#( . are they boinking in hell or what

[halfdeadwallfly]

hi!!!! thank you @summercampghostie @im-the-son-of-rage-and-lov3 and @biromanticboba for the tag! i'm making a new thread so i could respond to everyone at once. i love this picrew so it was really fun to do again with the changes in my look hehe

it's supposed to be what you look like vs what you would want to look like, but if i'm being completely honest, i've just been really happy with how i look lately so i only did that version :))))

EDITING TO ADD THE LINK LMAO HERE YOU GO

np tags 🪄 @spectral-mycoblin @starry-eyed-darling @trips-around-the-sun @mack-anthology-mp3 and ofc anyone else who wants to join!! love you all <3

[stillsolo]

going through iconing / color correction hell rn but HELL YEAH LOOK AT HIM

[majimasleftasscheek]

Cursed fucking thought about Kiryu and his uh love for Pocket circuit. Do you know about the Dragons Fucking Cars subreddit?

nsfw //

I draw furry porn for a living, how could I not know about that subreddit kdlskdjsfkdjlslkjsd

Kiryu would browse it and be like "huh, this is a bit strange but I can see the appeal" and unironically be in it for the art over the smut

[kikillustrate]

well.

[eyesmadeofpearls]

sometimes i really just switch personalities like they're collectibles.. never let them know your next move

[miryum]

"Clark's Phone Number"

Summary: Detective!Jason Todd x detective!Reader based on Jake and Amy’s relationship

Series Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of violence (but nothing descriptive), guns and other police stuff

Series Masterlist

Cass and Steph’s phones pinged at the same time. Steph scanned the message then called over to Damian, “shouldn’t we be using the other group chat for this?”

Damian glared and typed something on his phone. The message was: I doubt we need Richard or Timothy for this revelation. Are they truly as invested in this cause as we are?

Dick created the group chat in the first place, Steph reminded her friends.

“We’re sitting a couple feet away from each other,” Cass deadpanned. “Why are we even using the group chat?”

Because it’s more entertaining, Damian wrote while maintaining eye contact with Cass.  

Anyone else notice that Todd and L/n aren’t here? Dick stopped their bickering by typing away in the larger, all-encompassing, precinct group chat that was titled Operation Lovebird. The group chat with everyone, including Y/n and Jason was graciously named Practically Hell, courtesy of Y/n, due to the six-six being “only one six away from Hell.”

Al Ghul was just mentioning it in The Best Ones, Cass replied. 

Why do you guys even *have* another group chat? Tim asked.

Because we’re ‘The Best Ones.’ Obviously. Steph added the eye-roll emoji.

Just tell us what’s happening with Operation Lovebird!!! Dick demanded. 

All we know is that they’re both gone, Steph said. 

If you were better detectives, you would’ve noticed the culprits entering the copy room together. Captain Wayne’s contact suddenly popped up on everyone’s screen.

A plethora of messages popped up after his comment, including:

Dick: Culprits???!!!!! Brucie, why???

Tim: Why is Captain in this chat again? No offence, sir.

Wayne: None taken.

Steph: omg are they…

Steph: … you know?

Cass: Fucking?

Steph: NO!!!

Steph: Smooching, obvi.

Damian: Brown, please. Stop maiming my eyes with your typed words. 

Tim: Though, seriously, what are they doing?

Wayne: Pull the security tapes and meet me in my office.

There was a scrambling around the precinct as the detectives (and Damian) ran to Wayne’s office. “Does anyone have the surveillance tapes?” the captain asked. The detectives glanced around and slowly shook their heads. Wayne groaned and commanded, “Cain, grab the tapes.”

Once Cass did as she was directed, Tim used Wayne’s computer and pulled the tapes onto the screen.  

On the tape, Jason stood in the copy room, glancing around anxiously as he fiddled senselessly with the machine. Y/n’s figure appeared on screen and she shuffled into the room, calling out to anyone who would listen, “yeah, I'm just gonna make some copies in here. In the copy room. Heh. Perfect cover. Nailed it.”

“Hey…” Jason waved awkwardly to his coworker. “Hi… Y/n…”

“Jason,” Y/n stepped towards him, smiling devilishly. “Why’d you wanna meet me here?” Her grin showed that she knew exactly why Jason wanted to talk to her. “To boink? At work?!” She gasped dramatically. “Todd, I expected better of you!”

Jason’s cheeks flamed up and Y/n congratulated herself on making the buff, six foot tall detective stutter. “No…” He said, “I wanted to talk about uh, Brian and Lacy.”

“Ah… yeah. Brian and Lacy,” Y/n nodded her head, demeanour shifting. “What about them? I thought they were a pretty cute couple.” 

“So did I,” Jason admitted softly. He took a step forward until Y/n could simply reach out and touch him. He had a faint bruise on the underside of his jaw from an incident with a criminal half a week ago. He stared down at his colleague, his gaze filled with agonised hope. “Brian wanted to ask Lacy on an official date.”

Y/n’s heart was being cleaved in half and sewn back up again by Jason’s own hands. “What about Brian’s old girlfriend, Daisy? Lacy was pretty sure that Brian was making googly-eyes at Daisy during their last meeting.”

“Just to be clear, Daisy being Rose?” 

“Yeah.”

“Brian went on a couple dates with Daisy,” Jason continued, “but soon realised that Daisy couldn’t hold a small, dying match to Y/n’s burning, beautiful fire.”

“I thought her name was Lacy,” Y/n whispered. Jason’s chest rose and fell and he moved even closer to her. Jason reached up towards her face and swiped the pad of his thumb along her cheek. He angled Y/n’s face up so he could finally look into her eyes with the redamancy and forelsket that had been stored away for so many years. 

“Yeah, well,” a corner of his lips curved into a knowing smirk. “I just made Lacy blush, which is usually an impossible feat.”

“You flatter me, Brian,” Y/n said. “It’s clear that you take your words straight from a romance novel. You spend too much time reading.” She reached up and brushed a tuft of hair away from Jason’s face. Her words were teasing, but her actions were careful.

“My words aren’t from a romance novel,” Jason reassured her. “They’re from the heart- yeah, no, I hear it now. A little too cheesy, huh?”

Y/n shrugged and said, “I rather enjoyed it.” She relished the feeling of Jason’s touch on her skin. She hoped to feel it more often. “Your kissing could improve, though,” she referenced their impromptu kiss at the restaurant. 

Jason chuckled lightly. “I doubt that. You seemed to like it a lot.” He spoke lightly while memorising her face. “So, what do you say to a date, darling?”

“Darling?” Y/n asked. “I thought I was the one with the nicknames.” 

Jason shook his head. “I think I’ve found your ten.”

“And now you’ve stolen my quips. Love, you’ve already stolen my heart. Soon I’m gonna see you in the interrogation room.”

“I bet you’d love to see me in handcuffs.” 

Y/n’s mouth fell open and she let out a shocked laugh. “Mr. Todd! That’s no way to speak to a lady!” 

Jason’s hand was still cupping Y/n’s cheek and his other hand drew up to trace meaningless patterns on her forearm. “Does this mean you say ‘yes’ to the date?”

“What if it makes working together awkward?” Y/n’s hand clutched onto the fabric of his shirt.

“Then we’ll be awkward together,” he answered easily. “I want this too much for a little awkwardness to get in the way. I want you too much, Y/n.”

“I wanna try this,” she decided after a moment. “I want you too. Tonight? At eight?”

Jason nodded quickly, afraid she would take it back. “That sounds absolutely perfect.”

Y/n stared at him and she couldn’t seem to place the expression on his face. It had a softness that looked suspiciously like love. His cheeks held a pink tint and his eyes gazed down at her and Jason knew he would spend the rest of his life holding her if he could. After a moment, Y/n realised, heart jumping, that Jason looked like he was in love. “We should probably get back to work before they realise we’re missing,” Y/n said slowly.

Jason nodded and moved towards the door, not before taking Y/n in his arms and pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. “Should we tell the rest of the team? he asked quietly. 

