a guide to stim toys!

trying to decide what stim toy you want? i’m here to help !!

(note: this is based off me n a few others’ experiences)


  • tangle toys
  • fidget cubes
  • spinners
  • bike chains
  • other moving part toys

-easy to get your hands on
-typically not expensive
-wide variety

-not very discreet

a popular, well-liked type of stim toy! good for keeping focused, self regulation, and they’re pretty fun to play with ! there’s quite a variety of them out there, some may not even be marketed as stim toys (ex: plastic toys from stores).


  • chew jewelry (necklaces/bracelets)
  • chew toys
  • teether rings

-meant for chewing! you won’t break em
-no more chewing on wires/fingernails/etc
-jewelry can be designed nicely to look like regular jewelry

-actual chew jewelry/toys are harder to get and can be pricey
-teether rings aren’t discreet

many autistic people never outgrew the instinct/need to put thing in their mouth or chew on things! and some other nd people chew for other reasons! that’s what these are for! plus, they can also help with anger management!
tip: if you don’t want people to see your chew necklace, tuck it under your shirt and chew when you’re alone/no one’s looking!


  • stress balls
  • moni moni animals
  • stretchy rubber toys

-fairly easy to get
-stress balls are a “normal office toy” (less chance of judgement)

-monis and rubber toys aren’t as discreet

a calming stim! very soothing, good for relieving stress and anxiety. i like to roll my moni moni animal between my hands a lot!


  • weighted blankets
  • weighted lap pads
  • weighted stuffed animals

-fantastic sensory input
-good for insomnia

-harder to get
-not discreet

i LOVE weighted stuff!!it’s a great feeling. super calming and soothing. really good for helping you sleep!!


  • stuffed animals/plush toys

-very easy to get
-varying prices

-not discreet
-seen as immature and babyish (unfortunately)

plushies!! super important. super good. soft, huggable, lovable things. many people have them as comfort items!! it’s so good to hug them and pet the fur


  • bristle brushes
  • spiky toys
  • fur
  • many more

-wide variety
-there are good textures in a lot of places!
-spike toys are slightly painful and can leave little indents, which is a good alternative to self harm!

-spike toys are harder to get

textures!! we all know n love our textures. my favorite is fur!! sometimes i stim by petting my pets! (my hamster is especially good, she’s so soft!). textures are everywhere and everyone likes different things! but there’s also specific toys/tools that can help! like bristle brushes and spiked things!


  • stim jars
  • glitter containers
  • fish tanks
  • online videos/gifs

-wide variety
-easy to make
-there are a lot of gifs online

-no tactile stimulation

popular!! easily found online, and easily made irl! fun things to watch. i especially love to watch fish tanks!

Slime, Sand, and Orbeez

  • slime
  • kinetic sand
  • moon sand
  • sandbox
  • orbeez
  • jelly/gelatin

-really fun
-unique textures

-a stay-at-home toy
-needs to be kept in a safe dry space
-harder to get
-fancy slime is expensive

these things are the most popular in stimboards and videos, because they look so cool!! if you make your own, you can do whatever you want with it! they’re all really unique textures and feelings and super fun to play with!
tip: be careful when using borax! it’s toxic


i hope this helps!! feel free to add on if you have anything!

Finn| Into Your Arms |Bálor

Title; Into Your Arms

Pairing; Finn Bálor/Reader

Word Count; 5523

Summary; If it’s just a game, then I like the way that we play.

Warnings;  NSFW. Body painting leading to smut. Smut for smut’s sake. Here be no plot. Latex free.

A/N; Found this little gem saved in my documents from months ago because I forgot about it. Heathens!Tyler is a work in progress. Thinking next week.  You know what to do fam. Leave me some noise and kisses.

Tag Train:

@alexablss  @laochbaineann  @bettergetusetoit
@fuckyeahbulletclub  @covergirlcollarbones  @thedeboniardevistation @amaranthine-reign  @leelakoiwolff @crookedmoonsaultpunk
@princess3733 @britishscoundrel  geekoftv
@bbmbabe  @alexahood21  @mrsuniverse
@sorleino   @sweet-and-stormy   heelturn-timesten
@imaginingwwesuperstars  @wrasslin-x @iloveenzoamore@crossfitjesusinskinnyjeans@tomsbookitten  @sarahmatthews7  amantedelcalcio
@littledeadrottinghood   @wwelife0014
@alexispoo  @sjwriteswrestling-1   mox-midget
@wwesmutdonedirtcheap @50shadesofadamcolebaybay
@screamersdontdance  @wwe-smutfics
@alexahood21  @tmsixone   @daintymissdevitt
@mistressbalor @nickysmum1909  
@wwewritings   @mgswdw  @finnbaelorxx
@shadow-of-wonder @valeonmars
@neeadinghugs @squirrel666 @jenn0755  @actualamyautopsy @roserae527 @ladylillianrose  @panicattheambrose
@thebutterflygirl16   @catie-kaboom   @aye-its-shaianne  @breezy14fan @lindseyrae20   hiitsmecharlie
@blondekel77  @skrillexslays13  @lisa-likes-wrasslin  @danikajessyfandoms  @charismatickilljoy
@sunflowers-and-swear-words  @atravelerinspirit
@beckyylynchs  @baeckyshorsewomen  @darkgalaxy14 @hushothermuses @superrezzy00  @blood-fells  @nerdy-cinnaqueen
@eleonora-dsb  @somewhere-in-ambrose-asylum
@little–alphabet–boy @chloebowiee   @shieldgirl95

Originally posted by thearchitectwwe

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anonymous asked:

I would love to see a fluff about Yuri shaving Victor. Idk, but I find that kind of thing so cute! Thanks again. ♡

It’s a Sunday morning ritual. It has been for almost a year now. Sometimes they have to forgo it if they’re travelling, but mostly every weekend they indulge in a lazy morning, taking their time to get up, making sure that they spend the extra hours being dedicated to each other and nothing else.

Neither are sure how it first started, really. Maybe it was on one of those morning’s they’d decided to do everything for each other: wash each other’s bodies, fix each other’s hair, feed each other breakfast. But now it’s become habit that, morning shower or not, Yuuri shaves Victor. 

It had started off innocently enough. Yuuri straddling him and using his electric razor to clear the fine dusting of stubble Victor had accumulated over the past day. It’s intimate, but something that any couple might do for each other.

Now, though, it’s changed into something more. A few months ago, Yuuri had brought out a straight razor instead of Victor’s usual electric shaver. He hadn’t asked, hadn’t explained, just offered. 

As terrifying as it might have been - a single blade so close to Victor’s neck - he’s always trusted Yuuri, and he’d agreed with almost no hesitation.

The first session had been quiet. Just Yuuri concentrated on cleanly shaving Victor. His sweeps weren’t perfect, but he hadn’t nicked Victor at all, just left him with soft skin. 

They hadn’t discussed it and had gone back to the electric razor the next week. But the week after, Yuuri had given him the choice - electric or straight razor. Victor had chosen the blade. 

It’s beyond intimate now, this ritual of theirs, but still something they only indulge in once a week.

It always starts off the same, Yuuri sitting a naked Victor down on the edge of the tub, pulling the brush, soap, and blade out from under the sink. He doesn’t need to turn the overhead lights on - the morning sun is streaming in through the window at the perfect angle.

He heats a washcloth under the hot water of the tap, pressing it to Victor’s face once he’s pleased with the temperature. It’s quiet as they wait, letting the warm wet weight of the washcloth soften the stubble Victor has. 

When he’s satisfied, Yuuri sets the blade ontop of the washcloth beside Victor as he wets the brush, swirling it over the soap to make a lather, the edges of the brush lightly tapping against the ceramic bowl the soap sits in. Victor’s eyes flutter closed as Yuuri slowly brushes the foam across his jaw in long swipes, gathering more lather as needed. The bristles of the brush are soft, but sometimes catch against his stubble. 

