#rocket lashes

[jrueships]

as much as i looove old man yaoi, there's something so fun abt the idea of growing at the similar rate of your favs as u live your youthful but so different but lovingly similar lives

[henrysglock]

“Joyce being in TFS means Henry is going to have a crush on her like Lonnie, Bob, and Hopper”

Bitch. Young Henry’s story is about ostracized children being easy targets for predators. At no point is his story framed as being about incel status. It’s about society rejecting a child who fails to conform, and that child’s mother rejecting him because he’s been rejected by society. It’s about how forced conformity and the resulting isolation create scenarios where children have no one left to save them if a few key players are taken away.

And you want a key part of that to be [checks notes] him having a crush on a girl he doesn’t even go to school with?

Henry is isolated, which makes him turn inward, which makes him “weirder”/less compliant with society’s expectations, which then makes him more isolated, which embitters him against those expectations, which gets him rejected further. It’s a vicious cycle already, and then add in a mother who wants to “fix” her “broken” son by sending him away to a doctor, as if the problem is solely her son and not the way her son has been treated by both her and by society at large.

Also he’s gay and 12 years old. Joyce is a 17 year old girl who has enough on her plate with Bob, Lonnie, and Hopper.

[blondeaxolotl]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Ok grellers I have another meal

[willosword]

the vees take up such a unique antagonistic role in hazbin. they're so silly and pathetic except in specific bursts of competence. but even those moments are overshadowed by the way they just brute force everything. vox lost his own diss track against alastor. velvette didn't even do anything with the information she gathered at the overlord meeting. the more valentino lashes out like a child the more he loses control of angel. the person they picked to infiltrate the hotel ended up becoming its very proof of concept. they sung gleefully about the power vaccuum created by alastor's absence only for alastor to reappear 30 seconds later. what are they even doing. they're like an extremely unhinged team rocket

[luveline]

would you be in the mood to write something for peter parker x reader?? it’s been a while since i’ve read anything new for him and i’m missing my boy :( maybe something about things getting heated while making out with peter but he knows reader isn’t ready to go any farther so he has to stop them, and then maybe reader feels guilty for not being ready bc they feel like they’re stringing him along? a good mix of (semi)smut & fluff & angst haha. thank u angel i love u <3

ty for requesting, love u <3 fem!reader, 1k

cw suggestive content

“Is that okay?” he whispers. 

You’re nearly too busy trying to kiss him to whisper back. “Yeah, Peter, just–” Fully too busy. 

Peter enjoys being on top of you for two reasons; the first, the most imperative in the moment, is because it flicks a switch in your mind that has you all flustered and breathless under his touch, your chest heaving something sorry and your hands a frenetic back-and-forth between roaming and limp on his back; and the second, his guilty pleasure, is that he’s in an optimal position to slide his knee between your thighs and listen for your breathless sigh. 

He says your name between kisses to catch your attention, finds he can’t quite get it as your mouth closes up on his and your spit wets his lips. Your hand wanders under his shirt. 

Peter has been worse than shirtless around you, a consequence of his strange after-classes hobby, but he’s not so sure you’re ready to peel him out of it. Your fingers ride up his spine. 

He fishes your hand from behind him to hold it above your head. 

“Hey,” he says, pulling back, your eyes lit and aligned with one another, the brightest light in the room. It feels wrong to speak into the dark like this, disrupting your whispers and your quick breathing. “You don’t wanna do that.” 

“I do,” you say. He’s no genius, but he sees the wobble of your lashes for what it is, sudden regret. 

“It’s okay, bub. We got too heavy too fast,” he laughs. 

You bite the inside of your lip as he sits up. It’s his fault, he shouldn’t have kissed you like that, definitely shouldn’t have let his leg slide up against you, what was he thinking? He’s kissed you so hard your lips are swollen. 

You use the flats of your palms to clamber up against the headboard. Your heart is a thudding he can’t ignore, triply loud, and his own pulse is rocketing too. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. 

“No, that’s okay,” —he reaches for the hem of your sweatpants to tug them back over your hip and stomach— “I was bearing down on you, I shouldn’t have– I–” Peter Parker levels of stuttering occur, to which he can’t subject himself, hiding his face in his hands. 

There’s a small silence. Peter attempts to calm down. Your heart rate slowly drops. 

“I really am sorry, Pete.” 

His neck cricks as he lifts his head. “What?” He lets his legs fall to the side of the bed and shuffles up to the top to see you clearly, squishing the back of your thigh where your legs are up to his hip. “Come on, what do you have to be sorry for?” 

“I’m leading you on and stuff. Not cool.” 

“What? What are you talking about? I started it.” 

“I was giving it just as good as I was getting it,” you say with a regretful smile. “You’re just such a great kisser–”

“Don’t try and distract me, it’s working,” he teases. More seriously, he puts his hand on your knee, thumb pressing to the soft crease underneath it. 

“I shouldn’t kiss you like that if I’m not ready for it.” 

“Why not? You can kiss me whatever way you like, it doesn’t have to lead to anything.” 

“I’m winding you up. Boys don’t like that.” 

“I love it,” he says, dropping his chin to his hand to speak to you from just below your eye line. “I love everything you do, I love kissing you, it doesn’t mean you have to be ready for something else.” 

You don’t accept his reassurances as quickly as he’d like, leaning back, the rising valley of your chest and tummy two pretty not to look at even as something serious transpires. He adores you, your every hill and curve and rigid line, all of it, and he’d love to fuck you but there’s no rush. What do you need to rush for? Peter’s sure it’ll be just as much fun a few months down the line as it would’ve been tonight, but it’ll be perfect then, because you’ll be ready then. 

“Who cares what boys like anyways?” he mumbles, kissing your kneecap appreciatively. 

“I just don’t wanna mess it up, Pete. I really like you.” 

“You can’t mess it up, it’s not like that, we’re not like that. You mean a whole lot more to me than that,” he says, giving your thigh a squeeze. You meet his eyes with less shyness now, the beginnings of a smile like twitches at the corners of your mouth. “I like you more than you like me, anyways. You can string me along. String me up, if you want.” 

“String you up where?” you ask with a laugh. 

“From that statue on ESU?” 

“What? How would I do that?” 

“Get Spider-Man to help you.” 

You pull the leg he isn’t leaning on up toward your stomach, knee rubbing along the inside of your opposite thigh, the last trace of regret. “You’re sure you don’t care?” 

“Don’t care, don’t mind, just want you to be happy.” He kisses your knee. “I thought you’d know that by now.” 

You brace your face in both hands, letting out a long sigh. “I don’t know what I know when you do that thing to me. How about you keep your legs away from my legs for a little while?” 

Peter smiles like an idiot, hiding his eyes in your knee and his mouth behind your calf. He doesn’t mind being honest, but you’re making him nervous flirting like that and he isn’t allowed to kiss you again tonight. “I– I can do that. No leg stuff.” He leans away from you suddenly. “God, no leg stuff. You’re beautiful, I wish you didn’t worry about me.” 

“I’ll try not to, Pete.”  

[gtgbabie0]

synopsis: {You find yourself under a very stressed, overworked Sherif!Caitlyn’s desk}

Holy horny wtf. !!-18//MDNI-!!

warnings: g!pcaitlyn mean!caitlyn assistant!reader hair pulling rough blowjob ‘puppy’ ‘slut’ dacryphilia smut no plot.

You don’t have a backbone. You’re far too obedient, to a fault really. Maybe the blame wasn’t completely on you— I mean what woman in their right mind would ever refuse to get on her hands and knees for Piltovers Sheriff? None other than the Caitlyn Kiramman herself. You were lucky.

You knew you were lucky it didn’t take a damn rocket scientist to read the looks of jealousy everyone shot at you in the department— seething at the fact you got special treatment, to be the assistant of Topside's finest shot and god did you absolutely drink it up, sometimes in the literal sense, like now for example.

Pathetically whimpering around the thickness of her cock— spit and cum foaming at the corners of your lips as Caitlyn’s fingers tighten in your hair, urging you deeper into her crotch until your nose was nestled into that dark patch of hair. You can take more of her, she knows you can. It’s not the first time you’ve kneeled in between her thighs, tucked under her work desk after a long day of paperwork.

“That’s it— such a pretty mouth.” Her accent is heavier, rougher around the edges in a half-assed attempt at holding back those moans you’re trying so desperately to pull out from her. “Oh— fuck, s’mine— that little mouth belongs to me, huh?”

“Mmhm!— yours.” Your sounds are muffled around her cock, the vibrations causing her to tug a little sharper at your locks which only makes you moan and her seethe, suddenly pulling you back— the emptiness in your mouth has you whimpering in protest, brows all furrowed.

