#i worked so damn hard to get to this point

[blosmie]

Passenger Princess Privilege — Daniela.avanzini

Synopsis ::: Daniela Avanzini has her own car, but ever since you started dating, she refuses to drive—preferring to sit pretty and make you do all the work. One late-night parking lot stop turns her teasing into a filthy, public-risk ride that leaves your seat a mess.

Paring ::: g!p reader x Daniela Avanzini

Warning ::: ( smut ). This contains 18+, public risk/exhibitionism, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, grinding/riding, cum leakage, teasing, slight power play. Don't be silly wrap that willy.

A/n - From this request ( here ) || Masterlist.

It had been twenty minutes of slow torture.

Daniela had spent the entire drive acting like she owned the damn passenger seat — legs spread just enough that you could see her skirt ride up with every bump in the road, nails lazily tracing patterns on her own thigh, sometimes glancing at you with a smirk like she knew exactly how hard you were trying to keep your eyes forward.

“You’re driving too slow,” she’d teased at one point, leaning her elbow on the window so her shirt stretched tighter over her chest. “Trying to get us caught out here?”

Now, the car was parked at the far edge of an empty strip mall lot. Well… not completely empty — a gas station sat across the street, the occasional car pulling in. Close enough that someone could notice if they bothered to look.

Daniela didn’t seem to care.

She slid across the console without hesitation, climbing into your lap with the confidence of someone who’d already decided exactly how the night would go. Her skirt rode up high instantly, warm thighs locking around your hips as she settled over you.

“Much better view from here,” she murmured, smirking down at you.

You barely had time to respond before she kissed you — deep, wet, claiming — her tongue sliding against yours while her hips rolled slowly against your hard-on. She broke away just long enough to whisper against your mouth, “You’ve been hard since we left my place, haven’t you?”

You didn’t answer. She didn’t need you to.

Her hand was already working your zipper down, freeing you, the tip flushed and dripping pre. “God, you’re leaking for me,” she said with a grin that made your pulse jump. “Bet I could get you to cum without even taking my panties off.”

But she wasn’t that merciful. She hooked her panties to the side, shifting until the heat of her slit was pressed against your length, slick already coating you. Then, with a slow, almost taunting roll of her hips, she sank down.

Both of you groaned at once — you at the tight, wet squeeze of her around you, her at the way you filled her so quickly and so deep in the cramped space.

“Shit—” she breathed, bracing her hands on your shoulders. “I can feel you in my stomach like this.”

Her movements started slow, deliberate, her skirt bouncing slightly with each lift and drop. The slap of her ass against your thighs mixed with the faint creak of the seat, the fog on the windows building fast.

You gripped her hips, guiding her harder, faster, until she was riding you with obscene wet sounds filling the car, each thrust pushing her moans higher. Outside, a pair of headlights swept past the lot — and she didn’t even pause. If anything, she bounced harder, a wicked grin curling her lips.

“You like the idea of someone seeing us?” she panted, leaning close to lick at your jaw. “Bet you’d keep fucking me even if they did.”

Her pace turned frantic, your hips meeting hers in sharp, desperate thrusts. She came first, gasping your name with a high, broken moan, her walls clenching around you so hard it dragged your own orgasm out of you. You spilled into her with a groan, the heat of it making her whimper and grind through every aftershock.

When she finally stilled, she stayed in your lap, still full of you, your cum seeping out onto your thighs and the car seat. She kissed you lazily, pulling back just enough to whisper with a smirk, “Hope you like cleaning leather… passenger princess privilege.”

@blosmie

[koraning]

It wasn't unusual for Simon to have stressful weeks at work. You were used to it.

Stupid missions, too much time away from you, dumb recruits, and paperwork that seemed endless. Sometimes, he wondered why he chose this job.

But you, his sweet wife, were the perfect outlet for all that frustration.

What was better than getting pussydrunk?When he arrived like this, the first thing he did was bury his head between your legs, just like that.

“I need this,” he would murmur, starting to lap at you over your panties, without any shame. Giving you those puppy eyes that melted you every time.

And could you deny him?

Before you knew it, he had already taken off your panties, his tongue and mouth working tirelessly on you. Every time he tasted your sweetness, oh, he was in heaven.

“Best cunt I’ve ever had, luv…” He says against you, sucking hard on your clit, just to feel you clench.

“Do you like it?” You tease, pulling his hair and pushing his face even closer to you. And he gladly accepts.

“Fuckin' perfect... 'm going to eat you out all damn night...” He rasps, his eyes never leaving yours, and you could see the hint of a sly smile on his face. By the look of his face, you just know that he wasn't bluffing.

And when he heard you panting his name, he worked twice as hard. He was so interested in de-stressing that he didn't realize he was humping the surface he was on. The poor man was hard as a rock.

“What happened, recruits?” You managed to say, rubbing your cunt on his face almost desperately, already feeling that heat building in the pit of your stomach.

And Simon went nuts seeing you like that, all wrecked for him. Man's whipped.

“That fucker didn't even know how to hold a gun.” He grunted, the vibration of his voice going straight to your center, making you squirm.

You were listening very little at this point, your eyes rolling back as you squirmed in his arms. Still, you nodded your head to whatever he was saying.

And when you finally came in his mouth, he swallowed every drop, and he could swear he came with you easily. He literally drank your juices as if he were a thirsty man.

“Thank you... Thank you...” He praises you, kissing your folds and your entrance, still holding your thighs open.

“Can I have one more? Please, I know you can do it, luv. Just one more...” He practically begs, already licking you again. After all, it wasn't as if you had a choice. You were so put in his hands.

But with how lovely you were, he couldn't guarantee that it would actually be just one more. As a good partner, you have to help him relax, right?

[lostintransist]

Butterflies in Blood

AO3 | Part 1

15 Months Prior

“What the fuck is wrong with you two?” Price roared at you and Maria like a bear.

He had the two of you standing in parade rest in his office as he paced back and forth. The actions reminded you of a wolf you had seen once, kept as entertainment and not treated like an animal with needs.

It hadn’t been your fault this time. Really, it hadn’t.

You had it handled, but Maria had walked in on an incident—a captain from a different company had been pushing his advances on you—and when she swung on him…well, the opportunity to do something about all the vile back and forth hate you got from the men on base was one you couldn’t pass up.

“Captain Price, Maria is not at fault here,” you bite your tongue as flame blue eyes scorch across your skin.

“Sergeant,” his words crunched, like peppercorns between mortar and pestle, “Your speaking privileges are revoked.”

The eye twitch was beyond your control. If the military didn’t make it so damn hard to get access to a surgery you needed without committing to another few years of service, you would have put your walking papers in that instant. The last doctor you had talked to about it had cautioned against it.

“It’s not a medically necessary procedure, and you’re climbing the ranks. The recovery time on a surgery like this is a bare minimum of six months, and to get you back into the shape you are now? I would estimate another year.” The tip of your boot, ticking back and forth from where it rested on your knee, took your focus.

“Doc, I’m gonna level with you.” Your voice broke on the last word. It had a tendency to do that at the worst times. “It’s more of a quality of life thing for me. I didn’t join up with any great ambitions of ‘saving the world’ or rising through the ranks. The military would take me when my family didn’t want me, and the insurance coverage meant I could make the adjustments I need to live comfortably in this body. All I’m asking for is for you to help me by getting the paperwork started, and let me worry about all the other logistics.”

He had looked at you for a long time, a bit of a staring contest, while the doctor thought it over. With a sigh, he turned to his computer.

“Are your other medications still working for you?”

“Yeah, bit of a transition getting used to them, but it’s helping. A lot.” You shift in your chair, setting both feet on the floor. He didn’t laugh at your attempt at a joke.

“Good, how is your sleep? Any changes to your sex drive?” The keys clacked away under the doctor’s fingers as he worked on his notes.

“Sleep has gotten better, oddly enough; sex drive is off the charts, so that’s annoying.” You rub the back of your neck, uncomfortable thinking about how you had to touch yourself nearly every night to keep from waking up in a cold sweat of need.

Doc laughed loud, “I’ve heard that can happen on this medication. I’ll work on getting the paperwork entered for surgery. We’ll need to keep meeting regularly to keep the order valid until you are ready.”

Maria’s shouting brought you out of the memories.

“—ot is out here spewing hate, but the second they got them behind a closed door, the fucker would have gone as far as rape—”

“That is enough, Sergeant!” Price broke in with a snap.

Maria, you had learned had what she called an emotional float gauge. She could ride out most things, taking revenge in the dark on people who wronged her, and more recently, you, but if the levels got too high? Hell broke loose. All the trapped rage of growing up under a matriarchal society that had been collared by men would come spewing out of her.

“It’s not! You let this happen, and I should have done more than break his jaw.”

“Fifty laps of the base for both of you. By sundown. And sergeant,” he pointed specifically at you, “Your speaking privileges remain revoked.”

You and Maria finished those fifty laps, barely. You hadn’t been run that hard since basic, vomiting out the stomach acid that had been nipping at the budding ulcer you had yet to get medication for. You had gotten stress ulcers since you were twelve. Puberty fucked you.

“What…an..asshole,” Maria panted out between each word from where she lay on the ground, arms and legs akimbo.

Feed spread wide, hands bracing them for support, you heaved in breaths, you replied.

“The..best…usually..are.”

“Second sergeant, one more lap for speaking!” Gaz’s voice rang out over the courtyard.

Sergeants MacTavish and Garrick had been promoted to first sergeants with the arrival of you and Maria. That distinction between first and second was enough that you had to follow the command. Sucking a breath in through your teeth, you force your legs to move again.

Maria is peeling herself off the ground to fight with Gaz about the order when you round the building. The space between steps is filled with static. Fuck. At some point, you run into something that gives. Your vision is getting weak, but you have to keep going, so you push around whatever barrier appears in your path and keep plodding past. The sounds that follow you don’t make sense. Of all the languages you are able to dabble in, none of what reaches you seems like words.

A hand on your arm wrenches you to a stop. Gaz appears when you blink to focus. Concern pinches his eyebrows. One more blink. Then your body violently rejects the overwork, and you are twisting and vomiting blood onto your boots even as the ground rises to meet you.

When you woke, it was to the bounce of a knee. Eyes adjusting to seeing again, you look around and find Roach at your side. You were in medical, an IV in your hand and a bag of fluid hanging to drip into your line.

He stared at your knee, arms folded, knee bouncing, and hair disheveled like he had run his hands through it too many times.

“I was there when you went down. Vomiting blood was a great touch to send my heart into a panic. Got you to medical with Gaz and went to find Price. He told me what happened—with the other captain and afterward. He didn’t appreciate me yelling at him that if he wanted to kill one of his own soldiers, next time to use a bullet instead of acting like a coward.”

You opened your mouth to reply. Roach cut of your words before they began with the slash of a hand.

“I am under orders to help maintain your silence. I told him if this went on longer than five days, he would have a mutiny on his hands.” His eyes cut to you, startling with the intensity behind his brown irises. “I know why he and the other guys are weird about you. Frankly, I don’t give a rat’s ass what medication you need to get through the day or the haircuts that make you feel real. You’re a good soldier, and I’d like to think we’re becoming friends. That’s enough for me.”

Roach held vigil as tears streaked down your face. Acceptance, true acceptance, you had found to be rarer than hen’s teeth.

Part 6

Masterlist | Taglist

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[satrs]

you might have already done this, but the LIs opinions on cockwarmingggg???? ⭐️

A/N: ohhh ⭐️ nonnie now lemme tell uuu!!!!! Finished this while being a lil high so u gotta take my grammar errors hihi^^

XAVIER

Does it to edge himself. Some sort of sick control, discipline, even.

He likes the fact that he doesn't have to put much work into it, just lay there and maybe fondle your ass or give you some sloopy kisses (Definatly falls asleep quick everytime you do it)

And when he does fall asleep he's still hard inside you. His cheeky ahh is probably dreams about you breaking and riding him anyway.

Also lovesss to watch your face contort, trying to keep yourself from moving your hips on top of his. He's not gonna help. You're doing all the suffering, and he's just soaking in the show like it's a luxury spa.

"Stop movin' angel. You're ruining the fun."

ZAYNE

He loves it. God he loves it. Cockwarming, for him, is just the dirtiest form of foreplay imaginable.

I don't think he does it for the intimacy aspect, it's more of a sexual foreplay thing to him. He loves how worked up it gets both of you, builds up tension.

