#Had this idea stewing in my head for a while

[crocswithoutsocks]

Ok ok Firesetter fic idea where Flint and Graham go on a date to get ice cream. Flint's ice cream melts and Graham comes to the shocking realisation that Flint has never gotten to experience ice cream in its glorious, intended format. Graham immediately makes it his mission to find an ice cream that Flint can eat without it melting, and they go all over Toontown trying to find different ways to make the ice cream not melt. They take the ice cream to the Brrrgh hoping that the cold will cancel out Flint's heat and stop the ice cream from melting (it doesn't). They decide they need somewhere colder so Graham convinces Flint to sneak into Cosmo's deep freezer with him. It still isn't cold enough, Cosmo finds them and kicks them both out, Flint apologises profusely. Someone, maybe Cathal, suggests they try astronaught ice cream instead since that definetly won't melt. Graham laments that it isn't the same. By the end of the day, they've bought out nearly an entire cart's worth of ice cream, and they still haven't been able to stop it melting. The floor in all areas of toontown is much stickier than it was that morning, reports from toons say all of the streets smell somewhat like melted vanilla ice cream. Graham is upset and frustrated that he wasn't able to make the ice cream thing happen, Flint is just really moved that Graham would try this hard for him. The next day after they both get off work, Graham presents Flint with a gift: a magical ice cream cone, enchanted by the Blizzard Wizard himself to never ever melt. Graham, so determined to get Flint an ice cream, hunted this guy down and basically harassed him into making an unmeltable ice cream. Flint and Graham both realise at the same time that they probably shouldn't eat this thing, they don't know what's in it and the fact that it was enchanted by a toon wizard only adds to that. Graham apologies to Flint that he couldn't get him an ice cream, that really was his last idea, and Flint tells him that the gesture alone is better than any ice cream. The ice cream is kept in Flint's freezer as memento, and the two of them order takeout instead.

[krazieka2]

Vampire Mercedes lore doodles (and vampire Lorenz bullying)

[shy-writer-999]

Summary: Law takes a while to come around to the idea of treating you like a brat. But you soon discover that his dirty talk feels so much better when it’s mean and condescending. ~1.5k words.

CW: Afab reader, pure nasty smut, hair pulling, dirty talk, degradation (“slut” used once), P in V.

MINORS DNI. NSFW CONTENT.

Law likes to make love. That’s all he did for a long time when you started to see each other. He’s gentle and sweet, delicate and affectionate. It took ages for him to open up to the idea of degradation, to be comfortable calling you names and treating you crassly. You had to convince him that you wanted it, that you wouldn’t be wounded by it (in mind or body). He had to stew on it for a while.

Was it okay to treat the person he loved like this? Did you really, really want it? It felt weird and wrong to imagine hitting you, spitting on you, choking you, doing anything like that. But damn, you were really convincing when you asked for it. You told him that you could start small. Could he just say nasty things to you? He didn’t need to do anything more than that. He didn’t need to do any of it at all if he didn’t like it, obviously.

So, he mused. Stewed. Pondered. Ruminated. Fantasized. And one day he agreed. He masturbated to the idea countless times before he told you he wanted to try it out. When he told you, you exclaimed a “finally!” and he chuckled then kissed you on the forehead. “Ask and ye shall receive.”

That’s how you ended up in this current situation. Law is riled the fuck up. He’s riled up more than you thought he was capable of. Uncharacteristically horny and rabid, everything you dreamed of and more.

He’s looming over you, one hand braced on the headboard of his bed while the other hand is wrapped in your hair, pulling it as taut as he can—it’s accompanied by searing pain. Your face is buried in the pillows and he’s fucking you from behind, ruthlessly.

“I know you like it when it hurts, baby, you’re always telling me how good it feels.” Law’s voice is at the same time filthy and sickeningly adoring. It turns out he’s a sadist.

The pain of Law’s hand in your hair emphasizes the pleasure he’s wresting carelessly from your core. Each forceful yank on your strands is met by a guttural moan that rises in your throat. It makes his cock twitch—this is sound that he decides he loves, and it encourages him to pull your hair and ram his cock into you harder.

“Wanna cum L-Law,” his name erupts from mouth, obstructed by the pillows and the fact that your lips turn into an o-shape every time he forcefully plunges his cock into you. It’s as deep as he can get it, fucking into your g-spot so hard that you know you won’t be able to walk after this.

“You wanna cum already? Do you really think I’m gonna let you have it your way?” Law growls and, if you could see them, you’d see that his eyes are feral and scary. He’s hungry for your pleasure, ready to ravage you into oblivion, but you can’t cum yet. You can’t cum until he says so. He hasn’t had his fill yet.

“Are you listening to me? Fucked dumb by my cock already?” His words are broken by an animalistic groan as he feels your walls clench on his cock. He knows you like it when he speaks down to you, when he treats you as some stupid worthless thing that he can’t help but fuck stupider.

You whine and claw at the sheets next to your head. Maybe if you grab fistfuls of the covers, it’ll help you hold off on cumming. That’s always your logic. It never seems to help. As you arch your back, depraved noises trickle through your lips. You can’t form words now, but he can tell by your pitch that you’re begging him to cum.

“You’re really that desperate for my cock? Fucking pathetic, you—you’re a—fuck, fuck, fuuhhhccckkk.” Law is too far gone. His hips clash into your pelvis feverishly, sweat mats his hair onto his temples, and every muscle in his body is tense. He needs more. He hasn’t had enough. It’s never enough.

Law pulls on your hair so hard that you think he’s going to rip it out, and just when it becomes almost unbearable, he releases his grasp and starts to push your head down into the covers. He lets go of his other hand, which is braced on the headboard, and instead brings it to grip painful handfuls of your ass.

He’s rough with you and you like it. It’s like he’s using you for his own enjoyment, completely oblivious to your desires other than the fact that you want to cum and that he doesn’t feel like letting you cum yet.

As you attempt to answer his degrading words, incoherent whimpers escape your lips, stifled and obscene. The nonsensical chokes and yelps spur him on—Law loves it when you lose touch with reality, so fucked out that you can’t think or even look straight. He imagines that the whites of your eyes are the only things visible, and it makes his cock jump.

You’re drooling at this point, fully slobbering on the pillows beneath you. Your cunt throbs around his cock and muffled sounds leave your lips. You couldn’t stop them if you tried. Each pulse of your walls around Law’s thick shaft pushes him closer to his limit.

“You’re so fucking nasty—needy brat, just—fuuuccckkkk, fucking messy for my cock,” his groans are sinful and gravelly as he ruts into your cunt. Every time his head drags on your walls and attacks your soft and gooey spot, more blistering sparks of pleasure dance inside your core. He seeps precum inside of you—it’s an appetizer for what’s to come, namely, the fact that he’s about to fill you up with his seed.

You’re gasping for air amidst the plush covers, whining something desperate that he can’t discern. He gets the basic meaning though—you’re close (again).

“Cum for me,” Law manages to choke the words out, two good thrusts away from exploding in your cunt. “Cream on my cock, you fucking s-slut, milk my cock—wanna feel you cum for me, baby—fuck, fuck— fuck, you’re so good for me.”

His words lapse into affection at the end. He literally can’t help it. He’s degraded the fuck out of you, but now that he’s about to cum, the sweet words spill out. “Your pussy is—fuccck—so wet for me, so good for me, gorgeous, always—fuck, fuck, fuck—always so good for me.”

You finally squirm and writhe under him, toes curling, practically crying, cumming on his cock now that he’s given you permission. While you spasm under him, he convulses and finally reaches his peak. Timing your orgasms so they’re synchronous is like a sport for him. You’re always more than willing to comply.

Delicious and desperate sounds escape Law’s lips as he frantically fucks you full of his cum. When every drop of milky, sticky, salty cum has been squeezed out of his tip into your cunt, when it drips out of your entrance and bathes his cock in hot white fluid, he decides that you can rest. He pulls out of you, and you collapse on the bed underneath him with heaving pants. Your slick and his cum mix into the thick, wiry ring of black hair at the base of his cock.

Law admires the pearly white ring around his cock and watches you crash onto the bed below, limp and smiling. He’s so good to you. No amount of degrading words can convince you otherwise.

“Damn, you’re so fucking needy for me.”

You hum in response, and Law smiles. He savors the sight—his eyes drink up not only you but also what he’s done to you. He sees how he’s taken you apart with lust and put the pieces back together nicely. He’s more than satisfied, one step away from patting himself on the back.

Law decides that you deserve a little bit of sweetness now, because you’re always so good to him, because you were so patient with him, because you indulge in anything he ever wants.

Will it be kisses or cuddling? Perhaps you’d prefer something else? A shower or a massage?

He’ll have to wait to find out, since you still can’t speak, too fucked out from the mind-blowing orgasm he just ripped out of you.

＼(≧▽≦)／this is nothing particularly mind-blowing or spectacular but it is a short and simple smut treat. or at least thats what i told myself as i wrote this. i guess u will be the judge of that >_>

here's my masterlist and here's my posting schedule for october!

also i'll be posting every day from now until oct 31!

finally, trick or treat? (tumblr links)

[hollyseb]

A COLLISION OF FATE - CEO!BUCKY X ASSISTANT READER (one-shot)

warnings; swearing, minors dni

2.4k words

summary; As an assistant to the powerful CEO Bucky Barnes, you’ve always kept things strictly professional—maybe even a little distant. But when a chaotic morning commute turns your world upside down, you find yourself relying on your boss in unexpected ways.

authors note; this is my first fic in a while so please let me know what you think!

Fuck.

You couldn’t help but pull the bed sheets over your head as your alarm sounded. You’d slept terribly, anticipation stewing in your chest all night long. A huge day at work loomed ahead. Your boss trusted you with organising a client meeting for a massive company project, and despite your meticulous preparations, anxiety gnawed at you relentlessly.

This marks your fourth month as an assistant to Mr Barnes, CEO of Barnes Industries. Your boss embodies power and leadership, standing well over six feet. He has a presence that’s impossible to ignore, although you often find yourself trying to; avoiding his piercing gaze, shrinking away from his broad figure. He intimidated you.

You’d learned to anticipate his needs, not just to impress him but perhaps as an attempt to keep your conversations to a minimum. Although you had managed to settle into your role, growing accustomed to your boss’ high standards, you often felt a sense of apprehension. You were overwhelmed by how important he was. Mr Barnes wasn’t just your boss - he was a force of nature.

The two of you maintained a strictly professional relationship, even lingering towards slightly cold sometimes. You liked to do what he needed you to do, and then get out of his way. However, every now and then, you’d catch him watching you with a look that lingered a moment too long. You’d always assume there was something on your face, or a smudge on your shirt, anything that might explain why he was staring. But when you checked, there was never anything there.

For Bucky, it started with the little things. He noticed how you always made sure his coffee was exactly how he liked it, down to the last detail, even on the most hectic mornings. You remembered the smallest preferences he had, the things he rarely even thought about himself—like the way you would quietly replace the pens in his office with the specific brand he preferred, or how you always ensured there was a bottle of his favorite water in the conference room before every meeting. These weren’t just the actions of a diligent assistant; they were gestures that spoke of someone who genuinely cared, someone who paid attention to him in a way that no one else ever had.

Your snoozed alarm began to sound again, piercing your thoughts like a violent shriek. Just get through the meeting, you told yourself, before ultimately deciding to drag yourself out of bed. The thought repeated like a mantra. Is it normal to feel this worried about disappointing your boss? You thought, before swatting away the idea. You didn’t need to focus on that for now.

A hot shower did little to wash away the anxiety that clinged to you. Your movements were robotic as you went through your morning routine, driven by the pressure of the meeting.

With a sigh, you reached for your phone, the screen lighting up with a soft glow. 7:45 AM. It felt as though the numbers were taunting you. You ran a hand down your face, bracing yourself for the day.

Time to go.

After locking the door to your small, cozy apartment, you made your way down the narrow, communal staircase. The morning air hitting you with a welcomed bite as you stepped outside into the car park.

You slid into the drivers seat of your aging Mini, the familiar creak of the door and worn leather seat beneath you provided a familiar comfort. It wasn't much, but it was yours, the car you'd had since you were 17. You shifted into gear and gripped the steering wheel, the hum of the engine almost grounding you.

