to work out. I feel like there must be something causing it, some outside factor making her act out of character."

His expression immediately darkens, his fists clenching where they're resting on his thighs, quite obviously perturbed. "Is she being bullied? Is one of the other kids picking on her, is that it? Is someone hurting her?"

"No!" I hurried reply. "That's not it, I'm positive it's not. We keep a very close eye on our children here and I'd know right away if anything like that was happening."

"Are you sure?" He asks, sitting forward in his seat.

"I'm certain," I say with conviction, then I pause, wondering how I'm going to put what I want to say into words without causing offence. Even if I tread carefully it might still not be careful enough. "I was... errr... I was wondering whether there's something going on at home at the moment? If she's worrying about something it could be manifesting itself in all sorts of ways. Kids act out sometimes when they're confused or angry or upset about something, and she did... errr... she did mention something the other day..."

"What did she say?"

I wince inside. Why did I have to bring up such a personal matter? It's not really my place unless the information's volunteered, that's what we had drilled into us during teacher training.

Don't get too involved unless there's genuine concerns about a child's welfare.

But I am concerned. And I want to help.

I keep my voice soft as I begin to talk, watching Van closely. "She was talking about Christmas... about making a wish for Santa... something about making you and her mum love each other again..."

I see a flash of grief in his eyes before he screws them shut tight like he's trying to block out painful memories. I almost reach out a pacifying hand to him but I stop myself just in time. I'm already over-stepping the mark in being too familiar.

"I... I'm sorry. I shouldn't be bringing it up," I backtrack. "I'm really not trying to pry, I just thought you should know."

He curses low under his breath, eyes still closed as both hands reach up to push through his hair before falling limply to his sides. He looks defeated when he finally looks at me again.

"Me and Helen... the kids' mum... we've recently got divorced." He speaks the last word with obvious distaste and I pull a sympathetic face, lost for anything meaningful to say so uttering a quiet "sorry to hear that."

He huffs wearily. "It was never supposed to turn out that way, we had it made. The band were flying, the kids were happy, we were happy. Life was pretty fucking perfect... uhhh sorry," he mumbles an acknowledgement of the profanity which I quickly dismiss with a wave of my hand. "I was just so caught up in everything that I didn't see what was happening right in front of my face. Helen always felt I put the music first. It was my own stupid fault, if I'd noticed she was feeling that way instead of focussing on the damn band..."

"It must have been tough trying to juggle everything," I sympathise, feeling surprised and a little uncomfortable with how honest he's being. I was expecting him to shut down, not open up. "I'm not even a mum but working with kids I can see how demanding they are... it's a lot of work. And being in a touring band's not your average career, is it?"

"You're telling me," he nods in agreement. "The last year and a half were mental with the new album and all the gigging and promo we did... and that's aside from all the problems we were trying to fix. I tried to spend as much time at home as I could but it wasn't enough. I convinced myself I'd got the balance right, but looking back I know I was delusional. I guess there's only so many unanswered calls and missed anniversaries before something's got to give. And then by the time I realised things were that bad it was too late..."

Being proven right has never felt so bad. As Van speaks candidly about his shortcomings as a husband I don't feel the slightest bit of smug satisfaction that I'd shown Ellie earlier when I was being judgemental, I just feel sorry for him and the family that he's let down. And he's not finished yet, downcast gaze fixed on the floor as he continues.

"I'd had this dream of the band for so long, and then it was all falling into place… then falling apart. When I set my mind on something I go all out. I'm kinda like... I dunno... blinkered to what's going on around me..." He stops, eyes flicking up to meet mine again, his voice growing in strength like he needs to convey the truth of what he's saying. "I didn't neglect those kids though, I never did that! I love those kids. They mean the world to me."

I do reach out this time, a placating hand resting gently on his forearm. It's an instinctive reaction to his heartfelt admission, the way I note a glossiness in his eyes and a crack in his voice which I wasn't expecting from a simple classroom chat. It's quite obvious this man wears his heart on his sleeve with how open he's being about a difficult subject and my desire to help blooms warm and insistent in my chest.

"Look Mr McCann... uhhh... Van," I start, feeling a little out of my depth and picking out my words with care. "I hope you don't think I'm speaking out of turn when I say this, but speaking from experience I think the best thing you can do is just be there for your children as much you can. Let them know they can come and speak to you if they're ever worried about anything... and even though your life might be turned upside down it's really important that they don't feel that. They need consistency and stability and just to know how much they're loved. They're probably feeling a little lost and confused right now, kids' worlds are so small and they need to feel cared for and secure above all else."

I come to a stop and immediately feel self-conscious. It's the way he's looking at me, jaw a little slack and eyes a little wide like he's hanging on my every word. Jeez... something about him is so... intense. I crack a shy smile, snatching my hand away and resting it in my own lap, hoping to break the quiet kind of intensity of our interaction. "They're great kids... both of them. You really should be very proud."

Thankfully that seems to work. Talk of his children sets off a wide smile that flushes the sadness from his eyes, his whole face beaming like it's lit from within.

"They are and I am... sometimes I wonder how we created something so perfect. I've always dreamed about being a dad ya know, and I really don't want to fu... uhhh mess it up. I'll talk to them... and especially to Grace... find out what's really going on."

"You got this," I smile back, full of encouragement.

"I sure hope so," he says, finally sitting back, more relaxed. "And you said both kids... d'ya know Leo as well then?"

"Yeah, my friend Dan teaches reception year and Leo's in his class. He says he's as a bright as a button and so keen to learn, apparently he was the first kid in the class to master his phonics. He's always got his hand up to answer questions too, he's so eager... a real little bookworm too. Dan's really impressed!"

I can practically feel the pride emanating from Van. He's grinning ear to ear, overjoyed to hear praise for his son. He really has got a gorgeous smile, it's infectious, genuine with a hint of something playful that makes my belly flip like it's not done for a long time.

"Leo's dead smart, just like his mum," he enthuses. "He definitely got her brains and not mine, that's for sure. Gracie takes more after me... star quality that one. Could see her performing with her own band one day."

I'd have to agree with that, a lot of seven year olds shy away from being in the limelight but not Grace. She comes to life when she's got an audience. Now I know where she gets it from.

"That I can definitely see," I laugh. "She took her audition for Mary in the class nativity play very seriously, she even stuck a cushion up her jumper to look pregnant, said she was 'getting into character!’”

"Did she? That's class!" Van chuckles, and I immediately launch into telling him the humorous story of how his daughter was filling in for Joseph and one of the shepherds too as they'd forgotten their lines.

We're so caught up in our laughter and chatter that a loud rap on the classroom door startles us both. We both turn to see the door cracking open and Ellie's head appear around the frame.

"I thought you'd gone home!" I say in puzzlement, watch her face scrunch a little in awkwardness.

"I was on the way but I stopped by the office and started talking to Grace and Leo..." she pauses, her eyes darting between me and Van. "And I'm sorry to interrupt but I just wondered if you'd nearly finished because Grace has been complaining she's got tummy ache..."

"Daddy!" The door suddenly flies fully open and Grace and Leo both crash through it simultaneously, practically sending Ellie spinning.

"Alright kids?" Van greets them, arms outstretched as Leo hurls himself into his dad's lap and Grace flings her arms around his neck, cuddling into him from behind.

"I told them to stay in the office," I hear Ellie murmur but I shake my head to tell her that it's okay.

"It's fine, I think we're about done." I rise up out of my seat, practically melting at the heart-warming scene before me, watching Van basking in the affection his kids are heaping on him that's quite obviously wholly reciprocated. There's obviously a lot of love in that family despite the problems.

"Am I in big trouble?" Grace frowns at her dad as he turns to her. "Because Leo says Christmas might be cancelled if we're too naughty."

"You're not in trouble angel but we do need to have a chat," Van tells her, a hand moving up to brush an unruly blonde curl out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. "But let's not worry about that now... and Christmas is mostly definitely not cancelled. What d'ya say to going to buy a Christmas tree right now, eh?"

The kids immediately erupt into cheers of excitement. Leo jumps up off Van's lap to bounce up and down whilst fist-bumping the air and Grace squeezes her little arms even tighter around her dad's neck so I think he might choke if she doesn't let go soon. Ellie and I exchange smiles and I don't miss the knowing glint in her eye as she watches me grinning away like an idiot. I quickly look away, back to Van who's getting to his feet.

"I don't suppose you know where's the best place to get a tree from round here do ya?" He looks between me and Ellie hopefully. "We've not been in our new place for long and to be honest I'm not usually the one to go out and buy all that stuff. I'm a bit clueless really."

