#i wear it when this one needs to be washed

[pathologicalreid]

merry christmas, please don't call | s.r.

in which Spencer pens an email to you, since you've already blocked his phone number

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: nondescript break up, described as spencer's fault, reader is mentioned to have worn lipstick, yearning, word count: 907 a/n: and the worst part is!!! that we both know!!!!! we are doing kind of an unofficial margotmas/reidmas! really i've just been building up christmas ideas for a while lol

To: xreader@gmail.com From: Spencer.Reid@gmail.com Subject: Merry Christmas

Hey,

Spencer shook his head, that was too casual.

Good afternoon,

Much too formal.

Hello,

Too rigid.

Darling,

I passed by the house that you told me you adored. It used to be your dream house; you’d always show me the Zillow listing whenever you were browsing. The owners didn’t put up their Christmas lights this year, and it looks like they’re getting ready to sell. I haven’t been online to check the listing, that was always your thing rather than mine.

Do you remember the house? It had four bedrooms for our kids to sleep in and a library with stained-glass windows. You always told me the stained-glass windows were your favorite feature of my apartment. I keep it covered now; the colored glass just serves as a painful reminder of you.  

Emily called me last week. I suppose no one told her that we weren’t together anymore because she asked what our holiday plans were. I haven’t made any since you left. I’m finding myself hopeful that we get called on a case over Christmas so that I don’t need to be surrounded by the world celebrating while I continue to wallow in the memories of you and me.

That’s all I have now: memories. We made so many of them over the course of three years that I don’t know what to do with them. I’ve always had the sneaking suspicion that having an eidetic memory is a curse just as much as it is a blessing, but with you gone, I know it’s more of a curse. I see you when I close my eyes as if your features have been permanently tattooed on the back of my eyelids, but when my eyes are open, everything is exponentially worse.

You left in such a hurry, so you were bound to leave a few things behind. When I went to make a cup of coffee and found one of your mugs in my cabinet, JJ and Penelope had to practically scrape me off the kitchen floor. There was still a lipstick smudge on it, a piece of our history the dishwasher couldn’t quite wash off. Your necklace was on the bedside table, though maybe that was left behind on purpose. I wish we could go back to the day I gave it to you, you could wear the same green dress, and maybe work wouldn’t get in the way. If I could, I’d call you to ask why you left it behind, but you’ve blocked my number.

There was no need for you to leave me things to remember you by, how could I ever forget you?

I’ve been finding myself grateful that you got so close with Garcia during our relationship, she doesn’t give me any explicit details on your life when she updates me. I never ask, but she knows I want to hear.

It’s a rather odd phenomenon to have once had someone who you shared everything with, only to one day find they want nothing to do with you. I always find myself reaching for my phone to send to a message, or leaning over to show you a line in my book, but you’re not there anymore. I don’t hold any malice in my heart for you, even after you called it all off. My biggest regret is that I couldn’t be the boyfriend that you needed, and I’m proud of you for realizing you wanted someone better. I’m sorry I couldn’t be better.

Maybe I still have some growing up to do. There might be some sort of emotional stunting as a result of my less-than-orthodox upbringing and education, which makes sense when you consider two of my most common nicknames, “boy genius” and “kid.” One day I could find myself in the same place you were, ready for more, but maybe then I’ll be with someone who is ready for the same things as I am. She’ll never be you though. You’ll always hold that special place in my heart.

Speaking of my upbringing, my mom keeps asking about you. Each time we talk on the phone, she asks if she can talk to you, but I’ve been telling her that you’re still working or are otherwise preoccupied. I know I shouldn’t lie to her, but if I tell her, she’ll inevitably forget, and I’ll be forced to recount the story of how I lost the best thing to ever happen to me forever. That would be my eternal damnation. There’s Sisyphus and Tantalus and Spencer Reid, slowly becoming nothing but a myth. I wonder if I’m a story that you tell your friends at O’Keefe’s.

I go there sometimes, just to see if I can catch your gaze, but you’re never there.

I know this is your favorite holiday, and I don’t intend to ruin your holidays with my message. I suppose I just needed to see if you still dream about that house. To see if you still dream of me the way I dream of you.

Merry Christmas,

Spencer

He clicked send nervously, ready to snap his work-issued laptop shut when it chirped with a notification. Surely you hadn’t responded that quickly. Spencer opened his inbox once more, checking the latest email.

To: Spencer.Reid@gmail.com From: mailer-daemon@googlemail.com Subject: Delivery Status Notification (Failure)

Message blocked.

Your message to xreader@gmail.com has been blocked. See technical details below for more information.

[rosenclaws]

Stronger || Logan Howlett x Reader

summary: after failing your last mission you start to over train yourself in secret but Logan notices the bruises and cuts and wont leave you alone about it.

warnings: angst to fluff, patching up fic, the reader is very hard on themselves, injury, blood, insecurity, sweet logan, reader pushes themself too much.

a/n: I had this idea at like 1:30am last night and I wrote it when i woke up oops. I just love fluffy patching up logan fics what can I say.

There it is again. Logan's nose twitches as you walk by. You smell like dirt and sweat but most of all blood. He locks eyes with you as you walk past the kitchen door.

Theres a limp in your step. It's subtle but there. You're wearing long pants and long sleeves despite it being hot outside and you're hiding your hands in your pockets. There's bags under your eyes and the smiles you give people aren't real.

Logan narrows his eyes at you and you look at the ground. Hurrying away from his pointed gaze. He wants to go after you but he hears your door slam and lock.

No one else has picked up on this except for him. He brings it up in passing but he's brushed off every time. Something is up with you and he's going to figure out what.

You sigh as you lean against your door. Your body aches like crazy and all you want to do is collapse onto the bed and sleep. But you force yourself to the bathroom. You need to scrub off all the evidence of everything from the night before. The blood and grime washed off but the bruises stayed.

"Damn." You mumbled as you took in the injuries from this time.

The person displayed in the mirror looked like a stranger. Your eyes were sunken, bruises on your body, you looked tired and felt worse. But you had to keep going. You needed to be strong, to prove yourself and this was the only way.

At least that's what you think. You crawl into bed and pass out the moment your head hits the pillows. Unfortunately the nightmares start then too.

You're back on your last mission. The whole reason you've been pushing yourself so hard. You were weak, lost, a burden to the team. You weren't like everyone else at the mansion. You didn't come here as a kid.

In fact you were well into your adult life when Professor Xavier found you. You had no training, no experience. You got stuck into classes with kids who had already mastered their powers. You felt silly, a fool to think you could be apart of this world. You didn't belong.

So when you got the chance to go on a mission you were excited. It means they thought you were ready, that you had something in you that could help.

The mission went terribly. You were overwhelmed and could barely keep up. Tackled to the ground you cried out in pain. A sharp blade against your neck caused you to freeze. You tried to conjure your energy blasts but a foot on your wrist stopped you. It was digging into you, crushing you. You closed your eyes as you braced yourself for what was to come.

It never does.

The pressure is released all at once as Logan tackled the man who was on you. Digging his claws into him until he's limp on the ground. He runs to you, checking you injuries. You couldn't speak. You couldn't warn Logan that someone else was coming. Then it all goes black. You're too late.

You sit up, Logan's name on the tip of your tongue as you wake up. Fuck. You take in your surroundings and try to calm down. Slowly sinking back into your bed. Reminding yourself that everything fine.

That the last mission didn't really end that way. Logan is okay, you're okay. But what if things had played out different.

If you could have held your own then Logan wouldn't have had to come to your rescue. He carried you back to the jet and while everyone was nice, you knew that you disappointed them.

You haven't been asked to go on a mission since. It hurt, you wanted to go. To be apart of the team. So you took it upon yourself to train. Your powers were trained in lessons with the professor but he never lets you go past a certain limit. So instead you decided to sneak out at night to the nearby forest and train there.

Honing not only your powers but your hand to hand combat as well. Trees were your only partners but it worked. They were strong and sturdy. Every night you'd sneak out. Practice with your powers which drained you and then practiced everything else after. It left you bloody and bruised but in your mind it was worth it.

Glancing at the clock you see that you've slept through most of the day. The sun had already set. Quietly you get dressed and sneak down the hallways. Most everyone was already in bed and if they weren't they were socializing in the living room. All you had to do was sneak by and you were home free for the night.

Laughter is the perfect distraction as you sneak past the doorway. Opening the door slowly and sneaking outside, running to the safety of the woods. What you don't notice is someone following you.

Logan caught your scent the second you stepped out of your room. Whether he wants to admit it or not he's always searching for you. He smelled your shampoo wafting past the door and eyed you outside. You were quick but he could still see you. Enough of this. Whatever the hell you were doing was killing you. Slowly but surely it was ruining you physically and mentally. He slipped away from the rest of the people in the living room and followed you.

As he got deeper in the woods he became worried, just what could you be doing out here? His ears perk up as he hears you. Peaking through the trees he finds you in a small clearing. You were clearly exhausted but you kept pushing. Creating energy from your finger tips and blasting them at a tall redwood.

Logan smells the blood that trickled from your nose. You were pushing yourself too hard. He's about to reveal himself when the loud creaking of a branch stops him.

You were too wrapped up in conjuring another blast that you don't notice a large tree branch cracking from the force of your powers. Logan springs in to action.

"Watch out!" He growls as he launches himself at you. Grabbing your body and wrapping himself around you the best he can. The branch falls right onto his back. It snaps in two as it falls to either side of you.

"Logan?! What are you doing here?" You ask as you stare at the fallen branch. Kicking yourself for not noticing it fast enough forcing Logan to put himself in danger for you again.

"What am I doing here? What the fuck are you doing out here?" He yells as he lets you go. Taking in just how bad you looked.

"What the hell is wrong with you? What if I wasn't here? What if that branch fell and hit you and no one would know that you were bleeding out in the fucking woods!" Logan snarls. His fear and worry being masked by anger. How could you be so reckless? So stupid?

"I didn't ask you to fucking follow me!" You bite back. Shame creeping up as he scolds you. Logan scoffs and grabs your face firmly.

"Do you even see yourself right now?" He grabs your wrist and holds it up. Staring at your bloody knuckles. It fucking hurts. It hurts for him to see you like this and it hurts him that you were doing this to yourself.

“You're tearing yourself apart, why?" The anger starts to fade, his real feelings breaking through.

"Because I'm weak." You admit, your voice cracking as the adrenaline starts to drain. Instead being replaced but complete and utter exhaustion.

"What?" Logan asks in disbelief.

"I failed the last mission, I could have gotten you hurt, I was a liability. If I got stronger, If I was better."

"Stop. Just stop. You really think all that?" Logan has let go of you by now, his eyes are looking at all your bruises. All the damage you've done to yourself.

"You don't?" You ask, afraid of his answer.

He doesn't say a word. Instead he takes your holds your hand, you try to ignore the butterflies growing in your stomach as he leads you back to the mansion. Taking you up to his room where he pulls out a first aid kit.

He doesn't need one but every room has one, of course you had already used up all of yours. Silently he patches you up, wrapping your knuckles in bandages and wiping up the blood from your nose.

"If you wanted train you could have come to one of us, to me." He should have noticed sooner, said something. Stopped you from doing this to yourself.

"I thought I had to do it on my own."

"You don't. It took me a while to figure it out too but you don't." He would be a hypocrite to scold you for going off alone but he doesn't really care.

"I'm sorry." You mumble. Logan cups your face and to your shock kisses your forehead gently.

"Don't ever do this again do you hear me." Logan can help you, he can protect you.

"I won't." You promise him. He smiles and picks you up.

"Logan!" You yelp as he drops you into his bed.

It smells just like him and you can't deny the instant comfort that comes over you as you snuggle into his sheets.

"You're going to rest for the next week. Anything you need you just call alright?"

"But what-" He stares at you and you stop talking, he wasn't fucking around about this.

"When you're healed and rested. Then we can train together." He doesn't leave room for argument, not that you wanted to argue with him anyways but still.

"Thank you Logan...You didn't have to do this."

He could have turned his head, pretended he never saw anything. Its what you expected him to do if you were being honest. But he didn't. He saw you struggling, pushing yourself and he couldn't let you hurt yourself any longer. He cared about you, a lot.

"I know." He says simply.

"Will you stay, while I sleep. I've been getting these nightmares and well..." Logan nods his head.

He shuts off the lights and crawls into bed with you. Kind of, more like he's half hanging off the edge of the bed. But you're comfortable and that's good enough for him.

It doesn't take long for you to fall asleep. The comforting aura of Logan was enough. He hums as you curl closer to him. Logan chasing away any nightmares that threaten to hurt you and for the first time in a while your dreams are quiet.

A smile on your face as peace finally overcomes your dreams.

[ivyues]

Borrowed Warmth - Han Jisung

Han didn’t realize the hoodie he grabbed wasn’t his.

Han barely registered the soft rays of morning light streaming through the window when he stumbled out of bed, still half-asleep. After crashing at your place following a late movie night, he grabbed the first black hoodie draped over the back of your chair. Without a second thought, he tugged it over his head, the familiar scent of fabric softener mingling with something distinctly you.

As he was about to head out, you sleepily blinked up at him from the bed. "You look cute," you mumbled, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips, noticing his messy hair and the hoodie he had unknowingly borrowed. "C'mon, give me a kiss."

Han leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, a fond smile curling on his lips. "I'll be back later," he murmured, smoothing down his hair before making his way out of the room, his mind still half-dazed from the night before.

An hour later, seated in the studio and nodding along to the beat Bang Chan was playing, he was jolted from his groove by Changbin's voice cutting through.

