#purgative writing

[ryoalouette]

Machi's Idea #4

The JL can't understand what's wrong. They did their best effort to honor the king of dead and celebrate accordingly with the most strict protocol. Yet the king seems equally dull and annoyed. The JLD knows what's going on but they decided to say nothing in the hopes that this would teach the JL a lesson. Jason tried to explain the situation but none of the "adults" (aka Batman) listened to him so he decided to get his point across by getting into a fist fight with the king. One hour later they are kissing and Jason is explaining to the JL that ghost bond through fighting.

[ohbo-ohno]

merry christmas @luminousbeings-crudematter, here's the ghoap x reader purge au! (a week and a half after you posted about it... im so sorry)

5.7k, mind the tags <3

cw: ROUGH NONCONSENUAL SEX in all caps, pwp, under-prepared/painful anal sex, some pretty intense fear stuff, people covered in blood and referenced violence (it's a purge au lol)

Your hands tremble where they’re tucked close to your chest, blood sticky and thick between each finger. You feel coated in it, like someone has taken a brush and gone over every inch of your skin, painted you in red.

It’s in your mouth. You can feel the warmth of it on your tongue, the taste of iron sickening. You tell yourself that maybe you bit your tongue, that it’s not really your ex Phil’s blood coating your teeth.

Your thin pajamas are hardly any protection against the chill of the night air, less so with how soaked they are. The stench of piss is heavy in the air, a mixture of yours and his, but you don’t have time to go back inside and change.

You’re running on pure instinct, an animal urge deep in your mind insisting you run. You’d always thought you’d have more of a flight instinct than fight. Despite how you feel now, how your legs itch to carry you as far away as possible, the cooling corpse left behind tells you the truth. 

You stumble into the wall, a wave of nausea knocking you off balance. There’s a trail of red left behind as you use one hand to balance yourself, the other held protectively over your heart. 

Your security system - cheap, but usually enough to let you sleep through the Purge - is completely destroyed. There’s no chance of it protecting you, and the bust in windows will let anyone on the streets see your vulnerability. You’ll never feel safe there, and you can’t shake the need to run.

There’s no chance of any of your neighbors helping you. There’s some neighborly camaraderie between your floor-mates, but that all disappears on Purge night. It’s every man for himself, every year, without fail. You know that. You even think the same as them, pretend no one else exists when that siren goes off every year. 

But now, shaking and terrified, you wish you could knock on a door and see it open. Hear the security system disengage and see a familiar face, beg for help and thank them on your knees.

It’s a nice fantasy. Reality is less kind, seeing you shake with a dawning chill as you manage to shoulder open the door to the stairwell, cringing when it slams behind you.

The cold cement is rough on your feet, and a distant part of yourself worries about slipping - your feet are slick with blood, and you can hear yourself leaving a trail of footsteps. You don’t try to slow down, holding tight to the metal railing and shuffling down the stairs.

You’re halfway down the first of four flights when the door on the next floor opens, a large figure stepping into the stairwell. Your stumble to a stop before you even register that you’re not alone anymore, and you’re backpedaling before you even fully realize.

He’s big, his face covered in a red skull mask. From your vantage point you can see his hair is shaved into a mohawk, and he’s shirtless with only a pair of gray sweatpants on.

He’s drenched in blood. Even more than you, and you feel like you’re drowning in it. If you’re painted in blood, someone took a bucket and dumped it on this man. You can hardly see any unmarked skin, and you wonder for a split-second if the skull was once white.

There’s an audible grin in his voice when he calls up to you. “Look’it you, bonnie thing. You tryin’ to run?” He steps to the side, leaving a wide open space for you to pass him to the next staircase. You’re frozen where you’re leant against the railing, hardly able to breathe. “C’mon, give it a shot.” 

You listen, scrabbling further back and all but throwing yourself up the stairs on all fours. You’re only the need to get away, an innate fear that tells you to get as far from the blood-soaked man as quickly as possible. You swear you hear him laugh as you launch yourself up the next flight, panting already.

There’s no safety found in going up though, as hardly two flights later you’re tugged to a stop by your instincts alone.

Standing above you, hardly six feet away and blocking the door he must’ve just come from, is another giant. This one fully clothed and with a white skull mask, somehow bigger and more intimidating than the man you can hear coming up the stairs behind you. You can’t see even an inch of skin, black gloves on his hands and mean black combat boots reaching nearly his knees.

There’s a moment, before the chase ends, where you contemplate jumping over the railing. There’s no going up, there’s no going back, and you can’t even begin to imagine what these two men want with you. The only thing that keeps you from throwing yourself over is the fear that you wouldn’t die on impact, that you’d be left injured and even more vulnerable to these men.

You’re not sure you could’ve tried that plan had you even wanted to, because the moment it forms fully in your mind a pair of thick arms wraps around you, and a heavy weight forces you to the ground.

You cry out at the sudden shove, palms scraped raw against the cement. The man behind you covers your body completely - his knees bracket yours, his hands rest on either side of your head, and there’s no part of the back of you that isn’t cloaked in him.

He doesn’t say anything as he ruts against you, the blood from his chest soaking through your tank top and making you cringe further away. You can’t stop the quiet stream of whimpers as you try to shrink into the stairs, try to get away from the beast behind you. He doesn’t care, only drops more of his weight onto you and pantomines fucking you.

You can feel the outline of his cock through his pants, as thin as the clothes both of you are wearing are. If you weren’t wearing your shorts, if he tugged the waistband of his pants down, he’d be inside of you.

The thought makes you tear up, makes you want to slam your head back and try to knee him in the balls, makes you want to fight.

But all your fight is gone. It died with Phil and your security system, and you’re left only with a weight in your bones that makes you wish you could sink through the floor. 

The hard plastic of the skull mask presses to the sensitive skin of your cheek, biting into the fat there. You can see the gleam of bright blue eyes in the sockets, the creases at the edges that tell you he’s smiling.

“You gonna fuck her here for the first time?” The white skull asks, voice deep enough that you hardly register the words. Your eyes are jerked to his form and it makes you shiver to see him sitting on the top of the staircase you’re pinned to, legs spread wide as he stares down at you with a cigarette between lips exposed by the tilted mask. You feel like a sacrifice, thrown to the stairs of a temple for a god.

“Can I?” The man over your shoulder pants, accent roughened from his own movements. You can’t tell if the wetness between your thighs is piss, blood, or an even worse option. You bite your tongue to hold back a whine, wince at the burst of iron in your mouth.

The man above you tilts his head, smoking blown into the air. “You fuck her here, you won’t get to go again on the roof. Don’t need you gettin’ spoiled.”

Your nails dig into the concrete, folding beneath the pressure as you shake beneath the red skulled man. He whines over you, like a petulant kid being told no for the first time, but goes still against you. That alone has you blinking open damp eyelashes, watching him from the corner of your eyes.

“Alright, I’ll wait,” he pants, chin resting on your soldier. “Give ye some time to get ready, huh lass? It’ll be easier for ye then. Just think about what we’ll do to ye, how good it’ll feel to get properly fucked, yeah?”

You sob when he grinds one final time against you, your hips pushed into the harsh edge of the stairs. 

He’s dragging you up after that, hardly letting either of you stand fully before shoving you up the stairs. You can’t catch your balance and let out a small cry as you fall back to your knees, mouth twisting in pain at the unforgiving surface against your naked knees.

You flinch when a gloved hand grasps your chin, tugging up until you’re forced to look towards the white skull above you.

You’ve landed between his feet, a boot on either side of your body, and if you’d moved forward even another half foot, you’d have face planted into his lap. 

Your heart skips a beat when you realize you’re making eye contact with him. The dark brown of his pupils blends almost seamlessly with what must be black paint smeared around his eye sockets, and the only reason you even realize you’re locked in a staring contest is the way the light reflects off the whites of his eyes.

You don’t have time to try and move away from him on your own (or, more accurately, to throw yourself backwards and pray you didn’t break something falling down the stairs) before a pair of bare hands are shoving you up from beneath the armpits, making you almost squeal as you jerk in the direction you’re forced.

“Up, c’mon,” red skull grunts, hands flitting from one part of your exposed skin to the next as he herds you upstairs. “Need to get inside ye, kitty, fuckin’ walk.”

You sob as you stumble up the stairs, the top of your foot scraping painfully against the concrete. You glance over your shoulder just in time to see White stand to follow you two, but you’re nearly sent sprawling again when Red only shoves you all the more harshly.

“Pl-please,” you manage to gasp, shoulder roughly bouncing off the wall. A glance up tells you you’re two full flights away from the rooftop. “Please, I don’t know what you want, b-but…” You can hardly talk around the sobs floating in your throat, choking you. “Please, please don’t hurt me.”

Red groans as he tugs you nearly off balance, the sound echoing off the walls and full of what you can only describe as hunger.

“Fuck, haven’t even gotten ye naked yet ‘n yer already beggin. Knew ye’d be perfect for us.”

You can hardly see through the tears in your eyes, the rest of the trip up to the roof all gray with streaks of red and black. You can’t focus enough to try and get away again, can’t get enough of your panic under control to fucking think.

The red skull catches you when you almost go careening over the rails, one broad hand catching you by the chest and gripping.

He groans, you flinch. “Fuck, cannae wait to get my mouth on these.” He pinches with his whole hand, your breast going sharp with pain on every fingertip. You whine, flinching further against his chest and trying to shrink away.

“Keep movin’, Soap.”

“Aye,” Red - Soap - pants, and you can practically hear the saliva gathered in his mouth when he swallows. “C’mon, kitty, only a little further.”

The blood on your hands has dried by the time White is shouldering open the door to the roof, your hands itching and the red flaking away every time your fingers twitch. The night air is a cold shock, just jarring enough to tug some reason back into your brain.

Soap doesn’t stop his herding until you’re far enough from the door for his partner to block it with an old metal chair, the back tucked under the door handle. You tuck your hands beneath your arms, shoulders curled in in an attempt to preserve warmth.

