#the humble cranberry

[clownboybebop]

Those sick fucks at Ocean Spray will mix anything with a cranberry

[madalenesophiathewhitewitch]

My 2024 Samhain Alter

[femmefitz]

i had to pay 13 bucks for a raspberry vodka redbull a few weeks ago 😣 it was ok but not worth 13

I think we need to revolt

[punk-pins]

Just remembered I have blueberry-cranberry juice in the back seat of my car this is incredible

[heartepub]

if i loved you less

summary. wonwoo's biggest gamble starts a week before valentine's day. pairing. jeon wonwoo x gn!reader genre/tags. non-idol!au, friends to lovers, bookworm!reader, spoilers for a 210-year old novel, wonwoo wins most creative confession, suggestive at the end wc. 2.9k suggested listening. pretty u, seventeen // dreams, the cranberries // andante andante, abba // i will, the beatles // library card, janani k. jha // aphrodite, the ridleys

notes. late to a hearts day posting, but pls accept this humble offering in between thesis cramming! i first pitched this to kae waaay back, but unfortunately it is not royal/period au (sorry ueueue). i read aspen's accidental one night stand ww and dug around my wip's for this in a fit of madness LMAOOO as always, reblogs are appreciated and come say hi if you're so inclined 🫶🏼

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” Wonwoo hands you a package wrapped in brown paper, tied neatly with twine. Your eyes light up as you accept it with a soft thank you.

“Aren’t you a week early?”

“I know,” he replies simply. “I wanted to ask you to finish reading this by Friday.” Your brow furrows.

“Is it something I can finish by then?” Wonwoo nods. You feel the weight the parcel in your hands, considering his strange request.

“What brought this on?” You ask. 

The shift is subtle, but you notice it nonetheless—a flicker of something passing across his eyes, and his shoulders tensing up before he pulls them down again. Wonwoo looks away, as though steeling himself for something.

“It’s my reading recommendation.”

“Yours?” You straighten. Wonwoo’s never gifted a book to you before based on his own taste. He always based it off your reading list, after being hopelessly lost navigating a bookstore and asking the clerk for help, only to give you a book wildly different from your preferences.

You hold the book close to your chest. “Can I open it now?”

“No.”

“Fine,” you pout, then frown as a thought comes to you. “Wait. I remember telling you I’m on a ban right now.”

Normally, Wonwoo was scrupulous about following your rules, one of which being that he can’t gift you a book if your current priority was reading through the ones you already had.

He seems to weigh his words carefully before replying. “I just thought this one was too important to pass up.”

You catch how his fingers curl and uncurl in his jacket, the poor fabric already wrinkled at his fidgeting. Trying to make your voice as soothing yet nonchalant as possible, you pull your lips up to a grin, thumbing the edge of the twine ribbon. “I suppose I can make an exception for my best friend.”

It seems to have the opposite effect.

There it is again—the subtle shift in his demeanor, the miniscule purse of his lip before Wonwoo speaks. “Do you have dinner plans, or are we doing movie night again?”

“Movie night sounds good. Any requests for food?”

Normally, Wonwoo would ask you to prepare ramyeon, especially after you had figured out Mingyu’s recipe, while he brought dessert. But his reply, like everything else in this conversation, is unexpected. “I’ll handle it.” He checks his watch before leveling you with an apologetic look. “I have to run. There’s a bunch of shit to do at work between, but I’ll see you on Friday?”

If he wanted to talk to you, he would. You’d never push him to say anything he wasn’t ready to share. You repeat this to yourself, even as you nod, maintaining your façade of soothing nonchalance.

“Yeah, see you.”

For the past couple of years, Wonwoo’s gift of choice has always been a book. After your protests at the price of new titles and your steadfast allegiance to your library card, among other reasons, the rules had been laid out as follows:

Copies should, as much as possible, not be brand new. They could be from thrift stores, secondhand shops, yard sales, or those Facebook groups where owners sold their old titles. Only new releases would be the exception, and even then, indie bookstores should be the first place to look.

Refer to the Notion page of your current to-be-read list for possible titles.

If you were on a book buying ban, so is he; it’s bad enough that your shelves continue to groan under the weight of books still unread. 

The first rule was for your indulgence, too. You happened to take home a volume of the Diaries of Anaïs Nin only to find notes scribbled in the marginalia, and fell in love immediately. It’s a rare thing in your collection, but you do have someone’s old Letters to Milena and Giovanni’s Room, the latter with annotations in Arabic, of all languages.

You stare at the unwrapped gift, heart in your throat.

Emma.

Wonwoo must have been lying when he said it was his recommendation; you have your own well-worn copy, annotations and all, sitting in the corner of your shelf dedicated to Austen. Hands shaking, you open your messages, snapping a photo of the book laying on the desk.

You [picture] ??? wonwoo?? (Seen)

He sees it almost immediately; three dots appear onscreen.

aa wonu It’s a gift. Don’t overthink it. But I hope you won’t get mad.

You is it smth I should be mad abt?

aa wonu Up to you.

You you know i’ve read emma, right

aa wonu Have you started reading this one yet?

You turn to Chapter 1, and gasp. There, in black ink, is Wonwoo’s familiar scrawl, remarks littering the blank space between the heading and the text. You flip through the first half, seeing how he’d write anything from a smiley face to bracket off entire passages with an exclamation point. Some brackets and underlines have longer annotations beside them that you have yet to read.

It’s all in black pen—so characteristically Wonwoo, who wouldn’t be the type to use different colored highlighters and page flags, anyway.

You oh my god. wonwoo

aa wonu The last time I read a classic was in high school Don’t judge me too harshly. Please. See you Friday?

You hesitate before replying.

You yeah ofc! see you!!

Your thumbs are shaking too badly as you type the last message; the phone gets thrown on your bed, bouncing once before resting on the pillow. A hand comes up to cover your mouth. You stare at the book, mind whirring.

Years ago, there had been a time when you entertained the thought of dating Jeon Wonwoo. In night-outs where he’d offer to get you home, a hand on your back to keep you from stumbling as you’d fumble for keys that always ended up at the bottom of your bag. He had even taken to keeping a pair of slippers in his car, in your size, for you to change into when your feet were hurting. Wonwoo never told you—he just knew your foot size, just cared in the understated, quiet way he always did. When you found out, you remember thinking that this would be the kind of man you wouldn’t mind offering your heart to. Thought that obviously he’d only do something like that for someone he was in love with.

Now, of course, after his exes and your own, and no confession in sight, you had buried your wishful thinking in the deepest parts of your heart. You’d even grown to appreciate it more, finding comfort in the care that was independent of any romantic expectation.

Wonwoo, your best friend, chose, out of all the books to annotate and gift you, Emma. You know how the story goes. He knows you know how it goes. Yet Wonwoo’s thoughts are here, immortalized and entrusted into your hands, the same hands you have now buried your face in while trying to reel in your breaths.

Today, that bird you had deprived of the sun beats its wings against your ribcage, insistent once more. Your body is simultaneously numb and buzzing with energy, as though it could not decide whether it wanted to freeze up or run a few hundred laps.

It could be nothing—could be like that time with the slippers again where you allowed yourself to be caught in your wishful thinking. You don’t know if your heart can take it if it isn’t. You don’t know if your heart can take it if it is.

You welcome Wonwoo in your apartment with a painfully bright grin, accepting his proffered bag of takeout before ushering him inside. He had offered only a soft hello, barely a smile on his face as he took off his shoes by your entrance. You couldn’t bring yourself to keep up any chatter while he washes his hands in your kitchenette, even as you busy yourself a few feet away with peeling off the tape on the plastic containers and wiping away any grease that leaked out.

“I’ll set up the table,” he breaks the silence, gaze unreadable. He’s already holding the two rice containers, and two pairs of chopsticks from your stash. 

You paste on a smile, tape still sticking to your fingers. “Sure.” 

He walks away. Not even when Wonwoo had broken up with his last partner, who made him choose between them and you, has it been this awkward. Steeling yourself, you join him, setting down the plate of chicken and bowl of steaming kimchi jjigae a safe distance from the laptop.

Before you begin eating, you hold up a hand for him to wait. Reaching into a nearby drawer, you pull out and offer your own present—a beta-release of a game he had been eyeing for some time now. Wonwoo’s eyes soften.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, as though he hadn’t been expecting you to gift him anything.

“Of course,” you respond immediately. Wonwoo glances at you before looking away. He always sits across you when you eat, and you catch the micro-changes in his expression as he shifts, staring hard at a spot on your floor before picking up his chopsticks. He looks at anything but you. The sound of the bamboo breaking seems to echo around the space.

