#Jonathan Starch

[acapelladitty]

After School Special

Summary: Confronted by your professor, Dr Jonathan Crane, over your constant need for his attention, you find yourself having to confess to some very inappropriate feelings with a surprisingly satisfying result. (2.6k)

(tw for: professor/student dynamics, desk sex, power imbalance, rough sex, teasing, mild degradation, multiple orgasm, piv sex, come marking)

Fic Masterlist ☆ Link to AO3

"You have been lying to me."

Caught off guard by the sudden accusation as you take the plush seat across from his desk, your face furrows into a frown as you splutter out an inaudible response at the hurled accusation. You had barely taken three steps within the room when he had spoken, the familiar layout of his private office as welcoming as ever – the densely furnished room mostly illuminated by the warm light of his desk lamp.

"Huh? I don't know what you're talki-"

"Don't lie to me."

You smooth the edges of your skirt, genuine confusion playing on your features as you look at him properly. He is sitting behind his desk with a firm look, one which you were well acquainted with and one which never sat too far from your mind in the darkness of the night as your fingers moved frantically against your heated sex. As handsome as ever, although many others were ignorant to his appeal, his wire-rimmed glasses sit atop his proud nose while his hawk-like gaze pins you into place.

"I have had my suspicions over your intentions for a while,” Crane confesses as his hands come to rest on his desk, folding over each other carefully. “You consistently seek support for work which you are more than capable of completing. At first, I considered that you may be cheating in some way but a thorough check of your academic history tells a story of genuine success."

His glasses flash in the dim light of his office as the vague attraction which always simmered below your skin while sharing a space with him found itself suddenly replaced by a surge of pure anxiety. A naughty child being caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

Crane's outfit is a stuffy as ever and maddeningly endearing because of it. No matter the weather or occasion, he was never to be found without his patchwork brown suits and over starched, light coloured shirts; the materials doing their best to fill out his thin frame as his scuffed shoes tapped across his auditorium floors.

"So why do you constantly seek my support when such assistance is unnecessary?"

"I don't-I don't know what you're talking about. You're my professor and teacher so I value your feedback on my concepts and proposals."

Cheeks flaring with heat, you attempt to push the lie as truth while a traitorous slideshow of all the inappropriate and wicked thoughts you had entertained about him flashed through your mind.

"Hmm." Clearly unsatisfied with the answer, Crane taps his thin fingers along his desk as he considered his next question with a knowing tilt of his head. "Are you single? Romantically, I mean."

"What?"

Body freezing in place as though dunked in cold water, a sinking sense of discovery roots you to your seat as you fidget uncomfortably. "That's none of your business."

His lips curling into a smirk as he slowly unbuttons the very topmost button of his shirt, a move which makes your teeth worry at your lower lip, Crane speaks slowly to allow you to hear every word while he stands from behind his desk.

"A simple question and yet your response tells me what I need to know. You seek out my company due to some asinine attraction you hold for me."

Breath coming short as your fingers fiddle with the hem of your skirt, your knee jerk reaction is to deny him even as guilt sits heavy on your face.

"What? No! Not at al-"

"What did I say about lying?" Crane snaps, his voice holding all the authority which it was capable of as he stood before hundreds of students - demanding their attention with only his tone and body language.

Caught and unable to do much else, you give in with a quiet confirmation as the blush on your cheeks creeps down your neck.

"Maybe. I don’t know. Sure."

Crane tuts, the noise clucking free of his throat as a mild disappointment joins the subtle smugness of his features.

"You want to use me to further your grade. Disappointing really. I expected more from a student of your capabilities."

Indignant, despite the situation, your eyes narrow as you hotly contest his assumption.

"I don't need you to help with my grades! Are you kidding me?"

"Oh, is that so?"

"I think you're handsome and I like hearing you talk. Is that such a crime now? I've not done anything wrong."

"Losing focus in my class by allowing yourself to indulge in wanton fantasies should be a crime." Crane grumbled for a moment but his expression shifts into something decidedly predatory as he leans his ass against his desk. "But I would be more disappointed if you did not see your goals to their end."

Desperately trying not to read into his words as the shame of your discovery ignited a flood of arousal deep in your gut, you squint up at him with confusion.

"Professor?"

"If you are going to waste my time with your asinine attraction then I may as well gain some benefit from it. Stand up," he demands.

The command making your cunt clench with its unshakeable demand, you stand from your chair and approach him slowly, feet feeling absolutely non-existent against the thin carpet.

Crane's position against the desk, with his ass sitting on the hard wood and his legs spread, makes it easy for you to slot yourself between his knees - his impressive height making your head have to tilt up to meet his own. Every nerve in your body feels on edge, a thrilling sense of danger pairing with the arousal to make your limbs tremble.

"What're you going to do with me, Professor?"

Clearly a man of action and not words, his head slips forward in a smooth movement as he captures your lips in his own in a heated kiss. His lips are rough, painfully chapped, and his face feels sharp against your own as you tilt your head and immediately grant him all the access he needs.

He tastes of coffee and the harshness of it creates a wrinkle in your nose as you run your tongue along his teeth, mapping out the uneven landscape as his thin arms come to wrap around your waist - pinning you into place against him as you drag your hand up the rough material of his suit. His shock of auburn hair is surprisingly gentle against your fingers as you wind your hand around the back of his neck, needing something to anchor on to as he devours your mouth like a starving man.

"You're very soft," he mutters as he pulls away for only a moment. "And I can taste your perfume." His lips draw across your neck, licking and kissing a line down the sensitive skin as you gasp and curl your hand into the nape of his neck.

"God, Professor Crane- you're so-" You cut yourself off with a whine, your free hand dropping to press against the tented fabric of his groin as his teeth bite harshly at your neck, the discomfort of the bite making the growing dampness between your legs even more pronounced.

"Is this what you've fantasied about, my dear?" His breath is hot against your neck as he allows you to unzip his slacks - freeing his rapidly hardening cock from its confines. "Your wicked professor bending you over his desk and fucking you until you can't stand it anymore."

Shuddering at the vulgarity you release his slacks long enough to shove your hands up your skirt, hooking your fingers around the waistband of your panties as you shuffle them free of your ass. Allowing them to fall to the floor, you step out of them and hiss as his right hand instantly drops from your waist to slip up under the hem of your skirt.

"You're very forward, little mouse," Crane teases as his fingers trail a line up your inner thighs. "Manipulating a poor old man to debase himself for your own needs. It's desperate and requires some level of discipline I think."

"Discipl-oh fuck!" His fingers pressing insistently at your slit as his hand cups your cunt short-circuits your brain for a moment and your grip on his neck tightens as your other hand finally wraps around his cock.

He's long but not overly thick and you can feel the softness of his salt and pepper flecked pubic hair pressing the side of your hand as you stroke along his length with slow, jerky movements. His cock has a definite leftward lean and the velvety heat of it is heady against your palm as you carefully jerk him off.

Heat dances along your skin as his fingers continue to play with your cunt. It's almost experimental in the way that he strokes and rubs his way along your slit before finally finding the target of his exploration; a bolt of pure pleasure curling your toes as his pointer fingers brushes along your clit. Pleased with his discovery, he quickly alternates between manipulating your clit and teasing your hole, his fingers making obscene noises due to how wet you are.

Having decided enough was enough as his hips unwittingly start to buck into your hand, Crane pulls his fingers free of your cunt and brings them to his lips. A greedy tongue flicks at the ends of his digits and he tastes you and a rumble of approval trickles free of his chest. It's so unbearably hot that you shiver in place, rolling the palm of your hand against his cockhead as it twitches within your grip.

In a quick motion, one which catches you off-guard as you squeal in surprise, Crane switches your positions by grabbing your shoulders and smoothly swapping your bodies - ensuring that your front is facing his desk as he molds his much larger frame to your back. His desk now pressing into your lower stomach, you allow Crane to push you down and force you to bend over the hard wood. Your elbows are quick to steady your body and you groan out something indecipherable as he wastes no time in hiking your skirt over your ass.

Exposed and painfully desperate to be fucked, you can't help but arch your back and present yourself to him like a bitch in heat. He seems to appreciate the effort though as a low growl floats over your head and his fingers grip at your ass - groping every inch he can get his hands on as you gasp at the sensation.

"Tell me what you want," Crane demands, his voice low and rough with need.

"I want you to fuck me! Here- like this! On your desk."

A sharp sting makes you cry out and you instantly realise that he has slapped your ass with his open palm - a choice which makes your cunt ache and spasm around nothing.

"Mmm, not good enough. Let's give ourselves the proper titles we deserve; me as your professor and you as a needy whore who begs for his cock."

"Oh God." You groan, his words doing an absolute number on your mind. "Please, Professor Crane, this whore needs your cock. I need to feel you stretching me out and fucking me across this table until I can't see straight."

With no warning, he thrusts himself with you – every inch of his cock burying itself as deeply as possible within your dripping cunt and his victorious grunt is easily drowned out by the muted cry which you are only just able to catch by slamming your lips shut. His strokes are forceful, painfully stretching you without mercy in the most delicious way as you grip his desk and meet his ferocity with your own.

“I must confess that I’ve considered this myself,” he rasps. “Having you wrapped around my cock just like this. Tell me, how many times have you gotten yourself off thinking about this? How much pleasure did you bring yourself thinking of your professor’s cock?”

He fucks you even harder and you can’t even articulate a response as your lips form into a low series of moans and whines – clenching around his cock with every thrust as you remain powerless in his grip. His hands are hard against your hips and you know that small, purple bruises will absolutely mark up the skin within a day.

That said, his right hand disappears from your hip and you whimper as it instead snakes around your throat, pulling your upper body higher to lay flush against his chest as he remains buried within your cunt. The sensation of his hand around your throat pairing with the delirious pleasure of his cock stroking along your sensitive walls proves too much and you – aching, dripping and utterly desperate for more – come around his cock; your walls clenching and milking him for all he’s worth as he snarls out his own pleasure at your tightness.

His pace is unrelenting and the flow of it drags your orgasm out as your toes curl against your shoes and every nerve in your body feels aflame, pleasure rolling across your frame to make your head feel light and your cunt quiver and twitch.

“You’re so tight, little mouse,” Crane growls into your ear. His teeth make themselves known on your neck and the discomfort of his blunted teeth on your skin only adds to the overstimulated ache in your cunt. “A man could get used to this kind of treatment.”

A second orgasm rolls through you, the surprise of it making you cry out loudly but his hand slips from your neck to your mouth – fingers pressing against your lips to stop any further noises from escaping.

“Hush now,” Crane pants, “we wouldn’t want to be discovered like this now, would we? What would your peers think if they saw you taking your professors cock so beautifully?”

He pulls free of your cunt with a single fluid motion and you feel the heat of his release as it spatters across your cunt and ass, his erratic grunts barely restrained while you clench your throbbing cock around nothing – disappointed that he chose not to finish inside.

The mess between your legs is intense; the physical mess of your combined release dripping down your inner thighs as your cunt feels raw and aching due to the ferocity of his thrusts. Your clit twitches with the vague aftershocks of your dual orgasms and it takes a solid minute for your legs to stop trembling fully as Crane slips forward to press himself flush against your back once more.

"You make a very entertaining proposal, little mouse. Provided that discretion remains a priority, I wouldn't mind a continued tuition in such a manner."

Working through his stuffy speech pattern with your post-orgasm brain, it takes a moment to realise what he means and you tilt your head back to meet him – catching his gaze with your own and taking note of how satiated and relaxed his features are.

"You want to…again I mean?"

"You graduate within two months and your academics prove your abilities,” Crane hums and his hands are everywhere as they roll across your hips before tugging your skirt down to cover your ass. “I doubt a session or two with your most dedicated professor will have much impact on your achievements."

Not quite ready to move just yet as you mistrust the strength of your legs, you can’t help but feel that ‘a session or two’ may not be enough to fully quench the thirst which the new development has planted deep in your thoughts.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 36

Part 1 Part 35

Will’s skin feels tight, stretched over his bones as he tosses and turns into the morning. It’s a relief when the sounds of Mom burning breakfast filter into his room.

“Shit, shit,” she says, pans clattering as she moves them from one burner to another. 

WIll crawls out of his bed, limbs lethargic. His socks have gone wonky in the night – all his tossing and turning making the heels twist to the front of his ankles. He slides them around on the carpet, shifting them around without having to bend over.

He shuffles into the kitchen, settling quietly at the table, feet up on the chair, chin on his knees as he watches his Mom cook. 

She’s scrapping crisp scrambled eggs onto a plate, muttering to herself as toast pops from the toaster. 

Jonathan stumbles out of his bedroom, drawn by the sounds. His pajama pants are too long, trailing across the floor, making him trip on the hems. He grabs the toast without a word, plucking the butter from the counter and coating them liberally before bringing it over to the table.

“Sleep okay?” he asks, sitting down beside Will.

Mom turns, holding the burnt eggs and mushy hash browns on separate plates. “Oh, sweetie,” she says, hurrying over and putting her own bounty in the middle of the table. “How long have you been here?”

“Just got here,” he says, looking down at his knees.

It’s not that his Mom hasn’t always paid attention to him, but it’s grown sharper in the days since he got back from the Upside-Down. Like she needs to catch his every word. Like if he leaves her sight, he’ll disappear. That’s how she’s looking at him now.

