#he'd absolutely have a high pitched scream

[feathered-moths-ablaze]

Lol Woah managing to scare Ghost by jumping out from somewhere

[allllium]

I Think This is a Red Flag

~ This is really short but I think it's adorable, especially the thoughts Simon has about reader 🤭

~ Fluff, Johnny being a meanie, WC: 656

~ readers throws things at johnny and Simon falls even more in love

"Don't make me beat your ass Mactavish!" Your voice booms though the small apartment. Simon sighs, hearing your words as he walks into your shared home.

"No! This is assault!" Johnny yells back, his voice comically high pitched. Simon doesn't even have his boots off before a semi quiet bang hits the wall.

"Do I need to intervene?" Your boyfriend asks, leaning on the door frame of your bedroom. You and Johnny are standing on opposite sides of the room but he can clearly see the plastic cup on the floor that you threw at Johnny moments before. You're standing with your hands on your hips, while Johnny has his arms up in defense.

"No we're good, baby." You smile at him, discreetly moving your hand to grab another throwable item from the dresser next to you. Johnny begins shaking his head in disagreement.

"Tell them to stop trying to kill me!" The scot demands. You give Simon a very clear look that screams "stay out of it."

"Love, why are you throwing things at Mactavish?" He asks, and quickly adds, "Not that I disagree with this course of action."

You throw something else at Johnny as Simon is talking. Not even looking to see what it is before launching it across the room. "Why don't you tell him, buddy." You offer to Johnny.

"But then he'll throw stuff at me too." Johnny practically whines. Simon happens to have a much better aim than you. Simon watches in amusement as the people closest to him act like toddlers.

"What'd you do, Mate?" He asks quietly, not really wanting to know the answer. He really doesn't want to be labeled your accomplice when you inevitably kill the man.

"I threw a bug." Johnny mutters under his breath. Quiet enough that Simon couldn't hear but loud enough to remind you to throw your next item.

"I'm sorry, what?" You ask him to clarify in an angry voice.

"I threw a bug at 'em." He says again, his head hanging down. Simon has to resist the urge to laugh. Johnny can do dumb things, yes but something as dumb as this? Not even Simon saw this coming.

"Well, why'd you do that then?" Simon bursts, still trying his absolute hardest to keep in his laughter. The last thing he wants is your current wrath focused on him.

"I don't know," he brings his voice back to a mutter, "Thought it'd be funny."

It's almost humorous how he looks like a kicked puppy.

Almost.

Certainly not enough to stop you from your present revenge.

"And was it Johnny? Was it funny?" You aggressively question. From Simon's standpoint it almost looks like tears are forming in your eyes. He must admit you look gorgeous when you're so angry.

"No it was not." He responds, it reminds Simon of a child being scolded. His eyes dart up to meet Simon's.

"Help me." His eyes beg. Simon quickly looks away.

"I don't know, this seems like a fair revenge plan." He shrugs, more than happy to keep watching you.

A disgraceful sound comes from Johnny as he realizes he has no way out. Not with Simon in the doorway or the anger radiating off you.

"Thank you, Sweetie." You gleam at him. Simon can feel his heart melt in his chest at the sight of your happy face. He'd let you throw things at him too if you got this happy about it. Obviously you've been wanting an excuse to do this for a while.

Johnny lets out an overly dramatic sigh as you and Simon stare at each other. He's awfully emotional about this considering you've missed him over the half the times you've thrown something.

Simon watches as your attention turns back on Johnny and the smile leaves your face. He can make out the faint "Traitor" you mouth at him. You really are perfect for me. Simon thinks to himself.

[vmbrq]

Heyy this is abt ur recent post!

I’ve always thought abt Ethan and how he would rail tf out of you like omfg!!! he seems sweet and innocent and he seems like he wouldn’t be into kinky shit but I feel like he’d be into anything you’d be into fr

like imagine blindfolding him and riding him with his hands tied behind his back. 😩 his whines and moans and begs like…I NEED IT NOW I NEED SUB ETHAN RN!

smut under the cut ; minors dni ; AFAB READER

SCREAMS i think about ethan stepping out of the sub zone i see a lot of people put him in and absolutely REARRANGING your shit. you're so right, he looks like he'd be so shy and sweet, i just KNOW he's gotta have smth else going on there. there are def times where he's got you pinned on your stomach with his chest pressed against your back and his thighs caged around yours to keep you in place, or where he's got you scoring deep scratches into his shoulders while he burns your blissed-out expression into his memory. he's still whiny, his moans still high-pitched and breathy as he thrusts into you, but he's in control.

BUT ALSO. TO CONTRIBUTE TO YOUR LAST LITTLE PARAGRAPH. I JUST. my brain. i think that blindfolding and restraining him would be such a juicy way to mess with him, bc he is STRONG. like that scene where he broke into the apartment and fucked everybody up? plus he has MUSCLES. he could yank on the restraints binding his wrists behind his back, thrust his hips up into you to chase the release you've been teasing with him, he could utilize his strength however he sees fit. but he doesn't. he wants to be good for you, he wants to make you happy. plus, he likes when you get like this, when you get a bit bolder than usual and take full advantage of his lack of awareness and consequential heightened senses.

it's just so wonderful, having him under you, getting to trail your fingertips over his chest and shoulders and feel goosebumps rise in their wake, feeling every twitch and tense of his body and hearing every hitch of his breath at unexpected touches. his kisses are messy, too, since he not only can't see you but is also too absorbed in the pleasure to kiss you properly. they're desperate and sloppy, hungry. when his lips aren't on yours, he runs his mouth, resorting to pleading since he can't use his hands or arms to anchor you to him. you can feel his adam's apple bob under your lips, a choked whimper kicked from his throat when you kiss along his neck and dig your fingernails into the skin just above his v-line.

his head lolls backward, body taut, rambling in a tight, strained voice, "feels s' good . . . please, please, please don't stop. 'm gonna cum, fuck, please--" without the ability to rely on his sense of sight, the feeling of your walls constricted around his cock is so much more overwhelming, and since it's the first time you've blindfolded him, he doesn't really know how to handle it. when he finally feels you cum around him, his jaw clenches at the obscene squelch and squeeze of your cunt as you sink back down on him in pursuit of another orgasm, threatening to milk him dry. "i can--shit, i can feel it," he mumbles, "'s so warm, so fucking wet. need you to cum again . . . i wanna feel it again."

[muntitled]

Eunseok's Restraint

Bodyguard!Eunseok x Fem!Reader

Summary: Seducing the man hired to protect and serve

Warnings: Language, Violence, Organized Crime, Smut +18 (Minors DNI)

A/N: Do not read this it's not good. I just needed him out of my head

A door slamming shut in the distant driveway underneath your window rouses you from a disturbing dream. A dream you're all too happy waking up from. This had been odd because you had never stayed up past the tenth hour and as a result, have never had a sleepover with any of your past adolescent friends.

You fell asleep when your father conducted his shady goings on like a good little girl because that is what was expected of you. And if there was but one thing that you knew, it is how to be good.

As of recently, however, your usual, robotic if not, blind obedience was thawing slowly and it only takes one single solitary evening for that clean pure streak to become poisoned with an inky blackness.

But something in you was screaming with molten excitement because he was back…

"Just one peek," You're not entirely sure who you're trying to reassure. You certainly had no friends and you couldn't have been talking to any of your stuffed animals, you had put them to bed long ago.

You ought to be in bed yourself- but your mindless feet drag you out of bed. You're aware enough to slot them into the pink, fuzzy slippers but that is where your sensibility stops. You trot across the carpet, as silent as a lamb, stepping into the sliver of moonlight shining in through the window.

The window.

It was an ancient, ghastly thing, much like the rest of your home. Your room was the only architectural exception with its pastel interiors and soft finishes. The rest of the ostentatious manor belonged solely to your father. Ivy clung to the building like a sickness, crawling up the foundations of your window. It is against those windows where you now sit perched like a bird, watching the beasts that prowled down below. You watch with bated breath as those neatly arranged cars snake down the gravel pathway, circling around the fountain and stopping at the myriad steps. You're not too hidden and perhaps you should be, but every sliver of rationality left, disappears as soon as he uncovers himself from within the jet black luxury car.

It all happens in slow motion, really. Your breathing stammers with unfamiliar lust, steaming up the pane as you watch Eunseok, one of your father's fiercely loyal workers, readjust the lapels of his dark blue suit. He looks impeccably dressed, actually, along with that stone cold visage that only adds to his ‘brooding, emotionless bodyguard, exterior. He's so finely dressed, in fact, that you suspect it had been terrifyingly easy to blend in with the normal working class in his outfit. Absolutely nothing about his countenance alluded to all the blood he'd voluntarily spilled for your father and that's the problem.

At least Sungchan beside him had the decency of appearing like the common criminal he was. Something in his pitch-black suit and that garish display of jewellery pieces just screams 'illegal activity.’

Not Eunseok though.

As if feeling somehow that he was being watched, Eunseok’s eyes flit to the highest level of the piss-rich manor as if compelled by some other worldly force. You suppose this is why your dad had hired him. His senses had to have been immaculate to catch you watching him from up high.

His eyes however, do not react as he watches you watching him from up there, your night gown clinging to your shoulder by a single silk thread and sheer fucking will. A low whistle rips through Sungchan’s mouth and just like that, the spell is broken.

"Quit it," Eunseok says, breaking eye contact to stare straight ahead at the manor instead. "Quit thinking about fucking his daughter."

Eunseok could feel Sungchan's eye roll as he whined "Since when did you become so fucking boring?"

"Since our entire lives depended on completing a job without our dicks getting in the way." Eunseok locks the car door with the tinted windows before continuing towards the manor, Sungchan walks in stride.

It is only when the men disappear inside the building when you realise you were straining your neck immeasurably, just to catch one fleeting glance.

You're never usually so easily coaxed out of the confines of your quarters but this is an exception. The corridor is dark and deserted when you creep out, your fuzzy slippers muted along the floor. The end of the corridor opens to a mezzanine flooded with a rectangle of golden artificial light and you quicken your steps. Your stomach already set alight with the inevitability of seeing him again. And him seeing you.

"I hope he didn't give you too much trouble," the voices in the downstairs living room travel towards you while you're still clinging to the darkness of the corridor like the ivy outside. You’re smart enough to cling to the mahogany bars of the mezzanine, overlooking the scene below like a hopeless voyeur.

Even now you could tell you'd probably get eaten alive if you were to get caught. Such talk of unsavoury business is no place for any dignified lady. All machismo and grit rising from the stems of celebratory whiskey glasses. You creep closer.

"No trouble at all," Eunseok speaks up but Sungchan is quick to interrupt, "-Although there was just a disgustingly wayward spray of blood that I rather not have had to deal with. I've got blood on my cufflinks and It's just not-"

"He's joking, Sir... of course" Eunseok adds with a quickness, causing you to slap a hand over your mouth to stop you from laughing involuntarily. It is that one movement that illuminates your frame right in Eunseok's line of vision. He watches you from above your father's head as you skulk, quite effectively in the shadows. His eye sparkles in the knowledge that he had made you laugh and your presence alone, albeit unseen, charges the room with something new.

Your father remains quiet for one suspicious moment before murmuring a low yet audible, "Of course," before veering off on his very own tangent.

From atop the mezzanine, you could see every part of the man in your father had hired to protect you. And he was damn good at his job if he was able to spot you so embarrassingly quickly.

None of the other men in the room had any inclination of your presence and that only fuelled your hunger and your confidence. A dangerous combination for a woman indeed. Your hand is already dipping between your legs the second conversation resumes. The shadows are a thin and inconsolable veil but a veil nonetheless. No one that wasn't looking for you would ever see you. Sungchan was engaged in a mind-numbing conversation with your father and as luck would have it, Eunseok seemed to have been the only soul keeping an eye out. So you decide to put on a show.

His breath quite literally hitches in the back of his throat when you lift the hem of your nightgown, up. Ever so slowly lending a patch of skin to the chandelier's warm glow. He watches your hands disappear under your pink cotton shorts with wretched anticipation. His swallows thickly, attempting to nod along to what your father was saying especially because a part of him knew the risk that came with entertaining your disobedience.

The threat of getting shot in the head for ogling his boss's kid, whom he swore to protect, doesn't seem all that daunting as Eunseok let's his gaze drift once again to the balcony above.

Eunseok only catches what the light allows and that's significantly less than what he wants, what he deserves. Your cotton panties are a fleeting, quick sight and he fights the groan off honourably, that wishes to slither through.

