#lidded vessel

[claypigeonpottery]

sold

this is my favourite nightmare fuel pottery lmao

the clear glaze only goes halfway up the inside so it looks wet deeper in the well but not at the top

[mimiminimal]

Karen Karnes - Jar, c. 1985.  Salt-glazed stoneware / 24  × 27  cm.   

Karen Karnes - Slit Foot Lidded Vessel, ca 1988.  Stoneware; ht. 9, dia. 5 in.

[watermelonsea]

my cat won't quit sticking his head in my cups of water

blease.... im so thirsty

[sunnyglassware]

(via Glass Ball Jar Ornament Crafts for Christmas on okcandle.com)

[ttngummybear]

Days without buying myself another goddamn drink cup: 0

[itostea]

the strongest (gojo x wife! reader)

gojo can't help but feel annoyed that he feels concern for the wife he swears he doesn't care for.

warnings: arranged marriage au, gojo refers to you as his wife, enemies to lovers (?), gojo tells you to lift up your top, slight angst, he's really bad at feelings okay, image from loving yamada-kun at lv999 (part of gojo’s wife series)

The lines of intrigue and fear are often blurred. It explains why we admire fire from afar, careful not to get too close in hopes of not getting burned. It explains why we find peace in parts of the ocean and tense up in deeper parts. It also explains why Gojo Satoru seeks your presence yet pushes you away the moment he finds himself feeling something other than indifference or vexation–it’s never hatred though. The strongest can’t envision himself ever hating his wife and it scares him. 

He’s not sure that can be said about you. Gojo wouldn’t be surprised if you grew to hate him after the treatment you put up with. 

Your marriage is what you call a “marriage of convenience” and Gojo made sure you remembered that. He wasn’t always so distant with you. Back then, you might’ve considered him a friend but time did its bidding and you two drifted apart, your time together merely a memory. Now fast forward a few years and you were wedded to him, taking up his surname and sleeping in the same house as him–in separate rooms of course. 

Your steps on the wooden floors were silent as you intended not to make a single noise at such a late hour. You sighed, feeling the weight of your heavy shoulders drag you down. 

Gojo might be considered cruel to you but the elders were on a different level. They knew this mission would be too much for you yet they sent you on it as punishment for speaking your mind the last time everyone gathered. 

At that time, your husband had an unfamiliar gleam in your eyes as you voiced your thoughts on the matter of Itadori. He’s a nice kid, you thought when you first saw the pink-haired boy. 

Taking away his youth wouldn’t be fair. After all, he didn’t choose to have the Ryomen Sukuna use him as a vessel. Yet, sentiment doesn’t do well with the higher ups and they made sure you knew your place with the mission they sent you on. 

You inhaled sharply, wincing as you felt the bruise on your rib with your palm. There was blood soaking your tights, little cuts littering your legs. You’re so tired you can’t find it in yourself to even eat. Then again, you needed to be in your best condition tomorrow since another mission was sent out of you and specifically you. Those in power always make sure it’s clear that they are in power. Your voice of opinion meant nothing to their beliefs in tradition or what you liked to call, “backward thinking.” That’s one thing you and your husband could agree on. 

“Ow,” you wince for the nth time as you open the fridge, scanning the items. Mochi. Ice-cream. Leftover cake. Perhaps it would’ve been wiser to go grocery shopping a day prior so you could have a proper meal. This was the kind of stuff Gojo could live on but you couldn’t. Closing the fridge, you opt for instant ramen instead. Not the best choice in regards to healthiness but cracking an egg in there meant more protein and it also minimized the spice levels. 

You’re halfway in between preparing the noodles when you feel a presence right beside you and soft breathing besides your ears. “You’re home,” your ‘husband’ mumbles, his eyes half-lidded from just having woken up. 

“God! Satoru!” You gasp, flinching away from and only realizing how close he was. For someone who claimed he wasn’t interested in you, he didn’t know what personal space was. “How did you know I was home?”

