#*wip list

[elvisabutler]

december wips

is there a single point to me using this gif? other than to mess with @precious-lil-scoundrel, heavens no, but happy holidays enjoy josh hartnett's face. this is in order with the exception of spark who when it gets done will outrank everyone. will the first three get done, yes. everyone else, debatable but i'm getting better about managing expectations after my october and november adventure. really do appreciate how patient y'all have been.

availability ( 50s elvis possessiveness )

wives and starlets and singers, oh my ( austin elvis x olivia priscilla x reader threesome, hollywood era. with an addition of a lil pregnancy kink wee. )

raw and uncontrolled ( 50s elvis face fucking )

spark chapter three ( this will be done fully written by the first week of december, then editing, promise for realsies this time. )

quiet on the set chapter three

by land and sea ( second gen sarge stuff with jackson presley )

come swim with me ( merman austin )

i know beyond a doubt ( selkie elvis, the baby jesse origin )

boy's playin' a man's game ( requested, elvis showing a woman how sex is supposed to be, not how her boyfriend does it. )

voices outside your head ( austin fuck, y'all will see with this one )

elvis x reader and wrapping paper request.

[frm9pm]

Draco misremembers muggle idioms

[mariasont]

hey hey so don’t imagine hotch being obsessed with tugging your pony tail.

don’t think about how when you’re at work, he’d try to be professional but you’re being just a little too flirty, a little too cute, and he just can’t help himself. how he’d walk past your desk, hook a finger around it, and give it a gentle tug.

and how he’d get the tiniest smirk on his face when you turn around all wide-eyed and flustered.

and how he’d say something like, “eyes on your work.”

don’t think about how if you have a habit of puffing out your cheeks when you’re frustrated, especially when hotch is a little stern with you, he’d just walk past you, give your pony tail a yank and say, “quit pouting.”

and how you’d probably pout harder

definitely don't think about how you’d be out somewhere with the team, maybe at a bar, and some guy is talking to you a little too long. you’re not even interested but hotch is watching and waiting until he’s had enough. how he would step in close, fingers curling around the base of your ponytail and gently tug you back against him.

“i think she’s good,” he’d tell the guy. you’d be weak in the knees.

don’t think about how one day you’d be rushing into work, ponytail a little messy and he notices. it would be early, just the two of you and he wouldn’t say a word, just stands behind you, smooths a hand over your head and redoes your ponytail. and how when he’s done he’d let the ends of it slip through his fingers before pulling it.

“better.” and how he’d just walk off like it didn’t completely derail your morning.

AND FOR SURE DO NOT THINK about how he’d have you in his lap every evening, one hand gripping your ponytail to keep you from going anywhere, from looking anywhere but him.

[runraerun]

Steddie Amnesia Fic: 1/3

-> Part 2 | Part 3 | AO3

cw: lots of head trauma/brain injury/recovery stuff.

Steve wakes up in the hospital with someone snoring loudly on his leg, mouth open, drool getting soaked up into the scratchy hospital blanket over him.

Steve just stares.

It’s… Freddie? No, that’s not right... Eddie! Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson, known delinquent and drug dealer… resting his head on Steve’s lap.

What the hell…?

Steve reaches up with a wobbly, IV-ridden hand to clumsily pat along his head, but instead of meeting messy hair, he meets a thick wad of bandages. He flinches when he hits an especially tender spot.

It’s not much but it’s enough to wake Eddie Munson up with a jolt, and a random jumble of words that sounded something like, “the dice have spoken!”, but Steve can’t be sure. Not with the sharp ringing still going off inside his skull.

“Steve? Steve! Oh thank fuck, Jesus H. Christ, you scared the ever loving shit out of me.” Eddie stood and grabbed at one of Steve’s shoulders, shaking him enough to elicit another wince.

“Oh, damn, sorry. I’m like a fucking bull in a china shop here, man. There’s way too much expensive, breakable shit here. I’m not used to it. I accidentally ripped your IV out the other day... Fuck. The nurses hate my guts.” Eddie chuckles, eyes wide and solely on Steve, talking like they were old friends or something.

But that can’t be right. Steve doesn’t remember saying more than two words to Eddie Munson during the entire time he knew he even existed, and even then it was just to discuss weed prices.

“For real though, talk to me Harrington, how you feelin’, hm? Loopy? Gonna yak again? Apparently they got you on the good stuff,” Eddie flicks a liquid filled bag hanging above Steve and shakes his head, “but they keep cutting you back. Dicks.”

Steve’s eyes try and follow Eddie’s erratic movements but his eyes ache the more he moves them. He blinks against the harsh fluorescents and tries to open his mouth. And thank God, Eddie Munson seems to take this as a sign and shut up.

“What happened?” Steve finally croaks.

One of Eddie’s brows jumps. “You don’t remember?”

Steve gives his head a small shake. Did Eddie hit him with his car or something? Is that why he’s sleeping at his bedside and talking to him like they’re buddies?

“You fell, Stevie.” Eddie makes a whistling noise and mimicks something falling with his hands, then makes a crashing sound when his hand lands on Steve’s bandaged head. “Like a coconut out of a tree. Landed right on that big ol’ melon of yours. There was blood everywhere. It scared the shit out of me and the kids. Especially when you wouldn’t wake up.”

Steve’s throat feels like sandpaper, but he manages to swallow, his throat clicking as he did, and gets out, “The kids?”

Eddie seems to notice, even before Steve can ask, and reaches for a water bottle with a straw already in it, and half chewed. Eddie’s own, no doubt. Against his better judgment, Steve accepts it when Eddie offers it to him. He was just so goddamn thirsty.

“Don’t worry, they’re all fine. They were just shaken up. I’ll radio the little gremlins and give ‘em the good news in a sec.” Eddie’s smile falters a little, seeming lost for words. Like he wants to say something, but can’t quite get it out.

Steve finishes swallowing his few, meager gulps of water before he asks, “What is it?”

“Don’t freak out—“ Eddie begins.

And, okay, that’s exactly the thing you tell someone before they freak the fuck out. Steve’s stomach is subject to a growing, sluggish panic. “What? Dude, tell me—“

“It’s your hair.” Eddie seems genuinely pained at having to deliver this crushing of a blow to Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.