Just get through the meeting, you repeated, merging into the flow of morning traffic. You let your mind drift to the day's plans, mentally rehearsing the things you had to organise when you arrived at the office… calling the clients to confirm their attendance, setting up the meeting room, dropping the itinerary off at Mr Barnes’ desk.

As you approached a red light just a few blocks from the office, you felt a fleeting sense of calm. Your heartbeat, which had been a relentless drumbeat of anxiety, finally began to settle into a more regular rhythm. The office was so close, the meeting so imminent. All you had to do now was make it through the last stretch of traffic and face the day.

Without warning, a loud, violent crashing noise shattered the calm. The force of the impact threw you forward, your seatbelt straining against your body painfully. The contents of your bag spilling into the passenger seat footwell alongside the sound of crunching metal. Your mind was blank, struggling to catch up with what had just happened.

What the -?

Your heart raced, your breaths leaving in shallow and quick successions. The realisation hit you like a second wave of impact - you’d been rear-ended.

You gripped the steering wheel like a vice, catching sight of your pale face as movement caught your attention in the rear view mirror. the driver of the car behind you was already out of his vehicle, storming towards you.

Rather than waiting for you to get out the car, he began shouting at you through the closed window. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He shouted, his voice echoing violently.

He looked to be in his mid thirties, dressed in a wrinkled suit, face red with anger and eyes practically bulging out his head.

You took a deep breath, adrenaline surging through your veins. Stay calm, don’t escalate. You unbuckle your seatbelt, ignoring the dull pain of where it had dug into you, stepping out your beloved car.

“Do you even know how to fucking drive?” He yelled, arms flailing. “I’m going to be late for work because of you, stupid bitch”

You were taken aback by his blatant profanity. Humiliation rising in your body as bystanders gawked at the interaction.

You blinked, your nerves fraying under his aggression. “I was stopped at the light. You hit me,” you said, voice trembling.

”Bullshit!” He spat, inching towards your face. “You stopped like a fucking moron and now look at my fucking car!”, he pointed in the direction of his vehicle, a sleek black BMW, barely scratched.

The sight of your car, however, made your stomach turn. The bumper was shrewd across the concrete, the metal contorted dramatically. You’d come off much worse than him. You could feel tears burning at the corners of your eyes.

“This is all your fault!”, he spat, voice dripping with venom. “You’re going to pay every cent for the damage you’ve caused.”

Before you could respond, he lunged closer, jabbing a finger in your face. “Do you even realise how fucking pathetic you look right now? Crying because you’ve ruined my car-“

The man was interrupted. A firm, authoritative voice cutting through his ramblings like steel.

“Is there a problem here?”

You looked up, your heart pounding, and there he was - Bucky Barnes. The sight of him hit you like a tidal wave. For a split second, you were frozen, breath catching in your throat.

Bucky’s sharp blue eyes were fixed on the angry driver, his expression a mask of controlled authority. Your eyes shifted between the two, noticing how Bucky towered over the man.

The man’s voice was quieter than before, his composure tense. “Who the hell are you?”

Bucky stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. “I’m her boss,” he said, his tone calm but edged with a warning. “And I suggest you step back before you make this any worse.”

The anger in the man’s stance faltered, replaced by a grudging recognition that he was outmatched. With a final glare towards you, he stormed back to his car.

You exhaled, realising you’d been holding your breath. “Thank you,” you murmured, voice shaky from adrenaline.

Bucky’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes softening a fraction. “Are you okay?” He asked, his voice low and filled with a warmth which contrasted the icy authority he had shown moments before.

You watched the way his eyes trailed down your shaking body for any obvious signs of injury.

You nodded in response. “Y-yes, I’m okay. Just a bit shaken”, a forced smile pursing against your lips.

He leaned down slightly, lowering himself to your height, his face inches from yours. Placing a hand on each of your shoulders. “You don’t have to put a brave face on with me. Are you really okay?”

The depth of his concern was more than you expected, combined with the gentleness of his touch, you felt like your head was spinning.

”Thank you, Mr Barnes”, your voice barely more than a whisper, “I’m okay, I promise”.

Bucky’s expression softened even more. “Let me take you to the office. I’ll sort you out and make sure everything’s taken care of.” Bucky said, his voice low and earnest.

His words soothed you. He placed a firm but gentle hand on your mid-back, guiding you towards his car. The warmth of his touch was a comforting contrast to the cold air. You found solace in the protective way he guided you.

When you reached his car, Bucky opened the passenger door for you with a quiet, practiced grace. His movements were deliberate and careful, as if he wanted to ensure you felt as secure as possible.

Bucky closed the door gently and walked around to the driver’s side. As he settled into the driver’s seat, he adjusted the rear view mirror, his gaze flicking over to you. “You don’t have to call me Mr. Barnes, when it’s just us two. James will do.”

You met his gaze in the mirror, feeling a sudden rush of warmth. You faltered for a split second under the heat of his stare. “Okay, James”, you said quietly.

He gave a small, approving smile, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “That’s better,” he said, his voice low. “Let’s get you to the office.”

Your boss wouldn’t let you know, but the way you trembled when that man was yelling at you, the way his words reduced you to feeling small and insignificant, made Bucky’s blood boil. His usual calm and composed demeanor was barely holding back the fury simmering beneath the surface. The sight of you being treated so harshly, so unfairly, sparked something primal in him—something protective and fierce.

Arriving at the office, Bucky parked with a practised ease and opened your door, offering a supportive hand as you stepped out. Eyes glazing over you again to see if you were moving with any discomfort.

As you walked into the building, you were met with a flurry of activity. Bucky led you to your room, settling you into your office chair with a soft, reassuring hand on your back.

“Take a moment to breathe,” he instructed, his voice a mix of warmth and authority. “I’ll handle the meeting for now, okay? You’ve had a rough morning.”

You nodded gratefully, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders. Bucky made a few quick phone calls and sent some emails, managing the meeting logistics with the efficiency and competence that defined him.

Throughout the morning, Bucky periodically checked in on you. Each time, his concern was evident, his questions simple but genuine. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything?” he would ask, always with that soft, protective tone.

By lunchtime, Bucky made sure you had something to eat. He watched with a mixture of satisfaction and relief as you ate, noting the gradual return of color to your cheeks.

As the workday wound down, you wrapped up your tasks and prepared to head home. Bucky had been a steadfast support throughout the day, ensuring that you felt taken care of and that everything went smoothly despite the morning’s chaos.

As you gathered your things, Bucky approached with a rare, genuine smile. “How are you holding up?”

“Much better, thanks to you,” you said, returning his smile. “I really appreciate everything today.”

”Well I would love to drive you home, but I still have a few more things to wrap up. One of my drivers will take you, okay?”, your boss said, leaning against the door frame of your office.

You opened your mouth to politely decline, feeling that he had already done enough for you today. However, you faltered when he raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in his expression, you knew there was no point in arguing.

“Alright,” you agreed, feeling a warmth spread through you at his insistence. “Thank you.”

“Good,” he said, satisfied, a part of him wanted to grin at your obedience as he circled back to his office.

The ride home was quiet, the events of the day replaying in your mind. You were exhausted, but there was also a strange sense of anticipation that you couldn’t quite explain.

When the car pulled up outside your apartment, you thanked the driver and stepped out. The cool evening air was refreshing after the long day, and you were eager to wash the day away with a hot shower and a bottle of wine.

But as you approached your apartment building, something caught your eye. Parked in your usual spot was a familiar-looking Mini, only this one was brand new. The gleaming paint, the spotless interior—it was unmistakably the same make and model as your beloved old car, but this one was perfect in every way.

There’s no way, you thought.

Your heart pounded as you took a hesitant step closer, your mind racing to process what you were seeing. There was no mistaking it—this was a gift, one that had been carefully chosen to replace what you had lost earlier today.

A note was tucked under the windshield wiper. With trembling hands, you pulled it free and unfolded the paper. The handwriting was unmistakable.

You’ve had a rough day. I hope this makes it a little easier. – James

A rush of emotions overwhelmed you, and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You never expected something like this. Bucky hadn’t just replaced your car—he’d chosen something that he knew would mean something to you, something that was a perfect reflection of who you were.

As you stood there, staring at the car that now felt like a symbol of so much more, you couldn’t help but feel that the boundaries between you and Bucky had shifted in a way that couldn’t be undone.

A collision of fate.

————————————————————-

TAGLIST!

@sashaisready @matchat3a @writingpastmybedtime @melsunshine @lex-the-flex @himawariizephyr @jbbarnesgirl @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @sagebarness @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @selella @armystay89 @globetrotter28 @iwritewithpenandpaper @casa-boiardi @winterslove1917 @buckydarling09 @kandis-mom @scott-loki-barnes @mrsevans90

[captain-joongz]

Penny for your ghosts; Masterlist

Pairing: OT7!BTS x f!reader

Genre: hybrid au, supernatural au, ghost hunting au (based on Lockwood&Co lore), found family, fluff and humour, some angst, eventual smut, i'm too tired to write slowburn this is fun from the beginning because i'm starved for affection

Summary: The world is haunted. There's ghosts, so many in fact that sometimes it feels like they're taking over the living. Incidents are on the rise, ghost related injuries and deaths are getting worse and more common, fear is taking place in hearts of those still here.

And the only ones who are born with the gift, with the ability to see, hear and fight this epidemic, are hybrids. Between the countless agencies and corporations ran by humans exploiting hybrids' gifts for profit, you desperately try to apply your gifts and end up at a small shunned hybrid ran agency fighting to help people and gain respect.

Warnings: ghosts and the supernatural, discussions of deaths, murder and violence, themes of deaths, murder and violence, a lot of sad backstories, dangerous situations and close brushes with death, eventual smut, each chapter will have individual warnings!

Current word count: 10k

A/N: hello darlings! so this has been stewing in my head for a long time - some of my favourite things are mafia related stories, fantasy with dragons and supernatural, ghosts and hybrids, and so i told myself why not put the last three together haha

the idea first came to me while reading Trouvaille by @spookyserenades because that was the first time i saw hybrids and ghost hunting tropes put together into one story, and i got really excited (by the way, i know i never shut up about this story, but it's so fucking good like please go read it right now it's a masterpiece and i'm so glad i found it), but also my favourite book series is the Lockwood&Co which i discovered when i was like 14 and read a thousand times since then. it's genuinely one of the best series i've read and it's to me what Harry Potter is to a lot of people (i was so damn disappointed when the Netflix series didn't get renewed, it had so much potential and the books are stellar). so i decided to start working on a story with hybrid ghost hunters according to the Lockwood&Co lore!

i hope you enjoy yourself and that you end up loving this story as much as i do!

↭ 1 ↭ | ↭ 2 ↭ | ↭ 3 ↭ | ↭ 4 ↭ | ↭ 5 ↭ |

Thank you for reading <3

Taglist (open): @borahaetelevision @socksfirst1 @shakespeare-in-the-park7 @iwishiwasrichasfuck @authorpj

@bangatanily @sassy-snassy @booksintheheart00-blog @bangbangcon @kiki-zb

@luvian-art @ldysmfrst @jinsleftairpod @mar-lo-pap @futuristicenemychaos

@canarystwin @sleepyrene @cerulean1riz @mysteriousgeminizone

@sweetplaidfestivalstudent @afangirl91 @mama-riyon @uniquecutie-puffs

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

With the way Eddie moved, he's definitely accidentally kissed Steve a few times to the point where Steve thought they were dating, but Eddie hadn't noticed anything differently until Robin said something.

"So, what are you getting Steve for your six month anniversary?" Robin asked when it was just the two of them.

"What?" Eddie asked.

"You and Steve have been dating for six months. What. Are. You. Getting. Him?" Robin asked. "It better be something special."

Eddie's eyes widened as he thought back. All the things that Steve’s been doing for him, the fact that Steve hasn't been on a date, and the accidental kisses that make Steve giggle. . . They've been holding hands. . . Oh God, not only does Eddie like men, but he likes Steve, and he's been dating Steve for the past six months. While Eddie was stewing in his own sexuality crisis, Robin was rambling about how great Steve thought it was that they hadn't had sex yet, how they were taking things slow, and how serious they were.

"I am a little curious about why you guys haven't said I love you to each other yet," Robin said.

"Oh my God! I love him!" Eddie realized.