“Fucking watch it, slut.” Caitlyn snaps, dark eyes narrowed into mean slits— glaring down at you as she drags her thumb over the slick, pillowy flesh of your bottom lip, collecting the filthy mix of spit and cum and pushing it back into your overly eager mouth. “Or I’ll find another cock-sleeve, you don’t want that do you?” Her threat pierces something deep inside you, because what were you without her, without this?!

You’re immediately shaking your head, looking up at her from where you’re kneeling on the hardwood floor, hidden beneath her dark mahogany desk, through thick— wet lashes all pleadingly like some neglected puppy. “Uh-uh! no— no, I’ll do better!” shiny lips pouting, “I swear!”

Caitlyn doesn’t know whether she wants to keep pushing, just to see you spill a few tears or to soothe you. Oh, you make it so hard for her. Painfully hard.

She presses the tip of her cock against your mouth, rubbing the sticky pre-cum over your lips as you wait so patiently for her command— “Go on, take it like a good puppy.”

Your eyes light up, fingertips digging into her toned thighs as you take her length back into your mouth with the help of her guiding hands that were nothing but rough— forcing the head of her cock to the back of your throat until your gagging around her, those pretty little tears finally trickling down your cheeks— making her throb in your mouth.

And you— in all your eagerness to make her cum— let her do it again until she’s bobbing your head up and down by the roots of your hair along her shaft to feel each stroke of the wet heat that is your mouth, the way your tongue twitches beneath the heaviness of her cock, how your cheeks hollow out around her. “Want my cum puppy— fuck— huh?” She pants, looking down at you with a smirk, “Gonna take it all down that pretty little throat f’me, yeah?”

You gargle some incoherent nonsense, salvia dribbling down your chin, staring up at her with those wide glossy eyes— practically begging her to shoot her load into your mouth. Caitlyn knows you want it more so by the way your throat bobs, your hips grind and how those freshly manicured nails nip into her thighs— she could only imagine how soaked you were, the fabric your panties drenched. The thought of how easily she could slip into that tight cunt of yours nearly sends her right off the edge.

“Oh— fuckin’ take it, puppy.” She groans, her hips bucking carelessly into your mouth, eyes rolling to the back of her head at the feeling of you moaning around her— “Such a good cum-slut all for her Sheriff.”

Caitlyn’s head tips back against her chair, “Fuck— gonna cum— m’gonna— ah— ah fuck.” a strangled noise rips from the back of her throat, whining, as she empties herself down your throat, her cock twitching in your hot mouth. Her fingers tightening into the roots of your hair as you take her load— drinking up every last drop of her hot sticky cum, feeling it trickle down your chin thickly.

Her gaze flutters back down to you— loving how absolutely debauched you look, hair a mess, eyes all watery, cheeks tear stricken. Her own personal fuck toy. She pulls you back, thumb caressing over your jaw soothingly and you don’t stop yourself from leaning into her palm needily. “Look at you, such a pretty puppy.” Her fingertips graze over your chin, collecting her cum back up only to smear it over your glossy lips, her eyes darkening in awe— “So fucking pretty.”

[kxsagi]

reader telling bllk boys (i request rin, sae, isagi, shidou and whoever else you want 😉) their waxer or whatever they re called 😭 cancelled and maybe reader and bf are going on vacation so reader turns to him and asks if he could do her brazilian wax 🙏🏼

“𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐱𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐟”

a/n: THIS REQUEST LMAOAAOAOAO

i’ve never been waxed before anywhere, but i am lowkey curious on what it’s like (i need a woman to do it for me, not even a boyfriend). and thinking about it… reader has a lot of trust if she’s just gonna ask them that straight-up i could never 😭

ft. itoshi rin, itoshi sae, isagi yoichi, shidou ryusei (definitely suggestive + saved the best for last trust)

itoshi rin

rin was scrolling through his phone when you randomly turned to him and went: 

“hey… my waxer cancelled. can you do my brazilian wax?”

he didn’t even blink. just slowly turned his head toward you with the most judgmental side-eye you’ve ever seen. 

“… what.” 

“come onnn. it can’t be that hard,” you grinned, batting your lashes. 

rin blinked once. twice. then stared at you like you had just asked him to perform open-heart surgery with a spoon. 

“no.” 

you pouted. “why not?” 

“because i play soccer, not whatever the hell that is.” 

but you were relentless. you hit him with the puppy eyes, clinging to his arm dramatically, whining about how your shared vacation was coming up and you were running out of time. 

and like the whipped man he secretly was, he finally gave in with a defeated sigh. 

“… fine. but if i mess it up, it’s your fault.” 

so there he was, sitting on the bathroom floor with the most concentrated expression of his life, holding the wax strip like it was a ticking time bomb. 

he hesitated for a good ten seconds before muttering, “this is a mistake,” under his breath. 

and then he yanked. 

you screamed, grabbing his wrist in reflex. 

“rin, what the fuck –”

he stared down at you, horrified. 

“… did i just rip off your entire skin?”

this man deadass thought he had maimed you for life. 

he immediately started apologizing like he had committed war crimes, swearing he would never do this again. 

but lowkey? he got weirdly good at it by the third strip and started acting cocky about it. 

“you doubted me,” he muttered smugly, holding up the next strip like a trophy. 

sir. this isn’t a game show. 

itoshi sae

you brought it up so casually while the two of you were packing for your vacation. 

“oh, by the way, my waxer cancelled. can you do my brazilian wax?” 

sae didn’t even look up from his suitcase. 

“yeah, sure.”

you blinked. “… wait, what?” 

“what?” he shrugged, tossing a pair of swim trunks into his bag. “it’s just hair. i’ll rip it off or whatever.” 

you stared at him, slightly disturbed by how unfazed he was. 

“you’re… way too calm about this.” 

“should i be scared?” he asked, raising a brow. “it’s just waxing. not rocket science.” 

you squinted at him suspiciously. 

“have you done this before?”

sae simply smirked and walked off, leaving you with more questions than answers. 

when it was finally time, he showed up with zero hesitation. 

he was so calm and composed, gently smoothing the wax strip down like he was making a PB&J sandwich. 

“sae, you’re supposed to rip it fast –”

he yanked it off before you could even finish. 

you winced, grabbing his wrist. 

but sae, completely unfazed, inspected the strip like some kind of waxing connoisseur. 

“huh. smooth,” he muttered with a nod of approval. 

bro was judging his own craftsmanship like it was a professional art piece. 

the worst part? he was good at it. 

like… weirdly good. 

at one point, he paused mid-wax to squint at the strip and mutter: 

“hmm. could’ve angled it better. should’ve pulled with the hair growth.”

you just stared at him, blinking in disbelief. 

“why do you sound like you’ve done this before?”

“don’t worry about it.”

isagi yoichi

you brought it up while the two of you were watching TV. 

“baby boy… my waxer cancelled. can you do my brazilian wax?”

isagi immediately choked on his drink. 

“huh?!?!” he coughed, eyes wide as he slapped his chest dramatically. 

he stared at you like you had just asked him to sacrifice his firstborn. 

“you – you want me to what?!”

you repeated your request so casually, like you were asking him to pass you the remote. 

“come on, yoichi. it’s not a big deal.”

“NOT A BIG DEAL?!”

bro was panicking. 

“baby girl, i love you, but i don’t think i’m… i’m qualified for that. i mean, what if i mess it up? what if i accidentally rip off… i don’t know, something important?”

you laughed, rolling your eyes. “you’re being dramatic.”

“no, you’re being insane,” he shot back, already sweating. 

somehow, you convinced him with your persuasive pouting powers, and that’s how isagi ended up kneeling on the bathroom floor, holding the wax strip with shaky hands. 

“baby… i’m scared,” he mumbled, voice trembling. 

you squinted at him. “yoichi. you play in literal life-or-death matches.”

“yeah, but THIS? this is real danger.”

he counted down like he was about to defuse a bomb. 

“three… two… one –”

he ripped it off, eyes squeezed shut. 

you yelped, grabbing his wrist in reflex. 

isagi, panicking, immediately blurted: 

“I’M SORRY, I’M SORRY, I’M SORRY!”

his hands were shaking as he inspected the strip, his eyes wide in horror. 

“i think i just ruined your entire vacation.”

poor boy was so stressed that he had to lie down afterward, claiming he needed to “recover emotionally.” 

shidou ryusei

you were folding laundry when you casually turned to shidou and asked: 

“hey babe, my waxer cancelled. can you do my brazilian wax?”

he didn’t even hesitate. 

“hell yeah. where’s the wax?”

you blinked. “wait, seriously?”

“yeah, why not?” he grinned, cracking his knuckles. “i’m gonna rip that shit off with the wrath of god.”

you immediately started rethinking your life choices, but it was too late. 

shidou was already holding the wax strip like a man on a mission. 

