#this is last minute on the last day of December

[ninjasmudge]

mermaidsss for may

balthazar is @purrpurra's goat and malachi is @revenhaunted's goat bc we play with them altogether and i cant separate them. theyre all an underwater gang dont get on their bad side

[ellewritesx]

breach of contract

(part six of the sugar, baby series)

Summary: You give him silence. He gives you the truth.

Warnings: sugardaddy arrangement, mentions of past sex, lots of feels, that's it really

A/N: hi lovelies! a lot of you had a lot of different opinions on how this part should go. i wrote it in a way that feels natural to harry and y/n, and to me as the author. i hope you guys love it as much as i do!!! a song that really helped me while writing is ''back to december (taylor's version)'' by taylor swift which captures this part perfectly imo, definitely recommend listening to it as you read this x

Word Count: 3,531

...

The gallery is bathed in a soft light, the kind that glazes over skin and oil paint alike, smearing everything in gold. The room is warm with conversation, the low chatter of art lovers sipping cheap wine and throwing around words like ''contrast'' and ''intent''.

You stand somewhere near the center, smiling softly for the camera, one arm thrown around your friend's shoulder as she beams proudly in front of the exhibit wall.

You're in one of the photos. Well, you are the photo. Printed large, mounted on white canvas, your silhouette lit with honeyed shadows and smoke. You helped out with the shoot weeks ago, before everything fell apart. Before Harry stopped asking you to come over. Before you stopped waiting for him to ask.

Your friend had begged to take your photo when one of her models canceled last-minute. Something about an accident on the highway causing ''an impossible traffic jam, Y/N''. Despite your initial reluctance, you agreed. It was mortifying, being in front of the camera. You had felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment when you recalled the events to Harry later that same night.

He'd said he would come. Said it so casually, in passing, fingers brushing your hip absentmindedly in bed. You didn't really believe him then, and you definitely don't now.

You wear something new tonight. Bought with your own money. A slip dress in a color that makes your skin glow and your eyes sharper than usual. You didn't put on much makeup, didn't fuss with your hair, prioritizing your own comfort. It'll be a long night, after all.

You don't see him at first.

But he sees you.

Harry walks in through the side entrance, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his dark wool coat. His hair is pushed back haphazardly, his jaw unshaven, like he hasn't really slept in a few days. He hasn't. Not properly, not since you walked out. The air in the gallery is cooler than he expected, but the moment he sees you there, speaking animately to a cluster of strangers, lit softly by gallery lights like the portrait of you on the wall, his skin heats from the inside.

He had worried he would never see your face again. He was sure you wouldn't hear him out if he asked, and he wouldn't know what to say to you even if you did. But then he remembered you mentioning it, offhandedly, weeks ago. Laying in his bed, bare-legged and sleepy, lips sticky from wine and your marshmellow lip balm. You had laughed bashfully, said something like, "She's showing her exhibition next month. I think she's using one of the shots I'm in. Can you believe it, Harry? Me? Hanging in an art gallery?"

He'd told you he would come. He wasn't sure if he would. Hadn't cared at the time. Or pretended not to.

But now he's here.

And there you are. Fucking radiant.

You're laughing, head tipped back, a glass of wine dangling from your fingers. There's a group of people around you, friends of your friend, probably. One of the guys leans in a bit too close when he talks, not quite flirting, but not just being friendly either.

Harry doesn't blink. Just watches.

Jealousy washes over his body like a current, but he doesn't move. Doesn't stomp over and drag you by the wrist like that night at the bar. He stays near the back, one hand clenched around a drink that's too weak for he's liking. He's not even sure how he got here. It's like he's been sleepwalking for weeks, just going through the motions, only snapping out of it when he saw you just now.

He doesn't belong here. Not in this state, wrinkled blouse, hair curled messily over his ears, a tiredness under his eyes that's deeper than just insomnia. It's regret. Resignation. But he's not leaving either.

And then you feel it.

That prickle at the base of your neck. The weight of his gaze.

You don't turn immediately, don't give in to the urge to search the room for that presence, looming in a dark corner like a storm cloud. But something in you stills. Anchors. When you finally glance over your shoulder, when your eyes land on the tall figure standing at the far edge of the gallery, spine straight against a wall, you know.

He came.

His eyes meet yours across the room. He doesn't look away.

Your stomach drops.

He looks out of place, like he didn't mean to be here but couldn't stay away. Dark trousers, open collar, silver rings glinting as he tugs his hand through his hair. He looks like he hasn't slept in days. Like he's been unraveling by the hour.

His jaw is set. You know that look. That rigid line of his jaw, clenched so tightly it could shatter teeth. You've seen it in bars and on planes, in arguments that left you breathless and silent treatments that lasted days. It's his tell, his dead giveaway. That he's spiraling. That he's seconds from doing something he'll regret.

And yet tonight, he stays rooted. One hand loose at his side, the other clutching his drink. Breathing through it. Usually he would have stalked over immediately, pulled you by the wrist, caused a scene. But he's not approaching, and that's the strangest part.

Harry Styles doesn't do restraint. Or at least, he didn't. Especially not when it came to you, when it came to his belongings. Every emotion he felt was something he let devour him, let spill onto you like a heavy rainfall: jealousy, fury, lust.

But now, standing across the gallery floor, you see the restraint in every inch of his body. The way he doesn't interrupt. Doesn't insert himself. Doesn't act like he owns you. And that quiet refusal to unravel says more than any apology ever could.

You're not sure why it matters so much, this one, subtle thing. The way he just stands there and watches. The way he lets you laugh and drink and exist without immediately laying claim. But it does matter. It matters because for once, you don't feel like a possession being policed. You feel like a person. Like someone he sees as separate from him. And God, that shouldn't feel revolutionary… but it does.

Your heart kicks up, but you don't let it show. Instead, you lift your chin and hold your ground as you approach him, deliberately, taking your time. And you're surprised he lets you. Doesn't try to assert dominance by beating you to it. Doesn't move to meet you halfway. For once, he just... watches you come to him on your own terms.

''Didn't think you'd come,'' you say, voice light.

His eyes flick toward the man not far behind you, the one who's already engaged in another conversation but keeps shooting you discreet glances, checking you out. He doesn't comment on it.

''You look good,'' he says instead, eyeing you up and down. His face is indifferent, but his voice is soft, vulnerable. You wouldn't have been able to tell if you didn't know him as well as you do.

You nod once. ''Thanks. I bought the dress myself.''

The words land like a knife. A silence stretches between you, taut and sparkling with tension. You don't offer him comfort. He doesn't reach for you. It's the first time you feel like you're equals.

''Well, it looks beautiful on you. You're beautiful,'' he tells you sincerely, offering you a small nod.

You quirk a brow in suspicion and meet his gaze, steady and unflinching. "Why are you really here, Harry?"

He swallows, hesitating. You don't say ''You weren't supposed to come''. Because he knows that. You don't say ''I didn't want to see you''. Because it would be a lie.

He says nothing for a moment. Then, quietly, "I said I'd come."

You stare at him. ''That was before.''

He nods. ''Still meant it.''

You don't know what to say to that. You blink.

Your mouth opens, then closes. He watches you carefully, as if memorizing your reaction. You can tell he wants to say more, it's clear in the way his lips part, the way his hands fidget subtly at his sides, but he stops himself. You notice it.

You glance back at your friends, who are entertaining a group of visitors that has just arrived while sending you looks that scream ''help!''. You're the one who's supposed to be showing people around the gallery, a task you didn't sign up for, but surprisingly haven't minded doing as much as you thought you would.

''They're waiting for me,'' you say quietly.

''I can wait too.''

That makes you pause.

