#bugs write

[beetleblunt]

All dolled up

Summary: TRIKEY HURT!!!!

TW: drunk driving?

Words: 1,082

ao3 link

Trevor shifted in his seat, glancing down at his phone to check the time.

8:27

He grimaced, looking around the dimly lit bar for any sign of his so called “date”. Not that Michael really knew it was a date. Trevor had called him last night, asking to meet for drinks at a place much fancier than the two would usually spend their time together.

“Drinks? You’re kidding.” Michael sighed.

“Not in the slightest, sweetheart,” Trevor said, a little too chipper, “c’mon, it’s not like you’ve got anything better to do.” he added more aggressively.

“Actually I do,” Michael griped back, “and I’m tired of gettin’ dragged to whatever dinky little shack you’ll call a bar for the night!”

“Like what?” Trevor laughed, “Chain smoke by the pool? Listen to your wife get porked by the pool boy because she doesn’t even like you enough to let you watch? Besides, it’s a nice place, ya ungrateful fuck.”

“A nice place?” This seemed to pique Michaels interest enough for him to forget the prior insult, “I’d like to see your idea of a nice place.”

Trevor growled, “Oh you will!” he shouted quickly “I’ll send you the address, be there at eight.” with that, he hung up before Michael could protest, or before he could piss him off even more.

Trevors leg started to bounce and he twitched as he waited, thinking about their last phone call. Sure Michael hadn’t said yes, but he didn’t say no either, and he did say he wanted to see his idea of a nice place, did he show up and decide it wasn’t nice enough? it wasn’t the fucking Ritz, but it was a nice club on Vinewood, a change from the small, smoke and violence filled bars the two were used to. As hard as he tried to stay calm, it was useless. The minutes passing by felt like hours, and Trevor was not a patient man.

A server timidly approached the table, hoping to not make eye contact with him. Luckily for her, he was spaced out, his feet propped on the table, fidgeting with the hem of the red dress that barely made it to his mid thigh.

“Sir? Could I.. uh could I get you anything to drink?”she managed, her eyes trained on the blood stained work boots resting atop the table, clearly terrified.

Trevor’s head snapped up at the sound of another voice, and he glared up at her for a second, “Sure. Sure, yeah yeah yeah, whatever” he spat quickly, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture “ugh, just fucking whiskey, neat. And keep ‘em comin”

As the server scurried off without another word, Trevor stood up, took another strained look around the bar, and then made his way to the bathroom. When he got in, the two men, and the couple making out in there quickly cleared out, and as soon as they did, Trevor pulled his phone from the small purse he’d resigned himself to carrying tonight, given his lack of pockets, and tried to call Michael.

After several rings, Michaels voice came through “You’ve reached Michael De Santa, leave a message.” it said, confidently

Trevor’s grip on his phone tightened, “Heeeey, you fat fucking snaaaake, it’s me!” he began, dragging out his words in a sickeningly sweet tone, one that was specifically designed to incite fear and make his offenders skin crawl. The sweetness in his voice didn’t last, and he said the rest through gritted teeth, “The best friend you’ve left waiting at the bar, either call me back or get here, prick.” he hung up, and tried to call again. After several more tries, and strongly worded voicemails, he gave up, looking at himself in the mirror and sighing loudly. The plan was meant to be simple, ask Mikey out for drinks, take him somewhere nice, show up all dolled up, maybe a handy or two under the table, and ignite something deeper than the rocky friendship they’d been navigating since reuniting. Something like what they had back in North Yankton.

A neat glass of whiskey was waiting in the center of Trevor’s table when he got back. Not even bothering to look around again, he sat down and took a drink, savoring the slight burning in his throat. Soon, his drink was empty, and just as requested, he was brought another.

A few drinks turned into several, and after a while Trevor was looking far more disheveled than usual, slumped down in his chair, with hot silent tears streaming down his face, which was slightly smeared with the lipstick he’d stolen from the drugstore on his way into town. The thin straps of his dress fell off his shoulders a bit ago, and his dress had rode down, allowing more of his hairy chest to peek out. Normally he’d have been kicked out well before this point, but he’d actually been relatively well behaved even without Michaels presence, the most he’d done in the past few hours was hit on a few other patrons who quickly passed him by, and mumble strings of profanities directed at his traitorous friend.

A loud crash suddenly rang through the still busy club. Trevor’s empty glass was now shattered on the floor, and he was making his was towards the exit with a few worried staff on his tail shouting something about bills and damages. A firm hand landed on his shoulder when he passed the door.

“Hey, fruitca-”

Before the bouncer could even finish his insult, Trevor spun on his heel and connected their foreheads with a loud crack, sending the other man crumpling to the ground.

When Trevor finally found his truck, he at least managed to fumble his keys out of his bag and get them into the ignition before everything around him faded to black.

When semi-proper consciousness and sight finally returned to him, all Trevor could see was the shattered remains of his Bodhi’s windshield, and the large, dented, metal gate just ahead of him. Letting his eyes drift shut and his head fall to the steering wheel, he didn’t bother looking up when he heard quick footsteps paired with his best friends broken voice, nor when three more equally worried and irritating voices broke through his haze. He felt too heavy to move, and suddenly wasn’t sure what he’d say even if he could, so instead he let the heavy fog in his mind take his body over yet again.

[ducktracy]

sharing a very sage bit of advice from The Simpsons' own John Swartzwelder that i've been trying to hamper down in my writing and drawing alike. let your inner crappy little elf do his worst

[crevicedwelling]

here’s a fun animal I saw in Borneo: the mammal!

unlike the rest of us, mammals are endothermic and produce their own body heat—but they’re not birds! it is covered in a thick coat of hair (you guessed it, separate evolutionary origin from feathers) and secretes a fatty liquid from special glands to nurture its larvae. mammals can be found almost worldwide and are highly adaptable. this one was making odd squeaking noises, possibly begging for morsels of food.

here’s another mammal I saw. pretty sure it’s a different species but I’m not an expert on identifying them

fun mammal fact: some are curiously soft to the touch! try palpating the next mammal you see, but please be careful. some may bite!

