#modern gray leather bed

[nicolofia]

Master in New York

Small urban master bedroom photo with beige walls

[toukomatsudaira]

Master in New York Small urban master bedroom photo with beige walls

[bulletjournaling101]

Industrial Bedroom - Loft-Style

[rivetingrosie4]

Sweet Love (Morgan & Family: A Fluff Dump, Pt. 3)

credit to @foundynnel i believe for the edit above

𑁦𐂂𑁦

RDR2 | Arthur Morgan x Female Reader | Rating: General | tumblr masterlist | Ao3 | Part 1 | Part 2

Summary: Part of a modern au (and post gang) fluff dump work. Arthur & reader visit the doctor’s office to see their baby for the first time. Some thoughtless rudeness threatens to derail their happy day. a/n: It’s just imaginary. It’s not real.

Tags: fluff without plot, fluff & angst, romantic fluff, hurt/comfort, protective Arthur, parenthood, mentions of sex, romantic teasing

Word count: 4,250

The paper underneath you rustles as you swing and bounce both feet at the edge of the exam bed by your ankles; but you can’t help it. Never in your wildest dreams did you actually think you’d ever get here.

Yet here you are, with Arthur by your side, filled past the brim with the most effervescent sparkles of nerves and anticipation. To actually see your baby. Your baby. Yours and Arthur’s. No one else’s. The product of your deep and steadfast love. After so very many, many years of so deeply pining, watching almost everyone around you know the precious gifts of their own children and parenthood, it’s finally your turn. Finally. It’s almost too much to hope for and be grateful for, all at once. You never thought you’d ever get here.

Where you lie waiting in the sterile obstetrics room, you glance to look at Arthur. He’s clad in a blue and green plaid lumberjack’s soft flannel. And he’s filled with just as high a mound of bubbly nerves as you—some of the same, but some of a different kind. Anxiety and excitement, longing and terror, all stirred to the beautiful hue of Arthur Morgan’s heart, the only one you know so well. You can tell by the way he labors to silently breathe in, holds it a beat, and purses his lips to produce protruding cheeks as he silently releases, so you might not hear it. By the way he shoves his fingers back through his honey-chestnut locks. By the way he taps the sole of his black leather boot—the pair with the classic western flourish above the toe that you love so much—against the floor’s shining white tile.

You bite your lip against a growing grin and reach to slip your fingers into the natural pocket created by the web of his relaxed hand.

At the contact, he glances to you, and his face immediately relaxes into a knowing smile, eased by familiarity, love, and the renewed comfort you gift to him. His large hand clasps around yours, and his thumb brushes your skin. You join him in a growing smile as you hold onto him right back.

Suddenly there's a knock on the exam room door, and as it opens, all at once the resting butterflies in your belly are spurred to fluttery life again.

You look to the door and sit upright, taking a shallow breath and gently holding it as the doctor walks in. He’s a somewhat older gentleman with graying brown hair.

“Here we are. Good m—” He tilts his wrist and glances at his silver watch. “Well I guess it’s not morning anymore. Sorry to keep you folks waiting.” He sits on a round stool with a black cushion, and its wheels sound out across the tile as he rolls it closer. “I’m Doctor Kellerman. Good to meet you.” He takes your hand by only the fingers and shakes it, then shakes Arthur’s. In the next moment, he’s glancing down to the paperwork on his clipboard. “How we feeling today?”

It takes you a split moment to put into practice the knowledge that you’re the reason everyone in the room is here.

“Oh! I’m feeling fine,” you smile at his downcast face, since he hasn’t looked up from your chart. Your hand instinctively slides forward to rest on your belly, though it doesn’t look much bigger than usual, with the flab you store there. “Fit as I’ve ever been,” you airily chuckle. Looking to Arthur at your side, you smirk. “We’ve been staying as active as we ever were, or maybe even more so.”

“Yeah, it’s been more,” Arthur quietly mumbles with a chuckle in confirmation.

“Getting outside, and eating all the leafy greens, and…takin’ naps when I need to,” you chuckle as if you’ve made a fine joke. “I even got him to do stretches with me every morning!”

The doctor glances up with a genuine smile. “That’s great to hear.” Just as soon, his eyes return to your chart. “I see your last period was…”

“January thirty-first,” you finish for him.

“Ahhh… Valentine’s baby, eh?”

You fight not to warm as you steal a glance at Arthur with a pinched smile. “Guess so.”

“You’ve been trying many years?”

“Just about a year and a half.”

“Thirteen weeks…” he says as he flips a page back and forth, then looks up at you. “You’re in a little later than we usually like.”

As he glances back down, you clarify, “Yes, this was the very soonest they could get us in for our first appointment.”

“I see…” he mumbles.

“But we cleared our schedules for whatever they could give us, the very soonest,” you add, looking to Arthur for a nod, then back to the doctor. “We’re takin’ this baby very seriously. Doin’ everything we can to keep ‘em healthy and happy.”

“That’s great,” he responds with a smile as he finally claps the chart closed and returns it to the counter. “Seems like you’ve got the right mentality,” he says as he turns to wash his hands at the sink. “Keeping yourself as healthy as you can be is a great place to start.”

“Oh yes,” you smile. “I’ve been reading up on everything I can, researching, even watching YouTube videos.” You suddenly gasp a little in excitement. “I saw this one lady on there, she’s always been an avid hiker—and, well, we love to hike too,” you glance to Arthur, whose smirk gradually grows to a grin in conjunction with your eager babbling, though it’s unknown to you after you’ve returned your gaze to the doctor. “And she captures these beautiful videos of her hikes. And now she’s seven months pregnant and still hiking! I could hardly believe it. Of course, she doesn’t manage the big, tasking hikes. And she never ever goes alone!” you assure the doctor. “But because she’s been taking it slow and steady, she’s still hiking! At seven months!”

You grin as you finish your story, though the doctor’s back is still turned to you. “I just think it’s so wonderful. I’d love to be able to do that. Do you think I’ll be able to do that, doctor? Take gentle hikes at seven months?”

“Uh… Maybe ten years ago. But with a geriatric first-time pregnancy?” He tips his head as he switches on the ultrasound machine. “Probably not.”

Just like that, you feel as icy as the vast and empty planes of snow you had experienced with the gang in Colter, some years ago now. The high, craggy ridgelines you’d squinted at from above your wool-lined collar, their peaks untouched by anything but the flakes that fell and gathered in the tors and the winds that yowled and whistled.

Your smile from moments ago softly falters, and your brows slowly pinch up tight. But you fight hard to keep your staggered smile as the tears rush to your eyes.

What was there you could have ever done? How had it ever been a circumstance you’d had any power over, whatsoever? How had it ever been a gift you could manufacture from nothing? If it had been, you would have seized it years ago. How many years had you ached, your hope dwindling as your age grew? And did all those years now mean nothing? How often, how continuously, how deeply had you longed for love of your very own with a partner and children of your own; had longed for just one chance to jump at? Just one single chance? But hadn’t life kept it all far away from you, so far, for so very long?

It was life, nothing but life—this thing that has always simultaneously coursed through you and encased you in its cruel, clamp-like vise. Like a vital coffin.

As Arthur watches you, he recognizes the graciousness and understanding of your trying to maintain a smile through your depth of feeling and hurt, not wanting to be as fragile as you think yourself to be. He knows you to be strong.

It’s why he has to reel back his fury for a few moments, containing it to the single, elongated exhale from his nostrils as he leans toward you across the armrest of your exam bed and gently takes your hands.

Reaching for a box of gloves on the wall, the doctor asks, “You don’t have any allergies to latex or any cosmetic ingredients that you know of, do you?”

You quietly splutter and gulp as you shake your head and muster a calm, normally-toned, “No.”

Another knock on the door.

“Come on in,” the doctor says.

The nurse who brought you back to the room enters.

“They’re wanting to know if or when they need to set her up with an appointment for a future ultrasound,” she says directly to the doctor.

“Oh sure,” the doctor says, beginning to flip a big calendar on his desk as he waves the nurse closer. He murmurs to her in very quiet tones: “It’s advanced maternal age with high risk, elderly primigravida, so we’re gonna wanna do another in about three months.”

You have no recourse but to silently, slowly breathe through an open mouth and swallow repeatedly past the lump in your throat, as your smile finally disappears in full. But Arthur couldn’t be more spellbound or enchanted as he watches the tears remain clung to your eyes, not one trickling down your beautiful cheeks.

“Possibly one additional,” the doctor continues his discussion with the nurse, completely oblivious to the inner struggle to prevail that he’s spurred in you, that no one but Arthur knows you’re conquering. “But we’ll wait to see how the next ultrasound goes, and if both are healthy, she won’t need another.” He points to a square on the calendar. “Barring other appointments, why don’t we do this day?”

The nurse nods and retreats through the door, closing it behind her.

“We’ll have to do abdominal, rather than vaginal, since you’re further along than usual for the first ultrasound,” the doctor says. “All right,” he sighs as he turns to you with a grin. “Ready to get started?”

He’s greeted with your puffy, red eyes that look everywhere else and Arthur’s white-hot, enraged glare, trained dead-center on his forehead. And his smile slides off his face.

The legs of Arthur’s chair squeak against the tile as he abruptly stands. He can’t even be bothered to attempt a kindly mask to hide his fury.

“Doc,” he begins, managing an easy and lighthearted tone for the address that somehow seems more menacing when combined with his fatal expression as he turns him and walks him toward the door. “Why don’t you and I have a little chat.” The terse word is tart and clipped on his tongue. “Out in the hall.”

You watch Arthur’s tall, broad form disappear when he pulls the door closed behind him.

You sit alone in the exam room, waiting.

A few unintelligible words, low and quiet—Arthur’s voice, muffled.

Then the wall is hit hard with something and rattles. Before it can finish shaking, there’s a new acerbic sharpness in Arthur’s raised, growly tone.

You must’ve gasped and jumped a little, and your damp eyelashes still blink with the sudden shock. You might’ve even made out the sound of a panicked, huffed grunt in the midst of whatever happened on the other side of the wall.

After a moment, the image comes to you, very vividly: Arthur suddenly taking the doctor by the collar of his white coat and ramming him up against the wall with a few deadly words, a stern snarl to his lip, and a feral look in his eye.

A prickly, chilled mingling of emotions washes over you—amazement, disbelief, even a bit of near-horrified abashment, and worry that Arthur will receive unfavorable legal repercussions. But there are a few emotions that stand above the others, though you’d initially struggled to decipher their shape and quality. The wondrous stirrings of the deepest love. The warm and enveloping sensations of being protected and cared for. Even desire.

The tiniest twitch of a smile flicks onto one corner of your mouth.

There are several minutes more of quiet—during which your thoughts start to return to the horrendous notion that Arthur could be apprehended for assaulting the doctor—before the door finally reopens and Arthur reappears.

His caustic expression from minutes ago is wiped away. His smile is easy. Relaxed, even. Void of a hint of tenseness or concern.

“Hey, babe,” he says. “Sorry we took a while.”

At the sight of him, and knowing at least part of what he’s done, your mouth quirks and tightens into the kind of little smile you know you shouldn’t be wearing.

As he walks towards you, a slight lean to the side gives you the vantage point to see none other than a completely different, female doctor towing behind him.

Her grin is bright, buoyant, and—somehow, given the circumstances—even completely authentic and natural. Uncoerced.

As Arthur settles in close beside you again, you mumble very quietly from the side of your mouth, “I sincerely hope there won’t be any arrests today…?”

