#like to see him fucking dice roll his way out of this one

[yeyinde]

The 141 finding out you've never had sex.

Just casually drinking, playing cards. A joke causes it to slip out.

body electric: the virgin edition

Gaz, the instigator, mutters something about not having been fucked in ages. this springs up a sudden surge of comradery, because, yeah. neither have they.

Soap's devote Catholicism (i like to imagine) leaves little room for flippant intimacy. he tries to be a good boy. key word, of course, being: tries. but the last serious relationship was years ago. back when he was grunt. he's pent up. abstinence, yeah? he holds it tight in his hand. but the thing about fists is that they're often mistaken for anger. Soap's a realist masquerading as an optimist. he knows whoever falls into his jowls next will be a MacTavish by the time he's through with them. and commitment. well. his comes at a price. a hefty one.

Ghost prefers casual flings where he doesn't have to take any clothes off. unzips his trousers, frees his cock, and then tries to pretend he's a real, flesh and blood, human. to feel something, anything, except a vacuum between hollow bones. but his tastes are peculiar. on the side of unhinged. he hasn't found the perfect body yet satiate himself with.

Price. well. with his bloody hands, he thinks he'd rather not dirty the same people he swears to protect. and divorcing at the age of 30 does that to a man, maybe. his role as a captain (an excuse in retrospect) also keeps him from unleashing his wants. the very same ones that are probably best under lock and key, anyway. it's just for the best, really. something he ought to do because the moment he has another chance to sink his teeth into someone's neck, he'll tear them apart. break them into pieces.

despite bringing it up, Gaz knows the real reason he's single is because he's pushy. he wants. so he takes. and then takes some more. more. more. until his gullet is full of the person he's obsessed with. carrying them around in his breast pocket everywhere he goes. the perfect mate. the one he can shower with unfettered affection. a deluge, in all honesty. one with the ideation to drown. biblical floods. trapped beneath him. he likes it more than he should, but. singedom, then, he supposes.

and then you roll the dice. admit, sheepishly, that, technically, you have them all beat. zero is always lesser than five, ten, twenty. but it's this misstep—zero, never—that catches their attention.

suddenly, you're not surrounded by kin but a pack of wolves. all hungry in their own ways, all starving. it just makes sense to quench their hunger with you, doesn't it? friend, ally. pretty little thing. so sweet for them. and perfectly mouldable. putty they shape to their hearts desire. the perfect mate.

Soap grips his rosary. the sign of the cross, heavenly Father and Holy Spirit, digging into his palm like the burn of a baptism. what's devotion if not pain? he cuts himself on the gold. offers blood of the sacrament to whoever might be listening, and leans in, sniffing.

Price's knuckles are white. he leans back, hidden in shadows. all you can see is spark of burning orange from his cigar as he takes mouthful after mouthful of smoke, contemplating. assessing.

"that so?" he doesn't even need to look at his Lieutenant to know that the man has gone still. too bad for you, it's not from shock.

Ghost barely holds himself back. keeps tight in his seat. fists clenching. unclenching. he has a good enough read on the people around him to see the unfiltered desire ripping across their face. scorching. but to bite, with his mouthful of jagged, seraded teeth; ones meant to rip, break, tear, would ruin you. permanently. unequivocally. and—

"wanna give it a go?" all eyes turn to Gaz, electric in his seat. eyes smouldering umbre. "i mean, you trust us the most, don't you?" us. it's stunning, he thinks, the way Gaz can weave tapestry in the air like this with just his words. one tangled like shibari binds. "and we care for you a lot. we'll be gentle. it's up to you, of course, but—"

Soap's bloody hand disappears under the table. you gasp. "yer askin' fer it, ain't ye? beggin' so pretty fer it."

"n-no, i—"

"mind your manners." Price. his voice is chiselled into char, authoritative; low. a lulling command spoken in a breath of smoke. "and don't lie, love. or i'll have to take you over my knee."

the tension is thick. Soap's arm moves, slow. deliberate. Ghost has clench his jaw to avoid bearing his teeth. snarling.

Gaz cuts it with a knife. hews compliance into your skin with a fine needle point. "it's okay. we'll take such good care'a you. make you feel so good."

your submission is a heavy thing. oppressive. the shallow dip of your chin, the blistering heat simmering under your flesh, burning right, is the prettiest fuckin' thing he's ever seen. he does clench his jaw this time. tight, tight. tight

until something pops.

"okay." you yield. head bowed. beautifully submissive.

when he looks around, catches the predatory crackle in the air. his hackles raise. immediate. instinctual. and ah, right.

it's easy to forget he's surrounded by a wild pack of stray dogs. starving ones, too.

[rizsu]

“okay, i see how it is...”

megumi's voice trails off. his shoulders drop, arms loosely attached to his sides. to him, it feels as though his heart's been squished into pieces by a hydraulic press.

you delivered the most painful experience megumi's ever been through. he couldn't believe you. is your heart made of fucking steel? how could you just throw him to the side like... like he's a mere hand-me-down you settled with temporarily?! preposterous!

“it's the way life goes, fushiguro,” you coldly taunted him, reaching out for his shoulder.

megumi flinched back. his head's turned to the side; he doesn't want to see you anymore. without any noise from him, he continued to fiddle with his hands, moving the small pieces of silver-painted plastic around his palm.

“are you really gonna keep me here, baby? is that the kind of person you are?” he asked, slowly moving his tear-glazed eyes to connect with yours.

“don't blame me. it's what nature wants,” you shrugged your shoulders, moving your attention away from his eyes to the money you hid under your leg.

his eyes bulged. would this seriously be the end of your relationship? your nonchalance to his suffering is outrageous! he's your boyfriend — for fuck's sake!

“baby, please,” megumi begs, placing a hand on the middle of the board to lean over.

he's a little under twenty centimetres away from your face. his eyes wander until they land on your lips.

“bail me out? please?” he begs again, biting his bottom lip.

you locked your eyes on his lips, smirking at the petty attempts to convince you.

“megumi, it's not my fault you rolled a six-dice three times, okay? you had to go to jail for that — it's the rules!”

“oh fucking hell, since when do you play by the rules?!”

“i take this monopoly shit very seriously. if you going to jail means i'd win, then so be it.”

your lines defeated him. he once again let his shoulders drop. you truly are cruel. is it just an empty void inside your chest? where's your heart?! he's been jailed for the past six rounds!

“i cannot believe you, you materialistic evil person of today's society,” he spat, voice reeking of venom as he moved back to his original spot.

you rolled your eyes, ignoring him as you moved four blocks on the board to buy another house. that house just so happened to be the one he's been eyeing.

“well, sweetheart. which one of us is moving freely across the board right now?” again, you taunt him. smiling as you placed a red-coloured mini-house on the block. oh, he's so fucked when he's out.

“you will be the reason i do a ritual to summon a curse to end us both.”

[beomboomboom]

Cheater

genre: fluff, established relationship, crack

pairing: Jeonghan x reader

summary: Jeonghan knows his every kiss has the ability to steal your breath away and make you forget absolutely everything but him. And of course he'll use this to his full advantage, how could he not?

warnings: a little bit of swearing, kissing?

note: writer's block is a struggle 😭😭 idk why it took me like a literal month to write this. If you have any recs or asks feel free to send them to me! I'm in desperate need of some inspiration 😭. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this fic!!

Deciding to play a game of Monopoly with your boyfriend was definitely a mistake.

For one, you were losing at an embarrassingly fast pace. Your character having landed on Jeonghan's properties way too many times to count, forcing you to fork over money you didn't even have in the first place. The money in the bank was also suspiciously low, the stacks of bills smaller than you initially remembered.

Meanwhile, Jeonghan was doing amazing, much to your distaste. He didn't have much money, but at the same time he somehow conjured up some whenever he needed it. Everything was going well for him—suspiciously well.

"Your turn," Jeonghan announces with a confident smirk as he passes the dice over to you.

"I got this," you mutter to yourself while praying to whatever god is out there that luck be your on side for once. Jeonghan watches with a mischievous but fond look on his face; it's adorable the way you're so invested in a game that was doomed for you from the start.

You toss the dice out onto the table, groaning immediately when you see the result.

You landed on Jeonghan's property.

Again.

Meaning you're the one forking over money to Jeonghan, the one person who needs the money the least, as you sank closer and closer to straight-up bankruptcy. Jeonghan's hand immediately shoots out, a smug smirk is plastered on his face, silently demanding you to hand over what little money you have left.

"Your turn," you grumble, handing over the dice to Jeonghan with a defeated sigh.

Jeonghan rolls the dice. He's so close to winning, and he knows it. You're on the edge of bankruptcy and all he needs to do is push you a little more. All he needs to do is survive a few more turns and the win will be his. Jeonghan is confident he's going to win.

Jeonghan's confident smirk is quickly wiped off his face when he sees where his character lands after rolling the dice.

Jeonghan isn't going to win anytime soon.

He's going to fucking jail.

"HAH," you yell with a triumphant grin. "GO TO JAIL YOU SUCKER"

Jeonghan's mouth opens then closes without a sound; this was not something he anticipated happening. "Fine, i'll pay my way out," he finally responds after a moment, quickly returning to his confident and calm composure.

"If you want to pay your way out, then hand over the money," you say with a smirk, already knowing it's game over for him. "I'm kidding, that wasn't even an option, you only have 20 dollars left."

You watch with a laugh as Jeonghan's eyes widen in realization at his unfortunate luck. He was so close—so close to winning, and in a flash he wasn't. "Hah, better luck ne-"

You're cut off when Jeonghan smashes his lips against yours, taking your breath away. The monopoly game fades into the background and all you can think about is Jeonghan. Jeonghan. Jeonghan. His soft lips on yours, his gentle hands caressing your face, his mischievous eyes memorizing every inch of your face.

Then, just as quickly as it starts, it ends.

"Okay, here's the money. Now get me out of jail," Jeonghan says with a sweet smile after breaking off the kiss, 50 dollars suddenly appearing in the palm of his hand.

"Hey-," you shout in accusation, the realization that Jeonghan has been stealing from the bank this entire time dawning to you. "You cheater-"

Before you can say anymore, you're cut off with another kiss from Jeonghan, taking away your breath like his kisses always do.

After all, it's Jeonghan, your cute and mischievous but cheater of a boyfriend. Of course his every kiss will take away your breath and make you forget absolutely everything but him, and of course he'll use this to his full advantage.

"I won," Jeonghan whispers with a smile into your ear, smiling wider when you don't respond and simply press another gentle kiss onto his lips.

[emmyrosee]

YALL BASED ON THIS VIDEO HERE IM SCREAMING-

-

It’s been hours since you’ve smiled at Rintaro.

Not since this morning when you left. He was home today, all day, left to watch your three year old, and be home to see your nine year old. You’d kissed the side of his nose, reminded him of some chores, and everything was fine for you to go out and do your own set of errands.

But to come home to a trash bag sitting outside of the door and not in the barrel that got emptied today?

Oh. Screw smiling.

There may have been a small argument that broke out once you told him, about how he assumed you’d take the trash out since you were leaving the house- of which you snapped that it’s not your responsibility to automatically take out the trash when you leave.

Your son, Akito, was only left to watch the chaos, setting up the console he and his father were about to play on.

“I forgot, okay!” He snaps, rolling his eyes. “I’ll take it out later, it’s fine!”

“It’s not fine!” You yell back. “The trash was already taken! It’s worthless at this point to do it!”

He looks like he’s about to say something back, but you see him bite his tongue. “Good choice,” you snarl. Leaving him and Akito, you make your way upstairs and into your bedroom where you get changed into something that doesn’t emit outside-world feeling. You take a quick shower, wash your face, and when you step out still angry, you’re quick to make a new game plan.

Once you’re done with your small dose of self care, you stomp into the kitchen for something to eat, hoping that it’ll help curb any further anger coming from you both.

Crackers and cheese, some little slices of fruit which you intend to pair with they jelly you got on your last visit to the city.

You grab the jar and with a deep, frustrated exhale, you grip the cover and try to twist.

When it doesn’t budge, you feel your eye twitch.

You try again, to no avail. You grab the nearest towel in an attempt to get a better grip. No dice.

You sigh, tossing the rag to the side before stalking your way into the living room, grimace etched on your face.

“Can you open this?” You ask, and just as Rintaro pauses the game and tosses his controller aside to reach for the jar, you slip right past him and pass it to Akito, who takes it in his hands to pop open the lid.

With a small grunt he manages to open the lid, passing you the jar with a small smile, “here, ma.”

“Thank you, handsome man,” you hum, blowing him a kiss and blowing a raspberry at Rintaro when you make your way back to the kitchen. There’s a pause of silence, a question you don’t quite catch from your son, and suddenly, you hear your husband jump up from the couch. You smirk. It doesn’t take long before feet quickly pound their way into the kitchen, and a disgruntled Rintaro stands, pouting, in the doorway.

“What. Was that about?”

You shrug softly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t give me that crap,” he says, brows furrowed in frustration. “You’re seriously going to use my own creation against me?”

“Your creation?” You scoff in disbelief. “First off, I don’t remember you carrying our two children around for nine damn months. Second of all, our children are not creations. They’re children.”

“Point one,” he begins, quickly walking over to you. “You were hot as fuck carrying around our spawn. Secondly? Last time I checked, our baby machines only worked when together.”

“Feral!” You snap, giving him a grossed out look before turning towards the snacks you’d been making. “Get the hell out of my kitchen, I don’t want you here- HEY!”

Before you can think, Rintaro reaches past you and grabs the jar of jam, quickly raising his arm above his head to get it out of your reach. You would’ve tickled him for it, but the jam was from a small business three cities over. And the fuckhead knew that, and you hate him for it.

“You’re such a pain!” You growl, making a jump for it. You barely come close. Your fingers wrap around his shoulder in an attempt to yank his arm down, but he tightens it up completely to make it immobile. You’re rendered completely helpless to your husbands cruelty.

“Akito!” You call your son in hopes for assistance, snarling up at your husband. Instantly, socked feet slip along the floor, and at the sight of his figure in the doorframe, Rintaro bears his teeth.

“Don’t help your mother, she has to learn a lesson!” He snaps.

You growl back, “don’t listen to your father, you and your sister’s snacks depend on it!” Akito’s green, confused eyes flick back and forth between you both, and if you weren’t so stubborn, you’d think about how absolutely hilarious this is.

