#but still crossing fingers for 510

[hotluncheddie]

Luck o' the Irish

written for the May @steddiemicrofic prompt 'top' !

wc: 510 | rated: T | cw: alcohol | tags: Modern AU, Meetcute, Gay Disaster Eddie Munson, Platonic Hellcheer, Buckingham, Chubby Steve Harrington (as always)

☘︎☘︎☘︎☘︎☘︎

‘Stupid water looks gross green.’ Eddie mumbles to himself, leaning on the railing and looking down at the dyed Chicago river.

Someone knocks into him, his beer sloshing onto his hand and all he gets is a distant ‘sorry dude’ thrown his way.

The only reason he’s here is Chrissy’s determination to end his dry spell, which somehow means making him hang out at overcrowded bars on St Patrick’s day. 

He kind of hates it. But he love her, even if hungover Chrissy is like living with a troll... He should ask her if she knows any riddles. 

He giggles to himself and downs the rest of his beer. Gripping the railing more tightly as he sways a little. Maybe he needs a water.

‘Eddie!’ Chrissy squeals, shoving back over to him through the crowd. ‘Look! I made friends! They escaped from Hawkins too!’ She lunges at him, wrapping her skinny arms around his neck and squeezing. 

Chrissy lets go to hook elbows with a tall, freckled girl wearing a forest green button up and slacks. Totally Chrissy’s type. Soft butch, cute. 

‘Hi.’ Eddie waves, giving Chris a look and smiling as the girl keeps glancing sideways at her, like she can’t believe her luck. 

Eddie likes her, he decides. 

‘Eddie this is Robin and, oh, where’d your friend go?’ Chrissy asks, straining her neck and leaning more heavily into the girls side. Freckle girl, Robin, goes even redder. Yeah, Eddie likes her. 

‘Hey.’ Someone says from Eddie’s left. He turns and finds a guy standing next to him, with big soft eyes and green glitter on his cheeks, a green bandana tied around his neck, highlighting his soft jaw. White tank and tight blue jean shorts showing off the hairy chub of his waist and thighs… He’s gorgeous. 

‘Oh! Here’s Steve.’ Chrissy chirps. ‘Robs friend! From Hawkins! Steve this is my friend Eddie, the one I was telling you about.’ Her eyes on Eddie sharp, because she knows, knows Steve is exactly his type.

‘To-top o’ the mornin’ to ya.’ Eddie stammers.

Steve raises an eyebrow. Crossing his arms and Eddie is so not distracted by the way his pecs flex, little peak of cleavage visible at his neckline, flecks of glitter shimmering in his chest hair. 

Eddie snaps his eyes back up.

‘Are you Irish?’ Steve asks.

‘…no.’ 

‘Oh.’ He pouts. ‘Think I can still kiss you later though?’ His finger tracing the neckline of Eddie’s t-shirt. It’s Chrissy's from last year, faded green with “kiss me I’m Irish” stretched across his chest.  

Eddie gulps, cheeks going hot, but he manages to nod. 

A smile stretches across Steve’s face, stars shining in his eyes. ‘Well, aren’t I lucky.’ He murmurs, cocking his head to the side. 

‘Let's do shots.’ Chrissy declares, wicked grin on her face and she starts walking to the next bar over, pulling Robin with her. 

Eddie thinks again, vaguely, about water. 

But then he’s distracted by Steve’s fingers lacing with his own, soft smile on his face as he pulls Eddie along with him.  

☘︎☘︎☘︎☘︎☘︎

Permanent Tag List (message to be added) : @pearynice @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @scoops-aboy86 @chickensinrainboots @cheesedoctor

@marvel-ous-m

[rainbowcaleb]

FICLET FRIDAY: Welcome Home

Prompt: hearth | Pairing: shadowgast | Rating: G | Word count : 510 | Warnings: none

Caleb loves his students, he does. He squeezes his eyes shut for a brief moment. No, he really does. He tosses a friendly wave behind him as he exits the lecture hall and tries to keep his deep exhale as quiet as can be. He loves this job, he does. Their bright minds, the questions that show they’re really listening, the big smiles when they work it out themselves and the magic alights their fingers. But sometimes, the exhaustion catches up to him. The busywork, the constant grading, the students skipping class with a flimsy excuse, the endless faculty meetings that really could have been a letter left in his office to read on his own time. The petty disputes between lecturers that simply summed up to everyone having their own way of doing magic but were utterly sure that their way is the only possible way that exists. He’s defeated minor gods and yet the bone weariness sunk in after the first few months teaching faster than any adventuring scars did.

He steps outside the heavy hall doors into the brisk air, thankful for its bracing wind against his skin, cooling his thoughts. The air is tinged with that ever-present woodsmoke of autumn. He can imagine the hearthsides, the kettles being boiled, the bread being warmed. Caleb tucks his nose down into his gifted knitted scarf and kicks his pace up from stroll to power-walking, imagining his own fireplace waiting at home. He needs quiet, and perhaps a blanket and a cup of tea, before facing classes again tomorrow.

Caleb reaches his cottage after a short while, having set up his home on the outskirts of the city but not too far to travel into work with non magical means. He brushes his boots off on the doormat, toeing at the corner with practiced nonchalance. It is hard to see under the dried leaves and dusty mud, but tucked under the mat is a freshly picked violet, its bright purple a sun amongst the clouds. He smiles but tucks it inside his scarf, ever paranoid still of distant neighbors watching, but he is glad to have picked up extra sundries earlier that week. He has a companion for dinner that night.

He unlocks his door, the key in his hand not nearly as important as the whispered verbal and hidden somatic, and walks into his home. He hasn’t invested much in furniture, other than a secondhand overstuffed couch he loves more than he’d admit, and more bookshelves than are worth the trouble if he ever moves. And in the center of that couch, with a velvety green blanket draped over, and two cats snuggled in fluffy mounds on top, is the gently napping form of a familiar elf. Quietly as he can, he drops his work bag at the door, re-locks all his enchantments, and crosses to the hearth to stroke the fire. Tonight, he is brewing tea for two.

[onlymingyus]

The King's Gambit: Contracts (Teaser 1)

pairing; joshua hong x female reader

genre; smut, angst, fluff, slow burn (there may be changes to this once the full fic is posted to tumblr upon completion)

warnings; mentions of a contract, BDSM contract, mention of punishment (spanking) -- there will be other warnings listed on the final fic upon completion

w/c; 510 and some change for this teaser

The King's Gambit Collab masterlist & taglist

a/n; this is just a small teaser for The King's Gambit: Contracts -- there is no completion date set at this time, so please be patient with me. I am currently sitting at 31k and have plenty of story left to write. this will be a very long story so there may be other teasers posted here on Tumblr but I know I will be posting other teasers and behind the scene things on Patreon. if you would like more there is a longer teaser already available for my peaches (subscribers).

please consider supporting me read how to do that here

Because of his phone call, Joshua was running late. He still looked fine but he had skipped breakfast after a pretty intense workout, and he was running on spite. Barely glancing at his assistant the man furrows his brows at the way Jeonghan is leaning against her desk. 

“Jeonghan, I don’t have all fucking day.” 

A smirk crosses the lawyer’s face before he offers a wink to the assistant causing her to scoff and roll her eyes going back to her work as Jeonghan follows Joshua into his office closing the door. 

“No need to be so damn grumpy, Shua. I was here on time, you are the one who is late.” 

Sitting down behind his desk, Joshua meets his friend’s eyes only to glare briefly. He wanted to tell him that he had no fucking idea what he was dealing with at the moment but there was no way he was going to tell him. There was no way he could tell him or Seungcheol about the conversation with his father or the Hyong merger right now. He had to figure his shit out. 

“I’m not in the mood, I was hoping you’d be here with some good news. My new contract?” 

Extending his hand, Joshua expects to be offered a signed, sealed, and delivered contract but instead, Jeonghan hands him something he had never seen in all of his years of rotating contracts. Turning the pages with obvious frustration, Joshua scoffs loudly before glancing around the contract to look at Jeonghan incredulously. 

“She can’t be serious?” 

“Oh, that’s fun. That’s what she said too when I first gave her the contract to look over.” 

Joshua wasn’t finding the same amusement that his best friend was. He was looking at all of your changes as if they were slaps to his face. 

“I won’t accept some of these. She’s just trying to see how far she can push me.” 

Sucking on his teeth, Joshua leans to pick up a pen with blue ink leaning over his desk to start making his own changes to yours. 

“She marked through cockiness? That isn’t something she thinks I can punish for? God, what a fucking brat. Fine, Y/N…have it your way.” 

Jeonghan shakes his head, a sigh on his lips as he watches Joshua mutter to himself. The pen in the man’s hand moves over the papers making small but distinct changes before Joshua pushes it back across the desk to his friend. 

Picking up the contract, Jeonghan crosses his leg over his knee reading under his breath before smirking and raising his brow at Joshua. 

“You replaced cockiness with bratty behavior?” 

Joshua only nods, lifting his hand to run his fingers through his hair clearly flustered by the morning. 

“Finish it today. Pull her from whatever she’s doing and see if it fits her high standards. She makes my palm itch.” 

Jeonghan laughs, moving to his feet as he folds the contract back up, slipping it into his bag as he speaks. 

“Well luckily for you, spanking wasn’t one of the punishments that she crossed out.”