"I hope his exit was not too cruel, the old dog." Eunseok does not initially register your father's words, his eyes are piercing into your visage, watching every flit of emotion as you rub yourself through the fabric of your panties. He's bursting with the need to help you, to pull you against him and show you how it should be done. He needs you so bad.

"He did not suffer in his final moments?” Your father asks, stealing Eunseok's gaze from you once again. “I'm sure his wife will be glad to hear this."

Eunseok veers his eye from off of your frame, blinking as if reminding himself of the other people present. "We used the silencer.” Eunseok replies robotically.

Sungchan laughs knowingly from beside him. "-like a virgin in church-OOMPH!" Sungchan could not save his ribs from Eunseok's elbow in time.

As quick as the lighting, your back is once again plastered to the corridor away from the light and any prying eyes. You didn't need to use your eyes to know Eunseok had socked Sungchan in the ribs and you nearly laughed once again. "Jesus Christ, it was only a little metaphor!" Sungchan grumbles.

Your father is quick to excuse their antics for the blatant waste of his precious time that it was. He waves a hand dismissively as he says, "Your work is highly revered and will not go unrewarded, gentlemen. For now, you may retire to the west wing for the evening. We are expecting a storm, driving through the countryside is far more treacherous under these conditions." Your heart accelerates with your father's announcement and you feebly peek from around the concrete corner. Eunseok is already looking at you, and what you find in his eyes strips you of your confidence. His eyes are locked within a promise, drowning in the surety that something, beyond the tempest, was definitely a foot. "We appreciate the hospitality sir," Tan mutters under his breath as he watches you sink into the shadows once more.

When you make it back into your room, you leave the door ajar.

If, by some miracle invoked by an ancient power, you had gotten Sungchan to divulge even the tiniest of details about his partner, he'd tell you that, quiet as he may appear, Eunseok was a fucking whore and that it is of paramount importance that you not pursue him in the slightest. Still, it sets your heart aflame when your bedroom door creaks wider only an hour later and your arms grip the stuffy impossibly tighter.

You're tucked away in bed when you hear a voice speak up behind you, "You should be asleep," His words seem to pierce and excite you. A torrid combination as you peer aimlessly ahead. Your mattress feels weightless beneath you, and every particle in the air only seems to be so completely electrified.

It was interesting that he had maintained such a respectable distance. Everything you knew about the man your father had hired was limited but one thing that remained undeniable was Eunseok's restraint. He was restraining himself quite well.

You sit up to face him, your head haloed by your pillows and stuffed animals like a princess. Eunseok's cock all but twitches at the sight of you. Eunseok hates to admit that he had been nursing a boner ever since your little show on the mezzanine and it made his blood boil. He hated to feel 13 again, with no restraint on his hormonal adolescent hormones.

Even now, under the darkness of your room, shrouded in nothing but moonlight, Eunseok sees everything.

Your nightgown has shifted over the course of your tossing and turning and a nipple peeks out from the gown. His voice is gruff as he whispers, "Spread your legs for me. Spread them like you did before." His cock rages against his pyjama bottoms, begging to see the action he had commanded of you.

"All I could do is scream,” you say instead, always preferring to piss him off even in your most fire moments, “and my father would have a bullet through your skull the very second anyone laid their eyes on you,"

"I'm well aware of that, yes," His voice is laced with monotony and he looks completely inviting as he slams his head back against the wall adjacent to your bed. His lips quirks up ever so slightly as his hand lazily rubs over his hard and aching bulge. "Do you know what else I'm aware of, Dove?"

"What?"

"If you truly wanted me dead, I'd be a heap of blood on guts on this pretty little floor already.” He whispers once again, “Pull the sheets down and open your fucking legs."

His command triggers the obedience lodged in the confines of your brain like a switch. You shift and glide over the soft covers as you watch him across from you. Despite the warmth in your cheeks, you humph and open your legs tentatively for him, the cold air crawling up your heated thighs.

"Good,” he says, “Very good," delirium was fueling his every breath and it only causes the throbbing in between your legs to intensify. You whimper unintentionally but the sound causes his eye to snap up to you.

"Do you need instructions, Dove?”

The most you can manage is a broken, pathetic whimper once more as your hand slides over the swell of your breast to tweak your exposed nipple. A rush slams through your body causing you to clamp your legs shut, much to Eunseok's chagrin. He's so desperate to watch you fuck yourself, so undeniably desperate to just fucking cum and you're still making it completely difficult.

Eunseok's cold eyes snap away from your breast up to your face and you freeze in the snow storm of his glare, “You're not stupid, are you? Listening shouldn't be this fucking difficult-" Eunseok is quick to restrain his frustrations once more, when he notices the slight tension in your shoulders and your wide sad eyes in the wake of his degradation.

"I'm…” Eunseok sighs loudly “Sorry," he says so painfully, monotonously it almost makes you smile. Abandoning his post against the wall, Eunseok trudges to the foot of the bed. A war wages within his emotions and you see it in his face, but the right side (or wrong side) wins as he lowers himself at your feet.

A rough calloused hand finds your soft, supple skin, electing a trail of goosebumps in its wake. It's almost magnetic, the way his large hand travels up and down your leg. "I just need you to do something for me. Can you manage that, Dove?" You nod meekly, and the sight of it only makes Eunseok's cock ache even more.

He hadn't thought it possible to want something this bad, to want to feel anyone this bad. Whenever his need arose, he fucked whomever he wanted to at that very moment, but you had introduced a new set of rules. It seemed sacrilegious to pounce on you like he had done with so many other girls. You seemed so incredibly fragile. So breakable.

"Open these legs for me,” he wiggles your toe causing you to let out a quiet giggle, “Just a little? It'd make me so, so fucking happy. " He presses a soft kiss to your steepled knee and the brush of his soft lips on your skin causes a small moan out of you. The bed dips and the covers shift as you move your feet to accommodate your opening legs. "So good, you're doing so good for me, Sweetheart,"

He shifts in unprecedented anticipation and soon, both his hands find your knees to help coax you open. He breathes in deeply at the sight of your drenched cotton panties. "I'm going to help you just a little. Is that alright?"

"I'd really like that." Your voice is high pitched and small, drenched with the thickness of being caught in the height of subspace and all Eunseok can do is marvel at it all.

"Of course, baby," He delivers soft, ticklish kisses along your thigh as his hands hook into the sides of your underwear and he drags them slowly down, against his animalistic and torrid will. "You're so fucking gorgeous." He melts against your legs and his reaction elicits a wave of butterflies.

"You're so fucking perfect, 'know that?" He asks, still spraying kisses over your leg as he discards your panties into the pockets of his pyjama pants. "But you need to do something else for me alright? I need you to-" Eunseok inhales sharply instead of finishing his sentence.

Your hands had operated with a mind of their own, one hand parting your swollen lips while the other rubs lightly over along your clit. Your head is thrown back at the overwhelming rush of ecstasy that flows through your body and you're only spurred by his heated gaze.

"You're not such an innocent little girl, are you?" His thick vibrato sets your skin alight with need and you moan rather loudly into the night air. "Say it," Eunseok taunts. "Say 'yes daddy, I've always been a little slut for you,'” he was testing you.

Your legs cramp with grating tension and your other hand finds your nipple once more. Your gaze is firmly locked on Eunseok who watches you while seated at the foot of your bed with absolute focus.

"Say it!" He barks and the words slowly mesh out of you like a spewing waterfall.

"I've always been…” you squeeze your eyes shut, letting an unprecedented wave of shame intermix with your arousal, “I've always been a slut."

“For who?” Eunseok's voice is sharp.

“For you.” Your voice is quivering.

“For me who?”

“You, Daddy-”

Eunseok’s restraint drains so completely he wonders of it had even really been there as he grips your ankle and violently pulls you underneath him.

"My good little slut,” he whispers as he makes quick work to replace your flimsy hand on your breast with his strong one. Your backarches as Eunseok hovers above you, as if unconsciously giving your entire body to him. “My little fucking whore. Does that feel good baby?”

All you're able to do is nod with your eyes squeezed shut as Eunseok's hands, which are much more experienced and much more reassuring, tweak your nipples in a way that actually has you gasping into the air.

Through the haze of your delirium, you stop his movements. You guide his hand downwards, to wear he’s needed most.

Once Eunseok's cold calloused fingers make contact with your weeping cunt you immediately detach your hand from his, urging him to make magic out of you.

Your hands could never accomplish what he can and you're immediately shot into hyperspace once Eunseok gets the message and begins to rub your cunt at snail's pace.

,”You're so good you know that?” He flies his gaze from his hand in between your legs to your blissed out face and he plants a kiss to the side of your head as if trying to distract you from his fingers sliding into your cunt.

“Fuck, you know you're making Daddy need you, right? He needs you really badly,” His praise is god and it's all that guides you to your inevitable orgasm. Eunseok's lips against your ear while his index and middle finger fuck you open has you fighting the urge to scream into the night air.

“Your fingers couldn't make you feel good like Daddy's can-” it wasn't a question, you don't think. Thinking proves to be exceedingly difficult as you lift your hips to meet his thrusts while his thumb plays with your clit. All this control from one hand is so fucking impressive to you. Watching him strum you like an instrument as if he were in charge of your entire body has you nearing your edge quicker and quicker.

Eunseok begins to rub furiously at your pussy and you fight to keep your eyes on him. In his billowy shirt and sporting an impressive bulge-his eyes wide and showering you with all the attention, it proves to be far too much."C-Can I-"

"Cum for me, Dove. Cum all over my fingers, baby." And your orgasm is quite literally ripped out of the skies. Your legs quake and your voice quivers as you are flung over the edge. His reassuring murmurs and soft affirmations guide you through it all.You slump against your pillows, basking in the afterglow as you watch the millions of thoughts swim through Eunseok's head.

[sturnioloszn]

NEW LIFE - M.S

summary; matt gets to finally meet his baby, but he's terrified of doing something wrong.

warnings; absolutely none.

a/n; for some reason, i get inspired to write at 2am?? also, the baby fever is real, so here's a fic w newborn dad matt. i feel like he'd be the biggest girl dad ever.

★ ° . *　　°　.　°☆ 　. * ● ¸. 　　　★ 　° :. ★　 * •

"I can't do this," I weep, tears streaming down my face.

"Yes, you can y/n, one last push," the midwife in front of me says. I've been in labour for five excruciating hours. I'm in unbearable pain, and I really don't think I can do it.

"C'mon baby, I believe in you," Matt speaks from next to me. I squeeze his hand as hard as I possibly can, trying to relieve the pain I'm currently experiencing. I heard him trying to stiffle a groan, probably from his hand almost losing circulation.

I scream at the top of my lungs, the noise echoing off the walls, and I give one final push. Suddenly, a high-pitched cry erupted in the room. I look between me and I see her. My baby. Even though she was covered in blood, she was the most beautiful thing ever.

"Good job, you did it. You have a healthy baby girl," the woman in front of me congratulated.

I turn to Matt and see he's already looking at me with a warm smile on his lips, "You did it, my love, I'm so proud of you,". He leans over and places a gentle kiss on my sweaty forehead.

I return a lazy smile, "Thank you," I whisper, trying to catch my breath.

A few moments later, the nurse returns with my baby, who's is now wrapped in a pink blanket, and carefully hands her to me.

"Hey, baby girl," I say, bringing her close to my chest. I look down to admire her soft features. I may be a little biased, but she was the cutest baby I had ever seen. She had a cute little nose, soft lips, and rosy cheeks, I couldn't help but smile.

I couldn't believe she was really here. Emotions began to overwhelm me, and I felt tears welcome my eyes once again. This time, however, they were tears of joy.

"I think you should take her," I say, turning to look at Matt, who is staring at her just as intently as I was.

"Oh, uhm, I don't think... I can," he says. I can tell he's nervous about holding her but this was his baby too.

"It's okay, Matt, you won't hurt her," I reassure him, and he looks over to the nurse who is still in the room. The nurse takes her from me and guides Matt on how to position his hands so that he can hold her too. The nurse then lowers the baby into his arms.

"Oh my god, hi baby," He whispers, cradling her head into his palm. "She's tiny," he whispers once again, now looking up at me.

Oh god. Seeing Matt holding her makes me want to have another one all over again already. He looks back down to admire her the same way I just was. There's a soft smile on his lips, he's in absolute awe of her.

The midwife came back over and suggested I should feed her. Otherwise, she may begin to cry again. Matt handed her back over to me, and the midwife instructed me on how to breastfeed her. Matt watched attentively, he went on a small rant about how lucky and thankful he was for me and our new baby.

