to think that he's a god and she's..uh ..having his name

anonymous asked:

like, imagine eddie working in a 24/7 convinience store during the night shift (like,,, 11pm-4am) and richie is a regular that just comes in the weirdest hours and buys the most bizarre combo of items and is always trying to flirt w eddie making puns with whatever items hes buying and eddie lowkey likes it (cue stan rolling his eyes)

lmaooo yes yes yes!!

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More Than You Bargained For (Part 2)

Originally posted by winsync

Summary: The reader isn’t too thrilled about all of the rules Jensen has for her…

Masterlist

Pairing: Bodyguard!Jensen x reader

Word Count: 2,000ish

Warnings: language, stalking

A/N: Such grrr Jensen…


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wingardium-letmefuckyou  asked:

Hey, I love your gods&monsters series, could you write something about Apollo? ^Preferably something with a positive vibe, something romantic... But that's totally up to you, anything about Apollo makes me happy

Apollo has many sons.

He only ever has nine daughters.

~

He has his first when he’s young, too young to know better.

Daphne is beautiful and coy, and leads him on a merry chase. He catches her, and finally silences her laughing mouth with his own. They sleep together, and she leaves bite marks up his neck.

Her father, the river god Peneus, finds out about them. Apollo had not known it was secret. Peneus is a hard, selfish god, and he slits Daphne’s throat for her impurity. Better a dead daughter then one who does not listen.

Apollo finds out too late. He arrives to Daphne dead on the side of her father’s riverbank, stomach swollen in a way Apollo doesn’t remember it being the last time he saw her, which was – which was – it couldn’t have been that long, could it?

He cuts open her stomach, throat too tight to call for his sister’s help, heart too tight to bear anyone else looking at Daphne’s slack, bloody face.

The child is still warm.

The child is still alive.

He cannot bring himself to bury Daphne, to sentence her to an afterlife beneath the earth. Instead, he transforms her into a large laurel tree, so her beauty will remain eternal. He presses a hand against her trunk and says, “My hair will have you, my lyre will have you, my quiver will have you.” Apollo looks down at the baby, too small, tucking into the crook of his arm. “Our daughter will have you.”

He calls her Calliope. Their daughter weaves laurel leaves into her hair every day of her life.

~

When he is older, but not wiser, he gets drunk on the top of Olympus. It is not the first time, nor the last, but this time it is different.

This time Hestia, goddess of the hearth, of warmth, of family, places her delicate hand around the back of his neck and leads him to her rooms.

Months later, he lands his chariot, the sun finally set. His arms are shaking, and his legs are covered from burns when the sun grew tired and tried to consume him, but could not. Hestia stands before him, something held in her arms. “What’s wrong?” he asks roughly, throat dry and the skin of his lips cracking. Hestia rarely leaves Olympus.

“I am no mother,” she tells him, and he doesn’t understand until she places a warm, squirming bundle in his arms. He holds it to his chest automatically. “Her name is Terpsichore.”

She leaves before he has the chance to question her. He looks down, and the baby has his golden eyes and her dark hair. “Hello, little one.”

Calliope is fully grown now. Apollo leaves Terpsichore in her care, and promises to come when called.

“Yes, Father,” Calliope says, rolling her eyes as her little sister grabbing fistfuls of her curly hair. There’s an ink smudge across her face, and her home is bursting with books. He should really talk to Athena about letting Calliope use one of her libraries.

He kisses both their foreheads before leaving.

~

Apollo falls in love with a Spartan prince, graceful and strong and with a wide, pretty mouth. He falls in love with a mind that can match him, with a smile that leaves him breathless. Hyacinth captures his affections and attentions utterly, and for a few short years Apollo is enchanted, for a few short years Apollo feels a love deep in his chest that is only surpassed by the love he has for his sister.

Then Hyacinth is killed.

He shows up at his daughters’ door, and Calliope and Terpsichore take one look at him and usher him inside. He can’t bring himself to speak, but he’s covered in blood that isn’t his own, is pale and shaken and mourning.

They clean him and care for him and settle him to bed, although he cannot bring himself to sleep.

Less than a week later, there is a mortal woman there looking for him. Her eyes are red, but she stands tall and her lips are pressed into a straight line. A toddler who shares her dark coloring clutches her skirt. “I am the Princess of Sparta, and wife of Hyacinth.”

Apollo hadn’t known Hyacinth had a wife. He hadn’t asked. Surely he would have noticed – but then again, perhaps not. Love makes people stupid. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“As I am sorry for yours,” she says in return, which surprises him. “Sparta must have a prince. I am to be remarried.” She brings the little girl forward, and she can’t be more than a couple years old. “This is Urania, the child of myself and my husband. I have been ordered to kill her.”

Apollo flinches. He knows such things are done, but – she is Hyacinth’s daughter. “I will take her.”

She smiles. “I thought you might.” She kisses the girl on both cheeks, hands her to Apollo, then leaves as quickly as she’d came.

Urania watches them with big liquid eyes that she got from her mother. He stays with his daughters for a year after that, playing with Urania and watching Terpsichore dance and listening to Calliope’s beautiful poetry. Urania loves the stars. She stares up at them each night, and Apollo patiently explains the name of each one.

When she is fully grown, he begs a piece of ambrosia off Hestia and feeds it to her.

Urania is his daughter as surely as if his blood ran through her veins. He cannot bear to watch her age and die.

~

Marpessa chooses Ida over him, but it is too late. She already swells with his child, and he could use that to keep her. He could force her to stay at his side, she loves him, she said so, it would not be such a cruel thing.

But she is not wrong in her assessment. Apollo is immortal, and will not grow old with her, will not change with her, will not die with her. Ida will.

There’s fear on her face, and he thinks she deserves it, for proclaiming to love him and choosing another. But he is not interested in keeping her captive for a lifetime.

“Have the child, and give it to me,” he commands, “and I will leave you to your life.”

Ida is furious in his jealousy that Marpessa will bear a child for Apollo before she bears a child for him, so there is that comfort, at least.

Artemis delivers the child to ensure it goes smoothly. She’s beaming as she holds her niece. “What will you call her?”

“You choose,” he says, running the back of his finger over the babe’s soft cheek.

His sister considers the squalling child for a long moment before she says, “I think you should name her Thalia.”

“Thalia it is,” he says.

She’s mischievous, and reminds him of himself on his worst days. She grows, and pulls pranks on nymphs and deities. Her older sisters are constantly straining to keep her out of worse trouble.

He gets a frantic message from Calliope that Thalia has gone missing, and he eventually finds her at the edge of a scorched battlefield, the soldiers long gone but the bodies and stench remaining. He’s furious at her for going to a place so dangerous, but when he marches up to her he sees something that he hadn’t expected.

She’s hallway through a story about pranking a wood nymph that he knows is at least half lies and a quarter exaggeration. Curled up on the ground, clutching his stomach as he laughs so hard he can’t breathe, is Ares.

Apollo hasn’t seen the tormented god of war this carefree since he was a child.

Thalia finally notices him, and cuts herself off, paling. “Oh, uh. Hi Dad.”

Ares is downright giggling. “Hello Thalia,” Apollo crosses his arms and glares, “You shouldn’t go wandering away from your sisters.” She winces and nods, ducking her head to look up at him through her eyelashes, doing her best to look contrite and innocent.

It might have worked, if Apollo hadn’t taught her that look himself.

He sits down on the ground next to Ares, who doesn’t acknowledge his presence beyond shifting enough to use Apollo’s thigh as his pillow. “Well,” Apollo says, “keep going.”

Thalia lights up and launches back into the story, and when she finishes she continues into another which is mostly true and somehow even more ridiculous.

~

Because he’s an idiot with a death wish, Apollo ends up spending a month with Hecate in the underworld. He stumbles out one night when she falls asleep, because he feels if he doesn’t leave now there’s a possibility that he never will.

One of the most horrifying moments of his life is looking for the way out, and finding Hades instead. The god of death looks to him, walking around naked in his realm, to the direction he came from, and says, “That was you? Are you crazy?”

“It … it was a good time,” he says faintly.

“Obviously,” Hades shakes his head, and slices his hand down in the air in front of them, creating a doorway for Apollo out of his realm.

Apollo gives him a clumsy salute and steps through.

Roughly a year later, he’s playing his lyre when a little girl with black skin and grey hair and eyes appears in front of him. It’s terrifying enough that he accidentally snaps one of his strings.

“Lady Styx,” he says, voice higher pitched than normal. “Is there something I can help you with?”

The child snorts and reaches her hands into absolutely nothing and pulls out a baby. She holds it out to him. “Hecate says this is your problem now.”

Improbably, the babe already has a mouth full of too-sharp teeth. Her eyes shift between every color, unable to decide, and there is something a little too knowing about her face for one so young. Artemis says he too was born knowing too much.

A child of Apollo and Hecate can only be a mistake, something that will never fit quite well among others of her own kind.

He sighs and take the baby. “Very well.”

“I like the name Clio,” the child goddess says before leaving him.

Thalia tells him it’s too small and to give it back. Urania is fascinated, and takes over most of the child’s care, which is likely for the best since Calliope is neck deep into a new epic, and would be cross if she needed to pull her attention from it to rear a child.

As Clio ages, she stays just as unsettling and strange. Hephaestus shows up around the time she starts breaking into Athena’s libraries, even though stunts like that get people worse than killed. “I don’t know why she gave her to me,” Apollo says as they watch the teenager devouring a stolen tome on the history of the Persian Empire. “Hecate raised you, I don’t understand why she didn’t want to raise her actual daughter.”

“You’re a better parent than she is,” he says thoughtfully. Apollo gives him an unimpressed look, but he says, “I’m serious. Your girls are turning out to be quite lovely – all of them.”

“Of course they are,” he says, nose in the air, but grins when Hephaestus elbows him the side.

By the time she’s an adult, Clio is easily one of the most accomplished scholars to ever exist. She and Athena regularly get into academic debates that last weeks, and scare off anyone from daring to come closer.