I go to reply but Ellie gets in before me, moving further into the classroom towards us. "There's a brilliant place just on the outskirts of town called Harvey's. It's like a garden centre but they're fully kitted out for Christmas, it's like some kind of winter wonderland." She pauses, turns to me with a grin. "Sacha... you love it in there don't you? Weren't you just saying you were going there this afternoon to pick up some decorations yourself?"

It's an innocent enough comment but I know damn well what she's doing. I try to keep a neutral expression so my eyes don't narrow at her in suspicion. "I was but I'm not sure now, it's getting late and I don't have the car today... think it might rain too."

We all turn to look out the window at the grey skies, plump clouds threatening to spill with icy rain or maybe even snow the way the temperatures are plummeting.

"Why don't you come with us then Miss?" Grace's voice comes booming out, loud and enquiring. I whip my head around to see her tugging on her dad's jacket sleeve, looking up at him. "She can come with us can't she? She can help us to pick out a tree!"

"Oh I don't think so," I blurt, feeling my cheeks heating up at this unexpected turn of events. "I wouldn't want to intrude."

"You're very welcome... I'm sure we've got room for one more," Van replies, rather enthusiastically I note. "Can drop you off home afterwards too, save you from getting drenched. What d'ya say?"

The warm smile Van's wearing sets off little sparks of excitement fizzing around my belly and I have to will myself not to giggle like a teenage girl with a crush.

"Uhhh... yeah... sure," I mumble, feeling stunned that an after school meeting has somehow morphed into a festive shopping trip with one of my pupil's parents... and an extremely attractive one at that... my mind teases me.

"Ahh that's perfect!" Ellie announces, and I realise that she's already holding my coat which she thrusts into my hands. "Could you pick up some holly and ribbon for the Christmas wreaths we're making tomorrow in class? Oh... and some mistletoe too," she adds, nudging me purposefully but surreptitiously in the ribs as we all start towards the door.

That's it. I'm going to fucking kill her.

[melon-milku]

Yooo, that picture with Donnie and Leo hugging is awesome and heartwarming :0 But I've a question. How did you do that sparkly scale texture on their skin? It looks so pretty!

Aww thank you!! :D

A lot of the time, its a mixture of trying different brushes for textures, flipping through layer filters and colours. I'll try and show my process, but apologies if its not so clear! (Also just so u know, I use CSP! :])

I try to find a speckle-like brush! This one is called "Wall Tzu SP hard" which is from a brush pack i bought from PharanBrush, but you can use any sort of speckle brush, i just like this one especially (good for freckles, too!)

I used a really bright blue and dappled in the areas that I wanted the sparkles to show.

Set the layer to glow dodge (sometimes colour dodge is good too!) and lower the opacity (I put it to 48% but again, you can play about with this at any stage)

Next, I pretty much do the same in a new layer below the last, but used the darker colour of the base skin and faintly go in similar spots as before. I set that layer to multiply and lower the opacity to anything between 20% and 40%.

I just think it kinda defines the shinies a bit more!

In a similar colour to the blue I used for the sparkles, I lightly use airbrush on a new layer. Kinda helps with the form and make him more shiny. (I keep this on 100% opacity because I am very light-handed with it, but you can lower it if need be)

And lastly, if you want more texture and you have a dot grid tone brush, make a new layer and colour pick random parts of the shiny areas. I don't really know how to explain this, I just do whatever til it looks good PFF! (Might be a less is more scenario)

annnd yeah! :D This is just how I did these specific textures, its lots of layering and tbh you can add even more with different opacity. You also don't need to use the exact same colours as me, I usually try different hues to figure out what looks best, literally go ham!

HOPE THAT MAYBE HELPED? I do not know how to do these little tutorial ask things BWHAHAHA but if theres anything else you want to know, feel free and I'll try my best to answer!

[ophernelia]

Do you think that lighting a townie sim skin is kinda weird?

Maybe i’m tripping and thinking too much into it.

I think it's unnecessary. Color correction is one thing, but changing the shade is something else entirely. At that point.. just make an entirely different sim. Unless, you're lightening their skin a teensy bit for winter or colder seasons and deepening it for summer. (I do this on Lykaia a lot. Not by much though. Like Lou has freckles during the height of summer, in fall he does not.)

A lot of the medium and deeper skin tones in the sims are ashy as hell or too red toned. Frankly, they're shitty depictions of deeper skin tones. I'll keep saying it, but the sims team did an absolute shit job of curating a decent shade range. This, in combination with the bluish hue of the sims 4, washes sims out. (Color theory. Blue cancels orange, gives a more grayish tone. Why they didn't think about that is beyond me. Also TS4 is DARK. So, if you brighten the game then skin tones may look a bit different too.)

I mentioned it before, but Crilender has a wonderful fix for this. I wish I had found them sooner! Essentially, I use these as color correctors. If I am using a swatch and it's too ashy, then I'll add in a teensy bit orange and gold. Usually it fixes it the skin right up. On occasion I'll even use a little bit of red too depending on what undertone I want the sim to have. There are ways around combating the ashy skin tones or washing your sims out with reshade. (Reshade is a bit tougher to combat ngl. Especially presets with a heavy filter. :/)

[pandorasboxoftreasures]

I BRINGETH!

Hate to admit it, don’t wanna name names. 

But the level of structural accuracy of canon Na’vi character fanart MUST improve.

It’s been 6 months now. And I still keep seeing some very high quality art in amazing styles, however, the characters themselves are severely lacking in their accuracy.

I’ve been pointing out what I can about the worst victim of this, Recom “Ritch” Quaritch, and I’ve noticed people have been paying more attention and noticing these little things on their own. It’s great seeing artists working hard and perfecting their skills.

I hate as an artist to have to say that it’s not been enough for quite a lot of artists I’ve seen so far. I know everybody is improving and working hard. Including myself. And everyone has to start drawing Na’vi somewhere.

But I think I need to nudge things along a bit more. And I recently discovered a new way that may help.

Using a painting filter to basically give each character human-ish skin and eyeballs. (Unfortunately only in one light tone which is very frustrating but I guess it’s consistent and the lighter shade will make details harder to miss in different lighting situations) Clearing up the beautiful to observe but visually cluttering to study and paint details and colour palettes. Some of you may find this horrifying, I dunno. A warning anyway.

For months whenever people tell me “He’s ugly in the movie!” I’d rebuke with “He’s classically beautiful. Like works from the Italian and Dutch masters. Like the ancient sculptures of Rome. Slap him down on a couch in front of Da Vinci or Michelangelo and they’d piss themselves with sheer awe.”

Well, here’s the proof... kinda... using screenshots I’ve collected and made myself in as many angles as I could fit together for now with different levels of quality until I can get my 4K inputs sorted :

STOP JUST PAINTING HIM BELOW THE NECK!  YOU HAVE NO EXCUSES NOW!

Try rendering him similar to this in your target or individual style, and THEN put the Na’vi detailing on top. See if it makes a difference.

Granted, the filter only worked on some angles (I have more images to add later too) and it did make some very minor alterations, I did my best to mimise them, regardless take note. And it couldn’t get every little crease. But with how much missing the mark there’s been anyway, I guess aiming for this is still better than the status quo (again not naming names except for maybe myself).

I’m gonna be doing this with other characters, too. I simply figured starting with him would both be the best test as to whether this would help as well as fight the tide of “this artwork is amazing but who the hell is that guy” disease.

It might also be worth my while to morph these together and see what I get. 1 uniform face for each character. Guess I’ll see what happens with the others.

Note the other posts I’ve made about the finer details like moles and freckles past and future as companions to this one. 

I’ve also got another post coming up about the consistencies and differences of the patterns in the bioluminescent freckles each Na’vi subspecies has so watch out for that if you’re interested.

(SO GLAD TO BE ABLE TO SHOW HOW VISUALLY DISTINCT HE IS FROM HIS HUMAN DONOR, TOO! LIKE DAMN. THEY HAVE THEIR SIMILARITIES OF COURSE BUT I SHOULD PROBABLY DO THE SAME TO HUMAN QUARITCH SEE WHAT SHOWS UP)

UPDATE HOLD UP I THINK I FIGURED OUT A BETTER WAY OF DOING THIS BY USING THE PAINTING FILTER AS A BRIGHTNESS LAYER WITH THE ORIGINAL IMAGE COLOURS UNDERNEATH BEHOLD MUCH BETTER RESULTS AND NOT HUMANWASHING I’LL TRY AND REDO THE ORIGINAL IMAGES THIS WAY:

[rhazimpulsivelyposts]

The Aquarius~

When I was like 16 I used to play MMO RPG games and I met an Aquarius Male on one of these games. We would talk all the time for hours, we never ran out of things to talk about. Aquarius people are good at this. But what they are also good at is talking you into things you didn’t really want. This Aquarius Male talked me into being like an online girlfriend to him that I wasn’t really sure about but went along with, it didn’t last long because a different cuter boy caught my attention. Luckily it was all long distance with no sexting and honestly we stayed friends. I’m still friends with this Aquarius Male and we talk ever year or so, this story isn’t about him, but adds context.

