#zip wine and dine

[undisclosedproxy]

Possessive, obsessive, aggressive T.R T.N M.R

Summary: Tension in the manor 😵‍💫

(p.s I accidentally posted it half way so if you read the half written one, ignore it)

Awkward glances were shared between Mattheo and Y/N as they watched this very tense, awkward, genuinely just uncomfortable moment play out. The three boys and Y/N were out at dinner, normally this would be a normal experience, a nice one too but Theodore decided to bring his latest hookup, Little miss Astoria Greengrass. It was a very unexpected situationship, due to all of them being close friends with her older sister, Daphne.

”So..” Mattheo started awkwardly, trying to ignore Astorias fatass black eye from the heel Theo had thrown at her the previous day.

”Why are you here.” Tom said bluntly obviously staring at the fat bruise.

Before Astoria could snap back at Tom and get herself hexed, Y/N excused them and she dragged Tom off, her heels loudly clacking on the floor as she walked through the busy restaurant.

“Hurry up,” Y/N scolded softly, she got met with a muttered insult.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” She asked looking out at the sky as they stepped foot in the balcony area, they were currently at a very fancy gourmet dining experience, it looked elegant and looked like royalty stayed here before, it was very aesthetic with significant little touches on everything, it gave a very expensive aura.

“Not the best.” Tom sighed as he leaned on the railing.

”You need to calm down.” Y/N said straightening his collar as he looked down at her with a soft look.

“She’s just being silly, she’s already a couple drinks down, i’m sure she doesn’t mean to make you angry.” She explained softly. As she looked into his dark eyes.

She suddenly presses a warm, soft kiss on his cheek and started to walk inside not looking back. This was the one time in Tom’s whole life he felt genuine shock. The feeling of her lips lingered on his cheek as he quickly rushed after her.

He was met with concerned eyes from the boys as he sat down all red and flustered.

”You okay? You’re red.” Theodore said concerned as he sipped his red wine.

Silence filled the air, Y/N now looked over to him too, concerned.

”Yes. Yes. I’m fine.” Tom quickly blurted out as he wiped his face on a hanker chief.

There was tension in the air, everyone could feel it. Mattheo was shooting daggers at Tom, he looked so betrayed and hurt? Y/N was feeling confused and at this point a little overwhelmed, she’s had to diffuse so much tension, and deal with Astorias drunk-ass who is now trying to make out with Theodore in front of the whole fucking restaurant.

“What a brother you are.” Mattheo said, barely audible, as he stormed out, hitting the table with his leg harshly as he got up, causing everyone to realise the actual intensity of this situation.

”It’s alright, I’ll go.” Theodore quickly blurted out when Y/N was getting up.

”Just, try to have something to eat, okay?” he murmured softly to her, causing Astoria to have a very sour look of jealousy on her face.

”You whore!” She slurred loudly, basically spitting all over the table, other tables looked over curiously.

”You already have him.” She said now standing as she swayed in the air, nearly falling.

“Leave Theodore alone, let me have him.” she spat angrily, all the other tables were now openly staring.

Suddenly a large light zipped through the air, too fast for anyone to react. One moment she was screaming at Y/N drunkly then next she was unconscious on the floor in the middle of a pile of chairs. Toms hex had thrown her several feet across the restaurant with a bunch of chairs, plates and utensils. Tom was standing up now, breathing heavily, his wand drawn staring down at Astoria with a type of happiness.

Everything around them descended into chaos, servers scrambled around to try to calm angry and scared guests, some even pulled out their wands too. Y/N whimpered in thought, she grabbed her purse and threw a lot of notes on the table and started to rush out as she forcefully dragged Tom with her by his arm.

“HE CAN’T DO THAT!”

”WHAT THE FUCK?”

”SOMEONE GET THE MANAGER!”

There was a lot of different opinions but Y/N just got them out of there. Outside she was met with an obviously very upset Mattheo and a very concerned Theodore.

”We need to go.” Y/N said quickly.

”Why?” Mattheo snapped unintentionally.

“Tom- he- he hexed Astoria, we need to go!” Y/N said loudly.

”Oh my fucking god it’s always ‘oh tom this’ ‘oh tom that’ give it a fucking rest” Mattheo yelled at her.

”Stop, stop.” Theodore muttered grabbing his shoulder trying to calm him down.

”Why are you acting like this?” Y/N asked obviously not believing this is happening.

”BECAUSE I FUCKING LOVE YOU OKAY? BUT YOU’RE TOO FUCKING BLIND TO SEE IT. AND YOU” Mattheo screamed pointing at Tom right in his face. Tom stared back menacingly.

”YOU KNEW, I TOLD YOU. BUT YOU DO THIS SHIT BEHIND MY BACK!” Mattheo screamed.

[folkloresthings]

❛ HEAVEN KNOWS ❜ ❨ lando norris x singer!reader ❩

📻 track two: wendy.

in which the they were the perfect couple, until they weren’t. or in which we take a look back into what made heaven itself fall apart.

. . . SEPTEMBER 2023

INSTAGRAM. september twenty—seventh.

liked by niallhoran, lizzymcalpine and 761,320 others

yourusername first song from the good witch! i wrote wendy after a day huddled under my duvet rewatching every adaptation of peter pan that exists. it’s all about falling for lost boys and trying your best to see the best in them even though your heart tells you better. it’s about not making sacrifices even though you want to, learning to put yourself first despite how much love might blind you to do the opposite. what about wendy!

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user STOP these songs are going to tear lando apart i just know it

charlottesiine wendy darling 🤍 lock the windows!!!!

user is lando her lost boy 😭😭😭

REWIND… AUGUST 2022.

for just under three years, heaven was all you knew. lando was a dream, all wrapped up in his love for you and forever devoted to your attentions. maybe the effect of being locked up together for months as the pandemic reigned had given you both a taste of stockholm syndrome and left you with nothing else to focus on. or maybe it was just time.

the beginning of summer break was when you felt the first shift. every other year, lando whisked you away on a holiday to the sunniest place he could find. he wined and dined you, making up for all of the lost time between the racing season and touring. only, this time, he had booked a trip to ibiza with max and his friends.

“what about me?”

“i don’t see them that often either, you know that,” he defended.

it was understandable, you supposed. he liked those kinds of places, you didn’t. so while he partied there, you spent a little extra time in the studio. but then it was a week in spain with carlos, another in croatia with daniel. the compromise came in the form of monaco. you would take some time off, leaving your london flat behind, and come stay with lando in his monte carlo apartment.

you were all excitement, until you realised your time there was scheduled around lando’s meetings and dj sets and boys night out. the desperation to be close to him trumped all else and so you followed him around like a lost puppy, forever blinded by the sweet kisses and doting promises.

“i’ll take you to dinner tomorrow night, just me and you,” lando would murmur in your ear, letting your frustration subside long enough to let him go back to his friends.

it took that whole month in monaco to realise that this is what lando wanted: someone to follow after him and live for the short term magic, only to be let down by the endless maybe’s, trusting that he’ll catch you when you fall. it terrified you, and yet your undying love kept you playing along.

“i have a show in brixton next week,” you told him on your last morning in monaco, shoving the last of your clothes into your case. “it’s low-key, for some of the really devoted fans. i got management to put your name on the list.”

lando zipped up the last of your belongings, soft thumbs caressing your cheeks. “i wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

you grinned happily, uncaring for whatever doubt sank in your stomach when it was just the two of you, his lips soothing on your warm skin. he loved you, truly.

INSTAGRAM. august twenty—first.

liked by nicolacoughlan, hozier and 780,629 more

y/nupdates y/n in brixton tonight! 21/8 🤍

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user the intimate shows w her are my fav 🥺🥺🥺

user mother!

user was lando there? i heard she gave him a shoutout

⤷ user she sang feels like this and dedicated it to him!

⤷ user yeah but it seemed like she was looking out for him in the back when she said it and it didn���t look like he was there ☹️

⤷ user ouch 🥲

“are you alright?”

it’s the first thing you ask when he answers the phone, and you know it’s horrible that you hope something bad has happened — but it’s better than the truth that weighs heavy on his lips.

“i’m so sorry love, i meant to call you earlier,” lando groans through your speaker, your dressing room door clicking closed behind you. still in your stage outfit, you await the excuses. “the flight was delayed and then cancelled. i would get the next flight but i’ve got that thing tomorrow evening.”

“oh, i see.” your eyes sting.. “are you back in the apartment now?”

“huh? oh yeah, i just got an uber back from the airport and i’m ordering some food now.”

if you had the energy to scoff and argue you would, for you can hear the distant bouncing of club music on the other end of the phone, most likely muffled by where lando has hidden away in the bathroom.

“that’s nice,” you whisper, picking anxiously at the skin around your nailbed. “well, the show went really well. i think that—”

“babe, you’re breaking up. i’ll call you tomorrow okay?” lando’s voice raises as the bathroom door on his side opens to let the loud music peek in. “i’m sorry again.”

“okay, bye,” you sigh, but the call ends before he can even hear it. sinking into the small sofa of the dressing room, curling into yourself, the tears flow over your perfect makeup — fading the lipstick you’d chosen just for him.

you couldn’t live like this, is what your friends told you when you spent your evening crying on their sofa. but you loved him, and you would follow him to the ends of the earth. you could be married soon, waiting up at night for the sound of the door unlatching. it’s a life you could have and you knew it — even if it wasn’t what you wanted.

INSTAGRAM. august twenty—second.

liked by charles_leclerc, taylorswift and 722,784 others

yourusername a week in neverland

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user boyfriend lando pics!!!

carlossainz55 so great to see you!👸

⤷ yourusername time for you to come to london now!!!!

⤷ carlossainz55 ✈️🏃🏻💨

user ofc lando brings her to the track even on summer break 🙄😅

landonorris my wendy darling ❤️

⤷ user does this make lando peter pan?

⤷ yourusername 🤍🤍🤍

user still sad we didn’t see lando at the london show :(

writers note: did i promise this new chapter ages ago? yes but just be happy you guys have it now 🫶❤️‍🔥

taglist: @openthenyoor01 @racingheartsworld @celestialend @cha-hot @gr1mes-cc @allywthsr @imsorare @youdontknowmeshh @bellewintersroe @orangetreekid

[batty4steddie]

Double Stuffed

@steddiemicrofic | June prompt: Stuff | Word count: 483 | Rating: T | CW: None

Eddie was thoroughly entertained. He was lying across Steve’s bed on his stomach, leaning up on his elbows, with the palms of his hands supporting his chin as he shamelessly watched Steve try on jeans.  The fabric glided effortlessly up Steve’s long legs, but once the material got to his ass, it always caught, and that’s when the struggle began. Steve had to tug and jump just to get them up where they needed to go.  “Jesus Christ, Harrington, you really gotta stuff yourself in those things, don’t you?”  Steve was adjusting his nuts when Eddie piped up, making him snort softly at the comment. These were his tightest jeans. He slowly zipped and buttoned them, feeling Eddie’s gaze on him viscerally.  “I think the last time I wore these, you stuffed me. So, you must like them, right?” Steve chuckled as he put his hands on his hips and raised his eyebrows playfully a couple of times, which summoned Eddie over to him.  Eddie wrapped Steve up in his arms and instantly palmed his ass, making him blush and laugh. “Love 'em, Stevie. They fit you like a glove. My only complaint is how hard they are to get off.”  Steve locked his arms around Eddie’s shoulders. “I like making you work for it. I’m not easy.” “Never said you were. I’m not afraid of hard work. Although, I think you put these on on purpose.” Steve ducked his head and shrugged. “I just wanted to look good for you.” Eddie laughed, tilting his chin back up gently. “You always look good. You put me to shame.” Steve smiled and leaned in to kiss Eddie for the compliment. “You’re not so bad. Can’t lie and say I didn’t wanna get lucky tonight.” Eddie was waiting on him to get ready. They were going to go out, see some bands and get some drinks.  “We can skip going out, and I can get you out of these and into bed instead.”    “Not so fast, you just agreed that I’m not easy!” Steve laughed and took Eddie’s hands off his ass. “You’re taking me out first. It’s only right.”  Steve smiled and reached up to sweetly pat Eddie on the cheek, then went over to put on the thin gold chain Eddie had gotten him. He finished the look with a polo and Nike’s. “Don’t pout, Eddie bear.” Steve caught Eddie’s lower lip jutting out. That got him to bite it instead. “I won’t make you wait long. We’ll just get a drink or two. You know that makes my pants come off faster.”  Eddie smirked and reached out to link their fingers. “Alright, let’s get out of here, man. Gonna at least wine you before I dine.”  Steve squawked as Eddie honked one of his ass cheeks and dipped out of the room, cackling.  Later, Steve pulled Eddie’s wallet chain, pantsing him publicly. 

[highhhfiveee]

safety net, part two

part one: 💸 | part three: 📹

are we excited???? prepare your hearts cause the feels kinda took over

pairing: pornstar!mike schmidt x blackfem!reader summary: mike and reader are both genuine people and that draws them to each other. wc: 3.5k tags: fluff, lots of internal pining, porn mentions but nothing graphic. should be error free bc i actually proofread this one but if there are any, my sincerest apologies

“you have to be, like, evading taxes or something.”

mike chuckles behind you as he closes the door to his apartment--sorry, penthouse.

you're stood with your jaw unhinged, eyes scanning over the wide, sweeping space of his open concept living room and all of the furniture that decorates it, expensive-looking but cozy in a way that you wish you could replicate in your own place. you stalk over to tall windows that line the farthest wall, creating a corner that allows for you to see the bustling city below; all of the flashing lights, people drunkenly stumbling around street signs, and cars zipping and weaving through traffic.

you'd never seen anything like this, just a girl used to the urban suburbs on the south side of town, and your cheeks flush with embarrassment when you feel mike's presence behind you. you don't turn to him, dropping your shoes and purse to the ground and keeping your eyes trained on a street corner below.

