#wooden stroller

[babyfynewzealand]

Creating a Safe and Stylish Nursery: Explore Wooden Cots, Baby Sofas, and Baby Strollers in NZ

Introduction:

1. Wooden Cots: Timeless Elegance and Safety:

A wooden cot nz serves as the centerpiece of your baby’s nursery. It not only provides a safe and cozy sleeping space but also adds a touch of timeless elegance to the room. Wooden cots are known for their durability and sturdiness, making them an excellent long-term investment.

At Babyfy, you can find a diverse selection of wooden cots that are crafted with the utmost care and attention to detail. These cots are designed to meet stringent safety standards, ensuring a secure environment for your little one to rest and sleep. With various styles, finishes, and convertible options available, you can choose a wooden cot that complements your nursery’s aesthetic while accommodating your baby’s needs as they grow.

2. Baby Sofas: Comfort and Versatility:

A baby sofa is a versatile piece of furniture that offers a cozy seating area for your little one. It allows them to have their own space to relax, play, or even take a nap. Baby sofas come in a range of sizes, styles, and materials, ensuring you can find the perfect one to suit your nursery’s theme.

Babyfy offers a collection of baby sofas that prioritize comfort and safety. These sofas are designed with soft, plush materials and feature ergonomic designs to support your baby’s posture. They are also easy to clean, making them a practical choice for busy parents. Whether you’re looking for a small individual sofa or a larger seating option for multiple children, Babyfy has got you covered.

3. Baby Strollers: On-the-Go Convenience and Comfort:

A baby stroller nz is an essential item for parents who are always on the move. It provides a convenient and comfortable way to transport your baby while allowing you to stay active and explore the world together. When selecting a baby stroller, it’s important to consider factors such as safety features, maneuverability, and storage options.

Babyfy offers a wide range of baby strollers designed to meet the diverse needs of parents in New Zealand. From lightweight and compact models for urban dwellers to all-terrain strollers for outdoor adventurers, there’s a stroller to suit every lifestyle. These strollers are built with safety in mind, featuring secure harness systems, sturdy frames, and smooth suspension for a comfortable ride.

Conclusion:

When creating a nursery for your baby, it’s crucial to invest in high-quality, safe, and stylish furniture and accessories. Wooden cots, baby sofas, and baby strollers are three essential items that contribute to a functional and aesthetically pleasing nursery. Babyfy, an online store based in New Zealand, offers a wide range of these products, ensuring you can find the perfect options for your little one. Visit Babyfy’s website to explore their collection and create a safe, comfortable, and stylish haven for your baby.

This blog post first published https://babyfynz.blogspot.com/2023/07/creating-safe-and-stylish-nursery.html

[bxlladxnnabxtch]

Eternally Elusive

Rhysand x Reader

❀​🇲​​🇦​​🇸​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​❀

Summary: A pestering passerby drags up an unexpected guest that almost blows your cover.

Read pt. 1 of Eternally Elusive - HERE

Read pt. 7 - HERE (currently wip)

Warnings: Harassment, injury.

In your pain riddled haste, you hadn’t realized how worked up you had made Azriel’s shadow. It seemed to be fretting at any slip up in fear of you damaging your already broken wing, it’s movement jagged and sharp as it circled you. But alas, you paid it no heed- couldn’t as you stumbled your way over the border and onto Dawn Court soil in the most pain you’ve been in since you’d left your homeland. The feeling buzzed in your head, and you just knew that you’d be in pain for months just waiting for this to heal up, but that’s only if you get the proper care for it, which you were certainly not.

Even being courts apart, Rhys still seemed to find a way to make your life difficult.

You wondered idly if he knew how badly his slip up had fucked you over as you splinted your injury, enchanting the wooden block to stay in place with a wave of your hand. Your wing still throbbed, the pain thrumming through you like a steady stream. It was the slightest bit more bearable with the splint in place, the appendage no longer visibly deformed, and it put you at ease to see it no longer sticking at an odd angle.

The glamour you held over yourself swallowed you like a comforting blanket, the weight of it putting you at ease as you looked out on the bustling streets of the Dawn Court. The last thing you needed right now was someone noticing who you were, the whispers would no doubt make their way back to the inner circle and you didn’t need another guest appearance as of right now. You dragged a hand down your face, rolling your shoulders in an attempt to ease the tension that had built up along your trek into town.

A brush along your wing had you jumping and scrambling to recoil away from the touch. Your head whipped around, swiveling frantically in search of the source. Your eyes landed on a short, brunette fae. His eyes were a piercing gold, shimmering in the setting sun. You’d almost say they were beautiful if they hadn’t been holding a tinge of disgust, staring at you as if he was floored by your very presence. Azriel’s shadow stilled when you locked eyes with him, the darkness settling at your side.

It's slight coolness as it brushed against you offered you some solace from your peaked anxiety as you stared at the fae. “An Illyrian?” He scoffed, looking down on your form perched on a wooden bench. His upper lip curled into a scowl as his eyes narrowed. “You shouldn’t be here.” He sneered. Your eyes darted around, a few people nearby eyed you both, a few previous strollers slowing down to watch the interaction. Your pulse spiked, and the fae seemed to pick up on it as he huffed a snort. “Are you a spy? Come to feed information back to your whore of a High Lord?”

The comment hit you like a brick to the face, the insult causing a slice of hurt to bloom in your chest despite your current status with said male. Your features downturned, a kaleidoscope of memories flooding into you from Under the Mountain- both yours and his. You didn’t have time to fully react to anything the fae had said- to what your body had forced you to remember.

A sharp, commanding voice sounded from behind the Dawn Court native, and he bristled at the sound, a visible tremor running through him. “Are we now in the business of disturbing travelers?”

You watched as the golden eyed fae slowly turned around, almost as if he were dreading what he would see. He moved to the side, and your eyes landed on a black haired woman, the girl coated in glittering armor from head to toe. The Dawn Court insignia sat proud on her chest plate, her dark hair sprawling well past the emblem and stopping just before her waist. She held the same shimmering golden eyes as the male- but these were sharper somehow, and they seemed to swirl with power. White wings stood proud behind her, so big that the ivory feathers brushed the ground where she stood.

A Peregryn, you realized.

A member of the elite aerial legion the Dawn Court proudly harbored. You were stunned, as were most passerby at her presence, only attracting more attention to your already uncomfortable situation. Her eyes landed on you, and they widened slightly in recognition.

It dawned on you in that second, and you stiffened into an immovable force.

Glamour didn’t work on Peregryns.

You stared at each other wide eyed, a silent acknowledgement of what was taking place. A runaway monarch- and a soldier of another court. She had all the power here- a cruel switch that was bound to be flipped at some point; you just didn’t expect it to be so soon. She could report this back to Thesan, have you sent back without so much as a thought. Azriels shadow circled you, and you waited with bated breath to see what she’d do.

She blinked. Once. Twice.

Her eyes fell back onto the brown-haired male still staring at her in thinly veiled horror. “Get moving.” She said coldly, jerking her head in the direction of another bustling street. The male sputtered for a second, eyes darting back to you before stuttering out a “yes, ma’am.” You watched him disappear into the crowd of people making their way down the busy street, the few people that had stopped to watch the interaction dispersing with him.

Your eyes fell back on the woman, the Peregryn now making her way towards you as if she were on a mission. The look in her eyes had you leaping to your feet, hopping off the bench as if the wooden structure had scorched you through your clothes. You got up in time to meet her face to face, her golden armor glinting in the setting sun.

You swallowed thickly, your pulse racing as you locked eyes. Her face seemed to hold a certain kind of awe you’d compare to a child receiving a new toy. Her eyes slipped over to your injured wing, the glance lingering for a second longer than you’d anticipated before it flickered back to your face. The fae bristled, a realization seeming to dawn on her as she floundered. “M-my Lady.” Her legs bent to steep into a kneel, and your heart rate spiked so violently the Peregryn flinched, your arm shooting out to stop her from completing her bow. Your nails dug into her armor, creating a soft creaking noise as your voice fought its way out of you. Commanding. Desperate. Almost a plea as you spoke.

“Don’t.” You said lowly, eyes darting around as she slowly eased out of her half completed kneel. She managed to take in your frantic movements in her confused state, eyes searching the streets in hopes no one had saw what she had just attempted to do. A fae with light brown hair seemed to eye you as she walked by, and that was all it took to have you hauling the Peregryn into a nearby ally.

“Are you trying to get me in shit!?” You hissed, casting a glance to the street you were just standing in, the shadows of the ally helping you to remain hidden. “No- no, my lad-“ You cut her off. “Don’t call me that, I’m not Your Lady.” You let go of her armor, confusion staining the woman’s face, only becoming more saturated with each passing second. “I may serve the Dawn Court, but I was born of the Night, you are as much My Lady as Thesan is My Lord.” Your eyes darted to her dark sprawling locks, and it clicked for you. She may have been a Peregryn, that much was obvious, but she held prominent features of the Night Court.

It was possible, much like your own lineage. A union between a Peregryn and a member of the Night Court. You saw it. A reflection of yourself stared back, the pride that swirled in her eyes when she talked about her heritage. You remember being like that, once. So proud of being from both the Winter, and the Night Court.

It was long gone though, that pride.

One of those homes was ripped away from you.

You hope she doesn’t suffer the same fate.

“I’m glamoured right now.” You said, tone much softer. A crease formed between her brows, face falling. “Oh.” She paused, looking you over before she spoke again. “I thought you were here for the Fall Solstice.”

That’s right. The Solstice.

Where the three Solar Courts came together in celebration. Where the day and night fall together in equal harmony, each as long as the other. You had completely forgotten in your haste to make it back to Winter. Your mouth fell open, eyebrows raising as an expression of surprise overtook your features. It was clear Rhys wouldn’t be attending any festivals after Under the Mountain, and now with you missing, you’d be surprised if he left the house. Especially with… her to attend to.

“I’m guessing that’s a no?” She asked. Your eyes fell back on her. She really didn’t know? Did Rhys not alert the other Courts to your disappearance? Or is it just so early he didn’t have a chance yet? You swallowed nervously, wringing your hands together anxiously. “Well, since you’re in town you’re still welcome to come.” The Peregryn said softly, sensing your unease. “Pardon my bluntness, but you don’t look to be feeling too well, you should get some rest. I should probably get back to my post regardless.”

You realized just how long you’d been standing in the ally, and you nodded your head in acknowledgement. She inclined her head slightly, almost a bow but casual enough to be brushed off. “It was an honor.” She said sincerely, turning to make her way out of the overhang. You watched her exit the ally, ivory wings brushing the ground as they followed behind her.

Hauling yourself up the stairs of the inn, you used the wall to support most of your weight. Azriels shadow was swirling around you, fretting as it always did when you were in a less than favorable state. The groan you let out when you reached the top was almost guttural, and you had to muster up the very last bit of your energy reserves to scuffle the last bit to your room.

You fiddled around with the key, leaning your forehead against the door and attempted not to wince as your arm knocked into your wing. Getting the key into the lock was an accomplishment in itself, and you pushed the door open, ready to clean yourself up and have a short nap. The door swung open, and you threw the key onto the dresser on your right side, swinging the door closed behind you.

The door swung closed, revealing the bed and a battered Azriel sitting atop it.

[astroboots]

Min Redux

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Marc Spector x female reader x Steven Grant (x hints of Jake Lockley)

Summary: Marc is possessed by a horny ancient sex spirit and refuses the help you're willingly offering. Sequel to Gift of Min but can be read as stand alone.

Content: sex pollen, restraints, Marc being a stubborn bastard.

Word count; 12,800 words (do not look at me)

ASTROBOOT’S MASTERLIST | MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST

There's a white, pot-bellied goose staring up at Marc expectantly with hunger. He ignores it, pretending he doesn't see it as he turns his head, eyes circling around the park.

If he ignores it, it will give up eventually.

"Oh hello there fella! You're a plump one aren't you?"

Marc resists the deeply ingrained urge to roll his eyes. Of course, Steven would acknowledge the animal.

“I think it wants us to feed it”, Steven says.

Marc hums in acknowledgment. He doesn't want to get into this right now. Doesn't want Steven distracted and excitedly buzz in their head with anecdotes about Geese and the bird wildlife in London when they're supposed to be on the lookout for their contact.

Flicking his wrist, Marc glares at his watch.

8:12am.

Twelve minutes late. You'd think Ancient Egyptian Deities would have some kind of culling process when picking their Avatars. Punctuality should be a bare minimum requirement.

He leans back against the wooden slats of the park bench, hands shoved inside his field jacket against the chill of the London air as a woman with a stroller walks by nearly running over the goose in the process (to Steven's outrage). For the umpteenth time since he sat down, Marc's fingers trace the lining until he catches at the sharp edge of the small golden trinket box, just to make sure it's still there.

Gift of Min. A tiny trinket box that's been sealing away some sex-crazed sprite serving the Ancient God of Sex for decades. One that Steven managed to accidentally free with his uncanny puzzle solving skills in just under a minute, getting himself possessed in the process.

Marc's fingers clutch at the brass-metal, until it's digging into his palms as he squeezes down. Flashes of your bare skin underneath Steven's hands, and the soft curves of your naked form pressed underneath him, pushes to the surface of his mind.

Fuck, he shakes his head. No, his mind is not going there. He needs to stay here, in the present, find the other Avatar and hand this over so it's out of your lives for good.

Get rid of it so that what happened last week won't ever repeat itself. He won’t allow that to happen, won’t risk putting you in harm’s way again.

It's all so vivid and Marc has replayed the memory of it so many times, every detail of it. Every gasp, moan and whimper of your voice. The way your back arched from the floor, the way your mouth fell open. The way your eyes would roll back right before you came… repeatedly. He’s played it like a VHS tape on repeat until it’s been so worn out from replays that the image is filled with static and he almost can't tell anymore if it was entirely Steven's experience or his as well, trapped as he was in the mind space. 

Steven rutting into you mindlessly like an animal. Hips snapping against your soft plump thighs. Your legs squeezed tight around his hips, around his cock as you kept coming uncontrollably, again and again and–

"Marc Spector?"

With a jolt, Marc's pulled from his thoughts at the voice. Looking up, there's a man standing two feet away from him with a much too friendly smile on his face for someone that's—Marc flicks his watch—22 minutes late.

The man reaches out a hand in an inviting gesture to shake Marc's hand.

These Avatars always want to make pleasantries and be friends, like they're all part of the Mickey Mouse Club on account of their ostensible connection of being in indentured servitude to defunct Egyptian Gods.

Reluctantly, Marc relents, slipping one hand out of his pocket. The man's hand is bony, his grip tight like he's trying to assert dominance by crushing Marc's hand. Then he lets it go, the smile spreading even wider with that uncanny eager friendliness.

"I believe you have something for me?"

Standing up from the bench, Marc reaches into his pocket again and shoves it into the man's hand.

"Ah there it is. Gorgeous little thing isn't it?" Min’s avatar holds the box up in the daylight, inspecting it as if it were a diamond, then he tilts his head with a confused expression.

"Oh dear," he says.

At first, Marc misses the alarm in his voice, because the man practically sings out the words.

"What?" Marc asks. 

Instead of answering Marc, the man hums, turning the trinket box in his hand as if weighing the contents, his friendly smile fading into a slight frown.

"What is it?" Marc repeats, irritated this time.

"Well…" the man shifts the box into his other hand, repeating the same weighing motion. Then the man holds the box up to his ear, like he’s trying to hear the ocean in a seashell.

The Avatar’s inability to give a straight answer has Marc's patience balanced on a tenuous line that he can physically hear as it snaps.

