#keep on going strong 💪

[demongrunge]

floor gang

[1driedpersimmon]

Lots of Sesame doodles :3 hes on a fishing break (sorry Doma… he’ll be back I promise)

[kadextra]

So if you didn’t hear, we are gonna get cool q!Bad lore tomorrow!!!! and it’s gonna be depressing!!! I’ve never been so happy to hear such terrifying words :D

bad has an idea that will make everything with his lore work out without having to retcon or scrap anything <3

[artastic-friend]

Kinda just how it's been lately 😔

[theclearblue]

happy yukisagi sunday <3

Omg you're so right...it's Yukisagi Sunday!!

[cranberrymoons]

.

[oc3anic-ang3l]

today is a national holiday bc it’s nico di angelo’s bday

[bumpscosity]

[primrosebow]

Do you draw or write for the girls? Because I would love seeing any type of Lute, Charlie or Vaggie art in your style

Also I would eat your art 20/10

Short answer: yahhh xoxo💞

Long answer:

_-->Various hazbin hotel women x reader // art

//

!Content warnings!:the usual nsfw, this has the gals listed in the ask🫡 a few headcannons added for flavor, gn reader cause I never specified literally anything, more words than usual.

We are SO BACK 💪💪💪 request things ‼️ My activities would get me perma banned from the vatican, I'm afraid.

Charlie //

I, unlike most other people here, believe that charlie most often tries to take the role of a dom! She's used to trying to fix everyone else's problems, but, she'll crumble if she ever gets treated like the perfect princess that she is. Call her beautiful, praise her, give her that affection she desperately needs. She's been helping her citizens for so long, she deserves to get taken care of!

Honestly, when you slowly push that vibrator inside her after what felt like an agonizing ammount of time for prepping, she was ready to cry on the spot. She can barely believe you even talked her into being in the receiving end of this -she's the one supposed to be pleasing you!- Getting this much attention and love made her brain go all fuzzy and tears well up in her eyes as her limbs felt weak; she was trembling far too much from the overwhelming pleasure she felt right then to truly care about what this whole situation did to her ego.

She doesn't realize her horns have made an appearence as she pleads with you: come on! You were giving her so much attention just a minute ago! Please! Being as close to you as possible is her only wish right now. Her pitiful tone and cries for you directly contradict how her tail is shaking at it's tip, much like that of an excited cat -she's enjoying this far more than she expected-.

If you do decide to give in and finally rub on her already overstimulated clit just as you had been doing before, she'll cling onto you for dear life- practically sobbing as you give her precisely what she needs. Maybe she can get used to being treated nicely by you. (She learns that she cannot get enough of the overwhelming passionate act of letting you be in control, it's far too good for her to only experience it once.

She'll soon get a little cocky though... she isn't the daughter of the king of pride just because of her name, if you catch what I'm throwing)

// //

Vaggie //

Vaggie has placed quite a notorious quantity of expectations on herself. She's always been this way, and, continues to be despite your affirmations of her worth. Your constant and relentless words of praise to her: how beautiful she is, how strong, how perfect, how brave, how hot- it all got to her head very quickly. Your words contradicted her thoughts on herself but the way you kiss along her neck makes any thought melt away from her brain and be replaced with pure emotion.

// //

"Mh.. please, darling- I-" she tried to form a sentence, eventually getting cut off by her own moans. Her nightgown was pushed up as she laid with her back against your bed, squirming slightly as she feels your fingers rub against her insides. She clenches around you as you drag your thumb over her swolen clit, which was begging for your attention since the very start of this. Her hips stutter as she can't pick between indulging the stimulation and running away from the pleasure.

Her eyes struggle to keep themselves open, but you had told her to look at you during this. She couldn't let you down. Not when you were saying she was "doing so good f'me". Those are some of the few words that can pierce through the thick veil of the ecstasy-like feeling of your attention and carve themselves into her very soul. She was good. Good for you. She couldn't ask for anything better, and, won't- can't be letting you down.

You.. leave her easy tasks such as looking at you and being a little quieter just so she feels like she's still, in some way, being useful to you. Slow and steady wins the race, and, soon enough you hope to remove the constant anxiety of servicing you from the act of love you want to give her.

Lute //

Lute is quite interesting because she has this weird duality between wanting approval and not being able to take said approval. Sometimes, she'll activelly attempt to rile you up enough that you'll punish her (something you have already told her is not necessary, since you can be harsher on her if she simply asks) but please don't blame her! She's just used to being treated roughly, it's "safer" for her to stay in her comfort zone of thorns and cruel words at first.

But only at first. Like I said, she really does want to feel loved. One of the first times you attempted to give her the affection she craves, after having learned that she can't deal with the purely lovey, sappy affection yet, you had to get resourceful with bringing her the love she needs.

"Awh sweetheart, you can't handle this?" You dig your fingers even deeper into her, a squelching noise arises from the action because of just how wet she already is. She groans at your words, and, if you didn't know any better, she'd have sounded like any other cheap sinner from lust with how aroused she was at your teasing. But you do know better. Your comment- it was slightly mocking, it was maddening; it was a challenge. For her to keep her composure for as long as she can. Lute grabs onto you even harder so she can regain some sense of stability, finally locking eyes with you. She moves her hips slightly against your fingers. Despite it being her own action, she groans. She says in a shaky tone

"Do your worst."

Ah, you can't deny such a request, now, can you?

// //

BONUSSSSSSSSS‼️

Velvette //

"Agh- fuck you! H-ah-" she tried to act mad, don't get her wrong. She really did. But that's astoundingly hard to do when your lover has their hand in your panties and is currently relentlessly and harshly rubbing against your clit like it was the last thing they'll ever touch.

You really could not have picked a worse time to do this; right before one of her new collection showcases? Did you want her to die? You forcefully push her thighs apart when she pressed them toguether, not letting her even attempt to get back a semblance of composure. As if that wasn't enough, you had locked her bracelets toguether behind her back, and, even if she wouldn't admit it to a single soul, it really turned her on.

She tried to think as hard as she could, try to offend you, try to play her own pleasure down, but she really couldn't. Empty remarks about your incompetence or appearence or literally anything she could get her mind around slowly melted away into moans and whines, the much too familiar shame from getting overwhelmed so easily by you also pushed aside by a desperate search for her own release.

When she finally did cum, she doesn't hold back on how loud her moan of your name was, her thighs trembled as she leaned on your body for support. She intentionally turns her head away from the mirror so she won't be faced by her own overstimulated self, and much less your self-satisfied grin as you watch her panting against you.

Oh gods... what was she doing again? Hmm.. OH YOU BASTARD YOU RUINED HER PANTIES! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW EXPENSIVE THAT FABRIC WAS? FUCK YOU.

Let's just hope that the fashion gossip blogs don't catch onto how uncharacteristically out of breath she was during that showcase!

I love piracy so much RAHHHHHH‼️‼️ if buying ain't ownin, piracy ain't stealin, but I wish it were. IMAGINE‼️ you download idk ratatouille and they just don't have it anymore. "Guys they took ratatouille again..." I wish. I wish watching media through torrent sites was like taking various items from ikea.

I WOULD download a car.

@bigfatbimbo cause of the little bonus of velvette

[junglemindless]

okay, so. i have loved pjo since i was 12 and this can definitely be explained also by the fact percy is so freaking hot. this days i was thinking about our boy and just have to share some of the stuff i thought about him in all this years. here we go with some headcanons of bf percy and percy in general;;

• i have a thing for silver chain necklaces. you know, one of this things every hot guy has? yeah. percy does wears one. his mother give it to him probably. and he never takes it off. it reflects the sun when he's surfing, stands out on his tanned skin, touches your face when he's on top of you kissing you or whatever else

• percy IS an nba obsessed. he will invite you to watch the games with him and will give you his personal opinion about the players, the moves, even the uniforms if you want to know.