And best belive doctor's gonna put his dirty mouth to workkk. you can bet he's talking you through every second of it. And the longer it goes, the longer you sit there trying to behave, the filthier his dirty talk gets.

"Impatient girl. Can't even sit still for five minutes? Where are your manners?"

RAFAYEL

He hatessss it LMAOOOO. Tries to see it as smt "artistic" but the second you sink down on him he's goneeee. Whines, squirms, begs, anything you could imagine him doing. And if you actually decide to not move for over 15 minutes his soul will literally leave his body, thinking he's gonna die if you don't bounche that ass on him anytime soon.

Butttt if you squeeze him a bit and tease him with a lil grinding, he'll maybeeee endure the torture for like half and hour.

"C'monnn, don't be such a joykill. God forbid a man wants to fuck his girl right."

SYLUS

This menace man.

He introduced you to the idea actually. he wants it for closeness and craves the intimacy.

Cockwarming with him starts sweet. Real sweet.

His arms around you, forehead to yours, soft kisses.

But ohhh he's a wolf in sheep's clothing.

No matter when or what the occasion is, you always end up having the most intense sex right after, because wdym he's balls deep in your cunny with that monsterous cock of his and you expect him to just pull out after and... go to bed or wtv???

Nahhh he finna end up having you twitching like you've been shot with a damn electro-shocker after.

"That's not fair, sweetie. You do that again, and this sweet-talk will end differently."

CALEB

Calls it "just cuddling with benefits."

If Zayne loves it, then Caleb lives for cockwarming man.

Don't get me wrong, it was hard at first and it took a couple of tries (meaning, he came right when you sank down on him) to actually get a grip on himself. But once he got into it????

Will hum, pet your back, talk about your day as if he's not balls deep inside you.

You best believe you'll fall asleep with his dick inside from that point onwards.

It's not always sexual, just intimacy for him. Something that let's him be the nearest possible to you. Like, c'mon, cuddles and cockwarming??? Sign him tf up!!!!!!1

"Nonono keep talkin' wanna hear abt your day. Mhmmm, yeahhh, I'm listenin'."

©︎𝙎𝘼𝙏𝙍𝙎 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. Do NOT plagiarize, copy, modify, republish, or translate my work in any way!

[wendichester]

okay hear me out- i love the sam x dumb reader but what about dean with STEM girlie reader fixing his gadgets 👀

⋆⭒˚.⋆ sparks fly,

pairing. dean winchester x reader ( f )

wordcount. 453 genre. fluff

warnings. light teasing, mutual pining vibes, dean being impressed and slightly turned on by your brain, reader is a STEM/engineering type, light physical contact

Dean’s sitting at the kitchen table, elbows propped up, glaring at a disassembled EMF reader like it personally wronged him.

“Piece of crap,” he mutters, poking at a loose wire with a butter knife. “Should’ve just bought a new one.”

You lean against the doorway, arms crossed. “Or—and hear me out—you could stop stabbing it with cutlery.”

He looks up, smirking. “What, you offering to fix it, genius?”

“Move.” You set your mug down and take the seat across from him. Your fingers start sorting through the parts like you’ve done this a hundred times before—because, well, you kind of have.

Dean leans back in his chair, eyes following your every movement. “You know, most girls I know wouldn’t know where to start with this.”

You glance up at him, eyebrow raised. “Most girls you know aren’t me.”

His grin widens. “Fair point.”

You pick up a tiny screwdriver from your toolkit and start tightening a loose connection. Dean’s watching you so intently it’s almost distracting—the kind of look that says he’s paying attention to more than just your hands.

“What?” you ask without looking up.

“Just… never realized how hot it is watching you work.”

You roll your eyes, hiding a smile. “Dean.”

“I’m serious. Little frown when you’re concentrating? The way you bite your lip? Drives a guy crazy.” He leans in a little, voice dropping lower. “And then you say things like ‘circuit board’ and ‘voltage regulator’ and I’m gone.”

You try very hard not to let your laugh mess up your wiring job. “Guess I’ll have to start reading you engineering manuals for bedtime stories, huh?”

“Please do.”

You snap the casing back into place and hold it out to him. “There. Should be good as new.”

Dean takes it, flipping the switch, and the EMF reader comes to life with its familiar whine. “Damn.” He shakes his head, still grinning. “Didn’t think I could love this thing more, but you just proved me wrong.”

“I’ll add that to my résumé,” you tease, standing. “Brought dead tech back to life. Made Dean Winchester swoon.”

Before you can walk away, his hand catches yours. “Hey—seriously. Thanks.” His voice is softer now, and for a second, the world narrows down to the warmth of his fingers around yours and that unreadable look in his eyes.

Then he smirks again, because of course he does. “But, uh… I might ‘accidentally’ break a few more gadgets just to get you back here.”

You shake your head, smiling as you pull free. “You do that, and I’m charging you by the hour.”

“Sweetheart, I’ll pay whatever you want.”

And you leave him there, still grinning like you just rewired more than his EMF reader.

ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; support my work .ᐟ

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

The girlfriend question

(Sam Winchester x female reader)

Summary You and Sam have been captured by some vamps, who are now holding you hostage. It’s not the best time to be mouthing off or, well, discuss your unclear relationship status. But how else are you going to kill time? CWs Idiots in love. Arguing about nothing cause it's easier than saying "I love you". Some vamps. Teen. 2.7k words.

Sam Winchester masterlist ⏐ SPN masterlist

You flexed your hands, the ropes around your wrists cutting into your skin. The rickety wooden chair they had placed you in was hurting your ass and back after several hours of sitting on it, and your throat was dry.

You tried to swallow, working some spit up in your mouth, but it didn’t make much of a difference. You sighed, hoping it would alleviate some of your irritation.

“That’s the fifth time you’ve sighed,” Sam pointed out.

“So?” you asked, your voice annoyed. “Is there an upper limit on how much sighing I’m allowed to do when I’m in mortal danger?”

“No,” Sam said with a placating tone. “Just an observation.”

If you had to guess, you would have said that right then Sam had his eyebrows raised, his lips in a thin line. The reason you had to guess was because you were back to back with Sam as he was tied up in another chair behind you.

You leaned your head back, already feeling bad for your bitchy tone and it bumped into Sam’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” you said.

“It’s okay,” he replied immediately.

“No,” you said, “I’m sorry about being an asshole. I don’t… This whole being tied up thing, not being able to move, it’s just getting to me.”

“I understand,” Sam said, his voice soft. “It really is okay.” You chewed your lip, thinking.

“Why haven’t they drained us yet?” you asked. Now it was Sam’s turn to sigh. “My guess is they’re hoping they can exchange us for their freedom if more hunters show up,” he replied. “Or, the more horrible option, they like to play with their food.” You nodded.

“They’ll get thirsty sooner or later,” you said.

“Probably,” Sam agreed. The angle of his voice changed a little and you assumed he had turned his head. “You still got the knife in your boot?”

“Yeah,” you said, “but I can’t reach it. They tied my ankles to the chair when I kicked that one skinny, cracked-out looking guy.” Sam chuckled.

“Left boot, right?” he asked. You raised your eyebrows.

“You remember,” you noted. Sam scoffed.

“Yes, cause I nearly opened my wrists on it when I took your boot off that one time, remember?” A grin passed over your face.

“That’s only cause you were in such a rush to get me naked,” you said, making Sam chuckle again.

“I might have been,” he replied, and then he was moving a little. You heard the pull of his ropes and the creak of his chair and then a low grunt when he gave up.

“Ropes are too tight,” he concluded, breathing hard. “I can’t reach down.”

“I could have told you that,” you said. “No shit the ropes are too tight. You might have beefed the hell up in the last months, but I could have told you that.”

“I was just testing, okay?” Sam replied.

“You always do this, you know?” you answered, tone a little reproachful. “You always think you’re gonna figure something out I haven’t figured out.”

“No, I don’t,” Sam replied, sounding offended.

“Yes, you absolutely do,” you returned.

“Okay. When do I do that?” Sam asked, and you would have bet a hundred bucks that he had that smartass look on his face, the one that was all lawyer boy, and I’m smarted than you and look at me, so tall and pretty and with the hair.

“The rugaru last month,” you replied. “You knew damn well that I always wanted to kill a rugaru and still you had to do it.” Sam was quiet for a second but you knew he was only gearing up.

“You were unconscious and it was about to take a bite out of you!” he responded, sounding indignant. “What was I supposed to do, stand there and watch?” You realized the break in your logic, but you weren’t one to back down.

“Not the point,” you hissed.

“Enlighten me then,” Sam said, scoffing, “what is the point?”

“Will you two just shut the hell up already?”

Your head snapped to the side and you assumed Sam’s did as well as the leader of the little vampire gang that were the reason for all this hoopla came striding through the open doors of the basement room you were in. He squared up a few feet away from you just as two of his lackeys, who reminded you of Ren and Stimpy, came in after him.

“You just keep… yapping,” the leader grunted.

“Oh,” you said, “were we being too loud? I’m so sorry.” The vamp narrowed his eyes at you.

“Keep. It. Down,” he growled.

“Absolutely we will,” you said, not keeping it down at all, “but I do have one quick question. Is there a requirement to dress like Hell’s Angels rejects when you become a vampire or is that just you guys’ thing?”

The skinny guy behind the boss – Ren – made a grimace.

“Can we eat them, just a little bit?” he said, his voice low and nasal.

“Not yet,” the leader replied. “But don’t worry,” he continued, a lecherous grinning spreading on his face, “we’ll be sucking them good and dry soon.” You made a grimace.

“Ew,” you said, “you realize how that sounds, right?”

“You wanna reign it in a little?” Sam hissed at you but you ignored him.

“It doesn’t sound like anything,” the vampire leader replied, knotting his brow.

“It does sound a little strange,” the Stimpy-looking guy who had been quiet so far said.  The boss whipped around to face him.

“It doesn’t sound like anything!” he grunted. Ren, maybe to prove his loyalty or maybe because he was just a little simple, got involved then.

“I think it sounds fine, boss,” he said. The leader looked away from the intimidated looking Stimpy and turned back to you and Sam.

“I’m just saying, man,” you said, shrugging, “sometimes people don’t know what they sound like and I wanna make sure that’s not what’s happening here.”

He stepped a little closer then, looking down at you but addressed Sam when he spoke: “You wanna tell your pretty, little girlfriend to keep it down now, before I have to hurt her.” You scoffed before Sam could answer.

“I am not his girlfriend,” you replied. Finally Sam spoke up.

“Oh, so now you wanna talk about this?” he asked. You did your best to throw him an unbelieving look, which was difficult considering you couldn’t see him.

“Hey!” you replied, you voice defensive. “I never said I wasn’t open to talking about it.” Sam scoffed.

“No, you only said that you didn’t want to ruin it by giving it a name,” he replied.

“That is not what I said,” you answered, then had to correct yourself: “Okay, it is what I said but it’s not what I meant.”

“You guys can’t be serious,” the boss vamp muttered.

“Well, that makes it a little difficult,” Sam returned, “seeing as I can’t read your mind.”

“I…” you started and then went quiet. Sam had a point. You hated that he did.

It was quiet in the room for a moment. The leader spread his arms. “You two love birds done?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes, wondering if Sam was doing the same, or if he was doing the thing where he looked off to the side, all pout and big frown.

“You have half an hour,” the vamp said. “Then we’re moving. If none of your friends have showed up until then, you won’t have to worry about whether you’re boyfriend and girlfriend.”

He chuckled lowly, and when neither you nor Sam reacted he added: “Because you’ll be dead.”

When you still didn’t react, he continued: “Cause we will have drunk your blood.”

“Yeah, we got that,” you said at the same time as Sam said: “Alright.”

The vamp boss cleared his throat, then walked towards the exit. He turned to Stimpy at the last second.

“You stay here,” he said, pointing at his lackey. “Keep an eye on them.” Then he and the other vamp left.

It was quiet for a while. You tried to move your hands, twisting them in their bindings to allow the blood to flow more freely through your veins. You heard Sam shift behind you. You threw Stimpy a cautious look, but he was looking around.

“Look,” you finally said, “I’m sorry, okay?” Sam had been shifting again, but he stopped.

“I just…” you thought for a second. “This relationship stuff, it just freaks me out, okay?” You heard Sam sigh a little.

“It’s fine,” he responded, and his voice was calm, sweet. “I don’t wanna put any pressure on you, that’s not… That’s the last thing I want.”

