#handmade red glass decor

[heartnosekid]

stained glass butterfly & moth plant stakes 🦋 | curiositygarden.ks on ig

#stim #butterflies #decor #stained glass #sfw #green #yellow #black #orange #blue #red #white #fake animals #shiny #plant stakes #handmade art #moths #luna moth #actias luna #eastern tiger swallowtail #papilio glaucus #monarch butterfly #danaus plexippus #common blue morpho #morpho peleides #ii think those are all the real life butterflies and moths these are based on #hands #plants #ishy gifs #postish

[ceilidho]

prompt: IKEA soap/reader fic. PART 3. (read 1, 2) tags: dubcon

-

The Christmas party presents a whole new challenge in trying to ward Johnny off.

It’s hard because at first you almost gravitate towards him, weirdly enchanted by his ugly sweater with red reindeer on the sleeves. It’s only when he finally spots you—and you shudder when you notice the way his eyes scan across the crowd of other employees, seeking you out—and he practically lights up that you snap back to reality.

He blazes a path towards you like a heat seeking missile, dodging around your other coworkers. You stand there awkwardly as he cuts across the room, wondering if maybe you should’ve just texted your manager some excuse about feeling sick and stayed home. Too late now though. 

Fortunately for you, the assistant manager intercepts before Johnny’s able to make it halfway across the room, stepping between the two of you like they don’t even realize they’ve interrupted anything. There’s a split second where you can see Johnny wrestle with the urge to push them aside, fury clear in his eyes. Maybe only to you. The assistant manager opens their mouth and talks like nothing’s amiss, like it isn’t clear that Johnny is only a handful of seconds away from causing serious harm.

Then it passes; recedes into the dark. Johnny’s blue eyes go pellucid again, unbothered by the real world. The smile that spreads across his face seems sincere; if you hadn’t been watching him that entire time, you might not have even thought that he’d harboured any violence inside of him. 

You saw it though. You saw it.

It makes sense in the context of his background. You’d never given the ex-military thing much thought, but every so often you can almost feel the ghost of its presence in the back of your mind. When his reflexes kick in or the gleam in his eyes grows dark. He doesn’t ever talk about his past life in specifics, only grand overtures meant to distract anyone listening, but what he does reveal sometimes makes your stomach clench. 

You swallow and turn back to the conversation with your other coworkers, steadfastly avoiding Johnny’s eyes peeking over the assistant manager’s head. 

The breakroom is decked out in cheap Christmas decorations, a fiber-optic tree set up in the corner, iridescent bristles shifting colours with every blink. Someone passes you a vaguely alcoholic drink and you sip at it nervously, reaching the bottom of your first cup faster than you anticipated. 

Your secret Santa gift is on a table just outside the breakroom in the hall, along with all the other gifts. Something about it draws your eyes several times throughout the evening. Maybe something you saw but didn’t register. It’s hard to keep focused on the conversation happening around you when your attention oscillates between Johnny and the gift table, but you respond hastily when someone prompts you to answer. 

It comes to light when someone clinks a spoon against their glass and directs everyone to gather in the middle of the room. Two of the warehouse guys awkwardly try to bring the table into the room without knocking any of the gifts onto the floor. There are a few casualties, but when they manage to twist it enough to get it through the door, someone pulls up a chair to stand on and read off all of the names to hand out the gifts. 

Several people coo when you’re revealed as the recipient of Johnny’s gift. There’s no reason for it to come as a shock, but your stomach clenches anyway.

He stands practically right up against you when you open it. You know the second you unwrap it that the delicate bottle of perfume in your hands must have been in the three figures. All you did was get someone a handmade mug from a local craft fair. He stares at you when you unwrap it, beaming when you give him a very controlled thank you because the alternative is screaming that this is way too expensive for you to keep. 

“Ye should put it on,” he tells you, breathing just a little heavier. “Really want ta smell it on ye.”

You don’t know what possesses you to give it a spritz on your wrist, letting him guide your hand to dab it against the base of your throat. It’s intimate enough that his eyes follow the movement of your throat when you swallow, mouth going dry. They drag up to your lips when they part, a hesitant thanks hanging off your tongue.

“Jesus Christ, get a room already,” someone near you murmurs, but it doesn’t take long for their attention to slip off you as the next gift recipient is announced. Not Johnny though. 

Your mouth snaps shut.

He hovers at your back for the rest of the gift handouts, so close that you can feel the heat radiating off him. You flinch at his bitten off groans whenever you so much as fidget, rubbing against him. Shaking him off seems like a hopeless task until someone asks if you have a lozenge, giving you an excuse to take them to your locker. 

You can feel him stalking you like a shark around the breakroom when you chat with some of your other coworkers, the smile on your face becoming forced. 

“Did’ya know Johnny actually—oh, sorry, burped—he actually paid me…to get your name?” your coworker giggles, absolutely sloshed. You’re tipsy too, but her words make you go a bit cold.

“Pardon?” you ask. The red cup crackles when your fingers tighten around it.

“He paid me. Fifty dollars. Jus’ to get your name for the…for the stupid Santa thing. The secret Santa.”

You can feel the way your mouth hangs open, just a bit. Her words echo in your head, the conversation long over. You let her prattle on, still stuck on the thought of Johnny paying someone off just for the opportunity to give you a gift. The longer you stand there and chat with your coworkers, the more difficult it gets to look normal. 

“Isn’t that something?” she prompts, nudging you with an elbow. Even the slightest touch hits you like a battering ram. 

“Yeah,” you parrot back, “it’s something.”

Perhaps you’re overdue for a conversation with Johnny about boundaries. More than overdue. The package has been signed, sealed, and delivered. It was overdue months ago, the day you started working at the same store as him. By now, you should’ve quit or transferred, hell you should’ve yelled at him that one time he stopped you in the garden section to apply his own personal Chapstick to your lips (you don’t think about how you’d bitten them raw from staring across the row of potted flowers as he stacked bag after bag of fertilizer onto a customer’s pallet before pushing it to their car, his sleeves rolled up and thick biceps on display the whole time). 

Can anyone blame you for being confused? It’s obvious what he’s offering. He does nothing to hide it. It’s also obvious that it would be, unequivocally, a terrible idea to take him up on it. 

Maybe you just need some fresh air. You make an excuse and peel off from the rest of the group, heading for the door. Someone lurches out of the shadows in the corner before you can make it out. 

“Look, bonnie—mistletoe,” Johnny teases, not letting you so much as glance up before snatching you by the hips and reeling you into him. 

The kiss he plants on you is filthy and wet. Open-mouthed too so he can slip you his tongue, licking over the roof of your mouth. Sucking your bottom lip when you can’t help the whimper that slips out and he breaks away for only a split second to whisper oh fuck under his breath. Your mind reels when he dives back in for another kiss. He’s as good of a kisser as you might have expected, messy but forceful, threading a hand into your hair to hold you in place. The way he roots you in place licks at something delicious inside of you, a secret, buried urge.

Johnny finally pulls away when he can no longer convincingly ignore the way you push on his shoulders and squirm in his arms. His lips are wet when he pulls back, a thin strand of saliva clinging between your lips. It breaks when he runs his tongue across the wetness. 

Someone whistles and Johnny grins from ear to ear, bashful under the joy brimming out of him. You stumble away the second his hands loosen on your hips, wiping a hand across your mouth.

“Good for you, John!” someone shouts through cupped hands and several of your coworkers cackle. 

This time you actually manage to make it out the door and down the hall to the employee restroom. You spend the next few minutes washing your hands until your fingertips go pruney under the warm water and you try to think of anything except the texture of Johnny’s lips. 

You touch your lips no less than three times. Each time, your fingers come back trembling. It’s what you’d long expected from Johnny, from someone that looks like him, like the physical embodiment of ‘for a good time, call…’ written in lipstick on the back of a gas station bathroom door. 

The last thing you want to do is give him an inch, throw him a bone—actually lead him on, as your coworker might say. Still, your finger trembles on your lip. You know he’d make it good. Even if he didn’t, looking like that, who could blame you? The thought makes you wince, conscience of objectifying him, but haven’t you been subject to worse by now? You’re due far more than some measly peck for how many times he’s slapped your ass, stolen your scrunchie (two so far), or said something nasty to you.

It’s not hard to track him down when he’s always hovering nearby, this time just off by the watercooler with your manager and a few other coworkers. The hand not holding a drink is buried deep in his pocket, the smile on his face strained by a mask of politeness; you can tell at a glance that he’s only playing at civility, that he’d rather be anywhere else but chatting with his boss and colleagues at the office party.

When he spots you approaching the group of them, his eyes widen, excitement bleeding back into them. It takes your breath away.

“Ah, there’s your other half, Johnny,” your manager says and you freeze. 

“Aye, so she is. She’s a good little kisser, did’ye see?” Johnny gushes, pulling you in by the waistband of your pants. You’re a bit too tipsy to protest when he slips his hand around your waist. 

It clicks into place. When he pulls you into his side, it feels like slotting into a space made just for you, unwelcome or not. You don’t even notice if your other coworkers laugh or not, fixated on his eyes. He can hardly pull them away from you. Every long shift waking up on the sofa in the breakroom with Johnny standing over you, eyes glinting like a predator’s in the woods, and every coworker’s joke about being Johnny’s girl feels like it’s been leading to this. You have to know what it’d be like. 

“Um…Johnny?” you start, tugging on his shirt gently.

“Yeah, hen? What’s it?”

“Can we…um…do you wanna go somewhere more private?”

His breathing stops, body frozen against yours. “Ye serious, kitty? You’re not joking?”

You shake your head. “Just…just one time? Maybe?”

The first sign of movement from him is a full body shudder that nearly makes you step back. The frazzled look in his eyes borders on manic, flitting around the room looking for the nearest exit. Johnny tosses the group some hasty, poorly worded goodbye (you think he even flubs your manager’s name) and tears away from them, you still glued to his side. Someone giggles as you leave. You can’t pay them any mind though, not with how frantically Johnny pulls you out of the breakroom and down the hall, his long strides nearly making you trip over your feet.

“Johnny—slow down—”

“Hen, I’ll carry ye over my shoulder to the closet, I swear.”

He nearly barrels you over with how forcefully he pushes you into the closet, hot mouth latched onto the side of your throat. You hear the sound of the lock clicking behind him. The closet is swathed in darkness, only the barest hint of light bleeding through from underneath the doorway. It’s hardly enough for you to see anything in front of you, but that almost doesn’t matter with how Johnny curls around you, his body caging you in against the shelving behind you. 

“Please, please, fuck, I cannae believe it, fuck—” Johnny groans into your neck, a pathetic desperate sound that you’ve never heard from him before. He even keens a bit. “Oh Jesus, baby, I’ve been—dinnae if ye knew or not, but I’ve been fuckin’ obsessed with ye for ages, Christ.”

You let out a laugh in disbelief, embarrassed by how breathless it sounds. “I—oh—I f-figured.”

His hands drag up and down your back, tugging at the fabric of your shirt and practically ripping it out of where it’s been tucked into your pants. If you had buttons, you think you’d burst straight off, zip off the walls and roll under one of the shelves. Johnny’s eagerness bleeds through—months of barely concealed lust unravelling right in front of you, his hands practically shaking when they grope along your sides and under your breasts. His fingers dig almost painfully into your flesh until you whimper and he murmurs a broken apology into your neck.

“Wha’d’ye want, baby? I can—fuck, anything ye want, I promise—” Johnny begs, the sound almost pitiful. It makes your pussy ache.

