#people saying he doesn’t stink

[eddiexmunsn]

eddie munson js my stinky boy i love him 🤭💋

[rileyslibrary]

After suffering a gunshot wound, you wake up in a hospital bed with Ghost sitting by your side. Unfortunately, the effects of anaesthesia leave you unable to recognise him and, worse, confuse him with someone else.

A/N: Fluff. Based on a request I received a while ago. Hope you like it, anon!

———————————————————————

A machine on your left beeps rhythmically. The taste of something metallic lingers in your mouth, and the iodine smell stinks your nostrils. Your eyes open slowly, but the bright ceiling light forces them shut again. You lick your lips and attempt to swallow a couple of times. Dry. Your mouth is dry. You need water. Your hand moves towards your face, but a low, raspy voice advises you against it.

“Careful now,” it says, and a hand gently grabs your wrist. “Don’t pull the IV off.”

You turn your head towards the figure beside you and squint. It’s a man, but your blurry vision doesn’t help you identify him. Your eyes travel to your wrist and focus on the closest part of him: a skeleton’s hand.

You try to shake your hand off his grip, but it turns out futile. Frustrated, you give up and raise your middle finger at him.

“Not my time yet,” you declare. “Fuck off.”

“Pardon?” he asks.

“Not ready to go yet,” you reply, tucking your middle finger in your palm and lifting it back up again. “And also, fuck off.”

The man releases your wrist, placing your hand gently beside you. He clears his throat and leans forward. Though your vision remains blurry, you spot what looks like a human skull with a hood over it.

“How are you feeling, love?” he asks, his tone softer.

“How am I feeling, love?” you repeat. “Did Hell improve their customer service?”

“I’m not-” The man begins but pauses. He sighs, shakes his head and rests his elbows on his thighs. “Never mind.”

“Where am I?” You ask.

“Hospital.” He replies. “You took a bullet.”

Directing your attention to your body, you feel a dull throb in your chest. You wince as your fingers brush against the bandages.

“You are joking.” You reply and slap your hand on the bed. “Why? How?”

“Well,” He says and tilts his head to the side. “You exchanged a few shots with the enemy, your gun ran out of bullets, his didn’t, and here we are.”

“My gun?” You ask, shocked. “I have a gun?”

“Several.” He nods.

“SEVERAL?” You shout. “Why would I possibly need several guns?”

“It’s your job, love.” He replies.

“My job is to have several guns?” you ask. “And shooting at people?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way,” he explains, “but it’s mainly for defence.”

“Well,” you shrug and wince at the pain. “Doesn’t look like I’m that good at defence—especially for having several guns.”

“I was really worr—”

“Water,” you interrupt and gesture at your mouth. “I need water.”

“Doctor said it’s not the time for water yet,” he replies.

“Why?” you ask, pretending to check a non-existent wristwatch. “What time is it?”

“No, love,” he replies and muffles a chuckle. “Doctor said you need to wait until you have some water.”

“You throw the ‘love’ thing a little too freely,” you mumble, licking your lips and lifting your index finger. “I’d be really careful if I were you.”

“Really?” he asks, leaning back into the chair and crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Why?”

“I,” you say and point at yourself, “got a boyfriend, thank you very much.”

“Oh,” he exclaims and tilts his head. “Is that so.”

“Yup,” you nod. “And he can kill you.”

“Can he?”

“Can?” You say, and a smug smile forms on your dry lips. “He will absolutely, one hundred and a thousand per cent kill you.”

“Is he that good?” He asks.

“I mean,” you shrug, motioning at the bandages on your chest. “He’s much better than I am.”

“Oh wow,” he exclaims and leans forward. “Is he as good of a boyfriend as he is a shooter?”

“Far from it,” you reply, letting your hand fall to your side.

The man doesn’t speak. He doesn’t seem that comfortable all of a sudden. He shuffles in his chair, trying to find a better position, and when he does, he clasps his hands together.

“Go on,” he finally says. “Spill it.”

“Ok, so,” you begin, “first things first, he doesn’t listen to me when I want to vent, and whenever he does, all he says is nonsense.”

“The lad gives you solutions,” he snaps, “and you call them nonsense?”

“I don’t want solutions, man,” you reply, shaking your head. “I want him to just listen to me.”

“Even if the solutions he provides are literally the answers to your suffering?”

“Even then.” You confirm.

“Gotcha,” he nods. “What else?”

“Oof,” you sigh, “how much time do you have?”

“I’m immortal,” he reminds you, “plus the next reaping is in five hours.”

“Oh boy,” you reply. “Business not going that well lately, huh?”

“Not many deaths to take care of,” he spits. “I guess some people could use some serious training when it comes to their aim.”

“Speaking of training,” you say, “he’s always at work and never spends much time with me.”

“The guy’s trying to spend as much time with you as he can, for fucks sake!” he shouts, throwing his hands up. “He even lied to get you on his team!”

“How do you know he put me on his team?” You ask.

“I keep a close eye on him.” He replies.

“What did he lie about?”

“Your precision in aiming,” he jokes and motions for you to continue. “Next one.”

“I can’t think of anything else,” you reply. “Other than he doesn’t say how much he loves me.”

“You’re having a laugh now, aren’t you?” He says, and his tone feels almost threatening. “He’s showing it to you daily; offering advice, keeping you close to him, even risking the possibility of being accused of nepotism for crying out loud! He doesn’t need to say it as well for you to know it!”

“It’s just nice to hear it sometimes,” you sigh and twist a thread from the bed sheet. You turn your head slightly toward him, and he lowers his head to the ground.

“How about you?” You ask. “You have a girlfriend?”

“I do,” he confirms.

“Shut up!” You shout, widening your eyes and immediately closing them back again. “Where did you guys meet?”

“Hell,” he replies. “Right in the pits of it.”

“How is she?” You ask.

“Perfect.” He states.

“Bullshit,” you murmur. “No one’s perfect.”

“She is to me.” He says, shrugging.

“Do you love her?” You ask.

“Absolutely,” he replies, nodding slowly. “One hundred and a thousand per cent I do.”

———————————————————————

[zephyrchama]

[Thoughts about an MC who gets periods]

Getting periods in the Devildom must be pretty rough. Demons probably don’t get them, and the number of humans freely wandering around has to be incredibly low. If MC takes the form of a sheep then they likely don't have to deal with it immediately, but eventually that's going to wear off and they'll revert back to a human. Does the Devildom even have pads and tampons for sale?

MC might have to sheepishly ask Barbatos if he can acquire some in bulk from the human world. Barbatos would remain professional as always when inquiring about the use of these products and their role in daily life. He'd have to report it to the prince. They're both aware of what periods are, but only in a vague "oh yeah, humans do that" kind of way. (Perhaps in the future, Lucifer could use his secret Akuzon account to order more?)

There's surely some plant or potion that prevents them, but they're not meant for long term use. Probably tastes nasty over time and covers human skin in a weird oozing rash if consumed too often.

A month or two into the exchange program, MC might have to call up Solomon for aid.

---

“Can you help me with something?”

Solomon, not too interested in MC yet, agrees just to be amicable with his fellow human exchange student. They must be scared! They must be missing humans! “Is something on your mind?”

“You know how to do magic, right?”

What a silly question. It’s almost refreshing to hear. “I do.”

“Do you know… like, uh, smell…? Reducing magic? Something to cover up smells? Without being obvious, I mean. I feel like I stink and I was really hoping you could help me figure something out.”

How cute, he thinks. He can’t quite remember the time when he smelled fully human anymore, and he can’t really smell the distinct odor on people that demons can, but he knows demons can easily sniff out a human from afar. “Oh, don’t worry about that. It should go away on its own as you spend time here.”

MC isn’t convinced. “I don’t think it will…”

“Trust me. How are you finding Devildom cuisine? I know you’re not used to it, but eating more will help you adjust. I can whip up a few simpler dishes for you to try if you need help.”

MC is silent for a bit. Solomon thinks his job is done until they say quietly, “that’s not the problem.”

“What?”

“I’m pretty sure the brothers I live with can smell, uh, my cycle.” No use being coy about it, better get straight to the point. “They stare at me when I’m on my period. I think - no, I know - they can smell the blood. I’ve seen them sniff the air when I’m around. It's weird. And I can’t exactly stop it from happening every month.”

“Oh.” Now it’s Solomon’s turn to be quiet. He’s embarrassed and surprised, a little humbled, and also really interested in this problem. It’s not something he’s ever thought about before.

MC continues, “I think they can tell when I’m ovulating too, Asmo started lingering around more often, and Lucifer looked scarier than usual, and they all stare more, and-”

“I think I get it.” Solomon can’t stop his face from turning pink. Despite his usual grin, he doesn't think he’s ready to listen to the rest of MC’s sentence.

There should be an easy solution, but it’s something that warrants testing if MC doesn’t want the brothers noticing a sudden spell cast upon them. It could get mistaken for something malicious. Solomon says, “I might be able to help. Can you come over today?”

[bloopy-writes]

Rules for the Japanese National Team- written by Iwaizumi Hajime, Athletic Trainer

Hinata, Kageyama, Atsumu, and Bokuto are no longer allowed within 50 feet of the kitchen, if you want to eat, you can starve or beg someone else to make food for you.

Bokuto and Kuroo are no longer allowed to be left alone for more than 2 minutes at a time. Also pringles are banned you guys are athletes that shouldn’t be eating this junk anyways.

Whoever locks Oikawa and Ushijima in a closet together can pay for any damages caused

Kageyama is not allowed to play truth or dare-he’s too easily influenced

If you call Yaku short, I’m not helping you recover from the damages caused

Suna is not allowed to blackmail the coach to get out of extra practice it doesn’t end well for anyone

Aran is not allowed to room with Atsumu or Suns in the Olympic village because this poor man has suffered enough

I don’t care how good of an idea it seems, no one is allowed to listen to Houshimi after 2 am

Sakusa is banned from bleaching other peoples rooms no matter how bad they stink- still technically an invasion of privacy

Kuroo is not allowed to try and convince new recruits that they should give him money

Atsumu is not allowed to use his brother as a body double to get out of practice

Ushijima and Kageyama aren’t allowed to give interviews together without a third person present

Bokuto is not allowed to give interviews with other people

Hinata and Kageyama aren’t allowed to teach children because no one actually understands what they’re saying

If you get caught doing something stupid you are not allowed to call Officer Daichi Sawamura to bail you out that is still illegal and he doesn’t even work in Tokyo

Suna and Oikawa are to be kept away from each other at all costs

Atsumu and Oikawa can hang out with each other only if they stop arguing over who’s kageyamas favorite

No secret handshakes allowed

Glitter bombs are only allowed if glitter does not get on Iwaizumi

If anyone asks if Iwaizumi is a babysitter the answer is legally no

The first person to convince the administration that Iwaizumi deserves a raise will get free food for a month

Houshimi and Atsumu are two halves of a whole idiot and are not allowed to plan team bonding activities again

Kidnapping Oikawa does not count as a team bonding activity unless you murder him and bond over trying to hide the body

Iwaizumi Hajime loves his job no matter how much you all make him want to retire

[hanihaato]

a/n: yandere aventurine x female reader, suggestive, non-consensual touching and forced kisses

“Ah, ah, ah, don’t say a word, darling,” a glowed finger pressed to your lips makes words die on your tongue almost as effectively as the Aventurine’s vivid, piercing eyes. Except for the shallow breaths, you stay in silence, and he glides his hand from your lips to cup your cheekbone. “I must say, you are really bold, testing my connections like that to find you. Being sceptical is a great quality…”

He pushes you onto the bed and lays on top of you, interlocking your fingers together so you don’t ever try to push him off yourself. He stares at you, his smile growing smug with your every try to wiggle out yourself of the embrace.

Aventurine’s head falls on your shoulder. You shiver as he chuckles and his warm breath sends a chill through your spine he muchly adores tracing his fingers on.

“…But not when it comes to me.”

You turn your head away from him. Ugh, you wish you could have at least a full day without him, but you could pride yourself in having a plan good enough to escape the room he locked you up two weeks ago when you first arrived on this planet.

Though, it hurts your ego a bit that Aventurine doesn’t seem to be bothered at all.

He shifts on the bed, and you hate how the sheets that smelled of the hotel’s cleanliness are already starting to stink with his perfumes. The smell you once loved now suffocates you with each breath.

He wraps his arm around your waist so he spoons your back for a second before grasping you tighter and throwing you over himself, having you face him. He entangles your legs before you can think of hitting him with a knee.

You whisper into the pillows.

“…At least I know you are a real deal.”

