#Crumpling it up and shoving it in my mouth and chewing it

[crushmeeren]

ᯓ★ FIRST TIME FUCKING YOU WITHOUT A CONDOM.

⋆ ft. seishiro, yoichi, meguru, hyoma ⋆

⋆ cw ; unprotected sex, mentions of birth control pills, the kind of sex where you both wake up in the middle of the night and melt into one another.

master list

ᯓ★ seishiro

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

For the most part, when you tell him, Seishiro would take it in stride.

It’d be funny though, Seishiro’s video game character dying miserably in the background as he stared at you, dumbstruck. Sleepy eyes wide because he can’t believe you want him to fuck you raw.

“You — what?” He’d still be wearing a semi - bored expression, but his knuckles would turn white from the harsh the grip on his switch.

You’d shake your head with fondness and a soft smile, repeating, “The next time we have sex, I don’t want you to wear a condom, Sei. What do you think?”

Seishiro would swallow the heat creeping up his throat and shift in place on the couch, all his blood rushing south. His dick would get hard just from the thought, sticking hot and heavy to his inner thigh. His shorts would do a pathetic job covering it.

Seishiro’s head would tilt, brows scrunching together. “Won’t you get pregnant?”

“I’m on the pill dummy. It was supposed to be a surprise.”

Seishiro would blink a few times and hum, abandoning his switch on the couch. Next time is too far away, he wants to fuck you right now.

He’d drag you to the bedroom and push you on the mattress, pulling his shirt off and shoving at his waistband enough to let his cock bob free.

“Sei! At least take off my underwear!” You’d chide, wrists caught in big hands and pinned by your head as he interrupted your disrobing. Your sweats would lay in a crumpled heap beside you.

“Not waiting,” he’d mutter, inching closer between your legs. He’d gather your wrists in one hand and hook his fingers in the soft fabric of your panties to pull them aside, stroking his cock after. He’d slide his tip over your clit a few times, pleasure jolting through you.

The satisfying stretch would be accompanied by a slight burn, pussy not quite wet enough for him. Not that you’d give a fuck, you’d be as impatient as Seishiro, if not more. “Fuck, Sei,” you’d moan and gasp. “Feels so different without a condom. You’re so big.”

“It’s so fucking good,” he’d whine, thrusting without your say so, pushing your shirt to your collarbone to watch your tits bounce. Seeing Seishiro’s eyes roll back would have red hot pleasure rushing up your spine.

He’d throw one leg over his shoulder and bend you in half, hands planted by your shoulders. “M’gonna cum soon,” he’d warn. “Touch yourself.”

He’d hold out for thirty more seconds, but he wouldn’t stop. Seishiro would use how slick he’d made you to his advantage, working you through your own burst of pleasure.

The sensation, the filthy noise, it’d be enough to make you feel the need to confess your sins in church.

ᯓ★ yoichi

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

Yoichi would choke on the water he’s drinking when you ask.

“Sorry,” he’d wheeze, hacking up a lung as his cheeks flush bright pink. You’d rub his back, waiting for him to calm down.

“So, do you want to?”

Yoichi’s mouth would open, then close, then he’d set his water bottle down on the kitchen counter. “You’re serious?” He’d chew on his bottom lip. “You don’t want me to wear a condom?”

“I really really want to feel you.”

You’d sink down on Yoichi’s cock that evening, after he insisted you ride him because he’s “certain he’ll cum too fast if he controls the pace.” He’d toss his head onto the back of the couch, eyes squeezed shut, gripping your hips and digging his nails into your skin.

“Oh god,” he’d moan, loud and needy when you lift up halfway and sit down. You’d clutch his shoulders and use the leverage to help yourself bounce. Dragging a gasp from him that echoes throughout the room when your pussy squeezes tight on purpose.

You’d ride him slow and sweet, trail your lips over his jaw, and press close to whisper in his ear, “You love this, don’t you Yoichi?”

“So fucking much,” he’d pant. Yoichi’s hands would slide to your ass and hold you aloft, heels digging into plush carpet as he thrusts so hard your eyes pop wide open. You’d fall against him and press your nose to his temple, hugging him close. He’d be so warm.

Yoichi would finish fast. He’d grind you back and forth in his lap, cock throbbing steadily, muttering, “Sorry, sorry baby — fuck, sorry. Gonna make you cum, promise.”

ᯓ★ meguru

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

You’d be mid fuck, staring at Meguru who’s tilted his head towards the ceiling. Who’s moaning with his mouth hanging open and smiling like your pussy’s told him directly she loves his cock. He’d bite his bottom lip and squeeze your thighs, moaning your name. Eyes glued to your bouncing tits.

After several shots last weekend, Meguru’d let it slip how bad he needs to fuck your pussy raw. How he jerks off to the thought of it way more often than is healthy because he doesn’t want to push you into something you don’t want.

Drunk words are sober thoughts, they say.

The sudden urge to help him fulfill his dreams would overpower any lingering reservations.

“Take the — oh god, take the condom off, Meguru.” Your hand would press against his lower belly, urging him to pull out.

He’d freeze, pelvis pressed to your ass, and tilt his head. “Did you just say what I think you did?” His tone would be overeager, like a puppy.

“Yes,” you’d confirm, head bobbing.

The condom would be off in less than ten seconds.

Meguru’d be whiny and loud as he pushes in, hips jerking with tiny movements. “I need to cum. Now. Pretty please baby, can I? Your pussy feels so good — I can’t last.”

His cock would twitch and your pussy’d tighten. It’d be no shock at all that he’s so sensitive. “Yeah,” you’d breathe. “As long as you keep going after.”

Meguru would moan and fuck you like he’s paying for it. Head buried into your shoulder, hands tucked under your ass and gripping tight. Your collar bone would grow damp from how hotly he’d pant, sinking his teeth in as he let himself cum.

No matter. He’d fuck you through his overstimulation, not stopping for a second until you’ve had your fun.

ᯓ★ hyoma

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

Hyoma wouldn’t be proud at his lack of self discipline in the heat of the moment.

You’d asked him a long time ago how he’d felt about it. Refusing to look him in the eyes when the topic was brought up because you’d been daydreaming about taking him raw for quite some time.

He’d assured you he really, really wanted to, but he’d explained he’d rather not take a single chance at having a surprise baby, even if you were on birth control. You’d respected his wishes and moved on.

Sleepy, soft sex with Hyoma is great. You’d wake up late into the night from a filthy dream of him and, with limbs that’d still be heavy with sleep, you’d shift in bed to face him. Nuzzling your nose against his, pressing sweet kisses to his mouth until he woke up enough to get the hint.

He’d encourage you to turn again, snaking an arm under your neck and letting it wrap around your shoulders to pull you close. You’d both be half asleep still, as Hyoma gripped your thigh and lifted it. As he wiggled his hips until the tip of his cock parted the lips of your pussy.

As he slid his thick cock inside you. Raw.

It’d send a jolt down your spine, brain coming on line a bit more. “Hyo,” you’d gasp, his heavy answering moan vibrating your shoulder blade. “You didn’t — what about the condom? Are you sure?”

He’d give you a high pitched whine. “Don’t want it, baby.”

You wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth as the first slow drag of his cock knocked the breath from your lungs. It’d be the kind of sex that’s steady and sensual, his cock never going too deep, wrapped up in Hyoma’s arms.

Hyoma wouldn’t truly realize what he’s done until after he’s cum inside you.

“Thought you wanted to use a condom?” You’d pant softly, scrunching your nose at the sticky, sweaty sensation of Hyoma’s belly against your lower back.

He’d stiffen slightly, hugging you. “I couldn’t help myself,” he’d mumble. It’d be easy to tell he’s pouting without looking.

“We’re never using condoms again. Just so you know.”

Hyoma’d sigh dramatically, but in the morning he’d throw out the half full box of condoms in your bedside drawer.

[grenadehearts]

marred hearts. - megumi fushiguro

in which the man who you were sure despised you, shows up bloody and bruised needing your help.

authors note: my first ever megumi fic gosh i love him like thats my baby. wc 1.6k masterlist.

You were sure he hated you—no, that wasn’t strong enough. He loathed you.

Every remark you shot at him, he was there to catch it and crumble it in his abnormally large, pale hands. Every idea you voiced, he scoffed at. He refused to make eye contact with you, and you never understood why.

Truth be told, you rarely even spoke to him. At first, you had tried, but he showed no interest. Over time, his dislike for you grew unbearable—to the point where you could feel his eyes on you the second you entered a room, like he had memorized the rhythm of your footsteps just to know when to leave.

And yet, despite his sneers, his feigned indifference, his utter lack of respect for you, you chased after it. Every cruel remark, you swallowed greedily, waiting for more. You wanted the rot he spewed to fester inside you, to change you into something he could love.

But then there were times—rare moments—when his insults almost sounded like compliments.

"C’mon, pretty, that’s pathetic, even for you."

He had said it after you landed a low blow during a spar, ducking under his swing and sweeping his legs out from under him. He had hit the ground hard, face in the dirt, with you on top of him, legs straddling his sides, heaving. And for a moment, you faltered—completely awestruck by his porcelain skin, the way his crystalline blue eyes burned beneath long lashes.

Then he shattered the image. His face crumpled with distaste, words dripping with saccharine venom before he flipped you over, shoving your face into the dirt. He won.

So when Megumi pounds on your door one night, bruised and bloody, clutching his abdomen, you can only stare—mouth slightly agape—as he shoves his way inside like he owns the place.

"Need your help."

His voice is rough, low, seeping into your bones like hot syrup. He pulls his hand from his stomach, revealing a deep gash, the purple bruise spreading like ink beneath his skin.

You cock an eyebrow. "My help? Wow, someone must be desperate."

He scoffs, tilting his head. "You're insulting yourself with that one, you know?" His tone is laced with a teasing bite.

You groan internally. You already suck at comebacks, but this—having a gorgeous, raven-haired, wounded Megumi standing in front of you, asking for your help—yeah, that’s enough to knock you off your footing.

Still, you cross your arms and turn toward the bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet. He just stands there.

"Are you coming or not?"

Finally, he stomps over, muttering under his breath. He huffs when you tell him to sit, but he complies. As you step forward, the soft patter of your socked feet against the linoleum, you hesitate. And he notices—his sharp eyes scanning your movements before his fingers close around your wrist, guiding your hand to his wound.

"Slow much?" he rasps.

You yank your hand back, sharp enough that it nearly makes him dizzy. "Okay, you're the one asking for my help, remember?"

He lets out a bitter laugh, but it stings. His lips twitch, his breathing is shallow.

"Yeah, and I’m gonna bleed out if you don’t hurry."

You chew on the inside of your cheek, hesitating again. That’s when he smirks—despite his injuries, despite the pain laced through every breath—and murmurs in that cocky, teasing tone,

"Just touch. I won’t bite."

You blow a loose strand of hair from your face as you kneel, fingers grazing the top button of his uniform. Slowly, you unfasten it, letting the fabric fall open, exposing his chest—taut muscle, milky white skin marred with bruises and gashes. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, grabbing the alcohol to clean his wound. As soon as the liquid touches raw flesh, he hisses through clenched teeth.

"I know it hurts," you murmur.

His jaw tightens. "Nothing hurts me."

You don’t argue. You just work, applying ointment to the wound. Then, quieter, more thoughtful, you say, "Everyone has something that hurts them."

Silence. Thick and suffocating.

Yet somehow, his presence makes it feel whole, like he’s wrapped around you.

You reach for the bandages, your long hair falling forward with each movement. Then, without a word, two large hands gather it, gently pulling it back into a ponytail.

You freeze.

When you glance up, his blue eyes waver, the tips of his ears dusting pink—and you swear, in that instant, you see the moment he finally gives in.

"You’re real pretty," he says, his voice cocky, yet desperate.

Your stomach drops.

Your entire mood sours, because Megumi Fushiguro hates you. He loathes you.

"You’re a real jerk," you mutter, tightening the bandages around his torso. "Saying things like that to me when you know—"

You cut yourself off, swallowing the rest of the sentence. But he hears it anyway.

"Know what, Y/N?" His voice is quieter now, like he’s searching for something.

You turn away. "It doesn’t matter. You’re done. You can go now."

A curse slips past his lips as he grabs your face, forcing you to look at him. His bright eyes narrow.

"No. It does fucking matter. You said something, and therefore it matters."

You grab his wrists, trying to pry him off, but he’s faster. He catches you.

"Megumi—"

"Please."

Your breath stutters.

You refuse to fall for his tricks. You refuse to let yourself hope.

"That I lov—"

You don’t get to finish.

Because Megumi is there, swallowing your words whole, devouring them in a kiss so intense you can taste the salt on his lips. His rough hands cradle your face, pulling you closer, and you let him—you melt into him.

And in that moment, you allow him to drive the knife deeper, offering your aching, bloodied heart to his rough hands—to hold, or to discard.

With every kiss, you feel his heart—once a ticking grenade—beating not with anger, but fear.

Then, abruptly, you pull away. You need to breathe.

Megumi sits there, flushed and breathless, whimpering at the loss of contact.

"Megumi, what—? You hate me. No, you fucking loathe me. Every cruel name you’ve ever called me—" You stumble over your words, rambling, stuttering.

But he slides off the toilet, onto his knees, groaning in pain with every movement. Then he pulls you against him, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

Hush."