Harry Styles. Waiting. He's been doing a lot of that today. Waiting for you to come to him, for you to speak. Let's see how long he's willing to wait before he loses his patience.

You nod slowly. ''Okay. Then wait.''

You walk away.

...

Harry doesn't know what he expected, showing up like this. All he knows is that when he opened that last box and saw the necklace, the one he'd put so much thought into, just imagining about how it would rest beneath your collarbone, something cracked. And the silence since then has been loud in a way money can't fix.

You had sent everything back. And yet, he still smells you in his apartment. Still hears your soft laughter in the way the air feels at night. Still wakes up reaching for something that isn't there.

He hadn't planned on coming. Not really. But his car pulled up to the gallery anyway, and he was already halfway through the doors before he realized what he was doing. Something about that damn necklace. The cold finality of it. The way it curled around itself in the box like it understood the weight of the gesture.

And now he's here. And he can't stop looking at you.

You're alive in a way he hasn't seen in days. Weeks, maybe. Your lips shine under the gallery lights, and your dress fits you like a glove, accentuating all your features.

Every second you don't look at him slices clean through the center of his chest.

He tells himself this is fine. You're allowed to live your own life. To have your own space. That's what he's supposed to do, right? Give you space? That's what a better man would do. And after that night, after the way he had let himself take out his anger on you, then discarded you like he couldn't even stand to be around you, he knows he doesn't get to decide anything anymore.

Still, his hands curl into fists every time someone leans in too close to whisper something in your ear.

Especially the guy in the grey blazer, who's had his hand on your waist for a beat too long. Harry swears the floor tilts beneath him.

He wants you to know he's here. Wants you to feel his presence, even if you won't touch him.

He wouldn't blame you if this was what you wanted. If that dress, that laugh, that softness you're wrapping the room in isn't meant for him anymore. Because maybe he really did ruin it. Maybe all the years of being wanted for what he could give, not who he was, have made it impossible for him to understand when someone chooses to stay. Maybe he wouldn't believe you ever would.

But he can't stop thinking about the way you curled into his side after he fucked you. The way your fingertips would brush his wrist when you were trying to say something you weren't sure he was ready to hear. The way you always bite the inside of your cheek when you try to stifle a giggle at one of his dumb jokes.

He can't stop thinking about that night in Paris. Not about the sex. Not about the view. Just the way you both stayed up talking long after the room went quiet, wine glasses half-full on the nightstand, your eyes sparkling in the dim light when you told him he wasn't as unreadable as he liked to think. That you saw through him. And that maybe that didn't have to be such a bad thing.

That was the moment he started to lose.

No, started to fall.

He doesn't want to admit it, not even now. He's not sure he's ready. But he's never been able to forget it.

And that necklace? He doesn't want it in a box. He wants it where it belongs, around your neck, where everybody can see it. Not to claim you. But to remind himself that not everything has to be bought to be cherished. That you chose him.

You glance in his direction, your eyes meeting across the room. You've been waiting. Not out of cruelty or revenge. Well, revenge is definitely a bonus. But mainly because you want to know what he'll do if you don't come running to him for once.

The look in your eyes does something to him. Because when you finally look at him, it's not cold. It's not kind, either. It's something in between. Something that tells him you're still deciding.

He straightens.

Because if you're still deciding… he still has a chance.

He takes a step forward. Your facial expression doesn't change. You don't stop him, but you don't turn toward him either.

So he waits. Just one more second. One more breath. If you want him to come to you, you'll make it clear. And if not… he'll stay here. He'll wait all night.

But if you give him the signal, any signal, he'll cross the fucking floor like he's reaching for salvation. He's not sure when it happened, but somewhere between the first payment and the last goodbye, he stopped wanting to own you.

And started wanting to deserve you.

You nod.

A small, almost imperceptible movement, but he catches it like a bullet to the chest. That tiny gesture is all the permission he's been holding out for. His limbs uncoil, and he moves, slow, cautious, like you're a flame he's afraid to smother. Or be burned by.

You excuse yourself from your group, ignoring the teasing grin your friend throws over her shoulder. Your heels click softly against the gallery's marble floors, the sound steady despite the unstable pounding in your chest. You don't wait to see if he follows.

You already know he will.

The elevator ride is silent. You press the button for the rooftop, never turning to look at him. You can feel his presence like a pull on your skin, taut and tense, straining between want and hesitance. The metal doors close and it's just you two now, caught in that strange in-between where anything could happen and nothing might.

When the doors slide open, you're the first to step out into the cool air. The rooftop is empty, just like you hoped. Everyone else is still inside, drinking, mingling, discussing art. The afterparty isn't for a few hours, so it's quiet here, the hum of the bustling city below you like a soft lullaby. String lights cast a faint golden glow overhead, softening the edges of everything.

But not him.

He's all sharp lines and shadows when he steps up beside you. Hands tucked into his coat pockets, jaw clenched, curls ruffled from the wind and repeatedly running his hand through them.

You stand with your arms crossed over your chest, pretending to admire the skyline while your pulse thunders under your skin. He lingers a few feet behind, just close enough for you to feel him. The heat of his body. The heaviness of his stare.

You can tell he's working something out in his head, because he's quiet, but you don't speak right away. Let the silence stretch, let it test him. Because the last time he opened his mouth, you walked out of his apartment with shaking hands and mascara-stained cheeks.

He breaks first.

''I didn't know if I'd ever see you again.''

You inhale slowly. ''And yet you came.''

His eyes flicker to yours. ''Said I would.''

''You said a lot of things, Harry.''

You hear the shift in his breath, a sharp inhale like he's bracing himself. ''You're angry.''

''No,'' you say. ''I'm tired.''

The words hit heavier than they should. He takes a tentative step closer, like he's afraid of startling you over the edge. ''Look, I didn't come here to fight—''

''Then why are you here?” You face him fully now, arms still folded as if to shield yourself from the upcoming conflict. ''Because if you're looking for a reason to punish me again, I'm fresh out.''

He flinches. ''I'm not. I'm not... Fuck. That night, I wasn't trying to—''

''You were angry,'' you cut in. ''And I was convenient. That's the whole point of the arrangement, isn't it?''

''No. It's not.'' His voice sharpens. ''It wasn't supposed to go like this.''

''But it did.''

He looks at you then, and you know he sees it, the shift in you. How this version of you doesn't cry, doesn't beg. You're not trying to change his mind or shrink yourself down just to fit into whatever space he was willing to make for you.

He runs a hand through his hair. ''You think I don't know I fucked up? That night... I wasn't angry at you. I was angry at myself. For letting it get that far. For wanting more. I lashed out. Because that's what I do, isn't it? I ruin things before they can ruin me.''

You look at him then, really look at him. And what you see isn't the controlled, calculated man who drew up contracts and handed you credit cards like they were shackles physically bounding you to him.

What you see is a man who's unraveling in front of you, who's scared, who's hurting, who doesn't know how to ask to be loved without bleeding out.

''You didn't just ruin things,'' you say softly. ''You ruined me, Harry.''

He looks like he might fall apart.

Your voice is steadier than you feel when you continue. ''I spent weeks wondering what I did wrong. What I could've said, or done, to make you want to keep me around. When I didn't hear from you after that night, I told myself that was it. That I needed to be strong. That if this was going to end, I'd end it with dignity.''

That shuts him up.

For a moment, all you can hear is the faint thump of music through the floor, the whistle of the wind around the rooftop. You glance over and find him staring at you like he's never seen you before. Or maybe like he's finally seeing you clearly.

''I got the boxes,'' he says suddenly.

Your stomach tightens. You look away, suddenly fascinated by a crack in the concrete beneath your feet. ''Good.''