“Your—your mouth—” 

The speed with which he drops to his knees almost makes you flinch. His kneecaps are only saved by the carpeted floor, present nowhere else in the employee section apart from the supply closets. His hands go to the zipper and button on your jeans, yanking viciously, almost snarling when they don’t immediately come undone. When you try to help him, he bares his teeth, more animalistic than you’ve ever seen him before.

“Do these fuckin’ pants even come off?” Johnny growls, giving another yank. You hear something rip and wince.

He manages to wrench your pants down until they pool around your ankles, only enough concentration left in him to pull one leg out and drape it over his shoulder. 

“Johnny—my underwear—holy shit—” you gasp when he mashes his face into the crotch of your panties, laving his tongue over the fabric. You can feel the heat of it through the gusset of your underwear, each desperate lick trying unsuccessfully to pull them to the side. 

“Fuck, s’ry, baby, I’ll take ‘em off,” he apologizes, voice muffled where his mouth is still pressed to your pussy. Reluctant to move even an inch away from you. 

It takes him a couple more seconds before he’s able to move away just long enough to pull your underwear down as well, struggling with getting it over the leg still draped over his shoulder and nearly losing his patience twice over. 

He takes to eating you out like something he’s done for years—naturally. Crudely. Eyes fluttering shut when he drags his tongue from your slit to your clit, unabashedly enjoying himself. His moans drag through you, making you nearly shake right out of your skin. His chin is already wet when you glance down. He spreads your inner lips with two fingers to open you fully to his gaze, lapping at your clit until he can hardly pull his mouth away from your cunt. 

Johnny drags one of your hands from his hair to cradle the side of his face, turning into your palm to take a deep inhale. His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, eyes several degrees hotter when they meet yours through the curtain of his lashes.

“Fuckin’ smell like mine too,” he growls. You jolt at his words. He draws a finger into his mouth and gives it a suck, making you trill. 

“D-don’t get any ideas,” you gasp, other hand threading through his hair now, turnabout fair play. “S’just a—ah, ah—a one-time t-thing.”

“Aye, one time, one time,” he repeats. “Gonna make it so good f’r ye, baby.”

The two fingers spreading you open push against your entrance insistently. The initial stretch makes you tug at his hair, flushing when all that does is make him moan, mouth hung open sluttily. He looks even more strung out than you, eyes dark and heady. He’s also never looked more attractive.

Shelves jab into the small of your back, the ache growing the longer he keeps you like that with one leg slung over his shoulder, your knees almost buckling. Impossible to concentrate on the voice in your head screaming that this is a bad idea, not when he runs his tongue over your clit and sucks. Not when you’re forced to clamp a palm over your mouth to drown out your sounds. 

The press of a third finger into you makes you flinch and yank at his hair, harder this time. Hard enough for Johnny to back off, an apology muttered into your wetness. The two splitting you are more than enough, you think, a bit wildly. He shouldn’t be prepping you for anything more. There’s a furrow to his brows though, a bit of frustration wedged in there. Like putting up with your complaints annoys him just a bit.

“John—c’mon, please, not so loud,” you beg.

He pumps his fingers into you, eyes trained on the spot where they disappear. The look in his eyes borders on reverent. “Always mouthin’ off, huh? Even when I’m getting ye off? On my knees ‘n everything?”

“There are p-people outside,” you hiss, clamping your hand back down over your mouth when he curls his fingers and presses up into you. 

“Yeah?” The question sounds rhetorically, almost a challenge. The smile on his lips goes wicked sharp. “God, we wouldnae want ‘em ta hear, huh? What ye pulled me away from the party for?”

You don’t know why that’s what sets you off, but it does, eyes watering with the force of your orgasm. Back arched. Your head aches from where you knocked it back into the shelf behind you. Johnny groans when you clench around his fingers.

It’s a few seconds before you feel like you can speak again. The first thing you can utter is a hiss when Johnny laps at your slit again, far too sensitive for him to still be touching you.

“You can, ah…you can let me go now,” you pant. Coming back to your body takes an age, legs still trembling, held up by Johnny’s hands alone.

His fingers grip harder into your flesh. You stare down at him. 

“Oh, pretty baby,” Johnny coos, eyes black with desire, “we’re jus’ gettin’ started.”

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #ikea soap #soap x reader #soap/reader #john soap mactavish #soap mw2 #soap cod #soap mactavish #soap x you

[elodieunderglass]

Mad Spring - sour gummies, you feral little goblin. Tangfastics. Airheads. Sour Patch Kids. Like High Summer, you choose fruit-flavored gummy sweets, but you pick ones coated in Pain Sugar. It isn’t enough to just get sugar: you’re chasing a different Sensory Experience (TM) than the rest. And that’s great.

Warm Spring - white chocolate, ruby chocolate, pastel mint drops, cotton candy, bubblegum. Marshmallows. Sweet, creamy, usually pastel. You have no particular objection to floral tastes like lavender and rose. You may be able to appreciate Turkish Delight.

Midsummer - tropical fruits: chewy and slightly creamy in pastel colors. Starburst/Opal Fruit, Creamsicles/Solero. Maoam strips. Cream sodas. Skittles, despite being jewel-toned, are in this season. Coconut and pineapple flavors go here. Also the home of chalky-type sweets like Love Hearts/candy hearts, smarties (usa) and You may be also able to appreciate Turkish Delight.

High Summer - Gummy bears and chewy, jellyish, jammy, gummy, springy in bright jewel tones. Gummy worms and jelly snakes, jelly babies, jelly beans, Haribo. Clearer and gummier than Midsummer.

Autumn Night - darker and more complex sweetness, often including an element of burning or alcohol, or another challenge. Cherry cordials, marzipan, champagne truffles. Also home of burnt-sugar tastes: maple candy, bonfire toffee, candy corn. Also home of matcha; red liquorice; red bean paste. When people bring you sweets from other countries, they’ll choose unusual local delicacies. You almost certainly were fascinated as a kid by lollipops at the science museum sold with real bugs in them.

Autumn Salt - peanut butter and peanut brittle, salted caramel, toffee, butterscotch. Toffee popcorn, Reese’s Peanut Butter cups, Snickers, Daim. If nobody has any nuts, you’ll choose chocolate with nuts, crisp or crunch over other things. Sweet just isn’t enough.

Winter Spice - herbal, spicy and medicinal sweets, usually hard old-fashioned sweets. Red-hots, burning cinnamon, chilli - eucalyptus, root beer, menthol; sarsaparilla. Hard candy, generally: old fashioned ‘boiled sweets,’ things that look gorgeous in glass jars. Parma violets. Fisherman’s Friends. You’re the only person who would eat a gingerbread house after decorating it. You’re also possibly a ghost, or used to be a Mad Spring. It’s also about the SENSATION.

Midwinter - dark black Licorice. Salty? Sweet? saltlakrids? Allsorts? Australian? You might like other things too, but when your loved ones are in another country, they go to the licorice aisle and get you the weirdest local variant they can find.

Long Winter - true chocolate, basic chocolate stuff: M&Ms. Dairy Milk. Hershey’s Kiss. But also home of fudgy tastes and sugar-on-sugar in a long slow sauce. Marshmallow, Handmade fudge, Phish Food ice cream.

Cool Winter - naturally, the homebase of minty tastes. peppermint wheels, York’s Peppermint Patties, After Eights. Also orange - chocolate orange - and, oddly, pixie sticks/sherbet and other sweet things that involve eating simple flavored sugar.

[mawofthemagnetar]

TFC’s Completely Normal Afternoon Where Nothing Goes Wrong And Nobody Dies Horribly

(shoutout to @lindentree for inspiring this silly fic!)

TFC sat in his little bachelor pad, coffee in hand, watching the steam rise out of his mug. 

It was a nice mug, all things considered. A gift from the other Hermits. A handmade blue thing, turned on a potter’s wheel, with an extra-large handle to give his old hands a break sometimes. Full of coffee from his ancient coffee machine, that gurgled and growled like a jackhammer being waterboarded.

TFC took a sip, and winced. Okay, so maybe it was time to leave the mine and get more coffee. He’d re-used the grounds for the fourth time, and now it was really starting to get properly bitter. 

He drummed his fingers on his glass-top table, listening to the echo against the cold stone walls of his little antechamber. Maybe he’d decorate the walls at some point soon. 

TFC shrugged, and opened his comm. Hopefully one of the other Hermits had some coffee beans. He wiped the stone dust off his screen, and held down the three buttons to switch it on. Yes, he kept his comm strapped to his arm like almost every other player with some semblance of sense. No, he refused to let the damn thing be awake for any longer than it needed to be. The Hermits were chatty folks, and when TFC was deep in his mines and deep in thought, the last thing he needed interrupting his musings was a million buzzing noises as Cleo and Jevin got into a slapfight in the general chat. 

TFC’s personal logo flashed across the screen (the three letters of his name in red, natch) and he took another slurp of his bitter coffee, wrinkling his nose. The comm beeped, and TFC opened the group chat and tapped out a quick message. 

<Tinfoilchef> anyone got any more coffee? I’m clean out. 

He put his comm down, and took another swig. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

TFC frowned. He was a patient man by nature. The same could not be said of the other Hermits, who were usually falling over themselves to help each other out. 

And he hadn’t gotten a reply yet. 

It had been a whole ninety seconds.

TFC scrolled up in chat, and he sighed, rubbing his face. He sank back in his chair in annoyance. 

Of course. 

He tabbed upwards, watching things spiral out of control… in reverse. 

<Renthedog was blanched to death> 

<Renthedog> THE PAIN! THE PAIN IS INDESCRIBABLE

<Vintagebeef was portaged to death> 

<Vintagebeef> RUN! THE BOATS! THE BOATS ARE COMING!

TFC rubbed his temples with his free hand, sighing in exasperation. ‘

“Guys, I dug up five stacks of diamonds, don’t make me do this…I don’t want to re-dig those tunnels…” TFC groaned. 

And of course the nonsense kept coming as he scrolled farther and farther back. Gee, that last message from Ren was about four hours ago, now...

<Iskall85 became part of the weft> 

<Iskall85> HELP GOD THE LOOM’S GROWN LEGS

“Does anyone on this server besides me even know HOW to weave?!” TFC growled, averting his gaze from his pile of unfinished weaving in the corner of the room. It didn’t exist. He couldn’t see it. His WIP’s couldn’t hurt him.

And on and on it went.

<Xisumavoid was hooked to death>

<Grian was torqued to death>

<Tango was unraveled to death> 

<Zombiecleo was racqueted to death>

“Right, I’ve seen enough.” TFC sighed, “On the bright side, at least I’ll have all the coffee I had a week ago, so there’s that…” 

He carefully tabbed through his various screens and menus until he arrived at the one bit of his comm that was set aside for admin functions. Now, TFC wasn’t a server admin. That much was true. But he had slight admin privileges, for one thing and one thing only: server rollbacks. 

While, say, Hypno would have had an extensive wall of options, showing his permissions and all sorts of bells and whistles, TFC’s admin console had a text box to input a date and a big red “GO” button. 

He looked mournfully at his ender chest, and, with a sigh, keyed in a date one week prior. 

And TFC jabbed his thumb on the big red button. 

The world flashed white, utterly blinding him, and a second later TFC was deep in the branch mine in a half-finished tunnel, the same spot he’d been exactly a week prior. 

