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linddzz · 8 months

Note

32 with Dreamling? 👀

Smut Prompts:

#32: A suffers from pent-up stress and frustration. B offers their body for them to use to get rid of negative emotions.

Edit: Full fic on AO3

Wordcount: 6977 (nice)

Warnings: Canon typical descriptions of violence. Dream being an unhinged little nightmare, but Hob is so down for it. Also, it's a smut prompt. So there is smut. Dicks abound. In typical fashion it took me a while to get to said dicks though. No beta and only the barest editing.

Summary: Service Dom Hob is here to give his bizarre Eldritch boyfriend the tenderest, gentlest domming of his Endles existence. Dream is still going to be a hissing little brat about it. Tbh I waffled a bit on which way to go with this one, but realized that what I really want sometimes is to have Hob scruff Dream like the pissy wet cat that he is and tell him to SHUSH while Dream goes all ragdoll. I also fully embraced a horny headcanon of mine where Dream is more sensitive to physical touch in the Waking.

Shout out to @amahhi, because I picked little bits from our RP here and there for this. What can I say, we got a good Dream and Hob.

Edit 2.0: trying to get the blog unflagged, so the read more has the fic up to the spicy bits. Full fic is in the AO3 link 🙃

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It's been a very normal, mundane, and drab sort of day when Hob comes home at the end of it. There's the standard London drizzle tapping away at his window, transforming the world outside into a melting blur of darkening gray shot through with bright smears from electric street lights coming on one by one.

Electric lights. Brilliant. Literally brilliant. They're all going to pay for it in the long run of course, but fuck is it nice to just come home and flick a switch - like so - to light a room up.

There's a corpse on his sofa.

The corpse is on its back, arms rigid at its side. Its skin has a drained, cold paleness with veins as gray as the current sky. The face is perfectly still and perfectly expressionless, with flat blue eyes open and unseeing towards the ceiling. The startling ghastliness of the corpse is offset by the soft black t-shirt, along with black pajama bottoms decorated with alarmingly cheerful blue stars.

This is also, increasingly, a normal part of his day.

"All right, love?" He asks, shutting the door behind him. The first time he came home to Dream lying out stiff and apparently lifeless in his flat there had been a bit more yelling and panicking, followed by careful explanations about what the unexpected sight of a pale and unmoving body with open, unseeing eyes showing up in a safe and comfortable space can do to someone who has been through a few wars.

It kept happening, which meant Dream did not actually understand. But now Dream always makes an effort to put his form into pajamas first, possibly with the logic that if he were dressed comfortably for sleep, then he couldn’t possibly look like a corpse. Which meant he was trying, even if severely misguided. It's more touching than it should be.

The corpse on the sofa routine all started when they became...whatever they are now. The best explanation Hob ever got was that a chunk of Dream’s duties involve delving into the vast unconsciousness of himself, sinking into the wild depths that were made of every dreaming mind that created him to make sure everything was flowing smoothly.

It was all very metaphysical in all the ways that Hob tries not to think about too much. When he compared it to a computer shutting down for maintenance, he got himself a curdled look of such offended disgust that he knew he was on the money. He compared it to sleep instead, which mollified Dream at the time.

In the past this deeper delving into himself was done from the throne room. Then Dream started showing up in Hob's flat every now and again, refusing to explain why. Hob isn't stupid, so he doesn't ask why after the first few times. Whatever the metaphysics of it, Dream wants to come here and lie on Hob's furniture being vulnerable in the Waking world, despite all his grumblings about said world. Dream may not be able to explain the want for a space outside of work to go to, but Hob gets the difference between grading papers at his office and doing it in his living room. The fact that Dream seeks this space out makes Hob's chest go all fluttery and hot, and he will never question it ever.

It's why he doesn't make a fuss about the fact that Dream hasn't figured out that he looks like a fucking horror movie prop when he does it.

“Obviously.” Dream rumbles in answer. His voice has a deep, slow resonance that's being dragged up from the darkest fathoms. It's a growling sneer, the sharp warning crack of a cliff face about to give. It says that asking things like “all right?” is the most low, simple mindedly human thing Hob could ask, because there is no reason Dream would be otherwise.

“That sort of day then? Budge up.” Hob tosses his coat to the chair, which earns him an annoyed huff of a sound, and shoves a space for himself by Dream's hip, which earns him a growl.

“What. Sort of. Day?” Dream asks darkly. He turns his head, slowly. His movements are always slow when he's coming up from his not-sleep, and Hob is always fascinated by the process. He imagines Dream reeling himself back from wherever he has gone to, a long thread of his consciousness spooling up to refill the shape of his body. The waxy deadness in his skin doesn't exactly liven up, but it becomes more luminous. The stiffness melts from carved stone to…well not relaxed but something with a bit more give to it than stone anyway. The eyes change the most. The empty flatness of them turns into a clear, bright blue. They're flashing with liquid fire when Dream looks up at Hob, even if the rest of him is still an angrily stiff bunch of sharp edges.

“Not a great one, I think.” Hob leans, propping his shoulders on the back of the couch with Dreams waist and arm against the small of his back. Dream turns his head with his jaw clenched, and Hob reaches out, brushing the backs of his curled fingers in the barest caress over the plane of Dreams cheek.

There's a nearly imperceptible tremor in the core of the body he's leaned himself against. The corners of Dreams mouth tightens, and his eyes flare, like that lightest touch has opened a raw nerve.

“Maybe the sort of day I could help you forget?” Hob murmurs. He hasn't decided exactly what he's offering when he offers it. They could just stay here, watching some meaningless picture while Dream stays pressed between Hob and the sofa, and Hob combs his fingers through that downy soft black hair until all the tension melts from him. Hob could make that milky, sugary lavender infusion Dream is fond of and kiss him slow and sweet for hours. They could have a wild shag or the easiest love making. Whatever will help ease the coiled tension that’s churning just beneath Dream’s carefully still surface. Anything.

The caress continues. Hob traces his fingertips up the edge of Dreams cheekbone and sinks them back into the wild black hair to cradle around that impossible skull. There's a suspicious scraping sound down by his hip.

“That better not be you clawing up my upholstery.” He hums, rubbing his thumb over the hairline at Dreams temple. “Come on love, what do you want?”

“What. I. Want?”

The stillness breaks. A hand snaps up and clamps around Hob's wrist. Dream surges up, sitting awkwardly with Hob nearly in his lap, his eyes flashing dark and his teeth bared close to Hob's mouth.

“You would offer yourself then? A sacrifice to what you would call a bad day?” Dream asks, his voice dropping into a hard scrape. There's a sharp prick against the skin of Hob's wrist as claws grow from Dreams fingers. “You ask for what I want?”

“Obviously.” Hob repeats Dream’s earlier answer back at him. This is always the most uncertain part, when Dream is in one of these moods. This night could go a million different ways, but Hob finds himself keen for any of them. Any that keep Dream right here with all of his attention, snarling or otherwise, right on Hob that is.

There's a hiss of sound, sharp and explosive. The sharp pricks against Hob's skin turn into bright bursts of hot pain, and he feels the wet slide of blood down the inside of his arm. There's a shudder, and Dream suddenly curls down against him with his forehead ground into the curve of Hob's shoulder at the base of his throat. It's an awkward reach, but Hob brings his far arm around to run his palm up the knobbed curve of Dreams spine.

“It's alright, love.” He whispers. The slump is not a loosening at all. Hob can feel the jerky tension in every line of Dream’s body, and his love feels like a spring winding tighter and tighter.

“No.” Dream spits. “You ask what I want. The things I want. You are foolhardy. Brash. You understand nothing. Ignorant.”

“Flattery gets you nowhere, my Dream.” Hob keeps running his hand up and down Dream’s spine, thinking that he really is wound up if those are the best insults he can come up with.

There's a bizarre, inhuman sound. A sharp, jagged, snarling grind. Dream's other hand splays against his ribs, vibrating and sharp. The Endless goes quiet again, and Hob keeps stroking his back, happy to wait for whatever comes next.

“The way you say my name.” Dream whispers. “I want to open your ribs and make you say it. I want to pull each apart, one by one, like the petals of the rarest flower. I want to splay them, pin them. Expose the secret parts of you. I want to see how your lungs fill and shrink when you say my name, when you scream it. I want to see how your heart beats when you dream of me. I want to put my hand around it and feel the precious fluttering of it when I punch my fingers through the chambers. I want to feel it burst like the most wondrous fruit plucked out and crushed in my grasp. I want to feel the pockets of your lungs crackle against my palms when they fill with air. I want you to be screaming my name when I do it.”

His hand moves as he talks. Long fingers drag along the valleys between Hob's ribs, slow and methodical. They're also shaking, a sharp electric buzzing of claws through Hob's button down shirt.

That sort of night then?

“If you're trying to scare me off, you’ve already done that sort of thing in a few of my more exciting dreams.” Hob points out.

“I want to do it here.” It isn't even a whisper now. It's just an exhale shaped into words. Hob notices that it isn't a threatening snarl, or the low purr of Dream enjoying the build up to a grand old violently nightmarish time. There's a shivery dread. A horror deeper than the obvious goriness of it all.

“You fantasize about killing me?” Hob asks, curious. Ok fine, it wouldn't actually kill him, but it would feel like it.

“You can't die.”

It's an immediate response. Breathless. Rapturous. Terrified. Hob is starting to get the idea of what's going on here.

“Scariest thing you've said to me, that was.” He observes with some interest. It's true, after all. He's just learned that his immortality fuels his love's apparent wish to vivisect him in the plane where they both know it would hurt the worst, where the violence of it would be all of the bloody screaming reality without the cushioned fantasy of the Dreaming. Dream admitted that in a way that was clear that he thinks about it regularly. It is, objectively, a scary thing to learn. There it is. Horrifying and alarming. Huh! How about that.

He doesn’t pretend to be surprised at himself when his cock twitches against his jeans. The only thing he isn’t sure of is if it’s the violent idea itself, or the fact that Dream is very obviously holding himself back from affectionately mauling him right this instant.

