#prompt 1311

[wonderful-prompts]

Prompt #1311

The spellbook was falling apart. Its wobbly spine was reinforced with peeling duct tape, the sigils inked on its covers had been nearly worn away by years of travel. Yet it remained in the witch's care.

[valentine-cafe]

. ˚◞♡ top rockstar boyfriend x bttm male reader x switch naga boyfriend ꒰ kinktober: phone sex ꒱◞ ₊˚

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ 1311 jingyi / reader / alessio ꒱ one of your boyfriends goes out of the country and calls you up. yet it would seem your other boyfriend is already taking advantage of the situation and fucking you as much as he possibly can.

𖹭. content warnings◞  explicit content . penetrative sex . hand job . phone sex . rough sex . degradation . dumbification . creampie . threesome . multiple orgasms . jingyi is playing switch & is whiney . 1.6k

𖹭. receipts◞  yk what I'm actually happy that I fucked the prompts up because then I got to write this amazing piece hellooooo

. ˚◞ ꒰ 🍰 𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒔 ꒱ m.list . guidelines . characters . lorebook ⊹ ۪ ࣪ 

“Are you touching yourself, hermoso?”

The deep, grave rumble of his voice stiffles your own in your throat. You swallow, trying to get rid of the lump of mewls and whines that settled itself. Alas, all you could do was buck your hips meekly as your hand presses the phone closer to your ear.

“H-Huh? Course not - of course not. . . Alessio. . .”

You sure did a poor job at convincing him. The strain in your tone combined with your stuttered pants did little to shoot down his accusations. Well. He is still only half right.

“Yeah?” Muses the voice on the other end. You hear the creak of a chair and assume he’s settled in his hotel for the night. While you were less than keen at the idea of Alessio leaving for a few days to handle ‘business’ - you failed to realise what the ramifications of that would entail.

Your ass plaps softly. Just missing the line of the call. A large hand grips onto your hips and yanks you back again. So that your back flushes further into a cold chest. Another arm wraps tightly around your middle, holding you still as slow yet powerful thrusts shake your body and the bed.

Jìngyí always had quite the appetite. Especially now that Alessio was away and he had you all to himself. Of course he wasted no time in pushing into you when you were on the verge of sleep. What a way to wake you right up and keep you in his company for longer.

“So what’s with the panting then, amor? Or are ya that happy to see me, eh?”

Alessio’s croon makes you click your tongue. Bite on your lip and try to keep your hips still as your other boyfriend abruptly speeds his thrusts up. A feral wet slapping fills the room as his hand slips to your thigh, shoves it open - and the other reaches down to palm at your spurting dick. A whisper of hushes, hissed praises meets your ear to top it off.

With a gasp and a choked cry - you barely have time to answer Alessio. Instead, your head falls into the pillow and you whine out oh so loudly. A stammered - “J-Jìng - Jin - yí-!”

You hear the other’s breath hitch over the line and at last, Jìngyí speaks up with a breathless chuckle and words tightened by a clenched jaw. “Pretty lil’ thing’s so messy when you’re not here - fuck - you should see him.”

To accentuate the wet slaps - Jìngyí angles his thrusts and shoves your thighs together. A cold grin falling to his lips when you buck back into him and sob his name down the phone. He can already see Alessio burning green yet painfully hard. He knows his fiance well enough by now.

“Oh,” hums Alessio. You can hear the faintest clear of his throat and another creek of the chair over the line. “Oh I see how it is - you’re both having fun in my absence yeah?”

Jìngyí rolls his eyes. Hands promptly grabbing onto your body and roughly shoving you into the sheets. His weight cramped down on you so that you have no choice but to melt into the sheets as he starts pounding your pretty little ass. Until you are whining out sobs and hiccups through the room and down the phone. His cock stretches your rim out so perfectly - and his aggressive thrusts make you see stars.

A hand tightens around your head. Pushing it down into the plush of pillows as he pours the pure frustration of this week out onto your poor thighs and shaking body.

“A-Ah - ah - ah - ah!”

You slur into the casing. Fingers tight around the fabric. For a moment you had completely forgotten about your other boyfriend over the phone. Until you hear his low grumble.

“Jìngyí.”

The name makes the one above you falter. But he bites down on his lips and narrows his white eyes. Slamming his hips forward so that he might fuck into you shallowly. But it is evident with the sudden atmosphere dripping from your phone’s speaker - something has stirred within him.

The click of a tongue is what sounds through next. Followed by a tutting noise. “Tan lindo ( cute ) . . . what didya think you’d have us both?” Alessio grunts over the line. You hear the shuffling of fabric — and the idea of him sitting there. All alone and stroking at his hard dick leaves you drooling even more. If the way you were squirting over the sheets wasn’t doing enough for you.

“Shut up,” hisses Jìngyí. His body cranes over yours and he continues his movements without falter. Although with a few more whining moans. “You’re not taking lead when -” a clear of his throat. “Y-You are fuckin’. . . countries away.”

Another croon. This time Alessio’s voice takes on a sweet lilt. “Won’t I baby? You might be fucking him sore but I know that whine from anywhere. You’re not getting your way this time.”

That’s how it is with these two. A constant fight for domination and control. Suppose you expected that when you entered a relationship with two tops. If you were not sprawled out on the mattress and being fucked raw - you might have teased Jìngyí for losing this time.

His pace becomes a little sloppy. A bit haphazard the more that Alessio speaks to him. He has the need to claw at you. Control you. But he cannot help but abide by some of the commands thrown his way.

“That all you can do baby? Oh come on, know you can pound him harder. Or are ya playing the pathetic slut t’night?”

And so Jìngyí’s hips somehow gained even more power. Crushing yours into the sheets as he brings his forearms own on either side of your head. His noises both guttural and whiney all the same as he starts fucking into you wildly. Faster. Harder. In every way that makes you whine out his name — and Alessio’s while you’re at it.

All you can do is roll your eyes back. Part your lips and let out your own slew of whines when his rough, large hand cups around your jaw. Forces your head to the side so that he can kiss you all messy. His elongated tongue shoving past your quivering lips and down your throat. So that he might at least have some kind of advantage.

The thin sheets cling onto your body. Like a second sheen of sweat that coats you full. The front of your thighs roughly hump against the mattress, creating the perfect friction for your throbbing, wet dick.

You try to whine for him. Tell him to slow down a bit; but is that really what you want? After all it was you that sleepily grinded into him with all your little whines. It was you that started all of this.

“What ‘bout his cute little dick? You playing with it enough?”

A small rasp of air leaves Jìngyí from the voice of his lover. His hand immediately scrambling to hook around you. Palm and fingers wrapped around your quivering cock once again and pumping messily. His thumb swirling at your tip as though to apologise for his neglect.

The sudden sparks of pleasure to your already overstimmed body makes you cry out. A slur and confused mixture of both of their names pouring from your moist lips as you squirt into the sheets again. And again - and again.

All the while, Jìngyí refuses to let up his thrusts. His whines and groans catching the attention of Alessio who you can already hear palming at his own dick. Probably squeezing around his tip and trying his utmost hardest not to cream himself from the slew of lewd noises pouring out of his phone.

“You gonna cum, cariño? Yeah? Gonna stuff them full?”

“A-Alessioooo,” whines Jìngyí, he cannot stop himself from doing just that. His thrusts faltering and dick tensing for but a moment before he snaps and spurts ropes of icy, cold cum into your awaiting hole. The way he collapses into you with a gasp and starts aggressively, shallowly, humping into you again and again spurts out the thick substance down your thighs.

Not to worry. He’ll stuff you full even more.

Of course you follow quickly after. The feel of him painting your walls has your head dizzy and you can only clench. Squirt yourself. And whine down the call.

“Looks like the little whore couldn’t help himself either - hah,”

Alessio’s degradation makes you bite your lip. If only for your head to limp when another order meets Jìngyí’s ears and he’s following like an obedient puppy. Rolling over and pulling you onto his lap. His face flushed and eyes glossy but his expression ever as cold when he takes control over you.

His hips snap up in quick succession to his fiance’s command. Making you bounce like a ragdoll on his throbbing cock that forms a ring of cream at the base. The prominent veins thrumming against your gummy walls. Clawed hands dig into your soft thighs and he grunts up at you.

“Th-Thatt’ssss it - that’s it - yeah, th-that’s it pretty boy.”

His grunt strains a whine. You can all but limp into him. Try and fail to keep up with his rough pounds that send ripples through your plush ass.

Through it all you hear a stiffled sound over the call. A grunt followed by a long groan. You can only imagine that Alessio has stained his hand at last. His hips messily bucking into his own palm. But the both of you are well aware of his insatiable libido. So it is no surprise when his voice drips out of the speaker. Low and raspy.

“Put camera on. Wanna see you fuck and cream our slutty boy full.”

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𖹭. remember◞ you make a writer's day every time you like, reblog and/or comment on their piece. if you enjoyed my work, please considering doing so<3

. ˚◞ ꒰ 🍰 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒔 ꒱ tip jar . masterist ⊹ ۪ ࣪

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1311

TW: EMETOPHOBIA / VOMIT

Anon asked: Do you have any prompts/ideas for a caretaker caring for a sick character who is terrified of throwing up?