Unfortunately, he was still in a comfortable sitting position, resting all his weight on a chair that suddenly wasn’t there, so he immediately toppled to the ground, landing on his ass in an undignified heap. 

“Ow.” TFC muttered, sitting up slowly and tapping through his messages. 

<Xisuma> oh, we rolled back. Is everyone alright!?

<Tango> Mumbo you are BANNED FROM TIME TRAVEL

<MumboJumbo> It wasn’t me this time! I mean it was. But blame Zedaph! 

<Zedaph> ME?! No! Blame Cub! Cub gave me the doodad! 

TFC rolled his eyes and typed out a message. 

<Tinfoilchef> Does anyone have any fresh coffee beans?

Silence. 

No messages. No new complaining. As all the hermits re-read TFC’s words and soaked them in. 

Finally, Cleo broke the silence. 

<Zombiecleo> TFC. How many times did you re-use your last filter of grounds. 

<TinfoilChef> eh, six? Seven?

<Zombiecleo> are you telling me we’d all still be in shuttlecock hell if you hadn’t gotten sick of the taste of reused coffee grinds?!

<TinfoilChef> Pretty much, yeah 

<TinfoilChef> anyway 

<TinfoilChef> does anyone have some fresh coffee? 

#magnetar writes #Hermitcraft fic #TFC fic

[97keanu]

Valentine’s Day with the Keanuverse <3

John Wick: John would def start your day with breakfast in bed, and he is a wonderful cook, making everything you like and presenting it perfectly. He may take this time to give you a back massage while you enjoy your morning coffee, anything he can do to make you feel relaxed. Depending on the vibes of the day, he may have a lot planned out, like a surprise trip to your favorite destination, a spa day, dinner reservations, buying out a movie theatre just for the two of you(he loves if he can have you all to himself!). He may also opt for staying in, making you lunch, dinner, anything he can do to make your life perfect today(my boy’s love language is acts of service!). He will likely end the night with you in a bubble bath, enjoying each other’s company over an expensive glass of champagne, he’s not even afraid to do a face mask with you and really find some time to relax after everything. He is not letting ANYTHING come between you and him enjoying yourselves today. You end the night in bed with John lavishing your body with his hands, mouth, and whatever else he can to completely please you.

Types of presents include: Trips, cars, anything you want that he could ‘know a guy’ and make happen(remember that concert you really wanted that sold out?), spa day packages, handcrafted(but John is like, really good at it. Perhaps he tracks down one of your favorite childhood stories and restores the book for you!), shopping trips, homemade meals, anything you ask him for!

John Constantine: Let’s be honest, he probably forgot about Valentine’s Day, and is trying to work something out last minute. He’s running to the store to try to get flowers, but they’re already out, so he’s out doing something crazy like stealing from some poor soul’s grave. He’s trying to remember any hints you gave for what you wanted and barely remembering what your favorite candy is, which he luckily obtains. He calls up every restaurant in the city but all he gets is laughs when he tries. To make a reservation. Constantine is sooo disorganized for this, but the pressure hits him last minute because as much as he can be a callous asshole, he can’t have you thinking he thought you don’t deserve anything for Valentine’s Day. He finally finds somewhere that will let him buy takeout, and he takes home a bounty of last minute gifts and decor to his apartment where he quickly tries to plate the food and pass it off as his own.

In the end, after he picks you up and takes you back to his place, you enter to find his apartment set a glow with candles, soft music playing on his old busted CD player, and the smell of your favorite takeout. You are certain when you see the scene that he scrounged all this together, but at the same time, he looks at you with those dark puppy eyes, and you can’t help but be glad he remembered at all and tried. He gives you his slightly wilting bouquet of yellow and white flowers (claiming they were all out of red, but you suspect differently.) and you two have a lovely meal and a night in with some of your favorite feel good movies that Constantine would typically never sit down to watch with you. Even if it all seems small, you enjoy having some genuine time with him, and even getting to see him laugh and claim not to be teary eyed at some of the sappy scenes of the movie.

Types of presents include: Handmade, experience style gifts (perhaps taking you to his favorite secret spots!), flowers, all your favorite candies(that he could remember), maybe a chance to finally get to see his softer side.

Kevin Lomax: He’s going all out, he’s starting your day by sending breakfast to your door (all of your favorites of course!), sending dozens of flowers to your office just to make all the other girls jealous, sending a private car to pick you up too and from work, and leaving designer dress options and shoes in our bedroom for when you come home from work. You choose the dress you want to wear for the occasion, and your driver is taking you across town now to the fanciest restaurant in town. You meet him there, and Kevin looks absolutely dashing in his black suit and tie. He greets you with your first real gift for the night, a stunning piece of jewelry he knows you’ve been eyeing, then you two have a lovely dinner before going back to his apartment where you walk in to find the largest teddy bear you’ve ever seen holding more presents. He totally love bombs you for Valentine’s Day because giving gifts is on the top of his love languages, and you aren’t complaining. You two end the day in bed trying out some of the new toys he bought for the occasion.

Types of presents include: Perfumes, high end makeup, designer lingerie (for later of course), bondage gear (he loves making you his rope bunny <3), and anything you desire that money can buy. He may even surprise you with some heartfelt pillow talk when all is said and done.

Neo: Like Constantine, he is a bit forgetful of Valentine’s Day, but more in the sense of he has no idea what to get you and is absolutely horrible at deciding on a gift. He keeps trying to figure it out until it’s a week or two out and he’s found out he’s too late for reservations at all your favorite spots and on top of it there’s no way what he wanted to get you will ship in time, so he improvises. He sends flowers to your door and a note on where to meet him tonight. He doesn’t have much money so he hacks into wine and paint class via their online booking and you two end up having a great time trying to draw each other, despite his looking quite crude in form. He then takes you to a hotel reservation (that he also hacked his way into…) in the presidential suite, enjoying champagne and room service that is being charged to a card that doesn’t exist. You wonder how he got all this done, but you also know he has his ways, and don’t want to ruin the moment. You enjoy the room’s hot tub together while getting a little dirty trying to get clean. You have no idea how down to the wire he really was for making Valentine’s Day happen. He ends the night by gifting you a computer program that he made for you, and it’s awesome because it helps you with a daily task you’ve been irritated with. You two end up spending lovely quality time together, enjoying your time together and each other’s bodies no doubt!

Types of presents include: Handmade gifts, handcrafted technology (think: my boyfriend built me a computer!), hacked tech that would help in your everyday life, and he may even surprise you with something that you mentioned a long time ago(that he totally didn’t hack your search history to know about.)

Ted Logan: Ted is super sweet and caring for Valentine’s Day, surprisingly not forgetting that it exists in the first place. He ends up making you a handcrafted card and leaving it at your place of work with some hand picked daisies, all while saying it’s from a ‘secret admirer’ but Ted is the only person you know who would misspell ‘admirer’ in the first place. He doesn’t have a lot of money to get you anything fancy, but everything he does get you is heartfelt and well thought out. He picks you up after work and takes you to your favorite diner, then he finds the best spot in San Dimas to watch the stars together, tell jokes, and maybe even have a smoke sesh. You two end the night with munches being fulfilled by the nearby Circle K and a movie night at his apartment where he serenades you on his guitar between films. He buys all your favorite snacks for you and tries his best to make you feel really special. He is a words of affirmation guy so expect lots of sweet talk in your ear! He ends the night with his surprise gift, a locket with a picture of you two in it that he spent the last of his money on. He also gives you a handmade little notebook with all his favorite moments written in it with Polaroids of you two since you started dating!

Types of presents include: Handmade gifts(extremely arts and crafts, pink glitter glue ‘Will You Be My Valentine?’ Styled cards), your favorite candies, a small plush of some sort, picking wildflowers because he can’t afford the outrageous store prices, a song he wrote for you (performed alongside bill as his back up player), anything music related like making you a mixtape of your favorite tunes.

#john wick x reader #john Constantine x reader #neo x reader #Kevin lomax x reader #ted Logan x reader #my writing #my imagines

[kydrogendragon]

Dec 17 - Decorations

(Ao3 Link) (Masterpost Link)

“I think that’s the final box,” Hob says, setting down the plastic storage box on the ground next to the others by the tree.  Morpheus was kneeling down, already sorting through the various boxes and tissue protected containers full of ornaments that Hob had collected over the years.

It used to be, for most of Hob’s memory of actually decorating a tree during Christmas, that they’d place fruits and nuts and candles on the branches.  Even some small presents or little handmade decor pieces were found in his trees of the past. Nowadays, it’s almost always little figures or glass works or something branded as Hallmark.

Hob watches as Morpheus pulls out a small, crocheted cardinal out of a bundle of long-worn tissue paper.

“My girlfriend of the time gave that to me, back in the 1830’s or so. She made it herself. Was one of the first non-perishable ornaments I’d ever had.” Hob says, taking a seat next to Morpheus on the floor. He watches as his friend trails a finger down the length of the delicate red yarn of the bird’s back. It was well done, all things considered. The yarn was definitely fraying in a few places. Hob did his best to do repairs (with no crochet knowledge), but he knows that the little birdie probably doesn’t have much longer to live. It was sad to think.

“It is well made,” Morpheus says, turning the bird around on the tips of his fingers. “Shall we hang this one?”

Hob smiles. “Yeah, go ahead and find a good spot for it.” Morpheus turns his gaze to him, his brows pulled close.

“You do not wish to hang it yourself?”

Hob waves a hand. “Nah. Go for it. You can have the honors of putting the first one up.”

Morpheus nods and stands. He looks the tree over, moving from side to side, appraising each branch for the best spot. Hob works on unpacking some more ornaments and baubles from the boxes while his friend deliberates.

Finally, he hears the shuffling of needles and looks up to see the bird perched towards the top on a branch, hanging proudly against the dark green foliage. Morpheus turns to him, expectantly. Hob gives him a thumbs up.

“Looks good!” He says, holding up another ornament for Morpheus. “Want to hang up another?”

Morpheus looks at the figure in Hob’s hands. It was a little bear dressed as a knight, riding on top of a horse. He’d gotten it from a co-worker a few years back. Said it was the closest they were able to find to anything medieval themed. It had made him laugh at the time and always gets a spot on his tree.

They go through the boxes, slowly. Hob explains the story behind each one as he goes. He knows that Morpheus enjoys hearing their histories. There were a few that were more special to him than others. One was the first bauble he’d ever owned. It was a certified Lauscha Glass silver bauble he’d gotten way back in 1853. He’d traveled down to Germany to the actual town and bought it. He has a similar one, but much more modern, back in the late 1990’s from the same place.

There was quite a collection of ornaments revolving around his various jobs over the years. There were at least seven different teaching or history themed ones: stacks of books, laptop, Best Teacher mugs. There were three bulls and two bears back from his stock market trader days and even one little wooden chair back when he attempted carpentry. That job hadn’t lasted long. Turns out he was decent enough for his own personal woodworking uses, but utterly unskilled in a professional capacity. He’d also racked up quite a few soldier related ones, both for surviving the first one and some “in memoriam” to his “son” during the second war.

There was also a stained glass ornament depicting a robin sitting on a branch. He’d found that in a market in France in the 1970’s. He hangs that one himself beside the small bauble with an engraved E in delicate script. Subtle enough not to be called out by people in his lives, but clear enough that he wouldn’t ever forget.