"What is wrong," Marc repeats for a third time through gritted teeth.

"The seal's been opened."

There's a tension in Marc's jaw as he grinds down on his teeth. "There was an accident. Someone opened it. But I made sure to trap the sprite back inside."

"Well whatever you did, you didn't do a good enough job.” The man says it so matter-of-factly like it’s not even an insult, and Marc has to take a deep calming breath, his hand closing into a fist. 

“The puzzle sequence wasn't completed when you retrapped the spirit and thus not sealed. It must have escaped." This time, the man flips the panels in sequence of motion, in-out-up-up-down until Marc loses track. The gears in the box whir and the box opens-- and adrenaline ramps up in Marc as instincts have him backing away from the box, holding up an arm to shield his nose and mouth shut.

But there's nothing. No blue shiny smoke like last time.

It's empty.

“Wait so what does that mean?” you ask him, as you stab the fork into the thick double slice of french toast he’s made you. Double dipped in batter drowned in cinnamon sugar, just the way you like them.

Turning on the tap, Marc fills the kettle with water as he puts it on the stove to boil your morning tea.

Except it’s not morning anymore. It’s the afternoon now, almost 1pm. You slept through the whole of the morning, but considering the morning-afternoon-and parts of the evening you endured with Steven barely 48 hours ago, Marc is hardly going to begrudge you sleeping in.

“Don’t worry about it,” Marc says, hoping his reassurance will allay any worries you may have. Because you don’t have to worry. He’s going to fix it—fix everything—and keep you out of trouble this time.

But as he looks up at you, the frown that borders on a glare on your face tells him that was absolutely the wrong thing to say.

Shit, he’s doing that thing again isn’t he? The very thing you told him not to do after the post-possession talk.

His shoulders sag. He sighs in capitulation. Right. Communication. Tell you things.

“I have to find it again. This time I’ll have Steven seal it so it doesn’t escape.”

“It’s been days, it could be anywhere, did they tell you how to find it? Do we have some kind of magical ancient artifact compass?”

Marc’s shoulders tenses at your use of ‘we.’ There’s no ‘we’ here. He’s not getting you involved in this. He’s gonna catch it. Steven’s gonna seal it. That’s the plan.

“Marc?” You ask, but he pretends he doesn’t hear you as he moves to the cupboard, to find a teapot.

“Do we know how to find it?” you repeat when he doesn’t answer.

He pretends to busy himself, foregoing the perfectly good teapots he can use that sits in the front and pushes them aside as he continues to search the cupboard.

If he ignores you, you will give up eventually.

Faintly, he thinks he can hear Jake’s (sarcastic) voice in his head. “Jefe, she’s not a Goose. Ignoring her isn’t going to cut it.”

“Stop pretending you’re looking for teapots and ignoring me. I’m just going to keep asking until you answer.”

Shit.

You’re so insistent. Worse than park geese. Worse than Steven and Jake combined.

“No compass,” Marc answers as he pulls out a random teapot in the furthest corner. Dusty from lack of use. He’s gonna have to clean this. With the way Steven cleans this apartment, it might be covered in asbestos for all he knows.

“The guy said it likes cramped small enclosed places. Tiny chests, jewelry boxes, tupperware. Anything that closes with a lid.”

“That hardly narrows it down in London!”

“Like I said, I’ll take care of it.”

Turning on the tap, he runs the teapot under water in the sink, scrubbing the dust and grime. He lifts the lid but it’s been so long since it’s been used the pot is practically sealed shut from dirt, even as Marc pushes against the top.

He can hear you approaching from behind. “You won’t get it open that way,” you offer as you turn the tap and turn it as far as it goes for hot water. Then you take the pot from him, running the lid over the running water, gripping at the base and start to turn it until he can hear it give with a quiet ‘pop’.

“Tada!”

You’re grinning at your success, and Marc has to bite the inside of his cheek to tamper down his own smile at the sight of you. Because fuck, that gloating, I-know better-than-you smile, (which should be aggravating) is infectious.

“See! This is why you need me,” you sing-song, rubbing your success in his face as you lift the lid. He’s so distracted by your easy-smile and glow of schadenfreude he doesn’t pay attention to the quiet hiss of pressure that gives from the lid.

A tendril of blue-white fog rises up, reaching towards you. Before Marc fully processes what he’s doing, he’s already stepping forward into your space. One hand clasps at your wrist as he yanks you backwards and away from the kitchen.

Gotta fucking be kidding him. That fucking thing was hiding in the teapot all this time.

It hits him like a kick in the gut. It’s like swallowing live fire into his throat except it keeps burning all the way as it travels into his chest and digs into the inside of his stomach, settling into every inch of his flesh. It’s the feeling of downing a bottle of whiskey in one sitting with none of the side sickness and nausea that he has to swallow down. It burns and crackles inside his veins.

With the intensity of the heat as it bubbles in his blood, he had expected it to hurt. It doesn’t. Instead it’s molten and slow, oozing through his system like a heated haze. He feels heady as the sensation rushes through him from the curl of his toes to the tip of his nose until it has his scalp tingling. It’s pleasant. Euphoric even if he lets his mind linger on it. He doesn’t.

From a distance he thinks he can hear your voice, and buried underneath the fog, Steven’s concerned babbling. But it’s drowned out by the blood thrashing in his ears. He tries to find you, but his vision is swimming in front of him.

Then he hears it, you’re shouting his name. You sound so worried.

He can feel you. Soft and doting hands cupping his cheeks with a tender touch that has the heat in his stomach reach a boiling point, then you tilt his face upwards to meet your worried gaze.

It’s the same expression on your face when you were tending to Steven not two days ago. Heat spikes in his lower belly, his cock twitching against the constricted confines where it’s trapped under hard denim.

‘Need you’, a voice inside his head, neither Steven or Jake’s but entirely his own, calls out. ‘Want you’.

Flashes of you, your back arching from the floor, trapped underneath him as he thrusts into you invade his vision. The phantom sensation of your wet tightness wrapped around his cock shivers through him and the ache makes the length of him pressed hard against his boxers, twitch and leak against the soft fabric.

Fuck… He can’t put you through that again.

He can’t have you here.

"Leave," he grits out, scooting backwards, dragging himself away from you by the heel of his hands along the wooden floor.

"What?"

"You need to go. Leave!" He barks out.

He tries to get up but fuck, his legs have gone all wobbly like fucking Bambi, can't steady himself, and his faulty balance has you running forwards towards him. 

Marc throws out his hands, palms up as a signal for you to keep your distance.

"No! Don't get close to me. You need to go now."

He grabs at the side of one of the wooden shelves, as he steadies himself on his feet and props himself up, but fuck, everything is spinning. He feels like he's drunk, and he closes his eyes to make it stop.

"Marc," you say his name so softly, it makes the heat in his veins grow hotter. There's liquid fire pumping through his blood.

Even with his eyes closed, he sees you.

You underneath him, exhausted and fucked out. Swollen lips kissed raw and tender. Legs shiny and slick, with your come and his, as it drips over his cock in a shiny silvery thread and down the wooden floor below.

Shit! Shit! Stop, don't think of that.

His eyes fly open to the sight of you, the you in front of him right now, your pretty face mere inches from his. Lips so close he can practically fucking taste you already on his tongue from pure sense memory.

He's getting worse by the second. He's not sure how much longer he can keep his body in check. Every inch of him wants to touch you. Fingers itching to dig into your plump flesh. His cheeks tingle and all he wants is to have your thighs pressing down and enveloping his face. His tongue is heavy in his mouth and salivating at the thought of licking every inch of your soft skin, to have the familiar taste of you fill his mouth– fuck, he can’t– he needs something to restrain himself with as a precaution.

His eyes flicker to the bed, and of course, it's not there. Where is Steven's stupid ankle bracelet when it’s actually needed? 

Shit.

Wait, the cuffs. Jake keeps some cuffs here, where did he – his eyes roam the space, until he spots the shiny metal glinting from underneath Jake's cap that he's carelessly slung against the shelf behind him.

"I'm not going to leave you here by yourself. Let me help," you say and his eyes linger on your pouty lips, the way they open and close as you bite your lower lip in worry. He wants to sink his own teeth into them until you whine for him. Slip his aching cock between them, until his hard cock is enveloped by your softness.

He shakes his head, taking a step back as he looks around himself, planning his exit route. The front door is behind you, which means he'd have to get past you to get out.

Crap. Stubborn as you are, you'd try to block him in a heartbeat, and unless he's gonna tackle you (out of the question) this is going to get him nowhere.

"You can't help with this," he says, eyes continuing to scan the room until he spots the open door to the bathroom.

You frown, eyes narrowing in irritation. "I can actually. We've been here before Marc. I helped Steven remember?"

And fuck does he remember, can't forget. That's part of the problem.

Your hand reaches for him, fingertips brushing over his fisted knuckles, and the touch of it tingles with a burning ache.

"It'll feel better if you let me help you," you say.

Marc takes a step back, arm reaching behind him, until he feels the cold metal against his hand and grabs the cuff.

"I'm not going to do that to you," he says. Before you get a chance to respond, he's already turning around. He's leaping on his feet, darting to the bathroom and slams the door shut behind him.

His fingers are trembling, cold sweat dripping down his forehead as he fumbles locking the door.

From behind the door he can hear your panicked voice calling for him.

"Marc? Marc!!"

The rickety panel door rattles and shakes against the frame with your effort to slide it open. “Marc, did you lock the door?! Marc!” 

You sound so worried, and a small pang digs under his skin when he hears you. 

It’s so stupid. He knows you’re safe, that the worry in your voice is meant for him, and yet every instinct in his body is screaming out for him to check on you and make sure you’re okay. He fights it. Eyes darting around the tiny confined space to search for something, anything, permanently affixed to the wall that he can cuff himself to. 

“Marc, open the door or I’m gonna kick this bloody thing down. I swear to god.”

Marc doesn’t have much to work with. There’s the toilet, the sink, with nothing he can attach the cuffs to, and the railing to the shower head that looks… flimsy at best. Still beggars can’t be choosers. 

Forcing his stupidly shaky hands to bring the cuffs to the shower, he tightens one end to his wrist until he can feel the sharp metal dig through his skin, hard enough that it’s probably going to cause the blood flow to constrict. 

Stupid, he’s so stupid, he knows better than this, but his coordination isn’t cooperating and if Marc is honest with himself, the blunt pain helps. 

Helps his mind to sharpen and to distract himself from the burning heat that’s riding him hard at the sound of your voice on the other end of the door calling his name. 

Helps him to shove down the pathetic need that sings in his vein to tear off the flimsy panel door and run into your arms and beg you to help him. 

Helps him find the will in himself to clasp the other end of the cuffs around the metal rod before it clicks satisfyingly to let him know the deed is done. 

Safe. the metal click tells him. You’re safe from him now. He couldn’t get his grubby hands on you even if his weak will breaks. 

The rattling of the door has stopped now. The room fills with silence and you’re no longer shouting for him. Marc turns back and sees the shadow of your feet under the spring as you walk away from the door. You’ve finally given up on him. 

Good. That’s good. 

You should get as far away from him as possible. With any luck, you’re already halfway down the stairs towards the tube.

He knows you’re pissed. Probably slamming the front door on your way out. But that’s ok. He’ll take your anger over your worry. He can deal with anger, knows how to handle it like an old shitty friend he wants to cut ties with but never can. What he can’t take is the way you sounded when you were calling for him. 

The worry. The care. You always care. And it’s wasted on him. All that’s ever earned you since you got involved with him is trouble. 

If you weren’t involved with him then you wouldn’t have been in their apartment that morning when Steven opened the stupid thing. If you weren’t there, Marc would’ve taken over, would’ve taken care of himself instead of — instead of– 

‘Steven, fuckfuck Steven–’ the phantom memory of your voice rings hauntingly sharp in his ears. Slurred and honeyed, the feel of you, slick and dripping between your thighs, clamping down tightly on his Steven’s cock. 

His whole body aches. Skin flushed and burning and his brain feels feverish and rubbed raw with heat at the fraying edges. 

A shower. A cold shower will help. 

Marc takes a shaky breath, as his fingers fumble with the taps. Turning the cold water as far as it goes. He thinks he’s prepared for it but he’s not. It’s a shock to the system. The cold water slams down on him with a heavy punch. Cold and piercing and bitter as it wraps all around his feverish skin and strangles his lungs with it. 

His eyes are closed, but instead of the blank darkness all he sees are your big eyes staring back up at him. Dazed and out of it, fuckdrunk, on him. 

His skin burns. Blood boiling inside his veins until it’s painful. The icy water is still pummelling down at him punishingly, and he’s grateful for it because he thinks he’s going to incinerate from the inside out if it wasn’t. His cock is hard and heavy against the clammy and cold wet denim that’s pressing up against his searing skin. It’s uncomfortable, painful. 

The memory of you refuses to leave him. The silky feel of you wet and hot and writhing on his painfully hard cock. Fuck, fuck, why does he do this to himself. One hand comes up to his face, and he scrubs it hard with the freezing water, rubbing his thumb into his eyes to help with the throbbing heat that’s growing at his temple. It doesn’t help. Can’t scrub out the image of you, mouth parted, head thrown back as you squirm on his cock, as you grind yourself on him and come… again, and again, and– again. His eyes slam open, until he’s staring at the grungy white tiles of the wall. 

There’s something inside his flesh, burrowing into his skin and veins. An infectious heat that slivers and crawls that drips with hunger and greed. Starved for touch and pleasure, it screams and it roars until it’s all Marc can feel too. He wants it, wants you, and nothing else will do. You and the warmth of your body and the way you always welcome him as you wrap yourself around him. 

Shit, he – fuck. fuckfuckfuck. 

He takes a long shuddery breath and it fogs against the cold of the room. He’s shivering but if it’s from the cold of the water stinging against his skin or the heat burning underneath it he doesn’t know anymore. Does it even matter? 

Everything feels raw and painful. Sore and tangled up inside him. He wants– fuck, no fucking stop. He needs to – 

“Marc.” He can hear it again. Your voice calling out his name. Not Steven’s name, his. It echoes and lingers in his mind, soft and sweet. The way it had been when he’d been the one fucking you into the bed between the soft sheets of their bed the night before the incident. 

The way you’d whimpered it, while your nails were digging crescent shaped marks into his skin that were still denting the back of his shoulders when he’d looked this morning. Tiny little marks that are evidence of your love for him. 

His stomach draws tight, hips hitching up without his permission, desperately searching for any friction… shit shit, it’s not enough and it’s too much, the sensation that spears through his stomach as his cock rubs against the hard seam of his jeans. Heat settles at the base of his spine and the sound that escapes him is pathetic. He’s not sure if it’s a gasp or a sob, but he grinds it down between his teeth, snuffing it out. 

Why is his brain trying to murder him like this? 

The heat (or the cold, he doesn’t know which anymore but it doesn’t matter, one of them) is making his mind fuzzy. The grout delineating the tiles in front of him is blurring together, and the room, Marc realizes, is starting to sway and swim. He draws in another breath into his chest, but there’s no oxygen in it. He tries again, and this time the sharp jagged breath hurts, like swallowing broken glass and needles. He doesn’t know what’s wrong. The body is panicking. 

Jake’s trying to push him for the front seat. Marc can feel it, an insistent presence that lingers at the edges of his mind, trying to gain and take hold. But Marc is much better at resisting him these days. Marc’s not going to let him. He doesn’t trust that Jake will be able to hold himself back when it comes to you. Doesn’t trust that the man won’t selfishly uncuff their body and run straight to where you are. His priorities are different from Marc. Jake’s prime concern is to always take care of their body first, everything else comes secondary to that man. Marc doesn’t trust it. Doesn’t trust him. Not with you. He can’t risk it. 