He only blinks his eyes open when Yuuri turns to wash out the brush in the sink. He receives a soft smile when he turns back around and their eyes meet.

Victor quietly tips his head back to bare his throat to Yuuri when he picks up the razor and washcloth. Yuuri steps in between his legs, one hand keeping Victor’s head steady, the other carefully holding the blade. The first sweep is long and easy. Yuuri wipes the excess soap from the blade on the washcloth drapped over his arm. 

“My dad taught me this,” he admits for the first time this Sunday. “Back when I was a teenager.”

It takes a few more sure swipes of the blade before he continues.

“When he did, I wasn’t sure what the point was. There were easier ways, and I certainly wasn’t growing enough of a beard at fifteen to warrant a full shave.”

Victor hums in the back of his throat to show he’s listening. He doesn’t speak though as Yuuri’s swiping along his jaw. 

“I practiced anyway,” he admits. “Because I thought maybe it would be a useful skill. My father told me that if I could master this, then any other shave would be easy.”

He has a fond look in his eyes as he tilts Victor’s face to the side to slide the blade up his neck. 

“I thought it was ridiculous. And after I’d learned how to do it, I just stuck to disposable razors because they were easier.”

“Seems a shame,” Victor murmurs as Yuuri cleans the blade on the washcloth.

“I suppose.” Yuuri agrees as he continues. He works his way slowly across Victor’s face, fingers and blade moving together in a loving motion. Every action for to Victor, and Victor alone.

Victor shows his own trust, his own love for Yuuri in the way he moves pliantly with each tilt of his head. Never flinching when Yuuri comes close with the razor.

It’s almost erotic, this reverence, this attention that Yuuri gives him on those late Sunday mornings. A moment just for the two of them. 

“Even though I always thought it was a little archaic,” Yuuri says as he swipes at any moustache hairs Victor might have, “I’m glad I learned it.”

“Mmnn,” Victor agrees.

“Because now I can share it with you,” Yuuri breathes, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It’s heart wrenching to see how soft Yuuri is in this light, smiling, eyes intent on Victor, adoration showing completely on his face. Devotion. That’s what this ritual is. A promise of every Sunday from here until forever.

When Yuuri’s finished and has turned to wash the blade before he cleans Victor’s face, Victor stands, waiting until Yuuri’s turned around again before he catches him in a kiss. 

The leftover shaving cream smears across both their faces. Yuuri’s stubble scratches across Victor’s soft skin. He feels contentment. 

“Maybe one day you can teach me too,” He says before pulling him into another kiss.

anonymous asked:

your linework is gorgeous!! if you don't mind me asking what kind of pen do you use?

thank u so much!! thats a dangerous question omg i could talk about my brush pens for hours (i think i have about twenty, no dupes included) buT there are i think four? that i use the most? and i get them all at

1) Zebra Disposable Brush Pen - Super Fine (my personal favourite, practically no drying wait time) 

2)  Pilot Futayaku Double-Sided Brush Pen - Fine/Medium (great for on the go, there’s also a black/grey version of this, but both tips the same size for this one)

3) Tombow Fudenosuke Brush Pen - Double-Sided (grey and black ink, also makes the thinnest lines)

4)  Kusetake Disposable Pocket Brush Pen - Fine

Bonus 5) Pilot Fude-Makase Color Brush Pen - Extra Fine (a red brush pen that i usually use just for accents, it spreads on the paper too much for heavy use tho)

Most of these are for calligraphy but i just draw with them. I know they look pretty much the same but the feel of the tips are different from each other.
If i just completely misunderstood and u meant digital brushes, i mostly use the pocket brush in Kyle’s Megapack haha

Freyja - How to honour and invoke her.

Herbs, Scents, Oils, Flavours, Foods and Drink

  • Strawberry (sweetness, love, desire)
  • Rose (love, romance, sexuality)
  • Florals (femininity, sweetness)
  • Sandalwood (sensuality, strength, desire)
  • Nutmeg (luck, love)
  • Rosemary (death, respect, passing on)
  • Vanilla (sensuality, sweetness, desire)
  • Mint (sensuality, desire)
  • Cinnamon (strength, warmth, assertiveness)
  • Thyme (magic, strength)
  • Ginseng (aphrodisiac)
  • Saffron (aphrodisiac)
  • Catnip and catgrass (cats)
  • Mugwort (magic, prophecy) [toxic in large amounts]
  • Wormwood (magic, prophecy) [toxic in large amounts]
  • Juniper (strength, power)
  • Charcoal (death, rebirth)
  • Red wine (aphrodisiac)
  • Mead (golden colour relates to her golden tears)
  • Cocoa (aphrodisiac)

Items that can be used in an altar dedicated to Freyja

  • Cats - statues, fur (not from cruel means!), shedded claws or whiskers, paw prints, plush toys.
  • Food and Drink offerings - see above list!
  • Weaponry - being a warrior goddess, a weapon is a great addition to an altar dedicated to her or as an offering. Letter-opener swords are perfect in size, but a kitchen knife will work just fine! Be careful of any children or other people who shouldn’t be able to access something that can be used as a weapon.
  • Feathers - Freyja owns a Falcon feather cloak that allows its wearer to fly.
  • Gold - anything golden. She likes shiny things.
  • Necklaces - Freyja owns the beautiful necklace, Brisingamen. Any other jewellery would work too!
  • Runes - Freyja is a witch (seidkona).
  • Other magical items - crystals, candles, tarot cards, wands etc.
  • Beauty products - hair brushes, makeup (warpaint!), nail polishes, etc.
  • Boars - Freyja (and other Norse gods) own boars. Anything relating to a pig would be suitable (often you can find crystals carved into the shape of a pig). A boar bristle hair brush would be perfect.
  • Things relating to feminism - There will be those who roll their eyes and get angry when they see this point, but it’s true. Deal with it.

Subtle and “secret” ways to worship

  • Keep altar items in a jewellery box. It signifies her magical necklace while still being able to be hidden away in case the wrong people see it. Same goes for makeup bags, handbags, other boxes, etc.
  • A bottle of wine can be placed somewhere in her honour. It’s a common sighting in many households, so there’s little chance of someone questioning it.
  • Keep a book (grimoire, book of shadows, journal, etc) with poems, songs, drawings, print-outs etc. dedicated to her. These can be easily hidden between furniture or in a drawer if need be.
  • Kitchen magic - use ingredients that are associated with her in your cooking. Just be careful not to include anything that can be toxic or make yourself or someone else sick.
  • Burn incense, oils, candles etc. in scents related to her. Many homes use these things as decoration.
  • Play music of a Nordic/Pagan/Medieval nature (or whatever you associate with Freyja!).
  • Wear perfumes in scents related to her.
  • Note: you are allowed to secretly worship, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Not everyone has the luxury/comfort/space to openly have an altar or place of worship in their home, and that’s okay! Your patron deity won’t mind.

Please note: mentions of Freyja being the goddess of femininity are not intended to belittle or exclude trans and non-binary people. Any one of any gender identity can worship her, and without having to explain or justify it to anyone else.

Drybrushing to add details to faux fur

Drybrushing is a great alternative or compliment to airbrushing that everyone has access to! Its easy, and gives you very similar results on faux fur, for nicely blended colors and transitions for natural-looking fur patterns.

First and foremost you want a stiff-bristled paintbrush that has relatively short, thick bristles. Here’s a close-up of my favorite one for drybrushing. 

Also pictured in the background: Acrylic paint, scrap of fur to test on, project you want to paint, and a surface to mix paint on. If you are trying this project at home, you will also want a pet slicker brush to comb out your fur as you go.

Mix your acrylic paint with no additional water, the primary tip for drybrushing is the paint remains dry! Dry out your brush bristles with a towel if you need to change colors, too.

Pull your paint onto your brush to thin out the quantity of paint on your bristles. You only want to get a little bit of paint clinging to the brush bristles.

