#beer is just wet bread.

[generative-adversarial-nitwit]

Beer is just wet bread.

- Chad (2023)

[maytheamazing]

Well you see it's like bread's cousin

no offense to beer drinkers but why does it taste like that

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Older (Dean Winchester)

Description: Y/N has a crush on Dean but they have a 20 year age gap. How does Dean react when she finally tells him?

Warning: Smut, Age Gap

Word Count: 1,743k

Y/N watched Dean as he washed Baby. His big muscular arms on display with the tight white shirt that had dirt on it. Baby was soapy and wet as Dean wiped her down. Y/N was trying not to drool as he went in circular motions cleaning the car. She was too into the scene in front of her; she didn’t notice Sam coming up to her side. “Stare any longer he might just notice your obvious crush on him.” He said to me, making her snap out of it. She turned towards him and rolled her eyes. He chuckled and handed her a beer. She took it from him and took a drink. “Ya think maybe he’s too old for you.” He said. Y/N pushed him and they both laughed. She sighed and looked at Dean again. He was pouring water on the soapy car. She sighed and got up  from her spot and walked into the house. She needed a cold shower to erase the dirty thoughts from her mind. 

It was days later that she’d be staring at the older man as he made breakfast. They had just come back from a hunt and Y/N was hungry so Dean offered to cook for her. Sam was getting some sleep but the other two were wide awake. “How do you like your eggs?” He asked her as he got them out of the fridge. “Over easy.” She said and he cracked the two eggs on the pan. She watched as he put the bread in the toaster. “You really didn’t have to make me anything.” She said as Dean put the eggs on the plate. “But I wanted to. You deserve it putting up with us.” She laughed as he set the eggs and toast in front of her. She thanked him. “Well I like putting up with you guys.” She said. He got his plate and sat across from her. “What, you got a crush on one of us?” He joked but she didn’t laugh. “Nah we’re probably too old for you anyway.” He said. She stared at him without saying anything. She shook her head and went back to eating her food. “Yeah totally.” She said. 

She woke up 7 hours later in bed and yawned. She remembered the cringey things Dean asked her this morning and she sighed. She thought for a second when he asked her that she was caught. Luckily Dean was oblivious.She got out of bed and stretched. She walked out of her room and noticed Dean at the table on the computer. “Where’s Sam?” She asked. “Grocery Shopping.” He said and nodded and sat down across from him. He looked up from the computer at her. “So back to early convo you probably like Jack don’t you?” He asked. She looked at him confused. “No, not the antichrist.” She laughed. “Do you even like anybody?” He asked. “Dean, can we not talk about this?” She asked not wanting to expose herself. “Yeah sure.” He said and went back to research. The silence now,awkward and unwanted. 

Why was Dean so curious about who she had feelings for or if she did? She honestly thought that Dean was too old for her but that’s how she liked it. They were eating dinner and she had a glass of wine. Dean sat across from her and Sam sat next to Dean. Jack and Cas sat next to her. Everyone was in a conversation except her. She never talked much while eating. She sometimes butted in with Jack and Cas but other than that kept quiet. Dean noticed her silence and wondered if it was about his question earlier. The last thing he wanted to do was make her uncomfortable. After dinner was over she helped him clean up.

She didn’t say anything to him so he figured he thought correct. “I’m sorry about the question earlier. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He said. She looked at him. “You didn’t.” She said and poured herself some more wine. “If I did I would completely understand-” “Dean.” She interrupted him. He looked over at her and she was holding the wine and her upper body on the table a little. Her boobs are perfectly on display. “What are you-” She took a sip of wine and smirked. “I told myself I’d never fuck anyone old enough to be my dad.” She states. He stares at her in shock. She stood up and walked closer to him. “That was until I met you.” She said seductively. “Wait you like me?” He asked her confused but kinda turned on.

She nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And before you give me any of that age bullshit. I’m 22 i’m an adult.” He stared at her as her hands ran over his chest. “You have no idea what you do to me Dean.” She says and her hands lower themselves to the bottom of his shirt. She tugs on it and he looks down seeing what she was doing. “Y/N are you sure?” He asked her. She looked up at him with lustful eyes. “Are you sure Dean? Think you can handle me, old man?” He chuckled and picked her up and threw her over his shoulder.She laughed as he took her to his room. He threw her on the bed and smirked. “I’m 42 sweetheart not 72.” He said and took off his shirt revealing his amazing body. She was almost drooling at the sight. He crawled onto the bed and hovered over her.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and brought him down in a kiss. He moved his lips against hers as his hands traveled her body. He lifts her tank top up a bit and she pulls away from the kiss. She sits up and removes it showing her white bra. He looks down at her boobs and cups them. “Wow you’re so sexy.” He says and moves his hands to her back. He unclips the bra and she lets it fall freeing her boobs. He smirks at the sight and leans down to put one of her nipples in his mouth. She gasps his name and her hands go to his head as he licks and sucks. Her hands moved to his jeans and she cupped his growing erection. He moans against her nipple. “Dean take these off.” She breathes out. He pulls away from her nipple and gets up to remove his jeans. He pulls them down along with his boxers. She moves herself to the end of the bed and pulls him closer to her. “I didn’t know if I want you in my mouth or inside of me.” She says and he chuckles. Her eyes staring at his long hard cock. “Both would be ideal but right now I really need to be inside of you.” He tells her and pushes her back on the bed.

She smiles as he pulls down her panties. He gets back on her and kisses her again. She runs her hands up and down his muscular back. He pulls away and sighs into her mouth as he lines himself up with her entrance. He pushes in slowly and she gives a sharp gasp. “Are you okay?” He asked. She nods. He pushes in deeper and her noises fill his ear. She hadn’t had sex with many people and certainly not with a guy this big before. Once he was in her all the way he let her adjust to him. They stare at each other as she adjusts to him. He got lost in her eyes not believing that this was happening right now. She pulled him out of his thoughts when she thrusted up. She moaned as the pain was gone and she was full of pleasure. He started moving his hips and she let out little moans. Her eyes closed and her mouth opened. He didn’t let his eyes close as he watched her facial expressions. He groaned as her hips started matching his. She grabs his neck and moans his name. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He breathes out and she opens her eyes to look at him. “You feel so good inside of me.” She whimpers. He leans down and starts kissing her neck. She gasped and pulled him closer if that was possible. “Dean, go faster.” She begged and he moved as fast as he could.His hips pounding into her hard and fast making the bed screech. His lips left marks on her neck. Neither of them cared at the moment.

He pulled out of her some and angled his hips. He slammed back in her and hit her g spot making her scream. He covered her mouth with his hand. “Gotta remember sweetheart we aren’t the only ones here.” He groans in her ear. She tried to keep her sounds to a minimum but with him pounding at her g spot that didn’t work. “Dean, you feel too good.” She mumbles in his hand. He nods. “Fuck I know baby. You feel amazing.” He moans. She felt herself getting closer and closer to the edge. He was twitching inside of her signaling that he was close too. “Baby I'm close.” She moaned and he groaned out a me too. She gasped out feeling him fill her up which triggered her orgasm. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head as her orgasm hit her. She bit her lip trying to hold back the loud noises that threatened to spill from her. Her hips moved up as she rode out her high. Dean watched her and almost became hard again. Her hips slowed and she opened her eyes seeing Dean already looking at her. “That was hot.” He smirked. She rolled her eyes. “Yeah well thanks to you.” She smirked back. He pulled out of her causing her to moan.

He got up and went to the bathroom and got a wet towel. He came back and cleaned her and him up. “Such a gentleman.” She teased. He laughed and threw the towel in the laundry bin. He collapsed next to her and yawned. “Tired old man?” He turned to look at her. “Baby I could go another 5 rounds.” He said. She turned towards him and smirked. “Prove it.” She said and he smirked. Sam couldn’t sleep that night but Dean and Y/N weren’t complaining.

[catharusustulatus]

Steddie Drabble, TW: child abuse.

Initially, Wayne doesn’t care for Steve. Calls him “the Harrington boy” or “Richard’s son” with contempt, asks if “Richard’s son” is coming over for dinner again and Eddie just rolls his eyes and says “yes, Wayne, STEVE is coming over at 7.” Wayne doesn’t like him because…well, he’s not stupid to judge a book by its cover, he thinks.

But the fifth time Harrington comes over, he brings a bouquet of flowers, and Eddie, well, his cheeks are redder than the spaghetti sauce Wayne’s been stirring, so that’s something.

And then the sixth time Steve comes over, he brings Wayne a Garfield magnet. It’s small, “found it at the thrifty mart with Robin, I’m sorry it’s not brand new…” Steve mumbles, and Eddie is wide eyed and smiling, and Wayne LOVES Garfield. He puts it on the fridge, pats Steve on the back, says “um, thank you son.”

They fall into a pattern, the three of them. Steve comes over for dinner every Friday night after work. He dresses clean and is polite to Wayne, helps with the dishes, sometimes brings bread rolls or licorice or beer or jokes. Eddie starts setting the table. Wayne starts laughing at the jokes. After Steve leaves, Wayne knows Eddie smiles himself to sleep. It’s different, now.