You wouldn’t have expected the night to be so cold. Half of the street is burning - flames painting the sky, giving you the exact opposite impression of the biting chill you feel. There are dozens of people in the streets, carrying guns and axes and chainsaws and all sorts of other weapons you can’t see. You feel bile rise in your throat when you realize the dark pools reflecting flames in the street are blood, not water.

“Fuckin’ finally,” Soap grumbles, and you don’t have any time to think before his mouth is pressed forcefully against yours, tongue shoving at your lips.

Your eyes are wide open, unlike his, and you make a shocked sound high in your throat at the sight of his maskless face. You can’t really see what he looks like with the way he’s pressed against you, but it’s a shock nonetheless.

You keep your lips pressed tightly together, no matter how much his tongue prods and tries to force its way into your mouth. You feel more than hear him laugh against you after a few long seconds, and one of his massive paws comes up to cradle your jaw pointer finger against your temple and thumb under your chin.

He stops trying to force himself between your lips after almost a minute, instead shifting to just… licking your lips. His tongue paints wide across your mouth, soaking you in his saliva. He’s almost scarily determined in the way he accosts you, his grip tight on your face as his other hand shifts to bruise your hip, covering what feels like the entire bottom-half of your face in his spit. You can’t help but grimace, trying to pull away from him, but he’s pressed too close.

“Can’t fuckin’ wait to be in ye,” he pants, breath warm and wet against your cheeks. “I know yer gonna squeeze me just right, bonnie, can tell already.”

“Please,” you say, voice weak. “Please, don’t, I don’t want you to-”

His groan is guttural. “Ye wanna know a secret, bonnie?” His voice is quiet between the two of you, bright blue eyes boring deep into yours when he pulls back. To your endless frustration, he’s handsome.

He leans close, whispering so low that you almost have to strain to hear hum. “That’s what makes you fun. Wouldnae be draggin’ you up here if ye wanted it, could get you any other night of the year for that. But it’s Purge night, lass… so you go ahead and fight as much as ye want, yeah? Just makes it more fun for me.”

You can’t help but sob at that, fat tears streaming down your face as he maneuvers you. You feel disconnected from your body as he forces you down to the ground, your soft belly left exposed when he pushes up your tank-top to cup one of your breasts, a whimper crawling out of your throat at the way the gravel presses into you.

You feel his breathing grow heavier as his hands move down to your shorts, shoving them off your hips and leaving them loose around your calves, completely disregarding your pitiful attempts at crawling away.

“Poor thing, been stuck in these the whole time? They fuckin’ reek, bonnie, no offense. That his piss or yours?”

You shake your head against the ground, face twisted up in acute humiliation. For some stupid reason you don’t want to even begin exploring, you find it necessary to whisper, “H-his.”

Soap hums, and you curse yourself inwardly when the humiliation is slightly alleviated.

“Get ‘em off her,” the white mask says, and you can’t help but jump at the sound of his voice. He’s sat on a large box only a few feet away, leaning back and relaxing, looking for all the world like he’s settled in for his favorite show. “Don’t want anythin’ of his touching her now.”

The sound Soap makes at that is animalistic, a snarl coming from deep in his chest that makes you flinch as he all but tears the shorts from your body. You wince at the wet splat of them landing several feet away.

You force your forehead into the gravel when your knees are forced wide, a rough hand and another pair of knees spreading you.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no…” you can’t help but beg, voice trembling. “Please- god, please don’t-”

“Fuck,” he moans over your shoulder. “Yeah, keep goin’, lass.”

You sob at the feeling of warm skin against your bared behind, his thick length slotting itself smoothly between the slightly spread lips of your pussy. Your eyes squeeze shut and it takes all your willpower not to keep begging.

He slides himself back and forth against you for a few long breaths, using online the slight slickness from a mixture of piss and blood to get some friction. But to your immense horror, it only takes a few moments for the sensual movement against your clit to have your body preparing itself.

The slight wetness at your hole might be a betrayal, but it’s not nearly enough to ease the way when he pushes inside of you with no warning.

You nearly scream, a high sound of pure panic and pain when it feels like you’re being split in two. Somewhere off in the distance, you hear someone laugh. Right above you, Soap groans.

He’s buried himself to the hilt inside you before the pain has had any time at all to fade, and he’s fucking into you hardly a second after that.

Every thrust forces a grunt from your throat, the entire weight of him slammed into your back each time his balls smack against your clit. Your face is twisted up in a grimace, your whole body racked with pain that your assaulter couldn’t care less about.

“Fuck, kitty. Yer squeezin’ me so good, such a good girl, shit-! Knew you’d be ti-tight as a vice, fuck, but didn’t know you’d be squeezin’ me so tight I can hardly move.”

Your whine is plaintive, his moan is filled with pleasure.

“Yer gettin’ so wet for me, bonnie. Ye like this, huh? Bet you like it just as much as I do, gettin’ thrown around and takin’ advantage of. That it, kitty? Ye like being forced?”

You sob and shake your head against the ground, crying all the more when sharp pebbles dig into your cheeks.

“Naw, I think ye do. Why else’d you be- fuck, squeezin’ me like that?” 

“Cause- because-” you try, but you can’t get the breath in to get more than a single word out.

“Huh? Cause- cause-?” Soap mocks, his voice pitching up to mimic you as he plants himself deep inside you, grinding his hips against the meat of your ass. “C’mon, kitty, tell me why. Go on.”

“Cause I want you to stop!” You cry, balled up fist slamming into the gravel. You can’t help but whine ow when the sharp rocks poke into your skin, and Soap’s laugh shakes your entire body.

“Good,” he whispers, breath hot against your ear. “Squirm all ye want, lass. I love it when you fight.”

You can do nothing but go limp beneath him as he begins fucking you again, his pace somehow faster and even more relentless. It’s a small mercy that there’s no fight left in you, that you can’t give him any more pleasure. 

It certainly doesn’t stop him, though. Despite the fact that you’re doing your best impression of a dead fish, Soap pants and moans against your shoulder like you’re the single best thing he’s ever slept with. His cock is painfully hard inside of you, and his pace never once slows.

He’s loud when he finally comes, the sound of his orgasm clear enough that you know he’s thrown his head back to the sky. You can only whimper as he rolls his hips against you, working the last spurts of cum out of his cock and into your unwilling body. 

“Fuck,” he sighs in your ear, sounding far more satisfied than he has any right to. “Good girl, kitty. You were perfect.”

You sniffle beneath him when he slowly pulls out, both of you groaning at the sensation. He gives you an almost perfunctory pat on the ass, and stands to walk away. You manage to open your eyes and focus just in time to see him slide to the ground in front of his partner, leaning against the wall.

“Yer turn,” he sighs. “Warmed her up good for you, Lt.”

Despite the hatred boiling in your gut, you can do nothing but lay limp on the ground and watch as his partner stands, cracking his neck and moving towards your prone form. 

You want to run, you want to fight, but you can only watch the executioner come closer and wait for the metaphorical axe to fall.

He crouches by your head first, grasping your chin and pulling up until your torso tries to follow to alleviate the tension. He stares deep into your eyes for a long moment, and you find that it’s impossible to even tell where his pupils are with no real lighting. You feel like you’re truly looking into the empty eye sockets of a skull, no man and no mercy to be found.

“You’ll call me Ghost when I fuck you,” he rumbles, thumb stroking over the scrapes on your cheek. He doesn’t wait for a response, simply hauls you up by the shoulder and turns you onto your back. 

He’s rough with your limbs as he shoves your legs together and up, his forearm banding across the backs of both of your knees and holding them to your chest. You whimper and wiggles as best you can, but the bruising blow against your thigh is enough to have you gasping and stilling.

“Don’t fight,” he warns, and you feel his gloved fingers running up the crack of you. “You’re hurtin’ enough as it is, and I’m not gonna help. You wanna make it worse too?”

You shake your head, unsure if he can even see you through your legs. He doesn’t respond, and hums when he swipes two fingers through the liquid gathered between your lips.

You whine when those fingers move further down, a fresh panic creeping in when he presses around your back hole.

“You should be glad Soap fucked you so good,” Ghost drawls. “He gave you all the lube you’re gonna get.”

You feel like an animal when you whine again, unsure of how to even begin trying to speak. You yelp when a thick finger slides into your hole, completely disregarding any resistance and forcing its way in until it’s buried to the knuckle. Your cries go ignored.

“Quit squirmin’,” Ghost scolds, pulling his finger out to smack your ass before shoving two back in. “You’re fine.”

You’re not, you’re terrified and hurting and upset, but none of those things matter when Ghost only coaxes more of your slick and Soap’s spend to your unused whole so there’s less resistance. 

The only blessing you have is the fact that you can’t see more than the outline of Ghost’s figure with the way he’s got you positioned. You try your best to close your eyes and float into disassociation, and while you can’t fully manage it, the fact that you can’t see his face - his mask - helps you distance yourself from what’s happening.

The moment you realize this is of course the moment it stops being true. 

He seems to decide you’re ready after scissoring three fingers inside of you, hefting himself up so that he looms more fully over you. You can only whine as you feel the movements of him unbuckling his belt, feel the weight of him slap against your slightly spread cheeks.

Fresh tears fall past your lashes as you stare up into the fathomless darkness that are Ghost’s eyes. There’s nothing there, just a cold empty skull prepared to ruin you.

You don’t even have the energy to beg.

The stretch of him inside your ass is five times worse than Soap was. There’s no natural lubrication, and nowhere near enough synthetic lube either. Your hole feels like it’s on fire, the stretch white hot as he gives you no mercy.

You’re not even fully sure what you’re babbling as he slowly sinks to the root, only aware of the pain and fear and panic sitting heavy in your heart. You fear you’ll choke on your tears, head jerking back and forth.