Eventually, it’s too much for you to bear. You square your shoulders, inhaling a quick, sharp breath.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” you begin, tentatively.

“…I thought about not coming,” he replies, raising his eyes to meet yours, which have not yet looked way from him. He looks away again. Something in your chest twists painfully, even if your body is buzzing with repressed adrenaline.

“Do you still want to watch a movie? Or are we gonna talk about it?”

Wonwoo’s eyes are guarded. “Is there anything to talk about?” he replies, an edge in his voice. “You never messaged after that day.” 

“I thought you wanted today to be the day we talked about it? Seemed like too big of a thing to discuss over text.” And you had spent the last week agonizing over what to feel, how to feel, what to say, and how to say it. He presses his lips together, fixing his gaze on the piece of napa cabbage resting on top of his rice. The broth stains the grains around it with a tint of red. 

He rests his chopsticks against the rim of the bowl before leaning back, running a hand through his hair. “I get it. It’s a lot. I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be sorry.” The response feels automatic, but you do mean it. He has nothing to be sorry for.

You look at him, really look, searching his features. There’s something in his eyes that breaks your heart—as though he had come here already expecting heartbreak, yet showed up nonetheless. 

Just like that, all the questions, any plans you had for today, vanish like smoke. 

“Just—just wait here.” You set your chopsticks on your bowl. The bamboo clacks softly right before the chair creaks as you stand, stumbling back a little as you turn to your bedroom. 

“Where is that—” you mutter. “Aha!” You run back to the table, where Wonwoo is waiting. Under his fingers, the takeout napkin is all but shreds, though he does try to hide it under the table once you arrive. You approach him, dragging your chair so you can sit beside him, nothing separating you.

“Hold out your hands,” you instruct. Wonwoo does, and you set down a copy of Emma on his waiting palms. But not the one he gave you the other day. It’s yours, the one you’ve owned for many years.

Wonwoo stares at it, before lifting his gaze to you. 

“Did you know,” you begin softly. “I used to like Persuasion the most. I loved how it was written, how both characters were more mature than the ones in her other books. Pride and Prejudice had my favorite characters. But Emma…”

You thumb at its spine, and then at the crease on the cover, a thin white line disrupting what would have been solid black. Its careworn edges are familiar under your fingertips, and you know if you fan the pages in front of your nose it will smell like the characteristic scent of old books.

“Emma is the one I reread the most. At least, certain parts of it.” There’s a page marked—the scene where Mr Knightley finally lays his heart bare to Emma. From behind your back, you bring out his gift, flicking through the pages until you find the same page in this copy, Wonwoo’s only highlight in a book annotated with black pen. 

If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.

In your copy, there’s the same, with a note in your handwriting—in the script you first learned in high school and tried to revisit some years ago before giving up: me!!! but also me when!!!!!

Wonwoo looks at both of these, mouth parted. You know how sharp he is, how the pieces have already come together in his mind. 

“Really?” He asks, voice soft, as though he can hardly believe it. The only thing left is for him to believe it. You know, because you are the same. It was only the heartbreak in his eyes, the anticipated rejection at the start, that made it sure for you. 

Tentatively, your hands wander, moving from clasping the book to cupping his hands, cool under your own. You glance down at the book.

“‘If I have not spoken, it is because I am afraid I will awaken myself from this dream.’” Finally, you allow the giddy smile to spread across your face. Your heart flutters against your ribs, so utterly alive. “We’re both idiots, aren’t we?”

His lips twitch upward. After a moment, he begins to chuckle, and the weight on his shoulders seems to dissolve before your eyes. You begin to laugh too, simply out of the sheer relief of finally realizing that the past few days are now behind both of you. 

“In case it isn’t obvious, Jeon Wonwoo, I’ve been in love with you too.” You whisper. He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. Where before, he was afraid to look at you, now, it seems it’s all he can do. The fondness in his gaze is enough to bring anyone to their knees.

“Thank God,” he whispers back. You just stay there, basking in the moment, letting the joy finally seep itself into bones that have been weighed by resignation for so long. After a while, you begin to pull away, only you catch how Wonwoo’s gaze drops down as you do. You pause, gazing at him questioningly.

There’s a minute tremble in his hands as he reaches for your face, brushing your cheek with his fingers. His thumb traces a line on your jaw. He leans in, but stops, watching your reaction first before closing the distance all the way.

Though his approach was hesitant, the kiss itself is anything but. His hands find your cheek, then your neck, then your waist, pulling you further forward. You thread your fingers through his hair, both to bring him closer and to anchor yourself. There’s the faint taste of spicy broth, but you don’t care, knowing you’re the same anyway.

“That was hell of a gamble for Valentine’s,” you murmur once he pulls away, shaking your head. “Why now? How long have you known?”

Wonwoo just smiles. “It’s been a few months since either of us had a partner. And after the last one, when I was made to choose…they called me out on how unfair I was being, trying to be with them even as they knew I was in love with someone else.”

Your breath catches in your throat even as he continues.

“I tried to deny it, at the time, but they knew even before I did.” he finishes. He tilts his head and leans forward, closing the distance again. It’s more insistent now, the hands on your waist fully pulling you onto his lap. Wonwoo’s teeth nip at your lower lip, and you gasp. It shifts from chaste into something more demanding; his hands wander, fingers trailing paths of fire as they run across your back and grip your waist, as though he were finally releasing everything that had been pent up in him until this moment. 

He swallows you into himself, and you allow yourself to be pulled into his passion. His mouth moves, latching down onto your neck and sucking. A quiet, shuddering moan leaves your lips. Wonwoo freezes. He pulls away, stricken, looking at you.

“Sorry,” he rasps. “I took it too far.” His hair is mussed, lips swollen and puffy. Something in your stomach stirs as you look at him like this—a Wonwoo you’d never seen before. A Wonwoo who is like this because of you. “I—”

You kiss him again, just because you can. Just a small thing, a tender reassurance. Pulling away, you smile. Absently, you play with the short strands of hair at his nape. “You’re okay. I don’t think I’m up for anything, er, more, tonight, but can we please keep kissing.”

After a beat, he chuckles, shoulders relaxing as his thumbs trace circles on your waist. Wonwoo leans in, lets your lips meet again in a slow dance, almost lazy. Like you finally have all the time in the world.

“Okay. But maybe after dinner and brushing our teeth. I’m still hungry.”

“Deal.”

Behind your ribs, the bird flies, finally free.

[lazyjellyfish300]

12 𝑫𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑺𝒎𝒖𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒔 ~𝑫𝒂𝒚 𝑶𝒏𝒆

CW: x fem!reader, smut, oral(m&f receiving), fingering, older dadbod!kento and older reader, mention of having kids ,fluff, au, reader is chubby/plump/curvy

A/n: I had a vision. Some of the plot from the movie Klaus and my unquenchable desire inspired this. it's still the 12th where I am so we're still on time 😩 Idk even what I'm getting myself into with Smutmas but we're gonna say fuck it and see how it goes and how much I can do 🥰

12 days of smutmas masterlist

Wc: 1.5k

dividers by @/saradika-graphics. pics from pinterest.

Hear me out, Kento Nanami as Santa Claus...

Nanami, who retired at the age of 28 and moved to Malaysia. Who loved the sun and lived on that beach for many years.

Nanami, who traded in the powdery white sand and teal seafoam for a humble cabin and blankets of snow in a thicket of evergreens in the far, far north sometime around after he turned 40.

Nanami, who realizes he's got it bad for you, the lovely woman who rides by his cabin while he's chopping wood, on your merry way to sell your world famous cranberry jam to the local village.

Nanami, who has fought some of the most menacing curses known to man, but can't muster up the courage to invite you in for hot chocolate, until one evening.

Future Mrs. Nanami!Reader who simply can't say no to the beautiful blonde man with scars on the left side of his face, with crinkled eyes sweeter than the butterscotch goodies you loved to bake, a quiet handsomeness and gentleness he possessed that rattles the forgotten corners of your heart that no man has reached before.

Nanami and Future Mrs. Nanami!Reader who both realize when you find yourselves accidentally underneath the mistletoe, that being "just friends" isn't gonna last much longer.

Nanami, who feels so warm and sweet like the peppermint tea he was drinking as he kisses you for the first time.

Nanami, who accidentally leaves a quiet moan in your mouth as the kiss gently escalates in intensity next to the cackling fire. Who turns red and apologizes for moving too fast but doesn't get to finish his sentence before you just grab him and press your lips against his with an even hungrier fervor than before.

Nanami, whose lips part at the elegant curves of your body and how they're even more bewitching against the silk of his sheets.

