#and that's not me being sarcastic it's just an observation

[eff-plays]

What is it that you struggle with in the vanilla durge story?

OUGH I just about stopped bleeding followers, now I'm gonna start again.

Oh well RIP in piss me 😔 You're my sweet cheese though so I'll answer 💖

Basically I find that Durge (as far as I know) actually having a pretty good time before Orin put a worm in his dome undercut a lot of the "oughough I'm struggling against my nature" storyline they're going for. Because Durge never chose to try to leave before being forced to, him attempting to redeem himself basically happened by chance, without any sort of motivation. And that makes sense for a video game character with amnesia, but that's where the "set backstory" clashes against player choice. What in-universe reason does Durge even have for trying to resist his urges? Just like ... an innate feeling of wanting to be good? But why? How? If he's made from Bhaal's flesh, why is that instinct even there at all? If he's a thinking independent being, why didn't he try to leave before Orin did the worm thing?

I'm not even particularly against the Urge itself, even if the way its presented is very edgy and juvenile at times. But the fact that it's implied the Urge was SO strong before but now is just gone and been replaced with a new personality just doesn't mesh with me.

Either Durge had some agency before and chose to be a serial killer horny for murder, and that's why his not remembering shit makes it possible for him to prioritize doing good now that his Urges are suppressed/forgotten. OR he's Bhaal's own flesh and the Urge is an intristic part of him and he physically cannot comprehend doing good.

But because the player needs to be able to choose whether to indulge or redeem Durge, why Durge is choosing/capable of doing good is left to the player. And that just doesn't mesh with the backstory they set up. The Urge was so strong before that he was gleefully a serial killer, but now it's so weak that he's able to resist? Why? What changed? Why was there a personality below the Urge at all? What use does Bhaal have of a puppet who is, on some level, able to think for themself? And if Durge was always able to think for himself, why didn't he rebel sooner? Well, because what if the player wants to play Evil!Durge, then it wouldn't make sense for Durge to rebel in his backstory!

My friend said it's basically a factory reset, and that's what's bothering me. It's unmotivated, it's chance, it's not Durge acting on his own accord. Larian are trying to have their cake (protag with a set background) and eat it too (protag is vaguely enough defined that you can just insert your own motivations into them).

Idk ... Does that make sense? It's a very difficult sort of incongruence to explain, so I'm sorry if I rambled a bunch and said fuck-all.

I'm considering making Phoebus into a classic Bhaalspawn from the previous games, but I'd have to do a bit of research to make that work.

[rustinged]

i really have no tolerance for people who are ceaselessly sarcastic and brunt about teasing their friends who clearly aren’t reciprocating in the teasing

[celestialprincesse]

Ex bf!Simon pt.2 - nsfw 🖤✬

Simon keeps a hand on you the whole way home, in a far grumpier mood than he was when he picked you up at the beginning of the evening, his grip that little bit tighter around you.

"You're mad." You observe, pouting up at him once you've removed your helmet, crossing your arms as you wait for him to prop his bike up on the stand. "M' not mad, poppet." Simon reassures you, fingers brushing yours when you hand back the helmet, making a conscious effort to soften his features when he catches your wide eyed gaze.

As always, he walks you to the door of your flat with a hand on the small of your back, withdrawing your keys from his pocket where you'd put them for safekeeping.

He doesn't even think when he walks in behind you, closing the door behind him and kicking off his shoes, just like he used to do back when you were still together.

"You look cold." He observes in that blunt way he always does, making you chuff. "Sorry?" You hum in response, turning to face him, rolling your eyes when you see his gaze locked unabashedly on your boobs, and the way your dress does a poor job of hiding the way your nipples have hardened on the windy trip home. "Perv." The insult rolls off your tongue easily, has him coming and grabbing you by the tops of your biceps, rubbing them with his own hands to warm you up. "Slut." He flings back just as easily. "You're making me horny." You deadpan, figuring you might as well make a joke of it. "You always were a little freak." Simon muses, distracting you as he noses at the base of your jaw, causing you to tip back your hear obediently.

You've barely even stumbled over the threshold of your bedroom when he's trying to navigate the complicated straps and clasps of your dress, grumbling to himself in the process. "You want some help there, Einstein?" You coo sarcastically as he practically herds you to your bed in the middle of the room. All it takes is a little taunting about how an experienced SAS Lieutenant can't work around some flimsy fabric and he's pushing you down under him, ripping it with his teeth. "Si!" You screech indignantly, all whilst he looks incredibly pleased with himself from where he's propped up on his forearms above you. "Y' look better with it off."

When he kisses down the dip between your boobs, one big hand coming up to knead at the doughey flesh, you're caught between a giggle and a moan, legs coming to wrap around his waist whilst he thumbs at the already damp crotch of your lacy underwear. "Already wet f'me?" He coos in that condescending way that has your thighs tightening around his broad hips. "Have been all night." You admit, feeling far less shame than you should at admitting that you still get horny from being in the same space as your ex. "Attagirl." He grunts lazily, giving you no warning when he slides a calloused hand into your panties, thumbing at your clit as though testing the waters. He can't help but grin as your back bows against the plushy mattress of your bed from the touch, the same as always.

You're already a whining mess from just his fingers alone, tummy coiled tight and face flushed in that way that he's missed so much. "Simon.." Your little needy mewls of his name have him kissing his way back up your stomach, loosely tangling his fingers with your own. "Want me to fuck you, baby?" He murmurs, genuinely wanting to make sure that you're comfortable.

He'd be perfectly happy to sit here for hours fingering and licking away at you without so much as freeing his painfully hard cock from the confines of his jeans.

"UhHuh." You babble pathetically, looking down at him with glassy eyes where he rests his chin on your hipbone, pressing appreciative little kisses there. "You sure?" He double checks, triple checks, even, just to be sure that you're happy, comfortable - always his priority. "Simon." You huff when he remains still at your waist. "Just checkin' poppet, don't want you getting all shy on me."

His dick is so hard it looks actually painful, and Simon smiles lazily as you gaze at him like the Adonis you've always seen him as. Beautiful in a way that you can't find the words to explain.

"I missed your dick." You mutter as he pumps his shaft a few times, not that he needs to considering how rock hard he is - just showing off, the cocky bastard. "Missed you too, baby." He teases back as he aligns his tip with your entrance, making you bite your lip in anticipation. He keeps one large hand at the curve of your waist as he pushes himself inside, stopping you from squirming away at the stretch, his thumb brushing soothing circles against the soft skin there. "Doin' so good. Look't you takin' me so well." He coos as you feel him bottom out, eyes squeezing shut, only opening after he sets a languorous pace with a few slow thrusts.

You only get whinier, more needy as he presses his nose below your ear, whispering praises of how perfect you are, how good you look under him.

He has you cumming at an almost embarrassing speed, needing no guidance when he hooks your knees over his shoulders, his tip rocking up against your g-spot repeatedly until he feels you squeeze around him with a little squeak that he remembers all too well.

He works you through it, getting closer to his own orgasm when you tighten around his length, gripping at the sheets and the hand he offers you as you tumble over the edge, missing the first time he asks you where you want him. "Need y' to tell me baby. Hm? Where'd you want it?" "Inside." You give a pathetically breathless whine, looking up at his furrowed brows and sweat glistened chest. "Y' sure? Need you to be sure." "M' on the pill." You murmur, eyes fluttering blissfully shut when he shoots ropes of thick cum up into you, watching adoringly as you take him.

He's oh so gentle when he pulls out, making his way to the bathroom to clean himself up, returning with a warm washcloth, peppering kisses on your thighs and lower belly as he wipes away the residue.

Simon sleeps with you tucked up against his chest that night, a hand settled protectively around your waist as he listens to the steady rise and fall of your breath, breathing in the smell of your shampoo.

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺𓆩❦︎𓆪༻♱༉‧₊˚.

1.1k of filth😚

Tagging those who wanted to be mentioned in a part 2, here u are my loves 💕

@whos-fran @mishaglass

[silversodas]

Yo! Can We Talk About Velvette?

I feel like we were shown Velvette’s best attributes in her duet with Carmine, and how they might get underestimated. The first time I herd the song I kinda wrote Velvette off, mostly because of her youthful brazenness in the beginning of the song

“In case you missed it, I am that #BITCH and I’ll do nothing less then what I please.”

it makes her sound like a dumb kid with a whole lot to prove, and it makes you roll your eyes so hard they fall out of your head. That is until it gets to this part

“When I brought out the Angel’s head, I couldn’t help but observe, your wrinkled face was turning red”

This was vary observant of Velvette and she throws this observation at Carmine like an accusation. She actually reminds me of cutthroat journalist I read about in murder mysteries

“And why are you, avoiding war? That’s what the guns you sell are for”

The laying down of facts and point making that sound like accusations, again, remind me so much of a journalist. On top of above average observation skills she shows she has pretty good detective skills

“Thanks to my being respectless, one thing I am starting to suspect is”

“You know why this Angel is headless”

she turned out to be right! As we later find out. A second listen gave me more perspective on why she was being nasty, because while Zesteil was correct about needing information, Velvette wasn’t having it because she knows that him and Carmine are not giving all the information THEY have, and she demands to know why.

You could say it’s the modern overlords making cooperation impossible, but the older overlords are not cooperating either. And Velvette has every right to be suspicious, because one vary good reason anyone would jump to as to why Carmine is keeping quiet is “war is vary profitable” no more war? Way less profit. That’s just one of the vary plausible conclusions Demons like Velvette could come to and they spell trouble for Carmine

And for my last point

“That was a productive meeting”

I don’t think Alastor was being sarcastic, I think the info Velvette dug up, pieced together, and presented on a silver platter, with Carmines telling reaction as the cherry on top. I think it told him so, so much and was, in fact, a productive meeting.

Vary last point

I want to point out the “thanks to my being respectless” line. I thought it was interesting because it’s like she is saying “because I didn’t just sit back and did what I was told, I found out shit you were trying to hide” she seems to hold being respectless in the same regard as not just excepting things blindly or being taken advantage of

[messylustt]

౨ৎ ‧˚

𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨 (𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥) — 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲?

miguel o’hara x fem!reader. 3.4K words

fic masterlist previous part pt three next part

miguel unwillingly pining after reader; fantasies about you in miguel’s head; a massage (pg); a hint of jealous miguel; spanish wise—I hope I wrote everything correctly, I asked for some opinions and check ups from a spanish speaker <3 big thanks to you — after an interesting morning with miguel, you learnt a few more spanish words, not to be late, and having him in close proximity might give you a heart attack. your mind certainly wandered when you were monitoring a mission, the spider peoples’ bickering making you feel annoyed, an emotion miguel unwillingly likes the look of on you. but how does he feel when he makes his request… asking you to follow him to a door you didn’t think you’d ever pass through?