I’ve also worked with Aquarius Males, before the one I’m going to talk about, and again super great conversation, but they aren’t too great at taking criticism or someone else thinking they have a better way of doing something. Every Aquarius Male I’ve known in a work setting always takes the long way around, and if you try to show them they are doing too much, they don’t like it and argue their way is not extra and that your way just doesn’t make sense. It breeds innovation and thoughtful debates so I enjoy them in work settings. I’m not talking about an Aquarius I have worked with in this story, but this adds context.

Onto the actual subject:

In 2020 my Sagittarius and I were broken up but still seeing each other for about 6 months or so, 2 of those months were completely no contact. It was near the end of the 6 months and that is when this takes place.

My Leo, who is very helpful at offering up meat for me to devour when I’m hunting, mentions a guy she went to school with who inquired about me. I look at his profile and he is kinda cute. Tall and skinny , I love those. Blue eyes , brown hair, freckles. But he has a kid. I don’t like kids. I love my Leo’s kid because it is her kid and she’s raising a pretty well behaved child, but I don’t want kids. I don’t wanna be a step mom to any kids. So I say thank you no thank you.

Then a few weeks later my Virgo messaged me, she is someone I’ve known since I was 9 and is in a completely different friend group and social circle from my Leo. She messages me about THE SAME GUY , inquiring about me… bro really went to two different friend groups to get my number.

“Omg FINE!” I thought to myself, “ maybe he’s a good fck and that’s all I want anyways” . But does that not show you the determination on the Aquarian .

So I go to my Virgos to meet him and … oh I have already met him … he went to my Trade School .. he already knew me! Small world? Kinda weird. He’s into cars I’m into cars, he’s into drugs (so he says at first) I’m into drugs, he’s into video games I’m into video games, he’s kinky I’m kinky. He had a kid but I don’t want kids , he’s into guns but I don’t like guns.

On the second meeting, my Virgo says we are all going swimming at his house. I take my motorcycle and I get there a little late and guess who isn’t there, my Virgo. This btch and our other friend show up 3 hours late, I know it was on purpose, so the Aquarius and I would have alone time to chat. Fine it worked, we vibe a little. He’s into Magic I kinda am into Magic enough to have a deck.

I give it a shot and we start fcking. This man’s dck is sooooo big like I can’t even take it 🤣 like sir you should be making money online with this. The sex was good. But his house was FILLED with pictures of his wife who died and his kid and going over there made me physically nauseous from the awkwardness I felt fcking him in a house laced with these photos. It kinda creeped me out. It bumped the sex down from great to good or ok.

Then I had to meet the kid, I didn’t want to, I was forced. And he talked me into it the whole way with reassurance and manipulation. He wanted us to date. He wanted me to be ok being around his child. My personality is not fit to be around children. I have basically no filter and I drink and take drugs and children shouldn’t be subjected to that. He is stifling my personality every time this child is around. The kid is adorable and well behaved , but I don’t feel like I can be myself around children because I care to much about what they are exposed to.

He told me how they go to Disney land all the time (another red flag for me , no Disney Adults ok, y’all have weird trauma I don’t want to work through with you. Same with people who LOVE Christmas. Y’all have family trauma I don’t want a part of) , I made the joke that if I can’t take acid at Disneyland I don’t want to go. It didn’t go over well, because well he has a kid to look after. I don’t want that responsibility . But he continued to try to talk me into it, talk me into being the girlfriend.

The scary part is I feel like he was sooooo close to talking me into it. I was texting my friends like “idk maybe it won’t be so bad, the kid is nice?” And all of my friends were like “where the fck did Rhaz go?! Who is this?! You have never wanted kids what is this ?!” It was manipulation, from a smart man who could articulate and argue against every point I had about not wanting a child . Aquarius are really good at this. Very logical so they have an answer for EVERYTHING. This man was going to change me, into someone I wasn’t. It was making me very uncomfortable.

My last straw though, like the nail in the coffin for this situationship :

We were eating dinner, me, him, his kid. The kid couldn’t finish the meal. He’s like 4 or 5 or something, small baby child. Small stomach. But the Aquarius wouldn’t let the kid leave the table until he cleaned his plate. Bro I was flushed with so many trauma flash backs. It’s not my kid, I had no right to speak on the matter so I didn’t. We went outside to the pool, and the kid was still at the table, we could see him through the sliding glass. This made me so sad. This gave me anxiety.

This kid walks up to the door and opens it and asks if he can go play and the Aquarius goes “no I told you to finish that, you can go play after you finish your dinner. Look we finished our dinners and that’s why we are allowed to play” . He said it so sternly . This gave me anxiety. After the kid shut the door I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“You know, kids have small stomachs, maybe that portion was too big for him?” - me

“No he always does this , he won’t finish it and wastes food and then in like an hour he wants more” - Aquarius

“Maybe because his stomach is small and his metabolism is fast, so he digests the food in about an hour and is hungry again?” - me

“I guess i never thought of that” - Aquarius

“Speaking for myself, i have a lot of issues with food. Sometimes i have to snack a little and then put it in the fridge and come back to it. Sometimes i really like a food and then I don’t like it anymore randomly. I feel like forcing him to sit and stare at food he isn’t hungry for, as a punishment for not eating that food, is going to cause an eating or anxiety disorder in your child” - me

He didn’t like that I was questioning his parenting. Or even suggesting that something he is doing was going to cause the kid to have issues later. Most parents don’t. But that interaction gave me so much ick, so much anxiety. It snapped me out of the talkitive spell he had me under.

I broke it off with him and he kept asking me why and i told him “look we just don’t vibe well. We don’t have the same life style and wants. I could go down a small list of specific reasons why but there is no point. You will just hyper focus on those reasons and want to change when realistically we are just two different types of people in this world and that’s ok.”

See fellas that’s how you communicate when you are done fcking around with someone . Men suck at this. Most either don’t communicate at all or they give people that list of shit that they will rumminate on.

I have never felt so manipulated by a partner before and I have never felt that since. He wasn’t abusive or evil, he was just very good at debating for what he wanted in life. That’s a good skill to have, but don’t use it on me. It gives me the ick. 

[yunzis-photoshop-classroom]

Week 2 Edit your Second Photo

Keywords: Smart Object; Content-Aware Fill; Clone Stamp Tool

Smart Object

Smart Objects are a type of container that holds multiple layers within Photoshop. Apply properties and characteristics to multiple layers, combining different tools, filters, and features. Then undo and make changes as you need to — the original image is protected.

An easier way to put it: scaling up or down will not influence the clarity of the image.

-------- How to turn a layer or some layers into a smart object?

select the layers -> Filter -> Convert for Smart Filters

select the layer -> Right Click -> Convert to Smart Object

-------- How to turn a smart object back to layers

Select the smart object -> Right Click -> Convert to Layers

Select the smart object -> Layer -> Smart Object -> Convert to Layers

Select the smart object -> Properties Panel -> Convert to Layers

Select the smart object -> Layer Panel -> hamburger icon -> Convert to Layers

A complete passage about Smart Object: Using Adobe Photoshop

Content-Aware Fill / Scale

Content-aware fill is another way to remove unwanted elements in your image. You can select the unwanted area, and fill that space with the elements in the sampled area.

Content-aware scale is one way to extend your image without stretching the background.

Sample image download

-------- How to use Content-Aware Fill?

Use the Lasso tool to select the unwanted item. Make sure the selected area is a little bigger than the item -> Edit -> Fill -> Content Aware -> OK

Use the Lasso tool to select the unwanted item -> Edit -> Content-Aware Fill -> Brush off the sample area (green area) or add some sample area based on the preview -> OK

Scale box will fill the selected area with scaled sample area.

Mirror box will fill the selected area with a horizontally mirrored sample area.

-------- How to use Content-Aware Scale?

Crop Tool -> check the content-aware box -> scale up the cropped area horizontally or vertically -> Return or Enter

Then, use the Clone Stamp Tool to edit the imperfect details.

Clone Stamp Tool

The Clone Stamp uses a sample you define yourself, and then you can adjust the size of the brush you use to paint with that sample from the options bar. It's intuitive and gives you greater control over your work.

-------- How to use Clone Stamp Tool?