[robo-writing]

Silly little thing inspired by this post

From the moment Logan came home he was acting strange—handsy, far more than usual, a glint in his eyes you’ve never seen before. Really, how could you deny your own curiosity when you felt him against your back, bulge pressing against your backside as his hands wormed their way up your shirt.

“Been waiting for you all day,” he mumbles against your skin, pinching your nipples between his two fingers, sliding his thickening cock against your ass. “Miss me sweetheart? Because I sure as hell missed you.”

In the time it takes for you to nod your head he’s already ripped your shirt open, your gasp of surprise soon overshadowed by the moan that leaves you when his hand moves to rub against your pussy over your jeans. His voice in your ear is sin itself, the sound of it enough to have you weak in the knees.

“Let’s go upstairs darling, wanna show you just how much I missed you.”

Like hell he needed to tell you twice.

Logan’s got you on your knees within minutes, large palms gripping your hips with certainty, the movement of his hips against your backside leaving you starry-eyed—You don’t know what came over him, but you do know that whatever it is, you love it.

Rough, predatory even, he folds himself against your body, grunting with each thrust as his cock batters into you, sweat lining your skin as you try your best to keep up with each movement of his hips. Even so, you can’t help how badly your body burns with exhaustion. An arm wraps around your stomach, pulling you toward his chest, keeping you steady as he fucks up into you like a man possessed.

You’re on cloud nine, floating above your own body, so beside yourself with pleasure that you give yourself fully to Logan, letting him fuck your weakened body like a toy. Your vocabulary becomes limited to cries of his name, your fingers splayed against his thighs, his voice growling into your neck.

“Good girl, stay just like that, lemme make you feel good,” he says, lapping at your open mouth. “Lemme think for you, just focus on how good it feels, yeah? Stay with me doll.”

Your head lolls to the side, a sloppy attempt at a kiss before you separate with a whine. The mounting pressure has your fingers moving towards the base of his cock, surprise gripping you when you feel how it swells beneath your fingers.

That’s certainly new.

Logan’s none the wiser, if anything the presence of your fingers only spurs him further into your warm cunt, drooling at the sudden overstimulation. “Holy shit—keep your hand right there, Jesus Christ—“

Somehow his hips move even faster, battering his swollen cock even further into your poor, abused pussy, desperate to fit himself as far as he can inside you. Your warnings fall on deaf ears, even as you beg him to listen Logan’s far more interested in stuffing you nice and full to give a shit. “Fuck, fuck, Logan—“

“Shh, fuck—“ His fingers against your clit silence your protests, your legs shaky as he continues to fuck into you. “Just be quiet f’me, that’s it—oh god—“

He keeps you nice and pliant in his arms, too cock-drunk and brainless to care about the fact that the pressure inside your pussy is growing, or care about the fact that Logan’s practically drooling against your neck, biting, licking, sucking at any exposed skin his teeth can reach. “Feel so good, so fucking good—“

You cry out his name when you cum, your juices running down your thighs and soaking his cock as he continues to fuck into you, pinning you by your arms even further into the bedsheets. Back arched, face down, ass up—his weight against your back makes you seize, your breath caught in your chest when you suddenly feel something growing larger inside of you.

It’s soon followed by the familiar warmth of him spilling inside of you, so much more than you’re used to. His cum fills you up, so much so that you feel it slipping free from where his cock is plugged inside of you, his hips still moving even if his cock is firmly locked inside of you.

It takes you far longer than you care to admit to gather yourself, your fingers reaching down to touch where his cock swells, your hips tentatively shaking only to find that it doesn’t move from you an inch. The action has him pulling you back into him, his hot breath fanning against your cheek.

“Don’t move, please,” he begs, desperation laced in his voice. “Too fuckin’ sensitive, fuck—“

“Logan,” you whine, trying to pull yourself away again. “Can’t move, you’re heavy—“

He grunts in response, slowly turning the both of you on your side, his large arms hugging you still as he’s locked inside your pussy. It’s now you can look down and see just how fat the base of him is, lodged so far inside of you that it makes your stomach bulge just that bit more.

Your whisper is that of morbid curiosity and a bit of awe, fingers tracing where your stomach protrudes with the weight of him. “Logan, what the fuck?”

“What?” He mumbles half-heartedly, and you have to grab his hand and show him exactly what you’re talking about, his head lifting to see his swollen dick disappearing in your cunt.

“What the fuck…” he whispers back, equally in awe of…whatever the hell this is.

“Is that normal?” You ask, and he shakes his head.

“No it is not,” he says, hissing when he gives an experimental thrust. “Feels fuckin’ good though.”

[flamingpudding]

Code: GHOST

It all started when a number code flashed across the screen of the Batcomputer while Tim was working on a case.

7 8 15 19 20

Flashed across the screen several times to the point it made Tim think that someone somehow managed to hack into the Batcomputer. It was also a number code he was not familiar with at all. So Tim reported it back over their comms in hopes that maybe one of the others knew what the numbers meant. Because all he managed to figure out from it was that the number code was an alert on the Batcomputer, one that came with coordinates that lead into the middle of nowhere.

Tim was about to join the discussion Dick and Jason were having on it when Bruce silenced them all apruptly speaking up.

"Answer code 2 1 20, sent them to the coordinates attached. I will be in the cave in ETA3 and take over from there."

The sudden silence on their communication line spoke volumes especially when Tim new the numbers was a simply code for Bat. He still did what Bruce asked him to do but that didn't stop the questions running through Tim's mind. He watched on the screen of the Batcomputer how the moment he sent the code in return, Programs started like on autopilot. A map opening that contained nothing at first but then changed into a map of a whole good damn city. Tim could only gap at what was happening on the Batcomputer before Bruce appeared and pulled him away from his seat to take over himself.

Bruce without a beat of delay started to input more codes and apparently access codes too as more and more windows opened on the Batcomputer. Tim did not realise that with time Dick, Cass and Damian had joined him as they watched Bruce work away on the Batcomputer. At some point an audiotrack opened but all they could hear was only static. They thought Bruce was going to run it through one of the noise filtering programs.

