Can We Please Get A Smutty Poly Lost Boys Fic Where They Also Interact With Each Other And Not Just The

High school au where the batboys are teenagers of age 15-18. Damian being 15, Tim being 16, Jason being 17, and dick being 18. You, the reader are their childhood friend. You are aren’t popular like the boys who are the rich boys of the Gotham academy. You are just a simple student who’s not known, so you don’t hang out with the boys at school much. You are almost 16, being in the middle of the age of Damian and Tim. You are closest to the two youngest of the brothers, dick and Jason are not close with you, but they think they are.

Dick is the type of guy who always waved at you despite being surrounded by his peers which make them stare at you intensely.

Jason is the type of guy to ask you if you need to ride even though he rejects people that ask to ride his motorcycle.

Tim is the type of guy who ask if you understand the work or need help. Always suggesting a tutoring session together at the manor. When really he sees it as a study date.

Damian who always give you small gifts, he knows you hate attention just like him. So he gives you small meaningful gifts just so you can still tell he cares for you.

Even if you don’t want their attention at the school, it’s bad enough that these batboys can’t help but love their childhood best friend.

Hello there :)

I'm new here but I love your stuff, it's all so sweet 😫❤️

So hear me out, I got an idea for Zosan x fem!reader, where Reader is a little Tinkerer and loves to invent things or just make cute thingamajigs. And she loves to make small things for Zoro and Sanji and even though they always get red and fidgety when she give them her little presents, they always cherish them and keep them neatly in their room🥺

Welcome and i hope you enjoy this, i find this idea so cute.

Zoro X Sanji X Reader, poly relationship, established relationship

^ When you first joined the crew you were kinda scared to show off your inventions, mainly because you wanted to impress them and anything less than perfect was not good enough for you, but with time and some entrancement from Usopp and Sanji you started to show your stuff before it was finished.

^ Your always observing how the crew works and planning how to make their life easier by making stuff for them, so you always have a project going on. You used to hide away in Usopp's area of the ship but now find it more enjoyable by being around the crew, your main favorite places are the kitchen and the training room.

^ Depending on if you want to talk or not you'll choose one or the other to tinker with your project in, Sanji is always happy to have you around and willing to talk with you about anything. He's really into what your doing and fawns over your thoughtfulness and skill, he was doing this even before you started dating him. In the training room there's no talking just the sound of Zoro working out, he appreciated you being quiet but if he found you struggling with something he would offer his help mainly to show off how strong he is.

^ If you ever need help with something you can always go to either one of them, and they'll both do their best while also trying to cheer you up if something hasn't gone the way you wanted. Gods forbid you ever get hurt while making something, the slightest hiss or pain and their asking what's wrong, Zoro is way more toned down just asking if your ok and if you need anything while Sanji is instantly by your side taking what ever body part is hurt into his hands and looking it over before dragging you off to see chopper.

^ When you work late into the night mainly because you loose track of time both of your boys have to come down and get you, one isn't enough since you try and by more time if its only one of them. With Sanji you can give him a pout and kiss asking him to sit with you fore a minute while you finish up, that minute turns into 5, then 10 and soon the cook is fast asleep on your work table. With Zoro all you have to do is ask for his help with something, even if its just opening a jar or pulling something apart then compliment him, you'll force him to sit down in your seat so you can sit on his lap and work saying you'll be a minute, again that minute turns into much longer and the swordsman is fast sleep holding you tight.

^ It surprises you how long it took them to realize what you were doing so now come together in order to get you to sleep, they both have to remind each other of your tactics. Working together they manage to pull you away form your work and to bed, it warms your heart at how much they care about you, at first you feared they only liked you for what you made them but once that was voiced they both made it well known that they love you for you and nothing else. They constantly remind you of that with compliments, loving touches and pulling you away form your work just for your attention or make you eat and sleep.

^ Sanji loves all the things you make for him and tries his best to take great care of them, most of the stuff you make for him are in the kitchen since their practical gifts, A knife block that sharpens the knives for him and some robotic hands that you can attach to the sink that washes dishes for him are the main things but you've made small stuff too. One of his favorites is a small Robot that looks just like him, its made to grind spices and herbs for him rolling the stone back and forth to crush what he needs, he mainly likes it because not only is it useful and catches his likeness well but it also keeps Luffy distracted instead of asking for food.

^ There is one thing the cook keeps in his room away from everyone and everything, a small thing that no one would bat an eye too, but he holds so close to his heart that he wants to keep it safe forever. He's almost scared to use it in case he damages it, its one of the first things you made him and although you didn't think it was perfect still, Sanji couldn't help but fall in love with it and in turn fall in love with you.

^ The lighter you gifted him was unlike anything he had ever seen before, it was round and the middle made out of glass so you can see the strange multicolored liquid inside, a beautiful blue steal engraved casing surrounded it, at first it just seemed like random lines but when he looked closer he found that the small engagements where actually pots, pans, knives, spoons ect, anything to do with cooking was cut out letting you see the glass area.

^ He was beyond happy with it and loved the blush on your face when he raved about it but you had one last thing up your sleeve, turning the lighter on instead of the normal yellow flame it was a blue flame, he started at it in amazement a warm feeling filling his chest as you talked. At that moment the world around him became none existent, just him, you and the blue flame lighting up your face in a way that took his breath and heart, that was the moment he fell in love and what made him decide to treasure that lighter forever.

^ Zoro didn't care a first and was almost offended when you made him something that would make training easier, he did want or need your help and made it clear to you. He got yelled at by most of the crew for making you upset and almost scared of him but it was Us opp and Chopper who managed to make him see the other side of things. You weren't calling him weak, you just wanted to make his training better and more effective because of this he apologized the best he could, after that he loves having you around and working while he's training. On his breaks he'll sit with you and watch what your doing, becoming almost hypnotized by how you make it look so easy.

^ The things you make for him are mostly to do with training but there are times when you try to help him with his sense of direction but those always seem to fail since he keeps getting lost even with the best of your stuff. You've made wrap around pads that turn hot or cold dampening on what he needs, a small device that shows him how fast, strong and level his swings are either with a sword of weights.

^ The first thing you made him is a small device that can be strapped to the back of his neck, thanks to the help of Chopper its made to read brain waves, the small screen will show, what muscles in the body are being works, how long for and the amount of strain their under. It'll let off a beep if a part of the body is under too much strain which is what annoyed him in the first place, you did tell him that the gauge can be changed, but he didn't listen due to his anger. At first, he wanted to throw it out or chuck it into the ocean but for some reason he couldn't, it's been in his locker ever since, and he can't bring himself to let you knew he's still got it, so it says there.

^ There are times when he'll look it over with a smile thinking about everything you've done for him but also cursing himself for yelling at you that day and almost ruining what he has now, loving you and having you make things for him is something he holds close to his heart and this small machine if a constant reminder to never take that for granted, but he'll never let you know.

Not a Drabble, just a funny little bit of dialog I’m not sure I will fit into a story.

[Michael, having stared at Dwayne for several minutes, clears his throat. Dwayne looks up from the book he is thumbing through on the couch.]

Dwayne: Spit it out.

Michael: Why don’t you ever wear a shirt?

[Dwayne gives Marko an accusatory once-over.]

Dwayne: A rat keeps eating them.

Y/n to Zemo: You little FU-

Sam: WOAH!!