He sighs when he bottoms out, heavy barrel chest forcing your knees past your shoulders. Your hips strain, just another pain from the endless abuse.

“There,” he grunts, patting your thigh when you go limp from it all. “Stay nice and still now, just need a place to dump my cum.”

Upsettingly enough, that hurts. The idea that you could mean nothing to this man is somehow worse than the thought of him having some other twisted feelings for you, your hormone-addled mind deeply insulted. 

His thrusts are long and slow, each one pulling nearly completely out before slamming back in. The sound of your skin slapping together is embarrassingly sexual, and a distant part of you is aware enough to pray that no one nearby had heard your screams and cries.

Ghost is near silent as he fucks you, the opposite of Soap. You can only hear the occasional grunt when you squeeze him because he’s inches away from your face - you can even feel the occasional gusts of breath when his hips start working a little faster. 

There’s nothing you can do but lay limply beneath him and take it, just a vehicle for his pleasure. You almost manage to float away, to pretend none of this is happening or has ever happened, when his free hand moves from your thigh to the top of your cunt.

You nearly squeal when he rubs your clit, the smooth leath gliding over your slick bud. Your eyes fly wide open, back arching as much as you can with three hundred pounds of man holding you down. The loud laugh from several feet away only makes you writhe more.

“Make her squirt, Lt!” Soap shouts, his voice carefree.

“Shut it, Johnny,” Ghost grunts, voice roughened with pleasure. You don’t even have time to focus on the fact that he’s just told you Johnny’s name, far too preoccupied with the tidal wave of pleasure rushing towards you.

You have no idea why it happens. You’re never quick to come - almost every single partner of yours has complained about you taking so long to get off, it’s been an Issue in several relationships. 

So it makes absolutely no sense that after hardly a minute of rough circles against your clit, you’re clenching down on the cock in your ass and moaning loudly as your orgasm overtakes you.

The natural clench of your body only makes the pain worse, a sharp spike of it running up your cunt and making your moan shift into more pained sounds. Ghost only moans in tandem above you, his thrusts becoming slightly less even as he lets your orgasm coax out his own.

You sob when you feel his cum paint your insides.

Unlike Johnny, Ghost doesn’t pull out after he comes. He lets your legs fall limp on either side of him, just barely managing to catch them for you before you slam your ankles to the ground. He leans his torso over yours, elbows resting on either side of your shoulders while you do nothing but wait beneath him.

He’s sweat off some of the makeup. This close, you can see hints of pale skin in the sockets of the mask. There’s nothing to read in his eyes, but that flash of skin tells you he’s still a man.

You swallow, trying to work moisture back into your dry mouth, and whisper, “Will… will you let me go now?”

You know it’s more likely he’ll kill you. It’s what you can only imagine happened to all those bodies in the streets, what you know happens to tens of thousands of women every year. 

So it’s not a surprise when he doesn’t answer you verbally, instead covering your mouth with his palm and pinching your nose shut with his fingers. 

Your eyes flutter shut after a moment, lungs tightening already, and all you can hope is that suffocation is a quick death.

———————————————————————

You wake, gasping, in a dark room. 

You’re lurching forward before you’re even fully aware that you’re awake, coughing loudly and gasping when it feels like your throat is bleeding.

“Oh, poor thing,” you hear a familiar accented voice coo, and a moment later there’s a warm hand patting your back. “Yer alright, deep breaths.”

You jerk back from Soap - Johnny - as soon as your coughing is under control, scrambling back on your palms and staring at him with wide eyes. He only grins at you, looking for all the world like any other normal man in his sweater and sweatpants.

He got changed at some point - these pants are clean. He’s not wearing his mask either, and you’re struck dumb by how non threatening he manages to look.

He also changed your clothes - or Ghost did, maybe. You try to cover your chest with one hand, but there’s no hiding the fact that you’re completely naked. 

Johnny only laughs at your attempted modesty. “Been starin’ at them for hours, lass. Ye’ve got nothin’ to hide.”

That’s… horrifying, and does absolutely nothing to calm you down.

It’s then that Ghost rises from a chair, stepping forward and making you aware of his presence. “Calm down, Johnny. We don’t want her panickin’ this early.”

Soap fully pouts, tilting his head at you before glancing up at his partner. “I haven’t even done anythin’, Ghost. Was just sayin’ hi, tha’s all.”

Ghost snorts, gripping Johnny’s mohawk and tugging back until the other man sprawls back on his ass. “You know how you are, pup. Give your kitty some space.”

Johnny listens, crossing one leg beneath him and bending the other close to his chest, looking casual as can be. Meanwhile your heartbeat only gets faster, and you wince when you happen to lean too far one direction and feel a throbbing reminder of what these men did to you.

Ghost steps forward again, crouching just out of arm's reach. You realize he’s not wearing the same skull mask as before, but a balaclava with a printed skull pattern instead. His eye sockets are unpainted, and you’re shocked by how such little things make him look so much more human. 

“You can calm down. Long as you behave, nothin’ much worse’ll happen to you.”

You find yourself almost comically not-comforted by that, and can do nothing more than stare at him with wide eyes. 

“Where…” Your voice cracks, so you swallow and start again. “Where am I?”

It’s Johnny who speaks up. “Our place. We finally brought ye home with us, kitty.”

The world feels like it’s slowed around you, and your eyes drag from one kidnapper to the other. You have to swallow again to work any moisture into your bone-dry mouth.

“Is the Purge over?”

The creases at the corner of Ghost’s eyes are painfully obvious with how pale his skin is, and you shudder at the thought of him smiling.

“Been over for… what, five hours now? Somethin’ like that.”

You can’t fight the tremble in your voice now. “Then… then you have to let me go.”

Ghost’s head tilts, the creases get deeper. “Do I?”

You nod with as much conviction as you can - which is almost none. “You can’t keep me here. You’re breaking the law.”

Ghost leans closer on the balls of feet and you lean further back, your spine pressing into the wall behind you. “Are we now? And who do you think will stop us, pet?”

“The- the police. Someone will report me missing, they’ll come looking.”

“Oh? And you think they’ll come here?”

You nod as best you can, and jump when Ghost laughs. It’s low and quiet, only a few beats, but it’s like gasoline thrown on the small fire of panic in your mind.

“You have no idea where you even are, and you think they’ll find you? I hate to break it to you doll, but you’ll be lucky if they look for you for a week. You have any idea how many people go missin’ after the Purge?”

Your breath is quickening. “So that’s it? You’re just going to… going to keep me here, forever? What are you even going to do?”

His laugh is sharper, meaner this time. “We’re gonna do a whole lot more of what we did last night, pet. Keep you as a little cocksleeve, a pretty thing tucked in the basement just for our entertainment. Ain’t that right, Johnny?”

You manage to tear your eyes away to look at Soap and see that he’s nearly salivating, having inched closer and closer and shifted so he’s knelt behind Ghost. There’s a feral spark in his eyes that has every hair on your body standing straight up.

“Yeah, tha’s right. Don’t worry, lass, we’ll make sure yer never lonely. Might even stay the night with you, cuddle up in the winter. Bet ye could keep our cocks nice and toasty in the cold, huh? Gonna let us use ye as a little heater?”

“A heater, a mattress, a fleshlight… your future’s lookin’ bright, sweetheart,” Ghost drawls, mockery dripping heavily from the cruel words.

Your eyes dart back and forth between the two men and their predatory stares, your heart racing against your ribcage.

It’s not a conscious choice for you to launch yourself towards them, reaching out and clawing your sharp nails down Soap’s face with a feral scream that tears your throat to shreds. 

Even as Ghost throws you off and forces you to the ground, you vow to fight these men to the end. You’ll kill them both if you have to, leave them dead and wander however many miles it is back to your apartment.

Ghost only laughs when you shout this in his face, and you scream as you lunge forward, just managing to catch his masked chin between your teeth and bite.

With your fight instinct back in full force, you’re ready to make their lives hell.

[screamingcrows]

"Dottore?"

He stirred beside you, the soft rustle of sheets followed by his warm body pressing against you.

"You're still awake?" his voice was hushed, laced with sleep. It was rare for him to fall asleep before you, a fact that made him shift his body, wrapping his arms around you as he always did when your nightmares struck. "I'm fine. I've just been thinking, you have all your segments to assist you and provide perspectives..." He turned you to face him, one hand brushing back your hair with the utmost care, playing with the strands while he searched your expression. You smiled, stretching to kiss the familiar crease of his brow.

"I've been wondering, would it be beneficial for me to have segments as well? It could ease our workload, and I'm sure there are plenty of ideas and outlooks I've long since discarded that might prove useful and-"

He quieted your rambling with a chaste kiss, cracked lips briefly meeting yours before he pulled back with an amused expression, stifling a small yawn by burying his face into your hair.

"If that is what you wish, I will do nothing to hinder it."

You knew that wording, a small huff leaving your lips before you spoke. Had there been something in his eyes just now, or was fatigue affecting you both?

"But you won't help me either?"

"Call me a selfish hypocrite, but I prefer keeping you whole"

[aesthetic-gem]

it’s 3am so watch me commiserate over this clip that’s been living in my head rent free for months now and making me sad once again after recent events

that feeling of it being just dapper and q!bad against the world returns once again

“i’m the only one who can watch you”

it’s the fact that the guy that would sacrifice eveything for any of the kids to stay safe, no matter how much strife or hatred or nasty words any of the parents could throw at him, is the one who feels like he has no one watching out for his own but himself. dapper is only an afterthought to the others. someone to remember only after all the terrible things have already happened. of course the halo family has others who they trust, but over and over again it’s shown that there’s a reason why q!bad is basically dapper’s whole world and why dapper is his sunshine

this is isn’t something new. they’ve both always shared this sentiment. dapper, the sole escapee off egg island, having only his dad at his side as they ran to that boat. and more recently, no one making sure dapper could ride out on the train with the rest of the islanders and eggs into the new server when they left that library

they “left me behind” and “just forgot me”

thankfully q!etoiles started to run back, but the fact that no one checked in the first place, that it seemed like q!etoiles was really the only one to notice even though plenty of others saw that dapper was online and around. q!bad is the only one who’s ever had dapper as priority number one in anything

that poor kid said it herself, she thinks she’s not one of the favorites. he thinks the others will be prioritized first. and they’re unfortunately likely right about that unless it comes to their dad

so the mantra continues; it’s simply dapper and q!bad against the world, to have each others backs, to live and die for each other

[azeutreciathewicked]

Heads up! Wattpad Purge is happening now - check the megathread on reddit for information.

