#1.9k

[glumbugg]

this post brought to u by aether's arms

[collectivecloseness]

Imagen being in like a abandoned place with Steve and a demodog is running after him and you're nowhere near that and you just hear Steve scream your name so you try as fast as possible to get to him and you straight up just tackle it to the ground ans somehow kill it (I don't remember how they did that) and just go "are you okay?" And Steve is in complete shock and is like wdym am I okay are YOU okay

Steve Harrington x reader

Steve used to not call for anyone’s help. He didn’t think anyone would, or should, care for Steve specifically enough. He wasn’t anyone’s main priority. That they shouldn’t waste effort, when he deserved some pain. Not when it could risk others getting hurt. Even though, in his heart, he knew his friends would be fine, even if they did risk some to come help him. Because his friends were strong, better than him in a lot of aspects. Mostly, Steve Harrington just didn’t think he was worth it.

But now he has you. You changed all of that for him.

“Y/N!” Steve screamed, yelling as he lay helplessly under the demodog, one thick piece of bark, a branch the monster had smashed off of a tree while trying to attack Steve, wedged between its teeth of its awful split open face, that Steve was holding with all his strength. His arms trembling as he tried to hold the beast at arms length, and it kept ravaging through the wood.

Steve was trying to kick it from below, but it was only making it angrier. Steve couldn’t go anywhere, it’d already chased him down. He was stuck on the floor, landing a kick to its stomach, but only making the sounds from above his face more traumatising. As it’s disgusting drool, and blood from who knows what, dripped down Steve’s neck, agonisingly slowly.

Steve could feel in his throat like he was crying, but no tears ever came. Blood from other gashes of the night seared, as Steve thrashed against the floor. It’s rows of teeth gnashed against the side of Steve’s wrist, as he forced the bark into its mouth, Steve’s heart pounding in his ears, too loudly for him to hear any other monsters around.

“Y/N!!!” Steve screamed again. Loudly yelling for you. Feeling that pain in his throat once more. It was the only thing Steve could think to say. Now he knew to call you for help. He knew that you’d come help him. And a feared groan left his lips, as he tried kicking at the beast one more time. His body position awkward, arms strained and wobbling, and the monster further up his body, clawed feet right by Steve’s chest, and pushing down on that stick harder, as a sob shot out Steve’s throat. All his muscles tensed, his body still fighting, thrashing, those few seconds after he’d screamed your name.

The beasts face was right over Steve’s the entire time, who was sunk on the floor. And then, it’s head just got bigger. As it’s face exploded somehow more, a chilling shriek roared through it, while Steve yelled in terror, right under the demodog’s body.

Suddenly, a foot was under the demodog’s ‘jaw’, and kicking strongly upwards. The creature was shot to the floor, stick lodged in its mouth, leaving Steve vulnerable.

Until that same dark boot, stomped on the demodogs neck. A sickening crunch was heard, as the creature became limp, twitching. Steve looked up, as he saw you stomp yet again on the things neck, twisting your foot until the crunching sound was stomach churning. And until it’s neck, became just as limp, as it’s lifeless body.

As Steve managed to sit up, panting, he just stared at you. You were sweating, panting hair away from the edges of your face. Your chest heaving, as you gave a kick to the things body, a gruff blowing past your lips... and exuding power.

When you see Steve on the floor, you entire demeanour changes. And worry floods through your face, and body. You run over to him, crouching by his side, your hands reaching out for Steve’s at the same time his do.

“Are you okay?!” You help him up by his hand, holding his wrist as you get Steve steady on his feet. As soon as he was up, as Steve was in front of you, alive, your mind overran with anxiety and relief at the same time. You checked Steve’s face by cupping it, feeling his heated cheeks beneath your hands, covered in a sticky layer of sweat. As he just stared at you, eyes so soft. Your boy so soft, still.

Your hands cupped his neck, then raced to lay over his chest, where you could feel his heart beating strongly against it. Holding his ribs, his waist. Your eyes checking his body all over for any new injuries, his face for emotional pain, while your free hand supported his back. Both finally resting over his shoulders when Steve placed his on yours, and you heard your boyfriend finally speak up, alright.

Steve was breathless. Having to catch up on what happened, what he’d just seen. What he’d seen you do, after you came to save him. His eyes were wild, blinking madly. “Are you okay?!?” He repeated. Unsure how you even could be after... after that!

“Yeah.” You panted, nodding as you sucked a quick breath in, having to swallow before you could speak again. But both of you slightly more natural now you knew each other was safe, in your hands. “I was just with Nancy and Robin and- I heard you so I came. What happened? Did it bite you? Are you okay?” You were still worriedly checking over him, just a little less frantically this time. You saw the new small mark on his wrist, but Steve took both of your wrists up into his hands before you could react. “Yeah I’m okay. Promise.” Steve brought your hands up to his face, kissing them.

Only then could you breathe. The touch doing amazing things to calm you. As well as looking into Steve eyes, properly. Not just a check, not looking at the corpse of some upside down monster you just murdered, but looking straight into your loves, always warm, eyes.

Clearly what was on your mind was on his too, because you both reached to hug each other at the same time. Steve held you tight, and you gripped onto him like you never wanted to let go again. What a stupid idea to split up, you hated Steve’s ideas, you’d never let him have an idea again! You hugged him closer.

For just a few seconds, Steve could feel you grasping onto him with all your might, as if you’d never leave his side again. Not just out of desperation, and love, but strength, and protection. Safe, because you were holding onto him. And Steve could rest his face against yours. Breathing you in. Breathing, because of you, in so many ways. Just drinking in your scent, and feeling your head bob his own with your heavy breath, your skin so hot under his, as he squeezed his arms just that much tighter around you, arms still shaking from effort. One dry tear finally slipped.

When Steve pulled back, his face had grown unsure again, ever constantly worried. His fingers reached over to flick some hair over your shoulder, his hands still staying securely around you though. “Are you sure? No weapon or anything. I mean, you just used your foot.” Steve could not comprehend how you’d just kicked that monstrous’s creatures jaw, somehow finding ‘it’ with a face like that, and broken its neck, and somehow that plan worked, and you were totally fine? Steve was often scared the universe would never let you be fine, if only to punish him.

“Yeah maybe I should’ve,” brought a weapon in case, you meant, “but I just acted fast! And I guess that was good enough this time.” You couldn’t bring yourself to smile, but you nodded supportively. A tilt to your head accompanying your higher pitched voice as you half shrugged to your boyfriend, pleading eyes almost for him to just agree with you in this case. “At least it was a little one!”

“A- a little one!” Steve was shocked.

Your face drained. “Not that I’m saying you were-!”

“No no I get that. But babe, don’t undersell yourself.” Steve gripped your shoulders differently this time, and god were you glad to feel some of his strength coming back into him. And see that rush on his face that you were sure yours was beginning to match. “That was- a literal monster!”

You laugh, it just bursts out your lungs. You weren’t even sure you were gonna do it, but a wide smile was cracking on your face, and a laugh shot out of Steve too, and- oh. Had your heart been going that fast this entire time?

But then a screech permeated the air, and both your heads shot into the small woods behind you, in the clearing of picnic benches you stood at.

Your heads turned from behind, to each other, both pairs of hands still holding biceps and shoulders from your hug. Steve looked at you, and that worry was clear again. Something much deeper under his brown eyes, as you both took in what the sound of that screech meant, and you knew you’d need to handle it. Looking at him this way, knowing he was going straight into battle without a show of fear, but from that look in his eyes when that shriek rang out, you knew you’d definitely be talking about his traumas with him once this was all over.

Steve pulled you in closer, one arm bringing you in front of his chest, as his eyes flickered between the source of the sound, and the dead creature that could have been him a few feet away. “C’mon. We need to get back to Robin and Nance, make sure they’re okay.” He planned out, rubbing your shoulder up and down, even though it wasn’t a particularly cold evening.