• he secretly is zodiac guy. like, in front of his friends or any public conversation he will deny it. but if you're into it, and just says something like "our zodiact signs are compatible!" he'll be happy about it and feel like he's part of something magical, you know? like he's known all along that you're supposed to be together.

• talking about interests: he definitely will listen with heart eyes whatever you talk about. books? shows? basketball or another sport? celebrities drama? taylor swift folklore's love triangle? he's here for it. laying on his bed with you sitting by his side telling him about it, and he's just staring at your beautiful eyes and playing with your hair

• he also love movies. he has an letterboxd account which he is religiously active on. also, he give extra stars to the movies you watch togheter just because he is on a good mood.

• btw, when he's calling you to watch a movie, it is to watch a movie. boy take the movies thing really serious.

• he will be watching barbie AND oppenheimer. and he will take you to both.

• percy can't sleep without being tangled with you. he's an huge touchy guy, bear hugs, forehead kisses, hands on your waist, head laying down on your chest. he just loves the feeling of your body with him

• bro is an biology princess. is the only thing he really found interesting. he loves nature, the sea, the animals.... everybody knows he's going to do marine biology. he's not an working-on-office-all-day type of person so 99% of chance of him working saving marine animals on an research group.

• his instagram profile would totally be about animals he saved. him just doing ✌️🤘👉👍with some type of turtle or an aquarium of clown fishes

• you gave him different marine stuffed animals and he keeps it on his shelf, right on the side of a picture of you and him on a beach day.

• as soon as he gets money, he will take you to a summer on greece.

• he is so fucking loyal. he CAN'T like anyone else. he just thinks about you. in a way that is almoust obsessive.

• also, kind jealous. okay, im trying to be nice with him, he's very very jealousy guy. not because he doesn't trust you or your love for him, but because he doesn't trust other people. at least, thats what he says everytime he sees this one friend of yours

• percy is a tattoo guy. he will have symbols, greek words, abstract stuff, strong animals.... and your initials on his chest once he knows for sure you're here to stay.

• i saw that jeremy allen white keeps a letter of his wife with him to read when he's missing home and i just can't get it out of my mind. percy will totaly take a small peace of paper with something you wrote to him when he's traveling to research or smth and read it before going to sleep 😫😫😫

humm alright. i think that's it for today. i love percy he's so fucking sweet. also, english is not my first language and i had never write for tumblr before soooooo sorry for anything.

hope you enjoyed and stuff 💪

HEY! we have a part. 2 :)

[m0tiv8me]

💥💪 FLEX FRIDAY!! 💪💥

All right fitfam I could use some positive inspiration. Been down a bit lately and it’s time to slap a little sense back into my mindset.

Let’s make this an EPIC Flex Friday! Reblog, add your own, tag some friends and let’s roll this positivity train all the way across Tumblr and back.

A flex doesn’t have to just be a muscle it can be smile or ANY win in your day! I’ll be reblogging them here to keep the good vibes rolling. So climb aboard, off we go!

🚂💪🙂💪🙂💪🙂💪🙂💪🙂💪🙂💪🙂💪 🙂💨

btw todays 100 push-ups done first thing! Last 10 were low and slow… feel the burn!

@marine-corps-strong @bigbruthag @labrat-to-gymrat @runnersandheels @packbetawolves @fight-forabetter-you @nerdgasmsfoodpornprogress @healthymist @fitgothgirl @the-curvy-crossfitter @becoming-her-beast @cam-strong @whatyoustand4 @coolrunnerguy @lucky-jewels @thisismetryingx @justhiitit @emmasternerradley @love2bfit @qrfit @thoughts-sex-desires @runs-4-pinkcupcakes @50snfit @aravenlunatic @poh-fitblr @robertbecomes @weights-and-horror @fitveganlifts @coffeeandmuscles @beastly-fit @52fit @run-mouse @jenfightsback @time-4-me-now @getfitinparadise @findingforest51 @mountainstogo @tri-ingagain @azkeldan @dannissunnyday @sweetreddelicious-iii @fitrosa @suzieb-fit @tenacioustam @wildgypsywind2 @dark-faeder @candygirl33 @onefitmama @itsumaidemo

[so-much-for-the-seashells]

The Fun Kind of Sparring Pt. 2

Soldier Boy (The Boys) x Reader

(Aka minors do NOT interact with this post)

A/N: Sooooooo… did ya miss me?? Heh. My down stairs brain has been exercised, that’s for sure. Took five but now I’m trying to change lives 💪

Anyways, as always, all interaction, especially commentary/tags, is extremely appreciated! It really makes my day to hear that people like what I’m putting out there.

Content Warning: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ If you thought the last one was diddle-that-skittle-worthy, this one… I think I’m going to need to take a cold shower. I mean, my man doesn’t stop talking. I will say he’s really sweet to the reader. A few things he says sound more like him in canon, but overall he’s really sweet. Look, guys, life is lifing rn so I just needed a sweet hot old man to talk me through it 🤷‍♀️

****************************************************

Previously on The Fun Kind of Sparring

"Good girl," he praises, and it's all I can do not to keen. I have to be soaked through my shorts by now, there's no way. "Well, what l'd do next... that's simple. I'd fuck her until she cried, and then I'd keep going. And I'd keep going until the only thing she can remember is my name, until she's gooey and clingy and a sweet little fucked out thing, all for me," he finishes, his grin from before returning back to his face. I'm losing it. I can't think straight. And yet- he's still waiting for me to make the first move. Son of a bitch.

"O-okay," I clear my throat, unable to find my senses. "And if that hypothetical girl was me?" We both know it's me, I just need to hear it.

"Well in that case I think l'd be the luckiest bastard who ever lived," he says sincerely, looking at me with a gaze that can only be described as pure adoration and lust. Yep. That's it for me. I lean up and kiss him with as much force as I can muster.

A strand of spit connects our lips when we part, and if I hadn’t heard him say all those dirty things I’d think it was the most erotic thing imaginable. It’s certainly a close second, though.

He crashes his lips back to mine once the strand breaks, demanding access that I could never be strong enough not to give. He explores my mouth with great fervor, silencing the small whimpers and whines trying to tear themselves from my throat. Once he’s sure I’m breathless he moves down, planting a row of kisses to my jaw before kissing down my neck, biting and sucking dark marks at the juncture of my neck and shoulder.

But through the lust induced haze that’s already clouding my brain I can only remember one thing.

“Uh, Ben?” my voice is unrecognizable, breathy and high.

“Yeah?” He says into my collarbone where he’s been leaving more love bites.

“What about you? Don’t you get to come in the story?”

“Oh, you’re sweet on me, huh, baby? Don’t you worry about me sweet girl, that’ll come later- no pun intended.”

“Oh, okay,” I mumble, tugging him up by the hair so I can kiss him again. “I could kiss you forever,” I say. And it sounds stupid, but his plush pink lips are just too good to be true.

“That can be arranged, sweetheart,” he smirks, leaning down to kiss me again. There’s just no feeling like it. I reach for the hem of his grey sweatpants, but he grunts, pulling away. I look at him, eyes wide with confusion.

“Sugar, as much as I’d love to give some sad sap the chance of walking in on this, I think it’s better we move this to my room.”

“Oh, okay,” I concede.

“Trust me,” he says, almost… shifty? Whatever. I’m too horny to decipher his gaze at the moment. I let him all but pick me up off the floor, and I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror embellished wall: my face is sweaty and splotchy, hair already a wreck, hickies everywhere on my neck and shoulders. Holy hell. I haven’t even gotten laid yet, and I look like I went nine rounds in a porno. Motherfucker. Me-fucker, in a minute. Good god.