Something cracks in his chest then. You see it, the way his jaw clenches, how he presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek like he's trying not to say something stupid.

''You returned everything,'' he says softly. ''Your dresses. Your perfume. That fucking necklace.''

Your fingers instinctively curl around the necklace you're wearing now. It doesn't mean nearly as much to you as that fucking daisy does. You miss it. The comfort of it, the reminder of Harry.

''You returned everything but the memories.''

You blink. ''What?''

''I've been going insane, Y/N,'' he chokes out, tugging on his hair in frustration. No, desperation. ''I've been moving through my apartment like a fucking zombie. I can't walk into my kitchen without seeing your coffee mug. I can't open my closet without thinking of you in my hoodie. You're not there, but it's like you never left.''

You watch him struggle. Watch him grip the railing before him like it's the only thing holding him upright, before continuing.

''Everything still smells like you. Your shampoo's in the shower. I find your hair ties everywhere. I can't throw out that fucking flower. And those boxes... Those boxes gutted me. Because you didn't just return my money. You returned everything that connected us. Every single thing I used to not lose the privilege of calling you mine.''

You swallow thickly, caught between wanting to scream and wanting to kiss him. ''It was in the contract,'' you say evenly.

''To hell with the contract,'' he spits, voice cracking. ''I'm fucking in love with you.''

The rooftop goes still.

Your heart slams into your ribs like it's trying to claw out of your chest. His eyes widen, terrified of what he just admitted, but there's a strange sense of relief in his expression too, like he just came up for a deep breath after nearly drowning.

You stare at him, lips parted, frozen in place. You don't move. Don't blink. The words hang between you like a match, suspended and burning. Harry stares at you, chest rising and falling heavily, like confessing the truth is the hardest thing he's ever done.

And maybe it is.

...

thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕

sugar, baby series tag list

@indierockgirrl @prettygurl-2009 @cherryflavoredbyme @dipmeinhoneyh @haliastyless @drewrry @maddiesalvatore1839 @robinsue87 @zoraaasyd @sincerely-yours-marsbar @m0mmyfromtarget @maudie-duan @hoolabalooba @hisparentsgallerryy @txmhxllqnd @harringtonhundreds @freddyselmstreet @caynonmoondreams @matildasatellite @ilovezaynmalik08 @looney-goose @call1800coochie @nostalgiainmybones @billweasleyswife @hailiex @lichi-dunkera @tchlamqtsgf @kiszkas-canvas

general tag list

@2601-london @mads3502 @angeldavis777 @run-for-the-hills @postsexfistbump @hobireasns @madilee7802 @spinninc @practistyles @qrapejuices

...

[getonite]

hiiii! seen a couple of people do this, plus i realized i don't appreciate my mutuals as much as i should. and since the year is ending (literally today), i thought i'd appreciate y'all for a lil bit.

→ if the tagging irritated you, i apologize 🙏🏾. if i missed you, lmk, i was 100% half asleep while making this! (this is actually so embarrassing ngl. but i luv yall 🫶🏾)

(🎧 : avian) → @sensivs

starting off with my pookie with a beautiful (horny) brain. im dead fucking serious i have zero idea how we became mutuals (🧍🏾‍♂️). i just remembering talking to you one day, and the we were having full conversations in dms lmaoo. an emoji ring, helios, an unborn baby (??), and multiple fic ideas...now we're at the end of the year. i really appreciate you and all of your chaotic energy, it made me laugh! and all of your prompts are immaculate (🤌🏽). i await the days you post more fics or drabbles so i can support you the way you have me! :) luv u pooks, i def wanna ramble u more about hcs!

→ (i sound like im about to die omg)

(🎧 : snail/seraph) → @flimsyichigo

again, zero fucking idea when we became mutuals (i don't remember shit). we don't talk too often but i be seein you likeing my horrendously down bad and chaotic thoughts...i appreciate you bro (🙏🏾). i love your fluffy blue lock sruff, and your overall vibes are (yes, through the screen) amazing! thank you for dealing with my bullshit.

→ (as i type this, i realize just how many mutuals i have jeez, (half of which i barely talk to but still))

(🎧 : ame) → @pastelclovds

ameeeee, number 1 ive always loved your writing (iterally giggling and kicking my feet as i press the like button). your themes r so fucking gorgeous omg. we don't talk as often, but i love when we do interact. i hope we can more (im just easily embarrassed).

→ (i sound like a teenager leaving a love letter in a locker. omggggg)

(🎧 : ace ) → @acefantasyy

another person who puts up with my horrendously down bad bullshit takes. i applaude you for dealing with my ass lmaoo. but, on another note, i smile when i see you in my notes (no, i didn't originally mean that 2 b a joke). i really appreciate the reply you made when i went on a little break, thank you! i hope you continue to deal me, and i hope we interact more!

→ (i really gotta start talkin 2 yall more)

(🎧 : riri) → @pynkkgeto

we're friends irl. i don't have 2 say shit 4 u (luv uuu 🫶🏾)

(🎧 : rome) → @satocidal

yet another person who delt with my nonsense lol. you're quite busy, so you won't see this for a second. but thank you for being awesome and making me laugh with your naobito jokes. thank for the reply you left when i was the one going on break. hope all goes well for you!

(🎧 : idk ur name TvT) → @infrunamie

i feel so bad omg. but i wanted to appreciate your writing for a sec. whether its a drabble, headcanons, a fic, or just 100 words, your brain is miraculous when you write cuz it always leads to me wanted more. seriously, i love it. i was actually shocked you followed me, literally looked up to your writing ong (🙏🏾). i love it when you show up in my notes even if it's just a like. thank you for your reply when i went on break, trust, all of them got me through those shitty ass exams! ty!

→ (im sure this isn't what my therapist meant by being outgoing but im gunna do ts anyway)

(🎧 : spirit) → @spiritfrvr

literally the best vibes on earth i swear. your blog is like a fluffy hug omg. and (imo), you kinda bring that over to other blogs. i'd really like to talk to you more and ramble about random shit! :)

(🎧 : arlan) → @asuyaka

your drabbles r so cuuutee! i love them so much omg. especially the taking care of suguru one! i was surprised you liked my writing sm, and i love yours the same! i really appreciate the little reply under the break post and the christmas tree! seeing notifs of u makes me smile!

(🎧 : qi) → @yaekiss

i don't think we've been mutuals for too long, but omg we reeally should speak more!! i loved your message on the christmas tree! i love the vibe and look of your blog omg. i hope we can interact more!

(🎧 : juno) → @arlertdarling

hi junooo! ty for the message on my christmas tree, and i agree! we really should interact more! you seem like a realllly cool person, plus im on my fucking knees for your writing, dead serious. hope we can talk more, i hope you have a great 2024!

→ (srsly, y tf do i sound like im moving far away or smth TvT)

(🎧 : najma) → @honeybleed

ilysm ong. number one, we cousins (😔✊🏾; im joking pls help), number two, your theme was downright gorgeous (still is), number three, your writing it delicious. i haven't had too much time lately, buuut, i love how you post content that isn't completely smut (as a smut blog that fails at angst lol). its nice to get a break and see fluffy or angsty stuff in the tags instead of the same repeated material. you know you what you like and you stand firm in what you say (i need 2 b more like u fr), and your overall vibes are amazing! i love seeing your anime takes omg. i hope we can interact more in 2024!