“Nothin’ to worry about, just take it easy and look at the screen,” he mumbles between his teeth in a light, wry tone.

You stifle a chortle behind your nose, imagining what possible kinds of threats Arthur could’ve employed, how dreadfully terrified to his core the doctor must’ve been to not only allow a switch of caregivers, but to willingly and practically forget the whole incident.

“Good afternoon, I’m Doctor Mahajan,” she says warmly, extending a hand. Her handshake is full and comforting in its grasp. “I’ll be conducting your ultrasound today. And before we get started, I want to let you know that, should you remain healthy and well into your third trimester, and should you feel up to it, there’s no reason you couldn’t enjoy healthy activities such as gentle outdoor hikes.”

Like a kid who’s just opened up a new toy, your grin widens as you look at Arthur. His knowing grin is better than a snuggly blanket as he gazes at you and nods once with a wink.

“Always accompanied, of course,” the doctor smiles with a gesture towards Arthur. When she looks back to you, your gaze is pulled to hers in an effort to give polite attention. “You’ve got a good one here, Mrs. Morgan.”

You immediately turn back to Arthur with a warm, enamored, affectionate smile.

Noting the enraptured, desirous way you both gaze at each other right there in the middle of the exam room, the doctor is reminded of something.

“Oh, and um,” she begins, bringing a finger to her lips as if in thought, “another healthy activity during pregnancy is lovemaking.”

You immediately turn to look at her with an inward breath, your smile momentarily wiped away. As an airy laugh comes to you, the others are given reign to chuckle. Chancing a glance at Arthur, you try to hide the smile appearing on your mouth by curling your lips inward and pinching down on them tightly with your teeth.

Arthur is leaned back casually in his chair, his forearm resting over his thigh. When you catch sight of the look on his face—a subtle mixture of gratification and mischievousness all veiled by an attempt at nonchalance—a thought crosses your mind. But it’s too silly to be real.

Then when he meets your eye and fails to prevent the rising smirk at the corner of his lips, you outright gasp.

“You didn’t tell her to say that.”

When he wheezes, you swat him, and he sits up with a snicker.

The doctor chuckles pleasantly. “He may’ve asked me to remind you, but it doesn’t change the truth of it.” While you’re busy continuing to playfully swat him and listening to his snickering that you adore, the doctor continues, “It increases blood flow, stimulates activity inside the womb, lowers blood pressure…” she rattles off, “and keeps you two close, which’ll be very important during such a big life change.”

“There now. Did you hear the good doctor?” Arthur says, trying to force the mirth on his face to smooth. “I’ve got a bonafide prescription to sex you up.”

Though you can’t help but giggle, you keep it murmured low and quiet, like simmering, scratch-made strawberry jam in the base of your throat. “Shh-shh,” you try to quietly scold him.

“I’ve reviewed your chart, so let’s get started, shall we?”

“Oh yes, please!” you return your attention to the doctor.

After gloving up, Doctor Mahajan flips on the ultrasound computer to your right. She asks you to lift your blouse and unbutton your jeans, and she squirts a chilly gel to your belly. You watch as she gently presses the transducer into the gel on your belly, turning and rolling it over your skin.

Your and Arthur’s gazes are transfixed to the screen as fuzzy, meaningless blotches of black and white suddenly play across it. You both simultaneously scramble to reach for each other’s hands, clasping tightly to each other as Arthur takes a full breath and slowly releases it.

The moment you have been waiting for your whole life. Now somehow finally, suddenly here.

The smudgy noise on the screen clears, and there’s your baby. Curled and caressed inside you. Precious and brilliant and beautiful.

Your breath is whisked away. Speechless and taken completely by incredulousness, you turn to look at Arthur with drawn brows. He tries to chuckle to play off his awe, but his breath is caught too.

“There we are,” the doctor quietly says. “Baby Morgan.”

Your gaze is arrested by your baby on the screen. The swooping slope of the curve of their head, ending in a little button for a nose. Arms and legs and feet.

“This fluttery bit here,” the doctor gestures to a point flapping swiftly in the midst of their chest, visually different from everything else. “Baby’s heart.”

Your bottom lip drapes wistfully open, and your eyes are glued as you take in every moment.

“Oh, see, they’re turning on their side, turning back,” the doctor smiles as baby’s limbs disappear for a moment and reappear. “It’s a little too early to tell the baby’s sex, but we should be able to see at your next appointment.”

She takes multiple measurements from head to rump on the screen, to verify your baby’s age and due date.

When the baby appears to give a few little kicks, the three of you quietly chuckle.

“Baby’s brain and sensory input are developing, so this is just a way for them to become more aware of their own body and their environment,” she explains. “It’s a little early now, but you’ll be feeling that before you know it.”

Reaching for a button on the keypad, she says with a reassuring nod, “I’m going to give you about ten seconds of audible heart rate, just to limit the amount of waves baby’s exposed to this early.”

When you both nod, she presses the button. A loud, quick wub-wub fills the room.

You take a breath and whisper, “Oh my God,” looking to Arthur with a faint smile.

Arthur is mystified. A single breathy laugh escapes him, but his expression is totally awestruck.

“Baby’s heart is very robust and healthy,” the doctor smiles.

And yet, Arthur’s is weak. Trembling with trepidation like stalks of overgrown sweet grass swept by ferociously rolling fetches. They have their anchor of earth to cling to. What does he have?

He gazes at the screen, into his baby’s current world of warm womb and peaceful, pocketed embrace. He watches his baby wiggle and kick, each movement so vibrantly charged. He lets his gaze trace his baby’s perfectly precious outline, the slope of their forehead and nose, the flutter of their strong heart. And he is a goner.

It doesn’t matter that he’s petrified his baby could be torn from him again. It doesn’t matter that he’s nervous he’ll screw everything up. He’ll go to the ends of the earth to make sure neither happens. He’ll do whatever needs to be done. He’s ready to dive headfirst into the risk of pain and heartache. Because in an instant, he’s been filled—overwhelmed and overtaken—with enrapturing love. Too big to grasp, too deep and beautiful and mysterious to have edges. A love that calls to attention and demands eager and ardent self-sacrifice. A love that somehow carries with it equal measures of unbridled, airy giddiness and heavy weight. A love that somehow nails to the beams of a parent’s life both an assured unworthiness and a boundless, indescribable gratefulness.

Because he is already so desperately, limitlessly in love with his child. Your child. Together.

You turn to the screen again and watch your baby move and bow and kick.

Your baby. Yours and Arthur’s. You’re not watching a video of someone else’s baby. You’re not dreaming and imagining. This is your baby. Your. Baby.

In these few instants that seem like hours, the face of your whole world and life and being have eclipsed and shifted. You’re completely overwhelmed. With love and joy—not at all more than what you have for Arthur, but different. It fills and quickens and overtakes you. So much that it almost hurts. So deep and resounding that it propels a new purpose and a new drive within you. So sweet and so precious that if you’d been standing, it undoubtedly would’ve brought you all the way to your knees.

“Baby.” You breathe it as you reach out and touch the flat surface of the screen, swiping your fingertips over the outlines and substance of your child’s precious form.

The culmination of your life’s dearest, deepest hopes and dreams and desperate longings. The manifestation of your and Arthur’s love. There, on the screen. But not on the screen.

“Oh-” You chuckle at yourself and sniffle as you bring your hand to your belly, above where the transducer meets your skin. For the screen only shows you what you can’t see inside.

Inside you.

Of all people, you. Finally you. Finally, your very own baby.

Arthur can almost read your thoughts as he watches your eyes redden and your face crumple like newspaper, sift like sand. And now, there are your tears. Overflowing and pouring down your cheeks in flooded streams. Not one allowed for the asinine doctor; whole oceans given for your child.

God, how he loves you. Didn’t think he could possibly love you any more, and yet, here it is. You are his anchor. He doesn’t need any other. And he is yours.

Wordless, you gasp and sputter and hiccup as the tears flow down both sides of your face in rivulets, dripping one after the other from your jaw.

Arthur thumbs the back of your hand, not offering you a tissue or requiring you to stop or hide your tears. He understands.

It’s another few minutes of enjoying your baby’s tumbling movements on the screen, before your tears finally slow and dry.

When you approach the jeep in the parking lot, you’re still awed and glowing with it, and almost wracked to fatigue by its powerfully engulfing wave—this love.

As you slip your hand into the jeep’s door handle, your thoughts turn to the man you love just as much, if not more. You couldn’t have thought it possible, but somehow your heart has expanded to accommodate all this added and immeasurable love.

Arthur bought the hunter green jeep as soon as he’d found out you were pregnant. ‘More of a family car,’ he’d said. Of course, that was nine weeks ago, and the jeep has already seen plenty of proper use—the splashes of dark mud above its tires from rugged, off-road terrain a clear sign of that.

You both climb up into your seats and fall into a natural rhythm of quiet breath after the jingle of the keys when Arthur leaves them in the ignition.

He looks over at you and watches your stunning face as you gaze forward, contentedly and placidly lost in your thoughts. To him, you’re made even more pricelessly, sweetly beautiful by the person you are.

“‘M proud of you,” he quietly muses.

You look back at him and start to smile. Out of all the things he could say first, that’s what he’s chosen.

“That was our baby,” he says, the low gravel in his voice now silken. “Just…”

“Amazing,” you say together.

You nod with a misty smile and gaze down at your belly before gazing forward through the windshield again.

He reaches for your hand and brings it to his mouth. “I’m gonna take you home and make sweet,” he presses a kiss to the segments of your fingers, “sweet,” another kiss to your fingers, “sweet love to you.” With that, he kisses the back of your hand. “Mama.”

You simply turn to look at him with a growing, winsome smile. His eyes flit up to yours in the midst of a kiss. It’s the very first time in your life anyone has ever called you that.

“All day and all night. And you best just get used to it.” He gently returns your hand to the seat and starts the car.

Your smile brightens to radiant.

“Sorry, darlin’,” he says with the glint of a wink. “Doctor’s orders.”

[kekaki-cupcakes]

Hiiii! I loved ur Hermes kid!

Could I ask for a male son of Dionysus x either Leo or nico?

Sorry if I got ya wrong and don’t feel pressured or anything!

Have a lovely day!

When there isn't a lot of info in an ask I kinda have to make the reader a personality so that it isn't too bland too read so sorry to y'all that aren't like this <3

Redecoration---Nico di Angelo x Son of Dionysus

»»————-　★　————-««

Nico had been glaring at the roof of skulls for a solid ten minutes, sort of hoping the hatred in his eyes would just poof them out of existence, when someone finally showed up. 

Apparently after an incident in the Aphrodite cabin, people weren’t allowed to just grab a bucket of paint and some new furniture to fuck around and find out, which was why Nico had been sent someone to help him fix the mess that was the Hades cabin.

Apart from the hundred skulls hot glue gunned to the rood, the beds were wooden coffins, the lamps were ancient looking chandeliers, and all of the walls were a dark ugly gray, like there was a serious mold problem. Now that he thought about it, the color might actually be a mold problem. 

“Never fear, goth! For I am here!” 

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Nico took a deep breath and turned around, obsidian eyes already narrowed with dislike as he took in the taller boy trotting over. He was holding a crate in his arms, filled with color swatches and chunks of fabrics, magazines sticking out of the top. 

“Excuse me?”

“You’re the one who needs redecorating, right?” The boy asked, already letting himself into the dim cabin that smelt of rich dark chocolate for some reason. “Yeah… no offense but we have to fix this, even if you're the wrong person.” 