“Uh, Hannie,” Changbin began, his tone tight with suppressed laughter.

“What?” Han asked, eyebrows knitting together as he turned to look at his hyungs.

Chan grinned, jerking his chin toward Han’s back. “Nice hoodie, mate. Did you start shopping in the Girlfriend's Closet Collection?" 

Confused, Han craned his neck, twisting awkwardly to catch a glimpse of the hoodie’s design. And there it was – your unmistakable favorite graphic print, the one he’d teased you about for being too cute.

His face froze. “Wait,” he muttered, tugging at the hem of the hoodie to confirm. “No way. This is—”

“Yep,” Changbin interrupted, a smirk playing on his lips. “Looking real stylish, though. Bold fashion statement.”

Han groaned, sinking into his chair as a wave of embarrassment washed over him. “I didn’t even notice! I just thought it was mine!”

“Sure you did,” Chan teased, his grin widening. “Or maybe you just missed her so much you subconsciously needed to wear something of hers.”

The teasing drew a low groan from Han, who buried his face in his hands, his ears burning. “You guys are the worst.”

Ignoring their laughter, he quickly pulled out his phone and shot you a message:

Han: Did you know I grabbed your hoodie this morning?

Your reply was instant:

You: Yep.

Han’s brows furrowed.

Han: And you didn’t say anything?!

You: Why would I? You looked cute. Plus, I don’t mind you wearing my stuff.

Han stared at your text, the corners of his mouth twitching upward despite himself. Cheeks flushing, he typed back:

Han: Then I might keep it. 😜

He leaned back into the session, a small, secretive smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as the warmth of your hoodie – and your words – swirled around him.

[sammyluvr]

✶ . ၄၃ . laundry machines — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, fluff, poor editing, inexperienced!reader(dating-wise) so sort of shy!reader too, mentions of madison & resulting guilt, implied later seasons sam, kissing, 1.7K words. requested !

summary : you're new to being in a relationship, but sam finds it endearing and is happy to take things slow.

some days are smooth and seamless and like an actual dream come true. others are clumsy, awkward, and make you shy away from being perceived at all. it’s just that this is all quite new to you, and you’re very unsure how to navigate being in a relationship, especially with someone so handsome and lovely. no one’s told you what’s allowed and what isn’t, how you should be acting, what an appropriate response is to the sweet things he does to you.

this all makes you easily flustered, often embarrassed, and yes, you’ll admit it, a bit shy at times. he’s just so tall and steady and you know he’s done this all before, even if the last time he was in a long term relationship was nearly a decade ago. and you’re not even that far from him in regards to age, but you’re somehow so much more lost than he is. it’s nice, because he’s more than willing to take the lead on things, to guide you through it. but sometimes that reminds you of your inexperience, and it sort of makes you wish that you could be a bit better for sam. it almost makes you feel like you’re forcing him to do all the work.

alternatively, sam’s own narrative regarding your inexperience is one of deep fondness, and even a bit of relief. he himself can be awkward and shy, even now and after all he’s been through, but with you, he gets to be the one who’s sure on his feet and smooth and a little easy. secretly, he’s still remembering and figuring out how to do this all. but the little things come to him comfortably enough that, to you, he seems entirely confident and effortless.

“sam?” you call to him from your bedroom. he’s sitting in the living room of your little apartment, content with a cup of tea you’ve made for him. “is it alright if i wash your jacket with my things, too?” 

“of course,” he calls back, his voice at its normal level of sweet and kind. you don’t see the huge, endeared grin on his face. he’s not sure why it wouldn’t be alright to wash his jacket with your things. it’s certainly the most logical thing to do, and it’s not as if he’d mind one bit. actually, he likes the idea of his clothes with yours, spinning around and getting tangled together in the washing machine. it’s domestic, soft, and intimate in a simple way. maybe that’s why you asked, he wonders; intimacy makes you a bit timid at times. 

with that, his jacket is placed inside your laundry basket. it’s dirty from a hunt. sam wanted to stop by your apartment first thing when it was over by mid morning and he wasn’t too far away. he thinks he flustered you, though, because he forgot to text beforehand. but, you also looked very happy to see him, so he’s sure it’s okay. you had melted right into his kiss, though your hands remained chastely resting on his elbows as he sweetly cupped your face. 

now, you’re walking out of the bedroom with your laundry, met with a fond look from sam on the couch. 

“i’ll be right back. i just need to get this done by tonight,” you explain as you head to the door to head down to the washing machine in the building’s basement.

“i’ll come with you,” sam says, standing, still wearing his pretty smile. he imagines he’ll have to leave in a few hours, and he’d like to spend every moment until then with you if you’ll let him.

“there’s no need, i’ll only be gone a minute,” you say, only because you don’t want to make him get up and walk down, then back up all those stairs.

his long legs take him to the door in less than a few seconds anyway. “i want to,” he says simply, and you feel silly that it sends your heart pumping extra hard.

“if you insist,” you smile, taking it in stride. sam notices and resists the urge to just sweep you up in his arms and kiss you for a long while. he hasn’t kissed you again since he arrived, but he doesn’t think you’d have as much ease dealing with that without being greatly flustered. he’d probably like to see that, but he’s not a cruel man. you’d argue that he’s the gentlest of them all. he follows you down the stairs because you refuse to let him carry the laundry basket. he’s already silently promising he’ll carry it upstairs once it’s all washed and dried. he’ll help you fold it too, if you’ll let him. he’s not sure if you’ll be alright with him catching a glimpse or two at your underwear. 

that makes him think about the time he was about twenty three and madison not-so-subtly showed off her panties to him while folding her laundry on the first day they’d met. she’s a sad memory. a guilty one, too. but he has you in front of him, softly chattering about what you did this morning, and he lets her be a nice memory for today. you give him plenty of nice memories, and he thinks about how he likes the way the two of you take things slow.

you don’t seem to think about the fact that sam can see what you’re putting in the washing machine, and he finds it cute, for no particular reason. he finds it cute when you’re nervous about something you needn’t be or when you aren’t about something he predicted you might. maybe he just finds everything about you cute.

he leans against the drying machine and watches happily as you put the washer to the right settings and start the cycle. 

“so,” you say, turning your head to look at him, “do you have–” you’re cut off by the loud rush of water in the machine as it begins soaking your clothes—and his jacket—and you shake your head because you momentarily forgot just how loud it is. it’s the loudest washing machine you’ve ever used, you told him once. he himself is almost startled by it; you really weren’t kidding. he gives a little laugh and you can’t help but laugh a bit too. neither of you have to say anything to agree to go back upstairs.

he holds the basement door open for you and one of his big hands that you’re secretly so fond of hovers by the small of your back as you pass him and start up the stairs. only you think it’s a secret. he can tell how much you like to hold hands and fiddle with his fingers. you stare sometimes, too, but he’d never tell you that for fear of rendering you too flustered to function properly for the rest of the night.

“you were saying?” he says, encouraging you to continue now that he can actually hear you.

you can’t tell if it’s a blessing or not that he’s asked you to keep going while walking up the stairs. you sort of wanted to be watching his face when you asked, but you’re also thinking you might be grateful that you won’t in case it helps you feel less nervous. he’s just so handsome and sincere and lovely that it makes you nervous. you don’t know how to be casual around him. everything just feels so special and new and nerve-wracking.

“i was just wondering if you had another case lined up for tomorrow,” you tell him, hoping that you’re succeeding in sounding laid-back like you wish you could be. once again, he thinks it’s sweet you don’t always know how to act around him. “or, you know, anything like that,” you add on. you don’t want to ask without knowing if he has somewhere to be in the morning.

sam feels a spark of hope and a little bit of youthful giddiness that he hadn’t felt in a long, long time before you. “i don’t,” he says simply, “i don’t have anything tomorrow.”

you chew lightly on the inside of your cheek, considering your options. there’s still another flight and a half of stairs until you get to your floor and you’re thinking, despite how nervous it makes you, you really would like to be facing him as you ask. it’d be obvious and awkward if you wait until you’re back in your apartment, right? but it’s silly to ask in a stairwell, you think.

then you realize you're probably overthinking it. maybe neither of those things are true. maybe it doesn’t matter at all how you ask, so long as you do it. you know he’ll say yes, you know he’ll like the idea of it, and you’re pretty sure he’ll like the fact that you’re the one to bring it up first. and you’re pretty confident that you love him and that he really, truly cares about you too. that gives you a burst of confidence.

you turn around, right on the steps with your hands fidgeting with the hem of your shirt and a little, likely nervous looking smile on your lips. “do you want to sleep over tonight?” you ask, somehow able to make yourself sound more sure of things than you feel.

his lips curl into a happy, almost proud smile. it’s very obvious how much he adores you. all you have to do is look at him and see the way his adoration pools in his eyes and his dimples and shows in the lightness of his eyebrows and the showing of his front teeth. his hands that you love so much drift up to hold your waist, moving slowly so you can anticipate it. the touch still makes you draw in a steadying breath.

“i would love to. are you sure that’s alright with you?” he says. he’s trying to sound casual too, but it comes out more reverent than anything else. 

your smile isn’t so nervous now. “mhmm,” you hum. “i’m sure.” this time, you really are sure. though, you still have to grip his shoulders for support when he kisses you, right in the stairway like he’d probably kiss you anywhere.

[petermorwood]

This is excellent advice for the treatment (or apparent maltreatment, in linen's case) of natural fabrics.

Here's some additional info based on personal experience over many decades and numerous ways of doing laundry from ancient (well, early 1960s) to modern.

Wool. A splendid outer layer, since rain sits on rather than soaks in, but needs care when washing, and even more when drying. Don't wash a woollen garment on Hot, and definitely don't dry it that way. If you do, your favourite woolly pully will shrink to something for a child, and a child's woolly pully into something for a doll. I have done this, and it was not well appreciated except, way way back, by my small sister and presumably by her nattily pullovered favourite doll.

Cotton. Will indeed shrink a bit after washing and drying, but fortunately will stretch again during wear. Can be washed very hot to get rid of Those Annoying Stains, and by Very Hot I mean boiled. It'll still stretch back - eventually - and although sometimes uncomfortably snug during the stretching process, will nevertheless be nice and clean.

Silk. Usually expensive, so accordingly laundered with probably more care than it needs, since this is a fabric once used (in many layers, granted) as armour. Does Not Chafe, which is why it was worn as scarves by fighter pilots who had to keep turning their heads in case of The Hun In The Sun. "Silk hiding steel" is appropriate, because a lady with a Hermés (not "an 'ermes", you pronounce the H) silk scarf and something to weigh it with is not as unarmed as she seems.

Linen. The 600lb gorilla of the fabric world, only bettered by hemp. Can have a weave tight enough to carry water without dripping - especially after the weave soaks and swells - and a tensile strength enough to carry pounds and kilos of it. (You can still buy collapsible "canvas" - usually linen or hemp - buckets...) @dduane and I inherited a lot of Irish Linen from my Mum, some still in original boxes with original washing instructions. Those instructions were, more or less, "rub soap into stubborn stains, scrub thoroughly and boil until clean".

Where linen and hemp fabrics are concerned...

*****

Even though she had a succession of increasingly modern washing machines, Mum also had and occasionally used - or more accurately supervised my use of - some quite old-fashioned laundry equipment.

Linens with stubborn stains were indeed scrubbed thoroughly, using a block of hard soap then a washboard, and an impressive abs workout it was...

Then the scrubbed stuff was boil-washed in Mum's washing machine (which could reach a genuine 100°C rolling boil) before being rinsed, passed through the mangle (or wringer, more in this post) and pegged out on the washing-line to dry.

*****

As i hunted up illustrations I (re-)discovered a Terry Pratchett Discworld connection. Remember the "copper stick" used by Granny and Nanny to summon the demon in "Wyrd Sisters"?

"What are you going to try?" said Granny. Since they were on Nanny's territory, the choice was entirely up to her. "I always say you can't go wrong with a good Invocation," said Nanny. "Haven't done one for years." Granny Weatherwax frowned. Magrat said, "Oh, but you can't. Not here. You need a cauldron, and a magic sword. And an octogram. And spices, and all sorts of stuff." Granny and Nanny exchanged glances. "It's not her fault," said Granny. "It's all them grimmers she was bought." She turned to Magrat. "You don't need none of that," she said. "You need headology." She looked around the ancient washroom. "You just use whatever you've got," she said. She picked up the bleached copper stick, and weighed it thoughtfully in her hand. "We conjure and abjure thee by means of this—" Granny hardly paused – "sharp and terrible copper stick."

It's one of these, not made OF copper but meant for use IN a copper.

Mum had one, originally Granny's, which kept getting pinched to play the role of sword, baton or whatever, though its official purpose was to stir, untangle and finally remove laundry which had been boiled in a "laundry copper":

This one shows how it straddled two gas jets, but Nanny Ogg's copper had a fireplace space under the actual cauldron (though in summer she used it as a beer cooler).

These cauldrons were still called "coppers" even when more cheaply made of iron. It's another instance of how vacuum cleaners became "hoovers" and sticking-plasters became "band-aids" etc., etc., no matter what brand they really were.

"Boil", however, wasn't a figurative term. It meant what it said, and those thoroughly scrubbed linens (cottons, too) would bubble merrily for quite a while "until clean".

Coppers were also used for cooking, with perhaps the most famous literary instance being chez Cratchit in "A Christmas Carol":

“A great deal of steam! The pudding was out of the copper. A smell like a washing-day! That was the cloth. A smell like an eating-house and a pastry-cook’s next door to each other, with a laundress’s next door to that! That was the pudding!"

