#I boot it back on and send the meme

[approximately-32-leafcutter-ants]

guess whose phone died died today

[eddiernunson]

Waiting Room Problems | Eddie Munson x fem!Reader | 18+ |

Summary: a rough landing in a fight with your brother causes you to land in a crowded waiting room. Meanwhile a rough deal also sends Eddie the same fate. Somehow, somehow you try to keep your eyes on your phone and off his tiny little waist. It proves... difficult.

Warnings: strangers to lovers, fleeting glances, slightly cocky Eddie, sex in a public bathroom (trust me on this, just trust me), and general horniness at Eddie's general appearance, unprotected piv, against the wall fucking, deep throating, daddy kink

Authors note: I just spent 8 hours last night (when | wrote this) in the fucking waiting room. At two hours in a guy came in and he radiated Eddie's energy so my mind ran away with it. (Everything is ok).

Thanks for the hype on the preview! Hopefully this lives up to the hype

Thanks so much to @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you for editing bestie ❤️

As the night swallows you whole, you sit in your mom’s passenger seat of her car as she drives you to the ER. While roughhousing with your older brother you landed on your hand wrong and bent it way back. It’s definitely not broken, but it for sure needs to be looked at.

As the lights of the night pass you by, you insist you’re fine and the sprain will heal after a few days. Your mom, however, was having none of it as you rolled your eyes in exasperation.

She’s as stubborn as you are, so you sit arms crossed as you know you have no choice. Ouch, ok, crossing your arms was a bad idea.

She wishes you well, her kind eyes wide as she leans over to ask you to keep her updated. You can’t help it, slamming the door after letting her know you will. You should’ve been enjoying some spiked eggnog and watching holiday movies, but now you’re spending Christmas Eve in the ER.

The large window to the waiting room lets you know there’s already a long line up just waiting for the triage and most seats are taken. Fuck, you’re in for a long night.

The kind and sunny nurse takes your vitals and information, gently assessing your symptoms and palpating your wrist carefully. She lets you know it’s definitely sprained and will need a gauze wrap.

Soon, you find yourself sitting in a brown, cracked, leather chair sitting close to a man who is coughing up a lung and groaning in pain after each bout. Not that there are many options to begin with.

Your phone in your hand and your charger in your bag, you sit comfortably and wait for your name to get called as you look at memes and watch videos with one headphone in.

Ninety minutes goes by while your best friend texts you to keep you busy and entertained, not even noticing you’ve been waiting for so long. Thank god for her.

For the first time in a while, you look up to assess the state of the waiting room. As far as you recall, about five people have been called to the back. Those seats have been replaced with new patients and their support, what seems to be a never-ending cycle.

Your eyes flick to someone who walks into the line that is long enough to extend into the hallway, stepping up a place in line and finally into the actual waiting room. Your eyes scan him, the boots, the ripped jeans, the leather jacket covering a graphic tee, all leading up to his shaggy brown hair and gorgeous face.

Your mouth partially opens, momentarily taken aback by how unbelievably hot he is. There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong, at least, until you notice the tear in his shirt peeking at white gauze on his torso. From the stain, it’s clear he was injured.

His face doesn’t reflect such, patiently waiting as the two triage nurses take their time. By the third time he blinks, you realize you’ve been staring and shift your eyes back down to your phone.

As the line moves, his boots in the corner of your eye, you grow increasingly aware of how much you want to continue staring at him. Something about him is just so enticing, drawing you in. Especially his lack of response to a wound as such.

Time passes on and soon you find yourself bored of the videos and turn on your Spotify to the comfort playlist. Your eyes flicker to the triage station, wandering around the room aimlessly. Unfortunately, it lands on the stranger you’ve been lingering on and witnesses him lifting his shirt to show the nurse the reason for his visit.

The black shirt lifts to show a slim waist scattered in black and grey tattoos, lifting the white gauze to reveal a gnarly wound. You can’t tell but from its shape it looks to be a stab wound. However gory his uncovered wound looks; you can’t help but stare at his bare torso.

Then, it fucking happens. His eyes flicker to you, for a fraction of second, he keeps the eye contact. His mouth twitches, leaning into something you’d call a smirk. As a reflex you shift your eyes away from him, cheeks heating up in embarrassment from getting caught.

You spend the next few minutes convincing yourself that it was all in your head, and that for all he knew you were zoned out and happened to be zoned out on him. It feels like a reach, especially with his torso as revealed as it was.

Time itself blurs as you zone out on your phone, attempting to distract yourself from your thumping heart and the arousal that pools into your cotton underwear. A shift in movement catches your eye, blurred and black in your periphery.

Your eyes by reflex glance up, catching a glimpse of him slouching in his chair, a foot resting on the other as knee he uses wired headphones and stares at whatever’s on his phone. Somehow, his confidence at making himself at home is still attractive, drool gathering in your mouth.

You look down at your phone before he catches you again, this visit at the ER sending a thrill through you that you didn’t expect in the least.

More and more people get called to the back, and you're still stuck waiting. Everyone who you’ve told is surprised to say the least that it’s been hours and you’re still just in the waiting room. You don’t mind though, sneaking glances at the beautiful stranger has become your favourite pastime.

Four hours in, if someone asked your highlight it would be when he head-banged to whatever assumingly heavy metal band he listens to. By the time the nurse calls your name to the back, it takes a strong second place.

About twenty minutes pass before it’s your turn for a bed, and you are let your eyes wander around, now bored of your phone. As they do, they catch sight of the man you’ve kept an eye on yawning in a big stretch. What this yawn has you so captivated by is the sliver of skin his stretch reveals, and the curly brown treasure trail that peeks from just above the hem of his low sitting jeans.

Your mouth floods with saliva. With your mouth agape and eyes subtly widened, you can’t help but gawk at him. Something about the way you suddenly picture yourself pulling him into the bathroom to nuzzle into his hair takes you aback just a little bit.

Time slows down for you, stretching into hours, but it's only seconds. Finally, as his body relaxes from the stretch you turn your eyes back to his face, hoping he didn’t see your fleeting glance. Startlingly, his eyes are already on yours. This time you can’t find it in you to look away in embarrassment. As if reading your mind, he smirks right at you, and you swear his brown eyes darken a shade.

This time for sure, he caught you. He doesn’t seem to care one way or the other, arms crossing over his chest as he keeps his smug expression right on you.

It’s hard to resist the smile as you go back to your phone, promising to yourself that you will remember his face for as long as you can.

-

Eddie thanks Gareth for dropping him off at the hospital, gritting his teeth at the slight pain stretching his torso gives him.

As he wanders into the hospital, his eyes take in the crowded waiting room and he groans, wishing the wound wasn’t so fucking deep.

He got stabbed. He got fucking stabbed. Wayne is going to kill him when he finds out he got into a fight, especially one where knives were in the crossfire. He couldn’t even say how the situation got so heated so quickly, just another fight in a parking lot after a deal goes sour.

The guy pulled a fucking knife on him, pushed it into his torso and ran off with the goods before Eddie could even realize he had been harmed.

All for fucking weed. Wasn’t even cocaine!

It takes a stupid amount of time for him to finally get to the nurse. She tells him to sit down for his vitals, and he refuses, wanting to show the wound and get it out of the way.

He lifts his shirt at her request, showing the darkened gauze and hissing as she takes a closer look at the wound when it’s removed. Eddie realizes the irony of exposing his chest in the triage, looking up to face the windows that allow other patients to see through.

He does a quick scan of the room, no one having seemed to notice how he’s shirtless. No one, but you. He saw you when he walked in, you were on your phone with one earbud in as you tapped your feet to whatever beat you were listening to. He thought you were cute, his mouth twitching in a smile as he notices you’re cradling one arm across your chest.

It couldn’t have been confused with zoning out, your mouth in a small O shape you openly stare at him. The look you have on your face is enough to turn Eddie on a little, having the urge to caress your face as you look up at him with those same wide eyes. His mouth twitches as he thinks of it, the thought enough to distract him from the shooting pain in his chest.

Your eyes dart away as soon as it registers that he’s looking back at you. His smile widens even more as you sink in your seat, your eyes glazing over as you scroll through your phone. Made him want to embarrass you more, in much worse ways.

After the nurse takes his vitals, he’s instructed to sit down, thanking some deity that the seat across from you is freed. You’re keeping yourself distracted, much to his dismay, so kicks his shoe to grab your attention, placing it on his other knee.

It works as well as he hopes, your eyes flickering up to him. He can’t help but look as if he can’t be bothered. In the corner of his eye, you look back to your own phone, biting your lip.

Eddie spends the next little bit getting your attention however he can, wondering how much it takes for your eyes to wander back to him. By trial and error, not much. He turns on a heavy metal band, nodding his head enthusiastically to the loud drum beats.

As time goes on, he gets more bored and waits impatiently for his name to be called. He figured stitches would be a priority, no? It’s past his bedtime, he decides, as he yawns a big stretch, despite the pain he causes for himself.

As he does, he catches the way your eyes are glued to him, particularly the strip of skin his shirt lifts to show. In real time, Eddie witnesses your eyes glaze over and how your teeth nervously graze your bottom lip. Whatever was on your mind, he desperately wanted to know, mesmerized at the way your throat swallows.

Finally, you make eye contact with him, and Eddie needs to let you know how much he just saw, your lust for him clear as day. He can’t lie, the feeling is entirely mutual, the look on your face is something he wants to see over and over as he rails— he’s getting ahead of himself.

Instead, he opts for a smirk, admiring the way your pretty eyes hold his gaze this time. He relaxes back into his chair, daring you to say something as he smiles with a hint of satisfaction…and all the cockiness his body can handle.

You shyly look back at your phone, failing to hide the smile that invades your face. It takes Eddie a moment to gain the courage, but he finally decides he can’t let you go if he's nursing a hard on in the fucking waiting room from your gaze alone.

By the time he finds a pen and paper to give your number, he’s writing it down when the nurse calls your name.

Eddie sighs, watching your ass in those jeans as you walk away. Just his luck.

-

As the new year passes, the memory of the hot stranger in the waiting room fades, much to your dismay.

The very night you had a dream where he meets you in some sort of dark room, tugging down your jeans you were wearing and wrapping those hands around your neck as he fucked you from behind.

Your hyperventilating mixed with the way your cunt spasmed as you came woke you up, taking a minute to catch your breath. That morning you groaned in frustration, wanting nothing more but to track him down.

Days passed and soon you’re in the grocery store, arm still wrapped for another week as you walk around the store for some basics. Milk, eggs, bread, all on your mother’s tab, of course. You were two seconds away from pushing your small cart to the checkout counter when you remember you're out of mouthwash.

As you try to decide whether to grab the one you liked which was not on sale or the one that was, a set of footsteps pass and settle right next to you, the customer also assessing mouth hygiene products.