Alarm and anxiety blares bright in his veins, but he can take it. Can endure this. Can–

There’s a loud slam from behind him. 

“Marc, Jesus christ!” 

The sound of your voice makes him whip around. You’re standing in front of him, the bathroom door’s been shoved to the side, wide open, and you’re holding a butter knife in your one hand and what looks like the remnants of his dismantled door handle in your other. 

His heart flutters erratically, a pleasant warmth trickling into his chest. You’re here.

It lasts for a heartbeat and a half, until the realization hits him harder and colder than any ice water could have. You’re here. You’re actually here.  

There’s a concerned expression in your face as you take him in for a full second. Then you drop the items in your hand and rush forward to him until you’re standing under the shower with him. 

“The water is bloody freezing! Have you lost your mind?” You’re shoving past him to get to the tap and turn it off entirely, as you continue to scold him. “You’re going to get hypothermia”.

Your voice might be harsh, but your hands are soft and doting, palms cupping his cheeks, and your eyes are wide and worried in that way that makes everything inside him tighten. His skin tingles where your fingertips brush up against his cheekbones and it takes everything in him to not nuzzle his mouth against your wrists, chasing into your touch for more. 

“You feel like ice. We need to get you into bed, we need to–” your eyes stop at the shower rail and then trail downwards to his right hand that’s cuffed to it in disbelief. Then he hears you take a long exasperated inhale. “Of course, you did,” you murmur, “of course you’d cuff yourself to the damn shower. Where are the keys, Marc?”

His eyes flicker away from your face to stare at the tiles on his left as he grinds his mouth and jaw shut. 

You sigh, then you come closer. You’re crowding in on him, pressed tight to his chest, “fine, I’ll just look myself shall I?” You stand on your tiptoes to reach for the small shower shelf behind him, lifting a shampoo bottle to check if there’s a key underneath. 

Your hair tickles his nose and the familiar comforting smell of you surround him. You’re soft and warm, and amazing and he just wants to sink his teeth into your bare throat that’s inches from his jaw and bite into you like the sweetest and ripest fruit of Summer. 

You shift as you reach for the highest shelf, hips rubbing up against him where they’re slotted between his thighs and fuck–fuck– 

Sharp heat shoots through his stomach, white pleasure blinding and intense that rushes to his head and his knees want to fold under his weight. He groans at the touch and you freeze as he does. 

For a moment both of you are silent and still. The only thing Marc can hear is his own ragged and hash breathing. His body is trying to acclimatize to the new temperature of the room as the heat from his body is quickly evaporating out of him. But the thing under his skin, poisoning his mind and sanity is still there. He feels like he’s on fire. You’re pressed up against every inch of him, and it is screaming in his ears with an ugly hungry need. Marc feels like he’s burning up. Like he’s going to die, flesh burning away until there’s only ashes left, and that’s okay the burrowing need tells him. Let it burn away every inch of resistance left within him, and then he can have you.

Marc wants that, wants you in any way he can have. 

Wants you to grind up on his aching cock that’s so hard it hurts. Wants you to hold him, fingers tugging at his hair until it stings and burns. Want your legs and arms wrapped around him as he sinks inside of you, bury his cock as deep as it goes until he can never leave. 

Wants you, wants you, wants you. It echoes with fury and overtakes everything else. There’s no other brain process except this, as his hand clamps down on your waist and grinds you down on him. His traitorous hips hitching up until he can feel that perfect press of your body against his trapped and pulsing cock. 

You don’t stop him, hand coming up to the back of his neck and hold him close to you. You’re so fucking perfect letting him rub himself up against you, even when he’s acting like some stupid animal in heat. The pleasure sends him on the tip of his toes, chasing the high and it’s good, it feel so fucking– Fuck! 

His eyes slam open, tearing himself away from you. You’re blinking up at him with a confused look. 

The fuck is he doing? 

With his free hand, he moves you out of the range of the shower until your back is pressed against the opposite wall. 

He’s such an idiot, he’s such a fucking stupid– his cheeks burn and prickle, sweat stinging his back underneath the waterlogged shirt. He needs to cool down. Get his head straight. Needs to rid himself of this burning inferno of a hellfire that is roaring under his skin. 

A shower, a cold fucking shower. He needs to calm the fuck down. Needs to– Marc moves back towards the tap and turns it back on. 

“Marc! No! Stop!”

You’re leaping forward into the shower again, uncaring of being in the firing range of the cold water cascading from the showerhead, as you reach for the tap to turn it off. 

“You’re fucking freezing, you need to stop. Marc, I need to get you out of the shower. We need to warm you up. Where’s the keys?” 

He ignores you, tries to wrangle you away from the shower with his back and shoulders, wrestling his path to the tap again. 

You slap at his hand. “Marc, no!” you bark. “Stubborn fucking –” 

He knocks your hand away from the tap, turning it again as he tries to block the ensuing shower from you with his shoulders, and you growl in frustration. 

“Fine, fine! You want the water on, it stays on, but you have to let me–” you shove your way back to the front of the tap, turning the hot water on. It takes a few moments but then the punishing coldness turns lukewarm and almost comforting against his stinging skin. 

“There,” you murmur and back away enough until you’re both staring up at each other again. The water is hitting you too, drenching and soaking your clothes as you peer up at him cautiously. 

“Should I help you take your clothes off? It’ll be more comfortable for you this way,” you say the words slowly, giving him the time to react before you move. 

The logical part in him that’s still intact knows he should stop you. Should tell you to leave before he loses the last of his sanity and tries to maul you like an animal again. 

But his tongue is heavy in his mouth. All his words are failing him, and as you inch closer to him, all he can do is stare up at you, silently begging you– to go, to stay, to abandon him, to touch him, to run, to help him– until he doesn’t know anymore what he wants, and ducks his head to the ground. 

“I can help you if you want to,” you tell him. 

His eyes squeeze shut. He’s so fucking useless. He swore to never let this happen again to you, never put you in that situation again and here the two of you are not even 48 hours later, in the exact same fucking seat. He’s no better than Steven at this. Useless at protecting you. Instead you’re the one trying to take care of him. Maybe you’d be better off with Jake in the saddle. 

“You shouldn’t have to hel–” he starts, but you cut him off. 

“I want to help you,” you enunciate each word and syllable, leaving no room for doubt, as you’re facing up to him in challenge. Then your eyes soften as does your voice. “But I don’t want to force anything on you that you don’t want.” 

There’s a brief silence and the only thing he can hear is the water falling from the shower. Then, “Marc, look at me.” You say it softly, it doesn’t sound like an order, but not quite a request either as Marc tips his head up to meet your gaze. “I’m not going to touch you unless you want to. But I’m gonna stay here with you until this passes. I’m not going anywhere.”

He stares up at you like an idiot, eyes drawn to that determined look in your eyes that he knows he can never win against, and he feels his resolve fail him. 

“Is it okay if I take off your clothes?” you ask again.

And until he gives you an answer, he realizes, you’re going to ask him again and again. You’re so persistent, more than a goose. He loves that about you and he doesn’t know how to say no to you anymore, even if he had wanted to (which he doesn't, not really). 

So he doesn’t, instead he nods. 

You move slow, giving him plenty of time to change his mind. Your hands come to the soggy hem of his shirt, drawing it up against his torso and over his head. Fingertips scraping under the bare naked skin underneath as you go, and it fucking tingles. It tingles and burns and smolders until his insides are on fire, and for a second, Marc is sure that his knees can no longer carry his weight and he’s going to tip over and capsize. 

He leans down his head for balance, and you’re there to catch him. You ground him, as you always do. He rests his forehead against yours and for a moment, the roaring noise of blazing fire in his veins stops. It’s quiet and calm in his head. 

“You okay?” you ask, staring up at him, eyes gentle, as you go slow. 

“Yeah.” 

His shirt is left hanging on the shower rail, where his hand is still cuffed to it. Then your fingers come to the front of his jeans, nail tapping against the metal button and his cock jerks and strains against the wet and heavy material in anticipation. 

Popping open the button, you undo his fly, and the too-strict pressure of the material finally eases. He squirms, “Fuck, baby,” he gasps out, raw and broken. 

You hush him, sweet and comfortingly, with your lips pressed close to his ear, “do you want me to touch you?” 

His mouth feels thick and dry, everything turned into cotton against the roof of his mouth. He swallows, taking another long breath and holds it deep as he tries to get himself together. He’s weak, useless. Can’t get anything right. Can’t even say no when he knows he should. 

“Marc?” you ask again and he inhales deeply to calm himself, then nods. 

You smile, sweet and bright, and…relieved. You look so relieved and… happy, even. It makes it better. Makes him feel a little bit less of a colossal fuck up that you’re doing this for him when you’re smiling at him like that. Your head tips up, lips pressing up against his, and that helps too. With his eyes closed, listening to the sound of your soft hums as he licks into your mouth, he can almost pretend to himself that this is okay. 

Your hand wraps around his cock, squeezing firm and tight in that perfect way that you know he likes. It's relief and pleasure and warmth all wrapped into one, as everything inside him buzzes with a quiet soothing noise that drowns out the rest.

Your soft lips, drags downwards, mouthing at his neck, teeth nipping at his shoulder. He’s still aching, but it feels good. It doesn’t hurt this time, instead everything lingers pleasantly as your lips drift further down, soft plushness dragging against the sore muscle, down the slope of his belly and–wait! What’re you– 

His eyes fly open. He’s staring at the empty walls again. You’re no longer standing face to face with him and his head drops down. The sight that greets him slams into his ribs until he nearly doubles over. Fuck. 

You’re on your knees on the wet bathroom floor, tucked between his legs. Staring up at his cock through your water-lined lashes that glitters against the harsh fluorescent light. 

“Baby– wai–wait,” his words fumble and trip out of his mouth, brain unable to process the sight in front of him. He wasn’t prepared for this. “You don’t have to–” 

“Marc,” you breathe, cutting him off again. From this close distance he can feel the warmth of your mouth gust over the overwrought tip of his cock, and he nearly blacks out. Your voice sounds drippingly sweet and warm. “I know I don’t have to. I want to. Let me do this for you”.

He should stop you. You shouldn’t have to be on your knees and take care of him when he’s the one who fucked up and got himself caught in this mess. There’s a tight lump stuck in his throat that he tries to swallow down so he can speak, but it doesn’t ease and the words aren’t coming to him. 

Your hand comes to the side of his thighs, dragging the drenched denim down his legs and discard them into a sloppy pile in the corner of the floor. 

He gazes down on you, how the shower has drenched your oversized sleepshirt, until the white of it has gone see-through. The drenched cotton cling onto your skin and the curve of your breasts and his cock bobs up and strains against his stomach at the sight. Shit. 

Embarrassed heat climbs his cheeks, and judging from the smile tugging at your cheeks, you definitely noticed his reaction. You lean up, mouth brushing up against the length of his cock and press a kiss to the swollen flesh. White blinding heat streaks through his chest and his stomach draws in tight. He can’t think. 

It’s here again, that hungry ember that scalds hot in his veins. It’s overwhelming, his toes curl against the tiles, breath catching sharp in his lungs until he feels like the ground is going to swallow him up. His knees are giving out, the hard tiles gone soft and weightless beneath the sole of his feet. He’s panicking again. His hand flings out, clutching at your shoulders, fingers digging in, it’s too hard and too rough, and he shouldn’t be doing that – shouldn’t be doing anything of this, but he can’t help himself. 

One of your hands comes to rest on top of his, and you tilt your head just enough to press a soft kiss to his knuckles. 

“It’s okay, Marc. it’s okay,” you say, and with those words, the panic in him dissipates somewhat. Enough to have his fingers ease their hard grip on your shoulders, as you lean your back closer between his thighs. 

Try as he might, he can’t pretend he doesn’t want this, want you. Your mouth is inches from his cock, and he can see the incriminating precome welling up at the tip, where it shines slick, giving him away. His breath constricts in his chest, as he waits for you. 

You lean closer, and he catches the pink tip of your tongue as it darts out to lick at the liquid dribbling down the length of him. His spine seizes up at the barely there contact, an ugly noise tearing from his throat. 

“Marc, you okay?” you ask, and when he blinks down at you, lips slick with him, he feels undone. “Should I keep going?” 

Marc swallows down the whimper that is lingering dangerously at the tip of his tongue that wants to leap out. He nods a little bit too frantically in response and he barely has the time to meet your eyes, and how it glitters with pride at his reaction. Then your lips part and you envelop his cock in the perfect sweet warmth of your mouth. 

An electrical static noise crackles in his head. Your mouth is so fucking good. Soft silk wrapped all around him. Your tongue slides softly over the ridge of his cock and sweet aching bliss twines through his limbs. It’s slow and languid, the tip of your tongue darting out with soft, fluttering licks against his oversensitive flesh as you take your time and try to murder him. You’re succeeding too. 

Heat carves through him sharp and intense. With the way his heart is trying to pound its way through flesh and muscle and out of his chest, he’s pretty sure he’s only got minutes to spare before his heart entirely gives out and he drops dead on the bathroom floor. 

You’re so ridiculously gorgeous. Eyes half-lidded as you stare up at him with unwavering attention. 

It’s bliss. It’s torture. It’s heaven and hell. Marc doesn’t know up from down anymore. All he knows as his cock slides between your lips, wet and slippery and so fucking good, is that he doesn’t want it to stop.  

For all the composure he’s trained into himself for years and decades, he can’t seem to find an ounce of it to draw from in this moment. He never can as far as you're concerned. His hands fists at his side, every muscle in him tensing, trying to stop the way his hips cants up with small thrusts into your mouth. But it’s not working. His body is betraying him, refusing to stay still. 

Good, it feels so– The burning flame under his skin is back, the whole of his body is wracked in warm pleasant shivers and he wants to curl into your touch. 

You hum, a small quiet little sound as you suck on the tip and he can feel the pleasant vibrations of it skitter up his entire spine. He jackknifes forward, pressing further into your mouth and fuck, he can feel the head of his cock nudge against the resistance of your throat. He stops there. Makes himself stop, ignores how every muscle in him is screaming for him to move. His cock pulses eagerly on your tongue, desperate for friction. But he ignores it. 

He can’t have this for himself. Doesn’t deserve it. 

“Come back up here, need to make you feel good baby. Let me- fuck let me make you feel good,” he says, even as his balls are drawing up, cock going somehow even harder, swelling and throbbing on your tongue. 

Marc swears, bites down on his lip hard until he tastes blood, and clenches every damn muscle in his body as he backs away, and slides himself out between your lips. Somehow, miraculously, he manages to hold on. His damn dick jerks and bounces spasmodically, oozing precome all over the damn floor as he struggles for control.  And through it all you just smile indulgently up at him, eyes gleaming, the pearly edge of your teeth digging into that perfectly plump lower lip.

He wonders if you even fucking heard him, because you’re leaning back in towards him, and wrap your mouth back around his cock. That inescapable fire is building at the base of his spine, threatening to burn him to the ground, but he can’t let himself come yet. He can’t because then it will be over, and you’ll have given this to him, and he doesn’t fucking deserve it. 