Aventurine chuckles in a tone you would find endearing if you didn’t feel he laughs at you. When he first started to show you the best parts of the world he’s been living in—the casinos that always had a nice pianist playing on a grand piano, the numerous vine tastings, the breakfasts that make your mouth water, clothing that feels like silk in touch—you could hear the tone everywhere, usually just by your ear. He then told you how he loved how your eyes shone and how much more enchanting you look every day.

You wonder which night he started to plan to cut you off from both worlds, yours and his, to only have him as your everything.

“That’s news to me,” he says, theatrically raising his eyebrows. “You didn’t believe me at all? You must know, darling, that everything I told you after we got together is true. That’s a real privilege right there.”

His finger starts to trace circular patterns on your forearm’s skin. Your heart throbs painfully.

“Aventurine…” Your voice is as demanding as can be the voice of a woman squished in the arms of a man who knows how to use words and guns. “I don’t believe you really love me. That’s not how love looks like.”

The man is still in his position. He blinks, and his eyes are fully on you. You have yet to find out if that look is a warning for you or whether he is enticed by what are you saying. Or maybe he just wants to hear your voice—you know Aventurine is not a man above misleading you into believing you aren’t in a hopeless position just to hear your pleas.

“When you love someone, you want the best for them. You want— You see them as equals. You don’t strip them of what they love to do, and… and people they love. You just… join their life and slowly build a new one together…”

When you fall silent, Aventurine pulls you in and with the other hand brushes hair off your face.

He hums. “That’s an inspiring speech. Oh, and I loved how you looked when you talked about it. Such a view. You must’ve thought about it for quite a while, huh?” He pats you on the head, lingering a bit to loosely twirl your hair on his fingers. “But, dearest, everything you’ve said, well, it all checks out.”

“No.”

“I do view as equals. We have a trade: my everlasting love for a bit of your freedom. It looks like a good deal.”

“It doesn’t look like—”

Aventurine shuts you up with a kiss. You hate, hate, hate this feeling, because in these moments you wonder if you could ever truly fall in love with a man you despise that gives you the hugs you long for and kisses you think about for days.

As he pulls away, with your free hand, you wipe off the traces of the kiss on your lips. Of course, you know it’s meaningless—he kissed you many times, you would have to count in hundreds at least—he will revenge you for that later.

“Awh, don’t be like that,” He says, kissing you again and holding your wrists this time. “You know, I pride myself in being a good businessman. If you are going to put your undying love for me, I will give you the freedom back.”

“You may beg all you want, but with begging you can’t get my love.”

It’s a brave thing to say when you are at the mercy of a man who’s famished for your affection.

“Hm, is that so?” Aventurine chuckles, but for the first time in the evening, it lacks the usual flippancy. He begins to pepper your neck with kisses, and you feel his sturdy hands travel down your stomach and a tugging on your shirt. “Well, say what you want, darling. But since you’ve been by my side for such a long time, you must know I only engage in bets I know I will win.”

[ceilidho]

prompt: Ghost only takes you half-seriously when you say you want to see other people. He has just the man in mind. tags: dubcon; threesome; anal (2.5k)

-

He doesn’t so much as twitch when you stumble over your words in an effort to get it out.

“I don’t think this is working,” you say, hands clenched into trembling fists at your sides. “I think we should start seeing other people.”

The only bit of it that Ghost really pays attention to is the fact that you decided to make this little announcement while he’s in the middle of taking apart and cleaning his gun at the kitchen table. His little spitfire girl. Not a lick of fear in you, just a fistful of attitude and snark. The attitude’s ensconced now in your trepidation, a bit smothered under it, nervousness a clear trill in your voice, making it warble, but it shows itself in the downward slant of your brows. Delightful girl.

“That right?” he grunts, jamming the lubricated cotton mop into the bore of the gun. You flinch at the sudden movement, nervous eyes trained on his hands. Ghost makes a note to apologize with his mouth later on.

“Yes,” you croak, then cough to clear your throat. “I’ve, um…I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I think it’ll be better for—for both of us. It’s just…it’s not working out.”

The cigarette dangling from between his lips stinks up the room. Poor girl, he thinks pityingly when you scrunch up your nose and eye it resentfully. Always trying to get him to quit. It’s just shit luck for you that he’s never been good at quitting things, at letting anything go. Everything he’s ever lived through clings to his skin like smoke. 

He ashes it out in the little turquoise ceramic pot on the table, a trinket he’d once picked up in Tala'a Kebira years ago while in Morocco on some other business. You look marginally less irked with the cig put out, but that just means that more of his attention can focus squarely on you, which leaves you a bit wide-eyed under his stare.

“For a while, hm?” Ghost asks. It comes out teasingly, if only to him. The lilt in his voice is a tricky one to catch.

You nod; the note must have slipped through your hands like smoke. “There’s a girl I found online that’s studying abroad right now. Offered to sublet me her room while I look for a place. I thought maybe, um…maybe tomorrow I’d go.”

“Don’t worry about all of that,” he says, already dismissing the conversation from his mind. “Won’t be back for another week anyway—no reason for you to run off if I’m not even around.”

“Oh.” You shift from side to side, thinking it over. “I guess. How long will you be gone?”

“A week. Two weeks tops.” Plenty of time for him to sort out this mess. Figure out what exactly caused you to get all jumpy and eager to try out other people. 

He smiles internally. Little bird probably just can’t stand how often he’s away, poor thing. It’d be enough to make any girl upset—the constant leaves of absence, gone months without being able to send word, showing up bruised and bloody on the doorstep only to have you fall to pieces trying to put him back together. 

There are options though. He’s not opposed to adding someone new either—in fact, he has just the man in mind. 

Ghost has been holding Johnny back because he always thought you preferred to just be with one man (and Christ, the whining he’d had to deal with from Johnny, always begging to see you or begging Ghost for even just your panties, anything at all because he was so desperate and Ghost wouldn’t let him have you), but now?

Now there’s no reason to hold Johnny by the collar when he comes over for dinner. Now there’s no reason to kick Johnny from under the table when he leans just a bit too close to you when you’re sitting down to eat, eyes locked on the glimpse of your chest peeking out of your shirt and damn near drooling on it. Now there’s no reason to listen to Johnny jack himself off to the point of tears while trying to get some shut eye on a mission, the only crumpled up photo that Ghost had ever allowed him to take cupped close to his face.

He really pitied the poor mutt before, no pretty girl at home, his only crush being his superior’s girl. But Ghost is magnanimous—he’s a generous man. If you want to see other people, he has the perfect puppy for you to play with.

When you smile, still a bit unsure, he has to smother a grin. “Okay. I’ll stay ‘till then and look.”

The look Johnny gives him when he brings it up is equal parts disbelief and fevered need. “Say that again, Lt?”

“You’re coming over after we wrap this shit up. Bird’s been asking about a third.”

He chokes, scrambling to his feet. The temporary base is damp, always on the frigid side of things so Johnny’s still in uniform for the most part, the fabric rustling in his haste to get up off his bed. It’s not a place either of them are eager to spend more time in than absolutely necessary. The lack of space means that the two of them are made to bunk together as always, sharing a room with two cots and a small en suite, the tub still wet from Ghost’s shower.

“Christ, yer serious? No joke, sir?”

Johnny pushes his head back into Ghost’s hand when Ghost reels him by the hair, dropping a firm close-mouthed kiss onto the centre of his forehead through the fabric of the mask. “She was clear about it. Why? Gettin’ cold feet on me now?”

“No, sir,” Johnny protests, shaking his head as much as he can in Ghost’s grip, eyes shimmering a bit. “I can bring over a bottle o’ wine if ye like. Somethin’ fancy to set the mood.”

Their closeness is not unusual; Johnny’s always been a tactile man, favouring touch over words. One of their small similarities; their shared modes of existing in the world. There’s a line in the sand where you’re concerned that Ghost has been clear on, but he’s used to always having a hand somewhere on Soap, keeping him close. Now, he gets to keep him even closer. 

His bird really has the best ideas. 

Ghost snorts, knocks their heads together. “Just bring yourself, pup.”

He ignores the way Johnny’s breath hitches, the way he hurries into the bathroom and slams the door behind him the second Ghost lets go. The frantic eager sounds from behind the door when the water runs, only muffling the loudest of his groans. He probably had his dick choked in his fist the second the door shut, a thick nut swirling down the drain within the first five minutes. 

They ship out the next morning, exhausted from the week’s work. No amount of sleep out in the field is ever good enough, especially not in cots barely built to accommodate men of their size. Especially not Ghost. Johnny dozes off on his shoulder in the plane, sinking into a deep sleep to compensate for the hours spent tossing and turning the night before. Ghost uses the flight to get a headstart on his paperwork, enough so that he’s not held up on base when they land back home. 

He doesn’t give you a heads up that he’s home earlier than planned; no need to give you enough time to pack a bag and schlep it over to that place you’d found. It’s better for everyone if you’re caught a bit off guard, just a little frazzled. Ghost’s not entirely unsympathetic—he knows you’ll overthink things if he gives you any time to yourself. 

It’s endearing the way you gape up at him, eyes flitting between him and Johnny, when he finally makes it home. For the few times that Johnny’s been over, it’s not an everyday thing; his visits are always planned and strictly timed, Ghost monitoring him to make sure he doesn’t overstep his bounds. Seeing him with Ghost in your foyer must be strange, must put you on edge. 

“Simon, you didn’t tell me you were—” you start and then pause, swallowing. You look over his shoulder at Johnny, smile stiff, uncomfortable. “Hi Johnny.” 

You’re always a good girl, not wanting to argue in front of company. 

“Heel,” Ghost says, steel in his voice when Johnny almost lurches from his side. The other man glances over at him with wild eyes, almost on the brink of disobeying, but he holds in the end and stays put. Ghost’s eyes soften when he looks back at you. “Have a nice week, pet?”

“Yes—sorry, I’m glad you’re home safe,” you say, flustered, taking his back from him to drop in the usual place in the hall. “I, um—” again, you eye Johnny nervously, unsure of how much you can say in front of him, “—I found a place…for…you know.” 

“‘Course,” Ghost agrees, shucking his boots at the door and giving Johnny a shake by his coat until he does the same. “Missed you too, pet. C’mere.” 

He muffles your protests with his mouth when he stalks forward and pulls you in for a wet kiss, rolling the mask up and off at the same time. You’re a bit stiff in his arms until he slips you some tongue and the resistance leaks out of you, helpless the second he gets his hands on you. Your eyes are still a bit misty when he pulls away, fingers clutched in the collar of his shirt like a reflex. Second nature to cling to him. His chest puffs up at the gesture.

“Thought about what you said the other week, bird, and you’re right.”

You blink, coherence coming back to you, shaking your head to divest yourself of the momentary confusion. “I am?”

“‘Course. Smartest girl in the world, isn’t she, Johnny?” Ghost asks over his shoulder, slipping a hand into your hair at the same time to hold you in place. It makes you frown, his actions not mirroring his words. 

“Aye, sir,” Johnny hums, nodding eagerly. Boots off, he stumbles forward, crowding around you from the other side, not realizing that they’ve backed you into a wall until it presses against you, trapping you in place. “Bonnie ‘n sharp as a whip. Always thought so, sir.” 

“That’s right,” he agrees, tightening his fingers in your hair until you squeal, brows furrowing in that way they do when you’re right on the precipice of pain and relief. “Only a smart, brave girl would ask for what she needs. You’re just lonely when I’m away, isn’t that right, pet?”

“I’m—I’m what?” you splutter, hands planted on Ghost’s chest, trying to push him away to no avail. He hardly notices it. 

“Go on, Johnny,” Ghost murmurs. “Since she asked so nicely. Give her a kiss.”

That’s all his mutt needs to hear. 

You huff and puff with the strain it takes to take Ghost’s cock after a week and a half away. 

You’re always tighter when he comes back, an effort to work you up to taking him again; he lets Johnny get you prepped this time, slobbering all over your pussy in his eagerness, plugging you with three fingers before you’re even close to ready. He gets off on the way you howl, rutting his cock into the sheets of your bed while he keeps you pinned by a thick arm over your stomach. 

Ghost has to scruff him after that. He takes over, running a soothing tongue over where it hurts until you cry big, fat tears and come a couple times. He makes sure you’re taken care of before it gets tough. You’re mindless by the time he moves off you to retrieve the lube from the bedside drawer, only coming back to yourself when he turns you over onto your belly and spreads the cheeks of your ass. It unwinds something in his chest to hear you yelp when he pushes a finger into your ass, like coming home. 

This is why he does what he does: to get this when the job is done. 