Bucky: HOLD UP!!

Sam: WE DO NOT USE THAT WORD IN THIS HOUSE!!

Zeno: Technically this is my house

Bucky pointing towards Zemo: YOU SHUT UP

Sam also pointing at Zemo: YEAH THIS DOESN’T CONCERN YOU

Y/n: 😐

PLEASE!!!! I AM BEGGING @consuming-karma, FOR THIS TO BE WRITTEN. THE CHARACTER DESIGNS AND THE WAY EVERYTHING IS WRITTEN FOR THE SUMMARY, IS JUST, MWAH (chefs kiss)

BACK IN TOWN - THE MASTERLIST.

[poly!lost boys + ex!Michael x asian!ex!reader.]

content warnings: angst, pining, enemies to lovers trope, vampirism, gore, etc. (tba).

Years after the Vampire incident in Santa Carla, the Emersons decide to take the lost boys under their wings. Everything was happy for a while, until year of 92’ where Lucy had planned for a trip back down to memory lane, literally. Now, Lucy and the boys are back in Phoenix, Arizona. How will Michael handle seeing his childhood home? Better yet, his old ex? What happens when Michael’s boys gets interested as well?

page one : Home, Bittersweet Home.

let’s meet our cast, shall we?

READER.

THE BOYS:

- MICHAEL EMERSON.

- DAVID.

- DWAYNE.

- MARKO.

- PAUL.

“I’m not cut out for your creepy antics, Michael! Your world isn’t mine, and I don’t want to make it mine.”

“You can’t say that, you can’t turn back. David’s already picked for you, and honestly, I don’t want to lose you, and the boys don’t either.”

(THE LOST BOYS 1987.)

the lost boys is not my original work, the only credit I will be taking is for Reader and any non-canon headcanons I’ve implemented into the story.

Rock star eddie, you're his drummer. One of his songs requires moans in the background. He wants it live. Wear special panties during show, boom live moans or if that's too much maybe just has you in the sound booth since he doesn't want some random chick's moans, the grand finale is the sound of you coming during the climax of the song 👀

Glitter Girl

Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Reader

Based on Glitter Girl by Dixie Dragster (Eddie's song in the fic)

A/N: I was editing this and I was like ugh this is ass, but then I got to the smut and I was like okay this is good actually lmao. This is my attempt at not answering a request with an overarching storyline like I did here, but this still ended up being about 4.6k Thank you for the request it was very slutty, perfect for rockstar!eddie.

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: SMUT 18+ mdni!!! unprotected sex, PiV sex, masturbation (fem), voyeurism, ass slapping, cum eating, oral sex kinda (fem rec), cum swapping lol, kinda dirty talk, edging, talk of fingering, audio recording sex, some feelings

My asks are open, come talk to me about Eddie!!!

Masterlist

You came into the studio looking for Eddie, finding him next to the band’s producer, Jared, at the soundboard. 

Gareth had left a message on your machine saying Eddie needed some more backing vocals for the new song. The song was a little different from what the band had done before—more eccentric, more glam-rock—but Eddie said it would be a blast to perform live so you didn’t mind, always up for making the shows more electric. 

Eddie told you he wrote the song in two hours after the insane New Year’s Eve bash the band threw at a club. You remember bits and pieces of the party—glitter falling at midnight, spitting a shot of vodka into Eddie’s mouth, making Gareth give you a lap dance, watching Jeff motorboat a bottle girl. Definitely one for the books.

But as daybreak neared and guests began drunkenly shuffling home, the night became a little clearer in your memory—leaving you and Eddie covered in glitter and confetti, giggling about how he’d be finding that shit in his hair forever. Three days later, he played the song for you and the rest of the band.

You laid down the drums for the song last Friday and your vocals the following Monday. Eddie had told the band it was a wrap, but it seems he’s changed his mind—deciding something was missing, rendering the song incomplete in his eyes. 

Music is the only thing he’s ever been picky about, the one area where his usual chaos shifts into precision. It’s like he develops a Type-A personality just for that. 

When he hears the door open, Eddie looks up to see you walking in, tattered jean shorts and an old band tee hanging loose on your body. He waves you into the room, ushering you over to the soundboard with him and Jared.

“Hey! Glad you got my message, sorry about the game of telephone. Apparently there’s no landline in this fucking place.” He exclaims, throwing a pointed look at Jared—like the poor guy owns the building and has a say in its architectural decisions. 

You huff at his attitude, tilting your head, giving him a reprimanding, deadpan stare. Eddie loves to give the guy a hard time, much to your chagrin. It’s only because Jared’s genuinely the nicest person all of you know, especially in the LA music scene. 

“No problem, although I am confused because I thought we finished everything.” 

You watch as Jared starts fiddling with some buttons, getting the sound booth ready. 

“Yeah, okay. See, I thought it was good–great even!” He obfuscates, “But then I had this idea…and now I wanna see how it’ll sound, and you’re the only girl…” 

Your brows furrow as a confused smile overtakes your face. It sounded like he said a whole lot of nothing just now, and what does being the only girl in the band have to do with anything?

“What are you talking about?”

“Okay, force my hand,” he groans dramatically. “I think some moans would sound really fucking cool on the R–O–C–K part.” 

He says it so fast, you have to take a moment to replay what you heard in your head to understand. Nervous for what you’ll say, he’s shoving his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and eyeing you intently. You hesitate, gauging whether he’s serious or not, but he doesn’t back track. 

“Alright, I mean–,” you gesture to him, deferring, “you’re the musical genius.” 

It’ll be a little weird moaning in a sound booth by yourself, having poor, innocent Jared monitoring the levels and Eddie coaching you, but if it’ll make the song even cooler—you’re in.

Eddie appears shocked at your deference, he really thought he’d have to run down the list he made of why it would be sick as fuck. He’s suddenly feeling very thankful to not only have a talented female drummer, but one who appreciates his artistry as much as you. 

“Really?”

Shrugging, you respond, “Yeah, if you think it’ll sound cool. I trust you.” The last part is so simple but it makes him grin, excited that you’re down for this.

“Yes! Thank you!” Rushing to hug you, he lifts you off your feet in a bone crushing embrace.

When he sets you back down, you’re laughing at the child-like giddiness written all over his face. Jared lets you know the booth is ready for you, heading in there you stand behind the microphone, placing the headphones over your ears so you can hear the backing track and cues. 

Jared counts you in over the master microphone, hearing the metronome. you nod your head to the beat, keeping time. When the part approaches, you stand up straight, breathily moaning the letters, spelling out ‘ROCK.’ 

Once you’ve done it, Jared cuts the music, turning on the soundboard mic for Eddie to give notes. You watch through the glass window as he leans down, sounding less than satisfied. “Okay…that was good, um–let’s take it from the top, okay? Gimme a little more oomf.”

Nodding your head—only slightly understanding what he means—you begin keeping time with the metronome again. You do it about three more times for him before Eddie starts running his hands through the roots of his hair, clearly frustrated at your inability to portray the tone he’s looking for. 

“Eddie, I’m sorry. I don’t know what you want me to do differently.” You don’t mean to be so difficult, honestly not comprehending what’s off about your performance. And he’s not being very helpful with his notes, you’re pretty sure you’re all out of ‘oomf.’ You’re certain the last two renditions are as oomf-y as he’s going to get from you.

He shakes his head, curling his lips into his mouth, “No, it’s–uh, hold on.” 