“You’re not,” you replied, your own voice soft. “It should be so easy. I mean, we do everything a couple does. I don’t know why I’m…”

You didn’t finish the sentence. Suddenly you heard someone clear their throat. It was Stimpy and when you turned to him, he was watching you and Sam.

“It sounds like,” he said, very carefully, “maybe you have some issues with commitment?”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. When neither of you spoke, he continued. “Sometimes when we give something a name, it can be scary.”

Sam seemed to be just as shell-shocked as you. You opened your mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Stimpy shrugged.

“It seems like maybe you guys just need to be open about your fears,” he finished, with something that was almost a sweet smile.

“Look at that,” you said, finally finding your voice. “A self-help-ire.” Sam snorted, then laughed, and the sound warmed your heart.

“Guys, come on,” Stimpy said, but he didn’t look mad. What a sweet little weirdo, you thought, then added, who wants to drink our blood.

“Okay,” Sam said, still chuckling a little. “You know what my fear is?”

“Aside from the imminent death thing?” you asked.

“Yeah, aside from the imminent death thing,” Sam confirmed. “It’s that you find someone else.”

You frowned, but continued listening.

“It’s that you find someone else," Sam continued, "and because you and I aren’t… official, or whatever, that you might be interested.”

You felt him shrug, his shoulder bumping into yours. “And that’s stupid, because a relationship shouldn’t be about that, about trying to force someone to commit to you, but yeah, that’s my fear.” You shook your head a little.

“Sam,” you said, your voice soft. “There isn’t a single man in the world who can hold a candle to you. I mean—” You interrupted yourself, took a breath.

“I don’t want anyone else, is what I’m saying,” you continued. “I just don’t know if I make such a good girlfriend. I don’t know if I’m nice enough or sweet enough or docile enough.” Sam’s voice projected differently, and you thought he turned his head to the side.

“I don’t want any of those things,” he said, voice low. “I want you. I like that you’re kind of mean.” You couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You have problems, Winchester,” you said. You could hear the smile in Sam’s voice.

“You don’t know the half of it,” he replied.

“See that, guys?” Stimpy said, and when you turned to him he actually looked happy. “That wasn’t so—”

He was interrupted by someone cutting off his head. His separated parts fell to the floor, revealing Bobby standing behind him.

“You kids done talking about your feelings?” he said in his best, grumpy old man voice. Just then, you heard the sounds of fighting break out behind him. Bobby rushed forwards, kneeled down and started cutting at the ropes restraining you.

“Come in here to rescue you idjits,” he mumbled while he was doing it, “to hear you doing couple’s therapy with some blood sucker.”

Your hands came free then, and as you held your wrist, rubbing it to get the circulation flowing again, you felt the objection to the word couple on your lips, muscle memory kicking in.

But then you turned, now that you were able to, as Bobby started cutting at the ropes on your legs, and you were able to see Sam. He was looking at you, his head turned as much as he could turn it, and he caught your eye.

“We were just being open about our fears,” you replied, and Sam grinned.

Dean had taken care of the other two vampires by the time you reached him. They were sprawled on the floor, one head just rolling away.

Bobby kept quiet about what he had witnessed when he found you and Sam. You were grateful. You really didn’t need Dean’s mockery.

The Impala was parked outside as well as Bobby’s truck. You got into the Chevy’s backseat, Sam throwing you one look over his shoulder and then looking forward.

It didn’t take long for you to reach the scrapyard. Both cars were parked, and as you and the three men started moving towards Bobby’s house, you spoke up.

“Sam, can I talk to you for a second?” you said.

All three of them stopped. Sam looked surprised, but nodded. Bobby rolled his eyes, turned and walked towards his house, while Dean raised his eyebrows, interest building on his face.

He finally followed Bobby, but not without first leaning close to Sam, whispering something into his ear, and then winking at you. When Sam walked back towards you, you raised your eyebrows.

“What did he say?” you asked, crossing your arms in front of you. Sam leaned against a nearby car, hands in his pockets.

“He told me you’re out of my league,” he said.

You frowned. “What?”

“He said,” Sam continued, a small grin building on his face, “that it’s a miracle you even acknowledge my existence, that you are a top tier woman and I am a little nerd boy, and—”

“Okay,” you said, laughing, “I got the gist. Jesus.”

“He wants to make sure that I don’t screw this up,” Sam said, the grin slowly disappearing from his face. You bit the inside of your lip, thinking, gearing yourself up to what you wanted to say. Finally, you cleared your throat.

“I’d be willing to try it,” you said, Sam giving you a questioning look. “The whole girlfriend thing, I mean.” You looked at your feet, digging the toe of your boot into the ground below you.

“It’s fine,” Sam said, and you looked at him. “We don’t need to call it anything. I just, I just want to be with you, and that’s enough.”

You thought for another second, then walked slowly towards him, dropping your arms. When you were right in front of Sam, you reached for the collar of his jacket, tugging at it, as if you were fixing his clothes. You looked at the button of his shirt for a second.

“Let me be your girlfriend, Sam,” you said and then looked up at him, suddenly feeling shy. “Don’t make me beg for it.”

Sam grinned, then took his hands out of his pockets, tugging you close by our elbows. You looked into each other’s eyes and then both moved at the same time, you pushing yourself up on your toes while Sam leaned down.

Your lips met, Sam’s lips so delicious that you brought your shoulders in, pressed yourself close to him. One of his arms went around your back and he pulled you close, inhaling through his nose, when you pushed your tongue against his lips. He let you in and the taste of him made you dizzy.

Soon, your hand went up to his face and you cupped his cheek, moving away from him as little as possible to where you could still speak.

“Do you want to go inside?” you asked, voice low and suggestive. Sam shook his head, making his nose brush against yours.

“No,” he said, then kissed you again. “I want to stay out here and keep kissing you.” You grinned against him.

“We can do… other things inside,” you whispered, barely able to keep your mouth off him for long enough to say it. You felt Sam grin too.

Then he moved his arm from your back, only to hold your hand when he dropped it.

He squeezed you and with big smiles on your faces, you walked towards Bobby’s house, up to one of the bedrooms, for your first night as Sam Winchester’s girlfriend. 

[cowboybeepboop]

Gentle

Pairing: Clark Kent x fem! Reader  

Genre: Fluff & smut

Word count: 3.6k

Summary: You’re an overworked intern, and your friend Clark Kent offers to take care of you for the night. 

Warnings: unprotected sex, p in v, riding

Living in the city is damn tough, you’ve been working two jobs just to afford living here, and well, sending your parents money. But it’s because your dad is out of work and your younger brother is still in high school. 

What else are you to do? 

Your dream has always been to work for a newspaper, and now that you have an internship at one, you’re getting to the point that you just might lose it. 

You’ve become clumsy, and Clark Kent is always the victim of your mistakes. It started a couple of weeks ago, when you were almost late. Coming in with just two minutes to spare and a cup of hot coffee, that was when you crashed into Clark; the cup spilling onto his white shirt, seeping through the fabric, and burning his skin. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry!!” Your eyes started tearing up, as you set your things down, you quickly tried to grab something to help him clean up his clothes. 

He had quickly grabbed your wrist to stop your frantic movements, his grip gentle yet firm. He could see your eyes begin to water as the guilt sets in. 

"Easy, it's alright. It was an accident." He gently let go of your wrist, his expression soft and comforting.

Clark was gentle, even when you had burned him and ruined his shirt. Honestly, it was hard to understand how he could be so forgiving. Especially since you’re always getting in his way, in particular. Lois and Jimmy have taken note of this and sort of take it into their hands to not let it go. 

They’re not mean, not intentionally, you know that. It’s just they care about him and you *are* always causing him trouble. It’s been 8 months since you started at the Daily Planet and you’re getting tired. 

Your work has been getting sloppy, rushed, and you’ve been distracted these past couple of weeks. Small mistakes are starting to get on Lois’s nerves, and you’ve been overhearing her complaining about how you *used* to be so good at your job. 

The truth of the matter is: you’re not clumsy, you’re not slacking, you’re just exhausted. You’ve been working two jobs, barely sleeping some nights, yet still doing your best in both. It’s a wonder you haven’t lost either of them yet. 

When you come in from lunch, you overhear Lois and Jimmy talking to Clark. “I mean, I just don’t get it.” She says, “Clark, Y/N is perpetually in your way. All she’s been doing is causing you trouble.” 

It was Jimmy’s turn now, “I mean, it started, with her burning you with coffee, then she broke your mug, and almost deleted that article you were in the middle of while showing her how our software update works.” 

The guilt seeps into your skin, your bones. You feel sick to your stomach while tears poke at your eyes. They’re not wrong. You don’t deserve his forgiveness or kindness, yet he always gives you it. 

Clark has been your closest friend since you started here. He’s always here for you, making sure you understand how things work in the building and being there to give advice. He sticks up for you, even when you’ve been bugging him. 

Kent’s eyes meet your watery ones as you swallow your pain and walk past the three of them. He watches your every move as you walk past the three of them, concern washing over his features. 

He knew you were having trouble adapting to the fast-paced atmosphere of the newspaper, but he never once thought you did it intentionally. In fact, he found your clumsiness to be endearing. He stood there, conflicted, his thoughts a tangled mess.

The rest of the day passes by with you ignoring your coworkers, Jimmy attempts to apologize after Kent’s scolding, but you just shrug it off, pretending you don’t know what he was talking about. 

By the evening, you and Clark are the only two left; the office is filled with the sound of papers printing and his occasional typing. Grabbing the stack of pages in your hands, you take a deep breath, the weight of the day still heavy in your mind. 

Kent had hoped to catch you after the day ended. He had a feeling you had overheard him talking with the others earlier, and he wanted to reassure you. 

As he walks through the halls, he notices you exiting the printing room, lost in your own thoughts. He calls your name softly, causing you to jolt a bit as you turn to face him. 

His eyes take in your tired appearance, the dark circles under your eyes, and the slumped shoulders. He knew the telltale signs of overworking and lack of rest.

“Oh, hi, Clark!” You put on a smile, forcing your face to light up as you look at him. “You’re here late tonight.”

Clark noticed the forced smile on your face, recognizing the facade. He stepped closer to you, concern etched on his features. "I could say the same thing about you," he replied, gently nudging your shoulder playfully. "You've been working yourself to the bone lately."

"I'm just trying to make a good impression." You pout your lips slightly as you look up at him, gulping at his closeness yet craving more of it. "Especially after all the trouble I've caused..." 

Clark's expression softens as he hears your words, his hand instinctively reaching out to give your shoulder a comforting squeeze. "You don't have to overwork yourself to make a good impression." His gaze drifts to your eyes, noticing the exhaustion in them, and he sighs softly. "Besides, you haven't been causing trouble intentionally. We all have our fair share of accidents."

Your lip trembles slightly as you take a steadying breath, eyes beginning to water slightly. "Thank you, Clark," 

He takes notice of the tremble in your lip and the wetness in your eyes, his heart sinking at the sight. He had a feeling there was something deeper going on, but he didn't want to pressure you. 

"Hey, hey." He steps even closer, his hand now gently on your shoulder, his voice soft. "Let me  ask you something."

"Mhm, what's up?" Your eyebrows furrow as you try to regain your composure, eyes focused on his features.  

Clark studies your expressive eyes, his concern growing as you try to hide your emotions. He takes a moment, choosing his words with care, before speaking. "You've been exhausted lately. And... well, to be frank, you don't look like you've been sleeping or eating properly."

His eyes roam your figure briefly, noting the fatigue etched on your face, before meeting your gaze again. "What's going on? Is everything alright?"

"Oh," You pause, turning away and heading back to the main floor to put the papers on your boss's desk. "I've just been busy, I guess..."

Clark follows closely behind, watching you avoid his gaze and offering a flimsy answer. He could sense there was more to it, the exhaustion in your demeanor speaking volumes. 

As you place the papers on the desk, he steps closer, standing next to you. He gently takes the remaining papers from your hands and sets them down, his eyes not leaving your face. "You can be honest with me, you know." His voice is gentle, his touch tender.

"Clark..." Your voice nearly breaks as you speak, eyes trained on the floor while you lean against the wooden table. 

Hearing your voice crack, Clark's concern deepens. He gently places a hand on your arm, his thumb gently stroking the skin. "Hey, look at me," he encourages softly, his voice a soothing balm to your weary soul.

He knew there was something weighing heavily on you, something you couldn't or wouldn't share. And it was tearing him apart to see you so distraught.

You cautiously look up, eyes meeting his warm and comforting gaze. "I'm okay, really." Your lips part as you watch his expression. "I just haven't been sleeping well."

