#send help dear christ

[gracetoldmeto]

Im being so brave rn... send your best wishes its a bad one this month...

[ddejavvu]

Tyler Owens x Shy!Reader, they somehow get separated while finding shelter during a tornado, but end up finding each other when the tornado is over🩵

I seen Twisters a couple weeks ago and now I’m obsessed with Tyler Owens🌪️🥰

Storm's Over - Tyler Owens x Reader

please send me tyler owens requests!

You've never known true relief like this before; like feeling your rattled, weary bones soothed by the mere sight of Tyler's presence. The second your eyes lock onto his ragged form, his own panicked ones scanning the crowd of survivors, you're staggering forwards, wind-whipped but otherwise unscathed from the storm you'd just endured.

"Ty," You choke, and he whirls around the face you faster than the twister itself had spun, his hands instinctively reaching out to hold you before he even sees you."

"Christ, baby." He breathes, shaky and devoid of his typical charm, "I- I thought," He crushes you against his chest, and the pressure is comforting instead of constricting, "I thought you'd maybe gotten- y'know."

"No, but I thought you-!" You cry, sobs crawling up your throat despite the danger being gone as you let yourself melt into his tight embrace, "I couldn't find you and I saw you run back to help someone, and I just thought-"

"No, I'm okay." He soothes, and the way that his hand is nearly bruising your scalp with the way he's clutching your head against his chest tells you that perhaps he isn't, but that he will be as long as you are.

"That was scary," Your face crumples against his chest, and your tearstains join the water that's soiled his shirt. It's such a simple observation, one that you don't feel the need to point out, but it's the truth, and the only thing your brain can supply.

"I know, darlin'." Tyler sighs, and you feel his hand tremble slightly as he wraps it even tighter around your waist, gripping you for dear life, "It's- bein' in the truck doesn't do it justice. It's more intense than you can imagine."

"I don't want you chasing anymore," You plead, curling your fingers into desperate fists in the material of his t-shirt, "Please, I- that was so scary, Tyler, I can't let you go out in those anymore!"

"We're okay," He reminds you, gently shuffling your embrace a few steps to the left so that a truck can pass you in the almost-ruined street, "We're okay, it didn't get us. The truck is safe, let's- let's get in there, okay?"

You're glad that Tyler has strength in his limbs still, because the tornado seems to have whisked yours away with it. He leads your slumping form over to his truck, and you grip onto its metal armor, thankful for its protection even though the storm has passed.

"Get in there, darlin'." He hums, helping to hoist you into the passenger's seat, "Put that seatbelt on, m'kay?"

"Okay," You sniffle, your voice weak and trembling, "I got it."

Tyler shuts the door when he hears the click of your seatbelt, and he's occupying his own seat as soon as he can round the front of the truck.

"The truck is safe." He repeats his earlier phrase, hands braced on the wheel as he takes a deep breath. You glance up at him with wounded eyes, curled into your seat like a timid puppy.

"You're not gonna stop chasing, are you?" You ask, and Tyler's face remains forcibly calm.

"No." He murmurs, and new tears prick at your eyes.

"Promise me you'll stay in the truck?" You ask, willing to compromise if it means he'll never feel the whipping winds on his skin again, as long as the metal giant you're nestled comfortably into is his protction.

"I promise." It's an easy one for him to make, and you reach out a shaking arm to offer up a pinky for him to link his own with.

He does, and you relish the security of feeling his own finger twine with yours.

"You're okay." He reminds you, jostling your joined pinkies reassuringly, "And I'm okay. We're okay."

"We're okay," You nod, and despite knowing Tyler won't stop chasing storms, you're confident when you say, "And we always will be."

[teojira]

Really enjoyed your headcanons on Caeser and Proximus, do you mind doing the same with Noa?? 😊🙏

[Noa and day to day life with him!] [Headcanons!]

Summary: Noa takes you back with him to his home, and the clan accepts you as one of them. Even if you're concerned otherwise.

Word count: 1k (Jesus christ)

Warnings: None that I can think of! Can be read as Platonic or Romantic! You and Noa are attached to one another. (Yes, this is me projecting.)

A/N: Noa is so near and dear to me, I literally did not mean for this to be so long, and I STILL cut myself off. This is 1k words worth of headcanons for him, and it is not enough. I'm Noa's #1 fan, I am sorry to all my friends and family who have to hear me talk about him constantly.. Ask me for Noa anything, and I will give you the world.

Do me a favor and strap the fuck in for this it's alot.

I am so glad someone asked about Noa bc I got ALOT to say.

Noa has had it with humans, Mae put him, his clan, and countless others at risk, he should not trust humans, really he shouldn't, but he can't help it. She also betrayed you in the process, and now you're alone.

You agreed to help him and Mae against Proximus, you're the only one who actively goes up against Proximus as well.

Swinging and trying your best to try and get Proximus off of Noa, yelling and crying while the other apes just stare in fear. (Later on they apologize, but you don't hold it against them.)

It's a huge risk to invite a human with them again, but then he remembers Rakas words, Caesars words, and decides he can't told another's decisions over you.

So when he gently grabs your hand in his, looking down at you with a strained smile, blood seeping from his lips, you follow, back to his clans land.

Now on to the good stuff, it's kinda awkward finding your place among the eagle clan, the elders are gone, his father Koro is gone, there really is no guidance as to where to place you.

You drift mostly, either helping Dar or helping with the young ones, teaching them how to read and write, helping fish, farm, the basic tasks.

Dar loves you by the way, doting on you and making sure no one messes with you in a harmful way. She teaches you their customs and traditions, all the while playfully teasing you about Noa. She's a mom, she knows.

You're happy with your work, happy with your place among the clan. It's genuinely shocking how much they were willing to forgive and to not hold any grudges against humans after one ruined everything.

It helps that Noa takes accountability for you, somehow so trusting that you will not cause harm. His faith in you speaks volumes and you remind him everyday that it won't go to waste.

All he does is send you a sweet smile and ruffles your hair.

You find yourself helping Noa alot with crafting new tools and contraptions, being a second pair of eyes that can catch onto things he can't.

"Very smart." "Thank yo-" "For an Echo." and he does that stupid cute little sniff afterwards and it makes it tremendously hard to hit him.

He's such a little shit I fucking hate him.

You're his shadow when his duties permit, he's taken on a higher role of the clan, sometimes going out for days at a time but you're always at the edge of the Village waiting for his return, anxiously working your bottom lip until you see him in view.

You're both extremely attached to one another, Soona and Anaya become attached to you too, dragging you along in everyone's free time to go climbing, to eat, to hunt, just about any group outing has you as their fourth member.

Noa was worried about them accepting you, but they love you just as much as he does.

It makes his heart swell when he sees you and Soona together, giggling about something surely only you both understand while Anaya groans and complains about being left out.

It's like you've always been meant to be with them, to round out their group.

Soona and Anaya will offer to be the one to carry you this time, they do want to, genuinely, but Noa won't let them 99.9% of the time, He's used to your weight, he trusts that he can keep you safe the best. (Says the ape that literally almost died multiple times doing stupid shit)

"Noa worries too much, they will be fine." "Anaya is clumsy. Can't trust you to carry yourself, much less echo."

He tries not to carry you everywhere, but it is so much more convenient than waiting for you, so he scoops you up often enough that the stares don't bother you anymore.

Remember how in the movie, all the apes sleep together communally? Well you're at first extremely nervous about that, not wanting to ask what exactly are your accommodations because surely they don't want you there with them.

Actually, Noa does, so jot that down.

When you shyly move away, he raises his palm up at you, nodding to the space besides him.

When you don't move, he gently tugs you down, laying on his back and shutting his eyes. The clan hasn't really fully rebuilt and started to gather things needed for shawls and coverings, so it's not strange to him that you cuddle up to him to steal his warmth, peeking an eye open to see your face squished into his side, knocked out.

He wraps an arm around you, incasing you in more warmth.

This is a nightly routine until you finally take it upon yourself to throw yourself on him, he chokes out a breath as you make yourself comfortable.

Soona and Anaya usually join in, he cannot fucking breathe but he's so happy that it outweighs it.

When Mae inevitably shows back up, she sees you out in the distance, you look so genuine happy, so at peace with where you are. You even have some eagle feathers in your hair, integrated into their life that it shocks her.

It's enough to make her put the gun away, grasping at Rakas necklace like a lifeline, sucking in a deep breath to stop her from crying.

Maybe apes and humans can live at peace with one another after all. She hopes you prove her wrong.

ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇᴀʀ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏᴏɴ!

[buzzcutlip]

hiiii! can I get a request for lip with a shy!reader where they like know each other from school but it’s like later seasons lip like working at the shop or the construction job and she starts to develop a crush on him but he doesn’t think he’s good enough for her so he distances himself and dates other girls and she has to watch from the sidelines until a guy asks her out so she goes for it and lip gets jealous and realizes his feelings. i’m in an angsty pining jealousy mood but with a happy ending still if that makes sense! but honestly feel free to run with it if it’s something you’re interested in writing bc I love your writing! 💗💗

Hi anon! I love this prompt, thank you very much for sending it my way! <3

This is a very first time I'm writing something with our dear boy Lip Gallagher, and I hope I'm not messing it all up.

Lip Gallagher/Fem!Reader Mature 1561 words

You admired Lip Gallagher. He was smart, intelligent, witty, and—alive. Despite the , he made it to college. You didn’t know the details but heard people talking about those nasty Gallaghers. You saw him take his little brother, Liam, to classes, to your study group. The little boy living temporarily in a dormitory made you sick with worry, but it was obvious that Lip took great care of him. You mostly felt for Lip—that he, as young as he was, had to take on his parents' responsibilities. And still, he did so great at school and had two jobs on top of it. He went home for weekends to help around the house. But that life sucked him back in, never giving him a solid chance, as much as Lip fought for it. He left the school, left the crime scene behind, and left an empty space in your chest. You never told him how you felt. Never wanted to, anyway.