The sound from outside the booth cuts out, you watch as Eddie leans down to Jared telling him something. The guy looks at him, appearing to ask him something before Eddie nods his head, then the guy stands up and leaves. You frown at the sudden exit, Eddie sits down into the command chair, clicking the microphone back on and leaning in. 

“Okay, so I asked Jared to take five. We’re gonna try this again, but—hear me out—do you think you could–,” he hesitates, working through how to make his request. “How about this, what if you—okay, this is gonna sound insane–”

Losing your patience, you speak up, “Eddie, just spit it out!” 

“What about if you touched yourself? While you–you know, did the vocals…,” his words come out stilted, eyes squinting like he’s expecting you to blow up at him for his outrageous request. 

Instead, you just laugh. He’s got to be joking, that’d be insane! Your eyes widen when he doesn’t laugh with you—just curling his lips inward again.

“Eddie, you can’t be serious…,” you shake your head incredulously. “Just get a porn star, or something, if you want real moans.”

He clearly rejects that sentiment, shaking his head and holding his hands out in front of him like he’s presenting at a business meeting, “No, I don’t want just any girl on this track! Plus, there’s like legal shit I don’t even wanna touch with a ten foot pole.”

Scoffing, your jaw agape, “What, and I’m easier?”

Frantically shaking his head, placating hands held out in front of him, “No! Of course not!” His voice lowers to a nervous mutter, but it still comes through loud and clear in your headphones, “I just think the muse should be on the track, that’s all.” 

Your brows draw together, jerking your head back in confusion. “You wrote this song–about me?” He’s never written a song about anybody other than random hookups. Most of his songwriting is inspired by life stuff anyway. Not even his best friends got songs written for them, but he wrote this for you—about you? 

When you think about the lyrics, your face heats up—to be seen in that way, to be romanticized like that…You had no idea he felt…things…for you. But now the way he stuck to your side at the party makes sense. 

Usually, he’s all over the groupies and the women throwing themselves at him, he’s a gluttonous guy—he likes to have them all. But that party was notably different, he even took you to breakfast after the wild night, making you laugh as he shook more glitter from his hair into the pancakes he ordered. 

Eddie shrugs, very clearly trying to seem passive, “Well, yeah, you’re my glitter girl.” He voices the nickname like it’s obvious, like it’s an endearment—he did put ‘my’ in front of it. 

Huffing out a fond laugh, smile growing on your soft lips, you nod, “Fine. But you can’t watch, okay, perv?” 

You tease him, but the thought of him watching is far too overwhelming for you. You just found out he feels a certain way for you. Unsure if it’s just fondness, care, like—love, even? No, that’d be preposterous. He’s your friend! Lead singer of one of the top bands right now, and you’re his drummer! You’re just like one of the guys—at least that’s what Gareth always says. 

Now you’re not sure what you are—to him, at least. But you know you couldn’t handle him watching you do something so intimate. 

He nods his head vigorously, “Yeah, of course! How about this, I’ll turn around and you–do your thing.” 

Nodding at his earnest face, you move to unbutton your shorts. Shaking your head in disbelief that this is happening, you watch as he turns around. 

“Although, to be clear—I do still need to listen to make sure I–,” he pauses, unable to choose better wording, “like–what I hear, I guess. Sorry.” 

You huff, rolling your eyes at his poor choice of wording. “Yes, Eddie, I know. Don’t look!” 

Raising his hands in surrender as his back is turned, “Let me know when you want me to start the track.” He wants to give you enough time to work yourself up—for lack of better words. 

Taking a deep breath, shaking the nerves out of your body, you reach into your panties. It isn’t the best angle with you standing so you quickly turn around, pulling the stool up to the mic, adjusting the equipment to your new height as you sit on the edge of the wooden seat. Propping your foot on the rung of the stool, you spread your thighs, reaching back into your panties to gather the wetness at your hole. 

Thankfully, Eddie is hot enough to get you going any time you see him—his long, dark curly hair, obsidian eyes, the contrast of black tattoos on pale white skin. Today, he’s wearing an old Dio band tee he cut into a muscle shirt and a pair of ripped black jeans. 

Every time he leaned over the soundboard—reaching to fiddle with some controls—the gaping armholes of his shirt gave you a perfect view of his biceps, his body. It had you pressing your thighs together. Yeah, you’re good to go just looking at him.

Spreading the wetness across your folds as much as you can in the confines of your shorts, you bring your soaked fingers to your clit, catching the little nub just right, making your breath hitch. When your breath turns shallow and you’re biting your lip to withhold moans, you look up to see a hunched over Eddie through the glass. He looks like he’s straining, turned around with clenched fists, gnawing on the white knuckles. 

“I’m ready.” He jumps into action at your breathy comment, reaching behind him for the button, starting the metronome track. 

His strained posture doesn’t unfurl, in fact it looks like he gets even more stiff as you do the part. Circling your clit for maximum pleasure, you moan out the letters, stopping completely with shallow breaths as you wait for his notes. 

Leaving your shorts unbuttoned, you remove your fingers, resting your arm on your thighs as Eddie turns around with a hand over his eyes. 

“I’m decent,” you breathe, letting him know he doesn’t have to feel around the soundboard blindly to shut the track off. 

Letting his hand fall, blown eyes take you in as he clears his throat, pressing the ‘on’ button for the microphone. “T–That was–good, uh, yeah, good,” clearing his throat again. “I think–okay you’re gonna hate me for this—and I swear, I’m not doing it on purpose—but when I was blind, I accidentally pressed the wrong button, so I recorded none of that.” 

He bares his teeth in nervous expectation for your anger, but you just let out a shaky sigh, rolling your eyes. Par for the course with Eddie. 

“Okay, fine. Just–start recording, then close your eyes this time, okay?” 

“Yes. Yeah, I’ll do that, I’m sorry!”

Since you’re already worked up, you tell him to go ahead and start the track right off the bat. Precisely following your directions, he starts the track, quickly hits record, and swivels his chair to face the couch against the wall. 

You do exactly the same thing as last time—running your index and middle finger through your folds before bringing it to your throbbing clit. You’re working yourself close to the edge, but never surpassing it as you moan the lines.

The notes you receive from him make you want to strangle him, he looks awfully jumpy, continuously letting his hand fall into his lap below the soundboard where you can’t see it. “That was good,” he says lightly, like it’s a consolation compliment.

The frustration of touching yourself with no orgasm at the end is getting to you, you grit out an annoyed, “Eddie!” 

“I’m sorry! There’s something off about it! You know? Like it’s too–I don’t know…,” he stops to think as you huff your chest, imagining exactly how you’d run out of this booth and strangle the singer. “It’s missing that oomf,” he repeats, as if that perfectly describes why your performance is not hitting.

Oh, you’re going to kill him. You’re going to skin the fucker alive. “You said that already!” 

“Wait! I think I know what it is,” your eyes widen as he pauses, raising your eyebrows expectantly. 

“Please, feel free to share with the class,” you bite, thoroughly annoyed at this point. 

“How exactly are you touching yourself?” He asks the question so casually like he’s asking you which football team you’re supporting in this year’s Super Bowl, like he’s an engineer trying to figure out the faulty cog in the machine. 