Marc doesn't deserve you, period. But he definitely doesn't deserve to have you on your knees like this for his miserable ass. Doesn't deserve that warm, worshipful mouth, slicking and sliding so perfectly over his aching cock. Perfect lips stretched tight around him as you struggle to take him as deep as you can. Doesn't deserve the way your hand alternates between clutching at him and petting so gently over his skin. Doesn't deserve the loving look in your eyes. Has to close his own eyes against the sight of you or this is all going to be over in about half a second.

But somehow that's even fucking worse, behind closed eyes it makes the feeling of it all the more acute. There's nothing there to distract him. He can't escape the feel of your clever tongue and perfect wet heat of your mouth wrapped around him in the blank darkness. The way your tongue curls around him. You’re moaning just slightly with each press forward, and he can feel the vibrations of it along every throbbing inch of his dick. It's fucking killing him.

“Let me–I can’t stop, I can’t–” He’s sobbing, the sound raw and needy as it wrenches out of his throat. Pleasure sears through his entire back. 

He's trying to hold still. He's fucking trying. But his legs are fucking shaking. Trembling thighs threatening to dump him on his ass any second, and he can't seem to control the way his hips are hitching forward in tiny abortive thrusts, seeking more even as he knows he should be jerking back, pulling away, and convincing you to let him make you feel good instead. but you don't seem to mind at all. 

Fuck, you seem to love it, moaning louder every time he loses the battle with his instincts. 

This is so wrong. He’s not in his right mind, not in control. You should be shoving him away, but instead you’re clutching at his ass with one hand, fingernails digging in as you encourage him to thrust harder, deeper. Tiny sharp bites of pain that just seem to add to the maelstrom of pleasure twisting and building in his gut.

Marc opens his mouth, determined to make one more attempt at convincing you, but then you swallow around him, moan around him, and all that comes out is a guttural groan. 

"Ba-baby-," he stutters out. He tugs on your hair, trying desperately to be gentle, but he's not entirely sure he manages it. You let him pull you off, one torturous inch at a time, and he barely manages to stop the thrust of his hips, the instinctual need to chase your mouth.

You look up at him, all wide eyes and slick, swollen lips. One long shiny string of spit or precome of both still connecting the two of you.

Oh shit,  how is he supposed to resist when you’re looking at him like that? Like he's actually worth a damn, when you’re the one who's worth anything, everything. He can’t, he was crazy to think he ever fucking could.

"Marc," you say, tone mildly reproachful. Your voice is hoarse... from swallowing his cock, and for a second, he thinks that's fucking it for him.  

Close, so fucking close. It’s pushing and clawing at every stitch and seam inside of his skin and he is unraveling. No wonder Steven lost it. No wonder he gave in. Marc can taste his climax at the tip of his tongue, dangling precariously on the fine thread of his fragile sanity. He squeezes his eyes shut. Tries to block it out. 

“Let go,” you hum, and you press your mouth to the trembling muscle on the inside of his thigh that makes him jolt up and nearly swallow his tongue. “You don’t have to hold on anymore. I want you to come. Want you to come in my mouth.”

Fuuuuck. 

You kiss your way up, and he’s trying desperately to hold on, to hold back. But he can’t, not when he feels your tongue trail the underside of his cock with a long wet and devoted line. Not when you’re kissing his hips. Not when you put that perfect mouth of yours back on his cock and swallow him down. 

Your hand wraps around the base of his cock, where your mouth can’t reach, giving it a firm stroke downwards, and his toes tingle. His whole body is shaking uncontrollably now. The pleasure is almost unbearable. his muscles jerking and twitching uncontrollably with every slide of those pretty lips.

That insidious flame flickers at the base of his spine ominously. Warning him of what’s to come. It feels too fucking good, he can’t deny himself of this anymore. His orgasm swells up, large and looming, rushing out along every nerve ending and won’t be ignored. 

“Baby, fuckfuck, please– I can’t–can’t,” he opens his eyes, and looks down on you and fuck that’s such a mistake. You’re looking up at him, a dark pitch that bleeds into your blown pupils. His eyes slam back shut again because he can't survive the hungry look in your eyes.

But it’s already too late. 

His orgasm is consuming, large and looming as it’s trying to eat him whole. It wraps around his flesh and licks down to the marrow. From the curl of his toes, searing through his thighs until it’s permanently carved somewhere deep into his ribs, as he comes down your throat. Leaving nothing but a tingling ache in its wake.

It feels endless, the way he keeps pulsing into your mouth. Cock twitching against your lips, riding out his oversensitivity at your lapping tongue. 

He’s moaning and whimpering, toes skidding along the wet tiles as he desperately tries to find his footing. There’s nothing left but his undeniable surrender. Letting you take as much as you want from him. Until he’s empty and the blazing blue flame in his veins is sated and wrung dry from your attentive tongue. 

There’s clarity again. The dust and smoke clears until there’s only a faint smell of ashes lingering in the back of his mind and he feels like he can think again. His muscles ache with the soreness, and as he takes a long inhale, oxygen floods his head with a rush. Sweet fucking relief, he can breathe again. 

It doesn’t last very long. His eyes open, to see you smile up at him, bleary eyed and messy, drenched hair plastered on your forehead. The water from the shower is still running down your face as you’re trying to catch your breath.

You look like a mess. He did that to you, and you look so fucking good like this.

It’s all it takes, and the insidious heat licks at his bones, corrupting his blood again. The hunger in him returns with a devastating scream in his flesh. His mouth salivates, like what came before was only an appetizer. Now he’s gotten a taste and he’s hungrier than he was before. 

It makes him gain a new sympathy for Steven and the hell the man must’ve gone through with you two nights ago.

Fuck what’s wrong with him. Marc’s already gotten one release. That should’ve sated him. But he can already feel the simmering hunger gain hold again. All it did was make that selfish hungry monster inside him more insatiable. The greedy need claws at his veins, refusing to be ignored anymore.

There’s a knowing look in your eyes that makes his heart seize up. “Do you need more? Do you want to go again?” you ask. 

He swallows around the constricting lump of guilt lodged deep in his throat, blinking up at you, unable to answer. Unable to open his mouth to ask. You’ve given him too much already, he can’t ask for more. 

“It’s okay, Marc. You can ask me.”

You say it with that voice. Breathless, filled with love and affection, like you’d offer him the world if he asked you for it, and it’s not right, he’s the one that should be doing that. The one to give you everything. Yet somehow he keeps finding himself in this seat where he’s the one taking and you’re the one giving. 

“I’m here,” you tell him. “It’s going to be okay, I’m not going anywhere until you’re okay.”

Shit. His chest squeezes tight. The feeling is so large and overwhelming his veins are overbrimming with it. But he never knew how to tell you with words. So he shows you in the only way he’s ever known. 

He drops down to his knees, ignoring the strain in his shoulder from the hand still cuffed tight to the shower. His free hand reaches for you, cupping the back of your neck to pull you in, His mouth slant over yours, and he swallows the sweet affectionate hum between your lips. 

I love you. 

That’s what he’d say if he knew how to. 

I love you and I want to be everything to you. 

He cups your face in his one free hand, thumb smoothing over your cheekbone as he tilts you up to his mouth and kisses you. Your mouth parts, letting him lick into into your mouth properly. You still taste of him. Tart and salty, and the taste of him on your tongue makes him lightheaded. 

Needy heat rolls over his back, and he can feel it again. The demanding hunger that is consuming his insides. The one that wants him to sink his teeth into your soft and pliant flesh, lick and nip at every inch of wet skin you’ll let him as he tries to swallow you whole. It’s not enough. Kissing you isn’t enough. He wants you pressed up against every inch of him. Wants your body lined against his, your legs spread wide as he settles between them. Wants your back arching up against him, breathless and keen as he buries himself inside you. 

He leans further down, pressing you downwards until he has you flat on your back against the cold and hard tiles, and he should do better by you. Should take you into bed, where it’s soft and warm. Nice and sweet. Not fuck you against the dirty floor of Steven’s dirty bathroom like some savage. 

But his body isn’t listening to him, surging down to reclaim your lips as he grinds his hips and cock against the softness of your stomach. He’s hard again, or maybe he never went down for the count, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s aching for you. All of him dying to be buried inside of you to the hilt. 

Pleasure sparks deep in his veins at the contact, and he does it again, grinds himself needily into you, smearing precome over the fabric of your already soaked sleepshirt. God he’s such a mess, he’s ruining your clothes. 

He forces himself up again, kneeling over your body, as he stares down at you. He’s made such a fucking mess of things… of you. Your face is wet from the shower, hair matted against your forehead, and your shirt is soaked and opaque clinging wetly to your skin underneath. The sight of you makes his mouth dry with heat. 

Behind him, the spray of the shower is raining down lukewarm water over his back. It should calm him, that’s why he turned the damn thing on in the first place, but it doesn’t. He can’t even feel it anymore, can barely hear the sound of the shower drizzling down like rain. Instead it’s all turned to static noise inside his head. 

The only thing he sees is your pretty face look up at him, warm and affectionate, and so fucking loving, and he feels sick with want over you. 

“Baby, you gotta tell me to stop,” he forces out, and his hand draws down between his legs to grip his aching cock, that’s throbbing in time with his heartbeat. 

“If it gets too much– you have to–” 

You rise up to meet him, curling one arm around his neck until you’re face to face, so close that your nose nudges his. Your hand reaches down between you, wrapping your hand over his, and your eyes never falter from his, as you shove your panties to the side and guide his hand to notch his cock against your entrance. 

Fuck, you’re dripping. He’s not even inside, and he can feel you slick and warm and wet against the head of his cock. 

“Can you feel that?” you murmur, against his lips. “How wet you got me? I need this too. Need you to fuck your cock inside me, Marc.” 

Shit. 

He snaps. Plain and simple. 

He thrusts down and into you with a long and deep consuming stroke and it’s fucking everything. 

Ecstasy rushes into his bloodstream with a heady sugary rush, and he chases it with his hips, burying his cock inside as deep as you can take him, until it nudges something sweet and blissful that has you clawing at his arm with a gorgeous sob ripped from your throat. 

And it’s so good, so fucking good, he wants to crawl into that sound and nestle into it. He drags himself out of you, until only the overwrought tip of his cock rests inside you, watching you bite down on your lip to muffle your sounds, and that won’t do. Marc wants to hear you. Wants you to scream so loud his ears ring from pain with it. Fuck, he wants to go deaf with it. Wants the sound of your voice obliterate him until it echoes in his ears til the day he dies.

His arm moves to your leg, curling around your thigh to pull you in closer towards his torso, canting you upwards, tilting you at that angle that he knows will make you cry for him. Then he slams forward, his thighs tense, burning with the pleasure that threatens to incinerate him. You’re so fucking tight around him. It’s heaven if Marc ever believed in one. 

Your fingers tighten down on him, nails digging into his skin and the biting pain only makes the pleasure of it all the more ripe and sweet as you clamp down around his cock. 

He can’t stop. Hips thrusting into you with a demanding pace like his body is no longer his own, just a conduit for him to chase that mad pleasure that skitters to his brain and has him want to go harder, deeper, until he’s lodged so deep inside that you can never rid him of you. 

It’s a selfish need that Marc would never allow himself to give voice to. He keeps it jammed under a lid and pretends it’s not there. That deep gnawing hunger that wants you all to himself and never have to share. The possessive streak in his veins that wants to mark you, fuck himself so deep into you until you can fucking taste him in your throat. 

Your legs are wrapped all around him, clamping down around his torso until he’s sure you’re constricting his lungs from the sheer force of it and he almost can’t breathe. “Shit, baby–fuck, you’re so– I–” he grinds down on his teeth, and doesn't let himself say the words, swallowing down the groan that tears through his throat. 

So good, he thinks to himself. You feel so fucking good. So warm and wet and blissfully tight around his cock. He loves you. Loves you so fucking much and he can’t stop, won’t stop– Never want to stop fucking his cock into you. 

Then he sees it. That all familiar tell that lets him know you are close. Every muscle in your body goes taut, and you’re squeezing down almost rhythmically and so tight it knocks the fucking breath out of his lungs. “That’s it baby, come on my cock for me.” 

Your eyes roll back, mouth parting as your back arches upward.

And there you go. You’re so fucking beautiful. 

You come hard and punishingly tight as you squeeze around his cock. 

The pleasure swirls hot and hungry inside his gut, and it’s all it takes to push him right over the edge with you. He spills himself inside, pulse after greedy pulse as he fills you. 

He barely manages to catch himself with a palm braced next to your head on the tiles as he tries to come down.

There’s no relief this time. Not like last time, however brief it was. This time his climax only serves to fuel the pathetic need in his chest. Like someone threw gasoline over an open fire and now it’s spreading everywhere and there’s no extinguisher in sight. 

More, the hunger inside his veins scream out. Again. 

Wants to feel you come again. Wants to feel you squeeze tight around his cock, as your lips part and moan out his name in bliss again. Want to feel your slick drench his cock as you come again and again and again and again. 

He’s still hard. 

He thrusts forward, and you cry, high pitched and broken and the sound makes the blood in his veins sing. 

You're slick and excruciatingly tight, but his come drips out of you, easing the tight press of his cock no matter how hard you squeeze down on him. 

“It’s okay baby,” he hushes, and you sob in reply even as he bends down to press a kiss to your temple. “It’s okay. You can take it for me. Doing so good. You’re being so good,” he coos, as he cants his hips and pushes into you as deeply as he can again. 

Closer. He needs you closer than this. Wants his hands to touch and grip every inch of your skin. He brings his other arm to wrap around your waist, and something tugs and restrains him from behind. It locks up his shoulder, and no matter how hard he pulls forward, he can’t quite reach you. 

You blink up at him, eyes narrowing in confusion as you watch him before your eyes widen, hand reaching up for him. “Marc, wait– you’re–” 

His free arm shoots out around your shoulders and reels you close as he captures your mouth, swallowing down your words. He’s trying to come down to you, to press you down against the floor with the weight of his body, and wrap his arms around you, and never let go. Hold you so tight to him until you can never leave. But something won’t let him. No matter how hard he strains forward the strength holding back his arm won’t budge. 

There’s a metallic groaning noise that protests as he continues to pull against the resisting strength from behind him, as he rolls his hips relentlessly into you, chasing the pleasure. It digs sharp into his wrist with a jagged pain, but he doesn’t even care. Marc wants to hold you close, wrap his arm around your leg and squeeze it tight to his hips and lock you there. 

He rips against the hindrance, with an impatient and angry snarl. The strain and resistance finally gives, and he’s free to put both his hands on you. His arms lock up tight around your waist. 

There's a cacophony of sound somewhere in the distance. Of broken dishes and sharp crashing noise, but he doesn't care. The roof could be collapsing right now and it wouldn't make any damn difference to him so long as you were still here with him.

“Fuck! Marc!”

It doesn’t even register until he hears your agitated shout. He looks up in a daze at you, Your wide and alarmed eyes. Something’s wrong. 

His head whips back, tearing himself away from you prepared to leap into action at the culprit. But that's not what he sees.

There’s debris on the wall. Bare cement in the large torn cracks of the tiled walls. There’s jagged pieces of cracked white porcelain on the floor. Debris and parts of the wall along with the showerhead and the metal rod he handcuffed himself to is lying in ruined shambles below, as the shower spits out water all around like a death rattle. 

Well fuck.  

Fuck– what is he… 

Shit!

He’s completely lost control. The familiar dread and anxiety bleeds into his veins, and he can fight it all he wants, but it’s already here. 

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. He was the one who was supposed to be able to keep it together. The one who was supposed to protect you from this and keep you safe from harm. The bitter acrid taste of failure lingers on his tongue and drips down his throat until it reaches his lungs. Embarrassment clings to his cheeks and burns like fire. His body wants to curl into itself and hide, until he’s so small no one can see him anymore, least of all you. 