You agreed, taking Steve’s hand, mostly to give and share some comfort, as he pulled you in close. Both of you hurrying towards where you’d left Robin and Nancy, keeping an eye out for any movement in the clearing as you did so.

You picked up one not heavy enough to be cumbersome, but possibly useful, rock, and Steve kept a look out for anything else. Even though that branch had been from a body slam of a demodog, and even it had barely detered the creature, he could do with something in his hands, so he could protect you, and himself. At least until he got back to his trusty bat, which he’s sure Robin or Nancy must’ve found by now.

But Steve looked at you, almost flexing that rock like a weight, your eyes so focused, yet still holding his hand, as you both traipsed back to your meeting point. And as Steve recalled the memory of you clearing that demodog... Steve suddenly realised why you’d once joked he looked sexy sweating and covered in blood. The power definitely wowed him.

And, even though Steve would never put you in harms way first, he also wouldn’t mind seeing it again. At least he knew, like you’d told him so many times, and like he was yet again assured as you kept his hand entwined and close, that he could count on screaming at the top of his lungs, and calling you for help. That you’d be there for him. Always.

And that you’d annihilate anything that tried to harm Steve with your bare fucking teeth if given the chance.

[mytheoristavenue]

Final Follower Count of 2023!

So...remember my '1.4k' post where I talked about how my goal was to get to 1.5k followers by the end of the year? Well, WE PASSED THAT! It only took a week to get to that goal, but I wanted it to be a surprise. So how many are we at now?

The official final count as of 01/03/2023 is.... 🥁🥁🥁.

1,907 followers!

Thank y'all so much! It's so crazy to me how many people like the things I put out! As promised, I will be posting some special stuff soon for milestones, so be on the look out for that! I'm going through some changes right now in life, but I will still be posting, probably just not quite as frequently yet, but I will be back soon!

[babeydollx]

1.9k Followers

omg guys, I cannot believe I am this close to 2k followers! this is just honestly so fucking crazy to me, I never thought I would ever make it this far. I am so thankful for all of you and I have no idea how I would've got here without all of you. I am planning something special for 2k so stay tuned! <3

I love you guys sm! <3

[riconas]

@myghemicalghostmance @media-noche

happy to announce the hotel room only had one bed.

sequel to this ficlet

It’s late when they get to the hotel. The only rule Papa tells them to abide by, albeit with very tired eyes and the air of a man who has seen too much for his time, is “don’t break anything.” Everybody looks very pointedly at Dewdrop as he says so. Aeon wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. 

He’s assigned a room with Rain, but knowing his packmates, on-paper roommates never really stay as they are. The moment keycards are distributed, he sees them swapping hands. He trails behind Rain all the way to the lift, while Dew and Aurora race to press the button first. 

“Swap with me,” Swiss says to him in an aside, holding his keycard between his index and middle finger. “I’m with Dew.” 

Aeon looks up at him gratefully. “You don’t mind rooming with Rain?” 

“I’d love to room with Rain,” Swiss purrs. “Rainy, come here.” 

Rain turns around. “What do you want?”

Swiss curls a hand around the back of his neck, pulls him closer, and puts his mouth right next to Rain’s ear to whisper something. Rain’s eyes go wide as he lets Swiss push him into a corner of the lift. Aeon strains his ears to listen, but he only catches tonight, can’t walk, and everyone knows. 

The tips of Rain’s ears go a deep maroon. Swiss smiles, and gives his neck an affectionate squeeze. 

“Here,” Swiss says cheerfully, placing his card in Aeon’s hand and nimbly plucking Aeon’s away. “Thanks, darling. I owe you one.”

The room is at the very end of the corridor, right before the suite Papa thankfully isn’t staying in. Aeon’s hands shake far too much when he taps his card. He wipes his palms on his jeans again, before pushing the door open and shouldering his way through with his duffel bag. 

Dew’s waiting for him already, splayed out on the queen-sized bed, shoes and leather jacket haphazardly strewn aside. He perks up upon hearing the door open. “Aeon? Hey! Leave your stuff. Check this out—this bed is so soft, come here.” 

Aeon kicks his shoes off, drapes his jacket over the back of a chair, and plods over to where Dew’s making snow angels on the bedspread. They showered at the venue, so they’re somewhat clean, and he can’t resist—he plonks down beside Dew, marvelling at the downiness of the duvet, rolling onto his side to grin stupidly at Dew’s pretty face. 

Papa is spoiling them. 

“Thanks for coming,” Dew says sweetly, his palm pressed to Aeon’s cheek. “I hope you haven’t forgotten. Swiss took a lot of convincing, you know.” 

Aeon rolls his eyes. Swiss is only next door, probably about to pound Rain into tomorrow and the day after. “Really? He seemed pretty happy to swap. For Rain, I mean. So he could be with Rain. Not because he didn’t want to room with you. Or anything.”

He’s babbling. He shuts his mouth, embarrassed, but Dew just laughs.

“‘Course he was! It’s ‘cause Rainy doesn’t fight like I do. He just lies there and takes it.” He smiles dreamily, holding out his arms. “Cuddle?”

Aeon slots himself against Dew’s chest and wraps himself around Dew’s twig-like body, octopus style. It’s cold outside, and it was freezing when they’d performed, but Dew’s like a furnace, a life-sized heating pad. He presses himself as close as he can, chest-to-chest, hip-to-hip, nestling his head in the junction of Dew’s neck and shoulder. 

“Kiss me there,” Dew breathes, petting over Aeon’s hair, so Aeon presses his lips to Dew’s blistering pulse, laying a trail of kisses all along the line of his throat. Dew sighs happily, wrapping his legs around Aeon’s hips, tilting his head back to expose more of his lovely skin. “That’s so nice,” he says, as he threads his fingers into Aeon’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. “That’s so nice, keep doing that.” 

Emboldened, Aeon scrapes his teeth over Dew’s collarbone, leaving the tiniest nick in his wake. He isn’t sure if he’s allowed to do that, but Dew doesn’t seem to mind, not with the way he gasps and arches and ruts sharply against Aeon’s crotch. He’s hardening up, cock pressing through his jeans. Aeon’s no better off. 

They go at it like that for a while, grinding and humping and breathing into each other's mouths, until Aeon whines so plaintively Dew stops in his tracks, pressing a finger against Aeon’s lips. Aeon wiggles in protest. 

“Go to my bag,” Dew says softly. “Second pocket. Bottle of lube. And take your clothes off.” 

Aeon scrambles to comply. He hears the delighted chime of Dew’s laughter behind him, the ruffling noises of Dew shucking his t-shirt and pulling down his jeans. He didn’t think to prep himself before tonight, too caught up in Rain to bother getting ready. He wonders if Dew will be gentle, or if he’ll try to outdo Rain, or they’ll have to pay a fine for noise complaints. 

“Better hurry,” Dew calls. “I can hear Swiss and Rain next door. They’re getting pretty noisy already.” He catches the bottle Aeon throws at him, pops the cap, and drizzles a good amount onto his cock. “Come here. I wanna finger you.” 

Dew is vicious, Aeon realises. And stronger than he looks. He bites his knuckles and pulls his knees up to his chest as Dew scissors him open, watching him with a cocky smirk on his face, stripping him bare. It’s considerate, and efficient, but Aeon doesn’t want to wait any longer. 

“Can I touch myself?” he asks shyly. 

“No need to ask,” Dew replies, casual as anything, sliding his fingers out to circle Aeon’s rim before pressing back in with three. “I’m nicer than Rain.” 

Aeon grabs his cock, squeezes the shaft, cups his heavy balls in the palm of his hand. If he really listens, really concentrates, he can just about hear Rain’s heavy breathing through the walls, the muted slap of skin on skin. It spurs him on, gets him worked up. Gets him desperate. 