She stays strange, and too smart, and Apollo loves her utterly.

~

Apollo is lying on the beach when a large wave overtakes him and drags him into the sea. He struggles for the surface, but can’t seem to shake the waves, and is dragged to the sea floor. He’s a god, so he won’t suffocate, but he’s terrified when the water drags him down to Poseidon’s palace and deposits him in front of his wife. “Apollo,” she says, “I can see what your daughters will become.”

He has no idea what she’s talking about. “Excuse me?”

Amphitrite grabs his jaw and pulls him closer. He doesn’t dare resist. She looks into his eyes, then smirks. “The god of prophecy doesn’t know that which he has wrought. How … ironic.”

“Is it?” he wonders. He really hopes she doesn’t kill him.

“Quite,” she smirks, and with a flick of her wrist she’s naked before him. “I wish for one of your daughters to be mine as well. Lay with me.”

“Uh,” he says eloquently, because Amphitrite has never given her husband any children, he hadn’t even known she could. If he sleeps with her, Poseidon might kill him, regardless of how many people the god of the sea sleeps with that aren’t his wife. But if he refuses her, she might kill him, and it’s not like having sex with Amphitrite is any sort of hardship. She’s as gorgeous as she is terrifying. “Okay.”

He’s deposited back on the shore the next day, feeling oddly used.

If Poseidon has any opinions on Apollo knocking up his wife, he doesn’t voice them.

Amphitrite doesn’t foist the baby upon him as soon as she’s born. Instead years pass, and one day a dark skinned, amber eyed sea god shows up at his door. There’s a teenager at his side, who has Apollo’s coloring and Amphitrite’s bone structure, and hair that shimmers golden-green in sunlight. “Glaucus,” Apollo greets warily, “and who might this be?”

“I call her Erato,” Glaucus says, “I’ve raised her since birth. It’s time for her to join her sisters.”

Erato is not as terrifying as her mother. Instead there’s a sweetness about her that she must have gotten from Glaucus. She’s shy at first, and spends many days looking out into the sea. But his daughters are persistent, and soon she’s laughing and joining them. There’s something dreamy about her, and she loves love, writes romantic ballads and beautiful poems, so much so that Aphrodite commends her talent.

Erato is also the most like him in the area of her love life, meaning she leaves behind a constant trail of heartbroken men and women.

Calliope complains about the constant wailing around their home, and Clio proves she has some of her mother’s talent with magic when she casts an unplotable spell around their home so former lovers stop following Erato home. Of course, she forgets to tell both Apollo and her sisters about this, and it’s very confusing for everyone until Clio remembers to tell them where the house is.

His daughters’ home is a place of constant music, poetry, and literature. He thinks he’s starting to suspect what Amphitrite was talking about.

~

Not all hunts are easy things.

Apollo feels the moment his sister is wounded, the arrow through her abdomen as painful for him as it is for her. He’s in his chariot, and he can’t leave it, if he leaves his chariot unattended the sun will consume it, and then consume the earth. “Calliope!” he snaps, and his eldest daughter appears by his side.

“Father?” she asks, huddling into him and away from the sun. “What’s going on?”

“Artemis is hurt, I have to help,” he says urgently, and places the reins into her hands. “You can do this.”

She pales, but steps forward, keeping a white knuckled grip on the chariot. “Go.”

He kisses his forehead, and goes to his sister. Her huntresses have set up an honor guard around her, defending and dying as cruel faced giants draws closer. “ARES!” he screams, and he doesn’t know what they’re fighting for, what this war is about, but it doesn’t matter. “WE NEED YOU!”

The god of war appears, and he’s clearly come from some other battle, covered in mud and other worse things. He throws himself into the battle, but it’s not until they gain more aid that the tides turn in their favor.

He first sees Erato on the field, water swirling around her as she slices through them all, the power of her mother making her golden eyes glow. Clio is at her back, the glittering magic Hecate passed on to her filling her hands.

Thalia has long curved knives flying from her fingers, and all who face her don’t figure out they’re dead until she’s already left them behind. Urania is letting loose arrows against the giants and though she’s not his by blood, not a goddess by birth, none would know it watching each of her arrows hit true and take down another enemy.

Terpsichore uses her honed abilities of dance differently here on the battlefield, twirling and ducking around enemies with her sword flashing as it slices through all who go against her. Celestial fire licks up the sword, and the daughter of Hestia and Apollo is laughing as she dances through the battlefield.

He wants to yell at them, to tell them to get off the battlefield, to get to safety. But it is thanks to them that the fight is being won, so he says nothing.

Ares looks around, grimaces, and catches Apollo’s eye before he disappears from the battle. They must be invoking his name. Apollo is only grateful he managed to stay as long as he did.

The giants are all dead by the time Apollo manages to make it to his sister’s side. She’s pale and covered in blood, her huntresses seated around her and trying to stop the bleeding. “What were you thinking?” Apollo demands, grabbing her hand and pushing her hair from her forehead. Terpsichore comes forward and lays her burning sword against the wound, sealing and cauterizing it at once. Both Apollo and Artemis scream

“They – took – a – child,” she pants, leaning in for his touch, for his comfort, and he has never been able to deny her anything. He pulls her up, biting back a scream at the pain that rips through them both, and props her up against his chest. “A – nymph’s child. Zeus’s child. They killed – it’s mother. That – that sort of injustice will – will not be – tolerated.” She lays her head back against his shoulder, tears leaking from the corner of her eyes, and Apollo almost wishes the battle were not over, because he wants to murder something.

“I’ll get it,” Erato says, and a moment later she returns with a toddler in her arms. She has the copper skin of Zeus, and pale blonde hair. “What do we do now? Zeus does not care for his children.”

“I think it’s time you became a big sister,” Thalia says, and Erato looks stricken. “Right Dad?”

He looks to his sister, who nods. “I can think of no better place for her. She cannot stay with me – a hunting party is not place for children.”

“Very well,” he sighs. “Does she have a name?”

The girl attempts to hide behind Erato’s hair, then says, “I am Euterpe.”

“Welcome, Euterpe,” he says.

It’s then that the sun finally sets, and Calliope stumbles into existence next to them. She’s covered in deep, bleeding burns, but it’s not as bad he feared it would be. She’s certainly faired better at her first time driving the chariot than he had. “What’s happening? Is everything all right?”

“We have a new sister,” Thalia says brightly, even as Clio rushes forward to tend to her burns.

Euterpe, thankfully, seems to inherit none of Zeus’s madness. She has a singing voice like a clear bell, and soon surpasses even Calliope’s talent with the lyre.

He knows, technically, that Euterpe is his half-sister. But it takes him no time at all to regard her as his daughter, to love her with same simple ferocity as he loves her sisters.

~

For a while, all is well, is quiet. His daughters are all fully grown, accomplished and beautiful.

Then Demeter corners him when he’s walking through quiet city and pins him against an alley wall. “If Amphitrite thinks she can one up me over this,” the goddess hisses, “she’s sorely mistaken.”

At least this time he knows what’s going on when Demeter starts pulling her dress off. “You can’t raise the child,” he says. He’s not adverse to laying with Demeter, although at this rate it looks like there will be less laying and more standing against a rough alley wall. But Demeter only knows how to love in a way that crushes all it touches. He won’t let her do that to his child.

“Fine,” she snaps, “Now get moving.”

He’s vaguely terrified the whole time, and it mostly reminds him of his month with Hecate. He’s left alone and naked in the alleyway an hour later.

Nine months later, a baby is delivered to his door by a nervous wood nymph. His daughter still has the squashed appearance of a freshly born baby. “She didn’t waste any time,” he comments, settling her into the crook of his arms. “Does she have a name?”

“Polyhymnia, my lord,” the wood nymph says, then bows before fleeing.

He brings her to the home where all his daughters live.

She grows, and she’s the spitting image of Demeter, of Persephone back when she answered to the name Kore. Her voice is lower than Euterpe’s, but just as pretty and when they sing together it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. She’s quiet, and thoughtful, her big brown eyes watching all around her with a measured stare.

Polyhymnia asks after her mother, something none of the others had done, and Apollo doesn’t know what to say. The truth is too callous, but he can’t bear to lie to her. Instead he begs an audience with Persephone, and says, “Your sister asks after the mother you share. I don’t know what to tell her.”

Persephone has no advice to offer, but she starts spending some of her time outside of the underworld with Polyhymnia. It is enough, and her questions stop, and Apollo tries not to feel guilty that he never really answered them.

~

Cassandra is unlike any woman he’s ever met, unlike any person he’s ever met, and the flames of love and passion burn inside him in a way they haven’t since his Hyacinth died.

She’s bull headed and irritating, and whenever he tries to complain about it Artemis rolls her eyes and his daughters laugh at him. He supposes he’s not doing a very good job hiding that he’s in love with her. Not even from her, because at one point she crossly asks if he’s ever planning to do anything with her, or if she should accept the offer from the butcher’s son.

They don’t leave her house for five days.

She is curious, hungry for knowledge, hungrier for it then she is of him. She wants to know impossible things, wants to be an impossible thing, and so Apollo laughs and takes her hand and says, “I will make you a bargain. I will give you the gift of prophecy, if you will grant me the gift of your hand.”

He’s never take a bride before. He hasn’t wanted to.

Cassandra is screaming and laughing, and she throws her arms around his neck and kisses him until she’s breathless. He takes it as a yes.

That’s when everything goes horribly, incredibly wrong.

It’s too much, all the horror she sees is too much, and Apollo tries to tell her to focus on the good, to see the happiness of the future. But she can’t, gets too caught up in too many wars, and she wastes away in front of his eyes even as her stomach swells.

He tries to take back the gift, tries to save her, but he can’t. It cannot be ungiven, and his headstrong, vivacious lover fades before his eyes. He only manages to alter it, to change it so no one believes the horrible things she cries to prevent the horror people feel when she looks at them and screams the way that they’ll die.

Artemis helps deliver their child, but halfway through her face goes pinched and worried, and Apollo knows that Cassandra won’t make it.