I have a couple:

“The more you try to stop it the worse it’ll be, y’know.” / “You’re making that up.” / “Maybe to stop you gagging, but seriously, better out than in.”

“Please, I don’t want to - it burns!”

Maybe the whumpee has a history of being forced to throw up/a serious illness.

Maybe the last time they did, they threw up blood due to a serious underlying injury/illness.

"I'll hold your hair if that's what you're worried about." / "Don't you dare."

Your whumpee could just be embarrassed, so the more shameless (or perhaps shy) caretaker takes them through their own embarrassing memories (drunken nights, illnesses, throwing up in front of someone because they're so excited/scared/anxious).

^ "Seriously, [whumpee] you throwing up from an illness is the most mundane thing imaginable. Everyone does it. The King of England does."

Maybe the whumpee has bad memories of being sick and alone, throwing up whatever's in their stomach. When the caretaker finds this out, they make sure to keep the whumpee comfortable - maybe giving them blankets/pillows and making sure their clothes are fresh and their mouth is clean after each bout.

[natimiles]

Heartbeats (Roger x OC)

Summary: Mina and Roger get closer, and the furtive glances start after a little while. It continued for a week — that’s when Roger disregarded all pros and cons and acted on his desires.

Words: 1311

Tags: mentions of blood; pre-relationship; Roger being Roger (I guess).

Notes: I am actually late because I had a hard time writing this. I knew how I wanted the kiss to happen, but I couldn’t set up the whole scene together. But here I am! Written with my OC Mina.

For the weekly prompt from the ikevil server — prompt: first kiss

It had been a week since Mina arrived at Crown, and Victor had arranged a dinner for everyone to celebrate her time there. She sat between Ellis and Liam, chatting with them while eating, when a third party interrupted her attention on the current conversation and her forkful of food. Her hand hung midway to her mouth as her gaze traveled from Ellis to Roger, an unreadable expression plastered on her face.

“Will it be too dangerous?” she asked.

“No… Hopefully not.”

“Will it kill me?”

“No, I won’t lose a subject that easily,” he smirked.

“I see…” She tilted her head to the side, pondering for a moment, her golden eyes trying to peer into his soul. Then she shrugged. “Alright. Then I don’t mind helping you out.”

Roger’s smirk widened, and he raised an eyebrow, while some other members looked puzzled but remained silent — it was her choice to refuse or agree with the former doctor, after all.

When he first asked Mina to participate in his research, he was certain she would refuse, maybe even curse at him. He couldn’t read her very well, but judging by the expression on Harrison’s face, Roger assumed she wasn’t lying; she would truly help him.

From that day on, Mina went to the basement after breakfast and assisted Roger with various tasks: giving blood samples, sorting documents, doing check-ups to collect data, testing things between human and cursed, and even organizing the room. Whatever help was needed, she provided. He admitted he was almost becoming accustomed to her presence... Even when there was nothing to do, she stayed. She would sit in a corner, a book in hand, quietly reading while he worked.

And from that day on, tension slowly built between the two of them.

She thought he was handsome since they first met, but to be fair, she found all of them attractive; she even questioned if it was a perk of being cursed. However, as the days passed, she found herself increasingly drawn to him.

Mina would often be in her usual corner, her eyes instinctively shifting to the man in front of her without her even realizing it. She’d stare at his profile while he focused on his own tasks, forgetting about the book in her hands within seconds. Whether she was assisting him with something, having dinner, or on a mission, it didn’t matter where they were or what they were doing — her gaze would seek him out, and she would involuntarily observe him until he looked back.

At first, he just smirked and didn’t pay much attention. But as he noticed her heartbeats rising, or her breath hitching, Roger’s attention started to be drawn to her too. Meaningful glances exchanged here and there, him searching for her voice around the castle when she wasn’t in the basement, and instinctively keeping her behind him when they were on a mission... It was all happening too fast, and he felt the tension between them growing bigger and stronger.

Roger would be analyzing his records, focused on new data he had acquired, when he’d suddenly hear her heartbeats increasing, prompting his eyes to shift to her usual corner to observe her. Their eyes would meet, and they would gaze at each other for a few seconds before one of them decided to return to their tasks.

Neither of them talked about it, and both simply pretended nothing was happening. She didn’t want to label her feelings, afraid that acknowledging them could lead to something she wouldn’t be able to handle. And he didn’t bother trying to analyze or define it.

The furtive glances continued for a week — that’s when Roger disregarded all pros and cons and acted on his desires.

Mina was sitting at the table while he collected her blood — in a gentler manner than he did with the other members — and Roger was doing everything he could to touch her and hear her reactions.

Ba-dump, ba-dump… It was addictive to hear her heartbeat quicken and grow louder, knowing he was the cause.

When he finished and placed a bandage, she attempted to hop down from the table, but stopped when she noticed he didn’t move an inch. On the contrary, Roger placed his hands on both sides of her and leaned forward, locking his eyes with hers — amber and golden, gazing at each other as if engaged in a staring contest.

“What?” She frowned, doing everything she could to keep her voice firm.

Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump… her heart beat louder, faster, and Roger let himself be guided by it.

His lips collided with hers, and his tongue asked to deepen the kiss within seconds. Bringing one of his hands to her neck, he cradled her face with a gentle touch that contrasted with the rough, relentless kiss. Slowly, he made his way to settle between her legs, pressing their bodies closer.

Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump…

Mina didn’t know what to do at first; she let Roger take the lead without even processing what was happening. Then her hands grabbed him by the lapel of his vest, but she wasn’t even sure if she wanted to pull him closer or push him away and slap his handsome face. His hand was hot against her skin, his tongue was exploring her mouth with a fervor she had never experienced before, and her legs trembled against the sides of his body as she fought the desire to lock them around him.

When he pulled away, it was as if her mind could finally start thinking properly again, and she shoved him back. He easily took a few steps backward, giving her space.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Her tone bordered on cold.

“Kissing you,” he shrugged, smirking. Studying her face, he expected her to complain or even cry, but she only stared back at him, her golden eyes darkening in a way he had never seen before — she was furious. “That’s one nasty expression you have there, lil’ lady.”

He wouldn’t lie; he was delighted by her angry face. It was as if she finally gave away some sort of clue about what she was feeling, and he didn’t have to rely only on her heartbeats or the way her breath caught in her throat. 

Mina didn’t say anything back. Seeing how he looked more amused with each passing second made her even more furious, and she didn’t trust she would be able to keep her anger under control anymore, so she thought it’d be wiser to just leave. She wanted to kick him, maybe kiss him again, and then slap his face. She was lost, confused, nervous, and angry, and Roger’s smirk wasn’t helping at all!

She hopped down from the table, giving him one last glance before making her way to the stairs and leaving the basement. Roger didn’t try to talk to her; he just let her be for now. He knew she needed her space, and he also knew her heart was still beating fast and loud when she left.

The woman walked to her bedroom, glad she didn’t encounter anyone on her way there, and locked the door. Flopping down onto her bed, she buried her face into her pillow to scream.

What were they doing? She wasn’t even sure about her own feelings, let alone his... They shouldn’t be kissing like this. Yes, they had been exchanging some furtive glances here and there for a week now, but he didn’t even ask if he could; he just kissed her.

But she... didn’t dislike it. If she really thought about it, she was expecting something to happen someday, but maybe not yet. Turning around, she stared at her ceiling and stayed there until dinner time, fighting every little part of her mind thinking it was the best kiss she’d ever had.

Masterlists

[kybercrystals94]

The Defender (ch.7)

Febuwhump 2025 | Day 7 | Prompt: Alternate Timeline Self

Read here on Ao3

<< Previous Chapter | Master Post | Next Chapter >>

Rated: G | Words: 1311

Character Ages

Omega (8)

The Batch (Chronological: 4.5 / Biological: 9)

OMEGA

“Is he going to be alright?” Omega asks. 

She resists the urge to fuss at the hem of her tunic, though her fingers itch to be busy, to do something. Something to help Crosshair, something to assure their anxious brothers. She knows they do not trust Nala Se. 

And she knows why. 

“Concussions are a common injury in the environment the clones are cultivated in,” Nala Se says, not looking away from the scans she has been studying for the past hour. Omega wishes she understood the images of her brother's brain the way Nala Se did, the contrasts of dark and light on some, the bursts of startling colors on others. “My concern is where CT-9904 was injured.”

“Why?”  

Nala Se turns her head to regard Omega. 

Omega swallows, but holds her ground, keeps her chin raised. She hopes she appears merely curious – not defiant, or, worse, invested. Omega was already frustrated with herself for her behavior when Crosshair first arrived in Nala Se’s lab, confused and afraid. He had mistook her for Hunter, and she had let him believe it. She thought Nala Se would approve of her method of calming the patient. 

She had not. 

“I’m just asking,” Omega continues carefully, “because that is what medical assistants are supposed to do. Ask questions.”