You throw your head back, eyes on a god you know isn’t watching, praying for enough strength to spare your bandmate from your fiery fury. You laugh—sharp, incredulous. “Oh, we’re doing this?” Resigning yourself to the present situation, you answer without shame—your frustration is far too overpowering. “Okay, I’m rubbing my clit.” 

He shakes his head, unruly curls shimmying with the gesture, “No, see I want like–a thrusting oomf, you know?” He’s wagging his finger like he just cracked the case, grinning, “See, I knew something was missing!” 

“Okay, well, I’m not gonna finger myself for you, Eddie.” You’ve given him enough, plus you know from experience—your own fingers are not going to give him the ‘oomf’ he’s looking for.

Eddie pouts at your rejection, jaw on the floor like an indignant child being told ‘no.’ 

“Why not?” He’s practically whining and you tilt your head at him in disbelief that this is the ‘man’ so many women drop their panties for. 

“Because! Why don’t you do it,” you argue. 

His pout is gone as he shrugs his shoulders, nodding his head, “Okay.” 

“Wha–,” you’re thrown off by his response, but you watch him hit record and you hear the metronome start in your ears as he joins you in the booth, unbuttoning his jeans. 

“I didn’t mean–what the hell are you doing?” You look at him like he’s lost his mind—because, honestly, he has. What exactly is he doing here? Freeing one ear from the headphones, you wait for his—sure to be interesting—explanation.

“You want me to do it,” it’s half–question, half him telling you what he got from that exchange. 

Shaking your head, lips parted in awe at his absurdity, “No! I mean like–you do the moans yourself if you’re gonna be so picky about it!” 

Disappointment clear on his face, he leaves his jeans unbuttoned, “Well, nobody wants that!” 

Laughing at his absurd comment—you, you want that—you shake your head, “I don’t think me fingering myself is really gonna sound good–”

“I beg to differ,” he snorts, eyes shooting to your wet fingers.

Giving him a reprimanding look, you add, “You know what I mean.”

“Okay, but what if…I did help you,” he implores, it’s like he’s bargaining for your pussy. 

“Eddie, you can’t be serious,” smiling at him, waiting for him to crack, but all you see is wide, earnest eyes. “You really want this?”

You’re mainly asking about how badly he wants the song to reflect his vision, but you realize the question takes on a whole new meaning with what’s on the table. 

Nodding his head frantically, “Yes, it means a lot to me!” 

Sighing at his genuine desire to make the song he wants, you let out a subtle nod. “Fine,” you pause as he pumps his fist in victory, “But don’t be weird about it.” He immediately collects himself, bringing his energy from ‘kid who just won a sweepstakes to Disney’ to ‘solemn mourner.’ It makes you crack a smile. 

You can hear the metronome of the song repeating in your ear, you watch his quickly widening eyes as you shimmy your shorts down. A raised eyebrow alerts him he should be doing the same, you put the second pair of headphones onto his hair, flattening a line into his poofy hair. He starts removing his black jeans as you turn and adjust the microphone even lower, nearly at the level of the wooden stool. 

When you turn back around, you see his hard cock, standing at attention, his shirt still on—same as you, not bothering to remove the article of clothing because that’d require removing the headphones, which was too much work at the moment. His eyes are lust blown as he looks down at your half-naked body, shallow breaths moving his chest. 

“Cute,” you quip at his stiff cock, admiring the jump you get for the compliment. He’s not the first naked man you’ve seen and knowing him—his ego is already enormous. He doesn’t need to get another worshipping compliment on how pretty and big his dick is, he has the groupies for that. You always try to keep him in check, this’ll be no different. 

Clearly, you had him remove his pants for more than just fingering, but he wants to make sure. “So you don’t want me to finger you?” 

Snorting, you shake your head, “No, if you want this to sound good, it’s gotta be the real deal.” You’ve built up enough frustration that you’re giving him creative directions now, if he’s intertwining music and pleasure—he knows music, and you know your own pleasure. “And you get one take, got it, rockstar?”

Eddie sucks in a breath at the title, nodding his head, “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Good. And it’s recording?” 

Another nod. 

You smirk at his uncharacteristic silence, turning around to rest your elbows on the seat of the stool, making sure the mic stand is right in front of your face. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, the view of you bent over, chest down, ass up—presenting your pretty pussy to him—has his dick jumping, twitching with need. He moves forward, caressing the junction of your hip, squeezing the fat of your ass.

You can’t help but hum at the feel of cold metal rings on his large hands, you’re so worked up you’re practically dripping for him.

He gathers himself enough to remind you the metronome is repeating, meaning you need to pay attention for the cue to the letters. 

“Just fuck me already,” you’re almost whine, rolling your hips to jut your pussy out more. 

“Holy shit,” he groans, grasping his cock and rubbing it up and down your wet folds. He nearly curses at the way your lips almost suck him into your greedy hole, the way you’re pulsing, trying to lure him into your warm, wet heat. 

He teases just a little more, gathering as much of your wetness onto his cock as he can. When you whine, wiggling your hips back, trying to catch the head and slide him in—he decides to put you out of your misery. 

With a strong grip on your hips, Eddie thrusts in harshly, fully sinking his cock into your tight cunt. The sudden intrusion has a cross between a moan and squeal erupting from your throat, you thought he’d go slow—boy, were you wrong. He has to take a minute to steady his breathing, wishing away the impending orgasm. His body is curling over you, chest moving with stuttering breaths. 

You’re so aware of his pelvis and thighs against your ass, how snug his cock is in your hole. Relishing the feeling of him balls deep inside you, you feel so full. He’s so thick, it’s driving you up the wall. Your pussy is gripping him like any moment he’ll pull out and leave you gaping.

“Oh, fuck, sweetheart,” he huffs. “Holy shit–best fucking pussy I’ve ever felt.” He’s babbling, gone completely out of his mind at the way your walls squeeze his poor cock in a vice grip. You mewl and whine at the compliment, so turned on from all the edging, you just want him to start moving already. 

“Move–please, move! Fuck, Eddie,” you draw out his name, sounding pitiful and fucked out already. 

He starts thrusting at a bruising pace, you feel every ridge and vein, you’re not even trying to temper your moans. Barely hearing yourself over the metronome anyway, you let him know just how good you feel. 

Eddie reaches up, shoving one earphone off so he can hear your noises. All the moaning, mewling, and whining only spur him on. He’s breaking a sweat railing into your cunt, relishing the sound of skin slapping. 

You hear the song start over again, knowing the cue is coming up, you try to draw your brain back from your needy pussy long enough to moan the letters. Apparently, you didn’t sound desperate enough because Eddie slaps your ass, eliciting a high-pitched yelp from your throat. 

“Again,” he grits, reaching around to messily rub your clit through your shared juices. 

The song is short so when it loops back around, you’re at the very precipice of an orgasm. 

“Please–Eddie, please let me cum! Oh god, I need it, please!” 

He groans when your walls suffocate his cock, needy and pulsing, on the very edge of the most mind blowing orgasm you’ve ever had. 

“Be good, and I’ll let you,” he grunts, slapping your ass to cue you in. When you open your mouth to moan out the letters he starts vigorously yanking your body back onto his dick, meeting his already jarring thrusts. Ever the musician, he times each shove of his hips with the ticking metronome. 

His hard cock knocks the air out of you as you moan every letter, sounding fucked out and desperate by the time you spell ‘ROCK’ fully. 

Once you know you’ve done your part, you wail out in pleasure, “Oh god!”