"the view's what sold me on the place. i'm able to watch the sunrise on that side," he points to the windows on the other side of the kitchen, offering a view of the green space nestled in between skyscrapers. "and the sunset on this one."

"must be nice," you reply, backing away from the glass and observing the rest of the space. it was the size of, like, three of your apartments combined, organized and free of mess. "i only have a view of a corner store, and a really really busy bus stop. it's super annoying."

"where do you live?"

you give him the name of the neighborhood you'd known your whole life. you didn't recognize any of the area's flaws when you were a child. it was never a red flag to you that the street off of the one you grew up on had two storefronts of the same fast food chain on either end, or that the closest supermarket was twenty minutes away. you hadn't even batted an eye when some of your school “friends” would tell you about visiting gourmet cupcake restaurants and vintage consignments stores. you just went along with it, saying, "that's so cool. the fanciest place by my house is the $7.99 buffet." they all laughed at you.

it wasn't until you were older, freshly graduated from high school and looking to be on your own that you realized the disparity across the region. only people with certain attributes got the nice things, and you'd been conditioned to be grateful to have a daycare in a plaza with a smoke shop and tax preparation office.

"it's just too expensive for me to move anywhere else. i can barely make rent now, with the way they keep raising it every year. kept the tag on this dress just so i could take it back." you look down at yourself and mike can see the longing in your eye, the twinkle in them that wishes you could hang it up in your closet tomorrow.

after tonight, you kind of wish you hadn't bought it at all. you thought that simon would’ve found it insatiable, wining and dining you before taking you back to his place for a night cap, but all you think about now is the embarrassment of walking back into the luxury department store, handing them your receipt for the item you wore once and couldn’t keep.

it fills you with distaste and you find yourself desperate to peel the item off your skin. “is it okay if i shower?”

mike nods furiously, apologizing for not offering. he’d just been staring at you while you talked, admiring you. he was used to people with perfect appearances around him, done up by professionals that costed $200 an hour, but you were different, uncaring about your unruly curls and smeared eyeliner. you were unbothered and carefree, and that fascinated him.

he leads you down a long hall, coming to a stop once it forks into three different directions: left, right, and slightly diagonal right. the walls are lined with paintings and photos of mike and people that share his features, and at the end of the diagonal path is a giant trophy case, filled to the brim with plaques and trophies of various sizes, shapes, and finishes.

“jesus,” you murmur, abandoning your escort. mike’s walked ahead of you, but he makes his way back when he notices you’re not behind him.

“everything okay?”

you point to his trophy case, letting out an incredulous laugh. “are all of those for you?”

mike nods, and you laugh again, shaking your head in disbelief. “okay, so you’re obviously some sports star because no way someone living like this wouldn’t be.”

mike goes rigid next to you. he never knew how to bring up his career to new people he met, sometimes ping-ponging between “i work for a world-renown production company” and “i’m an entrepreneur”. he had no problem lying to other people, his guard all the way up from years of rejection and disgust at the mention of “sex worker” and “pornstar”, but something felt wrong about lying to you. he swallows hard, racking his mind for a semi truth.

“not sports, but definitely still physical.” you scrunch your nose at this, blinking at him in confusion, but you stop when he grabs your hand and nudges his head in the direction of the bathroom. “didn’t you want to shower?”

you nod, allowing him to pull you down the hall but not without a second glance at the case. what other physical career presented you with that many awards?

the bathroom is a star in it's own right, modern in a way that you fawn over when you're watching hgtv. the gigantic, complicated looking shower invites you from the corner, nestled in between the gadget-rigged toilet and garden bathtub.

all of the decor in here was clean, pale blue, a nice offset to all of the white tile and gold-accented appliances.

you're half-listening, your conscience replaced with static as mike explains where everything is. "so...towels are over here..."

his shower had a rainforest head and a small, handheld one clipped into a holder, with a screen embedded into the wall. there was a bench and railing to hold onto, a speaker on the back tile....your eyes cut to the toilet, and the smaller one next to it. a bidet??????

"...and, the bidet remote's right next to the soap. i'll lay some clothes out for you on the hall table, but let me know if you need anything, okay?" you react a little too late, raising your hand and squeaking, "wait" right as mike's backed out of the room.

"fuck."

you try to look around for things, eventually finding the towels in a closet concealed as a part of the wall and, as a bonus, a knob to turn on the heated floor?????

you strip down, completely bare under the dress, and fold it up, retail employee coded, delicately placing it by the sink with the tag on top. it was exactly how you'd return it, with a shitty excuse and plastic smile. you do the same with mike's jacket.

you throw your hair up before wrapping yourself in the towel, delicately cloaked in what had to be egyptian cotton, and pace on over to the shower. you tap the daunting screen, and it lights up with a flourish, displaying the date, time, weather, and a host of different icons.

you don't know why it's so hard for you to turn the shower on, scrolling and bumbling through a collection of options that weren't simply turn on. why did you need to use a screen anyway? why reinvent the simple wheel that was a faucet lever?

you decide you need mike's help after a bit, though self-conscious about having to ask after he probably told you earlier. you splash cool water on your face before leaving the room, attempting to wring the anxiety out of your body.

you're at the fork in the hallway again, the view of you obscured from the living room by a wall, and you turn your attention to mike's trophy case again. you're too far to see any of the engravings on anything and you're so curious to find out what they say.

you feel your muscles attempt to pull you down the lonely hall, but you halt, reminding yourself that mike was a kind person who'd invited you into his home, and you were supposed to be showering, not snooping. still, even with the moment of morality, untrustworthy interest prodded at your brain.

mike's exiting his room with a handful of clothes for you when he catches you, arms wound around yourself to keep your towel up. you haven't seen him yet, your gaze fixed on something down the hall. he gulps softly, unaware that he would see you like this so early in your connection. your long neck cranes forward to see better, and he prematurely wonders if you're sensitive there, mind swirling with musings of bites and marks.

"something wrong?" you jolt, blinking and stammering and damn near jestering as you attempt to defend yourself. mike doesn't look at you with malice or cynicism, simply stepping closer as your eyes flitter around. "i, uh...i need help with the shower. i don't know how to turn it on."

mike huffs, squinting his eyes at you jovially. "that the only thing?" fuck.

you drop your shoulders with a deep sigh, throwing a pointed finger down the hall. "i also wanna know why you have all those awards." there's a small, almost undetectable change in mike's face, his eye twitching. you watch him shrug it off, placing a hand on your shoulder to lead you back to the bathroom. "i'll explain after you shower."

you're puzzled as to why he's so cagey about it, but you don't question it, accepting his statement and finally listening to him as he explains what to do

you're alone again after he sets the clothes down and leaves. he took your dress, easing you with "just going to hang it up. no worries" and a sheepish smile, and you're eager, ready to hear about what he does and how he's able to afford all this, including this shower that provides you with the best shower you think you've ever taken.

you're able to get the water to the perfect temp, scalding, with the perfect amount of pressure to sting your skin and make you feel clean. you wash away all of your worries; thoughts of keeping a roof over your head, being okay, and finding a genuine connection extinguished with the hum of soft jazz and lather of ylang ylang scented soap.

you lotion yourself with one of the various creams on mike's counter, soothed by the powder smell, and slip into the clothes you're provided--a pair of soft, heart-covered boxers and a university t-shirt, faded into burgundy from countless washes.

mike's sitting on the couch, scrolling aimlessly on his phone when the the demure pitter patter of your feet sounds against the floors, and he swears he almost dies when he sees you.

maybe it hadn't been totally random when he chose the clothes for you, deciding to give you two of his favorite items so he could see how they looked on you. the shirt, very lived in and from his alma mater, skirted your thighs and covered up his boxers, draping over your lithe body in a way that made his mouth go dry.

"okay," you call, dropping beside him on the couch. the wispy hairs around your hairline frame your clean face, guiding his attention to the smattering of dark moles around your eyes and temples. "tell me. what are all of those awards for?"

"do you want some water or something?" he interrupts, and while you accept, you furrow your eyebrows at him. he gets up with the swiftness of a nascar pit crew, and you hold your gaze on him, pivoting your body as he moves.

"mike, c'mon, what gives? you can trust me."

his back is towards you, filling a glass with water from the filtered water faucet. he hunches at your baffled tone, your voice all soft and downcast.

he wants to scream because it's so easy to just come out and tell you what he does. you didn't say anything at the restaurant, but maybe you'd put two and two together when he finally told you truth, remembering a thumbnail from the porn site of your choosing. he wasn't ashamed---nowhere near that. he'd been in the industry almost a decade, moving past the internalized and societally-imposed scrutiny he felt for his career. it was other people that were ashamed, other people that turned their nose up at him because of what they assumed he was; sleazy, devious, a player. he'd had so many connections blow over because of it, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to handle that happening with you.

you just stare at his back, watching it rise and fall with every laboured breath he takes. what was so bad about what he did that he couldn’t just tell you? he was obviously good at whatever it was, and you wondered if it was a front for something. maybe he disarmed you with his nice guy act, and he lured you here to kill you an—-

the clink of glass on glass brings you back to reality. mike is beside you again, staring blankly ahead while he wrings his hands.

“i’m a pornstar,” he utters plainly. he squeezes his eyes shut, expecting you to make a noise of disgust or get up and leave, but you don’t.

he opens one eye, and then both. you’re staring at him with no concrete expression, lips pursed. he closes his eyes again, counting in his head before opening them once more.

you’re still there, and it almost makes him cry.

“that checks out,” you muse. you’re fairly non reactive, but not because his admission freaks you out. you’re thinking back to the awards, the sheer amount of them in that case, and how good he really must be at what he does. “why didn’t you want to tell me?”

he runs a hand through his hair, melting into his couch with boyish reserve. his eyes are a mixed bag, bouncing between relief and despair. “people run every time i tell them. lots of them act like i just told them i killed their childhood pet and it's just so...disheartening, y'know?

"i just don't get it because it's just like any other job. you work, fucking hard, because you want to perform at your best, just like anyone else. the stigma around it never goes away, no matter how hard you try to convince people. they think you get around outside of it, having sex every second of every day, or that you're gonna mess around with your coworkers and give them something. it's like the trust level is in hell before you're even able to prove yourself." you scoot closer to mike without a word and place your hands over his. his rings are cold against your palm.

it's a gentle gesture. the airy smile you give pacifies him and he swears he's never felt anything like what he feels now.

"i'm not here to judge you, mike. i never will. sex work is a completely valid career, just like anything else. i'm sorry about all those shitty people who made assumptions about you."

"no need to apologize," he whispers, adjusting his hands so that they cradle yours now. you tilt your head down bashfully, lashes fluttering. "all those times led me here."

you two chat for a long while. mike tells you all about the production company he works for, how he got into the business, what his work schedule's like, the community of other stars that he works with, his stage name. you can tell he's passionate about it, lost in his rambles and talking with his hands. certain words segue your convo into other topics, like books and food and pop culture. you two have a lot more than coffee in common.

"i was surprised you didn't recognize me, honestly. not in a douchey way, but just because everyone does. it's usually the first thing they come up to me with." you could only imagine, being approached with "i've come to all of your work" in the condiment aisle at the grocery store.

"i don't watch professional porn really. too staged for me."

"i get that. i think you'd like our content. we really found a good balance between professional quality and ethical, genuine, safe fun."

you try to stay nonchalant, not wanting to betray the fact that you're itching to watch something of his work. "that's really nice. i bet you have quite the catalog."

"almost ten years worth so, yeah, i'd say," he chuckles, bringing his bottom lip between his teeth. "enough about me though. what do you do for work?"

"nothing as exciting and well-paying as porn. i type letters and numbers into a computer in a cubicle. it barely pays the bills, but i've worked in too many customer service jobs to ever go back." mike agrees. you're about to say something else when you're interrupted by a yawn, unhinging your jaw like an animal. you quickly cover your mouth, muttering, "jeez. sorry." you didn't realize it, but you were tired, exhausted from the night you had.

"it's okay, it is pretty late." he checks the time on his phone and turns it to you. 2:23 am. had you two really been talking on this couch for 3 hours? "i can show you to the guest room if you're tired. i have a shoot tomorrow anyway so i should get to bed too."

"sure," you whisper, grabbing his hand when he extends it to you. he pulls you to your feet like you weigh nothing at all, and you tail behind him like a lovesick puppy.

you're feeling that tingly ball of warmth in your stomach, the one you've felt with every person you thought you'd marry. you usually indulge in it, but with mike, it scares you. why do you feel like this after one night with a man you barely even know?

it's rash and inappropriate, you decide, and you're still convincing yourself as you slide under the black satin sheets and duvet on mike's king sized guest bed. you recline on the satin-covered pillows, sinking into the memory foam. it's a nice departure from your noisy childhood mattress back at home.

"do you have work tomorrow?" you shake your head, and mike claps his hands together with a cheer.

"yay. i'll be leaving around 8 or so, but feel free to sleep in and hang around as long as you want. the remote for the blinds is right there, i'll put a toothbrush out for you, and there's all kinds of food in the kitchen. help yourself. just let me know when you're leaving so i can lock the door."

your eyes squint. "you're gonna lock the door after i leave?"

mike nods, smiling excitedly and geekily diving into his rationale. "mhm, i have a smart lock. i can do it from my phone."

you're so tired that the words just foolishly tumble out of your mouth. "you must have great dick."

mike lets out a laugh that's a blend of flattered, nervous, and amused and you're both red-cheeked and flustered. "i am so fucking sorry, i, uh..y--" you stammer over all of your words, finally able to wrench out, "a smart lock just sounds expensive."

mike stares you down with fascination, backing towards the door. "watch the videos and find out for yourself, yeah?" he winks at you, and you gulp so loudly you're sure he hears. "goodnight, y/n. sleep well.”