Future Mrs. Nanami!Reader who coos softly, "Kento...", whose fragile voice quivers and shudders as your tight walls gently get coaxed open to the fat swollen tip of his long, heavy cock.

Nanami, whose hands intertwine with yours, who's in love by the first stroke, as your pussy just welcomes him, so soft and gushy, as it tightly embraces every inch.

Nanami and Future Mrs. Nanami!Reader who are lost to the throes of pleasure that first passionate night in the cabin. Your legs end up on his shoulders as his thrusting only gets faster and harder in sexy rhythm before he cums inside you, only to sweetly interrupt your fleeting high with the unexpected but delicious warmth of his tongue as he shamelessly laps his love out of you, before a finger or two is added, before he's hard again, and you're onto round 2 already.

---

Timeskip to Kento Nanami who's 58 years old. His belly is softer and hangs over his pants thanks to you, his darling plump wife, who knows how to feed him and his bulking to adjust for the harsh conditions over time.

Nanami, whose golden locks are now overwhelmed by streaks of grey with chest, arm, leg hair, and a happy trail to match. Whose crows feet are more pronounced with laugh lines he's added along with his scars as memories he's made with you. Who's taken the liberty of growing his beard out ever since you complimented it.

Nanami, with a pair of thick thighs and a juicy bum that pillows when he sits in his chair by the fire after giving you a kiss, the fleeting cold on his lips, cheeks still rosy, and the faint gleam of sweat on his brow from working in the snow.

Nanami, who has always been that sweet soul you fell in love with and decides one year to leave the wooden creations he made in his shop for your future children you never had as surprises for the local kids in the village as a random act of goodwill.

Nanami, who realizes his small gesture is now the talk of the town and the kids can't wait for the mysterious "Santa Claus" to visit if they're lucky again.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who loads up a bag on his sled pulled by a small team of reindeer, visiting home after home to ensure no kids are left behind, a twinkle in his eye as he rides away into the night and imagines the adorable smiles that will break out that morning.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who now has a large workshop of loyal elves after they happened upon your humble abode in search of work one day.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who's the best boss around and offers free meals, a place to live, PTO, paid vacations, a pension, retirement, and 3 years worth of parental leave to his elves in exchange for their labor.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who upgraded to 9 reindeer who are the best kept reindeer on planet earth, spoiled with endless carrots and pets and cuddles to pull his sleigh every Christmas.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who loves Christmas and all the cookies and milk the kids leave out for him but not quite as much as growing old with you, Mrs. Claus.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who's on the cusp of 60 and still fucks like he's in his twenties when he's alone with his you, his lovely wife.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who's more pent up than ever before but you wouldn't know it until Christmas Day when he lumbers into your shared bedroom after a busy night of delivering presents.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who doesn't need mistletoe to fuck your brains out. The workshop is empty, every one is home celebrating the holiday that was a year in the making while he's slowly peeling those frilly pajamas off your body and discarding them on the polished wooden floor.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who's eating his favorite cookie of all, the one between your thighs that seems to mold to his tongue like you were made just for him by now.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who drinks his fair share of homemade ale but has never been drunker than right now when he's going down on you.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who has a knack for licking his plate clean(hence his dadbod) which has only served him extremely well when it comes to licking up both sides, underneath and all around your perky clit in slobbery trails that leave you a shaky mess.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who is happy to take his time. The gift of aging has left you both with a delay in getting ready, but it's considered a win since you both could spend all day with your heads in each other's crotches like it was all you were meant to do.

Santa Claus!Nanami who whispers in your neck while he fingers you,

"So good for me, darling. Always so warm and wet for me. I'm such a lucky man..."

"Did you think of me while I was gone, sweetheart? Bet you did, oh I can tell, darling. So naughty underneath that innocent smile...and just for me..."

"Kento..." You rasp as his lips snake around your nipple as he angles his thick fingers that are soaked by now in search for all those spots that make you cry to the stars, the soft wisps of his beard scratching the wrinkly skin of your inner thighs, and the aching bud of your clit. "Gonna cum too f-fast..."

"Isn't that the point, darling?" He groans. "You know I love it when you soak my beard. Don't be shy, now, love..."

And when you do his eyes are closed and he's humming like he tasted dessert for the very first time, nectar stained beard he wears with pride and it's no surprise he's already going back for seconds.

Santa Claus!Nanami and Mrs. Claus!Reader, who've been at it for nearly two hours now, surpassing the record you two set last Christmas.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who's already cummed inside you twice, but hasn't quite had enough of you yet. Your mouth is dribbling up and down his shaft with mindless strokes of your head and eyes rolled back. You're relishing the salty taste, saliva mixed with the milky white thinly dripping around the base, letting the absent-minded little thin spurt of cum for his nth orgasm trickle down your throat while his tongue lazily squelched in and out of the unrecognizable gob of juices that built around your wet entrance from endless orgasms he drew out of you already, groaning when you manage to squirt another warm trickle right into his waiting mouth.

Santa Claus!Nanami and Mrs. Claus!Reader, now cuddled up in one another in the large porcelain tub with the jacuzzi jets, faint smell of pinecone candles lit on the countertop and bubbles all around you easing their way into your aching joints.

"Merry Christmas," he whispers to you.

Santa Claus!Nanami, whom with forever only gets sweeter as the blissful passage of time with him by your side makes it feel like Christmas every single day.

@actuallysaiyan

[ozzgin]

Do you only write Hannibal lecter or do you also write for NBC Hannibal?

Yandere! Hannibal x Reader: The Grand Meal

Gather around for a short story in the spirit of Thanksgiving. You have been invited by Hannibal Lecter to a celebratory dinner, although unexpectedly barren of other guests. He will be entertaining you this evening, carefully describing each dish as he battles his own inner turmoil. (For extra immersion, I suggest listening to Bach's 'Sheep May Safely Graze')

Warning: Cannibalism and detailed gore. I'd advise against reading if you're squeamish. 

[Horror Masterlist]

He politely aids you in removing your coat, folds it over his forearm, and steps aside, expectantly. You glance at him, somewhat confused.

"Your bag, if I may."

"Oh, I...I was planning to bring it with me. I have my phone in it and all the essentials." you stutter, unsure.

Uh huh. Your etiquette seems to be lacking in certain areas. Nothing that cannot be chiseled. 

"You won't be needing it, I assure you." he extends his hand out, waiting. 

You hesitantly place the dark leather Pochette into his fingers. Hannibal has always been rather particular when it comes to decorum. You wouldn't want to upset him, especially given his generous invite to his Thanksgiving celebration. He'd heard your complaint of being alone during the holidays and he encouraged you to join him instead.

As you hurry behind him down the spacious hallway, you quietly marvel at the expensive, tasteful paintings sporadically adorning the walls. 

"I suspected they might be to your liking." He briefly peeks back at you with a faint smile on his lips. 

The heavy wooden doors creak open and your nostrils are quickly overwhelmed by the tempting smell of intricate dishes. You narrow your eyes, taking in the flavors. Once you finally look ahead, you notice that the table, although neatly decorated, consists only of two seats that have been prepared for dining. Two opposing seats, causing the whole setup to seem of ridiculous length. 

"Pardon my intrusion, but is anyone else attending?" You cannot contain your curiosity.

"Oh, no.  Not really." Hannibal pulls your chair outwards before departing to his own designated place. "It's you and me. Does that bother you?"

"I suppose it's cozier this way." You brush it aside with a chuckle. Better than being alone, you tell yourself.

He nods in agreement before settling down. He takes a moment to examine the table, confirming that everything is indeed in its proper place. A final, satisfied incline of his head.

"Allow me to introduce today's dishes. I don't want to keep you waiting for too long." He says as he remembers your earlier little gesture of delight. "It's a little bit of a scattered theme, if I am to be honest with you. I've drawn my inspiration from varied cuisines."

"I can see. How exciting!" You swiftly scan over the diverse plates, enthusiastic and hungry.

"The main course is over there. Balsamic-glazed oven baked ribs. I recommend a drizzle of cranberry sauce to go with it."

As he points to the dish, he can almost hear the dry crack of the bone. Abruptly, he's been taken back to the previous night, to his humble slaughter room - the meat needs to be fresh after all. Shears cut through the ribs with little resistance. The blades go around the thoracic cavity, contouring the ribcage. Once a proper opening has been made, he firmly grasps each side of the ribcage and nonchalantly lifts the bone flap, resting it over the face. 