Hob rubs his thumb over the smooth glass front and presses a light kiss to its surface before he hangs it on the branch. Morpheus watches him at his side, silently. Hob repeats the motion with the E on the front of the bauble before placing it next to Robyn’s. It never does get easier, the loss. It’s easily the hardest part of his long life. Loving people, that was always easy. Too easy, in fact. It made it that much more painful when they eventually left. There’s other ornaments, memories, to those he’s held close over the years.

In another box, there’s a small ship in memory of Peggy and their adventures on the sea when she’d been younger, an orange tabby for Audrey because she always had a soft spot for those crazy beasts, and a variety of other figures and baubles of lovers long past. Hob’s tree wasn’t simply a tree. It was a time capsule of his life, in a way. Memories of those in their graves, of lives he’d once lived, and times he barely remembers - they’re all here, immortalized in glass and clay and yarn.

There’s a hand in his. Hob turns to a blurry Morpheus whose cool hands hold his. Ah. He’s crying. That explains that. And explains why his hands are shaking. He sniffs, raising his free hand to wipe away the trails of tears from his cheeks and eyes.

“Sorry,” he manages through the thickness in his throat. “Forgot how emotional some of these here can get me.” He tries for a laugh, but it comes through sounding more forced than he wanted.

Slender arms wrap around him and black hair fills his vision. Morpheus is warmer than he thought. Hob winds his arms around his friend, holding him close. It settles some piece in him, Hob thinks, knowing that the person here in his arms isn’t one he’ll have to say goodbye to in a decade or two. He gets to keep him, keep Morpheus. Even if his friend decided to head out, explore the world in his own time and take his life in his hands, he won’t be gone. Not like the others. Not like he thought he was after the funeral in his dreams before he’d seen Morpheus standing outside his door with Death beside him. No. No, he can keep Morpheus for longer. For as long as him, if that’s what Morpheus wants.

Ah shit, he’s crying harder now, isn’t he? He feels Morpheus’s hold on him tighten and it just squeezes Hob’s heart knowing his friend, his old stranger, his one constant in life, cares for him so. A shaky sob breaks free from his mouth as he ducks his head into Morpheus’s shoulder. The soft padding of the black cable knit sweater hugs his skin and absorbs the salty tears that pour from his eyes. Hob can vaguely make out Morpheus saying something as his slender hands rub circles into his back.

Minutes pass and the worst of it seems to fade. Hob stays there, enveloped in his friend’s hug and warmth. With a deep breath in to steady himself, Hob leans back, letting his hands raise to rub away the wetness and dried trails of tears from his face.

“God, sorry for that,” he says with a more convincing chuckle this time around. He does feel lighter, though. In hindsight, Hob’s pretty sure he hadn’t taken any time to process this change to his life until now. He’d gone to bed, dreamt through his best friend’s funeral, woken up knowing it was true deep in his gut, then was greeted with the sight of his very much alive friend who was now a human. No time for processing the death that still occurred. Guess a bit of a breakdown had been brewing for some time.

“There is nothing to apologize for,” Morpheus says, still eyeing him with concern. “You have told me many times that tears are nothing to be sorry for.” Hob smiles at that.

“Still. Probably not what you were expecting, I’m sure.”

Morpheus hums. “No, but I do not blame you for it. These decorations hold many memories. Memories have always been excellent catalysts for emotions, both happy and sad. And bittersweet.” He gives Hob another once over before placing his hands on Hob’s biceps and guiding him to sit on the couch. Hob lets him and lets him pull a blanket over his form, tucking it over his shoulders. “Now sit and stay. I will make us tea.”

That gets Hob to laugh. “Thanks, duck,” Hob says, smiling to his friend. “You’re becoming a true Brit.”

Morpheus shoots him that small smile only reserved for him, a good book, and cats, before disappearing to the kitchen and it sends a lance through his heart. God, he really loved him. Maybe one day, he’d even tell him that.

#dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #the sandman #ky writes #december writing list #kydrogen's december drabbles 2023

[wanduhhh]

Afternoon Delight (18+)

Oneshot- church mommy Wanda

Can’t pretend I’ll turn this into a series because I’m too lazy, but I was physically unable to not write something based on this pic. Enjoy!

-

“Just sit those beside the muffins sweetie, thanks so much for doing this” Wanda’s sweet words had you blushing and just about dropping the tray of cookies in your arms.

“Oh it’s no problem at all Wanda, anything for you” you beamed at her; internally smacking your forehead at your inability to play it cool. In your defence today was one of those glorious days where Wanda wore her glasses, and you were a goner at the sight.

Thick lenses framing her face, perched just above her button nose. She was too cute for her own good. She had recently cut her hair short and had been embarrassed about the ‘mom cut’ until you had convinced her she looked great by bombarding her with compliments until her cheeks were red.

This infatuation with the married woman had begun the second you moved to the small neighbourhood, greeted warmly by the woman the second your feet hit the sidewalk. From then on, she had become a permanent fixture in your daily life.

Wine dates and going to her whenever you had a tear in your dress that you just couldn’t sew. You had weaved your way into her busy life, and you were certainly not complaining.

This is what had led you to being in church at 7am on a Saturday morning. Wanda had flashed you a rushed smile the night before, explaining how she had so much to organise for the bake sale and practically no one to help her. Your car was loaded with baked goods before the night was over.

“Wanda you’ve really outdone yourself, this looks amazing” your eyes scanned over all the little handmade decorations she had been working on for the past week. Cheeks hurting from the smile that refused to leave your face.

“I couldn’t have done it without you silly, I really have to repay you somehow”. This was the biggest drawback to your friendship with the woman. The constant innuendos, the way she showered you with compliments and was always brushing hair out of your face with a perfectly manicured hand.

You could certainly think of a few ways she could repay you; imagining them whilst making eye contact with a crucified Jesus statue was not your finest moment.

As the day rolled on and the church became littered with all your fellow neighbours, you got less of Wanda’s undivided attention. The only thing that made you feel a little better about it was being able to study the woman whilst she was in her element.

Serving a cookie and ensuring everyone left her table with a smile, the woman was enchanting. Her movements so calculated, she stopped every now and again to throw you a quick smile over her shoulder.

Sometimes when she was listening intently to someone you would catch her twirling the bow around her neck in between her fingers, brows furrowed as she ingested every word that reached her ears. Earlier she had shed her grey coat, giving you a better view of the tight black dress that covered her body. You could not get your mind out of the gutter.

You were snapped out of your incessant daydreaming when you heard her calling your name, “y/n? Are you in there hun, you look a little warm”. You shook your head to clear the fuzziness that had taken over your brain. “Sorry Wanda, just lost myself for a moment there. What did you need?” Your words came out shaky as the hand she had placed on your forehead remained in place.

“Could you come help me with some boxes in the storage room sweetheart, there’s far too many”. You were nodding and following her like a puppy before she even finished her sentence.

The room was tiny and the boxes left only enough room for you to be pressed against Wanda’s side, the proximity leaving your mouth dry.

As you reached for the first box you felt Wanda grab your hand and raise it to her cheek. Spinning round to watch curiously as she pressed your fingertips against her ruby lips.

“Wanda what are you doing?” Your words came out as a whisper, too afraid to pierce the bubble surrounding you. “You’ve been so distracted today sweetie, and I think after being such a good girl you deserve a reward hmm?” You found yourself nodding along with her words.

“Come here darling” she whispered as she pulled you impossibly closer. Your mind could not catch up but it didn’t have to when Wanda brought your hands down to play with the bow around her neck.

“Take your reward baby” this finally snapped you out of it, not willing to pass up such an opportunity. You pushed her to lean against the wall of boxes, dropping to your knees in front of her. The irony of worshipping her in the back of a church was not lost on you.

You struggled to push the tight black skirt above her hips and she chuckled breathlessly as she wiggled her hips to pull it up. Your hands brushing over each other as desperation filled the room.

You were grateful to be on your knees already when you finally got the dress up to her waist, because the lacy black panties she had on would’ve left you unable to stand. You moaned at the sight, your mouth watering just at the thought of tasting her.

Your might flickered between wanting to tease her until she whined, and wanting to push your tongue into her immediately. But in the end she made the decision for you, grasping your hair with both hands and pushing your face between her thighs.

Her hand came down to push her panties to the side and you barely got to appreciate the view before she pushed your face back to where it was. No barrier between your mouth and her now. Your tongue immediately gathering up as much wetness as it possibly could.

Her head fell back on the boxes with a thump and you raised your eyes to see her panting with an open mouth. The sight had you moaning into her, and that had her biting down onto her own hand to stop herself from filling the church with the sound of her moans.

When you let your fingers enter her, mouth not stopping for a second you were rewarded with a moan she let slip free. It only spurred you on to move faster.

A knock at the door startled you and you tried to pull away as panic rose in your throat, but Wanda’s grip kept you where you were and you watched as she cleared her throat prepared to lie effortlessly.

“Wanda hun, you in there?” Agatha’s voice floated through the door and right before Wanda replied you added an extra finger to hear her squeak. “Uh yes Agatha, just looking for uh some trays in the boxes I’ll be back in a jiff”.

“Want some help in there?” The door knob wiggled as Agatha asked, but unbeknownst to you Wanda had already taken care of that problem. “No no it’s alright, I’m- uh. I’m all good in here Agatha”. You could feel Wanda clenching around you and you silently willed the other woman to leave and let you hear her moan for you.

“Okay hun, see you out there” you heard her heels shift as she turned from the door, “be right there, I’m just coming” the innuendo couldn’t be missed, not with the way you could barely move your fingers. “Fuck I’m coming” that one was whispered just for you. You looked up and saw Wanda staring down at you, glasses perched on the tip of her nose. Ruby lip caught between teeth.

“Such a good girl, keep going. I’m almost there” she was naive to imagine you’d stop. Not when she was about to come in your mouth. And she did, with shaking thighs and a silent moan. Nails digging into your scalp deep enough that you winced into her.

You tried to keep going, but she pulled your hand away with your wrist, dragging you to your feet as she put your fingers in her mouth to clean them up. “Mmm you’re way too good at that sweetheart. I can’t wait to repay the favour”. The thought of Wanda’s mouth on you had you grinning at her, but that abruptly ended when she fixed her panties and pulled her dress back down. Laughing gently at your pout.

“Soon baby, right now we have more cookies to sell so grab those trays and get your cute butt out there”

And she was on her way, you knew she was going to get you into a lot of trouble.

#wanda maximoff #mommy wanda #wanda fanfic #wanda x reader #wanda smut #fanfiction #wanda x y/n #fanfics #wanda mcu #mcu fic #wanda maximoff x reader

[fastwiemagie]

This mermaid came to shore for some good food and quality time with friends!!

This lolita fashion meetup took place during our latest heatwave, at the beginning when it had about 32°C. Still way too hot, but my linen blouse at least was very breathable! I've thrifted the blouse in spring and fixed the sleeves to be less tight - don't want to be strangulated on my elbows! I decided to go with the mermaid theme I've already envisioned last summer with this dress, but didn't have the opportunity to style yet. I think the big flowy sleeves of the linen blouse and the hair style I made are very mermaidy! I used a lace scarf, a pearl necklace, flower hair clips and shell hairclips and made a double milkmaid braid / hair crown up do. I also have a handmade shell-and-pearls brooch and a long necklace with mother of pearl discs and turquoise and light purple glass beads.

The bag is handmade, but not by me. I got it through a craft swap (my only contribution is the flap to keep it closed - which I haven't made button holes for yet, so I have to safety pin it shut with a big ass safety pin!)