Select the Clone Stamp Tool -> Hold Alt (Win) or Option (Mac) -> Click on the image to pick the sample area -> release Alt/Opt -> Draw on the destination area

Complete Article: How to Use Clone Stamp Tool in Adobe Photoshop

Extra practice if we have time: download here

remove the freckles; add eye shadows; add lipsticks; make her thinner...

[llamagoddessofficial]

Okay okay, this idea's been haunting me with all the siren asks, so I gotta throw it out here. Do you know the Subnautica game's premise, where you crash land on an ocean planet? Imagine MC, the lone survivor of a terrible crash on an alien ocean world, struggling to survive and find resources... and on their ventures into the deep attract the attention of some dangerous, intelligent skelly leviathans that take a liking to this cute little creature. Decide to show the morsel some mercy, since it's clearly struggling to do even basic things such as hunting or defending its self. And MC just going "???" when these big scary skeletal predators appear to be helping them rather than hunting them Even if you're not familiar with Subnautica, I thought this might be a fun fit with the skelly siren theme! :)

I

Fucking

LOVE SUBNAUTICA

I hope you're happy anon I've been thinking about your ask obsessively for the past two days. Welcome to sansnautica bitches

Mc crash lands in the beautiful blue alien waste... she has no defence but her sharp mind, no offence but a small knife, and most importantly no way out. She has to learn to survive before this planet learns to kill her.

Sans: Sans shares the blotched black and white colouring style of his Earth counterpart, but not much else. His most notable trait is his four eyesockets. Everything on this new planet is bioluminescent, and Sans is no exception; the black parts of his body can become freckled with a blue glow, blending him into the landscape. He can also move the lights- 'rippling' the glow to very convincingly mimic sunshine casting across the sea floor.

As per tradition, he meets Mc first. Where she crashed is juuust inside his territory... so he’s the first to check out her escape-pod-turned-refuge. He visits at night, when he’s most active, and at first he’s a menace... tapping and scratching on the walls, his ominous dark shape circling her home, so long as the sun is down she’s trapped indoors with no help and no escape. Lots of very, very long nights huddled in her pod while various terrifying, otherwordly sounds filter through the walls.

... But after a few days, she starts finding dead animals in the morning, outside her pod. Usually unceremoniously dumped on the only part of the shelter that’s above water. Is it a threat?

(... It's Sans seeing how terrible she is at catching fish, and deciding he needs to intervene. He can't just let her starve...)

Red: Also has four sockets. He resembles a shark, but borrows the reaper's colour scheme and mandible-like mouthpieces he can use to grab at prey. Like everything in his world he can light up his body beautifully and intricately but he mostly uses large, wide, bright bioluminescent patches dotted across his body that resemble the glowing fruit of the giant seaweed in his home territory. He occupies the looming kelp forests, where the towering plants and murky water disguise his massive form; where all he needs is one burst of immense speed to catch any prey stupid enough to wander in. Like, for instance... a cute little creature he’s never seen before, who seems to be desperately searching for metal.

... He really likes metal. He’s pretty possessive of it. He scavenged his gold tooth himself- he likes to decorate himself and his nest with the flashiest shards. But what he really likes is pretty things. And, heh, a sweet treat like her? Wandering completely unknowingly into his territory, so small, so easy to see, so easy to stalk?

Well... now, he's got something else he wants to add to his collection.

Skull: He, at first, seems like the most 'normal' looking of all the apex predators. A skeleton with two sockets, the lower half of a giant squid, no suckers, the underside of all his tentacles always glowing a beautiful hypnotising rainbow of pastels that's difficult to look away from. In fact... the only strange part about Skull seems to be his immense size, and the small vertical line on his chin running from the bottom of his mouth all the way over his mandible.

... He has two mouths. The one on his face is for smaller food, for communicating, singing and breathing- the small line is because it splits open into thirds to allow him to spit clouds of glowing corrosive acid. His ribcage isn't just a ribcage; it's actually his second mouth, reserved for larger prey.

He normally stalks the dark far edges of the reef, but after the main ship crash he's started coming further and further into the shallows, encroaching slowly on Sans' territory, picking off the escape pods full of survivors that don't require him to encroach TOO far and get in a fight. He's the only thing Sans and Red fear. Mc meets him when she follows a distress signal out to the rim of the shallows... for him, spotting her swimming through the serene emptiness, it's love at first sight- and she only escapes his 'love' by wedging herself into the furthest end of a cave and waiting for him to get frustrated and leave.

Before, he was only entering Sans' territory for small periods of time, and not going that far in... but now? He's searching for her. He's on the hunt. And if he sees her again, he's not going to stop.

[heyitssmiller]

Bewitched, Body and Soul

So... this happened. Blame the Discord. Basically, the premise is receiving a note from a stranger about having similar tastes in books, and my first thought was Finn/Leo. And now, around 24 hours later, this showed up in my word document. Hope y’all like it!! And don’t worry, I’ve already got a sequel planned with Logan ;)

All characters, of course, belong to the wonderful @lumosinlove

And, if you’re so inclined, check out my Masterlist if you enjoy this story! <3

CW: food/drink

.

Leo loved this bookstore. There was a west-facing windowfront that allowed all sorts of afternoon light to shine through, creating a large, warm sunspot right in Leo’s favorite armchair. The shelves were always neatly organized by category, there was a featured book of the week, and there was a coffee shop sequestered to one corner of the building. What else did he need in life? He’d spent countless hours here, sitting with a new book and a cup of coffee or tea and getting lost in whatever world he’d been transported to within the crisp pages and black ink. Being new to the city, there were probably better ways to make friends, but there was something so soothing, so comfortingly familiar about shutting off the worry in his mind and just focusing on the story unfolding in his hands.

But when his stomach growled loudly in protest, he figured he needed to put reading on hold.

There was a wrinkled, jagged-edged scrap of paper sitting on top of Leo’s book when he returned to his table, café pastry in hand. It hadn’t been there a second ago. Curiously, Leo set his food down and inspected the foreign paper. Messy, inelegant scrawl slanted across the page in deep blue ink. The lines were uneven and chaotic; the i’s weren’t even dotted, almost as if it took too much effort to go back and add them in. Leo found it strangely endearing. It read:

           Hi!

           I don’t think we’ve met, but based on your choice of literature I think we would make great friends. :)

-        Carrot Top

Leo smiled, read it again, and looked around for the person who sent it but no one acknowledged him, seemingly lost in stories of their own. So he sat there, a smile still on his face as he got back to his book, using the note as a bookmark.

~~~

Finn couldn’t help himself when, a few days later, he left another note after seeing the guy with good taste in books again at the bookstore. He was at what must have been his usual table, seemingly right where Finn had left him. The only difference besides the clothes he was wearing was the book he was reading. Finn let himself linger on his profile, just for a second – the gentle slope of his nose, the way his curls rested against his forehead, how bright blue eyes scanned the pages below him.

Finn wasn’t one for love at first sight; that was for romance novels only. But instant attraction? Oh yeah. He was definitely there.

He picked up a small flyer from the front desk, flipped it over, and began to write.

And maybe it wasn’t a good way of, as the kids said these days, “shooting his shot”. But it was a start. And it was fun – the thrill of trying not to get caught, the anonymity. Sure, one day he’d maybe get up the courage to talk to him in person, but he was happy with this for now.

           Hmm… haven’t read that one. Might have to get myself a copy!

-        The Walking Freckle

After dropping the note off while the blond walked off to take a phone call, Finn tried to act casual as he stared sightlessly down at his own book instead of over at the cute stranger like he desperately wanted to.

Don’t be suspicious, don’t be suspicious…

If he was being completely honest, he didn’t really know where to go from here. Did the blond think the notes were creepy? Or weird? He never seemed to mind much, but… well, a stranger was repeatedly leaving notes for him. What if it was making him uncomfortable? Would it make things better or worse if Finn introduced himself?

A snort came out, unbidden. Yeah. Right. That would go well. Finn could practically see it now: he would be clumsy and awkward, probably spilling coffee all over the guy’s book or – even worse – all over him. He’d scare him off for sure.

But at the same time, Finn wanted nothing more than to meet him. To sit down across the table from him and debate the points of the book he was reading, or give book recommendations, or just talk. About literally anything. Finn wasn’t a picky guy. He could sit there and let him speak for hours, absorbing any and all knowledge about him like a sponge. Did the corners of those bright, blue eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiled? Did his cheeks get all flushed when he was passionate about something, just like Finn’s? What was the story behind the soft-looking tuft of gray hair at his temple?

Who was he?

Finn was overflowing with questions, and desperate for the answers.

But he needed to go about this the right way, didn’t he? The last thing he wanted to do was screw this up. So he closed his book, propped his chin in his hand so that he could stare out the window, and started to plan.