Dew pushes in without warning, holding his legs up and to the sides, and Aeon yelps in surprise. When he turns his head a little, he can see his feet beside his shoulders, flexed and tensed, toes curling reflexively. He rubs at his own nipples, pressing himself into the mattress as Dew sinks all the way down to the hilt and tucks his face beside Aeon’s to blow a hot puff of air right against the shell of his ear.

“You hear that?” he huffs, knocking Aeon’s hand away, pinching Aeon’s nipple and rolling the bud between his thumb and forefinger. “I think I hear Rain crying. Whining like a little bitch.”

Aeon whines too, scrabbling at Dew’s back. Dew isn’t moving, just keeping Aeon stuffed and still, and he’s heavier than he looks so Aeon can’t really move either. With Dew lying on him like a very uncomfortable weighted blanket, Aeon is helpless, and it’s driving him crazy. He worries Dew might just stay like that forever, might make Aeon cockwarm him until he goes soft. Desperately, he kicks his heels into Dew’s bony ass, and Dew scolds him by knocking a palm into his windpipe. 

Dew is most certainly not nicer than Rain.

“He isn’t crying,” Aeon pants, once he’s stopped coughing. “He’s tougher than that.”

“‘Kay,” Dew says flippantly. Then he’s pulling out and Aeon’s eyes go wide before he pushes in again, all at once, with a slap that makes Aeon flinch. He does it again, squeezing Aeon’s throat for leverage, gripping his hip until it hurts and Aeon has to jerk away. 

Satanas, Dew’s just as nasty as Rain. The cuddles were all a ploy to get him all soft and subservient, to knock his defences down, and he’s so gullible that it actually worked. He reaches to touch Dew’s stomach, tracing lightly over the lean contours of his abs, dragging his fingers up to tug at the rings through Dew’s nipples. He really likes them, likes how they make the buds all puffy if he tugs hard enough. 

(He’s heard there’s a ghoul at the abbey who knows his way around a needle and a taper. One of the older fire ghouls, if he remembers right. He makes a mental note to seek them out when he gets back.)

“Love your hole,” Dew breathes. “So tight. Squeezes my dick real good.” He rubs a palm over Aeon’s lower stomach, feeling for the shape of himself inside, and Aeon stares in wonder. Dew could have used more lube, he thinks, but he finds he doesn’t really mind the burn, doesn’t really mind the smudge of hurt.  

“You like using it?” Aeon asks daringly, squeezing around Dew's dick.

“Fuckin’ love using it,” Dew groans. “Perfect little cunt.”

Aeon closes his eyes. He doesn’t need to think about how hard that word made his dick kick. 

“Harder,” he says, touching Dew’s wrist. “I want it rough. Like Rain did today, in the dressing room.”

Hearing Rain’s name must snap something in Dew. Maybe it’s his competitive streak, or his possessive tendencies, but his voice loses its soft edge after that, turning sharp and ragged, like the edge of a broken rock. 

“Like Rain?” he snarls, grabbing Aeon’s throat and squeezing tight.

“Uh-huh,” Aeon replies, nodding as best he can. 

Dew snaps his hips hard, fucking him with brutal punches that have Aeon’s head spinning. “I’m fucking you and you’re thinking of Rain?” He spits Rain’s name like it’s a dirty word, a bad taste in his mouth. “Why don’t you go next door, then, if you want Rain so bad? Bet he’d love to use your dirty hole. Maybe Swiss will join in, fuck your throat while he’s at it.” 

Aeon wants to tell Dew to keep it down, that he’s being too loud, that the hotel is way too nice for this and they’re going to get funny looks at breakfast tomorrow, but between the cruel jab of Dew’s cock and the growing ache in his gut, he loses the words before they get past his tongue. He presses his face into the pillow and twists his fingers into the sheets, trying not to look too smug, lest Dew discover this is what he wanted all along. 

“You’re better,” he says instead, cock-drunk and stupid. “You make me feel better than he did.”

Dew laughs out loud. “Then you’d better make me cum. Treat me better than you treated Rain, alright? You hear me?”

Aeon hears him, loud and clear. He clenches as hard as he can, revelling in the sting of Dew’s shaft catching on his rim and the stilted gasp Dew lets out. His own cock is hard against his stomach—he’d gotten no relief after Rain used him earlier, and it’s catching up with him now. He spits on his hand and grabs his dick, thumbing underneath the slit, polishing the head with his palm. He’s waited so long. 

Dew shifts, and the change in angle puts his cock right up against Aeon’s prostate, neglected until now. Aeon grits his teeth to stifle his moan, gripping the sheets so hard he fears he may rip them. 

“You’re mine,” Dew snarls, pistoning his hips like a fucking machine, so hard Aeon nearly bounces off the mattress with each thrust. “You don’t think about anyone else when I’m fucking you, you understand?”

“Yes,” Aeon says, his voice cracking.

Dew slaps him. “Yes who?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Aeon gasps. 

Over in the next room, Rain wails. 

[johnnystorms]

avengers twilight!steve, on regrets, memories and tony stark. written post-avengers twilight #002. stevetony.

Steve has a lot of regrets. Tony—not the real one, the best friend he lost on the day he lost everything, but the one he keeps in his head, his mind’s best attempt at a ghost of the person he misses most—says that’s inevitable, living as long as Steve has.

C’mon, Cap, he says, smiling that way his Tony used to: eyes as bright as the future he was always talking about, everything in him shining. Or maybe that’s just how he looked to Steve, young enough back then to not yet have blinked the stars from his eyes. You live long enough, you run the risk of anything outweighing the good memories. His smile fades, not enough to disappear, but to become something smaller, quieter. Tinged with something requiring care. Do me a favour, handsome. Try not to let that happen to you.

Steve doesn’t like disappointing Tony Stark, not even the one dreamed up inside his head, but he thinks it might be too late on that front.

If someone asked for a list of regrets, he’d have to give that wry, hoarse laugh that makes him sound as old as he feels, and say, Nobody has time to listen to all that. If someone had asked Tony, he’d have a breathtakingly clever quip or an outpouring of guilt, depending on his mood, and who had asked. If it had been Steve, maybe both. Matt would have thought about it, long and hard, and disappeared to a confession booth. Peter – Jessica – Logan – Carol – all of them, he thinks, would have their own laundry list of hauntings, justified or otherwise.

That’s the name of the game, he thinks. You have to take the wins for what they are, but it doesn’t make the losses any lighter to bear. Steve’s posture isn’t what it used to be, even with the Defenders’ replicated super soldier serum in his veins, but his shoulders were shaking under the crushing weight of all his mistakes long before his age caught up to his body.

Janet isn’t here anymore to ask, but he doesn’t know what she’d say. It’s not that he thinks she has no regrets—even outside of the hero business, that’s a tall order for anyone—so much as that’s not how he remembers her. When he thinks of Janet van Dyne, he thinks of her deft fingers readjusting the lapel of the suit she designed and Tony cajoled him into; he thinks of her tinkling laugh almost being swallowed up by Thor’s booming one, the two of them bent double at the disgruntled expression Clint was shooting their way one golden night back when the world knew what heroes were meant to be; and he thinks of her clever, smiling mouth, and the way nobody could ever resist smiling right back. Steve had been no exception.

He misses it so fiercely it burns. Jan’s smile and Thor’s relentless steadiness and even Peter’s terrible jokes as he chased the Human Torch around the city. Carol’s quick fists and Jessica’s quick thinking and Natasha’s quick draw, and the time the three of them had a punch-up contest with the Thing that ended in an exasperated Tony footing the bill to the city and Johnny cackling as Sue dressed down Ben for his part in it. Luke’s laughter as he slung his arm over Danny’s shoulder and Jessica Jones taking photos of the two of them and Logan and Bobbi in the corner, trading tales of Hawkeye’s Greatest Hits: Indecent Exposure edition.

