#under 1k words

[vxsellie]

JUST RIGHT - E.W

synopsis : ellie does your eyeliner a/n : this is the first thing posted on this acc & also the first thing i've ever written for ellie so i decided to keep it small ,, be kind i beg wc : 460

ellie's hands are cold against your skin, her fingers grazing your cheekbone lightly. you're sitting atop the closed toilet seat of your shared apartment, the faint scent of lilies filling the air as a candle burns on the counter top by the sink.

your eyes are shut, but you know ellie well enough to know exactly what you'd see if they were open. her brow would be knitted, her eyes narrowed with concentration, her lips pursed as she stares at you intently.

when you asked her to do your eyeliner, you hadn't imagined she'd take so long trying to get it just right. but here you sit, twenty minutes later, beginning to grow restless.

"el," you mutter lightly.

her free hand instantly comes up to cover your mouth. "i'm focused, shut up."

if you were able to move, you'd have slapped her for that. playfully, of course, but harsh nonetheless. you mentally shun her for her attitude toward you. it's not your fault you're curious to know how everything's going. she's wiped her work away at least fifty times by now and your skin is beginning to feel raw from the wipes.

you feel her slow movements as she removes her hands from your face, the eyeliner finally removing from your face as her palm leaves your mouth. you have a feeling she's done, but you remain unmoving just in case she's not.

"okay." she says, sounding uncharacteristically unsure of herself. "okay, i think i'm done."

you instantly open your eyes, secretly overjoyed to have this over and done with. you stand from the toilet and step in front of the mirror, your bare feet hitting the cool tiled floor with gentle pats. you examine your reflection with an unreadable expression. ellie shuffles behind you, her brow furrowed with dissatisfaction.

she groans, "you don't like it, do you?"

"what?" you chuckle. "i never said that."

"you didn't need to. i can read it all over your face."

she sighs loudly, dramatic in her display of irritation with herself. you laugh again, turning away from the mirror to grin at her.

"the eyeliner is perfect, el." you say, reaching up to press a gentle kiss to her lips. "and i mean it's literally fucking perfect, i seriously don't know how you managed to get the wings so even."

she blinks at you, still appearing confused. "then why do you have that look on your face?"

you turn back toward the mirror, staring at your reflection once more. she drew dramatic wings, flaring out on either side. above them, there are arcs going over your eyelids. you weren't lying when you said it was perfect. the art is stunningly drawn with meticulous care.

"because." you giggle. "i'm just going to the store."

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 taglist : @luvsturniolo @zzombiegirl

[streamstar]

POST STREAM.

"And a special thank you to all of those who donated tonight! What a thrilling stream, it came to an end too soon… Yes, yes I got a little over eager there…!" He poked at himself with the joking tone of the user. Drawing in a deep breath, the wind softly whistling between the cracks of his sweaty skin and metal, the blinding light of the monitor glazing over his intense stare, sizing up the last of the chat rolling in, chest heaving in and out with adrenaline, the screams of the unfortunate rattling through his head persistently, the malodor of iron burning into his senses… Index finger scrolling through the details of the soon-over stream, the voting board frozen in his focus.

[82% — Kill] [18% — Let live]

The man couldn't help but click his tongue to the roof of his mouth, looking over his shoulder and the mangled corpse behind him, the blood running darker with time, thick and sticky as it rolled down the tattered skin, filling the grooves of the artistic burns engraving their chest like a river to a moat, and the stringy flesh of a blown out skull, fluids oozing down their neck like a wreath. A shiver chases his nerves down his spine as his eyes thin, swallowing down the animalistic feeling in his throat before turning back to the camera with a showman's gleam in his stare. "Once again, thank you all for attending another stream, until next time… Yours truly, Fox." With his hands out, the man presented a short bow of gratitude, reaching forward to slide his mouse over to end the stream. After a moment of silence, while he wrapped things up he pulled a small black stool out from under the setup turning on its swivel to face the recently deceased victim. Reaching a hand around back to remove the mask, exhaling a heavy sigh at the cooling sensation grazing his skin, small droplets of sweat rolling down his cheeks — the silence between the two was deafening, not that the victim could talk back, though.

