Odd

✨ She/They ✨ spam account of the-odd-devil

[always-andromeda]

Hi! I was wondering if you could write some enemies to lovers blurb with Percy Dolarhyde?? Like they hated each others guts but after Percy gets abducted and comes back to town the reader hugs him?

Sweet Pea | Percy Dolarhyde x fem!Reader

Percy Dolarhyde x fem!Reader

Word Count | 1,490

Author’s Note | hee hee, you guys are getting FED this week!! I was gonna keep this as a sweet little blurb but then I felt too many things! Oopsie!

Warnings | Percy and reader bully each other lol, just a smidge of angst and fluff, nothing I can think of!

For almost twenty long years you’d dealt with Percival Dolarhyde’s bullshit. From the second his daddy started spurting gold out of every orifice of his body, the universe decided that Percy would never grow up knowing poverty. On his own, however, he decided he’d never know a moment of good, pure silence either.

You and him developed a routine. By the time you were both twelve, Percy came to the conclusion that you gave the best reaction when he pulled on your hair. And kicked dust in your face. And threw rocks at you. And called you ugly, smelly, gross, stupid, silly, and any other easy word that could pop into his head. He tended to use a lot of the same ones since no matter how many tutors his father brought in to raise him up right, he still couldn’t read very well.

That was the first thing you’d ever teased him about.

All the money in the world and still you can’t read for nothing, Percival Dolarhyde.

That was another thing he hated. You called him Percival. Sure, it’s his full name. But you say it like he’s a toddler, running around and making a mess of everything. And on the day he gets abducted, he acts exactly like he is one. Throwing his tantrum in front of the saloon and shooting his gun off. You’re almost glad to see the new stranger in town give him a fraction of the wallop he deserves.

“Heard they’re cartin’ your sorry ass all the way out the Santa Fe tonight.” You chuckle, approaching his jail cell. “Terribly wasteful trip for those horses. They should make you walk instead.”

Percy lies on the cot in the corner, hat tipped over his head as if he was actually intending to sleep in the musty old cell. He looks up at you from underneath the brim and grimaces before rising to his feet.

“Not if my daddy has anything to say about it.” He steps the short distance between the bed and the bars, almost pressing his face against them.

You inch closer, “Your daddy doesn’t care whether you rot in here or in Santa Fe, I can assure you that. Just as long as you don’t come home, everyone will move along with their lives just fine.”

“You don’t mean that, do ya’, sweet pea?” He argues back in that deliciously low twang of his, tongue between his teeth in a teasing manner that drives you positively insane.

The stranger snaps from his own cell, obviously not humored by the back and forth, “Are you two done with your lover’s quarrel over there?”

You’re the first to glare at him and say, “Lover’s quarrel? You must really be new around here, mister.”

“Yeah, if my sweet pea had a lover, that poor sap would be getting it twice as hard as I do.”

“You shut your mouth, Dolarhyde, or I swear I’ll—”

“You’ll what? Smack me? C’mon now, I thought I wasn’t your lover?”

Percy smirks slyly and you sigh. No matter how many times he sneered at you...he never failed to infuriate you. If only you could grab him by the collar and smack him. And maybe give him a little kiss.

No. Absolutely not. Don't fill your head with that load of bull.

“Enjoy your stay in Santa Fe, Percival.” You give him one last smile with pursed lips, entirely sure that this is the last time you’ll get to see his sniveling, beautiful face.

Then he got himself abducted. Those horrifying creatures descended from the sky and snatched him away. It's a fate that you’d been praying upon him for practically your whole life. And instead of being grateful for this blessing, you’d kill to have the Percy from your childhood throwing pebbles and kicking up dust and doing his best to irritate you. Because at least he would still be there, vying for your attention.

Against your better judgment, you worried about him. You never wanted the last time you saw him to be him screaming.

If anyone was going to drag his sorry ass out of the mess he was in, it would be you. You kicked up a fuss, demanding that Woodrow Dolarhyde let you join the ragtag posse who would attempt to save those who'd been abducted. Though he'd been confused at how committed you were to finding his drunkard of a son, he let it be. They needed as much help as they could get. And, frankly, he didn't care what guilty conscience was fueling your ferocity. As long as you wanted Percy to be safe and sound, that was enough of a common goal to consider you an ally.

Once it's all said and done and the adrenaline fades, one person is on your mind. 

"Percy?" You search the crowd desperately for his stupid face, convincing yourself that it's because you'll give him that smack across the cheek that he's always deserved. You'd helped kill a handful of aliens now. Giving Percy a taste of his own medicine was nothing compared to the hell that you'd been through almost losing your life for him.

But that idea is gone with the wind as soon as you spot him, eyes wide and darting from person to person. For a second, you smile, thinking he must be looking for you.

"Percival!" you run to him like you never have before and throw yourself into his arms. You smile when you feel him wrap around you. His hand his hesitant, but ultimately rests on your head and holds you to him. The affection is unnatural, you’re well aware. But it's there. And since Percy has always hated you, it's more than enough.

“You really have a habit of getting yourself into trouble, huh?” You ask him, trying not to get too misty eyed as you pull away, “Just let me get a good look at you.”

Woodrow Dolarhyde appears beside you and rests a solemn palm on your upper arm. Percy got all of his cockiness from his father, but in that moment, Woodrow shows none of the loathed trait.

He simply clears his throat and says carefully, “He’s still a bit…shaken up.”

“Shaken up?” You glance back and forth between the men, waiting for their awkward silence to manifest into a satisfactory answer until Percy finally pipes in.

“Who are you?”

You tense up more than you want to. “That’s not funny. Don’t you dare start with me.”

“Kid. He doesn’t remember…anything.”

"No, no, no. You can't forget," with your hands on his shoulders, you stare into his eyes, searching for some reluctant recognition of your existence. "You despise me. I'm the only one who calls you Percival because I know how much it upsets you. And I'm terrible because I love upsetting you. But you love making my life hell too so it all evens out."

"It sounds like..." Percy trails off, gazing off someplace in the middle distance before refocusing his attention to you, "Why would you want to remember me?"

The question takes you off guard. At every twist and turn, Percy was there to make sure that you were miserable. Teasing you with that silly little name because it made you blush every time. He probably had no clue why it got you so. Was probably painfully unaware of how badly you wanted to hear him say it with just a hint of care in his tone. Sweet pea. He taunted you with the name; held it above your head like a child with a toy you so desperately wanted. Why would you want to remember how he was?

