beezhives

[beezhives]

SOS WE HAVE A CLEAR SCAN I'M LOSING MY MIND I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MY HANDS OR MY FACE I'M LOSING MY MINDDDDD LOOK AT HIM—

[beezhives]

hot damn I want him

Friendly competition

parings. frank langdon x wife!reader

summary. the langdons believe believe in basic professionalism. but either way a kiss or two behind a set of closed curtains wouldn't hurt anyone, right?

warnings. princess pea brain and dr. dickwad strike again, frank has only been married to reader, they are similar in age though not mentioned, no mentions of drug use (in terms of frank), dog parents, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. local boy dad truther didn't hop on this certified boy dad just yet, but here's a silly/flirty one between frank and his wife who is another doctor! as always please enjoy and any feedback is appropriated!

wc. 1400+

Frank Langdon was a simple man. 

Wake up at 5 a.m., shower and brush his teeth, feed Nico your chocolate lab, text you since you were always out the door before sunrise, drink a cup of pre-made coldbrew for breakfast in his car, and roll into the Pitt by 7 a.m. 

Routine. Reliable. Not as glamorous as your four-a.m.-scrub-call lifestyle, but it worked for him. 

He tapped out a quick text before pulling out of the driveway:

FRANKY

How many brains have you terrorized already?

BABY

Two aneurysms, one awake craniotomy. Stay on your toes today, trauma boy.

He smirked at the screen. God, he loved you.

And God, you were the most competitive human alive.

Frank still remembered your first date, where you questioned his anatomy knowledge over sushi and then challenged him to a game of darts at a bar down the street—one you won, barely, after he’d been too distracted by your smile to aim properly.

Since then, everything had been a game: who could fold laundry faster, who got paged more often, who could make Nico sit the longest with a treat on his nose (Frank held that record at 20 seconds). 

You kissed like you argued—passionately and deep. 

 All teeth and laughter and stubborn pride. 

And yet, somehow, you made it work. 

He parked in his usual spot and thought about your smug little face telling him, “Don’t forget who finished med school top of her class.” 

Frank grinned to himself, he was gonna make today his bitch. 

FRANKY

Reminder that I once splinted a femur with duct tape and a clipboard during a blackout, sweetheart. 

BABY

Reminder that I once drilled through a man’s skull with no power, on the sidewalk. Try again.

God help him, he’d never loved anyone more.

After walking in and setting his stuff in his locker, he wandered around taking note of everyone who was on shift today. 

Frank didn’t expect to see you so early though. 

Neurosurgery lived in a whole different stratosphere most days—your floor, your ORs, your rules. You usually lived in scrubs that had been through hell and back and a ponytail that was more “get out of my way” than “good morning.” But today, as he stepped into the trauma lounge for another quick pre-round coffee, there you were. Leaning against the counter, arms crossed over your navy scrub top, sipping from a mug that very clearly had his name on it.

“Hey, babe,” you said, not even bothering to look up. “Nice of you to show up.”

Frank blinked. “Is that… my mug?”

“I earned it,” you replied. “Three surgeries before sunrise. I deserve all the caffeine this hospital has.”

He moved toward the cabinet, pulled out the backup mug—one that said ‘Trust me, I’m a real doctor’ in terrible Comic Sans—and narrowed his eyes at you over the rim.

“Is this your way of declaring war?”

You gave him a sweet, yet tired, unbothered smile. “No, Langdon. I declared war the day you said you could intubate faster than me.”

“That was four years ago.”

“And you were wrong.”

He chuckled, stepping closer, brushing your elbow with his on the way to the sugar. “You know, most people start their day with a kiss, not an insult.”

You leaned over, kissed his cheek quickly. “That was for being cute. Not for being right.”

He watched you walk away—confident, collected, the same sharp fire in your step you had on your first day in residency. You had charts under your arm and blood on your shoe and a smirk that said you’d already won whatever game he didn’t even know you were playing yet.

You were a smug, brilliant menace.

Especially because of that.

Frank took a long sip of coffee and looked at his pager. It was already buzzing with the first trauma of the day—multiple rollovers on the interstate.

He tapped out a message before heading out.

FRANKY

Bet I beat you on the case board today.