“I’m sorry,” he weeps, kissing her gaunt face, feeling the sharpness of her cheekbones under his lips, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know this would happen. I didn’t want this to happen.”

She looks at him with glassy eyes, barely reacts when Artemis places their child on her chest. There’s a growing pool of blood under her, but she can’t be saved, she will die, here, now.

Apollo wonders if she saw this coming.

She blinks, and meets his gaze with a sharpness and awareness he hasn’t seen for a long time. “She is your last daughter,” Cassandra says, “Melpomene is the last daughter you will have.”

He kisses her, his last chance to do so.

She’s dead before his lips leaves hers.

Apollo tries to flee, to run from the claws tearing apart his heart, but Artemis doesn’t let him. She yanks him back and pushes Melpomene into his arms. “You can’t leave,” she says harshly, “She needs you. Your daughter needs you. You’re not allowed to run.”

He crumples, leaning his head onto his sister’s shoulder as he sobs, and her calloused hand grasps the back of his neck. Melpomene is stuck between them, soft and warm and alive.

Time passes.

Melpomene is Thalia’s other half, her best friend, and they do everything together. Her dark hair is a mass of unruly curls just like her mother, her laughter is just like her mother’s.

She, like her sisters, is his pride and his joy.

~

Apollo has nine daughters

Calliope, who reigns over written epics.

Terpsichore, who reigns over dance.

Urania, who reigns over astronomy.

Thalia, who reigns over comedy.

Clio, who reigns over history.

Erato, who reigns over love poetry.

Euterpe, who reigns over song.

Polyhymnia, who reigns over hymns.

Melpomene, who reigns over tragedy.

They are known as the Muses.


gods and monster series, part xxi

read more of the gods and monsters series here

A little AU meet-cute based on @billypoindexter‘s prompt (someone else may have already done it, but I haven’t written any zimbits in forever):

So I was watching Say Yes to the Dress yesterday and Corbin Bleu and his fiancé (now wife) Sasha Clements were on it and when they asked how they met Sasha said they met in a grocery store and she kind of recognized him, and figured he was an acquaintance whose name she had forgotten. So she goes “Hey!! How are you?” and they chat for a bit before she realizes that she knows him because he’s famous.


Bitty was rounding the end of the cereal aisle, rechecking the grocery list to see if he’d gotten everything and wondering what was wrong with the state of public education in New England that none of his roommates had apparently learned basic penmanship, when he ran into someone.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry!” he exclaimed, and suppressed the wince as his accent reflexively came out full force. (It was partly the apologizing, and partly that he’d learned people were more forgiving if they thought he wasn’t from ’round here. He’d decided to embrace it; if he couldn’t get rid of the accent, it might as well be good for something.)

“No, no problem,” said the person, and then Bitty actually looked at him and felt that familiar terror of countless small-town grocery runs with his mother, where they ran into someone that he knew he was supposed to know, but could not place for the life of him, let alone remember an actual name.

“Well, hey!” he exclaimed, racking his brain frantically for the reason this guy looked so familiar. Surely he’d remember someone who looked like that. Lord. There was nothing, though, so he let autopilot take over. “How have you been?”

Tall, Dark, and Handsome blinked at him. (How could Bitty have forgotten eyes that blue? What even was wrong with him today? This was ridiculous.) “Uh, okay, actually. Yup. Everything going well.”

“Well, that’s great!” Bitty glanced at his list again. “Hey, can you read this? I genuinely can’t tell if this is supposed to be English.”

The guy obligingly took the paper from him and squinted at it. “Provolone, I think.”

Bitty took the list back and stared at it for a second. “I think you’re right. Honestly, Holster.”

“I was just heading toward the deli myself.”

“How perfect! I really kind of hate shopping by myself? But this was just supposed to be a quick in and out, or at least it was until I realized I apparently live with chickens in human guise who never learned to write properly.”

By the time Bitty and The Guy checked out and parted ways half an hour later, Bitty still hadn’t recalled his name, and by then it was clearly too late to admit it.

Oh well, he’d probably remember later, when he was trying to fall asleep.

~*~*~*~

“You know,” he called pointedly from the kitchen, “y’all could make yourselves useful and help me put all these things away.”

“Yes! Bro! Did you see that pass?” Holster yelled instead.

“Beauty,” Ransom answered, and then there was the sound of a high-five.

Bitty sighed and stuck his head around the corner to see what they were yelling about now.

SportsCenter, as usual, was on, playing highlights from the Falconers’ game the night before. As Bitty watched, it switched from the on-ice play to an intermission interview.

An intermission interview. With the guy from the grocery store.

Jack Zimmermann.

“Oh my god,” Bitty said for the second time that day, hands to his cheeks, which were indeed burning up.

Holster looked over at him in concern. “Bits? What’s wrong? Why do you look like a tomato?”

“I just spent half an hour casually grocery shopping with Jack fucking Zimmermann because I thought he looked familiar and I didn’t want to admit I couldn’t place him. Oh my god, I could just die.”

Ransom and Holster exchanged glances and then they were on him. “No shit! What’s he like? What did he buy? Tell us everything!”

“I can never shop there again,” Bitty said faintly.

You Bet

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson!reader

Request(s): 

  • Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader … Honestly IDK what you wright. I am just a sucker for Steve The Mom™ and his bromance with Dustin. Would love for Dustin to have a sister or cousin or something and the Reader getting roped into Dart shenanigans. PLZ PLZ PLZ PLZ PLZ
  • Can you do an imagine with Steve Harrington, were the reader is really badass, and kills one of the demogorgons, and steve starts liking her?

Word Count: 3038 (suuuper long I kinda hate it)

Song: No song for this I kinda just blasted the whole soundtrack for two days straight

Summary: Kinda exactly what the requests say but if you didn’t read it it’s essentially Steve being Mom Of The Year and you being Dustin’s badass older sister that Steve falls for after seeing her in action while fighting the demodogs.

Warning(s): Violence, swearing, I think that’s it????

Author’s Note: I’ll do a smutty part two if y’all want it like I’ll probs do it anyway let’s be for real

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Five Seconds (Richie Tozier x Reader)

Richie Tozier x Fem!Reader

*Please don’t plagiarize my work, thank you :3*

Summary: When you confessed to Richie, you got the expected response, but that doesn’t mean it hurt any less. Not even a week later he decides to talk to you, not so subtly jealous about you spending time with Ben. Things sort of…escalate from there.

Warnings: Cussing and Kissing. (oh no, not kissing! *parents screaming, children crying, Ohio catches on fire*) This is a request. DON’T HESITATE TO SEND IN REQUESTS. (Don’t send in like 50 tho. I still need sleep.)

Word Count: 1,697


“Can I t-talk to you.”

Richie stops laughing at Stan and, still giggling, turns to you. “Yeah, what’s up?”

You glance over Richie’s shoulder to see Beverly shoot you a thumbs up. “I’ve been, well- It was Beverly’s idea! But for a while now…” You stumbled over words, trying to soften the embarrassing blow of ‘I have a crush on you’.

“I like you!” You blurt, deciding to get it over with. “I l-like you as more than a friend.”

There’s a moment of silence in which you count the seconds that painfully tick by.

One. Richie’s mouth opens and closes, you can see his eyes dart to the other boys. They’re whooping and hollering, pushing him and giggling like idiots.

Two. You can feel the headrush hit you hard, along with waves of nausea.

Three. Teasing smiles stay on the boys’ faces, but Beverly’s melts off. She knows. She knows what’s going to happen.

Four. Richie’s ears turn fire hydrant red as you grow pale and faint. His eyes once again scan the boys, who continue to tease without mercy. You close your eyes, wishing they’d stop. There would be nothing to celebrate.

Five. “I’m s-sorry…”

Keep reading

Best of Friends

Originally posted by spdrparker

Series: Tom Holland Imagines

Relationship: Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings: SEX BABYYYYYYYYYYYY, aKA SMUT SO IF U HAVE A PROBLEM DNT READ

Word Count: 3,500

A/N: BROUGHT TO YOU BY RUM AND MANGO JUICE

Request from @thomas-stanleyholland : Tom and the Reader are Best friends. They have a sleepover and have an intense makeup session in his bed, maybe some smut and fluff?

HECK YES TO SMUT AND FLUFF :,)

I’ll revise for any mistakes in the morning, I’m exhausted xx


[Reader’s POV]


   Your flight just landed at the London City Airport. The captain explaining that we’re pulling up to the gate. People around you were getting restless to get off. You of course were still waking up from the nap you took.


   Pulling out your phone you open the camera. Flipping the screen you see your reflection. Sighing in relief that nothing was out of place. Turning your head to the side you check  you winged eyeliner. Thanking the makeup gods the liner or your fake lashes you have on didn’t get fucked up.


  Feeling your phone vibrate you exit the camera app. A message from your best friend pops up. A smile on your face when you read it. Standing up once you see people emptying the seats in front of you. Reaching above you grab your suitcase with your backpack slung over your shoulder. Carrying the suitcase you lift it sideways to head down the narrow aisle.


   Someone pushes past you making you stumble a bit.  You huff out in frustration glaring at the back of the person. Readjusting your purse you make your way down the hall of the gate.  Your suitcase making sounds as it rolled and bumped over the bumps in the gate flooring.


   Walking over towards the bathroom you walk in and head towards a bigger mirror. Fixing your beanie that was on your head. It was your best friend’s beanie he gave you before he had to fly to the states for work.  Reapplying a coat of maroon lipstick  to your faded lips you leave feeling a little better.


   Looking at the  signs you see which way to turn for the baggage claim.  The escalator taking you down to the lower level. Stepping forward when you reach the end, you head towards a hooded figure. The sign said your name and beside the figure was your bag. He looks up from his phone, glasses shielding his eyes. A smile giving him way completely.