Slapping your ass particularly hard, he urges you to cum, “Cum for me, baby. Lemme feel that fucking pussy choke my cock, give it to me, honey.”

The slap sent you over the edge and his words had you floating among the stars. You’re crying out in pleasure, absolutely beside yourself. Barely aware of the loss of rhythm, he shutters and jerks, drawing your attention with an urgent, “Where do you want me, baby?”

Feeling full and needy, you whine, “Inside! Please, Eddie, gimme your cum–I wan’ it so fuckin’ bad!” 

He stutters out a string of curses, pumping rope after rope of warm cum into your greedy cunt. Slowing to a stop, he hunches over you. You can feel his hot breath against your shoulder blades, the softs wisps of his hair tickling your back. 

Resting your chest on the stool, you let your mind come back down to earth. He moves to pull out but you reach behind to grab his hips, holding him to you. 

“Hold on–jus’…wanna feel you still.” You’re exhausted, voice sounding utterly spent. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes out in disbelief, thanking whatever is out there that he got to experience what he’s dreamed about for so long. Not to mention, the way you don’t want his cock to leave your pulsing pussy. He shudders as your walls twitch with aftershocks. 

Eventually, he has to pull out, his soft cock no longer able to stay in. His heart rams against his ribcage at the soft whine you let out as he pulls out, he’d keep you stuffed forever if he could. 

You don’t move, even though you’re free to. Staying bent over the stool, your pussy still captivating him as he looks down to see his load slowly inching out of your hole. Admiring the way the cum moves like molasses in the hot summer, he thinks about how many songs he could write just about the view of your gaping hole—still spread open from his girthy cock.

Since you don’t seem to be moving anytime soon—just resting on the stool, relishing his attention—he kneels down, spreading your ass cheeks. Leaning in to lick up the cum dribbling out of your hole, he makes sure to thrust his languid tongue in, scooping out the delicious, tangy combination of juices. A loud moan escapes your scratchy throat, not expecting such raunchy affection after everything that just transpired. 

Once he gathers the juices, letting them pool on his tongue, he stands up. Reaching around your neck to pull you up, your back to his front, feeling his now half-hard cock against your ass, he spreads his hand on your jaw, effectively pushing your head to the side. He wraps his free hand around your pelvis as he thrusts his tongues into your open, panting mouth. You moan at the feeling of him swapping spit and the mix of cum into your waiting mouth. Messily kissing you, his tongue dominates your mouth, not letting your head go as he grinds against your ass. 

When he pulls away leaving you breathless, you eagerly lick your lips, swallowing all the swapped spit and cum, humming at the taste. He lets you turn around in his hold—facing him, moving both hands to rest on your cheeks, leaning in for another firm kiss. Your eyes are lust blown, he’s panting, bobbing his head closer for another kiss. The kiss you’re wanting doesn’t come, though. Instead, he plants a sweet, chaste, smooch to the corner of your mouth. 

“Will you go on a date with me?” 

You huff out a laugh, eyes squinting with giddy humor at the backwards order of events. “Yeah.”

He grins at your hazy eyes, kissing you again. 

Pulling away, your eyebrows knit with concern, “I think we just accidentally made an audio sex tape.”

“A sex mixtape,” he quips, unworried. 

“Poor Jared, he’s gonna have to isolate my vocals over all the ass clapping,” you giggle. 

“Eh, that perv will love it.” 

A/N: Please like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed it! Especially comments because they let me know I’m doing things right!!! Because right now I’m going a little coocoo crazy, judging my writing probably too harshly. Idk, y’all tell me what you think

Baby face

Summary: You start to get upset when Dean decides to shave off his beard

Word count: 0.5k

A/n: Live. Laugh. Love. Bearded Jensen.

༺═────────────═༻

Your hands gently moved through Deans beard, the small hairs causing you fingers to tingle from the sensation. His own hands rested on your thighs, holding you gently as you sat on top of the bathroom counter. 

“Princess?” He called, watching as your eyes drifted from the hair on his face to his relaxed ones. “Are you gonna start or are you gonna wait for it to grow longer?”

A small pout found its way onto your mouth, “I don’t want to get rid of your beard.” You whined, having half the mindset to hide the razor from the taller man. “I’d rather watch it grow.”

Dean mirrored your pout, albeit mockingly. “Well, it’s starting to get on my nerves, princess. It has to go.”

“Ok. But what if we just leave a bit of stubble instead?” 

“No.”

“But, it’s attractive.” You told him, hoping that’d he change his mind and keep it for just a little longer. 

“To bad.” He replied, stepping from between your legs. Taking a bottle of shaving cream and the razor from your grasp. “It’s starting to itch.”

You let out a small huff, slightly mesmerized at how he gently applied the shaving cream to the lower portion of his face. The fluffy white sudes mixing into the small strands thickly and throughly 

Dean wetted the blade beneath the warm faucet, giving it a good shake to take off all excess water. Fingers gently pressed against his chin, he began to shave against the grain of his beard. You felt your stomach drop as you watched the foam disappear and just the smooth skin left in its place. 

“What if you just keep a mustache?” You asked, leg coming up to your chest as you rested your chin on top. 

Dean stopped his movements, glancing at you through the mirror. “Absolutely not.”

A scoff came from your mouth. “Why not? Do you think you’d look like hitler or something?”

“I wasn’t thinking that, but now I am.” He told you, continuing to shave away at his facial hair. 

“So, no?”

“No.”

You shook your head, sliding off the counter as you made your way behind the older man. Placing both arms around his torso you rested your cheek against his back, listening for his heartbeat through the back of his shirt. 

“Princess,” Dean called, not stopping his movements. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t watch you ruin your face.” You told him bluntly, turning your face to bury it in his shirt. 

A chuckle left his lips, giving a smile glance over his shoulder to look at you. “Ruining my face, huh?” You nodded. “You know it’ll grow back, just like last time and the time before that.”

“But it’s torture.” You wined. “It’s like I’m dating a child when your done.”

Dean gave a small nod of his head, knowing that you’d either be talking about his childish behaviors or the baby face he’d get after shaving. Though it could just be both. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Will it make you feel better if next time I let you shave me?” He asked, dragging the blade over the last strip of foam from his face. 

You nodded you head just a tad, “A little, yes.”

“Okay, princess.” He wiped any remaining shaving cream from his face before turning around and wrapping his arms around you. “We’ll do that.”

Hey. Could you please do a Winchester!sister reader fic like the mystery spot episode where Dean dies over and over but can you have the reader be the one who dies over and over again while the boys watch

Groundhog Day

Note: Once again apologising for my lateness but here we are! I actually also wrote this yesterday but I thought it was only fitting to release this on a Tuesday.

warnings: death *and lots of it, It's mystery spot*, grief kinda, time loops, swearing.

Word count: 3.5k

⛤ SPN MASTERLIST ⛤

‘Heat of the moment-’

Sam sat up abruptly, awoken by the sudden racket that filled the room. After sitting up groggily and allowing his eyes to adjust to the light he glanced at the clock, hardly noting the time before he turned to his brother who was surprisingly already up and raring to go, having made his bed which he was now perching on as he laced together his boots. He felt the blankets shift around him as you tried to bury yourself into the mattress, bringing the covers over your head to try and block out some of the noise and fall back to sleep.

“Rise and shine, Sammy.”