→ (that kinda rhymed...and unrelated, but im listening to the mean girls soundtrack or 4 hours of sleep writing this)

(🎧 : yoru) → @dilfverz

number one, thank you for the messege on my christmas tree. number two, your so cool (😭). i love your themes and your writing, how you interact with ppl and anons is funny lol. literally look up to your writing ngl. i super appreciate your for explaining genshin impact to me, cuz im definitely not playing that damn game lol. your reblogs and likes in my notes make me wanna cry ngl. thank you for being so cool! (🙏🏾)

→ (am i over using emojis? i am so tired omg)

(🎧 : sy) → @wrizzesley

we just became mutuals like a week ago lmaoo. but i love your writing so much. and your themes?!?! (:O). i know damn well that shit is time consuming and exhausting, i applaud you, i could never lol. but anyway, i hope we can interact more in this new year. i think your really cool!

(🎧 : astro? idk im so sorry) → @astroknottt

i love your writing holy fuck. but other than that, i love it when you reblog my stuff! esp with those little comments, they've given me a bunch of motivation. and seeing you write such toe curling shit, that gives me motivation too! hope we can interact some more in the new year!

→ (pls ignore my silent pleas for help in these notes, but my vision is wonky. i promise im going to sleep in a second)

(🎧 : ) → @naee0

your probably locked out of tumblr again lol. but if you see this, thank you for your chaotic energy! and even if it was one sentence, what you sent on thr break post, i really appreciate it! even if you or me aren't on tumblr much, i hope we can interact a bit more! you're pretty cool! and i loved those drabbles. i hope your doing great!

PRODUCER MESSEGE: "i think that was all. again, if i missed you, please lmk. i might have been blind (my eyes prolly look like that squidward meme). but i appreciate all of you! thank you, and pls dont hate me 🙏🏾"

[somegrumpynerd]

charlie ily and i so appreciate your irish luck but unfortunately it has not worked bc i am STILL HERE! it's almost 5pm! and i might have to come back!

(im so sorry to complain in your inbox im just shuffling around in a hallway Waiting so ive come to bug you lol)

UGH that sucks I'm so sorry D: Waiting around for stuff is an absolute nightmare, I really really hope you don't get picked and can go home. Here lemme try and concentrate my irish beams

[magefeathers]

You know what, the truly insane sleep token fans must all be on youtube music, because I spent 27,000 minutes listening to them on spotify which put me in the top 0.05% and nearly 44,000 minutes listening to them on ytm and I'm only in the top 1% lmao

[epicdogymoment]

linesssss. done. i believe..... i can do it.............

[neondiamond]

.

[alchemiclee]

3d printed a bailu :3 next step is paint her

[bluebellthesponge]

i completely forgot that my own copy of the communist manifesto includes historical artwork to illustrate the ideas and talking points with artwork

obviously reading material it’s not necessary at all but i just think it’s neat that the copy 16 year old me found at a half price books happened to be this one

[scorpiusmalfoylovesoscarwilde]

MY MUM JUST BOUGHT ME AND HER TICKETS TO SEE SIX?? UNPROMPTED???? SHE IS THE MOST CONFUSING WOMAN ALIVE??????? BUT YAAAAAYYYY

[dear-ao3]

so. as you may know it’s christmas eve. as you probably don’t know i am eastern european. and probably the only real tradition anyone holds onto is christmas eve. normally my great aunt does all the food and very begrudgingly sometimes lets everyone help make like. one thing.

well.

this year. the year of our lord two thousand and twenty four. she decided she was done cooking and it was up to everyone else.

so i got a phone call from my mom a few weeks ago being like hey so. you’re making the cake. got it? good.

the cake in question is a walnut cake. i was entrusted with my great aunts recipe about seven years ago. i’ve made it twice. the first time i fucked up the frosting quantity. the second time i fucked up the eggs. both times were passable at best and notably! my great aunt did not taste either of them.

and i have to make this cake. on christmas eve. it is dessert. for everyone. my extended family will all be eating the cake. the walnut cake. on christmas eve. even my great aunt.

so yesterday, december 23 if you are counting, i went on the annual Last Minute Christmas Food Shopping Trip with my father, watched him climb into the case to get his half and half like he does every year, and stressed about my cake as i made sure i had all of the ingredients.

then. we went to my great aunts house. where i was met with Trial Number 1: The Cognac

this cake has cognac in the frosting. not a big deal really. except for the fact that my mom hates that there is cognac in the frosting. (my mom is hell bent on making christmas eve dinner vaguely healthier. no one else agrees.) and i was to be making the cake in my moms house.

also important to note: we (as in my parents) do not own cognac. mostly because none of us drink.

so my great aunt is like oh i have to give you the cognac. cause she knows. i am baking the cake. the walnut cake. (my dad told her. he is a traitor). and i say okay. sure. this won’t be a problem at all.

so she gives me. a shot of cognac. and when i say a shot. i mean an Entirely Full Shot Glass of Three Hundred Dollar Cognac. in a jar. for the cake. the walnut cake. that i have to make.

upon bringing the cognac home my mom says no we’re not putting that in. the cognac sits on the counter in its jar. no one touches it.

then i was met with Trial Number 2: The Frosting.

this recipe requires a pound of chopped walnuts. first. i couldn’t even find the walnuts. my sister and i searched high and low and in every cabinet we could find but no nuts. i called my mom. and said mom where are the walnuts? and she said. “they’re in the nut bag behind the basement door.”

oh of course. how could i have missed the nut bag? a holiday bag full of bags of nuts that was half hidden by wrapping paper and also behind a door?

in any case. could i have used a food processor? absolutely. did i? no. half because i forgot and half because i didn’t want to accidentally grind the walnuts into a paste. so i enlisted the help of my younger sister to chop the walnuts By Hand while i embarked on the real devil: the frosting.

which remember. is supposed to have cognac.

so i cream my butter. i add my sugar. i’m careful not to over sugar. i taste it a million times. i add my coffee and my vanilla extract (instead of cognac. which is still sitting on the counter) and it was all going so well until. the butter rebelled.

now remember. one time when i made this. seven years ago. i made too little frosting. so i made more this time. and i thought i had all my conversions right but evidently i did not because suddenly there was too much liquid in my frosting and it split.

the frosting for the walnut cake that everyone was going to eat. on christmas eve. the very next day.

i felt like a contestant on great british bake-off getting smited by the tent.

so i did the logical thing and shoved the whole mess into the fridge hoping that it would sort itself out overnight.

then it was time to face Trial Number Three: The Cake Itself.

as i have said this cake is a walnut cake. the christmas eve walnut cake that has been at christmas eve longer than i have been alive. and it requires no less than ten egg whites. which i whipped and i added to my walnuts and shoved the whole thing into the oven in my two baking dishes.

only to discover no less than 40 minutes later that the batter in the pans was Not Even (despite my best efforts). so i cooked one longer than the other and hoped that i hadn’t monumentally fucked up the walnut cake. like i had the frosting. which was in the fridge. and i was ignoring.

which leads to Trial Number Four: The Egg Yolk Cake

see i had ten egg yolks. i didn’t know what to do with them. my mom said flush them. my dad said make a custard. i proposed making egg nog. my mom said she didn’t want it in the house cause it was too fattening (a blatantly incorrect statement. please, if you are reading this, go drink a glass of eggnog. or some other fun festive drink. food is for the soul.) so i produced a recipe for an egg yolk pound cake. i made it. i still don’t know if it came out good cause i haven’t tasted it. i hope it did. but that was not the point. the point is the walnut cake. the christmas eve walnut cake.

and the following morning i was met with Trial Number Five: The Frosting Part 2

first i threw my failed frosting back in the mixer and it immediately secreted a brackish combination of vanilla extract and coffee so i did the only thing i could. facetimed my dad and said “father there are problems abound.” and he gave me the fatherly advice of “make it again.”

and so i did.

with more correct measurements. still scared it would split at any second.

though it didn’t.

and i didn’t add the cognac.

maybe no one will be able to tell???