“I think I’m an artist,” he says smugly from behind me, admiring the blues and purples on my neck and shoulders, and catching my gaze in the mirror. He presses his bulge to my ass, at which I gasp. He’s huge. I can already tell. How the fuck does he even-? I don’t even know how I’m going to finish that question.

“C’mon sweetheart, my room ain’t far.”

“Okay,” I mumble, stuck on the absent feeling of his bulge against me. “But the floor was so hot,” I pout.

“Don’t I know it, sweets,” he grins. “But I’ve got big plans for you, if you remember.”

I moan softly at the memory of his dirty words

“Attagirl.” The shit eating grin from before is right back on his face. “Now c’mon, sweets,” he tugs my hand in his, practically dragging me out of the gym. Before I know it I’m laying on my back in his soft bed, him over me. He somehow kisses me both soft and slow, and rough and fast, and it’s almost impossible to breath. Especially as he adds more to the canvas he’s made of my body.

“Can I?” he asks, tugging at the hem of my shirt. I nod, and pulls it up over my head, obviously enjoying what he finds under it.

“Of course my pretty girl has pretty tits too, I shouldn’t even be surprised, but”-he kisses the tops of each of my breasts-“damn, baby.”

I blush at his praise, unable to help myself. “Can I take off this cute little bra?” he asks.

“Mhm,” I say, hoping that he’ll just rip it off. But instead of being raucous he gently unclasps it from behind, teasing it off of me. He trails lower with his lips, lavishing my breasts in attention that leaves them perky and alert once he leaves them for my stomach.

I can’t help but start giggling at the feeling of his scratchy beard on my stomach as he continues his trek of kisses and such southward. “What’s funny?” he asks, obviously amused by my laughter. I can only giggle harder because he seems to catch on, now intentionally scratching at me with it. He starts kissing lower and lower, and eventually my giggles dissolve into moans as he nips at the juncture of my thigh and pelvis.

“So sweet,” he mumbles, tugging at the waist band of my shorts. He pulls both them and my underwear off in one go. “Oh, sweets,” he breathes. “You this wet all for me?”

I squeak, unable to respond to the dark, lust-filled look in his eyes as he asks. Thankfully the question is rhetorical, because my brain is already starting to get fuzzy.

He gingerly pulls off my shoes and socks, before pressing featherlight kisses to and massaging up my left leg. Just as he reaches my sopping heat does he stop, biting the squishy flesh of the inside of my thigh before returning back down on my right leg.

“Ben,” I whine impatiently, unsure of how much more of this teasing I can take before I just come without him doing anything.

He just tuts at me before continuing his ministrations. And good grief does he know what buttons to press, because my legs already feel like jello in his hands.

Finally he bites my other thigh, and I’m all but shaking with how eager I am for him to do something, anything to me. And he seems to be more than happy to comply.

“Listen, if you tell me to stop, I’ll stop,” he says roughly, sincerely, as his cheek rests against the inside of my thigh.

“O-okay?” I say, my tone far past breathy.

“That’s my girl,” he grins before diving in.

It’s like nothing I’ve felt before. It feels like he’s lit orgasmic fireworks, like far too much and not enough all at once, like… it’s fucking inexplainable. Especially while I’m physically squirming from how good it feels, while he only needs one big hand splayed over my stomach to keep me down. I couldn’t even tell you what I’m moaning between the incoherent mess of his one syllable name and the whines he’s pulling out of me.

It’s incredible. And he’s so methodical, so good at it. Eighty odd years of experience will do it to you I guess, but this is like, next level.

And before I know it my stomach is tightening in on itself, and I try to warn him. I really do. But he doesn’t even need me to warn him. Instead he takes his hand off my stomach and places both on either of my thighs, locking me in place around his head. And before I know it, his tongue thrusting in and out of me and his nose and facial hair rubbing on my clit have me coming with a loud cry of his name. I’m physically shaking by the end of it from how he continues to fuck me through it, lapping up every last drop.

The thing about Ben is that he does everything with great fervor. Passion, really, except he thinks that’s too feminine a word. There just has to be a certain exceptionality to the way he does things. When he snorts a line of coke, the line had better be four times longer than anyone else’s. When he performed back in the day, it had to be more grandiose than Queen, more ostentatious than Madonna. When he eats pussy, it has to be fucking leagues ahead of any other man or woman in the entire world.

And man oh man does he deliver. I think I come again, but it’s hard to tell from how intense the initial orgasm was and how fuzzy the overstimulation is making my brain. But he eventually pulls back, once again resting his stubbled cheek on the inside of my thigh, my come glistening on his jaw and mouth. It’s a sight of debauchery in its purest-or should I say filthiest- form. I’m panting, trying to ground myself as he smugly smirks at me, his greens eyes sparkling like cut emeralds.

“Y’like that, sweetheart?” he asks, knowing damn well I do. And yes, he’s cocky as fuck, but… he’s not wrong.

“Yes,” I mumble.

“Good girl,” and at that I clench around nothing. And he does not fail to notice.

“Aww, my sweet girl likes being a good girl,” he observes, languidly running a knuckle through my folds. I gasp, and he chuckles. “Easy.”

He surprises me by thrusting one finger in- and like he said, it wouldn’t do much with how wet I was. So he gives me a second, and I start to feel it, especially when he hits my g-spot on every languid thrust, eliciting tinny moans from me. The tinny moans get louder when he starts scissoring his fingers inside of me, opening me up as far as he sees fit. “Gotta get you ready for me,” he explains, spitting on his other hand before brining his thumb to my clit. I’m beyond fucked once the rough pad of his thumb meets my sensitive bud, gasping his name and arching my back.

“You’re taking ‘em so well, sweet girl. Gonna give you another,” he tells me before adding a third finger and rubbing on my clit even faster. I barely last three minutes of this before I come for the second-third?- time with a weak cry of his name, still ready for more. I’m flustered from how easy it was to make me come, and his words certainly don’t soothe my blush.

“Oh, look at this pretty pussy gushin’ f’me, she’s too good to me,” he groans, slowly thrusting his fingers in and out to prolong my bliss. “Aww sweet girl, why’re you embarrassed, huh? I think my new favorite color is pink cause of your sweet cheeks. My pretty girl, my perfect girl.”

My mind is so fuzzy. Ben- Soldier Boy- is literally praising me whereas he calls anyone else a disappointment or a whore. And he’s making me feel so good, not only because of the incredible sex but with the way he’s treating me.

He kisses me again before he stands up, and I can taste myself on him. I don’t mind though, because his lips, his tongue… I can hardly account for my senses, much less comprehend the taste of myself. He stares at me and finally takes the waistband of his sweatpants in his hands. I can’t help the way my jaw drops as he finally pulls them and his boxers down, and naturally he gives me his signature smirk.

The bottom line is that he’s even bigger than I had thought earlier. Like, this is a size I thought only dildos came in, not the real thing. It’s long, it’s thick, and it’s rock hard. His eyes are trained on mine, so naturally he catches me gaping and laughs. Jackass.

“You know that not all of that is going to fit, right?” I ask, a little nervous.

“We’ll see about that,” he says, cocksure. I can’t help but gulp involuntarily, but once he brings his lips back down to mine I’m right back into my whipped frenzy, pouting and following his lips like a puppy when he pulls away, rummaging in his bedside drawer but talking all the while.

“Don’t worry, m’gonna give you what you want, just gotta ease you into it, okay? Ain’t gonna treat you like a loosened whore, I could never. My sweet girl. Didn’t bring you in here for nothing, wanted this.” He holds up a small bottle, and that’s when I get it. He needed the damn lube. That’s why he wanted to come back here. Not a big connection, but for someone who’s ready to let him doin all sorts of unspeakable things to her and thank him for it, it’s a revolutionary revelation.

“Oh-oh,” I say, my voice breaking when I watch him fist himself a few times.