"You're just realizing you love him now? Jesus, you're slow," Robin said.

"You have no idea," Eddie muttered. "I have to go get ready."

"It's not until Saturday. . .and this is your house!" Robin exclaimed.

Saturday rolled around, and Eddie was scrambling about Steve’s house, trying to get everything ready. Queen was playing quietly in the background while Eddie finished preparing the meal before Steve got home from work. It was lucky timing that he finished dinner just as Steve walked into the house.

"Eddie?!" Steve called out and entered the kitchen. "This is a lovely surprise."

"Hi," Eddie said softly and moved to kiss him. . .this time on purpose.

"This is nice. You look. . .very nice," Steve said, eyes raking over him.

Eddie was wearing his tightest black pants with an equally tight white button-up with the sleeves rolled up. His hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, a few hairs framing his face. He silently thanked Nancy and Vickie for helping with his outfit.

"This old thing?" Eddie scoffed.

"Eddie, you still have the tag on this shirt," Steve said in amusement.

"Fuck!" Eddie exclaimed and ripped it off the back of his neck, tossing it in the trash. "You saw nothing. Anyway, dinner is ready."

"I'll go change," Steve said, smiling. "I want to look as nice as you do."

"I'll keep it warm for you," Eddie said.

Eddie was setting the table and lighting the candles when Steve came down wearing a red button-up with the sleeves rolled up and his nicest pair of jeans. He looked good enough to eat.

"You look really good in red," Eddie grinned. "You look good enough to eat, baby."

"Well, the demobats obviously thought so," Steve joked, a dorky grin on his face.

"Steve!" Eddie whined. "Don't remind me. Anyway, sit! Sit!"

Eddie pulled out a chair and nodded for Steve to sit down. Steve sat down, smiling when Eddie pushed in his chair for him. He gazed up at him, staring lovingly at him. Eddie sucked in a breath. Steve looked so beautiful in the firelight, especially when he looked at him like that. Eddie cupped his face and leaned down to kiss him. Steve reached up and grasped the back of his head, deepening the kiss. Eddie sighed into his mouth and broke away, kissing his forehead. He sat down in front of Steve and watched him as he took off the cover. Steve gasped.

"My favorite!" Steve exclaimed.

"Spaghetti with cut up hot dogs," Eddie said, flashing his dimples at him. "Man, you are so weird. I love it."

"Thanks!" he laughed.

Eddie watched him fondly as he stuffed his face with food. His cheeks filled up until they were fat, and he smiled at Eddie as he chewed. He looked like a chipmunk. A very cute chipmunk.

"Hey, Steve?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah?" Steve asked when he swallowed his food.

"I love you," Eddie said, smiling at him when his cheeks turned red.

"I love you, too," Steve said, beaming.

Eddie groaned and wiped his face with his hands.

"You have to know, though, your boyfriend is a complete idiot," Eddie said.

"You're not an idiot, Eddie," Steve said softly.

Eddie laughed and then told him everything. There was a long stretch of silence when he finished up. Steve blinked rapidly, and then he started laughing.

"You're not mad?" Eddie asked with wide eyes.

Steve got up and walked around the table to sit in Eddie's lap.

"I don't care when you realized it," Steve said. "You love me. Tonight will just be our first official date, and six months from now, we will celebrate it then, too."

Steve kissed him deeply and pulled away, pressing his forehead against his. Eddie sighed happily as he ran his hands across Steve’s back. Steve went to move back to his seat but was yanked back down by Eddie. He pulled Steve’s plate around to set it next to his.

"Let's eat together," he said. "I love watching you eat. You look like a chipmunk."

"Shut up," Steve blushed.

"You do! A cute little chipmunk. My chipmunk," Eddie cooed.

Steve kissed him to quiet him, and Eddie giggled against his mouth. He may move as slow as a sloth, but he always got to where he needed to be.

[barleyo]

If ur in twd fandom I would loveee a Daryl dixon age gap fic!! Just him being disgusting over taking her first time? Just a major power imbalance between them. Dont do this if ur uncomfy ofc!! Stay safe bookie <33

Men Who Are Older.

Daryl Dixon X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: cried happy tears at this request, i LOVE daryl, he's so yummy. dirty old men foreverrrrr!!! i haven't seen all of twd and it's been a while since i've watched it, so this could be super ooc for all i know!! sorry it's short, i wanted to get all my ideas down quickly :3

Tags: LARGE age gap (18-19 and late 40-ish), power imbalance, coercion, p in v, loss of virginity, allusion to anal, creepy old man behavior (ugh i luv it)

Wordcount: 1.2k

You found yourself often visiting Daryl in his tent later in the night when you couldn't sleep. He tried to act like it annoyed him, like your presence was a nuisance to him, but it wasn't. You weren't the most irritating person he had to deal with day-to-day. You were polite enough for your age, you didn't mess around and snoop through his shit. You didn't judge him.

Most importantly, though, you were attractive. There wasn't much hot, young tail to chase around the camp. He liked to think you were his reward for living through hell every day. Nothing like eye candy at the end of the night to ease a hardened man's stress.

It was like most nights when you entered his tent, not bothering to announce yourself. Daryl looked up from the pocket knife he had been mindlessly flicking to eye you down. 

"Shouldn't you be in bed by now?" 

"Yeah, right," you said, taking a casual seat on his bedroll. "What're you doing?"

He clicked his tongue at you on his bed, but sighed and ignored it. "Nothing. Too damn late to do anythin' important."

"Want to chit-chat, then?" You rested your hands on your knees, hoping he would soothe your boredom.

"Do I wanna 'chit-chat'?" Daryl flicked his knife closed and tucked it in his back pocket. "If you wanna chat, why don't you go do it with someone else? You don't have friends your age?" 

"I used to." He didn't say anything, just flattened his mouth at your rebuttal. "We're friends though, aren't we?"

Crossing his arms, he let out a hum. "Whatever you want, kid. Sure. We're real pals."

You spoke about whatever came to your mind for the next however-many minutes with him. Mostly just you babbling on, but it didn't bother him. You could run off at your mouth all you wanted, gave him all the excuse to stare you down and look a little too closely at places he knew he shouldn't.

Eventually, you got on the topic of things you missed about life before. Things you wished you got to experience, things you were slowly starting to forget about.

"I didn't even get to properly lose my virginity before this shit took over," you complained, now laying on Daryl's bed like it was your own. "It really bites, man." 

His eyes widened a bit, arms falling to his legs from their crossed position. 

"Wait, what'd y'say?" 

"Huh? Oh, I didn't get to have sex with anyone before the outbreak," you repeated, not caring to turn to face him while you spoke. "Sometimes, I wonder if I'll die before I get any." 

So many things rushed through Daryl's head at that moment. A virgin? You? It wasn't exactly surprising, you weren't old enough for it to be a shocking thing to hear, but the thought really intrigued him. Made him wonder.

It gave him an idea, and lord knows dirty, old men have even dirtier ideas stewing in their minds.

"That bother you?" 

You finally turned your head over to look at him, eyes looking conflicted.

"I guess, a little. There are bigger things to worry about, but I feel like I'm missing out," you said while trying your best to sound nonchalant. "It's not much of a priority, under the circumstances, you know."

Oh, how wrong you were. It very much was a priority, an urgent one at that. 

"Never know. Could happen, if y'really wanted. Don't rule it out completely," he advised, wiping his face with the back of his palm. "Maybe some younger man might find his way here. Could be an opportunity." 

"Nah, I couldn't go for that. I don't wanna be inexperienced and have to deal with an equally inexperienced guy too. That'd be like hell," you joked.

"Sounds like you want an older man, then."

He called on every guardian angel he had in that moment, praying for you to take the bait. Just one chance, damn it, he wasn't asking for much.

"Yeah, guess so." You made eye contact with him for a brief second, before flitting your eyes around in embarrassment. "Listen, it's getting late, I should go." You pushed yourself up, ready to head back to your family.

Daryl stood from his seat and grabbed your wrist, pulling you closer to him.

"I don't mind," he said, dancing around the answer to the question you didn't yet ask. "I know my fair share."

"Those don't sound like sounds a virgin'd make," he teased. He loved how you sounded. Straight from a porno, just shameless cries and squeals. "You sure you ain't did this before?"

He watched the back of your head shake 'no' while his hand guided along the arch in your spine. Took you a while to learn to keep your head down and ass up, but damn it if you didn't put the knowledge to work quickly.

"Am I supposed to be dizzy?" you asked, voice muffled by the blankets under you.

Daryl chuckled softly, slamming your hips back on him. "Yeah, if the guy's doin' it right. Feel good?"

Your hands clenched the fabric you were laying on, digging into it roughly.

"I think? I—I dunno, 's just so much."

Being the man he was, Daryl took that as a challenge. He flipped you over on your back, cock still rocking into you. He sped up, letting his movements get sharper. 

"C'mon," he muttered gruffly, trying to urge you to place your legs on his shoulders, "you gonna be this much of a problem for the next guy?"

You gave your weak legs a kick, wrapping them around his neck so the shaking wouldn't roll them off his shoulders. 

"No, no," you whined, groping your tits to keep your hands busy, "don't want another guy. He won't be as good as you, Dar." 

How the hell could a few little words get him ramped up even more? He knew you probably didn't mean it, horny girls said whatever their pussies wanted them to say, but the way he fucked you made you believe your own words.

"Yeah? I ruined ya for other guys already?" 

The stark difference between his now softer tone and rougher thrusts confused your brain in the best ways possible. You couldn't focus on just one aspect of him: Daryl was everywhere. In your brain, in your heart, in the very blood flowing through your veins— and, of course, inside of you. 

It was too much, all of it. 

Your walls clamped tightly over him, sucking him in like a vacuum. The clenching of your walls over his dick sent him over the edge, barely leaving him enough time to pull out. He bit the back of his hand, stifling a moan while he jerked himself the rest of the way off, coating your tired pussy with his cum. 

"You didn't cum inside, did you?" You sat up quickly, scooting back a bit. 

Daryl let out a huff. "I'm not an amateur, I know how to pull out."

"Just checking," you mumbled, lying back down on his bedroll, head nuzzling into the pillow.

You felt his dick push up against your ass, prodding between your cheeks.

"I could show you a way that'll make sure no idiot douchebags get ya knocked up," he offered, head desperately tapping against your asshole, "if you want."

A soft sigh came from your chest as you pushed your ass back on him.

"You're an eager teacher, y'know."

[drabblesandimagines]

Nettle Soup

Halsin x female reader 5,776 words of fluffy nonsense

--

It had started as an innocent tickle at the very back of your throat, something you’d barely given more than a moment’s thought to - fair enough due to the fact you had a tadpole squirming around in your skull to contend with. A day or so later, it had graduated from a tickle to an annoying and stubborn irritation which very much demanded attention – wouldn’t shift despite how many times you’d tried.

It would clear, surely, you thought, especially since the curse had lifted from the land and you were on your way towards Baldur’s Gate at last.

Except it didn’t.

If anything, it got worse - like you’d swallowed handfuls of crushed glass, the way it stung with every swallow – accompanied by heavy limbs and growing fatigue, no matter how much sleep you managed. Perhaps that was hardly surprising after the number of fights you’d undertaken recently, not quite as young as you once were. 

Although not comfortable with the hitchhiker in your skull, you were at least confident it wasn’t the first sign of ceremorphosis, though the concern that Lae’zel may try to slit your throat if you voiced any notion of feeling unwell remained, so you kept silent.

You powered on, as you always do.

Gale frowned when you didn’t finish your portion of stew that evening, all sat around the campfire. He prided himself on keeping the party well-fed and anything but clean bowls appeared to be a personal affront to his skill. It wasn’t that you felt nauseous, just a lack of appetite made the quarter you had managed sit too heavy in your stomach.

“Was it not to your liking?” The wizard hovers over your shoulder. “While I’ll admit it is a repeated recipe from a few days ago, you enjoyed it well enough then.”

“No, no, it’s wonderful, Gale.” You smile, trying to appease his anxieties by laying a hand on your stomach. “It’s just filling – I’m stuffed already.”

“I recall you had second helpings.”

Oh, he had you there. Think.

“We had just fought Ketheric Thorn too, quite a difference from the day’s leisurely pace.”