“Your cursed energy leaked in,” he shrugs his shoulders, peering down at you without the constraints of his blindfold or shades. You gulp as his eyes flit up and down your appearance, causing your insides to tense up in a sudden wave of self-consciousness. Being scrutinized by the six-eyes himself wasn’t much fun and you’re suddenly aware of the fact that your hair is disheveled and your face is sweaty from just having come home from a grueling mission. 

You don’t even notice the glint of rage that crosses his hues before he masks it. “Who did this to you?”

“Huh?” You blink, coming to your senses that your body was bloodied up and battered from having fought a curse. “Oh it was just a mission. It’s normal to be hurt on missions.” 

Gojo’s been living with you for nearly half a year now and he knows you’re more than competent when it comes to shaman duties (not that he’d ever tell you). He knows you return home by 7 p.m.., and never at hours well past midnight. He knows that you usually only get injuries on your back because you get careless at times. But now, he sees cuts everywhere and he’s not sure if you’re running on adrenaline or if you’re too tired to notice. 

His eyes glance at the way you press a palm on your rib, subconsciously squeezing the area as if hiding it from him. “Let me see.”

Your surprise is immediate and he would’ve felt a strange fluttering in his stomach if not for this concern he was experiencing for you. You smile. “See what?”

“Your injury. Let me see it,” he says again, pressing on the hand you hold close to your ribs, narrowing his eyes as you hiss in pain. “Don’t be stubborn (Name).” 

His voice is different from the cheery one he often uses and you’re left leaning further into the kitchen counter, acutely aware of the fact that his taller frame wasn’t allowing you to escape. His eyes widen the slightest once he gets a glimpse of your flustered expression as you peer up at him and he only realizes what he was asking from you. Part of him tells him to ignore this and pretend his concern for you was brief. Yet, part of him screams at him that he was your husband, so he should feel the right to be worried–even if he was months late. 

He sighs, tilting his head. “I’m just going to look. I promise I won’t do anything else,” his voice is oddly tender as he speaks to you, a contrast to the usual nonchalance you’re used to. 

You gulp and let out a shaky sigh, giving in when your fingers reach to pull your top up for him to see the bare skin that you can’t even say is spotless or void of marks. Multiple wounds litter your skin–some faded, some new. You’re scared his gaze would show some signs of judgment or disgust but you’re left bemused when you see how his eyebrows furrow and his lips purse. For a second, you allow yourself to be deluded by the fact that he might be worried but you quickly abandon that thought, averting your eyes from him.

You can see how he pieces everything together. From the way you rebelled against the elders and how they saw it as a means to punish you. He does it so quickly that you can only blink when his blank expression morphs into something different. You almost feel relieved from the fact that his expression of pure anger wasn’t directed at you and rather those who sent you on the mission.

It’s almost natural how he slides the top further up, mapping the extent of the bruise with his eyes. His hands are warm and calloused. They’re also gentle, tracing the bruise carefully to not hurt you. “I’ll kill those old bastards,” he chuckles with a sneer. “They have some nerve letting my wife take this mission without me.”

You frown as you see his anger first-hand. “Satoru–”

“Why didn’t you go to Shoko?” He interrupts, gently holding on your waist to prop you on the counter while he stands in between your legs. He watches you intently, in search of answers.

You feel somewhat embarrassed as his hand still lifts your top up to see the bare skin but don’t comment on it. “I didn’t want to bother her so late at night…”

For the first time since today, you see him flash a genuine smile, as if exasperated by your reasoning. “But you’re fine with bothering me?” 

“That’s different!” You say, a pout slowly forming on your lips and he can’t help but feel drawn to you even if he doesn’t want to. 

He laughs as you pull your top down with a huff, finding it cute that you were so bashful. “Because I’m your husband?” 

You go silent and for a second, Gojo thinks he’s messed up for mentioning that. Despite being your husband, he’s not the greatest at doing his job. He’s not callous or spiteful towards you, instead taking on more of a cold and aloof attitude towards you. Even so, he thinks that hurts just as much as a few insults. 

He’s about to pull back but your voice draws him back to you. “Yeah. It’s because you’re my husband.”

Gojo can’t stop himself from glancing at your lips at that single statement. He was today years old when he realized he was a man of simple tastes. All you had to do was tell him that he was your husband and he’d want to kiss you until your lips turned red. He considers himself lucky that you didn’t see that slip-up of his–though he wouldn’t have minded if you did.