Mum initially had a separate electric boiler - IIRC it was Burco brand, which still makes much smaller boilers for catering, though ours was never used for anything except laundry - but mostly I remember the boil being done in her washing machine.

More modern machines only go to 90-95°C, sometimes just 60°C, but when her Hoover was running at full belt, things got as lively as any pot on a hob even before the agitator started churning. Never mind closing its lid to avoid mess, when a boil-wash was taking place that lid was also a needful safety precaution against scalding splashes.

*****

Removal by copper stick was superseded by use of tongs, and Mum had a set just like these...

...though I don't think hers had such an apt name.

Stirring with the copper stick was replaced by washing with a posser, which pumped up and down, or a washing dolly, which rotated.

Both actions have been replicated by washing-machines, and though variants of the dolly rotation became almost standard in tub washers, the posser did appear in an early 20th-century hand-operated machine...

...as well as the Frigidaire "Jet Cone" washer...

...whose action, TBH, reminds me of certain non-laundry gadgets I saw many years ago in The Pleasure Chest on Santa Monica... :-P

Modernised possers or even original designs are still available today.

*****

Whenever you read in stories about avoiding trouble with laundresses, those devices along with scrubbing, wringing out and cranking mangles are why. Regular workouts with laundry equipment gave them the sort of muscles nobody wanted to provoke.

*****

I've already mentioned "A Christmas Carol" and, given the time of year (posted 22nd December 2024) this ought to end with another one, so...

As shepherds washed their socks by night, All seated round the tub, A bar of Sunlight soap came down And they began to scrub...

You're welcome.

:->

Here, a cheater course on caring for natural fibers!

1. Wool. Treat it like it has the delicate constitution of a Victorian lady and the conviction that baths are evil of a 17th century noble. (If I get in WATER my PORES will OPEN and I will CATCH ILL AND DIE.)

2. Cotton; easygoing. Will shrink a bit if washed and dried hot.

3. Silk; people think it’s like wool and has the constitution of a fashionably dying of consumption Victorian lady, but actually it’s quite tough. Can be washed in an ordinary washer, and either tumbled dry without heat or hung to dry.

4. Linen; it doesn’t give a shit. Beat the hell out of it. Historically was laundered by dousing it in lye and beating the shit out of it with wooden paddles, which only makes it look better. The masochist of the natural fiber world. Beat the fuck out of it linen doesn’t care. Considerably stronger than cotton. Linen sheet sets can last literal decades in more or less pristine shape because of that strength.The most likely natural fiber to own a ball gag.

[fishbonex]

Under The Influence (of Regret)

Vi x fem!reader

Summary: An already altered discussion has an even worse consequence.

Word Count:

Warning: HEAVY ANGST, mentions of alcoholism, canon-typical violence, arguments, screaming, BLOOD.

note: this story takes place after the end of arcane.

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE.

War and grief have the power to change a person. Maybe for a while, or maybe forever, but change is a certainty.

You didn't escape it, neither did Vi.

You were a constant presence at Caitlyn's mansion, at her insistence. She knew that having a friend around would be good for Vi and for herself. And you didn't want to be alone either, after everything you'd witnessed.

With the periods you spent away from your apartment, it was necessary to always have a small suitcase with your things, despite Caitlyn's insistence that you occupy one of the closets in the room you were assigned.

The problem with taking your clothes was that Vi got into the habit of borrowing them, or just taking them out of your suitcase and then showing up wearing one of your shirts.

But you didn't care. Stealing your clothes seemed like a pastime to her, or pestering you to read to her in front of the fireplace. You didn't mind any of that, since you'd rather have her doing those things than drinking whole bottles of booze.

Vi's addiction to alcohol has always worried you, you closely followed the bad period she went through after the fight with Caitlyn.

She scoffed the first time you suggested she try cutting down on her drinking, got angry the second time, and only softened the third time when she saw how upset you were about it..

The first few months after the war were the hardest, as she grieved over Jinx's death. But you tried to make her comfortable, giving her space and staying close when she seemed more open. The following months were easier, even though the pain was still there, she knew you would be there for her.

With a soft knock on the door of the room she shared with Caitlyn, you waited only a few seconds before hearing permission to enter.

Vi smiled softly as you poked your head in the doorway before stepping all the way in. She was sprawled out in one of the fancy chairs near the fireplace.

"Hey, smarty pants." she held out a hand as you approached.

"Hey, what are you doing?" you rubbed your thumb gently over her bruised knuckles. They were already healing.

"Just... nothing. I couldn't find you and Cait is working in her office." she replied, leaning her head against the back of her chair. "What about you?"

"I'm sorry to tell you, but I need my brown jacket." You replied, seeing her look up at you. "I'm going home today."

"Why?" she asked, letting herself sound fragile, something she rarely did.

"I need to wash my clothes and, I don't know, live in my own house? For a while. Before they kick me out." you shrugged.

"There's a washing machine here, I bet you can use it. And Cait already said you can live-"

"Vi." you interrupted her with a warning tone. "I don't want to talk about this again, you can come see me, or I'll come here when I have time, I don't know. Where's my jacket?"

She let go of your hand and frowned cutely, making her look like a kitten.

"In my middle drawer." she nodded towards the large closet that took up almost an entire wall in the room. "On the left side of the closet."

"In the drawer?" you asked, frowning as you walked over to the closet, opening the doors and looking at the drawers she indicated. "You know where you're supposed to hang a jacket, right?"

"Nonsense," she replied, turning her face back to the fire. "I saved it, that's what matters."

"It must be full of mold, yuck." you joked as you opened the drawer, soon spotting the thick lining of your jacket, picking it up and bringing it close to your face.

You were about to close the drawer again when you saw a smooth surface, glass? Against your better judgment of leaving Vi's privacy alone, you opened the drawer wider and moved the few clothes that were covering the small bottle out of the way. Bottle. A small, light bottle of liquor. Someone had drunk more than half of it.

Your stomach sank and you stopped listening to Vi's voice rattling off a response to your earlier taunt. You lifted the bottle and turned to her.

"Vi, what the fuck is this?" you sounded harsher than you intended. "I thought you were done with that."

She turned her face to you, her expression darkening into anger, "Gimme that." she stood up and walked over to you.

"What's this nonsense?" you took the bottle out of her reach as she stepped forward and tried to take it from you.

"You don't have to get involved in this. Give me the bottle." she held out her hand and you stepped back even further.

"Please, you've come so far. Does Cait know? She'd hate to see you drinking again." you could feel your eyes burning with tears that wanted to come out.

"You don't know anything about me and Cait. Give me that." she advanced on you and you felt anger.

"No!" you shouted. "I thought you-"

"I told you to give me that!" she raised her fist in the air and you felt your head being thrown back hard, making you stumble.

You lost your balance and the things you were carrying fell. Your vision blurred slightly and you soon felt blood running down your now sore nose. Bringing your hand up to your face, you panicked slightly when you saw the thick liquid covering it.

You turned your wide eyes to Vi, who was staring at you, transfixed. Getting up from the ground, you quickly walked past her and stomped away.

The large bandage on your nose was uncomfortable and unsightly. Your nose throbbed and every now and then a wave of pain would hit you, making you curl up even more.

But the pain you felt when you remembered Vi's words was greater, she was right, after all. You knew nothing about her and you shouldn't meddle in her life.

The next day came in a blur and you only realized it when you heard a knock on your door. Groaning in discontent, you dragged yourself over and opened the door a crack.

Your expression quickly fell when you saw Vi standing there, your suitcase slung over her shoulder, your brown jacket in her unoccupied hand.

"What are you doing here?" you spat.

"You... you left your things at Cait's house, I just wanted to bring them to you." she said, her gaze roaming over your face, a hint of worry present.

You reached your hand through the door opening, "Okay, give it to me."

"It's heavy, I'll put it in there for you." she lowered her face and continued to look at you, so that her eyes seemed bigger. "Please."

You huffed and opened the door wider, stepping aside for her to come in. She walked past you with cautious steps as you left the door ajar. You crossed your arms, watching her place your suitcase on the coffee table, resting your jacket on top.

Vi turned to you, her gaze lingering on your face. She looked shy, which was not like her.

"I didn't mean to hit-"

"You said you came to bring my things and you already did, you can go." you interrupted, your nose starting to hurt again.

"I would never hurt you on purpose." she took a step towards you, making you step back. "I didn't mean to do it."

"But you did. And you were right, anyway. I don't know anything about you and I'm not going to interfere in your life anymore." you replied, your voice serious. "Go away."

Vi's eyes shone, the shine of tears she didn't want to shed. She shook her head and walked past you.

[m0llygunn]

'tis the season (eddie munson x fem!reader)

summary: your sweet neighbour addresses a christmas card to both you and eddie — the only issue? she's never met eddie... so how does she know his name? eddie decides that 'tis the season for all your neighbours to know his name

cw: 18+!, christmas adjacent but you don't have to celebrate, smut, oral, fingering, pinv sex, idk mentions of dying of embarrassment, friends with benefits to more (slightly ambiguous ig) an: just a quick lil thing!!! if you liked it pls tell me or i'll pass away from lack of attention wc: 2.4k+

You didn’t think twice about it — a Christmas card that your next door neighbour dropped off to your apartment, addressed to both you and Eddie. 

You should have thought twice about it — because you’ve never introduced lovely Mrs. Mabel to Eddie, and Eddie doesn’t necessarily show up to your apartment during the day time.

What you and him do… it’s more of a night time thing. You call him — sometimes he calls you — and then he drives over. Sometimes you pretend you need something fixed, sometimes it’s a jar lid that's stuck, one time it was your bedside table that was jammed — but him coming over to introduce himself to your 70 year old neighbour is highly, highly unlikely. 

So when you got the card, maybe you should have thought twice about why his name was on it — but you didn’t. You were on your way out and Mrs. Mabel had left it taped to your door. You slid it into your purse, and then when you got home, you had put it down on your countertop with the thought of opening it after putting away the few groceries you had bought.

Then you just forgot about it for the night. A candle was lit, the lights were dimmed, and Eddie was speed dialed. 

When he showed up, you were pouring drinks for the two of you in your kitchen — that’s when he saw the card. 

“Oh?” he hummed, smiling as he slid his finger along the edge of the rustic brown coloured envelope, picking it up. “What's this?”

“Oh yeah!” you remembered. “Mrs. Mabel dropped that off earlier, I forgot to open it. It's a christmas card,” you beamed. 

“Well, good thing you waited. It’s addressed for both of us,” he winked. 

You didn’t understand the wink. 

You didn’t understand why he was so smug either, and you didn’t ask, you were too distracted by the kitschy card, with drawings of cats wearing Santa hats wishing you and Eddie a ‘Meowy Christmas’ and a ‘Purrfect New Year’. 

It was only after drinks were drunk, your bedroom was visited, and Eddie said something odd, that you started to question what exactly he meant. 

His skin was still dewy where you laid your head on his chest. Both of your breaths were labored. His hand was splayed across your back, feeling extra warm. 

“So… I take it that all your neighbours know my name?” He said it like he was teasing you. You didn’t understand why, but it seemed loaded.

“No? Why would they all know your name?”

“Hmmm,” he hummed, and you could hear the mischief in his smile. He was up to something, but your eyelids were heavy, and his hand started to rub up and down your spine, and with the way your body vibrated, you could not have cared less. Whatever he was getting at could wait. 

And it did wait — one whole week. Then you finally understood, and you really cared — because what the fuck. 

He came over earlier than usual. He hadn’t even called, he just showed up, and with flowers. Flowers. Eddie doesn’t give you flowers, he gives you orgasms. That’s what you thought this thing was between the two of you — nothing more than late night hookups. Not flowers. 

And then he dropped the bomb that he was making you dinner. Dinner. He was being so sweet, and he brought you flowers, and he was making you dinner. You can’t even remember a time where you had seen him before the sun set. Flowers. Dinner.

As he found his way through your kitchen, he made sure to get in every little touch and graze possible, even ones that were so obviously unnecessary. Like when you were washing vegetables at the sink. He pressed himself behind you, wrapping his arms around your body, caging you in against the sink, washing his hands in the most inconvenient position ever. It was incredibly inefficient, and it got the front of your shirt wet, but that was another thing. He peeled your shirt off you right in the kitchen. With a giggle — because this whole ordeal had left you undeniably smitten — you complained that the cotton of your shirt was cold and stuck to you, so his solution was to spin you around and lift it right up from your waist, up your chest, and over your head. 

As the fabric passed over your face, you shut your eyes, only to open them to Eddie pressing a kiss to your lips. The shirt was thrown to the floor, his hands found your cheeks, and you were walked backwards until your bum pressed to the countertop. His body pressed to yours, his belt buckle jutting in the bare skin of your belly, his shirt sticking to the lace of your bra. He kissed you stupid right in the middle of your kitchen. 

When you thought you were moving onto the next part of the night — forgoing dinner and heading straight to the bedroom — you were wrong. 

“What’ya doing?” he murmured against your mouth. You had reached around him, blindly finding and spinning the burner off. 

“Making sure my apartment doesn’t burn down.”

“It won’t. We’re right here.” He pressed a string of new kisses to your lips, and you could feel his smile through every single one. 

Your makeout session did not move to the bedroom. 

When the timer went off, he parted from you with a final peck to your lips, and ‘for good measure’, another one to your cheek. From there on out, you… you were useless. Just a pair of wobbly legs being ordered around by a thoughtless brain. You spilled things, and knocked things over, and clattered dishes, and eventually Eddie put you on watch duty — or as he put it, ‘sit there and look pretty’ duty. 