“Probably not,” Y/n said. “They would get way too involved.”

“Should we tell them we’re spying on them?” Tim asked from inside Wayne’s office where the rest of the six-six was still crowded around the computer which displayed Y/n and Jason.

A chorus of ‘no’s and shushing erupted from everyone else and Steph squealed, “oh! They’re finally together! I’m over the moon! They’re adorable!”

“Brown, will your fangirling get in the way of your work?” Wayne asked, smiling slightly.

“Yes, definitely!” 

Wayne sighed. “Understandable.”

“Well, what are you looking for?” Jason asked. “Symbolism and overall themes or simply personal enjoyment?”

“Both,” Y/n took a lick of her ice cream, legs swinging happily under the park bench.

“The Great Gatsby for symbolism and overall themes,” he answered after a minute of thinking. “And then my favourite book is Pride and Prejudice.” 

“Yeah, I definitely knew that one,” Y/n nodded. “You’ve read it a thousand times in the precinct.” She shook her head, “I’ve tried to get through that book, man, but I don’t get the hype over it. Granted, I’ve never been able to get through the first five chapters.”

Jason began ranting about Pride and Prejudice before shaking his head in defeat and asking, “what’s your favourite book? Please don’t let it be Goddess Girls or Geronimo Stilton or some other children's series.”

“No, although those were great series.” She pointed her spoon at Jason accusingly. “As I’ve grown up and matured, it’s either The Fault in Our Stars, Memoirs of a Geisha, All Quiet on the Western Front, or Ella Minnow Pea.”

Jason stared at her and finally said, “those are all very different books. Honestly, I’m surprised you’ve even read four books.”

Y/n punched him in the arm. “How dare you! I’m very well-read! You should see the length of my Ao3 history!” 

Jason laughed loudly and cradled his ‘hurt’ arm. “I’m sorry I underestimated you, Y/n.”

“You better be!” Y/n crossed her arms before finishing off her ice cream. “Now I’m not gonna have sex with you until our fifth date.”

Jason let out a dramatic groan. “I don’t know if I can wait that long, sweetheart.” 

“Keep calling me ‘sweetheart’ and you may not have to.”

“How was the daaaaaate?” Steph used her wheely chair to roll up to Y/n’s desk, grinning cheekily. She waved a finger in Jason and Y/n’s direction. “What is this, huh? Casual? Serious? I need to know how to make fun of you. Also, please get married in a barn ‘cause I have a lot of jokes that are centred around that.” 

“How’d you know about the date?” Jason asked.

“You guys are officially dating?” Dick was walking by when he paused and placed a firm hand on Jason’s chair.

Y/n looked at Jason helplessly. “...yes?” she said quietly. “Maybe?”

Dick and Steph exchanged a look. “This isn’t good,” Dick said.

“We said we weren't gonna tell anyone,” Y/n explained. “It's very new, and we're still figuring it out, you know?”

“Enough.” Dick stated. “Look, I love love, but I also love maintaining a professional work environment. As your commanding officer, I’m kinda disappointed in both of you.” He bent down and added in a stage-whisper, “but as you loving friend who sees himself as a father-or-brother figure to both of you, I adore you two dating and hope that it works out. Kori and I have a big binder left over from our wedding full of ideas and samples we’d be happy to lend you. Please lemme give a toast at the wedding.”

”I already have mine written,” Steph admitted excitedly.

Y/n’s head fell into her hands and Jason cursed Dick under his breath. Dick had to admit, Jason’s curses were getting more creative.

Bonus Scene: 

“You guys have a group chat dedicated to us?!” Y/n cried out. 

“Why wouldn’t we?” Dick chuckled. “It’s where we share blackmail, cute updates, and random stuff related to you guys.”

Y/n snatched Damian’s phone away, the closest person to her and much to his protest. “I can’t believe-” She scrolled through the messages before realising, “wait, I’m sorry, what are our contact names, Dami?”

“It’s simple.” Damian explained, “Richard is Moby Dick. Todd is Bamboozled from when he was drunk and said it out of context.  Drake is obviously CCA which stands for Computer/Coffee Addict. Y/n is Da Best Homie because she set up her own contact and I haven’t gotten around to changing it. Stephanie is Titus because she reminds me of my valiant and excitable dog. Cain is Cassandra Cain and Wayne is Captain Bruce Wayne. I also have Clark’s number and he’s listed as Mr. Clark Kent.”

“I don’t know whether to be offended or unsurprised,” Dick mumbled.

“At least you’re a classic novel,” Steph crossed her arms. “I’m named after a dog.”

“Steph, you’re literally the epitome of a joyful dog.” 

“Aw, thanks!”

“You have Clark’s number?” Y/n murmured to Damian, “can I have it?” 

“No.”

Not my fav way to do it and I would probably rewrite it, but it's already on ao3 so... *shrug*

[misswrittenword]

A Trolls Fee.

Male!Troll x fem!human ~ "I need to pay to cross this bridge?", p in v, oral (fem and male receiving), no protection, breeding kink (I have issues), degradation, boinking in broad daylight on a bridge, so there's exhibitionism, grumpy monster and mildly confused but enthusiastic girl, brat, dom. use of good girl, whore and slut, praise.

Excuse any grammatical errors :')

This was your third day on the road. Your bustling little seaside village had been brutally raided, and you had fled in the night. Having no family, you had only friends to mourn, but part of you was glad. Plus, who knew, maybe they made it out too. Your thin leather sole shoes scuff along the well worn path as you drag your feet, desperate just to make it to the next village in this forest.

So far you had been getting by on strangers kindness, people letting you sit in the backs of their wagons among hay and bags of goods. You were thankful for them, sure you wouldn't have made it far without the help. Unfortunately no one had offered you a ride today, so you were left to set your own pace. If it kept up like this you would stay in the next town, you decided. The woods around you were beautiful, and you began to daydream of soft beds and filling meals until you come upon a river.

Well, it was a small river, with a stone bridge arching gently between the two banks. You stop and tilt your head, staring at the well built cabin not too far from it. That was weird, you'd never seen a home so close to a bridge before, but then you hadn't seen many bridges. Having lived your whole life on the sea, you were mostly unfamiliar with the forest and how things operated. Maybe it was a caretaker?

Moving forward again, you wonder briefly if they'd let you rest for the night here. But the second you set foot on the middle of the bridge, a deep, booming voice has you jumping in fear and stopping dead still.

"Halt!" A masculine voice bellows. "You must pay for the right to use this bridge, wanderer."

You look up at the looming figure standing several feet in front of you and are shocked beyond measure. Faintly, you recall hushed stories of monsters in the woods, but you never expected to come across one.

A dark grey skinned man.. monster.. glares at you. He is hulking, arms and legs thick, shoulders so wide they strain under the linen shirt he wears. His nose is charmingly large, and small tusks poke out of the corner of his mouth. He screams masculinity, and you fear he'd be able to snap you in half with those deliciously huge hands. He has short black hair, and his ears are lined with golden rings.

"I... have to pay to use this bridge?" You whisper, looking positively caught off guard. What is he?

The monster scowls at you, "Speak up!" He barks.

You frown, crossing your arms under your boobs and you repeat yourself, louder and with a firm tone. If he wanted to act like a tough guy, you would too.

"And who the hell are you?" You demand. He eyes you up before beginning to stalk towards you, and you realize just how huge this being is. He's almost two heads taller, and the shadow he casts on you allows you to stare up into his strangely handsome face.

"I am Rhazin, troll of this bridge. Only those who pay my fee may pass." He grunts, peering down at you.

That seemed like a bit of a scam to you but you state your name nonetheless. "I have not a coin to offer you. Surely you have heard of the burning in Locklord Cove, I fled from there many days ago." You state, hoping that your pitiful story would stir some kindness in his heart.

Oh, how you were wrong. "There must be something else we can do."