"Because— because I don't know who I'd be without you." The choked sob you let out makes you suddenly self conscious. Woodrow already looks uncomfortable watching the scene play out. So you turn, wiping the stray tear off of your cheek with a knuckle. As soon as you step away, Percy's hesitant voice utters something that makes you freeze. 

"Sweet pea?"

You wonder if you'd just hallucinated it. Your lovesick mind was playing a trick on you just to cope with the obliterating reality that you'd done all you had for nothing. Then he repeats it. Like he's finally sure of the sound. Like he knows that name belongs to you.

Within seconds, you're back in his arms. But this time, it's Percival Dolarhyde holding you like he's afraid to let go. You seem to anchor him to the ground. Arms tightening around his nervous frame, you return the warm embrace. No alien is ever gonna snatch your Percival away ever again.

"I don't remember you. Not exactly. But I remember that." His voice shakes with a vulnerability you're not used to from him, "You're my sweet pea."

With your thumb caressing over his dirty cheek, you look into his muddled green eyes and smile wistfully, "That's good enough for now."

[odd-devil-jack]

OMG I'm crying, that's everything I wanted and more!!! so so cute!

[always-andromeda]

Potatoes and Molasses || Alex Jones x GN!Reader

Alex Jones x GN!Reader

Word Count || 2,495

Summary || Going out at night and taking candy from strangers isn't exactly Alex's idea of a good time. But baking cookies and watching cartoons with his favorite person? That hits the spot.

Author’s Note || this one literally started with me being like "this guy needs to watch over the garden wall and be fed baked goods" and even though I have such a hard time writing pure fluff with little to no plot, that one thought was enough to birth this. enjoyyyyy.

Warnings || vague descriptions of Alex having trauma, tiny bits of angst, but mostly pure fluff!!

The first fallen leaf of fall leaves Alex anxious. But nothing really scares him. It's just another season, he reasons with himself. Another season that he'll need to get through. He'll smile at children dressed as princesses and superheroes and hand out candy at the door. And he'll try not to think of the teenagers that roam the neighborhood wearing rubber masks of fictional serial killers or plastic contoured to look like a devil's face covering their own. Because he's well aware that people don't need masks to be dangerous. No matter how nervous they make him...they're just kids. Just kids.

He was a kid once. It's hard for him to remember those times but he knows at its core that it's true.

He tries to think of that on Halloween night. Tries to grasp hard onto the end of some fleeting memory. One where the woman who'd raised him--his real mother--had thrown a sheet over him and taken him out. He was just old enough to feel embarrassed having his mother accompany him to a front door. But, otherwise, he wouldn't have gone up in the first place.

His feet stayed firmly planted at the end of the driveway, watching all the other children push past him and receive their sugary treats with no hesitation.

Then there's his mother's soft voice, "Come on, honey. They won't bite." As she held his tiny hand with a loose grasp, Alex wasn't amused at all to find that the man answering the door was dressed as a vampire.

Alex was glad that the ghost costume hid most of his worry. His big green eyes and furrowed brow were the only indication of the fear getting to him. He tried not to look at the fake blood that dripped down from the man's fangs and his shirt.

"Say 'trick or treat', Barry," he felt his mother's hand press into his lower back, urging him further on the doorstep. With the man coming closer, Alex put his brave face on. But the words wouldn't come out. He felt the wall between his words and his mouth grow bigger and bigger as the expectant stare became more and more pervasive. The bricks are thick and no amount of saliva on his dried up tongue could possibly soften the grout keeping everything glued shut.

He willed himself to just say the simple string of words. But they wouldn't come. They never would.

Instead, his mother says them for him and helps him hold out his bright orange candy bucket in the shape of a pumpkin.

"I'm sorry, he's just a little shy." His mother's tone is stern for a few seconds before she softens it again, just for him. "Let's go, sweetheart. We have a lot more houses to hit before the night is over."

That was his first and last proper Halloween before he was taken. Part of him wishes desperately that he had a better memory of it. But, in a strange way, he's mostly grateful for it. Because the people who took him didn't enjoy the holidays; not the way that they should be enjoyed. Having better memories of those times would've just been a slap in the face. No, he concludes, it's better that this time of year fills him with dread. It's better that he stay inside. It's better that he stays quiet this night; trapped in a strange sort of mourning. 

But you don't let the story end that way.

A brand new chapter is marked by more orange pumpkins. Something that he takes as a form of mockery, though he knows that there's no way you'd know about it, let alone inflict that sort of malice upon him. Deep down, he knows you mean well when you urge him to help you stick the Halloween decals on the windows overlooking the front yard.

When he struggles to see the point in the little pictures and asks why you bother, you reply confidently, "The kids like seeing them. It tells them we're a good house." Then your voice lowers and you lean into him. As if you're preparing to tell him a secret, you whisper, "Besides, we can do fun things just for ourselves, right?"

Alex repeats that sentence over and over. The gel decals cling strangely to his fingers as he presses them onto the glass, reaching the taller parts of the window that you can't quite reach.

"We're making a picture that we get to look at every day, so make sure it looks nice." You say. So Alex arranges the nicest picture he can. There's a black cat, a witch, a haunted house, a bubbling cauldron, and a ghost all surrounded by spiders and pumpkins of various shapes and sizes. The one gel cling he avoids is the vampire. You give him a confused look at the remaining figure, alone on the plastic sheet.

You laugh lightly through your nose, "Should I get that one for you, Alex?"

He scrunches up his nose and shakes his head. "I don't want that one in the picture."

Shrugging with your shoulders, you pick up the sheet and take it along with the rest of the plastic packaging to the trash. "Can't argue with that." You conclude. No questions asked. It puts him at ease.

An ease that only sets in deeper as the golden light from the sunset streams through the window. He notices how it filters through in colored fractals that land on the carpet. Vivid purples, greens, oranges, and yellows flood his vision. He swears that he could watch it forever, only limited by time itself as the day grew later.

Eyeing him from across the room, you open up the recipe book on the kitchen counter in front of you. Your hand grazes the worn pages and quickly you find the familiar recipe. Just the illustration of the dessert makes you begin to smile. It's a simple list of ingredients and sparse instructions. Something you're sure you and Alex can tackle easily.