© onlymingyus - all rights reserved. Reposting/modifying of any fic, or pieces of original writings posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations not allowed. 

[violettduchess]

This is my 1st time making any type of request... I know you're busy...but if you're still taking Kiss requests, could I possibly ask for one of Jin Grandet from Ikemen Prince? Thank you. *bows*

A/N: a rain-filled day has given me some free time and so I am happy to say I managed to fulfill your request! Tagging @randonauticrap because she requested the same thing 💜

Jin x f! reader

Word Count: 510

Jin has held countless women in his arms. All sizes, all nationalities, women with social standings that span from barmaid to royal maiden and everything in-between. He has curved his strong fingers around bodies that melt into his touch, pliant with desire, lambent with need. His lips have traveled over the soft line between neck and shoulder, tasted mouths painted with expensive lipsticks and mouths colored only by the gentle stain of summer berries, and of course, most exciting to him, delved into the lush valley of various décolletages. He has appreciated every lover he has ever had. Maybe even skirted the dim line between lust and love. But he’s never crossed it.

Until you.

Now he understands the notion that one could have a thousand lovers, but when the right person enters your life, the memories of those ephemeral paramours vanish like mist in the morning sun.  You are that bright sunshine, banishing any thoughts of anyone else to the shadows, never to appear again. You are the only one he dreams of, the only one he wants, the only one who will ever be treated to the feel of his hands on your skin, the taste of his lips on your tongue. And the only one who knows that underneath the easy-going smile, under the rigid armor of his womanizing reputation, there is a heart of gold that beats with a desire not for sex, but for love. For tenderness. For acceptance. For forgiveness.

That is why for all his skill with fingers and tongue, teeth and hips, hugs and kisses, what you love most is when you take inititive and kiss him. The kind of kiss that starts when you catch his handsome face between your hands and lean forward, your mouth loving and gentle. It is this kind of kiss that robs him of his breath, that sends his heart into an unbridled gallop in his chest, the kind you can feel when you lay your hand there. You caress his cheek, smooth under your fingers, and you kiss the corner of his clever mouth, warm affection and satisfaction flooding you when his eyes close, his lips part, and he exhales, tremulous with disbelief. You love him. You love him and he does not know how he has gotten so damn lucky.

And then his mind empties of all thought because you are nuzzling his neck, running a hand over the back of it, pressing yourself closer against him. You hug him to you, his hard planes contrasting your soft curves, content to keep the feeling between you at a soft glow instead of stirring it into a roaring fire. You whisper in his ear how much you love him, how you will always love him, and his arms tighten around you involuntarily. Your fierce eagle. Your valiant protector. Your lover. Your best friend. He would be anything you need him to be if it kept you in his arms, murmuring luminous words of love into his ear that glide over him like warm drops of summer rain.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly

[your-divine-ribs]

Ice Cold Part 13

Words: 3.6k

Warnings: more murder… and some smut! 💙

Ice Cold Masterlist Main Masterlist

It felt like the world had stopped turning. I stood in fearful disbelief, not wanting to accept my fate but unable to see a way out.

Van stood there with a casual stance like he was completely unaffected by my presence. And why would he be? The courageous force that had come over me had started to slip away the moment I heard his voice. Much as I was trying to desperately cling on to a shred of it, it was still slipping now. Pretty soon there would be nothing left.

Van sighed like he was exasperated with me, like he was scolding a naughty child. "Lyla... don't make me have to tell you again." Then his eyes flashed dangerously as he emphasised each word, sharp and precise. "DROP. IT. NOW!"

And just like that my gun slid from my fingers on to the carpet with a thud. I heard a gleeful snigger coming from behind but I ignored it. I couldn't look anywhere else except at Van. He was dressed like the other party goers in an immaculate tuxedo suit, and he cut quite the handsome figure. The thought occurred to me that in another life he probably would have stolen hearts, rather than stopped them from beating.

"Just get it over with then," I said, my voice quiet with a bitter tone.

"What's the rush?" I heard the voice from behind me. "Maybe we can have a little fun first, hey sweetheart?"

I didn't have to look to imagine the lascivious sneer on the piece of shit who stood behind me. I shuddered. Van just lifted his gaze to look at him briefly, then it was back to me, completely impassive.

So this was going to be it? Was he just going to hand me over like an unwanted possession? I couldn't control the surge of dismay that crashed over me, and with it the realisation of the ridiculous notion that I'd thought that maybe there was some kind of connection between the two of us.

He ignored the comments from behind me, sighing again, reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. "How many times I gotta tell you? How many times I gotta tell you not to come after me?"

I stayed quiet, watched fearfully as he pulled out a silencer and began screwing it on to the end of the pistol. He took his time, eyes locked on me whilst he did it. I swallowed, hard, as he brought the gun around to point at me once again.

A grunt of disapproval came from the other man as he chuntered to himself. "Ah man... what a waste..."

I thought I saw a flicker of something cross Van's features, but I couldn't be sure. Tears stung my eyes and I tried to blink them away.

"You know what the drill is... on your knees."

I considered resisting, but what was the point? I quickly sank down on to my knees. At least if Van was going to end my life here and now it would be a small mercy that the creep behind me wouldn't get his filthy murderous hands on me. I heard him now, that repulsive chuckle again. "Who's giving the orders now bitch?"

I kept my eyes fixed firmly on the floor, waiting...

The shot passed clean over my head and although it was muffled by the silencer it still rang in my ears. Shock immediately gave way to confusion as I heard an agonised groan from behind me and I twisted around just in time to see the other man sway and then slump to the floor, a gaping bloody hole where his right eye used to be.

I let out a terrified whimper, my hand going up to my mouth, and I turned again to Van. His expression hadn't changed, not even a ripple on the surface. I opened my mouth to speak, my lips forming wordlessly around a question that never came. Why?

Our eyes locked for what seemed like a long moment but in reality was probably only a few seconds before he wrenched his gaze away, sliding the gun into the waistband of his trousers and striding past me to the lifeless figure on the floor.

"Room 510," he stated, nodding his head to indicate a room across the corridor and then stooping down to grab the man's feet, dragging him roughly. "Open it."

And I did. I followed his orders just like I was politely doing a good deed for the day, not assisting a deadly assassin with hiding a freshly murdered corpse. I could have run away and sounded the alarm. I probably could have even retrieved my gun from the floor and pressed it to Van's head whilst he busied himself dragging his victim across the corridor. But I didn't. I even held the door for him whilst he manoeuvred the body inside the room, leaving a rusty red trail of blood on the patterned carpet.

Van pulled the dead man into the bathroom and then I heard him grunt with exertion as I presumed he was lifting him into the bathtub. I lingered just inside the room, watching the door slowly shut behind me, knowing I should slip through and leave but not being able to do so. I was stunned and frightened but also bound by something invisible. Something that rendered me incapable of being that version of myself I so desperately wanted to be.

Van reappeared in the bathroom doorway, a less pristine version now, dark red spatters stained his white shirt and his hair fell over his eyes. He pulled at his tie, letting it fall open around his neck, loosening the top few buttons of his shirt as he addressed me.

"Do you have any idea what my employers would do to me if they knew what had gone down tonight?"

I pressed my back against the door, suddenly feeling very small without my heels on. Before I could answer, his eyes slipped down to my upper arm where the bullet had grazed me. It stung and a sticky red rivulet of blood had run down my limb and dried there. Van frowned. "You're hurt." He stated.

"I'm fine, it's nothing," I replied, mildly surprised that he'd even commented, but whatever had prompted him to was short-lived. The frown melted away, his mouth set in a hard line as he spoke again, angry now.

"You weren't even supposed to be here tonight. What the fuck changed?"

How the hell did he know that?

I found my voice, clearing my throat before I answered him. "Well... I begged my boss to let me come if you must know."

He lifted an eyebrow quizzically. "And why's that?"

"So I could take you out." 

The words just spilled out and I wasn't sure where my boldness came from. Maybe it was the knowledge that Van had killed one of his own tonight so that I could live.

I expected some kind of vicious retort but instead a sly smile appeared on his lips. "Right... so how's that working out for you then?"

I wanted to retaliate, part of me angered by the mocking insinuation that I wasn't a threat to him, but I quickly checked myself. Just because of his actions so far I couldn't lull myself into a false sense of security that he wouldn't kill me himself... or worse. Maybe he just meant to keep me alive to toy with me. But games didn't last forever. There was always a winner and a loser eventually.

I watched him warily as he eyed me with that taunting amusement, stepping closer. I moved sideways, away from the door and away from him, my back sliding against the wall.

"I don't think I can trust you," he said, moving nearer still, countering my movement. "You always seem to have a weapon sneakily tucked away somewhere..."

"I'm unarmed," I stated, indicating my skin tight dress. "You saw me drop my gun. Where the hell would I hide another weapon?"

"I don't know. You tell me..." Van said, the sharp edges gone from his voice now.

As he trailed off he placed both hands on my shoulders and spun me quickly around, roughly pushing me up against the wall. I let out a gasp, my hands splayed on the wall as he grasped my hips with strong fingers and pressed himself into me. I tried to breathe deeply and ignore the spark that immediately lit deep down in my core as his head dipped down so he could whisper in my ear. "Like I said I don't trust you... I'm gonna have to check."