“Gonna make it feel so good for you,” he mumbles, rubbing a generous amount of lube up and down his length. As if it hasn’t already been beyond good. “Tell you what, baby, I want you to ride me, just to start. Y’can adjust on your own time, take it as slow as you need, okay sweet girl? ‘Cause if I’m on top… I don’t think I can make any promises.” At least he’s honest. The horny part of me wants him to just go ahead and rail me within an inch of my life, but the small, annoying, rational part of me recognizes how huge he is. He sits down next to me on the bed, comfortably resting against the pilos and the headboard. His legs are splayed, showing off the endearing curve to them.

It takes a lot out of my already fucked out self to move two inches and straddle him, but I do. He smiles, genuinely smiles, and I can’t help but smile back.

“Take it easy, sweet girl,” he tells me. “We’ve got all night. You just take all the time you need.” I’m so turned on by how sweet he is, I genuinely can’t even help it.

“Okay,” I mumble, reaching for his cock, feeling it in my hands. It’s just a little thicker than the grip of one of my hands- definitely thicker than anything I’ve ever had, but not as scary as I thought. I rub the leaking precum over his tip, because even though he’s already poured a more than generous amount of lube on himself I can’t be too sure. Not to mention the delicious gasps he’s making at every touch are enough to just do this for the next six hours.

But finally, finally I’m ready. I position myself over it, my arms encircling Ben’s wide, freckled shoulders.

And then I slowly, ever so slowly sink down on the tip. We both moan at the newfound sensation, and I physically have to stop for a second. He’s just so big. All of him is, from his ego to his overall stature, but inside me? He’s huge, and the stretch is beyond satiating.

“You okay, sweets?” he asks, recovering quicker than me.

“Yeah,” I whisper.

“Good girl,” he kisses me on the lips. The distraction of the kiss lets me move more comfortably down his length. I make it a little bit more before I have to stop again. “You’re squeezing me so good, this pussy was made for me,” he groans when I stop, and I hide my own noises into the crook of his shoulder.

“Ben?” I mumble.

“Yeah?”

“I need help,” I whine, keeping my face hidden to hide my embarrassment.

“Aww, sweetpea,” he lets out a small laugh despite himself, furthering my angry red blush. “C’mere, look at me,” I do as he says, my thighs sore from keeping me up as I do so.

“No need to be embarrassed with me, sugar,” he says softly, before bring my lips to his, a big hand cupping the side of my head. I barely notice his other hand on my hip until he slowly starts guiding me down on him, lifting me up and down where I’m and pushing me down further and further as he does so. He muffles my whimpers and whines into the kiss, kissing me so long that I forget what it’s like to breathe.

Once he’s bottomed out and I’m properly seated on his lap does he pull away, letting me moan as loud as I need to.

“How do you feel?” he asks, his own voice strained.

“Full,” I mumble, because it’s true. He’s so all consuming in this moment, all I can concentrate on is how he fills me to the brim.

He twitches inside of me at that, his brow furrowed.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothin’ baby, you just can’t be throwing around words like that,” he groans.

“You asked,” I protest.

“I know,” he retorts, kissing me again. After a few moments of sitting there on his lap, I tell him I’m ready to move a little.

“You need help, sweets?” he asks, giving me a knowing look. And I want to say no, that much is probably written on my face. Want to show him that I’m capable of bouncing on his enormous cock, but I sincerely don’t think I am.

“Maybe,” I concede sheepishly.

“That’s okay, baby,” he smiles gently, grabbing me by the hips. He slowly lifts me up his length, and I can feel my walls trying to contract around him as he moves me up, clenching him like a vice. A soft groan leaves his lips whilst various whimpers leave mine.

He keeps this gentle pace, so slow that I can feel every single inch of him slide in and slip out. Slowly the burn from the initial stretch disipates into pure pleasure that leaves me whispering his name every time he bottoms out. But eventually it’s not enough, because the thoughts of his promises creep into my empty mind, his promises of fucking me. Until I cry, until I can only remember his name and nothing else.

“Ben,” I mumble, my head still resting in the crook of his neck as he eases me up and down. “I’m ready.”

“Ready for what, pretty girl?”

Jackass. He knows damn well what, I can hear it in his voice. “I don’t want to say it,” I whine. He pulls me back so we’re eye to eye, resting me on his lap.

“I think you’re gonna have to,” he’s grinning ear to ear.

I pout, my hands resting on his chest.

“C’mon baby,” he prods, thumbing my lower lip. I take his thumb into my mouth, sucking on it. It clearly takes a lot out of him to take his finger out of my mouth, he seems to be turned on by the action.

“Fine. I want you to fuck me,” I tell him, crossing my arms.

“You’re lucky I like you so much. If anyone else were acting this bratty with me I think I’d have to teach them a lesson,” he smirks, the cocky promise clear in his eyes. Before I can retort he slips out of me, and I whine at the emptiness. I don’t like it.

Thankfully I don’t have to wait long because he lays me down, resting over me in a plank just as he was when we were “sparring.”

“Y’trust me?” His thumb comes up to meet my pulse point, his other fingers grazing across the bitten flesh of the juncture of my neck and shoulder, creating the most delicious sting. I nod frantically. “Words, baby.”

“Yes,” I whisper. His presses down barely a fraction harder, and yet it’s already enough to set me off even while being empty.

“I need you to promise me something, gorgeous,” he says, making the most intense eye contact I’ve ever seen from him.

“Okay,” I whisper.

“If you need me to stop, you tell me, okay?” His eyes are slightly wide, indicating how important to him this is. It’s easy to say: “Okay,” he has all of my trust. I kiss him for good measure, and we’re back. Fireworks gone off again halfway through as I take initiative to deepen the kiss before he can. But it doesn’t matter, because he’s stronger and so all consuming, and before I know it my mind is blank again. Blank and wanting one thing: him.

He gets up and I whine, not wanting him away from him. “Miss me already? My clingy girl,” he says affectionately, grabbing a pillow and putting it under my hips, kissing my stomach.

Settling above me once again, he lifts my legs up so that my ankles are resting on his shoulders, nearly bending me in half. But I let him, I’ll be as malleable ad he needs me to be if it’ll help him deliver on those promises.

“You sure you want this, sweets? Last chance to back out,” he tells me. I can’t believe he has the audacity to let the thought of me wanting to back out cross his mind. I’ve never wanted anyone more than I want him.

“I’m so sure. Fuck me, please,” I tell him. This is the strongest my voice has been this far, and I think he gets the memo.

“As you wish,” he grins, before sheathing himself in me in one go. I scream his name, but the noise is cut off by all air leaving my body as he thrusts into me at a literal superhuman pace. The sounds are ungodly, with every thrust a broken moan and the occasional grunt from him. He finds my g-spot with ease, slamming into it with every thrust ad he pounds me into his mattress.

“You sounds so pretty, maybe we should look into making one of those Internet videos.” I moan at the idea. I didn’t think starring in a porno would be my thing until he and his transatlantic 1950s accent suggested it.

“Yeah, everyone would want a piece of this pussy. But she’s all mine,” those last three words are punctuated with particularly hard, possessive thrusts that leave me gasping his name.

He brings his hand up to my throat once more, and the moment his thumb grazes my pulse point as it did before I realize just how much I want to come. “You like that, huh. Such a good girl,” I clench around him as he presses light pressure to my throat, and even though he’s not even done anything with my clit and it’s been maybe two minutes I’m coming hard and all-consumingly. It washes over me in waves that match Ben’s pace, seemingly getting more intense as he keeps fucking me.

“Oh sweetheart, you look so gorgeous when you make a mess of my dick. I’m hopin’ to see that five more times before the end of the night,” he tells me, but I barely hear him, too engulfed in my pleasure. He somehow adjusts the pillow under me while continuing his incessant pace and his grip on my throat and the new angle has me crying from how good it is.