Use your scrap fur to get the right ratio of paint on your brush! This is also GREAT PRACTICE!!! Take this opportunity to get your color mixing matched up just right, you can see my first attempt (left) was a little too orange, so I toned it down in the 2nd try (right). 

Note: In this photo I started applying paint at the bottom where the paint is thicker. As the paint spreads out on the brush and the fur it becomes the perfect ratio to apply to fur to blend it in! Always do a bit of dabbing on nearby scraps before you take it to your final project so you don’t apply too much. Layering many light layers with this technique is the way to go! Light layers of paint preserve the original fur texture the best!

Use puffs of your breath (or a comb, brush, etc) to part the fur and begin at the base of your marking change where you want it to blend. Then allow your paint to get thinner and thinner as you blend your layers outward.

Use a slicker pet brush, in a normal fashion, to fluff out your fur to see how your colors lay and separate the fur fibers. You’ll know right away if you need to add more layers of paint to make it more obvious! Many light layers are the key to beautifully blended drybrushed fur.

Even a subtle amount of paint drybrushed on fur between markings can soften an otherwise hard edge! I just wanted a little bit of blending (after drybrushing shown in the top) for my set of paws (before drybrushing shown on bottom).

Use this technique anywhere you want your character’s markings to blend in, or as an accent! Try it on fleece, or other fabrics, too! Once dry, acrylic paint can fade through friction or from scrubbing during washing, but it does bond quite well with the plastic faux fur fibers and does last and looks great for accents and shading even through the test of time! 

Goldilocks || 04

Rated M (language and smut)

Warnings: dry humping, breast play

Summary: After getting evicted, your two best friends Jimin and Taehyung offer you a place to stay until you get back on your feet. Needless to say, with a part time job and a mountain of student debt, that’s not happening any time soon. Eventually, they DO become really fond of having you around, helping with chores and even splitting rent. So when you come home one day to find someone has been sleeping in your couch-bed, well… it’s something you won’t take lightly.

Out of context Goldilocks quote:
“If you guys are done making butt jokes I’d really like to watch this movie.”

Link to: Goldilocks Masterlist || Previous Part || Next Part

not my gif, credit to owner


A/N: OH LOOK THE RATING CHANGED. Yeah so imma just leave this here and run. No EOPQ, but feedback is appreciated and depending on the reaction, I might be a hoe and drop 05 tomorrow. If you’re someone who doesn’t like smut, asterisk* is where it starts, skip until the *asterisk where it ends. You won’t be missing plot stuff. I made sure of that. NOW I’M GONNA RUN BYE~~


Taehyung has always loved boobs.

It has become apparent over the past few years of your close friendship that it isn’t even a sexual thing sometimes. He simply loves boobs. Perky, droopy, big, small, even man-boobs. He’s explained several times that “they’re just like, really comfy, okay?”

The sad thing is, you can completely believe him, and this is one of the main reasons why you choose to cross your arms when he begins pleading, unabashed as Jungkook and Jimin look on.

“Baby, just come cuddle with me,” Taehyung laughs, gesturing in a pitiful attempt to persuade you to join him, speaking loudly to be heard above both the pouring rain outside and the dialogue of the movie.

“Go take care of your boner first,” you retort.

Taehyung’s lips slip into an easy, suggestive smile, “Wanna help me with that? Or should I say… give me a hand?”

You stifle a laugh, “The only hand I’ll be giving you is my entire fist up your ass.”

“Damn baby, that’s a bit much. Can’t we just start with a finger?”

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His Brightest Star Was You - a missing Wish!Realm scene

AN: This wouldn’t leave my brain so I had to write it. For @acrobat-elle who I love a lot. I’ve been wanting to write you something forever and this is a gift for keeping it real about this episode and just generally being awesome and lovely. I hope you like it darling.

Word Count: 1198 



Even if the man sprawled, open mouthed and snoring on the bed before her was only barely recognizable, a grim shadow of the man she knew, Emma took comfort in the fact that his home was for the most part unchanged. He always took impeccable care of his ship, even if the same couldn’t always be said of himself.

There were new books lining the mantle, a few things replaced or slightly off from the Jolly she knew, but the feel of the vessel, the warmth and care shown on the spotlessly clean deck, in the tidy and efficient cabin, everything arranged just so, was exactly the same.

Emma laid his sword carefully on the table, and looked around, finally feeling some measure of peace in the day’s recent chaos. The palace she had called home here wasn’t a world she knew, the years of growing up there, of her marriage, and raising her son in the endless echoing corridors, elaborate balls and parties, were familiar in the way dreams are, intangible, fleeting, curling and fading around the edges with every moment after the dawn.

This ship however, she knew this ship.

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“The ideal scenario that would be giving a child a hair brush at the age of 5 when they first learn how to brush their hair and at the end of their life at the age of 98 and a half there is one bristle left on the brush and one hair left on old bald head and they both fall out. It would be time to move on, I guess.”

–tim, grand illusions

A Better Look

I’m SO sorry this took me so long!  I’m still winding down the busiest week at school.  Anyways, I wrote this as a request for @macyl0819!  Hope you like it, dear!  Enjoy! xx

Imagine:  I was wondering if you could write a Hufflepuff reader with Fred Weasley.

Originally posted by obviouslyphelps

The burrow was restless and stirring, even in the early hours of the balmy summer morning.  Hazy sunlight swept across the golden plains which paved the way to the quirky structure, weaving in between each individual weed and stalk like a continuous ribbon of warm light.  You could faintly pick up the soft rustling of the reeds near the brook, accompanied with the damp bristles of a course brush scrubbing away at stubborn cookery.  Your eyes, heavy with the remnants of a good night’s rest, blinked open in an expected response to the humble noises and warm glow of a new day.

“Psst.”  Your sleepy daze was broken in a near instant with the uttering of a simple nuisance.  Sighing deeply and slowly, you rolled onto your opposite shoulder and propped yourself up. You blinked in the adjusting light.

“What d’you want, Fred?” your throat was dry and scratchy, but the dewiness in the fresh air spilling through the open window offered welcome relief.  As you adjusted to your new state of awareness, you could see a fond smile growing on Fred’s lips.  He stood in the doorway of Ginny’s bedroom that you’d been sharing, propped against the doorframe like a grinning ginger giant.

“S’bout time you joined the realm of the living, now, don’t ya think, Y/N?” his bare freckled arms crossed across his chest as he gazed down at you with an unbelievable amount of mockery dancing through his liquid eyes.  Your responding smile was lazy and carefree as you yawned and stretched your arms above your head.

“I suppose I could go for a spot of breakfast,” your eyes flicked to his quickly and your smile dropped suddenly as you caught sight of the quaint cuckoo clock on the wall.  

“Merlin’s beard, I’m meant to be helping your mother with breakfast right now!” you jumped to your feet and all at once became very conscious of the fact that you were clad only in a thin ivory tank top and matching pajama shorts.  A flourish of pink spread across your cheeks; Fred was chuckling under his breath and shaking his head.

“Honestly, Y/N, you’re too sweet for your own good,” he grinned.  “Mum’s been through with breakfast for a while now.”

As you grasped at the blanket covering your slender body, you bit your lip and felt your eyebrows knit together in concern.

“Oh, dear…I wanted so much to show my thanks for your family’s hospitality,” your hands slid onto your cheeks in worry; they were warm and flushed not only from your emotional response, but also from the steadily growing heat of the summer day.  Fred shook his head once more.

“Not to sound like a poof, but you’ve been a good friend to Ginny for years, and we’re all grateful to you for that,” Fred rolled his eyes and looked faux-disgusted at the words tumbling from his lips, which then curled into a smile.  “No need to fret, silly girl.”  It was your turn to let the familiar tingle of a genuine smile take over.

Clutching the blanket around you like a grand cape, you stepped past Fred into the hallway.

“It’s funny, Fred,” you started as you trotted down the stairs.  “You’re sweeter than you let people believe.”