Steve can hear the beeping from the monitors he’s hooked up to begin to pick up speed as his heart begins racing. “My hair?”

“It’s okay! It’s okay, it’ll grow back! They just had to take a little bit off where the stitches went, you can hardest notice it—well, that’s a fucking lie, you could spot that landing strip from space—but I think if you part it to the other side it won’t look so… y’know.”

“No, dude, I don’t know.” Steve says, eyes wide, brows pinched.

“Like a drunk toddler took a pair of rusty kitchen shears to your mop.” Eddie says, huffing out a nervous sort of laugh.

Steve groans, half due to the bastardization that’s happened to his favorite feature, and half due to the migraine that’s looming on his horizon.

“You’re still pretty, Stevie, don’t worry.” Eddie grins, eyebrows raised, like he’s trying to be cute or something.

That weirdest part is, it’s kind of working.

Steve must have hit his head really, really hard.

The doctors eventually come in and perform all sorts of tests, and he tries his best to comply with them and jump through whatever hoops they make him jump through. He just wants to get the hell out of this hospital bed.

Unfortunately for him, Steve hadn’t exactly aced any of the tests.

In fact, he had failed most of them pretty fucking dismally. He couldn’t remember the date, who the president was, where he lived, couldn’t say the alphabet backwards… although, who the fuck can do that? He stands by that failing grade.

A couple of CAT scans later and it’s clear that Steve’s brain got smacked around a little more than they had originally thought.

Among a pile of other stuff, the thing that sticks out the most to Steve is his diagnosis of something called short term amnesia. They explain it like the past 2 to 3 years has just been wiped from his brain. The last clear thing he really remembers is getting the shit beat out of him by Billy, and then it all sort of gets jumbled. Fragmented. The doctors explain that this is pretty typical for head trauma patients.

He’s a head trauma patient, now.

It’s normal for memories of trauma to link, creating spiderwebs throughout your brain.

Which, that’s great. So when he gets beat up again, there’s always a chance his brain will try and erase his easy, happy years and revert back to a trauma default. Really helpful brain, thank you.

And the thing that sucks the most is that his years after the Billy beat down sound pretty great. Traumatizing, sure, but great. Once the Upside Down shit was locked up, with every scary nightmare fuel monster inside of it, life in Hawkins didn’t sound all that terrible.

He lived with Robin, who’s his best friend, (his ‘platonic soulmate’ even, as she explains it), he’s working a retail job, (also with Robin), and coaches the high school basketball team during the evenings. He’d even been talking with Hopper about joining the force.

Well, he was. Now he’s more or less useless, working full time at re-learning his life, along with a couple of fine motor skills that got glitchy after the fall.

And then there’s Eddie.

Eddie, who’s apparently also his best friend, only their soulmate link isn’t platonic at all.

The strange and weirdly exciting reality was that Steve Harrington had woken up from his 3-day medically induced coma with not only a full fledged relationship, but a boyfriend.

It’s a lot to digest, and part of him still doesn’t even know how to process it, but hearing the stories being told around him, seeing how Eddie is practically living in his and Robin’s two-bedroom apartment, and just… the way Eddie looks at him?

It’s with love—Steve can see it. Feel it. Eddie’s practically vibrating with it.

What’s even crazier is that when Steve looks at Eddie, he feels the exact same way.

It’s like looking at the stars. Steve’s heart skips a beat when those dark eyes of hit him, and Steve wants nothing more than to make Eddie smile—no, better than that, to make him laugh, just so he can watch Eddie’s adam’s apple bob up and down and hear that manic, unhinged cackle. It’s downright delightful. Steve loves being in relationships like this, where it’s all consuming.

Steve may not have the memories of falling in love with Eddie, but he has all the feelings.

No one talks about it with Steve, of course. Maybe they think it’s going to be too heavy for him to process that he’s into dudes now, but Steve isn’t a big dumb baby. Sure, he’s got a pretty severe brain injury, and yeah, alright, it takes him a minute to remember people’s names sometimes, and he has a harder time controlling his emotions, but he isn’t a complete invalid. Only a little bit of one. He’s working on it, dammit.

And Eddie is so painfully, frustratingly patient with him. He never pushes. He’s clearly letting Steve retrieve his memories before he makes a move, because despite his whole outward appearance, Eddie Munson is a goddamn gentleman. He never so much as reaches for Steve’s hands, but Steve can tell by the way their pinkies graze when they watch movies late at night that he wants to.

Steve can tell by the way Eddie teases him, the way he’s there with him through his recovery, that he doesn’t ever make Steve feel stupid when he asks the same questions over and over again, when he cries at the drop of a hat or when he gets sort of confused about the lay out of his apartment—he doesn’t care about that of that.

Because he’s in love with Steve. It’s so painfully romantic, it brings a painful lump to Steve’s throat every time he thinks too much about it.

The two of them are driving to one of Steve’s therapy sessions, Eddie in the driver's seat, Steve in the passengers, listening to a low racket of some kind of heavy metal music. Eddie always keeps the volume low now, for Steve.

He’s just been so intensely good about everything that Steve needs to try and do something good for Eddie in return. He needs Eddie to know that there’s a light at the end of this tunnel that they’re both currently lost in.

“I’m sorry about this, y’know.” Steve says when they finally pull up the building that has ‘Brain Injury Recover Center’ written on the front. So all the boys and girls with scrambled eggs for brains know where to converge.

“Don’t worry about it, man. I work the evening shifts, remember? My days are free.” Eddie explains, and Steve wonders if he’s had to be told this bit of information a couple of times now. Sometimes it takes a few times before something sticks to his brain now. His short term memory is still majorly flighty. But no, Steve remembers that Eddie bartends at a local bowling alley most evenings. He’s gone a few times. Not to bowl, of course—too much hand eye coordination involved—but just to hang out with Eddie. He’s pretty decent at Ms. Pac-Man though.

Steve shakes his head. He knows his mind must have wandered because there’s been a lull where no one’s spoken. Eddie never seems to care about that though. “I don’t mean about the drive. I was talking about… y’know.”

“Wha’dy’mean?” Eddie mumbles as he backs into his parking space, hand on the back of Steve’s headrest.

Steve sighs and decides to just come out and say it: “I mean having your boyfriend forget everything about you and your relationship. I just… that must be really tough.”

