#nutmeg of consolation

[thekenobee]

Back where I left off 📖

[the-dog-watch]

jack talks so much shit about the moon despite all the things she does for him (tides, navigation, gay feelings)

[maturiin]

jack aubreys in various states (spoilers for the reverse of the medal)

[thiefbird]

I can't get over the fact that no one told Stephen "I will pet every Beast I meet" Maturin that platypus are VENOMOUS

[memorabxlia]

Naughty List ━ 정원

genre: fluff, smut featuring: all of enhypen (except ni-ki) summary: you and Jungwon share a passionate, daring encounter, driven by the risk of being caught. warnings: exhibitionism, voyeurism, oral, unprotected sex (wrap up irl!) most defintely forgot something pairing: fwb!jungwon x fem!reader wc: 3.8k a/n: DAY 6!!! nets: @blossomnet @k-labels @k-films

The sweet, nostalgic scent of cinnamon and nutmeg wafts through your house as you dart from one corner to the other, making sure everything is perfect. Twinkling fairy lights drape over the windows, and the warm glow of candles reflects off the shiny ornaments on the tree. You've spent all week preparing for this party. Every detail has been planned, from the hand-labeled stockings on the mantle for each guest to the playlist of upbeat Christmas classics that you've carefully curated to keep the energy alive.

This wasn’t just any holiday party; it was the holiday party, and your nerves buzzed with excitement and something else you didn’t want to admit. Jungwon would be here.

As you adjusted the plates of cookies and appetizers on the table for the third time, you caught yourself glancing at the clock. The time ticked closer to the arrival of your guests, and you felt that familiar flutter in your chest. You and Jungwon had been toeing the line between friendship and something more for weeks now. Late-night texts, stolen glances, and lingering touches had become your norm. Yet, you hadn’t told anyone—not even his closest friends. Tonight would be a challenge, especially since it meant keeping your cool with all of them in one place.

The doorbell rang, snapping you out of your thoughts. You smoothed down your sweater and hurried to the door.

“Hey!” Heeseung’s familiar grin greeted you as he held up a grocery bag filled with snacks. “Hope you don’t mind. We raided a convenience store on the way over.”

“Not at all,” you said, stepping aside to let him in. Behind him, Jake and Sunoo juggled trays of food, while Jay struggled with a box that looked suspiciously like it held board games.

“This is great!” Sunoo exclaimed, stepping into the living room and immediately pulling out his phone to snap pictures of the decorations. “You really went all out!”

“Yeah, it’s like something out of a Pinterest board,” Jay added, dropping his box onto the coffee table. “How long did this take you?”

“Let’s just say I’ve been busy,” you replied, laughing nervously as you moved to help Jake unload a tray of homemade brownies.

“Where’s Sunghoon?” you asked, realizing you hadn’t seen him yet.

“Still outside,” Jake said, nodding toward the door. “He’s taking his sweet time analyzing your wreath. I think he’s trying to figure out if it’s real.”

You rolled your eyes, but sure enough, Sunghoon strolled in a moment later, his sharp features scrunched in concentration. “It’s fake, right?” he asked, pointing to the wreath.

“It’s real, actually,” you said, closing the door behind him.

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Huh. Impressive.”

Before you could respond, the sound of another car pulling up caught your attention. Your heart skipped a beat as you peeked out the window. Sure enough, it was Jungwon. He got out of the car, pulling a bag from the passenger seat, his casual outfit of a knit sweater and jeans making him look effortlessly put together.

When he stepped inside, his eyes immediately found yours. He gave you a small smile that sent a jolt of electricity through you.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “Need help with anything?”

You shook your head quickly, trying not to let your face betray how flustered you felt. “No, I’m good. Just… make yourself at home.”

His gaze lingered for a second longer before he nodded and joined the others in the living room.

The evening kicked off with ease. The house was alive with laughter and the hum of conversation as everyone settled in. Jake and Sunghoon were quick to commandeer the console for a heated game of Mario Kart, their shouts of victory and defeat echoing through the room. Meanwhile, Heeseung and Jay argued over which playlist to switch to next, both stubbornly insisting their music taste was superior.

Sunoo was busy taking selfies and documenting every angle of the decorations, marveling at the effort you’d put into making the house look festive.

“Seriously,” he said, holding up his phone to show you one of his photos. “This is so aesthetic. I’m tagging you in this!”

“Thanks, Sunoo,” you replied with a laugh, but your attention kept drifting back to Jungwon.

He was sitting on the couch, chatting with Heeseung, but every now and then, you caught his gaze flickering toward you. Each time, your heart would do that annoying little flutter, and you’d have to look away quickly before anyone noticed.

But you weren’t the only one sneaking glances. As you carried a tray of drinks to the coffee table, you felt Jungwon’s eyes on you. It was subtle—just a split second too long—but enough to make your cheeks flush.

“Everything okay?” Jake asked, pulling you out of your thoughts as he reached for a drink.

“Yeah, of course,” you said quickly, hoping you didn’t sound as flustered as you felt.

As the evening wore on, the house grew warmer with the energy of the group. Sunoo’s playlist had transitioned into a mix of Christmas pop songs, and Jay had broken out a stack of board games. Everyone was laughing, debating rules, and throwing playful insults across the room.

But no matter how lively the atmosphere was, you couldn’t shake the feeling of Jungwon’s presence. It wasn’t just that he was there—it was the way your body seemed hyper-aware of his every move, his every glance. And, judging by the way his gaze lingered when he thought no one was watching, he felt it too.

Little did you know, your not-so-subtle staring wasn’t going unnoticed. It wasn’t long before your subtle (or maybe not-so-subtle) glances started to catch up with you. The evening was in full swing, the hum of laughter and conversation filling the room as the group dove into yet another round of heated Mario Kart matches. Jungwon had been sitting on the edge of the couch, his posture relaxed but his gaze focused—not on the screen, but on you.

By the time the game ended, you excused yourself to the kitchen to refill the punch bowl, using the task as a chance to cool down your racing thoughts. You poured the cranberry mixture carefully, letting the sweet, tart scent fill the air.

“Staring is rude, you know,” a familiar voice teased from behind you, nearly making you drop the pitcher.

You turned quickly, meeting Jungwon’s amused expression as he leaned casually against the counter. His arms were crossed, and the corners of his lips were tugged into a smirk that only he could pull off.

“I wasn’t staring,” you replied, trying—and failing—to sound indifferent.

“Oh?” He tilted his head, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “Then what would you call it?”

“Observing,” you said, clutching the pitcher as if it would shield you from the heat crawling up your neck.

“Observing?” he repeated, his voice soft but laced with amusement. He took a slow step closer, his presence suddenly making the kitchen feel much smaller. “You’ve been ‘observing’ me all night, then.”

Your mouth opened to reply, but nothing came out. Instead, you crossed your arms and met his gaze, determined not to let him get the upper hand. “You’ve been staring too,” you countered, narrowing your eyes.

He chuckled, the sound low and smooth. “Maybe I have.” His tone dropped slightly, the teasing edge giving way to something warmer, more genuine. “It’s hard not to when you look so…”

You raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to finish. “So what?”

“Distracting,” he said simply, his eyes never leaving yours.

The word hung in the air between you, heavy with implications that neither of you dared to address. Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the world had faded away, leaving just the two of you in this tiny kitchen.