"you too,” you croak.

you're out like a light once he leaves, but not before telling yourself to put up a new sticky note at home: “watch mike's porn."

you awake what feels like days later, refreshed and made anew. you click on the remote for the curtains, and they rise slowly, flooding the room with rich early afternoon sun. the clock on the nightstand reads 12:38 pm.

you hop to your feet and make your way to the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face before stalking to the living room. it's filled with light, and you think about how you'd probably never be depressed living in a place like this.

a box, red and moderately sized, sits upon the kitchen counter. you think you should ignore it, but as you get closer, you see a paper with your name scrawled across it. you like your name in mike's voice and handwriting.

you pull up the lid and inside is your dress from last night with the tag missing, two fat wads of hundred dollar bills, and another note that reads, “you deserve to feel beautiful and pay your rent <3 call this number when you're ready to go home. -m”.

in this moment, you're 100% positive that you're falling in love.

wow wow wow wow. they are so fucking CUTE! i love themmmmmmm <3 hopefully this tides y'all over for a bit because i need to outline the rest of their story, and i wanna work on some other stories for a little bit 💜 more parts are definitely coming, have no fear! i'd also like to say that while i use y/n in my stories, reader is typically a character that i'm inventing. using your own name and likeness while you read is totally fine, of course! i just use y/n as a placeholder name for my reader character bc i don't feel like coming up with character names all the time <3 sorry if that doesn't make sense 💔 i hope you all enjoyed! happy reading my seedlings 🌱💜

faire's seedlings ✿

@leahdhopkins4321-@pyr0-kai-@angstywhore-@sunazroo-@nyxthoughtsss-@mirophobic-@fayethor-@marixsimps-@regretfulme-@ithinkitszeph-@707xn-@cattt777-@violetta-ximena-@amnesia33-@topnerd03-@fastnights-@laprvphette-@savage-aespa-@mfdxz

[tau1tvec]

GALLO FAMILY HIDEAWAY // Pinewood Island Airbnb

Happy holidays, although wouldn't it be a lot happier for your sim if they had a nice, quiet place to spend some time with loved ones, to truly appreciate it? Well they're in luck! My sim is renting out his holiday home on scenic Pinewood Island, and it might just be the cozy location your sim is looking for! This three story alpine lodge boasts two spacious bedrooms, a chef style kitchen, a study/workout room fully outfitted for your sim's inner online creative, dining room with a stylish fireplace, a wine cellar, sauna, and a garden with a few friendly hens to keep your sim company. Your sim will also have access to their own private dock, complete with plenty of boat options to fully admire the water surrounding the island.

DETAILS

Library File. Two lots included, the house and the dock. Once you've placed the files into your Library Folder, you can access them in Edit World, use them to replace the ones already there.

Fully Furnished! CC is included in the zip, install it as you would any other package files, unless you already have them. Mind you it's quite hefty though, roughly 500 files, so I can't promise I didn't miss anything, but I checked several times.

Pinewood Island is strongly recommended. You can try it in another world, but I can't promise it'll look good.

Playtested. Weirdly it isn't very cramped, despite being heavily decorated, so everything seemed to be working well on my end.

I have all Packs and Store Sets installed, my Store Sets are "decrapped".

Should you run into any issues feel free to inbox me.

CREDITS

Major thanks to all the cc creators that helped make this happen, and the biggest thanks to @nilxis for creating Pinewood Island, and its original lots!

DOWNLOAD | MF

[flowery-laser-blasts]

DINE 'N CRIME: DUMPLING

This recipe is part of the menu of 'Chez Molerat vs Dine 'n Crime'.

HOW TO MAKE THE FILLING. Ingredients: - Fatty pork meat/porkbelly slices (preferably ground meat) - 2 hands full of big shrimp (deshelled and cleaned out). - Two gloves of finely chopped garlic - A piece of ginger (size of your pinky finger), also finely chopped - 2 Spring onions - 1 can of bamboo shoots (use only half of it) - 2 quick shakes of ground white pepper (or to your preferred taste) - 2 tbsp of water - 2 tsp of Soy sauce - 2 tsp of Shaoxing cooking wine - 1 tsp of Sesame oil - Samyang Buldak sauce to your liking (HOT!) Optional ingredients: - Finely chopped carrot - Finely chopped cabbage - Finely chopped shiitake mushrooms

Instructions: - If you have ground pork, great! If you don't; chop the pieces of fatty pork meat as big as your pinky fingers. After that, carefully start hammering down on it with two knives; ground it ye olde way! It's a bit time consuming but you'll feel like a professional chef when you start double wielding kitchen knives. Keep in mind that this causes a lot of noise though and PLEASE BE CAREFUL BECAUSE KNIVES ARE SHARP! Once you are done, put the ground pork into a bowl. - Wash and deshell the shrimps in cold water. Take out the guts, wash the shimps once more and finally chop the shrimps into 4 to 5 pieces. Add the shrimps to the pork. - Clean and finely chop 2 spring onions (depending on the size it can also be 1 or 3). Chop the bamboo shoots and lastly mince the ginger and garlic into tiny pieces (you can also grate the ginger and use a garlic press for the garlic). Add these ingredients to the pork shrimp mixture. - Add the water, ground pepper, soy sauce, Shaoxing cooking wine, sesame oil and Buldak sauce to the mixture. Stir well until everything is evenly divided. Once combined, cover the bowl and set the filling aside in the refrigerator. NOTE: If you do not have the Buldak sauce, that's no problem! You can easily replace this with a bit of Madam Jeanette or any other hot pepper to your liking. It's up to your spice level. Keep in mind that this recipe is made to my preferences and not everyone likes hot foods. So if you want to eat good dumplings without the spice; leave out the Buldak sauce (or use it seperately for dipping).

HOW TO MAKE THE DUMPLING SKIN (RECOMMENDED FOR MORE ADVANCED COOKS). Ingredients: - Water 120mL/4.2oz - 200g/0.85 cup of All purpose flour - A pinch of salt - 80g/half a cup of Spinach (preferably fresh baby spinach) for the green dough - Liquid Squid ink for the black dough

Instructions: - Add the flour and salt to the mixing bowl. - Boil the water, turn off the stove and add the baby spinach to soften it. Make sure to NOT overcook spinach as it contains 'prussic Acid' which means that your body can turn this stuff into Cyanide.Not enough to actually kill you, of course... I hope. I'm a Doctor, but not a health doctor or dietician, so don't take it as hard facts from me! Technically speaking, you're also not a 'doctor', you know... Since you're a drop out. ZIP IT, SHEGO! - Add the softened spinach and the water to a mixer and blend it until smooth. - Sieve the blended spinach juice until all the pulp is seperated from the warm green water (yummy). Make sure that the water is around 45°c/113°f - Carefully add the warm water to the flour as you mix it - Make a ball of dough and if it's too wet, add a little bit more flour but not too much! Keep on kneading and once the ball of dough is springy to touch (push it in with your finger and it should go back up) it's ready! - Divide the dough in two equal pieces. Wrap up one of them and to the other we will add a few drops of squid ink. Knead the ball (yes it will be a bit sticky again) until it changes color. We're aiming for a dark grey color, not to worry; this will turn black during the steaming process. HOW TO FOLD THE DUMPLINGS: For the life of me I cannot explain to you how to fold dumplings so here; have this amazing tutorial by China Sichuan Food. My auntie taught me how to fold crescent moon dumplings but well, I'm still not the best at it when it comes to folding home made dumpling skin. That's the reason why I adviced at the start that making this is for more advanced cooks. If you have never folded dumplings before, I recommend you start with store bought frozen gyoza skins. They are WAY easier to make dumplings with but sadly, I haven't found any black and green frozen gyoza skins in stores.

Once you're finished making all your dumplings, you can go right ahead and steam them for 7~8 minutes OR you can store them in the freezer (make sure to first seperately freeze them for up to 1 hour (or until slightly hardened) and then you can put all of them together in a bag, this way they won't stick together) If you want to heat them up after freezing; steam them for 15 minutes.

HOW TO MAKE THE DIPPING SAUCE. Ingredients: - 1 tbsp Chinese black vinegar - 1 to 2 tbsp Soy sauce - 1 tsp Sesame oil Mix these condiments together in a little bowl, for topping you can add: - Sesame seeds - Sliced chilli - Finely sliced ginger

Enjoy these dumplings while hot! Carefully bite the tip to create a little air hole so you won't burn your mouth because these dumplings are juicy!

[piratefishmama]

For one night only | part 1

“Huh?” Oh, how eloquent of him, truly, what a wordsmith. Steve only smiled wider, not a fake one either, it reached his eyes in a way that made them sparkle and Eddie couldn’t believe he’d just thought about a guys eyes sparkling when he smiled good lord how gay was he?!

“I’m Steve, I know you’re a metal guy, right? All that loud music do your hearing in, sweetheart?” Steve didn’t need to do homework on his clients, the company did that for him, but he did get access to the guys profile when he accepted the invite, the profile containing bits of information such as occupation, height, weight, age, etcetera.

He’d not even thought twice when the invite pinged into his inbox shortly after he’d switched his availability to SFW only, not for any particular reason. He just wasn’t feeling the need for sex. Wanted to be wined and dined, maybe flaunted, and pampered, an awards event with a gods honest rock star who might be accepting an award that night? Sounded perfect to him.

“S-sweet… Sweetheart?” He would later deny how high his voice got as he parroted that word, Christ, get it together, Munson! “Music… uh… loud, yep, yep loud music, that’d be it. Uhm… you uh… Steve, Steve Harrington. Right.” Hey, um, brain? How about you start working. Sound good? Steve didn’t remember him, he didn’t remember him, what a crushing blow, but… could he really claim to have expected anything less?

His high school crush not remembering his name, or who he was, or what he even looked like. Yeah, it was a little crushing, but Steve had always run in different circles. He’d never been cruel to him or the D&D gang, but he ran in the circles that had been cruel. Circles containing people now working in office 9-5’s or... as devastatingly handsome escorts, holy fuck.

A smile like that didn’t deserve to be judged by association, though. They weren’t in high school anymore. They weren’t in high school, and he was a rockstar. He did not have any reason to go all wibbly-kneed over the hottest man he had still ever seen. How was Steve still the hottest man he’d ever seen? He was a goddamn rockstar, he hung around celebrities every other week and here he was mooning over his high school crush again, when said high school crush didn’t even know who he was, again.

“Steve Harrington, that’s me. Are you going to let me in or are we going to go through everything in the hallway, I’m not fussed either way, but discretion is usually preferred in these circumstances.” Eddie had had his kinks listed in his profile, of course, but considering the SFW nature of the evening, he didn’t think he needed to worry about that blatant ‘Expeditionist’ kink among the others that he’d definitely looked once or twice at in interest. The security guards seemed to be fighting back smiles, professionalism an all that jazz.

“Y-yeah, yep, c’mon in Steve Harrington, into my hotel room, yep.” Jesus H Christ. He hung his head in shame as Steve let out the most charming of laughs and walked in when invited, the subtle breeze as he passed by carrying the scents of jasmine, bergamot, a note of amber undergrowth, and... God he didn’t even know but it smelled pricy and delightful. He shut the door to block out the subtle snort from the security guard on the left as he struggled to hold back his laugh, shoulders trembling as he fought to hold it back.

Shut up, Darrell.

“You seem kind of stuck on my name, should I be concerned?” Steve turned around, the backdrop of his window overlooking the city behind him, fuck, how was he still so handsome? What the shit was in the Harrington's DNA to create such a masterpiece?

“Uhm...” To tell him, or not to tell him, the band would probably blow it unless he could get to them and tell them to zip it, but... keeping it from him felt dishonest. Starting anything, even a loose acquaintanceship with an escort shouldn’t start with dishonesty, but... did he really not remember him at all?! “You... don’t remember me, do you?”

Steve tilted his head a little to the left, brows furrowing a little in thought “I’ve never accepted an invite from you before, have I?” Ouch. Alright then. A particularly vindictive little gremlin on his shoulder declared he should keep the connection a secret, see where dishonesty took them, but his little angel was thankfully much louder.

“N-no, no, uhm... we ah—we went to school together, Steve.” It was out there, in the space between them, Steve seemed surprised but didn’t answer, clearly trying to remember. “Super senior? Stood on tables and yelled at people in the cafeteria for conforming to the man? D&D club president...? Any of this ringing any bells?” Steve’s gaze dropped to the carpet, eyes searching, brows furrowed further. “It’s OK, man, it was a long—”

“No no, I... shit, I got knocked around a little in high school. The old man had me in boxing to make me a man, I guess. I wasn’t very good at it, so I uh... my memory isn’t what it should be, concussions an stuff, but... did we talk?” Oh, understanding dawned on him.

Steve used to just appear in the halls, looking like he’d gone toe to toe against a goddamn brick wall at random. Perfection painted in purples, blues, reds, and yellows but never not perfect.

“No... no we didn’t, it's OK...” and it was, it wasn’t Steve’s fault that his old man had been a douchebag. “Best place to start is fresh I guess!” He could be totally normal about this. He held out his hand “Eddie Munson.” Steve’s smile returned, radiant and kind as he reached over and took it. His hand larger, warmer, his grip strong and his fingers impossibly soft.

“Steve Harrington, nice to officially meet you, Eddie.”

