#i. forgot to tape the bottom of the box

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

yall would not Believe the level of 'just ate the floor' i achieved today

[mochalate]

[3] new notification!

msby!atsumuxreader || w/c: 1.1k + 1 min of video (yes, video.) chocolate chip cookies are the way to a guy's heart. (everyone knows that!) a/n: wow I thought I wouldn't post anything this week, but one really good chocolate cake later, I felt alive. Perhaps Atsumu and I are more similar than I thought. 🔔Please use full screen for the video!

[<-chapter 2][chapter 4->] ||[start from intro][masterlist]

Back when you were still at university, you had a part time job at the campus gym. Legally, you weren’t allowed to call yourself a nutritionist at that point, but that’s what you did. It was never anything complicated— the hardest thing had been managing expectations. 

No, you won’t have noticeable muscle definition in a month. 

Yes, you’ll need quite a bit longer than a week to lose ten kilos.

That will give you results, but perhaps a more sustainable plan?

So yes, expectations. You’re in a career chock-full of them. You’re good at managing them. Even when it’s hard.

Or so you’d thought.

Can I keep starin’? 

(Could it really be that easy?)

With four words, Atsumu Miya had ripped open the top of that flimsy cardboard box you’d oh-so-carefully stuffed your expectations in, and now you were struggling to (convince yourself to) put them back in. For the last few hours, you’ve been fiddling with that metaphorical scotch-tape, not quite daring to believe he could be interested in you— and yet unable to let go of that fantasy.

Was it a fantasy? 

You can still picture his flushed-red face, the anticipation and anxiety in his eyes. It wasn’t the kind of look you expected from a flirty joke.

Or…

It's when Osamu has to stop you from trying to grab the piping hot handle of a cast iron pan for the second time that you realise you need to come back to your senses.

“Osamu,” you ask, timidly. “Can I ask you something? It’s about Atsumu.”

Osamu turns down the flame on the burner, and looks at you. His face is neutral— some people went as far as calling those droopy grey eyes of his ‘expressionless’, but you preferred to think of them as steady. Osamu always said it like it was. 

He’s going to give you the reality check you so obviously need.

“How stupid am I for thinking I have a chance with Atsumu?”

You brace yourself for a scathing reply. Perhaps, ‘Next time, I won’t stop ya from burning yourself.’ Or maybe, “That oaf? Sorry, the only thing he’s attracted to is balls. Volleyballs, that is.”

What he does instead, is sigh heavily, and a little exasperatedly. 

“Did ya two idiots finally figure it out?”

Your heart skips a beat. “What?”

“You heard me,” Osamu says, turning up the flame once more. He stirs the simmering broth as he speaks. “He’s been actin’ stupid all week. And you’ve been actin’ stupid around him for a while.”

Oh. Oh.

There’s no way you’re ever putting those expectations away ever again, because that stupid box is all soggy at the bottom now. Soggy, because the raging mix of relief and happiness swirling around in your chest— the weight lifted off your shoulders because you don’t have to pretend anymore—  is making you tear up. 

Osamu hears you sniffle. 

“Aw, c’mon,” he says, tapping off the broth and setting the spoon beside the stove, “you know he isn’t worth cryin' over.” There’s a cheeky grin on his face, as he brings his large hands up to your face, wiping away the tears. “Want me to beat him up for ya?”

(You think he really might be your best friend.)

“You’re just looking for an excuse to!” You say, pulling his hands away as you laugh. 

He holds them up in mock defence. “Hey, two birds and all. Are you going call him?”

You’re already scrambling inside your purse. “I… think I forgot my phone at work.” 

He clicks his tongue. “I take it back, yer perfect for each other.”

“Hey!” You say it indignantly, but his words make you feel warm. Perfect for each other. “Can I borrow your phone? Would that be weird?”

“He’d make it weird,” Osamu scoffs. “Just go over.”

“I— I should bring him something.”

He makes an amused expression. “Okay.”

“I don’t know what.”

“Are you asking me for help?”

You make your best puppy face. “Please?”

Osamu sighs. “Well, he’s been complainin’ about those raisin bran cookies for weeks now…”

“I think it would be best if you don’t say anything. Just let it blow over,” the publicist says. She’s using the speakerphone, and her voice sounds far away. Atsumu can hear the clack of keyboard keys in the background. “I mean it, Miya. Log out of everything. No, uninstall everything.”

“Don’t ya trust me even a little bit?” Atsumu asks. He tries to sound teasing, but his heart isn’t in it.

“No,” she says bluntly. The call goes blank.

Atsumu collapses back on to his bed, legs hanging over the edge. He holds his phone up over his face, staring at the ‘call ended’ until the screen turns itself off, and then sighs heavily.

It’s not that he’s worried. She was right, it would blow over. But it would happen again. And he knows that each time, it would chip off a little piece of you; and eventually leave your edges jagged and rough enough to cut.

You’d resent him for it.

Atsumu unlocks his phone. It’s easy enough to find those pictures of you and Osamu again.

You look so happy.

He doesn’t think he was being delusional earlier, he knows there was something more than plain embarrassment in your eyes when you’d looked at him; and yet, he can’t shake the thought that he’s being selfish. 

The photo is cropped awkwardly, and he knows you and Osamu are close, but he can’t help but feel disheartened, and then hate himself for feeling like that. Were you two actually seeing each other? Was he meddling in his brother’s happiness, your happiness? What did he have to offer that his brother didn’t, save for the scrutiny of strangers?

The phone buzzes.

His eyes flick up to the notification bar. It’s a DM request from one of his new-found confidantes.

(Well, it's not like I've got anything better to do.)

In that brief moment, Atsumu understands his mother, and her panic at the state of the house when guests were imminent. He even understands, as he turns a couple of the trophies he has on display a few degrees to the left, why she would go around adjusting her many throw pillows in those last few seconds. That time seemed to stretch endlessly.

And then the doorbell rings, and time seems to somehow come to a stop and rush forward at the same time.

Atsumu stumbles on the carpet as he rushes to open the door.

And there you are.

“Hey, Atsumu,” you say, fiddling with the lid of the plastic container in your hands, “can we talk?”

(Wow, he thinks for some reason. I think those are cookies.)

Osamu walked her over because the publicist was calling around to find her, when she couldn't get a hold of reader on her number. He was worried about her going alone. What a prince. Divider @/cafekitsune Tweet images edited from here and Shokubutsu Zukan (by Tsutsumi Kakeru). Had a hard time finding the source for that image lol, it's been used in SO many fic headers. Each time I reverse image searched, If found a slightly less cropped version until it ended as the full page. and then i had to google translate this russian pirated manga site. next chapter will be the last + I will post a little bonus from the osamu POV. :)

[lovelybarnes]

The Blanket in The Box- B. Barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader, sam wilson warnings: I FORGOT TO INCLUDE THE TEAM I'M SO SORRY I'LL WRITE A SECOND PART, silly about: request! "What if fem reader got a blanket of bucky. how would he react? how would the team react? i just felt like if u write this promt u would give it the best justification." (THANK YOU SO MUCH for thinking of me so nicely thank you i hope you liked it!!). a/n: this fic won!! i hope you're ready. i hope i did the idea justice!! also i could not for the life of me think of a clever little title so i made it like a bones episode name. yay!

“Something came for you.” Sam is standing at your open door, fingers tucked underneath a large box that has his arms brawnier than usual and his brows up to his forehead, a false innocence in his eye that makes you think he knows exactly what he’s carrying.

You stare at the box for a second and try to think, recalling each order placed and its corresponding package received. You gasp. Sam’s lips prune up like he can read your mind, his fingers curving a little protectively. 

You leap from your bed and snatch it away from him, its weight surprising enough to slip straight out of your hands. You heave a foot over the sealed flaps and stare at Sam’s smile. “Go,” you say.

“What?” He exclaims indignantly, grin dropping. “That’s not fair! This whole thing is thanks to me—I should reap some rewards.”

“How?” you demand, bewildered. “They were my targeted ads. Mine.” You push your finger into your chest for emphasis.

"Sure. But would you have paid attention to those targeted ads without my mindful encouragement?" Hard shoving, more like.

"Yes!" you insist, eyes narrowed.

He drops his indignance and instead adopts pleading. “Please just let me see his reaction, you won’t even be able to tell I’m there—”

“No!” you push him out of your room and close the door, leaving him importunate on the other side.

He raps gently at the door with the base of his palm. “Just let me see it! I just want to see it in real life once.”

You press your lips together and crack the door open a sliver. He jumps back and stands ramrod straight, chin dipped hopefully. “Tomorrow,” you say. “You’ll be the first I show."

He looks at you dubiously. "You swear?"

You press your palm to your chest. "From the bottom of my heart."

He seems to accept your offer, glancing back up at you inquisitvely. You back up preemptively, gripping the doorknob tighter. He steps closer. "Will you please take a video, I'll do whatev—"

You shut and lock the door, turning back to The Box.

Apprehensively, you pace around the box, offhandedly snagging an intricate knife from the hidden curve of your closet. It's almost nerve-wracking when you push the blade against the tape, sucking in a giddy breath as you part the flaps open, tossing the weapon onto your carpet and tugging out the contents with great effort. It's doughier than you would have thought, covered with preservative tissue paper. You toss that aside as well, unfolding the blanket you wobble to your feet.

You gasp when you see it wholly, a hand grasping one end of the blanket, the other going to your mouth in order to stop the spiral into laughter.

It's amazing.

It’s greater than you could possibly imagine. Plastic-scented, sure, but you believe in sacrifice.

You hobble over to your bed, draping the blanket over the mattress. "Wow," you whisper, a little overwhelmed as you take in the details.

The Bucky at the top right corner is barely glancing at the camera, an obviously deeply zoomed-in paparazzi picture of him walking outside. Bottom Left Bucky is another papparazzi photo, this one of him holding your bag in a park. Bottom Right Bucky's hand is cut off, along with yours attached to it, but you can see your fingers peeking out behind another Bucky's head.

Top Left Bucky is side-profiled in a suit you remember from a gala, and another Bucky from the same night is in the middle, a little bigger. You recognize the image as one of the mandatory ones Tony ordered for the night, and it's clear why that one is meant to be the center of attention. It's clearer, the surly details of Bucky's face easier to make out; notably the closest thing to a smile a strange camera is going to get from him—the slightest, most sardonic painstaking curl of the corners of his lips.

Still. He's so handsome it makes your chest hurt.

His hair is neat and done in a way that accentuates his cheekbones, and the lovely splendour of his eyes translates even into blanket.

You lean in closer. "Huh," you say. "Did he always have such long eyelashes?"

One of your hands splays atop a grumpy picture of Bucky, fingers curling and uncurling on the fuzzy surface. Not bad.

For the real test, you pull an edge up and crawl underneath, pulling your chin to your chest to stare at the blanket from above.

"Warm," you mutter appreciatively, fisting your hands into a Bucky's face. You pinch it to your field of view, dragging a chunk off your ankle so you can observe this Bucky up close. You recognize his clothing as his mission gear. How someone got the picture is beyond you.

You're too busy picking at the blanket to notice the subject walk into your room, shutting the door very carefully once he's on the other side of it. "Hey."

You startle, meeting his eyes abashedly. You stretch out your fingers as far as they'll go over what you were looking at, but it's futile when there are twin faces on every other inch. Bucky hasn't seemed to notice your unease, and you try to get your limbs to relax so he won't.

"Hi," you force out, cringing when you sound doubtful. You clear your throat. "Heeey."

He frowns at you. "Do you know Sam is outside your room?"

"Is he?" you say. "How... strange."

Bucky gets to your bedside and stares down at you, dubious. "Are you feeling—" The back of his hand is grazing your forehead when he pauses, breath catching for what must be the first time. You don't stop looking at him, catching the contemplative inhale and subsequent eyebrow furrow when he realizes he isn't even sure what to ask.

You stare at each other for a few moments until his lips part again, index finger tapping on your blanket. "Is that me?"

"No," you lie immediately. "No, it's not."

"I'm pretty sure... I'm pretty sure that's my face."

"No."

"I know it pretty well."

"Me too."

"Why do—where did th—" He sighs, deeply and deflatedly.

"It's Sam's fault," you blurt. "Mainly. Or, actually, it's because of how shitty our privacy is nowadays. You're right. Things were better back in the old days."

"Where did you get this?"

"Etsy," you admit ashsamedly. "It was actually pretty expensive. I got an ad for it and it started off as a joke, and then..."

His head shakes confusedly, pupils flickering between each face on top of you. "Why... why do you have this?"

"I got an ad," you repeat.

"Sure. But... why?"

"I don't know. I generally try to avoid the Bucky Barnes edits."

"That's not what I... I mean why would you listen to it?

"I personally like it."

"How would someone make this?"

"A collage? I don't know, the internet is getting hard for me to understand."

"Why? Why would this exist?"

"Why not?" you counter.

He steps back, tongue sweeping over his bottom lip. His pupils erratic before they settle on a specific part. You try and follow his gaze, arriving at a shirtless image of him from a couple metres away, a towel draped around his neck.

“How did they get that picture?” He looks it over critically, a grimace on his face. He grows a little more horrified as he discovers more stills of him in different situations.

"You know there are these things of all of us? I found one for Steve. Mine's pretty creepy." You slip out from underneath it, standing guiltily next to Bucky. He's barely noticed you, a frantic finger drumming on Bottom Right Bucky's shoulder. "Tony has one of himself. I'm pretty sure he had it commissioned."

Bucky doesn't respond and you tug at his shirt. "Will you stop glaring at it?"

"I just... every time I think I get this century, aliens or Asgard or.... this happens."

You rub a soothing palm up and down his arm. "Okay, I'll give you that. That's fair enough."

"What are you going to do with it?" he asks, turning to you.

You cock your head. "What do you mean? What do you usually do with blankets?"

"Really?" He looks a little horrified.

"Yes, of course. Why else?" You grab his arm. "Touch it," you encourage, urging his hand to smooth over it. "It's soft."

"I guess."

"That's not something you can argue, Buck," you admonish.

"Wanna see?"

"No," you mutter, glaring at him. "It's gonna grow on you," you say menacingly.

"It won't."

"We'll see." You pat Middle Bucky on the head. "We'll see."

-

You like challenging yourself in harmless situations. Setting a ginormous plate on your non-dominant hand seems innocuous enough when the only thing threatening it is your impeccable balance, and after a particularly short mission, it serves to burn what's left of your adrenaline.

You step too confidently and your tray of cookies balances precariously on your palm.

You concentrate on each wobble, careful to not let anything slide too far. When you finally turn to your room, you let your shoulders slump from their place by their ears, only to regret it immediately when you tense again, sensing another presence the moment you step inside.