“Checking the location now.” You said through your ear piece, tapping away at the keyboard. Your back was straightened as you stayed focused. You were working with a group of spider variants, who were assigned to get rid of a misplaced “villain” as they liked to put it. It just makes their job sound much more important, resulting in then coming back with a proud sway to their hips.

“Bro, why are you breathing so hard?” Hissed one of the spider variants to another.

“I’m settling into my hero act.” His tone is full of pronounced muscle—most likely standing with his arms by his side like some macho man. He takes a deep sigh. “It can be tough being such a incredible hero.”

The others just stare, clearly used to this from him, before a screech meets everyone’s ears.

“Where is it?!” One of them exclaims, frantically looking around.

“It would’ve blended into one of the buildings’ walls.” You say, scanning the area on your computer.

“I’m sorry, did you just say ‘blended in’?” A spider-man asks. “What is this monster—a chameleon?”

You’re silent for a moment. “Please tell you me reviewed the mission.”

There’s silence through the earpiece. You blink a few times, then close your eyes taking a deep breath. “Why not?”

“Look, I was going to but…Parker distracted me!”

“I distracted you?!” Parker exclaimed.

“Guys.” You try, but they either can’t hear you or are choosing not to.

“You were the one who was so eager to just defeat this villain!”

In your annoyed state, you can’t help but let your mind wander somewhere that had held your attention for majority of the day…

—this morning—

You rushed down the stairs, while simultaneously fixing your hair. Shit, you were gonna be late. All because of these extensive stairs.

When you reached the bottom, your hair had become a mess again, making you place your flat palms against your head as you tried to soothe the stray hairs.

You reach the door to your office, pausing to take a breath. Twisting the handle, you walked inside.

You instantly noticed Miguel, spider suit back on, as he swiped necessary and unnecessary screens back and forth by the large spider.

You tried to stay quiet as you walked to your desk, but your luck seems to plainly not exist as Miguel’s voice greets you—rather gruffly.

“Would it be cliché to say ‘you’re late’?”

You press your lips together as he jumps down. You seem to forget how tall he is until he’s towering over you, with a look that states ‘you should be worried’.

You gulp, before forcing a smile. Miguel’s expression stays dead as he waits for you to speak, most likely to explain yourself.

When you say nothing your mouth opening and closing like a stupid fish, Miguel speaks. “I said six.”

You nod. “I heard you.”

“Did you?” His clicks his jaw, a slight tilt to his head, as he observed your quickly fixed hair and slight heave of your chest. You clearly rushed. “You just woke up.”

“No.” You say indignantly. “I’ve been awake since six, I just didn’t like the idea of walking down those stairs, so…I began working in my room.”

“Uh huh.” He sarcastically nods. “Right.”

You press your lips together, thinking you should have stitched them shut. You weren’t helping yourself.

“You keep saying you want to prove that you belong here.” Miguel begins. He leans forward, his red eyes gleaming, his fangs becoming more visible as he snarls. “If you don’t start getting here at six, then I’ll be happy to drag you out at four.”

He leans back, stalking back towards the big spider, as he webs himself up to the top. You let out a sigh, turning to your desk and swivel chair.

;;

After an hour or so of working, and going over the mission scheduled in a few hours, you feel a breath by your neck. With wide eyes you spin around to see Miguel staring down at you.

When he meets your gaze, you’re placing your hand over your heart. “Can you not scare me like that?” You mutter out.

He leans forward…and forward… and forward, until his large hands are caging you in by resting them on the chair’s armrests. “Scare?” He almost whispers in question to himself.

You’re utterly frozen as his breath tickles your nose and cheeks, which you are sure to be an embarrassing red by now.

“O’hara?” You slowly question, it comes out quieter than you had intended.

His eyes stay focused on your own, as your pulse beats rapidly in your chest. Stop it— you want to say. But you’re not sure what ‘it’ is exactly.

“…did you need something?” It’s the only thing you can think to say.

“What do you mean by scare?” He asks.

You lightly shift in your chair, unsure what to do in this situation. “Um…I just mean that you’re…you are kinda scary, O’hara.” You force a chuckle, trying to ease tension you are sure is the annoyance radiating off of him.

“Is it the fangs?” He asks, his eyes strangely showing genuine interest—or what you think to be genuine.

“Kind of?” You say more so as a question. “But also how you never, well…smile.”

“Why should I smile at people I don’t want to smile at?” He asks, his eyes finally dropping away from the entrapment of your own, but to a much worser place.

You self consciously lick your lips, feeling your nerves turning them dry. His gaze doesn’t shift from your mouth for an abnormally long time.

“O’hara.”

His brows then begin to furrow, his eyes finally leaving your lips, making you unintentionally sigh.

“Why do you refer to me by my last name?”

“What does ‘chaparrita’ mean?” You counter.

He narrows his eyes, leaning away from you and back to his full height. “You ready for your lesson?” He suddenly asks, grabbing a swivel chair and leaning back.

You stare at him for a moment. So that was what he was supposed to ask this whole time? “Okay, if you tell me—“

“No.” He says monotonously. “Ahora deja de hacer preguntas y siéntate y escucha.” (Now stop asking questions and sit and listen.)

You didn’t understand what he just said but you can understand his tone, so you readjust yourself on your chair and stay silent.

“Now…what do you say when you want help?” Miguel inquires, his tone now almost babying.

You narrow your eyes, but answer anyway. “¿Me puede ayudar, por favor?”

“Mm.” He hums, letting his gaze drop. “Bien.”

Miguel notices the slight curve of your lips at his praise. He shifts in his seat. “I hope you know what that means.”

Your small smile falls, before a fake one replaces it. “Yes, O’hara, I do know what that one means.”

“You should loose the attitude, chaparrita. Si es que quieres mi ayuda” (If you want my help, that is.) He says, running his tongue along one of his fangs.

“I understood “my help”.” You say. “And the one with the attitude here is you.”

“How so?”

You raise your brows. “Do I need to answer that? I thought you were observant?” Okay, now you were just pushing his buttons for fun. He seemed to get riled up so easily.

A scowl forms on his face. “Si no fueras tan pinche bonita, creo que me gustaría verte arañada” (If you weren’t so annoyingly pretty, I think I’d like to see you clawed up.) He mutters under his breath, his gaze slightly venomous.

“¿Cómo estás?” Miguel says. “Repeat it.”

“¿Cómo estás?” You repeat.

“That means “how are you?”. And what could you reply with?” He inquires.

“Bien.” You answer.

“Mejor.”

“‘Better’?” You say with a scoff. “I feel like I should get a bit more credit…Spanish is hard.”

“First of all—it’s not.” Miguel states. “Second…you know what ‘mejor’ means?”

“It was one of the words I learnt on my phone.” You shrug.

“Any other words I should I know about?” He sounds annoyed, and you can’t fathom why.

“You’re annoyed at that? To be honest I thought you’d be grateful.”

He doesn’t say anything. Mainly because he can’t say the first reason that popped into his head. He wanted you to learn Spanish—all of it—from him, and only him. He also can’t tell you because he doesn’t know why he feels that way. It was stupid, feeling resentful to a phone, utterly stupid, but Miguel can’t ignore the nagging feeling in his stomach.

—present—

“Shut up!” You exclaim, massaging your temples.

There’s finally silence on the other end.

“The invisible monster is moving your way, on the left wall. You’ll be able to spot a slight glimmering shimmer over him. If you look close enough.”

You finally see the spider variants pick up into action, spotting the monster and beginning to attack.

Miguel watched from afar, leant by the open door to the main tech room, arms crossed as he watched you lean back in annoyance. When you were mad your eyes would hood over, narrowing to show only half of your pupils.

You would aways grow hot, occasionally fanning yourself as you unbuttoned the first button of your shirt. And Miguel would always stare, his chest picking up to a quicker beat. But the scowl would be set, Miguel hating the way he reacted. He shouldn’t be reacting at all. He felt pathetic, as he tried to look away.

Every time he’d fail, his gaze only shifting further down your body. Your legs were yet again…spread. An obviously comfortable position for you, but certainly not Miguel.

He’s embarrassed to admit—not that he’s ever actually—that he’s fantasised about being close to your spread legs, his hands being able to spread them further. You were a reactive girl, very hyper aware for a human. He hoped you’d stay the same when he’d touch you.

Your chest heaving, your mouth opening, as goosebumps littered your skin. Skin he’d be able to see a lot more of.

And to all these fantasies he would hate himself, and you. Sure, he was projecting. But he’d rather project anger then any of his hidden thoughts.

“Is it my turn now?” He asks, making you spin in your chair to face the exit and Miguel.

You had finally taken out your headpiece, the mission clearly completed. The spider-men would get back soon. A look of confusion flashed across your features before realisation hits. ‘His turn’. His side of the deal.

You stand, straightening your slightly crumpled shirt—you had been fisting the material in your annoyed state. Miguel ignores the thoughts of instead a crumpled sheet. Your fists clenching around, preferably, his—no. Not preferably his. He clears his head, biting his inside cheek, the metallic taste of blood now tangible.

“Follow me.” He turns, expecting you to do so.

And you do, walking past all the different spider variants in an effort to stay at Miguel’s heels.

Through the journey up the stairs, Miguel—who doesn’t know why he’s walking with you—has been having thoughts. Very…interesting thoughts. Some seeming very similar to those of ‘finding you annoyed kinda hot’ type of thoughts. It also fell back to the thoughts swirling in his head when he was looking at your lips.

He hadn’t meant to do that, his body seeming to have had a mind of its own when he leant over, caging you in.

He’s annoyed to admit—to himself—that he had wanted to kiss you. See what it felt like. Maybe he’d hate it and his strange, annoying crush on you would go.

He’s soon stopped by his room, finally glancing at you, to see that you look confused. “I thought I was doing what you asked…or whatever.” You say, slowing your breathing.

“You are.” He opens his door, walking in.

You watch him, brows still furrowed. You stay rooted to the hallway floor. “In your room?” You look around like you’ve done something terrible, and you’re gonna get caught.

“Maybe you aren’t as committed as you claim to be.”

Your eyes narrow at his blatancy. You edge closer to his cracked open door, him now fully inside. You take a deep breath before pushing it further open, then quickly shutting it behind you.

“You know, I probably shouldn’t be in here.” You mutter, staying pressed to the door, as you took in the large looking bed, messed up from his sleep, along with a window, and plain walls. There wasn’t much character and you could tell that that was very intentional.

You then shift your gaze to Miguel who had found himself a seat, relaxing back into it as he clicked his jaw. He finally met your gaze, and in the dim-ish lighting his hair looked messier, his hand most likely having ran through it.

“So…” you drift off, not meaning to come across so awkward.