[id]Picture 1 is a full body picture of Amy. Amy is a young fat white woman with glasses and long brown hair. In the pictures she's wearing her hair in a double milkmaid braid, with the hair braided around a white lacey scarf. White pearls and seashells, as well as white flowers complete the mermaid hairdo. Her blue dress features a map and is giving ocean and pirate vibes. The flowey white blouse is meant to symbolise the white spray of the waves. The hem of a flowy white underskirt is also peeking out underneath the dress. It's symbolising sea foam as well! She's wearing a brooch with little seashells on it and a long necklace with mother-of-pearl discs and glass beads on it, to give more mermaid vibes. The bag fits the theme as well (of course!). Even her black sandals have white fishes on them!

Picure 2- 6 are various more close-up pictures of OP. She wanted to show of her elaborate hairdo and the various accessories she's wearing.

Picture 7: OP is standing in front of a wooden shelf filled with Japanese knickknacks. They are for sale at the restaurant. She's smiling softly at the viewer.

Picture 8: A big round plate with a straight edge (pointing to the table's edge). The plate is black and decorated with a red rim. There is an oblong serving dish placed on top, with some gyoza and spring rolls on some white baking paper, as well as some sweet potato hash browns.

Picture 9: A big round wooden serving plate with a red rim. On top is a pretty blue-and-white patterned bowl with a red rim, with various vegetable tempura in it. Next to it is a little bowl with scalloped edges and soy sauce pimped with spring onions in it (to dip the tempura into). There's also a red napkin with black chopsticks on the plate.[/id]

#diy #sewing #handmade fashion #handmade #plussize fashion #plussize j fashion #eglcommunity #handmade lolita fashion #in couldn't decide which pictures to include so i included all

[peaches2217]

The Man in Red

~~~

Every year for the past six years had been largely the same. The month before Christmas, the townstoads of Toad Town began draping lights from every surface, every tree, every building, and vendors came from all corners of the country to set up temporary shops for those seeking the perfect gifts. Two weeks before Christmas, a giant fake fir was raised in the town square; Toads of all ages gathered to decorate it in handmade ornaments and shimmering, colorful garlands, and the tree became an unofficial symbol of the Mushroom Kingdom’s prosperity and the unity of its citizens.

Seven days before Christmas, a very special guest arrived and set up shop at the base of that very tree. This was the part that excited the children the most, because this man, all decked in red velvet and white wool and black leather boots and belt, would give them candy and listen with a patient ear as they prattled one after another about their Christmas wishes.

Watching that man in red as he entertained a massive hoard of sugar-addled children, each and every tiny face alight in glee, Peach couldn’t believe Christmas itself had been a tradition unheard of in her world not even a decade ago. Everything about it felt so right, as though her people had been celebrating it since long before she was born.

Nodding to her guards, she broke from her walk to pay the man of the hour a visit.

“Why, if it isn’t our friend Santa Claus!” she greeted, older Toads parting automatically for her (and pulling the more clueless youngsters out of her path, though she still had to step around a handful of them). 

‘Santa’ looked up at her as he carefully lowered a child from his lap, and Peach almost tripped over her own feet. His deep blue eyes shone brilliantly in the lights of the square, like hand-blown glass that caught the sun just so. For that matter, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t known those eyes a decade ago. The mere thought of living in a world where she had never met his gaze chilled her more than the cold ever could.

Overwhelmed by the sudden burst of sentiment, Peach stopped to recompose herself internally. She was mercifully spared from having to save face too hastily.

“The beautiful Queen Peach!” Santa stood from where he sat and met her halfway with wide, confident strides. With a theatrical bow, he took her left hand, lowered himself onto one knee, and kissed the pale sapphire ring on her fourth finger.

The sight brought Peach out of her sentimental spell and cheered her considerably. This role suited him so well. For all of his many, many, many accomplishments, none brought him greater joy than bringing joy to others. “It’s an honor to welcome you back to the Mushroom Kingdom, Mr. Claus.”

“Oh, no, the honor’s all mine.”

Peach bit her lower lip in an effort to suppress her amusement. This was the same every year, too: he hid his instantly recognizable voice behind an accent not dissimilar to the Standard accent, but with harder consonants and exaggerated vowel shapes and disregard for the letter r, so that his pleasantry sounded something like Dee anah’s oo-wall mine.

The native accent of Brooklyn, his kingdom of birth, he had once explained, which he would probably speak with naturally had he been born into a Standard (or “English,” as it was called there)-speaking household. It was undoubtedly charming, but she much preferred the merry and melodic lilt he spoke with the other 364 days of the year. Call it bias.

‘Santa’ finally stood and dusted the snow from his pant legs, though he didn’t relinquish Peach’s hand, nor did he look away from her. “Now! You’re here to make a wish, yeah?” And then he winked, quickly enough that she was sure no one else caught it.

Showtime. Peach dipped her head in acknowledgement.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t!” She easily disguised her secret affirmative gesture as an act of humility with a palm to her cheek. “Christmas wishes should be saved for the children.”

“Oh-ho, Your Majesty, there’s plenty enough Christmas magic to go around! Anyone can make a wish.” He twisted his torso to address the growing crowd. “Right?”

Cheers rose all around them, children shouting their encouragements and clapping in excitement and adults watching on with fond faces, some even joining in. The man in red’s eyes sparkled brilliantly once more at the response. He did so love performing to an audience. It had taken Peach a bit longer to grow accustomed to.

She made a show of conceding, sighing in good humor and letting herself be led to the plush chair where children shared their greatest wishes. The townstoads giggled in delight at the sight of their very regal, very tall queen making herself comfortable on Santa’s lap, and just for their sake, she took a moment to dramatically smooth her skirts and correct her posture, her unnecessary formalities drawing even more mirth from the crowd.

A strong and steady hand pressed into her lower back, hidden from sight by her shawl. With her the sole center of attention, her Santa made no effort to disguise the affection that fell naturally across his features. The night chill was no match for the warmth his gaze provided her.

“Peach Toadstool, Queen Regent of the beautiful and prosperous Mushroom Kingdom—” and at this she barely suppressed a chuckle, because she knew how needlessly long-winded he felt such formal titles were, yet he said it so convincingly all the same, “—what would you like for Christmas?”

Peach pressed her palms together and hummed in mock-contemplation. The crowd fell quiet, save for a few children shouting out suggestions (“A golden Yoshi that poops coins!” being her personal favorite), and she let the tension dance on the air a moment longer.

“Well,” she began at last, “to tell you the truth, I’m not sure what more I could possibly ask for. I’m blessed with everything a royal could ever want. A kingdom in peacetime, a thriving populace, devoted friends and family…” She turned her eyes to a distant but well-lit alleyway, resting her right hand over her heart with a gentle smile. “...a husband I love very much…”

Her smile grew at the quiet huff this drew from her Santa. When she returned her attention to him, his cheeks glowed a rosy hue, the white polyester of his beard making the color look luminescent.

She wanted to pull that silly accessory down and kiss him for all the world to see. The thought of traumatized children with shattered dreams and their exasperated parents forced to take them home and comfort them was the only thing stopping her.

“There is one thing I’d like, I suppose.” She gestured to their surroundings, eyes flickering between the colorful displays strewn about. “I’d like to see the lights of Toad Town from afar, so I can take in their beauty in one fell swoop. That’s my wish this year.”

Oohs and aahs rang out now, as well as scattered voices expressing approval or whispering to their loved ones that they should do the same.

More cheers sounded as Peach stood back to her feet and bade the townstoads a Merry Christmas. If she stayed any longer, she feared her heart might burst.

Santa escorted her to her entourage of guards, wishing her a warm and pleasant rest of her evening, then with one more kiss to the back of her hand, he made his way back to the reaccumulating line of children.

“Oh, and Santa?” Peach called after him.

He stopped immediately, as if he’d expected one last request, turning on his heel and trotting right back to her.

“I know he’s a very busy man,” she told him, her voice low, “but… if by any chance my husband could join me when I see the lights?”

Something new flickered across his features now, something uplifting in its brightness, and then he tapped his index finger to his nose with a resolute grin. “I’ll see what I can do.” was his equally hushed response, but it wasn’t delivered in the voice she attributed to Santa; he dropped his little act and spoke to her in the accent she was much more familiar with, a bouncy and gentle I’ll-a see what I ken-a do.

Peach felt light on her feet as she continued on her walk, that dulcet promise cycling endlessly through her head.

~~~

A thud from outside froze Peach’s hand mid-stitch.

No alarm bells rang in her head, no sense of dread overcame her, nothing of the sort. But only one person ever accessed the balcony from the outside with any regularity, and unless she had lost track of time, she was certain he was still in the town square. She stood and draped Luigi’s nearly-complete dress over the back of her chair, the needle dangling from its thread just above the seat cushion; with quiet steps, she crept toward the balcony door.

Why, oh why did she never think to hide a sword or a bat or a cast-iron pan near that door? Rarely did she ever occupy her chambers alone. Perhaps she’d grown too used to the feeling of safety.

“...Mario?” she called out.

A beat, then a muffled reply. 

“No, no,” she heard from the other side of the door, “no Mario. It’s-a me, Santa Claus!”

Instantly her anxiety evaporated. Sure enough, when she opened the door, there he stood, snow clinging to the front of his velvet suit from his climb; he lifted his stocking cap to greet her, uncovering for the first time that night the deep brown curls on his head.

Peach was almost surprised at the childlike anticipation that bubbled up within her. He’d traded the fake Santa voice for his natural Italian accent, yet the rest of the act remained. What in the name of the stars was he up to?

“Oh! Santa!” She ushered him inside, trying not to shiver from the cold as he stomped the snow from his boots before following her in. Santa Claus duties usually kept him busy until just before midnight. Glancing at the grandfather clock opposite the bathroom door, she saw that midnight was still two hours away. “What are you doing here so early?”

“Ah, Your Majesty, it’s been such a long day! More wishes today than I’ve ever gotten. So I thought I’d get a head start on making all those wishes come true!” As he spoke, he made his way to their massive walk-in wardrobe and disappeared inside, fishing through her endless assortment of outfits. “And I knew this was the perfect place to start.”

The pieces began to fall into place, why he called it quits earlier than expected and came right back to her side, and already Peach felt her cheeks growing warm. “Oh?” she played along anyway. “And why start here?”

Finally, he emerged from the closet, Peach’s favorite snow boots dangling from his left hand and her warmest, fluffiest coat draped over the same shoulder. “Well I can’t keep the Queen waiting, can I?” he teased with a wink.

I couldn’t stop thinking about you. It went unspoken, but Peach understood all the same. She gratefully accepted the clothes he offered her, fastening the buttons of her coat while he knelt to lace her boots. When he was done, he beamed up at her, still balanced on one knee, and stars he was going to be the death of her…

“Where to, Santa?”

“To the roof.” He held his hand palm-up as he rose to his feet, and she took it without hesitation.

Within moments, they were racing through the winding corridors of the castle, laughing together in shared mischievous cheer. Peach didn’t even register the handful of confused glances thrown their way by newer members of the staff still unaccustomed to the sight. She let her feet follow him blindly through hallways and up tucked-away spiral staircases, thinking of nothing but his bright laugh and the heat of his hand in hers.

The cold air hit her like a slap to the face as she climbed through the rooftop’s trapdoor, and she squeezed his hand tighter as he led her to the spire jutting from the center of the sloped roof. He let go once they reached their destination, bending before her and lacing his fingers together, palms-up; she dutifully stepped into his conjoined hands and pushed off of the shingles with her opposite foot as he hoisted her up, scrambling onto the spire’s ledge with less elegance than she would have preferred, but managing all the same.