The person's foot tapped, and by reflex you switch your glance down to the sound, and immediately recognize the boots. Your head moves up so fast you swear you give yourself whiplash to his face, facing the shaggy locks you found yourself obsessed with that night in the ER.

“Oh shit” you say out loud, before you could even stop it.

His eyes flicker to yours and recognize you off the bat. His smile gives way to deep dimples. He’s exactly as hot as you remember, if not more.

Of course, you can’t find it in yourself to assume he recognizes you, even if his eyes spell it out for you. “Sorry, I-I just remember you from the ER last month. How’s that stab wound?”

He chuckles, something that makes your legs clench together. “Uh, it’s better.” He comments, lifting his shirt to demonstrate. Is it unnecessary for Eddie to show his stitches? Absolutely. Did he do it for the visual reaction he missed so much? Also, yes.

Unfortunately, his bare waist is gone as soon as it appears, barely giving you a second to take in the purple stitches. You bite your lip as you glance at his face, his smirk displayed almost driving a whimper out of you.

“How’s your arm?”

“What?” You ask, incredibly distracted by the everything about him.

He chuckles pointing to the wrapped arm you can’t use as you shopped but to push the cart. “Oh, one more week then I’m free.” You comment, indicating the gauze.

“That’s good.” He comments, switching his glance back to the toothbrushes he was glancing at earlier.

How are you already messing this up? Might as well cut your losses. “Alright, nice seeing you, again.”

“Whoa, whoa.” He says, grabbing at your uninjured arm before you make your hasty exit. Your eyes peer at him curiously, wondering what he could’ve possibly wanted. “Here,”

His hands move to the leather jacket and grab a folded piece of paper to hand out to you. “What’s that?”

“My number” he answers, stating the obvious. “Shoot me a text, call me, I don’t care. Just do it. Please.”

“You’re really giving your number on a piece of paper?” You ask, tilting your head and forgetting your nervousness for two seconds. “What is this, 1986?”

He laughs, deep and whole, and for some reason it causes a heart palpitation. “Yeah, I guess I am. I planned on giving it to you at the ER, but the nurse whisked you away before I could.”

“Huh?” You ask, your brain short circuiting.

He laughs again as you accept the number, your hands holding onto it tightly as if it might disappear. He picks a toothbrush, seemingly at random and examines it, shrugging as he tosses it into his basket. “Call me,” he says, winking, and walks away from where he came from.

As he walks away, his cologne invades your senses, breath stuttering as you breathe him in. Oh, you are definitely calling him.

As soon as you’re checked out, you find yourself having to use the bathroom, so you wander to the back of the store and down the hall where the single unisex bathroom is.

It’s locked, so you check your phone as you wait, leg shaking to distract yourself from the need. When the bathroom door opens, you look up to face the patron and your brain deflates.

“Holy shit.” You gasp, facing the kind stranger, whose name you learned is Eddie from the number he gave you. You stare at one another, taking each other in, your breath heavy and your heartbeat in your ears. Why were you here, again?

Instantaneously, his hands are grabbing at the fabric of your winter jacket, tugging you forward as he places his lips on yours. Your bags drop from your hands as you gasp in surprise, your brain taking a moment to catch up.

As soon as it does, you grab onto his jacket and kiss him back, meeting his enthusiasm feverishly. His tongue darts out to meet yours, you accept it wholeheartedly, taking in how weak his lips alone make you feel.

Eddie starts to pull you backwards and into the bathroom. As soon as the door is closed, you’re pushed up against the wall, whimpering as he moves his body against you. “Fuck.” He whispers against your lips, taking a moment to catch his breath.

You hum in response, lips reaching for him again. As you do, your hands sneak past his jacket and onto his t-shirt, clutching at the fabric as you finally feel up his torso.

“Nuh uh.” He tsks, pulling back from you. When you pout, he laughs and gives you a look of pity. “I just gotta know one thing, there, sweetheart.”

“Anything.” You promise, not knowing what you’re getting into. You just wanted his lips back on yours.

“Anything, huh?” He asks, slightly taunting you. “Okay.” He leans down, breathing down your neck as he places his lips by your ear. “What were you thinking about in that waiting room while you ogled me, sweetheart?”

Okay, not that. You sigh in embarrassment, learning he knew exactly what you were thinking while you gawked at his chest, gawked at him.

“Don’t act all embarrassed, now.” He chides, observing how your eyes widen just how he remembered. “Tell me. Tell me and we’ll do every raunchy little thing that pretty brain came up with.” He taps the tip of your nose gently with the pad of his finger. You wish he'd shove it past your lips.

Your eyes widen as the arousal floods the panties you wear. All you can do is breathe hard and attempt to find the words.

“Let me help you.” He says, shifting his weight against you slightly. “Was it my hands down those tight ass jeans you were wearing?” You gasp as his fingers barely graze your jeans’ waistband. “Or even better was my tongue on that wet cunt of yours?” You shake your head no, as much as you wanted both of those things. You didn’t even get that far. “Were you on your pretty knees?” Finally, you nod, confirming exactly what you were thinking about.

“Your cock was down my throat while I nuzzled your…” you trail off, lifting his shirt to see the patch of hair again, “oh my god.”

He chuckles, rewarding you with a wet and dirty kiss. All too soon, he pulls away. “Then what, baby?”

Your mind is dumb, trying to come up with it. “Then…then you bent me over and fucked me—” you whine as his knee bucks up between your legs and makes harsh contact with your cunt, “with your hand around my throat.”

“Jesus Christ,” he swears, teeth gritted as he gives you a look at screams with lust. “Believe me, if you asked, I would’ve.”

“Yeah?” You ask, licking your lips as your head leans back into the door. “What about your cut?”

“To hell with my cut! I had a pretty girl practically giving me the eyes, you think I care about some little scratch?”

You stare at him in disbelief, your body and breaths stilling for a minute. “Then do it.”

Eddie smirks at you, and you stare at his pretty pink lips as he leans in and kisses you, both impossibly dirty and sweet simultaneously. Eddie’s knee contacts your cunt again, this time forcing a moan out your lips. Blindly you move your hand down his chest, finally gripping the hard-on straining against the fabric of his jeans.

He gives you his first moan, a sound that opens the floodgates. “Wanna get on those knees for me, baby?”

You nod, giving one last kiss to the spot where his jaw meets his neck. Slowly, you kiss your way down his body where finally you find yourself face to face with the cock that’s pushing its way out of his pants. You fumble with the button for a second before you finally reveal him, and it’s so much better than you could’ve imagined.

So much bigger, too.

You smile up at him through your eyelashes, grateful for fates allowing you in the same place at the same time. He places his hand under your chin, licking his lips as he examines your expression of desire. “Suck my cock, baby.”

You eye his treasure trail, dipping your nose into it as you inhale his musk, uninjured hand wrapping around his thick girth. You mewl at the scent; the aroma is even better than you had imagined. One of his large hands slides itself gently along your cheek, his long thumb stroking at the apple of your sweet smile. You stare up at him, kissing the underside of the head of his cock with wet lips. Your tongue pokes out, flat as you lick it slowly, taking your sweet time, admiring the way he lets out whimpers.

“Oh…shit.”

This urges you to wrap your lips around the head, your cheeks hollowing out as you suck on it gently. You take your lips off him, spitting the excess saliva in your mouth onto his shaft, your hand slowly moves up and down, jerking his length to spread the slick along his cock. The shine is pretty, the spit accentuating the pink blush.

“Pretty cock,” you compliment him, laughing breathily as you go cross-eyed just staring at it. “Tastes better than I thought it would.”

“Did you think about tasting my cock, sweet girl?”

You wrap your lips around him again, bobbing your head up and down as you confirm what he asked with a simple hum. He’s big, the tip hitting the back of your mouth and that wasn’t even half of it. You choke on him, the guttural sounds echoing loudly against the tiled walls. A want of more of him in your mouth invades your mind, not tasting nearly enough of him.

You attempt to take in more of him, choking on it even more but struggling to, despite the desperate need. “Settle down, sweet girl,” he mutters, harshly brushing his fingers against your cheek as he peers down at you. “Relax your throat. Take all those tense muscles and relax ‘em.” You think about it, letting those reflexes remain tense to rest. You’re holding back more saliva, but you fail to realize it until your mouth is flooded with spit, overflowing past the barrier of your lips. “Oh, good girl.”

It's alien but mind numbingly arousing as you feel him move down your throat, moaning around him. His fingers comb through your hair, and roughly move against your scalp. “That’s it, breathe through your nose, sweets.”

The heel of his palms rest on your forehead, moving you up and down his cock. You find it stupidly easy to submit to him, the tip hitting roughly against the back of your throat. His groans are louder than the guck, guck, guck that are hitting wall to wall against the tiles. He’s brutal about it, increasing his speed from 0 to 100 quick as a thought.

Hot tears spill over your water line down your cheeks, trailing the makeup you wear down to your throat. Your hands weave themselves against the cotton of his t-shirt, fighting to keep letting him fuck your throat. “You’re so damn good at this, sweetheart, pretty little mouth working so well.”

He finally lets go, poking his cock against the inside of your cheek one last time, appreciating the swell as the glistening from your tears shine on your face. He uses his thumb to lift your chin up to him, his darkened eyes raking over your face. His pink lips parted, his dilated pupils, the heaving of his chest, there’s nothing you’d want more than to earn this gaze again. “C’mere.”

He lifts you by your chin up to kiss you, dirtily lacing his tongue against yours. “What a good girl you are, taking it so well.” A smile lights up your face from his praise. He tugs you back in for another one, a hum vibrating against his lips. A hand of his trails down your body, single handedly unbuttoning your jeans. “Good work like that deserves a reward, hmm?”

His large hand moves past the opened fly and works itself against your panties. A gasp escapes your mouth only at the touch of his fingers on your covered folds, mewling as he keeps his eyes trained on yours. He’s not even really moving them against you, but just his touch gives you some of the pressure you needed. “Christ, you’re wet,” he comments, dipping his head to work his tongue against your pulse. “Choking on my cock really got you off, huh?”

You nod, eagerly agreeing with him. “So big.”

He smirks, pressing pressure on your clothed folds, in small circles. “You like my big cock, huh? Is it as big as you thought it would be?”

“Bigger,” you gasp, hands grabbing on any clothes he wears anxiously.

His finger easily moves the fabric aside, finger attaching itself right to your clit. The pleasure is good, eyes fluttering closed as it grows startlingly fast. “Fuck,” you swear, your voice rough. “Eddie.”

“Hmm, close?” You nod, despite the embarrassment that floods your senses. “I haven’t even started to touch you yet, baby. I still wanted to feel that tight pussy wrapped around my fingers.”

His actions mimic his words, inserting two fingers hastily into you, moving them expertly as they fuck you. With how wet you are, his two digits slide in easily. They’re long, reaching a depth in you that you could only dream about. You gush around him, music to his ears as your whimpers grow more and more pathetic. His thumb touches your clit again, rubbing frantically.