And then the next time Steve is supposed to come over for dinner, he doesn’t show. Eddie had been making macaroni and cheese all evening, grating the cheese carefully as he bopped his head to some metal song, cheerful, and then it was 7 and then it was 8 and then Wayne thought “maybe call him, Ed.”

Nobody answers. When they call again, nobody answers. And Wayne has a bad feeling about it.

It isn’t until almost 11, dinner cold and Eddie pacing, about to radio someone named Robin when Steve’s car pulls up, they know the lights so well. They run outside to greet him and Eddie freezes when Steve starts falling out of the drivers seat, face dark and pained. Wayne jumps into action. Wayne catches Steve and hauls him into the trailer, his living room, and oh god, he’s covered in bruises like he was put through Eddie’s cheese grater, and oh god, Eddie’s broken out into tears behind him.

Steve’s left eye is swollen shut, and his face is purple and bloody. His lip is split and his hair is wild, his shirt is torn, and Wayne wonders what’s underneath the shirt as he gets the first aid kit, wonders how the hell he thought Steven was anything other than an angel.

Eddie gets a dish towel wet in the kitchen and cleans Steve’s face, quiet and crying, and Wayne sets the first aid kit down next to Eddie and makes some coffee. He thinks about talking, doesn’t. Touches the Garfield magnet for good luck. He feels like maybe Steve needs it.

Steve who is holding Eddie’s wrist as he cleans him up, wincing and crying from his good eye. Finally, after a silence that gives Wayne heartburn, Eddie sits back on his heels and says whisper quiet, “your dad?”

Steve gulps, blinks. “My uh, my dad. I was writing you uh, uh a love note.” Eddie looks over at Wayne. Wayne wipes his brow. “But uh, he found it, and your name’s not uh, Edith” Steve lets out a chuff, winces again. “So he asked what was going on, and I told him. I told him. And then he said I had one minute to take it back or he’d make me take it back.” Eddie lets out a small gasp, more like a howl, and sits completely on the floor. Wayne sits down at the table, cold mac and cheese looking like a sick joke. And he’s so mad. Wayne is so, so mad, seeing this young man who so obviously loves his pride and joy, shares in his pride and joy, who brings him apples to make apple pie, he growls out

“Don’t you worry about a thing, Steven, not one thing. You stay here long as you like, hell, don’t leave. We got you, boy.”

And that’s that. Steve crumples in on himself, and Eddie pulls him into a big hug, just holds him, rocks him, coos “a love note, huh, sweetheart? For me?” And Steve nods until he nods off.

The next morning, while Robin takes care of Steve, Wayne and Eddie break into Steve’s room, clear out everything he owns, and slash his dad’s tires. That was Wayne’s idea - the least he could do for a loved one.

[jrswritings]

Tingles and Giggles - Chapter Ten - Tyler Owens x Reader

Get caught up with Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, and Chapter Nine! Masterlist :)

Chapter Ten - You Look Like You Love Me

After Tyler got the fire going, which took him a good half hour, he came back inside to see you curled up on the couch with his flannel on. You had your elbow on the armrest and your head in your hand. He slid his phone out of his pocket and quickly snapped a picture of you that he would later change to be his lock screen photo. 

While you were catching up on some much-needed sleep, he went down to the tiny basement, which doubled as a storm shelter, to rummage through the deep freezer to see what you both could make over the fire. It was either hot dogs or brats, he just had to find them. 

You stirred hearing the commotion, rubbing your eyes and stretching your arms up. You glanced around the room to not see Tyler anywhere. You stood up and walked over to the side door and out by the fire. Since you had gone to the truck it had already cooled off outside a substantial amount where even being in his flannel was still comfortable. You saw two chairs set up and a cooler which you hoped was filled with beer. 

You plopped yourself down in the chair, peeking into the cooler and smiling when a 12-pack greeted you. You grabbed one out of the wet cardboard and popped the cap off and into the fire. The radio was playing softly behind you, but instead of an oldies station, it was a new country station. 

You grabbed one of the shorter logs that was still intact and propped your boots up on it, leaning back into the chair and listening to the male radio host announce the next song. 

“Up next is You Look Like You Love Me which was released recently by Ella Langley and Riley Green,” he said, fading the song in. 

You rocked your feet on the log to the beat of the song and took a drink of the beer. 

“I was all but 22, I think at the time, I’d been out on the road, lonely at night,” Ella sang, “And it’d been a while, so it was on my mind. Well, I saw him walk in, with his cowboy hat,  and I thought to myself, I could use some of that.” 

You didn’t mind the song, but you knew it had been overplayed since its release. After hearing it lord knows how many times, it started to rub off on you. 

“His boots like glass on a sawdust floor, huh, had moves like nothing I’d ever seen before, so I walked right up,” the song played on, “And I pulled him to the side, I handed that man a beer and looked him in the eyes, and I said, baby, I think you’re gonna wanna hear this.” 

“Then I told him,” you sang, “Excuse me, you look like you love me, you look like you want me to want you to come on home.” 

You sipped your beer and hummed along to the rest of the chorus, as you didn’t know many of the words aside from what you’d caught on the radio and online. 

You were so into watching the flames dance with each other, the crackling of the fire soothing your mind, you didn’t hear Tyler come out of the shack and up behind you. 

“Well, I was down at a local beer joint with a few of the guys, when this cute little country girl caught my eye,” Riley sang, “And boy, let me tell you, she was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen in a pair of boots.” 

“Well, she walked right up to me, handed me a beer, gave me a look like, let’s get out of here,” Tyler sang behind you, “And that’s when I realized that she was every cowboy’s dream come true.” 

You gasped slightly, Tyler’s all of a sudden appearance scaring you until he kissed your cheek. 

“Why must you do that, I’m too young for a heart attack!” You said, playfully hitting his arm as he walked over to the picnic table. 

“Because seeing you all flustered is cute,” he said, setting the hot dogs down, “So, a slight dilemma.” 

“And what’s that besides my spike in heart rate?” You asked, leaning back into your chair. 

“We have no buns or bread for the hot dogs, so hopefully you’re good with an un-bunned dog,” he said, grabbing the roasting sticks. 

“It’s food. I’d rather have an un-bunned dog than an un-dogged bun,” you said, sipping your beer. 

“Ain’t that the truth,” he laughed while walking over to you and grabbing himself a beer. 

“What are your plans for the rest of the night with me?” You asked, looking over at him. 

“I figured we’d enjoy some fire-roasted hot dogs, enjoy a couple of beers, star gaze then head back to Prairie Winds,” he said softly, “Then start all over again tomorrow.” 

“We’re doing all of this again tomorrow?” You asked, almost choking on your beer. 

“Only if you want to, darlin’,” he said, looking at you. 

“I wouldn’t mind breakfast again,” you said, “But I need to plan a trip to Texas to see my parents soon…” 

“You make it sound like that’s a problem,” he said, raising an eyebrow at you. 

“Yes and no,” you sighed, “Every time I’ve been back they pressure me about them not getting any younger, how come I haven’t found someone, where are their grandkids.” 

“Well, you can tell them you’ve found someone,” he said with a smirk.

“I’ve tried telling them that before, they didn’t believe me since the guy wasn’t with me,” you said, “And in all honestly I lied to them to try and get them off my back before I snapped and lost it.” 

“When do you want to leave?” He asked, “I’ll even let you drive me Lil Blue.” 

“W-What?” You asked, spitting your beer out, “You want to go meet my parents?”

“Honey, let’s get this straight right now,” he said, looking you in the eye, “After that kiss we shared that got my heart beatin’ faster than when I’m in the middle of a tornado, I plan to spend the rest of my life on Earth with you and only you.” 

Your breath hitched listening to him, you never had anyone tell you that before and mean it. With how he said it and his eyes full of love, you knew he meant it. You smiled slightly at him and hung your head down, a couple of tears sneaking out from your eyes. 

“Hey, hey, now lil lady, why are you cryin’?” He asked, setting his beer down and coming to kneel on one knee in front of you. 

“I-I’ve just,” you sighed, then took a deep breath, “I’ve never had anyone say that to me in such a loving manner.” 

“Well you just did, and you better believe it,” he said, lifting your chin slowly with one hand and using the other to wipe your tears, “And you better get used to it because I will tell you every day if I have to.” 

“I really don’t know what I did to deserve such a wonderful…crazy, but wonderful man treat me like this,” you said, trying to laugh while holding back tears. 

“You were just bein’ you, baby,” he said, giving you a smile and a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

“I was so wrong about you,” you said softly, putting a hand on his chest as he held his kiss on your head. 

“That’s a good thing, right?” He asked, chuckling. 

You softly laughed, “Yeah, it is, babe.” 

“I’m going to start roastin’ these dogs,” He said while standing up and walking to the table where the dogs were now semi-unfrozen. 

“Think you could turn the radio up a smidge?” You asked, getting comfy in your seat again. 

“Anythin’ for my girl,” he said, leaning over and turning the dial up slightly. 

“So you’d really come to my parents with me?” You asked, looking over at him. 

“In a heartbeat.” He said, turning around with a couple of hot dogs on each stick. 

“When would you want to go?” You asked, playing with your fingers.

“Whenever you’d want to,” he said, scooting his chair closer and holding the sticks over the flames. 