Wait. He quickly digs through the skin and fat that had been shoved aside with the carcass, searching for the face of the victim. It's you. How delectable and surprising that you've wandered into such a recollection. Well, not quite a surprise that you've invaded his memories; from the very moment he met you he's been plagued by this indecent idea: How would you look on the dissecting table?

His musings are interrupted by the sizzle of the sparkling wine he's currently pouring in your glass. He finds himself back at the dining table, together with his favorite guest. You graciously thank him, and as he gazes over your features, he can't help but continue this game of imagination he's just spontaneously devised. Whoever had been carefully served for this occasion will be temporarily replaced during the theatrical retelling by you. And what a fine actor you'll be, even though you're not aware of it.

Alright, one must start from the beginning. He traces the edge of the autopsy table and inspects the drain just below your feet. He wouldn't want an incident. Would you be mortified if you'd learn your secretions and discharges leaked and clotted against the sieve? Don't worry, you'll be spared of such scenarios. He'd never willingly embarrass you like that. He softly presses the scalpel against your bare skin, going under each breast and stopping at the pubic bone. Now to trim the thick layers of fat sticking to the dermis. You're not making much of a mess, but then again it's a dream within his idle mind. A mischievous grin takes over his expression once he witnesses his clean work. The segments of skin detach smoothly, revealing your glistening, bloated organs. 

He already went over the ribs. That part has been covered. What comes next? His eyes rest on the most obvious: your intestines. Which reminds him...

"This one is a Middle Eastern dish. Stuffed intestines. You gently cut the membrane, like this." He demonstrates on a separate plate. "Don't worry about seeing some additional blood. Naturally there are many capillaries irrigating the walls, so you might open them up in the process. It quickly seeps into the mixture and adds a bit of a stagnant flavor to it, but it's merely noticeable."

You swallow dryly.

Back to the original matters. He searches for his scissors and cuts along the attachment tissue smoothly. Once the bowels have been freed, he fondles them into his hands, cupping them into place, and hurries to the nearby counter. The entrails collapse and spread onto the marble surface, like mischievous tentacles. He languidly eyes them. Do organs resemble their owner? Absurd question, really. Do they reflect one's health - that much is indubitable. Yet he can't help feeling that if presented with an endless row of viscera, he could, without hesitation, point and state which ones are yours. It's a mysterious confidence whose source he cannot pinpoint. You've always captivated him. Just when he thinks he's had you like an open book, you slip and slither between his fingers. Fitting.

What is it about you that preoccupies his mind to such degree? He turns back to the table and scans the remaining options. Your intelligence? The tool drawer opens and his fingers linger over the saw and skull chisel. Perhaps. But there's more to it, really. His analytical, rational self craves for more than what it can grasp. And what it lacks, well...

He pinches the visceral fascia and lifts the translucent membrane, with the same delicacy of unveiling a young bride, and reveals your heart, cold and still. There it is, the answer to everything. A transect to the vena cava near the diaphragm and the organ has been separated from the rest of the body. An angel with clipped wings. Holding it like this, he can almost discern the faintest throb, the fibrous muscle pressing into his skin. 

"And this?"

He purses his lips, taken aback by his own rudeness. Has he been zoning out in plain sight?

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

"The dish, I mean."

He follows the direction of your stretched out index. Ah.

"Heart stuffed with mushroom duxelle. Old English classic with a twist." 

"You sound like a professional chef", you respond as you laugh. "Is there anything you can't do?"

Is there? He considers it. Right before his revelation was discontinued by your inquiry - absolutely not your fault, the ill manners were his - he was wondering if he possesses the capacity to love you. He definitely prefers you over all of the people he's encountered in his life, and your behavior and way of thinking never ceases to make him curious. Yet love is a conclusion he cannot asses with certainty. 

He had hoped a vivisectionist approach would offer him concrete data, palpable reasoning, but his journey only reinforced that some concepts must be tested outside of pure introspection. Or, as one would describe it colloquially, he has to take the bull by its horns. 

"By the way, what meat is this?" You have arranged yourself a platter with a little bit of everything, and just finished chewing a hearty bite. "Ox or something? It's very tender."

If Hannibal is to embark on his expedition of human feelings, he needs to reflect on his choices carefully. Or does he? Hmm. His methodical tactics are what caused this impasse in the first place. 

One can afford to give in, every now and then. How will you react to his self indulgence? He rests his head on the back of his intertwined hands and stares at you with a determined look. 

"Human."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All In 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: told myself to slow down, didn't.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

It’s your first time wearing that skirt. You’ve had it in your closet for two years. At least. You’re not really a skirt person but it’s cute. The floral on black with the zipper up the front. It drapes nicely enough though you’re not used to wearing anything so short. You have a trusty pair of shorts on just in case. 

You don’t go out either. Definitely not to places like this. You keep an arm across your middle, gripping your other as the hordes of people make you dizzy. The shining gold accoutrement of the decor along with the waft of low music over the noise of tables and voices add to your vertigo. 

The casino is busy and bright and loud. You stay close to your sister as she leads you across the carpet; ivory with golden curliques patterned across them. You’re no gambler either but you’re not there to play cards.  

“I think it’s upstairs,” Roxie says as she looks at the tickets in her hand. “Gala Room B.” 

“Oh, right,” you murmur and smile at her, “what’s the band again?” 

“Don’t worry about it the tickets were free,” she chirps as you look up at her. You feel even more a child beside her; your height often adds to your inferiority complex. Historically, you think, those characteristics have been often intertwined. 

“No, but--” 

“You need to get out of mom’s place more,” she chides, “I could’ve brought Katie instead, but I chose you, sis.” 

“I know, er, thanks,” you run your hand up to your shoulder and rub it nervously. 

“Show doesn’t start for another hour. Let’s get a drink,” she insists and turns, strutting towards the long bar at the other side of the grand space. You trail after her, shrinking down even further. She turns back to you as she leans on a tall stool, “what d’ya want?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t really...” 

“I know, it’s one drink, how about a vodka-cran?” She suggests, “you love cranberry.” 

“Um, sure, if you think that’s good.” 

She sighs and rolls her eyes. She’s the wild one, not you. You know you bore her and since your parents’ divorce, years ago, you haven’t really hung out together. She went with your dad and you with your mom, since then, it’s all been a bit fuzzy. 

She orders as you stand back, not wanting to get in the way of the people all around you. You lean back, rocking nervously as you glance around. You feel underdressed as you see women in cocktail dresses and men in suits. Even your sister is a stark contrast to your overly casual attire; your favourite purple cardigan and the skirt you’ve never worn. 

Your eyes scan the room, admiring the golden sconces of bulbs that resemble candelabras and the gilt trim all along the wall. The more you look around, the less you belong. You don’t even know why you said yes. Well, your mom pushed you into it. Just like your sister, she keeps saying you need to get out more. 

You rub your lips together and feel around your small tassled purse. It’s used, like most of your things. The thrift store is as much as your mom can afford and you still haven’t found a solid job. You worked at the grocery for a summer before they laid off half of you then did a one-day stint at a polling centre for the last municipal election. Even if you wanted to go out, you don’t have the money for it. 

You pull out your chapstick and smear it around your chafed lips as you sway back the other direction. You stop short as you nearly slam into another body and you stumble out of the way of the man in his black-and-white suit. Embarrassment creeps hotly up your cheeks and you cap your lip balm and stand out of his path. 

He’s taller than you. Well, everyone is. But to you, he seems huge. His suit is finely tailored to his figure though his hair seems to clash with the refined style. It’s almost to his collar but neatly parted, a shank falling forward to frame his sharp cheekbone. His square jaw is trimmed thickly with a dark beard, peppered with strands of silver and patch along the dimple of his chin. You’ve never seen anything as blue as his eyes, they are almost inhumanly vivid. 

“Sorry, doll,” he touches your arm as he passes and smirks, swiftly turning his sights ahead of him. 

You gulp as your shoulder hits someone else. You spin to face your sister as she offers you a glass. You take the red concoction with the short black straw sticking out over the ice cubes. You thank her as the chill seeps into your hand. 

“Oof, look at him,” she leans to watch after the man in his dark suit, “damn.” You frown and look in the other direction. She scoffs and nudges you, “come on. That guy is totally stunning. Even you can see that.” 

“I don’t wanna gawk at him,” you mutter, “he’s a stranger.” 

“Oh, whatever, not like he’d notice,” she snips. 

You scrunch up your lip and tuck your chapstick away as you peer toward the man. He goes up to a table, sliding in next to a taller woman with honey-blond hair and a shimmery dress. He rests his hand along her lower back as he chatters to her and the rest of the players around the leather trim. 

“Sheesh, he’s fine,” she puts a twang on the last word, “mmph. If I wasn’t with Tom...” 