Part 3

[rosewaterandivy]

Part 4. all fired up

Summary: Rumor has it, that hometown hero-turned-teacher Steve Harrington is hot for teacher. The English teacher next door to him at Hawkins High, who also happens to be his childhood friend, that is.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x chaotic!dumbass reader

Warnings: No use of y/n - reader goes by Trouble instead, depictions of drinking & drinking games, cursing, Eddie being shockingly graceful, and laundry room confessions

A/N: Modern!Teacher AU, English teacher reader, History teacher Steve, slow burn, friends to lovers, romance. Here’s 3.8K of multi-perspective tension, sexual and otherwise, and timeline fuckery; feedback and reblogs are appreciated, enjoy!

series masterlist | playlist

previous || next

Now - Spring break, March

Steve asking you to move into the loft was the last thing you’d expected. Not that the house hunt had been going so hot, to be fair. And you found yourself back on the couch of 4B more often than not. 

He’d broached the topic with you a few weeks ago before school started. Seated at your desk and hastily applying your makeup using the mirror from a compact. Steve hung out with you most mornings before first period, shooting the shit and gossiping about students. Eddie and Robin would join you when they could, but usually it was just the two of you.

“Are we aligned for quarter 3?” You ask, attempting to curl your eyelashes without pinching yourself. “I’m doing Night just as you roll into WWII with AP World, yeah?”

Steve nods, “Right, we have the field trip to the Holocaust Memorial Museum before spring break, so that tracks.”

“Good,” you swipe mascara through your lashes. “We should send out the permission slips this week then. I’ll send out an email to parents if they wanna volunteer as chaperones.”

He goes quiet, as if he’s lost in thought while you begin the same meticulous process with your other eye. 

“Y’know Nance is moving out soon,” he says casually, his loafer toeing the tile on the floor. “Her and Jonathan finally found a place; she’s thinking she’ll be out in time for spring break.”

“Ugh, finally,” you comment, setting the lash curler down. “Thought the day would never come.”

He laughs at your flippant response, watching as you continue your routine. And just as you were going to consider your makeup application for the day ‘mission accomplished,’ Steve says, “The room’s yours, if you want it.”

Shocked, you nearly stab yourself in the eye with the mascara wand, tears beading at your lash line, “Fuck!” 

Dropping the wand and compact, you screw your eye shut in pain thus ruining your mascara. May as well accept you’d walk around looking like a raccoon again. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so ridiculous.

“Are you okay?”

“Considering that I nearly put my own eye out? Yeah, I’m just peachy.”

He cringes watching as you blink, “Sorry, that was probably my bad.”

“How,” you laugh, pain dissipating slightly, “I don’t recall asking you to do my makeup today.”

“No,” he huffs, “I mean with the whole asking you to move in thing. Shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that.”

Surveying the damage in the mirror, you admit defeat and grab for the makeup removing towelettes. “Mmhm, really missed an opportunity to wine and dine me there, big guy.”

The joke lands like a lead balloon. Ba dum tss!

You scrub the towelette across your face, paying special attention to your overly mascara’d eye, and pop open your moisturizer. “It’s not a big deal Steve, and you’re not wrong to bring it up.”

“Yeah, how you figure?”

Your shrug dotting on your moisturizer, “Solves two problems, doesn’t it? You need a roommate and I need a place to live.” 

He stays quiet as you finish your ablutions, omitting the fact that they don’t necessarily need another roommate to make rent since his trust fund kicked in. But then again, Eddie and Robin don’t know that either.

“I guess,” he says, checking his watch. “Well, no pressure, either way. But I gotta bounce, I have hall duty.”

“Sure,” your voice is a clip as you zip the makeup bag shut, “See ya later.”

He gives you a small smile and wave as he leaves. The door closes behind him; the silence left in his absence deafening.

“It’s too soon, Nance,” Robin says, voice a crackle in the slow, calm of the morning. 

Nancy considers her words, taking a sip of coffee from her travel mug. And true, Robin knows Steve well and is understandably protective over him. But Nancy knows you and Steve, and that you’re both chickenshit.

“Maybe so,” she breathes, eyes glancing out the window and settling on Steve helping you to unload a few boxes from your car. A half-hearted shrug, “But then again, maybe not.”

She had made quick work of moving out, room packed in an orderly fashion and boxes labeled appropriately. The moving company arrived promptly and Nancy had successfully moved out of the loft before you had arrived that morning.

Jonathan and Argyle would meet the movers at the house, and she’d head out then. For now, she observed the debacle unfolding on the street outside of the loft. You had packed your car in typical fashion, which was …chaotic, to say the least. When you and Steve couldn’t free a box wedged against the window of the backseat, you hollered from the street for Eddie until he woke up.

Understandably pissed, he trudged out of the loft in his sweatpants and a crop top that had to have been Robin’s at one point (a goldenrod yellow shirt with red text reading ‘Lasagna Del Rey’), muttering something about you being a dumbass. And now, Steve and Eddie eyed the boxes warily, debating how best to wrest them from the backseat and trunk.

“Sup, bitches?” You greet, having successfully snuck away from the boys downstairs, and drop your purse and a box by the door. “Ooh, are the girls fighting yet?” 

Joining them at the window, you spy Steve yelling something at Eddie, who has taken it upon himself to open the sunroof of your car, thinking that the best way to unload the ridiculous amount of boxes in the backseat. He’s laid himself partially out on the roof and trunk, shoving an arm in through the opening, like a human claw machine.

“For fuck’s sake,” Nancy says with a shake of her head, “They don’t have a brain cell to rub together between to two of them.”

Robin snorts, phone out and already recording for posterity’s sake. “You can say that again.”

The boys, only somewhat successful in unpacking the car, badger the group of you in the loft until you’re annoyed enough to come downstairs and help. By the time the movers had arrived and placed the furniture in your new bedroom, your car had been unpacked, boxes organized by Nancy in the kitchen for the time being.

“The end of an era,” you say, hugging her goodbye. “Can’t believe the great Nancy Wheeler is shipping out to war.”

Robin and Eddie laugh from the living room, where they’re currently preoccupied laying out beers some semblance of a shape, a bottle of whiskey at the center of the coffee table.

She hits your shoulder playfully, “It won’t be that bad,” she tells you, “S’not like I’m dying over here.”

“Sorry, what was that?” You turn to Steve, stubbornly ignoring her presence, “I swear, it’s like she’s in the room with us.”

“Spooky,” Robin agrees, with a waggle of her brows, “I can’t remember the last time I saw Nancy Wheeler.”

She scoffs behind you, “Okay punks, I can take a hint,” and places her key on the counter. 

Steve pulls her into a bearhug and says, “Oh, y’think you’re getting out of here without a rematch?”

Nancy pushes back, eyeing him warily. “You wanna go toe to toe with the reigning champ?” 

“Hey, hey, hey,” you cut in, strolling casually to the living room and catching the beer Eddie tosses your way. “We’re all adults here.” Your voice is eerily calm and reserved, “We can do this with dignity, self-restraint, and, dare I say, honor.”

Robin grins, “The name of the game is True American,” tosses two beers Steve’s way.

Eddie counts it down, “One, two, three, four. JFK!”

“FDR!” is chorused in return. 

Beers are cracked open and shotgunned with abandon.

“Steve, you’re in the lava!” you shout from your perch on the dining table, “Get outta there man.”

He stops drinking his beer and looks at you, puzzled, “I thought this was Nancy Reagan’s gun closet.”

“George Washington, Abe Lincoln,” Eddie croons, as you reach out to haul Steve on the table with you.

“Cherry tree!”

Robin whistles, swaying precariously on the windowsill, “All right Americans, ya ready? Let’s do the count.”

“One, two, three.”

You slap the back of your hand to your forehead, one finger raised and inspect everyone else’s numbers; Nance and Robin both had threes, while Eddie came at a close second with a two, Steve was dead last with a four. 

Squinting, you smile and call out, “That’s me!” Moving unilaterally from the tabletop and stepping across a chair and stool to take your new position.

Steadying yourself on the countertop, you signal for their attention. “The only thing we have to fear–”

“Is fear itself!” they call back in response, “Drink!”

_

An hour or so later finds you several beers in and slung across Eddie’s back in a piggyback ride as he steps precariously across blankets and pillows.

“Jimmy Carter atop Grover Cleveland,” you say softly as he takes his turn, well both your turns since it’s turned into a team game now.  

He stops and looks from left to right, “What now?”

Untangling an arm from where you’d wrapped it around his shoulders, you point to the right. “Over here.”

“Huh,” he grunts swaying slightly, “M’over here,” and moves another space to the right.

“I gotta get to the castle!” Nancy yells, hopping toward the coffee table with the help of an overturned barstool.

“Go, Nance, go!” you cheer her on, safely deposited on an armchair near the couch.

“JFK!”

“FDR,” you chant, taking another swig of beer, watching as Steve and Robin intertwine arms to pour beer into the other’s mouth. Most of Seve’s spilling out and onto his shirt as Robin laughs.

_

“Y’know,” Steve sighs, running a hand through his hair, “You’re pretty good at this Nance.”

She smiles, toasts him with her beer can, and takes a bow.

He thumbs his lip, eyes glinting dangerously. 

“But not good enough.”

Slowly, you meandered from the armchair to the coffee table while Steve was distracted and grab the handle of whisky; check mate. You wave to Eddie from where he’s stood next to Steve. 

“D-does this–” he blinks at you, dazed.

Steve turns quickly from Eddie to you and back again. “What–No!”

“Is it–” Eddie continues, treading carefully across the floor to the coffee table. “This means we win?!”

“Yes,” you crow loudly, “This means we won! Suck it Steve–who’s the King now!?” 

Eddie picks you up and swings you around in victory chanting, “U.S.A., U.S.A.!” Your bright laughter rings out amidst Steve’s groans of defeat. 

The next morning finds you all piled on your bed, groaning as the spring sun lances through the windows. Your brain is mush, leaking from your ears it feels like. You turn to get out of bed, cursing the sloshing of your stomach. Still reeling from your celebration after winning True American, you flop on the floor with an audible thunk and belly crawl toward the door.

“You okay?” a low rasp, followed by the rustling of sheets.

You grunt as someone scoops you from the floor, dragging you upwards. Body limp as a ragdoll’s you allow yourself to be carried out of the room, hazarding a glance behind to see Robin, Nancy, and Eddie still passed out on the bed.

Mmm, must be Steve then. 

He was always quick to rally after nights spent barhopping in college, kept his liquor better than you ever could. Hands scrabbling for something to hold on to, you settle for the threadbare fabric of his shirt. He shifts you in his grasp, readjusting the grip he has on you and sighs.

“You’re…freakishly…quiet,” he whispers as he deposits you on the couch, leaning forward to get a better look at you, hair falling in his face. 

Batting your hand at him blearily, you burrow down into the couch hugging a pillow for good measure. Steve leaves you, starting the coffeemaker in the kitchen and mumbling about the moving boxes cluttering the counters.

“Everything is shit.” You whine, “Fucking True American… Fucking whiskey. My bones hurt. I feel like I’m dying. My sweat is sweating. Did I even fall asleep in my own bedroom?”

Steve snorts because at least he wasn’t that sloppy. He doesn’t remember a lot from last night, but something like clarity returns to him, a chorus of cheers and something being tossed. “Was that before or after you took off your panties?”

You whimper and bury your forehead into the pillow beneath you, cheeks coloring in embarrassment. “You remember that? S’last time I rock a lace thong, felt like my ass was eating it.”

He shuts his eyes at the image, tries not comment on anything involving your ass. Instead he asks, “So how do we want the coffee this morning? Regular strength or trying to vibrate yourself out of existence?”

“Jus’ wanna feel normal again. Remember? Bones hurt.”

Steve hums in the affirmative, pouring the coffee into two mugs and adding a splash of creamer to one. He pads over to you, sets both mugs on the table and lets you choose. Opting for the black coffee, you take a bitter sip hoping to feel something other than remorse.

“Mmm, s’gonna be that kinda day I see.”

“All due respect, which is none,” you grouse, “You can fuck all the way off, Steve.”

He sputters the next mouthful at your response, and it catches in his nose, makes him choke and cough all over the coffee table. You suddenly follow suit, except it’s on your own spit and the two of you look like complete morons to Eddie, who is sauntering in, completely fine.

“Told you to lay off the whiskey last night, Trouble,” he says reproachingly. He pauses by the hallway entrance before walking out into the living room, stepping on the back of the armchair with the grace of a prima ballerina. You and Steve gape at how he balances on the back of it, reaching up toward the ceiling.

With a thump he lands back down, arm pulling back before a tiny purple thong quietly smacks Steve in the face.

“What the fuck!?” You shove Steve off of the couch in a poor effort to retrieve your unmentionables. He grunts and shakes it loose, one hand pushing your face back as the other grips your thong. He opens his mouth to cuss out Eddie but the look on his face shuts you both up.

Eddie looks like a dog with a bone. The cat who caught the canary. Smug and casual as he leans against the counter, arms crossed as he looks from your pink face to Steve’s, to the triangle of fabric in your hand. Eddie waggles his brows, sucks on his teeth, and grins– shit-eatingly proud.

“Thought you’d want those back, Stevie. You’re the one who took ’em off her last night.”

The rest of the day slips by lazily. Jonathan collecting Nancy around noon or so, offended at having missed a rousing game of True American. They say their goodbyes and head off to the new house, leaving the rest of you to clean up from last night and unpack the boxes in the kitchen.

Steve is trying to do laundry. He prefers to do it himself, though Robin always offers to throw it in with her stuff. That’s fine though, he’s got a system, one he’s perfected over years of uninterrupted Sundays doing laundry. 

Anyway, he’s trying to do laundry when you saunter in.

On top of an empty dryer, you swing your legs uselessly. “Harrington,” you instruct seriously, “Don’t put the red sock in with the white stuff.”

“Yeah, no shit,” he retorts sifting through his hamper. Separating out the darks from the lights, whites elsewhere—it’s a system. 