Occasionally, you still meet each other at parties he gets invited to—or invites himself to—and you chat easily, sharing a drink or two. You’re happy to see him, to hear about his crazy jobs. Sometimes he brings a girl along and you smile politely at her, shake her hand. The whole school knew about Amanda and Mrs. Robinson. Besides wanting to protect yourself, you don’t believe Lip could ever want more than friendship from you, which makes interacting with him easier. ‘Cause you’re not trying for anything with him. He’s just a good bad boy. Who cares if you’ve had a crush on him since day one?

So what you expect from Lip when you introduce him to your date, Jacob, at one of these lame parties is that he shakes his hand and says hi politely. Which doesn’t happen; he just grumbles something and leaves for the kitchen. You roll your eyes and tell Jacob not to mind. Inside, you’re a bit embarrassed and disappointed. Why? You’re not sure. Maybe because Jacob’s a bit boring and you still keep seeing him. Letting him kiss you and put his fingers in your pussy and never do anything back. Because he doesn’t attract you. “But he’s nice,” your friends say. You say, for Christ’s sake! He is nice but oh so boring. You don’t feel anything, but you don’t want to be alone anymore. And most importantly, you don’t want to think about Lip when you masturbate, when Jacob fingers you, when boys half-heartedly fucked you in the past.

But as much as you want to forget Lip, you see him again. It’s a bar this time. Filled to the brim with a Friday crowd.

“Hey,” someone says behind you, laying a hand on your shoulder, and you know it’s him before you turn around. You smile at him, sucking on a colorful paper straw.

“You still drink that? Rum and Coke?”

“Yeah,” you laugh shortly, looking at the dark brown drink in your hands. “Spiced rum!” you clarify.

Lip leans closer to you, the sudden proximity doing things to you, as always, and you have to bite your bottom lip.

“Is your boyfriend here?” he asks casually, but you noticed him scanning the crowd just a few seconds ago.

“Yeah… Jacob’s here—but he’s not my boyfriend. We’ve been just—seeing each other for a bit.” You don’t want to talk about Jacob with Lip and it’s clear in the way you talk. You’re more focused on your elbows touching on the bartop.

Lip just laughs shortly, doesn’t say anything. It irks you. You frown. “What?”

“Nothing,” Lip shrugs, drumming his fingers on the wooden desk stained with beer and sweet, sticky liquor. He’s lost some of the baby fat in his face. You notice the sharpness of his cheekbones. He tilts his face downward as he blinks at you.

“You never had a boyfriend at school.” He probably wants to say "When I was at school" but that doesn’t interest you that much now.

“So what?” You grow even more irritated by his questions. Why does he care? You never discussed boyfriends, or his girlfriends, for that matter.

You turn your head away, grimacing, but Lip, on the other side, seems entertained. Intrigued.

“Nothing,” he says, smirking stupidly, and doesn’t stop looking at you. “You’re pretty when you pout.”

Your whole face flushes in an instant. Lip never talked like this to you. Never flirted. Of course, at the beginning, you had been disappointed, but you quickly decided that mutual respect for friendship is much better. Safer.

Unsure of what you’re going to say, you tilt your face back to him, but when you look at Lip, he’s not smirking anymore. He reaches for you, hand catching your burning face, his thumb sweeping over your cheek.

It takes you a moment to bat his hand away. “What’re you doing?” you ask, horrified. And shocked. Flustered with your shyness.

Lip shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he mumbles while you’re looking around, all wild, to check for Jacob.

This time it’s Lip who frowns. “You said he was not your boyfriend.”

“Are you, like, jealous or something?” you say only to say SOMETHING, head shaking in disbelief. The silence that follows almost shocks you. You never thought about what you would do if Lip felt the same about you. Never dared to think about that scenario.

Scared to find out what you’ll find out, you peer at him. His face is serious, jaw tense.

“Oh my god, you—you’re jealous,” you whisper, hand going to your mouth to cover it. Your expression must be hilarious—eyes wide, mouth open in disbelief. Lip starts fidgeting with the paper coaster on the bar, eyes flicking all over the room.

Angry tears begin to cloud your vision. “You have no right to be jealous now,” you seethe. “Have you only noticed me now? When I’m seeing someone?” The hurt is unmistakable in your voice. You ball your hands into fists, blinking against the tears welling in your eyes. When Lip doesn’t say anything, you turn on your heel. If you don’t get some fresh air now, you’re going to suffocate.

Once outside, you find a quieter spot away from the smoking people, propping against a wooden table. When you look up you wish you could see stars in the night sky. But the light pollution’s making it impossible. Sighing, you wrap your arms around yourself to protect yourself from the chill. You’re glad that Jacob knows people here too, otherwise you would probably feel bad for leaving him.

Before you get a chance to really sort your feelings, you see Lip approaching you in your peripheral vision.

You sigh, defeated, making a point of not looking at him as he stops a mere foot from you. You’re terrible at confrontations.

“You mad?” Lip asks, and you can feel him studying your face. There’s a cigarette burning between his fingers.

You shake your head. No.

Next, Lip shrugs off his hoodie, cigarette held between his pouting lips, and drapes the garment, warmed by his own body heat, over your shoulders. “Here.”

Suddenly, you’re enveloped in Lip Gallagher. In the smell of tobacco, laundry detergent, and boy. You close your eyes tight against the feeling that’s surfacing from within you. It’s spreading like wildfire, and when Lip steps in front of you, reaching to move the zipper up, up, up, the heat reaches your face, pinks up your cheeks.

Lip leans into you, putting both your bodies into contact, thighs to chests. He slides one of his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, right where your hand’s hiding too, and twines your fingers together. Then he rubs his cheek against your own, as you meet in the middle, and your heart stops. You didn’t know Lip would be like this. That brash, cocky Lip Gallagher with a womanizer reputation treating you with such tenderness.

But you don’t want to end up as a notch on his bedpost.

“I don’t think I’m your type,” you say simply, looking at the ground, hoping that’s enough for him to let it go. To let you go. Even though deep down, it’s the last thing you wish for. You don’t want Lip to let you go. You want him to do the exact opposite.

Lip scoffs, closer to your ear than you expected, making you jump. “And what’s my type?”

“I mean—” you swallow hard, finding the courage to say the next words, as nonchalantly as possible, “I’m from a functional family. I don’t use drugs, I don’t deal drugs. I’m pretty sure I don’t have any personality disorders,” you list.

“Wow, so you’ve done research on me, huh?” Lip asks drily but he doesn’t move, stays close to you.

You decide to come out with the truth. “You know, I had a crush on you at school, and I think I was not as subtle as I thought I was. I mean, most of my friends knew about it.”

Licking his lips, he says,“I always thought you were cute. I was just—”

You're not letting him off that easy. “Busy fucking through the entire school?”

“I didn’t think it was a good idea to make a move.”

“Why do you think it’s a good idea now?”

“Because I can’t stay away from you anymore.”

[jflemings]

Kyra and reader with Arsenal team " why both of you are in the tree ?" Thank you

— monkey see, monkey do

kyra cooney cross x arsenal!reader

ficlet

really, you should’ve known better.

there was no way that you should’ve completely trusted yourself to help your girlfriend out of a tree, especially with your debilitating fear of heights. kyra scaled it to retrieve a ball she kicked up into the branches and got stuck once she realised that she didn’t have a proper way to get down.

“oh my god” you whine into the rough bark “kyra”

“i’m sorry babe” she says to you with a grimace as she checks the time on her phone again “lessi said they weren’t far away”

you roll your forehead against the rough bark and let go a shaky sigh “i wish they’d get here faster” you mumble under your breath as kyra reaches around the trunk on the tree and lays her hand over your knuckles.

“i really am sorry, i thought i could get down by myself” she says quietly to you, her brown eyes big and apologetic.

shaking your head, you sigh again. “it’s not your fault. i should’ve thought about the fact that i’m afraid of heights”

kyra sends you a soft smile as her thumb rubs over your skin. your palms feel clammy and you screw your eyes shut so the world doesn’t spin.

“how have you done that, then?” a voice comes from below.

you crack an eye open to see a head of blonde hair “lessi” you breathe.

she sends you a small smile as lotte and emily come up behind her. lotte cocks her head and emily scratches her temple “why are both of you in a tree?” the american questions.

lotte approaches the trunk and puts her hand against it, attempting to reach your foot by stretching her hand up “y/n” she says softly “can you take my hand?”

you shake your head. kyra watches you carefully “i kicked a ball up into the tree and got stuck when i climbed up to get it. y/n followed me up when i got stuck”

emily clicks her tongue and follows lotte, standing directly under the branch you’re sat on. alessia nods at kyra’s explanation and follows your teammate’s lead, standing opposite emily and holding out her forearms to link them with emily’s.

“y/n if you grab lotte’s hand and swing your leg over the branch you can stand on lessi and i’s forearms” emily explains to you assuringly.

you hesitate for a moment before nodding and grabbing lotte’s outstretched hand. her fingers wrap around yours tightly and as she steadies herself against the trunk. kyra reaches back around the front of the tree and grabs your free hand while you swing your leg over the strong branch.

you hold onto your girlfriend’s hand for dear life “oh my god” you harshly whisper to yourself.

“it’s okay, lotte and i have got you”

alessia adjusts her feet and plants them further into the dirt “we’ve got you”

you breathe in and slowly shuffle your butt off the branch. you come off the branch enough for lotte to grab your forearm with her other hand, her iron grip telling you that she has absolutely no intention of you falling. slowly you lower your right leg onto emily and lessi’s forearms, relishing in the stable feeling. your left follows suit until you’re stood on their arms.

once you get out of reach kyra let’s your hand go and watches lotte swap her hold on your hand and arm to onto your waist. she lifts you off your teammate’s arms and plants you firmly on the ground.