You call him to the kitchen, urging him over to look at the page. Alex sees the picture first: triangles of some sort of pastry covered in zigzags of glossy icing. Then he reads the header of the page: Pumpkin Turnovers with Cinnamon Glaze.

His head raises and he shoots you a quizzical look from behind his large frames. Cooking is still one of those newer things for him. Growing up on a diet of frozen TV dinners and whatever crockpot meals Holly had known how to make had left him close to inept with every appliance aside from the microwave.

Yet he still seems eager, running a tentative fingertip down the list of ingredients. He can't remember the last time he had something with pumpkin in it, but he can barely recall the flavor; something akin to a sweet potato and a dash of bitterness.

There's safety in your movements. You know exactly what you're doing, unwrapping the pre-made sheets of puff pastry and showing him how to cook down the pumpkin puree along with all the spices that nearly make him sneeze. Above all else, you're patient with him. There's no hand at the small of his back, pushing him along. It's comfortable. 

You each spoon little scoops of the pumpkin paste mixture into the center of the pasty squares. He's careful to make sure not to overfill them, not wanting them to be unable to close properly. 

Watching him put about a tablespoon in each, you chuckle a bit and lean closer to him. "You know you can put more in there, right? We want them bursting with the pumpkin."

Bursting. That's something else he repeats to himself. It's a word that takes a bit to warm up to him, but he likes it nonetheless. It's rich and indulgent and descriptive. It's a word that makes him want to be a little bit selfish. So he doubles up on the filling and by the end, he sticks the spoon in his mouth, completely cleaning the mixture off of the end.

It's just as good as he remembers it tasting; probably even better. And you just laugh. You laugh with him instead of at him, pointing out the little bit of pumpkin that managed to miss his mouth on the little journey.

Alex swipes the fallen bit of  pumpkin from off of his chin and licks the glob off of his fingertip. He smiles, "That...is really good."

"It better be," you snort, "Because we're gonna have two dozen of these that we'll need to get through in the next week. I doubt we're going to have trouble with that, though."

Taking a step back, Alex admires yours and his handy work: two sheet pans lined with parchment paper, each holding a dozen pouches of autumnal bliss. Off to the side was a bowl of the glaze that would eventually be drizzled over the top of the golden pastries.

You stick one of the pans into the preheated oven and set the timer for fifteen minutes.

"How about we turn on something to watch while those cook? When the timer goes off you can go switch the pans out, yeah" You ask, staring at him expectantly. Alex gives you a firm, confident nod before letting you pass by him, heading to the living room.

You and Alex watch plenty of shows that are supposedly meant for children. For you, it's usually a wave of nostalgia and for Alex, it's usually an introduction to some new cartoon. This time is no different, yet, it's special. You carried lots of little seasonal traditions with you and somehow, Alex had always managed to miss out on this one: your yearly rewatch of Over the Garden Wall.

It feels different than most "kids shows" you've ever seen. Maybe because in a landscape of low budget CGI, lighting fast jump cuts, and mind numbingly boring storylines, this one embraces its artistry. All you can hope as you turn on the first episode is that Alex can find the same warmth and coziness in the tale of two brothers.

You watch his expression every few seconds, both excited and nervous to see his reaction at certain bits. In his own way, Alex can be a little animated, making dramatic faces that always delight you. When most people grow up, some part of them stifles those behaviors. Folks get older and for some reason, they decide they're too good for pure, unadulterated, happiness that overtakes their entire being. But not Alex.

That's one thing you love most about him, when he feels something, he feels it in its entirety.

Beep, beep, beep

The timer rudely blares, yet you're the only one who seems to notice it.

With his eyes practically glued to the screen in concentration, you don't have the heart to break it. It's rare to see him take to a piece of media so quickly and you wish it would happen more. It makes you happier than anything seeing him having moments like this. You've noticed how much more open he seems when his mind latches onto something of comfort.

Besides, Alex doesn't even notice you getting up to go check on the pastries before the timer goes off. You decide they need a few more minutes. You spend those minutes watching the back of Alex's head as he sits on the living room couch, neck slightly craned forward to he's closer to the television screen. 

"So, let's small talk. My name's Greg. What's yours?"

"Beatrice."

"My brother's name is Wirt..."

"Who cares."

You swear you hear Alex laugh a little at the exchange between the eccentric young boy and the curt bluebird. It's not terribly funny, but the fact that Alex laughed at it makes you sniff slightly. Once the first batch is ready, you switch the pans around and reason with yourself that it's probably best for you to do the dishes now. You know that the second you sit down with a pumpkin turnover, there's a good chance you're not getting up again.

You look forward to having the night in. As much as you love handing out candy and counting up how many children come to the door in superhero costumes versus princess costumes, you have always had a hard time ignoring Alex's quiet hesitation. Holidays can be hard for him, you're well aware.

They're usually reminders and triggers of other little events, ones that you're sure he does his best to leave behind in the comfort of his therapists' office. 

You try not to pry or pick at him. And you try to understand how some things might not come as easy to him. Yet, something about that is fulfilling to experience with him. Removing the heartbreak that you feel when you realize why he's so clueless to so many things, it's pure joy that runs through your heart. You love getting to watch his eyes light up when he discovers a new favorite. Whenever he tries something new. Hell, anytime he conquers a fear that you worried he'd never get over. You let him push himself, because at the end of the day, you know he can.

But as much as you like those moments, you like these too. You like the sound of him humming to himself when you call him out into the kitchen. You're absolutely sure he'd be more upset with you digging into the dessert without him over having him pause the show.

Right off the bat, you know he'll be repeating the song he heard in the show for days, maybe even weeks, to come.

Through a mouthful of flaky pastry, you ask, "Hey, what were you humming a minute ago?" There's a smile trapped in the corner of your lips; you know full well what the song was, but you wouldn't miss the chance to hear him sing it.

Through a mouthful of dessert, Alex sings in his enthusiastic, lilting voice:

“Oh, potatoes and molasses

If you want some, oh, just ask us

They're warm and soft like puppies and socks

Filled with cream and candy rocks!”

And by the time he finishes with the first verse, you join along, not caring about how you sound.

“Oh, potatoes and molasses

It's the only thing left on your task list

They're short and stout, they make everyone shout

For potatoes and molasses.” It's at this moment where Alex decides he can tolerate the holidays. As long as there are freshly baked desserts, cartoons, warm blankets, crooked smiles at little jokes, and off key voices to sing silly songs, he can be happy. No bloody vampire on the window or forceful hand at his back can shake him; for that hand has morphed into yours, handing him one more pocket of golden pastry, bursting with sugar and spice as you urge him back to the living room to finish the show.