Jonathan goes to grab forks and plates, heaping food onto Will’s plate before getting his own. 

The eggs are rubbery, over-cooked and under-salted, and the potatoes are more water than starch. Will eats it all.

There's been a pit in his stomach since he got back, like no matter how much he eats, there’s more space to fill. The doctor’s had said that was normal – just his body's shock response to food scarcity. It’d go away.

“Can I go see Steve?” Will asks.

Steve’s been so still, every time he’s visited. They’d shaved his head, and it made him look young and small and washed out; nothing like the boy with the gun or the boy with the broad back, always standing between them and danger.

But, maybe that’s never who Steve’s been. Maybe he’s always been small, and tired, and scared, just like Will. He just wishes Steve would wake up.

He hasn’t, not since Eddie’d brought him back. No one would tell him what happened, but the way Eddie refused to leave the room entirely said enough. Will isn’t sure he wants to know anything more.

He just wants Steve to open his eyes.

“I have to work,” Mom says, lips pursed. 

She hasn’t been to work since Will got back. Neither has Jonathan, and money’s got to be running thin. 

“I can take him,” Jonathan says, meeting his Mom’s eyes. Something Will can’t parse passes between them, before his Mom slowly nods, reluctance in every move.

Jonathan drops Mom off at work, and then they go, Will crawling between the seats to settle in the passenger seat. 

“Do you think he’ll be awake?” Will asks, staring out the windshield as Jonathan parks the car.

“I don’t know,” Jonathan says, unbuckling his seatbelt, not looking WIll’s way. “I hope so.”

They’ve been here enough that they don’t need directions to Steve’s second floor hospital room.

Eddie’s sitting beside Steve’s bed, like he has been every time Will’s come by. He’s wearing blue scrubs like the nurses do, and there’s no blood on his face. He looks tidier than Will’s ever seen him. 

Steve’s laying down, oxygen tubes taped below his nose.

“Will.” It’s Steve’s voice, scratchy and tired, but Steve’s. 

Will rushes to his bed. Eddie’s blocking access, so Will clambers over his legs, accidentally crushing his toes in the process. Steve looks washed out and tired. But his eyes are open and he’s smiling up at WIll.

Will bursts into tears. Steve holds up his arms in offering, and Will burrows carefully into Steve’s chest, keeping most of his weight on the side of the bed, unsure of where the injuries lie.

“Steve,” he hiccups. “They wouldn’t tell me anything.”

He’s not sure if he’s talking about the doctors, or his Mom, or Eddie himself.

“It’s okay,” Steve says, clutching the back of his head. “I’m fine.”

Will laughs, “liar.” Someone’s hand runs up his back. Jonathan’s or Eddie’s, it doesn’t matter. Everyone he cares about is safe. Everyone in this room is safe. 

They’re home.

When Will calms down, shuffling back awkwardly from the boy he barely knows, Steve smiles up at him, and it’s like something clicks into place. Steve is Steve. That’s enough.

Jonathan is sitting next to Eddie, shuffling uncomfortably before clearing his throat. “Thanks, man,” he says. When Will looks back, Jonathan’s looking down at his lap, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “For saving my little brother. I don’t know what I would’ve done if–” 

His voice breaks, throat clicking as he looks down at his fumbling hands. Steve clears his throat. “Hey, man. Your brother’s a badass. He would’ve been fine.”

Will thinks about the endless hours alone in that dark, quiet place before he’d run into Steve and Eddie, and doubts it. It was like each second there sucked a little bit more out of him, leaving silence in its wake. He’s not sure what would’ve crawled out of the Upside-Down in his place. 

Will smiles down at his shoes as Eddie chimes in, “yeah, baby Byers definitely saved my life.” 

He can feel his cheeks flushing.

“Well, still,” Jonathan says. “Thanks.”

Steve clears his throat. “Anytime.”

Will sits on the side of Steve’s bed, unwilling to leave now that he’s here. It’s like, when he’s with Steve and Eddie, something comes back that the Upside-Down scooped out of him. And everything else is purgatory.

He’ll be trying to sleep, or talking to the party, or listening to music with Jonathan, and it’s all hollow. He’s just waiting.

But right now? Will’s here, and he’s staying as long as he can. 

Part 37

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

As You Wish Pt. 2 | Neil Lewis x fem!reader

Summary| Neil, still thinking about the other day, invites y/n to Gumshoe Video's movie night. The theme (besides vampires) is the 1960s and so she dresses for the part. And like any good vampire thriller- only the good stuff happens after dark...

Warnings| age gap- reader (19) Neil Lewis (27), cursing, kissing, groping, teasing, unprotected sex, penetration, no fore-play.

word count: 4261K

Midnight City- M83 🎶

Our Swords- Band of Horses 🎵

Shout out to the lovely reader who requested a part 2! This is for you!

Please read warnings and continue at your own discretion, thanks!

She can hear the chatter from outside as rain plasters the wide display windows. She stops outside Gumshoe Video and peeks her head inside, sparing her hairdo from the storm outside. Her hair was pinned into a half-beehive and curled up around her shoulders like a young Pattie Boyd. The guests inside turn when the bells above the door announce her presence. They cheer and raise their red plastic cups in greeting and she laughs back, her smile dragging widely across her face. And there he is: Neil Lewis. He’s standing beside the box tv set with a bottle of cheap beer in his hand. He’s wearing a powder blue dress shirt from the seventies and a dark blue suit. His longish hair is swept out of his face and he smiles at something someone has said. When he looks over, he sees her, and his mouth falls open. 

“Oh my God! Where did you get this?” A woman swoops in from the side and admires her dress. 

“It’s a replica mod dress from the 60s. I made it,” she answered with a polite smile and allowed the woman to inspect the stitching. As she raised her eyes, they met Neil’s. His eyes widened slightly as he dropped them down to her thighs before traveling back up to her face. Her dress was boxy, like that of a mod dancer, and so short that it was barely fingertip length (to use school-girl terminology). She was dressed up as a gogo dancer, red vinyl boots and all, for the showing of Gumshoe Video’s The Kiss of the Vampire. Neil bit his tongue as his eyes crawled down her body. Her dark red dress had a high modest neckline but was sleeveless and short. The fabric was a tautly starched linen that didn’t move much as she walked. It hugged her waist with a thick belt but fared out around her thighs in a fixed shape. Her makeup was a copy of one of Twiggy’s famous looks with the exaggerated eyelashes and dark eyeliner. Her eyelids were a bright blue that clashed with her red clothing, a mixing of primary colors. When the woman stepped away, she advanced shyly, resisting the urge to bite her lip and ruin her lipstick. Neil cleared his throat and nodded quickly at Lucien whom he was talking to when she had come in. His eyes darted back and forth, between her and Lucien’s prop pipe. His long eyelashes fluttered as he stole glances at her between pretending to listen to Lucien. 

“Hey! Nice of you to join, I’m Jonathan.” Jonathan appeared beside her and offered his hand not holding a beer. She shook it and smiled. 

“Y/N, I tried to dress for the theme.” She looked down at her costume and he nodded emphatically. 

“I did too. I was going for Ringo Starr.” Jonathan twirled, showing off his bright pink military costume like the one Ringo wore for Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. She nodded and smiled. 

“I see the resemblance. Who is Neil supposed to be?” She jerked her head at Neil and Jonathan sighed. 

“He said that he was going as one of the Monkees but personally, I don’t see it.” 

“He must have run out of costumes,” she laughed and Jonathan shrugged dramatically. As she finished that sentence, Neil broke away from Lucien, slightly breathless and placed a hand on her back in greeting. She looked up at him, curling her toes inside her shoes. 

“You’re one of the Monkees?” She teased him lightly and Neil chuckled and shook his head. 

“I did have a hat on, it made more sense when I was wearing the hat.”

“So you were Micheal?” She asked and he gestured wildly at her for Jonathan, “See I told you someone would get it.” 

“That’s only because you both have weird niche knowledge,” Jonathan wrinkled his nose. “Uh oh, Lucien is talking to two strange women. I’m going to swoop in before he says something weird,” he hurried over to Lucien and patted him playfully on the head. Neil immediately looked down at her, his cool resolve slipping slightly. He was flustered. 

“Wow,” he gestured with both hands at her costume and she blushed self-consciously. He stuttered as he tried to say something coherent. “I’m uh, just uh… wow.” He scratched the back of his head and shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing around quickly before leaning in close to her ear. “Jesus Christ you smell good too.” He shook his head, forgetting what he was originally going to say. She smiled giddily. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

“Do you want to see my office?” Neil cleared his throat as he looked around, trying to look natural to everyone else in the store. His slumped posture and darting eyes would betray him if anyone cared to look at him long enough. He replaced his hand on the small of her back and swirled a finger across the fabric. She played with the hem of his blazer, blushing hard. 

“Hey, Neil!” A couple stopped in front of them and Neil jumped back to attention, his arm flying back behind his head and off of her body. He coughed briefly and cleared his throat. 

“Hey- hey! How’s it going?” He smiled distractedly and greeted his friends. They waited expectantly to be introduced to the girl and Neil gasped slightly, remembering. “Oh sorry, this is Y/N and Y/N, this is Buddy and Marcia.” He waved between them and they all nodded at each other politely, exchanging handshakes and smiles. “Enjoy the movie!” Neil said a little over enthusiastically and Buddy furrowed his brow, slightly concerned as they walked away. Jonathan found them at the makeshift bar and chuckled. 

“That’s the new girl,” he gestured with his cup and Marsha pursed her lip approvingly. 

On the other side of the room, Neil turned back to her and licked his lips. “So… my office?” He raised his eyebrows and jerked his thumbs at the separate office space in the back of the store. She giggled as she dug her toe into the ground and swayed slightly against him. Neil’s smile grew as he led her from the main store area and back into the office. When she passed through the door after him, Neil closed it and lowered himself slightly, his arms going out wide as he looked her up and down again mouthing, “oh my god.”

“So you like it?” She ran her hands down the front of her dress and shifted the weight on her feet proudly. 

“I mean, just look at you!” He ran his hand over his mouth and stepped in closer. The desk knocked softly into her tailbone as she retreated. “I love it,” he emphasized and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She was leaning back against the desk, her legs spread and her weight evenly distributed. Neil stepped closer, his body firmly between her legs. She worked up the courage to touch him, sliding her palms around his waist beneath his blazer. 

“Your fucking thighs,” Neil whispered breathlessly as his index fingers traced around the small hairs on her upper thighs. “God…” he gasped softly, already feeling himself get hot under the collar. She rubbed her nose against his and gave him a soft peck on the mouth. 

“Is that all I get?” He whispered with a furrowed brow. He ran his knuckles down her neck and tried not to gasp when he found her breasts. She kissed him again, pulling herself up higher by his shoulders. Her fingers dug into the plush fabric of his jacket’s shoulder pads. He responded immediately, shoving his tongue into her mouth. Neil pawed desperately at her, his hands grabbing at her thighs, her breasts, and her head. He pushed her up onto the desk and she whined in protest as he now towered above her. He chuckled breathlessly and dragged his hands up the inside of her thighs. 

“Shh,” he smiled when she glowered, wanting to cling to him as she kissed him. When she stopped wiggling, he leaned down and kissed her slowly. She held onto his hips by hooking her fingers in his belt loops. His hands prodded further, stroking the elastic band of her underwear around her pelvis. She was wearing cotton underwear and Neil could feel the wetness pooling at her opening through the fabric. He started to fall apart as he stroked her clothed cunt with his long fingers. She squirmed on the desk in front of her and the heels of her gogo boots knocked against the desk, her back arched into him. She moved his hands beneath her skirt, looking up at him with wide suggestive eyes. 

“Here? Now?” Neil whispered, slightly shocked at the girl’s suggestion. “Are you insane?” He whispered beside her ear, his voice laced with perverted desire though he tried to shake it from his voice, still wanting to be the voice of reason. 

“Neil…” she muttered at him and petted his crotch with slow, heavy moves. 

“What?” He whispered, an edge in his voice. His forehead was still creased and he tried to even out his breath as his cock pushed against every touch of her hand. 

“You’re supposed to say, As. You. Wish.” She squeezed her thighs around his legs, just below his hips and wrapped her hands around his hips. Neil raised an eyebrow and laughed lightly. He watched her as she bore into his eyes, thick with desire. He looked her up and down and reached both hands beneath her skirt again, pulling her underwear down over her butt. She had to lean back slightly as he dragged the cotton wad down over her gogo boots. He looked down at the underwear in his palm and trilled his lips lowly. 

“This is a bit more involved than I was expecting but I’m all for it,” he shrugged with a loose smirk and put the underwear on the desk beside them. She smiled and pulled on his dress shirt, prompting him to give her a satisfying kiss. 

“You were the one who suggested that I see your office,” she giggled quietly. 

“I needed a sense of adventure.” He muttered against her lips, his eyes closed. 

“Neil… Adventure?” She smiled lazily and stroked his jaw, her short nails running dully down his neck. 

“I like the sound of that,” he continued to kiss her, his nose crushing against her cheek. A knock at the door made them both jump and Neil turned around quickly, shielding her from the view of whomever was at the door. 

“Neil! We’re starting the movie now and Jonathan doesn’t know how to work the player. You gotta fix it.” Lucien yelled through the door. His silhouette showed through the frosted glass. 