It's a relief for just a moment when you realize it's only Bucky splayed across your bed, because you realize he's sleeping very peacefully beneath the Bucky Blanket and your phone is in the pocket opposite to your free hand.

You gasp and subsequently snap your mouth shut, stilling in your doorway.

"My phone. My phone, nonono," you hiss in despair, needing to shut your eyes to concentrate but not wanting to look away. You suck in a beep breath, focusing on keeping the plate steady as you switch hands and pull your phone out.

"Ohh, I knew it. I told him," you whisper, taking a picture.

A shimmery glow takes on most of the weight, allowing you more freedom with angles. You're taking a slow step toward the bed when you're interrupted. You should've closed your door.

"No way," Sam chortles loudly. Your tray clatters to the floor, Bucky shoots up in the bed. "Nice nap, narcissist?"

it seems like every picture of him groans with Bucky.

[jungle-angel]

The One With The Home Movies (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: You and Rhett find some old home movies of his parents and decide to watch them

Warnings: Pregnancy, birth, mentions of custody battles, Royal being a pain in Cecelia's ass etc.

Tagging: @floydsmuse @bradleybeachbabe @callmemana @attapullman

"Jeebus, Mary and Joseph, how fuckin hard is it to find a fuckin Disney movie in this house?" Rhett muttered under his breath as he went through the box of video tapes in the closet.

His efforts weren't proving much as he tried to find a movie that wouldn't scare the bejesus out of Amy, despite the fact that she was only six months old and wouldn't be paying attention. Hercules? That was always a good one.

"The hell?"

He pulled a videotape from the box, the masking tape on the side labeled "Roy and Cece, '92-'93". He set it aside and kept searching, finding a bunch of others labeled with his parents' names and their dates stretching all the way back to at least 1985.

"Whatcha lookin for Rhett?" Royal asked him.

"Tryna find a movie for Amy, all I found was uh......Hercules and......this," Rhett answered.

Royal took the tape from him, laughing a little. "Not sure if she's gonna wanna watch this," he chuckled. "Completely forgot about this one."

"What? Ya'll made a sex tape back in the day?"

Rhett laughed as Royal swatted at him, missing him by barely an inch. "You're somethin else boy," Royal told him. "I'll pop it in after lunch and we'll see what's on it."

As soon as his father's back was turned, Rhett made a face and thrust his hips back and forth, thinking Royal wouldn't notice.

As soon as lunch was over and Amy had been put upstairs for a nap, you and Rhett gathered in the living room with his parents to see what horrors lay in wait on the videotape.

"Hope it still works," Cecelia said, crawling under the fuzzy throw blanket with Royal.

The VCR clicked and the video began playing, the date April of 1992 displayed across the bottom corner of the screen. You and Rhett were shocked when you saw a very young Cecelia Abbott appear on screen, holding a little stick in her hand and the voice of a small toddler running around and babbling in the background.

"Alright what's up?" asked Royal's voice. "Is it showin?"

"Yep, there it is," Cecelia answered, showing him the stick. "Showin positive."

"Oh my God," Royal chuckled. "Oh holy shit......I didn't think doin it like we did would work......"

"Oh Dad that's nasty!!!" Rhett blurted out, laughing.

"What? I didn't think it would," Royal said before Cecelia smacked his shoulder.

You laughed too, turning your attention back to the TV, the footage cutting to some time later in June, showing Royal and Cecelia in Montana with John and Evelyn Dutton.

"Oh God, I remember that day," Cecelia chuckled. "I miss her so bad."

"Yeah, get it! Get it! Show it off!" Royal's voice told her.

You both laughed as young Cecelia showed off her unnoticeable bump along with Evelyn, the two of them bantering with their husbands.

"So this was with you?" you asked Rhett.

"Yep," he answered, a huge grin plastered on his face.

"Oh God here we go," Royal said. "This was the day Perry found out he was getting a baby brother."

You giggled a little when you saw the date of August, 1992 on the bottom of the screen, Royal still behind the camera and Cecelia pointing out all the details in the sonogram photo in her hands.

"What am I seein?" Royal asked.

"Right there," Cecelia said, pointing it out.

"Right where?"

"Right there! Look with your eyes ya moron," Cecelia chuckled.

"OOOOOH!!!" Royal exclaimed. "Oh jeebus!!! He's fuckin flashin us!"

You and Rhett laughed as his parents rolled their eyes.

"I no wanna baby bruver!" the two year old in the video pouted.

"Well, you're gettin a baby brother Per," Royal told him.

"No I not."

"Yeah you are."

It continued like that for a good minute and a half, you and Rhett shaking your heads.

"And that is where your father learned quickly, never to pick a fight with a two year old," Cecelia laughed.

Back to the TV your eyes turned with more footage to come, jumping quick from August to December. "Oh God I remember that year," Cecelia groaned. "My mother had me on bedrest after Alabama defeated the Hurricanes."

"You know you're gonna need to quit scarin us right?" Royal said, his nose pressed against Cecelia's bump, herself half hidden as she held the video camera. She laughed when he gave her an annoyed side-eyed look, the fabric of her denim shirt stretching when the baby's foot nudged against his father's nose.

"Ya'll see what the little fucker just did?" he asked.

"No I did not just feel my lungs getting rearranged and moved in fifteen different directions," Cecelia laughed.

"He keeps it up I'm giving him his eviction notice."

"Ya'll will do no such thing," Cecelia told him. "If I go into early labor it's on you and you're taking Perry for an entire month."

"Yes dear," Royal sighed.

"Jeez ya'll must've been those last few weeks, huh?" Rhett asked his father.

"Try the last month," Royal answered.

"Oh jeez here it comes," Cecelia laughed.

You and Rhett were squirming a little when the video cut to the day Rhett was born, January 29th of '93. The footage showed poor Cecelia all laid up in her bed, the very same room upstairs in the house that hadn't changed in the last 31 years, laying on her side and her hand on her belly as she tried to plow through the labor pains.

"So.....ya'll want me to get a double wide shot o' this or pan down?" Royal asked before she flipped him the bird.

"If ya'll get even so much as one shot of anything comin out down there, I'm gonna kick your ass," Cecelia groaned.

You and Rhett couldn't help but laugh when suddenly it cut to the actual birth footage. "OH GOD DAD!!!! FAST FORWARD!!! FAST FORWARD!!!!" Rhett blurted out.

"I'm tryin! I'm tryin!" Royal insisted, trying to use the remote to fast forward.

Cecelia laughed a little. "Revenge, thirty something years in the making," she chuckled.

When Royal was finally able to fast forward through the nasty parts, he stopped at the one part that had you melting and Rhett's cheeks growing hot with embarrassment. You couldn't believe how adorable Rhett was as a newborn, his face pinker than the sunset and a head full of dark hair, all snuggled under his little blanket.

"Aw look how cute you were?" you teased.

Rhett felt a flush of heat going from his cheeks down to his chest.

"Yeah he was cute but when he turned two, he turned into a lil devil," Cecelia joked.

Now it was yours, Rhett's and Cecelia's turn to embarrass Royal when a shot of him holding Baby Rhett came on the screen, the tiny little baby practically being swallowed up by his blanket and his father's arms all at once.

"Are ya'll cryin?" Cecelia asked, aiming the camera at her husband and newborn son.

"Nope," Royal croaked.

"Bullshit, you're cryin," Cecelia chuckled.

You went through the rest of the video, all of you half laughing and half crying. It was a part of your in-laws' past that you had never seen before, a side of them that had only returned when Perry had been kicked out of the house.

"Are you actually crying?" you asked, noting the misty look in your husband's eyes.

"Darlin I'm fuckin laughin," Rhett chuckled.

"Bullshit, I know you better than that," you laughed, kissing him on the lips.

You couldn't see it, but the smiles on Royal and Cecelia's faces said it all.

[jamneuromain]

No Use Running

Andy Barber x You / Reader

Warning: NON-CON/DUB-CON, Dark Content, Smut, Angst and Smut, Alternate Universe - College / University, Teacher-Student Relationship, Professor!Andy Barber, Student!Reader, Student!You, Clit Stimulation, Pet Names (Angel), Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Overstimulation, Angst, Angst With A Happy Ending, Dark!Andy Barber, sex toys, vibrator, bondage element

Word count: ~4k

Summary: What are you going to do when Andy is mad at you?

A/N: Big shout out to vera @rogerswifesblog and her amazing moodboard, both help me tremendously with the conversation in bold, also help me spiral a thought into a 4k smut. Fair warning, lots of angst, which surprises me, really, because I was mostly thinking of the smut when talking to vera (sorry not sorry XD).

Dancing in the Daydream M. List

A year into your relationship, Andy has only one rule for you.

One rule, and one rule only.

Don’t get drunk when you are partying with your friends. If you are partying, tell him beforehand in case he gets worried about you not coming home.

Just this one rule. Don’t get drunk, call him first.

Simple as that.

In your defense… face it, you have no defense. You screwed up. Big time.

You were so excited about the little getaway your friends planned (and told you about it the minute your last class of the semester ended “we’re partying tonight guuuuuuurl”) that you completely forgot about the rule of “calling Andy”, and happily got yourself more than tipsy.

“More than tipsy”. That’s an understatement. Your very last memory about the night was you doing shots with your friends. You find yourself in the shared home of you and Andy in the next morning, lying comfortably in bed with a minor migraine and fresh PJs, trying to remember what had happened.

Tipsy? You were wasted.

Knowing Andy? If he was home last night, he’d be so mad.

You search for your phone around your pillow, finally locating it on the other side of the bed, linked to the charger.

Your gut sinks to the bottom of your stomach. You’d charge your phone on your side. Your phone is now on Andy’s side.

Oh no.

Oh nonononono.

This is bad.

This is very bad.

This is Godzilla versus King Kong bad.

You can honestly hear every ounce of your luck shatters when you turn on your phone and a dozen missed calls from Andy pop up, dating back to last night and this early morning.

Holy fucking shit.

You are doomed.

Andy has already left because he has a full schedule today.

You frown as your phone gone cold. There was no message asking whether you have woken up. No sticky notes on your forehead as usual if you are sleeping late, telling you that he left a sandwich for you in the fridge. No nothing.

He’s really mad.

You frown more when you find excessive food in the fridge. Some leftover beef stew, chicken kabab, and a whole lemon cheesecake. That’s strange. Andy’s not the type to cook excessively.

And no sandwich.

You make yourself some food to eat and clean the house for a bit.

Your memory pieces some fragments together. You remember stumbling into Andy on the porch. You remember dancing in the club, raising your shot glass, and giggling with your friends.

Your memory is still incoherent and you don’t know what happened exactly.

You vacuum the living room, read for your upcoming assignment, and finally, you decide to cook dinner to show that you are sorry.

Leaping up when you hear his car pull up in the front, rushing to the door to welcome him home: “Hey Andy. How’s your day?”

Andy has a large box under his arm, which you pipe up to help him carry it and put it anywhere he wants.

“Just an average day.” He pecks you on your lips, insisting he carries this on his own. You are nervous as hell when he doesn’t smile, not even after kissing you.

You peek at the box, can’t help but ask as you see the black tape circling the cardboard box: “Amazon? What did you buy?”

“Nothing important.” He shrugs, heading up the stairs with the big box.

Maybe he’s not that mad?

You cross your fingers, hoping that everything works out with luck on your side.

Dinner is as uneventful. However, you can feel that he is distracted and uncharacteristically quiet. Andy used to say what he doesn’t want or what he doesn’t like. He’s vocal about your relationship, but this new Andy is so lukewarm that it is scary to you.

You choose to cuddle on the couch after dinner, playing a Netflix show as background noise on TV.

“I’m sorry about last night, Andy. I should’ve called you. I’m sorry.” You loop his arm around your shoulders, looking up at him apologetically, “and I shouldn’t get caught up partying either. I wouldn’t do that ever after.”

Something flickers in his eyes that you cannot catch. In the end, he says nothing, only tightening his grip on your arm, leaning for a kiss.

You rather wish he spanked you or edge you, just like what he did with your previous few wrong-doings. It wasn’t fun but you know he wouldn’t hurt you. You’d rather have him cuddling you after rough sex than to have him ... distant?

You deserve it, to be honest, you know he’d be angry with you.

You only are aware of how angry he is the second you step into the bedroom.

He is fixing the four cuffs tied to the bed, black leather with shiny metal chains. The now-empty Amazon delivery box lies wide open on the floor, giving you the slightest clue of what could have been inside.

Spoiler alert, you didn’t have cuffs in this house. He used to tie you up with his ties.

“Oh good, you’re here.” Andy smiles, for the first time today. He unbuttoned his cuff link and his collar to adjust the length of the metal chains. This normally looks extra hot to you, but knowing what could be waiting for you, you just want to run.

You carefully take a sneaky step back, “umm, Andy, I know you are mad. And I’m so very sorry.” Another step back. “But we can talk this out.” Another step. “Pl-Please don’t be mad?”

Andy rests his hands on his hips, his blue eyes icy cold.

“Sit on the bed, Angel.”

“Andy-” You visibly gulp, tensing all the muscles in your body so that you can dash to the stairs the second he drops down his guard.

“Don’t make me fuckin’ repeat that.” He shoots back at you.

You are going to die on the bed for all you know. You are going to be edged to the brink of your life. A chill runs down your spine, every sense in your body warning you of the menacing danger you are faced with.

“Please, Andy, we can talk this out, I’m begging you.” You plead to him, slowly dragging your feet to the door instead of the bed, “please, Andy.”

Your fight or flight response kicks in the second he prances on you. Of course, you choose to run from him.

You barely make it to the stairs when he grabs your wrist and halts you by your waist, clutching your body so tight like you are a prey struggling for its life. Your heart nearly leaps out of your throat. Your body, although unwillingly, clings to him for dear life, fearing that he slips and drops you on the floor.

“Andy, please! I’m so sorry! I won’t do it again!” You yelp when he throws you onto the bed. You try to sit up when he clasps your ankle with one cuff, you are forced to lie down when he clasps your wrist with another cuff.

“Can’t believe you even tried to run - save it, Angel. You’re in for a long night.” He huffs disapprovingly.

Clasp. Clasp. All your limbs are secured and tied up. He didn’t even bother to take off your nightdress, only pulls your panties to your ankles.

You think it couldn’t be worse.

Oh but it did.

He takes the vibrating wand from the bedside drawer and loosens his belt.

You watch in horror as he fastens his black leather belt around your thighs, squeezing the wand between your legs, where it nestles on your clit.

“Andy-”

“See, Angel, I was planning to hold that wand myself,” he kisses your forehead. The darkness seeps back into his eyes. With a flick of the remote on his phone, the wand buzzes to life. A warm grin on his face, he retreats to the corner of the room, where he sits on a chair and opens his laptop, “too bad I need to work first.”