“holy fucking shit” you breathe heavily as you feel solid ground beneath you “jesus christ”

lotte runs a hand down your back “see? not that bad”

you roll your eyes and turn around to see alessia and emily standing under kyra in the same position as before. kyra has a little bit of an easier time getting down; she throws the ball she retrieved down onto the ground before planting both hands beside her on the branch and pushing her butt off. lotte holds her securely as well and guides her onto the secure arms of your friends, only letting go when she jumps off them.

she goes straight to you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders “i am so sorry” she says into your hair as she kisses her temple “i should’ve thought about the fact that you’re scared of heights before asking you to help me”

you shake your head smiling and pull away from her “it’s okay kyra, seriously”

“thank god that’s done” alessia says as she rubs her arms. she flicks the ball up to her chest and drops it onto a raised knee, bouncing it lotte’s way “who’s up for some icecream?” she questions to the group.

kyra’s already dragging you off towards her car, kissing your cheek repeatedly “my treat” she says to you cheekily

“it better be” alessia sing-songs as she skips beside the two of you. behind the three of you, lotte and emily kick the ball back and forth as they walk.

“nuh uh” kyra waves a finger in the lionesses’ face “my treat for my brave, selfless, loving, gorgeous, talented girlfriend. not for you, miss russo”

“call it compensation” alessia smiles “for my forearms”

[shares-a-vest]

Inspired by THIS picture of Joe Keery and the possibility that s4 Steve could have had the most glorious blonde highlights. we could have had it aaaaaall.

The bell chimes as Steve bursts through the glass doors of Family Video, bringing in a gust of the hot summer air with him.

"Shut the door!" Robin demands from behind the counter, lunging forward, exasperated because of course, that stupid door is getting stuck on its hinges and not closing properly right in the middle of summer. And Robin had only just managed to regulate the store's temperature after a pair of morons (aka, Mike and Will) had biked away and left it wide open.

Steve nods, looking like his blank, dingus self in his summertime attire: a baby blue polo and navy shorts that are far too short, giving Robin vivid flashbacks to their dorky Scoops uniforms. She looks down and realises he is, in fact, wearing an identical pair of blue sneakers he'd worn slinging ice creams and her mind drifts to what she could fashion in order to resurrect the 'You Suck' board. Between the outfit and his new hairstyle, he sure was regressing back to his peak 1985 lameness.

"Hi!" he announces, doing his silly little dad-jog to the counter.

"Oh my god!" Dustin shrieks, finally looking up from the VHS order catalogue he was 'helping' Robin look through.

The exclaim stirs Eddie, carefully selecting candies he is absolutely, one hundred percent going to pay for.

"Oh," he says, looking at Steve's hair, now almost entirely blonde with shining, fresh highlights. His face stays frozen in an 'o' shape as he practically collapses against the counter and holds on for dear life. Robin snickers, readying herself for some not-so-subtle teasing, but Dustin gets one in first.

"You look like a Ken doll."

Robin cackles, admittedly at her best friend's expense but, sue her. Henderson sure has a way with (bitchy) words.

Steve leans an arm on the counter, conveniently facing Eddie and smirks. "Always so complimentary, Henderson."

"Shut up, it looks good!" comes Max from the comedy aisle where she and Lucas have been standing for way too long.

Robin makes a face, knowing that all these little pocket moniless twerps are only in the store for the (not even all that good) air-conditioning.

Lucas elbows Max, offering a faint, "What the hell?"

"What?" she retorts, folding her arms. "He looks good."

The couple continues squabbling, the only intelligible words being, "he's lame", and, "but he has nice hair".

Steve runs a hand through said hair, likely knowing it's causing a store-spanning reaction because he's just that vain.

"Just got it done," he smiles like he hadn't spent the past week sitting behind the counter and not working while he was looking at hair magazines.

But he also looks like he's really only interested in impressing one very stupid, slack-jawed metalhead dressed head to toe in black despite it being the dog days of summer. Robin narrows her eyes and pokes at Eddie's bare arm in hopes of rebooting him to his annoying factory settings.

"Munson! You are being suspiciously quiet. What's say you?"

"Uhhh," he hums, looking Steve over before settling back on gawking at his goddamn hair.

"Jesus Christ!" Dustin groans, hanging his head in his hands. He gathers up his pen, paper and order catalogue and heads to the back room, continuing to act like he's an actual employee.

Eddie finally closes his mouth and gives a tight-lipped smile and Robin can practically feel Steve fawning over his devil-disguised-as-a-cherub dimples.

"It… It looks... good," Eddie mumbles, stuttering all the way and avoiding eye contact.

Robin snorts, realising the lovesick moron is just going to remain a melting puddle of goo, not worth teasing at all. She pushes off her wheely chair, sending it flying backwards as she heads for the returns trolley sitting abandoned across the store.

She misses Eddie eventually gathering himself up enough to move a step closer and quietly say, "You look pretty".

And all Steve can do is blush with a meek, "Thanks".

[an-idyllic-novelist]

stolas goetia with gender neutral!sinner!reader scenario

warnings: spoilers for s2, angst, slight Stoliz, one-sided love, and possibly OOC for some of the characters.

The Goetian prince met you through Bltizy’s little assassination agency. You were an employee, specializing in reconnaissance within the human world and possessing knowledge of the mortal plane, amongst other jobs that required a more….delicate touch. Is that why you were good with knives and acrobatics? Probably. Either way, you were pleasant enough for a sinner and an easy conversationalist, much more so than his dear little imp. 

In all honesty, he did not pay much attention to you until after…the incident with Striker. It had been a close call, and he had almost died if Blitzø nor you hadn’t come to his rescue. He did check his phone for messages, and only got one text from the imp. After that…nothing. He never heard from him for the rest of the day. At least he thought he thought it was for the rest of the day. The drugs that were pumped into his body made Solas drowsy. When he woke up, there was someone in the chair.

But it wasn’t Blitzø. It was you. And still dressed in those dirty, bloodstained clothes you had worn the last time he saw you before he blacked out. As soon he moved in the bed, trying to readjust himself, you immediately bolted up from your seat, bleary-eyed yet you still had the energy to help him get comfortable before setting back down.

“Welcome back.” You said in a monotone voice, releasing a low groan. He winced slightly at hearing the bones in your neck being popped back into place as you moved your head from left to right.

“How do you feel? You need me to get the nurse? Bitch hasn’t been around since the shift change…’bout three hours ago? Christ on a stick it’s hard to keep track of time. Oh yeah, before I forget,” You stood from the chair again, rummaging in your pockets before pulling out a slip of paper, holding it out to him. “Your daughter called my cell. Dunno how she got it, maybe Loona gave it to her,  but she sounded pretty damned scared. Can’t blame the poor girl.” You narrowed your eyes, mouth curling into a contemplative frown. “It’s weird that she didn’t call you first. Maybe….she was worried your…spouse would change her mind and have Striker finish the job.”

He stared at you, wide-eyed and very confused at your attentiveness. “Why?” He whispered.

“Hm?”

“Why….are you here?” He asked. “Blitzy couldn’t make time to see me, so he sent you instead.” He felt tears building up in the back of the eyes, much to his embarrassment and frustration. “Why is it that he can send an employee yet he can never face me without making up an excuse that he’s working or it’s too soon to fulfill our arrangement!?” He snapped, feathery chest heaving up and down before he quickly wiped away his face with the back of his hand. 

You said nothing. Instead…you took a few steps toward him and sat on the edge of his bed. “No one sent me to check on you, Your Highness. I am here….because I was worried about you. No strings attached, no last minute requests from the boss. And I am honestly glad you are all right. You’re a Goetia, you’re stronger than tens of thousands of sinners like myself combined. But today was a close call. You could have died….and I should’ve been there sooner. No…Blitzø should have been on top of everything. I know he’s a father too, but Christ I don’t know what goes through that guy’s head sometimes.” You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “He’s a hot mess. He’s toxic.  He’s got issues….and he’s trying. That means a lot more than you think. But…if you feel like this…arrangement is going nowhere…cut yourself loose before you get too deep that you can’t pull out.” 

Stolas narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” He asked. You didn’t answer him immediately; instead, you stood up from the bed and fluffed up his pillows, placed the piece of paper in his open palm  and strode over to the chair to collected the jacket you used as a blanket, heading towards the door but stopping with your hand hovering over the knob. You looked back at him. 

“I’ve said my piece, Your Highness. Visiting hours will be over soon, but I’ll make sure the nurse stops by here before the lights go out. I wish I could help you more, believe me…it’s just….you’ve got to sort out how you feel about my boss on your own. And seriously, give your daughter a call before she starts blowing up my phone in a panic-induced frenzy.”

You then left, closing the door softly behind you, leaving Stolas to ponder on your words and…his current situation. Sighing, he leaned forward, grabbing his Hellphone off the side table and dialing the number. 

What he did not realize at the time is that you did care about him, more than an assassin should care about their employer. All you wanted is Stolas to be happy, even if he might never find happiness with you.

Why else would you be leaning against the door outside of his room for almost ten minutes trying to calm your racing heart before going to find someone to check in on him?

Taglist:

@isuckatwritingsobenice

@thatstonedwriter

@myafterlifeisbetterthenyours

@angelltheninth

@vikkirosko

@nixie-writes

@nunezs-stuff

@mitra555

@lbcreations-blog

@chroniccorvus

@food-theorys-blog

@atttwoood

@crystalrose36

@aurora-rose-miller

[wynnyfryd]

Eddie flounders, arms flailing as his feet slip out from under him for the fourth time, and he lands chin first on the scuffed-up ice with a hard thud.