“I’ll talk to my mom later, but maybe next week? Just kind of get it done and over with?” You suggested, looking at your watch with it displaying 5:47 pm, “As I’m sure they’re already settling down for the night. Cattle farmer life and all.” 

“Just let me know so I can put Dani in charge of the team,” he said, smiling over at you, “We could stop by my aunts on the way if you wanted to since I’m meetin’ your family and all.” 

“If you wanted to, I wouldn’t want to overstep or anything,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck. 

“Darlin’,” he said, “What did we just talk about?” 

“Still, Ty,” you said, “It might take me a bit to work through all the trauma I’ve been through…” 

“I know,” he said, “Of course, I want you to meet my family because you are or will be a part of it.” 

“Okay, we can do that then,” you said, “Leave Monday afternoon or something?” 

“Sounds like a plan to me, baby,” he said with a smile, “I can’t wait.” 

Want more? Here's Chapter Eleven!

Taglist: @fanboyswhore9 @faith719 @ummmeg

[daenystheedreamer]

some descriptions under the cut :)

 WINTERCAKE: "The taste of wintercake filled his mouth again, rich with ginger and pine nuts and bits of cherry, with nahsa to wash it down, fermented goat's milk served in an iron cup and laced with honey."

SISTER'S STEW: "The beer was brown, the bread black, the stew a creamy white. She served it in a trencher hollowed out of a stale loaf. It was thick with leeks, carrots, barley, and turnips white and yellow, along with clams and chunks of cod and crabmeat, swimming in a stock of heavy cream and butter. It was the sort of stew that warmed a man right down to his bones, just the thing for a wet, cold night. Davos spooned it up gratefully."

SNAILS: "Snails in honey and garlic. Sansa had never eaten snails before; Joffrey showed her how to get the snail out of the shell, and fed her the first sweet morsel himself."

BOWL OF BROWN: "...So thick you could stand your spoon up in the bowl, with chunks of this and that."

[eyesofshinigami]

Eddie and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Rating: T

CW: None

Tags: Established relationship, Eddie Munson loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington loves Eddie Munson, very very mild sexual content (blink and miss it)

Prompt: For @lihhelsing "Love is helping them unwind after a rough day"

WC: 852

Written for @steddielovemonth Day 19

Eddie knew it was going to be a bad day as soon as he woke up. He managed to stub his toe twice on the way to the shower. His waffles got burnt in the toaster and they were out of syrup. He missed the bus by a minute, watching it drive away from the stop just as he ran up to it. It started raining while he was waiting for the next bus, so of course he got drenched.

He hoped that it had ended there, but no. Eddie got to work fifteen minutes late due to a traffic jam, wet and hungry and already done with today. His boss yelled at him and put him on tape-sorting duty, marking down the new shipment of tapes. Of course, halfway through, his pen exploded and covered him and the sheet he was using, so he had to start over.

By the time the end of his shift had rolled around, Eddie was tired, had a headache the size of Montana, and he was ready to throw himself into the void. Mack, the other guy on shift, patted him on the back and all it did was make his skin crawl. 

The journey home wasn’t much better. The bus was late again, and Eddie couldn’t find a seat so he had to stand. The bottom of his sneaker apparently acquired a random hole and he had to walk back to their apartment with wet socks.

Eddie was done. He was so fucking done that all he wanted to do was crawl into the bed and cry until he couldn’t anymore. He also hoped that Steve wasn’t home yet from work; he was scared that something bad would happen, like they would end up arguing or not speaking to each other.

What Eddie didn’t expect was to come home to a house that smelled a little like heaven. It was warm and he called out, “Steve? That you?” 

“Yup! In the kitchen!”

Eddie toed off his shoes and stripped out of his still damp jacket and hung it up on the rack. He still felt really keyed up from the day he had, so he steeled himself against his own feelings and headed into the kitchen. 

Their table was set. A lasagna was cooling in the center, set on a potholder right next to a spray of daisies. Two beers were set beside their plates, still cold enough that condensation was gathering on the glass. 

Steve himself is dressed in comfortable clothes, bent over the oven and pulling out what looked like cheesy garlic bread. Fuck, if it wasn’t all of Eddie’s favorite things wrapped up in one beautiful little scene. “Hey! I must have timed it just right!”

Eddie felt tears starting to gather in his eyes. “How… how did you know?”

Steve set the garlic bread down on the stove and pulled off his oven mitts before he reached up to cup Eddie’s cheek. “I heard you this morning. And then Mack called me before you left, saying you’d had a pretty shit day. So… I got home a little early and wanted to surprise you with something good.”

Okay, yeah, Eddie was absolutely going to cry now. “For me?”

“Of course, baby. After dinner, I figured we could take a bath together and I could wash your hair? Then we could crawl into bed and watch that new Beetlejuice movie? I grabbed it on the way home.”

“Steve… that…” It sounded incredible. It was perfect. So why was Eddie blubbering like he’d just been told his dog died? 

But Steve, wonderful, beautiful Steve, seemed to just understand. “Because you deserve it. You had a bad day, and I just wanted to make it better. You’d do the same for me, have done it in the past. Let me take care of you, okay?” 

What else could Eddie do but nod?

Dinner was delicious, Eddie ate until he couldn’t anymore, realizing he’d forgotten to eat lunch in the midst of the rest of his terrible day. He listened to Steve talk about what he’d done that day, letting his boyfriend’s words wash over him. 

The bath was just as nice. Even if they were two grown men, they managed to squeeze themselves into their tiny tub. It was ridiculous, but it made Eddie laugh and he felt light for the first time since he’d woken up that morning. Steve had washed his hair, took his time rubbing conditioner through Eddie’s curls, and then it ended up with them wrapping hands around each other’s cock and Eddie panting into Steve’s mouth.

Fuck, but he loved this man so much. 

Loose from the bath and from his orgasm, Eddie crawled into bed with Steve and curled up as the movie started.

“Love you, Eds,” Steve murmured, kissing the top of his head. He grabbed the remote from the bedside table to fast forward through the previews.

Ed smiled into Steve’s collarbone. The day might have started pretty fucking awful, but Steve had turned it right around. Now, it felt like the best day ever.

[cooliestghouliest]

PUTTY, chapter two

(chapter one), (chapter two), (chapter three)

PAIRING: virgin!Eddie/former cheerleader!Reader

SUMMARY: You’ve got a thing for Eddie. Eddie’s got a thing for you. You both just continue to use Olly as an excuse to spend more time stealing glances at each other, until you realize you’re the one who’s gonna need to do something about it.

SERIES TAGS and C/W’s: mutual pining, experienced!Reader, inexperienced!Eddie but he’s eager to learn, mostly sub!Eddie, insecurities and self doubt, narcissistic and/or absent parents, jealousy, mean basketball players, hurt/comfort, they smoke weed, eventual smut (18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI), uniform kink, dirty talk, foot jobs, hand jobs, oral (f!receiving and m!receiving), public sex, sex toys, unprotected PiV. more to be added as this progresses!!!

WORD COUNT: 3.1k+

TAG LIST: @emma77645

—

The night ended with Eddie sprawled out on his back against the hard ground, dark curls wet with sweat and face tinged pink from exertion. His little brother’s foot was on his chest, the heel of his tiny biker boot digging deep enough for Eddie to feel the weight of an indentation being made.

Although it would have been very easy to maneuver out of the hold Olly had him under, Eddie decided to call it a night and admit defeat. He was tired and hungry, but he knew the younger boy could probably last another hour or so out here, running off his endless childhood energy.

Eddie could not.

Eddie needed time to recuperate. He needed sustenance. Cold beer and concoctions of leftovers sitting in the fridge were calling his name.

Back in realtime, Olly raised his dull stick high in the air above his brother, ready to strike.

You, who’d disappeared into the trailer twenty or so minutes prior, came to Eddie’s rescue just as the makeshift weapon was about to make contact.

“Wait!” you called out, fingers moving to wrap around the bark, halting the boy. Olly looked nothing short of offended, mouth dropping at the audacity of his supposed Princess’ actions. You had to stifle a laugh at his expression.

“My dutiful nobleman, you’ve more than proved yourself to be a true warrior tonight. Buuuuut,” you sing-songed, brows lifting in suggestion. “Maybe we don’t slay the dragon. Maybe we keep him...” you paused for dramatic effect, dropping your attention to Eddie, “... as a pet.”

He probably shouldn’t have, and he didn’t know why he did, but Eddie really liked the sound of that.

“And we can make him do stuff for us?!” Olly exclaimed, his stick dropping to the ground immediately. The little boy loved the idea of having some sort of semblance of control over his older brother, even if it was all pretend.

“Sure,” you grinned, cheeks dimpling in amusement. You offered your hand out to Eddie to help him up as Olly ran around in circles, punching the air in celebration. Your tone was playful as you asked, “Right, Eddie? You’ll do stuff for us?”

Eddie thought he’d probably do just about anything you asked of him.

Jump off the highest cliff at Lover’s Lake? Right away. Run stark naked in the daylight down Maple Street? In a heartbeat. Never listen to another Dio album again for as long as he lived? Dio, who?

Play it cool, play it cool, Eddie thought.

He grabbed your hand, accepting the help, happy to have an excuse for any skin-to-skin contact he could get, and pulled himself back up into a standing position.