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Oh Sehun//Fast Lane

Summary: You finally find out how your big cousin earns her money - she’s the flag girl for the illegal street races in your neighborhood, and now she’s dragging you along. And that’s where you meet the Hawaii-shirt wearing, orange-headed Oh Sehun, ace street racer and smartass.
Scenario: street racer!au 
Word Count: 6,337

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Studying Abroad

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: College AU, where the reader is placed in the Holland’s family home while studying abroad and they have a love/hate relationship. Until, one night, hate seems like it never existed. 

Notes: hope this doesn’t suck!! not sure how i feel about this lol rip

part two | part three


“Hurry up, Tom! I’m gonna be late for class.” You groaned, hitting your head against the door.  You rolled your eyes when he laughed lightly, you could just imagine him shaking his head at you for “being dramatic”. If you knew you’d get stuck with Tom when you registered to study abroad in London, you would have begged for a different house. His family was amazing, if it just had one Holland less, you’d be ecstatic.

“I’m almost done, calm down. You act like I’ve been in here for hours. Why can’t you use my mum’s bathroom?”

“She’s in there, and I’m not going to kick her out.”

“But, you’d kick me out?” He asked, feigning offense. Before I responded, the door opened, revealing a shaggy haired Tom with a towel around his waist and a towel in his hand. He brought that towel up, rubbing it on top of his head to dry his hair. “I’m… hurt.” He pouted, placing a hand on his chest. You only rolled your eyes again, so he’d see this time, and pulled him away from the door way entry.

“You get on my nerves,” you murmured, moving to shut the door, which was stopped by his hand. “I need to get ready!” You complained, which didn’t seem to matter to him.

“If I were you, I’d be nice to me. I still haven’t figured out if I’m in love with you, too.”

“‘Too’?” You asked, raising an eyebrow at him. He smirked at you, leaning in. His hair was still wet and there were droplets falling near my bare feet.

“Don’t fight it, darling,” he whispered, resting his palms against the doorframe and trying to make himself look bigger. “It’ll come out eventually.”

“Hm,” you hummed, leaning closer to him, “you’re right.” You whispered back, causing his eyes to widen. He leaned back when you walked closer to him, pushing himself off the frame. You grabbed the door knob, smirking. “In your dreams, Holland.” You said, slamming the door shut in his face and locking it.

Keep reading

msdistress said: I saw that civilized werewolves being super competitive when it comes to other packs, and now I can only imagine an AU where (adult) Stiles and Scott are renting a house together, and Derek moves in the same area. And while the McCall pack and the entire Hale pack (Talia, Laura, etc.) are on civilized terms, Scott and Derek just can’t help themselves. And maybe a part of the showing off is actually a way to impress (court) Stiles, as in “My lawn ornaments are much nicer than his!”

So this is kind of that, but kind of not? This is pretty silly :) Happy Halloween!


“You’re not dead,” Stiles says as Scott bangs open the door and shucks off his shoes in the next movement. They hit the wall and then bounce into an ungainly pile in the middle of the hallway that Liam will no doubt trip over when he gets home.

“Nope,” Scott says. He looks confused by that part.

“So… That’s good?” Stiles has pumpkin guts all over his hands, but offers Scott a fist bump anyway.

Scott follows Stiles back into the kitchen and then plops down across from Stiles’s half-finished jack-o-lanterns at the counter. He’s a couple weeks early, but Halloween has to be taken seriously. These are practice pumpkins.

Scott says, “It was weird. I think they’re all models. They force-fed me pie.”

Stiles arches a skeptical eyebrow.

“I mean, the pie was great,” Scott says, face screwed up. “I think they were happy I ate the whole thing?”

Werewolf metabolism, Stiles thinks sourly. He’s getting to that age where he has to watch his beer and pizza intake. It sucks. He says, “I’ll make them brownies,” and then apparently it becomes a thing.

*

Stiles doesn’t know if the Hale pack are actually all models, but they’re definitely taking the supernaturally hot thing to a whole other level.

Scott’s betas are reasonably attractive, sure, but Liam’s the size of a cave troll and Mason’s on this whole hippie-chic kick that makes him look like a train hobo.

Stiles holds out the plate of brownies and tries not to stare at Erica’s boobs. Boyd has the bulging chest of a roman gladiator and Stiles could cut his hands on Isaac’s cheekbones, it’s insane.

Stiles says, “Nice to meet you guys,” and Erica’s lip curls up and her hands hover around the plastic-wrapped plate like it’s made of poison and-or possibly oatmeal. He waggles the plate back and forth. “Promise they’re wolfsbane free.”

And then Jackson fucking Whittmore comes swanning down the staircase and Stiles says, “You’ve got to be shitting me. Jackson?”

“Stilinski,” Jackson says with a scowl.

“Lydia told us you got eaten by a giant lizard.”

Jackson scowls harder. “Fuck off.”

Stiles would like to say that the addition of Jackson makes the pack less appealing, but despite having the personality of a canned ham, Jackson still looks like he was carved out of marble. Balls.

And then someone says, “Do I smell chocolate?” from behind Stiles and he definitely does not jump three feet into the air, but it’s a close call.

He flinches and spins around and says, “Fuck my life.”

The hottest mountain man Stiles has ever seen is frowning at him and Stiles wants to bury his entire body in his beard. He wants to weasel his way under that soft-looking Henley and lick his collarbones. Stiles is ninety-nine percent sure this is Alpha Derek Hale, even though Scott had failed to prepare him for the way Derek’s eyes are eating Stiles’s soul.

Stiles wordlessly holds out the plate of brownies.

Derek takes them with a resigned silence. No one else is saying anything either, and the back of Stiles’s neck is starting to prickle with unease. Are they going to eat him now? They’d moved into town so Liam and Mason could go to the local college, expecting some kind of resistance, territorial posturing, possible brawl for dominance, but Scott had been tirelessly optimistic—even more so since the pie eating thing.

Stiles slinks around Derek, hands up. He says, “I’ll just, uh… leave now,” and backs down the sidewalk so he can see any kind of attack coming. He’s got a taser in his back pocket and he’s not afraid to use it.

The Hale pack all watch him with narrow, calculating eyes and Jackson gives him the finger.

Stiles thinks that if this is the way they react to brownies, he’s going to bake them a motherfucking cake.

Keep reading

shh || t.h

Relationship: Tom Holland x reader

Summary: there is barely a plot its just goes from fluffy to sexy times.

Warnings: S M U T (18+)

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: this fucker has been harassing me for far too long i had to write him


Keep reading

Things Said In My Household but with Fairy Tail Pt.5
  • Erza: Movie time!!
  • Natsu: *groan*
  • Gajeel: What movie are we watching?
  • Erza: well, It's about you, Gray, and Natsu.
  • Gray: There's a movie about us?
  • Erza: *inserts The Three Stooges*
  • __
  • Wendy: Gajeel sing! :D
  • Natsu: Wendy No.
  • Gray: oh god no.
  • Gajeel: Well *fixes imaginary tie* if you insist
  • Gajeel: *opens mouth*
  • Wendy: You can stop now.
  • ___
  • Natsu: Guys..
  • Gray: What is it this time?
  • Natsu: Lucy's mad at me.
  • Gajeel: oh jeez what did you do this time?
  • Natsu: I DONT KNOW. WE WERE AT THE MALL AND EATING AND SAID HOW SHE LIKED TO EAT A LOT AND--
  • Gajeel: stop. you gone and fuck up right there.
  • _____
  • Gajeel: *singing in the shower*
  • Gray: wait a minute i recognize that song anywhere...
  • Gajeel: BABY YOU LIGHT UP MY WORLD LIKE NOBODY ELSE.
  • Gray: ...
  • ____
  • *It Was The Annual Spring Cleaning*
  • *Insert novela tv opening*
  • Gray: *dancing with the broom* mi corazon.
  • Gajeel: *laughing his ass out*
  • Natsu: He's not gay. He's not gay. He's.. so fucking gay
  • ____
  • Levy: Hey Gajeel.
  • Gajeel: Yeah?
  • Levy: Have i ever said how calm your family is?
  • Gajeel: No?
  • Levy: Good because then I'd lying.
  • *insert yelling about poptarts downstairs*
  • ____
  • *At The Park*
  • Natsu: It's so normal..
  • Gray: Yup. *eats an ice cream*
  • Gajeel: *puts his cat on the swings and swings Lily*
  • Natsu&Gray: .....
  • Natsu: Nevermind.
  • ____
  • *After The Park Going Home*
  • Gajeel: WHAT DO YOU MEAN? OF COURSE IT'S NORMAL TO SWING A CAT ON A SWING.
  • Natsu: *rolls his eyes*
  • Gray: Alright if you say so.
  • *They get off and enter the house *
  • Erza: Hey guys welcome back.
  • Erza: .
  • Erza: Where's Wendy?
  • AllThree: HOLY SHIT.
  • ___
  • Wendy: *sits on the swing*
  • Woman: where's your parents?
  • Wendy: Probably just remembering about my existence . *smiles and swings*
  • Woman: *walks away quickly*
  • Wendy: *continues swinging*
  • ___
  • Gray: IM HOME! *enters the house only to hear giggling*
  • Erza: And this is Gray when he was only 2. His ass is probably still the same color.
  • Juvia: *giggling*
  • Gray: erza why..
  • Erza: Oh hey Gray. Just showing Juvia your baby pictures.
  • Gray: ...erza why..
  • ___
  • Erza: GUYS GUESS WHAT!
  • Gajeel: What?
  • Erza: IM GOING ON A SECOND DATE WITH JELLAL.
  • Natsu: Really? Thats great! Someone actually likes you!
  • Gray: ohhhhhh burn!
  • Erza: *goes into the kitchen*
  • Gray: what is she..
  • Erza: *comes back outside eating the last poptart*
  • Natsu: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
  • Gray: NO WHY.
  • Gajeel: beyond cruel..
  • ____
  • Lucy: Hey Gray.
  • Gray: Hey sister in law
  • Lucy: S-sister in law?!
  • Gray: Wait natsu hasnt asked? Oh nvm forget what i said.
  • Lucy: WHAT?!
  • ___
  • Natsu: GRAY, WHAT DID YOU TELL LUCY.
  • Gray: IT WAS GAJEELS IDEA
  • ___
  • Gajeel: *screaming* THERE'S A FUCKING SPIDER ON THE WALL.
  • Gray: AW HELL NO *runs out the house*
  • Natsu: NO NO NO NOPE. *walks the opposite direction*
  • Gajeel: SOMEONE HAS TO FUCKING KILL IT.
  • Wendy: *puts a cup over it with paper under* Loooooooook gajeel. *gets closer*
  • Gajeel: NO GET RID OF IT. *defending self with a pillow*
  • Erza: Oh my fucking god, it's just a fucking spider.
  • _____
  • Gajeel: I cant believe you actually let her keep the damn spider.
  • Wendy: *in the backround smiling*
  • Natsu: Erza, It's either us or the spider.
  • Erza: Spider.
  • Gray: erza think about what you're doing.
  • Erza: spider.
  • Gajeel: fuCK.
  • ___
  • Wendy: Guys i lost the spider...
  • Gray: well lets find it so i can kill it.
  • Wendy: T-T
  • Gray: *spider on his back*
  • Wendy: uh..
  • Gray: well dont just stand there.
  • Wendy: But the--
  • Gray: WENDY, what can possible be the matter?
  • Natsu: DONT WORRY GRAY ILL SAVE YOU *comes from behind with a frying pan*
  • ___
  • Part 6? : D
  • <strike> did i forget to mention the spider's name was Clarence? </strike>
On Camera