Every nerve in my body bristled as he moved his hands over me, all the time his head bent over so close I could feel the heat of his breath on my neck. He started at the tops of my shoulders and travelled down my spine, then up again to my collar bones and down and over my breasts. My nipples instantly stiffened as his hands slid over the silk material, making my breath hitch.

"Hmm... what about down here?" He whispered into my neck, his fingers continuing their journey south.

Suddenly and without warning he grabbed the material on either side of the slit in my dress and pulled it apart in one swift motion, tearing it all the way up the centre, exposing me right down to my underwear.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I gasped.

He didn't answer, just let out a small, low laugh. I screwed my eyes shut, trying to clear my mind, trying desperately not to show the effect his touch had on me but it was no use. My body betrayed me. My legs trembled as his fingers moved down the outside of my thighs then crept slowly inwards. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his fingertips just lightly grazing the sensitive flesh of my inner thighs.

"You know, one of these days you're gonna have to stop lying to yourself about what you want."

He was so close I could feel his lips brush my neck and I didn't trust myself to reply, knowing he'd be able to hear the arousal in my voice if I did. My breathing was already coming shallow and fast as his fingertips edged ever closer to my heat, just catching the lace of my underwear. I wanted to move, to press my thighs together, the need to feel something so badly it took me all my restraint not to press myself into his hands.

Pull yourself together Lyla!

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," I managed, voice shaky and unsteady.

Van withdrew his hands and I felt the pressure of his body behind me disappear as he stepped back. I should have been relieved but I immediately yearned for the feeling of his touch again. I took a deep breath, trying to compose myself, grasping at the edges of my torn dress and pulling it across my body before I turned around.

There was a solitary chair backed up against the wall and I watched as Van took a seat, a relaxed pose, his legs splayed, his hands resting loosely in his lap. In contrast to his laidback posture his eyes were hard and unforgiving as he regarded me from across the room. Unease trickled like ice water through my veins.

"How long you gonna keep this up? You think just because you catch a bunch of bad guys it's gonna make up for the fact that deep down inside you're just a bad girl crying out for someone to teach you a lesson?"

Fuck... his words simmered in me as I maintained his challenging stare, wondering how to react. Was it a threat or something else? There wasn't a hint of any emotion evident to help me decide, just the knowledge that if he'd wanted me dead I wouldn't be standing here now, living and breathing.

"What sort of lesson?" I found myself saying, my curious desire overtaking the rational part of my mind that berated me for playing along with his game.

"Come here and I'll show you."

As he spoke he pulled the pistol free and reached over to lay it down on the table top nearby. My eyes flitted between it and him but I didn't move.

"Don't make me come over there Lyla."

The edge of threat in his voice spurred me into action and I slowly moved forwards, still clinging on to the fabric of my ruined dress, taking timid steps forward until I was within his reach. He shot a hand out and grabbed me roughly by the wrist, pulling me even closer and I stumbled forward, knocking into his leg.

"Sit right here," he ordered, pulling me down to his level so I was straddling his right thigh, a leg on either side.

My senses were in overdrive being this close to him, our bodies connected, his captivating gaze burning into me. My heart thudded as I tried to anticipate his next move and I watched as he reached up and pulled the tie from where it hung loosely around his neck, running it through his fingers.

"I know exactly what you need. Don't forget I've seen you. I know the kinda stuff you dream about."

His words stoked the fire already burning in me and I immediately felt resistance. I needed to try and hold on to that minuscule scrap that was left of the moral and righteous part of myself that seemed to be spiralling further and further away with each encounter.

"You don't know anything about me," I countered. "How could you?"

"Oh you'd be surprised," he answered, darting his hands forward to grab both of my wrists in a vice-like grip, forcing me to release my dress which now gaped wide open.

I could do nothing as he used the tie to bind my hands, pulling the material tight enough to make me wince. Then he raised up my bound wrists, slipping them over his head so they came to rest around his neck. I was close, much too close. And there was nothing I could do about it.

"There's nowhere to hide now," he said as if reading my thoughts.

My head was a fog as I tried to think straight and focus on something that wasn't him, but it was impossible. He filled every one of my senses. The musky scent of his cologne, the sounds of his deep measured breathing, his touch as I felt his hands slide on to my hips, the heat of his leg between my thighs. My heart raced so wildly I felt light-headed, intoxicated by him.

His fingers curled firmer around my hips and he suddenly pressed my body down, shifting his leg as he did, creating an unexpected friction that made me suck in a breath.

"All those guys you fuck, letting them use you like the dirty girl you are... not one of them satisfies you do they? Tell me... it's me you think of, isn't it?"

His questions caught me off guard. It was like he was looking into my darkest fantasies. And how could I answer truthfully? If I admitted my true feelings then I wouldn't be able to lie to myself anymore. And then what?

"That's not true!" I protested, but my voice came out breathy, my whole body pulsing with desire and arousal.

"Don't fucking lie to me," he warned. "You've dreamt of me fucking you haven't you? Pinning you up against the wall... my hands around your throat..."

His eyes darkened and his fingers dug into my hips, pushing my body down again as he clenched the muscles in his thigh, sending a shudder through my core which radiated out through my entire body. I was teetering on the edge of control, threatening to fall at any moment, turned on beyond belief.

A small smile flickered on his lips, knowledge and satisfaction of what this was doing to me. "Just admit it... it's that simple..."

I tried desperately not to react to the feel of his warm thigh solid between my legs, how the taut muscle felt rubbing against my sweet spot through the sheer lace of my underwear. He pushed and pulled at my hips, relentlessly again and again. A desperate whimper escaped me even though I tried to hold it back, my cheeks burning with shame.

His eyes simmered with a hunger that seemed to scorch my very soul. "Tell me what you want. I wanna hear you beg for it..."

And just like that something snapped and unravelled inside me. The words tumbled out of me, breathless and needy. "I want you... please... I fucking need you."

His eyes pooled with dark desire. "Good girl... but I don't think you're ready just yet. You're gonna have to work for it. Show me what you want."

He clutched my hips even harder but my body bucked of its own accord, grinding against him, the resulting friction on my sensitive clit so delicious that I closed my eyes and threw my head back. I felt Van's lips on my neck, kissing and sucking hard at my skin, his teeth grazing my flesh.

The sensation made me drive my hips even harder, and once I started I couldn't stop. I could feel the dampness pooling at the apex of my thighs and soaking my panties through, igniting my desire even more as I rolled my hips hard against him. Every fibre of my being was desperate and hungry and yearning. And all for him.

His name fell from my lips repeatedly like some kind of mantra as waves of pressure started to build in my core.

"Look at me!" He commanded. "Don't take your eyes off me."

One of his hands found its way to my hair as he roughly grabbed a fistful and leant in so he was just inches away.

My eyes flicked open to be met by his unrelenting gaze and I was caught there as my climax started to wash over me like a tidal wave, so powerful that I cried out, my whole body convulsing.

I was still shuddering with aftershocks as Van lunged forward, closing the small gap between us, kissing me fiercely and stealing my breath. I responded with the same passion, wild thoughts raging through my head like a hurricane.

He grasped my thighs, pulling my legs up around him so that I was fully straddling his lap, his kisses feverish as his lips left mine and made their way to my neck once more. I pressed myself into him with everything I had, feeling the unmistakeable stiffness of his arousal, coaxing a groan from him.

"Christ... what the fuck are you doing to me?"

I heard him growl into my neck, then suddenly he wrenched his mouth away, rising to his feet and lifting me easily in one swift motion.

He crossed quickly over to the bed, my legs still latched around his hips, my heart racing with anticipation as he bent forward to lay me down, but he didn't press himself into me like I was expecting. He slid my bound wrists from over his neck, hurriedly stepping back, the heat rapidly draining from his eyes as his expression began to harden.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," he muttered, the same conflicted look of anguish staining his features that I'd seen that night in my kitchen.

"But Van..." I began, my words cutting off abruptly as I watched him delve a hand inside his jacket, swiftly withdrawing a sharp flick-blade which caught the moonlight flooding in through the window as he held it up and started advancing on me.

I frantically scrambled backwards on the bed, whimpers of fear clawing their way up my throat. How could our impassioned embrace turn so quickly into this? I held my hands up in front of me in a feeble attempt to push him away, knowing full well that restrained as I was I would just have to accept my fate. "Please... please don't..."

He gripped one of my wrists and I screwed my eyes shut tight, waiting to feel the white hot pain of the blade, but all I felt was the tie loosening around my wrists as he cut it away.

"I think it's quite obvious by now that I don't want you harmed isn't it?"

His voice was the softest I'd ever heard it and my eyes flicked open to see him leaning over me on the bed. He allowed me a small smile but it didn't reach his eyes, there was sadness there, a resigned kind of look. Like he'd accepted the destiny his treacherous life afforded him.

I knew then what was coming. He'd have to slip away, he'd already lingered far too long and with each passing second the chances of him escaping dwindled. My heart twisted with an unexpected ache.

"What now? I don't... I don't know what to do... how to feel. Where do we go from here? It's... it's crazy... it's fucked up!" My voice sounded desperate. A sob burst from me suddenly and I swallowed it down, looking up at Van.

He'd already started backing away, that regret still lingering in his eyes. "Goodbye Lyla... and please... please don't come after me again. I don't know how much longer I can keep you safe."

And then he was gone, slipping through the door like a shadow, the only trace of him left the taste of him still on my lips.