But to the shock of them, Bruce suddenly triggered a hidden compartment on the console, causing it to flip over and reveal communication link build in a way non of them had ever seen before. It was silver with green accents and looked far... older and less sleek than any of the ones they used. It was clearly not designed to stay completely hidden if put into your ear.

They watched how he simply put that earpiece on and then replayed the audiotrack.

The batkids shared a look of confusion. Non of them sure what to make of the situation until suddenly Bruce stood up from the Batcomputer.

"Prepare for a rescue mission. Nightwing, Orphan and Robin will come with me, the rest of you will stay in Gotham." Was all the man said before storming of towards the Batplane.

"Bruce what is going on?!" Dick instead of going to prepare asked stoping the man before he could get away from them. "What is the meaning of that code? Aside from the fact that simply translated it means ghost."

Bruce eyed the batkids present for a moment before letting out a grunt. "Ghost is finally ready to join the family."

"Ghost?" Tim echoed confused, never having heard that alias for any of them.

"Father what do you mean, 'join the family'?" Damian chimed in clearly frowning with suspicion.

The man eyed them once more his eyes going over each of his children, it looked like he was contemplating telling them more for a moment before he stood to fully face them and let out a sigh. "Like Clark, I too have clone child."

There was a stunned silence. No one speaking up until Dick did. "How long...?"

"14 years ago"

The silence continued as they all did the mental math. Once more it was Dick who spoke up first, clearly stunned. "You had a clone since I was eleven and now is the first time I hear of that?! You never bothered telling any of us?!"

There was a long suffering sigh. "We got to Danny before he was aged up, he was a normal baby even if created in a laboratory, so it was best for him to grow up normally, with the league we arranged for him to be sent to selected family since I had my hands full with you and-"

"Danny?!" Dick cut in. "His name is Danny? Does he even know about us?"

"Dick." Bruce called out his tone warning. "Of course I kept an eye on Danny's life. And I did made contact with him when the time was appropriated considering some of the things that were happening for the boy as he grew up, however he is not aware that he is a clone and it will stay that way. He will get to know all of you once we finished this rescue mission."

Before Dick or any of the others could say anything more Bruce spoke up firmly again. "Get ready now, we do not have any more time. Anything else will be handled later."

[yuuchama]

Sometime during the VDC training camp, when everyone on team Night Raven is sleeping over at Ramshackle Dorm:

Ramshackle Dorm has no shortage of spare rooms, but their condition is another story. You've managed to get enough of them decently clean. They're not as nice as your room, which has had far more time invested in it and is well lived in, but your groupmates should be able to spend a few days at the dorm without issue and are more than free to tidy up rooms as they please.

Yet on one of the first nights, you hear the door of your room creak open. It's dark and you can't see the intruder, though you know it's not one of the ghosts. The approaching footsteps aren't as heavy as Grim's, even after he's cleared out the entire fridge in one sitting. You're also pretty confident Grim is fast asleep beside you.

"Hello?" You groggily lift your head and call out to the intruder. If it's anything malicious, you hope the ensuing scuffle will cause enough noise to wake everyone else up.

A weight pushes the edge of your mattress down and there's a gentle touch at your shoulder. "Prefect, do you mind if I spend the rest of the night here?"

"Jamil?"

You almost don't recognize him in the dark with his hair down. You feel around for a bedside light. Grim groans in his sleep when it clicks on and turns over, shielding his eyes with tiny arms.

Jamil looks exhausted. "Please, I'd really appreciate if you could let me sleep here tonight."

"Yeah, sure. Of course." Maybe it's the sleep addling your brain or your trust in Jamil. You see no reason to turn down his request and didn't question why he was coming to you instead of Kalim. You nudge Grim over to make room for one more on the bed.

The vice housewarden does his best to fit in the cramped sleeping conditions, assuring "I'll pay you back for this. Thank you."

He's turned towards the wall, back touching your side so that he doesn't fall. You wait to make sure he's fully secure in bed before turning off the light. In the calm that follows, you notice he's almost imperceptibly shaking. Sure, the dorm is cold, but not that cold. Especially with three in one bed.

"Jamil, are you okay?" The longer you spend awake, the more concerning this whole situation feels.

"I'm fine. Goodnight, Prefect." Jamil already has his eyes shut and seems adamant about not discussing things further.

"Okay... Goodnight."

You lay down and silence settles over the room once more. It's really warm between your two friends. Sleep is quick to catch up to you, you find yourself nodding off within minutes of your head touching the pillow.

Before you fully drift off, Jamil turns to face you. His hair drapes over the side of the bed and he places a hand on your pillow, lightly grazing your cheek.

"Thanks again," he whispers. "I feel a lot better with you here. Your room doesn't have bugs on the wall."

[heich0e]

shouto always facetimes you when he's wearing a suit even if he has nothing to actually say, so one afternoon when you answer his incoming call and are greeted by the sight of his buttoned-down and lapelled chest, your face immediately feels hot.

"shouto?" you ask, your voice infuriatingly flustered even though you had tried your very best to choke it back. "what's up?"

and then he tilts the camera back up to its usual position—a little too high, so really it's just the bridge of his nose, his eyes, and the top of his head left at the very bottom of the screen. and simply he goes: "i'm wearing a suit."

"i can see that," you reply, resisting the urge to drag your hand down your face—equal parts frustrated and horrifically endeared to your boyfriend's familiar antics. "is that the reason you called?"

"i know you like when i wear them so i wanted to call and show you."

[cowboysorceror]

re-vamping and solidifying my Jason design for "door, opening" my in-progress fic! if you don't want to read my handwriting it's all written out in alt text lol 👍 EDIT: see Dick over here!

[the-raindeer-king]

Simon would love a little freak (affectionate) of a partner. Like you collect weird things, like taxidermy or bones? Say less, babes. He's getting you an animal skull for your birthday.

Is your thing clowns? Man is scouring the internet for some obscure clown clock because you saw it on Ebay once and complained about the price.