From the post, a quick summary:

What's Happening?

The past week or so, there have been reports of user's stories getting shadow-banned (delisted from rankings) and sometimes even removed. This is due to Wattpad's recent deployment of an AI-powered tool used by their support team. (Source) The tool is designed to aid Wattpad in flagging guideline-breaking content with manual reviews of the stories flagged. When a story gets flagged, it is "shadow-banned" (i.e. removed from rankings and searches) until it's been reviewed by staff.

If your story has been removed, you can contact Wattpad Support to appeal the decision.

Also important: Wattpad's "age of consent" rule has been updated. Previously, it followed the Canadian federal law of sixteen (16) years or older. On April 15th, 2024, the guidelines will be updated to reflect the new age of consent requirements of 18+.

That means for content including sexual acts between characters, both characters must be eighteen (18) or older. More tame acts (i.e. kissing, holding hands) between underage (16+ years old) characters is still fine and sex can be alluded to, but may not be described. Please review the News and Updates channel for the full text.

Also, LGBTQ+ content may be getting disproportionately targeted. (surprise, surprise) I do not publish on Wattpad nor have any connection to the platform. But I support free speech and creative works. I am also someone who was there during the Livejournal Strikethrough of '07 and know what happens in these purges. Now there is AI, which is notoriously bad at accuracy, as well as new puritans across the political spectrum who don't distinguish between art and advocacy.

[violetsteve]

If you prefer, this is also posted on AO3

After the almost end of the world, Steve decides he’s going to put the moves on Eddie Munson.

Robin may or may not laugh in his face when he announces it.

The thing is, despite Robin almost laughing him out of the building, the thing is Steve is still figuring out his sexuality. He knows he likes girls, he’s always liked girls, but then Robin pointed out that maybe he couldn’t figure out what he wanted because he wasn’t looking in the right place and Steve realized she was right . Sure, Robin had meant more of a ‘ stop going after girls who are traditionally pretty and from well off families and try going out with girls whose company you actually enjoy’ and not a ‘ hey, dudes are kinda hot, too, right? It was real weird how transfixed you seemed to be on Eddie Munsons lips while we were actively fighting demon monsters,’ but Steve has always been good at reading in between the lines. Or, more like inserting what he wants in the gaps of what people leave unsaid.

So, no, Robin did not tell Steve to open his eyes and realize that straight guys don’t exactly think about how another guys lips will look slick with spit, how they’ll feel under the pressure of his thumb, what the sweet satisfaction of them partying so readily under his will feel like, but she did tell him to broaden his horizons and honestly, they were basically the same thing.

Which is why Steve feels like she should be more supportive of his plans to woo Eddie Munson onto his couch—and maybe, if he’s feeling ambitious, eventually into his bed.

“Robin, come on . I’m serious!” Steve will never admit, even under Russian torture again, that he whines it. He’s coming to Robin as a sounding board, not so she can make fun of him. If he wants someone to make fun of his lack of prowess, he would go talk to Dustin. 

Or, yeah on second thought no. He’s not actually sure his ego could take that much of a hit at the moment.

“Sorry, sorry,” she gasps, gripping the—newly rebuilt and polished—family video counter in front of her. “I just—Steve, that’s-that’s so ambitious . You literally just came out to me less than a week ago and you’re already talking about getting with a boy. And Eddie Munson at that.”

Steve scowls at her, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that he knows looks bitchy, but he can’t help it because—

“Don’t say his name like that. He literally almost died to save us all. He’s not fucking dirty .”

Robin immediately sobers, a guilty, but irritated look on her face. “That’s not how I meant it, Steve, and you know it. Don’t get bitchy at me just because you’re feeling sensitive about your feelings for a boy.”

And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? Steve isn’t really angry at her for laughing—Robin makes fun of him at least 7 times a day, Steve would be more concerned if she didn’t make at least one joke about this—and he isn’t even mad at her for putting a weird emphasis on Eddie’s name. No, he’s all twisted up about his feelings and he’s never been good at expressing them, let alone talking about them. He’s feeling self conscious and his skin is prickling with embarrassment and the easiest thing to do is lash out about it.

“That’s not—“ Steve cuts himself off, looking away from Robin as his shoulders slump. “You’re right,” he mumbles. “Sorry. I just. I wanna fucking kiss him so bad , Rob, and that freaks me out a little.” Steve untucks one of his arms to scrub a hand over his face, leaving the other one tucked around his waist to protect his vulnerable bits.

“Hey,” Robin murmurs, closing the distance between them so she can settle her hands on his shoulders. “I get it. Do you think I acted like a sane person the first time I realized I wanna kiss girls? I think I cried for a week. Kerry the stuffed Koala had to go to therapy because of all of my crying. It was a serious time in the Buckley house.”

Steve smiles behind his hand. He loves her so much. She’s really his best friend. He’s so thankful for her.

“You still cry about kissing girls,” Steve says, rather than admitting any of that. She already knows she’s smart, Steve doesn’t need to add any more to her ego. It just gives her more brain to bully him with.

He drops the hand covering his face to look at her. “Only now it’s more of a,” Steve puts on a high pitched, whiny voice, “‘why do I have to go to work when I could be spending all day making out with my girlfriend.’” He brings both of his hands up to clasp in front of his chest, batting his eyelashes at her in a fake-coy way.

Robin shoves at him, catches him off guard and he goes stumbling backwards into the counter, laughing the whole way. 

“Shut up , you absolute dickhead, ” she all but screeches, reaching out to give his chest another shove for good measure. “You literally have no room to talk considering you started this shift by announcing your intentions to, quite literally, crawl into Eddie’s lap and kiss him stupid . That’s almost verbatim what you said, Steve.”

Steve’s still chuckling as he rights his position a little, leaning back against the counter more comfortably. “Yeah, I did say that.” He sucks his bottom lip in between his teeth before he continues with, “I really, really wanna sit on his lap and kiss him until he can’t focus, Rob.”

Robin rolls her eyes, but it’s more fond than annoyed. Steve can tell—he’s been on the receiving end of about 90 percent of Robin’s eye rolls, he’s getting good at distinguishing the emotions behind each one.

“I still can’t believe you have a crush on Eddie Munson of all people. He’s so weird ,” She laughs, but Steve can tell that that, too, is fond. Robin and Eddie have a weird friendship. They geek out over obscure instruments and the nuance of tacky movies together. Steve doesn’t get it, but he enjoys watching how expressive both of them can be. He once watched Eddie climb onto a table while arguing with Robin about one of their movies. Robin followed him up shortly after, though, so Steve isn’t sure why she thinks the weird is limited to Eddie.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, and he’s man enough to admit that it sounds dreamy . God, he’s pathetic over Eddie. It scares the shit out of him. “You know, the other day he gave me a rock. It wasn’t even, like, a cool rock. It was literally just a rock. When I asked him why he just shrugged and was like ‘I dunno, it made me think of you.’”

Robin’s grin grows. “Oh my God. What did you do with the rock?”

Steve shoots her a disgruntled look. “What do you think I did with the rock? I put in my pocket and then brought it home and set it on my nightstand. Eddie gave it to me, I wasn’t just going to throw it on the ground again. That’s rude.”

Robin absolutely cackles at this, there’s no other way to describe it. She’s awash in glee as she claps her hands together a few times. “ Jesus , Steve. You’ve got it so bad for this man.”

“God,” Steve mutters, running a hand over his face again. “That’s not even the worst part, Rob. He like. He grabs his utensils with his whole fist when he eats. It’s so weird, and it’s so messy . It makes fuck all sense. He doesn't even grab a pencil that way. Just his fucking eating utensils . 

“And he walks so chaotic. He just randomly breaks into a sprint. Just starts fucking running out of nowhere. And he bounces. As if the random running wasn’t enough, he just fucking starts jumping. Sometimes he jumps at me, and it’s all I can do to actually catch him before he eats dirt. Or- or he’ll just. Spin. Just twirl in the middle of the sidewalk while still carrying on a conversation.” Steve slumps, his back getting slightly scraped against the counter as he sinks to his butt.

“The man has zero regard for personal space and he always makes way too intense of eye contact. Sometimes he’ll use one of his character voices in the middle of an otherwise totally normal conversation, and he’s always climbing on things. He’s loud and he’s weird and I wanna wrap my fingers around the collar of his shirt, shove him against a wall and then shove my tongue down his throat , jesus christ. ” Steve buries his face in his knees, his mind playing an endless loop of Eddie smiling with those stupid lips that are always cherry red and raw from his constant gnawing. Steve wants to bite them for him.

“Oh, my God, Steve.” Robing sinks down to sit across from him. “This is pathetic . I, like, knew you had a crush on Eddie but this is like. Dangerous territory. Like, the next step might be the L word level territory.”

Steve makes a small squeaking noise, his face still buried in his knees. Robin’s words hint at something that Steve is so not ready to admit to himself yet. She’s hitting way too close to something Steve has been avoiding actively and vehemently since he realized the attraction he feels for boys is decidedly not of the straight variety.

For a moment, neither of them say anything. Then, like the angel she so clearly is, Robin says, “So, wanna tell me about operation ‘crawl into Eddie’s lap and makeout with him?’”

Steve laughs, the tightness in his chest slowly easing. He lifts his head, and then spills his guts.