[saltysideblog]

Flex Appeal

Donny Donowitz x OC Blurb

Inglourious Basterds (2009)

Summary: Subtle is not a word one would use to describe Sergeant Donny Donowitz.

Warnings: Nope!

Words: 510

It was a cold November morning when Evelyne Grenier first stepped off the truck with Aldo and met Sergeant Donny Donowitz. 

According to him, however, the first time they met was a muggy July evening, at an Allied camp. 

"You know... the medical tent in Villebout? You patched me up?" 

She was busy unpacking her supplies, setting up shop in the adandoned mill they had claimed for the time being. He was being insistent. She paused, carefully rolling up some gauze that had come undone, 

"There were lots of soldiers in Villebout, Americans, Canadians, British..." 

He leaned in and whispered,  

"Yeah but you and I, we... you know... behind the tents?" 

Ever the gentleman, Donny didn't say it out loud, opting instead to make his index fingers kiss. Evie looked amused at first at his childish display, when realization struck her, 

"OH!" 

Her outburst drew the stares of Wicki and Utivich, who had been quietly playing chess in the corner, as well as Aldo, startling in the chair he fell asleep in. She smiled sheepishly,  

"I thought I lost this!", she waved a small bottle of pills, "But I found it..." 

She cleared her throat and Donowitz looked smug, 

"Now you remember." 

She lowered her voice to match his tone, "I didn't recognize you without the bandages." 

"M'all better now and handsome as ever." 

She chuckled, "Yeah, hold on, lemme have a look at you." 

She carefully grabbed his chin with her thumb and index finger and he obediently tilted his head from side to side as she examined him. 

It was only then that Donny noticed how far across the table he was, how close her face was to his... when she released him, he stumbled forwards, bracing himself with his hands. 

"Man, I'm good. Not a scratch.", she smiled proudly. Her attention returned to counting inventory. 

He stood straighter, shrugging off his jacket, "You stitched up my arm too, see here?" 

He flexed and she squinted. 

"I don't see it." 

He rounded the table, still flexing, pointing at a spot on his bicep, 

"You sure? Here, feel." 

Her fingers ran over his skin and she shook her head, "No..." 

He quickly raised his other arm, "Maybe it was this one." 

Evie crossed her arms, "You'll strain something flexing so hard." 

He blushed, "Oh, I wasn't- I mean, it’s just, look..." 

She laughed and pushed past him to gather up his jacket, "It's cold out, sarge." 

"Wait, look at both and compare, it's there I swear..." 

From his spot in the rickety chair, hat over his eyes, Aldo spoke up, 

"Fer the love ah God, Donowitz, wouldya give it a rest an' cover up? S'freezing." 

Wicki and Utivich quickly stifled their laughs when the Sergeant glared in their direction. 

She threw his jacket over his shoulders, fixing his collar and patting his cheek with a mischievous smile. 

It was a muggy July evening when Sergeant Donny Donowitz first met Evelyne Grenier.

According to him, however, it was a cold November morning when he first fell in love with her. 

[eddysocs]

Touch Of Kindness — Shelagh Turner x OC

Summary: A loose stone sets Lenore off balance, and when she suffers a minor injury, who's there to help but Sister Bernadette.

Word Count: 510

Warnings: Minor injury, first aid

Lenore pedaled along the familiar streets of Poplar, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun on her face. Having concluded her rounds, she was headed back home. The route to Nonnatus House was one she had come to know well in these past few weeks, but today her mind was distracted by thoughts of Sister Bernadette. They had only interacted a few times, but each encounter left Lenore feeling something she couldn’t quite name.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the loose gravel on the road until it was too late. Her bike skidded, and she lost control, crashing to the ground. Pain shot through her knee as she scraped it against the rough cobblestones.

“Lenore,” a familiar voice called out. Lenore looked up to see the very object of her distraction, Sister Bernadette, hurrying towards her, a look of concern on her face. With her, she carried a small first aid kit, always prepared for emergencies when they arose.

“Are you alright,” Sister Bernadette asked, kneeling beside Lenore, medical bag in hand.

“I think so,” Lenore replied, wincing as she got a look of her torn stocking and skinned knee. “Just a scraped knee.”

Sister Bernadette opened the first aid kit and took out a cloth, some alcohol and a bandage. “Let’s take a look,” she said gently, her touch careful as she examined the wound.

Lenore couldn’t help but tremble at Sister Bernadette’s touch. It was both soothing and electrifying, sending a shiver down her spine. The closeness of the nun, her calm demeanor, and the faint scent of lavender and freshly laundered linen all made Lenore’s heart race.

“This might sting a little,” Sister Bernadette warned before applying the alcohol soaked cloth to the wound. Lenore hissed at the brief pain but found it easier to bear under Sister Bernadette’s comforting presence.

As she carefully applied the bandage, Sister Bernadette’s fingers brushed against the skin at the back of Lenore’s knee, making her shiver once more. Their eyes met for a moment, and Lenore saw something in the nun’s eyes that mirrored her own muddled feelings, a hint of something deeper perhaps. Maybe she was just reading too much into it.

“There, all done,” Sister Bernadette said, her voice soft, though still it jarred Lenore out of her reverie. “You should rest for a bit before trying to ride again.”

“Thank you,” Lenore replied, a slight tremble in her voice. “I'm off duty for the rest of the evening, so I’ll be sure and rest it.”

Sister Bernadette smiled, a gentle warmth lighting up her eyes and causing Lenore's mouth to go dry. “Take care of yourself, Nurse Cromwell. I’ll stop by and check it over when I get back.”

As Lenore watched Sister Bernadette take her own bicycle and head off down the streets of Poplar, she couldn’t help but feel a kind of growing connection between them. This brief encounter, filled with tender care and confusing and unspoken feelings, left her with a sense of anticipation for the next time their paths would cross.

For @sicktember

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @kmc1989, @curious-kittens-ocs, @fanficanatic-tw, @gcthvile, @kenjioharashotspot

Lenore Cromwell: @dancingwith-sunflowers, @breadisrawtoast, @rosaluna03, @greatygreatgreat, @anamarialujan, @aimee-jessica2, @shelaghturnovaturner, @freshmoneyalmondathlete

[https-florals]

eddie blurb - hate

a/n: was going to write this whole little thing about cheerleader!henderson! reader having a thing on eddie and insisting on dropping dustin off to see him and i know i wanted her to act like she hated him and then like get in a fight w jason and stick up for him but i just lost all motivation lol so here’s a little snippet from it i really liked!!!

word count: 510

the coolness in the air is the polar opposite of the burning heat in your cheeks as eddie sits so closely to you. you cross your ankles and take a swig of your beer in an attempt to act relaxed.

he bumps your elbow. “how ya feeling?”

“fine,” you answer. in all honestly, you feel like your head is about to explode. you could kill carver and all of his little jock friends.

eddie is looking at you with the softest expression, and it’s such a contrast with his hard exterior. there’s a little light in his eyes that glint right along with the rings on his hands. “hey. you don’t have to bullshit me.” his hand comes to rest so lightly on your shoulder.

the mere touch breaks your facade. “god, eddie, i just- they just treat you like shit, all the time, and it pisses me off. you haven’t done anything to them, and they’re just assholes to you.”

his lips curl into something like a smile, but there’s something sad in his eyes. “i’m used to it.”

a hot lump forms in your throat. you feel horrifically convicted about how you yourself had made eddie the butt of your jokes. “you shouldn’t be,” you mutter, pulling your knees to your chest.

his hand is on the small of your back now, rubbing little circles into your tensed muscle. “hey, i’m fine. besides, i think i can deal with them if i’ve got someone like you helping keep them in line.”

the corners of your mouth turn up ever so slightly. “yeah?”

“hell yeah! i thought carver was gonna piss himself. you were acting like a bat outta hell. even scared me a little.”

your cheeks heat as you laugh. “good. i’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

he laughs with you, and his hand comes to rest by yours. the back of your knuckles shift ever so slightly against eddie’s.

“i’m sorry for being such a bitch,” you say after a beat.

he’s caught a little off guard, schooling his wide gaze into a neutral expression. “i like you bitchy. it keeps me on my toes.”

“i’m serious, eddie.” you think you hear his breath hitch a little at your serious tone. “i’m really sorry. and i know that doesn’t make it go away, but i needed to apologize.”

he says your name, quiet and almost pleading. eddie’s fingers clasp around yours.

“i know. i forgive you. forgave you a long time ago.”

“shouldn’t have,” you mumble.

“wanted to.”

the comfort his gravelly voice is bringing to you is otherworldly, and you’re shocked at how safe you feel, sitting on this curb with the eddie munson, the school freak. you lean into him, and it feels like a puzzle piece clicking into place.

his coarse, curly hair is thick against your cheek, and he’s watching you, totally awed. “so, you still hate me?”

your smile grows. “yep,” you answer softly.

laughing, his arm tightens around you. “good. i wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you didn’t.”

[randomperson99sworld]

Ruffled Feathers 🪶

~ Part 29 ~

Summary: Julia Morgan, Bobby's niece, has always been a royal thorn in Dean Winchesters ass since the day they met 1 year ago at Bobby's memorial. She wants to be a hunter, he thinks she's a dumb kid playing dress up. Will she always be seen as an unwanted load in Dean's eyes or will he see something more?