Fred followed close at your heels and chuckled.  Your eyes shot open to the fullest when you were suddenly hit with a burst of cool air as your cape of wool disappeared from around your shoulders.  You gasped at the unwelcome sensation and stumbled on the steps.  As your heightened senses prepared for your inevitable fall and consequential pain, you felt a pair of strong arms grip your waist like a vice.

Eyes wide, you turned your head to find Fred holding you.  His eyebrows were the highest you’ve ever seen them, whether from concern or surprise. Your eyes darted down to his foot and the wool blanket that resided underneath it, then narrowed at his prankster actions. He chuckled as he set you upright.

“It seems you’re wrong, Y/N. Clearly I’m the git everyone else believes me to be,” he winked and threw the blanket over your head, tramping down the stairs and laughing almost maniacally.  Before reaching the bottom, though, his eyes shifted to you for a split second, just to make sure you weren’t truly injured after all. Satisfied and relieved to see you continue down the stairs from underneath the blanket like a child, he smiled softly and trotted into the den.

You were blushing under all of that wool, and you knew it wasn’t from the heat of summer anymore.  You were thankful for the mask that hid your pink cheeks and amorous little smile.

Your stomach moaned in protest as it attempted to settle the uproarious battle between the pumpkin juice and eggs that Mrs. Weasley had all but forced down your throat.

“Please, have some more, dear! You’re so thin,” Mrs. Weasley begged, making a grab for the skillet sizzling atop the stove.  You covered your mouth and let out what you hoped to be an inconspicuous burp.  Fred snorted over his bowl of porridge and smirked at you.  You bit you lip and offered a little smile.

“No, thank you so much, Mrs. Weasley, truly.  It’s all been so amazing,” you carefully lifted yourself from the creaky chair, adjusting to the new load you’d taken on at breakfast.  

You nearly waddled to the screen door. Although the smells of the buffet behind you were absolutely delectable, they also doubled as overpowering given the amount you’d just eaten.  The refreshing outside air, which wafted through the door, washed over you, offering great relief.  You closed your eyes and breathed the outside world in deeply.

With such disregard to everything around you, you hadn’t realized that you’d been standing in the doorway long enough for the Weasley family to retreat to their respective rooms.  You didn’t mind; it was a beautiful day.  Why shouldn’t I enjoy this?

With a swift little squeak, the screen door opened and you waded into the tall green grasses.  The untamed almost wild quality possessed by the burrow was something you always admired. There never would exist a better home for an entirely Gryffindor family.  Even so, as a Hufflepuff yourself, you never felt out of place. The environment was inviting, the people even more so.  You took your time to drink in the sight of it on your last day.

“Dallying, are we?” You let out a breath and rolled your eyes at the sound of the familiar snarky voice. Before you could retort, your sassy words disappeared with two arms sliding around your waist.

“Fred, what are–?” you craned your neck to look back up into his warm brown eyes, but only for a moment before your view changed.  His freckled face got progressively smaller as he lifted you in his arms, nearly above his head, as if you were a doll.

“Fred!” you squirmed a bit in his firm grasp in protest.  He promptly shushed you and somehow was able to maneuver you to perch on his broad shoulder as if you were a prized parrot.  Your heart was racing as the ground appeared miles below your dangling bare feet.

“Please Fred, put me down, I’m afraid!”

“Oh, live a little, Y/N,” Fred chuckled lightheartedly and kept an everlasting strong hold of your hip beside his head.  His fine red hairs tickled your exposed skin, and you found your hand inadvertently knotting into them for balance.

“Ow!  Relax, Y/N, my goodness,” he winced and continued laughing as if it were all a joke.  You squirmed more, embarrassment evident on your reddening cheeks.


“Merlin’s beard, look ahead!” his voice was laced with struggle and slight annoyance, but a smile never left his ruddy face.  You huffed and dragged your narrowed eyes away from Fred’s smugness, setting your sights to the horizon.

Your mouth dropped open a bit.  The sight was incredible from your perch.  The sun danced above the rolling golden planes in a burst of brilliance contrasted with the stark blue of the cloudless sky. The gentle breeze moved through the tall grasses like a wave and caressed your flushed skin like an old lover.

“I thought you might want a better look, you’re always staring at it so bloody much,” Fred chuckled and patted your thigh.  You swallowed.

“It’s beautiful…I just enjoy coming here so much,” you tore your gaze away from the transcendental sight to look down at Fred.  “It’s such a familiar, loud, and beautiful place…for all the right reasons.  I know I don’t share entirely in your family’s vivacious and fiery lifestyle, but I’ve always felt I belonged here.”

With your hand tangled in Fred’s peppery locks, you could almost feel the soft smile tingling on his lips.  You had to smile yourself at the thought of it, of him. You always had tender feelings for Fred, perhaps much more tender than a young woman should have for her best friend’s elder brother.  Ever since he’d accidentally slipped a dungbomb into your school bag, mistaking it for Ginny’s, and he was wracked with guilt, he’d somewhat had a special hold on your heart.  You could still see his brown eyes, wide with worry at his mistake but still glimmering with a whimsical playfulness and a mischief that struggled to stay away from the rest of his face.  You giggled to yourself.

Fred glanced up at you.

“What’s s’funny?” before you could respond, you were airborne, tumbling through space until you landed in a set of strong arms.  Blinking in disbelief, your eyes crawled up to meet Fred’s.  He was smirking as he held you close to his broad chest.

“You do belong here by the way,” Fred remarked, matter-o-factly.  You blushed and gripped at the soft cotton of his nightshirt, which still clung to him even in the late hours of the morning.  Your mind raced with possibilities.

“The burrow, I mean,” he chuckled and placed you gently on your feet once more.  “You know right well that you’re welcome anytime.”  Your shoulders sank a little, realizing he hadn’t simply meant you belonged in his arms.

“Oh, right,” you sighed and smiled softly up at him.  His face was radiant in the morning sunlight, every freckle and dimple dancing about like pure paint strokes.  Fred seemed to study your face thoughtfully.  Your cheeks burned as he piped:

“Y’know, you make the view here a little better, if you can believe it Y/N.”  Suddenly you were at a loss for words, and Fred turned on his heel towards the house once more.  Did he really just say that?  Am I dreaming?  You could only follow his lanky figure with your eyes, trailing after him in spirit like a lost puppy.  Truly you found yourself wanting nothing more than to be in his arms once more.

Before he stepped through the door, Fred turned his head to look back at you, still frozen in the midst of the summer heat and quivering grasses up to your knees.  He rolled his eyes.

“Well come on then, Y/N,” he quirked his head towards the house and you eagerly skipped forward, as if attached to him like a puppet on strings.  Fred held the screen door open for you and you stepped under his arm, smiling sunnily. His hand grazed your exposed hip.

“Meet me upstairs in a few, will you?” his whisper carried a hint of mischief and you bit your lip, continuing into the house.  You stifled how flustered he made you simply from the tickle of his breath against your skin.  I must play this game, and I must win it.

You waited at least a full hour before climbing the countless flights of stairs to Fred’s bedroom.  Assuming that’s where he’d meant to meet you, you took a deep breath as thoughts raced through your swimming head.  You raised your hand slowly and rested your knuckles against the smooth grain of the bedroom door before you.  Biting your lip, you pulled your hand back and prepared to knock. Before you could do so, the door swung open to reveal an all-too-familiar pair of smirking lips attached to a tall red-haired man.  You couldn’t help but smile goofily as your insides tightened.  He was dressed for the day at last, clad in a deep blue t-shirt, khaki trousers, and a far too smug expression.

“What a surprise,” his voice dripped with sarcasm and he struggled to keep from laughing at himself.  “Won’t you come in?”