“Dude.” Sam blinked, swiping his hair from his eyes. “Asia?”

“Come on. You love this song and you know it.”

Sam rolled his eyes and nodded. “Yeah, and if i hear it again, I’m going to kill myself.”

“Be quiet.” You murmured from behind the sheets, squeezing your eyes shut and rolling over. You knew it wasn’t going to happen but you were trying to cling onto the idea of getting more than 4 hours of sleep for once. 

Dean took a break from trying his shoes to reach over and turn the dial on the radio. The song blasted louder from the speakers. He raised his voice with a grin “What? I’m sorry, I can’t hear you.”

Sam let out a light chuckle, still bleary with sleep as you sighed and sat up. Dean was still grinning at you before he began to mouth along to the words of the song. You shook your head at him before hauling yourself up and making your way to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

~

Dean had decided that he was going to be annoying today. You weren’t sure if it was because he didn’t want to go on the hunt and he was trying to delay it or something or if it was simply because he was being Dean. You decided on the latter because his keenness to be up and ready this morning was unusual. It started with the gurgling when he was brushing his teeth. Then, just as the three of you were about to leave, despite being up before either of you he had forgotten his pistol leaving you and your other brother standing impatiently by the door while he rooted around the motel room for it. He was irritating in the car too and you were itching to jump out of the Impala, praying for the day to end. 

The diner was hardly busy when Dean pulled into the driveway. There were only a few cars belonging to passers by occupying the spaces. After securing your pistol in the pocket of your jacket the three of you headed inside. You decided to stick close to Sam; you had an odd feeling about this hunt and weren’t entirely sure what it was but something just wasn’t sitting right with you. Your brothers entered one of the booths and you slid down beside Dean who let out a content sigh as he scanned the menu. 

“Hey, tuesday. Pig in a poke.” he read, gesturing to the sign.

“Do you even know what that is?” Sam raised an eyebrow. 

The eldest brother opened his mouth to answer only to fall short of his words. Sam gave him a smug look and then pair fell into some sort of childish bickering that you weren’t really paying attention to. You were too busy scanning every inch of the room still unable to shake that uneasy feeling from your mind. Something just wasn’t right. Everything seems so…perfect. It made your skin crawl and you bit your lip.

“Hey.” Sam nudged you under the table with his knee, he had noted the way that you had gone silent and that you were fiddling with your hands restlessly. He knew almost straight away that something was up. You twisted to face him. “You okay?”

“Yeah. yeah.” You muttered. “Sorry.”

You nearly let out a sigh of relief when the waitress came over and distracted your brother's attention away from you. You hated the way that they stared when they were concerned about you. The three of you rattled off your orders before Dean leaned back in the chair, stretching his arm back behind you to lounge about as you all discussed the plan, only interrupted once by the waitress bringing your food and accidentally spilling a bottle of hot sauce which tumbled to the floor and smashed into tiny pieces.

The rest of the day passed by quickly after that.

~

You did not like the look of the so-called ‘mystery spot’. It was all overly commercialised, filled to the brim with strange and amusing objects that stuck out at odd angles or were glued to the ceiling. The darkness of the room mixed with the obscurity of the place made it come across as quite disorientating. You supposed that was the point. Your strange feeling from this morning was still lingering. You and Dean moved around with flashlights as Sam waved around the EMF. But it was silent. 

“Find anything?” You asked.

Sam shook his head.

“Do you have any idea what you’re looking for?” Dean said rather loudly. He was still set on the idea that this hunt was a complete waste of time and had decided to make it everyone else's problem. 

“Uh… yeah.” Sam shrugged until you gave him a look and he dropped his shoulders. “No.”

It wasn’t long after you set off to explore again that Dean’s gun was being cocked. Somehow someone had managed to catch you off guard, causing the three of you to whip around alarmed when his shaky voice boomed through the room. 

“What the hell are you doing here?!” He demanded. The man was small and scrawny and would normally be no match against Winchesters, but he was wielding a gun that he didn’t seem to know how to use and his unstable finger was hovering dangerously close to the trigger. 

“Woah. We can explain.” Dean started, raising his gun in surrender and gesturing for the two of you to follow suit. 

The man moved his weapon uncertainly. “You robbing me?”

“No.” You told him. “Nobody’s robbing you, calm down.”

Dean began to lower his gun, but this only wound the man up more.

“Don’t move!” He demanded. “Don’t!”

“I’m just putting the gun down.” Dean tried to reassure him, but the man was having none of it. 

He raised his gun, but before he fired he spotted you moving out of the corner of his eye. 

Sam, as worrying of a brother as ever, gestured with a tilt of his head for you to move toward him. He knew that you were perfectly capable of protecting yourself, but it made him feel ten times better to know that you were hidden behind his lumbering frame, especially given the recent circumstances that had resulted in so much loss between the three of you. Your movement however, combined with Dean’s haste to put down his gun startled the man and with a fast flick of his arm he had pulled the trigger. 

No one had any time to think before your pained scream filled the room. It was quick and short as the bullet lodged itself within your chest and you collapsed to the ground, writhing with an agony so intense that it made white spots dance in your vision like little stars. 

“Y/N!” Sam cried out, moving quickly to bridge the short distance to your side where you lay in pain on the cold ground. Sam slid an arm around your back as your other brother dropped to his knees next to you, hovering his hand over your chest where blood had already begun to pool through and seep into your shirt. He was frozen with terror unsure what to do at the sight of your pained expression or the way that your hands clutched feebly at the hem of Sammy’s jacket. 

“Call 911.” Sam demanded, turning to face the man who stood there white as a sheet. 

“I-I didn’t mean-” 

“Now!” Dean yelled.

You whimpered at the yelling. It cuts through your already pounding head adding to the concoction of your agony. You couldn’t see straight, couldn’t hear properly, couldn’t feel anything besides the burning fire in your chest that spread through your lungs like a disease. Your head lolled back against Sam’s arm as you began to taste metallic copper in your mouth, slowly drowning on your own blood that had filled your lungs. 

“No. No” Sam said as you writhed in his arms, glancing up bleary eyed at him. Dean pressed down firmly on the wound, and it hurt more than anything but you couldn’t bring yourself to even whine at the contact.

“Come on sweetheart.” Dean pleaded. “Not like this.”

You could see his lips moving but it sounded like he was underwater as your body began to grow numb and your vision slowly faded. You tried to blink away the spots that consumed your vision, but it was no use and your eyes ended up fluttering shut just as your ragged breaths slowed before stopping altogether until you lay morbid limp in your big brother's arms.

~

‘Heat of the moment-’

Sam sat up abruptly, awoken by the sudden racket that filled the room. After sitting up groggily and allowing his eyes to adjust to the light he glanced at the clock, hardly noting the time before he turned to his brother. He had been here before. He realised suddenly, but this time his older brother was not lacing his boots. Instead he was stood at the foot of the bed, staring at the space beside Sam. He felt the blankets shift around him as you tried to bury yourself into the mattress, bringing the covers over your head to try and block out some of the noise and fall back to sleep. Sam stared at you, startled. He could have sworn that just a moment ago you were-

“Rise and shine, Sammy.” Dean said, with much less enthusiasm as he had before. His little brother furrowed his brows.

“Dean…?”

“I know. Is it just me or are you getting a serious sense of deja-vu?”

He nodded in agreement. 