Making a show of clearing his throat, Eddie gave a deep bow, one hand pressed to his back as the other swirled in front of him. “Of course, my lieges,” he professed. “You’ve spared my life, and I am forever indebted to you.” Still dipped down, he rose his gaze to you, lips upturning. “Anything you want, my Princess.”

You bit the corner of your bottom lip, trying to stop your smile from growing too wide. You indulged yourself in a few more moments of silent eye contact before clapping your hands together and turning your attention to Olly. “Great!” you declared. “Now, Sir Olly, inside is a grand feast of garlic bread and spaghetti. I’ll be right in to help you wash your hands.”

The little boy let out an elated cheer and hurried around the side of the trailer, eager to eat a home-cooked meal for once. With Wayne working odd hours and Eddie not very skilled in the culinary arts, Olly was used to a cuisine of fast food or lunch meat sandwiches to fill his belly.

Aside from the yearly Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners, that’s what Eddie had been used to as well. All his life.

His face softened at the realization that you’d actually cooked for Olly, and had cooked something of substance, nonetheless. You didn’t just throw a frozen dinner in the microwave or boil some Kraft mac and cheese, but you instead made a meal that required more than the most minimal of efforts.

Preoccupied by his thoughts, it took Eddie a few moments to realize you hadn’t yet followed Olly inside.

“You too, pet,” you said, curving your pointer and middle fingers at him in a ‘come-hither’ motion.

“You made some for me?” he asked, too shocked he was included in his little brother’s dinnertime to even register how you’d deferred to him. Pet. Had he realized, he would have had to grab Olly’s discarded cape to station directly in front of the zipper of his pants.

You weren’t Eddie’s nanny. There was no obligation to dote on his needs. Yet still, you had.

A distantly familiar warmth was beginning to spread throughout Eddie’s chest, a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long, long time bubbling right under the surface.

He didn’t have a chance to register just exactly what this feeling was before you answered. “You said anything I want, remember?” you reminded him. “And I want you to eat. Now come inside.”

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

You liked to follow a schedule and routine.

If you were left to your own devices 24/7 with ample free time, your lifelong nasty habit of overthinking would rear its ugly, judgmental head.

You aren’t doing enough, you’re doing too much, you should be back in school, you should be thinking about when you want to start a family, you should really try to put yourself out there more, you should try to stop coming on too strong, you should have more hobbies, you don’t make enough time for your family, you’ve changed, you shouldn’t be so stuck in your ways.

If you were being honest, the voice of your inner monologue sounded an awful lot like your mother’s.

Because of your adamant strife against letting your spiteful subconscious dialogue win, you made sure you were on the go or at least always had something to do to look forward to.

Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday mornings were for Olly, while the nights were for PiYo, animal shelter volunteering, and secondhand store browsing. You coached two different cheerleading groups on Thursdays at the local YMCA, a morning class and an evening one. All day and night Friday were for Olly as well.

Saturdays were on-call for nannying, but Wayne typically had the day off, so you would often spend the afternoon hanging out with your sisters and then would spend the night suffering through dinner with your parents.

Sundays were the only day you allowed yourself to stay cooped up in your small apartment, usually with the distraction of a sci-fi or fantasy book, the genre intentional so you could get lost in a new universe for hours at a time.

You mostly looked forward to Fridays, because you knew Eddie would be home after three.

Technically, per Wayne’s initial briefing on your nannying schedule, you were able to go your own way whenever the older Munson brother got home. You suspected Eddie wasn’t aware of this, as he never mentioned it or asked why you always stuck around, so you’d continue to forego that bit of information in order to stay with no questions asked.

Eddie was none the wiser. He thought you were doing it to stretch out the hours you got to spend with Olly. It never occurred to Eddie you could also be trying to stretch out the hours you got to spend with him.

You would have lunch made for the three of you by the time Eddie got home from school. Then dinner would be served by six, the portion size enough so that there’d be leftovers for all the Munson’s later in the week.

Cooking was one of your favorite things to do. It was something you’d enjoyed since you were a child, when you’d spend the summer months in Turks and Caicos with your restaurant-mogul of a grandmother.

This is why, when Wayne lightheartedly mentioned to you once that you didn’t need to continue to spoil the Munson men with all of these different meals, you brushed it off and didn’t even for a second consider scaling back.

After dinner, you and Olly would typically watch reruns of Garfield or He-Man or one of his favorite three movies, whether it was Benji, The Muppet Movie, or Escape to Witch Mountain. Eddie would pretend to be busy with homework in the kitchen or would tune his guitar in Olly’s room with the door open, but really, he’d be watching you.

No matter how many times you’d seen the same episode or the same movie, Olly being a creature of habit and liking what he liked, you would be just as engrossed as the first time, eyes unwavering from the story unfolding before you on the small television screen.

Luckily for Eddie, this meant he didn’t have to worry about your attention diverting from the living room and finding him almost hypnotized by your every move.

He couldn’t help it, and in the secrecy of the shadowed kitchen or hidden halfway behind Olly’s bedroom door, he didn’t even want to try to hide it. He wanted to indulge himself.

Just like you, Fridays had also become his favorite day of the week, and not only because school was out for the following two days.

Friday was Eddie’s day to study the curve of your neck as you pulled your hair up in a messy bun while cooking dinner. It was his day to store to memory the high-pitched giggle that came from you at a funny joke in The Muppet Movie (one you’d had to have heard at least a hundred times by now). It was Eddie’s day to watch as your eyes grew heavy, blinking closed for minutes at a time here and there, head lolling gently against the armrest of the couch you were spread out on, surely exhausted from a long week of chasing his rambunctious little brother around.

Yeah, Eddie loved Fridays.

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

Eddie frequently took smoke breaks outside on the small porch of the trailer. You, typically busy keeping his energetic brother happy, had never followed him out before. That didn’t stop Eddie from sometimes imagining you sitting next to him on the loveseat in the front yard, talking late into the night about serious shit and stupid shit and all the other shit in between.

In his head, he’d tell you about Hellfire’s newest campaign, and you’d listen intently, chin in your palm, head tilted toward him to take in every word he was saying. He’d tell you about what a hard-on Higgins had for him this year. Then you’d tell him about the Pilates classes that he’s seen you in at Starcourt, and maybe you’d teach him a move or two. You’d vent about some asshole you’d run into during your day, which would cause Eddie to simmer with rage when thinking someone in this world would be anything but gentle with you.

Eddie wanted those conversations. He’d get so lost in those imaginary scenarios sometimes that the cherry of his cigarette would start to burn his fingertips because he’d smoked it down past the filter, distracted, mind off somewhere in another reality.

And then one night, as if he’d finally manifested it, you did follow him out.

He’d been leaned against the side of the trailer with the roach of a joint between his lips, flicking a lighter absentmindedly.

“Ed?”

Surprised at your voice, the lighter flung from his fingers and his body jolted up off the paneled surface of the mobile home.

You stifled a laugh at his reaction, taking a few steps closer as Eddie bent over and began scrambling in search of the Zippo he’d flung. “Olly ditched me for bedtime. Want some company?”

“Oh, uh. Yeah, definitely. Totally don’t... I don’t mind. I would, um, I’d very much like it...”

So smooth, Munson, he thought to himself, fingers finally finding the lighter. Modern day wordsmith you are. Beyond charming.

You smiled, finding each and every one of Eddie’s mannerisms as endearing as the rest. You liked how sometimes he’d stumble over his words when you spoke to him, and you especially liked how flustered it made him when your attention was fully on him and nothing else.

Didn’t that have to mean something?

You’d seen Eddie in action in public before. He wasn’t shy or timid, so there had to be a reason he acted that way with you, right? Maybe the feelings you’d had for him for years now were reciprocated.

Tonight, you decided you were tired of only hoping this was the case, and you were on a secret mission to finally find out for sure.

You made your way to the loveseat a few feet away. You sat crisscross, the weathered fabric lightly scratching at the skin of your legs. “Sit with me.” You patted the empty space next to you.

Eddie breathed in deep and forced his legs to move toward you before he could second-guess himself, plopping his full weight down on the sofa beside you.

Much to his surprise, without a word, you plucked the small remnants of the joint from his lips and grabbed the lighter from his hand. He watched in awe as you lit it and breathed in. You let the smoke billow in your lungs before you leaned your back against the cushioning of the loveseat, relaxing into it with an exhale.

When you glanced back at him, Eddie looked incredulous.

“Wait, wait, wait -- you smoke weed?”

You laughed and inhaled another smaller hit before passing it over to him. Eddie took it and matched your hit, a quick in and out, eager for your answer.

“I’m full of surprises, Eddie,” you informed, matter-of-factly. “You know, I’d always sit inside and wonder if you’d ever invite me out here with you. But,” you offered a pout and Eddie wanted to bite your lips, “you never did.”

He took a moment to study your face. It was dark outside, probably nearing nine-thirty by now, but the glow from the streetlamp near the trailer was a golden halo around you, illuminating the shape of your face, the softness of your hair, the warmth in your eyes.

“I didn’t know you’d wanna come out here with me,” he defended.

You made a ‘psh-ing’ noise with your mouth. “Come on, Munson. I practically fawn after you whenever you leave the room. Always waiting for you to turn around and see me.”