He gestured his arms grandly, inviting you into the quaint room adorned with quiddich paraphernalia and practical joke objects.  Your flowing, lavender sundress moved fluidly as you walked through the doorframe.  To your enormous satisfaction, you caught a glimpse of Fred’s eyes twinkle as he watched you float about the room in your lovely dress.

You smirked.  Let’s have a little fun.  

“Do you like my dress, Fred?” you laughed musically and gave a little twirl.  Fred swallowed and broke out in a genuine smile.

“It’s almost as bloody lovely as you are,” he leaned back against the bedframe, crossing his arms and quirking an eyebrow.  You halted mid-twirl and blushed, your cheeks giving you away yet again.  Bloody Hell, just when I’ve got the upper hand.  Fred laughed before you could formulate a witty, or even a cohesive, response.

“You don’t have to be so nervous, Y/N. It’s just me, after all,” he grinned. You swallowed.

“Of course,” you stuttered, clasping your hands in front of you.  You hadn’t realized how nervous you were under your cool, coy façade.  Fred’s smile only grew.

“I suppose I know how you feel though,” he started, thoughtfully.  You tilted your head in confusion.

“Oh?”  He soon smirked.

“I mean, I tend to have this effect on girls,” he could hardly contain his snarkiness.  You rolled your eyes.

“Honestly, Fred,” you chuckled. “What did you want with me again?”

His easy-going smile faltered slightly at the simple question, and he cleared his throat.

“Right, erm…” he fidgeted and gripped the bedpost.  “S’just that I’ve known you for a while now and, like I mentioned before, we- I’m really grateful to you for being such a good friend to my little sister.”  You were a bit confused, as you didn’t know where he intended to go with this point.  He could obviously read the confusion on your face and he laughed dryly.

“Sorry that’s a bit irrelevant, I suppose,” he looked up at the ceiling searching for words.  “The point is that I guess I’ve grown very…fond of you.” You couldn’t believe your eyes. Fred was blushing.  His freckles stood out against the stark pink of his cheeks. He was not alone in this, though, as you felt your own face heat up.  Your heart fluttered at his words.  

“Go on…” you pressed, leaning on the bedframe beside him.  He gazed into your eyes and the corner of his mouth turned up gently in a smile.

“Well, maybe you know what I’m getting at already…I can always tell you feel the same.  Your body language betrays you, love,” his breath tickled your nose and blew a few stray hairs from your face.  You bit your lip, producing a huge smile from Fred.

“See what I mean!” he laughed and you quickly withdrew your teeth from the center of your lower lip.  Flustered as you were, you smiled and giggled.

Fred’s hand crept around your waist and rested on your hip gently.  Your breath caught in your throat, but you pushed aside any nervousness and rested your hand on his shoulder.

“I do feel the same,” you whispered. He offered you the most real smile you’d ever seen and pulled you close to him.  You closed your eyes as you breathed in his scent of cinnamon, which played with the moist summer air that spilled from the windows.  For the first time, you could feel Fred’s hesitance. For the first time, you took honest initiative as you held his face in your hands, and confidently pressed your lips against his.

His lips welcomed yours and he blossomed under your touch, lifting you from the ground and into his arms.  The kiss was deliciously pure and warm.  You broke only for a moment and caught a better look of Fred’s brown eyes, dancing in the sunlight pouring through the room. You smiled with an immense amount of happiness; the view of the landscape just outside paled in comparison to the view of his smiling eyes.

Seth Clearwater Imagine: Date Night

Request 4: Reader is really short and gets teased from the others.

Music filled the small room we filled. It swept across the otherwise silent area. I was sitting on the counter while Kim and Emily towered over me. The girls gave inquisitive looks to one another as I gave them willing authoritative over my blank canvas. Kim points towards a colour in an eyeshadow pallet in Emily hands. Emily nods her head enthusiastically while she reaches for a brush. I close my eyes as I feel the smooth bristles of the brush dance back and forth across my eyelids. I feel like a doll that is being made; awaiting the finished masterpiece.

A knock forced it’s way into the room interrupting the music. The door nervously opened slowly. Sam poked in from the other side, “Seth is already here for (Y/N).” Emily went over to him and quickly peaked his lips and nodded her head. Both Kim and Emily returned to their unfinished work with vigorous determination. The mascara wand brush slowly across my eyelids, indicating that I was finally finished. I hoped off the counter and turned around to see myself on the other side of the mirror. I am fearfully excited.

Emily gripped my arm as I saw my reflection quickly drift away from the mirrors surface. The entire pack was crowded along the table eating various snacks that was left out for them. The ate in an effortless aggression that left the remains of their plates to vanish. Heads perked up from the sudden commotion of their imprints entering the scene. Seth got up from the table and stood there looking at with me with unwavering astonishment. The sight caused giggles to freely escape my mouth as I walk over to him. He instinctively wraps his arms around my waist and lens down and gentle kisses my lips.

“Wow Seth you have to lean over so much to get to your imprint that you turn into the Hunchback of Notre Dame,” Paul noted. Laugher barked loudly from all of the other pack members. My face was immediately invaded from the blush the spread across my cheeks.

“Literally anyone here but you would be able to reach the top shelf,” Jared countered back.

“How is the weather down there (Y/N),” Embry questioned?  I rolled my eyes at the hundred year old comment. Seth wraps his arms around me and starts to lead me towards the door.

“Hey, my imprint is just more down to Earth then of you here,” Seth joked back. The mouths of the pack members that made comments opened. Everyone else in the room shouted and oooed at his words. Seth’s hands entangled with him as he pulled me out of the house as we dashed towards the truck. We both got in a slammed the doors.

“I can’t believe you said that,” I gushed in between my laugher from the events that engraved in my member.

“Neither can I,” he replied.

“So where are you taking me?”  He started the truck and began to drive away from the shocked faces that were left inside.

“It’s a surprise.” I smiled a leaned back in my seat, awaiting for the next astonishing uncertainty the night would hold.


The brush off by judi may

paint on me + mgc

> synopsis ~ ur best friend michael loves to paint but he’d love to touch you even more
> word count ~ 3,575
> requested? ~ yes by a cute anon: hi love! would you write a michael smut that is like rough and super hot and stuff please? <3 i love your writing! 
requests are sent in here // masterlist

Saturday mornings were by far one of your favourite mornings. Michael would turn up to your house at 11AM, with his paintbrushes tucked into his pocket, and a canvas tucked underneath his arm, dragging you into his car and driving back to his house. Saturday mornings were when he began on a new art project, and he would never begin a new project without you picking out the colour scheme for him. It caught you by surprise, the first time – when he stood at your doorstep with an eager grin, while you tiredly let him lead you to his paintings despite you being in your pyjamas. Since then, you’ve prepared yourself, never bringing anything to keep you entertained, because watching Michael stand by the easel with a smear of paint blurring across his cheek was enough for you.

That Saturday morning, you sat cross legged on the floor, looking around at all the other paintings he had hung up on the white walls, and the scrunched up sketches strewn along the linoleum ground. Picking one up, you unravelled it, eyes training across the smudged pencil lines. You weren’t sure what he was trying to depict, other than a small house at the top of a hill. Assuming it was his own, you rolled it back on the linoleum, lifting your head to see your friend twirling his paintbrush around his fingers and staring at the blank canvas indignantly. He dipped the bristles into a pot of water, and nearly let them brush the deep blue you chose for him, until retreating and sighing, setting the paintbrush back in its tin and pacing around the room. Shaking your head, you picked up one of the pencils he left on the floor, and doodled a rose on a piece of paper you found.

“No inspiration?” you asked, and he huffed, nodding and sitting next to you. It wasn’t a rare occasion for Michael to have a complete blank of what to paint, it happened rather often. Whether it was because he couldn’t get the image in his mind correctly, or he felt like everything had been done before, it wasn’t something new to you. Shaking your head, you turned to look at him. “Come on. You can do this.”

“I can’t.” He tipped his head back, and ran his hands through his hair. “I need a new canvas to work with.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A new canvas?”