“Be quiet.” You murmured from behind the sheets, squeezing your eyes shut and rolling over. You knew it wasn’t going to happen but you were trying to cling onto the idea of getting more than 4 hours of sleep for once. 

The Winchesters shared a look. Man, something strange was happening and whatever it was, you clearly weren’t feeling the same thing they were. 

~

The diner was exactly the same as it had been the last time the two brothers were here. You were still looking around with the same uncertainty as you were before and you even ordered the same thing as you did before and so did Dean. Tuesday’s special. Pig in a poke.

“It’s tuesday?” He said uncertainly to himself.

You stared at him blankly as if it was the most obvious thing in the world “Yeah.”

Sam eyed you strangely and you raised a brow.

“You okay?” 

“Peachy.” He replied, leaning across the table. “Are you?”

Narrowing your eyes at the pair of boys you asked. “Okay. What’s going on with you two?”

“What?”

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“You don’t…you don’t remember any of this?” Sam asked you 

“Remember what?”

“This. Today. Like it’s happened before.” Dean.

“You mean like Deja Vu?” You frowned.

“No like it’s really happened before.” Sam stressed. “If it feels like we’re living yesterday all over again.”

“Deja Vu.”

“No. Forget about that. Its-

The conversation was once again cut off by the waitress who was delivering the food. And once again she sent the hot sauce toppling. But this time, Sam caught it before it could hit the ground. 

You gave him a charismatic grin. “Nice reflexes.”

The rest of the day did not pass by quickly after that.

Your brothers were trying to explain the situation to you, while theorising themselves. It was safe to say that at first you were completely lost, but were halfway to believing them when it happened.  

The car came from nowhere, speeding around the corner. It collided harshly with your unsuspecting body sending you skidding across the asphalt. By the time your brothers had reached you, a trail of blood trickled down your face from the wounds that were opened as your skin ran across the floor. Dean nearly choked on the sight of your pained and bloodied face as he reached you but you were dead before he had even lifted you into his arms. 

And then, there it was again. That wretched song, screaming from the radio. 

‘Heat of the moment-’

Sam sat up abruptly, awoken by the sudden racket that filled the room and muttered one single phrase.

“Son of a bitch.”

The rest of the day did not pass by quickly after that. In fact, it never seemed to end. 

~

Sam was getting angry now. No. That's not really the right word to describe it. He was frustrated. Tired. Scared. Dean was angry. And growing impatient. But both of them could not bear to live another tuesday. They couldn’t bear to see you fine one second and then dying the next. They had lived through at least a hundred tuesdays, had scanned every inch of the diner, the town, the mystery spot, they had followed the people from the diner and had even tried to keep you in the motel room but no matter how hard they tried they were forced to watch you die again.

The worst part was that you were clueless.  Sam and Dean had to re-explain the ordeal to you everytime they woke up to that stupid song again, leaving you back at square one. They had lived through the day so many times that it had gotten to the point where they could both predict your sentences word for word and while it freaked you out, their patience was wearing thin. 

Until finally, something changed. Dean had asked the woman he kept bumping into to see her flyer. They finally had a lead. So, the next time Tuesday morning rolled around, they felt hopeful as they filed off the information to you. 

“When’d you get time to do all that research?” you asked through a mouthful of food.

Dean did not have the energy to answer, so he just stood, rolling his eyes. “Let’s go. We’re wasting time here.”

That was when Sam spotted it. The sticky, pink syrup sat in the dispenser next to the half eaten pancake. He frowned, stopping suddenly. When you noticed his absence you turned and asked him what was wrong.

Sam watched the man leave through the slats in the blinds. “That guy has maple syrup for the last 100 tuesdays, now all of a sudden he’s having strawberry?

“It’s a free country, Sammy. A man can’t choose his own syrup now? What have we become?”

“Not in this diner.” Sam shook his head. “Not today.”

“Nothing in this place ever changes. Ever. “ Dean told you. “Except us.”

~

The two brothers nearly lost their shit when they woke up again, but by the time they had suffered through the morning routine and had reached the diner they had come up with a plan. 

There were no conversations during breakfast. The pair left you to ponder over your own thoughts after mentioning the idea of a time loop. Any of your questions went unanswered as they stared down the man, jumping into action when he rose, pushing the stool out with an ear splitting squeal and making his way to the parking lot. 

Dean gripped the man firmly, forcing him against the fence by the scruff of his neck and silencing his protests. “We know who you are. Or should I say what?”

You watched very confused from the side.

“Oh my god-” the man begged, wide eyed. “Please don’t kill me!”

“Uh, Boys-”

“It took us a hell of a long time, but we got it.” Sam seethed. 

“What?!”

“It’s your M.O that gave you away.” He continued. “Going after pompous jerks, giving them their just deserts. Your kind loves that, don’t they?”

“Yeah. Sure. Okay! Just put the stake down!” He pleaded, side eyeing the weapon that Sam pressed to his neck. Sam refused to move.

“Sammy, maybe you should-”

“No!” He yelled at you. The tone of his voice was so unexpected for Sam that you recoiled. “There’s only one creature powerful enough to do what you’re doing. Making reality out of nothing, sticking people in time loops- In fact, you’d pretty much have to be a god.”

“You’d have to be a trickster.” Dean spat.

“Misters…” The man pleaded shakily with tears in his eyes “My name is Ed Coleman. My wife’s name is Amelia- I’ve got two kids! For crying out loud I sell ad space!”

“Don’t lie to me! I know what you are!” Sam shouted into his face. 

“We’ve killed one of your kind before.”

There was a heavy paused before the grey hair and wrinkles on the man before you morphed into the all familiar face of the trickster you and your brothers had run into not too long ago. 

He smirked and your brothers’ faces dropped. “Actually, you didn’t.”

“Why are you doing this? Why her!?” Sam pressed, digging the stake into his neck. 

“You’re kidding?” The trickster replied “You all tried to kill me last time. Why wouldn’t I do this? Why not make you three suffer.”

“So this is funny to you? Killing her over and over again?” Dean gritted his teeth.

“One- yes, it is fun. And two -this is so not about killing Y/N. This joke is on you two. I mean… come on. How great has it been to watch you to see her being torn apart again and again. Watching your sister die everyday. Forever.”

“You son of a bitch.”

The trickster smiled. “How long will it take you to realise you can’t save your sister, no matter what.”

“Oh yeah? We kill you, this ends now.” Sam growled.

“Woah. Okay, look. I was just playing around. You can’t take a joke, fine. You’re out of it. Tomorrow you’ll wake up and it’ll be wednesday. I swear.”

“You're lying. “

He shrugged. “If I am, you know where to find me.”

~

“But you better promise me, I’ll be back in time-”

Sam sat up abruptly, awoken by the sudden racket that filled the room. After sitting up groggily and allowing his eyes to adjust to the light he glanced at the clock, hardly noting the time before he… made a double take. The small three letter panel now read ‘WED’

Sam couldn’t contain the gasp that fell from his lips. “It’s wednesday!”

“Yeah…?” You said from across the room where you were rummaging though your bag. “Which usually comes after Tuesday. Turn that crap off, would you?” you asked him.

“No. Leave it on.” Dean interjected. He agreed with Sam. If he heard Asia one more time he was going to kill himself. “Isn’t that the most beautiful song you’ve ever heard?”

“...No. Jesus, how many Tuesdays did you guys have?”

