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marley-manson · 1 year

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I have been inhaling all of your wip excerpts, they're all SO GOOD. I've already said this but you are such an excellent writer, everything that you put down is a joy to read.

Annnyway, I honestly can't keep track of the ones that haven't been asked for yet, so sorry if you've already done these, but Heat, and/or Rust.

Thank youuuuu that's so kind 😭 I'm glad you've been enjoying them! And right back at you, your writing is always so good that it's a joy to read even when I don't know the fandoms.

I posted about Rust here actually, but I'll throw out another excerpt:

The brand stung. It always fucking stung, but it got worse as the sun set and the spirits made themselves known.

For the first month or so since she’d left Godo and Erika she’d tended to rub and scratch that spot just above her breast, like it was an insect bite. Eventually she’d managed to will herself to stop, since it just made it hurt that little bit more.

The sun was red on the horizon and the shadows tangled in tree roots were growing deeper and more malevolent. She drew her sword as she walked, knowing that the early risers would be up soon.

The Skull Knight had told them that they didn’t live in the real world anymore. She and Guts had a foot outside of it, thanks to their brands, and if the world was a river and ordinary people pebbles below the surface, they were fish which could taste the air.

She supposed that made the spirits and monsters the hungry bears and fishermen.

Guts would be a shark, at least, or a whale. She was more like a pike. Nothing had got her yet, but she didn’t go looking for trouble either. She just swam, teeth bared.

Most nights the spirits could be dealt with as she walked, only occasionally cutting down the few that came for her. She didn’t dare risk sleeping with the sun down, but she could usually make good time and keep her pace brisk. But then there were nights when the moon was new, or when the area had been the sight of a battle, or another form of torment, and those were the busy nights.

Corpses would rise from grassy graves and animals would glare at her with wild, human eyes, attracted like moths to a flame.

She’d hoped that this forest wouldn’t be too bad - the trees weren’t overly dense and tended towards leafy and bright rather than needly and crowded - but she could already tell by the pain over her heart that it would be harder to traverse than the fields.

Bright glowing eyes blinked into her periphery near her feet and she instantly plunged her sword down into the bed of rotting leaves between them. With a faint hiss, like a drop of water on a candle flame, the twin points of light went out.

Another hint of a face in the darkness appeared just above eye level, on a branch. She caught it with the sharpened hilt of her sword as she drew it back up.

It was going to be a long night.

***

Heat, which I'd change the name of if I ever finished it so as not to be confused with that one popular longfic lol, is Guts/Serpico hooking up in Elfhelm after Casca gets her mind back but is too traumatized to be anywhere near him. It's non canonical now I guess unless I change some stuff and set it during the moonbaby montage lol. I actually posted a little excerpt from it a while ago, Guts remembering an afternoon of Griffith teaching him to dance. So that's the context for the final lines lol.

Serpico glanced at the sword he’d been swinging a few minutes earlier. “Getting bored here?”

Was he? Was the sensation of being trapped here, on this peaceful island, when there were things he could be doing out there, out in the world where Griffith was, was it just boredom?

He shrugged again. “Maybe.”

And Serpico smiled. Despite the calm air, his grey cloak billowed around him as though blown by a stiff breeze, revealing the feathered weapon at his side. Guts couldn't think of it as a sword, even though it was similar in shape.

Serpico drew it from its sheath, and flicked it. His cloak settled down.

A little showy, Guts thought, and raised an eyebrow. “Here?” he asked, though he had no intention of refusing the clear invitation.

“Why not? I've been looking forward to a rematch for a while now.”

There was a look in his eyes that got Guts’ blood pumping eagerly at the prospect of action. A grin began to tug at the corners of his mouth. “Thought you preferred to scout the terrain first. Make sure I can’t swing my sword or do anything else useful.”

“I have range on my side now.” Serpico's eyes rolled upwards. “And the trees. Game, or not?”

He could just imagine Serpico striding along the branches, watching for an opportunity to strike. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the tension in them like a coiled snake waiting to spring.

“Yeah, all right,” he said, and drew his sword.

It was fun. Fighting Serpico got his blood pumping and his heart pounding - a welcome feeling after the weeks here, sedate on one piece of peaceful land.

Serpico did utilize the trees. He leapt up to them like a grasshopper and dove down again like a - a kite. Guts was more constrained, limited by gravity and the slow swing of his huge sword. He was on the defensive, but hell, he was used to being on the defensive.

He dodged, swung when Serpico lit onto the mossy ground and when he sent those cutting blasts of wind at him, easily neutralized by the force of iron displacing the air around him. Serpico remained out of reach, eyes as sharp and as focused as his weapon.

After a minute or two of bloodless dueling he swung straight out in front of him to counter a breeze from Serpico’s weapon, and the cunning bastard leaped down from a branch to take advantage of his lowered sword. For a moment that sent him years back in time, Guts was certain he'd land on its dull edge. In his distraction, Serpico landed on the ground and flicked his feather duster precisely. Like an icy gust of wind he felt the air slice his cheek - exactly where Serpico had caught him once before.

Knowing how easily he could've had his throat cut instead, Guts smirked and licked the tickling drop of blood heading towards the corner of his mouth, mimicking their first real encounter. “Lucky hit,” he said.

They exchanged a few more swings but now Guts’ head was solidly in the past again. How was it he could so clearly remember the exact look on Griffith’s face when he’d opened his mouth and bit his sword? He’d relished the shock in his eyes like he’d relished the taste of blood on his tongue. Even back then, when he’d thought he hated him, he’d drunk him in.

He dodged another strike, like lightning from above, and nearly caught him in the instant between landing on the grass and leaping away again. His sword moved a hair too slow. It was just as well; Serpico’s real advantage was that he could land non-lethal blows relatively easily, while even if Guts aimed to disarm he’d probably still end up taking Serpico’s whole hand off along with his feather duster.

But then, it had always been that way. He’d traded finesse for power ever since he’d first learned to fight with a sword bigger than he was. Even during that first duel with Griffith he couldn’t get out of his mind - Griffith had been trying to disable, and Guts had been trying to kill. Griffith had been risking his life for him from the very start. Fuck.

He got a little satisfaction when he swung his sword overhead as Serpico fluttered across the lowest boughs of the trees and managed to snap the branch he was leaping to before he landed. Both man and branch came crashing down in an undignified heap, and Guts would’ve secured his victory right then, but just as he smugly lowered the point of his sword down to rest on Serpico’s chest and keep him pinned he rolled out of the way and rose back to his feet in one fluid motion. A quick slice of air caught Guts on his shoulder, deep enough to sting. He might actually lose, the way this was going.

And that just brought back the memory of his last loss, as Griffith had ground his shoulder out of place to relieved, victorious cheers. When Griffith had grabbed Guts afterwards, kneeling down and taking his face in his hands, he’d thought for a second that Griffith was going to kiss him. God, he would’ve let him. He knew he would’ve, even then, knowing nothing about him, even when his skin crawled whenever anyone else touched him.

He had to end this fight before he really did lose.

Guts swung his sword so fast that Serpico's blond hair fluttered from the force of it as he narrowly ducked, dipping his head to avoid the blade with an inch to spare. Then, before he could leap away, Guts followed through with his swing, stepping into the turn and catching Serpico's sword arm with his metal fist.

He hit hard enough to shock Serpico into gasping with pain but he managed to maintain his grip on his weapon. So Guts dropped his own sword before Serpico had a chance to dance away and grabbed him with his real hand, squeezing his wrist in just the right way to force his fist to open.

He moved his metal arm to press between Serpico's shoulder blades, an extra force keeping him from pulling away, as Serpico lost his grip on the hilt of his weapon and let it fall to the ground. They were both breathing heavily.

Serpico looked up at him, cheeks pink from exertion and eyes lidded, reddening sun making his hair nearly glow, and for a moment it was just like that time, that afternoon with Griffith in his arms. He could still hear the music drifting faintly up from the grassy clearing below them. He didn't pull Serpico into a waltz. Worse - he bent down and kissed him.

#lol honestly i think the big problem with the 2nd fic is that there's too much pointless introspective build up #i could probably cut half of it and it'd be better #and mb combine it with that guts+serp boat conversation actually - streamline things...#ask meme #marley on berserk #text post #got a few more of these today and i finally have a chance to sit down and answer them

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wainwrightjakobshammerlock · 1 year

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Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Borderlands (Video Games) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: a 5 person family I can't tag bc it's too long, Sir Hammerlock/Wainwright Jakobs, Minor or Background Relationship(s) Characters: Sir Hammerlock (Borderlands), Wainwright Jakobs, Angel (Borderlands), Troy Calypso, Katagawa Jr. (Borderlands), Original Characters Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Family Dynamics, Sitcom, Screenplay/Script Format, Fluff and Humor, Drabble Collection, Adopted Children, Lovecraftian Shenanigans, Everyone is Gay and Trans and Neurodivergent, Self-Indulgent, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, very mildly crack, Canon Rewrite, Non-Linear Narrative, Fix-It of Sorts, focuses on post-canon but encompasses the entire canon Series: Part 5 of CFatDotU/JFV Universe Summary:

A MOST RIVETING ARRANGEMENT OF SNIPPETS FROM AN ADJACENT NARRATIVE FEATURING FAMILY, RUTHLESS CAPITALISM AND THE HORROR INDUCED AGONY OF REALITY KEEP YOUR RIBCAGE SHUT AND YOUR MIND UNWOUND PUBLISHED BY [REDACTED], A SUBSIDIARY OF THE JAKOBS CORPORATION

Content warnings distributed on a per-chapter basis, please familiarize yourself with the author note before reading a chapter.

#HELLO JFV FANS. FINALLY GOT THE GUTS TO POST THIS LOL #my post #writetstuff #borderlands #borderlands au #borderlands rewrite #jakobs family values #bl3

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galariangengar · 1 year

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‼️twili-squid-sister —> galariangengar‼️

#finally got the guts to change my url!#I’ll be editing my pinned post and changing my header and icon too!#also I will reblog this a few times for everyone to see #jazz uses curse! 💜

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shikai-the-storyteller · 1 year

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In the final fight between Luzu and Quackity, everyone thinks Quackity’s going to be the one who dies, but I think they’re both going to die. And only then will they be able to forgive each other.

In other words, I think the end will be like this:

#i talk #karmaland talk #I'm very resigned to this ending because I think it's the best case scenario and what's most likely #but I just realized what it reminded me of and it feels like I just got punched in the gut #I am GOING to try and speedrun a drawing of this over the weekend SO HELP ME #I WILL POST AT LEAST ONE KARMALAND FANART BEFORE THIS SERIES ENDS #Whether they die by each other's hands or because the gods finally gave up on Karmaland #I'm not sure #but this is the ending I see

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theheadlessgroom · 1 year

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https://www.tumblr.com/beatingheart-bride/712824990556405760/theheadlessgroom-beatingheart-bride

@beatingheart-bride

Randall smiled as he set aside his quill once he heard Emily coming, once again making sure the ink was dry before closing his libretto and moving to the lounge chair, where on the coffee table in front of it sat a pot of fresh tea and some little macaroons-his way of expressing his delight at how rehearsals were going so far.

Rehearsals were going far smoother than they ever had with La Constance around: It seemed like they dragged on forever with her, as she constantly threw fits about anything and everything she could possibly think of-her costume, the libretto, any noise her castmates made when she was practicing, the way the orchestra sounded, the stagehands working around her, and more. She was as unpredictable as the weather, and it made rehearsals a dreadful experience for everyone-even though Randall tried to curb her attitude in his own way, it still didn’t save everyone completely from her wrath, much to his disappointment.

But with Emily? It was a breeze: She arrived on time, didn’t make a fuss, got along well with those around her, and perhaps most importantly, gave it her all as she practiced. La Constance often arrived when she felt like it, hated to be rushed, and put very little enthusiasm into her performance, clearly showing she was not here because she loved her craft, but because she loved the money it made her instead.

But he wasn’t about to dedicate any time thinking about La Constance when he had much more important matters on his mind; namely, greeting Emily with a smile and proclaiming, “Brava, brava, bravissima!” She was quickly getting the hang of the role of the Countess, and doing a beautiful job to boot, giving an easily-superficial character a touch of depth, as she yearns for fun and excitement and love, and not the staid life she had now.