Rising to his feet, the sound of stiff dress shoes clacked against the hard floor as a hand tangled itself in the strands of hair that rested upon the back of the neck, cranking their head to face his own. "You did good, for the most part, you know. But you were naïve… Gullible." A clawed finger slipped itself into the gaping gun wound, and the pulpous sounds of scrambled brain matter earned a muted rumble to bubble in his throat "But they don't want your compliance, this audience is… Particular with their tastes, and you just got too comfortable." Pulling his hand from their skull, the head falling downward with a heavyweight, he rubbed the slicked-up fingers together with his thumb, pulling them apart as he watched the fluid string the digits together. Raising his hand to his face, he pulled in the scent of their decaying essence, still fresh — Sucking the fingers clean, he wiped the saliva on his bloodied pant leg before seating himself once more, a heavy hand pressing the red button on the desk, two tall men soon to arrive.

Sitting at the desk, he watched them move swiftly, unshackling them from the wall, the body quick to fall limp against the floor with a heavy thud, a few new abrasions kissing their skin before one arm was taken by each man, feet dragging along the floor into the lit hallway, quick to leave his field of vision. There he was, alone in the room once again. His ears lowered close to his head at the mess, but in retrospect, this was not half as bad, he had worse before for sure. "Should we take care of this?" A worker asked from the doorway, snapping Fox from his train of thought "… Just give me a minute." He nodded in their direction, his head may have been looking, but his eyes remained locked on the red that painted the floor and walls.

From time to time, he would wonder what came of those he sold off. Not that it was his business beyond purchase, but did any of them end up keeping them as a companion? As a beating bag? Would he ever end up keeping one for himself? He found himself running solo, a peace he had come to love. Maybe one day there will be a time where one captivates him. The thought seems redundant.

Just two days prior, this person had been begging to come home with him, pleaded and whined and cried shamelessly on the stage, their wanton pleas with an eagerness to please — no, that wasn't it… It was a grasping for survival that laced their voice. What a pitiful act, it was endearing in its own way, and they had begun to grow on him a little, a small reflection of his past as their eyes followed him with terror, obeying every word and order thrown their way like a trapped, cornered animal. It was a reflection into his own past, nearly. But he was strong, that's why he survived, that's why he's here now, sitting upon his throne. Rising once more, straightening his back, pushing his hair back with clawed fingertips before he stepped into the light, the scent of a burning body becoming obvious to him, it was a stench you can't forget, a life turning to nothing but embers and ash.

'What a shame.' The man thought. 'You could have been a star.'

[nikolai-alexi]

For @jegulus-microfic Prompt: Savour WC: 890

Tags: bipolar James, manic episode, very unreliable narrator, bipolar Barty Crouch Jr, psychosis hallucination, mild violence, James is extremely touch adverse during a mania episode like this, Regulus is Going Through It, James gets the wrong impression eavesdropping on Reg/Barty/Evan’s conversation while they think he’s asleep, Reg is overwhelmed and guilty, James is Unwell, Evan is over everyone’s shit and really doesn’t like James’ friends, Barty is a good friend, Sirius/Remus/Pete don’t just abandon James in this they’re there and they probably went to go get help but James has no clue what’s going on around him really so they just aren’t featured, Evan still holds a grudge against Sirius specifically and (though he won’t admit it) he feels angry on James’ behalf because none of them realised he was struggling so he’s an ass to them, apparently manic episodes are a lot harder to write when you can’t remember what your own are like when you have them

James is aware he shouldn’t be laughing. He’s aware of the stares branding their way under his skin. He feels acutely every disgusted look thrown his way and he hears every scoff. He’s aware he shouldn’t be laughing. But he can’t stop.

Someone has turned off the party’s music. Unfortunate, that. If they kept it going maybe he could pass it off that he’d just drank too much. It’s worked for him before. He still can’t stop laughing. His lungs burn for oxygen and his stomach is cramping and his vision is blurry and his skin is crawling and he can’t stop fucking laughing.

He can’t tell how long it takes until his hysterical laughter subsides into maniacal giggles, “Savour it,” he chokes out, still giggling, “Perfect fucking Potter isn’t so perfect!”

He throws his arms wide and spins a circle in the middle of the common room, still giggling, “Someone ought to call the Prophet! Let them know that the only thing James Potter actually is, is fucking crazy!”

He thinks he’s lost his glasses, because whoever is standing in front of him is unrecognisable with how blurry everything is.

“C’mon, J,” they say. Oh! It’s Barty! Barty knows alllll about being batshit fucking crazy, doesn’t he?

His glasses are set back on his face with very careful movements. Barty knows what James can be like like this. He probably doesn’t want another broken nose. James isn’t sure he’d feel it if someone broke his nose. Would he feel it if he broke his own nose? Or would he only think he felt it because he knew it was coming?

“No one is going to break anyone’s nose, James,” Barty says, sternly, in a voice that sounds eerily similar to Regulus’ ‘shut up and quit being stupid’ voice. He must have spoken aloud. Oopsies.