He's still petting his hand up and down Dream's spine, and he can feel the way his love bunches in on himself with a cracked whining sound that makes Hob's chest ache like his heart’s already been torn and exposed for the soft tender thing it is. There are talons still scraping anxiously at Hob's ribcage. There are still claws dug into his arm, but with less force than before. Dream is tense, already in a state, and in the fine process of working himself up into what could possibly be a legendary tantrum of self loathing.

“Right.” Hob declares, coming to a decision. “First thing: put a pin in that idea. I have to sit on it a bit and work up to it, but I did just get a little hard there, so it's not entirely off the table. I don't think that's what you want right now though.”

Dream froze with shock halfway through that, and Hob knows the best course of action is to keep moving before that impossible head has enough time to tangle itself up in a new way. The hand on Dream's spine sweeps up and grabs Dream by the nape, hard.

There is an explosive hiss of incredulous shock when Hob yanks him back. The face that Hob pulls off of his shoulder has wide obsidian eyes and a snarl with a wicked set of fangs. He holds the nightmare scruffed, meeting glittering dark eyes while his heart pounds with what isn't nearly enough actual fear.

“You want me to stop you.”

Dream’s eyes widen further, the hand on Hob's wrist drops lifeless to the sofa. Hob watches a burst of pink bloom across the unnatural white of his cheeks before the response is wrestled back down. Dream’s eyes narrow, but he's watching Hob closely.

“You are. Incapable. Of stopping me.” He growls. It's not a threat, just reality. Which is how most of Dream’s threats go.

“You're going to let me though, I think.” Hob says. He digs his fingers a little into the hard muscle of the back of Dream's neck, and takes several mental notes on the way the nightmare’s head lolls back and the hand on his ribs goes still. Hob turns where he's sitting to bring one leg up on the sofa, to bring himself closer to the odd monster he loves so dearly. He pulls Dream further, already feeling dizzy at the way the jagged, black eyed nightmare with his luminous white skin and razor teeth goes pliantly until he's leant back, practically being dipped with Hob over him.

“I think you need to let go, love. But you don't like what you might do if you let go.” He says with a smile. “How about we try things my way hm? You let go, but you hand the reins to me. Let me take charge.”

Dreams face goes through some fascinating shifts. He gazes up at Hob with such a raw, wounded want that it looks painful before the expression flinches when Hob's other hand comes up to stroke his cheek again. There's a jerk though Dream's limbs, and Hob is sure the joints are doing things that would make him feel queasy if he looked.

“You…here?” Dream asks, and his voice is thin and sharp and shivery. Hob knows why Dream’s clarifying that, and why here is making Dream writhe and flush with his mouth stretched a little too far on teeth that weren't meant for a human jawline. Hob knows that things feel different for Dream, when he's in the Waking. He's a creature of thought and idea, and touches in the more physical Waking world come across stronger than he's used to, more overwhelming. It’s not that Dream never bottoms, or even that he never submits. But it’s always in Dream’s own realm, where his submission isn’t really submission at all, but a coy play where he acts up the part of a sweet wilting fae lover or a wanton hedonist. He has a harder time staying in control of the situation, when they’re in Hob’s world, where there are less heated fantasies for him to sink himself into.

And the Dreamlord would never admit it, but Hob has noticed the way he keeps showing up in the Waking world to initiate things, even if it's just to cuddle up against Hob and find ways to get petted until he turns into a shivering puddle of nerves. But cuddling here is one thing, this is something else, something new.

“Here.” Hob nods, stroking his thumb slow and firm over Dream's nape, feeling the little vibration that goes down Dream's spine from that point. “I need you to say you want me to though, ok?”

That gets a furious, low hiss of a growl. Dream’s eyes flash and he snaps his mouth full of razor teeth with the sound like a bear trap. Hob lets him squirm and hiss and shudder. He's always such a trembling little thing, like there is too much going on inside for his outer shell to hold in. One day, Hob is going to properly catalog all of the ways his cosmic power of a lover shivers like a leaf when he thinks he's keeping himself all grim and stoic.

“You. Wish me …complicit.” Dream hisses, the words grinding out from his chest, as there's no way the wide maw of needle teeth is currently capable of speaking that clearly. “You would have me voice it. Admit to it. To be brought low and ragged.”

“I want your consent,” Hob huffs a small laugh, which might not be the best response but God does he love this proud twit, “you pretty, deranged little thing. I'm not doing anything if you don't actually want me to, and we can stop at any point. It's important to me that you get that.”

“My consent,” Dream spits, and this time there's a tearing sound when he does start clawing up Hob's upholstery, “is that I am allowing it.”

On paper, true enough. Dream is thrashing and snarling and gnashing his monstrous teeth with eyes like flaming pits. He's also kept in place by the weak, flesh and blood human hand holding him by the back of the neck. The only reason Hob is able to scruff him and have his head tilted pliantly back to expose the long white throat, is because Dream is letting it happen.

“I think you would allow me to do a lot of things you don't want me to.” Hob says gently. The thrashing stills, the snarling quiets, Dream's teeth finally shrink down into more standard shapes.

“There we are.” Hob breathes, smiling. His chest feels like it may burst, like Dream may end up getting his dark little fantasy after all. It's more than any man could deserve, seeing the way Dream goes quiet and panting, eyes fixed wide and blue again as they stare up at Hob. He keeps the hold on Dreams neck, and smoothes the other hand back through Dreams hair.

Dream makes a thin, fragile sound, eyes flashing black before returning to their clear blue.

“I need to know you actually want this, darling.” Hob explains again. “Not just that you're allowing it. I can't go thinking that you might just be going along with what you think I want from you.”

There's a shift of movement, more of a little squirm than the furious thrashing from a few seconds ago. Dream clenches his jaw together and stares, eyes glittering with new wetness. Christ. Hob is going to get a complex. It can't be good for his ego, having Dream like this.

“Yes.” Dream finally whispers, swallowing thickly. He even nods with little jerky movements against Hob's grip. “I want…what it is, you are planning. Here. In the Waking. I want you to have me. Your way.”

Hob rewards him with a hard kiss, mostly because if he doesn't get his mouth on those quivering pink lips he might explode. Dream goes lax with a whining sound that is absolutely going to give Hob a complex. Plush lips part immediately under his, as sweet as anything. Then teeth flash against his mouth, still sharp and wild but followed fast by Dream’s tongue lapping hungrily at the bite. There are hands clawing at him again, pawing at his back, twisting in his hair, digging into his hips. Dream is doing some impossible wiggling and Hob realizes that there is more than one pair of legs hitching around his hips and tangling between his own legs. It must look like he's snogging an enthusiastic spider.

“Enough of that.” He chides, pushing a hand on Dream's chest. Teeth sink into his lip again, and there's a low growl when Hob pulls his head back so Dream can't start trying to get his tongue down Hob's throat. Or trying to affectionately bite his lips off. “Shush. Lie back, and settle down dearest. Christ, you're all wound up.”

Another small push does the trick. Dream goes down with a little huff when his back hits the sofa. He’s suddenly as meek as a kitten, if that kitten had blood on its lips and a sharp intrigued glint to its eyes. Rather like a kitten then, actually.

Not that Hob is thinking much about kittens. He's far more focused on the way Dream’s skin has gained a more human flush to it, on the curious little chirrup noise that comes from him. He's looking up at Hob with swollen pink lips and his eyes still blue, but the dark blue of a deep ocean. The shirt he's wearing is stretched at the collar, revealing the tantalizing dip of his clavicles, and his ruffled hair is the most adorable thing Hob could imagine. It's such a flip from the snarling monstrous thing Hob had scruffed less than a minute ago, and all of it is so wonderfully Dream. Objectively terrifying in his violence, objectively sexier than sin.

“You're horrible for my ego.” Hob declares, sitting up kneeling between long legs that are still clad in the damn cartoon star pajamas. Dream answers this with a velvety pleased sound, and Hob feels legs bent around his hips and hitched up his waist and one bends a knee up on his shoulder-

“Ah-ah, stick with two.” Hob taps at one of Dream’s thighs before getting to work unbuttoning his shirt enough to tug it up over his head. “We're in my world right now, so we’re doing things my way. With a human shape. And stop eyeballing my ribcage, thanks. I told you we're putting a pin in that.”

He can hear the displeased hissing sound, and decides to give Dream a pass on that. There are times where words seem to lack the correct expressions for the Prince of Stories, and he has an astounding repertoire of inhuman, and even inorganic, sounds to fall back on. Despite his orders to stop with the rib stuff, there are long hands on his sides as soon as his shirt is tossed away. When he looks down, Dream’s eyes are half lidded and dark, fully fixed with stark hunger on Hob’s exposed torso.

There's a scrape of claw, smoother than before, and the bright line over his side goes right to his prick. It is…so tempting…to change his mind and tell Dream to have at it. Just to see what would happen, to see how it would feel to get torn apart by something that loves him so much. Except there's a little tense pinching at Dreams mouth, even as his eyes darken further and his hands spread over Hob's ribs to feel them expand with each breath.

“Hands to yourself.” Hob decides for both their sakes. He taps a finger between Dream’s eyes in chastisement, and nearly loses that finger when teeth snap up towards it. Dream is fast, but he's used to getting away with things, so there's only a surprised hitch of sound when Hob grabs under his jaw and shoves his head back.

“My way.” Hob reminds him, surprised at how low and rough his own voice comes out.

FULL FIC ON AO3

#dreamling #my fic #dom gadling is here to be the gentlest mildest service top #dream is a weird eldritch cat

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rosaline-black · 1 year

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̲R̲̲o̲̲m̲a̲̲n̲̲t̲̲i̲̲c̲̲i̲̲s̲̲e̲ ̲t̲̲h̲̲i̲̲s̲

Summary: you’ve gone through life living vicariously through the characters in the novels you so regularly read. But when a rambunctious curly-haired dungeon master decides to insert himself in your day, maybe you’re forced to tare your eyes from the page.

Category: Eddie Munson X Fem!reader

Warnings: very very mild sexual references. Swearing. Kinda angst but not really. Just intensely fluffy tbh. Minors dni.

You romanticised everything. Whether it was walking home with the rain pouring down and pretending you were in some crappy rom-com or listening to music while you sat in the library, everything had to be romanticised. Your theory as to why was quite simple, romance had never come easy to you. Nobody had ever asked you out, nobody had ever as much as flirted with you before. Your love life was, and had always been stagnant.