He tilted his head to the side, silently asking you to come to him, as his legs spread a fraction. You ignored the want to hitch your breath, gulping it down instead.

You stare at him, not moving.

He raised a brow. “You look worried.”

“I’m not worried…just…confused.” You again force a chuckle, a forming coping mechanism around Miguel.

“I think my direction was pretty obvious. I did say it in English.” He again made himself out to be all superior.

You sigh. “I heard you. I’m just confused as to why you asked that.”

“What—did you think I asked you in here so that you’d stay plastered to my door, chaparrita?” He asked sarcastically.

You wet your lips. “Why did you ask me in here?”

“I want a massage.” He says it just so…simply.

You blink, maybe one time too many. “What?”

“A massage, y/l/n.” He says, lowering his head slightly, looking up at you through his lashes.

“Why?” You haven’t moved from the door, so, Miguel swiftly shoots a web out to attach to your shirt, yanking you forward.

You gasp, nearly tripping over your feet, as you get pulled towards him. Miguel stabilises you with a hand to your stomach, making you come to a stop in front of him. “What the hell?” You stare at him, your chest heaving in shock.

You rip the web from your shirt, quickly brushing it off. “You gave Gwen one. I heard you were good. That’s all.” Miguel says.

Your brows furrowed. “Gwen?” Then you remember. “Oh, well that’s because she just got back from a really hard mission…she was sore and I…dunno, I was bored.”

“And you don’t think I am? Sore, I mean. You do realise I take care of the multi—“

“The multiverse, yes. I haven’t forgotten. I’m just a little shocked, is all.”

“You can say no.”

You sigh. “If I want to lose my job.” You mutter, walking around him. Miguel twists his head to follow you slightly, until you stood out of his gaze, directly behind him. You pause, before gingerly placing your hands on his shoulders. Jeez, he was broad.

You closed your eyes, taking a breath. To be honest you thought his requests would be hardcore, asking you to practically run around ramped. But instead here you were alone in his room giving him a massage.

You began to add pressure. Working your fingers into the instant knots you felt.

Miguel’s eyes involuntarily rolled closed, as he accidentally leaned more into your touch. You don’t seem to notice the shift as you continue massaging by his neck and along his shoulder, veering a slightly onto the top of his back.

“I forgot to ask: where did you want the massage? I just assumed the shoulders.”

“Mm?” Miguel hums in question, sounding far away, a small heavy breath leaving his lips after.

“O’hara?” You ask, stopping your hands’ movements.

A small growl of disapproval fell from Miguel’s lips involuntarily. “Just—“ he takes a breath. “What you were doing is fine.”

You place your hands back where they were, making Miguel relax back into your fingers. You were good—Miguel thought to himself. He can’t remember the last time he released so much tension.

You lean down to Miguel’s ear, your tickling breath making him gulp. “Is there a time requirement? Because I had plans tonight.”

Miguel’s brows furrowed. “Plans? What plans?” He didn’t mean to sound so disappointed and borderline desperate, but he’s thankful you barely heard his tone as your attitude didn’t shift.

You worked your fingers closer to his chest, doing your normal routine. Your grandmother was a masseuse, and of course she had to give you some tips. It was fun being able to practice on Gwen, but with Miguel you felt nervous every time you would press down hard on a knot.

But his responses seemed to be good, considering all the quiet groans and heavy breaths.

“I made plans with spider-man—“

“That’s very descriptive.” Miguel comments, his head slightly rolling to the side.

You scoff, your fingers moving to the base of his neck, where no spider suit material could intervene. The pads of your fingers rubbing his bare skin. Miguel noticed the difference a lot quicker than you did, sounds and words of approval he really didn’t want you to hear threatening to spill.

“Dios, ¿por qué tus manos tienen que sentirse tan bien?” (God, why do your hands have to feel so good?) He muttered under his breath, not really meaning for you to catch a word, but of course you pick up ‘bien’.

“Good?” You asked. “Well, then you should put in a good word for me.” You chuckle. “Maybe I should start a small business and massage all the spider-men and woman. I think I’d do well—“

“No.” Miguel says instantly, still sounding slightly breathless. “If you want to prove yourself you can’t get distracted.” Of course that’s the reason he dislikes the idea. Definitely not because he doesn’t want your hands making others feel like this…definitely not.

“Don’t worry, it was just a hypothetical.” You say, going back to his shoulders. “Now, I hope that’s okay. Because I do need to go.” You bring your hands away, and it takes everything in Miguel not to spin around in the chair, grab your hands and ask you to massage somewhere else.

The tense knots in his shoulders were gone, his neck felt light, and he wanted to feel your fingers run along his abs. This was bad. Why was the lighting so dim, why was your scent so strong?

He spun around in his chair, meeting your gaze. “You didn’t fully answer me before. Who are meeting?”

“It was gonna be spider-man, the one with the cartoonish attitude, and now it’s just Hobie. I dunno. something about an important—“

“Hobie?” Miguel interrupts. He displayed indifference, though inside he was burning.

A weird tension began to fill the room. “Yeah, so I’ll just…go.” You say quickly passing him and opening the door, before Miguel had the (bad) mind to stop you.

You rushed out into the hallway which instantly felt lighter, letting you breathe.

You head to the main communion area, paths leading everywhere along the walls to along the roof, making it easy for a spider person to navigate but not someone who can’t stick to walls.

So you stay on the simple path, skimming through talking suited spiders until someone called your name. You spin catching sight of Peter, Mayday in his grasp.

“Hey.” You smile.

“Hey. Sorry, Hobie wanted me to tell you that he can’t catch up for that song session thing, something about getting called in for business.” Peter said, his hands going everywhere as Mayday tried to escape over the edge.

“Also picture that in an over pronounced British accent.” He gave you a thumbs up to which you chuckled.

“No worries, thanks Peter.”

“Mayday!” He suddenly yelled, to which you pointed to the left, displaying her climbing onto a spider-man’s back.

Peter rushes off. And you sigh, thinking you hurried for no reason. Though you are grateful that you could use that as an excuse to get out of Miguel’s room.

As you head to your own, you begin to wonder what this last minute mission could be about and why Hobie had been called in now. Usually the only person who calls people in, especially this last minute would be Miguel.

I guess crime never sleeps—you think to yourself—or something like that.

ahhh here’s part three!—I hope this one wasn’t too boring or not what you expected x part four is gonna be more SeXuAl, I promise

I actually don’t know how many parts I should do, coz atm it’s feeling like a slow burn, but I don’t want to drag you guys along a long ass fic so I’m not sure.

taglist: @dangerousdreamkitty @ale-maral @inosukesweirdwife @flooftoof @cynicallyaestetic @silassinclair @mariiyoushi @ilovedilfjake @toastlover21 @wlellsl @k1rbb @bitchotine @guacam011y @blnk338 @wolfiepirate @kurxxmi @corpsebridenightamare @ohantonia @yunonaneko @irenered-20 @z3r0art @sunflowercandie @perilous-pasta @gloriouskryptonitecrown @whyamistillhere78 @ritzzzsblog @mm1sta @tealcoloured-murder @aweebsimp101 @livelaughlaurv @s0dium @roguepancake @sunshiines-stuff @internal-soundtrack @oscarisdaddy69 @clairacassidy @captainquake42 @nanaloverz @ilyless @sindulgent666 @shine101 @thebadasssass @hibeejibees @nirishin @ily2lia @lillunna @cinnamoncattie @futuristicpandakid @maroonobserver @thatsopanu @edgyficuselastica @kittekat420 @stararctic @maxi-ride @renn-pumkin-head @scaraza @justanotherkpopstanlol @fauxizs @cloudsandrenoswife @ilmovor @larissa-lolll @elliemm @httpkiyoomi @j2warren @arquiiva @ilovemiguelohara @a-monster-can-filled-with-cum @fandom-gal44 @elwyn7 @albiebright @pix-stuff

#2 taglist

[dizscreams]

can I request a hobie brown x fem reader where hobie swings to his friends apartment and knocks on her window and the reader has to patch him up and hobie is just kinda quiet because he hates people caring for him (he doesn’t want to be seen as a burden) but reader assures him its fine and maybe hobie confesses to her? <4

COUNT ON YOU

— Hobie Brown ★

PAIRING: Hobie Brown x Fem!Reader

A/N: DISCLAIMER I’ve never read a single Spider-Man comic in my life, this is PURELY based off of what I saw in the movie. THIS IS VERY VERRRYYY OOC BUT enjoy! :)

You were finishing up on homework, even though it was 2 in the morning. It wasn’t uncommon for you to stay up late to finish your assignments. It also wasn’t uncommon for your best friend Hobie to knock on your window injured.

You took off your headphones and looked to see where the knocking came from. You saw the familiar Spider-Man mask with spikes staring back at you through the glass. He was holding his side and his mask was a little beat up. You quickly got up and opened the window for him. “Hobie? Are you alright?”

He climbed inside your room and ripped off his mask, throwing it somewhere on the ground. “Yeah, just peachy,” he said, his voice was low and very clearly sarcastic. You frowned and gently grabbed his hand, “C’mon lets get you patched up.” He stepped back and took his hand away from your grasp shaking his head. “No, it’s alright.”

“Hobie, you’re bleeding. Lets go,” you told him firmly. Before he could respond you grabbed his hand and started walking to the bathroom. You flicked on the light and pointed to the toilet seat, “Sit.” He groaned but didn’t argue against it, he knew better than to argue with you this late. He could see the bags under your eyes as he observed you grabbing the first aid kit.

He sat down and you walked toward him, placing all your supplies on the bathroom counter before looking over at him. His face was cut and he had a wound on his side. You grabbed a rag, you ran water over it before kneeling in front of him. “You’re lucky it isn’t that bad, I’ve definitely had to help you with worse,” you chuckled looking up at him.

He only nodded in reply which you thought was weird but didn’t question. You focused back on cleaning the wound, luckily it wasn’t deep, but you could feel his burning gaze on you. You knew he didn’t like getting cared for like this but he was your best friend, it was basically your job to help him. “You know I want to help you right?” You asked softly, breaking the silence.

You looked up at him seeing a look of confusion on his face. You explained further, “I mean you don’t have to feel bad about me helping you all the time. Your job is dangerous and I’ll always be here help you out.” You offered him a small smile and he snickered, “You’re corny.” You playfully hit his knee and the both of you fell into a comfortable silence with small smiles on both of your faces.

You took a dry towel and dabbed at his side. Once you cleaned it you put on a bandaid. You stood up and smiled proudly, “There!” He nodded and stood up, about to walk out until you stopped him. “Wait-” you grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back down on the toilet seat. “You still have a cut on your face.”

“Just a small one, it don’t matter.”

You rolled your eyes, “I’ll treat it anyway.”

