#the serial killers wife

[abitofben]

I miss you🥺

[corpyburd]

Happy Birthday Benjamin O'Mahony 🎂😘

[harrywavycurly]

The concept of Eddie being a serial killer but being sweet to us just makes me imagine serial killer Eddie and a princess reader 😍 she’s so innocent but is married to a literal killer.

Hiii babes!!! Oh my gawwwddd staahhppp!!! This concept is *chefs kiss* because it’s just the irony of you being all sweet, innocent and probably a little too nice/trusting while being married to a serial killer who you have cutting the crust off your sandwiches and leaving you love notes on the coffee maker before he rushes off to “work”🫠 Just let me indulge myself for a moment okay?

Masterlist: here

TW: Eddie is a serial killer

“Honey where is the pot that I make soup in?” Eddie holds his finger up making the man tied to a chair in his own basement stop squirming for a moment. “I want to make soup for dinner is that okay?” Eddie quickly puts his phone on the work bench next to his duffel bag so he can put you on speaker, placing you on mute as he looks into the eyes of the man with a busted lip.

“Make a sound and I’ll make this the longest most painful night of your life understand?” The harshness of Eddie’s voice instantly makes the man just nod his head making Eddie smile as he unmutes you. “Soup sounds amazing Princess, the pot is on the bottom shelf in the cabinet to the left of the stove.” Eddie begins rolling up his sleeves as he hears you rustling around in the kitchen, a loud banging noise making him raise an eyebrow at the phone. “You okay baby?” He hears you let out a sigh letting him know the answer.

“I can’t find it.” Eddie’s eyes flicker from his phone to the man tied to the chair. “I really want soup.” He knows by the way he hears a small sniffle come from the phone that you’re about ten seconds away from having a breakdown in the middle of the kitchen.

“Listen to me baby,” he glances at his watch and then back at the man in the chair. “Give me ten minutes and I’ll be on my way home and I’ll make you some soup how does that sound?” He knows you’re contemplating the idea and he can’t help but smile as he pictures you sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor letting out a huff because you wanted to make the soup for him, he’s always thought you were so adorable when you were slightly frustrated.

“Fine but can I help?” Eddie quickly grabs the gloves out of his duffle and begins to put one of them on as he hears the sound of you plopping down onto the couch.

“I’ll never say no to your help sweetheart.” He watches the man carefully as he pulls out the next few items from his duffle, his eyes glaring into the man’s reminding him to stay silent. “Now I’ve got to go okay? I love you and I’ll see you soon.” You tell him you love him too before both of you hang up. “It’s your lucky day,” The man’s face goes white as he tries to wiggle out of the ropes that are tied around his ankles. “This is going to be quick but…probably not painless.” 🙃💖

[one-time-i-dreamt]

There was a book series about a guy who killed people because the ghost of his dead wife told him to.

[himbo-ford-pines]

Hello stanbel shippers I’m here to f e e d you. This is for a fic trade with @baddog-nobiting !! They ordered something pretty yummy and cute and uhhhhh yeah 🙈🥵👉👈 here u go babe

————————

“Mabel, the remote.” Stan grunted, pointing at it across the room while doinh his best not to move from his spot in the worn recliner.

Mabel got up from her spot and grabbed it. “You have to say please, Grunkle Stan, we talked about this.” She stood in front of the tv and crossed her arms.

Stanley scowled. “Mabel, it’s my house. My cable, that I pay for. Hand it over.” He held out his hand, looking at her with his infamous “no buts” expression.

She huffed and climbed into his lap, pouting at him and giving him her best doe-eyed baby girl look. “Well can I at least sit up here with you?” The gears were turning in her head. She would get a please out of him whether he liked it or not.

“Course sweetie.” He kissed her hair and plucked the remote out of her hand, noting the (slightly smudged and fingerprinted) rainbow nail polish on her fingers. “I like your nails. You gonna do mine?” He joked, pinching her side.