As he pulled himself up to sit beside her, she looked ahead, and though she already knew what she’d see, her breath was taken away.

She could truly see the whole of Toad Town from here. The square, its massive fir tree standing proud and tall above the buildings, ornaments twinkling from every angle; the vendors’ booths, still bustling with activity in spite of the late hour, friends and family and couples and kids gawking at homemade goods and sipping cocoa; the colorful fairy lights wound around mushroom-capped homes, illuminating every last inch of the town in a warm, welcoming glow. The rooftop was cold and dark, yet the sight before her radiated unprecedented warmth. Peach’s silly little wish, realized to the fullest. 

A thousand words bubbled within her chest, words of glee and gratitude and general awe, yet as soon as she turned to share them, they died on her lips.

He was already staring up at her. In the residual light, his eyes sparkled even more brightly than they had in the town square; though his silky beard hid most of his face, she could tell from the crinkles around those gleaming eyes that he was smiling.

If only she could see him properly…

“Oh, Santa,” she said, “it’s beautiful. This is exactly what I wanted.” Then, with a wistful sigh, she turned her attention back to the festival of lights. “Well… almost exactly.”

A pause, and then: “Ah! That’s right! There was another part to your wish, wasn’t there?”

“Yes, there was.” Peach found one sight to focus on, the amusing ordeal of three children struggling to reign in their pet Chain Chomp as it chased what appeared to be a rabbit. “Truly, I can’t thank you enough for your thoughtfulness! But such a wonderful sight is best shared with someone you love, you know? It’s just too lonely otherwise. What I’d give to have—”

“Mamma mia, Peachy, what are you doing out here all on your own? You must be freezing!”

The corners of her lips drew into a jaw-splitting grin.

The beard now hung limply around his neck, and finally she could see that tender smile in its full glory, only partially hidden beneath his thick mustache. Mario had, at some point during her monologuing, unbuckled his belt and begun shucking his coat, and he shrugged out of it as soon as the last button popped open at his fingertips.

“Oh! Mario!” She didn’t even try to hold back; she giggled openly in pure levity. “When did you get here?”

Mario hummed tunelessly as he draped his costume’s coat over her shoulders, drawing the woolen collar as high up her neck as it would sit. “Just got here. I passed some good-looking guy with a beard in the hall and he said I’d find you on the roof. Of all places!” 

Satisfied that she was now perfectly warm (even though he wore nothing beneath the coat beyond a short-sleeved white undershirt), he pulled his legs up onto the ledge and sat on his knees, so that their faces were closer to level. “So what are you doing up here, amore?”

He looked entirely too proud of himself. They were like children themselves, Peach found herself thinking more than once, playing nonsensical games with no clear goal in mind, for no other reason than the fun of it. We all have to get older, sure, but who says we have to grow up? he’d once propositioned to her.

Having been forced to grow up into a responsible leader far too quickly — having spent most of her formative years under a pressure even the most capable of adults would find too intense — these little games meant more to Peach than she ever had the nerve to let on.

“Actually, I was waiting for you.”

“Oh? Good timing then!” He patted his thigh, a clear invitation, and one she was all too happy to accept. She drew her legs onto the ledge as well so she could comfortably recline against him, laying her head in his lap as he readjusted his coat over her. The lights of Toad Town looked even more vibrant with him there, as himself.

“I gotta say,” Mario said as she admired the lights, “this is the most incredible sight I’ve ever seen.”

Peach nuzzled into the soft fabric of his pants with a sigh. She didn’t even have to see his face to know he was looking straight at her. She could tell from the tone of his voice alone, playful and sugary sweet.

They remained there in companionable silence for a while longer, watching as the townstoads carried on with their night. How she could see them in movement yet still feel so certain that she and her man in red were the only two people in the galaxy, Peach was unsure, but she didn’t suppose it was a bad thing.

#I warned y'all! I warned y'all this would be corny even for me! #I am not even the slightest bit sorry. hashtag character development #super mario bros #smb #mario #princess peach #mario x peach #mareach #peaches' fancy fics

[teenage-mutant-ninja-freak]

Heyo! Love your work btw *chef kiss* I'm obsessed with your poly turtles stuff. Could you maybe do some Christmas poly headcannons? Seasonal Activities they do with their s/o, possible gifts they receive, fav cookies/treats, fav Xmas music. Idk just some festive stuff? If you're busy that's cool 😎 your poly turt stuff has me needing more haha. Thanks!

Ok, I'm pretty sure I got this before Christmas and it's now May. I'm so sorry. I won't go into all the reasons I haven't really been writing because it's a lot but I want to get back into it so here goes with this very unseasonal post lmao

and thank you everyone for you patience as I get back into the swong of writing for my blog

Raph

This big hunk of red and green first

He's very seasonal if you think about it

He's also super (secretly) into the holidays

catch him doing his rendition of rockin' around the Christmas tree very loudly when he's off his tits on eggnog

((side note I think he would hate eggnog but would drink it solely because it's festive))

He's secretly super sentimental and he knows you love this time of year so he really puts his back into it

I'm talking it's the 1st of December and he wakes you up in a full Santa outfit and white beard (that he knitted himself) yelling "Ho Ho Ho!" and asking if you've been naughty or nice

it's like 6am so you, naturally, tell him to piss off

to which he makes a big show of trying to shove you into his Santa sack because "Someone needs a trip to the North Pole to learn the Christmas spirit"

He's also pretty good with crafts

obvs you guys can't go outside and be seen so he creates a whole winter wonderland in the lair (without telling the others, Mikey was the only one who appreciated it tbh)

also he's a great cook so you spend evening after evening baking sugar cookies and decorating them, sipping hot chocolate with a candy cane in it and whipped cream on top, making warming winter soups.

In terms of gifts, he gets you anything and everything he even thinks you might like

real big spender this one

handmade too items like a scarf he knitted for you because your old one was a bit worn, handmade card, he even did a little snow globe that he made with figures of you and him inside of it

he'll say "I know it's lame" or "It's not the best but I tried" but it means the world to you

Leo

Big boy blue up next

I see him loving a very traditional, old fashioned, classic Xmas.

His big thing is that he loves to decorate the tree with you

but you would always bicker about how it should look

"No, I think a gold and red theme would look better!"

"But, Leo, we have all of these cute glass candy canes I wanna hang!"

"But I have a vision!!"

so this year he decides to buy like 6 trees (and by buy I mean forage, steal or cut down)

so you can both have your own trees and decorate them however you want

this, obviously, becomes a Christmas competition

your very unwilling judges are Leo's brothers and even Splinter

they have never looked more uncomfortable than when you and Leo are very passionately stating your case for why your tree is better than the other's and it ends in you both throwing baubles at each other

about half an hour and a lot of tinsel lying everywhere later you decide that maybe you're both a little too competitive

but Leo reassures that "That's why I love you"

He's so big on quality time with you

lot's of sitting by a crackling fire, sipping coco and letting soft Christmas songs play

he's made a playlist of v gentle ones like Eartha Kitt's Santa baby, Conventry carol and god rest ye merry gentlemen.

it's all about the mood w/ Leo

as far as gifts, it's has to be something personal and sweet

a pressed flower in resin from the first day you both met, a silver heart shaped locket with a pic of you both in it, some sort of talisman that's supposed to keep you safe in ninja superstition

Mikey

Time for chaotic good to come to play

Mikey just manages to capture that almost childlike enthusiasm and wonder for the season

He has a funny habit of wrapping your gifts to look like something else

last year you were certain he'd gotten you a rocking horse but it turned out to be a new phone and headphones

"How long did it take you to wrap it like that?"

"Don't ask questions you don't wanna know.....3 hours to make the horse part look right"

normally he gets you silly but sweet gifts

lots of sticking filler things

oh and he gets you an actual stocking too, but like a comically oversized one to fit all the gifts

stuff he's made too

one year he made you 50 hand cut paper snowflakes with 50 reasons he loves you written and drawn on them

also stuff you guys can do together

video games he knows you'll find fun, stupid interactive games that you can play, that kinda stuff

he does a special Xmas scavenger hunt for you each year that the others pretend is stupid but it keeps getting more elaborate as time goes on and even they are started to get invested in the ending

there's a theme and everything ranging from polar express to murder at the Christmas party to Santa's grotto....

he also never fails to dress up as Mrs Clause every year (because Raph insists on being Santa and at first Mikey just wanted everyone to laugh, but now it's kinda a tradition)

Donnie

oh my sweet gadget boy

he's super big into cocktails, the sweeter the better

and you always get to name them together but you both have a warped sense of humour so the names are getting out of hand

you pick a fave each year as well

last year was "The abominable snowman's frozen left nut" and the year before was "Mrs Clause putting glass shavings in Santa's food because he came back with the clap"

I told you they were bizarre....

his gifts are always thoughtful and so romantic

I HC Donnie as being a super romantic guy

whether it be a painting he made of the constellations and planets in correct placement on the night the two of you first kissed

or a wreath of dried flowers and plants to hang on the door that came from the field behind your childhood house

but this year it's a scrapbook filled to the brim with every detail of the two of you, all dated and with a little annotation telling a story as to why it's in there. photos, cards, handwritten letters, magazine cut outs, diary entries.... it's all in there and it's enough to make you cry.

He also sneaks you out on Christmas eve every year without the others knowing (they'd flip if they came to know that he was stealing you away at that time)

but he takes you up to the rooftops to sit on blankets and drink hot chocolate (spiked with a little rum, it's Donnie after all...) and look at the lights and snowflakes and people bustling home to their families and you sit and feel at peace and laugh as you make up backstories to each individual you see scurrying home

you lean against his shoulder and every year that he does this it feels more magical than the last

#tmnt #tmnt mikey #tmnt donnie #tmnt leo #tmnt raph #teenage mutant ninja turtles #christmas #poly #poly edition #christmas edition #tmnt x reader #tmnt/reader #tmntxreader

[ladamedusoif]

Candles (Frankie Morales x F!Reader)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 13

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Word Count: 500 words

Rating: Teen

Warnings: None; references to Christmas

Summary: Lights will guide you home.

“It has to be red, Frankie. I dunno why. It just does.”

Frankie scours the shelves of candles in the hardware store, seeking out the elusive red candle. His dark eyes alight on a candle holder in red glass.

“Okay, it’s not strictly a red candle…”

You examine it carefully. “I guess it would look red in the window…”

He nods. “I know it has to be right, sweetheart, but better this than not at all?”

***

It was your first Christmas living together, and with it came a merging of traditions, habits, and decorations. Frankie didn’t bring many, admittedly, apart from a few handmade ones his little girl had made for him in kindergarten. But he was excited to start making new traditions with you, ones that were all your own.

One old tradition had to stay, though. The candle in the window.

“My grandma was Irish,” you’d explained to Frankie. “She never let a Christmas go by without having her red candle in the window.”

This was a new one on him, and he was curious. “What does it mean?”

You’d rested your head on his shoulder, memories of Christmases past floating through your mind. “I think it’s originally about being a welcoming light for Mary and Joseph looking for a place to stay? But don’t ask me to confirm that. I crashed and burned out of church a long time ago.”

He’d chuckled and pulled you close, kissing the top of your head. “My favourite heathen.”