He glared at you but nodded, deciding that you might as well since you already cleaned his other one. He hated getting help and he hated people telling him what to do but he couldn’t help but let you. He wasn’t proud of it, honestly he was slightly embarrassed. But as long as he never admitted it out loud, he would be okay.

Except for the fact that he wanted to tell you how he felt.

He wanted to tell you he’s attracted to you and that he’s thought of being more than friends with you but he didn’t know how you felt about him. And it wasn’t like him to talk about his feelings, even to you. You began running the wet rag across his cheekbone gently. You made sure to wipe the blood off and clean the cut.

You noticed Hobie gulp and you looked at him, now noticing your close proximity. You smiled softly to yourself and continued your work on the cut. You grabbed a bandaid and put it on his cheek. Hobie slightly shivered at the contact but got up as soon as you were done. “Alright, cya later.” He walked out of the bathroom and went into your bedroom quickly.

“Woah woah woah, wait a minute,” you called out for him. He stopped in front of the window and turned around to look at you. “You’re just gonna leave? Not even a thank you?” You asked. He pointed at you, “Thank you, now goodnight!” He turned around to the window again but you pulled his arm and pulled him back to face you. “What’s gotten into you? You’re acting weird.”

“Not that weird.”

“Pretty weird.”

He tossed his head back and huffed out a breath. You raised your eyebrows waiting for him to give you a clear answer. He slowly lifted his head back up to look at you. He stepped a fraction closer to you, now close enough to able to feel your body heat. He examined your features for a moment before shaking his head.

“Nothing. Night.” He swiftly grabbed his mask off the floor and opened the window. “Bye Hobie,” you said quietly. He looked back at you and then forward again. He put on his mask and in a flash he was gone. You flopped on your bed and covered your face with your hands.

You stayed like that for a moment thinking about the interaction you just had. You shook your head to clear your thoughts and pulled the covers over you, ready to sleep. What you weren’t aware of was Hobie peaking his head to look into your window. It was too late to tell you about his feelings now, so he’d tell you another time! Probably in a year or two.

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Patience

Thomas Disch: neil in the good omens game, is there a way to escape the dungeon without using the wizard's key? Neil Gaiman: ah! a very good question! Clive Barker: what? that's a terrible question Gaiman: ah but there are NO bad questions, clive Gaiman: curiosity is the rain that waters the seed of knowledge

Debbie Dadey: um excuse me sir neil gaiman but in Good Omens S2E42 aziraphale is shown performing the musubi dachi stance, but everyone knows that angels don't know karate Dadey:[pushing glasses up nose] i sure hope someone was fired for THAT blunder Gaiman: ah! a fine observation, thank you for sharing! Gaiman: so great to communicate with astute readers!

Gaiman: [putting gold star sticker on Dadey's forehead] i'm giving you a gold star for that Gaiman: in fact Gaiman: you all get gold stars! Koontz: oo! i want a gold star Gaiman: [putting gold star sticker on Koontz's forehead] and so you shall!

King: incredible! nothing flusters him! Poe: he's unflappable King: like the world's most patient kindergarten teacher Barker: no way, i don't buy it Barker: nobody's THAT patient Barker: i bet i could get him to snap Poe: clive

Barker: hey neil i've got a question Gaiman: yes? Barker: actually Barker:this is more of a comment than a question Gaiman: [sweating, veins in neck pulsing] ah yes, go on Poe: clive that's going too far

Neil Gaiman: you see dean Gaiman: you can see anything, do anything Gaiman: BE anything Gaiman: without ever leaving home! Dean Koontz: wowwww Gaiman: all you have to do is use your super power Koontz: my super power?? Gaiman: yes Gaiman: it's called Gaiman: IMAGINATION!!

Ray Bradbury: it was many years yonder when the open spaces were open and the blue skies were blue, and soda pop cost just a nickel and if you didn't have a nickel a smile would do, when you could see marshmallow dragons and candy corn castles in the clouds and you could do it all with the power of Dean Koontz: oh yeah imagination, i already know that Bradbury: and- what Koontz: yeah, neil gaiman told me Bradbury:

Ray Bradbury: listen neil i hear you've been going around extolling the power of imagination Neil Gaiman: ah imagination! the poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release- Bradbury: zip it bud Bradbury: there's ONE dream weaver in this town and that's me Bradbury: the limitless vista of a child's imagination ain't big enough for the both of us!!!

Bradbury: i have more child-like whimsy in my little finger, gaiman! Bradbury: and i will use it to paint a rainbow of nostalgic vibes that will have you crying! Bradbury: come at me, neil!! i'll make your childhood fuckin' magical!

Gaiman: wonderful, brilliant! just an excellent threat Gaiman: the craftsmanship of it was sublime, you should be very proud, ray Bradbury: Bradbury: are you Bradbury: are you being sarcastic? Poe: i don't think he knows how

Bradbury: you're so genuine, i can't stay mad at you Gaiman: perhaps, ray, there is room in the world of imagination for the both of us Gaiman: in fact, maybe there's room for ALL who seek to fly on the wings of a shared dream!

[pricelessemotion]

poltergeists for sidekicks | E.M.

summary: [2.3k] the kids drag eddie to the halloween store where you happen to work.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, pining, eddie being a lovestruck idiot, r wears big prescription glasses and is described as having messy hair

a/n: happy halloween! here’s something i’ve been working on for ages just in time for the end of spooky szn! xoxo

masterlist

Eddie doesn’t hate Halloween. 

He used to love Halloween. He likes autumn. He likes watching the leaves change colors. He can appreciate the novelty of a hot apple cider and a hay ride. Hell, ever since he was old enough to go trick or treating, he reveled in it. Free candy and all he had to do was put on a costume and say three magic words? Sign him up. 

As he got older, he started to like Halloween for a slightly different reason. Don’t get him wrong, he still liked the free candy, but he liked the excuse to be someone else for a night. He liked how he could throw on a Michael Meyers mask and go door-to-door and be greeted with glee and sweets. 

It does a funny thing to a kid’s self-esteem, being treated better when he’s wearing the face of a fictional serial killer. 

Now, though, Eddie Munson is decidedly too old for trick or treating. He’s resigned himself to spending the holiday like it was any other day by spending the night in his room, playing guitar, and coming up with new campaign ideas. 

Which is exactly what he was doing when three freshmen started pounding down the door of the trailer demanding entry. Within moments, they are practically on their hands and knees asking, nay begging, for the older boy to take them to get last-minute Halloween costumes.

“Aren’t you guys too old to go trick or treating?”

“This is why we need to go to the store! If we wear masks, no one will be able to tell how old we are, hence extending our years of candy collecting.” Dustin explains, matter of factly.  

Eddie sighs, leaning back into the sofa, steepling his fingers together. “What’s in it for me?”

The three boys huddle together, conspiring in a manner that is not dissimilar to the way they plan their counterstrikes during Hellfire. They nod in sync, turning around so that Lucas is standing front and center, flanked by the two other boys.  

“That one girl you like is working there.”

Eddie remains stone-faced, quipping sarcastically, “That’s very specific.”

Mike lets out an exasperated groan, threading his fingers through his hair before yanking at the ends in frustration. “Y’know, the weird one. Coke bottle glasses, messy hair, always holding a book?”

Lucas’ eyes widen. Dustin smacks Mike on the chest and the hollow sound rings out through the empty trailer. They all start talking over each other, with two of them berating the third for A. being insensitive and B. expecting a good outcome from said insensitivity. 

Eddie wants to make a comment that your hair is not messy, it’s actually more voluminous. Besides, his hair is messy and he likes to think it makes him look badass. The glasses comment was a little unfair. Sure, the frames are a similar shade to the iconic green of the bottles of Coca-Cola. But the magnification was endearing, leaning more towards doe-eyed than bug. Unfortunately, Eddie did not consider that while he was observing you, someone might’ve been observing him. 

The assurance of your presence is how Eddie ends up here, parked outside of a hardware store turned seasonal shop. He’s helping his friends. He’s supporting a local business and therefore contributing to the local economy! You being here is just a bonus.

A bell rings above them as he swings open the door, the motion setting off a scratchy pre-recorded cackle. He’s gotta hand it to whoever is running the store. They’ve gone out of their way to transform the dingy overhead fluorescents and worn-out linoleum into something that actually resembles an eerie boutique. 

“Welcome in! I’ll be right witch you!” Your voice lilts out from the depths. 

You appear out of the darkness, expertly weaving under fake cobwebs and pushing aside fanciful drapes that have no doubt been strung up precariously around the store to add to the ambiance. You’ve got a witch’s hat on, tall and black and pointy, which further explains the pun you greeted them with. 

“How can I help you?” You smile brightly, adjusting your glasses. 

The younger boys barely spare you a glance, just a chorus of we’re good! before running off to the other side of the store, where all of the costumes are located. 

You barely blink at their rudeness. Whether that’s indicative of your experience in customer service or due to your generally sunny disposition, Eddie isn’t sure. You turn your smile and magnified gaze at him, “What about you?”

Eddie startles only slightly. He begins to peek over his shoulder as if there’s somebody else in the mostly deserted store that you could be talking to. What about him?

“Oh, I don’t need anything. I just came here with–” He gestures vaguely in the direction that the boys wandered off to. “The little shits that left me in the dust.” 

You bark out a laugh, a small smile settling on your lips. “It’s sweet of you to help them out.”

Eddie only blushes in response, murmuring a quiet it’s nothing, scratching the back of his neck like he might find a switch that’ll make him remember how to talk like a normal human being.   

“Well, if you change your mind, let me know.”

You pick up a clipboard and a pen and start leisurely strolling down the decor aisle, making inconsequential markings on the paper. Whenever you come across gaps in the shelves you reach back into them, pulling the products to the front edge with a concentration that is quite adorable. 

He’s definitely staring by now. Feigning interest in a skull-shaped candy bowl, Eddie scrambles for something, anything to keep the conversation going. “I’m surprised you’re not busier.”

“You just missed the afternoon rush.” You say, straightening a pair of plastic tarantulas that have gone askew. “Not too many people came today, though. I guess they realized that it’s so close to the holiday that the shelves would be picked over.”

“Really?”

You shrug, “I think by October 30th, most people figure if they’re gonna dress up, they’d rather just pull together something from their closets than spend money. We’re actually busier the day after Halloween because everything gets marked down and people want cheap candy.”

“Makes sense.” He nods. “So, I take it you’re a big fan of Halloween?”

Your smile is apprehensive as if you’re not sure if he’s making fun of you. Your fingers brush the brim of the witch’s hat. “What gave me away?” 

He falls into step beside you, clasping his hands behind his back and puffing out his chest. “I just had a feeling.” Then, feeling much braver than usual, he adds, “I like your outfit.”