“When you ask me politely.” She crossed her arms defiantly.

He rolled his eyes and changed the channel, pulling his girl closer to his body. He kept a firm hand on her hip.

After a few minutes, he began tugging at her skirt, nuzzling and mouthing at her neck and jaw.

She laid her head back, baring her neck to him and humming happily. His hand started to snake into her star-printed panties and she grabbed his wrist. He looked at her in surprise. “What? Not in the mood tonight pumpkin?”

“You didn’t ask, Grunkle Stan.” She grinned innocently at him, showing off her rainbow braces that matched her rainbow nails.

“I never ask.” He teased. “I’m your Grunkle, I don’t have to.” He started to rub over her crotch. “Besides, you’re sitting here soaking wet, princess. Why don’t you let me fix it.” He started trying to get into her underwear again and she leaned down and bit him solidly. He pulled back, rubbing spit his forearm. “Ow, seriously? Fine, then you can just sit there.” He adjusted so his hard cock that sat tenting his boxers was pressing right down the middle of her ass and they sat in silence like that for a while, watching tv until Mabel fell asleep. When Stanley noticed, he picked her up and carried her to bed, muttering about having to take care of himself.

He was irritable the next day, scowling while he made breakfast. Stanford came in from a long night downstairs to refill his coffee. “Good morning.” He kissed the back of Stanley’s neck and wrapped an arm around him, resting his large hand on his brother’s chest. “What’s wrong? You’re burning your pancakes.”

Stan cursed and shut off the stove. “…. Mabel wouldn’t put out last night.”

“That’s what you’re pissed about? She has a right to say no.”

“It’s not that. She didn’t say no. She… said I had to ‘ask politely’. You know, say please.”

There was quiet for a moment before Ford laughed loudly and let go of him. “You know, I was gonna take care of that grouchy attitude but… I think I’m with our great niece on this one.” He smirked in satisfaction when Stan blinked.

“Wha- fine! I don’t need you, I have old righty here!” He held up his right hand. “And he never says no!” He huffed and started breakfast over, and Ford left the kitchen snickering.

Needless to say, Stan’s hand didn’t do the trick, it didn’t even touch the carnal need in his pants. He sighed and trudged into the living room after trying to finish in his bedroom for the last hour, pausing at the sight of the kids playing video games in their underwear. His cock twitched. Goddammit. “Okay, shoo. Get.” He started waving them out of the living room. “Go hit each other with sticks or whatever it is you do.” He plopped down in his chair, eyeing them both. “Why the hell are you naked anyway?”

“We’re not naked, and it’s like a bajillion degrees in here dude.” Dipper crossed his arms. “Can we please turn the AC up?”

“When you start-“

“Paying the electric bill, I know I know.” The tween rolled his eyes. “Come on Mabel, let’s go to the creek.” They ran upstairs to get their bathing suits on and Stan leaned back, reaching into his pants to try again to rub one out. By the time they came downstairs he was sweaty and irritated, watching tv with an insipid look on his face. Dipper yelled up to Mabel that he would race her outside and he bolted through the living room without a second glance at Stan.

“That’s not fair, I’m still tying my swimsuit!” She whined at her brother as she followed him down. Stan looked up, taking in the young girl in her fucking red and white polka dot bikini. God. Dammit. he grabbed her wrist as she ran by.

“Hey! I’m gonna lose!”

“Please.” He muttered through grit teeth.

Mabel blinked at him then squealed and grinned. “Say it again!”

“Oh come on!”

“Do iiiiiit.”

“…..” he sighed heavily. “Please Mabel; please, please, please.”

“Please… what?” She bit her lip, still grinning. She was eating this up.

“God- please get your hands dirty for me.” He covered his face with one hand, bright red.

“Okay! Since you asked sooo nicely.” She kissed his cheek and got on her knees on the carpet in front of him, before wrapping both her hands around his cock and squeezing. He moaned lowly, leaning his head back. “Fuck… thank you…”

“You’re learning so fast Grunkle Stan.” She kissed the tip of his cock before going down on him.