Clark sees through your attempt to brush off his concern with a half-truth. He takes a step closer, his hand sliding from your arm to your shoulder, gently massaging away the tension he finds there. 

"You can't fool me, Y/N," he says quietly, his eyes searching yours. "It's more than just sleeplessness. I can tell. You're pushing yourself too hard, and it's taking a toll on you."

"I really want this job, genuinely." You sigh, hands gripping the edge of the desk. "I've always wanted to work for a paper. But as an intern, the pay... It's not great." 

Your hand reaches up to touch his, fingers brushing over his knuckles. "I've been working two jobs, I never have a day off, and I'm barely getting five hours of sleep most nights." A relieved breath falls from your mouth as you finally admit your hardships to someone. 

Clark's heart aches as he listens to your words, the weight of your struggles hitting him like a truck. Without hesitation, he steps closer to you, positioning himself between your legs.

With a gentle yet firm pull, he tugs you into a tight, comforting bear hug. His strong arms wrap around you, enveloping you in his embrace, providing a safe haven for the storm of emotions that you've been holding back. 

He holds you close, his chin resting on the top of your head, as he whispers softly, "You should have told me sooner."

Your arms just wrap around his waist, face buried in his chest. Tears prickle in your eyes and finally fall this time, soft sobs causing your body to shake against his. The weight of the situation feels like it's been lifted from your shoulders as he holds you. 

When you're done, you feel utterly exhausted, tiredness creeping through your whole body. "Clark," you mumble, voice muffled by his tear-stained button-down. 

Clark's heart aches as he feels you go limp in his arms, the exhaustion finally catching up with you. He pulls back slightly, placing a gentle hand under your chin to lift your face to meet his gaze.

His eyes soften with concern, his thumb lightly wiping away the tear tracks on your cheeks. "Yeah, sweetheart?" he asks softly, his voice filled with tender worry.

"Why are you so nice to me..." Your face is red, eyes puffy and swollen as you look at him through heavy lashes. 

Clark's heart swells at your question, his touch tender as he wipes away your tears. He studies your features, the exhaustion etched on your face stirring something within him.

There's a reason he's always been more patient with you, more forgiving of your 'mistakes'. It's not just because you're an eager learner, or because you genuinely seem to care about doing well here. 

No, it's because Clark has developed a secret crush on you.

You reach up, hand holding onto his wrist, eyebrows furrowed while you wait for his response. Kent’s heart skips a beat as your fingers wrap around his wrist, your touch sending a shiver down his spine. 

He knew he had to tread carefully, his secret feelings for you hidden beneath a layer of concern and friendship. Taking a moment, his gaze drops to where your hand rests on his wrist, before lifting to meet your eyes. "Because I care about you, Y/N."

His voice is soft, tinged with an underlying depth that he hoped you wouldn't detect. "You're not just a coworker to me."

"Can I stay with you tonight?" The question is out of the blue, but you find yourself not wanting to be away from him.  "I know it's a strange ask but..."

Clark's eyes widen at your unexpected request, his heart leaping in his chest. He wasn't expecting such an intimate request, but hearing the vulnerability in your voice, he knew he couldn't say no.

"Yeah, yeah, of course you can," he responds, his voice soft and reassuring. "It's not strange at all." He takes a moment, his gaze roaming over your features, noticing the exhaustion more acutely now. "I just have one condition."

"Yes?" You straighten up, fully standing in front of him now, your hands wiping at your cheeks. "What's your condition?"

Clark watches you wipe at your cheeks, a tender expression on his face as he notices the exhaustion evident in your movements. He hesitates for a moment, his gaze steady as he speaks.

"The condition is this: tonight, you're not allowed to worry about anything. No work, no stress, no overthinking."

His hand gently cups your chin, thumb brushing over your cheekbone. "Tonight, you're just going to rest and let me take care of you, alright?"

"Okay," You nod, wrapping your arms around him for another hug. "Okay."

“Good,” He cradles your head against his chest, taking a deep breath before letting go. “Let’s get back to my apartment and get you to bed.” Clark smiles, brushing your shoulder with his hand. 

"I'll grab my things," You smile up at him, before turning away and gathering your stuff. 

Kent watches you gather your things, a tender smile on his face. He can't help but feel a sense of protectiveness towards you, knowing full well how exhausted you are. He notices the way your shoulders slump and how your movements are slower than usual, a result of your constant overwork.

Once you're ready, he steps closer, reaching out to take your bag from your hands. "Here, let me carry that."

"You're quite the gentleman." You hand him your bag.

Once you arrive at his apartment, he guides you inside, having you change into one of his old shirts while he heats up some food for you. As you come back out, Clark can't help but steal glances at you in his clothing. 

The sight of you in his shirt ignites something within him, but he quickly shakes it away, reminding himself that tonight is about taking care of you. When you step into the kitchen, he sets a plate of food in front of you, gesturing for you to sit. "Here you go," he says, smiling softly. "Eat up, you need the sustenance."

"Thank you." You take the plate from him, admiring the suite he lives in. "This is a beautiful place, Clark." The two of you eat dinner together in silence. It’s a Friday evening, and tomorrow is your only day off from work. 

He turns on a movie as both of you relax on the couch, your eyes fluttering shut here and there. Clark notices as your eyes flutter closed occasionally, the exhaustion is catching up with you. He gently adjusts his position on the couch, his arm moving around your shoulders to pull you closer. 

The warmth of your body against his side feels comforting, and he can't help but steal glances at you, admiring your peaceful expression.

The movie plays on in the background, but he finds himself paying less attention to the screen and more attention to the way you relax against him. His thumb gently rubs soothing circles on your shoulder, the touch soft and caring.

You wake up the next morning, nuzzled in his bed, his sheets smelling of his musk and cologne. Looking to your side, you notice that it doesn’t appear he slept in the bed last night, you stretch your arms out and yawn. 

“Clark?” You call out, feet hovering over the cool wooden floor. 

The sound of your voice, still groggy with sleep, drifts through the apartment, and almost instantly, Clark emerges from the kitchen. 

His hair is ruffled, and he's in a white tee and plaid pajama pants, a stark contrast from his normally prim appearance. He looks a bit tired himself, but when his eyes land on you, a small smile curves his lips.

"Hey there, sleepyhead." He makes his way toward the bed, sitting down on the edge next to you. "You slept well?"

"Perfectly," You grin, scooting closer to him before continuing. "Where did you sleep?" Clark notices your closeness and can't help but feel a flutter in his chest. He shifts slightly so that he's facing you, his eyes roaming over your sleepy face.

"I slept on the couch," he replies, his tone casual, yet his gaze is filled with a hint of affection. "Didn't want to disturb your much-needed beauty sleep."

"Clark," You chew on your bottom lip, settling on your knees as you lift your hands to cup his face. "I need to tell you something." 

Clark stiffens slightly at your touch, his heart rate picking up a bit. He's not sure what to expect, but he does know that the sudden seriousness in your voice makes him both nervous and hopeful.

He meets your gaze, his expression a mix of anticipation and slight concern. "Yeah? What is it?" He places his hands on top of yours, gently squeezing them.

You adjust yourself, taking a deep breath before straddling his lap. "I..." you begin, sighing as the words get caught in your throat. 

Clark's breath hitches as you move to his lap, his hands instinctively going to your hips, holding you steady. The action is intimate, and it sends a jolt of heat through him. 

He watches you closely, his eyes trying to read your expression, his fingers gently gripping your hips tighter. "Go on," he urges softly, his voice gravelly. "You can tell me anything, sweetheart."

"Fuck," You whine, finding it annoyingly hard to get the words out. Instead you just press your lips against his, fingers tangling in his hair. 

Clark is taken aback momentarily by your kiss, but his surprise quickly melts away as he returns the sentiment, his hands tightening on your hips as he pulls you closer. He gasps as your fingers tug on his hair, his lips moving against yours in a heated fervor.

His tongue lightly teases at the seam of your mouth, seeking entrance, his mind and body suddenly consumed with desire. His fingers dig into your hips, desperate to pull you even closer, to feel more of you against him.

Your hips grind against his, your body aching and desperate for more of him. Your tongues dance together as you push him back against the mattress.

As you push him back onto the bed, Clark moans into the kiss, his body responding urgently to the press of your hips against his. He can feel the desperation in your touch, mirroring the growing desire within him.

His hands slide beneath your borrowed shirt, roaming over your curves, his fingers leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He breaks the kiss, his lips finding your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin, lost in a haze of desire.

Breaking away from the kiss, your eyes lock onto Clark's, filled with an intense hunger that matches his own. Your hands trace the contours of his chest, pulling the fabric over his head. His breath hitches as your palms glide over his abs, feeling the muscles contract beneath your touch.

Leaning in, you press feather-light kisses along his jawline, down his neck, and across his chest, teasing the sensitive peaks of his nipples with your teeth before continuing your journey south. 

His hands are in your hair now, guiding you, urging you to explore further. You slide his pajama pants down, then his underwear, exposing his aching erection to your hungry gaze. 

You take his length in your hand, stroking it gently, watching the pleasure flicker in his eyes. He groans, arching up into your touch, his hips bucking in silent demand. 

With a knowing smile, you position yourself above him, sliding him inside you with a slow, deliberate motion that has him trembling beneath you. Once fully seated, you begin to move, setting a rhythm that's both torturously slow and incredibly intimate. 

You grind down on him, rolling your hips in a way that makes him moan your name. His hands move to your waist, helping to guide you, increasing the pace.

You lean forward, pressing your chest against his, the friction of your bodies causing sparks to fly. He reaches up pulling away his shirt, his hand cups one of your breasts while he sucks the nipple of the other. 

Your breath mingles with his, your every exhale hot against his skin as you ride him. Your movements become more urgent, your nails digging into his shoulders as the pleasure builds.

Clark's eyes are on yours, watching the passion play out in the depths of your gaze. He can feel you getting closer, your muscles tightening around him, your breaths growing more ragged. 

He whispers sweet nothings into your ear, his voice low and gruff, urging you on.

With one hand, you reach back to grip the bedpost, using it for leverage as you increase your pace, your body moving in a symphony of desire. The other hand finds his, our fingers entwining as the world around you narrows to just the two of you, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the quiet apartment.

You lean back, giving him an unobstructed view of your breasts bouncing with each thrust. His eyes devour the sight, his hips rising to meet yours, matching your rhythm. His hands slide up to cup them, thumbs flicking at the peaks until you're gasping his name.

The tension coils tighter, your movements becoming erratic as you chase your climax. Clark can feel it building within you, his own need reaching a fever pitch. 

The sight of you, lost in pleasure, sends him over the edge, his own climax following closely after yours. You collapse onto him, breathless, your heart hammering against his chest. 

The room is filled with the sound of your panting, your bodies slick with sweat, but there's no denying the intimate bond that's just been forged between the two of you.

[wvffles]

stained ᥫ᭡.

pairing: mark meachum x ex!reader

summary: it's already been a very long day, you're not sure if running into your ex is making it better or worse. (aka it turns out you might not be as over him as you thought)

tags/warnings: countdown season one spoilers, angst, language, hurt/comfort, fluff, exes to possibly lovers, hospital settings, medical talk, mentions of blood and violence, diverges from canon for the sake of plot, author still can't flirt but she's trying || 18+ only ⭑.ᐟ

word count: 2.6k 🥀

⭑.ᐟ notes: and another fic for @zepskies 5k event !! ♥️ this time I got a color prompt, gif check, and song!fic of her choosing for mark <3 (the song was actually new to me, this is what my angsty brain interpreted ❤️‍🩹) thanks for reading !! 🌹

‎♪ now playing; bridges burn — needtobreathe

mark masterlist ✎ᝰ. main masterlist

Despite all the advertisements, your redbull was in fact not giving you wings.

The fifth hour of your shift had you almost chugging an entire can, but it didn’t do much to ease your exhaustion. The blinding white beams on the ceiling certainly weren't helping with the ache behind your eyes either. You understand the logic of course, doesn't mean you have to like it. By now you thought you'd be used to it, spending almost the last decade of your life in buildings with the same nauseating lighting. Guess not.

At this point you're ready to fall face first into your bed and just hibernate, but duty always called.

Speaking of, there was suddenly a commotion at the entrance to the ER, the heavy doors slamming against the walls with a loud thud. You secure a fresh pair of blue gloves on before following after the paramedics and the charge nurse, catching the tail end of what was being described. "Object protruding from the side…major blood loss...federal agent…"

And just like that, your night got longer.