You tilt your head, amused, and stare at him. It’s midafternoon now, the boxes had been unpacked and your own items absorbed into the communal drawers and spaces of the loft. Robin and Eddie busied themselves with their usual activities, whatever those were, and the loft had been quiet save for the a/c kicking on.

“D’ya wanna talk about it?”

Your hesitant to ask, voice soft as you bite your lip. He stops sorting the clothes to look at you, brow furrowed. 

“Talk about what?”

It’s only then that he notices you’re wearing his shirt. He shouldn’t be surprised, not really, you’re like a raccoon, always rifling through his shit and stealing his stuff. As if he wouldn’t notice.

An old white t-shirt from some vintage store or another that read ‘Stanley Cup.’ It swallows you, the white dips and stretches over your chest, and drops as its hem reaches the tops of your thighs. Your bare legs stick out, bottoms obscured by its larger size. You’re distracted by the material and fit, fingers tugging at the collar and adjusting the sleeves.

Something feels weird. Kind of funny like how a jab to the side hurts and tickles at the same time. Shock? Relief? Confusion, at the very least. He catches himself staring.

“Y’know,” you say after a while, hand stroking at your sternum languidly, “Christmas? We should get it out in the open.”

That snaps him out of it.

“Don’t you mean Thanksgiving?” 

He goes back to sorting the clothes, anything to distract himself in the moment.

“What do you mean? Thanksgiving?”

If he had to pinpoint it, the moment this whole thing was set off for him, it was that first night in the cabin over Thanksgiving break. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, could barely keep his hands to himself.

He sighs, brushing away the hair that had fallen into his eyes frustratedly, “Yeah. When the idiots conned us into a one-bed-short situation? You got drunk, and I had to take care of you?”

He just stops himself from saying, like always. Just barley, but he does it. Steve knows this has been difficult for you, doesn’t want to belabor the point.

“Oh,” you say. It’s soft, maybe a little dejected, too. Your legs stop their idle swinging. “Sorry, I didn’t know—”

“S’fine,” he says with a wave of his hand, tosses in a load of dark clothes to the washer. “I mean, we probably should discuss it. Just for like, ground rules or something.”

He eyeballs the amount of laundry detergent and shuts the machine, turning the dial and pressing ‘start.’ As the washer begins its cycle, he leans back against it, arms crossed. 

You take a deep breath in, “I didn’t want you to be that guy,” you admit, voice catching. “I couldn’t— I wouldn’t do that to you, Steve.”

“Then why did you–” he responds after a second, pausing to make eye contact, watches your wavering expression, wincing as you recall the events of last December.

“Jesus, Stevie,” you say gently, “You’re--my best friend.”

The door of the loft bursts open as he begins to reply. He takes you aside in the hallway, further from the laundry and closer to your bedroom. Hears Robin shout something about take-out orders, but dismisses it for the time being.

This isn’t for anyone except you and him. You can’t even articulate it to yourself, much less anyone else, so Steve nudges you into your room and shuts the door. You turn to him and the look in your eyes makes his breath stick to his throat. Jesus.

This is worse than sympathy and he wishes it were that simple. But this is heartbreak— and you’re the type of person who feels heartbreak in unimaginable ways. Steve shakes his head, doesn’t know how to navigate this part.

The first time this happened, he joked for your sake, and you laughed back for his. You both were younger then, inexperienced and wary; fumbling hands and lips after the Homecoming dance. The last time this happened, the glances were more pointed, the touches were measured and precise.

He’s thought about that night more than he’d care to admit.

Your mouth falls open in a hoarse whisper, “Sorry— I’m—”

“Hey, none of that,” he chides taking a step closer. “S’nothing to worry about.”

“But I—” you choke up, “I hurt you, Steve. I hurt you so much.”

He sucks a breath in. It was a lifetime ago. It was nothing. He was young and dumb and interested in Nancy, your best friend, and not the girl next door. And then, when he had realized his mistake, you were in love with somebody else— wearing his ring and planning to take his name.

Idiot.

He wishes he had a similar excuse for Christmas, but god knows he doesn’t. No excuse whatsoever, just raw feeling and need. He shakes the thought loose before it can take hold. Steve’s hands find purchase along your arms, his weight the only thing tethering you to the ground.

“But I’m okay. I’m good now. I got you with me. I’m okay.” All his rambling rushes out through a harried stream-of-consciousness. His thumbs running smooth circles against your skin, “You— You gotta stop cryin’. It’s killin’ me, honey.”

You blink your eyes, not recognizing the tears beading along your lashes. You press your palms into your eyes, take a deep breath in and out. “Okay.”

You keep to yourself for the rest of the day, only coming out for food when the take-out arrives. And even then, you eat quickly and make some excuse about needing to organize your room before leaving the table. 

Robin eyes Steve suspiciously, “You two alright?”

He leaves the table rather than respond and follows you down the hall. Your door is cracked open, laptop playing some sitcom or other on the desk as you fold clothes on your bed. You pause hearing the groan of an old floorboard, “That you Steve?”

“Yeah, s’just me.” 

Not turning from your task, you wave him in over your shoulder and continue pairing socks. He helps you return the clothes to their respective drawers and flops on your bed, exhausted, while you shut your laptop closed.

“Guess you’re staying then.”

“Guess so,” his voice is muffled by your impossibly comfortable duvet. Like clouds or some shit, Steve wonders passingly where you got it from.

Half-heartedly, you shove him to the side and turn down the sheets. You pat the side next to you and fluff up some pillows. He lays down next to you on the bed, propped up against a pillow or two, settling down for the night.

Steve watches as you burrow down in the sheets, mumble something incomprehensibly, body sliding briefly until you’re completely pressed against him. He tugs the blanket up and shifts so he can lie down comfortably, grabs your phone from the center of the bed.

He’s looking at your background wallpaper when you mumble something unintelligible in your sleep again. It’s a picture of him from a Zoom faculty meeting during the pandemic, brows raised at something some dumbass had said, you’d texted him a moment earlier saying ‘this idiot saying the quiet part out loud’ and he had to cover his laugh with a cough; you’d isolated his cell on the call and posed next to his face as it filled the screen of your monitor, a cheeky grin and thumbs up as Eddie snapped the photo.

A short sigh followed by a deeper one. “Yeah, you know.”

“Uh huh,” Steve smirks, entertaining your babbling. “Is that right?”

“Yeah.” A grunt, a huff of breath before you flip on your side, dreaming now. “Yeah. I love you.”

Steve fumbles and drops the phone on the floor, its screen going dark. He stares wordlessly at the deep blue of your ceiling, sleep-drunk words sinking to the bottom of his swollen heart.

[theivorybilledwoodpecker]

Anyone else get pedophile vibes from Rothman?

From Russian Roulette:

And that night, I met Julia Rothman for the second time. She had sent her personal launch to collect me, a beautiful vessel that was all teak and chrome with a silver scorpion molded into the bow. It carried me beneath the famous Bridge of Sighs—I hoped that was not an omen—and on to the Widow’s Palace where we had first met. She was dressed, once again, in black; this time a very low-cut dress with a zip down one side, which I recognized at once as the work of the designer Gianni Versace. We ate in her private dining room, a long table lit by candles and surrounded by paintings—Picasso, Cézanne, van Gogh—all of them worth millions. We began with soup, then lobster, finally a creamy custard mixed with wine that the Italians call zabaglione. The food was delicious, but as I ate I was aware of her examining me, watching every mouthful, and I knew that I was still being tested. “I’m very pleased with you, Yassen,” she said as the coffee was poured. The whole meal had been served by two men in white jackets and black pants, her personal waiters. “Do you think you’re ready?” “Yes, Mrs. Rothman,” I replied. “You can stop calling me that now.” She smiled at me and I was once again struck by her film-star looks. “I prefer Julia.” .... She reached out and, just for a moment, her fingers brushed against the back of my hand. “You know, Yassen,” she said, “you are incredibly good-looking. I thought that the moment I saw you, and your five months on Malagosto have done nothing but improve you.” She sighed and drew her hand away. “Russian boys aren’t quite my thing,” she continued. “Or else who knows what we might get up to? But it will certainly help you in your work. Death should always come smartly dressed.”

From Scorpia:

Julia Rothman had the best table, in the middle of the terrace, with views over Positano and out to sea. She was sitting on her own with a glass of champagne, waiting for him, wearing a low-cut black dress with a simple diamond necklace around her neck. She saw him, smiled, and waved. Alex walked over to her, feeling suddenly self-conscious in the suit. Most of the other diners seemed to be casually dressed. He wished now that he hadn’t put on the tie. “Alex, you look wonderful.” She ran her dark eyes over him. “The suit fits you perfectly. It’s Miu Miu, isn’t it? I love the style. Please. Sit down.” Alex took his place at the table. He wondered what anyone watching might think. A mother and her son out for the evening? He felt like an extra in a film—and he was beginning to wish someone would show him the script. “It’s been a while since I ate dinner with my own boy toy. Will you have some champagne?” .... “All right,” she said when they were gone. “Let’s finish eating and talk about other things. You can tell me about Brookland. I want to know what music you listen to and what sports teams you support. Do you have a girlfriend? I’m sure a boy as handsome as you gets plenty of offers. Now I’ve made you blush.

[ryanclaremont]

on the town.

Being back in the city definitely has some adjustments. There's a vast difference from the serene ocean to the hustle and bustle of the city. Though after one night's sleep Ryan's already back into the motions and typical schedules she's usually on. She gets her life in order, sorting out her place and gets back into the routine of things. Breakfast at the cafe, lunch at the bistro, dinner at her brother's and so on. She does love the city, she would be fooling herself if she didn't.

She's got friends besides her little circle, she knows people who know people. And when she sees there's some afterparty at one of the clubs for some indie recording artist, Ryan thinks that might be something up her alley. It would be nice to have a night out, and she'd invite Luci if Aiden wasn't wining and dining her as if it's their first date every Thursday.

Ryan dresses, calling a car as she zips up the side zipper of her dark plum mini dress and grabs a purse, heels and gets herself downstairs when the car pulls around to the front. She thanks her doorman and slips into the car, heading off to the club. It seems to be a hot commodity as the driver has to wait in a small line up of cars, people waiting outside to get in the club but when Ryan exits the car, she strolls right ahead to the security. No verbal indication needed, the rope opens up and Ryan moves into the club.

[theflashdriver]

A Thesis on the Touch of a Psychic (Silvaze)

Blaze couldn't help but glower at her reflection as her hands failed her for the sixth time this evening. Tonight had snuck up on her like a blissfully forgotten spectre, now resurrected from the recesses of her memory to stir up a panic from within. It was the last night of the year, an evening in which certain expectations were impressed upon the guardian of the Sol Emeralds.

In the great hall beneath the en suite where she now stood, a summit was well on its way to beginning. Despite the music and the dancing she knew to be present, the feline wouldn't dare to call the reception a party. Tonight was a night of formality, dining, speeches, and endless bureaucracy to mark the coming new year. Names would be announced upon arrival, toasts would be raised, and lectures would be given until throats were again in need for more toasts.

Those in attendance were the countless representative diplomats from the surrounding islands, their families, and special guests of interest including heads of shipping firms and other industrial tycoons. Frankly, Blaze knew there was more important work to be done than attending this farce; on the eastern coast a giant squid had been sighted, the cat was already brewing theories that it was some mechanical or otherworldly monstrosity that Eggman Nega had forced into her world. Unfortunately, being royalty carried with it certain expectations- for centuries her family had attended this dinner without fail. For that reason, and no other, she would attend tonight's event as she had those in years prior.

Tonight was an enforced break from reality; a fascinatingly pointless deviation from her true mission of defending her kingdom's isles. These truths, combined with her present predicament, had combined to plunge the princess into a rather foul mood. If tonight went without a yawn attempting to slip beyond her lips she would be more than surprised. The long evening was surely going to leave her dreary eyed, not that she was allowed to show it.

Again, perhaps due to her mental distraction, the feline's grasp did not prove sufficient; her hands found the edge of the sink before her as a vicious frown graced the bathroom mirror. The cat had been attempting to fasten the back of her dress for what felt like hours now; soon Gardon would rap on her bedroom door and enquire what was taking her so long. Certainly the words he'd use would be more proper, but they'd further the cat's frustration all the same.

Instead of a simple zip, whoever designed the frustrating collection of thread and fabric had deemed that a series of lace knots should be used to seal the back of the garb. Whoever had made that choice plainly hadn't ever had to fasten such a dress themselves. They'd purely been fixated on the aesthetics of a slightly exposed back contrasted by bows.

The dress wasn't truly awful, she had selected it in the hopes that it would allow her to battle should conflict arise (be it at the party or somewhere she would have to rush) while maintaining a certain level of decorum. Unfortunately, it appeared she had chosen poorly. The gown was loose flowing, with long sleeves that she'd thought would make her feel less exposed compared to others she'd historically stuffed herself into... but those very boons were only serving to make her fastening effort more difficult. The garb wrapped the majority of her body in a wine red colour, slit only to partially expose her right leg in exchange for bettered mobility. Perhaps she would burn herself free after this evening... no, regardless of her frustration, that would be much too wasteful.

"Silver!" She called through the bathroom door, "Can you come in here?"

The en suite door swung open, revealing the time traveling psychic. Since he'd arrived in her world, the hedgehog was gradually becoming better suited to the more peaceful times he now lived in. He was dressed in a manner she'd be far more comfortable with, a loose button up blue shirt and shorts.

The two of them had spent today in the royal gardens, primarily beneath a gazebo so that she could continue to work even while enjoying the outdoors. He had brought a picnic and a good head to bounce ideas off of. After much persuasion, he had managed to lead her into a spot of impromptu gardening to maintain the grounds. Even if she hadn't been destined for such a royal occasion, the outing would have prompted a shower regardless- but it had been made all the more quick and intense upon realising how late the day had drawn. Meanwhile, she could still see grass stains in his fur...