You gasp, mewling as his teeth start to nibble skillfully along the length of your neck. “Oh my god.”

Eddie’s tongue licks a sinfully long stripe up your neck to your ear, his voice intense and husky. “Cum all over my fingers, sweetheart, make a fucking mess for me.” Your hand tangles into his hair, gripping at his root. You stutter through a sentence of whines and half-finished words, failing to convey how good his fucking fingers make you feel. “So pathetic, huh?”

The words that you wanted to say were, you make me feel so good. Instead, you say, “M-ak-m, so-so good.”

Your good arm wraps itself around his shoulders, pulling his body against yours. Against your better judgment, your other hand moves his chin so your lips kiss his desperately, wanting every wet touch of them on yours. Your whimper into his mouth, pussy fluttering around his fingers as you finally cum, drenching his fingers just as he had requested.

“There she is,” he mutters, his flat palm moving under your jacket and shirt and grazing gently along your bare torso.

It takes you a second to recover from it, still feeling the effects of it throughout your body as it lingers. You unzip your jacket, letting it fall on the bathroom floor. You can’t find it in yourself to care for the moment, but it will find itself in the wash later. As it’s a walk-in bathroom, there are poles next and adjacent to the toilet. Perfect.

“Fuck me?” You ask, eyes glazed over as they reach his.

He chuckles, hands landing on your hips. Your jeans are pushed down your legs, resting just below your knees. “I thought you'd never ask, sweets.”

You grin, pushing his jacket off his shoulders onto the floor. Before it even hits the floor, you grab onto the fabric of his shirt and step backward over your own jacket to pull him across the room to the said metal bar installed on the wall.

His fingers slink into his pocket that’s now down his leg, holding a condom between you and him. You pick it up from his fingers and fling it across the room. “I’m on birth control.”

Eddie’s hands grab under your legs when your back hits the wall, supporting you surprisingly well as your ass rests on his forearms.

He sighs, eyes half mooned as he stares down at you. “My arms are occupied, mind helping me out here?”

You giggle, spitting on your hand and grabbing between the two of you at the cock that keeps brushing against your inner thigh, moving it against your entrance. It slides in easily, the mushroom tip pushing in as two of you moan in sync. Your hand moves to the bar on the wall, starting to help him as you lean some of your weight onto it.

“How is your pussy even better than I thought it’d be?” Eddie asks, gasping in uneven breaths.

“So, so full,” you gasp back, his size far bigger than you’ve ever had. “So big.”

“You’re fucking tight, sweets.” He mutters, jaw dropping as he watches you watching him.

“Move.” You urge him, the stretch too much yet his still hips are driving you crazy. “Need you to move,” It comes out as a pathetic whine and you know it, but you’re long past caring at this point.

“Say no more,” Eddie mutters, starting to move slowly, his hips rolling perfectly against you.

He hits deep and he hits hard. “Just like that! Fuck!”

“Your pussy, fuck, baby, yours is just a new fucking standard!”

You curl into his neck, nipping and starting to mark the pale skin with purple, teeth digging in harder the faster and harder he fucks. You can’t answer his compliment, but the way you tighten around him is confirmation enough that you are in complete agreement with him. It’s like he knows exactly how you like it before you tell him, intuitively knowing you before even has the opportunity to find out.

He watches every reaction you give him carefully, how your legs tighten around his waist, your hands twisting themselves in his shirt, the mewls that leave your mouth mixed with words that you never finish, he takes every hint as gospel. He’s always intuitive to what a partner of his needs, but you’re a special case, every reaction you give him only makes him insatiable for more. The way your eyes roll back in your head is everything he’s ever wanted to see from you and more, never could he have imagined anything like this when you glanced at him in the E.R.

“Fuck, your pussy is so good, I’m gonna cum, sweets,” Eddie moans, fingers digging into your bare thigh, the pressure surely bruising the skin.

“Choke me.” You gasp, voice desperate for him.

“Hands are occupied, babe.” He answers, gruff and brows furrowed.

You tap the bar, using both hands now. “I got it.”

He whines, high-pitched and gorgeous. The kind of whine you listen to on men whimpering audios. Maybe you can make it happen more. Maybe one day he’ll let you worship him for a few hours…the idea is enticing. His large hand wraps itself around your throat, the metal of his rings causing harsh friction on your neck. He admires the way you revel in it, tongue poking out of your mouth like the slut you are for him. “You’re more of a slut than I thought you are, hmm?”

You nod, his strong arm flexed and mouth watering. The drool that slips down your tongue is pure proof of it, dampening your shirt in a little streak.

“What a good little pathetic slut,” he grins, rubbing your jawline with his thumb. His grip tightens, only enough to send stars in your vision.

You tap his arm, begging him for air. “A slut for you.” You gasp, whining for him. “Want your cum, please, please cum in me.”

“Can you beg for me one more time?” He asks, your question almost making him erupt on the spot.

“Please, please, please,” you beg, arms starting to lose their strength. “I wanna be dripping from you, so bad.”

“Yeah, want Daddy’s cum?” he asks, hands gripping into your hair.

Of course, this man has a daddy kink, you couldn’t expect anything less from him. “Yes, Daddy.” You whine, grinning at his hold on you. “Fill me up.”

“Baby, Daddy’s gonna fill you up—Jesus Christ.” He interrupts himself, cutting himself off as he ruts into you a final, gasping, sweaty time. He twitches in you, feeling him fill you up as some of starts to trickle out of your pussy and down your thigh.

His hand lets go of your hair, wrapping around your torso as he pulls you into an embrace. This is the kind of sex that takes time to recover from, both out of breath, his dick still twitching. A smile takes over your features, invading every muscle in your face.

“So, think you’re gonna call me?” He asks, hand moving itself under your shirt to gently brush against your bare skin.

“I’ll definitely text you.” You answer, chuckling at the annoyed look he shoots you when he pulls back in your embrace. “Oh, come on.”

He chuckles, and for some odd reason the last thing you expect from him is another kiss, his lips working marvelously against yours. They’re much gentler, much sweeter than you expected, yet everything you’d crave from him.

“What was that?” You ask, watching his two gorgeous brown eyes.

“What, you think I’m gonna let you go after that?” He asks, half a smile on his face. “Wanna come to my place later?”

“Later?” You ask, one eyebrow quirked at him.

“I’m heading home right now, wanna join me?” He kisses the top of your eyebrow, your cheekbone, your jawline, your still covered shoulder. “I kind of need to spend a few hours with my nose buried in that pretty little cunt of yours.”

Your jaw drops, your mouth drying completely from his admission. “Y-yeah, th-that sounds nice.”

He laughs at your stutter; your pussy having tightened around him upon the mention of it.

Three knocks hit the door, loud and abrupt. “Hurry the fuck up!”

You look at one another with wide eyes, laughing at the disruption. He backs up, his cock leaving your entrance being a loss you whimper at. “Don’t worry, sweets. I will fuck you more than enough times to satisfy that need.”

“Dunno,” you start, legs shaky as you land on them, “I think I’m pretty insatiable at this point.”

“Then we’ll just have to keep going, won’t we?” Eddie asks, pulling his jeans and boxers up his legs.

“And if I’m never satisfied?” you ask, tilting your head as you pull up your own pants.

“Well then I guess we’ll just never stop.”

You grin at his answer, biting your lip excitedly.

The silence is comfortable as you pick your jackets back up and the bags on the ground. His fingers intertwined with yours, leading you down the hall past the angry customer and out the front door of the store.

He offers to eventually take you back to your car when you need to go back home, wanting more time with you even if it’s the mere ten minutes that it takes to get to his apartment.

Not one moment is wasted as he yanks you to his bedroom, pushing you onto his bed. As promised, your jeans are yanked down your legs quick as can be, burying his nose deep in your cunt.

Only after the eighth orgasm does Eddie yank off your clothes, followed by his, finally skin against skin as he rails you in every position, even the ones you didn’t know were possible.

You might have to thank your brother for spraining your wrist, it’s the best thing he’s ever done for you.

-

Thanks for reading! I read every comment and tag you leave and as always reblogging is the best way to support fic writers on tumblr

taglist: @pinkcowracing @yourthebrokengirl @skrzydlak @thirddeadlysin @sammararaven @bebe07011 @prettylovley @josephquinnschesthair @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you @names-were-taken @oddussy420

taglist for Waiting Room Problems: @skrzydlak @delicatechaos @ali-r3n @suckerz @cam-peggio @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @emxxblog @lilrubles @dandelionnfluff @babygirl229 @let-love-bleeds-red @kurdtbean

[narcoticwriter]

I'm Finally Breaking My Silence.

I can't take it anymore. Someone has to know about this. It's been years since the realization dawned on me and years since I've kept my lips sealed, but I can bear it no longer.

It makes no fucking sense how the tall Genshin women have heels.

This is a meme, but I'm also on something else entirely. Maybe it's delusion.

I don't care if it's for the fanservice, I don't care if it's hot, and I certainly don't care if people like it because it makes no sense whatsoever.

I don't know how people can run around in varying landscapes and roads on heels. I don't know how the heel itself would survive such treatment. And I don't know how the wearer, no matter how skilled, would not trip and fall on their ass.

Some instances can be afforded more forgiveness than others, but this will not stop me from compiling a list of how I feel about them individually and as people:

Actual Insanity -

Beidou: The Alcor is a wooden boat. One day, that heel is slipping through a small hole in the floor, snapping off, and sending her careening across the starboard. Someone's going to laugh. And then they will be tossed into the brine before being pulled back out and promptly begging for forgiveness. I cry.

Jean: The Gunnhildrs are masochists. The pain is worth it for Mondstadt, as always. How does she do it, running around everywhere and carrying the Knights of Favonius on her back? There's no way that she doesn't kick off the boots while sitting at her desk when it becomes too much to bear.

Dehya: When she says that she wants to slay on the battlefield as much as her looks, I did not think that the shoes would also be a thing to consider. And in sand? Are you mad? Those heels are sinking. No wonder her burst cancels when she jumps. Imagine having to rework your precarious footing every single time.

Yelan: This sick woman unironically likes it. She probably enjoys the sensation of pain every single time it becomes borderline pleasurable. It doesn't help that she looks forward to it being treated too. Herbalist Gui is getting really sick of having to wrap her feet in gauze after slathering it with medicinal foot cream.

Rosaria: I don't know if she's capable of caring anymore, actually. She doesn't seem to process this the same. The woman has an aesthetic to commit to and she doesn't do anything halfway, including her fit. She says she doesn't get drunk, but you know damn well that it and the nicotine numb the pain.

Eula: Anyone who says that they can do reconnaissance work and wear those things is lying, and Eula Lawrence is no exception to this rule. To add insult to injury, she also has spurs on them. Spurs on those beasts of shoes. Respectfully, she needs to twist her ankle and be put on bedrest for the day, so she can think about it.