His arms tighten around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, like if he lets go, you'll slip through his fingers like everything else he’s lost.

"I don’t—fuck—I don’t hate you. I never did."

The words land heavy, sinking into your ribs, settling somewhere between your heart and the ache that’s lived there for so long. You don’t say anything, too afraid that if you do, he’ll take it back. That this will all be a cruel joke, leaving you on cold tiles with a fractured heart and nothing to show for it.

"I don’t know how to love someone." His voice is tight, raw, like he's forcing the words out through clenched teeth. "People always leave. And most of the time, it’s by death."

He swallows a shaky breath, pressing closer, his fingers digging into your back like an anchor.

"When I saw you, Y/N—fuck—it felt like Itadori had punched all the air out of my lungs. I was so captivated by your every move, every word that left your lips, I wanted to consume them all. And that terrified me."

Your breath catches. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands gripping your arms, his thumbs rubbing slow, grounding circles into your skin.

"I saw love as a weakness, as something that would put you in danger. I didn’t want to love you because I knew—" He exhales shakily, like saying it out loud is breaking him apart. "Because everything I love gets taken from me."

There it is. The weight of every loss pressing against his ribs. The ghosts of his past, all those he loved, lives ending in blood and grief, wrapping around his throat.

Hot, wet tears slip down your cheeks, but you don’t bother wiping them away. Instead, you reach up, hands cradling his jaw, thumbs smoothing over his sharp cheekbones as if you can soothe the hurt away.

"Megumi, you won’t lose me." Your voice is firm despite the tears. "And even if—by some cruel twist of fate—something happens to me, I’ll accept it if it means I get to love you."

His breath shudders, and for once, he doesn’t argue.

You kiss him then—slow, deep, like you’re trying to pour every unsaid word, every unshed tear into him. He kisses back just as desperately, hands tangling in your hair, holding onto you like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

The weight of his confession settles between you as you both collapse onto the cold floor, limbs tangled, breath mingling in the quiet. After a moment, you weakly pull yourselves up, neither of you speaking as you shuffle towards the bed.

And then, as you pull him against your chest, his body melting into yours for the first time, you hear it—soft, murmured into your skin, like a secret only meant for you.

"I love you."

He says it over and over, like he’s afraid you'll disappear if he doesn’t. Like maybe, if he says it enough, it’ll make up for all the times he pushed you away.

tagging @megumismyhusband @crushmeeren (their love for megumi inspired me 2 write abt him <3)

[matchpointfaist]

art donaldson x theatre major!!

broadway baby!

frat! art donaldson x theater major! reader

no tw! just fluff i love my sweet loverboy art (i hope you like anon! <3)

you had become used to a certain type of audience. the kind who clapped politely, who carried notebooks and whispered about lighting choices and diction. who wore corduroy jackets and asked deep questions at the talkback, who truly understood the content before them, who were familiar with the work that had gone into it. you were decidedly not used to an audience that included a six foot, bright eyed tennis player wearing a backward cap and a stanford tennis hoodie, sitting in the second row like he was courtside at a match. and yet, there was art. elbows on his knees, baseball cap barely hiding that ridiculously bright golden hair, grinning like he understood shakespeare now because you were saying it. you nearly forgot your line.

you met him two months ago when you were running lines by yourself in a quiet corner of the quad, and he tripped over a bench while trying to eavesdrop. “i wasn’t spying,” he said, brushing grass off his sweatpants, “i just heard someone say ‘what light through yonder window breaks’ and i thought maybe i’d finally cracked open the secrets of the english department,” you laughed, to which he blushed. you told him you were a theater major, not english, but close enough. he started showing up near your rehearsals after that. “just walking by,” he’d claim, while chewing protein bars that he never seemed to run out of. you never expected him to actually come to your show.

it was just a student production of much ado, in a campus black box. your beatrice was a little too sarcastic, your tights a little too itchy, and someone missed a lighting cue in act II. still, the applause at the end felt good, felt earned. but when you stepped out into the lobby, still in costume, eyeliner slightly smudged, there he was. his hands were shoved awkwardly in his pockets, holding a crumpled program like it was a playbook, his eyes lighting up when he saw you. “you were amazing,” he said, “like, i didn’t know shakespeare could be fun?” you blinked back surprise, “you stayed for the whole show?” he scratched the back of his neck, suddenly shy, “yeah. you told me not to come, so i figured that meant you secretly wanted me there,” you rolled your eyes, “that’s not how that works,” “worked tonight,” he grinned, shrugging. and it did. you were smiling, weren’t you?

he leaned closer, “you know, i was thinking, maybe next time you could come to one of my matches?” you raised an eyebrow, “will i get to wear a hoodie and yell at people to 'crush it’?” he grinned brighter at that, “absolutely,” you nodded, “deal,” you didn’t know what this was yet. frat boy and theater girl, tennis shoes and tap shoes, but for tonight, it felt like something starting.

the cast party was in someone’s off-campus apartment. too many bodies crammed into one space, fairy lights dangling half-dead from the ceiling, and fleetwood mac playing off someone’s speaker like it was the only playlist theater majors had ever heard of. you hadn’t really planned on inviting art. but someone had offered you a ride, and art had flashed you those baby blue puppy dog eyes, and before you knew it, you were huffing and agreeing to let him tag along. and to his credit, he was trying to understand your friends.

he ducked slightly as he stepped inside the party, eyes scanning the room like he’d accidentally walked into a cult meeting. “is that guy wearing a cape?” he whispered. “technically it’s a repurposed curtain,” you replied, “he’s method, very annoying,” “oh, of course,” you led him through the crowd, smiling when you caught him glancing at you every five seconds like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

you introduced him to your best friend, who raised both eyebrows and mouthed art donaldson? behind his back, and to your director, who looked more disinterested than confused. art smiled politely, you passed him a solo cup. he leaned over, nose scrunched, “is this wine?” you sniffed, “boxed, probably expired. drink at your own risk,” he grinned and took a sip, “i’ve survived worse. remember that frat party where someone spiked the gatorade with fireball?” you winced, “i don't typically get invited to those things," “well, we'll have to put a stop to that," he murmered.

someone put on dreams and three of your friends dramatically sang along. you looked to art, who didn't quit look phased. you looked up at him, “regretting it yet?” he shook his head slowly, “no. i mean, i don’t totally get it, but it’s kind of great. you’re kind of great,” that caught you off guard.

you laughed, soft and surprised, “careful, donaldson. you keep talking like that and i might take you to our next experimental monologue night,” "will you be there?" he asked, smiling like he had a secret. you nodded, sipping your wine. "then i'd love to be invited," you reached for his hand absentmindedly, and he let you, running his thumb along your knuckles gently. "you are beautiful," he hummed, voice soft. your cheeks warmed, "you're too sweet," "disagree,"

the party went on around you, soft and quiet in the background. when your eyes had grown heavy with exhaustion, art took your hand and led you outside, his hoodie draped over your shoulders. he walked you all the way to your apartment without hesitation, kept you company the whole way, listened to your stories of castmates and your passion for the arts. at your door, he brushed a lock of hair from your face, smiling fondly down at you. "i look forward to your match," you said softly, eyes on his. "me too," he murmured, "especially to seeing you," he leaned closer, almost imperceptibly. "i should get to bed," you told him, despite the urge to stay out all night just to be by his side. "right," he nodded, eyes flickering to your lips, "goodnight, then," "goodnight,"

he turned away, but before he could go you pulled him back, standing on your tiptoes and pressing your lips to his softly. he was still, surprised, before melting into you, wrapping his arms around your waist to hold you closer. you pulled away after a moment, cheeks warm, "goodnight again," "goodnight," he exhaled a soft laugh, his breath fanning your face, "i'll see you soon?" "i'll be dreaming of it," you giggled, watching him walk away, a fondness settled in your chest.

[mediumgayitalian]

"Try some."

Nico wrinkles his nose. "It looks like plastic."

"And you look like someone who's getting on my last nerve." Will shakes the offending -- thing. At him. Nico leans back, refusing to let it touch him. "Oh -- it is not contagious, you goober!"

"It's gross!"

"You've never even tried it!"

"I can tell!"

"You're a priss!"

"You are a human trash can who ate a strawberry that fell on the floor last week!"

"Hey Nico. Quickly. Where do strawberries grow from."

"It is a different thing!"

"In your grand delusions, maybe."

Nico kicks Will in the shoulder, sending him sprawling. He is unfortunately a weird noodle and absorbs the impact easily, shifting so he's lying backwards on the bed, head upside-down over the edge, feet tapping on the wall. Nico pinches him in disgust, only Will catches his hand so it doesn't work. Nico huffs louder.

"For someone with as much of a sweet tooth as you, it is crazy that you have a candy superiority complex."

"Not everyone is addicted to Twizzlers."

"...I'm not addicted. I could stop any time."

Nico looks pointedly at the two empty -- family sized, he would like to add -- wrappers, and the third pack currently being worked through. If it was possible he'd make himself sick off it. Instead he lives in hubris. And shamelessness; he meets Nico's eyes and sends him an exaggerated wink.

(Which.)

(Because he cannot wink.)

(Is just this. Really endearing. Hard blink.)

(Gods, he is so stupid.)

(Nico hates him.)

"You're such a humiliating dweeb that being around you makes me less cool by proxy. Not addicted, he says."

Will shoves another seven -- seven. -- Twizzlers in his mouth. He does not bother to chew before speaking.

"I'm not!"

"You are in actual debt! To the entire Hermes cabin! For the rest of your life!" Nico takes a Twizzler, for the sole purpose of using it to emphasize his point, and also smack Will in the leg with it. "Do you know how hard that is? I have tried to gamble away your debt four times! I have not put a chunk into it!"

"Well, maybe you suck at gambling."

Nico's eye twitches. Will does not even pretend to keep his snickering to himself.

"I was stuck in a casino for seventy fucking years --"

"Damn, and you still can't play poker. Embarrassing."

"I CAN FUCKING --" Nico stops. He takes a deep breath. He stands, putting his book to the side, and does several deep breathing exercises. Will laughs until he cries, because he is a word Hazel made him swear not to say even in his own head.

"Your face," Will wheezes. There is a thump as he falls off the bed and crumples to the floor.

"Kill yourself," Nico says calmly. A muscle in his jaw jumps and he starts his exercises anew. "Better yet, let me."

Will blows a kiss at him. Nico mimes catching it and throwing it on the floor and stomping on it, which makes him genuinely gasp in offense, which is gratifying. Except there is enough hurt in the action that Nico panics a little and hurries to grab the kiss off the floor and brush off the dust and stuff it in his pocket. And then he realizes what he's doing, and that Will is full of shit and is going red with the effort of trying to hold back his giggling, and he goes so violently red himself his vision swims a little.

"That was very cute," Will manages, snickering.

"I am going to blow up this camp and everyone in it," Nico seethes, hotter technically than a red dwarf star.

Will swallows back his giggles. It doesn't work, exactly, and what happens instead is he tries very hard to keep his face pleasant and neutral, except every few seconds his shoulders shake and his chapped lips twitch and his blue eyes sparkle like playful frost. And he stands, and steps towards Nico, and Nico is frozen, and his heart hammers, and his palms, suddenly, get very very sweaty.

"I mean it," Will says, and the worst thing is that he really does sound sincere, even as he smiles teasingly. "It was very cute." He steps closer. What is left of Nico's rational brain leaks out of his ears and fizzles through the floorboards like acid. "You're very cute."

He has no shame. None. Surely it's his damned father's fault; Will gets like this, sometimes, determined and bold and affectionate like all the flailing gangliness that afflicts him every other day of his life disappears, cowed in the grandness of his affectionate determination. He steps closer, enough, and now he is close enough that Nico can hear him humming, can hear the rocking of his heels. Can smell the artificial strawberry on his breath, can almost taste the sweetness in the air between them.

His lips part.

He swallows, dry.

His palms are clammy, and he curls them into weak fists.

"Very cute," Will repeats, leaning closer. "I like how much you care about people even though you are embarrassed about it. Makes me think of a groundhog."

"You are such a weirdo," Nico says weakly, but there is no wit to it, because he cannot taste anything but the wanting behind his teeth, and cannot see anything but the huge pools of Will's sparkling eyes, and the quirk of his red-stained lips. "Genuinely, it's --"

"Hey."

Will ducks down. He's breathing, suddenly, milimeters from Nico's mouth, and Nico stops breathing at all.

"If I gave you some now, would you try it?"

"Yes," Nico says, small and strangled, because that would be the answer for anything Will asked him right now. "Yes, fine, you can --"

But Will does not produce a licorice rope from his pocket. He does not reach over and dart across the cabin to where the open bag lay, abandoned, on his bed, he does not tease out any of the strands curled around his fist. Instead, he -- drops them. And then he reaches his wide, open palms forward, and he --

Nico squeaks.

Will doesn't move, for a moment, lips still pressed to his, eyes open, head tilted, observing.

Nico's eyes flutter closed.

He feels Will's smile, against his lips. Feels the smugness in his warm hands, curled around his jaw, feels the sweet satisfaction sticking to his teeth.

They don't taste so bad after all, Twizzlers.

"Told you," Will murmurs. "See, they're good, they're --"

Nico backs him against the wall, and kisses him until they candy taste is gone from his tongue.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Lloyd as ur househusband lollllll

I love that. Here's a little blurby blue.