“Hmmm.” Nala Se turns away. “The answer to your question is for another time, Omega. I must focus. Go, attend to your studies.” 

Omega hesitates, biting back another insistent question. But when Nala Se has made up her mind, she will not be swayed. So Omega goes, only not to her studies. She walks out of Nala Se’s office and slips into the room where Crosshair is being monitored. The space is cluttered with familiar medical equipment that has surrounded Omega all of her life. 

Seeing them now, surrounding her brother, makes Omega want to cry. 

He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be hurt like this. She had been so focused on Hunter that she had not thought to check on their brothers. She could have done something to protect him too. Set off an alarm in the hall to make someone from maintenance come to the scene. It might have even scared off the cadets before they’d gotten a chance to hurt him at all. 

Omega approaches the medical cot slowly, on quiet, light footsteps. Crosshair is sedated. She knows she cannot wake him; and yet, she instinctively falls into the habits she’d had not to wake her brothers when they were babies, what feels like a lifetime ago. Nala Se had told her that interrupting their sleep cycles would damage them. Omega took the warning very seriously. She never wanted to be responsible for something so awful, so unthinkable. 

But here is Crosshair now, damaged. 

And here is Omega, feeling dreadfully responsible. 

“Crosshair,” Omega whispers. 

He does not respond. The only movement is the steady rise and fall of his chest, the only sound his resting breaths. She expected as much, knew as much, but she is still disappointed. 

Another step forward, and Omega is close enough to reach out and take his hand. 

She never thought she’d be this close to her brothers again. 

Glancing back at the door, Omega inhales a shuddering breath. She wraps her hand around Crosshair’s, squeezing it softly. “I’m here, Crosshair,” she says. “I know you don’t remember me, but I’m your sister, Omega.” 

The confession, said aloud to unhearing ears, is safe, Omega thinks. An invisible weight lifted. 

Omega smiles. 

“Do you want to hear a story?” she asks.

The Crosshair Omega has been watching through security feeds would probably scoff and say no; however, the Crosshair Omega had held in her lap many years ago, the little white haired child called Oh-four, would have absolutely said yes.

So, Omega tells him a story.  

CROSSHAIR

When Crosshair wakes up, he is alone. He stares at the ceiling above him, the lights dimmed to a sleep cycle setting. He feels groggy, his mind thick and slow. Curling the fingers of his right hand, he is surprised that it is empty. Someone had been holding it, he thinks, and the warmth of their gentle grasp lingers. 

He misses it. 

I’m here, Crosshair.

Crosshair turns his head to look where the voice had been, where the voice now wasn’t. 

Memories lurk like shadows, undefined and faceless, at the edges of his mind. He wants to chase them, to force them into the light, to see them for what they are, but they slip away before his clumsy thoughts can catch them. 

“You are awake.” 

Any peace Crosshair had felt evaporates at the familiar, even voice. The jolt of fear that takes its place brings with it sharp, terrible clarity. The cadets that had been after Hunter, the fight, the white hot pain of his head striking the wall. Hunter holding his hand. Hunter comforting him. 

Nala Se steps into his view. “Recite your CT number.” 

Crosshair blinks, moves to prop himself up on his elbows, and forces himself to focus. “Nine,” he rasps, but his throat is parched and scratchy from disuse. He swallows and tries again. “Nine, nine, zero, four.” 

“Are you able to recite the CT numbers of your three batchmates?” 

…when the five of us were together…

Crosshair nods, and rattles off the CT numbers belonging to his brothers. 

“Are you capable of walking, CT-9904?” Nala Se asks. 

Moving sounds like the last thing Crosshair wants to do, but if it means the possibility of getting out of this room, out of this lab, out of Nala Se’s sight, he is willing to try. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“A medical droid will accompany you back to your barracks,” Nala Se says. “It will remain in your barracks until you finish your recovery. Am I understood?” 

Crosshair bristles. “Does it have to?” 

Nala Se pins him with a look that he refuses to wilt under, holding her gaze glare for glare.

“I said,” Nala Se says, “am I understood.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Crosshair grits out. 

Nala Se turns and leaves the room and a medical droid whirls in. 

…he taught me how to follow you everywhere…all through the city…

Crosshair winces, reaching up to prod his fingers against the lump on his head. 

“You should not do that,” the droid says. 

Crosshair scowls. “What’s it to you?” 

“I have been tasked with your care,” the droid tells him. 

“You’ve been tasked with spying on us,” Crosshair hisses, sitting up slowly. 

The droid hovers close to him as he slides off the medical cot to the floor. The solid surface beneath his boots sways unpredictably, and Crosshair grips the cot to keep from falling. 

“Do you require assistance?” the droid asks. 

“No,” Crosshair says, pushing the droid away when it gets too close. 

“Your brothers are worried about you,” the droid says. 

…our brothers are worried about you…

…I told them you’re going to be okay…

Crosshair has never heard a medical droid refer to clones as brothers. Or tell a clone anything personal for that matter. What did a droid care if clones were worried about another clone? 

…he helped me find you…

…AZ…

“Are you experiencing confusion?” the droid asks. “I will notify–”

“No!” Crosshair cries. He sucks in a breath, looking warily at the door, hoping his outburst wasn’t overheard. “Just…just take me back to my barracks. I’m fine.”

He is relieved when the kriffing droid believes him. 

Before he steps into the lift, having reluctantly allowed the droid to steady him, Crosshair glances down the halls once more. It had felt real, this other life…the one the voice spoke of. 

The voice…not Hunter…

“Omega,” Crosshair breathes. 

But it must have been a dream. 

It had to be. 

They could never have had a sister. 

Crosshair tries to shake the thoughts away, but they persistently hold fast. 

Up next...

Prompt: Blowtorch

Let me know if you'd like to be added to my prompt list!

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[oh-stars]

Out of Sync

Love is wanting to do everything with someone, even if its nothing special.

a @steddielovemonth prompt | 1311 words | CW: N/A | Rating: G

---

It’s as if the universe is actively working against him right now. Keith was out sick, so Steve had to take on more during his shifts on top of covering the shifts they didn’t work together. And then, Keith’s return lined up with Robin’s family vacation, so he had to cover her shifts too. He’s less bitter about covering for her, at least, but that’s not the point. Working two weeks straight, with his usual six hour shifts turning into clopen after clopen – it’s like he’s living at Family Video. 

That’s not even the worst of it, really. Steve likes the extra money and working through Robin’s time off is always a good distraction from her being gone. The problem is Eddie’s working at the plant with Wayne now and he’s temporarily on Wayne’s shifts while a coworker is out on worker’s comp, so they’re all out of sync. It works great for Eddie’s schedule, lets him go to his physical therapy appointments he’s still doing and hang out with the kids and Steve usually, but not so great for Steve’s current predicament. 

It’s been a month since they’ve had one-on-one time and Steve feels like he’s losing it. 

Eddie’s shift change was a nightmare to get used to at first, and it didn’t help that Steve’s parents were in town so they couldn’t really see one another. Not when Steve had to pretend he still lived at the Harringtons rather than the trailer (Eddie had yet to ask, but if Wayne’s comments are anything to go by, it’s all but official). Then the Keith thing, now Robin’s out, and Steve’s just tired of seeing him in passing or when they bring one another lunch sometimes. 

He doesn’t mind losing a bit of sleep to go eat “lunch” with Eddie at two in the morning. It’s nice, being able to just sit with Eddie in his car as Eddie eats the sandwich Steve made him with one hand and holds Steve’s with the other. They’re hidden in the dark of the late hour, safe in his car to be themselves, but neither are up for much conversation. Steve’s usually half asleep and Eddie’s trying to eat as much as possible to get him through the rest of his shift, too sore from working to really engage. Still much better than when Eddie pops in to bring his lunch at Family Video, where they can’t even hang out some days when Keith’s being a dick about non-employees in the break room or Eddie lingering at the counter “scaring” customers away. It’s usually a drop off and a quick hug situation. 

Steve just misses him and he knows Eddie misses him too. 

But they endure and the second Robin is back, Keith approves of Steve having a few days off in a row. Steve thinks it has more to do with corporate seeing an employee working for three weeks straight rather than Keith having a heart, but he’ll take what he can get. 

Which means when Eddie comes shuffling into his (read: their) bedroom, eyes already closed and his belt undone, pants unzipped, Steve can help him into bed and take his time with him. He helps Eddie undress enough to be comfortable and makes sure he’s content laying down, then spends a bit of extra time massaging his back. He gets to enjoy feeling Eddie melt for him under his palms, to take his fill and look at him without worrying about the clock. They don’t say much, Eddie barely conscious as he grunts and moans as the knots in his back and the tightness in his skin are worked out, eased by Steve’s touch. The most he says is a mumbled, “Thank you, baby,” when Steve leans down to kiss his neck after a particularly painful knot.  

And when Eddie falls asleep, Steve gets to curl back up with him. He doesn’t care if he actually gets to sleep, just luxuriates in Eddie’s warmth and the lack of responsibility for the day, stuck in that early morning haze.  

They wake up a few hours later, when Eddie’s alarm goes off.