“Oww,” he moans miserably to himself as he sits up. He lifts a numb hand to his mouth to inspect the damage—fingerless gloves doing fuck-all to defend against the stinging cold—and the tips of his frozen fingers come back speckled with warm red from where he bit his tongue on the way down.

Fucking ice skating. Max better appreciate the effort he’s making.

He’s in the middle of a mostly empty rink (arms crossed over his chest, ass wet from the ice, fully pouting in public but who cares his tongue and chin fucking hurt), and he’s thinking about just staying there—sulking in place for the remainder of the open-skate session until a Zamboni comes to sweep him away—when an employee spots him and comes skating over to help.

The guy moves with a graceful, practiced ease, swift enough to send his honey brown hair flowing out behind him as he glides over the ice, and he stops neatly in front of Eddie with a tap of his toepick. “Need a hand?” he asks, offering his, and oh no he’s hot why does he have to be hot jesus christ

“‘M fine,” Eddie mumbles into his knees, face flaming. His eyes are wet, and his cheeks are all splotchy, and he’s being such a petulant, wounded little baby right now, but like.

If Hot Guy could kindly fuck off instead of witnessing this ridiculous behavior, that would be so cool and sexy of him.

“Hey,” Hot Guy says, voice gentle. His downturned puppy eyes go soft with concern when he spots the blood on Eddie’s lip, and he crouches down into a squat and rests a hand on Eddie’s knee.

The fingers of his other hand reach out, hesitant, hovering in the space between them like he wants to cup Eddie’s chin but doesn’t want to hurt his bruised skin. Eddie’s eyes widen at the gesture, kind of humiliatingly turned on by how tender it is, and his lip wobbles and oh God he is not about to cry in front Hot Guy he’s not doing it he’s not—

The guy offers him a reassuring pat. “Bit your tongue?”

Eddie nods. Hot Guy smiles sympathetically. “Yeah, that’ll do it. I bit the shit out of the inside of my cheek last week trying to race my coworker,” he tells Eddie, shaking his head with a little laugh. “Hurt so bad.”

Fuck, his laugh is pretty. Eddie can’t help but smile, too.

The guy claps Eddie’s knee again and shoves himself back up to standing. “Come on,” he says, offering a hand. “Let’s get you patched up.”

Eddie takes it this time.

He lets himself be hoisted to his feet, gripping the lapels of the other man’s jacket for dear life as he gets his balance. Hot Guy, bless him, just brackets Eddie’s waist between his hands, steadying him with warm, broad palms splayed beneath his ribs, and then they’re toe-to-toe, standing so close that their breaths fog into a mingled cloud.

H.G. flashes a brilliant smile. “I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Eddie.”

“Nice to meet you, Eddie,” he says sincerely. He slides his hands from Eddie’s waist to his elbows, trailing down to take both of his hands in a sure grip, and then he swivels his feet and starts slowly skating backwards across the rink, dragging Eddie along with him. “What are you doing out here by yourself?”

Eddie snorts, rolls his eyes at himself. Yes, what, indeed, he thinks, blowing a wild curl out of his face. “It’s a long story.”

Steve grins. “I have a long shift.”

[queenie-ofthe-void]

The Babysitter Chronicles - Sinclair

Steve POV 5+1 (immediately follows s2) || wc: 3.7k || cw: check the tags

Henderson || Mayfield pt 1 / Mayfield pt 2 || Sinclair || Wheeler || Byers || +1 Hopper ao3