The troll places his hands on his hips, and slowly looks you up and down. Under his heavy gaze, you suddenly realize that you likely have hay in your hair and are wearing a light cloth dress, something to keep you cool during the heat on the beach in your old home. Something that does nothing to hide your soft plush body or the swell of your breasts.

Your cheeks flush prettily, as Rhazin begins to circle you slowly. "You're a very tempting looking morsel. I bet you're delicious."

You glance down at the growing tent in his trousers, and realize with a mix of shock and arousal that the only thing stirring in this troll is his cock.

Despite the blush on your cheeks and warmth in your belly, you keep your eyes on him, and raise your chin. "You want to fuck me? Speak plainly, beast."

You were no virgin after all, but still, you were playing with fire. Yet... the idea of this monster taking you made your jiggly thighs squeeze together instinctively. And you wanted it rough.

He bares his teeth at you, "I am no beast, wanderer, but I may use your hole like one if you don't watch your tongue."

A smirk graces your lips, "You're all bark and no bite."

Eyes darkening, "Is it a deal then? Your body for your fee."

You nod your consent.

Rhazin wastes no time in grabbing you, ripping your dress and under garments from your body cruelly. You gasp in shock as the creature begins to palm your ass while he directs you to the side wall on the bridge.

"Here!?" you sputter, but he doesn't offer a response, already pushing you to your knees. He frees the ties on his pants, and you stare in disbelief as his cock is revealed. The dark grey skin is taunt on the shaft, the head leaking with pre cum already. It's giant, fitting for a monster his size, and your mouth waters. His balls are huge, and he grips you by the back of your head, guiding his cock to your lips.

"You've sucked cock before, haven't you girl? Or are you the one who is merely all talk? Get to work, slut." He growls.

You quiver, looking up at his face as you take him in both hands and open your mouth. You lick up the underside of his cock, it nearly dwarfs your head and blocks your vision partially. Sucking the tip into your mouth, you find yourself straining already.

He would undoubtedly split you open, and the thought made you moan as you begin to take more of his cock between your lips. Working your hands on what you can't fit, you suck him eagerly and sloppily, spit slicking your hands and wetting your chin. His hand guides you gently, holding you down for a few extra seconds as he grunts when you take him deeper. You gag and he thrusts into your mouth shallowly, barely restraining himself. You think he's about to cave and fuck your face before he yanks you off his shaft, and pulls you up at the hair.

"Enough. I want to fill this cunt up with my cum. Give you my beast whelps so you have something to remember me by." He growls, turning you around and pushing you forward until your naked body is leaning awkwardly over the belly button high wall. You whimper at his words, belly tightening at the thought of him breeding you.

Rhazin moves behind you, your breath catching in your lungs as you peer over the bridge at the water rushing below. He spreads your legs, and the cool wind against your wet cunt makes you shiver.

A sharp slap to your ass makes you shriek, and you jolt away from him just to be pulled back. He squats down behind you, a hand on your hip and the other spreading the lips of your pussy open.

"Look how wet you are, whore. Soaked from sucking my cock." His voice is a deep rumble, and you tense under his scrutiny.

He delves in, licking from your clit to your puckered ass, a gasp escaping your lips in surprised pleasure. He slowly starts to finger you, licking and toying with your clit until your legs are shaking. He adds another finger, and through the burn of being stretched, just two makes you sob and beg for more.

"Please," You whine, clenching down on him and crying out as you cum around his fingers. "Please God, fuck me. I need your fat cock."

A chuckle escapes him, sending shivers down your spine as he pulls from you.

"Begging a beast for his cock, slut? Who am I to deny you." he growls, lining himself up with your weeping hole.

He slips the head in, and your hungry pussy gobbles him up. Though he prepped you with his hand, the stretch makes your eyes roll into the back of your head by the first couple inches, and you're a blabbering mess by the time he sinks himself in until his balls slap against your tender clit. His hand caresses your plush stomach, and he groans, feeling his own cock creating a large bump in it.

"You take me so good, such a good slut for this beast."

You sob and push back into him as he withdraws. "More!" Your voice is high and breathy, legs trembling.

The troll sets a punishing pace, using your hips to pound into your fat cunt. You feel like a toy, and the thought makes you drip around him. The wet sounds of sex fill the air, and you wail as an orgasm starts to build.

"Slut," he grunts into your ear. "We have company."

The words rouse you from your stupor, and you look down the road from where you came. A man on a horse is slowly edging closer, now on the bridge. He's middle aged, and looks shocked by the sight of you impaled on the bridge trolls cock. Heat rushes through your body, and your cheeks blush brighter with a combination of arousal and embarrassment.

You moan out loud as a particularly hard thrust from Rhazin brings your attention back. The man eyes you hungerly, and you close your eyes.

The beast in your cunt keeps fucking into you, barking something at the man.

"That's twice the usual rate!" You hear him argue.

Rhazin snarls, "Half is for getting the pleasure of seeing me fuck my pretty little whore of a mate."

Brain mush from the thick, long cock rearranging your womb, you whimper and sob as he doubles down on his pace. He leans back down to your ear, whispering so only you can hear.

"Do you like that, pretty girl? He's watching me ruin you for any normal man again. Does it make your whore cunt twitch and ache knowing he's watching?" He asks. The only sound you can manage is a high pitched cry.

"Open your eyes, slut. Look him in the face. I own you now. And I'm going to breed this little cunt. Keep you as my cock warmer." His orders are punctuated with deep thrusts, but you only open your eyes when one hand grabs your hair and tilts your head toward the rider.

You look at the man who's gaze is fixed on your cunt spread as the troll fucks into you. You feel shame rise up your neck, but not just at being caught like this, but because you like it.

"Beg for it." He demands.

And you do. "Please!" You sob. "Fuck me full of your cum. Give me your babies. I need it. I'm yours to fuck when you want, just please-" You're cut off by your own squeal at a hard thrust. "Please use me, beast."

Rhazin releases your hair, hand going to your clit and rubbing a finger over your tender flesh. Your mind reels as you begin to clench down around his monster cock, and a wail leaves you as he spills his cum inside you, setting off your own orgasm.

A clear claim that sends the traveler away, adjusting his own trousers.

Rhazin thrusts into your over used pussy shallowly. You feel so full it almost hurts, but you relish the feeling, twitching and hanging limply in his hold.

"Such a good whore for me." He whispers into your ear. "I can't wait to watch you swell with my children. You'll want for nothing my mate. I'll keep this fat slutty cunt full every day for the rest of our lives."

You nod weakly. Who needed to stay in the next town when you could be used like the slut you were right here. Fucked full of babies and split open by him every day.

Body tightening at the thought, he begins to move again. Still speared on his cock on the bridge, he fucks you twice over, until your screams echo down the river. Your new home.

[ronearoundblindly]

Dirty Water

Steve Rogers x deep sea mermaid!Reader

Prompt from this dirty ask game with our pairing from the Sun, Salt, and Shield series.

Summary: After a very long (but unofficial) courtship, where Steve is too shy to bring up your anatomy and his compatibility, a cultural misinterpretation quite literally sinks his resolve.

Warnings for smut (I'm gonna have to call this what it is and just say it's monster-f**king, or the one where Steeb gets maybe-CNC-boinked by a 'monster.' Sorry, babes. Ro's dipped a toe into the darkside for a smidge.) MINORS DNI. Poorly--or rather, not--edited and I have no idea the word count...

Steve swallows harshly and tries not to nervously splash his feet in the pool.

"What?" he chokes out.

He can't think of anything more articulate to say, not that it would matter when so much is lost in translation.

All you did was ask about the singing outside the doors of your 'room'--the retrofitted gym pool at the Avengers compound, the one is the basement without windows for your highly sensitive eyes--but he...could never have predicted why you were so curious.

"They're just enjoying themselves," he'd chuckled, shrugging like it was no big deal. "Do you sing?"

The look on your face, jaw slack and head tilting in contemplation, it should have warned him. You unfurled from your relaxed posture, the stance where your arms cross behind your back and fit atop the swell of your--he'd say tail, but it's more like your ass--rump, the rest of your body bent in a curve until your fin nearly touches the surface, and inched closer to his feet in the deep end.