This was the beginning of something completely new, and of course, I was terrified but equally excited. I can't believe I have a baby with the man of my dreams, and we get to raise her and love her. I take deep breaths and absorb this moment, wishing I could crystalise it in my memories forever.

My daydreams are cut short when someone's bursts through the door.

"WHERE IS MY NIECE?!" Nick exclaims, breaking into the room.

"Shh," Matt whisper-shouts at him, causing Nick to slap a hand over his mouth.

"Shit, sorry," He says in a much quieter tone. Chris also enters the room now, moving to stand next to Nick.

"I'm gonna be the best uncle ever, screw you, Chris," he says, looking to Chris, to which he just replies with a middle finger.

This baby is already so loved, and I'm so excited to see what the future holds for me, Matt and our baby.

★ ° . *　　°　.　°☆ 　. * ● ¸. 　　　★ 　° :. ★　 * •

a/n; ....this is lowk the shittiest thing ever written in the history of writing, but oh well. tbh, this was planned out better in my head. i'm actually debating posting this, but it is what it is lmaoo. anyway, thanks for reading this piece of shit, love uuu. 💙

[arminsumi]

ahh i’ve never made a request before but was just thinkin about dom/softdom reader teasing/edging armin with a bullet vibe by going through all the settings n then overstimulating him when he finishes 😵‍💫😅

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒꒱ pretty boy

ARMIN x f.reader

A/N: thank u for ur yummy request my head was SPINNING over this idea!! 🤤

♪ NOW PLAYING: baby, slow down

Wc: >900

Overview; edging and overstimulating your pretty boy with a bullet vibe!

Content; smut, pre-established relationship (bf/gf)

Warnings; 🔞mdni, mommy kink, dom/sub, begging, teasing, edging, toy usage (bullet vibe), overstimulation, dirty talk, cumshot, pns – good boy and pretty boy, sensitive boy Arlert! 🤭

arminsumi's library

You've got him laid between your thighs, panting and sweating like crazy; your left hand's delicately moving the buzzing toy in stroking motions against his flushed red length while your other is stroking his head — he needs that comfort so bad when he's this sensitive.

" fuck — fuuuck — oh, fuuuuuuck — 'm gonna cum! I — I'm gonna cum s'much I can't — " he whines, his voice getting higher and higher pitched.

He bucks his slender hips up into the air and stutters a repetition of feathery fucks as his high builds up up up until you suddenly steal his satisfaction away and remove the vibe from his cock. The slick of his precum glistens on the hole of his throbbing cockhead.

"Nooo! — ohmygod — 'lemmecumplease — I've been g–good! Haven't I, mommy?"

He almost cries; there's tears welling in his pretty blue eyes as he looks up at you through his dampened bangs.

"Not yet, 'gotta work for it. Tell me how badly you want it." you demand, looking down at him with a naughty smile that makes his cock twitch.

"Please!"

The strain in his voice tells you just how badly he needs relief. How badly he needs to squirt out ropes of creamy cum all over himself.

You shake your head at him, "Nuh-uh, not good enough for me."

"God — fuck — mommy — Y/n — I need it so bad." he says, squirming his hips all over the bed.

His cock's so hard and needy that it jumps and twitches; there's now a long string of precum glistening down the underside. It tingles from tip to base, all because of that stupidly good toy you insisted on trying out today. Today, when he was especially horny and sensitive.

"You need what so bad?"

" 'needa cum! I n–needa cum so fucking bad!"

"Oh yeah? My pretty boy has so much cum stored up for me, doesn't he?"

"Mhm! Y–yeah, yes — fuck I have s'much cum for mommy! Lemme give it to you, please!"

Your satisfied expression makes his heart lurch. "Good boy." you praise.

Since he's earned it, you reapply the buzzing toy back to his cock, this time just to his cockhead; your hand that was previously comfortingly stroking his head now engulfed his shaft and slowly pumped up and down.

"Fuck!" he almost screams, and squirms harder than before. "Oh — yesyesyes — that's so good, please don't stop."

Rubbing the very tip of the vibe back and forth across his tip's hole earns a sharp hiss from Armin. "Fuuuck I'm gonna cuuum — I'm gonna — gonna — oh mommy — ahhhh ahh fuckmefuckmefuckme!"

Watching the buildup to his orgasm is always your favorite part.

It's so endearing; the way he absolutely falls apart, the way he chants a jumbled mix of your nickname and curses. Lust-glazed eyes pinch shut as hot cum spurts out his oversensitive cock; the first ribbon the thickest, spilling to form a puddle on his pelvic region, then the last few ribbons becoming watery.

You coo in his ear, bringing the vibrator to rest against his underside — seriously, you saved the most sensitive spot for last? That spot was basically like his G-spot. When he'd jerk himself off for you, he'd always play with that spot first.

" ohmygod — Y/n, Y/n — 's too much, I can't take mooore — uhhh fuck!" he mewls, arching his back for you, squirming his legs all over the bed, backing up into you to get away from the overstimulating vibe.

"C'mon, can't you give me 'nother? You're so cute when you cum, mommy just wants to see it again."

His heart flutters at your choice of words. You always worded yourself just right for his mind to descend into nasty fantasies.

Armin gasps and moans like he can't piece himself together after falling apart from that orgasm. "F–fuck... fuck okay. I'll give you 'nother one, momm–yyy — 'cause I love you."

"What's that? What'd you say, angel?" you smile.

The end of his sentence got merged with a moan, but you still heard it clear as day. Armin was so shy of saying those three words to you, even though he felt them very deeply. This was a big deal.

" 'said... 'said I love you." he breathes.

His eyes were pinched shut for most of the session, but now they peaked open. "I love you." he repeats, and then he goes on and on as you increase the bullet vibe's intensity with your phone.

You lay a much-desired kiss on his lips. " 'love you too, pretty boy. Now cum again for me. Let go n' feel good."

"Fuck — fuck, yes, okay — god I'm already close — 'm close 'm clooose!" he whines in the highest pitch yet.

"There we go, keep chasing it, get that relief, such a pretty boy." you coo in his ear.

Your cooing voice, the buzzing vibrator, your fingers wrapping around the base of his overstimulated cock and hand stroking up and down it; it's all too much. Way too much.

" 'cumminggg!"

He can barely get that out before he dissolves into another orgasm, this one more shaky than the last. You feel him tremble as he shoots out streaks of creamy cum, thin stripes of white decorating his skin, stretching from abdomen to tummy.

[merakiui]

who in twst besides riddle do u think would actually be a 40 year old virgin. Whether its bc he was a loser growing up, or had no game. Whos the greying silverfox who smells like old cologne and is soooo mature but cant help but pitching a tent whenever he sees a sweet thing like you ask him for life advice? Old virgins ftw :D

AZUL. AZUL. AZUL. AZUL ASHENGROTTO!!!!!! Please ask him for life advice. Let him talk your ear off about the economy and financial tips and all of that "buy low, sell high" stuff. Please look at him with wide, excited eyes as you curiously listen and nod along. He's so accomplished and successful and smart, but he folds the minute you say those things to him. All it takes is a "Wow! You're so smart, Mr. Ashengrotto!" and he's having to do his best to remain normal when his dick is achingly hard. >_< you just have that effect...

OR FLOYD. OTL scummy, sleazy Floyd who talks dirty so naturally, but the truth is that he's still a virgin. <3 he'd make fun of Jade and Azul for getting so worked up over feet and legs, but then he sees you in your cute, frilly clothes and he's gone LOL. It's not even that risqué, but there's something so enticing about the modesty. He's obsessed.

It goes without saying that this screams Rollo Flamme. The most virgin man ever. Still so traditional and refuses to hook up with anyone random or look for no-strings-attached situationships and the like. But then here you are, cute and impressionable, and asking him for life advice... you're driving him mad.

Another obvious one, but Idia is absolutely like this. He's so proud when you feed his ego and call him a super genius because of course he is! But all of the blood is rushing to his dick the minute you're sidling up closer to him to look at his monitor and asking all sorts of questions about programming and whatnot in that sweet voice of yours. You're so close he can smell you!!!!!

[pixlpxie]

Hi babe!! Puppet anon here again, I’m actually kinda glad that last ask didn’t send bc I feel like I didn’t elaborate enough so here, let me *expand*

Like, I 100% agree Yunho has to train you to take in his hand. For that, and to fully control you too.

He starts out slow, with only a couple fingers at first, but gives you this rule from the beginning: you can only make sounds when allowed to. He’ll find a point in your neck or your back to squeeze when he wants to let you speak. If you moan or make any noise without his permission, he punishes you by not letting you cum, and when he’s three fingers deep in you and has edged you for like the third time and feels you’re close once again he grabs that spot and tells you to “sing for me” as he goes even harder. He finally lets you air out all the moans and screams you’ve been holding and you cum for the first time.

But you’re not stretched enough yet. So without any time to waste he places you on his cock slowly, praising you as your hole swallows every inch and stretches you so perfectly. He then fucks you within an inch of your life (<3) that by the time he commands you to speak again, you cannot make any coherent sentences, just plead for his cock senselessly.

And he’d be so mean about it too, he’d say something like “Can’t talk, puppet? Too complicated for a stupid fucktoy like you? Don’t worry, your Master can do that for you.”

By the time you’ve had your second orgasm on his cock, you feel yourself falling deeper into subspace, the more he fucks you like an object, your body starts to believe you are.

So when he fills your pussy with his own seed and there’s finally enough stretch and lubrication, he’ll sit you on his lap and fit his hand one finger at the time, praising you all the way through as you feel it stretch you more and more.

“That’s it, puppet. You’re taking me so well, you’re my beautiful toy, aren’t you? So precious, such a good girl.”

When he’s done, the fullness inside you just feels out of this world, you truly feel like you’ve become a part of him with just how much of him is inside you. And imagine if he did this in front of a mirror. You’d watch yourself sitting on his leg, absolutely ruined and looking so small compared to him, his wrist disappearing inside you as he looks at you with a fascinated smile. Truly looking like-

“My perfect little puppet.”

Now for the unhinged part, I do think that although realistically he wouldn’t be able to move any fingers, it would be so fucking hot if you felt how he hooks in two fingers and moves them inside you, telling you to open and close your mouth when he does. Your body just reacts on its own and does it without you having to think about, reacting so well to your master’s timing, like it already knows it’s job.

“Who do you belong to, puppet?”

And he, who is so good at doing voices, would give you the cutest high pitched voice when making you answer him as he moves his two fingers rhythmically and makes you speak.

“To you, Master.”

Babee... Do i even have to say anything 😩 you literally wrote a perfect fic here😣 but also imagine the bulge that would form on your tummy from having his hand inside you, it would drive him crazy and he would caress it with his free hand while moving the other one inside you to see the bulge move too. The more prominent your bulge is the more he'd feel like you belong to him, literally, like a puppet master owns his puppets... and the more you looked like a brainless toy the more he'd treat you like a real puppet. He would love seeing you so broken on his lap, unable to speak or even make sounds because you're that ruined.

[taintedcigs]

modern!steve popular culture hcs:

loves taylor swift. this is obvious. 1989 is his go to album when he's getting ready (especially during his hair care routine). he thinks style and wildest dreams were written FOR HIM. is not afraid to sing the songs out loud and sometimes annoys u a lot by singing them in a really high-pitched voice. sings "he's so TALLLL and handsome as HELLLL, he's so bad but he does it so well." at you with a wink and pointing to himself, fully believing it's written about him, you can't convince him otherwise.

rom-com lover. through and through. he used to hide it but he just can't anymore. loooves 10 things i hate about you, how to lose a guy in 10 days, and notting hill. he also enjoys all of katherine heigl's iconic rom-coms.