my mom said that if anyone asks the first batch of frosting failed and i had to toss it. this is technically true.

but i had frosting. i had two uneven cakes. and it was time for Trial Number Six: Decorating

decorating cakes is easily in my top ten least favorite activities. decorating the christmas eve walnut cake is easily in my top three least favorite activities. because i am terrible at decorating cakes. and also because it has a filling.

the filling is jam. and i once again made the wrong choice because i put the jam on first before the frosting. which to be fair is what the directions say. but as everyone knows, the directions in recipes you get from your eastern european great aunt are not the real directions. so now i had to smear butter cream. on top of jam. for the filling of the walnut cake. for christmas eve. that we would be eating in a few hours.

and we didn’t have a cake plate. we had a large dish.

i had to use my fingers. i had to use three spatulas. i got jam everywhere. but i did it. and as soon as i set the top cake on top of the filling i realized my monumental mistake: i was supposed to trim down the cakes.

so now they were uneven. and lopsided. and there was nothing i, a mere mortal tasked with the impossible task of making christmas eve walnut cake, could do about it.

so i continued to spread my frosting. which i had enough of. and tried and failed to not get jam everywhere.

in the end it was almost presentable. not great. slightly lopsided. and definitely not as nice as any of my great aunts cakes.

which left me with Trial Number 7: Chilling It

our fridge was being taken up by other important christmas eve things (though not as important as my cake. the walnut cake) so i had to put it in the car. which was fine because there is snow on the ground.

i covered my cake. the walnut cake. in tin foil and hoped i wouldn’t accidentally squish it. and then i went outside. i tried to steal my moms shoes to walk outside. she was not impressed.

“you know, saph,” she said. “some of the time you’re pretty great. the other half of the time you’re really weird.”

i could not agree more.

i put my cake on the trunk. prayed to the cake gods and went inside.

on the one hand if the cake is good, i will be stuck making walnut cake for christmas eve for the rest of my life. on the other hand, if it sucks i will never have to make another one.

Trial Number Eight: The Tasting still waits.

[broke-on-books]

Ok turned in my port assignment. I'm abt an hour late on the submission but I'm going to hope she just doesn't care + I apologized in my email soooooo I think we're good. She's going through it atm anyways so I'm hoping the flexibility goes both ways and whatnot. That said I did ask for a 1 day extension on the last writing assgmt too back in early November so she could be justified in taking off points but like why would she pleaseeee Rachel nooooo. I did write my email in English though so maybe I need to die for that idk

I guess we'll see but it'll be fine. Besides we had a quiz earlier, the writing activity due tonight and an exam Friday just in this class like I think we can let 50 minutes slide here

[suus91]

Save our life !!❤️🥹

Hello again, I live in war, fear and destruction, we have been living for almost a year now but we do not know how long, we have been displaced from our home more than 11 times,

every time I was displaced to another place I prayed that this would be the last, but then came the idea of ​​​​forced exit to search for safety where there is no safety, we got very tired and our bodies were exhausted, we no longer had the energy to continue, we lived hunger, thirst, cold and all the difficult conditions that humans cannot imagine,

we did not imagine that a day would come when we would live all of this, I lost my family and my childhood home, even my friends are no longer there, I was left alone!! I am looking for salvation from death, I fear death and I dread it, the idea is terrifying to leave your dreams, ambitions and the life you planned for and go from this world, we do not deny death but we do not want to live it now,

I had a beautiful life, suddenly I do not know how I lost my life, we live in a tent that can only accommodate 3 people, made of nylon that no human can bear, just standing in it for more than two minutes during the day is enough to melt you, in addition to insects, diseases and lack of privacy, imagine all this!! Can you live??

In addition, my father had a stroke due to the loss, and my mother also needs care due to chronic diseases and the lack of treatment, and her condition is getting worse. I am the only one who takes care of them. I really fear loss and I do not want to lose, as I lost a large part of my family, my home, my work, and my entire previous life.

Things here are more difficult than you imagined, reality is painful

We wake up every day to the smell of death, I have been surrounded by tanks and helicopters more than 4 times, each time I do not know how to survive? It seems that my death has not come yet

I do not want to die!! 🥺

Please help me save my life and get out of here, life is impossible

Your donation will save my life, it is the only way, hand in hand we can achieve the goal please

[extervus]

I'm so fucking tired what the fuuuucck

[witchywithwhiskey]

so glittery

pairing: sugar daddy!steve rogers x sugar baby!female reader

summary: when your sugar daddy returns from a long business trip on christmas eve, you're waiting for him—on your knees in the prettiest lingerie money could buy—and he's just as happy to see you as you are him.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, established relationship, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming, hand jobs, brief masturbation (m), very brief anal play (f receiving), light bdsm, size kink, praise kink, daddy kink, dirty talk, pet names (princess, baby, pretty present), sex with feelings, aftercare, very happy/fluffy ending

word count: 5.1k

a/n: here's my december 10 entry for @the-slumberparty's december daze challenge and it's only like 4 days late 😅 i used the prompt: "I'm your present." i've been wanting to write a sugar daddy steve rogers fic for a bit and this seemed like a good opportunity!! also, the title is inspired by the kacey musgraves christmas song, "glittery." hope y'all enjoy!! ♡

december daze challenge masterlist

Excitement was an effervescent cocktail of glorious anticipation and glittery joy, thrumming through your body and throbbing between your thighs while you checked your makeup in the hall mirror before lowering yourself to your knees in perfect view of the front door. 

Your fingers distractedly smoothed over the lace and ribbons and bows that wrapped around your body, and you had to stop yourself from bouncing where you sat while you strained your ears to hear the sounds of the elevator. You couldn’t wait for the man you were expecting to walk through the door. It had been too long since you’d last seen him.

Your sugar daddy, Steve Rogers, had been on a business trip oversees for nearly a month, and you were the first person he’d see after returning to New York City on Christmas Eve. He’d texted you only moments ago to let you know he was in the elevator on the way up to his penthouse apartment, where you waited for him.

When you’d planned your Christmas Eve reunion together, he’d had very specific requests for how he wanted you to be waiting for him, and you’d been all too happy to indulge in his demands. It sent another pulse of excitement through your body when you thought about how Steve would react when he walked in and found you already on your knees for him.

Seconds later, the front door of the penthouse swung open and Steve’s reaction didn’t disappoint. 

The moment the gloriously handsome man laid eyes on you, he came to an abrupt halt, one hand still on the door while his blue eyes were riveted on only you. Steve stood in the open doorway for a long minute while his gaze feasted on the sight you presented to him. 

A bright, beaming smile spread across your face the longer he stared, your body warming under his gaze as you struggled not to look down at yourself. You already knew how you looked. You’d spent a ridiculously long time searching for the perfect set of lingerie, which you’d purchased at Steve’s behest—and with his black Amex. 

But after all that time searching, you were happy with what you’d found. The lingerie was tastefully Christmas themed, hugging your curves in red silk and lace. Little white bows accented different parts of your body, with one nestled perfectly between your tits. 

Steve’s eyes seemed stuck on that particular bow, watching your tits bouncing lightly in the ribbons and lace as your breathing picked up with your excitement. Anticipation was bubbling champagne in your veins, and you leaned forward slightly, arching your back and giving your sugar daddy an even more enticing look at your body. 

The movement seemed to snap Steve out of whatever spell he’d been under because he cleared his throat and finally stepped further into the apartment, closing the door behind him. He tossed his keys onto table in the entryway and shed his coat, hanging it up on the door to the closet without taking his eyes off you.

His silent staring gave you time to properly look at your sugar daddy for the first time in weeks. 