He breathes out a sigh, propping his chin atop your head while his fingers draw circles around your hips. “I won’t let them hurt you.”

It’s a vow he swears to keep. 

“I know,” you whisper quietly enough for him to hear. “You’re the strongest after all.”

He thinks it’s funny that even as the strongest, he feels weak when he feels your fingers play with his sleeves. No words are said after that and a comfortable silence drifts between you two. It’s like the barrier between the two of you is cracking once you feel his lips press gently against your forehead and you think it's his way of sealing the promise. 

Gojo Satoru thinks–or rather he knows that he wouldn’t mind living the rest of his life with you. And he knows that he should fix his behavior around you and stop running away. That way, instead of a kiss to the forehead, he can finally give you one on your lips. 

[domlafou]

Shino Vessels 2022.

A collection of the Shino glazed vessels from this season. The crawling effects of the Malcolm Davis and Shaner Shino glazes were unexpected but welcome.

All were thrown with Stoneware 48 Clay, fired at Cone 10.

Winter 2022.

[claypigeonpottery]

I got some brand new cutters today and I’ve been excited about them for weeks so I had to use them today

so I made a jar!

I’m very pleased with it (especially considering I don’t have an angled wire and just cut the edges by hand lol)

I had to handbuild the lid, unfortunately. I didn’t think about needing a different cutter for the lid, sigh

but I have three other sizes for this jar, this is the smallest one. I’m looking forward to having one of each size (though I know I’ll curse myself for making large things later lol)

[usedtobecooler]

calling up virgin!eddie whilst he's watching a porno and talking him through jerking off <3

content warnings: sexual content 18+ minors dni, f masturbation, m masturbation, dirty talk.

“and so then i told steve to fuck off because seriously, i thought we were passed the stage of him constantly staring at my ti—"

your ears catch it then, and you cut yourself off mid-sentence to make sure you're really hearing what you think you are.

the grunting, the clapping, the loud moaning. tinny and crackly through shitty speakers.

“eddie?”

“hmm?”

“are you watching a dirty movie?” you’re giddy with it, knowing the question is going to embarrass eddie and turn him into a bumbling fool. you can’t help but call attention to it.

“i— uh, what?” he feigns stupidity, though a little gasp gives him away. like he’s trying to stop himself from cumming.

“are you jerking off right now? you little perv!” you accuse him, wiggling around on your bed as a large, seedy smile spreads across your mouth.

eddie harrumphs at that, and you can almost hear his eyes rolling, “well you did kinda call me out of the blue, it’s two in the morning.” he argues, a choked off, strangled sound falling from his lips.

you flush dark. clench your thighs together. god, his strangled and embarrassed little arguments sounded so hot.

and maybe it has something to do with the fact he's inexperienced, possibly a virgin — scratch that, you know he's a virgin. this is hawkins, the girls aren't lining up down the street to fuck the town freak and 'satan vessel', no matter how hot he was.

knowing he's fucking his own fist watching a dirty movie. knowing it's probably something he does most nights when wayne works. craving his own touch because there's nobody else to do it for him. your pussy throbs.

"well don’t let my presence stop you. tell me what they're doing right now," you giggle, cheeks burning as you writhe around on your bed, legs falling open ever so slightly, free hand not holding the phone receiver dipping low on your belly.

the cap of eddie's lube bottle pops open, rattling through your swimming head, the unrhythmic squirting noises a clear indication of how empty the bottle was. it's bold, bold enough to make you wonder if he's even aware that you can hear it.

your ears prick at the loud, faked moaning in the background vaguely, a woman gasping and begging 'fuck my pussy harder!'

"they — they're..." eddie trails off, sighing when he wraps his hand tightly around the base of his cock, squeezing and crying out in relief, "he's got her on, uh, all fours. slapping her ass."

your skin prickles, excitement and arousal thrumming through your veins as your ears catch the slick glide of eddie's hand pumping up his length, "you getting yourself nice and wet?" the smirk is evident in your voice. he whines.