Nico felt a sudden need to defend the atrocious carpet and bat shaped door knocker from this boy, who was wearing a maroon shirt picturing a glass of wine. “I was eight.” 

“No shame here, everyone makes bad decisions.”

There didn’t seem to be any point arguing with this boy, who had already dumped the box of supplies on one of the coffin bed lids, and was staring around at the dark cabin, hands on his hips. 

Nico just followed him inside, shoving his hands into the slightly ripped pockets of his aviator jacket. He peered into the cardboard box, which was promptly tipped out onto the ground. He watched with a frown as the son of Mr D sat on the carpet and began rifling through the empty notebooks and cut up magazines. “What are you doing?”

“Uh, scrapbooking? We can’t just start painting the walls yellow yet, you have to plan this stuff out, goth.” He said, as if it was obvious. Then he smirked. “You don’t like arts and crafts?”

Nico’s frown deepened, but he couldn’t let this mildly infuriating boy with surprisingly cool bracelets upstage him. “I love arts and crafts.”

“Whatever you say,” he hummed, and pulled out a leather bound book containing a few stickers and a strip of torn paper where a page had been pulled out. “Are you just gonna stand there in the corner and be grumpy?... That wasn’t sarcasm, you can if you want, I was just checking.”

Nico wasn’t an asshole, of course he was going to help. Still, he had to glare at the boy for that comment. Then he sat down and opened one of the magazines, which was featuring a life sized Barbie Dream House bed frame, fluffy pillows included. He flicked the page over with a grimace.

“So, what kinda vibe are we going for?”

“What?”

“I’m assuming you're sick of Dracula,” he said, waving his arms at the general doom and gloom around them. “So what aesthetic are we replacing it with?”

Nico didn’t want to admit he hadn’t planned this far into the venture, he’d really just been hoping he could repaint the walls, or maybe burn the whole thing down and start over. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

“Okay, well… I’m assuming you wanna keep it edgy, but seriously? A roof of skulls? You’re not a caveman. Maybe we should go with an Addams family style.” He shivered. “With less spiderwebs and disembodied hands. “ 

Ah, another gap in his modern education. “What’s an Addams family?” 

All Nico got in return was a gaping mouth and wide eyes. “How do you not- okay, I’m making you watch the entire timeline later, but for now we need to pick a color scheme.” 

Nico opened his mouth.

“Not black.”

Nico closed his mouth.

“Obviously there’ll be lots of black, but you need another color to fit with it, something dark and scary but colorful.” He pulled out a binder of color swatches, and flipped it open, skimming the pages of baby blues and lavenders. “Maybe dark green, or...”

“Red.” Nico said, peering over at the pages of ruby and scarlet. He pointed to the dark one, which had a little title below, ‘Blood red’. It was a little on brand, but it was better than ‘Crimson Tide’. 

“Oooh, nice. If we keep the walls black, and pull up the black carpet, there’ll be floorboards underneath.” He started to ramble, ripping a color swatch out of the binder and gluing it into the leather bound book. He glanced around at the musty cabin. 

“We can get a red rug for the middle of the cabin, and definitely new beds, but if we get Drew to refurbish the chandeliers they’ll look great. Oh, and the coffin bed frames could be a bookshelf if we get the mattress out and ask Nyssa to put some shelves in. Do you read? Because otherwise it’s sort of pointless. But so are the skulls on the roof, so…”

“You’re good at this.” 

It took Nico a moment to realize what he’d just blurted, and when he did the warmth was already in his cheeks. He’d only been a little caught up in watching the son of Dionysus’s eyes sparkle as he talked, pointing to different parts of the cabin, and somehow ruined it. “I mean, you just sound like you’ve, you know, done this a lot.”

The glimmer in their eye didn’t fade, they only grinned harder. “I have. A lot. It’s fun!”

“I suppose so,” Nico said, his lips twitching, and opened another magazine. He skipped a page on clawfoot bathtubs [There was already a white one with gold trim in the bathroom]. There was a large heart shaped mirror, He ignored that too, and found a simple bedframe, painted black. He held it out gingerly. “What about this one?”

“Yes! Good job.” He said, snipping it out of the magazine quickly, and sticking it next to a picture of a glass chandelier. “If you’ve got a simple bed, we could find a zebra print blanket, they always look good with black and red, as long as you don’t have, like, leopard print.”

“I thought you’d like leopard print?”

“And I thought you’d like skulls on your roof and coffin shaped beds,” he teased, with a smug little smile. Nico rolled his eyes, and picked out a strip of dark red fabric, passing it over.

He shook some glitter from his hands, there seemed to be piles of it in the box. “It’s a little over the top, but it’s not as bad as Jason’s cabin. It’s just rock. Everywhere. And a giant statue of his father.”

“Maybe he can be my next client,” he hummed, wiping glue from his fingers onto the molding carpet beneath them. A few shards of rounded glass were taped to the pages of the scrapbook, shining in the light of the dusty stained chandeliers. 

Nico wanted to object. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want the boy in front of him with glitter on his cheekbones and scissors in his hands to be cutting out pictures and teasing someone else. Instead he looked away, feeling something in his chest surge, something like fear. Fear of what, he didn’t know, but he cleared his throat and moved on.

“Don’t you have a sister too?”

The fear surged back forwards and Nico whipped around, his tone sharp. “What?”

“The roman one, I swear I saw her the other day, when Reyna visited to plan something or other.” he said casually, not seeing the pale tinge to Nico’s face. “With the overalls and the bulldog?”

“That’s Frank,” Nico said, his shoulder sinking with relief. 

“No, I’m pretty sure it was Hazel, she had those light up sketchers, with the little wheels on the bottom.” He said, somehow with a moon shaped sticker on his nose as he stuck little cut out paper skulls around the four page collage. 

“Frank’s the bulldog, he can turn into animals.” Nico had a strange urge to reach out and press the sticker on his nose, so instead he held his hands tightly in his lap. 

“Well, is there something Hazel’d like in the cabin when she visits? Does she read?” 

Nico sighed, and reached back for the magazine he discarded. He shook it open, cut outs of fluffy teddies falling into his lap. He found the page with the heart shaped bathroom mirror and ripped it out carefully. He could take a few hearts in his cabin if Hazel would like them. “This one.”

“Oh, that one's cute, Nyssa could totally make it.”

“I can ask Leo, he owes me a favor.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I haven't killed him yet.” 

                                  »»————-　★　————-««

Nico pressed down the front of his shirt. It was a black Camp Halfblood shirt, which he’d gotten from Piper after the Aphrodite cabin had started making shirts in other colors. Apparently there were only so many outfits you could wear with orange. 

Black goes with everything though, so it wasn’t a problem for him. 

He made his bed [closed the lid of the coffin] and dragged the last of the furniture not nailed to the ground out onto the little deck all of the cabins had. His decking only had a few pairs of shoes and a pot of dead roses he’d never bothered to keep alive. Maybe he’d have another go. 

Drew had taken the chandeliers already, to polish them and whatnot, so he only had to wait for his assigned son of Dionysus to show up, and they could start hunting for zebra print blankets and ripping skulls off the ceiling. What fun. 

When he still hadn’t shown up, Nico finished pulling all of the previously made bedding from the coffins and dumping it to the side so that Leo could turn it to a bookshelf [He could read, he just had dyslexia thank you very much], and then set off to the Dionysus cabin. It was easy to find, the only male god on the female side, with trelice’s of ivy decorating the whitewashed walls and a grumpy looking leopard snoozing on the purple swinging chair out the front of the small cabin.

He didn’t really want to knock, but he was sure someone would report him for standing around too menacingly if he just waited. He was saved from indecision when the door opened, revealing a tall sandy haired boy.

“You’re the goth, aren’t you?” Pollux sniffed, his nose red. “We can’t help today, but Butch is free, he can do some heavy lifting, and I’m sure Drew’ll criticize your style if you ask nicely enough.” 

“Why, what’s wrong?”

“I mean,” Pollux started, rubbing his eyes, and Nico only then realized he was still wearing his pajamas. They had an elongated cartoon owl sticking out of a doorway on it. “Skulls on the ceiling is a bit much, and everyone think you’re a vamp-”

“I meant with you guys, not my style,” Nico interrupted, his eyes narrowed.”

“Someone, decided to go visit Lou Ellen even though we all know she has a cold, and now I have it-” Pollux was cut off once again, his mockingly loud voice reaching the people inside. 

“I’m sorry I was concerned for my friend, she wanted soup!”

“She always wants soup!” Pollulx yelled back, and Nico moved past the older child of Dionysus, slipping off his shoes and letting himself into the cabin. 

There was nasally muttering behind him and the door slid shut. Nico peered around, and saw a bundle of fluffy blankets on a couch, only a sneezing head poking out the top. “Why did you get sick?”

“I mean it wasn’t really on purpose,” he mumbled back, wiping his nose with a tissue and sinking back into his cocoon. “I can’t help today, but-”

“I don’t care,” Nico started, and plopped down on the white couch, avoiding a deep red stain that could be alcohol or blood. He couldn’t tell. He also didn’t know how to say he’d rather sleep in the coffin again then have to spend the day with someone else. 

He sniffed, falling sideways a little on the couch and squinting at the square tv, which was showing some old cartoon about cavemen. “Mkay, well you should probably go if you don’t wanna get sick.”

Nico thought for a moment, trying not to focus on how much he wanted to scoop up the bundle of blankets in his arms far too skinny for that sort of stuff. “Why don’t we watch ‘an Adam family’?

He got watery wide eyes in return and a toothy grin, “wait really?”

“No. If I was making a joke it’d be funnier than that.”

“Okay, let’s watch it,” he said, hopping off the couch and moving to a box of DVDs with a lot of energy for someone so sick. “And it’s the Addams family, goth. You have to learn the basics of this culture if you’re gonna have coffin bookshelves.”

He fiddled around with the tv and then a grainy black and white intro came on, tinny music over the top. Nico watched as he danced to the theme tune in his blanket burrito, all the way back to the couch, where he landed, coughing and winded. Nico raised an eyebrow. “I could’ve done that, you’re sick.”

“Yeah yeah whatever,” he mumbled, tucking the fluffy socks on his feet up onto the white couch and wiggling with excitement. Nico watched him for a moment, and then turned back to the TV, feeling his lips twitch into a grin.

Duh duh duh duh, click click. Duh duh duh duh, click click.

Their creepy and they're kooky-

                                      »»————-　★　————-««

“Neeks, this mirror is so cute!”

“You’re welcome,” Nico muttered, rubbing his nose and rolling over, pulling the zebra print doona cover further over his head. 

He heard Hazel’s wheelie shoes click along the floorboards and she gilded out of the bathroom. When he peered out, her hair was in bunchies and she was pulling a purple hoodie over her head. “It’s so much nicer in here now, but how did you get sick redecorating?”

“Uhm..There was a lot of dust. I might be allergic?” 

The door slammed open, the clear chandelier hanging from the roof shaking as Nyssa trudged in, her work boots leaving mud on the fluffy blood red rug. She was holding the glitter covered scrapbook in her gloved hands. 

“So, I know I’m supposed to make everything in this, but what am I supposed to do with the polaroid of you kissing Mr D ‘s kid?”

