#when will they have time for their honeymoon? :(

[monstersflashlight]

Advent calendar: Day 18. Holiday knot

Yeti x fem!reader || semi-public sex, oral sex, knotting

You had a great idea for your anniversary. Since you married your yeti husband, you’d been trying to get him to chase you through the woods, but seeing as it was mid December and the temperatures would probably kill you if you ran naked… You decided to make it special in other ways.

You wore a nice coat, the longest one you had, with extra padding on the inside so you’d be warm no matter what. And under it you wore… almost nothing. You bought the naughty lingerie so long ago you almost forgot you had it, but at the last second you put it on and walked to his office as a normal day. You had dinner with him once a week, always on Wednesdays, and he was always waiting for you.

But this time around you had a bit of a surprise.

You opened the door to his office and closed behind you, making sure the blindfolds were down and the secretary left for her lunch. He was on a call you weren’t too interested in, you could only focus on the feel of the coat against your naked skin and the way your heart was trying to escape from your chest.

Even from afar he was magnificent, giant and furry and so incredibly beautiful in his monster features that you were dripping wet even before he even breathed in your direction. You’d never felt so strongly about any human, but as soon as you met him… you were done for good. Forget human tiny dicks, who wanted that when you could have giant ridged dicks that knotted you until you were dripping cum for hours after?

You were a bit nervous, you knew he’d love your surprise, but you were way past your honeymoon phase and maybe office sex wasn’t on his kink-list… Maybe.

“Well, hello there, wife,” he greeted you in his most cheerful rough voice, making you shiver.

It was now or never.

You slipped the upper part of your coat down your shoulders, exposing the red lingerie framing your tits in the most amazing way. He choked on a breath, and that encouraged you. You let the coat fall to the floor, pooling at your feet as you blinked slowly at him. And you realized the exact moment when he saw the mistletoe adorning your panties.

In a flash, literally the time it took for you to blink, he had jumped over the table and was crowding you, his giant sized body pulling you up and against the door. You shivered in anticipation, his rough breathing matching your accelerated heartbeat.

He bit down on your neck playfully. “You smell like cookies, wife…” He rumbled against your ear. That meant you were excited, that you were aroused, he loved the smell of cookies as much as he loved the smell of your horniness. “You came here wanting to be ravished by a monster?” He teased, his voice amused but his dick very hard under your barely covered ass.

Your nerves got the best of you when you answered: “Really? If you… If you want to...”

He pulled back a fraction, his big white inhuman eyes looking straight into yours, almost shocked when he deadpanned: “Do I want to fuck my wife in my desk? Yes. What kind of question is that?”

“I- I didn’t know if you’d be up for it,” you confessed, feeling shy all of sudden.

“Wife, I’ve wanted to fuck you over that desk since the first time you came to have lunch with me. And you are making my fantasies come true right now, you are the bestest of wives,” he said between soft kisses around your face, making you giggle with his sudden affection.

But it wasn’t all that soft, his dick was pressing insistently against your ass and you wriggled your bottom until he was whimpering, his strong arms holding you up as he walked to the desk and sat you there. He kissed you softly on the lips, and then sat down on his chair, legs open and erection very clear in his slacks. Fuck, he looked good enough to eat with his fur peaking through the buttons of his shirt, sleeves rolled up…

But he was only staring at you, not doing anything. “Aren’t you going to fuck me?” You asked, a bit confused at the situation.

“Oh, yes… I’m definitely going to. But first: lunch.” That was all he said before his face was buried in your pussy as he pushed the panties to the side, not even taking them off.

He devoured your center with desperation, with a hunger so primal and deep that you didn’t know if you would survive. It was the best oral sex ever, and he had just started. He kept grunting and moaning against your sex, his furry face getting messy with your juices as he enjoyed himself. You could only hold onto his hair and pull every time he tried to get a breath in between licks. You didn’t care if he breathed or not, you only needed him against your pussy, his fingers playing dexterously with your clit.

“I’m- I’m gonna…!” You tried to warn, but you were too slow.

The orgasm crashed into you like a tidal wave as your body convulsed over the desk, his hands holding you down as you knocked a few things off the table. He only chuckled against your pussy, probably not caring you were destroying some important documents.

He pulled back, whipping your juices away from his chin and licking his fingers clean. That movement was so hot that you whimpered as he smirked at you. He knew what he was doing.

“Now the main course,” he said, ripping the panties off and pressing the tip of his cock against your entrance. You groaned whorishly and he smirked again, his fangs so big you couldn’t suppress a shiver.

You thought he would push inside in one go, but he chose a tortuous pace, his dick breaching you so slowly and thoroughly that you could feel him everywhere at once. His hands were on your boobs, on your ass, on your clit… And his dick kept going deeper and deeper. Your brain was barely functioning at that point, not caring about the noise of the possibility of someone finding you. You could only focus on the way he felt against you.

But once he bottomed out, there was no place for soft sex anymore. He started a rough pace, fucking in and out of you with the desperation of a husband in his anniversary. With the desperation of a yeti who found his mate in the middle of a big city. With the hunger of a monster in need of his bride. And you ate it up, matching his noises and groans, moving against his body until you were both sweaty and your lingerie was probably beyond repair.

But you didn’t fucking care.

It felt so good. It felt too good.

“I’m going to knot you,” he warned.

“But we- Someone could...” you tried to argue without much strength. You wanted it. You wanted it more than anything. You needed it like you needed breathing.

“Let them,” he grunted. The rough tone and the way his dick hit your G-spot just right at the same time his thumb rubbed your clit was enough to send you over the edge once again. “Fuck, so tight, so good…”

He kept chanting how good your pussy was when you felt the erratic thrusts and the beginning of his knot at your entrance. He pushed one last time before it fully developed inside of you, locking you two together as he came over and over inside your welcoming heat.

His body was holding you down as you breathed calmly, his dick still twitching inside of you as he kept coming and coming. You knew this would take a while, and you were more than content to just wait it out. It felt great to have him inside, almost like cockwarming but… bigger. Maybe you should try cockwarming next.

“Stop thinking so hard,” he complained against your neck, landing a few soft kisses and scratching you with his fangs, making you shiver.

By the time his knot went down, you felt almost coherent again, but when you got up and felt the first gush of cum out of you, you were already thinking if he could fuck you again soon. You were about to tease him to get a rise out of him when he beat you to it.

“Are you going to walk back home with my cum leaking down your tights?” He asked as you put your coat back on, hiding your body from him. There was an edge to his voice that you couldn’t quite place.

“I’m going to the car and then I’ll drive home,” you explained, a smirk on your lips when you realized what he wanted. “Do you want me to plug myself and wait until you get home?” You asked back, a blush covering your cheeks as his eyes turned big, his dick filling inside his slacks once more.

“Fuck. Yes,” he groaned. “I’d be there as soon as possible, I just have one meeting.”

“Don’t be late or I’ll start without you, I bought a new toy…” You commented before closing the door, laughing when you heard the curse behind you.

You didn’t get to the elevator before his big body was hoisting you up between giggles and walking to the stairs with you over his shoulder. “Forget the meeting, forget the elevator, I need you in our bed ASAP,” he roared as you laughed.

[antimonyandthyme]

WHAT IF CARCAR REALLY HAD MAGNETS BETWEEN THEM

/or a stuck together au

“It’s like Eat Pray Love,” Carlos says.

“I’ll be honest,” Guanyu says. “Neither of you remind me of Julia Roberts much.”

“Please just,” Oscar massages the bridge of his nose, “point to a place on the map. Any place.”

“Why China,” Guanyu presses. Of course he’s curious. “Why not Spain or Australia?”

“Neutral ground,” Oscar says quickly.

“Ah I see,” Guanyu says. “You can’t agree on a spot, right?”

“I keep telling him,” Carlos says, always with the over-the-top gesticulating. He tries it with both hands first, then realizes Oscar’s being all sorts of petty and weighing his left arm down on purpose where they’re joined, so he continues gesturing eagerly with his right. “Come to Madrid!” He nearly smacks Oscar in the nose with his hand. Oscar scowls. “We have so much good food. I can show you all the things, but no! Piastri will only agree to get sunburned on Australian sand. We have beaches in Spain, too!”

“Guanyu,” Oscar urges, “a place, now.”

“Here,” Guanyu says, index finger plopping down. Like some cartoon scene, both Oscar and Carlos automatically lean in to squint at the map, and bump their heads against each other.

“I hate you.”

“Hard same.”

“Lijiang is actually a famous honeymoon destination,” Guanyu says.

“I hate you,” Carlos says.

“Hard same,” Oscar says.

“Hey.” Guanyu grins like this entire situation is wildly hilarious. Maybe it is, for everyone else. Oscar kinda wants to jump into the sea, but Carlos will only drag him down, their uncoordinated conjoined limbs tangled and thrashing. “You guys asked me to choose. Look, don’t you want to see pandas?”

Carlos makes some sort of shocked noise. Oh, for the love of—Oscar groans. He knows when someone’s just bought something.

“Carlos wants to see pandas,” Guanyu says, sounding far too delighted. “Chengdu’s like a fourteen-hour drive from Lijiang, that’s totally doable.”

They stare at him blankly.

“Oh my god. Chengdu, you know? Research base for giant panda breeding? Panda capital of China?”

Twiddle-Dum and Twiddle-Dee: “Ohhhhh.”

