#drabble-ish

[champagnetommy]

AU where Chim and Maddie own a coffee shop and Buck’s just there to study for his fire academy exam or something. Tommy, a regular and Chim’s bestie comes in for much needed caffeine while on call, one day. He mistakes Buck for an employee and instead of clarifying that he doesn’t work there, attempts to make Tommy’s coffee. What comes out is an abomination and maybe Tommy’s a little grumpy, running on fumes so he says something snarky. And see the thing is, Buck is intrigued, mesmerized even so he hangs around the shop and every time Tommy comes in, he’s there. The next attempt at making his coffee isn’t much better. They both make snarky comments and over the weeks, it turns into flirting. One day, Tommy “complains” to Chim about his new employee and Chim’s all, what new employee??

“The guy with the curls and the birthmark? Adorable pout.” Tommy blushes at the slip.

“Ohh yeah that’s my brother in law. He doesn’t work here though. I was wondering why he kept making your order and why you continued to drink such ghastly coffee. Thought it was some weird flirting, to be honest.”

Tommy’s mortified because he’d been kind of rude to Buck at the beginning, a little bitchy, if he’s honest.

Chim laughs at his predicament, shaking his head. “You know he’s been mooning over you too. Just ask him out already! He’ll say yes.”

Buck blushes adorably when Tommy tells him he knows he doesn’t actually work there, and then he asks him on a date-not coffee though!

A year later, Buck proposes at the shop, makes Tommy’s coffee just the way he likes it and tells him, “I want to spend the rest of my life making your coffee.”

[thalialunacy]

[for the @calaisreno May Prompts-R-Us. Just a wee bit of Watson sibling banter as I jump into my birthday weekend, 44 woooo]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) 21: fire (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31)

{Conversation with Harry Watson}

I have a question

I have an answer, let's see if they match

…

That's a dad joke

You're my sister, why are you telling Dad Jokes

U can steal it from me, needn't credit

Seriously

Srsly

now I have the answer to my question

O?

My daughter

My niece

Has started saying some odd phrases

Rly?

You're doing that just to annoy me.

Obvi

YES LIKE THAT

Holy capslock Batman

Last week she said that

That's not a bloody word!

And today she said that's hot

About ice cream

You wouldn't know anything about that would you

😇

Harriet.

U can't make me

Harry!

Oh relax, Johnny. I'm not teaching her curse words.

Yet.

I would never!

Swear it.

On what, a sacred stone?

You're chip

*Your

Ooo big guns today

I feel like that's blasphemous somehow

Which means I'm in

Cross my heart and my one-year sobriety chip, I will not teach your daughter naughty words.

Good

Unless she asks

No

O I bet that hot flatmate of yours would approve!!

Not a great bar to use generally

What's his number

nvmd i can google

Why do I feel like I just made the situation worse

It's a skill, Johnny

[ ❤️ ]

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

Deer Noringtonn,

am prowd of u for being braiv enuff to ask for a job. UR GR8. here's looking at you, mwa!

XOXO, Blitz

James stands in the dimly lit I.M.P. break room, holding the crumpled, glitter-smeared note between two fingers like it might be contagious. One of his inky shadow dogs tilts its head beside him, mirroring his slow blink of disbelief.

“…‘Deer Noringtonn,’” he mutters aloud, tone flat as week-old champagne. “Charming. He spelled it wrong. Twice.”

His eye twitches.

Reading on, he visibly winces at the chaotic scrawl of "UR GR8." The glitter on the paper shimmers mockingly. One of the shadows coughs politely.

James exhales, folds the note in half with surgical precision, and tucks it into his coat — upside down, as if to punish it.

“…Mwa,” he repeats under his breath. “I’m being wooed by a clown with a gun.”

Then, quieter, as he glances at the corner where a shadow hound sits at his feet, doing some of the paperwork for him that he was suppose to do: “...At least someone here respects me.” He smiles warmly, pat patting the note in his pocket, he's never had someone supporting him before, he is grateful.

@doublejango

[snowbryneich]

100. Fem Jace finds out Baelons been keeping it quiet about how much gossip their marital activities have garnered. No wonder people have been acting odd!

Tumblr says this is too long for an ask answer (it's only a 1300 words ish) so not sure what the rule is so direct to ao3 it is

[satorus-little-monster]

No.

No, no, no!

That singular word was all he could think, over and over again as everything flashed in slow motion down to the syllable tearing itself from his throat tasting of horror, regret, and failure.