Pairing: Dean x OC

Warnings: Age gap, language, sexual themes (used lightly), physical abuse (Not by Dean).

Word Count: 510

A/N: Oh boy, Demon Dean has arrived! Are you guys excited? 😆 Stated as always, this story is cross posted on Wattpad. Happy reading! ♥️

Julia was alone in the bunker, the silence heavy and oppressive. She paced the length of the library, her thoughts a jumbled mess of grief and confusion. The sudden shift in their world had left her reeling. Sam had gone to summon Crowley, desperate to find a way out of the mess left by Dean's death and resurrection.

Unbeknownst to Julia, Crowley had already arrived at the bunker and slipped into Dean's room. The King of Hell approached Dean's lifeless body with a mix of reverence and curiosity. He stood over Dean, his eyes reflecting a dark, almost compassionate glint.

"I didn't fully understand the extent of the Mark of Cain," Crowley began, speaking softly to the still form. "Cain himself tried to rid himself of the Mark. He sought death, a release from the torment, but it wasn't to be. The Mark wouldn't allow it. Death denied him. And, well, I suspect it's the same for you now."

Crowley took the First Blade and placed it gently into Dean's cold, lifeless hand. The blade seemed to pulse with a dark energy, as if responding to the presence of its master. Crowley's voice was low, almost intimate as he addressed the body before him.

"Come on, Dean," he whispered, "wake up."

The room was filled with a crackling energy as Dean's fingers twitched around the Blade. Slowly, he stirred, his eyes opening to reveal jet black eyes. The transformation was complete; Dean was no longer the man he once was but a demon reborn with the power of the Mark and the Blade.

Dean's eyes scanned the room, taking in his surroundings with a new, unsettling intensity. He stood up, his movements smooth and predatory. He glanced around, his gaze finally settling on a piece of paper and a pen left on a nearby desk.

With a deliberate calm, Dean penned a note:

Sam and Julia,

I'm not the man I was. Don't come looking for me. This is who I am now, and you don't want to be involved in whatever's coming next.

—Dean

[jerpears]

Looking at the Gibson season 68 hall of fame ballot

Dear fellow baseball enthusiasts, it's that exhilarating time of the year again when the spotlight shines on the hallowed halls of the Hall of Fame. The '68 Hall of Fame ballot has just been unveiled, and it's teeming with legendary names and awe-inspiring statistics.

Before we delve into the contenders, let's bask in the glory of some incredible Hall of Fame trivia that makes this institution a true shrine to the sport. Did you know that among the players already enshrined, an impressive 21 of them clinched the Rookie of the Year title during their illustrious careers? It's a testament to the immediate impact these legends had on the diamond.

Seven of the current Hall of Famers inducted earned three or more Gold Gloves, with two of these defensive wizards being pitchers. The importance of defensive excellence cannot be overstated in baseball, and these players embodied it. Speaking of pitchers, let's highlight the remarkable statistics of Hall of Fame relievers: an average of 9.3 All-Star appearances, 3.03 ERA, 81 Wins, 66.6 Losses, 1075.10 games pitched, 1349 innings pitched, 1158.7 strikeouts, and 438.4 saves. These relievers were the heroes who secured victories in nail-biting moments.

Starting pitchers in the Hall of Fame are equally awe-inspiring. The average Hall of Famer among them boasts 6.81 All-Star appearances, 2.22 Cy Young Awards, a 3.39 ERA, 248.65 Wins, 147.35 Losses, 3662.21 innings pitched, and an astonishing 3005.68 strikeouts. These hurlers defined the art of pitching in the major leagues.

And let's not forget the position players, who have carved their own remarkable legacy. The average Hall of Famer among them gathered 6.58 All-Star appearances, 1.3 MVP Awards, 4.73 Silver Slugger Awards, 2557 hits, 533.56 home runs, 1527.15 runs, 1598.64 RBIs, 224.18 stolen bases, and a .294 batting average. These players were the heartbeat of their teams, contributing with both the bat and the glove.

Now, let's shift our focus to the current frontrunners for the '68 Hall of Fame class. These players are still awaiting their moment of enshrinement, but their careers have already left a lasting impact:

Matty Robinson (LF) - Robinson's impressive career spanned 8166 at-bats, where he scored 1559 runs, accumulated 2248 hits, smashed 600 home runs, and drove in 1649 runs. His remarkable blend of power and speed also saw him steal 513 bases.

Eddie Pellow (1B) - Pellow's résumé is nothing short of spectacular: 9782 at-bats, 1604 runs, 2874 hits, 408 home runs, and 1553 RBIs. He wasn't just a slugger; he swiped 416 bases during his career, showcasing his all-around prowess.

Mo Haynes (RF) - Haynes' career stats are equally impressive, with 9186 at-bats, 1549 runs, 2472 hits, 480 home runs, and 1553 RBIs. Much like Robinson, he was a constant threat on the basepaths, tallying an astonishing 510 stolen bases.

Mark Bong (Pitcher) - Bong was a dominant force on the mound, with 456 games pitched, 190 wins, 94 losses, and 11 saves. His 1976 strikeouts highlight his ability to miss bats, making him a feared opponent.

Jeremi McPherson (Pitcher) - McPherson's remarkable career saw him appear in 943 games, secure 66 wins, 54 losses, and an impressive 395 saves. His 869 strikeouts showcased his knack for closing out games with style.

As we eagerly await the announcement of the '68 Hall of Fame class, there's a palpable sense of hope and optimism that these deserving players will finally get their well-earned recognition. Baseball has a way of celebrating its heroes, and it's heartening to think that these individuals might soon join the ranks of the immortals who have shaped our beloved sport. Let's keep our fingers crossed for a memorable induction season!

[mac-lilly]

This time next week, we're going to be hooping it up at the convention!!! 🥳🥳🥳

Ah okay, I mean we don't know if it's correct or not because Wiki can be edited but at the same time, it makes sense! Though why Kenny wouldn't just cast a tenor in the first place is beyond me lol

Yeah, I don't know how I'm going to get them to shrink but at least there are some 'tiny' people--I kinda expected the boys to be tall since 5'10" is the average height for guys. Though I did not know Dan's an inch taller than Cheyenne (he's 6'3")! I thought Hades was taller though it might have been the hair 😅

Not to mention people can go through the after-effects for years to come! Oh well, fingers crossed people are just smart about it. I'll mask on the plane to be safe!

I'm using packing cubes to save on space in my suitcase so there's that benefit :D Plus I'll have room for merch! Though my bank account's yelling at me too though Christmas is coming and my request usually is just $$$. My parents say I can't just get money for Christmas to which I say why not? Makes me easy to shop for and I can buy what I want.

Oh! They're at 510 now! Hopefully they make it to 600 though I'm sure Kenny'll understand with how the global inflation is making life hard for everyone, people gotta keep their money where they can.

Whoo!

And this time next week we'll be getting ready for the party. 🥳🥳🥳

Yeah, Wikipedia is a questionable source. But to me, it makes sense. I read somewhere that they wanted Zac because he had better chemistry with Vanessa. (I can't say I saw much chemistry in the movie, but ok …)

Yeah, that's gonna be a problem. Especially since we already ruled out the "kick them in the shin"-method. Oh, it was definitely the hair. 🤣🤣 The special effects in Descendants 3 were a bit weird (for whatever reason, they looked so "cheap"), but Hades' hair was great.

People being smart? Wouldn't bet on it. 😑

Yeah, I'm also banking on Christmas (and my birthday) to give my bank account a break. But that sucks. My family has long agreed that only give money for birthdays/Christmas/Eastern. Even when you get money for your birthday, you can still spend it on sth you really want, and you will always associate your family with it cause they helped you purchase it. (That's what I do. Some money I spent on the con was gifted to me for my birthday. So my family contributed so that I can have an amazing time in Paris.)

Yeah, plus many Fantoms donated to The Orpheum Tour campaign, and there are some go-fund-mes for people to win autographs from the JATP cast.

[ellelans]

So since this week end has been heavy in the 911 front, I want to talk all about good things. Do you think b/t break up in 5x09 or 5x10? I think 5x10 means Christmas and Christmas means almost new year and I think there would be no better way to start the new year without a big redhead dead weight right? Also it would be stupid for the writers to keep trying to make us like her cause it’s not happening. What’s your opinion?Ty

Heavy is one way to put it,but you're right let's focus on good things! I mean I already said all I had to say anyways so I am much happier to focus on fictional characters and their lives.As for BT breakup-I always said that I do not see them breaking up before 5x10.Writers want to keep up the pretense of them possibly working out as couple for as long as possible for drama and to keep us guessing and discussing.And I think by now you have to be deeply in denial if you think BT have a chance of staying together as that relationship already crumbled before our eyes.So I do hope they will let us go on hiatus with Buck newly single and maybe even spending Christmas with his Diaz boys. Because honestly there are two things I desperately need to happen in 5x10-Maddie coming back and her and Chim in the episode bc 911 dynamics as a show are off without them.And let's be honest until they come back writers will keep trying to fill their screen time with useless storylines and unnecessary reporters. And what I want the most is Buck coming home-to Eddie's house. Give me just this one moment,that's all I need.Also hopefully a new beginning for New Year too for all of them. Because what they did so far was pretty much to wreck the found family trope we got so used to and I need that back as well. But I def have hope that it's exactly what writers are doing-they need to break something in order to rebuild the firefam as even a stronger unit.