And Tony—always, always Tony. The press of him against Steve’s side, a reassuring line of heat, like, hey, you’re not alone anymore. You’re not cold anymore. You have a team. You have me. His tired eyes and easy smile and razor-sharp wit, even half-dead on his feet. The late nights where Steve coaxed him out of his lab with a hot drink and the promise of conversation, the early mornings where Steve would wear a worried frown and say, you should really sleep more, Tony, and Tony would grin at him and say, and give up these early mornings where you bring me coffee and those big blue eyes of yours? Never, and Steve would sigh, but there would be something fond tugging at the corner of his lips, and Tony would look all pleased with himself, animated in a way no caffeine fix could ever cause, and Steve would want—

Steve swallows.

You’re drifting, baby. It’s Jan’s voice, that classic combination of fond amusement and concern that Clint used to perk up at being addressed with and Tony used to call the van Dyne special, all those years ago. God, Steve misses them all. He aches with wanting. You’re drifting. Bring it back home, Steve. Start with the most important bit. Let’s take it from the top.

There isn’t a team to report to anymore. It is not a new fact, a new thought, but every time, it hits him like a concrete block to the ribs.

There isn’t a team to report to anymore, but Steve Rogers breathes in, and thinks about it anyway. Take it from the top. The most important things.

How the tables turn, Tony says. He’s the only one Steve keeps. All his other ghosts flit in and out of his head, coming and going like the tides, but Tony is the forever haunting. The only one his mind holds onto on a permanent basis. D’you remember, oh, all the way back near the start -- one time you asked me if it got exhausting, thinking so much.

Steve remembers. Steve has never forgotten anything Tony Stark gave him, be it physical or a vow or just the smallest memory that wasn’t intended as a secret but became one in Steve’s desperate hands. The world has taken so much from him, from all of them, ever since H-day. He can’t talk about Tony, because what if the world takes that from him too?

How the tables turn, Tony says again, soft in that way most people didn’t believe Tony Stark could be. Steve knew, though. Steve’s always known. You look exhausted, Steve. Don’t let it be so big. Just -- right now, right at this moment. What’s the call, Cap?

That was what Tony had said that day, Steve remembers. The world was on fire, and about to become a whole lot colder, and they didn’t know that, didn’t know anything about what was to come, just that this was it, this was the moment, this was the do or die, and Tony had stood at his shoulder, the armour a familiar comfort against Steve’s side, and asked, What’s the call, Cap?

An itemised list of all of Steve Rogers’ regrets would take too long, and a ranked list of all time would be impossible to decide upon when Steve has such a long memory and even longer history.

So, in its stead, Steve thinks, he’ll give Tony the right now.

STEVE ROGERS’ TOP THREE REGRETS RIGHT AT THIS VERY MOMENT, 0142HRS, DEC 31 20XX, COUNTING DOWN:

3. Rosa. He’d deserved the slap. He’d deserved a lot of things, really. He’d had good years with Rosa; years of her no-nonsense love, of her careful hands, of the way she looked at him in the quiet of the night with all the warmth their little home could hold, like she still saw something worth believing in him. Maybe she did. He thinks she probably did. His wife was a lot of things, most of them good, but above all else, she was never a liar.

He’s sorry he blew up her life. He’s sorrier about that than the fact he blew up their life together, but that’s always the way it goes with him, isn’t it? There’s nothing he’s felt he had to keep more than the shield. It’s not that they matter less to him—God help him, but it’s not about the love. There’s never been a lack of love—but to his bones, to his core, he’s always been the guy who wants to stand up and help. If the fight needs to be had, he’s going to stand there, fists up, no matter who he is, no matter how old he is. No matter how super he is.

He knew that about himself a long time ago. Maybe if he’d stopped pretending that had changed, Rosa wouldn’t be stuck here now.

2. It’s a little one, in the scheme of things, but it also feels more important than almost anything else at this moment. He wishes he’d touched Matt, that last time they saw each other. Gone are the days where Steve would clasp his friends by the hand, something lost to time and loneliness and gradually brittled bones, but he wishes desperately that he’d clasped his hand to Matt’s shoulder one last time. Just a moment. Just enough for some phantom warmth on his palms, a tangible ghost of Daredevil, not just something dreamed up by his mind in the moments when losing almost everyone he’s ever trusted is insurmountable.

1. He doesn’t know where to begin with this one. H-day. The way it went down. Peter bleeding out in front of him. James Stark growing up without his parents, the best of them both twisted into something Steve can’t look at directly without feeling hopeless, helpless. Clint’s arrow snapped in half, a crater where the Thing should be. His last sight of Reed Richards, stretching further than he’d ever seen before as he reached out desperately towards his wife. Tony’s voice in his ear: what’s the call, Cap?

And that’s what it comes down to, isn’t it? His biggest regret. This one, he suspects wouldn’t change even if it was an all-time list. Tony Stark, the vibrant, blaring truth of him. Something Steve misses so desperately that when the world forced him to live without him, he made up a version of him to keep in his head forever.

It’s more similar to #2 than he thought. He has so many regrets, and so many of them are about Tony Stark—about that day, about missing people, about loving people and losing them because of the fight, whether they were lost in the fight or he left them behind to join it—but more than anything, he thinks he misses the feeling of Tony’s hand in his, pulling him in close, arm going around Steve’s shoulder to draw him into a hug.

I’m not half as good at anything as I am when I’m doing it next to you, Tony says, years ago, so far away from this moment that it might as well have been another world, and Steve, old and jaded and lonely and tired and missing the person he loves best so fiercely it aches in his lungs, thinks, You and me both, Tony. You and me both.

You and me. You and me. You and me.

-

(When the dossier falls open in front of him, with a blueprint of a tank and photos of him—photos of Tony, and even Tony in pieces makes Steve ache with something he thought had long been buried—spill out, let’s get it from the world’s smartest man, Tony Stark echoing in his ears—

Steve, for a moment, wants to throw up.

Then his jaw sets.

All right, Tony, he thinks. He doesn’t know if he’s addressing the ghost in his head, or the one in the tank, or some nebulous third thing, a Hail Mary thrown to the universe, some last passage of faith he thought he’d forgotten. What’s the call? You and me. That’s the call. I’m getting you out of there.

I’m bringing you home.)

[karkatbug]

🦀🕶️🫂

A tight, hot sensation works its way along Dave’s arms and sits at the pads of his fingers, which he taps restlessly against the cool, waxed wood table of their local coffee shop. He continues the motion despite his classmate’s evident irritation, hoping the contact would somehow encourage the feeling to pass through his fingers and onto the table via osmosis. It’s a familiar tension after enduring copious amounts of stress. Assignments, exams, working part-time. His social life, hobbies and habits. College had a knack for narrowing time and forcing life into a bottleneck. If you’re lucky enough to come out the other side alive, you’re left an exhausted shell of yourself, stiffly trying to relax your shoulders and convincing yourself that’s all you need and are totally fine now. Booking a back massage was pussy shit. No way in hell was he ever gonna let some man rub oil on him and get all touchy feely with his nude bod, no the fuck thanks.

Not to mention things were good. He’s quite literally in a better place. There was no reason to be rigid with stress now when he wasn’t going through anything like back then. Sadly logic did little to work out the knots in his shoulders. 

“Mind over matter my ass,” Dave mumbles to himself.

“What’s with you?” Karkat demands. “You’ve been fidgeting all fucking day. All week, actually! Usually I let your human quirks slide but at this point I’m starting to get worried.”

Dave winces at the other’s raised voice.

“I’m fine, dude,” he says quietly, hoping to lead Karkat by example. “Finish your thingy.”

“Our thingy,” Karkat corrects. Dave huffs and glances back down at his laptop screen. A word document is open, and Karkat’s cursor flashes where he stopped typing. “And I’m not writing another word until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong, man.” Dave forces himself back into his quiet facade—fixing his calm along with his posture. They work some more. He grits his teeth when a leg begins to bounce. God how he’d love to crawl out of his skin right now. Instead, he sits up straight, grabs the side of the table and twists one way, repeating the motion as he does the other. His back pops both times. He lets out a satisfied sigh. 