She wasn't supposed to be here!

On the heels of the horror was the agonizing realization that he had become too comfortable. Too comfortable with trusting her whenever she would say that she would be fine, she would be safe. He hadn't expected to see her among the frightened civilians and transfigured humans in Shibuya, down in level B4, a bloody gash above her eye from debris. His heart thundered up to his throat at the fear in her eyes before they met his and the short-lived relief had shimmered in them.

It was only a few seconds, but those seconds caught the attention of the mastermind that lured him there. A few seconds before she was suddenly bound before he could even reach her, her eyes wide in shock and fear.

Gojo Satoru was the strongest sorcerer of the modern age--and he's never felt so helpless as he did now, watching the only other person he allowed himself to care about being snatched from his very fingers and sealed in a nightmare that should have just contained him--

--and his heart all but stopped at seeing the Prison Realm fall into the hands of the person he had long thought dead. No, that wasn't right.

It was some thing that was using his best friend's body, that familiar smile making his insides go cold instead of reminding him of those precious three years of his youth. And when his voice was used to speak, the words only further iced his blood.

"It appears...that the strongest sorcerer does have a weakness."

i blame @malice-havik-stain for putting the brainworm in my head

[unlimitedhearts]

Parksborn Drabble-And-A-Third | G | 183 words

*~*~*

Harry would come over to Peters house to practice his singing for the next Glee Club performance. He didn't want to practice at home because Norman would scrutinise him too much about his pitch and tone and timbre. Even if his mom didn't do that, Norman absolutely would.

"How am I supposed to put on the perfect performance of the background harmonies in the pop culture Magnum Opus, Best Song Ever by culture gods One Direction with him getting on my case all the damn time!"

May told him not to swear in the house, and Peter giggled when he'd do it under his breath anyway. Only in the safety of his room, though, of course. May would have killed him otherwise.

Whenever Harry would practice after school, even if he was just doing the harmonies, even if he was supposed to blend in the background, Peter had stars in his eyes. Stars hung by Harry, giving him a private serenade every day like it was his job. Very privately, Peter hoped it was.

He could listen to Harry sing all day long.

[goddess47]

Weather Watch

For @writers-choice prompt #98 - mess. Also on AO3.

----

The portkey dropped them into an alcove off of the village square. They took a breath and stepped out into the square.

Not that anyone was watching. A tornado had devastated the village two hours ago and the residents were focused on salvaging their lives.

"Clear weather," Harry looked up at the blue sky.

"That may not be unusual," Severus replied. "We need to find where it started."

They were there to determine if the tornado, otherwise rare in England, was natural or magical. There had been no weather patterns that should spawn tornados, which triggered the need to check.

They wore a notice-me-not, so they would not be called on to help deal with the mess the villagers were already attempting to clean up.

"They need more help than just the two of us," Severus said firmly as Harry's instinct to help kicked in.

Harry sighed. "I know... just..."

"We will get help sent, once we are done," Severus promised.

They tracked the path of destruction back to its origins.

"It started here," Severus decided. It was an empty field outside of the village. The grass was ripped out, the trees toppled.

"Here," Harry stood in a small circle.

Severus nodded. He raised his wand. "Revilio!" he commanded, turning in a circle.

"There!" Harry pointed off to his left.

A small totem had appeared. It had runes embedded in the wood.

"Oak," Severus decided, without touching. "It holds the runes well and gives strength to the casting.

"A magical storm," Harry nodded. "I wonder why."

"That is not our task," Severus replied. "Now that we know there is magic behind the tornado, it becomes someone else's task to determine why."

That was Harry's frequent complaint. Once they determined that magic was used to cause a problem, they were done.

Severus determined it was safe to remove the totem, the tornado had already happened.

Harry made copies of the runes, to use as evidence if something similar happened elsewhere.

"Finished?" Severus asked.

Harry shrugged. "Well, for now I am."

"Wynde will have dinner," Severus reminded him. "And Hermione will be by with a new film she wanted to share."

"It will be fun," Harry replied. He leaned into Severus, relaxing against the warmth. "Maybe we could ask for a rain check?"

"Tonight is a rain check, for last week," Severus grinned as he leaned in for a kiss.

Harry laughed.

[unsupervisedsoup]

smut as my first post, dear god what have i made- wip : [ m!prince x gn!assistant/reader - referred by they/them though written w/ m parts ] - pt 1/?

An uninterested prince sat on his throne, he paid no attention to the suitor before him as they hastily left much like the others that followed before them.