“you ready, babe?” he smirked, cracking his neck like he was about to bench press 300 pounds. 

“wait –”

he ripped the strip off with the force of a thousand suns. 

you screamed, grabbing his arm. 

and this mf had the audacity to grin and go: 

“damn. you’re smooth as hell.” 

you glared at him, tears in your eyes. 

“ryusei, what the FUCK.”

but he was having the time of his life. 

“you got any more strips? this is fun as hell.”

he genuinely offered to finish the whole wax, lowkey getting competitive with himself, trying to make each pull smoother and faster. 

and when he was finally done, he just leaned back on the bathroom counter, arms crossed, and smirked smugly. 

“not gonna lie, babe. i kinda missed my calling. think i’m gonna open a waxing salon.” 

“i’m never asking you for anything ever again.”

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[dcxdpdabbles]

#holiday requests

i wouldn't mind more royal consort if you're willing to write it

just sent a request for royal consort as anon

There was panic all around the room, but Danny couldn't focus on anything for too long with all his senses so overwhelmed. He was suspended in the air, power rolling through and over him in busts of electricity. He can feel himself being ripped apart, rearranged, and placed back in the same way he had been when he was fourteen, but this time, the feeling is prolonged.

The portal does so again and again and again until Danny can't tell what he is anymore. Oddly enough, it's relatively peaceful. There had been no ripping pain when his necklace and portal transmitter had connected, but there had been an overwhelming sense of cold.

It was as if Danny had been plunged into iced water, spreading across his body like a tidal wave. Danny would have almost relaxed into the portal's form if it wasn't for the pins and needles that followed each wave.

Maybe it was worse for Jaz, who was fully human when they did this to her, but Danny had Phantom to fall back on. In more ways than one, given the army his future self has summoned and the insane amount of killing intent that Phantom was broadcasting.

If he could pick up on it from within this ball of semi-consciousness, he bet everyone else was likely drowning in Phantom's rage.

The dead knights fling themselves towards the portal with gusto, slamming their swords and bodies against the force field. Each strict flung Danny further from reality, drawing them back into the welcoming void of numbness, only to be ripped back by another cold wave.

"Danny, focus!" Phantom voice boomed. "You have become the key! Close the damn portal!"

Danny blinks slowly, trying to comprehend what the words mean, until a bolt of lightning zaps out of his fingertips, twisting into the outer layer of the portal. It's then he knows the horrible truth.

The world's end is coming, and Danny is the cause of it. The portal makes a strange zapping sound before it starts stabilizing and expanding. The first large ship was passing through, leaning in like a bizarre docking ship.

"Danny!" Phantom yells, more than a bit desperate. His call reminds him of the future and what will come if he doesn't stop the monsters now. He curls his hands, grabbing the power that made him King, and yanks his arms together. His forearms shake from the effort, but he holds on, willing everything to return.

The air goes boom as the portal starts dragging things inwards instead of out, as he commands the thing to call back the aliens. The ships and the few foot soldiers- lizard-looking men- are yanked right out of the air and thrown back into a new white portal.

It takes Danny a moment to realize the animalistic screaming is coming from him as the portal slowly retracts all the energy it has thrown out. He wills the portal's power to retreat into his chest, overflowing his core with energy that spins and whirls in a tornado.

He instinctively curls up, wanting to escape the pain when he feels the cracks take shape in his core. The breaking apart of the center of his soul echoes through his skull, drowning out all other noise.

"No!" Phantom's horrified screech exploded into a ghostly Wail, ripping around the mother ship, attempting to push past. Since Danny yanked the edge inwards, it pushed beside Danny instead of through him. It had turned on its primary thrusters. The rockets burn against the strain of escaping Dany's gravitation pull and force their way through the small gap in the top left of the portal.

On the deck, more lizard-looking poachers are ripped to spreads. Their screams let Danny know Phantom had wanted them to die and die painfully. The Ghostly wail was a sonic attack, but it didn't skin enemies unless Phantom purposely rolled his tongue like that.

In a sense, Phantom had turned his wailing vibrations into whip lashes at a speed that only the Flash or Superman could outrun. The aliens had no chance.

Danny peeks through one pain-filled eye, watching as Phantom's lips curl, even as the poachers are scrambling to collect their dead. He knew that his future self hated these creatures, and they had ruined Earth in two short years, but he had not realized the amount of hate that burned in those glowing green eyes.

Hate enough that when Phantom started throwing glowing punches, the ground shook. The few people the Waynes hadn't been able to evaluate shouted as the King turned off the gravity. Everything started flouting, and Danny could even spot some cars outside lifting into the air.

Phantom didn't seem to notice as his features started melting into something inhuman, sharper, colder, and green glow expanding from his pupils across his entire eyes as punch after punch hit the force field.

A few scouter ships broke away from the portal, but they were quickly swarmed by the flouting undead soldiers who aggressively sliced the smaller vessels with their blades. Danny knew why his future self hated them, not the skeleton soldiers. Maybe they just like to fight.

A loud crack echoes through the room over ghostly wails, blowing wind, screams, and metal clacks. The sound is similar to breaking glass, shattering as Danny's core falls apart.

Danny's back arches as a scream that tears at his vocal cords is ripped from his throat. The portal around them crumbles, closing at the tip of the mother ship, tearing it apart. Just as it vanishes from sight, everyone floating around the Consort can see it slowly burst into flames on the other side.

The portal slams shut just as Phantom's fist shatters the force field. "NO!"

His head feels heavy, much too heavy for his neck, as he flouts up toward the torn-up ceiling. Gravity is still missing as Phantom swims towards him; his features melt back into more human ones as he wraps his arms around him. "You little idiot. Do you have any idea of what you just did?"

"Saved...Jazz," He manages to grunt out, smiling through the pain. Phantom's arms spam around him.

"You didn't just change the future. You rewrote our fate." As if on cue, Clockwork's amulet turns into dust. Phantom's timeline was gone.

He would have also turned to dust were he still in it, but since he was outside the timeline, Phantom would now live in this one as a permanent member.

Phantom's eyes soften. "You saved more than just Jazz. I'll send our armies to kill them off now that I saw which galaxy the rats were hiding in."

Danny's shaky smile wobbles as the numbness in his body starts to retreat. It leaves licks of burning, aching pain, and he whimpers, leaning his head against his counterpart's chest. "It hurts...."

"You shattered your core." Phantom whispers, almost as if he knows the loud noises hurt Danny's head. It thumped in time with his heartbeat, sending little shockwaves of agony through his bones. "We'll have to take you to FrostBite. But I can't take you without knowing who had the portal key. We can't risk them calling the army before our men finish them off. Pandora is leading the charge against them right now."

"Okay....it was the Wayne Butler who had the key. He needs help."

Phantom's arms tighten as furry rippled under his skin. "He's a dead man."

"No." Danny attempts to shake his head, but the motion is too much for his poor shot nerves. He thinks his fingertips are smoking when he curls one hand in Phantom's cape. "He was in the containment unit. An alien took his place. I think it was pretending to be him."

Phantom hums. "That was one of their favorite tactics. I chased them across the cosmos. I saw them collect other aliens on some protected planets, so they resorted to luring people away by using familiar faces."

Danny makes the same sound, half awake. "They stripped him naked. Covered him in triangles."

"Fuck. What color were the tringles?"

"Blue."

"They weren't going to sell him as a pet. They planned on marketing him a breeding bull or an expensive meat plater for aliens that like exotic animals. Likely due to the poor guy's age." Phantom hisses, pushing a floating table away from them. "What happened to the alien that was pretending to be him?"

"Killed him"

"Good job." Phantom pats his back. "Rest now. I'll handle the rest."

"Okay." Danny is releasing the few strands of consciousness when he hears Tim Drake's desperate call from Phantom's left. It's much closer than it should be, considering they were still flouting near where the once grand chandelier had hung.

"Your majesty! Please turn the gravity back on! The surrounding fifty miles radius is in a panic, and people are flouting away!"

Phantom sighs, his cape flaring dramatically as he adjusts Danny to snap his fingers. There are clacks and crashes as gravity yanks everything back to the floor. Phantom doesn't pay them any mind as a new green portal blooms in front of him, the swirling green like a calm lake surface, a welcoming difference to the zapping one of the enemy.

Phantom steps through, ignoring the cries of the humans. The portal closes on Tim's desperate "Please allow us to help the Consort!"

Strange, Thinks the injured Halfa. He shouldn't sound so close anymore. He should be on the ground somewhere.

Danny just knows they will be panicking about him being hurt. Didn't wars start because of similar situations whenever a royal visits a different country? Danny isn't too sure. His mind is fuzzy, and he's only awake because he hasn't been surrounded by darkness yet, but he's flouting near it."