LOVES MUSICALS. mamma mia is in his top 3 on letterboxd (he loves abba SO MUCH). and he cried watching la la land and regularly listens to the soundtrack.

he can't watch horror movies for the life of him. he got creeped out by the idea of coraline and still can't get himself to watch it. (robin dressed up as the other mother for halloween and steve SCREAMED.)

he's one of those people WHO loves watching movies that are so bad that they are ABSOLUTE MASTERPIECES. also have a feeling he laughs really hard at those 00s parody movies. idk why. it's what bonded him and eddie. and they have a marathon of bad parody movies when they're stoned tf out of their mind. they just told me.

he loves ANYTHING pop. (he loves fantasize by ariana grande and has begged u on countless occasions to do the dance on tiktok and only send it to him) and he loves himself some alt-pop and occasionaly indie stuff like lana, lorde, arctic monkeys, death cab for cutie, sufjan stevens, inhaler, franz ferdinand, band of horses and boygenius!!!

also random but he'd be such a trashy reality tv fan.... watching ALL of them with you... love island, jersey shore, housewives, dANCE MOMS, any other horrible netflix reality tv... like at first he scoffs at you for it, but then he does that dad stance. just standing and watching whatever you're watching, then finally after a few hours, he takes a seat next to you, fully immersed in the experience, not even letting YOU look at your phone, and he's sitting on the edge of the couch, staring at the tv like a man-possessed while critiquing the show and doing commentary like they can hear him.

the most "metal" he can listen to is literally fall out boy. (eddie keeps making fun of him for this. you are now sending metal songs to steve, day by day, trying to get him to like it, just so that eddie won't make fun of your poor angel bf anymore<3)

this is self-indulgent but he's a twilight fanboy through and through... team edward but he feels bad for jacob (sadly... you have an argument about this each time and once you bring up jacob claiming a baby he's dead silent), has a tradition w u to watch them every fall. he acts like he's seeing it for the first time each time u guys watch it.

likes harry potter (fuck jkr forever, u guys don't engage in the content and u 🏴‍☠️ both the movies n books:)) bc he grew up with the movies but if you're a harry potter nerd, he'd poke fun at THAT A LOOT. HE'S A LIL TEASING ASSHOLE. "oh that wasn't very slytherin of you!" "i thought you were supposed to be brave, huh? aren't you a gryffindor, babe?" he taunts with a loud chuckle, enjoying the way you narrow your gaze at him.

[isa-ghost]

Hey Isa, you wouldn't happen to have any head cannons back there would you?

Also, I hope you're doing well

Yeah hold on lemme check in the back *glass breaking* *metal clanging* *vine boom* *BRUH.mp4* *more glass breaking* *cartoon boink* *high pitched scream* *Taco Bell dong*

Okay got em here ya go

Phil headcanons masterlist

Quesadilla Island gave him SUCH a taste for Latin food and he can't fucking just Get That when he's home in the Hardcore world. Can you imagine him asking Rose to open a portal to another world for a 2am Taco Bell run. That's not even real/good Latin food but can you imagine.

Actually that's another thing he misses, Rose doesn't communicate with him directly when he's home. I don't have an idea of what the reasoning is for that but :(

Goddess of Death likes to tease him about his perching. She makes him so self-aware of it and he hates it but in that "god fucking damn it Kristin. I'm doing it again" way.

Ender King is just a bitch. Phil was scared of him on Quesadilla Island because there was no control or way of predicting what he'd do there. Or why. Or how. Phil generally isn't scared of a long-dead bitch baby. No, there's a hardcore deity we haven't met yet that he's scared of. And if Apollo doesn't dodgeball me on this the day Phil does a new build to introduce one of the two we haven't met yet, I might make a fan deity.

👆🏻 I mentioned this on stream Friday 9/6, I'm already cooking on the fan deity LMAO.

As a chronic overthinker who's way too insistent on constantly mentally firing on all cylinders in order to survive, this dumbass frequently forgets that taking walks (or more commonly: flights) help him unwind and actually organize his thoughts. He's so bad at walking away for a bit and returning to something with fresh eyes and a clear head. And then he remembers to do that finally and is like 🤯 about it.

Honestly, the same could be said for his emotions. I might have made a hc to this effect before, but he has such a bad habit of clinging to distractions or stubbornly trucking on from things instead of just letting himself Sit with his emotions, processing them and letting them just exist and then pass. He's a very proactive coper, but sometimes action isn't the answer and that's something he hasn't quite learned yet (Rose is trying to teach him this). He absolutely fucking hates doing it, but sometimes the best solution for him really is to just. Sit and cry it out, or seethe, or ride out the panic attack. Whatever it is.

Sitting in the warm sunshine, the sounds of leaves rustling in the wind, and the sight of flower pedals floating in the air fill him with deep, somber nostalgia for comfortably sitting and chatting with Chayanne & Lullah. Watching sunsets too. This is one of few times he'll actually do something to the effect of the previous hc and just let himself sit and Feel. He just can't do it alone, he needs the Murder to sit with him & chat.

Some things he'll do when he actually let's himself sit somewhere & vibe: chat with the Murder, fish, sketch something he sees (often Dorothy), organize his inventory (rarely).

Nowadays he also sketches things of Chayanne & Lullah, sometimes Missa, occasionally Techno. He also really likes doodling random emblems and sigils, often meant for the gods (minus EK) or Techno.

Btw he still gets paranoid about resource gathering, inventory management, and collecting cool stuff ever since his possession. :) Even now that he's back in the Hardcore world, where it's ironically more unlikely that Ender King can/will hurt him, he gets anxious about over-indulging his crow brain.

He's not ALWAYS treating the Murder like it's on sight. Sometimes he'll sit and preen their feathers (or his own while they do their own), he has a massive feeder full of any treat a crow would find yummy imaginable, and half the time they go on those walks/flights he should take to de-stress more often, it's for them because they're the little shits that love to travel so much. He's an explorer and historian/archivist, sure, but he tends to stick to the structures of the gods that he's discovered.

Which btw calling back to that Deep Dark Deity, if they end up existing in canon (and if not, this will be canon for my AU or whatever), he hasn't met/discovered them or their structures yet bc he's too cautious to explore the Deep Dark thoroughly. :)

Honestly this feels like a low-hanging fruit hc that I'm sure tons of people have, but Phil desperately wants to bring Missa to the Hardcore world some day to show him the builds and teach him about the gods.

When he got back to the Hardcore world after QSMP, he took some time to recover emotionally and then anxiously visited Endlantis to add some,, security to the cave Ender King's corpse is sealed in. Will it work? Probably not. But it makes him feel safer.

He has a journal/scrapbook type thing documenting everything he sees & learns about the deities and their associates (ex: He & She). He wishes he could've brought it with him to Quesadilla Island so he could've taught Chayanne & Lullah more about them in detail. But they're somewhere in the world with him now, so he's sure they've learned more over the last 4 months. :)

[elvendria]

Clean (Formerly Love is a Battlefield)

AU Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Part Two

Summary:

You return to Hawkins after a few years in the middle of the night during the summer with your 4-year-old sister in tow, thinking the two of you could fly under the radar and settle in at Forest Hills Trailer Park. You thought you could get by without bumping into your old enemy, Eddie Munson, the town freak.

But you weren't always enemies, in fact, there was a time when you two were closer than anything.

Eddie dreams of making it big, you just dream of making it out of here alive.

\\enemies - lovers//

((Warning I'm not from the US, so bare with me when it comes to states and such))

tw: 18+ MINORS DNI or I will be busting kneecaps, E.D, physical abuse, child abuse, runaways, the reader Joyce's ex-step-niece, Will and Johnathan's cousin, Joyce is Queen, Wayne is King, slow burn, gambling addictions, the reader is 20 and Eddie is 21, Chrissy is the villain but we stan Grace. Reader has a small scar on lower torso.

Word Count: 3,744K

part one part two part three part four

"Stupid... fucking... Car!!" You kicked the rims on the wheels of your car, screaming at it after you had tried for over 30 minutes to get it to work. But nothing, it just spluttered and coughed, before finally letting out a puff of black smoke from the back that made you want to sit back and cry.

You were due for work and couldn't afford to be late. After all, it was only your second week. It wouldn't make a good impression if you suddenly called and said you couldn't make it due to something stupid like your car not starting.

After what must have been your 7th attempt at beating the car into submission, you heard a few raps on the hood of the car, looking up to see Wayne there. He'd been coming around every so often, almost like he was trying to cram the missed years into a few afternoons.

Willow loved it when he came around, mainly because Wayne would spend most of his time sitting on the floor playing dolls with her, while you complained that he was going to hurt his back or something.

"Christ darlin', I'm sure they could hear you all the way into town." He chuckled as he stood beside you, thumb through his belt loop while another smoked a cigarette. "I'd ask you if you want one to calm your nerves, but I'm not about to condone smoking." He says, taking a drag from it, being a massive fucking hypocrite and knowing it too.

"I just don't know what I'm gonna do, I don't have the money to get her repaired, I only just started work!" You sank to the porch step defeatedly, head in your hands while the heels of your palms dug into your eyes.

Wayne would never admit this, never betray his nephew's trust like this, but it wasn't his idea to come over here to you.

Eddie was woken up by the sound of an engine backfiring. He had his arm draped around Chrissys' shoulders in a rather uncomfortable way, and it had caused a creak in his neck. She had told him he'd get used to it, and that she could only sleep with him if they slept like this, and so he endured it.

She figured he owed it to her anyways, due to the fact that while he was rutting into her last night, she moaned loudly and high pitched, expecting Eddie to be putty in her hands like he always is, but was met with his hand over her mouth while he repeatedly just said the words "Shut Up". He wasn't sure why, it hadn't happened for so long, and he thought once he started fucking Chrissy maybe those thoughts could go away.

And yet still thoughts of you, sitting on the floor beside him, telling him that his hair was growing back in fine, that he looked handsome, swam back into his mind. Then they turned to images of you on your back, pillow clutched to your chest as he bent your knees back to meet your chest, absolutely ravaging you. It was all he could think of last night

And so when she moaned in her irritatingly squeaky voice, it wasn't the one he wanted to hear. It was yours, all he could think of was you. Normally he'd open his eyes and watch whatever slut was under him squirm and writhe in pleasure, and that was enough. But last night, nothing but the thought of you was going to get him to finish.

He'd never let Chrissy know that she wasn't the only girl he was sleeping with. Not that she didn't know, but he knew that she could get a bit… crazy, demand that he only fuck her, that he stay hers forever. He didn't want that, he didn't want to be tied down to her. And yet that's all she wanted to do to him.

Climbing out of bed, he untangled his arm from Chrissy and looked out the window to see you standing beside your car like you were on the verge of setting the whole car on fire. You began kicking the rims, taking all your anger and frustration out on the hubcaps

It made him smile slightly, to see that you hadn't lose that spark inside of you. That raging fire that made you sometimes get a little mad at the slightest inconvenience, usually when you'd already been having a shit day.

But then he stopped and thought to himself, he shouldn't be smiling, he shouldn't find this endearing or cute, not after everything that happened. He quickly dropped his smile, walking out into the kitchenette to see Wayne awake and eating a bowl of Lucky Charms. The man never really did learn how to eat like an adult.

"Someone should go over there and tell her to shut the fuck up." He grumbled as he sat down to eat the cereal with Wayne. They didn't have a lot of money, so they always just stuck with one brand of cereal for both of them. Not that Eddie minded eating marshmallows for breakfast. "She's going to wake the whole park up."

"Well you're the mechanic, why don't you go over and fix it up for her." Wayne was probing, and not very discreetly. He wasn't entirely sure what happened all those years ago, just before she left, but if it was big enough to stop the two from being friends, then it must've been really bad.

"I'm not going over and asking her directly!" Eddie spoke like it was something obvious, something that Wayne should have known already. He could hardly go over and talk to her as if they hadn't killed each other emotionally 4 years ago. Like she hadn't taken his heart and crushed it on the ground when she left. "Look, just... go over for me and tell her to drop it to the shop, she doesn't need to know I'm the one working on it for her."

Wayne nodded his head, suppressing a knowing smirk. Standing up, he went to the door, about ready to swing it open when Eddie called after him.

"Can you..." The words felt heavy and swollen on his tongue. He wanted to speak but it was like his throat didn't want him to make any sound. He pushed passed it, determined to not be rendered mute just because she'd shown up one day and hadn't even made the effort to contact him. "Can you check to see if she's okay?"

Wayne just looked at him, disappearing out the door.

So that's how Wayne ended up convincing you to let him tow it to the nearest auto shop. Apparently, he knew someone down there that would fix it free of charge. You weren't about to turn down a free car service, so of course you nearly bit his hand off saying yes. It was free after all.

The main issue however still lay at your feet in a Willow shaped mess.

"Oh well, I'm free all afternoon, I'm sure I could look after her at mine for a while?" Wayne offered when you told him your dilemma. You were hesitant at first, you knew Eddie lived with him still, on more than one occasion he'd woken Willow up with the sound of his radio as his van sped into the trailer park. But you hadn't seen him, just saw the headlights and the giggle of some girl.

But once again, the offer of free stuff was just too tempting to refuse. You agreed, grabbing her favourite toy, a pink stuffed elephant she'd named bunny and her blanket. She'd undoubtedly take a nap around 3pm, sleeping wherever she fell, but she wouldn't sleep well without it.

You didn't go into the trailer, you didn't even step onto the porch. You saw the blinds move, you knew he was there, you didn't need to speak to him.