Most people think being an emergency room nurse is difficult, chaotic, stressful — all the blood, the intensity, the unpredictability.

And while they’re not wrong, some days you think the vending machine tries to be the hardest part of your day.

You can work with needles and blood and broken limbs no problem, but somehow you could never get the kit kat bar to fall from the corner of this godforsaken machine. B4. It better drop sooner rather than later before—

“You know I still don’t think hitting the machine’s gonna get you anything, besides a sore hand probably.”

You’d recognize that voice anywhere, your frustrated quest for chocolate coming to a halt as you lift your head and look to your left, seeing none other than your ex.

Of course he’d catch you like this. Wrinkled burgundy scrubs, a semi loosened bun, eye bags the only accessory on your face and nearly busting into a vending machine like the damn raccoon from Over The Hedge. Meanwhile he looks like he’s headed to a photo shoot as the freaking model.

Nonetheless, you fully turn towards him and give him the best smile you could despite your fatigue, which honestly wasn't too hard when you were looking at him.

“Mark, hey. I don’t even— how are you? It’s been a while.” You stop in front of him, unsure if you should invade his space, but he doesn’t hesitate pulling you in.

Solid arms bring you flush against him, your own arms wrapping around his middle in a warm embrace. He rubs his hand up and down your back softly and you tuck your face in the crook of his neck, taking a moment to breathe him in as you both sway gently. It feels so comfortable, so safe.

Just the way you remember.

After a moment you pull away, catching the fond smile on his face before he clears his throat. "Yeah, it has. You uh, you look good. You work here?"

You grin slyly. "Nah I'm just practicing for halloween, getting the authentic experience you know? Costume feels better that way. Real stains and all, super hard to get out." He chuckles, playfully poking at your arm. "Very funny smartass, you know what I mean. Thought you were aiming for a different ward."

Your smile remains, but fades the slightest bit. "Yeah, slight change of plans.” He can see there’s more to it, but also notes the tension in your posture since he made the comment, so he doesn’t push any further. You clear your throat as casually as you can. “So what brings you to a hospital, you alright?” Your brows furrow, suddenly remembering where exactly you're running into him.

He decides not to unravel that thread completely, sticking with most of the truth. “Yeah no I’m fine, it’s my boss — he got attacked, was brought in a few hours ago. But the lady at the front desk won’t give us any information.” He sighs with frustration.

You bite your lip, not noticing how the action immediately draws his eyes to it. It was a nervous habit of yours, something you’d do anytime you felt anxious about something that wasn’t fully in your control — he remembers it all too well.

“Yeah that’s Betty, she gets pretty strict with the visitors.” You hum in contemplation. “Let me see what I can dig for you, I just need his name. Meet you back at the lobby for an update?” He resists the urge to hug you again, instead placing a hand on your shoulder — a grateful expression on his face. “Thanks sweetheart. His last name's Blythe.” You nod and smile softly, patting his chest twice before heading towards the doors requiring clearance, trying not to think of his eyes lingering on you as you walk away.

Lucky for him, you weren’t gone long. He darts up as soon as he peeps your figure coming across the corner, about ten minutes later. Amber looks at him, then at you, her eyes full of curiosity.

But there’s no time to question it as you walk up to them — to Mark. “It seems they’ve got him in stable condition. The knife didn’t pierce anything important, just caused a lot of ragged damage and blood loss, which was dealt with. He’s resting now, they should have a formal update for you within the next few hours they’re just monitoring him.”

They all let out sighs of relief, as if they were holding their breaths since the moment they got there. You don't blame them.

Mark thanks you sincerely, but you still notice the tick in his jaw, the way he's discreetly clenching his teeth. It was how he’d get when something was unsettling him, leaving him anxious, restless. So you tell him to give you his phone.

He hands it over with no hesitation, and Finau chuckles under his breath, the rest of the group being a little more subtle with their amusement. You save your number into it before handing it back to him. “You guys go do what you need to, I’ll give you a call with any updates on him, I'm still here for a while.”

He would kiss you right now if he could. It's seriously tempting. You always knew what he needed without him having to even say anything. Like you were in sync. He’s missed that — missed you.

The team thanks you before making their way out to their cars, Finau giving you a brief but warm hug of his own before heading out. Mark lingers behind. “Thank you, for uh, you know. I really appreciate it — appreciate you. And the team totally does too.”

You grin. “Always such a way with words Meachum.” He laughs gently, pulling something out of his jacket and handing it to you.

A kit kat bar.

“I’ll be back in a little while. Try not to break any machines, or more importantly your hand while I’m gone alright? Wouldn't want you to finish your shift as a patient.” He teases, making the smile on your face glow just a bit brighter.

“Copy that. You stay safe out there okay?” You’re still holding on to the hand that's giving you the chocolate, and he brings them both up to his lips, placing a brief kiss onto the back of yours, surprising you both. He did it before he could even think twice about it, a force of habit, that was something he’d always do to reassure you before he'd leave for work.

His cheeks tinge slightly with embarrassment, but despite your soft shock you’re still smiling at him. Deciding to ease his overthinking, you kiss his cheek in return. His shoulders relax (although his cheeks are now blushing furiously) and he laughs lightly. “Yes ma'am.”

There was so much you both wanted to say, but there were things that needed to get done. So for now you part ways, anticipating the next time you meet again.

The rest of your shift went by in an exhausting blur.

A couple of car accident victims, a kid who broke his arm riding a skateboard (or, falling off of one rather), two heart attack victims weirdly enough, and a fight that ended with a screwdriver jammed into a guy's hand (though based on his dickish attitude, you were certain he deserved it).

Despite all the chaos, your mind kept drifting back to Mark.

It had been great with him, an instant connection that transpired through the years. By the third year together, he'd practically been living with you at your cozy apartment. Things didn't start to change until you finished school and started your first year of residency, which was also the first year Mark started working on more important cases in his unit.

Your schedules would constantly separate you. A late night at work for you, an early day for him. An extended operation that kept him away for days, or hours worth of overtime spent at the hospital when you needed to cover. Your conversations became shorter, scarce even. Hardly any dinners spent together anymore, on top of the dates consistently being cancelled. You'd miss each other by the smallest difference, if you even managed to see each other at all.

And you were trying, when you noticed the decline. But it reached a boiling point when he missed your four year anniversary dinner, despite reminding him of the date months in advance, and reminding him again the week of. He promised he'd be there, no matter what.

But you were left sitting in a nice restaurant for hours, watching the staff get increasingly sympathetic. Countless of texts and an embarrassing amount of time later, you made it home. You didn't even bother taking off your makeup, or your beautiful red dress — a deep burgundy color made of the softest velvet material, molding perfectly to your every curve.

You just sat on your couch with a small pint of ice cream, heels long kicked off as you drown your sorrows in some good ol' rocky road, wondering how it got to this point. He didn't get home until almost midnight — the conversation that followed long overdue, but painful all the same.

"What I'm doing is important!"

"Oh and what I'm doing isn't?"

"That's not what I'm saying and you know that."

It was a battle of wills, both of you trying to get the other to see your point of view — to understand where you were coming from. But it wasn't about right and wrong, it was more about being pulled apart.

"Mark, It feels like I'm living with a ghost!"

"That's not fair, you're gone just as much as I am."

"But I'm trying—"

"And I'm not? I don't get to choose when people do bad things."

"Neither do I! But we do have a choice to show up for each other. I can't even remember the last time we had a decent conversation, or shared a dinner — I can't even think of the last time we went on a date. All I'm asking is you take us off the back burner, or else this isn't going to work anymore."

"Maybe it already isn't."

It had been agonizing to hear at the time, but he wasn't necessarily wrong. Neither of you were. You both simply became consumed by your work, leaving little to no room for your relationship. It wasn't malicious, only unfortunate. So you ended up parting ways.

Not due to a lack of love, but lack of time.

And as the years came and went, you could never forget him. The feel of his hands on your skin, the sound of his voice, the comfort of his presence. He'd left a stain on your heart that refused to go away.

Seeing him today was proof of that, it felt like when you'd first met. No worries, no conflicting schedules, no arguments — nothing besides the raw emotion that still seems to linger after all this time apart.

By the end of your shift, you were practically dead on your feet, clocking out after a long seventeen hours. (You had a few call outs to thank for that).

You did check in with Blythe's condition when you could, leaving Mark a few detailed and slightly awkward voice memos throughout the day. Ones he would keep for sure, unbeknownst to you.

After gathering your things, you start making your way to the parking lot outside. You were thinking of stopping by somewhere to pick up some food, but then the dreaded dilemma of sleep or eat came. If you ate first, you'd have to wait a little while before you sleep. But you're so tired. Then again, if you sleep without eating, you're gonna wake up feeling lightheaded, and off for hours.

Lost in thought, you didn't notice Mark was approaching you from slightly up ahead. "Sweetheart, you're gonna hurt yourself thinking that hard." You jump up in surprise, your free hand jumping to your chest to soothe the racing of your heart. "Shit, Mark give a girl a warning would ya?"

He hold his hands up, partly to help steady you as your brief spike of adrenaline starts to wear down and you sway gently on your aching feet for a moment. "Sorry. You alright?"

You hum softly. "Yeah no, all good. Just a bit worn out."

He nods gently. "You gonna be okay to drive? I can give you a ride home, no problem." He doesn't like the idea of you driving home so tired, it's dangerous. Especially with the way LA drivers act like they're on the set of Tokyo Drift all year round.

You bite your lip again, and this time his gaze lingers on your lips long enough for you to notice. So you slip one of your hands into his, gathering the courage to say what you want. At least, you try to. "I don't mean to push or like, assume anything but, I'm just wondering If um, maybe you'd like to stay over for a little bit? If you want to of course I mean we did just run in to each other, and it's not for anything like, suggestive I mean I'm tried anyway and I've just missed your company you know, it's not really a big deal though if you have other things—"

To halt your rambling he brings his hand up to cup your jaw, the words fizzling out on your tongue. And for a moment you both just, look at each other. You admire the soft lines of his face, the slight gleam in his eye, the affection radiating from him.

He regretted the way things had ended for so long — especially after his diagnosis. The harsh realization that time is truly never promised, only borrowed, so you have to make the most of it while you can. He also thinks of the case he's working, of what just happened to his boss, of the threat they're trying to stop. Life's too short.

With that in mind, he brings his other hand up, both hands now gently cradling your face. He looks back and forth between your eyes and your mouth, waiting for you to push back, to say no.

Instead you place your own hands on top of his forearms, a yearning in your eyes no amount of pleading could compare to.

So he closes the gap, bringing you close and molding his lips onto yours. You breathe him in, dropping your bag completely and wrapping your arms around his neck. He presses you against him, holding you steady. All the love, the compassion, the emotions both said and unspoken being poured into the kiss.

Eventually you have to pull back for air, but you don't stray far, leaning your forehead against his and closing your eyes.

You're not sure what's in store for you both, where things from here will lead, but you feel yourselves standing under the light of a few lessons learned.

And with that, maybe a new chapter can be written in an old story.

mark masterlist ✎ᝰ. main masterlist

⭑.ᐟ end notes: girl who's never had a red bull or a genuine romantic experience attempts to write about it, lmao. thanks for reading !! <3

[thequeendesi]

Hiii!!! Ok i have been thinking about this for awhile now what if one of the saja boys ( preferably mystery or baby saja but either one works !) Anyways has a cowgirl as a gf and she has a bad temper.

I just really want a saja boy × cowgirl fan fic also another good one would be each of the huntrix having a cowboy bf. I hope u do this request if not that is totally cool!!

Sorry I am yapping so much but I think this is such a good idea!! Also i rlly like your writing:)!

A;N/ I love this little idea 😭😭😭 I’m so sorry I’ve been busy the last few days and js now getting around to this. I should finally be back in a more regular swing soon!

——

Baby dated around in his years. Despite looking like the youngest of the famous K-Pop boy band the Saja Boys, he was in fact the oldest. He lost count a few decades ago if he was a millennium or not, but he’s had an extensive history in the dating field.

However, no one was in comparison to you.

You were mean. He’d heard your father say you “could scare the fangs out of a rattler” at one point… whatever the fuck that meant. Most days he was unsure if you even liked him. He assumed you loved him, despite you calling him a donkey with more ass than jack.