Can be read as a standalone

~~~

Evil monsters from a hell dimension are easy to spot, like a dog with a face that blooms open to eat your cat, or a monster clawing it’s way out from the ceiling. Everything about them feels wrong on base-level instinct. But all you have to do is just get it in your sights, plant your feet, and swing for the fences. Dodging helps too, Steve supposes. 

Monsters like Billy Hargrove, however, are harder to spot. They look and sound like everyone else if you’re not paying close enough attention. The guy radiated violence, and all Steve could hope for was to stay out of his way. To stand off to the side and hope Billy would pass him by, sight unseen.

After what happened to Lucas, Steve can’t afford to stand by anymore. There’s more kids out there like Billy. Fucking christ he used to be friends with those kinds of people. He thought it was all just meaningless jokes and empty words– Steve and all his friends and his family and their neighbors in the Loch, it was all just jokes.

But then he’d called Jonathan Byers queer, laced with venom and meant to sting. As Jonathan’s fist hit its mark, Steve finally realized that maybe the people in his life weren’t just joking. He’d started to understand what they actually meant, how to look past the casual tone and see it for what it truly meant. 

Since then, Steve’s worked to separate himself from people like Tommy and Billy, like his parents. That still doesn’t mean everyone believes he’s trying to change, or that he’ll be forgiven. But that doesn’t matter, he’ll spend the rest of his life making amends regardless. Steve will do whatever it takes to be the best person he can be for the kids.

Anxiety churns through his gut as he knocks on the front door. The cold November breeze ruffles his hair. It sends a shiver down his spine and he finds himself bouncing on the balls of his feet to shake out both the chill and his nerves.

After a few moments, a woman with a delicate heart-shaped face and stylishly short black hair opens the door with a warm smile. He never saw Mrs. Sinclair in the moments after it was all over, everyone congregated in the Byers’ living room exhausted, sharing information, and tending each other's wounds. Steve had slipped out the back just as Claudia had arrived for Dustin. 

Her smile falters, only for a moment, before she overcomes the surprise at her unexpected guest. She smoothes her hands down the front of her blue jeans then crosses them over her chest, wrapping the crochet shawl on her back tight around her shoulders. It’s cute, patterned with little yellow and green flowers with dark brown in between.

He smiles awkwardly, bringing his hand up in a wave only to abort the movement halfway through because she opened the door and she’s waiting, just say something.

“Hello, dear,” she prompts, saving him from his spiral by following a simple script. The things you’re supposed to say when some random boy knocks on your door late into the evening but doesn’t say anything.

“Hello, Mrs. Sinclair,” his voice cracks, and he winces. “Umm, my name’s–”

“Steve Harrington,” she says, not unkindly. “Yes, I know.”

He swallows, desperately maintaining an appropriate amount of eye contact. On top of everything else, that sentence alone could mean so much.

Even though Steve’s never met Mrs. Sinclair, he knew of her from his mother. He remembers listening to her rehash the events of whatever social event they’d both attended over dinner, notable only because it was one of few occasions his father would actually listen while his mother talked.

She was a little outspoken during book club.

Richard, you should’ve seen her new hairstyle.

Sue wore a very interesting outfit today.

His parents have nothing in common, but they both love tearing down others to feel better about themselves. Sue Sinclair eventually quit attending the same clubs, and his mother adjusted her sights to new targets. Steve can only hope that Mrs. Sinclair is referring to things Lucas might have mentioned about him, and not because of Beth Harrington and her luncheon book clubs.

“Right, yeah,” he says. “I was hoping I could talk to you and Mr. Sinclair about Lucas. About what happened that night at the Byers’ house.”

His gaze has drifted back down to the pavement, and he can’t help running a hand through his hair only for it to pull at the stitches on his forehead. They would’ve been healed by now if he didn’t keep pulling them out. If he could keep his hands in his pockets like Dustin keeps telling him.

It’s dark, and it’s quiet. It’s silent for so long he expects to be turned away, until he hears a soft sigh.

“Come in then,” she says, stepping to the side to open the door fully. “I’m sure we’ll all want to sit down for this.”

Even on a dark, cold winter night, the sunshine yellow walls help the home feel warm and bright– to match the family inside, he thinks fondly. Steve spots multiple science fair plaques hung up in the living room and a fridge covered in what look like pages of meticulously colored pink and purple horses. A stark contrast to his own home, lifeless and lackluster.

A small cough breaks him of his reverie, and he turns to find her carefully watching him. She’s eyeing him like he’s a code she can crack, making him even more nervous. Her lips quirk up at the corner of her mouth and she gestures for him to sit at the table.

“Would you like anything to drink, Steven? There’s lemonade, tea, and milk, and there’s pop out in the garage.” She moves into the kitchen, the hanging cabinets obscure her face. Her voice is pleasant and genuine.

“Just water, thank you, Mrs. Sinclair.” She sets the water glass next to him and leaves the room only to return a moment later with Mr. Sinclair. He’s sporting a wide smile, but his eyes are strained. 

“Steve Harrington, isn’t that right,” he asks. He gently guides his wife to a chair at the opposite corner of the table, pulling it out for her and softly kissing her cheek. She smiles at Steve and rolls her eyes. The normalcy of the domestic gesture causes Steve’s cheeks to burn and he averts his eyes. He’s been here all of five minutes and has seen more love within the Sinclair home than he’s ever seen within his own. 

“Uh, yes sir,” Steve responds as Mr. Sinclair takes the seat opposite of him, like this is an interview for a high class job. Which, he figures, it kind of is. Except the man’s wearing blue flannel pajama pants and an oversized grey hooded sweatshirt with a Pacers logo on the chest. It helps Steve relax slightly, the perceived casualness hopefully setting the tone for the situation.

“So what brings you by? Sue mentioned something about what happened at the Byers’ house.”

“Yeah, I just umm–” he swallows around a lump clogging his throat– “I’ve already talked with Ms. Henderson and Mrs. Hargrove about being Dustin and Max’s official babysitter, and I’m really hoping I can do the same for Lucas.” In through his nose, out through his mouth. In, and out.

“I’m not sure what all Lucas told you, but the kids got into a lot of trouble that night. Dustin came looking for Mike to help find his lost cat, but he found me instead. I wasn’t even supposed to be there.” He pauses, replaying the cover story in his head. “Lucas and Max found us just before the pack of feral dogs did. We ended up ok, hitched a ride with Nancy and Jonathan back to the Byers’ house. Then that’s when Will got sick and they all left to go to the hospital.

“I didn’t know Billy was Max’s brother. She kept telling me, over and over, that she had to get home or her brother would kill her. I was too busy trying to keep the boys distracted– I should’ve listened to her. We heard the car pull in the driveway, and I knew straight away who it was.

“I told the kids to hide and I tried to convince him to leave, but he saw them. He pushed past me to get into the house, but by the time I got back inside he had Lucas pinned to the wall and– I’ve never seen someone look like that before. The way Billy looked at Lucas– I know I was a bully, but I’ve never– Billy hated him.”

He’s prepared for this, even done it twice already like he said. He’d hoped it’d be easier this time around, yet he’s still just as tense. But the Sincair’s sit patiently across from him, waiting for him to continue. So he musters his courage, takes deep breaths, and pushes on.

“If it wasn’t for Max,” he plows forward, “I’m not sure what would’ve happened. She knocked Billy out while he was on top of me. We managed to take his car and get out. When we came back later, he was gone.”

Steve’s eyes fall to his lap and he wrings his hands together, rubs them harshly against the tops of his thighs to feel the rough denim scratch against his palms– to keep himself from hyperventilating, to calm down, to breathe. Anything to show these nice and normal people that he’s stable enough to care for their son. That he’s not the kind of person to panic when nothing’s wrong. 

“What about the parents?” Mrs. Sinclair asks. When he looks up, there’s a comforting smile on her face that doesn’t meet her eyes, still filled with a hesitancy Steve can’t pinpoint.

He knew the question was coming, yet he still finds it difficult to answer. “I feel like everyone in town knows The Harrington’s,” he says, voice laced with distaste for his own last name.

Mr. Sinclair’s lips form a fine, thin line across his carefully restrained face, disappearing under his  trimmed mustache. Mrs. Sinclair reaches out to hold her husband’s hand again, rubbing her fingers across his knuckles. She still holds Steve’s gaze, unwavering, as he tries to explain himself.

“I can’t ever make up for what my parents have said or done. All I can promise is that I’m trying not to be like them. And those kids,” he stops, digging deep for the right words to explain emotions he’s never had to articulate before. “I feel more like myself around the kids than I ever have with anyone else. It’s like they give me a purpose. They matter to me, and I’m not really used to that. I’d do anything to keep them safe.”

They’re quiet for what feels like ages, leaving him waiting for them to pass their judgements, weighing his heart. “I’m glad you’ve told us this,” Mrs. Sinclair replies, “but that’s not what I was asking, hun.”

Steve racks his brain, sorting through his words to find what he’s missed. The confusion must show on his face.

“The girl, Max,” Mr. Sinclair fills in, “what about her parents?”

Steve’s confusion only worsens as he tries to reason out why they’re asking about Max’s family and not his own. The Harrington’s have terrorized this town for decades, and the Hargrove’s moved in less than six months ago.

“Max?” Steve asks. “Why– I don’t understand.”

“Steven,” she starts again, “we know all about the kind of people Beth and Richard Harrigton are, and we know the kind of boy you used to be,” he smile softens, finally reaching her eyes as they shine at him with a sad affection. He feels bare, and moves his gaze to just over her right shoulder instead. “Just because your parents are bad people, doesn’t mean you are. And just because you’ve made mistakes, doesn’t make you a bad person. Especially when it’s so obvious how hard you’re trying to fix them.”

“But this young girl, Max, that Lucas has been spending time with. She’s new to town, from California, right?” Mrs. Sinclair asks. Steve nods.

“We don’t know them,” she says, her smile melted into a frown. “Lucas and the boys talk about her well enough, and she sounds like a sweet kid.” She blinks, hard, and Steve realizes she’s trying not to cry.

“If her parents are like her brother, Billy,” Mr. Sinclair picks up her train of thought, “Lucas could be in danger just by being her friend, Steve. If her parents are anything like that, I can’t have our son spending time with her. It won’t matter whether you’re there to protect them or not. There are some things in this world you can’t save them from.”

There’s nothing he can say that’ll meet the gravity of their questions, except sit in their beautiful, warm, yellow kitchen and process the small fraction of their world they’ve laid plain. He’s imagining Billy catching them at the movies, sharing a popcorn bucket and a soda with two straws. He can’t help but morbidly wonder what would happen if Neil passed them on the street with Max riding on the back of Lucas’s bike. 

Even if Steve were there with them, they’d still be seen. He can’t be around all the time, won’t always be there to help. Shoving down the panic at that thought, he leans back in his chair and runs a hand through his hair and yanks at the strands. The stitches rip from his scalp, and the sting of it keeps him present.

“Her stepdad, Neil, is the problem,” Steve starts. “I haven’t met him, but he seems– I think he’s the reason Billy is the way that he is. I’ve heard him yelling from the driveway when I pick Max up sometimes.” 