“Yeah, now you got it. In between, you can hit a dozen other places and never grow bored.” Guanyu taps his finger along the map, tick, tick, tick. “So why not? Complete the journey. Transform into Julia Roberts.”

“And break the curse,” Carlos says solemnly.

“Break the curse,” Oscar repeats miserably, but with his left hand, goes to look up flight tickets on his phone.

--

They discover that the only way they can pull on extra layers is if they yank themselves apart with all their might, creating just a sliver of space between their elbows. It’s painful. Oscar never wants to have to do this again.

“Now,” Carlos yells, and in a flurry of movement Oscar gets his coat on before their elbows snap back together.

Ow, ow. Oscar’s eyes are watering. He suspects Carlos’s is doing just the same.

“Okay, okay,” Oscar says. “Now your turn.”

Carlos waves him off. “I’m not cold.”

Oscar opens his mouth to argue, but Carlos is already dragging them off toward a sign with a car on it. The rental cars are left-hand steering, and it dawns on both of them at the exact time that Oscar will be doing all the driving, with the way they’re stuck to each other.

“No fair,” Carlos moans, as Oscar fist pumps the air. It would be too childish to stick his tongue out at Carlos. So he doesn’t.

A part of Oscar’s a spectator to all of this. Watching with his mouth hanging wide open, some disembodied shade looking from outside in, as his own body purchased tickets, packed a luggage (with Carlos in the same room), and boarded a plane. None of this makes sense. Getting into a car with Carlos, firstly. Then with the added condition that both of them have to clamber in from one side, before Carlos can climb over the middle console into the passenger seat. Fourteen hours of this, huh? He’s going to give Guanyu hell when they get back.

If, they make it back. Oscar guesses it’ll be two hours before they attempt to murder each other. You don’t go road tripping with people you can’t stand. It’s the one and only sacred rule of road tripping.

“I think I saw this in Final Destination.”

Oscar, zoned out staring at the road, manages a stupid, “What?”

“You know that pileup where everyone dies?”

“Everyone always dies in Final Destination.”

Carlos rolls his eyes, shakes their joined elbows for emphasis. “The scene where the logs fall off? A lot of screaming? A lot of swerving? All because they were stuck behind a logging truck?”

“Carlos.” Oscar takes one deep, deep calming breath. “Are you asking me to overtake?”

“If you can, yes,” Carlos says, like Oscar’s the one being thick. “Go on. I’ll help you hold the wheel steady.”

Oscar cranes his neck and glances around the side of the truck. The opposing lane seems clear, not a headlight in sight. What the heck. You can take the driver off a track, but he’ll still want to race.

“Woo!” Carlos yells, as Oscar zooms around the steadily plodding truck. A little clumsy, with Carlos almost overcompensating the steer as they merge back into the right lane, but successful, nonetheless. No one dies.

Mismatched hands on the wheel. Adrenaline spiking for just a few seconds of speed. Oscar finds himself wearing a grin to match Carlos’s. Maybe they’ll cut it down to thirteen and a half hours like this.

--

“Guanyu was right,” Carlos says thoughtfully.

Oscar’s got his nose buried in a helpful English guide. A sense of ambitious adventure appears to have overtaken them. He wants to hit at least three lookout points today. “About?”

“Look,” Carlos points in some vague direction. “All the couples.”

“Huh,” Oscar says. “That is a lot of couples.”

No one pays them any mind. They haven’t been recognized since they stepped foot here. For all intents and purposes, they could just be another one of those peaceful couples, milling about.

Well. Peaceful, would be a bit of a pipe dream.

“YOU CAN PLAY GOLF AT JADE DRAGON SNOW MOUNTAIN.”

“Carlos,” Oscar hisses. “Quiet.”

“You can play golf,” Carlos repeats, softer but no less excited, eyes larger than two sparkling coins, “at Jade Dragon Snow Mountain!”

Oscar snatches the guide back from Carlos’s hand. “I’m pretty sure I just read that the mountain’s considered holy.”

“They let people play golf on a holy mountain,” Carlos says for the third damn time. “I love it here.”

“We’re not playing golf,” Oscar says.

“Oscar,” Carlos says, dismayed.

“You have one hand, remember?” Oscar wriggles their stuck arms, a reminder he didn’t even know Carlos would have needed.

“Riiight,” Carlos says, shoulders drooping.

“We can still see the mountain though,” Oscar says, is alarmed at the tiny skip-hop going on in his chest when Carlos brightens again. Doesn’t take a lot to keep this guy happy. That’s, good for him. That’s good.

They decide the cable cars up are too much hassle, with the queues already stretching out for hours. The mountain’s basically viewable from anywhere, so Oscar steers Carlos toward Old Town. Where he discovers that Carlos is terrible at haggling. Absolute nightmare. He hands over money to anyone who so much as gestures him over. The singular tote bag Oscar brings starts to get filled with random trinkets, from fans to calligraphy pens.

“What’s this,” Oscar says, when Carlos shakes his head as Oscar prepares to pack away two wooden charms in the shape of a very rotund cat.

“Not for keeping,” Carlos explains. “They’re for wishes. We hang them up in the temple.”

“Oh,” Oscar says. Carlos had gotten one for him too. “I didn’t think you believed in these things.”

“I don’t,” Carlos says quickly, before looking away, like he’s afraid Oscar will laugh at him.

Oscar chews at his lip. He didn’t mean to suggest it was silly. It’s a little unfair for Carlos to think so lowly of him. If they could, this is where they’d walk their separate ways and browse different shops, long enough for the awkward tension to diffuse. Come back refreshed and recharged for more time spent in each other’s company. No such grace, here.

The stream whispers as it flows by the stone-paved path. The wooden house clusters look as if they’re linked, hand to hand, a never-ending line all the way to the top. Everything here’s older than Oscar, older by years and years and years.

“I keep an amulet in my helmet,” Carlos says. His eyes wander around like he’s sightseeing. “I don’t know why I lied.”

“A little belief can’t hurt,” Oscar blurts out, just so Carlos would stop looking so wounded. “That’s what I always say.”

Carlos nudges him. “You never say that.”

Above them, a thousand colorful prayer flags blow gently in the wind. Wooden charms as numerous as the birds adorn the roof of the temple. Wishes for health, prosperity, family. Oscar tries to peek at what Carlos is writing, only for Carlos to shove him away so violently that they both fall over.

Oscar laughs as Carlos strains to keep his charm out of prying reach. No easy task, both of them being joined and all.

May the new year bring surprises and joy. For my family and friends, good health always. For myself—

Oscar wrenches his gaze away. Some things aren’t for anyone else to know.

He watches Carlos hang his charm up carefully. And then Carlos waits, back turned as much as he can, for Oscar to write his own wish. It’s simple. Fast car, many wins. Happiness. Oscar ties his somewhere near Carlos’s. Closes his eyes and listens to them jangle together.

--

For myself, patience.

--

Oscar’s pretty sure he’s dying. He’s pretty sure this is what dying feels like.

“I thought,” he gasps, in between gulps of warm tea that only makes things infinitely worse, “I told her not spicy?”

Carlos is cackling like the unhelpful asshole he is. “This is not spicy.”

When you explore some place new, local recommendations for food are a must. Oscar’s seriously reconsidering Travel Tip 101 when he gets fed hotpot that turns his tongue worryingly numb.

“Well, it is a little spicy,” Carlos concedes. “But nothing I can’t take.”

“Isn’t Spanish food not spicy?”

“It’s not,” Carlos says. “Actually, I wasn’t good at taking spice until after I started driving.” He fans exaggeratedly at Oscar’s overheated mouth, like that could even help an iota. It’s so Carlos it’s endearing. Shit. “I only started putting hot sauce on all my trainer’s meals because everything tasted so bland.”

Oscar coughs, wiping at his leaking nose. “It burns,” he moans.

“There, there,” Carlos says, mock sympathetic. “Don’t cry.”

“Seriously.” Oscar blinks rapidly, is it affecting his eyeballs too? His pulse thuds like the hoofbeat of a runaway horse. “How are you not even sweating?”

Carlos winks at him. “They don’t call me chili for nothing.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Aw,” Carlos says, and finally puts himself to some use by waving down a server, and sweettalking her into bringing a pitcher of iced water over.

Oscar calls first dibs on the shower, claiming the need to wash the spice out of his pores. Carlos rolls his eyes but acquiesces, gallant about it for once. They force themselves not to make it awkward. Pull apart for just long enough to slip their clothes off, eyes everywhere but on each other. Carlos stands outside the curtain as Oscar tries to shampoo and soap himself down in the narrow tub with one hand.

When it's Carlos's turn: “Oh my god,” Oscar says. “Carlos, are you using soap for your hair?”

“I’m trying to be quick,” Carlos says, voice disembodied even though he’s right next to Oscar. Separated by the thinnest sheet of translucent nylon. The shadow of Carlos is unmistakable in the light. The broadness of his shoulders, the tapering of his waist. “So you do not stand outside for forty-five minutes like I did.”

“I didn’t take forty-five minutes!”

Carlos laughs, the cackle now almost familiar. “And how are you knowing I’m using soap? Are you peeking?”

“I hate you,” Oscar says, waits for Carlos to return with a Hard same like they’re in on the same joke. Waits and waits until Carlos emerges from behind the curtain, not fifteen minutes later, lips still sealed together like withholding some secret.