[alfredosauce50]

Island Escapade [Ex-con 2p! America x reader x Denmark] 10

Island Escapade - 10 - Swimming pools Content warning: A little soft-core. Dubious consent. Mature audiences only. Wordcount: 2, 510 The reader is referred to as she/her.

A/N: I was inspired by Kendrick Lamar’s “Swimming pools”

Allen could drink like it was his job. But throughout the whole of his career, he’d never felt this nauseous. The skidding of the boat, the churn in his stomach, watching you and Mathias—it was all too much. Thanks to the dim light on board, he could see everything as clear as day during the night. You were half-awake on the Dane’s lap, fighting to stay in control of your body with seven shots’ worth of alcohol in your system. Poor thing.

Mathias was talking about taking you back to his house, even. Something about tablets. Medicine. If anything, going to his place was the last thing you wanted. Allen knew that much.

And yet, he couldn’t find the motivation to do anything about it. Not while his head was filled with hot water, leaving his mind in a haze. Alcohol was his weakness, and he never dropped the habit of making bad decisions under the influence.

Just as he thought, he was still the same.

When the boat finally docked at the wharf, he never lifted a finger when Mathias carried you off. He wasn’t walking in the direction of your house either. And yet, all Allen did was stand on the beach, mulling over the heat that overwhelmed his body. A searing headache was pounding in his skull, but it didn’t quite hurt like the ache in his chest.

He was giving up again. After trying so hard to get his shit together, he was giving up again.

It wasn’t the first time, so why was he crying?

He’d seen the look in your eyes. The way you stared at him like he was the best thing in the world. It was hard to believe, but deep down, he knew Mathias wasn’t the only one. The only difference was that you trusted him. You trusted Allen. You wanted to be with him. But he was letting you go, letting you down all over again, letting Mathias become the one thing he wanted to be. Yours.

I think that I'm feelin' the vibe, I see the love in her eyes I see the feelin', the freedom is granted As soon as the damage of vodka arrive

After giving you some water, bread, and crackers, you eventually felt well enough to move on your own. A shower was in order after a night out in the club, but he wasn't entertaining the idea of any drunken accidents. So while you adjusted the temperature, he joined you in the cubicle. "You should've brought me with you if you were gonna drink," Mathias began, coiling two arms around your stomach.

"He doesn't know how much you can handle."

Pressing flush against you only made your heart pound like a drum. You could feel everything, from his wide chest and toned stomach to the space between his legs. This wasn't happening. "... I know my own limits, Mat. So maybe I wanted to get hammered," You murmured, tugging at his arms for him to let go. "It's fine. Allen's fine. He was looking after me before you came."

He released you, albeit reluctantly. "You're upset." His wet hair was slicked back, and steady streams of water were trailing down his face as he watched your frustrated expression. "Why?"

"Why?" You turned to him, in awe at how dense he was. It was becoming hard to believe it was just cluelessness. Entitlement sounded more like it. "Because I'm in the shower with you, that's why!" Mathias's eyes widened as you rose your voice. You shot an arm out to gesture at his crotch, but you really weren't much of an exception.

"I can see your dick, Mat. Don't you see anything wrong with this picture?"

He stared down at himself. When he glanced back up, it became clear to you he didn't—his stare on you was hard and unwilling. "... I'm just... I'm just trying to look after you. Can't I do that?" He responded, earning a huff from you. His deep frown spoke of untold regret, and you were sick of seeing it.

"You keep saying that, but you're pushing it. You could've stayed outside." Turning around to get some body wash into your hand, you lathered it all over your body. "Why are you so weird? Why am I so weird? Why am I even—" When you spun back around, your cheeks were flushed with a deep red. Whether it was from the alcohol or something else, Mathias didn't know.

"—why am I letting you do this?"

Deep creases formed between his brows. He knew the exact answer to that question, but he was too afraid to say it. "... I don't know."

"Yes, you do. You know everything. You just pretend that you don't." Digging a finger into his chest, you watched distress run across his face. If you were sober, you wouldn't even be saying these things. But the truth was finally stepping into the light, raw and unfiltered in the form of a drunken ramble. And you were onto him. "You knew what you were doing. Living with me, sleeping with me, it was all part of your little game to get me back. Well, guess what?"

Mathias's chest was rising and falling intensely at this point. While he breathed heavily, his heart was racing, threatening to burst out of his ribs. He could already predict what you were about to say, and yet, he was insanely nervous to hear it. "... What?"

"It’s working." Blood flushed his face until he was even redder than you—excitement, euphoria, love-sickness, it was all there. His eyes lit up with the most happiness you’ve seen him with, which spoke volumes when he was already a cheerful person. Was this it? Were you finally accepting him again? Not yet. "But if you think you won me over, you’ve jumped the gun. I’m not staying here. I need to get home."

You turned your back on him to keep washing. A deep pout scrunched up his face while he was left standing in a cloud of steam, heating up faster than the water from the showerhead. It’s working, you’d said. Lingering on the words made him burn up with lust so potent, he was left reeling. This was the part where he’d convince you to give in. Like every time you both got into a disagreement, he’d kiss you drunk and take you to bed to make up.

It was the oldest trick in the book, and it worked every time. No wonder he was getting hard. His body sensed what was happening. His mind just picked up on it a little later. And he’d act on it once you were both done with the shower.

"I'll walk you back," Mathias murmured by the doorway. He watched you gather the last of your things in the living room. He'd spent so long at your place, he couldn't bear the sight of you walking out on him. Not again. It became apparent that sleeping alone in his own house wasn't an option. "But can I ask for one last thing?"

There was a subtle droop to his eyes. His hands were by his side, clenched in fists, and his frown was growing deeper at every second you failed to say anything—your breath hitched as you forced the word out. "... Yeah?" One last things never ended well with someone like Mathias. You knew that better than anyone. But the thought never occurred to your intoxicated self.

You just wanted him to stop looking at you like this.

"Can I kiss you?" He took your wrist and held it gently. "Just once."

It wasn't desire he sparked. Rather, it was a harrowing kind of bittersweetness that made your chest tighten up. And so, a deafening silence followed, but only because it was so loud. He had you again, and you weren't pushing him away. Instead, you did something free from your better judgment, which was long burned away by alcohol.

You reached up to his face, giving him the green light. So he leaned down and pressed his mouth to yours. The force was enough to move your head back, so when he pulled away, your lips seemed to follow his. Led on by nothing but an ache that never went away, one kiss turned into two, then three, then a heated lip-lock you couldn't remove yourself from. And Mathias knew.

It was a sin in itself to keep going, but the thought merely got his blood pumping. Without parting, he picked you up and carried you to the bedroom. There on his bed, he pulled you onto his lap. Then, he kissed you until you'd have the taste of his mouth ingrained in your brain. You were breathless the whole time. And yet, the heavy panting never broke the thick ropes of saliva draping between your tongues.

He never let you get the air you desperately needed, let alone the chance to think. Mathias wanted you to lose yourself. He wanted you to feel the same hot yearning that had him in a chokehold.

He wanted you to make the same mistakes as you did in the past.

When you wrapped your arms around his strong neck, it became clear he was getting what he wanted. History was about to be repeated, and it would start with the growing tent in his boxers. If you didn't snap out of it soon, he'd have you naked in his bed and under him before you knew it. And to make up for all the time lost, a year's worth of it, a few hours of love-making wouldn't suffice.

"Just stay the night, eskler," Mathias whispered in your ear. "I miss you."

Having sex with him all night sounded more like it.

Breaking up with him would be history, and you'd be back to square one. Back to letting him do what he wanted, so long as he could put his hands on you. The man was a sex fiend. A bigger one than what Allen could ever be. And you were so foolish to not see it sooner.

Back in your house, Allen was raiding the fridge for anything to offset against the wooziness. He hated tearing through carbs so carelessly like this, but at least he wouldn't feel like complete shit. After scoffing down a packet of biscuits, he sauntered to his room and tried to take his mind off things. He never thought he'd willingly open Animal Crossing on your switch, but the cutesiness of it all made it worth a shot.

However, the longer he kept playing, the worse he felt.

Some island living he was going through. If only reality made it a permanent escape like the game did. In a month's time, he'd be out of here. The R and R he indulged in was about to end on a depressing note, and he'd be back to being a bum. What about you? Probably seeing Mathias again. He practically gagged at the thought. The sick churning in his stomach returned like an old friend, and it never stopped as he lingered on the earlier events that night.

But when he remembered what you told him, he had to hold himself back from vomiting on the spot.

Mathias loves kids, you'd said. And you know how selfish he can get.

That's why I had to break things off.

Allen paled with terror. What had he done? But the real concern wasn't that—it was what he failed to do.

He turned off the switch and scrambled outside. With nothing but a torch in hand, he ventured out into the dark, searching for a house he'd never been to. He didn't know what it looked like, but that never slowed him down. In fact, he ran even faster, tearing through the island like a madman to get to you. This was his last chance at redemption, his last chance at being there for you when you needed it. All the self-doubt had been staved off by this bout of desperation.

He could sulk later. For now, he needed to get to you.

Half an hour went by in fearful anticipation. He went house by house until he arrived at his destination. Without bothering to knock, he broke into one of the windows with his expert lock-picking skills. Allen didn't have time to worry about morals. Not that he stopped to second-guess anything. Not with you in mind. He just hoped he wasn't too late.