"Yessssss," you hissed slowly through three rows of sharp teeth, crawling up his legs, out of the water, dripping over his lap as you braced large, webbed hands on either side of his hips.

Even in the very low light of damp room, he could see the lavender of your stare drop to his crotch.

"You sing too?"

Steve's an idiot. He didn't understand yet, so that dumbass actually began humming 'You Are My Sunshine' because nothing else occurred to him.

Then he noticed your tail glowing beneath the scales.

Then he realized you were pressing yourself to his legs.

Aaaand then Steve Rogers looked down your body to witness his knee disappearing in a spongy spot where the armoring swelled apart.

Oh god.

"What?" he now asks like an frightened teen seeing boobs for the first time.

"I make you sing?" Your broad green lips turn up in a smile. "Show me."

Suddenly, Steve's forgotten more english than you've learned. "Huh?"

Your flowing, textured hair, shapely even out of the water, sways when you cock your head to the side, looking through your lashes at him.

"How Stevie sing?"

He shivers for the first time in the cool water and lets an involuntary grunt leave his lips.

He's tried to stop himself from imagining your body and how it works to...ya know, and how he might...oh god, he's going to hell, but apparently, you've already been imagining that humans are either masturbating or fucking outside your door at all hours all the time--

--and oh shit, that means you sing as a part of sex.

He turns his head to the almost black ceiling and fails to think of anything else as the light from your body reflects in waves on every wall. He whimpers when he feels a ripple of muscle through the wet cotton of his jeans.

"Doll make Stevie sing?" Your voice is hoarse, and just as quickly as you say that by his throat, you flip back into the water. You can only breathe air for so long without hurting your throat and lungs.

He thinks he's off the hook, praying the tightness in his pants dissipates faster than they'll take to dry, but he lowers his head to find you peeking from the water, intent as ever on learning his ways.

He should be ashamed, so very fucking ashamed, of how badly he wants to take himself out of his pants and watch the wonder of those pretty eyes as he comes at the thought of you, but Steve's drowning in the hope that he can have you. It's been so long that he's wanted this, even in the most innocent ways.

Your final plea bubbles to the surface.

"Show?"

Steve inhales sharply, running a hand through his hair and licking his lips.

This is wrong, he thinks. You should not be doing this.

Yet he does it anyway because he wants to; he wants to so badly.

He sits up straight at the edge of the concrete, popping the button of his jeans and aches as he lowers the zipper. He can't meet your eye while he pulls out his semi-hard cock and fists it harshly.

You're so long that even looking away leaves your shimmering tail in sight, and he thinks he sees you rattle in excitement. It makes him shiver again, and the vibration shakes the moan escaping his tight chest.

Yikes, it does sound a bit like he's singing...

What the hell are you even doing?

Of course, he knows he's touching himself and he knows well enough how to do that, but he shouldn't be doing this in front of you, much less enjoying it. His blood is running so hot beneath his skin, though, the chilly pool feels soothing over his shins where he rolled up his pants (to no avail).

The heat floods his veins and mind to the point rational thought quiets, and Steve's eyes slither up your demure form.

Your eyes get wider and wider the more noise he makes, and his rampant imagination feeds off the sight of that gap in your scales visible as it undulates in the refraction beneath his feet.

He leans his head back and closes his own eyes at just the wrong moment.

Mid-whine, he misses the splashing sound that would have warned him you were coming, and instead Steve is pummeled by the end of your tail and topples into the pool, shocked and sputtering salty water until his body is pinned to the flat of the concrete wall he used to be perch on.

As he scrambles to toss his arms over the ledge, he feels claws dragging his jeans farther down his legs, and the fabric hangs like an anchor while the silky-slick webbing of your fingers glides up and down his thighs.

Then your tongue runs the length of his cock, making Steve moan embarrassingly loud and thrust his hips forward. If he weren't in the water, he'd be a puddle.

Pleasure races up and down his spine, fighting for dominance over the feeling of cold when he slips from the ledge and submerges briefly.

He barely registers the loss of your tongue and your quick lap of swimming before you're backing into him again.

It's on your ass, too, the soft entrance like you rubbed against his knee, but he could not have imagined what it could do--what you could do--how you could manipulate your muscles inside your tail.

He has no brainpower left to describe it. Steve just lets go, trusting your body to hold his weight as one hand grips the mossy softness of your waist and the other hand spreads over your lower back. Out of instinct, he tries to get leverage to push himself in and out of you, but that's useless.

There's a strong ripple of muscle that pulls him in, and in, and in, delicately tight on his sensitive cock and wide enough to slowly suck his balls into the massaging cavern.

Steve's eyes roll far into his head. He's going to pass out if this keeps up.

"Doll," he gasps, but it's too quiet in the slosh of the water. "Please, I'm--"

A clear, high note crescendos from the deep below, something disturbingly pure and paralyzing, and Steve can't move. He can only feel and experience a siren's song in action.

His body twitches violently before his cum is milked sensually, desperately, methodically from his cradled and ravaged pelvis, and never in Steve's long life has he ever been so fucking spent.

He whimpers when your cunt releases him, only faintly aware that he's propped on your back by his elbows as you swim to the shallow end and let him 'stand' on his shaky legs.

The screeching hinge of the door startles him.

"Cap," the junior agent yells over your hiss from the bright light spraying in, "everything okay? I heard..."

Yeah, I couldn't describe it either, Steve thinks.

He spits water from his mouth. "Fine," he huffs back, "we were...singing, and I fell in."

"Oh. Alright. Sorry to disturb you, Miss G." The man nods his apology at your hand-covered eyes and leaves.

Steve can't help but laugh like an insane person, laying to properly float in the water, uncaring what you're up to until he gently hits the stairs leading out of the pool.

Your head rises out of the water hopefully, and he cups your cheeks, still chuckling. He has zero words to describe...anything at the moment, but he can show you a human tradition of affection in return.

Shifting as easily as a feather in the water, he pulls you two together and sweetly presses his salmon lips to your seaweed pout, letting your long locs fall over his own shoulders.

Soon, he's gasping for air again, yet just before you dunk below the surface, you grin and coo at him.

"Stevie sings lovely."

[Main Masterlist; Dirty Asks Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

what...the hell have i done. *hits post before final two braincells protest*

@fandom-has-taken-me-hostage @leah2901 @blogbog710 @supraveng @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81 @rogersbarber @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @jamneuromain

[matchalovertrait]

Not the healthiest relationship between these two...

Transcript:

"Football Team Sports Day. 5:00 PM to 10:00 PM"

Dulce: Hey, Guillermo. Have you ever thought about leaving this place? Seeing new things? Meeting new people?

Guillermo: Oh, all the time! I wanna meet babes from all over the world.

Dulce: Um, ew. I’m being serious.

Guillermo: And you think I’m not?

Guillermo: Anyway, you don’t think this has anything to do with Ángel, Alex, and Rubiya being gone?

Dulce: Huh?

Dulce: OWWWW!

Guillermo: Haha! Oh my gosh, sorry-

Dulce: What the hell! Don’t throw when I’m deep in thought.

BOINK

[powderblueblood]

YES, NURSE RATCHED - a hellfire & ice retelling of chapter eight's most pivotal moment, from eddie's pov

a special treat for my love @deadlynightshade-and-hyacinth eddie munson x f!reader, reader is nicknamed lacy, reader's last name is also mentioned, this is lore-filled and handsy so if that's not your thing keep it truckin, minors dni i do not like you go away warning for strong language, smut inthe form of public fingeringgggg, drug usage, extremely bad parenting (al munson klaxon), evoking the feeling of a comedown, billy hargrove gets his shit rocked, excuse all typos it's redacted o'clock and i'm a little buzzed word count: 2.6k

The first thing you should know about the following occurrences is that they are preluded by a whole lot of next thing Eddie knows. Things snapping his attention to the left, to the right, knocking him over the head, rearing up on him with little to no warning.