A shadow appears behind Barty, and before James knows it, his body is flying through the air. Is he trying to run from it? Fight it? Who knows. He doesn’t. But he can’t stand that stupid fucking shadow starring at him. There’s a sharp pressure on the side of his head and everything goes black.

Next thing he knows, he’s hearing hushed voices to the side of him. He doesn’t have the energy to open his eyes, so he just stays still and listens.

“Why the fuck would you knock him out, Barty?!” Regulus’s voice is high, despite being quiet. He must be really upset about something.

“Reg,” Barty sighs, it sounds like he’s been repeating the words for a while, “He went to attack, what I assume was, one of his hallucinations and came after me as a result. You know we can’t restrain him. He just panics and hurts himself. The only thing I could do to get him out of there and keep him safe was knock him out.”

The breath seems to exit Regulus’ chest in one swift ‘whoosh’, “Yeah,” he sighs, “I know,”

A chair slides roughly across the floor, “It’s not your fault, Reg,” Barty murmurs quietly.

Regulus scoffs, “I should have seen the signs. I should have known he was going to have an episode,”

“Bullshit, Regulus. You’re in the middle of your OWLS prep. You’ve been holed in the library for the last two weeks. How many times have you even gotten to see him in the last month?”

Someone stands up and begins pacing, James reckons it must be Regulus. He always paces when he’s agitated, “That’s just the thing, Barty! I haven’t seen him more than once or twice since the Quidditch match with Gryffindor and Slytherin. I’ve been too damn busy to notice anything was wrong!”

A new voice chimes in, “Sit the fuck down, Regulus,” Ah, Evan’s joined the fray.

James can nearly see the death glare mixed with a pout that Regulus sends Evan as he plops ungracefully into his chair.

“Potter is not your responsibility. No, shut the fuck up and listen to me, Regulus,” James wants to chuckle, because only a Rosier can talk to Regulus like that and get away with it, “Potter is not your responsibility. You both discussed how stressful these next two months were going to be for you. He understood and respected your need for space, and other than making sure you’re taking care of yourself, he hasn’t pushed. You haven’t seen him more than a couple of times, how would you have noticed anything was wrong?”

Regulus makes a distressed noise, but doesn’t interrupt.

“Potter is not your responsibility. If anyone should have noticed something was wrong, it should have been your brother, or Lupin, or Pettigrew, or hell, even McGonagall. But they didn’t. And that’s not your fucking problem. That’s on them.”

“You’ve said it yourself, Reg,” Barty says, quietly, “James is really good at hiding this from people. He kept it from his best friends, his teachers, and classmates for six years. Hell, I deal with the same shit he does and I didn’t even connect the dots until the beginning of this year.”

There’s a resigned sigh from Regulus. James thinks he might be scrubbing a hand down his face like he does when he’s stressed. The thought makes guilt pool in his gut.

“I know you’re right,” Regulus says quietly, “It’s just…a lot. Right now. It’s all just a lot to deal with right now,”

And James can’t stop the sound that’s something between a crushing sob and hysterical laughter bubble out of his throat. Here I go again, he thinks, destroying everything good in my life because I’m too fucking much. He blacks out again.

[purrgilpawkins]

Full Frontal Assault

Summary: A retelling of Chai and Peppermint’s first meeting with a slight anatomy change.

Pairing: Chai & Peppermint

Warnings: n/a

Notable tags: humor, trans Chai

Chai slowly opened the heavy, metal door at the end of the damp, dark tunnel to reveal an even darker room on the other side.

“Uh, hello? Cat-bot…?” He called out, trying not to think about the likelihood of spiders, robotic or otherwise, being just out of his sight. He slowly made his way into the room.

Before he could call out to the sassy cat again, something tightened around his ankle and Chai was sent flying upwards, a scream tearing from lips. His face smacked against what he assumed was the ceiling and just as quickly as he went up, he came right back down, bouncing back up briefly just before he could hit the floor as well.

Now hanging from his foot, upside down and dizzy, Chai attempted to regain his bearings as he heard a clink and a clonk of footsteps coming closer to him. As his eyes readjusted to the sudden light that only seemed to brighten up the entrance of the room, out of the darkness occupying the rest of the space came a woman, pointing a gun directly at his face.

The beat in his chest quickened as he eyed the weapon. Wanting to act like he wasn’t just a little bit intimidated, Chai bravely (stupidly) looked away from the woman and toward his dangling leg.