Frostbite jumps to his feet with a slack jaw. He bends in a bow, stumbling around his desk's stacked scrolls and research papers.

"My King!" He cries, his eyes swinging back and forth between the two Dannies. The yeti bows again, a little more hesitant as he mutters, "And my other..... King? What is happening?"

"We need your help," Phantom tells him. "His soul core got shattered. I think he's dying."

Danny whimpers, only half aware of how serious this is. He doesn't want to die. Not like this. Please. Everyone still thinks he's married to himself. He'll forever be remembered as Phantom's Consort instead of all his other talents.

Like making one mean salsa.

Frostbite makes a sad, choking whine, but Phantom doesn't pay it any mind. He presses Danny closer, and the human can feel the vibrations of his voice on his chest as he demands. "Prepare your operation chambers. I'm giving him my core."

"But, My King, that would mean you....."

"I don't care. I didn't return to Earth expecting to live. This is a command from your King. Do it"

Danny fades away into the darkness, unable to protest Phantom's request. He goes limb in the strong arms of his future self, aching for the version of himself that saw his world destroyed and would not be able to see the peace their actions brought.

Frostbite's grim voice echoes in the darkness. "This is another way, my King, but we need a human sacrifice."

"I'll do it." A third, unexpected voice cuts in, and Danny identifies it as Tim Drake before he knows no more.

[bramblebeau]

Alright I told myself I wouldn't interact with fandom when s2 came out, and I haven't and don't plan to except to say this about people deciding Caitlyn is the Worst or that the writing is OOC.

As someone who has had a family member violently killed, I cannot stress how much it shakes up everything you thought you were and stood for. My beliefs in proportionate compassionate justice and the rights of all human beings are some of the strongest I have (stronger now because of the way that experience affected me personally), but they were pushed to the absolute limit when it came to an individual who had killed my loved one, showed no remorse, and laughed in our faces outside court, among other things.

People generally like to believe it wouldn't be them or their peace-loving family members being talked down from seriously considering violent revenge, consequences be damned. People like to believe they wouldn't lash out at people closest to them under that pressure, that they wouldn't build walls around the kindest and most sensitive parts of themselves because those parts are the ones feeling pain you never thought possible, that they wouldn't stalk the killer, make notes on all their family and friends, and fuck up their hands punching walls in anger wishing so badly it was flesh and bone because they can't handle the fact that there's no way to turn back time to stop it all from happening. People like to think they're "better" than that. But the reality is messy and painful as hell.

With Caitlyn, she has the added guilt of having actually had the opportunity to stop Jinx before she fired the rocket, but she hesitated just long enough for it to result in the deaths of her mother and other councillors and in the cities being plunged into chaos. Not only that, but the person close to her she's lashing out at is the person who caused her to hesitate, and just so happens to be the sister of the killer.

Furthermore, her behaviour is entirely in character. We have seen her set up as someone who becomes obsessed with achieving a goal and will do pretty much anything she wants to get there. In S1, we agreed with her methods because her goal was exposing and taking down Silco, and because it led to Vi being released. In S2, she's doing a similar thing but it's fuelled by fear and a type of pain she doesn't know how to deal with, rather than being fuelled by a need to prove herself and solve a case, and it leads to her making morally questionable decisions and to hurting Vi. She admits herself, albeit privately to Vi, that she does not know what she's doing and doesn't know how to fill this hole in her chest (and the hole in the city leadership). She has been sheltered from the real world for almost all her life, and as a result she has no experience of functioning or making decisions under this kind of pressure. The real world blew up in her face in the worst way and she was given power and a loaded rifle, and then shoved into an even more elevated position by a very experienced warlord who is manipulating the shit out of the whole situation.

I'm not saying that you have free rein to hurt people when you're grieving and facing extreme stress. (If you think that's what I'm saying then idk I'm not sure there's much hope for you in terms of critical thinking skills). What I'm saying is that Caitlyn is exhibiting pretty normal human behaviour that most people would be susceptible to in those circumstances, not the behaviour of someone who is some kind of heartless abusive bastard.

TLDR: Caitlyn is being written in a way that completely makes sense and is also not OOC, and if someone told me there would be no chance of them reacting in similar ways I simply would not believe them.

[corollaservant]

(18+) blue hair shiggy (perv) boyfriend thoughts

shiggy is not your typical panty sniffing perv. he gets off on things with sentimental value, things that remind him of you. a hair tie that fell off, how it'd look if for once he could normally use his bare hands to hook it around your hair while you choke on his cock, teardrops hanging off your eyelashes. the spoon you left behind with your saliva on it, how it would look to have you spit on his hands for once only for him to stuff your cunt fully with them, hell, he'd use as many fingers as possible if it meant he could properly touch you and make you cum for him. [he'd store the utensil in his room and never wash it]

since he's also had a very abusive and stigmatizing childhood, his trauma would reflect on his fucking. he'd call you a whore and spit on your face while you'd ride his dick but would expect you to thank him while you're at it.

"say you're thankful for this" he'd hiss while guiding you to bounce on him; "t–thank you Tenko" you'd cry out, he has never been complimented or thanked before, he needs you to see him, needs you to feel his pain and appreciate his efforts while he takes out all his pent-up anger on you. this dynamic allows him to lash out and be on the receiving end simultaneously and you don't really mind.. it's not like you lie when you thank him, you don't get fucked like this daily.

fingers. okay, it's not rocket science that he knows how to delicately (and not) use them. but because exactly he's touch starved due to these restrictions, he makes sure to not only pump them in ways that drive you crazy but also to remember the exact angle and position.

multitasking — man will be on your neck, in your cunt and on your clit at the same time. he's just that desperate.

[daryltwdixon]

Can you do Daryl with an intelligent girl who maybe came from the same trailer park but went to nursing school or something

Summary: Daryl never could accept the fact that you were leaving him. He knew you were meant for more than the trailer park, that you were making something of yourself, chasing the kind of life he never thought he could touch. But that didn’t make it hurt any less when you got accepted into nursing school. So he did what he always did—lashed out with sharp, thoughtless words he didn’t mean, and let you walk away before he could ask you to stay.

|| angst, hurt with delayed comfort, tp!daryl, farm!daryl, kind of established relationship with no label, the man has a lotta feelings and has no clue how to handle them || notes: I'm so sorry this is probs NOT what you were expecting but god I love angsty Daryl. This is like what the ruins of us could’ve been if they’d just accepted their feelings.

The porch creaked when you stepped out, half-empty beer in one hand, the other bracing against the chipped doorframe. The air smelled like hot asphalt and cheap cigarettes—someone in the next lot over still had their music playing, something low and twangy.

Daryl was leaning against the railing, a nearly empty bottle dangling from his fingers. But he wasn’t where you left him—not lounged into the second rocking chair, hidden in the corner of the porch out of the baking sun like usual. He was standing now, stiff-backed and still, staring down at the paper in his hands.

“You weren’t even gonna tell me,” he muttered without looking at you, and he held up the paper.

Your opened acceptance letter.

You blinked. “I was. I am.”

His jaw tightened, like he didn’t believe you. Or maybe he didn’t want to. He dropped the letter onto the small cigarette littered table by the door. “So that’s it, then? You’re just leavin’.”

You stepped down from the doorframe to stand beside him, the wood warm from the sun even this late. “I told you I was applying. Daryl, they gave me a full ride scholarship. That’s not just—”

“Yeah, I know what it is,” he snapped. His arms folded across his chest like armor. “Ain’t gotta talk to me like I’m stupid.”

Your mouth opened, then shut. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Silence stretched out between you, thick and restless. The cicadas screamed in the trees. Down the road, a truck rumbled past with its headlights off.

“I thought you’d be happy for me,” you said after a long beat. Voice quieter now, uncertain.

Daryl let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah? Well, guess I ain’t real good at pretendin’.”

You stared at him, trying to find the softness underneath all that bark, the boy who used to hand you bottle rockets and steal peaches from old man Gentry’s tree. The man who held you close at night, who kissed you in the bed of his truck on summer evening at the drive in.

“Why are you bein’ like this?”

He finally turned to look at you, and you wished he hadn’t. His eyes were sharp and wild and wounded.

“’Cause you’re actin’ like this place never meant nothin’ to you. Like I never meant nothin’.”

That landed hard. Your chest pinched around it.

“That’s not fair.”

“No?” His voice rose just a little. “You get to run off, play nurse, start some new life, and what? I just stay here? Fix Merle’s shit, watch Pop drink himself to death?”

“I never asked you to stay here.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t ask me to come with you, neither.”

That stopped you cold. Because you hadn’t. You hadn’t even thought to.

“Daryl…”

He looked away again, chewing at the inside of his cheek. Angry. Embarrassed. Small.

“You’ve always thought you were better than this place,” he muttered. “Better than me.”