“Fuuuuuck,” he groaned quietly and rubbed his face. His erection fell slightly at the interruption and he sighed. “Ok, Lucien. I’m coming!” He smiled falsely as he yelled back his response.   

“Oh, I’m sure you are,” Lucien mumbled beneath his breath and hurried back into the store area. 

“I’ll see you out there,” Neil cringed and fixed his suit as much as he could. 

“Break a leg,” she smiled and hopped off of the desk, her underwear still sitting on the desk. She pulled them back on over her gogo boots and followed him out. Neil walked around to the back of the tv and checked the cables. She watched from the back of the room, a deep blush spreading across her face as she noticed the places where her red lipstick had left smudges around his mouth. She smiled down at her boots and bit her lip, trying to compose herself. Neil stepped back in front of the tv with Jonathan and announced the movie, lipstick still smudged around his wide lips. 

“And now, Gumshoe Video presents the 1963 The Kiss of the Vampire,” he extended his hands to the small square tv and waggled his fingers. The audience laughed and hooted. Some glanced over at her and smiled, she blushed deeper. 

“Nice touch,” one guy called from the couches and Neil stared at him blankly, his eyes then slowly drifting to her. She pointed at her mouth and rested her chin on her fist. Neil laughed it off and winked as he stepped aside and the movie started. She sat down on the couch in the back and scooted to the side as Neil joined her, collapsing with an anxious exhale. 

“Kissed by a vampire,” he shook his head, “why didn’t I think of that? That would have been a perfect costume.” He spoke with his hands, and shrugged his shoulders. She hid her face in her hands to hide her smile. “Was it really that noticeable?” He whispered and she nodded, embarrassed. 

“Sorry,” she giggled quietly and wiped the lipstick smudges from his face with her thumb. Jonathan moved around the spread of couches and perched on the edge of the couch beside them. 

“Nice touch, Neil. I think it makes the viewing experience more realistic.” Jonathan snarked and Neil rolled his eyes. 

“Shut up, Jonathan.” Neil sighed and massaged his face, pulling down on the skin. Jonathan winked at her and she smiled. Jonathan drifted off as the movie started and the title card appeared. As Neil relaxed into the couch, his hand found her thigh and rubbed his knuckles across her thigh. She leaned against him, her head resting against the wing of his shoulder as he moved his arm around her. 

…

“What’d you think of the movie?” Neil shoved his hands into his pockets as they locked up Gumshoe Video, the store now completely dark. 

“It’s a classic vampire movie,” she shrugged and smiled, “no notes,” she added. 

It had stopped raining but the sidewalks were littered with shallow puddles of dark water. Neil chuckled and placed one hand on the small of her back as they turned away from the store. 

“I thought you’d like it,” Neil smirked and she raised her eyebrow. 

“Why?”

“You would 100% be the kind of girl to get abducted by an insanely attractive vampire and fall in love with him.” 

“Well would he suck my blood at the end and kill me?” She pretended to consider the universe that Neil was suggesting. 

“Oh of course,” Neil shrugged his shoulders up to his ears and furrowed his brows playfully. 

“I can’t see it,” she shook her head and clasped her hands behind her back as they walked. She looked down at her shoes and smiled. Neil fell silent for a moment, his eyes once again trailing her up and down. 

“Have I told you how amazing you look?” Neil cleared his throat. 

“Yes, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it again,” she blushed and cocked her head to the side, looking into his eyes as they walked. Neil wet his lips and stopped, looking her up and down once again. 

“You look amazing.” He said seriously and she looked away, self-conscious. They were stopped in front of Neil’s house, a two-story craftsman in a dark green color that looked dark blue in the darkness. She looked from the house to Neil’s face, the front porch light reflecting in his bright blue eyes. Neil laughed awkwardly when he realized that they had stopped at his house. 

“Will you come inside?” He twisted his hips casually, jerking his head once at the front door. The girl exhaled shakily and nodded. 

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She answered with a nervous smile. 

Neil broke into a large smile, the lines of his cheekbones stretching down to the edge of his jaw beside his pink lips. They climbed the stairs to the house and Neil let her inside, his eyes traveling up the length of her body as she stepped into the house in front of him. Neil closed the door behind him, exhaling slowly. She met his eyes when she turned back and smiled shyly when she noticed how he stared at her. 

“Do you want to kiss me?” She asked him quietly. Neil nodded emphatically, his hand still on the doorknob behind him. 

“Then come here and kiss me,” she whispered and turned fully to face him. She felt her cunt grow hot and heat billowed down her thighs. Neil clenched his jaw and swallowed, his eyes now fixed on the girl’s mouth. He pushed himself off of the door and approached her, his hips swaying slightly as he walked. She kept her arms by her side as Neil wrapped gentle fingers around her upper arms, right above her elbows, and held his lips within inches of hers. She savored the way he smelled, like laundry detergent and mouthwash. He smelled like what she imagined domestic masculinity would smell like if it could be bottled. She sighed softly before he kissed her, his lips drawing hers between his. He held her in place, not aggressively, and kissed her, moving his head occasionally to taste her from different angles. 

When he broke away she took a step back and clasped her hands behind her back girlishly. Neil laughed like a schoolboy, shocked by the surge of desire and energy he felt just from the kiss. 

“Can I take you upstairs?” He leaned his arm against the wall and pointed to the staircase in front of them. She bit her lip, trying to stop from laughing hysterically from nerves. She took a step backwards and stepped onto the bottom step, facing Neil. 

“Ask me again,” she teased and bit her lip harder. Neil exhaled sharply as he felt his cock twitch aggressively in his pants. The dark room threw her body into shadow and the windows above the stairs illuminated her silhouette. He wet his lips and asked again. 

“Can I take you upstairs?” 

She could still make out his blue eyes in the dark as the windows provided enough light to catch their color. She took a few more steps up, still facing him. 

“As you wish,” she whispered. Neil laughed, thrilled by her little game. He hurried up the stairs but she kept a few steps between them at all times until she reached the top of the stairs. She backed up into the wall beside the window and allowed Neil to close in on her. Neil held her hips in his large hands and kissed her again, this time snaking his tongue into her mouth, testing the waters. They stumbled away from the stairs and rushed into a doorway, Neil catching himself on the doorframe with both arms so that he could turn her around. He twisted her around so that her back was to his bed. 

Neil’s room was exactly as one would expect. His walls were decorated with movie posters with the addition of a few select female movie stars that he had the hots for. He helped the girl back onto the bed and leaned over her on the bed. She weaved her fingers through the hair on the back of his neck and traced his jaw with her palms. He worked quickly to pull off her gogo boots and slipped off his suit jacket. She moved onto her knees on the edge of the mattress and slid each button out of its eyelet on his power blue shirt. Neil shrugged it off and pulled each sleeve over his wrists, dropping it to the floor. She pressed her hands against his chest and placed a few shaky kisses against his warm skin. Neil sighed pleasurably and swept her hair over her shoulders to lie flat down her back. Looking up at him, she moved her hand down to the zipper at his crotch. Neil’s eye widened as she unzipped his fly and slid her hand down into the front of his hands, beneath his underwear. She cupped his erection in her hand and rubbed her hand down the hot and trembling length. Neil sputtered as she stroked him, his hands returned to the bed on either side of her body. She leaned down so that she could kiss the side of his neck while she jerked him off. Precum coated his cock so her hand slid easily over him and she shivered when she heard Neil gasp softly beside her ear. 

“Fuck, you’re full of fucking suprises,” he panted and squeezed his eyes shut. She exhaled against his neck and left a fresh hickey before responding. 

“This isn’t a movie, Neil. You can’t predict the ending.” 

She pulled her hand out of his pants and kissed his briefly as she scooted farther into the bed. Neil watched her breathlessly, his face hot. He watched her as she unzipped the side of her dress and pulled it over her head. Her bare breasts confronted the cold air by hardening. Neil’s jaw nearly fell open when he saw her, exposed like that. All that remained on her body was the cotton underwear which he allowed his gaze to linger on, camouflage by her thighs. She laid back on the bed and propped herself up on her elbows, her stomach trembling with nerves and desire. Neil’s erection pushed noticeably against his boxers. With his eyes still trained on the girl, he pushed down his pants and crawled onto the bed, stopping over her. He lowered his mouth to her neck and kissed the soft flesh there, savoring how warm she was against his mouth. She worked her underwear down and he could feel her hips shift on the mattress which thrilled him. He sat back to look at her, fully nude now. He raised her leg into the air and kissed down her calf, stopping at the underside of her knee. 

“I want to fuck you,” Neil saidbreathlessly as he moved his fingers down her thigh. She smiled darkly, her bow mouth drawn up into a smirk. His cock throbbed in his underwear and hovered above her navel.

“Say it again,” she whispered. Neil raised an eyebrow and exhaled anxiously.

“I want to fuck you.” 

“Again.”

“I want,” he leaned down to her ear and shoved a finger inside her gently, “to fuck you.” She whimpered and bit her lip. 

“Again,” she struggled to say the words, her cheeks flushed. 

“No, honey. You’re supposed to say, as you wish.” Neil whispered against her skin, his finger curling inside her. He smiled when she squirmed and moaned. 

“Ah, fuck- fuck me,” she gasped before Neil crushed his mouth against hers. He pulled down his boxers just enough to free his erection and centered himself at her cunt which was throbbing as much as he was. 

“As you wish,” he chuckled and removed his finger, swapping it out for his cock. He pushed in gently, working his tip inside her slowly as she squirmed needily beneath him. She was tight from nerves and inexperience and he whined despite himself as he went deeper. Her hands found his back and gripped into his flesh. He watched as his cock struggled to fit all the way inside her and moaned loudly when he saw her mouth held open in pleasurable shock. 

“Is it ok?” He groaned and stroked her flushed cheek. Her red lipstick was smudged again on her chin and he swiped his thumb across it. 

“Mmhm, yes.” She nodded and bit her lip as he thrusted in farther. Once her body got used to his length, he was able to pull out and thrust back in. It took only seconds but the sensations felt as though they were happening over hours. He fucked her gently but fast, his hips rocking against hers and shaking the mattress. She pushed her heels into the mattress and arched her hips up into his pelvis. Neil found it delightfully needy and thrusted deeper, eliciting a loud gasp from the girl.  

“Do you like that?” Neil smiled and cupped her chin with his hand. 

“Uh huh, yeah.” She panted as her eyes rolled back into her head. 

“You’re being such a good girl,” Neil praised her and cussed beneath his breath as he felt her walls tighten around him. His hips bucked aggressively into her over and over again and she yelled and gasped in pleasure. He looked down at his cock, slick with her precum, sliding in and out of her. He held her thighs and coaxed her deeper onto his cock, she gasped and bit her lip, her breasts bouncing against her chest. Neil groaned at the sight and fucked her messily, lossing control as he felt how wet she and tight she was getting as she neared her orgasm. 

“Good girl! I’m so close.” He panted quietly and she wrapped her fingers loosely around the nape of his neck. 

“Cum inside me,” she pleaded. 

“What?”

“Cum inside me,” she repeated, more delirious with pleasure.

“Say it again,” he smirked, playing her at her own game.

“Cum. in. me.” Her words tumbled out in a jumbled mess as she started to climax. Her thighs were tightening and her muscles flexed. He groaned helplessly as she came around him.

“As you wish,” he managed to answer as he buckled his hips against her and prompted himself to finish inside, spilling cum into her. He thrusted as he finished and exhaled when he finally pulled out. She worked to catch her breath as he collapsed beside her on the bed. 

“Fuck.” He sighed and rubbed his face. 

“Yeah.” She laughed lightly and cupped her cunt, still riding out the lasting waves of climax. 

[love-liberty21]

In honor of Dracula Daily starting again, I thought I'd share with you ...

What you need:

6 chicken drumsticks (or an entire chicken)

3 onions

4 garlic cloves

3 paprika peppers (of any color)

2 tablespoons of tomato paste

800g (1,6 lbs) peeled tomatoes

Chili powder (as you like)

100 ml (a little less than 1/2 cup of) cream

3 tea spoons of sweet paprika powder

3 tea spoons of hot paprika powder

2 tea spoons of (corn)starch

a pinch of sugar

salt & pepper

What to do:

preheat the stove to 150°C (302°F)

meanwhile, peel the onions and garlic cloves, and cut them into cubes.

Wash the paprika peppers, remove the pips and cut them into cubes as well.

Wash and dry the chicken, then sear it. Add the onions and paprika peppers, then the garlic and roast them for two minutes.

Add tomato paste and peeled tomatoes.

Add paprika powder, salt, pepper and sugar.

Add chili powder (a little, a lot ... depends on whether or not you want to have the Jonathan Harker experience of chugging water all night)

Put it in the stove in a closed pan for 2h and let it simmer.

Then take it out, add cream and make it boil while stirring.

Bind with starch.

If necessary, flavor with salt, pepper and chili powder.

Goes well with:

rice

potatoes

a salad

Have fun trying it out! Oh, and please note: the garlic used in this dish could be effective against vampiric attacks, so it's better to use too much than too little. For your safety.

(source)

[withacapitalp]

How to Rehabilitate a Jock Pt 16

Part One Part Fifteen Link to Ao3. Part 17

So late but I needed to post this as soon as I was happy with it haha! Thank you to @stevethehairington for betaing and @thefreakandthehair for listening to my endless rambles

Step Sixteen: Fix What You Brea

Decorating a christmas tree was an interesting experience. 