Everything in Eddie Munson comes to a jarring halt, hand frozen over where he’s turned to ignition off.

It’s sort of unnerving—Eddie is always moving, fidgeting. Damn near bouncing off the walls. But now it’s like someone hit the poor guy with a freeze ray gun.

Steve chuckles softly as he reaches out and touches Eddie’s arm, giving him a playful jostle, to loosen him up a little, “it’s okay, Eddie. I know. You don’t have to keep going easy on me. I’m gay! Or, bi-sexual. Whatever.” Steve shrugs, “see? Not falling apart. I can handle being in love with another dude. You don’t need to keep babying me.”

The side of Eddie’s mouth twitches into a downturned smile that he seems to be trying to hide.

“I know, I know. Not just any dude.” Steve rolls his eyes, a smile still firmly on his face. He takes Eddie’s hand from the steering wheel, and Eddie seems to watch it go in a detached sort of awe. Steve wonders if Eddie’s proud of him for being so cool with it all. “In love with you.”

“Steve, I don’t think—

“Wait, just let me finish.” Steve asks, and Eddie blinks and works on closing his mouth. Knows it’s important to let Steve get his thoughts out quickly, lest they be lost to the giant black hole inside of his beat-up brain now. “I know that I don’t remember any of the important stuff with us. Our first date, or our first kiss or, y’know, any of our other first firsts. So maybe it feels like you’re cheating on the old Steve with me? But… Eddie, I know it’s crazy but even though my brain forgot all of the specifics; my heart didn’t. I look at you, and it’s all there. I’m still so into you, dude. I can feel it, even though I don’t remember how I got here. I’m in l—“

“Steve! Stevestevesteve wait, holy shit—!” Eddie’s eyes snap up from his intense stare at the place where their hands are linked. “Steve—”

“Yeah?” Steve prompts when Eddie doesn’t seem to be able to find the words. He runs his thumb gently over Eddie’s knuckles. It feels so nice to finally be able to hold his hand again. They fit together so well, and Steve wonders briefly if it’s some kind of muscle memory.

Eddie opens his mouth a few more times before he remembers how to make the words come out.

“Steve. Buddy. We’re… we’re not dating.”

Steve’s face falls, and he can feel a lump form in his throat, but he keeps a firm hold of Eddie’s warm hand in his own. “Yeah, I know, I know. We haven’t had any time to be a couple. And it’s probably been torture for you, man. You’re so busy taking care of me and making sure I don’t freak out over everything that you’ve clearly been neglecting your own hierarchy of needs.”

Eddie raises a brow.

Steve chuckles, “Shut up. It’s a therapy term.”

Eddie laughs in his throat. “Steve, you gotta slow down and listen to me.”

He turns his shoulders so that he’s fully facing Steve while he reaches his free hand over and tugs at one of his earlobes. “Got your hearing ears on?”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he nods just the same.

“We… we weren’t dating before your accident,” Eddie speaks slowly, his voice warm, gentle. “Hell, I didn’t even know you were, y’know, into dudes like that. Much less me.”

Something throbs dully behind Steve’s eyes. It’s the start of a migraine—the one that makes it hard to process much of anything. Steve squints, trying to make sense of what Eddie’s saying. “…you’re not my boyfriend?”

Eddie shakes his head very, very slowly. “No.”

Steve snatches his hand back like he’s only just now noticed how burning hot Eddie’s hand is.

He settles back in his seat, staring out the front window. The sounds from the outside world are muffled, and everything feels far away and sort of… Made up. Just like everything he’d imagined was going on between him and Eddie. Not real.

He feels painfully detached from reality. Unmoored. Maybe this was the disassociation thing the doctor mentioned might happen…

“Are you sure?” Steve asks, risking another glance over to Eddie, who hasn’t taken his eyes off him for a second.

“Pretty fuckin’ sure.” Eddie snorts.

“Oh, God. This is… I’m—sorry. I’m so stupid. Fuck, I gotta—“ Steve suddenly attacks the door handle with a clumsy fury that has his hand fumbling with the handle for way too long. Fucking busted up, bruised as fuck fucking brain-!

“Steve, it’s okay, dude,” Eddie says from behind Steve, but that’s easy for him to say; he didn’t just humiliate himself in front of his not-boyfriend, definitely-crush, possibly ex-friend—“Steve, wait!”

Steve flees the van on unsteady feet, not daring to look back.

[reginalusus]

Jason thing.

He was my Guinea Pig for some new brushes and rendering techniques. He is holding the bullet he is going to kill you with. /aff

Ko-Fi.

[orderforbrian]

i saw ppl talking about the gods using disguises to walk among humans and wanted to do my take on inspekta! cobigail probably convinces him of the idea, so he goes undercover as just your regular totally non-god-boss Bizzyboy - time to see what all those chuckleheads are up to!

[starmocha]

Doctor's Note [Zayne + Son ★ 1289 words ★ Masterlist ★ Snowdrop Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] Zayne calls home during lunchtime. A/N: orz this was supposed to have been written and posted in December… orz Tag list: @lavlynyan @miudle @alfredosaws @solifloris @nezuswritingdesk @valkyyriia @natimiles @yourlocalcatscammer @callilypso @likewhyareyousoobsessedwithme @qyuin 【 request to be added 】

The meeting was finally over.

Thankfully, it was just a little bit past noon by the time Zayne had returned to his office. As he settled into his seat, he started a video call, waiting patiently until a face completely identical to his popped up on the screen.

“Daddy!”

He chuckled at the sight of his three-year-old son’s bright grinning face. The boy immediately turned away, yelling for his mother. “Mommy, it’s Daddy on your phone!”

“Did Mommy let you answer this call for her?” Zayne asked teasingly, smiling when his son looked bashful and nodded. “Good, I don’t want you answering any phone calls without our permission, remember?”

The boy nodded solemnly. “I remember, Daddy!”

“Good boy,” he responded. He quirked a brow, noticing a rice grain on his son’s mouth. “Are you eating lunch without me?”

“Mommy made me…” the toddler said with a pout. “I told you Daddy would call, Mommy!”

“Zayne, are you turning our son against me again?” You immediately entered the screen with a playful glare. You bent lower and rubbed the rice grain off your son’s face, adding, “We just started eating.”