#((they really did deserve so much better-the fact that it took so long for them to find peace; even in death; is gut-wrenching!))#((the fact that their bodies were effectively mutilated post-mortem; enough for the baby to be out and out discarded...ugh!))#((and you're right! exploiting the living is bad enough; but exploiting the dead-for whatever reason-is just as bad in its own right!))#((reminds me of a story i once heard about a wild west outlaw's hung body being put on display for years))#((denying his family the chance to at least give him a pauper's grave! it bounced around for ages))#((and eventually became-of all things-a goddamn haunted house prop! and the people running the show didn't know))#((that it was a *real* body...until one of his arms got broken off!))#((i think since then the body has finally been interred but still...))#((and that sounds great to me! honestly that feels like a kick in the gut from constance; that rehearsals are already underway))#((and emily's looking forward to this new role...only for constance to come right in and steal it from her!))#((also: sorry this is late!))#outofhatboxes #beatingheart-bride #V:Phantasm of the Mansion

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bananxious · 2 years

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Sam and Max story dump numero uno

I call this “Untitled Sam and Max Mole Adventure #1, [funny joke tba]”

Sam and Max get a call to the semi-renovated Museum of Mostly Natural History. A Mole Mystery ensues. I’d give this a Teen for mild peril, or something. About 4,400 words.

I started daydreaming about this little Sam n Max adventure aftering chewing over the implications of the mole people, maybe tying in some post-305 stuff for a laugh, something to do with Internet 2.0, and then forgetting about it for a year. I figured if I didn’t post something it’d never see the light of day, and I would just sit editing the same 4000 words forever. Apologies for any chunks missing, this is essentially a first draft, I’ll probably rework a lot of the dialogue and everything else, but the framework is there? Any feedback, criticism, or ideas are much appreciated, and if you fancy chatting to me about please feel free to send me a message !

Anyway, the story:

"Well, would you look at that!" Sam declared cheerfully to the visibly rattled night guard of the half-destroyed and semi-renovated Museum of Mostly Natural History, "Your midnight disturbances were nothing more than a defenceless, pathetic little mole man. The most this minor miscreant will committ is some reckless property damage, maybe chew through a few electrical cables, deface a couple of bathroom signs, or maybe swipe your car stereo if you're really unlucky.

"They're a bit like termites, but usually better dressed," Max added. "And they usually move in the same circles. Underground, wet damp caves, anywhere with plenty of savory plywood goin' spare!"

Their caught culprit spat and chittered like furious little tornado inside the white wire crate he'd been trapped in, an enclosure big enough for him to stand and scuttle around in indignant circles squawking noisily in protest while occasionally stopping to angrily spit, snort, or strain his eyes glaring cavernous entrance lobby of the museum. Not only was this big-eared, tiny-eyed, snub-nosed, rarely-employed grey fuzzball a complete non-threat, but he was already well-known to the Freelance Police. If there was anything that bored Max it was repeat offenders, and Harry Moleman was no novelty, but trying to jab him with a plastic fork tied to the end of a jumbo pencil from the gift shop soothed his restless spirit while Sam liasoned with their client.

Meanwhile, the shaking "night guard" turned out to be little more than a silver-haired senior hippie in a loudly-patterned wool poncho and eclectic acetate jewelry, a day volunteer at the Museum of Mostly Natural History now turned night squatter left shaking at the sight of a "some screeching beast with shovel-like claws". Sam glanced at her (and shared a brief confirmatory nose wrinkle and nod with Max) for a brief moment and concluded that no whiff of fire and brimstone-esque Yog-Soggothiness was to be found: she was the equivalent friendly neighbourhood witch who had traded in her broomstick for a herbal-scented Volkswagen Campervan, though by the nervous rattling a prescription for diazepam wouldn't go amiss either. He imagined this was just one of the many weirdos the old proprietor Papierweite must have swapped apocalyptic conspiracy theories with years ago in yoga coffee shops and seldom-visited bulletin boards in the deep, dank corners that Sam assumed the internet had.

Sam gave that information a patient moment to sink in before he continued, "I imagine he just gave you a spook when his monstrous silhouette was amplified by a floor light." He placed the chunky 12 volt torch facing their interloper and watched his spherical two-and-a-half foot shadow grow into the outlined of what could conceviably be construed by a mind still possessed by the free spirit of the 60s as a drooling, teeth-gnashing, bone-breaking harbinger of horror.

Their prisoner scowled and hissed at the sharp white light before rattling the grate of the chinchilla cage at their feet with admirable gusto. "You jerks! What's the big idea, here?! You let me out of here, right this second! I've done absolutely nothing wrong!"

"Oh sure, sure - except the wanton property destruction, late-night trespassing, terrifying a poor innocent museum volunteer-slash-squatter, and not to mention getting caught by us, again! That last one isn't illegal, but it IS poor form, Harry. And all this at - what's the time, Sam?"

Sam pushed up his sleeve and checked his watch. "I'd call that two forty-five AM."

"Two forty-!" Max threw his head back and wailed in frustration. "We should be tucked up in bed with our marathon of America's Greatest Sports Injuries at this time of night. Let's scram, Sam - this case is a real dud. Thanks for nothin', Harry!"

"Couldn't agree more, little buddy. Come on, let's give our culprit here the ol' catch and release, like they do with opossums and intoxicated teens. I'm sure the nearest sewer manhole will do just fine, like it did for that spotty Jenkins kid." Sam leaned down to grab the handle of the crate to cart off the little trespasser, only to pause. Something seemed off: sitting passively inside the wire cage, Harry seemed unusually calm. Instead of clawing at the bars like the desperate little miscreant he was, he had planted his rear end on the floor of his cage while he rubbed his little six-fingered hands together, like a housefly who’d just spotted a particularly delicious beverage to drown in. To Sam, he looked more like he was scheming than panicking.

"But since your escapades dragged us all the way out of our pyjamas and into the bowels of the Museum of Mostly Natural History in the wee hours of the morn, do you mind filling us in on exactly what you were doing this far above ground?" Sam watched the captive mole's eyes, ears, and whiskers twitch nervously.

"... I was just trespassing! Just like you said! What with traffic 'round the Burrows these days, sometimes it's easier to just take a shortcut here and there, y'know? And ah, maybe I just fancied a scenic route? But you know what boys, I've learned my lesson here, so if you'd just go on and open this hatch by the nearest air vent or patch of soft diggable soil, I'll be out of your hair in no time!" Sam lifted the crate up and peered directly into Harry's narrow eyes, pushing his nose up to the bars and sniffing. The little mole chittered nervously.

"You know you're a terrible liar, right, Harry? You've gone from smelling like an abandoned garden centre to an incredibly anxious salt-lick. Spill the beans!"

Max rolled his eyes. "C'mon Sam, put that mole man back where he came from, already!" The older woman was still watching, and harrumphed to catch their attention.

"Well, I, ah, I thank you boys for coming out here on such short notice at such a ridiculous hour, but," the old curator rattled her colorful acetate necklace nervously while pointing with her other hand, "that doesn't much look like what I saw on the way to the Exhibit of Unnatural Disasters. Or sound like. Or smell like."

The sound of something clattering caught the attention of the group, who hung in pensive silence for a few moments.

"...Say, Sam? You did set the VCR to record the rest of our marathon, right?"

"It's cute when you think VCR machines are comprehensible by the sane mind, Max, but we'll be lucky if we end up with another re-run of The Curmudgeonly Connoisseur, or maybe one of those late night shopping channels viewed only by shift workers and resentful insomniacs." He ignored Max's sour little groan. "Keep an eye on this irritating little interloper, would you, Ms. M? And uh, you wouldn't mind if we borrowed this 12 volt flashlight, would you?"

-----

[MIND THE GAP]

Sam's stomach for adventure curdled like spilt milk on a hot sidewalk when he realised the form at the end of the corridor wasn't just a misplaced mannequin or anomalous animatronic. At the end of the trail of shattered femurs and miscellanous vertebrae was something heaving, pale and sagging, some mighty fleshy mass with very little headspace below the ceiling that had just rendered Papierwaite’s distasteful collection of display skeletons down into a less-than-satisfying midnight snack.

[Apologies for the severe jump here, there was a longer chunk involving a monster chase but it wasn’t working so I just removed the 800 word slog for now. Or I’ll just lampshade it in dialogue later. meh!]

Sam and Max took a precious few moments to catch their breath while their now firmly stuck pursuer thrashed wildly like live fish in a wet sack, it's grim flesh wobbling blancmange-like as it tried to fling itself forward open-mouthed with cut-glass wailing, before being yanked back by the knot of cables around its neck with enough force to send it's slimy spittle flying across the room. With it's maw fully open Max could now peer into the grim chasm of their monster: behind the beak-like teeth were multiple sets of wide, flat teeth, with a slimy tongue that would whip round and slap the walls of it's new enclosure like wet tripe stuffed in a blender.

"I Wish I had three sets of internal teeth and jaws," Max opined from a safe distance. "This show-off has enough gnashers to set the tooth fairy up for life!"

"You said it, little buddy," Sam responded as he began to admire the sheer tenacity of the beast now that the fear of a being shredded to ribbons by this mammoth mole was ebbing away. "Looking at the sheer dental capacity of this barbarous fiend, I'd say this thing has evolved to grind down the most resilient of bones and igneous rock into a friable and nutritious powder."

"Is that why this big fella's breath stinks like deep-fried landfill?"

A congealed puddle of the monster's drool was beginning to form on the linoluem floor below as it slowly wound down it's nerve-grating noisy screeches to a low-level snorting and grunting.

I'm beginning to think our dear Harry was ommitting some very important truths."

Max’s ears, fingers and toes seemed to curl inwards as a hot guff of foul breath wafted into his sinuses. "And to think that honourable and upstanding Harry Moleman was happy to lead us down the gullet of this big ugly goon. Perhaps we could omit a few of his teeth to extract some of that essential information?"

"Couldn't agree more, little buddy, I've had just about my fill of seeing, hearing, and smelling this ugly customer. How about we go shakedown our little mis-acheiver and see what’s rattled loose?”

----

Harry winced and sheilded his eyes from the sharp shaft of twelve-volt light aimed directly at his face. "I'm keeping shtum! You mooks can do your worst!"

"Don't worry ma'am, we're professionals," Sam assured the startled curator as Max shook the captive Harry. By the time he'd turn round to glance back, the frazzled hippie had slammed the office door shut and wrenched the lock tight with a noisy clatter of her plastic bead bracelets before anxiously tracking them on the CCTV as they descended down into the dark basement levels with their cage in hand towards the distant staff room.

"Oh Harry," Max tutted as he peered in, beady eyes to beady eyes. "We didn’t need the invitation!" Gleefully the lagomorph was already carting away Harry's little cell like a birthday present. "C'mon Sam! I've got an idea!"

"Can’t wait to see it, Max,” Sam replied in tone jovial enough to set the little mole man on edge, before his brow fell stern like he was suddenly channeling the wandering spirit of a 1940s private investigator. “Alright, Harry! Playtime’s over - from this moment on, you tell us everything!" Max took Sam’s snarl as the cue to shove Harry’s cage directly in the sights of the stuck beast in the maintenance corridor.

Harry shrieked and pasted himself to the back wall of his crate as the megamole lunged forward, only to be violently yanked back by the light fitting and cable tangled around it's neck as a makeshift tether. "Ooh! A hungry fella, isn't he?" Max teased as he shook the mole man's cage like an enticing box of megamole treats, prompting the trapped monster to open it's cavernous maw for another round of ear-shredding wails and teeth gnashing, and the claws scraping against ground had shredded and curled the plastic flooring like butter.

"Alright! Alright! I'll tell you everything I know, just get me AWAY from that thing!" Harry wheezed as Max finally kicked the door shut. "Geez, you lunatic! I'm about ready to go into freakin' cardiac arrest!"

"Great! Now you know share the feeling we had about fifteen minutes ago! Maybe if you had just 'fessed up in the first place instead of trying to cover your own keister we could have done this the easy way!"

"Now there's the truth if ever I heard it," Sam concurred as he busied himself with the staff vending machine. "I may appear as cool as a hydroponics-grown cucumber, but my heart still feels like it's breakdancing backwards in high heels after that close-quarters melee in the maintenance corridor." He cracked open a cold can of Spuzz and savored the foul yet refreshing sour effervescence for a few moments. "Max, although I crave sweet justice as much as the next red-blooded American, I think we've sweated this poor mole man enough. " He turned his attention to the other machine which whirred and clanked in protest before spitting out a nougat bar, while Max placed Harry's cage on the coffee-stained white table in the middle of the staff room.