Rapid footsteps thudded down the hall, slowing Mathias' movements to a stop. He had his fingers looped around the side of your underwear, and he would've pulled it down if it weren't for what he heard. Before he could register the intruder as the resident ex-con, his damnation and your salvation, they slammed the door open. In stormed Allen, looking like Hell.

When he saw Mathias hovering over you, half-dressed and dazed beyond compare, something inside him snapped. Marching over to rip the man off of you, he threw a hard punch right across his jaw. "That's for beating me up for no reason," He hissed, pulling his hand back for another strong strike. "And that's—" Allen pounded his fist into his face, again and again, driven by a fury so hot, he had to wonder if he'd gone insane. "—for taking advantage of her!"

He was never satisfied until Mathias fell unconscious. Giving his hand a brief shake to get rid of the blood, he cast a softened gaze over your limp form. Immediately, his anger simmered down. You were okay. A little fucked up, but okay. Scooping you up under your back and legs, he carried you all the way home. While he did, you never let go of his neck. After tonight's fiasco, you've never been so calm. The smell of his cologne, the clinking of his dog tags, you couldn't mistake it for anyone else. And it was all you needed for a good night's sleep.

Needless to say, Mathias wasn't allowed in your house anymore. After getting beat up like that, he learned his lesson and backed off. Allen did call himself a criminal, and Mathias got exactly what he paid for.

It was just you and Allen again, spending every minute of the day together for the rest of his sentence. There wasn't much time left, so you needed to make the most of what you had. And on one of those days, you hoped to remind him how much you adored him. But at each passing day running across the burning hot sand and wading through warm waters, the adoration seemed to swell into something greater.

He was abnormal in every way he could be—from his personality to his looks—but the idea of being more than friends gave you hope that you could be normal too. That you could finally move on. Allen didn't have many aspirations in life, but he was beginning to look more and more like the answer to your future.

[typically-untypical]

Jam with a Friend

Prompt: Remus is a little shit who likes to steal other people’s things.

AU: None

TW: Food consumption, swearing

WC: 510

Date: 2/22/2021

AN: So, I did the thing. Just a short fluff story for all y’all

Slowly slithering across the ground, Remus listened intently for footsteps in the minescape. He knew no one would wake up and stop him, he had spiked their food, but it was fun to pretend. A twisted smirk lit up his face as he got to the kitchen. The others had gotten their own crofters recently, and though it would be so much fun to steal Roman’s, cranberry had always been one of his favorite fruits.

Springing up to his feet, Remus quickly threw open the cupboards. There it was, the prized jar, Boo-berry Cranic Attack; once an over dramatic dark side, always an over dramatic dark side! He grabbed the jar, popping the lid open and licking off the top of it before he began to devour the jam. Actually food was not normally his jam, but everyone loved a good jar of crofters.

Sliding down onto the floor, sitting cross legged, Remus began to shovel the jam into his mouth with his fingers, licking each one with a gross popping noise. It was delicious, though he would probably never admit it. The flavor was enough to distract him from the sound of footsteps coming towards him, so he was surprised when the light flickered on.

“Remus, what the hell!” Virgil stood in the entryway of the kitchen, blocking his exit, but Remus had no intention of skittering away like a coward.

“Virgy, you should be in bed, it’s very late.”

“I barely sleep, and you know that.”

“Yeah but the powder in your food should have kept you knocked out.”

Virgil did not look amused. “I figured you spiked it. You realize I’ve built an immunity from living with you?”

Remus shrugged, holding up the half eaten jar, a toothy smirk on his face. “Jam?”

“I am not eating out of the same jar as you.”

“Too bad virgy, looks like you won’t get any jam.” He pretended to pout, wanting to tease and pull at Virgil’s strings.

“Fuck you,” He walked towards a different cupboard and pulled out another jar of the same jam, leaving Remus confused.

“Don’t give me that look, trash goblin. I know you, and I knew you would come steal some of my jam.” He also grabbed a box of animal crackers before sitting down in front of Remus. “Now, you gonna let me enjoy my snack in peace?”

For a moment Remus’ brain stuttered, trying to catch up to what exactly was happening, but then a warmth of familiarity fell over him. Nights where Virgil couldn’t sleep and they would sit in the kitchen, Remus distracting Virgil until he could relax again.

“Doubtful!” He took another scoop of Jam in his fingers and Virgil grimaced just a bit. Though, if Remus didn’t know any better, he might think that there was a slight fond smile on the emo’s face. It was hidden behind the jam covered cookie, but Remus wanted it to be there.

Still, he would indulge in his jam, in this sense of familiarity, and for just tonight, in his friend. AN: Thanks for reading! If you’d like to hang out and chat you can join my discord server at https://discord.gg/3bP9mYbhje

[comfy-whumpee]

Jessie 4

CN: food control/underfeeding, death mention.

Eating while blindfolded was a uniquely awful experience. Ty was forced to put his fingers all over the plate in search of food. No cutlery was given to him, of course – that would make it easier. Instead, it was an ordeal of hands and mouth and the terrible unknown of whether he was dropping things on the floor, and whether the mistress would whine at him for being ungrateful, 510.

But even that would have been bearable if the amount of food he was given was consistent.

It was a code he worked out slowly. She ate, and he got her leftovers, her plate passed down to him after meals. On days when he had done well, pleased her, leaned into her touches and ignored the aches and discomfort that weighed heavily on his body, she fed him well. She left half portions. She must have made extra to do it, just so that she could show her approval.

Sometimes, though, when he ran his fingers across the porcelain, there was nothing but chases of sauce and crumbs. He ate them anyway, because he knew he was supposed to, but it was the clearest sign of her displeasure he ever received.

Those days were the worst. Ty knelt on the floor, the plate pulled into his lap, fingers questing for food. Perhaps there was some patch of the plate he had missed, as he traced orbits around its rim. If there was something left when he was done, she would make a comment. She would ask if he wasn’t really hungry, or remark that she could have given him less. It was more irritation with him, more marks against him, less food the next day and more unpleasant prods and jabs from her when she sat with him.

But there was nothing. Not a single grain of rice. The plate was a barren wasteland and there was nothing to soften the ache. Worse, he knew she had done it deliberately.

After a few minutes, the Teacher took the plate from him and went to wash up, and Jessie took him back into his room and chained him to the wall. And left.

Ty sat on the floorboards, methodically nudging his collar in different directions to relieve the chafing, and thought. What had he done today to displease her so much? Why had she taken every possible scrap of food from him? Had he pulled away from some surprise contact? Had he showed hunger or tiredness on his expression? She didn’t like those things. She didn’t like any sign of his physical needs.

What could he do to repair it tomorrow? He had to lean into touches and show gratitude for her attention. He had to be exactly what she wanted, no more or less. He had a fairly good idea of what she wanted by now, from other days with other amounts of food. Would it be enough? It never felt like enough. It was never enough food.

When she came into his room in the morning, he forced himself to come to attention. He stirred, straightened, and turned his head up towards her, finding her location in the dark. He watched her like that, resting on his knees, on edge for the moment when she would give him attention.

Attention was terrible, but if he wasn’t given the chance to perform, he wouldn’t be able to earn his food.

He wondered whether the Teacher had learned that particular form of control from her.

She ignored him for what felt like an eon. He stayed exactly where he was. Fidgeting, restlessness, she didn’t like those either. He was a toy, and toys don’t move when they’re not being played with.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t draw attention to himself in any way. He showed willingness and that was all he was allowed.

Eventually, he heard the sound he’d been listening for: the firm double-pat of her calling him over. He moved, crawling, until he was at her feet, within easy reach. His breathing hitched when he felt something cold touch his chin and push it back. A pencil. Just a pencil.

Her fingers came next, a cloying, heavy press against his neck, over his pulse.

His pulse. She was measuring it. Listening to the movement that betrayed his stress. His own body would betray him, if he let it.

“Are you upset by something, 510?” she asked.

Ty breathed slowly. He focused. Slow, he willed his racing pulse. Slow down, slow down. He forced calm to settle across his body, clearing his head of predictions and questions and the ever-lurking grief of losing Jim, and he regained control. “No, Mistress.”

She made a squeaky noise of satisfaction. She let go of his neck, but then pulled his head down so that it was pressed between the sofa and her leg, and her fingers slithered in his hair. “Good. What should a toy have to be worried about, hm?”

“Nothing, Mistress.”

He checked his body, relaxed it. He kept his breathing even. No stress or discomfort was permitted to him. He needed to eat today.

She twitched and tugged his hair. She tweaked his ear. Her nails travelled down to the corner of his jaw, and lower, and she checked his pulse again. Surely she didn’t need to press that hard, did she?

Ty felt his heart beat at a more regular pace against the pads of her fingers. He hoped it was enough.

She gave no sign, as usual. She moved down to feel the scars on his back, turning his shoulder so that his face was fully pressed down into the cushion. He felt her count, one finger tapping along. He felt where she lost count as the lines crossed too thickly over his shoulder blades.

She got distracted. She ignored him again. He stayed exactly where he was, breathing in the musty fabric smell of her sofa.

She pressed them. Pinched them. Even Jim hadn’t touched them, ever.

She lost interest. After a while, she got up and left.