“Hm.” His pout remains, and the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach has been joined by guilt.

“Hardly a repeated recipe, though. I’m sure I noted something different on the palate?”

That did the trick, a wistful smile now gracing his face. “Ah, yes, I did stumble upon some splendid wild garlic that I thought would enhance the flavour profile – how kind of you to notice.”

You nod along, politely, as Gale tells his tale – something about how it elevates the spices - not noticing the wood elf staring at you curiously from across the circle.

You’re thankful it’s not your turn to keep watch as the githyanki takes her place in the centre of the camp, sword laying ready in her lap. You don’t wish to dawdle around the campfire like you do most nights, worried she might sense something off about you and jump to conclusions, so you bid the remaining members of the party goodnight and walk at a brisk pace to the safety of your tent…

..only for an icy cold grip around your elbow to jerk you into their own, your back now pressed against a firm chest with a thud.

“Surprised, darling?” Astarion murmurs into your crown, his other arm wrapped around your waist. “I thought you better than that. Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“Bed.” You reply as brightly as possible, overcompensating for how rotten you’re now feeling.

“Oh, but the evening is still so young! I have a fine idea that will while away the hours, if you would be so very kind.” He drops his grip on your elbow and ghosts his hand up your side, making you squirm.

“Not tonight, Astarion.” You shake your head. Maybe it had been a mistake to let him feed off you after that first night. “I’m tired.”

“I can wait until you’re asleep, my sweet.” His hand finally reaches the back of your neck, giving it a slight squeeze. “I’ll be sure not to disturb any of your pretty dreams.”

“No.” Your tone is firm, maybe a little too firm as the vampire stiffens against you and drops his hand, causing your stomach to squirm with guilt once again. “Another night, I’m all yours – I promise.”

Astarion spins you around and you nearly lose your footing – a fact not missed by the vampire as his face transforms from annoyance at your denial to mild concern.

“My, you are out of sorts.” He sighs, before he plasters on a smile that you know to be fake. “Very well, darling. Off to bed you pop.”

You nod a thanks and hurry out of his tent, casting your eyes to the ground in the hopes of keeping steadier footing, only to collide into something firm.

A large, solid chest, covered in familiar druidic garb.

“My sincere apologies,” two warm hands grasp your upper arms, steadying you once again. “I am afraid I did not see you there. Are you all right?”

Your scalp tingles from the gravelly tones of Halsin’s voice, a warmth flushing over your cheeks as you look up at the former archdruid, his brow furrowed in concern.

“I’m fine, Halsin. And I should be the one apologizing - I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you okay?”

He chuckles at your concern. “Of course. Although you have remained polite by not yet mentioning my stature, I am sure you have noticed the comparison between us, little one.”

Although one to lose your temper with the use of such pet names in inns or in combat, there is something entirely different when Halsin says it. You know it is not meant to be patronizing, more a sign of his age, really – it’s wholeheartedly sincere, affectionate, perhaps even… loving? Well, you could still dream, couldn’t you? Even though he’d kindly turned you down at the celebration for the tieflings at camp all those weeks ago, you’d be a liar if you didn’t still kindle a flame of affection for the large elf. You smile, wryly. “I suppose I have.”

“Forgive me for prying, but is anything the matter? You seemed in quite the hurry after supper. I confess I’d hoped to catch you for a moment.”

Your throat stings again as you swallow. Halsin is a healer - he would be the one to mention it to…

But you don’t want to be a bother, especially so soon after Thaniel. What was a sore throat in comparison to being trapped within the Shadowrealm for near on a century? Pathetic, really.

You shrug it off, “A little tired, nothing an early night won’t sort. What did you wish to speak about?”

He smiles at your response, though you notice it doesn’t reach his eyes. You wish you weren’t so observant of him to be able to identify which are real and which are polite.

“Ah, no, nothing of urgency. Please, do not let me keep you from your well-deserved rest any longer.”

You eye your tent in the distance, but hesitate all the same. “Are you sure?”

“Quite.” He squeezes your upper arms, gently, before letting go. “I bid you sweet dreams and a peaceful sleep.”

--

You don’t even fall asleep deeply enough to dream – tossing and turning for hours, one moment feeling too hot and then another too cold, periodically drinking from your waterskin trying to ease the rawness of your throat.

You give up at dawn, quickly dressing in your armor. Instead of waiting for your companions to rise, you set your sight on climbing the hill not far off from camp - it should provide a good vista of the road ahead to Baldur’s Gate. It shouldn’t be a long walk either, you’ll be there and back before even Karlach has roused, usually the last to do so.

You had only made it a quarter of the way up the admittedly gentle incline when you start to feel unusually winded from the exercise – it feels as if you are not quite breathing deep enough, oxygen stagnating at the top of your lungs. Perhaps you’d laced your armour too tight that morning in your haste to get moving? The sun is still only a little over the horizon, given the earliness of the hour, but you feel so very warm, a sheen of sweat already on your brow.

You raise a weary hand to wipe it away, but your vision swims in response and you stumble, all reflexes abandoning you and your face meets the dirt.

--

Halsin lets out a sigh as he rubs his back against the bark in his bear form, the ridges appeasing an itch that had been bothering him since he had wildshaped. It has been a while since he’d indulged the bear for purely pleasure and not combat – it hadn’t felt right to do so when traveling through the shadow cursed lands.

He’d woken early, as usual, and decided to take advantage of an hour or so to patrol the area before the plan would be to head towards Baldur’s Gate. Heading to the city wasn’t something he was looking forward to – to be cut off from the nature he so adored made he feel uneasy - but he’d made a vow that he intended to keep.

A familiar, invigorating smell crosses his snout, carried in the gentle breeze. He inhales it deeply, being drawn him from his thoughts.

White violet, jasmine, a touch of sandalwood…

You.

It is too strong a scent to have drifted in from camp, which must mean you’re close by. He drops down to all four paws and begins to follow the trail, curious as to what has brought you out so early and, perhaps selfishly, hoping to take advantage of your company.

He doesn’t have to travel far, though, lumbering a hundred or so metres out of the wood that lines the path. His stomach sinks when he sees you sprawled out on your front down the incline, unmoving, eyes open in a blank stare in his direction.

The next thing you were aware of was thundering paws on the earth, a flash of gold and then warm, heavy palms turning you over to face the dawn sky. A very concerned wood elf soon fills your vision, pressing a hand to your cheek as his eyes scan you over, frantically.

“What is it, my heart? Speak to me.” Heart…? The world goes black.

--

You wake up slowly. Your eyelids feel heavy, drifting in and out of consciousness until, finally, you manage to crack both eyes open to find yourself swaddled in unfamiliar furs and blinking up at an equally unfamiliar ceiling.

No, not ceiling, but the inside of a tent and one that is not your own. Various herbs and flowers are hung from the support pole across the top, seemingly set out to dry, dotted between other hand-made trinkets. There’s a scent of wood smoke, flowers, freshly cut grass, and something enticingly sweet...

You sit up in alarm, trying to work out where you are, panic rising in your already tight chest when your eyes meet those of the large wood elf’s, sat only a little way to the side of the bed roll.

“Ah-ah,” Halsin chides with a sympathetic smile, pushing you back down easily with one large palm upon your shoulder. “Please - you must rest.”

“This isn’t my tent.” Your voice is painfully hoarse, but you lay your head back on the pillow in defeat and watch as he tugs the furs back up to under your chin - the brief moment you had been upright a chill had prickled across your skin, almost down to your very bones.

“That is true.” The former archdruid nods, looking a little bashful. “We were camped at quite opposite ends this time round.” Your party did tend to spread the tents out across the ground you used, rather than all cluster together. “I thought it best to bring you here, where I have everything to hand to easily prepare, rather than go to and fro whilst I oversee your recovery.”

“Recov-” You don’t reach the end of the word as a horrendous, wracking cough emerges deep within your chest. You sit up again in panic, hoping it will cease. Halsin assists you with one hand on your arm and an arm around your waist, before he begins to rub large circles on your upper back.

“Easy, little one. Easy. I know it is uncomfortable, but it will pass.” He says, softly. It doesn’t feel like it will – the pain is sharp, a tightness in your chest, a burn in your lungs, heart pounding as you feel more and more breathless with every cough.

Tears burn at your eyes but, true to his word, slowly but surely, it begins to settle, allowing you to catch your breath at last and left feeling exhausted.

The hand leaves your arm then but one remains on your back, keeping you steady, before a waterskin is brought up to your lips. “Take small sips. If you drink too quickly, it might trigger another fit.”

You nod, reaching up a hand to hold over his as he tips the liquid into your mouth. It’s soothing on your raw throat, but only for a brief moment. When he deems you’ve had enough, he pulls the waterskin away, placing it back down to the side of the bedroll before pressing a hand to your forehead, a poorly concealed frown soon gracing his lips.

“You have a fairly high fever.”

“Can’t you…?” You reach out to mimic cure wounds – a spell you’ve seen him and Shadowheart cast many a time - but it seems even your depth perception has abandoned you as you brush up against the wood elf's firm chest, before snatching your hand back and circling your wrist in what you think looks a somewhat magical motion. Halsin lets out a chuckle that makes you feel flush – your temperature varying sporadically by the minute.

“Wounds and other injuries indeed, as can Shadowheart, but I am afraid for such illnesses as this the only treatment is rest for a few days, supplemented by herbal remedies to alleviate symptoms.”

“No,” you shake your head and immediately regret how it makes your vision and head swim. “We must press on - the Absolute are already in the city.”

He looks at you in alarm. “You cannot mean you wish to go and face them? You know I admire your unwavering resolve and strength to do what is right, but at the moment I fear a light breeze would be more than enough to knock you prone.”

“But-”

“No. I cannot allow it.” His tone is firm, a growl at the back of his throat – it reminds you of how he had spoken to Kagha once he’d returned to the grove. "You will rest. Lie down,” he doesn’t even need to push you back this time with a heavy hand, you’ve gone quite limp against the arm that had been supporting you, shrinking back at his tone of voice and nestle back down amongst the furs.

 “Thank you.” Halsin replies, sincerely, the tension dropping both from his shoulders and voice. “I… I apologise for my manner of speaking, but I know of what I speak - you must rest in order to make a full recovery.”

“I’ll try – I promise.”

He looks down at you with a smile before brushing some loose hair from your face and then cupping your cheek with a large palm and calloused fingers. If you’d had more of your wits about you, if you could think clearly, you would’ve noticed the flash of gold in his palm as he cast sleep upon you.

--

You wake up to a hand pressing a damp cold compress against your forehead and your chest feeling tighter than before. You can’t help the wince as you open your eyes, the light smarting despite it being somewhat dim inside the tent. Halsin is sat cross-legged by your side, a frown in place.

“I am sorry to have woken you, but I am afraid your fever has developed.”

“Oh.”

“I have prepared something that will help. Allow me to sit you up.” Somehow, he manages to slip his arm beneath your head and around your shoulders, assisting you upright to lean back against a pile of firm pillows. Once he is satisfied you are settled, he produces a bowl from his side – a waft of steam emitting off the top.

“Here. It has cooled enough to drink.”

“What is it?” Your voice is still awfully hoarse, a raw sting as you talk.

“A staple in every healer’s repertoire - nettle soup. Adept at reducing fevers.”

You take the bowl carefully from his hand, though his follows closely as you guide it up to your mouth lest your grip fail.

You gulp down a mouthful, but it’s absolutely foul upon your tongue, burns your throat as you swallow it down. It feels as if you’ve taken a gulp out of a particularly filthy pond, one thick with algae.

You hold the bowl back out with a shake of your head, hoping he’ll take it. “That’s disgusting.”

Halsin smiles, knowingly – seemingly a complaint he is not all that unfamiliar with hearing. “Whilst I admit the taste is far from what one might call pleasant, it will do you a world of good to drink it.”

You shake your head again, trying to hand it back to him. “I can’t.”

A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest. “Dare I enquire your age again, little one? The children in the grove manage it just fine.”

“I’m not a child,” you pout – too feverish to realise the contradiction of your actions. “And they surely do not.”

“They do…”, he retorts, a wistful smile crosses his lips, “albeit with the promise of something sweet after they’ve rested. Would that suffice?”

“Something… sweet?” Your mind drifts off to somewhere it should not as your eyes drop down to focus on the druid’s mouth.