“A rope snare?” He started, trying to play it off cool. “What are you, a cartoon character?”

A look of curiosity crossed the woman’s face as she brought the gun back from Chai’s face and squatted down to his level.

“So that’s where the magic happens, huh?” She said, more of a statement and less of a question. She then reached out with her gun, moving it toward the player in his chest before she let out a squawked gasp. Her gun went back to her quickly and her face seemed to grow darker as she looked at Chai’s chest in…shock?

Chai, concerned that some kind of horror movie shenanigans were happening to his chest, quickly looked to that very area. Player where his heart should be…a few freckles here and there…his least favorite mole just under his left boob…wait.

“Hey!” Chai yelped in a panic, reaching up to pull up his shirt to cover his breasts, “Quit looking!”

He felt the telltale heat of a blush overtaking his face as the woman brought her gun up sideways to cover her eyes as she finally looked away.

“Sorry! Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting…” she gestured with her gun toward Chai, still looking away.

“Boobs?”

“…Yeah.”

Chai huffed, looking back up at the rope around his ankle before a smirk took its place on his face.

“Guess that’s why they call it a booby trap.”

The woman in front of him tsked as she fired a shot from her gun, snapping the rope with the bullet and forcing Chai to land flat on his face.

[fangbangerghoul]

What Did I Get Myself Into?

My Time at Sandrock fic Fem!builder Ghoul x Owen Ghoul finds the confidence to try to socialize like the rest of the Sandrockians WC: 993 Chapter 1: Playdate?

New mini fic up and live on Ao3! Just like the previous one I am challenging myself to keep each chapter under 1000 words. I won't lie it's been a little hard. I always feel the urge to write 10 more paragraphs but have to stop myself.

Please enjoy the first chapter under the cut and feel free to click on the link within the title to show it love on Ao3!

The sun was baking the sweat against her skin as she dragged a pile of old dusty wood back towards her shop. This particular wood pile had a few boards in it that would prove to be quite useful to her for her current project. Once Ghoul was inside the fenced area of her home she gave in and dropped the heavy boards, letting them fall to the ground and trying to wipe some of the dust off her hands. It was still only nine in the morning but she felt done for the day. Ghoul wasn't sure why she decided to drag the boards across the desert like that and a part of her felt like she should have chopped them up into smaller pieces. 

She knew it didn't matter now because the deed was done and her lips and tongue felt as dry as the area that surrounded her. Ghoul pushed her green bangs out of her face and looked out towards the Blue Moon Saloon that was basically her only neighbor. She could see the faint build of Owen and he seemed to be waving out towards her. She felt flutters in her stomach, anxious and unsure if he was waving at her or not. She gave a small shy wave back. 

Owen seemed to do a different motion with his hands now. She couldn't quite tell from this far but it was enough to beckon her forth. She looked around herself trying to decide whether she should pack up the wooden boards or not but ultimately decided that they would be fine where they were for now. 

Ghouls feet lead her to the saloon and Owen was standing there beaming at her as she walked up. 

“I hope you aren't working yourself too hard in the morning.” The warmth of his voice caused the redness in her cheeks. “I must admit I slept in today but if you've been out for a while already care to come in for a drink?” 

“I think I can afford to stop for a moment.” She said sheepishly. She always was a bit angry at herself for how small she felt around him and how easy it was to suddenly not know how to speak. It wasn't his fault, directly at least. 

“I have a few commissions I need to finish before the evening but I must admit I am thirsty.” Her tongue licked her lips subconsciously as she said this to him and she couldn't help that her eyes were focused on the bulkiness of his broad shoulders. Thankfully she thought he didn't notice. 

“I won't hold you up for too long then.” He winked at her, flashing a toothy grin. She followed his lead as he held the door open for her and stayed close behind. The saloon smelt of the usual fresh herbs, cooked food, and oak wood. Owen went ahead behind the counter and started to grab glasses to fill. Ghoul reached into her pocket and grabbed some gols to pay him. 

“Don't you dare.” He warned her playfully. The large glass full of root beer was ready on the counter. “You can come and buy some dinner tonight but this drink is on the house.” 

Ghoul looked at him suspiciously, always feeling slightly uncomfortable when he gave her things for free. She was never sure how to repay him and no matter what she gifted him, his response was always the same. It had gotten to the point where she made a little game out of it for herself and started to give him random pieces of old parts and berries. 

“You're too kind.” Was all she could manage and as she sipped on her foamy glass he sipped on his own. His eyes always seemed to stay glued on her when they were within proximity, watching to see if she enjoyed herself. She placed her glass down after drinking half of it down. It coated her throat with cool sugary sweetness. 