You likes bugs? Great, he's got a friend named Roach. Y'all be freaks (affectionate) together. But also he's building you a butterfly garden, or buying you a pet spider, or whatever.

It doesn't even have to be weird. You could just really like the ocean, or horses, or whatever. And I just realized what I'm getting at is that Simon would love a neurodivergent partner...

And he would!! He'd listen to you ramble and rant, and he'd be making a mental list of things to look for when he buys you presents. You could be hyperfixated on literally anything, and Simon would find a way to get you a present related to that interest. This man would move heaven and earth, if it meant making you happy.

[sleepypdng]

More Coraline AU 🧵🚪

[edsbug]

sweet thing

pairing: eddie munson x inexperienced!fem!reader

summary: you don’t have much sexual experience. eddie shows you what you’ve been missing out on. (wc: 1.6k)

contains: 18+ NSFW, mdni!, pure filth, eddie being a sweetheart, lots of praise, a hint of dom!eddie, fingering (female receiving), cowgirl, piv.

authors note: this was requested by the lovely @wdsara48 <3 i hope you enjoy my love.

It was a sweltering summer afternoon, the kind where the heat clung to your skin and made everything feel languid and slow. The fan in Eddies room did little to alleviate the oppressive heat, but that didn't seem to matter as you sat perched on his lap in his bed, your legs on either side of his hips.

You and Eddie had recently started dating, every moment feeling new and exhilarating. Despite the stifling heat, the thrill of being so close to him made the temperature bearable. His hands rested gently on your waist, the touch of his fingertips making your heart race.

Eddie's room, usually filled with the sound of his favorite records, was quiet except for the rhythmic hum of the fan. The air was thick with the scent of summer and the faint trace of his cologne. As you leaned in closer, your faces mere inches apart, you could see the way his dark eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and tenderness.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked, his voice low and husky, a small smile playing on his lips.

You nodded, brushing a few stray strands of hair away from his face. “Yeah, I am,” you replied softly, a hint of nervousness in your voice.

Without another word, Eddie closed the gap between you, his lips capturing yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. It was gentle at first, a soft exploration, but quickly grew more intense. His hands moved up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as the kiss deepened.

The heat of the afternoon seemed to melt away as you lost yourself in the moment, the world outside forgotten. Eddie's lips were warm and insistent, his breath mingling with yours as your tongues danced together.

His hands roamed your back, fingers tracing the curves of your body through the thin fabric of your tank top. You could feel his heart beating rapidly against your chest, or maybe it was yours; you couldn't tell. The kiss broke for a moment, and Eddie's dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with something soft, more tender.

“You're so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice husky. You felt a shiver run down your spine despite the heat.

As his hands found the hem of your top, lifting it slowly, you hesitated for a moment. Eddie noticed, immediately pausing to look at you with concern.

“Hey,” he said softly, “what's wrong?”.

You bit your lip, feeling a flush of embarrassment.

“I... I haven't done this much,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie's expression softened even more, a small smile tugging at his lips. He cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “That's okay,” he said. “We'll take it slow. I'll guide you. I promise.”

His reassurance sent a wave of relief through you, and you nodded. Eddie leaned in to kiss you again, slower this time, savoring each moment. His hands resumed their exploration, but with more deliberate care, taking the time to make sure you were comfortable with every touch.

Your top was the first to go, discarded somewhere on the floor. Eddie's lips trailed down your neck, placing soft kisses along your collarbone. He was patient, taking his time to ensure you were enjoying every second. His hands slid up your sides, stopping just under your breasts. He looked up at you, silently asking for permission before moving further. When you nodded, he smiled and continued, gently cupping your breasts and teasing your nipples, causing you to let out a soft moan.

“You're doing so good baby,” he whispered, his voice filled with genuine admiration. “Just tell me if you want me to stop.”

You shook your head, feeling a growing confidence. You reached for the hem of his band shirt, tugging it upwards. Eddie obliged, pulling it off in one smooth motion. You couldn't help but admire his lean, toned body, your hands exploring the contours of his chest, your fingertips cascading over his tattoos. He groaned softly at your touch, a sound that sent a thrill through you.

When his hands moved to unbutton your shorts, you felt a flutter of nerves again. Eddie noticed, pausing to kiss you softly.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, his breath warm against your lips.

“Yes,” you replied without hesitation.

“Atta girl. Let me make you feel good, sweetheart.”

“Please,” you said, feeling reassured by his confidence. Eddie's hands were deft, and soon your shorts and underwear joined the growing pile of clothes on the floor. He lifted you slightly, adjusting his position so you were straddling him more comfortably. The sensation of his hardness pressing against you through his jeans was intoxicating, and you couldn't help but grind against him slightly, earning a low groan from him.

Eddie grabbed your hips firmly, lifting you so you hovered over his lap. His fingers found your entrance, teasing you with light, feathery touches that made your hips buck involuntarily. He smiled, clearly enjoying your reaction.

Slowly, he slid one finger inside you, watching your face intently for any signs of discomfort. You gasped at the sensation, a mixture of pleasure and a slight unfamiliar stretch. Eddie's thumb moved to your clit, rubbing gentle, circular motions that sent sparks of pleasure through you.

"Look at you baby," he murmured, adding another finger and increasing the pressure on your clit. "So wet for me."

The dual sensations were almost overwhelming, but in the best way possible. His fingers worked you expertly, curling inside you to hit that perfect spot while his thumb continued its rhythmic movements on your clit. Eddie felt your wetness drip down his fingers. Your legs started shaking, causing you to hold on to Eddies shoulders. With his free hand, he took hold of yours, intertwining your fingers.

“That's it,” he encouraged, his voice thick with desire. “You're so beautiful like this.”

You could feel the tension building, your body trembling as you neared the edge. “Eddie, so close–“, you said, barely able to get your words out.

Eddie's eyes never left yours, his gaze filled with a mixture of lust and admiration. “Let go for me baby,” he urged softly. “I've got you.”

With a cry of pleasure, you came, the orgasm washing over you in intense waves. Eddie's fingers slowed, helping you ride out the pleasure until you were left breathless and trembling.