His thoughts stray to last week, standing in the driveway, half out of the car trying to decide if he should go knock or stay and wait. The shouts were hard to ignore. As Steve finally decided knocking would be worth the risk of confrontation, Max burst out the front door, red-faced with bloodshot eyes, and her jaw clenched tight. Words like ‘spoiled’ and ‘ungrateful brat’ floated between the snowflakes after her, carried along by the frigid evening.

“Max’s mom seems alright,” Steve says. Beth Harrington’s years of training kicks in and Steve falls back on typical midwest niceties. “Susan loves Max, and she’s the one who agreed to let me watch her instead of Billy. I think she knows that their house isn't– great. She lets Max stay with me a lot. Hell, half the time she practically lives with me.”

He knows Dustin’s happy when Steve’s around, and he hopes eventually the rest of the kids would eventually feel the same way. Max likes having him around too, but Steve thinks she might need him more than the others do. Because unlike The Party– but very much like himself– she doesn’t have anyone or anywhere safe to escape. 

He never had a person waiting in the driveway with the car running, ready to take him away. With Max, Steve gets to be the person he needed when he was her age. 

Steve sighs, resistant to the decision he’s come to, but hopefully the Sinclairs will understand. He meets their gazes, a solemn look from both of them tells him maybe he’s easier to read than he thought.

“I want them all to be together, but when it comes down to it, the boys all have their families to fall back on. Max– she doesn’t have that. So I can’t leave her behind– I won’t.” Steve hesitates, closing his mouth before he oversteps.

“But?” Mr. Sinclair prompts, eyeing him across the table.

Steve considers his words carefully before saying, “I think keeping them apart would be a mistake. You know Lucas won’t stop trying to see Max. He really cares about her, and the way she looks at him–I don’t think you could keep them apart no matter how hard you try.” He sighs, anxious he’s undoing all the trust he’s gained tonight. “And it’s like you said, right? Just because someone’s family is all bad, doesn’t mean you’re like them. We– I mean, Max– can be different. Better.”

They glance at each other, but when Mr. Sinclair opens his mouth to respond, a blur of red and blue crashes into Steve’s side, almost toppling him out of the kitchen chair. All he can see are fingers entwined together across his chest and small arms covered in red and blue rocket ships. Of course Lucas would wear nerdy pajamas, it’s so goddamn adorable. Just another reminder that Steve is so utterly screwed for these kids.

“Lucky,” Mrs. Sinclair admonishes, “what are you doing out of bed?” She stands and moves over to her son, who clutches Steve’s chest like it’ll keep him from being pried away and dragged back to his room.

“You can’t keep me from hanging out with Max,” he shouts, muffled by his face pressed into Steve’s shoulder. “She belongs to The Party now, just like Steve. And we don’t leave anyone behind. Ever.”

Something he might think is fondness balloons in his ribs at Lucas’s admission. Steve hadn’t really considered himself included in The Party, as Dustin explained it. He always assumed it was mostly just the kids, plus Nancy and Jonathan because of Mike and Will. He’s more like an accessory, if anything at all. A guy on the fringes, brought in by random chance. 

“I want Steve to be my babysitter, and I want Max to be my friend,” he answers.

“Son,” his dad says, who stands up to place his hand on his son’s shoulder, “we’re talking to Steve about this.”

“No,” Lucas interrupts. He pops his head up to look at them, but doesn’t loosen his grip around Steve’s shoulders. “You don’t get it. Steve’s not like Billy and neither is Max. Max is the coolest. She’s nice and funny and laughs at my jokes. And Steve gives rides in his super fancy car. He lets them hang out at his house after school. Sometimes he even buys us candy and gives us extra quarters for the arcade.”

Mrs. Sinclair clears her throat, a very motherly excuse me, you did what? Steve realizes she’s teasing Lucas, the slight smirk on her face giving the game away. He gives Lucas a gentle nudge, and chuckles when Lucas tries his best to back pedal. 

“I mean,” the poor boy stammers, “he never buys us candy. Only, like, apples and stuff.”

His mom laughs and his dad gives his shoulder a slight shake, bringing a smile to Lucas’s face. He knows the world will be tough for Lucas, but Steve can’t help but think how lucky the kid is to have a family like this. Safe and loving, comfortable enough to tease each other, and carefree enough for affection in front of company.

“Ok, Lucky, we’ll think about it, alright? Now let’s get to bed,” Mrs. Sinclair says, gently leaning Lucas into her arms and guiding him away from the table. He groans, burying his face into his mother’s stomach as she laughs. “You’ve got to get up early for school tomorrow, you know that.”

“Mom,” Lucas draws out the word, whining obnoxiously, “don’t call me that when people are here.”

Steve listens to Lucas’s lamentations as the two disappear down the hallway. Mr. Sinclair gives Steve’s shoulder a hard pat and firm shake, just like he had to his own son. Steve’s throat clogs slightly, and the gesture makes him think of Hopper.

Mr. Sinclair says on the back of an exasperated sigh, “Lucas is a good kid. When he likes something– or someone– it’s fierce. He gets consumed with whatever he sets his sights on, almost like it’s all he can think about sometimes.”

“Oh honey,” Mrs. Sinclair chuckles at her husband, stepping back into the room. “Remember when Mike first showed him Dungeons and Dragons? Stayed up all night for weeks working on his character even after we grounded him for it. It’s been years and it’s still all he talks about.”

Mr. Sinclair laughs, shaking his head, but when he looks back to Steve there’s resolve scrunched between his brows. He turns to his wife who nods, a soft smile spreads across her face. “Unfortunately for us, I think you might be right, Steve. If Lucas and the boys have already decided Max is their friend– and if what you’re implying about the two of them is true– I don’t think we could keep him from seeing her. No matter how dangerous it might be. That boy will always do what he thinks is right, consequences be damned.”

“You can watch him this week, and we’ll see how it goes,” Mrs. Sinclair says, her smile now wide and loving, bright enough to match the home her family has built.  “All we ask is that you keep us in the loop, and he stays away from the Hargrove’s.”

“The kids talk about you constantly,” Mr. Sinclair continues, “and Claudia only has good things to say about you– Max too. We only got to meet her when we drove her home that night, but it’d be nice if we got another chance. Maybe sometime next week we can have the both of you over for dinner to get to know each other.” 

Butterflies erupt in Steve’s stomach at the giddy realization that they’re willing to take a chance on him. To trust him with something as important as their son’s safety is a blessing Steve thought he’d never be worthy of.

They work out the scheduling details, and Steve leaves feeling higher than he has in months. He’ll do everything he can to prove to the Sinclair’s that he deserves the chance they’re giving him, that neither he nor Max are their parents, and that Lucas will be happier for it. He can’t imagine how Lucas would’ve felt if kept away from Max, but now it doesn’t matter. Steve can keep his kids under one roof.

Three down, three more to go.

[avilthings]

Spring Shedding

Plot: Poor Husk isn’t the best at handling shedding season

Pairing: Husk x gn!reader

Length: 1.3K

Type: SFW ~ Fluff

Editing credit: To the lovely @irkimatsu who always cleans up my work🫶

•

•

•

It’s been two days since you’ve seen Husk at the bar. You’ve been staying at the hotel long enough to know that not seeing Husk at the bar is unusual. He’s usually always there sipping on a bottle of cheap booze.

The hotel has been rather quiet this past little bit with Charlie and Vaggie busy coming up with plans at Lucifer’s estate and Angel working many hours. For as odd as it was seeing the hotel so quiet you actually enjoyed it. It was a nice change of pace from the usual chaos. However, you were now quite curious about where Husk has been these last two days.

~~

“Oh good, Niffty! Wait… what is that?” You point to the clump of fur in her hand lowkey disturbed.

“For my collection!” Niffty grins before scurrying away.

“Wait, I was going to ask if you’ve seen Alastor!” You try calling out, but Niffty is already gone.

“You needed something?”

You jump as Alastor appears from shadows behind you. “Jesus Christ Al! Don’t sneak up on people!”

“Hmph, I simply heard my name and answered, dear. Is that so wrong?”

“It is when you almost send people into cardiac arrest!” You sigh before getting back to the topic at hand. “Listen, I was just going to ask if you’ve seen Husk. It’s unusual to not see him at the bar.”

“Ah yes~ Husker was getting rather frustrated with the amount of fur getting into his drinks.”

“Wait, fur…? Niffty had a clump of fur in her hands not too long ago…” You recall your interaction with her.

“Yes, poor Niffty has been working overtime with the amount of fur Husker has been leaving all over the hotel.” Alastor says, sympathizing with Niffty. Whether it was genuine or not, you’ll never know. “It is shedding season after all!” Alastor states matter of factly before heading off.

‘Shedding season…’ you think to yourself, processing Alastor words.

~~

*knock knock*

“Husk? You in there?”

“Go away, I’m not in the mood.”

Not wanting to push, you leave, wanting to think of a better way to approach this issue.

While alive, you had many animals and worked in the field of taking care of them. You were very good at managing fur, from double coats to long and short coats. You knew you could help Husk because of this, and wanted to help him since he’s helped you before, even if it was just lending an ear.

That’s when you got a plan…

~~

*knock knock*

“I thought I told you to fucking go away earlier!” Husk snapped.

“You did, and I listened. Now it’s later… plus, I brought some rather expensive alcohol this time.” You smirk from behind the door knowing Husk’s ears probably perked up at that.

Not too long after that comment, the door opens slightly. Husk doesn’t seem to want to come out though, and is mostly hidden behind the door.

“If you’re going to have some of my expensive whiskey, we’re going to enjoy it together,” you emphasize. Husk grumbles, but finally lets you in.

“Don’t say a word!” he warns. You knew instantly he was referring to both the way he looked and the state of his room. Husk had chunks of fur falling out as well as a few bald spots from where he probably pulled the fur out. The room was no better, with fur and the occasional feathers everywhere.

You take the whiskey and glasses out of the small bag you had before setting them down on a nearby coffee table. Husk instantly pours himself a glass.

“Ah~ been awhile since I had the good shit.” Husk says, sitting back into a comfy chair.

“It’s not the only thing I have in my bag…”

“Hm?” Husk grunts, almost curious, but also in a way that says ‘I don’t give a fuck unless it’s more alcohol.’ You empty the bag and three brushes fall out.

“NO!” Husk says as soon as he sees the brushes, knowing exactly what you wanted to do.

“Hear me out, okay?. In my life, I worked a lot with different types of fur coats. I understand how to properly groom and take care of them, it’s what I did for a living. I know you don’t want help, but I can see how much this is bothering you. You’re always there for everyone else listening to their problems and even lending advice at times. Let me return the favour and be there for you.”

After a long sip of his (your) whiskey, he gets up and sits on the floor by you and the coffee table.

“This stays between us, got it?”

Your face lights up at this. “It will, I promise. Now, what’s the area causing you the most trouble?”

“My back and torso have the thickest amount of hair, but I don’t want you touching my wings or tail,” Husk says as he turns around, allowing you access to his back.

“I won’t. I have a curry comb which I’ll use to get the already loose fur out, then a special deshedding comb which will be the main brush I use, and finally a slicker brush to help the coat look nice and sleek after.” You let Husk know your process so he’s not startled by what you’re doing or confused as to why you’e doing it.

“As long as I get to keep drinking this whiskey, knock yourself out,” Husk comments, not seeming to care much.