It’s still not enough. 

“That’s the third time you’ve done that,” Karkat notes. His eyes are fiery despite the lack of red. Dave is one of the few who know about his blood color. He knows they’ll kick in a few years from now, and yet sometimes Dave can feel the color on him. Or maybe he’s projecting. It is his favorite, after all. The color. Not the troll.

Karkat pushes the screen of his laptop down as he points an accusatory finger at the restless human sitting across from him. “You’ve also rubbed your neck twenty seven separate occasions in this past hour. You’ve kicked me in the shin twelve times trying to stretch those freakishly long appendages you call legs. I’ve heard your back pop more times than Egbert’s fucking “grandma” and I lived with them for an entire year!”

“Why did you put quotations around grandma?”

“My point is what the fuck is happening to you? Are you about to molt? You’re acting like your frail skin is about to rip open.”

“Your inexplicable obsession with me is duly noted, and flattered as I may be that you watch me like a hawk—sorry, a talonscreecher— you can park those observations back at the Target parking lot you were at just this morning along with that awful thing on your wrist that you bought from there.”

Karkat tugs his long sleeve over his wristwatch with a scowl and flips Dave off.

“I usually exercise,” Dave explains, figuring he was one more digression away from Karkat finally deciding to kick him back for all the times earlier, most of which were definitely intentional points of contact on his end. “And I haven’t been able to for almost two weeks now because of—” he gestures to his laptop, the cafe they’re in and the campus visible outside the window they’re sitting by. “Our muscles get stiff and shit if we don’t move. It’s kind of unbearable for me.”

“Well, go! Go run a lap and come back!”

“What did we say about asking people to fulfill your furry kinks? I know our recently established friendship is cool and all but I’m not moirailling with you, dude. Next thing I know you’re going to ask me to get on my knees and bark—” Dave sucks in his breath and clenches his teeth, fighting the instinct to yelp following the sharp pain in his shin.

“Fuck off, Strider! Suffer in that meatsack for all I care.”

“I jog at ass in the morning or in the middle of the night, there is no in between.”

“Those are our peak cram hours.”

“I know! That's why I haven't been able to go!” Dave exclaims. “I hate feeling watched while I workout.” That’s not incriminating to admit, right? Most people hate the gym for the very same reason. There’s no way Karkat’s tragic-past detector would go off.

“‘Cause of your Bro?”

Dammit.

“No,” Dave utters stubbornly while raising his knee for easier access to rub his throbbing leg. “Can’t a guy be a little self-conscious when asked to run around his school in tight jeans and a baggy hoodie at peak hours? Can’t a troll accept that nothing will fix me right now besides getting on my stomach, spreading my legs and praying some forklift certified fuck accidentally gets in a steamroller and runs me over?”

“Jesus, Dave. If it’s that bad… just let me sit on you!”

Dave’s mind is pulled in so many different directions that for once in his life, he’s at a loss for words. The imagery, one he’ll never admit to having, even if burnt at the stake, takes hold. It’s so vivid in his mind that he closes his laptop with an abrupt snap and shoves it into his backpack.

“I think we’re done here.”

“Humans do it all the time!” Karkat continues. “You lie on the couch and your friend sits on your back, right? John and Jade fucked with me like this all the time but they’d make me do it back. They said it feels good.”

“You have got to remember that those two are outliers when it comes to what is considered ‘normal’ by human standards.”

“Right, because you’re a sensible being and should be considered the standard life form for your race.”

“You’re not convincing me to let you sit on my back, dude.”

“Fine, but where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

“Home?” Dave shifts out of the booth and shoulders his backpack. 

“No the fuck you’re not! We’re not even halfway done with this paper!”

“I’ll bullshit something tonight.”

Karkat follows him, protesting the entire time. Dave tries and fails to shake him off. The sticky heat of the summer has yet to take hold of the city. Accustomed as he may be, Dave never looks forward to it, and the dread along with his current bodily aches makes him clench his teeth and curl his fists. He snapped at Karkat once, two years ago, in the summer. He was in a bad mood. Sweat-slicked hair framed his features. The humidity sat heavy in the air and made his clothes cling to the small of his back. He was tired, his brain had reached capacity after back-to-back lectures. The sun drained what little energy he had left, so when Karkat tried to lecture him about his romantic life, embarrassing him in front of their friends, he was genuinely mad. They weren’t close then, but were in each other’s circle. Dave had regretted it instantly. Karkat was a good dude. Sensitive in a way that made Dave cringe, sure, and outright obnoxious at times, but it was from a place of caring. He was fooled at first, with the way the other talked and typed. Karkat Vantas came off aggressive, loud and arrogant, but in actuality was all bark no bite (though his throbbing shin would argue otherwise). When he apologized, Karkat hugged him tight and everything seemed to magically get better after that. 

Dave’s pace slows to a stop once they round the corner, officially off campus and away from the crowds of students. 

“Sorry,” he blurts when the other stumbles to a stop to avoid crashing into him. “For getting all pissy.”

Karkat raises a brow and tilts his head to the side.

Dave uncurls his fists and tries to relax his shoulders. He doesn’t want to be uncool like back then, two years ago. Not to the troll he now knows well. Someone he genuinely likes despite pretending otherwise.

“It’s not anything you said or did.” Why was communicating so hard? And so fucking awkward? Why did he have to explain his feelings instead of relying on the people around him to telepathically understand what was going on in his head?

“Yeah, I know,” Karkat snorts. “You just need to book a fucking massage.”

“Phrasing,” Dave smirks.

“No, Dave. I know what I said.”

Dave flushes at the other’s nonchalance. He hates when Karkat has the drop on him. 

“I hear you can request a happy ending from some plac—mph.”

Dave gets him into a headlock with one arm, the other going over his mouth. There’s a familiarity to the action. “Be glad there’s no table to suplex you over,” Dave threatens. He releases Karkat the moment he detects the other open his mouth to bite him. Yet another familiar action. 

They tussle for a while longer until they’re giggling as they pull away. The distance between them lasts only a brief moment. On a whim, Dave reaches out and pulls Karkat back in, this time for an embrace. Karkat squeezes him tight. It knocks the air out of Dave in the best way possible. Karkat pops his back and nearly lifts him off his tippy toes. God he loved this fucker’s hugs.

“Did that help?” Karkat asks with a small smile, sharp teeth peeking shyly over his lips.

“I’m not sure,” Dave lies, chest tightening at the sight. Shit. “Can you do that again?”

Karkat embraces him with all he’s got. Shit, shit, shit. Dave fights back the groan. He’d never hear the end of it if he made a single sound in front of Karkat. But he can’t lie, this shit felt good. He wraps his arms around Karkat and hugs back. It becomes a competition. They embrace each other until Dave is certain one of them is going to pass out from lack of oxygen.

They release each other with dizzied laughs and crash back into each other, initiating another round. This time Dave reaches around Karkat’s waist, leading the other to lock his arms around Dave’s shoulders. Karkat squeezes the tension right out of those muscles. Dave strengthens his grip until that tight, hot sensation that had wormed its way along his arms and to the pads of his fingers dissipates completely. 

They stumble apart with dopey grins, wordlessly resuming their walk home with nothing to fill the air between them but the sound of passing cars and chirping birds. He should have known. All it took was Karkat hugging him tight. Everything always seemed to magically get better after that. 

[juneberrie]

BETTER PLACE — JUNEBERRIE'S 1.9k CELLY

INBOX NAV RULES MASTERLIST ‧₊ ๑˚.・

CLOSED guyyyyysss tysm for 1.9k !!! eee !! as per usual, the only rules are: send one event per ask (send as many as you want, just one per ask), read my rules before sending anything in, specify whether you want gn!reader or fem!reader in your request. all fandoms & characters are open for this, but i reserve the right to not write anything i don't want to. (and yes, all the song lyrics are from trolls 3!!!) runs until 1/13.