Number one? His dad showing up at Reefer Rick’s, eyes bloodshot and sleep deprived and frantic, putting on a pantomime of being so psyched to see his boy! Rick snapping to attention and falling into his role of affable associate of Munson Senior immediately, despite the apology he’d tried to press against Eddie right when Al crunched the gravel of his driveway. What followed was a bender that Eddie couldn’t help but give into. Al has that effect on people, even him, even Eddie in his angry, angsty resoluteness that he should know better. 

You try knowing better when you're all bewitched, bothered and bewildered and shit.

Cue cut lines and records blaring until daylight broke over Lover's Lake– then Eddie, rising at noon but barely landed from his previous (ill-advised and bad-parentally-supervised) high, got it in his head that he ought to show up for school. At least for a little bit. 

Because they’d tossed your last name around a little last night, Al and Rick. Doevski this, Doevski that, in weird, vague terms that Eddie didn’t all the way understand. And the more weed he smoked and the more Jim Beam that got passed around, the less he remembered.

Which, dumb, right?

You’d tell him that was dumb.

You’d tell him he should have stayed sharp, listened up, gathered information.

He passed out on Rick’s sagging couch, mind searing with nothing but thoughts of you nagging him for intel.

Eddie woke up cotton-mouthed with your name on his lips. 

He needed to see you.

To catch one of your avoidant, barely-there glances as you flit through the hallway or maybe even spy you smoking a cigarette on the outdoor bleachers, reading in silence with Ronnie or Wheeler.

He’d think of what to say to you in the moment; probably spurned on by the sneer you’d give him– which he’d totally have earned, for having the nerve to ignore you for so long. 

Forgive me, he'd say, hands held aloft in Christlike composure, I just couldn't look you in the eye knowing you were getting willingly boinked by some Ivy League sweater monkey.

And then you'd have to admit your little bullshit college boyfriend wasn't Ivy League, and he'd prod you with that for a while, and things would eventually ebb back to whatever shade of normal you two were pretending to be. So? Okay!

But.

Next thing Eddie knows, he’s peeling into the parking lot and the first thing that he sees, bada bing, is you. All however many feet of you, steel true and planted on the hood of Billy Hargrove’s fucking Camaro, wielding a baseball bat like a sword.  

Eddie’s heart stops for the full entirety of a what fresh hell is this filter-focused second before he skids the van to a halt and launches himself from it. 

He advances this helluva scene just in time to hear you holler out, right in front of God and everyone,

“One thing you can say for Eddie Munson, is at least the motherfucker can get hard!” 

Eddie’s tread stutters and he wonders if this is what people mean when they use the expression taken out at the knees. Can he get a fucking encore, please? 

But then there’s the issue of the rabies-ridden Hargrove, the kid who’s snorted so much of Eddie’s dubiously cut supply that it’s no wonder that word has gotten around that he can’t keep his johnson rigid. There’s a thread dangling somewhere that makes Eddie wonder how familiar you are with that concept but. Alas. Digression. 

Hargrove calls you a cunt, and Eddie’s vision is replaced with a swathe of red. 

How ‘bout you try playing it cool, hearing someone talk to your girl like that, after a night of fun family drug-taking? 

Wait. His what? Hold on--

Next thing Eddie knows, he’s side-swiping Hargrove like a dirty bumper car, yak yaks something kind of funny (he hopes) and does not turn to look at you standing backlit like a holy fucking statue. Because he knows you’ll look beautiful up there, white hot with rage, holding a weapon poised for minor automotive destruction. He can’t handle beauty, not right now. Because of that thing from before with his knees. 

“...now her snooty ass is spreading it for half of Hawkins! Desperate! Stringin’ you along like the dumb piece of shortbus shit you a–”

It’s impossible to say whose hair trigger that tugged first, yours or Eddie’s. That’s like chicken vs egg. That’s like Han vs Greedo. That’s like, irrelevant. 

That baseball bat clatters to the pavement, a hearty overture to Eddie’s surge of empowerment, of rage, of insisting that she isn’t, I’m not, she isn’t, I’m not, nobody talks about her like that–

Next thing Eddie knows, he’s sitting beside you. Outside the principal’s office. Hand split open and aching, nose backed up and a little bleeding, coming down like the fucking Hindenberg. Reckoning with the fact that he wouldn’t need to be a little morning-after zipped on coke to throw a punch for you, if it came down to it. If it came down to it, he would have tried caving in Billy Hargrove’s other eye socket. He would have made him look like the Elephant Man if you needed him to. 

He liked that Eraserhead movie you made him watch. 

“He needs an ice pack…”

The soft mumble from you makes Eddie take this breath that makes his chest feel like it might concave. You, you. Reckless, unbuttoned, unlaced, off-kilter you, that still had time to snap at him after he’d tried to freeze you out, that still had eyes that asked him did it hurt? 

Eddie eavesdrops on as much of your grilling with Higgins and the hot guidance counsellor as his damaged eardrums will allow. Temporary insanity. Disgusting prank. He wonders what that’s about… and again, didn’t even think to question what brought you onto the hood of Hargrove’s car. He just saw you. He just acted.

He just keeps doing that. 

And then he hears. College. Application deadlines are within touching distance. 

“I can turn this around.”

Of course. Eddie hadn’t even thought about that, because he’s him. And it was something you were probably worrying yourself sick over, because you’re you– you wanted out of here. To get up, go, be someone great.

“New York, ideally,” you’d said to him once, tightrope walking across the broken bleachers outside; you’d been waiting around for him to give you a ride home, but he had a deal to make first. You were weirdly patient, weirdly pensive that day. “Someplace I can go and burrow in and absorb everything and grow out of a crack in the sidewalk, new.” 

Eddie’d held your hand, helping you step over a gap in the bench, “Not taking Manhattan by storm? Hurricane Lacy?” 

You–and he remembered this–had held onto his hand for a few more minutes, a cigarette dwindling in the other. Your fingers were cold; they clutched at his a little tighter when you spoke again. 

“No. Not Manhattan, not midtown, not big business. I have precipitated a change in my weathervane.”

“What does that mean?”

“Means that someone taught me the difference between being important and being significant.” 

Back in the room. Eddie drawls out some stupid crack to Higgins, who he’s still supplying with enough benzos to take out Jonestown a second time, which is the only reason he hasn’t been booted out of Hawkins High for absolute and final good. And then you’re alone again, the two of you. Together. 

“Wanna get out of here?”

Next thing Eddie knows, he’s spending the last of his energy like it’s burning a hole in his pocket, horsing around on the nurse’s saddle stool while you rifle through her office. You are all edgy and commanding because you have no idea how to say sorry you got wailed on by Hargrove for me.

Good. He likes you better like this, at least for right now. Likes to watch you attempt to pirouette on the razor’s edge of your relationship to one another, mostly because your attempt is more graceful and easier to watch than his is. And he likes to watch you. Watch you do anything, really. 

Watch you snap at him to get on the bed. Fuck. 

Watch you tear and dab at his busted knuckles. Fuckfuck. 

Watch you talk about Cat People and press his hand to his chest and tell him he’s injured and wrong and watch you watch searing, singing alcohol on his split lip dry up. Eddie watches your eyes brighten and darken with curious affection, like those twinkle lights that fade in and out, steady as breathing. His breathing is anything but steady. His knees have come apart, letting you stand between them.

You dab and he lets this broken sound loose from him, because the proximity of your body to his feels like a fresh fucking spring breeze and god, god, the way you’re touching him with such gentle, measured movements, like you’ve choreographed every one–

You’re so exact. You’re so organized. He wants to unexact you.

Eddie uses his good hand, not that either of them are really any good, and presses as much of you into him as he can. The flush of your front, the flush of your mouth, he even has to stop those shorn denim-sheathed legs of his from wrapping around your hips. Eddie’s grip, it travels, hitching tweed up the curve of your ass. 