Ty stayed in place. Toys didn’t move when they weren’t being played with.

-

Dinner. Ty waited, perfectly still and quiet, as he heard the cooking sounds, and the light conversation, and the clinks and dings of crockery and glassware like shooting stars in the dark of his head. He could smell the pasta bake, had listened to the vegetables chopping, the pots bubbling and the whirr of the oven’s fan.

He waited. Perfect. Still and quiet.

The door opened and a plate was placed at his knees. “Here, 510.” He reached forwards.

The plate was warm. He pulled it towards him, and it was heavy with food. Almost a whole plateful.

He turned his head up towards her and smiled gratefully, just how she liked. She patted his head, and he didn’t flinch. She left him to eat in privacy, another gesture that showed how satisfied she was with his apology performance that day. He wouldn’t have to imagine her eyes on him this time.

He ate just where she’d left him, on his knees, and tried not to think about what he’d done to earn it. His skin burned, constantly, but it was necessary. He had to survive.

-

“He’s lived like this for two weeks,” the Teacher said, watching 510 through the glass pane in the kitchen-dining room door. “He only sees her. Only speaks to her. She controls how much he moves and eats and is touched. Even our stalwart 510 is struggling to keep his head above the water.” He laughed fondly, like a man watching a bad school play. “Don’t trouble yourself for his sake, though. She’s bored of him. In a couple of days, I’ll drive him out to a ditch. He won’t trouble us anymore.”

326 glanced away from Taial to the Teacher. “You’ll kill him, sir?”

“Well, I’ll have Arden do it. But yes.”

“Arden, sir?”

“Oh, you must have met him. He’s been one of mine for years. Black hair, little ponytail, blue eyes.”

The face came. “Yes, sir. I remember now.”

“Mm. One of my great success stories.” He was looking again at 510. “But! We’re moving onto even better things now.” His hand tugged 326 back to face the kitchen. “See that door? We had the utility room converted into a small bedroom for you some time ago. I understand you have a hobby of drawing, so there are some art supplies, a desk, your bed and dresser too, and a mirror. Alice told me how particular you were about your dress.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ll come with me to work some days. Others, you’ll help my wife around the house. If you leave again, for any reason, I’ll have you killed as well. Understand?”

326 didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even blink. “Yes, sir.”

“Wonderful. I know you were the property of many people before now, but you know...”

“I was always yours, sir.” There was nothing negative in the tone. It was as certain as the sunset outside. “I know.”

[ajokeformur-ray]

Grief is the price of love  // Arthur x Amalthea // soft comfort.

Summary: The unthinkable has happened to you and you’re lost in a roiling sea of emotions. How can you breathe when every second has you sinking further and further into yourself? All you can do is cry, to weep through your storm, to treat yourself with patience and kindness and love. If grief is the price of love, then Arthur will help you to pay it. You’re not alone. 

A/N: Written for @amalthea9​. I’m so very sorry for your loss, my love. My heart’s breaking for you and I’m sending you so many hugs. It was an honour to write this for you and I hope that it comforts you even a little bit. 💜I’m always here for you if ever you want to vent or chat!💙

I played THIS on repeat to set the scene, if anyone’s interested.🥰

Word count: 1, 510.

Arthur stood in the doorway of the master bedroom with his arms folded over his chest. His strong, dark brows were knitted together and his sea green eyes were fixed on you as he sought to figure out why you were in such a state as the one he saw before him.

Sat cross legged were you on the double bed, your fingers had formed a fist over the freshly laundered floral patterned duvet. As they flexed did Arthur catch a sight of how tightly you were flexing your digits as the section of the duvet you had pinched still maintained the harsh peak you had manipulated it into even after you had released your grip, the skin over your knuckles pulled taut across the joints. Arthur knew not to ask you if you were okay, for it was very obvious that you were not as he watched you stare into everything and nothing all at once. Your body was physically there upon the bed but your mind was elsewhere. Lost to all that was burning your heart, spreading like wildfire and turning the surface of it black. Oh, how he longed to cup your heart in the palm of his hands and wipe away all that burdened your precious heart; a soul full of love were you.

He was very concerned for you in this moment, for you had been sat there for some time, hours, and you had yet to move even an inch. You had yet to speak. All was a mystery to him and he was desperate to unravel it. Clues were right before him and Arthur whined, a soft and quiet noise low in his throat. It didn’t even make you shift upon the duvet. Your legs must have been aching by now as blood flow was restricted to your feet, undoubtedly causing you that sharp tingling sensation. You were locked within your own mind and yet were you somehow also completely outside of yourself. With your head bowed and your shoulders shaking with the force of sobs which were so filled with pain that they were silent, you looked the very picture of grief and Arthur wondered what had happened to you this day.

Pieces of the puzzle slotted into Arthur’s tired yet sharp mind and he gasped sharply as he realised what must have happened today. “Oh. Oh, no.” A rushed breath, a quiet denial... Death of a loved one never happened to them but to the people around them and though he had only ever experienced the death of his own mother, it hadn’t been a loss. She had never been a mother to him anyway; she had only ever been his abuser, his captor. But this... oh, this was so much different. This was you and your pain, in so much of it were you that you couldn’t even move and Arthur longed to take it away from you. It was not that he wanted to see you smile but he most definitely wanted to at least stop your tears, which dripped steadily off your nose one after the other. The storm within you was so great that it was being released to the outside of your body, so intense was this experience. All you could do was cry and, oh, how Arthur hated that for you. But he understood... he understood. There was nothing he couldn’t understand, so tortured a soul was he. He admired your ability to cry. He could only ever laugh, even when it caused him physical and emotional pain to do so.

“Amalthea.”

Your name left Arthur’s thin lips like a prayer and he rushed forward, his movements both graceful and clumsy; a contradiction was he. He understood now, he saw you, and, oh, how beautiful you were, even now. Especially now. 

Arthur sat down beside you on the bed and he reached out slowly, slowly, to rest his palm over the back of the fist which still was formed over the duvet. His fingers, wrapped around the underside of your hand, pulled upwards and your fingers unravelled from the fist they were curled up in. Thick fingers slotted easily into the spaces between your own and Arthur squeezed his grip around you. I’m here, darling. You’re not alone. You sniffled and raised your other hand to your face. You had yet to look up at him and Arthur used his other hand to rest his index finger beneath your chin so that he could raise your face up. He whined once more as he took in your swollen eyes. The redness of them only enunciated the sea green of your irises; one eye was green and the other was blue but most often did they look sea green, and Arthur liked to think that the fact that the both of you shared the same eye colour meant that you were meant for each other; whole persons were you on your own but altogether unstoppable when you were together. He maintained his grip on your hand as the other one wiped your tears away. His brows were knitted together still and there was such an intense look of sympathy and tenderness within their depths that it only made your eyes well up with tears again and Arthur cooed.

“Oh, sweetheart.” An exhalation of love and Arthur let go of your hand so that he could cup your face in both of his hands. His palms were hot against your damp cheeks and he leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead. His lips lingered there and your palm felt cold, empty, without his touch. Empty... You choked on a sob and Arthur cooed once more. “Come here, Amalthea.” The use of your name was deliberate as Arthur sought to ground you in the moment. Intense emotions had a tendency to pull the rug out from underneath one’s feet and he wanted to be there with you every step of the way. You would not go through this alone. Two thin but deceptively strong arms wound around you and you were tugged across the minute space between the two of you until you were clumsily on Arthur’s lap, “I’m so sorry, honey.” You moved around until you were wholly seated upon Arthur’s thighs and comfortable. Immediately did you burrow down, down, until his heartbeat was pressed against your ear. The quickened pace of his heart, still so nervous around you was he, still so in love with you was he, reassured you of his continued existence. 

With the thought that you didn’t know what you would do without Arthur, tears ran anew and soaked Arthur’s bare chest as did your sorrow fall like rain. Arthur began to hum a song. You couldn’t make it out, but the off key rasp of the tune he carried soothed you. With one arm locked around your waist and the other hand in your hair, which was the same length and style as his own despite the blond highlights which faded as they ascended, Arthur began to rock you side to side. He pressed kisses to the crown of your head; so intuitive was he that you hadn’t even needed to tell him anything for him to know. Arthur always, always knew what was going on with you, even if it took him some time to hear your silence. This one was practically screaming at him and Arthur longed to hold you so tightly that he could take your insurmountable pain away. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t, so all that he could do was to remain by your side. He did not give voice to empty platitudes. Arthur only stayed, he stayed, and he made sure that you knew that he was there with you through it all. He held you as you cried and he didn’t even shift beneath you for the duration of the time you sat within the cage of his embrace. 

 “Do you want some food? Something to drink?” 

You shook your head and tilted your face so that you could press a kiss over the space where Arthur’s heart beat out a wild tattoo against his rib cage. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak, but that was okay, for Arthur heard you, he heard you, and he nodded. You felt the movement and it only made you press yourself deeper into his arms. Arthur cooed and made to reassure you as best as he could. His heart was broken for you. “I’m here. Not going anywhere.” That was the crux of this moment and the most important thing he could have said. Arthur would never leave you. He loved you so deeply and so completely that no matter how dark things became for you, no matter how rough your waters became, Arthur would always be there for you. One doesn’t move on from grief, one can only learn how to deal with it as time goes on, and he would be there with you and for you every step of the way. You weren’t alone.