You stood up then, heart pounding, beer forgotten. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. I’ve fought for everything. I worked my ass off to get outta here.”

He nodded, jaw working. “Yeah. And now you get to go patch up college boys and drink your little lattes and forget all about the rest of us.”

“You think I’m gonna forget you?”

“Ain’t that what you do?” he shot back, standing up, crowding your space. “Climb high enough, leave the rest of us in the mud.”

It hurt. God, it hurt more than you thought it would. More than it should’ve.

“I loved you,” you said, voice shaking. “I love you, Daryl. But I can’t stay here and rot just to prove it.”

Daryl’s mouth opened. Closed. He didn’t know what to do with that. With love. Especially not yours.

So he did what he always did. He lashed out.

“Go play nurse for all them rich boys,” he said, tone flat. “Bet they’ll eat that shit up.”

You flinched like he’d hit you. Over and over like each word he spewed as a hit to your gut.

The porch lights buzzed above you. Inside, the old box fan in the window rattled against the frame. You suddenly hated this place. Hated how it was in your lungs, in your clothes, how it would never let him go.

“I’ll call,” you said, softer now.

Daryl shook his head, not looking at you as he stepped off the porch into the Georgia night.

“Don’t bother.”

Daryl

Fourth day out.

The sun was high, thick in the trees. The air pressed down on Daryl like it had weight, clinging to the sweat on his back, his neck, the inside of his shirt. His legs ached, but it didn’t slow him. Nothing would. Not yet. Not until he found Sophia or dropped dead trying.

He hadn’t slept right in days. Couple hours here and there. Rested up in trees like he used to, one eye open. Rick kept saying they had to keep faith. Carol was hanging on by threads. And the others...hell, most of them didn’t believe she was alive anymore.

But Daryl did. Because she had to be.

The heat made his vision blur around the edges.

He’d been walking since sunrise, following signs—scrapes on bark, half a shoe print in the mud that might not’ve even been hers. But it was something.

His body was on autopilot now. Step, scan, step. Branches slapped at his arms. Sweat stung his eyes. He barely felt it.

He dragged the back of his dirty hand across his forehead, took another few steps up the ridge, eyes scanning the trail ahead. The air felt different here. Cooler. Stiller.

He paused.

Listened.

Something moved through the trees—soft, fast. Too light for a walker, too smooth for a deer. The trees were quiet. That kind of quiet that made his skin crawl, like the whole world was holding its breath.

Daryl raised his crossbow without thinking. “Sophia?” he called, voice rough from hours of silence.

No answer. Just another rustle. Closer. He moved toward it, careful.

And then... You stepped into view.

And the world stopped.

You looked like a ghost. Not clean, not untouched—no one was anymore. He couldn't tell if he was hallucinating or not. Standing there in jeans stained at the knees, a pack slung over your shoulder, sun catching in your hair like it always had.

His lungs quit working.

Then you said his name.

And Daryl Dixon, who had gutted walkers, walked through fire, faced death over and over, had flinched.

He knew your voice. Knew it better than anything. Could’ve picked it out blindfolded in a storm, could’ve followed it straight into hell. And here it was, soft and real and saying his name like he hadn’t shattered everything the last time you stood in front of him.

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His brain went blank and loud all at once—static and screaming, every memory shoving itself forward like it had claws.

The memory of the last time he saw you, a memory he only saw in dreams now because he would shove it away every time it surfaced in the days afterward, was fresh behind his eyes. The things he said—sharp, stupid things—just to make you feel as bad as he did. You’d looked at him like he’d broken something between you, something that couldn’t be put back.

Now you were here.

And you didn’t hesitate. You ran.

Boots hitting the earth fast and sure, arms open, crashing into him like you were sure he’d catch you—and he did, though his feet stumbled back a step and his breath seized like he’d taken a hit to the ribs. For a heartbeat, he didn’t move. Couldn’t. He still wasn't entirely sure he wasn't hallucinating. That maybe he was dying on the ground from heat stroke and you were some angel come to take him to hell.

But your arms were real. Solid around his shoulders. Your body warm against his. And then his own arms, slow and unsure, wrapped around you like they were remembering something they hadn’t felt in years. They settled there—tight, desperate, almost trembling—and then he buried his face into the curve of your neck, because there was nowhere else in the world he wanted to be.

You still smelled the same, now with the undeniable scent of dirt and sweat from months of survival on your own. But you still had that faint, warm sweetness that had haunted him on nights he couldn’t sleep. His fingers clenched at the fabric of your shirt, bringing you closer to him like he was scared you’d disappear again. And for the first time in a long time, he let himself breathe. Let himself feel.

You held him like no time had passed. Like the years hadn’t hollowed both of you out. Like he hadn’t said the one thing he regretted more than anything in the whole damn world.

And that… forgiveness? That grace? That mercy cracked something open in his chest. Because maybe you remembered every word. Maybe you hadn’t forgotten a thing. But you were still here. Still choosing him.

He’d expected a reckoning if he ever saw you again. Silence. Distance. Maybe a slap. But instead, he got this. You pressed against him. Breathing him in. Holding him like coming back was never a question.

And he was surprised when it didn’t feel like punishment.

Because it felt like hope.

And when he finally opened his mouth, the words barely made it out.

“I’m sorry,” he shuddered into you.

“I know,” you breathed.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands still warm where they rested on his shoulders. Your eyes searched his face, like you were trying to find all the pieces he’d buried and put them back together.

And then you did the thing he’d tried hardest to forget. The thing that twisted in his gut whenever it surfaced in the dark. The thing that lived somewhere just behind his ribs, where no one else could reach.

You kissed him.

And Daryl didn’t stop you.

Couldn’t.

He kissed you back, rough and aching, like something in him had come loose. Like all the time between then and now had built up behind his ribs, waiting to crack open the second your mouth touched his. There was no thought, no hesitation. Just instinct. Just you. His hand found your waist, pulled you in, desperate to feel all of you—solid, breathing, here.

The first kiss was quick. Too quick. Like he was afraid to take too much. But then you leaned into him, your hands curling into the back of his sleeveless shirt, and whatever hold he thought he had on himself snapped like dry twigs.

He kissed you harder. Messier. His mouth pressed to yours with a kind of hunger he didn’t know he still had in him. You were warm under his hands, grounding. Familiar and different all at once. And God, the way you held onto him—like you wanted this. Like you still wanted him—it nearly dropped him to his knees.

He didn’t even realize he was shaking until you slid your hands up to his shoulders, steadying him. He pressed his forehead to yours between kisses, trying to breathe, trying to think, but nothing made sense except your mouth and your hands and the way your breath caught when he kissed the corner of your lips.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, breathless, eyes squeezing shut like it hurt to say it. They were the only words he knew right then. Everything else was too big, too messy. But those—those three words—were the truth. They scraped up from somewhere deep, somewhere buried, and left him raw. “I’m sorry.”

He felt you nod, felt your hands curl tighter in his shirt, grounding him.

“It’s okay, Daryl,” you breathed, the words quiet but certain. He barely had time to register the sound of them before your fingers slid into his hair, fisting the short, sweaty strands around your knuckles. “It’s okay.”

He let out a ragged breath. His eyes stayed shut, like if he looked at you too long, it might break the spell. No one said things like that to him. Not like they meant it. Not without an edge, not without a catch. But you did. You always had.

The woods were quiet around you, all dappled light and heat rising from the earth. His hands stayed on your waist, thumbs brushing your skin just beneath the hem of your shirt. Not thinking about it, not trying to start anything—just needing that contact. That proof.

He finally opened his eyes, just a crack.

You were already looking at him.

Not with pity. Not with anger. Just that same steady gaze you’d always had when he was trying to hold himself together and failing miserably. Like you saw straight through all the armor and decided to stay anyway.

He swallowed hard. His throat was tight.

“You’re really here,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

“Yeah,” you said, smiling just a little. “I am.”

He let out a quiet laugh—barely a breath. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever find you.”

And that hit something deep. He dipped his head, pressed his forehead to yours. Just stayed there. Breathing the same air, feeling the same weight settle between you.

It didn’t feel like a dream anymore.

It felt like a second chance.

And slowly—like you both knew there was nowhere else to go—you leaned in at the same time.

This kiss wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t about need.

It was about recognition.

About two people who had been carrying the same ache for too long finally setting it down.

[3minsover]

Steddie who keep missing each other. Who aren't in love at the same time. It's neither of their faults; they're just not quite in touch, in tune with each other.