“Mm. They are quite partial to honeycakes, does that appeal?”

You shake your head, placing the bowl down on the floor between the two of you. Though a fan of sweets, the idea of eating anything at the moment doesn’t entice at all.

“No? Well, perhaps you have something else in mind. I’m sure Baldur’s Gate itself will have something to your tastes.”

“I want a kiss.” You mumble.

He must have misheard. “What was that?”

“A kiss - that’s the sweet thing I want.”

“Ah,” if it wasn’t for the dim light within the tent, you would’ve sworn the druid was blushing. “Now, that’ll be the fever speaking.”

“No.” You gaze up at him, wishing you had the strength to curl your fingers in his hair and pull him in for the kiss you crave. “It’s not. I’ve wanted one since that night at camp, the celebration with the tieflings. I swear I’ll drink all the nettle soup in Faerun for a kiss.” “Since…” He trails off. “No, I couldn’t, little one.” He shakes his head, truly looking apologetic. “I won’t. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Why?”

He cups your cheek in a large palm, a small smile on his lips. “I do not believe you are quite aware of what you are requesting, given your current ailment.”

You purse your lips in thought, trying to seek a compromise. “What about when I’m better, then?”

He removes his hand and nods. “When you are recovered and if you recall this conversation and still desire it, then… yes, you may claim your sweet.” He mumbles towards the end, not quite believing what he was apparently promising. “However, you will still need to drink the nettle soup now.”

“Deal.” You acquiesce, and Halsin picks up the bowl in offering.

It burns as it goes down – all four or five remaining mouthfuls - but you manage the whole bowl.

“Good girl,” the wood elf murmurs with a smile – it makes the discomfort feel worth it for a moment - as he inspects the empty bowl, swapping it out for the waterskin once again.  

“Now, try and sleep some more. By the time you wake, it will have done its work and you’ll be feeling much better.”

You lie back down without protest, closing your eyes. The furs smell like Halsin and you soon drift off back to sleep, a feverish thought of being wrapped up in his arms and the kiss you hoped to claim come morning.

--

Day turns into night and then day once more, the hours passed with numerous bowls of nettle soup that still burn at your throat with every swallow, vegetable broth for more sustenance and countless naps to no improvement. Halsin has been trying to distract himself with whittling, but it is not proving successful – lopping off half of the duck’s beak when you stir momentarily. He’s checked your temperature with the back of his hand too many times to count. There’s a taunting rattle from your lungs between bouts of sharp coughing fits that doesn’t seem to be easing either. The nettle soup should’ve broken your fever at least – he hadn’t encountered one in all his years that it had failed to do so – but you seem to be growing worse by the hour.

He watches as you toss and turn, brushing your hair from your face. You’ve done so much for him – freed him from the goblins, ensured the safety of the Grove and its occupants, defended him whilst he recovered Thaniel, freed a realm from the shadowcurse of beyond a century and yet he cannot return a simple favour by ridding you of a fever?

“Is she sick?”

“Thaniel.” Halsin’s starts at the sudden appearance of the spirit. The boy is knelt besides him, staring down curiously at your slumbering form. “What are you doing here, my friend?”

“Your party hasn’t moved on - I wondered why. Is she sick?”

Thaniel remained as curious as ever, it seemed.

Halsin sighs. “Yes, I am afraid so. The fever and cough proves most stubborn – I fear I am depleting this area’s supply of nettles.”

“Nettles?”

“For the soup – it reduces the fever. Or it should.”

Thaniel frowns, leaning over you and taking a cautious sniff. “But she smells of spolar.”

“Spolar?” The word seems vaguely familiar, though it sparks a sinking, sickening feeling in his stomach.

“It will have been a long time since you’ve had to treat it.” The boy shrugs. “A large purple mushroom, remember? Its spores line the lungs – its growth accelerates if surrounded by nettles.”

“No…” It’s as if a hand is squeezing at his heart. “I don’t recall seeing any on our travels out. It would grow so quickly?”

“Nettles are sturdy enough even for the shadowcurse, so when it was lifted it had probably laid dormant beneath the soil until the time came. How long have you been treating her?”

“Nearly two moons – numerous bowls of nettle soup.” Halsin’s face has drained of all colour. “By Silvanus, I’ll have been nourishing the infection itself.”

“You did not mean to,” Thaniel replied, patting Halsin on his thigh. “Do not fret. Vapours from a wilted Sussur Bloom will clear the lungs when inhaled, suspending any further spread. Then she will just need rest.”

“A wilted…” He gets to his feet, his mind whirring with the next steps. “I must make haste back to the Underdark – I could be there and back by night fall with the aid of sigil circles.”

He hurries out of his tent, finding Gale sat outside of his, camped a stone’s throw away, and a large tome in his lap.

“Halsin,” Gale starts cautiously, setting down his book at the wood elf's urgency. “Is something the matter?”

“Everything.” The druid drops to his knees and empties out his pack – planning to stuff it full of as much Sussur Bloom as he can lay his hands upon. “I made her worse. She’s inhaled the spore of the spolar.”

“The spore of what? And how could you have made her worse?” Gale quirks an eyebrow, trying to keep up. He has never seen the wood elf so flustered. “I don’t understand.”

“Spolar… the spores line the airways. It feeds and thrives upon other vegetation – I’ve been giving her nettle soup. She told me it burnt and I insisted she eat more. And she did, because she trusted me.”

“Oh. Well, you didn’t know-”

“I should’ve known!” Halsin explodes in response, his voice echoing around their encampment. “I need to go to the Underdark, I-” He gets up to his feet and immediately stumbles, catching himself before he could fall. Gale is quick to stand in front of him, hands held up to try in a feeble attempt to stop the wood elf leaving.

“Halsin, when is the last time you rested?”

“It matters not-”

“It very much does.” Gale chides. “Look at you – you are in no fit state to look after yourself, let alone gallivant off to the Underdark.”

“What the hells is going on?” Astarion appears the other side of Gale, drawn out by Halsin’s outburst.  

“I must set this right. I cannot allow her to suffer a moment longer due to my negligence-“

“Okay, I’m sensing there’s a lot more to your feelings here, but allow me to assure you that we all care about her. Allow us to assist you, to aid you in whatever you need in this moment.”

“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” Astarion almost stomps his foot, never one to be ignored.

Halsin sighs, running a large palm down his face. Gale is right – he is exhausted, unable to enter a state of reverie in the past days in fear of you needing him.

“A Sussur Bloom. I need to retrieve one from the Underdark.”

Gale frowns. “But they don’t work outside the Underdark.“

“Wilted ones, they-"

“Wilted, you say?” Astarion looks at his fingernails for imaginary dirt. “I’ve got a handful in my pack still, I’m sure.”

Halsin sets off running in the direction of the vampire’s tent and his pack, Astarion hot on his heels.

“Now, wait a moment!”

--

Halsin won’t look at you.

You’d woken up, confusingly, back in your own tent two days later to Gale sat by your side and your fever broken. Your voice was still a little hoarse and walking around the camp left you all but winded, but that was meant to pass in another day or two, then the plan was to finally set off towards Baldur’s Gate.

You’d felt bad for holding the party up for so long, but everyone has been rather kind about the delay, doting on you a little more than you’d like.

All but Halsin, really, who stares over your head – not a hard feat given his height, true – but still, it smarts when you cannot catch his eye, especially when it was something you used to achieve so easily. He appears to leave the campsite before dawn and returns for supper, though he moves away from the campfire when you take your place, thanking Gale for the meal before hurrying off.

It’s driving you mad.

Tonight, though, you have a plan. You took supper back to your tent, feigning the need for an early night to your companions and lying in wait for Halsin to depart the camp once more.

You find the elf stood at the very edge of the lake, standing in the shallow waters as it laps to and fro, hands held behind his back.

You approach cautiously, conscious of disturbing a meditation or ritual the ex-archdruid might be partaking in, but it seems he is already acutely aware of your presence.

“There’s a chill in the air tonight.” His voice is firm – you can imagine him using the same tone when he was chairing heated discussions amongst the other druids back at the Emerald Grove. “You should go back to camp and keep warm by the fire at least if you find yourself restless.”

“Halsin,” you choose to ignore him as you wring your hands together and take another step closer. “Have I… offended you in some way?”

“Offended? Never.” Still, he keeps his head turned away from you.

“I apologise sincerely if I said something that upset you whilst I was sick. I’m afraid I don’t recall much of the time in your tent – it’s all a bit of a haze.”

“That’s understandable. You were…” His breath hitches, as if it’s painful to remember. “..quite unwell. But, no, you did not say anything malicious or cruel – it is not in your nature.”

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

His biceps tense as he brings his arms back in front of him, his shoulders heaving up with a breath before dropping back down as he swings round on his heels. He meets your eyes for a second or two before his gaze moves back above your head, as if something was extremely interesting in the distance.

“There.” A forced smile – it doesn’t reach the wood elf’s eyes by a mile. “Now, will you go back to the camp?”

“No.” You huff, taking a step closer.

“Please. Your lungs are not fully recovered yet and the chill tonight will do you no favours.”

“I’m not going back until you look me in the eyes and tell me what I’ve done to be treated this way.” You stand firm, stubborn.

He sighs, seemingly exasperated at the conversation. “You have not done anything, my h… friend.”

“I must have done something.”

“You are mistaken.”

 “No, I’m not.” You retort back, placing your hands on your hips. “Ever since you healed me, you’ve been-”

“Healed you?” He scoffs, derisively, meeting your eyes at last with a furrowed brow. “Healed you? I did no such thing - I made you worse!”

You stare for a moment, bemused. “What? Worse how?”

“You said the nettle soup was burning your throat, you told me multiple times and I dismissed you saying it for not liking the taste, not of a symptom. Every time I had you drink it, I was giving the infection what it needed to thrive. I was killing you.”

“No.” You shake your head. “I don’t remember that.” And you don’t, everything’s hazy – vague memories of cooling compresses on your head, a supportive arm around your waist as you drank from a waterskin. “Why would I keep drinking it if it hurt?”

“Because,” he takes a shuddering breath, “we made a deal.”

“A deal about what?”

“I beg of you not to make me relive my shame.” Halsin sounds defeated, but you continue to push.

“A deal about what?”

“I… I told you of how the children in the Grove took their medicine under the promise they would receive something sweet when they were better. Honeycakes, candied fruits, the like. You…” His voice grows tight. “You asked for something else sweet.”

You feel your face flush, a hazy, whisp of a memory now becoming crystal clear. “A kiss.”

The wood elf’s shoulders shudder. “I took advantage of your trust in me.”

“Advantage?”

“Of your feverish state.”

“I’m the one who suggested the kiss.”

“And I’m the one who agreed due to my own selfish desires, ignoring what my patient was trying to tell me.”

“No, you thought you were doing the right thing. We all make mistakes, or misinterpret. I’m fine.” You wrap your hand around his forearm as best as you can, trying to tug him forward. “Besides the whole tadpole in my head, of course…”

He smiles, wryly, at your poor joke, though you see tears burn at his eyes. “I just… I cannot stand the thought that I have caused you harm, little one – intentional or otherwise.”

“You haven’t, Halsin.” You place your other hand tentatively on his chest and look up, feeling his heart beat beneath your fingertips. “I am well and, if you were still willing, I’m ready for my sweet.”

He shakes his head. “As much as my heart desires it – and it does - I do not deserve it.”

“Am I not allowed to be the judge of that? And I say a deal is a deal.”

“You… truly wish for it still?”

You stand up on your very tip toes and press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, as far as you can reach. “More than ever.”

A firm arm wraps delicately around your waist – cautious of squeezing you too firmly – and heaves you up easily against his firm chest, his other hand cupping your cheek as he captures your lips in a kiss. It is soft and delicate, as if he’s worried you’ll break, but when you lift your hand to tangle in his locks and tug to bring him closer and deepening the kiss, there is no mistaking the growl that emits from his throat when your tongues intertwine.

As soon as you drop your hand from his hair, he retreats too, dropping you back down carefully to the ground, eyes scanning you in concern.

“You’re breathless, my heart.” You feel your cheeks prickle with heat at the term of endearment. “And flush too. Please, I insist you go back and keep warm-"

You cut him off, pressing your fingers against his lips, exhaling breathily. “Two things. One, I’m breathless because of your kiss. Two, I’m flush because of your words - what sort of reaction am I meant to have to you calling me that?”