Eddie couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He laughed, the noise sounding more like a scoff. “Yeah, right.” He took one more hit off the joint before leaning over to stamp it out in the ground, pocketing the paper to toss later.

Eddie Munson was not a litterer.

“I’m not lying!” you exclaimed, bringing your hand out to playfully shove at his shoulder. “I really like spending time around you.”

He felt like all the air was forced from his lungs at your admission. “You’re really serious?” he asked, voice quiet. Not that he necessarily thought you were fucking with him -- you’d never given him a reason to believe you were mean-spirited like that -- but Eddie was so used to things he wanted not working out for him, or things that seemed too good to be true actually being too good to be true. In this instance, he fleetingly and insecurely thought maybe he was the butt of some joke. Have the Princess fake fall for him only to break his Freak heart for fun.

You were very serious, but you chose not to answer him directly. You had a feeling offering only words wasn’t going to cut it. “Wanna come to a party with me when Wayne gets home? I told Chrissy I’d stop by. I’d like it if you came with.”

Eddie balked at her. A party? A party that popular, real-life Barbie doll Chrissy Cunningham would be hosting? That did not sound like a place for the likes of himself, unless he was invited to sell. He liked Chrissy, she was nice to him, but her friends, which also unfortunately happened to be your friends from high school, were not.

“I don’t know... Parties aren't really my kind of thing...”

“Please, Eddie,” you asked, eyes going round and voice beseeching. He had to stifle a groan at the soft solicit coming from you. You sounded so desperate for your wish to be granted. Your wish for him to spend time with you. Eddie loved hearing your voice in general, but hearing it like that? Music to his ears. Like a Sabbath song if sung by a super smokin’, staunchly sweet angel.

He chewed on his lower lip, weighing his options.

This could all be a rouse to embarrass him in front of the masses at some jock-packed party, further pinning him as a lovesick, gullible idiot ��� a laughable loser who thinks he’s got the girl in the bag.

But he really, really didn’t think you would do that.

You cooked for him. You cleaned his rings once with baking soda that time Olly had taken them and buried them in the mud as a prank. You sometimes helped him with calculus. You’d play with his hair if he sat in front of you while watching sitcoms. He thought you did that last one absently. You did it very much intentionally.

What fun was life if you weren’t taking chances?

Eddie was typically more of the adventurous type anyway. Maybe he would have a good time. Doubtful, knowing where the party was, but begrudgingly possible, knowing he’d have you by his side.

He mentally rolled a die in his head for courage.

Eddie Munson was not afraid of what people thought about him. Deep down inside him, sure, yeah, it didn’t feel great that his neighbors thought he ritually sacrificed goats or kept body parts hidden under his bed. But to the public, Eddie knew people thought he was confident and unbothered, if also insanely eccentric.

He needed to be that Eddie right now.

Eddie imagined the die bouncing on the long wooden table in the drama room at school, where Hellfire commenced. Hellfire. Those guys thought the world of him. Dustin would be smacking him in the back of the head right now for even hesitating to go to a party with a pretty lady.

The die stopped rolling.

Henderson’s face was there in lieu of numbers.

Good enough.

“Party it is, Princess.”

The grin that spread across your face made him forget all about everything in the entire world. He’d waited months now for you to look at him like that. All wide-eyed and deeply dimpled cheeks

When you threw your arms around his neck in a feat of success, Eddie felt invincible.

If you were hanging on him like this, how could this night possibly go wrong?

[foldingfittedsheets]

My betrothed jokingly talked about my burping sounding like demon summoning on one of the asks I got, but like. It’s hard to describe. My burps are not normal. I’d characterize a normal burp as sounding mostly like air, with impressive specimens having a slight reverb to up the volume.

My burps often pop out of nowhere. I will be talking and suddenly burp mid sentence. My betrothed’s grandma told them if they burped for fun as a kid that as an adult they wouldn’t be able to control it, and that’s just my actual life.

In work situations if I’m lucky enough to catch that it’s about to happen I can close my mouth and make a godawful croaking which is somehow more polite than burping open mouthed but it rarely sounds nicer. But more often than not I’d burp mid sentence and we’d all have to pretend that I hadn’t just expelled the most upsetting sound on a wave of rejected air.

My general sound is what I describe as “meaty” to my betrotheds everlasting disgust. It’s air with wet ripples, similar to someone who’s just chugged beer though the sound is more staccato, these are my bread and butter burps.

Worse are the ones with reverb, my throat then adds a layer of small hissing or popping sounds that give it an unsettling resonance. These ones really do sound like I’m summing a demon or possessed by some kind of eldritch abomination. Often my betrothed and I will sit in unsettled silence for a moment after burps like this. Luckily they’re few and far between.

But today. Our new puppy Wyvern heard me do a demon burp for the first time and was terrified. It seemed like he thought it was a threat, he cowered briefly from the horrible sound and looked at me like I was about to attack. I gave him treats and reassured him and he eventually acclimated to this new sound I make.

So not only do I summon demons, i terrorize puppies.

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

Bucky getting gassy and Steve blushing at it>>>

This is so peak, embarrassing belly kink brain rot of an idea but you know what I can not for the LIFE of me stop thinking about that related to gassy burps and hiccups and sloshing gurgles of bubbles moving around in Bucky's bloated, drum-taut belly?

Steve turning Bucky into his personal beer brewery.

Hear me out *grabbing you by the shirt collar* Stay with me *shaking you* You have to hear me out *through gritted teeth* I promise I'm normal 🫣😤

Warning for unbeta'd, unrealistic belly kink nonsense under the read more. Lots of burps/onomatopoeias, bloating, intox kink, alcohol consumption, etc.

I started thinking about Bucky with a beer belly here, getting too drunk to stifle his burps and instead letting them slip through wide open beer-wet lips - loose and slurred - but then I took a nose dive into thinking about Bucky with a beer belly so big that Steve starts teasing him, saying he's a walking waddling barrel, Bucky as a barrel on legs got me thinking of kegs and tanks and, oh, how deep the spiral goes, because now all I can think of is Steve brewing beer inside Bucky's stretched, spherical belly.

He's a waddling, stumbling, clumsy brewery just for Steve.

He soaks in all that alcohol immediately and is destroyed by it. Bucky is hardly able to keep himself upright and definitely not able to walk in a straight line with that wide, round tummy sticking out in front of him, leading the way, entering every room a few seconds before him (if he even fits into the room... lately, a few doorways have been feeling sensuously tight).

His cheeks are constantly flushed a bright red color because he's fucking drunk as shit. Also, his words are mostly incoherent as a tumble of tongue and gassy burps between drawn-out moans of agonizing pleasure from how it feels to constantly be brewing. Pressure. Always growing. Stretching. Straining. Bloating with active bubbles - this carbonation that tickles the inside of his poor, abused stomach, causing him to constantly paw at his tummy, whining because he wants to itch, he wants to scratch, he wants to pop. He feels like he might burst - he looks like he might explode with all the stretch marks painting his flushed, solid belly. It's a lot.

If he isn't panting through moans while he gropes uselessly at his beyond-bloated middle, then he's gurgling through panting breaths, his chest heaving while his gut sloshes and groans, all that gas from the brewing driving him insane. It builds and builds until there's nothing he can do but let his mouth hang open wide and have it come out, rude and obscene, "uuuuuuuuuurp, buuurp, boooorp, urp, hic, uurp! Ugh? Guuh, oof, ow, ohh, ow, m-my-hic!-belly. It huuuurts! Buuurp!"

That's getting ahead of it all, though 🥵

When it starts, Steve makes him begin from the basics. Bucky is going to be good for him as a sweet, fat little personal brewery all for him, totally custom.

The water and yeast go down easy enough, Bucky's more than used to bloating his gut - he'd have to be with as tubby as he's gotten, you don't get so broad and heavy without pushing your limits, yanno - and his eyes go heavily lidded with the familiar taste of baked goods. There's nothing that makes Bucky blush these days like fluffy, warm bread; bread makes him think of being stuffed; Bucky likes being stuffed, and Bucky likes thinking about dough, too. His body is getting doughy enough these days - puffy, plump, and plush. Steve knows it, too, he's always squeezing, grabbing, shaping, and fucking kneading his fat as if it's overproofed dough. Although the barley and hops are a little more rough. The taste is strong - bitting and pungent - so it makes him gag once or twice, but... Bucky's never minded strong tastes, has he?

And he can more than stomach it knowing what the end result will be, something so heavy and massive that he'll struggle against the onslaught of hedonism. He wants that. He's greedy. He wants more. He'll get more until he regrets it, pinned and whimpering. So, he can do it, even if he pulls a face, throwing the pure hops and barley back. There's a reward.

The reward builds up. Fermenting. Pressure inside him. Bulging, swelling, bloating, surging, brewing, there are so many words for the delicious feelings Bucky can't help but weaken in the wake of. It turns him on to no end to be an object for Steve, just something greedy and entitled that needs filling 🥴🥴

It takes cock-teasing weeks to get to the point where he's uncontrollably gassy, burping recklessly, moaning raggedly through hiccups, groaning as his gut burbles, glorps, sloshes with liquid and gas. He enjoys the entire lead up, though - both Steve and Bucky do. The sexual tension of watching Bucky transform into a brewery tank consumes them both with its own kind of gluttony. Every day, they check in, meaning, every day Steve prods his tummy with a sharp, unforgiving finger to find that he's "not full enough," "not tight enough," "not round enough," or even, "not drunk enough," and topping him up so he's exactly all those things and more.