                       »»————-　★　————-««

[koiimii]

𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐱 𝐓𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝘾𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙜𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙄𝙣𝙘𝙡𝙪𝙙𝙚…

- 𝙉𝙎𝙁𝙒

- 𝙁𝙡𝙪𝙛𝙛

- 𝘼𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙃𝙞𝙢

- 𝘼𝙣𝙜𝙨𝙩

————

𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐇𝐢𝐦

- Alex loves reading. Both books and the paper. He carries his reading glasses on the collar of his shirt, or in his coat pocket.

- If he weren’t in a band, he would own a really nice bar and lounge. Live music, a reading area, and he’d be a bartender as well. It would probably have a soft of rustic, modern-baroque style.

- He chews cinnamon gum. He enjoys how it makes his tongue burn a little.

- Alex sometimes prefers for feminine scents when picking perfumes. They mix well with his natural lingering cigarette scent.

- He always keeps a cigarette tucked behind his ear.

- Twisting and tugging his rings has become a coping mechanism for his anxiety.

- Alex has a big sweet tooth for desserts and pastries. Especially homemade ones. Red velvet is a particular favorite.

- Aside from his favorites, a guilty pleasure of his when picking films are period pieces. He adores them. Pride and Prejudice, Little Women, Dead Poet’s Society, Dorian Gray…

- Alex really wants to learn French.

- He loves vintage pieces when choosing fashions. Jewelry, leather, belts… he likes the timeless feel.

- Alex is actually a very good cook. Baking, and bartending too! He loved a homemade margarita or a Moscow Mule

- Usually in an interview where Alex is wearing sunglasses, he’s dozing off.



𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

- Alex loves when you wear the things he bought. He absolutely adores it. Especially things like dresses or lingerie.

- Alex secretly has a bit of a green thumb and loves to keep plants around the house, all named after his band mates, and you.

- He has a very naturel pout when he’s deep in thought, and likes when you kiss it to snap him out of it.

- Alex secretly enjoys being the little spoon when the two of you cuddle. He’s want you to press your chest to his back, and wrap your arms around him.

- Alex always likes to keep some extra sweaters, hoodies, and dress-shirts out for the finding of you. He loves seeing you roam around his house in his clothes. Drives him crazy.

- Alex loves making you worked up and mad. He likes your little bossy fits and your silent treatments, because then he can go out and fix them with gifts and things.

- Alex stutters quiet a bit when it’s just the two of you. He says it’s because no matter how long the two of you have been together, your still make him so very nervous.

- His favorite thing about you is your legs. He loves when you oil them on date nights, and they shine. He love how soft they are. He loves when your thighs thicken when you sit down. He loves when you wear heels. He likes to kiss your calves and up when you two are in bed together. He just loves your legs.

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖

- Alex is very hyper-sensitive. The little things turn him on or arouse him.

- if you could photograph Alex after sex, you’d have multiple photo albums. You’ve never seen such a pretty afterglow..

- His hair is disheveled and sweaty, stuck to his forehead.

- His lips are glossy and parted while he tries to catch his breath.

- His eyes are sleepy and low, yet they still get all big and doe eyed when you speak to him…

- Alex gets super lazy after sex. His aftercare is cuddles and kisses. - He just gives soft, dazed praises while you clean the both of you up, patting your thighs and kissing your exposed parts.

- His flush cheeks and nose are heart wrenching. You especially like how flushed he gets while he’s buried between your thighs.

- He loves when you caress or scratch his chest and back. Especially with longer, freshly done nails. If you don’t do it yourself, he’ll take your hand and guide it down his body to where he wants it the most.

- Alex has two very different moans. Usually, they’re very vocal. Long, drawn out groans and strained curses under his breath, or there’s the more breathless, whiny like moans you’ve come to favor. The way he cries out your name and his voice cracks before he hits that pinnacle of pleasure.

- Your neck is his go-to, especially your collarbone. It’s always his first target. Kissing, biting, licking, he just loves your reactions.

- There was no in between when you and Alex made love. In the mornings, soft sex was perfect. Both still very sleepy, his strong arms holding you close, holding your leg in the air as he buried his nose into your neck. Keeping his thrusts slow and lush. His cheeks puffed and rosy, fluffy disheveled hair and doe eyes staring up at you as you ride him lazily, or sometimes he’d hold you close to his chest until you both spilled over. Soft breaths and whimpers exchanged, the sweet nothings he whispered in your ear when he got close. It was all amazing.

- Rough sex was another story. When Al was pent up or frustrated, that’s when you knew you were in for it. Your wrists clutched firmly in his hands as he pounded into you. He especially loved it when you started to cry from the overwhelming pleasure. He’d kiss your tears but his rhythm never faltered or softened. He loved taking you from behind too, forcing you down into a cat-like arch and gripping your hips so hard he left imprints.

- You two came to agreement and made your safe word “Rosie.”

- Knee socks. You thought they were childish at first, but when Alex first saw you wear them to one of his concerts, he took you right there in his dressing you. Now you have a thousand pairs.

- On the rare occasion that Al us still energized after sex, he’s the King of Aftercare. Water on a tray, tea, a warm bath, a hot meal on the way, his clothes freshly out of the dryer so they’re warm when you wear them, he wants nothing more than to make you feel completely safe with him, especially after more intense love making.

- On stage, Alex is very immersed in his performance. When on-stage, he transforms. There was something erotic about the way his body moved, usually on its own. Grinding and rolling his hips, caressing his mic stand, getting down on his hands and knees… Alex couldn’t count the amount of times he’s found himself turned on during a performance or concert, having to quickly hide his erections the best he can.

𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭

- When you first made it official, Alex desperately tried to get over it, but there was this mind eating feeling he had that he didn’t deserve you.

- After disagreements that are exceptionally bad, he’ll come find you afterwards like a timid child.

- “Are you still upset with me, love…?”

- He hates waking up alone. He just feels like once he’s off stage, no one cares for the real Alex. He always need you in bed with him.

- He’s a terrible sleeper. He gets no where near enough sleep and so he tries to nap whenever he can.

- He’s tried to stop smoking so many times, but he really struggles with anxiety.

- You had been shouting at him once and quickly stopped when you realized he was having a panic attack.

- “I’m not good at this relationship thing am I?”

- When Alex realizes his accent is “too much”, he tries to correct so it’s easier to comprehend.

- When faced with chances to open up about his own emotions, he automatically brushes it off or gets distant.

- “I don’t know, does anyone really care what I think?”

- “I’ve just gotten used to not having the last word…”

[babygorewhore]

Tainted Love.

Peter Maximoff Imagine.

You’re the new guidance counselor at Charles Xavier’s school for mutants. A certain silver wearing student has been checking you out on more than one occasion. But you couldn’t possibly entertain the idea. It’s forbidden after all. But…can you resist him?

Requested by @ifeeltoofuckingmuch and @alittlesil WARNINGS. Teacher/Student (kinda) Age gap! Older! Reader! Oral! Fem receiving! Enjoy…cuties. 😏

You caught him checking you out. Twice.

You were the guidance counselor of Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. A new one, granted but you prided yourself on the hard work it took to reach this position. A few years shy of thirty, the students here didn’t feel intimidated by your presence. They could speak to you easily, knowing they wouldn’t be met with judgment.

Your mutation was kept under wraps, Charles Xavier often gave you guidance after hours when everyone was in bed or outside. Telekinesis, it was called. No one usually suspected it, you didn’t dress like you were apart of the school staff.

Your hair was multicolored, large considering it was 1981 with perms becoming a rapid fashion trend, flashy leggings, white sneakers and a pink vest over your white sweater. Your mother often rolled her eyes at your modern dress but thankfully you had moved out years ago.

One of your duties as the counselor was to observe classes, take in behavior patterns and note them. Often these students came from broken homes, abusive parents or homelessness. Charles asked you to carefully examine any warnings signs, prevention was crucial to avoid problematic situations.

That’s when you saw him for the first time.

He stood in the middle, not enough to be the center of attention but close enough to be noticed. He wore all gray, everything from his jacket to his shoes. Even his hair was medium length, silver coated. He was handsome, tall with a lean, muscular form.

His deep brown eyes flickered up to you but to your surprise they didn’t falter away when he realized you were staff. Instead, they trailed down your form, absorbing every detail of your body and clothing. It was enough to make you squirm. You justified it in yourself, maybe he didn’t realize your age.

Until the second time. Which happened to be today.

Making rounds was a regular part of your job, you discreetly carried a notebook with you to jot down anything significant when you passed the entrance of the training room. Mystique was in charge of this considering her combat experience. She spared you a polite nod as she directed the students, Cyclops, Jean Gray and him.

He was about to take a step forward when he saw you. You swallowed and gave them a wave. His eyes were impossibly growing darker and his mouth. They curved into a small smirk. You couldn’t tear yourself away from staring back.

“Peter, pay attention!” Mystique commanded him.

That was his name. Peter.

You now sat in your office with your pencil in between your teeth. You couldn’t even consider-well was there anything wrong in admitting he was attractive? No, of course not. He was an adult. But he was younger than you. He couldn’t be as experienced.

The romance department was boring if you were honest. You had hookups. Drunken lust filled nights but nothing that stayed in your heart.

A knock sounded at the door and you snapped your attention up. Charles was on the other side. You flicked your fingers, opening the entrance with your mind and he wheeled himself in. Smiling at him, he moved in front of your desk. “Afternoon, Y/N. Are you free at the moment?”

Nodding, “Yes, Charles. I’m available.”

“Excellent. There’s a student who’s requested to speak to you. But he’s not really one to be confined in an office.”

“Oh? He wants to speak on the grounds? I can put on my jacket. Who is he?” You absentmindedly set the pencil down, reached on your chair and slid the leather apparel on.

“Peter. Peter Maximoff.”

It took everything in you to not gape. You clenched your teeth for a few seconds. “Is he, is he the one who wears all silver?”

Charles nodded to your horror. “Yes. He was quite adamant in talking to you. Said he had…and I’m quoting him here. ‘Daddy issues’ he wanted to work through with you.”

Your hands flexed and released to relieve tension as you walked beside Charles, exiting your office. Remaining silent, you scanned over bodies, looking for any familiar appearances. But none were inside. Crossing through the hallway, you opened one of the many doors with your mind and stepped outside. The sun poured over the expensive and well kept grounds. It was a breathtaking sight, observing the different shapes, ages and mutations working together. But your mind was preoccupied with looking out for Peter.

“Where is he-“ You begin to ask Charles when a whiplash, (get the reference?) of air fanned your face and hair. You clutched your jacket as your eyes registered the man in front of you. Wearing all silver.

Shit.

It was Peter.

His hair was mused lightly from his speed but everything else about him appeared collected. Your mouth went dry as he gave you the same look. The one where he’s sizing you up and devouring you in one steady gaze. Charles smiled, “Ah, yes. You’ll have to get used to that. Peter has the knack for the surprise. This is Y/N. Our guidance counselor. The one you wanted to speak too.”

You extended a shaky hand and Peter accepted it. His grip was firm yet gentle as he shook your conjoined palms. “Peter. Peter Maximoff. But I think the kids are calling me Quick Silver? Something fancy like that.”

You smiled as you maintained eye contact. His chocolate irises were enchanting. Fuck. Focus. You had to stay professional.

“Well, I’ll leave you both to it.” Charles wheeled himself away, leaving you both alone.

“So, Charles told me that you had…Daddy Issues you wanted to talk about?” You turned to walk adjacent to the courtyard and kept your arms against your body.

Peter chuckled. “My father, doesn’t know he’s my father. And he’s…kind of a bad guy. Sort of. He changes sides all the time. I want to tell him. But I’m not sure how he’ll react.” You nodded as he trailed beside you. His hand kept brushing your jacket.