So, when a rambunctious metalhead was leaning against your locker, twiddling his hair between his long lean fingers like a schoolgirl in love, you stopped in your tracks. Maybe he was high and thought your locker was his? That made the most sense logically.

With hesitant steps, you simply walked to him, eyes already wide at this bizarre scenario. Slipping off your headphones and clearing your throat, the boy in question jumped in his spot before chocolate brown eyes were staring at you. He had those classic glowing doe eyes that could be mistaken for street lamps in certain lighting. Eddie Munson was just so pretty. Prettier than you had ever realised. The more you stared wordlessly the more you began to romanticise this meet-cute. That was until he finally spoke, and you were reminded that romance movies were not real life (and usually written by women).

"Can I help you?" His words were colder than you had expected. Could you help him? The nerve of this boy to question you when he was the one standing before your locker.

"Well, you're blocking my locker..." Unfortunately, the words didn't come out as strong as you had hoped, you should have limbered up your throat before speaking. Now you probably came across as some random scared girl who was afraid of the big bad freak at Hawkins High. In reality, you were scared of pretty much anybody.

The guy in question's eyes softened at your voice. He looked almost apologetic. Your heart fell into your throat at his next action. With a flourish of his arm, Eddie twirled nearly tripping over his own feet in the process, trying to make a big drama out of moving from your locker to the next. Instead of acknowledging this you simply put in the combo and grabbed what you needed, basically hiding your face in your locker out of embarrassment.

It's not that you were ashamed to be seen with Hawkins's resident king of freaks, you just didn't enjoy the attention he warranted. Since starting high school, you had done everything in your power to remain as forgettable as possible. You only had one real friend, Robin the band girl, who had the same strategy you did. Survive. Get in, get out with no trace. Then you could live your real life once running away from this shitty town.

"Ignoring me won't work..."

His voice was like a song, and you screwed your eyes shut once more. You were sort of using that child-like defence. If I can't see him he can't see me. Annoyingly he was right though, ignoring him was futile. You'd provoked him, proved that his company wasn't something you craved, and now he would do anything to hold your attention. Slamming your locker shut you turned to him, crossing your arms across you like a form of protection, a coat of arms if you will.

"What do you want Eddie?"

"Ah, nothing princess... just bored you see..."

That love-obsessed sado within sighed once again. Obviously, he didn't seek you out for any particular reason. This wasn't a romantic gesture or a sign of fondness, he was just bored. They were always just bored. You didn't stop to talk any longer, turning on your heel and walking as fast as possible down the hall. Your headphones went back on, and new order pumped around your body. Your steps grew faster with every fast beat, completely missing the body who was following behind you like it was their only mission.

Eddie had spotted you months ago, although you probably didn't remember your interaction. It was menial at best, you dropped your cassette, and he picked it up and passed it to you. That was all. Yet you didn't leave his mind. The scared animal look you had going on drew him in. Not because he thought it was entertaining but more intriguing. Why did you hide from everyone? Never present, just keeping your head low, letting the music be your distraction from everyone and everything.

For whatever reason, you hadn't left his mind over the past couple of weeks, and after many lunch times spent bumbling about you to the other hellfire members, Dustin snapped and ordered him to just go speak to you. Maybe he hadn't realised it yet, but it was pretty obvious to everybody else that he was harbouring a crush on you.

So, when the interaction started with you looking around shamefully, almost fearful of his presence in itself, his guard went up just like your own. Stupid was the only word he could think to describe himself right now. In a fit of desperation, Eddie reached for your shoulder, tapping it lightly which caused you to trip, landing on your knees.

His chocolate eyes widened and as you slipped off your headphones he could practically feel the humiliation. A few kids were laughing to themselves, pointing at the girl who had just stacked it. When you turned around your eyes were filled with fury, in all honesty, Eddie was frightened (and a tad turned on).

What annoyed Eddie even more, was that you didn't shout at him, call him out on his admittedly dumb behaviour, no, you simply walked the other way towards the school exit. The attention seeker couldn't take it.

This was exactly why you were the way you were. Those leaches that joined any bandwagon they could to make themselves feel better laughed at you. In theory, nobody would care in an hour, but you would. Your over-obsessive brain would replay the cringeworthy moment over and over until you wanted to puke. As you fell asleep that night you were betting on the fact that your heart would plummet and your toes would curl just at the memory of your embarrassing blunder.

What was worse was that damn pretty metalhead had been the cause of your humiliation. He had sauntered after you and caught you off guard, again. What pissed you off even more was you couldn't bring yourself to be mad at him. His wide terrified eyes told you all you needed to know about his intentions, and really that's all that mattered.

Coming to a stop in the middle of the woods behind campus, you stumbled across a bench that you could rest at. Screw the rest of the day, biology could miss you for just one period. Taking off your blaring headphones, you let your head rest in your palms for a moment, just taking in the sounds of the wind blowing the trees, the scurrying of squirrels and the approaching footsteps-

Wait, footsteps?

"I come in peace I promise..."

Eddie freaking Munson.

Raising your head to look up at the voice, you couldn't help but frown. Was he here to mock you? Were your presumptions wrong about his guilty expression?

"Can't you just leave me alone? Can't you bother someone else with your boredom?"

You rarely spat venom like that, but the built-up stress and anxiety spilt over. You regretted the minute he pulled his pink bottom lip between his teeth like a scolded schoolboy.

"I just wanted to apologise... I think we got off on the wrong foot..."

His eyes were dripping with longing. You almost felt guilty, even though you hadn't done anything wrong. And to be fair to the puppy dog-eyed dude before you, he hadn't done much wrong either, well not on purpose anyway.

"Fine... I accept your apology... can I just listen to this in peace please?" You gestured to your Walkman and instead of leaving Eddie took tempered steps even closer.

"Uh... what are you listening to?"

He looked cute when he was nervous. Did you make him nervous? I mean you were probably the most calm person from day to day, the fact that you made him nervous was quite perplexing. Finally thinking over his question you sighed and pulled out your mixtape, sliding it to him. All of the songs were listed on the side and as Eddie wrapped his long ringed fingers around it, you had to force yourself not the choke on the air. Get it together.

"Woah... some real obscure shit on here... impressive..."

He seemed genuinely happy with your selection and it made your heart grow hotter, well your entire body for that matter. It's not that you sought out his approval or anything, it's just the smile that had formed on his face was something you wanted to stare at over and over.

"Thanks... uh... I might head home now..."

Just like always, the minute something felt nice or out of the ordinary, you ran. With a brief wave, you left Eddie Munson staring at the place you had just been sat.

The following week nothing much changed for either of you. Eddie had made no effort to seek you out again which was relieving but also... disappointing?

That night when you went home your embarrassment had been fought by the aching in your chest. The kind of longing you'd feel diving into a shitty romance novel you'd gotten for a dollar at the thrift store. Shamefully the difference this time was the man in your head wasn't some six-foot-seven muscled Casanova but a lanky tatted dork.

His hand caressed her inner thigh as his large brown eyes met her own and-

NOPE. No no no. You wouldn't allow yourself to turn whatever the hell that arbitrary hour was into some sick romantic fantasy just because you were lonely. Though maybe you didn't have a choice? Since every time your eyes would read the page your brain would shift the words to fit the description of the dungeon master walking towards you.

Walking towards you?

Shit.

"Hi sorry... hi... uh are you busy?" His palm collided with his forehead like he had said something obscene "Sorry of course you are you're reading... I'll leave you to it..."

The fact that the boy, before you seemed so apologetic for merely speaking with you, put your heart in a vice shaped like his ring-clad hands. It was clear he was as used to being thrown aside like you. Always conditioned to believe he was an inconvenience, too much or not enough. No matter how terrified he made you, no way could you allow yourself to make him feel that way.

"Stop... no I'm not busy... the books shit anyway..."

Pivoting on the ball of his foot, Eddie was now face to face with you. Two pairs of eyes locked in the middle of the library.

"I just wanted to say hi again... and uh I was wondering if you were busy later? They're doing a reshowing of the breakfast club tonight at the movies and well... shit I don't know if you wanted to go... with me?"

If you were to compare yourself to any creature at any point in your life, a goldfish wouldn't have come to mind straight away. Your memory was pretty swell. However, the way your mouth opened and then closed... and then opened again contradicted the fact. You were a fucking goldfish.

"If not it's totally cool... you probably already have like plans or something so no worries-"

"I love the breakfast club..."

Finally, words formed. Dumb words. Very very stupidly obvious words. But words nonetheless.

"I know..."

He knows?

"You... know?"

The nerves on his countenance began to morph into a darling shyness. The big bad Wolf of Hawkins High was certainly more a red riding hood type, his cheeks matched her hood perfectly.

"Well, I heard... well asked Buckley what kinda movies you liked and uh... she said that... I coulda guessed honestly simple minds were on your mixtape... and uh you got the whole pre-makeover Alison look going for ya which is sick by the way..."

Maybe you were both red riding hood. Your face is set alight and it was only then did the romance novels and the unrealistic tropes fly from your mind. Not only had this delightfully odd creature before you ask you out, but he'd gone to the effort to ask about you. Not just ask about you, but know you. Know you enough to ask you out to your favourite fucking movie.

Clearing your throat, and finding the courage to rise from the safe zone of the library desk chair, you let yourself warm into a grateful smile.

"Im free tonight... and I'd be happy to watch the breakfast club for the eighth time with you..."

"Only the eighth time? Well sweetheart my chariot can pick you up at seven..."

The shyness melted into that same bravado you assumed he exuded during D&D campaigns.

"Well good sir I look forward to it"

Your dorkiness matched his. And in that moment Eddie Munson decided that his favourite princess was not Leia. But you.

#eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things 4 #stranger things fic #stranger things #steve x reader #steve harrington x reader #eddie x reader #rosaline black

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heartshapedbubble · 2 years

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Hi can I request Andrew, Luca, William, Wu Chang and Antonio reacting to having an s/o that can crush a watermelon between her thighs.

this req made me shit bricks when i first received it in august LMFAOOOO this was so fun to write anon thank you so much for this/gen

andrew, luca, william, wu chang and antonio reacting to their s/o crushing a watermelon between their thighs🕸⚡🏈☂️🎻

andrew kreiss🕸

he is... confused to say the least

when you first did it he jumped out of fear thinking you hurt yourself by doing so

this man would probably burst into flames after one pretzel stick he has NO idea how to react

....he'd be lying if he said it doesn't interest him though

like. he is INCREDIBLY lost and maybe even disturbed but like. do it again

"is this something they do to sinners in hell? can you use it as self defense? does it hurt your thighs?" a bit gulity of asking these questions ngl but he can't help it

might start avoiding you after that... simply out of fear that it was a bad omen and that you might try crushing his skull instead when he messes up in the games LMAO

william ellis🏈

not shocked at all

he didnt even fucking flinch when it burst he just stood there with his usual 😃 face

"hehe. nice. now watch me" (proceeds to crush a watermelon with his own thighs)

tbh william can be competitive as hell and he would somehow make a competition out of this too

after that whenever y'all ate watermelon in the manor he always shouted "DID YOU GUYS KNOW ___ CAN CRUSH WATERMELONS WITH THEIR THIGHS¿¿¿¿¿ GO ON ___ SHOW THEM!!!!"

might ask you details on how you train/build your thighs just in case...there's always room for self-improvement

next time he sees you he's going to whip out two watermelons and ask you if you can crush both at the same time (cheeky bastard)

luca balsa⚡

mans is just losing his shit at it

"how do you do it??????? how long did you have to build your legs for this??? at what angle does it crush the fastest/easiest???? what technique did you use???" like andrew but with zero self control or fear

so intrigued he'll whip out the nerd glasses and the notepad to study it. bring a few extra watermelons cause once he begins you'll realize it's gonna be a looooong day

i kinda think that he'd be more interested in the physics aspect of it than the crushing itself tbh

after enough research he would try to crush one with his own thighs

...which didn't really go well🥲he's got chopstick legs but we still love him

that absolutely did not discourage him though. he'll find a way to do it himself. somehow. one day.

wu chang☂️

their reactions are quite different

at first they just kinda... side eye each other. not condescendigly tho they just have to clarify they're both seeing the same thing since they didn't expect this when you told them you have a suprise for them

xie is like ☺ "thats... very cute honey!! i'm very proud of you!!!! you've been working very hard!!!!"

no idea how to properly react or process it really but since you seem really happy about it he simply has to share your enthusiasm okay!!! xie the world

fan just smirks. "now crush a pumpkin."

this motherfucker is going to tease you and give you more and more impossible physical challenges just to make you all red in your face and see you angrily give up just crush his head instead at this point

would rather drown himself in that goddamn river again than admit out loud that it's absolutely badass but it becomes obvious after some time. he's not an emotional mastermind after all

antonio paganini🎻

not overwhelmed by it either! hes just chill like dat

he finds it so funny actually - he's grown tired of all the elegant plays and balls that he experienced while playing for royalty so this little peculiar performance of yours put a wide smile on his face

it gave him a good laugh too, not in a mocking way it's just so bizarre and unexpected that he couldn't help but laugh

would joke about it like "i love a partner that can just beat the shit out of me" after seeing it lmao

"you can kill people with that, but personally i wouldn't have an issue with it if it was your thighs in question~" what a fucking flirt GET HIM OUT

if you'd challenge him to do the same he'd just give up after the first two tries... his legs aren't his best asset

he CAN crush a watermelon with his hair though. maybe you should be more careful the next time you try to wriggle out from its grip...

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moon8th · 2 years

Text

Thoughts on Leo Risings 💭

Lmk if y’all want me to do more rising sign thoughts lol

So I was listening to some ~old drake~ and I started to think about how people keep calling him ‘sassy’ (which I personally don’t really care about, that’s more funny to me than an insult lol), but then I remembered he was a Leo Rising and I dove into a rabbit hole🐰🕳️

~Aubrey

So I know a couple Leo Risings irl and they ALL DO THIS POUT 👄🫦⬆️ 😭😭 they are so cute, ima put more examples below

They have a Sag 5th house and all I can think about is when Snoop Dogg said “This mf don’t miss!! He don’t miss!!!!” Which he literally was talking about drake lmaoo,, the Sag energy here really promotes them being expansively creative asfff they really just endlessly create, they see very little limitations to where they can go in life

~Brent Faiyaz💋💋💋💋💋

Hair! Hair! Hair!!!! Okay!! Leo rules over hair (lions’ mane), so people with Leo energy in their charts have extremely noticeable hair, whether Sun is strong or afflicted

From what I observe they are very into the more luxurious side of life, (Taurus 10th House), most of them love high quality clothes, jewelry, accessories, just in general life

~Tyler The Creator LMAO

These 3 guys ⬆️ all have worked with each other before, which I think is so 🥰🫶🏽🥹

They love to feel like the “leader of their pack” or “leader of their pride” not in a controlling way, but they love to feel apart of a group of people they deeply care about, they are major supporters and will want reciprocation, “take care of me I take care of you” ex: Tyler The Creator with OFWGKTA <3

They are absolutely not attention seekers (I’ve heard ppl say this about them and I’m just like uhuh.. maybe that’s a low way of thinking about it at least) They are so fierce and so true to themselves which makes them naturally draw attention towards themselves

Bc of their Aquarius 7th house, the general public wants to know a lot about the Leo risings relationship status bc they view that area of their life to be very bizarre, they’re ppl that obsess over Leo Risings’ relationships and how they run them- to that I say.. mind your bidness..

~K’yanna fine af Barber

Going back to hair omg, Ik she didn’t start it, but ever since she posted this first style I’ve seen it everywhere, but also I do believe Leo Risings can be major trend setters

They can be into having meaningful/cute tattoos lol, tattooing things or people that they put a lot of pride into, things that they deem as worthy of being in “their world”

My dad is Leo Rising, he has my moms lips 💋 and name tatted on his arm, so cute

Bc of their Scorpio 4th house they. Don’t. Play. about 4th house matters such as family, their past, anything that usually feels deeply nurturing to them.. if you betray them by speaking ill on these matters, it would be very hard for them to ‘forgive and forget’

Tbh if I’m thinking about nakshatras, for tropical Leo, usually ends up being Pushya, Aslesha, or Magha, that just makes me think about all the other people that can fall under this very alluring energy lol

I love love Leo Risings 🦁 as a Sag rising, tell me what y’all love about them, 🫶🏽

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libras-interactives · 6 months

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If your ocs were in the modern era, what would there favorite musicians be?

So im terrible at naming musicians and such, so ill go for genre and general taste!

Marius: "whatever's on the radio", and old French music his parents would listen to. He probably likes any music that gets him pumped and has a hard beat. Willing to listen to any genre and is terrible at describing what he likes! Doesn't have a spotify or itunes, just types the song into youtube and blasts that from his cracked phone. Loves a handful of French radio stations he streams on his phone; the quality is fucked and it drains his battery but he doesnt care.

Jack: Exclusively oldies bluegrass and gospel bc thats all his parents would play. Modern pop country and christian rock confounds him. He could swear his pa said something about drums being the devil's instrument. Metal is scary until he reads the lyrics and has a small mental shutdown. Just like him fr fr... thinks Marius' French stations are incomprehensible but he says nothing bc he doesnt have a better suggestion.

Lottie: A huuuge pop girlie, as well as jazz and 90s r&b. Yes jazz is a very broad genre, but she'd like so much of it, especially more unique or weird sounds. Doesnt "get" hyperpop or tiktok music and worries she's getting old bc of that. LOVES musicals and would likely be a professional in the modern times, and if not that, she'd be in local theaters.

Eveline: Still uses cassettes and CDs, and theyre all classical, opera recordings and vocalists, mostly European. Enjoys some musicals. She thinks she's kinda up to date on modern pop music, but when you ask her what's the last pop album she listened to, she'll say Celine Dion's Falling Into You. She'd start sobbing if she got to see Natalie Dessay.

Máire: Huge punk and rock girlie, especially the Irish scene. Probably exclusively listens to punk tbh. She'd frequent the clubs and smoke too much in the corner while appearing disinterested but is actually vibing so hard w the music. Really loves making mixtapes and recordings, never got into vinyls or cds. Wants spotify to burn and die.

Malwina: LOOOVES pop and is a massive Britney Spears, Selena, Mariah Carey and Janet Jackson fan. 90s-2000s pop is her favorite by far and those are the only CDs she owns. Probs has a beatup little red Ipod she's had since middle school; it was a hand me down from her oldest cousin and she treasures it even if it's "old". Queen of pirating and burning music but by god she paid for her Mariah Carey and Britney Spears cds. She wanted the pretty inserts and lyric booklets.

Slyvester: Loves a lot of swing and oldies from his parent's day, and Italian vocalists his wife adores. They played Andrea Bocelli almost exclusively at the wedding. Finds the music his sons listen to bizarre but doesn't mind the rock and alt rock too much.

#am i showing my age hahaha #smh none of them rlly listen to rap except marius i guess...... and lottie to some extent #ezra and krooks would. theyd be obnoxiously obsessed rap fans. ezra being more of an old head #libra says #anons !!#if:devil's moon

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blu-ish · 5 months

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I'm gonna be brutally honest and just say that it's kinda making me peeved that some bigger sonic posters even on here are just saying that it's the fans' fault for expecting something more than a buddy road trip series and not something serious cause I mean that's literally why Knuckles was praised in 2!!! He was taken seriously and his funny moments came from him being so out of his element, not because everything around him was comedic! Sonic fans love when it is serious, Shadow being the most obvious example of that so of course we were hoping for at least 1 episode of that!

It's not a Knuckles show, it's literally wade! Just wade and his daddy issues and bowling with the villains barely showing up and Knuckles being an accessory to wade's story, and that's just It. Knuckles doesn't feel like a focus in episodes after 1, he feels like an accessory to wade, to react to his family drama, to be his straight man in the comedy act, to be his rescuer or motivator when the plot needs it. It's seriously upsetting cause we love this character but so many have to act like we're whiners for complaining that we shouldn't have expected more from a show about "alien furry guy" cause "its for kids."