Sam patted Max's head with an open hand and heard a sound akin to a gourd half-full of water being slapped with a wooden spoon. "Good job on the interrogation! Torquemada would be proud." He offered up the last chunk of chocolate-covered nougat, which quickly gummed up Max's shark-like gullet. "So what's the deal, Harry? Is this a cousin of yours? Maybe an old college buddy?" The mole man said nothing but instead rattled the closed hatch of his cage yet again, though the sight of Max's gnashing jaws only a few feet away had him second-guessing his current escape attempt.

"Oh, knock it off, Harry, you're now in the custody of the Freelance Police. We don't have any kiddy-sized handcuffs that'll fit round your sneaky little hands though, so you'll have to stay in there for now." The mole man huffed and wrinkled his pointed nose in frustration. "Oh, don't look so put-upon, lil guy! Look - Ms. Marcieski even gave you a cushion, and a PB&J!" A small floral print cushion and a cellophane-wrapped sandwich, only slightly dented from the bashing and swinging this incident entailed, were lying untouched in the corner of the cage.

"Yeah! That's a real step up from the regular knuckle sandwich we usually serve!"

"It's a house specialty, Harry. Now, you mind telling us what you're doing skulking around here in the dead of night

"Okay. Okay. So- so that is, that's a mole man, okay?"

"Well why does that one look like the mole equivalent average patron of Muscle Beach?” Max interjected as he jerked his thumb back to the rattling maintenance door, while the megamole snarled behind the tiny square window like the world’s most offputting postcard.

Sam rubbed his jaw thoughtfully as he straightened out the now empty candy wrapper. "You understand why I'm not about to stand in line to buy this particular story, right? I mean, why would you of all mole kind be sent above ground to catch -" he turned his head to glance and the toothy death-beast snarling and spitting behind the glass door like the drunks trying to claw their way onto the last train home. "This handsome brute?"

Sam couldn't tell if Harry was frowning or just squinting from the bright fluorescent light of the museum staff room. Their captive huffed through his snout and took a bite from the sandwich, his cheek now bulging with bread, peanut butter, and raspberry jelly. "Y'know pal, for apparent detectives you don't really seem that bright. You ever wonder why you've only seen what, two, three other mole people? Tops?" The wet chewing sounds were starting to make Sam nauseous.

"Not for a second, Harry. We've got better things to think about, like where our next meal is coming from," Max rattled his cage before politely being told to stop Sam’s hand smothering his face.

"Hush, bonehead," Sam muttered. "I assumed budgetary restrictions."

Harry snorted and took another bite before speaking with his mouth full. Sam did his best to resist peering into the nightmare hole of spindly mole teeth and mashed up peanut butter when he spoke again. "That'sh real funny, Sham!" He swallowed his mouthful. "Because it's not very nice for us here! There's too much oxygen, too much light, the parking is terrible, and you surface-dwellers really don't consider accessibility when it comes to town planning and overall street clutter!"

"So... What are you doing here?"

"Well, isn't it obvious?" Harry's face stretched into a rare grin. "This is how I make ends meet! Sure it's not much, but when no one else is willing to crawl any higher than the R Line, I can charge an arm and a leg to fetch oddities, deliver goods, and-"

"And hunt down bone-crunching death machines?" Said Max, as the murder-beast behind the door bellowed and spat again like a bull stuck in a phone booth.

"Ah, shut yer yap!" Max barked as he bounced up the staff kitchenette, grabbed the TV remote and turned on the chunky cathode ray television set wedged in the corner above the door. "Maybe a bit of Hockey's Finest Hospitalizations will keep you busy." The bellowing ceased once the shreiking of Canadians on ice could be heard, and the beady little eyes of the gurning fleshbeast were undeniably focused on the image of a goaltender’s jugular spraying red like a shattered fire hydrant. "See, that's all he needed! Indiscriminate violence and gore."

Sam nodded in agreement. "Maslow truly misunderstood human nature when he proposed his Hierarchy of Needs."

Harry scratched the back of his neck nervously as he eyed the drooling monster behind the glass - in the harsh lighting he could, miserably, make out far too much detail than he was comfortable with, and this beast looked to him like excess skin thrown over a modern art piece made from eldritch bones and teeth, one that considered him to a perfect morsel of savory organs and satisfyingly crunchy bones. But for now, it drooled peacefully at the sight of a Canadian being flung like a chew toy on the TV screen. "I may have oversold my skills in this sector."

"Mhmrmwrwm!" Max declared, his jaw now locked by solid confection.

"You said it, little buddy. Looks like our little half-pint here really has bitten off more than he can chew! Not to worry, Harry, the Freelance Police will take the case! Now uh, what exactly were you planning on doing once you'd caught this calcium-craving colossus?"

"I never gave you it," Harry grumbled before accepting his lot. "I was SUPPOSED to lead it back to the nearest tunnel, yknow, for uh, like... Research. Hey, I don’t ask questions!" The more he spoke, the more he fidgeted and fiddled, his suspicious little claws crocheting empty air. "But when I saw the bleedin' size of the thing, well, I got a bit spooked, dropped my weapon and uh- well. Here we are." He scratched at one nostril and averted his eyes with a pathetic groan. "I'm gonna be honest, guys - I didn't really think this through. I guess my best move would be letting the doc know the sitch, and getting her extraction team in here to clean up this sorry mess."

"Oh, like we're going to just let you scarper Scot-free like that. Once Molish concerns crossed into the physical endagerment of one of New York City's most beloved semi-minor cultural landmark, you entered our jurisprudence. We're coming down there to sort this out. After all, it looks like leaving Mole business to the Mole people hasn't really worked out, has it?"

Max groaned - unlike Sam, his sense of justice was satiated the moment Harry looked like he was about to hit "Oh, Sam, do we have to? Mole people are gross, weird, and smell like my cousin's dank illicit greenhouse. Can't we just go back to our injurious sports marathon?"

"Oh come on, Max! I'm going to need someone to beat the stuffing out of whatever esoteric cabal is withholding pertitent information about these ravenous behemoths, and it sounds like they might be out of our weight category for a fair fight."

"When have we ever cared about a fair fight, Sam? Can’t we just feed this big ol’ mother-slugger some lit fireworks and let physics take care of the rest?"

"Well Max, while your manner of cleaning up the foul detritus of this city is as creative as it would be visually dazzling, I’d wager the stockpile of contraband pyrotechnics we siezed this July would be little more than a pre-dinner snack to this bottomless feeder. Also, we already missed the hockey segment," said Sam, watching the final Canadian pirouette and gracefully tie himself into a pretzel knot to the delight of the megamole now huffing and laughing behind the tiny glass window. "So, it's not like we've got anything better to do."

Harry spluttered indignantly, "good luck with getting anywhere near the Seven Borrows! No offense big guy, but you might have a bit of trouble fitting in, down there, if you catch my drift. And not to mention the lack of oxygen, light, and fire hydrants for you to relieve yourself behind!"

Sam narrowed his eyes at the "fire hydrant" dig. "Well, how were you going to fit Big Nelly down there? In bite-size mole chunks?"

"Through the service tunnels, you dolt!" Harry clamped his claws over his mouth and his reflective pupils swirled around anxiously. "I mean-"

"A-ha!" Sam grabbed the cage triumphantly while striding out the door, sending Harry knocking around like a teddy bear in a washing machine. "Just lead the way, Harry! I look forward to meeting your client and filling them in on your progress."

Harry grimaced in pain, shame, and plain exhaustion. "Wait! You can't go down there! It's secret! It's dark! And not to mention, once you get any deeper than 191st Street Station, you'll suffocate!"

"Well, that's never stopped us sticking our noses in unwanted place before! Besides, we've got a helping hand to get us around the physical limitations of these meat-vehicles. and I think she'll just love you!"

_____

"This is your helping hand? Really?" Harry gave a derisive side-eye look from inside his wire cage as they stood before a roller shutter in the early morning sun, moments before Max shook the cage like a snowglobe and gleefully watched Harry bounce around inside like a ping-pong ball.

"You will refer to her as Ms. Gugenheek, you will be polite and corteous, and you will chew with your mouth closed!" he stated as he peered down patronisingly between the bars.

"Well, could you at least let me out of this crate? I'm pretty sure this constitutes "cruel and unusual", even by your rock-bottom standards!" Max shook him again, just for fun, and Harry made a satisfying noise similar to a squeaky toy falling down the “up” escalator.

"And have you burrowing away like the felonious little fuzzball you are? Methinks not!" Max exclaimed as he poked an accusatory finger at him.

Sam let Max continue his good-natured baiting of their Molish captive while he pressed the buzzer on the intercom. "Mornin' Darla! It's us!" No response. He buzzed again. "Darla! It's Sam and Max! We've got something to show you! You'll never believe it!" Again, silence. He sighed, glanced back to Max and the cage, "Two ticks," before striding down the dim alley to the right and crouching in front of a low window. "Hey! GEEK!" he bellowe and heard a sudden panicked fumbling and clattering in the darkness below. He looked up, proudly. "Just give her a second." Finnaly, the roller shutter rattled and rose to reveal a staircase vanishing down into darkness. "Ah, she's not up yet." Sam explained quietly, before bellowing down into the darkness again. "Just lemme know when you're decent, sweetie! We got a guest!" He nodded in reponse to the belligerent groan below as they descended.

"Yeah not bad, guys, just gimme a few minutes to- woah hold the phone excuse me what is THAT?" Darla blurted out in half-awake confusion as she pointed dramatically at the grumpy little captive in a pet crate.

"Oh, this little creeper? It's a mole man!" Max exclaimed excitedly, holding up the crate to show off the panicked and indignant critter inside. "He's harmless! Look at his little waistcoat, and omni-directional fur!"

"I have a name, y'know!" Harry hissed angrily.

Darla stepped back again. "And he speaks, too?"

"Yeah, lady! And I'm ready to give your pals here a real earful!" Max rattled his cage as a reminder and Harry was sent bouncing up and down again like baby’s rattle. " Ugh! Jeez! I mean. Yes," he grumbled bitterly, "Ms. Gugenheek. Me speak. Me speak English real good, as well as some basic Spanish, a few words of Dutch and enough Middle Molish to get me through high school."

("Drop the attitude," Max growled into his cage.)

"Sorry," Darla said, in one of the few apologies ever given to Harry as she topped up Sam's coffee. "I've just never heard of Mole people speaking before."

"Maybe they just didn't have anything worth saying?" Max offered helpfully, earning another ticked-off "hey!" from their ward.

"Say, Geek, do you know happen to know anything about Mole People?" Darla frowned for a moment and took a sip of jet-black coffee.

"The topsoil variety, core-dwellers, or just urban myths thereof?" Harry shrieked in surprise, leaping to his feet and sending the floral cushion flying.

"What! Where did you hear about those?" Harry squawked. Darla shrugged and sipped from her mug.

"Internet discussion forums. Crusty old half-abandoned message boards. The David Icke Internet Discussion Forum. The majority is unsubstatiated bunkum but your response is making me think: maybe it's not all brain-liquifying keysmashed nonsense." Another glug of coffee and Darla could feel her brain crackling awake again like popcorn in a microwave. "So, what's the cause celebre for all this? Or did you just wanna show off your new pet?" Harry shook his bars again.

"Well, thanks to this little blighter we almost lost an extremity or three to his bigger and badder sibling. And he's not being too forthcoming about the deets-" Harry screeched again.

"I already told you everything I know! Will you jerks just let me go already?! I promise I won't bolt!"

Max ignored him. "So we figured let's just cut out the middle man and go straight to the source! The earthy, dirty, garbage-filled source. Say, Geek, you wouldn't happen to have any equipment suitable for, ooh I dunno, making the journey through a low-oxygen, low light environment miles below the earth's surface a smidge more tolerable?"

Sam nodded in agreement. “Yeah, anything that’d block out the stench of mole man sweat and sewer gas would be sorely appreciated in our investigation.

"Now that you mention it, guys..." Darla trailed off as she paced around her workbench and began digging through overflowing drawers. "Since my talks with the climate change summit fell through after Prime Minister Macieski's punch-up with our Secretary of State, I figured I should start working on a fall-back for when our major cities are inveitably clogged with car fumes, and our atmosphere so dense with pollution that not even the harsh unyielding glare of our nearest star can penetrate it. Considering the lacklustre pace of global co-operation, this seemed like the next-best option."

"Neat, Geek! You always were a step ahead. And that Macieski has a solid right hook, I don't fault the Secretary for her actions - that suplex was in self-defense."

Sam gave an appreciative sigh as he cradled his hot, sludgy morning coffee, "Makes you proud to be an American, doesn't it, Max?"