Candace: I can't believe that this mentally brought me to my fucking knees. How dare you? You live in an area that is mostly sand and dust! You go out in the night and kill things! You're constantly out and about taking care of things! WHY ARE YOU IN SUCH HIGH HEELS?!?

Shenhe: (head in hands) I don't even know if she knows that this isn't normal to wear. I'm going to Cloud Retainer's domain and demanding that she be put in something that makes more sense. She lives in the mountains for Archon's sake! She may not act entirely human, but trust me, she is one at the end of the day.

It Makes Some Sense -

Kujou Sara: She's won, actually. Geta are allegedly much more comfortable to wear than heels. She slays, stays stylish, and isn't suffering while doing so. Good for her, because this is one of the only wins she has in a long, long list of L's, mostly attributed to Yae Miko if you take the time to really look at it.

Lisa: Is she really going to be running around all that much? No! Because she has her little helpers to go around and do things for her. And even if she has to go around by herself, she does so at a rate that isn't breakneck speed. Also, I personally believe that she has some potions and enhancements to help out with it.

Ningguang: She barely gets a pass. Barely. I personally don't believe she takes that walk around the pier every day. It's every other day at the most consistent. At every other function, you can trust that she has a seat and that she's not on her feet. She can afford to have such accommodation.

Raiden Shogun: If her body wasn't a puppet that she made for herself, I would absolutely put her in the other category. She absolutely made sure that she wouldn't feel pain while wearing those things and it shows with how she's able to move like she does in combat.

Yae Miko: I won't call it foul and say that since she can shift into a kitsune form, she's not going into this category, but provide the proof in other ways. Do you really see her going anywhere in a hurry? Precisely the point. She could probably get away with people carrying her places.

[AAAAAA] -

Arlecchino: I have no words for the atrocity that is those heels. None at all. If I think about them too much, I'll start frothing at the mouth, and not in any good way.

Conclusion - My heart weeps prematurely for Clorinde and Navia. Fontainian fashion can kiss my ass. I mourn their feet.

[katsukikitten]

Tomura doesn't find out how much of a pervert he is until he comes across a popular sound on TikTok as he's scrolling.

Shout out to all the latinas

The goth ones

The cowboy boots wearing ones

The crazy ones

I dont care

I see a latina bitch with with white or black toes

And I start acting like a damn dog

Anyway, this song going dummy hard

Turn this shit tf up

Sure the girls are pretty, showing off their bodies but none make him react, just a slow blink of his raw ruby gaze and before the sound even finishes he's scrolling to the next thing.

A league of legends meme, some sad halo lore, hell diver clips with guys who sound like they should be voice acting with their fun roleplaying dramatic as they shout "FOR DEMOCRACY."

And then again the sound pops back up shout out to all the latinas.

Except this time, for some reason, he can't scroll away.

You were mesmerizing, his thumb hovering midair as he watches, even if all he can see is your body and those pouty, plush lips. Captions staring you were shy and that you weren't going to show above your lips. Somehow Tomura is okay with that, thinks your eyes would send him over the edge a little too quickly.

The sound plays over and over and over, eyes tracing over your collar bones as the stupid sound burns into his subconscious. Looking at your pretty skin, your wolf cut and how he thinks you've only got lipgloss on but he can't be sure.

His eyes keep going back to your collar bones, two pretty red jeweled studs under each bone as if your body needed more attention drawn to it. So pretty, soft and plump and his calloused hands can already feel your supple skin under his rough touch. His cock twitches to life, palming himself through his joggers a time or two before he goes to your profile.

Looking for more videos but it seems only this one went viral. A few of the others you're kneeling in a skirt tending to your little garden or little day in my life povs but all he can think about is ruining your cute well placed outfits. Of ripping them off your body and grabbing at your stomach, thighs and ass covering each place with his sticky cum but what he thinks about the most is your mouth. Second only to your collar bones.

He thinks about his leaky tip, tapping it against your fluttering, eager, tongue, smearing your mouth with his pre before he fists your perfect wolf cut hair in his hand and shoves himself fully to the back of your throat. You'd gag around him and he'd groan, keeping you there, making your gag over and over.

Drool dripping from your chin and onto your chest and those fuckin studded collar bones and fuck -

He can't hold back anymore, letting the video play over and over as he strokes himself, doesn't care about the man's voice as he hyperfocused on you and your body. How your skirt was so short and when you adjusted just so he could see the crescents of your ass, could see a glimpse of your mound between your thick thighs he wants his head between. Speeding up his fist and pausing the video when your mouth and collar bones are in view. He swears you're making them extra pouty and just for him. Panting as he imagines what you sound like, how you'd husk his name while his tongue spelled out his own in heady possession on your overstimulated clit.

Painting his chest and fluttering abdomen in sticky hot white as he groans loud enough it echoes in his small room.

"Fuck." He pants, slamming his head back into his gaming chair, letting the post glow of his orgasm wash over him. Thundering throughout his body in time with his heart before he finally catches his breath. Not even bothering to wipe himself up as he tucks himself away, fingers poised over the keys in post nut clarity.

Taking your user from TikTok and praying to God he was lucky for once in his life. Searching it up on discord.

And oh how he's lucky.

The profile picture, your profile picture, is a still from the video he just watched, your collar bones, your pouty lips, small vixen like smile. Tomura can feel the thunder in his chest once more.

You sigh, toiling away at your computer, watching a comfort YouTuber while your fingers idly twist the screws on your PC tower. A bad habit you couldn't seem to break. A bit of loneliness welling up in your chest as you watch him and another YouTuber vlog their day, mind wandering to friendships and failed relationships when your discord pings.

Someone requested to message you. Your friend must be wearing off on you as curiosity gets the better of you as you open the message.

decaydaddy: what color are they?

You scrunch up your nose and for a moment you think he's talking about your nipples, most guys asked that and you think to block him immediately but you hover over his profile. Starlight hair, brooding red eyes and suddenly you're typing back.

you: what?

He sends you a link to your own TikTok with that ridiculous sound your friend begged you to use before he replies again.

decaydaddy: your toes.

decaydaddy: I need to know so I can better imagine your ankles on my shoulders.

decaydaddy: so are they black or white pretty girl?

@decaydaddy because I always write him for you.

[oldbutchdanielcraig]

ok sending my idea to u cause i cant figure out how the kink meme works. all the lbf week crying whimpering etc. had me thinking of like. either pre or post turning daniel is acting out, bullying armand, acting super cocky and self satisfied etc. and armand in response starts sending him memories of all the times he was crawling on his knees or licking armands boots or crying and begging or any other scenario from back in the 70s a la "you can disregard me but you cant unsuck my dick" but in technicolor

THIS IS SOOO AWESOME. imagining two versions of this fic, one in which daniel immediately starts whimpering and crying and one in which he’s like yeah? and what are you going to do about that? after which armand makes him beg and cry and lick his boots. upon further thought i think this would work well with a scenario where armand visits him throughout the years. that’s scenario 1. and scenario 2 is post turning due to the fact that armand can in good conscience kick him around a lot more

[isildursestrid]

NEXT! for the no excuses writing ask game 🫶

NEXT — the next line. meaning i will finish the sentence I’m on and write a new one, which you’ll get.

“Tell me something to keep me awake.” Kate turned her head to look at Tyler, the dizziness wasn’t as bad when she kept her eyes off the road.

“Like what?” His eyes darted to hers and then back onto the highway.

“Anything.” Kate wracked her brain for a topic but her thoughts were so foggy, then she remembered their conversation at the rodeo before it was interrupted. “Your family. You mentioned your aunt. What about your parents?”

“They live in Paris.”

“France?” There was an incredulous tone in her voice. Kate couldn’t fathom this, former bull riding, cowboy boot wearing, tornado wrangling meteorologist with parents that lived in France. Surely not.

“Arkansas.” Tyler’s dimple was on full display as he smiled.

“Oh.” Kate’s head hurt too much to give him grief for teasing her.

“No. Seriously, they have a ranch there. Cattle and horses mostly.” His face lit up as he spoke. “My mom Sheila she’s a former high school science teacher. My dad, Rod still runs the ranch. It’s his pride and joy. All he talks about.” She was happy to listen as the tension lessened in his shoulders and his hand loosened slightly in hers.

Thanks Robyn for the ask! I did manage to get something down though it’s rough. 🖤

No Excuses WIP ask meme send me an ask!

[radicalrascals]

@etxrnaleclipse for the Anger/Betrayal RP Starters meme

"Wait until the boss finds out." (Danny to Colmilho)

Eyes as cold as ice, a perpetual storm brewing beneath their steely surface. Ever since Delegado Paulo Almeida had lost his wife to a senseless act of violence, empathy had drained from him, leaving a hardened shell in its place. His life had become a relentless pursuit of justice, or perhaps it was just vengeance running rampant. And tonight, his focus was on the Baltimore Brat; Paulo shoved Danny into the backseat of his rented car, the metallic clink of handcuffs behind the young man's back punctuating the dark silence. Colmilho didn't bother with a seatbelt; as safety was the least of his concerns.

"Oh, he will find out. But that's in the future. So far in the future. Where's your precious boss now, hm? That's right; not here to help you." A scoff. Then Paulo tossed a tote bag over Danny's head, obscuring his vision and disorienting him. "Don't worry. We're not heading to the station," the delegado informed him then, his voice a low, dangerous growl. As he slid into the driver's seat, he could feel the anticipation thrumming in his veins, a twisted symphony of adrenaline and grim satisfaction. He turned the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life with a menacing purr. Colmilho slammed the accelerator, sending the car lurching forward. He manoeuvred through the desolate streets with reckless abandon, accelerating then braking abruptly, weaving through the maze of urban decay with no discernible pattern. The car's erratic movements transformed Danny into a ragdoll, his body slamming against the interior with sickening thuds that were almost musical in their irregularity.

The young man's yelps of pain were drowned out by the smooth, incongruous strains of Bossa Nova that Paulo blasted from the speakers. The cheerful melodies provided a grotesque counterpoint to the chaos inside the car. His knuckles turned white as Colmilho gripped the steering wheel tighter, muscles straining against the centrifugal forces. Each sharp turn, each abrupt stop was a calculated move, designed to break Danny's spirit. And when he finally had enough, Paulo brought the car to an abrupt halt. The sudden stillness was jarring, a stark contrast to the violent motion that preceded it. The delegado stepped out, his boots crunching against the gravel as he yanked the car door open and dragged his victim out.

When he lifted the tote bag from Danny's head, his face was revealed a bloody mess, a testament to the brutality of their little joyride. There was the littlest hint of a fleeting smirk playing around the delegado's lips, not out of joy, but because he knew he had broken through the brat's bravado. The smirk vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a look of grim determination. "Hope you feel a little more chatty now," Paulo said, his voice dripping with menace. In that moment, Colmilho was not a delegado of the Polícia Federal but an avenger, his humanity eroded by the relentless pursuit of a justice that had long since lost its righteousness. "Or we can embark on another fun little joyride. Believe me. I can do this all. night. long."