It wasn’t like Eddie had never seen a tree before, it just wasn’t something he had ever personally done. Before living with Wayne, his parents had never stayed in one place long enough to have a tree, and after he moved in with Wayne, they both agreed that the money would be better spent on having a present for Eddie instead of a tree to just stare at. Eddie had always thought it would be kind of stupid anyway. What was the point? 

But decorating Steve’s tree was actually pretty enjoyable. 

Sure, Frank and Jeff were fighting over eating the popcorn string instead of hanging it up, and yeah, Jonathan kept making little side comments to Nancy about it that were almost a shade too sarcastic for comfort, but the air was filled with laughter, and Steve was directing him on where to put the important ornaments, so it wasn’t all bad. 

“What about this one?” Eddie asked, holding up a delicate glass design. It was shaped like a pair of ballet slippers, hanging on a pink ribbon that gleamed in the lights on the tree. 

This was the best part in Eddie’s opinion. Every single one of the ‘special’ ornaments had some story attached. A family anecdote or a tradition long held. Steve wasn’t on Eddie’s level of storytelling, but there was something incredibly cozy about holding out an ornament and listening to Steve tell the tale as they hung it up together. 

“That ones my mom’s,” Steve said, his voice inordinately warm as he took the ornament and leaned into Eddie’s space to place it on the right side of the tree almost all the way at the top. “She was a ballet dancer back in the day. The ribbon is from her first set of pointe shoes.”

“That’s cool,” Eddie said, looking closer. Sure enough the satin was too thick to be a traditional ribbon, and there were rips in it that had been sewn back together with pale pink thread. 

“Yeah. You have to replace pointe shoes every twenty hours of dancing or so, but my mom’s family never had much money, so she used hers until they were too broken to dance,” Steve explained, tracing his index finger down the side of the ribbon, his eyes far away somewhere Eddie couldn’t quite reach. 

Huh. 

It was strange to think of anyone in Steve’s family as anything but rich. The Harringtons were well known snobs, and although Eddie didn’t personally know Steve’s mom, he had definitely heard about her. Head of the PTA, head of the ladies auxiliary, head of the church prayer group. She was a socialite through and through. 

Initially Eddie had heard the word ‘ballet’ and imagined an uptight little prima in a sterile looking studio with starched white tutus and perfect form. Steve’s story had shifted that, and now Eddie’s mind was conjuring up images of a tiny girl practicing and practicing her steps with shoes that were tearing at the seams. A small child trying and trying to be as good as everyone else when the tools she was working with were nowhere near what everyone else got to have. 

The same way Eddie himself had practiced on his first guitar before he had started dealing and was able to afford his Warlock. 

“Why’d she stop dancing?” Eddie asked softly, suddenly desperate to know the answer. He needed to make the two images connect, needed to find the through line that could turn a poor kid who just wanted to dance into a formidable small town queen. 

“She married my dad,” Steve replied, giving the exact answer Eddie hadn’t wanted to hear. “They moved here, had my brother, and Mom didn’t need to work anymore. The back room used to be her studio, but my parents decided to make it a second office for my dad.”

Eddie bit his tongue, looking at the tree but avoiding the shimmering ballet slippers sitting on the branch above his head. 

Steve’s mom had been like him, then she married a rich guy, and gave up all the things that mattered for money. She had been just like him, once upon a time. 

Would that happen to Eddie? 

Was he turning into someone different now because of his crush on Steve? 

It wasn’t a completely lunatic idea. He was here decorating a tree, which is something he normally saw as completely arbitrary and useless. He was letting a jock into hellfire, and not just any jock but the King. 

Would being near Steve chip away at all of Eddie’s long held beliefs? Would he move backwards and backwards because of this idiotic infatuation, until his guitar was just an ornament on a tree? 

“Eddie?”

And then with just one look, Steve erased the entire idea. One flash of those big brown eyes and that little side quirk of his head, and Eddie is a goner. There was no way Steve would ever turn his partner into some cookie cutter perfect picket fence person, no planet on Earth where Steve wouldn’t love someone enough to love their weird bits too. This was Steve. 

And besides, it wasn’t even like Eddie was the kind of person that had a shot with Steve in the first place. For a lot of reasons. 

“Sorry, got lost in thought, Sweetheart,” Eddie said, crooking his mouth into a half smile and ignoring the panging ache of guilt crushing his chest. Steve’s shoulders relaxed and he leaned closer, letting his arm rest against Eddie’s. 

“Well, don’t go somewhere I can’t follow,” He murmured, the smell of his cologne and the feeling of his body sending Eddie into a tailspin. 

Just like before when their hands were joined and Steve’s warm breath was blowing across his frozen fingers, Eddie’s mind stuttered to a halt. The endless loops and running thoughts were stuck in place, held motionless by the enigma that was Steve Harrington. It was overwhelming, too much and not enough all at the same time, and Eddie needed to get away from it before he did something he couldn’t take back. 

“C’mon, we’ve still got work to do, lazy bones!” Eddie chirped, slipping away from Steve and practically jumping over to the box of carefully packaged decorations. He was so focused on escaping, that he wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings until it was a moment too late. 

At the same time Eddie picked up the next ornament, Jeff and Frank’s battle over the popcorn string reached its apex. Jeff let go of his side of the string, and Frank flew backwards. He barreled into Jonathan, who crashed into Nancy, who stumbled and bumped into Eddie just enough to make him lose his grip. 

The air was filled with the terribly delicate sound of breaking porcelain, and everything seemed to freeze in place. All six of them stared at the ground, where a tiny angel rested in three pieces where it had once been whole. 

“Shit, I’m sorry-”

“We were just fucking around, but we shouldn’t have-”

“Steve, I’m so-”

Floods of apologies from the rest, but Eddie stayed silent. He was watching Steve like a hawk as he slowly bent down on one knee and began to collect the pieces of the broken ornament. 

Steve hadn’t said a word yet, but he was still saying plenty. His shoulders were almost at his ears, and his fingers were shaking as they tried to grab onto the porcelain remains. His expression was neutral, but his eyes were starting to take on an honestly terrifying shine, and his blinking was getting more and more rapid by the second. 

Eddie should have left it alone, should have given Steve space to collect himself, but he had never been good at leaving things be. So, knowing it was the wrong thing to do, Eddie knelt down by Steve and reached out to put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. 

“Sweetheart?” 

“It’s fine,” Steve instantly replied, a completely hollow smile materializing on his face as he continued to blink far too much. He leaned away from Eddie’s touch, a tiny jerky movement that put a twenty pound weight on Eddie’s chest. Steve scrambled upwards, cradling the broken ornament close to his heart as he continued to fake a smile. “It was an accident, Babydoll. No worries.”  

It was an accident, but that didn’t make it ‘fine’. Steve was obviously so far from fine, and even that little silly name wasn’t enough to assure Eddie of the lie. It actually made it worse, like Steve was trying to appease him, to make Eddie let it go, when he really didn’t think he should. 

“I’m gonna go see if we have superglue. It doesn’t look too bad,” Steve said to the entire group, still faking it. Unlike Eddie though, the rest were buying it, tension leaking out of them with relieved smiles and quiet sighs. “You guys finish up though, people will be here any minute.” 

And then he was gone, ducking into the kitchen and disappearing from view, leaving Eddie unmoored and unsure of where to go. Every fiber in his being wanted to chase after Steve, catch him alone and hope that he wouldn’t keep trying to hide, but he was stuck in place. Steve had leaned away, escaped as soon as he could, that had to be a sign that he didn’t want Eddie near him. 

Wasn’t it? 

“Nice job, butterfingers,” Frank joked, gently jabbing an elbow into Eddie’s ribs in an effort to lighten up the air around him. 

Eddie threw him a distracted smile, still staring at the doorway Steve had disappeared through and trying to ignore the part of him that was desparate to follow. 

“I’m gonna go check on him,” Nancy murmured to Jonathan, nearly inaudible over the sound of Jeff and Frank looking for a broom to get any remaining slivers of porcelain on the ground. Jonathan nodded with a quiet hum, kissing Nancy on the cheek before letting her go without even a word. 

Because it was oh so natural for an ex-girlfriend to leave her current boyfriend in the dust to go check on her ex-boyfriend. 

Eddie watched her perfect little curls bounce in their perfect little ringlets as she practically skipped out after Steve. Now Nancy was going to go in there and comfort Steve, act all sweet and soft and drag Steve into thinking that she cared when she was the one that had cheated. Hell, maybe they would even kiss, and she would have her hooks in Steve again. 

Why wasn’t Jonathan upset about this?!

… Why was Eddie so upset about this?

Eddie let his eyes slip shut, his breath escaping in one huge gust as he finally began to wilt. It wasn’t really any of his business. He and Steve were friends. That was all. If Steve wanted to kiss Nancy, then he would kiss her, and that wasn’t Eddie’s choice. All Eddie had was a fanciful crush, a ridiculous dream, a hope for something that he should never have let himself hope for. 

But still. 

“I’m gonna find a bathroom,” Eddie muttered to no one, slipping out of the room and carefully creeping down the hallway towards the kitchen. 

He could hear the indistinguishable sound of voices coming from the room ahead, the open door tempting him closer and closer for a taste of what Steve and Nancy were discussing. 

Was Eddie really doing this? 

Yes. Yes he was. 

Resolved, Eddie leaned against the hidden side of the doorway, letting his head hit the wall as he shut his eyes and focused on eavesdropping. 

“-really don’t want to talk about it, Nancy,” Steve said, sounding utterly exhausted as cupboards opened and slammed shut. 

“Okay,” Nancy relented, clearly not happy to let the subject go, “let’s talk about the other thing?”

Other thing?

“Other thing?” Steve asked. Eddie bit back a snicker, his heart fluttering at the way Steve had mirrored him without even knowing it. 

“You invited Eddie?”

The humor instantly fled, rushing out of the hallway along with all of the oxygen, leaving Eddie dizzy and struggling to breathe. His indulgent smile soured into a scowl, and his hands curled into tight fists. 

It was the tone. That tone that Eddie had heard his whole life. The condescending, lower-than-me, dirt on the shoes of society tone. It was the kind of thing that girls like Nancy could use because they lived in perfect two story houses on cul-de-sacs, and Eddie was trailer trash from the bad side of town. 

Well fuck her. Fuck Nancy Wheeler and her stupid perfect life, and fuck her for hating him just for existing. Eddie could hate her right back. He had hating the conventional down to a science, an art form almost. He was brilliant at striking first, and he had half a mind to walk in there and tear her down a few notches, just for the fun of it.  

“What is your problem with him?” 

Eddie stopped in his tracks, blinking his eyes open and staring in shock at the wall in front of him, watching Steve’s shadow turn to face Nancy’s. 

“I don’t have a problem,” Nancy scoffed. 

“Obviously you do, Nance,” Steve shot back, crossing his arms  “Eddie’s a good guy. They’re my friends.” 

A good guy. 

It wasn’t exactly a glowing recommendation or anything, but the words and the protectiveness in Steve’s voice was doing terrible wonderful things to Eddie’s stomach. His fingers were still burning from being held by Steve before, and now his brain was on fire too, caught in the blaze that was Steve damn Harrington. 

“I… I just think he might be trouble,” Nancy admitted softly, quickly continuing when she heard Steve’s inhale of interjecting, “and not in the way you’re thinking! I promise.”

A long silence, one that gave Eddie too much time to think, one that left too much room for endless questions with zero answers. 

What kind of trouble did Nancy think Eddie was dragging Steve into? What would Eddie do that she was so scared of? Did she really care that much about Steve’s reputation? Steve didn’t even care about it anymore! 

Was she scared for her brother? Why was all of this so damn cryptic?

“In what way?” Steve finally asked, and Eddie leaned in, needing the answer.

“Just-” Nancy cut herself off with a frustrated little sound, and her shadow eclipsed Steve as she stood on her tiptoes to put her arms around his shoulders. 

“If you ever need to talk. About anything. Me and Jonathan are here. We would never judge you for anything. You know that right?” 

Eddie barely heard it, the words muffled between the two bodies, but he heard Steve’s soft chuckle, and saw the way his shadow arms wrapped around Nancy.

Even just an image of them on the wall looked so… right. 

It made a small part of Eddie die inside. 

He closed his eyes once, hating the burn that was already there waiting. He shouldn’t have come over and listened. He shouldn’t have done any of this. But as Eddie took a step back to walk to the living room with his tail tucked between his legs, Nancy spoke again. 

“And you need to tell them about El before she gets here.”

El?

Who was El? 

“Shit, you’re right,” Steve sighed, pulling away from Nancy, “I totally forgot.”

“Do you remember the story?”

“Nancy I’m the one that came up with it,” Steve said, annoyance tinging his voice, “I remember the story.”

Story? 

Eddie was definitely eavesdropping about something bigger than relationship woes now, and the mystery of it all dug right into his soft spot, pulling him away from his aching heart and tugging him forward with a desperate need to know more. 

This was the thing that Wayne always tried to warn him about. Eddie’s need to know everything was always getting him in trouble, and he had heard plenty of times about what curiosity did to cats. 

That was all true… but the thing that Wayne always seemed to forget was that satisfaction brought that cat back. 