“Mmm. I see. How has his absence, I assume?” He confirmed with a nod your suspicion. “Affected you? Do you have any siblings?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a mom. And a little sister. My mom doesn’t talk about him. My sister doesn’t know him. I don’t know. I just wish I knew how he would react to me. That I’m his family.” This made you feel a small amount of ease. This was your speciality.

“Do you take care of your mom and sister? Do they rely on you?”

Peter seemed to mule over the question as you circled the basketball court. He was purposely walking slower to match your pace. “Yeah. Oh yeah. I feel guilty for even being here right now.”

“So, would it be fair to say that maybe another reason you want to tell him he’s your father, is because some of the burden would be off of you? I know you love your family, but some of the responsibility wasn’t supposed to be yours. I can imagine there’s a lot of pressure on your shoulders.”

Peter stopped and you paused. He turned to face you head on. He was taller than you, enough that you had to tilt your chin upward. “Huh. I never had anyone get me before. Guess that’s why you’re here. To get in our minds,” You nearly protested at the stereotypical assumption but his lips curled upward into a smile.

“Well, I want to help you. I don’t want you to feel alone or without proper tools to cope. Everyone needs help sometimes.”

You resumed your trailing. “Fair enough. But I don’t want you to think I’m just some kid with Daddy issues. I’m here because I belong here.”

The question escaped your mouth before you could prevent it. “How old are you, Peter?”

He quirked his eyebrow up. “21. You look a little young yourself to be a shrink.”

“I’m almost 30,” You breathless replied.

“Dirty 30.” You almost collapsed.

“What else is on your mind, Peter?” He shrugged and kept stealing glances at you.

“If I’m being honest, you are.” Your heart jumped to your throat and you halted.

“W-what?”

“I said you, cutie.” You blinked, several seconds of silent went by and then Peter grinned ear to ear.

“Kidding. I just wanted to see your reaction.” You cleared your throat.

“I see. If, if there’s nothing else, I’ll return to the office. But if you ever need to talk-“

“I’ll know where to find you.” Peter gave you a wink, and you understood quickly.

He was not kidding.

You nearly sprinted to your office, shutting the door with your foot and you pressed your back against the wood.

This was fucked up. Extremely fucked up. He was an adult, yes. But he was a student here. You couldn’t possibly allow yourself to attracted to a flirtatious, mutant male who…god you didn’t even know. Cutie? Why was he the only man who could make that nickname attractive? But apparently he was joking. Not really.

You found yourself sitting on your desk. Legs separated. Shaking your head, you cursed at yourself.

Were you really this fucking desperate? Being desperately attracted to a 21 year old? It had been ages since you’d been…intimate with a man. You pressed a hand to your forehead.

How could even be thinking of such a thing? A forbidden idea. He winked at you. Just that. And gave you a few lewd looks.

Maybe it was the fact that someone of his appearance seemed to desire you. He was a nice man, you could tell. Lost. Troubled but he was easy to talk too. No, no. But…he was so, cute? Handsome. With a dashing smile.

Your core tightened. Your mind drifted to the thought of his smart ass smile in between your thighs-

You couldn’t go there-

But what was the harm of a fantasy? No one would know. Unless Charles invaded your thoughts without permission. The aching pulsating quiver inside you, inviting any sort of friction. You pressed your knees together, desperate and you frantically looked over your shoulder. No one. It would only take a few minutes, you were especially sensitive.

You gingerly slipped your hand inside your neon leggings, past your underwear and your fingers settled on your pulsing clit. Sighing dreamily, your eyes drifted shut as you circled with modest pressure. Your slick coated your digits as you sped up, your high not far out of your reach. It was a poor substitute, too quick but you would take what you would get.

“Whoa, cutie.” You jumped, toppling on the floor at the sound of a intruder.

Peter stood there, door slightly ajar and his eyes were wide but a sly, knowing smirk was plastered all over his smug face. You gathered yourself and stood beside your now slightly damp desk.

“Peter! What are you doing? Coming in here without knocking?”

“I did knock, actually. But I think you were too busy to hear me.” He was holding back a laugh and you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

“I-was there something you needed?” You squeaked.

“I just was feeling so down, you know. My daddy issues were bothering me so I wanted to talk more. But I guess you were… a little busy?” His smirk was driving you insane.

“This is not-appropriate. You can’t make implications like that-“

“I’m just talking about you taking notes about me, what sort of naughty thing were you talking about?” Peter gave you a mocking confused look and you almost snarled.

“What are you doing? Why are you-being-insufferable?” You nearly shouted.

“Oh, I’m just a innocent student needing help. I don’t know why you’re mad at me?” That was it. You charged at him, ready to send him out of your office when he disappeared.

“I-“ Arms encircled your waist and your breath stopped short. He was beside you, grinning but one hand drifted to your lower back.

“Y/N, don’t you think it’s bad manners to touch yourself, in the middle of work? Especially after talking to a man who’s obviously interested in you?” You opened your mouth to speak but Peter smashed his lips to yours.

You pressed your hands to his chest to push him back, but his own fingers gripped your hips and your ass pressed against your desk. “Peter-“ He shook his head, running his tongue across your lower lip and you opened your mouth, allowing him to explore.

His palm felt down your leg, cupping underneath your knee and bringing it to secure around his waist as you leaned back.

Your senses rushed back and with your mind, you moved him back.

“Whoa,” He whispered, his lips flushed. “You’re a mutant.”

“This. This is wrong. I’m a authority figure here. I would be taking advantage of you-“

“Taking advantage of me? I can promise you. You’re not. I’m not a kid. I just happen to be just a little younger than you.”

You started to shake your head but he sped over to you, laying you across your desk.

“Besides, could a kid do something like this?” Peter tugged down your pants, past your ankles before discarding them to the floor. He eyed your sticking underwear. “Fuck. You really need this, don’t you? Wait…is this all for me?”

You trembled as he lowered himself down to his knees.

“Yes- you know that.”

He hooked his fingers down the waist band of your underwear, peeling them down slowly, despite his superpower. “Mmm. Yeah. I figured that out. When I saw you fucking your self.”

A chill raked against your spine as he pushed your legs apart. His silver hair tilting down as he lowered his mouth to your pussy. “But it would be nice if you were a good girl and said it? Hmm? Maybe say it for me?”

“I-I-“ You stuttered and he teasingly traced his tongue on your folds, but not where you needed him most.

“Say it. Say this is all for me. Please? I would hate to have to-“

“Fucks sake, yes it’s about you.” You exclaimed before gripping his hair and shoving it towards you.

Peter took the hint, gliding his tongue flat against your clit and your head dropped back. A moan escaped you as he sloppily lapped up the wetness that was indeed for him. He groaned deep in his chest as you held onto his hair.

He devoured you, assaulting your clit before driving his tongue inside your entrance. And then starting all over again. You shuddered, already getting close to your climax. Your thighs shook and he gave you a faster stripe of his tongue.

“Aw, your legs are shaking. Did you need it this bad?”

“Asshole-“ You responded and then squeezed your eyes shut as you started cumming.

“Oh, god. Fuck.” You humped his face as you rode out your release. You propped yourself on your elbows, expecting him to raise himself up and fuck you but then you understood.

He wasn’t stopping.

Peter kept eating at you, messily and desperately. Your clit started burning as he fucked it with his mouth. “Peter-“ You whimpered and he shook his head, increasing the intensity.

“No, you’ve got more in you. I know you do.” Another orgasm ripped from you, forcing you to clamp your hand over your mouth so you wouldn’t scream.

You didn’t feel him anymore.

Gasping, you looked down. He was gone. But your leggings and underwear were back on.

“Ahem.” He was standing by the door. Your eyes widened and you flailed your hands out.

“What the hell-“

“Sorry, Y/N. But I have to go. I don’t want to get in trouble with my teacher.” With a Cheshire Cat grin and a wink, he dashed from your office.

You clutched at your chest.

Oh, no. He wasn’t going to get away with this. He would know exactly what it meant to be overstimulated. Even if it killed you.

Taglist. @howtobesasha @evanptrss @ifeeltoofuckingmuch @icannot3 @randodummy @alittlesil @scene-and-dandylover @hyperharlz @fuckedbykai @spill-the-t

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A New Life 2

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: silverfox!Steve Kemp

Summary: You have an unexpected encounter in the park.

Part of the Silverfox AU

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The chirping of birds and sway of leaves fades away. Silence. Stolid, buzzing silence. The sort that makes your ears hurt. 

Then heaviness. Your limbs feel like lead, your head is like a bowling bowl, and your bones ache. Your eyelashes part briefly before you force them shut. You don’t know this place. You can’t remember how you got there.

You try again, opening your eyes slowly as your head lolls to one side. Light casts out from beneath the scalloped edge of a lampshade, lending a soft hue to the space. You lay in a bed in a room you’ve never seen before. 

The walls are cream and across the pale hardwood is a rug in a rich shade of butterscotch. The furniture is well-made in a style somewhere between antique and modern. You shut out the space again as you think.

You remember the park, the gentle breeze and the smell of mud and grass. The air kissed your skin with a foreboding of rain as nature stirred all around. The memory of peace is a stark, unsettling contrast to your current disorienting confusion. You don’t know what’s going on but that is enough to scare you.

You push your elbows into the bed, lifting only your head and your chest first. The effort is enough to make you dizzy. The heel of your hand is tender. You look down at it and try to stretch out the pain. You groan and sit up, bending over your lap as you struggle to hold yourself straight.

You squeak as you find yourself in nothing more than your gray cotton underwear and your matching jersey bra. You drag your legs slowly towards the edge and fold over as your feet drop down toward the floor. You remember footsteps, harried and steady, and a shadow…

You grip the edge of the mattress and gather your strength. You slide forward until you're hanging off the bed, feet flat on the floor. You push yourself off, standing for a moment before your legs give out. Your shoulder hits the rug with a thump and you roll onto your back.

There’s something around your ankle. It’s just enough weight to be noticeable. You crane your head to look down, helplessly stranded on the floor. There’s a leather cuff around your ankle, attached to a chain that runs to an iron ring implanted into the hardwood. What the fuck?

Hinges groan and footsteps calmly pace towards you. You look up as a strange man looks down at you. You recognise him as the memory comes flooding back. An extended hand, a prick above your wrist, and the black speckling of consciousness. His blue eyes shine boldly, set off by the silver strands of his hair.

He tuts as he bends to pick you up. As he slides his arm under your back, you shudder and try to push him away. You’re too weak. He lifts you easily and sets you on the bed. He pulls over an extra pillow to prop you up against the pile. He fixes the strap of your bra as it droop then touches your cheek.

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” he warns, “I told you not to fight it, sweetheart.”

“Where…” The croak dissolves on your dry tongue.

“Let’s not worry about that,” he rests his hand on yours, “you remember my name…” He finishes with yours as he watches you expectantly. You frown, what was it? “Steve,” he provides and another bell rings in your head. “Where you are doesn’t matter, okay? This isn’t about that. This is about what you need.”

You swallow. Your mouth is painfully dry, your throat scratchy, and your head blaring. You slump further into the pillows. You want to fight but you just don’t have the strength. Your gaze falls to his hand, how his fingers stroke the back of it.

“You know, I need the same thing. We have a lot in common. I wouldn’t have chosen you otherwise,” he continues, “but… that’s a big conversation. One you’re not ready for yet.”