“Right,” you look down at the drink and sip from the straw. You make a face and cough. 

“It’s not that strong,” she slaps your back, “don’t be dramatic.” 

“I know,” you clear your throat, “I just wasn’t expecting the taste.” 

“Let’s go upstairs,” she points above. 

“Uh, okay,” you agree to her sudden diversion. You suppose you really are boring. 

You follow her up the curved stairs and along the railing that overlooks the lower casino room. Arched windows let in the night and the glow of the facade. You lean on the polished wood and peer down at the first floor; it looks even more resplendent from there. You sister puts her elbow on the railing as she looks around. 

“We could stick around after, lose some money,” she says. 

“I don’t... mom only gave me a twenty and I owe you for the drink.” 

“Pfft, whatever, I’ll spot ya. Tom gave me some extra with the tickets,” she trills, “it’ll be fun. Play some black jack. It’ll be an experience. You could say you’ve actually done something.” 

You smile, closed-lipped and tight. She isn’t wrong. It’s your first concert, for some cover band, and your first time at a casino. It’s not an exaggeration to say this is the height of your life experience. 

Your eyes wander down and meet another pair. You wince. It’s that same man. He walks towards you, a certain swagger in his stride. As he peers up at you, his cheeks dimple and he winks. You wrinkle your brow and look behind you. When you turn back, he’s gone. Right, you’re imagining things. 

Roxie slurps as her straw turns hollow. She’s already drained her cocktail, meanwhile you’ve barely taken a sip. She stirs the ice and hums. 

“Wait here, I’m gonna get a refill,” she raises her glass. 

“Oh, I can come with you--” 

“Nah, just stand here,” she insists. “You’ll just slow me down.” 

“Sure, uh, okay.” 

You curl your shoulders inward as she walks away. Great. All alone. You avoid looking anywhere but your glass. You face the railing again and balance your drink on it. It’s not bad, tarter than you’re used to and a little burny.  

You play with the black bracelet around your wrist, the band they stuck around it when they scanned your ID at the door. You suppose it’s a good idea but they wouldn’t be letting kids in here, would they? Oh yeah, the hotel is attached. 

As a kid, you never went on vacations like that. No hotels, no casinos, no shows. It seems like Roxie is catching up on all of that and you’re just there. The world is so much scarier when it’s all a mystery to you. 

“Excuse me,” a deep voice startles you. You ignore it, thinking it’s merely a passerby, “miss?” 

There’s a tap on your shoulder and you barely save your cocktail from spilling over the edge. You clutch the glass with both hands and face the stranger. It’s that same man, with the suit and the long hair and the oceanic eyes. Something about him is familiar beyond your few earlier glances. 

“I think you dropped this?” He holds up a chip with a golden 100 on it. You blink and shake your head. 

“No,” you scrape out of your throat, “I don’t-- I didn’t--” 

“I swear I saw it fall out of your bag,” he looks down at your purse. 

“Really, I’m not... I don’t gamble.” 

“Ah, well, if it’s just hanging around, might as well use it, huh?” He keeps his hand out, “maybe it’s your lucky day.” 

“I couldn’t. If someone lost it...” your voice doesn’t want to go and he leans in to hear you, adding to the heat spreading through your chest. Is it the alcohol or him? 

“You’re sweet, keep it,” he shoves the chip toward you. 

“Please, I... I... can’t...” you wipe a hand on your skirt and clutch the fabric. 

“Doll, I can’t hear you,” he says as he grabs your hand and dislodges it from your skirt, “here.” 

He presses the chip into your palm. You stare at his tie then look down at the white chip with gold detailing. His hand brushes yours before he rescinds his touch. 

“Erm...” you murmur dumbly and shake your head. 

“My treat,” he growls. 

“But...” 

“Like the skirt, by the way,” he surprises you as he pinches a fold, “cute on you.” 

Just as quickly as he appeared, he strides away, leaving you blankly staring after him. His broad shoulders move beyond a thick marble pillar as you hold up your drink and the chip. You just look between them. 

“Hey,” Roxie approaches again, “oh, what’s that?” 

“A chip...” you state plainly. 

“Duh, I know. Where’d you get it?” 

You look at the floor. Would she even believe you? “The floor.” 

“Ooo,” she plucks it from your fingers, “awesome, “now we’re definitely having some fun tonight.” 

“Rox,” you swallow and look up at her, “we should hand it in. It’s a lot of money. If someone lost it--” 

“If they lost it, they can afford it,” she bobs her neck as she speaks, “live a little,” she sneers and taps your glass, “and finish your drink. Maybe that’ll loosen you up.” 

You nod and recede into yourself, cradling the glass again with both hands. You put your lips to the straw and drink until you can’t anymore. She gulps straight from the brim of her glass and sighs, wiggling as she peers around. 

“I almost don’t even want to see these old men play music,” she snickers as she takes in the expanse of tables flashing lights. 

“Oh?” 

“Relax, we’re going to see the show. You’re a horrible liar and mom will see right through you,” she sneers, “besides, I told her I wouldn’t get you in too much trouble.” 

[marigold-hills]

Oh I am so jumping in here.

Can you give us a dreamy summer wolfstar first kiss/get together, but put it in YOUR nostalgic summer. Like whatever that means for you. Where are they? What are they eating/drinking? What is the air like? The lighting? The smells and sounds?

I humbly bow before your altar take my compliments on your prose and pacing and metaphors as my offering 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

Hey! Loved this ask. It completely run away from me. Hope you enjoy it! (Also you said altar and offering and well. Those words clearly stayed with me.)

It’s wine and bread, a fancy cheese selection from Tesco’s. A little plastic pot of olives. No blanket, because they’re not tourists and don’t mind a bit of sand as seasoning.

The storm is coming in.

They can see it, across the vastness of water, darkening the horizon and stretching through the sky like spilled ink.

Recreating exactly how it was the first time, years ago:

Remus had said there’s a storm tonight. We should go and watch it.

On the beach? Sirius had asked, a bit bewildered. The wind was already picking up, and the logistics of sitting out in the open during a downpour didn’t enamour him.

Remus, undeterred, prepared a backpack. I know a place, he said, we’ll be hidden from the rain. Trust me?

And Sirius did: with his life, with his time. Followed him off the main promenade and across the dunes until they reached a hidden spot of sand: a bay, of sorts, with a railway bridge backed into the cliff side. The arches of its support beams only faced open towards the water, secluded otherwise by brick and clay.

“Used to come here with da, when I was a kid,” Remus told him: “there are fossils in the clay if you know where to look. Come out after heavy rain best, maybe we’ll find something tomorrow.”

They set up under one of the arches. Remus built a stone circle at the mouth of it, stacked it with sticks and driftwood he’d collected on their way. Set a crumpled wad of receipts from his pocket on fire and used it as kindling.

“Impressing me with your caveman skills here, Moony.” Sirius had known, of course, that wild streak within Remus, seen it shine through sometimes when he let his guard down, but this was something new. Large hands stoking the flame as it slowly engulfed the given wood, eyes alight with its reflection. Sirius felt a pull at his navel like a fishhook: handle me like this, the pull said.

He’d made a mistake, maybe, following Moony back to his parents’ house for the summer after their graduation. A miscalculation of how much he could stand watching him, in the summer heat, with sea breeze curling his hair.

Red wine, a couple paper cups. Sirius didn’t like it then yet: not like he pretended to, and it was a cheap bottle from the middle shelf. The aftertaste was sharp, it stayed on his tongue and the insides of his cheeks - dry, clinging.

Cheeses Remus had cut into cubes. Pungent Stilton with dark blue veins, Brie, white skin coating the creamy interior, fruity Wensleydale filled with cranberries.

They sat side by side by the fire as the storm hit. The rain a heavy curtain in front of them, the wind making their fire dance erratically. Sirius had never seen it like this, surprised by the intensity of the smell of salt in the air. Despite the cover, a thin mist of spray hit his face when the wind blew just right.

Remus had made him a canapé of sorts, spread a chutney on a finger-torn piece of sourdough and topped it with the Stilton. He ate it in one bite. Asked for another, just like it, the taste round and warming, somehow.

“It’s the chutney,” Remus said. “There’s chilli in it. Try an olive.”

A new thing, this, being presented with food like offerings. Remus watched each bite Sirius took with an intent, as if they were eating something rare and costly. Like this, with the storm above them and the fire in Moony’s eyes, Sirius felt each mouth full was something precious, something to be cherished. A worship, and he wasn’t sure if he was the god being praised or the offering on the altar.