For Her Pleasure

House husband! Lloyd Hansen x angry!wife

🏠🏠🏠

The loud tingling ringtone cuts through your playlist, agitating you as you trawl with the grind of traffic. A day of overtime has you agitated as it is. You look at the display. That's never good. Your husband, calling you? Right. Not right now. You just need to clear your head.

You dismiss the call and tap the brake, making little progress as the lights turn red again. Drive, people! You grip the wheel tight and grind your teeth. The dentist was so worried about you doing it while you sleep, but he should be more worried about you being awake and dealing with idiots!

Finally, you get your turn and weave your way through the back street. Why can't people just use their cars? Or their brains. Another call. Well, you wouldn't say you married Lloyd for his smarts. Clever in his own way but that's hardly his selling point.

You pull up the drive and linger in the front seat. You let the seat belt repel but can't bring yourself to get out. You reach into your bag and grab the bag of chips you forgot about.

As you tear the seal apart, there's a tap at the window. You hover a chip before your mouth and cringe as you look over. Lloyd grins and bends to wave at you, gesturing for you to roll down the window. The censor beeps at you for not having your belt on. Everyone and everything is on you today.

You hit the switch and your husband quickly snatches the salt and vinegar goodness from your hand, knocking the chip from your other in the process. You snarl, "Lloyd. What the hell?"

"You're going to spoil dinner, sweety pie," he says. "Besides. if you're going to have chips, get kettle not this garbage."

You glare at him as he shoves the bag into his apron pocket. You narrow your eyes and grind your teeth again. 

"Hey, you need your mouthguard?" He offers and you roll your eyes.

You hit the ignition button and the car shuts down. You swipe your keys and push the door open, nearly hitting your dearly beloved in the process.

"Babe, you know when you look at me like that, I get distracted," he purrs and reaches for you. You smack his hands away. "Hey, save the spice for the kiester."

He winks and spins, wiggling his butt at you. You could smack him in the back of the damn head. You merely step up and reach around him. He purrs and wiggles against your pelvis.

"Sexy, wifey poo. Right here on the front lawn?"

You snake your hand into his apron and take the chips back. You shove him away and stomp past him. You shove three chips into your mouth as you head for the house.

"Oh, wait, your purse," you hear him and the car door opens and shuts again.

You enter and kick your shoes off the mat. He follows and closes the front door, fussing as he puts your heels on the rack. He hangs your purse as you chew noisily.

"I made your favourite--" he trails after you.

"You know what I'm craving right now? Peace and quiet." You hurl back.

"Oh, sunshine, tell me about it? What's got you so... feral?" He follows you into the kitchen and runs his hand up your lower back.

"Fuckers. Idiots. Morons." You say through a mouthful and take out the last chip. You crumple the bag and toss it. "Urgh, these things are 90% air!"

"I know, honey," he picks up the bag and puts it in the bin. "Tell me about the fuckers, idiots, and morons."

"Expense reports. Fucked up the ass," you start as you climb up on the tall chair along the island. A cupboard swings open then snaps back into place. "Then my chair decided to lock so I'm nearly folded in half. And my damn assitant-- This little brat they hired, he's incapable!"

Lloyd places a healthy glass of wine in front of you and sucks his teeth. You take it by the stem and slurp. You shake your head.

"Him? You didn't mention it was a guy," he pouts.

You squint at him, "An idiot. A boy. Nothing."

"You used to call me those things," he says.

You nearly laugh. Nearly.

"Trust me. Incompetent is not my taste."

"Wow, I'm competent," Lloyd brightens.

You scoff and take another drink. You swish it around in your mouth then shrug.

"You're tolerable," you say. "But you know I'm not so tolerant on an empty stomach."

"Yes, mistress," he preens and claps his hands, spinning into action.

"Lloyd," you warn, recalling the last time he called you that in front of company.

"I'm being a good boy," he says as he opens the oven. "Just you wait for dessert."

He takes the sheet pan out, a perfect spread of roasted veggies across it. He winks at you as he places it on the counter and slides a plate out. As he arranges the shrimp and veggie over noodles you sigh. He's not without his flaws, but he does keep you from worrying about all this house nonsense. He's better at it too.

"If it doesn't include massage oil, I'll skip," you joke.

He chuckles, "oh, I got a full course for you, baby."

[norrisradio]

almost

⚡︎ pairing: yuki tsunoda x chef!reader | ⚡︎ wc: 1.1k ⚡︎ genre: fluff, angst, humor ⚡︎ recommended listening: midnight city, m83 • fine line, harry styles • the archer, taylor swift • talk, khalid & disclosure • adore you, harry styles ⚡︎ incoming radio: my first ever fic on this account has to be dedicated to my the love of my life @tsunodaradio . if i was the one to get them into F1, they were the one who gave me my love of writing.

⚡︎ summary: It was a tradition. A secret. A fleeting thing that only existed within the neon-lit haze of race week.

The first time you met, he was stealing food.

Or at least, that’s what it looked like.

It was just past midnight, and you were stacking chairs when you caught him—ballcap tucked under his arm, hoodie pulled low over his face, fingers curled around a skewer of chicken satay that wasn’t his. You’d left it sitting on the counter for less than thirty seconds, meant for a post-rush snack, but now it was halfway to his mouth, his expression frozen somewhere between guilt and shamelessness.

"Technically," he said, chewing as he spoke, "this was unattended."

"Technically," you echoed, crossing your arms, "you’re an entitled asshole."

He grinned at that, like you’d passed some kind of test, and then tossed a crumpled bill onto the counter—far more than what a single skewer was worth. "Keep the change, chef."

And that was that.

The next time he showed up, it wasn’t to steal food. Not really.

He came back the following year, race week in full swing, stepping into your kitchen like he belonged there. This time, he waited until you handed him a plate before taking a bite. "Better service than last year," he mused, mouth full. You only rolled your eyes. But you let him stay.

It became a thing.

Every Singapore Grand Prix, without fail, he found his way to you. Always late at night, always when the world had quieted down. He never told you when he was coming—never texted, never called—but somehow, he was always there.

You’d hear the creak of the door, feel the shift in the air before you even looked up. Sometimes he’d lean against the counter like he owned the place, sometimes he’d slip onto a stool and watch you work, sometimes he’d take a skewer straight off the grill like it was his God-given right.

A few drinks sometimes lingered in his system, but never too many—just enough to soften the sharp edges, to make him stay a little longer. You never asked if he was coming from a party or a meeting or some late-night walk meant to clear his mind. He never asked why you stayed so late at the restaurant.

It was just understood.

And you liked him best like this—loose-limbed and a little reckless, spinning a chopstick between his fingers, commenting on your technique like he knew a damn thing about food.

"Too much salt.""You’re eating for free. Shut up.""You love me."

He said it like a joke, like he was testing the weight of the words in the air. You rolled your eyes, shoving a bowl toward him, watching as he took the first bite. But you never said no.

And maybe you did.

But neither of you said it. That wasn’t the point of this.

It was a tradition. A secret. A fleeting thing that only existed within the neon-lit haze of race week.

Until this year. Until now.

Until tonight, when Yuki stands in your doorway, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, and—for the first time—doesn’t move.

The air between you feels heavier than usual. Maybe it’s the race. Maybe it’s the exhaustion dragging at his limbs, the adrenaline finally burning out. Or maybe it’s the fact that, this time, he didn’t just show up to eat.

This time, he lingered.

Dinner had stretched longer than usual, silence slipping into spaces that used to be filled with easy conversation. He’d eaten slower, eyes flicking to you between bites, like he was trying to memorize something. You caught him staring once, and he didn’t look away.

Now, in the doorway, you see it again—that almost hesitation. Like he wants to say something he never has before.

"Do you ever get tired of leaving?"

You don’t know why you ask it. Maybe you already know the answer. Maybe you just want to hear him say it.

Yuki exhales, the ghost of a laugh passing through his lips. "Do you?"

You tilt your head. "I don’t leave. You do."

And there it is—the truth of it. The thing neither of you have ever acknowledged.

His fingers twitch at his sides. He looks back—just once, like he’s considering staying. Like, for the first time, he’s wondering what would happen if he didn’t walk away.

And then he steps forward. It’s almost like a reflex—he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. His hand finds your jaw, his thumb pressing into your skin as he pulls you close, his lips crashing against yours like this has been waiting for years.

It’s fast. Hungry. Full of things that neither of you have said out loud. His kiss tastes like spice, like the long hours of work and the briefest hint of something more. You pull him closer, fingers knotting into his hoodie, and for the first time, neither of you think about the morning.

Your back hits the counter. His hands slide down, gripping your waist like he’s trying to ground himself, like he’s afraid this is just another thing that will disappear when the night is over. You don’t stop him. You let him have this—let yourself have this—because for once, there’s no audience, no cameras, no pressure to be anything but what you are.

There’s just you. Just him. Just this.

When the kiss breaks, you’re both breathing heavily. His forehead presses against yours, his eyes wide, searching yours like he’s looking for something. For permission, maybe. Or an answer.

"We don’t have to talk about this," he says, voice quiet. "But we can’t pretend it didn’t happen."

You can’t say anything. You don’t need to. There’s something heavy in the air, but it’s not fear. It’s anticipation.

The night stretches on, tangled between the quiet moments of touch, of words unspoken, of almost.

But as the first light of dawn seeps through the kitchen window, Yuki is pulling on his jacket, zipping it up with slow precision.

"I should go," he says, the weight of it more present than ever. You want to tell him to stay, to make him stay, but you don’t.

He glances at you one last time before stepping toward the door. But as his hand rests on the knob, there’s that pause again. That fleeting moment where he could do something different. He could walk back to you. He could kiss you again.

But he doesn’t.

"See you next time," he says, the words thick with meaning this time.

And then he’s gone.

You stand in the stillness of the kitchen, the smell of spices lingering in the air, and you wonder—maybe for the first time—if you’ll ever stop saying goodbye.

Because you know how this goes.

Yuki Tsunoda always leaves in the morning.

But maybe, just maybe—

One day, he won’t.

[idrawweirdstuffnominors]

hey I saw that you did a bill x reader with an eating disorder and I was wondering if you could do one where the reader is bulimic? im in recovery and I feel like this would help lol

(Of course <3 and I hope your recovery goes amazing!

Epilogue Bill Dickey x Reader (Bulimia, Recovery Theme)

tw: bulimia (realistic depiction), disordered eating cycles, purging mention, emotional realism, bitter-sweet tone

---

The apartment’s too quiet when you're in the bathroom for more than ten minutes. Bill doesn’t even pretend not to notice anymore. Not after months of watching the same patterns play out like reruns of a bad show you both hate but can't stop watching.

A crumpled protein bar wrapper half-hidden under your pillow. Four toothbrushes in the medicine cabinet—only one ever used. That box of laxatives you thought you shoved deep enough in the cabinet.

Bill wasn't a detective. He was just observant. And bitter. And tired.

You were rinsing your mouth when the knock came—too sharp to be casual.

“Hey,” his voice cut through the door. “You dying in there or just emotionally spiraling again?”

You didn’t respond. You knew better. He waited three seconds before he opened the door anyway. You never locked it anymore. What was the point?

His eyes did a quick scan—your puffy face, the faint red around your eyes, the way you stood stiff like someone caught doing something private, even though you hadn’t been throwing up this time. Not exactly.

Bill leaned against the frame, arms crossed like he wasn’t coming in, but also wasn’t going anywhere.

“Lemme guess. You ate two rice cakes, felt guilty, walked laps around the apartment until your legs gave out, then came in here to do... whatever this is.”

You stared at the faucet. “I didn’t throw up.”

He scoffed. “Yeah. Great. Let’s bake a damn cake.”

Silence.

Then, quieter: “Your knuckles are bleeding again.”

You instinctively curled your fingers inward.

“I know it’s not always throwing up,” he muttered. “I read a goddamn pamphlet once, okay?”

That part caught you off guard. “You... read a pamphlet?”

He shrugged, eyes drifting toward the floor like it embarrassed him. “Ate lunch at the campus health office like three years ago. Shitty pizza. They had flyers. Pictures of teeth falling out and piss-yellow fingernails. Thought of you.”

You gave a weak laugh, but it cracked halfway out.

Bill’s expression twitched—somewhere between a flinch and a sigh. “It wasn’t a joke.”

Your hands trembled against the sink. “I didn’t binge today. I just… felt like I would. I could feel it coming. The switch in my head. So I took a walk. I cleaned. Then I sat here to try to wait it out. That’s... that’s why I’ve been in here so long.”

He scratched the back of his neck, eyes darting away.

“I know you’re trying,” he said, voice raw like sandpaper. “And I know it doesn’t always look like anything. That’s the worst part. Half the time I can’t tell if you’re doing better or just getting better at hiding it.”

You winced. Because it was true.

“But,” he added, slowly, like the words hurt, “I’ve seen you eat real meals. I’ve seen you not count every bite like it’s gonna kill you. I’ve seen you laugh while chewing, even. So don’t act like this is all you are.”

That landed somewhere heavy.

He let it hang in the air. The cheap bathroom light buzzed above you both. He stared at the mirror, not at you.

“I’m not good at this shit,” he muttered. “I’m not gonna be your recovery sponsor or spoon-feed you affirmations or whatever the hell you need.”