It’s not often he gets to do this, usually too big for you to take comfortably in your ass. Johnny’s not that much smaller, in fairness, so he works you up to two and then three fingers before lying down on the bed and pulling you over him. Your legs tremble when you straddle him, fingers digging into his chest when he lowers you onto his cock for the first time in a week. 

“There we go,” he says, grunting when you pull his chest hair a little. “That’s a good girl. We just about done crying now?” 

Ghost smiles when you shake your head stubbornly, eyes still filled with tears. “This isn’t what I meant, Simon.”

“You can cuss me out when Johnny’s done, alright? That make you happy?” 

He almost chuckles when Johnny clambers back onto the bed in his haste to get his hands back on you, his pants still hanging off an ankle until he gives it a shake once his palms fit over your waist. 

“Slowly, pup,” Ghost cautions, reaching around to spread a cheek. He coos when you flinch, whispering for you to relax. 

Johnny’s eyes roll back into his head when he pushes in, hips stuttering forward until Ghost snarls and he stops, letting out a deep, shuddering breath to calm himself down. Even for Ghost, it’s intense; you tighten around him when Johnny pushes in, only letting up when he cups your cheek and draws you down for a kiss, loosening you up with his tongue. 

“Sir, I can—fuck, fuck, fuck,” Johnny whines, back curving when he drops his head. “She’s so fuckin’ tight, I can—swear I can feel you, sir.”

He’s not wrong. Ghost swears he can feel it himself, Johnny’s cock in his pretty bird’s ass while his is stuffed deep in your cunt. You pant through the stretch, words half-croaked out, unintelligible. It’s better that way. He loves listening to you sing, but you’ve been in a right mood these past couple of weeks. Just needed a good lay to sort you out. 

“Simon,” Johnny begs, thrusting forward until he bottoms out in you, making your pulse skyrocket. “I cannae breathe.”

“Yes, you can,” Ghost says dismissively, wiping at the drool slipping out of the corner of your mouth. “Give ‘er a sec and then you can move.”

“So, so, so hot. ‘M gonna come—”

He reaches behind you to wrap a hand around Johnny’s throat, giving it a squeeze. Johnny’s eyes bulge. “You don’t get to come until she does, pup. That’s all the time, got it?” 

He doesn’t pay any mind to how Johnny nods and mumbles his little yes, sirs after that—he’s a grown man, maybe not as grown as Ghost, but man enough to compose himself until you stop trembling and sweating so hard. 

It’d been a mite difficult to wrangle you into bed. He understands. He’d let you talk yourself red in the face about this not being what you meant by ‘seeing other people’, but Ghost hears the said and the unsaid. You wouldn’t be still in his house a whole week later if you really wanted to leave. 

“Alright, pet,” he grins, running his thumb over your bottom lip until it drops open and you let him run it over your teeth. “Hang on now.”

[syrupfog]

AU where Sanji can’t go to college because his dad is way too rich for him to qualify for FAFSA, but Sanji’s estranged so he can’t go to him for financial assistance. 

He wanted food science. Still does, someday. But in the meantime he works at Zeff’s restaurant. 

He meets Luffy because Luffy and Ace are notorious dine n’ dashers, and the Baratie is about the only place that doesn’t ban them, because Zeff’s secretly got too soft a heart, and because Luffy and Ace at least TRY to work their bills off, although they never last long.

Ace and Luffy drag him back to “their place”, which is a four person dorm room that’s technically home to Chopper, Usopp, Franky and Zoro. 

At six, it’s a squeeze. And it stinks. Sanji complains the whole time he’s there, forces them to open a window for godssake.

But he comes back every time they invite him. He brings food. 

He’d bring food anyway, but he noticed that Zoro’s clearly an athlete and he’s surviving on JUNK. Slim Jim’s and microwaved eggs and unseasoned chicken. Sanji’s disgusted, and he voices that disgust loudly.

He and Zoro get into arguments about it, but Zoro doesn’t complain when Sanji brings meals. 

Sanji’s also really satisfied when he sees Zoro eat everything without even attempting to turn it down with a “you shouldn’t have” or “I’ll leave some for someone else”.

He eats everything Sanji gives him, without comment, and Sanji gets a thrill from that. A bit because he can recognize someone else who also must have gone through food insecurity. 

Ace and Luffy also clearly have, but their trauma manifests in stealing right off his plate.

Which Sanji allows, of course. He’s a pushover. 

When the group of six come to the Baratie, plus two new people (Nami and Robin), Zeff initially turns them away because “I can’t afford for eight people to skip out on their bills you lunatics”. 

Nami pays for them in advance.

Sanji hears her telling Zoro she’s adding it to his bill. 

The few high school friends Sanji had disappeared off to college at the start of the semester, so he’s happy that he seems to be adopted into this group, right up until he comes to serve their table and hears Nami call the “meeting” to order. 

Sanji looks over her shoulder as he’s pouring waters and sees spread out call logs and texts and letters. Threats. Nami’s words go in one ear and out the other but Sanji hears the key; Vinsmoke. They come from Vinsmoke.

They’re all getting them, he realises. His hands shake as he listens. They’re being targeted, threatened. They don’t know why. 

HE knows why. 

How long has his dad known where he is? What he does, who he sees? 

He backs up. Gripping the jug in a vice grip. Runs for the kitchen.

He tells Patty to cover him because an emergency has come up, and he runs out the back. 

Runs for a long time. 

Just runs.

He stops responding to Ace and Luffy’s attempts to contact him. He can’t talk to them. He’s going to cause them trouble— HAS caused them trouble. They’re his friends. They didn’t know what they were signing up for. 

He calls off as many shifts as he can while still making rent

(which honestly isn’t a lot) and if Ace and Luffy show up he demands to be on dish duty. 

Zeff sees this, but he doesn’t say anything. Sanji’s grateful. And ashamed. 

He’d liked having friends. Liked that terribly crowded stinky dorm room.

It’s almost two months of hiding, although the texts from Ace and (especially) Luffy don’t stop coming. 

And then, one day, he gets a pounding on his door. 

Pulling it open, expecting a pissed of neighbor maybe, he finds— 

“Zoro?” 

Zoro looks at him flatly. “Come on,” he says.

“Uh,” says Sanji. “No?” 

Zoro grabs his wrist (when was the last time someone touched Sanji?) and veritably drags him out the door. 

“Shit, Mosshead, stop!” 

“No,” says Zoro. “We’re tired of you hiding.” 

“I’m not HIDING,” Sanji hisses, at least pulling the door closed behind him

“Yes you are,” Zoro says. “You think I don’t know hiding?” 

Sanji would be surprised if Zoro knew hiding. The man is nothing but bold. “How did you know where I live?” 

Zoro, dragging him down the stairs, says “Your old man told me.” 

“WHO?” 

“That cook. The grouch.”

“ZEFF?” 

“Stop shouting, dumbass.” 

Sanji fishmouths. “I can’t believe he told you,” he says eventually. 

“He’s not an idiot,” Zoro says. “He knew you were hiding for dumb reasons.” 

Sanji was hiding for legitimate reasons. He doesn’t say that.

Zoro drags him all the way out of the building and to an idling old van with painted windows. Oh, is he going to MURDER Sanji? 

He pulls open a back door and throws Sanji in. 

Sanji kicks him as he goes. Zoro curses at him. 

There are no seats in the back of the van.

There’s a lot of pillows. It smells like the dorm. There’s also several six sets of eyes staring down at him from where everyone else is apparently just chilling in the back of the van. 

“Uh,” Sanji says, from the floor. “Hey, guys?” 

Zoro jumps in and pulls the door closed.

The van is thrown into reverse and everyone curses at Ace. 

“Hey,” says Luffy. “You’re back!” 

“That was the plan,” Nami says. 

“Took you long enough,” Usopp says. He’s looking at Zoro though, not Sanji. 

“Couldn’t find his floor,” Zoro grunts. 

Sanji lives on the second floor.

“Uh,” says Sanji, still lying down. Shifting with the turns of the van. “Am I being kidnapped?” 

“That would piss off your dad, wouldn’t it?” Nami muses. “Especially if someone files a missing persons report and he gets dragged in.” 

Sanji gulps. They know he’s a Vinsmoke, then.

“I still say we just fight him,” Luffy says. 

“We’re not fighting an ADULT,” Usopp shrieks. 

“Usopp, buddy, we’re adults,” Ace says. 

“Except chopper! Chopper put your seatbelt on!” 

“It’s on!” 

Sanji’s spiralling. They know who his dad is. Do they want to blackmail Judge? Or—

“So we’re planning a party tonight and we want you to cook for us,” Luffy says. 

Sanji splutters. “Wh—“ 

“Yes, we were planning on driving to the store first before going back to the dorm,” Robin says. 

“Here.” Zoro throws a dirty piece of printer paper and a pen at him. “List.”

“You want me to… make a list.” 

Zoro settles back against the van wall, unfazed by the sharp turn. “Yeah.” 

“You guys want me to… cook for you.” 

“Duh,” says Luffy. 

“You don’t… care that my dad was sending you death threats? Or have you just not gotten to that part in this discussion?” 

Luffy laughs. Bright. Free. “Yeah that was annoying,” he says. “But my guy Jinbei’s on it! He used to work security.” 

“Uh… huh.” Sanji feels sceptical. It feels too easy. 

“Come on, cook,” Zoro says. “I don’t want to have to talk to your old man again. He’s mean.”

Sanji’s never had anyone refer to Zeff as his old man. He doesn’t want to object, though. “Is this not just… too much work? For just me?” 

“Oh, Franky says he can help with dinner if that’s what you’re worried about,” Luffy says. 

“SUPERRRRR.” 

“No,” Sanji shakes his head. “I mean like. I’m not worth all this trouble. You guys were getting threats just for KNOWING me. My dad’s…” 

“Just some bastard you happen to share blood with,” Zoro says, arms crossed. “Who gives a fuck? Chopper’s dad is a reindeer.” 

“He WORKS WITH REINDEER!” Chopper squeaks.

“Luffy’s grandpa has tried to get us arrested, like, ten times,” Usopp says. “It’s all good.” 

“Uh,” says Sanji. That doesn’t sound good. 

“Don’t worry, we can outrun him,” Luffy says sagely. 

“Plus he’s a bitch,” Ace yells from the front.

Sanji looks at the dirty piece of paper in his hands. There’s a boot print on it. He starts writing a list. “Fine,” he says. “But only because I don’t think you guys would leave me alone even if I tried.” 

“Obviously not,” Luffy says. “Zoro’s been moping for weeks.”

Sanji’s head snaps up to meet Zoro’s. 

Zoro shrugs. “I don’t like having to count macros,” he says. 

“Right,” Sanji agrees easily. “Makes sense.” 

He takes note that Zoro’s the one who talked to Zeff. Zoro’s the one who dragged him out. Zoro’s the one who eats everything Sanji gives him like it’s a gift from the gods. 

When they arrive at the store, haphazardly parked in the loading dock, Sanji follows Zoro out. 

He grabs onto Zoro’s sleeve. “You’re pushing the cart for me.” 

“Whatever,” Zoro scoffs.

He does, though. 

And he sits on the kitchen floor while Sanji prepares the food for this so called party. 

The party is the same group that’s always there in the dorm. Sanji finds out, when he’s done cooking, that they’re celebrating his return.

He cries in their bathroom, briefly. 

Then he sits next to Zoro and watches everyone make fools out of themselves as they fill him in on everything he’s missed. 

It’s good.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Across Every Universe

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: fluff

Request by anon: Hey Jordan, can i request something where Dean Winchester always have a crush on the reader but never said something to her until one day Sam and Dean are transported (based on the episode French Mistake) and Dean actor Jensen and is married to the reader of the universe and she pass the whole day giving Dean hug and kisses because for everyone is Jensen. When Dean and Sam came back to their universe him and the reader start dating? Fluff 

Summary: Sam and Dean are taken back to the same place where Dean is known as Jensen Ackles and Sam as Jared Padalecki. This little trip makes Dean realize his feelings for you.

Square Filled: "god, if only you knew what you did to me" (2023) for @spnaubingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

No matter the position you’re in, you’re not comfortable. It doesn’t matter if you lie down on your side, your back, or your stomach. Not to mention the heater isn’t working in the Bunker so it’s very cold. You have three blankets over you while wearing long sleeves and pajama pants. The broken heater doesn’t help your running cold either. You’re not sure where you caught it from but you’ve been trying to stay away from the brothers to not get them sick.

That doesn’t keep Dean away, though.