They’d almost finished the bottle when Remus asked want to swim? With such wonderful abandon that Sirius didn’t even hesitate. Yes, he said, and they took off their trousers and shirts and walked hand in hand into the water.

The first crack of thunder rang out when they were knee deep. Remus laughed, free and loud like a curlew, head thrown back into the falling rain. The sky turned white with the lightning and Sirius thought it’s you, that needs to be worshipped.

Moments like this, though, something Sirius didn’t know: it’s too easy, for thoughts to be said aloud.

Remus turned to him like a trap closing. “Is that right?”

“You look like a god of the sea.”

(Another break of thunder, a wave sweeping into them, rough with the storm but soft like a touch.)

Remus took his hand, pulled him further into the water. There were raindrops caught in his eyelashes, and Sirius realised I’m close enough to touch them. He did, shaky fingers, as lighting lit them up. The water made Remus’ curls heavy and darker, sat on his skin in a fine sheen. “I want to lay you out onto the sand,” Sirius thought-said, “trace the path of every raindrop.”

“You’ll be at it for hours.”

“As long as you’ll let me.”

The first time they kissed, Remus tasted like salt.

NOTES:

I feel compelled to point out: everyone. Please don’t drink and swim! Don’t swim in the storm! Especially not in the sea.

I don’t know how I didn’t realise before you’re the person who wrote The Homecoming of Sirius Black??? I LOVED it. Honestly the fact that you enjoy my writing feels like such a massive compliment.

[joemama-2]

in my not so humble humble opinion, your man can have a preference to bald/bush, BUT HE CANNOT MAKE YOU FEEL BAD ABOUT IT. LADIES, HAIR IS THERE FOR A REASON, IT WOULDNT GROW THERE IF WE DIDNT NEED IT AT SOME POINT. IT IS NOT UNHYGENIC. IF YOUR MAN SAYS OTHERWISE CHOP HIS DICK OFF.

and if you wanna be bald, that's okay too!! just be sure to exfoliate and moisturize!! at the end of the day it's your body and you're the only one who gets to decide what to do with it c:

this ^^^^

and when i see videos on tiktok of girls making those concoctions of pineapple juice cranberry juice pedialyte when they’re about to go see their man im just thinking…..that man better be putting in the exact same effort into HIS body

i genuinely hate shaving so much bc it’s sooo annoying and tedious and i feel like im bouta pass out from the hot water 😭😭😭 luckily my ex was an eater no matter what tho he never made me finish 😅😛

[ettle]

Every time I see someone type cranboo instead of c!ranboo... I think of the humble cranberry...

[clockwayswrites]

Clock!!! Love your stuff, it's always so interesting and fun to read.

So about the 'Fic I'm not Writing'...... What would the rest of Team Phantom think on everything? They worried at all? Jazz I can see being worried, comes with being the big sister. Is Val part of the team, or she still not very trustful of Phantom?

How you have a happy Thanksgiving if you celebrate it!!

Aw thank you thank you! I'm still endlessly glad and humbled that people enjoy my stuff~

Aaaaaah HUM. I think Tucker is a little worried about Danny getting wrapped up in vigi stuff again but also totally nerding out about it at the same time. Sam is fondly exasperated I think. They are BOTH confused about why Danny needs to woo Jason and Red Hood separately. Sam probably pokes Danny a little more about that.

Jazz... ngl, Danny is probably keeping the full story from Jazz, as you sometimes have to do as a little sibling! So I think Jazz knows that Danny is dating Jason... and that's all. She'd have a lot to say about it, especially Danny treating Jason and RH as two different people, but she has to find out about it first!

Val, well. Hum. So most of the senior year knew by the end, so I'm sure Val knows. In this one though... I think when she went off to college she worked really hard to just move on from everything because she realized how obsessive she was being. I don't think she's really in the group like some other stories.

And thank you! I'm having a solo holiday this year, but going to make some cranberry pumpkin bread! If I have the energy at least. Hope you have a nice day too!

[starlightsuffered]

Christmas Retreat (p2)

Info - mention of loneliness and alcohol, British reader

“A bloody decorating contest?” I muttered to myself. I felt rage that was unprecedented, begin to boil inside me. I had come to this place to relax. In fact, I’d have been quite happy to not talk to another soul for the duration of the trip. This hadn’t been a way to make friends. Fuck this -

“This is a pretty shitty activity eh? Getting us to do their decorations for them?” Timothée murmured. His soft voice calmed the monster inside me, even if he were pointing out a further defect of this place.

“I didn’t think of it that way. I just don’t want to mingle,” I said back. I couldn’t connect to his deep green eyes. I knew I’d make a fool of myself if I did.

“And go!” Said Margret.

I made my way over to my tree. I felt a hollow loneliness as I looked around. A mum and her son were already working diligently. I saw another couple were picking out all blue and silver ornaments. A third group had gathered together and were taking secret shots to make the event more exciting I supposed.

I went dismally to the box I’d been offered. I sighed, and tried to think of my reblog ideas. I knew how to make things connect well.

“Hey, can I be on your team?” Came the deep voice. I turned and saw the cute boy who’d been speaking to me earlier. I felt like I was in a dream.

“Y-you wanna be with me?” I asked. I looked over to see the girl with nice hips was glaring at me.

“Definitely,” Timothée nodded.

“Yes,” I said, feeling there was no other response.

“There’s a lot of kitschy shit in here,” Timothée chuckled.

“Maybe we can work with that,” I mused.

Together, Timothée and I made a bit of an ombré assortment. The top started with red, and I made sure things connected. A scarlet wonder woman bauble led to a blue ornament with swords on it. Timothée seemed impressed with the way I made sure things connected.

“Times up!” Said the sing song voice of Margret.

I dropped a pointy ornament back in the box. I stepped back from our tree. I looked around at the other ones. It seemed our tree was less done than many of them.

“That is gorgeous,” Margret clapped her hands excitedly when she got to our tree.

“All y/n’s idea,” Timothée said cheerfully.

“I- no, Timothee helped a lot,” I spluttered.

“It’s great!” Margret gushed.

“You did a really good job,” purred another voice. The blond with the cranberry coloured lipstick had made her way over to us.

“Oh don’t give all the glory to me,” Timothée said humbly. “Y/n here had most of the brilliant ideas.”

When his hand landed on my shoulder sparks flew through me. I couldn’t help but notice what a firm, strong hand it was. I bet he could man handle me pretty easily. Fuck, I needed to stop thinking that way or I’d get horny.

“Everyone, everyone, the judges have decided,” Margret trilled.

“Good luck,” drawled the woman. She didn’t spare me a look.

“She really likes you,” I murmured.

“Yeah, she’s made it abundantly clear,” Timothée sighed and ran his hand through his wavy hair.

“Aren’t you gonna go for it?” I asked him. I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t know why he seemed so disinterested, she was gorgeous.

“I only date women whose names start with the letter k,” he said with a cheeky smile. I couldn’t tell if it was a joke or not.

“And what’s her name?” I asked hesitantly. It was hard to look at him and not melt. He was the most handsome man I’d ever seen.

“Minnie or Meredith,” he scoffed.

“Timothée AND y/n!” The names rang out. My gaze whipped to the speaker. Margret was clapping and smiling at us.

“Huh?” I asked.

“We won, good job!!” Timothée said excitedly. He clapped me on the back. To my utter shock he wrapped me in a warm hug. Everything stopped in that moment. It was like I saw colour for the first time. In his arms, I felt like magic existed. It ended all too soon. In a daze we were excepting our reward.

“Ha what do you know,” Timothée elbowed me as we looked down at what we’d received. “What are the odds, more work on our vacation.”

We’d both gotten a cookie making kit. I couldn’t seem to care that I was being asked to bake on my time off. All I could think about right now was the way Timothée’s body had felt against mine.

[soaps-mohawk]

oh my GOD. you were not kidding when you said that the end was good. it is genuinely one of the most beautiful things i think i have ever had the privilege of reading. the repetition makes your head spin, and it's such a cinematic thing to envision. you get to feel the determination to survive and prevail along with 'mega. something inside of her is so hard-wired to push on, like her soul refuses to give in. thank you for giving her a spirit than can't quite be quelled. you are absolutely extraordinary!!

anyways, about the rest of the chapter... i'm sensing that little spark between dr keller and ashley 😉 that was very cute!! also, the cow bit definitely did make me laugh. and that other anon got me thinking; somebody must've helped or at least noticed 'mega on her trek — but i'm so glad that she's by the sea, and that john remembered how she'd told him about it. he's still her alpha, still her lover, and i think that's so profoundly beautiful, despite the fact the bonds are fraying. i hope johnny gets a good hug soon, and that kyle is treated like absolute royalty for his efforts 😭 he genuinely is the best boy. john needs a cigarette and a cold cranberry juice, in my humble experience. simon deserves a proper cuddle. i bet scruffing her scared the shit out of him ☹️

anyways, how are you?? writing this on the walk to the field and hoping the horses aren't covered in mud 🙏 i hope all is well, pook!! lots and lots of love 💞

- 🪐

Aww thank you!!! Yeah, I'm very proud of that part and how it turned out. Really speaks volumes of where she is mentally and even physically. She's not going to give up despite the pain and exhaustion, and there's such a relief there too once she realized where she was. Literally made me cry writing it ngl.