“Good girl,” he praised, withdrawing his fingers and bringing them to his lips, tasting you. “God, you taste so sweet.”

His words sent a fresh wave of desire through you, and you reached for him, pulling him closer. You kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips. “You okay?” he asked, his voice gentle but filled with authority.

“Yes,” you replied, your voice steady despite the residual tremors of your orgasm.

Eddie's hands found the waistband of his jeans, and he guided you to help him remove them. The anticipation built with every passing second, and soon he was fully exposed to you, his arousal evident. He reached for a condom in the drawer beside his bed, taking a moment to put it on.

Eddie guided you slowly, positioning you above him. “Take it slow,” he instructed. “Go at your own pace.”

You did as he said, lowering yourself slowly onto him. The initial stretch was intense, and you paused, allowing yourself to adjust to the sensation. Eddie's hands were on your hips, steady and reassuring.

“Such a good girl, doing so well for me,” he praised, his voice a husky whisper. “Just relax. I've got you.”

You took another deep breath, relaxing. As you began to move, the pleasure started to build, the initial discomfort fading away. Eddie's hands guided your movements, helping you find a rhythm that felt good for both of you. His grip was firm but gentle, his thumbs stroking soothing patterns on your skin.

“That's it,” he murmured. “You're so perfect.”

The words of praise spurred you on, and you moved with more confidence, finding a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure through you. Eddie met your movements with gentle thrusts, his eyes never leaving yours.

Eddie's hands roamed your body, caressing your breasts, sliding down your back, and gripping your hips. His lips found yours again, kissing you deeply as you rode him.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Eddie murmured against your lips, his voice filled with admiration.

You moaned in response, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak. Eddie could sense you were close, and his hands guided your movements with more urgency, his own breaths coming faster. He placed his thumb over your clit, rubbing in quick circles.

“Cum for me sweet thing,” he said breathlessly.

His words were the final push you needed. You came again, the sensation washing over you in waves, the room filling with the sound of your moans. Eddie followed soon after, his grip on your hips tightening as he came.

You collapsed against him, both of you breathless and sweaty. Eddie's arms wrapped around you, holding you close as you both came down from the high.

As the world slowly returned to focus, you nestled into his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your skin.

Eddie's hands moved to gently stroke your back, tracing light patterns on your skin. “You okay?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.

“More than okay,” you replied, a small chuckle escaping your lips. “Thank you, Eddie.”

Eddie planted a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Anytime, sweet thing. Anytime.”

[beetleblunt]

Clowning Around

a (late) halloween special :)

Summary: Trevor drags Mikey out for a night of fun on Halloween, it goes about as well as you’d expect.

Words: 3,822

ao3 link!

Trevor crouched within the tall brush, staying hidden and waiting for his moment to strike.

The Vinewood Hills area was always bustling with life, but tonight it was especially busy, crawling with children of all ages dressed for the occasion, most of which accompanied by a parent or older sibling. Trevor grimaced at all of the happy families walking down the sidewalk. His childhood Halloweens never consisted of family time or even lone trick-or-treating, instead, he always opted for wreaking havoc on the townspeople and stealing candy from the weak. This year, although it had been some time since he even bothered to “celebrate”, wasn’t any different, and Trevor had a plan.

Any parent willing enough to take their kids out tonight would always put up a fight or give chase, and an unaccompanied group of young kids was too easy of a target, it was literally taking candy from a baby. Tonight, Trevor had his sights set on ruining the holiday of some poor teenager trying to grasp onto the remaining shred of their youth.

Just as Trevor started to grow impatient, wondering if his plan might’ve fallen through, his eyes caught a familiar black Obey Tailgater rolling slowly down the road, as if it were looking for something. As the Tailgater grew closer, and Trevor saw that to his (and only his) luck, the driver's side window was rolled down, he decided that now was his chance.

Launching himself from the brush, Trevor threw his hands up and let out a loud, guttural scream. In front of him stood a terrified child dressed in a poorly made sheet-ghost costume, and another in an expensive looking superhero costume, neither of which could’ve been older than fourteen. The one closest to Trevor jumped back and yelped, trying to keep a hold on his candy-filled pillowcase as the scary old man grabbed it from his hands.

As soon as Trevor had ahold on the big bag of candy, he shoved his hand in, and threw a few large pieces in his mouth, wrapper and all, before throwing another small handful in the child’s face, adding insult to injury. Before anybody else around them had time to fully react to his misdeeds, Trevor took a few running steps in the direction of Michaels car, which he had stopped to see what exactly his friend thought he was doing, and took a dive through the drivers window, only his front half successfully making it in. When Michael didn’t immediately put the car into motion, the other spoke up.

“STEP ON IT, FATASS!” Trevor screamed, from michaels lap, not even bothering to get his legs into the car first.

Before he could really think about it, Michael did as he was told. The tires screeched for a moment before the two took off, much faster than they probably should’ve on a dark, busy road.

For a few blocks, Michael was too stunned to speak, focusing only on leaving the neighborhood as fast as possible without any casualties as Trevor shimmied into the passenger seat, and piecing together the utter fuckery he was just roped into.

“Did you,” Michael hesitated, not sure whether he should laugh or scream, “Did you just text me to be your get away driver so that you could rob some fucking kids?”

A deranged wheeze escaped Trevor’s lips, “Get away driver?? I coulda outran those little goblins, I didn’t need a fucking driver, I called you so you could come have a little fun..” Trevor trailed off, muttering something about Michael being an ungrateful bastard.

“Fun?” Michael gawked at Trevor. “Fuckin’ a, T, l’m a father, snatchin’ some kids candy is not my idea of fun.” he finished sternly, looking back at the road and shaking his head.

Trevor stared at him for a moment, his eyes narrowing. Before Mike could notice, Trevors hand was back in the bag, and he launched a large handful of candy at the side of the others head. This surprised Michael enough that he jerked the car to the side, just barely hitting the curb as he did.

As he went to scold his friend about road safety, Michael was cut off by another high-pitched, maniacal laugh.