Rintaro, in all his 185 cm glory, holding a damned jar of jam above his head, so much so a sliver of his side pokes out from his shirt, and you, crossing your arms childishly after making extreme reaches for the jar.

It’s ridiculous, it’s childish, and it’s perfect for your marriage.

Akito gnaws his lip, “I mean… Ma is the boss, dad-“

“If you scram, I’ll double your allowance this week.”

“Bye mom!”

With the last bit of hope you have, you watch as he skates his way back into the living room, eye twitching in annoyance. “Kaiya wouldn’t betray me like that!”

“She’s three, mom!”

“She’d still help!”

Left to your own pity, you once again make a reach for the jar, only for him to reel his arm back a little bit more. “Give me a break, I have snacks to make,” you say, voice pitched in annoyance and defeat.

“Tell me you won’t go to our son for husband jobs.”

“Tell me you’ll take out the trash when I tell you to!”

“I thought you were throwing it out!”

“Why would you not check!”

“I didn’t think I had to!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll check on your waking daughter,” Akito calls annoyed from the living room, the only thing breaking up your argument.

With a deep, exhausted breath, Rintaro slowly lowers his arm, though still keeping a slight distance between you. “Cant we both say we’re wrong?”

“I’m never wrong,” you snip.

“I know, but for the sake of waking our three year old up, please just cave with me. Please, baby. I’m-“

He’s cut off by your quick lunge for the jar. He yanks it out of the way, and you’re left chasing it like a dog with a treat. You do, however, hear your husband laugh, but it’s not the laughter of victory from a few moments ago.

It’s laughter of adoration.

“I will leave you.”

“Gotta get the jar first.”

You, once again, for the nth time in a row, make a reach for it, but this time, Rintaro’s free arm quickly wraps around your waist to encase you in a hug, and he leans you back into the most ridiculous dip you’ve ever been apart of. You can’t begin to fight your own laughter that bubbles past your lips, fingers instinctively gripping his collar for stability.

Once your titters are finished ringing in the air, he straightens you both up, relaxing as you thunk your head against his chest. The jar gets put down on the counter, and he kisses the crown of your head sweetly as his arms tug you close.

“You’re annoying,” you purr.

He chuckles, “I know.” He closes his eyes and gently breathes in your scent, “and I’m sorry about the trash my love. Even if I thought you took it out, I really should’ve just. Checked.” Long fingers gently smooth up your neck to gently massage the nape, and he hums as you melt like putty against him.

“Now it’s gonna sit,” you pout. “In the trash outside. And it’s gonna smell. And we’re gonna be the house with smelly ass trash.”

“I know,” he repeats, trying not to laugh at your concerns. “I’ll take care of it princess- and worst case scenario, I’ll write letters apologizing to the neighbors for our rotten trash.”

You snort softly against his collarbone as you continue to nuzzle closer, “I’m sorry I went to Akito to open my jar,” you confess, angling your head up at him. He smirks and leans down to capture your lips in a kiss, his hands moving up to cup your cheeks lovingly.

“You wanna know a secret?” He asks against your lips.

You hum in intrigue.

“I’m pissed because I tightened them all when you were in the shower, so you’d have to talk to me.”

“SERIOUSLY?”

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

The Pathology Murders

Summary: When the reader and the boys stumble across a gruesome scene, they get the feeling that the monster they're hunting is of the human variety...

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 5,800ish

Warnings: language, angst, lots of mentions of gore/death, trauma, accident, fluff

A/N: This fic was inspired by this imagine (which makes an appearance in this one shot) and also by the horror movie Pathology!

________

“What the hell…” Dean and Sam looked around the abandoned house, pausing like you had when they got to the kitchen. Your boys weren’t wimps by any means. They’d seen some serious crap. Done some serious crap. But that kitchen? 

It took Sam all of three seconds to step out of the room and upheave his greek salad from lunch.

Meanwhile Dean took it all in before his eyes landed on where you were trying to work the scene, fighting back another dry heave. 

“You alright?” he asked. You knew he was concerned. You weren’t one to puke up your guts either. But the poor soul on the kitchen table, or rather what was left of him…twisted wasn’t even the right word for it.

“Not particularly,” you said, pointing at a glass jar that housed a pair of kidneys on the stove. “Not all the organs made it into jars. Pretty sure the liver is in the sink.”

Dean cautiously took a step inside, swallowing thickly. Unlike you or Sam, who had your own experiences with hell, Dean’s had been far more…interactive. Sam’s soul was battered around by Lucifer but it’d been more psychological than physical. You’d spent an unpleasant night with a hellhound in the same cage and while it hadn’t been fun, you’d been able to stay in a corner and out of harms way. Dean though…Dean had been sliced and diced and hacked and every other possible horror, imaginable or not. And then he’d performed the acts himself. You never blamed him for giving in, for breaking. You’d told him time and time again he was, and always would be, a good man.

Some days, more often lately it seemed the older he got, he seemed to believe you.

“Whoever did this performed an autopsy on this guy. While he was alive,” said Dean, leaning over the body to get a closer look. “Huh. Anybody see a heart around here?”

You surveyed the bloody room, finding more than a few peculiar shaped body parts but nothing resembling a heart. Sam finally made his way in, taking a deep inhale as he got used to the gore before him. “I got nothing over here.”

“Could be a werewolf,” said Dean, cocking his head as he straightened, brow furrowing. “Or a witch.”

You knew he wasn’t buying that though, neither of you were. You tore your eyes away from the search to watch Sam’s expression flare up with a strange look of familiarity. “Sammy?”

“I think a person did this,” he said. Dean rolled his eyes.

“No shit Sherlock. Someone used a knife or-”

“No, jackass,” said Sam, shooting Dean a harsh look for a brief second. “I mean I think this was a human, like an actual human. They were just talking about a cold case like this on a podcast I listened to during my run last week.”

“You and your fucking serial killer obsession,” muttered Dean. Sam’s eye twitched, the tension rising in the room. “It’s fucking weird, Sammy.”

“We hunt monsters, dumbass. How is that any different?”

“That’s our job. You don’t see me watching murder documentaries like a certain someone in my free time.” Sam got closer to Dean, Dean taking one to match, both boy’s jaws clenching. 

“Hey,” you said with a snap of your fingers, the pair reluctantly turning towards you. “Dean, plenty of people are interested in cold cases and as long as Sam isn’t a serial killer himself, his hobby is fine. Sam, Dean just gets concerned that you don’t take enough of a break from hunting but he can’t come out and say that. So hug and make up. You’re on the same side.”

They both grumbled and gave each other a half-assed embraced but it made you smile regardless. 

“So what’d your murder podcast say?” asked Dean, walking around to the other side of the cut open body. Sam’s face soured. “That good, huh?”

“They called them the Pathology Murders. A string of five victims about ten years ago that went unsolved. The killer performed live autopsies like you said about this guy earlier. The only lead they ever had was that the killer must have medical training, like a doctor, based on what they did to the victims. Oh, and all the murders took place in the Seattle area.”

“Which downtown is only twenty minutes from here,” you said, crossing your arms. “Was the heart missing at the other scenes?”

“I’m not sure. They could have skimmed over that,” said Sam. Your gaze followed Dean’s, his green eyes laced with uncertainty. “I can do some research back at the motel. You guys could check in with Seattle PD, see if the case files have anything useful.”

“We should double check that it’s not our kind of monster and if it really is a person-”

“We’re not working this case,” said Dean. Your eyebrows shot up, Sam’s face already frowning. “We do not investigate serial killers. Save it for the police.”

“Uh, what the hell is going on? You would never let a killer, monster or human, stay on the loose,” said Sam.

Dean’s gaze shot to you and quickly away, his eyes turning sharp as they zeroed in on Sam. You scoffed, Sam cocking his head in question.

“It’s because my mom was murdered. By a serial killer. Isn’t it, Dean?” Dean’s lips pressed into a thin hard line and you shook your head. “They caught her killer which you know. What does that have anything to do with-”

“You caught the killer, you did that,” said Dean, Sam completely lost. He knew your mom had been killed but not the gory details like Dean.

“Wouldn’t that be a good thing then?” he asked. “Y/N has experience with this sort of thing then.”

“Why don’t you explain to Sammy just exactly what you did to ‘catch’ her killer then, sweetheart. Go on. I’m sure he’d love to hear it.” You glared at Dean, feeling an unpleasant prickling in your eyes. Dean didn’t back down as you teared up though, instead focusing on Sam. “She let herself be bait. She let herself get caught by the son of a bitch. She almost died because she doesn’t see when she’s going too far with serial killers. The same thing happened on that Tulsa case five years ago.”

You could sense Sam had shifted very quickly to being on Dean’s side of this argument. You’d been young and reckless with your mom’s killer, barely a day over eighteen. That was years and years ago. You’d learned since then to use more sense. Tulsa…well your plan as being bait would have worked if your former hunting partner hadn’t been more focused on getting some ass that night than watching your back.

“Yeah, that’s how we met, Sam. Not working a case. No, Y/N was fucked and if I hadn’t been driving back from Jody’s that night and saw the fucking asshole grab her, she’d be dead. Wouldn’t you?” Dean snarled. You narrowed your misty eyes at him, Dean lifting his chin. “We will make sure this isn’t our kind of deal and if it is in fact a run of the mill serial killer, we are getting the fuck out of here, understand me?”

“I fucked up once. Once,” you breathed out. You swallowed thickly, wiping off your face with your jacket sleeve. “Just how many times have you been kidnapped Dean in the five years that I’ve known you? I’ve been taken once. You? How many times have I cut you loose? Taken out the monster with a knife to your throat? A gun to your head? How many times have you gotten lost in a case? Gone on a rampage? I never realized we were keeping score.”

Dean’s gaze fell to the floor, his hand running over his jaw, searching for the right words.

“Sam, go back to the motel and research. Dean and I’ll do the fed schitk and get the files we can. Whoever’s behind this, I’m going after them. You two can do whatever the hell you want,” you said, storming out of the room and out of the house.

“You look pretty,” said Dean softly a few hours later as you exited the motel bathroom in your fed suit, a light blue button down blouse with your charcoal gray suit jacket and pants. You ignored him as you dug through your duffel for your pointed black booties. Professional but also you knew for a fact you could run and fight in them. You growled in frustration when you couldn’t find them though, hearing Dean clear his throat behind your back. You glanced over your shoulder, following Dean’s gaze to where he’d set them down by the end of the bed.

“Thanks,” you grumbled, slipping them on and pulling up the side zipper. Dean was sporting his navy suit today, the one he looked extra hot in. You ignored that fact as you tucked your gun into the back of your pants, fixing your suit jacket over it.

“Y/N.” You sighed, giving him a look that you really didn’t want to do this right now. He took a long breath, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Sam quietly slinked out of the room into his adjoining one. Most of the time the three of you shared but when you could swing it, Sam got his own next door to give you and Dean some privacy.

Privacy you didn’t necessarily want at this moment.

“You do good cop, I’ll be the hardass if it comes to it,” you said, shoving your phone in your pocket. You tried to walk past him for the door but he caught your hand, stopping you after a few feet. “Dean.”

“I do not, and have never, thought you were weak. But serial killers are a blindspot for you. Sam and I both have them. This is yours.” He lowered his head, like he was fighting the words that were coming out. 

To your surprise, he dropped your hand and stood. 

“Be careful on this one, sweetheart.” He walked past you to the motel door, cracking it open and pausing. “We should get going.”

“You sure I’m not going to lose it? Get too carried away and get myself captured?” you said, unable to stop from poking back after his earlier insinuations. Dean’s shoulders rose and fell, one hand going to the doorframe to grip it as you watched the back of his head lower.

“Y/N, don’t you know by now I’m an idiot that’d rather lose you because I’m a dick than find you in the hands of some monster like whoever did that to that poor guy? Don’t you know I know you’re stronger than me? Don’t you think I realize how hard it is to be with someone like me?”

“You don’t stop Sam from doing dangerous things,” you said. “You don’t bring up the past to him.”

“Yes I have,” he said quietly. “And convincing Sam to stay in a motel room where it’s safe to research has never been hard thankfully.”

“You don’t treat me with the same respect though,” you said softly. “It hurts to know you never will think of me as being as capable as he is all because I’m your girlfriend.”

Dean shook his head, straightening his back. “You are more than capable, sweetheart. But sometimes…I just want to be a man that protects his girl. I don’t want to be scared of failing you for once…because if that monster got anywhere near you…”

You took quiet steps over to him, staring at his broad shoulders as they sagged.

“Eventually everyone I love dies or has something awful happen to them. Maybe I don’t say it the right way but fucking hell, all I want is for those things to not happen to you.” He spun around, green eyes full of worry. You nodded, taking his hand and lacing your fingers together. He squeezed them gently, the warmth of it pleasant.

“Our job is dangerous, Dean. We hunt the monsters, supernatural or not. I love you but you don’t get to keep me locked away.” You ran your thumb over his scuffed up skin, still healing form last week’s hunt. “That said…I promise not to get so angry if you promise to just say you’re scared for me. We’ll figure it out, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, a flicker of a smile on his face. “I just have a bad feeling about this one.”

“Then we’ll be smart, okay?” You leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “And don’t call yourself an idiot. I don’t like it.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” he said. “Let’s go figure out what the hell is going on.”

Two Hours Later

“This guy’s a fucking psycho,” you said into your phone while Dean came outside with a bag of burgers and fries. “Apparently he sends the hearts to the victims families in a little box with a bow.”

“Sounds about right for a guy who cuts people open for fun,” said Sam on the other end. “I’m gonna pour through the records you just sent over.”

“Alright. Dean and I should be back in fifteen-”

“Why don’t you guys have a date night? I got this for a few hours.” You bit your bottom lip, Sam’s silence going on. “Come on, Y/N. You guys should talk about Dean’s protectiveness and your stubbornness.”

You wanted to argue that fact but sighed, closing your eyes.

“Any suggestions on how we find that line when our job is to hunt killers?” you asked.

“Maybe remember that he’s your boyfriend first, hunting partner second. Most boyfriends wouldn’t want their girlfriend near a serial killer either, no matter what their job.”

“Don’t have good points, Samuel,” you said as Dean took a seat next to you on Baby’s hood. “We’ll be back in two hours.”