____________________________________________

On the next time on Sam and Max, Untitled Mole Adventure #1: Sam and Max descend into the Seven Burrows and discover their reputation precedes them, before suffering the mystical art of wormhole-mediated Molish travel, and then experiencing ego death for the first time - together !

#bananxious babbling #finally got the guts to post something instead of letting it rot in a text file

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gojoest · 5 months

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𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐄 — gojo satoru

MDNI, f! reader, she/her pronouns used, wc: 3.3k, flashback of how you met (1st part of the fic, past tense used, then we jump back to present, divider used to separate the two timelines. both take place on his birthday btw), suguru makes an appearance (as satoru’s wingman :3), established relationship (you’re married & have a daughter), reader wears a dress, first time face sitting + riding (oral, f! receiving), pet names (baby, my love), he cums in his pants, breeding implied at the end (sort of, to avoid spoilers)

a/n: happy birthday to my biggest mental illness ♡

side note: if the story of how you met sounds familiar to you, please note that it was from one of my talk posts from a while ago & i decided to make use of it : )

what gojo satoru wants — he always gets.

after all, it’s how he made you his as well.

“satoru, you’re staring way too hard at her”, suguru nudged him on the arm.

“think she noticed, too?”, satoru chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, ears turning slightly red from embarrassment, unsure if it was because he got caught or that it was too obvious he was checking you out.

“very likely. i mean, it’s hard not to notice an annoying pair of blue laser beams persistently invading your space”, suguru mocked. “are you going to talk to her?”

“yes”, satoru firmly replied, without peeling his eyes from you, “i’ll ask her out, i think”

“hey, hey. slow down there”

“nope”, satoru shrugged, almost like a stubborn child disobeying his parent, “i’ve made up my mind — i really want to make her mine”

it was a pure coincidence, or some might say fate, that you ended up in the same restaurant — he was there celebrating his birthday with a small circle of friends while you were present to honor your colleague that had just gotten a promotion at work.

satoru’s eyes relentlessly followed your every move, every gesture, from the moment you walked in and settled on the table next to his. it was rather unusual for him to be this interested in someone simply upon sight, in fact, even desiring to pursue something with someone so immediately. it was always the other way around — women would flock to him because of his looks and peculiar behavior, and of course — his money — but he would turn them down without batting an eye. love and seeking romance were never a priority for him, he did not have time nor any interest in them. but here he was, contradicting himself, being blatantly distracted by your presence while somehow trying to simulate an active conversation with his friends, more than frequently averting his gaze to look at you, his brain busy coming up with a plan to get your number by the end of the night.

it didn’t take him too long to finally make his move. he stood up from his chair and walked over to your table, stopping right behind your seat.

“excuse me”, he leaned in, placing one hand at the edge of the table and the other — at the back of your chair, “hello”, his face mere inches away from yours. taken aback by the way he, a complete stranger, had the guts to get this close to you, you turned to face him with a questioning look.

“i felt like i would regret it for the rest of my life if i didn’t come say hi to you”, he spoke.

truth be told, despite being astounded and a bit put off by his approach, you were slightly intrigued. he was handsome, pretty even — like that one oddly eye-catching cloud in a sky full of thousands that you notice as soon as you look up. the white henley shirt he was wearing made the blue in his eyes pop even more, the v-neck revealing a little bit of his well-crafted chest, just enough to leave you tiny bit wondering about the ridges of his abs beneath.

as much as the scenery up close made your cheeks feel hot, his boldness rubbed you up the wrong way, too much to let it just slide, and you snapped. “is that so? well, now that you’ve said your hi, you can go back to your table and live with no regrets for the rest of your life”, you rolled your eyes skeptically, pushing his hand off the table.

“oh, i am sorry”, he chuckled, brushing his hair back with a hand, “but there are three more things i need to do before leaving, i’m afraid”

you raised an eyebrow, questioning.

“first, let me introduce myself — i am gojo satoru, also known as the man to be your boyfriend, then your husband, and then the father of your children”, he smugly said. your eyes widening at the audacity of his declaration that left you at a loss for words. “second, i hope you don’t mind introducing yourself as well — as you are to be my girlfriend, then my wife, and then the mother of my children — it’s only natural that i know your name”, he continued, “and last but not least — i am not leaving until you give me your number so we can make this all work”

wow. this man was really fucked in the head, you were sure of it — who in the right mind would speak such nonsense to someone they just met? “you have to be joking, right?”, you laughed in genuine disbelief.

“no. i am dead serious”, he replied in a heartbeat.

“is this your move? you pull this on everyone you find remotely attractive?”, you narrowed your eyes.

“actually—”, suguru interrupted, placing a hand on satoru’s shoulder as he approached from behind, “no”, he spoke. “believe me when i tell you this — he’s never been this smooth in his entire life. i know he probably came off a bit creepy, considering the boldness of his actions — hell, even i am creeped out because it’s pretty unusual for him to act like this”, he laughed, glancing at satoru to let him know that he got his back on this. “but, what i’m trying to say is — my friend here seems to really like you as i’ve never seen him be so intense and interested in anyone before. he’s also a birthday boy today — so could you at least give him a chance before turning him down so quickly? you can come sit with us before you make up your mind on whether you want to give him your number or not?”

you thought for a second, weighing the options in your mind — he was pretty, although he annoyed you a little bit by being all bossy and arrogant as if you were compelled to belong to him just because he said so. but there was just something about him you couldn’t quite put your finger on that made you question yourself. were you actually drawn to him? you could say “no” and never hear from him again, occasionally pondering over the what-if’s and should-have’s from this night; or you could say “fuck it” and see where this strange encounter goes, and live your life without regrets — as he would say. there — he was already getting under your skin…

“well”, you sighed, “guess i’m down for that”

by the end of the night not only did you give him your number, but also a promise for a date the next day — the first of many to follow after.

“careful, you’ll wake her up”, you whisper, leaning against the doorframe of your 3-year old’s room and watching your husband place a soft peck on your daughter’s forehead.

“can’t help it”, he speaks quietly, “she looks like an angel”, before fixing the blankets around her, making sure she’s tucked in all cozily. “the nanny said she cried for papa while we were gone”, he puts a hand over his mouth to stop his lips from trembling, his eyes filled with nothing but love and tenderness, welling up and flowing from the corners.

“she’s such a daddy’s girl”, you sigh, a soft smile present on your face, “next year we can stay home and invite everyone else over — that way we won’t have to worry about missing her bedtime”.

“yea”, he hums, “let’s do that next year”, giving her one last kiss before turning off the night lamp and tiptoeing to you. “come on”, he puts a hand at the small of your back as you both walk out of the room.

“do you remember”, satoru speaks softly into your ear while walking behind you on your way to your shared bedroom, his front flat against your back, the hand at the small of it now circling around to rest over your navel, while the other — reaches for the handle of your bedroom door to push it open, “the night we first met on my birthday?”, he continues after carefully guiding you inside.

you stop in the middle of the room, his arms still wrapped around you from behind, your hands resting over his and playing with his knuckles.

“how can i not?” you chuckle, tilting your head back to let him rest his chin on your forehead, “that was one hell of a fortune telling you pulled on me back then”

“but i was right, no?”, he brushes his lips on your forehead before leaving a soft peck, “see — you’re all mine now, just like i said”, and then another, ”i made you my girlfriend first”, and another, “then i gave you my last name”, and a fourth one, “and then you gave me a beautiful daughter, made me a father”, before turning you around to face him.

“you partly owe it to suguru though — he eased me into the situation, unlike you”, you reply, humbling him like you always do. your head is nestled on his broad chest as one of his hands caress the back of it. still in his embrace, he slowly walks you towards the bed. sits at the edge of it and straddles you on his lap. his palms finding their way to the plush of your thighs draped over his, caressing them tenderly but needily as his fingertips press and then release against your flesh in quick repetitive motions.

“this is because i asked him to give me a hand in case you cut me off”, he admits, tilting his head to meet your lips, not to kiss but just to keep them brushing against each other as you speak. he loved doing this a lot.

“oh?”, you gasp into his mouth, pretending to be shocked to your core, “you wanted me so much that you of all people, the gojo satoru, had to ask someone else for help?”

“you have no idea. if that hadn’t worked, i would’ve fallen on my hands and knees and begged you to take me”, one of his hands reaching the side of your face, playing his fingers on the strands of your hair covering your cheek before tucking them behind your ear.

“hmm”, you doubt, “is that so?”, nuzzling your nose against his.

“mhmm”, he nods, “there’s nothing i wouldn’t do for you, i thought you knew that by now. it kind of hurts my feelings that you doubt me actually”, he acts offended, pursing his lips and turning his head to the side to face away from you.

“oh my, what have i done now”, you knit your brows and press your cheek against his, pretending to be very, very sorry about what you just said.

“you made the birthday boy sad”, he huffs a silly, somehow obviously forced, pout, “you’ve got to make it up to me somehow”

“i’d do anything to make the birthday boy smile again — just say the word”, you sweetly pamper, patting the top of his head.

“really?”

“really.”

“anything?”

“anything.”

“you promise not to go back on your word?”

“i promise.”

he pulls his cheek away from yours and looks you in the eyes, the blue in his shining with a darker shade of mischief now. and considering the smug smile on his face, you sigh — perhaps you just got yourself played, falling face down into his little trap.

“then”, he points at his own face, “sit on it”

to say you were surprised by his request would be a lie. he’s many times tried coaxing you into doing this in the past but somehow you managed to avoid it, part of you still shying away from it. it’s not like his tongue has never been inside you before. but riding it as if it were his cock seemed way more obscene in your head than anything you two have ever done previously — and you’ve done pretty much a lot.

“well”, you sigh in defeat, seems like the time has finally come, “today’s your lucky day”, you say as you get up from his lap and turn your back — a signal for him to unzip your dress — to which, of course, he immediately complies.

“as it should be”, his crafty fingers work the slider down, slowly peeling the dress off your body and letting it fall on the floor, followed by your lace thong and bra, “it’s my birthday after all”

“the way you always find a way to make things go your way gets on my nerves so much”, you turn around again and push him on the bed and slowly climb on top of him to straddle his chest.

“make a wish before you blow the candle”, you look down at him, your pussy close to his face, the scent of you tickling his nostrils, and he, instinctively almost, takes a deeper breath, rolling his eyes back and hissing with delight.

“freak”, you quickly look away, embarrassed, but he cups your cheeks, forcing you to look at him again, “i want you to look at me as you ride my face”, his voice comes out breathy, “will you do that for the birthday boy?”

you nod into his palms, “you’re insufferable” — “suffocate me then”, he coos through a grin, grabbing your knees to pull you forward until you’re above his face.

“jerk”, you say, but softly, as you lower your cunt on his willing mouth, landing your softness on his face in slow motion, immediately earning a throaty groan from him that shudders through your pussy lips.

satoru breathes deeply in and out with your heat on his mouth, the scent of you hitting his lungs and even below, reaching all the way down to his groin to further nurture his cock already throbbing in his slacks. his hand reaching down to unbuckle them slightly, to give more space for his hard-on to grow freely.

“mowe”, he muffles incoherently into your pussy, grabbing a handful of your ass cheeks to push you against his face, tilting his head up and down, jutting his jaw up and out to meet you.

you whimper at the friction, your clit bumping and rubbing against his nose as his lips are kissing your folds, his tongue slowly poking at your entrance with the tip before darting in — twirling around your walls — and out.

“nghh…s-sa-t-to—”, you barely cry out his name, tugging at his hair, mercilessly pulling him into your heat. as much as you hated to admit it, you loved this position. your embarrassment long gone and forgotten, you ride his face in a haze, your pussy getting wetter against his mouth and your movements — faster and harder each moment.

“heawen on my fongwue”, he groans. if he could speak properly right now, he would probably make the nastiest, dirtiest remarks, shamelessly walk you through every single thing he was feeling as you rocked your hips back and forth, grinding on his face. he would probably say something about your boobs, too. how they looked so pretty jiggling ever so slightly from the movement. he can’t speak right now, yes, but he can still get his thoughts reach you through actions — his hands run along your belly, gripping your breasts from below, squeezing and squishing them inside of his palms.

you clutch his hands with yours, “i can’t hold this position for too long”, and force them down on your hips for support. you hear him say something through a loud groan but it’s barely recognizable — most likely just him cursing “fuck” and “baby” from pleasure under your pussy, but also from the ego boost you just gave him — that he can make you weak but at the same time desperate enough to want to continue — despite your hips giving up — not only with his cock but his mouth alone, too.

you let him take over as you chase your high, weighing on his face as his hands grip on your hips, dictating your every move, composing the tune of your hips. his tongue is no more sliding in and out as he makes you grind harder on his face — it stays in, continuously licking your sweet spot clean.