“You’re still here,” Eddie says, brow furrowed and frowning. 

Steve chuckles. “Keith gave me three days off,” he says. 

He watches as Eddie processes the information, concern turning into a shit-eating grin. It’s the only warning he gets before Eddie tackles him, hands in his hair as he kisses him. They don’t get out of bed for a while, too preoccupied with revisiting one another’s bodies and reacquainting themselves. 

When they do finally emerge, Wayne’s pulling on his shoes. “What are you two thinking about for dinner?” 

Eddie shrugs, yawning as he fixes their coffee. “Whatever works for me. Just not sloppy Joe’s again.” 

“That ain’t much help,” Wayne huffs. He turns to Steve. “You goin’ to be here for dinner?” 

Steve nods as he takes the mug Eddie offers him. “If you’ll have me.” 

“Like you ain’t always welcome,” Wayne says, shaking his head. “You got an opinion on food?” 

“No sir.” 

“You boys aren’t any help,” Wayne grumbles. “Can’t buy shit for dinner if none of us know what we want.” He’s grabbing his coat and keys as he speaks, walking around the small living space as he gets ready. 

Eddie shakes out his hair, eyes more alert. “Wait, it’s my turn to go to the store,” Eddie says. 

Wayne waves him off. “I’m not blind, boy. You two have barely seen one another in a minute now and I can’t take any more of your whining. You’ll get the next time.” 

“No,” Eddie protests, setting down his mug, “I’ve got this. You should resting–” 

Steve’s brow furrows. “What happened?” 

Wayne starts to grumble about nothing as Eddie turns to him with a scared look in his eye despite the serious expression. “His back is acting up. He says it's just a pinched nerve but I don’t think he should be risking anything.” He turns back to Wayne. “Go sit down. I’ll go to the store.” 

Eddie doesn’t give anyone time to say anything before he heads back to the room. 

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Wayne says as he shrugs off his coat. “I didn’t mean to mess up your day.”

Steve tilts his head. “You didn’t mess up anything. You should try to rest before your shift tonight.” 

Wayne sighs as he sinks into his chair, face contorting in pain with the movements. 

It doesn’t take much for Steve to head back into the bedroom in search of fresh clothes, his wallet, and Eddie’s keys. He meets Eddie at the bathroom, slipping inside to brush his teeth and try to figure something out with his hair. 

“Why are you dressed?” Eddie asks as he wipes the toothpaste off his mouth. 

“I’m going with you.”

Eddie shakes his head and puts his hands on Steve’s shoulders. “No. It’s your first day off in ages. Go rest.” 

Steve takes Eddie’s wrists in his hands and pulls them off his shoulders. “I just want to spend the day with you, no matter what we’re doing.” He leans forward to kiss his cheek. “And I’ve got your keys so either I’m going or none of us are eating tonight,” he whispers, lips brushing against Eddie’s ear. 

He laughs, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist and pulling him in for a proper kiss. “I love you, you know that?” 

“I love you, too.” 

“What do you say to grabbing lunch before we go to the store? Make a date out of it?” 

“Greasy diner food and grocery shopping,” Steve says with a laugh, “you sure know how to woo a man, Eds.” 

Eddie winks. “Someone has to compete with the Harrington charm.” 

Steve pulls away and tugs Eddie out of the bathroom. “C’mon. Quicker we leave, quicker we come back and can go back to bed.”

---

Thank you @lady-lostmind for betaing this story!

Ao3 Link

[sesshy380]

Shameless self promo time! A list of all of my Christmas/Holiday focused fics because of the season!

CasteShipping Holiday Prompt: Eggnog

Rating: Teen and Up

Wordcount: 1154

Characters: Atem, Thief King Bakura

Holiday office parties and alcoholic eggnog are the perfect recipe for getting to know your coworkers on a whole new level

DeathShipping Holiday Prompt: Finding the perfect gift

Rating: Teen and up

Wordcount: 2028

Characters: Ryou Bakura, Amir (Yami Marik/Yami Malik)

Amir's attempt at making a gift doesn't go exactly as planned

EuroShipping Holday Prompt: Hot Chocolate

Rating: General

Wordcount: 1311

Characters: Seto Kaiba, Ryou Bakura

The most important man in Domino looks for an excuse to escape the Holiday Extravaganza.

Talking with Myself...'Kiss Miss' Edition

Rating: Teen and up

Wordcount: 718

Characters: Yami Bakura, Author

♪ Last Christmas, I gave you my heart. The very next day...I've got a jar of dir-rt! I've got a jar of dir-rt!

(note: Talking with Myself is part of crack series where the Author is sleep deprived and tired of arguing with the characters in her head, so she decided to have some fun and throw it into a doc and post it for all to enjoy)

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @kaylinalexanderbooks!

5 Lines Tag

My prompts: a line describing food or drink, a line with a funny phrasing, a line quickly giving someone's backstory, a line describing someone's clothes, a line where someone discovers something

Let's see how many of these Starbreaker can score!

A line describing food or drink

I liked to cook, didn’t I? Anarac frowned as he sat in his usual place behind one of the crates. At the edge of his mind, he gleaned the impression of a bustling space, all steamy heat and raucous voices and tantalizing smells. He looked down at his hands and saw several small scars there. Almost, he could recall the zing of pain from the searing pot lip that was their origin. Was I a chef of some sort? I must’ve worked at a restaurant.

A line with funny phrasing

The next day didn’t hold any major changes in routine for Anarac. Skulk about the cargo hold, avoid Kaulakri when she came down to grab more paper, try to speak to the empty air to make sure his voice was still there, dissociate—it was very busy stuff.

A line quickly giving someone's backstory

“You’re Nyda Burningrock,” Kaulakri repeated. The woman took an unnecessary breath, fury making way for irritation. “Of the Burningrock Method? You knew how to calculate the movement of stars?”

Anarac made a distraught face at that. Calculate the movement of stars? Did these poor kids even know what stars really were? End’s eyes moved without pattern so far as he dared to recall, so how was it possible to predict randomness?

Nyda raised an eyebrow. “I did publish that bullshit, didn’t I?”

A line describing someone's clothes

Shaking off after presumably spending most of the ship’s spiral pinned between a crate and a railing was an elf. She had a mad-dog sort of look to her—a face covered in piercings and faded tattoos of thorny patterns creeping up her arms. Her green hair was shaved into a mohawk, however, it was rather flattened at the moment. In a telling discrepancy, where the selkie and dragon-man’s clothes were made with the fine threadcount of factory looms, the elf’s vest and trousers were clearly hand-woven.

A line where someone discovers something

“Skarlin calendar….” Faalgun frowned as he did some mental math. “I’ve been dead twenty-six years then.”

“Twenty-six!” the elf yelped. “Motherfucker, I died in 1311! Holy shit, who won the civil war?”

Pash shrugged. “I don’t know that calendar, but I like the thought of having been dead for thirty-three years. Nice mathy number. Let’s go with that.”

“Which civil war?” Kaulakri asked, cocking her head towards the elf. “You’re from Nabafyr, I presume—you’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

I'll tag @somethingclevermahogony @tragedycoded @paeliae-occasionally @the-letterbox-archives @dyrewrites and anyone else who wants in!

Your prompts: a line describing travel, a line that makes you laugh, a line that makes you mad, a line describing someone's eyes, a line with internal monolog

[circusgoth-dotcom]

Get Away

Ship: Anton Chigurh x Salem Nickle Newman (Secretary!AU)

Word Count: 1311

Summary: This AU isn't going to be elaborated on, it's just a oneshot I wanted to mess around with. Salem is a secretary for the people who often hire Anton and Anton takes a liking to him. Ending may be a little rushed. CWs for implied criminal activity, Karen behaviour (from another character), implied murder, cigarette mentions (no actual smoking described). Edit: Counting this as Prompt 19 on this SelfShipSeptember post.

Tag List: @futurewife @canongf

Salem Newman was a secretary, stationed in a large corporate building dealing with things he didn’t much care about. However, he was aware that it was only a front for much darker goings-on, and he still couldn’t bring himself to question things. If he was getting paid and being left alone, he was content to turn a blind eye. After all, it beat being stuck on a farm in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.

There was one positive to his job: a hitman by the name of Anton Chigurh, hired by one of the higher-ups in the building. Whenever he came in, Salem happened to be at the front desk of his boss’ floor. Of course, he’d never admit he enjoyed seeing Chigurh, and that was besides the fact Chigurh probably didn’t even acknowledge him outside of those brief check-ins at the desk.

On a pale Monday morning, Salem found himself gritting through a conversation with one of his coworkers over a cup of coffee. “Henrietta, if you’re questioning our employers, why don’t you just quit? Everyone’s gotta make a living, and if your current living doesn’t feel right, then maybe it’s a sign from the universe that you’ve gotta make a change.”

Henrietta recoiled slightly in offence. “That isn’t an option for me, Newman… you can’t tell me you’re happy with yourself, working this job…?”

Salem took a deep drink of his coffee. “Darlin’, I know things that’ll make you wish you quit months ago,” he spoke darkly. “If I were you, I’d feel lucky to even have a job, especially when we’re getting paid what we are.”