His gaze fell to his assistant beside him, he looked over their solemn expression to secretly wonder how it would differ if they were to show emotion. Either by the product of happiness or something else.

That was where the prince's thoughts wandered, allowing the images to linger. Fingers that caressed the edges of their lips. A hand that rested on the curve of their neck that craned down for a kiss.

The thoughts gave him a sudden excitement. Perhaps too much as it made his crotch suddenly stiffen.

The prince crossed his leg over the other before anyone could notice his erection as it pulled against the loose fabric. However his gaze remained on the assistant and it soon caught their attention.

"Yes, my liege?" They questioned.

Even as the prince had attempted to keep his thoughts in place, he couldn't help but let his gaze wander from their eyes to their lips. He flicked them back up before he got anymore careless.

"How many more princesses in the same dresses must I see until we are finished?" The prince asked in his usual childish manner, shifting in his position as his erection persisted. Unwilling to point out the tension that had unintentionally grown. It could either be translated as apprehension or just the prince's desire.

Even then, he didn't feel the need to risk to find out whether the other felt the same. His conscience may have been obscene at the moment but he wouldn't let his impulsivity win.

"Until you find one that suits you." The prince found their answer to be one he did not favour.

As the remaining thread of his morals thinned, he pointed in front of his throne, "Come here for a moment."

The assistant obeyed, standing in front of him.

"And how are you so sure that any of this will help?" The prince said, the tip of his shoe raised up. Up the assistant's leg and caressing near their inner thigh. "Perhaps I'd like something else rather than this."

The assistant's face remained blank for awhile until it flushed a red hue. A grin spread across his face, "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" Lightly tracing the shoe's tip a little higher just to tease them. Raising his hand up, holding their chin and turning their face back to him. "Well?"

They began, "This is a throne room —" Though the assistant's words swayed as the prince leaned forward, head tilted against theirs, barely any distance between their lips. "And?" Heated breaths fell against each other, gazes locked and communicated every thought without a word. "You want this as much as I do."

[nativestarwrites]

8. "Okay. Okay, here's what we're gonna do--fuck!" for MacGyver?

Thanks for the ask! I tried to challenge myself to do a traditional drabble for this one but its come in at 104 words and I just can't strip any more out. But I did enjoy the challenge!

Ths is Riley's POV, very early S1.

Six weeks. Six measly weeks. Of being thrown into the gym mat by Patti. Of memorising training manuals. Of what felt like woefully inadequate training given that none of it had prepared her for this. One teammate unconscious. One bleeding out under her hands. The cherry on top? Armed men searching for them. Shit. "Okay. Okay, here's what we're gonna do—fuck!" Panic bubbled up and she took a steadying breath. This is fine, she lied. She survived supermax, she could survive this. She’d learned the failed mission procedures, learned first aid. Everything else? She’d think like Mac. Improvise. You’ve got this. I hope.

[destined-if]

hiii guys do you wanna see a part of a drabble i wrote that may or may not contain characters of an interactive fiction im working on (might not go through with the idea)....

under the cut smiley face

“Hey, hey,” he murmurs, causing her to pull away– just barely– clumsily tilting forward to push her forehead against his. Tears relentlessly stream down her tawny cheeks, long eyelashes fluttering over almond eyes each time she blinks. “Who do the stars shine for?” He asks, squeezing her frame gently.

There’s a pause where she assesses him, and a blatant vulnerability is plastered all over her face when she warbles her reply out, “Me.” Despite the shakiness tainting her voice, a smile adorns Monroe's features at the answer while his other hand reaches upward, cupping her face.

“That’s right, My Love,” fondness leaks into his voice, thumb gliding over her tear-stained skin, “All for you."

---

Monroe's name is HEAVILY subject to change and is gender-selectable (maybe), I just chose he/him for this writing because writing two people using the same pronouns gets a little messy and the little girl's name isn't set in stone at all, so I didn't wanna share it.

[fabledoath]

Time Spares No One

Funny. Back in that day, Ashe felt so nervous - his first time away from Fódlan! And it ended up being such a chaotic trip, too. A shipwreck, really? What are the odds? That sort of stuff, you only see it in stories and exaggerations like those. They maks entertaining tales, though. Seeing as it happened to him though, as it turns out, even such things really occur sometimes...