It didn’t get better either. He kept looking at you. Looking at you with dark eyes that you know too well. Dark eyes that felt deeper than anything you’ve felt before. Dark eyes that made your stomach swirl and your thighs clench. Dark eyes that you wanted in the bedroom, right now. 

You tried to get him in the bedroom. From your spot sitting on the countertop, you tried to hook a pointed foot around his thigh as he stirred honestly over a steaming pan. You tried to give him the same eyes back. You tried — oh god, you tried. 

And you know what he did? He set the table. Lit a candle, set out glasses, lined up forks and knives. Got you a new shirt to wear. Filled your plates, got you both napkins, pulled your chair out for you. 

You wanted him more than anything. 

And then you got him. 

The table was never cleared. Clothes were shed before either of you were past your bedroom door. Your hands were tugging at his boxers, and you wanted to show him how much you appreciated his kindness — how much you enjoyed the impromptu flowers and dinner. 

He had other plans. 

He laid you down and spread you out. Put his mouth to use — held both your hands as he did it too. It had your chest squeezing in a soft way, and your hips moving in a way you could not control. 

“Eddie,” you moaned, as he licked at your sensitive spot, pushing you just over the point of too much pleasure. You already came once but he decided that you deserved much more than that. 

“Am I making you feel good?”

“Mhm, so good, Eddie — fuck,” you gasped as your pleasure quickly became overstimulating. He rearranged your intertwined mess of hands, taking both of yours in one of his, freeing up the other to move down your body and meet his mouth at your core. 

Two fingers were pushed into your already convulsing cunt. You barely had a moment to come down, and he was barreling past that point, moving you onto your next orgasm. His fingers curled, and your whole body tensed.

“Eddie — E-Eddie,” you said, voice rising as your hips began to buck, thighs jerking.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Eddie,” you whined, like it was a real answer and not just his name. Like he should know what he's doing to you — and he does, but to your ignorance, this is exactly what he wants.

“I know — I know, feels good, huh?”

And it did. His fingers felt great, but him properly filling you up felt better. As soon as he sunk his length into you, you were a goner. 

With your legs folded, ankles sitting over his shoulders, blankets gathered where you fisted them in your hands, and your toes curled tightly, Eddie fucked you. Sincerely, amorously, hard.

Every snap of his hips to yours, every crude, wet noise, every creak of the bed, was hidden well beneath the way you panted and whined — and Eddie just goaded you on.

“Yeah? Right there? That's where it feels good?”

“Yes, right — right there,” you answered devotedly.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Tell me how you want it,” he grunted, bringing a soft hand to your cheek and running it upwards, pushing back the baby hairs on your forehead. 

“Harder,” you answered, meeting his gaze. 

“Harder…?’ He smiled, trailing off to prompt you. Just as he did, he let his hips find yours with extra vigour, grinding upwards into you, his cock pressing right against your g-spot with the perfect angle to get a full-body reaction from you. He continued, rolling his hips in a quick rhythm, giving you exactly what you asked for, harder. 

“Eddie,” you gasped, body being pressed up the mattress with the sheer force of his thrust. 

“You like saying my name don’t you? Hm? Sounds so pretty when you say it.”

You should have put it together right there. But you didn’t. You just got louder.

“Eddie — fuck — Eddie!”

“I know. I got you, baby,” he replied, eyes never leaving your face as he purposefully did exactly what he needed to do to get his intended reaction from you. 

“Eddie! Eddie! Eddie!”

One final press of his pelvis to your sensitive clit, one final graze of his cock to that special spot inside of you, one final gasp of his name, and you were coming. Coming harder than you had tonight, harder than you ever had in your whole life. 

You wished you could have stayed in that moment forever. 

Pleasure coursing through you, spreading everywhere from your ten fingers to your ten toes, your mind blank apart from the pure adoration you had for the man who laid overtop of you, cumming inside of you at that very moment. The man who surprised you and brought you flowers and cooked you dinner. 

Oh, and not to mention how, in that moment, you were so blissfully ignorant to a spectacularly embarrassing fact. So naive, so ignorant. So stupid. 

Eddie was a sweetheart. Continued to be a sweetheart, actually. After giving the two of you time to settle, he eventually got up, helped clean you up, cleaned himself up, and then got back into bed with you to cuddle. Cuddling has been a normal thing for the two of you, but his smile as he cozied up close to you, with the way his lips rounded at the corners, and his dimples were so deeply set, it was not the normal, bliss-filled, post-orgasm smile. It was different, it was mischievous, and a touch unsettling. 

“What?” you eventually caved, smiling back at him as he gave you a dramatic side eye paired with a raised brow — he's been waiting for you to ask him what's on his mind. 

He grinned at you, canines poking out with all his glee. He dropped his head to your fluffed pillow, tugged you in closer, and looked at you like he was about to spill some hot, gossipy pillowtalk. 

��Think all your neighbours know my name now?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, weaving together in the centre, because what does that have to do with anything? ‘What?’ sat on the tip of your tongue, but just as he wiggled his brow, giving you a pointed look, waiting for you to put it all together, it finally hit you. It hit you like a brick to the head. A brick to the head off of a three story building. Beyond painful. 

The reason Mrs. Mabel, dear, sweet, elderly, Mrs. Mabel knew Eddie’s name to write it on your Christmas card: thin walls, his talent, your loud mouth. 

“No,” you gasped, jaw dropping.

“No?” He scrunched his forehead upwards, eyes widening, leaning in even closer to you to absorb the full extent of your shock. “Because I think they do,” he smirked, voice rising with amusement. Finding your waist under the blankets, he curled his fingers into your flesh. You squirmed, grabbing his hand and holding him still. This is serious. 

“Eddie,” you frowned, squeezing his hands before pushing them out from under the blankets and away. He let you, watching you through bright eyes, loving every minute of your humiliation. 

“Yes, sweetheart, that is my name,” he practically sang. 

“That’s so embarrassing.” You let your body shrink into the mattress, turning to hide your face in the pillow. You whined out a long groan, ridding your body of every ounce of breath in your lungs. If you were a lucky person, you would have suffocated. Died right there and rid yourself of all your mortal shame. 

“Nobody complained, I think they’re fine with it.” His hand became a heavy weight of your waist, coaxing you out from the pillow while rubbing your back.

“I’m not fine with it,” you said abruptly, nearly giving yourself whiplash as you turned your neck to look at Eddie. “Mrs. Mabel… she… she — ”

Eddie finished your sentence — “She gave us a Christmas card. She’s not upset,” he smiled, leaning in once again, this time to press a kiss to your forehead. 

He's wrong. You know it, but you don't have the will to fight it. So instead you rolled your eyes, sighing as you laid your head back down to your pillow. 

“You’re so annoying.”

“Oh really?” Eddie teased, his mischievous tone contradicting the gentle way he pulled the blanket up for you, covering your shoulders and tucking it under your chin. “I don’t recall me being annoying a few minutes ago?” He took a deep inhale. “Eddie! Eddie! Eddie —” he began to chant, voice pitched up mockingly, volume way too loud. 

“Shush,” you scolded him, jumping forward, fighting to free your arms from the blanket to smack both of your hands over his mouth. His voice vibrated behind your palms, and his laughter stuck to your skin as you forcibly shut him up. 

Your neighbours clearly already knew his name, but if they didn’t, they definitely do now.

thank you for reading! happy holidays <333333

[islandofthedollz]

❤︎Get well soon ❤︎

⁠❥TW: Rape, Somnophilia, Non-Con |MDNI

Curly’s precious little sister is really sick your caring brother making sure your every need is met. Curly notices that your low on medication but he doesn’t wanna leave you alone so he calls Jimmy and see if he can take care of you while he picks up you’re medication. Jimmy agrees.

Curly tells Jimmy that you have 1 pill left Jimmy nods. Jimmy walks over you your room he sees you snuggled up watching tv. “Hey kid” he sluggishly says leaning on your door frame. “Hi Jimmy” you say as you turn your head to cough. Jimmy wrinkles his nose in disgust he walks out of your room yelling at you that he’s gonna come back with your medication.

Jimmy walks to the kitchen sees the fridge full of pictures of you and curly. He looks at the pictures of you. What a slut he thinks always wearing shorts the hug your ass and low cut shirts and dresses to tease him. He snaps out of his thought and remembered his special pill for you. Jimmy gets water and walks over to your room. He hands you the pill and water. You look at the pill looking different then the ones curly gives you. “Why is it a different color?”

Jimmy sighs he grabs the bridge of his nose “ Curly said these are the extra strength ones their supposed to assist your regular medication. You don’t question it Jimmy has never ever told you a lie plus if your big brother said it why doubt it. You grab the medication from Jimmy’s calloused hands. You take the medication washing it down with water. Jimmy and sets a timer on his phone for 10 minutes.

Time skip to 10 minutes

Jimmy walks into your room and sees you asleep perfect the thinks. He takes off your covers only a long short covering you. Jimmy’s hands roam your legs he lifts your shirt and sees your panties his has touches it rubbing your clit up and down. He looks up and sees you knocked out cold.

He slides your panties off and starts sucking and licking your clit he hears a small moan from you. What a filthy girl it’s like you’re basically telling him to fuck you. What type of man would he be ignoring this kind of request. He quickly takes his belt off lowing his rough jeans and boxers. He pumps his cock a few time Jimmy doesn’t bothering prepping you. He grabs your hips digging his nails into your delicate soft skin and thrust him self roughly. Jimmy tilts his head back enjoying how warm your pussy is from your fever.

You tensed up in your sleep at a foreign invasion inside your cunt, before the medicine he gave you succumbed your body back into the dreamland. After a few thrust Jimmy was in a trance how tight your warm walls squeezed him you want this you need him to fill you up. Jimmy stopped caring about waking you up.

He started at a rough pace, gripping your legs tightly in his hands as he pounded your - no, his - cunt. Yes, you’d be his cumdump from now on. He knew he could be manipulative when he wanted to, he would have you as his perfect little cocksleeve sooner rather than later. He should have done this much much sooner. Jimmy speed up sped up again, ramming into you as fast as he could. He felt your body shudder and jolt.

He leaned down to bite at your lips when his dick twitched. He stopped balls deep inside you, cuming with a loud groan. He pulled out of you white cum dribbling out of your pussy he quickly pulled out his phone taking a picture of your destroyed pussy. Jimmy puts his pants back on and lowers your shirt and walks down stairs turning on the tv. A few minutes later curly walks in with medication.

“Sorry about the long wait Jim I got stuck in traffic I hope she wasn’t too much trouble for you” curly says scratching the back of his head. Jimmy gets up from the couch “the brat wasn’t to much trouble she’s asleep in her bed”. Jimmy gets his keys “see ya” Jimmy slams the door closed before curly can say anything.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Exchange

Warnings: allusions to parental abuse, non/dubcon, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Summary: Your father surprises you for Christmas.

Character: Cole Turner

Day Twenty-Three of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - let me dust the snow off your coat/hat/shoulder 

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

“What the fuck are you doin’?” Your father’s snarl sends the turkey slipping back into the sink. You spin to face him, holding up your cold hands. 

“Daddy, just doin’ up the turkey,” you blink. “It’s thawed now--” 

“I don’t care about the fuckin’ turkey,” he retorts. “Should be gettin’ yourself ready.” 

You frown and look down at yourself. You wear one of his old shirts, the Ford tee with the hole near the hem and a loose cardigan Shelby from down the way gave you, over loose sweats that were once also his. Nothing you have it really your own, it’s only his scraps, what he doesn’t need anymore. 

“Ready for what?” 

“You questioning me, girl?” He growls. 

You gulp and shake your head. You lower your hand, keeping them away from your clothes as you’re all too aware of the raw poultry all over them. You stare at him. 

“Yes, sir, I'll get ready,” you step forward hesitantly, uncertain as you watch him.  

He huffs through his nose and curls his lip, “presents on your bed. Figure it out.” 

You nod as you come close to him, wary of a lunge as you thank him under your breath. He only shoulders past you and goes to the counter. You’re confused.

Your father doesn’t get you gifts. He doesn’t get anyone gifts. You spent weeks thrifting what you could to give to your aunt and uncles when they got here, altering it all to make it presentable, but he only ever reads his sci-fi books and makes demands. 

You go to the bathroom to wash your hands. You look at yourself in the mirror. Anxiety tenses in your cheeks. Every day roils with the same uneasiness. Every day for more than two decades. You should want to get away but complacence is easier. He hates you but for whatever reason he won’t let you go. 

You go to your room. There’s a bag on your bed. You don’t know why you expected something wrapped or a bow. Still, your surprised by the contents of the paper bag. 

A pink dress with long bloused sleeves and a short skirt. You lift it out and stare in disbelief. You lay it on the bed and take out the shoes with it; little white booties with fur. At the bottom, there’s a box with shiny colours streaked across it; makeup? 

Your father’s footsteps have you facing the door and he appears in his stained flannel, slurping his instant coffee. “Well?” 

“Thank you, daddy, it’s really nice--” 

“Get a move on,” he snaps his fingers at you. 

“Oh, uh, yes, sir,” you shrink down and turn to gather up the things. 

“Make sure you wash all of ya,” he sneers. “You smell like a dead bird.” 

You swallow down your embarrassment. It feels like a trick. Why would he get you such nice things but still be so mean? Where did he get the money? His Christmas bonus always goes to whatever car he’s clanking around on in the garage. 