[bougiebutchbitch]

dunno how much this has been talked about but like.... that scene with Jimmy berating Curly at the party..... that's not the first time that's happened, right???? Gives a tiny bit more insight into the power dynamics of their fucked up codependent thing, and another reason for why Curly is just an Inactive Useless King when dealing with the fact that his best friend is a dangerous, violent, and unpredictable rapist....

[chao-mp3]

if you don't make 2p!nyo! Poland like Balladyna I don't want her

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"The Taste of You"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 3061

Tags: Fresh AU, dark rom-com, dark!Bucky, pre-serum Steve, kidnapping, cannibalism, yandere/basement wife, meet cute-ish, gay sex n' stuff, ignoring of sexual boundaries, dub-con bordering on non-con, (mostly humorous) gore, (mostly humorous) body horror

Summary: Steve is so tired of the meat market that modern dating has become. Just when he's deleted all the apps and given up on ever finding Mr. Right, he meets the perfect guy at the grocery store.

A dark, cute, funny, fucked up, and very tasty love story.

It's a Fresh AU. "If you can't handle the cannibalism, get out of the kitchen" ... or something like that

12. Tenderize

Wait! I haven't read a previous chapter. Story Masterlist

Steve:

Bucky spends the afternoon doing what he calls "meat prep." Steve tries not to look, he really does, but the House Hunters show he puts on the television doesn’t really hold a candle to the morbidly fascinating process that is Bucky, "prepping" Melissa’s leg.

Bucky sends it up in the dumbwaiter after taking Erica her lunch. He washes his hands meticulously at the sink and dries them, picks the leg up and plops it down onto the counter with a flourish. It’s the lower leg. Left or right, Steve doesn’t take note, he just sees the painted toenails, the tattoo on the ankle that he can’t quite make out. He sits on the couch and peers over the back of it, watching Bucky work.

Bucky moves with a sort of glee, almost like a dance, as if he can hear music that Steve can’t. He looks very in his element, and very handsome and capable as he works. Steve would probably spend more time admiring that, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s also watching the man slicing pieces off of a woman’s calf.

“I usually take the non-dominant forearm, first,” Bucky tells him as he’s working. “This was Melissa’s … third cut? Anyway, it’s all I’ve got left of her now. I defrosted it a couple days ago. There’s this Italian guy who always orders shank, specifically.”

Jesus fuck, Steve thinks. "Shank." He actually calls it that.

“I send it with everything he needs for my grandma’s osso buco,” Bucky declares. “Herbs, wine, specifically-curated olive oil. All that and like, some hair or some panties or something. Because, you know: perverts.” He rolls his eyes and Steve has to suppress a horrible urge to laugh. Bucky looks up and catches sight of his twitching mouth, and he smiles back. “Yeah, I know. Good ol’ Gammy made hers with beef. But trust me,” he points his knife at Steve. “This way is so much better.”

Steve chews his lip. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“You-don’t-have-to,” Bucky sing-songs from the kitchen, in his element, happy. “You’re welcome to try any cut you want, anytime.” He produces a meat tenderizer and starts pounding away at the slices of meat he’s produced.

Steve winces as the hammer comes down hard, and then lighter in a series of almost loving taps. Christ. “I’ll pass for now,” he murmurs, unsure if Bucky’s heard him or not. He continues to watch the macabre display for a bit, but goes back to the television once Bucky is vacuum packing the meat with the herbs and spices.

He's very surprised (and honestly a bit grossed out with himself) that he doesn’t get more upset from watching the actual process. He doesn’t even get nauseous. Oh, it’s weird for sure. Downright shocking when he very first sees the leg lifted out of the dumbwaiter and plopped onto the countertop, the pedicured foot still attached, Bucky slicing away and hacking through bone. But Steve doesn’t retch and get sick like he thought he would. His stomach doesn’t once roil or threaten to turn. It’s like he’s already been desensitized to it, just from the sheer amount of stuff he’s imagined, from what Bucky’s told him and shown him so far, eating kidneys and ‘other-bacon’ right in front of him.

