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[soapy0-0]

For some reason I want to see Eruri and 25: "Love is a good tool for manipulation." :D I hope that's fine!

Absolutely fine! Thank you for the ask <3<3<3This one took me a bit longer to figure out. Also different from anything I’ve ever done before.

Warning: I love Eren with my whole heart, but I did my boy dirty in this. Sometimes sacrifices must be made for the sake of a story.

Please enjoy!! I hope it’s okay!

Dark Fic Prompts - Drabbles: Take Two

“How is the prisoner?” Erwin asked, dropping cubes of ice into his glass with a soft clink while Levi walked into the large luxurious office.

“I haven’t seen him,” Levi said quietly, eyes following the amber liquid flow into the glass as Erwin poured himself a scotch.

“No?” Erwin asked, barely an inflection in his cold voice, his even colder eyes boring into Levi’s soul as he turned to look at him.

“I figured you would,” Erwin said, taking a seat behind his large mahogany desk.

“He meant nothing to me,” Levi said, quiet yet firm as he stood by the door; head lowered, refusing to move without permission.  

There was only one man who meant anything to Levi; who could control him, bend him to his will, request the most depraved actions and have them followed unequivocally.  

He would do anything for Erwin; the man who had saved him from a lifetime of dirt and poverty, no better than a piece of gum on the bottom of a worn shoe.

Levi was someone now; someone of importance, someone with power, someone to be feared. Second only to Erwin with an unbreakable loyalty.

“I believe you,” Erwin said, a smile on his lips and a subtle nod of his head; silently telling Levi to take his position beside him.  

Levi moved swiftly, standing just behind Erwin on his right as Erwin dialed a number on his phone, with ‘bring him in’ in response.

Levi’s eyes remained on the floor as Mike brought Eren in; unaffected by the blubbering and whimpers of the young man.

“Levi, please. What’s going on?” Eren cried.

“Eren Jaegar. Youngest son of Grisha Jaegar, second in command of The Titans,” Erwin said, his voice calm and deadly as he leaned forward onto his desk.

Eren grew quiet, his whimpers cut short as though nothing more than an appearance, “What do you want?” He asked.

“You know what I want,” Erwin said.

“I’m not part of them. My family… I don’t do that stuff,” Eren insisted.

“You know, I thought that too. You even had Levi fooled for a while, but he knew better,” Erwin explained, taking a sip of his scotch.

“Clever of you to use your own brother as a decoy, though the thing about decoys, is that they fall hard,” Erwin continued, giving a nod to Petra as she turned on the video, facing the tablet toward Eren.

There was no sound, but Levi didn’t need to see the video to know he was in it; slitting the throat of Eren’s brother after he fulfilled his usefulness.

Levi dared a glance up to Eren, the young man’s eyes filled with angry tears as he knelt on the floor with his hands tied behind his back.

“Levi, how could you?” Eren asked, pain and betrayal dripping from his voice. The months of getting to know each other; the dates, the late-night phone calls, cuddles, and confessions. All of it pretend, nothing more than a job.

Levi didn’t respond, there was nothing to say. There was only room for one man in Levi’s life, only one man who he would follow into hell. Everything else was orders.

“I thought you loved me,” He said with a broken sob.

“Love,” Erwin chuckled, leaning back in his chair and holding out a hand for Levi. Levi took a step forward, letting Erwin’s hand slip around his waist.

Erwin smiled as he pulled Levi closer, pressing their lips together in a soft, warm kiss. Levi’s eyes fluttering closed as he moved his mouth against Erwin’s, a privilege normally to a private bedroom away from prying eyes.  

Stifling a whine as Erwin broke the kiss, Levi’s heart skipping a beat at the thought of what Erwin would do to him later if he behaved well now. His own cold expression fixing on Eren’s devastated face while Erwin gave a low chuckle.

“Love is a good tool for manipulation, don’t you think?”  

[brassbutch-deactivated20190223]

phone sex is amazing. you dont even have to say more than a few words, just listening to your partner’s sudden shift in breathing. then ask “are you?” wait for a stifled moan and for them to let out a shaky, “yeah.” and then just tell them to keep going for you. just for you. wait for them to ask permission to go faster, harder, please please can i? ask them how bad they need it, ask them to describe just how badly. then listen to them cum and know you did that by just the sound of your voice

[juliedillon]

note to self: just because someone did the thing you were thinking about doing, and did it way better than you could ever hope to do, doesn’t mean it would be stupid or pointless to go ahead and try to still do the thing anyway. 