You nodded. You didn’t want him to be.

“But I’ll sit on the goddamn floor while you ride it out. And I’ll tell you when you’re full of shit. Which, you usually are.”

You turned slightly. He was already sliding down the wall, plopping his bony ass onto the tile like he planned to stay a while. Elbows on knees. Scowl still in place.

“I saved you half my sandwich,” he muttered. “In case you ever feel like being human again.”

You bit your lip. “Was it good?”

“It was dry, soggy, and overpriced. Like everything else in life.”

You laughed—barely. But it counted.

And he didn’t say anything else. Just sat there with you in the fluorescent stillness, smelling faintly like deli mustard and bad choices.

You weren’t fixed. But you weren’t alone.

You slid down the wall too, knees pulled to your chest, the tile cold against your bare legs. For a while, neither of you said anything. The silence wasn’t awkward. It just was.

Bill picked at the frayed edge of his sleeve, eyes fixed on some speck on the floor that probably wasn’t even there. You knew he wasn’t the type to ask if you were okay. He’d already done more than his nature allowed.

Eventually, the adrenaline started to wear off. The panic, the guilt, the tightness in your chest. Not gone—but quieter. Just enough.

Your head throbbed. Your jaw ached. Your stomach felt hollow and sore all at once.

And without thinking too much about it, you shifted on the cold floor and leaned sideways, slowly, carefully—until your head rested against his lap.

Bill tensed under you, like someone had lit a match between his ribs. His knee twitched. But he didn’t move.

“You’re not gonna cry, are you?” he grumbled, voice softer than before.

“Not planning on it,” you murmured.

“Good. 'Cause I didn’t sign up for emotional leakage.”

You smirked against his jeans. “You’re such a dick.”

“And you’re lucky I don’t push you off and leave you here.”

But his hand hovered for a second—then settled awkwardly, stiffly, on your upper back. Not rubbing. Not comforting. Just there. His other hand gently and tentatively ran through your hair.

Real.

And that was enough.

[magical-reid]

Unexpected Ties

Pairing: Lip Gallagher x Reader

Perspective: Third Person Limited (Reader’s POV)

Word Count: 1.2 K

Summary: After a drunken, impulsive wedding to Lip Gallagher, the reader wakes up to find themselves married to a man they barely know and quickly tries to forget the mistake. However, a year later, when their paths cross again at work, the tension between them begins to build, and they must confront their past, leading to an unexpected but growing connection as they navigate their accidental marriage and complicated feelings for each other.

The bar was a hole-in-the-wall joint in the heart of Chicago, tucked between a laundromat and a boarded-up storefront. You didn’t usually hang out in places like this, but tonight was an exception. After a grueling week of work and barely making rent, you needed a drink—maybe several.

You spotted him the moment you walked in: a guy with a sharp jawline and tired eyes, nursing a beer at the far end of the bar. Phillip Gallagher didn’t seem like the type to strike up conversations with strangers, but when you slid onto the stool next to him and asked the bartender for a whiskey, he turned his head.

“Long day?” he asked, his voice gruff but not unfriendly.

“More like a long year,” you replied, taking a sip of your drink. “What about you?”

He chuckled, running a hand through his messy hair. “You could say that.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The two of you fell into easy conversation. Lip had a dry wit that matched your own, and before long, you were swapping stories about your crappy jobs, dysfunctional families, and the absurdity of city life.

“You know,” he said after your third drink, “sometimes I think the only way to survive in this place is to stop giving a damn.”

You laughed. “Maybe we should celebrate not giving a damn. Like… do something stupid.”

“Stupid how?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

And that’s how you ended up stumbling out of the bar together, arm in arm, singing off-key as you roamed the city streets. The courthouse was just a block away, and the neon sign advertising late-night marriages caught your eye.

“Bet you wouldn’t marry me,” you said, half-joking.

Philip smirked. “You think I won’t?”

Thirty minutes later, with booze-fueled confidence and a city clerk who didn’t ask too many questions, you were pronounced husband and wife. The ink on the marriage license was barely dry when Philip leaned in for an obligatory kiss, his lips brushing yours in a way that felt more electric than it should have.

“Guess we’re stuck with each other now,” he said with a lopsided grin.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Morning After

When you woke up the next day in your own bed, your head pounding and your mouth dry, the events of the previous night came rushing back. Philip had walked you home after the courthouse but hadn’t stayed. It was a mutual, unspoken agreement: whatever happened last night was a mistake.

You found the marriage certificate crumpled in your bag, staring at the bold letters that read “Phillip Gallagher” next to your name.

For a brief moment, you considered calling him to sort it out, but then you shook your head. What were you even supposed to say? Instead, you shoved the certificate into a drawer and resolved to forget it ever happened.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

A Year Later

Chicago had chewed you up and spit you out, but somehow you were still standing. After bouncing between dead-end jobs and couch-surfing with friends, you’d finally landed an apartment in a slightly run-down complex on the South Side.

Your neighbor, Fiona, had been a godsend. She was blunt but kind, quick to offer advice or a beer when you needed one. After a few weeks of scraping by, you worked up the courage to ask her, “Do you know of any places hiring? I’m desperate.”

Fiona glanced at your rental paperwork on the counter, her brow furrowing as she read your last name. “Gallagher? Huh. Small world.”

“Why?” you asked, confused.

She shrugged. “No reason. I’ll talk to my boss at Patsy’s, see if we can get you a shift or two.”

The next thing you knew, you were standing behind the counter at Patsy’s Pies, juggling orders and trying not to drop plates. Fiona popped in occasionally, but for the most part, you were left to figure things out on your own.

Lip walked in during your second week on the job, though you didn’t notice him at first. He slid into a booth and flagged down Fiona as she passed by.

“Who’s the new waitress?” he asked, nodding toward you.

Fiona smirked. “Why? You interested?”

“Just curious,” he said, his eyes narrowing.

“She’s got your last name, by the way,” Fiona added with a laugh. “Maybe she’s family.”

Lip’s stomach dropped. “Gallagher?”

“Yep.” Fiona patted his shoulder and headed back to the kitchen, leaving him staring at you from across the room.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Building Tension

At first, Lip kept his distance. He wasn’t sure if you were the same girl he’d drunkenly married a year ago, but the thought gnawed at him. He started showing up at Patsy’s more often, sitting in your section and watching you work.

It didn’t take long for him to get protective. The way some of the male customers flirted with you made his blood boil.

“You don’t have to smile at every guy who hits on you, you know,” he muttered one day as you cleared his table.

“Excuse me?” you shot back, narrowing your eyes.

Lip shrugged, avoiding your gaze. “Just saying.”

He started sneaking you extra food during your shifts—plates of fries, slices of pie, anything to catch your attention. It was annoying and endearing in equal measure.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Accident

One rainy night, as you were walking home after a late shift, a car sped through a red light and skidded onto the sidewalk. The impact wasn’t severe, but it knocked you off your feet, and pain shot through your ankle as you landed hard on the pavement.

At the hospital, dazed and in pain, the nurse asked for your emergency contact. Without thinking, you mumbled, “Phillip Gallagher.”

When Lip showed up, out of breath and visibly worried, you blinked at him in confusion. “Why are you here?”

“You called me,” he said, sitting beside your bed. “Or… the hospital did.”

It wasn’t until later, as you lay in the hospital bed and he refused to leave your side, that the pieces started to fall into place.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, staring at him. “You’re my husband.”

Lip’s face turned red. “Yeah, uh… I think I am.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Recovery and Realizations

Lip insisted on helping you home after your discharge, his hand steady on your arm as you hobbled up the stairs to your apartment.

“You don’t have to babysit me,” you said, exasperated.

“Babysit?” Lip scoffed. “I’m your husband. Isn’t this what husbands are supposed to do?”

The word “husband” hung heavy in the air, neither of you sure how to navigate this strange, accidental bond.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Exploring the Relationship

Over the next few weeks, Lip became a constant presence in your life. He cooked dinner, helped you with errands, and even started fixing things around your apartment. It was awkward at first—both of you unsure of where you stood—but slowly, a sense of comfort began to grow.

One night, as you sat together on the couch, Lip handed you a beer and asked, “So… what now?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “But maybe we could figure it out.”

[minteacutie]

Disaster Control (1/2)

I guess I got bored and decided to revisit some old Oc's, and re-write and old fic. I hope someone enjoys reading this as much as enjoyed writing it :) Content Warning: Mess. It's not too messy but there is a bit Part Two ~ Molly was by the window, going over the order making sure all the food was there before she took it when he caught her eye. She let out a drawn-out sigh, searching the room for another waitress who could cover her, eyes landing on Alice as they shared a look. The other woman looked amused realizing. “I’ve got it, go rescue your man.” Alice chuckled, taking over, and Molly didn’t have time to argue that he wasn’t her man. She had to stop a disaster from happening. Molly snagged some paper towels from the roll, walking toward Mark as quickly and calmly as he could.  He was one of their bussers and was normally quite good at his job, but it was the height of allergy season, and the poor man was the picture of allergic misery. Both Mark’s hands were preoccupied with dishes, and it was clear now that he was out of sight of customers he was starting to lose control of his nose. Tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, as his expression grew hazy his breath hitching out of control. She took hold of the dishes he was carrying, pressing the crumpled napkin over his mouth, and now just in time for him to snap forward harshly.

“Hh’itTSCHhu’uh! gh…”  Mark snorted ticklishly, taking over the napkin from Molly sheepishly, blowing his nose. “gh…Sorry, that was disgusting.” He groaned, burying his face in his hands guiltily, but Molly just shrugged as she put the dishes aside to wash. “Just another day.” Molly said, pulling another napkin from the roll when she heard his breath catch again, passing it to him this time. “ ‘TSCHhu! Hh’itTZSCHu’uh!…gn.” She winced, watching him scrub and knead his abused nostrils. “Mark, my sweet, you are one of the hardest working people I’ve ever met, but you become a walking disaster in Spring.” Molly teased, “Did you remember to take your meds this morning?” “Uhhh…yeah, m’pretty sure it’s just a fucking awful allergy day.” Mark mumbled, snorting stuffily, bringing up the palm of his hand to scrub irritably at his eyes.

Molly chewed her lip not so sure. She remembered checking the pollen count this morning just for this very reason. It was a little high, sure, but nothing that Mark's meds shouldn’t at least be able to take the edge off of…she knew it wasn’t her business to pry. But now that Molly had gotten a good look at him, Mark was a sorry sight. His nose was flushed a brilliant red and peeling slightly from all the abuse it had taken this day, and he certainly looked like he belonged in an allergy commercial. Yet, the flush of his cheeks and his fever-bright eyes told a different story 

“Mark…sweetie, are you sure this is just allergies?” Molly asked, reaching out to touch his forehead with her hand, but he shoved it away, his breath catching again. “”’dDTSHhu! Hh’tSchhu-uh! Hh. Hhih!! Hh? hh'iTSCZUH!!” Mark sneezed heavily into his cupped hands, coughing ticklishly afterward, snuffling thickly. That last fit having rendered his nose useless.He didn’t dare move his hands away though and Molly could guess why.

Molly grabbed the whole roll of towels, sure they’d need them. Tearing one-off, she awkwardly maneuvered them between his hands and his face. She averted her gaze while he cleaned up. Molly turned back when she was sure he was finished. Hesitantly, she reached out, this time her hand wasn’t batted away, pressing her palm to his forehead. “Hmm…you do feel a little warm…” She hummed, feeling him tense slightly under her touch. Seeing Alice come into the back, she opened her mouth to say something but the other woman held up her hand. “Say no more; I’ll hold down the fort, and you take care of lover boy over there.” Alice grinned as Molly glowered at her but said nothing as she practically dragged Mark to their breakroom. ~ The word Breakroom was a stretch when referring to the closet-sized room containing a folding table and a beaten-up loveseat that had seen better days. When they got there, Molly immediately sat Mark on the loveseat before going to check the cabinets for something useful. She’s almost sure she remembered seeing a first aid kit in one of them. Mark closed his eyes, slumping back against the loveseat, slowly losing steam now that he wasn’t on his feet. “Ah hah!” Molly exclaimed triumphantly as Mark cracked open an eye, watching as she carried over a digital thermometer. “Open.” She instructed, and he didn’t have the energy to argue, letting her slide the cool plastic underneath his tongue. He winced a little when it beeped shrilly. She removed it, squinting at the numbers on the screen, mumbling. It was one hundred and one on the dot, and she knew it was grounds to send him home, but Molly knew that Mark walked to work that morning to save on gas. There was no way she was going to let him walk home, the walk here had nearly done him in this morning, leaving him breathless, sneezing, and wheezing. “Okay, here’s how we’re gonna do this…”Molly started, looking at her watch, “I’ve got about an hour left in my shift, you are going to stay back here and relax until then so I can drive you home.” Mark’s face flushed an even darker shade of red with shame. “You dod’t have to to do thad, ‘Bolly…”He protested as she shook her head, cutting him off. “Nope, there’s no way in hell I’m letting you walk home in the height of spring, sporting a fever, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.” Molly grinned. Mark seemed a bit taken aback by this but sighed, succumbing to his fate. “I guess, there’s worse thiggs thad being stuck with a pretty girl.” He said, the words tumbling from his mouth before he could take them back. They stared at each other. Molly’s face flushed bright pink before she opened her mouth to say something. Floundering a bit, she let it snap shut when Alice peeked in, letting her know she was in desperate need of a second set of hands.