~~~

The next note threw Leo for a bit of a loop. He’d saved his table with his coat thrown over one of the chairs and went up to the New Books section, surreptitiously keeping an eye on his table and hoping that he’d catch his note-sender red-handed.

Leo could’ve sworn that he’d looked away for half a second, but – well, he got distracted by a book, so it easily could’ve been five minutes for all he knew. This note was written on one of the café napkins, the ink bleeding through in some spots and a few small tears in the delicate material.

Nice choice! That book absolutely shattered my heart and then pieced it back together. The way she writes love lost just hurts so beautifully, doesn’t it?

I like your sweater by the way.

Fuck I hope that’s not creepy.

I’m not a stalker, I promise. I just think you’re really cute. And you have amazing taste in books. I’d like to learn more, if you’d let me. :)

But first, you have to figure out who I am! Good luck!

-        Your Not-So-Secret Admirer in the Tortoiseshell Glasses

He smiled, wide and happy, and looked around for tortoiseshell glasses, red hair, and freckles. Those were the only three clues he had so far. So he quickly scanned the crowded café, looking for anyone who fit the description. The only one even close was a freckled, redheaded guy at the corner table, but no glasses.

That was a shame, too. He was stunning.

The mystery bibliophile must already be gone, then. Or hiding.

Looked like Leo had his work cut out for him. He did always like a challenge.

~~~

It probably wasn’t Finn’s best idea to take his glasses off. He couldn’t see a damn thing and was left squinting down at his book, trying to determine if what he was seeing was an F or a P.

That smile, though… he could’ve seen that dimpled smile from all the way across the street.

He never thought he’d be pining for a stranger like this, but then again – he wasn’t a complete stranger, was he? After all, you could learn a lot about a person by their book preferences. Finn wasn’t normally known for being a good judge of character – he was too optimistic, too unwilling to see the bad in people. But damn, did he hope he was right about this one.

~~~

Finn had probably been too bold with the note he’d just dropped off, but when he’d seen what book that his new maybe-friend was reading, he knew he couldn’t just pass up an opportunity like that.

He didn’t wait to see the reaction this time – he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He just left the short note on top of the book while the blond was at the café counter and booked it (pun definitely intended) out of there as fast as he could.

           You have bewitched me, body and soul. <3

-        Bambi

~~~

He should’ve waited. Leo’s reaction, all bashful smile and bright red face and pleased expression, would’ve been worth it.

~~~

Leo went back to the bookstore pretty much every day after that, intent on finding this person. Not only was this a fun little game they were playing, but it would be nice to finally have a friend in the city. He still didn’t know anyone besides his coworkers and… well, he was a little lonely. A friend would be nice, especially one who had a shared interest in books.

The only thing left to do was to find them.

Red hair, freckles, glasses, and big doe eyes.

Leo looked for the only four defining traits he had, methodically starting in the front of the store and weaving through isle after isle of bookshelves. When that proved unsuccessful he moved on to the café, gaze landing on the queue first before lurching to a stop at the glimpse of a shock of auburn hair in the far corner booth. Heart hammering in his chest, Leo used his height to his full advantage and peered over the line of people.

Freckles, Glasses, Big, doe eyes.

If he needed any more confirmation, the stranger – the very cute stranger – was reading the same book Leo had been reading a week ago. The one his anonymous friend said they hadn’t read yet.

It had to be him.

Leo didn’t let himself think about it too much – he knew he’d panic if he did. He just strode over and sat down across from him, setting his book down on the table with a quiet thud. The note-writer jumped a little, then lifted wide brown eyes to look up at him.

Oh, but he was gorgeous.

“So what part are you at?” Leo asked, eyes taking in everything they could now that he was close enough – that messy red hair that just barely curled at the ends, the hint of scruff on his jaw, brown eyes shifting from shade to shade in the afternoon light filtering through the window beside him. Soft, mesmerizing lips curved into the beginnings of a smile that Leo couldn’t help but be transfixed by. “Have you gotten to the part where Patroclus dies?”

Finn stared back, trying to look horrified but he knew he was smiling so much that they counteracted each other because, finally, he’d figured it out. “I can’t believe you’d break rule number one of having a reading buddy: don’t spoil the ending.”

Dimples.

“Oops.”

Finn was done for.

“I’m Finn,” he managed to stammer, aiming for his best smile and probably looking like he’d just tasted something awful instead.

“Leo,” his companion said with a warm smile. Then he frowned. “Wait, no. Go back. You can’t spoil the ending of a story that’s literally thousands of years old.” The blond leaned back in his chair, sipping his coffee and watching in amusement as Finn gaped at him in horror. He could feel his cheeks and ears getting red, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“That’s so not the point!”

Leo laughed, then motioned for Finn to state his case. And then Finn was off, forgetting all about his nervousness and tendency to be awkward. He ranted about that topic for… well, he didn’t really know how long, but it was a while. Leo didn’t even bat an eye, keeping pace well and interjecting with his own points calmly and collectedly – the gentle breeze to Finn’s tornado. He was smiling, too, even though sometimes he tried to hide it behind the rim of his coffee cup. And he was smart, Finn learned as they jumped from one topic to the next and the minutes ticked by. He knew a lot about literature, like Finn, but he could also make these random connections to all kinds of different topics that Finn would’ve never thought of, all while keeping up with Finn’s fast-paced brain and tendency to jump down rabbit holes.

It was an instant connection, the likes of which Finn had never experienced before. It was intoxicating. Finn felt like he could never get enough.

During a lull in between one conversation and the next, Leo pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it over, looking suddenly and inexplicably shy. Finn cocked his head confusedly, then unfolded the paper and looked down.

           Would you like to go on a date sometime?

PS: I’m free tonight if you are. :)

-        The Guy Who’s Been Crushing on You for Weeks

Finn’s heart threatened to burst. “Absolutely.” He hesitated, just for a second, then decided to go for it. “Are you free now? I know a pretty great café nearby.” With a wiggle of his eyebrows, he jerked his thumb at the bookstore café and earned a laugh. He wondered what he could do to earn another.

“Sounds perfect.”

They walked over to the counter together, the backs of their hands just barely brushing – it was still enough to make Finn hyperaware of every miniscule movement and get his pulse hammering. Leo was teasing Finn for his terrible eyesight in a soft, southern drawl – something Finn definitely wasn’t expecting but sure as hell wasn’t complaining about, his fingers deliberately playing with Finn’s now, and Finn knew it was going to be a good night. It was already a good night; how could it possibly get any better?

“What can I get for you?”

Leo and Finn looked up at the barista and their eyes widened in tandem as they took in thick chestnut waves, long, dark lashes, and bottle-green eyes. He wasn’t smiling, not necessarily. His expression was fairly neutral, all things considered – except for those eyes. If you stared at then long enough, you could see just the faintest whisper of amusement.

They both looked down slightly, searching for a nametag. There, in bold black letters, read:

Logan.

[harrypotter-imaginess]

A/N: I got a tiiiiny bit of power and my first thought was my need for validation through my fanfiction lol. Hope you enjoy!

<This is Part 1!> / Part 2 Here!

- You’re in the middle of a blizzard, reading to pass the time, the power cuts in and out- giving you just enough time to scramble about trying to make your home just warm enough so you don’t freeze to death

- You sigh when it flickers off again, taking a sip from the hot drink you managed to make while you still had electricity

- Eyes turn back to the book in your hands, with the poor cell reception, and lack of television you’ve found the only thing you can bear to do it read and sleep

- Only occasionally withdrawing from both to eat whatever cold meal you can

- You’ve settled on reading the Harry Potter books, easy enough to read, even in your current condition

- The books are waterlogged, in terrible condition, you treated them quite rough when you were a child, though not all the blame is yours

- It’s an eclectic group, some hardcover some paperback, some borrowed from friends and never returned, some you got as a good deal at your local used bookstore

- You smile when you see all the parts with Fred and George are highlighted

- They always were your favorites

- You stiffile a yawn, you’re just getting to a good part-

- But a small rest won’t hurt will it?