[lizardywizard]

Also, when it comes to creative things? There really is no “better”.

Sure, someone might be more technically accomplished than you - you might not be able to colour as nicely or craft a sentence that rings as poetically - but art is only really secondarily about that. It’s firstmost about what you, uniquely, have to express, and how the precise way you express it might be what others need to relate to it - even if it’s less flashy, less “beautiful”, and gets fewer notes.

I promise you this: there are obscure fanfics with only a handful of notes that are the read-and-re-read favourites of someone too anxious to comment. There are drawings done by 14-year-olds in poorly-blended markers that are someone’s favourite because they spoke to something that nothing else did. There are covers of songs where your voice cracks and you cringe every time you hear it but someone thinks the way it cracked just at that moment added beauty to the song. There are angsty three-line poems you wrote at 4am that someone once called “pretentious emo trash” that are loved by someone else going through the same thing as you.

And I guarantee you, there is something unique about your art. Even if you’re “saying something someone else has said”. Even if you’re the thousandth person to take on the subject. Even if you feel like you’re not at all unique. You’re bound to express something, however subtle, that didn’t exist until then.

Art is about connection. And the more you create, the more chance you have of finding other people who experience the world the way you do.

[writedreamlie]

“But the one thing that you have that nobody else has is you. Your voice, your mind, your story, your vision. So write and draw and build and play and dance and live as only you can.“ via @neil-gaiman

[hazeldomain]

The “two cakes” theory of content production. 

[glyndarling]

It was only yesterday that I was lamenting thing I no longer felt allowed to do because someone had done similar.   I ought to read this post daily.  Maybe twice daily.

[pinkheichou]

Ohh I like these. Hmmm No. 3 With... Eren x Jean 🖤

Thanks for the ask!! I had so much fun writing this!!

3: “You don’t love me now, but trust me you will love me soon.”

Eren woke up with a brutal headache. Blinking his eyes open, he was attacked by the sudden realisation of his head spinning like mad, and he felt like throwing up bile.

“Urgh…” he groaned, noticing next that he had woken up on solid, cold concrete. Grey and sketchy darkness spread before his eyes, Eren didn’t know where he was.

His breathing went craggy as he tried to think about the last thing he remembered.

Where was he? What was going on? What happened to him? What was going to happen to him?

Eren began to pant. He was panicking. This was bad. So bad. His chest constricted achingfully. He had to calm down before his asthma would mean the worst for him.

“Do you need this?”

Eren flinched at that sudden voice. A raw and dark voice had talked to him. What made Eren’s blood freeze, though, was the fact that this voice was familiar to him. So… familiar. It couldn’t be…

Only when Eren tried to face the direction he had heard those words coming from did he remark with terror that his hands and feet were tied.

But before he could focus on that, his eyes had widened with fright as he met eyes with Jean. Jean… his good friend.

“Jean…?” Eren’s throat hurt, the inside dry and painful. His breathing went even faster.

Jean’s silhouette was illuminated by a small oil lamp like a frame. His face looked exhausted. Pale skin, dark circles under his eyes, dry lips taking a drag from a raunchy cigarette. His fingers shook as he removed the cigarette from his lips to exhale the smoke. But, to Eren, Jean didn’t seem scared. He appeared like a desperate person at his wits’ end.

The kidnapper with the two-coloured hair was holding up an item that Eren urgently needed right now—his asthma inhaler.

“Jean!” Eren’s horror-stricken voice cried out helplessly. “This isn’t funny! What kind of sick joke of yours is this?!” He was torn between fuming with wrath (because he knew Jean liked to play pranks on him) and crying. Because Jean looked deadly serious about the thing he’d done to him.

“I know we had a bad start.” Jean began reminiscently. His insane part was tamed by the usual side of him that Eren knew all too well. “We couldn’t stand each other at first. You disliked me and I disliked you. We expressed that in front of the other too many times, I know. But, you know, my feelings change. They did. Really. I changed my behaviour. I didn’t treat you the same as I used to. Because I started to like you. I told you. Many times. But you would always laugh at me. You didn’t take me seriously. You thought I was joking. And you even said that you would never fall in love with me.”