--

As designated shotgunner, with no say in the matter, Carlos is in charge of the GPS and the AUX cord. After the second album of Enrique Iglesias, Oscar relegates him to Captain of Pointing Out Exit Signs Only. Carlos pretends to pout about it, but he reclines his seat, as far back as their joined elbows will allow. Closes his eyes, limbs loose, all relaxed. He looks so good like that, when he’s as easy as easy can be.

Oscar swallows the click in his throat back down.

“I feel bad,” Carlos murmurs, sounding like he’s close to drifting off. “You’re doing all the work.”

“I don’t mind,” Oscar says. He’s getting real good at one-handed maneuvers now. Hah, maybe this will be beneficial on the track. “I hate getting driven. I rather do it myself.”

“Control freak,” Carlos says.

“Yeah,” Oscar admits. “A little bit.”

When Oscar dares to look over at Carlos, there’s a smile curving his lips gently up. They didn’t magically learn how to talk to each other. But it’s a start, trading little morsels of information like passing notes in school.

One of Guanyu’s other suggestions had been Emei Mountain, boasting an altitude of over three-thousand meters and some ridiculous number of stairs.

(Sixty thousand, to be precise. Oscar had opened his mouth to complain, but Guanyu had responded with a report of the monkeys that lived in the mountain. There came that dazed, excited noise from Carlos again, and Oscar knew it was a lost cause.)

Jet-lag’s working in their favour, and they’ve arrived before the tour buses can deposit too many people for them to stomach. Ambitions are dampened when they realize climbing’s harder when surgically joined by some unknown force at the elbow. When Oscar lifts his left leg, his right arm wants to go, which means Carlos’s left arm needs to go, which means Carlos’s right leg needs to lift. They clunk around clumsily for the first chunk of steps, griping and critiquing each other’s technique. The fog rolls in and laps at their ears, and for a while, there’s nothing much to see.

An elderly lady pressures them into an early lunch, and Carlos gives in effortlessly, like always. It ends up being the best thing Oscar’s eaten since coming here. They fight over the last slice of barbecue pork, and Oscar wins, by virtue of being slightly better at using chopsticks.

By the time they’re halfway up, they’ve got climbing down to an art, limbs moving like clockwork around the constriction. Carlos takes advantage of their newfound skill to increase their pace to a march.

“Carlos,” Oscar’s not ashamed to beg. “Please, won’t you stop and look at the monkeys.”

Carlos laughs at him and calls him slow. Because Carlos is crazy, he’s taken off his light sweater even in this weather, and the threadbare white shirt he’s wearing leaves little to imagination. Chest hair, nipples. Oscar looks away before he can be caught staring. The fog’s given way to some amazing views. Rich vegetation, more trees than Oscar’s brain knows what to do with. Beautiful things all around.

Carlos’s face swims into view. “Come on.” The tugging at the elbow doesn’t hurt as much as it did before. “To the top! There are giant golden statues!”

The statues are indeed golden. And they are indeed giant. The largest one weighs six hundred and sixty metric tons, according to the pamphlet. Larger, surely, than the feeling expanding in his lungs.

“Look, Oscar!” Carlos points with their joined arms, all delight.

“Yeah,” Oscar says. Quickened pulse from the strenuous activity, and he wills it to settle. Control freak. “I’m looking.”

--

Designated phone time on the bed is an hour long. Oscar uses it to text his mum, sift through photos from the day. With how close they’re forced to be, it’s hard to get a picture without a body part of Carlos making its way in. Oscar finds he doesn’t quite mind. He’s got one of the cloudless, blue sky, the backdrop for the Leidongping cable car station. Carlos is pointing at something again, his finger situated artistically right in the middle of the lidless eye of the sun.

Guanyu’s the one who got them into this mess, so he probably deserves a photo update. Oscar sends it over WhatsApp and receives an O-M-G!!! in return, along with nine panda emojis.

No pandas, we’re not at Chengdu yet, Oscar types.

Honestly, I’m surprised you even made it this far, Guanyu says.

Wow, thanks

Oscar squints, rereads Guanyu’s message.

Wait, you were the one who gave us this itinerary!

Hahaha, is all Guanyu says, followed by multiple peace sign emojis.

加油!

Oscar has to google translate that, learn that it means to add oil. To go for it. Go for what?

“Teto says he wishes he was here too,” Carlos says sleepily, looking up from his phone.

“Teto’s out of luck,” Oscar says, ignoring the flash of something hot and possessive down his spine.

He plucks Carlos’s phone out of his willing fingers. Reaches over Carlos for the pull chain of the lamp. Beneath him for just a second, Carlos shifts, comfortable, cozy. Oscar gets the ludicrous notion that if he were to collapse down, right now, Carlos’s body would welcome him.

Shit. How long until they come apart?

Click, off go the lights. Meekly, Oscar makes his way back to his designated side of the bed. Carlos mumbles a soft Good night. More intimate than he could ever mean. Oscar mumbles something back, and satisfied, Carlos closes his eyes. He likes sleeping on his side. Coincidences of coincidences, so does Oscar. Carlos falls asleep faster though, and it gives Oscar a lot of time to stare without accusation. Trace the planes and slopes of Carlos’s face before he drifts off himself.

--

At long last. Chengdu panda base.

After jostling with the crowds to watch the pandas tumble around for their food, then tumble around to play, then tumble around to sleep, Oscar turns to Carlos.

“Well?”

“Eh,” Carlos makes a see-saw motion with his hands. “It’s a little anti-climatic.”

Oscar barks out a laugh. A joined body part, three shared showers, thirteen and a half hours in a car together later, and Carlos still surprises him. He really doesn’t do Oscar well on a neurochemical level.

“Isn’t this what you came here for?”

“I thought it was,” Carlos says. It’s no longer only their elbows touching. Now it’s bicep to little pinky, pressed up against each other like puzzle pieces which fit slightly crooked. One long, unbroken line of heat. “I thought—”

Carlos tapers off. Oscar waits.

“Well, it’s the journey that counts, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“They’re very cute, too.”

“Uh huh,” Oscar says. “Pictures or Guanyu’s never going to believe we made it here.”

Oscar takes one of Carlos with a sleeping mama panda in the background. He’s halfway through checking if it’s any good when Carlos grabs the phone.

“Come here,” he says.

It’s not easy arranging themselves together and catching a panda as well, but heck, didn’t they climb sixty-thousand stairs with some careful coordination? Carlos holds out the phone with his right hand, smooshes their cheeks together. The scrap of Carlos’s stubble against his skin—that’s, there’s a new sensation, in every way possible.

“Say panda,” Carlos says.

“Panda,” Oscar says, the same way he would say, Alert, or Danger, or Abort. His cheeks are going to show up pink in the photo. And Carlos will notice and say something completely asinine—

“Hee hee,” Carlos says. “Your eyes are closed, Oscar.”

--

Once they get enough panda souvenirs to shower the grid, the rest of the day passes in the laziest of fashions. They’ve hit their goal now, so there’s no need to rush. Oscar actually bothers to look through Yelp for restaurant options, and after all his hard work, gets yanked by Carlos into some random alleyway with plastic stools to eat hand-pulled noodles.

Meandering like leaves on an easy stream down the folk and culture street, the promise of a hot shower eventually calls to them. Oscar, gentleman that he is, lets Carlos go first.

Oscar stares unblinkingly at a water spot on a tile as Carlos hums and soap himself, as easy and as relaxed as if he weren’t stuck with Oscar listening to the way the water hits his skin. The first time in the shower, when Oscar had unwittingly brushed his hands over his dick, he’d jumped, then stood still for a whole minute, waiting for Carlos to call him out on it. It’d felt forbidden, with Carlos standing not two inches away.

To Carlos’s credit, he doesn’t punch Oscar when the curtain is pulled back, with a force that can only be described as resolution. He only yelps like a little pup, clapping his free hand over his chest, before the hand trails self-consciously down.

“I’ll help you shampoo,” Oscar says. “It’s faster this way.”

“Well,” Carlos says, “if it’s faster.”

They’re staying at the Shang this time, and there’s fancy shampoo smelling like bergamot and orange. Oscar douses Carlos with half a bottle, squeezing too much out by accident. He keeps bumping his hand into Carlos’s while they attempt to scrub. The lather gets into Carlos’s eyes, and Oscar has to try and hide his smile while Carlos whines piteously. It’s not actually faster in any way.

“There, there,” Oscar says, in a similar tone as to when Carlos had observed Oscar leaking copious fluids over hotpot. “Baby.”

Carlos makes a face and pretends to start crying again, and something terribly fond constricts the entirety of Oscar’s ribcage.

Towelling each other dry is a whole new learning curve, just like putting clothes on, and driving one-handed, and climbing stairs. They’re looking at each other this time, too. That’s also new. Huh. Carlos is very, very gentle as he dries the back of Oscar’s ears. The kind of gentle that speaks of someone having done this for him before, resulting in an insistence in getting this right. Oscar gets all warm, even with the water cooling rapidly on his skin.

“Phone time?”

“No need,” Carlos yawns.

It’s Carlos that leans over this time for the light switch, even though Shang’s posh enough to have light switches at both sides for easy access. Carlos hovers over Oscar for a suspended moment, and Oscar sucks in a breath, straining with anticipation. The head pat is unexpected, but enough for now.

Satisfied, Oscar closes his eyes.

--

“Hey!” Carlos exclaims. “Oscar, we’re free!”

“Whuh,” Oscar says blearily. He’ll never acquire Carlos’s habit of waking up at eight.

“Look, look,” Carlos says, all childish delight. He waves his arms in front of Oscar’s face. Both his arms.

