#mothball looking fuck

[thestalkerbunny]

I just feel like in my heart of hearts, Gizmo would just smell like a grandma's attic.

He's just a large chinchilla that smells like mothballs.

[signedkoko]

Hi!

Can I request a romantic oneshot for Vox with fem reader, where she helps him relax after a hard day, dealing with the other V's, or just company related stuff? This guy really needs a break 🥲

It could be just fluff or nsfw, it's up to you ;)

Also, I really love how you wrote the Valentino headcanons I requested! It seems so in character for him to feel like his masculinity is threatened by a female that's more powerful than him.

Have a nice day/night! <3

Letting Off Steam [NSFW]

In which long days call for even longer nights where he gets to indulge in the delicacy that is you. Reader is female.

Song - Lavender Kiss by The Licks

" Stupid fucking-fuck!"   

Automatic doors opened so fast they screeched along the floor, calling your attention to his tense figure. Every tap of his polished shoes got louder, both from his approach and his increased stomping. It could have been a new record with how fast he was pacing. 

While you wanted to give him your attention, you still had a pot on the stove. You were working on dinner, being sure to stir the noodles in the salted water so they wouldn't stick together. 

" You would not believe the gall that stupid mothball has hiding that shit from me! After everything I've done for him! " From your peripherals, you saw his claws glide down his screen in desperation, his red eyes disappearing as he shut off visuals. 

" Oh my, what has he done this time? " You hummed with a piqued interest, hoping it was something he could tell you about. Vox's line of work was always interesting. 

Vox only let out a gargled groan, pulling his bow loose so he could take off his constricting suit jacket. 

" I wouldn't want to worry you, as pissed off as I am. Just- someone I thought couldn't bother me anymore turned out to be alive and well! So alive that he's practically dancing on my enterprise as we speak. " 

He had rolled up his shirt sleeves so the white wouldn't be stained, looking to help. You placed a hand on his chest, stopping him from working on anything. 

" The pasta still needs to cook for a good while; be patient. " Even so, it was endearing knowing that, as worked up as he got, he would still find his way to your side to help. 

" Right. Honestly, I just need to distract myself right now. " Huffing, the video star pushed you back into the island, stealing a quick kiss, which consisted of him bonking his screen against you. 

You pressed a few gentle kisses along the edge of his screen; you'd gotten used to not wearing anything on your lips so you wouldn't stain him—as much as he claimed to love the kiss marks you left on his monitor.

With a few kisses and the joy of being so close, the two of you melted into one another, with the overlord giving a relaxed sigh. 

" You have no idea how much I've ached for you, dolly. " As the usual nicknames loosened out of his mouth, Vox couldn't help but let this guard down in your presence, and for a reason. You were the one thing that soothed him, and he was addicted to you, like a substance he couldn't shake from his habits. 

He wasn't sure if it was the frustration or just your sheer allure, but he couldn't stop himself from pressing on further. 

He crouched down, much to your audible confusion, only for him to hook his hands under your ass and lift you up onto the counter, where you were now eye-to-eye with him. 

The technological overlord found himself in a comfortable spot between your dangling legs, his body keeping them pushed apart. 

You could hear his fans whirring in him, knowing him well enough that he wasn't up to any good. Regardless, you missed him, and you were antsy to see where he'd take you. 

" I missed you. " 

His voice was a mutter as he distracted himself by running his cold hands up and down your thighs in a soothing motion, albeit a little desperately. Vox was still deciding just how rough he wanted to be with you.

His signature grin snapped on when he made a decision, and before you could ask, he had one hand hooked under your knees as he pushed them up, forcing you onto your back. The cool marble of the counter made you shiver—almost cold enough to cancel out the warmth your stomach burst with. 

With him pushing your knees as close to your chest as was comfortable, he had a nice view of his dessert. 

" Sorry gorgeous, I just have this crazy craving right now. " Sarcasm dripped from his tone, his free hand messily pulling your pants up to your thighs so he could look at your pretty pussy, only covered by the cloth of your panties. 

All you could see was the cieling and your own legs, besides the top of his antenna, which poked from beyond them. Anytime you tried to squirm to get a better view, his hand would push back further, keeping you in place. 

" Don't get so nervous; I'll take good care of you, " It sounded as if he wanted to say more, but he got distracted with brushing his talons along your panties, tensing the fabric so he could see everything underneath. With every shudder you made, he'd thumb your clit in a small circle, only for the cycle to repeat. 

A low hum came from him, enjoying the way you'd squirm when he kept at it for too long. 

" Oh you poor thing, you deserve more, don't you? " 

The sound of his buckle falling loose was followed by the sound of a zipper, the overlord almost ripping the clothes as he hurried to help his poor, helpless girl. 

Your patience paid off, his warm cock coming to rest on your warmth, which he slowly thrust against your clit, rutting himself through your folds. Only then did he let go of your knees, which weakly fell to the counter, so he could get a good look at your face. 

He wanted to make sure he could get a nice 'before' picture so he could compare it to your fucked-silly after image. 

" Be loud for me, yeah?"

Author's Note - I have not written a oneshot in awhile, let alone NSFW, so I apologize if it's a little off! Hopefully I'll get more into the flow with time.

Word Count - 939

[chaoticace2005]

Why Hazbin characters are the animal they are:

(Because of that conversation I just had with @xxqueenofdragonsxx )

Angel (spider)

1. His family’s “web of crime”

2. A spider was the last thing he was before he died.

3. He had a weirdly heartfelt moment with a spider as a child that stayed with him to adulthood.

4. He was terrified of spiders and this was his first punishment in hell.

5. He insulted spiders by calling them “creepy fuckers”— the spider community was insulted and sought punishment.

6. He and his family’s last name was “Ragno” which literally means “spider” in Italian.

7. He’s Spider-Man. Or Spider-Gwen at least— look at his colors.

Husk (cat)

1. Fucking hated cats when he was alive

2. Hates flying when he was alive.

3. Flew in a plane in the military at some point so has flight-related trauma.

4. Cause he does that cat thing where they can’t deal with people’s bullshit.

5. Ex had a cat, their relationship was complicated.

6. Husk really hates messes. Having both feathers and fur is the ultimate torture.

7. He died tripping on a cat and then being impaled by the beak of a dead bird.

8. Died falling. Period. Cats land on their feet and birds can fly so it’s some kind of irony.

Alastor (deer)

1. He was killed because someone thought he was a deer in the forest.

2. The deer in headlights look he always makes when someone propositions him sexually

3. He was the predator chasing the prey, now his creature is the prey.

4. First thing he ever killed was a buck.

5. He really likes venison and is a cannibal. Now he has a steady supply of food. He just needs to wait to regenerate.

6. His favorite thing to say was “oh dear” so the universe made it into a pun.

7. He wasn’t shot by a person. He was shot by a serial killer deer.

Sir Pentious (snake)

1. He was a slippery little fella.

2. Was obsessed and had a ton of pet snakes.

3. Alternatively he was terrified of snakes.

4. The last person he called a “friend” called him a snake before leaving him forever.

5. Snakes are supposed to be symbols of healing, which was ironic because he couldn’t save the one person he loved most.

6. He had a lisp and was frequently harassed for sounding “snake-like” (yay ableism)

7. His name really was Sir Pentious when alive and the universe couldn’t not let the opportunity go to waste.

Valentino (moth)

1. He used to zap and kill moths for fun, putting them in peoples beds because nobody likes a moth in your bed.

2. He publicly ran a campaign saying butterflies > moths, the moths didn’t like that.

3. He was killed when a stage light “accidentally” fell on him.

4. Like a moth, he is easily distracted by bright things.

5. Choked on mothballs and died.

6. Sold powder of crushed up moths under the guise that it was cocaine. Someone found out a killed him in anger.

7. Was killed running into traffic as he was being chased by a moth.

Vox (TV)

1. Was a TV host

2. Sold crappy, overpriced TVs

3. Killed someone by smashing their head in with a TV.

4. HE was killed by his head getting smashed in by a TV.

5. His form isn’t really a TV, but he was decapitated and needed a replacement head and this was the first thing he could find.

6. Stared at screens way too long as a child.

7. Was epileptic so the universe thought it would be funny if he could use his face to induce seizures in others (the universe has a messed up sense of humor man. How about we don’t cause people to have seizures?)

[little-pondhead]

wip wednesday because i hate myself

-

"So, this is...what, again?" Sam asked, looking at the massive wooden box Pandora had presented with suspicion and wariness. It wasn't exactly Pandora's box, as in the artifact, but nothing good ever came from involving the words 'Pandora' and 'box' in a single sentence.

"Shoes!" Pandora said brightly, opening the top with a bit of flair. Inside, nestled between sheep's wool, was the biggest fucking pair of sandals Sam had ever seen. They were old, she could tell. The leather was worn so badly she could see individual toe prints. They also reeked to high heaven.

Sam looked up, wrinkling her nose. "Uh, you know I can't wear those, right? Where did you even get these?? Please tell me they aren't yours."

"Oh, of course not!" Pandora laughed. "These are the Talaria of Mercury, also known as Hermes' flying shoes. That old fox is running around the Luminaries like an ox with his head cut off; he didn't notice me at all."

"It's chicken."

"What?"

"Never mind. Won't he be looking for these?"

Pandora shrugged and pulled the sandals out, tossing the box aside and letting it shatter on the ground. Sam flinched as splinters flew through her. Perks of being in the Zone. "I doubt it," the ancient explained. "This is an old pair, and he has dozens more. If anything, I'm doing him a favor."

Sam squinted, but Pandora was telling the truth. It wasn't like the ghost had any reason to lie to her, but still. "Okay, but I still can't wear them. They're too big. Hell, I could probably sleep in them if I wanted to. What's your plan here?"

"Well, it's simple." Pandora tickled the soles of the shoes, and a pair of beautifully white wings sprouted from the outer straps on each side. They were huge, flapping themselves to shake old feathers free, and shimmered oddly under the green and purple skies. Then, she pulled out a delicate golden blade from the folds of her chiton and promptly sliced the wings off at the base, removing them from the sandals altogether and making them go still.