“Aww, what’s the matter sweets?” he coos, knowing damn well what the matter is. It’s just too good.

“You’re so deep,” I sob, unable to gain my bearings because of how full I feel.

“Don’t I know it,” he groans, going impossibly harder. Eventually he takes his hand from my throat, and I whine, until he brings it down to my clit.

“Make it a good one, beautiful,” he winks with a click of his tongue before skillfully rubbing circles into my sensitive bud.

“Ben, it’s too much-,” I protest, but all it takes is a few more circles and I’m coming undone around him again. I’m both hyperaware of my tears soaking my face and the burn from the position of my legs but also on the verge of unconsciousness with how good it all feels. My legs are quivering around him but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“You’re okay, sweet girl, taking it so well,” he mumbles against my lips, kissing away my tears. I’d never had a lay so good that the guy had to reassure me that I was okay because I was shaking and crying uncontrollably from just how good it was. But then again, prior to tonight, I’d never had a lay with Ben.

He quickly brings me to the edge again, his fingers fast on my clit and his thrusts deeper than ever. When I come I can’t say his name, I can’t say much of anything because my mind is blank. Fuzzy, syrupy, I feel almost soft while the only noises I can make are little whimpers as he just keeps going. And I fucking love it.

“‘m gonna come,” he warns, and I muster enough of my bearings to tell him ‘please.’ He gladly obliges, coming with a loud grunt of my name, bottoming out so far inside me that he may damn well be in my cervix. I can feel it leaking out of me, and even in my fucked out stupor I can remember to moan. It’s the hottest feeling I’ve ever felt. He slowly pulls out then, gently easing my legs down.

I look up at him with questioning eyes, wondering why he doesn’t go for another three like he was planning to.

“Don’t want to break you on the first night, sugar,” he says, sweetly cupping my face in his hands. “I know you don’t feel it right now but you’re gonna be real sore in a couple hours.”

I pout, unsure of how to react to that. My legs are still shaking and while I do feel tired I’m still turned on.

Okay, maybe there’s dull ache.

“Oh, don’t pout. There’s other nights, and I’m gonna take care of you,” he smiles softly.

“Okay,” I whisper, finally regaining enough sense to talk.

He leans down to kiss me, softly this time. I melt into the kiss, and that’s when I realize: I don’t just want Ben. I think the feelings might be deeper. Maybe I… love? him.

But hey. There’s other nights.

****************************************************

As a bonus, cause I love y’all: if we can get 250 notes on this post by the end of the poll time then I will do a spicy soldier boy fic with whichever of these gets the most votes. If we can somehow get to 400 I’ll do the top two! No kink shaming, okay? 🥹🎀

In the meantime, if you want more Soldier Boy try Taming the Supe!! <3

For fans of Big Sky!Jensen, part two of 2SC (aka my favorite project thus far) should be coming out next!

And don’t forget, asks/requests/thoughts/thots are always open!!

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Ghost & König x Plus-Size Reader Headcanons

Warnings: Implied/meantioned smut, some 18+ content (vague), bodily insecurities mentioned, fluff, a whole lot of love, two men being so down bad for you that it's no laughing matter, implied physical assault (not on Reader), Fem Reader, Jealous Ghost is implied, Jealous Konig (for different reasons)

Ghost:

He is absolutely, indisputebly, so atrociously down bad for you.

He seriously can never get enough of you.

If you were EVER insecure about any part of you, and he found out about it, he'd just give you a look of pure confusion.

What do you mean your thighs make you sad sometimes??

They don't make him sad.

On the contrary, they bring him nothing but joy!

Especially when they're wrapped around his head.

Seriously though, he loves you regardless of your size, shape, weight, etc.

Loves cuddling you because you're always so warm.

Calls you his "perfect pocket heater." Usually rasping it in your ear when he's pressed up behind you in bed during the winter months.

Whenever he's called back on duty, he says he wishes he could just pack you into his bag and take you with him to keep him company (and warm).

His other nickname for you is "Muffin" (you'll see why later).

Loves squeezing you.

And cuddling you.

Anywhere and everywhere.

Wherever there is skin to grab and hold, by god, he'll hold it.

He doesn't poke or squeeze you in ways that can be construed as teasing, though, especially if you're self-conscious about yourself.

And if by some sheer act of ignorance or cruelty somebody else makes you feel bad about your weight.

💀

Next time you see them, they're an assault statistic on the evening news, one who is in "critical condition", at that.

Ghost loves having you on top of him btw.

Regardless of the intent, whether sexual or not, he loves feeling your weight on him.

It grounds him.

Reminds him that you're here, that you're real. That Ghost is capable of love and is allowed to be happy.

Also, quick note, Ghost ADORES seeing you in stockings.

Loves how the elastic squeezes your thighs and makes them spill over the fabric.

He always calls them his "little muffins".

He thinks it makes you look even more beautiful (if that's possible).

He's had to reprimand some of his colleagues for staring at you.

Though, he can't blame them: they all know you're gorgeous.

Feels like it would be a crime not to watch you.

Like visiting every other painting in a gallery except the Mona Lisa.

König:

Man is huge and built like a bear, but the second you sit on his lap, his spirit is GONE.

He loves when you lay in his arms like The Pietà; makes him feel strong. Trusted.

His favourite thing about you is your waist.

He just can't stop looking at it.

He loves the shape.

Is fascinated by it, watching it change shape slightly when you sit down.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"How...How does it do that (perform basic biology)?"

Truly, the female body is an enigma to König.

Though yours is not.

Like Ghost, he will grab onto any skin, fold and crevice he can get his hands onto (or into).

Worries if he's too big for you sometimes (in more ways than one) :-(

He lives for the weight of you on his thighs when you ride him.

Makes him feel secure, like he's paper and you're the paperweight.

And it makes him feel dependable 💪.

Also feels safe whenever he gets to play with your hands.

Loves your skin so much.

The texture, the veins, the wrinkles, the stretch marks; he goes feral for everything that is you.

You compare proportions sometimes.

König is strangely competitive when it comes to his thighs.

If you have bigger thighs than him, you're going to have to reassure him that yes, he is still your big bear, and yes, he is still very handsome. And yes, of course he's not too weak for you.

Proves it via the aforementioned riding sessions.

Is your #1 fan.

No dispute.

Oh, btw, if you wear any kind of leather or latex around him, he's hard until you take it off (or he takes it off you).

He just can't handle your silhouette.

Just does something to a man.

This man in particular.

That memory will haunt him in the best possible way for as long as tiem exists.

Proves kind of troublesome during missions though ngl.

You know, during times when König really needs to not be hard.

Would hammer anyone into the ground who made you feel insecure about yourself.

"König...when did you buy those red gloves?"

König, looking down at his blood-drenched hands: "Uhh...last week at the market?"

His nickname for you is "Cake."

Short and sweet. Just like you.

Unless you're tall. In that case tall and sweet lmao.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

[maraschinomerry]

Rock Paper Scissors

Pairings: George Karim x gn!reader, background Locklyle

Summary: George is your best friend, Lucy's convinced there's more to it but he's not your type... is he?

Content: friends to lovers, oblivious flirting, misunderstanding, light swearing and suggestive thoughts, kisses

A/N: it's officially 1 year since I posted my first Lockwood & Co fic!! Thank you all for making it such an incredible year and continuing to support my writing, it means the world to me ❤️ and thank you to the Multiverse of George for fuelling the buff!George fire 🔥 I've even made a montage so everyone can see the vision, plus the gif above of George swinging the chains he's definitely strong 💪

Word count: 4.2k

Taglist: @neewtmas @marinalor @ettadear @honey-with-tea @mischiefmanaged71 (let me know if you want adding or removing!)