You look at him again, clutching the clipboard to your chest. For once, your eyes are leaning more towards bug-eyed. The black velvet dress has draped sleeves and a skirt that swishes with every step. Orange and black striped tights protect your legs from the inevitable chill that comes with October in Indiana. “You do?” 

“I do.” He insists, “It totally adds to the magical vibe. If you told me that you were an actual witch and this was just something you do to pass the time I’d one hundred percent believe you.” 

All apprehension has slipped off your face, replaced by a genuine smile that cracks open his chest. “Thanks…” You trail off.

“Eddie.” He supplies. 

“Well thank you, Eddie. I’d tell you my name but I’m guessing I don’t have to.” You say, rubbing the plastic name plate on your chest. 

Eddie does know your name, but it isn’t because of your name tag. He was far too proud to ask around for your name, and far too afraid of rejection to ask you himself. He’d been lucky enough to get a library book right after you. He’d pulled the weathered paper from the slip, seen your name at the bottom of the checkout card, traced the loopy letters with the pad of his fingers. It had definitely been more than a little pathetic. 

Eddie coughs, clearing his throat, trying to maintain any semblance of nonchalance. “Do you have any plans for Halloween?” 

Your face slowly lifts from the clipboard, twirling your pen between swift fingers polished in a deep burgundy. Directing your gaze at him, you peer through dark lashes and Eddie’s never been more thankful for the inventor of coke bottle glasses. The magnification allows him to see the spark of intrigue dancing across your pupils. 

“I was just gonna stay home. Maybe help my mom pass out candy.” The implication of the last sentence seems to hit you. You look down again, scrunching up your nose. Eddie finds it endearing how your first instinct is honesty rather than anything else. 

“Cool. That’s cool,” Eddie says in a manner that is decidedly uncool. He fiddles with his rings before shoving his hands into his pockets. “Actually, I was wondering if—” 

Suddenly, Eddie feels stupid for getting lost in your eyes and not paying attention to his surroundings. Maybe then he would’ve noticed how the linoleum got ever so slightly softer under the soles of worn-out boots. He would’ve seen the cloaked figure looming in the alcove, waiting for some unwitting soul to step on the pressure plate.

Unfortunately, Eddie did not see any of those things. The poltergeist, or ghost, or whatever the fuck it is swings out. He stumbles backward, releasing a shriek that is so high-pitched, that he wonders if he should start tapping into his upper range. Maybe it would add more texture to Corroded Coffin’s Tuesday night sets. 

Instinctively, his arms fly backward, as if to protect you. He stumbles right into you, and he’s sure that if you didn’t grab his waist from behind, you would’ve fallen right over. Unfortunately, the movement has both of you careening back into a shelf, sending bags of overpriced candy and shitty Halloween decorations tumbling to the ground in a cascade of all things creepy and corny. He quickly spins around.

“Shit, are you–”

“I’m so sorry!” 

“I should’ve warned you–”

At that moment, chests heaving and hearts racing, you both seem to realize that your hands are still grazing Eddie’s waist. You spring apart, scrambling to clean up the display, haphazardly grabbing the fallen items and placing them back in their rightful places on the shelves. Among them is your hat, another casualty of the calamity. 

“I should’ve warned you,” You say again, slightly out of breath. “That thing nearly scares me to death every other day.” 

“It’s fine. I should’ve paid attention to where I was walking. It just added to the whole spooktacular experience.” He picks up the hat from the floor, dusting it off. “I think this belongs to you.” 

You give a bashful smile, but instead of putting the accessory in your outstretched hand, he gingerly places it on top of your head. Your glasses have slid down your nose from bending over to clean up his mess, and his thumbs gently push the joints of the frames until they’re sitting in their rightful place. 

“There,” He punctuates his statement with a resolute tug on your hat, making sure it’s securely on your head. “Perfect.”

You preen at him, eyes sparkling, before you cast them down at the floor. Dustin comes running around the corner, closely followed by Mike and Lucas. All of them are carrying armfuls of miscellaneous Halloween supplies, obviously alarmed at the clamor, but not alarmed enough that they didn’t take their sweet time coming from the opposite end of the store. Eddie takes advantage of your bashfulness and distinctly shoots them a look that says get the hell out of here. Dustin’s eyes dart between the two of you before they widen and his mouth forms a small oh. He sends Eddie an exaggerated wink, walking backward in order to not interrupt the private moment, dragging his two friends along with him.

“Thanks,” You smile at him. “For protecting me. I know who to bring with me if I ever want to walk through a haunted house.” 

He gives a lopsided grin, “My pleasure.”

“Ahem.” You clear your throat, “Anyways, what are your plans for Halloween?”

This is it. This is the moment that Eddie has been waiting for since he put down his guitar and his notebook and opened the trailer door. 

“That depends.” He clasps his hands behind his back, jutting his chin up in the air. “Are you working tomorrow?”

“I get off at four.” 

“The Hawk is doing this continuous horror movie marathon. Maybe you would want to go?” Eddie’s fingers are practically vibrating with excitement. He nearly forgets the most important part. “With me? I mean— Only if you like horror movies, I just figured because I’ve seen you walking around with that Stephen King novel. NOT that I’ve been watching you or anything!”

You let out a small giggle. The fact that you’re laughing and smiling is a good sign, even if it is slightly at his expense. He decides to lean into self-deprecation, hoping it’ll seem more charming than desperate. 

“I’d say I don’t scare easily, but I think we’d both know that’s a lie by now.”

You scribble something near the bottom of the paper on the clipboard, delicately folding it and ripping it off before placing it in Eddie’s palm. 

“Well, I’ve heard horror movies are less scary if you have someone to hold your hand.”

It doesn’t even matter that a ghost animatronic essentially acted as his wingman. The note with your number on it sits heavily in his pocket, thumb tracing over looped ink. Even though it’s cold as shit, he embarrassed himself, and signs of the spooky season decorate every corner, Eddie has a smile that rivals even the best of jack-o-lanterns. 

As Eddie turns off towards the dirt path that leads to Forrest Hills Trailer Park, the smile still hasn’t faded. 

For once, the streets of Hawkins seem a little less haunted. 

likes are appreciated, comments and reblogs are cherished ♥️

[comicaurora]

Re: the Frankenstein post

The channel is literally called "Overly Sarcastic Productions". If people aren't assuming at least a little embellishment and dramatic flair, then that's really no fault but the underfunded education systems' their own tbh =P

Yeaaah. But I've observed that, unfortunately, almost everyone on the internet is very reluctant to follow a citation back to its source to double-check it - myself included, if I'm not careful - which means (a) people who watch my summaries frequently don't go on to seek out the original source and formulate their own thoughts on it, and (b) when those people then erroneously quote something goofy from my interpretation as Indisputible Fact, the people who get mad at me about it don't go back to the video to see what I actually said and in what context.

I've been mulling this over to try and figure out if there's anything I can do about that, because I don't want to contribute to the dissemination of misinformation under any circumstances, but I learned from a very long childhood of Being Neurodivergent that you frquently cannot overexplain your way out of being misunderstood, especially not when misunderstanding you is entertaining. This might just be the price I pay for allowing myself to have any fun with the summarizing.

[suiana]

(yandere! enemy x gn! reader) (enemies to lovers that have to work together because i thought it would be funny)

"can you shut your unintelligent mouth and just listen to me-"

"you love me."

he stares at you, annoyed expression as he resists the urge to strangle you. his jaw is tight, veins on his forearn bulging as you observe the way he grips his cup.

you can't help but snicker, giggling to yourself as you watch him fume angrily, eye twitching as he tries to remain rational. god, he's always so entertaining to watch. you can't help but rile him up on purpose if he always gives you such funny expressions!

"i do NOT love you. never say that again."

"you literally have me as your phone and laptop wallpaper."

you watch in real time as his brain short circuits, face turning red as he clears his throat. he then proceeds to glare at you, this time a little more harshly than before.

"no I don't, you're delusional."

"erm, sure buddy."

you reply sarcastically, rolling your eyes before flinching as he slams his cup down beside you. you make eye contact with him, raising your eyebrow as you shoot him an irritated look.

just who does he think he is? it's not like you wanted to work together with him too!

"you act like I'm happy to be working with you."

you comment passingly, grumbling slightly as you furrow your eyebrows at the man who was still fuming.

seriously, you don't even know what you did to get him to hate you this much. you didn't even hate him until he started hating and annoying you!

"ugh, just give me the feedback through email or something. being in your presence hurts my soul."

you mumble, irritatedly shooing him away as you shove his empty cup back into his hand. god, you two hate each other so why does he still hang around you so much? you swear he actually just likes you and doesn't know how to express it.

going back to doing your work, you were left in a bad mood as your enemy stomps away. ugh, why'd the gods have to curse you two to working together? can't they see that neither of you are happy with this?

if only you saw the way the corner of his lips quirked up the second he turned away from you, or the way his cheeks started heating up even more wildly.

[rizsu]

the cat accident or incident ? gojo satoru.

sum. what happens when you mindlessly pick up things without reading when shopping // short drabble, satoru turns ur cat into a minion ( ref image at the end )

"would you love me if i was a worm?"

"no."

"what about if i was a dinosaur?"

"you'd be dead."

"okay, what if i was a skunk?"

"satoru, what do you want?"

he fakes a laugh, scratching the back of his neck. "whatever do you mean, my dear?"

you sighed, reverting your attention from your laptop to him. in this house, online shopping is near impossible when satoru's around. it's painfully obvious he's up to something mischievous — or, he will be up to something.

a long stare in silence doesn't take long to break him. plopping himself on the bed, he raises both hands in a defensive gesture before speaking, "okay, don't get mad at me but i think i accidentally dyed our cat purple."

"you WHAT?!" you sit up, shoving your laptop off your thighs. out of everything he could've done, accidentally dying the cat purple was not in your list. you give satoru a simple task and trust he will find a way to make it difficult.

he waves his hands side-to-side, standing up to justify himself, "i didn't mean to i swear—" he cuts himself off, taking your hand to lead you to his disaster. "actually, just come see for yourself."

entering the bathroom, a shocked gasp escapes you. the scene is just chaotic: a bathtub coloured purple, a cat that's busy with his tail, discarded gloves, and a bottle of purple shampoo. you tiptoe around the wet floor, bending over to carefully retrieve your beloved cat from the disaster.

"babyyy, look what you did! he's purple now!" you complained, giving gojo a 360 view of the cat.

"oh my god, it's almost as if i didn't know that," he replies sarcastically, forcefully grabbing the damned bottle that started everything. this marks the beginning of him explaining the previous matter.

"i bought this a while ago thinking it was one of those colour correction shampoos, right? lo and fucking behold it turned the thing purple," he wiggles the shampoo in his hand, screwing his face at it.

you're not looking at him, too busy pouting at your now-purple cat, "hey, he's not 'the thing', his name is toots!"