You go to your dresser and fish out a bra and some clean underwear. Everything you have are handmedown. They are all forgotten, like you. It feels so strange to have anything brand new. 

You take it all to the bathroom and start the shower. You stick to the golden rule; no more than three minutes to get washed up. Don’t waste the damn water, your father’s voice haunts you. 

You dry off and dress. The dress is nice but a bit snug. It’s too short, isn’t it? You tug at it until you can breathe. 

You once more face your reflection. You are lost. You do your best to tame your hair then put on the dollar store cream.  

You open the box of cosmetics. You read each label and search for any instructions. There’s nothing.  

You uncap the liner and examine the tip. You pull your eyelid taut and meticulous draw a thin line over the edge. You let it go. It looks okay. Not tacky or anything. You do the other and do your best to even them out. 

Next the mascara. You fear scraping your eyes but coat your lashes without incident. It looks better now. You blink as you take in the effect. The blush... you’re not very sure. You blend a bit into your cheeks but don’t think it makes much difference. 

Finally, you gloss your lips with the stick of pink. You like the colour but the sheen feels unnatural and sticky. Your father clears his throat as he prowls outside. You sniff and pack everything up. That’s as good as it gets. 

You step out as he grumbles in the kitchen door frame. You glance over and he huffs. “Put the damn shoes on. Whatcha draggin’ your ass for?” 

You flit back to your room and grab the boots. You think of grabbing socks or something but you don’t have anything to go with the dress. Your legs will just be cold. 

You come back out on the heels, wobbling slightly. Your father storms at you from the front door, moving quicker than you’ve seen. He shoves your coat at you. You pout as you try to unravel his intent. 

“Daddy?” 

“Go wait outside. He'll be here soon, won’t he?” 

“He? Daddy?” 

“You’re so fucking mouthy, go.” 

He jams his thumb at the door and you flinch. You take the coat and pull it on. It doesn’t go with the dress or boots. What’s going on? 

“Are you coming?” 

“Fuck off,” he pushes you toward the door and you stumble into it. 

You put your chin down as you plant your feet and pull away from the door. You put the coat on before you untwist the lock. You are lost. 

He slams the door behind you before you can shut it yourself. You shiver as you step onto the porch and search the wintery country fields. There isn’t much snow, enough to dust the ground, but the air is crisp. Your legs are scalded by the early freeze. 

You stare off in the distance. Your heart pumps faster as a thought startles you. Did your daddy just kick you out? Why? On Christmas? 

You see the square headlights first. The pale blue truck winds down the hidden dirt road and steers towards the old homestead. You squeeze yourself as another chill sweeps over you as you watch the approach. Hooked to the back of the truck is a long trailer, the contents covered. 

You recognise the silver trim of the truck. You squint at Cole through the windshield as he pulls up, the exhaust clouding the frigid air. The door shrieks as he pushes it open and you chatter as you bring your hands to your raw cheeks. 

“Hey, you look frozen,” he says. “Merry Christmas.” 

“M-merry Christmas, sir,” you call back. You still don’t understand. 

“I’ll just unhook the load for your dad, then we can head out,” he grins as he keeps his hand on his open truck door. “Got the heat going, you wanna get in before you freeze your knees off?” 

You wince and turn to peek at the windows. Huh? You shrug and come down the steps. You’re so cold, you don’t care. You just want to stop shivering. 

Cole closes the driver’s door and leads you around to the passenger’s side. He pauses to dust snow off your shoulder as flakes swirl down lazily. His touch somehow makes you colder. He opens it and holds out his gloved hand to help you up. He’s always polite but you don’t see him very much. Your daddy did a few repairs on his truck and he would help with the garden in the summer. You were always inside, locked up. 

You let go of him, your hand thrumming from his warmth. He gently shuts the door and continues towards the rear. The truck jostles as he unhooks the trailer. You peek in the mirror and see the thick ends of the wooden planks poking out from under the tarp. It’s a lot of wood. Expensive, probably. 

None of this makes sense. Cole comes up to the driver side and gets in with a ‘brrrr’. You blow into your hands and he reaches to turn the vent up even higher. He smiles at you as you avoid looking at him. 

“Ready?” He asks. 

You hunch down and rub your hands together, “for what?” 

He’s quiet. He peers through the windshield at the house then back at you. You shrink under his gaze. 

“Did your dad... what did he tell you?” 

You heart thumps. Will you get in trouble if you don’t go along with whatever this is? “He didn’t... he just told me to wait for you.” 

“Ah,” he reaches once more to wipe away melted snow from your sleeve. “Well, er...” He stiffens in his seat. “I thought he’d... say something.” 

You just nod. Whatever you say or do will get back to your daddy somehow. He’ll be mad if you ruin whatever this is. 

“It’s a lot of wood. Your dad says he’s going to add onto the garage,” Cole speaks as he shifts gears and steers away from the trailer, circling back towards his tire tracks. “Not many folks got that kind of money and I don’t really need anything done on the truck.” 

Your lashes flutter in furious thought. It feels like this should be obvious but your mind isn’t clicking. 

“Did I say you look really nice?” He clears his throat. “Cold, but nice. I shoulda bought some stockings too.” 

You look down at the rosy skirt and shake your head. A piece slips into place. Of course it wasn’t your daddy who bought it all. 

“Oh, you—thank you, Cole,” you squeak as you smooth the short hem. 

“Well, I figured you’d want to look pretty. I mean, you always do, but... it’s Christmas, right?” 

He sounds nervous, just as much as you. You wring your hands and look around the white landscape. Your stomach is a storm. 

“It was nice of you to bring daddy all that lumber, sir,” you say. 

“Please, call me Cole,” he insists. He’s quiet for a moment as he steers, then sucks his teeth. “Or you could call me something nicer. Like... honey?” 

“Honey?” You eke out. “Why-- uh... oh?” 

You furrow your nose and rub between your brows. That dark feeling crawls up from your stomach as the doubt in your head trickles down to meet it. It’s not making sense but... 

“You still look cold,” he reaches over to rest his hand on your knee, “you can get warm...” He tickles along your skirt then bends his arm up and stretches it out to grab your shoulder. “Come here.” 

You blanch but make yourself slide over. You tremble as you do. He curls his arm over your shoulders, his other hand on the bottom of the steering wheel. 

“See, isn’t this nice?” 

Your eyes prick as that rotting sensation in your chest overwhelms that voice in your head. You sniffle and touch your nose. You squirm as the cold seeps away to unbearable heat. Your denial melts under the flames of dread. 

“Sir-- Cole,” you twiddle your fingers. “Where are we going?” 

He chuckles and slows, turning to plant a kiss on your hair, “you’re going to come meet mom and dad. They are very excited to have you for Christmas.” He squeezes you even tighter, “not as excited as I am though.” 

Your chest hollows out as if you’ve been hit directly in the heart. You can’t breathe as it sets in. It’s absurd but there’s no other explanation. Did your daddy really trade you for a cartload of wood? 

Well, he always did love his cars more than you. You hope it’s a nice garage, that it’s worth it. Well, it would be worth more than his useless daughter. 

[gyubakeries]

❆ 𝐠𝐲𝐮𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 : 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐬! ❆ | 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐮 - 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 <𝟑

❆ 𝑑𝑎𝑦 9: pre-christmas dinner | k.mg

a/n: hi!! welcome to day 9 <333 be prepared to see some chef!mingyu haha :P i also must thank kyii and sousy for brainstorming with me for this fic, and a few others as well. love u guys <3

p.s. it definitely takes much more time to pull off an entire roast chicken, but for the sake of the fic, the process is relatively faster and mingyu is like, the masterchef or something. also im writing this the evening before a major exam and im just as cooked as the first chicken lol.

word count: 1.2k contents: mingyu x gn!reader , established relationship , ceo!mingyu , cooking , theyre gonna roast a chicken for funsies , good chef!mingyu , clumsy helper!reader , fluff , christmas fun , one (1) chicken was ..... cooked too well in this fic , im sorry chicken (or not...) , read to find out why <3

"baby! i'm home!" mingyu calls out, and that's all it takes for you to come out to the living room, only to be met by the sight of your giant of a boyfriend dragging in huge bags.

"you said you were going to buy some ice-cream," you raise an eyebrow at mingyu. "so, either you bought an entire year's worth of cookies 'n cream, or you bought stuff that we didn't need."

"you know how i get at grocery stores, especially the large, gourmet ones," mingyu pouts. "everything looks so good."

"this is exactly why you need to let me buy groceries," you sigh, grabbing one of the bags and starting to empty the contents. "your bank account won't thrive for long."

"please, we both know i have more than enough money to live comfortably," mingyu sasses. you turn away from the pantry, where you were putting away the organic pasta mingyu had bought, to face your boyfriend.

he looks absolutely adorable like this; beanie nearly slipping over his eyes, large figure bundled up in a sweater and crouching in front of the fridge, stuffing two boxes of something in the freezer.

in moments like these, it's almost impossible to imagine mingyu as the CEO of a high-tech company. trying to visualize him in the crisp suits he wears to work feels like a distant dream, especially when at home, he's just the embodiment of a golden retriever, always so soft and loving.

"yeah, i know mr. ceo," you snicker when he plops down on the floor, complaining of a backache because of crouching at a weird angle. "you don't have to flex your money."

"i'm not flexing," mingyu defends himself with wide eyes. "just saying; we could totally quit our jobs and travel the world, and we'd still have enough money to buy your dream house in the countryside of france."

"we'll see about that," you laugh. just as you finish putting all the groceries away, your stomach starts rumbling. "what's for dinner?"

"roast chicken," mingyu hums, and you notice him flitting around the kitchen, gathering spices, sauces, herbs, and lots of other things.

"you're kidding," you deadpan. "you're gonna roast a chicken?"

"yes!" mingyu grins at you, patting a box placed on the counter. "mr. chicken is here. i'm just going to let him marinade for a while before we roast."

"you're insane," you gape at how professional he looks, washing an entire chicken, patting it dry, mixing together a quick marinade, covering the chicken in it and setting it aside in a matter of thirty minutes.

"again, why aren't you a full-time chef?" you ask him. you're both munching on some snacks while he waits for the oven to finish pre-heating and the chicken to rest in the marinade.

"because i only want my baby to eat my cooking," mingyu answers, stealing some of your chips.

"you've literally cooked for all our friends."

"okay, my baby and our friends."

"and what about our future children? won't you cook for them?" you tease, and as usual, mingyu whines.

"y/n, you know what i meant," he sulks. "i didn't want to turn something i love doing into a profession that i may end up hating."

"well, i'm lucky to have experienced your amazing cooking skills," you remark, and mingyu rolls his eyes affectionately. "if you're trying to sweet talk me into giving you the last slice of cheesecake in the fridge, it's not gonna work."

"aw man," you frown, and mingyu presses a kiss to your cheek as compensation. as if on cue, the oven's timer dings, and mingyu springs into action. he takes the chicken out of the fridge, and you watch in awe as he preps a baking tray, places the chicken in it, and puts it in the oven.

he finally finishes fiddling with the settings of the oven and comes over to you, expression serious.

"babe, i have an online meeting right now. the chicken's gonna be in for an hour. can you keep an eye out for when the oven timer rings? i should be done by then, but if i'm not, just carefully take it out of the oven and set it on the counter, okay?"

"got it, chef," you mock salute, and he smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. "stay alert okay? you do remember what happened last time with the cake, right?" mingyu teases.

"i got distracted by the show! it could happen to anyone," you cross your arms.

"i know, but i don't want a repeat of that," mingyu chuckles. "cleaning burnt cake wasn't exactly fun."

"i promise, gyu, i'll be extra attentive this time," you assure him, and he heads into the study for his online meeting.

to no one's surprise, you completely miss the timer.

your best friend had called you fifteen minutes after the chicken had started cooking, and what was supposed to be a five minute call regarding what dress your friend should wear to her boyfriend's office party, turned into more than an hour of gossiping about your respective office colleagues.

you only notice something is wrong when you smell something burning, and it hits you then.

the chicken.

apparently, mingyu too had smelled the burning, because he's already grabbing the tray out of the oven and placing it on the counter.

the chicken is burnt, and there's no way of salvaging it.

"min, i'm sorry-" you gasp, mortified by your mistake. "i swear i was trying to-"

"it's okay," mingyu shakes his head, setting the tray down in the sink, leaving the disaster of a roast chicken to cool before he attempts to scrape it off the tray. "i kinda thought this may happen, so i got reinforcements."

you watch with furrowed eyebrows as mingyu walks over to the fridge and pulls out another box, revealing yet another whole chicken.

the entire situation seems absurd, and all you can say is, "were they twins??"

mingyu bursts into laughter, and so do you. it's hilarious seeing his six foot-something figure double over as he nearly falls to the ground because of how hard he's laughing.

"babe, you're so silly," he wheezes, trying to catch his breath. "i just got a backup chicken, in case something went wrong with the first one."

"and you didn't bother to check if they were from the same family?" you gasp in mock offense.

"my bad," he raises his arms in surrender. "in my defense, the burnt one kinda looked like this one's cheating ex, which is why it has to go in the trash."

"hm, i'll allow it then," you nod, face serious, as if you both weren't making up ridiculous stories about chickens of all things.

"anyways, now, all you have to do is sit back, while i cook this one," mingyu instructs you.

"it was a mistake," you pout, crossing your arms and leaning against the kitchen counter. mingyu crosses over to you and pecks your lips. "i know it was baby, and it's okay. you can help me with the marinade this time, okay?"