Or that one time Lance decided to live-stream when he really should’ve been resting. The (established) klance YouTuber AU that no one asked for, but you’re all getting. Domestic klance sharing an apartment is my jam, and throwing a little angst in there is a bonus.

I’m actually really happy with this, and if people like it I might do an actual long AU thing with this setting, so feedback is appreciated! For now though, just a one-shot. This is also proof that the best writing for me happens at 3 AM… oops. I hope you enjoy!!

Psst @taylor-tut this is that thing I not-so-discreetly mentioned in my tags, have a wonderful day.


Lance McClain was a rulebreaker in every way, except for one thing. He believed it was always necessary to have a routine, and never stray from it. If asked, he’d inform you that a steady routine was the foundation for a steady life.

Showering every morning, brushing his teeth every night, thinking of a cheesy one-liner for Keith each day without fail, the list went on. Little things.

One of his many routines was to live-stream, always on Sundays. Because who did anything besides sit at home, definitely not with a hangover, on Sunday?

New videos went up on Wednesdays, but the carefully edited ones on YouTube and his live-streams were very different. Many fans even preferred seeing him live, mainly because he couldn’t stop himself from making bad jokes, and was usually too lazy to straighten his bedhead.

And they would always ask him to go bother Keith in the next room, which Lance more often than not was obliged to do.

So when he woke up late one Sunday with a killer headache and a stuffy nose, Lance wasn’t about to let it get in the way of his routine.

He discovered a note from Keith on the kitchen table that said he’d be out running errands, and Lance lamented that he hadn’t been awake to tell Keith to get soup. After shooting him a quick text, the only response Lance got was “You don’t even like soup.”

Lance chuckled softly, which quickly led to a series of wet coughs. Clearing his throat, he began to set up his camera, wrapped himself up in blankets, and started the stream.

“Hey guys,” he said with a small wave, and winced at how raspy his voice sounded. He sniffled, and edged the off-screen box of tissues closer to him.

The chat was quickly flooded with “HELLO”’s and “LANCE!”’s. By now, all the fans knew when he went live. Lance was, however, surprised to see several inquiries about his health.

There were quite a few “Are you okay”’s, and even some “You seem sick”’s, with one of Lance’s personal favorites being “You look like shit.”

He read off the last comment with a short laugh. “Thanks, KeiththeKutie05.” Then, as an afterthought, he added, “Nice name.”

After a short pause of him continuing to scan the chat, he spoke again. “I’m fine though, just got a cold or something. Nothing could stop me from live-streaming!”

As the viewers seemed satisfied with this response, Lance wasn’t surprised to see the usual repetition of “Where’s Keith?” in the chat. He sighed.

“Mullet Boy is running errands,” Lance told them, rolling his eyes for effect. “Probably going out to buy a new pair of fingerless gloves.”

Keith and Lance had been sharing an apartment for some time now, and the Internet was very invested in their relationship, or so it seemed. Keith was annoyed by the whole thing at first, but Lance found it entertaining that his fans seemed to like Keith better than him. Lance could, admittedly, relate.

Eventually, the accidental publicity that came with dating a YouTuber inspired Lance to make a collab channel for them, though Keith never got his own. He insisted that he was too awkward to film anything by himself, which Lance secretly found adorable.

Numerous people began telling Lance to prank Keith when he came back, to which Lance grinned. Playing tricks on Keith during live-streams had become somewhat of a tradition in and of itself. “Maybe I will,” Lance tapped his chin thoughtfully. “You guys got any ideas?”

Lance read through some of the responses but saw nothing particularly appealing, then perked up at someone asking when he’d do a video with Hunk again.

“Actually, I got some good news for you guys,” Lance declared, sneezing into his elbow before continuing. “Hunk and I are going to be playing videogames on Pidge’s channel sometime next week, and Hunk has both of us coming over to his and Shay’s for a baking video. I haven’t decided what we should do for my part yet. Maybe a Q & A?”

Once again, Lance’s eyes scanned through the suggestions until his eyes snagged on one he liked. “Cards Against Humanity, huh? With YouTube’s shitty new rules it could get demonetized, but I do love that game, so why not? I’m positive Pidge owns it, and I can tell them to bring it over. Maybe I can even convince Keith to play with us.”

Lance couldn’t help but smile at the enthusiastic response that got.

“I think I’m going to get myself some more coffee,” Lance decided, looking down at the empty mug resting on a coaster. “Last night Keith made me watch this really scary movie, so I naturally had trouble falling asleep. Gotta have coffee to keep myself functioning. Do you guys prefer coffee or tea? Keith and I are both coffee people, but he likes his black. No sugar or anything, disgusting if you ask me.”

Lance almost regretted this comment as a war of opinions on black coffee slowly took over his computer screen.

“Well, anyway, I’m gonna go to the kitchen real quick. I’d bring my laptop but… I’d probably spill coffee on it, and we can’t have that.”

Lance stood, and was about to start towards the next room when his vision abruptly blurred and refocused. He knew immediately something was wrong.

His legs felt like jelly, and the room seemed to spin as he took a single step forward. Had he only been fine when he was sitting? Lance had half the mind to sit right back down, but his brain was growing muddled, and direction simply didn’t make sense.

Lance’s migraine flared abruptly in intensity, and then suddenly the wood floor was rushing up to meet him. Everything went dark.


Keith glanced at his phone as he moved around to the back of the car, where he’d stored the groceries, and had to repress a fond smile at the Twitter notification on the screen. Lance was, apparently, live-streaming. Keith thought he might actually miss his time-slot for once, but he figured by now he should be used to the Cuban boy’s dedication to routine.

Lance’s channel got some negative feedback from more ‘sophisticated’ YouTubers for being… all over the place. A dedicated beauty guru, or PrinceLotor as his channel was called, had dragged Lance on Twitter on more than one occasion.

Lance was anything but consistent when it came to videos. He did whatever he felt like doing that week, and the fans loved it. Sometimes he played songs on his guitar, sometimes he did prank-calls. He would film Q&A’s, or tell stories about all the interesting stuff that happened in his life— Lance’s bad luck was rather famous. He recommended TV shows, did hauls of what he got for holidays, vlogged on occasion when he went to stores, you name it.

But Lance’s favorite thing to do were collabs.

Hunk, an incredibly smart engineer, had a baking channel as a hobby, and Lance was his favorite assistant.

Pidge was a newer gaming channel, but their obsession with theorizing about the game’s lore while playing and busting other fan theories made them grow in popularity quickly. For two player games, Lance was ideal.

Allura was an extremely popular beauty channel, and Lance let her give him makeovers whenever she wanted to. Shiro could use extra actors in his short films.

And Keith… well, the two of them had a channel together that had no pattern whatsoever, much to Lance’s dislike. Absolutely spontaneous and random, usually doing things by popular fan request, like dancing or karaoke. And uploads were by no means regular.

Keith was surprised at how much he had started to enjoy it. Lance had been telling him he should start an art channel, with animations and speedpaints and the like, and Keith wasn’t… that opposed to the idea. It could be a useful source of income, to help with all the debt he would come into after graduating college. But he’d never tell Lance.

Without thinking too much of it, Keith swiped right across his screen, taking him to Lance’s tweet about the live-stream in order to like it. He was about to close his phone again and begin taking groceries up to their apartment when his eyes snagged on something odd.

Lots of the replies to Lance’s tweet mentioned him, particularly the recent ones, even tagging him in it. Keith couldn’t fathom why they would be talking about him if he wasn’t on the stream, unless Lance was complaining about him live again.

Keith bristled. Lance better not be still annoyed at him for the movie the last night. Signs wasn’t scary at all, and not even a real horror movie! Lance simply stated that ‘he didn’t mess with aliens.’

But when he looked at all the mentions, Keith felt his irritation give way to confusion, and then panic.

“KEITH GET TO UR APARTMENT”, “YOU BETTER GO CHECK ON LANCE”, “HOLY SHIT HES COLLAPSED KEITH HURRY YA ASS UP”, and the one that really sent Keith reeling “UH GUYS IS IT JUST ME OR DID WE WITNESS LANCE’S DEATH ON CAMERA?”

Keith slammed the trunk, all groceries forgotten as he sprinted into the apartment building and ran for the stairs. They only lived on the third floor, and he was not about to wait for the slow, crowded elevator.

He fumbled to fit his key in the lock and opened the door to the living room, only to spot the live-streaming set up, with no Lance. Keith rushed forward, but drew up short when he realized that Lance was in fact passed out on the floor in front of the couch.