“Marc, it’s okay,” you say as you plant an elbow against the slippery floor to you can raise yourself into a sitting position. Until you’re both at eye level with each other. 

“It’s okay. Just ignore it. We’ll clean it up later,” you murmur as you crawl closer to him, until your face is within inches from his and you press your mouth to his cheek. Then you climb into his lap, the firm press of your warm body straddling his thighs and he looks up at you in dazed awe. 

“Do you want to keep going?” you ask. 

Despite the fact that he knows he shouldn’t. That he shouldn’t ask this of you, he still nods, whimpering at the reassuring press of your body against his achingly hard cock. 

“As many times as it takes, okay?” Your fingers circle around the base of his cock, and he chokes on a moan, as you position him against your entrance. You’re slick and warm and fucking dripping for him. 

“Let’s keep going until you feel better. I don’t want you to hold back anymore. Is that okay?” you say.

He doesn't understand how that's a question. Of course it's okay, it's more than okay, it's all he wants. All he ever wants. He nods, and you smile at him. That warm and affectionate smile filled with love and it fills him to the brim. He feels like his heart is going to give out again. There's no more space for shame anymore, the way your smile crowds his vision and every inch of space inside him.

You lift your hips slightly, then you lower your knees, slowly sinking down on his cock until he’s buried all the way inside you, squeezing down around his cock in that perfect way you do, and he can’t fucking think. 

You’re looking down at him like you’re expecting him to answer and he doesn’t even remember how to open his mouth and use vocal cords anymore, fuck he doesn’t even remember what the question was. 

“Marc,” you repeat, 

He still doesn’t know what you’re asking him. But it doesn’t matter does it? When it comes to you, he’s never going to say no to you. So he answers you with the only answer he has. 

“Yes.”

It must be the right answer you were looking for, because you’re looking at him in that way again, smiling up brightly at him, like he’s worth a damn, worth everything to you. He knows that you’re wrong about that. He doesn’t deserve it. But it fills his chest with something sweet and heady. An antidote to the poisonous fire that’s still burning hot and bitter in his veins. He doesn’t fight it. Doesn’t fight the warm buzz that’s trickling slowly into his veins and lets himself bask in it. 

After all, who is he to say no to you? 

You roll your hips against him and your eyes flutter close with a gasp as his cock hits something deep inside, and both of you moan at the feeling as he tightens his arms around your waist. 

You lean closer, lips pressed to his ear, “I love you, Marc” you whisper in the hair above his ears and his whole back shudders pleasantly. 

He tilts his head upwards, his nose brushing up against your chin and cheeks as he tries to find his way back to your mouth. 

Marc might not deserve you. But you deserve everything you want and more, and if Marc is one of those things (for whatever unfathomable reason that he will never understand)… then that makes things a little bit easier for him. 

He wakes with a pounding headache. 

The muscles in his shoulders and back are stiff and sore, cramping up with a sharp throb as he tries to get up. Every limb aches. He feels like he was hit by a fucking truck going at full speed down a highway. 

“Morning,” your voice greets, as your hand comes to his forehead and rests there as if you’re checking for his temperature. It’s soft and soothing, a balm to the ache in body and he fights every instinct to not nuzzle into the palm of your hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” he replies. His voice scrapes against the lining of his throat, like something crawled up in there and died. 

He can hear you laugh quietly at his reply, and despite how crap he feels, the sound seeps into his chest and the stiffness melts just a little bit. The bed dips as you sit down on the edge next to him. 

“How long was I out for?” 

“Not too long. Just a bit. You needed the rest,” you answer, and it's entirely too vague for his liking. 

He anchors his elbow into the soft bedding below and despite the angry creak of the mattress and the protesting groan in his bones, he tries to get up into a sitting position. His head feels lightheaded with the sudden altitude, like he’s about to throw up all over the sheets. It’s like he’s experiencing the world’s worst hangover, the second time in less two days. As soon as he gets his hand on that sex sprite, he’s going to fling it into the surface of the sun. Don’t care how upset that will make Min’s avatar. 

Bringing his hand to his face, he rubs at his temples and the blunt throbbing pain that’s killing his head, when it occurs to him. His wrist feels light and unimpeded, there’s no sharp metal digging into his wrist.  He stares down at his now bare wrist, then he looks up at you in confusion. 

“Jake told me where the key was,” you answer. 

He frowns, but holds his tongue. That means at some point while Marc was still unconscious, Jake must've woken up without him being aware. Marc doesn’t love that. He’s still not completely at ease with Jake being around you. Especially when he’s unconscious and can’t keep an eye out to step in and protect you if something were to go wrong. 

As if something hasn’t already.

Marc is such a hypocrite, talking about protecting you as if he isn’t the very wolf at your door, fangs poised at your throat. 

Your thumb smooths over his knuckles, as you nudge his leg with your knees.  “Should I make you some coffee? Maybe some breakfast. Can whip up some omelets for you.”

He shakes his head. “No I gotta get up. Try to catch that thing before it does more damage again.”

He should tell you to leave. It’s not safe for you here. But he knows you’re going to fight him tooth and nail over it. 

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” you say as you rise from the bed, “stay there for just a sec will you?” 

You walk up to the Gus trio’s tank, sliding a few books around, and pick something up before you make your way back to him, holding an all too familiar brass-metal box in the palm of your hand outstretched to him. 

He can see from the shape on the golden lid the puzzle sequence has been properly completed, just like that obnoxious Avatar had shown him. Locked and sealed.

“How did you–” he sputters out in shock as he eyes it. 

“Steven sealed it for me.”

He blinks, feeling a little bit stunned as he takes the box from you. “How did you get it back in there in the first place.”

“You said that it liked small cramped spaces with a lid. I figured it couldn’t have gotten far from the flat like last time. So I just started opening every single item in the place with a lid. It hid in an empty shoebox this time.” 

Marc grits his teeth. “That’s dangerous, it could’ve possessed you.”

You wave your hands dismissively at his concerns. “It’s alright. I had a fly-swatter,” you answer, like that answers everything and Marc’s just being silly. 

“You what?”

“A flyswatter. I just swatted at it until it finally got back into the box. Had to chase it around the flat, reopening every jar and box in the flat for a good hour or so until it got the hint.” 

He wants to scold you, want to point out everything that could’ve gone wrong and how you should have just ran out of the apartment and gotten yourself to safety. It’s a speech he’s made a hundred times before, but you never listened then either, and those times you didn’t have the upper hand with the argument, given that he passed out and you saved the day. 

So he bites his tongue. 

“Hey,” you say softly as your hand comes to cup his cheek. “Everything worked out fine alright? It’s a happy ending. You don’t have to look so sad.” 

He bites the insides of his cheek. Flashes of you under him, soft and moaning, legs spread and wrapped around him, invading in startling technicolor.

“I’m…” he wants to say sorry, but the word won't come. His hand curls into a fist to his side with unease. “That shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have let you stay and do that for me”.

“Marc, it’s not a punishment for me to have sex with you. This shouldn't come as a surprise to you by now, but I like having sex with you.” 

He doesn’t answer you, just stares blindly at his feet at the end of the bed, as the guilt crawls in his gut and tries to consume him. Maybe he should let it. It’s what he deserves after all. 

You scoot closer to him, an exasperated but fond look in your eyes as you take his hand in yours. “You see Marc, when two adults love each other very much,” you sing-song and start to jokingly explain to him about the bird and the bees.

Despite himself he can feel the smile tugging at his lips, and the gnawing anxiety fades a bit. You think you’re so fucking funny sometimes (and to Marc you are), but he isn’t going to let the laugh that wants to push up against his throat betray him. You meet his smile with your own, and that helps to take away the last of that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

“Can you promise me that next time something like this happens again, you won't run away… or lock yourself in the bathroom to deal with it all by yourself? We’ll handle it together alright?”

Marc meets the look in your eye. It's the same one that he keeps finding somehow even though he never quite understands why, of love and adoration for him.

A part of him wants to fight it, push it away because he doesn't deserve it... But your soft voice echoes in his ear. The weight of your arms wrapped around his shoulders still lingers from before. 'I love you', you had told him, and whether he deserves your love or not is maybe not the point. You love him regardless. And who is he to say no to you?

“Yeah,” Marc nods. “Together.”

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow astroboots-writes and turn on notifs.

Happy Moon-aversary everyone!!! I can't believe I'm still here a whole year after this show premiered. When I first saw that trailer with Oscar Isaac's strange british accent I remember telling @thirstworldproblemss I was sceptical and then I watched about 5 minutes of Steven on screen and went "oh no, I'm in love with this man" and the rest is history.

I hope you guys enjoyed this piece as much as I enjoyed writing it, thank you so much for taking the time to read it I appreciate all of you so very much.

Dedications and credit: To my co-worker, co-clown and the love of my life @thirstworldproblemss she's had a busy few months and she is everything to me please go over and send her some love if you have time!!!!

Also to my muse @guruan who draws horny sketches and the most inspiring artpieces that makes me write near 13k of blowjob for this man. That blowjob scene was particularly inspired by THIS sketch. Send her love! Send her reblogs, send her everything you have and more!

[irinaseverinka]

Old Age Nursery

A set of furniture and decor for decorating a baby's room in an old Victorian style. The set includes 11 objects: - infant's bed - baby changing table (Growing Together addon required) - table - high chair - travel stroller (can be put in luggage and placed outside) - wooden horse (functional chair) - hot-water bottle (decor) - bottles (decor)

LOW POLY DOWNLOAD TSR

[cutiecorner]

I know this won't be everyone's cup of tea but I'm gonna do it anyway cuz I'm having a bad day. Anyway, regressor Alfie headcanons under the cut

Regresses due to a traumatic chidhood

He was very close to his mom, but she passed when he was young. His dad wasn't kind to him, nor was anyone else really.

The Waynes would look after him while they were together

he regressed very infrequently after Bruce was born and stopped all together when the Waynes passed

he felt it was something that only the Waynes would love him enough to do

he can only be small when he trusts the other person a ton, and even then, he's wary and shy

his caregivers are Martha and John Kent + Jim Gordon

small alfie is very particular and fussy. He's not a very happy regressor, it's more cathartic for him than anything

he's still very independent. He doesn't want the kents to do things for him, but he does want them to watch him do it himself. And maybe help. Just a little.

He doesn't baby talk, but his voice definitely changes. It gets quieter and a little higher.

Very very nervous... doesn't want to bother anyone. Needs a lot of reassurance that he's not a burden

loves dolls. Especially baby dolls and their accessories (bottles, strollers, etc)

He has a lot of vintage dolls, it's more of a collection when he's big but he does play with them when small. They all have shakespearean names: Juliette (his favorite), Eleanor, Iris, Rosalin, and Imogen.

they all have very special care routines and personalities. They gossip about each other at tea parties

The social world of his dolls and toys is ruthless and debauched

He has other toys he likes, mainly a wooden duck he carved, a pound puppy from Jim , and a roll along dog from the kents.

Doesn't really throw tantrums per se, but does have meltdowns.

Number one cause of meltdowns is not being allowed to help cook. The injustice is staggering

Cuddly but awkward about it. He has no idea how to ask or what to do with his body while it's happening.

So particular about clothing. He has like one outfit he HAS to wear

Loves to play schoolhouse and put on plays

Does like, reverse story time. He's the one reading

Loves nursery rhymes. Has a million memorized, including in other languages

Likes to sing and hum to himself, but gets flustered when you catch him

Likes animals, but from afar. He is afraid of farm animals

Generally not a fan of getting dirty (he will cry)

Has trouble calling cgs mom/dad. He uses miss and mister instead

Wants to help with everything. Will not chillax

Loves movies from his childhood, the ones his mom would take him to, old Hollywood classics

[erwinsvow]

𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞

summary: you and aaron are having a hard time deciding on a baby name.

word count: 1.5k

author's note: eeeeeeee x3. cannot stop writing for aaron, especially domestic, happy aaron. not bau!reader but i stole elements from that story too, linked here. i really loved this one!

now spinning

You had thought time would fly by during pregnancy, or at least that’s what everyone else made it seem like. You felt like all you’d heard so far was warnings to enjoy this time with ‘just the two of you’ and spend your days preparing as much as you could. 

You’d taken it very literally—your evenings after work were spent reading baby books and prepping food to store in the freezer.

Your days off from work, and even the rare, treasured weekend Aaron has off, is spent looking at paint samples (all yellows and greens, even though you’ve known it’s a girl since the two of you had Jack take a big bite out of a cupcake with raspberry frosting inside) and browsing websites for a car seat and a stroller. Aaron digs through the garage for Jack’s old things, and comes out with a sturdy wooden crib and a beautiful bassinet. 

Aaron doesn’t worry as much as you, of course, and he has the best dad instinct you’ve ever seen. It comes so naturally to him, you almost worry about yourself. Will it be this easy for you? 

You have experience parenting now, thanks to Jack and all the time you spent with him and Aaron even before you got married, but he barely counts. He’s an angel child—one who asks for extra servings of vegetables, does his homework without being asked, and never complains when you have to remind him to tidy up his room. 

Besides a few puzzle pieces and various, outgrown sports gear scattered throughout the house—your house, your family home, you think fondly— he always puts away his belongings in the proper place.

He even reminds you and Aaron of his upcoming school projects and which commitments he penciled in for—a friend’s birthday party next weekend (When should we go get the gift?) and a class field trip next month (They need two more chaperones. Should I ask Uncle David?)

You’re convinced you’ll never have it this easy with another child. You start over preparing the week you find out you’re pregnant, after Aaron smothers you in kisses and hugs.

He takes you out to dinner with the team—another rare, treasured event, but not because he doesn’t want to, just because they’re always on a case—and you break the news to them when you turn down a glass of wine from Emily, who looks at you quizzically. No more wine for nine months, you had said. Ten, JJ corrected.

You’re seven months now, halfway to eight. Pregnancy brain is very real and has affected you like crazy. You keep forgetting to go grocery shopping and then you keep misplacing the paper grocery list Aaron keeps on the fridge with a little magnet. You and Jack have been eating a lot of take-out, and he’s not complaining but he still inquires about his vegetable intake over slices of pizza. 

“You know, the baby is the size of a coconut right now,” you tell Aaron on the phone, rubbing your stomach. Your back has been killing you lately, another thing you had read about happening nearing month eight in your baby books of horror.

Aaron offers a massage when he’s around but it always hurts the most when he’s gone. Besides, his massages are what got you into this predicament in the first place.

Jack is asleep on the sofa right next to you. He had asked to watch Star Wars before bed—it’s a Friday night and he has no soccer practice tomorrow, and you are a perpetual good cop who can’t say no—so you had cozied up with him and a bowl of popcorn on the couch while The Empire Strikes Back played quietly in the background. You move your hand back to stroke his hair while he sleeps.

“Really, sweetheat? A coconut?” Aaron says. The team is up in Connecticut, and though he’s gone and you wish he was here with you, you’re thankful he’s in the same time zone.

You’re not sure about the case and can’t stomach the gory details anymore, but you think they must have made some strides since he’s staying on the phone with you and not in a rush to leave.

“Uh-huh, that’s what my book said. Never knew a coconut could kick this hard.” Aaron laughs on his side of the call, a sweet sound. You smile. “Maybe she’s kicking now to let us know she wants to play soccer like her big brother.”

“A prodigy in the making. Speaking of, does Jack have practice tomorrow?” Aaron likes to remind you of these things because he knows you keep forgetting.