- You feel your eyes drift close

- When they open again you’re looking at rolling hills, a wisp of steam curling into your view every so often

- Huh what a nice dream

- You close your eyes again only to feel a sharp sting in your neck that your eyes shoot open

- You don’t feel pain in dreams

- You’re in a train compartment an empty red bench in front of you

- You’re alone, the green hills rolling by outside the window

- You’ve seen this type of scenery before maybe in a movie, or a book-

- It looks a lot like something out of Harry Potter

- Your thoughts come to an abrupt hault, the memories slowly filtering in

- You’re a witch- your parents passed away in the first war, and you were brought up by your muggle godfather

- Don’t be mistaken, this isn’t some unfortunate Harry-Potter orphan story, your god father loved you a lot

- Even though he was a bit of a sl*t, the revolving circus of women that left his room every Sunday was practically your childhood form of television

- You even did a report on it in muggle school, high left several faculty members feeling concerned

- Still he loved you a lot, and he tried to be as honest as he could about your heritage, and your parents

- But well- he was a muggle, there was only so much he could do

- Still, he took you to kings cross himself, taking you to your gringott’s safe where your parents meager savings had increased by ten fold over the years, helping you pick your wand and books

- “Now I can’t go with you onto the platform, so write and let me know when you’ve reached safely alright?” You nodded, as he pulled you into a hug

- “I’m going to miss having you home”

- “But now you can bring women to the flat whenever you want” You were only joking but it makes him sniffle

- “I’d trade all of that to have you at home for just a few more years”

- You only pat his shoulder reassuring him you’ll be back during the holidays

- You had tried your hand at a few spells, but nothing drastic

- You were excited to see what Hogwarts would bring, what you might learn, and the friendships you might build

- You were so excited that you didn’t sleep all night, finally succumbing to a nap when you collapsed in an empty compartment

- And that brings you to the present, where you’re practically sweating buckets in the red bench.

- Okay, so you’re in Harry Potter now- some how

- And yeah, you’ve always kinda wished you could go to Hogwarts-

- But not like this!

- For one every book, like 3 kids die

- Even the cute ones, like Collin Creevey-

- And honestly if a main character like Fred Weasley died, what chance do you have at surviving?

- You’re probably just one of those nothing characters that dies at the battle of Hogwarts- if not sooner

- You look down at your hands

- Not to mention you’re suddenly eleven years old

- How many times did you have a nightmare you suddenly had to go back to middle or high school again because apparently you missed a class?

- Well this is like a nightmare come true

- You look under your shirt, holding the neck out only to sigh

- It’s your body still, you vaguely remember looking like this when you were younger

- But god-

- It’s like a strangers body at this point

- Ugh you don’t have time to think about this

- your goal right now is to survive

- A knock on your door pulls you out of your thoughts

- “Change into your robs, we’re getting close” a muffled voice says from the other side and you sigh

- Of course you are

- You sigh as you pull out your plain black wizards robe, almost looks like a graduation gown to be honest

- And that’s the uniform here is it

- Strange

- As you tug on the sleeves you think how you’re going to get out of this

- If you’re right the year is 1990, a year before Harry Potter shows up

- Okay so as far as you know- nothing really happens this year

- You don’t have to worry about all the Pureblood crap because both your parents were wizards, so you’re a half blood at least

- Now it’s all about house-

- If the books are 100% accurate then it’s between Slytherin and Gryffindor, Snape will turn a blind eye to any of your transgressions because of favoritism

- And McGonagall would go to bat for you if the circumstances were unfair

- Still- the Slytherin house seemed problematic what with the old money in that group

- Not all of them were probably like that- just the most prominent characters- you’d really rather not get involved with all that if you could

- And then- Gryffindor was even worse, you might be safe this year, but next year you would be plagued with death flag after death flag- no thanks

- Sprout seems nice enough, but you’re not too sure about that common room, in the dungeons- hard pass

- That leaves Ravenclaw, Flitwick seems nice enough, and the dorms are in a Ravenclaw tower

- Luna Lovegood will be there soon, and well, that could be pretty fun

- So you’ll try for Ravenclaw you think- pulling on your bag and joining the horde of students

- You’re about to join the other first years when you feel a tug on your bag.

- You turn towards the feeling to see two identical boys, a splatter of freckles across their nose, and flaming red hair

- “Are you (Y/N) (L/N)?” The taller of the two asks, a grin curled onto his lips, and his eyes full of stars

- You only nod

- They’re both looking at you like they’ve just seen a movie star and you can’t figure out why

- You’re only eleven years old after all, what could you have possibly done?

- “Was you Mum-“ the shorter starts

- “Was she the famous auror?” The other finishes

- Ah- of course

- Your mother was indeed a famous war hero, known for her noble efforts during the war

- Your god father had told you that at least

- “I’m George, and this is Fred” the shorter - George- says jerking his thumb to his twin

- Oh

- So they’re Fred and George Weasley?!?!

- Honestly you should have known by the red hair

- You can’t believe you’re meeting some of your favorite characters

- You stick your hand out, hoping it’s not too sweaty

- “(Y/N),” you say, “but you already knew that”

- George grins as he takes your hand first, with Fred repeating the motion

- “What house do ya think you’ll go to?” Fred asks

- “We hope you’re aiming for Gryffindor” George adds with a sly grin

- You can feel your face warming up under their gaze

- Alright- change of plan- you’ll try to get into Gryffindor so you can be friends with George and Fred

- It’ll be a little risky, but until the end they weren’t really in any of the serious adventures.

- Besides maybe if you hang out with them, you can save Fred near the end

- “Maybe” you smile at them, hearing a voice call your name for a carriage

- “See you around!” You wave goodbye, stepping into you assigned carriage with a group of other first years

- It’s sort of a mismatch, you don’t quite recognize anyone in here

- Than again the children an age above Harry were never really mentioned

- “Ugh I can’t believe my glasses broke, what rotten luck” a girl besides you says- you turn to see a girl with long dark hair, fiddling with a pair of broken glasses in her hands

- “Ah here, can I?” You ask, holding out your hand, and the girl wordlessly hands you her glasses

- Your murmur a spell and watch as the metal expands curling until it wraps around the broken edge, resembling intertwined vines

- “It’s not the best, but it’ll do for now”

- It’s only when you look up to hand the girl back her glasses that you notice everyone’s watching you

- “How did you do that?” A boy asks, and you shrug

- “Oh well I just said the incantation-“

- “I’ve never heard that one before” another girl murmurs

- You shrug again

- “Anything can be an incarnation of you just put enough feeling into it right?”

- The children clamor at you all at once

- It turns out the two girls were Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott- both Hufflepuff’s if you remember correctly

- Guess they were a year older than Harry in this world

- And then the boy is Blaise Zambini

- You know in the books he’s in a morally Grey area at best.

- “So like this?” He asks and you shake your head

- “You have to put your wrist into it more”

- But now, as he’s begging you to teach him the repairing charm that you cast, all you see is a little boy who wants to learn

- Change of plans, if you get into Slytherin maybe you can watch over Blaise and be his best friend

- That way he won’t get all mixed up in that Death Eater crap

- Maybe you can even get him onto your side, make a coven of witches and wizards and do some non-alignment stuff during the war

- You’re all gathered in the hall, answering a roll call from a rather lithe and strict woman- professor McGonagall no doubt

- After that you’re left waiting, and feeling somewhat bored, and somewhat like you may have had too much pumpkin juice- you hobble off into the corridor looking for a bathroom

- “Hurry back I think we’re about to go into the sorting ceremony” Blaise says and you nod

- You do not, in fact, hurry back

- Because after relieving yourself- you are incredibly lost

- It doesn’t help that all the portraits keep on shuffling around, or that all the corridors here look equally dark

- It’s only on your third time around the portrait of a woman eating an apple do you see what appears to be a person

- “What are you doing in the corridor?” As you come closer you realize it’s a boy, a yellow and black striped tie around his neck. “Shouldn’t you be at the feast?”

- He’s quite pretty, with thick brown hair and rosy cheeks

- “I went to the bathroom and got lost,” you hear him murmur first year and raise an eyebrow “What’s your excuse?”

- He lets out a laugh, running a hand through his hair

- “That’s fair,” he admits. And then after a moment he says:

- “I’m hiding”

- Your eyebrows thread together

- “Like from a crazy ex lover or..?”

- He laughs again, shaking his head

- “No, from my professor.” And then after a moment, before you can ask ‘is it because you’re having an affair with them’ he says:

- “They want me to be prefect for my house next year, and I don’t know how I feel about that”

- You let that sink in,

- “I know I should do it- it would give me an opportunity to represent my house, and look out for all my friends, and I’m sure my dad would be awfully proud but-“

- But it’s a lot of responsibility

- You get it.

- You sit beside him on the floor

- “You should do it-“ and before he can give a reason why you say:

- “You would get your own bathroom and I think that means a lot in a place like this”

- He laughs again, only this time the laugh leaves in loud gaffs, somehow you feel like this is the first real laugh the boy has shown you

- “I’ve heard a lot of reasons, but having my own bathroom is definitely a first”

- He looks at you in a way that makes your hair stand on end and your skin feel hot.