“Oh my god— Lance!” Keith sank down beside him, turning his boyfriend over. “Lance, are you okay? Can you hear me?”

Lance’s eyes opened slowly, and Keith felt relief flood his system, despite the uncharacteristically pale skin. “K-Keith? Wha… I thought you were shopping?”

“I’m back,” Keith answered shortly, wincing as he pressed a hand onto Lance’s forehead. “Jeez, you’re on fire. Why didn’t you tell me you were this sick?!”

“Are you a fire?” Lance mumbled under his breath, and Keith furrowed his brows in confusion.

“What? No, Lance, I was saying you have a fever.”

“Because you’re hot and I want s'more,” Lance continued, as if he hadn’t heard him at all. Keith was suddenly painfully aware that the live-stream was still going, and that his face was even more flushed than Lance’s, and not because of a fever.

Keith glanced at the computer sitting on the coffee table briefly, noting that most of the chat was full of random keyboard smashing. He smiled apologetically. “At least he’s conscious,” he shrugged, hoisting Lance up off the floor and propping one of his arm’s around Keith’s shoulder. “I’m going to take this idiot to the hospital, he’s way too hot.”

“So you finally admitted it,” Lance’s voice was barely audible, and Keith glanced back down to see him grinning up at Keith tiredly.

“I meant your temperature, dumbass. Next time, tell me when you’re not feeling well.”

And with that, he shut off the stream.

The Spider Tattoo (Peter Parker x Reader) Soulmate AU

Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

*Please don’t plagiarize my work, thank you :3*

Summary: You hate the idea of soulmate tattoo’s, probably because there’s a giant fricking spider on your hip that moves, as most soulmate tattoos do. But see, most soulmate tattoos aren’t huge fucking spiders, so you have the right to be freaked out.

Warnings: Lots of swearing. More than usual. Oops. Requested by @crowleys-poppet-queen-of-asgard

Word Count: 1,072


Soulmates were stupid. Worst idea ever. Who the hell even thought of them? From what you learned in health class, every person has a tattoo appear on their skin when they find what they love best, and that tattoo is on that exact place on their soulmate’s body, meaning somewhere in the world there was a person with an tiny typewriter right behind their ear.

“So why the fuck do I have a giant ass spider on my hip?” You scream at no one in particular, eyeing the ugly thing through your mirror. You pull your sweatshirt down again, covering the spider. The only good part about it was that it resembled Spiderman’s symbol, one of your favorite heroes. On the con side though, whenever a soulmate was feeling strong emotions, their tattoo would move. So once or twice a day, the giant ass spider would move. You cringe at the thought.

You grab your backpack and angrily shove your books into your backpack, muttering rapidly in a mocking voice. “Soulmates are a beautiful thing, they said.”

The backpack was slung over your shoulder as you stomped out the door. “You’ll love getting your tattoo, they said.

“Well they can go fuck themselves!” You scream into the empty house, slamming the door behind you.

Keep reading

Joseph is not a bad person

Yeah, I said it, the thing that so many people in this fandom are not happy to admit. Joseph is not a bad person, not by a long shot. Hell, there are far more issues with Robert than there are with Joseph - the only real moral difference between the two is that Robert gets a happy ending, and Joseph does not. That is literally it.

“But Joseph cheated-” Yes, yes he did. Joseph cheated on Mary with Robert, and he cheats on Mary with the MC. However, there is clearly a lot more to the Joseph/Robert story than we know, so there’s nothing that we can glean from it other than speculation. Somehow, a lot of people like to speculate that Joseph is the bad person because…Robert said so? Why on Earth would we believe one person? Even Mary doesn’t say her husband is a bad man, and she has every right to do so as his wife. Robert is not reliable. Then, when Joseph cheats on Mary with the MC, the two of them are actively about to get a divorce.

That’s it. Those three things, the two instances of cheating and Robert saying that Joseph isn’t a good person is literally all we have to say that Joseph is a bad person. That is it. The cult ending is still not in the game, and literally everything else is entirely speculation. There is no other evidence saying Joseph is a bad person.

“He lost track of his kids-” At a park, in the morning, in a safe neighborhood. Yeah sure it’s a little squiffy, but if we’re going to get on Joseph’s case for that then we should also be yelling at Mary for not only losing track of Crish, but completely disregarding her husband’s concern for the toddler.

Joseph actively gets upset if you lie on his route, Joseph actively tries his best to make sure that his youth party goes well, that his children are happy. He encourages his children’s weird behaviors and appears to have a good understanding of his autistic son as well. He spends time to create a man cave for him and the MC to relax and joke in, he supports Damien and all the other dads despite their gender and sexual alignment. He actively tries to help Hugo with Ernest and doesn’t lose his temper at the clearly troubled kid. There is so much good to this man, and this fandom is reducing him to an abusive manipulator based on no evidence other than “Robert said so”. The devs themselves have said before that you can’t take everything in this game at face value, and Robert is friends with Mary. I go into this more on another one of my posts, but Robert only ever sees Mary upset, so he only ever hears that Joseph is at fault. Is it so hard to imagine that maybe Robert is over reacting because he’s being over defensive of his friend? Is it really?

And as for Mary - again, Mary never says her husband is a bad man and, honestly, she’s more at fault for the shitty place their marriage is in than Joseph. That might be a touchy subject for some, but I’m serious. Mary goes out drinking most nights, she flirts with almost every man she meets, staying out until God knows when having ‘fun’ with Robert. Neil and Robert may insist that she isn’t cheating, but uh, flirting is still cheating. It is still 100% cheating on your partner to go out and flirt endlessly with another person. It is not okay, and will never be okay. She also lowkey makes fun of his religion, is obviously super flippant about caring for her children (she let her kids watch an R rated movie, and didn’t seem to care one lick about Crish), and is incredibly passive aggressive. Hell, at some points in the game, she is just aggressive towards the MC and Robert has to tell her to back off.

Mary is not a bad person, nor is Robert, but that’s kind of my point. None of these people are bad people, but somehow this fandom has turned Mary and Robert into pure cinnamon rolls and Joseph into a literal demon because…I don’t know. I really don’t know. There’s even a comic going around that keeps getting reblogged with tags like “yeah, fuck Joseph!” “Joseph is so cruel to Mary” “I wish Robert and Mary would get together and leave Joseph”. These tags are incredibly upsetting because of how short minded these people are. The comic has Mary coming home late at night with Robert practically shouting a song at the top of their lungs. People somehow see this as harmless fun and Joseph is totally just ruining it by being a bad husband…But seriously?

First of all, walking around incredibly drunk and screaming songs in the middle of the night is public indecency and you could have the cops called on you for disturbing the peace. Would you be happy if your drunk neighbor woke you up at night? What if you had a baby, like Craig?

And, secondly…How on Earth is Joseph the bad one in the situation for ‘stopping their fun’? Humor me for just a second if you’re having trouble understanding me. For just one second, imagine Mary is a man. We’ll say his name is Marty. Marty has a wife named Josephine. Marty goes out most nights to get incredibly drunk with his female friend, Robin. Josephine knows and has seen how Marty gets when he’s drunk, she knows how Marty flirts with the girls at the bar, sitting next to them, wrapping his arm around them, getting them to buy him drinks with a wink and a smile. Josephine has to put the four kids to bed each night - the autistic one, the hyper ones, and the toddler. Josephine waits up for her husband to come home, nervous for her safety, and nervous that…What if tonight was the night she brought another woman home? Or, came back in the morning smelling of another woman’s perfume? Then, she hears the tell tale singing of Marty and Robin on the way home, followed shortly after by the Crish’s cry and a light across the street turning on…

Does any of that sound even remotely okay? Could you imagine if the situation where truly reversed like that, with a husband getting hopelessly drunk most nights, flirting with women, and coming home late? Do you still think that he is totally at fault for being angry that his wife came home drunk? Honestly, there is no difference between the people telling Joseph to go fuck himself for ruining his wife’s ‘fun’ and the men I’ve seen my father hang around with joking about how my own mother was his ‘ball and chain’ for the exact same reason. There is a good reason my mom and dad are not together anymore.

Mary is clearly an alcoholic. Even if she’s not an angry drunk, I’ve known plenty of people and read plenty of stories of children who were raised with drunk parents. You usually only hear about the father, so again if you’re having trouble understanding why Mary’s alcoholism is an issue then imagine she’s Marty. Imagine Marty as a father who is constantly drunk or with a drink in hand, a father who accidentally lets you watch movies that you know you shouldn’t watch, a father who just waves you away and ignores you, a father who disappears every night…Why is mommy the only one home at night? Why are they fighting? Is it your fault?

That got a little heavy, but at this point I just want this to stop. I am so tired of going into the Joseph tag and finding nothing but hate post after hate post after hate post. I am so tired of seeing posts blaming Joseph for Mary’s alcoholism and Robert’s…Issues when we all know damn well that can’t possibly be the reason. Robert was a terrible person in his past and he’s upset about it, and we really don’t know what’s going on with Mary. We don’t, sans speculation. End of story. There is no way we can reliably blame Joseph for everything, and it’s even getting to the point where the anti-Joseph posts are actually becoming abusive to Joseph using Mary AND Robert as the assailants.

tl;dr: Joseph is not a bad man, Mary and Robert are not flawless, the way Mary acts is seriously problematic, and some of stuff you guys are posting is actually kinda hurtful. Can we reel a back a little?

The Preacher’s Daughter // A Mitch Rapp Smut

Author: @minhosmeanhoe

Series Masterlist

A/N: This is mine and @stilinski-jpeg ‘s first series together and I’m so fucking excited for y’all to see what we have planned. Love you Nia and thank you for being my best friend. 

Relationship: Mitch Rapp x Reader / Mitch Rapp x OFC

Warnings: NSFW, Explicit Sexual Content, Smut, Fingering, Oral (Male on Female), Sinning, Underage Drinking, and Swearing.

Word Count: 6,176

Song: Shape of You by Ed Sheeran

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I asked, my nervous voice ringing with the sound of my heels clicking against the pavement.