"shit." eddie curses, a shaky little sigh escaping him — he is wet, it's hard to ignore how loud it is, "y-yeah, fucking christ."

you can almost picture how much of a mess he's making of himself. lube dripping down his shaft and coating his heavy, cum filled balls, soaking his hand, a constant stream of precum blurting from the needy head.

he's in the living room, you know he is. it's the only room in the trailer with a tv. you wonder if he was smart enough to lay a towel under himself, or if he's gonna end up in a soaked patch of his own cum and lube.

it honestly makes you dizzy, the guttural noises he's making have you thinking of how flushed his face is, his hazy, heavy lidded eyes glued to the tv set — watching the woman be fucked within an inch of her life, her stretched pussy within eyeshot.

"are you still watching? or are your eyes shut, thinkin' about me bouncing on your dick?" you're nonchalant, lazy with it, drawling on the words — eddie's breath hitches, the rhythmic schlick of his hand coming to a stop.

"y-you — would you?" eddie asks, gasping and arching up into his fist as he starts up again. slowly, not as tight, trying to savour it whilst he can. your voice is sending him hurtling towards the edge far too quick.

"yeah, would climb on top of you and sink down on your fat cock," and you can't help it, your own hand finally slips into your soaked panties, two fingers gliding through your slick lips and pressing on your clit, relieving the dull throb, "you'd love it, eddie. feeling how wet i would be for you, how tight i am."

"mmph," eddie garbles, hips bucking up wildly as he gives up fighting the losing battle, precum leaking uncontrollably from his slit and spilling down his fist, "you'd feel so fucking good."

"i would," you agree, fingers running over your clit in tight, fast circles, heat blooming in your lower gut quickly as your ears are invaded by eddie's whining, the motions of his hand on his cock, "i promise you i'd be so good for you, get you off so quick."

"fuh-uuck, you can't — can't say that, you're gonna make me cum," he's practically crying, voice strained and high pitched, almost totally drowned out by the wet slap of his hand flying up and down his cock.

"was kinda the point," you bristle, slapping your clit slightly and gasping his name — his breath hitches, he breathes a loud gasp down the line, "how big is it? tell me, need to picture it whilst i fuck myself thinking about you."

"oh my fucking god," eddie grunts, working his fist over the head of his cock until he's crying out, the noise shooting straight to your cunt, "i don't— it's six, maybe. thick. my... my own hand barely fits around it."

you catch yourself whining, keening into your hand, hips arching as you rub frantically over your clit, "eddie," you whimper, thighs clenching around your own wrist, "need you splitting me open on it, please?"

"anything, anything you want you can take it," eddie's voice shakes, the slapping of his hand further increasing in speed, and you know he's close before he even says it, "m'gonna cum, you're making me cum, fuck."

the winding in your gut coils tight and snaps all at once, unable to cope with the pretty noises you're eliciting from eddie, and you cry out, a gasp of his name escaping your lips as you reach your high. fingers slipping over your needy, soaked cunt as you cum, whole body shaking with it.

"yeah, yeah," eddie grunts, "can't believe you just came thinking of me — god, feels so fucking good, fuck—"

you hear the telltale sound of the receiver dropping as he all but wails in the background, and you ache to see it, the way he's probably hunched in on himself as his cock pulses, all pretty with his eyes squeezed tight and spit slick lips dropped open.

"fucking hell," eddie pants, and you hear him rustling around down the receiver — he's made a mess, you know he has. probably spurted up his shirt, covered himself in it. you try not to think too much about it, your swollen clit throbbing, "you — i came so hard, shit."

you cackle, cheeks flushing dark as your brain starts to catch up on what just happened, "sorry i interrupted your movie."

eddie chokes out an embarrassed laugh, "don't worry about it, this was — this was so much better than all that staged shit."

you shoot your shot, because fuck it, what's the worst that can happen once your best friend has heard you cum?

"i can show you something much better, if you like? say friday, my place at seven?"

[pwlanier]

A COLLECTION OF GREEK AND ROMAN GLASS FRAGMENTS

CIRCA 3RD CENTURY B.C.-3RD CENTURY A.D.