“Daddy, do you have your lunch?” the boy asked, wriggling his way back into the screen to look at his father hopefully. “Mommy and I made it just for you!”

“Yeah, Zaynie, our darling boy and I made it just for you,” you added with a mischievous smile.

“What did you do?” Zayne responded with a raise of his brow, matching your smile with his own. He set a bento box down in front of him, noticing a folded note attached on top. He opened the note, chuckling softly when he saw the crude handwriting written with green and yellow crayons.

“Is this my little doctor’s note?” he asked playfully, turning the paper with the scribbles to face his phone.

“That’s my note for Daddy!” his son yelled out excitedly.

“Wow, Zayne, our son’s handwriting looks so much nicer than yours,” you teased him again, making his eyes rolled.

“Very funny,” he answered, tone flat. He sighed exaggeratedly. “I’m afraid I have misplaced my reading glasses. Can you read it for me, son?”

The boy nodded. “It says, ‘Daddy should have a good day! I love him very, very, very much and miss him very, very, very much.’”

Both you and Zayne smiled, touched by the little boy’s earnest message. Zayne’s smile seemed to widen as he watched you pulled the boy into your lap to snuggle, his son’s giggles always managing to relieve him from his daily stress. He responded, his voice tender, “I miss you, too. I’ll be home this evening with a surprise.”

“Macarons?” the boy asked hopefully as he wriggled excitedly on your lap, making you giggled as you tried to keep the toddler still. You kissed his cheek sweetly and said in a lower voice:

“Darling, it could be a carrot cake, too, right, Zaynie?”

Zayne’s smile instantly dropped while his son’s excitement grew, as did your teasing smile. The little boy was squirming excitedly on your lap and clapping his hands. “Carrot cake!”

“Oh, but Mommy said we shouldn’t be eating too many sweets,” Zayne added, his eyes darting to meet yours in warning. He smiled stiffly, faltering when you responded cooly:

“Occasionally is fine.”

The boy peered up curiously before turning to look at his father. “Daddy, are you going to eat your lunch?”

Zayne felt grateful for the sudden topic change. He nodded and opened the lid of his bento box, his voice taking on an exaggerated tone as he asked playfully, “Now what do we have here?”

“Rice!” the boy answered brightly, continuing, “And…and…Mommy, what did you say this was called?”

You giggled, your hand smoothing over his hair. You glanced at where Zayne pointed with his chopsticks, seeing the bite-sized fried chicken pieces. “Karaage, my darling.”

“Karaage!” the boy repeatedly loudly, “And…and…”

Zayne smiled as he watched his little carbon-copy son struggled to remember the name of the dishes.

“Rolled omelet, darling.”

“…and omelet, Daddy!”

Zayne laughed at the boy’s earnest declaration. “Sounds nutritious,” he said, adding with a gentle smile, “And they look delicious.”

“Daddy, don’t forget to eat your carrots!”

Immediately, Zayne’s smile disappeared. He managed to compose himself before his son noticed his mood change. Patiently, he asked, “What carrots?”

“The hearts, Daddy!”

He peered down at his lunch again, noticing the heart-shaped carrots and the rounds they were cut from neatly and strategically placed throughout the bento box for a cute design. He looked up, feigning confusion. “I thought these are just decorations?”

“You can eat them!” the little boy insisted happily with a wide grin. “They’re yummy and good for you!”

“You hear that, Zaynie?” you interjected with a mischievous grin, delighting in how your normally calm and collected husband was struggling to maintain his composure, his lips subtly twitching with disgust at the sight of his least favorite food and even worse at the prospect of having to eat them. You continued, chirping happily, “Your personal doctor has just told you they’re yummy and good for you.”

Just as quickly, Zayne directed a sharp glare to you, but you didn’t care, continuing with delight at his misery, “My hubby is so lucky to have such a dedicated doctor who cares about his patient’s health.”

“You put him up to this, didn’t you?” he accused.

“This was his idea!” you protested with a smug smile. “He said—and I quote—‘Mommy, can we cut out hearts for Daddy’s lunch?’”

You leaned down and kissed the top of your son’s head soundly. “Didn’t you, my little darling?”

The boy nodded innocently, his sweet little smile still shining brightly as he waited for his father to take his first bite of his lunch.

“Now Zaynie,” you said teasingly, struggling to stifle your giggles as your husband continued to pierce you with his glares, “Won’t you be a good boy and eat your carrots, per doctor’s order?”

Zayne sighed helplessly when his carbon-copy son stared at him with bright, hopeful eyes. He picked up his chopsticks again, his eyes peering down at his lunch as he quickly tried to gauged which piece of carrot appeared the smallest. He started to reach for one of the rounds with a heart-shaped holes, but you immediately tutted disapprovingly. “A real piece of carrot, sir.”

“They’re all still carrots,” he insisted practically through clenched teeth.

“Daddy, do you not like my lunch for you?” the boy asked with quivering lips.

Damn it.

Zayne smiled reassuringly, speaking gently to the little toddler, “Of course not, son, Daddy was just trying to pick the most delicious piece for his first bite.”

Mentally, he sighed. He unwittingly chose the largest heart-shaped carrot piece and plopped it into his mouth. He struggled to smile as he chewed on the vegetable, his tastebuds screaming in disgust. Eventually, he swallowed, his smile stiff.

“De-delicious,” he fibbed, consciously trying to maintain his smile for his son’s sake. The smile, however, fell completely at the little boy’s innocent declaration:

“Mommy, we should give Daddy more hearts tomorrow!”

“We should,” you agreed with both glee and mischievousness, adding playfully, “Because we love Daddy so much, right, my darling boy?”

“Yeah!”

Through clenched teeth, Zayne’s hand tightened around his chopsticks, and he responded with a forced smile to you, “I love you all, too…so I wouldn’t want you to trouble yourself on my behalf.”

“It’s no trouble, Daddy!” the boy said happily, seemingly unaware of his father’s internal struggles. He continued cheerfully, “I want you to have lots of hearts tomorrow!”

“Because we love you so much, Zaynie,” you added smugly, seeing the light in his eyes fading.

“…I love you, too…”

[anto-pops]

Playing With Fire - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: “Maybe we should forget about waiting for the wedding. Maybe I should plant my seed early. Right here,” his rough, possessive fingers pressed down harder, making you quake violently. “That way everyone will know who you belong to.” 