Before either of you could say something you couldn’t take back, the sound of footsteps approaching snapped you out of it.

“There you are!” Sunoo’s cheerful voice rang out as he appeared in the doorway. “What are you two doing in here?”

“Refilling the punch,” you said quickly, stepping back and turning your attention to the bowl.

Sunoo’s eyes darted between the two of you, his brow furrowing slightly before he broke into a grin. “Well, you’re needed in the living room. Heeseung says it’s karaoke time, and we’re all doing duets.”

Jungwon raised an eyebrow at you, his expression shifting back to its usual calm demeanor. “Guess we’re up.”

When you walked into the living room, the energy was buzzing. Heeseung was already at the microphone, belting out an exaggerated rendition of "All I Want for Christmas Is You" while the others clapped and laughed along.

“Perfect timing!” Heeseung exclaimed when he spotted you. “You two are up next.”

“What?” you said, glancing at the screen where the list of queued songs was displayed. Your stomach flipped when you saw the title of the next track. It was that song—the one you and Jungwon had claimed as yours during one of your late-night hangouts. The one you’d sung to each other under your breaths, just the two of you.

Jungwon froze for a moment, his expression betraying a flicker of recognition before he masked it with his usual calm. He reached for one of the microphones and handed the other to you, his fingers brushing yours briefly.

“Guess we don’t have a choice,” he said, his voice steady but his gaze lingering on you.

The opening chords of the song played, and the room quieted as everyone turned their attention to you. You felt your palms grow clammy as you clutched the microphone, but when Jungwon started singing, your nerves eased—just a little.

His voice was smooth and rich, carrying the melody effortlessly. It was unfair how good he was at this. When it was your turn to join in, you took a deep breath and began to sing. The words felt heavier than usual, filled with meanings you couldn’t voice but couldn’t ignore either.

As the song progressed, the rest of the room faded away. Jungwon stepped closer, his eyes locked on yours, and it was like you were the only two people there. The harmonies wove together naturally, each note drawing you closer.

By the time the final chorus came around, you were barely aware of the others watching. The lyrics felt personal, like a confession disguised in melody, and Jungwon’s voice seemed to carry the same weight.

When the song ended, the room erupted into applause, pulling you back to reality.

“That was intense,” Jay said, his tone teasing but his expression curious.

“Yeah,” Sunghoon added, leaning back on the couch with a smirk. “Almost too intense. Anything you two want to share?”

You laughed nervously, shaking your head. “We’re just good at singing together, that’s all.”

Jungwon didn’t say anything, but you could feel his gaze on you as Heeseung jumped in to change the subject, suggesting the next duet pair.

By the time the night began winding down, the house was a scene of happy chaos. Crumpled wrapping paper littered the floor, stray glasses and plates sat on every available surface, and the once-neat tray of cookies had been reduced to a few scattered crumbs. The energy had mellowed, and one by one, the boys began to retreat upstairs to the guest rooms, their voices and footsteps echoing faintly as they disappeared.

“Thanks for hosting,” Heeseung said, clapping you on the shoulder as he passed by. “This was perfect.”

“Yeah, your parties are always the best,” Jake added, stifling a yawn.

“Goodnight!” Sunoo called from the stairs, waving enthusiastically.

Soon, it was just Jungwon and you left in the living room. You glanced around at the mess and sighed. “Well, that’s what happens when you invite six guys over.”

Jungwon chuckled, crossing his arms as he leaned against the back of the couch. “At least they had fun. Isn’t that what matters?”

“Easy for you to say,” you teased. “You’re not the one stuck cleaning up.”

“Oh, I think I am.” He held up his hands in mock surrender. “We both lost rock-paper-scissors, remember?”

You groaned at the reminder, but deep down, you weren’t upset. Being alone with Jungwon, even if it meant cleaning up the aftermath of a Christmas party, wasn’t exactly a punishment.

You got to work, the silence between you broken only by the occasional clink of glasses and the rustle of trash bags. Jungwon started gathering the discarded wrapping paper, folding what could be reused and tossing the rest. You collected the empty cups and plates, stacking them precariously as you made trips to the kitchen.

“So,” he said after a while, his voice breaking the quiet. “You really went all out for this.”

You glanced over your shoulder to see him holding up a stocking you’d hand-labeled for each of them.

“I wanted it to feel special,” you admitted, shrugging. “Christmas is my favorite, and I guess I just wanted everyone to have a good time.”

“You definitely succeeded,” he said, his tone softer now. “It’s the little things, you know? You’re good at that—paying attention to details.”

Something about the way he said it made your chest tighten. You tried to brush it off, focusing on rinsing plates in the sink. “Well, I’m glad you noticed.”

“Oh, I notice a lot of things,” he said, his voice closer now.

You turned, finding him standing a few feet away, his gaze steady.

“Like what?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended.

His lips quirked into a small smile as he took a step closer. “Like how you’ve been avoiding looking at me all night.”

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” you protested weakly, even though it was a blatant lie.

He raised an eyebrow. “Right. And earlier, in the kitchen? That wasn’t you avoiding me either?”

You felt heat creep up your neck, and you tried to focus on drying a plate. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jungwon didn’t reply right away. Instead, he closed the remaining distance between you, his presence warm and steady. He reached out, gently taking the plate and towel from your hands and setting them on the counter.

“You don’t have to pretend,” he said softly. “Not with me.”

Your breath hitched as his words sank in. His gaze held yours, and for a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of you.

“Jungwon…” you started, but whatever you were going to say disappeared as he leaned in.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if he were testing the waters. But when you didn’t pull away, it deepened, his hands finding your waist as yours instinctively rested on his shoulders. The warmth of his lips, the faint scent of his cologne, the way he tilted his head slightly to fit against you perfectly—it was all intoxicating.

The kiss broke only when you both needed air, and even then, he didn’t pull far away. His forehead rested against yours, and you could feel his breath, warm and unsteady, against your skin.

“I’ve wanted to do that all night,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

A laugh bubbled out of you, shaky but genuine. “Me too.”

Jungwon leaned back in, his lips finding mine with renewed intensity. The sound of his lips against you is soft but unmistakable, a wet, rhythmic hum that makes your thighs quiver. Jungwon’s hands grip your hips firmly, holding you in place as his tongue swirls and dips, teasing every sensitive inch of you. Your breath hitches, sharp and shallow, as you fight to keep quiet, knowing full well that the others are upstairs.

God, don’t do that. You’re going to make me go on Santa’s naughty list tonight. The thought flits through your mind, unbidden, as Jungwon moans softly into you, the vibration sending a shiver up your spine. His tongue flicks over just the right spot, and you bite down hard on your lip to stifle the cry threatening to escape.

“Jungwon,” you whisper again, your voice trembling with urgency. “Someone… someone could walk in.”

He pulls back slightly, his lips glistening as he looks up at you, his brown eyes dark and smoldering. “So?” he murmurs, his tone low and daring. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, mischief dancing across his features. “Let them catch us.”

Your cheeks burn at his words, but the heat pooling low in your belly only intensifies. He leans forward again, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, his fingers digging into your skin as if to say, You’re mine right now, and I don’t care who sees.