He's the one that gave up on you, he's the one that cut all contact.

He's the one who never wrote back.

You packed her lunch into a brown bag, knowing for a fact that unless Wayne knew how to cut a peanut butter and jelly sandwich into the shape of a dinosaur, then there was no way he was getting her to eat. Willow wasn't a picky eater, she'd eat whatever you gave her. She's just a bit happier if they're cut up all fun.

"I'll be home soon, real soon. But you're gonna have fun with Wayne right? And be the best girl for me?" You pushed a piece of her hair back as she spun on her toes swinging her arms in front of her. You had to dodge just to avoid being hit by her little ballerina act.

"I promise!" She held the edges of her little skirt and began to soon in a circle, being the playful and adorable child she was. "Can we have dino nuggies?"

"If you behave... then maybe, I'll see what I can do." You smiled as she let out a little cheer, knowing too well that you'd have dino nuggies for dinner. You could hardly ever say no to the kid. You kissed her on the head, another million thank you's to Wayne before you ran down the dirt road to the bus stop.

Thankfully there was one just down the road, and the bus was just pulling up as you got there, slightly ashamed at how out of breath you were. You fished out a few dollars from your pocket, climbing up the steps of the bus.

The driver was a bulky man, bald and very clearly sweaty. Like, a sweat patch in a V down his back sweaty. His winter beard was glistening and matted together in places around his chubby face. Handing him the $2, he gave you a smile, friendly and welcoming. He reminded you of the old guy you used to see sitting on a park bench near the casino your dad frequented.

"I don't normally see you on this route, are you from around here?" He spoke as he pulled away from the stop, the rickety bus bouncing along every curve and pothole on the road.

"Just moved from Nevada, well, moved back." You chuckled, introducing yourself as you took a seat near the front. Everywhere else was full.

"Well I'm Simon." He smiled as he carried on down the road with a faint smile on his face. "Simon the bus driver."

Admittedly, Hawkins was pretty in the summer. The flowers on the roadside were in full colour, the heat waves radiating off the ground and causing a slightly distorted view in the bottom half of your vision. You were walking the from where you got off the bus to your job, the faint smell of sunscreen and sweat in the air.

Girls walked around smelling of Salon Selectives, carrying gym bags on their way home from jazzercise or aqua aerobics at the pool. Guys were shirtless, or almost shirtless, smelling of Drakkar Noir and ego.

Everyone was preppy and perky and perfect, intent on having the summers you only see in movies, the kind where teenage dreams are more than dreams for those few precious months. The kind of story where the protagonist grows up, finds themselves, and gets their crush to finally notice them.

In other words, their dreams were bullshit. In the real world, these so-called protagonists won't find themselves until a bad acid trip in college and likely won't grow up till their mid-30s, and as for getting their crush to notice them? Well, they had a better chance of selling out The Garden with their one-man accordion band.

You walked into the store, throwing your bag behind the counter into a little shelf, tucked away for later. You stocked the till, readying for the day, beads of sweat gathering on the nape of her neck due to the lack of AC. There was a small breeze though, thanks to the door being open.

The record store was fine, you were fitting in well enough. The work was easy, the customers weren't awful, the music was good and the people you worked with were friendly. But that was the only issue.

Greg, your colleague, was a little too friendly. And sure, you'd worked with guys before who got a bit flirty and creepy, but you could handle that.

Greg was handsy, always touching you, hands on the shoulders and waist, occasionally brushing against your ass when he passed by you as you stocked shelves. Sure he made the occasional comments, but you were new, you couldn't afford to lose this job, and you didn't want to rock the boat.

"Hey there beautiful, looking fine as always." He sauntered up behind you, leaning on the shelf behind the till. You could feel his eyes on you, burning into you, as you served some girl buying the latest Madonna tape. Her eyes were on him, and in a way, you could understand why.

Greg was tall, lean, and muscular. When he crossed his arms his shirt bulged at the seams. He was buff and bulky. He was so stereotypically good-looking that it irritated you, like an itch under the skin that just wouldn't go away. Girls looked past his actions and the way he spoke to people all because he was the kind of guy you'd see on the football team.

"Morning Greg." You kept pleasantries, what else could you do? Greg wasn't your type, not by a long shot, and you'd tried your best in the last week to make that known, but the guy just could not take a hint.

He began rambling on again about something or nothing, definitely nothing that would hold your attention. You went off to restock the shelves and like a fucking shadow, there he was.

"I was thinking about catching a movie later, you wanna come with?" He leaned up beside you, resting his arm by his head. "We could go see that new-"

"I can't, I've got to get home straight after my shift. Sorry." You finished up, walking back over to the till to help with some customers while he sulked off in silence.

The shift went by quickly enough, the heat in the sun dying down to a warm humidity. You left the store, leaving the manager to lock up for the night as you headed back home, the promise of a cool shower and dino nuggets sounding more and more enticing with every step on the sidewalk.

The bus ride was quiet, resting your head on the glass as you looked at the town you once knew and how much it had changed. There was a mall now, which would have been much more convenient when you lived here before. Underneath it all however, when you looked past the fresh coat of paint, it was the same old Hawkins.

Walking the dirt path through the trailer park, you reached yours and noticed the lights were still out. Opening the door, you didn't see her there and figured she was still over in Wayne's.

Where he was.

It didn't give you much of a choice, either go and get her and risk facing him or have him show up at your door with her and face him. It was bound to happen at some stage what with you living across the road from each other. It would be an accident, spotting each other as you left the park, locking eyes for a split second before carrying on, ignoring the ache it left you with.

The same ache that both eased and worsened with every step towards the trailer, your heart banging away in your ribcage in time with your knuckles knocking on the door. You took a deep breath in, stepping back and waiting for it to open.

It must have only been a few seconds, but it felt like hours, and when the door finally opened it wasn't the ageing man you had hoped it to be.

"Oh... you're here."

You wish you hated him in this moment. You wished your heart didn't loudly shatter on the ground, the last moments between you replaying over and over in your head.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" He looked at you, his brown eyes piercing into yours. His calloused hands brushed your arms, the blood thundering behind your ears.

Taking a deep breath, you looked up at him and nodded, never more sure of anything in your life. "Yes Eddie, I am."

"Willa needs her dinner, so..." Suddenly your shoes were very interesting. You weren't sure what to say to him, you wanted to scream and yell and ask him why he never wrote back, to tell him that for weeks and weeks, you ran to the mailbox to see if there was a letter, only to have your hopes dashed each time.

By the time you had found out, you were too hopeless to tell him, despite how much you wanted to.

The small thundering steps came before he could respond, and small arms wrapped around your legs, clutching tightly. "Sissy!"

"Heya pumpkin, you have fun with Wayne today?" You picked her up and balanced her on your hip. "Can you tell him I said thanks?" You looked at Eddie, your chest thumping and thundering away. Something flickered in his eyes as you picked Willow up, something you didn't recognise.

"Uh... sure, yeah no I'll tell him." He reached up and scratched his neck, his shirt riding up and a sliver of skin catches your eye. You feel like you can't breathe, like the world has stopped spinning.

Remember what he did to you. Remember how hurt you were when you realised how alone you truly were. Remember that girl you keep seeing leave.

You kept telling yourself this, over and over. He wasn't there when you needed him most. You weren't sure if he was even aware of how much you needed him then. But he had to be right? He got the letter. He had to have known.

Silence filled the air between you, and you were left with nothing to say. You nodded to him, grabbing Willow's bag and turning to leave.

You had reached your own door, talking with Willow playfully about her day on the way over. You had pushed the door open, setting her down and letting her run off into the trailer when you heard someone call your name. Turning, there he was, striding over to you purposefully, almost as if he had something lingering on his mind.

Before you could respond, he was there before you. "Eddie what are you-" And before you could finish your sentence, his lips were upon yours.

It was hungry, frantic almost, and yet somehow soft and gentle almost like he was afraid you were about to break. To say he took you by surprise was an understatement. It was like he had transported you back to a shy 16-year-old. Back to the beginning of the end.

You found yourself kissing him back for a brief second, body relaxing and letting him in before you were reminded of everything, of all the reasons you were not to let him in. You couldn't let your guard down around him. Not again.

Pulling back, you looked at him with wide eyes, your body reacting before you knew what to do. Quickly, you delivered a harsh slap to his cheek, the crack burning your palm.

"Eddie what the fuck!? You can't just come up and kiss me out of the blue!" You were yelling, angry as hell. You clenched your fists by your side, jaw clenched and set as you watched his face falter and fall, his ebony eyes full of something you couldn't quite place.

"Bunny please." He reached out, one hand cradling his face while the other came towards your arm to touch you, but you backed up before he could reach you. The nickname stung, given to you on account of the way you twitch your nose sometimes. "I have to tal-''

"You don't get to call me that anymore, you don't get to walk back in and pretend like the last four years didn't happen because they did Eddie. You don't get to say 'We need to talk,' because you never wrote back, you never answered me, you didn't talk to me. You weren't there when I needed you the most." And with that, you slammed the door in his face, sulking back into the trailer.

The rest of the evening was a blur. Between washing and feeding Willa, and doing the same for yourself, the only thing you could think of was that stupid fucking kiss and how it made your throat close up, your chest burn and your entire body buzz. You stood before your mirror that night, thinking about it as you towel-dried your hair.

You reached for just above the waistline of your panties, finding purchase in repeating the one small action you always found yourself doing when you were alone and stressed.

There, just above your underwear, lay a small horizontal scar about four to eight inches long. It was old, faded and healed, with a slight white colouring to it. You stared at it for a while, feeling along the slightly raised skin of it, relieving that day over and over again in your mind before you pulled on your shirt and hid it from view, climbing into bed and turning the lights off.

The sounds of crickets could be heard throughout the park, along with the occasional dog howl. You should be tired, you worked hard in the sweltering heat and were bound to be exhausted. Rolling over, you looked out a window into the night sky, the fateful kiss still lingering on your lips as your lids eventually drew heavy, causing you to slip into a sleep that was far from dreamless.

Across the way, Eddie was the same. He was on his side looking out the window, looking at the dark sky and asking himself the same question over and over again.

"What does she mean I never wrote back? She's the one that stopped the letters to me first."

part one part two part three

@vintagehellfire @1paire2vans @introvertedmouse

@ms1oftheboys @ashlynnkennedy @poisonedluv @302rocks @micheledawn1975 @corrodedcoffincumslut @f-cklife @chloe-6123 @hellfirexwhore @caseyqdilla @alyisdead @winchester-angel @sunflowerabyss @badluckgirl @blackb4ts

shoutout to @emotionaldreamer and @thecomfortgoth they were a huge motivation for me to finish this chapter!

[ddejavvu]

i just read your fairy!reader and hotch fic and i couldn’t stop thinking about it bc the way you write is absolutely enchanting, so i’ve got to request: a fairy!reader x tangerine story?? potentially along the lines of him finding her after a job (maybe the person he killed had been keeping her captive) and she starts helping him on jobs or cleans him up after them and it gets super fluffy and cute?

today is multiverse monday, send me any au you can think of! :)

--

There's a bleeding man panting a foot from your cage. He's staring down at your captor, or- your former captor now, the man's body lifeless as blood oozes from the cuts he'd obtained. There's another beside him, shorter, darker-skinned, and the crowbar he'd plucked off of the workbench to whack your captor with is still hanging from his limp grip.

"So that's it, then?" The shorter one glances up at the taller, and the taller man shrugs, "'Guess so. No one else we need to take care of?"

"Just the one," The shorter one assures him, and your heart races as you realize they're not going to see you, you have to make yourself known.

"Excuse me!" You shout, hoping your voice will be loud enough to carry over their heavy breathing. It works, they hear you, and both flinch violently as they turn and frantically scan for whatever noise they'd just heard.

"The fuck-" The taller man hisses, eyes wild and dangerous, "Who's there?"

"Tangerine," The shorter one spots you, eyes widening then narrowing in disbelief as he elbows his friend, pointing at you, "Look."

"What- What the fuck?" The taller man - Tangerine...? - finally sees you, flinching away and watching as your wings flutter aimlessly behind you, "Are you- what are you?"

"I'm a fairy," You gush, helpless and scared, "And- and that man was keeping me here, locked up." You point at your captor's dead body, "The keys are in his pocket, please- please help me, I- I'll starve if you don't! I promise I won't tell anyone I saw you, just- just please help."

Your eyes are brimming with miniscule, crystalline tears when you finish your please, and the shorter one bends slowly at the knees, keeping his eyes on you as he feels around the the keys.