“It’s just…” He leaned back, stretching out his legs and staring at his cheap trainers. “Look up. Look at all my paintings.”

Obliging, you rested your eyes on the framed and unframed pictures bordering the whole room, some propped up against the shelves, and some paper sketches tacked onto the door. You couldn’t see what they had in common – other than having a splash of colour in front of a white background. They were all different sizes, some taller than him, and some that could fit in the palm o your hand. You knew you were supposed to focus on the canvases, but you couldn’t help be made breathless by all his talent. His talent was everywhere in that room – on the walls, on the ground, everywhere. It bled out of every portrait and astounded you.

“Okay,” you said after a while. “So what?”

“There’s no variety.”

“You’re shitting me.”

He laughed, his eyes fixing on you. “What? I’m not wrong.”

“Hell yeah you are,” you told him. “There’s so much variety.”

“I mean, not really, if you think about it.” Standing up, he approached one of the large paintings supported by a table. It was mostly purples an lilacs, a picture of a woman and a man. They had each other in an embrace, kissing with fingers lost in each other’s hair, and hands pulling each other closer. When he first showed you, you were breathless. If you’d seen something more beautiful, you couldn’t recall. Pointing to it, he said, “look. It’s pretty much the same as this one over here.” He picked up one of the tiny canvases, a painting of the moon against a blurry pink sky.

“In what way?” You set down the pencil you held. “They’re two completely different things.”

“Yeah, but there’s just this massive blank background behind both of them. It’s getting boring having to use these canvases all the time.” He placed down the painting of the moon, and returns next to you. Lying down, he pressed the back of his hand against his forehead. “I want something different.”

You lay down next to him, propping yourself on one elbow to see him as you spoke. He already had a smudge of sapphire along his chin, which you assumed was from when he was pouring the paint onto the palette. You resisted yourself from reaching over and brushing it with your thumb, knowing he might find it strange, or just give you a look. Before you could do anything impulsive, you lay back down, a blush rising from your neck to your face just at the thought of it. He didn’t notice, you silently observed, and instead stared up at the ceiling, which had a faulty light hanging off the middle. A wooden beam ran above it, leading all the way to the other side of the room. You looked at Michael.

“What are you thinking about painting on?” you asked.

“Something different.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, what have you painted on before?”

He raised his hands, counting off on his fingers as he listed. “I’ve done public graffiti.”

“Okay.” You joined him, raising one finger. “What else?”

“I’ve painted on the floor.” He motioned to the ocean of red out on the linoleum. You remembered him painting that, the way he had to crawl around and be ever so tentative every time you came anywhere near, just in case you accidentally stepped on it. “I’ve painted the tour bus. I’ve done stained glass. I’ve even painted my guitar, for Christ’s sake.” He rubbed his hands over his face.

“How can I be drawing a blank already?”

You said gently, “have you ever painted on somebody?”

“I’ve thought about it,” he replied. “But, I can’t really paint on myself without screwing it up. The angles would be all wrong.”

You didn’t even hesitate. “Paint on me, then.” It was beyond you why he never brought it up to you, before. If he couldn’t do it on himself, why didn’t he do it on you? You were his best friend, you would’ve welcomed him to embellish you with his art.

His gaze met yours, but in a different way. Not in a way you had discovered from him before. He regarded you for a while, his face flushing until you realised what you were offering for him to do. By painting on you, you would be letting Michael touch you, touch places that were foreign to him, and that made you shy just to think about. You sobered, pushing your hair behind your ears and breaking the contact between you both. You remained lying down, but this time, hitched up your shirt to expose the skin on your lower belly. He inhaled, and sat up, keeping his fingers balanced on the fold of your shirt.

“Are you sure?” he asked gently.

Shrugging, you pushed it off like it was nothing. “I mean, you need a new canvas. Plus, it’d look cool.”

He took a moment, glancing from your stomach to you again. Finally, he got up, picked up his palette, water, and paintbrushes, and sat beside you once again, dipping the bristles of a thin brush in the water and sweeping it over a deep blue. You couldn’t see what he was doing; you jumped when the wet brush touched your skin. He steadied you, hand moving to your opposite waist and making it even more difficult for you to lie still. His palm was cold, and you wanted him to slip it just a little lower down on you. Just to feel how it would be – having his grip on somewhere you’d only dream of him seeing. His gaze softened as it met yours.

“Sorry.” He smiled at you, then continued painting, mixing different colours on the palette and on your skin. He didn’t make you feel like a canvas – he made you feel like a sky with every shade of the afternoon mixed together. His brush teased the cincture of your skirt, and he paused for a moment, looking up at you for permission. “Uh… Y/N…”

“Take it off,” you mumbled. “Take off whatever you need to. I’m yours.”

Your heart pulsed in your chest when the words left your mouth, and his lips parted in surprise. He didn’t break your gaze when his hand slipped up your legs and over your thighs, fingers as cold as the paintbrush as he tugged down your skirt. A gust of a breeze erupted hairs all across your legs, and you realised how exposed you were in front of him. Left in a shirt and underwear, with Michael’s fingers pressed on your hip, and only him to see what he did. He swallowed, hand moving to your ankle to push off your skirt completely. You fought off the urge to push his hair away from his eyes.

“Okay, I…” he trailed off. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna work on your upper thigh, if that’s okay.”

“Of course. Do what you need to.”

He nodded, more shapes blooming onto your thigh beneath his paintbrush until he picked another colour from the palette, this time a lighter blue. He filled in all the areas he made, starting from your stomach down to your thigh. The whisper of his strokes made you hold your breath, and how his hand kept its grasp on your body to balance out all the colours he carefully added. You observed him, the way his lip was between his teeth, and his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, leaning close onto your body to see properly. His shadow cast along you, and when your opposite leg moved, somehow it brought him out of his trance enough to remind him what he was doing, as his face turned red once again, and he nearly stumbled on the shadows he was working on. Dropping the paintbrush between your legs, he sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I-I keep getting distracted.”

“No, it’s okay, don’t worry.” You reclined up to see what he painted. He was drawing the night, the moon hanging in the deep blue sky and spilling down onto your thigh. He turned away coyly, but you took his head in your hands and fronted him again. “Hey. Look at this.” You gestured to the paint across your body. “It looks so pretty. You made me look so pretty.”

“You always look pretty.” He leaned back, and picked up the paintbrush he dropped. “You have really soft skin.” Moving his hand up, he touched your opposite thigh, the one without the paint. He rubbed it gently, and you took in a sharp breath. His eyes met yours. “It’s okay if I touch you here, right?”

“I don’t see why not.”

You shared a smile, and he picked up the paints, pushing them to the side so he could lie down next to you. His hand shifted, so it sat between your thighs, and before you could register it, his lips were on your skin, starting from your stomach and around your underwear. You gasped, the warmth of his mouth catching you from the cool air in the room. They were gentle pecks at first, beginning from your hip bone down to your thigh, until they grew lazy and wet, leaving a trail until he reached just above where he began his painting. His eyes met yours, and there was no form of backing out. Playing with your waistband, he spoke quietly, like there was somebody else to listen in one what he said.

“I don’t think a body as pretty as this should be limited to just being painted on,” he said.

“You’re not allowed to touch the art in museums.” You gave him a smug look, teasing him. Of course you wanted him to touch you. In that moment, you wanted nothing more than for him to touch you.

“Guess I’ll just have to break the rules.” Michael slid his fingers underneath your underwear, and looked at you. “You want me to take ‘em off?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

Lifting up the fabric, he made sure not to disturb the drying paint on your skin, and pushed it next to your skirt, running his fingers up your leg. Pleased, he looked at what he revealed for himself, about to steady himself by grabbing your thigh, but stopping himself. He groaned, and pulled back, moving his hair from his face and watching you.

“Come here,” he said earnestly, and when you began to kneel up, he lay down, pointing to his red lips. Your stomach knotted, with his leg between both of yours, and the denim of his jeans hard on your clit. “Baby, over here. Come ride my face.”