The vibration is low yet brutal. It triggers your body into moving your hips to avoid it, not that there is much space to move. Without his kisses and skilled fingers working your body, your pleasure builds up high and dry, your skin heats up reluctantly, seeking the attention it deserves.

“Andy-” You choke when your squirming accidentally has the wand brush your clit again, “please, I’m sorry.”

He glances at your frame briefly; his eyes soon return to his laptop. Crispy strokes from the keypad seem to be mocking your fruitless begging.

Your core twists in agony. It doesn’t take much to force an orgasm out of you.

“Pleaaase, Andy, please don’t edge me.” You whisper, moaning when the stimulation to your clit brings a fresh wave of arousal pooling down your pussy. Your channel expects his shaft, but you get nothing. Tide riding higher in your veins, rushing to your core, you are on the verge of cumming any second.

He raises his head from the laptop, a smirk curls his lips when he dials the vibration up a notch.

“Andy-!”

The buzzing grows louder, no longer a soft vibration, but a stronger torture to your clit.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t cum.” He buries himself back into his “work”, his calm voice ghosts your ear, “you can cum as many times as you want. You’ve got all night, Angel.”

Your hips buck into the air, pressing your clit tightly on the wand, drawing the first orgasm out of you. Your body bounces on the bed as the orgasm hits you, doing all it can to run from the incessant stimulation on your clit. You wish you could run, but you are chained to the bed,

“Andy, please.” You cry out, tears rolling down from the corner of your eyes, “I-fuck-I said I’m sorry!”

The loud snap when he shuts his laptop makes you shiver.

“The thing is,” Andy sits perfectly still, he watches you writhing on the bed as the second orgasm builds up, "I don’t think you are." His tone barely contains his anger, “bet you totally forget about what yesterday was, huh?”

“Wha-”

“It was supposed to be our one-year relationship anniversary.”

Your brain stops working altogether.

Oh no. It was.

You started dating around this time last year.

You didn’t think you were doing an anniversary this early. If you are counting from the day you became boyfriend and girlfriend, you are two months away from your anniverisary.

“I cooked for candle-lit dinner and bought roses and shit, and what did you repay me with?” He crosses his arm and scoffs, “no texts. No calls. Get fuckin’ drunk with boys.”

Your mind clears its fog, letting you remember you stumbling into Andy while waving goodbye to Mike (or Michael?), who volunteered to uber you home when you were all getting “tipsy”.

“It’s nothing-He just-oh fuck, he just came along to make sure I got home. I’m sorry.” You whimper, your sentence cut off as you feel arousal leak from your pussy, “I’m really sorry about-ah-what you planned. Please, please stop the wand and we can talk.”

His words drip with sarcasm, “and I’m just a poor old fool who thought I could capture a young girl’s heart.” Andy snorts, “that work out well.”

Even as pleasure gradually clouds your brain, you understood what he said and a pang of pain rips your heart to shreds. If you knew about his plan, no, if you remembered, or thought about your anniversary, it wouldn’t end up with both of you in agony.

This is all your fault.

“No, Andy,” you croak, trying to ignore the buzz between your legs, “don’t say that.” It’s not true. I love you.

Andy doesn’t reply to your pleading, his cold expression molded on his face again, “you asked me to be ‘thoroughly fucked’.”

You did, trying to peel him out of his black T-shirt, trying to have him kiss you, saying tons of things that you utterly regret now.

“You wanted it last night, no? Wish granted.” Andy growls, “now take it.”

He turns up the vibration again.

If the previous vibration was barely endurable, this time it is way beyond what you can handle.

You cum with a scream, tugging the chains with your tied-up legs. The rattling of the chains doesn’t stop when you finish cumming. You jolt and kick, as the buzz is incessant on your clit, and you are on your way to your third orgasm.

“Andy, I’m sorry.” You whimper, “it hurts.”

“I don’t give a shit.” Andy picks up a book on the table, glancing at you one last time before he shuts his mouth and starts reading.

Another orgasm hits. And another. You can’t tell what hurts more, your swollen clit or his indifference. You scream and plead, stammering between moans and words, some of them mumble into one. Your skin is coated by a sheen of sweat. Your body reacts to the wand with overruling pleasure above your mind, having you think of nothing but the sensation from your bundle of nerves. And then it starts to hurt. With every second of the wand between your thighs, your mind cannot decide if it wants more or to get away from the stimulation. Another orgasm punches all the air from your lungs. Your cry is silent, mouth agape, tears roll into streams, your body refuses for you to breathe in, running low in oxygen that your vision has spots.

The stimulation between your legs dials down to a full stop.

You draw in a lung full of air. Coughing as you feel your chest is about to explode.

Your body buzzes. Or your clit still feels the buzz ghosting your legs. Your pussy twitches, quivering as it feels cold, soaked with your arousal. Your chest rises and falls, your heart pounding by your ear, your vision blurry with tears.

You want to curl up to your side. Your body is stressing as if it has just run a marathon.

The tugging from your wrists and ankles reminds you, you can’t.

A pillow is stuffed under your head, helping you to breathe a little.

You blink a few times before you make out it’s Andy sitting by the edge of the bed.

He held your head, bringing a cup to your lips.

You swallow on instinct, nearly choking yourself when you are taking big gulps of water.     

“…?”

His lips open and close, saying something that doesn’t make sense to you.

Or your ears are ringing so that you can’t hear.

“Wha-?”

“Still talking, I see.” He nods nonchalantly, “do you need more water?”

You shake your head.

He takes the cup, standing up to leave.

“Wa-ait!” You tug the chains desperately, trying to get a hold of him, “Sorr-sorry.” You sniff, “can’t. Can’t cum.” You realize how hoarse your voice is when you open your mouth to speak, like someone rubbed it on sandpaper. You feel sorry. You are sorry. You do. You just can’t do this anymore. Even if you are not screaming, your body is screaming bloody murder.

“Shhh, just a little bit more.” Andy coos, turning up the vibration again.

“No. No-!”

Andy watches as you make a mess on your shared bed over and over again. Your mumbling pleas and begs melt into crying and screaming. Arching your hips as your body reflexes, even though it adds to your misery. Your orgasm hits stronger and slower every time, lasting longer, depriving you of your breathing. You lean your head to the side, panting, struggling. Not out of your will, but when your body instructs you to.

Your thighs flex instinctively when he sits down and caress your buzzing thighs, which are still bound together.

“Don’t think about anything.” He bends down to kiss your belly, coated in sweat. His beard scratching your sensitive skin, having your core tensing once again. “Talk to me, Angel.”

Your brain is clouded. Hearing his voice, you mumble something that you don’t recognize yourself.

“Do you want this to stop?” His voice sounds muffled. Blocked. Like speaking, but with cotton in your ears.

But you understand.

“No-No-hmph.”

Your brain mushed. It hurts. You want more. Keep it going. Till the end of time.

Andy chuckles.

He dials the vibration down to a full stop. You, however, cry out again, one word slurring into another, “More. Want-more.”

He turns a deaf ear to your begging, unclasping his belt to reveal your thighs, having the belt digging into them so hard that leaves a red mark on both of them.

You burst into tears when he pulls the wand out between your legs. Your hips bucking for more pain and pleasure.

The wand is wet. From your arousal and your sweat.

Andy drops the wand to the side, unclasping the restraints on your ankles.

“More…” you whimper like a wounded animal, “more, Andy.”

Andy pries your legs open. Red marks from the wand between your thighs. A puddle of creamy arousal underneath you. Your legs shaking, trembling. Your pussy is red, swollen, covered in slick. Your clit puffy, peeking out from your pussy lips.

“More.” You mewl, as if that’s your whole vocabulary, “more.”

Andy kisses the red marks on your thighs gently, “you like that, huh?”

“Yes. More, Andy.”

Tears stain your cheek but you are about to cry again. Anything to have the wand back. To have something stimulate you to orgasm. Anything to stimulate you, burn your body with pleasure.

This is what he’s been waiting for. To overstimulate you until you are truly overwhelmed with pleasure. You will want more pleasure you can take until you pass out. You will agree to anything for it. Most importantly, you will want him again.

He unclasps your wrists too, prying your legs open more to touch your clit.

“Yesyesyes.” You grind your abused pussy to his hand eagerly, whimpering when he draws his hand back.

“My Angel…” He sighs, stripping himself out of his suit and trousers. His thick shaft straining in his boxers when you moaned and cried. He kneels on the bed, positioning himself between your thighs, hovering above you to kiss you, “my beautiful Angel. You’re mine.”

He sheathes himself in entirely at the last word, having you cry out. Having you moan his name. Having you digging your nails into his arm.

Your walls grip him. Sucking him in. Welcoming him with warm wet heat. Your walls crave his cock, craving to be filled to the brim again, craving the stretch and burn as you try to accommodate him.

The pain blends into your pleasure. You can’t tell them apart. His cock brushing your clit on his way out. Your walls convulse. Him slamming back in to rearrange your guts. Your walls clench down. He takes your long-ignored nipples into his mouth, sucking and tugging with his lips. You could only sob because of how good it feels.

You want more. You want him. You want his tip kissing your cervix.

“Say it.” He grits his teeth and spits out, “say it. Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours. I’m yours.” You chant as he knocks the breath out of your lungs, his shaft thrusting deeper, harder.

“That’s right, Angel.” He snaps his hips into you, “you’re fuckin’ mine. I’m the only person who can make you feel this good.”

He interlaced his fingers with yours, pinning your arm next to your head.

You stutter his name when you cum, your vision blacks out, everything is slowed down to a halt. You feel a few more thrusts, and his hot spent flood your pussy.

Then you drift to a dreamless sleep.

Your arms hurt. Your legs hurt. Your stomach hurts.

There’s not a fine muscle left on your body.

You curl yourself into a ball, facing the opposite direction of Andy, wincing as you hug your knee.

Your pussy hurts too. Sore and tired from the orgasms ripped out of your body.

Your eyes are dry as if the Sandman blinded you, but you still shed a couple tears onto the pillow. Some of them traveled across your nose bridge and blended into the tears from your other eye.

You can’t believe he overstimulated you. You can’t believe he punished you so hard for disobeying one rule. Most importantly, you can’t believe he had no faith in your relationship. After the class, after the drama with Laurie, after his participation and encouragement in your writing, he means everything to you.

The heartbreak from last night catches up to you, piercing your chest, so painful that you couldn’t breathe.

You open your mouth to ease the pressure of your puffy nose, but the pain just follows your breath like a knife, slashing everywhere it could reach.

You try to cry as subtly and quietly as you can, but your shaking body betrays you, having Andy push himself on his elbow to rub your arm.

“Hey. It’s okay. It’s just a bad dream.” He whispers softly.

He notices you are not responding, leaning closer to check on you: “Shit.”

He grabs the Kleenex box, places it in front of you, and moves to spoon your naked body, kissing your bare shoulder: “I’m sorry, Angel. I’m such an asshole.” Kiss. “I’m sorry. I pushed too far.” Kiss. “Please don’t cry, Angel.”

“I got too angry over the night before and…” he sighs, “I’m sorry I lashed out at you.”

“How can you say that?” You turn abruptly, staring at him with watery eyes, tears falling from your cheeks. You can almost hear your spine crack for turning so fast, “how can you say that like you mean nothing to me? Like I’m some gold-digging bitch exploiting you?”

“Angel, I-”

“You mean the world to me, Andy.” I love you. “You are everything I write, you are every reason I come home to, you are every piece of my heart.” I love you. “And I…”

Maybe it’s your insecurities. Maybe it’s the unsuccessful marriage of Andy and Laurie. Maybe it’s your stories that you are certain every hero and heroine would be the perfect match for each other, but you can’t be certain in real life.

You would return Andy’s excessive interpretation in class right back to his face. You would challenge him academically in his office. But you suddenly feel your tongue way too heavy to say the simple word, “love”.

Andy hears your silence.

Andy cups your chin, having you look him in the eye.

Andy, as a writer, knows there are a million ways of interpreting this silence, but choose not to.

He chooses to look at your bed hair, your puffy nose, your teary eyes, carving every detail into his memory.

He wipes the tears from your cheek.

“I love you, Andy.”

[jamesunderwater]

Just found your page and I’m in looveee can I request number 15 with Jily and lily distracting james? tyy xx

Hello anon! I'm glad you're enjoying it here at my chaotic little blog, lol. I also found it very entertaining to still be receiving smut requests xD I wasn't in the mood to write anything too smutty, but I loved the prompt, so I hope you'll still enjoy this little microfic...which in a meta way is also something of a tease (;

Distractions

“Stop distracting me,” he grumbled, tongue returning to its spot sticking out of his mouth. He’d been trying to get the wrapping paper to stay put long enough for him to tape it down for several minutes now, constantly losing one of the sides and inevitably having to work on the fold all over again. Meanwhile his fiance seemed absolutely set on causing his failure. 

Her tongue flicked out over his earlobe again, and James felt the whole right side of his body burst with goosebumps. “This is how you best learn, though,” she teased, taking the soft skin between her teeth, “under pressure.”

He huffed, because she wasn’t wrong, but his determination to succeed was slipping the longer she toyed with him. “You said Petunia’s presents were always so meticulously wrapped it was practically an insult,” he was grumbling again, but it was nearly a pout, “and so here I am, trying to make sure ours are even more insultingly meticulous, and you’re sabotaging the endeavor!”

The bit of tape he’d been trying to use wrapped around his finger as she answered, “Mmhmm…” her lips now moving down to his neck.

“Lily…” James sighed, grip on the wrapping loosening. Suddenly, he winced. “Bugger all!” Pulling away from her, he brought his middle finger to his lips. “Now you’ve gone and gotten me a paper cut. Are you happy?”

It certainly seemed that she was, given that she was now laughing at him. “Oh, poor man. How ever will you survive it?”

“You’re infuriating. Are you aware of that?”

She grinned wickedly, because of course she was aware, and of course she delighted in it. Her expression turned serious, then, and he was sure it was a ruse, but when she reached out and took his finger, he still gave it to her. “Let me see…” She said tenderly. “Oh, this little nick here?” She pulled his finger toward her, kissing the spot softly, and he groaned in anticipation for where this was headed. “Oh, well we can fix that…” 

Lily pressed her lips against his finger, once, twice, then licked across the pad of it slowly, her green eyes staring into his. James shuddered, biting his lip, dropping his gaze to where she was now taking the tip of his finger into her mouth. He groaned as her tongue swirled around it, felt his cock twitch as she let out the softest moan. “Fucking hell…” James breathed, and then she was pulling her head back, smiling at him.

“There. All better.”

“I fucking hate you.”