“What are you talking about--?”

At that moment, the elevator doors opened and familiar, dark brown, alligator-skin boots stepped onto the cream and grey carpet.

“Morning, Mr. Chigurh,” Salem spoke loudly, rising from his chair and resting his elbows on the tall counter in front of his desk, mug cupped loosely between his dainty hands. Anton approached the desk with a respectful nod.

“Newman.” His dark eyes swept toward Henrietta, who shrunk under his gaze. “And who’s this?”

She let out an odd sort of squeaking noise, tried to recover, then turned the corner and sped out of sight. Once Salem was sure she was far enough away, he spoke.

“A ninny of a coworker, that’s who. Nobody you need to worry about.” He took another sip of coffee and settled back down into his chair, “You go right on ahead, now, Mr. Archer’s all set up to see you.”

“Thank you.” The hitman gave the secretary an appreciative smile and strode forward, entering the office at the end of the hall. Salem watched him go, then sighed when the door closed behind him, returning his attention back to his coffee and the computer in front of him.

It was months before Salem saw him again, and on a very busy day at the office no less. Phone cradled between his ear and his shoulder, one hand busy with the computer and another jotting shorthand on a notepad, people rushing this way and that. Salem didn't notice his favourite patron for a good few minutes, especially not with the disgruntled man already in front of him, who now snapped his fingers in its face.

"Is Archer here or not, you lousy…?"

Salem slapped his hand over the receiver of the phone, hissing, "Would you shut the fuck up for two seconds, I told you this was an important call when you came in!"

The man's face flushed angrily as Salem returned his attention to his call.

"Don’t you tell me to shut up, you're the employee here, you're supposed to cater to me first! You're probably not even on a business call!"

"I believe Mr. Newman told you to shut your trap," Anton rumbled from behind, quickly catching the businessman's attention.

"Excuse me??"

Anton's eyes subtly flicked in annoyance as he spoke again with even more precise diction: "My friend asked you to shut your trap, sir, don't make me repeat myself again."

"And who the Hell are you??"

"Me?" Anton cracked a grin. "Oh, I'm nobody. Nobody at all. But the same can't be said for the man behind the counter, so I'd respect him if I were you."

With that, the hitman situated himself beside the opposite wall, comfortably leaning against it with his ankles crossed and a serene but guarded expression on his face, despite the fact there were empty chairs just to his left. Prickly silence filled the air between the two men, only punctuated by the clacking of chunky keyboard keys and Salem's short answers to whomever he was speaking to on the phone.

The call eventually ran on so long that the initial man stormed off, growling about telling whoever was funding Salem's paycheck about the incident. Anton remained unphased, content to watch Salem work for the time being. When they finally got off the phone, they dropped it into its cradle and rested their head on the desk, hands tangling in the back of their hair.

Anton paused just a moment longer before approaching the desk and clearing his throat. Salem's head immediately popped up, eyes screwed shut and face flushed. "What, what is it, what do you want, can I not have two seconds today to breathe..?!" He snapped, voice breaking before opening his eyes and startling. "Oh, Christ, I-I'm sorry, I didn’t know it was you, Mr. Chigurh…"

Anton held up his hand briefly. "No need for apologies." He removed his wallet and placed down a twenty-dollar bill. "Get yourself something from the convenience store on the corner."

Salem rubbed his eyes under his glasses before staring at the money, furrowing his brow. "Mr. Chigurh, you don’t need to be giving me money, I've got enough for the vending machine in the breakroom…"

Anton nudged the bill closer in an insistent manner. "Go down to the convenience store. I promise you won't regret it."

Salem scratched the back of his head. "Well…"

"Don’t hesitate, just take it."

"Alright, I will!" Salem stood and picked up the money. "I'll go right now, since you're being so pushy…" It smiled shyly. "I think someone's still in with Mr. Archer, but you know the door so I trust you to keep an eye on it."

"Yes, sir."

"Alrighty then. Thank you, Mr. Chigurh."

Another two months passed after that before Salem saw Anton again, this time later in the afternoon than usual. Salem stood beside his desk, thumbing the top of a cigarette pack and glancing up and down the hall, looking for the hitman and taking a small, relieved breath when the elevator doors opened with a ding.

“Oh good, I almost thought you weren’t coming. Bit late for you, ain’t it? My break started five minutes ago but I didn’t want to keep you waiting--”

“Take your break, Newman. Mr. Archer and I already talked over the phone.”

The two briefly nodded at each other before Salem went off, not questioning the moment and simply looking forward to having his lunch. When he returned to his desk, he was surprised to find Anton waiting for him.

“So, how’d it go?” Salem asked casually. Anton gave him a particular look.

“You tell me.”

An odd feeling enveloped Salem: While its stomach grew cold and goose pimples sprung up on its back, its heartbeat quickened in abnormal excitement. “Oh.” It was only now that Salem noticed the long gun with the hefty silencer Anton carried.

“I want you to come with me. Your path doesn’t end behind this desk.”

Salem swallowed. “What if I’m perfectly happy where I am, Mr. Chigruh?”

“You aren’t. I see it in the shadows under your eyes.”

They laughed in a shaky manner, blood colouring their cheeks. “I’m not.” They admitted. “I’m not.”

Anton silently offered his hand. Salem took it.

[ao3feed-sambucky]

Against All Odds

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/HAzClGp by jemgirl Sam was already frowning when he walked out of the restroom. It had been a long battle, an even longer day, and all he really wanted was to get in his bed and stay there for the next two days at least. He and Steve had been apart for over a week though — separate missions — and Sam had foolishly promised they’d hang out as soon as he returned. Of course, at the time he’d made that promise, Sam had expected to return way earlier, and with a way better outcome. But, still, Sam couldn’t beg off their night out, even if he wanted to. Well, sure, he could have, but he would’ve felt guilty about it, and he already had enough guilty feelings where Steve was concerned, so he forced himself to come hangout. Words: 1311, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 9 of Prompts People Sent Me On Tumblr Fandoms: Captain America (Anthony Mackie Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Captain America - All Media Types Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Sam Wilson (Marvel), James "Bucky" Barnes Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson, Ambiguous Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson Additional Tags: Post-Endgame, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Sam Wilson as Captain America (Marvel), Unhealthy Relationships, Ambiguous Relationships, Steve Lives, Love Triangles read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/HAzClGp

[valentine-cafe]

Neck kisses bestowed upon any of the vampires you think would have interesting reactions, turn the tables on them ( ・∇・)

. ˚◞♡ Reader that gives neck kisses to their vampire s/o's◞ ₊˚

𖹭. a selection of the vampires from out vampire au /gn reader

‧꒰ character sheet . legendarium . prompt page ꒱‧

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ XUĚLÍNG꒱ Would be most pleased at the feeling of your neck kisses. he’s used to them, yes. but you, you know how to catch him off guard. drawing sweet gasps from him, leaving him melting and slinking into your arms. lips parted and eyes fluttering.

oh the times he has ripped his nails through your skin at the feel of your warmer lips against his cold skin. it sends tingles down his spine.

pin him against the table, he begs for you to do so often. but you never do, and it drives him crazy.

vampire prince x reader, prostitute x reader

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ JÙN LÁI ꒱ it started as soft neck kisses that ever so slowly began turning more and more frenzied. he had been preparing for his next lesson and you. his secret little lover, had decided to come refresh him a bit.

he freezes for a moment, breath hitching. oh the sound of his breath hitching. a rare but ever so delightful sound. shivers running down his cold skin. your warmth is too much for his senses.

what other thing can he do but swing you over and pin you onto his desk while leaving behind heated kisses down your neck.

you’re too kind.

vampire prince x reader, professor x reader

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ TALISEN ꒱ would go crazy. leaning his neck back to give you as much access to his neck as you want. heavy panting and groaning from each and every kiss to render you flustered.

his arms wrap around you so tightly. pulling you closer to him, while a hand snakes up to the back of your head and helps guide your lips around his skin. he often fantasizes about when your plush skin will be against his next time?

it truly is something he cannot get enough of. he has replicated you multiple times, but they’re illusions of you. they’re not you. it isn’t ever the same

he needs your lips.

vampire prince x reader, poet x reader

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ RISHEN 1311 ꒱ would react with a throat gone dry. hunger rushing through him. the feel of your lips on his neck would remind him of how it feels to have someone feast on you. it’s tempting to tell you to bite down on his neck.

feel you drink from his blood. initiate in the sacred intimate ritual of sharing red crimson between lovers. how he’d love to see your mouth dripping with his essence.

but, you are no vampire. he could fix such problem quick— but then again. . . it’d ruin the fun for now.

it does not stop him from turning around to take a quick sips of you, when you have finished kissing and worshipping his skin.

vampire prince x reader, assassin x reader

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ MÙCHÉN ꒱ flattered at your gesture and with no hesitation pulls you onto his lap to sit and continue. leaning his head back while chuckles rumble through him. vibrating against your lips. with a deep breath, you feel yourself shifted and pressed up against a chair.

not so that he could take over — it seems the king enjoys feeling your lips from different positions. the way you crane your neck. lean forward, bend down. tug him to your height. he can’t get enough of it.

he wants to feel your lips from every angle and position he possibly can get you into as you kiss his neck. the most flustering one must’ve been when he urged you to get up on him from behind and kiss the back of his neck.