[the-apocrypha]

An Abandoned Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Fic

Bc an ask meme made me remember how good this was going to be before life got busy in 2021 and I never actually finished it.

Just before Steve had left, Bruce had said, “You know, I tried. When I had the gauntlet, the stones, I really tried to bring her back.”  Bruce, possibly, may not have accounted for the exacting literalism of the universe when he’d phrased his request.

Like most of the decisions that have shaped the trajectory of his life, Steve misses the actual decision-making moment and only realizes later, in the figurative rearview mirror, that maybe there was another option available to him at the time. 

“This is a trade I cannot make.” 

His hands are swollen and black, gloves long since shredded on the sharp rocks he’s been eeling his way down for what feels like hours. They throb in time with the gashes on his shins and forearms, and the one ankle he’d landed on badly a thousand feet ago. The grit in the air has seeded his lungs and left them heavy with rust-brown mucus, and his eyes burn with chemical tears. His brain filters it out, though, preoccupied with the challenge of navigating each next set of problematic boulders and crags.

He’s always heard that rock climbing was an intellectual sport, but he’d never understood just how until this particular juncture of his life. The repetitive problem solving is probably the only thing keeping him sane. It could have been hours or days since he’d left Red Skull at the top of the cliff, at this point. Doesn’t matter. All he needs to think about is where his fingers can find the best grip, which rock he’s going to trust with his bodyweight next, again and again, step after step.

“This is a trade I cannot make.” 

At the bottom, a noxious fog laps at his boots and the first inhale makes Steve feel like he’s stuck his head in ammonia. He stuffs the remains of his right glove between his teeth and breathes through his mouth. He grips the spiny ridge of the rock before him, ignores the bite of his palms, and pulls himself upward. 

His trek is horizontal rather than vertical now, but it’s no less difficult. These rocks are, after all, designed to be an efficient end to the sacrificial fall from the top of the cliff. More than one glass-sharp peak displays a corpse impaled upon it. 

Natasha’s body comes into view, splayed on a flatter patch of rocks, barely discernible against the black except for the red of her hair. 

Steve freezes at the sight of her, until he realizes he’s stopped next to a decomposing green-skinned body, and he forces his limbs to move forward. 

This is his best friend. He’s watched her dance, watched her fight, watched her pull the governments of the world together, and watched her face slack with sleep night after night after night. 

He’d seen the gray and crimson smudge of her from miles above, a concept more than the reality of Natasha’s body, and it had been a simple decision that if Red Skull wouldn’t bring her back to life then he was going to get her body (the way he hadn’t gone for the body at the bottom of the ravine, eighty years ago). Now, he will send her back to her family, and she will have the funeral she deserved. 

Now, he will watch her be dead. 

It’s not until he gets closer to her body that he realizes that he may have misunderstood. 

“This is a trade I cannot make.” 

Natasha’s body is breathing.

She wakes as he’s awkwardly stuffing her body into her quantum suit, an aborted inhale that becomes a hacking cough. 

 “Hey, hey,” he says, quickly lifting her head up out of the fog and onto his lap, brushing her hair away from her face. “You’re okay, I’ve got you, deep breaths.” 

Natasha flails, rolling off of him and onto her knees, pushing herself up off the ground, because she wouldn’t be Natasha if she could just wake up in someone’s lap like a normal back-from-the-dead person. She coughs again, on all trembling fours, a ratty cascade of soot-filled hair hiding her face. 

“Natasha,” Steve says. 

She coughs twice more, and then slowly lifts her head. Her face is pale and grimy but surprisingly free of blood, given the amount caked into her hair.

“Steve,” she rasps, and coughs again. Slowly, she sits back, and looks around. Steady horror dawns on her face.  

“Nat—” 

“What did you do?” she whispers. 

“Nothing,” Steve says immediately. 

“Who’s down here?” Natasha demands, grabbing at a nearby rock and trying to pull herself upright with limited success. “Who did you sacrifice? Steve, who was it, who did you trade—” 

“No one!” Steve protests, reaching for her, but he’s denied. “Nat, no one, I swear, it’s just me. I’m just here to return the—I mean. Nat. I came to get. I.” He can’t find the words. His brain keeps jumping from point to point. She’s been dead for two weeks and he feels like he’s lived an entire lifetime in the span of it. 

“I came to get your body,” he says, finally. 

She watches him. Waiting.

“We beat Thanos. With the gauntlet, we got all the Stones and it worked. And we got everyone back, from the Blip, too. We—we won the war. And now I’m returning all the Stones back to their timelines, and I gave the Soul Stone back but then your body was still here, and I—” He casts about for words. “I thought… you were dead. I came to send your body home.” 

“I was dead,” Natasha says blankly. 

Steve stares at her, and she stares back. 

“Maybe it’s a gift,” Steve suggests. 

“From fucking who?” 

Steve shrugs, because he wants to say God but he thinks Natasha has regained enough strength to punch him now. 

Natasha shakes her head, closes her eyes, and brings a hand to her face, touching it carefully like she’s making sure all the pieces are still there. 

They are, of course. She’s here in front of him, whole and solid and alive, the most real thing in his universe right now. He’s the one who’s been shattered into a billion pieces that are only now just starting to come into orbit, the dust pulled into the unfathomable gravity of the milky way edges. Made into something whole again. 

After a long moment, he lays a hand on her thigh. She lets out a slow, shuddering breath, and grasps back with a hand of her own. 

He’s pulled in, helpless, grounded in the gravity of her. 

“Clint?” she asks, eyes still closed. 

“He’s fine,” Steve tells her. “His family came back, he’s with them.” 

She nods, and breathes in and out shakily. “Okay.” 

“Bruce and Thor and Wanda made it out okay, too. Scott’s back with his family. Everyone—pretty much everyone we know is okay, except—” Steve stops, the name stuck in his throat. 

He tries again. 

 “Except—”

He’d given three flawless eulogies for the man, one of them on live national television, but now with only Natasha and a fathomless wasteland, he can’t even say the name. 

But Natasha knows. Her eyes are open again and she’s staring at him with an expression that says she knows whose name he hasn’t said yet. 

“Tony,” Natasha whispers. 

Steve closes his eyes. 

She pulls him close in one fast, hard motion, and he folds against her willingly. He feels like it’s been a lifetime since he knew the feeling of her body against his instead of two weeks, and her touch is at once a homecoming and a shock to the system. He never thought he’d have this again. 

“What day is it?” she murmurs into his ear. 

“One thousand, nine hundred and seventy-six.” 

“What day will tomorrow be?” 

“One thousand, nine hundred and seventy-seven.” 

“That’s a good number,” Natasha says, and Steve nods into her shoulder, holds her tighter. 

“We have to get you back,” Steve says. 

Natasha stiffens against him, and after a beat, turns around. “Back?” 

“Home,” Steve says. 

“Without you,” she says, with a narrow look.

“I gotta finish returning the Stones,” Steve explains. 

“And you think I’m just going to leave you alone like that?” 

“I don’t have enough Pym Particles for both of us to—” 

“How many do you have left?” Natasha asks. 

Steve doesn’t want to answer that. He switches tactics. “There’s no reason for you to put yourself in danger like this, you just came back from the dead.” 

“First of all,” Natasha starts, tossing the hair that Steve had painstakingly finger-combed back into order over her shoulder, “fuck you, I can take care of myself. Second of all, you can’t take care of yourself, I don’t even know why you decided to do this alone—” 

“I volunteered!”

“Oh, and you were the only one? Everyone but Steven Grant Rogers was too chickenshit to come along?” 

“No, it just wasn’t that—” He stops himself before he can say dangerous, but the trap has already been sprung.

She raises one eyebrow. 

Fuck.

“Please,” he begs, and it’s yet another tactic, but it’s also honesty. “Nat, this is just… this is something I have to do on my own.” 

“Which Stones are left?” Natasha asks, steel-eyed. 

“Natasha.” 

“Steven.”

Fuck. 

In a safehouse in New York, while aliens invade a world that thinks this is the end of days when in fact it’s only the beginning of the nightmare, Natasha showers first. 

Steve sits at the kitchen table, sooty and silent. Before him glitter the Time Stone and the Mind Stone, the final two, and in the palm of his hand, the last of the Pym particles. 

There will be just enough. 

Watching his two past selves go head to head is painful, and not just because it makes Steve feel dizzy in a way that speaks to the near-dissolution of the fabric of reality. 

It’s because this is a fight that Steve had nearly lost, two weeks ago. 

He’d nearly lost to a version of himself eleven years less experienced, a version of himself that had just spent six hours throwing his body around the streets of New York to head off an alien invasion, to a version of himself that Steve knew was sporting multiple cracked ribs and a nasty burn up his left flank. 

His older self fights like he’s been out of the game for half a decade (and he has). 

His younger self fights like he’s got nothing left to lose (and he doesn’t). 

From his spot in the shadows, Steve can’t hear the whispered words that lead to his younger self’s downfall. He can only watch the shock on the younger one’s face as his arms slacken, and then the sucker punch that follows, preceding his rapid defeat. Minutes later, the Mind Stone is divested of the scepter, and his older self limps off to the rendezvous point. 

Steve waits only seconds before making his own move. 

He pops his own Mind Stone back into the scepter and then sets it beside his younger self, sprawled face-down on the ground and out cold. 

Then, after a pause, Steve lays a hand on the kid’s shoulder. Almost against his will, he remembers how devastating it had been to wake up in 2012 and realize that everyone he’d ever loved was dead, but he was expected to go back to war, expected to somehow find the will to keep living, and expected to be grateful for the second chance. For this kid, Bucky has only been dead for two weeks. He has no one and nothing except for that damn shield. 

“Don’t worry,” Steve murmurs, squeezing his younger self’s shoulder. “It gets worse.”

Natasha is waiting at the safehouse for him with crossed arms and thin lips, and the sight of her so alive nearly overwhelms him all over again. 

“Mission complete,” he says, and then looks at her expectantly. 

“Affirmative,” she replies. 

His shoulders involuntarily relax, just a fraction. He hadn’t been expecting how good it would feel to be done. 

“Thank you,” he says, and when Natasha only hums in response he crosses the room and takes her hands into his, says, “No, seriously. Thank you, Nat.” 

She squeezes his hands, and he squeezes back in reply. The left corner of her mouth twitches upward, just a bit. 

He squeezes one more time, drinking in the sight of her face.

It’s time for the hard part. 

“Ready to go home?” he asks her, releasing her hands. 

Something unreadable flickers across her face for a moment, and Steve waits for the witty reply but it never comes. She just raises her left wrist, Quantum GPS glowing with the light of the Pym Particle he’d given her earlier, and looks at him expectantly. 

Steve holds up his own wrist, angling the GPS toward himself. 

“One one,” he says. 

“One one,” she echoes. 

“Three oh.” 

“Three oh.” 