You hung up and dove your hand into the bag of fries, smirking when Dean presented you with a chocolate milkshake. He grinned as you dipped the fry in it and tossed it back, giving him a big thumbs up.

“I love you,” you said, Dean smiling as he dug out his burger. “I always love you, even when we fight.”

He glanced at you, landing a gentle kiss on your lips in the next moment. He barely moved his lips, letting them linger instead. He moved back only an inch and nodded. “I was a dickhead earlier. All because I’m afraid of finding you with a serial killer standing over you with a giant ass knife again. I don’t know why I can’t just come out and say that shit in the moment.”

“Because you’re human,” you said, wrapping an arm around his waist. “And you’re so much better at talking to me than five years ago. The old you wouldn’t have even been able to say that to me.”

“I try,” he said, letting you kiss him, your own a tad more forceful than his had been.

“That’s all I ask for,” you said, Dean’s phone going off at that exact moment. He sighed as he took it out, Sam’s name appearing. He tapped it onto speaker and took a bite of his burger. “What’s up Sammy?”

“Guys, I think I figured something out. All the victims were patients at Mercy West hospital back in the day and this latest guy? He was a patient there last week.” You and Dean shared a frown. “Yeah, I know. The cops investigated all of the hospital staff there back then but they never came up with anything. They thought maybe a doctor was behind it but he died in a car accident between the second and third vics.”

“It could have been him and he had a partner. Definitely is someone with access to records so they have to work there,” said Dean as you held up a finger. “What?”

“I could have sworn I’ve heard about this hospital in the news before. Something to do with a boat accident?” you asked. You heard Sam typing loudly before he hummed.

“Yup. They made national news about six months ago when seven of their medical students died in a boating accident. Explosion apparently when they got boozed up and had a bonfire on the boat. The bodies were so bad they couldn’t identify the remains,” said Sam. Dean took another bite of his burger and swallowed. “Already checking through the police files. Shit.”

“Shit what, Sam?” you asked, dunking a fry in your milkshake.

“Shit as in the boat accident wasn’t an accident at all. There was definitely an explosion but they found damage on the bodies indicating some injuries occurred before death. Like being carved up alive. They don’t want the public knowing the killer is still active in the area.”

“It’s gotta be someone linked to that hospital. Only question is why can’t the police figure out who?” asked Dean.

“Good question,” said Sam. “I’m going to keep digging, see if there’s a connection between the two we missed.”

“Thanks Sammy. We’ll be back in twenty to help,” said Dean, hanging up. He glanced at you, biting the inside of his cheek.

“This isn’t a monster,” you said quietly. “At least, it’s a human one.”

Dean polished off the rest of his meal quietly, the air still for a few beats. 

“When you get too worried about me on hunts, you put yourself in danger,” you said, slowly sipping from the shake. His heated gaze was on you as you handed him the drink. “You have to trust that I’m strong enough to do this. Careful and capable. We both need to work on that.”

“Alright. But do me a favor? Stick close to me or Sammy on this one. You’re just…” You waited, let him find his words. He took the drink and finished it off, shoving the trash in the bag. “You just got over that shoulder injury. Your punches don’t hit as hard as normal right now. I don’t mean that in a bad way, just-”

“Okay,” you said, finding his hand, slipping yours inside. “Now let’s figure out who this bastard is.”

He hummed, letting go of you for a brief moment so he could toss the garbage away. You slid inside the passenger seat, Dean back and behind the wheel after the blink of an eye. Approximately ten seconds later you were pulling out of the parking lot and on the road, headed down main street and for the motel.

“So I was thinking this guy does autopsies on victims right?” said Dean, turning the radio down low on a soft rock station. You glanced out the window on the dark night, a rumble of thunder overhead. “But the cops can’t find him. Well, isn’t there someone that sometimes works at hospitals and for the police that would be able to fuck with a body after the fact and hide traces of their involvement?”

“A pathologist. I was thinking that too but wouldn’t that have been their first look? I mean they literally call them the Pathology Murders,” you said, waiting for the the light to turn green. “It could be someone that knows someone at the department covering for them. Stranger things have happened.”

“Maybe. I get the gist this guy works alone though. I only clocked one set of boots at the scene this morning,” he said, the bright green light illuminating the dark interior.

“Same. It’s absolutely someone associated with that damn hospital-” you said, Dean’s arm shooting in front of you in your peripheral. A millisecond later, something slammed into the right side of Baby, your side. Your lap belt tugged on you hard as your body lolled to the side, weightless for a moment before gravity reared it’s ugly head and slammed you down. Your head smacked something hard and it all went dark.

You could hear Dean asking a paramedic a million questions, not a single one concerned about himself. You opened your eyes to find yourself in the back of an ambulance, Dean lying on a stretcher beside you. He could tell you were awake and struggled to reach over to you but couldn’t. Instead he thrashed his head back against his pillow in defeat, straining against the straps that held him down.

“Sir, I need you to calm down,” said the paramedic as you blinked slowly at Dean. You knew something was wrong with you, with both of you, but you weren’t quite sure what that was yet. You struggled when you saw Dean upset. You wanted him to feel better. “You need to relax, she’s seeing you panic and that’s making her do the same.”

Dean stopped as he took in how your heart rate had skyrocketed, how scared you looked. He sighed and forced himself to stay calm. You saw him relax and heard him say it was okay. Neither of you enjoyed the feeling of being tied down, especially when the both of you were in plain view of one another and couldn’t reach each other. You tried to speak but couldn’t as you felt how raw your throat was. 

“We’ll be at Mercy West in just a few minutes,” said the paramedic to Dean as you half-listened. 

“No, take us somewhere else!” yelled Dean suddenly, fighting again. The paramedic sighed as you both started struggling once more. You didn’t have much of an idea of what was going on but if Dean didn’t want to go there, it wasn’t safe. 

“I’m going to give each of you a sedative and by the time you wake up, you’ll be in your hospital beds feeling a lot better,” he said gently. 

“No, don’t you touch her,” said Dean as you started to get very sleepy. The last thing you saw was Dean shutting his eyes as you finally remembered what had happened.

If Sam didn’t get to you soon, you were screwed.

Your eyes wearily opened under bright lights that made your head hurt. You winced and turned away from it, limbs heavy and still. Dean’s voice echoed somewhere, to your left maybe? You forced your eyes open again, Dean strapped down to a metal table with metal drawers behind him, the look on his face like he was screaming at you. You blinked, the ringing in your eyes loud and obnoxious, droning him out.

“Get up, fucking get up!” Dean shouted so loud you shook your head, a splitting headache cracking over you. “Y/N get out of here!” 

It took only a moment to discover that unlike Dean, you weren’t restrained in what was most likely the hospital morgue. Something was wrong though. A sedative? No. You were becoming more alert if anything but your arms were growing more tired, head becoming too heavy to lift.

“Something’s off,” you tried to say, the words caught in your throat, unable to be voiced. Your eyes flared wide, Dean’s drifting past you.

“Someone took a long time to wake up,” said a voice to your right. Suddenly a hand was under your head.

“Don’t you fucking touch her!” Dean snarled, your head set on a…stand? Something to keep it elevated and from rolling to the side. You tried to move but the message wasn’t getting to your body, your eyes glued on the handsome face with a just slightly off smile leaning over you.

“You were in a nasty accident, Agent Carlson. Unfortunately for you, your head trauma was too severe and you coded in the ER. Meanwhile Agent Manns in his grief unfortunately succumbed to his injuries. At least that’s what the autopsy report will say,” he said, inspecting what felt like a cut on your temple. “Such a shame. It won’t be my best work but you’re not the first law enforcement to cross me. Sadly no one will be able to discover your remains once you’re accidentally incinerated as John and Jane Doe but it’s good practice.”

“Let her go you fucking psycho,” growled Dean when the doctor moved out of view and returned with a pair of shears. 

“Psycho? I’m Dr. Thomas, ER Trauma physician and part-time pathologist. I’ve saved far more lives than I’ve taken, Agent Manns,” he said, snipping through your blouse. 

“What the fuck did you do to her?” Dr. Thomas bagged your shirt in a plastic bag nearby, doing the same with your pants and boots once they’d been removed.

“Paralyzing agent. Hard to come by but it has it’s advantages. No messy straps or ropes in the way,” he said, lifting your arm as you watched helplessly, cold metal against your skin as he cut through your bra straps.

“I swear to god I’m going to rip your spine out of your fucking face. If you touch her-”

“Not my style,” said Dr. Thomas, pulling away the fabric, sending a chill down your back. He gave you his focus again, a smirk on his face as he put two fingers to your neck. “Your heart is hammering away, isn’t it? Biology is fascinating that way. It’s so strange how an emotion such as fear can cause physical reactions in our bodies.”

“Get the fuck away from her!” shouted Dean. Dr. Thomas’ smile towards you dropped when he looked at Dean. He sighed and set the shears down, walking out of view.

“You’re really starting to irritate me,” he said, the distinct sound of tape being ripped from a roll filling the room and then Dean’s cries became muffled, only quiet thumping as he struggled coming from him now. Dr. Thomas appeared again wearing another smile. “Sorry about that. It’s always the men that get all squirmy. The women always live longer. Now, one could argue that’s because women have on average more blood in their bodies than men but I’ve gotten a fairly large sample size over the past decade to believe they’re psychologically stronger and therefore last longer.”

You tried hard to move your hand when he held up a scalpel near your face but nothing worked. 

Fuck if you could move anything you’d be shaking harder than a tree in a damn hurricane. Dean struggling right beside you with a front row seat was not helping.

“Now I like to explain all of my procedures to my patients beforehand. While you are paralyzed to a degree, you will still feel things. That’s perfectly normal.” You were wide eyed, Dr. Thomas chuckling. “The procedure typically takes me around thirty minutes. However, you’ll die from the blood loss or shock after roughly seven so don’t worry about that aspect. Considering you were in an accident less than an hour ago, I suspect it’s more like four or five for you which is unfortunate for me but it is what it is. Perhaps Agent Manns will give me more time.”

He lowered the scalpel to your shoulder and dug in hard to the skin, dragging it inward towards your chest. Your scream was caught in your throat as he did it on the other side to match.

Dean was shouting and thrashing on the table beside you but you couldn’t even turn your head to look. Dr. Thomas started talking about incisions and procedures and then you felt something completely unnatural against your arm, another shout trapped in your lungs. Forget the brave face. You would have been full on wailing if you were capable of it.

Crack. Snap. Shudder. Rip. It was around the time that Dr. Thomas held up something dark red and sticky looking that your body decided passing out was the best course of action. Unfortunately, it wasn’t doing that for some reason and you were stuck on the edge of consciousness, terrified and wishing something would come along and smash your head in to end this.

A loud bang shot out and something heavy smacked your leg, something else skirting against your side. 

“Dear god,” whispered Sam. Your eyes were locked open as you heard Sam rush over, staring down at you for only a split second before he moved to Dean. 

That was not good. You were far more injured that Dean, somewhere on the verge of death if you figured. Sam would have stopped to help you first.

Unless you were beyond saving.

“Sweetheart,” said Dean, grabbing one of your blood covered hands in both of his. Fuck he was crying. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You were so totally fucked. He looked over to Sam, Sam staring back with an open mouth. They couldn’t fix this. Shit, shit. You were going to die cut open like a Thanksgiving turkey. “W-What about Cas?”

“Dean,” said Sam, an air of resignation in his voice. “He’s in Kansas.”

“Jack then.”

“He’s with Cas. He doesn’t know how to-”

“A spell, a cure, something! Take her upstairs to a fucking doctor!” shouted Dean. 

“De. Half of her organs are…” said Sam as you got light headed, Dean’s hand running over your head. Dean found your face, his chin wobbling. “I-I don’t know what to do.”

“Then we sit with our girl,” said Dean softly, tucking a hair behind your ear. “And you fall asleep, sweetheart and when you wake up again, you’ll feel all better. I’ll come find you someday. Okay? Just close your eyes and try to sleep for me.”

Dean lowered his head, kissing your forehead as he fought back the tears that wanted to spill over. Sam took your other hand, squeezing it gently as you tried to do what he asked.

“Bloody hell, of course a Winchester took out a nutter like that. I’d have thunk he deserved more than a bullet,” said a familiar voice. 

“Rowena?” both boys echoed. She didn’t respond though, Sam’s hand dropping yours as a flash of red hair moved in front of you. You stared up at her, her hands cradling your cheeks.

“Dean, let go.” He did and about two seconds later you were shot straight upright, body in one piece, full of feeling and horror as you wrapped your arms over your chest, looking all around. 

“What the hell was that?” asked Sam while Dean shrugged out of his fed jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders, buttoning you up before he picked you up and was cradling you in his arms.

Rowena faced him with a hand on her hip, your own gaze falling down to where a dead Dr. Thomas lay on the floor, blood oozing from the back of his open head.

“Do you boys still not see me as a friend?” she asked, an undercurrent of hurt in her voice. You were shaking in Dean’s arms, clutching to his shirt with your too long sleeves. 

“You’re the queen of hell. Why would you stop a death?” asked Sam. She rolled her eyes and approached you, resting a hand on your arm.

“Because I’m the queen of hell and I do as I please, Samuel.” You wanted to say thank you but all you could manage was a few jumbled words as you buried yourself in Dean’s neck. “She’s in shock, quite bad. Best to take her home and let her rest.”

“Thank you Rowena,” said Dean, walking past her, stopping near the entrance to the room. “Next time you need something, just let us know and we’ll help.”

“Of course. I’ll take care of this mess. Oh and Y/N, dear?” You managed to lift your head, grateful to find Sam was right on Dean’s heels. “This lad is going to be spending a lot of time on the receiving end of what he gave out up here down in hell. I promise you that.”

You nodded, giving her a thumbs up. Dean kissed the top of your head, his hold on you tight.

“You’re going to be alright, sweetheart. Just give it some time.”

“How’s that feel?” asked Dean for what felt like the twentieth time back at the motel. You’d showered, took another another shower, took a bath, took another shower and currently were wrapped up in a mess of Dean’s pajamas on the bed with a big towel in your hair. 

“Better,” you said, your voice back with you once you’d gotten out of the hospital morgue. Sam was off relaying what he’d found to the local police. Apparently Dr. Thomas had worked on a few cases for the county but his sister it turned out was a hot shot detective who’d been covering for him for years. It was how he’d found out about you and Dean investigating.