He thinks of Clint and watching Midsommar with him, asking him how he could stomach all the gore.

“It’s not real. Just movie magic, dude.”

His own lack of a physical reaction to this actual gore is what disturbs Steve the most, so he forces himself to sit back on the couch facing the tv, and actually pay attention to the show. The young married couple is searching for a house in Toronto. They need to upsize because they’re having another baby. Steve watches the show. He hopes they pick the middle house. They wind up picking the last one.

Absently, Steve wonders what osso buco is.

Bucky:

“What’s osso buco?” Steve asks.

Bucky’s just finished with his meat prep and woken Steve up from his nap on the couch. He’d been so sweet lying there, looking so peaceful. Bucky hadn’t wanted to wake him, but it's getting late, and he’s already started chilling the wines for dinner.

He smiles at Steve and sits at the opposite end of the couch from him, tangling their feet together in the middle. He describes what osso buco is. “I was surprised you watched,” he tells him gently, honestly. He rubs his socked foot against Steve’s bare one. “What’d you think?”

Steve is quiet for a long time. When he finally answers, he simply says, “You were right. We do look a lot like beef.”

Bucky busts out in a laugh and leans forward to slap him on the thigh. “Told ya!” He gets up to go and finish the final elements of their dinner. “You ready for date night, my dear?”

Steve watches him from over the back of the couch again. “Mmhm. What’re we doing?”

Bucky beams at him. He’s been looking forward to this all day. “First, we have our appetizer: La Pissaladiere.” He’s begun speaking in a very fake French accent, and Steve scoffs.

"That's terrible."

"Yeah it was kinda terrible, huh?”

Steve laughs, and then Bucky laughs with him, and for a second it feels just like one of those genuine, laughing stupidly together moments that they used to have. And it makes Bucky’s heart squeeze painfully as the brief moment fizzles out. He can see it in Steve’s face too, how it hurts.

Bucky looks down, clearing his throat. “Um, yeah. And then we’ve got this salad, pretty simple. And the main, which is …” he does a drumroll on the countertop. “Osso Buco!” He does that one in an equally terrible Italian accent, but Steve is not amused.

"What?! No! No fucking way!" he cries, tiny and furious and kneeling up higher on the couch cushions. Bucky marvels at him and has such a strong urge to tackle him into submission and sex right then and there, that he has to look away. “Bucky,” Steve growls. “You promised you wouldn’t make me—”

“Calm down, babe,” Bucky hurries, not wanting Steve’s temper to ruin their date night. “It’s the two version meal again, don’t worry. Yours is 'vegetarian'.”

Steve deflates some, but Bucky can see that he’s still wary. “Prove it,” he says, and Bucky sighs dramatically to cover up the disappointment he feels at Steve not being able to trust him yet.

“Okay, come here.” He unlocks Steve’s tether at the couch and brings him over to the island countertop, locks him there. “Look.” He points to each crockpot that’s been braising the meat for hours. He’d put tape on each one to label them. The right one reads “Vegetarian,” the left one reads “Melissa.”

He's pleased as punch when Steve rolls his eyes and even laughs a little. “This is so crazy,” he mutters. “Why can’t you just enjoy cow like everybody else?” He’s asking in a good enough natured way, so Bucky indulges him,

“I told you, Honey. We’re just better.”

“Yeah yeah, I remember. ‘Tastes like roadkill in comparison’.”