"Yeah," He breathes, "Uh, yeah, we'll get you out. Tan," He can't stop staring at you, mouth slightly agape as he blindly shoves the keys at Tangerine, "You do it."

"Oh fuck me," Tangerine murmurs, "'Always has to be me, huh? Right, uh, fairy-"

"Y/N," You inform warily, hands wrapped around the bars of your cage, "I won't hurt you, I promise. Please let me out."

"Yeah, I've gotcha," Tangerine mumbles, squinting at the keyhole to your cage. The sound of the lock clicking is like music to your ears, and when the door swings open you can't help but lunge for Tangerine.

He lets out a scream so high-pitched that his friend honestly thinks it came from you for a moment, but you latch onto Tangerine's cheek, arms wrapped over his nose and around the back of his head to hug him for letting you go.

"Thank you," You gush just beside his ear, voice soft so that you don't deafen him. He relaxes when he realizes you're just hugging him, muscles slowly loosening where they'd been tight and stiff.

"Yeah," He breathes, mustache prickling against the skin of your leg, "Yeah, uh- fuck, okay, what are we gonna do with you?"

"Open the door," The man on the floor suggests, and Tangerine looks down at him bewildered.

"We can't just open the door, Lemon. What, so she can flutter out there and get hit by a semi-truck? I'm pretty sure fairies aren't supposed to live in the fucking city!"

There's a gruff rasp to Tangerine's voice at the end of his sentence, one that's accompanied by his eyes practically bulging out of his head as his neck tenses. You flutter down to his chest pocket, perching yourself on the hem of the fabric there and resting a hand on his stiff neck. He brings his chin to his chest in a quick flinch, but realizes you're trying to soothe him, and sends you a polite, but apprehensive smile.

"Okay! Okay, so what, then?" Lemon snaps, straightening up from where he'd been kneeling beside your captor's body, "You're just gonna take 'er home? Tuck her into your pocket? Feed her little crumbs of biscuit for breakfast, huh?"

A resolute frown etches its way over Tangerine's features, and you have a sneaking suspicion he's only agreeing to spite Lemon, "Yes. I am, for your information."

He glances down at you, stuffing a finger into his breast pocket and holding it open for you, "There y'go, love. Slide right in there, 'n you can come home with me 'till we get you back to wherever you came from."

"Thank you," You breathe, rushing to shimmy into Tangerine's breast pocket. It's warm there, it's nice, and it smells like him. You're a bit disappointed that he doesn't smell like oranges, but his scent is nice otherwise.

"You're insane," Lemon huffs, eyeing your contented expression as you settle in Tangerine's pocket, "You're gonna get investigated by the government or something. That's some Area 51 shit right there, Tan."

"The government is already looking for us," Tangerine scoffs, "A bunch of them are. This can't hurt."

"Can't hurt. Can't hurt!" Lemon throws his hands up, letting the crowbar clank to the ground after he hits his thigh, "That's what you always say. And every time, it fuckin' hurts!"

"Don't listen to 'im," Tangerine looks down at you, murmuring so that Lemon can continue on his rage-fueled tirade without interruption. Tangerine's face is much kinder when he looks at you than when he looks at Lemon, and you feel his soft features coaxing a smile out of your own, "You'll be nice and safe with me, love, I'll make sure of it."

[noxexistant]

ai-less whumptober; day nineteen

@ailesswhumptober 19 — disassociation, losing a sense, “I wish I could get you back.” ↳ the farm, intentionally vague word count; 1.2k

cw; violence, abuse, resulting in disability

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It's just one hit that lands wrong.

Morris is fourteen when it happens.

Both he and Oscar are well-versed in being hit, being beat to absolute shit by their father — and Ma, when she was in the mood — and thus Oscar had always held this misguided belief that they're both toughened up by it all. The hits don't really matter anymore, have lost their weight with their frequency — and they can take it. The same way a scarred knee stops scraping as easily, the same way his arm that Da had once wrenched from its socket no longer seems to hurt as badly when it's wrenched in the exact same way by that same hand. They're strong, toughened, even though Morris still cries most of the time when Da goes at him.

Oscar knows immediately that something is wrong when the usual crying shifts distinctly with Da's last hit.

Da's been laying into him a while, over some stupid little thing that never mattered, but he's got this way of riling himself up when the violence starts. He'll just keep going, spurring himself on, remembering every tiny thing that Morris has ever done until he's furious, and then he'll go at him until he's satisfied. Or exhausted. Whichever comes last.

The final blow is a crack across the side of Morris' face, not particularly more brutal than anything else, but it has him curling up on the floor and wailing, both hands coming up to wind around his head as if to shield himself. But Oscar's seen him take worse. There's a bad feeling in his gut. Morris is making an awful wailing, high-pitched the way he used to screech when he was a baby hurting.

Da walks away, doesn't look back. Oscar scurries over to his crumpled brother's side.

"Mo," he says, reaching for his brother. Morris ignores him. "Mo, c'mon, it's me."

He gets closer, trying to yank his brother's hands away from his head to see what the damage is, but Morris fights him. His one arm finally goes, goes limp as it does, but the other is holding his palm clasped desperate over his ear — the one facing up towards Oscar. The one Da had cracked him across.

"You bleedin'?" Oscar asks him, gentle as he can, and tries again to pull the hand away. He's strong enough that, for a moment, it goes — and he does see blood. But it's not a gouge along Morris' ear or anything, it's blood dripping out of it. And…something else, something paler and more watery. There's something…so distinctly wrong-looking to it, something that makes Oscar's stomach twist.

Morris is still screaming.

"Mo," Oscar says. "C'mon, stop. You're makin' a fuss. It'll get better, okay? It'll stop hurtin' soon."

Losing his patience — panicking, though he'd never admit it — he forcefully rolls his brother over, intending to haul him up, and Morris freezes when he sees Oscar above him like he'd had no idea he was here.

"Os," he says, but it's. Garbled and weird. He doesn't make the sound right, the way people talk when they're sick and real bunged up. "Os. Os—?"

"What? What? I'm here, Mo, alright?"

Morris stares at him for a second, unmoving except for how he seems to be swaying, listing. There's something utterly petrified in his eyes, and in a moment there's tears dripping down his cheeks again. Silent this time.

"Os, p'ease—"

"I'm right here. You're fine, okay? He jus' caught you in a bad spot, but—"

"Os, I can't hear you."

Oscar is initially adamant that it'll fix itself. His own hearing has gone funny before, when he's been sick or after he's been stood too close to Da with the shotgun. He'd been deaf in one ear for days, just like Morris seems to be now. So he calmly cleans and wipes the blood and gunk leaking from his little brother's ear and promises him, mouthing the words real clear, that it'll get better. The pain and ringing will go away and the hearing will come back, be as good as his other ear again.

It doesn't.

Oscar's left to wonder, sometimes, if maybe it would've. If it hadn't been for everything else, if Morris had had the chance to just heal without being hit again and again on that same side of his brutalised head, whatever had been broken in that one ear surely being broken worse and worse. If he hadn't kept being overworked, sent out into the fields in the blinding heat and freezing cold, made to keep working even when he's sick, even when his ear starts leaking again. If they'd had the opportunity to just see a fucking doctor rather than Da ignoring it all, never once saying he's sorry, never once even facing the possibility of what he did.

But it doesn't.

The pain fades, and Morris cries less. Steadily, he stops falling over whenever he walks, though he still bumps into stuff constantly, gets real dizzy real easily. He's shit at following instructions and worse at paying attention, lists to one side when he's zoning out — and, sometimes, he disappears entirely.

It's something Oscar would love to blame on the deafness.

The fact that Morris will go catatonic sometimes, unresponsive, would be so easy to blame on him just not being able to hear Oscar's calling for him. But he knows better. Knows it's Da's fault, just like the deafness is — so maybe that comes together, at least. Morris will shut down rather than face what he can't. Oscar gets that. Wishes he had the same luxuries, but he can't seem to get any respite, awake or asleep — and though Morris is much better now at hearing, knows how to pick out the sounds and read them against lip movements, and Oscar knows how to speak and where to stand so that Morris can always understand him, there's so much that's lost. Been lost.

Oscar's spent every year missing that brother he lost at fourteen. All the time lost to Morris having to relearn how to hear with just one working ear, figuring out how to speak when he can't pick out the sounds he's making. All the worsened abuse from everyone else who never understood, insisted Morris was just rude and ignorant and belligerent when he didn't hear their murmured instructions or failed to respond to their speaking on his deaf side.

It's not fair.

And a part of Oscar knows he's being selfish, making Morris' pain — his own loss — about himself, but. It's for both of them, really. They've always been as much each others' as theirs, always together, and if Oscar is grieving a brother he lost then he's also grieving that Morris lost a version of himself too.

"I wish I could get you back," he says, to the silent air between them. Says it a little low so Morris won't be able to pick it out, but Morris is a million miles away regardless. Exhausted eyes staring straight ahead, glassy and empty, not even seeing the blank wall of their bedroom that he's been locked on all this time. Oscar had only sat beside him, shoulders brushing, ready to weather the emptiness as long as Morris holds it.

As much as Morris has had to relearn how to be himself, they're still relearning how to be them.

They'll figure it out.

[pinkiedev]

Payback Ch. 1

A Stranger Things AU where Steve Harrington gets shrunk down to five inches tall, and one Eddie Munson is the one who finds him. Now, if only Eddie didn't think this was all a drug-induced hallucination.

Set in post-Season 3 but pre-Season 4!

-

Steve was not having a good day. 

Was this particularly surprising? Maybe a couple of years ago, yeah. 

However, after having survived a whopping three attempts from what an average joe would not be far off from correct by calling demons from hell, well. Let’s just say it wasn’t exactly atypical for Steve to no longer have only good days.

The difference now, however, was that he wasn’t currently in the midst of fighting an impending apocalypse or the related monsters, he wasn’t having nightmares about either of said scenarios, and he wasn’t even suffering through a more monotonous than usual day at the video store. 

No, today, Steve woke up and immediately realized several things were amiss, a task made easy considering the fact that there was 1) no roof over his head, 2) there was instead a shockingly high up canopy of trees interspersed with clear blue skies, 3) he had a headache to rival the time he’d gotten his face beaten in by Billy, and 4) the grass around his stood at about waist high.

Yeah, that fourth realization had come around as soon as he’d shot upright in a blind panic, hands clutching at his head as he'd let out a pained groan.

Now, several hours later, Steve could quite assuredly give three additional claims that were likely facts: he was undeniably lost, his headache had thankfully abated, and he was currently the height of a fucking goddamned soda can. 

He knew that last one because he’d stumbled across a can of pop and found that the top of his head just reached the lip of it.

Which was absolutely fantastic.

He had half a mind to think this was all some sort of messed up dream, but he was unfortunately well aware that he was not nearly imaginative enough for that, and he hadn’t been to any parties recently where he could’ve been slipped some drugs that might’ve been able to make up for his innate deficiency.

So it was pretty safe to say that this was real, and he was probably going to die.

Why would this being real mean he would probably die, you might wonder?

Well, the answer was more reasonable than you’d expect:

He was being chased by a goddamned rodent that was nearly double his size.

-

Eddie snapped out of his daze at the sound of a shrill scream, his chin slipping off from where it’d been propped up against his palm at the abrupt break in the relative silence around him.

He sat up on the wood bench, wincing at the drag of the splintering grain against his jeans, and scanned the trees around him. 

Nothing. 

His brows furrowed minutely, and he stubbed his joint against his metal lunchbox, tapping out the ash and shoving it inside a baggie in the tin.

Maybe he was just hearing things? he mused, turning the thought over in his head before giving a mental shrug. Well -

His eyes snapped back up. There it was again! - a shout. High pitched in the sense that it was at such a quiet decibel, followed by the sound of rustling leaves. 

His head slowly tilted to the side, and he leaned his whole body with the motion to peer around the picnic table and towards where the noise had emanated from.

“...Hello?” he called out cautiously, dragging out the word, gaze darting around as he found himself rising from his seat. He crouched down when he heard another rustle followed by a yelp.

That was definitely coming from somewhere close to the ground, and it sounded deceptively… not like an animal, Eddie thought, squinting his eyes as he scanned the leaf litter in the grass.

Movement had his head snapping to the left just in time to track it, and he sprang forth without another thought, the motion more of an awkward frog leap because of his stance, and saw -

What the hell? 

It - what?

That was a person.

An itty bitty person, face hidden by their mussed up hair and only their waist and up visible through the foliage, but what Eddie was pretty sure was a human - or, at the very least, very human-like - nonetheless. 

One being chased by a very disgruntled looking mouse.