"babe, that's not any better."

"yeah, yeah. unpurple my cat before tomorrow, satoru," you changed your voice's tone, replicating one that warns him of what's to come if he doesn't restore your toots back to his colour.

gojo does nothing but rolls his eyes, squinting at the cat. he's not even worried about it, he thinks, observing the way toots calmly enjoys being in your arms. the privilege he has is tremendous. he's all purple staining your clothes but had gojo been the one he would've been sent to the next year.

"stupid cat."

"did you say something, satoru?"

"yeah, i said i'll book an appointment at the pet's shop thing."

"'kay," you gave him a quick smile before it turned into a pout again. the sight of your toots saddens you. he now looks like the purple, crazy minions.

the purple minion:

[urdepressedslut]

Tickle Fights

♡ Pairing: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: Bucky discovers you’re ticklish, leading to a tickle fight which shifts into something not so innocent.

♡ Warnings: fluff, SMUT unprotected sex, (p in v), boob worship, riding, cockwarming, language

main masterlist

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT | 18+ CONTENT

The room was dark besides the glow of the TV, shining on you and Bucky. You were cuddled together, engrossed in the crime documentary that was playing. It had been a calming day, running into the night. Day spent eating out, going to multiple parks, flower collecting— your favorite. Lastly, you ended the night with some entertainment, mostly taking advantage of the down time to melt into each others embrace.

You never wanted the days to end where it was just you and Bucky, wishing that everyday could end up like this one.

You let out a small yawn, Bucky’s warmth too comfortable. His body shook with a light chuckle.

“Tired already? It’s only nine.” He teased, pulling you tighter against him.

“I can’t help it, you’re so comfy.” You mumbled, snuggling deeper into him.

He chuckled again, lowering his arm from your shoulders to your side, gently grabbing the flesh to pull you closer. His fingers digging into your sides had you letting out a gasp, tensing in his hold. Bucky noticed and furrowed his brows, eyes wide in concern.

“You okay baby? What was that?” He asked with genuine worry.

You relaxed back into his hold, trying to steer the conversation away. You waved him off.

“Nothing, just getting comfortable.” You tried to convince him.

Bucky stared at you for a couple more moments, until a grin started to form on his face. He repeated his previous action, softly gripping your side— his theory being confirmed when you gasped and tensed again.

“Doll… are you ticklish?” He asked, grinning at crimson flushing your cheeks.

You scoffed, shaking your head in ridiculousness.

“No— I was just getting comfortable.” You argued.

“Then why’d you jump?” He pushed, loving the way you were getting all flustered.

“You caught me off guard that’s all.” You tried to convince him, but knew it was a pathetic try.

He hummed in agreement, letting you think for just a second that he believed you. You huffed out in small celebration, relaxing back into his arms. The room went back to a comfy silence, almost ready to drift off— until you felt his hand grip your side again.

You yelped, jumping in his hold. You whipped your face to his, not surprised to find a mischievous grin.

“Bucky…” You warned.

He chuckled again, keeping a firm grip of you, trapping you in his hold.

“I didn’t know you were ticklish.” He observed, watching you squirm under his stare.

“Yeah well, this is why I didn’t want you to know.” You tried to sound annoyed, but your chest was warm with joy.

“You make it sound like I’m gonna torture you.” He says sarcastically.

You attempt to escape his arms, blushing profusely under his stare. To no avail, he is much stronger than you, and if he wanted to keep you held in his arms. There was no way to escape it— not that you really wanted to.

“Seriously, it’s not a big deal.” You tried to brush off nonchalantly.

You weren’t sure what came over you, but the thought passed through you. Before you knew it— you were poking Bucky’s side. Your eyes widened, a huge grin forming on your face when you witnessed him jump.

His eyes darkened, his jaw tensing in challenge. Before you could process what was happening— Bucky dug his hands into your sides, wiggling his fingers into your flesh.

You gasped, laughing uncontrollably at his attack. You tried to pry and push his hands away, but your attempts were weak. Your whole body was buzzing, pleasure morphing into a dull agony.

“Bucky please! I can’t— Please I can’t!” You pleaded, breathing heavy from the laughter.

Bucky ignored your begging for him to stop, instead he slipped his flesh and metal hand under your shirt— and started to tickle your skin directly. You gasped, and whined at his deeper attack.

“Okay! You win, you win! Bucky please!” You whined.

He chuckled in triumph, maneuvering himself where he was falling backwards against the couch— lying down and pulling you on top of him. He quit his torture on your sides, wrapping his arms around you. You felt as if you were coming down from a high, breathing heavily on top his chest.

You could feel his heart beating in rhythm with yours, the thumping against each others chests. Calmed enough down, you glanced up into his eyes. His orbs sparkled with contentment, his gaze loving and warm.

The slight shift of your body had you realizing the position you were in— impossibly close. You circled your hips just barely over his crotch, the slightest friction pulling a gasp from him. His arms tightened around you.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish doll.” He warned.

You bit your lip, circling your hips again— this time harder against him. His hands fisted into the back of your shirt, his breath heavily fanning your face. You tilted your head, pouting innocently.

“What? I’m just trying to get comfortable.” You teasingly hinted from earlier.

Bucky’s eyes darkened at your teasing, licking his lips in hunger. His member beginning to strain between your bodies. Aching for more friction, he bucked his hips up, earning a gasp from you.

Your teasing demeanor disappeared, your throbbing core desperate for more. You sat up, stayed straddled on him— grinding down hard. The friction of his outlined member on your clothed clit was delicious.

He watched you whimper with shaky breaths, attempting to chase your release.

“Getting comfortable huh?” He breathed out.

You needed more, your hunger insatiable. His voice was dark, husky— sending shivers through your body. Your nipples aching, pushing through your shirt.

He bit his lip, sneaking his hands under the front hem of your shirt. Caressing your soft skin up until he got to your breasts. You grabbed both his wrist desperately, placing his hands on your mounds. He chuckled darkly at your neediness, rubbing his thumb over your swollen bud.

You instinctively leaned into his touch, whimpering at the sensation, the feeling shooting straight to your core.

“You like that baby?” He purred, circling his thumb around your nipple.

You nodded, leaning your head back, chest pushing into his hands. He flicked your bud, making you whine.

“Words baby.” He demanded lowly, swiping his thumb back over the raised flesh.

“Mhm yes… feels good.” You moaned out, hips instinctively grinding over his.

He removed his hands, quickly removing your shirt, leaving your chest bare to him. He leaned up, his metal arm keeping you on his lap. He licked his lips, lowering himself to your chest. He captured your nipple with his lips, his tongue circling around before swiping across the flushed tip. Your eyes rolled back at the sensation, nearly falling apart from just the feeling of his mouth of your chest.

“Oh Buck— feels s’good.” You keened.

He switched to the other one, giving your nipple an open mouthed kiss, swirling his tongue around— before he gently grazed his teeth over the bud. You whined loudly, pushing your chest further into his face.

You cradled the back of his head, tangling your fingers in his thick locks. Occasionally you’d give a slight tug of his hair, the sensation of his mouth sometimes too much to handle. Plus, you knew how much he loved having his hair pulled.

You started grinding harder, faster against him. The sensation of his mouth on your tits added with the friction of his clothed member to your clit had you dizzy. Your whimpers were growing needier.

“Fuck doll,” He moaned out, his straining member aching for more, “Hold on.”

He slid you off his lap, quickly removing his pants and boxers. He sat back into position, his cock painfully hard— springing up to his stomach. Your mouth watered at the sight of his flushed tip, his slit leaking precum.

“C’mere baby.” He patted his lap.

You held his gaze, shimming your shorts and panties off and climbing back on his lap— straddling him. He reached out and grabbed your hips, pulling you down onto him. You both sighed at the feeling of each other, completely bare and warm.

He snuck his metal arm in between your bodies, running his fingers through your wet folds. You whined from the coolness meeting with your hot flesh.

“You’re so wet… All from just getting comfortable?” He teased, grazing his metal digits over your clit— making you jump and gasp.

You tried to respond but couldn’t voice the words, instead letting out a breathy moan— grinding yourself on his fingers.

He gathered some wetness and brought it to your clit, rubbing slow circles around the bud.

“Let me take care of you baby.” He breathed out, his breath fanning your neck.

“I’m all yours James.” You moaned out, looping your arms around his neck— faces close and your noses touching.

Hearing you say his real name had him groaning, the way it sounded rolling off your tongue— needy. He instinctively bucked his hips up into his hand— into you.

He removed his metal hand from you, causing you to whine in starvation. He chuckled and kissed the tip of your nose.

“I know baby,” He cooed, bucking his hips up again, letting the tip of his member bump through your folds, “You’re so whiny.”

You rubbed yourself against him, covering his cock with your juices. You were just finding a comfortable rhythm before you were lifted up slightly by him. He ran the head of his cock through your folds a couple times before lining up with your entrance. You were buzzing with desire, immediately sinking down on his cock, letting him fill you to the brim.

“Fuck James.” You moaned out, fingernails digging into his shoulders— only making him groan with desire.

This certainly wasn’t the first time you and Bucky were having sex, but he never failed to make you feel so full. He was able to hit spots that you didn’t even know existed.

“You feel s’good baby.” He breathed out, staying still despite the difficulty, letting you adjust.

You started to lift yourself, until his tip was almost out— then you were lowering yourself down again. You started repeating the motion, hands gripping his shoulders harshly.

He practically growled at the feeling of your walls squeezing his cock. The slight pain of your nails digging into his flesh only adding to the pleasure. He bucked his hips up into you, matching your rhythm. A particular hard thrust from him had your vision spotty, his tip grazing your sensitive spot.

You slowed your hips, body jolting from the sensation. He was watching your face scrunch with pleasure, his heavy breathing hitting your cheeks. He thrusted again into the same spot, his tip meeting the bumpy flesh. You whimpered as your back arched, pulling him tight to your chest.

“Oh James… R- right there.” You barely whined out, breathless from the feeling, your vision hazy.

He smirked, pulling you flush against him as he thrusted up into you at a rough pace. You were thankful that he had a firm grip on you because the sensation was becoming too much for you to stay upright.

The familiar coil tightening in your lower stomach had you snapping from the haze, your breaths heavier as you felt yourself getting closer to the edge.

He heard your breathing change, and quickly lowered himself to your chest again. Licking and sucking on your bud while his cock was hitting your spot repeatedly.

The feeling had your eyes rolling back, your arms going slack around his neck— the only thing keeping you upright was his strong arms holding you tight to his chest.

“C’mon baby, let go.” He purred out, before latching hip lips back around your bud.

You whimpered from the stimulation. He grazed his teeth lightly over your nipple and with a final deep thrust into you, the coil snapped.