The late 19th century small wood collectors cabinet with glazed lid and five drawers, filled with a quantity of glass fragments including core-formed, mosaic glass vessels, bead and inlay fragments, jewellery fragments, plain and marbled glass fragments and plain glass intaglios.

Christie’s

[jbbartram-illu]

BREAKTHROUGH!!!!! I figured out how to pinch-pot really round little vessels at the end of my workday yesterday & also realized I could put LIDS! and TINY FEET!!! on them, so uhhhh yeah check out these cuties!?

[sunnyglassware]

(via Wholesale colored ceramic candle jars with lid color blocks for home decoration,Sunny Glassware)

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae!! I saw that you were interested in writing for spencer and I’d love to request something for him! Maybe something with bau!reader and spencer have been secretly dating and he slips in front of the team and calls her a pet name or something and the team is just like :o bc they didn’t think spencer would have it in him to go after her!

Yes he's my babygirl! Thanks so much for requesting sweetheart <3

Spencer Reid x bau!reader ♡ 533 words

There’s a little extra bounce in your step as you come through the doors this morning, your ponytail swinging behind you and a giant tupperware container in your hands. 

“Good morning,” Morgan says, interest piqued. “What’ve you got there?”

You beam. Spencer’s day is instantly better. “Cupcakes!” You set the container down on the table, removing the lid. “I made chocolate and strawberry.” 

Garcia squeals, lunging for them. “I’ve told you you’re my favorite, right? Because you are.” 

Morgan turns to her with an indignant look, but Garcia only takes a bite of her strawberry cupcake, holding it up as if to say What do you want me to do?

You’re practically glowing, your smile bashful but poorly contained as a faint flush spreads across your face. You look adorable, so clearly elated at brightening everyone’s morning, and Spencer can’t help but smile with you. He reaches into the container. 

“Hey,” he says, “why are only some of the chocolate ones frosted?” 

Your blush worsens. “Oh, um. I know you don’t like frosting, and chocolate’s usually your favorite, so…”

An invisible hand grips his heart and squeezes. Or no, he knows what this is. His hypothalamus is releasing dopamine, causing his blood vessels to constrict. It’s improving his focus and spiking his blood pressure, and making him feel all warm and happy. It’s probably also why he wants to hug you so badly. 

“It is. Thanks, honey,” he says, nearly breathless. 

Your eyes widen, and though your smile doesn’t go away, it becomes tinged by shyness. “Spence,” you whisper, but it’s only when Emily clears her throat that he realizes what he’s done. 

He turns, unfrosted chocolate cupcake in hand, to find Garcia gaping at him and Morgan and JJ looking like he’s just made their day. Hotch and Rossi, of course, appear completely unphased. 

“Well look at you, pretty boy.” Morgan grins approvingly, eyebrows raised. “I didn’t think you had it in you. How long has this been going on?”

Garcia makes a flustered squawking sound. “I’m sorry, you knew?” She slaps Morgan’s arm. “How could you not tell me?”

“I didn’t know for sure, shortcake,” Morgan replies placatingly. “Honestly, I didn’t think Reid would ever work up the guts to go after her.” 

“Hey,” Spencer says, and he sees you giving Morgan a chastising look in his periphery. Never mind that you’d asked him out. You’d only beat him to it. 

“It’s only been a couple of weeks,” you say, answering Morgan’s first question and pointedly declining to comment on the rest. 

“I can’t believe it!” Garcia gushes, fanning her hands about her face. “Look at you lovebirds, all blushy! You’re so cute together.” 

JJ smiles, grabbing a strawberry cupcake and holding it up like she’s toasting with it. “Congratulations, you two.” 

“If you’re all done gossiping,” Rossi says, and you’re already moving for your seat, chastised and eager to vacate the center of attention, “can we start?”

JJ rolls her eyes, going to the front of the room and turning on the screen. Spencer takes a seat beside you, knee bumping into yours amicably. You okay? Your hand finds his under the table, intertwining your fingers and squeezing gently. Perfectly. 

[ieatcocoa]

Sweeter Than Hunny

Characters: Alastor/Fem!Reader

Reader's POV

Word Count: 1.6k

Important: 18+ minors do not interact. established relationship (?), accidental food play, use of honey, teasing, hickies, kissing, suggestive

In which Alastor indulges in your sweet tooth...