“Twenty twenty three.” 

But Natasha doesn’t echo him this time. He looks up, and sees that she’s staring at him. 

“Steve,” she says, carefully even, and his stomach sinks even before she can say it. “Why isn’t your GPS on?” 

“It—” he starts, but he has no reply. 

She grabs his wrist and he lets her pull it closer for examination. When she looks back up at him, her eyes are like steel. 

“There’s no Pym Particle in here.” 

“There isn’t,” Steve sighs. “I don’t… have any more.” 

Natasha is silent. 

Steve swallows. “There was no reason to send me with any extras.” 

“So what was your plan?” Natasha asks, with deadly calm. 

“For you to go back home,” Steve says honestly.

“And leave you here.”

[And yeah then Steve and Natasha stalemate it out, and they end up deciding to both stay in 2012 because they are both so stubbornly insistent that they be the one left behind because, surprise! Natasha went over that cliff because she was tired of living. Steve took the stones back because he was tired of living. And then these depressed and vaguely suicidal morons go find a nice remote cottage to live in to wait out the decade or so it'll take until they're back to their own present day, and in their cottage they find healing and friendship and happiness and BEAUTY. It was gonna be so good.]

[blackjackkent]

Prompt fill for @astreamofstars from this ask meme: Lord Huron Lyric Prompts

Karlach - "Perhaps my chance was then; I'll never know."

Some early Act 2 Hectorverse flangst (fluff/angst). XD Hope you enjoy!

-----

“Infernal iron, you say?” Hector's eyes go wide and a bright smile flashes onto his face quite unlike his usual subdued expression. “Karlach, we found some of that, didn't we? In that basement in Moonhaven.” At her confirming nod, he turns in Dammon's direction. “It's in one of our packs in camp. Wait here a moment - I'll go get it.”

Before Karlach or Dammon can even begin to reply, he darts off. Karlach turns involuntarily, automatically, to follow him with her eyes, watching his lithe form disappear among the Harpers in the courtyard of Last Light. The glimmering, artificial moonlight glints briefly off the buckles of his robes, the silver in his hair, and then he's out of sight. 

Dammon, at her side, chuckles. “Doesn't mess about, does he?” he asks lightly. 

Karlach shakes her head with a rueful grin. “Not sure what's gotten into him,” she says. “He's usually a lot more serene than this.”

Dammon quirks up one eyebrow. “Well, no doubt he sees some urgency in this matter just as we do.” He smiles. “How long have the two of you been together?”

Karlach blinks - then flushes a deep crimson. “What?” she asks, flustered. “We're not-- I mean, he isn't--” A pause. “Um,” she says awkwardly. 

“Oh.” He tips his head to the side, and then his smile widens. “Forgive me for assuming. I only mean he clearly cares about you.” He gives her a narrow, good-naturedly penetrating glance. “And you about him.”

She rubs the back of her neck sheepishly. “Is it really that obvious?”

“You had one eye on him, all the time we were talking,” he says gently.

Karlach starts to lean against one of the barn’s support columns - and then thinks better of it, not wanting to leave a scorch mark. “I do like him,” she admits. “A lot. But… well, stupid to think about, right? Given the circumstances.”

“I don’t know that hope is ever wasted,” Dammon says. “Certainly got me this far.” He turns to stoke the fire roaring in the forge, sending the gold-tinged shadows on the walls dancing. “I didn’t see you with him at the Grove.”

“No.” She shakes her head. Frowning, she scuffs her boot absently against the barn’s dirt floor, scattering loose bits of hay around her.”You lot had moved on by the time he found me, or I'd have come and got your help a lot earlier.” She sighs, the light in her chest flaring briefly. “I'm the latecomer to this party, and didn't even bring a gift.”

Dammon picks up a piece of nearby scrap and tosses it into a crucible in the fire. “Or maybe you were just waiting to make a dramatic entrance,” he suggests. 

“Hah.” She laughs a little in spite of herself. “You're sweet to try to hype me up, Dammon.”

He gives her a sideways look, the flickering light of the fire glinting erratically off his horns and eyes. “We all knew you in Elturel, you know. You should hear the way the kids talk about you. A big hero.”

She shifts uncomfortably. She recognizes him from Avernus too, of course. Those caught in the fall of Elturel were, by and large, a more-or-less anonymous mass, miserable and terrified. But a few faces stood out, those who had something valuable to Zariel’s affairs. Dammon was among them, indentured for his skill with infernal iron and steel; she never knew his name but she remembers his face, the sharp contrast of gentle eyes and rough hands. 

“Would have thought you’d hate me,” she mutters. “What with my being the Archbitch’s attack dog and all.”

He shrugs. “We knew that you were no devil,” he says. “That you were one of the good ones.”

“There are no good ones in the Hells,” she says bitterly. “Maybe I could’ve done something to help you. But I didn’t.”

“You were just as trapped as we were. You’d have gotten killed trying,” he answers. Lifting the crucible in one gloved hand, he examines the molten metal within it and grunts with evident satisfaction. “I’m just glad to see you made it out in one piece - more or less. And I’ll find a way to get that engine cooled off.”

Karlach swallows, fidgeting with her fingertips at the rough stone on the edge of the forge. “If you can figure a way for me to touch people again,” she says quietly, “you’d be giving a gift I’ll never come close to repaying.”

He tilts the crucible and pours the smoking liquid within into a long, low mold; as he works, he shoots her a look sidelong. “You underestimate how much I’d be paid by seeing my work allow you a bit of happiness.” His lips twitch in a slight, teasing grin. “And I think your monk friend would be pretty pleased about it too.”

She watches the sparks fly off of the fire and lets out a long breath through her nose. “Happiness. Yeah.” Her head turns just slightly, her eyes flicking off down the path where Hector disappeared. “What if I missed my chance, Dammon?” she asks, so low he almost can’t hear her. “Feels like happiness is something that happens to other people…”

With a sharp motion, he submerges the mold in a bucket of water; a gout of steam hisses upwards around them, wreathing Karlach’s face and shrouding the fire and moonlight in a dim haze. She coughs, startled, and then laughs in spite of herself, waving a hand to clear the air in front of her. 

Dammon smiles. “Maybe,” he says mildly. “But truth is, I think it’s as hard to kill as we are. I don’t think it’s lost to you yet.”

[cryingpariah]

Introducing and Explaining My One Piece Oc with this meme and also just the power of Yap! No pictures yet. I cannot draw, I haven’t found the right picrew/dress up games for her style and my spine, backbone and brain aren’t rotted enough to use AI :p

Allow me to introduce to Jackie! She works for Big News Morgan and is his personal assistant at the WEJ and also Heiress Apparent to the Underworld.

Her job boils down to being a hired gossip. She’ll go from pirate ship to pirate ship to schmooze and get/swap information, all with a friendly smile and a silly demeanour! She delivers packages too heavy for the News Coos and gives special secret editions of their magazines to their highest level pirate clients (think really interesting pirates that are sure to generate BIG NEWS and of course the Yonkos! They get the most preferential treatment). She’ll be buddy-buddy with the Marines too but that’s more for practicality and preemptive damage control for when Morgan inevitably pisses them off. She occasionally works her magic on civilians to get them better deals on paper and ink.

Devil Fruit: around the age of 5, Jackie stumble across an oddly red looking pear with an incredibly unnatural swirl that wrapped around the whole fruit, only ending where it point out a the stem. It later turned out she ate the Arrow-Arrow fruit and became a Direction Woman! She can create Arrows (the symbol to be clear) and while she shoot them out at people, the real power is how it changed her sense of direction. She always knows how to get to where she wants to go and can make arrows that she can stand or sit on to take her there! For example if she wants to head back to the WE NEWS, she just has to think of Morgan and feel this pull wanting to take her there. It’s also useful for fighting! Place an arrow point up under someone’s chin and it can hit as hard as an uppercut! She can send anything and anyone up down left right or spinning in a circle all from a safe distance, as long as she can see it, she can move it.

Appearance: Medium black skin with mid-back length curly light brown hair that fades into a gray ish blonde. Has a slightly crooked nose from a fight that wasn’t reset before it healed so she wears a white bandage overtop of the bridge. Has a tooth gap. Gun metal grey round eyes, she rarely blinks honestly. Attire-wise she dresses as a cross between standard Newsies cosplay and classic aviator uniform. Her uniform is generally a frilly collared sleeveless button up with a ribbon delicately tied around the collar, a pair of dark pinstriped pants that are tucked into shin high lace up boots, finished off with some gloves that are definitely one size too big, a pinstriped paper boy hat and an aviator jacket with multiple patches from around the world covering the back and sleeves.

Personality: She’s incredibly two faced. In front of potential customers and coworkers she’s sweet as sugar but put her in a room with just the higher ups of the Underworld and all that positive energy and charm disappears. On the clock she’s very loud, comedically dramatic, and very forthcoming. The only time she’s really in off the clock mode is when she’s completely alone, where she has no one to perform for. The only person that’s ever seen both sides to her (and doesn’t hate her for it) is Big News Morgan and she…appreciates it way more than she’s willing to admit. And it’s not like the nice work side of her doesn’t truly exist, it does! It’s just so carefully folded and tucked into a corner of her heart that she refuses to acknowledge.

1. Her birthday is October 12th (International Newspaper Carrier Day).

2. 15 pre-timeskip and 17 post-timeskip.

3. Generally yes, it’s her uniform after all but she’ll change it up for a special occasion like a party or if it’s a day off.

4. British (boo 🍅🍅).

5. Lucky number 7! BNM is resolute that she’s the World Economic Journal's good luck charm! Jackie however doesn’t believe in luck of any kind and they get into debates about it all the time.

6. Wind/Outside. If you were to sniff more you’d find hints of ink and that warm paper smell.

7. A soft grey.

8. Soups and Sandwiches! She likes how they can be made out of basically anything plus it’s super easy to carry around in her thermos and lunchbox and great for on the go!

9. Heavy, creamy foods like Mac and Cheese or Chowders. They make her feel all sleepy and lazy.

10. Work mostly which means all the people around the seas all the time.

11. Often, her job is just being outside a lot and a good public image can’t be maintained if their most outgoing employee looks and smells like shit.

12. A universal donor (which I have decided to dub OX+ for the sake of simplicity.) She makes it a point to donate every couple of months.

13. Does it occasionally but everyone onboard hates it and begs her to stop.

14. If Devil Fruits are allowed? She’s winning easy. If they’re not? She’d still take like 3rd or 4th place.

15. Tomato soup! She can whip it up super easily and it’s pretty tasty if she’d say so herself!

16. Whenever she can. Her hours are incredibly spontaneous and she pretty much always on the go. Her sleep hours are precious to her and she has 4 different intricate locks on her bedroom door to prove it.

17. Comedic relief middle child who no one actually takes seriously.

18. A pigeon: half because of the whole carrier pigeon thing and half because they’re both everywhere and nowhere all the time.