Hey man yeah I get what you’re saying. Honestly I understand why people were let down, I wasn’t expecting Wade to be the center focus either tbh lmao

Some scenes were— bizarre to say the least, but some were actually pretty fucking sick! /pos

I had a few hours to digest the show, and honestly sure it’s not the best, but there was some things I did enjoy and some things I REALLY didn’t— like wades sister… ughhh.. HSHSJSHHSJS

knuckles was a delight whenever he ACTUALLY popped up, sure the show was a lil sillay but hey.

I actually found the thing with GUN pretty interesting and man I wish they could’ve dug into that a lil more but I guess we’d have to wait till December wink wonk 😉

Everyone’s entitled to their own opinions, I still agree with you that it should’ve been WAY MORE KNUCKLES FOCUSED. But I enjoyed what it brought to the table.

And people are allowed to voice what they wanted to see and didn’t like, so don’t feel like you’re a whiner for it! (Or let others tell you, you are) It’s okay! Honestly I had to rant about it to some friends too lmao, but it’s all in good sport— we shouldn’t go shaming people for expecting more.

#ask #knuckles series #sonic the hedgehog #sonic #THATS WHAT FANFIC IS FOR MUAHHAHAH #lmao but seriously #it was pretty cute all things considered

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quillisadoll · 4 months

Text

Ok y'all I have another story idea from my dreams.

Does it make sense? Kinda but whatever the story is really cool and I'll probably work out the logistics later

Kyoya is a robot that was designed by his father to befriend rich kids and learn their family secrets, then travel back in time to tell him so his father can use it for blackmail (stay with me here)

After doing this hundreds and hundreds of times Kyoya gets the assignment to learn about the Suoh family.

He goes through middle school for the hundredth time and actually talks to Tamaki.

But something is different, even though he cannot feel he feels like he's getting a feeling of deja vu like he's done this before.

Time passes and he's in high school now. He has grown closer to Tamaki, he still hasn't spilled any family secrets though how bizarre.

More time passes and Kyoya thinks he's malfunctioning, he feels weird near Tamaki his chest starts to hurt and his skin blushes inappropriately, he should time travel back but he doesn't want to come back empty handed and be a disappointment.

As time passes, they start a club the malfunctions get worse he makes friends this isn't right he hasn't been focusing on his main objective why is this all so familiar..?

Then one night during his charging cycle he finds a file in his system that he doesn't have access to (idk computer language just bare with me guys)

It takes him a couple days but he hacks into it.

He has done Tamakis assignment multiple times.

78 times to be exact.

All of the details about what went wrong was right there

"fallen in love" 48

"disobeyed" 40

"didn't travel back" 17

Were the most common reasonings.

Suddenly he found his memories of all of those times

Tamaki complimenting him

Attempting to punch his dad

Exploring the world without traveling back

Telling Tamaki he's a robot and him accepting him

Kissing Tamaki

He needed answers, could he love? Why did he do this? It's all to much

And I would love to keep on going in this story format but I am not that creative rn so here's how it ended (in my dream at least, maybe I'll turn this into a real fic if I get good feedback)

OK so in my dream it ended with Kyoya trying to get around his Fathers safety features so he could actually kill him and or hurt him enough to let him free so he could live w tamaki

WELL it doesn't go well turns out he had this backup backup plan that if kyoya went rogue he has this remote that basically shuts him down.

He gets restarted and his assignment is Tamaki Suoh

Round 79

Andddd yeah!

Now you might be asking "why is Kyoyas dad obsessed with the Suoh family?" Tbh it's just bc he is pissed that Kyoya isn't listening to him and now he's obsessed with finding out with what's up with the Suohs

(I'm silly in tags!)

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silverzoomies · 7 months

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It's not really a question, but an idea popped into my head, I watched Days of Future Past recently, imagine a student from the future, for some reason (a power I don't know) manages to go back in time and become best friends with her favorite teacher when he was younger (Peter obviously!) I don't know if anything can come out of this, but in my head the idea was brilliant lol 😝

I’ve been meaning to respond to this ask !! I thought it was absolutely delightful !!

Days of Future Past is so cozy to me. There’s just something about the way the time period is presented - with all those lovable characters - that makes it feel so genuine and fun. I’m a goofball with a childlike imagination. Nothing is more comforting to me than imagining being there tbh. As silly as it sounds.

This concept absolutely warms my heart, since it fulfills that silly dream.

Anyway, I have some thoughts under the cut !!

Peter Maximoff headcanons - Student reader goes back in time and meets their favorite, speedster teacher in his teen years!

We know Peter eventually becomes a teacher in canon. I’m not really sure what he teaches, since they never really clarified. But there’s no doubt in my mind he’d be great at his job.

Mr. Maximoff is definitely a more laid back kinda teacher

I do imagine he’s the type to playfully mess with any students who act out of line. I’ve had teachers like that before in the past. The ones who take no shit and lightheartedly tease students. That’s absolutely on brand for Peter

I also get the vibe he’d be so “how do you do fellow kids” about everything

And the students would think he’s cool anyway. I mean, he’s fast. He loves cool music - and probably some really cool movies/shows/games too!

I imagine he’d deck out his classroom/office in all kinds of pop culture memorabilia. Very similar to the way he decorated his basement back when he lived at his mom's

Reader as a mutant student would be no different than the other kids. Y’all know you’d think he was the coolest teacher there ever was. Some of you might even look up to him! And maybe also develop a harmless crush. He is handsome, after all.

Imagine your surprise - after you’ve gone back in time for mission with some of the X-Men. It’s part of your training. You never thought you’d get the chance to time travel, of all things. Or, if we're following DoFP canon; maybe you went back in time with Logan? You're one of the last surviving mutants, and your mutation is useful somehow. It could go either way!

But Mr. Maximoff is there in the past. Only, he’s seventeen, acting on impulse, and being a playful nuisance.

He thinks you’re weird as hell. You totally bizarre, future kid. But you’re also pretty alright...since you think he's so cool 'n all. Most people just think he's a freak. And hey, you're a mutant like him! He doesn't know a lot of mutants yet!

And how the heck are you from the future - but you somehow know all the bands he likes, the movies he’s into, the shows he watches, even the games he plays??

Spoiler alert - it’s because Mr. Maximoff has a tendency to show off all his favorite things in class. Dude can’t go a single day without referencing Galaga, or Star Wars, or David Bowie, or whatever else

If you’re allowed to disclose any info about the future, you’ll probably tell him he gets a teaching job. Not only that, but the kids all love him

To which he responds with a - tsh, yeah. Right.

Why would he ever become a teacher?? He hates school! He can’t ever focus in class! His grades are the worst, and he bombs every test! C’mon…no way! What’re you tryin’ to pull his leg???

Y-You’re pulling his leg, right?

It’d be dope if you got the chance to hang out with him for a little bit. You could follow him around while he got into his usual, kleptomaniac shenanigans

Y’all would definitely cause enough trouble to get the cops called on you

Actually, when you find out the local cops know his name by heart - you can't help but do a double take

Mr. Maximoff? The coolest teacher in Westchester? The dude who’s always doggin’ on students for running in the halls? He used to be a lawless rulebreaker? Holy shit!! You almost couldn't wait to return to the future, just to poke fun at him for bein' such a troublemaker in his youth

Honestly, there’s a lot of really fun ideas one could pull from this, anon. I can’t even do it justice. I’d love if anyone else wanted to add their take. My brain has been so broken lately. But thank you for your ask!! I love you dearly!!

#peter maximoff headcanons #headcanons #txt #asks #anon #peter maximoff #quicksilver

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stanmammon · 1 year

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Flowers and Obey Me characters? Sign me up! May I request Barbatos with daisies, fennel, morning glories, sunflowers, and red roses? An absolutely bizarre bouquet, tbh... but we're going with it.

Barbatos:

🌻daisy: what is their love language, both giving and receiving?

The love language he gives should be no surprise. Barbatos is a firm ‘acts of service’ type of man, but there is some extra effort you’ll see that go beyond his butler duties. If you liked a particular type of food that he didn’t have much experience making, he’d perfect a recipe just for you; he’ll even go out of his way to mix flavors and create something new that still had your flavor profile in mind. Nothing has him more satisfied than knowing you feel taken care of and adequately doted on.

The kind of love Barbatos preferred to receive was a bit of mystery. He liked a little bit of everything, a nice balance, though he seemed a little shifty when you tried to go out of your way for him; acts of service was more something he was used to doing rather than receiving, though he always showed gratitude. You think he liked to have praised heaped on him, not in a way that goes straight to his head but it makes his heart flutter to know he’s appreciated.

🌻fennel: what are their kisses like? where do they like to be kissed the most?

Barbatos is very deliberate with his kisses, giving quick yet gentle ones when he had to depart for his duties, and romantic yet much more aggressive ones when he knew the two of you had a moment to yourselves. You think he holds himself back quite a bit to prevent himself from hurting you and he doesn’t necessarily agree; as a demon he did have to mind his strength, but he had total confidence that he wouldn’t hurt you even in the throes of passion. It turns out he really does just like to tease but there are moments even he is willing to let his lungs burst rather than pull away from you for a second, just because he missed your touch that much.

In private, a kiss on the lips is his favorite and you’ll hardly find an act of affection he likes more. He used it for a variety of purposes which included shushing you or wiping frosting from his newest baked treat from your lips. In public, he’s much more gentlemanly about his affections, preferring a kiss on the hand to greet you. He was never so formal with others so it was an act that was noticeably different while still not being so bold that it broke decorum.

🌻morning glory: what is their favorite form of physical affection?

Barbatos is not one for PDA so subtle little touches that he can give, even when around others, are among his favorites. He’s always wearing his gloves but sometimes you feel the smoothness of his skin on the back of your neck or brushing against your hand, the gentle stroke a reminder that he was beside you. You tried to catch him in the act but he was much like a ghost, giving a knowing, slightly amused smile when you spun around trying to catch him in the act.

🌻red rose: what turns them on the most?