For a second, Eddie found himself just staring at the completely incomprehensible scene, thoughts dazedly somewhere along the line of ‘wow, I’ve finally actually lost it and my mind’s entered some fucked up Alice in Wonderland type shit, hasn’t it?’ but he snapped out of it as the teeny tiny person gave another yell when the mouse snapped at them, the rodent’s teeth momentarily snagging on the back of the teeny's shirt.

Eddie’s hand darted forward unthinkingly, and, from one moment to the next, he had a fistful of person held up in front of his face, the mouse giving an aborted squeak and darting away as soon as he made his move.

Meanwhile, the being (?) squirmed in his hand, having first given a shout in surprise at suddenly being caught before letting out grunts and puffs of air as they tried to push fruitlessly at his fingers, their tiny, miniscule little hands shoving at his skin and hardly doing anything but leaving the faintest of indents. 

Eddie blinked rapidly, bringing them closer to his face. 

He’d smoked weed today, sure - when did he not? - but it’d never given him hallucinations before. 'Cause that’s sure as hell what this had to be. A hallucination, that is.

There was no other explanation for the fact that, staring right back up at him, face frozen in a mixture of shock and burgeoning dread, was none other than Steve fucking Harrington.

------

WOOT WOOT

Ch. 2

[kissorkill16]

I'll Keep You: A Hello Neighbor Fanfic

By JJ

Summary: Mr. Peterson doesn't think Nicky should be let go.

Nicky woke up on a makeshift bed, and the first thing he noticed was the large room and chalk drawn windows.

Of course, he started panicking.

He remembered being chased by Mr. Peterson down a long, wooden hallway and the dead end of a locked door with three different padlocks. He didn't even know he needed keys to open those doors.

That's all he remembered before everything went dark.

He saw a shadow coming from a corner of the room, and he looked to see Mr. Peterson's hulking figure. The man looked absolutely terrifying, but maybe that was just because of the lack of light in the room.

Mr. Peterson smiled menacingly at Nicky, making him shrink back into the wall.

"Hello, neighbor.", said Mr. Peterson. "I guess you've finally decided to join me.", he paused for a moment, "I was afraid I'd hit you so hard you'd never wake up."

The man moved closer to Nicky, and Nicky curled in on himself even more. Mr. Peterson let out a soft, rumbling laugh. It wasn't like his usual booming, earthquaking laugh that makes your eardrums pop. This one was just...soft, almost condescending.

"I finally have you...", he almost growled, "After months of you coming into my house uninvited, stealing my things, intruding in on my private activities, grabbing anything you could find to prove to anyone and everyone that I was a loose cannon,...I finally have you in my clutches."

"Oh God...", thought Nicky, "What's he going to do to me?"

He tried calming down. Maybe he wasn't going to do anything, maybe he'll just call his parents and send him on his way. Nicky wanted to believe that. Maybe Mr. Peterson isn't so off his rocker after all. He let out a nervous laugh.

"Yeah, you're right. I'm trapped.", he said, his voice a little more high pitched than he'd like it to be. "Look, I apologize for the abrupt visit, but I really needed to see Aaron. I'm sure he's been missing me."

"Oh, he definitely has, Nicky."

Nicky nodded, "Yeah, I thought so. But I can see he's not home right now, so I guess you can just unlock the door and I'll be on my way."

Mr. Peterson sighed and slowly shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Nicholas. I'm afraid I can't do that."

All of the blood flowing through Nicky's body seemed to stop in its tracks. Did Mr. Peterson seriously say he wasn't going to let Nicky go?

"W-What?", said the boy.

Mr. Peterson bent over and looked at Nicky with darkened, green eyes. "Nicholas, don't you know that it's rude to break into another person's house? Hm?", he said, "Of course, everyone kept telling you to just leave me alone and just give up, but it seems as though you didn't listen."

"Mr. Peterson, please, I -"

The man didn't listen, he just raised his hand up and Nicky stopped talking. "Now now, dear. You're here now and we both know that I can't just let you walk away. Otherwise you won't learn your lesson."

Nicky slowly stood up, shaking his head at lightning speed. "No! Please let me go!"

"Naughty children like you need a proper punishment so you learn your lesson, and I know exactly how I can ensure you that you won't be such a bad child again.", said the man, a creepy smile starting to spread on his face. "Aaron has been feeling a bit lonely for quite some time now, and I thought he could use a friend. And since you're here, I thought you'd be the perfect candidate."

Without thinking, Nicky kicked Mr. Peterson in the stomach and started running towards the door. He was about to turn the knob, but he felt the blood drain from his body and the hairs on his arms stand.

The door was locked.

He started hyperventilating, then he felt Mr. Peterson pull him backwards into his chest and clasp a hand over his mouth, muffling his screams.

Nicky scratched at Mr. Peterson's arm, but the man wouldn't budge. Then he felt a sharp needle go through his neck, and he slowly started falling asleep.

"Shhhh....", he heard Mr. Peterson whisper as he rubbed his head to tire him out more. "Go to sleep."

That was the last thing Nicky heard before everything went dark.

[littlejuicebox]

Dancing in a burning room

Pairing: Astarion x Original Female Character/Ranger AKA AstarionxWren Rating/Warnings: M+ for gore, no smut in this one, Act 1 spoilers Chapter number: Eight Word count: 4.1K (Sheesh! Had to move the plot along.) Masterlist: Click here. Song inspiration: "Slow Dancing in a Burning Room" - John Mayer Notes: Let's play a game, tell me where the song inspiration references are in the fic.

-----

Astarion woke before Wren, his elven trance much more efficient than the haphazard, limb-twisting sleep of the half-elf. His eyes fluttered open, and the vampire found himself, once again, at a loss for what to do next. It was still dark, the diffused apricot glow of Wren’s makeshift lamp the only source of light in the camp. The entire ordeal was unfamiliar… it was strange, waking up next to someone he’d bedded the night before sleeping peacefully beside him instead of startling awake to their screams of their absolute terror. He mentally added it to the growing list of firsts in his lifetime.

The vampire studied the woman's face and noted the slight upturn of her nose, the sharp angle of her cheekbones, and the minute scrunch between her eyebrows as she dreamed, as if concentrating in her sleep. In the past, he’d gone through great efforts to avoid remembering the faces of anyone he laid with, and yet this time the rogue found himself trying to commit her face to his memory… he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps he was merely clinging to any silly little moment of comfort he found in the wilds in order to preserve the memory, in case his next 200 years were filled by further torture when Cazador found him.

After a few minutes of peaceful silence, the vampire rolled out of bed, leaving the woman to her rest. He needed to be out of there and hunting before anyone woke up… or caught him coming out of Wren’s shelter and started asking too many questions he didn’t have answers to. He broke through the tent and in doing so broke the spell that had been woven around the two in a haze of smoke and starlight last night. As he exited, he ignored a gnawing feeling rising in pit of his stomach, a whispering fear that he'd created an unintended soft spot for himself. A sort of lingering dread, akin to an ongoing, high-pitched ringing he could barely hear but was faintly aware existed, followed him as he exited the shelter and wandered into the forest.

-----

When Wren awoke, she turned to find the pillow next to her empty and already absent of any body heat. Admittedly, she had expected as much, but a sliver of her heart felt the faint pang of disappointment. The ranger turned to face the canvas ceiling, pushing curled tendrils of hair away as her eyes adjusted to the light still radiating from the amber vessel. In the quiet solitude of her shelter and the stark soberness of her constitution, after the blissful haze of last night, she was forced to finally acknowledge the coils of guilt clutching her heart.

‘It’s been years, Wren. You’ve locked yourself in a cage... and you’ve chosen to unlock it now. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

The logic was there. And yet, so was the shame, ripping at her core and clutching at her organs, forcing her breaths to turn shallow. But today wasn’t a day for brooding and self-loathing; they had goblins to kill and a Druid to find.

After donning her armor, Wren exited the tent to be greeted by bright flares of sunlight and an already bustling camp. Had she truly been the last to rise? The medicinals and physical exertion from last night must have knocked her into a deeper slumber than she'd realized. The little bird bent down to grab her quiver and caught a glimpse of something nestled amongst the arrows. She grabbed at the out of place thing, withdrawing a simple surprise that she recognized immediately. An Aster flower. For all his innuendo, the vampire could sometimes be explicitly on the nose.

The edges of Wren's neck flushed around the leather collar of her armor, almost making the skin itch with the rush of new blood. She turned her head just a fraction to look at the vampire, feeling the prickling heat of his gaze upon her. Astarion was sitting on a boulder, the picture of nonchalance. He met her eyes with a soft smirk and a sly wink, dagger in one hand as he poked the tip of the narrow blade against his opposing finger, testing the sharpness. The silver-haired rake flicked the weapon slightly, a subtle hello laced in the glint of a dagger, before turning to laugh at some joke Karlach made at Wyll’s expense.

It was a simple, sweet, innocent little secret between the two of them, but something about it set the little bird's body on fire. She lamented the fact that she could not stride across the camp and hold him like she wanted... how she longed to feel him in her arms in that moment. But instead, Wren quickly plucked the flower from her quiver and pressed it between the pages of the tattered spell book she’d stolen from Nettie days ago, snuffing out the feelings brewing inside as she went.

-----

The first few phases of the goblin camp raid went smoothly. Astarion and Wren efficiently took out the scouts while Shadowheart — affectionately called Drowheart by her campmates while in her disguise — made her rounds poisoning the food and alcohol supply and freeing the Owlbear.

“Okay. Dror Ragzlin will be in here.” Shadowheart explained in a hushed whisper, drawing an "X" on a makeshift schematic of the temple as they readied themselves outside of the gargantuan doors. “First, we handle Minthara and get Halsin.” She circled room on the periphery of the temple to show that location. “Then, we all take out the Hobogoblin and his hoard.”

“Minthara?” Wren asked, voice cracking just slightly at the end, which she attempted to cover up with a cough.

Astarion picked up on the strangeness of her tone, head cocking to examine the woman through his peripherals. She'd been oddly quiet on the way to the camp, but he'd chalked it up to battle nerves or some sort of post-coital awkwardness, which he himself felt. He flicked his gaze over to the ranger with interest, white brows furrowing as he studied her; he could hear the moment her heart picked up its pace and the stable thrum turned into a rapid fire. But other than that, she’d turned stone cold. Impassive. Unreadable.

“Yes, Minthara.” Shadowheart huffed, already growing impatient. They had limited time to act and the pressure of being the one to call the shots was slowly dripping weight onto one of the scales within her psyche and unbalancing her constitution. “Any more questions? Then let’s get on with it.”

Drowheart easily lead the group through the fallen temple, past several torture rooms filled with mangled bodies, and straight to Minthara. They’d been instructed to wait for the cleric’s signal before attacking. With so many goblin cultists and worgs wandering about, subterfuge was clearly the tactical advantage; although distracted, Wren was aware enough to be proud the cleric knew her stuff.

It was a damn good plan. It was a great plan, even. It might’ve truly worked. But halfway through the conversation Drowheart and Minthara were having about “trying” to find Emerald Grove, the two women gesturing over a large map strewn upon an oak desk, the paladin turned to catch a glimpse of Wren where she’d attempted to obscure herself behind Wyll and Karlach.

Minthara’s eyebrows furrowed as she drifted away from the conversation, no longer captivated by Drowheart’s -- admittedly lackluster -- attempts at theatrics and distraction. Wren felt the woman's eyes upon her and couldn’t help but lift her head to acknowledge the Drow, chin cocked in subtle pride. Minthara’s face clicked with recognition. All the parasites reared their bodies and linked together in a volatile ripple as the True Soul aggressively delved into Wren’s mind, desiring to confirm her suspicions.

The group got pulled into a deeply hidden, foggy memory of a younger Wren wearing a lightly embroidered, bell sleeved blue dress. For a moment, the edges of the vision were a bloom of vignette, and the memory had a feeling of being closely guarded by the keeper. It took aggressive delving from Minthara to pull the memory from Wren, the little bird’s psyche unwilling to release it and clutching to the precious thing with thorned tendrils in an attempt to protect from the intrusion.

But finally, the paladin broke through, and the vision was opened to reveal all. Wren wore a flower crown, dark, lengthy braids, and the visage of a more optimistic, less time-worn young half-elf. She was holding onto the arm of a salt and peppered man, his eyes that same amber color as Wren’s real eye — clearly, her father. They were walking toward a red-eyed, white-haired Drow holding out his hand to her; several semi-blurred faces were in the background. It was autumn, and the breeze picked up and scattered leaves from the trees, swirling them around the memory like confetti, causing memory Wren to laugh in delight. The emotion of the scene was deep and extreme; a sickening, overwhelming combination of adoration, excitement, and sadness all in one. As it ended, the lingering, intense feelings sent the entire group reeling from the vividness of it all.