Honestly that woman would be better off going out like her brother. She’d covered up a lot of murders for her brother. It’d be a miracle if someone didn’t take her out before then. Not that you particularly would mind that. 

You patted the bed beside you, Dean taking a seat and pulling you into his lap. He removed the damp towel and nuzzled the top of your head with his cheek, strong arms wrapped all around your body.

“So we really nailed that whole careful thing, huh?” you said. Dean chuckled deeply, inhaling the scent of your damp hair, a pretty lilac and vanilla blend you knew he liked. 

“How do you do that? Make me laugh when I don’t feel like ever laughing again,” he said, tightening his hold.

“Because I’m hilarious,” you said, closing your eyes, wrapping your hands around his forearms. “You might not understand this but what you said when I thought…you made me feel safe even when I was scared that was it. You were a guy protecting his girl tonight, even if it’s not the way you meant it.”

“Meant every word,” he whispered, breathing slowly. 

“Don’t you dare fucking apologize for not stopping it. There’s no way we saw that coming.”

“Okay,” he said, draping his legs over yours, leaning back against the headboard with you. “How’s that feel? Comfy?”

You smiled as you rolled your eyes at him, tucking in closer. “I got you, Winchester. I’ll be alright. A chocolate milkshake and order of fries wouldn’t hurt though.”

“You’re hungry? After all that?” he chuckled. 

“Yup. Ask Sam to pick some up on his way back,” you said, tilting your head back, kissing under his jaw. “Our date got cut short after all.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? You couldn’t talk earlier,” he said, taking your hand, lacing your fingers together.

“I’ll have nightmares, I’m sure, and all the other crap we get. But right now in this moment, with you, I’m okay.” He smiled, holding your body against his.

“I love you so much. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Even if you do get kidnapped by serial killers.” You whacked his leg, Dean’s laugh rumbling against your back.

“Love you too, ya dork.”

_________

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

When I tell you I cannot WAIT to hear readers reaction to the stunt Bruce pulled. I’d be rolling up with some words to say and punches to throw

"Bruce," Dick cautioned, "don't start a fight."

"Hn."

"They have kids," Dick reminded. And Jason- well. It wasn't Jason that worried him when it came to the kids. It was you. Now that he'd had a little time to do some digging of his own, he could understand your appeal to Jason. A young, pretty single mom? A convoluted adoption story? Strong enough to do it alone but vulnerable enough to trip all his protective instincts.

"Hn."

"And dogs. Couple big ones," Dick hummed. Though the enthusiastic boxer and the aging wolfhound wouldn't be much of an issue, he didn't think.

Bruce nodded and looked towards the house. Through the kitchen window, he could see his son. Phone pinned between his ear and his shoulder. Flipping bits of diced meat to the dogs as he worked on putting... whatever it was into the crock pot. He looked... content. Relaxed. If a little out of place.

It was clear that the decorations and paint were... your taste. And that they hadn't been updated. Pale pink walls and mint curtains and appliances... It made his hulk of a son look like he was playing in a doll house.

"Quit being creepy and start your apology tour," Dick sighed. "You can do me next-"

"I just wanted proof he wasn't-"

"You're the one that told him to leave. Again," Dick snapped. "So he did. And now he has a wife. And kids. And probably another kid on the way. When the fuck is he supposed to cause trouble?"

Bruce looked back to the window and watched Jason sit in a kitchen chair. Shooing the wolfhound's head off the table. Only to groan when the dog just started to try and crawl into his lap.

"When-"

"His wife closes shop at 5pm," Dick said. "Kids get home at 3:45. You have an hour and a half if you want to get him alone."

"Hn."

[pedge-page]

i love your preggo wife drabbles soo much!!! could you write one where joel takes care of reader with her morning sickness? 🫶🏻

Joel dealing with Preggo Reader: Morning Sickness

Notes: Idk why I keep making reader so mean but he's such a trooper! I'm also no pregnancy expert obviously so plz take my minimal effort in research with a grain of salt.

Warnings: mean reader, language, vomitting, morning sickness

- - - -

"I hate your penis."

Joel rolls his eyes. It's only the 11th time you've said it today while being hunched over the toilet, with Joel caringly hovering over you, holding your hair out of the way as you take a deep breath and hurl the breakfast he made you this morning.

"I hate—"

"I know, sweet pea. Just breathe."

You nod in an almost drunken state. He knows its because you've got no energy in you to really fight him, with the baby giving you all the first batch of hell in the life long journey of headaches in child bearing.

He rubs over your spin, caressing the shivers raking over your body so you can focus on not dying right now.

"I hate your toes. I hate your shampoo. I hate your fingernails. I hate your toast.  I hate—"

"Ah huh..."

At first he was pretty upset and angered by how much you loath him, but at some point he's tuned it out and just holds and shushes you. While you pout your disdain for the man, you don't oppose his touch.

For now.

"Doin' so good, baby. It's only temporary, baby's just making sure you're a tough momma—"

"Shut the fuck up and get me some water."

Joel stands, his knees reminding him of his less than youthful age, before running downstairs and grabbing a bottle.

You were both a little surprised that all the morning sickness you were warned about hadn't really given either of you trouble in your first trimester. It came with a surprise by the middle of your second, and comes and goes on a daily basis. Today is honestly not so bad: it's your attitude shift that really gives him whiplash.

By the time he gets back up, you're already meandering out of the bathroom like a lost soul with puffy, sleep deprived eyes, and over to the bed, slowly crawling over the mattress, muttering "too tall". You feel his hand supportively on your back, but you snap "fuck off" and get in the bed yourself. He goes to tuck you in with the sheet, but again your hand slaps his away and you close your eyes into darkness.

You can still feel his annoying presence. "What!" You yell, eyes shooting open to see the bottle dangling from his hand. You snatch it without a thank you and gulp.

Joel's just got his hands on his hips, staring at you.

"Kern I hEp ouu, Hondah?" You gurgle through your water sloshing in your mouth.

He just chuckles to himself. "You're cute like this."

You swallow. "I'll fuck you the fuck up."

He laughs even harder, seemingly unserious in your threats. To him, you looked even smaller than before, despite the obvious roundness growing in your tum tum. You seemed like some small puppy finding her growl, or toddler pointing her finger trying to be intimidating but unaware of how badly you're failing.

"So amusing? Why dont you make yourself useful and rub my feet," you demand.

"You need to eat food, baby girl."

"BaBy GiRl" you mock with puppet hand mouth. "NAG nag NAG. I Don't WANT food. I want my FOOT. In your HAND. before I put it up your ASS."

Joel can tolerate the baby cock-blocking him for a few weeks and the endless assult of your words, but he puts his foot down when your basic needs arent being met. "I need you to eat food. You need energy. Baby needs energy."

"Fine! Crackers, you crackhead. Then—" and you thrust your leg in the hair and wiggle your foot in his face so he gets the picture.

"Okay okay!" And he walks out the bedroom.

Joel spends a record 4 minutes downstairs hurriedly putting together a fancy array of cracker options, from Saltines, to Townhouse, to Ritz. He also pops a few cubes of diced ham in his mouth and then holds a few in his hand to snack on later since he too had to abandon breakfast to service you.

By the time you're conplaining "it's been hours!" He's trotting up the stairs, you wiggle your bum so you sit upright in bed, hand over gurgling belly as he brings the tray to you.

Just as youre about to feast on these dry ass cardboard squares, your nose twitches. You see Joel chewing something in his grasp, popping one cube of pale meat quickly into his mouth, and it takes all of 2 seconds for the smell to travel to your brain before you're throwing the tray on the ground, crackers spilling all over the carpet and b lining to the bathroom again to throw up.

As he hears your dramatic gasps and hurls, Joel pulls out his little note pad he's been documenting your pregnancy so far. He writes "no ham" in the lines , right under "hates my penis", before tossing the paper on the bed and stroking your hair lovingly again as you empty your entire organs in the toilet.

By the time you finish, you've got snot and tears running down your face. "but I LOVED HAAAMMMMM" You screech.

It's true. You used to wrap a thick spread of cold butter on a slice of cheap deli ham and eatnit like a cannoli— something he thought was a weird aquired taste BEFORE he even got you pregnant.

Joel grabs a tissue and plants it firmly in your face, and you squeeze your eyes tight and blow right into his palm like a little snot nosed trumpet. He rubs his fingers in your nostrils to get all the boogers out before tossing it and helping you up to your feet again.

All the while you're bawling "l-l-loved—my hh-ham—n cheese" with gross babbling as he tucks you back in the duvet. You were fine with giving up other aversions like tomatoes, pizza crust, and yogurt. Even sex (occasionally). But your beloved ham is one baby step too far.

"Your—"sniffle— "big—"hiccup—"ugly—"choke—"WORM —" cough—"DID THIS TO MEEE," you accuse his crotch and wail into the air.

Then you hiccup very loudly and go quiet entirely.

You look around with curious eyes, fresh tears suddenly unbothering you at the moment.

"Mmmmmmmn crackers," you moan. "Gimme that one," and you point to the mess on the floor.

"What one?"

"That one!"

He bends down and picks up a piece.

But you shake your head. "No that one."

"No." "No the other." "No."

"Which one!" He shouts, unable to contain the lace of frustration.

"The one I'm pointing to, stupid!"

He finally picks up one hes pointed to 3 times already and you clap your hands.

You snatch it out of his grasp, pull a hair off its curved cracked edge before munching on it happily.

He looks at with uncertainty on his face.

You swallow the dry mushed bits and hum contently. "Mmm. Salty."

-

Not even 12 hours later  you two are getting ready for bed, and you mood has completely changed. Still sick, but instead of being unable to stand Joel's entire existence, you praise it.

"Joel, honey? Can you please prop my feet up Under this pillow. I'm sorry. I just can't seem to reach it myself."

"Baby? I'm a little thirsty. Can you get me some water?"

"Im so sorry, Joel. I just can't stomach this food, I know you put so much effort into it. Ugh! I loved this, I really did! I don't know what's wrong with me."

You rub over the discomfort in your slightly swollen tummy and try to be a brave girl and fight the tears, as Joel's been so attentive to your needs, aches, cries and cravings, only to hurl them back up.

You sniffle and look up to him.

He's a bit tense, almost in a fight or flight stance with fear behind his eyes.

"W-whats wrong, Joel?" you ask with a honey song voice.

"Who are you and what have you done with my wife?"

- - - -

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[thebearer]

i looooove the way you wrote carmys casual dominance over the reader in the feeling. could you write something else that has that same vibe? like him being protective/ dominant over her while they’re around the rest of the crew?

ahhh thank you so much!!! the casual dominance was a must for me with carmy it just makes me weak in the knees lol.

"Why don't you let me help you?" You hummed, leaning over Carmen's shoulder, watching as he expertly cut the onions. "I can handle spaghetti sauce."

Carmen scoffed lightly, looking up at you under heavy brows, still chopping furiously- much faster than anything you could. "I got it." He nodded.

Your face fell slightly, stepping back to stand beside him. Carmen invited you to family every night before the restaurant opened, it was sometimes the only time you'd see him until that night when he'd collapse into bed next to you. It was the busy season, summer and tourist time, meaning everyone wanted to come to the infamous restaurant.

Carmen's chest flooded with a pang of guilt at your small frown. Fuck, maybe he'd been too mean. "'m sorry, baby. Here, I have prep to do. Can you put this in the pan for me? Start it."

The tiny smile that curled on your lips made Carmen's heart skip in his chest. "Yes, Chef." You hummed, pressing a kiss to his cheek, snagging the diced onions and sliding them into the pan.

You'd seen Carmen make it enough to know how to make this recipe. Canned tomato sauce, oregano, onions- you measured them, adding it all easily.

"Woah-ho-ho, look who we got here." Richie cackled, turning the corner, ignoring Sydney's screams to announce it. "We got a new chef on the roster?"

You rolled your eyes, snagging the can opener and pressing the handles together. "Yeah, I'm your replacement, Richie."

Richie's face fell slightly. He knew you were joking but a part of him worried. "Cousin, what's this, huh?"

"She's just helping, alright? Get outta the way." Carmen nodded, slicing the beef easily. His eyes watched you, flicking from his task back to you.

"Hey," Carmen called, a firm snap of the tongue that had you turning to him. "Put the hair back, baby. No one wants a hair in their food."

"Yeah, c'mon." Richie added, snickering as you snagged the hair tie off your wrist. "Gonna replace me and she don't even know how to cook right-"

"Hey, easy, cousin." Carmen's eyes were hard, glaring at Richie, the whirr of his knife sliding across the cutting board adding a dangerous edge.

Richie held his hands up in mock defense. "My apologies, your fucking majesties." He scoffed.

You rolled your eyes, moving onto the next step on the card, pouring the cans of sauce in easily and stirring, giving the side of the pan a firm tap with the spoon to get the excess off. Reaching for the knob to turn the heat up, Carmen's hands were on your waist before you could.

"Here, baby," Carmen rasped, pulling you back slightly. "Gotta loose shirt on, so you gotta stay back, alright? Tuck it in or something for me. I don't want it catchin' on fire." He muttered, hand sliding over the hem of your shirt, pressing it gently against you.

"Actually, go find an apron, ok? I'l get this started. I don't want you gettin' anything on ya." Carmen nodded towards the back.

"Yes, Chef." You saluted him playfully, passing the spoon to him.

Carmen watched you walk towards his office, stirring the ingredients before turning on the stove. He let the flame on a low flicker, reaching in his pocket for his own cigarettes, fishing one out and lighting it under the pilot light.

"Chef," Carmen called, catching Sydney as she turned the corner. "You got it?"

"I got it." Sydney nodded.

"Great, I'll be in my office." Carmen walked off, finding you in his office, lazily looking through the papers on his desk.

"Anything good?" He asked, leaning against the door, arms crossed over his broad chest.

"What is spicy Moroccan carrot salad?" You tilted your head, reading Carmen's sloppy handwriting scribbled on the notecard.

"A side Sydney thinks would go good with the flounder we're getting in." Carmen hummed, blowing the smoke out the door before shutting it behind him.

He sunk down in his chair, patting his lap for you to sit with him. "Thanks f' helpin' me with family tonight." Carmen muttered, arms around your waist, bumming the cigarette in the tray. "Shouldn't be too long tonight."