[odd-devil-jack]

Your Alex x reader fic makes me want to cry every time T_T and I mean it in the best way possible, it's so sweet and cute and makes my heart so warm! The descriptions are on point as always, really getting me into the mood and the story! I wish I read it sooner and re-read it during october!

[jwasontodd]

[hanksthompson]

“Dude, I’m kind of uncomfortable watching this with you…” “Dude…learn to like it.”

Chris Marquette and Paul Dano as Eli Brooks and Klitz | The Girl Next Door

[goodboyriddler]

Eyes Over Here

The eyes burn in your back, watching you silently in the crowded room, but you already know where they’re coming from. You don’t need to turn back to know it’s from someone with brown hair and thin glasses over a cute nose.

He’s watching? He’ll get a show.

warnings: 18+, slightly sub!klitz, fdom! popular reader, teasing, exhibitionism, size kink, edging, handjob, rough male oral sex, hand kink, fingering, riding, a pinch of fluff

word count: 6.2k

Afficher davantage

[always-andromeda]

Bar Hopping | Joby Taylor x fem!Reader

Joby Taylor x fem!Reader

Word Count | 805

Author’s Note | I’m on a liiiiiittle bit of a Joby kick right now…ngl…let’s blame that on those behind the scene tattoo photos.

Warnings | smut (MDNI), fingering, dirty talk, dub-con, use of pet names, nothing else I can think of!

You have no clue how Joby convinced you to do this. How he had you on his lap, practically molded to his body on the booth of the table. You aren’t the type of person who likes these displays of affection. Didn't like the vulnerability of making out in such a public place. It's nearly midnight, the late night crowd having long since passed through this off-putting place. Only a few stragglers line the bar, engaging in their own drunken conversation. But they're nowhere near enough to hear Joby’s words; his tone hushed as he delivers dirty sentiments.

“You’re gorgeous,” his hot breath fans across your neck, “Lucky I don’t lick you up right here…”

He sticks his tongue down your throat and you remember how he got you there. How he coaxed you up on the hill of his thighs and cooed that it would all be fine.

No one would see.

But they certainly have a chance of hearing him as he reaches a ringed hand between your legs, right up that skirt he’s been admiring all night.

Daring to make you really squirm, Joby brushes his fingers against the growing wet spot right at the center of your underwear. As soon as you feel the pressure, you nearly jump from your spot on his lap.

He's ravenous. But do you really want to entertain his boldness? Does he think he’s going to fuck you in this disgusting bar? Make you cum while sitting in a booth that reeks of cigarette smoke and old peanut shells? He must be out of his mind because, of course, all signs point to yes.

"Joby, not here." Your hand grabs his wrist, pulling his hand a little bit away from your heat. "Wait until we get home."

"Wanna fuck you now—" He slurs, forcing his hand deeper between your thighs, easily overpowering your own strength. “Gonna make you feel so good.”

If you looked up the term “sleaze ball”, you’re sure you would find his face. There’s his classic lazy smile. The one that tells you that he’s drunk off his ass and horny as all hell. It’s a blend that only turns the dial on his bullshit even further. He swipes his tongue over his lips, and drags your panties to the side. And you’re the definition of putty as you let him have his way.

He rubs two fingers across your folds, coating his fingers in their wetness before easing them inside you. They slide right on in until the warm, welcoming metal of his rings hit your lips. And just like them, you’re another one of his accessories, fitting snugly on him.

Then Joby fucking Taylor has the audacity to say, "Need to make you feel good..." as he rips a whimper right from your throat.

"Gotta keep quiet. Don't wanna get kicked out." He whispers, a smirk waiting at the edge of his directions.

You wrap your arms around his neck and bury your head into the groove beside his shoulder. With an open mouth, your teeth find the leather of his jacket and bite down hard just to hold back the desperate whines as he pumps wickedly in and out of your soaking cunt. 

Grateful that the shitty rock music at least drowns out the soft, wet squelch as he works, you can't help but wonder if the leather does that good of a job of muffling your moans. All you know is you can feel his long fingers ruining you in this filthy bar and your head is heavy from the weight of your alcohol. As the buzz in your brain and between your legs swirls together, your eyelids threaten to flutter closed.

He whispers, "You like that, baby girl? Does it feel good?"

Your approval comes out in a muffled whimper and your hand tightens on your grasp of the dark hair at the nape of his neck.

"Yeah, I bet it does. Good girl." He purrs.

Even while drunk, he manages to bring you closer to the edge than anyone else ever has. Has you humping—almost bouncing—against his hand and cinching your hold on his upper half, trying to use him to steady yourself for the impending quake. Your thighs shake; cunt clenches around his fingers. And with one last push into the meat of his large palm, you're releasing all over his hand.

You're not only the type of girl who will make out with her greasy boyfriend in a dingy old bar. Now, you're also the type who will watch her boyfriend suck her slick off of his fingers before washing it down with the last sip of his beer. And though you feign shame as you tuck your head deeper into the crook of his neck, secretly, you're the type of girl that loves it.

[odd-devil-jack]

THAT WAS AMAZING OMG (and YES the tattoos) (I want to write a full review but I don’t have time AAAAAAAAAH)

[always-andromeda]

Bathtime | Alex Jones x GN!Reader

Alex Jones x GN!Reader

Word Count | 2,836

Summary | After a few years of therapy and working through some of his trauma with his best friend, Alex finally feels ready to take on a bubble bath.

Author’s Note | This idea came to me when I rewatched Prisoners a few days ago. The way that there are literally almost nO images of Alex like smiling or anything in this movie breaks my heart. Anyways! This is just pure fluff and shut up no I didn’t cry while writing it wow what are you talking about???

Warnings | mentions of ptsd, light mentions of violence, can’t think of anything else, please let me know if I need to add anything!