"I can't seem to fasten this dress," She informed him, "Could you..."

"Of course!" He beamed, helpful as ever.

The cat turned back to her reflection, standing straight and exposing her back to him completely. She'd expected to hear the whir of psychic energy, that the silk threads at her back would simply fasten themselves behind her back. Instead, the familiar sound of footsteps drawing close played in her ears.

In the mirror, she watched as the hedgehog strolled behind her to look quizzically at her exposed spine. Just as she was processing what he was about to do, the feline felt his heavy hands on the small of her back. Almost instinctively, her own grasp found the sink again as she leaned forward.

"This looks easy enough," She caught sight of his smile in the reflection, "I'm going to have to undo some of the knots you've already done, they're not using the right threads."

Fingers grazed deep, she felt her fur raise beneath his touch, "Do what you must."

Her left hand moved to her chest, hoping to keep the garb from slumping free of her shoulders. He was being gentle, but now his touch was slipping into the tight spaces she had previously sealed- his fingertips were grazing along her spine. The scene reflected before her was one that spiked her temperature; Silver had leaned down to match her posture, practically hunching parallel to her frame, looming over! She had to look down; her flushed face reflected in the shining metal of the sink's plug- was there no escape?!

"You were right, this is fiddly... give me a second," She felt one of his hands leave her only to return ungloved.

Blaze's tail bashed against his chest, straightening hard as she felt that bare hand tug the lace of her dress while the other left her back. She felt him catch the interfering appendage so very casually; Blaze was certain that now both his hands were ungloved. In a single, ever so simple, move, he adjusted her tail to coil over his shoulder and stepped even closer! She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, was he-

"So, it seems like it's going to be a long night," Silver's fingers had returned to her back, his fiddling resumed, "Are you going to be okay down there?"

Did he have to talk while he was doing this? Did he know how his breath felt on her ear? Did he really expect her to respond!?

"I'm fine, Silver," She grumbled, "Tonight is more akin to a ritual than it is anything else, a sacrifice of time and endurance of tedium for the greater good. I'll get through it as I have every prior stuffy reception."

As loose fabric bundled in her grasp, the cat felt his hold alter. Suddenly, he was drawing the halves of her dress together, surely lining up the holes and tassels to more directly feed into each other. It was sensible, it was practical, and it wasn't as if he was being rough... but, no matter how she rationalised, Blaze still couldn't help feeling flustered. She was the guardian and ruler of this entire dimension, he was her closest companion and trusted confidante; they'd battled monsters, lived through squalor, and changed history together! Why did she feel so vulnerable here, in her own bathroom, with his hands on her back?!

With each knot tied his touch grazed closer further up her back, fingertips and knuckles slid against her. Those touches sparked memories of the other times he'd used his hands on her. In the afterglow of battle, once their foes had fallen, they would bandage each other and fuss over the countless wounds they had sustained. Huddling in the back of a mostly destroyed library, letting the hedgehog wrap torn cloth around her ribs to staunch the blood drawn by a monster's gouging claws, that was true vulnerability- not this! She was strong here, unharmed and refreshed!

Blaze felt the dress lighten in her grasp and couldn't help but glance to the mirror before them. Silver really was as close as he felt, practically straddling her backside as he worked his way up, and yet he still looked entirely at ease. She couldn't see how far up her dress he'd managed to seal, but by his touch she knew he was just over half-way up her back. The psychic's broad shoulders were framing her slighter form, his still slightly sullied fur contrasted against the dress set to be worn for the first time.

Silver's constant contact echoed in her mind. Was he trying to leave a crease in her fur? He was being so thorough, it was as if-

His eyes had caught hers, had he looked so comfortable this whole time? Had his smile grown when their gazes locked? The cat's returned her attention to the empty sink beneath her.

"Are you sure you're okay?" He asked.

"I'm certain," She lied.

Regardless of how gruff Blaze thought she had sounded, the hedgehog continued to work diligently. His hands did briefly leave her back, but she knew that this wasn't the end. The shoulders of the dress had been misaligned since he'd untied what few knots she'd managed prior. He pulled the red sleeves up to better fit against her clavicle, his wrist brushed against her neck.

Were his fingers lingering on her collar, at the fabric border? Her eyes returned to the mirror only to catch a small, rather perplexed, frown staring back at her. The hedgehog's heavy hands dipped down her front catching the lapels of her dress. He slid his hands up, straightening the front of the garb before pulling up to have it fit more smoothly against her shoulders.

"There," She saw his smile return, "That looks better."

"Just focus on the back," The cat fizzed, "I can handle the rest myself."

"Okay," He hummed, hands slipping back again, "Maybe, when things get going down there I'll be able to sneak in? You know, while everyone's focused on your speech or something?"

"You will do no such thing," She heard herself growl as she failed to maintain some inkling of composure.

A measure of regret tainted his muzzle, his eyes quickly lowered from the mirror to her back. No further words came in the wake of her insistence, she'd felt him hesitate but the knotting had quickly resumed. It wasn't that she didn't want him there, his presence would surely have made the night's bureaucracy pass faster, but this was a meeting of the elite. For her to bring along what was to them a commoner, let alone an uncouth otherworldly outsider, would surely cause a scandal.

His fingers kept hitching on the tie between the top of her shoulder blades, a grumble rolled from his throat. Why was he struggling now of all times? Was it the change in her temperament? Had he finally noticed how intimate this all actually was?

A sigh slipped through her lips, "I'm sorry Silver. Tonight is weighing on me more heavily than I thought..."

"Don't worry about it," He finally managed to tie that knot, "I shouldn't have even brought up the idea, it's not like I'm hard to identify," She looked up to find him looking off in thought, "Slipping into a butler's uniform probably wouldn't have been enough..."

"There are already enough rumours about you among the people, we don't want to pique any more curiosity," Two ties remained.

"There are rumours about me?" Did he truly not know? "Like what?"

"We don't have enough time to discuss that," She wasn't prepared to delve into the torrid imaginings of others while posed like this, "But perhaps we can use this as an opportunity to better things..."

"Better things?" One tie remained.

"Go to the eastern beach tonight," Blaze instructed him, "Watch the ocean. If you see anything unusual, then you have my express permission to enter the ballroom and whisk me away."

"I can do that, no problem!" Finally, the back of her dress was sealed, "That's the last knot tied."

The cat finally rose to her full height, taking in her reflection. The dress did feel like too much; while the long sleeves were intended to make her feel less exposed, its shining ruby coloured floral detailing was certain to draw attention. She'd picked it to match the gem on her forehead and usual hair-tie, hoping that would make this all feel more regular... but that plainly hadn't worked. To contrast, the hedgehog behind her still looked physically disheveled but infinitely more comfortable- both in mind and body.

She finally turned to him properly, "Thank you for doing this, Silver."

Their eye-contact broke, his stare tumbled away, "It's no problem, any time."

Why had that simple, minor, praise fluster him more than the position she'd put him in?! He'd been leaning over her, hands practically dancing across her back, freely gliding his fingers through her fur, but a simple thank you had done so much more to him. She knew this was how he worked, that he'd always taken praise poorly, but for modest kindness to so thoroughly trump physical contact was still so bizarre to her.

"Oh, wait," He stepped closer to her once more, practically pinning her back against the sink.

His arm slipped behind her and the cat's temperature skyrocketed, "What are you-

He pulled back to reveal the golden necklace she so often wore around her neck, "Do you want me to help you with this too?"

She could fasten it herself, she had countless times, "If you wouldn't mind…"

An impulse had betrayed her. Without so much as another word the hedgehog was again leaning past her, this time neck to neck and front to front. She felt his chest fur brush her muzzle as he began to fiddle with the clasp. Again, this was another act he could so easily have performed with his power! Instead he had chosen to get close; could he not feel the heat flagging from her? Was he just cold?!

"There, now you're ready," He casually said into her ear as he pulled back.

The awkwardness had fully vanished, Silver was back to beaming.

"You're so naive..." A knock at the door spun their heads, but she quickly returned to him, "Stay here, wait until I'm gone, then drift out the window. Make sure no one sees you."

He silently nodded as she slipped away from the bathroom, shutting the door to her back and not daring to throw another glance back at him. If all went as planned, she had seen him for the last time this evening. Now she had to focus! Blaze gathered a stack of papers from her desk, slipped on her heels, and made for the door.

Gardon was revealed on the other side, "Your highness, the guests are awaiting your arrival."

"Then it is time I joined them," She shut the door behind her, locking it, "Have there been any issues thus far?"

As she started to make her way down the halls, the koala followed, "No issues so far, what small discomfort I have noticed will surely be alleviated by your arrival."

Rather than speak further with her advisor and consider what small discomforts he had identified, Blaze couldn't help but dwell upon the hedgehog presently escaping her room. Silver hadn't needed to touch her, he could have done all he had to do from her bedroom even. She'd watched him undo locks with a wave, it wasn't as though the task of tying knots was too complex.

For a psychokinetic like him, every physical action was a choice, wasn't it? Every touch could be replaced with a psychic one, most born of mere thought rather than even so much as a gesture. He could have been reading or planning or doing almost anything while simultaneously helping her dress. Instead the hedgehog had devoted his full focus to that task, removing his gloves when it proved difficult rather than concede and use his power.

Was she being foolish? She didn't question why Silver would walk rather than float or run his fingers through his chest fur as he pondered. How was tonight any different? He had taken her hand countless times, wrapped her bandages physically, and even carried her to bed when nights dragged much too late. Had he consciously chosen those countless acts too? Had he even considered using his power tonight?

Was it natural to him to be physical with her? What did that imply? If Amy had asked for help with a dress, would he have done the same? Blaze couldn't imagine it. Certainly Amy would have had the gall to tell him to just use his powers. Why hadn't she done that? For all her questioning of his actions; her own inaction was just as baffling, she hadn't so much as considered asking him to stop and instead work telekinetically. She was royalty, she wasn't supposed to be handled so-

"Your highness?" Gardon's voice halted her train of thought.

"Yes?" She turned to her advisor.

"I asked if you feel prepared for this evening? If required, I could delay your arrival for a little longer," Gardon offered, "You seem to be more than a little lost in thought."

"No, I'm fine Gardon," She could see the doors to the great hall ahead, "It is best that I attend as quickly as possible."

With no more than a nod the koala scurried ahead, grasping the doorhandles in preparation to announce her arrival. Blaze brushed off her shoulders and strode forward, steeling her expression. She sucked a deep breath through her nose and closed her eyes as Gardon pushed open the entryway.

"Now announcing the arrival of her majesty Princess Blaze," The cat felt countless eyes turn in her direction from the ballroom below, "Ruler of the realm and Guardian of the Sol Emeralds!"

Music and endless claps rang loud, the cat opened her eyes and began her descent down spiralling stairs; there was a sea of overdressed people beneath her. Even as the noise enveloped her, even as she hardened her brows and began to make pleasantries, the feeling of her dress hugging at shoulders and hips toyed with her attention. That sensation, catalysed by the placement of knots down her back, endlessly kept Silver's chosen contact at the forefront of her mind. It was as if he was still hanging so close, brushing against her fur...

This was going to be a long evening.

[lightning-writes]

good heart (faulty machine of a man) - 16/30

fic summary: bucky meets someone at therapy

chapter summary: …until he’s not alone (alternatively - rue had other intentions)

word count: 2452 

tags: post endgame, pre tfatws, slow burn, canon divergent, canon compliant, au

warnings: none

a/n: part 2 of bucky's thanksgiving is very spicy :)

AO3 MASTERLIST X

(When was the last time Bucky was nervous about seeing a girl?

Maybe, it was the first time he’d kissed a girl, at fifteen. Or maybe it was the first time he went on a date with a girl, Katherine Brown. Or maybe, it was the first time he’d snuck out of his house to see a girl at her house, at seventeen; he’d climbed the tree by her house, to her window, and nearly fell when the porch light came on.

Actually, it might have been the time he had sex for the first time, the night before he was deployed, with Dottie Clark. He was twenty, and all he could think was he needed to do this, to be a man, before he proved himself a man in the war.)

He knocks on the door, and in the moments it takes her to answer, he wonders what the hell he’s doing here. Does she expect something from him? Is something going on with her? Flashes of her tearful face fill his memory.

(Is this some sort of unusual trap? his brain screams. Is she revealing her villainous intentions?)

The door opens. Rue’s hair is down, thick waves over her shoulders, and she’s still in that green dress. Close now, he sees its velvet with a deep neckline. He sees the tattoo of crossed knives and a curling design disappearing beneath her breasts.

(He sees gooseflesh ripple over her skin as the cold from outside comes in.)

His eyes quickly zip back to hers. She noticed him noticing her. He passes a nervous hand through his hair.

“Hey.” She leans her head against the door and offers a lazy smile. “Glad you could make it.”

He studies her. He can’t tell if her smudged makeup and red eyes are from tiredness or tears. “Sorry I couldn’t make it earlier.”

“Better late than never.” She moves aside, stretching an arm to invite him in. “I like this better.”

(The alarm bells in his head won’t let him admit it, but he likes it better too.)

Bucky walks in and surveys the open concept of kitchen, dining room, and living room. There’s a big Christmas tree, not yet dressed, in the space between dining and living room. There are still plates and food in the dining room and kitchen. The light is warm and low, candles burning on the table.

“My roommate is staying at her boyfriend’s place,” she tiptoes to get some wine glasses. Her dress rides up. He sees the word ADORE on the back of her right thigh. “So, I’m on clean up duty.”

“I could help,” Bucky offers, clearing his throat after a beat.

“You’re sweet.” She pulls the stopper from the already open red wine bottle easily, pouring it into a glass. “Do you want some wine? I have stronger stuff, too.”