Before you can protest further, Jungwon stands abruptly, his height towering over you as he cups your face in his hands. His breath is warm against your lips as he whispers, “Take it all off. Everything.”

Your eyes widen, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he must hear it. “What?” you breathe, barely audible.

His hands slide down your shoulders, fingertips grazing the fabric of your top before slipping beneath it to trace the curve of your waist. “I said,” he repeats, his voice dropping even lower, “take it all off. Let’s give them something to talk about.”

The air between you feels charged, electric, as his words sink in. Part of you wants to resist, to laugh it off and pull away, but another part—deeper, more primal—thrums with anticipation. Slowly, almost hesitantly, you reach for the hem of your top, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside. The cool air hits your skin, raising goosebumps as you stand before him, exposed and vulnerable.

Jungwon’s gaze rakes over you, hunger etched into every line of his face. His hand moves to your skirt, undoing the clasp and letting it fall to the floor in a pooled heap. Now, there’s nothing left but your bra and panties, both of which feel like far too much coverage under his intense stare.

“All of it,” he insists, his voice rough with desire.

Your fingers tremble as you reach behind your back to unhook your bra, the fabric sliding down your arms and joining the growing pile of discarded clothes. Jungwon watches intently, his breathing uneven as his hands land on your hips once more, guiding you backward until the edge of the counter digs into your lower back.

When you hesitate at your last remaining piece of clothing, Jungwon doesn’t wait. His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down slowly, deliberately, until they pool at your feet. You step out of them, your face burning as you stand completely bare before him, the weight of his gaze making your skin prickle with heat.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, his voice thick with admiration.

But then his expression shifts, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he steps back slightly, giving you space. “Now,” he says, his tone laced with challenge, “let’s see how long we can keep this going before someone walks in.”

The audacity of his suggestion leaves you momentarily speechless, but the thrill of it sends a jolt of excitement through you. Jungwon reaches for the button of his jeans, his movements slow and deliberate as he undoes them, pushing them down along with his boxers until he’s just as exposed as you are. His arousal is impossible to ignore, standing proud and demanding attention.

You swallow hard, your pulse racing as he steps closer, his chest brushing against yours. His hands cradle your face again, his thumbs stroking your cheeks as he leans in, his lips hovering just above yours.

“Tell me you want this,” he breathes, his voice barely audible.

And though your mind screams warnings about the others, about the risk of being caught, your body betrays you, leaning into him instinctively. “I want this,” you admit, the words spilling out in a rush.

That’s all the confirmation he needs. Jungwon crashes his lips against yours, the kiss deep and consuming, all hesitation melting away as his hands roam your body, exploring every dip and curve. When he lifts you onto the counter, the surface cool against your heated skin, you wrap your legs around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer.

The first press of him against you steals your breath, a gasp escaping your lips as he slides inside, filling you completely. Jungwon groans, his forehead resting against yours as he stills for a moment, savoring the sensation. Then, with a slow, deliberate thrust, he begins to move, each stroke drawing a quiet whimper from your throat.

“Quiet,” he murmurs against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “Unless you want them to hear.”

You bite your lip hard, your nails digging into his shoulders as the pleasure builds, his rhythm steady and unrelenting. The risk of being caught only heightens the intensity, every sound beyond the room—the creak of footsteps, the murmur of voices—sending a jolt of adrenaline through you.

Jungwon’s pace quickens, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper, as his hands grip your hips tightly, keeping you anchored to him. His name spills from your lips in a broken whisper, and he catches it with his mouth, swallowing the sound as his own breathing grows erratic.

“They could walk in any second,” he rasps, his voice strained with effort. “Imagine how it’d feel—knowing they’re watching.”

The image flashes in your mind, vivid and forbidden, and it’s enough to push you over the edge. Your entire body tenses as the wave of pleasure crashes over you, a muffled cry escaping your lips despite your best efforts to stay silent. Jungwon follows moments later, his release shuddering through him as he buries himself deep inside you, his hands clutching you desperately as if afraid you might disappear.

For a moment, there’s only silence, broken by the sound of your labored breathing and the distant hum of the party continuing elsewhere in the house. Jungwon rests his forehead against yours, his eyes heavy-lidded but gleaming with satisfaction.

“Told you…” he murmurs, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. “...it’d be worth it.”

But before you can respond, the door creaks open slightly, and both of you freeze.

“Hey, have you guys seen—” Jay’s voice cuts off abruptly as he steps into the room, his eyes widening as he takes in the scene before him.

Jungwon doesn’t miss a beat, his smirk widening as he glances over his shoulder. “Close the door on your way out,” he says casually, his tone dripping with mock innocence.

Jay stares for a moment longer, his face reddening as he mutters something unintelligible under his breath before hastily retreating, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Jungwon turns back to you, his grin turning devilish. “Guess we’ve got some explaining to do,” he says, his voice light and teasing, though his hands still cling to you tightly, unwilling to let go just yet.

❥﹒ enhypen taglist: @minkilicious @casemoa143 @lice @amarecerasus

[saintmurd0ck]

all up in smoke

masterlist

pairing: frank castle x f!reader

summary: based on the prompt: 'sit on my lap and let's smoke a joint'

warnings: alcohol, weed (rolling a joint, smoking, shotgunning), frank being a cute little whore, heavy petting/teasing but no sex, high epiphanies (mostly fluff!)

a/n: happy late birthday to the ever lovely @chelseasdagger , this one is for you babeyyyyy 💗

Home is a solace on your lips as you step inside, your keys joining the others in the bowl by the front door. Despite the events of your day, still fresh in your mind, you feel the knotted tension in your body begin to dissipate, the pressure easing in your temples. The few lights that have been left on are dimmed, filling the house with the kind of ambient coziness you’ve been longing for all day. 

You round the corner, and there he is on the couch: feet kicked up on the coffee table, immersed in a hardcover book you swore he’d never touch. A pang of emotion stirs in your stomach — a cross between yearning and consolation; something you just can’t place, but are grateful for nevertheless. 

“Hi, Frankie,” you smile, drawing the curtains open, letting the cool night air filter into the living room. 

He lifts an eyebrow, glancing up at you from behind the book. “Hey, sweetheart. Long day?”

You stretch your arms over your head, nevermind that his voice stirs something in you, and set your bag up on the kitchen counter. “Mmhm. Glad to be home.”

Frank leans forwards, fingers closing around the drink he’s left on the coffee table. His eyes flick to yours as he takes a sip, caring not to break contact, before jerking his chin at the bottle of scotch next to your bag. “You want some of that?”

He points at you, clicking his tongue as you move to pick the bottle up. “Don’t move. Stay right there.” Setting his book aside, the pages splayed face-down onto the table, he makes his way over, utterly impervious to your flurried attempts in getting him to remain where he is.

“D’ya really think I’d let you pour your own drink?” Frank says, looking affronted, but a furtive smile spreads along his face as you shake your head.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Let me take care of ‘ya,” he adds, delicately.

Carting you gently to the side, he digs around in the freezer, reaching for a couple of ice cubes that clink mellifluously in the glass. You watch intently as they bob in line with the whiskey streaming in, and then as he inspects the amber liquid closely, as if to examine its quality. 

When he’s satisfied, he turns to you, and raises the rim of the glass to your mouth. “Here,” Frank murmurs, condensation collecting around his fingertips. “Drink up.”