Afficher davantage

[odd-devil-jack]

OMG OMG OMG it's been so long since I wanted to do a review of this fic! (I have free time now so here we go!) I've read it a long time ago, and sometimes, I think about it and it makes my heart so warm <3 and I re-read it today and I feel like crying but in the best way possible. My heart was already melting at the first paragraph and I thought I would cry at the second one. I've taken some notes during my first reading and it's a lot of "IT'S SO CUTE" and "AAAAAAAAAAAAH" lol I also remembered that I had things to do this day and couldn't stop reading I really loved the description : the car ride and the bath so pretty and so serene! I loved all the little details of him smiling, closing is eyes, the little expressions and everything <3 I remembered holding my breath to when he entered the bath Plus other details such as the name of the ducks, and him so pride of himself , I had tears in my eyes at the end with the "thank you" T_T <3

That fic was so so good, I KNOW that I will come back to it often because it makes my heart so warm <3

[just-call-me-angel]

when will you post again :(

Hiii sorry ive been MIA things have been kind if bonkers bananas lately. Im gonna be out of town til the 5th and when i get back i plan to start writing again because im finally getting some inspiration again 💕

[odd-devil-jack]

SO HYYYPED FOR YOUR COME BACK! 💗 Take your time and take care of yourself! 🥰💕

[starrycare]

yooooo holy shit . they would murder each other

[always-andromeda]

Get Home Safe

Edward Nashton x GN!Reader

Word Count | 2,556

Summary | Walking home at night in Gotham is always a risk. Luckily, Edward Nashton comes to your rescue right at the nick of time.

Author's Note | I know I just posted yesterday but I quickly finished this one up not only because I needed to have a little bit of comfort, but I also wanted to post something somewhat light and fluffy. There may be some mistakes I didn't catch while editing (oops). I love you all so much. And I hope y'all are taking care of yourselves.

Warnings | there's a creepy guy (he gets his shit rocked, don't worry), light violence, generally fluffy, nothing else I can think of!

Edward Nashton doesn't like perceiving himself. Doesn't like being perceived by anyone else either. That's why he wears dark, puffy jackets. They swallow his figure, shrouding him with warmth and allowing him to fade into Gotham’s background. He gets on the train, escaping the seemingly endless torrent of pouring rain, just another passenger packed into the tin can like sardines. 

You’re drunk. Head already fuzzy and pounding. A little too drunk. Of course your friend ditched you for some handsome stranger, leaving you to bumble your way back home alone. You board the train, lazily scanning the car for an open seat, feeling like you could fall over any second. 

Every seat is full. Every single one. Fuck. Though he tries so hard to be invisible, you couldn’t ignore Edward’s eyes darting around the car nervously, making sure that no one touches him. He’s holding onto a hanging strap as he stands. He looks kind, if a bit anxious. But he’s the tallest person on the train and before you can quite control it, you’re gravitating towards him like he’s a sight line.

Somehow, he doesn’t see you until you knock right into him, grabbing his jacket to stay up. Edward lets out the smallest yelp and flinches away. 

“Sorry, do you mind if I stand here? I’m kind of drunk.” Eddie can tell that you're more than kind of drunk. You're teetering back and forth on your feet and the train roars to life beneath you. There's no other place for you to go.

"Sure," Edward clears his throat and answers timidly. As the train jolts forward, you nearly fall again. But this time your face knocks directly against his chest. You look up at the stranger and he's staring at you bewildered through those thick glasses.

Wordlessly, you straighten slightly, your grip shifting to his arm. His lips purse when he feels your cheek rest on his upper arm. The pressure is faint against the thick material of his jacket. But it’s there nonetheless and Edward can't help but fixate on it like it’s a bruise.

With every rattle of the train, you bob closer to him. The train lights flicker just enough that you feel like you could drift off. Your eyes start to droop closed, but they jolt wide open when you feel the man put his hand on the small of your back. Anxiety begins to brew in your chest and you look back up at him, searching his eyes behind those clear framed glasses for some sort of perverse intent.

But you find none. Instead, he offers a small, supportive smile before quickly looking away again. It's safe. Comforting. Warm. You're almost upset to pull away when the train gets to your stop. You mumble a goodbye and detach yourself from the man's side. Edward doesn't understand why he's almost sad to see you leave. It had been nice to be a source of strength for someone else at least for those few minutes.

He sees the other man across the train eyeing you as you stumble away. He knows all too well what the eyes of a predator staring down its prey looks like. On instinct, he follows the man when he gets off the train seconds behind you. 

The doors close right behind him; there's no turning back now. Most know better than to mess around at night around Gotham but there's enough people in the station that he has to search for a sign of you. It takes him a few seconds but he sees the backside of the man's hoodie as he rushes up the stairs, leaving the station. And Edward has a sickening sense in his stomach that tells him that dirtbag still has his sights set on you.

He isn't used to going after people this low. As the Riddler, he targets the wealthy and corrupt. The people that knowingly inflict pain on those who cannot fight back. He sleeps well at night knowing that in some small way, he can contribute to making the city better.

People commit little crimes almost every day, usually just to get by. Edward sees no point in punishing them. But this man...has a different sort of corruption in his soul. With the way he looked at you...he shuddered to think what a monster like that would have planned for you.

Despite him not being in the mask and jacket that has become so ingrained into his character, Edward’s mood shifts with little hesitation. He only worries that he may scare you in his attempt to help you.

Edward knows how to move quietly. He's silent as he walks down the sidewalk, eyes trained on the man and timing his steps so any sound he makes is concealed by the monster’s footsteps. Edward gets angry with himself, realizing that the closest thing he has to a weapon is the swiss army knife he keeps on his keychain. He'll have to stick to brute force this time. Though he isn't the most coordinated fighter, he knows that his stature will help him take down the smaller man. 

Unlike Edward, the man isn't skilled at staying undetected. His shoes are obvious on the pavement right behind you. And you hear it underneath the ringing in your ears. Suddenly, you wish you hadn't drank so much. If you were a little more sober, you would've been more inconspicuous in pulling the pocket knife out of the bag at your side.

But when you hear him quickly approaching, you wait for him to push you into the alleyway before you fully brandish your weapon. In your inebriated state, you swipe it with a ferocious uncertainty horizontally in the air.

Edward hardly has time to react before the monster goes in for the kill. Alarm bells go off in his head and he runs forward just in time to see the flash of silver in your hand.

The man puts his arms up in defense but the blade is sharp enough that it slices right through the fabric of his hoodie. By the small yell he lets out, you're sure you were able to graze his skin. He stumbles back, giving you another chance to get a steadier grip on the handle so you can properly fight him.

Another man you hadn't noticed is behind your attacker, knocking him to the ground and straddling his chest. With his bare fists, he beats the man brutally and relentlessly. He doesn't stop until the man is sputtering on the blood from his busted lip.