“f-fuck, fuck, fuck…”, you curse loudly, reaching your hands to grab the head of the bed and hammer your pussy harder into his face, squeezing every last drop of strength left in your already cramping muscles until you cum, shuddering on his mouth.

“mfff”, he groans throatily into your hole, sucking and slurping your juices. his hips buck in the air, helplessly searching for friction to soothe his aching cock. his half-unbuckled pants are drenched with precum, leaking out from his tip through his boxers and out through the cloth of his pants, visibly staining them.

you can’t see but it’s easy to figure out from the way the bed bounces up and down as his ass meets the mattress after every time his hips fall down. “how cute”, you utter as you try to calm down your breathing, cunt still resting over his face.

his eyes are half closed, rolling back and hiding their blue away. all he needs is a little push, a little rub, you know it. you know it by the way his tongue has stopped moving inside you, by the way his hands have loosened the grip on your flesh, by the way his shortened moans have grown into one long and steady groan coming from the bottom of his throat — his entire brain solely focused on the muscles of his lower body that is searching, almost beggingly, for relief.

you lean your upper body back a little, just enough to make it easier to reach his shaft while still sitting on his face. “since you’re the birthday boy”, you drag your words out as you place your hand on his clothed cock, feeling the wetness that’s emerged from beneath against your palm, “i’ll give you a hand.”

his ass cheeks tense and squeeze as he presses his hips against your touch, ferociously rubbing his clothed cock on the flesh of your open palm. his groans get louder as he bucks his hips under your hand, pushing them up to meet your hand harder and faster each time — just the way he forces his cock into your tight cunt as he nears — until the last three thrusts that he always prolongs in order to properly and completely pump his seed out.

the inside of your hand feels hot against his clothed cock as he seeps himself out, the stickiness of his cum absorbing itself into the material of his pants and emerging through it to reach the skin of your palm.

you lift yourself up a little only to plop your body down next to his. his mouth, cheeks, chin, even his nose, are covered in his spit and your cum, all mixed in.

“shit, baby”, he laughs, breathing deeply in and out of his mouth, overwhelmed by the whole experience, “what the hell did you just do to me”

“do you really need me to verbalize what just happened”

“yes”

“no”, you slap his cheek with the back of your hand, softly, before rolling on your side to rest your head on the left side of his chest, kissing it tenderly. “happy birthday”

“it really is”, he whispers, tracing a heart shape over the skin of your exposed cheek with his fingertip, “with you, it always is”

“did your wish come true by any chance?”, you tilt your head to look at him.

“not yet. but i’ll work on it later tonight. for now, i’ll let you catch your breath”

“wait, wait.”, you raise a brow, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“my love”, he clears his throat, “do you remember how i said, when we first met, that you’d be the mother of my children?”

“yea? am i not?”

“children”, he stresses.

“oh.”, it finally hits you.

“one more to go”

#ઈઉ — ai writes #[ ♡ ] — satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut

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dead-girl-tells-stories · 29 days

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DC x DP Prompt

To the delight of Gotham's citizens, and the dismay of her criminal underbelly, the GCPD has a new specialized unit that ACTUALLY apprehends criminals and brings them to justice!

It's a relatively small squad of mostly young adults, who looked fresh out of their teens. But age didn't matter once they got the work done. And they did, as they've already got criminals like Penguin, Riddler, and Bane behind bars for what looks to be 'for good'.

No one besides Commissioner Gordan knows anything about the squad as they operate as a mostly separate entity from GCPD. It was rare to see any of them, and any photos taken were unusually blurry. They are also extremely secretive; if you exclude their social media which are usually just shit posts, memes, and thirst edits of the Wayne family.

They were a total mystery. Almost as mysterious as Batman.

But those who have seen/worked with the squad before all had the same thing to say about them. They were cool. They had an unusually effective method. And their leader is a menace. With his sharp teeth and pointed smile. And bright blue eyes that spoke to your soul. It was a pleasure to see/ work with him, it really was. But they weren't planning on doing so again for a long time.

That being said, Gotham had been quiet for a while. A bit too quiet if you ask anyone, especially the Bats. Strangely, it didn't feel like the usual calm before the shit storm. The instinctual pit in their guts that usually formed just wasn't there. This was different. This wasn't the calm before the storm. This was the ocean receding. But no one seemed to realize it yet.

Not until the tsunami came crashing down on them.

The GCPD special unit accounts that had been inactive for the last three months suddenly pinged to life. Everyone who followed them clicked the notification almost immediately. With this unnerving calm surrounding them, who the hell didn't want to see what batshit crazy statement they would make after three months of radio silence.

What they didn't expect, was to see a crystal-clear picture of justice finally being served.

The picture was a selfie, taken in an abandoned warehouse. In the middle of the dirty floor was the Joker. He was tied up and his head hung low. You could see how beaten he was, his clothes torn and bloody. His face paint was also coming off, revealing pale blotchy skin. Reminding everyone that, he was still human, just like the rest of them.

Behind him, all lined up with smiles on their faces, was Team Phantom. They were a bit bloody and bruised as well but overall in much better condition. They weren't wearing the normal GCPD navy blue uniform, but black and white ones. All stylized to fit the wearers taste. They all looked so young, but their eyes looked like old tired eyes, finally getting some relief.

From in the corner was their leader. Only part of his face was in the picture. One glowing blue eye, and part of his Cheshire smile. His hand making a peace sign next to the Joker. Even with only part of his being shown, everyone could tell he was relived as well.

And while the picture itself was shocking, the caption was what really got them. The top was what you would usually expect from the team. A big bold 'GOT EM' ' at the top. But at the bottom in small, almost unnoticeable text was:

"He will face his punishment. We will get our retribution. May we finally rest in peace."

#dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dp x dc prompt #dp dc crossover #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp prompt #danny and the gang are fragments of the souls of those the joker + the other criminals killed or got killed because of them #guess who most of danny's soul is made of #hint: he has pit rage #the joker is no longer human that's why they had a hard time cathing him #neither are the bats but neither party knew #i would like to mention that danny is tiny #he missed his growth spurt and is making it everyone's problem #danny is a tiny menace #danny sam val dash and kwan mostly work out in the feld #tucker wes and star are the guys and gal in the chair #Paulina Dan and Jazz are the lawyers who prosecute the crimanals #they always win #duh #ellie is their mascot #shes also a mencae #she sometimes go out on the felid #wearing a tutu #combat boots #and a studded leather jacket #with her hair in pig tails #she also has a spiked bat #she WILL use it

2K notes · View notes

rynbutt · 10 days

Text

safe. | spencer reid.

You were pregnant but JJ had just left the team and they needed you. You hadn't told anyone; you hadn't even told Spencer.

my masterlist!

cw: fem!reader, pregnant!reader, guns, violence, mentions of murder, mentions of drugs (antidepressants and opioids), mentions of car accident, gunshot wounds, death of pregnant woman, general criminal minds themes.

wc: 6.2k

a/n: bruh this was a looooong one! dw some banging smut coming in the next one with post-prison reid >:3

now playing... Fare Well by Hozier

This was really starting to piss you off.

You fell to your knees as bile pushed up your throat, your skin paling as you vomited for the third time today. You tried to keep something, anything, down but you would just wind up curled in on yourself and sweating in the corner of the bathroom stall. You ate a couple of crackers and sipped on water to keep your empty stomach satiated– But you always ended up right back here on the bathroom floor with your head between your knees trying to will the pain away.

Emily noticed your pale complexion and how exhausted you looked, offering to get you some medicine or ask Hotch about sitting out of the next few cases. You told her you were fine, that it was just stress. That answer seemed to satisfy her enough, though she wasn’t fully convinced. To be fair, your workload had increased tenfold since JJ was forced to accept the job at the Pentagon, and you missed her terribly but you were proud of her. But you really could have used her advice right about now.

Because you swore this baby had it out for you.

You found out you were pregnant just over a week ago and you still hadn’t told Spencer. You were still wrapping your head around the whole thing because initially, you didn’t think you were pregnant, you just thought your body was dealing with the stress and workload in, frankly, a bizarre way. Hotch had wanted you to take over doing JJ’s job as communication liaison, which were rather important shoes to fill. He had total faith in your ability to do JJ’s job as well as do your own as a profiler, but you weren’t so sure anymore.

You would tell Spencer when you were ready and right now was not a good time. Everyone was surviving on four hours of sleep a night, far too many cups of coffee and sheer willpower. The absolute last thing they needed was to lose another team member. So you soldiered on like a champion– a champion who still held her head over the bureau’s less than impressive toilet while she threw her guts up.

“Y/N?” You didn’t even hear the bathroom door open, the ringing rattling around your skull distracting you from your surroundings. Penelope’s heels clicked against the tiles as she cautiously peered around the wall of the last stall where you kneeled on the ground. “Oh my god, sweet thing! What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine, Pen,” your voice was hoarse when you finally replied. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and tried to smooth your hair down, attempting to look at least semi-presentable before you left the bathroom to pretend everything was okay.

“No, no, my girl, you are not fine!” Penelope stood in behind you, pulling your hair out of your face as you vomited the last remnant of your soul into the toilet. “You need to talk to Hotch, you’ve got a bug or something, my dear. You shouldn’t even be at work when you’re this sick, let me talk to him for you and you just go home–”

“I’m not sick, Penelope!” You didn’t mean to shout at her, you really didn’t, you just felt awful and felt like a shell of yourself with how poorly you’d been sleeping and eating paired with all the stress of doing JJ’s job as well as your own. It was just a lot.

Penelope went quiet but stayed close to you, still holding your hair as you sat back on your heels, running your hands down your face. She let out a soft sigh, knowing you didn’t mean to shout at her. Penelope was stressed too– everyone was.

“I’m sorry, Pen,” you mumbled, your throat hurting from all the vomiting and coughing you’d managed to do today– it had to be a record honestly.

Penelope just shook her head at you, reaching her hand out toward you, “you don’t have to apologise, sweet girl, I know you’ve got a lot on your plate.” You shook your head, you still felt bad and shouting at sweet Penelope was not the way to deal with all the emotions swirling around in your head.

“It’s not fair,” you replied as she helped you to your feet, gently guiding you over to the basin to help you clean yourself up. “You’re stressed too, I didn’t mean to yell.”

Penelope brushed some of your hair out of your face, her gaze narrowing as she watched you, waiting for you to tell her what was going on. It never came and she knew she would have to push you a little. Penelope thought it was necessary though because seeing you like this was awful and she couldn’t even imagine how Spencer would react if he knew how sick you were.

“What’s going on?” Penelope’s voice was soft; gentle, just trying to get you to talk so she could help. You were stubborn when it came to asking for help and by the time you did, you had hurt yourself more than necessary trying to solve it yourself. Not this time though– Penelope refused.

“I’m okay–” you looked at Penelope and she raised her brows at you, not accepting that answer in the slightest. You sighed, knowing this is a fight you wouldn’t win. “I’m pregnant.”

Penelope’s jaw nearly hit the floor. She knew something was up with you but pregnant? That was not on this year's bingo card. “What?? Y/N that’s–” she gauged your expression and she really couldn’t tell if you were upset or happy about being pregnant. She cut herself off before she finished her sentence, pulling her lips into a line. “Are we happy about this news or are we…?”

“We’re…” you were happy. Honestly, you were. You and Spencer had talked about having kids one day, ideally after you were married but that didn’t seem to be going to plan. You’d been with Spencer for three years, in the BAU for four, it’s not like your relationship was new or in the honeymoon phase, it just wasn’t the original plan and that scared the hell out of you. But you were happy to be carrying his child– the timing was just piss poor. “We’re happy… just scared.”

“Oh, baby,” Penelope cooed. “Of course you’re scared, it’s a huge adjustment. But I know you and I know Spencer, you guys will nail this parenting business.” Penelope managed to prove time and time again why she was your best friend. You often wondered if she knew you better than you knew yourself, which wouldn’t really surprise you given her job.

“I hope so.” You smiled softly, feeling somewhat human again after splashing water on your face and washing your hands. You knew Spencer would be a good dad, he was so good with kids and he was so gentle and patient with you. He was meant to be a dad. You just weren’t sure if you were meant to be a mother. You wanted to be a family with Spencer, it made you feel warm just thinking about it, but you were a person who worried about almost everything, even the things out of your control. What scared you was how in control you were.