You don’t push him away like he figured you might, you don’t indignantly demand what is going on?! You don’t. You weave your hand up the line of his thigh, to the hard edge of his crotch where he is straining, a rigidity that’s been building since you went all Nurse Ratched on him. 

A rigidity that’s hard to keep down around you, badum-tsssss. 

Fuck.

Eddie almost knocks the word loose with a low groan that’s pressed into the supple flesh of your cheek, your lovely blushing fucking cheek, a cheek he goes to kiss or bite or something but misses by a hair because you’re straining your neck back. To look at him. Not soberly, he hopes. 

Someone down there is wishing him death by dick.

Not the wettest, wildest, filthiest dreams that he’s had about you (and categorically, there have been many) could have prepared Eddie Munson from the earth-shattering consequences of this tiny gesture. Your tongue, perfect and pink, darts to his lip, stinging and sore and comes away with the tiniest drop of ruby-red blood sitting on its tip. 

And you suck his bottom lip between yours, eyes fluttering closed.

Eddie’s cock jumps as his heart does, not a second out of time, as you clamber up, into his lap– so completely un-Lacylike, so totally… unexact. How, in all the vastness of Heaven and earth and Middle Earth and Hell and the Bookstore and the closet and his bedroom and the van could he be so fucking stupid?

“Just friends, right?” Eddie is deaf to how pained it comes out sounding.

His good hand travels. He finds your thighs, the softness there giving way to easy indents for his fingers and he knows, he knows that this is where his hands should be–unless, higher could be good? Higher, high up past those offending, incriminating lace top stockings that drilled through Eddie’s mind like an ice pick, giving him whatever the opposite of a lobotomy is. Haunting him with a fervour, begging him to snap them, but there’s no fucking time for that, god it hurts but there’s no fucking time for that because you. Two. Are. In. The fucking. Nurse’s. Office. 

But the world has ceased turning. 

Eddie’s mouth opens in a silent attempt at a moan as his fingers push past to the beating, radiating core of you that the throbbing, radiating core of him longs for. 

You’re so wet, and soft and lush and it rings through is head like a fucking hallelujah, you’re wet, you’re wet for him.

More than anything, he needs your encouragement–he needs to know that you want him to keep going. That you want him, that you want him, that–

You nod, frantic and undone, and Eddie kisses you for it just before he realizes he has no idea what he’s doing. But nothing in his body tells him to zoom out–in fact, the only thing he wants is more in. More you, more of you wrapped around him. He moves his hands with a clumsiness usually uncharacteristic of him, fucking guitar guy, fucking painting miniatures and shit guy. But it works, according to you and the way you keen against him with your beautiful, spit-shining lips parted and pulling against his. 

These little noises, chirps and swallowed moans of yours– it’s like music. He wants to choke on them.

Eddie’s voice kind of cracks open again, letting a little air and a touch of begging out. He strains, pained, cock aching against the hitch of denim. “Does he do this? Does anyone do this for you, Lacy?”

Because you’re lonely, and Eddie knows that, with his fingers stroking you deep. You’re lonely, or would be, were it not for him. And it feels like now, in the heady swirl of these few moments that are stretched into an infinity, that he’s using it against you, but he’s not. He should be the one doing this for you, he should be the one making you feel this way, making you tremble even as he clumsily thumbs at your clit, because he thinks knows you and he thinks you want it unmeasured and unshackled and washing over you in a wave of sheer blind devotion and that’s why his tongue is all over your neck. 

That’s why his knuckles are split. 

That’s why there’s no malice in Eddie’s voice when he croaks, “Just friends? Lacy?” as you rock and spasm, hands clutching him around the shoulder and whimpers barely deadened against his lips. He can feel the texture of your pinched brow against his own. 

He wants to clutch you as close as he possibly can, but he’s got one good arm and it’s between your legs.

Between your legs. Jesus fucking Christ. 

Sobriety hits like a tidal wave as your breath returns to its normal rhythm; Eddie’s doesn’t quite have the same rebound. He’s still huffing a little, out of exertion or out of nerves, as he slips his hand out from under you, brushing what was off on his jeans. A small patch of his own bodily fluid collected there too, making sure he’s wearing the both of you like Hester Prynne’s scarlet letter as he walks around for the rest of the day. 

Eddie, throat starting to tighten up, pulls you in for one kiss, to give you one last taste of where he’d been split open for you. Melodrama dances around it; shades of we shouldn’t have, but we did, but we can’t, but now I have to fucking live with the fact I cracked open this Pandora’s box and I’m sorry. 

Or something to that effect. 

And you see right through him, because you always do. Hair in a muss, lips flushed, adjusting your skirt, re-exacting yourself, you clean up any evidence that this had ever happened. At least, on a surface level. 

Eddie dares to look at you once more, and you dare to look back at him. And thank god he’s sitting down, because that look shoots him right through the fucking aorta. You, wide-eyed and small-looking, pupils darting and unsure, are asking him why. Pleading with him, why. Why do this. Why now. Why at all, ever, why did you have to. Even though you know. 

“I–”

“No, I know. I know. I certainly know.”

Because you’re Lacy. You know everything. 

Eddie does think about going after you for a second, after your curt nod and dash through the door but he knows that it’s a zero-sum game. He has nothing good to say. It’s not even you that’s rendered him speechless– funny thing, you usually do the opposite. You always give him something to say. He just has nothing good to say. Nothing worthy of you. 

So he sits there, on the examination table, waiting for the mythical Nurse Lydia to tend to his wounds. 

First he’ll will himself soft, then he’ll will himself sane. 

Famous last words.

[halfdeadwallfly]

i just started malevolent for the first time...... i'm only like four minutes in......... what the hell

[hellaversity]

I scratch my head in confusion every time I see Stolitz antis who hate the ship for being "toxic" and then turn out to be Blitzker/Blitzika/Stolas x Stella shippers, when those ships are more toxic then Stolitz could ever be.

Not saying that Stolitz is sunshine and rainbows by any means. It's definitely unhealthy to a degree, but Striker literally tried to murder Stolas twice, tried to kill M&M several times and even tried to kill Fizz. I doubt Blitzø will ever forgive him for that. Blitzø and Verosika do have a chance of reconciling, but it'll take a while and right now Verosika doesn't look like she'll be over her breakup anytime soon. She also ordered her posse to gangbang Moxxie without his consent just to spite Blitzø, so I don't think he'll just gloss over that so easily to get back with her. And don't even get me started on Stolas x Stella, a marriage that had no love to begin with and only came to be for the purpose of producing a precautionary heir to the Goetia throne.

Meanwhile the entire point of Stolitz is that both Stolas and Blitzø are trying to make their dynamic work better. They want something more of their relationship than just boinking. Both sides know that they've wronged each other. Blitzø has shown on several subtle occasions that he repicrocates Stolas' feelings for him. He saved his life from Striker in Harvest Moon Festival. "Just Look My Way" is all about Stolas knowing he owes an apology to Blitzø for treating him like a sex object. The only reason he did in the first place is because Blitzø seduced him first and he thought that was what Blitzø wanted out of a realtionship, only to realize that he only seduced him to steal the grimoire behind his back.

You can dislike Stolitz as much as you want, more power to you. I don't care if you wanna ship Blitzø with Striker or Verosika, go right ahead. Hell, I don't even care if you wanna ship Stolas and Stella together as long as you acknowledge the fact that it's abusive and loveless. But PLEASE don't be a hypocrite and contradict yourself.

[prince-liest]

I've been thinking about your Lucifer/Angel fics (re: fantasizing, general daydreaming, and finding myself NOT doing whatever task I was supposed to be doing) and I'm very curious: What, if anything, does Angel get out of their escapades (aside from boinking the Top Dog of hell). Like, Lucifer is very much attracted to Angel, and on top of that he's getting some top-tier emotional care from our favorite spider too. Platonic and community support even, what with the wing-grooming fic! (Dunno if that's all in 1 continuity or not but either way lol). So is there anything outside of the sex parts Angel is enjoying? :3

Ahahaha, glad they've been living on amidst the plethora of radiostatic! >:D I've had another Lucifer-centric fic percolating recently, actually, though it's a gen fic.