You cried out, vision going black as your body twitched. Bucky moaned, his own eyes rolling back at the feeling of your fluttering walls massaging his member— milking him to his own release. He held onto you tight, letting his forehead rest against yours, your breaths mixing as you both came down from your highs.

You were coming back down to earth, your hearing and vision coming back gradually. You let out a breathy moan, the feeling of his twitching member inside you wondrous.

Cracking your eyes open, you found Bucky gazing at you with hooded eyes— his orbs sparkling with tenderness. You smiled with flushed cheeks, giving him a weak and lazy kiss. You felt his arms tighten around your lower back, the two of you just molding together.

“I love you so much baby.” He whispered against your lips.

“I love you James.” You gave his lips one last peck.

You snuggled up into him, burying your face into his neck as your eyes started drooping shut from exhaustion. He smiled to himself, leaning back into a comfortable position on the couch, gently rubbing your back.

The forgotten show played as a soft ambience in the background as the two of you fell asleep in each others embrace. All while his member was still buried deep inside you.

A/N: i don’t write smut that often so pls tell me what you think 🥴

thanks bestie for helping me with ideas @foreverrandomwritings <333

[ddejavvu]

eddie brock is the og loser boyfriend and i can’t stop thinking about venom just like completely bullying him when he’s in a relationship like his partner is like this drop dead gorgeous person and eddie wears the same sweaty jacket all the time and eats frozen tater tots haha

"There are crumbs on your shirt." Venom observes, and when Eddie nods with a noncommittal grunt, he continues, "And it is not a shirt. It is a sweatshirt. A sweaty sweatshirt, Eddie. And you wore it yesterday."

"That I did," Eddie crams another handful of chips into his mouth, salted and straight from the bag. His attention remains solely on the television in front of him, and Venom's goopy form shakes its head.

"Y/N is coming over later." He reminds the human, watching with disdain as Eddie chokes slightly on his mouthful because of the way he's slouched in his seat. He swallows regardless, and when he speaks, his voice is gruff from the irritation in his throat.

"Yeah, she'll be here in a few minutes," Eddie nods, "Hey, do you think they fake this show? The drama, and all."

Venom has no interest in whether the trashy reality show that Eddie is so enraptured by is fake or not. He cares that you'll be here any minute now, and Eddie looks like a corpse that's been rotting for a few days.

When the doorbell rings, Eddie moves to get up. Crumbs begin raining onto the carpet and he groans as his lazy joints ache, so Venom shoves him back into place with a strong tentacle and uses another to stretch and open the door for you.

You're clearly expecting a person on the other side, but you're quick to recognize the tentacle you're met with instead. It wraps greedily around your waist and you place your hand over its sticky form, grinning as you're barely able to shut the door behind you before Venom yanks you over to the couch.

"Hi, baby," Eddie greets, tipping his head onto the back of the sofa to grin upside-down at you, "How are you?"

"Good," You lean down to kiss him upside down, and Venom is appalled that you're willing to put your lips on Eddie's crumb-coated ones.

"Sour cream and onion?" You guess, and you're rewarded with the near-empty bag of them that Eddie had been demolishing.

You settle happily onto the couch by Eddie's side with the chips in your hand, and when Venom begins to let go of you you hold his tentacle in place. The symbiote watches you silently for a moment, observing your behavior and thinking a whole host of unsavory thoughts about humans and their disgusting tendencies.

"I do not understand," Venom interrupts your gushy sentiments with Eddie about how terrible the acting is on so-called 'reality' shows, "Eddie is disgusting."

The man's nose wrinkles and you let out a scoff of a laugh.

"Thank you, Venom. That's very kind of you. Did you forget you're made of slime?"

"Slime does not sweat. And I do not have crumbs stuck all over me."

"Venom, being in a relationship with someone means that you need to be comfortable with them. We don't have to dress up all the time, Y/N knows what I look like in pajamas and I've seen her hair unbrushed in the morning."

Venom, too, recalls the rather impressive tangled mess of hair that you sport after a night of deep sleep.

"You do not mind that he smells?" Venom turns to you, his milky-white eyes blinking with a squelch.

"He's smelled worse," You give a half-shrug, only one of your shoulders moving as you squirm closer to Eddie beneath the blanket he's draped over you.

"You're both too good to me," Eddie grins, batting his lashes sarcastically, "Careful not to flatter me too much, don't want my head to get too big to fit in my helmet."

Venom regards Eddie for a moment, then thinks of the motorcycle helmet the man breathes into every day. It's repulsive.

"Your head is already abnormally large," Venom observes, settling into Eddie's shoulder opposite from you, "I will keep insulting you so that it does not get bigger. You are repulsive."

[certifiedcodbabygirl]

I'm 100% a Gaz girl. No doubt. I absolutely love him and his character.

What I don't like is how people write him most of the time. Idk what it is about the COD fandom but most of the writers give him like no personality. They chalk it up to:

-He's sugary sweet

-He never argues

-He's never angry

-He eats pussy like a god (that one's true to be fair)

-And he's hella submissive

And don't get me wrong, a few of those can be alright, but that's all I really ever see. Not to say anyone owes us writing, these are just my opinions and observations. I love all my fellow writers.

I'm just saying that it's okay to write him as pissed off. It's okay to write him as sarcastic and a lil hotheaded. It's okay to write him as someone who can lead and get shit done. Because all of those things have been shown in his character! I know a lot of people can't afford the actual games, but I highly suggest you at least go watch gameplays. His character is so much more than him being sweet. He's a guy with layers. Just like Ghost. Just like Soap. And just like Price.

I've seen maybe 3 fics where he's shown canonically and I love seeing those. Like I said, write what you want to write, I just wanna share my opinion. I think if I've noticed it, others might have too. And don't get me wrong, I love seeing him as a sweet guy and levelheaded guy when needed, but he can also not be. Let him have layers like every person does. Let him have flaws.

Show what makes him tick. Show what makes him lose his cool. Show what makes him calm down. Show what it takes for him to maintain his cool. Show his "what the fuck is wrong with you" reactions.

We all know he eats pussy good tho. That I will never disagree with.

[aphroditesmoon]

Hiiii! Love your clarisse oneshots ^^. Could you possibly do one where Fem!reader is the daughter of Hades and has a hellhound as a pet that absolutely adores clarisse? Reader also has a similar personality to clarisse, loves to fight and has a big pride but only lets her guard down around Clarisse.(also possibly has her own electric weapon of your choice)Thank you!!

creatures of the night

clarisse la rue x fem!hades'cabin!reader

warnings: none

a/n: sorry this is so short, hope u like it<3

wc; 1.1k

You would never consider your relationship with your father as better than anyone else's relationship with their own parent in camp.

But when you had been claimed by Hades as well as being gifted a long black javelin with gold wrapped around the sharp edge on the same night you arrived at camp Half Blood, it seemed well established to everyone else and including yourself, that your father acknowledges your existence proudly.

Being one of the people in the small list of forbidden children, had created a fearsome reputation around your presence, and honestly speaking, you enjoy the privileges that come with it.

Although it was hard making friends considering your less friendly personality, some campers stuck by your side anyways. Those who bore you enormous respects and had been intrigued by your mysterious air instead of intimidated.

One of them being the infamous child of Ares, Clarisse La Rue.

Beautiful, strong and hot headed, Clarisse La Rue.

The two of you are often compared as the two sides of the same coin. Your personalities differ from eachother in many ways, but when it came to your goals and aims, you both are usually on the same team.

It's safe to say that you are less hostile than Clarisse. You prefer to keep to yourself whilst she prefered to assert dominance onto the other campers. And yet you are the more feared than her.

Clarisse is commonly brutal and unrelenting, but you usually saved up the worst of your tricks for when necessity calls for it. For now, intimidation worked well enough.

What's funny enough, is how Clarisse herself had a certain trepidation when she first befriended you. She learned soon that you were just another demigod girl just like she was, glory aside.

One of the instances where she felt that she had truly seen you as you are, all the facade dropped down, was when you first introduced her to your hound, Cerberus.

Your father had gifted him to you for your 15th birthday. It was one of yoir proudest moments in life. Demigods are almost never cared for that much by their parents, and so to have your coming of age be recognised by your father was a huge thing.

"Is that not the same name as Hades' own three headed hound?" She asked, staring at it for afar from the corner of your bed.

"I know, that's why I named him that." You explained to her as you're sat criss-crossed on the floor, scratching the beasts' chin.

Cerberus, once he deemed Clarisse as not a threat, rolled down on the ground on his stomach.

"Look at him, such a good boy." You were distracted by your new pet all day, ignoring your poor girlfriend who had come over to your cabin to spend time with you. "He's almost as tall as you." Clarisse spoke sarcastically, picking you on your height.

"That's not a fair observation. Most things are almost as tall as me." You responded, still not looking up.

"Are you just gonna keep standing there staring at me?" You asked her finally, realising just how weird the distance between you two were.

Clarisse was hesitant, frowning at your pet like he was some sort of threat. "I...think I'm good here." She muttered loud enough for your ears. "Oh, come on."

Clarisse shook her head as you complained about her irrationality. "Look at him, he's friendly." And he was, Cerberus had warmed up to you quickly and have not shown a single tendency for violence against your girlfriend.

"Come and say hello to him, Clarisse." You called out to her again.

You hear her sigh from the other side of the room. After a few more minutes pass, her footsteps grow louder as she moves nearer to you.

Clarisse squats down to meet Cerberus and flinched as he lifts his head up to sniff her. You reached for her hand, trying to get him to smell it. She pulls her hand back at first, but after a few more pulls, Clarisse relents and lets the hound give her knuckles a lick. "That tickles." She mumbled under her breath.

"He likes you, see." She gives a resigned look, like she's just going along with what you're saying. "No, I'm serious, look at how nice he's acting." You nudged your head towards Cerberus' head, encouraging her to give him a pet

Clarisse braves herself to give him a few strokes on his ears and found that he particularly likes that notion. "I guess he's not that bad." She admitted at last, pulling out a smile from you. "I told you."

"So what is he then? Some sort of guard dog?" She inquires. The gods would gift their children with tools that can be used, never something useless, like a domesticated pet. And from the looks of it, Cerberus is definitely not meant to be a some cute little friend.

"I don't know." You answered honestly.

"It's not like my dad does a lot of talking to me, but he gave me something from the underworld, something that's set as a reminder of him and his place above. I'd like to view it as some sort of stepping stone. Like I'm one step closer to him because of Cerberus."

It's not surprising that your end goal is to follow on your father's footsteps, no one really knows what the real secret to make their godly parent to care about them is.

It is often assumed that glory was the key, and yet, the best fighters in camp a

re usually the ones who resent their parents the most. You often prayed and hoped that you wouldn't ever have to cross that threshold.