He lifts his own hand then to hold yours in place so he can kiss the fingertips pressed against his lips, before tugging your hand back down and interlacing your fingers.

“My heart, my love, my sun, my moon, my stars - so many things I wish to call you whilst I lavish you with affection from dusk till dawn, and dawn till dusk… if you’d allow me, that is.”

“Allow?” You smile, “I encourage – heartily.”

It happens too fast to comprehend, a gentle twist of your arm to twirl you in front of him before one arm wraps around the back of your knees and you are swept off your feet, the wood elf commencing large strides back towards the camp.

“Then I insist we return to your tent where you will have as many sweets as you desire.”

“Oh, my tent now, is it?” You tease. “I thought I had to go and stay warm by the fire.”

 “Yes, but, lucky for you,” he smirks, “I am known to run quite hot.”

--

Comments, likes and reblogs make my whole day x

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

[artsymeeshee]

I had this idea that’s been stewing in my head for a long while now that I’ve slowly been trying to draw out. I can’t really explain it, I was thinking about future events after the summer when the show ended and what could be a continuation of sorts. Just wanted to show a small preview of a small comic I had in mind that will maybe be done one day…!

[dewdropdinosaur]

Kinktober Day 20: Threesome

Summary: You're good with kids, there is no doubt. Heck, you're a kindergarten teacher, you love little ones. Your boyfriends on the other hand, just love how great you are with kids. Maybe it's time to give you one of your own. Warnings: P in V sex, threesome, breeding kink, cum, reader had a vagina, etc. MDNI, 18+. You're responsible for your own media consumption. Kinktober Mention of the Day: @cassandrascottt

You stood at the front of the classroom, laughter mingling with the excited chatter of the students. The vibrant walls were filled with painted art projects, and the scent of crayons and fresh paper lingered in the air. Today’s lesson was all about storytelling, and you had encouraged the kids to use their imaginations, their faces lighting up with every new idea. From being a superhero, a princess, or a dragon, your student’s ideas never failed to excite you. 

As the bell rang, the students began to gather their things, and you smiled, waving them off. “Remember, tomorrow is our storytelling contest! Bring your best tales but make sure they are written in your scrapbook!” The children cheered and scrambled out, their giggles echoing in the hall. The day had ended and while a satisfying one, you couldn’t wait to get back home and snuggle up to some warm food with your boyfriends. Yes, Wade Wilson and Logan were an odd pair by themselves but adding you into the mix seemed to make it all the sweeter (or hornier if you asked Wade). 

Outside, you spotted Wade and Logan leaning against the school’s brick wall. Wade, in a red graphic tee and a pair of black jeans, was animatedly gesturing as he spoke, while Logan, in his classic flannel and jblue eans, looked not as amused, arms crossed over his chest. Your heart swelled, it was moments like this—seeing the two of them together—that reminded you of how unique their relationship was.

“Hey, beautiful!” Wade called out, his voice playful. “How many lives did you ruin today with your educational superpowers?”

Laughing with an eye roll, you replied while approaching the duo. “Just a few. No one will need intensive therapy after my storytelling lesson!”

Logan pushed off the wall, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re doing just fine. Kids need someone who gets them.” He stepped closer, his presence grounding and warm.

As you walked to the car, Wade pretended to swoon dramatically. “Oh, I’m hot for teacher! So captivating! Did you see how the kids hung on your every word? I was this close to signing up for kindergarten myself!” He pinched his fingers dramatically, as if to show just how close he was to sitting in on your class. It would certaintly be interesting.

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “You’d probably scare them off with your face, bub”

A slow blush creeped up your cheeks as Logan opened the car door for you. “You both are ridiculous,” you tried to sound agitated, putting on your best teacher voice, but a shy smile betrayed your amuesment. “But it’s sweet. I’m glad you think I’m good with the kids.”

That caught their attention. They had certaintly talked about it before but now hearing the idea aloud, how good you were with kids thta weren’t even your own, now that sparked an idea. With a quick glance to each other, no words were needed to form the plan that was about to commence. Allowing the thoughts to stew on the ride home, you had no idea of their plan when you entered your shared apartment. Of course, it was messy but the boys had allowed you to decorate it; making it seem less like a college frat dorm room and more like a home. And if their plan came to fruition, it certainy would be a home indeed. 

Suddenly, Logan grabbed yours wrists and pinned you down against the nearest wall. His smoldering gaze glowered down at you as his face leaned down to whisper in huskily in your ear. 

“What do you think about having some kits of your own?” 

“What?” 

Coming to your side, Wade joined his partner in looking down at you. Using his hand to reach around and cup your chin, he brought your shocked gaze to look up at him.

“Dollface, I think peanut here is asking to breed you. And I am certainly not opposed to the idea. I mean I am sure a hundred Tumblr fics have been written about it already—” 

A dark chuckle erupted from Logans throat at Wade’s words, for once he wasn’t annoyed at the merc’s mouth.  As he stood up and let his grip go, both men now stared down at you. After some stumbling and a few apologies to about tripping over variois objects, all three parties ended up in the master bedroom with clothes on the floor. You, laid on the bed and the boy’s eyes darkened with hunger at the sight of your bare form, a silent understanding among them of what was about to happen. 

Wade leaned down and took one of your hardened nipples in his mouth, the warmth of his tongue teasing the aroused bud. Dragging his hands across your torso, he slowly marked your skin with his hands. Logan, instead dipped down and spread your thighs, enjoying the way they felt in his calloused hands. With a whimper, you couldn’t help but arch your back into his touch as he dragged his nose across your slit. The heat from his breath left you soaked with desire, cunt clenching around nothing as you imagined all the things that were about to happen. 

Hoisting your legs up on his shoulders, Logan massaged the tip of his cock against you hole. Not allowed a moment of reprieve, sheathing his heady member into your cunt with one stroke, Wade then bit the corner of your collarbone to distract you from Logan’s actions. He stretched your needy hole,  both of your moaning both at the sight and feeling, the delicious yet somewhat burning friction that both of you so desperately craved.  You gasped at the stretch, gripping the sheets with each strong stroke. The velvet of your walls squeezing Logan so tight that with every exit and entry of his member into your cunt, the ribs of his cock rubbed against you in a painfully delicious way. Wade took initative and slowly started to leave hot wet kisses and nips across the valley of your neck, only pausing to whisper filthy things in your ear as Logan carried out a relentless pace. 

“He’s gonna fuck you so good baby. Think about how good you’ll look, so big and glowing with our baby inside you. You’re gonna be such a good momma. Want us to make you a momma dollface?"

Gosh, he was so hot like this. You hung onto everyword, every image you presented you with. It was addicting, the feeling of Logan inside you, the softness of Wade’s lips worshiping your body as he debauched words continued to send wave after wave of arousal shooting straight down to your already weeping pussy. And you knew it may never happen, you were still on the pill and by all means Wade was infertile with Logan’s ability to breed in question since he was older. 

But by any means, you could certaintly get used to this. 

[bi-writes]

hello 🐝!! hope ur doing well, luv!

was thinking about bff!roommate!simon loving readers food. the reader starts baking and cooking for fun and uses simon as a test subject to rate the food LOL. reader's food slowly becoming one of his comfort things and maybe him risking cooking for/with them

just pureeee fluff!!

had this idea while looking at my burnt brownies LMFAO

wish ya the best ⚡

this is so sweet. this came out much angst-ier than i intended lol.

more bff!roommate!simon (part 7/?)

cw: mature language and content, suggestive language and content, simon is big 👁️👁️, the mask doesn't come off, aNgSt and LoNgInG

it's one of the first dinners that simon spends with you in your new apartment. he has never lived in a home that he didn't hate coming back to.

when he was a child, he feared his father. when he was an adult, he feared the loneliness and the quiet; it left room for the thoughts in his head to manifest and grow claws. but now, he found himself in the back of a car after deployment without dread in his chest.

when he steps into the foyer, the apartment is warm. there is no dust on the forgotten, bare counters. there is no screaming, no crying, no hushed voices and angry eyes. there is a warm yellow glow throughout the apartment; the lights you have put up since he left cast such a comforting shadow across the inviting furniture, the pictures you've hung on the wall are happy, the books you've put away and the candles you've lit are familiar.

and there's a smell. something smells so good. he closes the door behind him and locks it, setting his bag down. he follows the sounds coming from the kitchen. there's the sound of something simmering, cutlery hitting a wooden cutting board.

when he emerges into the kitchen, something in his chest constricts. you've got your bottom lip between your teeth as you concentrate on peeling some potatoes, trying to be careful not to nick the tip of your finger. there's a pot on the stove, a low fire lit as something cooks. there's more candles, a glass of wine there, a neat mess of vegetable scraps and ingredients.

he doesn't know what to call it; the taste of the word in his mouth sounds something like home.

"simon!"

and there's your smile. a bright, shimmering thing that comes over your face, relief in those gorgeous eyes and glossiness in your gaze as you hold back the excited tears you're overwhelmed with. you drop the knife you were using, hurrying around the counter to greet him, and simon grunts as your arms fling around his neck, bringing him down to your level as you hug him tight. there it is again--something tight and mean in his chest, something that feels good but something he can't say out loud.

"y-you're home--" you pull back gently. "you're back."

you smile, and simon catches the tear that escapes before it can run down your cheek.

"w-welcome home," you whisper, and you mean it, and his breath is stuck in his throat because something was waiting for him here, and it is you, and you are perfect.

"'ello, luv," he murmurs. "somethin' smells nice."

"yeah, i--" you sniffle, taking his arm and bringing him into the kitchen. simon is still fully dressed in his gear, sturdy jeans with holsters fastened around his thighs, a thick belt, a tactical vest tight around his broad torso. you pick up a tasting spoon, dipping it into the stew and holding it up to him. "tell me how it tastes. i'm...trying something new."

simon meets your eyes from under the mask before he lifts up the fabric slightly. you don't pay attention to the corrugated skin you see, the discoloration; you just smile and feed him the spoon.

he closes his eyes gently. he has been living on ready-made meals in the field and the food prepared in the mess halls. the food isn't bad--but it isn't made like this. it doesn't come with an angel feeding it, it doesn't come with an apartment filled with peace, it wasn't made with that unspoken thing that is shared between the walls of this place.

it tastes wonderful. it's warm, and it sits so nice in his stomach, and simon wants more immediately.

"still needs some time, got to get the potatoes done," you say, as if reading his mind. "it'll give you some time to wash up."

and when he comes back, you're still there. he blinks; this isn't a dream. you're still in the kitchen, asking him how he's feeling, your hair in front of your eyes as you pick up plates and bowls and more things you must have picked up when he was gone--what the fuck is going on?

who's house am i in?

what kind of fucking dream is this?

when do i wake up--when does this all get taken away from me? because i don't fuckin' deserve this--ghosts don't eat--ghosts don't get to live, and they don't get to share these memories, and they don't get to fall in lo--

"simon," you say softly, putting a small bowl into his gloved hands. his dark eyes fall, focusing on the curve of your lips and the softness of your skin and the way you feel in front of him. "ready to eat?"

yes. yes, yes, yes--

simon has been waiting all his for this feeling. the domesticity of home, the familiarity of not being alone, the serenity in something not unknown. and this would not last--he knows this deep in his bones. dead men do not get to savor these moments; he knows his demon will come to collect the time he's stolen, but for now, he will sit at the table he shares with you, drink in the warmth that you bring. he will listen to the gentleness of your voice, and he will fight tears one day in the field trying to remember exactly how you sound at this exact moment in time.

and he will try again to keep this feeling. he will pick a day that you work, a day when you are gone, and he will try and recreate the homecoming you gave him. he will fuck it up--of course he will, because simon was never taught how to love someone else like this. but somehow, he knows you won't care.

you will look at him the way you're looking at him now--simon puts the stars in the sky, the moon into orbit, gravity in motion, he brings the heat of the sun and the snow in the winter, and maybe he doesn't do this with the world you live in, but he does it with whatever lives inside of you, and it's enough for you to know that this is all that matters.

his hand along your thigh, his eyes on yours, the thing that is stuck between his teeth that he won't say but that you can feel in the air.

the thing between you that follows you, even when you go to bed that night in separate rooms. the thing that keeps you up at night knowing he is just across the hall, that he's right there, he's right fucking there--

he's right there.

so why can't i just have him?