“I’ll pass for now.”

(He can’t tell if it’s because he hasn’t seen her drunk before, but his intuition says something is wrong. He doesn’t ask her yet, though, afraid it might trip a wire in her.)

“Okay.” She takes a deep drink from her glass. She starts bringing plates into the kitchen with her free hand. At this rate, she’ll be here all night. He starts to help. “Oh, are you hungry?” she asks, “We have tons of leftovers.”

“I’m good for now,” he sticks with this line.

“But I made pumpkin pie.” She pouts a cute pout. She must know how cute it is. “Please, have some.”

He relents, “I’ll have a slice.”

She grins and puts her glass down to serve a slice. “How was your Thanksgiving, what did you do?”

(Panic flares up his throat when his mind flashes to Evie. His brain short-circuits when he watches her spray whipped cream in her mouth after spraying some of his pie.)

He lies, saying he went to George’s. She moves around the kitchen, a little wobbly, a little sloppy, cleaning up as he talks and eats pie, leaning against the counter. She asks about the gym, about George; she also asks about Sam, if they ever reconciled.

(When she bends to load the dishwasher, he notes the curve of her ass and the nakedness down the front of her dress. He keeps averting his eyes despite his nature to stare.)

“Can I ask you a personal question?” she suddenly asks. She’s nearly done clearing the table and counters.

Bucky braces himself for the worst. Questions about being the Winter Soldier, about Hydra, about his missions, about his brainwashing. About his sessions with Raynor, about his friendship with Steve or Sam. His brain even, briefly, considers this question a play for her to reveal she is a secret agent.

“Okay.”

“Did you disappear, five years ago?” She hops up onto a counter, a little taller than him. “Like… dusted?”

“Was I snapped?” He repeats it because this is the funniest question he would have never imagined her asking. She nods, eyeing him curiously. “Yeah… yeah, I was.”

“What was that like?”

(To the untrained eye, her expression looks open and curious. But Bucky can see how curated it is, the mask of interest when she has a different motive, a different feeling about this question. He wants to pull that cord, but what if it detonates something?)

“It was like… nothing,” he answers honestly, “one minute I’m there, one minute I’m crumbling away. And when I came back, I knew there was something going on because I was ready to fight.”

“I wonder if it was like that for everyone.�� She goes for her wine glass and realizes it’s empty. Her eyes wander to the counter behind him, to the bottle, but he pretends not to notice. “Maeve was dusted,” she says into the empty glass.

“I know, you told me.”

“Right… she never told me what it was like, when she was gone. She just told me she was glad to be back.” When Bucky doesn’t speak, she says, “I proposed to her the day she got back, you know.”

His brows raise. “Really?”

She nods, “If it wasn’t for Vick, I would have married her that weekend.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, putting his plate in the dishwasher, next to her swinging legs. She has a tattoo of a dragonfly on her shin closest to him. He looks up at her, but her gaze is miles away.

“She showed up tonight.” Her voice is low.

“I thought she was MIA.”

Rue’s eyes fill with tears, but anger sets her jaw. “Yeah, well, she interrupted dinner, and even though everyone basically told her she’s not welcome here, she insisted on talking to me.”

“What did she say?”

(He knows Rue spoke to Maeve. He knows because he would have done the same. It would have been less about the conversation and more about wanting to press a thumb into the bruise that is heartbreak. Bucky thinks he and Rue are more alike than what meets the eye.)

Tears streak her face, but her voice doesn’t break, “She’s engaged.”

The final blow of the story propels her to her feet, and she pours the last of the wine into her glass. He hadn’t noticed how much she’d been drinking.

“I think… I’ll have that stronger stuff now,” Bucky says after a beat. This makes her laugh, wine to her mouth, a wet hysterical laugh turning into a drowned cry.

Bucky crowds her slumped frame. She’s not short, but in this state, she’s so small. She heaves a deep cry, painful sounds coming out of her, and Bucky carefully hugs her. He’s had to comfort people before, but not like this. Not inconsolable sobs that didn’t have an answer his wit or fists couldn’t handle. She slowly melts into his chest, her head pushed under his chin, her cries shaking her body. But he remains solid.

(Anger plumes like a smoke bomb in his chest. Maeve is something evil, to know Rue and to hurt her like this. Though they haven’t known each other long, he knows Rue hides behind the guise of naivety, and he knows she’s built of stronger stuff. To see Rue like this, he knows Maeve is a true villain. He holds Rue tighter, a sudden realization that he wants to protect her at all costs, against any threat, physical or emotional.)

“Ugh, I’m sorry.” She rips herself from him, stumbling back to the other counter. Her frenzied hands wipe her flooded face. “I keep dumping this nonsense on you, and god, the crying–”

“Stop.” Her eyes snap to his, and he takes her shoulders. Her eyes are still watery, but she seems to melt under his gaze. “You don’t deserve any of this.”

“Bucky…” her forehead slams into his chest.

“You don’t.” His tone is firm. “Now, can I ask you a personal question?”

She peeks up at him through a squinted eye.

“I guess it’s only fair.”

“How many tattoos do you have?”

She laughs, her confused eyes searching his expression for something, but he can’t pick up what.

“Maybe twenty something? Mostly small ones. And that excludes these guys,” she holds up her hands to show the dots and little doodles decorating her knuckles. Then, she covers her face. “Do you want to see an embarrassing one?”

“When you put it like that…”

She turns her back to him, unzipping her dress. His face heats, but when she stops half way and the dress falls from her shoulders, he nearly laughs. At the base of her neck is a small pair of angel wings; to the right, she has flowers flowing from her back onto her shoulder, and on the left, there’s a large blue outline of the Avenger’s ‘A’ emblem.

The blue pops against her tan skin. But then, he sees it. The scar running through one of the legs of the ‘A’. It’s raised and crude, a little darker than her skin. Without thinking, he traces it with a finger, feeling the imperfection of it.

(She shivers. He doesn’t shrink back.)

“I got it after the alien attack, back in 2012.” She tries to rezip the dress on her own; Bucky helps her gently. “I was about to get crushed by a falling building, but then, your buddy,” she turns to give him a meaningful look, “had pushed me out of the way. He’d used the shield to keep us from getting hurt. I mean, my back obviously had been hit by some debris, but…” she shrugs. “He saved me.”

After a beat, Bucky says flatly, “So… you’re, like, a super fan.”

(She laughs, and he really likes it.)

////

“I… I don’t want to be alone,” she had said. “Please stay?”

He agrees.

She gets him a drink of bourbon Victoria’s boyfriend leaves for himself. She turns off the overhead light in the dining room, plunging the whole space into darkness, aside from the candles on the table. She moves around him in the dark, despite her drunkenness, maneuvering to switch a few lamps on in the living room. She tells him to wait there before disappearing into her room.

He takes off his jacket, resting it on the back of one of the dining chairs, and sits on the couch, getting comfortable. He fiddles with his knife, the one usually in his boot, while he sips the bourbon. It’s good.

She returns, wearing an oversized shirt and a fluffy robe. She stands in the space between his splayed knees. He’s got an arm around the back of the couch, so he has to look up at her.

“Can I tell you something?”

Her face is void of makeup or expression. He’s curious.

“Sure.”

“This was supposed to be a booty call.”

(His eyes land on her thick bare thigh, a fresh and complicated tattoo design disappearing under the hem. He registers that she isn’t wearing anything beneath the shirt by the barbell piercings through her nipples.)

“Yeah, I could see that,” he says evenly, gaze drifting back up to hers.

She shifts her weight to one hip, making the shirt lift on one side. He keeps his eyes on her half-lidden ones.

“But that wouldn’t be fair,” she says.

(He sees she’s nervous. Maybe not nervous, just on edge. Anticipating.)

“To you.”

“To me?” he echoes in shock. He raises an amused brow. He moves his knee to touch hers. She doesn’t move. “How isn’t it fair to me, Ruby?”

Her nostrils flare at her full name, but it's a sharp breath she takes.

“You deserve better than to be used,” she says matter-of-factly.

(He’s not sure why, but that spears him through the heart.)

“Same to you,” he returns. “You also drank almost a whole bottle of wine.”

“You could have helped.”

“I don’t think anything was stopping you,” he says, lapsing into a chuckle. “Not even a super soldier.”

His eyes stay on hers, and he takes another drink from his glass.

(Maybe he’s anticipating too.)

“I just don’t think it’d be a good idea.”

He leans forward, and he sees her tense. He uses the hilt of the knife to lift the hem of her shirt. He also notes how gooseflesh travels up her hip.

“It’s a tarot card, Death,” she breathes, like any sudden movement might startle him. From stopping. “It means–”

“Ending a cycle, new beginnings, change.” He anchors his metal hand against her thigh, tracing the skull design with his thumb. He hears her swallow. “It’s new.”

“Yeah.”

He looks up at her as he pulls away from her. Her gaze is thick and sharp. The city and the world outside of the apartment fades as he focuses on her haloed in warm light.

(Her lips are still stained from the wine. They look like she’d been in a hot-and-heavy kissing session, and it makes him hard thinking about it.)

“I’m following your lead here,” his voice is low.

“That’s not fair.”

He smirks, knowing it’s his advantage. “I’m a gentleman.”

“Okay.”

When he leans back as she moves, he’s anticipating her to settle onto his lap. Instead, she sits next to him and grabs the remote. She turns it on without looking at him, and he can’t help but smile while tucking his knife back into its holster concealed by his boot.

“Hey, wait, I like that show,” he points. She goes back to the channel she’s passed.

“You’re a Trekkie?”

“It was one of the few shows in Russian,” he says, “in the 70’s.”

He raises his arm and looks at her expectantly. She studies him for a moment, and he wonders what’s passing through her mind. He wonders if she’s fighting the same thing he is. Finally, she yields, tucking herself into his side.

[candylungs]

Okay I LOVED your Evan x reader thingie it’s dark and I love it ! Can you write something Herman x reader pre entity ? Because he’s the kind of person to have a facade and only show his true self after seducing the object of his obsession and would make great dark fic as well :3c

Notes: Imagine taking on an intern job at some hush, hush facility for the benefits and ending up getting turned into a electro controlled doll by the most unassuming looking guy on the pay roll

Anyway here is this answered after almost a year later. It’s been finished for a while but I went through a phase of hating it lmao.

Contains: Drugging. Surprisingly pretty tame in actions until the end. Wholly fucked intentions though. Typical DBD killer personality.

Robotic Intimacy

Herman Carter “The Doctor” x Reader

Virus-quick and all-consuming, your little town belonged to the CIA in less than a month. You knew that’s who they were, but everyone had the sensibilities to simply call them The Government. Suits hated to be called by their names. If they didn’t look so mundane in business formal, you’d think them strange and faery-like for it.

And besides, The Government meant money. Nothing compared to what they smeared on each other, but cash was enough to excite anyone where the water supply was more fluoride than water.

Missy’s Diner replaced three whole booths. The road downtown only had one pothole. You had a job that left you money at the end of the month to take a trip to the city; without avoiding the tolls.

You liked the women you worked with, could tolerate the men in the halls. When you brought your boss the bill from the Dentist, they paid it. If you were sick, they told you to stay home and that day showed up on your paycheck as a shift worked. Your mother hugged you and said she was proud and her smile didn’t fall when she said it.

Maybe there were unsavory things you saw, too. But all that good The Government brought turned your head; they paid you enough to forget.

@

He liked hearing you talk. And you talked always, to everyone, about any little thing.

Herman’s revolving door of secretaries always liked you, your stories always filled their mouths. You had that easy charm that came from an untangled mind.

You worried about money and not much else. Which was nice—Herman’s head was so overfull that your plain talk felt like a tipped bucket. He floated after being with you, worked better. And increasingly, felt that human want for further connection.

Wouldn’t it be nice to talk to you, for a change. For you to sit and hear him out on all the buzzing innovation zipping about in his brilliant brain.

At first, you were oh-so hesitant. But Herman toyed at being just as shy, tripping through his ideas without divulging the details most everyone in the facility turned their eyes from.

“There’s this nice restaurant in town,” he said slow, delighted at how quickly your eyes un-glazed at the word ‘nice’. “I’ve never been.”

Your smile was eager. “Why not, Dr. Carter? You deserve a break!”

“It seems a waste to go alone....”

You nodded, your gloves, prettily decorated with flowers at the wrist, folded like white blossoms against your drab blue dress. “Then take someone with you, silly.”

“What a wonderful idea,” Herman said, pressing at the back of his head, willing the electric weight of discovery to wait a bit longer. “Would you like to come with me?”

@

You dined on delicate plates decorated in foams and smokes and emulsions so often now that you had become expectant.

Each week, every Friday, you lay in wait for his invitation. Even as the sky grew dark and your eyes darted toward the clock, you stayed until Herman mentioned a nice restaurant.

And every Saturday you applauded the daring innovation presented in food and conversation. Which was sublime. Your actual understanding was never needed. Simply your admiration.

Herman felt emboldened.

Sharing a rich red wine, your baby blue petticoat peeking from underneath your dress as you sat on his secretary’s desk, he kissed you for the first time.

Smiling with girlish demure, you kept your eyes downward and allowed him to cup your cheek and kiss you again. But you held his hand with yours as he skimmed the edge of your petticoat.

“That’s too fast, Herman.”

He breathed your name, “You are my dearest sounding board, my darling cheerleader. I can’t contain myself, I apologize.”

Accepting his words, you threaded your fingers through his.

“I never dated in highschool,” you said. “But I always wished I could’ve been pinned by a smart, sweet boy like you.”

“You’d like a pin,” Herman said, pleased. Academics had swallowed him whole as a child. He had blinked and been a grown man, with zero experience in wooing.

But he knew people. He knew what they wanted. What they needed. And what they thought they could hide.