Ever since you'd started working for Lockwood & Co, you and George had had the most playful rivalry.

It had started on the very first day, when you came for your interview. Lucy had welcomed you into the living room while George went to fetch the biscuits. After breezing through the tests, Lockwood gestured to the plate still being clutched by the other boy.

“Biscuit?”

You frowned at the boy in the armchair, who looked like the last thing he wanted to do was to share. “Am I supposed to fight you for them or something?”

George had the audacity to snort. “In your dreams.” But then he did offer you the plate, albeit reluctantly.

Once you got used to one another, you found that you actually got on really well and gradually he became your best friend, but by then you'd set a precedent that neither of you wanted to drop.

“We're heading out soon,” Lucy informed you both as she slid cups of tea across the table. She and Lockwood had an appointment with a client, leaving you and George behind to keep working. “Can one of you oil the chains ready for tonight?”

You turned to George; he was already looking at you. A gleam came to his eye.

“Rock paper scissors?”

“You bet,” you grinned, already raising your hand. It took a few attempts, as you'd done it so many times by now that the two of you knew what each other was planning before it happened, but eventually you lost. Sticking your tongue out, you picked up your cup and headed towards the basement. Lucy followed you down.

“Can I ask you something?” she began cautiously.

“Course you can.” It wasn't like Lucy to not just ask straight out. This was odd.

“What's going on with you and George?” This was definitely odd. “It feels like you've gone past teasing, you're almost flirting with each other.”

Your gaze flew to your friend, who had lingered on the stairs. Was she being serious? “It's not like that, Luce,” you replied, wondering if it was warm in the basement or if it was just you. “I love him to bits, but the same way I love all of you. He's just not my type.”

Her eyebrow quirked up at that. “You have a type?”

“Don't say that like you don't,” you hit back. “You and Lockwood are made for each other! And George is great, really, but I prefer guys a bit more… buff?”

Lucy nodded. “Interesting.” It was spoken with the air of someone who knew exactly why it was interesting and someone who was absolutely not going to explain why. “Well… just don't rule anything out, but please be careful. I love you both too and I'd hate to see either of you get hurt.”

It was touching to hear her so candid about her feelings for you both. “I won't, I promise.”

—

You always forgot how ridiculously heavy the chains were. Just trying to hoist them up to make sure you'd oiled all the way round each joint was a workout. It was only adrenaline that carried you through working with them on cases. Thank goodness you were almost finished - your arms were beginning to ache and you were sure you were coated in sweat.

“Need a hand?” George's voice drifted from the stairs. You hadn't heard him come down, probably drowned out by the clanking links and your strained grunts, but there he was, sitting on one of the lower steps and watching you in amusement.

“You mean you want me to dishonour the sacred pact of rock paper scissors?” You mimed fainting in shock, taking the opportunity to slump back on the pile of chains and let the tension dissipate from your shoulders.

He chuckled, climbing down the final few steps and holding out his hand. “Will the sacred pact allow a lunch break? I made soup.” He'd got you there and he knew it. You loved his soup. Grinning, you accepted his hand and he pulled you away from the cold, hard metal.

There were two steaming bowls already set out on the table when you got back to the kitchen, and beside yours was a plate of sandwiches, cut exactly how you liked them.

“You're the best.”

“I know,” George smirked. He was eating with one hand, the other scribbling away on the Thinking Cloth. As he became more engrossed, he leant further forwards, his dark curls flopping over his brow. It was fascinating watching him get so engrossed in his work, the whole world melting away around him. Once you finished eating, you glanced across and took his empty bowl from in front of him. He looked up sharply, snapped from wherever his thoughts had taken him.

“Sorry, didn't mean to disturb you,” you mumbled.

“No, it's fine. We should probably get packed.”

You followed him down to the basement and pulled your kit bags from the shelf. Set side by side on the table, you both began to load up.

“You can carry the chains,” you told him over your shoulder as you picked up a half-empty box of flares and emptied it into your bag.

“Hey, you're the one who lost!”

“Only for cleaning them, I've done my bit.”

He huffed, but gave you a smile as he made his way over to the mound of chains. Your eyes widened as he scooped up a whole length in one easy movement and gave them a quick shake loose. You'd spent nearly quarter of an hour trying to manoeuvre that section earlier.

“How the hell did you do that?”

“They're not that heavy,” he shrugged, then added with a cheeky raised eyebrow, “or at least only when you’re trying to clean them.”

You threw the empty cardboard box at his head with a laugh.

—

A week later, the four of you were nestled in the living room. Outside, rain battered against the windows, which were almost being shaken out of their frames by the driving wind. You'd never have guessed it was June; it felt more like January. The fire was lit in the hearth, the occasional crackle of wood splitting the only other sound.

Eventually, Lockwood broke the silence. “I hate to say it, but someone's going to have to go out. We've got no tea left and barely enough food to last until tonight. We can draw straws to make it fair.”

He needn't have bothered. You and George already had your fists raised. One, two, three, paper. One, two, three, rock. Scissors. Paper. Scissors. Rock. Round and round you went, the symmetry only fuelling your competitive natures.

“This is ridiculous,” Lucy muttered. She was right, of course.

You raised your fist higher, leaning forward in an offered challenge. “Right. Arm wrestle. Loser goes.”

George leaned in, resting his elbow on the table. Lockwood and Lucy exchanged wide-eyed glances.

“Y/n…” Lucy began, but you weren't listening. Your elbow was already mirroring George's, hand in his. You weren't sure why you'd expected the easy, flexible grip of holding a rapier, but his fingers were clenched firmly around the back of your hand. Lockwood moved closer and counted you down.

Your hand hit the table almost immediately.

It felt like all the air had left the room. You stared in shock at the boy opposite, the triumphant toothy grin that crinkled his eyes, the unexpected tightness of his shirt sleeve around his arm. The similar tightness in your chest. Interesting.

Some sort of realisation hit you, and your attention shifted to Lucy. The look she was giving you was almost as satisfied as George's. Warmth flooded your cheeks. You drew in a shaky breath as you struggled to drag your eyes away from George's arm, which was still pinning yours to the table. After a moment, you felt his fingers loosen and with some reluctance pulled your hand away. The silence in the room was palpable. Lucy was still watching you in amusement. Lockwood was watching Lucy, trying to figure out why she had that “I know something you don't” look again over a simple arm wrestle. George was watching you too, his expression slowly shifting from victory to concern.

“Y/n? You okay?” he asked quietly. Your thoughts rushed back into your body, snapping your attention into the real world.

“All good,” you mumbled. “Just preparing to get drenched. If I'm not back in 20 minutes, assume I've been blown to the other end of the country.” At least that got a laugh out of Lockwood. Hurriedly, you stood and made your way to the front door. Why had you agreed to this? It was your own fault, of course, for continuing this whole competitive thing with George, but how were you to know he was that strong? A flash of bicep clouded your vision again, and you reached for the door handle before you did something regrettable.

“Hold on,” a voice came behind you. It was him. Keep it together, you told yourself.

“If you're about to volunteer to take my place, go ahead,” you forced yourself to stay casual.

George moved closer, and you swallowed a lump in your throat. “I was actually going to question why you looked like you were about to leave without a coat.” He reached to the rack over your shoulder, lifting yours from its hook.

“That might help.” You knew you were blushing again, but prayed he thought it was just from embarrassment at being so forgetful. Definitely not how close he was, how he was holding your coat in the same hand that had been holding yours moments ago.

—

By the time you made it back to the house, you were soaked to the bone and almost shivering. It seemed like the storm wasn't going to let up until at least the next day, so you'd decided to stock up on plenty of food which had seemed like a great idea until you tried to carry it all home. You'd had to stop several times on the way, ducking into doorways and bus shelters to escape the weather as you swapped hands, flexed your shoulders or relieved your fingers from where the handles of the bags had started to make dents. When you finally made it, you held the door open with one foot as you negotiated the bags in and dropped them unceremoniously on the hall floor. George emerged from the living room, alone this time; Lockwood and Lucy must have gone upstairs or down to the basement.