“Would you…” Ghoul began, tapping her index finger on her glass handle. She was trying to find the courage and the words for what she wanted to ask. “Would you want to hang out today?” 

She regretted it as soon as she said it, the vulnerability of it. Asking for companionship was something she didn't do very often and she expected him to say he was busy today anyway. There was even a small part of her that did wish he would reject her offer so maybe her face would stop flushing when he spoke to her or the flips her stomach would perform would cease to be. She finally looked at him after asking and his brows were raised in surprise and his mouth slightly parted. Ghoul wondered if he was trying to find a gentle way to reject the request. 

“Yeah, I would love that.” He spoke with a small sigh as if the pressure within him finally spewed over like steam within an engine. “I think Grace can take over for a few hours. It has been awhile since someone asked me to spend the day with them.” 

Her heart faltered for a moment before revving back up to its regular beat. She was surprised and now even more anxious because she hadn't fully expected him to accept nor was she sure what in the hell she could take them to do. There were those commissions she had to finish and deliver and perhaps he would be willing to give her company during that. She chugged the rest of her drink before letting the glass fall back to the counter then wiped the foam off of her mouth. 

“Well…um..let’s head out when you are ready then.” She tried to sound confident but she was still bewildered that he even agreed to her offer. 

“After you builder.” Owen gave the willful command as he put both their used glasses behind the counter. 

[rosieblogstuff]

2x04 X-Ray + Penny tag: What happens after Mac escapes Murdoc's turture room and emerges from that manhole...

For the June Flashfic Writealong June 18 Prompts: "A bad penny always turns up" and "Help":

Mac’s arms shake as he pushes up against the manhole cover. It’s heavy iron, meant to be lifted from the outside. He can barely manage to keep himself from falling off the ladder as he presses against it. Rumbles come and go from the other side. Cars. The road he’s about to emerge onto is going to be a busy one, but busy is good. Busy means lots of bystanders. He can disappear into the crowd. He can’t hear Murdoc in the tunnels right now but he knows the assassin is down there, still following him. And he can’t go back. He can’t. He can’t.

(more on AO3)

[silverdragonreads]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: James Bond (Craig Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James Bond/Q Characters: James Bond, Q (James Bond) Additional Tags: 007 Fest, Poetry Day, Price most dear universe Series: Part 4 of a price most dear universe, Part 18 of Ato's 007 Fest Fan Creations Summary:

Poetry is the language of the past, present, and future,

[juni413]

editing my fic rn, and it actually isn't that bad.

[anurapoda]

Content Warnings: Blood, Death, Gore

Words: 680

Wrote this back in December without much thought or planning, was supposed to be a distraction from another oneshot I was writing that gave me hell lmao. I'd love to rewrite this sometime soon, as when it was originally made I knew nothing about Etho and Bdubs relationship - but for what it is it's decent.

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

Bdubs pulled his hand away from his side, hissing in pain as he saw the scarlet blood dancing from his fingertips and dripping onto the hard stone below him. He should have known better then to trust Ren, should have known better then to make him king.

Maybe if he had taken even a moment to consider the consequences of his actions, of how Ren had been the last time he had been given the title of king, he would have thought twice about it. Maybe then he wouldn’t be on the floor of the crastle, blood tainting his tanned hands as he bled out from the stab wound inflicted upon him by a wolf he had once considered a friend, a king.

“Bdubs.” The king had growled when they returned from the vault, so unlike how he had acted in front of his former subjects. “You imbecile, you allowed them to dethrone me!”

The man had tried to protest, had tried to explain how they had done all they could have to protect the crown. Though it was for nothing, Ren was far past reasoning. His eyes had begun glowing a bright red, his claws grew in size, and he slashed at his advisor with no care for how he had pleaded. Screamed. Wailed. 

By the time he had finished his assault Bdubs was barely clinging to life. Though the Red King seemed to have no intention of finishing him off, as he marched from the crastle with a harsh laugh.

“They will pay for not obeying me, just as you have.”

Bdubs wasn’t sure how long it had been since the king had left, he was only aware of time passing at all thanks to the various pings on his communicator. Though he didn’t have the strength to check why the chat was so busy, he could guess it had something to do with the Red King. He just hoped that the hermits could bring some sense back to Ren, void knows the wolf hybrid didn’t want to hurt any of his friends. Especially not Bdubs.