- “I’m Cedric, Cedric Diggory.” He says with an extended hand

- Ah, so this is pretty boy Diggory.

- He does kinda look like a young Robert Pattinson to be honest

- You take his hand in yours giving a firm shake

- “ (Y/N) (L/N) “ and you see his eyebrows shoot up

- “ (L/N) like the-“

- “ Yeah that’s my mum, the famous Auror”

- Cedric’s mouth curls up in a lopsided grin

- “I was going to say inventor- the inventor for the portable infinity box”

- Ah yes, your dad was an inventor. You didn’t know much about it though. Just that his inventions had left you a small fortune

- “My parents were both pretty remarkable huh?”

- And even though they’re not really your parents, and this isn’t really your body, you feel a little sad thinking about them.

- Before you can give Cedric a chance to offer his condolences, you stand up brushing off your robe.

- “We’ll come on Mr. Prefect in the making, show me to where I’m to be sorted” you say with a wave of a hand

- He grins

- “As you wish”

- Maybe being in Hufflepuff wouldn’t be so bad,

- and if you can manage to get close to Cedric, maybe he’ll let you use the prefects bathroom

- Huh, that does sound enticing

- Okay change of plans, you’ll get into Hufflepuff

- For the nice bathroom privileges

- When you get into the hall you feel all eyes turn to look to you

- And even though you’re an adult, you feel awfully embarrassed

- “If you get in Hufflepuff let’s get a butterbeer to celebrate, my treat..” Cedric whispers in your ear, and you catch a glimpse of the lopsided grin curled onto his face before he pushes you forward towards the group of first years

- Your face still feels hot when your name gets called

- You gulp as you move towards the chair

- Well it’s do or die- and you don’t plan on dying here

- You gulp again as the cold wood presses against your thighs as you take a seat

- All you have to do is ask for it to put you in -

- Wait

- What house were you aiming for again?

- Logic dictates Ravenclaw, it’s your best chance-

- But well, you’ve always wanted to be friends with Fred and George it just seems like so much fun

- And then, Slytherin’s not so bad, it would be nice if you could change peoples opinions about that house

- Oh and Hufflepuff might be nice too, you would have someone to look out for you- and you in turn can look out for others like Susan and Hannah

- And so it seems you’ve made peace, no matter which house the hat chooses, you’re happy with the outcome because there’s good and bad in all of them

- These things aren’t one dimensional, they nuanced. And that’s okay

- You feel the hat place on your head, and several long moments of silence pass

- .

- ..

- ...

- ....

- Shouldn’t something be happening by now?

- Like at least whispers in your ear from the hat or something right?

- “I-“ it finally chokes out

- Ah good a decision

- Well what’s your future going to be like?

- “I don’t know” the hat finally sputters, a collective gasp filling the room

- You drop your face into your hands, as small murmurs begin to spread through the tables

- “F*ck me” you mumble

[sailtoafarawayland]

Not Quite a Quiet Moment

(A Captain Swan Drabble)

Meant to post this last night, but sleep and stuff. For anyone who missed it. 

Be sure to check out my other drabbles and ficlets found in my series Emma and Killian (whoever we may be)

AO3 - FF

Rating: T - Soft M for a hint of sexy times

Not Quite a Quiet Moment

It was the firm, knowing slide of her husband's fingers along her hip that drew her from the heaviness of sleep into the soft light of dawn, his stubble scratching along her shoulder as he hummed a good morning that held as much promise as the press of his hard length against her backside.

“Well, hello there, Captain,” she purred, voice rough as she pushed back, desire pooling hot in the very center of her at the feel of him. “What time is it?”

“Early still...”  

“Early enough to take care of this?” she teased, rolling her hips, her own sigh echoing the throaty growl he bit into her shoulder.

“Aye, love. We should have just enough time before – ”

His words were cut off as the bedroom door leaped inward, knob banging against the wall as two wild mops of hair bobbed into view before circling the bed like sharks – if sharks could clamber up the side of a bed.

“Mama, mama, mama,” the little blonde boy with freckles piped, rolling bodily over Emma and plopping heavily into the narrow space between her and Killian, drawing a grunt of discomfort from his father. “I'm hungry. Can we have waffles for breakfast?”

“No, I want pancakes!” whined his counterpart, her dark curls wild and tangled, lips pressed into a stubborn line and green eyes narrowed as she crawled across the top of the pillows and nuzzled her father's head.

“You weren't the only one,” Killian grumbled under his breath, but a small smile tugged at his lips as he reached up and tickled the little girl's dimpled chin.

“Killian!” Emma hissed, reaching over their son and pinching him as her cheeks reddened. “Don't say that!”

“What is it you like to say, Swan – over their heads, I believe?”

“Still,” she mumbled, rolling beneath the sheets so she could press a kiss to their son's head as he picked at the threads on the comforter and looked between his parents hopefully, “no need to ruin breakfast for them at such a young age...”

Killian hummed in agreement, slowly easing himself from the bed, any amorous intentions he may have had very well squashed by their children's exuberant arrival.

“I suppose you're right, love. I certainly would be a shame if pancakes went the way of tacos.”

“Tacos for breakfast?” Liam asked, his brows shooting together before rising quizzically beneath his tousled bangs in the spitting image of his father.

“No, I don't think so, my boy,” Killian placated, ruffling his head that so resembled his own, except for the shade, “but we can add chocolate chips to the waffles.”

“But I want pancakes, Papa, can you make waffles for Liam and pancakes for me?”

Killian opened his mouth to respond as he pulled on a pair of pajama pants, but Emma beat him to it, well aware of what a complete push over – as she liked to say – he could be when it came time to saying no.

“Hope,” Emma warned, tugging on her daughter's dark curls with a soft smile and watching as she scrunched her freckled nose in response, “don't ask your father to make breakfast twice. It's waffles with Dad, or pop-tarts with me, up to you.”

“Ew, those are gross. I'll have waffles,” she stated. “Are you coming, Mama?”

“Let's allow your mother a few more moments of peace,” Killian cut in, reaching across the bed and swinging his daughter into his arms as she squealed loudly, arms and legs flailing against him. “You see, she'll get no such thing with a sea monster like you rolling around.”

“I'm not, I'm not!” Hope screamed, giggling between shrieks and pink from her cheeks to the tips of her pointed ears as Killian tickled her. “Mama, help!”

“I'll save you!” Liam yelled, tearing back into the bedroom from wherever he'd disappeared and launching himself against Killian's legs forcefully enough to draw a breathless exclamation from his chest.

“Now that's not a very wise course, lad,” Killian pointed out, half carrying, half dragging the both of them into the hallway, “siding with the sea beast over your own father who's promised waffles with chocolate chips...”

Emma buried her grin in the sheets as the ruckus faded, the thump of footsteps sounding down the hallway and stairs. While she and Killian had, admittedly, fewer quiet moments than they used to have before the twins came along – her life had never felt more full or well-lived.

And sure, maybe that meant they didn't get to enjoy lazy mornings in bed in the same way they used to, and some nights were spent cuddling sick kiddos, or with Killian telling stories to keep nightmares at bay – but as she headed downstairs just in time to watch her pirate serve up waffles with little chocolate eyes and smiles to their son and daughter, she knew she wouldn't trade what they had now for anything.

Tagging: @donteattheappleshook @justanother-unluckysoul @kmomof4 @the-darkdragonfly @teamhook @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @jrob64 @wefoundloveunderthelight @tiganasummertree @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @alexa-fangirl-forever @alifeofdreams @superchocovian @hollyethecurious @caught-in-the-filter @snowbellewells @itsfabianadocarmo @stahlop @karlyfr13s @elizabeethan @rkrbirdgirl @batana54

[bloobeary]

The hallway light is off when he gets home, but the one over the stove was on. Bucky knows that Steve did it on purpose so that Bucky wouldn’t have to stumble around inside in the middle of the night. It makes his heart stutter in his chest no matter how many times he sees it. So sweet, that guy of his. He’ll buy Steve some flowers, and make him breakfast and kiss him stupid tomorrow.

He toes off his boots at the door, and sets his bag down on the couch, that way it won’t make as much noise. There’s a few hours of night left before the sun starts to come up, a few hours before Steve peels himself out of bed and heads out for a run.

He’s asleep now, Bucky notices from where he creeps in through the bedroom door, arms around Bucky’s pillow, sheets around his hips. He’s even wearing one of Bucky’s old t-shirts, one that he’s sure he tossed in the hamper before he left. His mouth is a little open, and his hair is going every which way, and Bucky loves him so much it hurts to breathe.