Gasping, Sam had to step forward quickly so the beautiful pair of wings wouldn't hit the ground and get damaged. She caught them, thankfully, but they were light in weight despite their size. They smelled like mothballs.

Pandora slid the knife back into its hiding spot and tossed the shoes aside like she did the box. Her red eyes had a mischievous spark, and the flame from her helm grew larger with excitement. She leaned forward, saying, "You won't wear the shoes, child. You will wear the wings."

-

@vala-dreams

[blackcorvette]

Own My Mind

Summary: 1986. Hawkins, Indiana. It’s not your fault that you’re pulled into the messy secrets and hidden world of your small town. It’s not your fault that two of your new acquaintances seem to be fond of you, and not of each other.

Warnings: Language. Stranger Things central violence. Spelling errors, grammar mistakes, and rushed writing. Eventual smut… (buckle in, it’s a long ride.) MDNI

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: This is my attempt at writing a not so slow burn, self insert romance. I can’t stop thinking about Eddie or Steve and this is all done in fear of what Season Five will look like…Hopefully some people will find this little story entertaining. :’) Special thanks to my favorite editor, @djosfavewig.

The creaking is normal. There’s always odd sounds in here, dripping water and old wooden floorboards. The room is always dusty, making your throat itch if you stay too long. The smell of lake water and rust is faint in the air, overpowered by the scent of mothballs nested in old tarps.

It’s routine, every few weeks you’d come to the lake and check the lake house, one of the few properties your father had trusted you to keep up with. The tasks are simple, ask the tenant if repairs are needed, check the water heater that always seems to need replacing, and make sure no one’s broken into the boat house.

Rick hadn’t answered the door, but the tenant is known to disappear for weeks at a time- whether because he’s sleeping on someone’s couch or has been caught again. You brushed off his absence, then made your way to the boat house.

And yes the creaking is normal, it’s always been there, but the fresh footprints of wet mud on the floor have not been.

Holding your breath, you listen, eyes darting back and forth through the room in search of something else unusual. Thank fuck that your dad insisted on keeping the boathouse for himself, because that means his collection of tools are kept here awaiting use.

Slowly, you reach towards the wall, wrapping your hand around the worn wooden handle of a machete. The blade had been used to cut underbrush and thick weeds and shrubs when you dad bought the property- since then it’s been hun on the wall with the rest of the landscaping equipment. It used to make you nervous, how he would swing it so easily, how with one wrong move it could become fatal. And now, it’s the most comforting object you’ve ever held.

Holding your breath, you shift your weight, keeping light on your feet as you listen for odd noises, following the trail of footprints and mud. A few long minutes, your hair standing on end, but not a single disturbance.

The machete is perched on your shoulder, the blunt side against your shirt and the sharp edge away from you. You’ve just begun to lower it, to tell yourself that your mind is playing tricks after a long day- but then you hear it.

Shuffling, the sound of a paper bag-

A standing shelf crashes to the ground a few feet away- glass shattering and metal clattering across the floor. Some is sent into the water, splashing as you scream and jump back- another voice yelling even louder over yours.

“Fucking- shit bag!”

The machete arches through the air, you raise it above your head, eyes landing on the source of the chaos. A dark head of curls, messy and obscuring their face in the already dim light. But you’d recognize him anywhere.

“What the fuck?” You speak without thinking, hands tight around your weapon as he raises his hands and stares at you with wide eyes.

“Hold on- hold on!” He steps back, the light of the window now illuminating his face, Eddie Munson’s fase. “Give me a second, just don’t kill me.”

You keep the machete raised, swallowing down your surprise. “What are you doing here?!”

“Nothing!” He matches your tone, with hushed terror and fear in his voice as he repeats himself. “Nothing. Hiding? I don’t fucking know?”

A strangled laugh, your teeth clenched together. “You can’t be here- this is private property. I’m going call the-”

“No.” He steps closer, making you lean back and raise the weapon an inch higher. “Don’t call anyone-”

“So what? I’m supposed to let you squat in my garage?” You raise your voice and his eyes widen more, darting towards the window. “Get the hell out of here before-”

“Please!” He says in a shushed voice. “Look, I can’t explain but I can’t leave.”

“This is illegal- you’re trespassing-”

He says your name, still cursing in exasperation.

“-Oh, fucking come on. It’s not like you’re a law abiding citizen-” He gestures towards the machete- but you’ve already been frozen in place by his words.

“How…”

“What? You don’t remember buying weed from me? Four premade blunts-”

“That was my cousin, dipshit.”

“Look-”

“Stop.” You shake your head, pointing the weapon at him, earning a thin glare. “You just need to leave. You can’t stay here, I’m not your friend.”

“I can’t leave.” He stresses the words, pushing hair away from his face, exposing just how red his eyes actually are.

Not from drugs, you’d recognize that immediately after the summers you’ve spent with your risk loving cousin. These are the red eyes of tears, forced back even now. You notice the streaks down his face, as if he’d been crying for the duration of his time in the boat house.

It pricks at your sense of guilt, making your fingers loosen on the machete just enough to bring it down. You bite your tongue, thinking over your words before you demand an explanation from the man in front of you.

“Why?”

“Why?” He swallows, shoulders tense and his hands flexing in and out of fists by his sides, anxiety pouring off of him in waves. “I…can’t tell you.”

“Can’t or won’t?” You take the moment to evaluate yourself, trying to weigh whether or not he’s worth your time. “Because I’m not going to let you stay here without a reason. A good reason.”

“You won’t believe me.” His hands fly into his hair, tugging at the roots as tears begin to spring back into his eyes. “I can’t fucking leave, but you won’t…fuck. You’ll think I’m fucking crazy.”

“Just fucking tell-”

Yelling outside makes you jump, already unnerved before they start. Eddie curses, and when you look at him, he grabs your wrist and tugs the machete out of your hand, throwing it into the pile of junk on the floor.

“Hide.” He drags you to a corner, and your too shocked to fight him.

“What do you mean, hide?” You ask, snatching your arm away from him, eyes darting around for another weapon.

“Just hide.” He pushes you behind a shelf, then turns and climbs into the boat, pulling the tarp over him.

“Eddie-”

“Shut up.”

A beam of light, brighter than the moonlight in the sky, cuts through the room. And for some reason Eddie’s fear has seeped into your body, urging you to listen. It’s why you sink low to the ground, mouth shut tight and breathing as quietly as you can muster. More yelling, then the harsh banging of fists against a door. Then, it’s quiet.

Before you can move, the light becomes brighter, multiple beams from flashlights flooding into the boathouse and you’re biting your lips together in an attempt to disappear in the silence.

The door opens, and you catch the yellow of the porchlight you had failed to turn off.

“Hello?” A soft feminine voice, you strain to put a face to it, but come up empty. “…Is anyone home?”

Footsteps sound, multiple sets filing into the small space. The flashlights skirt over every wall, shining for prolonged moments over different corners and angles. Your heart is racing already, but it threatens to fail when one beam of light shines directly on your hiding spot, less than a foot above your head where the shelf ends. You press a hand to your mouth, squeezing your eyes tight and hoping that you won’t be heard.

Another flashlight across the room clicks off, and the one above you finally moves away

A voice you recognize covers the sound of your labored breathing once you’re sure the person near you has moved far enough away to remove your hand. “What a dump.”

Steve Harrington.

A graduate from your year, even a student in a few of your classes- now here, in your boathouse looking for…looking for Eddie.

Through the footsteps, you hear the sound of something being taken off the wall. Then the nerve wracking sound of something plastic being jabbed at. It clicks near immediately that it’s the tarp.

“What are you doing?” Another voice, younger this time, one you don’t recognize. They repeat themselves after more jabbing, more annoyed than the first time. “What are you doing?”

“He might be in there.” Steve confirms your suspicions, which only makes you clench your teeth and take deep breaths to combat sudden anxiety- as if Eddie had pulled you into his own spiral of insanity that led him here.

“So take the tarp off.” The younger voice says.

“If you’re so brave, you take the tarp off.” The jabbing becomes more aggressive, and you flinch with each hit- fearing the one that will reveal Eddie’s hiding spot.

“Hey, look over here.” The floor creaks on the other side of the room and a second younger voice calls out, another girl. “Someone was here.”

The first female voice replies, both seeming indifferent to Steve attacking the boat. “Maybe he heard us. Got spooked and ran.”

Part of you wishes that he did run, instead of keeping you trapped in here as if this was all your problem as well. Hiding like a criminal in your own space, not knowing the crimes committed.

“Don’t worry!” The young male voice says, sarcasm dripping with every word. “Steve will get him with his oar.”

“I know you think you're being funny,” More tarp assault even while he talks. “But considering everyone in this room has nearly died a hundred times. Personally, I don’t find it funny in the slightest-”

The loud crinkling of the tarp and jostle of the boat, followed by Steve’s startled yelling. He begins to plead, repeating the word wait- and you can no longer sit in your corner.

Just in time, you stand form your position and rush out from behind the shelf in time to see Eddie pin Steve to the wall- something pressed against his neck.

“Eddie! Eddie- Stop!” A boy, a few years younger than you yells. It catches the attention of Eddie, but he doesn’t release Steve- instead keeping his grip tight on what you’ve now identified as the broken neck of a beer bottle. “Eddie, it’s me. It’s Dustin. This is Steve- he’s not going to hurt you, right Steve?”

The boy, Dustin, gestures toward Steve, who attempts to nod but stops when the glass presses further into his throat, instead settling to answer verbally. “Right. Yeah.”

“Steve,” Dustin directs slowly. “Why don’t you drop the oar?”

Steve obliges, the wood clattering to the floor, which only leads to Eddie pushing the glass harder against his skin and causing Steve to wince and press himself further against the wall.

“He’s cool!” Dustin attempts to reason with the man. “He’s cool.”

Steve follows along, his hands still in the air in surrender. “I’m cool, man. I’m cool.”

Eddie’s eyes don’t leave Steve’s face, his voice taking a tone he hadn’t used with you when you’d found him minutes ago on your own. More dangerous, desperate to gain control of the situation. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re looking for you!” Dustin says, staying planted in his spot, no one dares to move more than they have to. No one has yet to see you. “We’re here to help. Eddie, these are my friends.”