A foreboding crossed Eren’s mind. His anxiety and hope for all of this being a stupid prank diminished like a little breeze flying across his hair. His asthma caused him to panic more and he started sobbing. “J-Jean… please…”

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you die here.” Jean dabbed his cigarette hard onto the concrete next to him, walking up to Eren, totally unfazed by his panic attack. His sympathy was basically non-existent. He dragged Eren’s upper body up by his collar, his hand fisting the fabric ruthlessly. He placed the asthma inhaler on Eren’s lips and Eren took long shots to calm his breathing, sucking on it and knowing that his life was really depending on it.

Once done, Eren asked with a shaky voice, “What are you going to do to me?” Then, his anger took over and he was yelling, “You son of a bitch! You psycho! Sick bastard! I’m going to kill you!”

“Oh, no, Eren. You won’t kill me. I have something that you can’t live without.” Jean let out a snicker as he wiggled the inhaler. “But I am going to do some stuff. To you. But I don’t hate you, Eren. I still want you.”

Eren’s wrists started to sting as he tried to break free. The ropes cut into his skin and he hissed. Jean didn’t take much notice of that, as though he had expected Eren to do that.

He gave Eren a grin that told him that from now on nothing would happen to his favour. Jean had plans with him and Eren didn’t want to hear them. If only this was a nightmare he could wake up from. His stomach churned, he almost gagged. Jean’s words slipped into Eren’s head like little demons. “You don’t love me now, but trust me you will love me soon.”

[writing-prompt-s]

Write the most self-indulgent piece of fiction ever. Make a self-insert and go buckwild. Have fun, don’t worry about tropes or being a Mary Sue. Take all your fantasies and make them come true. I cannot emphasise enough how fun it is. You don’t even have to publish it, just do it. Go. Nuts.

[anomalousangel]

when you have a bad day, i want you to come home to me and let me take care of you.

as soon as you get inside i want to get my hands on you. push you against the wall, take off your shirt and kiss your pretty little lips. when you break away, gasping for air, i want to trail kisses over your jaw and neck, down to your collarbones and chest, want to have you squirming for more.

i want to take you to the bedroom, holding your hand, and make you lay on the bed. want to have my wicked way with you, until you’re trembling and the only sounds you make are little sounds of pleasure and pleas for more. want to make you know how good and pretty you are for me, how much i adore you and that you make me so happy.

make you beg to cum, and when i ask if you really deserve to come and you answer with a broken “no”, make you forget your own name and see stars because of course you deserve to come, angel. you’re my precious boy. you deserve the world.

i want to scoop you up in my arms and bring you to the bathroom, run us a bath where you can lay in my arms and i can whisper sweet nothings in your ears and kiss you.

i want to make you feel a little bit better.

[scentoflemons]

I love sliding my hand up his thigh in a restaurant. I love breaking his concentration for a moment. I love knowing that he’s anticipating. Carrying on with his conversation but wondering if it’s just the connection I’m looking for, or will it be more. I love letting him relax little by little before deciding on occasion to lift my hand and then cover his cock with my palm under the table; my fingernails tracing him. I live for the slow deliberate breath he takes. But most of all? My soul catches fire as he widens his thighs and welcomes my clandestine teasing. Acknowledges my claim: any time, any where. My ultimate plaything.

[durianseeds]

“This is love, to sit with someone you’ve known forever in a place you’ve been meaning to go, and watching as their life happens to them until you stand up and it’s time to go.”

— Daniel Handler, Adverbs

[zintersoldier]

white person: *eats chicken tikka masala once* i just…. i feel so connected… to indian culture …. I’m learning to speak islam…. check out my third eye….. chakra

[teaboot]