“You don’t wanna know.” Dean sighed. “Wait..what do you remember.”

“I remember you two being pretty whacked out yesterday. And then i remember running into the trickster. S’bout it really.”

“Right. Whatever. Lets get out of here.” Sam said as he pulled on a shirt.

“What? No breakfast?” You asked, slightly upset that you were going to miss out on the diner food you had quite enjoyed yesterday. 

“No breakfast.”

~

Sam and Dean were still inside when they heard it. The unmistakable pop of a gun being fired. You were outside loading the last of your things into Baby and-

Sam's heart sank.

“Y/N!” He cried, dropping what he was doing and racing down the stairs towards you.

The offender fled the moment the gunshot had sounded and your two brothers could see him rounding the corner, but their concern was on you, sprawled out across the floor in a pool of your own blood.

They shook you, crying out your name but you didn’t move. Your heart had stopped beating. 

“No. This isn’t supposed to happen today.” Sam squeezed his eyes shut tight, only to nearly cry when he opened them again and you were still lying lifelessly in his brothers clutch. “We’re supposed to wake up.”

And then, he began to cry.

Part 2 may be coming…I’ll add it to my to do list

I NEED TO KNOW WHO THE FUCK DECIDED TO TAKE THE ORIGINAL INDIANA JONES MOVIES OFF OF DISNEY +! BECAUSE YALL JUST RUINED MY NIGHT!

Tour Mates (The Lost Boys X Fem!Reader) Chapter 1

(Hello, Hi, How ya goin. So I have been lurking in the Lost Boys fandom for over a year now and have been feral for these boys for far too long to not have an insane amount of ideas about them. So as if this movie didn't have a strong enough chokehold on me already, it led me to write my first ever fic. I have no idea if it's any good, but I hope someone out there at least enjoys the vision. This will be multiple chapters cause I can't shut up. Behold! Whatever this is!

P.S. I know Dwayne and his actor aren’t actually 6’7. But ya girl is 5’10 and may have a small size kink and this is my fic😤So let a girl live.)

Pairing: The Lost Boys x Fem!Reader (Poly Lost Boys implied)

Work count: 1208

Warnings: Darker Fic, misogyny, sexism, allusions to sex, allusions to murder, the boys being whores. Smut in future chapters.

Summary: You had always wanted nothing more than to be in a band and share your music with the world, and you were finally on your way to doing so. If only your band was big enough to do it alone.

You had always wanted to be a musician. Always. Ever since you could remember. From a child when you would sit and listen to whatever music your dad loved, making you guess titles and quiz you on the bands. From when you were a preteen and had the freedom to branch out to whole new styles of music you had never heard, buying records with what little money you could save. From when you got a guitar on your thirteenth birthday and played every moment you could after school and every chance on the weekends. From when you were fifteen and your friends made the choice to form a band. And from when you made the promise that very day that you would be the most legendary band in history.

While you were yet to be the most legendary band in history, for now, you were finally making moves. You were nowhere near Motely Crue, but you were getting somewhere. After years of writing, months upon months of being in studios, and all the savings you could muster. You finally had the money, the managers, and the following to go on tour. Your dream was coming true. If only there wasn’t one slight, incredibly frustrating, and immensely infuriating problem.

While you had the monetary ability to tour and quite the following, you weren’t quite big enough to tour on your OWN. Enter stage left the current bain of your existence—The Lost Boys. A Californian glam rock heavy metal band just starting to find their feet os so luckily at the same time as you. The band consisted of David the lead singer, a dominant man who truly embodied the idea of a frontman. Marko the bassist - the secondhand man to David as they had said themselves which had been proven multiple times with the way Marko seemed to wait on David hand and foot, never seeming to be too far behind him. Paul the lead guitarist, a wild chaotic lady’s man who always smelt of weed where it may be his erratic behavior took him. And last but DEFINITELY not least Dwayne. The drummer, an imposing 6’7 man who seemed to be made of muscle, with an intense gaze that could make anyone feel immense fear or simply melt depending on his mood.

At first, it had seemed perfect. They were nice, if not slightly flirty (aka clawing to get into your pants from the get go) and your bandmates got along brilliantly with them. You loved their music and it matched your sound really well. It was the ideal situation. That was until maybe a month into the tour. You could understand the excitement for a while, the booze, the drugs, the women, the partying. You’d be a hypocrite if you had blamed them for enjoying those things seeing as you had partaken in them yourself. But you thought that maybe after a little while that they would maybe calm down a bit. But they seemed pretty dead set on sticking to their band's slogan of sleeping all day and partying all night. Which you would respect if it wasn’t for the fact that it was impacting your ability to sleep at all, and in turn, your ability to play.

Now it was already hard being a woman in the rock industry, but being the only woman on an otherwise all-male tour? That came with a whole nother set of problems. You had been called every misogynistic name under the sun. Constantly told you couldn’t play, which your predicament was only adding fuel to the fire. Even more, you had your fair share of being told that the only reason that any of the boys kept you around on the tour, is so that they can have someone around as a backup to fuck on the nights they can't pull any groupies. A sleazy stand-in kept in reserve for desperate nights.

This is where the resentment began. You obviously didn’t care about anyone on tour sleeping around or bringing people back to the hotels, it came with the territory, and your boys did it pretty regularly. But the lost boys were seemingly insatiable. Bringing groups of fawning girls back to their (weirdly) shared hotel room every single night. Of course, this word spread and they inevitably got nothing but praise for their man whore behavior. As where you had been branded a slut for so much as picking up a guitar and being in a band. You had even only made out with one man on the entirety of the tour! The opportunity to go any further being ruined by the band in question themselves when they stumbled across you and refused to leave, glowering at the man till he took his hands off of you and left. A strange situation but nonetheless frustrating. The resentment only grew as the situation began to affect you in other ways than just your image and reputation.

When the boys would bring these girls back to their room it would always go the same. At some ridiculous hour of the morning you would hear the drunken love-struck giggles of the group of girls they had chosen for the night, followed by the strong voice of David beckoning them into the room, insisting for them to make themselves at home, to even shed a few layers to get comfortable, which would inevitably be followed by whooping and hollering from the other boys and then the music would start blaring. But no matter how loud they would blast the music you could always still hear the giggling, which would turn to moaning, which would turn to shrieking. You had to admit the first few nights, hell even to this day, it sometimes frightens you. Sometimes the screams just don’t seem as pleasurable as they should. Sometimes they are…almost blood-curdling. Like someone losing a fight for their life. But you know that’s just your imagination running wild, because just inevitably as the girls being there every night, the moaning would return. Always just the boys though, but you always imagined they had just fucked the girls out so much that they didn’t have the energy to make much noise.

These nightly occurrences would not bother you if it weren’t for the fact that while they were up and causing chaos, you were up and unable to sleep. Which for the first few weeks, was fine, but now nearing a month and a half of borderline sleepless nights due to the proclivities of your tour mates, you were starting to come undone. You didn’t have the luxury of sleeping all day, so naps in your dressing room were having to suffice and that would inevitably have an effect on your performance. You can't remember the last time you got through a show and didn’t mess up at least a segment or two from a few songs.

But after all of that what had been your final straw, was the boys being AWARE of the effects their actions had on you. They HAD to be from the way they had taunted you, teased you. The acts had become more frequent as the days went on. And ton your aggravation, harder to forget about.