***

The plan starts simply. First, he needs to get Eddie alone . No annoying tagalongs to potentially interrupt.

It’s easier said than done. For two days straight, Steve asks Eddie to hang out and, somehow, one of the kids manages to weasel into their plans.

It’s driving Steve nuts.  

He casually asks Eddie to watch a movie, give him a proper education like him and Robin are always going on about, and Dustin overhears and invites himself.

He asks Eddie to go for a walk, makes an excuse about it being gorgeous outside while he plots ways for the walk to end right outside his house, isn’t that neat, but Lucas and Max overhear and suddenly it’s a group affair.

He asks Eddie to get milkshakes, plans to lure him back to his house with the promise of complete control of Steve’s record player, but El overhears and asks if she can tag along and Steve just can’t look into her big, earnest eyes and tell her no. He’s not a monster.

So they get milkshakes with El, and it’s fun . Of course it’s fun, but Steve is getting desperate . It’s been a little over a week since he hatched his mad plan with Robin and he’s about to start climbing the walls with anticipation.

It doesn’t help that Eddie has a mother fucking oral fixation. At every opportunity he’s either putting stuff in his mouth or chewing on something. It’s fucking rude, is what it is. It’s like he doesn’t even realize Steve is suffering.

It all finally comes to a head a full week and four days after his conversation with Robin on the floor of Family Video. He’s stopping by Eddie’s house to grab something Dustin left behind because Dustin asked and he’s nice . It’s maybe also because it’s a great excuse to see Eddie, but Dustin sure as shit doesn’t need to know that that’s the sole reason Steve said he will.

Eddie is slightly bent over, riffling through his Dungeons and Dorks stuff, and Steve is trying so hard to pretend like he’s not entirely focusing on his ass and the line of exposed skin above his belt. If Eddie turns around right now, he’s busted for sure.

Eddie’s just mentioned some kind of dragon when he lets out a triumphant noise, his story coming to an abrupt halt as he spins on his heel to face Steve.

“Aha!” He exclaims, thrusting a notebook in Steve's direction. 

Steve automatically reaches out to take it, his fingers brushing over the backs of Eddie’s in the switch over. Eddie bites his bottom lip at the contact, avoiding Steve’s gaze, and suddenly all Steve is thinking about is his mouth.

Steve debates with himself for a moment. This isn’t really how he planned to seduce his way into Eddie Munson’s lap, but he’s adaptable. If the years of almost apocalypses have taught Steve anything, it’s that sometimes you have to make do with what you have.

And what Steve has is an empty trailer save the two of them, and a couch less than ten feet away. He’s got the object of his affections standing in front of him, and Steve decides to adapt.

He wets his own lips, stepping towards Eddie. His hand is still holding Eddie’s hostage over the notebook.

“Thanks, Eddie,” Steve murmurs, ducking his head so he can look up through his lashes.

Steve watches Eddie’s breath catch, watches him stutter over his next sentence.

“Y-yeah,” he breathes out, his eyes flicking between Steve’s eyes and his mouth at a rapid speed. “Of c-course. I mean, it happens. Kids forget things. I’m sure Dustin just wanted to, like, go over the last session's notes for anything he missed.”

“Of course,” Steve agrees, taking another step into Eddie’s space. He’s aware that he’s primarily staring at Eddie’s lips, which is probably rude, but he can’t help it. They’re wet and shiny and Steve has been thinking about them an obsessive amount for the last week and a half.

“We’re, um, I-I mean they’re going against a red dragon,” Eddie continues. Steve’s aware of this. It’s what Eddie had been telling him when he’d found the notebook. “They’re very powerful, almost impossible to defeat.”

“Are they?” Steve’s only half following the conversation, but that’s not saying much. He has a hard time keeping up with the DnD talk on a regular day.

“Oh yeah,” Eddie says, and then he’s off. He starts spitting words so fast Steve wouldn’t be able to keep up even if he were paying complete attention.

“Eddie,” Steve says, but Eddie is still talking, still mumbling along about the red dragon.

“Eddie,” Steve tries again, but it’s like he’s shouting in an empty room. He knows Eddie knows he’s talking to him, can tell by how wide Eddie’s eyes are, how he’s not even trying to not slur his rapidfire words together. If Eddie was talking about dragons for the hell of it, he’d be gesticulating and probably climbing on things. As it were, he’s got his gaze fixed on Steve, eyes comically wide as his words rush together—barely getting one out before the next slew rush into it in a truly amusing word traffic jam.

Eddie’s nervous , and fuck if that doesn’t thrill Steve to his core. Steve takes the final step towards him to completely close the distance and—

Eddie takes a step back, his words stuttering along with Steve’s heart in his chest. He wasn’t expecting that, wasn’t expecting Eddie to back away from him so quickly. Steve has half a second to be hurt, to mentally kick himself because get a fucking clue , Harrington, before he catches Eddie’s eyes darting down to his lips, his tongue unconsciously swiping along his lower lip before his gaze skitters back up to Steve’s.

And, oh, yeah , Steve has him exactly where he wants him. Eddie isn’t stepping back because he doesn’t want Steve. No, he’s stepping back because he’s prey . Steve is stalking towards him with a single minded focus and Eddie is skittering backwards like a scared rabbit—bouncing back step by step as Steve approaches until his back collides with the wall. That, finally, seems to knock all their air out of Eddie. The dragon conversation dies on his lips as Steve finally—fucking finally —closes the remaining distance between them. He reaches out, cupping Eddie's cheek in one hand, his jaw in the other, all while pressing up against Eddie from hip to chest.

“ Eddie, ” Steve murmurs, his eyes hooding. This time, Steve feels Eddie’s breath catch, feels the way a tremor works its way through Eddie’s body. He’s staring up at Steve with wide, wild eyes. He looks like a deer caught in a trap—ready to break his leg trying to get away if he needs to.

Steve isn’t sure why that makes him feel a little wild, but it does.

He stretches his thumb out to swipe across Eddie's bottom lip—already bitten and red from Eddie’s nervous chewing. God , it drives Steve crazy . He has a half-hysterical thought about offering his own up for Eddie to chew on when he’s nervous. Eddie makes him crazy .

Steve licks at his own lips as he watches the way his thumb catches and drags and the swollen skin of Eddie’s bottom lip. Eddie’s trembling in earnest now, and Steve feels his pulse thundering in his ears. He wants to kiss Eddie so bad his fucking toes are curling with the anticipation.

He flicks his gaze up, away from Eddie’s lips up to his eyes and he has to fight back a groan. Eddie looks fucking wrecked and Steve hasn’t even kissed him yet. His eyes are wide and wild, his pupils blown and there’s a scarlet flush in his cheeks. He’s fucking panting against Steve’s face and he can’t take it any more. He really, really can’t. He has to kiss him—screw anticipation, screw driving Eddie past the brink. He needs and he needs now.

“ Eddie, ” Steve practically gasps . “Eddie, please.” Steve squeezes his eyes shut as his body unconsciously rocks forward, seeking even more of Eddie out. “Wanna kiss you so bad, please say I can, please—”

And before Steve can get another plea out, Eddie’s slamming his head forward with enough force to knock their teeth together in an uncomfortable clack ; enough force that their noses knock together in a painful way.

But Steve doesn't care . He doesn’t care because Eddie’s lips are on his and he feels like there’s liquid fire coursing through his veins. He feels lit up from the inside out as Eddie finally, finally touches him back. He fists a hand in the back of Steve’s shirt, the other winding through Steve’s hair and fuck it’s finally happening. After night upon night of imagining what kissing Eddie Munson would be like, Steve’s finally doing it.

And goddamn is he doing it. Eddie’s lips are slick against his, hot and encouraging . They slide together in a way that has Steve’s mind going blissfully blank, his only thoughts being hotwetyesmore.  

He kisses him messy, lips moving together in a too fast pace that neither of them can keep track of; bruising force in the way their lips slide, spit sliping from their parted lips in a slow trickle that has Steve’s fingers curling against Eddie’s jaw.

He uses that hand to tilt Eddie’s head up slightly, angling it enough that Steve can get his bottom lip between his own and suck slightly. The first slid of Eddie’s lip between Steve’s own has him seeing fucking stars . 

A punched out groan breaks free from Eddie’s throat and he rocks forward into Steve, seeking more . The hand in the middle of his back pulls and Steve is helpless to do anything but push Eddie more firmly into the wall. He knows it has to hurt, has to be restricting Eddie’s breathing with how tightly they’re pressed together, but he can’t take enough focus away from Eddie’s mouth to care . Plus, if Eddie minds that much he wouldn’t be pulling Steve closer .

Eddie breathes a wet gasp into Steve’s mouth when he takes his teeth to the lip still tucked between his own, and Steve can’t help but let out a gasp of his own. Eddie tastes fucking phenomenal. He can taste the lingering tobacco on his tongue, the salty tang of the popcorn he must have had earlier, and just the overwhelming taste of Eddie. Hot, sweet, fucking sublime. Steve‘s never been a particularly religious man, but he feels like he’s drinking heaven straight from Eddie’s mouth. With every gasp, every moan, every brush of Eddie’s tongue, he feels one step closer to absolution. It’s addicting .

God , he wants more. He wants Eddie’s hands all over him, on bare skin. He wants those deft musicians fingers to snake into his hair, tug a bit. He wants Eddie over him and under him and—

He stills suddenly, a thought occurring to him. The line that had triggered this whole thing—his announcement to Robin back in Family Video—and suddenly there’s a burning need in Steve’s gut. God, he needs to sit in Eddie’s lap right now. Needs to feel his strong thighs under him, needs Eddie’s hands on his ass and his tongue in his mouth.

“ Fuck, ” Steve bites out when he pulls back. Tearing his mouth away from Eddie’s is so much harder than it has any right to be.

Eddie’s staring at Steve with glassy eyes, his lips shiny and red and oh fuck even his chin is glistening with their spit. Steve wants to devour him.