And yet, now, it's like a home away from home. Ashe's spent his prime here, but he's still very much kicking. And so he'll be, for as long as he draws breath, even in his 30s, in his 50s, or even beyond. If that didn't stop Lord Lonato or Lord Gwendal, it won't do for Ashe, either. Retirement wouldn't be bad, eventually... But, chill out, he's only 36. It's just the natural grey hair. His aim doesn't fail him, it's sharper than ever.

In fact, the time for action is nigh. And he feels more than prepared to tackle it. He has to be prepared.

... It'll all be worth it in the end, right?

(picrew credit: https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/13338)

[gojoslittlemonster]

december prompt 16: snowball fight

The laughter was ringing out through the snowy park. Lunae sat on the park bench, watching as Satoru's students were having a snowball fight with the man himself. Satoru seemed to be enjoying it just a little bit more and she could sense he wasn't going entirely all out.

She shuddered to think what a snowball to the face with Satoru's full force would do.

Still, there was something heartwarming about seeing Satoru with, in essence, his kids. The first years that he pushed to train hard were still his precious students. Their youth and to spend time doing silly things like this was something he found just as important.

So lost in her thoughts was she that Lunae managed to duck last minute when a snowball was flying at her head, narrowing missing her.

"Sweets! Get over here already!" Satoru was grinning at her, waving his hand in a beckoning manner. Nobara was getting ready to pelt him with a snowball while he was distracted--only to get one in the face from Yuji. A laugh left Lunae in a puff of frost before she got up from the bench and ran toward her husband and his students.

It was days like this where she wanted them to last forever.

[seumyo]

pregnancy cravings with miya atsumu.

Pregnancy cravings never really made sense to Atsumu. Then again, he never got to the part of anatomy and physiology when he was studying physical therapy before he decided to go pro as a volleyball player.

But that doesn’t mean he isn’t supportive; no, he prided himself on being a great husband. And now, with you, his wife, pregnant with your first child, he was determined to be the most supportive, loving, and accommodating partner ever.

Nothing was going to stand in his way—not distance, not logic, and certainly not impossible cravings.

It started simple. Like it always did.

You wanted a specific pastry from a bakery on the other side of Japan? Done. He booked the fastest delivery service he could find, and when that wasn’t an option, he flew there himself, picked it up, and brought it back.

Talk about rich.

Homemade food? Good thing Osamu had drilled the basics of cooking into him, though he still got yelled at by his twin when he accidentally burned rice. But hey, effort counted, right?

Then, the cravings started getting weird.

You’re sitting on the couch with a blanket over your lap when you look up at him with serious eyes. “I want Osamu’s cooking.”

Atsumu blinked. “Alright, I can ask him—”

“But I don’t want to eat it. You eat it.”

He frowned, confused.

“Huh? Ya want me to eat ‘Samu’s cookin’?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Atsumu scratched his head, wondering if this was some kind of test. “And that’s gonna make ya feel better?”

“Yes.”

“… Even if ya don’ eat it?”

“Uh-huh.”

Atsumu blinked. “That doesn’t make no sense.”

“Atsumu, please don’t question me.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” He grabbed his phone and immediately dialed Osamu. “Oi, ‘Samu, I need ya to cook somethin’—no, not for [Name]—for me.” There was silence on the other end before Osamu sighed heavily and reluctantly agreed.

That night, Atsumu sat at the dining table, stuffing his face with his brother’s food while you sat across from him, smiling in satisfaction as you watched. Osamu just did his part as a supportive brother for his twin.

The next day was even worse.

“A seedless mango,” you murmured, rubbing your belly.

...

“A what?”

“A seedless mango. I want it.”

“… [Name], sweetheart, baby, I love ya, but that don’t exist.”

“It does.”

“It doesn’t.”

“I want it.”

Atsumu groaned. “Where am I gonna get a seedless mango?”

“Figure it out, please?”

He spent hours searching online, calling fruit vendors, and even asking Osamu if his suppliers had some secret black market seedless mango (Osamu asked him if a volleyball that was going 120 km/h hit his head).

No luck.

In the end, Atsumu cut up a normal mango, carefully removed every trace of the seed, and handed it to you with a hopeful grin.

You took one look at it and frowned.

“It’s not the same.”

Atsumu wanted to cry.

-

“I need you to wear a face mask.”

Atsumu blinked at you from your bed. “Huh? Why?”

You huffed quietly, fidgeting with the sheets. “Because your face is annoying.”

Atsumu gasped, hand clutching his chest. “My face?! The one ya love so much?!”

“Yes.”

“The one ya vowed to look at forever in sickness and in health?!”

“Yes.”