So, instead, she disappeared back out onto the floor. ~ Mark laid back with his fac buried in his hand feeling like screaming. “I cad thigk of worse thiggs thad being stuck with a pretty girl.” He said the words over again, groaning as they sounded even worse than before. “Who say thiggs like thad!?” He couldn’t help himself though. 

Whenever he thought of Molly, it felt like his brain shut off. She was just so, confident and smart and pretty… “AGH! Stop thigking you giadt dork!” He shouted at an empty room. The door creaked, and his eyes darted over to it in horror. Alice cackled when she saw his expression. “Calm lover boy, it’s just me,” She told him, leaning against a wall,” so please don’t mind me, continue your little freak-out session.”

“Ared’t you supposed to be out on the floor?” Mark glowered at her, though he wasn’t sure how effective it was since he was just so…drippy. “I’m on break.” Alice shrugged, “You’re girlfriend asked if, I’d come check on you.” “She’s dot by girlfriedd.” Mark shot back irritably. “She could be if you’d actually grow a pair and ask her out.” Alice shot back, and Mark rolled his eyes. “Id’s nod like that…”He mumbled, laying down on the too-small loveseat, folding his lanky limbs uncomfortably to fit. Draping an arm over his eyes to block out the light.

“Come on she totally likes you, has to if she’s willing to put up with your sick sneezy ass for the half-hour car ride back to your house.” Alice told him, sitting backward in one of the folding chairs from the table. Mark couldn’t help the hopeful little spark in his chest. He lifted his arm just enough to peer out at her with his pathetic puppy eyes. “You really thigk so?” He asked hesitantly, and Alice groaned loudly. 

“Of course I do! The way you two keep making goo-goo eyes at each other makes me nauseous!” She groused, getting up. “Anyway, I’ve gotta get back, try not to drown in your snot.”

Alice waved before going back out.

[hazza-bear-care]

Friday Night Grind

Eddie and Y/N have a weekly ritual. Every Friday, they eat, drink, smoke, and watch TV. What happens when their ritual adds another aspect?

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut, grinding, fingering, p in v sex, protected sex, oral (f receiving) marijuana usage, swearing, pet names (princess, baby, sweetheart), dirty talk, aftercare, daddy kink, squirting. Let me know if I missed anything!

~~~~~~~~

October had blown in with a flurry of leaves, the anticipation of Halloween wrapping the town of Hawkins, Indiana in an air of excitement. The Hawkins High football team was hosting their yearly Fall Tailgate, attempting to rouse some hope of their impending victory against their rival team. The smell of hot apple cider enveloped students and staff alike, as cheers and ringing bells echoed around the guests playing games and winning prizes.

Manning her Home Economics booth, Y/N was responsible for dishing up freshly baked goods her class had work tirelessly to prepare for this tailgate.

"One cinnamon roll, please! And one for the pretty lady behind the booth." Eddie Munson stood on the other side of the table, left hand shoved into the pocket on his denim Dio vest, right extended with two crumpled up dollar bills. Y/N took his money with a smile, wrapping up a cinnamon roll in some parchment paper and passing it off to Eddie before taking one for herself.

"Thank you, Eddie. I haven't eaten very much today and these cinnamon rolls have been calling my name since they came out of the oven yesterday in class." With a shared smile, Y/N bit into her sweet confection and moaned at the flavor bursting over her tongue.

"May I steal you, or are you too busy to walk with me?" Eddie asked, tucking his own cinnamon roll into the pocket of his vest.

"Um, Elizabeth, could you take over please? I'll be back in ten minutes."

"Take your time, Y/N! The cinnamon rolls are the last of what we have, and with how busy we've been, we might close early. I can't wait, that apple cider has been beckoning since they started up!" Elizabeth quickly shooed Y/N out from behind the booth, Eddie holding out his arm for her to take as they strolled by booths overflowing with goodies, games, and friends.

"Well, that was easy. Are we still on for tonight?" Eddie mused, stealing a glance at the girl on his arm. Y/N took another bite of her cinnamon roll, returning Eddie's gaze.

"What, you don't want to cheer on this school's dumb football team to another dumb victory?" Y/N asked sarcastically, already knowing Eddie's answer.

"You know what? I really don't. It seems like you don't either." Eddie responded with a chuckle.

"No, I don't. I volunteered to run the booth for Home Ec, that's about it. So, I'd say yes, Eddie. We're still on for tonight. Anything in particular you want to do, or is it the same Friday night grind?" Yet another bite was shoved in her mouth as she and Eddie stopped to watch Mike's little sister, Holly, attempted the ring toss. Three rings later, everyone cheered as Holly was given a stuffed tiger as her prize. Eddie nodded to Nancy and patted Mike on the back as he and Y/N continued walking.

"I was thinking the same thing we usually do; weed, pizza, movie. What do you say to a horror movie marathon?" Y/N pondered the question as she chewed the last of her cinnamon roll, the smell of apple cider growing stronger as the pair approached the booth.

"Sounds like a plan, Munson. Anything I need to bring? Two, please." Y/N asked, ordering a cider for both her and Eddie. With a playful smack to her hand, Eddie silently told Y/N to put her money away as he pulled out two more crumpled bills from his pocket, paying for the cider.

"Since your booth would likely be closed by the time we get back, would you mind picking up some tapes?" Eddie asked sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Sure! No worries, Eds. Just know that there will be no bitching or complaining about the movies I bring, got it?"

"Yes, ma'am." Eddie said with a mock salute and a smile. The pair sipped on the cider as they approached the haphazard hay bale maze the school had set up. They were only able to afford enough for a small maze, the walls only two bales high. With a knowing look, Eddie and Y/N entered, the way out easily seen by Eddie's tall stature. They were out in a record five minutes, escorting a few lost elementary school students along the way.

True to Elizabeth's word, the booth was closed by the time Eddie and Y/N had made their way back to it. Y/N had convinced Eddie to help tear down the table and sign, delicately balancing trays and the table as they walked towards the school to put everything away.

"Eddie, the least I can do is carry the trays. You're going to break something." Y/N offered once again, giggling to herself as Eddie shook her off.

"No. A lady should never carry anything when a gentleman is present. I will, however, allow you to open the door." Eddie argued, propping the table up against his leg for a break as Y/N opened the door.

"Wow, such responsibility you give me, Sir Munson."

"Don't get used to it, Princess. I'll be your chivalrous knight again soon."

~~~~~~~~

Eight o'clock rolled around quickly after Eddie dropped Y/N off at home after the tailgate. After a brief dinner with her family, she sped quickly to Family Video to rent some movies for her and Eddie to mock.

She grabbed as many horror movies as she could carry before plopping them on the counter in front of Steve and Robin.

"You and Eddie having another movie night, this week?" Robin asked as she began typing the titles of the movies under Y/N's account.

"Indeed, we are." Y/N replied, smiling at the questioning look Steve shot at her from over Robin's shoulder while he glanced at the throng of movies Y/N was renting.

"You're going to force Eddie to sit through 'Little Shop of Horrors'?" Steve asked.

"Yes, Steve. Do you have a problem with that?"

"He's going to hate it." Steve remarked with a shrug.

"That's the plan, Harrington." The smile on Y/N's face was bright and hopeful as Robin returned the sentiment, banging on the computer keyboard as she finished typing in the movies.

"$30 even. Have you ever, I don't know, thought about inviting Steve and me to these little get togethers you and Eddie have every week?" Robin asked, a slightly sour tone to her voice as she bagged up the movies.

"Oh. Well, Eddie and I have our traditions, of course. I'll ask him about it for next week, okay?" Y/N promised, zipping out of Family Video before her other friends could protest.

"They're never going to invite us. Eddie's been crushing on Y/N forever." Steve told Robin before turning his attention back to 'Fast Times' playing on the small TV on the counter.

"I know." Robin ceded.

The trip to Eddie's trailer was one Y/N knew like the back of her hand. She could almost drive there with her eyes closed, if it were possible.

Eddie was standing on the porch as Y/N pulled up, hurrying to open her car door and retrieve the bag of movies she had brought before escorting her inside the warmth of his trailer.

"Hey, what would you say to Steve and Robin joining us next week?" Y/N asked as she made herself comfortable on Eddie's couch, popping open a can of New Coke and taking a swig as Eddie fished through the stack of tapes.

"I'd say let me think about it. I like having these moments with you. Away from freshman and Gareth, ya know?" Eddie scoffed at the sight of "Little Shop of Horrors" before turning around and popping it into the VCR under the TV.

"I understand. Robin asked, so I figured I'd relay the question."

"She doesn't spend enough time with Harrington at work that she needs to drag him out here?" Eddie asked, making himself comfortable next to Y/N as the credits started rolling for the movie.

"I think she was asking because she's our friend and wants to be included. Your point could stand for us as well: we don't spend enough time together playing Dungeons & Dragons? We needed to start a movie night?"

"I can't believe you like that shit." Eddie said, gesturing to the can of Coke perched dangerously on the arm of the sofa. "Old Coke tastes so much better and you know it."

"I agree, but you can't find anything else in the stores anymore. New Coke is all the rage, Eds. Lucas likes it." Y/N countered, hoping the fact that Lucas liking the new formula would help prove her point.

"Sinclair likes shooting balls into laundry baskets, Y/N. He's not exactly a trustworthy source." Rick Moranis' voice flowed around them as he sang about the dreary atmosphere of living on Skid Row, the argument lost to the tone of melancholy in his voice.

"I wonder if this is where Skid Row got their name." Y/N thought out loud, almost spitting Coke out of her nose at the horrified look on Eddie's face.