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summersaltturn  asked:

"Have anyone told you you have the most intimidating nostrils I've ever seen?"

“Yeah, I won an award, junior year,” Derek answers, frowning at his new IKEA (bought and built, all in a soft Henley sweater; Stiles knows, he supervised) book-shelf, like he hasn’t just finished a seven hundred page tome on Egyptian artefacts. A seven hundred page tome on Egyptian artefacts alone.

Derek Hale: epic nerd and assembler of easy-to-build IKEA products. Of course, Stiles thinks, cursing his stupid Professor and DIY kinks. Why not? The worst part is, he doesn’t even think those kinks are sexual. It’s just….a thing. That he has. A Derek thing. The Butterflies That Live In His Stomach were trying so desperately to move on with their lives, too. They’d shopped around. Hired a real-estate agent. They were ready, goddammit!  

Derek settles on a book - Stiles is pretty sure it also has the word ‘artefacts’ in the title - and sighs, all feigned nostalgia, and glances over his shoulder. “It was a golden nose, too. Across the bottom it said,” he pauses, grinning, “Stiles Stilinski needs to get a life.”

Stiles opens his mouth, clutches his chest, because rude much? Is it his fault Derek’s nostrils belong in some kind of anatomy museum? Is it his fault his Saturday nights are spent playing video games in his underwear, when his week days are spent chasing down monsters and researching things like how Scott and Erica managed to contract chicken pox when stabbing them does, like, nothing? (Except get Erica excited because she’s a beautiful, terrifying weirdo.) The moment he tries to tell Derek this, however, a copy of - is that Pride and Prejudice? - is thrown at his head. 

Stiles doesn’t know if he’s more offended when Derek rolls his eyes when it misses him, or the concerned look that crosses his face when the book sails past him and lands in an empty pizza box, like Derek is worried if it’s okay or not. 

And to think, Stiles was going to screw up his courage and finally invite Derek to see a movie this weekend. In an actual theatre. Where people go to be normal. Well, the laugh is on Derek because Stiles is going to buy the big popcorn and he’s going to enjoy it all on his own. 

Yeah, that’ll show him. 

~

“Has anyone ever told you your eyebrows could star in a disturbing kid’s movie about caterpillars?” 

Stiles is drunk. No, he’s wasted. Hammered. Loaded. Completely and utterly shit faced. Which is probably why instead of ending up on his ass on the floor, Derek just pinches the bridge of his nose, tips his head against the back of the couch and says, “what.” Not even a hint of inflection.

This dude, Stiles thinks, and then laughs because, ohmygod, Derek is this dude now. Not that dude or whoa, what are you doing crawling through my window, dude? but this dude. And that’s kind of beautifully heart warming, in its own way. 

Really, Stiles should write into Hallmark. It could be a trilogy. A Gay Trilogy ™. Bisexuals on ice. Except, without the ice because Stiles doesn’t know how to skate. Can Derek skate? Stiles totally bets Derek can skate.   

Speaking of Derek, he’s got this little crinkle on his forehead now, right between his eyebrows, and man, they really are very nice eyebrows. Animated but nice. A little dramatic but nice. Murderous but nice.

“What,” Derek says again, looking more confused than annoyed by the second. Stiles really wants to kiss him.

Instead, he stares. Stares and stares and stares.

Shit.

Slapping a hand over his mouth, he begins laughing uncontrollably and before he knows it, he’s clutching his sides and has his face pressed against Derek’s chest, because the hilarity is killing him. 

Because this is them now. Drinking peach-snaps at Derek’s loft, on a couch filled with throw pillows. Throw pillows. One is even soft and pink and frilly and another has a picture of the pack on it. Granted, no one is looking at the camera but Derek, Boyd and Kira and Derek is not so much looking at the camera as yelling at Stiles (holding the camera) for eating his secret stash of cookies, but it’s nice. It’s a nice picture. There is a plain black pillow too, of course. Somewhere. Stiles might be sitting on it, actually. He figures one can only expect so much when it comes to sour-wolves but Erica glued little cat ears on it last week and Derek said nothing. Fuck, he’d even smiled.

It says a lot about what a secret softie Derek is when it comes to vulnerable, drunk-ass people, because he doesn’t push Stiles away; just lets him laugh and laugh until he passes out, drooling on his chest. 

When Stiles wakes up, Derek’s sweater is pretty soaked through but he hasn’t moved an inch. He does, however, tell Stiles he snores like a deranged goose and that he owes him a pastry later.

He doesn’t even ask for a specific kind, Stiles chastises in his head, falling back to sleep. He’s in love with a pastry idiot. 

~

“Do you know when you smile, you brighten up the whole damn room?”

The question clearly catches Derek off guard because he falls head first…into a duck pond. 

Stiles’ first reaction is to jump in after him - he hates to admit it, but he gets a little nervous around water when Derek is with him; there have been several incidents where he’s unconsciously grabbed Derek’s hand in order to drag him away from pools and, one time, a very large puddle - but when Derek emerges, wearing his someone is about to die face, Stiles can’t be held accountable for the way he falls to the ground because, yup, that’s a tiny, outraged duckling perched on top of Derek’s head.   

“Oh my god,” he yells, rolling onto his back and kicking his legs in the air. He feels like a kid, grabbing his stomach, water practically pouring from his eyes. This was, quite possibly, the best day of his life.

Normally, Derek would be yelling threats - several, in fact, some in Spanish because he’s a show off - but he just stands there….in the middle of a fucking pond. The duckling is still sitting on his head, like he or she plans to set up home there and it’s so adorable Stiles thinks he actually coos out loud.

Still, Derek still doesn’t say anything. Not even when Stiles coos again, very, very deliberately. (And Scott said his middle name could never be Danger, pffft.) Stiles can’t actually guess what Derek is going to do but he doesn’t care. He looks a strange cross between wanting to murder someone - namely, Stiles - and a little kid who was told they couldn’t get a puppy only to get one on Christmas day anyway. 

Mostly, he just looks lost. And wet. Very, very wet. Somewhere out there, someone is playing It’s Raining Men and Stiles wants nothing more than to share this glorious moment with them. He’s just in the process of taking out his phone to at least snap a photo to send to the pack when - 

“Did you mean it?” Derek asks, and man, those water droplets just keep on running, don’t they. 

Stiles grins. “Did I mean for you to fall into a pond and adopt a new feathered friend? No but I think we can all agree-” 

Stiles.” 

Derek growls and it would be effective - at least in getting Stiles to help him out of the pond - if it wasn’t for the fact his ears were turning a little pink. A lot pink, actually and - 

Oh.

Sitting up, Stiles drags his butt over to the edge of the pond.

“Yeah,” he says. “I meant it. I mean, smiles can’t literally light up rooms, I know that, but when you smile it’s like…” He sighs and flaps his arms, suddenly nervous, hitting Derek in the process. The duckling practically glares at him and Stiles briefly wonders if he has competition here. 

Right. Better make this good then. He clears his throat. 

“It’s like, everything just makes sense for a little bit, you know? I look at you and it’s not that smiling is rare for you, at least not anymore, but it’s still pretty thrilling to see it and when you do I’m like, that’s some quality shit right there but then I get confused because it’s like, do I wanna punch it? Kiss it? Pet it? Who knows. Usually it depends on what you’re wearing.” 

Derek blinks and Stiles groans because, yeah, he just said that out loud. In real time. To Mr McGrumpy himself. Who is currently not reacting.

Great.

“Uh, I mean,” he attempts to correct himself but it’s too late. Derek is already slowly pulling him in and pressing his lips to his in what is the single most innocent, chaste kiss of Stiles’ life - because, you know, duckling and head movements - but somehow, it still manages to be perfect. 

“Nice,” Stiles whispers, after, waggling his eyebrows.

Derek snorts and kisses him again.

~

“Turn it off,” Derek whines, nuzzling further into Stiles’ neck. “This is why I leave my phone in the kitchen. Like we discussed.

Stiles tries to swat him, ends up kissing his temple. Sue him, he’s tired. “Says the person who can afford to leave their phone in the kitchen. We don’t all have supernatural hearing, asshole.”

Derek whines again. “You also have the worst taste in ringtones.”

Stiles gasps, suddenly sitting up. Well, he tries to. When your boyfriend is made of muscle and is half lying on top of you, it makes moving a lot more difficult. Not that Stiles is really complaining. Much. “I’ll have you know Bushes of Love is a Star Wars parody classic.”    

Derek rolls his eyes, Stiles can feel it, says, “just answer it, sweetums.” 

“Ugh,” Stiles grimaces, “I already told you I’m sorry for the pet-name thing. It was an accident!”

“Calling me your ‘slutty buddy’ in front of your dad was meant as a pet name?”

“It sounded better in my head!”  

Derek groans and wraps an “exasperated” arm around Stiles’ waist. Oh. So. Exasperated. Stiles grins. “Answer. Your. Phone.” 

Stiles finds his phone on the fifth try.

He has fifteen missed calls, all from Erica. Texts too. Every single one is a link to some article online, followed by a string of heart and eggplant emojis.   

Young Love and the Ugly Duckling’,” Stiles reads, clicking on the link. “Uhhh, Derek?” He prods him. 

What.” 

There’s a picture of us in the online Beacon Gazette,” looking into each other’s eyes, like a pair of love sick fools, Stiles wants to add because, wow, is he really that obvious when he looks at Derek? To be fair though, Derek isn’t much better and he is the one with an angry bird on his head.

He prods Derek again and again until he finally gives in, makes him look at the phone. 

“Huh,” he says, blinking at it. “Fred looks pretty pissed that I’m kissing you.” His face breaks out in a smug grin and Stiles rolls his eyes. Hard. 

“You are aware Fred is a duckling, right?” 

“Yes.” Derek grins harder, showing all his teeth, although his cheeks do colour slightly when he catches Stiles’ eye. 

Stiles sighs, totally not fond. “They couldn’t have come up with a better title, though?” he asks, brandishing his phone. “The Ugly Ducking, really?” 