“The one ya called ‘beautiful’ when I asked ya if I was hotter than ‘Samu?!”

“I love you, but right now, your face is irritating me.”

Atsumu stared, utterly betrayed, before sighing in defeat. He got up, went to the closet, grabbed one of the disposable masks he’d bought during flu season, and put it on.

“There. Happy now?”

You smiled sweetly. “Very.”

Atsumu flopped onto the bed with a groan, pulling the blanket over himself. As he lay there, sulking, you scooted closer and rested your head on his chest.

“I love you, you know that?” you murmured.

He grumbled. “Ya sure? Feels like ya hate me sometimes.”

You chuckled. “No, I love you. My hormones just don’t.”

He sighed. “Yer so lucky I love ya more than life.”

“I know. Pregnancy is so weird.”

And the worst has yet to come.

-

Atsumu should be asleep by now, but no, he had to be individually popping popcorn. One kernel at a time, as per your request.

He initially told you, “Yer kiddin’.”

You were not.

And that was how Atsumu found himself in the kitchen at three in the morning, painstakingly popping one kernel at a time in a tiny pan. Every time he accidentally popped more than one, you, who were sitting on a stool with your hands on your belly, would click your tongue disapprovingly.

“You put in two, Atsumu.”

“This is torture,” he grumbled, but he kept going.

-

“I want ice cream,” you said.

Atsumu perked up. “Oh, easy. What flavor?”

“I don’t know.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Uh… okay. I can get a few different kinds?”

“I need to taste them all.”

Atsumu frowned. “Like… all the flavors?”

“Yes.”

“… Babe, there are like fifty flavors at the ice cream shop.”

You nodded. “And I need to taste all of them before I decide which one I want.”

Atsumu let out a long, suffering sigh, but being the devoted husband he was, he marched straight to the ice cream parlor and ordered a ridiculous amount of sample cups. The poor employee stared at him in disbelief.

“You… want every flavor?”

“Yeah.”

“Every single one?”

“Yeah.”

“Sir, that’s—”

“My wife is pregnant, and if I don’t do this, I might not make it to the end of the week.”

The employee, upon hearing this, immediately started getting to work.

When Atsumu got home, you took one spoonful of each, nodded, and, after going through every single cup, announced:

“I don’t want ice cream anymore.”

Atsumu fell to his knees. Defeated.

-

“I need you to stand in the corner for a while.”

Atsumu looked up from his phone, confused. “Huh?”

“The corner. Stand there.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I just feel like you should.”

Atsumu squinted. “Babe, are ya makin’ me into a damn decoration?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

Atsumu sighed but did it anyway. He stood in the corner of your living room for a full ten minutes while you sat on the couch, happily watching TV. At some point, Osamu FaceTimed him, took one look at the scene, and hung up.

-

The next day, you called him while he was at practice, which was rare in itself because you did just leave messages whenever you knew he was practicing.

“Babe,” you said in a tone that made his stomach drop.

“… Yeah?”

“I need you to bring me a cheeseburger.”

He let out a relieved laugh, wiping the sweat off his brow. “That’s easy! I’ll grab ya one on my way ho—“

“But replace the buns with pancakes.”

Atsumu froze. “Come again?”

“You heard me.”

“I dunno if I did, sweetheart.”

“Pancakes. Instead of buns. Oh, and I want honey to go with it.”

Atsumu nearly dropped his phone.

“Yer messin’ with me.”

“I’m really not.”

And you weren’t. That evening, he stood in the kitchen, flipping pancakes with the precision of a professional chef before assembling the most unholy creation he’d ever laid eyes on—a cheeseburger with pancake buns, honey drizzled over the meat.

You took a bite and hummed softly. “Oh my god, this is better than sex.”

Atsumu, who had spent hours perfecting his technique in the bedroom, felt personally offended by that.

-

“Atsumu,” you murmur. “I need you to switch sides of the bed with me.”

He sighed. “No.”

“Atsumu.”

“[Name], baby, darlin’—I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because my side is closer to the door in case of an intruder.”

You chuckled quietly. “Tsumu, please. I need to sleep on that side.”

Atsumu stared at you, conflicted. He had never—not once—slept on the other side. It was unnatural. Wrong. It went against the very foundations of your marriage.

But you were looking at him with those tired, hormonal, pleading eyes. And he was sure you’d tell him you could barely see your feet now and often experience heartburn, all because of his unborn baby.

With a heavy sigh, Atsumu switched sides with you.