Alternatively summarized as you try getting Sebastian's undivided attention by making him jealous, but he doesn't take too kindly to your methods...

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, Auror!Sebastian Sallow, Unspeakable!MC, explicit sexual content, possessive behavior, breeding kink, rough sex, voyeurism

Ahem... whatever this is, it's up on Ao3

There was no mistaking the murderous glint in Sebastian’s eyes as he dragged you through the hallway towards his office. Some Ministry workers stared, their eyes wide with alarm as the Auror manhandled you along behind him. Others whispered, because it wasn’t everyday that an Unspeakable such as yourself found themselves being bullied so brazenly. Everyone could see clear as day that something was going on between the two of you. 

But no one dared to move. No one wanted to risk piercing the suffocating silence that emanated from Sebastian. His pounding footsteps were louder than any verbal form of fury, anyway. 

It didn’t surprise you that he was acting like this. What he had seen you and your colleague discussing was important; top secret, official Ministry business that you were sworn to keep secret. Any information pertaining to the Veil in the Death Chamber was strictly prohibited from being reiterated outside of the Department of Mysteries. So when your fiancé had walked into the main hall of your workplace and spotted you and a coworker hunched over a table together– shoulder to shoulder and murmuring in low voices– of course his first reaction had been to get territorial. 

This was Sebastian Sallow, after all. He had never been the sharing sort, especially not when it came to you.  

You and your colleague clamming up upon his arrival probably hadn’t helped you look any less guilty, but that was what you’d been counting on. Besides, what choice did you have? The topic of discussion was classified. Your fiancé of six months knew that you weren’t at liberty to discuss your work– not like he could as an Auror. 

Still, that hadn’t stopped him from wordlessly yanking you away from your poor, terrified associate. Sebastian hadn’t made a noise the entire time he hauled you behind him through the Ministry towards the Auror offices. 

The door plaque with his name on it glinted mockingly as the man shoved it open, pulling you inside quickly before shutting it with a resounding boom. Before you could so much as blink, Sebastian had you shoved against his desk, pulling a gasp from your throat and sending a litany of parchment and other trinkets clattering to the ground. He didn’t so much as glance at the mess. 

No, he was too busy glaring at you as he peeled his coat from his shoulders. The attire was thrown harshly atop a small, cushiony chair in the corner of the room as if it had offended him somehow, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything about it. You were too busy analyzing the fire blazing in his dark, penetrating eyes. You had lit it, and you were now faced with taking the brunt of the heat. 

“What the hell was that?” Sebastian’s voice was gruff when he finally spoke, leaning forward to pin your hips to the desk with his own. “Since when did Unspeakables work so closely together with one another?”

“Sebastian, it was nothing. We were just discussing our findings–”

His face ducked lower so it was directly beside your ear, his warm breath fanning across your skin as his fingers dug into the curve of your waist. “Does ‘discussing findings’ have to be done in another man’s lap, or did I miss that addendum in my letter of employment? You were practically inside of him.” 

You inhaled sharply when Sebastian’s blunt nails raked up your sides, pulling your tucked shirt out of your skirt. “It was just work. You know I can’t talk about it with you–” 

“Maybe you should,” he growled, pulling back to grip your chin and force you to look at him. “Maybe I need to know what warrants such familiarity amongst Unspeakables. Did you want me to catch you like that? Were you secretly hoping that I would walk in and find you cozying up to some random man that wasn’t me?”

“No! Of course not– you’re blowing this out of proportion!” 

“Am I?” He leaned down again, brushing his lips against your jaw before his mouth curved up into a wicked smile. “I’m your fiancé. I’m the one you said yes to when I asked you to marry me. I’m the only man you should ever let get that close to you. Or do you not agree?” 

“Of course I agree, but I can’t help what happens when I’m at work–” 

Your excuses were silenced by Sebastian’s teeth suddenly clamping down on your earlobe, a startled hiss bursting from you before you could stop it. “Liar,” he whispered. “There’s this thing called professionalism. You could tell your colleague,” he spat the word venomously, his grip on your waist tightening, “that it’s inappropriate to discuss your findings so close together. You could remind the oaf that you’re engaged– that he doesn’t stand a chance with you, and that he should quit while he’s ahead.” 

Sebastian shifted his hips back and gave himself space to begin undoing the buttons of your blouse, his hands moving startlingly fast over the clasps. You hardly had the time nor the ability to stop him– not with how turned on you found yourself becoming. Some might say the man you were in love with was overbearing and possessive, and they would be right… but those facets of Sebastian’s character were parts of him that you relished in. 

Which was exactly why you had made sure to set the scene he had walked in on perfectly. 

You’d known your fiancé was coming to pick you up for your lunch break since he had been so busy with work recently. He had promised you last night that he would make his recent absence up to you at the first opportunity, but a lunch date wasn’t exactly what you’d had in mind. You had been hoping for this exact scenario the moment the two of you made it home in the evening. 

Sebastian forgoing waiting and dragging you to his office, though? That hadn’t been expected. He wasn’t even going to bother with waiting to stake his claim on you. 

And despite your nosy, fellow employees lurking around outside the door, you liked that he wasn’t waiting. A lot. 

You glanced down at your chest once Sebastian had yanked your blouse over your shoulders, discarding the attire over his shoulder roughly. He ripped your brassiere away next, instantly kneading one of your breasts in his large hand with dizzying possession. “Look at me,” he hissed, the authority in his voice compelling you to listen. Through your lashes, you could see the heady flush creeping across his cheeks as he stared down at you, his ruddy skin a byproduct of lust and rage. “Say it. Tell me who you belong to.” 

You didn’t hesitate for a second before whispering, “You, Sebastian…” 

Your voice trembled meekly, your eyes fixed on his as you tried to play innocent in the face of his wrath. But he saw right through your ruse– he always did. 

“Tell me the truth, darling.” Sebastian demanded, his tone smokey and icy all at once. “You knew what you were doing back there, didn’t you?” 