“It’s important that we get this right, Steve. You know what-”

But whatever Steve knew, Eddie didn’t seem destined to hear it. As he leaned closer, intent on catching every word, he overbalanced, tripping over his own feet and slamming his entire body against the other side of the doorway, coming into full view of both of them. Steve and Nancy both jolted, pulling away from each other and staring at Eddie with slack jaws and wide eyes. 

Fuck. 

“This is what I get for never tying my shoes,” Eddie joked awkwardly, trying to be casual as he straightened up and let out the world’s worst fake laugh. His brain was racing, running as fast as it could to come up with any rational reason for him being there besides eavesdropping. 

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, his brow furrowing. He didn’t even seem to catch what was going on, but Nancy was practically glaring, her lips pursed in quiet fury. 

“I’m fine, Sweetheart,” Eddie reassured him, ignoring Nancy’s look in favor of focusing all of his attention on Steve. If he played it right, then Nancy calling him out would just look like she was against him, which Steve had already tried to stop. 

He wasn’t being manipulative. This was just strategy, the same kind of strategic thinking that any dungeon master worth their salt would employ. It was improv, a game, an act. Nothing bad. Nothing wrong. 

So why was guilt creeping cold fingers down Eddie’s spine? 

“What do you want?” Nancy asked, clearly trying to go for nonchalant but coming off completely cold with her crossed arms and flat inflection. It wasn’t working in her favor if Steve’s quick sharp look was anything to go by, and Eddie did his best not to preen under Steve’s protection. 

“Drinks? The boys were wondering if you had anything stronger than eggnog,” Eddie wondered, coming up with his excuse on the fly. It would work. Frank was never one to turn down a stiff drink, especially if it came loaded with whatever ridiculously expensive alcohol the Harringtons were keeping stashed away here. 

Nancy tossed her hair over his shoulder, raising a single brow as her expression stayed firmly unimpressed. It made Eddie want to squirm in place, but he held firm, meeting her head on. 

“You know there’s gonna be kids at this party, right?” Nancy said, her voice a little less frosty, but a hell of a lot more condescending. “And the chief of police.”

Eddie bristled, opening his mouth to tell her exactly where Hopper could stick it, but Steve intervened before he could. 

“There’s nothing wrong with having a little,” Steve offered in a mediating tone, already moving towards one of the high cabinets and starting to open it. “But just one before they get here. Last thing I need is the brats trying to convince me they’re old enough for whiskey.” 

“Jack and Coke? Or are you spoiling me with the good stuff?” Eddie asked, possibly laying it on an inch too thick, but unable to help it when Steve was giving him that fondly annoyed side eye. 

“We do not drink the good stuff as a mixed beverage,” Steve lectured, grabbing a fat bottle from behind a box on the shelf and bringing it down, “but I think breaking out the crown wouldn’t be amiss.”

“A crown for a king!” Eddie crowed, taking the bottle of Crown Royal from Steve and wiggling his eyebrows. Steve huffed out a soft laugh, shaking his head at Eddie’s antics and turning towards the fridge. 

“Here, Nance,” Steve said absentmindedly, holding out a bottle of coke for her, “take that inside and you guys can make your own before everyone else gets here. I’ll be in once I find the glue.” 

“Why don’t I help you?” Eddie blurted out, his mouth moving before his mind even caught up with what he was saying. 

“Oh, sure,” Steve agreed, still distracted as he began to root around in cupboards. 

“You’ll be needing this,” Eddie said sweetly, offering up the bottle to Nancy as she walked past him. 

Nancy’s eyes narrowed impossibly further, and she let out a short sigh, taking the bottle of alcohol with a vicious little swipe and striding out of the room. Eddie watched her go, barely resisting the urge to stick his tongue out at her retreating form. 

He had won. That was what mattered. 

Did Eddie even know what he had won? No, but he still felt like he did. 

Once it was just the two of them, Eddie’s hackles began to slowly lower. There was no need to be on guard when it was just him and Steve. He idly twirled around the kitchen table, leaning against the counter on the other side of the kitchen and looking around the room with distracted curiosity. He had been in the kitchen before, but never really cared enough to explore the details. 

Now every fridge magnet was a new discovery, and the way that the spices were lined up on the rack was information that seemed important. But the most interesting thing in the kitchen was the angel on the counter right by Eddie’s fingers. 

It was a pretty thing, delicate, but somehow still beautiful, even in parts. The sculpted wings were curled around the figure of a little boy, kneeling with his hands cupped over a star. At the bottom of the ornament was the name ‘Jaime’ in ornate script. 

Jaime. 

“Who’s Jaime?” Eddie wondered aloud. He had mostly been talking to himself, but his words caused Steve to stop short, flying around from the drawer he had been searching through and whirl around to face Eddie.

“Where did you…” Steve trailed off, noticing the angel. He wilted like a dying flower, biting at the inside of his cheek as he turned his back to Eddie, returning to the drawer of odds and ends. 

“Jaime’s my brother,” Steve said shortly. 

Eddie’s shoulders were starting to tighten, but he pushed through the feeling. It wasn’t a rejection, or an outright refusal to speak. Steve was just being cagey, secretive the way he sometimes was. 

Eddie could crack that. 

“Ah, yes, the elusive mystery brother,” He joked, putting on a fake accent and bopping over to Steve’s side, bumping against him in an effort to get Steve smiling again. “Will the elder Harrington sibling be making an appearance at tonight’s festivities?” 

Maybe if he was, Eddie would get some answers. Reasons for the panic attack at the Hideout, or some details on the mysterious ‘El’. The possibility of unraveling another part of Steve was enticing, coaxing Eddie further down the rabbit hole. 

“Um…”

Just like that the curiosity was gone. Instantly killed by the way Steve’s adams apple was starting to bob, and the sharp shaking inhale that went along with it. Eddie’s heart fell to his feet, and his fingers felt cold for the first time since Steve had touched him. 

“I was just kidding around. You don’t have to-” Eddie began.

“It’s okay,” Steve interrupted, still worrying his lip as his eyes darted around the room, looking everywhere but at Eddie. He was gearing up, trying to find what he wanted to say or maybe trying to force it out. Either way, Eddie was going to be frozen in place until Steve was ready to speak. 

“Jaime um… Jaime died,” Steve finally managed, the word practically shooting out of his mouth the second he was done choking on it. 

It was like being dunked in a freezing cold shower and tossed out in the snow. Not only had Eddie forced Steve into talking about his dead brother, he had broken the ornament obviously meant to commemorate him. 

If he had a gun, he would be pushing it up against his temple. Nope. Even that wouldn’t be enough. 

“Fuck,” Eddie hissed out, wishing he could just shut his damn mouth for once, but he was too keyed up to stay quiet. The apology was worthless, but it was already spilling out of his mouth, vomiting itself up, “Steve, I-”

“Really, it’s fine,” Steve insisted, busying himself with looking for the glue. “How could you know? Besides, he died before I was born, so…”

“So?” Eddie prompted, not really sure where Steve was going with that. 

Steve said ‘so’ like that meant it didn’t matter, but from just one glance Eddie knew how much this did. Steve, who was one of the most open people Eddie knew, was hunched over, practically trying to disappear from Eddie’s gaze, hiding away whatever emotions were trying to push themselves up to the surface, demanding to be felt. 

“So- I don’t know,” Steve said, cutting himself off with a sigh. He held up the tiny bottle of superglue, walking over to the other side of the counter, his back to Eddie again. “But it’s my mom’s favorite ornament, and she would get really upset if she came home and it was broken,”

Steve gave a tiny laugh that wasn’t really a laugh, the tip of his finger running over the edge of the wing like it had run over the satin of the ballet slipper ribbon. 

“Not that I even know when she’s coming home again,” He whispered, the bitterness in the words so heavy that it was sitting on Eddie’s tongue. 

It was just wrong. Eddie had never heard Steve sound so beaten down, even in the parking lot the other night. This was somehow worse than just watching Steve shake through an unseen panic that he couldn’t control. 

But, unlike that night, Eddie could do something about this. So, rather than satisfy his own curiosity, Eddie put his needs to the side. 

“Can I?” Eddie asked, holding out his hand for the glue and the angel. “I work on miniatures all the time. I’m super steady.” 

Steve looked down at the hand outstretched toward him, then up at Eddie. A long slow look that went deep in Eddie, making him want to squirm with how far it was going. 

Then, finally, Steve relented. He handed over the pieces and hopped up onto the counter, watching Eddie like a hawk. 

Eddie immediately went to work, bending his head close to the angel and narrowing his eyes as he carefully glued first the broken wing on, and then the small corner of the name plaque. He held both in a firm but soft grip, balancing the ornament effortlessly between his hands as he waited for the glue to bond the pieces back together. And, as he did all of that, he worked up the courage to say what he was thinking. 

“You know it’s okay, right?” Eddie whispered, unable to make his voice any louder. 

“What is?” Steve whispered back, just as quiet. 

“If you aren’t okay,” Eddie replied, braving a quick glance up at Steve’s face. 

It was the wrong thing to do. The blank look of utter shock on Steve’s face was painful, hurting Eddie inside in a place he didn’t even know existed. 

All at once Eddie was sure that he was the first person to ever tell Steve such a thing, and that was just… too much. It was too much pressure, too much potential to fuck it up and hurt Steve even more, too much of a chance that Eddie would say the wrong thing. 

But it was also too much to not be sure Steve knew that it was the absolute truth. 

“You’re allowed to not be okay,” Eddie said, gently placing the repaired angel in Steve’s palm. 

Taglist: @paopaupaus @zerokrox-blog @surferboyzaza @whatever-is-a-good-name@minjintea @addelyin @5ammi90 @hagbaby420 @shinekocreator @bornonthesavage @starxlark @electrick-marionnett @resident-gay-bitch @ash-a-confused-enby @classicdinosaurdeathpose @valon-whomsttf @rotten-lil-goblin @thereindeerlady @love-ya-kash @kerlypride @sparkle-fiend @thefreakandthehair @flowercrowngods @milf-harrington @sadcanadianwinter @gothbat99 @hotcocoaharrington @henderdads @lightwoodbanethings @colorful565 @h0n3y-dw @craterbbox @sourw0lfs @lesliiieeeee @bidisastersworld @tinynebula @ravnlinn @bonescaro @mexmatch @cottagecoredreams @joruni @hellykelly @maegan1116 @farewell-wanderlvst @desertfern @due-to-the-fact-that-im-a-slut @anythingforourmoonyedits @eerielake @fandemonium-takes-its-toll @sidekick-hero

[mariacallous]

Well, if you’re just joining us, the nation has delivered an all-night victim impact statement. Labour has won a landslide and the Conservatives have suffered their worst ever general election result. Keir Starmer – the prime minister – has promised “national renewal … to fight until you believe again”. Liz Truss has failed to save South West Norfolk, let alone “the west”. That is the big picture (if not the whole picture, with turnout and Labour’s vote share notably low). Meanwhile, it’s incredible to think that only a short while ago we thought we’d eradicated measles and Nigel Farage. Both have now been brought back, largely by the same people.

But look, after the 3am to 7am shift, no one will be able to say the right doesn’t do comedy. There were moments worthy of entire Netflix specials as in sports halls and community centres various Dickensian grotesques were ushered into their Christmas future, live on stage. Alas, it was going to take more than buying the Cratchits a turkey to get out of this one. Jacob Rees-Mogg heard his fate standing next to a candidate wearing a baked bean balaclava. He’ll be crying into Nanny’s starched bosom today. Committed sewage apologist Thérèse Coffey was pumped into the sea in Suffolk Coastal. Andrea Jenkyns had the middle finger given to her by the voters of Morley and Outwood. In Welwyn Hatfield, Grant Shapps chanted “supermajority” five times into the mirror, and then it came for him.

Then again, Michael Portillo losing his seat was supposedly 1997’s big moment. So perhaps the question is: in two years’ time, which current hate figure will be presenting a cosy travelogue on Europe’s most picturesque illegal migration routes? Alternatively, do remember that one person’s onstage humiliation is another person’s milk round for directorships in the arms trade.

Speaking of absolute weapons, hat twat George Galloway wimped out of his own count in Rochdale, presumably out of fatigability. He lost to Labour. There was jubilation for the Lib Dems, who finished not a million miles behind “the natural party of government”, and for the Greens, who won all four of their target seats. The SNP can now squeeze its MPs round the flip-down dining table of a motorhome. Referendum arguments may move to Northern Ireland, with Sinn Féin now that nation’s largest Westminster party.

As for Reform … Farage won in Clacton, a constituency for which he will now have to hold surgeries, presumably by Zoom link from his hot desk in the US presidential colon. Or as he put it in his victory speech: “This is the first steps of something that is going to stun all of you” – at least confirming his political abattoir will be bolt-gunning its victims unconscious first. Farage is the horror version of Inside Out, where Mendacity is only just holding off Racism at the control console. His cultural hinterland extends to a single Goodbye, Mr Chips DVD he got free with the Sunday Times in 2008, and the idea that this hollow chancer should still be one of the most significant politicians of the age says everything about the age.

Anyway, back to the Conservatives’ four-hour in-memoriam reel. Penny Mordaunt, Jonathan Gullis, Michael Fabricant, Gillian Keegan, Steve Baker, Alex Chalk, Johnny Mercer, Michelle Donelan, Victoria Prentis, Liam Fox, Mark Harper … all out, along with many more. So many cabinet ministers fell that the ones who live may actually develop survivor guilt. It’s currently unclear how gruesome things will be among the extant Conservatives in this post-apocalyptic world. As a fictional president once wondered of Dr Strangelove, will the living not end up envying the dead? Far from it, Strangelove reassures him, forcing down an involuntary Nazi salute. What will abound is a spirit of bold curiosity for the adventure ahead!