Divider credits to plutism !

The hotel is quiet. There is no sound except for the occasional creak of old flooring, caused by a particular serpent slithering around in the dark. While his hobby may be relatively harmless, it is still unnerving; the sizable goose egg on his forehead is a reminder of what you detest. During your stay, you have developed an interest in zodiac signs. Unfortunately for you, snakes embody stubbornness, and you are far too exhausted to give his knot a twin.

In your hands, the small porcelain cup radiates a comforting warmth that seeps through your fingertips and palms, soothing away the remnants of your tension. You take a moment to savor the aroma of the delicate brew before bringing the drink to your mouth.

The hell?

Immediately, your eyes widen in surprise, a deep grimace forming on your lips as you register the unexpected taste. A sharp bitterness lingers on, contrasting the anticipated sweetness. With a determined resolve to salvage your tea time, you set down the cup and rise from the couch. Making your way to the kitchen, you move around the familiar area effortlessly, and the pitter of your footsteps reverberates softly against the tiled floor. There is only one thing that could salvage a brew that harsh:

Ah ha!

Nestled among the pristine shelves sat your beacon of hope—the honey jar. As you retrieve the sweet treat, you cannot help but notice the signs of wear and tear that mar its once-pristine surface. The edges of the ceramic vessel are chipped and worn from its countless journeys to and from the pantry. Traces of sticky residue cling to the sides of the pot, and the substance adheres to the surface of your hands, creating an uncomfortable sensation. Would it kill folks to wipe it down after use?

Your gaze trails along to the lid; it sits slightly askew, showing signs of repeated twisting and turning, an ode to the desire with which it has been opened and closed numerous times. You shift your grip to the handle and run a finger over the smooth texture. The once-vibrant color faded to a dull patina. And yet, despite its weathered appearance, there's a certain charm to the honey pot—a sense of history and nostalgia that lends it a unique character all its own.

Almost everyone utilizes it, and is probably the only thing you can all agree on. To see it so well-loved and appreciated brings a smile to your face, knowing that the gift aids in adding a little extra sweetness to the lives of those who call the hotel home.

Corny. Maybe Charlie's exercises are starting to rub off on you?

Balancing the pot carefully, you retrace your steps to the living room. As you enter, you are frozen in surprise at the sight before you. There, seated comfortably on the couch, is Alastor, his crimson eyes glinting with delight as he regards you with a ceaseless grin. "Well, well, well, if it isn't my favorite resident! I seem to have caught you at an unfortunate time; don't you agree, sticky fingers?"

"Ha. Ha. Ha." You release a sarcastic chuckle before softly placing the container on the end table next to your cup. "Just indulging in a little tea break, nosey. I was in need of something to sweeten up my evening." As you settle onto the couch, a mischievous impulse stirs within...

With a dramatic, drawn-out hum, you casually prop your socked feet up near his thighs. "Ah, of course! I should have just called on you! You're sweeter than Hunny." Alastor, ever the picture of composure, arches an eyebrow at your antics, his expression a mix of amusement and bemusement. With a subtle flick of his wrist, he not-so-gently pushes your feet aside, his movements refined yet firm as he maintains his personal space. Undeterred by his subtle rebuff, you respond with a pout, forming your lips into an expression of dismay. "Nevermind, I lied. You're as bitter as death."

"Oh, you wound me, crude woman! Boo hoo. I'm afraid my legs aren't meant to serve as a footrest." He quips his tone light and teasing. With a roll of the eyes, you relent, withdrawing your feet with a dramatic flourish. "Fine, fine. I'll behave... for now." You concede that your impish demeanor was undimmed by Alastor's gentle reprimand. "What are you doing up so late anyway?" It is a silly question; however, that does not stop you from asking.

His gaze flickers to the poorly paned ceiling above before emitting a deep sigh, the faint rumblings of his static audible to only the most precise listener. "You know me well enough to know that sleep is but a distant acquaintance," he responds. Of course, you did; this isn't the first time you've graced each other in the dead of night, and it certainly won't be the last. Though the longing to know why always leads you to ask such foolish questions, some things are better left unsaid.