“It does,” Bucky insists, though he can see Steve rolling his eyes. “Only one way to prove me wrong,” he challenges, leaning over the counter with a smirk. Steve scowls and says no way, and Bucky backs off. Instead, he tries to explain it to him, musing, “And you know, it also just makes the whole meal more of a … a spiritual experience.” He meets Steve’s eyes, and they’re riveted on him. Bucky licks his bottom lip slowly, eager to explain, to make Steve see. “When it’s not just an animal? When it's us? Well then you’re not just eating. It's so much more than that. You’re taking someone else inside yourself. You’re consuming them. It’s …” he inhales deeply. “It’s heady. It’s meaningful.” He sees Steve gulp and knows he’s playing with fire here, but he pushes onwards, taking Steve’s small hand from over the counter and covering it with his own. “No matter what they did in their life, they’re still a person. And a person matters. In a way an animal never can.” He watches the movement of Steve's closed lips, the nervous rise and fall of his Adam's apple. Bucky shivers and breathes, “It’s a very powerful thing.”

Steve pulls his hand back slowly, never looking away from Bucky’s eyes. Bucky can’t tell if he’s terrified, or fascinated, or both. He’d take both.

He breaks the tension of the moment by pulling back and standing up straight again, giving Steve some breathing room after that—admittedly impassioned—speech. “And then of course, we have Dessert: le tarte tatìn—with fennel ice cream, though I think the French would arrest me for serving it à la mode.” He moves away to go check on the crock pots and then the oven where the Pissaladiere is baking. “Almost ready,” he says brightly, clapping his hands together. “Let’s go set the table!”

Steve:

After dinner, they decide to finish watching The Hunger Games. They’ve only got the last movie to go. Bucky puts it on and they snuggle up close together on the couch. Steve is left untethered to any cord or chain, and he spends at least the first ten minutes of the movie eyeing up every solid object in the near vicinity, imagining what would or would not be suitable for bludgeoning Bucky with.

It’s a dreadful train of thought, and when Bucky pulls him in cozily against his side and kisses his hair and whispers that he’s so happy to have Steve back with him like this, Steve almost feels guilty for his scheming. He knows he has to stay strong, though. He just sat through an entire—admittedly delicious—dinner service where he watched the other man consume wine and salad and human shank.

Excuse him, he means osso buco.

Steve’s "vegetarian" version had been delicious. Bucky is an excellent cook and Steve really, really wishes he was just a normal boyfriend. Because cute little cooking-at-home-together dinner dates are so much fun with him. If only, if only. It’s so horrible that it’s laughable, and that’s what Steve’s found himself doing more often than not. Laughing about the absurdity of the situation in which he finds himself. He tells himself that it’s okay, that it’s a coping mechanism, and not him becoming used to anything. God forbid.

In the end, Steve concedes that Bucky was right: Peeta is a much better match for Katniss. “But only due to their circumstances,” he argues, as they’re eating their dessert on the couch, the credits and soundtrack music still rolling up the tv screen. “I mean, they’re just bonded through PTSD, basically. If things had gone differently, Gale would’ve been the one to know her better, deeper.” He shrugs. “Plus, he’s cuter. And taller.”

Bucky counters by pointing out that it’s always about your circumstances. “You can’t play that ‘what if’ game,” he says. “We live through what we live through. And it changes us, and that’s okay. Life doesn't always turn out the way we planned. Happiness comes from acceptance of that.”

He’s staring straight at Steve as he says it, and Steve finds his next mouthful of tarte tatìn going down with some difficulty. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I guess so." Does Bucky really expect him to accept all of this? He shifts uncomfortably and holds out his bowl. "I ah, I think I'm done with mine.”

Bucky takes it with gentle fingers and a soft expression. “I hope you liked everything,” he says. “I wanted to make this special for you. A real treat.”

"Oh." Steve flounders with his heart in his throat. “It ... it was.”

“Mm.” Bucky sets both of their bowls on the coffee table, then he comes back and crawls over to Steve on the couch, crowding him back, and back, until Steve is lying down and Bucky's over top of him. Steve shudders, parts his lips to say something in protest, but Bucky kisses him before he can.