That devilish smirk reserved solely for you appeared on his face– the one that promised ruin and domination. He knew you had planned for this. He was well aware that you had been upset with him for prioritizing work for the last two weeks. You had told him as much time and time again, but there was little either one of you could do about it. The Ministry demanded much from its two prize workers; when duty called, you both answered at the drop of a hat. It was an unfortunate side-effect of being the Hero of Hogwarts and the youngest Auror to ever be assigned his own team. 

Sebastian knew you as well as you knew him. He could read you like a book– was intimately familiar with the way your brain worked. Your shoddy attempt at appearing demure wouldn’t work on him. 

His impatience was made palpable when he pinched the peak of your breast between his index finger and thumb, wringing a whine from your throat that you struggled to keep quiet. “Y-Yes,” you finally answered, your voice catching. “Yes, I knew what I was doing.” 

“You like to play dangerous games, darling. Is this what you wanted? You wanted me pissed enough to ruin you here with all these people around?” 

No. You had hoped for your bold actions to result in Sebastian stewing in jealousy for the entire day, then driving him to ignore his office at home to give you some attention. The plan had been for this exact situation to transpire in the comfort of your own house. Not here. Not while the two of you were at work. “Not… exactly…” you croaked. 

He chuckled darkly, releasing your breast and your waist to free his cock from the confines of his trousers. The full length of him was already at play– the tip leaking violently and bulging veins conveying his excitement well enough. He reached up to shove at your shoulder, guiding you back against the desk quickly and mercilessly, “Yeah, I’m sure you thought you had it all figured out, huh? Too bad I can guess every move of yours before you make it.” 

His cock glistened in the office light as he gathered the fabric of your skirt into a messy heap below your navel, holding it there as he slapped his length against your wet folds. “So don’t argue with me when I give you exactly what you wanted, darling.” 

The blunt head pressed against your dripping entrance, the pressure driving your heart into your throat as you stared up at Sebastian with wide eyes. He flashed you another sinful smirk before shifting forward, driving the entirety of his length inside of you in one fluid motion. 

You gasped– no, cried his name as he breached you. It was so sudden. So deep, so thick, so overwhelming, that your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you struggled to adjust to the abrupt intrusion. The sound of your voice would likely carry. The people milling about outside of Sebastian’s office could probably hear you, and maybe some of them were even listening in considering the spectacle they had witnessed leading up to this moment. 

But you didn’t care. You couldn’t care. All you could focus on was the feeling of his cock stretching you open after two long weeks of forced celibacy, and you loved it. 

Your walls fluttered and clamped down on him, wringing a groan from Sebatian’s throat that intermingled with your panted breathing. “So tight…” he groaned, hunching over you as he planted both of his hands on either side of your waist. “You like this, don’t you, love? Making me watch you fawn over some other bloke just so you could end up under me, stuffed full of my cock?” 

Your eyes were half-lidded when you met his unwavering stare, your lips parted around shaky exhales and soft mewls. Then you nodded, no longer interested in trying to uphold your innocent facade. “Yes…” 

Sebastian’s eyes flashed, and then he was straightening his spine so he could lend his full strength to his movements. The first jerk of his hips had his cock punching into you so roughly that you cried out again, and you felt his nails bite into your skin in response to the sound. “No one could ever have you like this,” he grunted in-between thrusts, raking his fingers down your sides and leaving angry, red welts in their wake. “No one could ever fuck you the way I do. Isn’t that right? Tell me.” 

“Yes,” you gasped, your back arching off the desk when you felt him plant his thumb against your clit, circling the nub rapidly as he pounded into you. “Only you– there’s only you, Sebastian.” 

“Damn right there’s only me,” he echoed wickedly, his lust-dark eyes narrowing at you as he watched you writhe around atop the wood. Pleased with your confession, he angled his hips just so, aiming for the area inside of you that he never failed to find with stunning proficiency. It didn’t take long– barely half a second– and then your body began to tremble in response to his assault on that magic spot. The head of his cock kissed against it over and over, and coupled with his unrelenting attention on your bundle of nerves, you felt tension take root deep in your gut. “You’re mine, darling. There’s a band on your finger that proves it.” 

Your moans turned high-pitched, and your fingers dug into the wood of the desk as you desperately tried to ground yourself. “S-Sebastian– fuck– I can’t–”

The lone hand on your waist shifted so it was splayed across your lower stomach. Sebastian grinned maniacally as he applied a careful amount of pressure there, forcing you to feel every inch of his cock as he hammered into your cunt with feral intention. It knocked the air clean from your lungs– your breathless gasps of his name suddenly quiet enough that you knew he was the only one who could hear them. 

“Maybe we should forget about waiting for the wedding. Maybe I should plant my seed early. Right here,” his rough, possessive fingers pressed down harder, making you quake violently. “That way everyone will know who you belong to.” 

Fuck– it was too much. His dirty, shameless talking, the brutal thrusts against the deepest parts of you, his thumb moving ceaselessly over your clit. It was overwhelming– all of it threatening to send you careening over the edge even though you didn’t want a second of the euphoria to end. 

Sebastian’s nails dug into your skin– right above where he knew your womb was– branding you with crescent shaped imprints that made your stomach lurch with arousal. You weren’t walking out of here without marks, that was for certain. Markings from the man you were set to marry would litter your flesh for days to come, and that thought made the tension in your gut amplify tenfold. 

“S-Sebastian,” you whimpered, lifting a shaky hand to grasp the one he had splayed against your stomach. “I– I love you, I’m sorry– I love you–” 

He groaned when your walls fluttered around his cock. It was as though your body was trying to swallow him deeper– sucking him in further as you neared your blissful precipice. “You can’t do that anymore, darling,” he leaned down, capturing your lips with his briefly before biting down on your bottom lip. “No more taunting me like that. No more.” 

You nodded helplessly beneath him as he rammed his hips into you for emphasis, tears of pent-up pleasure quickly welling in your eyes. “I won’t. I promise, I won’t– please, I’m so close–”

Sebastian’s thumb pressed harder against your clit, circling the nub too fast and too firmly for you to think straight. Your legs kicked out on either side of him at the overstimulation, your voice falling off into a sharp, strung out sob as you continued to plead brainlessly. 

“Please, Gods, please–” 

His lips were directly against your ear when he growled, “Go on, love. Come for me. I want you drooling and crying– too full of me to even fucking walk.” 