"You're never going to do this again. To anyone. Or I swear, next time, I won't be as forgiving." Edward warns. He'd never felt so powerful outside of his suit. And though he knows the threat isn't nearly as strong when he looks like this, he hopes the beating is more than enough to discourage him for a while.

As soon as Edward eases up on his pressure on the man's torso, he's up, pushing past you, and fleeing deeper into the darkness of the alleyway. Edward is almost taken aback when he looks up to see you pointing your knife at him. He puts his hands up, wordlessly signaling that he's not a threat. At least not the type that would endanger you.

You let out a heavy sigh when you recognize him. His sandy brown hair is disheveled and a few beads of sweat drip down from his forehead, but behind his fogged up glasses are the murky green eyes of the man you had held onto so tightly in the train.

"I could've taken care of him myself." you scoff, still slightly out of breath.

His eyes dart to the knife, "I c-can see that." he answers softly and purses his lips. You're startled that the kind and gentle man from the train could be capable of such violence. But you brush the concern away quickly; living in Gotham could make anyone adapt to survive. So you fold your knife back up and extend your hand.

Though you're still shaky on your own feet and he is obviously much bigger than you, Edward takes your hand. Grunting with effort, you pull him to stand in front of you.

"Wanna walk me home, stranger?" Any other night you wouldn't have dreamed of taking a man you'd just met back to where you lived. But he'd helped you. He'd proved twice now that he was reliable. And you were so shaken up that you really didn't want to be alone for the rest of the walk.

Edward nods. He didn't know you. But he had to make sure that you'd get home safe. 

For the first few minutes, you kept a few inches between yourself and the stranger, half expecting him to try something out of nowhere. He hadn't said a word since you helped him up. It was starting to make you second guess your decision to bring him along with you. But the sudden rush of adrenaline had taken it out of you. And you soon realize your outfit isn't offering much in terms of warmth against the nighttime chill.

"Could I borrow your jacket?" you ask the stranger. He doesn't hesitate to remove the oversized windbreaker from his back and lays it over your shoulders. The jacket is so big that it covers your behind and sweeps across the back of your thighs. You tug the collar closer to your neck and nuzzle a bit more into the lining, still warm from the strangers body heat.

Like you did on the train, you tuck into his side a little more. Edward doesn't feel any of the anxiety he did then. Instead he focuses on how well you fit beside him; how he hadn't ever felt this close with a single soul in all of Gotham. The solace that flourishes in his chest convinces him to wrap his arm around your shoulder, embracing your body.

When you get to your apartment building, you start to shrug the stranger's jacket from you. As he clutches the material, you see an intense scarlet marking his knuckles and blood beginning to dry on his fingers.

"If you're willing to come up with me, I can take care of that." you murmur, gesturing to his wounds. He throws you a quizzical look then, as if he wasn't expecting any sort of recompense for his heroism. He merely did it out of the good of his heart. 

The small quirk that forms at the corner of your lip makes him shed some of the self righteousness, "I suppose."

Your apartment is small and quaint but undeniably cozy. There's a soft light that comes from a lamp in your living room and throw pillows litter the couch next to it. Your home is nothing like the filth Edward is acquainted with from the rest of the city. For a moment, he allows himself to escape in this space with you. Imagines himself on the same level with you and the friends that are pictured on your walls. To be your friend must be a privilege. Both gentle and fierce, he can't help but see you as the other side of his coin.

He sits on your couch, trying not to feel so eager to be an addition to your home. Aside from his larger build, Edward looks entirely unassuming. His back hunches as he tries to make himself smaller, thinking it might make you feel better having him there.

Judging by his light blue button up and khaki pants, you guess that he just finished with a long day at work. It warmed your heart that he'd taken the time out of his day to make sure you were taken care of.

He watches you intently as you clean the darkening blood from his hands with a damp washcloth.

"Does my protector have a name?" 

Edward forgets how to speak, his throat so dry that he has to force himself to swallow just so he can reply, "Edward Nashton." But he quite likes the sound of being your protector.

You smile slightly, feeling a little bit more comfortable already.

"Well, you don't look like the fighting type, Edward." You try to make some sort of small talk as you apply ointment to the split skin of his knuckles.

He's quiet for a moment, thinking, before he returns, "I grew up in a rough place. Learned to defend myself pretty young." He pushes his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and sniffs.

"Well...I'm grateful you did." you say, giving a slow nod. 

He doesn't want to let the gratitude go to his head and waves the comment off, "It's nothing, really." 

With a long sigh, you wrap the gauze around his hands, keeping the little bits of cotton you'd applied to each knuckle in place. "Gotham needs more people like you. People who won't hesitate to stand up for the little guys." You say conclusively.

Edward visibly brightens at this. He's glad that you can see things the same way he does. And considering the pocket knife in your bag, he is sure that you are just as motivated to fight back as he is.

"All done," you whisper and pat his new bandage gently.

Edward awkwardly raises from the couch and you guide him back to your front door. When you see his tight lipped smile and tired eyes, you get an idea.

"Wait a second, let me get something." You rush into your kitchen, taking the black marker clipped onto your dry erase board on the fridge. 

He feels the felt tip of the marker glide across the skin of his hand and your fingers on his wrist keeping him in place. When you click the cap back on he sees that you've written a number and a name. He's breathless when you lean up to kiss his cheek suddenly.

You giggle seeing the soft pink that graces the spot right below his cheekbone where your lips had been, "Get home safe. Call me when you do."

Gotham was the type of city where people needed to stick together. And if Edward's actions had meant anything, his heart was one you were willing to know. Besides, he was cute. Too cute for his own good as he stammers and stares at the writing on his hand, right above the bandage.

"Okay," he says shakily, trying to control the dumbfounded smile that was peeking through, "I'll call you."

You blame your drunken state for what comes out of your mouth next, "Then maybe you could take me out sometime." Edward freezes. "We could do something that doesn't end with you having to beat the shit out of someone."

"That would be nice," his laugh is more excited than apprehensive, which alleviates your own worry considerably.

"It would be," you pause and open your door before you can embarrass yourself more.

Edward shuffles out the door, still fixated on his hand until you say softly, "Goodnight, Eddie."

He blinks quickly before replying, "Goodnight, y/n."