(the way your eyes lit up in joy makes mingyu feel like he'd be okay with any food burning, as long as it gets you this happy to help him redo it.

god, he'd buy you all the chickens in the world, just to see you like this.)

- fin.

divider made by @bernardsbendystraws !

main taglist: @lecheugo @min-imum @sousydive @livelaughloveseventeen @unlikelysublimekryptonite

@theidontknowmehn @shinwonderful @baseball-dokyeom @wonuwrites @hearts4hee

@t-102 @gyuguys @grapejuicelh @aaa-sia @cixrosie

series taglist in comments!

comment on this post to be tagged on the upcoming fics!

head to the series masterlist - here <3

head to the masterlist for more!

[deezbignutz]

Redacted hc bc i got bored and like to project shit i/others do/have to characters :))))))))

Whenever Lasko sees anyone smoking/vaping or smells the smoke from it, there’s always a very clear frown on his face since he doesn’t like it when people smoke. Like a full on :C. He’d also always blow the smoke away or put the cigarette (if they were using a cigarette) out with his magic. (rip stoner Hux😔)

During their childhood, Elliott used to change his wardrobe whenever Aaron did to resemble his older brother’s. Aaron noticed this quite quickly and got really annoyed at first, but then he grew to find it very endearing and made sure to tell Elliott what he would wear when going out so he could prepare something similar to it.

Whenever Asher is driving or when he’s in a car and they pass a traffic light as it turns yellow, he hits the ceiling of the car. It’s a tradition he and his sister did when they ere younger and if you hit the ceiling of the car when passing a traffic light that’s turning yellow, you’d get an extra day added to your life, but if you do that when the light doesn’t turn yellow you get a day taken from your life. He then passed it on to the pack and they like to do it as a challenge for who can hit the ceiling first.

Huxley has a rock collection of rocks he either got while on vacation, on a walk, or just because he thought they looked cool. He used to just have it on the side of his desk, but now it has grown so much it has a dedicated corner somewhere in his house. He also has a rock with foundation on it. No, there’s no context. Just an oval rock with foundation on it.

Guy has a scar in the space between his thumb and index finger from a butter knife. He was washing the dishes one time and accidentally cut himself there with a butter knife he was holding. And now he was beef with butter knives and has put a little >:( on the handle of the knife that cut him.

Geordi has a little rubber duck on the front of the inside of his car. That’s it, he just has it. He doesn’t know where it came from, but it’s just there now. He calls it “Bartholomew Barbecue Barsalona Barbra Barbara Baraba the lll, barbaric barber bearing the botanic plague”

For the last day of the school year, Dear makes all sort of baked goods and gives them to their classes as a treat for making a whole year. They make sure to have specific treats for students that had dietary needs and saves some for the D.A.M.N. Crew.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk :))))

[celli-ohs]

hubba hubba!

part two of accidentally in love! series frat boy!yeonjun x stubborn!reader; college!au, one-sided love to lovers! comedy/crack, fluff, angst, SMUT (softdom!yeonjun x sub!femreader)

ATTENTION: This chapter contains SMUT!!! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!! (M18+)

WARNINGS: drunk/distracted driving, mentions of drinking, foul language, oral (m&f receiving), masturbation, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, daddy kink, shower sex

author's note: once again, I'm so sorry for how bad I am at writing smut 😭 this is what I get for not reading smut myself sorry y'all I really tried this time! I think I'm getting better though lmao

17. i took her to my penthouse and i freaked it (written chapter 2.5K)

Your skirt is riding up as you lean over, but you don’t seem to notice or care due to all of your attention being on Yeonjun’s cock. “Holy fuck. Slow down baby, I gotta focus.” He whines. His actions betray him though, as you feel his other hand push your head down deeper. The tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, and you gag, choking around him. The man in question lets out a heavenly moan in response. He releases you, and you gasp for air before diving back in, teasing by licking his shaft up and down. God he tasted so good. You’re sure your makeup is ruined, you’ve probably got lipstick all over your face with how you were practically starving for his dick, but that doesn’t seem to bother Yeonjun at all. You can hear him press on the gas, his breath labored as he tried to keep his eyes on the road and not you as you suck his tip like a lollipop. “I wanna ride you so bad Jun,” You whimper, massaging his balls as you kiss his dick. “Almost there baby girl, almost.”

Your night began when Yeonjun knocked on your apartment door. “Coming!” You shout as you speed out of your room, struggling to clip on your earring. You quickly throw open your door, and you’re immediately taken aback. Yeonjun wears nothing but a gray tank top and washed-out jeans. His hair is parted but a little messy, he probably drove with his windows down, a habit you’d learned he had, especially since it was the end of summer. But what takes you out is his eye contact. His eyes are intense, they scan all over you before connecting with your own, and he just smiles. Not his usual one, this smile was different, and you had an idea on why. “Hi,” You cough out, trying to remain calm as you smile. “Hey, wow you look amazing.” Yeonjun licks his lips. You only laugh, stepping to the side to let him in.

“Heeseung already left with the guys, I’m almost ready, I just have to change.” You say as you walk towards your room down the hall. “That’s not your outfit? You look good already,” Yeonjun says as he follows you. You laugh again, you’re wearing nothing but biker shorts and a random t-shirt from high school that was a little too small. “You’re funny. Give me a moment to change, I’ll be right out.” You tell him. “Why can’t I just come with you? I’ll close my eyes.” he sends you a suggestive smirk, one you roll your eyes at. “Yeonjun,” He grins. “I promise!” You shake your head and close the door. “No,I’ll be quick.” You tell him. As you’re searching through your closet, you can hear him humming “Toxic” by Britney Spears on the other side of the wall.

You settle on a two piece set, a matching skirt and halter top combo. You quickly slip it on, having already done your hair and makeup earlier. You’re putting your shoes on when you hear Yeonjun knock. “You ready?” He asks. “Yeah, actually can you come in? I need some help.” You announce, fixing your skirt in the mirror. “Come in? Okay…” He opens the door slowly, peeking his head through. Yeonjun acts as if he’d never been in your room before, when the last time he was here he’d taken a nap on your bed as you sewed the straps on Yujin’s dress. “Over here,” You wave to him, and he finally walks over. He lets out a low whistle as he eyes your figure. “I’m loving the fit,” He says in a low voice. “Thanks, I made it myself.” You wink at him through the mirror.

“Could you tie this for me?” You instruct, and gesture to the two loose straps hanging on your shoulders. Yeonjun jumps at the opportunity, helping you sweep your hair out of the way. His fingers ghost over the back of your neck, and you have to fight yourself from shuddering. Yeonjun takes his time tying the knot, but once he’s finished, he slides his hand gently down your back. You don’t move as he leans down, lips settling right next to your ear. “You’re so beautiful.” You can hear him smirking. You bite your lip, forcing yourself to behave. “T-Thank you.” You cough out, too embarrassed to look at him now. Usually you’d tease him right back, but with how he was looking at you right now, you were having a hard time thinking of a comeback.

As you two drove, Yeonjun’s right hand danced its way over to your thigh. Your bare skin feels as if it’s been lit on fire as his fingers drum to the beat of his radio against your plush leg. “So,” You clear your throat. “You said this was your first party in a while, right?” You try to make conversation, hoping to distract yourself from Yeonjun’s lingering fingers. “Yeah, they convinced me to let them celebrate, but to be honest, I kind of missed getting together like this.” He shrugs, eyes on the road. “I mean, a party every once in a while is nice, don’t know how you guys do it every weekend.” You admit. “It’s an acquired taste,” Yeonjun jokes. “I know a couple of the guys see it as a reward for a long week of school though,” You laugh along, you were pretty sure he was referring to Jake.

Yeonjun swiftly parks the car upon your arrival, running to open your door. “On second thought,” he mumbles as he helps you out, holding your hand. “Maybe I’d rather we head back. You look too divine to be out in public.” You chuckle, swatting him away. “We drove all the way here, let’s socialize a little.” And socialize you two did. Yeonjun practically had himself wrapped around you all night, never leaving your side. Even when his own friends would try to pry him off you, he’d stick to you like gum on a shoe. You enjoyed every minute of it, finding his clinginess not only cute, but insanely hot. “If you ever need anymore models, I’d love to volunteer, I'll even go nude.” Mingi smirks down at you as he leans against the wall for support. You find his childish attempts at flirting with you amusing.

“Fuck off Mingi, that’s my girl.” Yeonjun growls, his grip around your waist getting tighter. “Your girl? I don’t ever remember agreeing to such a thing,” You raise a brow at the man, and he bites his lip. You don’t notice Mingi slink off. “Yeah, well,” Yeonjun’s index finger slips under your chin, tipping your head back. “I was hoping you’d be mine exclusively after tonight,” His words have you shuddering, and before you know it, your beer has been discarded and replaced by Choi Yeonjun’s lips. You always had a suspicion that his lips were soft, seeing him pout almost daily when you’d poke fun at him, but you never expected Yeonjun’s lips to be as soft as a pillow.

You could taste the shots of whiskey he’d had earlier as it mixed with your strawberry lip gloss, a taste you became addicted to. His hands roam your body, pulling you closer and closer, trying to merge one another. Yeonjun suddenly pulls away, your lips trailing after him. “Jun-” “Let’s get outta here,” He’s breathless as you two run out the front door.

By some miracle, you two manage to make it inside his apartment and into his bedroom in one piece. Yeonjun pushes you onto his mattress, you're already spent but you only crave him more. “Take off your clothes.” He orders, standing at the edge of the bed. You comply, too horny to even feel embarrassed as you strip yourself in front of him. Yeonjun’s eyes are glazed over as you lay back down on his bed, completely nude for him to ravish. “God you’re so fucking hot,” He groans, throwing his tank top over his head and fumbling to remove his jeans. “I need you Yeonjun, please-” You begin to whine, playing with yourself as he finally frees himself of his clothes. “Don’t touch yourself,” He commands, and you hold your breath as you remove your hand.

“You said you wanted to ride, show me how you like to ride baby girl,” He teases, kissing you harshly before shoving you aside to lay against his headrest. “I wanna ride you, ride your cock, so good,” You’re babbling, unable to contain yourself as you hover over his erect dick . You’re sopping wet, dripping your essence all over Yeonjun before finally sinking down on his cock. He moans right into your titty, mouth latched onto your perky nipple. You gasp for air, not expecting his dick to stretch your insides so satisfyingly. You begin to move slowly, up and down, rising and falling. Every time your ass slammed against his thighs, you cried out, he was just too big yet you couldn’t get enough. “Too slow,” Yeonjun mumbles against your skin.

He holds you up, allowing him to piston up into you. You’re wailing in pleasure, gripping onto his shoulders for dear life. You cum for the first time that night riding Yeonjun. As your pussy spasms, you collapse on top of him, energy spent as Yeonjun flips you over. “I’m not done yet baby, don’t get tired now,” He smiles, swiping a stray hair from your face as you pant. Now you lay beneath him, legs wide open. “Wanna taste you while you’re still fresh,” Yeonjun murmurs, yet you don’t realize what he’s meant until his head is stuck between your thighs. You might break his skull with how tight you’re squeezing, but luckily Yeonjun finds this an honorable way to go.

Still he pries your legs open, not wanting to waste a drop of you. You claw at his sheets, crying out his name. “Jun- Yeonjun please-!” You just came minutes ago, you could only handle so much. But he’s a determined man, he’s not leaving your legs until you come one more time. His tongue laps against your folds, sucking and rubbing against your clit. You grab his head, fucking yourself against his face, something he never knew he’d love so much. “I’m gonna-“ You don’t even finish your sentence, cumming instantly. Yeonjun drinks you up as your high slowly falls, you’re moaning loudly, hips still rolling.

“One more baby girl.” Yeonjun smiles as you release him from your death grip. You let him flip you around once more, you lay on your stomach. He’s placed a pillow under your abdomen, raising your ass towards him. “That’s it, let daddy take care of you baby.” He groans into your ear as he leans down to push his thick cock into your pussy once more. You whimper as he begins to thrust, taking a steady pace. “You feel so good, tightest little pussy.” Yeonjun begins to kiss your back. “Fuck I can’t get enough of you.” He’s been dying to cum if he were being honest. You just make the prettiest noises, and wrap around his dick oh so perfectly. But he wanted to enjoy you for even longer.

He can tell you’re already close with how you’re panting, your pussy gripping even tighter than before. So he grabs you, standing you up. Your back is to his chest, he forcibly turns your head towards him, giving him access to your lips. He kisses you with so much passion, his dick pumping in and out of you in a fever. You were well over stimulated yet couldn’t even push him away if you wanted to, his hands held both of your wrists. “I’m close baby, gonna cum.” Yeonjun mumbles against your lips. You nod, trembling. “Cum in me.” His eyes light up. “You want me to cum in you, my pretty baby? Wanna become a mommy?” His lips trail down to your neck, his hips never failing to slow down.

“Need you to cum in me, please- I want you cum in me daddy!” You whine, breaths getting more rapid as Yeonjun’s pace speeds up. “Gonna make you feel so good, gonna get you pregnant with my baby.” He begins to ramble, and now he’s coming undone. He lets go of one of your arms, his hand slips down to your clit, and he begins to rub as he pistons into you. You cum almost immediately, your orgasm taking over your entire body. Your moans fill his room, his apartment. You’re convulsing around his cock, he can’t take it any more. “Gonna cum-!” He chokes. “Please please please please please plea-“ You gasp as Yeonjun groans into your ear, filling you up, pump by pump.