More.

Gulp.

Swallow.

Slosh.

Gurgle.

All that alcohol is an aphrodisiac, too, so not only is he red-cheeked, sweaty, and slurring, he's hypersensitive to every touch. The sensation of his active tummy against his too-tight clothes (when he's wearing them) makes him shudder. Bucky humps against solid that comes into contact with his more and more hidden dick. He can't help it. It feels good, unspeakably fucking pleasurable between the normally arousing friction and the crossed-wires sparks that feeling his full belly jiggle and slosh, too. It's overfull ecstasy. If Steve isn't prodding, groping, or wobbling his bloated gut, Bucky's patting it like it's its own entity. Petting it. Pressing on it. Cradling it. Holding it's heft. Forcing more gas out of himself. Bucky has no thoughts. He's as dumb as a rock, or more fittingly, a keg, living in a haze. Nothing matters, just opening his mouth and swallowing when Steve tells him to chug more water, eat more yeast, down more hops, and have some more barley, too, that's it, good boy.

Uuuurp.

Hnnngh-ghh-hic. Hic. Hic!

Buuuuuuuuurp.

Oooohh.

"Sh-St-Steeeve, 'm shhho full!"

It's heavy, sloshing liquid, fizzing bubbles, and frothing foam bulging his belly so massively. It's good. Distended with all that volume of pure fucking beer. His belly ripples when he shifts - he's shifting less and less, now, too, spreading his legs so fucking wide it makes his thighs ache like the muscles around his ribs ache, trying to keep that gut attached to him as it swells more, dropping down between his legs, putting exquisite pressure on his cock, keeping him moaning. Every inch of him throbs with the brewing process. It's a vibration of pleasure. Complete overfullness. The beer has taken him over. He is nothing but beer. He will ferment, brew, and expand until he bursts. He feels it all the way from the depths of his overstretched intestines to his distended stomach to his overused esophagus. He's full up.

So full.

Beer. Gas. Foam. Foam. Gas. Beer. Beer. Gas. Foam. Foam. Gas. Beer. Beer. Gas. Foam.

Unfathomable fullness.

He's dizzy, euphoric, and sloppy. It's so fucking hot, seeing how far he's stretched and how obedient he's become - folding to anything Steve wants, committed to his ideal of debauchery. And it's not just the burps that he can't keep down the drunker he gets. He can't tamp down belches or any noisy coming from his massive, gassy tummy. It's obscene.

Grrrgle.

Slosh.

Glug-glug.

Fizzzzz.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Rrrrumble.

Hissss.

Buuurp.

Churn.

Booooooooorp.

His belly lets out a deep gurgle, the beer inside sloshing and churning and fizzing as he moaned, "pleazze… fill me mmmngh-more,"

Guuuurgle.

Fizz-fizz.

"Ohhhgod, 's brewingg, inside me, I can feel it - urrrrrp! - I can't stop swelling! Mmmngh!"

"M'gonna loooz'sit... every sslosh, 'very bubble, fizzing, rumbling, buuuuuurp, can feel it building..."

"I'm full of beer, St-Steeeeve, all sl-sl-fuck-sloshy, heavy beer. Buuurp! It's stretchin me'smuch!"

"Noth-thing but a keg." Hiccup! "Fat, swollen keg." Gurgle, moaning, "I can't ssstop."

[slicznymartwy]

Billy Lenz X GN! Reader where the reader is so gentle and surprisingly patient with him? Billy would believe he doesn’t deserve their kindness and he assumes the reader is “pretending” to be nice, but they’re not pretending at all.

hmm i was kind of torn if it should be established or not .. went with not but i think i regret it !! so i might post more of this but this is mostly a rlly short first meeting blurb hehe warning: general billy lenz gross dialogue, thats it

☾⋆⁺₊ billy lenz x gn!reader

Waiting is the worst part. Billy looks outside, where the dark sky and white snow stretch on forever and ever. It's almost time, he tells himself, just a little while longer. Then, he can finally fill his grumbling stomach.

True to his own word, he lets himself sneak down the ladder after a few more minutes, taking it rung by rung to keep as quiet as possible. He gives the same treatment to the staircase, taking each step with measured precision. Billy isn't an amateur, and he's taken this route many times since he started staying in the attic.

Billy freezes in the kitchen doorway when he sees he’s not alone. He sees you sitting at the kitchen table, a partially full glass of milk in front of you. Billy wants to book it back to his attic and pretend that you were just a ghost, or that he was a ghost. You’re both ghosts, haunting each other. 

“Hi,” you say softly. Billy doesn’t answer you. He stares, standing still in the doorway. 

“Are you hungry?” you ask. Billy still keeps quiet, but his stomach doesn’t get the message; it growls lowly, long and drawn-out.

When you smile, you try to cover it with your hand. He doesn’t know why. You’re so stupid. Why would you hide a pretty smile? You don’t want him to see it? Do you hate him that much? He wants to hold your mouth open and see your teeth. They looked so white.

“I’ll make us sandwiches, okay?”

Billy watches from the doorway at first, but he moves closer to watch. He might as well see what you put in it. He won’t eat it if there’s tomatoes. He hates tomatoes. They make the bread all wet, even if he picks them out. 

You don’t use tomatoes. Just ham and cheese, mayo and mustard. His mouth waters as you cut it in half. Billy doesn’t realize how close he is until you turn and you have to look up at him.

“Thirsty?” you ask. Billy doesn’t answer. 

“Water?” You pause. “Beer?”

Billy looks into your eyes. He wants to scare you. Why aren’t you scared? You shouldn’t be making him a sandwich. You should be crying and calling the police. Billy is scary. He’s filthy Billy, he’s the Moaner.

You hold his sandwich out to him on a napkin and he snatches it out of your hands. He turns away from you when he takes his first bite, and then he can’t stop. He eats and eats until there’s nothing. He licks the crumbs off his fingers. It’s better than the pickles or the peanut butter he’s been stealing.

When he’s done, you poke your head out around him. You’re holding the other sandwich. 

“Still hungry?” you ask. He takes this one too, and destroys it similarly.

You make two more sandwiches, one for him and one for you this time, and Billy sits down at the kitchen table while he waits. Once the sandwich is front of him, along with a tall glass of water, Billy eats it slower than he did the others. He chugs the glass of water.

“You’ll make yourself sick, slow down,” you murmur, pouting. Billy gasps when he stops drinking, wiping his chin with his palm. He starts to drink again, but slower. He looks to you and you smile. 

“What’s your name?” 

Billy doesn’t answer. He takes the half you weren’t holding and eats it too. He expects you to lash out. Hit him, pull his hair, throw him out of the house. Yell at him that he’s being bad. Bad Billy. 

Instead, you get up and refill his cup with more tap water. 

“Want an apple?” you ask. Billy takes the cup of water and sips some of it. He shakes his head afterward. 

You smile without any teeth. Billy misses them.

When Billy’s done, you take his napkins and clean off his crumbs from the table before tossing it all away. 

“Want more water?” you ask. Billy shakes his head and watches you carry the cup to the sink and leave it there. 

“Do you want to see my bedroom?” you ask him quietly. 

Billy’s eyes open wider. Stupid. So stupid. Billy could ruin you. Billy could destroy you. Don’t you know what Billy is? Aren’t you afraid of the Moaner? You’re not supposed to welcome Billy in. 

Billy doesn’t answer your question, but he follows behind you up the stairs. You close the door to your room behind him, but Billy stays next to the door as you walk to your bed. 

“This is it,” you say. Billy stares at you. He’s seen your room before plenty of times, just never like this. Never with you, inside with you. 

“Come here.”  You pat the edge of the bed next to you. Billy waits to take his first step, then waits again for the next. He’s slow, but it's only because he still can't figure out your angle.

Still, he manages to sit beside you. He stares into his lap while you look at him. 

“You’re the one from the attic, aren’t you?” you whisper. 

Billy’s hands clench. He expects it now. You’ll be so scared of him. You’ll push him away, call him a freak. You’ll hit Billy until his nose bleeds, and then he’ll choke you with both hands because you made him mad. You'll deserve it because you hate Billy. 

But you don’t do anything - you just wait. Billy doesn’t know how to answer. Your teeth are so white. 

“I can hear you up there sometimes. Your foot steps. You have to be really quiet, don’t you?” you ask. He nods, because he does have to be quiet. He didn’t want to get caught, but you caught him anyways. 

Aren’t you afraid? Why are you letting him sit with you? Billy can’t understand you. Why are you being so nice?

“It’s a big house, but I can hear your phone calls too. You can be loud when you want to be.”

Billy’s heart plummets further. He grunts and rubs his eyes. With his vision obscured, it’s easier to talk. It’s like he isn’t really in the room with you. He wants to be up in the attic with his phone. He’d feel better talking to you that way. 