YOU CAN LOVE ME ON THE WAY send me a character & a prompt and i'll write u a blurb

HARMONY'S SO GOLD basic tumblr games! cym, wyr, fmk, etc

THE NIGHT IS YOUNG & THE MUSIC'S ON send me a song you'd think i'd like and i'll tell you my thoughts!

GROOVE ABOUT TO TAKE FLIGHT send me a trope & a character and i'll write you some hcs!

MY GIRL'S LIKE CANDY send me a character and get 5 random headcanons i have about them!

WE GOT LOVE ON SIGHT send in a character and a song lyric and i'll write you a blurb!

YOU'RE ALL I EVER WANTED give me a short description of yourself, a fandom, and a gender preference, and i'll give you a ship!

THE ONLY RULE IS GET ON YOUR FEET send me an au, trope, or scenario + a character and i'll make you a moodboard!

YOU'RE THE REASON WHY I SING THIS SONG send me this and i'll put my liked songs on shuffle and give you the first song that comes up!!

YOU LOOK SO SWEET, COME BACK TO ME mutuals only! send me this and i'll tell you what kind of troll you would be (pop, country, funk, rock, classical, techno)

@spaceagebachelormann @dizzyntrr @waitingonher @cannibalizedyke @doyouknowwhoyouare13 @lunarfleur @heartss4val @cau-lee-flower215 @renqiisnce @isitoversnowtvs

[gaylotusthatexists]

(read on ao3 here)

She was dead. 

Scar stared down into the ravine, at Pearl’s lifeless body sprawled out on the ground, not quite able to tell where her red cape ended and the blood stained stone began. He hadn’t even noticed at first - he’d heard her scream, but had barely even processed it. Thought that maybe she’d just slipped, fell a couple blocks at most. He called out her name when things went silent. She hadn’t responded. 

He sat down on the edge, unable to tear his eyes away. Everything was so quiet, far too quiet. No laughter, no screams, no metal piercing through the air, no heavy footsteps pounding towards him. Not even the wind howling in his ears. 

That was it, then? 

He… 

He brought a hand up to his mouth, clasping it shut, holding back the sob that racked through his body. He didn’t feel like he had the right to mourn. Pearl hadn’t even really been an ally, let alone a friend, not until the very end. 

(That’s just how it goes for him, huh? Finally makes a friend, and she dies by his own hand.) 

But, even if only for a brief moment, she had fought by his side. She’d been willing to protect him, to give up her own life for him. And now she was gone, and so was everyone else, and Scar had never expected to get this far. So he let the tears roll down his cheeks, shoulders shaking, and… well, it wasn’t like there was anyone around to see, was it? 

(Was this how Grian had felt? With the harsh desert sun beating down on him, staring at Scar’s lifeless body, blood soaking into the sand, at the edge of a silent world. Had he mourned? Or had it been a relief?) 

He forced himself to take in a deep breath, lowering his hands and reaching for the scroll tucked into his pocket. He unrolled it, stared down at the red ink, eyes tracing across those three words. Win Secret Life. He’d… 

Huh. 

It occurred to him, in that moment, that he’d succeeded. Right? There was nobody left, so… 

“Oh my gosh,” he muttered, a smile creeping across his face. “Oh my gosh, I-” 

He took in a shaky breath, then stood up, stumbling more than walking over to the Secret Keeper. It almost felt like a trance, his feet somehow carrying him forward whilst his mind raced a million miles an hour, trying to process what had just happened. He’d won. And he’d… 

Gosh, he’d done so many things he now regretted to get there, but he made it out. He was still alive. 

Everyone had been against him. Everyone. The very world had been against him, this stupid world had wanted nothing more than for him to be hated, to be alone- 

Well. He supposed the world had got its wish, hadn’t it? He was alone now, more alone than he’d ever been. Not like he wasn’t used to it, at least. 

The thought crossed his mind as his hand landed on the button, a surge of newfound energy rushing through him. He tossed the thought to the side, his smile moulding into a grin. He’d won. 

He laughed. “Take that, Secret Keeper!” He turned around to face the rest of the world, his smile dropping just a smidge as he finally took in all the destruction. He tried not to think about it. “I did it. I beat your stupid game.” 

The sun set behind the statue, bright blue skies ahead beginning to darken to a deep purple. He headed towards the stars, back over to his home. Trying his best to ignore the corpses that lined his path. The blood on his hands. 

Scar stopped when he arrived at what used to be his home, realising that… right. It’d been destroyed. It’d been destroyed for a while. 

The world was growing cold, darkness spreading overhead, wind beginning to nip at his skin. He tugged his shawl tighter around himself, eyes landing instead on the courthouse, still mostly intact, somehow. That… That would work for now. 

He settled into the far corner, taking a few moments to gather himself, taking in deep breaths. He hadn’t realised it between the adrenaline of the final fight and grief that had taken hold of him as he came to understand it was over, but he was exhausted. His bones ached, his eyes felt heavy. If it wasn’t for the wounds that still littered his body and the cold that seeped into his skin, he would’ve fallen asleep right then and there. 

Instead, he curled up into a ball, trying to preserve as much heat as possible, shut his eyes, and waited. Tried not to think about all that had happened, tried to pretend it was a normal night. 

(Once again, his mind drifted back to Grian, wondering if it had been like this for him too. The desert had always grown cold at night, and gosh had Grian complained about it, every single night without fail. But with their home destroyed and Scar dead on the floor, what had he done? No walls to protect him from the wind, no strong arms wrapped around him to keep him warm.) 

Scar shivered, curling further into himself, shifting on the hard cobbled floor in an attempt to get comfortable. Nothing was really working. 

(Had Grian even stuck around long enough to find out? Or had he immediately moved on, found somewhere new, a place that wasn’t tainted with memories, both good and bad? Should Scar have done the same?) 

But with exhaustion settling deep in his bones, he ended up drifting regardless, in and out of a not so great sleep. 

When he managed to convince himself to wake up the next morning, all the sunflowers surrounding his home had wilted away. 

Days and nights passed, and he made himself busy. 

He started repairing Trader Scar’s, filling in the holes in the ground and rebuilding the walls, so he at least had somewhere somewhat comfortable to sleep at night. (Even if the building itself didn’t really matter anymore, since there was no one around to stop by and peruse through his wares. He kept it stocked anyhow.) 

He went around the server and gathered up all the bodies that remained, burying each and every one in whatever spot they cherished most. (Even the ones that had died by his hands. Even the ones he’d been unkind to, the ones who’d been unkind to him - in all honesty, he’d deserved it. The least he could do was allow them now to rest.) 

He did his best to repair the rest of the damage, or at the very least clean everything up, allowing the memory of everyone else to be preserved. (Even as those memories haunted him at night, his dreams filled with blank faces and blood stained clothes. As the days wore on, he found it harder and harder to convince himself to sleep.) 

Since no new tasks came, he started to make up his own. Happy ones, this time. Picking flowers, creating art, sending compliments, leaving gifts at the graves of those who had fallen. Tasks that he wished he could’ve gotten during the duration of the games, so that maybe things would’ve turned out differently. Maybe people would’ve liked him more, maybe he’d find less swords or arrows plunged through skin, wouldn’t have found his hand on the sword’s hilt or the bow’s string. 

They all ended up bittersweet. A dead body couldn’t cherish a gift, hear a compliment, admire a piece of art. Flowers wilted beneath his feet and in his hands. 

The world he inhabited was dying, but refused to drag him down with it. 

Months passed, and he continued to live, wandering an empty, dying world. 