It’s not just the kiss, is the thing. It’s the way that Bucky’s elbows and forearms box him in. It’s the way his hands slide up Steve’s shoulders, how they trace his neck and his jaw. It’s how his full body lies atop him, how his weight pushes down, sinking Steve into the cushions as good as any restraint could. It’s how he fits so perfectly between Steve’s legs, and how his hips roll, slow and purposeful, while he kisses him.

Without meaning to, Steve moans, and the moment his hands come up to hold Bucky’s shoulders, he knows it’s game over: He's lost, tonight.

He still protests the loss, of course. Tries to stop it on the couch, and then in the hallway, and in the bedroom. But Bucky hushes him endlessly, kisses away his whimpers and licks his moans into existence, taking them as permission, as Steve conceding his loss.

Steve really, really doesn’t mean it that way, but there’s only so much he can do, and so much he can take. He’s been alone and scared for weeks now, and every time Bucky touches him it’s like a dagger in his guts, a sharp and painful reminder of how they used to make love before all this happened. How good Bucky used to make him feel, how well he’d played his body and taken him apart and made him come and cry. Steve wants that again, god damn him. He wants to feel good again.

So, somewhere in-between the leather couch and the luxury bedcovers, he really does give in.

The second he stops squirming and starts really kissing back—not just accepting it, but participating—Bucky moans louder. He bites Steve’s lip and says, “Yes, baby. Come on. Let me make you feel good.”

And isn’t that just what Steve wants? It’s certainly the best he can have, in his present situation. He shivers full-body as Bucky undresses them both, then lies out over him, warm and naked. They’re both hard, and Steve pants when Bucky slots one of those thick, firm thighs between his legs and pushes, rocks his hips so his own cock drags against Steve’s belly. “Fuck, Honey,” he breathes, kissing him. Hot kiss after hot kiss, that dominating tongue rolling in and keeping Steve’s thoughts short and disjointed.

Steve keens sharply at a particularly good roll of their hips. “Oh, oh, yeah …”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, nipping his chin. “What do you want, baby? You want my fingers? Want Daddy to make love to you?”

Steve groans and turns his cheek into the pillow to escape it, the kisses and the words, both. Bucky just hums knowingly and takes up residence at his throat instead, sucking and licking and biting at the skin. Even after all that’s happened between them, he’s still remembered that one slip Steve had, when he'd let the word tumble out of his mouth: Daddy. He squeezes his eyes shut and writhes against Bucky’s larger body, dick blurting out precum at the way Bucky touches him and treats him and talks to him. He’s so fucking perfect. ... Well, except for the whole cannibalism th—

Bucky wraps a hand around his cock and starts stroking just in time to put an end to that train of thought, and Steve gasps, his belly tightening in such sharp pleasure that he thinks he might come. “Sl-slow down!” he gasps, unable to stop his hips from jolting up. “I-I can’t. Wait, wait ..."

Bucky listens, cooing apologies and praise at him and petting his dick back down against his belly. His hand is slick. Where the hell did he get lube? Steve stops wondering when the hand ventures further back. “Tilt up for me, Honey,” Bucky murmurs, kissing his collarbone, humming an approving sound when Steve listens. “There you go. Good boy.”

Steve squirms harder at his embarrassing reaction to being praised. But it’s something he’s always gone for, and hearing Bucky say it in his gorgeous voice, from his gorgeous lips, makes it hit even harder. He feels a finger go in, and Bucky finds it easily, just like he always had before. He strokes over his prostate, never too rough, always gentle, letting the pleasure and pressure build inside Steve at his own pace.

“Shit,” Steve curses, gritting his teeth and rolling his hips against Bucky’s hand. Another finger joins the first, so easy, and Steve humps down harder against it. “Bucky,” he chokes, gasping. “W-wait, wait.”

“So sensitive, baby.” Bucky eases his fingers out and kisses at the corner of Steve's mouth, speaking smugly against his lips. “So wound up. What’s the matter, Stevie? Haven’t you been getting laid?” Steve grits his teeth and snarls a half-hearted “fuck you” at him, but it only makes Bucky laugh and slick his cock up and fit the head right to Steve’s entrance. “Don’t worry,” he whispers, propping himself up with his other arm, pushing in just a little, so slow, letting Steve’s body suck him in. “I’ll be gentle.”