Your reply came five seconds later.

BABY

Already signed off on number 5. Better luck next time, husband. 🧠❤️

A bit later in the day a page came through just as you were wrapping up rounds: NEUROSTAT - TRAUMA BAY 1 - HEAD INJURY / MULTISYSTEM TRAUMA

You barely blinked. Tucked your tablet under your arm and turned on your heel. By the time you got down to the trauma floor, the hallway was already buzzing. Nurses shouted vitals, techs wheeled carts past with barely a glance, and a familiar voice cut through the noise like clockwork.

“Get me a line and open up the central tray—let’s move, people!”

You stepped into the trauma bay right as Frank looked up from the gurney, gloved hands bloody to the wrists, and—despite the chaos—his mouth twitched into a grin.

“Took you long enough.”

“I rushed down four flights of stairs and dodge two ortho residents arguing about tibial screws,” you fired back, snapping on your gloves. “Do you want me or not?”

Frank stepped aside just enough to give you a view of the patient—a mid-30s male, unconscious, intubated, with a deep laceration to the scalp and unequal pupils. His GCS was tanking.

“Blunt head trauma. Vitals are tanking. Pupils blew ten minutes ago. I need your magic fingers,” Frank said, handing over the head CT on a tablet.

You scanned it in seconds. “We’ve got a left-sided subdural, midline shift. He’s herniating. I need him rushed to an OR, now.”

He nodded once and spun toward the nurse’s station. “Page the rest of the neurosurg team, get an OR ready—she’s taking him up.”

“You coming with?” you asked without looking at him, already examining the patient’s vitals.

Frank glanced at the blood pooling around the patient's flank, the numbers on the monitor, then at you. “He needs decompression more than he needs a chest tube right now. I’ve got other patients after him too.”

You locked eyes for a second, both of you moving like pieces on a board already set in motion. No need to explain. No ego. Just you, him, and the patient.

“I’ll be with the team that brings him up after I stabilize the bleed,” he said, voice low as he stepped closer.

“Don’t be late,” you replied, almost a challenge.

Frank smirked, brushing his gloved knuckles briefly against your arm before turning back to the trauma team. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

You didn’t even catch how much time had passed since you had entered the OR. The surgery had gone well. As well as emergency cranial decompressions ever went, anyway. You were peeling off your gloves in the scrub room, sweat still clinging to your neck, your shoulders aching like hell from hunching over the table for hours.

The door creaked behind you.

You didn’t even turn around. “Took you long enough, Dr. Dickwad.”

Frank chuckled, slow and low, the sound bouncing off the tile. “Nice to see you too, Princess Pea Brain.”

You glanced at him through the mirror, catching the way he leaned casually against the doorframe—a surgical cap on his head, scrubs spotted with various fluids, that usual post-trauma glint in his eye.

“You missed the best part,” you said, pulling your hair free from its bun. “His brain practically thanked me for relieving the pressure.”

Frank snorted. “Right. I’m sure it whispered ‘thank you, brilliant goddess of neurosurgery,’ as you were drilling into his skull with a jackhammer”

You turned to face him now, arms crossed. “Hey. At least I didn’t almost forget to clamp the bleeder.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “I didn’t forget. I was strategically stalling.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling panic now?”

Frank was grinning. That easy, post-shift, we-just-saved-a-life kind of grin that only came after the adrenaline settled and the reality hit you: you won.

Not against each other. Against the clock. Against chaos.

“Come here,” he said finally, stepping closer.

You raised a brow. “Why?”

“So I can do this,” he replied, sliding an arm around your waist and tugging you into him with zero warning.

You yelped, half-laughing, half-scolding. “Frank Langdon, we’re in a sterile environment!”

“We’re outside the OR,” he murmured against your hair. “And I haven’t kissed my wife since before the subdural.”

You softened a little at that. Just a little.

“You’re sweaty,” you muttered.

“You smell like iron,” he said fondly.

Still, you leaned into him, forehead against his chest, letting yourself exhale. He held you there, steady and warm, the weight of the shift slowly slipped from your shoulders.

After a few long moments, you mumbled, “You’re still a dickwad.”