She laughed, throwing her head back, and the sound of it was more captivating than anything she’d done before. 

“Well, then, you might hate this…” Lily smirked, and James didn’t know what to expect next, but his stomach flipped at the way she was looking at him. 

She pounced, sending him crashing to the floor, her body flush against his in a moment. As he fell, James accidentally kicked the present across the room, sending it crashing into the wall. He imaged the lovely glass ornament shattering in its box, but his hands were on her hips and Lily was biting his bottom lip, slipping her tongue inside his mouth, moaning as she rocked her body into his, and James forgot all about presents and wrapping and paper cuts, even the time of year or the room he was in or what day it was. 

She could, without fail, distract him from everything. 

[anxiousgaypanicking]

Okay, so I have a request 🙈 -that you can feel free to ignore- because my real life situation is frickin setting up for a smut plot but I'm not activating it 😂 but one of the Sides 👀👀👀 definitely would. So a roommate who constantly makes noise like he's getting off/fucked and like, lays in bed twitching like he's got somethin in his ass 👀 so what happens when someone buys him a thrusting/vibrating dildo/plug via Amazon and it shows up when he's home alone. Does he use it alone? Does he get caught by the roommate who bought it? That day? Eventually? Ever? I'd love to know your take. Pairing of your choice. -😳

Home Alone

Demus (Janus x Remus) Warnings: toys, plugs, hair pulling, thigh fucking

"I don't remember ordering a package," Remus mumbles, scratching at his stubble as he leans in the doorway of his house. He's staring at a box placed at the front door, addressed to him, but the contents unknown. 

Sure, Janus often has things shipped to their house - they are roommates after all - but he puts his name on those packages, and gets rather pissy when Remus snoops inside of them, claiming "that's illegal" and that he'll "send Remus to the pound" if he does it again.

Perhaps this was something Remus has ordered while drunk, and simply forgot. That's happened more than once, after all. 

He grins and grabs the package, so delighted with himself that he basically skips inside. Sure, he may not remember what's in here, but he's looking at this situation like it's a nice, surprising gift! Anything could be in here, and Remus had quite the vivid imagination, which meant this box delighted him immensely. 

The mere thought that this could be anything from a bomb to a basic tee-shirt entertains his hyperactive mind as he tosses the box onto the couch, and then falls onto it after, laying on his stomach as his sharp nails dig into the packing tape. 

Effortlessly, he pokes his finger through the material, and then slices it open, gathering up and then tossing the sticky strips carelessly to the floor, knowing he'll probably get an earful for making a mess when Janus gets home from grocery shopping.  Then, he's opening the box up.

 Inside is a thick, black plug, and a small remote folded within an equally minute packet of instructions printed in small, hard-to-read lettering. Immediately, Remus is whooping as he rolls onto the floor, barely stunned by his back hitting the ground as he rushes to dig the plug out of the packing peanuts and set the remote on the table.

"Man, I sure do love spoiling myself!" he exclaims excitedly, congratulating himself on his unplanned purchase. 

Tipping the remote over, he slides the back open and checks it for batteries, only to see a plug instead. At the bottom of the box is a small charging cord. Remus hums as he stands and brings his new toy to his room, immediately sitting near an outlet and plugging the remote in. He lets it charge until a small light on the remote glows blue, where he's hitting what he presumes to be the "on" button (a big button in the center, with two smaller ones below and above it).

Immediately, the plug starts buzzing with intense vibrations, making Remus squeal. He grabs the plug with his hand, holding it as he takes his time hitting the small button on top until the plug seems to reach its max intensity, and then doing the same thing with the lower button until the plug stops vibrating at all. It seems to have a wide range of vibrations that have Remus kicking his feet with anticipation.

"Thank you, Past Me, for surprising Present Me with a lovely little toy!" Remus babbles out loud, already shimmying his clothes off. He mumbles a silly response to himself of "you're welcome, Present Me. Aren't I a genius?"

His shirt and pants discarded, Remus is quick to reach toward his nightstand and feel around for lube, which he's quick to pop open once he finds. He doesn't care that he's still seated on his floor; all he cares about is pouring an excessive amount of lube on the toy and then picking it up, bending down to be on his forearms and knees as he teasingly drags the plug between his cheeks.

He leaves a trail of lube between his crack, before he slowly pushes the toy into his hole, moaning loudly as he feels himself stretch around it. He's sexual enough normally that he didn't bother to finger himself open beforehand, but this plug makes him feel pleasantly full, especially after Remus pushes it in up to its base.

Moaning obscenely loud, Remus lets his face push against the floor, working the plug slowly in and out of him just to tease himself, before he pushes it in fully and then lets it go.

It fills him up so nicely, and as he sits back on his calves he can't help but slap his own ass and grin. Damn, he's sexy.

The plug seemingly fits perfectly inside of him, or so he'd claim, but the plug itself isn't that exciting on its own. What really delights him is the remote that came with it, of which Remus is eager to grab and click on.

Immediately, medium vibrations are pleasuring his ass, making him squirm happily as he pushes his chest against the floor, presenting his ass into the air.

His door is wide open, but he's home alone, so his noises of pleasure echo throughout the house.

His thumb caresses the remote as he debates between flicking it as high as it can go, or lowering the vibrations and edging himself just to be a tease.

Finally, he settles on raising it a bit, and then sitting back on his knees, groaning as he messes with the plug. He pulls it out just enough for the widest part of the plug to stretch around his hole, and then pushes it back in deep, clenching around the toy as he fidgets with it until he can feel it pressing against his prostate. Violent vibrations torture the bundle of nerves, making him cry out a sultry "oh, fuck!" followed by a loud and nasally moan.

That just so happens to be the noise Janus is greeted with as he opens their front door.

He can't really feel anything but amusement and a sense of pride as he listens to Remus no doubt play with the toy he bought. After all, he'd gotten the alert that his package was delivered this morning, and it isn't on the porch waiting for him. But why would it be? He'd addressed it to Remus, after all.

Janus sets his groceries down on the kitchen floor, directing them towards the counter with his foot before he shamelessly struts to Remus's room, not surprised to find the door wide open.

Smugly, he leans in the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest. "Hm," he begins, loud enough to get Remus's attention, "I see you're enjoying your little gift."

Unsurprisingly, Remus isn't ashamed of being caught at all. In fact, he doesn't even bother to pause his playing while talking, just grinning wide at Janus as he grinds down on the toy as best he can.

But Remus still picks up on the implications of Janus's comment, and smiles wide as he slides the toy out a little bit once more. "So that explains why I don't remember buying it!" he exclaims, before moaning loudly as he shoves the plug back in, muffling it's intense vibrations. "But why question a good thing?"

His words are routinely broken by his lewd noises, but he still gathers enough breath to ask "may I know why you've decided to spoil me all of a sudden?"

"Don't make it sound so sweet," Janus chastises, as he pushes Remus's bedroom door closed. He strides towards Remus without hesitation, and helps him off the floor and onto the bed, pulling the remote from Remus's hands in the process. "I did this selfishly. Your gift was completely for my benefit."

Remus moans. "How so?"

Janus clicks the toy down until the vibrations cease entirely, making Remus whine immediately. When he goes to complain, he's silenced by Janus raising his hand, clearly about to offer an explanation. And though Remus is impatient, he's also curious, and so can settle on clenching around the toy until Janus is done.

"You're loud," comes Janus's immediate response. "Very loud. Even with your door shut I can hear your perverted moans seeping into the living room, interrupting my shows or distracting me from work. It's really inconsiderate, you know." Janus moves closer, before waving Remus up.

"Get on the bed," he orders, and Remus scrambles to obey immediately despite the fact they've not done anything sexual previously. He's still inclined to obey.

Remus immediately rolls onto his chest, lifting his ass into the air and bringing one of his hands back to pull his ass cheek to the side in order to show Janus the plug's base, with the toy itself nestled comfortably inside of him.

"Do you know how much of a tease you are?" Janus continues, and Remus can feel him kneeling on the bed behind him. "Always torturing me with your whorish noises, and never inviting me to touch?"

"I thought that could be assumed," Remus responds, only to jolt and moan when he feels a harsh slap to his ass in response.

"Shut up." Janus is firm, and swats Remus's groping hand away after a moment, taking to running his own hands over Remus's cheeks, groping them to his liking before he spreads them apart and grabs the base of the plug, slowly pulling it out before pushing it back in, repeating the process a few times before he's seemingly over Remus's quiet grunts of pleasure.

Janus's hands slide away from Remus's body, making Remus turn his head back to try and catch a glance of him, only for the plug inside of him to suddenly buzz to life once more. He cries out immediately, arching his chest further against the bed while his cock leaks onto his comforter.

"It's powerful, isn't it?" Janus commentates, knowing Remus isn't going to respond. "I made sure to get something stimulating enough to keep you interested. You seem like the needy type, after all."

"How'd- how'd you guess?" Remus gasps out, between moans.

Janus smirks. "I'm very perceptive."

There's the sound of a zipper, followed by lube, and then Remus feels Janus's hand dance across the back of his thighs.

"I can assume the answer, but just to make sure, this is okay, right?" Janus asks, pausing for a moment. Remus is quick to affirmatively answer, making Janus grin before his hands are placed on the sides of his thighs.

Momentarily, Remus wonders what he's going to do, before he feels Janus sliding his cocks - two?! - between his legs, rubbing them against Remus's own cock and closing his thighs around them to give him more friction.

"It'd be a waste to pull that plug out of you," Janus muses, as he shifts the toy around a few times before pressing it up against Remus's prostate, making Remus cry out in sudden pleasure. "Especially after how much I spent on it. You really owe me, you know." Grinding slightly, Janus rubs his cocks over Remus's own, making them both moan.

His arm slides around Remus's waist, and grabs all of their cocks to the best of his ability, squeezing them against each other.

"Two cocks," Remus moans, tongue brazenly out of his mouth as he pants like a dog. "You're a fucking freak. That's so hot!"

Janus scoffs. Here Remus is, letting his roommate use him like a toy, and he's the freak? Hmph.

In response, he squeezes his hand roughly around their cocks, stroking them hard and fast and making himself groan as he leans over Remus's back. His free hand fiddles with the toy's remote, and he lowers the intensity a few notches. When Remus whines, Janus just says "we don't want you spoiling our fun too soon, do we?"

Realistically, even if Remus came too soon for Janus's liking, he'd just overstimulate him until he was satisfied.

"Turn the vibe up," Remus pleads, through dramatic sobs of pleasure. "Pretty please?"

Out of spite, Janus drops the remote onto the bed and grabs Remus's hair instead, pulling his head back and watching drool roll down Remus's chin. The lower half of his face is a mess of spit, and he's careless in moaning louder at the feeling of Janus's fingers tangled in his messy locks.

"Fuck!"

Janus curses under his breath at how vocal Remus is. He knew this would be the case; that's why he was encouraged to do this in the first place, but being in the room with him and listening to him moan and cry with each stroke of his cock or fidget of the plug made Janus realize just how sensually sensitive he is. No wonder he's so loud; a brush against his nipples or a thumb over the slit of his cock probably has him nearing an orgasm almost instantaneously!

Janus keeps one of his hands knotted in Remus's hair, and tugs his head occasionally just to earn a pained whine, while his hand speeds up on their cocks. Remus really is quite the teasing slut.

"I should have done this sooner," Janus grunts, lips pressing against Remus's neck. His sharp teeth scratch Remus's imperfect flesh, dragging over scars and moles and random patches of rough skin that Janus leisurely lets his tongue roll over. With the plug vibrating so low, Remus is the one that's feeling truly cheated. Yes, it's pleasurable, but it's not enough. If Janus wasn't stroking him off right now, he'd be saying a lot more!

"Please," Remus begs, shooting his shot with pleading once more. "Turn it up! Need it, please!" 

Janus sharply tugs on Remus's hair, earning a cry of desperation, but finally slides his fingers out of it after a moment, watching Remus's head fall quick onto the pillow beneath him, moist with his spit. Despite how fun it is hearing him moan and cry, Janus didn't spend an absurd amount of money on this remote-controlled vibrator just to not use the remote. That'd be silly. 

He grabs it, clutching it tight as he works his hand over his cocks, rubbing them against Remus's quickly. Without a word, he's flicking the remote up a few notches, watching Remus push his chest into the bed as he moans out Janus's name. 

"So hot!" Remus gasps, feeling the plug torture his prostate. "I don't- I don't-" he gasps, before steadying his voice just enough to express "I don't know how I'm going to take this toy out. I want to keep it inside me forever!" 

"Gross," Janus utters, but he clicks the vibe up another peg. He doesn't doubt that Remus will get plenty of use out of the plug, but he'd rather Remus take it out once in a while, lest they want a hospital trip on their calendar. 

Moaning loudly, Remus's fingers drag across the sheets as he rocks his hips, feeling Janus's hand pump his cock and the plug jostle in his ass. He feels so hot. 

And then Janus is turning the plug up all the way, maximum vibrations torturing Remus's prostate with little more than a soft click, which has him crying out immediately "I'm close! I'm close!" 

He's so loud, so shameless, and so quick to come after announcing his approaching orgasm. Clearly, he was a lot closer than he claimed, and his semen spurts over the sheets in thick ropes, until his cock hangs leaky and spent. 

Janus strokes him through his orgasm, before pulling his hand back and turning the vibe down low. Not off, low. Then, he scoots back just enough to push Remus's thighs further together, and leans over him, promptly fucking his thighs as quick as he possibly can. Lube slicks up the sides of Remus's legs, with Janus's cocks rubbing against each other and Remus's flaccid shaft, which seems excited by the brief contact it gets with each thrust until it's twitching and hardening once more. 

"Whore," Janus spits, though his words are more amused than anything else. "If you get hard again you're on your own." 

Remus whines, fully intending to stroke himself off again once Janus comes. And he wants Janus to come. 

"Make a mess of me," Remus pleads, clenching around the plug in his ass. He lifts his body up so that his back is weirdly bent, and so the top of his head is against the pillow, facing toward Janus's rocking hips and his own limp cock.  Tongue hanging out of his mouth, Remus implores Janus "come on my face! Fucking ruin me!" 

And Janus does. With little more than a moan of his own, Janus thrusts his cocks hard between Remus's thighs, and comes. He makes a mess of Remus's chest, the bed, and Remus's face. His come spills over Remus's cheeks, lips, and even gets into his hair, meaning that when Janus pulls back and Remus rolls over, he gets to see the fruits of his labor. 

Remus licks his mouth. 

"Fuck," he curses, panting. His half-lidded eyes observe Janus from across the bed. They both just stay for a moment, catching their breaths, before Remus goes "so... do I get another sex toy the next time you want to bang?" which promptly gets Janus throwing the remote at Remus's chest. 