He is. He pushes in so incredibly slow. So slow that it becomes torturous, makes Steve wrap his arms around his shoulders and hook his feet over the backs of his thighs, pulling him in closer. “Fuck,” he exhales against Bucky’s ear, dragging his lips over it. “Oh, Bucky.”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck me.”

Bucky starts rolling his hips, rocking into him and pulling out just a little, just enough. It’s like he doesn’t want to get too far away from Steve, doesn’t want to separate from him long enough to make their sex anything but close and deep. Steve cries out and moans and makes all sorts of shameful noises, because it feels amazing. Grinding down against Bucky and slipping a hand between their bodies to stroke himself off, it feels so goddamn good that he cries.

He tells himself that they’re tears of pleasure, of ecstasy. But that’s not entirely true. Bucky seems to know that by the tender way he kisses them off his cheeks, by the way he whispers "it’s okay, it’s okay" to him as he fucks him, and by the way he holds him so tightly once it’s over and they’ve both spent all over Steve’s stomach. “Shh sh sh,” he calms him, forcing him still once he starts to panic and cry out and pull. “Shhh. It’s okay.” He kisses his hair and holds fast until Steve collapses, giving up the struggle, exhausted. Steve cries sluggish tears, and Bucky hugs him and says quiet things into his hair for a long time. One of them might be "I love you," but Steve isn’t sure.

Story Masterlist

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[druidshollow]

when i started making edgy ocs again i started living again tbh

[unamusedyams]

taking my horrible freak ocs and putting them in some situation

[manderleyfire]

– But you did it for me. – I did it for us. No more secrets. No more lies.

Annabel Scholey and Jack Farthing in The Serial Killer's Wife (2024), dir. Laura Way

[abitofben]

Happy Birthday Benjamin O'Mahony

[nixie-deangel]

@weepinggoateesoul who asked for the following:

🍼 non navy bradley/fighter pilot jake as parents - hangster

“You sure you wanna do that?” Jake asks, again, but he needs to be sure. Needs to know this is what Bradley wants and not what he thinks Jake wants. The man just barely turns to grin at him before going back to folding Emmy’s never ending supply of clothes as he answers, “I’m sure. June is sure. Emmy is all of three years old, but if she really understood what it meant, I’m confident that she would also be sure about us moving to San Diego to be closer to you when you’re in Lemoore.”

🍷 Jake's family causes the hangster break up

Bradley waits till Nat runs interference with Javy before he attempts to approach Jake. “Hey, hey,” he calls awkwardly before clearing his throat. “Bradshaw,” Jake calls, cold and even as he turns attention back to the dart board.  “I, I wanted to apologize,” he says quietly as takes half a step closer. “About what I said about you leading people to their deaths.” He pauses and takes a breath and pushes on. “I didn’t mean it. Was just being an asshole. I know when things are truly on the line, you’ll do right by your team.”

💐 serial killer Jake - hangster

Bradley dreads making the call to the collector, once again saying he’d be a few days late on his payment but he knows he needs to. That he has too. Lifting his hands up, he rubs at his shoulders as he stares down, gaze hard, at his prepaid.

🥰 Kinktober - Virgin Bradley

“Honey,” Jake calls quietly as he reaches his hand out, gently grasping Bradley’s chin to make him look at him as he continues on, “We ain’t gotta do a thing you don’t wanna, darlin’,” he promises. “You wanna cuddle all night, fine be me. Want me to take you out like the lady you are and sweep you off your feet, then that’s what we’ll do. I’ll prove how much I want you. More than just sex, honey. I don’t mind pumpin’ the breaks till you’re comfortable.”

Make Nixie Write!