You shudder as the whiskey cascades hotly through your veins — each note of pepper, caramel and nutmeg lingering on the surface of your tongue like molten honey. You swallow another mouthful before pushing the glass away, not taking your eyes off of him for a second as he sets it down.

Frank runs his tongue over his teeth, raking his eyes across your face. He focuses on a stray drop of whiskey at the corner of your mouth, using a knuckle to brush it away. Your heart thunders at his calloused touch; as he pauses to swipe his broad thumb over your bottom lip. There’s a faint throbbing within you — a wild drumbeat steering you towards nothing but desire — so you flick your tongue out, circling his fingertip, relishing in his taste of salt, earth and whiskey.   

He lets out a soft groan, mumbling something that sounds like your name; maybe even a plea to slow down. You’re attentive, knowing he doesn’t want this night over yet, that he wants to wait before taking you to bed. 

It’s a good thing then, that you have something planned. 

You inch forwards, swallowing as Frank’s hand sweeps over the contours of your face, coming to rest at a spot near your ear. He tips your chin upwards, letting his ragged breathing fan over you. He stalls, allowing his dark eyes to bore into yours, and for a moment you forget where you are, the stressors of the day long gone.

All you know is him. 

His beard prickles your skin as he captures your mouth with his own, but you lean into the kiss, savouring his ardent warmth. He moves with you, deepening the kiss as you slide a hand into his hair, curling your fingers at the nape. Your thighs squeeze together as he pivots you around, pushing you against the counter while his tongue melts against yours. Using his leg to knock your knees apart, you arch into his touch, gasping as the bulge in his jeans settles where you need him the most. 

You won’t be able to stop if you don’t pull away now.

“Frank,” you whisper. “Frank.”

He looks at you, placing a small kiss to your jaw. “Mm?” 

“Before… uh,” you start, lightheaded and fuzzy, unable to comprehend anything but the heady weight of the whiskey and the ache between your legs. “I've got something for us. A little surprise. And I think,” you indicate, wagging a finger from him to you, “we should save this for later.”

He arches his eyebrows, smiling inquisitively. “Yeah? And what’s that?” 

You step aside to rummage through your bag, taking only a few seconds for you to find what it is you’re looking for. You hold up a clear plastic container, giving it a little shake in front of Frank’s face. His eyes widen in comprehension.

“God, I love you.” 

“Hey,” you smirk, “not God. Just me.” 

He chokes on his own laughter, draining the last of your whiskey. “You got it, sweet girl.”

You bite down on your growing smile. “Anyway, I was thinking the plan could go something like… get a little high, have some fun. You know what I mean, right?”

“S’that right?”

“We both deserve it.”

“You need some help with that?” he asks, pointing at the rolling papers you’ve set down on the counter. 

“Nope. Walk away.” 

You’re an image of rapt focus with your tongue between your teeth, cautiously grinding the weed before packing it into the rolling paper. You slip a filter on one end of the joint, and using your thumb and forefingers, you roll it into place. Bringing the free edge of rolling paper up to your mouth, you skirt your tongue along the narrow strip of glue, quickly moving to seal the joint. 

You shoot Frank a resolute look of determination. “Not bad, huh?” 

He folds his arms over his chest, leaning back into the couch. Almost hidden in the tangle of his beard, the corners of his mouth tick upwards. You can’t quite tell if he’s astonished, impressed, or a mixture of everything in between, but the expression on his face is a priceless ego boost. “Attagirl.”

“Mmhm,” you reply drily, admiring your handiwork from up close.

“Baby?” Frank calls, breaking your tethered focus. A glimmer of a smile in your periphery catches your eye.

“Yeah?” 

There’s a sound of rustling fabric as Frank spreads his legs, motioning you over to him by patting his thigh. “C’mere.”

Your gaze softens at his request. “That sounds good, Frankie. Let me grab my lighter.”

“Got it right here,” Frank chuckles, holding it up and thumbing it open.

Twirling the joint in your fingers, you meander over to his spot on the couch, watching the tiny orange flame dance in his eyes as he holds down the lighter button. 

He’s a solid comfort under you as you sit down on his lap, shuffling back until the side of your body is angled to his chest, using the armrest as additional support. His scent is a blissful, pacifying force – distilling in you where it matters. 

Frank wrests the joint from your grip, assiduous in the way he places it between your lips, then as he lights it for you. The lit end glows as the papered edges begin to burn, flickering in its reflection in the window ahead. You take a drag, letting the smoke fill your mouth before inhaling it into your lungs. Maybe it’s in your head, but your body feels lighter already; even more so as you exhale. 

The grey-tinged smoke remains opaque for only a second, vanishing into the air as soon as you pass the joint to Frank. You breathe out again, more deeply this time, allowing the grassy, herbal scent of the weed wash over you in waves of tranquil calm.

You cock your head to the side, studying the normally terse man before you leisurely smoking the joint, taking two drags instead of one. Gratitude forms a lump in your throat — nights like these are rare, and to see him so carefree, his mind unoccupied by the workings of the larger world, is a luxury you’ll never get tired of. 

After tapping the gathering ashes into his empty whiskey glass, Frank hands the joint back to you, closing his eyes while he waits for your next pass. As the weed-induced euphoria starts to take effect, you wrench one of Frank’s hands from its spot on your thigh, interlacing your fingers together. You take your time in mapping his knuckles, tracing over every crease, scar and perfect imperfection. 

You tap on Frank’s shoulder, wanting him as a credible witness for a successful smoke ring, but like all your past attempts, it morphs back into a cloud, hanging there in contempt. 

He laughs softly, putting you right to shame with a series of flawless rings that fall forwards in an arc towards the coffee table. 

You giggle, jabbing him in the chest with an expertly-placed elbow. “Don’t get too cocky now, Castle.”

His mouth quirks to the side. “Yeah? What are you gonna do, hm?”

“I’ll…” you search around the room for something to say. “I’ll withhold sex!” 

He gasps, feigning an expression of outrageous offense. “That’s cruel, darlin’.”

Laughing, you reassure him you wouldn’t, really, but he takes the opportunity to soar through the cracks of your defense, hauling you backwards until his face is flush with the shell of your ear. “Really think you could resist it? Not havin' sex?” 

The retorts crumble away as he tells you to ‘open up, sweetheart’, lifting the joint back to his lips. He breathes in deeply, turning his head to then exhale the smoke into your parted mouth. Your eyes roll back as he seals it with a kiss, and it catches you a little by surprise, but you run with it, inhaling as much as you can.

Not quite ready to let go of your earlier comments, Frank does it again, shotgunning into your mouth until you're left with nothing but a dreamy expression and no thoughts left in your mind.

You let out a contented sigh as the weed goes to your head, absentmindedly rubbing the spot where his beard scratched your lip. 

Eyes drooping, Frank wraps his arms tightly around you, holding you as close as he can, trailing kisses along your shoulder blades, down your arm, whispering sweet nothings and notes of ‘I love you’ until you slacken in his grip. You touch your lips to his forehead, now resting in the crook of your neck, his steady breathing keeping you anchored to your reality.

The next hour passes by in a haze — you’re mildly aware that there was another joint rolled in that time, courtesy of Frank, probably, but your memory retains the best parts: the giddy, high epiphanies, the smoke-filled kisses, the long-drawn-out touches… the fact that his skin has never felt so soft.