“You’re a good husband,” you whispered, patting his cheek.

Atsumu, lying in the unfamiliar position, staring at the wrong wall, whispered, “I’m a broken man.”

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

My brain refuses to sleep, so more drabbling! Probably modern-ish AU?

Steve makes a career for himself as a re-decorator (or de-decorator, as he loves to call himself). His clientele are those celebrities who rose to fame so quickly they have plenty of money, but they don't have time to make their houses feel like home. They just bought penthouses and mansions and now live in homes that are fancy, but they feel like hotels.

Steve is there to fix that.

One of his clients is the hard working rockstar Eddie Munson whose life path went from a trailer park to couch surfing to living with 4 people in a tiny apartment, then suddenly tours, hotels and boom! He has a house that looks like an IKEA prop.

He doesn't hide his distaste at the pristine condition of the place (yes, Eddie has a cleaner). "Oh god. A beige carpet?" he scoffs and he sounds so bitchy Eddie decides he likes him already.

He likes him even more when Steve puts on reading glasses. Damn.

Over coffee, they discuss what Eddie wants. Except Steve doesn't just...tell him. He doesn't give him any hints. He just keeps asking about Eddie's favorite colors, what movies he likes, does he have hobbies apart from music? Can Steve see some of the items that bring him comfort?

And Eddie's surprised. "Shouldn't you, like...be telling me what I'm supposed to want?" he asks the gorgeous man who almost wails when he sees the vase with fresh flowers ("This is the third place in a row that has this fugly thing! Is it like a status symbol? Uh, tasteless.").

And Steve just stares at him. "Uh, Mr. Munson?"

"Eddie."

Steve nods. "Eddie. Why should I have any say in what you want? If you ask me what's practical, easy to clean, what bounces off light well, that's another thing. But in matters of taste...you're the boss. You live here, I don't. (Pity, Eddie thinks) Now, let's change this place into somewhere you actually like staying, hm?"

They spend the whole afternoon talking. Eddie opens up about what he loved before the touring and expectations from his agent took that from him. He talks about the Lord of the Rings, Dungeons and Dragons, fantasy in general, and Steve listens, makes tons of notes and asks questions that make Eddie's heart bleed, such as "and who is your favorite Lord of the Rings character?" and "you mentioned elves, dwarves, orcs, wizards...so what is your favorite group?" and "which DnD class would you be then? I guess a bard? Is that too obvious?". Now, Steve doesn't know much about these things, but learns quickly and works with the info he has.

They walk through the house again, with Steve making notes and wincing at transgressions against humanity or at least against his taste in things ("Oh ew. EW. Glossy finish on a kitchen counter? What is this, a future crime scene?") and Eddie feeling equally amused and curious. Eddie orders dinner for them, it goes something like:

"I don't know what would be appropriate, any preferences?"

"Eddie, there's no time or space when pizza is not appropriate."

"What about a funeral?"

"It puts fun in a funeral."

"Touché."

They follow up on a bunch more things. Steve notices Eddie fidgeting and asks him like the mindreader he is if perhaps the place is too clean for him. "Minimalism is what everyone's trying to push," Steve says, not without sympathy, "but it's not for everyone. I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but you seem like a person who'd love a more....personal, cluttered space."

And god, Eddie feels so seen. He tells Steve about all his favorite books and trinkets that he lost during a horrible earthquake in Indiana, so when he moved to the city it was just some clothes and his two guitars. Steve makes so many notes. "I've seen quite a lot of collectibles for your beloved trilogy," he says with a hint of a smile. "Is that something you'd like in your home?" Eddie can't nod any faster.

They talk about the budget (Eddie just scoffs at that, for the first time in his life money is not an issue), Eddie's absolute no go things ("No more vases, please! PLEASE. Also maybe the one room that can stay as it is is the studio, there's no decor"), if he has issues touching any materials, if he wants to keep any areas in the house neutral for visitors (he doesn't). Then finally, he asks Eddie if he wants to be more consulted or surprised.

And Eddie, tired and surprisingly relaxed from talking to Steve, just grins and says: "Surprise me, big boy."

Steve just smirks and makes one more note. "Oh, I will, Eddie."

...

Eddie goes on yet another tour for a couple of months, which is the ideal time for Steve to start working on the house.