You hummed, leaning back into his chest, head lulling back so you could look at him. "Not too long like I should wait up for you or...?"

Carmen snorted lightly. "I'll be home before midnight. Sydney and Marcus are closing tonight." He sighed, pressing a tiny kiss on your shoulder.

"Good," You grinned, turning so you were straddling him, your core rocking over his, covered by the aprons.

[writingouthere]

Nanami is Your Best Friend But Wants More

Implied smut, pining, 1.1k

Nanami couldn't help it, he'd been trying to ignore the feeling rising in him for months now and it was only getting worse. He felt worn down by guilt, guilt for how he felt about you and how he felt like he was violating your trust by looking at you how he did when he knew you trusted him to not do that exact thing. Guilt for how in this moment he couldn't hear a thing you were saying, too distracted by how watching you cook in his apartment was making him absolutely fucking feral.

"Kento? Ken, hellooooo? Are you even listening to me?"

"Hm?" He asked, in fact not listening. He usually gave you his undivided attention but currently his attention was taken up by the way the apron you were wearing brushed against your bare thighs, the pajama shorts you were wearing so high up on your legs that they certainly weren't going to protect you from fuck anything.

"I was telling you about how Gojo tricked Yuji into literally banging pots and pans around the classroom today. I thought it was a good one."

"Mmhm." The apron moved with your hand gestures. He would have found it cute if the knife in your hand didn't move along with it. He got up as you continued talking.

"-I mean I get why he is the head of the department, but also should we take a second to think about how being a genius doesn't mean you can't also be a fucking idiot-what are you doing?"

He took the knife from your hand and turned it down to the floor, away from you.

"You cannot swing the knife around like that, you'll hurt yourself."

"I talk with my hands, you know that." You rolled your eyes but you let him push you gently to the side and start cutting the vegetables you had laid out. "It said to slice the onions, not dice babe. We're going to caramelize them."

The knife dropped out of his hand and he just stood there listening to you hum along to the pop song you had blaring from your speaker.

You were his friend, maybe his best friend and there was no one in the world who knew him better, that he wanted to know him. But, this, this was too much.

"Kento?"

"You can't call me that."

You scoffed. "Little late for that, I've been calling you Kento for years."

"Babe, you can't call me babe." He turned to look at you, finally and you were looking at him, confusion and hurt swirling in your beautiful eyes. You were leaning against the counter and if he didn't know better, he would think you were just casually speaking with him. But he did know better, he knew you better. The fingers on your right hand were wrapped around your left wrist, the knuckles showing the tension. He could see where your thumb pressed against your pulse point, a tick that you showed whenever you felt anxious.

"Sorry, didn't realize it would offend you so much. I call a lot of people babe, it doesn't have to mean what you think it means-"

"And if I want it to mean something? If I don't want to just be people."

He saw your chest hitch and your hands dropped the fiddle with the strings of the apron behind your back.

"You don't fucking mean that, don't say shit like that. That's not funny."

"I'm not joking and I do mean it." He walked up to you and placed both his hands on the counter by your waist. Your hands dropped the apron and they tentatively landed on his forearms. Your eyes landed on where your fingers brushed his skin and he leaned down so he could press his nose against your temple.

"What are we doing?" He sighed against your skin, watching as his breath ruffled your hair.

"I-I don't know what you mean. You're the one doing something." You were trying to say it with your usual sass but he could hear the nerves distorting your tone.

"I'm not doing anything you didn't make me do."

"Make you do-"

"Yeah babe, you made me. You with your little apron welcoming me home with dinner on the stove. You with your candles and your terrible taste in music and these shorts, fuck these shorts, why even bother to wear anything at all?"

"I wore these because they are comfortable and what do you mean my shitty taste in music-

"Babe-

"If you interrupt me one more time Kento, I'm going to leave." You hissed and your hands dug into where they were on his arms. He laughed and leaned back so he could look at you.

"Fine, what did you want to say?"

You bit your lip, obviously not thinking this far ahead. You hesitated and he almost apologized, backed away and got to his knees to beg you to not walk out of his life no matter how crass he just got with you.

"I love you. That's what I would say." You looked him right in the eye for the first time since he had cornered you on the counter and he felt a sense of relief that had him leaning further over you, his hands digging into the counter.

"You love me?" You nodded and he let out a soft laugh before pressing his lips against your forehead. He heard your hitch in breath and brought his lips down to your cheek, the gesture chaste but every thought in his head anything but.

"Is that why you're wearing this and making me dinner? Because you love me? You already here spoiling me, making me imagine what it would be like to come to this every fucking day. My sweet little wife welcoming me home after a hard day." You whimpered as his lips finally came to the corner of your own.

"Kento, that-I just said I love you. You haven't even said it back and you're acting like I proposed." He stepped back and grabbed your chin in his hand so he knows you will hear the next part.

"I love you. I have for a long time and I plan to marry you." You laugh a little this time Kento pulls your thighs apart so he can step in between them as he goes to lower his lips to yours, with intention this time.

"You can't just say that, Ken."

He smiles against your lips, brushes his hand up your thighs and under the apron you had so sweetly put on for him until he could play with the hem of the shorts that had started this whole thing.

"Babe, I just did."

He kissed you, finally. He figured he would just have to convince you he was serious.

[hopelessromantic5]

The tavern scene where Merlin is playing the King at dice and using his magic and it’s really fucking hot.

As Merlin looked around at their accumulating audience, he saw more than a few red cloaks.

So the knights had come to see their king brought to his knees, Merlin thought, chuckling to himself.

“What’s so funny?” Arthur questioned boisterously.

“Nothing, sire.” Merlin singsonged with a smirk that he knew would only frustrate Arthur further. Merlin threw only a momentary glance to The Once and Future King who is soon to lose all of his silver challenging the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth at dice.

Merlin acted as if he were considering his bet, then stacked two piles of silver coins into the bowl.

Of course, Arthur just slung his about like he had no intention of losing it.

Think again, your royal pratship.

Arthur stepped back, next to Percival and Lancelot, to watch Merlin roll.

“Watch out. Here we go.” Though Merlin thought he saw something akin to doubt behind his King’s startlingly blue eyes.

This made Merlin smile like a fool.

The King is nervous to lose, he thought, at least he isn’t a complete moron.

Merlin schooled his face, and began to tumble the dice around in the cup. The sound almost like hooves on compact earth, or dangling talismans hung by Druids, tinkling together in the wind.

Merlin brought his hand holding the cup, up to his lips blowing air into it and letting just a little of his magic slip out.

“Ten.”

And as he knew they would, they dice rolled a perfect ten.

He laughed as irritation settled onto Arthur’s devilishly handsome face.

The king rounded the table, leaning over so his voice was heard only by Merlin’s ears.

“Enjoy this moment, Merlin. While it lasts.”

Merlin didn’t really hear it, though.

The instant that Arthur moved into his personal space, his servant was lost to the world. Distracted by soft lips twisted into a frown, a jawline chiseled from stone, and eyes too beautiful and kind for their own good.

There must be some magic there, Merlin thought. You can’t have eyes like that by the natural grace of the gods.

But if anyone were to be gifted with such a knee buckling appearance, King Arthur of Camelot was the one to deserve it.

Merlin had never seen him being untoward with any female prospects. Never saw him getting handsy with kitchen staff or lady’s maids. Merlin had never seen Arthur approach anyone in that way.

And, though sometimes he stupidly inappropriately wished it, Merlin had never seen Arthur take anyone back to his chambers.

Never once in the three years Merlin had been working for the spoiled prat of a king. Two of those years, Arthur was still a prince. Yet, he held none of the urges that people often berated when they spoke of the young. None that he gave into, anyway.

Merlin never claimed to know the inner workings on his kings mind, especially not in that area. With each passing season Merlin became more confused and less likely to broach the subject.

Not that he minded.

In fact he didn’t mind, at all.

Because there was the rather unfortunate fact that Merlin had been in love with Arthur Pendragon from the moment he laid eyes on him.

Arthur wasn’t drunk. But he had been drinking. Enough to let lingering doubts disappear into the back of his mind.

He thought about this, as he led the way to his chambers, Merlin following dutifully a few steps behind.

Merlin was completely sober.

Arthur knew because he watched Merlin all night, and the man never touched his cup, not once.

Arthur was determined. He was a King. He was supposed to look fear in the face and laugh.

He didn’t know how to handle fear in the form of the beautiful face of his magical manservant.

Merlin thought everything was normal.

Until the door closed behind him.

Arthur walked to the table, dropped his gloves on the surface, then turned to face Merlin with his arms crossed.

Gods, he was fit.

“Did you enjoy stealing all my money?”

Merlin tutted,

“Come now, sire. We both know that wasn’t anywhere near all your money.”

A chuckle left the Kings lips.

“That is not the point, Merlin.”

“And what is the point, sire?” Merlin was goading him and poking his buttons, unassuming of the bombshell that was about to be dropped in his lap.

Arthur was still smiling, but he narrowed his eyes, which put Merlin on alert. Merlin didn’t know this look. And he knew all of them. Well, almost all of them. He’d never seen this look before.

The King began to approach Merlin, slowly.

It didn’t take very long for him to reach his goal.

“The point, Merlin…” Arthur was very close now. His hopeless manservant was losing his breath, unable to look away from his gorgeous, awe-inspiring face. Merlin was boxed in by Arthur’s muscular arms, inches away from him face.

“…is that you cheated.”

Just like that, all the air was sucked out of the room.

Merlin couldn’t move, or speak, or get oxygen to his brain to make it function.

They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity.

Merlin watched as Arthur’s smile spread across his face.

He was…smiling?

Oh thank all the gods in all the heavens, he doesn’t hate me!

This is what Merlin’s inner voice was screaming to imaginary skies, until Arthur spoke again.

Merlin zeroed back in on the King’s eyes, and realized that the blue had been swallowed by black.

“You want to know something?” His voice is low and rough, and he was so close. Incredibly, impossibly close.

Merlin was not computing coherent words at the moment so he nodded, eager to know something. Anything. As long as it came from those lips.

Arthur moved in to hover his mouth just above Merlin’s skin. Right below his ear.

Merlin shivered involuntarily at the proximity, and the tease that The King of Camelot turned out to be.

“I’ve known for years, Merlin.”

Merlin might’ve been shocked, if his shock hasn’t been overrun by the way Arthur whispered his name. Like a siren song, begging him to come closer.

“But the way you looked in that tavern,”

Arthur’s breath kept caressing his skin in lapping waves and it was intoxicating. Merlin’s whole body was filled with want. He could feel it tingle in his fingertips and at the very top of his spine. Deep in his gut, where everything pooled to drag him under.

“I knew I had to have you. I can’t wait any longer.”

Arthur drew back, half lidded, smirking all-knowing.

Merlin didn’t know what he looked like but it must be a sight.

“That is, if you’ll have me.”

Merlin swallowed the past the lump in his throat before speaking, or whispering. Even if every part of him thrummed with this feeling, there was always a chance of everything crumbling. Nothing was certain, until it was.

“I am yours.” He hoped his eyes conveyed everything he ever held in, Arthur could always read his eyes.

[diazsdimples]

hi james <3 make em swoon prompt: hugging them from behind for bucktommy

Hi Nolan!!! As you wish 🫡

Something Buck was really learning to love about having a firefighter boyfriend was how well he fit in at the station with the 118.

Granted, it helped that Tommy knew Hen, Bobby and Chimney from way back when he was a probie himself, and can provide banter with Eddie that even rivals Buck's level of teasing, but it still takes Buck by surprise at just how perfectly he nestled into their little family.

The first time Tommy came over to surprise Buck, he'd been leaning against the outside wall of the station when the engine had pulled in after responding to a 2 alarm fire. He'd had his arms crossed over his chest, with that indulgent "god you're adorable, Evan" smile on his face as Buck had dropped down from the passenger seat and strode over to him, burying his face in Tommy's shoulder.

Times after that included Bobby secretly inviting him over for lunch with the station on the 4th of July after Buck had lamented about spending their first holiday apart, Tommy showing up with breakfast after a long, arduous night shift, and Tommy hiding in a storage closet late in the evening during one of Buck's 24 hour shifts, grabbing Buck as he walked past and pulling him in for a mind-blowing fuck while the rest of the station slept.

And Buck - well Buck was pretty sure he hadn't been happier in all his life. Whenever he saw Tommy playing pool with Hen, or sparring with Eddie, or battling Chimney on the XBOX, his heart would flutter, like it had become a butterfly and grown wings, and ready to beat out of his chest. It just felt so... perfect.

It had been a couple of days since he and Tommy had seen one another, and Buck was missing him. They'd exchanged texts and facetimed a couple of times but it wasn't the same as having Tommy's arms around him, or feeling Tommy press soft kisses against his neck. He missed that physical contact.

"You seem a little down today, man," Eddie muses as he and Buck chop vegetables in the kitchen. Bobby had ordered 3 finely diced carrots and some chopped celery sticks to make part of tonight's dinner, and had put Eddie in charge, with Buck's supervision.

Buck looks up from where he's been systematically shredding the end of a celery stick with surprise. "Really? I-I'm fine, I swear."

Eddie raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. Not that Buck's entirely surprised; his best friend could scope out a change in Buck's mood before it even happens. He'd be stupid to think he could hide anything from Eddie.

"Uh, sure you are. Nothing to do with the fact that you're missing a certain 6'2 muscular pilot, hmm?"

Buck blushes, the red heat creeping up his cheeks, and he quickly drops his eyes back to the celery in front of him, trying desperately not to meet Eddie's eyes.

"That obvious, huh?"

Eddie laughs, a sound that Buck had heard so rarely over the last year and now can't seem to go a day without hearing, and pats Buck on the shoulder. "Just a little bit, yeah. I mean, you've been moping around the station the last few days, and everytime your phone buzzes, you practically pounce on it to see if it's him."

Buck's blush deepens, and he shoves the half-shredded celery stick back onto the chopping board, dropping his head into his hands. "I miss him," he says, his voice small.

Eddie softens a little, and reaches up to grasp Buck's shoulder, giving it a little squeeze.

"Yeah, I'll bet," he says sympathetically. He puts the carrot back on the chopping board with a sigh. "Hey I left something downstairs, mind if you keep doing this? I'll be right back."