You sit up; your attention is now drawn to the end table, where the tea waits. With deliberate movements, you reach for the dipper, plunging it into the golden pool of honey snuggled within the pot. As you drizzle the viscous nectar into the cup, a sweet aroma fills the air, mingling with the soft glow of lamplight that bathes the room in a warm embrace. The gentle clink of wood against the ceramic echoes in the quiet of the night. "If you're up for a chat, I'm all ears." Alastor leans forward slightly; his expression reflects mock seriousness as he addresses your suggestion. "Well, my darling doe," he begins, his voice dripping with lively charm, "I'm afraid the only topic of conversation that truly piques my interest tonight is your rather unhealthy indulgence in sugar."

As you stare him down, a snort escapes your lips. "Really now? Is that what you want to talk about?" Alastor nods solemnly. "Indeed. I'm afraid I simply can't let such an important matter go unaddressed," he replies, his tone dripping with exaggerated concern.

Oh please!

"Don't be such a killjoy," you say while shaking your head in protest. "A little sugar never hurts anyone. Besides, eternity is too long for me not to indulge now and then." He lets out a scoff while waving a hand dismissively through the air. "A little sugar, you say? From what I've witnessed, your intake is hardly what I would call a little. I'm quite surprised your teeth haven't rotted out of your mouth by now.” While he spoke, you took a hearty sip of the tea, hoping that the addition of honey had tempered its bitterness.

However, much to your dismay, the drink remains as bitter as before, causing you to smack your lips. You make a mental note to avoid buying products from this brand in the future.

As Alastor continues his tirade about the perils of sugar, you half listen with a good-natured smile. "Well, I'll be! I didn't realize you had become the new spokesperson for Hell's Dentistry. Should I expect to see your face on toothpaste commercials anytime soon?"

His expression shifts almost imperceptibly as his once-toothy grin tightens into a thin line. The sudden change in his demeanor is comical, almost cartoonish, and you can't help but burst into laughter at the sight. While you laugh uncontrollably, you attempt to add more honey to your drink. The fit of giggles proves to be too much, causing you to fumble clumsily with the pot. With a sudden jolt, a small stream of honey escapes the confines of the container, dribbling down the wooden dipper and onto the carpeted floor. Determined not to waste any more of the precious nectar, you quickly lean down, attempting to suck the excess honey from the dipper. However, your efforts only result in more hilarity, as the honey dribbles messily down the side of your mouth. It beads slowly onto your neck, leaving a sticky trail in its wake.

"Shit." A mumbled curse leaves you while you place your cup down. Resigned to the mess made, your hand attempts to wipe away the sticky residue, only to find it stubbornly clinging to the skin.

Alastor, ever the opportunist, rises from his seat and approaches. Without a word, he leans in close, his tongue darting to lap up the mess that coats your neck. The sudden sensation sends a violent shiver down your spine, and a sigh catches in your throat from the warmth of his tongue. His lips close around the spot where the honey pooled, his mouth sucking at the sticky sweetness with a hunger that nearly has your knees buckling. Oh, how you wish he'd bite down. Your hands reach out to weakly grasp onto his shoulders for support, the material of his coat bunching up under your hold.

He remains an enigma; his actions are always veiled in layers of mystery, and this moment is no exception. Any questions floating around in your head about why are fizzed out. After all, some things truly are better left unsaid. With a soft pop, he releases the patch of skin, and his tongue trails upward to linger at the corner of your mouth. His touch is delicate yet possessive, a silent declaration of his presence and desire to explore.

Weakly attempting to lighten the atmosphere for your sake you manage a joke, your lips curling into a faint smile despite the lingering heat between you.

"What happened to sugar being an unhealthy indulgence?"

Alastor’s response is immediate yet measured; his gaze gleams with a newfound intensity as he finishes lapping. His tongue traces a final path before your lips meet in a sickeningly sweet kiss.

"I suppose I am starting to see the appeal, my dear!"

Thank you so much for reading ! <33 Inspired by hazelfoureyes !