Speaking of which, 13th fairy Suella Braverman finally turned up, holding on in Fareham and cooing: “I am sorry that my party didn’t listen to you. The Conservative party has let you down.” Expect to see her humbly attempting to disembowel fellow survivors Jeremy Hunt and James Cleverly in the forthcoming trial-by-combat for what convention demands we style as “the soul of the Conservative party”.

At his count, Rishi Sunak explained he’d already conceded the election in a congratulatory call to Keir Starmer, adding, “I take responsibility for the loss.” In Downing Street, he confirmed he would be standing down as Tory leader in some sort of due course, stressing, “I have heard your anger.” Then, instead of yet another speech straight from the Tortured Prime Minister’s Department, this one offered humility and magnanimity, as well as a pointed reminder of the positive (and fragile?) progress that saw him become the UK’s first British-Asian prime minister. What a contrast to the relentless negativity of his past six weeks. Sunak’s campaign was conducted like a gender-reveal party where the device that’s meant to release the puff of blue smoke accidentally functions as a pipe bomb and burns the house down.

It also closed out several years of mindboggling chaos, dysfunction and national decline. They won’t be playing anything from this album on the Conservative party’s Eras tour. The Tories have cycled through five prime ministers over the past eight years, to the point where they were recently found going through the rubbish, pulling the first guy back out, thinking, “Actually, he doesn’t look half bad now,” and making him foreign secretary. This is the behaviour of addicts.

Not that they have the monopoly on erraticism. Any dispassionate view of these results suggests the fabled post-Brexit “realignment” is more of a dealignment – the huge sweeping gains of this or that political moment able to be reversed in previously unthinkable timespans. Volatility might now be our defining electoral characteristic, and a rise in sectarian politics cannot and should not be ignored. Because hey – what’s the worst that can happen with that one? Meanwhile, many people who derided the simplistic “Get Brexit done” slogan in 2019 have pretended not to notice that the winner here went out under the even more gnomic banner of “Change”.

Yet in the wider global context, what a win. One summer evening in 1914, the foreign secretary, Edward Grey, famously remarked: “The lamps are going out all over Europe.” In our own times, a darkening has recently felt at hand, as hard- or extreme-right parties have gained ground across the continent, to say nothing of the US. But here – in this country, in this moment – a different direction has been taken. That matters today, and anyone not on the wingnut fringes, who hopes to avoid those gathering shadows, should wish Keir Starmer good luck with his task. For plenty who would snuff out the lamps are also rising – increasingly, they walk among us.

[see-arcane]

i was under the impression that lucy never met jonathan somehow

We never get to see them hang out on paper, alas, but the impression of them all knowing each other is there in the letter-writing with Mina and Lucy

Jonathan is just trying to be a Good Proper Gentleman (and/or hamming it up to poke fun at said propriety) by telling Mina he sends Lucy his starched Respectful and Dutiful Good Wishes etc--which Mina immediately calls bullshit on, telling Lucy so in the letter, and sending her the actual friend-love he means

As an aside, I'd bet good money that Jonathan 'Would Rather be Hanging Out with His Fiancée and her Girlfriend Right Now' Harker probably had to grit his teeth through so many bouts of nonsense to do with his fellows thinking he was trying to get with his current girlfriend's pretty and eligible high society 'better catch,' while Mina and Lucy no doubt had to put up with both sides of the whole:

'Gasp! You let your fiancé hang around while she's there, Mina? You'll lose him for sure!'

and

'Gasp! I can't believe you're trying to steal your low class friend's man, Lucy! Though I suppose it isn't hard for someone of your pedigree, ha ha,'

mess.

Which is to say, while the Suitor Squad were out and about doing Manful Adventures together, the Childhood Sweetheart Trio were out here battling the onslaught of Victorian values and mistress assumption bullshit, which possibly resulted in Jonathan's ongoing bit of turning full Robotically Respectful (tm) whenever Lucy walks in

Lucy: Hi--

Jonathan: HELLO PLATONIC ACQUAINTANCE WHO HAPPENS TO BE MINA'S FRIEND. I AM ACKNOWLEDGING AND ENJOYING YOUR PRESENCE AND I OFFER APOLOGIES TO ALL INVOLVED THAT I AM DOING SO WHILE MALE. I WILL NOW HOLD THIS LAW BOOK OVER MINE SINFUL EYES UNTIL ONE OF US LEAVES THE ROOM.

[pumpkinhrat]

Martin nearly drops his glass of wine in his lap when the notification pops up. A bit does splash over the lip of the glass and nearly ruins his freshly folded laundry, but he can’t bring himself to care. The message blinks at him from his phone screen: Tinder (now) – Somebody Super Liked you! Find out who.

Martin stares blankly at it until the screen starts to go dark. A Super Like. A Super Like? It’s been a week since Martin opened the account and he’s barely had 5 matches in the time since. He’s not even really sure what a Super Like is besides the fact that Tinder keeps trying to make him buy them. Did someone pay to match with him? Martin’s pulse quickens and before he can talk himself out of it, he’s typing in his passcode and pulling up the app. Immediately, a profile pops up with a bright blue star under the scowling face of–

Jonathan Sims.

Martin freezes, the skin of his neck prickling suddenly. What… He takes a furtive look around his flat, suddenly and bizarrely self conscious, as if someone’s gonna pop up beside him to judge his every reaction – ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. He takes a large swallow of wine.

Martin’s first instinct upon discovering that his boss Super Liked him on Tinder of all places is, of course, to deny, deny, deny that it’s really happening. Because, really, imagining dour, dry Jon sitting down to set up an online dating profile after scoffing at Tim’s own profile so hard that he’d set himself into a coughing fit is unbelievable. It doesn’t help Martin’s denial, however, that the third picture on Jon’s account is one of Tim and Sasha crowding beside him at a bar. It also doesn’t help that Martin remembers that night very clearly and knows for certain that after Sasha had taken that selfie of the three of them, Tim had insisted on a photo with Martin as well. (“Gotta have documentation that I actually managed to drag all three of you out at once!” he remembers Tim shouting in his ear.)

Martin clicks through the rest of the profile with a deliberate sort of detachment, though his cheeks warm against his will. It’s not his fault that every previously unseen photo of his stuffy, starched shirt boss in jeans and a flannel ignites a new wash of fire down his back. The blue Super Like star continuing to glow merrily under each photo doesn’t help, either.

Martin mindlessly scrolls down a bit further and encounters the description he’d missed while scouring Jon’s photo album. The bio reads: ‘Stressed, depressed, well dressed. Put the bi in bibliophile. Looking for someone to raise a cat with.’ Martin’s attention catches on the second line, specifically the word ‘bi’. He knows that Jon had dated at least one woman before but he never wanted to assume anything about his preferences. It’s nice to know, he supposes, as his traitorous body sends another wash of elated heat down his back.

This is bad. Very, very bad. Jon had been alluring enough when he’d been Marin’s mean, unfairly hot boss who’d occasionally dress him down in a way that made his hands tingle. Cold, strict, and gloriously, mercifully unattainable. It’s been a few years since those rocky beginnings, though. Now, Jon has settled into his gig as Head Archivist and the spiky walls of his glaringly obvious inferiority complex have disappeared entirely. He still snaps and snipes, of course, but that’s to be expected no matter how close you are to Jonathan Sims.

This, unfortunately, means that Martin’s… interest (he refuses to say ‘infatuation’ as Tim had) in Jon has taken a bit more of a realistic turn. In the past year or so, Jon has turned into something of a friend, which is incredible on its own but also has disastrous implications for Martin’s ability to maintain his self control. And this? This is bad.

The wine (a thank you gift from Jon for hosting his birthday party at his flat the year prior) sits warm and soft in Martin’s belly as his thumb hovers over the swipe right and left options. Nothing about this makes a lick of sense, but Martin’s imagination never really needs much to go on in order to find the most ridiculous course of action and convince him to act on it.

He downs the rest of his glass in one go and swipes his thumb to the right. Who needs self control?

––

“And what, exactly, do you mean by concerned?”

Sasha cringes slightly at Jon’s sharp tone but Tim just slings an arm around his neck, snatching his phone and the offending Tinder account away from him. “Oh come on Boss Man, you know we worry! We’re just looking out for you! Consider it a favor.”

“A favor.” His tone is so dry that even Tim grimaces but he quickly recovers.

“Yeah! You were just whingeing about how terrible company Sash and I make on a night out, always running off for a bit of fun and leaving you by your lonesome. We thought we’d solicit you some company!”

“Must you phrase it that way? It sounds as if you’re hiring me an escort.” Jon gripes without much bite, crossing his arms where he leans against Sasha’s desk. Tim grins at him so widely he rolls his eyes and looks away. “So, what, you want to find someone for me to interact with while the two of you go off to- to do whatever it is you do? I’m just supposed to stay behind and rendezvous with some stranger?”

“Well,” Sasha says slowly. Jon turns his imperious look on her. “We tried to encourage you to, um, rendezvous with someone at the bar when the two of us break off but you didn’t seem to like that idea either.”

Jon puffs out an exasperated little sigh that is honestly endearing as fuck and levels a flat look at Sasha. “You know perfectly well that that is not something I’m–”

“That’s not what I meant,” she cuts in quickly. “It’s perfectly possible to make friends at bars even if you’re not looking for anything else.”

“Maybe for some people,” he mutters, looking away, and Sasha’s heart squeezes much in the way that had made her start this entire endeavor. She opens her mouth to explain just this but Tim beats her to the punch.

“That’s kinda the point, Boss Man. We know you aren’t particularly comfortable having full blown conversations with strangers, so we thought this would be is a great solution! Match with a few people, see who fits the best, then you can meet the ones who you think you’d actually survive socializing with.” Jon takes a breath and Tim quickly barrels on. “Aaaand if you don’t find anyone who meets that bar, then no harm done! Just delete the app and you’ll never have to think about it again.” He gently pushes the phone across Sasha’s desk toward Jon, the app open to the ‘matches’ page.

Jon stares down at it with clear disdain before eyeing them both doubtfully. “I appreciate the effort,” he starts carefully and Sasha has to bite her tongue to resist interrupting. “But isn’t this an entirely unnecessary endeavor? It’s not as if we go out all that often, anyway. Everyone’s far too busy to agree on nights to go out, and Martin hasn’t been able to attend in months.”

“Well, y’know, that’s also kind of the point, Boss Man,” Tim says. He yanks out a chair and sits on it backward beside Sasha so they’re both looking up at Jon. He taps his phone pointedly. “We want you to get out there, mingle with other people now that Martin’s lost his weekends to his mom and Sash and I are dipping into territory you’re not as comfortable with–”

“You two do know I am capable of hearing the word sex without bursting into flame, yes?”

“–and, hey, we get it, you’re not the most social guy. But everyone needs a little bit of time with a friend or partner. We don’t want you to miss out on that because our little quartet has encountered a few scheduling conflicts.”

Jon stares at them, a look Sasha does not like filling his eyes, and his lips thin slightly. “You think I’m lonely.” He says the word with such a tone of accusation that Sasha cringes again.

“We don’t think you’re lonely,” she corrects quickly. “We just think you’d benefit from new social connections now that we’re less available.”

“And we still wanna go out,” Tim adds. “As often as we can. We just want–”

“Me to have more options than just you three, yes, I understand the premise.” He turns his attention back to Tim’s phone and gingerly pokes through the app, huffing and making more Jon Noises. Precious. After an excruciating amount of time, he heaves a gigantic sigh. “I suppose it won’t hurt to- to test it out. See if your theory holds any weight.” He sounds reluctant but Tim and Sasha share an excited glance, Sasha giving an endeared little nose scrunch at the wording. What an utterly Jon thing to say. “It has– It’s been a while since Georgie, so I believe now is as good a time as any to ‘get back out there’. I hadn’t thought there’d be anyone particularly interesting on apps like these but…” He trails off as he clicks through one of his matches’ profiles and Sasha just barely catches a glimpse of a foggy silhouette on a mountain.

“We handpicked a few people that we thought you might gel with,” she cuts in quickly, before Jon can expand on his ‘but’ and shut the whole thing down. “The one you’re looking at right now is Tim’s favorite, though I think he’s a bit boring.” Tim makes an affronted noise but Jon just hums, scrolling slowly through the profile’s long winded description.

“Yes, quite,” he says, clearly not paying any attention to what she’s saying. Tim grins at her.

‘Told ya so!’ He mouths and Sasha gives him the finger under her desk.

“Well, whaddya say, Boss?” Tim asks after another few minutes, which Jon spends entirely on Martin’s profile. “Shall I get you all logged in on your phone so you can start chatting him up? Or am I gonna lose my phone entirely to you and this ‘Martin’?” Jon looks up at Tim, surprised, then back down at the phone.

“Oh, right, yes, this is–“ He fumbles to return the phone to Tim, as if looking through it hadn’t been the entire point of the account, and pulls out his own phone. “I’ll just take over from you now, shall I? It is, ah, apparently my account, after all.”