He took your hand and helped you over, leaving you with a shuddering breath as you hovered over his mouth, knees either side of his head. You felt the paint drying on your thigh, and Michael’s lips so close to your heat. When his mouth finally touched your centre, you gasped, biting your lip and digging your nails into his knuckles. He was merciless, teasing your clit with the texture of his lips and the wetness of his tongue. You grinded yourself onto his face, and he groaned, the vibration sending you to tremors. He licked your clit gently, eyes searching for yours to see how they changed with you on top of him while he did things you would’ve never imagined him being able to. He sucked on your clit harshly, and you moaned, which dispersed into a sigh when he pulled away.

“You’re so responsive, you know?” He leaned in, and with his lips barely touching you, licked up your core. You shivered, whimpering and clutching his hair. He chuckled on your heat, proving his point and lifting you off his face. Your wetness soaked his shirt, and he tutted. “Look, baby. You’ve made a little mess.” He picked up your hips, and you saw the mark on his tank. Raising a finger, he swiped it over your folds. Your stomach tightened, and you looked up. “Who made you this wet so quick, hmm?”

You stuttered, your lip falling numb with how much you chewed on it. His finger circled your clit, edging you to answer him. “Y-you.”

“What was that?”

“You– fuck, Michael – you did.” You burned for him, while the pad of his middle finger flicked over you.

“Yeah?” He propped himself up on his elbows, leaning over and kissing your neck. You rolled your head over to give him more access, and he was lying you down on the linoleum again, fingers remaining between your thighs as your carefully wrapped your legs around his waist, although the paint on your body had long dried. His voice was deep in your ear as he cupped your heat, slipping a finger into you. He was warm, his breath on your neck, his chest on yours. Groaning, he shifted so he could watch you. “Fucking hell, you’re so tight. So, so tight.”

“Mikey…” You twisted your hips around, trying to get in as much friction as you could. “Please. More.”

“I don’t think so.” He took his fingers out, leaving you flush on the floor with a pulsing clit and heart beating loud in your ears. You stared at him, impossibly angry and needy for him simultaneously. He pulled off his shirt, and for a moment, you were stunned. It hit you, what you were doing, that you were spread out in front of him, and he was the real art to be admired between you both. Your eyes trailed the pale expanse of skin on his chest, down to the trail of hair leading into his jeans. You swallowed, reaching your hand out to touch him, before he caught it. “Sit up.”

You gave him a docile smile, and did as told, playing with the hem of your top. “Can you touch me?” you said softly.

“On your hands and knees first, baby.” He cupped your hands with his own, and lifted up your shirt. “But let me take this off first.”

Your shirt came over your head, revealing you in your muddy grey T-Shirt bra. Although your self consciousness came over you, you kept yourself exhibited in front of him, watching a smile grace his lips when he took over your body – the body he’d thought of beneath those clothes for as long as he could remember. His cold fingers danced up your spine, your chest meeting his when he unclipped your bra, your breasts freeing and his eyes fixing on them once they could. He swore underneath his breath, and ran his thumb over your nipple, rolling it between his fingers and observing your reaction. It was a subtle wash of pleasure, feeling your nipples perk up at his attention. When he let go, he lead his hands down, and squeezed your hips.

“Do as I said, my love,” he told you, and you required no more requesting for you to follow.

With your palms pressed against the linoleum, your naked body exposed to your surroundings, you felt the air hit you from every direction, and the vulnerability you possessed drew you further into Michael. You waited for him to do something, when you felt his two fingers push into your heat, curling up as deep as they could. You looked down, thighs trembling as he gripped one of them, and grinded back onto his palm. His free hand drew a fist into your hair, and tugged your head up, locking your jaw in his grip, and pulling you in with his mouth on yours. It was an electric kiss, feeling how his lips melted into yours, and at the same time, how his fingers slid past your hips. He kissed you hard, but it softened, when you both noticed it was the first you both had ever shared. His fingers slammed into you once, and he curved them up, stroking your G-Spot. You parted from his mouth to whine into his neck.

“Come on, Y/N,” he whispered, his back pressing onto yours. “Come kiss me again.”

You responded, capturing his mouth once again and felt your stomach move in circles. The paint was already dry on your skin, settled as firmly as the kiss you shared with him. His fingers released you, and moved to your hips, and his mouth broke from yours, leaving you remaining on your hands and knees, apprehending for his touch.

“Michael,” you said softly, “you can’t leave me like this. Feel how wet I am for you.” You searched for his hand, and set it on your heart. Your voice fell to quiet. “Do you feel that? You made me like this.”

He chuckled, and retracted his hand. You heard him undo his belt, and saw as he pushed his jeans aside, his cock throbbing between your thighs. Your stomach tightened in anticipation, and he mumbled below your ear. “The thing is, princess, if I wanted to, I could leave you like this.”

His cock sunk into you, and you gasped, reaching over your arm and feeling the base of him under your hips. Adjusting to his size, you inhaled, moving your hand away and letting him begin to thrust. They started slow, strung out groans rising out of his throat. He pressed himself deep inside you, letting him fill you up with his nails marking your hips. You wanted him to make you a piece of art – you wanted him to mark you and bruise you so you were always his.

“My pretty, pretty girl,” he murmured, and picked up his pace.

His hips met yours with each harsh pump he buried in you, and you submitted to your forearms, your hair falling in front of your eyes as you heard Michael moan above you, matching you whimpers and mumbles as he hit your sensitivity each time. Your toes curled, and your body wept for him, the sweat on his chest slipping across your back. You pressed your forehead against your hands.

“I’m gonna cum, baby,” he said, leaning back and lazily grabbing your hips, pulling you onto his cock and circling his hips. “Are you gonna cum with me?”

“Y-yeah.” You felt it swell in you, and you knew you were close.

“That’s my girl.”

Ensued were heavier breaths, and harder thrusts, until Michael let out one last groan, and you felt the delight course through right into the tips of your fingers, and he pulled out, leaving you feeling fulfilled with his cum dripping between your thighs. You remained in your position for a while, before collapsing onto your back, wiping the sweat off your forehead with the heels of your palms. You just had sex with Michael.

He caught his breath, then approached you, pecking your forehead, and taking his hand in yours. “You’re a work of art.”

You smiled, watching the beams across the ceiling. “I’m your work of art.”

straight content is a bristle brush covered in rust that scrapes at my soul while gay content is a cool, healing balm that bathes my soul and allows me to live another day, nourished on by the energies of gay lové

witchyfashion beauty tip

A year or two ago I had to go out and buy a bristle brush for my wigs for work. At first I was only going to use this hair brush for my wigs, then on day I was in a hurry and could not find my normal hair brush. I started to see a change in my hair while I was using the bristle brush. After looking into it I learned: -It conditions your hair by distrubitiing oils from the sclap of your hair to the rest of your hair. Which of course reduces oily scalp. -reduces oil build up -reduces hair fizz -It sumilates hair growth. Here are some to choose from:

type 1

type 2

type 3

House things #2

Hufflepuff things:

Sunlight streaming through an open window. Sunsets. Bonfires on cold fall nights. Cinnamon, clove, and lemongrass. The lethargic contentment that comes from spending an afternoon wrapped in blankets. Brush bristles sweeping across a wooden floor. Leaves crunching under foot. Journeys that don’t go happily or the way they were expected to, and knowing that that is okay.

anonymous asked:

First Todomomo kiss? asldkfadfjlkjf these are cute

I’m glad you like them! I hope this is cute enough for you!
This is set in the future – when the two of them are pros. 
You might consider this a continuation of this little ficlet.

;Beautiful Things

Shouto paused at an intersection. Masked villains filtered in from the right, terrorising anyone caught in their path. Civilians ran screaming to his left. If he ran towards the people, many more would be slaughtered on his behalf. If he ran towards the villains – the people would still be slaughtered, without a hero to bring them hope. Damn it, what was he supposed to do? This would be a lot easier if he were alone.