(He wondered, again, if it had been like this for Grian. If he’d tried to make amends, build their house back up, repair the rest of the destruction that had been caused by their hands. If he’d buried Scar’s bodies next to Pizza’s grave, laid out a bouquet of poppies and lilacs, sat and cried as he remembered the time that they had shared. Or if he’d moved on immediately, ran off and found somewhere new.) 

Scar thought about it sometimes, running away. As far away from the Secret Keeper as he could get, beyond where the border used to lie, carve out a new life for himself. He could never bring himself too. 

(The desert began to invade his dreams. Grian’s lifeless body at the base of Monopoly Mountain, so small in the place so vast and endless. Dead before he could see the stars one final time, the world now dying around him.) 

He couldn’t remember the last time he spoke. He was used to feeling lonely, when he pressed that button he thought he’d be able to handle it, but this was so much different. 

He didn’t know what he was supposed to do. 

Wait? 

For how long? 

Every other time, the moment his heart had stopped, his eyes had opened and he’d be back home, back to his normal life. And eventually he’d be pulled away again, of course. The games would continue forever and ever and Scar was fine with that, he itched for it, wanted desperately for new allies and new enemies and a new world to discover, a world that was living. 

When would everything start over again? 

Had he not been punished enough? 

(He remembered seeing Grian after they’d left the desert. Remembered how he’d thrown himself into Scar’s arms, sobbed on his shoulder, clutched the back of his shirt so incredibly tightly, like he was scared to let go. He hadn’t understood it at the time, didn’t know why Grian was so upset - they were both safe now, Scar had been willing to die for Grian to live, he hadn’t been upset by it. Now, he understood.) 

He was caving when it happened. His pickaxe had finally broken a few days ago, and he needed a couple diamonds to replace it - sure, he could’ve taken one of the many swords left behind by the others, but that felt… wrong, for some reason. (He’d never been above stealing before. He couldn’t quite figure out why this time it felt different.) 

He hadn’t been paying attention. He very rarely paid attention, nowadays, but up on the surface that wasn’t such a bad thing. His efforts to fill in all the holes around the server made travel relatively easy, and actually being able to sleep through the night for a change definitely helped. Down here, none of that mattered. 

He didn’t even see what it was in the end. He wasn’t convinced he would’ve fought it off if he did. 

Scar died, and the world finally went with him. 

He awoke to bright sun shining through a window, and warm sheets covering his body. Noises outside, laughter drifting through the air. 

It didn’t feel right, but still, finally hearing something other than his own breathing brought him to tears. (He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried, he thought his tears had all dried up by now.) 

He was home. 

And despite being the only one who’d lived in the end, it was only then that, for the first time in months, he actually felt alive. 

[pictureyous]

2022 is nearly over and 2023 is about to be here in any minute. It has been a year and I am honestly ready to head into a brand new year. But before we do that, I want to shout out some amazing friends and creators I have made on this little place called tumblr. Everyone is special and amazing to me, so if I miss you I promise I love you.

@slayercordelia @leoofitz @este @sculien @jakeperalta @swanthief @bisexualorelai @babefourtheweekend @logangarfield @blanchett @lockescoles @glendoll @cherryslips @wyatthaliwells @candicepatton @bitchlestat @vitaminholland @userstede @wexler-mcgill @jddryder @bellamysgriffin @marcspektor @visenyatargaryen @ella-enchanted @nightmaarebeforechristmas @usermaxie @fourteenthofaugust @brittas-perry @bi-alinaoretsev @softiescully @emmanelson @snownonthebeach @louistomlinsun @heroeddiemunson @sadbeautifutragic @triciaorgana @lupesgarcia @jennas-ortegas @maygrant @buckelydiaz @usereste @lemoncupcake @eddiediaaz @deweyduck @maggielindemanns @jeunnies @rajalagang @killmytimes @payidaresque @enbyjinx @jeschastain @cassiehoward @ririvilliams @fionagallaqher @hopekirby @rogerhealey @ashleysjohnson @agentplant @ashleysolsen @singinprincess @finalgalnancy @softdavidrose @levy-tran @melody-pond @jamescarstairs @eclipsedsuns @goncharoffs @pegsccarter @dickgraaysons @santinacedes @nelsonnicks @itstruthtime @penelope-garcia @elemen @yennefer-nazyalensky @pugsleys @disaster-lineage @chrrispine @tylerkennedys @willlemdafoe @lizziemcguirez @deckerschloe @lizzybennets @rosaliehale @andtosaturn @userpurple @dykejaskiers @veronicamars @pamolabeesly @natasharomanovf @haydenpanettieres @nateliedormer @andremichaux @nick-nelson @ramonapest @william-byers @elena-gilbert @star-kovs @heartsofblood @anistonjen @killmyminds @harrisons @violets @katiekatebishop (i miss you </3) @wandasmaximofffs @legoilas @lizgilies @madeline-kahn @madelyn-cline @anthonybrxdgerton @sci-fi @rheanrya @robert-englund @sabrinacarpentc @annacoleman @maria7potter @lizgilies @theresebelivet @olliverstark @eizagonzalezs @tonitopazs @eclipsedsuns @winesplashed @cherrywinona @quinns-fabrays @haylewilliams @heroeddiemunson @midnightsdlx @macbieths @slayercordelia @kiimtaehyung @bladesrunner @jakeyp @willsilvertongue @antoniosvivaldi @binariesuns @beca-mitchell @mytearsrricochet @chestnutsroasting @tylerkennedys @kenobiis @lucy-pevensies @fawad-khan @mark-hoppuss @slained @eizagonzalezs @floencepugh @madsbuckley @swiftiebuckleys @eggsys @wynona-rider @bisexualorelai @fuckinlegacies @wakandasforever @miriammaisel @emmanelson @bladesrunner @riptides @sarah-snook @kathrynshahn @pjobsessed @treacherous @cillianmurphy @haydenanakin @nataliaaromanovas @gretacarsons @favoriteliar @smithmatts

[softkiseu]

[collectivecloseness]

3 & 17 & fluff with robin please <33 you’re the sweetest ever!! <33

No you! <3 Also, this is a cute take of these prompts, which is smth I love, people using the prompts to mean all sorts of different things aaah!! 💕

Prompts: 3) I’m not letting you go, it’s too risky & 17) *clinging onto their leg*

Robin Buckley x reader

“But whyyyyyyy????”

You rolled your eyes playfully at your girlfriends moan again, Robin being draped over your shoulder while you finish up at your make up desk, as much as Robin had tried to distract you.

You’d been invited to a party tonight. It was a semi big one, and of course you’d invited Robin to go along with you. But she had bad blood with someone there, so she wouldn’t go on principal. Something you agreed with her she was very bad ass for. However it was one of your best friends throwing the party, so you couldn’t just not turn up, especially when you’d already promised her. Besides, you and Robin were independent in your relationship in that healthy way, it wasn’t like you were attached at the hip!

Something Robin was definitely trying to disprove this evening.

Robin pressed lots of hurried kisses to your cheek, loud “mwah, mwah!” sounds following each peck as she tried to cast a spell on you to stay, whining with her face buried in your shoulder when you switched off your make up light, done.

“Baby I told you, I’ve got to go. You could always come with me, I swear I’ll keep Melissa away from you. I’ll even beat her up for you if you want.” You playfully bopped Robin on her nose as she looked up, with her chin smushed against you.

But Robin vehemently shook her head, and backed away from your chair, to pace with the need to rant about this asshole again. At least giving you a chance to get up. “No! Absolutely not. I’d rather by caught by the Russians again then be caught dead at one of her parties.” She moaned under her breath, crossing her arms with a fired up look in her eyes from just thinking about it.

You tilted your head disapprovingly at her choice of analogy, patting her cheek affectionately “Don’t say that.” You lightly spoke, Robin just leaning her head into your cheek more, exhausted by the conversation point. “Besides! It’s not like it’s her party.”