"Buy your own damn toy," he huffs, before tucking his cocks back into his pants. "And close your door. Especially at night." He pinches the bridge of his nose, recalling the many sleepless nights he's had as a result of Remus getting horny at two in the morning. 

Remus just laughs in response. 

But as Janus gets up to leave, smoothing out his clothes and running his fingers through his sweaty hair to straighten it out, Remus calls "feel free to use me any time you'd like, though." 

Janus glances at him and sees Remus scooping Janus's come off his face and sucking it off his fingers, before Remus adds "after all, I'm going to be moaning your name a lot more after this. It's only fair that you come be the one to make me moan it, y'know?" 

Janus rolls his eyes, and doesn't respond, but Remus knows he'll be back. And until Janus decides to use him again, Remus had a new remote control toy that he could turn up whenever he so desired. Such as right now. 

And as Janus pulls his door shut, he hears muffled buzzing, followed by a crescendo of moans that Janus knows will echo through the house until Remus is done. 

[eddiesgorlie]

If Everyday Was Like Christmas

Austin Butler x Reader

Summary: Austin and Y/n enjoy a nice day of Christmas shopping and decorating

Warnings: None except for an overwhelming amount of fluff!

Word count: 1,622

I woke up to soft kisses being placed on my neck. “Stop it, your beard is scratchy.” I said with a laugh. “Just one more.” He said kissing my cheek, God his morning voice was addictive. I turned towards him and snuggled into his chest with a happy sigh. “How do you feel about decorating for Christmas today?” He asked. He of course, knew my love of Christmas so he knew what the answer would be. “Of course!” I said as I met his blue eyes. He placed a kiss on my lips and then got out of bed, lifting my body into his arms. I was always insecure about my short height but Austin always made me feel better by saying I’m “Fun Sized” and perfect for carrying.

He carried me into the kitchen before setting me down on one of the barstools at the kitchen island. “Now how would you like your coffee this morning?” He asked. “Mocha.” I said with a smile. He walked over the coffee maker and made us each a coffee, he sat mine down in front of me before sitting on the stool next to me. “So today we need to get a tree, is that all?” He asked. “I know we need more firewood for the fireplace and maybe some new lights for outside, I think theres a bunch of bulbs burnt out.” I said. “Okay, perfect.” He said with a smile.

After we finished our coffee and breakfast, we got dressed. He wore black jeans, a blue flannel, his favorite boots he thrifted and his brown carhart coat. I wore bell bottom jeans, a white chunky sweater and tall white snow boots. “You ready?” I asked as I grabbed my long coat. “Yep.” He said as he grabbed his keys. We walked out to the car and headed to the hardware store to get lights and wood. “5 bundles?” He asked. “I think that should be enough.” I said as he put wood bundles into the shopping cart. “Where are the Christmas lights….” He mumbled to himself as he wiped his hands off on his jeans. “Christmas lights….. Christmas lights…… Christmas lights!” He pointed towards the aisle once he found them. He sped walked to the aisle like an excited little boy. “These are pretty.” I said as I grabbed a box of lights. “I like ‘em.” He said as he grabbed a couple of the same box.

We bought our items and then headed out to the car. “Get in the car and I’ll load everything up. Its freezing and I don’t need you getting sick.” He said. I nodded and got in the car, immediately turning on my seat warmer. When he got into the car his hair was completely covered in fluffy snow and his nose was bright red. “Oh, come ‘ere.” I said, grabbing his hands, I held them in mine and blew hot air into them. “We should have gotten you gloves while we were in there.” I said with a giggle as he started warming up. “You’re probably right.” He said with a smile. I kissed his nose before he started backing out of the parking lot. “Do you have the directions to the Christmas tree farm?” He asked. “Let me see here.” I said as I pulled up my GPS and typed in the address. “And here you go!” I said as it started saying directions. I tuned the radio to the Christmas channel and we made our way to the farm.

After the short drive, we got out of the car and walked into the farm. The snow wasn’t coming down as hard as it was before but it was definitely present. “How tall can the tree be?” I asked. “10 feet.” He said. “This is a pretty one.” I said as I stroked the pine needles between my fingers. “It really is. Lets see, I didn’t bring my tape measure.” He said as he checked his pockets. He looked around for a moment before he saw a man that looked like an employee. “Sir, do you work here?” Austin asked. “Yes I do.” He said. “Wonderful. My wife and I are looking for a 10 foot Christmas tree and I completely forgot my tape measure at home. Would you be able to tell us how tall this one is?” Austin asked. “That one looks to be a 10 footer but let me make sure.” He said as he took a tape measure from his tool belt. “Yup, 10’ 3”.” He said. “Perfect, we’ll take it.” Austin said. We paid for the tree and the man helped us carry it to our car. “Thank you sir.” Austin said shaking his hand. “You’re welcome and merry Christmas.” He said. Austin and I lifted the tree onto the roof of the car and he secured it down with ropes.

We jumped in the car and blasted the heat. “Cold, cold, cold.” I said as I rubbed my hands together. “Aw, your nose is all red.” He said as he kissed the tip of my nose. We drove home to the sound of Christmas music. Once we made it home, I took the bags inside and Austin followed behind with the tree. He set it in the tree stand and stepped back to make sure it looked right. “I love it.” I said as he cuddled into his side. “Me too.” He said. I started walking to get the ornament boxes when Austin stopped me. “Baby, wait.” He said. I turned around to face him. “Here, an early Christmas present.” He said as he handed me a box. “Really?” I asked with a smile. He nodded as I ripped the paper off of the box, I opened it and inside I saw Christmas patterned fabric, once I completely took them out of the box, it finally registered what they were. Matching Christmas pajamas. “A-are these?” I asked tearfully. As a child I always wanted my family to have matching Christmas pajamas but there was always too many arguments and too many “They’re to expensive’s” from my dad that it never happened. Austin was aware of this and it seemed he wanted to help child me, heal. “Do you like ‘em? We can switch them for a different pattern if you like.” He said with a smile. “They’re perfect.” I said as I completely broke down. “Oh baby, come here, don’t cry.” He said as he held me to his chest. “Happy tears.” I said.

Once I calmed down, we put the jammies on and started decorating. This was my childhood dream, decorating a huge tree, wearing matching pajamas with Christmas music playing and drinking hot coco with the man I’m so deeply in love with. I was currently up on a ladder, hanging garland around the house and Austin was hanging wreaths and changing out decorative items for Christmas items. “Baby!” I heard Austin call from another room. “Yeah?” I yelled back. “Can you come here?” He asked. “I have one more strip of garland to hang!” I yelled back. “Okay!” I hung the last piece and climbed down the ladder. “Whatcha need, honey?” I asked. “How about we get started on the tree?” He asked. “Yes!” I said excitedly. We each took a side of the tree to decorate and of course it turned into a competition of who could finish the fastest. We put lights on the tree and then started hanging ornaments. “I love this one.” I said, showing him the small cat ornament. “Thats a pretty one.” He said with a smile. “We should get a cat.” I said. “Oh we should?” He said with a laugh. “Yes, a black cat.” I said. “Lets think about it.” He said. I won the decorating race, but both sides looked beautiful, there was a perfect mix between traditional solid color ornaments and fun hallmark type ornaments. “Drum roll please.” Austin said as he went to plug the lights in. I smacked my hands against my lap and cheered when the lights filled the room. Our home looked so beautiful. “Oh, Austin.” I sighed happily. “Its perfect.” He said smiling.

“Before we get into our 2022 Christmas movie marathon, how do you feel about cookies?” He asked with a smirk. I smirked back and started off towards the kitchen, I opened the fridge and pulled out the store bought sugar cookie dough. “Can you get the cookie sheet, babe?” I asked. “Sure.” He said as he reached up to a high cabinet and grabbed the sheet. I cut open the packaging and started laying them on the sheet. Just as I was about to grab the last piece, Austin grabbed it and popped the raw dough in his mouth. “You’re disgusting!” I said with a laugh. “Aw, but you love meee.” He said, puckering his lips. “Nope, I am not trying to get salmonella today, mister!” I said, putting the cookies in the oven. Just as I was about to turn around, he pulled me into his arms and started swaying. “I’ll have a blue Christmas without youuu, I’ll be so blue just thinking about youu.” Austin sang. “Dork.” I said with a laugh as I leaned my head against his chest. “Decorations of red, on a green Christmas tree won’t be the same, dear if you aren’t here with me.” He sang.

After pulling the warm cookies out of the oven and pouring two glasses of milk, we settled on the couch and started our movie marathon with ‘A Christmas Story’ my favorite. “I love you.” I said as I leaned into his side. “I love you more.” He said, wrapping his arm tightly around me.

[legends-of-apex]

‘Only If For A Night’ Ch. 4 | Tangerine x Reader

{Click here for series masterlist}

Rating: M for blood, injury detail, profanity, mentions of a pet rat dying

Word Count: 3,750

Chapter Summary: You finally reach your destination: The Sunrise Hotel. Despite reaching the supposed place of luxury and safety, tensions are still running high and Tangerine’s arm still needs stitches. Lemon heads out to get some food for the three of you, leaving you and Tangerine alone. The reader is not referred to as being any specific gender

A/N: Just realised I forgot to mention before the start of the last chapter! Momo is a character from the Bullet Train book who wasn’t in the film and Maria is Ladybug’s handler, in case anyone was wondering <3 hope you enjoy

‘Don’t look at me like that! Keep your eyes on the bloody road, you bellend.’ Tangerine grumbled.

Lemon just grinned with about as much glee as a Cheshire Cat upon witnessing his brother's unusual softness. He’d seen the way he shrugged off his jacket and immediately used it to shield you from the cold, how he even reached over to adjust the fabric so it covered your shoulders.

It wasn’t like him. Tangerine never showed anything other than contempt for anyone but his brother. Yet here he was using his precious Saville Row jacket to shield you from the chilly morning air. It wasn’t like him but it suited him, Lemon thought.

It was morning by the time Lemon pulled the car up at the base of the hotel. The clouds took on a pinkish hue beyond the hulking building as the sun crawled her way through the sky. The hotel was a detached building of about a half dozen floors encased in solid grey stone. The rain had clearly worn away most of the details that would have once stood proud along the ledges but some nestled beneath thick ledges kept their engravings.

Right at the top, in bright white and curly neon letters read ‘The Sunrise Hotel’.

Tangerine surveyed the empty parking lot, his elbow bent out the open window so the cold chewed his forearm. ‘Bit of a shithole, innit?’

‘Just cause it’s not your glass fuckin’ fishbowl of a penthouse?’ Tutted Lemon, tired and irritable having driven so far for so long. He needed his eight hours of rest which he sorely did not have.

‘Well, look at it!’ Tangerine blew smoke from the corner of his mouth so it dissipated out into the morning air. ‘The place probably has rats crawling about everywhere.’ And yes, he also missed his glass fishbowl of a central London penthouse. Not that there was anything in it to miss, really.

Lemon gasped only to be shushed by his brother for being too loud as you slept. ‘Everywhere has rats crawling about everywhere! Don’t you remember Stevie?!’

Lemon couldn’t believe his brother referred to rats so distastefully, least of all when they themselves made a pet out of a rat that lived in their shared bedroom when they were seven. He wasn’t a pet by nature but they made him one by feeding him bits of stale crackers they found at the bottom of their schoolbags.

‘Fucking hell, Lemon. Course I remember Stevie, God rest his soul.’

Tangerine was offended Lemon thought he’d ever forget the poor sod. How could he? The clever thing had somehow survived the rat poison set down on almost every inch of the cramped apartment by their foster parents, or at least he did for a month or two. The twins had a funeral for the rat in a patch of grass around the corner from their home. They played football on that green after school most days with a patchwork ball so haphazardly taped together that it couldn’t really be considered round anymore.

Lemon had been so upset that he couldn’t do anything except sit on the grass, clutching the makeshift coffin in his tiny hands and weep. Meanwhile Tangerine, through his tears, dug a crude little trench with a flat-edged stick.

Stevie was laid to rest within a cardboard Nokia phone box in a grave about as shallow as a child’s thumb. But the twins were only little, they couldn’t have known the importance of digging graves deep in a neighbourhood full of urban foxes with painfully hollow bellies. They still left wilting buttercups on that spot every day until they had to move homes again, even after foxes desecrated the grave.

‘Exactly. So shut your mouth and go wake up sleeping beauty.’

When you awoke it was to Tangerine gently shaking your shoulder. ‘Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey. That’s us here.’ He spoke quietly, his lips and moustache upturned at your grogginess.

It was time to say hello to The Sunrise Hotel.

‘Hi, there! You alright?’ Lemon waved to the receptionist as he approached the desk. ’We have a booking for room-‘

‘Room 601. Correct?’ She asked abruptly, barely even looking up from her paperwork.

Tangerine’s hand flew to his gun instinctively. But he didn't draw it. The way the woman smiled when she looked up made him falter.

‘Uhm, yeah…how’d you know?’ Lemon asked, thick eyebrows raised above calculating eyes. The old vinyl record blasting through metallic speakers seemed to wobble as he spoke, as if it too was nervous.

From his tone of voice, Tangerine could tell his brother was immediately suspicious and probably analysing the shit out of the woman as he spoke. He waited for a signal that something was wrong, even going so far as to step in front of you slightly to keep you out of sight of the woman. But the signal never came.

‘I was told to expect two dashing gentlemen and their acquaintance possibly arriving today.’ She said simply, stepping out from behind the smooth wooden desk. ‘Follow me. Let me show you to your room.’

‘Dashing?’ Lemon mouthed to his brother who simply shrugged his shoulders before wincing from the wound on his arm. Neither of them had ever been accused of being dashing before.

Tangerine let his hand fall back to his side, away from his gun. Instead, he shoved his hand in his pocket, sliding his fingers inside the knuckle duster that nestled there. Just in case.

‘Stay close.’ He told the both of you, quietly.

Tangerine was just as on-edge as you were, his entire body tensed. He eyed every corner of the hallway, every doorway, like he was daring some potential threat to step out and try something. Even the passing bellboys were not immune from his analysing stare, despite their friendly smiles. It was nice to have someone else so fiercely paranoid around even just because it meant you weren't the only one worrying about danger lurking around every corner. Lemon seemed calm, as he always did. He had a quieter was about his suspicion.

The receptionist led you to the elevator, its edges encrusted with shimmering brass. ‘So what brings you to the area? Business or pleasure?’ She asked, awaiting the ding.

‘Bit of both, I suppose. You know how it is.’ Tangerine replied, his tone overly friendly. His mouth upturned into a forced, closed-eyed smile before dropping back to normal the second she turned around. He was overcompensating for the strange way he had his jacket hung over his shoulder like a cloak to hide his arm’s bloody stain.