Barbatos quite likes when you take the initiative or ask him what you want, even better if you give a few demands that he can fulfill. You can’t expect total compliance from a man who serves the future demon prince as his dedication is almost solely for Diavolo, but he’ll play along for a little before flipping the script on you.

🌻sunflower: how would they confess their feelings to their crush?

He’s always thought he was quite forward with his feelings, honesty is the very best policy, but there was a choice few ways he thought might get his feelings across to you without the need for words. Sharing late night desserts, getting to drink his favorite tea with him and even creating a special blend that has little pieces of both of you put into it… He thinks it’s quite clear that he considers you his beloved and he’ll put on a surprised face if you tell him you never would’ve suspected if he hadn’t actually said those three little words to you.

#Obey Me!#Obey Me #Obey Me Shall We Date #Obey Me Nightbringer #Obey Me Imagines #Obey Me Shall We Date Imagines #Obey Me Nightbringer Imagines #Obey Me x Reader #Obey Me Nightbringer x Reader #Obey Me Barbatos #Obey Me Barbatos x Reader #Plant Meme

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hollybell51 · 2 years

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ok i know you said requests are backlogged but i also read your sam winchester fic (oh my god???? so good!!!!!) and i noticed that you put dean on your tag list form and i am literally in love with him so if you get time could you do like a hurt/confort fic for him where the reader gets like seriously injured and tells him she loves him because she thinks she's dying and doesn't wanna die without saying it?

Anon you are in luck, the supernatural brainrot is still going strong. Also if you wanna be tagged in stuff make sure you submit responses to that form otherwise I don't know what usernames to put xx

The other thing

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Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Supernatural (2005)

Word count: 5.8K

Summary: hunting a ghost that only seems to attack young women, you volunteer yourself as bait. The plan doesn't exactly go to plan, leading to some confessions being made.

Content: ANGST. Angst, besties. Hurt/comfort, mainly hurt but there is some comfort there, whump (sorta), mostly Dean's perspective but still second person narrative voice (loml), probably bad characterisation but I think it's passable???? Sam is like the no. 1 Dean/you shipper, A+ wingman. Badly written emotional vulnerability but I tried I promise. Kissing, first kisses, "I love you"s, bit of blood but not too explicit, hospitals, etc. etc. Dean is a warning on his own but yknow what I love him. I may have missed some stuff so please don't hesitate to catch me on it!

Notes: ft. my freaking awful titles lmaoooo. This isn't really set during any actual episode, but I'm sorta working off only having watched the first two seasons so just assume it takes place somewhere around then. Also the more I watch this the more I just wanna grab him and put him in my pocket or something, it's so bizarre. He's so pretty. I love his cockiness, I love the little eyebrow thing he does, I love the little jaw thing he does. Sorry if I messed up any lore or anything, writing this was a fever dream but tbh I had fun, it's nice to just sorta write you know? Thanks for the suggestion Anon

“Guys, can you hurry up?”

Dean glanced over his shoulder, frantically sprinkling fuel over the exposed corpse below. He couldn’t see all that much in the darkness, but it didn’t exactly look like you had the upper hand. None of them had realised how big the ghost was until now, and with the machete it was currently slashing at you…

“Almost there!” Sam shouted, striking a match and casting it into the grave. The remains went up with a “whoomp!”, the ghost howled and stumbled back. It was difficult to really know what happened in those few moments as the light from the burning remains glinted off the metal of the machete and the ghost shimmered and began to disappear, but what was clear was that something had happened to you.

“Fuck,” you groaned, dropping your own weapon with a dull thud. You staggered, catching yourself on a headstone before your knees gave out and you sank to the ground. You were hunched over awkwardly, your shoulders heaving, hands clutched tight to your stomach.

“(Y/N)?” Dean asked, frowning. Were you hurt? Just out of breath?

“I’m alright,” you called. “Just… give me a second.”

“Shit,” Sam muttered, dropping the salt and packet of matches and running towards you. “Dean!” he yelled as he knelt down, stripping off his jacket and balling it up, pressing it to your stomach.

No, Dean thought. No, no, no, no. He was frozen, the can of fuel dangling limply from his fingers. He’d known using you as bait for a psychotic ghost murderer was a bad idea, even when you’d insisted that you’d be fine. It wasn't that he didn’t think you could handle it – he’d seen you in action enough times to know you were a force to be reckoned with – but he’d had a horrible feeling something was going to go wrong from the moment you’d laid out your plan.

“He goes after girls, right?” You’d had an uncomfortable light in your eyes, all steely determination that Dean simultaneously loved and hated. Loved because, well, it was so you and it meant you were getting shit done, hated because more often than not you were putting yourself in danger. And yes, he was aware of the hypocrisy.

He’d tried to talk you out of it, Sam had too. But once your mind was set – and set it was – no amount of convincing on anyone’s part could do anything about it. The second the idea had begun to form in your brain, the path was laid and there was no point trying to change that.

“You better get over here man, quick!” Sam’s voice dropped, but wasn’t quiet enough that Dean couldn’t hear his next words, addressed to you. “Just hold on, Dean’s coming. Keep breathing, ok?”

Fuck, that didn’t sound good. Dean’s limbs jerked back to life. He didn’t waste another second, sprinting the few metres through the forest of tombstones to where his brother was bent over you.

“Don’t just stand there!” Sam yelled, one hand pressing his jacket to your stomach. “Help me!”

It was like his body was moving on autopilot, kneeling beside you and taking over from Sam without any input from Dean himself. Dully, he noticed that there was already a warm, damp patch on the jacket, as well as a dark spot glistening darkly over your side. Shit.

“I’ll be fine,” you’d insisted when he'd raised his doubts. “I’ve got you guys. You just burn the bones fast, I reckon I can hold him off for a few minutes.” Then you’d shrugged, grinning. “And if it all goes to hell, I know you’ve got my back.”

Yeah, fat lot of help they’d been.

“What happened?” he asked.

“He got me on his way out,” you laughed bitterly. “Can you believe that? Halfway gone and he just–” You broke off, making a vague slashing gesture with your free hand. “God, I’m an idiot.”

“No, no you did fine. We shoulda been quicker.” Dean assured you, pressing harder. “Sorry,” he muttered as you let out a pained whimper.

“‘Salright,” you grimaced. “My fault. Dean, I gotta–”

“Shh, no, it’s fine. It’s ok, you’ll be ok.”

You shook your head, tears mixing with the sweat on your face. He watched one trace a path through the dirt caked on your skin. “It’s important, please.”

He shook his head. “The only thing that’s important right now is keeping your eyes open, yeah? Just… just do that.”

“I’m calling 911,” Sam said. “Just stay there, don’t move.”

“I’m not planning on taking off, don’t worry.” You smiled tightly, then your face twisted in what Dean thought was fear, panic even. It was like a punch to his stomach, he hadn’t seen you look that scared since… Well, ever. Your hand fumbled over his, trying to find something to grab.

“It’s alright,” he told you, pressing on the jacked one-handed as the fingers of the other one twined with your own. “It’s alright, (Y/N).”

“No, no Dean, you have to burn me. Make sure you salt me, uh… Sage, use sage too.”

He felt the blood drain from his face, cold rushing through him. “What?”

“Please,” you begged, your voice breaking. “I don’t wanna hurt anyone. You have to get rid of me, ok?”

Oh God. Oh God. Dean looked up, searching frantically for Sam. He was watching you while he talked to the emergency operator, his fist pressed against his mouth and his hand shaking where he held the phone. He met Dean’s eyes, shaking his head.

“You’re not gonna hurt anyone because you’re not going anywhere.” Dean’s voice was blessedly steady, despite the uncomfortable lump in his throat.

“Promise me,” you whispered, then shouted when he didn’t respond. “Promise me, Dean!”

He gripped your hand tighter, your own fingers digging harshly into his flesh. “I promise you will be ok,” he said.

You sobbed, your body heaving under the rapidly dampening jacket. That was way too much blood for Dean’s liking, and judging by the increasing urgency of Sam’s quiet conversation on the phone, he felt the same.

Your panicked gaze locked on Dean’s face, tears coursing down your cheeks. “I don’t wanna go,” you choked. “I didn’t tell you. I can’t go.”

Didn’t tell him what? It didn’t matter. He squeezed your hand in what he hoped was a more reassuring than painful way. “It’s ok, you’re not going anywhere, alright? You’re staying right here, I’ve got you.”

“You’ve gotta listen to me, Dean–”

“No, tell me later. Just hold on, save your energy.”

“Dean–”

“(Y/N) hold on!”

“Dean!”

“Dean, listen to her.” Sam had finished on the phone, the screen shining eerily on his face. At Dean’s raised eyebrow he gave a tiny nod. Yeah, there was an ambulance on the way.

“Sam, she is not gonna die.” He shook his head, turning back to you. “We’ve got all the time in the world, ok sweetheart?” He searched frantically for something to say, anything to keep your attention. He was no doctor, but he knew it would be bad if you passed out. Very bad.

“Uh… fuck.” He broke off, floundering. What would keep you awake? What could he possibly say after you’d just made him promise to get rid of your spirit once you were dead, which was not going to happen.

“It’s actually not a bad night,” he started, already kicking himself mentally. “Bit of a breeze. I guess it’s sheltered down there, you’ve got a nice, uh, headstone blocking it. Ground’s not too bad either, not too hard. Glad it’s not gravel, my knees’re killing me.”

A watery laugh clawed its way from you before another sob wracked your body. “Dean, I gotta tell you…”

“Can you see the stars from down there?” he asked, cutting you off. “I bet they’re bright out here. No light pollution.” He grabbed your hand as your fingers loosened their grip, dread settling like a stone in his stomach.

Your eyes wandered away from his face, sweeping over the space behind him. You nodded, but the haziness that had slid over your face didn’t do anything to help Dean’s panic, especially now that you weren’t holding his hand nearly as tightly as you had been.

“Wait,” he said, squeezing your fingers. “Just focus on me, keep looking at me.”

Your eyes swung back to his. “Please,” you whispered. “Please Dean, listen to me”

Sam’s hand settled on his shoulder, large and heavy. He nodded to your face when Dean glanced at him, and to his horror he realised there were specks of blood on your lips.