“Yeah,” he whispered into your hair, kissing the top of your head. “But I’m your dickwad, princess.”

mercrvy-glow 2025

[beezhives]

also i'm such a gemma girlie. i don't mean in relation to mark or vs helly i don't care about any of that i'm a gemma girl forever. it's me and her. what if you thought you were eurydice until the last second until you turned around just in time to realize you were orpheus

[beezhives]

rb with something your f/o would love about you that isn’t related to physical appearance. don’t bring self-deprecating energy onto my post btw.

[beezhives]

i cant believe connie is a filthy homestuck

[beezhives]

inevitable bonus content:

the unfamous Christmas party. cw: mentions of drug use, depictions of abuse.

Two years before the story:

It's not that you're embarrassed of Touya, even though he wore the jeans you specifically told him not to, even though you explained it's a formal party. You're actually quite proud. Proud that he's chewing on nicotine gum, proud that he's slipping a second suboxone under his tongue. Recovery is slow and painful, and yet he's trying for you, trying again.

The event is loud enough that it sets your teeth on edge. All of your coworkers look different like this, in low light and nice clothes, like different versions of themselves, buzzing with excitement for the holidays and free food. Your dress isn't new, or particularly fancy. Neither of you fit in, you suppose. When you try to loop your arm into his, Touya shrugs you away with a scoff.

The restaurant Prome has rented for the evening is nice, way nicer than anything you could possibly afford. Usually, you wouldn't bother Touya with something like this, something so self serving, but... maybe you just wanted to pretend for an evening.

Touya had been gone for 21 days. It was supposed to be longer - the full 90 day program the doctor had recommended - but he had checked himself out early. Seeing him made you... Happy, you guess. At least now you get to enjoy a night together.

"Don't drink too much, please," you say.

He shouldn't be drinking at all, but you're a realist and you're not ready for the inevitable fight that's brewing between you.

"Fine."

The withdraw anger. You're used to it by now. It's his third time going through rehab and you swear it gets worse with every round, more angled and pointed, purposefully stabbing. You try to remind yourself that it's not actually him acting like this. No, it's the pain, the need, the chills and aches he should be done with by now, but he never seems to shake.

"It's a nice party," you comment.

"I said fine," Touya shoots you a look and you try to smile back. His scalp is stained blue, his hair freshly dyed. It matches the bright black tattoo on his neck, only a couple days healed. It's a fight you chose not to have; you can't say you're fond of it - this... skull thing that creeps down his jaw and certainly cost more money than he should have spent - but you suppose that you need to be grateful for anything that makes him happy.

As soon as you two settle into a table, a familiar figure catches your eye. The man is tall, taller than you remember, with an upward turned mouth and wide, wild eyes. You perk up and the man looks you way, lighting up with excitement.

"Hey!" he practically leaps across the room. "Good to see you!"

"Mirio!" Standing, you open your arms for a hug. Mirio hugs you so hard that he lifts you off of your feet-- and your stomach immediately sinks. You're quick to back away, but Touya is already up. "Oh, I- uh--I've missed you, uh. How's the PhD?"

"Difficult, but amazing," he smiles a million watt smile. "Did you just get here? Want me to grab you a drink? There's like little peppermint thing that's-"

"She can get her own drink."

Touya's hand clamps on the back on your neck. It's a warning, a leash and collar all in one: a reminder both for you and for Mirio. The grip isn't tight, but a thumb digs into the spot between muscles. From the corner of your eye, you watch how Touya slides his tongue piercing across his lips, his jaw flexing hard.

"Can't you, princess?"

Your body is immediately on spikes and you freeze, trying to avoid being stabbed.

"Oh, uh. Yeah. Yeah, totally. Sorry, um, this is my boyfriend! Touya, this is Mirio! He was an intern when I first started here. I haven't seen him in-"

"I'm getting a drink." Your boyfriend lets his hand fall away and a scoff. Touya dips into your ear as he passes, whispering into your ear with a bitten sneer. "Take your fucking jaw off the ground."

Rehab was different this time. You keep telling yourself that.

"Um-" Mirio says uncomfortably, no longer smiling. He shifts on the balls of his feet, glancing around as if wondering if anyone else had seen that interaction. You certainly hope they hadn't. "You okay?"