"The town, I would imagine, not this cheesy ass song."

~~~~~~~~~~

Hours later, almost every movie Y/N had brought over had been watched, the pair rounding off their night with "Ghostbusters" and a few joints.

"Seriously, Y/N how many times have you watched this movie? You know everything Bill Murray is going to say before he says it!" Eddie whined, puffing on the roach of his joint before putting it out in the ashtray on the coffee table.

"What can I say, Munson, I know a good movie when I see one." Y/N coughed on her roach, the smoke burning her throat as she inhaled before passing it off to Eddie to finish. He took the joint with a chuckled as he finished the joint with one final hint, once again reaching for the ashtray in front of him.

As Peter Venkman ran away from the slime ghost chasing him through the hallway of a hotel, Eddie's attention was only on Y/N, memorizing her face as if he'd never see her again. Her face lit up as she laughed at Ray's reaction to Venkman getting slimed, the creases in her eyes prominent. The dimple on her cheek sunk deep into her face, and Eddie couldn't resist poking it.

Y/N shot Eddie a look, which caused him to lean back in surrender. Once more he snuck a look at Y/N, trailing his hand across her shoulders and down her arm, smirking at the goosebumps that popped up on her skin. A suddenly evil idea popped into Eddie's head as he jabbed a finger into Y/N's ribs, a squeal leaving her as she jumped in surprise. In a flash, Eddie had pinned Y/N to the couch, tickling her with no mercy as she screamed for him to stop.

"How can I stop when your laugh is so pretty?" Eddie asked, puppy dog eyes staring deeply into hers. While he was distracted by her beauty, Y/N took advantage and pushed Eddie up, straddling his lap and tickling his sides in return. Eddie released a high-pitched squeal of his own as Y/N poked him in a particularly ticklish spot, the girl on his lap laughing hard at the noise.

"What was that? Is the big, bad, Eddie Munson ticklish?" Y/N teased, pushing her fingers into the same spot, once more emitting a girlish scream from Eddie. She continued her assault for another minute, laughing along with Eddie at his reactions before her hands were abruptly ripped away and locked against Eddie's chest.

"Yes, the big, bad, Eddie is ticklish. That was a low blow, Princess." Eddie argued, still holding Y/N's hands in his against his chest.

"You started it!" Y/N countered, eyes hazy with the weed coursing through her veins.

"Yeah, well I'm finishing it." Eddie finalized, taking a better look at the girl perched in his lap. His brown eyes traced her features, and Y/N started to feel self-conscious under Eddie's scrutinizing gaze. A beat passed of them just staring at each other, before Eddie once again took advantage of Y/N and started tickling her again, ignoring her pleas to stop.

The position Y/N was sitting in made it hard for Eddie to keep his cool as she squirmed in his lap, his fingers continuing to jab into her ribs to keep the peals of laughter coming from her chest. One particular poke made Y/N jump, the sudden feeling of Eddie's erection digging into her clothed core. The pair paused, both breathless due to how much they were laughing just a few seconds earlier.

"Eddie.... Is that a lighter in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" Y/N ground down onto his dick once more, watching as Eddie threw his head back under her.

"I'm just happy to see you, Princess. Fuck if you keep doing that, I'll pin you to this couch and make you squeal for a different reason." Eddie moaned again as Y/N continued to grind on him, his erection growing harder under her.

"Is that a threat, or a promise?" Y/N asked as she ground once more, having full control of the situation since her hands were still being pressed to Eddie's chest.

"If you wanted to fuck, all you had to do was ask, Princess." Eddie groaned, inching his face closer to Y/N's as her hips continued to rock against his. She whimpered as Eddie purposely thrusted to give her more friction, throwing caution to the wind as he leaned up and planted a heated kiss to her mouth. Y/N wrenched her hands out of Eddie's grasp and placed them on his cheeks. pulling him ever closer.

Eddie slid his tongue past Y/N's teeth, groaning in the back of his throat as she allowed his tongue to battle with hers. She took it one step further by biting his bottom lip and sucking it into her mouth. Eddie's eyes rolled in the back of his head, the combination of her sucking on his lip and grinding onto his dick almost overwhelming him. He took the situation into his own hands as he cupped her ass, lifting her into his arms and carrying her to his room, his lips never leaving hers in the process. He threw Y/N onto the bed, chasing her lips with his once more as he kissed her ferociously. His lips left hers as he trailed across her jawline and down her neck, smirking as she squealed once he reached her sweet spot. He sucked a hickey onto her neck, his tongue soothing the pain he had left as he descended further.

Eddie's hands snuck up under her shirt, breaking away from her only to rip it and her bra off before attacking one of her nipples with his mouth, rolling the other between two of his fingers. Her hands wrapped themselves in Eddie's wild curls, arching her back to get Eddie closer to her body. His tongue lashed wildly against her pebbled peak, groaning against it as Y/N tugged at his hair. Eddie released her nipple with a pop before moving to the other, pinching once again and smirking at her moan.

"Fuck, Eddie. More, please!" Y/N whined, desperately bucking her hips in a futile attempt for attention.

"You want more, sweetheart? I can give you more, especially since you asked so nicely." Eddie continued to kiss down her body, skin feeling soft under his plush lips. He unbuttoned her jeans with ease, shoving them down to her ankles where she hurriedly kicked them to the floor. Eddie sunk in between her legs, marveling at the wet patch currently growing across the blue cotton of her panties. Eddie smirked, placing a kiss to her folds before moving her panties aside and using two of his fingers to spread her open.

"You're already so wet for me, baby. All this for me?" Y/N nodded, covering her blushing face with her hands as Eddie chuckled, pulling away for a moment to remove the rings on his hands before settling back between Y/N's thighs. He spread her puffy lips open once more and licked a broad stripe over her pussy, relishing in the way she moaned above him, dropping her hands to his hair instantly.

Eddie's tongue flicked her clit as he shook his head from side to side, causing Y/N to moan loudly as she threw her head back into Eddie's pillows. He slid one of his fingers deep inside her slick core, moaning against her as she clenched at the intrusion. His lips wrapped around her clit, sucking hard as he pumped his finger in and out of her at a brisk pace, adding another and curling them up, hitting the sweet spot inside her that made her toes curl.

"Fuck, Eddie! Oh my God, it feels so good!" Y/N yelled, pulling Eddie's hair to get him closer as she felt her orgasm begin to bubble up inside her. He added a third finger, continuing his assault on her slick pussy as he relentlessly pounded into her. Y/N clenched around his fingers once more as her orgasm quickly took over, soaking Eddie's face in her juices as she came hard around his fingers. He coaxed her through her first orgasm, not leaving her core until she weakly pushed his head away from her fluttering pussy. He crawled up and kissed her deeply, holding his soaked fingers against her lips, shoving them into her mouth as she sucked her arousal off his digits. Once he pulled away, Eddie removed his pants and boxers as he waltzed over to his nightstand and tore it open. He snatched a foil pack before turning back towards Y/N as he rolled the condom over his throbbing cock and pumping a few times.

Y/N felt her mouth water as she watched Eddie, licking her lips in anticipation. Eddie chuckled as he stalked back over to the bed.

"What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?" Eddie asked, genuinely caring for her well-being while he positioned himself over her.

"I want you to fuck me, Eddie. Please, I need you." Y/N's pussy clenched in anticipation as Eddie smiled, placing another kiss on her lips.

"Yeah, baby? You need me to fill you up with my cock, is that it?" Eddie's words made Y/N moan, throwing her head back and giving Eddie full access to her neck. He peppered kisses over the expanse of skin, once more sucking another bruise onto her neck before pulling her into a kiss, tongue slipping easily into her waiting mouth. While Y/N sucked on his tongue, Eddie positioned his tip at her entrance, gathering some of her slick onto the condom before penetrating her core.

Y/N threw her head back as she moaned at the intrusion, her pussy clenching around Eddie's dick as he continued to stretch her open inch by inch. He bottomed out, staring at the blissful look stretching across Y/N's face as she adjusted to Eddie's length inside her. Y/N tapped Eddie on the shoulder in a silent bid to get him to move, fingernails digging into his biceps as he thrusted deep inside her.

"Fuck, Princess. Look at you, taking my big cock so well. Can you feel how deep I am, sweetheart?" Eddie asked, taking one of Y/N's hands from his arms and pressing it to the bottom of her belly, moaning in unison with her as he thrusted hard into her.

"Oh my God, harder, please." Y/N begged, wrapping her legs around Eddie's waist as he buried himself deeper into her sopping wet core. Eddie picked up his pace, the sound of slapping skin echoing in the room around them. His fingers brushed against her clit and she clenched around him. He could tell he wouldn't last long if she continued squeezing around him, but he was adamant to make her finish before he did.

"Feel good, baby?" Eddie asked, pressing a kiss to Y/N's cheek as she nodded, jaw dropped to her chest as her sweet noises wrapped around him.

"Fuck, Daddy, don't stop!" Y/N screamed, the name slipping past her lips before she could stop it. Eddie paused above her, his chocolate eyes boring deeply into hers as she blushed. In a flash Eddie had pulled out of Y/N and flipped her over onto her belly, wrenching her hips up so her ass was in the air. A smack rippled against her skin as Eddie spanked her and a loud moan escaped her lips. He lined himself up to her entrance before thrusting in hard, a deeper angle overwhelming the pair tangled in the bed sheets.

"Oh shit, baby. You feel so good wrapped around Daddy's cock. You're doing so weel for me, sweetheart. Fuck, I'm addicted to you." Eddie moaned, another smack meeting Y/N's ass. Her toes curled as Eddie continued burying stroke after stroke deep insider her pussy, the head of his cock brushing her g-spot in a delicious rhythm.

Y/N was babbling, a mindless string of moans and "Daddy's" falling past her lips as her face was buried deeper into Eddie's pillows. She leaned back, meeting Eddie's thrusts, causing her ass to jiggle and shake due to the impact.

"Look at my cock-drunk little Princess. Fuck, you're close, huh? I can feel it, your pussy feels so good." Eddie spanked Y/N once again, a bright red hand print gazing back at him as he pulled away, wrapping his arm around her waist and coming in contact with her clit and rubbing furiously. Y/N's back arched as she shattered around Eddie's cock, her orgasm settling deep in her bones as she squirted, her arousal splashing against Eddie's thighs and dripping to the bed sheets below.

Eddie growled deep in his throat as one more powerful thrust led him to his own orgasm, pumping his cum into the condom. When he pulled out, Eddie chuckled at how Y/N whined at the loss of contact keeping her tethered to him, her posture sagging against the mattress. Eddie kissed her shoulder before pulling himself away completely, going to the bathroom and disposing of the condom while dampening a rag to clean Y/N.

Y/N had rolled onto her side, still panting after her mind-blowing orgasm rocked her to her core. Eddie approached the bed, gently spreading her legs as he dragged the cool cloth down her sweat soaked skin, sopping up every drop of her arousal. She winced as Eddie swiped the rag against her puffy pussy, cleaning her as gently as he could.

"Are you okay?" Eddie whispered as he threw the rag somewhere behind him, wrapping Y/N in his arms and pulling her into his chest. Y/N pressed a kiss to Eddie's chest before trailing up his neck and pecking his lips.

"I'm amazing, Eddie. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Princess. I didn't know you could squirt, did you?" Eddie commented, laughing softly as Y/N buried her face in his neck out of embarrassment.

"No, I didn't. I guess you bring that out of me, same with the Daddy thing." Eddie wrapped his arms tighter around Y/N's body as she nuzzled deeper into his skin, willing herself to absorb into him to escape this moment.

"It was hot. Both of it, all of it, sweetheart. Fuck, that was amazing. I'm never gonna stop thinking about you, Y/N." Eddie's admission made her heart skip a beat as she pulled away to look at him, love and adoration present in his lust-blown pupils. His eyes flickered to her lips for a second before he connected them once more, but this kiss was different. This kiss sent fireworks through their bodies, the sparks sizzling under their skin. Eddie poured everything he was feeling into her mouth, his fingers gently wrapping in her hair as he pulled her impossibly closer.

When they separated, breathless and desperate for air, the silence around them was comfortable, but thick.

"I think we have a new tradition, Munson." Y/N spoke first, breaking the silence and playing with the damp curls that had fallen over Eddie's shoulder.

"That we do, Princess. I thought about it; Steve and Robin are never invited to movie night as long as that keeps happening." Y/N giggled, pushing her lips to his again, rolling Eddie onto his back as she straddled his hips once more, continuing to make out with the boy under her.

"Eddie, I think I'm in love with you." Y/N whispered as she pulled away from the kiss.

"Yeah? Well I know I'm in love with you, sweetheart." Eddie's face broke out into a toothy grin, as did Y/N's. Eddie reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, poking her dimple as he pulled Y/N into a hug. They remained tangled in each other's embrace for the rest of the night, their movie night thrown to the wind. As they laid in bed, another blunt being passed between them, they both couldn't wait until next Friday.

[sailorsenshishitposter]

Broly gets a job at the Krusty Krab

Paragus entered the bedroom and began to shake his son.

"What is it, old man?"

"We're out of money Broly. You need to get a job."

The younger sayian groaned. "Can't the slaves just do it?"

"And who do you suppose will build the Castle if the Shamoians are busy?"

"It's not like they're doing that good of a job anyway. I would beat them for it but they would just enjoy that."

"We can kinkshame them later son, you must acquire some money! Do you have any idea just how difficult it is to inject lorazepam into your tiara!?"

"Wait, what-?"

Before he could continue, Paragus used the ring to subdue his son. Unfortunately the medicine worked a little too well, as Broly was now unconscious and foaming at the mouth. His father then placed him on his side.

"It's times like these that make me wish for Freeza to just finish the job and put me out of my misery..."

----------

Eventually Broly woke up.

"What time is it? Oh yeah, I forgot that dad's too cheap to buy a clock."

He then saw a note on the night stand.

"Dear son, yadda, yadda, we need money, blah, blah, blah, if you don't comply then I'm going to burn your anime collection-"

Broly crumpled up the note, screamed and then threw it, causing it to break part of the wall.

"FINE DAD, YOU WIN!" and then he flew off into the sky while the narrator screamed "GO BROLY, GO, GO!"

----------