He swallowed hard. He hadn’t realised, but this was probably one of the worst moments of his life. He’d entirely ignored even the possibility of you being injured, let alone dying – just thinking the word felt wrong – since you’d joined him and Sam, doggedly refusing to acknowledge the near physical ache the idea of your absence caused. Now it was happening, right in front of him. Heat prickled behind his eyes.

He took a deep breath, steadying his voice. “Yeah, alright sweetheart. You tell me, I’m listening.”

Relief washed over your face. “I wanted to say it,” you whispered, “before. I didn’t want it like this.”

“It’s ok. Sh, it’s ok.”

Your body convulsed under his hand with another sob, more blood leaking from the corners of your mouth. “I love you,” you choked. “I love you so much. I don’t wanna get stuck because I never told you.”

Oh. Oh. Dean’s mind went blank, then crashed right back into his skull. It was like swinging on a swing, at the peak of the arc where you floated a little before you started going down again. Yeah, that was his brain in that moment. Of course you’d have the guts to say it when he didn’t, even if it was out of fear of becoming an angry ghost. He cursed the universe and its cruel sense of humour. He faced horrors beyond most people’s imaginations almost every day, but still couldn’t say three simple words when he wanted to more than anything, and now you’d taken the first step for him and it was because you thought you were about to die. Someone up there must have hated his guts.

“I know,” he said finally, nodding. “I know you do. Hold on, ok? There’s an ambulance, it’s gonna get here any minute” It wasn’t what he wanted to tell you, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t make his mouth cooperate.

You smiled, your grip on his hand all but nonexistent now. Your breathing was getting shallower by the second, your eyes unfocussed and no longer trained on his face. It was like now that you’d said your piece, you weren’t even trying to stay awake. He didn’t like to be too dramatic, but he was almost convinced that he was the one who’d been stabbed, not you.

“No,” he whispered. “No, (Y/N), not you. Please, not you.”

A wailing siren sounded in the distance, blue and red lights flashing rapidly brighter as the ambulance drew closer.

“Just a few more minutes,” Sam said, pacing. His eyes never left your face. “Come on, (Y/N), any second now.”

You were perfectly still, too still. Dean leant over, careful to keep applying pressure to your stomach as he listened for breath. The faintest hint of it brushed his cheek, not enough. He blinked hard, holding you against his chest, his face pressed into your hair. It still smelled like the cheap shampoo from the most recent motel, mixed with blood and dirt and sweat. It should have been disgusting, but to Dean it smelled so right. He wondered what that said about his lifestyle choices.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice choked. “(Y/N)...”

Your hand slipped from his, and it was like a damn breaking. He felt his shoulders jerk, something between a sob and a grunt torn from him.

“I love you too,” he whispered, clinging so tightly to you he was half scared he was going to hurt you. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, (Y/N), I love you.”

The siren was deafening as the ambulance skidded to a stop, Sam waving frantically to the paramedics swarming the graveyard. Someone pulled Dean back despite his protests. Cold stung his cheeks, the breeze from earlier having turned into a wind. It vaguely occurred to him that the reason it was so cold on his face was because he was crying.

Everything was a blur as you were engulfed by uniformed paramedics, your limp form lifted onto a stretcher and born away into the vehicle. Someone tried to talk to him before Sam, uncannily put together and coherent, spoke to them and explained. There was a lot of nodding and “thankyou”s, then Dean was being loaded into the Impala like a little kid and Sam was driving like you were in the back seat instead of in the ambulance.

All he was aware of at the hospital was Sam’s hand gripping his arm, muttering that he needed to pull it together “for her, man.” The harsh, clinical lights and the rush that everyone seemed to be in wasn’t helping Dean’s panic, every prone body he glimpsed taking on your face until he blinked and it was a complete stranger. What if the unthinkable really happened? What if you died, and he hadn’t been able to save you, keep you safe like you’d been so sure he would? What if you really did linger as a tormented spirit, what if he and Sam had to hunt you, get rid of you like you’d said? He didn’t know if he’d be able to do that.

Finally, a serious looking man with a clipboard and a badge approached them. “Are you with the young woman–” he glanced at the clipboard, “(Y/N), who just came in?”

“Yes,” Sam said quickly. “Yeah, how is she? Is she alright?”

“She’s damn lucky someone put as much pressure as they did on that cut,” he sighed. “She’s lost a lot of blood, but she’s stable.”

Dean let out a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide their shaking.

“Thankyou,” Sam smiled. “Thank you, doctor. When can we see her?”

He frowned at the clipboard again, tapping his fingers on the plastic. “Well she’s unconscious, I daresay she will be for a while yet.”

“Please,” Dean interrupted. “I– we just need to see her.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow. “You boys family?”

“Brothers,” Sam lied at the same time as Dean said “husband.”

“I’m her husband,” he went on, ignoring the little flip his stomach did. Somehow, the familiar lie felt different now that he’d told you how he felt, even if you hadn’t heard. “He’s my brother in law.”

“Ok,” he shrugged, “but she won’t… Well, she was stabbed. There’s a lot of tubes, bandages, and she’s out cold. It might be…” He stopped, sighing. “Some people find it confronting, seeing their loved ones like this.”

Dean felt Sam glance at him, but he ignored it. “Trust me,” he said with a tight smile, “I’ve seen worse.”

He had not, as it turned out, seen worse. You were completely still apart from the gentle rise and fall of your chest, a thin cotton blanket pulled up and tucked in with clinical precision around your ribs. You had a little cut on your forehead that Dean hadn’t noticed at the graveyard. A drip trailed from the back of your hand to a cluster of bags suspended above you, a thin plastic tube wrapped around your head just under your nose. Oxygen, he assumed. If he ignored all that, you could have been sleeping.

Sam pushed the door open softly, as if he was afraid he’d wake you up. Dean hesitated a moment, then followed him inside. Up close, he could see the light sheen of sweat on your forehead, the darkness under your eyes, the pallor of your lips and cheeks. He reached out to touch you, maybe lay his hand on your forehead or smooth your hair away from your face, but drew his hand back at the last moment. He didn’t want to somehow unbalance you from whatever tightrope you were walking right now, even though he knew that was illogical. Still, even breathing the same air felt somehow dangerous for you.

“Did she tell you?” he asked Sam eventually.

“That she loves you?” He didn’t give Dean a chance to explain that he hadn’t meant that, that he’d been talking about your fear of not-quite-death. “She never said it outright, but I sort of worked it out, y’know? You guys weren’t really that subtle.”

Dean frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just…” He shrugged, gesturing vaguely between your prone form and Dean. “You’re always looking at her, when you think she can’t see you. She does the same. Always just sorta… doing little things for each other. And you’re always touching her, I don’t know if you realised.”

“Huh. I didn’t.” It was true, although it didn’t really surprise him. He liked the little smile you gave him whenever he picked something up from a store for you – a favourite candy, something you’d mentioned you felt like – and he’d just assumed when you did similar things for him it was because you were, well, you. But now that he thought about it, he couldn’t name half as many times when you’d taken the same care and effort for Sam. Not that you’d neglected his brother, it was just… slightly less personal, less specially catered. He felt a surge of warmth for you, then a pang as his eyes landed again on your too-pale face.

As for touching you, well, he wanted to. All the time. He wanted to put his hand on your shoulder, wrap his arms around your waist, hold you close and feel your heartbeat against his. Every brief half-hug or brush of your skin against his was something precious to him, so of course he’d want more. His mind flashed back to the tightness of your hand in his at the graveyard, the warm slick of your blood as you’d clung to him. Even that had been almost euphoric, past the raw terror and sickening dread. He was going to hold you like that again – under better circumstances – if it killed him.

“Yeah,” Sam went on. “She’s the same, actually.” He laughed, shaking his head. “I remember this one time, Illinois, I think. We got a motel room with the longest couch you've ever seen. You sat down in the corner, and she comes and sits right next to you! When she’s got, like, another two metres of space to choose from.”

Dean did remember that, actually. He remembered the rush he’d gotten as you’d squished up against his side, complaining that you were cold even though your skin had been warm to the touch. He still thought about it, sometimes. “Huh,” he said again.

“Yeah.” It was silent apart from the beeping of your monitor and the normal hospital sounds outside the room, then Sam turned and faced him. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Dean shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have let her put herself out there like that in the first place.”

“No, I was supposed to have her back. I shouldn’t have taken so long with the salt.”

He wasn’t wrong, Dean knew that, but it had been him who’d agreed to your plan. You’d put your faith in him just as much as you had in Sam, and he’d let you down. He hadn’t liked the whole thing from the start, but still he’d gone ahead with it. And now here you were, lying unconscious in a hospital bed, and Sam was beating himself up about it. It was all so wrong, and Dean could have stopped it so easily. But as he looked at you, he swore he could hear you snorting derisively at him, crossing your arms with a firm “bullshit!”

“It’s my choice,” you’d say. “You’re really gonna try to steal my credit?”

“She’d call bullshit on you, you know,” he said.

His brother shrugged, nodding. “Yeah, you too probably. She’d poke you, right here.” He reached around and stuck his finger firmly in the middle of Dean’s chest, right where you’d done countless times.

Despite himself, Dean smiled. Then your drip beeped and he was jerked painfully back to the present, and the problem at hand.

“Did you know she was so scared?” he asked. “Of, y’know…” Dying. Haunting someone. Getting stuck here, not being able to move on.

Sam didn’t answer for a moment, then he sighed, still looking at you. “She mentioned it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Why didn’t she tell me?

“She didn’t want me to. She thought you’d think… I don’t know, that she wouldn’t be able to do the job. She really didn’t want you to know she was scared, she was so worried about what you thought of her. She said you were…” He swallowed, cleared his throat, continued. “She said you were never scared, and she didn’t want you to think she was. Even when I told her we were all terrified.”

“Damn right,” Dean muttered. You’d done a great job at putting on such a brave front, he’d sometimes wondered if there was actually something wrong with you. Or maybe not wrong, but different. He’d never known anyone who could handle the things they did so well, not even his dad. It was something of a relief to know that there was more to it.