Every time I see this. Every damn time. I’m immediately sucked back into my fuckin. Fuckin English lit class with Mr. Fuckass McShit. Mr. “Hit the gong to begin class”, “Namaste, Children”, “I wanna go backpacking in India to find my spiritual awakening and also my left burkinstock that I lost during a cedar sauna drum circle” ass bastard. “Do you want to share your poetry with the class to get in touch with your emotions” ass fucker. Mr. “Here’s a photograph of a tribal shaman, describe him using nature words” asshole. Pretentious-ass, condescending motherfucker. “Do you want to tell us about your saddest memory?” “I dunno, sir. Are you giving me an option?” “No.” “Then why are you asking” Every goddamn day. Fuck. “You seem tense.” Oh, I seem tense? I seem tense. Well fuck, Professor Pillsbury, maybe I ‘seem tense’ because I walk into a room on five hours of sleep to the sound of a goddamn brass gong drilling through my brain and your seven-foot-nine, socks-and-sandals-wearing, patchouli-smelling ass immediately gravitates in my direction with some shit like “a tree……… Is a Poem” and I gotta sit here and politely tell you that No I’m Not Comfortable Telling The Class About A Time I Was Emotionally Vulnerable With A Loved One using words that sound like the way the color yellow smells. Maybe I don’t wanna sit in a circle and hold hands with Brittney from Computer Sciences to “align our auras” or some shit. Fuck. Fuuuuuuck. I swear to God, if I wanted to sing ‘kumbaya’ with a smelly old guy with gross facial hair who writes bad porn on the side, I’d go out to the parking lot and share a Hookah with Crazy Dan, the disgraced electrician. What, I don’t wanna do an interpretive dance to represent the spiritual experience of eating Quinoa in a room full of ambivalent preteens and suddenly I’m the ‘troubled youth’ you need to Robin Williams “O Captain My Captain” your way into having a Paternal Bonding Moment powerful enough to Expand My Impressionable Young Mind and Turn My Life Around, you goddamn saint, you? Jesus Fucking Christ. You insufferable jackass. You’re not “Enlightened”, you rolled out of bed and ate half a pot brownie, wrote a sad song about a leaf, and strolled into class to ramble about your Spirit Animal for six hours straight before calling it a day. Holy Jesus goddamned Christ. Fucking Balls, sir. Holy Fucking Balls

[hannahhectic]

This is very angry.

And VERY specific.

[shiver-me-himbos-deactivated202]

late

Eren was never late to school. His father never allowed it. Unless it was a doctor’s appointment, but that was especially hard seeing that his father was one of the head doctors at the hospital. 

Jean slumped in his seat, eyebrows pulled together in concern over the other boy. He twirled his pencil between his fingers, staring blankly at the math worksheet his teacher had given him. He had been worried all morning, not that he knew why. Eren always got on his nerves, pushing buttons in a way no one had before. But there was still a stupid, confusing feeling in his stomach and his chest whenever he heard Eren laugh. 

“Stupid fucker,” Jean muttered to himself, scowling at Eren in his mind. 

“What’s your problem?”

He looked up, Connie leaning back on his chair and rested his elbow on Jean’s desk. 

“Yeah, you look constipated,” Mikasa added and Jean rolled his eyes. “Eren wasn’t even here this morning so I don’t see why you’d have a reason to look so pissed.”

“Exactly.” Connie nodded in agreement, noticing the way Jean’s head dipped lower to hide his eyes with his bangs. 

He could feel his friends’ eyes on him but he didn’t say anything, shifting awkwardly in his seat knowing that he had been caught. 

“Aww,” Mikasa cooed, “you’re worried about him.”

“Am not.” Jean bit back and looked up at her. They held eye contact for a moment and he finally sighed in defeat because he knew that he wouldn’t win a stare down with her and those knowing eyes. “Fuck you.”

“Kirchstien, language.” Mr. Ackerman warned from a couple desks in front of them as he helped a student. He didn’t even need to look up to know that it was Jean. “Springer. Ackerman, do your work.”

Jean’s friends exchanged looks before turning back to their desks. He watched as their teacher stood up and made his way back to his desk, everyone looking up as the door opened. 

Eren walked through the door, keeping his head down as he trudged his way to Mr. Ackerman’s desk. The older man looked up, taking the note from Eren’s hand and they exchanged a few words. It was a rare moment that Jean saw concern over their usually emotionless math teacher. Eren gave a shrug and a wave of his hand before making his way to his seat. 

Connie and Mikasa looked just as offended as Jean felt inside. He didn’t even look their way, pulling his stuff out before getting to work. A girl in front of him turned around and handed him the worksheet, pausing for a moment before smiling at him and turned back around. 

“Is it just me or is Eren acting… different?” Connie whispered. 

“No, it’s definitely not you,” Mikasa agreed and sat back in her seat, raising an eyebrow as he looked at Connie and then Jean. 

There was a strange feeling in Jean’s gut and his chest. Eren was never this quiet and he didn’t like it. He liked the fact that Eren could never shut up, that he livened up the room with his stupid jokes and he loved the fact that only Eren could crack a joke that got a reaction out of Mr. Ackerman. 

Throughout the rest of the period, Jean couldn’t stop glancing over at Eren, watching as he kept a hand on his jaw or his mouth or his cheek, as if he was holding it carefully. He winced in pain every so often and it made Jean all the more worried. 

He couldn’t jump out of his seat fast enough when the bell rang, Connie and Mikasa right behind him as they walked up to Eren’s desk. 