You begin by getting a feel for his fur to understand the type of coat he has. Once you have a plan of what to do, you start working. You’re careful not to touch or go near his wings as you work away.

~~

It’s been an hour now, and you’ve finally finished his back. The amount of fur that came out was almost startling. Both you and Husk hadn’t noticed but at some point while grooming his back he had started purring.

“I’m going to move to your chest now. Can you turn around?”

Husk complies, moving to face you. Seeing him this close knowing you would be touching his chest was enough to dust your cheeks a light pink. Thankfully, Husk didn’t seem to notice, as he was mostly interested in the alcohol.

“I’m going to start.”

It wasn’t until you touched his chest that you felt the vibrations of him purring. It was a low purr, which is why you hadn’t noticed it earlier. Now that you were aware of it, it became clear as day. Best not to comment on it, though, you figured.

As you worked through Husk’s chest fur, you soon realized how thick this particular area was and how long it would take. Husk had already finished off the bottle of whiskey and you still had a ways to go.

“This area is going to take a while. Sorry! It’s just very thick and where most of your shedding is coming from,” you warned, quietly a little worried he’d get mad or ask you to stop. Instead, he did something you never would’ve expected.

Husk lay his head in your lap, getting comfortable before closing his eyes.

“….Husk?”

“I’m tired… and out of booze. Just keep doing your thing.”

With that said, you keep working on his chest fur, making sure to be careful around bald spots. You can feel the vibrations of Husk’s purring through your lap; he seems to really enjoy this.

~~

After an hour and a half, fur everywhere and your legs numb, you finished. Husk’s coat was looking better than ever as he now slept in your lap, still purring quietly. You couldn’t help but reach down and lightly rub his ears, causing him to wake up.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s fine,” Husk says as he sits up.

Husk starts to feel his fur, almost amazed at how soft it felt. “My fur has never felt like this. It’s amazingly soft.”

“Told you I knew what I was doing,” you giggle as you watch Husk pet his own chest.

“Thank you for this.” Husk said, a bit quieter than his usual tone.

“You’re welcome. I’m really happy to have helped you.” You smile.

~~

“Know anything about wings?”

•

•

•

[coziebunbuns]

I'm really leaning into the sacrilege thing, so I must pray for my sins...

Imagine going to church after throwing my little whore pussy at any person willing to give me attention, I feel now is the time to change my ways. Who better to ask the the purest being to walk the earth. Mary, the mother virgin of sin...

"Hail Mary full of grace..."

My head is bowed, my knees are aching, though for a whore like me it's a surprise. So focused on remembering the prayer I did not see the imposing priest behind me.

"The lord is with thee." He say. I look up at him with teary eyes. He looks down at me in disgust, pity and disappointment. "Of course a pathetic little thing like you wouldn't know how to pray"

"please teach me father" I sob, weakly holding onto his robe.

He tuts again then sighs, handing me a rosary. "Very well. You repeat after me holding one of the beads at a time and no matter what do not stop praying and do not take your eyes off her."

I nod, eager for some help. I start again, looking right up Mary this time with a little more confidence.

"Hail Mary full of grace, the lord is with thee"

But as I repeat the words, I feel a hand travel down my back. It tugs and groves my exposed flesh with perverse intent.

"Blessed are thou amongst women"

The hand slips under my skimpy dress to cup my tits, squeezing and pinching my nipples. I can't help my yelp at just how hard the pinces are, the pain sending tingles through my body and to my aching whore cunny. Another hand prys my legs open and slips beneath my panties so my sloppy cunt. A disgrace I know, but the hand rubs my soaked pussy I fight not to moan the next line.

"And blessed is the fruit of thy womb.... JESUS CHRIST!!!"

Thick fingers thrust into my wanton hole with punishing force, catching me off guard and making me cry out. A rough thumb finds my clit and I can't help but moan, it feels so good, to be touched, to be violated like this. My nipples are pinched even harder and tears fill my eyes. Stars start to sparkle around the image of the holy mother and my body starts to trembling.

"Holy Mary, mother of GOD!"

I can feel it, the orgasm it creeps through me like fire, this must be what holiness feels like. The hand on my tit moves to my neck squeeze so rich I feel nails dig I to my skin, a torso joins the service with the impression of a thick cock pressed up against my ass.

"Pray for us sinners..."

It builds more, ripping through my skin.

"Now until the hour..."

The fingers curl, hitting that spot, that oh so holy spot.

"Of our death! AMEN!!!"

It all comes crashing down, I'm shaking and speaking and weeping through my climax. Coming undone before this Holy figure. It took a moment before I calmed but it was not the end.

"You pathetic little whore. Did you really think you are worth redemption, that you could be saved. You're nothing more than a whore, a street bitch."

"Please Father! Please! I can change!"

His hand tightened around my neck as I felt his thick cock slide into sloppy hole.

"Then you better keep praying, you'll learn how to properly use a rosary my dear..."

I have a problem🙄

🐇. 🐇. 🐇. 🐇. 🐇. 🐇. 🐇. 🐇

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 43: Familie

https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

The boat ride home feels like I’m being punished. The further away I sail from England the deeper my heartache grows. When I arrive back in the crowded Brooklyn streets all I can think about is waiting for news about the Shelbys' death sentences. 

“Verena!” Oma gushes and wraps me into a warm hug. “Dear kleinkind, you are home! We- Verena? Why the sad face?”

I offer a small smile and set my trunk down. “Homesickness, oma. And… I’m really going to miss my job.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” She hugs me closer. “I’m so sorry. If it's any comfort, we are all glad to have you back. Your vader's been too stubborn to fix that step, and look where it landed him!”

“Verena!” Moeder’s voice shouts from the bedroom. “Run and fetch your vader some morphine!”

“Elowyn, the poor girl just got back!” Oma tries to calm her down.

“She can unpack later. Dochter! Now!”

I steal a quick moment to cry into a pillow before answering. “Yes, moeder.”

So good to be back.

The doctor said vader’s injury will take nearly a year to heal. One whole year. It only takes a month for paranoia to sink in. Every day I wait for Thomas to call. Either with good news of triumph or tragic news of death. It’s not until I’m stuck doing a mountain of laundry when Conor’s wife Delilah calls me over to the phone.

“The name is Shelby. Isn’t that your boss?”

“Yes!” I gasp and wretch the phone from her. “Did they make it in time?”

On the other end Thomas keeps his voice calm. “Just made it. They’re all safe.”

I close my eyes and give a silent prayer of thanks. Dear Christ, they are alive! “They’re going to be angry.”

“I know.” He pauses. “It’s good to hear from you, Verena. I got your letter last week. Please send my best wishes to your father.”

My mouth starts to hurt from how much smiling he’s causing. “I will."

"When will you come back?” He masks his voice to make it unclear if he misses me too.

“I should be back by next December. I’ve been given permission to return to Birmingham once vader’s recovered.” I change to a tone of dry humor. “Thank you, by the way, for sending that persuasive letter.”

“What can I say? It’s not been the same since you left. Charlie keeps asking where you are.”

“Yes, well, when moeder read the letter she was very concerned about why someone like me was being requested by a gang leader.”

I had to swear on my life that there’s nothing scandalous afoot. 

Thomas ignores my implications. “How’s Ada?” 

“According to her calls, our arranged meeting in Boston is still planned. Next Monday we’re meeting with Mr. Anderson.”

“Excellent. Let me know when you’re on your way back.” He waits for a moment, deciding his next words. “It’s- I- Goodbye, Verena.”

I take a deep breath. Typical. “Goodbye, Thomas.”

As I promised, I keep to my word and meet with Ada the following week. She, like Thomas, is surprised with how busy the city is. When I spot her at the Boston docks’ main office Ada greets me with a big hug.

“So good to see you! Did you get the present Tommy sent you?”

“Yes!” 

The silver pendant hangs as a hopeful reminder under my shirt. No cursed jewel. A simple silver pendant with a Celtic cross at the center. Two days after my birthday I received a parcel from Thomas, along with a small note. 

Verena-

You refuse to wear anything of your paygrade so I am gifting you something tied to your devoted faith and heritage. Happy birthday, Verena. Please come back soon.

-Thomas

 I know those words must have been very precisely selected. Whether he does love me or not, the gift always brings joy to my heart.

“And Tommy told you the good news?” Ada asks.

“Yes! They were pardoned!” My smile fades. “Have they yelled at him yet?”

Ada’s face grows grim as well. “Not a word. It’s like no one wants to acknowledge Tommy anymore. Except Michael, that is. He jumped right back in. Finn tries to help when he can. Everyone else walked away.”

I take her hand and give it a squeeze. “Let’s start things off right. Today can bring good fortune to the company, which means good fortune for us.”

We ascend the stairs into the office and find an older man with jet-black hair waiting behind the front desk.

“Hello, Mr. Anderson,” I greet. “I believe you know Christiaan Steenstra?”

He looks me over. “Steenstra, yes. He married that Irish lass from the mob.”

“He is my father. I am his daughter Verena Nora Steenstra.” I gesture to my partner. “May I introduce Ada Shelby. We are here on business for Shelby Company Limited. Thomas Shelby wrote ahead to tell you we were coming.”

The name sparks his memory. “Yes. His instructions were very specific. I have only one question : why do I do business with you? Why doesn’t Shelby come see me himself?”

Ada and I exchange looks. I speak before she can argue with him. “He is a busy man. Saying that, he is a man who is not afraid to let women represent the company. Are we in agreement or would you like some persuasion from the White Hand?”

The name lingers in the air and the blood drains Anderson’s face. “No.”

I smile prosperously. “Then we are decided. Ada, the papers please.”

Once again I owe my leverage to Uncle Colon.

One final week. One week until Christmas, one week until I will be back in Birmingham! Ada’s waiting with the cab outside while I finish packing the last of my clothes. Just then, all five brothers barrel into my bedroom. 

“You’re really doing this, sis?” Eoin asks for the fifth time.

“You’re an American. Not a Brit,” Abel points out.

I clasp the trunk shut. “Must this always end in an argument against the British?”

Liam slaps the side of his head as if I just asked if the sky is blue. “Yes! We beat their tea-drinking asses. Why should you care about some gangster and his shipping company?”

“Need I remind you, Liam, that America’s melting pot is all about international cooperation?”

“America is the best,” Nicolaas mutters.

I face the gang of boys with my hands on my hips. It’s just like lecturing the Shelbys. “Our family comes from other places, too. If Ireland were under attack would you let it burn?”

All five brothers sheepishly look down and shake their heads. “No.”

“Neither would I. That’s why I’m helping.”

“That and you’re sweet on Mr. Shelby,” Liam chuckles under his breath.

I point a warning finger at him. “Shut it. I do not fancy him.”

“Ha!” Conor laughs at my unusual wording. “Verena’s picked up a bit-a-the-’ol English tongue!”

Nicolaas keeps a more mature expression. “Does Uncle Colon know?”

No. I still hesitate to inform my family of exactly who I’m working for. All they know is that I act as a foreign representative for a British trading company. It’s not a lie. If moeder caught on to how dangerous my work can get she would keep me stranded in Brooklyn forever. I can’t tell Uncle Colon how deeply I'm involved with the Peaky Blinders.

“I haven’t told him yet.”

“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t know. The White Hand has spies everywhere.”

Abel catches on to my growing anxiety and leans in to corner me. “There’s something else. What haven’t you told us?”