Yeonjun lets you down onto the bed gently, your breath ragged as you lay against his sheets. You feel him slip out of you, his cum oozing out of your hole. You’re so out of it, you barely feel Yeonjun kneel down and give your ass a kiss. “So pretty, all for me to see.” He chuckles. You hear him leave the room, a few seconds later he comes back. He’s wiping you down with a towel. “I’m so hot and sticky,” You grimace as you flip around to sit up. “Wanna take a shower? Let me turn it on for you.” Yeonjun says, before caressing your face and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You are amazing, thank you.” You sigh and smile. You lay back down as he leaves for the bathroom.

Moments later you find yourself under the cool water, covered in sudsy bubbles, and bouncing on top of Yeonjun’s dick again. “You’re an active one.” He jokes as you have your head tucked into the crook of his neck, arms thrown over his shoulders. “Shut up, you started this.” You groan, now embarrassed. “Well baby, what did you expect when I got in with you?” He asks, smirking at you. You glare, and decide to shut him up with a kiss. “Just fuck me.” You threaten. “Love to.” He teases, taking control once more by picking you up, and moving you to his own pace. You throw your head back in pleasure. You feel even tighter, warmer than earlier, sex with you is mind blowing.

Yeonjun doesn’t even warn you when he cums this time, he just does. Pushing you up against the wall, he fiercely kisses you. You can feel his cock throb inside of you as he sets you back down onto your feet. You savor his lips as the two of you wrap your arms around each other under the shower. Suddenly, Yeonjun pulls away, he rubs his thumb across your lips. “I love you.” He suddenly confesses, his eyes pouring his love and soul into you as he stares. You smile and sigh, leaning into his touch. “Let’s wash up, yeah?” Yeonjun gives you a cheesy smile, as if he expected this to be your answer, and nods. In hushed whispers and laughter, you two help each other clean up.

Bonus:

whenever Yeonjun has a girl over, Beomgyu and Kai stay at Taehyun's and Soobin's apartment

they all gather to shit on Yeonjun (bonding moment!)

Yeonjun was so busy eyefucking Y/n at the party, he forgot all about Felix's cake he made for him

Mingi was not joking about the nude modeling

Yeonjun and Y/n were at the party for only 40 minutes before they dipped

previous | next

hubba hubba! masterlist

taglist (open): @justandloyal2961 @hoonatic @emosakumas @ancnymcnzjy @gomdoleemyson @yamsinthetaso

[ghostgirl-22]

a mistletoe artrick story? 👀

Thanks so much for the prompt my lovely 💜 This ended up being completely SFW so I’m either very sorry or you’re welcome. Either way I hope you like it <3

—-

It happened once last year at the winter formal. Patrick won prince or king or something like that so he already had a lot of attention on him which meant people were watching when he pulled Art to the side to ask about something… Art barely remembers what it was. What he remembers is that they ended up under the mistletoe.

“Guess what? Now you have to kiss.” Someone shouts followed by a lot of laughter and chatting.

Art isn’t used to being the center of attention and as embarrassed as he is there is a small, small distant part of him that likes it. Still he doesn’t want this kind of attention. He wasn’t even going to do it but someone said it’d be bad luck not to. Come to think of it that someone was probably Patrick.

Art doesn’t need anymore bad luck. So he lets Patrick pull him closer, wearing one of his goofy grins.

“It’s the kiss you’ve all been waiting for,” Patrick announces to their classmates. Most people are laughing but some are actually cheering. Patrick’s girlfriend Madison rolls her eyes but she’s smiling.

It’s theatrical, Art knows that. And Patrick knows how to put on a show. Still, Art shivers a little as their lips touch. It’s probably nothing. Patrick has soft lips. But it’s nothing. Everyone laughs it off makes the obligatory vaguely homophobic jokes and they continue to dance all night.

None of that’s the weird part actually. What’s weird is what happens the next month. Patrick does well on an exam he was dreading. “I got a B+” he exclaims and he kisses Art straight on the lips.

Art rubs his mouth idly but Patrick looks like he’s already forgotten about it and he runs to call his mom. So Art forgets about it too.

And then in February. Valentine’s Day, actually. Art got a bunch of Hershey’s kisses from his new girlfriend Christina. Patrick sneaks one off his desk and later says, “I guess I owe you.” And he cradles Art’s head and plants a kiss right on his mouth. He grins after as Art stares at him dumbfounded and shrugs. “Kiss for a kiss.” And without another word he leaves to go wash up for his date with Madison.

It gets to be normal after that. Their first doubles win of the tennis season. Patrick kissing him right on the court. Just so quick you wouldn’t think twice about it. But Art can’t stop thinking about it.

He gets a kiss on his birthday. Twelve midnight Patrick crawls into his bed while they’re finishing homework.

When he gets his acceptance letter from Stanford. “I don’t think you should go but good job.”

When Christina breaks up with him for Tim Lyons because “he’s just a better player.” Patrick’s making a face, “Tim? Really?”

On the Fourth of July. Hidden away in the boat house on Patrick’s family’s estate.

And the kisses are changing too. Sometimes it’s short and sweet. Other times it’s slow and intimate. Sometimes Art thinks he might have feelings all tied up in this.

They kiss like that, in front of Tashi Duncan. Just the most beautiful girl Art’s ever seen. She seems to be into it— the kissing. And poor Madison is history after that.

He hates Patrick a little bit after the junior US Open final. But that doesn’t keep him from letting Patrick kiss him something quick before they go out to search for beer.

By September they’re kissing in Arts bed just because it’s Tuesday.

On Halloween Art can’t recall what it was like before the kissing became normal. Patrick visiting Tashi at Stanford but staying in Arts room and before they all go to some dumb Halloween Party. Patrick kisses him. They meet Tashi for drinks and he kisses her.

Art’s in this weird place where he doesn’t really know who he’s more jealous of.

It’s December when they go out to eat at some themed restaurant to celebrate the end of their first semester. Patrick’s ordering drinks with his fake ID. Art leans next to him on the bar. Tashi taps his shoulder and points up at the feature where wineglasses are hanging and she’s smirking at the mistletoe draped just above them. “Guess that means you two have to kiss right?” She says.

Patrick grins at Art and Art feels his skin heating up. It’s some kind of kismet obviously.

“Oh come on,” Tashi teases, gently rubbing Art’s shoulder. “It’s not that big of a deal. Cause I know for a fact you’ve done it before.”

[rosanna-writer]

you're in the kitchen humming

Summary: When Elain’s visions throw a wrench in her plans for Solstice dinner, Azriel comes to the rescue. Pairing: Elriel Warnings: None Word count: ~1.2k

A fluffy Elriel oneshot for my bonus giftee, @duskandcobalt!!!!!! I was so excited to get a chance to write for you, too!

Again, a huge thank you to the @acotargiftexchange organizers for all their hard work putting together this event, and Happy Holidays everyone! <3

Read on AO3 or under the cut.

Elain groaned aloud the moment she woke to too-bright sunlight. Today, of all days, she didn't have the time to oversleep. But the sun was already high in the sky as she reluctantly slid back her duvet.

There would be precious little daylight today—the Winter Solstice. Her sister's birthday. At this rate, she'd be putting the finishing touches on dinner with only faelights to see by.

Elain had wanted to make fresh bread, and the dough would take a few hours to rise. Plus, she needed the oven for Feyre's birthday cake, as well as the time to decorate it, and the bottom rack wouldn't fit all three side dishes she'd put on the menu, so that would require several timers running at once to stagger the cooking times.

Nuala and Cerridwen had even offered to help. But when Elain had written out a schedule to keep her Solstice cooking on track, she'd been so sure she could manage it all herself. Her friends worked hard enough the rest of the year—she'd waved them off and told them to enjoy the holiday with their families.

Maybe she hadn't pulled her weight all those years in the cabin, but Elain would never let that happen again.

She hadn't, however, accounted for a night of fitful sleep interrupted by strange visions of the future. The same onyx box, Vassa's screaming, burning feathers. Nothing she hadn't seen before, but lately, the Mother or the Cauldron or fate seemed to be sending them more frequently. Elain had tossed and turned for hours until the sense of dread finally abated enough for her to drift off. Visions always exhausted her, and she'd slept in without meaning to.

Even an immortal wasn't getting any younger, though. Elain sighed and forced herself out of bed.

She dressed hurriedly, digging out an old dress she wouldn't mind getting covered in flour. As she ran a brush through her hair and tied it back, she considered what items from her elaborate, complicated menu she could skip.

If she started this late, the fresh bread wouldn't be ready until nearly midnight. But there would still be time for the cake, and if she hurried, she wouldn't have to simplify the intricate fondant paintbrush she'd had planned for months as a surprise for Feyre. And maybe they'd be alright if she nixed the side of brussel sprouts and only served the green beans for a vegetable…

The sound of activity in the kitchen didn't register with Elain as she rushed down the stairs, even if it should have. Since Nyx's birth, she'd been living in the townhouse alone, enjoying the peace of a house to herself for the first time in her life. The lack of silence should have sent alarm bells ringing in her head.

But maybe it was impossible to panic when she could also hear the peaceful sound of someone contentedly humming to themselves. She paid it no mind until she skidded to a stop in the doorway and took in the sight before her.

One tendril of shadow curled around a wooden spoon and stirred batter, while another held a different bowl steady and a third cradled a potato that a fourth grated into slivers. Another one—Mother above, was it even wearing a chef's hat?—carefully separated the yolk from an egg white.

Elain was so shocked by all of it that she barely even noticed Azriel washing his hands at the sink. Ridiculous of her really, when his massive wingspan took up half the kitchen.

"What is all this?" Elain breathed.

Azriel turned, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. "I got started on cooking so you could sleep a bit longer. It seemed like you needed it."

Elain blinked and decided not to question exactly how he knew how fitfully she'd passed the night. Azriel, after all, always knew things he wasn't supposed to. It was his job.

While she continued to stare at the frenzied activity before her, Elain shook her head as if to clear it. The whole thing was surreal, even stranger than the harbingers of doom that had kept her up half the night.

"Have— Have the shadows always been able to cook?" The more she thought about it, the more that bit confused her. Azriel's pantry—bare save a few sticks of unseasoned jerky and half a head of cabbage—was a thing of horror, and even in Velaris, he ate those packaged Illyrian field rations when left to his own devices.

Azriel unsheathed Truth-Teller and got to work chopping a bundle of carrots. "They learned for an undercover mission in an upscale restaurant a few centuries back."

Elain let out an exasperated little laugh. But there was still plenty left to do before they joined the rest of their family at the River House, so she rolled up her sleeves and reached for the checklist she'd made a few days before, slipping it into the front of the binder where she kept her recipes. Several items were already crossed off in cobalt blue ink.

"What do you think you're doing?" Azriel's voice went midnight-dark, sending a shiver down Elain's spine and her toes curling in her slippers.

"You've done so much already, but I can finish the rest. Thank you," she said.

Scarred hands curled around her waist, lifting her up and placing her on an empty stretch of countertop as if she weighed next to nothing. "I know you can, angel. But you deserve to enjoy the holiday without running yourself ragged before dinner."

Elain nodded, her throat suddenly tight. It was hard, sometimes, to remember that she didn't need to make up for all those years in the cabin. Feyre and Nesta cared more about spending the solstice together than having a table full of intricate dishes and elaborate desserts.

At least for now, they all had the peace they'd fought for. Maybe one of these days she'd stop being so terrified of squandering it.

Azriel made to turn back to the stove, but she reached up and tugged his face down to hers. She pressed a kiss to his lips, then another one to the tip of his nose for good measure. When Az pulled away, his eyes had that soft look he only reserved for her.

"Happy Solstice," Elain said with a smile.

"Happy Solstice," Azriel murmured back. He returned to chopping the carrots, and a shadow handed her a warm mug of tea from the kettle she hadn't noticed on the stove. "It's your kitchen, so give me all the orders you think are necessary. But don't you dare lift a finger until we're ready ready to leave for the River House."

Elain took a sip of the tea—a bit stronger than usual to help her wake up and with just the right amount of milk and sugar. "Alright," she said, feeling a bit better.

Just for a moment, Azriel's lips quirked upward into something close to a smile. He dumped the carrots into a pot on the stove, then turned up the heat on the burner. There was still an onion to chop and mix in with the grated potatoes, but he paused just for a moment and kissed Elain's cheek.

"Be a good girl for me, and I'll give you your present early," he said, and her answering giggle was music to his ears.

[susiekern]

9. the one in Kyoto

warnings: swearing, suggestive, mentions of sex, change of pov's in the last part (it was much easier to me to put what I wanted in like this, sorry)

word count: 1.704

lyrics from: The Apparition - Sleep Token

masterlist

Why did you think that sharing a room with Megumi would be a good idea? Why, God, why? Your brain keeps going in circles as you lay in bed and scroll the reels on Instagram. You really try to focus on anything, from weird 5-minute crafts to tarot card reading, but as soon as the girl starts with how your sign is in a ‘space for love life troubles and enlightenment,’ you block your phone and put it on the nightstand. Love life troubles, yeah, who would've guessed? You don't need an Instagram witch to tell you that. It's been what, two weeks since you've slept with Megumi again… for the first time? One more time, huh? That's what you've been telling yourself, when the next day you found yourself knocking at his door with a coffee and a book or when he invited you for a movie night two days later. It just felt too good. Having someone you're heavily attracted to, you feel comfortable around, and you actually like talking with.

Should you two talk about what's going on? Yeah, definitely. Are you going to be the one to start this conversation? Hell no.