“Go sit on the couch,” Steve says, and is pleasantly surprised that his voice only sounds a little rough, a little shaky.

“What?” Eddie croaks out, staring at Steve for a beat. Then, miracle of miracles, he does it. He stares at Steve the whole time, the glassy look getting a little clearer, and Steve thinks that simply will not do.

The minute Eddie is seated, Steve’s crawling his way into his lap. He wedges his knees into the crease at the back of the couch, shuffling as far forward as he can so their chests are pressing together, their clothed crotches aligning. Then, without giving Eddie a chance to adjust, he drops down, pressing the full weight of his ass into Eddie’s thighs and, by proximity, his dick.

“ Jesus Christ ,” Eddie swears, his hands shooting out to grab at Steve’s ass on instinct. Steve almost giggles . It’s exactly what he wants.

“You can just call me Steve,” he mutters, and before Eddie can reply, he’s sweeping in and claiming Eddie’s lips again. Eddie huffs against his mouth, but let’s Steve have the last word. Steve’s glad because he has plans .

Plans that start with Steve winding those thick curls around his fingers as he slides his lips against Eddie’s. Eddie pushes his head back into Steve’s hands like a cat, and it makes Steve smile into their kiss, which makes Eddie smile into the kiss. It’s like a domino effect—once Steve feels Eddie’s smile against his, he starts giggling like a schoolgirl. He can’t help it, this feels unreal in the best possible way.

Then Eddie’s off, giggling back into Steve’s mouth. They’re both just sitting there giggling at each other, eyes squinted and happy . God, Steve feels euphoric in this moment, perched in Eddie’s lap like it’s his throne, with Eddie’s hands on his ass.

Eddie pulls back after a moment, when their smiles are too wide to actually kiss. He brings a hand up to gently brush a strand of hair away from Steve’s eyes, tucking the long lock behind his ear before putting his hand back on Steve’s ass. 

“You’re unbelievable, Steve Harrington,” Eddie whispers, eyes so full of affection that Steve feels his insides turn to mush. He squirms in Eddie’s laps, ducking his head to mouth at Eddie’s neck because if he stares into his eyes any longer he’s going to do something stupid . Stupid like admit that he’s pretty fucking sure he’s in love with Eddie, has been since he gave him that dumb rock for no decernable reason other than he wanted to, because he was thinking of Steve.

Steve tongues at the tendon in Eddie’s neck that’s stretched taunt, rubs his nose along his jaw and up to the hollow under his ear. Eddie laughs, tilting his head sideways to give Steve easier access.

“Oh, now you’re gonna be shy? After you practically pounced on me earli—”

Eddie’s words cut off in a choked groan as Steve bites, hard , at the tendon he was just showing attention to.

“ Steve, ” Eddie gasps, but Steve doesn’t let him do any other talking. No, he’s not going to let Eddie derail him again. So, he dives back for Eddie’s mouth, licking into it, not slowing down and not giving Eddie a chance to catch up. He smooths his tongue alongside Eddie’s, lets Eddie push back against it with his own for a millisecond, before he’s switching tactics—licking behind the top row of Eddie’s teeth, sliding his tongue over Eddie’s bottom lip. 

Eddie squeezes his ass at the sudden onslaught, and Steve can’t help the small jerk his body gives at that. He grinds down, a gasp trapped in the humid air between them as sharp waves of pleasure shoot up his spine. He’s trapped in between Eddie’s lips and his hands and he feels like he’s high with it.

He’s enjoying himself so much.

He slides his tongue along Eddie’s again, enjoys the way it's slightly rough and gloriously slick against his own. Enjoys the way it makes his pulse thrum a little faster, his fingers grip a little tighter where they’re fisted in Eddie’s hair—the way it makes Eddie squeeze a little tighter, which makes Steve grind down a little harder.

Steve feels the evidence of Eddie’s interest, has been feeling it, and knows Eddie has to be aware of Steve’s own. And Steve’s fantasized about Eddie’s lips for so long that he’s tried to keep it to just that—tried to focus on the heady drag of lips on lips—but it’s hard to ignore the way Steve’s own hips are twisting down, seeking as much of Eddie as possible. Hard to ignore the way Eddie has his own feet planted on the floor, meeting Steve’s hips with firm thrusts of his own.

They’re sharing humid air and sharp gasps, their lips swollen and honestly sore . Steve’s lips ache in the best way he’s ever felt, and Steve doesn’t want to stop. Wants to sit right here on Eddie’s strong thighs, wants to feel Eddie’s teeth nipping at the too sensitive skin of his mouth, wants to kiss Eddie for the rest of his life .

They kiss and kiss and kiss, and Steve has never just kissed someone like this. He’s never kissed just to feel, kissed just for the pleasure of it with no expectations for what’s to follow. He feels intoxicated. He’s utterly, wholly blissed out on Eddie Munson’s mouth and he never wants it to end.

They kiss for so long that Steve has honestly started to lose feeling in his lips. It’s weird feeling them so sore, so numb. But they are, so he slowly, so slowly pulls back. Leaning down for a few lingering pecks as he puts a little distance between their mouths.

Eddie’s mouth is bright red, spit slick and so tempting. Steve watches with fascination as a single string of spit connects their lips, stretching until he’s put enough distance between them that it breaks.

Steve bites his lip on a moan, thinks that’s one of the hottest things he’s ever seen.

He meets Eddie’s gaze. His eyes are wild, pupils blown out. His hair is an absolute disaster from the way Steve’s been running his fingers through it, and his cheeks are flushed so prettily. Steve can’t resist sneaking one more kiss in, lingering around afterwards to rub their noses together.

“Hi,” Steve finally murmurs and fuck, is that his voice? Jesus, he sounds wrecked.

“Hi,” Eddie says back, his smile verging on loopy. “Did you know that some corvids can understand physics?”

Steve stares at him for a beat, a little stunned and a lot confused by the abrupt topic switch. Eddie stares back, a look on his face that Steve can only take for regret, his already pink face is turning positively crimson. 

It’s dead quiet for a moment, then Steve bursts into laughter. His chest absolutely swells with affection, with, fuck it, love. God damn , he can’t deny it any longer. The love he feels for this boy sitting under him is overwhelming at the best of times, and it feels like it’s just bursting out of him at this moment. He’s coming apart at the seams with his feelings for Eddie, and he’s done trying to pretend that they’re anything but that.

“Oh my God, ” Eddie mutters, bringing his hands up to hide his face. It’s so endearing. Steve is endeared. “Sorry, fuck. I don’t know why I just said that.”

“Jesus Christ, dude.” Steve’s still grinning down at Eddie, moving his hands to clasp around Eddie’s wrists, trying to pry his hands away. He never wants to not be looking at Eddie. He’s so fucking weird and Steve likes him so much. “I like you so fucking much .”

Eddie lets Steve pull his hands away, and he…there’s no other word for it, Eddie just absolutely lights up. It’s like Steve’s staring directly at the sun. Eddie is beaming up at him, his smile so wide that his eyes are basically closed. He has laugh lines, and Steve is already obsessed with them, already thinking of ways to make Eddie smile this wide, this radiant all the time.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks.

“Oh, yeah,” Steve confirms. “Just ask Robin. I’ve been whining about it for weeks .”

Eddie laughs again, his grin not dimming in the slightest, and Steve just has to taste it—has to get his mouth around Eddie’s happiness. So, he swoops back in, feels Eddie’s laughter transfer to him via their connected mouths, feels a piece of himself that’s long been looking for a home finally slot into place.

[void-bitten-ghost]

Angel laughs a lot during sex.

I don't mean when he's on the job. He's a professional, and the last thing any of his John's tend to want him doing is laughing. The clientele he has... they'd rather he be sobbing or gagging or not be making any noise at all.

But when he's with Husk it's giggles galore. He scoffs. He chuckles. He's so fucking expressive and Husk fucking Loves It. When Angel gets a bee in his bonnet and wants to ride him? He makes a fucking meal out of it. Only when he's close to his limit, thighs trembling and every set of arms grasping at something, the sheets, the headboard, Husk, only then do the giggles stop, replaced by the most gorgeous, devastating determination to get them both there at the same time

He's never been the praying sort, but it's in those moments Husk thinks he sees heaven in his Angel. Sees a glimmer of the divine when Angel whispers his name, curling around him with a desperate cry into his chest and-- and--

Jesus, I think I need to sleep

[thefemmeeros]

i'm your plaything, your property, leashed to a metal loop on your big mahogany desk, in your big corner office—you're the big boss after all, what could people possibly say about you bringing your pet to work?

i lay at your feet, happily daydreaming about the next time you'll use your free use slut. you work so hard, head down, legs spread, and sleeves rolled up so i can admire my daddy's strong forearms. the longer i look, the wetter i get. my right hand drifts towards my pussy, exposed under my skirt because toys don't get to wear panties.

but if i disobey you and touch myself, you won't let me cum. and i really, really want to cum.

so i clasp my hands together real tight and curl up, eyes unfocused as i gaze at my handsome daddy. you kiss me and pet me once in a while, you praise my patience and you even tweak my nipple. my need grows, cresting, threatening to turn me into a begging, pathetic mess.

but finally, you pat your thigh to get my attention. i meet your eyes, and the look behind them is familiar. you nod. i scramble to my knees, to unbutton and unzip your trousers. my eager hands stumble but when your cock finally springs free—oh, fuck. it's already so big and hard for me. i'm not sure if i can fit it all inside, but i want to try for daddy. i rise to my feet, but your firm grip on my neck, pushes me back to the floor.

your mouth, baby. you won't get this cock just yet.

i want to whine. i want to complain. i want to shake my head and stomp my foot and pout. but my big strong daddy strokes the top of my head and i know the more of a good girl i can be, the better my reward later.

so i say yes daddy, and i make out with the tip of your pulsing cock lewdly, as your hand strokes the rest of your length. you slap it onto my tongue a few times before shoving in more length, but i'm braced. daddy is gentle but you are also exacting and rough, just the way i like you.

your head lolls back as you use my mouth. my wetness is dripping down my thigh now, i'm sure you can smell me. but i keep my mind focused on you. the grip of your hands in my hair, the warmth of your cock in my mouth, the softness of your thighs under my hands where i am finding purchase as i savour you.

i reach to the hem of my baby tee, flipping it up and bouncing my tits free for you to watch them as i suck you. oh, good girl, you say, you know exactly what daddy wants. I'm gonna give you just what you need later. you perfect, perfect, little toy.

and just hearing that makes the aching need in my pussy worth it. I renew my sucking with desperate enthusiasm, drool dripping down my chin. you groan, staring into my teary eyes, hips jerking, grip around my hair tightening. you hold me down on your cock so i know you're going to come down my throat, not on my face, not on my tits. you want me to prove how good i can be.

let me show you, daddy.

you finish with a tight moan, a raspy fuck, splattering your warmth in the back of my throat. i swallow, ever the obedient toy, despite the puddle i feel myself making.

you smear the tip of your cock on my lips for good measure.

in just a while, daddy's gonna ruin that juicy pussy. i'm gonna make you cum so many times you lose count, you say as you rub your still-hard cock on my lips and tongue.

i smile. i love getting what i want.

this post is about lesbian sex. men and minors dni.