The first vampire x reader, Vampire king x reader

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ ARISTAIOS ꒱ barely allows you to get a kiss or two in on his neck. hungry to please you instead. he flips you over and trails his lips down your neck. licking long streaks across the delicate, warm skin.

his little human plaything, is what he calls you.

you know he means different. he simply calls you such names out of shame. a vampire, falling for a human? what scandal.

and yet he cannot let you go. not without giving you a bit of pleasure. sure he could take your devotion and worship. but, he was always more of a giver with his lovers than one who takes. . .

when they behave, that is.

vampire king x reader

[libraryofcirclaria]

1441 to 1452

Library of Circlaria

Remikra Timeline

 Fall of the St. Thomas Foundation

The geography of Uhlstead, Ereautea consists of three areas: Upper Uhlstead, located on the skymountain Laidi; Middle Uhlstead, located on a raised, round plateau 300 feet above the surrounding terrain; and Lower Uhlstead, located on the surrounding terrain.

The area began first being settled by Esarian followers following the 1187 Coup. In 1218, a child, believed by many to be the legitimate second-born daughter of one of the Councils of House Esary, was transported here to shelter from the ensuing political turmoil in Notulfa. Combrian President Jacob Henry, at the time, signed a treaty to keep this area restricted in order to protect the community protecting the child. Said treaty would be renewed by every successive Combrian President and every successive Retunian Prime Minister until the tenure of Prime Minister Arthur Cummings.

This community functioned since 1218 as a "democratic theocracy," run by a democratically-elected council taking advice from said daughter figure. When the daughter figure passed at age 70 years from health issues in 1283, her role posthumously was taken up by a three-Cleric tribune, who exercised slightly more power over the Council and the community. This mode of government stood until the year 1294 when, after photos taken by several passengers aboard an airship blown off-course by severe thunderstorms, the Retunian public began to take strong interest in the area. In 1295, David and Robert Thomas gained approval from the Retunian Council and Prime Minister Cummings to have the protective treaty annulled and to enable negotiations with the protected community leaders on having the area developed commercially.

Between 1297 and 1311 occurred mass construction and development to the area, as there now emerged a municipality established officially in 1299 as the town of Uhlstead. By 1311, Uhlstead was a significantly developed municipality on par with towns like North Kempton, and became home to the St. Thomas Foundation established that year. Upon said establishment in 1311, the St. Thomas Foundation included the St. Thomas Cathedral in Upper Uhlstead, the St. Thomas Courtyards in Middle Uhlstead, and the St. Thomas Academy in Lower Uhlstead.

The municipality of Uhlstead would hold local elections in 1312, which yielded the Mayorship and a near-unanimous Council majority to the Uhlstead Foundational Party. On paper, this was a typical, local political party. But in practice, the Foundational Party was a deeply religious party who ensured policies that would favor the St. Thomas Foundation. These included policies unofficial "pipelines" for donations to the St. Thomas Foundation, and local ballot adjustments to all but ensure that local elected positions were filled by Foundational Party members. The latter effort succeeded in giving the Party the Mayorship and Council majority consistently for around 130 years, prompting numerous forms of scrutiny from political critics within the Retunian Commonwealth and abroad in time to come.

Despite this, Uhlstead enjoyed economic success and technological achievements. The St. Thomas Academy carried a degree of excellence rivaling even that of Cabotton University, especially with its music and lightfire programs. The Academy also made significant contributions to engineering, most notably with the introduction of the Vacuum Train in the 1340s. Outside the Academy, the St. Thomas Foundation created economic incentive for increased trade abroad for Retunian investors, particularly those in lightfire and dymensional planecrafting. And of note, Uhlstead and the St. Thomas Foundation provided a major political sanctuary for those Retunians resisting the Esurchian Occupation.

Despite this, there were obvious underlying issues. Most notably, the St. Thomas Foundation collected a large revenue of donations with the promise that one day, there would be renewed diplomacy with House Esary, which would deliver economic prosperity giving returns toward donations made. The St. Thomas Foundation would predict specific dates when said promise would be delivered, making a future date accordingly when previous date passed with the promise unfulfilled. And over the years, it became increasingly clear that the Foundational Party had an iron grip on politics and the opposition, which the Party intentionally kept divided, while they continued to ensure that no opposition parties appeared on local ballots, other than space for write-in candidates, for local elections. Meanwhile, the St. Thomas Foundation gained increasing notoriety abroad as its propaganda was rejected largely due to its "scammy vibes." Furthermore, there was concern abroad that the failure of the Retunian Commonwealth to take action to address the political party rigging in Uhlstead would serve as a precedent for further political troubles in the future. And then there was also the obvious issue of the unproven speculation of oathcrafting.

A break in the Foundational Party "regime" came, finally, in the year 1437, when a former member, Godfrey Gins, became a whistleblower and exposed to the Retunian public many details of the St. Thomas Foundation's corrupt apparatus. The Supreme Court in the Basin District accepted these claims and called for a joint investigation against the St. Thomas Foundation, who, in turn, succeeded in being granted a two-year window to collect the information needed in order to cooperate with the upcoming inquiry. Said inquiry began in the early months of the year 1439, during which the allegations of corruption were proven true and the leaders of the St. Thomas Foundation promised to enact a motion to pay back on the donations it received over the last twenty-five years. Accordingly, said payback would be delivered by April 1441. The Inquiry Commission agreed to this. However, in January 1441, an anonymous observer appointed by the Committee reported that the St. Thomas Foundation had begun moving financial capital to offshore accounts in Tandeiyah. The Tandeiyan government, in response, froze the involved accounts and assets. And this further act by the St. Thomas Foundation led a final verdict of the inquiry to judge the St. Thomas Foundation guilty in its actions, while the Retunian Supreme Court authorized for a popular referendum to take place on 16 September 1441 on a decision whether or not to liquidate the St. Thomas Foundation, itself. Said referendum yielded ninety-five percent of the Retunian population calling for the liquidation.

Thus began what would be known as the Great Deconstruction of the St. Thomas Foundation.

Scholars, however, consider the second week of April 1441 to be the beginning of the Deconstruction, as many within Uhlstead municipal limits, along with many across the nation, gathered to begin taking apart the Cathedral, Courtyards, and Academy. The motion began, on paper, on 2 January 1442. Regardless, the Deconstruction continued, carried out by volunteers, until the second week of April 1442, when a demolition crew arrived and finished the job.

Numerous St. Thomas Foundation beneficiaries directly involved in the scandal were prosecuted while a few of them were sentenced up to five years in prison. Meanwhile, the Supreme Court ordered Uhlstead to print ballots listing the top three most popular parties along with the write-in spaces, just like every other Retunian ballot. As a result, ballots in Uhlstead for the 1444 Municipal Elections included candidates for the Uhlstead Foundational Party, RAD Party, and the Commonwealth Democratic Party.

Said elections were held on 24 September 1444, which saw the Uhlstead Foundational Party lose every elected seat. Kara Sindroh of the RAD Party won the Uhlstead Mayorship while the Commonwealth Democrats, opposed to the RAD Party on the national scale, gained a very thin majority over a RAD Party majority in Uhlstead Council. Both parties, locally, decided to form a coalition in the beginning of the new term in 1445. The legislative efforts that followed led to the establishment of the Uhlstead Community College, which worked with the National Institute of Research and Development, and the establishment of a significant branch of the Library of Circlaria.

Retunian Constitution: Amendment Thirteen

With memories fresh in the minds of many regarding the disastrous Marc Warren agenda of fifteen years past, as well as other deep-trade opportunity fallouts, came a call for a repeal to Constitutional Amendment Six, which had initially mandated the continuous existence of the Deep-Trade Administration. On 16 January 1443, Retunian Council approved such a repeal, through the addition of Amendment Thirteen, and, per constitutional protocol, scheduled for a popular referendum on this to occur on 16 September of that year. The referendum succeeded in having Amendment Thirteen ratified, giving the Deep-Trade Administration until 24 September 1444 to act on any standing deep-trade interests with formal Motions or to otherwise vote themselves out. The latter would occur on 24 September, thus making the last day of the Deep-Trade Administration's existence 24 December 1444.

Library of Circlaria Funding Prioritization

The Library of Circlaria, over the previous decade, had become the primary source of economic incentive. Numerous times, other interests had perceivably done nothing but cause disruption to this economic model. And so came forth a solution for the Retunian Council to mandate priority funding to the dymensional planecrafter industry through the OPEN forum, and that any counter-proposition could not move forward in the Forum without the backing of a popular referendum. This measure succeeded, passing the Retunian Council, in a measure known as the Dymensional Planecrafter Economic Security Act, on 16 September 1443 and signed by Prime Minister Heits on the same day. This initially generated controversy as an effort was made for a lawsuit. However, Arbitrator Curale Mallow rejected to send the suit to the courts; and no petition materialized against Mallow's decision.