He’s a complete sweetheart to you since he always brings you soup, makes sure you’re comfortable, and spends time with you even if you tell him not to go near you. You don’t know what you’d do without Dean in your life.

Speaking of, he knocks on your door and enters wearing his usual hunting attire.

“Going on a hunt?” you ask and sit up slightly.

“Yeah. I wish I could stay here and take care of you.”

“Other people need you,” you smile. “I’ll be fine. I’m going to stay in bed, watch movies, and make some soup later. Did you fix the heater, yet?”

“I have someone coming in a few days. He’s also on a hunt.”

“Right, no non-hunters here,” you chuckle.

“I’ll call you later and check up on you, okay?”

“My hero.”

You cuddle with your blankets more and Dean leaves your room with a slight blush on his cheeks. Before he closes the door, he looks back at you in thought. God, if only you knew what you did to me.

He closes your door and meets his brother in the library. As soon as they are packed and ready to go, they start the long drive to the next state over. When Dean gets onto the highway, Sam turns to Dean with a knowing smile.

“So, did you tell her how you feel?”

“Stay out of it, Sammy,” Dean rolls his eyes.

“How long have you had a thing for her? Years? When are you going to tell her how you feel?”

“I mean it, Sam. Stay out of it. I can handle it on my own.”

“Apparently not, or else she’d be yours.”

Dean punches his brother not gently in the arm and Sam laughs. Dean kept the music high so he could avoid talking about his feelings for you. They get to the town that has its residents sacrificing themselves in the name of God. If anything, it warrants some kind of visit from the Winchesters.

The town looks like a normal town with normal people just trying to live their normal lives. They have no suspicions that something is happening but they only just arrived. They get there late at night so they will have to do their work tomorrow morning. Dean takes out his phone when his brother goes into the bathroom to shower and calls you.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

“I’m doing alright but not any better.”

“Did you take your medicine?”

“Yes, I did.” He can hear the smile in your voice and that makes him smile. “And I ate my soup and drank water.”

“Don’t forget to tell her goodnight,” Sam says loudly from the bathroom.

Dean grabs a pillow and chucks it at his brother. “Go take a shower. You stink.”

“Goodnight, Dean,” you chuckle, having heard Sam.

“Night sweetheart.” He hangs up and turns to his brother with a scowl. “I hate you.”

Sam and Dean actually get more than four hours of sleep that night but when Dean wakes up, he doesn’t recognize his surroundings. The motel is gone, the shutty beds and blankets are gone, and the peeling wallpaper is gone. What replaces it is a nice trailer, a comfortable bed, a big aquarium, and other nice shit that Dean has never had.

“Sammy?” he calls out. He gets up and leaves the small trailer only to run into Sam. “What the hell is going on? Where are we?”

“I don’t know.” Sam looks around and spots a name on the side of the trailer that’s behind Dean. “Oh, no. Look.”

Dean turns and sees the name ‘Jensen Ackles’ on the side. He turns back around and sees ‘Jared Padalecki’ on the trailer opposite his.

“You’ve got to be kidding me? We’re back in actor land? What happened last time?”

“Gabriel sent us here to avoid Raphael and his minions. I have no idea how we ended up here.”

“I bet it has something to do with the fact that people were sacrificing themselves in the name of God. My guess is that angels are involved.”

“There you two are.” Sam and Dean turn to see Castiel--Misha--walking toward them. “They’re looking for you two.”

“Yeah, we’re coming.”

If Sam and Dean didn’t do a good job trying to act last time, then they certainly aren’t going to do a good job now. It’s funny in hindsight but it makes for a very long day of filming. After the twentieth time messing up, Dean is ready to get the hell out of there to figure out how to get back to his world.

He looks to the right and sees you at the snack bar. He immediately calls for a time-out and leaves the set.

“Time out?” the director frowns and looks at him. “Everyone, take ten!”

“Y/N?”

“Come here, you have to try this. Gen made it,” you grin at Dean. You take a scoopful of food and present it to him. He opens his mouth and accepts the food, pleasantly surprised by the taste. “Oh, you have something on your mouth.” You wipe his bottom lip with your thumb and lick the food off. Dean is so confused about your behavior but doesn’t have time to figure it out. Your phone rings and you check who is messaging you. “I gotta go. Gen is here.”

You lean up and kiss him quickly before walking off. Dean can’t move after that quick kiss. You did it so casually like you’ve done it a thousand times. He is forced to go back to acting but he can’t do a good job because all he’s thinking about is your lips on his.

They aren’t getting enough filming done so the director calls it for the rest of the day. Sam and Dean convene outside to make it look like they’re busy so no one else talks to them.

“She kissed me, dude.”

“What?”

“Y/N or the woman who she’s supposed to be. She kissed me like we’re together or something.”

“Look, I’m glad you’re going through the five stages of teenage excitement but can we focus here? How are we going to get out of here?”

Dean looks around and spots you entering his trailer.

“Eh, you’ll figure it out. I’ll be back.”

Dean leaves to his trailer and Sam rolls his eyes in annoyance.

“Dean!” he hisses but receives no answer.

Dean enters his counterpart’s trailer and sees you where the bed is. You’re grabbing some night clothes out of the drawers since you’re not going to be leaving the trailer for the rest of the night.

“Hey, I talked to Gen about the cabin and she got it all set up for us this weekend. I’m so excited to spend some time away from all this for two days.”

“Are we dating?” The comment makes you laugh. “What?”

“Are you okay?” He looks kind of nervous so you walk over to him and wrap your arms around his neck. “I don’t know what’s going on with you but I do know how to make you feel better.”

“How?” he whispers.

You run your hands down his chest and take his hands. You take him to the bed and toss your night clothes onto a nearby chair. You fall onto the bed while pulling him so he lands on top of you but he stops himself with his hands so he doesn’t completely crush you.

You pull him down to kiss you and that’s enough to bring Dean into the delusion that you’re Y/N and you’re his. Your lips are softer than what he thought and your body fits so perfectly against his. He slips his tongue into your mouth to get familiar with you. You tug on his hair to get some traction so he pulls away from your mouth and kisses down your neck.

Your neck has always been a sensitive spot for you and he really knows how to work you up. He licks up and down your neck before latching onto the side of it. You gasp, tilt your head back, and moan something that brings Dean back down to reality.

“Jensen.” You’re not his. You’re not you. You’re Jensen’s. You’re not supposed to be with him. He pulls away and pants above you. “What’s wrong?”

“Can we just lay here instead?”

“Yeah, of course. Let me get changed.”

You slip out from underneath him and grab the pajamas you set aside earlier. You strip down naked and Dean has a hard time not looking at you. He can’t help but think you’re a complete stranger. The pajamas you’re wearing are revealing but he feels better at looking at you with clothes on. You climb into bed with him and cuddle into his side, and he tucks a strand of your hair behind your head.

“How did I get so lucky?”

“I’m the lucky one.”

“Tell me the story of how we met.” You look at him in confusion. “I want to hear it from you.”

“Okay, I got tickets to a red carpet event that my ex-friend invited me to. We were going to see the movie My Bloody Valentine because we thought it was going to be the next big movie. The entire cast was there, including you, meeting fans and taking pictures with them. When we locked eyes, it was like something was pulling you to me.

“You came over to me, complimented me on my dress, signed my poster with your number on it which I still have, and the rest is history. I never got together with you because you were a big celebrity. You were genuine, kind, funny, charming, and very sexy. It was hard not to fall in love with you.”

Dean notices the big ring on your finger and puts the pieces together.

“We’re married?”

“Yes, we are,” you laugh. “Are you okay?”

“I’m just… really happy.”

You lean over and kiss him. The next morning, Dean leaves his trailer before you get up. He doesn’t want to wake you even though he wants to. He finds Sam outside his own trailer with a book in his hands.

“Hey,” Dean sighs.

“I might have found a way out of here, no thanks to you.”

“What if we didn’t leave?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“The love of my life is my wife here.”

“That’s not your wife, Dean. She’s Jensen’s wife. She thinks you’re him. Why would you take that away from him? You have a girl waiting for you at home, a girl with whom you’re too scared to do anything about. Don’t take her away from him because you want what they have.”

Dean knows he’s right. He can’t stay here. He’s using this world as an escape from his own.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dean sighs. “What do you have?”

“I found this book in the prop section. This might be a TV show but it does have some useful books to make it look real. There’s a ritual we can do.”

And a ritual it is. Once they get the stuff needed and perform it, they are brought back to the town they arrived in a couple of days ago. In order to properly tackle this town, they’re going to need some angelic help. Maybe Castiel can meet them back at the Bunker and figure something out then.

The first thing Dean does when he gets home is go looking for you. You’re still stuck in bed watching your favorite movies on Disney+. You pause your movie when your bedroom door opens.

“Hey, how was the hunt?” Dean doesn’t say anything as he kicks off his shoes. He climbs into bed with you and pulls you close to him. “Dean?”

“I love you,” he blurts. “I should have told you this years ago but I can’t seem to think straight when I’m with you. You make everything better for me, and you’re a better hunter than I ever was. God, I love you so much.”

“I’d kiss you but I don’t want to get you sick,” you smile.

“I don’t care,” he whispers and kisses you.

This is where he belongs. Right next to you.

x

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[nvuy]

so… about that drink you ordered — boothill

summary. boothill has a pity party at a bar and notices a familiar face that he wants to smash into two.

notes. sort of requested official unofficial sequel sort of to hijacked. you can read this stand alone. not saying you should, though. teehee. this is so uninspired. i just like this concept a lot. i also just like rivals to lovers. i’m also riding on the coattails of the “boothill is largely illiterate.” whether it’s actually canon or not who knows. let me be. he’s still not released LMAOOOO.

warnings. the usual banter, little bit of threatening, but nothing major.

Boothill was at a loss. The mission was a bust, there was no response from La Mancha, and the dreamscape was beginning to grind his gears. So many loud noises, the poster signs were following him around, and this so-called SoulGlad was not as good as it was advertised to be.

This bar sucked, too. The bartender had been giving him the stink eye for the better half of an hour now. It probably wasn’t appropriate to sick him right in the face for it, break his nose, and give him a beating.

The bartender wasn’t scrawny, though. Some big bulk of meat with tired eyes, scruff and mousy brown hair. His chest looked like it was about to pop the buttons of his vest. Dude looks absolutely repressed. Probably works minimum wage.

The bartender abandons a blue inky pen and his notebook that Boothill snoops in. Nothing interesting. Just pages of tabs and tabs of people he doesn’t know, nor care about.

There’s music from the stereos in the corners, though surprisingly, considering it’s not a club—that one is next door. It’s a conjoined building. The only thing seperating the bar and the VIP private rooms of the club is a wall and a locked door. Comforting—and Boothill would have lost his mind already.

It’s also dark. Granted, it’s two in the morning, but the low lights can’t be good for normal people. Not to mention the group of women in the corner that have been hoarding the few slot machines for about thirty minutes now.

Every so often, a chime will go off, and one of them will start busting into tears.

He’s here alone. Not for any particular reason. He’s waiting for a response from somebody, and what better way to pass the time than people watch and pretend he’s not nosy.

Also he feels super important sitting at the counter of the bar.

He almost jumps at a whisper in his ear.

A reddish drink in a ribbed coupe glass is gently dropped onto the counter space beside him. There’s a cucumber slice on the rim, and it also looks like it’s been dusted with sugar.

Boothill turns his nose up. Gross.

The bartender glances at the figure who slots into the seat next to the ranger. “Can I get you something else?”

“Hard whiskey.”

Huh. His eyes snapped to the right. Very familiar. Almost unnervingly so. Just in case, he scoots himself away by an inch, sitting closer to the edge of the barstool.

The bartender blinks, unsure as he pulls a tumbler from the rack. “For you?”

A finger prods the Ranger’s cheek. “For him.”

There’s a zap from the finger, like a small electric shock. Like static charged from the friction of the weird material of the barstools.

“Thanks, Gal.”

“No amount of flirting is gonna make me clear your tab,” Gallagher warned before sliding the whiskey over to the Ranger. Boothill had barely moved, now acutely aware of his own face plastered on a wanted poster behind the bartender’s head. “Try not showin’ up here frequently. Bad for my image if I keep serving crooks.” He points to the Ranger, and then to you. “Both of you.”

The bartender then is called over by a group of women who are giggling at a booth in the corner.

Boothill was sure he was going to lean forward and scrap with you over the counter. He could already feel the terse skin of your neck in his hands.

“You followin’ me?”

“You followed me first,” you say harshly.

The ranger let out a laugh before picking up his drink. “It was only a job. If you got offended, that’s your problem.” He then holds the glass close. “You g’nna do that thing again?”