Steve was dressed casually in a soft-looking black sweater and dark gray wool slacks. His broad shoulders filled out the comfy looking fabric, while the sleeves of the sweater were pushed up slightly to reveal his toned forearms. You took notice of his toned legs briefly, but you couldn’t keep your gaze away from his handsome face for too long.

Your sugar daddy’s blue eyes were sparkling, even as his gaze continued to darken with lust. His mouth was curving into a delicious little smirk, and his lips looked impossibly pink against the pale skin of his clean-shaven jaw. With his blond hair swept back from his face, you had the urge to rake your fingers through it and drag him to you for a kiss.

“Now, what do we have here?” Steve rumbled, prowling further into the apartment until he stood just in front of you. 

He was so close, you had to crane your neck back to look up at him, which only made your body tighten with excitement. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his slacks, and though his stance was casual, you could practically feel the lust radiating off him.

Steve quirked an eyebrow expectantly, and you finally found your tongue to offer the greeting he was expecting.

“I’m your present.”

The words had been one of Steve’s requests for your reunion, and even though he’d known they were coming, you enjoyed the slight hitch of his breath and the way his eyes narrowed slightly on you—and the way his cock twitched to life in the front of his pants. 

Already, you were growing wet enough to leak into the panties of the expensive lingerie you’d purchased, your arousal an insistent pulse in your core. You shifted on your knees, pressing your thighs together while you tried to keep your gaze fixed on Steve’s face and not let it drop to the thickening length so close to your face.

“Such a pretty present,” Steve cooed sweetly, reaching out and stroking his thumb over your cheek. 

The pad of his finger moved lower, running along your lip. You couldn’t help yourself—you ducked forward, taking his thumb into your mouth and giving him an affectionate little suckle. 

Steve’s eyes darkened further, his voice dropping into a low, husky tone as he went on, “And how do pretty presents say hello?”

You smirked, your body warming with anticipation as Steve pulled his thumb from between your lips. His hand slipped back into his pocket, curling like it was wrapping around something, and leaving you to stare up his large body from your position at his feet. 

Leaning forward, you held Steve’s gaze while you pressed your soft cheek against the lap of his slacks, feeling his cock twitch beneath the thick wool. Your mouth spread into a wide, sultry smile and you turned your face to brush a kiss against Steve’s hard length, reveling in the way it jumped beneath your lips, like his body was greeting you back.

“Hi, daddy,” you purred, your eyes fixed on Steve’s while you gave his cock another kiss through his pants.

“Good girl,” he rumbled in a pleased tone, sending glimmering sparkles of pleasure through your body as you basked in his praise. His fingers smoothed over your cheek and then his hand was skimming down to your arm until he caught your hand. “Up you go, princess.”

You breathed a small sigh of relief as you stood, grateful for Steve’s big hand holding you steady as your legs wobbled, even after such a short time on your knees. You leaned against his broad chest, breathing in the familiar scent of his expensive cologne as your legs regained their strength. 

“Thank you, daddy,” you whispered sweetly into Steve’s sweater. 

He rumbled a pleased sound in his throat, his other arm circling your waist and holding you close, your hands clasped together against his chest. For a moment, the two of you just enjoyed each other’s presence, and it settled something inside you, the tangible reminder that Steve was finally back after he’d been gone for so long.

Then, gently, your sugar daddy eased you away from his body, his bright blue eyes raking down your form and taking in the full effect of your lingerie while you were standing. If the pleased smile curing his lips was any indication, he enjoyed the outfit you’d chosen. 

“Gimme a twirl, princess,” Steve commanded in a gruff voice, and you could practically hear the barely leashed desire in the richness of his tone. “Show daddy this sexy little outfit you wore for me.”

With a giddy laugh, you spun in a circle for your sugar daddy, your fingers clinging to Steve’s. He lifted his arm, keeping your hands connected above your head as you twirled for him, giving him a full view of the Christmasy outfit you’d worn for him. 

When you were back facing him, you stumbled into his chest, still laughing lightly as you looked up at him, your gaze expectant. 

“Do you like it, daddy?”

Steve’s big hands slid down your sides, skimming over the ribbons and bows, feeling the lace and silk swathing your body. His fingers dug into your soft curves, groping you shamelessly while he grinned at you. 

“I love it, princess,” he said with genuine appreciation. He ducked down and brushed a brief kiss of greeting to your lips before murmuring in your ear, “It’s giving me some ideas about sitting you on my lap so you can show me what a good girl you’ve been this year.”

The words sinking into your mind felt like Steve had poured liquid desire over the top of your head, warmth washing down your body as heat ignited in your core. The throbbing of desire pulsed more insistently between your thighs. 

Arching your spine, you pushed your soft tits against Steve’s hard chest, reveling in the way his big body shuddered when he felt your peaked nipples through your thin lingerie.

“Yes, please, daddy, let me sit on your cock—I’ll show you how good I can be,” you purred in Steve’s ear, your fingers curling in his soft sweater while you rubbed yourself against him like a desperate Christmas vixen. 

Thankfully, Steve must’ve had enough teasing, because he grabbed your hand and towed you deeper into the apartment. The entryway opened up into the lavish and luxuriously decorated living room, which featured floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan. 

The lights of the city shimmered as brightly as those on the massive Christmas tree that stood in the corner. Before Steve had arrived, you’d already scrutinized the decorations, coming to the conclusion he’d paid someone to do them, which explained why they were a little cold.

But you didn’t have a chance to think more about Steve’s Christmas decor just then since he was busy leading you over to the couch. He lowered himself onto the smooth linen cushions before hauling you onto his lap, your legs on either side of his thighs so you straddled him.

You were barely settled on his thighs when your hands greedily cupped Steve’s clean-shaven jaw and dragged his face to yours for a proper kiss. Sparkling, glittering joy filled your chest at the first firm press of your mouth against his.

Steve’s own happiness was evident when he rumbled a pleased sound in his chest. Then he kissed you back, plunging his tongue between your parted lips as his arms wound around your waist, hauling you closer until your core pressed against the growing bulge in the front of his slacks.

You moaned into your sugar daddy’s mouth, rocking against his hardness while you kissed him fervently. Your fingers threaded through Steve’s soft hair, twirling around and tugging on the ends before clinging to his shoulders for better leverage to grind your needy wet slit down on his thick bulge.

“Fuck, princess, I’ve missed you,” he rumbled in a gruff voice, mouth breaking away from yours to press hungry kisses to your jaw and neck. 

Steve’s hands seemed to be everywhere at once—groping your tits and grasping your hips in greedy fingers. You were helpless to do anything but cling to him and moan your pleasure while he manhandled your body on his lap.

“Missed your cunt so fucking much—need to be inside you, baby.” Steve paused, lifting his head so he could catch your eye, his gaze the color of the night sky in winter. “Ya gonna let daddy sink into your achy, needy pussy, princess? Gonna let daddy have his present early?”

“Yes, yes, daddy, of course,” you answered, your tongue tripping over itself to get the words out as fast as you could. “Unwrap me, use me,” you bounced on his lap, grinding your dripping pussy against your sugar daddy’s bulge until you were nearly crying with need. “Please use my cunt, daddy, I want your cock—I need your cock, daddy, please!”

“Unwrap you?” Steve chuckled, ignoring the rest of what you’d said for the moment as he leaned back so his eyes could rake appreciatively down your body. “I don’t think so,” he said, shaking his head and smiling at you. “I want you looking like the prettiest Christmas present I’ve ever seen while you’re bouncing on my cock, princess.” 

A wide smile spread across your face and you were so distracted by basking in Steve’s praise that you almost missed the way his hands lowered to the button and fly of his slacks. Almost.