This is partly why I didn’t want to come back. My brothers’ intentions to protect me involve coaxing out every bit of information about my job. They mean well but I would rather die than expose them to the cruel, brutal world of the Peaky Blinders. How can I convince them not to worry when they keep asking questions?

I bite my lip. “Thomas- My boss… He used to be involved with the Russians.”

Conor’s jaw tightens. “Are you serious?”

“And you’re going along with this?” Nicolaas asks, appalled. “After what they did?”

I keep a look of confidence. “I leave it to Mr. Shelby. My business is anywhere else. He wanted me to chat up Mr. Anderson and now I’m scheduled to head to somewhere in France.”

Liam grunts. “We don’t know a thing ‘bout France.”

“It’s not your concern,” I state firmly. “I can’t do the work of a dozen, but I am able of doing this.”

“You can stand to work for them?” Eoin asks in disbelief.

“Aside from all their sex talk?” Abel’s jaw drops at my laid-back tone. “It’s tolerable. The drinking, smoking, swearing. It’s all old news to me now.”

All five brothers exchange looks. Are they ganging up on me? Do they not think I can handle myself after all these years?

“Verena,” Conor begins. “You’ve changed. Ever since you started working for this guy you’ve been distant. It’s like you don’t want to see us anymore.”

My face falls. Is that how they see me? They know me better than to think I would want to avoid them.

“Broers. I love you all. I love my familie. I will never abandon you. Did I not leave England to aid vader when he was injured?” They all look to the floor again. “And Eoin, I just spent the last three months watching your children. How is that not loyalty?” He doesn’t answer. “But I am loyal to the Shelbys too. I love them all, even with their flaws.”

“You’re so loyal that you’re spending Christmas away from us?” Abel asks softly.

I take a deep breath. “This time of year is supposed to be when people gather and celebrate the spirit of the season. This year has been really hard on the Shelbys and I want to be there to help.”

“You talk as if they’re family oriented like us,” Nicolaas observes. “Yet the rumor is that no one’s getting along.”

A bittersweet smile grows on my face as I lean in to give my broers one last hug. “That’s why I have to go.”

@meadows5

[walkthroughtheword]

Dear Father, we thank you for sending your son, Jesus.  Thank you for his faithfulness to you and us.  Thank you for his tender love and care.  Thank you for his boldness in teaching.  We are grateful for his sacrifice on the cross.  Help us to bring glory to his name, as we move in this life.  Allow others to see Christ in us.  Give us the opportunities, actions, and words to connect others to Jesus.  We pray this in his wonderful name.  Amen.

[jinjurloaf]

the notes on that post by heathenvampires and prismatic-bell are fucking insane (see here for context). jesus fucking christ. being reblogged by zionists tagging it as “gaza shit show,” saying they miss porn bots because they have to bear the burden of palestinians sending asks now. the anger I feel is not communicable.

I don’t see any point in engaging with these people directly. it is clear, to me, from their language (“hit by friendly fire”) that they are not serious people, they do not care about palestinian lives, and they are willfully ignorant.

“explosive ammo? that might refer to spiked bullets that explode after the fact. not common to my knowledge!” what the fuck could you possibly know about the idf? (three clickable links just begging for you to click on them)

so many people are interpreting the number of family members in SUCH bad faith. he never wrote that he has 9 daughters. if you’re going to critique a gazan in the midst of a violent genocide trying to fundraise to save his and his family’s lives for his english then maybe learn to comprehend it yourself first.

extremely ‘woke’ queer tumblr users wondering HOW somebody could possibly refer to “their” kids also having another father? how can families and living situations that don’t align with my expectations and experiences exist??? huh???? what?????

“how can you consider a kid to be your kid without being biologically involved in their birth” is not a particularly difficult question to answer.

empathy is one thing. if you’re not donating or reblogging nobody can make you and that is that. but thinking rationally is another thing altogether and it’s lost on them. all the information is there to answer your questions.

if you can afford to, please donate to help 17 year old muhammad atalla, his parents, his siblings, and his nephews. every small amount counts. if you can’t, make sure to share this with somebody who can. from the river to the sea 🇵🇸

[tiredmetalenthusiast]

To Start Anew (TF141xLATA!Reader) Ch.4

Whooo sorry for the wait ya’ll! Summer is kicking not only ass but my internet’s ass! Here is chapter 4! Ya gurl has a breakdown and the guys check in on her!

Warnings: Language, breakdown, crying.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The room was absolutely stunning! A veranda for you to sit and watch the sea, a short walk away from the room was the private beach, the bed was definitely big enough to fit two people and your brain suddenly can’t help but think of bringing someone into that bed for a night. You deserve to have fun while you’re here and you plan to!

The bathroom was pristine with a large tub, dark marble on the counters encompassed in tan wood. “I have to send a video to mom and dad!” You start up a video call with your family to show them the room and the view. “Oh honey it's beautiful! Such a lovely place to stay for 2 weeks!” “Oh I wanna see!” You hear your sister chime in the background before she crowds into the call. “The place has a private beach too and a pool with a restaurant next to it!”

”Well I’m more interested in the very handsome men hanging around by the pool!” You laugh as your mom and sister start to ogle the men and turn the phone away. “What!? I wasn’t done looking! No fair!” “I’m sure they don’t want someone gawking at them while they swim and relax!” “Well I mean, they are pretty good-looking. That big fella with the face mask looks like he could be a good time.” “OH MY GOD DAD!”

He laughs at your now red face as you distantly hear your sister say to have fun and to let her know all the dirty details if you snag one of the men. “No! Jesus Christ they’re on leave! I don’t wanna bother them! They are nice because we chatted at the airport but they came to relax!” “Well dear I don’t think they’d be too opposed to…having some fun as well if you catch my drift!” “Perverts all of you! I’m gonna take a shower and take a nap!” Your family laughs before wishing you well with a promise to call later.

Sighing, you hook your phone into the charger and grab a change of clothes. You definitely need a nice hot bath and a nap, you deserve it. As you undress and step into the hot water, you feel the tension leaving you all at once, practically sinking into the tub. The groan that leaves your throat is nothing short of graphic. ‘I really needed this.’ The thought comes fast and the tears follow as you fall into your sad thoughts again, it was only a day ago after all since the worst day of your life happened.

“Stupid fuckin bastard! If he didn’t want to get married why the fuck did he propose?!” The tears are cool as they stream down your cheeks as opposed to the heat surrounding your body. “Should have fuckin known.” A shudder runs through you as a sob breaks past your throat and you scrub at the tears to get them to stop, though it is futile. You sit and cry in the tub for a good while before calming down enough to clean yourself and rinse off before stepping out.

As you wrap yourself in the fluffy bathrobe you remember that you wanted to order champagne. Just as your hand is on the phone you think mimosas sound a lot better and order the champagne and oj to be sent to your room with the engraved glasses his dad had ordered. Maybe you could just break his, maybe you could use it as a weird roleplay toy, the possibilities are there and ultimately you decide against the roleplay usage and plan to just shatter it if they bring it.

-With the guys-3rd person-

It was still bright outside as the 141 men were enjoying the pool at the hotel. “Do ye ken the little lady is okay?” Gaz sips his drink as he shakes his head, “Nah mate I don’t think so. She still seemed pretty pissed when she was talking to us about it at the airport.” The other three nod in agreement. Becoming alert at the sudden sounds of yelling and shattering glass.

They turn towards the woman’s room. She’s standing, that much they can tell, her sobs however are loud and they continue to watch as she falls to her knees. Her wails of sorrow are not for their viewing pleasure and they really should be minding their business. “Alright time to go see if she’s okay.” Price stands from his lounge chair, drinking down the last of his whiskey before making his way to her room.

It almost seems concerning for the four of them that anyone can access someone else’s room simply by walking far enough. Simon, Johnny, and Gaz follow suit. As they approach they see her seated on her bed, wine glass in hand as she scrubs at her eyes. “Everythin a’right?” The suddenness of Simon’s voice startles her as she shoots up, almost spilling her wine on her dress.

”Woah, woah, easy. Sorry for the fright, we just heard the yelling and the glass shatter. Wanted to make sure you were good.” They watch her take deep, calming breaths. “Oh my god! You guys scared the shit out of me!” Hand on her chest as she calms down, sniffling as she takes a sip of her drink. “So…are ye alright?” She sighs and sits again.

She gestures for them to sit as well and they all grab chairs. “Uh…yeah. Yeah I think I’m good now. Sorry for the uh, noise. Just working through the emotions.” Simon looks around the room. Nothing looks broken as far as the decor goes. “What broke then?” She looks at an empty corner of the room, broom leaning next to it. “Oh that. My ex’s dad paid for engraved wine glasses and I…decided to break his. Felt good.” The guys nod in understanding before they see realization cross her face.

”God I’ve been so fuckin rude to you guys since we met. Dumping all my trauma on you, being overly cautious of you guys. Fuck I’m not even a good host! Do you guys want a drink or something?” The concern is so real on all four of the guys’ faces it seems to stall her, the steam running out of her as she puts her glass down and puts her hands in her face. “Ya wanna talk about it?” She shakes her head. “No. No it’s fine I…I’ve impeded enough. Sorry for the noise guys, I’ll try to be quieter. Was getting ready to leave anyway to go explore.”

She gets up or wash her face and apply her makeup. “Okay welp…see you guys later? Have fun with your stay!” The guys stand stunned as the door closes behind her, before they shake it off and head back for the pool.

Tag list: @cumikering @devcica @catmouseggy

[tubbypeddle]

Prosciutto x reader imagine: he feeds you grapes

Sfw but it gets a lil suggestive

(dedicated to my dear friend, one miss @lady-of-endless 🥹)

(author's note: credits to gif owners, of course, I don't own any of them. Also, miss lady endless has been so busy lately (overworking, of course), and I want to help her feel better by giving her a little present 🫂)

"What are you doing, my dear?"

The question startles you. Well, he startles you in general. He's so quiet when he walks, he just sneaks up behind you. Comes with being an assassin, you guess.

"I'm eating grapes," you tell him. Stuff another grape into your mouth.

His eyes narrow. Such piercing blue eyes. "Why?"

"Wha-?! Because I'm hungry, Prosciutto."

Prosciutto simply shakes his head and steps up to where you're seated on the sofa. "No, no, that won't do, darling. No woman of mine is going to get her hands dirty just to eat some fruit. Give them here."

It's startling again when he snatches the bowl of grapes from you and plops in front of you. It's when he's pressing a grape to your mouth that you finally react, cheeks burning red.

"Open, precious," he purrs, voice low.

You let your mouth fall open, and he presses the grape in, gentle. The crunch of the grape is almost as delicious as the look of adoration on his face.

"There we go." He takes a tissue and wipes the condensation from the grapes off of your fingers.

You realize then, grapes aren't really messy fruits. He really just wanted any excuse to touch you. The thought sends a flutter through your heart.

He'd been too shy to really ask for what he wanted from you. So he disguised it as something else.

He really was too cute sometimes.

"Next time you want to eat something so messy, come to me instead. I'll feed you."

May the Lord Jesus Christ have mercy on your soul, there's no way you aren't going to hell with the heat that just curled in your core at that.