Sure, Eddie had a stupid huge embarrassing crush on Steve throughout junior year, senior year and senior year 2.0. Sure, it was made so much worse when in Steve's first and only senior year, Eddie found himself sat in math class diagonally behind the fallen king. He'd watch the way his hair moved when he ran his hands through it in frustration. He'd see the shift of muscle under his shirt when he bent down to pick up a dropped pencil. And every time Steve would smile, flutter his lashes and pinch his eyebrows, say; "I'm sorry sir, I just don't know", Eddie would find himself shifting in his seat, nipping at the skin on the side of his finger, knee bouncing under the desk. They didn't really talk beyond 'hey's in the corridor, beyond 'did you do the homework?'s - to which Eddie would without fail stutter out an 'Uh- so, no. I meant to- Just, uh. No.' and Steve would without fail flash a soft smile, bump his shoulder into Eddie's and whisper 'Me neither.'

It got easier, after Steve graduated. Eddie still saw him around, still recognised his car in the lot when he was giving Robin Buckley from band a ride to school. But it wasn't so immediate, wasn't so raw. And after a while, the butterflies would fade. He'd be able to meet Steve's eye across the Family Video counter without feeling his mouth go dusty and his heart leap into his throat.

Steve hadn't realised his feelings for Eddie were anything more than friendly, until he graduated high school. Without the daily glances across the classroom, the moments he'd always take to make conversation, it felt emptier. It gave him time to think about the way his chest would tighten at Eddie's shy smile whenever they talked. Steve hadn't realised he might be allowed to feel something softer than 'dudely bro-ship'.

That is, until it fades so the only time Steve sees him is when he drops Robin off at school, or when he comes in to family video to rent Halloween again. Steve's heart prickles at the sight of him, but after a while, Eddie's visits drop off.

Steve tries to keep himself busy, grateful for some time without inter-dimensional battles or Russian agents trying to kill him. Thoughts of Eddie drift to the back of his mind, for almost six months. And then in the spring of '86, Steve finds himself thrown against the splintered wall of a nondescript boathouse on the outskirts of town. And it's Eddie Munson from Math that has a shaking, jagged bottle held up to his throat. It absolutely doesn't awaken things in him that he never knew he could want, absolutely not.

But regardless, he's staring half-terrified into the dark, watery brown eyes of Eddie Munson from Math, and all he wants is to reach out and smooth a palm over his cheek. He wants to curl his hand around those trembling fingers and tell him it's all gonna be okay. Of course, it isn't. Steve doesn't get much of a chance to talk to Eddie over the next week, what with some vampire soul-sucker guy terrorizing the town, and Max getting possessed and the whole thing going entirely to shit. But he finds himself drawn inexplicably into Eddie's space, splits off with Eddie and has the girls pair up and then Eddie calls him 'big boy'. And his entire world stops spinning for a moment. For just a second, it's just the two of them, and Eddie's face is so close to his, his smile so wild and beautiful.

The whole world stops, before it rockets back into thrilling, terrifying motion.

In the fear and the panic of the final Vecna showdown, Steve has to thrust his feelings back down deep. He can't let shit like a crush get in the way when the lives of the people he loves most are at stake.

It all happens so fast, and before he knows it, Max is in a coma, Eddie's been torn up to within an inch of his life, there's no certainty that Vecna's even gone, and he doesn't know what to do.

For days, Steve sits by Eddie's bedside when he can - when he's not with Max - only sleeps when he does. He silently begs for Eddie to be alright, feels guilty for every thought he has that isn't about Max. He begins to resent how desperately he pines for the moments when Eddie's awake, and after a week, once it's clear that Eddie's going to recover, Steve doesn't visit him anymore.

With all the feelings that are getting jumbled amongst the multitude of all the other horrible nasty fragile things that are writhing around inside, Steve forces himself to shove any thoughts of Eddie down, to get over him. And before he realises, it's been weeks. He's still worried for Eddie, of course he is. The guy almost died in Henderson's arms. But now the world's not actively ending, now he has a moment to breathe, he wonders whether the sparking, shimmering thing that had his mouth going dusty and his heart leaping into his throat was the same thing that had him saying all that shit to Nancy in the upside down.

He can't trust that it's not just a trauma response.

After Eddie recovers, slowly and with more help than he'd ever admit he needed, he sees Steve again. But he's distant. Friendly, but impersonal. An acquaintance. Things are as they were before. It hurts, but he knows all too well that any of the flirtation, the playful teasing and longing looks can only be chalked up to the fear of the end of the world.

It's a couple months before Steve tells Eddie he's going to college out of state. He's leaving in a week. And everything that had been laying dormant for so long comes bubbling up to the surface.

"Shit, I wish you'd given me a little more notice, Harrington," Eddie says, trying desperately to keep the heartbreak out of his voice.

"I'm sorry man, I just. It all happened pretty fast and like if I didn't do it now, it wasn't gonna happen, yknow?" Steve shrugs awkwardly, runs a hand through his hair.

If I didn't do it now, it wasn't gonna happen.

"It's gonna be a damn sight harder to like you this much when you're that far away," Eddie's mouth says before his mind can catch up.

"I like you too, man, but hey, I'll be home for Christmas. You can catch me up on everything I miss, huh?" Steve bumps Eddie's shoulder, just as he used to when they were leaning against the lockers back at school.

"No, Steve. I- You're, I mean. I like you. In a- Like I have, I totally have feelings for you, dude," Eddie forces out, watching his sneaker as he kicks at the ground.

"Eddie..." Steve says softly, and it just breaks Eddie's heart even more. Because that's a let-him-down-gently 'Eddie'.

"No, no it's- Don't sweat it man, just sorta had to tell you before you- Anyway. Have fun at college. I'll- I'll be here when you come home."

"Eddie, wait. I'm sorry. I just..." Steve begins, looks so pained, reaches to take hold of Eddie's shoulder. He avoids it, ducks out the way. And then Eddie leaves, before Steve can try to do something awful like making him feel better or tell him it's okay.

Eddie doesn't see Steve again before he goes to college. Hears from Henderson over the next few months how he's getting on, all the babes he's dating, the assignments he's trying to actually do before the deadline, and Eddie forces himself to smile, crack a joke, whatever.

Slowly, he extricates himself from conversations about Steve. Doesn't want to hear it, but can't tell anyone why. So he finds excuses; he has to take a leak, just remembered he promised Wayne he'd pick up groceries, got band practice, whatever he can come up with. He doesn't even hear Steve's name, tries desperately not to think about him (and fails), until December.

Until the evening of December 24th, when there's knock at the trailer door. With Wayne already asleep, Eddie drags himself from the couch to pull the front door open.

Eddie's met with a coat-wrapped, scarf-muffled, bobble-hatted Steve Harrington standing on his doorstep. He’s rocking back and forth on his toes, arms crossed tight around his chest, hands tucked under his arms. His cheeks are pink, the tip of his nose pinker still, nibbled by the cold. He’s just as beautiful as the last time Eddie saw him, and it jerks his heart into frantic motion against his ribs.

He’d thought he was over Steve, that seeing him again would be just like what it is; welcoming home an old friend. Except all Eddie wants to do is take hold of Steve’s frostbitten cheeks, pull his face towards him and kiss him like it’ll erase all the months of pining that had gone before.

Of course, he doesn’t. Instead, he just balks, says "Steve? What are you-?"

"I had to see you. I’m sorry if this is like inappropriate or if you don’t wanna see me- Dustin said you seemed like, mad at me or something. And honestly I can’t blame you, really. I shouldn’t have- it’s not that I didn’t, that I wasn’t. What I’m trying to say, Eddie, is that I know it’s too late. I know I missed my shot. But I haven’t stopped thinking about you for the last four months."

"Steve-"

"I know I have no right to do this to you. But it was killing me, man. Because I think I might have- I think I might be-"

"Me too," Eddie interrupts. His mind’s whirring and tumbling, trying to gather up the pieces of Steve’s fragmented confession. Steve’s jaw hangs open just a little, paused halfway through a word. "I thought it’d gone away. Thought I’d gotten over Steve Harrington," Eddie continues with a sardonic little shimmy of his hands, "but uh, seems you’re a little harder to shake than I thought."

"D'you, d'you want to shake me? Off, I mean," Steve asks, dipping his chin and looking up through thick lashes, a shy, self-conscious suggestion of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

"No. no I don’t."

"Oh thank god. 'Cause I don’t know if I’d survive that," Steve exhales, his small smile spreading into a grin. He rocks forward onto the balls of his feet again, and Eddie finds himself pulled into Steve’s orbit. It doesn’t matter that he’s just in his socks and the doorstep is damp with cold. Eddie crosses the threshold and curls his fingers gently around the lapels of Steve’s coat. Eddie’s struggling to breathe, little puffs bursting forth from his lips and clashing in the air, mixing with Steve’s own.

"Can I-?" Eddie asks, doesn’t dare say the word aloud in case Steve’s not on the same page; gives himself an out if Steve’s not where Eddie’s at. Where he’s always been at, really. It just wasn’t quite at the right time.