"What do I do? Every place I visit seems to reject me. Even Wall Mart won't hire me, because of my "mEnTaL hEaLtH" issues! There's always the male stripper option but I can't do it! Father knows I'm waiting for my marriage to the Princess and I can't betray her like that. Maybe if I prove that I can hold down a job then she'll remove the restraining order."

His stomach then began to growl. "Oh, it's a restaurant. I guess I could get something to eat."

Broly then waltzed inside to the Krusty Krab. How can he breathe underwater you ask? He doesn't. This is the same guy who slept in a slab of ice. If anything, he's only losing more brain cells when not inhaling oxygen.

Squidward was reading a magazine when a shadow started looming over him. He looked up to see a human that was over 6 ft tall. Oh, so it was going to be one of "those" days. "May I help you?" The squid said as unenthusiastically as possible.

Unfortunately for the Broccoli boy, his anxiety started kicking in. He panicked and became the legendary super sayian. He shoved his fist out, pulling Squidward up by the neck. "I ... need... job..."

"Look, I'll talk to my boss Mr. Caveman, just let me down!"

Broly then released his grip, causing the squid to fall face first. Squidward started muttering something about "not being payed enough for this job" while he scurried away.

"Mr. Squidward told me there was a fella lookin' for a job but I didn't expect him to be such a joker, argh, argh, argh!"

"What are you talking about Mr. Krabs?"

"Don't take me for a fool, you even put poor ol' Spongebob in yer prank."

"... Are you trying to tell me that you believe this man is Spongebob?..."

"Aye me boy. Is there a problem?"

"How do I put this Mr. Krabs. Are you completely INSANE!?"

"If that ain't Spongebob, why his hair be yellow?"

"Does Spongebob even have hair? What am I saying, this doesn't matter right now! Alright, Mr. Krabs, if this is Spongebob, then who's behind the grill?"

Squidward smug face only turned into horrified disbelief once he turned around and realized that no one was making patties.

"How could this have happened! He never leaves work-"

Loud chewing sounds could then be heard.

"OH MY GOD, HE ATE SPONGEBOB!"

Broly then began to wipe the blood off his face. "That creature could have used some salt."

Squidward motioned to the sayian but his plea fell on deaf ears. "Alright boys, you've had yer fun, now it's time to get back to work and get me some more of that sweet money!"

Their boss then went back to bathe in coins Scrouge McDuck style. "Well, I guess you got the job. Now if you don't mind me, I'll be mentally checking out."

Broly then went to his workstation. "I've never cooked before. How do they expect me to do this?"

Just then a television came out from the wall. "The Krusty Krab Training video?"

----------

30 minutes later

"But why did they choose P.O.O.P. as the acronym?"

Suddenly there was a ding. "Okay, "Spongebob". I need you to make a batch of krabby patties pronto!"

Broly nodded and then went over the ingredients. Buns, meat, ketchup, sauce, lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, onions and pickles. He sighed in relief when he knew he wouldn't need to use any carrots. "Such a weak vegetable!"

He then placed all the meat on the grill and fried it with his ki. When all that did was turn the food into ash, he started pounding his fists on the surface, oblivious to the third degree burns his skin was now getting.

Squidward peeked back for a second. "I'll be right back..."

Yelling could now be heard. Squidward then returned. "Your food will be here momentarily!"

Back in the kitchen, Broly began to fiddle with the nobs. "How was I supposed to know that the grill wasn't turned on!?"

He then placed a slice of meat down and began watching it start to sizzle. "Its been twenty minutes, so why does it still look pink?"

A groan could be heard from the window. "You're supposed to flip it over!"

Flip it over? What could that mean? Maybe it was time to finally use his spatula. Broly then lifted the meat up and turned it over.

"Why is it black?"

A bright green explosion could then be seen in the sky. Patrick scratched his head. He knew what fireworks were but are they supposed to happen during the daytime?

----------

2 hours later

After ruining over half of the produce, Broly had finally started to get the hang of things. It was actually a great thing for Squidward because all the customers kept being driven away. That is until the final order for the day came up.

"Alright newbie, this guy is the only one who hasn't left yet and we can't go home until he leaves. He wants you to make him one of everything!"

It took another three hours but he somehow did it. Broly was so proud of himself that he was going to personally hand deliver the food. As he carried the tray, he tripped on a left over carrot (how did that get there?) and all of the food was sent flying.

The food hit the floor and poor Mr "my power is maximum" was about to cry harder than that time when he was a baby (being stabbed as an infant was a close second to his current situation). Just then the customer spoke up.

"Hey, it's okay. That's why there's a five second rule. The stranger held his hand out and just as Broly was about to take it, he noticed something.

"... Kakarot...!"

"Just call me Goku!" and then the smaller sayian got down on the ground and vored all the burgers.

"Cell taught me that one. By the way, do I know you from somewhere?"

It was too late now. His PTSD had been triggered. "KAKAROT!'

The Krusty Krab then exploded.

----------

"Welcome home son. I know how difficult it was for you to land a job so I've decide to celebrate!"

Broly was drained but managed to give a small smile. "That sounds nice actually. What do you have in mind?"

"Well I went out and bought you a cake. I know how every young boy needs his vegetables so I got you some carrot cake-"

Broly immediately shoved the dish into his father's face.

His son went to bed and Paragus thought "Oh well, more for me anyway!"

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Can't Have One Without the Other 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, marital troubles, body insecurity, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Summary: your marriage is on the rocks.

Note: I asked about husbands and all your hoes said Bucky (with a few Sy’s in the middle). I wasn’t intending on a whole series but I thnk it would be fun to have husband!Bucky turn a bit desperate.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You bring Bucky his dinner. He's in the front room watching a show on military tanks. As you set his plate on the low coffee table, he clears his throat.

"Those old Shermans used to blow their tops like a cork. Useless," he snickers and reaches for the accompanying beer. "Thanks."

"No problem. Hope it's good," you back up.

You go back to the kitchen and tidy up what's left. You pack away the extra potatoes and beans. You only made one steak. He calls your name.

"Yeah," you look down the hall into the front room.

"You gonna join me? Wife?" He adds the last word like a reprimand.

"Uh, yeah, one sec," you retreat and grab a glass from the cupboard. You fill it with water and mix in some electrolytes.

You go out and sit next to him on the couch. He leans over the coffee table as he cuts into the steak. Medium rare to his liking. You sip your water as he shoves a hunk in his mouth and looks at you. He gulps and frowns.

"You're not having any?" He snarls.

"I'm not very hungry. That cappuccino was sugary," you assure him and turn the glass in your hands.

"You should have more than that," he says.

"Sorry, I--"

"Christ, you don't gotta be sorry. Making me feel like the bad guy again. Making me dinner, sitting there with water, apologising. I'm just fucking concerned since you're my wife," he huffs and scoops up potatoes onto his fork. A speck falls to the floor. "Shit," he looks down.

"Let me get you a napkin."

You place the glass on a coaster and get up. You scurry out to grab a paper towel and return. You lay it next to his plate as he chews. He wipes up the potato and crumples the strip of towel.

"I mean, I don't think I was wrong," he says through a mouthful, stopping to swallow. "Won't let me touch you. Makes a guy feel a kind of way."

"Bucky," you look down. "It's not you. I don't want to argue about this anymore."

"I don't either. I'm just trying to figure you out."

"Figure me out?" You utter.

"Yeah, I'm trying to recognise you. My own wife," he shakes his head. "You're not the same girl I married."

You wince and shrink down, "no, I don't think I am," you agree. "I'm fat and I'm lazy." You stand up and take your water, "and I'm ruining your supper."

You march out, tense and tortured. You don't look back as you head upstairs. You believe every word you said. He doesn't deny them either.

You sit on the edge of the bed and drink the water. You're hungry. Mostly because you're emotional. When you feel lonely, sad, angry, you just want to eat. You drain the glass and leave it on the nightstand. 

You stop yourself from taking off your rings. You get up and change into striped pajama pants that used to fit too loose and a tee shirt that hugs your middle. You hide under the blankets and watch the window as the night sets in.

You can hear him downstairs. He rinses off his plate. You should've gone back down to do that. He'll probably be sure to tell you so.

You roll over so you can't see the door. You're too upset to sleep. You're stuck in a vortex of dread and self-hatred.

You open your eyes as you hear him climbing the stairs. The light flicks on as he enters. He moves softly through the space. You hear a drawer and him sifitng around. When he doesn't tuck in next to you, you're sure he's about to go sleep on the couch.

"Hey, doll," he tugs the blanket by your foot, "wanna do something for me?"

Doll? When's the last time he called you that? You brace yourself and sit up. You look at him. He holds up black lace.

"Will you put this on for me?"

You stare at him dumbly. Huh?

"Bucky," you groan.

"Come on," he coaxes, "these are my favourite. You know that."

You feel like you could crumble into dust just looking at the lingerie. Still, it's not worth the fight. You're going to feel bad either way.

"Sure," you get up and walk along the bed. You look him in the face. You take in his square jaw, his cheekbones, the shadow of stubble, his bold blue eyes. He is still unbelievably handsome. "Bucky," your cheeks pinch. "I miss you."

"I'm back, baby," he smirks.

You almost drop your shoulders. That's not what you mean. You exhale and smile. "I know."

You go into the bathroom and shut the door. You switch out your pajamas for the lace. You're mortified at how your belly pudges up over the underwear. Your tits are spilling out of the bra too.

You refuse to acknowledge the mirror. You stand facing the door. A gentle breeze could knock you over.

"Doll?" Bucky calls to you.

You flinch and make yourself move. You turn the handle and your vision hazes. You open the door and step through. You don't see him as you come out.

He whistles, "see, that's what I missed."

You shake the fog and look at him. He's naked. He might have a bit extra too but he's still in good shape.

"Come here, baby," he waves you closer with both hands. "You didn't think earlier was everything."

You stare at him. It's a whirlwind. One minute he's mad, the next he's cooing and coaxing. You don't know that he really wants you, only what's accessible.

You go to him and he grabs your hips. You instinctively grab his hands. You waver as he pushes his thumbs into your soft flesh.

"Hey, why so shy?" He looks up at you. "You're acting like it's our first time." He brings you into his lap. You can't resist. You're much too weak, more than physically. "Wasn't that spectacular, huh?"

"Bucky," you look away bashfully. You remember. You were shy because it wasn't where you imagined it. Hiding in a closet at one of Stark's stupid parties.

"You didn't used to be so afraid of being bad," he falls back and takes your hands, putting them on his chest. "Why don't you be bad for me, baby?"

You stare down at him and bite your lip. He's still your husband. He's still somewhere deep in your heart. You bat your lashes.

"Can I turn off the light?" You ask.

[blooms-in-april]

The front door slams open, the wreath swinging and everyone looks up. A man steps in.

“Jaskier!” Ciri cries. The little girl tears herself free from her father’s arms, making grabby hands at the newcomer’s blue coat. Geralt looks as if he’s taken too large a bite out of a pie and gotten it lodged in his throat.

“Your highness!” Jaskier says, doffing his hat and swinging his lute off his shoulder. He sweeps past both Geralt and Lambert without a glance, crouching to his knees at Ciri’s level. His calloused fingers strum a jaunty tune to the rhyme of Ciri’s excited bouncing.

“Princess Cirilla! An honor to be at your service.” He makes a dramatic bow, letting her paw at his feathered hat, his hair, his beard.

“I’m a lion, Jaskier!” she says, pointing a grubby finger at her drawn on whiskers and nose.

“And so you are,” he says, as if the ridiculous declarations of children were the most obvious and sensible things in the world. “Princess Ciri, the Lion Cub of Cintra! I’ll have to write a song about that.”

“A song!” Ciri’s eyes grow wide. Jaskier smiles.

“At least! Perhaps I can get a whole song cycle out of it, how does that sound?”

“Can I have my sword in it?”

“You can have two swords in it, if you want. Three swords. As many swords as you like!”

Ciri squeals and leaps into his arms, his arms circling her gently, careful not to crush her princess dress. Lambert watches something in Geralt’s face crumple quietly.

“Jaskier.” Geralt says, and Jaskier looks at him from over Ciri’s shoulder.

“Geralt.” he responds cautiously, in a tone Lambert has never heard from him before. In all the years he’s watched the bard trail in his brother's wake, singing praises, never once has he heard a cautious word from him. And yet, here it is. “How are you, lately?”

“I-” and Lambert would laugh, watching Geralt chew and swallow his words rather than spit them out, if it didn’t make something hard lodge in his own throat. “I’m- glad you could make it.”

Jaskier waits, for a beat, two, as if expecting something more. Geralt says nothing.

Jaskier smiles, a thin wan little thing. “Well, I could hardly miss it, could I? Being properly invited after some many years of simply crashing the thing,” he says lightly, looking around at the blinking lights, the molting tree, the tinsel worn after being reused year after year. “You’d think it’d be different, after it all, but it seems everything is just the same as always.” There is a quick sharp glance, like broken glass.

Geralt opens his mouth, pauses, shuts it. Opens, and shuts again.

Jaskier turns back to Ciri and her excited song suggestions as if they are the only two people in the world, letting her lead him off into the corner to inspect the presents under the tree. Geralt sits stupidly on the carpet, as if he’s been shoved through a portal and left nauseous on the other side, with no idea of where he is and how to get back.

Now Lambert does laugh, a short sharp bark of a thing.“What the fuck was that?”

Geralt says nothing, only heaves himself up and stalks into the kitchen without a word.

Excerpt from my angsty modern AU Geraskier Lambden Lamskier fic. Link below 👇

[bitchinbarzal]

The First Fight | Evie & Eden

It started over a plastic crown.

Joey didn’t even see it happen. One minute, Evie was giving a full-blown concert in the living room—complete with microphone, dramatic pauses, and outfit changes—and the next?

Screaming.

Wailing.

Tiny stomping feet.

“DAAAADYYYYY!”

Joey sprinted in from the kitchen, a half-eaten banana in his hand and a baby wipe tucked into his waistband like a towel.

Evie stood in the middle of the room, red-cheeked and furious, her sparkly tutu puffed up like it was as angry as she was.

Eden sat on the floor beside her, wearing Evie’s crown.

Looking extremely pleased.