Steve sometimes texts Eddie random choices, such as "Rohan or Gondor or both?" or "what's the best pub in the Middle Earth?" and Eddie usually trips over his feet trying to get to his phone after concerts to see if maybe he has another message from Steve. He learns bits and pieces about the man as well - he has a younger brother, Dustin, who is into the same stuff that Eddie is. Sometimes it goes like this:

STEVE: What's the best battle in the LotR movies?

EDDIE: The Ride of the Rohirrim, duh!

STEVE: Dustin says you're wrong, it's the last stand at the gates of Mordor.

EDDIE: The disrespect to king Théoden!

And finally, the big day comes. Eddie meets with Steve at the door. From the outside, the house still looks boring, but that's what they agreed on. At least for now.

But there's one notable difference and Eddie gasps when he sees it.

"I know we said no changes on the outside," said Steve sheepishly, "but I took the liberty to make one slight change."

Where the door used to be bland and white, it is now carved with silver etchings. It replicates the Doors of Durin. Eddie loves it.

Steve smiles at him. "Speak friend and enter, right? Dustin told me. Anyways, are you ready?"

Turns out, Eddie wasn't ready. Steve took all of the shiny and sterile surfaces and turned them into something beautiful.

The kitchen is now in warmer colors, brown and green, imitating the Green Dragon inn, plaque included.

Guest rooms have been changed, each to represent a group or a nation of the Middle Earth. Eddie thinks his uncle will love the Rohirrim one.

No more vases are to be seen, but Steve got potted plants ("almost immortal, as long as your housekeeper waters them once a week or so").

Eddie howls in laughter when he sees that Steve somehow managed to disguise all his security cameras as tiny eyes of Sauron.

The bathroom is inspired by the Rivendell, with soft tones and nods to Elvish architecture.

Eddie's bedroom resembles the Shire, with round shapes and homely motifs.

But Eddie's absolute favorite is the living room.

The only things that remain there that he bought are the massive TV and his stereo system with records. The rest though...

Gone is the ugly and sharp couch that looked like a geometry exercise. The new one is large and comfortable, with a couple of armchairs to finish the cozy feel. The coffee table and TV stand are more rough looking, with decorative ironwork. And then, around the room and on the walls...

"Oh wow," whispers Eddie and Steve beams at him.

There are collectibles and figurines that young Eddie Munson would have killed for. A replica of the Narsil hangs over the TV. It's cluttered but tasteful, still easy to clean, but Eddie always has something to touch, to play with.

And then he spots the bookcase and actually sobs. "What the fuck, Steve?" he asks, but there's no anger, just awe. "How did you know?"

The bookcase is full of Eddie's most beloved books, all that he told Steve about and more, but it's not just that. These aren't just pristine new prints - Steve managed to get both those and well-loved used copies. Most of them are the same editions that Eddie had before the earthquake. He runs his trembling finger over the back of the Hobbit and it feels like home.

"That was the hardest part," says Steve and leaves Eddie to rummage through the books, the old DnD guides and used comic books. "But I assumed you're sick of new and shiny. In fact, most of the collectibles are already used as well. They have some history. As for the books, uh..." He scratches his neck, embarrassed. "I will be honest, I don't read much. Dyslexia and some issues with the eyes, although audio books are making it more possible for me now. So I had to ask Dustin for help. We looked for editions published before the earthquake. I hope we got some of them right?"

Eddie just mutters "Sorry, I'm about to do something really unprofessional now" and pulls Steve into a bear hug. And Steve reciprocates.

"Fuck, this...this is everything," says Eddie into his shoulder. "How did you do this? Are you magic. You must be magic."

Steve grins. "I take it the surprise was a success then?"

Eddie finally pulls back. He would have loved to keep embracing Steve for a bit longer, but boundaries. "A total one. Wow. I mean. It's a lot, but so good. SO GOOD. How can I repay you?"

"You already paid me, Eddie."

"You know what I mean!" Eddie points and the books and apparently also a DVD collection he now owns. "This must have been so much more work than you normally do, no? I doubt every client has you memorize the members of the Fellowship."

"Not just that, but also why Sam is the best," Steve smiles at him and fuck. Eddie might be in love. "It was more than usual, but I loved it, Eddie. That's why I like my job so much, helping people find themselves again. You don't owe me anything. Although, if you're offering..."

"I'm listening."

Steve runs his fingers through that majestic hair. "So, I didn't tell Dustin that I was decorating the house for you, but he's a huge fan of your music. Like, massive, has every album, has been following your career from the start. And feel free to tell me it's too much, you are my client after all, but...he'd love to meet you. Over a pizza, maybe? The plain ham and cheese one you like so it doesn't have too many flavors?"