He knew you like the back of his hand though. He knew you loved your farm, most days. He knew you liked the flowers that grew on the west side of the field, where the watering hole for the horses and cows rested. He knew if you were having a particularly bad day you’d go down to that watering hole with a book, your favorite horse, and a few spiked teas. He knew you enjoyed coming home to a clean house, with a meal that you didn’t have to worry about waiting on you.

It took you yelling at him a few times to get off his lazy ass while you’re busting yours to catch the memo, but he was picking up.

And from the way you slammed the door, sat straight on the couch and kicked your shoes off, he knew today was already a bad day.

“Your daddy wasn’t a glass maker was he?” You asked, rubbing your temples as you sat the couch.

“Can’t really remember, why?” He asked, looking out of the window.

“Because you’re not glass. Get away from in front of the tv!” You responded, looking at him as if he had bumped his head.

Baby rolled his eyes as stepped from the TV and walked to you. “Bad day?”

“No.” You huffed, crossing your arms.

“Bad moment?”

“The stupid horse kicked me in the shin when I was taking to slow to put out hay. I’m telling you, that motherfucker kicks me one more damn time, I’m sending that bitch to the glue factory.” You ranted, continuing to go on for a few minutes before looking back at him.

“Do you want to cuddle?” He asked, looking at you carefully.

“Do I want to cuddle?” You repeated. “Do I fucking look like I want to cuddle?” You uncrossed your arms.

“A little bit, yeah.” He shrugged, sitting on the couch next to you, resting one arm behind the couch and the other on the arm rest. “So do you?”

“You’re trying to trick me.” You looked at him.

“Yes, I’m trying to trick you into a nap. Maybe it’ll help you cool off a little.” He said, smiling smugly at you.

You opened your mouth to say something, but then closed it. “No funny shit.” You pointed at him.

“What funny shit would I pull (Name)?”

“Tickling me, grabbing my ass, playing with my boobs, undoing my bra.” You listed, rolling your eyes as you scooted closer to him.

“Normally you like that stuff.” He said, wrapping his arms around you.

“Fair.” You responded simply, your body relaxing almost instantly.

“That’s my girl.” He whispered, rubbing your back. “Relax.” He said, kissing your shoulder.

“I’m sorry for snapping on you.” You finally said after 15 minutes of silent breathing.

“You’re fine.” He responded, kissing the top of your head. “I like when you talk mean to me. It’s hot.”

That was the other thing Baby had known about you. No matter how hard of a day, no matter how mad you may be, whether it be at him or something out of your control. He knew you found peace and relaxation in being held. You might’ve been a mean, fire-spitting, bad tempered cowgirl in everyone else’s eyes. But in his, but he also saw a girl who just needed to be loved in her way.

[moonlitkit]

I love sicktember; let's make it sneezy.

I love the ideas for sicktember, but as a snzfucker I feel that for my personal tastes it could be... narrowed a bit, in scope. So I present to you Snztember: 30 days of Snz prompts to post in September.

Ready? GO!

in the thick of an itchy, snz-filled cold

unexpected allergies

bright light reflecting (photic)

deliberate inducing (partner optional)

"you can't get sick from the rain" - and yet

sneezing while hiding - or rather, trying not to

handkerchiefs (perhaps A carries one / B does not, and B needs one)

running out of tissues; has to go get more, or persuade someone to

super sensitive nose; trying to apply a salve and making them sneeze

re: the above - "cute" pinkened nose (or concerningly red and painful for some caretaking)

horrible timing / can't sneeze; perhaps a bad time in front of others or trying to complete a task

sick chara's breaking point; they let a friend / partner see they get home, maybe take care of them

five minute fit: they can't stop sneezing

unexpectedly set off; something they didn't expect to be a problem makes them sneeze

appearances; to what lengths do the chara go to keep up appearances?

a little whump: A is obviously sick, can't stop sneezing, voice is wrecked, the works, but refuses to accept caretaking for... reasons?

routines; does the character have a specific routine for this scenario?

observation; POV character observes another character suffering (could be cold, could be allergies)

impeccable; chara is one of those who never has so much as a hair out of place... now they're suffering, struggling between relief and maintaining their appearance

tea time; tea is made by the caretaker to help soothe; but the scented steam may have other effects...

blankets; chara is sniffling and chilling and needs a nice warm blanket

good for what ails you; chara will try anything to settle their senses, including obscure medicine

should have had a warning label; chara buys some inducing powder that turns out to be exceptionally potent

tell tale snz; chara only sneezes a particular way when they're sick

indulgent; an intimate inducing session full of teasing and caretaking both

oops? chara sincerely did not mean to set off partner / friend... but they did

re: the above - the tables are turned to make it up to said partner / friend

holding back disaster; for whatever reason chara is trying very hard not to sneeze, and realizes abruptly that the moment they let down their guard it will be so much worse than if they hadn't

the art of a stifle; can chara stifle? they're sure going to try, damn the consequences

The Kink (chara, partner, or both have it)

[motherofpirates]

Waiting for a Star to Fall

Two years after the events of the spring of '86 found Robin and Steve living in Chicago. Both of them juggling college life and working jobs so that they could live together. It was hectic, but exactly what they needed after finally defeating the Upside Down.

On a rare night when their working patterns finally allowed them to get together and a night out they had decided to hit the Pub on the UChi campus. They had apparently lucked out as there were flyers around the campus letting them know that they would be in for a live music night.

The pair got ready in Robin's room where most of her wardrobe was already situated on the floor. She tried on an endless combination of outfits before settling on some high waisted acid wash jeans with a belt, a black tank top and a black and white plaid shirt knotted at the waist and her obligatory Chuck Taylors. She gave Steve a twirl so he could approve before settling down on her bed to do her make up. Steve had done his hair as Robin had had a minor breakdown about what to wear. He felt he had out done himself this time with just how good he had got it to look. He gave Rob a twirl of his own, to show off his new teal ringer tee with a brown and orange stripe across the chest, and trademark slightly too tight Levi's.

"Yes, Steve, you look like you do every damn day." She huffed as she finished her mascara.

"It's not every day I get my hair looking like this, Rob, today it's the best it's ever looked!" He said waving his hand at his hair.

"Oh yes, I neglected to notice that it was one centimetre higher than usual. I'm sure the girls and the guys will all come a running when they see you arrive." She grumbled as they got into their jackets.

Steve had come out to Robin a couple of months after the events of that infamous spring break. He'd had repeated internal meltdowns for weeks after about how Eddie Munson had made him feel every time he had invaded Steve's space and called him "big boy", "hot stuff " and "princess" whilst they were in the process of saving the world from yet another apocalypse. He had had to reflect on his own internalised homophobia and fears of rejection to come out to her. His dad had done a thorough job of instilling in him the consequences of him being a fairy, a pansy or fag or whatever slur his dad had taken it upon himself to use in his rant about the perils of being a queer. It had taken a lot of courage. He had had to whisper what he was experiencing to her, because no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't say the words loud enough for her to hear without Robin coming to sit next to him. He had since been what Robin had called a non-practising bisexual. In that he just hadn't got up the courage to act on his interest in guys. Sure he found dudes attractive, just not as often as girls. As Robin pointed out, he had a type and it was not preppy when it came to dudes. Oh no, he liked alt men, particularly if they were grungy, rocker type with long hair. It appeared he had thing for curls on any gender.

After Eddie there had been a guy who worked at the college library that had piqued Steve's interest with his sandy shaggy curls that framed his face. He'd had penchant for ripped jeans and cardigans, but also a string of girlfriends, so Steve never felt safe in making a move. It had meant endless nights pining to Robin about him. Robin on the other hand had joined the college women's soccer team and had had string of girlfriends since they had moved here in '87. Steve on the other hand had made out with a few girl,s but none of them had made him want to get to know them better. He was looking for something long lasting. Whatever headway he made with someone he just couldn't forget the spark he had with a certain metalhead. It was what he always compare his rendezvous with and none of them had been able to match it.

What Steve hadn't told her was the reason why he had suddenly realised he liked dudes. One, Eddie Munson. He made it sound like it was something he had been coming to terms with for a while, not something that had happened in the past couple of months. The reason he hadn't told her his realisation was because Eddie's uncle had got him out of Hawkins as soon as he was well enough to leave the hospital. The police had decided that Jason Carver was guilty of the murders due to evidence found in Chrissy's diary apparently. That hadn't prevented the court of public opinion deciding that Eddie was guilty as sin. Mr Munson was taking no chances with the odds of Eddie coming out alive if he came into contact with an angry mob, and moved them both away from Roane County. No one knew where the Munson's had gone and they certainly hadn't heard from them much to Dustin, Mike and Lucas' chagrin.

They walked from their apartment to the campus, it was only a twenty-five minute walk and meant they could both drink once they got there. The place was slammed with students and staff members when they got there. They had to make their way through a press of people to the bar so that Steve could order, a beer for himself and a bourbon and lemonade for Robin. Once they had their drinks they headed to the small stage where the first band were just finishing their set, they were a bit Fleetwood Mac-ish. Steve vaguely wondered if they had the same messy band dynamics.

The next set were more of a new wave affair that got the crowd dancing, they were replaced with a pop covers band. Steve and Robin were three drinks in by the time the fourth band took to the stage. Steve had returned with drinks number four, he'd moved on to bourbon and lemonades with Robin. He was just taking a swig of his drink when Robin elbowed him sharply in the ribs making him choke on his drink and splutter, some of it coming out of his nose.

"What the fuck, Rob!" He choked out trying to get his breath. Robin nodded at the stage wide eyed. There setting up equipment with the next band was non-other Eddie Munson. He looked more punkish than he had done when Steve had last seen him. His hair was now in a faded mowhawk that suited his curls. More ink adorned his pale skin, he wore thick framed Buddy Holly style glasses, his fingers glittered with silver rings, his ripped jeans looked like they had been sprayed on and his baggy grey tank top showed off his lithe muscles which you could just make out his demo-bat scars if you knew where to look.

Before Steve knew what he was doing he was pushing his way to the front of the crowd who were paying little attention to the band as they set up. He could hear Robin calling his name and felt her latch on to one of his belt loops as he made his was to the diminutive stage.

"Well, well, well, Munson, look what the cat dragged in!" He shouted over the din of the crowd placing his hands on his hips. Eddie whipped round looking like he'd seen a ghost.

"Holy shit, Stevie, what the fuck are you doing here?" He jumped off the low stage and barrelled Steve into a hug. Eddie's familiar scent of bergamot, weed and smoke engulfed him.

"It's good to see you too, Eds." He said awkwardly, wondering where to place his hands on the metalhead's back. The two of them pulled apart as he Eddie gave him a fond look. "Rob, and I go to school here." He explained.

"Buckley's here too?" He squawked looking about him and finding her standing next to Steve making him jump a little.

"Hi." She gave the both of them a quizzical look, as she waved at him sarcastically.

"Hey, Munson, are you ready to do this or what? We're gonna be late starting if you don't get your ass in gear." A woman with a bleach blond bob told him sharply as she pointed aggressively at Eddie with a pair of drumsticks.

"Oh, yeah, right… Sorry Delia. Catch up with you two after the set, yeah?" He asked looking at them plaintively. "Don't go anywhere."

"What the fuck was that, dingus?" Robin asked him with hostile curiosity, as she gave him a back handed slap to his chest. Steve began to stammer a response, but was saved by the lights dimming and a burst of fog from a nearby machine. From the darkness he heard Eddie's voice echo all around him.

"Hello UChi, thank you for joining us this night, we're Wasted Wizards, remember the name, your eardrums will thank you later!" The stage lights blasted on suddenly and Eddie began to sing. Steve had never seen Eddie perform on stage, had never even heard him play his guitar. He felt like he was watching Eddie play a solo performance, he certainly couldn't take his eyes off him even if he had wanted to. Yet, here was Eddie in his natural habitat front and centre of the stage, holding the audience in the palm of his hand. They played a mix of rock, metal and punk both covers and originals. More than once Eddie caught Steve's eye as he sang, giving him a shy smirk. At one point Eddie twirled to the music lifting his arms above his head, the gaping arm hole of his loose fitting tank allowed Steve to catch a glimpse of a tattoo of his nail-bat down the length of his torso. His heart skipped a beat and he felt his face flush. Towards the end of their set they played a punk cover of Waiting for a Star to Fall, which made Steve's heart skip a beat, it had been stuck in his head for months. There was no denying it now, Eddie really was holding his gaze as he sang.

Trying to catch your heart

Is like trying to catch a star

So many people love you, babyThat must be what you areWaiting for a star to fallAnd carry your heart into my armsThat's where you belongIn my armsBaby, yeah

"Huh, I can't believe I never noticed it before, but Eddie definitely likes dudes." Robin's voice filtered through his brain.