“Hey, where’ve you been all morning?” Mikasa asked. “We missed you in homeroom. Mr. Smith did the whip because Connie aced his biology test.”

“Fuck yes I did.” Connie beamed proudly, high fiving Jean.

Eren didn’t answer, shrugging lamely as he stood up and finally looked at them. There was something different. But none of them could place what it was. Jean hated such a pained looked frown on Eren’s face and it made him determined to get whatever was bugging him out of his big mouth.

But when Jean opened his mouth, nothing came out. Words caught in his throat and when Eren met his eyes, Eren was the first to look away with a slight tint on his cheeks and he turned on his heels and grabbed Mikasa’s hand to pull her out of the classroom with him. 

“What did you do to him?” Connie asked and Jean scoffed. 

“Nothing. For once.” 

Lunch was quieter, a strange aura filling the space at their lunch table as Sasha and Connie scrambled to fill the awkward silence that was often easily filled with Jean and Eren’s bickering and stupid jokes that ended in loud laughter. 

Last period was when Jean finally figured out what was Eren’s problem the whole day. He was thankful to every God imaginable that he got to see Eren strip shirtless everyday. It was a blessing. Not that he told anyone but himself. 

As usual, Eren was avoiding Jean. He avoided Jean in the locker room and when they did their stretches and a lap around the gym for warm up. But that didn’t stop Jean from staring at him, admiring the look of determination on his face as they played volleyball or dodgeball or whatever game it was. Jean wasn’t paying attention. 

But he should have been.

“Jean! Look out!” 

It was too late for Jean to duck, the ball hitting him in the side of the head, sending him tumbling backwards. He rolled a little, landing on his back. All the wind had been knocked out of his lungs from shock for a moment, the ceiling above him spinning and he heard multiple whistles and footsteps running towards him. 

The first person that popped into his vision as he sat up was Eren. 

Eren and his bright smile as he laughed, clutching his stomach and nearly doubling over as he did. It entranced Jean and he stared stupidly, watching as the other jogged over, holding out his hand to help pull Jean up from the ground. He lead him over to the bleachers, the coach checking up on them before going back to the game.

“Are you okay?” He asked through his laughs but Jean was having a hard time hearing him due to the fuzzy feeling in his head from Eren’s laugh. 

“I, uh, yeah—hey,” he held up a finger, “you got braces.”

Eren’s smile immediately fell and he looked away, clearing his throat. “Yeah.”

“Wait, no, Eren, wait, it’s not a bad thing.” Jean grabbed his arm as he tried walking away. “I like it.” He blurted, both tensing at the words that hung in the air between them. 

“Huh?” Eren was blushing and it caused Jean’s heart to flip in his chest. 

“I said I like it,” he repeated, more for himself than for Eren. “It fits you. You look really…”

“Bad?” Eren snorted, arms folding across his chest as he flipped his hair out of his eyes. 

Jean blurted out the first word that came to his mind. 

“Hot.”

Eren gaped at him, blush reaching to the tips of his ears and Jean wished that stupid ball that Zeke had thrown knocked him out. He stared at his feet, shifting awkwardly on the bench as he waited for a reply from the other boy. 

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re hitting on me.”

Jean looked up, a grin coming to his face as he noticed Eren’s, lips revealing his new braces with green and blue rubberbands on them.

It gave Jean a small dose of confidence. “And if I am?” 

Eren stood up, giving him a wink. “Then I should be late to school more often.”

[hyrude]

ive eaten shrimp exactly 5 times in my life, always with gusto and an utter lack of self-restaint, and each time has ingrained itself in my memory as distinctly nightmarish when they ended with me ralphing it all back up within the hour. i thought this was reflective of my hubris and insufficient fear of god, but it is only as i write this post now, crumpled to my knees on the floor of this eresto’s bathroom after eating half a baja taco and recalling that my dad is allergic to shellfish, i realize perhaps the issue is not with a higher power, but with a deeper one. biology.

[completely-legit]

Modern prose.

[mysharona1987]

[i-am-verybusy]

some writer snob somewhere: Do not start sentences with But or And because doing so is grammatically incorrect.

me, writing my fic: But I don’t care. And you can’t stop me.