Eagerly, your eyes dropped to watch Steve’s fingers nimbly undo his pants, your body bouncing in excited anticipation while he reached inside and pulled his cock free. 

No matter how many times you saw Steve’s cock—and you’d seen it a lot throughout the course of your relationship—your core always clenched with need and your body heated with desire, your pussy leaking like it was begging to be filled. 

You watched as Steve stroked himself with an expert hand, jealousy burning through your body. Steve’s cock was long and thick and perfect, a drop of pearly precum already beading at the tip, and your mouth filled with saliva at the thought of sliding to the floor between his legs and taking him between your lips. 

Instead, Steve’s thumb rubbed over the head of his cock and smoothed the precum down his shaft, making himself slicker for you. Suddenly, you couldn’t wait any longer to touch him.

“A present? All for me, daddy?” you cooed, reaching for Steve’s cock and taking over. Your fingers squeezed him admiringly, with just the right amount of pressure that you knew he liked, and he rewarded you with a pleased grunt. 

“All for you, baby,” Steve rumbled, affection soaking his voice so thoroughly that you finally tore your gaze away from his cock. You found your sugar daddy watching you, something deeper than affection in his darkened blue eyes. 

Emotion fluttered in your chest and you smiled shyly at Steve as something passed between the two of you, something intangible and so perfect you could hardly stand it. On a whim, you leaned into Steve, pressing a kiss to his lips because it felt like the only way to convey how you were feeling. 

When he smiled against your mouth, you knew he was feeling the same way. You delighted in that feeling for a moment and then you sat back on his thighs, giving his cock an affectionate pump while you stared into Steve’s eyes.

“Can I ride it, daddy?” you murmured breathlessly, letting your excitement show on your face as you stroked Steve’s length a little faster, twisting your wrist and wringing another pleasured grunt from him.

“Hop on up, princess,” he rasped with a strained smirk, patting your thigh. 

You raised yourself up and Steve hooked his finger in your panties, pulling them to the side and making it that much easier for you to line up your soaking wet pussy with his hard cock. 

You wasted no more time, sinking down on the tip, a sharp exhale punching from your lungs as you felt the thick girth of him stretch your tight hole.

“Daddy,” you whined while your body adjusted to the intrusion, your fingers curling into a fist in Steve’s sweater while you held onto him.

He was so thick that even after all the time you’d been Steve’s sugar baby, each time you took him felt like the first. The fullness was nearly overwhelming, your mind swimming as warm pleasure suffused your body.

Opening your eyes, not remembering when you’d closed them, you found Steve looking undone as he leaned back into the cushions of the couch, his chest heaving beneath his sweater. Pink tinged his cheeks and his blue eyes were darkened to a nearly midnight navy, his gaze fixed on the spot where your body was taking him. 

You wanted more, so you pushed your hips down, taking another inch of Steve’s cock into your tight pussy. The stretch of him sliding into you wrung a whine from your throat and the sound dragged your sugar daddy’s gaze away from your pussy, his heavy-lidded eyes meeting yours.

“You’re doing so good for me, princess,” Steve cooed, sitting up and curling his arm around your waist, gathering you up against his chest. “Need to feel your warm pussy hugging my cock, baby,” he murmured in your ear, brushing kisses to your cheeks. “You can take a little more, can’t you?” 

At Steve’s question, you moved again and sank further down on his cock, taking him halfway inside you. The feeling of fullness was intoxicating, making you sway in your sugar daddy’s lap, a filthy moan slipping from your lips. 

“Atta girl, taking my cock so fucking well, baby,” Steve murmured, his hands curling under your thighs to help you lift up and sink back down, taking another inch inside your tight hole. Both of you moaned loudly. “Fuck, you’ve got the sweetest pussy in the world, princess, let me all the way in—c’mon, pretty present, let daddy all the way into that sweet cunt.”

Spreading your knees wider on either side of Steve’s lap, you lowered yourself down onto his hard length. When your ass met his thighs, Steve’s head fell back and he groaned, his eyes closed tightly. The sound mixed with your moan of pleasure as you reveled in the feeling of his cock buried to the hilt in your pussy. 

“Oh fuck, daddy, you’re so big,” you whined, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and burying your face in his neck. You were full, but it felt so good. Your hips squirmed in Steve’s lap, as if your body was greedy for friction, for more, for anything. 

But Steve had too tight a hold on you, his arms holding you securely enough that you could do little more than writhe your hips and buck against his grip. He wasn’t holding you tight enough to hurt you, just enough to keep you exactly where he wanted you—impaled on his cock. 

It only served to make more pleasure wash through your body, the evidence of your arousal leaking down the shaft of Steve’s cock to soak his balls. Still, you whined for more.

“You’re making daddy feel so fucking good, baby,” Steve groaned, giving in to your wordless plea and rocking you on his lap. His thick cock dragged against your inner walls so deliciously that you melted against his chest, letting out a soft cry of pleasure. “You feel so perfect, princess, so tight and wet and warm and—fuck, I missed you.”

“I missed you too, daddy,” you sobbed into Steve’s neck, your hips grinding instinctively on his lap, finding his rhythm and meeting his rocking thrusts. “Missed your cock and your face and your… your everything.”

“You missed me, huh?” Steve huffed on a self-satisfied chuckle, pulling back enough to capture your chin and tilt your face toward him so he could stare into your eyes. His blue gaze blazed with a heady mix of desire and possessiveness. “You missed your daddy’s cock, huh, princess? ‘Cause your daddy is the only one who can fuck you this good, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, daddy, yes,” you cried. 

Your words cut off on a gasp when Steve pinned your hips in place above his lap while he fucked up into you, grinding the base of his cock against your clit. Shining, dazzling pleasure rocketed through your body, making you tremble as the coil of tension in your center wound tighter. 

“You’re the only one who can fuck me so good,” you echoed, babbling the words you knew Steve wanted to hear—the words that you knew were true. “So good, daddy, you feel sooo good.”

“That’s my fucking girl,” Steve rumbled moments before slanting his mouth to yours for a searing kiss. 

He stole your breath straight from your lungs, holding you tight and fucking you in short hard thrusts that had your mind going blank from pleasure. You moaned into his kiss, your fingers threading in his hair and clutching onto him like he was your whole world.

“My pretty little Christmas present,” Steve cooed against your mouth when you broke away to gasp for air. “My perfect girl.”

“Daddy, I’m gonna come!” you cried, pleasure swirling through your body and pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“That’s it, baby, come on daddy’s cock,” Steve urged in a deep voice, his tone sweet like honey, the sound of it slipping down your spine and making your pussy clench with desire. “Show me how much you missed me by being a good girl and coming all over my fat cock, princess.”

Steve’s hand groped your ass, then one of his long fingers slipped between your cheeks, pressing against the tight rosebud of your other hole. That little bit of pressure tipped you over the edge, twinkling flashes of pleasure setting off behind your eyes. Your lips fell open in a scream as you came hard on Steve’s cock.

Your release sparked Steve’s, and he crushed you to his chest, pinning you to his lap so that his cock was buried to the root in your cunt while he came. He let out a groan, his cock throbbing deep in your pussy as he spilled inside you. It felt so good, you shivered with delight, little pulses of aftershocks thrumming through your body. 

For long moments, you clung to Steve while he kept you wrapped up in his arms. You rode out your releases together, his big body shuddering against yours and your limbs trembling in his lap.

Once you were both sated, Steve relaxed back into the couch cushions, taking you with him. His hold on your body loosened, his arms only circling your waist, while you lay splayed across his broad chest. His palm smoothed up your spine, his hand wrapping around the back of your neck to hold you against him while you both caught your breath.

“Did you enjoy your present, daddy?” you asked in your most sugary sweet tone when you’d mostly recovered. There was still a little breathlessness in your voice. 