He says the last bit with no small amount of pointed wryness but Sasha ignores their squabbling, leaning back in her chair triumphantly. Another successful mission in order to expand Jon’s little world, this one possibly the most satisfying. She glows a little with the feeling of a job well done.

After all, what could possibly go wrong?

ANON YOURE BACK, THANK YOU FOR WRITING MORE I absolutely love it 😭

[Here is the previous part] --- [next part]

UPDATE: You can read the whole story by JJanuaryRain on AO3! Go give them lots of love -> "all's fair in love & tinder"

[hilarychuff]

Steve doesn’t regret pushing Robin to go for this whole Chrissy thing. Honestly, he doesn’t. But he definitely hadn’t thought through this aspect of it. He didn’t factor in the unfortunate reality that it would bring one of his most annoying former teammates back into his life. Not that he had ever left, exactly. Hawkins is a small town, and it only has one video store. Plus, Steve is still a regular at the varsity team’s basketball games even though he’s up in the stands these days. But despite the fact that he technically sees Carver on the court every week, Steve hasn’t had to really think about him since graduation last year. Now, he’s come up at least three times in three days. The guy is just kind of a worm. Steve hadn’t noticed him much back when Carver had first moved up from JV to varsity, but he’d made himself known after he started dating Chrissy. Carver had asked her on one date and suddenly he was puffing out his chest at all the other basketball players, making sure everyone knew whose letterman jacket she’d be wearing. Steve had hardly even found out Chrissy was assigned to be his cheer buddy before her new boyfriend was informing him she wouldn’t be decorating his locker or bringing him baked goods before the games anymore. It didn’t matter that Steve had still been with Nancy back then, that it had been clear to anyone paying attention that Steve only had eyes for her. Carver had asked his own cheer buddy to swap players just so he could make sure his girlfriend wasn’t giving her cookies to some other guy. Worse, he’d turned around and started sucking up when Steve was named team captain at the end of that season. By the start of Steve’s senior year, Carver had practically appointed himself Vice Captain or whatever in practices, planting himself at Steve’s side whenever they huddled up and even trying to help direct plays. Sure, Steve’s reputation had taken a bit of a hit after his so-called friends watched Jonathan Byers give him a black eye, but he’d still been the man on the basketball court, and Carver seemed to think the proximity to power would guarantee his role as next in line. But then Nancy had dumped him at the same time Billy Hargrove crowned himself the new king. Steve’s pretty sure Hargrove’s whole… everything was offensive to Carver’s starched khaki sensibilities, but that hadn’t stopped the junior from kissing the ass of whoever he deemed top dog. With Billy as the new pack leader, Steve was suddenly no better than Old Yeller, an animal past its prime that needed to be taken out back. Chrissy is a nice girl, and she deserves better than her douchebag boyfriend, but Steve also deserves to never think about Jason Carver again. He isn’t going to sacrifice Robin’s happiness for that, though.

chapter 3, all the best people see you (all the best people know), a pre-season 4 buckingham au

[abelllia]

[ID: A traditional drawing of Jonathan Sims from the Magnus Archives crossing his arms while he grins fondly at something unseen to the left. He is a thin British-Indian man with a moustache and wavy hair parted in the middle. He wears wiry rectangular glasses, eyeglass chains, a starched shirt, a necktie, a sweater vest, and a formal jacket. He holds a file under his right arm. Next to him to the left are the words "No 1. Babygirl" with two hearts doodled next to them, one on the left and one on the right. /.End ID]

my no.1 bbygrl of all time <3 this is my way of distracting myself, you get to decide what he's smiling at, run wild.

[whatsabriard]

i. He really was so very cute. All of Jonathan’s clothes suited him, from the sinful polo breeches to the swirl of a kilt. But there was something so very classic about her husband in a tuxedo. 

When he was all starched and proper all she wanted to do was muss him up. A few undone buttons and a loose bow tie, his hair askew from where she tunneled her fingers through it. 

With care she straightened said tie, setting him to rights. The theater wasn’t the time or place for what she had in mind.

That was for the hotel. 

ii. Jonathan fixated on the feather boa all evening. It caressed his skin when Jennifer wound her arm through his, and tickled his nose when he dropped a kiss to her neck. It was frivolous and silly and he wanted nothing more than to torment her with it.

Later, much later, he would wind it over her breasts and watch them pucker with pleasure. He would tickle over her abdomen and between her thighs until her toes curled and her head thrashed against the pillows. 

The ridiculous thing would be ruined when they were done with it.

He’d buy her another.

[acapelladitty]

lost little lamb

Pairing: Arkham Shadow Scarecrow/Reader

Summary: Thrown in Arkham Asylum for investigating corruption in Gotham, you find yourself assigned to Dr. Jonathan Crane and discover that some corruptions run deeper than you could ever have anticipated.

(warnings for: abuse of power, rough oral sex, misuse of doctor/patient dynamics, mild degredation, come swallowing, very dubious consent, deepthroating, sex for freedom exchange, age gap, implied future abuse)

Fic Masterlist

Link to my AO3

In the hour since you had been unceremoniously snatched up by the GCPD and dumped at the doors of Arkham Asylum, it would be fair to say that you had went through somewhat of a mental journey. From confusion, to fear, to rage, as you realised that your recent outspoken comments about the corruption within Mayor Sharp's government may have had more consequences than you could have anticipated.

Flung into a dingy holding cell, the guard grunted something about waiting for a doctor as you were left to rub at your own arms to soothe the ache of his rough touch. The guards here were known for their rumoured brutality and, after being pretty much forcibly dragged through the halls to this room, you had to say that the rumours weren't unfounded.

Your feet kicking out at the metal legs of the table which sits beyween the two chairs of the holding cell spark a flash of discomfort in your toes as they catch the edge unpleasantly.

"Fuck! Ow."

"Language, child."

Jerking in place at the unexpected voice, your face snaps up to meet the doctor who had been assigned to your 'case'. Your first impression of him is that he is tall, very tall, and his presence seems to fill the space around him despite how unassuming his hunched stance is.

Rail thin, his wrists and neck visibly showing each vein which hides below the skin, the majority of his body is covered by a dark brown suit. It's old-fashioned and a closer look allows your eyes to drag across a six-buttoned vest and bolo tie which only add to the overall stuffiness of his appearance. The only light coloured material is the white shirt which encircles his neck, the collar looking overly starched and uncomfortable.

The whole ensemble is busy but classy and you can appreciate the quirky little touches that enhance it. But your eyes keep flitting to his wrists and the thin hands which are wrapped around the leather briefcase clutched within them.

You had always liked men with thin hands.

Glancing back at his face, a slight flush touches at your cheeks as you take in his features. Even relaxed, his forehead remains marred by thin lines and his dark hair is cropped short to his head. Thin, circular glasses are perched on the end of a proud nose and his eyebrows are bushy and unkempt behind the frames. The faintest hint of a shadow ghosts across his cheeks, the stubble threatening to break through the skin, and as he approaches your seated position you could see that his eyes are dark behind the glasses.

Despite the situation, you felt a slight flutter of interest as the doctor deposits himself in the chair opposite you with a definite stiffness. His age is difficult to determine but he's at least in his early 50's.

"My name is Dr. Jonathan Crane and I have been assigned to your case." His voice is velvety and deep, his inflection pitching on certain syllables but any follow-up is interrupted by your own frantic spluttering.

"My case? I shouldn't be here! I haven't- haven't done anything and they sent me here for some trumped up charges of- I don't even fucking know what."

"Language." The doctor, Crane, chides again but this time there is a harshness to his tone that stills you in an instant as you settle your hands against the table and breathe deeply while he continues. "Your case alleges that you are suffering delusions and making threats against city officials."

"Bullsh-" Catching yourself, you kill the word on your lips and instead grimace at Crane as he surveys you with an empty expression. "I'm only here because Mayor Sharp knows that I know what he's done."

"And these allegations?"

"Can't be proven. All the evidence has been tampered with or destroyed."

Crane sniffs at that.

"Convenient."

"Hey, buddy, I don't make the rules."

His eyes narrow and the sensation of being truly pinned by his gaze makes an uncomfortable heat roll through your body, your ass squirming against the hard plastic of the seat as you blink across at him.

"You will address me as Doctor Crane." His tone refusing to allow any argument, you find yourself cowering as your tongue licks at your lower lip.

"Yes, Doctor Crane."

"Better. You, at least, seem able to understand basic instructions. Now, let's discuss the problem here. A beautiful young woman like yourself should proably know to let sleeping lions lay. Our beloved Mayor cannot allow disturbances of the peace. Not with the re-election brewing."

A sinking feeling settles in your chest at his words.

He was as corrupt as the rest of them.

Before any further thoughts could poison your mind, you startle in place as the leather of his shoe brushes your ankle.

"Dr. Crane?" You shiver, staring at him with confusion on your gaze.

"I believe you, little lamb. I believe each of those claims you have made. But these are dangerous men who run this city and I would be risking my job by not dealing with such scandalous accusations."

"But you believe me! We could go! We could ta-"

"I will be doing nothing." Crane cuts you off with a sharp incline of his head. "The most I can offer is to facilitate your release from this asylum. The case of a new potential inmate slipping through the cracks is not unheard of."

Hope alights in your chest and you grin despite yourself, thinking of getting the hell out of here and just trying to escape this shithole of a city. Metropolis would be safe. Information could be gathered from afar and brought back to Gotham to bring dow-

"But there is a price for my assistance."

Shocked out of your thoughts, you meet his eyes once more and a fresh shiver rolls across your body as you take in the sudden hunger there; the deep brown appearing almost darker due to the predatory glint which sits within them.

"I don't have any money."

"I have no need of money. What I want is something more," Crane pauses with a heavy weight to the words, "base. Your unsubtle appraisals of my person have not went unnoticed and I feel I am owed some recompense for your earlier disrespect."

It takes a moment, but when understanding of his words alights on your mind it draws a vaguely disgusted look from your narrowed eyes as your mouth falls open in surprise.

"What?"

"Do not act innocent. You know what is being asked of you. Crawl beneath this table, service me for my troubles, and I will see to your release. Otherwise, you will be left here to rot."

Unable to believe this was happening as a million thoughts rattle through your brain at once, anger and disgust are at the forefront of your swirling emotions as a hot flush overtakes your cheeks.

He was serious.

"This isn't- this isn't right! This is rape! You're forcing me t-"

"Rape is for madmen and wild dogs. This is a choice. You are free to refuse, little lamb."

While not exactly snapping, there is a harshness to Crane's voice which sparks anxiety in your chest as you gaze around the room and note the lack of cameras or other recording equipment.

"And you swear you will sign the release papers?" You confirm, hearing your own voice as though from afar.

"I will see to it that you are released from this room." He answers and you can almost hear a twinge of excitement in his deadpan tone.

Pushing back on the chair as it screeches to protest the movement, you drop to the floor and adjust your clothing quickly - your jeans protecting your knees from the cool flooring as something like a sigh emits from the still-seated Crane.

Crawling to him below the table, hot shame trickling down your spine with every inch traversed, you watch as his slender hands are quick to open his fly and free his cock. He's half-hard already, his cock curving heavily to the right as you rest your hands on his knees and pause.

"Closer than that. I don't know what you expect to achieve from my knees. If you wish to buy your freedom from this place then the price is clear."

His voice, so low and rough, drags a shudder from you as you shuffle forwards, careful to dip your head below the table to keep the metal from clashing against your skull.

Hidden away by his slacks at the base of his cock, you can make out a thick patch of pubic hair - the colour matching the sleek brown which coats his head but with more grey peppered through. His length is long and on the thinner side, mimicking his body almost like a parody, and a prominent vein runs along the shaft.

One hand staying locked around his knees, you grab at his cock with your other hand - jerking your fingers along his thin length as you pull it towards your mouth. He's clean at least, his cock holding a slightly masculine smell that didn't turn your stomach in the slightest. A inhale of pleasure meets your ears as your fingers trace along his cockhead and you jump in place as he smacks the metal table with his open palm.

"Make haste, little lamb. If anyone were to walk in and discover us then, well, I suppose you may have more than one problem to deal with."

Sensing the danger in his words, you pick up pace as you lock you lips over his cock and roll your tongue across his cockhead. Immediately, the taste of his pre-cum floods your mouth and the saltiness of it causes you to cough around his cock as you continue to swirl your tongue along the head.

He openly grunts as you accept more of his cock into your throat, swallowing around the first few inches as you hollow out your cheeks. Using your hand to guide him, you flatten your tongue ti lick a sordid line up the prominent vein on the underside of his shaft - determined to please him and hold up your half of the bargain.

Your panties feel uncomfortable against your cunt as the growing moisture there makes the fabric feel damp. Something about how nasty and wrong this whole debacle was only served to heighten that spark of arousal which sat low in your gut and made your cunt ache as it remained ignored.

"You swallow me down with ease despite being such a hesitant rabbit. Maybe I should have bargained for some of your other services since you seem skilled in pleasing men - up there with the whores who walk the Bowrey when the daylight flees."

Moaning around his cock at the degrading words, you push down any anger which they ignite and focus on the task at hand as you alternate your breathing with accepting another two inches of his cock - the length now beginning to breach your throat as you bob your head along it.

You glance up at Crane and your eyes meet past his proud nose, the predatory gleam more prominent than ever as he takes your eye contact as an invitation to buck his hips slightly, pushing his cock into your mouth unexpectedly and causing you to cough and splutter at the extra intrusion.