"Sorry, he's just--" You're already following Touya. "He's having a bad day. I'll catch up with you in a little, okay?"

There's a creeping feeling in your throat that you'll never talk to him again.

By the time you weave through the crowd behind your boyfriend, he's already saddled up at the bar. The drink in his hand is already drained, only ice clanking around as he turns to you with an ice expression.

"Thought you were busy humping that guy's leg."

There's a dry spot on your lips that you can't stop picking at, even though the spot is tender and raw. "It's not like that."

"You're a fucking whore," he taps the glass against the Bar top to summon the bartender's attention. "Bet you're gonna have a headache when we get home though."

Something flips inside you. No, you don't want to have sex tonight. Why would you? Ever since he's gotten back, Touya's been on a tear-

"I won't."

- but you make sacrifices for peace.

"Whatever." Touya says. You don't miss the bartenders annoyed look when he makes his way over. "Another whiskey sour."

"D-"

"Don't fucking nag me." The drink comes quick and he tips half of his drink down even quicker. "Hold this. I'm gonna go take a drag."

You open your hands and let him slot to glass into them. "I thought you were doing to gum instead."

"Oh, yeah." He jams his fingers into his mouth and pulls out the wad of gum, jamming it to the edge of his cup. "Thanks for the reminder."

Touya stalks away, throwing a shoulder into yours as he passes. It's almost enough to knock you off of your balance, but you get a hand on the bar top just in time.

"Are you alright?"

Why do people keep asking you that? You glance up and realize it's another familiar face. One of the engineers, you think. It's hard to recognize him without his sunny yellow sweatshirt.

"Yeah. Yeah! Totally, yeah." You suck in your lips and they taste of copper; the spot you have been touching has broken. Aizawa sucks in air between his teeth, his neutral expression never breaking.

"If-" he pauses himself. There's a quick, outward breath. "Hizashi is looking for you."

That's not what he was going to say, you think, but you aren't sure you want to know what he was really thinking. Not when you already feel so small. You truly feel sixteen again, but in the worst ways, the helpless, voiceless way, the one that's easily dismissed and forgotten.

"Yeah. Thanks, yeah," you reply.

.

When you finally run into Hizashi and Nemuri, you make sure to only hug her. Touya hadn't returned yet, but you still feel the needle prick of his attention. Most nights with him are good, but others are the loaded chamber in Russian Roulette. There's been too many quiet nights in a row; the bullet is coming and you aren't sure if you can dodge this one.

Hizashi is leaned across the table, lost in a work story. It's not as captivating as he thinks he is, but it's nice. Mundane is always a nice reprieve from the highs and lows of your home life.

"You're quiet tonight!" Hizashi suddenly gripes. "'muri, she's usually not this quiet. This girl is an absolute riot."

"I'm just tired, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry!" Nemuri places her hand over yours. "I thought your bad boy boyfriend was supposed to be here?"

"He is, somewhere," you say. "I have his drink. And gum."

"He gave you his gum?" Nemuri winks. "In like- a sexy way?"

"No. Is there a sexy way to share gum?"

"Are you kidding? Anything can be sexy if you're dedicated."

You smell him before you hear him, then feel his touch before you can react. Again, his hand clamps onto your neck, but this time he pulls, yanking you back like a marionette on a string. You stumble with a seasick smile.

"There she is!" There's a loud slur to Touya's words. He's unstable himself, nearly falling into Nemuri. "Knew I'd find you whoring it up."

"Whoa," Hizashi says, all humor gone from his voice.

"Whoa," Nemuri echos, nearly jumping out of her skin. Her eyes narrow hard, snarling. "I know you did not just smack my ass."

"Aw," Touya tugs at your neck again. It's easier to go limp and play along, to let your head bop from side to side. "She can flirt, but I can't?"

Attempting to change the air, you laugh, but only Touya smiles back. He reeks of cigarettes, with something else brewing underneath. Alcohol, maybe. You hope it's alcohol. You really want it to be alcohol. Your pleasant charade only lasts a moment; your body sighs with disappointment.

"I'm so sorry," you say. "He's just-"

"I'm just fucking fun." Touya jerks you back again and your neck aches. "She's just a lame cunt."