He feels stuck in your hallway when you close the door. And out of fear that he'll rub it away, he holds back the urge to trace your name on the back of his hand.

[odd-devil-jack]

AAAAAAAAAAH THAT WAS SO CUTE OMG T_T <3 First of all, I really love the title card, so cute and soft, totally in brand with the story! <3 I could see his puppy eyes so worried in the train and his cute face and red cheeks I really love how it is so soft but still coherent with his character and the riddler! You had really well picture him, very cute, very good fluff but still our awkward Eddie! <3 I love it so sooooo much <3 Can't wait for more!

[shabawdy]

paul dano art i made for his birthday C:

[odd-devil-jack]

OMG SO BEAUTIFUL I’M CRYING T_T <3

[spinecutter-archive]

[natti-ice-deactivated20221207]

Stranger things porn links!

1k followers celebration!

Thank you so much for 1k! As a token of my gratitude, this is part 2 of my celebration! Part one is here!

Warning: All links contain porn!

Includes: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Jim Hopper, Dmitri “Enzo” Antonov, Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley, Karen Wheeler.

Navigation

Steve Harrington:

Steve makes you cum with a dildo

Steve gives you a tummy bulge

Dilf!Steve teases your pussy

Steve fucks you blindfolded

Eddie Munson:

Mutual masturbation with Eddie

Eddie throat fucks you

Bestfriend!Eddie licking your clit

Creaming on Eddie’s dick

Keep reading

[tevanbuckley]

↳It’s so hysterical. [That moment] was improvised when I saw the crowd dancing, going loco. I felt the beat and was like, Zemo has been sitting in a dodgy German prison cell for years. So, he needs to let off some steam and show his moves. Let’s go for it! I enjoyed so much the reaction of Anthony and Sebastian looking at me…There’s more to it, but they cut this little moment…My friends who know me well know I’m an embarrassing, passionate dancer on the floor but it would be different moves. It would be the Spanish side of me kicking in and doing some matador, flamenco moves, going down on my knees. Highly embarrassing for my friends.

[ficsforyou]

hi!!! i love ur work, especially ur riddler fanfics :) i was wondering if you could write something about klitz. maybe a smut popular girl x klitz (can she be brunette😭). they meet at a party, she flirts with him and he gets rlly flustered. can it include a quickie in the school bathroom. i dont rlly care tho, anything related to klitz is good<3 thank u so much!!

A/n: I was actually working on this type of story before you sent me a req!!! Great minds think alike. Hope you enjoy x

A bad joke

Klitz x fem!reader

Word count: 2k

Summary: it was just a stupid dare, but it turned out differently than you though it would

Warnings: 18+, language, Smut, bullying kinda?

“I dare you to give that nerd over there the night of his life.”

Hunter said, looking you up and down. Your group of friends had been playing truth or dare, and you were no pussy, obviously picking dare. You looked over at the three boys sitting awkwardly in a sofa. Scoffing, you look back to Hunter.

“Easy, which one?”

You asked.

“Oh, I like the confidence.”

Derek said, his arm was lazily hanging around your shoulders. You looked over at Derek with a smug smile.

“Why wouldn’t she be? I mean look at them, they haven’t had a woman touch them since their mums gave birth to them.”

One of the other boys said. The whole group laughed, but you didn’t. The joke was mean, but it was exactly what all the others liked. You secretly hated how the others always would make fun of the trio. You didn’t mention it though. It had to be done, or you would end up a loser.

“Ouch.”

Hunter said as the squad slowly stopped laughing.

“So who’s the lucky guy tonight?”

Hunter asked himself as he looked over at them again.

“That guy with the glasses and the funny haircut.”

The group looked at you in suspense, waiting for what you were going to answer. You shrugged and got up from the sofa.

“Alright.”

You said before waving them goodbye. You pulled your tits further out of your pink crop top, as you walked over to the trio. When you were close enough they noticed you approaching them. They all got even more uncomfortable, not expecting a popular girl to talk to them.

“Hey, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m y/n.”

You stretched out you hand for any of them to grab. The middle one grabbed it first. Shaking it violently.

“I’m Eli.”

He said. You gave him a short uncomfortable smile, before ripping your hand out of his.

“She has soft hands dude.”

He said and nudged Matthew in the shoulder. It was his turn to take your hand uncomfortably. Barley shaking it.

“Matthew.”

He said without meeting your eyes. You then stepped over to your target. Bowing slightly down to display your cleavage more.

“And you are?”

You asked seductively. His cheeks turned red as he reached towards your hand. You cringed slightly as you felt how sweaty his hand was.

“Klitz.”

You smiled.

“Nice to meet you Klitz. Mind if I sit down?”

He looked over at the boys, wanting them to answer.

“Eh-“

He started, before Eli grabbed the word.

“Absolutely.”

He jumped away from Matthew, making more space between them for you to sit.

“I want to sit next to Klitz.”

You said and looked over at him. He looked like he was going to die of embarrassment.

“Really?”

Eli asked in denial. Klitz pushed him away.

“Just get away, Eli.”

Eli put his hands up defensively.

“Whatever man.”

He said and jumped closer to Matthew. You sat down a little too close to him. Placing your hand on his thigh. His entire body stiffened.

“I like your name.”

You said turning more into him.

“It’s a shame we haven’t spoken before. You seem so mature. Nothing like any of the other boys I know.”

He gulped, and didn’t even dare to meet your eyes.

“I uh- thank you.”

You started tracing small circles on his thigh. Leaning in to whisper in his ear.

“Do you want to fuck me, Klitzy?”

He looked at you for the first time, as he started nodding. You smiled and gave him a short kiss. His cheeks visibly red, when you pulled away. Small gasps and laughs were heard from Hunter and the group, as you noticed they were looking at you. You looked strictly over at them and shook your head. But it was too late. He had already noticed.

“It’s a joke?”

He asked and looked over at you with a hurt expression on his face. You were about to come up with an excuse, but he swiftly pushed you away and stormed out of the room.

“Damn, that’s mean.”

Eli said, suddenly in an awkward situation.

“I- I didn’t mean to-“

“You people think we’re nothing but a joke. But you know what? We’re people as well.”

Matthew said as he got up and walked after him. There was uncomfortable silence between you and Eli.

“I don’t mind being your joke.”

He said, and put his arm around you. You rolled your eyes and gave him a death glare.

“Never in a million years.”