"Careful." He warns with a twisted smirk curling the ends of his thin lips. "If you make too much noise then it may raise suspicion. And I cannot imagine you're interested in providing the same services to the guards to buy their silence."

Shaking your head, you blink away the slight wetness in your eyes which the coughing has sparked and tighten your grip on his legs as you fill your mouth with his cock once more.

He builds a leisurely pace, allowing his cock to pass through your lips in such a way that you feel every inch as it scores across your tongue and presses at the back of your throat. A sharp hand drops to press insistently on the back of your head and you moan around his length as he guides your movements with splayed fingers - his sharp nails digging crescents into your scalp as he fucked himself between your lips.

Teasing clearly over, he takes what he wants from you with no care for your comfort as you are forced to scramble for breath as he pulls himself free for only a moment before slamming back within your mouth.

Your own cunt feeling neglected as you squeeze your thighs and feel the dampness of your panties, you once again sneak a look up at him and take in the slight baring of his teeth as he watches his cock disappear between your lips. His hips now moving in tandem with your skull as he jerks you along his cock, you can tell from the pre-cum which coats your mouth and the frantic nature of his movements that he's close.

"Enjoy your reward, little lamb." Crane growls, his words stuttering slightly as he pulls you hard across his length. He comes with a muted groan, his cock pumping its warm release down your throat as you panic and swallow desperately around him.

You hadn't expected him to come in your mouth and disgust swirls in your gut alongside the pesky arousal which makes your head swim with confusion. Fingers digging into his thighs, your grip tightens as the need to breathe makes genuine panic alight in your heaving chest but as soon as it begins, his hand releases your head and you pull free of his cock with a choking splutter.

Wiping off your eyes with the back of your hand, his cock is visibly soaked with your saliva and what little of his release you had been unable to swallow. His hands are quick to tuck his wilting cock back within his slacks as he reclines in his chair, his hawk-like gaze quick to drop past his own body to fix you in place once more.

"More than acceptable."

A glowing review but one you can't even really process as his foot taps at your knee expectantly, wordlessly telling you to return to your seat in a way that makes you feel like a dumb child being scolded as he continues.

"Fix yourself, child."

Body shuddering with pent-up adrenaline as the stress of the day finally catches up with you, your lips feel puffy and there's a rawness in your throat which you cough away gently - certain that you will be waking up tomorrow with a raspy tone.

"So what happens now?"

The million dollar question.

Sitting as stiffly as ever, absolutely no hint that he had just viciously abused your throat and situation for his own sexual satisfaction, Crane stood up from his seat with a graceless squint in your direction.

"Don't worry, little lamb. We'll see about having you released as soon as possible."

Striding back to the single door which worked as both an entrance and exit to the room, he paused in the doorway to turn his head back and offer you a curt nod - something heated playing in his dark eyes as they roved across your anxiety-ridden and shuddering frame.

"When the guards move you, they will place you in another cell for a short while. Only until the paperwork had processed for your release. I suggest you give them no trouble."

And with that he slipped through the door, allowing the lock to click in place as he disappeared with one final look towards your now-hopeful gaze.

Glancing down the hall, Crane caught the attention of the nearest guard with a short wave of his arm.

"This patient is exhibiting signs of delusion which manifest as extreme sexual fantasy. She has fixated on being unwilfully abused by those around her and may make false accuasations as such. Possible symptoms of nymphomania are also present. Move and keep her isolated in one of the solitary rooms towards the end of the east wing and ensure that only I have access to her cell to prevent any more scandal leaking from this wretched place."

Nodding his understanding, the guard tightened his grip on his belt as he rocked back on his heels. "Yes, Dr. Crane, hearing you loud and clear."

His cock still twitching due to to the afterglow of her powerful mouth, Crane allowed a cruel smile to tilt the edge of his lips. His office, neatly situated at the very end of the east wing, would benefit greatly from having such a pliant patient so closely within his grasp. Mayor Sharp was very clear on his instructions in how to deal with those who would upset the status quo and he was happy to play his part.

Her paperwork in hand, he would see to it that she received the proper treatment which was required to cure her of her ailments - starting with ridding her of her foolish optimism in expecting help from a monster such as himself.

[mermaidsirennikita]

ARC Review: 10 Things That Never Happened by Alexis Hall

4/5. Releases 10/17/2023.

Vibes: Hallmark Christmas movies with a twist, boss/employee, grumpy meets snarky, uptight meets defiant

Sam can't stand his controlling, uptight boss, Jonathan. When they get into a conflict (at the workplace!) right before Christmas, enough is enough, and Jonathan fires Sam... Right before accidentally causing an accident that gives Sam a concussion. Befuddlement and confusion at the hospital leads Jonathan to believe Sam has amnesia... And why not go with it...?

Another charming, funny romcom from Alexis Hall, full of chemistry. It's a little tame, but it's also Christmasy and offers me the same feeling a sugar cookie would. If you're a fan of Alexis--or want a seasonal good time--go for this.

Quick Takes:

--One thing I loved off the bat was that Jonathan was SO. VERY. STARCHED. And he hired Sam despite his lack of managerial experience because he "saw something in him" (or maybe he envisioned Sam inside him idk idk). So of course, he's so, so mad and so, so stuffy about his would-be protegee... kinda sucking at his job (more on that later).

Sam, meanwhile, is like--I wouldn't call this grumpy/sunshine. Sam is too snarky, too snappy, and too confrontational with Jonathan to be a sunshine. They're immediately combative, and you get this great tension, and then like... boom. Jonathan is trying to keep himself from getting sued to hell and Sam is pretending to be an amnesiac in order to keep his job. MESS.

As a sidebar... This is not a true amnesia romance, but if you like amnesia romance, I think you'll enjoy it. Jonathan fully thinks his employee! is an amnesiac and spends this whole time babysitting him, and having him meet his family... You know. Boss stuff.

--One thing I expected going into this book was like, this typical scenario where the millionaire asshole Jonathan was wrong, and Sam's soft managerial approach was entirely right. To me, Sam immediately had some noticeable issues as a manager that I've seen in real life, and they're often brushed off because it's nice and kind of passive.

I should've trusted in Alexis Hall more, because he really handles this well and humanizes both Jonathan and Sam. Neither one of them is perfect. Sam has a lot of growing to do. Romance arc aside (which was obviously good), I seriously appreciated where Sam ended up in this story. It was a very evolved take, and refreshingly realistic in a way I think Alexis handles better than almost any other author.

--The Christmas isn't OVERMUCH, but it's just enough to have that charming, snowflakes in the air over kisses vibe. And it has enough wit and chemistry to really overpower the schmaltzy Hallmark movie sensibility. Although it's nothing like this movie in terms of plot, in terms of romanticism this book reminded me more of Dashing in December, than a Hallmark movie.

The Sex:

This is a closed door romance, and I won't lie, that didn't feel completely right to me. I'm biased, and if anyone is going to sell me on closed door, it's Alexis Hall. And this couple did still feel very sexy--like I said, the chemistry is great. I would recommend this book as a closed door novel that will probably work for people like me (who don't really read closed door ever).

But... they do have sex. It's just not on the page. And I couldn't help but wonder why? It's probably just an artistic choice, and I respect that. Like I said, it works. I just think it would have been a little bit better if we'd seen that sex scene. Or really, those sex scenes. I also just love the way Alexis writes sex. Peggy and Orfeo's first time in Something Spectacular is one of my favorite sex scenes ever. Something on the love of Mortal Follies, a book which was pretty tame in terms of sex but still said a lot with a little, handled this a bit better to me.

With that being said, if you want a cute and witty Christmas romcom with a wacky twist, this will absolutely work for you. It's light, it's fun, it's satisfying. Can't complain about that!

Thank you to Sourcebooks Casablanca and Netgalley for providing me with a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review. All thoughts and opinions are my own.

[goose-onthe-loose]

I really like the idea that the archives have a very loose, business casual type dress code (either because they usually stay in the basement or Elias is too busy to care)

So Martin wears his jumpers, and Tim has a lot of obnoxious printed polos, Sasha usually has a well-loved cardigan, and they're all wearing sneakers cuz why even bother. meanwhile Jonathan "no one can know I'm a mess" Sims is showing up in a goddamn sports coat. He starches his collars. All his ties are solid colors. He's fooling no one.

[dios-favourite-simp]

it was supposed to be a one off thing but I'm literally obsessed w the idea of footman Anon having this huge scandalous relationship with Dio behind the scenes like 🏃🏃

Anon being just an absolute gay mess over Dio and Dio KNOWS this and loves making him flustered in as many ways as possible. Like he makes him address him by formal titles knowing it's giving him the biggest hard on humanly possible.

Throw Jonathan in there too like he's looking Anon up and down when he's not looking but wouldn't dare approach because he's not a little shit like Dio, plus he has Erina and my man is loyal.

But Dio notices and becomes all possessive over Anon and tries even harder to make poor Jonathan's life a living hell. And poor Anon is none the wiser 😭 just wishing the two brothers would get along or at least be able to be in the same room without nearly killing eachother

And while Anon finds Jonathan hot he wouldn't dare approach him either so it's kinda just mutual horny pining from each side, tho Anon wants Dio more but he's got these two hot dudes glaring daggers at eachother and he's like holy fuck I'm so gay

this is just word vomit I'm sorry

But like Anon is tasked with following Dio around, opening doors for him and when Dio's sure they're alone he'll absolutely rail him and then order him to his feet, chastising him for being so clumsy and "falling over" and all Anon can do is shakily follow his orders, hastily smoothing his clothes, knowing he's either going to be ruined by his sardonic master later that night, or jack off so hard he sees stars.

Sometimes Dio will call Anon over, having him sit in his lap and carefully caress his starched clothes, knowing how valuable his looks are to the Joestar Manors reputation, tantalisingly threataning to muss his pristine uniform, much to Anon's whiny dismay.

I'm obsessed with this prompt plz if u have anything to add on please do

[bzedan]

WIP Whenever

I was tagged by @slusheeduck a bit ago but hooray memory and time aligned so!

I'm tagging @naryrising, @badgerette, @simply-sithel @forestofsprites, @samhausenn--if you feel so inclined you're all a mix of WIP types also!

Since it's Flash Fiction Feb I'm mostly poking around with that, and my AO3-destined fics are mostly, ah not quite there yet (we are not counting the one on the Alphasmart rn, that's like my Flinstones fic).

[ID: A screenshot of tabs in Visual Studio Code. They are named: Jonathan Gold.txt, unfilmed-episodes.txt, hallmark-hench.txt, Israel Hands was no fool. He knew that t... /end ID]

So here's a bit of original:

She told me that it was on the house and she thought I might like to try something new, calling it a “seasonal special.” I let it cool to a safer temperature while making inroads on my chowder. The pastry was sealed perfectly, no leaking gravy giving me a clue as to the contents.

When it felt safe to pick up, I did, gingerly, my fingers causing a cascade of buttery flakes onto the plate. I love empanadas or, more truly, any culture’s hand pies. That all humans have, at some point, decided to wrap their favourite starches around fillings for crunchy treats on the go is something beautiful to me. Eagerly, but carefully, I took a bite and was rewarded for my earlier patience by a filling that was hot but not the searing temperature of savoury lava. Like all hand pies it’s the second bite that really tells you what it’s all about. There was a rich oiliness of meat that surprised me, having become accustomed to the lighter textures of the type of fish found in local waters. It was paired with something dustily herbaceous, and I guessed it was a blend of the wild sage and mint that competed for what dirt they could wrest from the razor-sharp sea grass. But, other than that, this was very much a meat that relied on its own juices, salt, and time for flavour.

Looking into the empanada as I chewed, admiring the proportion of gravy to meat I saw it was the kind of dark flesh that chars almost purple-black, bordering a rich red. Despite the clear presence of those richly-tinted myoglobin proteins there was undeniably the flavour of the sea to it. I liked it very much and spent the rest of my meal alternating between my chowder and the pastry, ending up full enough that I grabbed a coffee to keep me from a post-meal nap.

In my satiated bliss I forgot to ask the server what the meat was from. As I walked past the sculpture park to my cottage with the green trim I resolved to remember to inquire on my next visit—and to possibly see what other seasonal specials were now available to me.

The coffee, sugary as it was, made with the small café’s dedication to its syrup collection, was enough to keep me going not only past my body’s desire for a siesta but into the parts of the night that are rightly the next day. When I finally let myself lay down, I was certain I’d see the sun rise but almost immediately slipped into dreams. And with them, I saw the creature for the first time.

There are things I can't tell you and things I won't tell you, for my safety and for yours, respectively. I'd thought myself inured to the gut-dropping realisation of how small humans are against the deep and the things that dwell there. As I've said, this coast and its waters were as much home to me as if I'd been raised there. Confronted with expanse beyond easy comprehension at the most I felt a momentary doubling as if a quick measure were being taken, a comparison. And, on realising that I was but a mote in the eye of the sea I moved on easily.

Thrown as I was into this apparent dream there was no subconscious preparation, and my reaction proved my confidence a liar. I've already described my initial and subsequent reactions to the beast and won't bore you with them again, but I do want to impress that even semi-prepared with a life familiar to the unknowable I was humbled. I woke with my alarm at my usual time feeling hollowed out, my mind unable to piece together what I'd seen.