“‘Thing?’” you repeated.

There was a smug grin on your face. You rested the chin in the palm of your hand.

Oh. He was so going to throw you over the counter and smash a bottle over your head. “Y’know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout. Don’t play stupid.”

You took a sip of your drink.

“Boop.”

Your finger pressed to his chest. You snickered when he stared down at the brief flashing of yellow beneath his joints.

Then, you flit your finger upwards and flick his nose.

He grabs your hand with the intent of pulling it from its socket.

“Now, that’s a dangerous game to play,” you remind him. “I’ve got you in my hands, remember?” Your free hand lets go of your glass, and there’s a small flash of yellow light on the pads of the gloves on your hands. A flicker is all it takes to showcase his entire makeup in your palm. You spin it slowly for good measure.

Then, the image disappears and you snatch your wrist from his hand.

“What do you want?” Boothill mutters. He’s absentmindedly staring into his drink while swishing it around. The ice cubes softly tap against the glass.

“Insight. You’re a Galaxy Ranger, right?” He can’t lie to you anyway. You pretty much know everything about him. Your main profession is definitely stalking and being a thorn in his side. Your fingers held his chin up softly. “Tell me about it.”

He blinks, dazed. “That’s it?”

“No.”

He removes your hand from his chin. He holds his glass protectively. “Then quit pullin’ my leg. Cut to the good bit.”

You sigh. “You’re no fun. Do you come to bars just to mope?” You pull a dramatic frown for good measure.

“Do you come to bars to piss everyone off?” he shoots back. Despite his tone, his fingers are gentle around the glass. Any more firm a hold, and the drink would shatter and spill all over the counter.

You grin.

You tap his nose again. “Just you.” Then, you shake your head. “I’m here ‘cause I got a bar crush.” You then point to a table behind Boothill’s head in the corner. “Blondie with the nice eyes and the rings.”

After a moment's hesitation, the ranger turns and follows your finger.

Sure enough, you’re not convincing him to spin around so you can shove your hand into his sockets. There is a blond man at a table dressed in green, winking at an opponent over a game of… poker? Is that poker? The game with the chips and stuff. And dice, too. They’re thrown over a board, and there’s a couple of people who have tuned in to watch the entire thing unfold.

“His name is Aventurine. Or, that’s a code name, I think. He’s Sigonian. Works for the IPC, incredibly insecure, has a gambling addiction, needs to eat lead…” You stopped short, counting on your fingers as Boothill turns back to you. “Isn’t he dreamy?”

Boothill narrows his eyes at you. “Do you know everything about everyone?”

You shrug. “Pretty much, yeah.” Then, you make a noise. “Eh, I’m lying. Lots of people are boring. I only know the basics ‘bout most of ‘em. It’s the higher ups I’m interested in. Case in point–” You gestured to the blond man again, now scanning over his cards. “–Mister Big Shot. And all his loser coworkers. I don’t like the IPC.”

Boothill quietly sips his drink.

At least you can both agree on something.

He wants to yawn. He doesn’t have the function to do that anymore.

You talk too much.

He cuts you off, and fiddles with a few buttons on his arm. “What can you tell me–” A small image of a woman projects into view from a small lens near his wrist. “–About her?”

You lean closer to the image. Pretty.

She has lovely purple hair and eyes to match. It’s an unassuming photo. She’s not even looking at the camera, not even close to it. She’s standing next to a little boy with sparkling eyes and a uniform that starkly resembles the hotel staff in the waking world of Penacony—oh, the bellboy. You forgot his name.

You hum. “What’s her name?”

“Acheron.” He spits it nastily, as if tasting vitriol on his tongue.

You lean back against the counter. “I’d have to dig deeper. Can’t say I’ve seen her around before.”

“Well, that’s disappointin’,” he huffs before the image shrinks and disappears back into the lens. “Thought you were better than that.”

Your brows knit together.

“Are you trying to rile me up?” It was working. Curse you and your hot-head. It would get you killed one day.

Boothill grins.

Then, he raises his glass to you. “Yep.”

You wanted to pull him apart right there, like a doll.

Instead, you whisper, “tell me about La Mancha.”

Boothill casually sips the whiskey. “What’s in it for me?”

“I’ll dig up whatever I can find about that Acheron girl.”

Boothill then lets out a small giggle. “I already know who she is.” He wasn’t lying either. You could tell by how he grinned. “I was testin’ ya.”

Oh, great. He’s figured you out again. Not that there’s much to decode beneath the layer of self-doubt and hostility.

You could feel your face burning.

He grabs your cheeks before you can turn away.

“You ain’t here ‘cause you got some ‘puppy crush,’” he accused playfully, squishing your skin like it’s clay. “You already told me ya know everything about blondie. Who’re you really here for?”

He’s not stupid.

He’s also twirling a lock of his hair around his finger.

God damnit.

Your fingers curled tightly around the rim of your glass. The cucumber slice has since fallen into the cosmopolitan, and it’s giving the entire drink a strange watery taste.

The bar carries on. There’s a hoot from the table with blondie, who’s now, since the last time you stared daggers into the side of his head, collected some more of his poor opponent’s chips.

You pull your face from his grip. “Nobody.”

“Not even me?” Boothill presses. “You seem to love followin’ me around. In and out the dreamscape.”

You grit your teeth.

“The bartender,” you mutter finally. “I’m here for the bartender.” Currently, Gallagher is half asleep on the other side of the counter, trying to negotiate with some drunkard over the pricing of a scotch.

You eye him warily for a moment.

“There it is.” He pats your head like a dog. “Knew you’d come ‘round, pumpkin.”

You’re trembling with rage. “Kiss my ass, you cyborg scum.” You were considering throwing a punch at his perfect face.

“Rude.” Boothill flicks your nose back and you grunt. “I’m tryin’ to be nice wit’ you. You followed me here.”

You wanted to leave now. He sucks when he knows he has the upper hand, even if he’s well aware you can make his arms tear his own head off.

But you’re not going to do that. You need him. You made that clear.

The sound of a slot machine goes off somewhere to the right. There's cheering from a bunch of women.

You turn back and stare at the wall of liquor behind the bar. Maybe you should just knock yourself out. Whether by downing an entire bottle of bourbon or smashing it over your head. It was a hard choice to make.

You watch him through your peripherals, noticing he’s pinched a napkin from the pile on the counter.

“Lookin’ very pretty tonight, by the way. Hard to keep my eyes off ya.” He was writing something down with the pen from before. “If you were anyone else, I woulda had to take ya home. ‘Specially after ya bought me a drink.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome.” Then, you pause. “Excuse me?”

Boothill folds the napkin into a square and holds it to your lips. “Open.”

“You are not–”

Too late. He’s pushed it to your teeth, and you instinctively clamp down on it.

Oh, this sucks. This sucks bad.

He knows it, too, from the way he’s grinning at you like a shark and snickering.

He presses his warm lips to your cheek. The scent of whiskey faintly wafts in the air.

You stupidly freeze, hands curled around his wrists when his cold hands tilt your head so the tip of his tongue can press to the corner of your lips. You could stop him. You could.

You didn’t.

You smell like strawberry, the same as that other night. You look just as good, too. Shame you haven’t put anything on your lips. He would’ve loved to be stained a nice pink again.

He slides his whiskey next to you.

Then, he finishes what’s left of your drink. Dickhead. “I’ll be ‘round if ya need me.” He taps your nose and stands up. “You know where to find me.”

With a tilt of his hat, he leaves.

You pull the napkin from your teeth. Are you serious?

Face burning with humiliation, you hastily unfold the tissue, fingers shaking around the glass of whiskey. It’s heavy on your tongue; disgusting, bitter, everything you’d use to describe that stupid cowboy and his abomination of a body.

Scrawled in blue ink is a line of numbers. It looked suspiciously like a phone number.

Below it in blocky letters are the words: Keep In touc H. ♡

There’s a crudely drawn horse with a hat in the corner.

[woodland-gremlin]

Summoning Your Secret Boyfriend Pt. 5

First Previously AU Summary

“What do you mean by the Anti-Ecto Acts?” Constantine asked, hoping against all hope that it wasn’t what it sounded like. Because if it was it was likely they would be dealing with something worse than Trigon.

“The Anti-Ecto Acts declared all beings that produce or require ectoplasm as non-sentient and unfeeling imprints that are to be handed over to the government for experimentation and extermination. Every being in the Infinite Realms is made of ectoplasm, it is what carbon is like for us,” Supernova said.

“Those acts made the persecution and mass genocide of their people legal and their very existence illegal. The only reason they didn’t accept those Acts as a declaration of war for the whole planet or dimension is the innocent people. After all they were ruled by a tyrant for multiple millennias, they understood that the acts of one being or group doesn’t define the whole. But that doesn’t change the fact that they would protect their people if provoked. They already had a war with the organization that created those laws. If we told you about them you could have provoked them in condemning this whole planet. After all without the League we would be open to other invaders,” Red Robin finished.

Batman scowled. Everyone else looked horrified, especially the JLD. Zantenna’s magic glitched causing random things to levitate around her. Captain Marvel zoned out, trying to process all the new and terrifying information, while unknowingly to everyone else arguing with the Gods in his head. Raven looked even worse than when she learned that her Father would try to use her as a portal to invade Earth. And Constantine? Well, he looked like he was about to become the newest Halfa.

“You’re telling me that the U.S. government basically declared war against the Infinite Realms?! The in-between of the multiverse? The place that houses beings more powerful than gods? And yet we’re still somehow alive?” Constantine screeched.

Batman cut in, “If what you say is true and they are as dangerous as Constantine says it only means that you should have told us. It is our job to deal with issues like that.”

“Un-un,” Constantine grunts, “Did you not hear anything they said, Batsy?! We are lucky! Lucky, you hear me! It is a stinking miracle that the Realms didn’t just destroy our dimension and be done with it. Pariah Dark has done it for less.”

“Even so-”

“‘Even’ nothing. Now we are going to drop this, summon the new King, beg them for forgiveness and for them to deal with Trigon, and fix those disastrous laws!” Constantine declared while pulling out a book with a strange aura out of his coat pocket.

To be continued . . .

Next

[coca-cola-fiend]

How I think the straw hats sleep when they have company (romantic or platonic)

Luffy

Wraps himself around you

You are NOT moving for a while

Snores, unless you prop him up right

Likes to cuddle, will whine if you say no (unless you look like super uncomfortable, emotionally aware king love that)

Mans has no thoughts of personal space. He wants to be close ALL THE TIMe

Will talk your ear off as he’s wrapped around you. Yes both arms and legs if it’s comfortable.

Tried to listen to you too, but will probs fall asleep. He doesn’t mean to be rude, bro is just tired and happy your with him.

Warm, but wiggles a lot.

After Marineford, he’s especially clingy. Has nightmares about it and only sleeps well if he knows his crew is safe and close by.

Please comfort him and tell him that the crew is safe, that he is safe.

Will drag you off for a nap if he’s tired. Or just falls asleep on top of you.

Will wake you up in the middle of the night to spout off random shit. Then fall back asleep. Or he’s going to try and grab a snack. Sanji is not pleased when the fridge is dented from this attempt.

Please make a deal with him to shower more. Your nose will think you.

Zoro

Dude also needs a shower

Likes to work out and then have a nap

Doesn’t like to admit it but prefers when your around for both of these activities

Enjoys flexing while training and then relaxing with a nap with one of his favorite people on the ship

If he stinks, MAKE HIM BATHE. Bro is STINKY and needs to scrub more. After he washes then it’s nap time. That’s the deal.

Nami thanks you for this

It started with just napping around you, then slowly leaning onto you.

Neither of you make a big deal out of it, more for his sake then yours. He’s embarrassed to admit he’s soft for your time together.

Not a huge talker, but is very good a listening.

Gives advice if he thinks you want it, but will sit and listen if you need to get stuff off your chest.

Is a little jealous you can do so with ease (in his mind). He’s too caught up being strong for the crew that he forgets that he’s allowed to just be Zoro, not Pirate Hunter or King of Hell Zoro.

Snores a little, but not super loud. Place his head on your shoulder or lap and he’s OUT. May even curl an arm or leg around you if he feels like it.

Nami

Not used to co-sleeping

Sleeps with a weapon close by due to her past with Arlong. This doesn’t change, only the location of the weapon does.

Particular about her sleep. Has a routine and everything.

Expects you to hold yourself to a certain standard if your sleeping in the same room as her (you’ll have to work up to cuddling).

Will gift you nice pjs, soaps, blankets, things like that.