When the laughter didn’t die down quick enough, an admittedly terrible idea formed itself in Michaels head, and before he could think any better of it he was jerking the steering wheel again, this time on purpose. The car briefly swerved to one side, catching Trevor off guard, his head smacking against the window with a small thunk.

It was Michaels turn to laugh now, but as he did, he noticed Trevor had gone quiet. Too quiet, and when he finally snuck a glance at his now silently seething friend, he could see those glassy eyes glaring through him.

“That… hurt, Michael.” Trevor said slowly through gritted teeth.

“Oh bullshit that fuckin’ hurt-“

“Not my head, Mikey, no no nonono, that hurt,” Trevor hesitated for a moment, clenching and unclenching his fists in a poor attempt to soothe himself, “my fuckin’ feelings.

“y’know, to think I invited my supposed best friend out to have a good- no no, a fucking great time, and all he does is belittle and fuckin’ abuse me,”

Trevor continued his rant while Michael tried to squeeze in half-hearted, and mostly insincere apologies with little to no luck.

When Trevor finally wore himself out yelling, the silence didn’t last very long.

“Seriously, Trev, I’m sorry, I was just messin’ with ya,” Michael said gently, trying to smooth things over with the favored nickname from their golden days, but when Trevor still didn’t respond, Mikey decided on another route, “Hey, why don’t we go do somethin’? Like uh,” he trailed off for a second before a great idea popped into his head, “like a haunted house! I haven’t been to one of those since the kids were little!” he finished with an excited chuckle.

“Ya mean since they started hating you?” Trevor muttered an irritated response, not even bothering to entertain Michaels childish idea.

Michael opened his mouth to say something, but couldn’t. In truth, that comment had stung more than he’d like to let on, as he had a haunted house in mind; one he’d seen advertised on LifeInvader and had practically begged both of the kids to go with him. Obviously they had better things to do than entertain their washed up criminal of a father, as Jimmy had said, and refused. He shook his head, dismissing the memory and sighed, deciding it best to keep the peace.

“C’mon, it’s Halloween, we oughtta do something fun, or were you just planning on traumatizing some kids and calling it a night?” He finally said, leaning back smirking, keeping one hand on the wheel, the other reaching down to playfully smack Trevor’s thigh.

Glaring down at the large hand that was lingering on his leg, Trevor scoffed, “It builds character, can’t handle a little robbery? Ya won’t make it fucking anywhere in life.” He exclaimed, throwing his hands up in an erratic motion.

“Yeah, yeah,” Michael laughed again “you’ve got plenty of character, huh?

“Oh-ho, you know it sugar tits,”

Michael grimaced a little at the choice of nickname, but remained silent until pulling up in front of a run down, tin looking warehouse wrapped up in one of the many industrial sections of Los Santos

“What the shit is this?” Trevor gruffed,

“A haunted house!” Mikey said excitedly, “What, scared?” he challenged.

Trevor didn’t move his head, but his crazed gaze slowly trained on Michael, lingering uncomfortably before he jumped towards him in his seat, his hands landing on either side. “Scared?” he leaned in, lowering his voice, “Oh I’ll show you fucking scared, Michael.”

Michaels breath hitched and something in his stomach stirred. Unsure if it was nerves or arousal, he refused to give it much thought.

“Then show me,” he smirked, reaching for the car door handle. It was a dangerous game he was playing, sure, but Michael had never been too afraid of a little danger, and as of lately, it was something he’d even craved.

Stepping out of the car, he didn’t really bother waiting for Trevor, only listening for the sound of the door slamming, which came about as late as Michael expected.

Jogging to catch up, Trevor grimaced at the thoroughly decorated warehouse when a slightly too realistic skeleton jester animatronic peeking over the roof ledge caught his eye. Looking anywhere else, he pressed on as he clenched his fists. His gaze landed on the back of Michaels head and stayed there as they walked up the porch steps and paid their way in, with only a few crabby comments from Trevor about how ashamed Michael should feel paying that much just to walk through a “cardboard maze”.

Immediately upon entering, any light left from the street lamps outside was gone, replaced by extremely dim, occasionally flashing fluorescent lights overhead. The two made little conversation as they slowly made their way through, Trevor always a little ahead of Michael, hoping to get out as soon as possible. The jester out front had put Trevor’s irrational fear at the forefront of his mind, and while he’d never admit it, the idea of even one clown within his general vicinity made him wish he’d put up more of a fight when Michael made the suggestion. It also made him keep a hand on the pistol tucked into the side of his jeans; for a haunted house in such a big city, it sure did have some shitty security measures.

When the first haunt actor made an appearance, Trevor shut the idea down quickly, lunging at the masked man wielding a plastic chainsaw, and snapping his teeth at him like a rabid dog.

“yo, the fuck-“ The young man yelled, breaking character as he jumped back, using his prop to shield himself.

Michael didn’t take long to at least try to restrain Trevor, grabbing him by a firm bicep, he pulled him away from the nearly cowering worker, insisting that it was their jobs to jump out at them. Of course Trevor knew that, but he was already on edge, and he’d be damned if he was going to let something, especially some kid in a cheap costume, catch him off guard.

Pulling Trevor with him, Michael continued through the makeshift hallways. Most of the actors close ahead had heard or seen the previous altercation, and knew better than to make an appearance beyond standing there creepily, in fact some had even remained in their hiding places all together. This made for a peaceful couple of minutes, mostly Michael though, as the other was busy sending threatening glares towards the already terrified workers and patrons.

When they reached a point where the actors were once again blissfully unaware of the true horror trudging through their halls, and one particularly brave werewolf girl bared her faux fangs at the two, Mike, who had stayed much closer to Trevor than before, grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him closer before he could make another scene, or worse. Unfortunately, the moment Trevor stumbled back towards his friend, a second hidden actor seized his opportunity to scare the life out of what he assumed were two completely normal men. It was a sturdy framed man in a brightly colored, fake blood stained clown suit, sporting streaky face paint barley visible in the intentionally poor, flashy lighting.