After ushering you in before her, the receptionist pressed the button for the sixth and final floor with the tip of her nail. Her ring and middle finger were cut shorter than the rest, you realised. Her other nails could have almost been mistaken for neon pink talons, like they would slice anything they touched.

‘You’re very lucky, you know. We have prepared the finest suite for you.’ No one replied so Lemon asked her about a mini bar to put an end to the uncomfortable silence.

You stood beside Tangerine and he looked over as you fidgeted lightly with your hands. When you caught his gaze he blinked slowly and smiled just a little, like he was trying to reassure you that you were going to be okay.

And you were going to be okay if he had anything to say about it.

You found his attempt at reassurance odd only because he seemed so on-edge himself. He didn’t believe that you were safe and yet he wanted you to feel like you were. Maybe it was just wishfull thinking? He probably just wanted this job to be over.

What set this particular hotel apart from others was the carpets. They weren’t patterned in gaudy tones or uneven beneath your feet. In fact they were immaculate and beautiful to the point where you almost felt bad walking upon them. The carpets didn’t look like they were supposed to be tread upon. The entire hotel didn’t really look lived in or occupied at all.

It was an older building. Her bricks reminded you of some Hollywood actress from the 1930s in that they were old but forbidden from ever showing it in anything except wisdom. The same could be said for the dangling light fixtures dotted like golden willow trees along the flowering ceilings. You wondered just how much of a pain they must have been to clean.

When the receptionist ushered you all inside room 601, the space opened into a wide room with couches crowding around a deep-set fire pit on one side and a kitchenette on the other. Right at the room’s centre hung the biggest chandelier they could have possibly crammed into the room. Its size made the endlessly high ceilings almost look small in comparison, the crystal daggers hung and twinkled so grandly that you had to avert your eyes lest they feel like burning.

‘If you need anything during your stay, please don’t hesitate to ask. Dial number one on the room phone for the front desk and ask for me. My name is Alicia.’ She tapped her name tag with a single pink talon. ‘Dinner is from 5 pm in the restaurant on the ground floor. Come at your leisure.’

With that and a soft click of her heels, she was gone.

‘Don’t hotels usually ask that you book dinner?’ Lemon questioned no one in particular.

No sooner had the door shut behind her did Tangerine’s phone ring. He excused himself and walked into the nearest bedroom, closing the door behind him.

‘Well done.’ Their employer's voice grated through the phone as Tangerine dumped his travel bag on the bed closest to the window, peering outside at the view.

There were two beds in the room, both generously-sized doubles with fine white cotton covers and inviting pillows. It felt strange that he and Lemon suddenly had the privilege of staying in such places only after they started killing people for money. It felt even stranger that such a beautiful looking room came with an escort job, they never usually had such perks. But you were a high-value target, he supposed.

‘I was a piece of piss, really. I told you we’d handle the journey.’ He picked up his bag again and instead placed it on the bed closest to the door. It was childish but he liked being closer to the door in case anything nasty came knocking. It was a habit he’d had since he and Lemon were kids. ‘It’ll be keeping the package safe here that’ll be the hard part.’

His employer hummed, a frighteningly deep sound that didn't match his flowery accent. ‘You let me worry about that. Your work here is done. I shall transfer you the rest of the payment once you’ve left the hotel. It was a pleasure doing business with you.’

Tangerine frowned, dragging a hand back through his hair before wincing as the movement stung his wound. ‘So that’s it then? We’re just supposed to leave?’ He cleared his throat to hide the hiss of pain, his voice now stern.

‘That is what I paid you for, yes?’ The man sounded impatient but robotic. Tangerine couldn’t have cared less about his annoyance.

‘No. You paid us to keep the bloody target safe.’ He heard his voice rising as his arm kept stinging. The wound must've opened up again due to the lack of stitches. ‘If we leave, what’s stopping the Blackjacks or any other fuckin’ gang from waltzing right here in and blowing their brains out then eh?’

‘Because I own the hotel.’

That gave him pause. Tangerine had a feeling he wasn’t just talking about the bricks.

‘I couldn’t give a rats arse if you owned the fuckin country, mate. That doesn’t make the place invincible.’ Tangerine flexed his fingers in irritation. ‘My brother and I have a reputation to uphold and dead packages don’t look good on our resume.’

The hotel just looked like any normal high-end hotel, even if it was a bit quiet. He couldn’t understand why their employer was so sure that you would be safe here.

The line was silent for a moment. Their employer sighed, his breath heavy. ‘What do you propose?’

‘Have us stay until you get here. I don’t see any security running about and I doubt your fucking bellboys would be any good in a tussle.’ He heard a sharp intake of breath over the other end of the phone, a sign of wilted patience. ‘Look, we’re not asking for any additional payment. We just like making sure the job’s done proper.’

At the promise of not having to fork out any more cash, the man caved. ‘Very well then. I suppose I shall see you soon.’

‘Yeah, I guess you will.’ Tangerine hung up the phone and chucked it on the nearest bed.

‘Arsehole.’ He uttered.

In the meantime Lemon had been going through a nearby restaurant’s menu with you since he heard your stomach growl. It would be hours until dinner so when Tangerine came back he slipped out to get some food for you all. Tangerine disappeared into the bedroom again, leaving you to get settled in your own.

After setting your bag down on the large oak desk at the foot of your bed, you got changed into some more comfortable clothing and looked around the room. It was set up in an older style, not as old as the hotel herself but still older. Most of the furniture looked like it cost a small fortune with its detailed etchings and fine finishes. The sprawling bed at the room’s centre looked especially expensive with its curved frame, dark wood and solid. Thankfully it didn't creak when you sat upon its edge.

What an insane twenty four hours you’d had. You’d gone from staying on your own in your tiny little safe house, alone and afraid, to being driven to perhaps the most luxurious hotel you’d ever been in by the Twins. You’d been shot at and hunted but most importantly you’d been protected and despite everything, you allowed yourself to feel just the tiniest bit safer than you did by yourself.

About a half hour later, you sought out Tangerine, calling out his name from the open bedroom doorway.

‘In here!’ He called out, his voice disintegrating into a groan. You frowned and walked inside.

The first sight that greeted you was the bed where his clothes lay folded pristinely next to his open travel bag. There was a gun nestled atop the perfectly pressed fabrics. The other bed housed Lemon’s belongings, strewn neatly but more carelessly than his brother’s.

‘Everything alright?’ He called out and you kept walking until you reached the bathroom’s entrance. White light streamed out of the ensuite doorway, casting golden rays on the opposing wall.

‘I just wanted to make sure your arm was okay.’ You offered.

He just laughed. That was funny given the blood coating his hand.

He stood so his wounded arm faced you but that wasn’t the first thing you noticed. His waistcoat lay discarded on the sink’s edge and he only had one arm in his shirt. The fabric hung off him almost like a side-cape, his wounded arm and half his bare torso were fully on display before you.

He peered into the mirror, a needle and thread clutched between his fingers as blood seeped down his arm and slicked his hand. His dress trousers hung low on his hips and every thick, deep ridge of his chest and stomach was evident beneath the harsh white light. The skin stretched tightly over the muscle there as he moved and flinched. You tried not to let that distract you.

He jolted suddenly, eyes scrunching shut and sucking air in through his teeth. His golden necklace swung back against his chest as he moved so sharply, the pendant twinkling in the light.

‘Do you need some help with that?’ You asked.

He spared you a glance, giving you the once over before looking back to the mirror. He looked like he was irritated by your question, his eyebrow raised. But something you would soon come to learn about Tangerine was that was just the face he made when he was thinking a little too hard about something, he just happened to stare disapprovingly at the nearest thing in his field of view.

He was thinking about letting you be that close to him, about how much he liked the thought.

‘I’m alright. Thanks, love.’ But as he said it he winced and fumbled the stitching again.

‘Here, let me.’ You touched his forearm gently, reassuringly before you moved to the sink.

Such a gentle touch made his stomach drop. He didn’t protest as you washed your hands and took the needle from between his bloodied fingers, just quietly observing. It looked like he’d dipped his hand in a tin of red paint, blood collected in vein-like vines along the surface of his golden rings and pooled slightly at their base.

He leaned back against the sink so you could get a better look, inviting you into his space. He clutched his forearm to keep himself steady for you, his bare chest bulging as he did.

Again, you tried not to let that distract you.

Instead, you stepped in even closer to him, examining his arm. You were close enough to smell his cologne and the faintest hint of the cigarettes he smoked. He must have bought the expensive kind of both because the smell wasn't at all unpleasant.

‘You’ve made a right mess of yourself.’ You huffed.

‘Yeah, I never was the best at fixing things.’ He usually preferred to be the one making a mess. He said it like he was talking about sewing a button back on, not like he was stitching up a gash in his own skin.

‘Stay nice and still for me?’ You requested and he did so without hesitation. You felt his body tense as the needle pierced the torn skin but he didn't so much as utter a curse. Lemon always said he never listened but he found himself listening to you like a song. Stubbornness seemed to drain from him with each word that left your lips. It was probably just the blood loss.

You decided to keep talking just to keep his mind off the pain. ‘Stitches are less of a permanent fix and more of a helpful nudge in the right direction,’ You reassured him. ‘Your body has to handle the fixing part all on its own and yours looks like it’s had plenty of practice.’

The numerous scars that littered his upper body hadn’t escaped your notice. One in particular on his shoulder caught your eye as it intersected with one of his tattoos. A scorpion stretched from the flat part of his shoulder with its tail etched in a beautifully straight line along the sharp edge of his collarbone. The tail flickered over his shoulder and about a quarter of the way down its dark, curled tail sat a jagged scar where something had once cut deep into his skin.

His tattoos especially longed to be touched, to be appreciated for how beautiful their penmanship was. Where you were standing you could only see an English bulldog with a monocle, a swallow on his forearm and the scorpion on his shoulder. There was one of his ribs too but you dared not let your eyes linger any longer in case he noticed.

‘This line of work was never without its- fucking hell.’ His eyes widened as you drew his skin together tightly like a corset. He gripped the bathroom sink with his free hand, knuckles white, and swallowed a groan.

‘I know it must be really sore. I’m sorry,’ Your voice was soft, gentle. It wasn’t a tone he was used to being on the other side of. You placed a hand on his arm again in comfort and he liked it being there. The touch let him focus on something other than the pain.

Between tattoos and bullet wounds, his skin was used to the cold sting of a needle. That usually didn't mean stitches ever hurt any less. But he was surprised at how little your needlework hurt and how gentle you were until now. He barely felt anything compared to the times he’d tried to stitch himself up or when Lemon helped.

‘If I’m still alive after all this, I owe you one for that.’ You pointed to his arm, the stitches now tied off.

‘Just another to add to the collection, love. And it’s when not if.’ He corrected you. ‘I have absolutely no intention of letting anything bad happen to you.’

You looked up at him just for a second as you dabbed some blood off his arm. He was sincere, it seems. As you found he always was. ‘It's not your intentions that I’m worried about.’

‘You don't trust our employer…’ He trailed off in thought.

Lemon didn’t either and he was always the intuitive one. Even if he did have to relate people to cartoon steam engines, he was never wrong about the feeling he had about someone. Ever. Tangerine trusted his brother’s judgment significantly more than his own.

‘And you do?’ You asked him. Of course you didn't trust the guy who paid to have you kept safe when everyone else wants you dead.

He dodged the question only because he sensed that wasn’t really what you were asking. ‘I won't let anything bad happen to you. I promise.’

‘Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to make promises you might not be able to keep?’ You asked, daring to look up and catch his gaze again. The blue in his eyes swam the way warm oceans did when kissed by the sun.

‘I don’t.’ He replied and he meant it.

There was something in his eyes then that you couldn’t place. But it was gone all too quickly as you both heard Lemon’s muffled voice through the walls shouting to say he was back and that the food was still warm.

You stepped away from Tangerine and he from you.

Tangerine tag list: @icy-spicy @simpingforclaudette @cockete @padfoot-1959 @revenstaz @family-video @multifandomfanfic @robertdowneyhiddlesbatch @ashyyslashy @ifilwtmfc @ayoyouyo @noz4a2 @jo-noodles @vi0letblu3s @thelooneytoon @4ng3l-0n-34rth @sjprongs @stardustworlds @willowpains @chanooopy @elizabeth-skywalker @queenofstarsanddarkness @vampire-teeth7 @andfreeshipping (please feel free to let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list <3)

[thoroughlysaucedsparrow]

AAAAAAAAA ITS DONEEE

I measured it and this thing is fucking 6’6-

(materials and process underneath vv)

Materials used:

-3 pvc pipe segments with the screw adapters

-Eva foam : 2mm, 5mm, 10mm

-Foam clay

-Thermoplastic beads

-Metal wire

-Various superglues

-Spray paint

-Acrylic paint

~~ The Pvc Segments:

I started off with three 2ft pvc segments and glued the cross adaptor on the top, then proceeded to hack off and move around pieces as I saw fit. For the top segment I believe I cut off 5in, then glued 3 to the top of the cross pipe and tossed the remaining 2in. I also cut off 8in on the bottom to make way for the spike which is around 5.5in.

(The original pipes, I didn’t really have any other progress pics of this part)

~~ The Main Blade:

I started by going into FireAlpaca and separating the halberd from Sinclair’s sprite, then broke it up into various pieces and used Rasterbator to size up the blade. After that I printed it out, assembled it, and transferred it to freezer paper to adjust it as I saw fit.

After that I cut out two pieces of 10mm foam and glued them together as the main blade, then added the details with some 2mm foam I got from Walmart I think? I proceeded to hack away chunks of foam with Eva foam with a box cutter (and almost sliced my hand open in the process) before sanding the absolute crap out of it)

Once it was all sanded and I was content with it I took my heat gun and sealed all the foam and got rid of the fluffy texture created by the sanding and filled some of the gaps with foam clay.

After the blade I was done I stuck some wire into it, then shoved that wire through some thermoplastic beads I had melted and put in the pipe, and superglued it. It really wasn’t wanting to stay so I added more thermoplastic around the outside and proceeded to add more superglue (Gorilla and Flex Seal glue if I recall correctly) which has seemed to help it stay on. It’s not 100% stable but as long as I’m careful with it I’m ok.

~~

The Spikes:

Just like the blade, I made the pattern based the sprite itself. Using the line tool in FireAlpaca I traced over the top spike and the side spike and got the pattern from that. I resized and reshaped them in a Google doc before printing them out. After that I traced two of the spike pieces, cut one in half vertically and glued them together. After that I used small triangular pieces of foam to connect the corners and with that the skeleton was done (I added wire into the bottom spike for support as it is going to be bashing the floor a lot). i then filled the skeletons with foam clay, making sure to get all the sides even and filled completely.