19. 5’7 pre-time skip and 5’9 post time skip. A little underweight honestly, which deeply concerns her coworkers considering how young she is.

20. Y'know I’ve never actually thought of her bust size before but like…a B ig idk??

21. A simple big capital J.

22. Not super different honestly. At most she changes her uniform color palette from all whites and beiges and adds a dark magenta element (her pants and bow)

[eddiernunson]

Waiting Room Problems | Eddie Munson x fem!Reader | 18+ | PREVIEW

Summary: a rough landing in a fight with your brother causes you to land in a crowded waiting room. Meanwhile a rough deal also sends Eddie the same fate. Somehow, somehow you try to keep your eyes on your phone and off his tiny little waist. It proves…difficult.

Warnings: strangers to lovers, fleeting glances, slightly cocky Eddie, sex in a public bathroom (trust me on this, just trust me), and general horniness at Eddie’s general appearance.

Authors note: I just spent 8 hours last night (when I wrote this) in the fucking waiting room. At two hours in a guy came in and he radiated Eddie’s energy so my mind ran away with it. (Everything is ok).

I'm posting a sneak at this one, because it was a surprisingly close call. I'm not sure when I'll be done, tbh. But here's the first 900 words!

As the night swallowed you whole, you sit in your mom’s passenger seat of her car while she drives you to the ER. While rough housing with your older brother you landed on your hand wrong and bent it way back. It’s definitely not broken, but it for sure needs to be looked at.

As the lights of the night pass you by you insist you’re fine and the sprain will heal after a few days. Your mom, however, was having none of it as you roll your eyes in exasperation.

She’s as stubborn as you are, so you sit arms crossed as you know you have no choice. Ouch, ok, crossing your arms was a bad idea.

She wishes you well, her kind eyes wide as she leans over to ask to keep her updated. You can’t help it, slamming the door after letting her know you will. You should’ve been enjoying some spiked eggnog and watching holiday movies, but now you’re spending Christmas Eve in the ER.

The large window to the waiting room lets you know there’s already a long line up just waiting for the triage and most seats are taken. Fuck, you’re in for a long night.

The kind and sunny nurse takes your vitals and information gently assessing your symptoms and palpating your wrist carefully. She lets you know it’s definitely sprained and will need a gauze wrap.

Soon, you find yourself sat in a brown, cracked, leather chair sitting close to a man who is coughing up a lung and groaning in pain at each one. Not that there are many options to begin with.

Your phone in your hand and your charger in your bag, you sit comfortably and wait for your name to get called to the back as you read the memes and watch with one headphone in.

Ninety minutes goes by while your best friend texts you to keep you busy and entertained, not even noticing you’ve been waiting for so long. Thank god for her.

For the first time in a while, you look up to assess the state of the waiting room. As far as you recall, about five people have been called to the back. Those seats have been replaced with new patients and their support, what seems to be a never-ending cycle.

Your eyes flick onto someone who walks into the line that is long enough to extend into the hallway, stepping up a place in line and finally in the actual waiting room. Your eyes scan him, the boots, the ripped jeans, the leather jacket covering a graphic tee, all leading up to his shaggy brown hair and gorgeous face.

Your mouth partially opens, momentarily taken aback by how unbelievably hot he is. There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong, at least, until you notice the tear in his shirt peeking at white gauze on his torso. From the stain, it’s clear he was injured.

His face doesn’t reflect such, patiently waiting as the two triage nurses take their time. By the third time he blinks, you realize you’ve been staring and shift your eyes back down to your phone.

As the line moves, his boots in the corner of your eye, you grow increasingly aware of how much you want to continue staring at him. Somehow, he was just so enticing, everything about him drawing you in. Especially his lack of response to a wound as such.

Time passes on and soon you find yourself bored of the videos and turn on your Spotify to the comfort playlist. Your eyes flicker to the triage, wondering around the room aimlessly. Unfortunately, it lands on the stranger you’ve been lingering on and witnesses him lifting his shirt to show the nurse the reason for his visit.

The black shirt lifts to show a slim waist scattered in black and white tattoos, lifting the white gauze to reveal a gnarly wound. You can’t tell but from its shape it looks to be a stab wound. However gory his uncovered wound looks; you can’t help but stare at his bare torso.

Then, it fucking happens. His eyes flicker to you, for a fraction of second, he keeps the eye contact. His mouth twitches, leaning into something you’d call a smirk. As a reflex you shift your eyes away from him, cheeks heating up in embarrassment from getting caught.

taglist: @pinkcowracing @yourthebrokengirl @skrzydlak @thirddeadlysin @sammararaven @bebe07011 @prettylovley @josephquinnschesthair @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you @names-were-taken @oddussy420

If you want to be tagged when the full fic is posted, just let me know in the replies. Again, I have no idea when that will happen, it's not done yet. Maybe this'll give me the motivation i need

[charaznablescanontoyota]

[fic title meme] Come As You Aren't

come as you aren't - team short motherfucker enters the body swap car.

"alright," shadow says. "sitrep. everyone count off."

there's something about hearing his voice, gravelly and militant, come out of mob's body that sends the rest of the group into a fit of hysterics. shadow huffs, folds his arms across his chest, taps his foot against the dirt trail until the laughter dies down.

"one," al starts, wiping tears from his (audrey's) eyes and trying to be helpful. it's kind of a jolt, being stuck in another body again, but this one is hopefully a lot more temporary. and much shorter than he's used to.

"two," audrey says, with al's mouth.

"oh, i've done this before," trish-as-shadow says, immediately breaking the count. "it was a stand--"

"trish una," shadow says warningly.

"--and someone got killed immediately," trish goes on, "so we're already doing better than that, i think."

"you shouldn't jinx it," mob mutters, twisting the fabric of trish's skirt in his (trish's) hands.

"i mean," trish says, "i'm in the body of someone who showers, this time. life is looking up."

"you have friends who don't shower?"

"no one is getting killed," shadow says, trying to bring the conversation back around. he huffs again, flaring mob's nostrils. "we just have to walk from one side of this car to the other. in each others' bodies."

"sure," audrey says, dripping with doubt. al sees her point--rarely has a car been so straightforward. except italy, maybe, but there were still robots fighting there.

"i know what i'm doing," shadow snaps back at her.

audrey shrugs. "never said you didn't, man."

shadow makes a low, annoyed noise in his throat and turns his back on the rest of the group, starts walking the trail as fast as he can. which is probably not as fast as he'd like to, considering mob's human body doesn't have superspeed. or rocket boots. al watches shadow realize this in real time as he tries to kick off the ground, stumbles, and catches himself before eating shit on a tree root.

"EVERYONE MARCH," shadow hollers, loud and irritated.

"can you be careful with my body?" mob asks, breaking into a jog to keep up.

trish laughs under her breath. audrey and al catch each others' eyes; audrey snickers, al offers her a smirk in return, and they start to walk as ordered.

[akiology]

Ann, Makoto, Futaba, Haru general relationship headcanons

Note: sorry if this took a long time, anon!! i hope you enjoy it nonetheless :> i did both platonic and romantic for this one <;3 i hope everyone has a nice day!

Ann

Platonic: Ann is a very lively, and supportive friend. She tends to spend most of her free time around the school with her friends. She most definitely cherishes your friendship, and finds time to hang out; whether it is something as simple as eating lunch together, studying together, or maybe even going out shopping. If you have an important project/event coming up, she will show her support and offer help to the best of her abilities; she considers herself your personal cheerleader! Ann will try her best to show her appreciation for your friendship, hoping that you can be friends for a long time!

Romantic: Ann is a very romantic girlfriend, in the sense that she might want to try a few clichés atleast once. Of course, that is not a bad thing, but she will still feel shy initiating every once in a while. She's someone who values quality time and may appreciate a few words of affirmation. And thus, shopping dates are common! She is also someone who enjoys playing videogames, so if you like that as well, maybe boot up some multiplayer games together. She hopes she gets to enjoy these kinds of moments with you for a long time.

Makoto

Platonic: Makoto is a very caring friend, to the point that it seems like you have a second mother. She's not overbearing, but she is the type to remind you to eat meals, and to take breaks every so often. Sometimes, she forgets to take her own advice though. She tries her best to hangout with you, but if you plan on having a big day with her you are going to have to tell her your plans in advance. She values your friendship and opinion very much, and may ask for your perspective on certain things. The importance and gravity of the situation depends on how much she trusts you.

Romantic: Makoto is a meek girlfriend. At the start of your relationship, she may just go along whatever it is you want to do. After a while together, she starts being vocal about what she wants to do. Makoto really appreciates affirmations and acts of service, and these are also how she shows her love. Seeing as how she takes studying seriously, you've probably been in a lot of study dates together. If you are having a hard time with a certain topic, she will try her best to help. She wants the both of you to succeed, together.

Futaba

Platonic: Futaba is a bashful friend at first. Once she gets comfortable with you though, she's very energetic especially when conversing online. She is most definitely the kind of friend to send you things that remind her of you, like memes, clips, and other things. Probably lots gaming nights, and watch parties together. She will still hangout with you outside, but you need to tell her in advance so she can mentally prepare herself. She is trying her best! Don't get her wrong, she enjoys your company a lot. She really likes hearing you talk about your interests, and she also likes sharing a lot of her interests with you!

Romantic: Futaba will slightly return to being bashful during the start of your relationship, especially when you do romantic stuffs. When she gets used to it, she may even feel brave to initiate some things by herself! She might want to do some of those multiplayer games geared towards couples. She really enjoys quality time, even if it is a parallel play kind of situation. Like if you guys are in a call together, even if you are doing different things she will still enjoy nonetheless. She is so used to having you around, that it feels weird when you are gone for longer than predicted (because you got a little busy). But she knows you will come back, you told her after all, and she will gladly wait.

Haru

Platonic: Haru may seem reserved at first, being cautious when making new relationships. When you get closer though, she is very sweet. She likes including you in a lot of activities, the kind to ask you to hang out with her while she gardens. You do not necessarily have to help, you could do your homework for all she cares, she just really likes having you there. She is also not against sharing most of her things with you, oh you need a pen? Here! You can keep it if you want! Also the kind to worry about you, but her approach is more, "Oh you haven't eaten? Let's eat at the cafeteria!" She likes doing most things with you, if it wasn't obvious.

Romantic: Haru is very happy to be your girlfriend! She is really open to going out on all sorts of dates, and doing different activities together! She does not have any particular activity she prefers doing, as she is just really happy being with you. But she does tend to be big on gift-giving, she loves giving you little trinkets that remind her of you. Considering she plans on eventually starting a café chain, Haru does a lot of thinking about the future. And you know what? She sees you as a staple in all those.

[proosh]

Idk how to put it but I want more on the lines of that cat meme with Gil and Tolys like more in depth of that vibe

This makes no sense I apologize

(This goes under a cut because it became a whole ass mini-crackfic lmao)

It goes something like this:

It’s one of their monthly little get-togethers which are ostensibly a collaborative effort between states, but they all know better than that. Most of them are smoking and the room is choked with nicotine and the long table has about four different ashtrays, all already overflowing.