He points behind him, to the older girl, your age and then the younger one. “You know Robin, from band. This is my friend Max. The one who never wants to play D&D.”

Max waves a hand in a tense manner.

“Eddie, we’re on your side.” He is trying to focus the attention on himself, on removing the danger. “I swear on my mother. Right guys?”

“Yes- Yes, we swear.” Max nods.

Robin follows. “On Dustin’s mother.”

A still very trapped and very rattled Steve nods as much as he can. “Yeah, on Dustin’s…Dustin’s mother.”

Everything is silent, except for the sound of your heart in your ears and the drip of water. Eddie glares at Steve all the while, and Steve keeps as still as possible- everyone else holding their breath until finally Eddie releases him.

Steve moves, holding his throat and trying to calm himself down after the threats. Robin and Max hang back with him, while Dustin keeps with Eddie, who’s now pressed against a wall and sinking to the ground defeatedly.

Slowly, you make your appearance known. Stepping away from the corner of the room, though you want to stay hidden for longer.

The first person to see you is Steve. His hand is still around his neck, rubbing the raw skin as his eyes catch your movement. He narrows his eyes, confused, but keeps quiet as Dustin speaks to Eddie, who’s still clutching the broken glass.

“We just want to talk.” Dustin’s voice is softer now, as he attempts to take Eddie’s makeshift weapon. Eddie flinches, keeping it away from Dustin when he tries to touch it. “Okay?”

Robin moves closer, kneeling to the ground beside them both, Max standing close behind her with a flashlight shining on them all. “We want to know what happened.”

“You won’t believe me.” Eddie echoes his earlier concerns, and it strikes you like fire. You had thought maybe he had said that in order to stay- but now it sounds like utter truth.

It’s just you and Steve, standing a few feet away from the four of them. And now you manage a better look, seeing the confusion in his eyes clearly, and the hesitation in his quiet- as if he’d betray your presence at any moment, but you’ve not yet given him a reason to.

And for the extra moments of secrecy, your grateful. It gives you time to think, to prepare. And once you hear Max speak two words- you know that you need those moments.

“Try us.”

====

Eddie’s story is something of a nightmare- sick and demented enough to sound fictional, but the terror and darkness in his eyes, the tears that threaten to spill tell you it’s nothing but the honesty of a tragedy.

“Her body just, like, lifted up into the air and..” Eddie sighs, eyes distant as he explains what had happened to Chrissy in the trailer the night before. “And she just hung there. In the air… And her bones…”

He closes his eyes, pain laced in the action, conveying everything he can’t say with a formed word. Everyone watches, listens to the trepidation, and Eddie sits there in silent agony.

“Her bones started to snap.” His expressions mirror his fear, born of anger. “Her eyes, man. It…it was like there was something inside her head, pulling. I-”

The cracking of his voice is what moves you forward, your hand settling on his back in an effort to comfort something that can not be soothed.

“I didn’t know what to do, so I…” Every word eats him up, tearing away any sense of ease and replacing it with what you know is nothing but grief and deep cemented unrest. “I ran away. I left her there.”

His eyes, having been unfocused and distant from the beginning of his story, now shake and focus on the people in front of him. He finally looks at them, seeing their own expressions before turning his head and scoffing to himself- a defeated sound.

“You all think I’m crazy, right?” He drops his head into a hand, rings glinting in the light.

“No. We don’t think you’re crazy.” Dustin says, almost begging him to believe.

“Don’t bullshit me, man!” Eddie’s voice raises, the pitch reciting his emotions. “I know how this sounds.”

He begins to cry again, and you press your hand firmer to his back, hoping the weight of it will help ground him, if not take away any pain.

“We’re not bullshitting you.” Max says, her voice stern and serious.

Robin agrees, leaning just a bit forward. “We believe you.”

Eddie takes a deep breath, forcing it out sharply, his ribs expanding and contracting against your touch with the motion. And though you don’t know, you can’t even form the words to explain, something in you can’t help but believe everything he tells you all.

“Look.” Dustin says. “What I’m about to tell you might be a little…difficult to take in.”

His eyes, the girls, and Steve’s all land on you, as if you were an afterthought now brought to the forefront of their minds. You hadn’t spoken once since they’d finally realized your presence- but they hadn’t protested when you sat with them to listen to Eddie- they don’t attempt to force you out now.

“You know how people say Hawkins is…”

You finally use your voice, finishing the theory you’ve heard from dozens of people, the stories all returning now. “Cursed?”

Dustin moves his head side to side, as if weighing his choices. “They’re not…way off.”

His eyes flick between you and Eddie, and a sudden feeling of dread turns your stomach to lead, sinking low and making you feel sick.

“There’s another world.”

It should be amusing, maybe annoying what he begins to say. Like a story over a campfire, a tall tale someone uses to scare you for their own fun, but it’s not funny or anything- it’s just sickening.

“A world hidden beneath Hawkins.”

Your hand slips off of Eddie’s back, falling to your lap as you clutch them both into fists.

“Sometimes it bleeds into ours.”

In search of familiarity, your eyes dart towards Steve. He’s watching you already, his eyes exposing what you had hoped you wouldn’t see- they are dark and somber, already knowing what Dustin is saying, eyes that tell you he had witnessed it himself.

Eddie’s voice is clearer than before, tears having stalled. “Like ghosts and shit?”

Max answers before Dustin, proving her place in all this mess. “There are some things worse than ghosts.”

“These monsters, from this other world, we thought they were gone.” Dustin continues, speaking carefully. “But they’ve come back before. That's why we needed to find you.”

Max nods, solem. “If they’re back again, we need to know.”

Running a hand over your face, you realize that you're trembling- a response you hadn’t even been aware of. It makes you shake harder, folding your hands together to attempt to hide it.

“That night,” Robin asks. “Did you see anything?”

Max speaks next. “Dark particles, maybe?”

Eddie’s head is shaking, not enough to deny their questions, but showing his uneasiness.

“It would almost look like dust, swirling dust.” Dustin urges, searching for an answer.

“No, man, there was nothing you could see or touch.” Eddie shakes his head with a purpose now, actively denying. “You know, I tried to wake her, man. She couldn’t move. It was like she was in a trance or something-”

“Or under a spell-” Dustin says, eyes widened a bit, and finally Eddie reacts.

“A curse.” His dark gaze holds something of substance, of understanding.

It catches Dustin as well, his back straight if just enough to show. “Vecna’s Curse.”

Frowning, you look to see if any of the others understand what you don’t, but Robin and Max have similar confusion in your eyes and Steve, he asks for you all. “Who’s Vecna?”

Dustin doesn’t turn, his eyes still locked on Eddie’s, sharing unspoken thoughts and harboring immense fear. “An undead creature of great power.”

“A spell caster.” Eddie says.

“A dark wizard.” Dustin finishes, his fear having laced into his voice.

And now, the fear has burrowed into your bones, infiltrating your every sense. Because now, you have no other escape.

Now, you can’t escape.

[prettyboyeddiemunson]

just thinking about ps!eddie penetrating both your holes (either with a dildo or his fingers, you can choose which hole his cock goes in 👀)

- 🫐

he would probably fuck your pussy with his cock; you know how addicted to that he is. he seriously can’t get enough, and when he’s able to also penetrate other areas of your body as he does it? he just can’t believe it’s really happening. he would probably fuck your ass with a dildo as you ride him, though. you on top is his favorite position, and he’s going to have fun with that any way he can. he’s used to things getting a little bold and crazy with his work, and it’s some of that stuff that he brings home with him. the whole thing was his idea, based on a movie he shot at one point in his career, but you’re not exactly turning it down. you were just as eager for it as he was.

“having fun, baby?” he asks, delighting in the look on your face and the way you moan for him. “my pretty whore, all full of dick and not knowing what to do with herself.”

“feels so good,” you pant, bouncing on his cock and mewling as he shoves the dildo deeper into your ass. “you’re amazing, eddie.”

“the best you’ve ever had?” he asks, slapping your ass with his free hand before reaching up to squeeze your breast.

“mmm hmm,” you hum.

“better than those other assholes before with their subpar dicks?” he asks, rolling your nipple in his fingers.

“yeah,” you say. “and they never fucked both of my holes at the same time.”

“you meant all three of them,” he says with a wicked smirk.

“what do you mean?” you ask, raising a brow at him. “you’re not fucking my mouth.”

“am I not?” he asks, dragging two fingers across your cunt before holding them to your lips. “open up, baby.”

you do, allowing him to press his fingers inside. you moan as your own taste floods your tongue, and he eyes you hungrily as you continue to bounce on his cock. his other hand works the dildo in and out of your ass the best he can, while the fingers in your mouth press down on your tongue. he grins at you, his own pierced tongue tracing over his lips as he observes the sight before him.

“so hot,” he breathes. “you’re so full, princess. I’ll bet you’re just loving it, though, huh?”

all you can do is nod.

———

mini taglist: @littledemondani @andvys @wroteclassicaly @succubusmunson @eddieschains @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @trashmouth-richie @mothball-munson @sunkillerdreamer @happylilthought @keikoraven @eiightysixbaby

[sisterspooky1013]

Never, Chapter 3/3: Never Say Never

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

Three months later

She won’t look at him. She’s stuffing clothes haphazardly into her overnight bag, and her super is waiting impatiently in the hallway so he can board up her busted door, and Mulder feels the opportunity to understand what the fuck just happened slipping away with every passing minute. 

He knows that it’s now or never. If he gives her the night to think it over, she’ll be an impenetrable wall of denials and excuses in the morning. She’ll simply pretend it never happened, just like she did before, and he’s not sure he can live with that. He’s not sure he can spend the rest of his life wondering what would have happened if he hadn’t broken down her door when he did. 

“You can go, Mulder,” she says to her open bag. “I’ll be out of here in a few minutes.”

Mulder stands in the doorway to her bedroom, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The anxious knot in his chest tightens with each beat of his heart, warning him that it’s about to be too late. Too late to undo the damage he already caused. Too late for them. Too late for her. 

“Are you going to your mom’s?” he asks, and Scully sighs resignedly. 