You said, as you walked after the two boys. Yes, fucking him for a dare was low. But he wasn’t supposed to know that. Your stupid friends had ruined it. Everything was going fine. And now you were the villain. You reached the bathroom, and opened the door slightly. The two boys were standing there. Matthew reached for the door, and closed it on you.

“No, let me in! Open the fucking door!”

You knocked harshly, before hearing whispers on the other end. You were about to knock again, before the door opened and Matthew walked out, closing the door behind him.

“Do you understand how long he’s had a crush on you?”

You looked down at the floor. This was making the situation worse. The guilt was slowly getting to you.

“No, you don’t. Cause you only think about yourself.”

Klitz opened the door. Both you and Matthew turned to look at him. You stood in silence for a few seconds.

“Matthew get out of here.”

He said, saving you from getting yelled on by his friend. After he did so, Klitz opened the door further for you to get in. He locked the door behind him, once the two of you were alone.

“I didn’t know that you-“

You looked up at him for the first time, stopping your sentence once you saw that he had been crying. You looked down at the floor, the guilt of it all made you sick to the stomach.

“Klitz, listen. I should’ve never done that. Matthew was right, me and my friends never think about anything but ourselves. I’m sorry, alright?”

You hugged you arms around yourself. It was your time to escape the eye contact. He stepped closer to you, but not close enough. You had tears in her eyes, god you had never felt so awful before.

“You’re forgiven. I can’t get mad at you.”

He said a small tint of red forming on his cheeks. Your face lit up in a smile.

“Just don’t do that again.”

He stepped away from you again. Your body felt awfully cold all of a sudden.

“It’s not funny being made fun of like that.”

You nodded. And the room became quiet. The only sound being the vague noise of the music outside. He was about to unlock the door, as you reached out for his arm.

“You really are mature, Klitz. Any other guy would’ve called me a slut and never spoken to me again.”

He sighed and looked you up and down. Shrugging at the compliment.

“If there’s anything I can do to make it up for you, I will.”

You said turning seductive again, gracing his arm with your hand. He smiled shortly.

“I don’t want to be a pity fuck.”

“Who said I felt pity for you?”

You giggled together at your teasing comment. Once the giggles turned serious, you stepped closer to him and ran your hands up his chest. He bowed down and kissed you. You kissed him back. Your hands tangled in his hair, messing up the almost bowl cut looking hairdo. He looked better that way, you thought to yourself. Even though you already thought he was cute. But your friends couldn’t know about that. His hands slid down around your ass. He let out a small whimper as he felt up your backside.

“I’ve wanted to- fuck you- for such a long time.”

He said in between kisses. You licked your lips and pulled him over to the sink by his shirt collar. You leaned up against the sink, arching your back to be closer to him.

“Fuck me then.”

You said with a smirk. He quickly grabbed your hips and turned you around. Pushing his hard on up against your ass. You moaned at the sensation as he started kissing your back from behind. Your hands were working on the zipper of your barley covering skirt, as his were working on his own. The two of you were working in a fast speed. Desperation taking over you. It was the first time you had fucked a guy like him, and it was the first time he had fucked.

“I’m sorry, I might not be that great at this.”

He said, suddenly insecure about his ability to please you. He wanted this to be perfect. You turned around to face him. Now only in your pink lace panties and the almost matching pink crop top. His hands fell on top of your hips as you leaned into him.

“Klitz, you’re going to be more than great.”

He smiled shyly at you as you kissed him softly. You continued to remove his trousers. Pulling them down together with his underwear. Your gasped as you looked down at his cock.

“What?”

He asked nervously and looked down, scared that something about him was off putting.

“No, nothing is wrong. I- it’s- ehm.”

You couldn’t find the words and started laughing slightly. He looked concerned still.

“God, Klitz, it’s huge.”

His concerned face relaxed and he let out a relived huff. You smiled and started kissing him again. He moaned into your mouth, as he pulled a condom out of his pocket and tried opening it. His clumsy, clammy hands weren’t able to work the small packaging. You grabbed the condom and put it to your mouth, ripping it open. You slowly put it on him. Once you were finished, he flipped you hastily around again. Pulling your panties down letting them rest around your ankles. You felt nervous for some reason. He was truly big, maybe even the biggest you’d ever had. He lined himself up with your entrance. Slowly pushing into you. You arched your back into him, as he moaned a curse.

“Oh my god.”

You said, feeling overwhelmed by the size of him. You looked at him in the mirror. Seeing his face in total bliss. Head turned up, and eyes closed. You started moving your hips back and forth. Wanting to see his face in even more pleasure. He opened his eyes and locked them with yours in the mirror. He grabbed your hips like he was afraid of hurting you, starting to set a slow pace.

“Is this ok?”

He asked with an already heavy breath. You smiled and nodded. Not being able to pronounce any words at that point. With the feeling of his cock hitting your spot over and over.

“You’re so tight.”

He said as his speed went up drastically. Now slamming into you. The room was filled with moans and the sound of skin against skin. You reached down and started playing with your clit, feeling already so close. You could feel him twitching inside you, he was close too.

“I want you to come.”

He said sweetly, grabbing your hips harder.

“Please, just- keep going.”

You managed to stutter out. Moments later you come around him with a loud moan, holding onto the sink for dear life.

“Fuck.”

He moans as he comes to, holding tightly around your body as his thrusts get sloppy and uneven. You catch your breaths, still intertwined.

“God, you’re amazing.”

He looks like he’s on ecstasy, taking a moment to get back to his normal self. You giggle at the sight and smile back at him in the mirror. He pulls out, and you start getting dressed.

“You’re not too bad yourself.”

You tease, pulling your panties back on. He blushed, looking down at the floor for a second. You smile to yourself, looking in the mirror before walking over to the door.

“Wait.”

He calls after you. You turn around to face him, he walks closer to you.

“Uh- maybe. If you’d want to. We could- maybe, I don’t know. Do this again?”

He asks clumsily. You grin and give him a short kiss, pulling back and seeing his bright red cheeks, that you’ve grown quite fond of.

“Sure.”

[intj-confessions]

[always-andromeda]

it’s our lord and savior’s day!!!! happy birthday bbygorl!!! Bonus: some of my favorite Paul pics at the moment 🥰✨🤎

((p.s. not to take away attention from our boy, but I just hit 200 followers and I think it’s very cool and nice both of these things have happened at the same time))

((p.p.s. i’ll make a proper thank you post later lol))