(I forgot to add the triangle pieces in the bottom spike until later)

Once I sanded them and attacked them with the same method as the blade the base was done!

~~ Painting:

In order to create a stable base to paint on I shoved three wooden dowels into a fertilizer box and hot glued them down. I then broke the halberd down and put each piece on the spike before spraying it with multiple coats of plastidip.

(Note- I taped off the parts that would be screwed down as I was afraid that the paint would interfere with the threading. I don’t know if it would actually cause any problems but I didn’t feel like risking it)

Once that was completely dry I sprayed it with three coats of Rustolem Black High Gloss paint.

Finally, I dry brushed everything with silver paint and added the lettering, using some black paint to mimic the paint chipping.

Once I added two coats of Rustolem clear sealant it was done!! The overall process took about two weeks and I’m quite happy with how it turned out! I may or may not have injured myself a lot during the process because I’m stupid but it was quite a fun project, and I do have more Project Moon props planned for the future such as Don’s lance and Argalia’s scythe. Once I finish my full cosplay I’ll make a post similar to this one :)

[theshiningbeacon]

Tutorial for my OFMD Breakup™/Bird Robe

Disclaimer: I’m not a professional sewer or costumer, so any weird methods of execution are entirely due to my own (mis)adventures in sewing. Also all of the links for the fabric and research are in the replies bc I have no idea if tumblr is still ~suppressing~ posts with links.

The basic design for my Breakup Robe™ was based on heathervanderstitch and  hannahgreenecostumes‘s instagram posts (two of the costume designers on OFMD) who said that their bird robe was a modified 1940′s kimono pattern with a box pleat in the back to give more movement at the bottom without being too baggy at the top. So I took that info and essentially worked backwards by comparing screenshots from the show and a bunch of online kimono patterns. (The most helpful ones were Ralph Pink’s free Satchi kimono pattern and The Tailoress’s Giselle Kimono). 

--- 🦜 ---

I found a helpful starting place for pattern piece sizes was a twitter post from another fan (fiftyfathomkinit), however I ended up making my own modifications because I found her drafting slightly confusing (she includes armhole cutouts in her back panel which i could never figure out). I also adjusted the sizing to better fit my own measurements and I added an extra seam on the sleeves so one side of the pattern wouldn’t be upside down.

On a personal note, don’t be afraid of making mistakes! I didn’t realize I needed to adjust the pattern measurements until after I’d started making the lining - which was an oopsie on my part and could have saved me a little bit of money on fabric for my lining. You can get around this error by making a mockup in cheap fabric, or you can do it like me and start off with larger pieces and make them smaller as you adjust to your own fit.

Speaking of the lining, the original robe has a fuchsia dupioni (coarse) silk lining and a hand dyed, block printed 100% cotton velvet outer shell. I found the velvet from (I believe) the same seller on Etsy. It’s a little pricey, but they also have a regular cotton version for those who want a cheaper option. 

For the lining, I wanted silk to match the original, bc it breathes better than polyester satin, and I believe it’s longer lasting. But I wanted something softer than the dupioni, so I went with... literally the smoothest silk in the closest colour I could find at a local fabric store. (I literally just rubbed my fingers against every fuchsia silk they had). But you can go with whatever lining you’ll be most comfortable with (satin, cotton, etc). 

I got tassels from that same fabric store and the thread and orange bias tape from Fabricland, but you can make your own tassels with yarn if you prefer.

I bought 5 yards of the bird velvet (bc they don’t do half yards) and 4.5 metres (5 yards) of the silk. I ended up using most of the silk and about 4.5 yards of the velvet.

--- 🦜 ---

I started by making my own patterns from some super cheap brown wrapping paper with gridlines on the back, which I got from the dollar store. You could also probably just measure and cut your fabric directly, but having paper patterns made me feel better.

Your own measurements will vary (I’m 5′7″ and 120 lbs), but I wanted it to be quite oversized, with the sleeve shoulder seam hitting a little ways down my arm, and the overall length sitting just above my ankles, the same way it does in the show robe.

You can see in the above graphic I have a neck opening cut into the front panel that ends halfway down - this is how long I’m also making my collar. (Pro tip - cut the collar longer than you think you’ll need). Meanwhile, the sleeves have an 11″ x 1″ diagonal cut on the sides that will be attached to the main body of the robe, as used in a lot of kimonos.

Here are my pieces cut out (minus the sleeve diagonal bc I forgot to do it while I was cutting everything - but that was a very easy error to correct later):

--- 🦜 ---

For the inverted box pleat, based on screenshots and insta posts, I went with 3″ on either side of the centre point and guestimated that it ended a little lower than the armpit. So mine ended about 10″-11″ from the top of the back panel.

I basted some stitches along the three points (centre back, 3″ to the right and 3″ to left, so it was easier to keep both sides equal). Then I pulled the two sides of the fabric together so they met in the middle at the centre point of the back panel. I pinned them together, stitched the sides together by hand with a ladder stitch, and then machine stitched a line across the top of the panel at my ½” seam allowance.

I then machine stitched the sides together down the middle with a really small zigzag stitch to make sure it was extra secure.

I cut a 1″ x 7″ inch neck dip after doing the box pleat, which is probably not the proper way to do it, but it worked out for me!

I didn’t take a picture of it, but this graphic is an approximation of how you’d go about it:

--- 🦜 ---

To sew the actual robe, it requires very simple straight line sewing to connect all these rectangles. 

Firstly, you’ll want to attach the front panels to the back panel at the shoulders (right sides together).

Next, you’ll want to sew across the top of the sleeve panels (right sides together). Make sure you’re matching the diagonal sleeve indents so that when you open up the sleeve panels, it looks like this:

Then you’ll open up your robe body so the right side is facing up:

You’ll then attach the sewn sleeves to the front panels (right sides together), ensuring you’re matching the sleeve seam with the shoulder seam. Make sure you’re sewing the side of the sleeves with the diagonal cutout so when the garment is flipped right side out, the diagonal is next to your body. You’ll sew from the marked line to the marked line.

Next, you’ll want to sew the sides of the robe together to close it. However, this was a tricky part for me, because I had tried to sew the body and sleeves at the same time when I was doing my lining, but the armpits ended up bunched and slightly twisted around. So I tried getting around this issue by stopping about 1″ from the armpits, leaving a gap, while sewing the sides together. (You’ll close this gap at the very end of your project).

For the collar, attach both pieces together at one end, right sides together, to ensure the pattern isn’t upside down on one side. Once done, the right sides of the attached fabric should look like this:

Then, take the collar and fold lengthwise so the right sides are together. Sew a straight line across the two bottom ends. Then, flip the collar inside out so the wrong sides of the fabric are together and the bottom edges are nicely hemmed. It should look (more or less) like this:

(Ignore the weird cuts on the bottom right and left hand corners  - this was my first attempt with a collar that I realized was too short. [Pro tip - cut the collar pieces way longer than you’ll think you’ll need!] I forgot to take a pic of my second attempt, but you get the general idea of what it’s supposed to look like).

For the bias tape, this is probably not the proper way to go about it, but it was the only way my CFS brain could figure it out and it worked for me! (As the disclaimer said, I’m not a professional sewer - I’m more concerned with whether something works than whether it’s the 100% professional method of execution).

So, take your bias tape, open it up, and pin one edge against the raw edge of your collar. Sew these together a little bit lower than your seam allowance (1). Then you’ll want to fold the bias tape up so both edges are facing the sewn edge of your collar. Then pin and sew your collar, bias tape side down, to your robe (2). (When doing so, make sure to match the seam at the back of the neck on the collar with the middle of the back panel).

This way, when you attach the collar using your seam allowance, you’ll still be able to see a small amount of the bias tape peaking through around the collar when it lays flat against you, like so:

For the bias tape on the sleeves, I attached one edge of the bias tape to the right side of the fabric, stopping an inch past the 9″ marking on both sides of the sleeve. (I sewed this about 1/4″ from the edge).

I then flipped each sleeve inside out (right sides together) and sewed it together, stopping about 1/2″-1″ away from the armpit (as previously mentioned) and at the 9″ measurement on the opposite side. For the side with the bias tap, I flipped the bottom part of the tape over onto the wrong side of the fabric and sewed it down as I was sewing the entire sleeve.

At this point, if you flip the entire robe inside out so the right side is facing outwards, it should look like this:

--- 🦜 ---

For the lining, follow the same steps as you did for the velvet (minus the collar). But when you do the box pleat, make sure the inverted side (the side you pull together) is on the wrong side of the fabric. 

Once the lining is fully constructed, you’ll want to attach the lining to the velvet, right sides to right sides, along the collar and centre front.

Once you’ve sewn the lining and velvet together, flip your robe inside out so both right sides are showing. 

As you can probably see in the photo, I already started the next step. Which is hemming the bottom of the robe. I’d recommend doing so while it’s hanging (either on a hanger, dress form, or another person), to ensure you don’t have any weird spots where the lining is pulling up on the velvet. I attached the lining and velvet by hand stitching.

For the sleeves, I folded the bias tape down onto the wrong side of the fabric, folded the lining under itself to make a nice little hem, and sewed both together. I did so by hand with a really simple stitch. (As with the bottom hem, make sure you’re only picking up the bias tape and lining so you don’t poke through to the other side).

Then for the final touch - the tassels! Mine came with a large loop that I had to remove. I cut it off and then encased the shorn ends in hot glue to ensure the entire thing didn’t somehow unravel. 

I let the glue harden and then attached the tassels by hand to the corners of the sleeves and collar.

Now we’ll finally close those ~1″ gaps under the armpits. I did this with a very simple hand stitch, making sure I grabbed a bit of fabric from each side of the fold and pulled the thread taught.

--- 🦜 ---

And voila, you should now be the proud owner of the infamous breakup/bird/wrap robe.

--- 🦜 ---

And that’s it! Hopefully this all makes sense and if anyone has any questions either send me an ask or add a reply to this post and I’ll do my best to answer! 

On one final note, not to be That Person™, but this took quite a lot of work (both the robe and this post) and I’m a chronically ill freelancer who’s income was hit hard by COVID. So if anyone wants to throw some change at my KO-FI if you found this helpful, I’d be very much appreciated.

[cheeriecherrymain]

The flooding of the "domestic/relationship situation prompts that make my heart warm" prompts

(3 of 5)

#13 - leaving notes for them around the house

(Can go both ways. Maybe they BOTH leave notes for each other all over the house?)

time to be so cheesy oh yeah

Viktor x Reader

-Viktor is a busy man, and even though he’s very detail-oriented at work, at home he’s kind of…forgetful. Especially in the morning. And yes, he puts off his own needs in order to do the things he enjoys, but it’s not always on purpose. That’s just how hyperfocus is sometimes.

-As such, home is where he’s happiest. Yes, he likes having access to all the things a lab environment provides, but home? Home is familiar in the most comforting way; it’s unchanging and constant, it’s soft, it’s warm, and most important - it’s where you are. You’re his favourite person, who supports him and cares about him, whom he loves dearly.

-But like I said, he can be forgetful.

-He’s so used to the patterns and places of everything at home, that sometimes he overlooks stuff. He’s just so used to everything being where it is that it doesn’t register as something he needs to take with him, or as something he’s searching for (he’s lost his keys in plain sight on multiple occasions).

-It took the two of you a while to figure out why he always forgot to bring things to the lab with him on the daily (keys, lunch, the notes he wrote over the weekend), but once you get to the bottom of the problem, it’s easy to solve.

-You leave notes for him. 

-You know exactly what his morning routine is, so you leave notes along his path.

- “Don’t forget your tie today” scribbled on a scrap of paper and taped to his toothbrush. “Remember to bring lunch - there’s a box of leftovers already packed for you” taped to said tie. “You left your notes on the kitchen table last night - you said you were close to a breakthrough” taped to the handle of the fridge. “Your keys are in the basket beside the door” taped to the knob of the front door.

-And of course, you always leave a little heart at the end of each message.

-He wakes up far earlier than you, and even though he kisses your cheek every morning and bids you a good afternoon, you’re still mostly asleep. Seeing the little notes you’ve left out for him the night before is something that warms his heart - your little way of saying you love him without actually saying it.

-And he knows you don’t need the notes like he does, and he knows he always thanks you for your help, but part of him secretly enjoys the corny, romantic aspect of it all. Leaving little marks of affection, and being able to recognize your penmanship in an instant.

-Every morning, without fail, he writes you a note in return. Wishing you a lovely day at work or on break or at home, reminding you to go outside for a little bit to get some fresh air because he knows how much you enjoy watching the clouds float by. Sometimes even inviting you over to the lab for lunch, if you have the time. And always signing it with love.

-He leaves it pasted to the coffee brewer, knowing that that’s your first stop as soon as you wake up.

-Neither of you knows that you both keep every single note you’ve ever gotten from each other, tucked away in secret little scrapbooks in your bedside nightstands.

[wintermoth]

DIY Sun Reflectors for Your Windows

fuck i cant believe i forgot to say something about this before

HEY EUROPEANS

ALUMINUM FOIL IN YOUR WINDOWS IS A GOOD WAY TO KEEP OUT HEAT. 

Trust me, we’ve been doing it at my house for years. I’ve got a skylight in my bedroom and having the foil cover up there does WONDERS for the temperature in the summer.

You can say fuck it and tape foil directly to the windows but that requires you to tear it down every time you want the window unblocked. If you’re short on time and resources, it’ll do. But here’s instructions for how to make reusable and durable reflectors.

Acquire some cardboard. Boxes will do, if you break them down. But the sturdier the better. Any bends in the cardboard (i.e. flaps on boxes) will be more likely to bend under their own weight while standing up in the window.

Trim the boxes to fit your windows. The idea is that they will be able to rest on the windowsill and support themselves, so size accordingly.

Spread the foil across one side of the cardboard, reflective side up. NOT the matte side.  The matte side reflects less heat. Make sure the entire surface of the front is covered. You can leave the back side alone.

Then, simply place them in your windows. Make sure any bends in the cardboard ARENT on the bottom or they will probably fall. 

Yes it looks dumb. But who fucking cares it works, especially for windows where sunlight comes in directly.

stay safe yall ._.

[tyo-mimt]

20/36. @tmnt-event-blog

Raph helps Mikey turn the lair into a winter wonderland.

Mikey liked asking his brothers for help; all of them were good at something and he always wanted to get closer. Though this time, there was a slight ulterior motive to his asking for Raph for help.

"Winter decorations?" Raph echoed.

Mikey nodded quickly. "It's been a while since we've had anything winter-themed going on in the lair; it'd be nice to see the walls decorated in fairy lights!"