Now in Trevor’s mind, what happened next was nobody’s fault, it was simply the worst possible person at the worst possible moment; just bad circumstances. The kid was just making ends meet, and happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Trevor, well it obviously wasn’t his fault he had decades upon decades worth of mental and emotional issues he’d never work through. No no, if anyone was to blame, it was the sick fucks who run this joint, exposing their desperate workers to unsafe conditions, and clearly even unsafer people.

None of that mattered in the end though, not when Trevor was sending his skull into the much larger man’s, or when he reached for his gun when he didn’t go down fast enough for Trevor’s liking. Nothing mattered but the white hot fear coursing through Trevor’s veins and the red clouding his vision. He might as well have been a stranger in his own body the way it moved on its own, without even an initial thought, let alone a second one. Screams rang out in every direction, mixing with the piercing sound of the repeated gunshots that sat heavy in the air, still echoing off of the metal ceiling above.

Even throughout Michaels panic he was able to recognize the sound of heavy footsteps and gruff voices approaching. Of course security cares now. He thought for just a moment; there was bound to be cameras and plenty of witnesses, if either fled, they’d be wanted criminals, not a problem nor a rarity for Trevor, but Michael had been so well behaved lately. Of course he could just leave him here and hope security got to him before he got to Michael, he’d always had a knack for self preservation. Then a twinge of guilt set in, growing every painful millisecond that he didn’t move. Memories of every job gone south flooded his head as he forced his legs forwards, grabbing Trevor’s arm again.

“T- fuck, we gotta move,” he said just loud enough for Trevor to hear over the girl wailing above her fallen coworker.

Snapping out of his fear driven haze, Trevor took a few stumbling steps forward before properly gathering himself and taking off, only looking back to check that Mike was close behind him. When he noticed the three larger men gaining on him, he stopped in his tracks, reached back and grabbed Michaels wrist, hoping to speed him up, or at the very least ensure he’d be there if one of these infinitely more fit men were to get too close. The pair had no such luck though, Trevor had a bad habit of miscalculating his strength, and this was no exception. Michael took a tumble, immediately scrambling back up to his feet, making sure to curse at the other on his way up. Unfortunately his curses were drowned out by three more bullets being fired down the hallway, and two heavy thuds against the floor.

“M, buddy, we have got to get you some cardio in-“

Without responding, or even looking back at the carnage, Michael booked it down the dark path, hardly even waiting for Trevor anymore. They finally neared the exit, spotting a busy doorway at the end of the hall when Trevor fired the remainder of his ammo vaguely into the crowd. To neithers surprise, his method worked, and the group, which Michael wasn’t sure was actually after them, quickly dispersed in all directions, allowing the two to leave, making their way around the few limp bodies that hadn’t made it out of the crowd.

The street was nearly deserted by the time they reached the front of the building again, but the shouts that still echoed from inside the building and the wailing of sirens in the distance promised trouble if they stuck around any longer.

As they drove off, Michael struggled getting his heart rate back into the recommended range, meanwhile Trevor looked right as rain; slouched in his seat with his freshly bloodied boots against the dash, dumping an entire fun sized bag of P’s&Q’s into his mouth. Michael couldn’t help but laugh at the sight, not a good laugh, but one that came out angry, disgusted even.

“How many fuckin’ people did you just kill back there? Innocent people, and you’re sittin there with your feet up eating candy.” Michael waved an angry hand in Trevor’s direction as he chastised him, a habit he carried from years of yelling at two inconsiderate teenagers.

Trevor held his hands up defensively, as if he didn’t know what he’d done wrong, “Five, six maybe?” he thought for a moment before shaking his head dismissively, “Oh, don’t act all high and fucking mighty now that you’ve got an “honest living” pumping out two hours of garbage every so often” he mocked

“I don’t have to act high and mighty, I’m not the grown ass man who just massacred at least five people over what? A fear of party clowns?”

“HE WAS NOT,” Trevor cried, sitting up and slamming a palm down on the dash. “A PARTY CLOWN-“

Michael snorted, unintentionally cutting off Trevor’s tirade. He couldn’t help it, even through his anger and disbelief, something about the awfully familiar banter just felt right.

“What’s so fuckin’ funny, huh?”

“Oh nothing, not a thing about this is funny, T.” Michael replied as he pinched the bridge of his nose, still quietly chuckling. “Not the people you killed, definitely not all the kids you traumatized-“

“Christ, we’ve been through this, Mikey; besides, nothings illegal on Halloween if it’s objectively funny.”

“Not that you’d care if it was,” Michael lit a cigarette as he spoke “in fact, I think you prefer doing things you’re not fuckin’ supposed to.”

“Absolutely,” Trevor finally smiled, it wasn’t a happy one, but his usual crooked, cocky smile. “it’s one of the many perks of not being constrained by your dodgy west coast morals.” he finished, pointing an accusatory finger a little too close to the others face.

Michael laughed again, even he could admit that the phrase “dodgy west coast morals” wasn’t entirely untrue.

“Right right, at least your morals aren’t dodgy, just downright sick and twisted.”

“Exactly!” Trevor seemed to relax now, thinking Michael understood his point; Michael wasn’t going to bother correcting him.

The rest of the drive was silent, Michael resisting the urge to switch the radio to the news in case they were already covering earliers massacre, Trevor watching the world pass without a care. Before he could ask where they were headed now, Michael turned into his own driveway, thankful for the lack of Amanda’s red Sentinel.

“The fuck are we doing here?” Trevor asked, stepping out of the car, abandoning his now nearly empty pillowcase of candy.

“Eh, everyone’s out right now, not like we’ve got anywhere better to be.” In truth, Michael really just wanted the two of them to lay low for the time being, and he knew he could keep Trevor from terrorizing the general public if he tried hard enough.

“Not like you’ve got anywhere better to be,” Trevor muttered, but still followed the older man inside.

The two were immediately met with bickering upon entering, Tracey and Jim fighting over the television from the living room.

“Everyone’s out, huh?” Trevor mused, actually a little excited to see his niece and nephew. Before he could be stopped, he strode into the living room, arms open. “Hey, kids, miss me?” he asked, a bright smile on his face.