"Whoa." Hizashi has never looked more unamused. He's not the only one either; when you glance around, you notice more than a few watchful eyes. Shame starts prickling at the corners of your eyes.

"He doesn't mean it. He's-- Touya, apologize." You clutch at his arm with mock affection. "Touya, say you're sorry."

You turn back to your friends. Maybe ex-friends. The apology is meant for them and them alone; you don't need an apology from Touya, mostly because you know it would be hollow.

"I'm so sorry," you try again. When you look up again, you catch Yagi out of the corner of your eye. With his mask on, it's too difficult to read his expression, but you doubt it's good. "We're gonna go. I'm so, so, so sorry."

Luckily, you had left your coats in the car. It's a quick get away-- just like you had planned. The two of you can escape before-

The smile slides off of Touya's face and the gun goes off.

"There she goes." The way he addresses the room makes your gut twist. He does it with a practiced pomp and circumstance, a tactless grace- "Always so fucking embarrassed of me."

You pull at his arm. Luckily, he's wiggly enough that he stumbles along with you, even as his tone rises and rises.

"You always make me out to be the asshole."

"Let's go."

"So fucking embarrassed."

"Let's go, baby. Please."

"Anything for the fucking princess."

Somehow, you manage to get him outside. The weather is biting cold, with moisture clinging to the air in the anticipation of snow. Touya's breath puffs out visibly, each labored breath faster and faster. A real blow out is coming. Saying something will either mitigate it or push him over the edge.

"I just wanted to spend time together." You take the risk. "I just wanted-"

The gamble doesn't pay off.

"It's always about what you want." He yanks himself away from you. "You just fucking hate me, don't you?"

"I love you!" You do, you really do. It's why these bad moments hurt so badly, why your heart's so heavy when he gets this angry. "I love you so much, but this is my work and I want you to behave. Just for one night."

"It's always about you. What you want. What you want to do." The dark of his eyes are blown out, nearly swallowing the blue completely. "Never about fucking Touya. Never do anything for me, you fucking--"

Shit. He's high. You should have seen it earlier.

"You're heartless. You're a bitch." It's in the way he rambles, the laziness in his tongue. "Never what I wanna do."

There's a flash of anger inside you. All of this. All of your effort, your love, your money: it all feels wasted.

"Because all you ever wanna do is get high."

Touya whips around, fists bunched, lip sneered-

"You have no fucking idea how bad-" Spittle flies from his mouth as he speaks and you jump at their intensity. Every inch of your spine dissolves. "I wanna fucking bash your face in right now."

His body heaves with every breath. You wait for the retraction, wait for the realization, but his expression stays hard, firm with conviction. Suddenly, you're glad to be in the parking lot, bearing with the cold and ice, because it affords you silence. There's time to swallow down your tears, to remind yourself that he doesn't mean that, that it's just the withdraw talking.

(He's not in withdraw anymore. He's not in withdraw.)

Touya shoves a hand out.

"Gimme the car keys."

"You're drunk." And high. Where did he even get the drugs? Did he bring them?

"Give me the fucking keys." When you do, he starts to stalk off. "Take the fucking train home-- I don't wanna look at your fucking face."

"Touya..." you step after him. Your voice is wild and wet. "Touya, I-"

"I will fucking hit you, I swear to-"

He wheels around again, then freezes. His eyes are locked behind you. Shit- Hizashi, who had clearly followed you both outside. Relief and worry flood your system at the same time, so thick you might choke on them. Your boyfriend backs off, keys gripped tight in his hand.

"I'm leaving."

You watch him prowl away, through the parking lot, into the first flakes of snow. Quickly, you wipe away your snot and tears with the back of your hand. That's when you realize Touya's drink is still in one hand, gum still pressed into the edge.

"Hey-" You friend takes a couple steps forward. You're quick to start rambling.

"Hey, um-- ignore that, I--"

"Yeah. Totally. Yeah." Hizashi throws his hands up, expression open, yet twinging on sad. "Hey, I was just thinking; Nemuri and I just redid our guest room if you wanted to stay at our place for a little. We'll have a little sleepover."