That mention of lighting grabbed Raph's attention. Mikey's smile grew wider. The last time the family decorated for the season was before they picked up their weapons. Dad had more time to focus on them, and not being able to see the surface for most of their days could make someone go a little crazy. The lights were a nice substitute for that for before they started heading up there. Besides, it'd be nice to see the lair look more like a home than a base. They weren't survivors, not of the Krang nor of the Shredder. They're a family, living in New York's sewers and fighting crime five times a week minimum, but still a family!

"It could be like a winter wonderland down here!"

There was a pause, and it wasn't long. "Eh, either way, Raph'll help ya!"

Mikey beamed. Raph asked first, "Do we still have the lights?"

Oh. That was something he forgot about. Most of them were probably destroyed; the fragile nature of bulbs didn't really help. The snapping turtle must've seen the way his face fell, quickly suggesting, "We can make them, too!"

Mikey tilted his head. Raph's confidence only grew, "Can't be that hard!"

"Yeah... Yeah! It shouldn't be!"

"Okay! I'll go sneak into Donnie's lab for the bulbs; you grab as much DIY stuff as possible!"

"Wouldn't Donnie get mad at us for sneaking in?" Yet again, did Mikey ever really have any personal regard for Donnie's privacy?

"I saw him leave the lair a while ago, probably to find Leo again... We should be safe!"

"Sounds a little dangerous... Good luck!" Mikey called out, watching Raph walk back over to the labs. The box turtle made his own way to the storage closet. Arts and crafts wasn't something he's done in a while, either because of his dwindling interest in exchange for murals and digital drawing or some other thing that's piqued his interests. Even then, this was still fun.

Pulling out coloured ribbons, fern-like tinsel, flexible copper wires, and some other various materials, Mikey walked out of the storage room with the box of materials. It didn't take long for Raph to return with lights... Which were significantly bigger than fairy lights. If anything, they were the full size of a normal bulb! Yet again, Mikey wouldn't let such a thing get in the way of true artistry. Putting on a large smile, Mikey picked up the bulbs and wrapped the tinsel around the bottom in demonstration. He slid over the rest of the bulbs and tinsel.

"Work on those; I'll be bending these into shape." He held up the wire in place, Raph nodding in compliance as they began to work on their respective tasks. Mikey wasn't able to count the minutes of time passing, but it couldn't have been long, right? Not like Donnie nor Leo was back.

Hustling with the little time they had left, Mikey grabbed the finished tinsel-wrapped bulbs and positioned them inside the star wire outlines, wrapped in various ribbons corresponding to their colours. The tinsel were trails, trails of a shooting star against the backdrop of the walls. They managed to hang up the decorations with a bit of duct tape and stubbornness, falliing back against the couch from exertion as they looked over the landscape. Not quite winter wonderland, but it was getting there...

"Think they'll like it?"

Raph place a hand on his shoulder, patting his arm. "They'll always like it."

[briefcasejuice]

helping hand(s) masterlist / AO3

word count: 1071 pairing: matt murdock x gender neutral!reader summary: joining matt at fogwell's as he works out, he runs into a predicament and needs your help. content: fluff, gym, shirtless and sweat imagery.

You looked up from the book you read, peeking at Matt where he boxed, a soft paff echoing throughout the empty main room of Fogwell’s every time his fist hit the punch bag. You sniffed, rubbing your nose on the back of your arm in the pretence that it was just dust and that your face wasn’t heating up while staring at Matt’s muscles as they strained and flexed, obscured by nothing since he’d taken off his shirt once it’d been soaked through about a half hour ago.

Going back to your book, it was possibly a few more paragraphs before you heard shuffling as Matt undid the wraps around his fists and padded over to where you were situated. Bundling the athletic tape and throwing them down, he fetched the water bottle that sat on the dusty desk in front of you. Gazing at him as he took a sip, you couldn’t help but note how fucking hot he looked in the moment - hair sticking to his forehead, sweat dripping from his chin to his chest as he raised his head to drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing with every gulp and his biceps flexing as he planted his free hand on the top of the table to lean on while he drank. You didn’t notice you were staring at his torso, sweat dripping across each ab, down to his v-line, until he spoke.

“I appreciate it but you should really get back to your book,” he set the water bottle back down on the table, grabbing his shirt and fingerless gloves that were set over the only other available chair, smirking. “I’d hate to distract you, really.”

“Fuck off, Murdock,” you huffed a laugh, snatching up the water bottle where he’d set it and mimed throwing it at him. He dramatically faked blocking his face, a smile on his face as he walked backwards to where he’d been working out.

You went back to your book, trying to block out the sounds of Matt’s controlled breathing as he did push-ups. You counted them internally with every exhale, giving up on reading when he got to thirty. Setting your book upside-down on the table, you took a sip from the water bottle, your eyes still fixed on Matt even as you tipped your head backwards. His back muscles flexed on every downwards movement, his legs straight and his form incredible.

“You are so fucking good at that,” you mumbled, mostly as an observation but still aimed at him. He finished the set, crawling his feet beneath him before sitting on his heels. He smiled at you, milky gaze fixed downwards and sweat tickling his eyelashes and the tip of his slightly crooked nose; his face was red with effort, highlighting his brown freckles. He hummed in thanks before getting up and stalking towards the weightlifting bench in the corner, possibly one of the only equipment not in an aged, poor condition due to Matt’s frequent usage. He sat on the edge, putting on his gloves and wiggling to fix his form before he mumbled a quiet, “Shit,” and dropped his hands onto his knees in annoyance.

“What’s wrong?” you perked, bored and ready to help.

“Forgot my weights,” he whined, “Remember when I brought them to the office gym ‘cause I knew that landlord case wouldn’t have let me come here as often?”

“Yeah- damn,” you sympathised. Matt sat there for a moment, sucking on the inside of his  bottom lip while he thought. It was perhaps a few minutes before he went, “Huh,” and turned to you.

“Honey, c’mere f’ me?” he gestured from you to him and you nodded, getting up immediately. Once you got to where he was sitting, he pulled you in towards him and you pushed him away.

“Yuck, you're sweaty!” you giggled and he smiled.

“C’mere, I just wanna try something,” you stayed where you were, skeptical before he added, “I promise.”

You gave in and he let you go for a moment to lay back on the bench. He stretched his hand towards you, face still angled straight upwards and you took it.

“Step over me,” he ordered softly and you did, your eyebrows furrowed as you became impossibly more confused. It went like that for a little while, Matt ordering you around and changing your stance above him while you pretended to not become more and more turned on, his face right under your core as he adjusted your position.

“M’kay- now bend your knees and sit, as if my hands were a chair,” he told you, his elbows bent and fingers slightly clawed beneath you prepared to bear your weight. You peeked downwards before sitting, catching a single glance at the double chin around the bottom of his face and hair splayed around his head like a fiery halo. You giggled and he couldn’t help but huff along with you, “Honey, you can’t be laughing. You won’t have any balance.”

You cleared your throat, fighting your smile and giving him an assuring, “Okay, okay,” before sitting. There was a moment where he braced himself, a barely audible deep inhale slicing through the silence before his eyelids closed and he grunted, lowering you down.

“Woah-” you whispered as you wobbled on your way up, Matt easily developing a not-too-fast-not-too-slow rhythm of presses. You fixed your poster, your hands stuck slightly away from your body horizontally as you tried to keep your balance. He got to about fifteen reps before he lowered you slowly unto his abdomen.

“What if I fell on your face?” you blurted, your face burning with embarrassment as soon as you said it but he blurted out the most sudden laugh you’d ever heard from him, muscles tightening beneath you and his head thrown back as much as it could while he was laying down. You couldn’t help but laugh along with him, grateful he recognised the joke in it.

“Trust me, you won’t,” he assured you, sitting up behind you. He wrapped his hands around you and you cringed inwardly, his sweaty chest imprinting on the back of your once dry shirt but you leaned into him anyway. “You have surprisingly great balance.”

You smiled in thanks before he added, “Plus it wouldn’t be the first.”

“Oh my god- Matt!” you swatted at his arm clapped across your belly, his damp nose bumping on your neck as he laughed.

all feedback/criticism is appreciated! i do not give permission for this and any of my fanfiction to be reposted or translated to any other platform without my consent.

[icywebs]

An Adventure in Mum-Land

My mother died 10 years ago. It's really weird to say that, thinking about it. It both feels longer and nowhere near as long as that. She was pretty eccentric and had a habit of stashing stuff everywhere and was a bit of a hoarder.

Whenever we'd go on vacation she would bring a small seam ripper and would cut a couple stitches out of the bottom hem of the hotel curtains to stash cash and valuables - because the hems were huge. On many occasions she realized too late she left something valuable at the hotel.

We knew she stashed a lot of stuff in a lot of places and we had to literally rip up the carpet and I KNOW we didn't find everything. Every book had to be gone through because there'd be cash stored throughout the pages, every casset tape box had to be opened because there'd be cash or literal gold nuggets she got from Alaska stored in them.

We pulled dressers apart and found some of the valuable jewelry taped to the bottom of drawers. We ripped the box spring apart and found even more cash and odds and ends there. We peeled back wall paper and found some cash and thin jewelry stored there.

Literally had to take apart the kitchen table because we saw part of something she'd stashed there and couldn't figure out how she got it in there.

I give this context so that you understand these traits going in.

We had a pretty complicated relationship that I won't get into here. In the last years, we had begun rebuilding our relationship. She had mentioned several places she'd stashed various things, such as "In this specific corner in the bedroom under the carpet I stashed some of the gold nuggets."

Mom. Plz.

Salty aside: My step dad was pretty garbage about handling of her things after her death. I spent a month helping him dismantle the house and everything of value went to him, including items that were sentimental to my sister and I. He "nobly" allowed us to take some of my mother's and maternal grandmother's jewelry (but nothing that looked like it was of value), and said we could take the 'junk' jewelry but he kept most all the valuable jewelry that my biological dad gave her as well. He let us take other things, as long as they weren't valuable, and I had to fight him for a picture that was given to my parents by the artist to celebrate my birth. After his death, we inherited nothing further. He left my mom's stuff, property she owned before even meeting him and that my sister and I helped maintain, and all the money to his own kids but cut my sister and me out entirely when he died. There's some salt about heirlooms from my mom's family never being recovered because he decided to try to sell everything, including some things of very sentimental value. But I digress.

Among the things I was so graciously given was a random black snakeskin patterned grabbag. I forgot about it entirely and admittedly I didn't go through a whole lot. It found a place in my walkin closet and was forgotten as I grieved. Most other things that were obvious have been gone through since. It has been 10 years, afterall.

Fast Forward to last night! I am going through my closet and starting to purge a bit of stuff we don't need. We had a couple of bags of random LARP nicknacks and I initially assumed it was another bag of that. It was on its way to the purge box when I noticed a beaded bag sticking out. I stopped and pulled it out, thinking I would keep it because it was kinda cute.

As I went to empty the bag, I found half of one of those little cardboard boxes that usually hold a jewelry case. Within it was a bit of a jumbled mess... however, something stuck out to me - there was a hot air balloon enamel pin. My dad used to fly hot air balloons and I realized then that this bag wasn't LARP junk. There were several other balloon pins I found further in it that were even more familiar from friends of the family. The ballooning community is pretty tight knit, so we had a few of them.

There were some pairs of hoop earrings, some earrings that didn't have a partner, some random weird shit I don't recognize, a bullet??, some loose acrylic beads. Was... a bit chaotic.

I moved on to empty the rest of the bag.

I recognized the gold stud earrings my stepdad had been looking for. They're pretty heavy, I'd never want to wear them. Had I not known he was pursuing them I'd have ignored the boxes entirely and passed them off as some novelty of some sort... but... I knew what they were pretty quick. They were one of her investments, but held no sentimental value to me. I don't even know what to do with them.

Oh boy things got spicy! I realized then that I was in for a wild ride with this bag.

Pictured here is a random stick that was in the bag, cheap acrylic 'amber', a ceramic bead of some sort, hoop earrings that are aggressively 80s and huge, and the novelty glitter earring in the top right corner. Literally just glue and glitter. I hate glitter. Shit gets everywhere.

I glimpsed in the plastic baggy that holds a box with a 1/4 pack of cards. Most of them are missing. There's a jar of... we'll say vintage acrylic buttons, some vintage metal buttons, and a bonus decomposing mystery pill.

Opening an old jewelry case I was met with some old buttons, one with a missing glass gemstone, a half dollar, an old as fuck nickle, and a peso. There was also a tiny candle? And a segment of the remnants for my grandmother's rosary.

Next jewelry box, upon initial inspection, is empty.

But lo and behold! It's the Black Hills Gold, diamond, and tourmaline set my sister and I bought her for her 50th birthday!

I also found, within the heap, a solid gold chain necklace.

Mind blown. I KNOW chain necklace, she wore it often.

Moving along! I opened the orange... I think it was a hair mask? Container.

As I delve deeper I find the gold plated cannabis leaf, pipe mesh, piece of turquoise, another bullet? An iron nail? A screw? Some sort of brass vintage locket with mystery pictures???

Some earrings in the jar have partners and some that don't. Some of the earrings are sterling silver, some are very clearly the cheap kind that will make my ears break out. Of course this ecclectic mishmash of what even is happening is also hiding... a solid Black Hills Gold bracelet she cherished. The soft metal is scratched to shit and living in this fucking jar probably didn't help. It's kinda heavy. Also pictured is black coral bracelet that I forgot about while taking pictures cuz I was so stunned to find this bracelet.

Well. Okay. This happened. My mom's trademark jewelry was tossed in this grabbag.

It took a while but I finally moved on to find my grandmother's cherished obsidian necklace. It had been broken and needs to be restrung, so all the loose beads are kept in this... ancient... L'Oreal face mask jar.

At this point, I am just about to beat my head against my desk.

I finally moved on to the last box and had one final surprise.

Within this box was the platinum heart necklace with tourmaline, a sapphire, and peridot, one of her trademark sterling silver snake pendants, some safety pins, random agate beads, plastic beads, sterling silver hoop earrings, metal coated plastic beads, single earrings, and...

Unless I'm mistaken, the heart-shaped yellow-tinged (no, not champagne though that's what my stepdad insisted it was) diamond from her broken engagement ring. She'd caught the setting on something and it came off the band - and they had been looking for it to reattach it. We assumed it was lost to the void.

-----

While much of the heirlooms had been lost, it appears some precious pieces manifested in my closet. Literal gems mixed in with plastic odds and ends that were simply tossed in bags and stashed in corners. It's incredible that I've found so many pieces that I almost never saw my mom without, especially with my step-dad going through such great lengths to ensure we didn't get such treasures.

This has been such a good adventure and I'm definitely going to be looking into repairing broken pieces, cleaning everything properly, and get some of this to my sister.

Thank you for going on this adventure with me :)