HAVE A LIST. Not all of these are "outside of the sex parts" and some of them are, like, smeared across both. All of my Lucifer fics, fwiw, are not actively intended to be written in the same universe/continuity, but folks are free to headcanon them as such if they feel like they fit! HOWEVER:

I write Angel Dust as someone who does in fact just enjoy sex, including sex with a variety of people, and Lucifer is objectively pretty fucking cute.

And also into some kinks that Angel might not get to explore elsewhere, especially since the professional Angel Dust persona is a more submissive one.

Lucifer is also Lucifer. Angel Dust is not immune to the stardom factor!

Lucifer is very eager-to-please and for all that he's largely the one getting taken care of in the NSFW fic, it's still an incredibly endearing attitude for Angel "my job that I'm not allowed to quit is to please everyone at my own expense" Dust to be faced with!

Seeing that someone as powerful as the king of hell can be as much of a self-destructive, anxious disaster as the lowliest of sinners is relatable and also vaguely reassuring! (Husk, on the other hand, finds this kind of horrifying, lol. C'mon, man, what happened to "we're all losers"?)

A lot of it isn't very deep, but I also am not writing any of my appledust as a set-up to a particularly deep relationship. I think they work well as genuine friends-with-benefits!

[mellowwillowy]

A Mouthful of Boobs

GN! Reader (who has no shame of playing Childe bcs that's me) x (Subby, Pervert) Childe (a bit of yan tendencies if you squint)

Just a drabble so it's REALLY messy

"Huaaa, just once, just one chance, please rail meeee Childeeee"

You cried as you replayed that one scene where Childe showed up in Fontaine's trailer. Hell, you didn't even watch the front and just skipped to his scene alas you didn't know what the other characters' names were.

Your PC stayed on with Childe standing, idling in front of you while you kept on kicking the air, biting your pillow.

What you didn't know is that, ekhem, SAGAU.

Childe internally screamed inside while still doing his game idles, honestly, he gotta thank Hoyoverse for only letting his dick boink during his weapon trance. But the way you kept on begging to be railed by him, especially with his delusion? No, you even went as far as spouting, "Please rail me in your foul legacy form just once!!". Gosh, were you not aware of how it won't painfully fit you? Buttttt.... who is he to not grant you that one wish and stuff you full?

"Oh Childe, my orange cat, if only you are real and breathing." You coo at your PC screen while poking it. Well, firstly on his face, then his chest, then his... whole pack down there (dick).

Childe screamed internally again, he even stuttered a bit in his idle but you didn't notice it.

"Please please please, let me kill some slime, or better yet, respawn me with an egg." He thought to himself.

...

Respawn, and spawn. What a pair.

Hmm...

..

.

(I really am not in the mood to go to great lengths for this)

You opened your eyes and saw the white ceiling above you. Looking to your left, you checked the time. Afterward, you tried to reach your phone which you failed at so you tried to get up.

No luck, you couldn't budge, what the fuc-.

Oh what in the actual fuck.

Your right arm, yes, was tucked into someone's hold. Someone ginger, someone larger than your frame, someone you recognized.

Tartaglia. Childe. Ajax.

In the flesh.

"Motherfu-"

The ginger only grinned at your reaction as he let go of your arm.

"Yaaah~ I'm Tartaglia, in the flesh!" He said as he brought your hand into his manboobs (chest). Unwilling to miss this only one chance that's probably only happening because you were still dreaming (nah, you deluded yourself, aware of how dead your right arm was), you grabbed his tits and played with it, willingly.

"Gosh, it really is Childe's tits, in the flesh!" You drooled internally as you pinched his nipples which earned a whimper from the orange cat. Childe's face was soon filled in red, his breath getting raggier.

"Haa- Khuhkh! So eager, ahh, so, eager~"

"Of course I am! Better yet, let me milk it out!" You took a mouthful of his breast, (I have no shame aaa) your tongue swirling around it while your teeth bit it later on. You could clearly see your bite mark on it, and it felt good looking at it.

Your fingers went to give them a tease, flicking them up and down before pinching them. Childe's moan pitched from you playing with his nipples, his hands awkward, unsure of where to be placed. On your body? No good, he didn't deserve that (Said the one who watched you sleep with your right arm in his hold).

"So good for me~~, Gosh, I think I'm gonna save up for your cons instead of waiting for Pantalone (WHEN? WHO KNOWS 4444). Childe's head perked up at your words. Really? You're going to give up on Pantalone for his constellations instead? Oh Archon, no, Oh You (God), he could have sworn his dick twitched for a moment (why). God, it felt great hearing that after shooting death threats toward that refrigerator (Regrator) from the release of the harbingers trailer until now.

"AH-!"

Childe gasped, looking down, he saw your hand grabbing his... manhood... (dick). Ah....

well, that's a story for another time, (peace out innocently) they had a good time, that's for sure.

[candywife333]

Seven Days Are Over Already

Here is the FIFTH part of the JK-Seven Drabble series. These drabbles can be read out of order as stand alones but make more sense when read in order.

This is part of an entire Drabble series based on his recent music release. 

Disclaimer: As usual, everything in  the fic is fictional, and the behavior displayed by the character in the fic is obviously not representative of the real Jungkook.

WARNING: THIS PART OF THE DRABBLE HAS SOME DUBCON/SOMNOPHILIA IN IT, SO BEWARE AND PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THESE THEMES.

The next few days were pretty peaceful for me as I re-oriented myself. I heard from Jimin that Jungkook had been issued a restraining order from me. He couldn’t even be seen near the premises of my dorm, otherwise he would get detained. The man still wouldn't stop calling me though, so I was forced to block him. 

Jimin had told me that he had grown up in a really sheltered household, the type that went to Church every Sunday and shunned any sex related conversation. So apparently the dude was so sexually repressed that he didn’t even have any experience. Apparently I was the first person he had ever been with sexually, which made me even more confused. He got depressed because he had constantly been bullied through school and had very low self esteem. He was undergoing therapy for a month now, but had difficulty being in consistent attendance. He had apparently drastically improved this year after fixating over me. He was extremely cheerful and motivated now, and his grades had improved so much that he had gotten honor roll this semester. 

 How could a guy so handsome and cute not find anyone else attractive till now? If he just put himself out there, he would’ve been boinked on the first day of ever stepping onto campus. Then I remembered that he talked to me about his erectile dysfunction issue. I just found his tale a tad fantastical, I mean, how could I be the first person to turn him on ever, he must be out of his ever loving mind.

On the other hand, I was able to finish my assignments in peace. I was studying to be a psychiatrist and nothing could get in the way, including him. This year was lighter for me, but prepping for med school interviews was difficult. And though I intended to stay in state for med school, I couldn't have unnecessary distractions. Plus I liked the way my life was so far, being single allowed me to focus on myself and get to know what I liked and didn't like, what my boundaries were. Engaging him would make that goal very difficult to achieve.

If his obsessive tendencies were anything to go by, he needed therapy and distance from me. 

As it had already been a week now, he must have gotten over me. With this confidence, I got ready for bed. I left the window slightly open to let in a breeze and settled into bed which was right near the window, letting the cold air filter in  as I was snuggled into a fuzzy melange of blankets. 

I fell asleep easily, comforted by the warmth of just dried sheets wrapped around me. 

Then suddenly, I woke up to a strange sensation. I could feel a cold tongue traveling up and down my nether lips, separating them delicately to lick into my core. 

What the hell was going on?! I sat up in the body, confused as to my surroundings. I was in my dark bedroom, but now the window was open wide. I saw the glint of gold rings shimmer as what looked like a human head moved under my sheets. I pulled the sheets off hurriedly in panic and fear just to see two doe-eyes glittering with tears staring directly at me. I tried to get his head away from my core, pushing him away in a flurry of movement. 