Sebastian never relented as you crept closer to the brink. His thrusts turned brutish, faster, and more unforgiving as he furiously worked his thumb over your bundle of nerves. The animalistic grunts he let loose were laced with a tangible hunger that finally caused the knot in your stomach to snap. 

And it snapped hard. 

All at once, your body seized. Your back arched off the desk and pressed against his chest, a ragged moan ripping from your throat and echoing throughout the room so loudly that it left little room for interpretation to any listeners outside. Your walls clamped down on his cock like a vice– your cunt milking his length as though it never wanted to let him go. Your fluids soaked his trousers as your thighs trembled, wave after wave of pleasure washing over you and leaving you a boneless, twitching mass atop the desk. It was utter rapture. 

But Sebastian didn’t stop. 

“So fucking perfect,” he growled, his breath hot against your cheek before he stood straight again. “But I’m not done yet.” 

His ferocious pace never wavered as he resumed his earlier upright position; one hand on your stomach and the other maddeningly focused on your clit. Sebastian kept pounding into you, letting you ride out your climax while forcing your body into another, knocking the wind from you with such fervor that it bordered on cruel. Your hips twitched in a feeble attempt to escape the overstimulation, but the hand on your lower midriff kept you firmly in place. 

“S-Sebastian, wait,” you whined, squeezing your eyes shut against the persisting pleasure he bestowed upon you. “I-It’s too much–” 

“You’ll be fine. You wanted this, remember?” He slammed into you again, laughing breathily when you dug your nails into the top of his hand. “I’m just giving you what you indirectly asked for, darling.” 

Merlin– you had bitten off way more than you could chew. 

You sobbed, the sound laced with both pain and pleasure as your body went limp beneath him. Overly sensitive. Helpless. He was going to make you regret goading him into such a frenzy. 

The sordid sound of Sebastian’s hips slapping against your wet cunt was sloppy. His finger moved in every direction over your clit, the slickness covering every inch of your lower half making the pad of his thumb slide all too easily around the nub. Every time he made direct contact with it, you jolted. Senseless noises fell from your lips as you were brought to orgasm once again, more evidence of your arousal gushing around Sebastian’s cock and staining his clothes, but he hardly paid it any mind. 

Evidently he had more pressing matters to focus on.

His head tipped forward, a guttural moan tearing from his throat and reverberating through you as he endured your walls tightening around him. It was like nothing could throw him off, his tempo withstanding the feeling of your body sucking him in greedily, the force of his thrusts causing your shoulder blades to scrape against the wood of the desk. Mussed strands of his hair fell into his eyes when he looked back at you, his pupils blown wide, and his lips parted around a telling gasp of your name. 

After what seemed like an eternity of brutal overstimulation, Sebastian slammed home deep before finally stilling. He buried himself in your cunt all the way to the hilt as he panted hard, pressing down against your stomach with enough force that you groaned– and you were certain he could feel himself emptying his load inside of you. At least, you certainly could. The hot spurts of his seed scorched you all the way to your core before it started to seep out and drip onto the floor. The sound of it escaping your ravaged center prompted Sebastian to grind against you– trapping his oozing spend in your body with his own. 

How the hell were you supposed to go back to work after this? 

The feeling of his fingers ghosting over your cheekbone pulled your heavy eyelids apart, and you were met with your fiancé drinking in the sight of your fucked-out expression with sinful male satisfaction etched across his face. His gaze flicked down towards your left hand, and he gingerly lifted it towards his lips to kiss the diamond studded gold band around your ring finger. All you could bring yourself to do was hum questioningly, your mind still too frazzled to form a proper sentence. 

“I think we need to recall the wedding invitations we sent out…” 

That snapped you out of your post-coital stupor quicker than a lightning strike. What did he mean, recall? 

Surely he wasn’t implying he wanted to cancel it. 

Had you fucked up worse than you’d imagined by taunting him? Was he calling off the wedding? Had your selfish urge to get his attention ruined your future with him before it had even started? Your eyes went wider than saucers, and your voice was tight when you croaked, “What? Why?” 

Sebastian’s grin was equal parts reassuring and terrifying. He ground his still-solid cock into you again to wring a strangled gasp from you, the squelching sound making you flush from the top of your head all the way to the tips of your toes. “Because I don’t think I want to wait until spring anymore. The sooner I can make you mine, the sooner I can spend all of my spare time trying to fuck a baby into you. That is, if I haven’t already… that would really keep other men away, wouldn’t it?” 

You glanced down to where his pulsing length was still sheathed in your cunt– its unwavering hardness a testament to how Sebastian was nowhere near finished with you. He pulled back before ramming his hips against you again, forcing a startled, pleasure-induced yelp from your throat. When you looked back up at him, you found that the fire in his eyes from earlier was burning brighter than ever, inextinguishable in its intensity. 

Oh, gods. You’d really done it now. 

[nekovale]

"And even if he was considering such absurd things, it just wasn’t possible. There was no way that Dazai would ever offer up that kind of thing for Mori to use. He can picture exactly how it would go, how Mori would twist the thing between them to get the reactions he wanted. Everything about them would become part of his game, everything would be manipulation. 

Dazai would rather have nothing than have that.

Still, sometimes when Chuuya did things like kidnap him and sing to him in stolen vans in front of the ocean with the sun illuminating him and his voice being the only thing Dazai was focused on, it’s hard to remember all that."

I've recently started reading I Was Screaming Your Name Through The Radio because I was in a band au mood and I'm loving it so so much. This little passage from chapter 4 struck a chord with me and I wanted to draw something for it!

[lurking-loaf]

Some quick dca doodles because I’ve been feeling antsy lately.