You murmur, unable to summon more than a sandy gurgle. He trails his hand up your arm and along your neck, sending another chill through you. He cradles your chin, his thumb stretches up to your cheek.

“Little steps. You start here. All I need from you right now is to rest. You gotta sleep off the last of the sedation. If you don’t, you’re going to get hurt.”

His hand continues to dabble on you, petting along your hairline, tracing your features as he considers you closely. He wears a dark blue pullover and faded black jeans. Despite his obvious age, he’s in good shape. Even at first glance, you can tell you’re at a disadvantage.

“If you can do that, then you earn a bath. We should get you washed up,” he caresses your cheek and down to your neck, “you took a bit of a tumble in the dirt.”

You drone into a cough. His hand curves around your shoulder and he squeezes. You stare at him, dumbfounded; by him, by this place, by everything he’s saying. You can’t quite process it all. Your eyes flit away as you look down at your ankle. He follows your gaze.

“Ah, that. Well, like I said. It will all come in little steps. You have to work up to that, sweetheart,” he slides his hand around the side of your head, tilting it back as he pulls you forward, “all you have to do for me is be good,” he places a peck on your forehead, “and you’ll see just how much I can do for you.”

He lays you back and rescinds his hand. He stands, the bed bouncing with the release of his weight. You grumble as he pulls the blanket over you, tucking it under your sides, his hands lingering along your silhouette. His brilliant blue irises once more set upon you as he gives a handsome smile.

“You do want to try to sleep,” he stands and reaches to shut off the lamp, “you’re going to need it.”

[cuffmeinblack]

Unabridged

Andrew Larson x f!reader

Tags: explicit | masturbation | slight voyeurism

1.6k words

Summary: Andrew's bedtime reading and his roommate's distracting activities lead to something shamefully inevitable.

A/n: I told myself I wouldn't write anymore smut until I finished a chapter of Veil yet here I am. Just one little drabble. I suppose this could be taken as the smut I never wrote for Between the Lines.

⤍ Andrew Larson masterlist ⤎

Whilst he more often than not became somewhat flustered whilst reading novels such as the one currently balanced precariously on his hardened length, he didn't usually feel quite so unravelled as in that moment. The story was thoroughly filthy, detailing from a witch's point of view being seduced and defiled by a handsome vampire in her own marriage bed. Somewhere around the part where various bodily fluids were exchanged, Andrew had truly noticed his predicament. He lay his head back against the headboard to stare up at the wooden slats above his head, but the gentle, rhythmic bowing did nothing to alleviate his lustful thoughts. He abandoned the text altogether and watched the subtle shift of the mattress and the flap of the curtains for a while, ignoring the throbbing in his trousers. It wouldn't go away. His skin burned and his clothes felt so suffocating he wanted to rip them to shreds. Blood raged as his pulse quickened, breaths came short and ragged as if his lungs had forgotten how to process the air. 

Some distractions were harder to ignore than others. External stimuli could be blocked out with a well placed dampening charm or a simple pair of earmuffs. The creaking of the bed above him, for example, was all part and parcel of being a Ravenclaw. Bunk beds. Awful invention, completely unnecessary given the ample proportions of the room. Clearly whoever had furnished them had been well aware of their ability to rob the occupants of any modicum of privacy, but teenagers being what they were, that didn't necessarily stop his roommates from sneaking their sexual conquests back into the dormitory for a little fun. Right above his head. But this he could cope with, if he ignored the way the bed jolted slightly every now and then. Then there was the fact that his mattress lay beside a window and the curtain didn't quite wrap all the way around, leaving his body silhouetted amongst the glow of his Lumos charm, completely exposed to the night sky. Another inconvenience, but unless there was someone flying outside the tower past curfew, it seemed inconsequential and not worth his time to worry about. No, the most distracting thing he currently had to deal with whilst trying to read his book wasn't a sound, a sight or even a smell; it was the uncomfortable pinching sensation currently residing below his waistband as his cock strained against his leather belt. 

Perhaps it would be a surprise to learn that Andrew Larson of all people—prim and proper and thoroughly virginal—enjoyed reading literature of a more risqué variety. Not all the time, mind you. He was quite happy with the classics, ancient and beyond, and more modern works such as Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray which had left him bewildered and quite speechless. It was after these that he enjoyed what might be termed a palate cleanser—something altogether easier to digest, devoid of the kind of emotional turmoil that might upset one's stomach. A pleasurable romp. He might not shout about such things at his book club meetings but if asked, Andrew would simply explain his reasoning and point out that every work of literature has its merits and to deprive oneself of the broad spectrum of genres is only to one's own detriment. In other words, don't be such a snob.

Andrew shuffled down a little into a slouch, gripping the sheets with one hand and hesitantly gripping his wand in the other. A flick of his wrist lifted the dampening charm he'd encased himself in, sound finally trickling back into his canopy. Apparently his roommate hadn't bothered with a silencing charm, or it had since worn off, because Andrew could hear everything. His cheeks flushed even brighter with shame but he didn't recast his charm, instead stashing his wand with the book next to him on the mattress. The couple above him were really going for it; breathless and moaning softly into the still night. Andrew's breath shuddered slightly as he closed his eyes and let the wet slap of skin and delicately musky scent envelop his senses. His chest heaved beneath the cotton of his shirt, fingers idly picking at the buttons to free himself of the fabric constraints. He thought of the book he'd read, the forbidden nature of it all; he thought of the unknown girl above him and her gentle whimpers; and most of all he thought of replicating that carnal passion with the object of his desires. She would moan most prettily of all, all soft skin and delicate curves beneath his roaming hands. He wanted every part of her in every conceivable way, yet so far he'd succeeded only in being a coward. Instead of telling her how he felt (or a rather more savoury, abridged version), Andrew had taken to living out fanciful daydreams in his head. He should be thoroughly ashamed of himself, and he was, yet that gnawing guilt paled in comparison to the raging hunger growing in his chest, for the woman who'd lent him that damned book, no less.

He could barely hear the cacophony of lewd sounds over the pounding in his ears, yet the slap, slap, slap was still audible and driving him slightly mad. He was vaguely away of his bare torso as he felt a prickle of moisture cooling on skin and he looked down past the wire rims of his glasses to nearly groan in despair. His impossibly hard erection had forced its way past his belt, twitching angrily against the pale smattering of ashen hair that trailed to his navel. His cockhead glistened, the source of that wetness now apparent in the dim light from the landscape beyond his window. He couldn't very well ignore it now, as painful and angry looking as it was. With a sigh of annoyance that masked his relief, he unbuckled himself with increasingly shaky fingers. Whatever hormones were at work had sent him into a frenzy, desperately craving release no matter what the consequences—and there would be consequences, whether it be the inability to look his roommate or the woman he longed for in the eye again, or the very real possibility that he might just lose his mind along the way and finally admit his feelings, for the sliver of hope that it might one day be her hand wrapped around his cock and not his own. 

Andrew rolled his hips, clenching his muscles to drive upwards into his waiting hand. Fingers wrapped tightly around himself, slick with desire. He followed the rhythm already present in the stifling air, the slap, slap, slap that seemed to stutter with a shift of weight and resume with a more furious pace amid breathy moans. They weren't her moans, though, and they served only to irritate Andrew more than entice him. He picked up his wand to cocoon himself in quiet once again, letting his own imagination lead the way. That was all he needed, really; the thought of her. This time she rode him, exquisitely soft thighs clamped around his hips, jiggling with every bounce on his cock. He squeezed his fingers. You're so tight, he imagined himself sighing as her dazzling smile filled his vision and she moaned in response. Faster he stroked himself, copious amounts of precum filling his palm and easing his way. She would feel infinitely better, softer and wetter, and it could all be for him. Andrew whimpered into the dark before he could control the impulse and his eyes flared wide, but the bed still shifted with the weight above him and had no intention of stopping. 

He was getting close to his inevitable release, half torn-off clothes shoved roughly around his body which glistened with sweat. Gasping and groaning through every pump of his fist, he thought of her tossing her head back in ecstasy as she met her own tremendous climax. All for him. She was beautiful in his mind's eye, even if her naked body was comprised entirely of glimpses he'd had of the soft curves beneath her uniform. Andrew let his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose and hair fall over his eyes as he writhed in pleasure, bucking wildly into his hand until finally he came. His palm flew to his mouth to muffle the groan that clawed its way up his throat; his final cry was lost to the clammy crevices as he pushed down hard on his lips. He felt his release coat his other hand, every knuckle stained in shame and primal want. Even his shoulder wasn't spared. By the time the pulsing subsided and the ringing in his ears had stopped, all was quiet but for the deep breaths both from his own chest and above him in the bunk beds.

He cracked his eyes open and stared up at the slats again, further away this time now he'd somehow ended up horizontal on the bed in a great dishevelled mess, limbs contorted and wrapped in various tangled garments. His hand wrapped around him released, sticky and warm, and eyes followed the trail of his release to the book that lay next to his arm. The black book cloth was ruined, stained. It seemed rather fitting, in a grotesque sort of way. Suffice it to say, he would not be taking that particular edition back to the hidden shelves of the book club’s library. He'd make some excuse and tuck it away somewhere safe, perhaps rip the binding from its case and burn it. No matter what he did, though, he would still remember this; the unexpectedly desperate need; the complete and utter lack of control when it came to her. Whilst he lay half-naked and dizzy in his bed, Andrew vowed to finally summon the courage to tell her how he felt, though the unabridged version of this truth could wait until later.

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

New Girl [00]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

(slow burn, endgame, as in you’ll be seeing some short term pairings here and then as well)

MODERN DAY AU

Word count: 1,564

Summary: Life threw you a curve ball when you walked in on your long term boyfriend making out with someone who definitely wasn’t you. Since living with him was no longer an option, you’ve ventured out at the advice of a work friend and found the absolute perfect loft to reside in. The only issue?

You suddenly have four very odd roommates.

a/n: a long time ago i mentally cast jensen ackles as disaster clint barton in my head and have not shook it since which is why his picture is used above👍🏼

[00]: WELCOME HOME

Chapter Summary: You find a new place to live. Your friend mentioned all the amenities, but left out a very important detail.

The loft was absolutely gorgeous. It had an industrial feel to it thanks to the brick walls and metal beams running across the ceiling. Despite that, the warm light streaming through the multitude of windows gave it a soft vibe. From where you sat on the recliner you could see a small, open kitchen that sat right across from a large dining area all of which was behind the large, ‘u-shaped’ couch. Honestly, the moment you stepped through the door your brain immediately decided that this is where you wanted to live.

However, there was one little flaw you didn’t foresee when you showed up for the interview/tour.

“So, you guys…are guys.” You said slowly. You laced your fingers together and rested them on your knee awkwardly. In front of you sat four men. Very manly men, actually. Enough so that you weren’t sure why your co-worker would think sending you here to live would be a good idea. Scott Lang had mentioned the open room and the great location, but he had left out this huge detail.

“Yes. Good eye for detail.” The man who introduced himself as Bucky Barnes said dryly. He sat at the far end of the couch in front of you on the left side. He had short, dark hair that kind of looked like he had just rolled out of bed. Sweatpants, a t-shirt, and scruff all along his defined jaw. His stormy eyes looked exhausted, his lips looked downturned into a perpetual frown, and it made you mildly curious since it was literally one in the afternoon and he was nearly dead on his feet.