Imports, exports, crime rates, deficits and expenditures and the good comrade East Germany is putting out his third cigarette and craving a banana. He’s raised the issue of lack of fruit imports already, but that earned him a steely glare and a stern order that juvenile hand gestures would not be tolerated. 

Gilbert had given Ivan a different juvenile hand gesture of choice and is currently chewing on his pen out of boredom as the meeting winds to a close with the same agonizing inevitability as the heat-death of the universe. He would probably prefer that to whatever Ivan is doing – he tunes back in: Raivis is being grilled for one failure or another. None of his business. He tunes back out. Not even the cheap and nasty nicotine is touching the edges of his horrifying sobriety.

Ivan is standing up and going to the blackboard that Gilbert has long-assumed has been installed for the sole purpose of patronising the various satellites and vassals as though they are children.

He claps his hands together to command attention.

“We come to our last point! I’m sure I don’t need to remind everyone how Comrade of the Month works, yes?”

Christ above. Gilbert can feel the ripple of annoyance from the others seated at the table. Everyone is running out of smokes. Ivan continues regardless.

“I will be brief. Our Nice Comrade of the Month Award For Excellency goes to our very own Tolys, for his good interpersonal behaviour.”

For the third month in a row. Gilbert rolls his eyes as there’s a bit of scattered clapping. Tolys is smiling, thinly as Ivan tapes his mugshot to the board.

“On the other hand, the Naughty Comrade of the Month Award for Dishonourable Conduct goes to Gilbert.”

A hush settles over the room and Gilbert pauses in the middle of chewing his pen to scrap.

“For what?” he asks to the silent room, despite himself. It could be anything from the musical bootlegging, to that time he stole bananas out of Ivan’s fridge, to constantly showing up to work still high off his tits from the night before, to any number of ‘dishonourable’ actions Ivan might have taken ire with.

Ivan pauses in the middle of taping his picture up, but completes that before turning back to the room and pinning Gilbert with a glare. The corner of his mouth ticks up.

“For biting me,” he says matter of factly, as if that narrows it down in the slightest. Gilbert can hear Feliks guffaw down the table. That doesn’t matter because Gilbert can sense an opening as his memory clicks into place for what he’s being punished for. He can’t help himself because he never could when opportunities present themselves.

“Where, again? Can’t remember. Probably all the brain damage, sorry.”

Ivan’s mouth does that ticking up again that means he’s going to be getting a belting later. That’s fine. Gilbert doesn’t grin because that would be giving the game away. He glances helplessly at his comrades, feigning confusion. They are, as a whole, delicately refusing to make eye contact.

Cowards.

“You bit me… Inappropriately,” Ivan concedes through clenched teeth and the snort Feliks makes spread into giggles from the table until they are silenced by another glare. “So you go on the board. That is all for today. You are all excused, our award recipients excepted. Good afternoon, comrades.”

The rest of them can’t seem to leave quick enough and Ivan makes sure to thank each and every one on the way out. Tolys is sending Gilbert a covert glare as he swings his boots up on the table. They were both going to be there for a while, as was standard for these sorts of proceedings.

“You bit him?” Tolys whisper-hisses, leaning across the table. Gil grins at him.

“In the ass.”

Gilbert isn’t sure because it’s not too long before Ivan returns his attentions to them, but he could swear he saw a flash of a furtive, amused smile cross Tolys’ face.

[staceymcgillicuddy]

For the meme: 42. The answer to everything.

Yay, thank you! This one inspired a 5+1 for me, I have no idea why, but here you go! So, like, five times that Eddie was amazed at Chrissy's privileged upbringing + one time she turned the tables.

1. 

“What’s that for?” Chrissy asks as they pull into a gas station and up to the air hose. 

“What’s what for?” Eddie asks as he cuts the engine and makes to hop out and fill his tires, which are pretty much dry rot and worn rubber at this point, but that doesn’t mean he can’t take care of them until they inevitably send him spiraling across the highway one day. 

“The vacuum.” 

“It’s not a vacuum. It’s for putting air in the tires.” 

“You have to put air in tires?” 

“Jesus, Cunningham. How have you survived this long by yourself? Yes, you have to put air in the tires.” 

Chrissy fixes him with a pout, but he doesn’t think she’s actually offended. “I don’t know! I don’t have a car!”

“Yeah, well. Pro-tip. Air in the tires when you do.” 

“Thanks, Eddie. You’re a pal.” 

2. 

“No, you have to, like… inhale twice,” Eddie says, holding the burning joint between his fingers as Chrissy makes a face. 

“But it tastes gross.” 

“Yeah, I know. That’s not the point.” 

Chrissy sighs. Leans in. Wraps that perfect pucker of hers around the end of the joint and inhales. 

Two minutes later, when she’s finally recovered from her coughing fit, Eddie’s just about stopped laughing. 

“You’re so mean to me,” she sighs. 

“Yeah, well, I still can’t figure out how you survived this long by yourself, dude.” 

3. 

“There’s something outside!” 

Chrissy’s whisper cuts through the darkness of Eddie’s bedroom like a needle, jabbing him directly in the brain and rousing him from an extremely pleasant dream that also involved Chrissy talking. Only, in his dream, it was less a panicked whisper and more a soothing reassurance that, yeah, his dick really was too big for her. 

“Huh?” He blinks just as something crashes outside the trailer. “Oh.” 

“Eddie! Someone’s breaking in!”

“Uh, no. That’s a raccoon.” 

“A raccoon?” She sits up like he told her aliens had landed on the lawn. “Outside?!”

“No, on the moon. Yes, it’s outside.” 

“Can it get in?” 

“… do you know how big raccoons are?” 

“You’re the one with the bathroom window that won’t close.” 

“Sweetheart. The garbage monster can’t get you. Can we please go back to sleep?” 

“Can you go and check?” 

Eddie sighs. Rolls onto his side and buries his face in the pillow. “You check if you’re so concerned.” 

“Please, Eddie?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles like he’s not already reaching for his boxers and boots. “Seriously, Cunningham. How have you survived this long?” 

4. 

“You’ve never had a Twinkie?” 

“No.” 

“Shit, Chrissy. How have you survived this long without eating a Twinkie?” 

5. 

“I don’t want to do it.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because I can’t see the bottom.” 

“There’s nothing on the bottom! It’s a lake.” 

“It looks dirty.” 

Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose. “Chrissy…” 

“What if there’s an alligator?” 

“We’re in Indiana.” 

“So?” 

“So, there aren’t alligators in Indiana.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes, I’m sure.” 

“What about sharks?” 

“What… lake sharks?” 

Eddie almost believes her until he sees the corners of her mouth twitch, and she starts to giggle. 

“Fuck off, Cunningham,” he says, grabbing her around the waist and lifting her off Rick’s dock, fully intending to deposit her in the water. “How you survived this long thinking there are lake sharks…” 

“Eddie, don’t!”

Eddie does. 

+1 

Eddie blinks. “You what?” 

“I love you.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Am I sure? Yes, I’m sure!”

“Oh.” 

“Seriously, oh?” Chrissy feigns offense, pushing her sneaker-clad toes into his thigh and reaching for the joint he’s holding. “Thanks a lot.” 

“No, uh. I mean. Obviously, I love you, too. Just… I never said that to anyone before.” 

Chrissy smiles and takes a long drag, waving the smoke away before speaking. “I know. I’ve honestly been wondering how you survived this long by yourself.” 

Other prompts from this meme!

[mxbo]

✦ Hello fellow tumblr users !!

I'm new here pls don't bully me

I made my Tumblr account years ago but never used it because reblogging and tagging was/is scary.

Anyway, my name is Mx. Rom Bo and I'm an it/its.

A COUPLE THINGS ABOUT ME !!

✦ Agender, aroace, it/its ✦ I am a minor, everything I reblog and post is SFW (they may contain angst, heavy themes like death or blood if I find the fanart to be really cool (definitely not talking about Shadow, Maria, and Emesis Blue as a whole), but generally I keep it wholesome). NO SEX GO TO HORNY JAIL. Keep that in mind because I'm quick to block people who cross my boundaries, specially since my ask box and DMs are always open. ✦ I am extremely paranoid. I WILL NOT TALK TO YOU UNLESS YOU SEND AN ASK OR TAG ME. Then, I WILL ANSWER, MAY FOLLOW YOU/FOLLOW YOU BACK if I don't already, and NOT TALK TO YOU AGAIN UNLESS YOU SEND AN ASK OR TAG ME AGAIN. ✦ I MAINLY REBLOG ART AND MEMES. I DON'T REBLOG PEOPLE'S THOUGHTS because I get paranoid that it's something personal and OP won't want a random like me to interact. ✦ I draw!! ✦ I write!! English is not my first language, so I always think what I write is cringe, but I can share if someone asks. ✦ I'm from Spain and my first language is Spanish ^^ I study Baccalaureate of Arts here ✦ I have a neocities!! Where I sometimes vent because it serves as my diary, so mindful with the TW.

Want to know more?? Check out my neocities!!

I MAKE STUFF !!

⛏ = Has been requested and I'm working on it !!

USERBOXES

TF2 ✦ TF2 [teams / classes] ✦ Scout [RED / BLU] ✦ Soldier [RED / BLU] ✦ Pyro [RED / BLU] ✦ Demo [RED / BLU] ✦ Heavy [RED / BLU] ✦ Engie [RED / BLU ⛏] ✦ Medic [RED / BLU] ✦ Sniper [RED / BLU] ✦ Spy [RED / BLU] ✦ Saxton Hale ✦ Pauling ✦ Sniperspy ⛏ OTHERS ✦ Wordgirl (Dr. Two Brains) ⛏

STAMPS

TF2 ✦ Soldier [RED I, RED II / BLU] ✦ Pyro [RED / BLU] ✦ Heavy [RED / BLU] ✦ Engie [RED / BLU] ✦ Sniper [RED / BLU] ✦ Emesis Blue [1, 2] ✦ Boots n' Bombs ✦ Heavymedic ⛏ ✦ Helmet party ⛏ ✦ Sniperspy ⛏ STH ✦ Shadow The hedgehog OTHERS ✦ Captain Laserhawk (Bullfrog and Rayman/Ramon) ✦ B&W Sea Creatures ✦ Fallout New Vegas ⛏

BLINKIES / BUTTONS

✦ Creepy, ocean-themed ⛏

I HAVE ALL MY GRAPHICS IN MY WEBSITE !!

For easier navigation ;]

OTHER STUFF !!

WRITING

✦ Meet the sunshine: Sniper's daughter (reader) meets the team

ART

✦ I have a blog where I post all my art: @mxartbo

I will edit this introductions if things change :]

(All userboxes by @marcelinepink)