"I couldn't-" Pity: you hear it in his voice. Guilt rises in your throat; you don't need his help. Tonight was just a bad one. "I don't have a toothbrush or my phone charger-"

"Oh my god, don't worry about it." Hizashi reassures you. "We'll take care of you, it's fine. I need someone to tell me if the mattress is good! You'd be doing me a favor, really."

There isn't a train station nearby. You'd have to cross the highway, you think. There's no guarantee you'd make it home tonight and if you did, there's only a chance that Touya will be over his mood.

"Okay, thank you." You rub your palm into your eye again. The tears have dried your contacts up. "I'm so sorry about him."

Hizashi cups a hand at your back. The contact makes you paranoid, as if someone's still watching, but it also eases your ache, just a bit.

"It's gonna be okay, babygirl, don't worry."

.

Touya calls you that night, just after 4am. It's a bad idea to answer, but you do anyway, voice low.

"Where are you?" Touya asks. His voice is smoothed out, calm and sweet. It soothes your headache, irons out a bit of your worry.

"Friend's house."

"Text me the address."

The guest room is nice, with finer sheets than you've ever slept on. Your eyes are puffy from the salt of your tears. "Touya, I don't know..."

"Princess, baby..." he pleads. "You know I'm sorry. Can't sleep in this apartment without you."

This is the side of his you like. The syrupy, soft kindz the one that sticks to your teeth like caramel.

"I was worried 'bout you, yeah?" he continues. "I miss my pretty girl. Miss kissing you."

"You were so mean."

"I didn't mean it. You know that. It's not me- I was just coming down real bad. You know that. You know that, right?"

"I do."

"And you know I love you. So much it makes my fucking head go crazy. Love you so fucking much. You're my princess." He rambles on, tugging at the strings. "You're my girl, right?"

The clock in the corner ticks. You count the seconds until you answer, voice small. "Yeah."

Touya blossoms at the inch you've given him. "My favorite girl. Always gonna be my girl, aren't you? It's just you and me 'til the end of the line."

Affection and dread. You can't decide with one you feel.

"Gimme the address, princess," Touya pleads again. "Lemme come get you. Take you home."

You do.

The car pulls up outside within the hour. All you have on is the loaned sweat set that Nemuri had lent you and the heels you had worn to the party. Snow has gathered enough that it wets your feet as you walk out to him. Touya is leaning against the car, arms open.

"Hey, princess." He sniffs. The tension is gone from his face and body. "Come'ere."

When he hugs you, his arm wraps around your neck.

[beezhives]

uh you're a ghost haunting the apartment of a single man and the reason he's suddenly started cumming in his sleep again

[beezhives]

i think it takes a while for them to talk about everything

i love thinking about body language esp with these two, i think when they first try to be there for each other they keep their hands to themselves lmaoo.

deku is so stubborn and loves to pretend he's fine so he's not gonna go in for a hug (which is why he hugs himself) but also, he needs some contact when he's anxious so he kind of leans into bakugo and they just sit like that for a while they're so unserious.

i think bakugo is even worse (he lovess to shove his hands into his pockets) and needs to be pulled into some physical contact (he needs it too when he feels queasy).

i like to draw them hugging and such but i think it takes a while for them to get there as teens, eventually they're familiar enough with each other's body language to know when the protest against being pulled into a hug is serious or not and they would respect each other's boundaries <3

[beezhives]

"Kenma."

The game buzzes on, the battle music intensifying. The thing his character is facing has changed, taking on its second form as Kenma's character rolls and swings its sword. The man himself is curled into his knees, chest tucked forward in anticipation, like he's about to hop out of his chair.

"Ke-"

"In a second," he cuts you off. His unblinking eyes never leave the screen, peering through his blonde bangs. "I just have to beat this boss."

With a huff, you sink back into your chair.

"Last time you said 'just a second' it took you two days to beat the damn thing," you remind him. "I'm not immortal-- I don't have time to sit around for you."

Frankly, you often forget Kenma is immortal until moments like that. You had always thought that vampires would be menacing or carry some sort of grandeur, but everyone you've met has been so spectacularly normal. Kenma, for instance, seems like every other guy your age: aloof and obsessed with video games.

"Get bitten then," he shrugs. "Kuroo would be happy to."