“Hey!” Oscar says, shooting up, suddenly awake.

“Yeah!”

“So all we needed was a shower?”

“Oscar,” Carlos says disapprovingly. “It wasn’t just a shower. We wrote this on prayer cards.” Oscar doesn’t point out neither of them wrote this on a prayer card. “We climbed a mountain. We saw pandas!”

“And took a shower,” Oscar says.

Carlos sniffs. “Have it your way.”

“Fine, fine,” Oscar says. It’s too early to be feeling all warm and crumbly, like the center of a freshly baked pie. “It was the journey that counts, yes?”

“Yes,” Carlos nods. “Maybe. Maybe it was something I—we had to learn. In preparation for. For—”

May the new year bring surprises and joy. For myself, patience.

Their hands are no longer joined, but Oscar takes Carlos’s, and presses a quick, dry kiss to the backs of his knuckles. Carlos is so surprised he lets him.

“Ah,” Carlos says, voice trembly and a little hopeful. “What happens now?”

Oscar looks down at their hands. Going through all of this to separate, only to choose to stay touching. There’s something about a journey being full circle, but Oscar doesn’t want to finish that thought for fear of actually transforming into Julia Roberts. And anyway—

“Now we drive back.”

They’re not near done, yet.

[nopaintjustpain]

Writing baby’s first Jmart fic because I’m only 6 episodes away from the ending of TMA and I’m scared :3

[peppermintquartz]

When he hears that Tommy has to work on Christmas Eve, Buck tries not to pout about it at first, and then decides, heck it, if I can't sulk about my boyfriend not being able to spend Christmas Eve with me, when can I sulk? So he weaponizes his big blue eyes and unleashes the full force of his pout, sticking out the lower lip and - by dint of some emotional effort - brings some tears to his eyes.

"Oh no, you don't do that to me now," Tommy says, raising a finger and tilting his head in that special way he does to ward off Buck at his most manipulative. He's about 40-60 when it comes to the win-loss ratio on that technique.

Buck sighs and wrinkles his nose. "I was planning on a nice dinner here at home. Tree. Nog. Roast beast."

Reaching out, Tommy ruffles Buck's curls and smiles. "At least we can decorate the tree together before then."

"They better be paying you extra for taking the shift for Christmas Eve night."

"Yeah, they do. It'll be a nice contribution to our honeymoon fund." Tommy smiles at Buck, whose stomach does a happy little flip. Technically, neither of them have popped the question, but they already know the answer is yes, and so they have already set up a whole system to allocate their money. They'll be ring shopping next week, to take advantage of Christmas sales, and just the thought of it makes Buck warm all over.

Even so, he can be melodramatic for his own entertainment. Flopping back in his chair, he cups his right cheek, adopts a pensive stare out the window, and sighs extravagantly. "I do wonder what could possibly be so important as to warrant my handsome, charming, incredible and sexy firefighter pilot boyfriend to abandon me on the most festive night of the year?"

"You know. The usual."

Wait. Tommy sounds shifty. He's usually very honest, so him trying to hide something is... off. Buck sits up straight. "Tommy...?"

"I'm serious. The usual." Tommy's ears are flushed dark pink. He's a horrendous liar.

Buck narrows his eyes, and then raises an eyebrow.

"Look, I can't tell you. I genuinely cannot. But, uh, it's a cool thing, an international thing, and it's really one of the best things I've ever done and love doing as a pilot."

"Wow," Buck murmurs. "You don't usually talk like that about your job."

"It's just a job. Most of the time. Sometimes I have to fly into hurricanes."

"No hurricanes this year," says Buck with a resolute nod. "Santa would not like flying through one. You'd have to provide Santa with air support."

"He's done it before though. The reindeer know what to do better than us," Tommy mutters absently, and then he freezes.

Buck freezes also. He stares at his boyfriend. "Tommy?"

"Hmm?" Tommy pretends he isn't terrified.

"Are you flying with... Santa... on Christmas Eve?"

"What? Hahahah of course not, ahahaha. No." But the rictus on Tommy's face tells a different story, as do the few beads of sweat that have just materialized.

Buck's jaw drops. He whispers, "You are flying with Santa!" His eyes go wide with delighted revelation. "Santa's real?"

"Shhh! No one outside of the escort party is supposed to know. And, not flying with, just providing air support to cover for him so he doesn't show on the scanners. And don't tell anyone!"

Buck mimes zipping his mouth and locking it and throwing away the key. Then he 'unzips' his lips. "I can't bear it," he declares. "You are way too cool and I need to have sex with you right now."

"What?" Tommy snorts, and then shakes his head in disbelief. "Evan, you're not being serious."

"Like a lightning strike." Buck stands, fluttering his lashes and pouting again.

Tommy doesn't fight it this time.

[melancholicstation]

𓊆ྀི󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠 ARCHITECTURAL DIGEST: OPEN DOOR! - a jack schlossberg one-shot. 𓊇ྀི

summary: your open door architectural digest interview with your husband jack schlossberg takes an unexpected, and downright sensual turn in your shared kitchen over the most innocuous citrus fruit. note: this is part of the husband!jack schlossberg universe, here are other works with wife!reader and husband!jack: like an american, husband!jack hc's, and comfort husband!jack hc's

warnings: orgasm denial (male), cunnilingus, smut, 18+

words: 1,830

"Hi AD, We're Jack and Y/n, welcome to our house"

Filming for Architectural Digest, as glamorous as it might look from the illustrious glow of a MacBook screen, was not all it cracked up to be. AD had been relentless in their pursuit, contacting both you and jack's agents on more than one occasion proposing the opportunity for you guys as a couple to be featured on their open door celebrity series.

Initially as a couple you had turned the opportunity down, with Jack working tirelessly on the campaign and you being busy with negotiations on your new book deal: it just wouldn't have worked. But after your wedding, which was featured in Vogue, the title "The Bride Wore Vintage John Galliano And The Groom Wore JW Anderson. Inside Their Cape Cod Ceremony" The open door offer came around once again and it came at just the perfect time.

A few weeks back you and Jack had been getting back into the grove of normal life after returning from an illustrious three week honeymoon in the Greek Cyclades: a honeymoon spent in mostly nothing—bar itty-bitty specs of linen as makeshift bikini's, and gucci by tom ford beachwear.

Getting back to AD, you'd woken up before Jack: which was funny because when you first entered the relationship Jack was always the one who got up early, maybe you've been a bit of a bad influence in that department. Nevertheless you spend about five to ten minutes neglecting to wake Jack up: instead opting to trace the sepia hairs littering the top of his neck while quietly leering at his chest hair—looking like an absolute creep, but I mean, he was your husband after all so—that's gotta minus at least 15% of the pervy factor, right?

When he did wake up—and subsequently clocked your staring contest with his chest, he proceeded to lean over like a total and utter drama queen to piously cover himself with the sheets like a 30s model getting a tasteful nude portrait of herself to give to a lover.

You neglected to do any makeup only choosing to smear some P50 lotion on you and Jack's face—you swore he was like a toddler sometimes always wanting to mirror whatever weird shit you put on your face. Once the hair, makeup, and stylist team for AD got there you and Jack were effectively separated for the next few hours, which you did not hear the end of via jack's incessant complaints about the distance between him and you over iMessage and many, many unhinged gif selections sent to your iPhone.

But alas, you two were reunited for the open door interview and it started off generally normal...

First, you two were situated on the front steps of your townhouse and asked when and why you chose the house,

Jack started for you, "We moved here about five years ago, and it was the second house we both had looked at ever in our whole lives, and it so happens that it was the first house we ever bought as a couple"

"Seems clandestine to me", the interviewer cheerily replies to which you both glance at each other playfully while he speaks.

Taking the hint to speak up, you share what drew you to the home adding, "I love the city, but I also love wood and I love light and I love antiques, so I just fell in deep love with the place. For us it struck the perfect balance of being in the city while not feeling like the city was breathing down your back all the time, it can be hard to find a place like that here."

Making your way into the apartment, you and Jack were told to take a short break for about 2 minutes while the videographer got a good layout of the place, and scoped out the best lighting angles to capture it.

Your home occupies the first floor of a Meatpacking District block, and is a few blocks away from the Hudson River—which more than encourages your Husband's borderline addiction to paddle boarding. But, hey you routinely get to see your man walking home in an ultra-tight swimsuit sopping wet, so who were you really to complain about such things?

Despite loving the city, you found yourself devoted to the charm of those old French farmhouse interior's that you'd looked at in your mom's old magazines. And it felt particularly poignant to you guys as a couple—being that your first couple of dates were in the south of France.

You and Jack didn't want the space to come off as just another midcentury modern sterile, ultra-functional flat. So, you opted for sheetrock to be removed from the walls and ordered a large pair of antique door double doors for the living space off 1stdibs.

Just as abruptly as the break had started, it subsequently finished and the cameras began rolling once again. The interview dragged on until you two had finally gotten to the kitchen which was the last room and the last portion of interview.

You started the space off absolutely waxing poetic about the olive-coloured room,

"This is our little kitchen, we painted it horribly together. And then needed to implore a professional painter to fix our many, many painting faux pas." you take a breath to giggle slightly with Jack at your shared delusional confidence that you could paint a whole room successfully.

It was then Jack's time to pitch in, while the camera man did a slow zoom across the decor littering the marbled countertops—causing you and Jack to both notice a certain stone bowl containing a citrus fruit that you know for certain neither of you put there before AD came. Weird you thought, you weren't notified that set-dressing came with the interview.