You nodded, “But we aren’t high schoolers, so a pin would be silly. If it were something more adult…”

The first thought to emerge from the thundering static were practical things.

Overly large goggles, specially tempered, to spare you from the nauseating glow of electricity as you clung to his arm and marveled at the efficacy of his methods. As you laughed with him over screams.

A tailored white coat that kept your womanly figure in mind as you handed him his needed tools. And perhaps squeezed his arm with a compliment or encouragement as you did so.

Most needed of all would be the metal crown he was so, so close to perfecting.

People were cowardly, flighty creatures. They saw the full majesty of what they couldn’t understand and they ran.

You weren’t any exception. Herman could wait years and tie you to him with a ring, a home, and children—you could still leave. You could still fall asleep fully entrapped in a life he’d handed you on a crackling, silver platter, wanting to leave him.

The very thought was maddening. The women that had come before you had never made it to this point so smoothly. They had all been too keen. Too quick to catch on. The blame for that was his own.

Error of want over need. He had wanted an observant, highly educated woman. He understood now he needed you.

“We’ll pick something nice out,” he said finally.

Your smile was brilliant and you kissed him vigorously, not stopping even when his hand trailed high on your thigh, slipping under your petticoat.

“Oh, Herman,” you said into a kiss, “You’re the most wonderful man.”

He knew everything must go as planned when you let him take you then and there, tugging him close and whispering wonderful encouragement as he came inside you.

@

You were overly pleased with yourself.

A thin gold chain with well-crafted charms jingled pleasantly from your wrist.

Several delicate rings brought flair when you wore them over your favorite white, satin gloves.

And best of all, genuine pearls wound around your neck every morning.

Herman was generous. He loved you feverishly. Any little thing you hinted toward liking, he gave.

Your ex had been beside himself last week at church, puckering as you soured his day with high praise for Herman—for his prestige, genius, and wealth.

The jealousy of people made you lustrous. You swallowed their envy like slick oysters, licking your lips after each seething look or tepid congratulations.

He was a perfect gentleman. Whatever he did for the government wasn’t your concern. And he never tried to make it so. Instead, he told you pretty things. He impressed you with innovation fit for meal time.

The logistics of sending men to the moon. The way a body can tattle on liars. All the wonderful ways humans are superior to everything but space and time.

He’d invited you to a special dinner in his lab. Laughing at the look on your face when he’d first suggested it, Herman had promised it would simply be a dinner and not a demonstration—those were strictly confidential.

You had never been to the lab, only his office toward the front of the building, where you and the majority of the other secretaries worked.

Rose petals appeared in the middle of the hall after you’d turned the last corner. They pointed straight ahead, into the mouth of two open doors that swallowed the end of the hall.

He must be proposing.

Your smile was radiant as you took delicate steps down the stairs beyond the doors. The heels were new and higher than you were used to but they were beautiful and Herman had bought them the moment you gasped at seeing them.

He was entranced, doing every little thing you hinted at.

You enjoyed the feeling of him wrapped around your finger.

@

The sight of you descending the stairwell and entering the chamber of all his best invention made Herman tremble with anticipation.

He had finally done it. He had figured it out. He understood now the path you and he would travel down.

Dwelling within him was an insatiable urge to kill everything in a person but the truth. And every single moment in the process was enjoyable.

You couldn’t understand that yet. But he would show you. And most importantly, he would make you stay.

Herman held out a flute of bubbling champagne, “My dear,” he said. “You are so beautiful tonight.”

Demure, you sipped the sweet and bitter alcohol, “thank you, Herman. You look very smart in that doctor’s coat.”

“Let us toast to a beautiful night,” Herman said, drinking deeply and waiting till you did the same to continue. “Tonight marks the rest of our lives, sweetling.”

“You mean…”

Herman smiled cartoonishly wide, “Yes. I mean to marry you. Will you say yes?”

The ring he removed from his coat pocket was boisterous, the large diamonds glittering as he slipped it on her finger.

“Of course I say yes,” you said quickly. “Of course I’ll marry you!”

You allowed him to seat you at a small, wooden table, covered in a long white cloth. He took your empty flute as you admired the ring. You took his hand before he could walk away and kissed his knuckles.

Eyes wet with happiness, you kissed his hand again.

“You’re the best man I could have ever asked for. I love you, Herman.”

He pet your hair and leaned down to kiss your cheek.

“I love you,” he said back. “I shall fill you up with everything I can’t stand to know alone. You are my sacred still waters.”

Your smile fell a little, but Herman didn’t need to play with pretenses any longer. You’d obediently drank the champagne. You could no longer leave him.

“You mean…. your work?”

Herman kneeled before you and kissed from your jaw to your clavicle, before nuzzling into the soft mound of your cleavage.

“Yes, my work,” he said. “My life’s work.”

“H…er..man?”

He held as you began to realize the strangeness of your body, as you thrashed, and as fell forward, unconscious.

Herman sighed, shoulders liquid as he slid to the floor with you cradled to him. Finally, he would crown you his queen and never worry where your thoughts stray. He would crack your skull open, know all your secrets, and so too would you know his.

Ever smiling, encouraging, and his.

[zerotwentysims]

Modern Family Mansion VII

Contemporary luxury family mansion for your Sims. With this one, I tried to blend in a modern buid with lush tropical gardens. This build comes in 2 versions, one including CC and one without. Both have the exact same exterior (aside from a few doors), landscaping and floorplans, but are different when it comes to the interiors. The photos shown are from the CC version, the CC free version does have the same interior style.

Lower level : Guest/Butler studio (with it's own kitchen and bathroom), garage, workshop, gym/spa/pool/sauna/full bathroom, cinema, lounge area, wine room, utility room, 2 half baths and vault. It's possible to add more rooms on this level, a corridor has already been built.

Main level : Entry, main hallway, formal living room, dining room, kitchen + chef's kitchen, laundry, office and 2 half bathrooms. Access to the front balcony equipped with planters for gardening.

Upper level : family/games room, master suite (with a private bathroom, sitting area, walk-in closet and balcony), 4 bedrooms (all with a private bathroom, walk-in closet and balcony, some feature a pantry)

Garden : on mutiple levels. Comes with an outdoor kitchen, several seating areas, large pool, playground and hot tub.

Lot size : 64x64

Packs used for the exterior/gardens and basic shell : Eco Lifestyle, Island Living, Get Famous, Seasons, Get Together, Get To Work, Growing Toghether Jungle Adventures and Spa Day.

Available on the gallery, ID : zerotwenty-sims (when looking for the CC version, please tick "include Custom Content", or download the TrayFiles directly below)

In case of any questions : please feel free to drop a line

The CC Version uses free content from following creators:

ZeroTwentySims : Marble Walls and Floor Set and Valium Painting (the painting is included in the Misc CC Zip file) KTA : Mural 25 Part I and II, Panel 9 and Woodfloors 5 Nickname : Fireplace Stone FIW : Waterfall Short Footrprint Severinka : Alpha and Beta Harlix : Bafroom, Baysic + Bathroom add-on, Harluxe, Jardane, Livin' Rum, Orjanic and Tiny Twavellers Felixandre : Berlin, Colonial, Fayun, Chateau, London, Grove, Shop the Look Part 1 and 2, Florence, Kyoto and Paris Harrie : Brutalist, Brownstone, Kwatei, Octave, Spoons, Shop the Look, Stockholm and Heritage LittleDica : Sleek Slumber Wallpaper Peacemaker : Caine Living Pierisim : David part 1, MCM 3 and MCM Bedroom TudTuds : Beam Living + Parte 2, Wave + 2nd Wave, IND, NCTR and Vime Ravasheen : Uplifting Elevator SimFileShare : Misc CC Pack, contains items that I coulnd't link directly, including a painting creating by me :) SimFileShare : Trayfiles CC Version

[bestentours11]

Discover the Rainbow Nation: Top South Africa Tour Packages

South Africa, affectionately known as the Rainbow Nation, is a country that boasts an incredible diversity of cultures, landscapes, and experiences. It's a destination that appeals to all types of travelers, from those seeking adventure in the wild African bush to those who prefer the sophisticated charm of its cities. With such a vast array of attractions, choosing the right South Africa tour packages can be the key to unlocking the very best this country has to offer. In this article, we explore the top South Africa tour packages that promise to deliver an unforgettable journey through this vibrant nation.

1. The Safari Experience

No visit to South Africa is complete without experiencing its world-famous safaris. South Africa tour packages that include visits to the Kruger National Park offer an unparalleled wildlife viewing experience. Here, you can come face-to-face with the Big Five (lion, leopard, rhinoceros, elephant, and Cape buffalo) in their natural habitat. These packages often include stays in luxury lodges, guided game drives at dawn and dusk, and even walking safaris for the more adventurous.

2. The Garden Route

For those who love scenic drives and outdoor activities, the Garden Route is a must-include in your South Africa tour packages. Stretching from Mossel Bay in the Western Cape to the Storms River in the Eastern Cape, this route offers stunning coastal views, dense forests, and serene beaches. Tour packages focusing on the Garden Route can include stops at key attractions like the Tsitsikamma National Park, Knysna, and Plettenberg Bay, with opportunities for hiking, bungee jumping, and whale watching.

3. Cape Town and the Cape Peninsula

Cape Town, with its iconic Table Mountain, vibrant waterfront, and rich history, is often the starting point of many South Africa tour packages. Exploring the Cape Peninsula, with visits to the Cape of Good Hope and the penguin colonies at Boulders Beach, provides a mix of natural beauty and wildlife. These packages might also include wine tasting tours in the Cape Winelands, exploring the historical Robben Island, and enjoying the city's renowned culinary scene.

4. The Cultural Heritage Tour

South Africa's history is both complex and fascinating, marked by stories of struggle and triumph. South Africa tour packages that focus on the country’s cultural heritage offer insights into its past, with visits to the Apartheid Museum in Johannesburg, the Soweto Township, and Mandela’s House. These tours provide a deeper understanding of the country's journey to democracy and are essential for anyone looking to grasp the essence of the Rainbow Nation.

5. The Adventure Seeker’s Delight

For the thrill-seekers, South Africa tour packages can be tailored to include some of the most exhilarating activities available. From shark cage diving in Gansbaai to zip-lining in Tsitsikamma, South Africa is a playground for adventure. Other activities can include sandboarding in the Atlantis Dunes, hot air ballooning over the Magaliesberg, or even taking a leap off the world’s highest bridge bungee at Bloukrans.

6. The Luxury Escape

South Africa also caters to those seeking a more luxurious experience. High-end South Africa tour packages might include stays at exclusive lodges in private game reserves, gourmet dining experiences, and private tours of historical sites or vineyards. These packages offer a perfect blend of relaxation, indulgence, and adventure, set against the backdrop of some of the world’s most breathtaking landscapes.

In Conclusion

South Africa's diverse offerings make it a unique travel destination, and the right tour package can ensure that travelers enjoy a comprehensive and enriching experience. Whether it's wildlife, scenic beauty, cultural heritage, adventure, or luxury you seek, South Africa tour packages deliver it all, wrapped in the warm hospitality for which this country is renowned. As you plan your journey to the Rainbow Nation, consider these varied tour options to truly discover the best of South Africa.

[stormclouds-chainmail]

[Image description

Image 1

A screenshot of an Excel table containing four columns and 26 rows. The first column is the English alphabet. Some of the next three columns contain variants on "live laugh love" matching the letter in the first column. Several are blank. The rest are as follows:

G gaslight girlboss gatekeep

I isolate ignore ibuprofen

L live laugh love

M mansplain manipulate manslaughter

R reduce reuse recycle

U ungovernable unmarketable unapologetic

Image 2

As image 1 but every row is filled and there are extra honourable mention rows.

A alienate aggravate assert

B bed bath beyond

C catcall catcreep catalogue

D diners drive-ins dives

E expunge extricate explain

F flake fake fabricate

G gaslight gatekeep girlboss

H hero himbo whore

I isolate ignore ibuprofen

J juke jebait justify

K kiss kick kill

L live laugh love

M manipulate mansplain malewife

N no nut november

O outwit outplay outlast

P plagarize popularize profit

Q queer quote queen

R reduce reuse recycle

S slay serve survive

T transpose transcend transgender

U ungovernable unmarketable unapologetic

V veni vidi vici

W weep whine weaponize

X xerox xanax xenosexual

Y yikes yoink yeet

Z zip zap zop

hon mentions:

stop drop roll

fuck marry kill

improvise adapt overcome

Image 3, 4, and 5

Another set of three word alliterative phrases split into three tables..

A a-list a-team a-train

B bejewl bedazzle bewilder

C catcall catfish catastrophize

D diners drive-ins dives

E extract extricate exfoliate

F feeding fighting fucking

G gaslight gatekeep girlboss

H homefront homeboy homelander

I insatiable irrational irritable

J jack up jack off jack in

K kickass, kick ass, kiss ass

L live laugh love

M manipulate mansplain manwhore

N no nut november

O overthink overkill overlord

P plagerize pathologize patronize

Q quickline quicksilver quickplay

R recycle reduce reuse

S stink stank stunk

T tic tac toe

U ungovernable unemployable unforgiveable

V veni vidi vici

W witchcraft warmonger warcrime

X Xerox Xanax xenomorph

Y yoink yikes yahtzee

Z zig zag xenomorph

Image 4

Another table but very little alliteration

N/A

stop drop roll

improvise adapt overcome

wine dine 69

snap crackle pop

bed bath beyond

fuck marry kill

fight flight freeze

tall dark handsome

bitch belittle bemoan

who what why

End description]

Still collecting the full alphabet of the “live, laugh, love” variants if anyone has some good examples.

Bonus if they can fit the “We can’t ___, _____, ____ our way out of this.”