[bich-the-moss]

Sometimes…..the flow of your creative prose…..is more important….than grammatical guidelines,,,,,,

[ziraseal]

[fenfyre]

BodttomBodtWeek Day 5 - Coffee For One/Thirst

Note that this is a story about a fantasy of Marco’s. While it’s not really a rape-fantasy it still contains serious themes like unsafe sex, dubcon and humiliation. However he is the one actively thinking about these things in a safe environment, imagining them because they turn him on. That doesn’t necessarily mean he wants anything like this to happen in real life or that anyone is allowed to treat him like that. Same goes for everyone with similar fantasies! Please proceed with caution. ___________________________ Marco placed the mug on his desk with a thump and a quiet sigh. He’d been working on this presentation for the better part of his Sunday and it still wasn’t anywhere close to finished. To make matters worse he’d been out all night with his friends, trailing from a pub to a club to one or two house parties … by the time he’d fallen into bed, utterly exhausted, the birds had begun singing in front of his window. But Marco had never been good at sleeping in when hungover and his guilty conscience about the project he hadn’t even started threw him out of bed after only a couple hours of fitful sleep. And thus his Sunday was spent entirely in a caffeine fuelled haze while he tried to work out a way to stomp the information of two books, one article and three information leaflets into a forty minute presentation. He fell back into his desk chair, groaning as he reached for one of the books, squinting at the too tiny text. Who even printed books like that? Trying to find the relevant section he’d memorized earlier he took a few gulps of coffee but instead of clearing his head the heat just lulled him in, making his limbs heavy and the lazy hum finally catch up with him. One could only stave off bone-deep tiredness for so long, even though Marco was really trying his damnedest. Wrapping both hands around the wonderfully warm mug he took another sip, long and indulgent, closing his eyes as he savoured the taste. Tingling warmth spread through his body, seeping up his arms and crawling along his neck before dropping deep into his stomach. When Marco had halfway finished his cup of coffee it occurred to him that the warm laziness weighing him down wasn’t entirely because of too little sleep. There was an animated tingle in the pit of his stomach and along the back of his thighs that he associated with … other activities. It was only four in the afternoon. If he took a little break now he could still finish the project later tonight. At least that’s what he told himself when he pushed the book back onto his pile of material and let himself sink deeper into his chair, mind starting to wander.

Keep reading

[fenfyre]

All That Glitters

Eren wasn’t surprised to see the corvette already parked in the driveway when he pulled up in front of their house. It had been another late day at the office, like so many were since he’d taken on his latest case. He spent hours studying paperwork and going through files only to crack this one puzzle, find the perfect loop hole or, and that would be even better, discover the smoking gun.

Eren loved the hard cases, the ones deemed unwinnable by most of his colleagues. If only because it meant he got to crush his opponents in court that much harder, really rub it into their smug little faces when he came out victorious after all the hard work he had put into it.

Even if it meant coming home late a few weeks in a row and having to make it up to those he kept waiting for him.

There was warm light streaming into the foyer when he opened the front door and set down his briefcase, slipped out of his jacket. Soft voices and quiet piano music and the cosy crackling of a fire drifting toward him from the living room. It was a sweet, alluring mixture of all the sounds Eren loved coming home to and before he knew it he was drawn to them like a moth to a flame, drifting over into the living room.

He found Marco lounging on the couch, illuminated by the warmly crackling fireplace off to the side and dozens of shopping bags strewn about him on the ground and the coffee table. He was looking up at Jean with an almost stupidly adoring expression as their boy stood in the middle of the room, grinning and twirling, obviously showing off.

He did look gorgeous though, with those sinfully tight slacks that hugged his ass perfectly and the shiny golden cuff links that matched the buttons of his forest green, beautifully cut waistcoat perfectly. There was something about Jean and gold that was out of this world, make him look ethereal when he was shimmering and sparkling. Eren was pretty sure it was the eyes, smooth honey complimented perfectly when their boy was dripping in gold.

They both looked up when Eren clicked his tongue and theatrically shook his head, finally noticing him hovering in the dark doorway.

“You’ve been shopping again?”, he purred as he stepped into the room, the disapproval in his voice obviously fake as looked at his husband. “Marco, you really spoil him…”

Marco’s shrug was helpless, almost impish as his eyes flicked over to Jean who still looked good enough to eat, even if his expression turned a bit sour, lips pursed just slightly and hands coming up to his hips.

“I can’t help it!”, Marco laughed. “You know how he gets when he begs like that, I can’t say no to him…”

“Besides, we really had to do something with our afternoon when someone couldn’t get out of the office on time. Again.”

Eren sighed, then nodded. He had to give that to their boyfriend.