“I don’t want you to go.” Robin’s voice cracked a little with her rasp. Her hand holding your own to her cheek. A couple of seconds later, her other hand moving out and gently fiddling with the thin strap of your top, tugging you slightly towards her. “Stay with me.”

“Mmhm. And why shouldn’t I go?” You asked, distracting her with a glossy peck to her nose, that got her to blink all flustered and cutely, before you walked to your closet to find the shoes you’d chosen last night.

Robin trailed behind you, dressed only in her comfy clothes, as a way to entice you, compared to your outfit that should be sinful, the way she’d have her hands on you in a much different way, if it wasn’t for your constant attempt to leave. “I’m not letting you go, it’s too risky. Someone’s going to steal you.”

Robin pouted. Something you caught as you slowly turned a 180 in your one heeled boot, raising an eyebrow at your girlfriend. “You’re worried about me getting kidnapped?”

“I’m worried at someone wanting your hot ass all to themselves, dingus.” Robin lightly shook your shoulder, falling with a dramatic sigh against your back as you sat on the edge of the bed to get your shoes on. Something that was slowly pushing you off the bed, but Robin didn’t really care about.

“Well, do you think I’d let someone other than you have my hot ass?” You asked her, lightly nudging her with your shoulder to get you both back up, and also shooting her a wink, biting your tongue with a smile.

But Robin wasn’t having it. “No, but it doesn’t stop them from trying.” She wrapped her arms around your shoulders, pressing her head into your back. Before moaning out what sounded like the beginning of a strangled cry when you stood up, only being soothed when you took her hands, and brought her up with you.

“Well I’d stop them from trying.” You put your fists out again, jokingly ready for a fight.

But Robin still frowned, lowering both of them with her own hand, but then seemingly deciding against it, balling your two fists together and encasing them in her own. Leaning her chin daintily on your joint hands, as she peered up at you with her big blue puppy dog eyes. “Please don’t leave. I promise to do anything you want.”

You sighed with closed lips, taking in the image of your girlfriend pleading. You quickly bent forward and kissed Robin’s nose again, and then her hands over yours, smoothing over them, as you kept your eyes pinned to hers, smirking. “As much as a willing slave sounds tempting...”

Robin followed you fuzzy eyed. Her mouth partly opening, and what was on her mind (if anything right now) clear on her face, her eyes following you dreamily.

“And as much as I love you begging...”

Robin swallowed, nodding with dulled speed, her breath fanning on your face.

“I made a promise.” You smiled sweetly. Tapping her hands, before letting them go.

Robin gave a defeated whine once your back was turned, and her brain had probably rebooted. You swear you’d be able to see her stomping her feet if you turned around.

“You’re such a tease!” She whined, making you smile as you searched for your handbag, just needing it for make up and a small flask and the like, as you responded towards the closet “Yeah but I’m only your tease.”

You managed to slip your bag over your shoulder, turning it around to make sure it still matched your jacket, before starting to spin around to collect your things.

That’s when you felt a collision near your feet, nearly stumbling over with a puff of air if it wasn’t for the thing anchoring you. And looking down, you saw Robin sitting on your foot, with her arms wrapped around your legs, gazing up at you sadly.

“Are you clinging to my leg? Robin?” You were just so surprised by it. Trying to shake your leg a little, but nope, Robin was firmly suckered on there.

“I’m not letting go till you change your mind.” Robin moaned loudly up at you, face set and testing. If Robin wanted to win, she’d usually win.

“Robin, are you serious?” You asked, although you couldn’t help but splutter a small laugh towards the end of your sentence. Robin only pouted at this, sticking her tongue out at you, before burying her face in between your knees. Not saying anything now.

You laughed a little more this time, still quiet, but you still attempted this new trial, just with your girlfriend wanting to take part. You penguin walked over to your make up desk, sort of making it there, more so taking the three waddled steps so you could reach your arm out, and scoop what you needed into your bag.

Robin must have heard the make up rolling across the wood, and clattering in your hands, because she hugged your legs tighter. Something that gave you an idea, as you zipped up the bag, bringing your hand down and scritching at Robin’s head. Something you knew Robin adored, and she was clearly half leaning into it.

“Oh so you are coming with me?” You asked, re-placing the strap of your bag over your shoulder. “Okay, let’s go.” You began ‘walking’.

“No!” Robin yelled up at you, glaring daggers at you now from where she sat, and you couldn’t help but giggle. She looked cute!

You tried to move, but Robin wouldn’t budge, squeezing you closer.

“Robin baby I’m trying to sit with you, you have to let me go.”

Immediately Robin conceded. Scooting her butt up a bit on your bedroom carpet, and eagerly wriggling back forward once you were sat, laying her knees on top of yours as you both sat crisscrossed. Maybe another way of her trying to keep you anchored down, you thought amused.

You took Robin’s face between your cheeks, and she leaned into that touch, eyes wide and hopeful on yours, and freckled face so piqued at you, with hope that you were going to say what she wanted you to.

You smiled warmly. “Robin, babe, you know I made a promise.”

Robin immediately started shimmying so she could sit on top of you.

But before she could do that, you easily pressed her waist into your carpet, and manouvered yourself to sit on top of Robin’s crotch, pinning her to the ground instead.

Robin seemed pretty pleased with this scenario too, however. Looking up at you in surprise and awe, her hands making grabby fists at your sides until they blindly found your flowy top to grab onto, since her eyes were securely pinned to your face, and how confident you look smirking sitting on top of her. Having easily pinned her down, when she tried to be naughty, again.

“Listen baby. I made a promise, but you know that doesn’t mean I don’t want to spend time with you. And you know no lady’s going to steal my attention away from you.” You slide a finger up the middle of Robin’s chest, then down her throat, all the way until you could flick her chin. “You could’ve just told me if you wanted attention.” You smiled innocently.

Robin was speechless again. She didn’t feel like fighting you much anymore over the party. She just nodded eagerly beneath you, not really sure what she was nodding at.

Your face broke into a big smile. You couldn’t help it, you loved her. And you quickly slid over so you were cuddling Robin on top instead. Wrapping your legs around her as you lay down, and gently holding her in your arms, feeling loved and warm yourself as Robin wrapped her arms around your ribs, nuzzling under your chin, before peeking out and deciding to just lay under you instead, resting her head on your arm that pillowed her, as she sweetly pursed her lips when you went down for a kiss. Hands scrambling for your face, but nails far away to not ruin your pretty make up she’d watched you spend forever on, as she kept bringing your cheeks down to kiss you more and more. She loved the taste of your new lip gloss, and your lips.

After a flurry of pecks, you made sure to give Robin a proper kiss. One long one, taking her upper lip between your own and moaning quietly into her mouth. Tasting her tongue lightly, and gently stroking her cheeks as you swallowed her small sighs in return, definitely ruining your lip gloss just a little as you made out with your girlfriend on your bedroom floor, but it was worth it.

You eventually moved back, smiling down at Robin as she, still lightly pouting, but with a hint of a smile at the corner of her lips, played with your hair that fell from your ears as you sat above her, giving in just enough to her fate for tonight.

“That just doesn’t mean I have to be at the party all night Robin. I’ll come home at around midnight, okay? And then when you’re in between my knees this time, it can be you making up for almost making me late.”

[avis-writeshq]

thank you guys for 1.9k ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊🍂

have some more Matthew Gray Gubler 🧡

take ME home. I promise to love you forever >:(

(can you tell what my favourite era is lol)

[babeydollx]

1,990 Followers

I can't believe I am this close to 2k! I have something special planned for 2k so stay tuned! :)

[aphroditesmoon]

THANK YOU FOR 1.9K FOLLOWERS!!! I love and appreciate every single one of you!!! I promise I'll cook up something good for clarisse x reader as a gift since most of my new followers came from that tag<3

[slafkovskys]

the fun part about writing something out of order is getting to go back and fix the parts you wrote first so it all makes sense 🫠