“No, nothing tomorrow, I triple checked. And this little brainiac is just like you, keeps reminding me so I don’t wake him up at seven-thirty tomorrow.”

You hear Aaron laugh again. It all feels very domestic. Your mouth hurts from smiling.

“Aaron, it’s getting to that time. We need to pick a baby name soon. Any crazy ex-girlfriends or female serial killers we need to avoid?”

“Well there’s certainly a few. Serial killers, that is, not the other thing. What are you thinking so far?”

“Well my book said-” Aaron groans on the other end. “Hey! Don’t knock my book, it’s helpful.”

“Honey, your book had you convinced the baby would be missing fingers and toes if you had a turkey sandwich.”

“Deli meat is bad during pregnancy! So is sushi, thank you very much. I’d rather not risk my baby’s digits just because you wanted subs.”

“Reid said that’s not true and everything’s fine in moderation.”

“I’m sorry, has Reid ever birthed a human before?”

“Point taken. Your book also said your heartburn isn’t a big deal because it just means the baby will have a full head of hair-” “JJ said that too! And she said Henry had lots of hair-”

“And it also said sex during pregnancy is bad. Remember that?” Your face heats up. Damn him, making you blush even when he’s hundreds of miles away. 

“Oh, whatever. Just tell me which names we have to avoid. I think we should do something with a J, though. Make it matching.”

“Very sweet, honey. Jordan? Juliet? June?”

“Hmm,” you ponder carefully. Even if it’s silly, this feels like one of the biggest decisions you’ll ever make. “I like them all but I don’t love them. They’re too… something. Too new maybe.”

“Older names, then? Joy, Josie, Julia?”

“I like those too. Should we really name our child after a Beatles song though?”

“I think that’s a great idea, don’t you?” You can almost hear it in Aaron’s voice—he’s relaxing for the moment. Either they’ve already caught the unsub or you have a bigger impact on him than you thought you did. 

“Well if we’re gonna do that then we should at least use Eleanor or Michelle. Or Lucy! I like Lucy.”

“I’d prefer not to name our daughter after a song written about hallucinogens.”

“Aw, you're no fun. How about Anna?”

“What happened to wanting to match with Jack?” he asks.

“Ah, let the kid have his own identity. If he had it his way we’d name the baby Leia or Yoda.”

“Leah’s not bad. Pretty and simple. Four letters, keeping the trend.”

“That’s not a Beatles song!” You hear Aaron groan.

“You have too many demands, honey.” “No, I’m just picky. You should consider it a compliment, I’m choosy and I chose you, remember?”

“Vividly. Prudence, then?”

“Oh, that’s pretty.” You try to picture it written on holiday cards and homework sheets. Prudence Hotchner. You say it aloud to test the feel of it. “Prudence Hotchner. Prue Hotchner.”

“Sweetheart, I was joking.”

“You should never joke around a pregnant woman. I like it, it’s so pretty. Pretty Prudence.”

“You don’t think it’s a little old?”

“Well, her father is an old man who wants to name her after a Beatles song, so yeah, it’s very fitting. Doesn’t it just roll right off the tongue? Prudence Hotchner? We could call her Prue.”

“Prue is very cute. I like Prudence Joy.”

“Oh, I love Prudence Joy. Prudence Joy Hotchner. I like it so much. I’m tempted to wake up Jack and ask if he likes it.  Will you ask the team if they like it too?”

“I will, honey. Isn’t it time to sleep now?”

“Yes, I’ve just been putting it off. Jack’s asleep next to me, I have no idea how I’ll get him upstairs without waking him.”

“If you wake him he’ll be able to fall asleep again, as long as it’s quick-” “I know, honey, don’t worry about us.”

“Can’t help it.” You can’t stop the smile that spreads, cheek to cheek. You have a feeling he’s smiling too.

“You’ll ask the others, right? About Prudence?”

“Yes, honey, I will. I’ll see them in a little bit, I stepped out to call you while I made another cup of coffee.”

“Oh, Aaron, it's so late for coffee,” you chide, lovingly. Don’t drink a whole cup please. I wish you guys would drink tea instead. Or at least decaf.”

“Sorry, sweetheart. I gotta go now. Kiss Jack goodnight for me?” “Of course.”

“And play Prudence her song, then?” You can’t contain the smile on your face.

“Of course. Good night from all three of us, Aaron.”

[chubbyreaderchan]

Pinky Promises | Michael Myers x F!Reader

Summary: Michael’s childhood friend finds her way back into his life. He becomes obsessed with her when he remembers their promise to each other. 

1, 2, 3, 4 (???? Maybe) 

A/n: This is actually going to be a series I finish. I have part 2 halfway written already and I think it will be about 3/4 parts. The warnings won’t apply to this one other than the childhood trauma of being torn from the best friend, but in future parts, they will both be adults and there will be adult content that I will label at the beginning. 

Also, there will be yandere situations with Michael and reader is morally grey as an adult. 

--

"Michael!" 

The small boy turned his head and stands from the dirt pile the young boy was playing in. He walked to the chain link fence and looked down the sidewalk at a young girl running towards him. She pushed a bright pink baby buggy towards his house and he tried not to smile. 

"Hi," she giggled, out of breath before Michael. 

"Hi," he repeated after her. 

His fingers gripped the cold metal wires and he peers at what was in the stroller. Often she'd bring a variety of toys in the familiar vehicle. Wooden swords, "cooking" dishes, and her baby doll that she called Mickey Jr. 

"Do you wanna play with me again today?" She asked with a bright smile on her face. 

His heart pounded in his chest at her cheeky grin. He looked up at her, nodding before unlatching the fence with a clink. The sound of metal against the sidewalk seemed to harmonize with the sound of wind chimes in the late summer afternoon. 

"Do you want to play mommies and daddies? Or--" 

Her toys were strewn about the Myer's front yard. Michael was holding tight to the small doll in his hands, following anything that the small girl had planned for him. 

He simply nodded. 

Just as Michael passed the doll to (Y/n) a car pulled up in front of the house. Judy and he boyfriend exited the dark blue car, he pinched at Judy and she giggled as they raced up to the house. 

"Hey, Mikey," the boyfriend cooed. "Is this your little girlfriend?" 

"Come on, Danny. Before my parents get home," Judy said tugging him into the house. 

Michael looked at (Y/n) his head cocking to the side at the word Danny used. 

-- 

"Michael!" The shrill voice filled his ears again. 

"Do you want to look at clouds with me today?" She asked, cocking her head to the side slightly once she was in front of his house. 

He popped open the gate again and she grinned. Michael's heart fluttered as she dropped to the ground. Her feet were bare and caked in dirt. Her toes wiggled against the grass as the found the perfect spot for cloud watching, not far from either of their houses. 

"We were planting a tree in our backyard," she said when she noticed he was staring at he toes. Then she spun and flopped to the ground with a laugh. 

Michael stiffly sat down and laid next to her. He froze when he felt the slightly taller girl cuddle up to his side and rested her head on his shoulder. 

The boy felt his face heat up, and her hand tangled with his. 

She squeaked in delight as she pointed at clouds above them with her free hand. 

"Look that one looks like a pumpkin," she giggled. 

He didn't look. 

He was looking at her. That was until she looked at him and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. 

"I love you Michael," she whispered. 

She smelled like fruity candy and honey shampoo. 

"When we are all grown up, can we get married?" She asked, looking at him. 

He looked at the sky, thoughtful for a moment. 

"Yes," 

"Pinky promise?" She held up her pinky. 

He hooked his into hers. 

"Promise," 

A big smile cracked along her face and Michael's heart pounded in his chest. 

--

Fall was in full swing. 

Michael could hear screaming. At first he thought it was just another Halloween prank. But then (Y/n) was running down the street screaming.

Her parents on her tail as she ran to Michael pushing the gate open and running to where he was standing on his porch. 

"Don't let them take me, Michael" she shouted, pulling him into her vice grip. 

He returned it, protective hold even at the age of six he was quite strong. 

"We are moving to California. I don't want to move. I don't wanna!" She said. 

Her parents' hands moved to pry them away. Michael felt his own mother and sister grab him. 

"No!" She screamed, piercing his ears and sending ice into his veins. Her tears tracked down her cheeks and his heart went numb. 

"Michael don't let them take me," 

He reached for her hand and she was torn from his grip. 

"Michael!" 

"Daddy let me go! We pinky promised," she shouted.

[asqadia-banthen]

Here is the list!

traffic cone

cooler

laundry basket

bag x 10

mini shopping cart x2

suitcase

shopvac

microwave

mini fridge

shoe box

stroller

drawer

basket

mailbox

giant wooden box

small rolling shelf

cat carrier

shopping basket x2

sink

guitar case

golf bag

those were all the bag replacements for “anything but a backpack” day ^^

@clockwork-loan

[the-kr8tor]

Fluffy Friday omg….can I request Hobie and the reader having a day out with Billie and Ramona? Ty in advance!! :)))

Yayy for Billie and Mona request!!! Thank you ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, mentions of breast feeding, Twins AU, Fluff.

It's Fluffy Friday!

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You coo and make funny faces at the twins, cuddled comfortably in your arms, the wooden bench under you helps in carrying the babies since they've grown a lot in the last five months. They laugh wholeheartedly at your pouted lips spluttering, eyes crossed whilst you bounce them lightly.

The park is full of people enjoying the sun, teenagers playing frisbee in an open area, elderly doing their morning stretches, people from all walks of life basking in the sunlight after weeks of cloudy and rainy weather.

It's the twin's first day out since their birth, you and Hobie finally feel comfortable enough to let them out of the house instead of just showing Billie and Mona the small backyard. You're still apprehensive at first, motherly instincts kicking in with every loud noise and hidden germs. But when you saw their smiles and giggles the moment you stepped outside your worries waned. After all they've got Spider-Man as their father, with Hobie around you've got nothing to worry about. Well maybe except for germs.

The aforementioned man battles with nature right in front of you, the wind keeps blowing away the picnic blanket on the grass. Edges sweeping to the middle once Hobie gets a hold of the other side of the cloth. Frustrated, he looks around for anyone watching, slyly moving his sleeve to reveal his web shooters. He aims, quickly sticking his webs on the corners of the blanket, preventing the wind from blowing it away again. Hobie tucks his sleeve back down to hide the gadget.

"I saw that" you say with a smirk.

"I know, was showing off to my girls" Hobie makes his way to the bench, arms stretched to help carry Billie. He makes that 'dad carrying his heavy kid' groan. Free hand taking the stroller, rolling it onto the grass next to the blanket.

Billie beams at Hobie, tiny hands instinctively reaching towards his face. He smiles back, indulging his daughter, nuzzling his nose right on the crown of her head, curls tickling him.

Sitting down on the red stereotypical picnic blanket, Ramona hears Billie's laugh, attuned to her sister's delight, she tries to wiggle out of your arms and into the blanket.

Hobie notices as you try to balance Mona's flopping in your arms. "I think your sister's jealous" he whispers to Billie who babbles a reply.

Sitting down next to you, cramming himself into the small space (even though there's more right in front), he takes Mona in your arms expertly. In the last five months, he's found himself an expert at holding his daughters at the same time, never neglecting one for the other. Mona smiles, a carbon copy of your own smile. Hobie grins back, doing the exact same thing to Mona, snuggling the top of her head, careful of the soft part of it hidden behind her tiny beanie.

They both have similar ones with pom-poms on the top, Billie has bright yellow ones to match her onesie while Mona has pastel purple, a contrast to her light green onesie. Guess who dressed her?

"Now I'm the one who's jealous" you watch them try to take their dad's attention away from the other, small hands grasping at his Hoodie. The adorable sight makes your heart dance.

"They'll be back when they get hungry"

You lay your head on Hobie's shoulder, hand cupping the back of his in an attempt to hold it. Sighing dramatically, "guess I'm just a glorified milk maker" you complete your joke with a pout.

"Not my fault" he catches on with your bit. Neck craning to kiss your cheek.

"It's literally half your fault" you say with a laugh, leaning away from his lips.

Billie and Mona follow the sounds of their parents' voices, eyes moving back and forth, eyes curious.

Hobie's lips still puckered, waiting for you to lean towards him. With a roll of your eyes and a lopsided smile, you give him a chaste yet love filled kiss. Moving down to peck each of your daughter's foreheads. They giggle, kicking Hobie's torso in giddiness.

The sun shines overhead as you continue your day out with your little family.

[moonlightsimss]

Nursery Essentials♡

organizer | rattan moses basket | video baby monitor boho bed pillow | wooden xylophone | functional pile wooden cubes stroller toy | lion toy | rainbow stack

massive thank you to the cc creators ♡

simterest ✾ ea id: olesvka

[desertdollranch]

American Girl's Latest Blunder

In case you missed it, American Girl just released a new 8-inch Little Bitty Baby, this one with blonde hair and blue eyes.

They also released this adorable bubble bath set for the baby.

Little Bitty Baby dolls are different from the classic 15-inch Bitty Baby dolls that have been around since 1990, that are geared towards babies and toddlers. Little Bitty Baby is specifically sized for the larger 18 inch dolls to babysit or have a baby sibling. They have become massively popular among collectors since the first one was released in 2021. Now, three years later, the babies are an entire sub-brand of their own, and have lots of accessories available including a high chair, stroller, and crib.

Everything in this line is adorable. I have two LBB's myself. That's not controversial.

But while I was browsing the new stuff, I went to go look at the LBB's crib. And as I often do, I imagined myself making a larger crib for my babies, using some wooden dowels, screws, a saw, and a drill.

While planning my future homemade crib, I noticed something unusual about this one. If you look below the title text in the upper right hand corner, you'll notice that the crib has a rating of 3.6 stars out of 5 stars.

These sorts of playsets don't usually have low ratings unless Something Is Majorly Wrong. Could be poorly made parts that easily break.... or the Something Wrong could be in the brains of the buyers. Occasionally the nastier, slimier segments of the fandom crawl out of their manure pile to loudly protest when American Girl uses dark-skinned dolls to model products, so could that be what's going on here?

Reading the reviews exposed exactly what went wrong. People were mistakenly buying the crib for the larger, 15 inch classic Bitty Baby dolls, and being disappointed when the cribs and outfit arrived and were way too small for their babies.

I thought it was funny that people were skipping right past the title and description, which clearly mention that the crib is for the 8 inch dolls only.

Buyers buying without fully reading the description is alarmingly common all across the internet, and so I figured that's what happened here. They must have only looked at the pictures without reading the words.

But no! Along came several reviewers who include proof that this was NOT originally described the way it is now!

These reviews highlighted the title that clearly says for 18 inch dolls, referring to the Truly Me dolls who will be caring for the baby. Most of us longtime collectors and fans know that Classic Bitty Baby is 15 inches and not 18, but occasional or first-time buyers of Bitty Baby may not realize that, so the misunderstanding is entirely understandable.

There are multiple reviews mentioning this issue. Each one of them has a reply from American Girl customer service apologizing and saying they will get in contact to help make this right, and not one of those responses says "actually it's for the 8 inch dolls". They know this is largely their mistake.

I imagine that the number of bad reviews--11 with one star, 2 with two stars, and a smaller handful on the high chair--forced AG to realize that this could be better avoided by making it much more clear that these are for the 8 inch Little Bitty Babies, rather than for their 18 inch caregivers.

Everything for LBB has been renamed and now has no reference to 18 inch dolls. They even went so far as to name this collection explicitly referring to babysitting:

And if you want an actual crib for your Big Bitty Baby, you can do that! In fact it is much cuter.