After all the years of being married to him Marco knew by now how Eren’s job worked, that there would always be times they barely saw each other but that it would always get better after some weeks, that Eren would finish the case, pull himself out of his workaholic mindset and find back into the arms of his husband.

But Jean, having joined them not too long ago, all bright eyed and talented and beautiful and demanding so much attention, wouldn’t make his peace with that concept anytime soon.

“I know baby, I’m sorry…”, he hummed, daring to step closer but halting when Jean crossed his arms, squinting at him. “One of my assistants found a lead and I just had to…”

“You promised”, Jean interrupted, his eyes burning. “You promised you’d be home on time at least once this week. It’s Friday, Eren.”

Eren sighed again, nodded slowly.

“I know. I’ll make it up to you however you want.” And then, because he knew how much Jean loved flattery, he took his chances to smirk at their boy, eyes dragging up and down his impeccably dressed frame.

“However you want. And baby … you look good enough to eat right now. Marco really picked some nice things for you, didn’t he? I love how that outfit brings out your eyes…”

Jean still squinted at him suspiciously, then looked down at himself, running a hand over the smooth fabric of the waist coat.

“Yeah”, he hummed quietly, distractedly. “I really like this one. It’s a silk blend. You wanna feel it?”

That wasn’t an offer Eren was about to decline so he closed the last few steps between them, reaching out to feel the delicate fabric between his fingers. It really was incredibly smooth and he even found an artistic but tastefully delicate embroidered pattern along the hemline.

“Gorgeous”, he hummed. “You can wear it to our dinner party next week.”

A low, pleasant noise, a gentle nod. Then Jean licked his lips, eyes flicking up and down Eren’s body the way Eren had done to him earlier.

“If you like this I’m sure you’ll love what Marco got for me to wear to bed tonight. It’s also silk, wine red, lots of nice lace…”

Eren groaned, picturing that kind of view without any problems. Jean’s creamy skin against their soft dark sheets, the way his pretty lingerie would stand out, how smooth and pretty he’d be…

“Oh I’ll love it”, he smirked, letting his hand trail down to curl a finger into one of Jean’s belt loops. But before he could tug Jean forward into a playful kiss his boy twisted away from him, eyes burning again.

“Too bad you’re sleeping in the guest room this weekend”, Jean hissed and turned on his heel to leave the living room and stalk over into the kitchen. Eren could do little more than look after him, eyes dipping down to watch that ass go while his lips parted around a quiet sound of helpless protest.

When he turned to Marco, mouth still agape and unable to form a coherent thought his husband just shrugged, ran a casual hand through his soft salt and pepper hair.

“Sorry, love”, he hummed, leaning forward to grab his glass of wine from the coffee table and swirl the golden liquid around. “You two had a deal. Maybe hold up your end of it next time?”

As much as Eren wanted to protest, Marco was right. Of course he was right, he was always right. But especially so when it came to promises Eren had failed to keep. Maybe, if it went on like that, these two would actually get him to come home on time one of these days.

Commissions | Kofi | AO3 | twitter | pillowfort

[danielkanhai]

i hate when customers at work hand me a 100 dollar bill and then scoff when i check the watermark. like, lady, i will break out the counterfeit pen. i’ll draw your god damn portrait over benjamin franklin’s before i make a ruling. i’ll get a second opinion from a coworker on the opposite side of the store. i’ll call the mint like, “heyy…it’s daniel…you guys print any hundreds lately? i got a lady here with a hundred, just making sure it’s one of yours…haha cool just checking. so how are the wife and kids?” the people that make a fuss are always like, obviously rich too and you know that’s why they have a problem. like the nerve of me to doubt a rich person’s money. how dare i lump them in with a normal person with a hundred dollar bill. eventually one of them is going to let it slip. i’ll take the bill from them and go to hold it up to the light or feel it between my fingers or something and they’ll laugh and go, “oh, no, no no no i’m wealthy.”

[castielcampbell]

i had a co-worker catch a counterfeiter. back then we all had “truth teller” pens. and the rule was “anything over a ten gets checked if you’re not comfortable with it” but not everyone did it. but this girl was hard core about her pen. especially if she got a bad feeling from a customer. girlfriend had TWO truth teller pens in case one gave a false positive.

this couple come through her line with a lot of stuff and they acting like they are in a hurry. this was the wrong thing to say to this girl. you say that to her and she goes slower cause it freaks her out.

she finally gets to the end and the guy hands her a bunch of 20′s. first she straightened them out and counted them, and then she took her pen out. when i used it i made a little flower so that i would know that i did it. she made a swirly. the first swirly came back black, the second swirly came back black. she got out the SECOND truth teller pen and scribbled a like down the center of the bills…. black as coal.

she was freaking out. dude look like he was intense. she very politely asked if he had another form of payment as she would not be able to accept his money. “WHY NOT?!”