He’s not around enough-- he knows this. Not that it’s on purpose, or Steve would ever hold it against him, but Bucky knows he misses him when he’s gone, just like Bucky misses Steve when he’s gone, too. But Steve gets all quiet and sad about it, mopes around like a droopy flower until Bucky gets home and refuses to admit that it’s hard on him. Usually, it doesn’t take much more than Bucky gluing himself to Steve like a burr to a sock for his smile to reach his eyes again, but Bucky’s not stupid. Plus, Natasha tattles.

Steve goes on ops just as much, ex-Captain America doesn’t get sidelined just because he changed uniforms, so Bucky doesn’t sleep much when Steve’s not around. He sits in bed staring at the ceiling until he can’t take it anymore. Things get fixed when Steve’s gone. Not that any of them are the ones that need to be fixed, but Bucky just needs something to do with his hands. He wonders if Natasha tells on him, too. They’re real pieces of work, two peas in one fucked up pod. They’re figuring it out.

The truth is they work too much, both of them. In and out of the house like it’ll hold them hostage if they stay for too long. Retirement comes up every so often, but even though Steve doesn’t carry the shield anymore, and Bucky’s not the Winter Soldier, they never get around to it. They’ve got too much time coiled in their bones to sit still, he thinks.

Really, Bucky doesn’t trust himself to ever leave if he gets used to being around Steve all the time. It’s hard enough leaving after they’ve got one day off together, Bucky can’t figure what it’d be like to take any actual amount of time off. After the helicarriers and everything else, Steve grabbed Bucky by the shoulders and said dont ever disappear on me again. Bucky shares the feeling. He thinks if they were to retire, officially and on paper, he’d never let Steve out of his sight again. That such a bad thing? He hears it in Steve’s voice, though he’ll never say it, not like that at least.

Bucky undresses quickly, quietly, on his side of the bed, back to the window so he can watch Steve sleep, make sure he doesn’t wake him up. He should shower, really--there’s dried sweat and what feels like a layer of grime caked onto his skin, even though he washed off the dried blood somewhat unceremoniously before debrief and he stinks. He should shower, but that would add ten minutes between him and Steve. It’s a selfish, unhygienic thought, but one he has anyways.

Steve takes a deep breath and stirs a little, and Bucky goes still, holds his breath until he settles again, face tucked into the pillow. Bucky’s heart feels too big for his body, then, and he decides that a shower can wait. He’ll change the sheets the next morning, as penance.

He crawls into his side of the bed, and wraps his arms around Steve’s middle, tucking his face into the rise of his neck and taking a breath. He smells clean and warm and a little like lavender--something about some fancy lotion he bought recently, his brain supplies-- he smells like home.

Bucky hopes a little distractedly that Steve will wake up on his own. He wants a kiss or a thousand and his heart yearns for Steve’s smile, but he also knows that once Steve’s up, he’s up. Bucky’s been jealous of him forever. How the hell can you get out of bed at three in the morning and be ready to go without so much as a cup of coffee? Standing there all chipper, eyes a little tired but bright nonetheless while the rest of the Howlies scraped themselves off the dirt trying to find some sort of energy. He could blame the serum, but the truth is he’s always been like that, even when he was too sick to stand. It’s absurd, is what it is. Bucky takes a breath and presses his lips to the back of Steve’s shoulder.

Steve doesn’t wake up quite, but he does lean back against Bucky’s chest, warm. It’s not a kiss, but it’ll do.

Not such a bad thing at all.

“Buck?” Steve asks sleepily, a few hours later, once the sun is filtering in through the blinds. He yawns and stretches a little. Bucky doesn’t even have to look at the clock to know that it's six-thirty on the dot. “When’d you come home?”

“Few hours ago.” He mumbles, and he feels Steve turn in his arms, and put a hand on his chest right over his heart. Bucky opens his eyes. The fine smatter of freckles over Steve’s nose greet him, and he can’t help but smile. “I love you,” He says, sincere, and Steve smiles, finally. Nearly a century’s worth of hearing it, and it still makes him blush. Some primal part of Bucky's ego swells with that. If he were anywhere near half awake he's probably puff his chest out like a fucking rooster or something equally stupid.

“Aw hell,” He says, laughing a little at himself before leaning forward to give Bucky a quick kiss. “I missed you. You okay?”

Bucky nods and holds Steve tighter, closer. “You gonna go run?”

Steve thinks about it, at least he pretends to. “No,” Steve says finally, simple as that. Bucky kisses him again.

Bucky could sleep another ten hours, and Steve’s liable to let him, even if he himself won’t. Steve puts a hand in Bucky’s hair and scratches at his scalp softly; it feels good, but Bucky makes a face, cause it’s dirty and greasy, and he really needs that shower. “What?”

Bucky shrugs. “I need a shower.” He says but makes no move to get up. “I stink.”

“You don’t.”

“Liar,” Bucky says, and then has to yawn right through it. “Don’t let me keep you if you got things to do.” He mumbles, resting his head against Steve’s collarbone.

It's mostly just so Steve doesn’t think he has to waste his day next to his exhausted and frankly quite dirty boyfriend. Not that said boyfriend will complain about lazing in bed all day next to him. In fact, that’s at the top of his things to do today list. He’s so warm and soft and right there. Bucky slides his hands up under Steve’s shirt, pressing them against his back. Bucky feels like he’s made of silly putty.

“Ain’t a damn thing in the world that’s more important than you,” Steve says, says it in the way he gets sometimes, all serious like he’s under oath or something. Bucky bites him and then kisses right over it.

“We work too much,” Bucky mumbles, feeling himself fall back into that syrupy sleep state. His hand is still in Bucky’s hair. He yawns again, and Steve smiles, kisses his nose. “Should take a vacation.”

“Should retire.” Steve one-ups him.

It’s a joke, kind of. Only it’s not.

“Yeah, we should,” Bucky says. He means it. He means it this time. “Sit on the porch and read the newspaper, and then fuck like married people at the end of the day,” Bucky says, and Steve laughs. He yawns again, and Steve says something, maybe, but he doesn’t quite catch it.

“Did you mean it?” Steve asks later, much later, when the sun’s going down again and they’ve both showered. He’s sitting on the opposite end of the couch, holding a cooling mug of tea in one hand, sketchbook open but untouched on his lap.

“Mean what?” Bucky asks, looking up from his phone. He pokes his socked foot into Steve’s hip when he doesn’t get an answer. “Hey,” He says, frowning a little. Steve won’t look at him, embarrassed for whatever reason. “Come here.” He asks, and Steve dutifully sets his cup down and snaps his sketchbook closed before scooching over to sit near Bucky. He throws an arm around his shoulders and manhandles him around, a little so that he’s sitting up against Bucky’s chest.

“Mean what, baby?” Bucky asks again.

Steve shrugs, and then sighs. He turns to look at him. “That we should retire.”

Bucky blinks and then thinks about it. He could do without shipping out every couple of days, he’s getting old, after all. They both are, technically, but Steve wears it better. Probably because he did all his sleeping in one go. Even then, Bucky’s a year older, so he has well earned the right to complain, thank you very much.

“Yeah.” He says, and it surprises both of them. Steve turns to look at him, eyes wide, mouth half caught on a smile like he’s not sure he should yet. “You?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, I think… I think I did.” He says, and then a smile curls onto his face. Bucky laughs at him, for good measure, and Steve kisses him. “I miss you, you know.”

“Aw, babe,” Bucky teases, resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder and hugging him close.

“Oh, Lord.” Steve chuckles and tries to squirm away, but it’s half-hearted, and Bucky’s got too good of a grip on him for it to work. “You miss me?”

“Course I fucking miss you,” Bucky says, honest, and Steve surprises him by grabbing him by the chin and kissing him. The angle is a little weird, but it doesn’t matter.

“So what now, huh?” Steve asks, and Bucky shrugs.

“Sit on the porch,” Bucky suggests, and Steve snorts.

“We ain’t got a porch.”

“I’ll get you a house with a porch that wraps all the way around it, like in that movie you made me watch,” Bucky says, and Steve laughs.

“The Notebook?”

“Sure.” Bucky says, not sure himself of the name but he does know that the end made him get a little teary-eyed, and Steve full-on cried, like snot-bubble cried, and they didn't let go of each other for the rest of the day. Not a very comedic romantic comedy.

“Yeah, and what else?" Steve asks, still half-joking. "Could we get a dog?"

Bucky thinks about it, thinks about how somewhere in the middle of Europe they found a stray litter of puppies, how Steve carried three of them zipped in the front of his jacket until they found the nearest inhabited town, how he tried to hide how upset he really was when they had to leave. Bucky takes a good long look at him, how there's still a light dusting of blush on his cheeks, and puts a hand on his face.

“Whatever you want, doll.” Bucky says, and he means it.