A buzz of your phone pulls you out of your thoughts, at least for a moment.

"You’re sure you don't want me to just take the couch?” So focused on texting with Nobara, you don't even notice when Megumi comes back from the bathroom. His hair is a little damp, and he's wearing nothing but gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips. Way too low for your brain to function properly. “I don't want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“Megs, we've slept in one bed like three times this week. Was I uncomfortable back then?” You smile a little, signaling him to the other side of the bed.

“Fair.”

When he lays down, there's a space that feels like a valley between you. Why does it feel awkward? It's not any different from how you've been sleeping two days ago. Well, except now at least you're clothed. Both of you lie on your backs and look at the ceiling like it holds an answer to this unspoken question.

“Yeah, we're not sleeping like that. Come here.” Maybe after a minute or so, Megumi sighs and opens his arms to invite you in. And he doesn't need to repeat himself. In a second you're by his side, head on his chest, and a leg draped over his hips. He rests his arms, one over your waist, the other behind his head, as he leans his cheek on top of your head.

“This is nice.” You murmur into his skin, breathing in the smell of his body wash. “Goodnight, Megs.”

“Goodnight, y/n.”

Your alarm is going off, there's a heavy weight on your body, and you're overheating. Great.

“Turn this shit off.” The weight moves slightly, only to bury itself more into you, as Megumi groans in the material of your shirt. 

Somehow you manage to reach the nightstand and blindly tap the phone until it stopped screaming. With open eyes now, you can finally see the ‘weight’ that is in fact a bigger part of Megumi's body. You must've shifted throughout the night, because now you're the one lying on your back with the man wrapped around you like he's holding a teddy bear. His face is buried right above your navel, arms keeping you close, so all you can see right now is his messy hair and muscles on his shoulders and back. You sigh and try to move, but his hold is harder than you've anticipated.

“Megs, I need to get up.”

“No, you don't.”

“Um, yes. Yes, I do. I need to be at the event in two hours.” It's like talking to a wall, you think. Megumi couldn't care less, and somehow he wraps his arms even tighter. “If you squeeze me to death, I'll haunt your ass, I swear.”

“5 more minutes, come on.” He raises his head a little to look at you, and hell, how are you supposed to say no to his sleepy eyes and messy hair?

“5 minutes and not one longer.” His head is back where it was before, and you can't stop the smile that makes its way onto your face. One of your arms is on his shoulder, circling the soft skin; the hand of the other is playing with his black strands.

5 more minutes won't hurt, right?

'Why are you never real? Whenever you appear You leave me with that grace’

She should be excited. Trembling with emotions, right? She's at the show of the band she adores, invited by the vocalist whose voice itself wakes up the feelings in her that many people could never. She can see him clearly, standing in the middle of the stage, hands gripping the microphone, words flowing from masked lips with so many emotions behind them it makes her shiver.

‘I am trembling with fear But I know that you will disappear Just as I awake, whisper in my ear ‘

So why is her brain focused on something else? Or rather, someone else. She recalls this morning and how her heart warmed up seeing Megumi right after waking up. How good it felt to lie in his arms, brush her fingers through his hair, and trace his muscles with her fingertips.

‘Well, I believe Somewhere in the past Something was between You and I, my dear’

Her eyes are fixed on Zenin, and a stupid voice in the back of her head tells her he's looking at her too. She wants to believe it. That somehow she managed to catch his attention, that she was in a way special enough for him to spend his time watching her streams and talking to her. He suggested more than once that he actually wanted to get to know her. He showed her he was interested in her thoughts. The hopeless romantic deep inside her mind wanted to think, ‘What if?’.

‘And it remains With me to this day No matter what I do This scar will never fade’

What if they kept it up? What if both of them would open up and let the other one in? Would Zenin even be able to do that? With how secure he is about his real life? Hell, would she even allow it to happen in the first place? Trusting someone whose face she's never seen, not even learning his real name or hearing his voice while talking, not singing, seems insane. The rational part of her is saying how stupid she was. Telling her, she shouldn't waste time on either of them, Zenin nor Megumi. Zenin is an unattainable dream of a teenager. A love story written by a fangirl, something she has seen many times on the internet. Megumi is… a challenge. The one she wasn't sure she wanted to take up. A few weeks ago they couldn't stand being in one room without fighting, and now they share a bed and cuddle in the morning? Their relationship is evolving fast, but it only means she isn't sure how thin the ice beneath them is and how long they could keep it up before it collapses.

‘So let's make trouble in the dream world Hijack heaven with another memory now’

He knew she'd be here, obviously. So why did his heart speed up like it was surprised when he saw her? When picking a spot for her, he tried to put her as close as possible, but why? To keep an eye on her? To help himself with just her presence? He knew how pathetic it was, and he didn't need the looks his friends sent his way just minutes ago in their private room when Toge saw y/n’s Instagram story. Why did it even matter?

‘I make the most of the turning tide. It just split what's left of the burning silence’

She wasn't here for him, for Megumi. She was here for Zenin. He once thought he and Zenin were one and the same person, but it's never been true. It took him some time to understand it. Zenin is his mask. The one he'd put on when everyone and everything became too overwhelming, when he couldn't meet their expectations or deal with his own emotions. Because when Megumi was terrified of his own feelings more often than rare, Zenin would put them in beautiful words; he'd let them flow onto the paper, sometimes hidden in sentences so well he himself had a problem with decrypting them.

‘Don’t wait, ‘cause this could be the last time You turn up in the reveries of my mind’

Maybe that's why he reached out to y/n as Zenin. Sure, a part of him wanted to make a little dream of hers come true, but he had to admit to himself it was a selfish act. Talking to her as someone she doesn't see almost every day, someone who didn't start their relationship on a bad note. He wanted an opportunity to open up to her, to show her the part of him no one had seen before. Even if she had no idea that it was part of Megumi. But what is he going to do next? After building two separate relationships with her? Would she hate him if he told her all about it? If she found out that Zenin wasn't real, that it was Megumi all along? That it was his voice she adored so much? That Megumi was too scared to show her his feelings?

‘I wake up to a suicide frenzy Loaded dreams still leave me empty’

He should tell her. Fuck. He should've told her before they had sex again two weeks ago. Before he found comfort in holding her body so close to his own. Before he caught himself missing her, not only her body, just her, throughout the day. But what exactly should he tell her? That he was Zenin? Or that he started falling for her and he doesn't even know when? He will tell her tonight. He has to.

‘I believe Somewhere in the past Something was between You and I, my dear’

tag list (lmk if you wanna be added!): @nytylie @fresa-luna @syrooo @zaranobiyuyu @jvpit3rr @pandabiene5115 @good-mourning0 @pearlydays

[justplainwhump]

Laundry Room

At Rosa's first Christmas at her owners' house, she and Blanca are alone together.

A prequel to Pet Safety.

Content : BBU, implied conditioning, nudity, self-harm (due to conditioning), burns. Caretaking. Falling in love. F/f romance. Kissing.

Rosa's Sir and Madam spend Christmas with Madam's family in their beach house. Pets aren't allowed, Madam has said with a frown directed at Blanca. Since "the incident". The term makes Blanca's neck stiffen, Madam's jaw clench, and Sir roll his eyes. And Rosa? She doesn't know. Is not included in the dynamics that work under the surface.

It makes sense in a way, that the Romantic has intimate knowledge that the Domestic doesn't, Rosa tells herself. Blanca is special. Rosa isn't.

Rosa knows how to cook all the meals her owners like, how to set the table, clean the glasses, arrange the clothes, make the beds. She's a good pet. That's all she needs. All she ever wanted. All that a pet is meant to be.

So good, that it even confused her, when Master Cory took one of the boxes of food carefully prepared by Rosa in days and nights of work out of the trunk and sneaked it back to Blanca. "For the holiday. Don't forget me, beautiful. Merry Christmas," he'd whispered into her hair, and Blanca had smiled at him so wide that the aberrant feelings hit Rosa right in the gut.

Nobody had spared a glance at her.

It's an aberrant feeling, being left out. Domestics don't feel lonely, they don't feel sad, they don't feel jealous, they don't feel sorry. They don't have friends. They function. That's all they do.

And Rosa affirms herself that she does. She's a good and functioning Domestic.

As such, she's walked down into the basement right after her owners have left, pulling the doors close behind her. She doesn't need to see Blanca smile as she waves past the car. There's a place for Blanca, and there's a place for Rosa, and they do not overlap.

-

Rosa is still ironing clothes in the utility room a whilr later, when Blanca strolls in. There's an easy sway to Blanca's hips, an elegance to her movements that seems unfitting for an environment like the packed, practical laundry room that smells like labor and detergent.

She's still naked, like Madam insists for her to be in the house, but even though Rosa understands it's meant to be a reminder of her lowly position, Blanca seems more regal than anyone else Rosa had ever seen.

She swallows. She isn't supposed to think that. She isn't supposed to look at Blanca's body, at her soft skin, at the beautiful curves of her hips and breasts - or at least she isn't meant to see it as anything else than a surface that is meant to be kept clean, just as are all her owners' other possessions.

Rosa focuses on the sheet in front of her, scanning it's pristine white for any creases to distract herself from any aberrant thoughts.

"You shouldn't be here," she says briskly.

Undeterred, Blanca leans in over the laundry hamper, her body a perfect curve, as she fishes for one of Master Cory's word shirts. Rosa fixates her gaze on her own hand around the iron.

From the corner of her eyes, she sees Blanca bury her face in the shirt, take in their owner's smell.

"Why?" Blanca asks.

Rosa blinks. "Why what?"

"Why aren't I supposed to be here?"

"You're not a Domestic."

"True. I'm a Romantic. I'm supposed to be with my Master." She slips into the shirt, wraps it closely around her and shakes her hair free over the collar. "He's not here. He doesn't want me with him. So where am I supposed to be now?" There's a sadness clinging to her voice that almost stings in Rosa's heart. It doesn't. It mustn't. She has to keep things in order.

"Madam doesn't want you dressed in the house."

Blanca shrugs and pulls herself up to sit on the washing machine, crosses her long, smooth legs. Rosa feels dizzy. "And Sir likes it when I wear his clothes."

"Sir left," Rosa says, sharper than intended. Blanca shouldn't be here. They shouldn't be talking. It makes Rosa slower, less focused. It makes her a bad pet.

"So did Madam. It's just us." Blanca shrugs, leans forward, pauses, as if waiting for Rosa to meet her gaze.

Unwillingly, Rosa puts the iron down and does.

Blanca's eyes are grey. Sometimes the grey is light and shimmering, chrome and steel. Today, they're dark. Like a storm, Rosa thinks. A storm that carries away anything in its path.

"So the question should be: How would you like me, Rosa?"

On my face. The thought shoots through her, bright and short and sharp and cruel, like a lightning bolt.

Pain follows instantly. Punishment. A scream. Hers? Blanca's? Both?

The world turns black.

-

When she comes to, she's laying on the ground, bedded on crumpled laundry. Everything is cold. Her entire left sidethrobs with heavy pain, radiating from her forearm. Blanca's fingers run over it, slick with some sort of paste, carefully coating bright red blisters shaped like an iron, surrounding spots of white and black. Rosa's stomach lurches.

Bad pet, she thinks. Bad pets deserve punishment.

"Please," she whispers. "I'm bad."

"I cooled the wound for fifteen minutes," Blanca says. "You were unconscious. I called Sir. He says you'll be fine."

"Bad," Rosa whispers. "I was bad. I was... Madam will -"

"Sir won't tell her."

"Sir won't-" Rosa stares at Blanca. Her grey eyes are narrow in concentration, as she gently rubs in the salve. Spears of pain drill into Rosa's body. She doesn't flinch. "Why?"

"I begged him." Blanca's lips twist. "He likes that. I made him come over the phone."

"But I was -"

"I told him it was an accident. That I don't want Madam to hurt you for it." She smiles down at Rosa. "That if it needs to be, he can hurt me instead. It's okay. He's not cruel."

Rosa swallows. Master Cory is cruel. But they both know what Blanca meant. Madam is more cruel. So much more. "I deserve it." Rosa shivers. "I was a bad pet."

"I lied to Sir. It wasn't an accident." Blanca reaches for the bright orange first aid kit next to her. Her hair tingles on Rosa's skin. "You burned yourself. Why?"

Rosa clenches her jaw, refusing to answer the question. Focus on the pain. Not on the flutter in her stomach. "You can't lie to Sir."

"I can." Blanca smirks, as she places a bandage over the burn and begins to wrap in in place with gauze. "I love him. I belong to him. I'm made for him. But I lie to him all the time."

Rosa winces the tiniest bit, when Blanca knots the ends of the bandage. "Pets can't -"

"I tell him that I like his wife. That I like his friends. I tell him that every fuck is great, even the quick ones on the backseat of his car. I tell him that I don't mind pain." She bites her lip. "I tell him that he's the only one I could ever love."

"But..." Rosa's throat is dry. "That's... not a lie, right? Pets can't -"

Blanca leans in. She's not fidgeting for the first aid kit this time, Rosa realizes. She's leaning over Rosa, one leg nestled between hers. The white shirt is falling open from her shoulders, her beautiful breasts in front of Rosa, her hair on Rosa's neck, her breath hot on her skin.

"I can," Blanca whispers. "And I think you can, too."

Rosa's lips part, as her good hand reaches up into Blanca's hair.

Bad pet, a soft voice echoes somewhere in her mind. But then her fingers curl up in Blanca's soft hair and all voices and all pain are swept away by the storm that erupts when Blanca's lips meet hers.