Chewing on a crayon.

Joey blinked. “Okay. What’s happening?”

Evie pointed an accusatory finger like a prosecutor.

“She STOLE my crown! And then she COLORBITED it!”

Joey frowned. “Color—wait, did she bite the crayon?”

Eden held it up proudly, as if she had created art instead of a choking hazard.

“Okay,” Joey said slowly, setting down the banana and crouching between them. “Let’s use our words.”

“MY words are MAD,” Evie snapped. “I was singing Let It Go and she came in and LET IT GO TO HER HEAD.”

Cora, from the hallway, choked back a laugh.

Joey shot her a look like don’t you dare.

She backed away, still giggling.

“Evie,” Joey said gently, “I know that was your crown. But Eden’s still little. She doesn’t always know what’s yours and what’s hers.”

Evie crossed her arms. “She knows. She’s sneaky.”

Eden blinked up at him like, who, me?

Still chewing on the crayon.

Joey sighed, gently removing the crown and the crayon. Eden gave a soft “hmph” but didn’t fight it.

“Okay,” he said. “Here’s the deal. No stealing. No biting. No yelling. We’re gonna take a breath. And we’re gonna fix this.”

Evie huffed, still dramatic.

“I don’t like her today,” she muttered. “She’s not my best friend anymore.”

Joey winced. Eden didn’t understand most of that, but she definitely picked up on the tone. Her lip wobbled.

“Oh no,” Joey whispered.

Cue the waterworks.

Eden’s tiny face crumpled. She crawled into Joey’s lap and sobbed like her heart had broken.

“Eves,” Joey said gently. “That hurt her feelings.”

“She hurt my feelings first!”

“Okay, but now both of you are sad. And Daddy has no snacks. And I just got you both dressed. Do you know what that means?”

They stared at him, both sniffling.

“We’re in the middle of a sibling emergency.”

Evie gasped. “Do we need the Sibling Toolbox?”

(Which Joey had invented purely for conflict resolution, consisting of stickers, fruit snacks, and a random sock puppet.)

“Yes,” Joey said seriously. “Yes we do.”

Evie ran off to get it. Joey wiped Eden’s face, kissed her cheeks, and whispered, “Don’t worry, I got you, baby girl.”

When Evie came back, they went through the routine:

• Stickers = Peace Offering.

• Fruit snacks = Trust Building.

• Puppet = Apology delivery system.

Joey made the sock puppet dramatically bow.

“Princess Eden, Princess Evie would like to apologize for the crown-stealing confusion and offers you these grapes in exchange for your forgiveness.”

Eden stared. Took the fruit snack.

Shoved two in her mouth.

“Forgiveness accepted,” Joey translated.

Evie hugged her. “I guess you’re my best friend again.”

Joey fell back onto the couch with a groan. “Crisis averted.”

Eden climbed up beside him, curling into his side.

Evie threw her arms around his neck. “Daddy?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“You’re the king of the castle. But like… the sad, tired king.”

Joey blinked. “That feels weirdly accurate.”

Cora peeked in from the hallway. “You want a snack too, King Woll?”

He nodded solemnly. “I’ve earned it.”

[entomolog-t]

INSTAЯ (2)

Prompt 2 Discovery for Promptober!! The speed at which I pumped this out is uncanny.

Dawn investigates - Honey ... does her own thing.

General warning, this chapter is still fairly horror oriented, and a few scenes can best be described as "Yucky." The content warnings are not extreme, but be wary of you're sensitive to any of the topics.

- - - -

Previous Chapter: Chapter 1

Next Chapter: Chapter 3

Word count: 1685

CW: Gore/Gross out (Blood/viscera, mild body horror, vomit) Mentions of firearms, Adult language.

The silence persisted, yet I sat still- back pressed firmly against the dresser. Time seemed to slip by me. I sat in wait, certain that if I moved an inch- if I made even the slightest sound- the creature would come crashing against the door. I stayed motionless, my every nerve firing with adrenaline. Anticipation weakened my grasp on time, minutes slipping by like sand through my fingers. Minutes turned to hours, and the night turned to dawn. 

As the first rays of soft orange light drifted through the window, my room was cast in a paradoxically comforting glow- a subtle shift in atmosphere occurring. The morning sun breathed life into the world outside; Birds chirped- swooping and diving to catch insects in the early morning mist. It was calm- comforting even. A beautiful and serene atmosphere bent on putting me at ease- which was exactly what I feared. 

Eyelids heavy, my head dipped for a split second, nearly lulled to sleep by the surrounding tranquility- only for me to jerk awake with a gasp- a jolt of fear snapping me back to consciousness. Despite the fear, despite knowing that thing could be right outside, I couldn’t help but nod off in the quiet serenity of the early morning after the toll of last night's events. 

I shook my head. No. Stay awake. 

It was quiet- it had been for hours now. I chewed at my thumb, nervously picking at the skin as I considered my options. I had to get out of here, and there was no way I was getting far without my keys. As if in protest, my mind conjures up memories of the creature catching the bat- crumpling it like tinfoil. Though… that thing had also crumpled… I thought back to its staggered steps, the way it had begun to fall apart right in front of me…  The agonized wails…

The way it had seemed almost scared…

I tasted blood on my tongue as I chewed the skin of my thumb raw. 

Was it dying? Maybe it’s already dead… 

I clenched my teeth, tension growing as I considered what to do. It had been quiet- and I needed those keys. My heart pounded in my chest, anticipation pushing away the exhaustion. 

As quietly as I could manage, I nudged the dresser back, teetering it side to side to walk it back quietly. I paused- met with nothing but silence. A part of me hated that. A cowardly part of me longed for the excuse of needing to stay put- clinging to temporary shelter at the cost of the long term. 

Carefully, I eased the door open- praying that the hinges were good and oiled. Once again, I was met with silence. My hands shook, bracing for whatever sight would great me on the opposite side of the door. My heart thundered in my chest so aggressively I was worried it would summon the creature straight back to me and- 

Honey shoved past me, pushing herself through the door and into the hall as if the events of last night had been wiped clean from her brain. 

No. No. No.

“Honey!” I hissed, whisper yelling through gritted teeth “Get back here.” She turned her head to me briefly in acknowledgement, tongue lolling out to the side before completely disregarding me- instead choosing to sniff a trail down the hallway and out of sight into the living room. 

That fearless fucking idiot. 

After a moment's hesitation I follow after her, steps hasty but light as I power forward. Honey comes trotting back before I can make it down the hall, tail wagging as she carries something in her mouth. 

What does she- 

As she gets closer realization dawns on me- I watch in disgust as she shakes a thick chunk of the creature's shell back and forth as if it were one of her numerous toys. A thick liquid is flung to either side of her as she shakes it, and I can only hope that it's drool and not whatever vile ooze had been seeping from the creature. 

Honey bows down in front of me, butt in there air and tail wagging so aggressively her whole body shakes as she gnaws on it. I suppress a gag. 

“Fuck- ew. No. Honey. Drop it.”  

Honey drops the thick chunk to the ground with a clatter and I flinch at the sound. Even still, the silence persists. I reach down and pick up the chunk. It's thick and heavy- though I don’t take the time to inspect it any further as I toss back into the bedroom, landing it softly onto the bed. 

Honey chases after it. I press on forward. Somehow, despite all the fear and anticipation, I feel a growing sense of annoyance. An emotion that only grows in potency as I hear the clack of her claws against the hardwood as she follows after me, placing the slab of shed exoskeleton in my hand. 

Oh, for Fuck’s sake. 

I open the bathroom door and stick the shed armor on the counter- promptly shutting the door before Honey could retrieve her new found toy. Not in the least bit dissuaded, Honey trots off ahead again, much to my frustration. Though, the silence and the carefree demeanor of my fearless idiot seemed to ease some of the tension. Had it left? 

Was it dead? 

A crunching sound breaks through the silence, my heart lurching into my throat. My pace quickened. 

Fuck. Was it still here?

I rounded the corner and was greeted with a grisly sight. A mixture of relief and unease filled me as the creature itself was nowhere to be seen- well… At least not all of it. 

Honey rolled in a pile of gooey exoskeleton, disturbing the horrific stench of stale rot with her every move. Her warm yellow fur coated in a sickly ooze, a putrid combination of a pussy looking substance and the bloody viscera it had thrown up the night before.  She joyfully wriggled on the floor, its shell crunching beneath her as she chewed at whatever was nearest to her mouth. 

I threw up.

A small heave was all the warning I had before I doubled over, bile and the acidic remains of last night's dinner spilling past my lips- hot and wet. Through teary eyes, I glared at Honey. She stared back happily, moving to chew on a chunk of what seemed to be a part of its arm as if it were a bone. I gagged. 

Fuck it. Let her occupy herself. 

Shooting my dog one last disappointed glare, I passed through the livingroom and into the kitchen. The floor was littered with more chunks of the creature, yet nowhere near the volume of that of the livingroom. Blood and ooze was slick against the linoleum and I carefully watched my step as I tiptoed around the carnage.  

I flinch at the clicking of Honey’s nails on the floor. She struts over, tail wagging as if this is the best day of her life, another gruesome chunk in her mouth- stringy bits of flesh hanging off the piece. I feel bile rise in my throat and forcefully swallow it back down. 

“Get,” I hiss, shooing her away as I peek my head in the dining room.

Nothing. 

Behind me I can hear as she tosses the chunk around, clamoring after it with a yip. 

So much for staying quiet. 

I surveyed the room. Not a single thing was out of place. I shiver- something felt off.  

Just where the fuck was the rest of it?

A clatter in the livingroom nearly sends my heart skyrocketing out of my mouth, as Honey continues to play with the carnage. I shudder at the very idea of how I was supposed to clean up the aftermath of whatever had occurred last night.

No… not aftermath.

Something was still very off. Where could that thing have crawled off to…

I feel a chill creep up my spine. Scenes from various horror movies of monsters crawling on the ceiling forcing themselves into my head. Slowly, I look up, heart thundering in my ears- 

Nothing. 

I force a laugh. Guess it's not that much of a horror movie. Though even as I chuckle, the unease doesn’t subside- a voice at the back of my mind urging me to go get the gun from the garage. 

As I go to slip out the side door I freeze. The handle doesn’t budge. Dread settles in my gut. I never lock the side door- why was it locked? Realization dawns on me- that persistent off feeling coming to a climax… Hastily, I double back through the kitchen toward the entryway. Honey joins me, her whole body wagging as she carries another chunk of the creature in her mouth. 

My eyes fall on the door and my mouth goes dry. 

The front door is closed- locked from the inside. 

It was still here. 

Another, much more unnerving thought followed. It had known to lock the doors. 

I found myself biting my thumb- regretting the nervous habit after realizing I’d touched that thing’s oozing shed body parts. Where the fuck had it gone? Did it just evaporate under its shell? Some crash landed alien rapidly expiring under earth’s atmosphere? My spiraling thoughts are interrupted by Honey leaning up against me, oblivious to anything other than wanting to play with her new “toy.” 

I exhale. 

That fearless idiot. As I patted her flank I felt as logic eased away some of the tension. Honey would have alerted me if it was in the house, right? I was barely able to call her off that monstrosity last night.

I look down at her, her sweet puppy dog eyes staring back up at me as she wags her tail hopefully. 

Fuck it. 

I place my hand in front of her, signaling her to drop it. 

Excited by the prospect of fetch, Honey eagerly acquiesces. 

The moment the weight hits my hands, I immediately feel something is off- Movement. Whatever the fuck she had grabbed was moving. 

I scream.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Moooooore

🩸 🩸 🩸 🩸 🩸 🩸 🩸 🩸 🩸 🩸 🩸 🩸 🩸 🩸 🩸 🩸 🩸 🩸 🩸 🩸 🩸 🩸 🩸 🩸 🩸 🩸 🩸 🩸

DAYUM 84 for Vamp!Eddie (getting REAL close to the end of the chapter)

---

Buck watches as Eddie processes this, chewing on a bite of eggs. It takes him a moment to reach the unfortunate conclusion.

“I can’t be alive, then,” Eddie says. “If I’m alive, or a vampire, it changes the ruling for Christopher.”

“Right,” Sophia says. “Buck loses custody. It may default back to you, or…”

“Mom and Dad say he’s not safe here because of what I am,” Eddie realizes. “What I’ve done.”

“It’s an infection,” Buck says. “It’s what you have, not what you are.” 

“I appreciate the distinction, but I don’t think my parents will see semantics as reason not to go after what they want,” Eddie grumbles. “What they have always wanted.”

“I tend to agree,” Sophia mutters. 

“They check Christopher’s phone,” Buck says. “We never text about you. And we never bring you up over calls. He will, if he’s sure he’s alone. But that’s it. Calling is an unnecessary risk.”

Eddie’s eyes look a little wet.

“I get it,” he relents. “I hate it, but I get it.”

Buck knows there’s no point saying the wait is almost over. He knows that every minute is painful. He knows that it’s even harder to wait, sometimes, when you can see the end. 

“Adriana is flying with him,” Sophia says. “Their flight gets in around noon on Thursday. I think you should stay home while we pick him up, and we’ll tell him in the car.”

Eddie nods. 

“Sure. Yeah. Whatever you say.”

Buck feels horrid. 

“We’re just trying to make sure this goes over without a hitch,” Buck says. “Once he’s here, he’s obviously your son.”

“As long as no one finds out I’m here and parenting him,” Eddie whispers. “I have to be a ghost, or I lose him again.”

Buck wants to weep for him.

“We can tell some people,” Buck offers. “Hen, Chim, Maddie, Ravi. They’re all for sure safe. Bobby, too, I bet, just…”

“Just what?” Eddie asks. 

“I don’t know how strictly Athena takes the law when it comes to Hemodhampirosis.” Buck says. “Or, you know, how forgiving she’d be of some things that happened…”

“You don’t know?” Eddie frowns.

“Bobby and I…” Buck doesn’t want to get into it. “It’s sort of complicated right now.”

Eddie’s expression crumples. “You aren’t talking to Bobby?”

“We’re not not talking,” Buck says. “Just… It’s tense. He has some misconceptions about me. About Soph and I. What we do.”

“You aren’t talking to Bobby,” Eddie repeats. Then he looks at Sophia. “And you aren’t talking to Adriana? What the fuck is going on?”

“It’s a long story, Ed,” Sophia says grimly. “I’m sure you’ve got one, too.”

Buck knows he does. 

“I don’t know what to do about Adri without risking Chris, but we have to fix shit with Bobby, Buck.” Eddie insists. “We have to. He’s… He’s like your dad.” 

Buck’s eyes sting. His throat feels tight. He shoves a bite of pancakes in his mouth to avoid answering. Because he knows. He knows. He knows which father-son bond he chose to prioritize in the aftermath of a fucking vampire pandemic ripping the throat out of his city. He knows he’s hurt Bobby. He knows Bobby grieved Eddie terribly, and Buck should have been the person to grieve with him. He is fully fucking aware.  

“Chris first,” Sophia says, seeing the hurt plain on Buck’s face. “We can tackle everything else after.”

“Yeah,” Eddie wipes at his eyes. “Yeah, okay.”