Exceptionally and utterly stoned, you move, draping your legs over his lap, clinging onto his neck so you can bury your face in his shirt – so spaced out that you barely register him talking. 

“...Who the fuck is “Drake” anyway?” 

“What?!” you sputter, snickering as if it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard. “He’s a rapper, Frankie.” 

“He’s off limits, so don’t even try” — you stumble over your words — “enacting your justice or… whatever.”

Frank frowns at you, pressing his lips into a thin line. 

And then he bursts into laughter. Unequivocal, heaving sobs of hysterical laughter. And it might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard. 

“Enacting my justice? That what you think it is?” he howls, bringing his fist down onto the couch. “You really think I’ve got nothin’ better to do than hunt down rappers?!”

“A little bit,” you sniffle, wiping away the tears of joy streaming down your face. “You know who’d love this conversation?” 

He shakes his head as you continue. “Micro.”

“Micro,” he nods, affirming your point. “Bet he’d know more about “Drake” than me.”

You chortle at his aggressive hand gestures. “You don’t need air-quotations every time you say Drake, you know.”

He waves a hand in the air. “Ahh, I know.”

“Frank Castle,” you say, kissing his cheek once, then twice, “I think this is the wisest you’ve ever been.”

“Oh, c’mon. Really?”

You gesture at the stub of your second joint, floating in the bottom of his whiskey glass. “Yep. You might have to do this more.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.”

“Better me than what’s out there. Right, Frank?” you croon, batting your eyes at him.

“S’right, darlin’. That’s right.”

tags {x} @darlingshane @castlesnchurches @reborn-rekall @marvelswh0re @itwasthereaminuteago @simple-lovebot @chvoswxtch @pedrito-friskito @chellestrash @theradioactivespidergwen @twilightbarnes @splendiferous-bitch @bl4ckpr1ncess @kaybeeboop @kdogreads @swearwolf13 @rqgnarok @qu1etwolf @honeyedheartss @runa-falls @whistle1whistle @awkwardalie

[bizbat]

I Know a Place ~ 1

~ Spiderverse x Fem!Spider!Reader

~ Reader is shorter than Miles, Pav, and Hobie, but appearance is otherwise not mentioned

~ Possible love interest include: Miles Morales, Hobie Brown, Gwen Stacy, Pavitr Prabhakar, Earth 42 Miles, and Margo Kess.

~ Reader is a newer spider, who, after losing a fight against an anomaly that found its way into her universe, is consoled by her friends.

~ Wc: 1.9k

~ You can find more of my works here

~ Contents include: Fluff, Romance, Mostly platonic as of now, Slight angst, Comfort, Horror, Mentions of blood, Intimate non sexual touch, Slight Yearning.

Somewhere, in New York . . .

A group of teenagers clad in brightly colored spandex suits, sit in a booth at a small cafe. The cafe itself is a cozy, little hole-in-the-wall, known only to those lucky enough to live nearby. The teenagers rest their tired bodies, allowing their muscles to melt into the soft leather seats, as they're embraced by the warm aroma of nutmeg, cinnamon, vanilla, and cocoa.

The calming scents swirled in the air, providing the teenagers a much needed sense of comfort and relief. They chatted amongst themselves, some excited from the battle they had just won, some wearily listening and occasionally providing their own input. All engaging in the conversation one way or another. All except for one.

One of the teenagers sat silently staring into her drink. Her mind, like her peers, was still on the fight the had just walked away from, though unlike them, she wasn't exactly satisfied with the outcome. She tried to focus her gaze on the hot beverage clasped between her hands, and not on the dirt and blood splattered on her gloved fingers.

Everytime she closed her eyes she could still see it.

Horror starts here -

Previously . . .

He was an anomaly, a horrifying variant of the criminal Rhino. He was a massive man with stocky , tree trunk-like stubs for legs. He had huge, muscular arms, his fingers were thick nubs, a solid plate of keratin from his first knuckle to the tip of his fingers. Despite his giant stature, his bodybuilder physique, and his inhuman limbs which were covered in tough, dark grey skin, the characteristic that most caught the teenager's attention was his face. Two massive tusks sprouted from his skull, piercing his flesh, and causing dark blood to leak over his head, face and shoulders.

He was clearly in pain, screaming as he flung any and everything he could lift over his head. Cars, fire hydrants, chunks of sidewalk. Nothing was safe from him in his rampage. He spared no mercy as he threw objects towards innocent civilians. Thankfully, by the time Y/n had gotten there, most of the bystanders had already fled the scene, and the few that remained were quickly moved to safety. The teenager turned her attention back to the rhino-man as soon as the last citizen was safe and secure.

"You really do live up to the n-"

Y/n could barely get a word out before she was flung into the side of a building. She slowly rose to her elbows, her head spinning as broken glass clattered onto the ground around her. She felt something warm and wet run down on cool on her face beneath her mask. She hobbled to her feet the minute the loud, incessant pounding in her head stopped, another quip already on her lips, only to be interrupted once again by a whack to the face. She felt like she'd been hit with a wrecking ball as she flew through the air.

Horror ends here -

She crashed into the pavement, her head smacking the ground that cracked around her, before slowly rolling to a halt. She tried to push herself back up, with what felt like boneless arms. Her arms weakly trembled before collapsing beneath her weight. Fear rushed through her veins as the sound of thunderous footsteps approached her weakened body.

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, her fists clenched and her breathing quickened as she braced herself, preparing her body to take more abuse. She felt dread embalm her entirely, her sweat cold on her skin, as the Rhino rose his arms above his head.

But before the Rhino could bring his clubbed fists down upon Y/n's crumpled body, the loud riff of an electric guitar rang through the air.

Her eyes remained closed, as bright yellows, purples, and blues flashed across the sky in blinding geometric shapes. Y/n's stiff body ironically relaxed at the sound of fighting and music, her body and mind fully exhausted. She only began to open her eyes when she heard a familiar voice softly calling her name, gently coaxing her to rise to her feet.

Currently . . .

Y/n sat near the window, strictly gazing into the mug between her hands. She had been so focused on her own moping she hadn't noticed the conversation around her had begun to lull.

"Y/n, you alright there, bruv?"

Her head snapped up, her attention suddenly placed on the british man seated across from her.

"Huh!?" Y/n's gaze drifted to the other teenagers sitting with her, unintentionally now the center of their attention. "What do you mean? I'm fine. I'm okay."

The teenagers around her exchanged glances before turning back to her. "Y'know, it's okay if you aren't okay, though," Gwen, the blonde sitting beside her replied, her voice had been the one to pull Y/n from her pained stupor. Gwen gently placed her cup of hot cocoa onto the table in front of her, before lightly stroking Y/n's forearm with her thumb.

"I know, I'm okay. Really. . . I am." Y/n dropped her gaze back to the hot, sweet smelling beverage in her hands. The cafe the teenagers took refuge in had some of the best food and drinks any of the spider's had ever had. It was a family business, run by an older couple and tended to by their granddaughter. It had been a place of comfort for Y/n since she had come across it while chasing a pickpocket down an alley.