Wren forced Minthara out of her brain with extreme effort, though her face remained almost impassive. Almost. Astarion caught the glimpse of a single tear rolling out the woman’s eye before she blinked the rest away. The half-elf eyes narrowed as she locked her gaze onto the Drow woman, clutching the hilt of her scimitar in a white-knuckled grip.

“I remember you... you're the ranger woman that caused my cousin to forsake Lolth.” Minthara spit in disgust as she broke out of the trance. If the group hadn't been sent spinning from the sensation of intruding on someone's most secret memories, they might have considered that tone odd from another Drow no longer serving Lolth. But cultural indoctrination ran deep, regardless of hypocrisy.

The atmosphere in the room flipped. Thick, heavy air and a subtle thrum of energy plucked itself around the room. The vampire knew, without really understanding how he knew, that the ranger was about to unleash that fascinating form of terror like what she'd released onto the Gur; the storm of rage and vengeance before the calm of death. He felt the hairs on his arms stand at attention just as Wren lunged across the desk, hands outstretched and blue snaps of lightening already crackling at her fingertips.

Chaos reverberated around the room and descended upon the gang almost as fast as lightning strikes; Drowheart’s plan was shot to hell by the archer with nary a bow in sight. Gale had slyly locked them all together at the beginning with an arcane lock on the door — nobody in, nobody out; fight to the death quickly became the agenda. Lae’zel and Karlach broke into the pandemonium first, screaming their individual war cries as they swung their sword and axe, respectively. Blood rained around them in spiraled drops of crimson. They were quickly followed by Shadowheart and Wyll, both playing support roles to the fearless, raging women.

A well-placed blast of thunderwave from Gale knocked two goblins that had been running to Minthara’s aid into the cavern beneath the dilapidated room; the wizard was playing defense and doing everything in his magical power to keep the altercation between their gang leader and the Drow a fair fight. The women were swinging at one another with their melees; Minthara's pointed mace narrowly made contact with Wren's ribs and sent a sharp cry of pain from the half-elf. The ranger managed to grab the mace on the second swing, her own weapon clattering to the ground during the tussle, before she placed a swift kick to the Drow’s abdomen. The move knocked Minthara prone, disarming her in the process. Wren tossed the mace aside where it skittered into the cavern below.

Gale might've been trying to keep the fight fair, but Astarion had other ideas entirely. He would gladly stab Minthara in the back. But two more goblins, smarter than their counterparts, had climbed overhead into the crossbeams. He was pinned in place. Every time the vampire tried to advance, he was greeted by a meticulous flurry of arrows that sent him reeling back towards cover. ‘Damn Gale and his dibs on the missile snaring gloves.’

The women were now in a fist fight on the rough, cold ground, each haphazard roll for dominance forcing the pair closer and closer to the edge of the room where a cavern gaped below. It was clear Minthara was stronger, but Wren was fueled by an explosive combination of pure rage and murderous revenge, which helped even the playing field. The two were locked in a battle of strength and will, both too stubborn to give up their pursuits to acknowledge they were on the brink of death.

In a split decision Astarion dashed forward, narrowly outrunning a flurry of arrows just as Minthara and Wren both tumbled over the edge of the crevasse. A lone arrow buried itself in his calf, slicing all the way through, as the vampire made the final dive towards Wren, his long limbs outstretched and desperately grasping for the woman. The rogue barely caught the half elf by the freckled hand as she slid over the edge. When he looked down, Astarion saw the paladin grasping haphazardly at the ranger, attempting to maintain her hold.

“You should have remembered me as the woman that downed two of house Baenre.” Wren hissed through clenched teeth as the little bird placed a swift kick to Minthara's face, ripping a string of blood and a grunt of pain from the Drow.

The agony from the arrow lodged in Astarion's leg was searing and sharp. The burning through his calf became almost unbearable as blood began to pool towards the front of his pants, but the vampire kept both hands firmly locked around Wren’s forearm. Teeth gritted, beads of sweat rolling down his face, the silver-haired elf groaned with immense effort as he struggled to hold the weight of the two women. Wren glanced up at Astarion, and as their eyes connected, she gave him a wild look he didn't understand.

Then he felt it, the slight current of electricity running through him, like a pulse. Not painful, but noticeable. Wren released a shattering scream as she bent the electricity through her own body, deftly curving it away from Astarion and towards Minthara. The searing force of the spell shot azure bolts down the ranger's arm, burning the jagged pattern into her flesh as she doubled in her efforts; the wail ripped from Wren’s vocal cords rang into the cavern and echoed back to them.

The paladin tried her best to hold on, but the blistering agony became too great, and her body’s natural response overruled her brain’s will -- she released the ranger’s hand with a look of pure terror on her face. Astarion and Wren both watched, unable to look away from the horrid scene, as the Drow tumbled into the dark abyss before disappearing from view.

“A little help here!” Astarion shouted, coming back to his senses, all energy positively ripped from him by now, miraculously clutching to whatever final shreds of strength and willpower remained. The little bird began trying to pull herself back over the edge, deft fingers hooked into the stone ledge. Astarion had the sickening thought that no one was going to come and save them, and he was going to lose his greatest ally, but finally, blessedly, Wyll ran toward the rogue and helped drag the ranger back over the edge.

“Make that the woman that downed three of house Baenre.” The brunette half-elf grumbled with a wry chuckle as she grasped the cold cobblestone. She heaved for a moment, eyes turning to assess the damage to her campmates. They were scattered about the room in various states of deterioration from the battle that had just ensued, but alive. The others were tending to their wounds, drinking healing potions, rearranging their weaponry... or in Shadowheart and Lae'zel's case, kissing passionately. The little bird turned to look at Astarion and gasped as she caught him breaking the shaft of the arrow before ripping it from his leg. "Astarion! You're wounded!"

Astarion winced as he cast the projectile aside before turning to snap at the woman. He couldn't help it -- the fear, fucking pain and frustration all rose to the surface the moment he heard her voice. "How good of you to notice, darling. Why yes, yes I am! I'll take that as a thank you for saving your life after you practically pitched yourself off a fucking cavern edge."

Wren reached her hand toward the vampire’s leg, and he nearly ripped away from her touch before feeling the subtle warmth of her healing spell. Then she grabbed her own arm, rubbing at the jagged burn marks that danced across her flesh; her quick attempt to heal the marks was unsuccessful. After a deep breath, the half-elf stood and turned her two-toned eyes back to the rogue, extending her hand to help him stand. “Thank you.”

Astarion had so many questions for her that he couldn’t ask in that moment, and so much anger that he couldn’t express, either. What in the hells had happened to her husband? Where in the hells had she even met a Drow? Why in the hells did she think pitching herself off a cavern edge would be the best choice when battling Minthara? How in the hells did any of that add up to get her where she was, standing before him, after nearly falling to her death? He sighed a frustrated huff and took her hand, shoving the questions into the back of his mind. “Alright then, little bird. Let’s finish what we started and get the hells out of his place.”

-----

Breaking Halsin from the cage was easy; Astarion had the lock undone with barely the flick of a wrist. The Druid was given a brief run down from the gang and was quick to join their cause. After that, a little bit of tactical planning went a long way to making the rest of the raid a breeze in comparison to the mishap with Minthara.

Days ago, Gale and Shadowheart worked in tandem to hide several vases of oil in the rafters above Dror Ragzlin’s throne room. A few well-placed arrows from Wren and Lae’zel sent the thick, slick liquid down in spiraling waterfalls around the hoard before anyone had a moment to catch on to the subterfuge. Two firebolts from Gale and Astarion, followed by several more vessels of oil thrown from the rest of the crew, and nearly the entire room and hoard went up in flames.

Dror and a few goblins were all that remained among the sweltering inferno, and Halsin quickly wildshaped into his bear form, charging toward the Hobogoblin with no intentions for mercy. Karlach, Lae'zel, and Wyll followed behind, heavily dosed on fire-resistance potions and intercepting any goblin stupid enough to join the thrall.

Wren and Astarion were on the periphery of the battle, focused on taking on any outlying stragglers; Shadowheart and Gale were nearby, focused on containing the fire itself. If anyone from the gang had an opportunity to watch the rogue and ranger in that moment, they would've witnessed a remarkable amount of coordination between the two as they were encircled by foes. It appeared as if they were locked in a dance where only they knew the steps; Wren ducked where Astarion swung, he dodged where she stabbed; an arrow was shot at every foe along the vampire's back just as a dagger was tossed at every goblin at the half-elf's. Each movement was fluid and instinctual, their bodies working in tandem; they were truly dancing in a burning room.

Before long, all of the goblins were felled and Dror Ragzlin's limp body expelled its last deep, dying breath before being violently shredded to ribbons by an unyielding cave bear. The gang watched in both horror and fascination as Halsin's wildshape form tore into the red flesh of their foe, none of them daring to inhibit the bear’s nature and succumb to heavy paws themselves. Finally, the fit of rage subsided, and the Druid returned to his elven form, panting, but with hardly a scratch on his person.

Halsin turned to face the gang, all focused on the mountain of a man as he gazed down at them with shockingly gentle eyes for someone that had just committed such obscene violence. "Pardon the viscera... but thank you all, truly, for your rescue."

The beat of silence spread too long across the group. Halsin was... an impressive creature, to be sure. Everyone stood in awe of his hulking frame, battle prowess, and quiet, commanding nature. It was Wren who spoke first, after a soft clearing from her throat. "I've heard great things about you, Archdruid Halsin. From your associates at the grove… and from my father."

Astarion's vermillion eyes snapped between the little bird and the mountain man in shock. She was regarding Halsin with no small amount of adoration; almost as if she were the Druid's biggest fan and meeting the celebrity, if you could call him that, for the first time. Yet another secret revealed at the most inopportune time, and something in his psyche prickled with... jealousy? Add Halsin to the list of men he couldn't compete with in Wren's eyes, just under her dead husband.

Halsin regarded the ranger with interest, his eyes scanning her face for a sign of familiarity in her features, trying to place her parentage. "What is your name, dear one?"

"Wren Yildirim, sir. Of the Styrmir nomads. My father, Draven Yildirim, traded with you and your grove, learned several medicinal recipes from you, and was lucky enough to receive aid from your own hands after a run in with a swarm of poisonous snakes almost a vicennial ago." Her tone was quiet, almost reverent. "You may not remember me. But I remember you. I was but a girl when you happened upon my injured father and our clan all those years ago."

The Archdruid's eyes softened with recognition as he placed a gentle, albeit massive, hand on the woman's shoulder. "Ah yes, I do remember you. And your father. Forgive me... I have lived many years, and it is impossible to recall every being I've met or have aided. But it is good to see you healthy and thriving, Wren. Your father spoke of you with great pride upon our meetings."

Astarion eyes crinkled with suspicion. What in the hells? All the revelations from today were giving him whiplash. Had they all been led to save Wren's Druid idol in some sort of twisted blood debt? All the bleeding hearts in the gang seemed on the verge of tears as the webs of this story wove around them -- Karlach, for one, was practically sobbing.

The vampire rolled his eyes, now thoroughly done with the entire affair and itching to get back to camp. Not to mention, the pain in his calf seared with renewed vigor as the numbing adrenaline of battle subsided. “Sorry to interrupt this… lovely reunion, but can we get the hells out of here now? There are surely a few more goblins waiting for us outside the temple and at this point I think the grove is waiting anxiously for our return. Best to not keep them waiting, hm?"

Everyone nodded in agreement and readied for the final phase of clearing out the fallen temple. Astarion had a million questions swirling in his head as he sliced through the last few foolish goblins that chose pride over flight. In the vampire's mind, he wondered if perhaps he were remaining blindly tethered to their little bird leader. Had he replaced Cazador with another master, much more subtle in her manipulations? Had he, for once, been the seduced rather than the seducer? Would he become just like the goblins that now fell before him... a useless, bloodied corpse, easily forgotten and replaced? Shouldn't he know by now; shouldn't he have learned by now not to trust anyone?

All the time Astarion spent with this woman left him with more questions than answers and he found himself more deeply wrapped into whatever web she wove around them all from his lack of planning and general impulsivity. The vampire resolved that when they returned to camp, that would have to change; he would need some answers, or he would be forced to leave and hope to make it to Baldur's Gate alone. Time was running out. Cazador was coming for him. The spell had been broken and he had to stop playing unwitting knight in someone else's story.