1446: Trade Contract Changes and Federal Elections

Over the previous decades, the South Coast Trade Federation gained notoriety for exploiting its trading partners, especially the Retunian Commonwealth. By the 1440s, an overwhelming majority of the Retunian population called for a termination of the trade agreement. The issue, however, was that, in order for the Commonwealth to maintain economic stability, it would need to form a trade agreement with another entity. After a great deal of negotiation, the Commonwealth government, on 24 September 1446, signed a trade contract with the Dorican Trade Federation.

With all-partisan support, the improvements stemming from the Dorican Trade Federation arrangement left only two other debated issues: scriptfire policy and darkfire community policy. These came up in the 1446 General Elections during which Mary Ann Heits ran for re-election on behalf of the RAD Party and Orie Rickardson ran on behalf of the Commonwealth Democrats. Heits called for continued priority funding for Library of Circlaria and the dymensional planecrafter industry, and expanded efforts for diplomacy with the International Darkfire Community. Meanwhile, Rickardson called for the re-prioritization of funding for the scriptfire industry, with the hope that success here would float other Retunian markets.

With the population determining that Rickardson's proposals would incur too many costs and impose too many "conformist" adjustments, Heits won re-election, and the RAD Party maintained legislative majority, for the election on 24 September.

Dorican Trade Contract, Deep-Trade Transactions, and Library of Circlaria Restructuring

Taking effect in the summer of 1447, the contract with the Dorican Trade Federation provided numerous benefits to the Commonwealth, including less travel requirements for contractors and increased revenue toward Retunian markets.

Meanwhile, despite the absence of an official Deep-Trade Administration, private firms spear-headed efforts in helping the Commonwealth expand its diplomacy network among members of the International Darkfire Community. This took advocates on business trips increasingly to places further South and East across the Circlarian Ocean. A notable Deep-Trade Forum, as a result, was carried out in the West Ancondrian municipality of Cheritan between 2 and 15 November 1449.

On 7 October 1449, the Retunian Council passed the Dymensional Planecrafter Economic Restructuring Act, which aimed, mainly, to fund the effort by Library of Circlaria to restructure its platform on Planet Nephina. Operations on this began on 13 March 1450 and concluded its main agendas on 7 October 1450; though operations here are ongoing to this day.

1452 Elections and Lotumna Deep-Trade Arrangement

Leading up to the year 1452 arose contentious debate over whether the Retunian Commonwealth should prioritize funding toward diplomacy within the International Darkfire Community or prioritize funding toward conventional trade interests like scriptfire. The year 1452 was an election year, for which Mary Ann Heits endorsed the incumbent Provincial Domain Governor-General, Kara Mackwell, to run against the Commonwealth Democratic candidate, Ryon Kormish, for the Prime Minister position. Mackwell, during her 1452 campaign, stated that she supported funding diplomacy in the Darkfire International Community due to the abundance of darkfire resources in the Commonwealth providing incentive to do so. Meanwhile, Kormish campaigned for priority to be given to conventional trade due to the perceived higher economic payoff in the long-term future. However, the population, once again, favored the agendas of the RAD Party. As a result, Mackwell won the 1452 nomination while the RAD Party maintained legislative majorities.

On 23 December 1452, the Lotumna Maritime Trade Council launched an agenda during which they sent representatives to negotiate the prospect of deep-trade transactions with the Retunian Commonwealth, with the Retunian darkfire quarries serving as incentive to do so. Despite a majority hostile sentiment against deep-trade up to this point, Retunian business deep-trade representatives agreed to said transactions while a call was made to form a new Deep-Trade Administration to file through the official Motions.

<- 1429 to 1440 <- || -> 1453 to 1464 ->

[chemanalystdata]

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AIO Spark offers custom AI-powered services to help commercial lighting stores improve their online presence and increase customer engagement and sales. Our services include copywriting, website design, AI prompt engineering, AI illustration, and SEO services. https://www.aiospark.com/sectors/commercial-lighting-stores/?feed_id=1311&_unique_id=65fbd6f9626ec&utm_source=Tumblr&utm_medium=donavichi&utm_campaign=AIO_Bot #65fbd6f96275b

[onsunnyside]

OMFG SONNY OKAY SO stepdad!ari x naive!inexperienced!stepdaughter and bicep choking😩maybe you’re sat on the couch watching a film and he just comes up behind you putting that arm round your throat while whispering dirty things in your ear🥵🥵

“i see the way you look at me honey, i can smell how wet you are. you gunna let daddy fuck you huh? you want him to play with your little pussy?” fuuUUUUUUUUUCK

it’s summer but for the sake of filth, what does stepdad!ari want for Christmas? 🫠 the answer is you

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | stepdad!Ari Levinson x inexperienced!reader

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | age gap, stepcest, stepdad!ari (he’s a warning), dilf!ari, inexperienced!reader, size difference, smut - minors dni, daddy kink, unprotected sex (p in v), choking (bicep choking), spitting, dirty talk, degradation, dumbification, a pinch of dacryphilia, ruined kink, size kink, overstimulation, mhm balls. implied: pussy spanking, panty stealing. 

𝗪/𝗖 | 1311

P.S.: at the time of writing this, I was only thinking of the image of Ari and combined the prompt with Christmas on the whim, completely randomly. Yes, I know his character is Jewish, and I’m sorry if I offended anyone, it was not my intention. This was just for a fun little party and I wasn’t thinking, please don’t read this if it offends you.

🍆 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲? 𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲… 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲? 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The red and green lights are a blur, and the forgotten Christmas movie is still playing on the television, the jolly soundtrack a disgusting contrast to your current sin.

You wetly gasp his name and your nails dig into his skin, but he’s unrelentless. He’s so much bigger than you in both height and mass, a threatening force railing into your body like a hungry beast. Your hand slides between the two of you, pushing him back. 

Ari freezes, heavily breathing against your neck. “If you don’t move your hand, I’m gonna pull out and leave you here.”

Whining, you grasp onto his forearm with both hands. The rocking picks up again, your hips digging into the cushions as pathetic choked whimpers escape your tight throat. Your stepfather flexes, his bicep constricting your airflow and fueling the fire in your tummy. You moan loudly, desperately trying to meet his thrusts, but he’s too much and you’re too fucked out.

“Poor baby, can't even think, huh?” He chuckles lowly, “fuck, can feel you dripping down my balls. Such a filthy whore—letting your stepdad fuck you, soaking my cock like it’s your fuckin job. Who knew you were such a perv?” 

If you could, you’d scoff at the irony of it. After all, he was the one who commented on your dress and sat at the end of the couch in perfect view of your panty-less core. If he sat anywhere else in the living room, he wouldn’t see your bare folds, already wet because he just looked so good in his striped button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

Knowing Ari, he’d say something like “would you rather not have me compliment you?” 

Perhaps any other person, but with Ari, you wanted him and all the attention he could offer. Which right now was inappropriate knowing your relationship and his marriage to your mother. 

You know you should feel ashamed, but there isn’t any room for anything other than hot pleasure with Ari’s thick length splitting you open. 

He’s straddling your ass, his pelvis slapping against your flesh with every thrust, sending your juices down your slit onto the couch and his heavy balls. 

“Bad girl, you like being choked? Like how much bigger I am than you, how I can just throw you around wherever I want?” He leans down, gripping the arm of the couch inches from your flushed face. His beard scratches your jaw as he noses your cheek, “like a dumb little doll.” He grunts when you clench around him, sucking his thick cock deeper. 

“That’s it, make a filthy mess for daddy. You’re gonna clean it up later. Suck my cock, clean your stupid mess—” 

“Never done that, uh! Had someone—in my mouth.” 

If possible, Ari gets harder at that, “Daddy’s gonna teach you, don’t worry.” His big hand lands several spanks on your ass, “look at you, ruining your mother’s couch, imagine how disappointed she’ll be.” 

You try to escape his punishment, but he yanks you back onto his cock by your hips, pinning you down with your arms behind your back as you weep into the cushion. 

“Where do you think you’re going, princess? Daddy isn’t done using this cunt.”

Tears stream down your face, “Y-You’re too deep—ah!” You squeal when he falls over you, 

His face is in the crook of your neck, filthy words jumbling in your foggy mind. 

You’re trapped under him, his weight pinning you down, pressing you into the soft cushions. “That’s it, take daddy’s cock. Dumb little baby, you can handle it, can’t you?” He rasps over the lewd wet squelching of your bodies, “you can. Or else you would’ve worn panties.” 

“Didn’t have—any clean ones.” You shudder. 

“Why? Are you giving them away to boys?” 

“N-No!”

Ari hums, “Don’t know if I believe you, sweetheart.” He sits back up and works into you, pounding into your tight cunt, making you slide up the couch until you brace yourself on the arm. 

He spits down, his salvia lands on your puckered hole and trails down to your stretched pussy, joining the cream coating his length. His rough fingers collect your slick, and you jump at the extra sensation, pulsating around his girth. 