Yeah,” Derek says, frowning. “I mean, I wouldn’t go as far as to call you ugly.” He laughs and Stiles smacks him across the chest with a loud, “hey!”

They both turn back to look at the picture. 

“We look so stupid,” Stiles whispers, shaking his head and biting his thumb. We fit, he thinks. We look like we fit. 

Leaning in, Derek smiles at him. “We do,” he agrees, burying his face back into the warmth of Stiles’ neck, muttering something about home and content and stupid Star Wars parodies.

Stiles snaps a selfie, captions it goals, and sends it to Erica. 

Study Session

pairing : billy hargrove x reader

warnings : smut, dirty talking, swearing, the good stuff ;)

requests : @bii-aan-ckaa

A/N : I CHANGED UP THE REQUEST A LITTLE BIT PLEASE DONT HATE ME I JUST THOUGHT IT WOULD MAKE THE STORY MAKE A BIT MORE SENSE!! I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT AND IF YOU WANT TO SEND MORE REQUESTS I LOVE HEARING EVERYONES PROMPTS :)

Originally posted by mistress-gif

It was the talk of the entire school for almost a week when Billy Hargrove moved to Hawkins. The man looked like he was straight out of a magazine. And he’s from the beloved state of California. Everything about him made every woman swoon. His hair, his walk and oh my god his jeans.

I was walking down the hallway with my friend, Jessica when I first saw him. My eyes scanned over inch of him but I knew he’d never go for a girl like me, even if it was a night and we were both heavily intoxicated.

“What do you think of the new kid?” Jessica asked, practically breaking her neck to turn around and take another look at him.

“He’s alright.” I simply stated as I walked over to my locker beginning to open it.

“Come on, ‘alright’ he’s better than alright. He’s stunning.” She was almost drooling at this point.

As I pushed my books in my locker and grabbed a different binder for my next class, somebody came sliding up to the locker next to me.

I turned my head slightly and I was shocked to see Billy leaning up against the lockers raising his eyebrows at me.

“So, chemistry is kicking my ass and it’s only the first week and I heard you’re pretty smart so would you be willing to help me?” He asked, barely making eye contact, mostly looking at his hands as if he didn’t care.

“Sure, when are you free?” I asked, doing my best to keep calm.

“Today, after school. Does that work for you?” He stated more than asking and I nodded. Before I could form a sentence he was already walking off.

“How the hell did you manage to get a study date with Billy Hargrove?” Jessica asked awe stuck.

“It isn’t a date.” I smiled, finally closing my locker.

“Okay, sure, have fun study ‘chemistry’” She grinned and I rolled my eyes heading to my next class.

Once the final bell rang, I headed out the door to where Billy was, leaning up against his car, cigarette between his lips.

“You cool with working at my place?” He asked and I nodded, saying a simple yes before we both got into his car. As we drove away, far surpassing the speed limit I couldn’t help but feel my heart rate increase each inch we got closer to his house.

He opened the front door of his house for me, leading me to his room and closing the door behind him.

“So what do you want to work on first?” I asked as I set my bag down, going through to get my chemistry notes.

“I can think of a couple things.” Billy said seductively, I looked back to see him eyeing me up and down with a glisten in his eye.

“H-Here we can look over the notes that we took before you came here.” I stuttered out, laying down a packet of notes.

Billy brought over a chair as we sat down and I went over what the diagrams showed and how they correlated with the current topic we were learning in class right now.

“Are you starting to understand?” I asked and looked over at him.

“Uh, yeah.” He nodded smiling.

“Okay well I have some other worksheets I could let you look at to make sure you fully understand.” As I reached for a piece of paper in my binder I could feel Billy’s hand running up my thigh.

“I think I know this stuff pretty well, but I’d rather get to know you a little better.” He whispered in my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

I grabbed his hand, throwing it off me before handing him the paper.

“Try finishing that to make sure you got it.” I said sterny leaning back in the chair as he rolled his eyes, grabbing a pencil and quickly writing in answers.

“Here.” He said almost violently as he whipped the paper in my direction. I grabbed the paper, scanning over the answers.

“Half of this is wrong.” I stated.

“Yeah, it’s probably because I wasn’t really paying attention.” He shrugged and leaned back, kicking his feet up on the desk.

“Well, if you aren’t going to pay attention, I’m not going to waste my time.” I said rather annoyed and he sat up hastily.

“I just can’t wrap my head around the concept.” He said, slowly leaning in.

“Well then listen.” I offered. I could feel the room heat up as he leaned in until he pressed his lips to mine which resulted with me putting my hand on his chest, pushing him off.

“And the first step would be to stop trying to get with me.”

“Come on, you know you want to.” He grinned wildly.

He wasn’t wrong, I could feel my heat pooling where I needed him most.

“We need to study.”

“And I need to study you.” He whispered as he kissed me once more. At first I didn’t move, not because I didn’t want him to kiss me but because I did. My mind quickly played the pros and cons of this until I ultimately decided to melt into it. Kissing back with the feverly passion that he had.

My hands grabbed at the back of his neck and Billy pulled me out of the chair I was sitting in, to his lap. He wasted little time in pushing his tongue into my mouth, now starting a battle of dominance. I began grinding into him, satisfying both of our needs for friction by the pleasant moan he let out.

“Keep doing that princess.” He sighed as he kissed up and down my neck, jawline, and ear. I could feel the bulge in his pants growing as I moved faster against him.

Billy’s actions grew quicker as he ripped off his leather jacket and picked me up, throwing me down on his bed and sliding above me, ripping my shirt off and taking in my body.

“Fuck princess, I would’ve never taken someone like you for drop dead gorgeous.” He breathed out heavily before stripping his own shirt off. I️ blushed at the new pet name and I️ unclipped my bra as a wave of confidence rushed over me.

Billy’s pupils swelled at the sight and he wasted no time in taking extra care of them, massaging my right breast as his tongue swirled against my left one, lightly biting down causing me to whimper. He repeated the same actions on the other one and he sucked on the flesh around them until black and blue bruises littered my chest.

“I️ must say, I️ did a fucking good job. Wouldn’t you say?” He asked. I️ pushed myself up against him and slithered my arms around his shoulders.

“Yes,” I️ purred in his ear and I️ could hear him let out a low growl.

“What do you want me to do princess, huh? Do you want me to fuck the shit out of you. God, I️ want you to cum around my cock. Would you like that?” He whispered in a low tone and I️ moaned at his words.

“Yes, Yes Billy! Fuck me please.” I️ whined and he leaned back, chuckling slightly.

“You don’t know how turned on I️ get when I️ see you squirming beneath me.” He groaned and he began unbuttoning my pants.

Once he removed all of my clothing, he did the same with his.

Without warning he pushed himself into me, allowing us to moan out in sync.

“My cock feels so good around your tight fucking pussy.” Billy groaned as he thrusted. I️ grinded my hips, creating more friction as I️ let my nails rake up and down his back.

“Shit Billy, yes. Faster please.” I️ whined and he listened, speeding up his actions as I️ felt my orgasm beginning to come upon me.

“Billy, I’m close.” I️ moaned out as I️ gripped tightly on his long hair and he yelled out in pleasure at the harsh feeling of his hair being pulled.

“Good, cum for me princess. I️’ve wanted you to do that ever since I️ first saw you.” He groaned and gripped my hips, completely pounding into me.

I️ grabbed the back of his neck, biting and sucking on the flesh of his neck as I️ came from my high. The pleasure I️ gave Billy allowed him to fall from his high as well, as he came inside me. Billy thrusted hard a couple more times as we rode our orgasms out.

As we finished, Billy pulled out, practically collapsing on top of me.

“Now, that was some good shit.” He smirked before he laid his head on my chest and I️ ran my hands through his damp hair.

“I️ couldn’t agree more.”

Ouija - (H/M)

A/N; SOOOOOOO
This turned out A LOT longer than @dont-run-up and I first intended, but hopefully, everyone enjoys! Leave some comments letting us know what you thought of Incubus!Yoongi~~

Genre; Horror with that good S M UT 

Length; long af- 9,800+ words

Kink(s); A sprinkle of Master/Pet, impact play, oral (giving and receiving), creampie, light bondage, etc.

Originally posted by taes-nose-mole

12:00 a.m.
The time blared on your friend, Hee Young’s, phone screen. “Come on Y/n,” She jeered, keeping that eager grin and puppy-dog look in her eyes as she gently grasped your biceps, swaying you from side to side. “I wanna play! It’s just a game-” She added, pointing towards the newly purchased Ouija board that sat on your coffee table. Just the sight of it rushed a wave of uneasiness over you.

Shaking your head, your brows furrowed slightly, “I don’t know-” You replied, as anxiety laced your words. “My grandma always told me to steer clear of them, they could allow things into your home and life.”

“Oh my gosh, you don’t really believe all that nonsense, do you?” She asked, giggling through her words while she began to open the board’s box. Unlike you, she was a full-blown skeptic; she wasn’t a believer in anything paranormal, so Ouija was just a game to her and nothing more than that.

God did you wish you could dismiss it the way she could.
Though you had never personally experienced anything ghost-wise, you knew plenty of people that had. “Ahh I do, but..” You began, sighing as you decided to give in despite your better judgment, “But I guess we can play, just for a little, at least.”

Heeyoung excitedly clapped while smiling like a dork as she lifted the onyx and pearl colored board and planchette out. “Don’t worry,” She sweetly said, recognizing the nervous expression that painted your face as she placed it onto the glass. “It’s just a game.”

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Don’t Freak III

Originally posted by kings-of-my-heart

Steve Harrington x Reader

Part I | Part II | PART IV | PART V

Requests are OPEN


Mr. Crowley played lowly over the radio as Y/N drove Steve back to his car. She turned it on to fill the void of silence that enveloped the orange ’79 Jetta.

“I, uh, never took you for an Ozzy kinda girl,” Y/N raised an eyebrow, but didn’t take her eyes off the road.

“And what kinda girl do you take me for?” Steve sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

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