Gets hot easily, but hates being too cold.

Will fall asleep at her nap desk. Please pick her up and tuck her into bed.

That’s how it starts probably. She holds onto you in her sleep and mumbles something you can’t make out. You wait and get a quiet “stay…don’t go”. You stay.

This happens a few more times before your invited into her bed. You slept on the floor before to avoid making her uncomfortable.

Refuses to admit that she likes being the little spoon, but she has the best sleep when she feels safe and protected by someone she trusts deeply.

Likes to nap in the sun under her trees with you. The warmth and the smell of the fruit is relaxing.

Doesn’t ask you to nap, just expects you to agree. Drags you to nap when she’s had a bad day.

Please just hold her for a bit and listen to her rant about stuff. She appreciates it more then you’ll ever know.

Usopp

Tries to act chill when you fall asleep on him for the first time.

Is smiling while trying to act annoyed like it’s an inconvenience (he feels so happy do NOT believe him)

Another one to fall asleep while creating. If you can’t pull him away wrap a blanket around him and place a pillow under his head.

Usopp is a lonely guy, considering he didn’t really have any friends before the straw hats (not including the Usopp pirates and Kaya).

If feels nice to be chosen

Likes to tell you stories (real and make believe) as your winding down to sleep.

Lights up when you smile or laugh because of him.

Makes it his goal to make you smile at least once before the end of the day. Even if it’s just an eye smile, he knows he’s made you happy, and that makes him happy.

LOVES late night talks. Doesn’t matter what it’s about. He’s happy to spend time with you.

Does his best not to wake you up in the morning if your not ready to wake up. Will save you some food (from Luffy) if your not awake yet.

Will be thinking of stories all day to tell you. Of course he tells the rest of the crew, mainly Chopper and Luffy, as well. But your late night talks hold a special place in his heart and day.

Is forever grateful you chose him as your best friend.

Sanji

Another one who has a hard time accepting affection (Zoro, and Robin too).

Happens after he has a nightmare about his family (this feels familiar ha).

You catch him up super late and ask him what’s wrong.

He doesn’t tell you right away (especially if it’s before Whole Cake) and gives a vague explanation of having a hard time sleeping.

You offer to help, and for some reason (sleep deprivation due to stress) he agrees.

You bring him back to bed and hold him. He’s not used to being held and take a bit to relax and get comfortable. The last time someone held him like this was either Zeff or his mom. Probably his mom.

This repeats for about a week before he starts seeking you out. He’s embarrassed about it at first but can’t deny he does sleep better with you around.

At some point, you start waking up with him and keeping him company while he makes breakfast. Whether you help him or not depends on what he’s making.

You keep him entertained while he cooks, and he makes you a little extra as a thank you.

Of course he’ll deny this if you bring it up, so if you want extra, just enjoy it.

He may tell you more about his dreams as time goes on, but nothing huge until you actually meet his family. Then he doesn’t even need to tell you, you just know when he’s having a hard time and step up the comfort.

He’s grateful to have such a wonderful crew to call his own.

I’ll probably do a part 2 with the rest of the straw hats later, but I’m tired and want to post this already. The straw hats deserve some comfort with all that trauma.

[empress-simps]

Can I request a fic with Remus (I love him), with a shy fem!reader girlfriend? House doesn’t really matter, but Hufflepuff might be fitting lol. She wants to meet his group of friends officially for the first time (she’s dating Remus and she hasn’t yet), but she’s too anxious despite trying to hype herself up for it? Maybe Remus comforts her

Darling, this is such a cute request! 🫶 Also, who doesn’t love Remus? We all do, no questions asked (I would do anything for him and Regulus). I absolutely love to write for this man, and I think Remus with a shy s/o is stinking cute. Thank you for requesting! 🫂 (Not edited so there may be grammatical errors or typos lurking around)

Loving Yellow and Black

Pairings: Remus Lupin x Fem! Reader CW: Language and mentions of smoking.

In many ways, you were different from his friends.

You were polite, kind, and willing to help others- basically what everyone thinks of when they picture an ideal Hufflepuff student. Not saying that James, Sirius, and Peter were rude or anything like that, but there was just something gentle about you that Remus saw. As for them? They’re a rambunctious mess, a bit rough around the edges.

Remus found it quite charming, you try your best to blend in, be a wallflower so your student life at Hogwarts would be smooth sailing. Although, to Remus, no matter what you do, you stand out effortlessly. When he first expressed his interest in you, you were hesitant and cautious. You thought it was just one of the many other pranks that he and the other marauders had planned on other students.

“Go out with me, Y/n?” Remus asked nervously, after a week of him approaching and befriending you.

“Erm…” You looked around, making sure he was talking to you. “Are you talking to me?”

So, he did everything he could to make sure you know that he’s serious about you and that you won’t feel anything but that.

Slowly but surely, the hesitance and doubts started to go away as you got to know him better. You learned that he loves chocolates, his eyes would light up when you bring him chocolate frogs whenever you and your friends would go to Hogsmeade. His eyes having literal stars as he took in the sight of you, and how his laugh would make you smile as he whisks you away from your common rooms to hang out (snog) in the Astronomy tower and bringing you back just before the clock strikes twelve.

You bring out the best versions of yourself when you’re both with each other. Remus helps you to be a bit more adventurous, making you try things you never even thought of doing, such as sneaking out past curfew. Remus was your many firsts.

Remus found himself being more patient and calmer than before, maybe your nature rubbed off on him like how his rubbed off on you.

“Moony, are you smoking… you know?”

Remus nearly choked on his breakfast one morning. He turns to look at Sirius, eyes wide with shock. “Just why would you think that Padfoot?!” Sirius shrugged, putting his arms up as if he was surrendering. “Geez, just asking a question, don’t get your knickers in a twist, Moony.”

“I’m not smoking, or doing whatever you think I’m doing, you sod.”

Remus grumbles while James just laughed, “Alright, there’s our original Moony.”

“You seem calmer recently, Moons. We were just curious.” Peter shrugs, taking a bite out of his pancake, Remus raised his eyebrow. “Oh really?”

“Yeah, it was like you turned into a saint. You don’t even scold James and I anymore for our boxers strewn across the floor- “

“Hey! Shut it, what if Lily hears?!”

“Mind you, we are in the great hall eating breakfast, Padfoot.”

“I’m just saying!”

“Quiet down, people are looking.”

It was just a matter of time when your friends found out you’re dating Remus and managed to keep it under their noses for a few months.

“Y/n! How could you? We trusted you!” El, one of your friends shrieks dramatically, plopping down her bed, making you furrow your eyebrows. “Erm… is there something going on?”

“of course there is! Why did you keep it a secret?” She whined, pulling you next to her.

“Keep what a secret?”

“You and Lupin!”

“Oh, erm…” You trailed off, trying to fight the blush forming on your face. Your other friends started to tease you, “So it’s true!”

“Yes.” You confirmed with a nod, your hands over your face as a poor attempt to cover your blush.

“Alright, we need to know if the bloke is good enough to date our Y/n.”

It quickly became known to other students within your house that you were dating the witty marauder. Of course, this kind of news spreads like wildfire across Hogwarts; even reaching the three marauders who were in the dark with their Moony’s love life. They need to meet you as soon as possible and didn’t even let Remus have peace and quiet until he asked you if you were okay about it.

“So, they found out about us.” Remus bit his lip, looking nervously. You blinked, “Well, it was bound to happen, my friends were… vocal about it.” She chuckled as Remus cracked a grin.

“Tell me about it.”

“I’m guessing they want to meet me?”

Remus nodded, sighing. “Sorry angel. I tried to tell them- “

“It’s alright, honey. I figured it would be good after my friends also demanded you to meet them.”

To say that you were terrified would be an understatement; you felt like you were going to throw up in your shoes, break out in a cold sweat, or even stumble because damn it- your legs are shaking, as if you’re going to collapse under your own weight.

Well yeah, you were the one who kinda brought it up, but it still didn’t lessen the nerves you have. You wanted them to at least be civil towards you and to recognize your relationship with their friend. You were thinking of what outfit you should wear a week prior to the meeting, and you carefully planned out how you would respond to the possible questions they’d have. Call it over thinking, but you were just preparing for every single possible outcome.

“Alright, I can do this.” You chanted, looking at the mirror then at your watch, only 30 minutes before Remus arrives in the Hufflepuff common room. You checked your hair, smoothing it out as you checked yourself for the umpteenth time.

“Merlin, Y/n. You’re acting like you’re meeting the Prime Minister of Magic.” El commented, shaking her head. “You’ll be fine, if they don’t like you… then they better prepare themselves for a Hufflepuff’s wrath.”

Remus casts a glance worriedly at you, fixing your black and yellow scarf on your neck. “Darling, it isn’t that cold out, you don’t have to practically cover your face with it.” He chuckles, kissing your reddening cheeks as you huffed, “It would be a great help when I meet your friends.” Grinning, he pinched your cheeks, making you glare at him.

“They’ll love you. Don’t worry too much, yeah?” He whispers, before giving your forehead a kiss, at this point, Remus and the cold weather’s mission is to make you look like a tomato.

You gulped nervously, fiddling with the ends of the scarf. “But… I…”

To be honest, you are kind of expecting them to be disappointed when they meet you. A Hufflepuff girl, fairly average, wallflower, and a goody-two-shoes. Quite boring, in your opinion. Remus’s gaze hardened, as if scolding you. “I know what’s going on your pretty mind, darling. Just be yourself.” Squeezing your hand in his, you made your way to the Gryffindor Tower and to the dorm room he and his friends share.

“There you are, Moony!” James smiled as he opened the door to their room, his smile widening as he casts, a glance at you. “You must be Y/n! Come in!” He excitedly ushers both of you inside the room, you gave Remus’s hand a squeeze, he looks at you and squeezes back. You took a glance at their room, there was Sirius laying down lazily on his bed, Peter sitting on a random beanbag on their dorm room, and Lily sitting on her boyfriend’s bed, beaming a smile in which you returned; albeit a little more nervously.

“Any second further than that and I’d thought Moony was lying about finally getting a girl, isn’t that right, wormtail?” Sirius grinned, teasing Remus before standing up and giving you a hug. Which made you widen your eyes and stiff up, but recovering quickly to hug him back, pulling away after a few moments.

“Nice to meet you, love. I’m Sirius.”

You smiled shyly, “Nice to meet you too, I’m Y/n.”

“Remus, tell me again how’d you manage to get someone as gorgeous as she is?”

Remus rolled his eyes, “Sod off, Pads.” Sirius just laughed, smiling as he looks at you and Remus together.

“Hi Y/n, I’m Peter. Nice to meet you.” Peter smiled politely, holding out his hand which you took, shaking it. “Nice to meet you too, Peter.”

Lily smiled, pointing at her boyfriend. “That one’s James! Don’t pay attention to him- “ cue a protest from James, who’s pouting  “-and I’m Lily, so glad there’s another girl in the group! They’re driving me crazy!” She practically bounced off her feet and hugged you, making you stumble, and Remus put a hand on your back to support you.

Okay, this wasn’t what you expected. Quite far actually.

Your heart fills with warmth as you allowed a smile to appear on your face, looking around, seeing how they felt so comfortable with you already. Sirius was busy bothering Peter, who shoos him away, complaining that he’s being annoying even when you’re with them. “Have you got any shame left with you, Padfoot?”

“Hm, last time I checked none.”

James was trying to get your opinion on how to pull off one of their pranks, and Lily scolding him not to drag you onto his shenanigans.

Remus pulls you close to him, wrapping his arms around your waist, he whispers. “Welcome to the family, darling.”