He groans gutturally around his digits—and his collection of your dirty panties is forgotten, now that he’s had the real thing, nothing will give the same sick satisfaction. “Have you ever tasted yourself before?” 

You shake your head, or try to at least. Suddenly wet fingers slide deep into your mouth, touching the back of your throat as you gag.

“God, I love that noise. You’re gonna choke on my cock too.” Ari’s balls slam into your swollen clit, still sore from his ‘experimental slaps’ as he called them. You can’t decide if you want him to spank your button again, or keep fucking your guts. 

“I can only imagine how you’ll fit my balls in your mouth, you gonna gag on them too? Get me even more filthy because you’re so fucking small?” 

His hips stutter when you tighten, “you like that? Like when I talk about how tiny you are compared to me?” His assumptions are confirmed when you subtly move against him, hiccuping his name. “Your little cunt can barely take me, you know that? Daddy’s tearing you open, just because you’re a fucking whore desperate for cock. Never been fucked like this, huh?” 

His bulbous tip slams into your spot, forcing your juices out with every ruthless thrust. He takes great pride in your convulses, and the way your fingers pierce the cushion. “Know you haven’t, haven’t been fucked much at all, poor girl. Don’t worry, we’re gonna make up for it.”

Your toes curl in pleasure, thighs trembling under him. You cry out a mantra of daddy, your unexpected high is too powerful and it yanks away your breath. Ari pulls you by the back of your head, extending your neck as you gasp for air. You feel a rush of wetness and almost scream as he drags out your orgasm, it’s so intense it almost hurts—but you love it. 

“That’s my good girl. Daddy loves when you make a mess, means I’m doing something right.” Ari’s hips pick up the pace again, starting with thorough grinds that bleed into hard pumps. The cushion is soaked and your wetness clings to his skin, forming a white ring at the base of his cock, smearing down to his heavy sack. 

Ari stares down where you meet, your puffy folds struggling to take him. “Poor baby, little cunt is quivering.” He tuts, “c’mon, I know you can give me another.”

Your garbled reply is far too cute for your act of betrayal. 

He catches sight of the twinkling lights, the decorated Christmas tree with the Angel on top, staring down at you. The foul satire makes him even more greedy to tear you apart. “You know what I want for Christmas, baby?”

You can’t even manage any words as he fucks you brainless. All your fantasies were crumbs compared to this, the times you’ve woken up wet and bothered over a dirty dream about your stepfather—you thought those fictitious scenarios were obscene. But, reality has proven you terribly wrong. 

You’ve never been happier to be wrong. 

“Want you to be my little fuck doll, daddy’s cock drunk slut. I’m gonna teach you, train you and your little holes so I could use you whenever I want.” He groans, spreading your cheeks to watch his fat length spear you open. Bare, raw, it takes every ounce of control to not fill you up because there is still a Christmas party in fifteen minutes. 

“And, if you’re on the nice list, I’ll give you my cum. Don’t you want daddy’s seed in your pretty cunt, wanna be pumped full until you can’t take anymore?”

[golbrocklovely]

the ghost with the most // sam golbach

A/N: first fic of my 13 nights of halloween ! i highkey love this story haha this and the one i wrote for colby with the same-ish concept were so easy to write. thank god bc i still have so much writing to do. but hopefully you enjoy this one. this one is also gender-neutral so everyone can enjoy. let me know what you think :)

prompt: the ghost hunter that lives in your house doesn't believe in ghosts. guess it's time to show him what you're made of || ghost!reader x sam golbach

trigger warning: cursing, ghost hijinks, mostly fluff

word count: 1311

~~~~~~~~

This house was yours. It had been yours for years, decades even. But you never grew older.

You died a long time ago. You weren't sure how or when, but you knew you were dead.

And every couple years, a new family would move into your house. At first you hated it, but now... you've grown to enjoy your time annoying and scaring the new house folks.

This year, the family that moved in wasn't really a family at all. It was a group of guys, all in their early 20s. You watched from the shadows as they all picked out their rooms, some fighting over the master (which was yours so like... why were they fighting in the first place?), and over the next month or so they settled in.

Their choice in decoration was... boring, to say the least. Borderline nonexistent, besides in their own rooms. The one named Colby kept his room pretty dark, dungeon-like. The other two had some very weird styles that you didn't appreciate. And the last one, Sam... his was fine.

You settled on his room to chill in.

Something about his energy was interesting to you. You had overheard them all one night talking about ghosts, about whether or not they existed at all. And Sam was the one that surprised you the most with his response.

"No. They totally don't exist. Even with all the proof we've captured, I'm still unsure."

You didn't quite understand what he meant, but you saw him and Colby leave the house every so often, only to come back and tell the others about their adventures and "investigations".

So they were ghost hunters? And Sam didn't believe? Interesting.

You had nothing else to do with your free time, and since you had plenty of it, you decided to focus your energy on Sam and making him believe.

The first thing you tried was giving him nightmares. That itself was a bit difficult for you, but humans’ minds were a lot more open when they were unconscious. You were able to weasel your way in and make him think of scary, horrible things. Of ghosts chasing after him, of you chasing him around the house.

After a couple nights, you thought you had done the trick. I mean, how many times does someone have to wake up in a cold sweat to realize they are getting a message from the beyond?

But it didn't work. So you moved on to plan b: poltergeist time.

Now, you weren't an evil spirit. Hell, in your old life the worst thing you ever did was get a parking ticket. But you figured if Sam saw things moving around on their own, he would start to believe, or at least sense that something was in his house.

Because at least the others knew that. They would tell him all the time that they could feel something watching them, especially Colby. But Sam always shrugged it off, claiming they were just paranoid.

One day, while Sam was sitting in bed, you decided to knock something over on his desk. Some random little figurine he had. His eyes widened as he heard the noise, he jumped out of bed and looked at his desk. The figurine laid on the floor, still shaking from your motion.

"How'd that fall?" He whispered to himself.

You felt like shouting "Me, bitch!" but figured that was a bit mean. He placed it back on his desk and left his room. You figured maybe was going to go downstairs, tell all of his friends about what just happened. You giddily followed him to the kitchen, only to watch him pull out lunchmeat from the fridge and make a sandwich.

You tried the next day, and the day after that, and still... nothing. It didn't help that his other two roommates had decided to move out, so you waited for there to be a right time to spring into action again. And finally when the time came, you decided to up the ante and move something in front of him and Colby, thinking maybe he would get a clue that what was happening to him was paranormal. While the two of them were in the kitchen, you opened a drawer, slowly. Colby noticed it first. His breath hitched in his throat as he watched the drawer open.

"Dude, look! The drawer's opening on it's own." He gasped.

You smiled as Sam turned towards the drawer, hoping that now it would finally click in his head. But instead he walked up to the drawer, shut it, and went back to talking with Colby. He told him that that drawer always had a problem staying shut and had opened on him before.

Oh, so now we're just lying to each other?!

You finally had one more move in your arsenal. You decided, while he was out, to stack everything in his room in the center of it. His desk, bed, furniture, whatever you could get your hands on, you put in the middle of his room. It took you a long time, and you were proud of your work when you were finally through.

There's no way he's not gonna believe this is paranormal.

You waited impatiently for him to come home. He walked through the front door and trudged up the stairs to his bedroom. You smirked as he rubbed his eyes, ready to take a nice long nap most likely. Then he opened his door, stopping dead in his tracks.

"What the...?"

He studied his room, glancing all over the place for how this could have happened. You leaned against the wall, just waiting to hear him scream or gasp or... something. He yelled for Colby, and he came in a minute later.

"Love what you've done with the place, Sam." Colby stated nonchalantly.

Sam glared. "How the fuck did you do this?"

"Do what? I didn't do this." Colby argued.

"Well, you were the only one home." Sam mentioned.

"I was, yeah. But I've been busy editing. I left two hours ago to get some food." Colby replied.

Sam questioned him, "Then who did this?"

Ghosts! Say it was a ghost! There's no one else that could have done it!

"...Jake." They nodded their heads, rolling their eyes at their ex-roommate.

Are you forreal?! You tried to breathe for a second. You know what? They'll realize it wasn't him when he confesses it wasn't, and they'll have to realize then it was something supernatural.

But that never happened. They didn't question Jake, they just assumed it was him and moved on with their lives. But you... you couldn't.

You followed Sam around the house. Every step he took, you were right behind him. You gave him some privacy when he needed it (you weren't a perv now), but otherwise, you wanted him to feel you. To feel your anger.

Sam and Colby mentioned that they had a new investigation the next day that they had to get ready for. You groaned at their words, following Sam as he left Colby's room to go to his own, and into his bathroom. Once you realized he was only washing his face for bed, you came in.

"I fucking hate you, you know that right? Do you know how annoying it is to prove to someone that I'm real? God, this is the most irritating thing I've had to do, and I've died before! I mean, you go on these trips, catch tons of evidence, and somehow don't believe in ghosts. It's insane to me. Like, what do I have to do, jumpscare you? Do I have to appear in front of you just for you to believe in me?!"

Sam jolted up out of the sink, his face sudsy with his face wash. His eyes locked with yours, and he screamed.