The pings eventually died down, and as they did Bdubs allowed his eyes to lull closed. The tears in his body had long since stopped hurting, instead leaving him painfully numb. Though he could feel his energy slowly draining from him, and as he took a deep breath he knew he wouldn’t be here when he awoke next.

Bdubs Bled to Death

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

Bdubs gasped for air, sitting bolt right in bed as his hands ran over his body. Checking for the open wounds, the claw marks left by his king, the marks that cost him a life. His hands returned to his face clean, if not a bit shaky.

“Bdubs?”

The gentle voice pulled the man in question's frantic eyes towards the other person in the room. A white hair man with mis-macthed eyes and a mask covering the lower half of his face, the man who Bdubs would never forget.

“Etho.”

The two stared at one another for what felt like an eternity, though even that didn’t feel long enough before the white haired man moved from his position on the chair in the corner of the room to beside Bdubs. He offered the smaller man a hand, and he accepted it without question.

“What happened?” Bdubs asked, his voice little more than a whisper.

“Power got to Ren's head, X handled it though.” Etho said, rubbing circles into the other man's palm as he continued. “No one could find you and then all the sudden there was a death message. What happened?”

The smaller man bit his lip, leaning his head against Etho's shoulder with a sigh. “Power got to Ren’s head.” 

Etho nodded, and the two stayed in silence after that. No matter how simple of an answer it was, they both knew what it meant. Even the hermits who hadn’t taken part in 3rd life knew what happened when Ren was king, knew what he had done. He had been forgiven of course, but they still remembered.

[butchfalin]

the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again

[rafeandonlyrafe]

distraction

words: 400

warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming

“no, it’s fine.” you sigh, flipping your hair over your shoulder as you pout at rafe, his skin illuminated by the lamp placed on his desk, casting the room in warm light. “you don’t love me anymore, whatever.”

rafes fingers pause their flying over the keyboard as he finally looks over to you, chair swiveling as he faces where you are perched on the edge of his desk. “baby.” he says firmly, a warning in his voice.

“no, no, it’s alright.” you wave your hand like its dispelling his warning. “you don’t love me. you won’t let me sit on your cock. it’s fine.” “princess.” rafe reaches for your hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. “it’s just that i’m busy, darling. i really have to get this done.”

“i’ll sit super still until you’re finished, won’t be a distraction, i swear.” you promise, shifting your hand so you can wrap your pinky around rafes, shaking it to prove your point.

rafe sighs before using your interlocked fingers to pull you closer as you squeal with happiness of finally getting your way. you straddle rafes lap, having already taken your underwear off from under your skirt before entering rafes office, knowing exactly what you wanted from him.

“you’re already hard.” you giggle, reaching between your bodies to undo rafes pants, his bulge clearly straining.

“i got hard the second you walked in the room, bunny.” rafe sighs, leaning back and lifting his hips to let you tug his pants and underwear down to expose his stiff cock.

“then why didn’t you let me ride you?” you whine.

“work.” rafe gestures vaguely towards the computer, not wanting to explain what he has to get done, not when you are lining yourself up with his cock and sinking down with a moan.

“fuck.” rafe groans, one hand coming to grip your ass as you settle against his lap, arms wrapping around him as you lean in, resting your head against his shoulder.

“thank you.” you press a kiss to his neck. “love you.”

“love you too baby.” rafe says, moving his chair back in so he can continue to type. “be still for me, yeah? fuck you after i finish.”

“mhm.” you mumble into his neck, satisfied that you've got rafe stretching your insides, satisfying your craving. you know you won’t be sitting still for long, it’s just a matter of who breaks first, you or rafe.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @emma77645 @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk

[nikolai-alexi]

For @jegulus-microfic Prompt: Bath WC: 975 (ahaha look who’s a day late again 🤦🏻)

Tags: this is very Regulus centric with a side of Jegulus but it felt right for the prompt, regulus’ trauma regarding water is front and centre, basically this is all about exposure therapy

Title: “Here. Real. Fine.”

Regulus is shaking. He’s in a battle of wills with the porcelain tub on the other side of the loo. The double vanity he shares with James is digging its marble countertop into the small of Regulus’ back with how hard he’s pushing into it. The pain helps ground him. He stares at the tub.

This trauma is old. It’s been years since the cave. He shouldn’t still be this weak. He’s perfectly able to give Harry baths without panicking, so why the hell can’t he do the same? He used to love taking baths. He loved getting the chance to relax for once, to pour fancy salts and scents into the blistering hot water, drop a bath bomb in, dim the lights, light candles, and read a book. He wants that again. He wants to not be afraid of the bathtub or the rain or going to the water parks that Harry loves so much. He wants his fucking life back. Now that he has one, he wants to enjoy it.