His grip as usual didn't budge as he swatted my hands away, resuming his position at my core, as though he deserved to live between them. He kept licking, making me shiver as I couldn't control the electric cold sensation slide down my spine. His tongue laved tirelessly at my clit,  his warm hands squeezed my thighs. He moaned contently as he licked, as though he were drinking ambrosia. 

Even I tried resisting, his firm arms corded with muscle ripped my night gown as I gasped in surprise. He grunted in a satisfied manner as his hands were met with the texture of my taut nipples. He was in an unstoppable frenzy. I could feel my core tighten and throb as I felt a white blaze overtake my vision. I slumped onto the bed, my back meeting the sheets as he climbed over me to suck at my nipples. He latched onto them as though there was milk for him to draw out of them. His hands continued to trace the lines of my body, outlining my form as he kneaded the flesh around my hips and stomach. 

He pushed his tongue into my mouth as I moaned, slobbering me with wet kisses on my jaw and neck. He tasted like bananas and sprite, what an odd combination. Finally he started speaking in a broken whisper as his hands continued squeezing my flesh, “I-I am s-s-so sorry, I keep hurting you. But I am addicted to you. I j-j-j-ust can’t stop myself. I tried controlling myself for a year but it’s just not working. I don't want to hurt you, I will wait as long as you want me to. We can take it as slowly as you want. But I have to be with you, otherwise I feel like I am going insane. I can’t even function without the thought of you. You got me out of my depression when I saw you reading in the college Green house for the first time. I felt happier than I had my entire life until then.”

He continued speaking as his beautiful eyes gazed into mine, pinching my clit. I couldn't hold his gaze as my eyes closed in pleasure. “I know you were scared of me. That’s why you called the police. I hate that I made you scared of me. I love you so much that I can’t let go of you. I wouldn’t be able to forget you if I tried. Please let me be just be by your side. I know I am not good enough for you, but I will be anything you want me to be. I won't push you to have sex, though I am so hard it hurts, I know you are recovering. Let me just lick you the whole night. Let me memorize your taste on my tongue. Let me come into your window every night to lick you to completion.”

I trembled as my body shook with the innumerable orgasms he was pulling out of me. His cold tongue coated my core to the point that it felt soothing. I pulled his head up to mine, grasping his hair to make him face to face. 

I felt unhinged with him. He made me feel things I never felt before. My logic told me no, but my heart said something else. I pecked him on his lips and his eyes seemed to glitter with bliss, his mouth curving into a smile as I said, “You are good enough for me. I’m sorry that I keep pushing you away when you profess your love for me. Honestly speaking, I don’t have time for you in my life or anyone else.” His smile started to transform into a pout, his eyes shimmering with the start of tears.

I squealed in panic, “No, no, don’t cry. I hate seeing you cry. Why don’t we do this? We can try dating for a week and see if we work out. But you have to stop trespassing like this”.

He smiled , seeming more at peace than I had seen of him til now, “That sounds great. All I need is one week to convince you to marry me. I have the engagement ring ready just so you know.” 

He giggled and fell on the bed wrapping his arms around me, grabbing my butt as he fell asleep. The urge to escape his hold was dying down. I settled into his embrace, falling asleep content in his arms. 

[saltygilmores]

DANCE MARATHON EPISODE-PART 3

So I had seen this Charity Dance Marathon gimmick on an episode of the Golden Girls (an episode which aired in 1987) and I feel as if I’ve seen it on other shows as well. (fun fact I just learned this week: Gilmore Girls and Golden Girls both shared at least one writer). Were these ever real things or is this just a gimmick made up for sitcoms? Are there real people out there shaking their moneymakers til they drop? Who can actually dance for 24 hours with only minimal breaks? It seems incredibly uncomfortable. See also: Charity bachelor auctions (Seen this gimmick on The Golden Girls again, and The Simpsons). Stars Hollow could never auction off a date with a hunky bachelor because Miss Patty keeps all the eligible single men and teenage boys chained up in her basement. I may have to do some research on these phenomenons.

I already can't stop saying Shug and Shuggy and Shugar at random intervals after seeing Land of Bad yesterday, and Babette is not helping, lol. Maybe on a different timeline, she was Shug's Momma (actually...maybe I shouldn't wish that for dear Babette).

I just want to point out the sign in the background reading: "All students riding a school bus home after school must wait in the gym." Who is so far away they're taking a bus to school in Stars Hollow? Stars Hollow is like four feet long. Maybe there are so few teenagers in The Hollow they have to consolidate with other districts and bus in students from other towns, like seat fillers. Those poor kids, deprived of an education like that.

Everything reminds me of Captain John "Sugar/Shug" Sweet. Sookie informs Lorelai that under duress, she reluctantly agreed to her husband's "four in four" plan (four kids in four years, what is she, a dog?) and now she can't back out or have a conversation with him about it so she has no choice but to lay down and accept his sperm, lest she cause any conflict in their newlywed marriage where things are still bright and shiny and they enjoy sniffing each other in the morning, or something like that.

Tell that to Liz Danes.

That's rich and creamy coming from Ms. "I Almost Married Max Medina Without Discussing Where We Were Going to Live".

This is a janky medical operation we've got going on here. Medical examinations being performed next to open containers of food, no gloves being worn by medical personel or kitchen staff, and massage therapists walking around wearing tshirts saying "Masseuse" on them, because it's important to establish who you're getting massaged by. If it doesn't say Masseuse on the shirt, you might end up getting a rubdown from an unsanctioned random weirdo.

Alexis's is sneering like, "I'm here working 14 hours day in the Los Angeles heat in a heavy coat with a bunch of DORKS when I could be home boinking MY NEW BOYFRIEND MILIO VENTIMIGLIA and touching his BIG WANG! But maybe we can sneak in a quickie behind craft services later"

Mrs Kim is the real star of this episode.

Oh hey Mrs. Stanley Appleman.

Kinky.

If you keep drinking all that coffee, you're going to turn into a Coffee. Or probably have back to back heart attacks.

The clock is ticking to Shane's imminent demise. Hopefully her collapse from excessive blood loss won't get in the way of the other dancers, because Jess is going to butcher her behind the school without any witnesses. He is home sharpening his axe. #MurderOnTheDanceFloor #BetterNotKillTheGroove How the hell did they rustle up 156 couples/ 312 people for this thang anyway?

I love Luke in this episode :)

Pretty rich and creamy coming from you, Miss No Car, No Job, No Pet, One Friend, Butthead Boyfriend, Goes Home From College Every Weekend to Visit Mommy. Kirk has a thousand careers, he will eventually have a pet and a girlfriend, and what reason would you need a car in The Hollow? Except to escape it. Kirk easily has the most interesting life in The Hollow, save for Miss Patty, maybe (who has the most interesting past). He seems pretty content with his life. I love that there's a "security" guard back there. I guess he was sleeping on the job when Shane's cries of agony rang out into the cold Connecticut sky.

Says Miss Lonely Pathetic Existence Also Attending The Same Marathon With Lonely Pathetic Mother And Every Other Lonely Pathetic citizen of the entire town.

YAYYYYY.

If Lane doesn't stop causing so much friction in Hep Alien, she might be replaced with this guy. I'm sure he will get paid equally as much drumming for a group of teenagers as he's currently getting paid to drum for a small town twerk-till-you-drop charity event.

Remember when swing music had a brief resurgence in the late 90s? Those were the days, oh some days they were. But since time stands still in The Hollow, they're actually still on the 1930's wave. This is too much fun and so cute and whimsical and joyous and what a wonderful episode it is. Can't even snark too hard about the dancing. Lowering snark cannons.

They're going to go home and have unbelievable amounts of sex.

You know who else is going to go home after the DM and have an unbelievable amount of sex? I'm sorry. You came to The Thing, Dean! You did the bare minimum! You paid your girlfriend and her mother an uninspired compliment! For that Lorelai will stare at you like a hungry dog salivating over the last scrap of meat on a bone.