Instead, he only lets himself say, “I want to cum on your teeth.” His voice is quiet, whispered into the dark room. You sigh. 

“I wish you wouldn’t say that,” you murmur. 

“I’ll lick them clean,” he promises. They were really white. He catches another glimpse of them while you’re talking, pearly and shiny like the sun. 

“Do you want to take a shower? Or a bath? I could show you where the bathroom is,” you say. 

“No,” he says quickly, firmly. He hates wet hair, wet skin. Cold.

“Okay. Do you want to sleep here?” you ask him. Billy hates it. Why do you get to be so nice?

“Wanna put my cock inside your hole. Pig fuckhole,” he mutters, pressing against his eyes until his vision swims and flashes.

You sigh, and Billy blinks a few times to get back his sight before watching you twist and lay down. Your hair fans out against your pillow and, from he still sits at the edge of your bed, he imagines rubbing his cock against it. Evil, disgusting Billy. He should be put down like a dog. Bad dog, bad Billy.

“When’s the last time you slept on a real bed?” you ask him.

“Woof. Lay down, Billy,” he says quietly. He watches you and you watch him. The bed was really soft. He could curl up at the bottom of the bed and sleep at your feet like a puppy dog. He imagines rubbing his red cock against your toes. Would you hate Billy if you knew his brain? Would you still let him sleep with you in your big warm soft bed if you knew he was terrible?

He doesn’t want to find out. He crawls over your legs and lays down next to you, his head resting on the pillow beside yours. He stares up at the ceiling and tries to imagine what boxes of junk he’s underneath. 

“It’s lonely out there,” you say suddenly. Billy looks at you, and you’re also looking at the ceiling, so Billy looks back up. 

“You can sleep here tonight,” you tell him, fixing the blanket around the both of you.

Billy could easily roll over on top of you. He could bite your throat and pull out your flesh. He could chop you into pieces and then fuck whatever’s left. Instead, he stays still and watches the ceiling until he falls asleep. 

© slicznymartwy 2023, please do not repost or copy.

[forget-me-maybe]

WIP WHENEVER WOOOOO

thank you @lemonsrosesandlavender for the tag <3

sending tags forward to @little-paperboat @darkurgetrash @honeybee-bard if you want to 🌸

from what will probably be the first chapter of the final part of acoh, some sad wet cat hours for our least favourite man *heart eyes*

It’s fine, he tells himself as he leaves for work before Lathander’s even peeked his eyes open. He tells himself the same thing as he downs flat beer and stale bread in the evening before crashing onto the sheetless mattress crammed in the corner of the small living room. It’s not like he’s made himself worthy of anything better. 

The moth-eaten blanket only warms him enough to not shiver in the draughty flat. As many nights before, he drifts off into an uneasy sleep. He feels the crippling fear as they realise they’re outnumbered. He sees Brian’s guts spilled by dull and rusty goblin blades. He hears Liam’s screams as he finds out the others have turned around. Most of all, he feels the guilt as he wakes up, alive and fine. 

Days turn into weeks and weeks into months but to Aradin it might be minutes, it might be an eternity in the blurry routine of constantly being mere inches from the end of his rope. Except on this day, someone actually breaks the usual silence at the dinner table. 

“We’re going out tonight,” Remira says as a matter of fact. “The three of us.” 

Aradin sighs. Remi looks to Barth for support. The bastards must’ve planned this. 

“We’ve had enough of yer moping bullshite,” Barth says. “Y’need t‘ave a bit o’fun, mate.” 

And perhaps they’re right because Aradin doesn’t even have it in himself to argue with them about it. At least he’ll be able to down enough fireswill to get comfortably numb. Maybe he’ll even get drunk enough to pass out into a dreamless slumber. 

“Fine,” Aradin snarls before chewing down the rest of his dinner. 

“And get that sorry excuse for a beard off yer face,” Barth adds with a grin. 

Aradin glares, he had never planned on growing a beard. Nor does he possess the hair coverage to have one either. He’s just been neglecting it as much as, well, everything.

[bellysoupset]

Oooo I just read part 4 of the food poisoning and I just love Vince and Lucas's relationship😍the way Luke wishes Vince could be there and Vince texting Luke and being sooo dramatic😂I just loveeee the bromance going there and can't wait for a sick Vince/Luke and the not sick one being the caretaker🤭

-🌼

Hi 🌼!

Some Luke/Vin for you + Max!

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

"You can't open it before paying!" Vince cried out, swaying slightly on the spot and Lucas opened a mischievous smile, before opening the bag of Doritos he was holding in an exaggerated manner.

"Oh no, you think they'll arrest me now?"

"They should," Vince pouted, bracing against the ice cream fridge of the grocery store when another wave of dizziness came over him. He had overdone on the beers and he knew it, too caught up on the euphoria of having a weekend with his best friend.

Luke had only started to drink later, complaining of still being stuffed after lunch at Ma's house, and so he wasn't knocked out in a coma as he would've been by trying to keep up with Vince's drinking.

"I want gum," Luke said loudly, fingers all orange from the doritos little triangles and walking around in search of gum, while Vince tried to get himself on check. He was so dizzy and sorely regretting his choice of drink.

Beer carbonation kept sending up these gurgly wet burps, that fizzled out in his throat and threatened to bring with them the contents of his stomach. Despite the fact he was wearing track pants, the elastic of them were squeezing his tummy.

And their team had lost.

This wasn't as fun anymore, Vince thought, deciding to go find Luke and drag him back home, before he caused a mess in the store at nearly 3 AM.

His stomach rolled as he found Luke near the beverages, grabbing a bottle of vodka with a sparkly smile and greasy fingers, "VIN! LOok what I found!!" he exclaimed loudly, as if he had found some rare thing and not just strawberry vodka.

Vince grimaced at the thought of putting anything in his stomach, much less vodka, but his thought process was slow and all he managed was a distasteful shake of head, that had Luke dismissing him with a orange-fingered handwave.

He walked to the cashier, dumping the empty bag of Doritos, the bottle of strawberry flavored vodka and more tablets of chewable gum than he could carry.

Vince braced against the cashier, squeezing his eyes and taking a deep breath, "I think we should go home, Luke..."

"Okay," Lucas' happiness was through the roof. He was nearly bouncing on his feet, "we should call Bella."

No, they shouldn't.

Vince shook his head and immediately regretted it when the grocery store spun around him. He gulped down, rubbing a hand over his clammy face, and then let out a squeal and jumped back with enough force that he hit the tic-tac mints display and caused several plastic packets to fall.

In front of him, Daniels was holding a six-pack of ginger ale cans, a loaf of bread and some milk. He had his eyebrows raised.

"What- What is it!?" Luke turned at Vince's shout, "what's wrong, are you hurt-"

Vince pushed his best friend's drunken hands away from his face, as if Luke was searching for an imaginary wound and pointed at Daniels, whose lips had pressed into a thin line to stop him from laughing.

"That's professor jackassss..." Vince slurred the end of his words and cleared his throat, "what are you doing here?"

"It's a free country, Vinny," Daniels said cheekily, holding his items, "I've seen you," he said to Luke, "the other month, outside our school."

Luke squinted at Max, all drunk and confused, "that's professor jackass?" he asked, ignoring the blonde and turning to Vince, "he's short."

Vince snorted at that, tugging on his t-shirt. He was feeling so warm.

"You've been telling your friends about me? I'm flattered," Daniels shrugged, unbothered by Luke's comment.

Lucas ducked his head and barely muffled a huge burp behind his hand. It caused him to giggle and shake his head, ""sooorry..." he fumbled with his wallet, when the cashier cleared his throat, clearly tired of the chatting at 3 AM and no one paying, "sorry, sorry-"

Vince thumped his chest, trying to work up a burp he could feel rolling inside his packed gut, politeness be damned. A huge bubble went up, only to get stuck, and he let out a whine.

"Here," Luke said, unscrewing the bottle of vodka and passing it to him, "drink it."

It was a testament of how drunk he was that it didn't occur to him that drinking more alcohol to get a burp up wasn't really a bright idea. They stumbled outside and Vince passed the bottle of pink venom back to Luke, bracing against his knees outside the store and groaning.

"Bad... Bad idea..." he groaned and Luke patted his back a little too strongly, taking a gulp of the vodka himself.

"Are you gonna hurl?"

"Yeah..." Vince gulped down, but it was to no avail. His saliva tasted sweet and he wasn't just drunk, but packed to the brim with liquid. He aimed a small, dainty burp towards the ground and groaned even louder when it made his throat burn, "hurtss..."

Behind them, the little bell signaling someone else had stepped out of the store.

"You're a mess," Max commented coldly, "pity I don't have my phone with me right now, I'm sure you'd like a picture in the morning."

"Don't you have anywhere to be?" Lucas said loudly, causing Vin to groan and clumsily reach for his best friend's arm. He tugged the other man back, but it was too late.

Drunk Luke was a reactive person and Max was an asshole even sober and sleepy at 3 AM.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Daniels asked, coldly, and Vince's jaw got heavy, spit falling on the ground. None of the other two paid him any mind.

"No one invited you," Luke's voice, coated in annoyance, "we don't need your help."