But he wasn’t. 

Momo lay unconscious in his arms, wisps of dark hair plastered to her glowing face. Her skin was bruised and battered, like broken bristles of a brush she’d once used to create. It would take some time for her to rouse from her injured state. Time he didn’t have to spare. 

‘Don’t do this to me, Momo,’ he urged, casting about for signs of escape.

You’re a hero now, he heard her say in his mind. The civilians should be our first priority. They’re defenceless. 

He was doing it again, he realised. Letting his heart – his feelings – rule his thoughts on the battlefield. Balancing her weight against one arm, Shouto raised his right hand and created a glistening wall of ice, hoping to slow his pursers down. He then forged a slope at his feet and proceeded to ride it over the heads of the civilians. Seeing him above them, close enough to fight, gave them a glimmer of hope. He saw it flash in the way they smiled underneath him. 

‘Come on, Midoriya,’ he muttered, thinking back to the SOS he’d posted. If anyone could pull through on his behalf, it was All Might’s successor. ‘Momo needs you.’ I need you

It would be nice if Shouto didn’t have to rely on anyone else, but there were times, such as these, when one hero just wasn’t enough. Of course, he and Momo couldn’t have known that their primary hideout was close by. They’d only intended to flush out the leader during one his anti-hero tirades. Cut them dead at the source.

Settling on a flat rooftop in the distance, Shouto laid Momo on the ground and turned back towards the chase. His barrier of ice exploded behind them, sending eliciting screams from anyone the shards hit. 

What should I do? His gaze flicked to Momo, who still lie unconscious beside him. What would she do?

She seemed so at peace despite her injuries. If she were awake, he knew for sure she’d have an answer. Her strategies had gotten them out of worse messes than this.

‘Think,’ he cursed himself. ‘What should I–’ That’s when he spotted it, the pipe leak flooding out onto the street below. 

When he was certain the villagers were clear of the street, he eased himself onto the edge of the rooftop and sat, waiting, for opportunity to arrive. Sure enough the villains poured out of a side street, hoping to ambush Shouto and his injured friend, and stumbled right into his trap. 

Ice began to rise from the water, trapping their feet, first, then their waists, spiralling in tendrils all the way up to their hands. The water enhanced the speed of his quirk, sending it shimmering in all directions like a spark of flame dancing on a puddle of oil. It wrapped itself around each and everyone one of them, securing their bodies – and their hands-on quirks – within it. The element of surprise had been enough to prevent them from stopping his quirk. 

It wouldn’t hold forever, he knew. But it would hold long enough for them to be detained. Heaving a sigh, Shouto dropped to his knees beside Momo, suddenly aware of how exhausted he’d become. Being a pro hero wasn’t something to be taken lightly. It had only been a year since graduating and neither he nor Momo had made a name for themselves yet. But fame didn’t really matter. Not if they could save people from harm.

‘Did you…succeed?’

Shouto fixed Momo with a worried stare. Her eyes fluttered open to meet his gaze. She winced against the sunlight, then at what he could only assume was the pain riddling her body. Regardless, she eased herself up onto her elbows and pierced him with a hard stare.


Shouto nodded. ‘See for yourself.’

Glancing over the edge of the rooftop, Momo’s lips twitched up into a smile. ‘There sure were a lot of them, huh?’

‘Yeah. More than I can count.’

‘Are the people safe, too?’ she asked.

That was so typical of her – while he was worrying for Momo, she was worrying about everybody else. She’d lose a leg or an arm or her entire quirk just to protect one single person. It was a quality that made her a much better hero than he was.

‘Midoriya and the others are on their way.’ Sirens whirred in the distance, as if summoned by his words. ‘Let’s keep watch until then.’

Momo shuffled closer to him on the rooftop. Her hand knocked his own as she moved, and he became suddenly aware of how happy he was to see her mobile again.

‘I was worried about you,’ he confessed. 

‘Why? You handled it yourself, didn’t you?’

‘I had your help.’

Momo raised a brow in questioning. 

‘I mean,’ he explained, ‘the plan. I tried to think of something you would do. Something you might create.’

Momo let out a gentle laugh. ‘You say that like I’m the only one capable of creating things.’

‘My quirk is that of destruction,’ he said.

‘Really? Because that looks pretty beautiful to me.’

Shouto followed her gaze to where the ice had lapped up a nearby chimney top and erupted in the form of a geyser. It shone an array of different colours where the sun touched it just right. 

This time, it was Shouto’s hand that brushed Momo’s, and when he felt the warmth of her skin against his own, he gave it a more purposeful push in her direction. Turning her hand to interlock their fingers, he said nothing as he watched the colours glinting off the solid geyser.

Momo squeezed his hand. ‘People all around the world use ice to sculpt beautiful things, you know. I only really know how to make weapons and tools. Those aren’t necessarily beautiful.’ Tilting her head, Momo smiled at the shimmer of colours on the chimney top. ‘But I’ve always believed that we should cherish beautiful things. Especially during times like this.’

Shouto’s attention returned to Momo. Her eyes melted under his gaze, exposing layer after layer of untapped emotion – of wisdom and courage and all the things he’d always liked about her.

Leaning in, he hesitated for just a moment before closing the distance between them. Her lips were soft against his own; gentle and sweet. Just like her. 

Alarmed at what he’d done, Shouto drew back and stared at her, warmth tingling up the back of his neck. He tapped into his quirk to regulate the sensation, but no matter how hard he tried to cool himself down, his heart had other plans.

Momo peered at him through misty eyes. ‘W-what was that for?’ she asked.

‘You said we should cherish beautiful things.’ Shouto cleared his throat. 

Momo’s face turned as red as her costume. ‘T-that–’

‘I cherish you, Momo,’ he whispered. ‘I always will.’ 

i couldnt get artist!Julian out of my head. (for @khemeioa​)

Julian Albert had beautiful hands.

It was a secret Barry prided himself on knowing. He often distracted himself gazing at those long fingers, curled around a test tube, the elegant flick of the wrist Julian gave as he swirled its contents.

But what he noticed about Julian’s hands wasn’t the worry-bitten fingernails or the expensive wristwatch—a memento of his old life. It was the way they were never without color. Often they were grey with charcoal, but from time to time they varied, with a paint swatch on the back of his hand. The colors were a masterpiece in itself.

Occasionally, he would catch a glimpse of the callus between his index and middle finger, further proof that these were artist’s hands. He could practically see Julian standing in front of a canvas, rotating a finely bristle brush between his fingers.

Barry lamented the fact that Julian was so private about his art. The only reason he knew about it was because it was his job to observe (that, and Julian had a shock of dried blue paint in his hair). He could only hope that one day, Julian would feel close enough to Barry to share one of his works. He didn’t dare ask to see them; It felt like intruding on Julian’s privacy.

One day, though, Julian finally brought his art to work. Barry watched from afar as Julian took out his chalk pastels and sketchpad. He wanted to speak up, to ask to see what Julian was creating, but was entranced by the way a single lock of Julian’s hair had fallen in his face as he poured his heart onto the paper. That in itself was art.

It wasn’t until the next morning that he learned what Julian had been drawing.

Waiting for him when he arrived was Julian’s art, straight out of his sketchbook. The spiral edging had been ripped off meticulously, and it was attached to his computer monitor with a blank sticky note. Barry removed the picture from the monitor and held it in his hands as if it were worth the world. To him, it was.

He felt honored to glimpse a piece of Julian’s artwork. Julian had captured his likeliness almost perfectly, from his windswept hair to the freckle just under his eye. But the only thing that didn’t match was the eyes. This Barry’s eyes were joyful, full of love and with no hints of regret. Barry hadn’t looked that way in a long time. There was so much feeling in what Julian had gifted him.

“Julian, can I buy you a coffee?”