“No,” she says curtly. “I don’t want to worry her. I’ll just get a hotel for the night; the door should be fixed in the morning.”

She seems angry, and he feels guilty, but he doesn’t understand why. He was a victim here, too. 

“You about done in there, Ms. Scully?” the super calls through the gaping hole that used to be her front door. “Gettin’ late.”

Scully zips her bag closed and Mulder steps forward to take it from her, but she slings it over her shoulder before he has the chance. She slips past him into the living room and he follows after her like a lost puppy, past the waiting super and down the hallway towards the front doors of her building. 

“Why don’t you crash at my place for the night?” he blurts out as she reaches for the door. 

She freezes with her hand laid over the handle and her back to him. He wishes he could see her face. 

“You don’t even have a bed, Mulder, much less a guest room,” she says, then pushes the door open. 

“You can take the couch,” he tells her, trying not to sound too desperate.  

Scully continues to walk towards her car, not even bothering to turn her head to address him. 

“I’ll just get a hotel, it’s fine.”

Mulder feels panic rising. The knot in his chest tightens and tightens until he feels like he can’t breathe. 

“Scully, please,” he says, desperation on full display. 

She stops a few paces from her car and slowly turns to face him. Her eyes skirt over his shoulder, his ear, somewhere around his chin. What if he was too late? What if what he saw was the conclusion of something, not the beginning? A wave of nausea rolls through him. 

“Okay,” she says unenthusiastically, and Mulder lets out a blustering sigh of relief. 

-

While she showers, Mulder makes up a bed on the couch that is far more luxurious than anything he’s ever bothered to do for himself. He tucks a flat sheet around the seat cushions, drapes a blanket over the back so the cold leather won’t touch her skin, digs a real bed pillow out of the back of his closet, and even finds an actual comforter that doesn’t smell like mothballs. For himself, he chucks a throw pillow and a ratty wool blanket on the floor where the coffee table usually sits, figuring the area rug will provide more comfort than the hardwood. 

Not that he’s especially concerned about his own comfort. He keeps seeing it over and over in his head: a man who looks identical to himself leaning in, inches away from the woman he’s never had the courage to kiss. And she seemed to be ready to accept it. This shouldn’t surprise him, given what she said that awful night. That they don’t have to be lonely, inferring that they could have each other, should they choose to. 

But he was surprised, because as sure as he was about what she meant when she said it, it seemed so impossible that he quickly convinced himself that he must have misunderstood. She must have meant something else. He knows she didn’t, but he convinces himself that she could have. The alternative is accepting the fact that he threw away his chance to cross that line. That she was brave enough to take one step over it, and he ran in the other direction. It’s as embarrassing as it is devastating, and he’s been fruitlessly searching for a way to fix it when he’s not fruitlessly searching for a cure for her cancer. 

He’s lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, when she walks out of his bedroom in blue silk pajamas with dripping wet hair. He sits up and she stops in her tracks, giving him a wary glance before she snaps off the lamp beside the couch and crawls under the covers. Mulder settles back down and listens to her shuffle around for a few minutes. He wants to give her enough time that she doesn’t feel ambushed, but not so much that she starts to fall asleep. 

“Comfortable?” he asks, and she hums.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Are you…okay?” he tries. “Emotionally or…otherwise?”

He hears her swallow. A hundred questions sit on the tip of his tongue, but he knows her well enough to know that an aggressive approach will have an inverse effect. 

“I’m fine,” she says after a beat. 

He wasn’t expecting a more robust response, but it still irks him. She has to know that he’s wondering. Surely she doesn’t think they can move on from this with no discussion. 

“So…” he begins, and he can practically feel her tense up. “What happened, exactly?”

There’s a contemplative pause, and when she speaks her voice is all business. 

“Eddie Van Blundht showed up at my apartment, somehow falsifying your appearance, and we drank a bottle of wine and talked until you—really you—kicked my door down,” she reports neutrally. 

“Just talked?” he asks, too quickly. 

She doesn’t say anything right away. Seconds tick by and he starts to feel nauseous as visions of Eddie and Scully assault his brain. 

“Did you ask me to stay here so you could properly shame me?” she finally asks, her voice so thin he immediately knows she’s crying, or on the brink of it. 

Mulder sits up and looks at her, but her face is hidden in shadow. 

“No,” he says insistently. “I just…I wanted to know you were safe.”

Scully scoffs. “We just talked,” she says bitingly, and immediately Mulder feels a weight lift off his shoulders. It’s short lived, though. “I thought he was you,” she adds in a melancholy whisper.

“I know,” he says, scooting closer to the edge of the couch. “It’s not your fault.” 

“I should have known that he wasn’t,” she says, regaining composure. “You would never do that. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Never do what? He wonders. Come over with a bottle of wine just to talk? Try to kiss her? He wants to believe that’s not true, but considering that he’s never done either of those things he can see why she’d come to that conclusion. 

“I should, though,” he says, and he can see her turn her head slightly to look at him. While she is obscured in shadow, slashes of streetlight highlight one side of his face and he stays vigilantly aware of his expression. “I guess I wasn’t sure if you’d want me to.” He leaves off the after the way I’ve treated you at the end.

This way they talk in circles around things, euphemizing and obfuscating, is enough to drive anyone crazy. For both their expansive vocabularies, they don’t seem to have the words to properly explain how they feel. 

Her hand drops into the light, palm up, and he slips his into it. She wraps her slender fingers around the back of his hand and squeezes, and he feels tears constrict his throat. He can’t bring himself to consider a world in which she no longer exists, but the awareness that he might lose her never leaves his subconscious mind. 

“I’m sorry,” he says tightly. 

“What for?” she asks earnestly. 

“After what happened with Ed Jerse,” he says, and he feels her hand tense. “The way I treated you. I feel like things have never really been the same.”

She’s quiet for a beat. 

“How haven’t they been the same?” she asks, but he can tell it’s not because she doesn’t agree. 

“I don’t know how to describe it,” he says. “I guess I feel like you pulled away a little. Like maybe you don’t trust me as much anymore.”

She squeezes his hand, and he squeezes back, and he already feels so much better. 

“I do trust you,” she says, very sincerely. “But you’re right, I did pull away a little.”

“Understandable,” he says, glad to have his feelings validated. 

He’s still holding her hand, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the couch. He brushes his thumb across the inside of her wrist and she sighs. 

“I think—” she starts, but the sentence dies off abruptly. He waits, desperate to hear what she has to say. “I think,” she resumes, her voice unrecognizably timid, “that I just needed to protect myself a bit. I realized that I had…expectations of you that weren’t fair.”

Mulder’s mind races as he tries to match this up to an experience or a conversation, but he comes up blank. He has no idea what she’s talking about. 

“What do you mean?” he asks, scooting an inch closer. “What expectations?”

She heaves another big Scully-sigh. Not the irritated kind. 

“It can be difficult to accept that your feelings aren’t reciprocated,” she says, slipping into second person. “It’s okay that they aren’t, but it’s still…difficult.”

The hairs on the back of Mulder’s neck stand on end. His heart picks up slowly, unsure, just as he is, whether it’s interpreting things correctly. 

“Whose feelings aren’t reciprocated?” he asks. 

“Mine,” she says quietly after a beat. 

“Your feelings about what?” he asks, his heart now pounding against his ears. 

“You, Mulder,” she nearly whispers. “It’s okay, it’s just…difficult.”

He can’t seem to form a coherent thought, can’t assimilate this information into the Scully schema inside his brain. Unreciprocated feelings are rarely platonic in nature. He knows what she means, just as he did before. And just as before, he’s too chickenshit to say it outright. 

“What makes you think they’re not reciprocated?” he asks instead. 

Scully doesn’t say anything for a long time. He can feel the churn of her thoughts, and her palm growing clammy against his. 

“What would make me think they are?”

Mulder’s heart sinks. Because she’s right. Because he’s not brave enough to put words to the feelings that weigh heavy on him every day. Because she might not be either. Because they might rot away together in this purgatory of their own making. 

Scully sucks in a shuddering breath and then abruptly pulls her hand away to cover her face. Mulder gets up on his knees and moves closer.

“Hey,” he says, touching her wrist. He can feel her shoulders lurching with sobs, though she’s working very hard to remain silent. He summons courage, ready to tell her everything if it will make her stop crying. If it will mean he stops hurting her. 

“I’m so scared, Mulder,” she squeaks out from behind her hands. He’s about to tell her that she doesn’t need to be, that he’d never hurt her, when she continues, “I’m not ready to die.”

A flash of fear makes his head spin. He feels desperately inadequate. What can he tell her? What can he do? He’s just as terrified as she is. 

“You’re not going to,” he says, aware that it might be a lie. His own throat is tight and his eyes are blurring over, but he tries to be strong for her. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“Maybe,” she says, wiping at her eyes. “But maybe not.”

He doesn’t know what to say. It doesn’t feel right to argue with her about her own mortality, so he just grabs her hand and holds it against his cheek. Her skin is so soft, and he moves his head side to side just for the pleasure of feeling it glide across his cheek bone. He inhales deeply, breathing her in. She smells like his shampoo, but her own laundry soap, and there’s something so intimate about that. He savors her like a fading sunset, closing his eyes and basking in her warmth. His heart feels like it’s actively breaking.

“I guess I just never thought I’d face the prospect of dying alone,” she says with a wet sniff. “I thought I’d be married by now, have children. It’s just…disappointing.”

Mulder slowly opens his eyes and stares at her through the dark. 

“You’re not alone,” he says emphatically. 

He listens to her struggle to maintain composure, to keep herself from crying harder. He wishes she didn’t feel like she had to do that. 

“I feel alone,” she confesses, then immediately loses the fight.  

He’s grateful that she doesn’t turn away when he leans in and attempts to hug her awkwardly with half his body still on the floor. That she doesn’t resist when he instead scoops her up off the couch and sits down with her in his lap. That she leans heavy into him, dampening the front of his T shirt with her wet hair and her tears. That she lets him hold her until her sobs subside into intermittent shuddering breaths and his legs start to go numb.   