“You look awful.”

“Aww thanks, you're not so bad yourself,” you joked dryly. Oh god, Lucy was right, you were almost flirting. A shiver ran through you and this time you hoped it was from the cold.

For a second, you thought you saw George's eyelids flutter. “Well, I uh… I ran you a bath to warm you back up. I'll put this away.” He hauled up the bags of shopping with barely a huff, and you tried to reason that he hadn't just carried them through a storm.

The water was soothingly warm and scented with lavender salts, the smell wafting up in delicate bursts as it swirled around, relaxing all the tension in your aching muscles. As you lay peacefully, you reflected on what had happened earlier. You weren't sure you'd ever felt… You couldn't even identify what feelings you'd experienced during the arm wrestle. Shock? Embarrassment? No. It was something else, something that Lucy had noticed immediately and had been trying to get through to your oblivious self. But she was wrong, wasn't she? You said it yourself, you weren't into George, even if he did now fulfil your main criteria. Then again, so did plenty of other guys you'd met. Kipps was quite well built, definitely had muscles, but that didn't mean you'd considered dating him. He wasn't like George though - smart, funny, thoughtful George. You couldn't imagine Kipps running you a bath or making your favourite lunch, or doing any number of the things that with George felt so natural. And there were all the little things you did for him that you'd never do for anyone else. No, there were no two ways about it: you were a pair in whatever capacity that meant.

Still didn't mean you fancied him, you told yourself.

You volunteered to help George with the dishes after dinner that night. It was always nice to be able to spend time just the two of you in sync, but tonight especially you figured it was a good idea to be around him in perfectly normal circumstances. You'd chat or enjoy the companionable quiet, you'd both be at ease; nothing could possibly happen, which would give you time to prove your feelings were a fluke.

George picked up his blue rubber gloves and tossed you a tea towel. He was dressed casually, in sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt (so large that the sleeves almost met his gloves at the elbow). The radio was playing quietly in the background, giving you a welcome distraction. Whenever a song you recognised came on, you'd start humming along or singing under your breath, and George would smile at you, sometimes even joining in. Your heart leapt a bit when he did, but that was nothing, you were just happy to be sharing this moment with your friend. He stuck an arm deeper into the sink to grab something at the bottom and made a small noise. Water had splashed up onto the cuff of his sleeve. You giggled at the look of disgust he made at the wet fabric sticking to his skin. The sound died in your throat when he took off his gloves, draped them on the side of the sink and rolled his sleeves up out of the way. You were so used to him being hidden behind his giant tops, or at the very least being in longer sleeved shirts, that seeing his bicep completely exposed was a shock in more ways than one. It wasn't much wonder he'd beaten you so easily at arm wrestling with muscles like that. You wondered whether it was just his arms that were so toned, or was the rest of him the same? Was he hiding a set of abs under that T-shirt too? Were his thighs-

“You okay?” George nudged you, and you hastily looked away.

“I was just…” Come on, come on, find an excuse, your brain urged. “...thinking how this means we both got wet clothes today, if you want me to put that top in with my washing after this?” God that was lame. Not much wonder he wasn't interested in you. That wasn't the point, you reminded yourself.

“Oh,” he smiled. “That'd be great, thanks.” He leant over to put a chopping board on the draining rack, and his bicep brushed against yours. A shockwave of warmth resonated through your whole body. Oh.

“Tell you what,” you forced yourself not to stammer, “are you okay to finish up here and I'll go and grab the laundry basket?” He nodded, and you tried not to fall over your own feet as you retreated to the hallway and sucked in a breath to calm your racing heart. Oh.

—

You cursed yourself for ever starting this. No, this was Lucy's fault for pointing it out. No, still your fault.

Being around George was becoming unbearable. Not for anything he'd done, rather the things he wasn't doing. He was carrying on exactly as he always had, that inimitable blend of playful and caring, and it was driving you mad not knowing whether he meant any of it in the way you wanted him to. You couldn't say anything, of course. If you were wrong, it would mess up the whole dynamic of the group. That would hurt almost as much as any rejection. But the more things went on, the more you took notice of the little moments between you, the more your feelings grew until it felt like they would crawl out of your chest.

“What the hell were you thinking?” George snapped at Lockwood. He and Lucy had been out on a case which went badly, and now the four of you were sitting at the dining table in the early hours, George applying butterfly stitches to a cut on Lockwood's arm and you cleaning a couple of scratches on Lucy's face. The misty gloom of the night outside the window reflected the atmosphere within.

“I was thinking,” Lockwood snapped back, “that we only had to handle a couple of Type Ones, according to your notes.”

“I told you those weren't finished!”

“Well maybe next time, don't get distracted.” Was it your imagination, or had his gaze flickered to you?

“Maybe next time,” George replied darkly, “do your own research.”

“Fine.” Lockwood pushed his chair back and stalked from the room. Lucy shot you both an apologetic grimace and followed.

George began pacing round the kitchen, hands twitching angrily. You stayed at the table, knowing it was best to give him the space to say or do whatever he needed to let his feelings out. You were there if he needed you.

“Can you believe him?” It was rhetorical, you'd heard him say it enough to know, so you waited for him to continue. “We end up in this situation almost every week, because he's too reckless to wait! I know he'd rather be in the action, but he'd be able to do all that more if he'd let me give him the right information first.”

You gently waded in, trying to be reassuring. “We all know how useful your research is; he just gets overeager, especially when Lucy's involved.”

“I know you know how important it is,” his words sent butterflies through you, “but Lockwood just…” He gave a frustrated huff. “Maybe I should make him do all the legwork for a change.” You tried very hard not to think about whether George's legs were as muscular as his arms.

“I'll support whatever you decide, but for what it's worth I think you should just talk to him.”

He sighed heavily, placing his hands flat on the table and allowing his head to drop. “You're right. Thanks, y/n.” The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, as did his deep brown eyes as he raised his head to look at you. You were already distracted by the tension which lingered in his shoulders, the rigidity of his arms as they supported his weight, the way he had leaned into the pose so much that now when he looked up his face was so close it almost filled your vision. You swallowed nervously.

“Any time. I- I have to go.” You stumbled up from your chair, ignoring George's confused stare and sounds of protest as you practically bolted from the room.

—

You lay on your bed in the attic, tears slowly soaking into the pillow you'd buried your face in. This was the end; it had to be. You couldn't carry on working for the agency like this. If George had shown any interest it would be okay - Lockwood and Lucy managed to balance being a couple who worked and lived together, there was no reason you two couldn't do the same, but it could never work being so one-sided. You'd just keep being weird, struggling to hold your nerve around the boy until it would start bleeding into cases and Lockwood would have no choice but to fire you for everyone's safety, if you hadn't already got one of you hurt by then. Not to mention the emotional hurt. It would happen either way, but at least if you walked away now you could control it.

“Y/n?” Lucy's voice came tentatively from the bottom of the steps. “George said you ran off, is everything okay?”

You flipped onto your back, drawing in shuddering breaths to recover from almost suffocating in the pillow. “You were right, Luce.” There was movement on the steps, but you kept your eyes on the ceiling. You couldn't bear to look at anyone right now. “I tried so hard to make sure neither of us got hurt, but George doesn't love me back and now I feel like even if I stay I'm going to lose him.”

The silence that followed dragged on longer than you could bear. Why wasn't she saying anything? You forced yourself to sit up.

George stood at the entrance to your room, eyes wide and lips parted.

You scrambled to your feet. “Shit! I mean, hi, um… how long have you been there?”

George continued to stare.