He breathes in deeply. You can do this. It’s just like giving Harry a bath, he thinks. He shoves himself forward roughly, stumbling with the intensity of his own push, and comes to the edge of the tub. He ignores his shaking hands as he turns the valve for the spigot.

Water comes rushing out and he jolts with surprise even as he watched it come out and has to turn the spigot off again. He growls under his breath and turns it back on. The water rushes out again, but he doesn’t jolt. Good. That’s progress. Now he needs to drop the stopper into place and let it fill. It takes him several long minutes before he has the courage to do it.

A deep breath with closed eyes. He listens to the sound of the water running and reminds himself of all the ways it sounds different that the cave.

There’s no echo here. The walls aren’t suffocating him with their stone faces. It’s bright here, the darkness isn’t an oppressive force closing in around him. The water is warm, hot even, on his hands. He isn’t in the cave. He’s at home, in his bathroom, by his tub. There are no hands coming out of the water to drag him to the depths. He can do this.

He sets the stopper over the drain and watches the tub fill. He turns the spigot off when it’s full. He doesn’t move.

He breathes in.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

He is calm. He can do this.

He toes his socks off and chucks them to the side. He takes a moment, staring at the water like it might come alive at any moment, even though he can see through it. He slips his (James’) joggers off his hips and lets them fall in a puddle on the floor. He sits precariously on the edge of the tub, and slowly slides his left foot in.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. He isn’t in the cave. The water is warm. The water is clear. He can do this.

He gets his foot placed on the bottom of the tub. The water is up to his knee. The water is warm. He feels…okay? He thinks he’s okay. His heart is racing and he’s clammy, but he’s not panicking. He’s doing okay.

His right foot is easier. The left one is already there. There are no hands. He’s okay. He gets his leg submerged to the knee with no pauses. He’s okay.

He made sure the water was shallow enough for him to sit down in without it rising to his chest. He’s not ready for that yet. But even knowing how shallow it is, he very slowly and very shakily kneels down into the tub. His breath stutters and shakes out of him, like even his very lungs are shaking inside of him with fear. He simply kneels there, hands and arms tucked tightly against himself and covering his face, closing his eyes and willing himself not to pay attention to the flashing memories of the dark cave, decaying hands, and encapsulating pain. He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s not there. He’s in his and James’ lovely little cottage, where Harry leaves toys on every available surface and James’ office is covered in photos of the three of them and Regulus’ potions lab had to be moved out to a shed in the back garden because he kept forgetting the baby-proofing charms over the basement door. He’s here. He’s real. He’s okay.

His breathing levels out. He lets his hands fall from his face and opens his eyes. The water is clear. He lets his hands drop until they’re under the water too. The water is warm. He’s okay.

A giddy and slightly hysterical laugh bubbles out of his throat. He’s actually in the bathtub and in the water. Two years ago, he would have never thought it possible. He feels brave and strong and capable. He never thought he could feel those things.

He stays in the tub until his fingers prune up, swishing the water back and forth with his hands, tentatively touching his face with it, reassuring himself that he’s still here, and the water is still clear. His feet have long since fallen asleep with pins and needles, but there’s a wide smile stretched across his face.

He’s so far in his own world, that when he goes to get his towel, he’s surprised to see it’s already being held open for him. James is standing in the bathroom with a bright grin on his face as he wraps Regulus into a towel with a warming charm attached to it. He drops a sweet kiss onto Regulus’ forehead after wrapping him tightly into the soft towel.

“Well done, love,” he murmurs against Regulus’s dark curls.

Regulus doesn’t say anything back, he’s completely mentally exhausted, but his chest blooms with pride.

When he tells himself that he’s okay this time, he thinks he might actually believe it.

[purrgilpawkins]

Burning Love

Summary: After an encounter with Hotstreak, Virgil takes it upon himself to kiss and make Richie better. (Also available on AO3)

Pairings: Richie Foley/Virgil Hawkins

Warnings: n/a

Notable tags: fluff, established relationship, first degree burns, aloe vera usage

“Ow!” Richie yelped, snatching his hand from Virgil’s grasp and the Terrorsome Tweezers he was using to remove the fabric stuck to Richie’s hand.

The fabric that stuck to his hand after Hotstreak had managed to catch Gear off guard, grabbing hold of said hand just as he’d been about to take off, and burning Gear’s glove badly enough so it wouldn’t come off without a fight. Luckily, Static had come to the rescue before Hotstreak could do any real damage.