“Sorry,” she says as she sits up, clearly embarrassed. She moves to stand and he tightens his grip around her, afraid she’s going to leave. “I need a tissue,” she says, and he lets her go, slightly embarrassed himself. 

She’s gone for a long time, and he imagines her looking at her swollen eyes and red face in his bathroom mirror, chastising herself for losing composure. He debates turning a light on, but it always seems easier to say difficult things in the dark, and maybe easier to hear them, too. He’s waiting on the couch when she finally comes back, hoping that this isn’t the end of the conversation. 

“Are you stealing my bed?” she jokes without much affect as she sits down beside him. 

He grabs her hand, interlacing their fingers, and in his periphery he sees her turn her head to look at him. He could probably see her face now that she’s sitting up, but he stares at the balled up blanket on the floor instead in an attempt not to lose his nerve. 

“I fucked up so monumentally badly, Scully,” he says with a self-deprecating little huff of a laugh. “Even for me.”

She waits for more context. Mulder’s leg bounces nervously. 

“I wasn’t honest with you,” he continues. “And even worse, I let you believe things that aren’t true. Things that made you feel shitty. I don’t have a good excuse, other than the fact that I’m an asshole.”

He pauses, and still she waits. She’s the most patient person he’s ever known, now that he thinks about it. 

“When I got the call that you were in the hospital in Philly, I felt insanely guilty. I just assumed something happened with Pudovkin, and I knew I was being a dick to you before I left. But when I found out about Jerse and everything…” He’s unexpectedly flooded with that same feeling again. He can see her in the hospital bed, her face bruised. He can feel his stomach drop out when a police officer confirms that she stayed the night there, that she and Ed had sex. “I felt betrayed, which was confusing. And I was angry with you, which I know wasn’t fair. I guess it made me realize that I kind of…I know this sounds terrible, but I kind of thought of you as mine.”

He hears her lips part, but nothing comes out of them other than the huff of her breath. She often becomes breathless when she’s emotionally activated, he’s noticed, but it’s hard to say whether this is a favorable reaction or not. He forges ahead. 

“That whole thing with the hooker—” he pauses and shakes his head at the memory. How fucking stupid is he? “I think I thought it would make me feel better or something. And when you came over here that night…I know you don’t remember it, but I was an epically huge asshole. And I know I hurt your feelings.”

“I remember it,” she says, and his head snaps over at the sudden sound of her voice. 

Her hair is half dry and forming the loose waves she normally blow dries out of it, and her eyes are bloodshot and puffy. Her expression is a worried kind of curious one he’s seen on her before, though typically only in the field. 

“Which part?” he asks.

“All of it,” she tells him, then sighs. “It just seemed easier to say that I didn’t. If I didn’t remember it there was nothing to talk about, and I didn’t particularly want to talk about it. So I guess I wasn’t entirely honest either.”

Mulder takes a moment to absorb this. She’d told him she retained bits and pieces, and he’s wondered whether she remembered the cab ride, or his confession that he was jealous, or her confession that she was lonely, or maybe the moment he kicked her out of his apartment in light of that confession. It’s made it difficult to know just how much he hurt her, and now he’s faced with the fact that he hurt her the maximum possible amount. 

“Why didn’t you want to talk about it?”

“Well,” she says in a very particular way that tells him she’s attempting lightheartedness, “it was pretty humiliating.” 

She meets his eye and forces a chagrined little smile that makes him cringe. 

“Can I take a mulligan?” he asks, and she cocks an eyebrow at him. “A do-over.”

“Of which part?” she asks, which is a fair question. 

“Um,” Mulder thinks for a moment. “The part where I found out you slept with someone and I treated you like shit instead of telling you that I was having some very strong and confusing feelings about the fact that you slept with someone,” he says.

Scully leans against the back of the couch, letting her head loll to the side to look up at him. She’s clearly exhausted. 

“Tell me about your strong and confusing feelings,” she says. 

Mulder looks over at her. She’d probably argue that she looks terrible, but Scully on her worst day is still strikingly beautiful to him. He has an urge to kiss her, but unlike the thousands of prior such impulses he diligently ignored, this time he acts on it. He leans forward and presses his mouth against hers, and she reciprocates almost immediately. Is it really this easy? Is this what he’s been so afraid of for so long?

Her mouth tastes just as sweet as he imagined, and her hand on his cheek feels so familiar. It’s new, but it’s not, because he’s never been as close to anyone in his life as he is to her, even women he was sleeping with. He knows it won’t go any further, and he doesn’t even want it to; this is too precious to risk rushing. 

He kisses the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her ear. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and she heaves a huge sigh. 

“I know,” she says. “Me too.”

They hold each other for a few minutes, and when she yawns he starts to pull away. 

“You need to get some sleep,” he says, moving to get back down on the floor. She grabs his arm to still him. 

“You can stay up here,” she says, a bit shyly. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor.”

He almost objects, but manages to stop himself from repeating old patterns. 

Mulder lays against the back of the couch and Scully fits perfectly in front of him with her back against his chest and her head tucked just under his chin. They inch closer and closer over the space of several minutes, each slowly relaxing into the idea that this is okay, that they don’t have to fight it. Eventually he drapes his arm over her waist, and she wraps his hand up in both of hers. 

“This is nice,” she says, and Mulder smiles. 

“Very nice,” he agrees. 

“Maybe you should get a bed,” she quips sleepily, and his smile expands into a full on grin. That must mean she wants to do it again, right?

“A water bed?” he asks, giving her a little squeeze. 

“I promised myself I’d never sleep on one of those,” she slurs, barely conscious. 

“Well, you know what they say,” he tells her just before she drifts off, in his arms at last. “Never say never.”

Tagging @today-in-fic

[wordy-little-witch]

Also, anon from before but relating to a non agere thing this time… but a while ago you did a supportive Papa Roger with transfem Buggy an you mentioned him wearing a gaudy dress to prove a point and I can’t stop cackling and thinking about this scenario:

You’re an average upcoming pirate on a ship. You’re not a big deal, your bounty’s not particularly high, you fly under everyone’s Radar. Suddenly your buddy in the crows nest is screaming frantically down at you. They spotted a ship! And it’s the fucking Oro Jackson. Your captain grabs his binoculars to confirm that they are telling the truth… and suddenly is stunned into dumbfounded silence. You grab the binoculars out of his hands to have a look as well and the reason for his confusion soon becomes evident.

There, one foot propped up on a barrel. Stands Gol D. Roger himself. He’s wearing the ugliest dress you have ever seen in your life, a hell spawn somewhere between a twelve year olds Sunday best and your grandmas bathroom rug that smelled like mothballs. He’s beaming with confidence, smiling and having his eyes set on your ship, while this sin against fashion is flapping majestically in the wind. Something else is also flapping a little in the wind. Apperantly the most feared pirate of the seas has decided to go commando today.

About half an hour later your entire ship is destroyed. Miraculously there are no men lost, but you feel like that was more to make a point and to make sure you carry the very important message to the next shore when you get there:

You do NOT make fun of Gol D. Rogers daughter.

This. This right here is the EXACT vibe I was going for. Someone look me in the eye and say Roger WOULDN'T pull smth like this. You can't. It's definitely canon compliant.

Bonus points, while Roger WOULD do this in response to a literal slight against his baby girl, he would also try smth like this to a perceived slight.

Buggy isn't even all that bothered by some guy saying she doesn't have the figure for that skirt or some shit, but Shanks is FROTHING. how dare this ingrate approach his Buggy, his Blue, his best friend with anything other than absolute WORSHIP in their souls-?!

Buggy shrugs it off, grabs her book from the stall and drags Shanks with as they continue shopping at the market. Honestly, she forgets about it. She's heard far worse.

Shanks though? He's telling captain. He's telling Roger, and Rayleigh, and everyone who will listen to his livid retelling bc this guy quite literally called Buggy's ability as a PIRATE into question because of her clothes, because of her build. He's so angry.

Roger is equally angry.

Roger might be angrier, actually.

Rayleigh and Buggy are both pointedly Not On Deck during the following events because they cannot, Do Not See. Out of sight. Out of mind.

They're both praying to get the mental image of Roger in that dress out of their brains without resorting to bleach or an ice pick.

[deadgirlwalking91]

thou shalt not chapter three: teach him to fish with @a-dose-of-comatose

“Does this rando have one foot in the grave as well, like that lady who smelt like mothballs?”

“Actually…no.” Odette’s smirk transformed into a full-blown grin. She eyed their surroundings quickly before leaning closer. “It’s a dude—maybe forty-ish? Hard to tell. He’s tall though—with a dad-bod. Kinda a DILF, to be totally honest.”

“Where the fuck did she find him?”

“Who knows.” Odette shrugged. “I really do think she just finds random people off the street and somehow guilts them into signing up. I asked Clara to look at her account earlier; she swears the old bag hasn’t paid for a single class in her life. And Susan’s ancient.”

“Figures,” Lute grumbled. She settled against the couch and began studying the referral’s profile. Maybe he’d signed up for this particular class because he’d sustained some kind of devastating injury and had to slowly ease back into exercising. Or, given Odette’s description of him, this dude was probably some newly-divorced dad who decided that now he gave a shit about his health and wellbeing in a desperate attempt to win his ex-wife back. None of those guys ever lasted more than a month, tops.

Except, as Lute cast her eyes over the referral form, it turned out that Susan’s new friend was none of those things.

He wasn’t injured.

He wasn’t a dad.

And he sure as shit wasn’t divorced.

“Fuck, I gotta go.” Lute leapt to her feet and grabbed the mug of coffee she’d just poured herself. Heart racing, she almost knocked poor Odette off her feet as she bolted out of the break room.

After all, Catholic priests couldn’t even get married, let alone divorced.

[to-the-stars8]

Reviving Love

Jason Todd x Reader Chapters AO3

Chapter 5

Jason didn’t realize the two of you had been sitting in the cafe for hours until his phone rang and he was finally forced to look at the clock. It was Roy calling, probably wanting to check in, but he was too far entrenched in your conversation to answer. Instead, he let it go to voicemail. This was going smoother than he had anticipated and the last thing Jason wanted was for something coming in to interrupt that. 

“I’m not keeping you, am I,” You asked, eyes flickering down to his phone. 