Leaning on the counter Jack laments, "I love baking, I cook a lot too. I love limes"—to which he dramatically takes a lime into his hands, spinning it between his large fingers, "They're great and I love them so much, and I like to present them like this in my house."

You try not to let the emotion of total bafflement present on camera at Jack straight up lying for the hell of it about the limes being an integral part of your shared household decor—he neglects to mention that they're set dressing and that he's moderately allergic to them.

Closing of the interview you fake lead the interviewer out of the house to close out the interview, only to let them back in seconds later. The interviewer, Mark, who seems to be a genuinely sweet guy thanks you and Jack for your time, informing you that the crew should be packed up in 10 minutes, and the camera guy only needs another 5 minutes to get b-roll footage.

Once all the pleasantries have been fulfilled you lead, or rather playfully drag Jack by his crisp collared Prada button-up into your kitchen.

"Jack, I mean seriously what the hell was that, truly? I know you know you're allergic."

"M'sorry it was just too good not to pass up! I mean what kind of weirdos just but a bowl of lemons out and nothing else? it's barbaric just from a feng-shui standpoint alone!"

"Godd you're such a weirdo. Come kiss me and make it quick so I can forgot that very fact, please" you beckon him to you, placing your chin on his chest with your hands on his chin. Which, by the way is blemish-less—god, you absolutely hated men sometimes.

"Oh come on! you only kiss me cause I'm a weirdo, let's be real." Jack chuckles yet fulfils your request. He kisses you like a man starved which was quite concerning since you had only parted from him today for two hours—absolute max.

The intimacy got more and more heated until well... maybe you currently had your loafer clad feet either side of jack's head while he ate his idea of a mid-afternoon desert.

The very motion of Jack placing the flat side of his tongue against your clit sent you into an absolute. fucking. meltdown. To the point where the moans you made no longer represented someone who was cognisant that they're were about fifteen people working for AD rooms away. You try to compose yourself, which provides a stark contrast to his relentless endeavour on your clit that seem to be ever increasing.

As if to praise your restraint of volume his thumb gently strokes the inside of your thigh—up and down... and up and down. Sensing your impending climax Jack speeds his motions and adds a digit that outright seems to antagonise you—almost trying to tease a mind-numbing orgasm from you. And because you're weak in the face of his machinations, you of course do.

On your come-down you notice a glaring visitor—a quite large bulge in his pants and decide to take pity on it and by looking at the saccharine, loopy look on his face, him as well.

But you wouldn't be yourself if you didn't make him work for it at least a bit.

Continuing your motions on his bulge: feeling it's twitches and reflexes as intimately as you feel him breath while sleeping on your chest at night—

That was until the door to the kitchen was knocked upon,

"Sorry to be a bother but could you guys get that bowl of limes?—the crew is absolutely swamped trying to pack up for the road."

It was at this point in your movements on his bulge that Jack was starting to get loud, a bit too loud for your current situation, so you did the one thing that could shut him up—bar actually suspending the current movements on his mound: but that wouldn't be half as much fun would it?

Quick thinking led you to quite forcefully shoving a medium sized un-cut lime into his mouth to drown out his moans: it sure as shit worked but his puppy dog-like eyes made you feel bad for your prior roughness—you settled on a quick caress of his hair as a pseudo apology.

"Oh of course it's no trouble at all, we'll go grab it now!"

Hearing the footsteps move further and further from the kitchen you glance at Jack: a pitiful, overstimulated sight really. But a sight you deeply enjoy no less.

Picking up the bowl of lemons you grab his hands, afixing each hand to a parallel side of the stone bowl,

"Why don't you go give them back that bowl of limes you love so much and then maybe we can get back to what we were doing?"

Overcome from the intense stimulation Jack nods, willing to do anything that brings him present relief,

"Good boy" you coy, swiping off your own juices from his mouth and chin, then finally taking the un-cut lime out of his mouth.

tags: @obsessedwithjohnjr @candyneckl6ce @rocker-chick-7 @ultr4v1ol3nt @violetharmonsfavgf @strip-weather-forecast @darcyspirits @fortheloveofjos @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @h-l-vlovesvintage @bluelancergirl @snowsgames @salvatoresablondie @dulcegal @kennedyism @bloxholden35 @kimcrystal123 @absurdlyvintage @jackiesgirl @chemicalw0rld @remotewatch @starsprangledgirl @strryhaze @beloved-angel

[awkward-fink]

Finding them sleeping...

John Price

„John, dinner is ready.... John!” You stand at the foot of the stairs, one hand on the rail as you call for your husband upstairs. John had come home from a month-long mission just three days ago and he had done nothing but sleep and eat and lounge around, watching you, recharging his batteries. This morning, he had kissed your temple, one big hand palming the back of your neck lovingly the other grabbing the cheek of your ass possessively and had whispered into your ear, breath tickling the shell of your ear, that he would conquer the only foe living in this house. The one that hid away from open eyes and bred in the shadows, duplicating every time you turn around and become aware of the looming fight again.

Paperwork.

You hadn’t seen your noble knight and battler of paperwork since you brought him a small platter of snacks around midday, having concerned yourself with household chores and doing the dishes, going shopping (because that ravenous man had eaten you out of everything you had stored in the fridge, and even the cupboards).

So now, hours later, after not even hearing a peep from the man you call your husband, you decide to climb up the stairs again, to follow the old wooden hallway to the office right at the end, which’s door was slightly ajar.

“John? Are you alright? Did you hear me?” You speak up again, slowly pushing open the heavy oaken door, the angles creaking as you do. “John? Jo – oh.” You have to bite your lip as your eyes fall onto the big and burly man with slight greying hair at his temples.

John was still here, was still at his work desk. But that was where the picture you remembered from this midday differed from now. Instead of slightly leaning over the desk and rummaging through papers, one hand holding up his chin and head John was now entirely slumped over the surface of his desk, his hand still holding his pen while his other had dropped down, hidden from your sight. His cheek was smushed against the last paper he had worked on, ink stains in blue and red decorating his cheek and even the ridge of his nose. His eyes were firmly closed, his lips parted invitingly if not for the very small strand of drool at the edge of his mouth.

Your poor husband was asleep.

Dead asleep, like a stone, like the DEAD asleep. Just like the first three nights after you both came back from your two-week long honeymoon.

But you couldn’t leave him like that, his neck and back would surely be killing him tomorrow. So, you step closer, loudly, the floorboards creaking underneath your socked feet. (You had tried to touch him once, exactly once, when he was unaware and couldn’t hear you walking closer. He had been so sorry afterwards, coming back quick to himself, but he still had punched you hard and grabbed your arm to put you down. You knew your man, knew his work and the problems coming with it.)

“John… come one, hubby. Its me, wake up for me?” you murmur gently, slowly reaching out with your foot to tap his leg, poised to let jump back if you needed to. But it seemed as you didn’t, as your husbands’ eyes slowly opened, his nose crinkling. With a groan his body started to move, joints cracking and his muscles tense from sleeping in such a weird position.

“Love?” he muttered, his voice low and gravely from sleep, his eyes slowly focusing on you as he leans back in his chair. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing is wrong. I called you for dinner.” “Dinner? But you were just in to… Oh.”

You nod. “Yeah, you fell asleep. Maybe you should go to bed, hubby. You clearly need a bit more time to relax and sleep before you jump into the next fight again.” Instead of talking to you, he hums, a jaw breaking yawn following.

“Come to bed, Dinner is ready but its just in the oven to stay warm, it will be there later on.” “… come with me? Sleep better with you.”

“Always Love. Always.”

[markleessodalite]

Falling Out of Love: l.hc, l.jn, n.jm

NCT Dream drabble-- Falling Out of Love

genre: angst (??? idk if its particularly angsty but its def not happy lol)

content: all about how Haechan, Jeno, and Jaemin would fall out of love with someone. No warnings that i can think of

word count: 655

Haechan:

For Haechan, falling out of love feels stressful. Haechan truly is a perfectionist. When it comes to singing, dancing, writing, even cooking your favorite meal after a long day, everything has to be perfect. In happy times, he wanted to land the punchline to his joke flawlessly. In hard times, he wanted to tell people exactly what they needed to hear. When he finally accepted that it was time to tell you he no longer felt the same way about you, he wanted to find the perfect way to say it. The perfectly firm yet gentle, certain yet tender words to make you understand while preserving your heart. But how could he? How can you tell someone such a thing without throwing them into a world of pain? His mind grows foggier and his shoulders feel heavier with each passing day, breaking his back trying to decipher how to break the news in a way you could handle, how to remain your hero… until he reluctantly understands that, sometimes, even he would have to fail to be perfect.

Jeno:

For Jeno, falling out of love feels guilty. It took so much time for Jeno to break down the walls that he had built around his own heart, but all that effort pales in comparison to the battles he fought to break down yours. He knows how difficult it was for you. For you to understand him, for you to trust him, for you to believe him. It was like trying to walk with chained feet for him to be brave every time he told you he loved you, and for you to believe that he really did love you. Because he did. He loved you and everything about you, and for so long, and with everything he was. So he surprised himself when he realized his feelings weren’t as strong as they were before, though he initially wrote it off as the ‘honeymoon phase’ being over. But as the days, and months, and years went by, it was getting harder and harder to deny it. And it got harder and harder for Jeno to not feel like a villain, like a monster, like the devil himself for working so hard to get his hands on your heart just to let it slip through his fingers. He never imagined there was even a possibility of you two ending, of him not being so wholly and unapologetically enamored with you. He never thought he’d feel any other way about you, especially without even understanding what changed.