Your spine trills at the thought of it. When you first met Kuroo, you thought her was odd in the most normal way possible. He was practically nocturnal because he claimed to work remotely overseas, but he still went to bars and played indoor volleyball: average activities for an average man-

Or, that's what you thought, until you learned about the whole vampire thing.

Honestly, it's only made you more attracted to him. The mystery, the danger-- what's not to love? You'd be lying if you said you had never thought of his teeth on you, his hands on your body-

"That's what I wanted to talk about."

Kenma's head whips around. This game doesn't pause; the monster smacks his avatar across the screen.

"You're turning?" His voice is either bright with surprise or shock. You've known Kenma for a while now and you still can't seem to read his motivations. You're not sure why Kuroo incorporated you into the fold of his undead friend group, but here you are, sitting in their living room.

"No, uh-" What you're about to ask suddenly feels silly. "I wanted to... Can I see your teeth?"

Kenma's expression settles and he picks up the controller that you hadn't realized he dropped.

"I died for that?" He flicks the game off. "You could have waited for that. I'll still have teeth in a week."

You have to bit your tongue to stop yourself from losing your mind. Kenma just goes back to gaming, eyes narrowing with effort.

"I could be dead in a week."

"You won't be."

"I could be," you say. "I could have a stroke at any moment."

"You won't." He mashes the buttons extra hard, so hard the plastic creaks. "And if you did, we'd know before you did."

The character dies much earlier than it usually does.

"How would you know if I had a stroke before I did?"

"It smells sour when..." His eyes finally turn your way again. "Whatever. It's fine."

"Fine to touch?" you say.

He beckons you over with a nod of his chin. "Yeah."

Pushing off from your seat, you walk over to where he's sitting. Kenma doesn't bother to stand. He tilts his head back, looking up at you with a slight smile.

Already, you can see them. The sharp, vivid white teeth behind his pale lips. They have the usual shape, but anything uncanny edge makes your skin crawl. It's something you can't quite place, maybe something not there at all.

To get closer, you slide a leg onto his chair, angling yourself over him the best that you can. You're surprised when his hand rests on your thigh for support.

"Don't look so scared," Kenma says, a bit too coy for your liking.

You hadn't realized you'd been making a face at all.

"Just don't bite me."

Kenma opens his mouth and his teeth catch the dim light, strange for how dry his mouth seems to be. His canines are slightly elongated, just a hair more than a usual human. Gingerly, you run your fingers across the front of his teeth, then down to their edges. There's almost a razors edge to them, enough that you can feel the ridges of your fingerprint catching.

"Sharp," you quip. You leave a pause for Kenma to respond, but then you realize he can't, not with his mouth open for you. He just watches you, eyes flickering from one of your eyes to the other.

This isn't intimate, you remind yourself. It's scientific curiosity.

It can't be intimate, because you like Kuroo. Not Kenma. No, you don't like it at all that his hands are around your waist and you're cupping his cheek with your free hand, that his breath somehow smells soothing-

His canines seem longer now. More jagged, sharp. You press the pad of your thumb against it and watch how your skin easily skins in, no resistenxe whatsoever. Then, you pull away. A drop of blood wells up at the spot; there's no pain whatsoever, but the thumb tingles, like menthol and cocaine, riveting and calming all at once.

Kenma leans into the palm of your hand, then cranes his neck ever so slightly to envelop your finger in his lips. It's the most delicate of touches, a ghost of a memory of a kiss, but when he pulls away, crimson has settled into the cracks of his lips.

"Your heart's beating-" his tongue runs over his lower lip. "Really fast."

Kenma pulls you closer, arms now tight around your waist. You don't know when you got so close, when your bodies suddenly were pushed together, but now they are--

and now your finger is in his mouth. The gentle, crushing pressure of suction surprises you, but not more than the desperate whine he makes when blood hits his tongue.

That buzzing had spread up your arm and you can suddenly feel it, feel how your heart runs heavy and fast for him. Kenma's eyes are so lidded, barely open, heavy with want, that you can barely make out how his pupils have narrowed into cat scratch slits.

"Oh," you babble. "Oh, it's--"

"Feels good?" Kenma isn't speaking, but you can hear his voice.

"Y-yeah."