"No offence, Rob, but you have one of the shitest gaydars on the planet. Even I had an inkling and I wasn't in theatre club with the guy." Steve bitched back at her. Robin gave an offend snort and folded her arms.

"What the fuck did you two talk about in the Upside Down!" She asked exasperatedly.

"It wasn't necessarily what we talked about, it was the way he acted and some of the things he called me. He didn't act like that around anyone else. It was like he was trying to flirt, but didn't know how." Steve explained as the band thanked the crowed and the lights came up.

"Hey, Eds, what do you want to drink? My treat!" Steve shouted over the crowd.

"Still a ladies man, I see, Harrington. Rum and coke please." He grinned as he wound a mic cable around his arm.

"See you at the bar, Munson. Don't stand us up."

"I wouldn't dream of it, princess!" Eddie called as they turned and battled their way towards the bar. At Eddie's term of endearment Steve felt like he had been struck by lightning. All the feelings he had buried over two years prior came bubbling to the surface.

"Fuck! I Can't believe I never saw it before." Robin swore under her breath.

"You should have heard him when he was sedated at the hospital before Wayne got there." Steve snorted at the memory. He'd never been told he was pretty before, or that his eyes sparkled when he smiled. It had taken an hour before the meds kicked in fully and Eddie succumbed to sleep. Steve had been called more terms of endearment in that one hour than he had in his whole life, he wasn't even aware there was that many. He was pretty much certain that Eddie had no memory of it the next day when he visited the metalhead, if he did he was probably embarrassed, because he didn't mention it.

By the time he and Robin had waited for their turn at the crowded bar the band had cleared the stage. He was just waiting for their drinks to arrive when Eddie elbowed him in the ribs with a smirk.

"Fancy seeing you here, big guy, come here often?" He gave Steve a cheeky grin. Robin was chatting to some of her soccer team friends who were also waiting at the bar. The drinks arrived and Steve handed them out. Robin moved away once her friends had got their drinks, obviously not wanting to become a third wheel. Eddie and Steve went to the back of the pub as far away from the music being played by the last band of the night so that they could catch up.

"When did you move here then, Stevie?" Eddie asked as the leant against a standing table, he crowded Steve's space as he used to do appearing to have no concept of personal space. The warmth of the drinks he had had allowed Steve to relax into Eddie's closeness without the anxiety he would have felt sober. He was able to enjoy the swoop and sparkle of the butterflies for once without over thinking about whether the other person would get aggressive with him if he said or did the wrong thing.

"Late August '87. Rob has a scholarship majoring in human rights, I'm doing early childhood education. I want to be a kindergarten teacher." He smiled enthusiastically, he was really enjoying the course and was excelling in his class because it was something he was so interested in. "What about you, Eds? We missed you after you and Wayne left, especially Dustin." He told the metalhead. "He's gonna be ecstatic when I tell him I've seen you again."

"Wayne and I have been living near Boystown since we arrived in '86. He got a job pimping rides in a body shop, earns quite a bit now as he's found a talent for doing custom spray jobs. I've been doing a bit of this, a bit of that, but I've been doing a creative writing course at the local community college in the evenings and I'm six chapters deep into writing a book. Other than that I work a day job at the local metal station as a DJ."

"Sounds like you've really landed on your feet, Eds, Wayne did the right thing getting you out of Hawkins. You were always made for something greater than that shit heap." He gave Eddie a soft smile, the drink making his cheeks tingle.

"I'm glad you got out too, sweetheart, I'm glad you didn't stay and let it crush your spirits." He gave Steve a fond smile. He watched Eddie fidget with his rings as he a frown crossed his features.

"You ok, Eds?" He queried, hoping he hadn't put his foot in it somewhere. He mentally replayed the conversation but couldn't pin point why Eddie would suddenly look uncomfortable. Eddie huffed, then took a deep swig of his drink.

"So, what happened with you and Nance? Did you ever get back together?" Eddie asked watching as he twisted the rings on his long delicate fingers.

"No, dude, she's with Jonathon. We were a car crash, we wanted totally different things. She has big ambitious dreams that just weren't what I want, she wants to be a world renowned journalist. My dreams are far too mundane in some respects. I just want someone who loves me for who I am and is happy to find contentment in the small things in life." He told Eddie gently.

"And, do you have anyone in mind for that?" Eddie questioned softly as Steve inhaled his drink for the second time that night. He coughed as Eddie patted his back. "Want me to get you some water, princess?" Steve swallowed hard trying to clear his throat as he shook his head.

"No, Eds." He croaked out.

"No to the water, or…?"

"No, to both, Eddie."

"Oh."

"What about you. Well, there was someone special a few years back, but not since. Not one that would stick around at any rate." He gave Steve a sad smile. "I'm gonna head out for a smoke, you gonna join me, sweetness?"

"Sure thing." They headed to a side door, Steve caught Robin's eye and mimed smoking to her. She gave a thumbs up and carried on dancing with her friends.

They got into the deserted alleyway their hands bumping together as they leant next to each other against the wall. Eddie pulled a cigarette out of the pack with his teeth before offering the pack to Steve. Steve took one and placed it between lips, he patted his pockets exaggeratedly, as Eddie lit his cig, knowing full well he didn't have a lighter.

"You got a light, Eds?" He asked, around the cigarette between his lips. Eddie took a deep drag and blew the smoke out.

"Sure do." He he leant into Steve's space placing the cherry of his smoke to Steve's. "Take a drag, princess." Steve did as he was bid, his cigarette soon lit. It wasn't the effects of the smoke that feel lightheaded, it was the way Eddie looked up through his lashes that made Steve's head spin and his mouth go dry. The air between them felt thick with tension.

Not one to let the opportunity to fall head over heals in love go, Steve exhaled and tentatively placed a hand on the back of Eddie's head, tangling his fingers through the curls at the nape of Eddie's neck. He brought his lips to the other man's. Eddie's eyes fluttered closed, his free hand grasping Steve's shirt to bring him closer so that their bodies pressed together. Steve heard the sharp inhale of Eddie's breath. It was Eddie that tilted his head and and gently caressed Steve's bottom lip with his tongue as he requested access to Steve's mouth. He smiled as he opened his mouth, Eddie tasted of smoke and syrupy sweetness from his drink. Steve's whole body tingled at the points of contact it had with Eddie. His lips , nose and chin, the hand Eddie had on his hip, and the knee between Steve's leg. Steve moved his hand to cup Eddie's cheek.

They kissed passionately until Eddie suddenly hissed and flicked away his cigarette. He stuck a finger in his mouth, having been burnt as the thing had burnt up to the filter.

"Fuck, Eds, kiss of my life." Steve rumbled dropping his own burnt down smoke, as Eddie finally pulled away to catch his breath.

"Well, that was unexpected, sweetheart, I didn't think you'd be into someone like me.

"It turns out that you're exactly the sort of person I'd be into, Eddie, I've been looking for someone just like you. What better than the person I've not been able to get off my mind for the pas two years." Steve felt like Eddie's hand, that was still grasping his hip, was the only thing tethering him to the earth he felt so light he could fly.

"You aren't the only one. I've not been able to stop thinking about you either, no one could hold a candle to you, Stevie." Eddie grinned as he pressed his lips to Steve's giving him a chaste kiss. "You think you can make room in your life for me?"

"There's been an Eddie shaped hole in my life for the past two years waiting for me to find you. I don't need to make room, I want you to be part of it, my life's been kinds dull without you in it." Steve grinned coquettishly at the metalhead. Eddie sparkled back at him. He took Steve's hand in his and brought it to his lips to kiss each knuckle individually. "Do you think you could make space in your life for me, Eds?"

"I couldn't imagine having lady luck bring you back into my life only to decide not to take the opportunity given to me. You're so special, Steve, I can't wait to spend every day treating you like the princess you are." Steve melted into the metalhead's arms his head resting on his shoulder as he hugged the other man with his whole being.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here's the link if you prefer it on AO3:

[noisymoonwizars]

Need to genuinely compose my thoughts, but TADC ep 6 is genuinely a masterpiece, I was laughing, feeling sad, feeling happy, feeling angry, every single emotion I was feeling.

Also //Spoilers//

They could have taken the easy route, they could have made Jax a misunderstood puppy dog who cracks the first time we see someone get close to him. But he doesn’t, he has legitimate real world trauma, trauma that isn’t fixed by one hard conversation. He character is written so well. I fully expected him to get the redemption arc sooner than Ragatha, and for Ragatha to be close to abstracting, but they did the opposite and had it not only make perfect sense, but make me absolutely enthralled with the character development. Yes, everything we are being shown about Jax is telling us there is something deeper to him, that he is extremely effected by what happened to Coughmo and the frog character who’s name I’m forgetting, and that he is using his nihilistic and toxic personality to cope with it. I mean he damn near abstracted from feeling genuine emotion and not putting up his veneer of irony. Gooseworks did one of the best examples of a plot twist I have ever seen, I did not expect this episode to go in the direction it did at all, and best of all is that it made more than perfect sense.

And I loved Gangle and Kinger in this episode. They will forever remain my favorite characters ever. I think my theory (probably wasn’t the first person to come up with it) that kinger was a developer of some kind just keeps getting proven more and more with each episode. And Gangle and Zoobles character arcs are so good. Gangle learning that all emotions are natural, and the acceptance of negative emotions is just as important as the appreciation of positive emotions is incredible, and learning this from Zooble, who it seems still needs to learn this lesson in regards to what I believe is body dismorphia but could be anything, is just lovely. I love them, they are great.

Ragatha also had incredible character moments and I love how they did her relationship with Pomni. Pomni doesn’t hate her or even dislike her, Pomni just isn’t always up for hanging around Ragatha due to her deceptive friendly personality, but Pomni doesn’t hate who Ragatha is, regardless of the fact that Ragatha is “tricking” people. And having Kinger teach Ragatha about self love and care is amazing when it’s framed as him teaching someone younger than him the lessons he wish he knew.

Also, the scene where Kinger, Pomni, and Jax are all shooting each other in the dark is unbelievable. Most people have never attempted animation before, but please believe me that that scene is a feat of animation production. The people who actually work on the animation for this show need all the praise in the world.

And I loved the little Ming joke. If I had to make an assumption (haha get it) it that it’s meant to be a little comment to the theorists. You have your theories and that’s fine, but you aren’t a writer on the show, so don’t be so obsessed with your theories that you won’t appreciate the story that the incredible writers of this show come up with. I had my own theories regarding Jax and what caused him to be the way he is, and this episode went in a very different direction compared to my theory. But I love that, because it is so much more fun to be surprised and recognize that the path they took is so much more interesting. My theory regarding Jax having daddy issues is still possible, but at this point I fully trust the writers.

And that’s another thing, trust in the writers to create a story that is actually worth watching. I feel like larger media over the past few years has eroded my suspension of disbelief. My thoughts are no longer centered around the characters, but instead the writers. And I find it funny how every piece of media that has made me think about the characters before the writers has been independent. As in self publishing studios and creators. They want to tell a good story, regardless of who listens.

Anyway, I loved this episode.

[artm-is87]

it takes strength to be gentle and kind

simon 'ghost' riley x gn!reader. hurt/comfort, my usual tango. i kind of hate this, lmao. short, i might make a part 2 or rewrite this, not sure yet. but i kind of just want it out of my system. i torture ghost with his own thoughts. enjoy, ig.

you're stuck to him, like a fucking glue trap. every time he tries to get away, straining against the pressure at the back of his head telling him to get as far away from you as possible, to maybe not fuck up your life, to not allow himself anything resembling a complex relationship, he just gets pulled back to the start. those closest to you can hurt you the most, and he got burned by that enough times already to know better. but it just keeps happening, no matter how hard he tries to resist it.