Jaemin:

For Jaemin, falling out of love feels frustrating. Just like Jeno, Jaemin knows that telling you how he feels will cause the end of the world. He knows you won’t react well, and that frustrates him. Jaemin is a romantic. Jaemin falls in love so easy– and apparently falls out of love even easier, no matter how much stronger, how much more real it felt than the last time. He was more sure about you than he was about anything else in the world… at least at first, until just like with everyone else he’s loved and lost, the hurricane in his heart and whirlwind in his mind started making way for clarity to come through. It’s frustrating. It’s frustrating that again, he thought he found the one, but he was wrong. Its frustrating that, again, he got ahead of himself, let himself fall head over heels without thinking about how much it would hurt. Its frustrating that he’ll never be set free from the cycle he traps himself in; he has to be the bad guy and hurt someone else, yet again.

[after-the-end-times]

Shaken, not Stirred

For @steddieholidaydrabbles Prompt: Formal 🤵🏻‍♂️ Rating: T 🤵🏻‍♀️ Words: 1000 Tags: Established Relationship, Suggestive Language, Light D/s themes, Men's corsets should be more well known and popular, Steve and Eddie never leave their honeymoon phase, flirting through playing and teasing Ao3

“So, can you feel the upper middle class poshness creeping out of the shadows of your DNA? Dripping and oozing through your veins? Just waiting to take over? Go on, baby. Tell me to get off the lawn. You know you want to.” Eddie stands behind Steve, dragging his fingers down his arms as if following something spreading through his limbs.

Steve flashes him a flat look, lips quirking. “Why are you like this?”

Eddie gasps excitedly, “And there it is!”

Placing another spoon down on the extravagantly set table, Steve tries to keep his flat tone in the face of Eddie playing, “Hmm, as I recall, this party was your idea? Maybe I should make you set the table.” adding under his breath, “If only you knew where all the forks went.”

“Oh god, that’s the good stuff.” He collapses back into one of the chairs, his hand against his forehead like he’s feeling faint. Then, peeking up at Steve with an innocent and hopeful look, “How mad would you be if I swept this all to the ground so you can take me. Right here. Right now.”

Steve throws his head back, laughing. “Did you plan this fancy Christmas dinner just because you get off on me being mean? ‘Cause I think there’s easier ways we could’ve gotten there. Definitely less cooking involved at least.”

“Nope! This is just a side bonus.” He slaps his hands on his legs and rolls to his feet. “Welp! I’m gonna go get the food in the oven. Oh! Were you gonna show me how to make those napkin crowns?”

“I was thinking we’d just go with a basic tree. Crowns take time to perfect. Everyone’s showing up soon for cocktails and we still need to get dressed.” He places the final water glass with a flourish and turns in the sudden silence to see Eddie standing in the doorway, dramatic hand against his chest, eyes all big and shiny.

“Oh, don’t look so sad, baby.” He steps in to take Eddie’s hand, pressing his lips to the back of it, and says in a low, slow voice. “How ‘bout I make a napkin crown just for you and leave it somewhere private. How’s that sound, hm?”

“Hot.” He says, face slack, eyes blinking, processing when napkins became so arousing. “Confusing. But mostly hot.” Because no, it’s not the napkins, it’s Steve. Always Steve. And his competency. Oh god, playful and knowledgeable Steve is so hot.

Steve backs off, smiling, and goes to the check the bottles of alcohol on the side table, turning all the labels forward. “Tsk, if only I’d known, all those years ago, that table setting was all it took to get you all hot and bothered. Who needed all that getting to know you and learning about your interests and wooing.”

“Oooooh yeah, baby, talk etiquette to me.” he says mock seriously, stepping into the kitchen. He raises his voice to be heard over the sound of moving the prepared food from the fridge to the oven to warm. “If only you’d listed the proper course order of a menu that first time I came over. Might’ve saved us a ton of time.”

He hears Steve laughing in the next room and smiles himself. He can’t believe that the no-longer-kids Party don’t think Steve is silly, always teasing him for being so strict. One day soon, when they have kids of their own, he knows they’re going to come to some sudden realizations. But until then, he gets this Steve all to himself, in all his fun and sexy and silly glory.

He’s suddenly not sure how he’ll control himself seeing Steve in the formal wear they picked out. Oh, why did he think this fancy pants party was a good idea? Knowing how he is when he just sees Steve in a nice button down? But no, it’ll be fine with all their friends and family here as buffer. He’ll just have reign in his horn-

“What are you thinking about so hard in here?” Steve wraps his arms around his middle and Eddie suddenly realizes he’s been staring into the open fridge for who knows how long. He shuts the fridge and turns in Steve’s arms, wrapping his arms around Steve so they mirror each other.

“What else, but you, could hold my attention so assiduously?”

“Should I start listing now, so I might be done before everyone gets here?”

“Hey, I was being romantic.” He pouts at Steve’s amused smirk. “Also, I really was thinking of you. Was picturing you in that tux. How the jacket tapers and the shirt stretches and the pants-”

Steve laughs and cuts him off with a quick, hard kiss.

“Well, what about you?” He gasps against Eddie’s mouth. “I can’t believe you found a men’s corset and that it looks so fucking hot that I’ve spent the last month trying not to think about it.”

Eddie spins out of his arms and leans against the kitchen island, hands planted on the edge, eyes dark.

���Gonna ask again, what if we sweep all of this to the floor and you take me right here, right now. Hard.” He opens his eyes to the widest puppy dog eyes he has, “Please?”

With a laugh, Steve steps in close to brush a light kiss against his pouting lips.

“Such an enticing offer.” He walks off out of the kitchen and down the hall, Eddie unable to do anything, but follow. “If only Wayne wasn’t about to walk through that door and El wasn’t so excited to show off her fancy dress.”

Steve pauses outside their bedroom door, Eddie bouncing off his back. Steve turns to him and hooks a finger in his waist band, pulling him flush. “New Year’s, though. We’ll stay in, make dinner, put on our suits, and then tear them off as the clock strikes midnight. How’s that sound?”

Eddie gulps, face flushed. “Yeah. That. Let’s do that.”

[vanillablankcanvas]

Oneshot -Broppy Wedding Planning

Pop Village was buzzing with celebration!

The former town grump, Branch had finally…

FINALLYYYYY!!!!!!-

Proposed to Queen Poppy!

And she said ‘Yes’!!!

The town had never been this excited!

This would be the first Royal Wedding since they escaped Bergen Town!

AND

The first Troll wedding attended by Bergens!

AND

It would be the first Royal Wedding to be attended by the other Trolls Tribes in centuries!

This was going to be the event of a lifetime!

Satin and Chenille had produced a scrapbook they had made for Poppy as an engagement gift. 

It was full of wedding ideas they had collected over the years that they thought Poppy could one day use.

Flower arrangements, colours, cakes, songs, dance numbers…

The scrapbook was huge!

Branch found Poppy in her pod later on.

Poppy was at a table lazily flipping through the pages of the scrapbook.

Branch sat across from her, surprised that she looked so deflated.

Without saying anything, Poppy pushed the scrapbook over for Branch to see.

Branch looked over a few pages.

“Wait? You've already planned everything?”

“No. Satin and Chenille made it.”

“And you're upset? Are their ideas that bad?

“No it's not that…” she looked away.

Branch put the book aside and took her hands into his.

“What is it you usually say to me? If you're having feelings, you can talk about them with me.”

Poppy sighed.

“It’s just…a lot”

Branch nodded encouragingly.

“Go on.”

“Look at it, Branch. Everyone is so excited for our wedding! Everyone is expecting a huge thing and we haven't even begun to plan anything yet!”

“You've never had trouble planning things like this before.”

“This is different. It's not just about me this time.”

Branch thought her words over.

“You're worried about me.”

Poppy looked over to him with almost apologetic eyes.

Branch smiled and leaned in close to whisper.

“Poppy, I don't know if you know this about me but…”

Poppy leaned her ear in.

“-Sometimes I over prepare for things.”

Poppy blinked at him then burst into silly giggles.

Branch smiled proudly that he was able to get her to laugh like this.

“Poppy when I proposed, I knew exactly who I was proposing to. I know what I'm getting myself into. So, individually handcrafted invitations? Coordinated dance numbers? Napkins matching the flowers? Each guest's face painted onto the cake?-”

“You're just giving me ideas now.”

“I’m saying that I want all of that with you.”

“...Really?” 

“I get to marry my best friend. We've been through a lot together and I think we should have the celebration we deserve.”

“It’s your wedding too. I don't want you to get overwhelmed just to make me happy. You don't think it's going to be too over the top?”

“I know it's going to be over the top! I'm fully prepared for that and happy to help in any way I can to go over the top with this. Let's really go ‘Poppy’ on this thing.” he smirked.

Poppy snort laughed at his word choice.

“You'll let me know it's too much?”

“Don't I always?”

Poppy narrowed her eyes skeptically. A cheeky grin spread across her face 

“How ‘Poppy’ are we talking?”

“I want you to go ‘Full Poppy’.”

“You do know what you're letting into the world, right?”

Branch kissed her hand then looked deep into her eyes.

“Let’s throw the biggest, loudest, craziest party ever.”

Poppy poked his chest.