Buck rolls his eyes, familiar with Eddie's get-out-of-cooking tactics.

"Yeah, whatever. I'll finish it for us."

Eddie gives him a big grin and claps his shoulder again.

"Lifesaver. Be right back!"

And with that, he's crossing the loft and taking the stairs two at a time, footsteps echoing through the firehouse. Buck shakes his head and chuckles to himself. He's pretty sure Eddie would rather step on a thousand Legos than ever help prepare dinner.

With a small shake of his head, Buck continues to chop the celery and carrots, throwing them into a small bowl together. He's been doing it for a few minutes when he hears footsteps behind him. Assuming it's Eddie, Buck doesn't turn around, and continues to chop.

"You find what you were looking for?"

"Oh, I think I did."

A deep, gravelly voice fills Buck's ears as a pair of thick, strong arms circles his waist, and Buck's heart leaps instantly as he recognises the smell of Tommy's cologne.

"Tommy? What are you doing here?!" Buck exclaims, putting down the knife and lacing his fingers with Tommy's. Tommy rests his head on Buck's shoulder, pressing small kisses into the skin just above Buck's uniform shirt.

"Thought I'd stop by and surprise you, baby. I missed you. Eddie helped me organise it."

Buck grins widely and turns in Tommy's arms, leaning forward and pressing their lips together in a deep, searing kiss. His arms wrap around Tommy's neck and he tugs him closer, revelling in the feel of Tommy's hands resting against the small of his back, holding him steady.

After a moment, they break apart, and Buck leans their foreheads together, a wide, beaming smile on his face.

"God, I've missed you," he murmurs. "This is the best surprise."

Tommy smiles back at him, rubbing their noses together.

"Yeah, I missed you too, Ev. It's good to see you."

He gives Buck one last peck on the lips, and then releases him, turning his attention to the celery and carrots Buck had been chopping. He picks one up between his thumb and forefinger, scruitinising it with mock-intensity.

"So, what you making?"

Tagging bucktommy friends

@theotherbuckley @bidisasterevankinard @watchyourbuck @neverevan @hippolotamus

@wikiangela @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @jesuisici33 @emilybahu @detectivehorror

@disasterstans @ioncedreamedaflower @bandluvr97 (mutuals pls lmk if you want to be tagged in Bucktommy stuff, I haven't quite scoped out who's okay with them and who isn't)

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 13

part 1, prev part

There’s this feeling at the top of a roller coaster that is meant to excite, to look forward to. Where the exhilaration and adrenaline kicks in and everyone feels like the top of the world. Only for the calm to set in when the ride is over, and the line keeps growing to feel it all again.

If life were a rollercoaster, Dustin’s would be a fucked up one. Where just as the drop finishes, and everything seems to calm down, the machine starts to clink and bring you back up to the top again. Over. And Over. And Over again.

Dustin’s scared that this calm won’t be so calm tomorrow. Or in a year when life gets back to normal again, and the people in hospital are out and better, like it does. Just for it all to go to a burning pile of shitty hell. For Dustin to end up sitting in the hospital chairs again.

Never the bed.

It’s not that he’s upset that he’s healthy. It’s not that he’s upset that he’s never had to stay in the hospital for a night. It’s just the fact that while everyone else seems to get hurt, he stays perfectly fine. And he doesn’t know why.

He’s put himself in dangerous situations. Fights, tunnels, right in front of a fucking demogorgon. In all the scenarios, he should have gotten hurt. There wasn’t a book that he read where everyone walked away perfectly fine.

Frodo walked to Mordor and wasn’t fine. Neither was Samwise. Dustin’s not a Frodo or a Samwise, maybe he’s a Mary or Pippin. They didn’t walk away without a scratch either. His DnD character can’t even get out of a battle without dying.

Why is he so okay? Why have his dice always rolled so high?

And why does he seem to be more bothered that this than the people in the hospital beds?

Max is smiling and laughing right now. She’s almost like she was last summer. Making fun of them in a way that kinda stung sometimes but mostly was out of love. Not thinking about the fact that she might never ride a skateboard again. Not thinking about the fact that she won’t see the way their faces change as they grow. The way her own face will change as she grows.

Her life has changed in a way that can’t be changed back. How is she not having a bigger reaction to this?

“Hey,” Max calls out in Dustin’s direction. “Come here, I want to feel your face.”

“Huh?”

Mike groans from across the room. “She’s been doing it with everyone. It’s just an excuse to mess with you.”

Max rolls her clouded eyes. “The blind girl wants to make sure he friends are ok. There are no other ulterior motive here.”

“You’re just going to poke him in the eye or some shit.”

“My hands are my eyes now, Michael.”

Mike rolls his eyes, giving Dustin a look like “I warned you.”

Lucas gets up from the chair closest to Max to let Dustin get closer. He leans closer to the bed as Max reaches out her hands to find his face. She pokes around, finding the brim of his hat and pulls it down to his nose.

“Idiot,” Max snorts.

“Told you,” Mike says. Will smacks him in the arm.

Dustin makes a face while fixing his hat, switching seats with Lucas. And then again when El comes in. The room sounding anything like a hospital. Like Mike’s basement while they are watching movies or hanging out. Like the worst didn’t happen and just a week ago, where Max wasn’t just told she would be blind forever.

He walks out of the room and heads to Eddie’s. Eddie who’s awake, but not really. Who opens his eyes and it makes Dustin so happy. Just to see something that resembles him, but isn’t just quite it.

Happiness comes and goes so fast that Dustin almost misses it. Overshadowed by this feeling of knowing that nothing is going back to the way it was. He’ll never be the person he was before. None of them will.

That’s the worst part of this all. He’s seen the way that Will became quieter. Different in a way that none of them will really understand. Saw the way that Max shut down after Billy died. Overcome by her grief. How Steve pushes himself so hard he breaks, and Robin tries to forget it all even happened. Saw how pain can cause a person to die.

The doctors still don’t know what’s going to happen when Eddie finishes waking up. They won’t know how long he’ll still be here, or what damage is in his body. To his brain. His nerves. If he’ll be able to play guitar again. Dustin never even got to see him play a real concert. He wanted to see that.

Time keeps passing and Eddie’s missing it. Classes have restarted and he won’t catch up. Not when he’ll still be in recovery for months. He won’t be walking across that stage to get his diploma. He might not even get it at all.

Dustin takes his seat next to Wayne and just looks at Eddie. Can’t bring himself to take the book out of his bag and read. Wanting to find any sign that this was all worth it. That the painful hope that Dustin is clinging to isn’t dragging him to the bottom. That Eddie will continue to wake up tomorrow.

“You ok, Dustin?”

“Every day I come in here and wish he would say something. Anything.”

Wayne nods, as solemn as he always is. “Me too.”

“You’re back in school now, right? How’s that going?”

School is a completely different battle. The Hellfire shirt that he wore with pride is now an endless target. The insults that would already be slung his way amplified. Walking through the halls feels like shooting range. Another reminder that he knows a truth that none of them will.

“As good as you’d expect it to.”

Another nod. It’s nice to have someone listen to him without trying to fix it. Just let him talk at his own pace without trying to make it better. Make him feel any differently than he does. It brings a comfort to Dustin that he never really knew, or understands.

“Where’s that book of yours, I was starting to get invested.”

“I’m not sure I’m up for reading it today.”

Wayne shrugs. “Why don’t I then? I can’t do the voices like you or Ed do, but I can read.”

It’s like Wayne knows the real reason why Dustin’s reading the book. Makes him feel weirdly seen. Like for a moment, someone understood him more than he wanted them too.

Still, he takes the book out of his bag and hands it to Wayne. Watches as he turns to the page and messes up the character names. Take a breath each time one of the weirder ones comes up and sounds it out. Trying his best to get it all right, even though he’s still doing it a little wrong.

Next part

tag list, let me know if you want to be added or removed: @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar,

@tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda,

@fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77,

@here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium,

@resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly,

@gregre369, @n0-1-important, @different-tale-student, @spectrum-spectre, @tartarusknight,

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@morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs, @maskofmirrors, @me-and-my-sloth,

[aestheticaltcow]

The Social Media Manager: The Series (part 4)

Just some awkwardness and miscommunication.

The Bear Masterlist

Previous Part

Bars and Miscommunication

It was almost midnight, and Carmy was nowhere to be seen. You were annoyed; was he ghosting you? “Rusty, come play pool with us.” Sara waved at you. She was standing by the pool table with a pair of men. Both were tall, with dark hair, pretty brown eyes, and pearly white smiles. The one on the left looked at you like a piece of meat, while the one on the right stood directly behind Sara. You shook your head.

“I’m still holding out hope.” you laughed, trying to mask your disappointment, as you took another sip from your overpriced cocktail. Sara rolled her eyes; she’d made up her mind about Carmy. He wasn’t showing up tonight, and you shouldn’t invest more effort in pursuing a romantic relationship with him. You stared at your phone and watched the minutes tick by. At 11:59 PM, you finally gave up. After a weak wave to Sara, you started walking toward the bar's exit, feeling a mix of embarrassment and regret. Maybe you were too forward with Carmy. You felt stupid that you’d even tried asking out Marcus’s boss. 

You stood outside waiting for an Uber when you heard someone yell your name. Looking over your shoulder hesitantly, Carmy was heading in your direction. He may have been an hour late, but you still felt the air leave your lungs as he jogged in your direction. You wanted to say something witty, but nothing came to mind. “You’re not leavin’, are ya?” Carmy softly asked as he reached your side. 

You shrugged and avoided eye contact as you explained being tired. The words floated through Carmy’s mind. He noticed your shift in behavior immediately. He fucked up, and he knew it. “Can I take you home? I got held up at the restaurant-” he started to ask as a black Honda Civic pulled up to where you’d been waiting. 

“My ubers here… night, Carmy.” you felt defeated and stupid as you playfully nudged him. “I’ll come by the restaurant next week to get some more content for Instagram.” 

~

“I feel like such a dumbass.” you laughed as you took videos of Syd dicing an onion. Making videos of her making some of the new menu items felt like a good way to create buzz for The Bear- at least until you remembered the events of the weekend and that Carmy was currently hiding from you in the office ‘doing paperwork.’

“You’re not. Carmy just isn’t the one you know.” Syd explained as she scooped the onions into a bowl with garlic and jalapenos. “I haven’t known him that long, but-” Syd cut herself off and adjusted her shoulders. You looked over your shoulder to see Carmy had emerged from the office to help Marcus and Sweeps unload a produce delivery. You rolled your eyes and turned your attention back to Syd.

And that’s how it went for weeks. 

You’d come into The Bear to take pictures and video, then sit in the dining area for a couple of hours to edit the videos into TikToks and Instagram Reels. Carmy would casually watch you from the kitchen and imagine ways he could make it up to you.

You were sick of it. After swallowing your pride, you’d decided to call Carmy. It was a little after midnight, and you didn’t expect him to answer, but he did immediately. “Hey Rusty, everything okay?” he answered. You bit your lip before responding, “Uh, I feel like things have been awkward between us. I guess I just wanted to say sorry?” 

“For what? I should probably be the one apologizing.” Carmy laughed as he brought his cigarette to his lips. He smiled when he heard you giggle in response, “How bout we’re both sorry, and we hang out outside of The Bear… like a date.”

“You want to go on a date with me?” you asked, laughing at Carmy’s surprise. “I do,” you answered, hoping you didn’t make a complete fool of yourself. “How about we get dinner tomorrow- since The Bear is closed on Mondays?” you gnawed on the inside of your cheek, waiting for Carmy’s answer. “Uh- yeah, that sounds good. Pick you at 7.”

[itsonlydana]

"passenger princess" | chapter one

the hobbit | a modern!AU by itsonlydana

❱ pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader

❱ wordcount: 2,9k

❱ summary: the chaotic mess of playing monopoly drunk with your best friends

❱ warnings: alcohol

❱ an: the first chapter.. excited for you to read this! This has been heavily edited from my ao3 post soo have fun <3

general m.list + series m.list

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot - especially with longer projects <3

CHAPTER ONE: MONOPOLY

"Oh, would you look at that; you landed on my street. Again."

"What? No fucking way."

"Legolas"

"Gimli"

"Blondie, if I don't see my money in ten seconds I'm cutting your hair while you have your beauty sleep."

"No, you wouldn't dare!"

Across from Legolas, Gimli just flashed him a toothy grin, so wide and full of mischief, before leaning over the multitude of cards in front of him with a challenging tip of his head.

"Try me."

"Fine." Legolas drummed his fingers on the table, breaking the staring contest and waving it off like it had never bothered him. "Don't drag it out any further, Gimli, tell me what I owe you, and let me go my way."

For a moment Gimli pretended he had to look for them, but everyone at the table had noticed how his fingers had twitched for the green card as soon as Legolas had rolled the dice.

"You ended up on Oxford Street, which normally would've only cost you $26, but since I have not one, not two, but three houses, you now owe me a wonderful 900!"

And as in previous rounds, Legolas now quite unemotionally pulled two orange paper bills from his carefully sorted, rather tall, stack and received an already slightly worn 100 in exchange, which he accepted with a bitter grumble.

This exchange had happened so many times this evening that you now only rolled your eyes with a smile at the banter, sipping on your bottle of beer to avoid being drawn into the discussion in the first place.

The rivalry between Legolas and Gimli, playful in its purest form and with not an ounce of real bad blood, had become a permanent part of your life after you befriended the two of them.

Although it had slightly thrown you off at first how they went from harmless conversation to competition in seconds, you couldn't imagine your life without it.

In such a fast-paced modern world as this, you sometimes found it hard to hold on to friendships and avoid losing your grip in the swift whirl of time; in the case of many friendships that were strong at the time, you couldn't even remember if there had been a real goodbye, or if they had simply... disappeared - left behind or run ahead, who knew?

With Legolas and Gimli, however, it was different.

You met both of them on the first day of college, had run into both of them, literally, when you tried to get to your first class on time.

A class with a professor you'd only heard bad things about Visitor's Day. The hushed whispers of scared students, their eyes telling you more than what they actually dared to say on campus.

You were close to being punctual, wouldn't it have been for Legolas and Gimli. The duo stood in front of the closed lecture door, simply staring through the tiny window and looking like they would rather perish than actually open it.