"why do you keep doing tha'?" ghost's gruff voice interrupts your line of internal turmoil, gesturing to your bouncing leg.

you've been like this for days. ever since you came back from the last mission, looking paler than the white parts of his mask. you've gotten separated, the enemy holding you essentially hostage for a few hours, before they managed to cook up some sort of cohesive plan to get you out of there. you were capable, that much has always been obvious, and he's never known you to stay down. none of them did. it was kind of the whole fucking appeal of you in this task force. you just didn't give up.

not when ghost literally threatened you with bodily harm every time you tried to strike up a conversation with him, not even when he eventually snapped at you and used words less appropriate for a fellow teammate. used every bit of information he knew about you against you, and yet you stayed close. didn't let him off the hook, the opposite. you gave him fucking hell for months after that. made it clear you were to be respected, and one time even shocked him into a stupor. if it wasn't the guilt eating him up secretly inside, it would've been your sheer ferocity in which you made him fucking pay that caused simon to finally suck up and apologize. more or less.

which proved to be another problem. because now, he actually liked you. started noticing more and more things that made you so well liked on base. sure, you could be terrifying when you wanted to, but you were mostly smart as hell, funny, surprisingly caring and just damn good company. the fact that you were pretty, had his back and weren't afraid to get bloodied was just the nail in the coffin for him.

you started to spend time together. a lot of time. so much so, that even the boys started pointing it out. mainly soap, because the bastard was jealous he wasn't ghost's favorite anymore (he never was). but he couldn't help it. at some point his mind started working against him, and subconsciously seek you out, either in person or in dreams. those were usually very different from reality. you, glossy eyed, sighing in pleasure in his bed. but even then he knew you, knew you wouldn't back down without a fight, would push and prod at his buttons like the expert you seem to be. not that he minds it.

what he does mind, however, is you looking dead on your fuckin' feet. you look like you haven't slept, and he's pretty sure nobody has seen you in the cafeteria in the last three days (he asked, and checked). you were hurt, of course, but they saw to it that the medics patched you up. you were quiet on the way back, they chucked it up to exhaustion and shock. you're exhausted, alright, that much is clear. you haven't said a word in over an hour, and the meeting is about to end. usually you'd offer some insight, speak your mind, but not this time. he doesn't want to admit he's worried, but he quietly shares a look with price, that seems to be wearing his grim concern on his face, clear as fucking day. you don't even seem to notice. they're briefing on a possible op, meant to happen in four days, so he still has some time to fix thing. maybe at least find out what the fuck is the problem. he realizes it could be a problem, when after captain's official dismissal, he answers gaz's question about the new toys in the armory, and after he turns around, you're already gone.

"fuckin' hell." sighing quietly to himself, he leaves the briefing room, and starts wandering. if you know someone will be looking for you, you're not gonna be that easily found.

he's unfortunately right, because it's been a few hours and there's no sign of you anywhere. it's starting to piss him off a bit, and it's an obvious sign he needs a cig. going outside, the sun already mostly set. the yard is almost deserted at this time of day, most recruits or operatives either resting or minding their own business. which is the opposite of what he's fucking doing right now. sighing, he adjusts his mask in lieu of rubbing a hand over his face, and looks around. he can't seem to ever really turn off the vigilance and obsessive scanning of his surroundings, even safe at base. he doesn't even know why he's doing this. it's not like he's good at comforting people, or offering them support. he doesn't give a shit most of the time, and if a soldier can't perform their duties, that's that, and the reason isn't really something he pays any mind to, not when there's lives at stake. he justifies it in his mind as just performing his duties, price was clearly concerned, and as a commanding officer it's his job to be responsible for anyone who acts under him. yeah, he's fucked. and maybe he wants to torture himself a bit, give himself a semblance of normality, where neither deserves or needs it. you still have some humanity left, whereas he has close to none at this point in his life. he's just contradicting himself now, isn't he? if it was just about getting his dick wet, it might've made more sense, he would've scratched that itch already, if not be able to dispose of it faster. but you're stuck to him, like a fucking glue trap. every time he tries to get away, straining against the pressure at the back of his head telling him to get as far away from you as possible, to maybe not fuck up your life, to not allow himself anything resembling a complex relationship, he just gets pulled back to the start. those closest to you can hurt you the most, and he got burned by that enough times already to know better. but it just keeps happening, no matter how hard he tries to resist it. first price, garrick and johnny, now you. you, who's sitting on a roof of the service building in front of him. jesus fucking christ.

his legs move before his brain can come up with something logical. but there's nothing logical about this. getting to the back and up the ladder, he stands behind you, and finally stops, taking a breath and looking you over. for all intents and purposes, you're just sitting there. not moving a muscle, hugging your knees with your hair let down, shielding your face from his prying gaze. coming up behind you, he bends his shitty and cracking knees and sits down next to you, leaving some space between your bodies. now that he's here, he doesn't know what to say. and that was always going to be the problem, because he's like a fish out of water. he doesn't have to, seemingly, come up with anything at least sounding like human speech, because you speak up first.

"i wasn't going to jump, you know. not that i'd do me any good, would probably just break a leg or somethin'." your voice is rough, unused and emotionless. it unnerves him so much he just snorts in response.

"you've been quiet." ghost's voice has it's own quality of gruffness that speaks of years of smoking and barking out orders.

"i'm alright." it sounds final, like you're putting your walls up, and he knows at least that. you were hard to read at first, he has to give you that, but it didn't last.

"you're not." sometimes, at least in a moment like this, he wishes he wasn't so fucking stumped emotionally. repressed, whatever the shrinks at the psych evals always say.

"no. no i'm not." at least you're not arguing, but he feels like he could handle a screaming match way better than this. it's almost like you gave up, your exhaustion catching up to you and decking you in the face with a brick.

you both sit in the quiet for a while after that, the admission hanging above you like a dark cloud. but it's not entirely awful. you seem more content after saying that, a heavy sigh escaping your lips. does he hug you? does he say anything else? after debating with himself, he just accepts the silence for what he hopes it will mean to you: i know you're not fine, i don't care, i can stay. he's not gonna drag the words out of you, make you tell him what the hell happened to make you like this. you're gonna want to talk, you will. it's not his job to coddle you. he can offer this, tho.

"i can't sleep. been tossin' and turning. it's like there's a fog in my head." he frowns when you speak up again. he's thankful for his mask, because his thoughts would probably be see through if he didn't.

he gets that feeling, at least. better than anyone. he doesn't remember the last time he got a good night's sleep, always something interrupting it - a nightmare, a panic attack. sometimes he does the same thing you do, feeling his thoughts muddle and fade away just far enough out of his reach that he spends the night trying to catch them. he gets an idea, but it's a very, very bad one, and could bite him in the ass.

"you can sleep in my room, if you want." he says it before he can talk himself out of this. ghost understands sleeping in a shitty bunk, it most definitely doesn't help you at all. so he throws the invitation for what it is.

he can see you turn your head to look at him from his peripheral. he looks back, staring you directly in the eye, not backing out. you look confused, getting that grimace you do when you think every option over. your face clears out, and you just nod, probably done with talking. that's alright. he gets up, and leaves, secretly hoping you'll follow.

you do. and now you're standing in his private quarters, and his palm are a bit sweaty. he's not a fucking teenager for fucks sake, and you're not even here to shag, but for some reason your invasion, even if welcome, is a bit jarring on his nerves. he gestures to the shower, cause he really needs one, and it might clear his head a bit. giving you the go-ahead to make yourself at home, he leaves, knowing for a fact that if it was johnny, he'd snoop through the whole room in a manner of minutes. not you, tho. he knows you respect him, and privacy has always seemed like a big thing for you.

in the shower, he scrubs himself clean and tries to put himself together. when he comes back to his room, it's to you sitting on his bed, having taking off your hoodie. you're slumped a bit, elbows digging into knees and hands into eyes. at his return, you raise your head a bit, squinting against the bathroom light. he crosses the room, shooing you away for a second so he can pull back the covers, and lies down, the mattress groaning against his weight. he leaves the space open next to him, and closes his eyes, waiting. after what seems like a minute, you slowly get in, laying your head down on his pillow and breathing deeply. he's still, not unlike on a mission, hyper-aware of your body right next to his. he takes his own deep breath, feeling his tired bones give him a sign that he could probably use some sleep too. he hears you shuffle a bit, and after finding a good position, hears your breath even out. he stays awake for a few more minutes, making sure you're actually asleep, and lets himself pass out too. he doesn't even realize how easy it is for him this time, how much more relaxed and comfortable he feels.

when he wakes up, he's alone, and you're gone. there's a card on his bedside table, with a little thank you, written in your handwriting. he slept through the night.

"fuck."

[siriusly-t1red]

Lines Crossed

Masterlist

The mission wasn’t supposed to be complicated.

Just a training patrol in the city—nothing more than a simulation with pro heroes watching from the sidelines. But U.A. had a way of turning “routine” into “trial by fire.”

And tonight was no different.

Bakugou clicked his tongue as the team assignments were read. “Team A: Bakugou, Kaminari, and Y/N.”

His shoulders stiffened at the sound of your name paired with Kaminari’s.

Kaminari fist-pumped, grinning. “Nice, I get to team with the powerhouses. We’re unstoppable!”

“Shut it, Dunce Face,” Bakugou snapped automatically. But the unease lingered.

The scenario unfolded in an abandoned warehouse district—low light, scattered obstacles, a villain team simulation led by third-year support students with mock weapons and gadgets.

“Objective’s simple,” Aizawa’s voice crackled over the comms. “Locate the hostages, secure the area, and neutralize threats. Time limit: thirty minutes. Don’t screw it up.”

Bakugou adjusted his gauntlets, eyes narrowing. “Like hell I’ll screw this up.”

The three of you slipped into formation—Kaminari taking rear guard, you at point, Bakugou covering angles with sharp efficiency.

But every time Kaminari leaned too close, muttered a suggestion, or cracked a joke under his breath, Bakugou’s jaw clenched tighter.

“Y/N, go left—door’s open.” Kaminari gestured, already jogging beside you.

Bakugou moved faster, cutting in. “I’ll take point. You two follow.”

“Uh, dude, she was already—”

“I said follow, dumbass!”

The edge in his voice made Kaminari wince but shut up.

You, however, shot Bakugou a look. Not angry—worse. Disappointed.

The first clash came fast—mock villains springing from cover with smoke grenades.

Bakugou surged forward without hesitation, explosions lighting the dark. You moved beside him, striking sharp and controlled, your quirk precision where his was raw power.

For a while, it worked. You slipped into sync like always, covering gaps, trusting each other’s timing without needing to speak.

Until Kaminari got cut off.

“Shit—guys!” His voice echoed from the far side of the warehouse, cut off by a steel door slamming shut between him and the two of you.

You spun toward it immediately. “We need to get him out—”

Bakugou grabbed your arm. “Forget him. Objective first. He can handle himself.”

You shook him off, eyes blazing. “He’s our teammate!”

And before he could stop you, you dashed toward the sealed door.

Bakugou’s chest clenched like someone had reached in and twisted.

Every instinct screamed to let you go—that you could handle yourself, that he should focus on the mission. But his feet moved before the thought finished, blasting him across the floor to your side.

The villains regrouped, closing in around you. You fought hard, but when one aimed a stun-round straight at you, Bakugou didn’t think.

He threw himself between, gauntlet flashing, blast deflecting the hit wide.

“Bakugou—!”

“Shut up and move!” he barked, teeth bared.

Together, you breached the door with a combined strike—your quirk cutting through the reinforced lock, his explosion blowing it open. Kaminari stumbled out, singed but grinning.

“Man, I knew you’d come through!”

Bakugou growled but didn’t answer. His chest was still too tight, his pulse pounding too hard from the thought of what almost happened.

Later, after the mission wrapped—successful, if barely—you cornered him in the training yard.

“You risked yourself back there.”

He scowled. “I don’t need a lecture.”

“That’s not—” You exhaled, steadying yourself. “I’m saying thank you.”

The words hit harder than any blast.

He looked away, ears burning. “Tch. Don’t thank me for doing my damn job.”

“Bakugou…”

The way you said his name—soft, steady, unshaken—made something inside him stutter.

He wanted to tell you the truth. That it wasn’t just instinct. That it was you.

But the words stuck, heavy and unspoken.

So instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets, muttered, “Don’t make me save your reckless ass again,” and walked away before you could see the way his hands trembled.

That night, Bakugou sat on his bed, staring at the faint scorch mark still smudged on his gauntlet.

The image of you—back turned, danger aimed your way—flashed behind his eyes again and again.

And every time, the same thought followed:

He didn’t care if it broke the mission. He’d protect you anyway.

[hotwaterandmilk]

Welp looks like that seller who had offered me the scanner I was after has scammed me out of like $800. I mean I've disputed the transaction of course but haha will probably takes months to resolve (assuming it is resolved).

I think this may well be the nail in the coffin of me trying to do anything with scanning going forward. Those were all my hobby savings, I have nothing left now and I feel like I've been kicked in the guts.

[egophiliac]

don't think I'm not still obsessing over 7-12