"I'm sure he sees it that way too." Clarisse offered kindly. She knew all too well how much it meant to be noticed by their absent fathers, even if so slightly.

She slso knew deep down that even if your father refused to notice the lengths you would be willing to go for him, she did. And she would break the world in two for you if your father wouldn't. And you would do the same for her.

Clarisse leans her back against the lower frame of the bed, a small smile on her face as she watches you scratch the hound's chin whilst kissing the spot in between his eyes.

It is truly rare to catch sight of either daughters of Ares or Hades' being as gentle and playful as this, and Clarisse is grateful that these kind of intimacies are reserved for small private moments.

That same night, as she sleeps with her arms around your waist, Cerberus laying down by the foot of the bed, Clarisse realises that she would do anything for the bond between the two of you to prevail.

[lavendertales]

Hi hi hi 🥰🥰🥰 any thoughts on writing a fox on reader and Joel Miller where they have an age gap (obvs) maybe reader is a friend of Tommy’s and Joel is a bit protective over her but they end up fucking and the whole time he’s trying to shut her up from the clickers by covering her mouth, choking her but at the same time talking dirty etc etc I’ll let you live out your thotty imagination with this one xoxo

Hiii love, thank you for the request! Well this one was... phew 🥵 hope you enjoy!

Where you belong || Joel Miller x f!reader**

summary: who would've thought one of Tommy's good friends would have such an impact on Joel?

word count: 2k

WARNINGS: this is FILTH. age gap mention, teasing, some dirty talk, mutual pining, male & female masturbation, choking, unprotected piv, vaginal fingering.

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

gif: @pajamasecrets

Stubborn and harsh as he may be, Joel Miller knows how to appreciate some of the finer things in life.

A good song, a fine illustration, a movie that sticks with him for a while… and then there’s you.

Tommy’s made it clear that you were a close friend of his and Maria’s, and Joel respected that. He stayed within the limits of respect, never crossing the border. But he did enjoy the occasional sneak peek at you, always when you weren’t looking.

He’s not sure why. It just always felt… easier. Just watching you from afar and keeping things cordial between the two of you was always the easy and safe option, as opposed to actually caring too much.

Caring meant loss. And Joel had enough of that. He just needed something nice for a change. Something good, something that wouldn’t be tainted by the threat of harm.

Perhaps that’s why he’d grown so fond and so protective of you. Being significantly older than you was certainly another reason why he preferred to keep his infatuation for you at bay, but it also gave him a reason to be your unspoken protector. You didn’t ask for it, yet he simply provided it. For that, you were beyond grateful.

And frustrated, too.

Particularly on this hot summer evening in Jacksonville, when you were out checking the perimeter for raiders or infected, and you used every excuse imaginable to establish physical contact with Joel: a light grip on his arm when you faked a potential fall, soft giggles at his dry jokes that no one else seemed to get, and being face to face with him with every single opportunity you got. Five, in total. You gazed at him, searching his face for confirmation that he understood why you were doing all that, why you were craving his touch so dearly, and still you failed to see that. Joel remained as hardened as ever, and it only grew your frustration more.

So when you got back into town, throwing your gun on the rocking chair in the corner of your living room, you were surprised to see Joel behind you, footsteps heavy, as if he was angry about something.

“What’s wrong with you?” his thick voice asks.

You turn to him, utterly dumbfounded, almost insulted at the question he just posed. Maybe you misinterpret it, too, but hell if you give a shit right now.

It’s been months since Joel’s caught your eye, months of sneaky glances and wishful thinking, and closing onto three years without the intimate touch of another human being.

It’s too much. In this moment, all feels overwhelming.

“What is wrong with me?” you emphasize the pronoun. “What is wrong with you?! Have you not noticed me around you for the past, I don’t know, two hours?”

“Sure I have, how can I not?”

You scoff, hands on your hips and licking your lips in frustration. Gesture which does not go unnoticed by Joel, who licks his own in return, awfully tempted in this moment.

“I don’t know, Joel,” you reply sarcastically. “For someone with such great hunting and surviving skills, you sure lack some basic observation skills.”

He frowns, approaching you. “What are you talking about?”

You grow even more dumbfounded, curious whether he’s playing the fool intentionally or if he’s simply playing with you.

“How long have we known each other?” you ask.

“Six, seven months.”

“Seven months. Seven months since you’ve known me, and you still don’t know a fucking thing about me.”

“What don’t I know?”

You approach him too, your lips parted to make room for words that refuse to come out. Instead, you breathe through your mouth, your body nearly quivering at the simple, yet overpowering sensation of being so close to him, yet so far.

“What I like and don’t like,” you say in a near-whisper manner. “I don’t like being fooled. I don’t like being played or led astray, and I don’t like guessing. I hate guessing games. I was never any good at them.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

You nod several times, puckering your lips. “Clearly.”

“And what do you like?”

The way he says it, so rich with gruffness and tempting, it’s causing your knees to buckle and your heart to race faster. It’s the first time tonight you think he’s actually teasing you, and you feel heat spreading throughout your body, settling in your nether area.

“A lot of things, actually,” you reply, unable to look away from his full lips.

“Mhm. Like what? Tell me. Use your words.”

Yeah, he’s definitely fucking with you. But it’s all the more enticing.

You don’t tell him, though; you simply reach to press your lips onto his, only for a split second, and then you pull away. You watch his face closely, checking if you have his approval. When he wraps a faintly hesitant hand around your waist and pulls you in to kiss you properly, you melt into his arms, and realize that you do have all the approval in the goddamn world.

It doesn’t take long for the kiss to deepen. In a matter of seconds, you find yourself writhing beneath him on the bed, splayed shamelessly by his calloused hands. Under normal circumstances, he’d be a perfect gentleman and ask you out, spend as much time with you as possible, but for the past two decades, Joel lived on the edge, strictly in survival mode. Which means that some relief is all he can allow himself to have.

Your hands hastily undress him, messy just like the kiss you are sharing with him, and your breaths get ragged, as fast and irregular as your heart.

“You don’t know—how many goddamn times I’ve—wanted this…”

Joel’s voice is trembling despite its huskiness, and it causes you to shiver with excitement. The thought of him wanting you this much, this desperately, is getting you wetter with each passing second.

“Never allowed myself to—to want you” he confesses, peppering wet kisses along your jaw while you worked against his belt and zipper.

“Why not?”

“Tommy might kill me.”

“Or Maria.”

He chuckles briefly, prompting the same reaction out of you. You help him out of his jeans and his boxers, your mouth watering upon seeing how hard he is already. It’s beyond flattering, and you’re not sure how much longer you can stay apart from him.

“Thought about you too,” you confess, spreading your legs further so that you are on full display for him.

Joel stares at you in a delirious haze. In the sunset’s gold and red light, he can see the glistening of your pussy, and he swallows harshly. He doubts he’s ever felt this parched in his whole life, the waiting tearing him apart.

“You did?” he asks cheekily, cupping your sex while you gasp in surprise.

“Yes. Oh yes…”

He’s palming you gently, eyes locked on your face and nowhere else. He’s practically working on muscle memory, but it serves him correctly it seems.

“What did you think about?” he demands, drawing circles around your clit.

“Just you… touching me.”

“Like I’m doing now?”

“Yes—I thought about you… while I was touching myself.”

Joel can’t help the grunt that escapes his lips. That sole confession awakens something primal inside of him, something big, roaring in his chest. He pushes with two fingers past your folds now that he feels you wet enough to grant him easy access, and starts pumping in and out while you whine.

“Shh,” he coos you gently. “Easy, baby girl.”

“F-Fuck—“

“From this moment forward, you’re being silent. Not quiet. Silent. Is that clear?”

You bite on your lower lip and frantically nod your head while you palm your own breasts. It feels so good just to feel his fingers inside you, you can’t even imagine more. It’s definitely been a long time for you—presumably for him too—so you are awfully sensitive and needy, but just knowing that this is Joel Miller doing this to you, causing your body to react this way, to arch under his touch and whine from his words, it’s making you hotter and wetter than anything you could’ve ever imagined.

“Be a good girl for me and shut up, will you?”

He asks too softly for you not to obey, and again you nod frantically, unable to utter any words.

Joel’s fingers keep pumping in and out of you, faster and faster, and you do everything in your willpower to not scream. You barely let out a few whimpers, but it seems they get Joel going: you catch a glimpse of him stroking his cock in the process, the sight lewd as fuck. You focus on that while you reach in between your legs to furiously rub your clit while Joel’s fingers fuck into you, and his own hand is curled around his cock. Breaths ragged and in tandem, you work on each other to climb the ladder of ecstasy.

“Fuuuuuck—“you mutter, mouth in the perfect O shape as you feel your orgasm fast approaching.

“Keep your mouth shut, baby girl,” Joel reminds you, abruptly pulling out his fingers, now sticky as he takes them to your mouth, and you instantly suck on them, having a taste of yourself.

You don’t hide the disappointment on your face upon feeling empty, especially when you see that he’s not even jerking off anymore.

“There could be clickers around,” he seemingly justifies his command.

“We checked the area. There are none.”

“There are plenty of reasons for you to keep your mouth shut, darlin’. Or do you need me to find another use for it?”

You smirk. “If you want to.”

He doesn’t, though. That’s not for tonight, he thinks. Not when you’re both so worked up and needy. He wraps his hand around his weeping cock, almost ready to explode at how hard he is, and guides himself to your entrance. Muttered cuss words fill the room from both of you, said like a chant on repeat with the first roll of his hips against yours. Your pussy swallows him whole, and he watches mesmerized as you take all of his cock in, coating the hair at the base with your juices. He doesn’t waver with the pace: it’s fast and hard from the second thrust. He slams his hips into you, your wanton cries musically pleasing to his ears.

It’s only then that he wraps his hand around your throat, putting an end to any words you might’ve wanted to say. You only moan at him as he’s fucking you speedily, needy, with a fury you’ve only seen him use in combat.

“Do you fuckin’ know—what you do to me?” he grunts, the impending sensation of his release overcoming him. “Do you, hm? Look how full you are… stuffed with my cock… good girl, just like that…”

With a bit more pressure applied to the grip over your throat, you moan as you come, coating his cock with your arousal. The sensation of your walls trapping him inside you is the final click for Joel when he comes too, pulling out and painting the filthiest painting over your swollen pussy and thighs. His warm seed is all over your lower area, and there’s so much of it, you wonder how long exactly it has been for him since he’s last felt relief.

Breathless, you reach for him, cupping his cheeks and kissing him tenderly, a stark comparison to the rough way you were being handled just a few seconds before.

“Do you know what you are doing to me, Joel Miller?” you cheekily ask after a while.

“Think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

You both chuckle, the sound shared only between the two of you, in your bed.

It’s the first time in months Joel gets a good night’s sleep. And the first time in months since he’s laughed. All because of you.