“Princess, I loved my present,” Steve murmured, dropping a kiss to your head. His other hand began to trace the lacy pattern of the lingerie you were still wearing. “The only thing I’ll love more is when I finally unwrap you.”

You laughed softly, melting further into Steve’s chest and letting your eyes slip closed as you breathed in his familiar scent. You could feel your combined releases leaking from your body, his softening cock still buried in your pussy, but you didn’t want to move. You just wanted to enjoy the feeling of having your sugar daddy home with you for a few minutes.

So when Steve shifted your bodies, disturbing you as one of his hands reached into the pocket of his pants, you grumbled unhappily. He chuckled and pressed another kiss to your hair, settling you back down on his lap. 

A moment later, you felt his fingers brush your hand, which was resting against his chest. Your palm was pressed right over his heart, and you were enjoying the feel of it beating steadily beneath your touch.

Casually, in the way of someone who’d thought about their actions at great length, Steve slipped a ring onto the fourth finger of your left hand. 

When your eyes fluttered open to see what he’d done, you found a sparkling gemstone attached to a metal band circling your finger. The meaning of the ring and the finger Steve had put it on clicked in your mind and you sucked in a gasp, your heart racing to a gallop in your chest.

“When we talked about it,” Steve began, a slight tremor in his tone, like he was nervous, though you could hardly believe it. “You said you wanted it to be a quiet, special moment—just the two of us.”

You knew the conversation he was talking about, the one you’d had a few times over the last few months. But your mind was still whirling from the pleasure he’d given you and it was slow to process the understanding of the gemstone and the metal band. The ring. The sparkling, glittering ring.

When you didn’t say anything, Steve went on. 

“You told me to put a ring on your finger when I knew I was sure, and I—” He cut himself off as he got choked up, and you heard him swallow thickly, though your eyes were still fixed on the ring. “I’m sure—I’m sure you’re the one I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

Words were stuck in your throat. The moment felt like a fairytale becoming reality and you couldn’t seem to find the words to express the explosion of happiness filling your heart. 

“So, what do you think?” Steve asked, the tremor in his voice worsening and you knew he was nervous. It was Steve’s vulnerability in that moment that finally snapped you out of your trance.

Sitting up, you kept your left hand pressed to Steve’s chest, barely able to pull your eyes away from the ring to look at the man you loved.

“You haven’t asked me a question yet,” you said faintly, your mouth fluttering shyly into a playful smirk. 

Steve caught your eye and his expression softened as he relaxed a little and indulged in your playfulness. “Do you like your present, princess?” he asked, his own smirk curving his mouth. 

You had to bite your lip to stop yourself from grinning like an idiot, and forced yourself to keep playing the game you’d started. 

“I think…” you said, then paused, tilting your head to the side and giving the ring an assessing examination. Then you looked up at Steve from under your lashes. “It’s so glittery.” 

Steve groaned like he was being tortured, his head falling forward while his hand covered the back of yours. He pressed your palm further against his chest and you could feel the way his heart was beating faster than normal. It almost made you laugh giddily, but you held it back.

“Princess,” he rumbled, the pet name a warning as he lifted his head and fixed you with a firm expression. There was no heat of anger or frustration in his wintry blue eyes, though, only the warmth of affection and desire.

You couldn’t help playing with him a little more, shrugging as nonchalantly as you could while you cut your eyes to the side, knowing that if you kept looking at Steve, you’d laugh and cry and scream in delight. 

“That wasn’t the question I was expecting,” was all you said.

Catching your chin, Steve turned your face back toward his. His blue eyes were swimming with emotion and humor, a slight sheen to them as if he was holding back tears.

“Will you marry me?”

The words had barely passed his lips when you shrieked, “Yes!” 

You didn’t know who pulled the other in for a kiss, or if you both did it at the same time, but suddenly you were kissing Steve—and you couldn’t seem to stop. His mouth felt perfect and you sank into him, your hands holding him tightly while his arms wrapped around your waist, both of you celebrating the moment together.

For a long time, Steve kissed you, his mouth murmuring declarations into your lips as he promised to make you happy and give you anything you wanted. And in return, you promised to make him happy, to be the person he could always truly be himself with.

Both of you declared your love for one another, over and over again, in between one kiss and the next until all your words and kisses blended into one precious vow.

When you finally broke apart, you lay your head on Steve’s shoulder and he held you close, both of you enjoying being together. 

You admired the way the ring sparkled in the Christmas lights decorating the penthouse while Steve murmured plans for the wedding into your hair. He chuckled good-naturedly when you vetoed his ideas and squeezed you tight when you approved of them.

All the while, you kept his cock warm inside you, the two of you pretending not to notice the way he was hardening again, or the way you were growing wetter, your pussy fluttering with need. 

That is, until Steve couldn’t pretend anymore and he began rocking his hips beneath you so you could both feel the drag of his hard cock against your sensitive inner walls. Steve held you while you trembled through the sensation, his mouth covering yours and swallowing your moans of pleasure.

By the time you were begging Steve to unwrap you, he was more than happy to oblige. He laid you down on the plush carpet of the living room, stripping you of everything but the ring he’d put on your finger. 

Then, he made love to you under the light of the Christmas tree, whispering his devotion into your ear. His fingers twined with yours and your bodies writhed closer and closer until you came together with a sparkling, glittering burst of pleasure.

That night, you slept at the penthouse, and the following morning Steve took you home—to his real home, the brownstone in Park Slope where he truly lived. He hadn’t taken you there until things had gotten serious between the two of you, and he’d only met you at the penthouse the night before because it was faster to get there from the airport. 

Steve led you over the threshold of his brownstone, and your eyes glanced at the warmly decorated living room, smiling when you remembered the evening you’d spent with him putting up his Christmas tree before his trip. 

There were homemade ornaments and mismatched garlands everywhere, and you felt warmth bloom in your heart as you realized it felt like home to you too. 

Pulling you in for a kiss, Steve smiled against your lips before going to the kitchen to find a bottle of champagne. You clinked glasses in cheers of your engagement by the light of the Christmas tree in the home you were going to share as a family.

Then, the two of you spent Christmas together, not as sugar daddy and sugar baby, but as fiancé and fiancée. And every time Steve Rogers asked if you liked your present, you smiled and told him you loved the ring because it was so, so glittery. Which was exactly how he made you feel—so lit up with sparkling happiness, like the lights on a Christmas tree.

december daze challenge masterlist

[neil-gaiman]

hi neil! big fan! first time i've mustered the courage to ask you a question, haha.

it's good omens related: i've heard a lot of people (and been infuriated by them) over the past nine months saying that you only did the kiss because of the fan pressure. i want to know whether this is true or if you still would've done the kiss had the fandom not been begging you.

tysm for reading this! can't wait for season 3!

No, I came up with the kiss in December 2019 because John Finnemore and I had spent a day talking about the general plot of Season 2, when, late in the afternoon, sitting by the Regents Canal, John asked how it was actually going to finish, because, he told me, he is the kind of writer who needs to know how something is going to end before ever he starts. (I'm the kind of writer who normally finds out how things end when I get there.)

And when he asked, I thought for a bit about where I wanted to be at the start of Season 3, and then I described the last ten minutes of Episode 6 to John, including the kiss.

Given that we wouldn't tell anyone that we were doing more Good Omens for another 18 months, the daily asks saying "THEY HAVE TO KISS IN THE NEXT SEASON OTHERWISE YOU ARE QUEERBAITING US" had not started to come in yet, and by the time they did, the kiss, along with the rest of the scripts, had long since been written.

(And at no time has any fan ever pressured me to write a kiss at the end of Episode 6 that would break their heart.)