“I know it’s hard for you to not be a dick, but maybe you can, I don’t know, try?” Sam Wilson, if you remembered his name correctly, replied to him from the entire other end of the couch. The black man had his arms crossed over his chest with a raised eyebrow, but there was nothing but amusement in his brown eyes. Unlike the first man that spoke, this one was dressed in much nicer clothes. A button up shirt and khakis.

You opened your mouth to cut in, but another one of them spoke up first. He sat next to the man who had just spoken, “Quick question, are you single?” You knew his name was Peter but you couldn’t remember what his last name was only that it started with a ‘Q’.  He had an impish smirk with sandy blond hair that could only be described as purposely messy. He had a sort of goatee that was mostly just stubble. There was a leather jacket resting on the couch behind him that he had taken off when you first walked in to reveal the tight, gray shirt he wore. “I think it’s the question all of us want answered, right?”

All the men chorused solid disagreements, but it was the man beside him that spoke directly to you. This was the only one who hadn’t actually introduced himself to you. He had come in a couple minutes ago, dropped down on the couch, and then just joined in. You had mentally been referring to him as ‘hot mess’. He had like three bandages on his face, his lip was busted, and he had a fading black eye. His blond hair was also messy, but definitely not in a styled way. More like a ‘I haven’t touched a comb since I was 12’ kind of way. He motioned to you, “Ignore him, the real question we have for you is: Do you have any pets and when can you move in?”

“No.” Bucky shook his head. “We vote before we ask someone to move in. Loft agreement.”

Hot mess spoke again, “Well then let’s—”

“Wait,” You held one hand out and eyes snapped back to you. “Scott told me this was a four-bedroom place, and that you guys were looking for someone to fill a room but…there are already four of you?”

Peter half-heartedly motioned to Bucky and Sam, “These two share a room.”

“Oh!” You bobbed your head with a smile as you motioned to them, “So you guys are a couple?”

“No!” Bucky and Sam both yelled loudly making you jump in shock. They immediately turned and began to bicker with one another.

“Why’re you saying no so fast, man?? I’m a fucking catch.” Sam argued.

“You said no just as quick as I did!”

“Yeah, because I can do a hell of a lot better than a maybe alcoholic still mourning the loss of his psycho ex.”

Bucky sat forward to glare at him, “We are not having this argument again.”

As they continued to yell at one another, while you watched on awkwardly, Peter focused on you with a charming smirk, “They have bunk beds.”

“Bunk… beds?” You questioned skeptically.

“No, no, no.” Sam cut in quickly. He gave up on his argument with Bucky to clarify this. “It’s two very separate beds, on opposite sides of the room. See, I lost a bet so now I’m stuck with his ass—”

“You lost the bet? I lost the bet and now I’m stuck with you.” Bucky argued back.

Hot mess shook his head, “They both lost the bet and now they bunk together like camp buddies.” The two men in question grumbled unhappily. “Also, we’re all super broke so we need someone in the empty room who has a consistent paycheck.” As if to clarify further, he pointed down the couch starting with Bucky, “Bartender at a sketch ass place, in an unknown band, and therapist.”

Sam held one hand up, “I’m the only one with an actual paycheck.”

“I have a paycheck!” Bucky argued.

“And my band is not unknown.” Peter scoffed. “The Guardians have a gig this Thursday!”

Hot mess grinned, “And where are you playing?”

“A Korean restaurant where old men play card game and chain smoke.” Peter mumbled.

You cleared your throat and tried to get this conversation back on track, “You didn’t tell me what your job is. Or your name.”

“Oh, I’m Clint Barton!” He quickly stood up and offered his hand to you. You smiled and took his hand to shake it then he sat back down. “And my job changes depending on the week.”

You bobbed your head once with confused, narrowed eyes, “I, uh, I don’t know what that means.”

Bucky shook his own head, “Neither do we.”

“Well,” You took in a steadying breath, “Like I said before, my name is [Y/N]. And, I actually do have a steady paycheck.” You motioned to yourself. “I work for a modeling agency—”

“Whoa, whoa!” Peter threw his arms out to interrupt, “You’re a model??”

“Uh, no.” You chuckled awkwardly. “I’m more like a manager? Book gigs, manage contracts, help them on set…” There was a pause where they all just stared at you with blank looks. Peter was the only one actively gawking though. You filled the silence with the first thing your brain thought of, “It’s fun! My best friend from high school actually works there as a model so it’s a lot of us just…goofing off? Uh… I don’t have any pets—”

“Meeting!” Peter barked and stood up. He gave you a charismatic smile, “Just give us a couple minutes.” The others stood up with less enthusiasm and began to march out of the room, down the hall. Peter gave you a nod, briefly biting down on his lower lip, bounced his eyebrows up once, then winked at you, “Don’t miss me too much, alright baby?”

Bucky stopped at the mouth of the hall with a frown, and when Peter tried to walk into the hallway he threw his hand out to stop him. Peter complained as Bucky shoved him back then pointed to the short shelf sitting behind the couch. There was a glass jar sitting on it with a pink sticky note taped to the outside that read, ‘Douchebag Jar’ in messy handwriting.

“Jar. Now.”

“That wasn’t even so bad!” Peter argued before pulling a dollar bill out of his pocket and shoving it into the jar. The two of them left to wherever the other two had and suddenly you were left alone in the pretty apartment. Without the yelling boys, the loft became more and more tempting.

You drummed your fingers against your thighs nervously. This was a weird situation and at your age you weren’t really looking to live in a loft downtown with four strange men, emphasis on strange, but you didn’t really have another choice. Your job paid well, but you had lost a lot of money after buying a house with your long-term boyfriend. It seemed like a great idea at the time considering the two of you were coming up on three years together, but when you walked in on him making out with a girl sitting in his lap the great idea died really fast. You didn’t get that money back and honestly you didn’t even try to get possession of the house. You just wanted to be out of his life. Regardless of the cost.

Clint ‘hot mess’ Barton suddenly slid back into the room on his socks making you jump in surprise. He threw his hand out broadly as the others came in as well, “Welcome home, roomie!”

You jumped up in excitement, “Really? You guys aren’t going to regret this!”

[sophie-looks-at-stuff]

Some Modern Aemond Headcanons:

Hey y'all! So the votes were pretty close, but by a slim majority it looks like one post per character was the winner! 🥳 I also just have too many ideas for certain characters! So I'm going to start with my favorite, the man, the myth the legend, Aemond himself. My internet is going to be a little spotty for the next few days, since I'm going to be moving, but stay with me! I'll get them all on here at some point :)

He has a big black/gray great dane named Vhagar. I saw someone else say he’d have a great dane, and I totally agree!

He experimented with different colors for his false eye, blue, green, maybe even the signature Targaryen lavender. But ultimately he settles with the sapphire blue stone. It’s different, and makes him feel badass, but also a little pretty :)

Mans is the embodiment of dark academia, from style to work ethic. He’d be a double major in philosophy, and history. Maybe a minor in business, just in case Aegon somehow convinces Alicent and Viserys to give him the family business instead him. He’d still be the CFO or something, but CEO does have a better ring to it…

He'd get his own apartment as soon as possible. He doesn't like having roommates all up in his business. He refused to stay in a dorm room with a total stranger, so he and Aegon teamed up for once to convince Alicent to let them do an apartment together instead. But after a year or so, Aemond needed his own space… Aegon isn’t exactly neat and tidy sometimes. 

Speaking of his apartment, I think Aemond would be pretty minimalist. He doesn't super love clutter. But his office might be the one exception. Since he's a double major with a minor, he's got a lot of textbooks, and novels lying around. Unlike Helaena, he's not a collector, or a huge fan of nic nacs. But he does have his posh tea, and I think he'd have a small collection of about 3 or 4 daggers.

It would be interesting to see him with an s/o that is a collector, he'd probably end up designating a part of his house to them for all their little things. He could handle a small corner or bookshelf, but it grows on him overtime. And he gets secretly a little excited every time they bring something new home. "Hey look what I got at the antique store today!" "Add it to the shelf love :)"

Definitely a smoker. He knows it’s a bad habit, but he’s not super driven to quit either. It’s a stress reliever, and it gives him something to do while thinking. Helps him process stuff. (also it’s just kind of hot to think of Aemond with a leather coat and a cigarette, plus that motorcycle I mentioned earlier…) 

Black is his favorite color/shade, at least for clothing and interior decorating. But ever since he was a kid he's had a thing for blue, a deep ocean, sapphire blue. That's probably why he settles on the blue sapphire for his eye.

Modern boyfriend Aemond would be a secret romantic I think. He didn't really have many girlfriends if any in high school. He'd have had his first kiss and all that, but they weren't really on his radar. Part of me thinks Aemond would be with someone a slightly more extroverted than himself. They would get him out of the house a little more, even if it's just to take Vhagar for a longer evening walk than usual.

I think one of his love languages would be gift giving. He can be a little closed off sometimes, so when words seem to fail him, he'd find a way through gifts. They'd range from a bouquet of your favorite flowers, to a private dinner at the nicest restaurant in town. You saw a dress, or top you liked online? It would be nicely wrapped in a box on your bed within the next couple days.

He needs someone with patience. He's insecure about his eye sometimes, (not all the time, cause I feel like he has some days where he's totally feeling it). He might take a while to let down some walls, but when he does, you can read him like a book. You see him squint a little at something his brother said? You know he's annoyed and wants to change the subject.

Looovvessss dark chocolate. More particularly though, he loves chocolate covered espresso beans. It's his snack when studying.

He runs cold, he has an extra layer with him at all times. Sometimes it's a sweater under his leather jacket, or a scarf Alicent made him tucked into his bag.

[bumbburger]

i got to write tonight...

Reaper76 modern AU - the meeting

Jack groaned and rolled over. His eyelids were heavy, but no sleep could relieve the tired ache in his bones. This exhaustion ran deeper than his head. It seeped into his blood, his muscles, his bones. Okay, he would admit that was a tad dramatic, but the insomnia truly did a number on him as of late.

He threw the covers off himself. Despite it being mid-autumn, the cursed city was always so warm. LA. City of Angels and whatnot, yet Jack had only met one. A detective who did his late-night shopping at the Quick Mart down the block. Reyes, he would overhear the cashier hail him by name. Gabriel Reyes, he'd come to learn. The man shared his name with a goddamned archangel. He looked every bit as fitting for it. Dark brown hair that had started to streak white by his temples, a goatee that Jack was shockingly attracted to… rich brown eyes and an endless list of heavenly features.

Jack sat up on his bed, getting lost in his imagination. The clock beside him read 2:47 A.M. Maybe he'd try his luck at the Quick Mart and try to spot his angel again. Hell, maybe he'd actually ask for his number this time.

With a grunt, Jack pulled himself out of bed and into his small closet. He sifted through his outfits, all rather plain. He went with the safest option, his gray hoodie and black skinny jeans. Not the ones with the ripped knees this time, too formal, he thought. Between his combat boots, his winter boots, and his work boots… he just pulled on the work boots.

He thinks about getting a better job so he can dress himself better… but nothing in this city suits him. He can't afford to move, either. Classic America. He sighs and dismisses the thought again. The Farm and Home shop was definitely the best job he could pull anyway.

And now he's going to go and try to flirt with a beautiful detective at a Quick Mart in the middle of the night. What had his life become?

He grabbed his wallet and his phone, then descended the stairs leading to the street below.

Much to his liking, the air almost had a chill to it. Maybe this hellish city would finally cool down, but it's no replacement to the midwest.

He walked with his hands in his hoodie pocket, down the block to the store.