[anonymousewrites]

One Hell of a Love (Book 1) Chapter Eight

Sebastian Michaelis x Demon! Reader

Chapter Eight: One Hell of a Dog

Summary: (Y/N) and Sebastian arrive in a town obsessed with dogs and meet a strange woman.

            “A trip?” asked Sebastian and (Y/N). “In this season?”

            Ciel sipped his tea. “Sebastian, (Y/N), do you know of the pastime called ‘bear baiting?’ ”

            “Of course,” said Sebastian. “The phrase has a most fun and pleasant ring to it. The truth, however, is far different. The bears are tied up, whipped, and have packs of wild dogs set upon them until, finally, they are killed. That is so incredibly like humans.”

            “Strange pastime,” said (Y/N).

            “It was banned under the Cruelty to Animals Act of 1835,” said Ciel. “However, a loophole remained. If the bullying dogs were not goaded, what would happen?”

            (Y/N) considered. “It would become a case of one animal baiting another.”

            “There is a village where they do that,” said Ciel. “Houndsworth. It’s famous for raising hunting dogs. However, beneath that, it has another side. Dogfighting and abuse of animals. This wrenches at Her Majesty’s heart, therefore we are to investigate this village under the pretext of making it her resort. That is the true goal of this trip.”

            “A village of dogs?” (Y/N)’s nose twitched in distaste.

            “Hm.” Sebastian wasn’t a fan, either.

            “What is it?” asked Ciel.

            “It was just that I had believed securing a resort location was somewhat beneath you, Young Master,” said Sebastian.

            “There is a reason, a reason why, I, the Queen’s Guard Dog, must be the one to go to this Houndsworth village,” said Ciel. “People are going missing and dying under strange circumstances.”

l

            “Resort! Resort! We’re on cloud nine!” cheered Finny, Mey-Rin, and Baldroy as their cart-like carriage carried them through the countryside behind (Y/N), Sebastian, and Ciel. “Resort! Resort!

            (Y/N) smiled. The poor things had no idea there was no resort yet, so really they were just being dragged on to deal with whatever issues were stopping Her Majesty from creating a proper resort.

            “They really are in high spirits, are they not?” said Sebastian, smiling with the same mischief beside (Y/N). “It seems they are thanking you, kind Young Master.”

            “It would be problematic if we left them behind at the mansion and they ended up destroying it,” remarked Ciel.

            “Indeed,” said Sebastian.

            “It is a possibility,” agreed (Y/N).

            They passed a wooden sign saying “Welcome to Houndsworth.” A dog collar hung from it as a raven cawed.

            “This is the village entrance,” said Sebastian.

            The rest of the servants looked up eagerly. Instead of a resort, however, they were met with dead trees with dozens of dog collars hanging from spindly branches. Dog skulls scattered the earth beneath the bare trees.

            They screamed.

            “I forgot to mention it, but this is the planned construction site for the resort,” said Ciel calmly.

            “Young Master…” Tears ran down Finny, Baldroy, and Mey-Rin’s cheeks. Tanaka calmly drank his tea.

            Finny brightened as they saw another person. “Yay! First villager spotted! Tanaka, stop for a moment.” The carriage paused, and Finny jumped out to help the old lady with her stroller. “I’ll help you, Miss.”

            “Y-You shouldn’t do that, Finny!” said Mey-Rin. “If you’re not careful, the baby inside will be hu—!” Her eyes widened as she and the rest of the servants saw inside the stroller. It was just a dog skull wrapped in cloth.

            “You know, this little one was eaten by that,” said the old woman. The servants walked her in shock as she pushed her stroller away. “The white dog is a good dog, good dog. The black dog is a bad dog, bad dog.”

            “Eaten?” stammered the Phantomhive servants.

            (Y/N) raised an eyebrow. There really was something strange going on here.

            “I’ve heard there are quite a few people in this village who were murdered or are missing,” remarked Ciel. “The population of the village has decreased by a third in the last ten years. Investigating and resolving this situation is one of the jobs I was given.”

            “It’ll eat you down to the bone,” murmured the old lady as she disappeared into the fog.

            The carriages continued on until they came upon a large, blue lake and a village sitting beside it.

            “Now, that’s a bit more like it,” said Baldroy eagerly.

            However, the actual village was dismal and grey just like the rest of the landscape. Angry dogs barked from cages. The only happy dog was being trained by a young man.

            “Bending their wills via a carrot and stick approach instills obedience in them,” observed Sebastian, smirking. “Such a wonderful scene, is it not? However, the dogs themselves are also to blame. Doing everything they can to court humans and gladly accepting a collar around their neck…It is a completely unfathomable concept to me.”

            (Y/N) nodded emphatically. They much preferred the independence of cats as compared to the domesticity of dogs, especially when it came to obedience to humans.

            “If you have something to say, say it,” said Ciel.

            “Well, then, heeding my words, I shall,” said Sebastian. “While I am quite the cat person, I do not like dogs. Actually…” He smiled. “I detest them.”

            (Y/N) sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know why anyone would prefer dogs to cats.” They flashed a smirk. “We’re far superior.”

            A grin curled over Sebastian’s lips. He certainly agreed.

            “Woof!” replied Ciel.

            (Y/N) rolled their eyes as the carriages finally came to a halt before a mansion. A maid with white hair in a purple dress and crisp white apron waited for them at the entrance.

            “Would you be the Phantomhive party?” she asked with a soft smile on her face. She bowed. “Welcome to Barrymore Castle. The Master is awaiting your arrival.”

            Everything about her spoke of innocence and humility, but something in the way she looked over the group had (Y/N)’s canines sharpening. Inhuman. Beside them, Sebastian’s eyes remained cold and unflinching at the maid’s civility.

            “I shall take you to the Master,” said the maid, gesturing for Ciel and his servants to follow. (Y/N) and Sebastian remained close behind Ciel as they walked inside. “This way, please.”

            Inside a small parlor, bear, hog, and deer heads from hunting expeditions lined the walls. Before they could make a comment, a whip snapped behind them. They turned to find a burly man whipping the maid as she cowered on the ground.

            “What’s with this little chihuahua?! I told you to welcome the Queen’s envoy!” cried the man, undoubtedly Lord Barrymore.

            (Y/N)’s eyes narrowed at Barrymore’s abuse. Yes, something was inhuman about his maid, but Barrymore’s actions suggested he did this regularly. If there was one thing (Y/N) despised about humans more anything else, it was those who took advantage of the powerless.

            “Angela, are you not even capable of something as simple as that?!” demanded Barrymore. Angela cried out as each strike hit her.

            “Sebasti—” before Ciel could even finish ordered Sebastian to stop the abuse, (Y/N)’s gloved hand grabbed Barrymore’s wrist.

            Angela looked up in surprise, and Barrymore glared at them as they smoothly pulled the whip from his hands.

            “What are you doing, you husky?!” cried Barrymore in an outrage. “Are you trying to bite back at me?”

            (Y/N) gritted their teeth about being called a dog and instead gripped the whip tighter in an effort to not use it on him.

            “I ordered it to be stopped,” said Ciel, stepping in before there was an incident. He smirked. “I’m assuming the letter was delivered. I am Ciel Phantomhive.”

            “Are you saying this little toy poodle is the Queen’s envoy?” questioned Barrymore.

            “Are smaller dogs not acceptable to you, Lord Henry?” remarked Ciel.

            Barrymore tsked before letting go of his whip and sitting at his desk across from Ciel. The young earl set down the papers from the Queen and allowed Barrymore to read them. Behind the nobles, (Y/N), Sebastian, and Angela prepared tea.

            Angela’s hands shook from her injuries as she tried to lift the teacups, but (Y/N) took them from her. They seemed polite, but really (Y/N) just didn’t want her to fix anything since something was untrustworthy.

            “This isn’t even worth discussing,” said Barrymore, crossing his arms. “No matter what you propose, I am not willing to sell.”

            “State your reason,” said Ciel.

            “The curse,” said Barrymore.

            “The curse?” asked Ciel.

            “In this village, where man and dog have lived together since antiquity, there is a curse against those who would try to get their paws on it,” said Barrymore. “A fearsome hex. Even if it were the Queen herself, that would not change. A terrible fate will befall anyone who tries to go against the Barrymore family in this village.”

            “Oh? How interesting,” said Ciel.

            “What?” demanded Barrymore.

            “In that case, I shall remain here as long as it takes to witness this terrible fate firsthand,” said Ciel, smirking.

            Barrymore and Angela looked at him in surprise.

l

            “Enter,” said Sebastian as he and (Y/N) finished putting away Ciel’s clothes for their stay.

            Angela opened the door, her head bowed. “I am sorry to disturb you so late at night,” she said.

            “The Young Master was just preparing to sleep,” remarked Sebastian.

            “I-I have a request,” said Angela demurely. “Please withdraw from this village. You must not stay here!”

            “Why?” questioned Ciel, unconcerned.

            “That is…!” A howl echoed across the countryside, and Angela gasped. “No! It’s come! The Demon Hound has…!” She cried out.

            On the curtains covering the windows, the silhouette of a large dog head appeared. Ciel jerked to his feet.

            “Sebastian!” shouted Ciel.

            Sebastian threw the curtains open to reveal nothing behind them.

            “What was that?” murmured (Y/N), narrowing their eyes.

            “Look,” said Sebastian.

            Ciel and (Y/N) peered outside with him. Glowing pawprints illuminated the path away from the mansion. In the distance, a glowing dog was bounding away into the mist. (Y/N) and Sebastian glanced at each other and then headed outside to investigate.

            “Young Master! Miss Angela!” cried the other Phantomhive servants, running outside.

            “Just what is all this ruckus about?” asked Baldroy.

            “The Demon Hound appeared,” said Angela.

            “The Demon Hound?”

            “The one that will bring disaster to the village,” said Angela mournfully. “Those who have disobeyed their master will be punished by the Demon Hound. That is one of the laws of this village.”

            (Y/N) raised an eyebrow. A Demon Hound that punished those who were disobedient? They didn’t like dogs, but at least this could prove interesting.

            “Miss Angela,” said a villager as a group of them appeared at the edge of the estate. “Please inform Lord Barrymore that the Demon Hound has appeared.”

            “Who was punished?” asked Angela.

            The villagers grimly placed a body down on the ground. It was the dog trainer the Phantomhive household had passed entering the village. Bite marks shredded his clothes and skin.

            “How cruel…” murmured Finny.

            Ciel knelt to examine the body. “I see.”

            “Don’t touch him!” shouted the angry voice of Barrymore. He looked down at the body. “So, the bad dog was James…”

            “Yes. He broke the rule of having five dogs per person,” said a villager. “It seems he was keeping a sixth.”

            Too many dogs is having any at all, thought (Y/N) in distaste.

            “I see,” said Barrymore. “Then, I suppose there was no helping it.”

            “No helping it? What?” questioned Baldroy.

            “This village has rules set down by myself,” declared Barrymore. “Those who break the rules will be punished by the Demon Hound that serves the Barrymore family!”

            I doubt a man such as you has tamed a demon, dog or no, thought (Y/N).

            “As the cat meows, the white dog is a good dog, good dog. The black dog is a bad dog, bad dog,” chanted the villagers. “As the cat meows, the day falls.” They picked up the body and departed once more, their words never faltering.

            “I was sure that it would be an outsider who fell prey, but it seems you were spared,” said Barrymore. He turned with Angela and followed after the townspeople.

            (Y/N) and Sebastian made eye contact. It would do well to end this ordeal sooner rather than later.

l

            (Y/N) watched Baldroy, Finny, and Mey-Rin run about in the lake Houndsworth bordered. They remained safely out of the water beside Sebastian and Ciel.

            “Are you not interested in swimming, (Y/N)?” teased Sebastian with a knowing smirk.

            (Y/N) folded their arms. “You know perfectly well I don’t.”

            Sebastian smirked in fond amusement. “Are you not going to swim, Young Master?” asked Sebastian. Ciel ignored him and flipped to another page of business happenings. However, the demons could detect something else. Sebastian smirked. “I see. Of course, you are unable to—”

            Ciel interrupted him. “If you are still able to swim here in this season, it may yet have some merit as a resort.”

            “Are you still considering this place as a resort?” asked (Y/N).

            “Of course,” said Ciel.

            “What of the Demon Hound?” asked Sebastian.

            “You’ve noticed as well, right?” remarked Ciel. “The truth behind that ‘Demon Hound?’ ”

            (Y/N) nodded beside Sebastian. However, there still felt like something inhuman lay about the Houndsworth village.

            “Find me the proof of what I suspect,” ordered Ciel.

            “Yes, my Lord,” said Sebastian. “Immediately.”

            “You’re quite eager,” commented Ciel. “Don’t you hate dogs?”

            “Of course,” said (Y/N).

            “That is why I want to get this over with as quickly as possible,” said Sebastian. He and (Y/N) began walking away, and his gaze darkened. “Before it degenerates into the worst possible situation.”

            “You sense it, too,” said (Y/N), glancing at Sebastian. “The…inhuman air around this village.” They bared their teeth. “It makes my skin crawl.”

            “Yes,” agreed Sebastian. His gaze was dark. “Something rotted is in this town.”

l

            “So, we have everything?” confirmed (Y/N).

            Sebastian nodded. “And just in time. It seems my Young Master has gotten himself into a spot of trouble once again.”

            “He has quite the penchant for it,” remarked (Y/N). “What is it this time?”

            Sebastian tsked. “Dogs.”

            (Y/N)’s nose twitched.

l

            “Then, know what happens to those who disobey me!” cried Barrymore. “Do it!” The dogs he commanded barked and ran towards the restrained Ciel.

            The barks turned to whimpers as Sebastian and (Y/N) landed between them and Ciel and sent the dogs flying away.

            “You’re late,” said Ciel.

            “Please forgive me, my Lord,” said Sebastian casually.

            “Are you trying to get in my way, you Doberman?!” demanded Barrymore. He glared at his dogs. “What are you doing? Go and bite them all to death!” The dogs barked ferociously.

            (Y/N)’s nose twitched in annoyance. “I always detested that sound.” Their eyes flashed fuchsia, and the dogs whimpered and cowered. (Y/N) smiled in satisfaction.

            Sebastian smirked at Barrymore’s astounded face as he dogs lay down.

            “Wh-What?” cried Barrymore.

            “The farce ends here, Barrymore,” said Ciel. “Listen, you village mongrels. The only thing here is an old man who was bitten by the delusion of authority.”

            “Wh-What proof do you have?” asked Barrymore.

            “This,” said Sebastian, holding up a dog skull. “It was in the basement of the mansion. The shape of the teeth matches the marks on James.”

            “Observe the sky,” said (Y/N), gesturing up. The townspeople gasped as they saw the silhouette of a hound stretched across the clouds. “This is the truth behind Barrymore’s Demon Hound. The shadow of the Demon Hound is just a projection.”

            “The shining dog in the night was pure phosphorous,” said Sebastian. “He just poured the powder on an ordinary dog.” He poured out a vial of phosphorous.

            “The Demon Hound was an illusion choreographed by one person,” said Ciel. “And that person was you, Henry Barrymore.”

            “Where’s the proof that I did that?!” demanded Barrymore.

            (Y/N) knelt beside the sixth dog of James that had been tortured by Barrymore. They held out a hand. “Release it. You did your job.” The dog opened its mouth and allowed (Y/N) to pull a scrap of fabric away. “Here’s the proof.”

            “Th-That’s!” stammered Barrymore.

            “Correct,” said Sebastian coldly. “While trying to protect James, it bit your leg and this tore off. It is a piece of your trousers.”