[mushroomates]

legolas headcanons:

is, by all accounts, the worlds most awkward elf

most of the fellowship doesn’t even realize how weird he is

thranduil did not socialize his boy well. legolas is not aloof he just has no idea what he’s supposed to be doing.

will walk very slowly with exaggerated movements around hobbits because he thinks they won’t see him otherwise.

the hobbits thinks this is elf custom. frodo theorizes this is because elves want to rest their eyes and ears when they’re at home, so other elves like to announce themselves so no one gets spooked.

this is aided by the fact that legolas loudly announces his presence whenever he enters the room, just incase you missed it.

this conclusion is false. legolas will approach other elves by charging at them, full speed. alternatively, shooting an arrow in their vicinity for a vibe check.

he also likes shooting at people to wake them up and/or scare them

legolas likes that it’s a gentle reminder to his companions that he could kill them at any time and they should be honored that he doesn’t.

aragorn has options about this. legolas tells him that he should be grateful that such a skilled elf is on his side and cares for him. aragorn maintains that if legolas really cared, the elf would stop waking him up with ‘good morning’ shots. he also would like to note that legolas’s loud singing is only slightly better than an arrow flying at you first thing in the morning:.

legolas tries to make friends by staring at them from afar and when they look at him he looks away. like a cat. he will also blink at u as if to say “look! i like you! i’m closing my eyes!!!” again, like a cat.

will bring you small gifts to curry favor, also like a cat. interesting rocks and pretty feathers, samples of dirt, fallen leaves in different shapes and colors, and whatever flowers are near by and catch his eye. gets very upset if you don’t marvel at them for the appropriate amount of time.

will eat bites off of your plate. this is a form of endearment. he’s showing he trusts you and likes you. he’s also showing his inability to cook and hopes you’ll take pity on him by sharing your food.

sometimes will intentionally walk loudly around the camp if he’s bored, angry, or lonely so he can wake aragorn up and they can be awake together :)

likes to sing, loudly, at inappropriate times

no one in the fellowship has seen him piss. some of the hobbits are under the impression that elves don’t pee. aragorn and gandalf do not correct them.

up at the asscrack of dawn. this is annoying, because he’s chipper, looks amazing, and is a tad judgmental that you aren’t as well.

captain obvious as well as worlds most unhelpful elf ever. will point out your mistake, claim to know how to fix it and half the time not offer the solution or his assistance.

cannot do laundry. he doesn’t even get dirty enough to consider it, and with how little people in middle earth wash their clothes anyway, none of his clothes have been cleaned for easily centuries.

is very confused by dogs. doesn’t understand what he’s supposed to do with them. they’re always so happy and want (physical???) attention and,, it’s not a one and done thing either. you’re supposed to keep petting them? after you already pet them.

they’re like wolves, but smaller and maybe stupider. they also stink. boromir has explained to him many times that dogs are man’s best friend and are beautiful creatures. this worries legolas, because that means either dogs are more evolved than they let on,, or men are significantly further behind than elves than he first thought..

can not play the harp. is upset by this fact.

never really bothered to learn how to harp, either.

he believes he should be able to play the harp regardless because the harp is just a big bow with many strings. this is, in fact, false.

will eat anything. mushrooms and questionable berries mean nothing to him.

this upsets aragorn as he believes legolas is setting a bad example for the hobbits, dispite hobbits having the most durable digestive systems. (note: elves can eat almost anything, but hobbits have the stomach of a labrador retriever. they are always hungry, can can eat anything, even what they’re not supposed to)

DID set a bad example for boromir, who mistakingly ate some of the berries legolas offered him and had the shits for weeks.

is like 90% sure who frodo is. it’s definitely one of the hobbits. it’s probably not the one with the pony.

is faceblind. he can’t recognize other people’s faces for the life of him. if you asked him to pick out aragorn in a sea of humans, he’d panic dispite knowing the man for 50+ years.

this also goes for all races, including dwarves. gimli thought he might just be racist and covering his ass, but then watched him stall for like 30 minutes making small talk with some lorien elves and try (and fail) to pick celeborn out of the crowd.

does know what galadriel and thranduil look like. has a hard time pointing out elrond.

will forget your name almost immediately after you tell him. guys like 3k old and has met a lot of people give him a break

to be fair he does know who you are and what you sound/look like. defining features like voice and hair help a lot. it’s just if you were to give him a book of cropped faces and ask him to name, just one,,, he’d panic and throw it at you.

feels robbed of the golden ages,, resents the fact that the world he knows is drastically different that the world he could have been. wishes there were more elves his age and just more elves in general.

that being said he wouldn’t change this for anything as the world he’s in gave him the friends he’s made and the adventure of a life time :)

he doesn’t wash his hands. like ever or at all.

[theminecraftbee]

the summer before THE END...

(this fic contains @hotguycomiczine spoilers! go read it first! i'll wait!)

It’s midday. The sun is heavy and hot, bearing down against the asphalt and visibly making the air shimmer over the road. Summer in Hermitopia can be miserable, and frankly Cuteguy thinks it’s far more miserable than the bruises. The humidity makes his feathers stick together and itch in awkward ways, he’s sweaty twice over because he hadn’t had time to actually wash his costume between the last major villain attack, his recent part-time line cook job, and then this fight.

He’s in his early thirties and he’s becoming an old man, he thinks. His knees should not hurt this much, and yet here they are. Vigilantism is going to give him early arthritis.

They’ve driven off the villain. Didn’t manage to catch him, though. He wasn’t even from Hermitopia. That’s been happening more lately; people who see Hermitopia as some lawless wasteland where they can come visit, avoid drinking any water, and live out their dreams of being a comic book character, damn the consequences or collateral damage. It’s frustrating. Sometimes, deep in Cuteguy’s soul, he sort of thinks the Soup Group has a point in calling out all this bullshit.

Of course, they do all that murder about it. So. Not much better, really.

He leans against a building and tries to breathe. Normally he has a water bottle with his costume, but this guy had homemade napalm. Luckily, not real napalm! The water did work for putting out the fire! Unfortunately, it’s ninety-seven degrees and humid and Cuteguy has just done enough cardio that he’s honestly worried about the odds he passes out. 

Out on the street, Hotguy is chatting with every civilian he comes across. He’s grandstanding. He’s giving blow-by-blows. He’s acting like his sweat doesn’t stink like a mere mortal’s. He has a water bottle, and he’s taking sips of it between chats with reporters and posing for cameras. There are enough cars and civilians that Cuteguy isn’t all that worried about the TCG yet. Hotguy’s still pretty damn wanted, what with the whole possession thing that they don’t exactly have the means to prove to the public, so Cuteguy’s got to keep an eye out for them, but with this many cameras on him? The TCG isn’t about to arrest him on camera. Despite everything, he's still too charismatic; he'd still make them look too bad. 

Cuteguy wipes his forehead again. He does notice when someone starts approaching him; he might be exhausted, but he’s acting as Hotguy’s situational awareness while he’s busy playing up crowds. He can’t afford to be that exhausted, so he isn’t. That, and the woman approaching him is hardly as stealthy as the Bleeding Hart. Another thing he might have to give to the Soup Group were he willing to give them credit for anything: he’s never been able to fully stop noticing where everyone is around him. Hotguy had winced and called it “hypervigilance”. Cuteguy had said that he wasn’t any better, he just calls it a superpower. Hotguy had said it is hardly his fault his superpower promotes vigilance. Cuteguy had—

“Uh, good fight. Thanks,” says the woman.

“Oh, uh. You’re welcome,” Cuteguy says.

She’s tall and blonde. Also, she has four arms. Cuteguy should have probably noticed that first, but he didn’t, and that’s on him.

“Bit of a mess, especially in this weather. Hotter and they’d issue a heat advisory, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Cuteguy says.

He is not good at post-battle smalltalk. That’s why it’s Hotguy’s job. He’s good at causing chaos if needed, but chaos is the opening the TCG would need to get to Hotguy. Cuteguy glances in his direction. He’s posing and signing autographs still. He can’t help but sigh. They’re going to be here all day.

The four-armed lady follows his gaze.

“You know, I’d always wondered why you stick to him,” she says.

“Sorry?” Cuteguy says.

“I just mean—I watched the fight. Yeah, he’s good, but you’re decent at range too. You can get enough height to really not need perfect accuracy because you’ll be hard to hit. Wings are, uh, a pretty overpowered combat tool, really, especially when most of your enemies are on the ground. But you’re good at close range, so, uh, inside isn’t awful for you either, really.”

“I mean, you’re right, I am pretty good,” Cuteguy says, interrupting her. “I don’t really get—”

“Look at him,” the woman says. “You ran around more than him and he took the water bottle.”

Cuteguy wants to defend Hotguy for that one; it’s hardly his fault that Cuteguy dumped his water bottle on napalm like it would do anything. It did, which is convenient, but still. Not Hotguy’s call. He doesn’t quite get the chance.

“Even after everything last month, he’s still grandstanding too. Sure, he’s stopped shooting people for not being grateful enough, or holding rescues hostage for cash, but look at him. Hardly any better, is he. Sure, he says he was possessed—”

“He was,” Cuteguy snaps.

“—but like, is the guy he is now actually all that different? Just saying.”

Cuteguy stares at the man trying to get extra photo ops out of a group of passing runners. They’re topless to account for the heat, which is probably why Hotguy wants photos with them. Cuteguy can just barely hear the man asking to trade phone numbers. Is it worse or better, Cuteguy wonders, that the phone number Hotguy gives out just goes straight to Cub’s inbox? Is that catfishing or just good sense?

“He’s trying to help,” Cuteguy says.

“He’s desperate for attention,” the four-armed woman says. “You know, you’d probably be better without him. After everything that happened, your reputation would be better too. A little more in the shadows, a little less associated with his crimes.”

“He’s…”

“I just want the real reason, really,” the woman says. 

“What do you…”

“Why would you stick with him when you’re so much better?”

Hotguy waves goodbye to the runners. He takes another sip of the water bottle. Really, there’s so much that Cuteguy can say here, watching that. He could say something about how, in the terrible days when the Soup Group had first come onto the scene, Hotguy had barely left Cuteguy’s side until Cuteguy started pushing him away. He could say that Hotguy is earnest, that he really does want to save people, despite the fact he also wants attention. He could say that he knows the man behind the mask now, and he’s seen his films, and frankly getting a little recognition as Hotguy kind of makes up for not getting recognition for his decent acting talent. He could say something about playing Mario Kart on the couch, or learning to aim a bow, or fights with Doc, or secrets shared that Cuteguy wants to make sure Hotguy never has an incentive to spread. He could say something about how dangerous fighting alone is. That’s probably the more sensible thing to say, actually; Cuteguy knows exactly how dangerous fighting alone is.

What Cuteguy says is this:

“He makes me happy.”

There is a long not-quite silence as sirens and cicadas fill the summer air.

“Huh,” the woman says.

Cuteguy doesn’t say anything else.

“Well. I mean. I don’t really know how to save you from that, so I guess I’ll just leave you to it,” the woman says. “Consider if he’s really worth it.”

She leaves. Cuteguy stares after her a moment before shaking his head and going back to scanning the crowd for any known TCG elements.

“Birdie!” Hotguy crows, running over from the reporters. “We’re on the 5 PM news!”

“Really? An out-of-towner with questionable pyrotechnics made it?” 

“I got it worked out,” Hotguy says confidently. “But, uh, with that said, you look like you need some AC and a drink. I have so much Gatorade in my fridge that it isn’t even funny. All the labels are pulled off because it’s for that one football movie I did, right? And for some reason they didn’t want to give Gatorade the product placement, so they made all these sports drinks without—”

“Not in-costume, Hotguy,” Cuteguy says, but he doesn’t put any heat into it.

“—oh, you know no one’s listening, lighten up! Anyway, so the movie ended up somehow ordering far too many bottles, and you know what they say about underpaid actors and free food—or, I’m not sure it’s actually an expression, but let me tell you, I have never turned it down. And with the number of ele… electo-mites? I think? You know, all the sweat we’re sweaty about—come on Cuteguy, I don’t want you passing out on the pavement, I really didn’t mean to get caught out that long!” Hotguy says, grabbing Cuteguy’s hand to take him back to his apartment.

Miserable heat or not, Cuteguy can’t help but smile slightly.

“I don’t want to pass out either, that’s why I’m not running, Hotguy,” he says, and he lets himself be tugged along in that man’s wake once more.

[dontshootmespence]

IT'S GONNA BE MY YEAR

“It’s gonna be my year.”

The mantra echoed in Eddie’s head, repeating itself with ever-increasing volume to the point where he didn’t even hear the obnoxious clang of the bell that signaled the end of class. 

Shaking out the monotony, he got up from his desk and slowly ambled toward his locker. Going to class was a bore, but if this was what he had to do to get out of this hellhole he was going to make it happen. The hallways were abuzz with students talking about anything and everything. Nothing that actually mattered though. He caught snippets of conversations about weekend plans, the upcoming game, marching band, and some of his D&D friends talking about their most recent epic campaign. 

Once his friends passed him, he tuned out the rest of the student body. Either none of them mattered to him, they pissed him off, or they were unattainable to him. 

Before he could even register it, some asshole in a green and white letterman jacket jammed him in the shoulder, causing his books to fall to the floor. He bent down, grimacing all the while. He was used to it by now.

“Hey, douchebag!” Eddie heard someone scream from behind him. “Does that make you feel cool, Jason?”

Eddie turned his head around to see Y/N yelling at the head of the basketball team. She wasn’t in the “nerd group” so to speak, but she wasn’t exactly popular either. Thing was, she didn’t care. He loved that about her. 