He stepped through the automatic doors and made his way down to the produce section. He did actually need things to sustain himself. He perused into the frozen items section, glancing through the glass doors. He didn't hear the brooding figure that snuck up behind him.

Reyes stood beside him, clad in his rich burgundy coloured leather jacket. The scent of cologne prompted Jack to turn, nearly jumping out of his hide when he realized someone was beside him.

"Jesus-" He gasped, bringing a hand to his chest.

There was a low chuckle from the man beside him. He took a breath and smiled, then looked at the frozen food displays.

"You eat this shit?" Reyes asked, still grinning slightly.

Jack huffed and ran his hand over his hair as he collected himself.

"Yeah? I can't afford a beautiful dinner every night of the week." He answers plainly.

Gabriel pursed his lips and sucked in a calculated breath.

"Guy like you shouldn't be living offa this shit." He glanced back at Jack with a curious furrow in his eyebrow.

It was Jack's turn to laugh a bit.

"A guy like me doesn't have a choice, unfortunately." Jack has a small grin on his face as he goes back to his selection.

Gabriel checks the watch on his wrist, biting his tongue as he considers his options.

"I'd feel a lot better if you'd let me get you something. Hell, I'll cook for you, I don't have a bedtime." He has this sort of smug look on his face as he suggests this, like he already knows the answer.

Jack stares blankly at the steely man for a moment, unsure how to respond.

"What?" Real smooth, Jack.

Gabriel let out another grumbly laugh.

"I want to cook you dinner, sunshine. Just to spare you another night of this slop." He takes the TV dinner out of Jack's hands, the motion is gentle.

Jack is dumbfounded. He came here to ask for this man's number but Gabriel turned the whole encounter on its head. Jack's tongue feels heavy as a brick in his mouth, removing his ability to form a meaningful sentence. He nods his head.

"Y- yeah-" He stammered the word out.

Gabriel beamed as he led Jack out the door, paying for both of their groceries aside from the omitted frozen foods. Gabriel points down the block, opposite from Jack's route home.

"My apartment is down there two streets away. You don't mind a little walking?" He raises an eyebrow at the blonde man.

Jack shakes his head.

"Could probably use it, it's almost nice out here." Jack follows Gabriel along the battered sidewalk.

"You like colder weather?" Gabriel turns his upper half a bit to appear attentive.

"Absolutely. This city is like Hades every season but winter." Jack lets out a huff at this passionate subject.

"I take it you didn't grow up here." He can hear the smirk on Gabriel's face.

"No, I didn't."

"East Coast?" Gabriel guesses.

Jack shakes his head.

Gabriel narrows his eyes.

"Ohio?"

Jack shakes his head. "Close."

"No way- you're a farm boy, aren't you?"

Jack lets out a small laugh.

"Up until I was 19, yeah. I'm going to assume you can tell the rest." Jack puts his hands back into his hoodie pocket.

Gabriel nods, and gets a bit of a more resolute look on his face.

"Military." He pauses to look Jack up and down. "Boring wardrobe… can't figure out how a guy like you ends up in Los Angeles."

"Just imagine I closed my eyes and threw a dart at a map." Jack shrugs.

"Ohh… I'll have to make you dinner if I want more info huh." Gabriel shakes his head.

Jack laughs slightly. "I can't give up the mystery on the first night…"

"Damn you." Gabriel smiles as they fall into silence the rest of the way back to Gabriel's apartment.

[eritvita]

continued from x ;

@dumbthink

‘Tis Roland’s own fault, that delicious idol of the seated Great One to gasp at and to grab whence Roland were bed down in this alienated town; a thief, a cackling ne’er-do-well, and his van is safely juxtaposed by the main highway beyond a long walk past the beginning gates.

He sprints, and he cackles, and his leather satchel bangs heavily at his sprinting hip. “I beg thy pardon, stranger!” calls he, as a riot forms behind them; bright torches and rusted pitchforks upon the Modern Age, the townsfolk shouting for justice in this gray dawn of a new Day. “I hath snatched thee in animal survival to save a newcomer! Fated to meet thee!” shouts Roland, and laughs he hard and serpentines within this bouncing laughter.

[samsinghhinwick]

Sam Singh Hinwick House

Hinwick House is a magnificent Georgian mansion located in the picturesque countryside of Northamptonshire, England. Built in the early 18th century, the property has undergone numerous renovations and restorations over the years, including an extensive refurbishment in the 21st century that transformed the interior spaces into a luxurious and modern retreat.

The interior design of Sam Singh Hinwick House blends contemporary and classic styles to create a sophisticated and inviting atmosphere that celebrates the property's rich history while embracing modern comfort and functionality. The designer carefully selected furnishings, fabrics, and finishes that complement the architectural features of the house and create a harmonious and cohesive design scheme.

Upon entering the house, visitors are greeted by a grand foyer that sets the tone for the rest of the interior spaces. The foyer features a soaring ceiling, intricate moldings, and a stunning crystal chandelier that adds a touch of glamour to the space. The designer chose a neutral color palette of whites, creams, and grays for the walls and floors to create a serene backdrop for the furnishings and art.

The main living areas of Hinwick House are designed for entertaining and relaxation, with ample seating areas and plenty of natural light. The drawing room is a highlight of the house, with its tall windows, ornate fireplace, and elegant furnishings. The designer chose a mix of traditional and contemporary pieces for the space, including a plush velvet sofa, a pair of classic armchairs, and a modern glass coffee table. The walls are adorned with a collection of artwork that adds color and texture to the space.

The dining room at Hinwick House is equally impressive, with its high ceilings, intricate moldings, and dramatic chandelier. The designer chose a round table and upholstered chairs for the space, creating a cozy and intimate atmosphere for dinner parties. A large mirror on one wall reflects the light and adds depth to the room.

The kitchen at Hinwick House is a chef's dream, with state-of-the-art appliances, ample counter space, and a large island for food prep and casual dining. The designer chose a mix of materials for the space, including marble, stainless steel, and wood, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere that blends seamlessly with the rest of the house.

The bedrooms at Hinwick House are designed for comfort and relaxation, with plush bedding, soft lighting, and elegant furnishings. The master suite is particularly luxurious, with its king-sized bed, sitting area, and en suite bathroom. The designer chose a mix of fabrics for the space, including silk, velvet, and linen, creating a sumptuous and inviting atmosphere.

The bathrooms at Hinwick House are equally impressive, with their high-end fixtures, luxurious materials, and spa-like atmosphere. The designer chose marble, glass, and polished chrome for the finishes, creating a sleek and modern look that is both functional and beautiful.

The library at Hinwick House is a cozy and inviting space, with its built-in bookshelves, comfortable armchairs, and warm lighting. The designer chose a mix of leather and fabric for the furnishings, creating a comfortable and inviting atmosphere for reading and relaxation.

The outdoor spaces at Hinwick House are equally impressive, with their manicured lawns, colorful gardens, and stunning views of the surrounding countryside. The designer created several seating areas for outdoor entertaining, including a covered terrace with a fireplace and a poolside lounge area with comfortable chairs and umbrellas.

In conclusion, the interior design of Hinwick House is a testament to the skill and creativity of the designer. With its blend of classic and contemporary styles, luxurious materials, and attention to detail, the house is a stunning example of modern luxury that celebrates the property's rich history and natural beauty. Whether relaxing in the elegant living spaces, enjoying a gourmet meal in the dining room, or unwinding in one of the luxurious

[kaashni-co-in]

Danish modern interior design: simple and functional

Danish modern interior design is characterized by its simplicity, functionality, and focus on quality craftsmanship. It emerged in Denmark in the mid-20th century and has since become a popular interior design style around the world.

The hallmark of Danish modern design is its clean lines and minimalist approach. Furniture pieces are often designed with a focus on functionality and practicality, without sacrificing aesthetic appeal. Natural materials such as wood and leather are favored, and pieces are often left unfinished or with a light stain to showcase the natural beauty of the material.

Danish modern interior design is the emphasis on functionality. Every item in the space serves a purpose, and there is no excess clutter or decoration. This minimalist approach creates a calm and uncluttered environment, which is ideal for relaxation and focus.

The key features of Danish modern interior design include clean lines, natural materials, and a neutral color palette. The furniture is often made from materials such as wood, leather, and metal, and features simple, geometric shapes. Danish modern designers also prioritize functionality, so furniture pieces are often designed with multiple purposes in mind.

The color palette of Danish modern design is typically muted and neutral, with shades of white, gray, beige, and black being common. This allows the natural materials and simple forms of the furniture to take center stage.

Another defining feature of Danish modern design is the use of lighting to create a warm and cozy atmosphere. Lighting fixtures are often designed with a minimalist approach, using simple shapes and natural materials like wood and metal. This helps to create a sense of hygge, which is a Danish word that means "coziness" or "contentment."

Another important aspect of Danish modern design is the use of space. Rooms are designed to be open and uncluttered, with an emphasis on creating a sense of calm and serenity. Multi-functional pieces of furniture are also common, with items such as a coffee table that can be transformed into a dining table, or a sofa that can be converted into a guest bed.

Danish modern design has been popular for decades and continues to be a sought-after style in both homes and businesses. Its clean, functional aesthetic is perfect for those who value simplicity and understated elegance. Whether you're looking to redecorate your home or add a touch of Scandinavian charm to your business, Danish modern design is a timeless choice.

Finally, Danish modern design places a strong emphasis on craftsmanship and quality. The furniture and decor in these spaces are often made by hand, using traditional techniques and high-quality materials. This attention to detail and quality ensures that the space is not only beautiful but also durable and long-lasting.

Overall, Danish modern design is a style that values simplicity, functionality, and quality craftsmanship. It is a timeless style that has stood the test of time and continues to be a popular choice for those who appreciate understated elegance and practicality.

[arvfurniture-blog-blog]

Contemporary furniture often features clean lines, minimalist designs, and a focus on functionality, with a blend of modern aesthetics and comfort. Here are some highlights of contemporary furniture pieces, specifically from ARV Furniture:

1. Sleek Designs: ARV Furniture's contemporary pieces often have smooth surfaces and simple forms, with an emphasis on clean, straight lines and geometric shapes. The use of materials like metal, glass, and wood adds to the sleek and modern look. 2. Neutral Color Palettes: Many pieces from ARV Furniture are available in neutral tones like white, gray, black, and beige, which fit well into various modern decor styles. These neutral colors provide a versatile foundation that can easily be accented with bold colors or textures. 3. Functionality and Comfort: Contemporary furniture from ARV focuses on both form and function. Pieces like recliner sofas, modular seating, and multi-purpose tables reflect this balance. Comfort is also a priority, with ergonomic designs and plush materials. 4. Use of Modern Materials: ARV Furniture incorporates a mix of materials, such as metal frames with wooden or glass accents, and often uses engineered wood for durability and a modern appearance. Upholstery options include leather, faux leather, and high-quality fabrics. 5. Innovative Storage Solutions: Many contemporary furniture pieces from ARV include built-in storage options, such as beds with storage drawers, multi-functional coffee tables, and wall units with shelving. These designs cater to the needs of smaller living spaces and enhance practicality. 6. Customization Options: ARV Furniture offers customization options for some contemporary pieces, allowing customers to select finishes, colors, and configurations that best suit their space and style. 7. Eco-Friendly Choices: Some pieces are designed with sustainability in mind, using eco-friendly materials and processes that align with contemporary values of environmental responsibility. These highlights reflect ARV Furniture's commitment to offering stylish, functional, and versatile contemporary furniture that complements modern living spaces