“But I think it had other meanings for her,” you’d continued. “It’s supposed to be a light to guide wanderers home… especially emigrants. People who’ve had to leave, for whatever reason.” You felt tears building, thinking of your grandmother’s efforts to maintain her traditions even when she was thousands of miles from her native shores.

“So many people had to go, and it’s a sign they can always come home. Even if they didn’t feel it, you know? Home would be there for them, waiting.”

Frankie had wrapped his arms even tighter around you. “Oh, baby. I get that. Saw it in my ma, her tías… it’s hard.”

“I can’t imagine what it was like for her, Frankie. She was fourteen when she got on that boat. Fourteen.”

Frankie’s hands held you close and safe. “We’ll get a candle in the window, baby. For her. For everyone.”

***

On Christmas Eve, you light the white tea light in its red jar. Frankie goes outside to look at the effect and gives you a thumbs up.

“It looks awful pretty, baby. A real signal in the darkness.”

That year, he didn’t have his little girl for Christmas. He tried not to let it show, but you knew how much he missed her.

As you stood in the living room, looking at the red light flickering in the window, you reach for him.

“Everyone finds their way home, Frankie. They just need a light to guide them.”

#a merry fic-mas #holiday fic calendar #frankie morales #frankie morales x f!reader #francisco catfish morales #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal

[coldshinypearl]

reiji sakamaki x reader

The perfect bride

one shot

part 1

Where Reiji was chosen to be the ruler of all vampires and demons, Karheinz had to put his hands on his career and order for a wife…as if he needs one, but when he met her? What witchcraft did this girl perform on him?

disclaimers: [y/n] instert with some physical descriptions, suggestive descriptions and content, blood sucking, inappropriate language, symptoms of social anxiety. (And yes thats Nayeon in the middle photo<3)

[y/f/n] = your father’s name , [y/m/n] = your mother’s name , [b/p/n] = birth place name.

Lets all calm down here.

Why on earth, none other than the King of all demons, would need a wife for?

A heir? Blood resource? ….love.?

As if.

As if he needed one, but then again what was he doing at a dinner with all clans and magistrates, young princesses that searched for quality husbands, dried queens that still searched for an affair, insolent children that ran all over the location?

Reiji regretted every second of that choice he made, the choice to come seeking for a wife at a ball.

His punctured and corrupted expression of upsetting could only express the hundreds of complaints his mind was spouting, why during his peaceful duties he had to be disturbed and dressed up to come seeking for an useless wife?

Why did he have to dress in his best black void suit and fix his hair, why his attentions must visit everyone’s eyes?

He sat there is his black carriage as his figure wiggled around, he’s like a statue since his anger has provided him from moving during the travel, he keeps his head locked curved in the window angrily eyeing the breath taking view of the lands at night.

Only hoping for the carriage to end in an incident so that he could get back to his numerous duties.

He sighs and fixes his glasses lots of times in annoyance, if only he had searched for a mistress earlier, but the dozens of work he had to do to get to the throne is almost inhumane.

That he did not have time to search for one. So here he was.

When the carriage suddenly stopped he flashed for a moment almost ceasing his upset expression thinking that maybe his prayers were listened, no they weren’t.

He arrived.

The little door of his carriage opened slowly revealing his slim and tall figure, as he stepped out he only found more and more reasons of why this was the biggest regret of his life.

He sighed for the millionth time ignoring the butcher outside announcing his entrance.

-“King of all demons, Reiji Sakamaki.” The raspy and soft voice of the aged butcher at the door spoke reading the parchment, when it did the guests almost flinched synchronized.

He can only appreciate the warm fancy tea scent that came out of that ball room and the founded fear of some of them peasants, that tall and colorfully decorated ball room, almost made his eye problematics worse.

As he stepped furiously inside with that distirbed look, his lieutenants followed him along, the guests bowed at them like dominos that fall.

The handmade leather of his footwear signed every single angry step he made across that floor, until he arrived to his position higher than everyone else, his red crimson silk throne decorated at the edges with golden engravings, he let his sculpted and slim figure fall in the cushion as his companions gathered around him.

-“The most decent one. And then we go.” Reiji’s poisoned voice came out of his pinkish soft lips all in one breath as he looked straight in front of him, he ordered at his lieutenants as he didn’t want to loose another pricey second of his expensive time.

The lieutenants nodded and responded, as they became seeking with their gaze for young girls.

They trembled slightly as they looked around, suddenly every single young possible mistress seemed way out of his league. Almost too embarrassing.

Spoiled. Insolent. Selfish. Rude. Obnoxious and annoying.

All of them.

One of his lieutenants sighed as he hoped for one presentable young girl.

…

Until…..they saw a light.

-“Duke and Duchess of [b/p/n]. [y/f/n] [y/m/n] [y/l/n].”

Spoke once again the voice of the butcher that faced the outside.

Almost as a miracle had happened, a swan was spotted between the chickens.

Steps were to be heard of three figures, guests turned at them as they walked inside.

So long since the last time the Duke of [b/p/n] was seen between the clans.

And behind those two aged powerful characters.

Curved and tall figure, porcelain palest skin with dark moles signing her features, silky and shiny hair combed with the finest techniques let to fall of her shoulders, hips and back looked like they were carved in ancient marble by the greek gods, sharp and attentive eyes, a black gaze that analyzed whatever around her, controlled and calculated movements but still flawless and unique, rosy cheeks and plump lips.

All rounded by a velvet red crimson dress with slightly puffed sleeves and skirt that started from the higher waist, refined in couture from the finest silk and decorated with golden handmade personality sewed lace, covering her long arms lace black gloves.

Reiji’s eyes slightly widened at such perfection, his brows softened at that sight and replaced his bitchy annoyed face, with an hungry and seductive smirk.

Not only he found a match, but it was….absolutely perfect and full tied all of his requests, he almost wronged himself for thinking that anyone would’ve been perfect.

He saw his lieutenants looking at her, and gazing with such dried eyes.

-“Her. Elaborate.” Reiji ordered suddenly, for seconds they remained still bewitched, then moved their figures around searching for the guest list, until one of them found it.

-“[y/n] [y/l/n], daughter of the Duke of [b/p/n], Vibora and searching for husband.” One of the lieutenants said, holding the paper with the names.

His smirk widened once again, not that the marital status mattered of course. But she was completely pure like pearls and untouched like soft tender clouds, almost like she was just patiently waiting to be filled.

Waiting to be bitten, to be tasted and ruined.

Her stranger gaze moved around like wind from guest to guest, until…..she met a never saw before, pair of magenta irises.

Sparkling of villainess and lust as they locked with hers, she could read his thoughts and intentions only through that intoxicating and piercing look on his eyesight.

She broke that non physical violating contact as she looked back at her father, her cheeks feeling slightly burnt as they tinted in pink.

Her family was away abroad up until this night, how could she ever known that the new king of all demons was so….fascinating…

Certainly the previous one had his charm along with his techniques of seduction for women, but he was just much more diabolical and seemed really intrigued by her.

As that eye contact kept re-jumping in her mind she tried to analyze his features from her previous memories, those eyes…..sharp and….lustful…

Clearly made her feel as if they were touching her all long her body.

All that compressed air was drowning her head and thoughts, along with the hundreds of conversations about politics and money and positions….all over and over again….

She didn’t speak a word all night long at the dinner, only looking down at the floor and following her father like a little duckling as he introduced her to every guest like a painting in an auction.

But once she felt the mans eyes all on her, she had to slide away.

Her steps could be barely heard as she walked trough the hall that brought from the ballroom to the pavilion of the garden, she kept her hands firmly locked on her chest as the breath became uneasy from the tension.

The cold and refreshing air of the starry night finally hit the choking warmth of her skin, that dark blue night that was poked with holes of natural light of the stars.

The garden was green and well decorated, with spuns of leaves that fell from the trees, and that beautiful pavilion right in center. Covered by a white marble ceiling and a cricket ground.

She sat on the marble large cylinder right above the ceiling, admiring the garden as she enjoyed that comfortable silence that surrounded her.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, finally feeling calm again.

-“I couldn’t help but notice your sudden absence.”

A new voice. A new deep and dreadful voice.

It was penetrating and flawless as she never heard it, but certainly could’ve associated a previously met face to it.

She turned her figure slowly as she tried to relax from the flinch she had taken when she heard someone speaking.

There he was again, that tall handsome stranger, dressed with the best fabrics and with the strongest ego.

His dark purplish hair slightly long stretched and fell to his covered collarbones, those sharp and grisly features that surrounded his pale skin, those eyes kept locked on hers once again.

he stood there arms crossed like a spoiled whore, waiting for the not so sire answer that would’ve signified her destiny.

That was now on his hands.

That cut keen smirk on his thin lips, showed his intentions that she could’ve already felt.

-“y-your highness.”

She squeezed her eyelids when she heard that studder coming out of her choked voice, her trembling figure rised from her seat and bowed instantly slightly raising the sides of her red gown.

She remained in that position until she then slowly rised again and looked down, bringing her hands together holding them.

She stretched her back fixing her posture, but didn’t dare to look at him in the eye.

[y/n] could feel her heart racing almost asking to jump out of her body, which made her breath uneasy as she desperately tried to keep control of herself.

Never she had been face to face with a King of his rage, not even the previous one, and now they were in that open fresh space, alone and together.

She knew that the mentality of the guests would have brought innumerable rumors about her and the King if someone was to seek them outside. Most importantly in someone was to notice both of their absences.

The grip on her hands firmed suddenly as she thought about the consequences and what would they talk about her. Nothing but filth.

-“I have been chosen for the position of King two months ago.”

Reiji spoke. Looking directly at her who wasn’t daring to rise her head.

He maintained his cold and satisfied expression, as for him, quality tableware and sparkling polished silver wouldn’t bring the level of joy that would ever hit him when he sensed one’s fear around him.

-“but whats a King without a bride?”

He said.

And she knew instantly what he was implying.

She flinched her head and looked right at his eyes, forgetting the titles she had right in front of her gaze, suddenly her expression traveled from uneasy to terrified.

-“and i…Have chosen you.”

[Part 2] coming soon….

#diabolik lovers #diaboys #yui komori #dialovers #reiji sakamaki

[catalinadearagonsblog]

"Henry’s sister and other royal ladies had also been asked to yield up their jewels for the benefit of Anne, but the records indicate a number of items that were clearly Spanish in origin or had been created to honour Catherine’s weddings. Besides the jewels and pearls, however, a wider confiscation of the queen’s goods was going on, as Cromwell arranged the transportation of a number of items from Greenwich to Hampton Court, where the carved initial ‘Ks’ in the stonework were being chiselled away and replaced with the letter ‘A’. There was a collar of Spanish work and a gold chain, Spanish fashion, enamelled red, white and black, a gold cup and cover with an image of St Catherine enamelled white with a wreath of pomegranates and four glass goblets wrought with roses, bearing the initials ‘H’ and ‘K’. There were candlesticks engraved in the same way, and others decorated with carved arrow sheaves, a golden salt cellar called ‘The Moresdaunce’ depicting five dancing Moors, and more salt cellars, cups, basins and spoons bearing initials, roses, royal arms and pomegranates. There was also a silver-gilt tabernacle of Spanish work, a gospel bearing the royal arms and Catherine’s devices and a gilt cup of Spanish fashion. Catherine would never see them again.

It was another humiliation for the queen in a long line of humiliations; she was permitted to keep a small gold cross that reputedly contained a shard of wood from the real cross, but the knowledge that the rest had gone to her rival, who was about to be feasted and treated as a queen in France, must have made a bitter day indeed for her."