[gallaghersgal]

I don’t know if someone has sent something like this in but I had a thought the other night about getting in an argument with Richie (and previous not having gotten into many with him, being shy and staying in your lane as a waitress) in the restaurant and he says something not intending for it to be suggestive, but it is. You reacting positively to it but leaving embarrassed. He unintentionally follows you out and asks you about it. Jksodhe I’m sorry for rambling 😖😖

this ask has been wasting away since... idk probably july. but it's itching my brain all of a sudden so. mature for suggestive language. pre-canon setting!

the bullshit that richard jerimovich put you through. god, it would be enough for anyone to just walk out. but you needed this job, so you put up with his nonsense. at least he's easy on the eyes.

today he's in the dining area with fak, slamming the side of the ball machine every time the younger man makes a mistake. there's a rush happening too, or at least there was. you michael, and ebra handled it all. much to your disdain mikey just laughs it off when you bring richie's absence to his attention, telling you, "relax kid, we can handle this shit. let the old man fuck around."

you groan as you wipe your hands, fingers feeling tender from all the piping hot sandwiches you'd just served up. you march your way into the dining area intending to give that old fuck a piece of your mind. he brushes you off similarly to his friend, you swear sometimes those two are just iterations of the same person.

"fucks sake princess, i don't see a line out the door," he jabs, gesturing obnoxiously towards the now empty area.

"oh, fuck you richie," you spit back at him, reaching out to shove him lightly.

"yeah? fuck me?" he taunts, crowding into your space. "i bet you'd like to, huh princess."

he doesn't even say it with any low, lustful tone. it's a jab, an insult even. but the words send heat creeping up your cheeks and you stammer out, "f-fuckin' jagoff," before turning quickly on your heel.

crisp chicago winter air helps soothe your racing mind, the shock against your bare arms bringing you back to reality. that was embarrassing. wanting to have sex with a coworker was bad enough already, but a coworker nearly ten years your senior? that's the beginning of a workplace nightmare.

richie steps into the alley and you glare at him. his hands raise in defeat, one holding a lighter as an unlit cigarette hands from his lips. he lights the thing and takes a drag, then pulls it from his lips to observe, "you look fuckin' cold."

"oh, thank you captain fucking obvious," you bite back, but your voice trails off as he cages you in against the wall.

[jackieparty]

ways to transition to kalluzeb s2 ahsoka

okay just two scenes that are in my head

no.1 - kallus and zeb fighting on a scenic overlook. zeb has his bo-rifle, maybe kallus has one too. they're going at it, looking like they will kill each other until kallus ends up victorious, mirroring their first fight where ezra saves zeb. before he takes the final blow he offers his hand out to zeb and helps him up. they laugh it off and kallus comments smth like "you're getting better," and they go about their day until zeb gets a call from hera saying they're needed on corellia for a "reason she canot disclose."

no.2 - i like this one better but yk less plausible. purge of lasan, kallus commanding troops at the front of the action. he ends up in a fight with a lasat who we realize is zeb before he kills him. kallus wakes up from the nightmare and looks over at zeb, sleeping beside him. cut to kallus on their front porch, looking up at the night sky. he squints, seeing a ship come into view. it comes closer and he realizes it's the ghost. assuming hera needs a babysitter, he waits patiently until they touch down. the ramp lowers and out comes hera and jacen with ezra in tow. kallus freezes upon seeing him and scrambles into the house to wake up his partner.

[ohbo-ohno]

I love your works, especially the serial killer ghoap ones. I’ve had this thought on my mind for a bit. It’s not really dark, more fluffy(?) I just started playing ACNH again and it got me thinking, would serial killer ghoap let reader have a switch? I mean, poor reader has seen so much shit and needs at least a little bit of normalcy in their life. Ofc ghoap would monitor them while they played and such, which leads me to my next part. Let’s say reader has gotten stockholm syndrome and isn’t super phased by all the gore in stuff. Reader just sits in a little corner that maybe has pillows or blankets OR a cage that has pillows and blankets and shit like that. But reader just stays in that corner playing their switch while ghoap does their murder stuff. Idk, I feel it’d be a cute image. Ghoap just torturing someone while reader sits in a corner playing animal crossing. Sorry for rambling, I just really wanted to share this thought. Drink water and make sure to eat ❤️❤️❤️

someday i'll write the serial killer fic. i have a full outline of it. i have like 1k done. it EXISTS ok i PROMISE and i WILL post it. eventually

but in the meantime! questions are fun! (also tysm for saying you love my stuff, ily)

i think they'd absolutely let her have a switch <3 in exchange for good behavior

my reader inserts tend to be massive pushovers (mostly in an attempt to not give them so strong of a personality as to be distracting) but the serial killer girl is soft. i think the contrast of really rough ghoap with really soft reader is Primo.

but i also think ghost and soap would fucking eat UP having a soft little thing to take care of. i think this version of them would really get off on the corruption of it all, coming to their girl covered in blood and watching her try to keep her stuffies from getting stained red :( they loooove watching her get all teary and sniffly when they make her watch them torture people, love watching the way she tries to hide her pretty face :(

so of course they let her have a switch! they looove hearing her talk about all her little villagers, love when she tentatively shows them her new island setup <3

and that second part - do you know how hard johnny would get if he was torturing someone and saw his girl completely tuned out and just playing her little game? she'd be lucky if he didn't bend her over right then and there

[somedayillbepeterpan]

I’ve come to a point where just listening to Ariana’s original version of POV makes me cry.

Just listening to the lyrics just transports me to Pen and Colin’s love story. I have so many thoughts and endless admiration for S3 particularly to Pen and Colin’s love story but writing my thoughts down sure is taking a while 😂 I want to write it as well as I could so I have it in existence for all eternity how much this season has meant to me— from the representation that I projected on it to the discovery of how nuanced the writing is and up to unlocking my years long writing block.

I’m lucky to have this space to pour out all of these thoughts and thankful that there are people to whom I can have good discourse with that is calm and still affectionate.

Because at the end of the day, this is just a tv show. And yet, what a cultural phenomenon it is.

I’m still here, nursing this severe brainrot. I think I’ll be here for a while.

[danibee33]

ever after - purge!ghoap x reader

cw: dark themes, dubcon, noncon, graphic depictions of violence, blood, sa, overall just horror/slasher movie type of vibe *pls read at your own discretion*

word count: 1.9k

Purge - rid (someone or something) of an unwanted quality, condition, or feeling.

You’re not sure when the sun had set, or how long it’s been since the sirens sounded.

Unable to recall when you were separated from your small group.

You don’t even know if it’s your own blood you’re covered in, or someone else’s. Hopefully the latter..

All you know for certain is that someone is following you. And judging by the silent way they creep just within your peripherals, the knife in their hand glinting dangerously in the flickering, strobing lights, they were only trying to hide their presence enough to keep you waiting-

They want you to know you’re being hunted. Stalked like prey through the desolate back alleys.

You’re not made for this. You’re not a fighter, not a killer, you were never supposed to be here- alone. The grip you have on your own knife tightens to near painful, your breaths growing ragged and shallow, eyes desperately searching for an escape, for something, any fucking thing-

“Awh, c’mon pretty thing..” A terrible, raspy voice echoes off the brick around you, “Make it interesting for me.”

He’s getting closer, and you’re running out of time, and options. If you really ever had options to begin with.

“I think you’ll like what I have in mind for ya.”

Your stomach rolls, threatening to forcibly expel the insignificant amount of food you were able to choke down before the sirens rang out-

“I’ll be gentle.. At first. Get you nice and ready-” – you hear the deep groan he gives, inhaling through his nose, “mmh, fear has a smell, ya know? And fuck, pretty thing, you smell so goddamn good.”

You only just register the change in his tone, amusement turning to something far darker, obviously, he’s done toying with you- and without warning, long, lean arms wrap you up in a bear hug from behind. He’s so much bigger and stronger than you, it’s like he doesn’t even have to try to lift your feet from the ground, doesn’t feel when your heels strike at his shins.

Like the inexperienced idiot you are, you let the hunting blade in your hand clatter to the wet pavement- the potency of your fear numbing your fingers and hands. You try to scream out, but it’s muffled by a grimy, sweaty hand that smells of oil and pennies-

He shushes you almost.. sweetly. Like one might a child, his lips pressed right against the shell of your ear, “You’re a feisty one- I like that.”

With one arm still wrapped around your torso, pinning your arms down, he thrusts the other down the front of your pants, those same disgusting, stained fingers roughly cupping over your cunt- and you swear he fucking purrs against your neck.