Their looks of fear mirrored yours and it was clear that all three of you had heard the stories of students getting their heads ripped of by Professor Sauron. That man had strong feelings about tardiness– and it was only your first day.

You of course rushed to apologize, babbling that you hadn't seen Gimli, and no, it wasn't because of his size but rather due to your lack of attention, and please could they stay on your side when you go into the hell of public humiliation?

By some wonder the Professor had his back turned to the auditorium to fill the blackboard with the required reading list, as you snuck along the stairs and miraculously dropped into the last three empty seats without getting caught.

And when you had breathed a sigh of relief, the brunette who sat on your right passed you the attendance list he had kept with him a little while longer, as if he had suspected that someone else would be late.

That's how you met Aragorn. The ruggedly handsome brunette added to your trio and was conveniently organized enough to lend you and Gimli a pen for the first week.

From day one, you formed an inseparable unit, whether on campus, in the numerous bars you frequented, or in the parks where you often spent your free time - rarely were any of you seen without the others and you would never hear the others utter one single bad word about the other.

You practically did everything together, from classes, many of which you shared – often to the annoyance of professors and fellow students due to the vibrant and occasionally noisy atmosphere you created– to lunches lounging under the campus's shady trees, with Aragorn reading poems from his literature class, and you occupied with braiding Gimli's long-grown beard while Legolas dozed in the longing stares of bypassers, gossiping and flirting.

On weekdays before exams, you either barricaded yourselves in your tiny dorm room, for it was the closest to the library, quizzing each other up and down the subjects, writing flashcards, most of which you wrote, to give to Legolas and Gimli afterward, and after exams, you forced your way into bar after bar, leaving your marks in benches and stools, squeezing into cramped photo booths in brightly lit clubs.

The first trimester passed swiftly, much like the initial semesters of the second, which you were presently struggling to handle.

It was the college life that everyone probably dreamed of, that every movie romanticized, and even you sometimes couldn't believe how perfect everything was.

Certainly, not every exam resulted in a perfect score and not every day was adorned with rose-colored glasses of happiness perched on your nose.

Yet, be it a poorly performed test, a date lacking sparks, or a random low point, your boys stood steadfastly by your side, offering unwavering support.

Today was no different.

The day had started with you waking to the sun and not your alarm clock and getting your ass handed by Professor Sauron.

It continued with some pretty demotivating feedback on an essay you'd worked many late nights by your Herbology Professor Baggins.

He did offer you a pat on the back that probably meant to cheer you up but felt condescending considering the amount of red ink staining the essay you'd crumbled in sweaty hands.

Adding that to Professor Sauron's embarrassment of you in front of the entire class sank your already low spirits to the basement.

Not even Aragorn's consoling hand, which remained steadfastly by your side throughout the day, guiding you from one class to the next, mumbling soft words and trying to cheer you up with soft kisses to your forehead, could lift you out of this emotional abyss.

How you survived that day was a mystery but after eight hours of you pouring out bad energy like radioactive waves, Legolas must've had enough of your moping and the grim expressions you fired at anyone who shouldered you in the hallway.

With a determined, "We're going to my place," the blonde had put his pep talk plan consisting of a trip to the liquor section of the supermarket and an order from the delivery guy into action.

It was this very plan that had gotten you into your current situation.

Slightly drunk at the kitchen table of the House of Oropherion.

A Monopoly board in front of your nose, around it several empty beer bottles. Pizza boxes scattered on the countertops and bags of all sorts of sweet stuff that Legolas had sweepingly pushed from the shelves into the shopping cart, blowing pink bubble gum bubbles.

The guy seriously had a snack-problem and a spending habit that surely made for a good intervention.

Within a few hours, you had turned the otherwise pristine and tidy kitchen into a battlefield that looked a lot like the one in your dorm.

Whereas the one in the dorm was used by twenty young women and many of their partners, and this one just by four.

Just as in the dorm, loud laughter echoed through the entire house, accompanied by your shared playlist.

Legolas had set it playing on the expensive stereo while preparing his snack bowl.

It was a chaotic mix, Legolas pop music, Gimlis folk metal and Aragorns indie rock while you sprinkled in a few classical songs or added whatever else was missing.

Quietly, you hummed along to the hottest chart song of this summer.

Your spirits had risen by now, thanks to your best friends, even if it did look like they were about to go for each other's throats over a denied exchange of a road.

"My Lady," Aragorn interrupted the rising argument between Legolas and Gimli and held out his hand with the dice to you, "Please stop this madness and continue the round so we can finish this eventually.. hopefully today"

Grinning, you accepted the dice, "I will do my best, my lord," while Gimli muttered into his beard, "Not my fault Barbie isn't giving me what's rightfully mine."

As expected, the idiots fell silent as soon as you gave the dice a quick shake in your closed hands and then tossed them across the table with a clatter.

Of course, in the face of eventual earnings, everyone immediately calculated where you would end up and who might rip off what little money was left in front of you.

Two threes.

And everyone groaned in annoyance.

Only you grinned as you dragged your silver dog figure across the Park Lane and Mayfair field decorated with a few of Legolas hotels, right over GO and landed on your own field.

Another round where you survived on the 200 notes from pulling over GO, anxious not to land on one of the hotel fields from the others.

Because, unlike the others, greedy little hoarders who acquired your properties, swindling you with meager donations, you possessed only the two modest brown streets, yielding little profit.

With each move of yours, the others hoped you would finally end up on one of their plots and finally be eliminated, but as if fate would have it, you seemed to be avoiding it just fine.

"And she lives another round," Aragorn raised his beer bottle in your direction and winked "Any bets on how many more you'll survive?"

You snorted as you shook the dice in your hand again. "You're not getting rid of me that fast."

The dice clattered across the board, two ones and loud rumbling from the boys, you moved to the community chest square laughing.

Reaching across the board, you grabbed the top card of the cards and dramatically pulled it up to your chest.

To your left, Legolas drummed his fingers impatiently on the table, and even though Aragorn has so far stayed away from the competition between Legolas and Gimli, he too now nodded his chin questioningly at the card.

At an almost agonizingly slow pace, you turned it over, keeping eye contact with your boys for a while, though, before looking down, skimming the printed text, and laughing out loud.

"What does it say?" Legolas inquired, trying to lean toward you, dark eyebrows raised questioningly.

"Geez, tell me it's a bad card."

"You can decide that for yourself, Gimli," chuckling, you held out your card in such a way that the three of them almost bumped heads, so fast were they bending to the center.

"You've got to be kidding me," Aragorn slumped back in his chair with a moan, and Gimli slammed his hands flat on his thighs, cursing a string of words that in their pure filthy form would make anyone else blush.

You were only spurred on by them, and laughter burst out of you, loud and full of glee.

"I'd like a hundred from each of you right now, it's my birthday after all," you smirked, holding out your hand.

Aragorn was the first to put a bill on it, and even Gimli, though he stressed that he would get it back before you ran out of laughter, handed over something from his well-guarded account.

"Laaas, what am I waiting for? A birthday song?" you asked.

Legolas raised a perfect eyebrow and slid you a bill looking so bored that you almost bought it, "You can wait a long time for a song."

"For the chance to hear your voice dedicate a song to me, I'd wait a thousand years," you sang, winking with a sugary smile on your lips.

"Or I'd just watch the recordings from last night's karaoke, I'd even get a love song from you as a gift," dramatically you grabbed your chest with both hands and threw your head back

"And wouldn't that be oh so romantic?"

"Please," he scoffed, "If I'd really tried you'd be on your knees in seconds. Babe, I have charm."

For a moment you manage to pulled yourself together, looking into Legolas' eyes, holding his challenging gaze from which you didn't know to interpret if he truly believed his statements himself.

Then you heard Gimli's dirty laugh.

The redhead hands hit the table so hard that several of the hotels flew in all directions, and with them your composure.

With a rather unfeminine snort, you threw yourself backward in your chair, your head craned back and your arms folded in front of your stomach; there was no saving you from the laughter that bubbled out of you like hot water on a stove.

"Your charm?" you gasped, trying to blink away the tears in your eyes.

Unsuccessfully, because when you saw Legolas stand up indignantly and toss his blond hair over his shoulder, the tears flew unstoppably down your cheeks.

Sure, you were aware of what a charming man Legolas could be; you were teasing, not blind.

It took nothing to perceive him for what he was, and that was a flawless beauty. That angelic face, long blond-gold hair flowing over his shoulder, and eyes ever so gentle, marked him a natural beauty and unfortunately, you couldn't deny that what came out of his mouth most of the time made most men and women's hearts swell.

You were friends with him, though, and the idea of being even remotely touched by his charm made you laugh beyond control.

And you heard all the bullshit the guy yapped about when there was no one around he wanted to impress.

"What?" Legolas asked, and in his voice, a challenge that, voiced by the beer, didn't bode well, "I don't want to sound too arrogant" –snickering from the three of you– "go fuck yourselves, I'm charming! I'm sure, oh I bet, that you would fall for it!"

And before you would have objected much, he took a big swig from his bottle and slid down from his chair.

Right in front of you.

Onto his knees.

It was the look of firm conviction in his eyes, the way he reached for your hand and gently held it like it was made of cracked glass against his chest, that made your laughter turn into a silly giggle.

Legolas, even though he was swaying a bit and his words were no longer flowing too loosely from his tongue, was a sight you wouldn't any time soon. "My darling friend, whose attention I do not deserve–"

"Now that's what I call true words," grunted Gimli, who had also leaned back in the meantime and received a punishing look from Legolas before the blond turned back to you.

"–whose attention I don't deserve and that yet has me blossoming, like the first flowers reaching out to the sun, for you are the light in my life. Everything that connects us tugs at my heart, it cries out for more and I'm afraid I can no longer remain silent about my feelings"

Ironically, at that very moment, he paused, seemed lost in thought and stroked the back of your hand with his thumb.

Not that it helped him really.

But you waited patiently nonetheless, letting Legolas continue to play the role of the poet.

He looked back at you from the far distance in which his gaze had become playfully entangled, and you saw the twitch of his lips, the sign of a cheeky grin he tried to keep down.

It didn't matter what words made him fight the grin, though, Legolas didn't get to say them.

Thanks to the music, which had faded into the background but still sounded through the sound system, as well as your group's silly fooling around and never-ending laughter, you hadn't heard the front door unlock, or the footsteps in the hallway.

It wasn't until an amused-sounding "Oh, am I interrupting?" rang out in a very familiar voice behind you that you became aware of the new presence in the room.

Immediately, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up, the deep voice rolling over your entire body like sweet honey.

You heard Aragorn laugh, a murmured, "You've lost your girl, Las," and the blonde in front of you groaned as he struggled to his feet.

"Great, wow, I was literally so close to getting her around. Thank you so much, Ada," Legolas scoffed.

You followed his gaze, eyes falling onto the man casually leaning against the kitchen counter.

And your heart jumped inside your chest.

taglist: @mushroomemeralds @mssuguru @solartoge

[thewriterg]

𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥

pairing(s); tom holland x fem!reader, sub!tom x dom!reader

summary; Tom hadn’t been to a costume party since he was in college but thanks to his brother Harry he’s broken his record but the actor quite say he regret making a deal with the devil —kinktober day; 21—

word count; 1.5k

warning(s); SMUT, spanking, face riding, oral (f receiving), tail job?, edging, kisses, pet names, and language

playlist; glory box by portishead

A/n:—GIFs; @ffckedup & @erensbitch— It’s kink mf tober

“Oh fuck you Harry” Tom muttered watching the banquet come into his view and suddenly his urge to crawl up into a ball and have his driver that was made to sure he entered the establishment by his dear brother of course take him back home while he inched closer to the party it was VIP, invite, and celebs only but the didn’t seem to make the brunette go jump off a cliff any less

If anything it could make the urge stronger

“Is there a problem Mr Holland?” The chauffeur questioned as he opened the brunettes door a little underlying urge to his voice and the actor took the hint stepping out of the black Porsche patting the man on his suit covered shoulder shaking his head with a small smile

“No, thank you” Suddenly not really so for the suit secure on his toned body not expecting the familiar white flashing lights shoved into his face as multiple questions were thrown his way he tight lipped the pap before getting rushed into the building flashing changing colored lights and blaring music taking over his senses and he heard different greetings from all over the place

“Spidey!”

“Oh Tom hi!”