“Keep saying things like that and we aren't gonna last until the honeymoon mister.” she growled.

Poppy smooched his cheek gratefully before she grabbed the scrapbook and took off to find Satin and Chenille.

It wasn't until she was out of sight that his eyes widened with the realization of what she was implying.

And Branch's lovestruck face flushed red.

[neptunescore]

When I see carcar glancing at each other or loscar liking each other's posts or lestappen sharing a smile and promptly freak out and take a hundred screenshot bc oh. my. god. They're so gay.

And then I see pecco and bez riding each other in full public view after a podium finish, marc being lifted up and spun around by literally any rider who gets their hands on him, jogre jumping onto aleix like an omega in heat, valentino bringing up marc for abt the 2196720174 time *interval cut to fabio quarteraro with his whole upper body randomly on display for us to admire* luca and joan having a full-on honeymoon in Japan, jorge and dani who had a whole ass boxing match bc they couldn't declare their love to each other, marc still going out and calling valentino his idol as if everyone is completely blind and doesn't know abt how in love with the man he is, pecco and enea grasping onto each other's hands and refusing to let go, jogre and aleix again for literally everything ever—

And I just nod my head and scroll on bc yh, that's pretty normal behaviour, honestly.

[pretend-theres-a-name-here]

Mistletoe

short Christmas Steddie fic I wrote while writing part 6 of Hide Your Heart that kinda turned into Byler at the end but oh well

“Mistletoe. You know what that means” Dustin waggled his eyebrows as he nudged Steve, pushing his way beside him at the kitchen counter.

Steve had come to the kitchen to be out of the way and found himself watching their group—his family—from afar, taking in the fact that they had beat Vecna and were all alive to celebrate Christmas together. At least he’d been doing that until Dustin spotted him.

“You’re gonna get a rash?” 

He rolled his eyes, “No-” 

“You’re allergic, dude.”

“I didn’t hang it!” Dustin burst.

“Then why are we talking about this?” Steve knew why, he just hoped that annoying the kid would make him drop it.

“Because! You’re here, there’s mistletoe,” Dustin gestured to the plant hanging in the living room doorway across from them, “Nancy’s here.” There it was.

“Look, Henderson, I don’t know where you got the idea that that was happening again but it’s not,” Dustin had seemed determined to get a confession out of him, no matter how many times Steve told him it was over, “We’re done, I don’t know what’s got you so sure about this but it doesn’t matter. Never gonna happen.”

Dustin deflated, just a fraction, “You just seem, I don’t know, happy.”

“It’s Christmas, everyone’s happy.” Steve deadpanned, only deflecting because he was happy, eyes scanning the room absentmindedly.

“Yeah but you seem different—like, honeymoon phase happy.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, man.” He mumbled, distracted.

“C’mon, Nancy’s great. She’s bossy and organized and all proper like you, she’s just your type!”

“Uh huh.” Steve 

He heard the front door open earlier and the only person who wasn’t crowded into the Byer’s living room was—there. He glanced back in time to see dark, curly hair swim through the room, disappearing between bodies.

“You’re looking for her now!” Dustin cried.

“Yeah, that’s nice. Hey, uh, I’ll be right back.” He left Dustin, pushing the front of his hat down for good measure and ignoring his squawk of indignation.

“Steve! This isn’t over, Steve!” 

Steve kept walking, sliding into the living room and trying not to draw too much attention to himself. He found Robin on the couch, arguing with Mike about who knows what, and took the spot on her left. 

“What’s going on?”

“Mike’s having boy troubles.” Robin stage whispered to him.

“I am not!” Mike shot back.

“Okay then tell Steve what you told me.” Robin challenged.

Mike ducked his chin, mumbling under his breath.

“What?” Steve leaned forward to hear him better, “You gotta speak up, man.”

“I said,” Mike seethed, “I was helping the Byers decorate and maybe, kind of, accidentally told Will we were under the mistletoe.”

“Accidentally, right.” Robin teased.

“Well, what’d he do?” Steve knew Will had been nursing a long time crush on Mike and he knew Mike was working through his own sexuality.

Mike turned away, mumbling again.

“Wha—”

“He kissed my cheek!” Mike blushed, “He—I…and then I sort of ran off on him.” Mike groaned.

“Dude…Mike.” Steve sat back in disbelief.

“I know! I know! He’s been avoiding me the whole night and I don’t know what to do! I just—I don’t know how to tell him I wasn’t…like, I wasn’t mad that he kissed me. I wasn’t…oh my god. I want him to kiss me.” Mike’s eyes were wide, almost in fear. 

Steve was no stranger to the fear. He’d dealt with it himself, maybe he was still dealing with it, but he had Robin and Eddie to help him, to help each other. Did Mike know he had them? Did he think he was going through this alone? Steve got an idea, it was risky and he would have to face the fear head on, but it would be worth it. It was also something he’d been thinking about for a while and now, with all of his friends—his family here, he could do it. He glanced around the room, searching for a familiar face in the chaos.

“I’ll be right back.” He whispered to Robin when he found him.

She squeezed his hand because she knew what he was doing, of course she did, they shared a brain, “Good luck.” She whispered.

He caught Eddie’s eye before stepping into the hallway unnoticed. He heard Eddie give Lucas some excuse about going to the bathroom before they were alone.

“I wanna tell them.” Steve said immediately.

Eddie’s eyes widened, “Okay. Okay, sure. They already know about me so this is all you, are you sure?”

“Mike just realized he likes Will,” Steve explained, “I need you to make sure they’re both in the living room when it happens.”

Eddie grinned, “What are you planning?”

His grin only widened when Steve whispered his plan.

Once they were back in the living room Steve made sure to stand in the doorway, trying his best to lean against it casually, no matter how nervous he was getting. Eddie left to the kitchen with the excuse of getting one of Mrs. Byers’ gingerbread cookies and when he came back he took a spot beside Steve. Now they just had to wait.

A minute later El perked up, “Oooh they’re under the mistletoe.” She sang.

“Tradition is tradition.” Eddie shrugged, leaning over to kiss his cheek before pivoting and connected their lips instead.

Steve pulled away expecting the shocked faces of his friends and family only to be met with various knowing smiles. Nobody seemed particularly surprised at this, not even batting an eye when they announced that they’d actually been dating for a while. All but two.

Will was blushing, trying very hard but failing to look away from Mike and Mike, Mike’s eyes were wide. He was staring straight at Steve and Eddie, eyes flicking between the mistletoe and the pair. He shot a glance at Will and his eyes widened even more when he was caught. Mike turned to Steve with a desperate look, almost pleading, so Steve dragged Eddie with him further into the living room and let their friends distract themselves with their questions as the boys slipped out of the room. 

Steve bit back a smile when he saw they were heading for the back porch, a place that conveniently had its own mistletoe hanging. Steve surveyed the room, making sure nobody had seen them, when he caught Joyce’s fond smile following the younger boys. He wasn’t the only one, then.

[celticcrossanon]

Why do you think Camilla's unable to accept she's not liked and people still see her as "the other woman" to this day? I think Camilla's problem is the public didn't know her until she was publicly outed as "the other woman" during Charles and Diana's marriage and first impressions matter. Plus, Camilla didn't seem to do anything with her time except be with Charles until she married him 12 years after the affair was exposed. That's a long time for public perceptions to be baked into the cake.

Hi Nonny,

The general public knew about Camilla long before Prince Charles's marriage. She was one of his 'special ladies' and regularly featured in the newspapers as his partner at events, both before and especially after her marriage, along with Lady Kanga and others. When Prince Charles was looking for a bride, there was open speculation about if and how this would affect his relationship with his 'special ladies'.

See point number 4 in this article, https://people.com/royals/camilla-duchess-of-cornwall-life-in-photos/, and don't believe the 'just friends' nonsense - the newspapers of the day knew exactly what was going on and alluded to it constantly.

Camilla has a reputation as Charles's mistress before he married Lady Diana, and the public soured on her when it became known that instead of doing the decent thing and ending the relationship, they continued in a tight emotional affair that became physical again a few years later. Charles called Camilla every day on his honeymoon, gave her expensive jewellery, and was reported to be unable to go a day without having some sort of contact with her (as per Charles's valet). This is not the actions of people who are focused on making a success of their marriages, this is people who want to have their cake and eat it too.

Remember Camilla and her husband did not divorce until 1995, after the publication of the phone tapes called 'Camillagate' in Jan 1993 and the revelation of their secret phone messages, including Charles wanting to be her tampon) one and half years after he married Lady Diana in July 1981 and before the birth of Prince Harry in 1994) . So Camilla was quite happy to be Prince Charles's mistress (emotional and/or physical affair) for all that time and to cheat on her husband for all that time (from whenever their affair started, through her marriage until divorce). Again, this is not someone (someones if we include Prince Charles) who are interested in making a go of their marriage (because if they did want to make a go of their marriage, they would not commit adultery, let alone for such an extended period of time).

Living rent free in crown property as Prince Charles's official mistress/girlfriend after his divorce didn't help her much either. Neither did getting Charles to give the contracts for decorating his properties to her sister. She did get points for carrying out a few events in the face of the (completely understandable) outrage directed at her.

So Camilla has a long, long history of being in the public eye and influencing Prince Charles to favour her and her family above everyone else. Her being exposed as the 'other woman' (which everyone suspected) and the revelation of her power over Prince Charles and her influence and constant presence in his marriage to Lady Diana are, for me, the reasons the public turned on her. No one likes a person who behaved as she did (except Prince Charles, obviously).