But that fear that had gripped you so tightly minutes ago turns red and molten, something primal, instinctual taking over, something you’ve never quite felt before this moment- and you still can’t put a name to it -

With a nausea inducing crunch, the back of your head makes solid contact with his nose. The pain and shock is enough for him to shove you to the ground, your knees making contact first, the asphalt tearing your jeans, debris lodging itself in your soft flesh-

“You fucking bitch!”, the man wails, doubled over somewhere behind you.

You’ve already crawled away, your fingers frustratingly close to the hard rubber grip of your knife when you feel his hand wrap around your ankle. This time his hand isn’t close enough to silence the blood-curdling scream that tears itself from your chest, your free foot kicking vainly, fingertips clawing at the ground.

You’re going to die. You’re going to die terrified and alone on the greasy, wet pavement of a back alley that smells of garbage and ash.

And you wish it could be like the movies and books, where you simply blink yourself into peaceful dissociation- relive your greatest hits, see the faces of your loved ones one more time, maybe even shed a tear for all the experiences you’re going to miss.

But it’s nothing like the movies and the books.

You writhe under him, spit through clenched teeth, “Just do it.”

God, if you could see yourself now, you think you might actually be scared of her. Acting like an animal trapped in a wire, baring its teeth and hissing, howling even when you feel him rip the button and zipper of your pants,

“Don’t worry, pretty thing. I am-” He growls, lower half of his face still drenched in darkening crimson, “And I’m gonna make sure you suffer until the - very - fucking - end.”

Just as he cuts through your shirt, a thick shadow catches your eye. You try to focus on it, because you swear it moved. But, the longer you look, the more you convince yourself it was just your panic- no one was coming to help you. Hell, if anyone did come by, they might just help him-

Another guttural shriek bounces around the alley when he sinks his teeth into the fatty swell of your breast. Not hard enough to break skin, but you think you can already feel the bruise deep in your muscle- the pain radiating and unrelenting.

“You did this.” – he seethes, dirty fingers digging into your now bare thigh, “Could’ve made it good for ya, but then you had to be an ungrateful little brat.”

Your muscles shake and tremble from the prolonged effort of trying to get away, you taste blood in your mouth, but you’re not sure if it’s his or yours. Maybe you split your lip or bit your cheek, both, or more- you don’t know.

He pulls your underwear to the side, your leg pinned open by his own, “Ahh.. there she is. Been waitin’ for this-”

“Please-” You croak, your vocal chords shredded from screaming and shouting, “Please- don’t.”

Vomit rises in your throat when you feel his finger dip between your folds, your body shuddering to a halt- frozen once again.

“Awh..” He coos, pulling his hand away only to suck the offending digit between his lips, “Pretty thing wants to beg now, huh? Too bad-”

Liquid splatters across your face. It’s hot, which only confuses you more. It just keeps coming- soaking into your hair, and washing over your skin. And just as suddenly, the weight of your attacker is lifted, his body making a dull thud as it hits the ground.

What.. the fuck?

Your fear-addled brain isn’t keeping up. It isn’t comprehending this very abrupt change of events, or the fact that the unnaturally hot liquid that covers you reeks of iron, or that the shadows are moving again. Coming closer-

Wait, shadows?

Another scream is bubbling up your throat, but it's cut off when a hand wraps around your bicep, pulling your back off the ground, “Hey, s’allright lass, we got’ya.”

“Don’t-” You pull away, trying to cover your exposed chest.

You nearly stumble over getting to your feet, pulling the tattered remains of your shirt off the ground and jerking your pants back up. All the while, you’re trying to take slow steps in the opposite direction of the two men-

It’s dark, but you can see enough to know one of them is wearing a skull mask- and you wonder errantly if the skull sewn into the black cloth is actually real. The other one, the one that had helped you up, is standing just to Skull-Guy's side. The top half of his face covered by a red skull, though his looks more like a halloween costume.

“Well..” You say, voice far more confident than you expect, “What are you waiting for?”

They don’t move. Red-Skull simply meets the other’s eye before turning back to you, “I’m not running- so, do whatever you’re gonna do!”

You don't know where your raised voice and rage comes from. Maybe from the fact that you were still partially nude, your clothes thoroughly ruined, or maybe it’s because you’re covered in the blood of the man who had almost succeeded in defiling you-

“We saved you.” The taller one says, his accent different, brassy and curt.

“What do you want? A thank you card? JUST GET IT OVER WITH!”

Red raises his hands, “Woah, woah- we dinnae wan’ to hurt ye, lass. We heard ye screamin’. Saw what was goin’ on-”

When he steps forward, you take one back, “What do you want?”

The question seems to offend him, his eyes widening as he takes another step, “Don’ want anythin’. This is just what we do- we dinnae agree with the purge, but..” – he shrugs out of the thick jacket, giving you a view of his broad chest and strong arms, “it does make it easier to pick off the scum, y’ken?”

He holds the garment toward you, not daring to step any closer, “Glad we found ye’ when we did. Name’s Soap.”

You look at the jacket, and back to him, your arms still crossed over your chest- and somehow you’re even more confused than ever. They look dangerous, fuck, they are dangerous- they slit that man’s throat while he was hunched over you and then threw him to side like nothing more than trash. And now he’s offering you his clothes?

“What kind of name is Soap?”

A smile pulls at his lips, pushing the jacket a little closer, “ ‘M ‘fraid that’s classified.”

“We need to get a move on.” – shit, you’d almost forgotten the other man lurking behind Soap, his gaze hooded and indifferent.

“Cannae just leave ‘er here- the big bastard is Ghost, by the way.”

Finally, you take his offering, quickly wrapping yourself in the heavy material- immediately noticing the spicy, musky scent of him replacing the harsh metallic in your nostrils.

“Good girl..” Soap coos, still holding his hands up in a surrendering gesture. And something about the sweet way he says the praise makes your stomach flutter, “Can we help ye get back to somewhere safe? Are ye with anyone else?”

“N-no.”, you struggle to speak above a whisper, “We were separated.”

Soap clicks his tongue, looking back at the one he called Ghost, “Are ye close to where you live?”

Without ceremony, he tugs the mask off his face, hooking it on one of the numerous tabs that litter his vest. And it’s an odd thing, to see just a normal man beneath- he’s attractive, in a rough-around-the-edges way. Striking blue eyes offset by olive tanned skin and hair dark enough you don’t if it’s black or brown in the lack of light.

It takes longer than you’re proud of to stammer out another pathetic ‘no’.

Soap’s gaze lingers on yours, “Ye could come with us.”

“Johnny-”

Both of you look at Ghost as he makes his way closer, his sheer size overwhelming you in the moment- fucking Christ.

“C’mon, LT- she’s got no one. And there’s still-” – he looks at the diver’s watch on his wrist, “four hours left ‘til sirens.”

The giant man glares down at his partner before pinning you with the same unwavering look, and maybe, for just a fleeting second, you think you see something akin to hunger in his eyes. But it’s gone just as fast-

“Fine.”

*throws this into the tumblr-verse and runs*

thank you for reading🖤 there’s only a million and five ways a part 2 could go… hmmm decisions, decisions.

[nemesyaaa]

i need sadistic!purge!leader!rafe + russian roulette gun play but it's only you and him, you're the victim, and it takes place in your pussy + keep you guessing if its loaded or not.

tw : gun play, fear play (is so hot in this). maybe, blood ?

(i'm ovulating guys, please.)

[raytm]

i think that when the time comes i might actually move this blog.

[dangerpronebuddie]

Several Sentences Sunday!!

Tagged by @bidisasterevankinard @daffi-990 @wikiangela all of whom wrote AMAZING stuff y'all should definitely check out! 💜🩷

I'm hoping to get the 7x06 spec done before the actual episode, but I keep getting new ideas for how it could go. So, I decided to take a break and work on Slight Air and Purging Fire instead:

Eddie rounded the corner and promptly froze. A man in all black, a surgical mask, and sunglasses stood just out of view of the street. Eddie smiled awkwardly and stepped around him. Fingers tangled in his hair and yanked him back. Eddie yelped as the sting made tears spring to his eyes. The sharp movement jostled his sore ribs. “Let me go,” he growled. The man shoved him against the wall. He barely braced himself with his arms before his head could hit brick. The grip on his hair disappeared and he whirled around to face his attacker. The man squared his stance. Eddie took a shallow breath and raised his fists. He didn't know what this guy's problem was, but he wasn't about to take another beating. The man charged him and he stepped away, letting the dude slam into the wall. He recovered quickly though, pushing off the brick and spinning to face him. He aimed a punch at Eddie's ribs. In Eddie's effort to dodge the blow, he missed the other fist flying at his face. Knuckles collided with his jaw, rattling his teeth and sending him crumbling to the ground. The man kicked at him, the toe of his boot jabbing into Eddie's back and side. Eddie curled in on himself, shielding his head and trying to breathe without screaming. The man froze at the sound of a car revving in the nearby parking lot. He took off down the alley and jumped in a black car some distance away. No plate. Eddie squeezed his eyes shut and bit into his lower lip as each breath pulled on his injuries. With a shaky hand, he took his phone from his pocket, setting it near his head. He tapped on Buck's name and prayed he wasn't out on a call. “You've reached Buck! Unfortunately, you really haven't. Text or leave a message if you really think I'll remember to listen to it.” Eddie blinked against the black dots spotting his vision. “Buck… I think... I might need help,” he rasped. He couldn't get another word out before he blacked out from the pain.

Absolutely no pressure tagging (and please tell me if you want to be added/ removed): @13shadesofanni @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1

@thekristen999 @loveyouanyway @tizniz

@actuallyitsellie @fortheloveofbuddie @ronordmann

@steadfastsaturnsrings @wildlife4life @theotherbuckley

@kitteneddiediaz @spagheddiediaz @exhuastedpigeon @rainbow-nerdss @daniwib and anyone else who wants to share!! 🥰🩷