“I’m surprised Spencer hasn’t told everyone, that boy is obsessed with you and you’re making him a dad? God, it must be killing him sitting on this–” Penelope suddenly looked at you wide-eyed, connecting the dots all on her own. You winced as you watched her figure it out, gritting your teeth as she let out a soft gasp. “You haven’t told him?!”

You covered your face with your hands, letting out a muffled squeal of frustration into your palms. You would tell him eventually, just not right now, he was far too busy and was already stressing about his own workload, you couldn’t imagine how much more stressed he would be if he found out you were still in the field while pregnant.

“Pen, please,” you turned to her, “please keep this to yourself. I– We can’t deal with this right now. JJ’s gone and everyone is worked to the bone, I can’t do this to everyone right now, especially Spencer.” Penelope looked at you sympathetically, you knew you were asking a lot of her to keep it to herself, especially when Penelope wasn’t great at keeping secrets.

“Y/N, sweetie, you’re going to have to tell them eventually– You’re an FBI Agent. Being in the field is so dangerous and you don’t just have yourself to think about anymore.” You knew Penelope was right. You carried a gun around for Christ’s sake, you literally hunted down serial killers, active shooters, total psychopaths and everything in between. The field was no place for a pregnant woman.

“I know, I know,” you sighed, resting both of your hands on the basin in front of you.

“...How far along are you?”

“Twelve weeks,” you said softly, resting your hand against your belly. You didn’t have much of a bump yet but you were sure it would sneak up on you before you even realised. Lucky for you, you wore a lot of baggy sweaters around the office so you had some wriggle room when it came to hiding it.

“...My money’s on a girl,” Penelope was trying to make you feel better. She really was helping because the idea of Spencer hosting tea parties, getting covered in kitten stickers and his hair being covered in tiny butterfly clips made your heart swell.

You let out a soft laugh, “I think so too.”

“Alright, my love, I think we should leave this bathroom before they send out a search party,” Penelope laughed, linking her arm with yours to guide you out of the bathroom.

You honestly did feel better after talking to Penelope and throwing the rest of your guts up. She made sure to remind you about ten times to call her if you needed anything, you promised you would because it did make you feel better knowing that someone knew about your pregnancy and you didn’t have to bear the weight of the news alone.

You sat down at your desk with a sigh, sipping on your water bottle to soothe your raw throat. You popped a piece of gum in your mouth, willing the taste of bile away. You let out a huff of air as you stared down at all the paperwork you had to do. Doing JJ’s job proved to be intense, especially when you were doing your own work on top of her’s. You picked up your pen when you felt Spencer press a kiss to the crown of your head as he placed a mug of hot coffee on your desk in front of you.

You smiled, craning your neck to look up at him. Spencer took the opportunity to kiss you softly, one of his hands resting on the side of your desk while the other rested on the back of your chair. You smiled against his lips, “shouldn’t you be working?” You teased.

“Are you trying to get me to go away?” Spencer looked at you curiously. You rolled your eyes playfully because of course you didn’t want him to go away. If anything, you wanted him to pick you up and take you home right this second.

“Yes, Spencer,” you replied sarcastically, “I’m trying to get you to go away.” Spencer wasn’t great with sarcasm but he had come to understand your humour over the years. He just grinned and pressed another kiss to your lips.

“Sarcasm is rooted in truth, angel,” Spencer retorted with a gentle smile.

“I am joking, but we both have a lot of work to do, Spence. I don’t know how I’m going to manage doing JJ’s job as well as my own,” you sighed, leaning back in your chair.

“There’s a reason Hotch wanted you to do it. I don’t think he could have picked anyone more capable,” Spencer replied. Maybe it was the hormones and the fact you were carrying a baby, but the comment made you want to cry. Spencer frowned as he watched your face fall, “what’s wrong, angel?”

“No, nothing,” You replied, sniffling quietly. You gave him a genuine smile, “I’m fine, Spence. I promise–”

“New case just came in,” Morgan called to the two of you, gesturing toward the meeting room at the back of the office with a manila folder in his hand.

You looked at Morgan with a confused expression because now it was your job to decide what cases the team took after JJ’s departure. Morgan told you the case went straight to Hotch this time; an old friend had called in a favour.

Spencer pulled a chair out for you, taking the seat right beside you in the meeting room. You opened the case file the moment Penelope dropped it in front of you.

“The victims are 20-year-old Evan Miller and 21-year-old Daniel Clark, both engineering students at Caltech. They were shot three days apart outside their family homes in the local area of Pasadena, California.” You followed along with Penelope as she gave a run down of the victims and the circumstances of their deaths.

The killings were straightforward, the UnSub didn’t try to dispose of the bodies and the men were simply shot in the head execution style. It didn’t seem like the doings of a serial killer who would usually seek some kind of sexual release from torturing and killing their victims. If anything, it seemed like revenge killings.

“They were just shot?” Emily questioned, eyebrows furrowed as she stared at the crime scene photos.

“Once in the head,” Hotch replied, “there were no witnesses around which suggests the UnSub knew the routine of the victims and the neighbourhood.”

“Could be a stalker?” Penelope suggested.

“Stalker victims are usually the object of a stalker’s affection, they rarely act in violence let alone such a blunt killing,” You replied, confused by the nature of such a straightforward murder.

Spencer flicked through the victim’s files, “the single shot to the head suggests the UnSub just wanted them dead. No physical evidence of sexual release or torture… This could be some kind of revenge killing.”

“Did these victims know each other?” You asked.

“According to their parents, they came from the same friend group,” Penelope replied.

“Wheels up in thirty. Garcia, you're coming with us. Get your go bag,” Hotch said, quickly standing up from his chair. Penelope made a small noise of surprise before quickly ushering out of the meeting room. Hotch didn’t usually have Penelope come along but given you were short a very valuable member of your team, Penelope had started coming along more often. Not that you would ever complain having Penelope around.

You pinned up the last of the crime scene photos on the board, standing back with your hands on your hips. Spencer was writing on the whiteboard next to you, jotting down all the things you knew about the victims and possible motives of the UnSub. Hotch and Morgan were engaging in formalities with the local detectives on the case while Penelope got herself settled in the makeshift office they had set up for the team.

“The parents of the victims are here,” Emily poked her head into the office. “Y/N, Hotch wants you to talk to Ben and Sarah Miller, I’ve got the Clarks.”

“Alright, I got it,” you replied, letting out a dejected sigh.

“You okay?” Spencer gently tucked some of your hair behind your ear, turning his full attention to you. You let out another sigh, nodding your head tiredly. “You can do this,” he said quietly, his eyes shifting between yours.

“Yeah, I know,” you smiled softly. Spencer planted a soft kiss on your cheek before leaving the office, leaving Spencer and Penelope alone.

“...I think she needs a break,” Penelope said after a beat.

Spencer looked at her, eyebrows furrowed, “what makes you say that?”

Penelope tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, “she’s doing JJ’s job and her own. I mean, I think she’s the right girl for the job but… you know what she’s like.”

Spencer sighed, he knew exactly what you were like. You always held yourself and your work to such a high standard and you often overworked yourself to make everyone happy. “Yeah, I know. I’ll talk to her when we get back to the hotel.”

“I think that’s a great idea, lover boy,” Penelope grinned.

You opened the office door, files in hand. Mr and Mrs Miller immediately stood up as you entered and you gave them a sympathetic smile. Mrs Miller had clearly been crying, still clutching a tissue in her hand while her husband paced around the office.

“Please, have a seat, Mr Miller,” you said gently.

“I’ll stand,” he replied firmly. You decided not to argue and sat down on the chair opposite the couch where Mrs Miller sat.

“Mrs Miller, I’m Agent L/N, I’m with the Behavioural Analysis Unit in the FBI–”

“FBI?” She questioned. “Was Evan in trouble?”

“We suspect he and his friend Daniel were killed by the same person,” you explained. Mrs Miller let out a soft gasp, her hand coming to rest over her mouth.

“Is it alright if I ask you a few questions about Evan?” You asked. Sarah didn’t say anything but she nodded her head, fresh tears forming in her eyes. “Daniel and Evan knew each other, right?”

“They went to high school together,” Sarah replied, her voice shaking. “They were so excited when they both got into Caltech,” she smiled sadly, fresh tears streaming down her face.

“Do you have any idea who killed our son?” Ben asked, his voice sounding angry.

“That’s what we’re here for,” you said, “we’re here to find who killed your son and why–”

“‘Why”?” Ben repeated, “he was just a kid.”

You sighed softly, “I understand that, sir. We’re just trying to figure out a possible connection.”

“Evan and Daniel were good kids. They would never hurt a fly,” Sarah frowned, sniffling softly as she began crying again.

“Did Daniel and Evan hang around the same social groups?” You asked, turning your attention to Mr Miller, who was still pacing around the office with his arms crossed. “Maybe in some kind of extracurricular activities?”

“They were both on the college basketball team,” Ben said after a beat. “Why? You think this asshole is going to kill more of these kids?”

“I am just trying to get an idea of the social groups Evan and Daniel were a part of,” you didn’t want to get into the gory details of why you were asking such questions and decided they were both far too emotional for you to keep asking them questions; you would let Hotch handle it. “I need to speak with my team but I’ll be right outside if you need anything.” You rested a hand on Mrs Miller’s shoulder and you couldn’t shake how much you missed JJ doing this part.

You let out a sigh as you left the office, rubbing the tension in the back of your neck. You slowly walked over to Hotch, “Evan was on the Caltech Basketball team, he and Daniel went to high school together and Evan’s parents were adamant he was a good kid. I think he was a good kid, just got involved with the wrong people.”

Hotch let out a breath, “I want you and Prentiss to go to the school, talk to the faculty, basketball team coach, anything you can get.”

You nodded, gesturing to Emily on the other side of the bullpen. She firmly nodded at you and the two of you left for the school.

The team worked the case for two days before another body showed up. Everyone was starting early and finishing late to find the person who was doing this and you worked closely with the detectives and other officers on the case. Hotch gave the profile as soon as the team was certain but given the demographic of the suburban areas he was targeting these boys, it was rather unremarkable. The third body belonged to 21-year-old Oliver Marsh, another Caltech student studying Physics. He was shot once in the head while walking his dog no further than a block from his house.

You stood in the middle of Oliver’s bedroom staring at the posters and certificates that littered his walls. Spencer rifled through papers on his desk, mostly finding papers related to physics journals and essays for school. Emily and David were downstairs talking to the parents while Hotch and Morgan went to see the crime scene.

You walked over to his bedside table pulling it open. There were a lot of birthday cards and a game boy but what caught your attention was the little clear yellow bottles with white caps. You lifted the first bottle out, reading the label–

“Oliver was taking Oxycodone,” you said softly, catching Spencer’s attention. “...And Escitalopram,” you spun on your heel, showing Spencer the two bottles. Spencer took the bottles from your hands, eyebrows furrowed as he carefully read the labels. “Chronic pain?” you suggested.

“Could be,” Spencer replied. “He could have been taking non-steroidal anti-inflammatories too, they’re typically over the counter.”

You rifled through the drawer again, pulling out a blue box, “Yeah, he was taking Ibuprofen too.”

“We should talk to the parents,” Spencer said. You nodded and the two of you ushered down the stairs to where his parents sat in the living room with David and Emily. “Was Oliver suffering from chronic pain?” Spencer quickly questioned before he even fully made it into the living room.

Oliver’s mother held a tissue to her nose, glancing at Emily with a confused expression. You put your hand on Spencer’s bicep, “Has Oliver injured himself recently? Maybe a fall or injury while playing sports?”

Oliver’s father shook his head, “No, not recently. He’s been on those antidepressants for a few years and takes the codeine when he has– had flare-ups.”

“Flare-ups?” David asked pointedly.

“He was in a car accident four years ago,” Mrs Marsh said, “He was in the passenger seat and was in a coma for two weeks… he hadn’t really been the same after that, got really sad and antisocial… he was in a lot of pain too.”

“He had to stop playing Football and running track, his body just couldn’t keep up,” Mr Marsh added, his eyes glazing over. “He lost a lot of friends, I don’t think I ever saw him hang out with anyone, Physics became everything to him.”

“Do you have evidence of his medical records anywhere?” Spencer asked. “Just so I can look them over.”

“Uh, yeah, of course,” Mrs Marsh stood up, Spencer following her to their home office on the other side of the house.

You sat down across from Mr Marsh, “The accident he was in,” you started, “what happened?”

He looked at you with a pain in his eyes, “He was in the car with some of his friends and they were driving home from a party and it was late. I think they were all…” he hesitated for a moment, “they were all drunk.”