Jason shook his head. “No, not at all. Though, I think they’re just about to kick us out.” He glanced over to the baristas silently glaring at the two of you. It was a Friday evening and he assumed by the look on their faces the coffee shop was going to close earlier than expected, and the two of you had overstayed your welcome. Bashfully, you looked around before meeting his eyes. 

“Do…” You paused, thinning your lips in thought before saying. “Would you like to walk with me through the park? I usually walk that way to go home, but I don’t want to be taking you out of your way.”

“Sure,” Jason said, getting up. “I live a few blocks from that little bookshop—”

“The one on Sixth and Nicholson?” You asked, surprised. As he nodded, Jason did the gentlemanly thing and helped you with your coat. He’d done it once before when you were kids and remembered the way you always blushed. This time, you didn’t blush, but you seemed taken aback by the gesture. “Oh, I live right around the corner! In the building by that run-down barber shop.”

“I know what place you’re talking about,” Jason said, rolling his eyes. “They should have closed that place centuries ago. Smells like mothballs and cigarettes. Not to mention, the guy can’t even cut hair anymore.”

“You’ve gotten your hair cut there before?” You asked, amused. As the two of you left, you grabbed onto his arm, silently begging him to slow down. It wasn’t that he didn’t like you touching him, but it had been a while. So, the feeling of you being so close made him wary. You must have sensed this as you let go, opting to try and match his strides and he tried to match yours in turn. 

“Well, the guy’s blind, so no, I haven’t.” Jason let out a chuckle. 

“Ah, that would do it,” You laughed. After a few seconds of silence, you added, “So, you went to Gotham Academy, right?”

Jason thinned his lips, thinking back on the first time you had asked him that question, before deciding to repeat his original answer. From the corner of his eye, he could see the wheels turn in your head like you were trying to put together pieces that didn’t quite fit. It gave him a bit of anxiety, so he laughed to lighten your thoughts. “Why do you ask? Have a crush on me or something?”

“Just curious,” You said playfully, leaning into his arm. “Trying to see if I know you from somewhere. But, I only knew one Jason, and I seriously doubt you’re him.”

If only you knew, he thought. Jason only chuckled lightly, eyes shifting to the ground before looking up at you. You were so beautiful, and he couldn’t believe he was there with you. If someone had asked him two years ago if he had ever planned on seeing again, he’d say fuck no and that you didn’t deserve to see him. He’d always thought himself to be the worst person, and to put someone near that would be unfair. 

As the two of you strode through the park, the wind picked up and rain clouds rolled in. Jason wouldn’t be surprised if there was going to be a downpour within the next hour and dreaded going out tonight for patrol simply due to the weather. You wrapped your arms around yourself, shivering slightly under your coat, and side-stepped closer to Jason. When you realized, you apologized. 

“It’s okay,” He said, and wanted to reach around and draw you closer to him. Yet, his hesitancy wouldn’t let him. “We’re almost to your apartment, anyway.”

You looked up at him, eyes searching for something before looking back down, and you laughed a little. “I still can’t get it out of my head that we’ve met before.”

Jason was a little bothered that you were still holding onto figuring out who he was. “Maybe we have. You never know. I might have asked you…” The words died on his lips as rain began to fall. Damn, Gotham weather. 

Taking off his jacket, he threw it over your head and began pulling you through the park as the rain slowly started to get heavier and heavier. You began to laugh, saying something along the lines that with your luck it was bound to happen. Then, something Jason hadn’t expected happened. He began to laugh with you. Initially, he had been so annoyed that this would happen to him—Especially on a date, or not date. It hadn’t been established yet. Then, you made fun of something he only saw the horrible in and it made the day brighter. 

“Remind me to bring an umbrella any time you’re near,” He said once the two of you were safe in the doorway of your apartment building. 

You giggled. “Okay, deal.” Thinning your lips again, Jason knew you were about to say something that would have him at your mercy. “Do you want to come up?”

Jason’s heart leaped in his chest and butterflies exploded in his stomach. “I—I…um, I don’t know if I should.”

You suddenly realized what you said. “Oh—oh! No, not like that. I mean, so you don’t have to go out in the rain again. You’re soaked.”

You were right. Between the park and your apartment, Jason had managed to look like he’d been dunked in water, which made it a bit gratifying when he looked at how dry you were with his jacket still draped over your shoulders. 

“Come in,” You said. “I’ll make you some hot chocolate and I’ll wash your jacket.”

Jason hesitated but then agreed. After all, he thought, what bad things could happen over hot chocolate?

[pluckyredhead]

☕️ aged up lian

SIGH. I've mostly made my peace with it now, but I was very upset when it happened, because this fucking always happens to kids in comics, and like...she deserved to have her childhood! Roy deserved to get to raise his daughter! We deserved to not have to sit through this cliche for the hundredth time! I JUST WENT THROUGH THIS WITH JON KENT, HOW DARE YOU.

It also made me mad because, like...Shoes was an obviously completely different character who'd been appearing in Catwoman for months until DC randomly decided that she was Lian. There was absolutely no reason to do that. Lian coming back in no way necessitated her being a teenager. It was a stupid, arbitrary choice made for a one-off issue that had long-term consequences for a character who had already been treated terribly.

Also, the Arrowfam is lousy with teens/young women already: they have Emiko, Mia, Cissie, and now Red Canary. Obviously I love all of these characters and am glad they are back (well, I have no opinion on Red Canary, DC has told us almost nothing about her), but having a bunch of characters with similar ages and similar looks makes it more likely that some of them will get written out or quietly disappear. Especially with Sin coming back (and also aged up), that's four young Asian women associated with the Arrowfamily, and it makes me nervous that DC will put some of them in mothballs. That would be much less likely to happen if Sin was still 12-ish and Lian was still 6-ish (or whatever). Again, see Jon Kent and how DC doesn't seem to know how to handle having him and Kon around at the same time.

The current GA book is so good and Lian is being handled so well that it's gone a long way towards making me feel better about the whole thing. But I was big mad when it happened and I still think it was the wrong choice.

[chaoticace2005]

Why Valentino needs to chill the fuck out (AKA a list of complaints on the pissbaby):

(By Velvette, the only one here with a braincell)

(Her list for Vox (to stop obsessing over Alastor) here)

1. I can’t stop you from being a dick to your employees but STOP RIPPING UP MINE

2. Can you keep your obsession with Angel Dust in the studio? Bringing him up elsewhere makes Vox think he can bitch about Alastor and I don’t need anymore of that.

3. Bringing up the Radio Demon to win an argument just makes everyone suffer.

4. I know therapy is a lost cause with you but seriously?

5. Figure out whatever the fuck you and Vox have going on. You’re not dating but you have Radio Demon- related foreplay and Vox gets jealous whenever you bring up “Angelcakes.”

6. I’ll blow my brains out if I hear the name “Angelcakes” again.

7. I don’t want to keep replacing lights after you run into them head first

8. I don’t want to keep having to spend money buying mothballs so you won’t eat my clothes.

9. When you get pissed you get horny, and I’d prefer if you didn’t fuck anyone on the kitchen counter.

10. Or my closet

11. Can you stop crying about the fact I have (gorgeous) hair and you don’t? Not my fault your head looks like an egg

12. Also weird pheromones? Can you keep that stuff inside you until we need to make more Love Potions? The whole place stinks

13. Your rage bedazzling has begun to get out of hand. I took a shower and rhinestones came out of the tap.

14. STOP FIRING BEDAZZLED (OR ANY) GUN INTO WALLS. AND STOP SAYING ITS FINE BECAUSE YOU LIKE HOLES.

15. Chasing down your employee who is staying with the PRINCESS AND KING of HELL isn’t the best idea.

16. Also, again, Radio Demon. And he may be an ancient prick but Vox is so insufferable.

17. Seriously if anyone gets to kill you it’s me. And since I can’t nobody can.

18. We keep having to replace phones because of your tantrums.

19. And employees

20. And TV screens for Vox

21. When you get angry you put things in the top shelves which is really a dick move.

22. At this point I’m starting to worry if you’ll take the name “pissbaby” seriously given your recent fixation and I do NOT want to deal with that.

23. I know tormenting employees can be fun, but also Angel Dust gets us a lot of money. And if he finds a way to opt out then I’m making sure the financial loss comes out of YOUR funds.

24. I don’t want to go to any more shitty overlord meetings alone because Vox is busy having a mental breakdown and you’re busy looking up new forms of torture.

25. Unlike that Carmine hag I am NOT a wrinkly old mom so STOP making me act like it.

25. Apparently you can only be so “problematic” in Hell and you’ve definitely passed that point

26. Seriously? Do you know how often #CancelTheVees is trending? #CancelValentino is FINE but then you go dragging me into this shit…

27. I’m tired of being the responsible one. Why don’t you two old fucks get your shit together?

[calcitedraws]

FENS DIARY

Tw: Mentions of death, suicide, depression, brief mentions of sexuality and Fen being generally sort of creepy and trying to rationionalize it.

Around 2,300 words

This was supposed to be a few entries and I got too invested lol and I use y/n because I'm old school. Also when Fen says 'Im not a girl' that isn't indicating a bio or gender identity I was just including the fact that they're nonbinary.

November 17th

I haven't written in a while, eh? After… what happened I sort of shut down for a while. Even now I want to shut down, but my dad always said I should face things head on. Ok, as my therapist used to say: if I don't know how to word something I should just say it as plainly as I can to get started.

I'm in pain.

I can't sleep I can't eat and I can't fucking breathe. The only person making sure I have a moderately healthy sleep/wake cycle is Dandelion, and even then he doesn't seem to mind if I sleep on the couch all day as long as he's fed.

I'm packing to head down to the funeral and I came by my journal. I don't even know why I'm doing this. This is fucking stupid.

I'm scared of seeing them. I haven't seen my mom or siblings in… 5 odd years? I never even came out to them. I'll have to explain so much that I'm just not in the goddamn mood to. I don't even think they want to see me. Dad told me that once they figured out the whole situation that they didn't take it well.

Dandelion keeps curling up in my suitcase. If he behaved better in crates, I'd bring my little man with. But he chews on the bars and yowls, so I'm leaving him at one of those pet boarding places.