EDITED BECAUSE I STUFFED UP THE DATES

Charles and Diana married in 1981

William born 1982

Harry born 1984

Camillagate in 1992, tape published in 1993.

Squidgygate in 1992

I have crossed out the bit where I mucked up the dates - my point about the close contact between Charles and Camilla still stands, but the P-B divorce and the phone tape scandals x 2 were about 10 years later than I had them - sorry!

[thedenofravenpuff]

Sinsmas SPOILERS thoughts on Millie

I see hot takes and theories from the Sinsmas episode of Helluva Boss going around and just wanna throw in my 2 cents.

Helluva Boss Sinsmas SPOILERS under the cut

I see the hints and arguments people put forth to explain Millie's distress over her pregnancy instead of just coming out to Moxxie about it.

The logic to consider her fear and worries could be because it is a result of cheating on Moxxie, why she can't tell him and why she is in such despair when talking to her sister about it over the phone. Reassuring Moxxie she loves him out of the blue, the extra wrath towards cheating, possibly out of a guilty conscience.

But honestly I never even considered that until seeing the theories flying about.

What I saw was the worries of getting kids before planning it.

Their marriage still seem new to me, considering how long I.M.P. has been in business, and it was Blitz bringing them together - taking in the time to fall in love and court into mind. They are as newly wed as can be, still in the honeymoon phase of love and attraction.

They possibly haven't even talked about the possibility of kids yet. Together they make half of I.M.P., in a world where imps are second or third citizens, where it is difficult to make a living without constantly risking losing it all. One or both getting out of commission due to an unplanned pregnancy could have everything fall apart.

How could they afford raising a kid? Millie is the tank of the team, how long can they be without her, having to have maternity leave. The worries that come with parenthood, with both parents having a very risky job. Even if Moxxie choose to be a full time dad, he is the weapons expert and distance fighter of the group, just as valuable to the team.

If Millie feels she cannot take on the responsibility yet, could she ever face Moxxie and tell him her choice? Is that the guilty conscience?

Just the thoughts I had upon the reveal, before seeing the ideas flying about her having been unfaithful for whatever reason.

Many things goes into causing worry upon the first pregnancy experience.

[dcdreamblog]

This is a sensitive topic, so feel free not to answer, but several heroes have turned to villainy before (for example, the hero Obsidian), and I'd like to know how that's discussed in your profession's circles.

Are they still considered heroes? Most have returned to the role, but I could see some people refusing to view them as such.

Let's...take Obsidian as a sample case, just because by the fact that his and his family's identities are public we can get a bit more into the weeds without wild speculation.

(Obsidian's official portrait/poster during his original tenure in Infinity Inc)

Todd Rice and his twin sister Jennie-Lyn Hayden are the biological children of the Golden Age Green Lantern, Alan Scott and the former villainess Thorn AKA Rose Canton.

Canton was originally "cured" of her schizophrenia through prolonged treatment on Themyscira but after the HUAC trial and the passage of the Keane Act lead the Amazons to retreat from wider civilization, Canton chose to return to the world at large, seeking a fresh start despite warnings that the continued effectiveness of her treatment couldn't be guaranteed outside of Paradise Island (due mostly to "Man's World's" inability to recognize or empathetically treat a mentally ill woman in that time period, especially one with a criminal record)

Canton, under an assumed identity, romanced and eventually married Alan Scott. Only for her Rose persona to reappear during their honeymoon. Fleeing without a trace to avoid allowing Rose to kill Scott, Canton also placed the twins their honeymoon had produced up for adoption to protect them from herself.

While his sister was adopted by well meaning, imperfect parents in the suburbs of Milwaukee, Rice was raised by an abusive alcoholic who kept the truth of Rice's parentage and sister from him into his young teenage years. Escaping his household and meeting up with his sister, Rice took the name Obsidian due to the shadow controlling powers he had gained, possibly due to any number of exposures during his father's or mother's superhuman careers. Joining up with other children and proteges of the JSA, they founded the hero team Infinity Inc.

The problems arose when Rice began to manifest symptoms of his own schizophrenic disorder, exacerbated by events such as the breakup of Infinity Inc, his sister's depowering and leaving Earth alongside the modern Green Lantern, a final confrontation with his birth mother leading to her death AND Rice's unconfronted (and thus, unsupported) homosexuality.

His reunion with Scott was also not what the young man had expected, with the famously gruff and laconic Scott failing to be the emotional presence his long lost son needed. Rice was easy enough to manipulate via Scott's old enemies Ian Karkull, Mordru and Eclipso who pushed Rice into a confrontation with his adoptive father that ultimately turned deadly.

(A photograph of Obsidian, taken from the streets of Milwaukee before his battle with the Justice Society. Photographer unknown.)

The JSA at large became involved, leading to a public battle in the streets of Milwaukee where Rice and Scott came to blows directly. Rice was publically defeated and remanded into psychiatric custody of some kind (though obviously details are not forthcoming on that, nor should they be)

Next the world saw of him, Obsidian was announced as a member of the JSA's modern roster where he has remained, more or less, to this day. Obsidian was, until the return to public prominence of Extrano, the most notable gay man in the superhero community, he currently lives alongside his husband and son in Los Angeles and has been a public advocate for mental health treatment and the normalization of schizophrenia and psychotic disorders in public life, most famously saying

"If the gay thing AND the mentally ill thing hadn't both been sealed in together so long. Things would have been different." in an interview for the Justice League Queer's website.

The superheroes who "fall from grace" (as loathe I am to use that particular metaphor) and then return to it are to be, more often than not, celebrated.

One of the main things my profession exists to detail is that our protectors are, for all its wondrous complexities, human. Todd Rice happens to be a human who was struggling with an undiagnosed mental illness, unknowingly keeping himself in the closet, an abusive upbringing, the trauma inherent in superhero work, a birth father who was not emotionally available, the loss of a sibling and team who had been his only support system AND being radicalized by a trio of evil shadow wizards.

The fact that he came back to the light at ALL is nothing short of a miracle in being. He was in custody, he got treatment, he got OUT of treatment and has spent every day since saving lives and advocating for people like him to the best of his ability.

If we cannot accept that, cannot see the ineffable good in mankind the manifests in that journey with all its peaks and valleys. Then what the FUCK are any of us doing any of this for anyway?

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Nikprice booking their honeymoon, but they both have drastically different ideas of what makes a good holiday.

Nik is thinking a nice little private chalet in the Maldives, or maybe a villa somewhere in the Mediterranean that isn't infested by tourists, where he can have John naked at least 70% of the time, there's a masseuse, unlimited cocktails; two weeks of eating, drinking, fucking and relaxing. Holiday.

Meanwhile, John sends him a kayaking holiday in the Norwegian Fjords followed by an expedition in Iceland with all the excitement of an eight year old with free reign over the Argos catalogue. There will be crampons, walking sticks, and weighted rucksacks - captain, is that a pick axe? - and that's how Nik ends up halfway up a glacier in Iceland listing all the reasons that he loves John to convince himself not to punt him off the edge.

[iridescentmirrorsgenshin]

analysing haikaveh's body language and distance in a parade of providence compared to cyno's story quest 2

in Cyno’s Story Quest II Kaveh seems secure in his position as Alhaitham's equal, and as such, Alhaitham is regarded as Kaveh's equal in turn. There is no reference to the superiority of a senior's expertise as “correctness” has been disregarded, and with this, the unequal power imbalance (as discussed here). The two have surpassed this issue on their road to reconciliation. The lack of titles within this story quest serves as a means of equality between the two now that scholarly pride is no longer an obstacle between them.

As such it is interesting to (over)analyse Haikaveh’s body language and distance within A Parade of Providence and in Cyno’s story quest 2

They are the most distant within A Parade of Providence, in which the two are always separated by a physical barrier, such as a desk:

or standing at a distance from one another and on opposite sides, preventing them from facing each other directly:

or with Alhaitham being elevated upon a platform, whilst kaveh is on the ground below:

Within the event, the only time the two are physically on an even level is at the end, in which Alhaitham tells Kaveh that they have move past being “wrong” or “right”. In this, the only time in which they are physically open with each other, and on equal elevation levels, is when the potentiality for the overturning of scholarly pride is discussed, and therefore there exists the potential of a true, mutual understanding.

Comparatively, in the flashback scene within cyno’s story quest 2, Kaveh is observed on two occasions to sit on the table rather than opposite or next to Alhaitham on a divan. This ensures that the two directly face each other:

This can be seen again in the House of Daena, where, when studying, the two sit on opposite sides of the table, facing each other, as they are of equal standing:

In terms of equality, this can be speculated as physical manifestation of their aligned perspectives. Rather than one existing on an elevated level, through one sitting and the other standing, or directly sitting next to each other (which can restrict the observation of the others’ gestures and body language), the two are now on equal standing.

The only time the two are shown sitting next to each other is in Puspa’s Café, but rather than this being an indicator of inequality, it serves as a reinforcement of mutual intimacy, as the two are paired together rather than being separated in the large gathering

In this sense, this equality in elevation levels can also physically advocate for the open communication the two have now established. This can be seen in their current in game relationship as the two now fully physically reveal themselves, alongside their thoughts, to the other, rather than concealing themselves with defensive body language, and double entendre in speech. They are now open and honest with each other - mutually equals in all respect!!

(This analysis snippet is from my Haikaveh queercoding essay found here!)