[featguler]

Heyyy i have a request for tchouaméni 😄 , where his girlfriend is clingy towards him , always needing to cuddle him just to sleep 🥹🥹🥹

'til there's no tomorrow ────── you reach for his side of the bed.

♡ ────── pairing : aurélien tchouaméni x reader ♡ ────── tags : reader is female. her ethnicity, nationality, and appearance is not specified. slight depiction and description of anxiety. pre-established relationship with aure. ♡ ────── wordcount : 490 ♡ ────── notes : anon don't kill me but i kind switched the positions a bit... and this ends up being tchouameni not being able to sleep without his gf LOL. i might do another one where his gf is extra clingy though, just bc it's such a cute idea!! i hope you enjoy this :3 title is from niall horan's you could start a cult ♡ masterlist.

“Aurélien?”

Aurélien would say that as a professional athlete, sleeping has got to be the one aspect of a lifestyle like his that had been undermined like crazy. It’s always stamina, and focus, and strength. But lack of sleep causes your body to gain deadweight—it will grow to rot, stewing in stress while eventually weakening.

This fact had been drilled in his mind.

Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.

Even resting is not the same as sleeping.

It is so easy to listen to people in a pair of overpriced joggers and headband ramble on and on about the importance of actually getting the proper amount of sleep, but when you are faced with the reality of a hurt knee joint, or a deteriorating passing performance, your brain just can’t help but insist that instead of spending your nights on the bed, you should be on treadmill, or on a field.

His knee aches, and it shakes. Aurélien had been staring at an empty for the past half an hour or so, the muscles in his legs screaming at him to take a small jog around his house to feel some sort of long-needed adrenaline.

He has enough of being on the bench, if he can just be frank.

Hearing your voice calling out to him in the pitch black, he tenses for a moment, looking behind him, his eyes already adjusted to the dark. “Yes, my love?”

“Are you here?”

Aurélien chuckles, shifting so that he could get a better view of your closed eyes. His hand reaches to stroke your head. “Where else would I be?”

“Not sleeping?” You ask, mumbling your words. You open one eye, trying to search for him, before giving up and closing them again. “Come here, baby, you gotta sleep.”

“I will,” he laughs softly, leaning down to place a soft kiss against your forehead.

“No,” you pout, scooching over to his side of the bed, gripping his arm. “Come here,” you whine, “I wanna hug— wanna cuddle.”

“Aww, “ he coos, giving in to the sweet sound of your whine. He throws himself under the blanket, sprawling one arm under your head while the other wraps itself around your waist. “Are you comfortable?”

You murmur your answer, unclear, before repeating with a quiet, “Yeah, yeah.”

Aurélien watches the way your eyes open lightly, then close again. Your breath is slow, relaxed, and even through the dark, he can see your pretty face change into one expression from the other, as though you have gone back to the land of dreams.

He moves, pressing himself closer against you, lips on top of your nose, before timidly calling out your name, like he is afraid that he would take away some of your precious sleeping time.

When he sees that you did not answer, he chuckles to himself. “I love you,” he says again, still somewhat terrified that he will wake you up, “I love you so much.”

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Not So Secret Admirer 💌

Fluffy mini fic, this is an 18+ blog so minors shoo!

💌

Eddie noticed you had been quiet all day Sure he could be loud, opinionated and liked to piss off Jason and his crowd on a daily basis, but he looked after his own.

You had joined Hellfire last year and took a while to come out of your shell, Eddie took you under his wing, was protective of you and though he would never admit it to anyone-you were his favourite.

He was also madly in love with you.

"What's wrong princess?" he murmurs to you and you shake your head, clearly not wanting to talk about what was on your mind.

Ideas of what could be wrong run through his head, were you sick? Was that butthead Carver bothering you in some way? He throws a glare in the assholes direction.

Carver noticed and makes a show of standing up and acting tough, the minute that Eddie flips him the bird, he sits back down again.

With that settled Eddie resumes his precious thoughts. Was it one of his sheeples annoying you? Eddie casts a critical eye over all of them, plots to maim the D&d character of whoever the culprit is in a particularly vicious manner during a campaign.

Finally you speak up.

"Simone was talking about all of the nice dates that Ted takes her on, I don't know... I guess I just wish someone would notice me like that" you avoid his gaze and a whirl of emotions go through Eddie.

Did you honestly not see how smitten he was with you? How protective and soft he could be with you?

The sad look on your face makes Eddie's chest hurt and he vows to bring a smile to your face. He loves your smile, the way your eyes light up and your whole body just radiates sunshine when you're happy about something.

He stews silently as he tries to think of something that will cheer you up, then he gets an idea and hopes it works.

...

There's a note that's been slipped into your locker, you can see it peeking out. When you open your locker to grab the note, there's also a bunch of pretty wildflowers tied with a band inside too.

Warmth floods through your stomach as you read the scribble of words on the paper.

You may not think people notice you but I do. You're all I think about princess, I hope this note makes you smile, because I'm sweating my ass of writing it.

Your Eddie

You clutch the note to your chest beaming, when you next see Eddie you'll finally be brave enough to tell him how you feel about him.

💌

[kcrossvine-art]

Hey folks! Itsssssssssssss timeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee for another dungeon meshi cooking time!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Isnt that neat.

Its weird to think how long its gonna be before season 2 of the anime drops. Anyway go read the manga i promise you wont regret it. This ones from senshis lil garden on legs-

Today we'll be making Golem Field Fresh Veggie Lunch!

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to Golem Field Fresh Veggie Lunch?” YOU MIGHT ASKIts vegetables, vegetable wauter, and not Much else! Knife is there too.

Head of cabbage

4 carrots

3 potatoes

2 onions

2 turnips

Thick slice bacon

Butter

Seasoned rice vinegar

I lied theres pork did you fall for it did u catch it.

AND, “what does Golem Field Fresh Veggie Lunch taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASKSon, have you ever eaten a vegetabel

Broth is surprisingly flavorful considering the limited spices and short cooktime

Potatoes are perfect texture for dipping

Cabbage absorbed a lot of the juices!!!

Was more impressed by the salad part of the meal-

The turnips need to be sliced enough to Barely see through, and the carrots julienned thin enough to be almost peels

And its this wonderful vegetable confetti tasteful in its simple pleasure

Rice vinegar of any kind will work, seasoned rice vinegar is just what i had

Salt both parts of the meal generously

In the future i wouldve shredded or cut the cabbage much smaller. We'll talk more on that later. Its also intentionally barebones with spices and oils, me using butter and rice vinegar is even pushing the limits of show accurate because in the show they used plain olive oil.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From idea to execution, this was a very quick recipe. For starters, nothing gets cooked all that long (the water spends more time empty than it does ingredient'ed) and for lasters nothing gets cut all that much. It was tricky finding good sources for stewing a whole cabbage because most recipes call for either shredding or at least chopping smaller. And they do this for a reason. Its unwieldy trying to eat a whole half of cabbage, you never quite know when to start or where to start. Do you bite chunks out? Peel leaves? Spear it with other things? I dont know. I still dont. Im not a huge raw cabbage fan and it wasnt raw, but it wasnt transformed much either. Minimalist. 

This was a feast in the show and i bet that the freshness of the veggies were a factor, considering they were plucked fresh off the living rock guys. I wouldve killed to be able to brown the onions, roast the carrots, or maybe cube the potatoes (though the consistency was perfect for forking and dipping them in butter so! Bonuses.)

Oven roast bacon is a beloved treet for me. It seemed to absorb some of the vegetable broth and vice versa with the broth absorbing the oils from the bacon, which enhanced all the flavors. Maybe in the future itd be nice to try cooking the bacon a bit ahead, and then adding it to the pot while everythings boiling? Also adding a spritz of lemon juice to either/both is always nice!

I give this recipe a solid 7/10 (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) for its simplicity. With modifications like shredding the cabbage and more seasonings, it could become an easy 10/10. hit that like and subscribe or kill me

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

Head of cabbage

4 carrots

3 russet potatoe

2 white onions

2 turnips

10 slices of thick slice bacon

Butter

Seasoned Rice vinegar

Stew Method:

Preheat your oven to 400f. Line a rimmed baking sheet with foil and place a baking rack on top (alternatively you can use a rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper and no baking rack. but the baking rack lets the air circulate better and the grease drip off!)

Cook your bacon for about 18 minutes or until crisp. Flip halfway through.

Chop your carrots, peel and slice your potatos in half, and slice your onions into rings.

Get a large pot with a tight fitting lid, add water, salt, your carrots, your potato pieces, and your onions. Cover and heat to a low boil.

Cut the cabbage head in half down the middle. Once the pot is boiling, carefully add your cabbage to the pot and arrange the halves so theyre fully covered.

Cover and cook for about 13 minutes, the cabbage should be slightly crisp but have give to them. 

Remove from heat and laddle contents into a bowl, arrange some of your bacon along the sides so the fat and the broth mix :) salt and pepper to taste. And get a little saucer for butter so you can dip the potato pieces and/or coat the cabbage pieces.

Salad Method:

Peel your carrots and turnips. Cut off the ends of both. Julienne your carrots, and thinly slice your turnips.

Add your carrot greens (or your chosen leaf filler) to a bowl, then add your carrots and turnips.

Coat with seasoned rice vinegar, salt, and pepper. Thoroughly mix and enjoy :) 

[fanaticsnail]

Hello Snail! Hope you’re doing well 🫶 I’ve been a fan of your writing for awhile, and had a little au idea pop into my head that I thought you would enjoy :)

Shapeshifter!Mihawk who wants to get closer to Reader, yet can see that they are intimidated by him. One day, while flying about the island to keep an eye on things, Mihawk is injured in bird form and crashes into a bush. Reader witnesses this and goes to rescue the “poor birdie,” not realizing this hawk is really Lord Dracule himself.

Shenanigans ensue, including:

- attempting to feed him seeds or worms

- miHawk bringing flowers to the windowsill or little trinkets and jewelry he “finds” (he’s sweating in the treasury to find something you would like)

- helping preen his feathers

- ranting to your new bird friend about the scary, attractive warlord who seems to just stare from a distance (Mihawk sees this as a green light to court you)

- “wow those eyes are SO familiar..”

- protective bird following you around/on your shoulder (he pecked someone who was flirting with you)

Keep taking care of yourself! And have a lovely rest of your day ✨

- bird brained anon 🪶

Oh my gosh, I need this. I need this so bad. I can see him being such a beautiful little raven or obviously a hawk. First thought: Diaval from Maleficent. But it's Mihawk, and he can switch at will.

Allow me the courtesy to write you an epilogue to your thoughts, I have been thinking about this for about 20 minutes and I needed to get it out. I'm not sure of the word count, it's just a little thing. Also, forgive the dodgy Photoshop. Raven was a stock photo edited on the Polish app on my phone and superimposed in front of Yoru from OPLA and I added some flowers to it.

Pretty Bird

Masterlist Here

Themes: fairytale creature au, avarial!Mihawk x reader, shapeshifter!Mihawk x reader. Part 2 here.

Little thought: If he's injured in his bird-like form, what if he can't switch back for a while? What if he's forced to remain nestled in the roofing of your country cottage until you manage to hear his hiss-like, pained squawks.

The bird is angry. He doesn't want to accept aid, but at the offer of a small piece of stewed meats, and drink by the warmth of your kitchen fire, who was he go resist such comfort? You name him: "pretty bird," and coo affectionately as you look over his feathers and insure there is no ache in his broken, hollowed bones.

Is he frightened? If he is, he surely cannot say. He is just a bird, after all. You bring him offerings of a wooden crate used to carry your homemade vintage of brandy-wine you produced from your country garden, and he accepts it immediately as his personal resting nook.

When your back is turned while you're washing up, you could've sworn you witnessed him dip his onyx beak into the goblet of brandy on your countertop. There was something in the way his golden eyes rolled in his head at the flavor that almost seemed human. You offer him a small thimbleful of the brandy, and he seems to bob his head and shake his tail in gratitude.

You hum to him, and he echoes the tune in a pleasant, deep warble back at you, coaxing a giggle from your throat. You offer him chin scratches as a reward for allowing you to check over his wounds, and his entire body leans into the gentle touch.