November 19th

I don't want to go tomorrow. I'm sitting here at this shitty hotel desk that's sticky in this shitty hotel room that smells like booze and mothballs. There's a weird mark on the carpet and I can't decide if it's old blood or a shit stain. Either way it's suspiciously big. The people in the other room keep having really loud and bad sounding sex, all the damn time. Like, literally, their headboard is apparently against the same spot as mine, because the thumping keeps me awake. I tried to move my bed and found another stain that I'm convinced is blood. I put the bed back and slept on the tiny couch in the room. I'm pretty sure there's bedbugs on every fabric surface.

OH MY GOD THOSE TWO ASSHATS ARE HAVING SEX AGAIN!!! WHY ARE THEY BLASTING THAT ONE SONG FROM SHREK 2 I HATE THIS HOTEL

November 20

I'm just sitting here. At this sticky desk again. I don't think I can do this. It's 3:30 AM and I can't go back to sleep. Waiting for my sleeping meds to kick in.

My therapist always said that the best time to journal about something is when it's the hardest to think about.

I wish I had someone. I like to think soulmates exist. Maybe Dad was right and that's all horse shit. Maybe I should just throw myself into oncoming traffic instead of going to his funeral.

I've been paying more attention to cars recently. Funny how many look like my dad's.

I think the meds are kicking in? No clue, maybe I'm just too angry to think.

—---------------

It's 8:10 AM and I need to leave in 20 minutes.

I've decided to go, because I owe it to him. I think I'd hate myself more if I didn't go.

What do I even do if I see my mom again? Is she even my mom? Am I allowed to wave if she spots me? Will she even recognize me. I can recognize her. I've been cyber talking her Facebook. Her husband and her just got back from a weekend trip to the Bahamas.

I haven't dared look for my siblings. I miss Sherry.

Had to take a minute to reign myself in.

I'm glad my aunt (my dad's sister) took care of the funeral prep. Shes nice. Haven't talked to her in a half a decade, I should send a nice letter after the funeral.

The thought of coming back to that house alone is killing me. No more face times. No more random phone calls. No more sending him pictures of weird stuff Dandelion did.

I need to head out soon. My hair is greasy. My eyes hurt. I look like shit. But I have to go.

I forgot to charge my phone last night but there should be enough juice in it to get me there and back. Don't know where I'm headed since I've never been here. My dad said I wouldn't like where he lived because it's crowded. Maybe I can just throw myself into oncoming traffic after.

—----------------

I think I met an angel.

I got lost after the funeral and my phone died. I started crying in the middle of the side walk like some fucking weirdo when I spotted them.

They were so cute, in their cozy sweater and jeans. They asked what was wrong and I said I was lost and that my phone died.

They actually lead me back to the hotel! Apparently they live here in the city too but near the outskirts. I never got their name, I'm such a fucking idiot.

I've always felt like there's been a wall between me and other people. But with them… I didn't feel that. I felt I had known them all my life.

Shit, here I am rambling about someone I just met after going to my dad's funeral.

It was awkward. Like, painfully awkward. No one approached me. My dad's funeral was closed casket, which all things considered, makes sense. But I felt like if I opened that casket it'd be empty. It was a weird feeling.

I didn't know any of his friends and only Sherry showed up to the funeral. I don't know why but that somehow made everything worse. Sherry couldn't even look at me. I didn't stick around long afterwards. She looks so different from when I last saw her (why did she go blonde?) but I recognized her instantly.

I'm packing up to head home. I technically don't need to go until tomorrow but the longer I stay here the more I feel the need to itch the back of my throat with a shotgun. At least at home I can cry into Dandelions fluffy belly.

January 8th

—------------------

Guess who's forced me out of rotting in my bed? My boss threatening to fire me if I don't log on and do my job!

A fair point, but fuck him anyway.

I said I'd log on today and he seemed satisfied.

So here I am instead, procrastinating. I can't keep my eyes open for very long. I mean, I logged on and have been reading meeting notes. That's progress.

Dandelion has been very accommodating with allowing me to randomly pick him up and cry loudly into his fur.

Oh! I found a new cat! Her name is Queenie and she's a little black cat. I found her right outside the hotel I was staying at before the funeral. I thought she had that lethal cat bloat I had heard about, but she was just really pregnant! Like, ready to pop pregnant. She gave birth on Christmas and now I have a small army of tiny black and orange kittens! I woke up to 6 of them on Christmas morning. They're all so small and cute and they won't stop meowing very very loudly. I got Queenie spayed as quickly as I could afterwards.

Queenie warmed up to my quickly despite being a stray. I named her that because she's a little diva. The amount of times I had to separate her and Dandelion from fighting over mutually favorited spots is well, embarrassing since these are two adults. But now? Queenie just lays on top of Dandelion and he seems to enjoy it.

Why am I jealous of two cats?

January 15th

—----------------

Oh my God I found them. The person who saved me and lead me back to the hotel, I found them!

Ok, so, I'm a penetration tester, which means I hack into systems. It's boring so I never talk about it. But, the job we were handed made us pen test a random hospital and I found them! They went in for a checkup recently and I found their data while spelunking! I took a picture of their government ID before I could stop myself.

I can't believe I found them! I clicked on a random name because I liked the way it looked and it leads me right to them! I know it's them, because the ID card looks like them and says they live near where they said they did.

I've been looking at our star signs. I also found their social media and they're so chatty! I think they just think their friends are watching because they post sporadically. I scrolled through everything I could find during my lunch break.

Oh my God I sound insane. This is insane and totally illegal. I need to step back and calm down.

January 25th

—----------

I tried!! Couldn't step back couldn't calm down. I've been cyber talking a stranger for like, a week now.

But I've come to a revelation: I'm very greasy. I haven't showered in… no clue to be honest. I only realized because I accidentally leaned against the sliding glass door and my head left a strong imprint on the glass.

I haven't changed my bedsheets in a while either. Or vacuumed, or cleaned the kitchen, or swept the patio. So instead of any of that I have spent the entire afternoon paralyzed on the couch in sustained fear. Dandelion has joined me.

February 4th

—----------------

I finally got fed up of being greasy and took an actual shower instead of sitting under the water staring at the floor and disassociating for like, half an hour. The sheer amount of dead skin I scrubbed off is embarrassing.

*Y/n* (the name of my angel) talked about spring cleaning early online. They even have the link to their favorite songs to listen to while cleaning. I recognize some of the songs but most of them are new to me. Maybe if I listen to the playlist it'll make me want to clean?

Update: It did. Managed to clean the kitchen and living room before getting tired. Maybe I should start working out again…?

Feb 14th

—-------------

Y/n is single! (Very good information to know)

When I clean I just put y/n’s play list on and I'm suddenly full of energy.

I think it eases the loneliness. I miss my dad.

Feb 20th

—--------------

I've discovered something about myself that I can't unlearn. I think I have a praise kink?? I was watching my favorite show with Dandelion and one of the characters that kind of looks y/n said ‘good girl' to the main character and. I got so horny I had to pause the show and sit in silence. I'm not even a girl. What the fuck just happened? I think the cats know because they've been staring at me judgementally all afternoon.

March 1st

—-------------

Lasagna is my enemy.

April 29th

—------------

It was my dad's birthday yesterday. He would've been 46 today.

I sort of shut down for the entire month, again. House is a fucking mess. Only think I can manage is taking care of the cats, who don't seem to mind the mess.

I just wish I had someone. The house is pretty quiet. Sometimes I put the TV on to avoid how quiet it is. I miss talking to my dad, about literally anything. The weather, what my cats were up to, about my dad's new girlfriend of the week, literally anything. I miss how funny he was. I remember when I was in secondary school how him and I would watch TV every Friday night and eat Mac n cheese from the box.

May 1st

—--------------

I think I'm in love with y/n?? Is that a thing you can do? I had a dream we went on a date to a coffee shop and then we went home and made dinner and I kept making them laugh and smile and when I woke up I just burst out sobbing. I literally couldn't calm down for who knows how long.

But I want something like that! I want it so badly! I want to make them dinner while they talk with me! I want to cozy up to them on the couch while watching a movie! I want to hear them breathe next to me at night!

So I might've done something maybe unethical. I located their IP Address. Which isn't bad since I already know their physical address and their safe with me and it's not like it's illegal to find it!

May 10th

—------

So I did something stupid. I did something really fucking stupid I hacked into their email. All it took was a phishing scheme and bam, I was in. And Lord knows how everything is connected to emails nowadays. I'm a criminal now. I've been reading their emails for like, three hours. I mean… the government can like totally see your emails so it's not that big of a deal?? Right???

Oh my God I'm a criminal now!

But I'm learning so much!

May 18th

—-----

The time has come. Queenies kittens have all found new homes, I can't have all these cats in the house. But I kept my favorite kitten; Cali, the little calico. Short of Hotel California, My dad's favorite song.

Cali is a menace against society. He's chewn through wires, eaten pillows, and I've had to take him to the vet twice for eating batteries. I don't think another family can handle him.

I like to think he gets this from Dandelion, who despite being well over ten years old still chews on wooden furniture.

June 19th

—-------

I've been trying to find a way to say this that doesn't sound bad. But like, I literally can't? So I'll just say it.

I broke into y/n’s phone.

I'm not doing anything bad! I just want to see what they're up to! I won't use this to hurt them so it isn't bad, is it?

I've been watching them play candy crush for 45 minutes. They're bad at candy crush but something about that is so cute! I've downloaded candy crush. Maybe I can play the same levels at the same time as them…?

I've also been eating meals with them. They watch stuff on their phone as they eat and I've started eating at a regular schedule again. But their diet sucks so much?? Why the fuck are they eating gas station sushi so often? I'm scared they'll get worms!!

July 1st

—----------

What if my cats tell me neighbor I got high???

July 2nd

—----------

So um, I tried edibles for the first time yesterday. You'll never guess how it went.

Anyways, high me decided that cleaning the entire house was their sole mission. Thank you, high me.

July 19th

—---------

I finally gathered the courage to go into my old room.