And Eddie melts. Because Steve still remembers his pizza choice from months ago, even though this definitely wasn't in his notes. He decides there and then that Steven Harrington is a national treasure.

"Sure, big boy," he smiles at Steve, and hopes he didn't imagine Steve leaning into the touch. "How about you invite him over for a movie night or something? With pizza of course."

It looks like Steve could kiss him, but he doesn't. Not yet. That only happens a week later, when they bump into each other in Eddie's kitchen when they scramble to make more popcorn for Dustin.

Steve stays the next night. And maybe a few after that. Always in a different themed bedroom.

They travel for work a lot, but when they are both in Chicago, they always meet in the Green Dragon kitchen, cuddle in the bed that would be far too large for a hobbit, and in the night, Eddie wraps himself around Steve and whispers: "My preciousssss."

And Steve can't really complain, because it's his fault that his boyfriend has re-discovered his dorkiness, so why would he mind?

[bbyg4rl]

thinkin abt . . . oldman!jj that feels you up through your panties because its too wrong to want someone as young as you, but he just can’t help himself.

he calls you “kid” while circling your cunny like it isnt icky that a man that’s old enough to be your father is talking dirty to you, like he gets off on how bad he is, how wrong he thinks this is.

he never touches you directly, no. its torture but its jj. he rubs against you through your panties like it defends his morality, like he isnt thinking about bending you over and fucking your senses out of you every time you pass him.

but then he asks you to bend over in front of him, stick your ass up as high as you can. convinces you to spread your lips apart, stretch your hole the tiniest bit, enough to make you whine and ache. watches as you expose yourself in hopes he’ll finally give you what you need. hoping he’ll come along and shove his cock, fingers or tongue. but he never does.

he’s too busy lying to himself, pretending watching you spread out like this is enough but you know its only a matter of time before you break him. you know its only a matter of time before he snaps and fucks you. and you can’t wait to break him.

read more concepts here !

[lurkinginnernarrator]

Cang Qiong's rumor mill has a new topic.

Peak Lord Shen hasn't been seen in two weeks. The last time he was seen was flying back from An Ding, where he purportedly commandeered some unknown objects from An Ding's storerooms after a hasty discussion with Peak Lord Shang. He entered the Bamboo house and hasn't emerged since.

The most popular theory is Peak Lord Shen is conducting some sort of toeing-the-line-of-taboo ritual.

Eventually, someone convinces Mu Qingfang to do a wellness check.

The Qing Jing disciples greet their Mu-shishu respectfully, the disciple escorting him to the Bamboo House inquiring as to the nature of his visit, seeing as 'Shizun wasn't expecting shishu today.'

"This master is merely here to visit your Shizun."

The disciple bows after announcing Mu Qingfang's arrival.

Mu Qingfang opens the door.

"Shen-shixiong?"

"Mu-shidi? To what do I owe the pleA—FUCK get BACK HERE YOU ARE NOT"—the sounds of struggle reach Mu Qingfang's ears and he leaps to action, striding in to take stock of the situatio...n.

Shen-shixiong is flat on his stomach; outstretched hands tightly grasping a precocious ball of fluff. His eyes gleam in victory, the scene casting it in a more crazed light. There is a heaviness to Shen Qingqiu's eyes that cultivation cannot banish and miscellaneous stains on his person. And, looking around, the Bamboo House is a disaster. Books, brushes, scrolls, inkwells and fans are scattered around, many haphazardly dropped on the floor. There is. Also. Hay?

Mu Qingfang freezes in the doorway. Ball of fluff and Shen Qingqiu also freeze.

"Is... Shixiong alright?"

This seems to snap Shen Qingqiu into action. He scrambles up firmly but with care, cradling the fluffball. Shen Qingqiu gets himself in order as best he can with both his hands occupied and clears his throat.

"Ah...Yes. this master is fine. To what do I owe the pleasure?..."

The fluffball twitches, wriggling until Shen Qingqiu loses his grip on it. It hops to the floor. A juvenile Whitecrested Snowrabbit of Agility stares up at Mu Qingfang.

"This. Shidi could come back at a more opportune time?"

The bunny starts chewing on a scroll.

"I believe that would be best."

Mu Qingfang backs out of the doorway.

He does send tea to help with Shen-Shixiong's fatigue and a subspecies of carrot that Whitecrested Snowrabbits are supposed to favour though.

I wonder what the next topic of Cang Qiong's rumor mill will be?