“She was convinced she’d be the type of person to get stuck,” he continued. “Kept saying she wouldn’t be able to move on, that she had too much that she was holding onto and she didn’t know how to let go.” He finally raised his head, looking at Dean with what he thought was pity. Any other time, that would have annoyed him.

“That’s why she said it,” he muttered, the uncomfortable lump back in his throat. When you woke up, he was going to give you a serious talk about timing.

Sam nodded.

“And she didn’t–” His voice broke, and he turned away. He wanted to punch something, put his fist through the wall or slam his hand down on the table, but he was too scared it would somehow disturb you. “I didn’t say it back.”

“Woah, hey.” Sam’s hand was firm on his shoulder, steadying him. “You did, man. You did.”

“I was too late! She was out!”

“Yeah, and you can tell her again when she wakes up.”

“What if–”

“No.” Sam shook his head firmly, fingers digging into Dean’s shoulder, anchoring him to the spot. “She’s waking up, and when she does you’re gonna ask her out on a proper date, she’s gonna say yes, and you’re gonna sort yourselves out like adults. Ok?”

Dean looked away. The prospect of asking you out suddenly felt enormous. Of course he’d taken girls on dates before, he knew what he was doing, but that had been more along the lines of “I think you’re cute and you’re clearly into me, let’s get dinner and then we can hook up.” He’d never faced “I’ve been pining over you for months and I was too scared to do anything about it but you almost died and told me you loved me – love, not like – and I have no idea where this is gonna go but Sam’s right and asking you out is probably the best next step even if it’s absolutely terrifying”. He was a total mess, and he knew it.

“Ok?” Sam asked again, insistent.

“Ok,” he agreed. “Ok.”

“Good.”

You didn’t wake up until a day later. Well, that was according to the time and date displayed on the clock opposite your bed. Dean didn’t really have any recollection of time actually passing.

He was slumped in the chair beside your bed, your hand held gently in his own as he dozed. He hadn’t let himself fully sleep since you’d been brought in, too afraid that something would happen while he was out, despite all Sam’s urging. Eventually he’d just sent his brother back to the motel, assuring him that he’d be fine on his own and that he wanted to be there for you when you came around.

He jerked out of his half-nap when your fingers twitched, cursing when his pain stabbed through his neck. Snoozing in hospital chairs was never a good idea.

“Fuck,” you groaned, frowning at the ceiling.

Dean cleared his throat, his mouth suddenly dry. “(Y/N)?”

You turned, your face clearing when you saw him. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t make his heart skip a beat. “Dean,” you whispered. “What’re you doing here?”

He shrugged, making to withdraw his hand, but your grip tightened. “I’m the ‘welcome back’ committee.”

“Oh.” You nodded, smiling softly. You ran your free hand over the bandage circling your waist, studying the IV embedded in your skin. “We got him, didn’t we?” you asked.

Right, the ghost. “Uh, yeah, he’s gone. Your plan worked,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

“It was a pretty good plan,” you grinned.

He shook his head. “It almost got you killed.”

“But it worked,” you insisted, your eyes shining. “He’s gone, Dean. Who knows how many people we saved?”

“And what about you, huh?”

You shrugged. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

He took a deep breath, bending his head so you wouldn’t see the moisture he was sure he could feel gathering in his eyes. How were you so casual about it? It had been your life on the line, you who’d gotten stabbed, who’d been bleeding out, terrified of not dying properly and becoming a ghost yourself.

“Hey,” you said gently, your hand slipping from his, sliding up over his arm to rest hesitantly on his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“You almost died, (Y/N). Sam told me, what you said about getting stuck, being unable to move on.”

You were silent for a moment, then you sighed. “Well it’s just awkward now that I’m still here.”

Despite himself, Dean laughed. He raised his head, placing his hand over yours, rubbing his thumb in a circle over it. Your skin was warm as ever, dry to the touch. It was such a contrast from the graveyard, one he was glad of. You smiled, some of the colour already returning to your face.

“I’ve always got your back,” he said, “no matter what. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I wanted to, I really wanted to. But I just… I don’t know, I just couldn’t. Every time I tried it was like this brick wall went up in my brain.” You shrugged, drawing your hand back as you shifted to sit more upright. Dean missed its warmth instantly. “You’re always so… unfazed, you know? It felt kinda stupid.”

He snorted. Sure, Sam had already told him what you’d said, but it was different coming from you.

You folded your arms, as if you’d just won an argument. “See?”

“Shit, (Y/N),” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not – what’d you say? – unfazed. This shit gets to me too, I just…” He thought, unsure how to phrase it. “I didn’t wanna scare you,” he finally settled for. “Didn’t want you to worry.”

“Oh.” You picked at a loose thread in the blanket, biting your lip. “And the other thing?”

“Yeah, the other thing.” He’d known this was coming, he’d tried to find the words as he’d sat beside you, waiting for you to wake up. He’d almost had it, he told himself. How hard could it be, after all?

“I didn’t wanna die with, like, unfinished business. That’s the main reason people stick around. It felt like if I didn’t get it out there, I wouldn’t ever be able to… keep going. Move on.” You swallowed, not meeting his eyes. “It’s ok,” you went on, “if you don’t, y’know, feel the same. I’d understand.”

So you hadn’t heard him. Dean wasn’t surprised, but some part of him had been clinging to the hope that somehow his words had gotten through to you even as you were bundled into the back of the ambulance.

He shook his head. “I just wish you’d said something before.”

You looked up, hope chasing confusion across your face. “What?”

“I wish you’d said something before,” he repeated. “It would’ve saved us both a lotta trouble.”

“I don’t…” You frowned. “What’re you…?”

He shrugged, his heart beating a million mph. “I love you too,” he said simply.

You blinked, opening your mouth to say something, closing it again. Slowly, a smile crept across your features. “Alright,” you grinned, way too smug for Dean’s liking. “Alright then.”

“Don’t push it,” he warned, but the threat was empty and you both knew it.

You shifted again, leaning towards him. “Come here,” you said softly.

He stood, ignoring the ache in his back from the bloody uncomfortable chair.

Impatiently, you beckoned him closer.

He raised an eyebrow, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face. “Do I get to kiss you?”

“That’s the goal, yeah.” You rolled your eyes, tilting your face against his hand. Dean wasn’t fond of the whole “butterflies in your stomach” thing, but he had no idea how else to describe the feeling that tiny gesture conjured. It really was like someone had released a swarm of the things inside him, and he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.

You were watching him expectantly, almost like you were challenging him. “Go on,” your eyes seemed to be saying, “try it.”

He did. Your lips were softer than he’d expected, and just as warm as your hands. You made a sound somewhere in the realm of a sigh as his hand slid down to rest on your shoulder, pushing gently towards him, your own fingers running over his jaw to brush along the back of his neck. He couldn’t believe he’d waited this long to kiss you, and now that he’d finally taken the plunge, he never wanted to stop.

But he had to breathe, unfortunately, and so did you.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” you whispered. You were still close enough that he could feel the words against his skin.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he replied.

You laughed, a soft, breathy sound, and closed the tiny gap once more. “I love you,” you murmured between kisses, “and I’m sorry it took me almost dying to say it.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that too.”

The door handle clicked, the hinges squealing. “Ok, so I ran into the doctor on the way in— woah.”

Dean stood up so fast he almost overbalanced.

Sam was standing in the doorway with a disposable coffee cup in each hand, his mouth hanging open as he stared from you to Dean and back again.

You cleared your throat. “Hi, Sam.”

He shut his mouth, shoving the cups into Dean’s hands as he crossed the room and bent to hug you with a muttered “thank God.”

“Watch it,” you warned, “I’m injured.” But your arms snaked around his back anyway, your voice muffled as you pressed your face into his neck.

“You’re never allowed to scare us like that again,” Sam said firmly.

Your eyes found Dean’s over Sam’s shoulder, and you smiled. “I’m not really planning on it, don’t worry.”

Sam just laughed. “How’re you feeling?” he asked when he finally let you go.

“Ok,” you nodded, then frowned. “Hungry.”

Sam glanced at Dean, who shrugged. He’d gotten bored some time in the morning, and the packet of pudding that had been left on your bedside table along with a bottle of water had been practically begging to be tasted. He’d wondered if you’d wake up before they brought a replacement, he’d even felt a little bad eating your food, but he was hungry, dammit, and when Sam had left he’d said he would come back “later” which meant “tonight”. And that was too long for Dean to wait. He also didn’t have any money on him, and wouldn’t have left your side for the cafeteria when the pudding was right there.

“What?” you asked.

“He ate the pudding they left you,” Sam said. Dean never should have mentioned it, but he’d been desperate to get Sam to bring him something and it had felt convincing over the phone.

Dean glared at his brother and the coffees – which were very noticeably not the fast food he’d had in mind. “You try living in that chair for a day, see how long you can go without.” Then he turned to you. “You didn’t miss much, don’t worry.”

“Well, I’m hungry!” you protested, crossing your arms and looking for all the world like a petulant toddler.

Sam’s words about asking you out echoed in his mind.

“I’ll buy you dinner,” he said. “At an actual restaurant, not a fast food place. As soon as they let you outta here, alright? In the meantime…” He reached for the bottle of water, handing it to you with an apologetic shrug. It was better than nothing.

You wrinkled your nose at him. “This is a pretty shit first date.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said. Then, on second thoughts, “It’s not a first date, Sam’s here.”

“Geez,” Sam muttered, “sorry. And after I got you a coffee too.”

“Did you get me one?” you asked hopefully.

“No,” he said slowly. “But you can have mine if you want?”

You sighed. “I don’t like it how you do. But thanks,” you added with a smile.

“Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you to be awake.”

“Have a little faith, Sam.”

He smiled, glancing between you and Dean.

“You owe me a coffee, and you owe me a dinner,” you continued before he could say anything. Dean thanked you silently. He didn’t really want a shovel talk from his own brother right now, which he could see Sam was just dying to dish out. He wondered if you’d be getting one. Probably, but he had no doubts that it would be less “shovel” more “talk”.

“Soon as you’re fixed up,” he said. “I promise.”

“And it’ll be a date?”

“Sweetheart, it’ll be the best first date you’ve ever been on. Trust me.”

You just grinned, ignoring Sam’s fake-disgusted sigh. “Ok.”

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