I only had the attic room because everyone had their own rooms and I was sick of sharing with Sherry. So, my dad fixed up the attic and gave that room to me for my 10th birthday. When everyone left, I took over Sherry's old room. Mom only left the mattress and headboard, so it didn't feel like Sherry's anymore. All that's left is the thumbtacks from her old posters.

Anyway, my old room is just how I left it. Dusty, but the same. I even found Howie, my old plushie! I took all of Howie's stuffing out and it's in the wash right now, but they still have the old lavender satchet I put in them. I don't know what to replace it with, to be honest.

[beautiful-and-terrible]

“falling into place”

mike schmidt x reader

summary: “You meet Mike Schmidt under rather unfortunate circumstances. Luckily, he's a decent guy, and tries to make it up to you. Besides, who could say no to those big brown puppy-dog eyes?”

tags: Slow-burn, domestic, hurt/comfort, gradual friends-to-lovers, whatever the opposite of a meet-cute is, because mike is a disaster, sub!mike, dom!reader, eventual smut

Part 2

also available on my Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51690952/chapters/130675165

A sigh escaped your lips as you watched raindrops race down the window. It was a Friday afternoon, and you were an hour away from being done with your shift at your town’s local, run-down grocery store. You were working the cash register - a mindless, repetitive task that sucked the soul out of you, but it paid the bills. You didn’t mind talking to customers, when they were polite. It was usually hit or miss with the older customers. They never seemed to understand that you couldn’t accept expired coupons. Or that eggs really were $1.05, yes even for the non-organic ones.

This particular afternoon was going especially poorly. You had two people refuse to pay their bills and just walk out with their groceries, you had a screaming child in line with her mother who kept begging you to just “give the kid a piece of candy for free”, and at least three older men had told you “you’d do your job a lot better if you smiled.”

By the last hour of your shift, you were on the verge of a breakdown. Tears pricked your eyes - your feet hurt, your back ached, and your heart was still tender from being chewed out by your manager for letting those two people walk out without paying. As if you, a minimum wage employee, had the authority or skills necessary to stop two shoplifters. And besides, you didn’t really think stealing essential things like food warranted arrest or reprimand, anyway.

So that’s why when a particularly mean old bat who smelled like mothballs and cat piss yelled at you for not scanning her groceries quickly enough, you finally snapped. You slowly put down the fifth carton of prune juice you had scanned, untied your apron that had your name tag pinned on it, and let it drop to the ground.

You looked the old woman in the eyes, flipped her off, and walked out. As you passed your manager on your way to the front door, you flipped him off, too. The way his face went beet red with rage would remain in your brain as one of the funniest things you’d ever seen. You were pretty sure there was a vein in his temple about to burst.

So now you had no job. Great. You sighed, putting your head in your hands as you stood under the covered walkway that led into the store. You stood like that for a long time, just letting the reality wash over you. You knew you wouldn’t be able to cry in public, but as soon as you got home you would put on your softest hoodie and sweatpants, and have a good cry about how shit your life had been these past few months. You steeled yourself, raising your head and starting to walk towards your car.

You were about half way out into the rainy parking lot, holding your jacket above your head, which blocked your peripheral view, when you were suddenly on the hard, wet ground and your vision pulsed with white stars. It felt like you had been sucker-punched by the Hulk. You looked around dazedly, trying to figure out why you were suddenly on the ground.

Headlights beamed directly at face level as you sat up, rubbing your head. You brought your hand away - no blood, at least. But your wrist hurt like a fucking bitch. The throbbing pain got worse by the second - each beat of your heart caused the flesh around your wrist to swell up like a balloon. Or at least that’s what it felt like.

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry, are you okay? I looked away for a second and you came out of nowhere I’m so fucking sorry-”

You looked up to see two very distressed, very pretty hazel-brown eyes staring down at you. A man with a mellow voice was apologizing profusely, attempting to help you stand up. You could only nod dumbly, holding out a hand placatingly.

“I’m fine, I think… my wrist really hurts,” you pouted, trying not to sound like a child but your day had been so dogshit that your usual barriers were crumbling easier than normal.

“Let me take you to the Urgent Care, it’s the least I can do…” he trailed off, grabbing you by both elbows to help you up off the wet ground. You shivered, from the cold rain dripping down your neck and from the adrenaline of the moment starting to wear off. The man helped you into the passenger seat of his car and got in the drivers side.

You looked down at your wrist - it was already swollen. Your lip started to tremble, and big, fat tears started to leak from your eyes. You sniffled, which caught the guys attention.

“Oh, hey, don’t cry. I’m sure it’s just sprained. And I’ll even try to help pay for your cast or whatever… not that I have any extra money but that’s the right thing to do…” he murmured under his breath. You glanced at him and gave him a half smile, wiping the tears off your face.

“Don’t worry about that. I just appreciate the ride. I’ve had a pretty shit day - getting hit by a car was just the cherry on top.

“Yeah, I know about shit days,” he said simply, then winced, looking in the rearview mirror. “Sorry, Abs. A pretty crap day, is what I meant.”

You turned around, confused. In the back seat was a girl of about 11 or 12, looking sullenly out the window. She shrugged noncommittally.

“Hi,” you said softly. The girl glanced at you, frowned, and turned more toward the direction of the window. You looked at the guy, who just sighed.

“That’s my sister, Abby. She’s having a crap day, too.”

“Dang. The three of us should start a club,” you said, which made the guy let out a snort of laughter. You looked at him, surprised by the display of mirth.

“So… what’s your name?” he asked, stopping at a red light. You told him your name, which he repeated before saying, “Nice to meet you. I’m Mike.”

[prettyboyeddiemunson]

Eddie discovers vibrators and tells Steve to get one and use it as a surprise on the reader in the middle of sex

HOLY FUCK YES!!

imagine it’s a modern au, and eddie reads all about rose vibrators. he tells steve to buy you one, and steve does it without any hesitation. they don’t tell you about it, wanting it to be a big surprise. they’re acting odd when you go over, but they won’t tell you what’s up. you shrug it off, knowing you would find out eventually what they were up to.

fast forward to sex. steve is eating you out feverishly from behind while you suck eddie’s cock. you’re in the middle of deep throating eddie, his cock so far down your throat that it’s bulging, your eyes watering and running down your cheeks. he’s got his hands in your hair, thrusting lightly into your throat as you gag, and you’re so into it that you don’t see eddie nodding to steve. steve only smirks, drawing back and shaking his head.

“let’s wait,” he says.

you’re puzzled, and give eddie a confused look. “don’t worry about it, baby,” eddie says, stroking your cheek tenderly before squeezing your throat with a moan. “fuck, do you feel that?”

you nod as best as you can, in your own way, and continue bobbing your head. it doesn’t take long for you to cum, and then eddie is pulling his cock out and slapping it across your face. you mewl, trying to kiss it, but he’s drawing away as steve grips your hips tightly. you frown, but it’s soon wiped off your face as steve pushes inside of you. you feel him stretching you open, your wet pussy hugging his long, thick cock perfectly.

“we have a surprise for you, baby,” eddie says, brushing your hair away from your face as you moan loudly under steve’s relentless thrusts. “are you ready for it?”

you nod, and eddie looks back at steve. eddie goes to get something, but you don’t see what. you’re too absorbed in what steve is doing, and eddie places something in his hand before resuming his spot in front of you. you don’t know what they’re up to, but you get your answer when you feel a vibration on your clit.

“we got you one of those rose vibrators,” eddie says, watching as steve adjusts the settings to find the perfect one. “do you like it?”

“yes,” you pant, reaching down to press the toy & steve’s hand harder against your swollen clit. “gonna cum already.”

“do it,” eddie coaxes. “but don’t think we’ll be finished with you after you do. the night is just getting started, princess.”

steve finally finds the perfect setting, and it sends you to orgasm right away. steve keeps going, not moving the toy away from your overcharged clit as he pounds you. you take eddie’s cock in your mouth, and before they’re done with you, you’ve cum three times and eddie has spilled down your throat. after they’re finished, you decide to give them a little show with the toy, just to show your appreciation for their little surprise.

—

mini taglist: @littledemondani @andvys @wroteclassicaly @eddieschains @succubusmunson @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @mothball-munson @happylilthought

[lokisgoodgirl]

Writer Self-Rec Fics Ask Game

Rules: writers list your top 5 favorite fics of yours and then send this to 5 writers! :)

MWAH <3

@fandxmslxt69 Firstly, your eyes do not deceive you - yes it has been about 9 months since you passed this my way and I put it off because of the ollll imposter syndrome but after speaking to @superficialdomina who ✨harassed✨ me into answering the question here we are. Thank you for thinking of me.

LGG's Top Five Fave LGG Fics (oneshots because adding series would be the end of me)

(also in no particular order because fuck that)

Hail, Commander [Oneshot] Why? The ceremony, the respect, the BEAT OF THE DRUMS, the battlements of Asgard and the filthy, battle-worn dirty talk. This one and the follow up, (The Feast) play in my mental homescreen a lot as background.

A Fine Silk Robe [Oneshot] Why? I love the quietness of this one. And that it's an intimate (yet hopefully hot) insight into Loki having a truly decadent wank and what's not to like about that. It also has one of my favourite lines I've ever written: The hour was late on Asgard. And its Prince was horny.

The Ceremony [Oneshot] Why? This was my first fic purely based on the idea of 'shit I made up that defo happens on Asgard' and I was expecting mothballs. Mothballs. But apparently, people find it as equally hilarious and erotic as I do - so long live the ceremony and long live Loki wanking onto a golden platter in front of an audience.

The Legend of Long Dong Laufeyson [Oneshot] Why? Firstly, the name. Secondly, the jangly souls of climaxing women trapped in his hair. It's mad, it's dirty, it's theatre, there's crewplicates. It's very me.

A Slice of Kindness [oneshot/drabble] I don't know why, I just love the softness of Loki's realisation that someone actually cares about him. I think the pace is nice, and I now also can't look at a cake without mentally referring to it as a 'malevolent sponge'

I'd love to know if anyone has any faves I haven't mentioned here :) Always a nice little boost and good inspo for future ideas too🥰 but no pressure, no biggie.xx