"I can make you feel good." There can't be that much blood from that tiny spot, but Kenma swallows deep as if there is. "Anytime you want."

The plush of his tongue swipes up your digit. Oh, maybe you are bleeding out. Maybe he's killing you. You're hot and cold and weak and strong and, and, and--

"You never have to ask Kuroo for-"

The front door of the apartment slams closed. A familiar set of boisterous laughter echoes through the halls-- Bokuto and Kuroo are hone. When you pull away, Kenma gives no resistance, his eyes still fixated on you.

An unjust guilt rises in your throat. You examine your hand, expecting a torrent of blood, only to be greeted with the smallest blossom on your finger tip.

"Were we supposed to do that?" you whisper.

"It's fine." Kenma adjusts himself in his chair, pulling at his pant legs. "They'll scold me, not you."

That doesn't make you feel better.

"Thanks," you say, awkwardly heading for the door. "For the-- thanks."

"Hey," he's using his real voice this time. You pause, turning back to him to catch his wide, Cheshire grin. "Thanks for the snack."

[beezhives]

bakugo does that thing where you spread your legs to be at eye level with a much shorter person (he's an asshole) (request)

[beezhives]

Tumblr Code.

[beezhives]

These 🌹💐🌹💐💐🌸🌺🌹🌺🌷🌸💐🌺🌹🍫🌹💐🍫🍫🌹🌺🌸🌷🍫💐🌸💐🌺🌹🍫🌷🌷🌺🌸🌷🌺🌸🌺🌹🌹🌹🌷🌺🌺🌸🌺🌹🌹🌷💐🌸💐💐🌺🌹🌸💐🌸🌹🍫🍫🌺🌷🌹🍫🍫🍫 💐🌷r for my mutuals on this valentines day <3

[beezhives]

heard a reddit story the other day ab a late 20’s guy who had never been kissed and ended up cumming in his pants when his date started making out with him on his lap…………… you and who. YOU AND WHO.

[beezhives]

so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

[beezhives]

and that is all that is asked of you. to just be.

here's a thing about me. a genuine Emily fact. I give up so easily that it's not even funny. the smallest resistance and it's over for me.

[beezhives]

My toxic trait is rarely ever finishing a show I start, even if I like it

[beezhives]

MINTYYY WHAT HAPPENED NEXT YOU NEED TO PUT YOUR WHOLEE PUSSY INTO ITTTT THAT WAS SO HOT 🗣️🗣️

cont. of sex pollen/fuck or die. noncon.

The fever pitch keeps rising.

Sweat keeps your bodies slick, sliding across each other as Iida trusts into you, again and again. There's no purchase for your fingers to find, no grip for you to fight with.

No, that you want to fight it. Not anymore.

"Mm. Mm. Mm." The sound escapes you every time his hips slap against yours. He doesn't fuck you like your boyfriend does, soft and loving and caring. No, it's rough and staccatoed, forceful in the way that takes your breath away. You run your fingers through the crop of his hair, short hairs rough against your palm.

"Needed this," Iida pants. "Needed you."

Your body quivers with it, tense and tight with want. The thickness of his cock hurts, but your pussy keeps dripping, keeps pulsing-

"I think about you when I'm alone," Hr speaks into your mouth. "Every time I cum, it's for you. I can't help it, I can't help it-"

Your teeth catch his lip and close-- hard. He whines at the contact, but doesn't pull away. Blood blossoms on your tongue and the taste rings through your, hazing your thoughts even more.

You should yell or scream or remind him that you have a boyfriend.

Instead, you wrap your arms around him and dig your nails in, pulling his body right into yours.

"Cum for me," you beg. "Fuck, cum for me."

And he does. It's brutally hot, seated so deep inside you that you can feel it burn behind your belly button. Each pulse feels like too much, too much, too much, dripping and sliding and roasting--

The string inside you breaks and you cum, so hard that it rips the air from your lungs.

"Oh, god, oh, shit, oh-" You're so dizzy you can barely hear him, so high that you can't understand-- "You cum so pretty, cum so good. "

His hand fumble at your shoulders, trying to prop himself for leverage-

"Do it again," Iida begs. "Do it again-"

And you do.

Again.

And again.

And again.