Unconvinced, the rest of the teens sat quietly. "Is it about the fight cause if it is you got nothing to worry about" said miles, a chocolatey ring on his top lip. "When I was 'bout a month into being Spider-man, I had to fight Scorpion." Miles shook his head. "Lost so bad, it was on the news. My mom heard about it."

"Really?" Hobie questioned, taking a bite of his pastry, "That bad, huh", he followed earning a glare from Miles.

"Oh please, that's nothing! When I first became Spider-Woman, I got absolutely wrecked by Doc Oc! I got publically laughed at for two weeks!" Countered Gwen, her hands moving as she spoke. "I couldn't go out without hearing someone laugh about it."

Hobie chuckled, causing Gwen to toss a large marshmallow in his direction, "And what of you, Pav?"

"First of all, what about you, Hobie? You've never lost a fight?" Said Pavitr, flustered at the sudden attention. "Oi we'll get there when we get there, yeah? Your turn."

Pavitr sat back in the booth, his hand raised to his chin as he thought of his most embarrassing loss. "One time I . . . got . . . a got a bloody nose through my mask?"

"Yeah, but did you lose?" Asked Miles.

". . .no. But it was on TV!" Pavitr raised both hands in defence after earning a playful groan from the whole table, "Of course not", and "No surprise there" flying from his friend's mouths. "I'm sure mine will happen sooner or later!" Pav turned to face Hobie once again. "Okay, okay, your turn, Hobie. Tell us your most embarrassing story." Hobie sniffed, leaning back and putting his arms behind his head. "What's there to talk about, mate? I never lose."

"Right." It was the first thing Y/n had said with a smile on her face. Hobie glanced over at her, a soft smile replacing the frown she wore earlier. Hobie straightened in his seat, "Well-I mean- I-This one time right," Y/n laughed at his sudden disposition, "I was just off holiday, y'know, so of course I'm gonna be a bit rusty, a little out of it, y'know," the table began to giggle at his frantic excuses.

"But yeah, I'd just come off holiday, I start to swing around, warm up, got my blood flowing again, out of nowhere, this-this airship comes flying my way, absolutely massive, comes outta nowhere," "Oh it came at you, did it?" Pavitr asked between laughs. "Yeah," Hobie claimed, a faux irritation coating his words "It came at me, Pav man, you even listening? So it comes at me," he continued.

"I'm looking down, hundreds of adoring fans below, all lookin' back up at me, my senses kick in, little too late, yeah, but they do," Miles wheezes at Hobie's erratic retelling, his fist lightly pounding the table, as gwen writhes in her seat with her head thrown back. Y/n and Pavitr exchange glances with tears in their eyes whenever Hobie stumbles over his words or repeats himself.

"I look up at just the right time for the universe to take it out on me, i guess, and then WHAM! I smack into the aircraft, face first, all my fans still watching me as I plumet to certain death, just laughing, like I don't protect them everyday from the cold, greedy hands of a power-abusing, capitalistic, autocratic, and bigoted nightmare!"

By now every teen at the table is in hysterics, laughing so loud the table shakes with all their food and drink. Hobie and Miles have taken the slapping each others arms, as they cackle at Hobie, as Gwen has visible tears pouring down her face.

After being yelled at for being to loud and calming down, the group sits in a pleasant silence. Y/n sighed, yeah, today could've gone better for her, but in the end, she was thankful she had the kind of friends willing to embarass themselves to make her feel better. "Thank you, guys," Y/n mumbled out, a happy yet somber expression on her face, as they began to meander out of the cafe. "For tonight, and for . . . earlier."

"Aye, no problem, Y/n," Miles said, slipping an arm over her shoulder and looking into her eyes, a warm grin spread across his dimpled cheeks. "Any time." Pavitr gently stroked her knuckles with his thumb as he held her hand. The teens took off in the direction of Y/n's home, joking all the way. They saw her safely to her door.

Noticing the time, Gwen turned to Y/n and wrapped her arms tightly around her shoulders. "I'm sorry, I gotta get going," she saldy muttered as she squeezed Y/n. She pulled slightly from their embrace. "But I'll see you tomorrow?" Gwen stared into her face for confirmation, a playful smirk rising to her face as her cheeks heated up. "Bye Gwen, I'll see you tomorrow." Y/n felt her own cheeks grow warm, a little dismayed when Gwen fully pulled her arms from her.

Pavitr swallowed her form in his own muscular arms from behind, resting his cheek on her head. "I have to leave too," He groaned. Y/n giggled as he complained, a playfully sad look on his face. "I'll see you tomorrow too, Pav." Y/n laughed again as Hobie had to physically pull Pavitr away from her, before squeezing her shoulder himself and winking as he stepped through the portal.

Miles was the last to leave, he always was. He wanted to make sure Y/n was okay, having been no stranger to messing up himself. "You good?" Y/n sighed again, but this time it was filled with much less sorrow. She looked up at Miles and felt a warm smile rise to her lips. "I'm good Miles . . . Thank you. Really." Miles shrugged his shoulders as he beamed at Y/n before hugging her goodbye like the others. He lingered, just a bit, before letting his arms slip from her shoulders.

Miles stepped towards the portal, turning to grin at Y/n for the last time that night.

[ahedderick]

Herd Instinct

Accidental success. Last evening the three little goats were hanging out at the barn instead of staying with (tethered) Nutmeg out in the far pasture. The interfere with The horse-feeding process (by stealing feed AND walking in it), so I put a lead on Chevon, who is the leader, and off we went. Across the field toward Nutmeg. Meanwhile, K grabbed Hero's halter and was leading him the opposite direction.

The other two littles had been following Chevon, but they got confused by horse movements and started heading the wrong direction. That was pretty frustrating, standing in the field almost where I was going, watching the stupid little goats head the wrong way. I called Juniper, which was silly; she doesn't like people and would certainly not come even if I was holding treats.

Rosalie heard me, though. She started running my direction. Juniper assumed that Rosalie was chasing her, and fled back my way. Ferdinand, taking his cue from Juniper, started running my way, too. Lady, who had been the farthest from me, realized her moment to Herd Livestock was at hand!

So, approaching me at speed were: Juniper (frantic), Rosalie (nervous), Ferdinand (going with the flow) and Lady (having the time of her life). The goatlings rushed up and hid behind my legs. The dogs rushed up for consolation (Rosalie) and praise (Lady). Praise and consolation were given. The goats were returned to Nutmeg and Chevon was tethered.

Hero ate his dinner in relative peace.

[italianlegolas]

(The Nutmeg of Consolation by Patrick O'Brian)

[hauntingcryptids]

Wait, This Is Good!

Whittaker!Doctor x Reader

Summary - The Doctor is known for experimenting with Human food and beverages. Her most recent food trial is over hot chocolate. 

Prompt(s) Used - Hot Chocolate - A fic involving a hot beverage

Warnings - None That I Know Of. If I missed something, then message me and I will add it here.

Word Count - 1242

A/n - Gender Neutral Reader. Not Requested. Proofread but not beta read. Just a fun little fic that I thought was cute. I hope that you enjoy! :)

--------------------------------------------------------------

Many would call Sunday mornings quiet and relaxing. You would even describe many of your past Sundays on Earth in that manner. You wouldn’t do so anymore, though. Sunday mornings were now Doctor Food Experiment Time. 