"Yes. Please," Steve breathes, sweet frosty breath swirling gray-white around in the thin, chilly air between their faces. Slowly, giving Steve plenty of time to back away, change his mind, Eddie draws Steve towards him, tips his chin until their noses brush. the very peaks of their lips touch, and Steve’s breath hitches at the contact. It’s the prettiest sound Eddie’s ever heard. Eddie sips in a breath, hardly daring to move, and lets Steve nudge their mouths together.

Finally.

Their lips press softly together, and Eddie feels Steve’s hands come to grip at the sides of his sweater, bunching it at his waist. He pulls Eddie towards him, moans softly, just the tiniest hint of voice slipping out and into Eddie’s mouth. A new prettiest sound.

Suddenly aware of their very public, very chilly location, Eddie stumbles backwards, pulls Steve inside with him. Steve follows enthusiastically, kicking the door shut behind him with his heel, lips never leaving Eddie’s for even a moment. They’re entirely wrapped up in each other, even as Eddie frantically unwraps Steve’s cold-proof clothing, lost completely in the feeling of their bodies pressing together.

They took their time, to get here. But now that they are, here is where they’ll stay. It won’t be easy, being apart for long stretches while Steve’s away at college, but now they’ll have a little something of each other’s to keep hold of until they’re together again.

They’ll have the promises they made each other that night, the words whispered against skin, the kisses pressed and breath shared. They’ll have the silent, precious exchange of one heart for another. And that will see them through.

[honeytonedhottie]

incorporating chic-ness and elegance into ur lifetsyle⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🍨

WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO BE CHIC ;

what does it mean to be chic? the word chic is used a lot in conversation but it actually has two meanings. chic (adjective) means to be elegantly and stylishly fashionable. but the meaning of chic that we are going to focus on in todays post is the noun.

CHIC (noun) : stylishness and elegance, typically of a specified kind…💬🎀

when i think of chic people like audrey hepburn and coco chanel. who do you think of when u think of the word chic? once you've thought of people who pop up in ur mind when u think of chic, think about what makes them chic? is it their clothes? the way that they carry and present themselves? is it their influence etc.

THE LITTLE LUXURIES ADD UP TO A CHIC LIFE ;

everyday is a reason to celebrate. you opening ur eyes this morning is a reason to celebrate. which is why i dont understand why people like to "save the beautiful things for celebrations". celebrate urself everyday. use the expensive perfume that u like, use ur best candles, have cake. dont save the little luxuries of life for when theres something to celebrate. celebrate everyday.

additionally the little things that u do everyday can add up to a more chic lifestyle and are not that difficult to implement into ur life. some examples of this include

drinking herbal teas with honey

starting a collection of something that u love

starting a collection specifically is a great way to spark the feeling of luxury or abundance…💬🎀

practicing self care

upgrading ur vocabulary

reading books and novels that are enriching

doing what YOU wanna do

fresh flowers

when you romanticize and make ur life seem more chic and elegant even if its with little things that u do, those things will add up and ultimately you'll formulate the chic and elegant life that u want.

GET READY EVERYDAY ;

when u present urself in the best possible way you'll FEEL it. when u put time into ur appearance every single day and get ready everyday your confidence will sky rocket because as we know, when we look good we FEEL good.

for me, when i get ready everyday i'll get more done in the day because i feel put together and posh etc. allocate time for urself everyday to do your makeup and keep up with ur appearance because it'll make u feel more chic.

THINGS THAT I THINK ARE CHIC ;

hand held mirrors

fluffy lashes

a little black dress

french tips

little baguette bags (tiny little purses in general)

fluffy powder puffs

cursive

THE STYLISH ASPECT OF BEING CHIC ;

the chic style is all about not doing too much and letting the outfit speak for itself. not wearing too many colors at once and choosing colors that complement each other. the outfit is more in the details then in the outfit itself which is why the little black dress is such a timeless fashion staple. some details to focus on when being chic are using nudish colors on ur nails or just go for french tips.

[girliism]

patrick giving art a sloppy and kinda bad blowjob one night when they’re drunk. “i can help you with that.” patrick slurred, eyeing art’s boner. they had been talking about how one of the ball girls forgot to wear safety shorts so everything time the wind blew they could see her panties. “wh-what?” patrick nodded towards the tent in arts pants. “i can suck you off if you want.” art stared at him, it’s not like patrick hadn’t helped him before, but that was different that was just hands. “you wouldn’t even know what to do.” patrick rolled his eyes. “it’s not rocket science art.” he looked the blonde straight in the eye. “just wanna help you.” patrick pouted slightly, letting his fingers tug at his best friends belt. art not being able to deny his friend, nodded his head. “ok.” the sounds of the shitty ac in their room, and the two men’s breathing gets interrupted by art’s loud moan when patrick takes him into his mouth. “h-holy shit.” art’s hand immediately flies to grip at patrick’s hair. patrick’s mouth was so warm and he had absolutely no rhythm, just bobbing his head up and down sometimes going a little to far down cause him to gag around art’s dick, but that didn’t matter to art who had his head thrown back, loud and almost whiny moans coming out. patrick pulled off of him for a second. “you’re so fucking loud.” patrick smiled shaking his head, before taking art’s cock back into his mouth. art bit his lip trying to quiet himself, but then patrick’s hand came down to squeeze at art’s balls and art couldn’t contain the sound that came out. “oh fuck!” the hand hold patrick’s hair left it’s spot, art slapping it over his mouth. kinda annoyed at how art took his comment on his volume as patrick telling him to be quiet makes him reach up pulling art’s hand off his mouth to interlock their fingers instead. art only got louder with patrick sucking him faster his teeth dragging lightly against the skin of his cock ever so often. “think i’m gonna cum.” art whined, his fingers digging into the other males hand. patrick looked up at him through his lashes. their lust filled gazes meeting each other had art cumming down his friends throat with a loud cry of his name. patrick swallowed down what art gave him, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. the two of them sat there catching their breath. art was the first to speak. “you look good with my dick in your mouth.” patrick stared at him before laughing, pushing art’s shoulder. “shut up.”

[xo2dee]

NOW LOADING. .

DMC MASTERLIST

BEGUILING

PAIRING: Vergil x (Fem)Reader WARNINGS: None WORD COUNT: 1,622 SUMMARY: He wasn't as subtle as he liked to think he was.

A/N: idk man, i just know he's not as nonchalant as he tries to appear

You watched in amazement as the miniature missile blew the makeshift target to fragments. A small chuckle came from the woman next to you and you moved your eyes to the end on the black rocket launcher, watching the smoke rise from the end before dissipating completely. Once that was over, you gazed at the woman holding the beautiful weapon: Lady.

Lady had been introduced to you by Dante, and while the first meeting wasn’t the greatest and Lady had her suspicions about you, you couldn’t deny the admiration you felt for her. Whether it was down to her fierceness, her ability to keep up with Dante’s wit, or just down to how she even looked, you wanted to be everything that was Lady. She was the epitome of the perfect human Devil Hunter.

You cocked a hip out, your own weapon propped up on the floor in your hand, “I never get tired of watching that.”

The woman ran a hand through her cropped murky hair, her own mismatched eyes turning to look at you, “I’m just glad she’s still in perfect condition. I was sure when Dante decided to just jump into Hell with not just this one but the second one Nico had made, he’d come back with both completely destroyed.”

You hummed, “How did you manage to get both back anyway?”

Lady propped up Kalina Ann much like your own position, leaning on her cherished weapon, “It wasn’t too hard actually… All I really had to do was mention the debt he owes me, I told him I’d cut it by half if he gave me both to me.” You snorted. If it took anything for Dante to find a way out of his debt, he would do it. How the man managed to drown himself in over twenty years’ worth of debt, you weren’t too sure, yet when Lady and Trish complained over his lack of self-control when it came to money and how most of it primarily went to pizza and strawberry sundaes…

How did the man even function?

“He’s been doing better lately though,” she continued, wiping a hand on her pants, “Ever since Vergil came back and somehow Dante got him to stick around, his debt has been swindling down. It’s kinda a buzzkill, Vergil I mean, he forces Dante to keep up with Morrison’s payments.”

Ah yes, Vergil. The frosty elder twin of Dante whose best skill was either standing in the corner staring like he was Nosferatu or sitting on the couch in the main room of Devil May Cry and reading. Sure, Vergil was exceptionally skilled out on the battlefield, but you weren’t about to admit that aloud. You and Vergil had not gotten along from the moment you had met when he principally took one look at you, stuck his nose up into the air, and walked away. After that, you spent most downtime you had glaring at the back of his stupid head and trying to see how far you could test his patience. The man surprisingly got angry quick – a feat showing just how much different he was from his twin – but he had never once really lashed out at you, regularly just throwing dirty looks at you and stalking out of the room. Even when you ‘accidentally’ washed one of his white button-ups with Dante’s red boxers.