Hehe...Dr. Keller and Ashley....perhaps 👀

They all are trying so hard and they all need a good pack snuggle in a big nest. Babies deserve a break. Price really does need a cigar though 😂 he'd stoop low enough to smoke a cigarette I think.

I'm alright. Adjusting to working again and the toll that takes mentally and physically. Hope the horses weren't all muddy (since this is getting answered late) 💚

[jamdoughnutmagician]

A Cut Above The Rest

Mechanic!Eddie x Fem!Haidresser!Reader

Tricks and Treats and Everything In-between (Part 7)

Summary:You and Robin make your way to Steve's Halloween party where you make some new friends, and are joined by an unexpexted guest.

Word Count:2, 515 (a little longer than usual, but trust me it's worth it)

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Masterlist Series Masterlist

“Stop fussing with it, you look hot, trust me.” Robin chastised as you began pulling at the fabric of your black velvet dress.  You had chosen to dress up as Morticia for Steve’s Halloween party, and whilst you had felt good in the dress at first, the body-hugging material suddenly felt all-too constricting against your skin as you made your way to Steve's place.

"That's easy for you to say, you're not wearing a skin-tight velvet prison." You whined, pulling at your dress once more. 

Robin’s costume was quite the stark contrast to yours. She was wearing an oversized orange turtleneck sweater and a pleated red skirt that fanned out just above her knees, a pair of black rimmed glasses sat perched on her nose.

"I felt like it just made sense, y'know? I mean, there's no way that Velma wasn't a lesbian, right?" She laughs as she links her arm in yours, both of you making your way up to the grand steps of Steve’s house.

You knock your knuckles against the door, only for it to fling open with Steve standing there, smiling broadly. He’s wearing a dark brown bomber jacket that’s decorated with various patches thrown over a white t-shirt. A silver chain of dog-tags around his neck and a pair of black aviator sunglasses hang from the shirt’s collar. There’s a faint sound of some music and muffled laughter and chatter coming from behind him, the party already getting under-way. 

“Good evening ladies! Welcome to my humble abode.” he says grandly with a smirk. “Come on in!”

“Yeah, yeah, alright, Maverick. Where’s the drinks?” Robin teases as she gently pushes Steve aside in search of alcohol.

You step your way through the hallway and take a second to marvel at the enormity of the house, with high ceilings, and ornately patterned wallpaper. 

You turn your eyes to Steve, your eyebrows knitted together.

“I don’t mean to be rude when I say this, but I thought you lived in a small apartment downtown? How come you’ve got this whole house to yourself?” you ask, gesturing openly to the sprawling nature of the house you find yourself in.

“Parent’s house. Dad’s away on one of his usual business trips, mom doesn’t trust him not to let his hands wander, so I get this whole house to myself for a few days.” 

“..and what better way to enjoy all this than with a massive party, right?” you lead.

“You got that right” he chuckles, nudging his elbow into your arm with a smirk. “Come on in.”

You follow Steve into the spacious living area where sure enough there are already a whole bunch of people mixing and mingling. You scan your eyes over to see where Robin is, shaking your head with a smile when you see that she’s already made her way over to Vickie, the red-head from the bar, who's coincidently dressed up as Daphne, in a purple mini-dress and pink tights. 

You feel a bit out of place for a moment, until a girl with bouncy brown curls dressed up in a Wonder-Woman costume comes up to you to hand you a plastic red cup with some kind of drink in it. It’s Nancy Wheeler, you recognise her from your school years, you never really talked to her much, your circle of friends never seeming to intersect.

“It’s from the punch bowl, it’s just cranberry juice, lemonade and just a splash of vodka” she says listing off the ingredients. 

You smile politely, thanking her as you take the cup from her hands and take a sip. The sweet, fruity concoction is just the thing you need to settle your nerves.

“I haven’t seen you since high-school” she smiles warmly. “Where have you been hiding?”

“Oh I moved away after high school, went to college in Chicago and lived there for about 10 years.” You omit the fact that your lying, cheating ex-boyfriend was the reason for your return to your hometown.

Nancy nods, with a smile, quickly moving on. “How about I introduce you to some people?”

You walk with her over to a group of younger looking kids, they couldn’t be much older than sixteen. All of them dressed in their own unique costumes. The group are standing around talking to two older boys, one with shaggy sandy-blonde hair, the other with very long dark hair, falling down around by his waist.

“..And that, my little spooky friends, is why pineapple is the best pizza topping” says the boy with the long hair. He’s dressed in casual clothing, the only effort he’d seemed to have made towards any kind of halloween costume was a fake knife on a headband and a few streaks of red paint drawn on his forehead. 

A sea of groans and fake gags sound out from the rest of the group.

“Hey I’m just saying, don’t knock it, till you’ve tried it.” he says defensively holding his hands up.

"Everyone, this Y/N," You wave awkwardly, before Nancy continues to introduce the rest of the group. "That's my younger brother, Mike," She says pointing to a young boy who also seems to be unenthusiastic about dressing up for Halloween, with a vague attempt being made by a Batman t-shirt.

"This is my boyfriend, Jonathan," he offers his hand to you, and you accept it, with a shake.

"..And that's his friend, Argyle." Nancy continues. 

"And then these are all Mike's friends from school." Nancy explains, gesturing to the remaining kids in the group, each one introducing themselves in turn.

"So, Steve told me you were out on a date with Eddie last week?" Nancy pipes up with a smile playing at her lips.

"News travels fast around here, huh?" You huff.

"Oh so you're the pretty girl that Eddie was so excited to go on a date with!" Dustin butts in.

"Dude!" Lucas gently elbows him in the ribs, narrowing his eyes at his friend's choice of words.

"What? He was! I've never seen him so goo-goo over anybody before!" Dustin defends.

"..And how do you know Eddie?" You ask the curly-haired boy.

"He's our DM." Jonathan's brother, Will speaks up.

"He’s the best DM there is out there!" Dustin cheers, speaking very highly of Eddie’s dungeon master skills.

Just as you begin to slip into easy and comfortable conversation with your new found group of friends your attention is diverted by a loud voice shouting over the noise of the other party-goers.

In strolls Eddie, a case of beer tucked under his arm and a certain level of swagger to his gait.

He's gone all out for his Halloween costume. His long dark curls flowing from underneath a skull and crossbones bandana tied around his head, and a dark leather waistcoat layered over a loose-fitting white shirt, the deep neckline of the shirt peeking open enough to reveal a slight glimpse of the demon tattoo on his chest. A dark smudge of black eyeliner runs across his lower lashline, making his already dark brown eyes look even more intense. The rogue pirate really was a good look on him.

“Here you go, Harrington, these are for you” he nods, dropping the case of beer in Steve’s arms, before making a beeline for you. 

“Cara Mia, Mon Cher” Eddie says seductively, giving his best Gomez Addams impression, as he takes your hand in his, placing a kiss on the back of your hand. “You look beautiful.”

You preen under his affections before coughing slightly, alerting him to the presence of the rest of the group.  Eddie smiles before coming to stand next to you, wasting no time in slinging his arm around your shoulder to bring you close to him.

“So, Dustin was just telling me how you’re the best dungeon master that they’ve ever had.” You say to Eddie.

“Yeah, well, when I saw this bunch of lost and lonely little sheepies, who looked like they needed a helping hand, so that’s where I stepped up.”  he answers proudly. “These kids are gonna be the future of Hellfire.” he smiles, playfully ruffling his hand through Dustin’s hair.

You talk with everyone for a little while longer, learning how Steve was throwing this party as a last hurrah before some of the teenagers went off to college, and how Nancy was going off to California to live closer to Jonathan after getting a journalism internship at The San Francisco Chronicle.

Just as you’re talking, your attention is diverted by a change in the music. The sounds of The Cranberries’ ‘Dreams’ filtering through the stereo’s speakers.

“Eddie!!” you jump up excitedly, tugging on his shirt’s sleeve. “They’re playing my favourite song! Come dance with me! Please!” you plead, batting your eyelashes and giving him your best puppy-dog eyes.