In retrospect, it was funny that Doctor Food Experiment Time became a part of your and The Fam’s routine. The Doctor would have sudden interests that lasted a couple of weeks and then she would move on to something new but for some reason, the culinary arts stuck.

The Doctor must have been bored one Saturday night/Sunday morning and just started cooking and baking and brewing. When you and the fam woke up, the TARDIS kitchen was filled to the brim with her creations. None of them were what you would call successful, but some had potential. Ever since that one Sunday, The Doctor has made something for her Fam to try.

This morning, The Doctor’s experimental treat was hot chocolate. It sounds easy enough to make, but The Doctor was somehow able to ruin bread and butter. So, you were still wary about the marshmallow-topped mug before you.

“So, who’s game?” Graham asked when The Doctor stepped out of the kitchen to deal with something in the console room. 

You and your friends had gotten into the habit of having one person try The Doctor’s Sunday experiment first and the rest of the group would gauge their friend’s reactions before joining in or excusing themselves. Surprisingly, The Doctor hadn’t caught on or she was just happy that her Fam were still entertaining her Sunday surprises.

“If I remember correctly, it’s Y/n’s turn to go first.”

“Thanks, Ryan.”

“It doesn’t look that bad.” Dan said optimistically as he inspected the beverage.

“How many times do I have to tell you never to trust The Doctor’s culinary skills, Dan?” Yaz retorted. 

“It’s just hot chocolate.” Dan, the newest member of Team TARDIS, naively said.

“Rookie mindset.” Yaz said in a sing-songy voice, causing a couple of chuckles to echo around the table.

“You clearly weren’t here for the great Pop Rocks debacle, mate.” Graham joked. Some of the group laughed, but others groaned in pain at the mention of that memory. You saw Ryan absentmindedly scratch at the scar on his neck from The Doctor’s literal interpretation of Pop Rocks.

“But this time it might be good.” Yaz still hadn’t broken Dan’s persistent optimism.

“Are we forgetting that it’s Y/n’s turn?” Ryan spoke up again.

“Fine. Fine. I’ll bite the bullet.” You relented but sent Ryan a quick glare.

You lifted the cooling cup up from the table for a moment, but when you inspected the marshmallowy top you placed the mug back down. You sighed heavily. Then you quickly took a sip, after hyping yourself up, then swallowed the drink as fast as you could without tasting it. You leaned back in your chair, shocked, because the aftertaste was good. It was a mix of dark and milk chocolate with sweet marshmallow, and there were hints of nutmeg. Curiously and cautiously, you took another sip, to the astonished looks of all your friends. This time you savoured the flavour. It was even better than your first impressions of the drink.

“Wait, this is good.”

“Are you trying to trick us?” Graham couldn’t help but ask. 

“No. This is amazing!” 

Dan was the first to try the drink, he was always the optimist and had no reason to completely distrust The Doctor’s creation like the rest of The Fam did. When Dan didn’t react negatively, Graham tried the beverage. He gave a surprised hum of approval before going into a second sip. Ryan was the penultimate taster after hyping himself up first. 

Yaz was the last to try the hot chocolate. She was the one who had the worst experiences with The Doctor’s previous creations, so it was understandable to The Fam that she would be apprehensive. No one aboard The TARDIS were big pranksters, and no one would devise a prank involving something that could poison another, even if the type of poisoning was food poisoning. Yaz stared back at every one of her friends staring at her, waiting. Finally, she chugged a good portion of the drink. She expected it to be horrible, but to her genuine surprise, the drink was good.

“You weren’t lying.”

“No!” You and your friends shouted at Yaz before all of you burst out laughing. This was such a rare, unusual occurrence in a sea of rare and unusual moments, but at least this moment didn’t result in an injury or a fallout between allies. It was just a fun day between friends and a surprisingly delicious mug of hot chocolate.

“Why do you all look like you just saw a paagnee in a honeywell?” The Doctor asked, returning to the kitchen. You and the rest of The Fam were instantly confused by the alien’s comparison.

“A what?” Ryan asked.

“Never mind, it’s nothing.” The Doctor brushed off her comment. She could explain it better in the presence of a paagnee in a honeywell.

“Doctor, this drink is so good!” You complimented the beverage when The Doctor rounded the kitchen table to stand by where you were sat.

“Thank you, Y/n. I was inspired to make some hot chocolate after you said that you wanted some now that it was autumn on Earth.”

“That’s really sweet of you,  Doc. You didn’t need to do this for me, though.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! I did. It needed to be brilliant for you.”

“How long did this take you?” You questioned. 

“I’ll never tell.” The Doctor held a finger to her lips to emphasise her statement.

“Because I will feel guilty?” You provided an answer for the alien.

“Yes, but it’s more -” The Doctor was cut off by Dan, whose chair skidded across the floor of the kitchen as he got up from his seat to refill his mug. The Doctor was annoyed but it might have been for the best, as she was going to say that ‘it was more romantic’ having her effort be a mystery if she wasn’t interrupted.

“How is this good?” Ryan questioned, curiously savouring his drink.

“It’s because it’s sugary.” Yaz retorted.

“No, there have been bad sugary things.” Graham corrected.

“How can you mess up something sugary?” Dan asked.

“You’d be surprised.” Yaz huffed.

“Are you sure you made this? It wasn’t The TARDIS?” Graham finally questioned The Doctor, interrupting the rest of The Fam’s bickering.

“The TARDIS did not make anything. She didn’t even help.”

“At all?” Graham continued.

“I can make good things!”

“Of course you can, Doctor.” You rubbed The Doctor’s back in an attempt to comfort her. The Doctor leaned into your seated frame but held up a finger to you in protest.

“Okay, now I feel like you are patronising me.” 

“Well, you can make a brilliant hot chocolate.” You brought your mug back to your lips as The Fam chuckled. The Doctor pouted at her friends' reactions. This was not how she expected the morning would play out. She was hoping to woo you with her efforts. She didn’t know if she was successful in that matter, but at least you enjoyed her creation. That was a plus, at least. She would just have to find some other way to confess her feelings to you. For now, though, The Doctor relished in your presence and compliments.

[thekenobee]

AUBREYAD fans!

I'm one chapter in so far, yet Patrick O'Brian's echoes are very much present nonetheless for we've got:

Introduction of a fair-haired, kind-hearted Post Captain? JACK, IS THAT YOU?!

Cpt Chase referring to Sharpe as 'particular Friend' HELLO STEPHEN MATURIN?!

Slice of Life???

Mentions of Lord Nelson (Beloved)

Mention of fourteen inches for a hammock Beloved

[the-dog-watch]

We’re always laughing about the time Jack got Stephen’s sloth irresponsibly drunk in HMS Surprise (Debauchgate) but we don’t talk enough about the time Stephen accidentally got the entirety of the ship’s rat population coked up in The Nutmeg of Consolation.