            Barrymore turned to run, but the villagers closed in around him, angry at his manipulation. And he wasn’t going to get away.

            (Y/N) rather hoped he’d die, but this would do.

l

            A scream pierced the night air, and (Y/N) turned in interest. They followed their fellow servants down to the cells of the mansion, and their eyebrow rose.

            Barrymore lay in pieces, blood strewn across the floor.

            (Y/N) had to say, although this meant there was a filthy Demon Hound around, they had never been so proud of a dog.

Taglist:

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[tiredcreatur3]

since we're talking about babies, what about Toji takes a day off with his baby!!!! reader is busy with whatever they're doing and had to leave the house for a couple hours

it's daddy baby day!!!!!!

omg i am in LOVE w that!! <3 thank you love!

i feel like he'd be both excited to spend the day with his baby but also nervous because first, you're going away on your own for the first time in months and he still has that 'gotta protect my pregnant lady at all times' mode on. but who is he to forbid you to not meet up with your friends and just catch up and all. he was more than happy that you'd get some time off from taking care of your baby.

there'd definitely be a lil couch nap, the little one resting on the male's chest, held tightly by him.

after the nap, they'd play with some of the baby's toys that toji bought specifically after reading some articles and threads from some parental website and of course asking around from his friends and colleagues at works which already had kids. mans did a whole research so his baby would get the best toys to play with.

toji would build a little pyramide with the colorful wooden cubes and the baby would push their little hand into the middle, causing the pyramide to collapse and it'd make them giggle and oh, toji was so happy and just felt so at peace.

he'd be SO careful while handling the baby, feeding some formula to them, watching them with such heart eyes.

he reall found himself in that father role, feeling like that was just what he was supposed to be and he wouldn't want it any other way. god, it made him so happy, waking up next to you or getting up in the middle of the night when the baby would get fusy because they got hungry or needed their mommy and he didn't want you to be up alone.

he even takes the small bub out for a walk, pushing the stroller forward slowly while walking through a park, listening and smiling to the baby's little gurgles and giggles when toji would stop and tickle the little one's cheeks.

and of course, the baby would get frustrated and grumpy before taking a nap in the afternoon, prolly even missing their mommy just like their daddy. but toji would stay patient, gently rubbing across the baby's back and soon kissing their head once they calm down, wiping at their cheek.

he'd wait for you, tired but so fucking content with how the whole day went, resting his head on your stomach gently while you ran your fingers through his head and he told you about all the things they did together.

he'd fall asleep mid talking about it, passing out with the thought of his baby giggling at him, feeling the happiest he's ever been in his life.

[bigdealsgoddog]

Lookism characters as father p 3

Dg ‘James Lee’ (kang dagyum)

I feel like there might be a little nervousness once you become pregnant. Out of everything he can handle as the first gen leader, kpop star and all there’s still be some anxiousness whether that be from you or him

Mostly because your relationship as is is hidden, he knows you’d be hounded by his fans if they knew about you. Let alone if they found out he had a kid? Thats just stirring for all kinds of trouble

He’d definitely try to take some time off when your kid is first born. Tell his fans it’s a much needed ‘vacational song writing trip’

He’d definitely spoil his kid too tbh

Like shit tons of outfits, jewelry, toys. He does try to spend time with the kid of course but he’s very busy so it’s partly to make up for the time lost since he can’t always be there

Ok but if he had a daughter imagine him writing a song about her, so many people think he’s talking about some girl he fell in love with or at least that’s what the song seems like it’s supposed to be about just another love song

But you know better. You listen to the lyrics a little closer and you can tell he’s talking about his baby girl at home with a ‘beautiful mama at home’

Johan seong (seong yohan)

I think he’s also on the doesn’t want kids train but that’s also partly due to his trauma and his eyesight.

He knows he got it from his mama and it almost seems like it affected him at a younger age than it did his mom. What if it’s even faster on his kid? What if his kid ends up born blind?

Once you’re kiddo is born though and he gets to hold them for the first time he made a silent vow to himself even if he’s old and blind he will spend every day protecting his kid

You know how sometimes animals/pets will take in their owners new babies like their own kids and almost help ‘raise them’ because of pack mentality?

Eden absolutely does that for your guys’ kiddo. The four of you would be taking a nice walk to the park and anytime someone got close to your kids stroller Eden would immediately put herself between the stroller and the person

Family photos with Eden would be so cute oml

There’s at some point you had walked in on johan holding your kiddo up, wrapped up in his old god dog jacket just dead face serious “you. You, are god dog.” And held them up like that monkey from the lion king while Eden howled

Ryuhei

He really never thought he’d be in a committed relationship let alone a father. Especially with how Mitsuri always turned him down, his ‘little guy’ problem

But oh boy did that change with you. He thought something must’ve been wrong with him by how quick he popped a woody after he saw your positive results

He was on and off the fence for a while though whether or not he actually wanted the kid but once the kid was born he was all over that kid. You had to stop him from installing a ‘baby seat’ on his motor bike

He almost acts like an older brother more than a father especially with how he play fights with his kid

Thankfully you haven’t had to bring your kid to any emergency clinics because of it. Yet.

I feel like all the executives of the second branch’s kids would all have play dates, mostly because Eugene would want them all focusing on work so he’d pay for a employees daycare center

Ryuheis kid is more often than not in time out because they somehow keep coming into daycare with ‘weapons’ (heavy sticks, rulers, a small wooden toy bat) and tries starting fights with the other kids

Ryuhei is the one who keeps giving them to his kiddo and encouraging them with ice cream afterwards

You’ve come home a few times with ryuhei sleeping on the couch and the kiddo sitting on his lap staring at the tv that was playing one of the violent adult cartoons like family or South Park

You told him if your kids first word was some form of swear because of those shows that his special bat was going somewhere he would not like

The kids first word was fuck

Eugene (yoogin)

Ok so we already know he would’ve organized a daycare center for the fellow workers and their kids but I feel like he’s probably just try to make sure you’re the one mainly caring for the kiddo (of course if you’re ok with it) but if you can’t he’ll probably try to hire a specific nanny or something for your kiddo

Of course he’ll occasionally bring them to the daycare so they get some social interaction with kids their age but after seeing ryuheis kid try to beat the crap out of magamis kid with the wooden blocks they were playing with he’d seriously reconsider it

Ok but he’s a twin so it’s also much more likely you’ll end up having twins. Your kiddos are very similar to yoojin and his brother, the silent protector and the brains

Bring your kiddo to work day! It would be hilarious if yoojin and his brother dressed exactly the same and dressed the kiddos the same way just to fuck with the workers

They just saw yoojin and his son walk down the hall-wait when did yoojin and his son get in the conference room?

[antiquatedsimmer]

With the unexpected birth of triplets, the house they had lovingly decorated suddenly seemed much smaller. Had it always been this cramped?

The woven bassinet Lucile had crafted with such care now proved woefully inadequate for three growing babies. While Josephine snatched moments of rest, still recovering from the grueling labor, Lucile found herself compelled to ride into town at first light. She sought out suitable alternatives, determined to find proper cradles so the babies could sleep comfortably, not crammed together in a tiny basket.

The corners of the nursery, once used to store extra trunks, needed to be cleared, and a few additional toys were moved into the hall to make room for more space.

After dipping into their savings, spending hours in shops, and mustering the courage to knock on the doors of some church members for assistance, Lucile managed to return home with a woven stroller, a beautifully carved wooden cradle, and an older hand-me-down crib.

They hardly had time to fully absorb the changes in the house before the demands of caring for triplets overwhelmed them. Even making breakfast became an insurmountable task.

When one infant cried, the others followed. Rosemary🌹, ever the leader, was the first to set off the chorus of wails. She kicked and cried, never afraid to vocalize her many demands. She required extra care after feeding to avoid tummy discomfort, which often triggered her moody behavior.

Aster🌸was an early riser, a trait that aligned well with Lucile's own pre-dawn routine. She would often use those quiet, early hours to get a head start on feeding him before the day’s chaos began.

Unlike his sister Rosemary, Aster wasn’t a temperamental baby. However, once he was picked up, he loathed being put back down. This made mornings particularly challenging when Lucile had to hand him off to Josephine before heading to work. His protests were inevitable, a heart-wrenching wail that tugged at Lucile’s resolve as she left for the day, knowing Josephine would have her hands full soothing their little ones all by herself.

Daisy🌼, on the other hand—God bless her—was a relatively easy child. She was a reserved baby who slept often, cried the least, always finished her food, and was content to be loved when attention wasn't solely focused on her more demanding siblings.

"Lucie..."

"Yes, love?"

"I could really use a nap."

"Sorry, we don't get those anymore." Lucile chuckled

[she-karev]

Babysitting Luna (Andrew DeLuca x Alex Karev’s Sister)

Age Rating: 12+

Chapters: Five of Five

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy

Ship: Andrew DeLuca x Amber Karev (Alex Karev’s Sister)

AN: I know you guys love the pregnancy storyline so I decided to explore it more. I want to show when Amber and Andrew decided to get pregnant and why. Here’s the final chapter let me know what your guys think, like and reblog below.

Summary: Amber and Andrew hand Luna back to Alex and Jo. Afterwards, Amber tells Andrew she wants them to have a baby

Words: 1339

January 16th, 2022

Amber washes the dishes in the kitchen sink that is facing the occupied table. Andrew is sitting at the table with Luna where they draw. Amber grins at the crayons scattered all over the wooden furniture as Luna was always switching colors to her and Andrew’s amusement. She can see Andrew smiling at the little girl telling her in a funny voice how she’s the best artist in the world. Luna smiles at the attention from her uncle as she draws her tenth masterpiece.

The sight of it makes Amber’s stomach flutter with butterflies. They were able to overcome the scare from a few days ago and they’ve been attentive and fun guardians for Luna. Amber spent the days with Luna either make playdough, huddling under the makeshift fort, watching educational shows with her plushies, playing with Jazz or having playdates with Link and Scout.

The past week has been fun and exhausting. The couple feel their energy dimming throughout the day trying to keep up with a toddler but in the end they go to sleep content that they kept Luna safe and happy.

All the worst scenarios that ran in her head before they started babysitting went out the door once Amber settled into auntie mode. She has enjoyed every minute of her free time with Luna and so has Andrew.

“Oh, that is a great drawing Luna.” Andrew says to Luna who grins as well as Amber who joins them when she finishes the dishes, “I love how you gave Jazz a little hat, I might just look into getting him one.”

Amber smiles, “Yeah I mean he’s cute enough as it is, but a hat might make people drop dead from how adorable he is.” Amber leans down to pet Jazz’s head as he lazily lies down under the table by their feet.

“Yeah, I bet your really excited to show your mommy and daddy all the masterpieces you made while you were away huh?”

“I bet that St. Kitts was boring compared to your vacation here at our house huh?” Luna grins at her aunt while she continues drawing, “Who needs beaches and carnivals when you can have dinosaur chicken nuggets in a fort while watching Inside Out?”

“I mean I’m good with that all day every day.” Andrew supports causing Amber to smile before the doorbell rings causing Andrew to stand up, “I wonder who that is.”

Andrew walks to the door and as he expected Alex and Jo are on the other side with the stroller. They both are wearing jeans and St. Kitts souvenir shirts to Andrew’s amusement.

Alex exhales in exhaustion clearly ready to rest after their vacation, “Hey we’re back, where is the little love bug?”

“She’s right here!” Amber yells out from the table and helps Luna down from the chair. The little girl runs to the front door where Alex and Jo greet her with smiles and hellos. Alex picks up his little girl in his arms and gives her a big fat kiss.

“How was your vacation little moon? Did you give your uncle and aunt a hard time?”

Andrew grins, “No she was perfect. I mean aside from the scare she gave us things ran smooth over here.”

Jo smiles, “I’m glad, did she miss us at all?”

“Truthfully?” Amber teases causing Jo to narrow her eyes and Amber to chuckle, “She kept asking where you guys were, and I had to set up photos of you two by her bedside so she could go to sleep.”

“Aww.” Jo coos to Luna, “Well don’t worry Luna bear, mommy and daddy got you so many toys from the Caribbean. Hopefully it makes you less mad at us for spending a week with margaritas and room service instead of you.”

“I know it makes me less mad.” Alex jokes, “But yeah don’t hate us little moon, your still number one to us.” Luna smiles at her dad.

Amber grins handing the bag to Jo, “Potty training wasn’t so bad, your instructions were very clear. Also Link and Scout are coming over to your house tomorrow for a little welcome back get together. And I found out to my complete displeasure that singing Radiohead to her gets her to sleep.”

Alex groans sharing Amber’s distaste, “Seriously? It couldn’t have been Led Zeppelin instead of a band that makes me want to flop on the bed and cry?”

Andrew rolls his eyes at that, “It’s an acquired taste.”

“Yeah, for people with no taste at all.” Alex retorts causing Andrew to grin sarcastically before Ales puts Luna in the stroller, “Okay let’s get you home little moon so daddy can nap on the couch while binging Breaking Bad.”

“And mommy will join him.” Jo turns to Amber and Andrew, “Thank you guys so much, we owe you big time. And if you can’t return the toys, we’ll reimburse you.”

“It’s no problem we had a great time with her.” Andrew says.

“Yeah she’s every aunt and uncles dream niece.” Amber agrees, “Let us know when you get home, bye.” Alex and Jo say bye before closing the door and leaving them to themselves. The ambience is different from the last week, and it makes Amber ache for the little roommate they had. The same ache makes her come to a decision once and for all while her husband picks up the crayons.

“Okay I got the receipts in an envelope above the fridge, with some cleaning we should be able to get our money back on toys we are probably never gonna use again.” Amber grins at that before approaching Andrew as he puts the crayons inside the box.

“Maybe we don’t have to. Maybe we’ll use these toys again…with our kids this time.” Andrew looks up with wide eyes and takes a moment before speaking.

“A-Are you sure?”

Amber inhales before nodding with a grin looking up at her husband, “Yeah, I-I mean I’m terrified and there’s no telling what the hormones are gonna do to me and you should probably invest in a bomb shelter for yourself but yeah. I want this with you, screw the stalling and all the reasons why we shouldn’t have kids. I mean taking care of Luna this past week…it’s made me crave it even more and it’s made it clear the timing will never be perfect so we just go ahead with it. Let’s do it, let’s make a baby.”

Andrew slowly smiles at her insistence, “You really want to do this?”

Amber nods, “Yes do I have to say yes until my biological clock expires?”

“No, no let’s get right down to it.” Andrew starts to kiss Amber who responds before groaning and pulling back with an annoyed look, “What is it?”

“First order of business is to get my implant out and then we get pregnant.” Andrew groans remembering that Amber has been using the birth control arm implant since she was 14, “Hey don’t hate me for being smart and safe as a hormonal teenager. As soon as the OB takes it out and the two weeks pass for my fertility to get back to normal then we can try for a baby.”

Andrew nods understanding as a medical professional. Amber grins slyly before laying her hands on his shoulder in a way that makes his heart race, “But until then we can…practice.”

Andrew grins mischievously feeling the same desire as her as he pulls her toward him by her hips, “Yeah? Do you want to practice in the bedroom or the couch?”

Amber chuckles evilly, “I was thinking…storage bench at the foot of the bed.”

Andrew moans under his breath at how erotic his wife can be at times, “God, I love you.” Andrew presses her against him so he can kiss her passionately. She responds with the same feverous temptation before pulling back and grabbing his hand so she can lead him to their bedroom to follow her suggestion.