Patrick Williams, Katharine of Aragon: The Tragic Story of Henry VIII's First Unfortunate Wife 

#catherine of aragon #katherine of aragon #catalina de aragon

[8aji]

tags/cw: fluff, both baji n the reader understand spanish bc there's a reggaeton reference, mentions of food, no beta i used the free version of grammarly. // wc: 488

Baji Keisuke welcomed you to a candle-lit apartment, none of his roommates in sight. In the middle of the room, there was a table for two, decorated with two pink taper candles, little red hearts painted on the wax, along with a pair of crystal champagne glasses he had, probably, stolen from his mom. The closer you got, the better you could see the intricate patterns sewn on the tablecloth and those carved on the silverware laid in front of you. 

He pulled one of the chairs for you to sit, smiling at your awe before he brought out the food he had spent half the day cooking. What the two of you were about to eat happened to be his fourth attempt at handmade heart-shaped ravioli—the one he had seen on Pinterest—succeeding only after Kazutora offered to fix his mistake of letting Chifuyu help.

It had turned more than decent enough. He could tell by the way you hummed in satisfaction after taking a bite out of the pasta. And though everyone knew you would eat anything he cooked even if that meant getting hospitalised for food poisoning, something told him you were just pretending to be nice.

The sweet symphonic melody of Valentine by Laufey accompanied the two of you as you munched away, sipping on the raspberry fizz he had served while giggling at his recount of today’s anecdotes. 

“This was really good Kei.” You praised, pressing your napkin against your lips and he swore he heard himself purr at the praise.

“Thank you, ‘worked really hard on it.” He cleared his throat to hide his flusteredness before taking a sip of his own glass and standing up to take your plates back to the kitchen. “‘hope you don’t mind eating store-bought Tiramisu though, turns out‘s not just stacking those girly biscuits with whipped cream.”

He almost melted at your chuckle, still amazed by the idea that someone as good as you could be sitting in his living room, looking at him with the utmost love someone could muster. Sadly, he didn’t get the chance to enjoy the moment for long, because as soon as he stacked both your plates, the dreamy song ended and in its place a very familiar song started playing through the speakers, the romantic atmosphere wilting to nothing.

It was only when the endearing lyrics of ‘Agárrala, pégala, azótala’ resounded through his thick skull that he unfroze, almost dropping the plates as he scrambled for his phone. 

“‘m so sorry,” he blurted out, struggling to change the phone to something that wasn’t old reggaeton. “‘think I mixed two playlists together, these songs are for later.”

“For later?”

He perked up at your voice, eyes wide and cheeks pink at the teasing smile you sported. Even if it wasn’t exactly a song he’d play while doing that, your innocently suggestive tone hinted otherwise. 

“I- I didn’t mean it like that!”

© 2023 SHINACHIRO ; Do not repost my work. Do not recommend my work outside of tumblr. Do not translate my work.

#baji keisuke x reader #baji x reader #baji keisuke x you #baji x you #baji keisuke fluff #baji fluff #baji oneshot #tr x reader #tr x you #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you #tr fluff #tokyo revengers fluff #tr oneshot #tw food #tr collection. #master collection.

[winslowat3am]

WINSLOW! 😃😁😄 If Winnie the pooh did cottagecore things what would it look like? House decor, hobbies, cooking, and stuff like that what stuff would he like and the visuals?

Oh my fuck, I love this question! So glad you asked. 😏🐻

If Winnie was a cottagecore king, he would live in a small, wooden style cottage, similar to his own, but maybe he has a little rose/flower bush outside his bedroom window where he tends to his flowers in the morning. Maybe some small fruit & veggie bushes & trees too (strawberries 🍓, grapes 🍇, squash, bananas 🍌, carrots 🥕 etc) that he uses to prepare food for his other animal friends. 🐷🐯🐴

I'm thinking the interior would have wallpaper since he has a happy personality. He would love floral or any kind of bright vintage wallpaper to add some color. I can definitely see him wearing a little garden hat that Piglet made for him & maybe he hangs it on a wall like this when he's done picking berries & veggies. Lol. He'd also have pictures of his friends/family hung on the walls & bits of nature photography hung that he took himself.

Bedroom! Same as before, it would be colorful & bright, florals, vintage, handmade items by himself & his friends. Quilts. He would LOVE quilts! Warm colored afghans & quilts would replace the summery thin sheets during the colder months. Various fabrics & designs. Some stuffed plushies to make it more cozy & homey. A hand painted dresser that's chipping because he's had it for eons, but refuses to replace it. On the walls is where he keeps more framed photos of art they made, & on top of the dresser is a lamp, journal & vintage knickknacks.

In the kitchen he has wooden furniture, those old school curtains that you hang up by hand, he collects teacups, table cloths & honey jars, flower vases (that he actually uses), decorative plates, maybe some china, & pots from hand-me-down thrift stores. The curtains are always drawn to allow sunlight in for the flowers. He kind of has kind of, like, a grandmacore vibe going. I could see him being hella into grandmacore, art, sewing, scented candles & interior design, lmao. Perhaps he's sewn more cute belly shirts all in different colors for when his iconic red one gets dirty. He totally still wears pajamas & sits next to the fireplace during the winter, btw. Everything is a little mix & match, but pleasing & to his liking. He has small rugs here & there, & in his bathroom is probably a bowl sink, more wallpaper, with acorn designs, too. There's an old couch, coffee table, display tables in corners, tall glass cabinets for his china display & tv set in the living room that connects to the kitchen.

& yeah! I think that's about it for our tour. Unless I forgot something? I don't think I did. His hobbies would be handmade art of sorts, cooking, gardening, nature walks, sleeping, eating honey & enjoying time with his friends.

Edit: Oh, & he uses the veggies he harvested to make pot pie in his tiny old style kitchen, eeee! ❤️

It's old, it's vintage, it's home. ☺️🏡🌿

#basically his house would be cozy as fuck & you would want to live there #he'd invite his friends over for dinner & they'd cook together & eat from his harvest #honey is for dessert of COURSE! DUH! 🍯😊 #everything would feel lived in & there's little chips of wallpaper or paintings cause it's all a bit old but still in good condition! #ask #ask box #📬 #inbox 💌 #winnie the pooh #cottagecore #grandmacore #cozycore #oh & I forgot he loves picnics! he makes the food for the rest of em most of the time

[doobnnoob-tf2]

Maybe some winter or Christmas themed fluff? SniperSpy, whole team, doesn't matter. I just think some fluff might be nice hehe. - Shy Anon

The rec room was loud with chatter and the sounds of wrapping paper being torn open. Most stood round the much-too-large and obnoxiously decorated Smissmas tree, handing gifts to one another or sipping on hot drinks that'd been prepared just for this event. Laughter filled the air as gag gifts were revealed, frustrated sighs at the overdone ways of wrapping some presents, the occasional gasp of excitement over something one of them had been dying for was revealed.

Sniper sat towards the back, watching the madness with a smile on his face. He wasn't jumping at the idea of huddling up around a questionably stable tree with many sharp and glass ornaments while everyone was diving for gifts nestled underneath. He decided he'd wait, and if anyone wanted to bring him one of his gifts he'd be happy to open it.

And that's exactly what happened.

"Ahem."

Sniper looked up over the back of the couch. "Well hey you. Not gonna go jump into the fray?"

"No, I'm not quite interested in whatever potential brawl may break out." Spy rounded the couch, holding a rather long and very neatly wrapped gift. He leaned it against Sniper as he sat down close next to him. "For you."

"I'd assume." Sniper sat up a bit more, reaching over to grab a present off the floor next to him. "And this one's for you." He smiled as he plopped it down onto the man's lap. "G'wan, you go first."

Spy smirked softly. "If you insist." And with careful precision, he very delicately and neatly started to tear the tape, folding it all back. He got enjoyment over Sniper's frustrated sighs.

"C'mon, luv, just tear the damn thing already."

"Oh but you did such a wonderful job on this!" Spy teased, laughing at the unamused stare leveled at him as he continued to take his sweet time. Under all of it was a hefty box, slightly overfilled but contents still covered. Whatever inside had a bit of give to it if he squeezed it. Sniper looked positively anxious. Spy moved the lid to the couch next to him and..

What greeted him made him pause. He stared for a moment, confused, and then carefully removed the burgundy knitted scarf with his class emblem stitched into one end. Inspecting the work that went into each placement, he almost missed the sweater underneath. A deeper shade of red that complimented the scarf well, almost black, again with his emblem stitched delicately onto the front. It looked professionally made, the materials used for each stage of it were a very expensive quality.

"Where on earth did you find someone to make these?"

"..well, ah.." Sniper cleared his throat and looked away to mutter. "I.. I did. My mum, she.. she liked knitting and she showed me how to do it and.. well.. I figured I'd.." He trailed off, slowly looking over at the look of bewilderment on Spy's face. "Is it that bad?"

"Heaven's no! Sniper, it's beautiful." Spy looked at his gift for him with a nervous furrow in his brow. Sniper's gift to him was handmade, for him, by him.

..Spy had gone out to find people to make his gift to Sniper. There was none of his own touch in either parts of his gift. It couldn't compare to the amount of time and effort had gone into this.

"How long did this take you?"

"Months. Kept messin' it up and I didn't wanna give you somethin' subpar. But also you didn't have many nights you were workin' late that I could slip away and do it. I was worried it wasn't gonna be ready in time."

Spy leaned over to cup one cheek to pull him in as he kissed the other hard. He smiled brightly. "I couldn't possibly find the words to thank you for this. It's wonderful."

Sniper smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, well.. you're welcome." He chuckled, and then looked over at the box he was given. "My turn?"

"..yes." He sounded unsure, but it was drowned out by paper being ripped loudly.

Sniper examined the crate as he laid it on his lap, finding the opening and lifting the lid. "Bloody hell, Spy!" His eyes lit up as he lifted the bow out of the box first, grinning from ear to ear as he ran his fingers along the intricate carvings down the limbs and around the grip. Every pass he made with his eyes, he spotted something new. It was too beautiful to even think of using.

He removed the quiver next. Real leather, hand stitched. The inside was spacious. It felt sturdy. His own class emblem was stamped into it towards the bottom. He looked over at Spy, the grin on his face never waning. "They're gorgeous! Where did you.."

"Overseas. It took some time to find the best people to make these. I refused to purchase from just anyone, you're worth more than that. But that was the hardest part. Once I placed the orders and gave my general ideas, it was simply waiting."

"Thank you.. christ, Spy, they're just.. gorgeous. Wish I'd put a little more into your scarf and sweater now."

"Hush. Sniper, you made these yourself. I paid other people to craft these for you. As far as I am concerned, your gift far outweighs mine."

"I'm content calling it even."

"I am not, but we will agree to disagree."

Sniper laughed and leaned in to give him a quick kiss. "Fine, fine." He leaned his forehead against his, the two looking at each other before slowly leaning in for another kiss. Only to be interrupted by..

"SHIT!" Scout tried to scramble away from the tree tipping over onto them, but the cord of lights was tangled around his ankle and only tugged it down onto everyone faster.

Sniper blinked twice before looking back at Spy. "..should we..?"

"No."

"Good call."

The pair stood up, collected their things, and promptly exited the room to avoid getting roped into clean-up.

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #heart eyes #handsome rogue #the husbands #dan writes tf2 #//Shy Anon