Not like he needed to wear it anyway, his chest had been beginning to pop out from the top of it.

However, the creepy half-demon had been acting rather strange as of lately. At times you thought you were alone you’d turn around and he’d be standing there and giving a stare reminiscent of Patrick Bateman from American Psycho. It had been happening frequently, to the point you told Dante, who only threw his head back and laughed. You didn’t know what he found so damn funny when it was no laughing matter when Vergil was looking at you like he was going to eat you.

…Did he eat humans?

Maybe that’s why you never saw Vergil eat. You shuddered.

“You wanna try her out?” Lady asked bringing you out of your horrid thoughts. She was gesturing to Kalina Ann much to your surprise; Lady never really let anyone use her weapons. “C’mon you’ll be fine, the recoil isn’t so bad,” she assured lifting up the rocket launcher for you to grab. You hesitated for a brief moment; you weren’t too familiar with heavier weapons, your own was rather lightweight and the recoil of it only left a small amount of discomfort when you had first started using it that you no longer felt.

Temptation proved too much for you though, handing your own weapon in exchange, you hefted Kalina Ann into your hold and positioned your body in a more comfortable position. You angled your hips once more, setting a leg back, took aim, and fired at the next dummy target. Your body slightly jostled from the kickback, but it was to be expected since you were firing a rocket launcher. Watching the miniature missile hit the bottom of the target and the brutal blow exploding the target much like Lady had done, you let out a huff of a laugh.

Lady gave an impressed ‘hmm’ next to you before you both swapped back to your respectable weapons, “Not too bad… for a rookie,” she teased, poking your shoulder, “how’d it feel?”

“Exhilarating.”

She laughed again moving closer to lean her arm on your shoulder, a fleeting smell of her perfume assaulting your nose, “I think you and I should go out on missions together more.”

Flattered, you opened your mouth to respond, but quickly snapped it shut when a whistle came from behind the both of you. You both turned and Dante stood there rubbing the stubble on his jaw grinning while Vergil stood next to him looking he was on the cusp of suffocating. You frowned, What the Hell is his deal?

“Didn’t know you could handle big guns like that, I’m impressed,” Dante beamed at you, flashing a fanged tooth. You would’ve been a fool to not catch the underline meaning of the words, yet you were too accustomed to Dante’s comments and flirts none of them really fazed you. You snorted, throwing your weapon to rest on your shoulder as Lady and he suddenly engaged in a back-and-forth.

After a few moments of watching the humorous exchange, you snuck a peek at the man still standing at Dante’s side, wondering why he hadn’t fucked off yet. Your eyes traveled from his feet, to the harsh grip he had on his sword, to –

Jesus.

You swiftly turned your attention back to the other two as a sweat broke out across your neck. Looking at Vergil’s face you came to face-to-face with the haughty male giving you his own rendition of the Stanley Kubrick Stare pointed directly at you. His eyes were by far some of the fiercest you had ever seen; one look and you felt as if he was peering into your soul and attempting to murder you with one stare.

Quickly, you sifted through your mind for any possible past actions that would’ve pissed him off that bad. You hadn’t done anything as of lately then, opting to keep your distance when a week prior your mind randomly said, ‘He’s kinda hot’, while you sat across from him in Nico’s van. You wanted to throw your brain out of the window at that because you don’t know why it’d even betray you like that.

You came out of your thoughts when Lady loudly questioned why Dante felt the need to bother the both of you and his answer was enough to make you freeze.

Dante threw his hands up in submission, his expression morphing into something of innocence, “Don’t look at me, Vergil’s been standing here longer than I have. I only came to see what was holding him up and I can see now…” he trailed off, his eyes remaining on you.

…What? He had? How long he had been in the same room as you two? You weren’t surprised really; Vergil made no noise whatsoever ghosting around Devil May Cry, he was able to sneak up on you frequently and scare the shit out of you. Though normally, he would throw an insult at you or clear his throat…

Meanwhile, said half-demon broke his glare and curled his lip in disgust, a barely audible hiss escaping him. He threw an accusing, ghastly glare to Dante before a lingering glance to you, and then ultimately sauntered away out of the back room with the door almost swinging off its hinges with how hard he slammed it. Bewildered, you watched him go, uneasiness beginning to settle into your stomach as you thought back to the probing ‘I’ll eat you alive’ stare, momentarily thinking perhaps that stare was something else…

Next to you, Lady sighed, sounding slightly exasperated, “He’s not as discreet as he thinks he is.”

Dante snorted, “He’s still a man, if he likes something he sees he’s gonna act on it. Even if it is in his own weird way,” he placed both hands behind his head after that statement sending a wink towards you.

You were extremely confused.

Lady piped up next to you, her arm curving around your shoulders, “Maybe it’s the shorts, but I could be wrong…”

Your shorts? No way was she implying what you thought she was implying.

Vergil was not staring at your ass…

Was he?

Dante snickered when your expression morphed into mortification.

What the fuck were you supposed to do knowing you had an all-powerful, King of Hell, demon staring at your fucking ass?

[cupidscastle]

So Sensitive...ᐟ

pairings -gorou x dom!fem reader

summary: who knew the great and courageous general of the watatsumi army was into collars.. content warnings: pussy drunk gorou, piv sex, use of collar/leash, overstimulation, mocking, cowgirl position, sort of ooc gorou(?), this is kinda short(will post longer fics in the future) ⸺minors dni .ᐟ

꩜ A/N: hihi! this is my debut post of my account since I’ve decided to start posting my work on tumblr! I’ve always loved writing fics for my interests but they never left my notes app until now. I hope you all enjoy ❤︎⸺nsfw below the cut

Gorou stared up at you with tears in his glassy eyes, leaning back on his elbows. A pathetic whine bubbling up in the back of his throat as you rocked your hips lower, his cock sinking deeper inside of your soft pussy. His head tilted forward when he felt you tug on the leash connected to the studded gold collar on his neck, his eyebrows furrowing in confused bliss when you pulled on the rope hard enough to rocket him into a seated position. 

“Huh?” 

All he could manage to let out was a disorientated huff before you giggled and rolled your hips in a motion that made him sink even deeper inside of you. He shuddered and moaned, his head lulling back from the sensation of your sopping cunt bearing down on his oversensitive cock.

“Haah-!”

“Im really fucking you stupid, aren’t I? What, does the cat got your tongue?”

“Ngh!- N-no- I’m-“

His voice wavers and he whines as you suddenly raise your hips and drop them. The his tail smacks the sheets as he attempts to buck his hips up to meet yours. You click your tongue mockingly and move your weight to where his navel is pinned completely beneath you. Your hands splay out across his smooth stomach. His dilated eyes are boring holes into where your arousal is dripping down onto his erection. 

It’s cute, he seems utterly entranced by what he sees. You have complete control over the general of the watatsumi army. A thin line of drool rolls down from his swollen lips when you tug on the leash to his collar again.

“Mmn..~”

Gorou’s eyes are starting to droop shut from the liquid lust coursing through his veins and to his brain. He’d do anything for you, you’ve fucked him so dumb to the point where all he can think about is your sex squeezing his needy cock.

“What, you can’t even form a full word like you could earlier? You even look like you’re falling asleep while you’re in me, Gorou. I have to say I’m disappointed. I thought you’d be more in charge since you’re the general to an entire army. What would they think if they saw you like this, whining like a bitch in heat?”

You audibly laugh at how his long lashes frame his eyes as they shoot open in shock. A bead of sweat rolls down the skin of his cheek.

“You’re looking at me like I’m a criminal, Gorou, I’m hurt.”

You punctuated your sentence by pulling on the leash to his collar. His dog ears pressed flat against his messy hair.

“You- you wouldn’t, nnn~ you wouldn’t act.. actually tell an-anyone, r-right?~”

He couldn’t even form a full thought without stuttering. You giggled and felt his nails dig into your hips. You really didn’t know how desperate he was for you..

You decided to ease up on him and start giving him some relief. So, you began to bounce on his cock, gaining a rhythm. Each whimper and moan the general beneath you let out fueled you to fuck yourself on him faster and so much harder. Gorou became more and more loud. You looked down at his fucked out expression, you were really giving this poor boy a work out..and had no intention of stopping.

꩜ A/N: again i know this is pretty short but this is my first post </3 i will be posting longer fics in the future though, i have an idea for my next work though so i’ll be posting that when i finish it since i only have a rough draft, thank you for reading !

reblogs and likes are always appreciated !

cupidscastle──dec.30.2024──plagiarism, modification, reposting, and translating is NOT tolerated