“Oh, alright” he smiles as he rolls his eyes, allowing you to pull him towards the makeshift dance floor in the centre of the grand living room where there are already a few people dancing.    

"That is a man in love if ever I saw it, my dudes" Argyle said to the group as you whisked Eddie off, the both of you smiling brightly at each other.

You waste no time in dancing to the song, letting your hips sway and shoulders rock to the music. Eddie stands close to you, unsure of himself, his dancing skills were certainly not something that he was known for.

You notice his hesitancy, and are quick to take both his hands in yours and place them on the curve of your hips, 

 ..I know I’ve felt like this before, but now I’m feeling it even more..

You let him take his time, stepping in time with him to the beat of the music. Your eyes look into his, admiring the way they sparkle in the glow of the colourful, decorative Halloween lights.

..And now I tell you openly, you have my heart so don’t hurt me..

This quiet moment between you just felt all so natural, like you were the only two people in the room, the only thing grounding you to reality is the touch of his hands on your hips. Holding you so gently as though he was frightened you were going to break.

..A totally amazing mind, so understanding and so kind. You’re everything to me..

Eddie’s confidence grows as you dance together. Everyone else fades into the background. It’s just you, him and the music.

..And oh, my dreams. It’s never quite as it seems, ‘cause you’re a dream to me..

The song finishes and you’re both standing so close, with his hands holding their place on your hips. There’s a beat of silence between you both as Eddie’s eyes quickly flick down to your lips. He leans down to you, almost as if he’s going to kiss you, before he pulls away shyly as if he wasn’t sure that you wanted him as much as he did you.

There’s a slight awkward tension in the air for a brief moment before you break the silence.

“Thanks for the dance, Eddie. I’m going to get a drink”

Eddie nods, giving you an affectionate hug, watching you make your way into the kitchen, desperately hoping that he hadn’t just ruined his chances with you.

You grab yourself a cup from the table and begin ladling a few scoops from the punch bowl into your cup. 

The atmosphere in the kitchen suddenly feels eerily quiet. A chill rattles through as you feel a presence caging you against the granite worktops of kitchen island.

“Y’know, you are not an easy girl to track down, Y/n” A voice rasps out with a sinister chuckle.  A man in a dark t-shirt, jeans and a Friday The 13th hockey mask towers over you.

You watch as the man reveals his face to you. It’s Jacob. You’d left him, broken up with him, fleeing your apartment with tears in your eyes and it wasn’t enough for him.

“How did you find me?” you stutter out.

“There aren’t many places you can hide, Princess.” the pet-name sending an unpleasant shiver down your spine. “Hawkins is only a small town, you know that.” he taunts. “Started asking around. Tommy Hagan said he saw you in The Hideout a few days ago, gave him a few dollars and he gave you up right away. Said I could find you here, and look at that, he was right.” he says smugly, flashing you a smirking grin. “All it took was some dumb dollar-store Halloween costume and I slipped right in without anybody noticing.” 

“What do you want from me, huh?” you fight. You were not about to let him intimidate you, not after how he treated you.

“Want from you? I don’t want anything from you, but you are coming back to Chicago with me. You’ve had your fun, hiding away from me with your little friends, but where are they now, huh?” he continues to taunt you, pressing you further into the kitchen’s granite worktops, his hand wrapping around your arm in a bruising grip.

“Hey, dickhead!” You hear a voice shout from behind Jacob. “What d’ya think you’re doing huh?” It’s Eddie. He lays his hand harshly on Jacob’s shoulder, putting himself between you and your ex-boyfriend.

“You get a kick out of making girls feel small and vulnerable, huh?” Eddie says, glaring at Jacob with an intense stare.

“Oh I see how it is, you like her, don’t you pal.” Jacob retorts, poking his finger into Eddie’s chest.

Eddie flicks Jacob’s hand away.

“Don’t touch me. And I ain’t your pal, dickhead.” Eddie gravels out, the tension between the two men rising.

“You know what, freak?” Jacob flashes his Cheshire cat-like grin once more. “You can keep her. She was a lousy lay anyway.” he sniggers.

That was it. Eddie had had enough. The tension between the two men had reached a boiling point. Eddie pulls his fist back before launching it forward straight into Jacob’s nose with a crack.

Jacob stumbles back with the force of the collision, clutching his hands to his bloody nose.

“If anyone’s the freak it’s you, asshole.” Eddie spits down at Jacob, shaking his fist loose after hitting him so hard.

With all the commotion going on Steve rushes into the kitchen in a panic.

“Steve, this unwanted guest needs throwing out if you ask me.” Eddie says, nodding his head down to where Jacob sat still clutching at his nose.

Steve flicks his eyes over to you, when you give him a reassuring nod of your head, your eyes glassy with unshed tears.

Steve grabs Jacob by the scruff of his shirt and yanks him up to his feet, before dragging him out of his house.

Eddie turns to you immediately, checking you over to see if you’re alright.

“He didn’t try anything, did he?” Eddie worries.

“Eddie I’m okay, I just want to go, if that’s alright?” you say shakily.

“Come here, my van’s out there, we can leave right now, don’t you worry.” Eddie reassures you.

@penguinsandpotterheads @slutty-thevampireslayer @xxhellfiregirlxx @mmunson86 @avalon-wolf @ali-r3n @jesssssmaybankk

[theartifxce]

Her voice is shaky and barely decipherable when Johan finally opens his eyes and gets a good look at her. His head is throbbing and his arms are tied. There was a twitching knife at his throat, but the threat held little sincerity.

“Just a-answer my questions and I-I wont hurt you!”

✖  — ;With his head throbbing, his sensitive eyes winced under the harsh brightness of the world. A low grumble quivered upon his pale pink lips just as he let out a dry cough that felt as though it had been trapped in his chest for a long while.

Completely undisciplined, the expression that greeted whoever it was before him was nothing less than daunting; his eyes like daggers; nightmares dulling the shine of his irises.

He watched as his wayward expression took her by surprise; the fear now pooling in hers despite that he was the one bound to a chair.

Despite the knife she was holding to his throat.

When he fully lifted his head and realized it was Nina in front of him, Johan's eyes took her in like a flower desperate for the sun. With much care he observed all that had become of her. From the long strands in her eyes that complimented the saturated hues that hid behind them, to how long her aubade kissed hair had gotten.

He couldn't help but smile; albeit the circumstance hardly fitting the expression. This had clearly scared her even more. The weapon against him trembled and he turned his attention to the quivering fingers that held them.

There was a lack of conviction in the way it was held but he noted, with much amusement - that it was still held. He 'd credit that much. He wiggled his fingers slowly and then his arms - subtly - as to not alarm her.

His chest fluttered with glee when he realized she had done such a horrible job at tying him up. He could certainly use this to his advantage. But for now, he wanted to entertain her feeble attempts at getting answers.

Although he would will it - he knew she was incapable of truly using that blade to end him. While he was focusing too much of his thoughts on her shortcomings - he did want to acknowledge just how far she had come as the sheltered Nina Fortner.

It took him a moment to taste what still lingered in his mouth - the remnants of cranberry juice dried on his tongue.

What was he doing just before this?

Ah - yes.

He noted mentally to himself; his smile now getting bigger and uglier. He and Kristoff met up at his humble abode. The young man was talking his ear off and Johan swirled the ice inside of the rose colored juice - thinking to himself how it looked just like a familiar wine.

Kristoff couldn't help but talk about himself. So of course he boasted about a new girl he had taken interested in; arrogantly proclaiming her beauty as a prize of his own. He said she had black hair with starry blue eyes.

The sweetest voice that ever graced his ears - and so on.

Johan never made it a point to criticize him for being so easily allured - he understood that although he was damaged, Kristoff was still but a man. But maybe when he brought up the peculiar detail that a girl with black hair could have piercing blue eyes - he should have considered commenting about it.

The world went black shortly after Johan began sipping at the drink and now he stood toe to toe with his beloved sister.

His eyes narrowed at her beautiful blue orbs and couldn't help but giggle.

"I must admit, I never expected this from you." The words fell from his lips like a hymn bouncing off the walls of a cathedral.

"I mean - to go to the point of seducing a man like Kristoff and poisoning us, I am quite impressed little sister." The last bit of his words came out rather bitterly. He didn't want to think at the point of her desperation - how far she could or would have taken it.

He leaned forward, deeper against the knife, a conniving smile just before he said,

" I suppose after all of your hard work, it would be unbecoming of me to refuse you from what you so desperately want, wouldn't it?"