Jason slinked away without saying anything, which made a smile curl at the edge of Eddie’s lips. “Go ahead, walk away like a little bitch!”

When she bent down to help him, he met her gaze and smiled. “Thanks for that. I always love watching you call out the assholes in this place.” He hadn’t really meant for that last part to come out. Eddie the Banished wasn’t necessarily hurting for female attention, but he knew the hierarchy in this place. Who was on his level and who wasn’t. Y/N definitely wasn’t. She was ridiculously smart and effortlessly cool without fitting in with any one group. 

“Jason’s a douche. Don’t pay any attention to him.”

“I try not to,” he laughed, a warmth spreading through him when she laughed too. She handed him his math book. He hated that thing. “I don’t know if I even want this back.”

“Not your best subject?” She asked. 

He stumbled over his words as he took her in. She was wearing acid wash, a checkered red and black sweater-shirt thing that dipped just a little too low, and a little silver chain necklace that highlighted her chest. “Definitely not.” It was rare that he felt ashamed, but in her presence, admitting he could barely pass remedial math, he did. “Thanks for your help.”

“No problem,” she said softly. When he began to walk away, she called for him. “Eddie, I could help you with math if you want.” Her body swayed, a soft smile highlighting her beautiful face. 

“You sure? You’re okay being seen with Eddie “The Freak” Munson?”

She jogged up to his side and they began walking toward the west hall. “People are assholes. I don’t think you’re a freak. I’d be happy to help. We’d just have to find a place to study because my parents don’t allow anyone over.”

“I mean, I live in a trailer with my uncle. Would your parents let you come over?”

She snickered. “No, but I also don’t really tell them anything. I just go where I want and they can’t really get mad because I get good grades and they have appearances they need to maintain. Grounding their only daughter doesn’t look good. Tonight?”

“Definitely, you know where the trailer park is?” He hated saying that out loud to her. 

“Yup. How about 8?”

“Sound good.”

                                                               -----

Later that night, Eddie tried desperately to get the guy stink and reefer out of the air. He knew this wasn’t a date or anything, but he still felt the need to impress her. Despite hearing her car roll up to the trailer park, he practically jumped out of his skin when she knocked on the trailer door.

The breath was knocked out of him when he opened the door. She’d changed since class let out, wearing a black skirt, red crop top, and little red heels. “Ready to get started?” She asked.

For nearly an hour and a half, she did her best to break down the mathematical concepts he was supposed to understand. She was more than patient and didn’t say a thing about the fact that his room was a complete mess and the whole trailer still smelled of dope. “Can we take a break?” He asked, rubbing his temple. “I’m starting to get it, but my head is killing me.”

Smiling, Y/N stood up and stretched, even more of her silken skin peeking out from under her shirt. “Sure, what do you usually do to relax?”

Laughing, he replied, “What I normally do is probably not something you’d be into. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

Her gaze softened in a way that made him warm all over. “I’m not as innocent as you think, Eddie Munson.”

Scrambling off his bed, he went to his drawer and pulled out a pre-rolled joint from earlier - one he’d imagined lighting up after she left. “You ever smoked one of these before?”

“A joint,” she said, reaching across to take the joint and the lighter from his hands, “Yes, I have.” As the end of the cigarette caught flame, she inhaled deeply, and little wisps of smoke danced around her lips. She held her breath, allowing the smoke to fill her lungs. “Not my first time.”

“Who would’ve thought,” Eddie replied with a smile. When she offered the joint to him, he took in between took fingers and slipped it into his mouth, relaxing a bit as he jumped off the bed and grabbed her a snack from the cabinet above their heads. “So, when did you start smoking?”

She hesitated for a moment, taking her turn with the joint before answering. “A couple years ago. As an only child from a well-to-do family, I apparently need to have the weight of the world on my shoulders. My dad wants me to become a doctor, so I study my ass off and they continue to acknowledge that I’m his pride and joy. It’s a lot to handle. And lately, I’ve decided not to apply to college as a pre-med major. I want to follow my own dreams, not his, you know?””

Nodding, he took the joint from her and took a puff. “What do you want to do with your life?” He asked genuinely. 

“I’ve always loved the idea of the ocean even though I’ve never even seen one. I want to study marine biology and learn about sea creatures and stuff.” He saw a weight lift from her shoulders - like she could finally be herself around someone. 

“That’s fucking awesome,” he replied, handing the joint back to her. “Why do your parents not want you to do that? You’d be a brainy scientist.”

“Because apparently nothing is respectable besides being a doctor or a lawyer.”

She spoke with such disdain that he felt bad for ever assuming that her life was an easy one just because she came from better circumstances than him. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “You’ll make an amazing marine biologist, and you’ll do it on your terms. Fuck everyone else’s expectations.”

Silence hung heavily like the smoke in the air. When she went to hand the joint back to him, he held up his hand. “Take another one. I think you might need it more right now.”

Her smile shined in the smoke-infused trailer. Spinning around, her arms outstretched, she pulled the cigarette to her lips and took a small hit before stopping herself abruptly. “Thanks, Eddie. I really needed this.”

“It’s the least I can do for the math help.”

She took another big puff of the joint and crossed the space between them, pausing in front of him. His eyes fell to her lips and the next thing he knew they were on him, the smoke from her mouth traveling to his own. Slowly, she slipped her tongue across his before pulling away.

Eddie stood almost frozen in place, still feeling the heat of her lips on his. “Y-you didn’t just do that because you’re in a like, vulnerable place right?”

She shook her head, reaching for the hem of her shirt and slipping it off to reveal that she wasn’t wearing a bra. 

“I...” Eddie’s mouth went dry.

As she stepped toward him, she reached out to grasp his hand. His fingertips were rough and semi-cracked from his near-constant guitar playing, but she didn’t flinch, placing his hand on her breast. 

Without hesitation, Eddie pulled her toward him and molded his other hand to her skin, pliant and warm. Roaming her body, he breathed. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” 

She bit her lip and cradled her head in the crook of his neck, filling herself with the scent of him - earthy wisps of dried flowers and a crackling fire with just a hint of something that was all his own. He drowned in the feeling of her warmth against him, a heavy breath escaping his mouth as she kissed the spot just below his ear.

“Want you,” she said softly, running her hands under his belt.

Eddie grasped a swath of her hair and pulled her mouth to his, their previous hesitancy and intent giving way to a frenetic intensity that neither had felt in quite some time. Clothing fell to the floor as they stumbled over the various items left there, landing with a thud against the wall right next to his guitar.

“Will you play for me someday?” Y/N asked, stepping out of her skirt. 

Eddie nodded, moaning when she bit his lower lip and ripped his belt from its loops. “Absolutely.” His light-hearted smile fell as she dropped to her knees before him.

Looping her fingers under his jeans and boxers, she replied. “I’ll hold you to it.” His cock sprang free, and she smiled against him, placing kisses from the base of his shaft to the tip of his cock.

He let out a shaky breath when she added her tongue to the mix, nearly losing his balance as his knees gave way slightly. She laughed against the curls at the base of his cock and placed her hands against the wall on either side of him. “I’ve got you,” she said melodically. 

When he looked down, he nearly lost it, her eyes glossed over in ecstasy, lips plump and dewy with spit. “Fuck,” he replied, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Need...” As she wrapped her lips around him, all thought was cut off and the rest of what he was going to say got caught in his throat.

Raw need permeated every nerve, his body on fire at the feel of her mouth, warm, wet, and swirling around his shaft. Slipping his hands into her hair, he guided her movements, showing her what he liked without saying a word. They fell into a rhythm of groans and thrusts, his cock randomly hitting the back of her throat, the feeling shooting straight to her pussy. When she moaned around him, he nearly came, pulling her off him just in time. “Wait,” he said, eyes hooded with need, “have to be inside you.”

Pulling her toward the bed, he knocked some of his knick-knacks over trying to grab for a condom. He quickly sheathed himself and fell back onto the bed, guiding himself into her with one smooth movement.

“Holy fuck,” they groaned simultaneously.

Pure, unadulterated lust overcame the lingering effects of the joint. Leaning forward, she grasped his lips in a kiss as her hips bucked up and down. "Fuck me, Munson."

Eddie slipped his hands into her hair, gently tugging at the scalp and smiling against her as she whimpered. She smelled like weed and sunshine, the scent filling his nose as he pulled her down onto him, filling her fully.

Without a word, he flipped her over and let instinct take over, grinding slowly into her sweet cunt until she was crying out, legs wrapped tightly around his waist. “Holy hell,” she breathed.

He pulled her in close, reveling in the feel of her sweat-slick skin against his. “I really hope you get out of this town, Y/N. You deserve it.”

“You do too, Eddie. What would you do if you got out of here?”

He pondered the question for a moment. "Honestly, I don't know. I've never believed I'd get out...until this year. I feel like I might actually graduate at 20."

"I'll help," she said sincerely, looking up at him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "I'll tutor you in math and once you graduate maybe we can shove off to one of the coasts. I can study marine life, you can play for me, and you'll figure out what you want to do with your life."

That sounded perfect, almost too good to be true. "I'd like that," he replied, kissing the top of her head. "It's finally gonna be my year."

[w8lkers]

★ | carl grimes headcanons

“what’s wrong? you’re doing that face again..”

“that’s just my face?”

carl is not a very expressive person. that’s not to say people were unable to read him, he actually becomes easier to read the more time you spend with him. when he’s upset, he looks more spaced out and he avoids eye contact. when he’s angry, it’s an easy spot. if there’s one thing carl was good at, it was giving people the stink eye. he couldn’t help it sometimes. most of the time, you have to coax his emotions out of him - he’s a hard nut to crack. talking about feelings with carl tends to feel more like an interrogation.

“i got you this flower..”

“aww.. thank you, this is my favourite flower.”

“no it’s not. your favourite flowers are daisies.”

carl loves gifting you small things that he finds. one time he gave you an acorn he picked up whilst on a supply run. when you point out the heart carved into it, he gets embarrassed and insists that it was there before he found it. he lied.

he also remembers almost everything you say to him. he’ll forget your eye colour, but he will remember the time you told him a story about your second grade teacher who accidentally broke a chair. carl prefers listening over talking generally, which makes him a very good listener. that doesn’t mean he remembers everything.

“are you a photographer? because i picture us together.”

“um…wouldn’t you be the photographer then?”

bad pickup lines. he found one of those joke books one time and boy did he read it. he even uses some highlighters to pick out and sort through ones that would make you laugh, ones that he thinks would actually work and ones that he found funny. when he first started using them, he was a bit awkward about it. sometimes he’d mess up the lines, or his delivery would be slightly awkward. practice makes perfect though and he gains more confidence eventually.

“do you think we’ll ever have kids..?”

“i think we’re both too tired for that question, carl...”

carl thinks about having a family all the time. he has his fears about pregnancy and childbirth after what he went through with his mom, but he can’t help but daydream about it. when he’s sleepy, he’s a big rambler. it’s the one time of the day where carl is the one who is talking the most and you hold it dear to your heart. sometimes he talks about what he did that day, but sometimes he talks about what’s been on his mind lately and he’ll take advice, or comfort from you. bedtime is usually the only time he’ll open up with ease. something about being relaxed in bed just before going to sleep with you there next to him is a perfect mix. on the odd occasion, carl gets into a mood if he’s sleepy enough, where he just wants to bombard you with affection and compliments. he’s a sweetiepie.

“no one’s even looking, c’mon just a small kiss..”

“carl, daryl is right there! are you crazy?”

carl. pda. Yep. he doesn’t care who is around. he wants to be as close as he can get to you at all times. i don’t mean that he’s trying to make out with you in front of everyone in the world, but he’ll always have an arm around you, or hold your hand and his favourite, around your waist. he likes being near you, it makes him feel safe. he feels safe knowing that you’re safe and close to him. of course with pda comes the occasional tease from michonne and daryl. it always embarrasses him, but not enough to stop him.

“you know, i used to be judith’s favourite.”

“see what happens when you skip out on too many tea parties?”

carl loves LOVES spending time with you and judith. it’s no secret to anyone that carl loves his baby sister. seeing you play pretend with judith makes him feel happy, like everything he’s been through was worth it, because now he gets to see this.

“carl, samantha doesn’t have a boy voice!”

“i’m not doing a girl voice.”

“carl.. do the girl voice please :( ...”

getting carl to join you and judith while you play with dolls together is an almost impossible task. except it’s not, you know he secretly wants to play. it’s a joint effort between you and judith, but you manage to convince him to join in every time.