[elvisabutler]

september wips

is there a point to this gif? no. other than to perhaps torture a small subset of people who follow me. that being said we're doing it a little different this month! the only things on here are things i solemnly swear i am going to finish this month. since my requests have been closed for at least a month-ish, there isn't any new requests to be had. i'll add more if i see fit, but we'll see. this is order of posting with the two caveats being spark and quiet on the set's chapter threes. if i finish either one before any of the other fics, then they'll get posted once edited and such. and yes, the one fic i have here that's crossed out already is done but not getting posted out of order.

patience ( austin butler public play )

purest of them all ( austin butler virginity kink )

we’ll kiss just as before ( selkie elvis breastfeeding )

down home southern cookin’ ( spark universe housewife kink )

father forgive me for i have sinned ( 68/69 flavor elvis priest kink )

availability ( 50s elvis possessiveness )

wives and starlets and singers, oh my ( austin elvis x olivia priscilla x reader threesome, hollywood era. with an addition of a lil pregnancy kink wee. )

raw and uncontrolled ( 50s elvis face fucking )

spark chapter three

quiet on the set chapter three

[1singulargrape]

something something soulmates

[herebutnotpresent]

Royal Fire Academy era girls

炎炎炎炎炎炎炎₊·*◟(˶╹̆ꇴ╹̆˵)◜‧*･炎炎炎炎炎炎炎

(individual images under the cut)

˚₊*(ˊॢo̶̶̷̤◡ुo̴̶̷̤ˋॢ)*₊˚⁎

[froggerland]

mr solomon tozer on a walk round the park with two dashing ladies on his arm. misses Irving and little being chaperoned by the honorable marine sergent

Listen I tried with the bg but its not happening I rather invest time in small insignificant details <3

[mintedwitcher]

another snip of my 'buck leaves the 118' fic (title TBD) angst incoming:

==========

After the shift ends, Buck goes home. Tommy’s truck is still in the driveway, but unfortunately, Eddie’s rental car is parked next to it, in Buck’s usual spot. With a groan, Buck parks on the street. He grabs his bag and goes inside, expecting the worst.

“Tommy? I’m home,” he calls as he steps through the door. Tommy steps out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

“Hey, how was work?” Tommy asks, smiling. There’s something a little tense about it, and he’s just about to ask, when Eddie walks into the room, stone-faced, a bag slung over his shoulder. He drops it at Buck’s feet.

“I called the leasing office,” Eddie says without preamble. “I cancelled your sublet.”

“What?” Buck asks, stunned. It feels like the floor is giving way beneath him. “Eddie, you can’t—I signed a lease!”

“Yeah, you signed under me,” Eddie says. “It’s still my house. I just closed the sale on the one in El Paso, so I need you out. Chris needs somewhere to live.”

“Seriously, Diaz?” Tommy interjects. Eddie glances at him, disdain written clear across his face.

“You couldn’t even give me some warning?” Buck asks, looking down at the bag by his feet. It’s full to the brim with his clothes.

“What, like you gave us any warning about you transferring out?” Eddie scoffs.

“Okay, that’s not comparable at all,” Tommy says.

“Stay out of it, Kinard,” Eddie snaps.

“Don’t think I will, actually,” Tommy says.

“Please, don’t pretend like you’re not thrilled about this,” Eddie sneers. “You get ‘Evan’ all to yourself again, hurray.”

“At least he knows I actually want him around,” Tommy rebuts.

“Can you both just stop!” Buck shouts. They both turn to look at him. Buck takes a breath. He looks at his best friend. The guy he thought was his best friend. “How could you do this to me?”

“Oh, here we go,” Eddie huffs, throwing up his hands.

“No, seriously!” Buck talks over him. Interrupts him. Eddie looks at him with so much rage, Buck wonders if he actually hates him. He points a shaking finger at Eddie. “I did you a huge favour taking over your lease so you could go and be with your son. And yeah, okay, I didn’t go about it the right way, I know that, and I’ve already apologised for it. And now y-you’re just kicking me out? Without warning, without anything? I don’t even get a thanks?”

“How many times do I need to say it? Not everything is about you,” Eddie snarls. Buck recoils, just a little.

“I never said it was,” Buck replies quietly. He can feel his shoulders curling, his body trying to make himself smaller, make himself disappear in the face of Eddie’s anger. He knows Tommy can see it too, judging by the concern on his face. “I just know I wouldn’t do this to you. Not ever. You know I wouldn’t.”

“What do you expect me to do, then?” Eddie asks, coldly. “Put my disabled son on your shitty couch? Raise him in a motel room or a fucking Airbnb until we find another place to live?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Buck says. His voice shakes. Eddie seems to loom in Buck’s vision, growing bigger as Buck feels smaller.

“No, you just want everything to go according to your schedule,” Eddie says. “Grieve on your terms, get better on your terms, take a fucking grief assessment quiz on your terms. Not this time. This is my house, Chris is my son, and you are not going to make this harder on him than it needs to be!”

“Jesus Christ, man,” Tommy says. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Buck can’t breathe. He turns on his heel and leaves. He doesn’t even close the door behind him, he just runs. He doesn’t get into his truck – he knows better than to try and drive right now – and he doesn’t stop running, not until his shoe snags on a tree root and he stumbles to a halt, finding himself at a park, ten blocks away from his – Eddie’s – house.

He probably looks crazy, he thinks, standing here like a statue, tears and snot running down his face, hyperventilating because there’s just not enough air. He sinks to his knees, burying his hands in the grass. It’s been mowed recently, he can smell it. There’s a word for it, he thinks, for the smell of freshly cut grass. Or… no – he shakes his head – no, there’s a word for the smell of rain. Petrichor. He remembers that one. There isn’t a singular word for freshly cut grass like that. It’s a phrase. Green leaf volatiles. That’s it. A distress signal in the plant to communicate that it’s been damaged.

He wonders if humans give off a distress scent too. If so, surely someone would’ve realised that Buck isn’t okay.

=============

tag list: (as always if you want to be tagged, let me know, and I'll add you to the list for the next post! other snippets can be found under the tag 'buck leaves the 118 fic' on my blog)

@littlepaws9 @tyrusshipper12 @loulou-land @kinardstits @samjohnssonvt

@magdalyna @sweaters-and-silly @dashing-disaster @safelycapricious @onceuptonatmi

@hubcaphalo @letsdosciencetoit @ladyeyrewrites @cm1031sr @sunsetandevningstar

@marsflower @buckitweride @joyfullyhauntedmiracle @sahtinekryze

[autumndragon]

twinsanity from dagur's perspective must be so crazy, because he's just going to sign the peace treaty and get an idea of what berk is like and whether the rumors of dragon training are true, then suddenly there's a whole dragon attack on the arena, and then a night fury shows up, a dragon everyone thought was long extinct or perhaps never even existed in the first place, and the scrawny kid he always made fun of who only has one leg goes toe to toe with the beast and manages to drive it off??? insane