“I'm so sorry,” the words were rushing out of you now, “I just panicked but I don't want to make things weird so can we just pretend-”

“What do you mean, ‘doesn't love me back'?” he interrupted quietly.

You froze. There was no mistaking it: he'd heard you basically say you loved him and now there he was looking like the mere concept was so unbelievable, like the option hadn't even crossed his mind. Why would it? Time stretched on as you fought the urge to run again, as far as the ever-widening space between you would allow. Neither of you had moved, but you could feel the room expanding around you to make room for the bottomless pit you wanted to crawl into. “I…” you drew in a slow, deep breath, “I was fine just being friends but Lucy got in my head about you being exactly my type and now I think I'm actually flirting while you're still just pretending and I'm sorry…” Tears were pricking at the corners of your eyes and you hurriedly looked away, hoping he wouldn't see.

George stepped closer, and you shrunk even further into yourself. Your heart skipped a beat when he gently tilted your chin up to meet his surprisingly soft gaze. “I meant, why do you think I don't love you back?”

You faltered. Was he saying what you thought he was? “Well, I mean, I thought I'd made things super obvious and awkward but you didn't change so I thought you weren't interested.”

George's hand was still on your chin and his thumb rubbed soothingly across your cheek, wiping away the single tear that had spilled. “I thought you weren't interested! You normally go for those muscly gym guys so I figured I'd take whatever I could get with the arm wrestles and stuff, but then you started avoiding me so I thought you were done with it.”

A small laugh escaped you, and he looked at you in confusion. “Have you seen yourself?” Hesitantly, you raised a hand to his bicep, marvelling at finally being able to feel the muscle instead of just staring at it, and more amazed at the way the boy responded to your touch, drifting closer until you were barely inches apart.

“So then why did you run?” His voice was whisper soft against your face, eyes gazing down at you with an overwhelming blend of sincerity, bewilderment and something like longing. His cheeks were tinted as pink as you knew yours were.

“Got flustered.”

“Flustered? You? I don't believe you.” A smile tugged at the edge of his lips, the playfulness you were used to creeping back into his voice. It was such a relief to feel the tension dissipating from the room, to have your George back, that you buried your head in his shoulder with a giggle. He laughed too, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Oh, I see, you really want to do this? Okay, let's see ‘flustered y/n’ at their best.”

You yelped in surprise as his other arm hooked under your legs and swept you off your feet, your arms flying up round his neck for support. His arm was tense across your back but he looked the most relaxed he'd been since he walked in, and he shifted you closer to press a quick kiss to your lips before setting you down on the bed and sitting beside you.

“Lucy's going to be very smug about this, you know,” he nudged you.

“I know,” you whined, burying your face in your hands. “Rock paper scissors for who has to tell her.” George laughed again and placed his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer as you leant into the embrace.

“Is this just a ploy to get more hugs?”

“Is it working?”

In response, he brought his other arm around your waist and kissed your forehead. You smiled, leaning up to kiss him properly, and he reciprocated eagerly.

—

Lucy had left George alone on the steps to your room once you started your confession, giving you both a bit of privacy, and decided when he didn't come back downstairs immediately that things had either gone very badly or very well. She believed, and hoped, that it was the latter. Her suspicions were confirmed when she came to tell you she'd made breakfast and found you fast asleep, wrapped in George's arms.

[mouwrites]

Creepypasta/MH - Walking With Them

Characters: Clockwork, Nina the Killer, Jeff the Killer, Eyeless Jack, Tim/Masky

Clockwork

She walks pretty slowly

She likes to take her time when walking

Not because she’s admiring her surroundings, no; those don’t really interest her

She’s actually lost in her own thoughts

She’ll be staring at the sky, one hand holding her other wrist behind her, walking languidly, smiling subtly when she thinks of something that pleases her

So if you like quiet, slow, scenic walks, she’s your gal

If you do try to make conversation, she’ll indulge you

She won’t pick up the pace though; now she’s walking slow to prolong the conversation

She likes to think through her answers, only voicing things that she’s chewed on thoroughly before speaking

I like to think that she’s a deep conversationalist like that

Of course, if you want to talk about something more lighthearted, she’s still game

But if you ask her to walk faster, that’s when she’ll shoot you a judging look

She’ll ask why, and if you have a good reason she will pick up the pace

Otherwise she’ll just be like “no” and proceed as if you’d never even asked

Nina the Killer

She is holding your hand. Or your arm. Or even just the hem of your shirt. Period.

Doesn’t matter if you’re just friends or dating, she likes to get touchy with people she likes

It’s just her way of feeling close to you

She’ll cling especially close if it’s cold out

She’ll probably chat idly as you guys walk, unless she’s listening to music

She always offers you an earbud when she does

You can expect 2000s pop, scene, and emo music

She’ll bob her head to the beat sometimes, and her smile will double if you join her

Whether you’re listening to music or not, she has a tendency to let her eyes wander while she walks

If she sees anything that catches her eye, she’ll point it out to you

Sometimes it’s someone’s haircut or outfit, sometimes it’s a squirrel, sometimes it’s a random pebble on the sidewalk… it could be anything

Plain old walking is so boring, she’s just trying to make it more interesting for herself

That being said, she doesn’t really try to walk quickly or anything

She’s usually able to entertain herself enough that she doesn’t feel the need to

But if you’re in a hurry she’ll keep up with whatever pace you set

Otherwise she prefers an average pace

Jeff the Killer

He’s either running or speed walking. No in between

He’s efficient like that; if he has somewhere to be, he’s not wasting time commuting

Murdering people has contributed to this habit

If you can’t keep up, he’ll grab your hand and drag you

Once you get too tired to run any more he just tells you how slow you are

Depending on the situation, he might just abandon you

He probably won’t if you’re close, but again, it really depends

If you ask him to stay with you he will, though he’ll grumble the whole time

Sometimes he does like a little scenic walk

This would be the only time that he deliberately walks “slow”

He’s naturally a fast walker, that’s why I’d say “slow” with heavy air quotes

This is also the only time that he won’t mind going a little slower for you

If you’re joining him on the walk, it’s because he wants you to, and he’s not going to leave you behind

You guys will probably link arms or hold hands, just to make sure you walk at the same speed, of course

Eyeless Jack

Another fast walker

He has long legs, plus he’s often in situations which he needs to get away quick

Unlike Jeff, if you can’t keep up, he’ll offer to give you a piggy back

He’s strong like that 💪 (despite his lanky frame)

Also unlike Jeff, he doesn’t really like scenic walks

He might go with you if you ask him, but he wouldn’t choose to go on his own

Being out in the open just feels risky to him, no matter how remote he is

He’d much rather stick to the indoors, or staying in one spot to hide

This ties back into his fast walking pace

If he needs to get somewhere, he’s getting there ASAP

And if he needs to carry you to keep you with him, so be it

He’s not abandoning you; he really prefers to know where you are

Especially when you’re supposed to be with him

Tim/Masky

Honestly pretty chill when it comes to walking

Unless you have somewhere to be, he’s fine matching your pace

He does have a tendency to get a little out of breath though, so he can’t keep up for very long if you’re running/jogging

Also, he doesn’t really like to be touching

Might talk, might not, depends on his mood

If he’s not feeling talkative, he’ll listen to you rant

He’ll give little signs that he’s listening, but won’t offer much in terms of lengthy responses

If neither of you want to talk, he’s also cool sharing music

He likes your playlist(s), and is weirdly cagey about his own

It’s not that he’s embarrassed about his music taste, he just doesn’t like to share

He also likes to walk in silence though

Especially if you’re somewhere nice and scenic

He’ll be looking around, a rare peaceful expression on his face

He might even try to grab your hand or lock your pinkies

As a walking enjoyer, this brought me great joy to compose :) hope y’all enjoyed it!! Take care honey bunches <33