*gulp*

“cause it’s not real, sir.”

“MONEY IS FUCKING REAL! YOU BETTER GET MANAGEMENT OVER HERE! MY MONEY IS AS GOOD AS ANYONE ELSE!!”

she very quickly walked over to the phone and paged, and her voice, was so tinged with panic that everyone, even CUSTOMERS stopped dead in their tracks and listened to the page. 

you’d never seen a page answered so quickly. it was prolly ringing before she put the phone back on the receiver. “what’s wrong? what’s going on? are you in danger? are you okay?”

and she told them that no, she wasn’t okay,, her customer was screaming and cursing at her and his money wasn’t real and she had no idea what to do now, this wasn’t covered in the CBL’s! 

this got manangement on their feet. “stay call, take a deep breath, we’ll be there in 5 seconds with back up. it’s going to be okay. just breathe.”

which is easier said than done with a man that weighs 150 lbs more than you is screaming his ever loving head off. even the retiree door greeter came over and stood by her just as a show of solidarity, she couldn’t really have done anything, but she was a witness, and sometimes that’s enough to get people to back down.

it must have felt like a hour later, but it was about 2-3 minutes before the store managers came walking down the aisle with the popo trailing behind them. the cops were soooooo happy to see him. 

one member of management took over the register as the other led the cashier off to sit and collect herself, while the cops talked to the guy and eventually arrested both the guy and the girl. (apparently they’d been looking for them)

management was so fucking happy that she caught him because he had like 300 dollars in funny money and she caught him dead to rights. they calmed her down, thanked her profusely, gave her the rest of the day off with pay, and called her bf or mother or someone to get her home, because she was shaking like a leaf and they didn’t want to her to get hurt on her way home.

So yes, i will use my pen when i have too. i’ll hold them fuckers up to the light to make sure that the right pressie is in the corner pocket.

don’t fuck with the money honey it just don’t pay.

[lynnafred]

When I was a manager for a large craft store chain, I had a customer pay with a $100 bill. One of those new ones, the blue ones that look more like they belong in a game of Monopoly than in your wallet, and there was something… Off… About it.

The watermark of Ben Franklin on the bill looked like the shittiest line art of a man you’d ever seen. It was horrendous. But it passed my marker test, so I had to give the guy his change and with a smug grin and $50 worth of Copic markers, he left.

I thought about it all night and into the next day, when the local weed dealer came in to buy his baggies. See, jewelry baggies are cheaper than ziplocks despite being the same fucking thing, and I was the only one who would treat the guy like a normal fuckin dude, so as we were chatting as I rang him out, I sighed and said, “I got a counterfeit hundo the other day.” And I told him about what I’d gone through. I told him what the guy looked like, what he bought, how he acted in line. And when I was handing him his receipt, I said, “I don’t know why I’m telling you this, man, but just watch out for any suspect looking Benjamins over the next few weeks.” I gave him one of the counterfeit markers and told him that they wouldn’t do any good, but he could have one anyway.

I guess I just wanted to tell someone about it, because I stopped thinking about it after that.

Until the day I got a call from the pot dealer about a month later. He was furious. Someone had ripped him off in over $250 of weed, and they’d done it with–yup–fake Benjamins. He gave me the guy’s name, his description, everything. And then, at the very end, he added, “I’m luring him downtown for a drug deal. Call the fucking cops.”

So I did.

The cops swooped in and grabbed the guy, and not only did they find my Copic markers that he’d bought from the store, he found similar high ticket items from other stores in the area. The cops came back, returned me my markers, and asked how I knew to tip them off.

I told them it was a lucky guess.

And that’s how a drug dealer and a junior store manager bagged a counterfeiter.

[fenfyre]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Title: Devotion

Fandom: Attack on Titan

Wordcount: 11628

Rating: Explicit

Ship: EreJean

Tags: Plot What Plot, Top!Jean, Bottom!Eren, Fingering, Anal, Teasing, Dirty Talk, Fluff, so much fucking fluff and sweetness istg            

Summary:

Jean and Eren have been dating for a while but there are still a lot of things they need to try and even more they have to learn about each other, it seems.