Tracey launched herself up from the couch and right into her favorite uncle's arms. “Oh. Emm. Gee!” she dramaticized “Trevor? It’s been like, forever!”

“Yeah, you can thank your shithead father for that, sweetie.” He replied with a brief side eye in Michael's direction.

Jimmy stood up now, but instead of going for a hug he opted for a weird teenage boy sort of handshake that Trevor didn’t really get, but tried his best on. “Yo! uncle T! How you been?” he certainly wasn’t as elated as Tracey was, and might’ve even been a little nervous, but he was friendly nonetheless.

“Good good, just been tearin’ up a haunted house with your fat old man. What about you kids? Staying outta trouble?”

“Haunted house? The one you asked us to go to?” Tracey asked her dad, finally detaching herself from Trevor’s side.

Michael reared his head back a little at the question. “Yes, actually, you little traitors. I thought you two had better things to do than sit around the house and argue all night.” he stated bitterly.

“I did, but…” Tracey trailed off defensively.

Before anybody could press her for details, Trevor spoke up, “Hey, who fuckin’ cares? It was terrible anyways.” He glared again at Michael

“It was? Why, what happened?” She questioned, happy to have dropped the previous subject.

Michael replied before Trevor could, “Nothing, or if you find out, nothing that was my fault.”

“Daddy,” Tracey began worriedly “Mom is gonna be like, so mad if she sees you on the news again, you know-“

“I said it wasn’t-“ Michael cut her off to defend himself, but stopped with a sigh when he realized it was no use, “Speaking of, where is she?”

Tracey took a nervous breath to answer him, but paused when she heard her younger brother snort quietly behind her.

“Check her yogi's house.” Jimmy mumbled, a little too amused.

Maybe some part of him was hoping his father hadn’t heard him, because Jimmy actually looked a little afraid when Michael pointed an angry finger at him to begin his rant, and more than a little afraid when he watched the anger drain from his face as Michael realized that his son was likely right, and even worse, that he really didn’t care anymore.

Michael put his hands up, and took a breath to steady himself. “Y’know what? At least it’s not my ass she’s five feet up tonight.” With that, he made his way to the kitchen to make himself a drink.

All it took was the five minutes Michael disappeared to the kitchen for the other three to make themselves comfortable on the couch with the lights dimmed, an old, admittedly terrible scary movie playing on the TV. He didn’t say anything, just stood there in the doorway, almost admiring the scene, two neat glasses of whiskey in his hands. It had been some time since his family, even excluding Amanda, had been so peaceful. He stayed there for a few minutes until Trevor noticed, and waved him over. He sat in the space between Jimmy and Trevor, passing his friend a glass and almost automatically leaning into the arm Trevor had slung over the back of the couch.

The four remained planted on the couch for the rest of the evening; each old horror film looking worse, but also somehow better than the last. Michael basked in this rare, undisturbed peace. He wasn’t sure how long it’d last, so he let each of his worries wash away one by one and he didn’t let them return, not when his whiskey emptied and he was too comfortable to get up and make another, nor when he noticed Amanda hadn’t come home for the night as he was drifting off with his head rested on Trevor’s chest, and especially not when he felt the morning sunlight creep through his eyelids when he awoke.

[shepscapades]

Posted to Twitter for the first time in 5 years /silly DSFGNFGB So here’s my atttempt at a more finished piece, inspired by Doc’s newest episode :D

Actually recorded a short timelapse for this one too, so that’s below the cut :D

[foldingfittedsheets]

The mattress store I work at gets transfers once a week. Stock comes in from the warehouse, a few beds on hand for pickup, frames, sheets, protectors. They also pick up stuff from us. Floor model beds that have been sold off mostly.

Today the transfer was picking up a boxspring that’s been languishing in the back room for over a year with a huge tag that says DO NOT SELL. I was elated when I found out what’s what they were taking.

Then the guys pulled it out and froze. Given the small space in the back room I was mostly trapped behind it waiting for them to pull it free.

They communicated rapidly in a language I didn’t speak then finally there was a tiny, “There’s a bug on it.”

“Oh. Gross. Want a paper towel?”

“No, it’s inside the bag.”

I paused in confusion and wiggled out from behind the box to regard where he pointed. A very desiccated dead beetle was clinging to the boxspring. I looked at the drivers. I looked back at the beetle.

“We can’t take it,” he said.

I frowned in confusion before the shoe finally dropped that it was a bed bug safety protocol. No bugs are allowed on any pickups because if we had bugs get into the warehouse it could be catastrophic.

“Oh. Can you send a picture?”

He took a picture and called the warehouse. The three of us regarded the dried up beetle husk.

There were several minutes of back and forth. Finally he turned back to me and said, “Can you get it out?”

“The beetle?” I asked, my voice hitting a shrill hilarity only perceivable by dogs. It was so clearly and evidently not a bedbug that the absurdity of this request was breaking me.

He nodded.

I went to get scissors. I poked the bug corpse down the plastic repeatedly until it reached the ground. I cut into the plastic and tried to flick it out. It went deeper.

Cursing I got on my knees, maneuvering the scissors to get the mummified insect free. It slid away from my hole. I hissed and cut a second hole, reaching hopefully in with the dull side of the scissors. It slid deeper once again.

I huffed and looked up at the guys in defeat, “It’s too far back.”

One of them took the scissors and gestured me away. The other hefted the box to try to slip and slide the bug body to one of the holes while the first guy dropped to his back on the floor like a boxspring mechanic, a frown of concentration on his face.

He and the guy holding it up maneuvered the poor boxspring between them back and forth trying to find an optimal beetle retrieval angle. Finally he managed to free the worse for wear beetle body.

It dropped anticlimactically to the ground at our feet, tiny and unassuming, a faded grey speck on the linoleum that had put all of us to so much trouble.

We cheered anyway.

The guys took the box and the beetle received last rites in the form of a paper towel.

[robo-writing]

Logan whose senses are so heightened that he can actually smell when you’re ovulating and it’s enough to put him in a happier mood almost instantly the moment you walk into a room.

[helmbarte]

Been chilly lately