“Is that the real suit man!?”

it was definitely college nostalgia to say the least

He smiled and waved at all of who he could making his way toward the bar a whiskey on the rocks imbedded in his mind greatly he had been mingling for less than twenty minutes and he already wanted to leave the least he could do is indulge in a little drink to treat himself for not already crawling under a rock

“Need a drink?” Tom heard a voice directly by his ear and when he turned to his head to look at the direction of sound just to turn around and find nothing before he reset to his usual position you were in front of him horns coming from your forehead your eyes crimson fangs peaking through as you spoke

“Pretty boy can’t handle loud noises and flashing lights?” You questioned lowly a teasing underlying tone thick on your tongue as you took a glass from the counter setting a cube in the glass and pouring Jack Daniels in the glass passing it to the brunette swiftly

“That’s cute, well aren’t you adorable” He hummed before taking a swallow of the bitter liquid falling into his mouth and down his throat eyebrows furrowing when he looked up from his glass and you weren’t there in front of him like you were

“Willing to make a deal with the devil Tommy?” You hummed in the actors ear making him shiver his mouth agape at the sudden change his eyes darting from behind the counter back towards where you’re standing now his heartbeat staring to beat a bit faster

“I-I um, guess I’ll roll that dice” He whispered before jumping in his seat as something wrapped around his leg before retreating and looked down to see a very realistic looking tail swinging back and forth at his feet before you were walking away a dramatic sway in your hips

“That one’s a looker who’s your designer? Woah where you going darling?” Tom was out of his seat following after you dodging dancing bodies until the music was dying down in his ears the lights no longer flashing in his eyes the actor felt a fog take over him clouding his senses until he was somewhere he completely didn’t recognize

“Gonna ask you one more time, willing to make a deal with the devil” He could see you fully now his head spinning his sense fully clouded of you his pupils dilated and his control felt compelled to you

“Whatever you want.. Miss whatever you want” He uttered dropping to his knees in front of you while your tail swayed against the back of your calves while you circled the brunette your heels clicking against the floor before you took a seat behind him your head tilting at the sight of his toned back

“You’ve done this before?” You interrogate him not moving from your position on the end of the giant bed frame while pressing a heel on the surface of his back pushing him to all fours while he goes down without a protest

“Yes mam” You hummed in response he’s obedient and pure with just with a little dark underlying it was… refreshing to say the least

“Go across the room strip I want everything off and then, crawl back to me” The brunette scurried away and he thanked the years of rushing in and out of the suit all over the world while he heard you heels against the floor the sound imbedded in his mind while crouching back down to his knees slowly returning to the spot he once was this time his carved face looking up into yours with those doe brown eyes filled with just about zero thoughts, jaw sharp enough to cut a sheet of glass, and the slight bump on his nose that would hit the spot

“You’ve ever been punished Tommy?” You whispered and he felt the presence of your tail against him again this time a thousand more times pleasurable causing him to let out an uncontrollable moan slipping from his lips his cheeks heating up tinting a soft pink before he could open his mouth for a response something whipped down on his lower back and the crack of his ass a whimper tangling in the brunettes tongue his curls sticking to his forehead

“I asked you a question” You hissed patience wearing blatantly thin

“Yes miss I have” He winced at the crop coming back down on his ass the sting subtle at first before cracking a burning punch and it continues tears brought to his eyes dripping onto the floor his backside battered and bruised and the actor knew sitting down would be a challenge for the next few days to come

“You think you should apologize for your manners pup?” You come into his view now only in a set of black lace that didn’t cover much he could feel himself salivating in his mouth

“Yes, please let me I’ll make it right I swear- I’ll do anythin-” He quiets at the look of you hand in the air aiding him to stop your presence demanding attention and affection God by the looks of it to Tom you deserve to be prayed to a temple built directly off of your body You slip down the pair of underwear your cunt bared to him while you took striding steps towards his frame and the pale boy took a small second to dart out his tongue to wet his lips before you hovering directly over his face like a dog with a bone

“Look at you finally learning being a real good boy, stay, stay, eat.” You hummed as he dived into your clit at your call his tongue dipping into you fold collecting the build up of arousal and your hand slithers up to his head and into his hair pulling and tugging roughly causing Tom to whine coyly the vibrations shooting up your spleen causing you to close your thighs on his head a borderline pornographic moan spilling from you while your rolled you hips against his face the bump in his nose hitting your clotting causing your hips to stutter

Toms hips suddenly bucked up into nothing a muffled groan that would’ve shook the room otherwise coming from his throat your tail wrapped around his cock stroking him the same pace he was stroking your clit with his tongue and the brunette began to come to the realization that it really wasn’t a prosthetic as he circled your clit flattening his tongue against your bundle of nerves while you hissed in pleasure your knees shaking on either side of his head he takes this time to finally attack your bud like a shark in a pool with a drop of blood and your eyes snap open while you let out a scream your coating rushing down to Tom’s tongue dribbling down his chin while he lapped up all the juices he scientifically could and then some the action riding you through your high almost putting you into overstimulation until you finally lift up your knees a little wobbly and your stance a little more slouched and the look you explain on the man’s face is drunk to say the least

You smirk while he whines your tail coming of his flushed cock his release slipping through his fingers like sand

“Didn’t think it’d be that easy did you?”

©2023 thewriterg spooktober do not copy, translate, or modify.

[oh-stars]

Topps

Love is secretly studying up on the nerd shit he’s into.

a @steddielovemonth prompt | 2249 words | CW: N/A | Rating: T

--

It’s not often that they all make their way to Indianapolis. It’s no Chicago and getting everyone together to make a big trip of it is getting harder and harder every month. But Will’s birthday falls in line with the grand opening of a new collectibles store that promises shiny new dice and rare items among their comics and board game memorabilia. How could anyone deny his pleading eyes to make it a part of his birthday celebration: to go see the store and find a place to eat, a day trip that’s on the simpler side. 

Eddie’s just as excited as the boys are, but he’s more surprised to find Steve is practically vibrating out of his skin with how eager he is to get to the store. He’s just not showing it in the same way the others are. It’s all vibrant eyes and small smiles, bouncing knees and one too many questions. 

Eddie’s still trying to figure out what he’s excited about. 

Over the last year, Eddie’s learned how to read Steve Harrington. The man may think he keeps an even, cool composure about everything, but Eddie’s an expert in the minor details to figure out how Steve really feels. When he talks to Hopper about some sports thing, his hands will have a small tremor and he stumbles over his words sometimes, always playing it off as some headache or not getting enough sleep if you point it out. Eddie knows better, he knows Steve gets so excited that he can’t contain it and is embarrassed at how eager he is to share it, about his interests all together. 

The kids don’t help, he knows. Outside of Lucas, the others just tease him for being a meathead jock or some other bullshit insult – pulling the same shit they get bullied with, the same shit Eddie encouraged. He’s trying to get them to see how fucked up it is, but it’s a work in progress. 

They’re driving separately so Eddie doesn’t get to watch Steve’s excitement build other than the glimpses he gets in his rearview mirror of Steve, Robin, and the girls singing along to whatever mundane Top 40 shit they’re blasting. He’d listen to the shitty music with Steve over Dustin and Mike arguing over D&D editions any day, though. At least he can control the volume of the music… 

“I’m this close,” Eddie holds up his pinched fingers, “to leaving you on the side of the road,” he tells them. 

Dustin rolls his eyes. “Steve wouldn’t let you.” 

“I think I can convince him,” Eddie says with a smirk. Only Robin knows about their relationship, even now after it’s been a year, but that doesn’t mean the kids don’t know they’re close. They know they’re inseparable and good friends. Just not… naked in bed, touchy-feely ‘friends,’ ya know?  “We’re nearly at the store. Can you at least pause the screaming match until you have the editions in front of you for proper comparison?” 

That buys Eddie a few minutes of just his music as the boys have a more reasonable discussion to figure out how to split their small funds to maximize their haul. They may be turning sixteen this year, but they’re not exactly loaded. It’s the same shit he and the guys used to pull, and sometimes… still do. It’s nice seeing them like actual kids for a little while longer. 

But he’s still happy to climb out of his van and meet back up with Steve and the gang. 

He slings an arm over Steve’s shoulders, feels how keyed up he is and how his muscles are tense despite the relaxed looking posture. “Are you mortals ready to blow your minds?” Eddie asks, voice rumbly as he leans in to stare at the girls. 

Max rolls her eyes as Erica levels him with a stare of her own. 

“Let’s go already!” Dustin calls back as the guys are already booking it toward the store. 

Nancy and Jonathan have only just pulled up as the group passes. Robin, Jane, and Max wait for them, happy to hang back from this particular stop on their day. Or maybe they’re scheming about Will’s surprise that the rest of them have been left in the dark about. 

Either way, Eddie doesn’t drop his arm from Steve’s shoulders until they reach the door. 

The store’s packed with nerds of all ages, shuffling here and there as they browse the small space. It’s like nerd paradise, with walls of collectibles and big crates of comics and books, and big displays of art and promotions everywhere. It even has that musty book smell he loves so much! 

Eddie squeezes Steve’s shoulder before he completely drops his arm. “Permission to go feral?”

Steve rolls his eyes, but shoves Eddie lightly. “Go. Have fun,” he says. 

“You could always follow me, you know. Don’t want you getting lost,” Eddie says, getting back into Steve’s space even as his eyes flickered around the space. 

“I’ll come find you, okay?” Steve says, then he walks away with his hands in his pockets like he’s just strolling through the store. But Eddie can see the sharp way his eyes are searching the space, hunting for something. It’s enough to have Eddie trailing behind him, eager to figure out this mystery. 

Okay so Eddie gets briefly distracted by a wall of dragon figurines, but he manages to pull himself away when he sees the price tags are dangerously close to having commas. He stumbles his way around, only getting swept into conversation with Will once about the variety of figures they have and able to dodge Dustin’s badgering about the new Justice League comic. 

He finds Steve hunched over a glass case that’s near the cash register, at the far end where people aren’t huddled around looking at trading cards or the pricer collectibles. Eddie tucks himself partially behind a bookshelf so he can see Steve from the side. He watches as Steve’s eyes squint and he squats lower to look at the case from a new perspective. It takes a lot of effort to not let his own eyes wander to how his ass puts his Levi’s to the test, but Eddie’s stronger than that (sort of).

And because of that strength, Eddie gets the rare experience of seeing Steve’s eyes light up as his jaw drops. He looks… in awe of whatever he’s found, like someone just showed him the Holy Grail. 

Eddie can’t help himself as he walks over. Steve’s so entranced, he doesn’t even notice. For a split second, Eddie feels that familiar panic creep up his throat before he hears a soft “holy shit,” from Steve. 

On this side of the case are… sports cards. Trading cards of different sports people in various conditions, some are in little wrappers, some in packs, and others loose in the glass display case. Huh. Go figure. 

He’s kind of surprised, if Eddie’s honest with himself, he never would have taken Steve for a collector of any kind, much less trading cards. But here he is, so amazed at whatever he’s found that he still hasn’t noticed Eddie’s presence. 

Eddie squats down beside him, knees popping with the movement, and rests his forehead on the glass. “Which one is it?” 

Steve curses under his breath as he jumps, snapping out of it. “Jesus, Eds,” he says, standing up. 

“Sorry,” Eddie says with a grin. “Seriously, though. Which is it?” 

His face is red and he looks almost ashamed to be caught staring at the cards. “Find anything cool yet?” Steve asks, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

Eddie frowns. “Steve…” 

Steve just shakes his head and turns his back on the glass. “Looks like Lucas found something,” he says with a forced laugh as he points to where Lucas is struggling to carry a few different boxes of figurines as he searches for the others in the busy store. 

“And so did you,” Eddie says softly as he stands beside him, shoulders touching. “Trading cards, huh?” 

He just shrugs. 

“I think it’s pretty cool,” Eddie says. “I don’t know anything about them but,” he glances back at the rows and rows of cards, some with tiny words and charts, “those stats have to mean something. And you know how I am about stats, Stevie.” 

Steve rolls his eyes. “They’re player stats, Eddie. It’s from their games and shit.” He sighs. “You don’t… don’t have to pretend it’s cool, man. Just sports shit, right?” 

“Hey,” Eddie says, a little more forceful, “I don’t mind sports shit, remember? We had fun watching that basketball game the other day.” 

“You were just being nice,” Steve says. 

“No,” Eddie counters, “I was a little confused on the language and how it works, but I love seeing you get passionate about something you love, Steve. Even if it means seeing how angry you get at whatever the refs are saying.” 

Steve’s face darkens as he grumbles out, “It was a shit call.” He hasn’t been able to let it go since they watched it. 

“C’mon,” Eddie says, turning back to the case, “will you just show me which one you like?” 

“It’s not necessarily about liking them,” Steve starts, turning as well, “but the players themselves.” 

Eddie hums. “So which player did you find?” 

“Nolan Ryan,” Steve breathes out, pointing at the card, “he’s a pitcher for the Astros and that,” he lets out a whistle, “is a rare 1985 Tiffany.” 

“What makes it rare?” Eddie asks. 

Steve waves him off. “Don’t worry about that–”

“No,” Eddie insists. “I told you, in detail, about my Lord of the Rings theories and you listened to every word. Let me hear about your Tiffany card.” 

“It’s not mine,” Steve reminds him. 

Eddie nudges his shoulder. “Steve.” 

Steve lets out a breath and runs a hand through his hair. “Okay, so the cards are printed here, right? Like it’s one of their things? But the Tiffany cards aren’t, they’re printed in Ireland. And you see how that one is a little brighter than the one next to it?” He doesn’t wait for Eddie’s response. “They printed the Tiffany sets on white cardboard instead of gray. And they only made a limited run of the sets, right? So to just… find one,” he says, voice soft and light, “and Nolan Ryan’s card at that?” He whistles. “Kind of a big deal.” 

“So you’re getting it, right?” 

Steve shrugs again. “Maybe I’ll drive up later for it. I don’t want to deal with the kids–” 

“We’ll put it in my bag. I haven’t even really started to look, but you know I’m emptying my wallet in here, right?” Eddie says, smiling. 

“Why haven’t you looked?” Steve asks, brow furrowing. “We’ve been here for twenty minutes, Eds, what have you been doing?” 

Eddie feels his face soften as he tilts his head and plays with a strand of his hair. “There’s this guy I’ve got a thing for,” he whispers, “and he was really excited to come to some nerd store, but wouldn’t tell me why. So I had to figure it out myself.” 

Steve’s blushing again as he looks away. “C’mon,” he says, grabbing Eddie by the elbow, “show me what you want to look at.” 

He allows Steve to change the subject and does look for himself, but he doesn’t forget the wistful look in Steve’s eyes when they end up by the case again for check-out. 

“Hey,” Eddie says, mostly to Nancy and Robin who have joined them in line, “should we send some of us down to the restaurant?” 

Nancy looks at her watch, then at the line. “Yes, that’s not a bad idea.” 

Steve nods and hands Eddie some cash. “Just in case the kids need help. Nance, Rob and I’ll go check in at the restaurant. See you there?” 

Eddie lets the three of them walk out the door before he steps out of the line. Sure, he’ll lose his place, but it’s worth it. 

“Excuse me,” Eddie says to an employee behind the counter, “I need to get this card.”

The guy knows his shit, so while the line dwindles, Eddie takes the opportunity to ask some questions. He even gets a few more card packs from the newest run, card holders and sleeves to put them in, and a booklet that explains the set. There’s even a book on the history of the game that the cashier suggests; Eddie doesn’t hesitate to buy it all. Sure, he had to put away a few figures and the new dice set he found, but it’s worth it. 

He hides all of his new goods in with his other nerdy shit and carefully puts his bag in the glove box so it doesn’t get mixed up with the kids’ bags. “You guys ready?” Eddie asks, arms draped over Mike and Will’s shoulders. 

As they walk to the restaurant for the next stop in their plans, Eddie listens to the kids share about their hauls and what they want to come back for. It all goes in one ear and out the other, too busy mulling over the information he learned from the cashier. He’s kind of surprised by how excited he is to read the materials he bought, but he really can’t wait to give Steve the card. 

Now if he can just get Steve to admit he’s a nerd, too, it’d be icing on the cake.  

--

Thanks to @lady-lostmind for betaing!

Ao3 Link