As his wounds seem to heal, you're almost remorseful at the prospect of never seeing this beautiful bird again. Such creatures are not meant for captivity, and you ensure to tell him as such as you unwind his bandage and remove his splint.

The last night you spend in the company of your pretty bird, you offer him an anecdote of your childhood: wandering the halls in the the high keep gallery on Kuraigana mountain when the former lord reigned. You longed to return, but you were not certain of the new lord's temperament.

You were unsure of what happened since the old man's natural passing, just as you were unsure of the Draculean man who now ruled thereafter. Was he kind and courteous as the ruler before him, or was he simply a man who now reigned where a kind man once homed: you were certainly too shy to ever approach him to ask.

All you could do is enjoy the splendor of your cottage, trading in handmade crafts with the former staff of high keep Kuraigana when the new lord retired them. They were elderly, and you were grateful of the Draculean man's kindness.

As you slipped into peaceful slumber by your open fire beside the crate, enjoying the warmth while laying on your sheepskin tapestry, the soft bob of talons was barely audible beside your slumbering body. Cloudy vapors of scentless, black smoke shrouded the bird's form and in its place was a creature native to the land, an angelic figure from the fables of old.

The winged man crouched beside you, cocking his head inquisitively to the side as he studied your features in his natural form. His amber eyes held curiosity and gratitude in its honey-like hue as he whispered gently beneath his breath a soft repetition of your name. Now that his tongue could claim your title, he was going to praise your kindness by rolling it over his palate at every moment he spent thinking of you.

"I will not forget your eagerness to aid me when my body was broken," he gently hovered his human like hands over your face, his taloned claws desiring to give you a gentle caress, but his thoughts of your comfort and consent to his touch pulls his urges from his mind. "I was just a bird to you, and you homed and treated me with not a semblance of payment in return."

The soft shudder of his onyx wings was silent, as if testing to see if they had healed before he slowly crept from your door and flew back to his castle in the dark of the night.

When you awoke, you heard a soft rap at your door and a slot of a letter beneath the iron frame of your letter slip. You first gazed to the brandy-wine crate, sighing off your soft sorrow at your pretty bird slipping away without saying goodbye.

Rising to your feet before stooping to collect the letter from the floor, you notice the wax seal was embroidered with the stamped letter "D" on its back. You cocked your head inquisitively to the side before using your blades letter opener to coax the waxy shell from the page. The letter was curt and brief, but the lettering was careful and almost loving.

"I would formally desire to extend an invitation to the premier reopening of the Kuraigana Gallery, by the bequest of Lord Dracule."

And who were you to refuse such an invitation from your new lord, regardless to how intimidating you found his reclusive nature? Donning your best formal garb, you make the lengthy trek towards the high keep with your nerves depicted by your heart jumping to your throat, and the swell of your tongue feeling heavy behind your teeth.

As you wander to the gray slate steps, you are blissfully ignorant of the amber gaze of your pretty bird watching over your every move with a soft curiosity in his eyes and a smile on his beak. He was so excited you accepted his invitation, and he was looking forward to showcasing his home and offering you sanctuary within his walls, just as you did to him when he was but a humble raven.

He was smitten, and he could hardly believe he had fallen prey to expressing adoration of a mortal being as yourself. One thing he was certain of was the fact he was to begin his romantic pursuit of you immediately, intensely and passionately. He could only hope you would not shy away from his winged form, and instead receive his affections with your heart and mind open to it.

[luveline]

If you’re looking for anything zombie!au for Steve, I’ve got a request! I sent it a while ago so if you don’t like the idea, please feel free to ignore!

I love that Steve has his own platonic soulmate—Robin—and has that person that will always be his friend no matter the circumstances. Their relationship means everything to me. I’d love to see reader maybe reunite with her “Robin”, as in her best friend and see her find that comfort in her person. Steve gets to see a new side of her and falls in love with her even more <3

zombie au —you reunite with your Robin. fem, 1.5k

“I’m grody.” 

“You’re not grody.” 

“I have greasy hair.” 

You shrug. Steve’s hair is a tad greasy, but it’s nothing you wouldn’t run your hands through. “Steve, I don’t think anybody alive today is judging you for having greasy hair.” 

You wanna call him baby, despite how foreign it can feel on your lips. He’s being adorable today, but the moment to dote on him passes quickly. Robin’s halfway across the campsite, her scratchy, mellifluous voice a ringer for her. You’d recognise it anywhere. 

“New recruits!” she’s saying, her head turning past her friend Sarah to spot you and Steve as you approach. “Hey, guys! Look, I lived.” 

Steve jogs until the gap between them is closed. “Hey, what did you do to your face?” he asks worriedly, his hand rising. 

She ducks away from his touch. “I got totally sliced.” 

“By who?” 

“This girl, Mina, she thought I was a geek, how gross is that?” Robin smiles at you. “I’m not that ugly.” 

“You’re not ugly,” you say. 

“I know!” 

Steve grins. “I wouldn’t be too sure.” 

“I know you don’t think I’m ugly, Steven.” 

You’re hit by two waves of memory, one after the other. The name Mina is hard to ignore: back then, before the end of the world, you had one good friend, and her name was Mina Delecki. You’d get into little spats like Steve and Robin do occasionally, but your friendship wasn’t as sarcastic. Which isn’t to say they aren’t loving, they are. Steve gives her arm a squeeze and promises to help her clean out the wound, and it reminds you of Mina and her scabbed knees. 

“She was nice, besides the attempted murder. They looked like they haven’t eaten in weeks though, the whole group, I’m surprised they didn’t try and rob us.”

“Well, not everyone is evil,” Steve says, wiping Robin’s cheek with his sleeve. “You’re okay?” 

“I’m fine. Does it look bad?” 

“Might need a butterfly stitch,” he says, grimacing. “It’s definitely gonna scar. Where is this Mina? I’d like to give her a piece of my mind.” 

“Steve, it was an accident.” 

“Well, maybe she should be aware that accidents aren’t usually subdermal.” 

“That’s a big word for you.” 

You roll your eyes. “Guys, come one. Did you eat?” you ask Robin. “Let’s go find dinner at the mess.” 

“Sure you’re okay?” Steve asks quietly. 

Robin lets him dote, for once. He slings his arm over her shoulder and steers her to the mess —a porta-building with a designated team of cooks reminiscent of your setup back at the College. There’s a small line by the door, but it’s not as busy inside as you’re expecting. You can spot the newbies from their skinniness, and their dirty clothes, but it looks like some of them have had a wash by the river, dripping hair wetting the backs of their necks. One girl laughs into her bowl of stew. Another cries. 

You know how it feels to be starving and afraid and then suddenly dropped into a community. It’s so scary, but it’s such a relief. 

“You wanna sit down?” Steve asks, rubbing Robin’s back before he lets her go. “What about you?” he asks you, turning away from her to offer you the same nice smile. “I can get yours.” 

“I’m alright.” 

Robin slugs off to a table at the back. “She looks really tired,” Steve says.

They take Robin because she’s slight; she can fit into places a lot of people can’t. But Robin wasn’t built for fighting, she still isn’t, and she’s obviously tired. 

“Well, maybe you should start putting your foot down,” you murmur, “you’re her family, so… if you say she shouldn’t go, maybe she won’t. And I don’t mean asking her not to. Maybe you should fight.” 

“I don’t wanna fight with her.” 

“Somebody took a slice out of her face,” you say. 

You know Robin likes you, even loves you, but it doesn’t feel like your place to get into that stuff. If somebody is gonna convince her to stay, it’ll have to be him. 

“I’ll talk to her about it.” He brings a hand to your waist. “I will, don’t worry. I don’t like it either.” 

“Your hand is cold?” you say. 

Steve tucks it quick as a flash behind your back, brushing your shirt up to touch naked skin. “Is it?” 

“You jerk.” You laugh louder than you mean to and step away from his touch. “This is why you need dinner, you’re freezing to death.”

Steve tries to get you again. He grabs you at the side, the chill of his hands palpable as he pulls you into him. Not to hold, but to be close while you wait, to take up as little room as possible. You both prefer proximity to each other. You let him warm his hands on your hips. 

You’re looking up into his face with a smile when someone says your name. 

A melodic voice. 

She says your name again and you feel it click. Mina’s on your mind, that’s all —yet you turn, and a familiar face is peeking out from behind wet, fine hair. An apocalypse, and somehow Mina Delecki hasn’t aged a day. 

“Mina?” you ask, holding Steve’s wrist tight on instinct. 

She rushes forward to meet you. Steve’s defences go up, his expression hardening as he pushes you behind him, but you slink around his rigid arm with a happy shout, “Mina!” 

Steve lets you go. You weave around a full table of onlookers with pushed out chairs and meet her in the middle, where she throws herself at you, a whirlwind of smell and touch. “Holy shit,” she says, sounding immediately wrought with tears, and joy, too. “I can’t believe you’re here!” 

You’re shocked out of speaking. 

Mina leans back. She holds your cheek, beaming so brightly, you’d forgotten how pretty she was. She is. 

“You’re alive!” she says, squishing your cheeks. “You’re here! Y/N, I looked for you!” 

“You did?” 

“I went to your house, you weren’t there, and we had to leave. I’m sorry, I thought… I missed you.” 

You’re further surprised. You did? you almost ask. “I missed you too.” 

She flings her arms around you for another hug. “I worried about you. Were you all alone?” 

“No, uh, no, no,” —you shake your head against her— “I had Steve. I have Steve. What about you?” 

“Well, my brother made us go to the Lake, but there was nothing that way, so we came back here. Thank god we did, ‘cos you’re here, this whole place, there’s so many people.” 

“There used to be more.” 

Mine squeezes you. “I missed you so much.” 

Your eyes finally burn. “I missed you too,” you say, hiding as your voice cracks. 

You and Mina just hug. 

Your shoulders give an embarrassing shake under her hands. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” she says, rubbing your back, her tone light, loving, and one you already know. “Don’t cry. I’m happy to see you, too.” 

“I’m so happy.” 

“That’s what I just said.”

You pull away from her to scrub your face. You’re laughing as you turn to Steve, excited, elated to introduce him. “Mina, this is Steve,” you say, taking his elbow into your hand, comforted by his arm slinking behind you. He pats your back. “He’s my boyfriend.” 

“King Steve?” 

Steve winces. “Just Steve.” 

“He’s nice now,” you say, grinning, “total reformation.” 

“Hi, Steve. My girl kept you alive, I’m guessing?” Mina gives him a smile, too. She’s only teasing, and Steve picks up on it easily. 

“She did… Hey, you’re not the Mina that cut a chunk out of Robin’s cheek, right?” 

“Hard to say. Which one’s Robin?” 

—

“Sorry, does it hurt?” Steve murmurs. 

Robin hugs her knees to her chest. “It’s fine, just be fast, please.” 

Steve knows it hurts. He’s dousing her wound with an antiseptic, he thinks it’s iodine, doesn’t really know. It’s not brown, but it smells strong. He washes the outside of the wound with a sterile gauze soaked in bottled water, and he pats it dry. The butterfly bandage he applies sticks at an awkward angle, but he pulls it closed tightly. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs again. 

“It’s fine. At least she got a friend out of it.” 

You sit a couple of metres away with some of the reserves of your candy haul and a few things you won’t miss. Socks, a sweater, a pack of chamomile soaps. Mina doesn’t want any of it, she just can’t seem to stop touching you. You’ve been holding hands for hours. 

“She seems really nice,” Steve says. 

“Gonna get jealous like you did with Eddie?” 

“She didn’t know Eddie before, she just likes him, which is weird.” 

“Not that weird.” 

“Maybe I am jealous,” he says. It’s strange to watch you hold hands with a new person, but it’s not like you and Robin haven’t done the same. The trust between you has solidified, and you use each other like pillows when you want to. “I don’t think I am? It’s nice to see her like that.” 

“Maybe you weren’t jealous at all, you just don’t like Eddie.” 

Steve laughs. 

There’s something about you, sitting there smiling, watching you talk a mile a minute as you explain something to her with no fear of judgement. You’re completely relaxed. 

“It’s actually really nice… to see her like that.” 

“You’re smiling like a creeper,” Robin says. 

“Whatever.”