Back at the Gas Station, the dynamic duo checked the damage and both heroes had determined it wouldn’t require a doctor’s assistance (not that they’re knowledgeable enough to make that call.)

Virgil sighed an ever patient sigh and gently took Richie’s hand in his, pulling it back toward him to resume his ministrations.

“Chill, Rich. I’m almost done,” Virgil said, trying not to feel guilty over Richie’s flinching that accompanied every plucked piece of synthetic fabric.

With another piece plucked and another hiss of pain from Richie, Virgil clicked the tiny tweezers together twice as he turned Richie’s hand over and back, looking for any more bits of the gruesome glove. Virgil sighed again, relieved that the worst was finally done, and placed the tweezers beside himself on the rickety coffee table he was using as a chair. He then reached out for the bottle of aloe lotion, stubbornly not looking at the table as his hand bumped into a roll of bandages and the tweezers he’d just placed down. Finally, Virgil’s hand found the smooth plastic bottle and picked it up.

“I’m done tweezing, dude. You can stop bracing for impact.”

Richie opened his eyes a smidge and untensed his shoulders at the sight of Virgil squeezing the lotion into his hand. Setting the bottle down, Virgil began rubbing his hands together, coating his hands completely, and reached out to take Richie’s hand in his once more. Richie inhaled sharply, bracing for sudden pain, but exhaled upon the immediate relief at the cool feeling enveloping his uncomfortably hot hand. As Virgil rubbed it in, he couldn’t help but be glad that Richie’d had the foresight to buy the aloe for electrical burns (both of the technological and Static variety.)

After the thorough rub down, Virgil reached back toward the table and grabbed the roll of bandages he’d knocked around before. He waited for Richie to finish shaking his hand to dry the lotion and began wrapping it loosely and delicately. Once carefully wrapped, Virgil tore off the end and taped it in place, placing the roll back on the table and doing a final inspection of Richie’s hand.

“Am I gonna make it?” Richie joked.

“Maybe,” Virgil mumbled, bringing Richie’s hand to his lips and tenderly kissing the back of it.

Richie’s face flushed immediately and he looked away from Virgil, embarrassed at his bright red face and dopey grin he couldn’t quite control. Virgil gave his hand another kiss and Richie squeaked.

“Dude.”

Virgil smiled mischievously and gave Richie’s hand another kiss before releasing it. Richie took his hand out of Virgil’s range and rubbed at it affectionately, still trying to wipe the stupid grin off his face. Virgil gave Richie’s cherry tomato face a once over before gasping loudly. Richie snapped his head toward him at the sound.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Virgil brought his hands up and cradled Richie’s face in between them. “You didn’t tell me Hotstreak got your face too! Here, lemme make it better.” He then pulled Richie’s face toward his, peppering kisses on Richie’s reddened cheeks, making them even redder. It’s a wonder how Richie didn’t pass out with all the blood rushing to head.

“Virg!” Richie giggled as Virgil went back and forth between cheeks, leaving no bit of skin unsmooched. Richie pushed Virgil back slightly amidst the laughing from them both, wrapping his arms around Virgil’s neck and leaning in to press their foreheads together. “I think,” Richie said in between laughs, “I’ll be alright, V.”

“I dunno, Rich,” Virgil began, trying to hold back his own laughter, “your lips are looking a little pink. Hotstreak might’ve gotten you there too.”

“Hmm, you may be right about that, dude. Guess you should kiss ‘em and make ‘em better. Just in case.”

“Well, I mean, if you think it’s necessary…”

“Oh, yes,” Richie said seriously, “very necessary.”

Virgil and Richie leaned in at the same, lips pressing softly against each other, noses pressing less softly against each other. The kiss broke quickly as the two couldn’t keep their laughter in anymore.

“Man, you are such a goof.” Richie wiped at his eyes, trying to catch his breath.

“Yeah, but I’m your goof, you goof,” Virgil responded with a grin, giving Richie another quick kiss as he took Richie’s bandaged hand in his.

[hrokkall]

DIVINE AUTOPSY

Text from a post by @bedrock-to-buildheight about angel anatomy and the physical manifestations of regret that can only be purged in a bloody vivisection.

[wingedcat13]

It's time to work on Synoverse again folks

[silverdragonreads]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: James Bond (Craig Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James Bond/Q Characters: James Bond, Q (James Bond) Additional Tags: Music Day, 007 Fest Series: Part 6 of Ato's Head Canons, Part 11 of Ato's 007 Fest Fan Creations, Part 3 of a price most dear universe