“Who was in the car?” Emily asked, not liking where this was going.

“...Evan Miller and Daniel Clark,” his father began to cry, holding his hand over his mouth. You felt your eyes widen, this was a revenge killing.

“Who was driving, Mr Marsh?” David asked quickly.

“Um, god–” He sniffled softly, “Peter… Peter something, he was older than them, I really don’t remember.”

“Thank you, Mr Marsh,” You stood up, quickly moving to the front door to call Penelope. You pulled out your phone, dialling her number. She picked up after the first ring.

“How may I be of service, oh queen of my country?” she sang, her fingers typing furiously against her keyboard.

“I need you to look into an accident for me, four years ago,” you said with your hand on your hip. “Oliver Marsh, Daniel Clark and Evan Miller were all in the accident too. See if you can find newspaper articles, news segments, anything– I think we know who the last target is.”

“Right, give me a moment,” Penelope replied. You heard her typing before she stopped, “Oh no…” she mumbled softly.

“What’s wrong, Pen?” You furrowed your brows.

“Peter Harvey,” Penelope sighed, “he’s the last boy… He was driving with three other high school boys; Oliver, Daniel and Evan when they struck an oncoming car and killed a pregnant woman on impact; her husband walked away without a scratch.”

“Shit.” You cursed, “What’s his name?”

“Jonathan Hughes, his wife was Katherine… she was 8 months pregnant, Y/N.” Penelope sounded so pained and you knew she was thinking of you and the small baby you were carrying. “Y/N…”

“I know, Pen… After this case wraps up… I’ll tell everyone,” you replied with a gentle sigh.

“And you’ll take time off?” Penelope sounded like she was lecturing you.

You smiled to yourself, “Yeah, Penelope. I’ll take some time off.”

“Okay… I’ll send Hotch and Morgan Jonathan’s last known address, I’m sending you Peter Harvey’s address–”

Your phone beeped as Penelope sent the address through. “Where would I be without you, Pen?”

“Nowhere good, my love,” you could hear the smile in her voice. You quickly hung up before walking back into the Marsh’s house.

Emily and David turned to look at you, “We’ve got him.”

“Alright, you guys go, I’ll grab Reid and we’ll be right behind you,” David waved you off and Emily quickly ushered the two of you to the car.

Emily was speeding toward the address Penelope had given you while you called Hotch and Morgan, filling them in on all the information Penelope had given you. They agreed to go to Jonathan’s address to hopefully intersect him before he left for Peter Harvey. You were always nervous when it came to these parts of the case because you couldn’t control the outcome no matter how hard you tried. A grieving man was going around killing these young men and while it was awful what he was doing; you could sympathise with him and the pain he was feeling over losing his wife and unborn child.

You instinctively rested a hand over your belly, your thumb stroking the small curve. You couldn’t even imagine how much pain Spencer would be in if he lost you, let alone your child too. You would tell him and you would ask Hotch about taking some time off later in your pregnancy and sitting out of cases like this.

“Shit he’s already here,” Emily cursed when she noticed Jonathan’s SUV parked a couple of blocks from Peter’s address. “Call Hotch.”

You dialled Hotch’s number and he picked up almost instantly, “What is it, L/N?”

“He’s already here, his SUV is parked a couple blocks down from Peter’s address. He’s already out looking for him,” You quickly said.

“We’re on our way, units are already on route,” he hung up after that.

Emily pulled the car up on the gutter, the car skidding to a stop. You immediately pushed the door open, holding your gun by your thigh as you ran across the lawn to Peter Harvey’s house. You knocked on the door and a woman answered after a beat.

“Mrs Harvey?” You asked, panting softly.

“Yes?”

“Is your son Peter here?”

“No, he went to the store down the street an hour ago, he should be back soon… What is this about?” She asked, her hand gripping the door in concern.

“We believe someone dangerous may be looking for your son,” Emily said. Mrs Harvey rested her hand over her mouth, a soft gasp leaving her lips.

“Mom?” You spun around and Peter stood with a plastic bag of groceries in his hand in the middle of the lawn.

It all happened almost in slow motion. You saw a figure wearing dark clothes stalking across the lawn and without even thinking, you darted toward Peter as the UnSub pulled the gun out of his coat, aiming it straight at Peter’s head. You could hear Emily yelling at Mrs Harvey to go back inside before she pulled out her gun and aimed it at the UnSub; but it was too late.

You shoved Peter to the ground as he fired, feeling the shot burn through your shoulder as both you and Peter fell to the ground. You instinctively pressed a hand to your burning shoulder, warm blood oozing from the wound and through your fingers.

“Jonathan Hughes?” You said, your breathing heavy as you tried to fight through the pain. He held his gun right in front of your face.

“Move,” he grunted, his eyes glassy.

“I know what happened to your wife,” you breathed trying to stall him as more police cars with blaring sirens pulled into the street.

“They killed her,” tears streamed down his face and you honestly felt bad for him.

“It was an accident,” you replied softly.

“They were drunk,” he almost yelled, his hand shaking as his gun was still trained on you.

“I know,” you said, “It was a stupid mistake that haunted them, Jonathan. I know it doesn’t change what happened but these boys–”

“They’re monsters!” he shouted, hot tears streaming down his cheeks.

You saw David and Spencer get out of the car. Spencer’s heart was in his throat when he saw you kneeled on the ground, shielding Peter with your body while your hand and shirt were covered in your own blood. He didn’t even pick up his gun as he began stalking toward you.

“Y/N?” His voice was soft when he called you at first, then it turned to outright concern and anger, “Y/N? No, no!”

David grabbed Spencer’s arm, pulling him back as Spencer fought against him, trying to get to you. It was irrational and it was dangerous. David quickly picked up his walkie, “An agent has been shot, we need an ambulance.”

“Who was shot?!” Penelope’s voice rang out in the car as she spoke to Morgan and Hotch.

“I repeat, agent L/N is shot, we need an ambulance,” David spoke before putting his walkie away to hold Spencer back, pulling him to the ground.

“Morgan! Oh my god!” Penelope felt tears form in her eyes.

“It’s okay, babygirl, she’s going to be alright,” Morgan said, trying to reassure her as Hotch stepped on the accelerator.

“No, Morgan, you don’t understand–”

“We’re going to get an ambulance–”

“She’s pregnant!” Penelope blurted out, not knowing what else to say for them to understand the gravity of why Penelope was so upset and concerned.

Hotch hesitated for a moment, “She’s what?”

Penelope let out a shaky breath, “she’s twelve weeks pregnant, Hotch. She wasn’t going to tell anyone until after the case– and now she’s been shot.” Penelope began to cry, holding her hand over her mouth as tears slipped from her eyes.

Hotch hadn’t sped that fast since he found out Foyet was in his house. He cared about his team a lot and he had a soft spot for you even though he wouldn’t admit it. The tires skidded along the road as Hotch pulled on the handbrake, both him and Morgan training their guns on the UnSub as they approached.

Morgan’s heart hurt at the sight of you, your skin slightly paled as blood bloomed from your shoulder, drenching your arm and your hands. You looked so scared as the UnSub trained his gun on you, unmoving. Emily had her gun aimed at the UnSub, yelling for him to put it down.

“Jonathan Hughes!” Morgan’s voice caught your attention. “Put down the gun!”

“Don’t move!” Jonathan shouted, “I’ll shoot her!”

“No you won’t, man,” Morgan shook his head.

“How do you know that!? She’s in my way!” He shouted back.

“She’s pregnant,” Morgan sighed. Your eyes widened as you looked at Morgan, who looked back at you with a sad expression.

Spencer stopped fighting against David, his breathing evening out as the words fell on his ears. You were pregnant. You were carrying his baby and you got shot and now you had a gun held up in front of your face. Spencer didn’t even realise he was crying, his tears cold against his warm skin. All he could do was watch, there was nothing he could do.

Jonathan glanced at you as you held your hand over your belly. “W-What?”

Morgan reached a hand out as he got closer. “Just like your wife, Jonathan… You wouldn’t kill a pregnant woman like those boys did.”

Jonathan seemed to dissociate, staring at you with such a hurt expression as Morgan leapt forward, grabbing the gun from Jonathan’s hands and tossing it across the grass. He pushed Jonathan to the ground, pinning his hands behind his back. You let out a breath as you felt yourself grow tired. Emily caught you before you fell the rest of the way to the ground, holding you close to her body as she screamed for a medic.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Emily gently rocked you, “you’re going to be fine.”

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, tears running down your cheeks.

Your eyes were heavy as you attempted to pry them open.

You let out a shaky breath as you finally pulled your eyes open, the smell of disinfectant hit you first, followed by the sounds of beeping. You were in the hospital. You glanced down at your arm, an IV stuck in your arm while a pulse oximeter was clipped to your finger. Despite the fact the doctor had prescribed pain medication, you still felt like shit and your shoulder was killing you.

A soft noise caught your attention and you glanced at the chair next to your bed, Spencer sound asleep in a chair with a hospital blanket draped over him. You smiled softly as you saw the flowers, balloons and plushies littered around your room, most likely a courtesy of Penelope.

“She’s awake,” Morgan smiled, standing in the doorway.

You grinned at him, “Hi, Derek.”

Morgan slowly walked over to your bed. “Feeling okay, pretty girl?” Morgan gently grabbed your hand, giving it a soft squeeze.

“I’m okay,” you replied. You almost didn’t want to ask but you knew you had to, “...is the baby okay?”

“Your baby is fine,” Morgan replied with a soft smile. You let out a breath of relief as you placed a hand over your tummy protectively. “...You scared the life out of everyone though.”

“I know,” you sighed.

“Especially your lover boy,” Morgan said, “he hasn’t left your side.”

“Sounds like my Spencer,” you laughed softly.

“Y/N?” Spencer’s voice was laced with sleep as he opened his eyes. He quickly got up, ditching the blanket on the floor to tend to you.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Morgan quickly said before leaving the room.

Spencer’s warm hands cupped your face as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, “I thought I lost you, Y/N.” He let out a breath, pulling away to stare at your face and stroke your cheeks with his thumbs. You reached a hand up to grip his forearm.

“I’m sorry–”

“You don’t need to–”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” Tears formed in your eyes as you stared up at him, searching for any kind of anger or resentment. There wasn’t any, he could never be mad at you.

“I wouldn’t have let you come on the case,” he replied after a beat. “I wouldn’t have let you leave the house.”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you… I knew you would be protective– more protective,” you corrected with a soft smile.

“I’m aware,” Spencer pulled his lips into a tight smile. “You know the odds of… complications are higher in the first trimester, angel. You should have told me,” he frowned.

“I know, Spence,” you sighed. “I just wanted to make sure I was in the clear before I told you… I understand being shot isn’t necessarily helping with that but–”

“I understand,” he replied. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You stared at him for a moment, “are you happy?”

“Happy?”

“That I’m pregnant? I know we’re not married and our jobs are crazy but–”

Spencer cut you off by pressing a kiss to your lips, he pulled away slightly, “I’ve never been more happy,” he whispered.

You beamed with happiness, a bright smile tugging on your lips. Spencer hesitantly pressed a hand to your belly, his thumb stroking your tiny bump.

“Penelope thinks it’s a girl,” you muttered.

“...What do you think?” He asked curiously.

“I think she might be right,” you giggled softly.

“You know you can’t actually tell yet,” Spencer said and you rolled your eyes playfully.

“You asked what I thought!” you retorted.

He laughed softly, “Yes, you’re right, you’re right.”

“Mmm, did that taste like poison to admit?”

“Are gunshot victims supposed to be this mouthy?”

a/n: phew! i hope you guys liked it <3 i know i disappeared for a hot minute but here she is!!!

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trashmouth-richie · 1 month

Text

eddie x reader

a follow up to this prompt by @rebelfell

2.6k

tw: angst, smut, minors fuck off pls teasing? is that a trigger idk.

“we need to talk.” the conversation we’ve been waiting for after you catch your best friend getting head finally unfolds

“We need to talk.”

Your blood ran cold, ice in your veins it was practically prickling your skin. The heat on your cheeks bloomed and your gut quaked at the sight of him, covered.

Play dumb! It’ll work!

“I , m-mean, now?— like right now? You have cum- company! a guest— we can talk later, yeah?”

The stuttering, calmly hands and the sweat gathered under your arms— you were a one woman walking circus, missing the clown nose.

“Why are you being so weird?” He leans into your doorframe, tattooed arms cross over his broad and glistening chest.

The flush still in his cheeks almost brought you to your knees, but it was the single flick of his tongue on his lips that had you melting and wishing he had licked your lips instead. Fuck.