[glitter-tornado]

Space AU

@colourful-serendipity

"Aw, Nutmeg sounds so funny. But Pumpkin is even better. It sounds so... round! And chonky!" Clio couldn't help but giggle. She picked up the parrotcat and nuzzled it affectionately. "What name do you like, lil' one? I honestly cannot pick one because... You're just SO CUTE!" Suddenly, a message jumped on the group's intercom. It was Vlad. His voice sounded very alarmed. "Guys, I hate to interrupt the moment, but I think we've got company! Haz'le, tell Ja-xon to hurry!" "Shit!" Butterfly's voice could be heard... and the way he charged his gun as well. "I can hold them back! Haz'le, help Ja-xon in a any way you can!" "No way! You're not going to do that alone!" Calliope joined him. "Guys, hurry up! If we don't get out of here soon, this is going get messy!" The fear in her voice didn't need a translator. Ja-xon searched frenetically through the maps. Tha-Lee wasn't in any of the inner system colonies, which, given the shape Eleusis 26b was left in, made sense. He had hoped that any of the underground facilities had survived, but none answered to his calls. [Hello? Anyone there? Platform 992407, codename Ja-xon! Please answer! Please, somebody! Answer, answer!] Nothing. Just radio silence and scratched noises, product of the sound of wind. With a pained growl, he turned to work toward the outside colonies... the 500-something he knew about. His fingers flew over the console, typing faster than ever- [135? Anyone there?! ...248? ...377...429??? Please, anyone! Answer! PLEASE!]

Haz`le ran over to the console and looked over the numbers. This wasn't what he was used too. She did plants! She didn't really do electronics!!

"Uuh?" She didn't want to get in his way or mess up what he was trying to do. So she gathered up Pumpkin and held him close. She gazed out the window, squinting carefully.

"Guy, hang on. They probably wont be able to find us right away. If we keep quiet it should take them a while to find us. There's plenty of cities, right? Butterfly, maybe you can hide the signal that Ja-xon i sending and giving us a bit more time!"

[fuimustroes]

just finished the nutmeg of consolation… someone clearly hasn’t read dan simmons’ the terror!

[azulera]

The Experiment

Pairing: Emile Smith Rowe x Black Reader

Summary: Emile's kisses require scientific investigation.

Notes: Scavenged this out of my drafts in honor of u21s winning euros 🎉 if only the 1st team could do the same, anyways can u tell how badly i wanna give ESR a k*ss … my yardie … arsepool is real

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After the first kiss, in the morning, his lips were still tingly, and you could taste the traces of cool mint toothpaste. He’d rolled from bed before you, up early for treatment, which may have sabotaged things from the start.

“You changed it?”

“Changed what?” He asked from the wardrobe, pulling his training kit top overhead.

“The toothpaste. It was cinnamon before, now it’s mint.”

“We were runnin out.” He shrugged. “But I didn’t mean to wake you. Be back around three later.”

You nodded, trying to shake the sleep from your body. “I probably won’t get out from the lab until six. So may I have another kiss, please? A proper one.”

“Needy girl” Emile tutted, but leaned down to meet you anyway, trying not to smile. You held on, turning his one soft peck into two more, and then holding your mouth to his, muffling his sound of surprise.

“I’ve gotta go, bab— baby, mm–”

“I know, just one — more.” You pulled back, with a deep sigh and Emile’s hand somehow tangled in the back of your sleep scarf. “There. Have a good day.”

When he stepped out the door, gently touching his mouth, you flopped back down on the bed. Grabbing your phone from the nightstand, you opened the notes app, and typed away.

~~~

The drive from the lab to Colney was a quick one, and you caught Emile just before lunch finished. He sat in the passenger seat with a smoothie in hand and questions in his eyes.

“What? I wanted to see you. Ain’t that allowed?”

His face was still frost-bitten from the cold, and his lips were redder than ever as they split around a smirk.

“Yeah. Just weren’t expecting you, is all.”

“Well, here I am. How’s the day going?”

You turned toward him in the seat, tuned in as he began the story of how he'd nutmegged Bukayo twice in the same rondo and then got him again later during five aside. You wrapped a hand behind the back of his neck, rubbing into the tendons as he mentioned his lack of playing time, and the frustrating conversations he’d had with the coaching staff concerning it. The hand moved around to cup his chin, thumb moving over his bottom lip when he’d finished speaking.

“Your lips are still so cold, Emi. Let me warm them up.”

“What?” You had leaned over the center console, bringing your other hand to catch along his cheek. “What do you mean?”

“I’m saying can I kiss you?”

“I mean,” Emile licked his lips, eyes darting around the empty training lot. “I mean, yeah.”

You grinned and leaned in, bringing your mouths together gently. A few brushes of tongue later, things were not so gentle, and you hummed when his hands came to grip around your waist, pulling you towards his lap.

“Hold on, this is mad,” He breathed. “Feel like I’m back in year 11.”

“You were snogging girls in the car in year 11?”

“Nah, no,” He kissed your cheek once, fingers still pressed into your hip. “Never. Was straight on football.”

“Right, whatever you say.” You had released him, and settled back into your seat. “How much time until you need to be back?”

“Like 15 minutes. But under 18s will be on that field right there in like five.”

“Okay,” You snuck one more kiss to the corner of his mouth, then revisited the notes app, while Emile checked his cheeks for lip gloss marks, and tried to regulate his breathing. “Tell me about the nutmeg again?”

~~~

By the time Emile disentangled himself from the final kiss, the fifth of the last five minutes, the twentieth of the day, he had developed some concerns. But they didn’t stop his chest from thumping, or blood from spreading warm through his veins, coloring his cheeks a rose tint that matched his lips. He licked over them once, and your eyes tracked the movement.

“Are you alright, babes? You’re mad … affectionate, today.”

“What you mean?” You questioned, halfhearted, already arcing back in towards his mouth. The wood of the dining chair creaked beneath your combined weight, finished dinner plates catching the overhead light.

“It’s just—“ He took a deep breath, trying to repress the tingles shooting down his spine from your nails along his collarbone. “You been sort of – all over me, innit. All day.”

“It’s a problem, then?” You frowned, your chests still pressed together, and noticing your own face was hot, around your ears and down through to your chest.

“Nah! No! Not at all, I’m just,” You pressed your lips to a spot just under his ear, and then his chin. “I was just sayin. An observation, you know.”

“Well, if you must know, it’s–” Your mind whirred, searching for some explanation beyond ‘I’m kind of obsessed with your lips’ or ‘I might be addicted to kissing you’. “It’s for science. Yeah, it’s all purely empirical. Wanted to know … when the best time to kiss you is– in the morning, afternoon, or night.”

You trailed a line of them along his jaw while you spoke, and felt him shiver.

“For science” he echoed, distracted but thinking back through the events of the day, and your generally nerdy tendencies, and saw how it made sense.

He didn’t, however, answer beyond that, as he was caught up again in the warm slide of your mouth. When he could, he cursed, and let out a shaky breath.

“S’like an experiment, innit.”

“Precisely.”

“So what’s the results?”

“Huh?” You asked, thoughts gone hazy, and bordering on annoyed at the continued gap between your mouth and his.

“The results of your experiment. When’s the best time?”

“Oh, um …” You bit your lip, not wanting to break the heated embrace to find your phone. The answer was simple anyway - all the day’s data pointed to one conclusion. “All the time. It’s always a good time to kiss you.”

Emile laughed, blushing an even darker pink, and sliding his hands up your thighs, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. But what do you think?”

He met your eyes, his baby blues full of amusement, and love, and something more. Then he stood up from the chair, carrying you along with him.

“Think I’ve got an idea for experiment number two.”

[heathcliffgirl1847]

jack and stephen in the nutmeg of consolation after the platypus incident