[harrywavycurly]

Summary: Eddie Munson is a serial killer, but to you he’s just your ultra loving husband that works odd hours with his uncle Wayne at the plant in town. You have no idea that half the time you call him and he’s “busy” it’s because he’s duct taping someone’s wrists and ankles together or cleaning up after himself when he’s done…working. Eddie makes sure that you know how loved you are and tries his absolute best to keep you as far away from his business as possible even though sometimes it’s harder than he’d like it to be. At the end of the day you are the most important thing in his life and he’ll do just about anything to keep you happy. This is a series all about the ups and downs of being married to a serial killer.🖤

Story Type: Serial!Killer Eddie x Spoiled Reader

Status: Ongoing

Tag List: Open

A/N: Writing about Eddie being a serial killer wasn’t on my 2023 bingo card but here we are. I also know killing is horrible and horrendous I don’t condone it at all this is all just fantasy and based on watching Dexter 73874 times so if you’re not into it that’s fine I won’t be offended please do what’s best for you!🖤

TW: Knives, killing, torture-ish things, Eddie is a serial killer

Conversations: Here

Texts: Here

Instagrams: Here

Everything Else: Here

*This story is in no particular order so you can read it however you like but you’ll find everything down below*

Part 1: Bedtime

Part 2: Soup

Part 3: Honey Are You Home?

Part 4: Thanksgiving

Part 5: Nick

Part 6: Puzzles

Part 7: How Long?

Part 8: Family Video

Part 9: Meeting

Part 10: Schedules

Part 11: Girl’s Night

Part 12: Pampering

Part 13: No Choice

Part 14: Retired (this is set way in the future)

Part 15: As Planned

Part 16: Reminder

Part 17: She Knows (follow up to part 14)

[justablah56]

Ik i yap about house md in the discord a lot. But i need you to understand that Dr James Wilson has

1. been divorced 3 times

2. lived in his dead girlfriends apartment for a over a year after she died

3. his gf and house had to make a custody agreement about who gets to keep him on what days

4. Has had multiple strangers think hes gay because of hes weird relationship with house (house plays along and acts gayer because wilson hates it)

And last but not least

5. Has canonically been in a fairy themed porno that everyone in the hospital knows about and has seen, who will quote it to him.

And he is considered one of the most normal people in the show.

that's crazy , no wonder he's your little meow meow . also no wonder you are brainrotting about this show cbsnnxnx I think you've mentioned 1, 3, and 4 in the discord but the fact that he was in a fairy themed porno that all his coworkers know about and quote to him is fucking insane what

[jedaos]

thinking about happiness and about how much of that show is about love. and how a majority of the characters are moved and fueled by it.

yihyun loves his wife enough to protect her home even through what could be his dying breath. seungyoung thinks about his wife day and night. he's infected and on death's door, but all he can think about is her; what will his family do without him? taeseok is looking for a cure desperately—even if it means using an apartment complex as a petri dish—no means are too harsh if he can save the many at the cost of the few. but deep down, he just wants to see his wife awake. he wants to see her smile. jungkook wants to see his wife's smile too. he's stuck here, away from his family, amongst mostly strangers. he knows he's shirking away from his duty, but he can't help it; he's a husband before he's a cop. he just wants to go home—what kind of man would he be if he left his wife all alone? and hakje—he knows he doesn't treat his wife the best, not many men of his generation do—but that doesn't mean he doesn't love her. he's lived with her for decades now, what life will he have without her? better to die together, infected or not.

saebom loves little seoyoon. she hasn't been taking care of her for long, but how could you not love such a sweet little child? she's a little sliver of the future: sickly but strong, and the least she can do is get her safely to her mother. neighbors need to look out for each other.

soomin loves his sister, even though he hates to admit it. they fight too much nowadays, about money and rent and family. it's easy to get mad at her when they end up quarantined together. but it's easy to live, too, thinking about her. a thought cuts through the bloodlust; if he survives this—no, he will survive it— he'll find the time to finally be a better brother.