“… besides, you already interrupted my guest, so she left—”

Your ears perk up at the mention of said whore leaving your apartment, and your eyelashes bat open, “she left? Why?”

Eddie huffs and puts his tongue in his cheek like he can’t believe you’re being so stupid.

“Cut the shit, okay? Will you just be an adult for a second?”

The smile on your lips falls and you take a step back towards your bed setting your keys down on the nightstand. The silence is anything but quiet. The energy was chaotic and shooting like daggers much like Eddie’s eyes into yours.

“Well?” he asks dramatically, raising his eyebrows to try to get you to speak.

Play dumb— it’s working!

“Well what?” you muse innocently.

“What the fuck was that?” Eddie spits, any softness he brought into this situation had fizzled—dead at the door.

“I—”

“Forget how to knock?”

“No—”

“Suuuure, you just thought you’d what? Barge in, ignoring our code?”

“I didn’t—-there was no hot water! You forgot to pay the water bill!”

“That’s not how water bills work.”

You stand stunned— mouth open to argue but nothing will even come out.

“It’s the water heater for this shitheap building that’s out— if you don’t believe that I paid the bill—call the water company yourself.”

“…oh.” your voice is small, quiet almost unheard.

“Wow, really great apology.”

“Oh relax! Just call her back and explain it was a mistake, who cares? She shouldn’t be so uptight.”

Eddie is fuming, blood rushing to his head as he tries not to yell out right. But fuck you were being so difficult.

“Ya know… I didn’t say shit when you had Harrington tied to your bed posts and you couldn’t undo the knots— did I? Nope—not a fucking word, I just cut him loose and acted like nothing ever happened!”

You wince, who knew knots were that hard to unlace?

“That was different!”

“Or the multiple times I caught the fuckin’ Chief slipping out of your room at 5 AM? I even bummed him a cigarette for his morning coffee!”

Your jaw hung to the floor, you didn’t know Eddie had any idea that you’d been sleeping with Hopper.

“So? What—we’re just airing out dirty laundry now?” you could be venomous too, your rattle sounding off ready to strike.

“How many months did you try gettin’ into Mary’s pants before you dumped her because she’s married to Jesus Christ her Lord & Savior? Her name is Mary for fucks sake! Not hard!”

His face pulls to anger, “don’t be a bitch!”

“And where’s Gareth? Never see him around anymore, maybe it’s because you ran over his d—.”

“That was an accident! I honked and he never moved!”

“He was deaf Eddie!” you yell back into his face, “or! How about the time I had to pick you up from the Hideout because you got so drunk you pissed your pants?”

“That was YOU!”

The two of you were standing nose to nose, shouting accusing each other of shit that didn’t even matter. Eddie had your back and you’d have his until the end. Cradle to the grave.

But this was different, you weren’t fighting like siblings or friends, you were both screaming as if you were in pain.

He’s the first to move, shaking his head and turning towards the door. when he speaks his voice is low, angry.

“When my door is shut don’t open it—turn your ass around and fuck off, got it?”

His words split your skin, vining through your body like sharp thorns. The hot spill of tears were welling in your eyes.

“Sorry to bother you, asshole— won’t happen again.”

He’s on the opposite side when you slam your door in his face. The rain brewed and stewed and finally was ready to fall from the clouds in your eyes.

Why were you acting like this?

Grabbing your keys you set to leave again, needing an escape so he couldn’t hear your wailing cries. But again— when you opened the door, he was still standing there, only this time he looked pissed.

“Move.”

He brushes you off as if he didn’t even hear you, “enough.”

“Eddie, get out of the way!”

“Do you know how many nights I listened to you fake it for this fuckheads?” How long

I’ve waited for you to admit it?”

He shuts your door behind him as he pushes his way inside.

“Admit what?”

“C’mon, baby— we haven’t been friends for a long time, not really.”

You’re confused and on the verge of tears, “what?!”

Eddie presses forward, head tilted down at you.

“Those douchebags you bring here can’t handle you the way I know you need…coming home to see their boots by the front door makes me absolutely despise you.”

“Who gives a shit? I trip over skanky high heels sometimes too.”

You were missing the point he was trying to make, way over your head.

“Never satisfied when they leave…that little vibrator in the top drawer is not as quiet as you think it is.”

You were throbbing, aching… how did he know?

He inches forward, and you double back towards the door.

“I—”

“Pretty little moans on your lips just minutes after they leave…‘m not stupid sweetheart, I know you do it on purpose— parading around the apartment in your little shorts, never wearing a bra… you’re a tease.”

He wasn’t right. He couldn’t be! Right?

“I hate you, Eddie.”

He stalks forward like a predator eyeing its prey, a stupid smirk on his face.

“No— No I don’t think you do. I think you’re so fucking wound up about me, jealous... It’s alright, I get it. I bury myself in bitches so you’ll get out of my head.”

He takes a ragged breath, his eyes pitch dark, and your back hits the door, he closes in around you, his arms on either side of your head.

“I fucking hate you, princess. I hate that it doesn’t work.. you’ve made me jealous for too fucking long.”

Your body was screaming, angel and devil on your shoulder dancing and holding hands rooting you on.

“H-how long?”

His hand falls to your chin, pulling down your bottom lip.

“Senior year. Hellfire. You laughed at one of Jeff’s stupid fucking jokes and my blood ran cold. I wanted you to look at me like you looked at him. That was just the first time I realized I wanted you.”

You shudder, fingers running along his chest, playing with the chain on his neck, “why not say anything?”

“Didn’t wanna ruin this.”

His lips nearly touch yours, he’s leaning in so close. And you don’t pull away.

“I think it’s pretty clear that our friendship is over, Eddie. I fucking hate you.”

“I hate you, too sweetheart.”

The tension is thick, spinning with bated breath and sexual desire.

“So, we hate each other?”

“Yep.” Eddie muses, angling your chin so he can see your neck.

“…and we aren’t friends?”

He nods silently, pressing his nose to your cheek, “seems to be that way.”

“You’ve ruined everything.”

“Good,” he all but whispers into your ear.

“..a perfectly good pair of underwear.”

His breath hitches in his throat, and he licks his lips. “Can’t have that.”

“No, not at all,” you tease, thumbing at your waistband and letting your shorts hit the floor.

He steps back to examine you with wide eyes, letting them narrow as he bites his lip, looking you dead in the eyes.

“I’m gonna fuck you exactly how you need to be fucked.”

Pulling him back into you by his chain necklace you ask centimeters from his lips, tasting the heat from his mouth, “what are you waiting for?”

He takes a deep breath, hovering his mouth over yours, “nothing, not anymore.”

His tongue hits you first, electric like an eel on your lips, his breath hot as fire. You moan out when his hands grip your ass, pulling you into him with such force you could have toppled over.

Eddie is loud too. Groaning with each swipe of your tongue against his.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted you for so long, baby.”

His dick is pressed into your middle, hard and kicking up as your hands reach into his hair, pulling you closer to him as if he were a rope and you were climbing a mountain.

He pulls you away from the door to get a quick slap to your ass. Rough and hard and you’re mewling, his rings stinging your skin.

Your lips close to his ear you whisper “Eddie… please.”

He pulls away after leaving a mark on your neck.

“You don’t have to beg, I’ll give you whatever you need, however many times you want it, honey.”

His fingers dip into your waistband around your hips as he slides your panties down to your thighs. “Let me see that cunt, show me what I did to you.”

You step out of your panties and he lowers himself to the floor on bent knees. “Jesus Christ, look how pretty she is, ‘m gonna eat this pussy till you cum all over my face.”

You nod dumbly, body on fire from his words, the lust of having his hands touch you in places he never had, places you dreamt he would, has your mind spinning.

His bangs tickle your inner thighs, breath fanning on your clit, thumbs spreading you open. He sucks in a breath, whistling low.

A single flick of his tongue— that’s all it takes for your eyes to roll, for your back to bend in an arch like you were being exorcized of hell’s worst demons. Your fingernails scratching into the door trying to anchor yourself from grinding on his face until his nose broke.

He spits, watching it drip down to your cunt, “don’t ask me to stop.”

Diving in, his tongue is everywhere. Lapping you up, sucking your clit into his mouth. Swirling around like you would while eating an ice cream cone. Your chest heaves and your thighs tremble as he hooks one over his shoulder pressing into him and he gently pushes it back into place, his eyes never leaving your body.

When it happens again, he shoves it down with force, nipping at one of your thighs, his lips shiny and wet he groans, “keep ‘em put.”

The tip of his middle finger pushes into you, and you squeak out a gasp, leaning forward off the door to take a look at him, and he nearly laughs, “jesus, you’re tight sweetheart, gonna need to work you up a bit.”

He smiles before attaching his mouth to your thigh, sucking a bruise as he fucks you with his fingers, adding a second that’s easier than the first. Your body rolls with his motions, pushing back against him and you know your orgasm is about to snap.

His tongue replaces his fingers and the heat in your stomach releases, untying the white knot and spilling over his lips as you scream out his name.

“Thatta girl, fuck look at you, Christ.”

Your eyes open, a strange drunk feeling taking over, as if you were high on a cloud and falling gracefully back to the earth. Opening to see the blackened eyes of the guy you’ve called your best friend for years, and if you would have known his tongue could do that, maybe you would have ruined this friendship a lot sooner.

“Fuck off Munson,” you mutter, out of breath as your foot gently sets on the ground.

“What?” he laughs.

“Just keeping the fact that you eat pussy better than the devil all to yourself huh? Selfish.”

His face splits into a grin laced with evil as he stands, licking his lips, “that’s not all I can do.”

He’s on you in a flash, hoising you up into his arms, and using the other to hastily shove his boxers down. “Can’t go back after this.”

“Oh this is the tipping point? Fucking is gonna ruin it not you just making going down on me?”

He rolls his eyes as he lines himself up with you, “what happened to that sweet girl I used to chase in the trailer park, huh?”

You reach around your legs and grab his thick cock and lightly sink down onto it the head barely pushing past your puffy lips, “fuck…met a boy who grew up and started selling weed out of his van, kind of an asshole, really big dick though.”

He thrusts up into you so hard you nearly see black, vision spotty from pleasure alone, you whine his name and he practically comes undone.

“Don’t.. shit… don’t do that, I won’t last. Those noises haunt me… been wanting to hear them.”

He holds you tight and fucks you slowly, dragging his cock at a ridiculously slow speed. Groaning when you suck him in deep, biting his neck.

“There it is, the noise that started this whole mess.”

He grins into you stupidly, “I’m glad you’re perverted plan worked, you little hussy.”

His hips move faster and your both whining, accompanied by the slapping of skin on skin. “Water heaters’ been out since last week, ‘m not stupid babe, you’re the one who called and asked.”

“Whoops— oh my goddd,” you squeal before you're panting like a dog and clawing his arms with your nails, he was splitting you wide open and you were near to tears.

The tears finally fall when Eddie bottoms out in your cunt, filling you up, grunting your name as he rests his forehead to your shoulder— completely spent.

His lips kiss your collar bone and you twirl a curl away from his face exhausted around his softening length.

“Princess,” he breathes, kissing life back into himself with the sweat from your skin, “if you wanted to fuck, you should have told me sooner, could have saved us a week of cold showers, y’know?”

You kissed his lips, letting him set you down on the bed so you could both lay back in a lazy post sex high, surrounded by your blankets.

“Well maybe you should have fixed it sooner, you are the maintenance manager of the building.”

Eddie grins and pins you onto the mattress, his hair falling into your face, his thumb sweeping over your cheeks to catch a rogue eyelash, “come with me to fix it?”

“Hmm..” fingers moving his hair behind his ear, “you gonna wear that slutty stained white tank top?”

“Slutty? Why, gonna seduce me in the boiler room?” his lips move down your neck and you whimper.

“Maybe…” you tease tickling his underarm, “so if I wouldn’t have barged into your room… what else would you have done?”

Eddie only smiles, thinking of his plan to “break” the air conditioner and hide your hoodies and blankets so you’d have to come to him for warmth.

“Let’s just say, you would have ended up as my girl one way or another.”

steve tied up in readers room

taglist: @likedovesinthewnd @dashingdeb16 @joejoequinnquinn @min-geniusx @ho3forfakeguys @taintedcigs @b-irock @queenimmadolla @serasvictoria @the-unforgivenn @curlyjoequinn @munsonlore @eiightysixbaby @munsonburn3r

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson drabble #eddie drabble #eddie blurb #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson angst #stranger things

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