"You're both wasted in a public space, you're disturbing people and-"

Whatever annoying thing Max about to say, he never managed to finish it, because Vince let out a retch and then a puddle of pale yellow beer vomit formed on the ground, missing Daniel's sneakers by less than an inch.

The blonde jumped back, while Luke latched on Vince to keep him from swaying, a bad idea considering Lucas was just as dizzy.

"What the fuck, Monacelli?!" Daniels cried out and Vin groaned in shame, his stomach burning due to all the alcohol.

He tried to fight the next heave, but his belly had been packed full and needed more out before calming down. So with another tiny burp, he coughed up another large stream of foamy puke all over the sidewallk.

"Awwwn," Luke made a sound like a wounded puppy, rubbing his back clumsily, "you're okay, get it up..."

"How much did he drink?" Max asked and Vince groaned, panting for air.

"M'fine..."

"You're fine," Daniels repeated skeptically, "did you two idiots drive here?"

"We're not idiots," Luke argued, thumping on Vin's back a little too harshly and causing the other man to groan and spit another mouthful of sick.

Over his head, Luke and Daniels continued to exchange jabs and Vince wrapped an arm around his upset belly, squeezing it. He could feel how bloated his tummy was, sloshing as he gingerly hugged it. He wanted Wendy, not the two dweebs arguing over his head.

Vince straightened up, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve and cleared his throat, "I'm fine..."

"Get in the car," Max pointed his white pickup, "now, before I change my mind."

"We don't want your help-"

"Thanks," Vince interrupted Luke's bitter retort, slapping the back of his friend's head, "Luke, zitto."

Lucas scoffed, "he's a jerk."

"This jerk is driving you home," Daniels pointed out, "before a parent or a student sees you like this-"

"You're the one to talk," Vince groaned, sliding in the backseat of Max's pickup and pressing his forehead to the headrest of the seat in front of him, "Sophia tells me what bars she's seen you in, Daniels."

"Hypocrite," Luke mumbled, still sour that they were being rescued by the guy he had clearly already chosen to hate on Vin's behalf.

"Get your dog on a leash, Monacelli," Max scoffed, "where to?"

"Just up the hill and-" Vince blew out a burp under his breath, "then the second- second left..."

"Should've let you walk," Max whispered, while Luke let out a groan from his spot, still hugging the strawberry vodka bottle to his chest like a teddy bear.

It was less than a five minutes drive, and yet the minute Max parked in front of his house, Luke stumbled out and fell to his knees on the grass, coughing up a thick stream of white vomit all over Vin's tiny front yard.

Daniels threw his door open, but didn't get out of the driver's side, while Vince stumbled out and crouched next to Luke with a drunken chuckle, "you're such a messy drunk," he teased his best friend lightly, squeezing his nape, "get it up."

Luke whined, another loud burp rolling up and bringing with it a mouthful of puke, "my stomach hurts..."

"I know, it's all-" Vince turned his head to blow out a little nauseated burp of his own, "its the vodka, man..." with his head turned, he could see Max eyeing them with his eyebrows raised. The blonde blushed as he caught Vince staring and promptly tried to frown to cover up the look on his face, but it was too late. Vin had seen it, the yearning and confusion written all over his features, however gross the situation was.

"You two ladies gonna be okay? You need me to hold your hair back?" Max asked, prompting Luke to hold up a middle finger, while still tossing his cookies.

Vince rubbed his back, feeling the other man lie against his side, seeking some comfort, "thanks," Vin said to Max, causing the man to wrinkle his nose and make a disgusted face.

"Yeah yeah, count this as payback for the bus," then he pulled his door shut and drove off.

Vince frowned, but he was too drunk to think on it and his head was swimming. The brief peace he had acquired with his belly was starting to crumble.

"Luke, you're done?"

"Uhum," Lucas sniffled, collapsing against him, "he's an- HIC! - HICan asshole..." he hiccupped, wrapping an arm around his stomach and Vince snorted.

"An asshole who drove us home."

"Still an asshole," Luke glared at him, then grabbed Vince's arm, "c'mon, let's go inside."

[bpbomegaverse]

Omegaverse Master Scent List

Scent description can be a big part of omegaverse. This is a master list of Alpha, Beta and Omega scents I've compiled. I will add to them when new things pop up for me.

Note: Just because I've put a scent in a certain category, doesn't mean you can't use it for one of the other second genders. 🫶 I kind of like that alpha a little more savoury, musky and deep. And omega are more sweet, fresh and light. But that's just my interpretation.

I'm starting with Alpha. I'll update the other two a little later.

Alpha - α

Gardenia

Orange Blossom

Lavender

Black orchid

Violet

Bluebell

Rosewood

Elderflower

Ink

Sparklers

Black Tea

Green tea

Resin

Saffron

Leather

Bark

Pine tree

Burnt wood

Coal/charcoal

Oak Barrel Whiskey

Cedar

Agar wood

Tobacco

Oudh

Driftwood

Oakmoss

Amber (labdanum)

White wood

Rosewood

Musk

Sherry oak

Match (blown out)

Rye Whiskey

Mahogany

Cegar

Wood sage

Almond

Walnut

Tar

Rubber

Moss

Iron

Bronze

Gold

Rust

Ash

Graphite

Vinyl

Smoked meats 

Coriander

Basil

Cinnamon

Nutmeg

Paprika (smoked)

Aniseed

Black cherry

Clove

Allspice

Fenugreek

Ginger

Black pepper

Roasted Garlic

Blood orange

Grapefruit

Blackberry

Bergamont

Lemon

Blood Plum

New car smell

Hay

Pesto

Balsamic Vinegar

Sauteed brown onions

Fruit cake

Eucalyptus

Teatree

Wet Dog

Blood

Soap

Fish oil

Marijuana

Lemongrass

Thunderstorms/Petrichor

Smoke

Mud

Wet forest floor

Limestone

Cobolt

Ore

Cactus

Molten rock

Shampoo

Wet cement

Cork

Bush fire

Egyptian dukkah

Jamaican Jerk

Recado rojo

Cajun spice

Chinese five spice

Baharat

Brown sugar

Toffee

Molasses

Apple pie

Tequila 

Dark chocolate

Bacon

Dark roast coffee

Petrol

Gunpowder

Gravy

Cola

Burnt caramel

Bone marrow

Syrah/Shiraz

Cabernet Sauvignon

Port 

Toasted bread

Buttered Popcorn

Dry dog food

Sulphur 

Mustard

Ginger Beer

Meatballs

Olives

Chipotle

Teriyaki

Peri-Peri

Sesame

Jalapeño

[muneca-lemon-steppa]

Congratulations!

Can you do “Why do you need my approval?” W/Santiago Garcia?

Thanks!

100 Follower Celebration: Don’t Be Stupid

Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x F!Reader

Warnings: Aggressive and Possessive Santi, language, allusions to creepy older men, bad Spanish because I’m a no sabo

A/N: Hello angels!!! I know that this isn’t my typical bread and butter but… this is my guilty pleasure and I had soooooo much fun writing this. A couple of housekeeping measures… I am a no sabo kid. To my non Latinx friends that means that while I am Latinx, and did speak Spanish as a primary language for the first 5 years, I was moved to another part of the country and lost my ability to speak Spanish. So I’m trying to learn it again. It’s hard. For my Spanish speaking sisters and brothers, give me so grace, because I am trying. Secondly, I think I have two more 100 follower Drabbles, and then we can finish Interviews for New Beginnings and the other requests I got! Love you all so much my darlings!! Have a wonderful dayyyyy - Mo 💕

Summer nights in Florida were always far too hot. It was the price of living in paradise. The heat of the afternoon's sun baked into the pavement and stucco walls now radiated back onto your thinly covered body. The surrounding water made the air far too wet, and immediately upon going into the outside air did you feel the thin film of sweat and honeyed air cling to your face, arms and legs. Summer nights were brutal in heaven.

But you would never leave it. Not for a million dollars. And neither would your Delta Force boys.

It was on these brutal nights where you tried to beat the heat and the stickiness by going out to the dive bars in Ybor City, the smaller and rowdier younger sister of Tampa. The crowds were easy to get lost in, and the music was thumping no matter where you stood; which was just the medicine you and your friends needed on a night like this.

In the back corner of such a bar, you were squished between Frankie and Santi, trying to fit in the massive and unruly Ben and Will to this too small table. "Whats good boys!? And baby girl, looking beautiful as always." Ben laughed out with a toothy grin. He was always all too happy to be with you all. And if a night out also involved a couple drinks, he was more in paradise than usual.

You laughed mirthlessly at his flirtatious jokes. He always threw one your way whenever he got the chance. You only wished that Pope would do the same.

Though you met the rest of the boys when you joined the Delta Force, you had actually known Santi since middle school. Your mom moved you both to the apartment next to his back in the 6th grade. When the creepy older men were harassing you on the way down to the school bus, Santi stepped in. And from that day on you never walked to the bus, or rode the bus alone. He kept the creeps and bullies away. You helped him with his math homework. Perfect partners. Best friends. A perfect pair. And God how you were in love with him.

You both had had your flings and boyfriends and girlfriends. But they all came and went. You were there and he was there when it eventually went to out the window. Some times you wondered if maybe he felt the same ache in his chest as you. But you pushed it to the side. He never saw you that way. He never would. You were best friends. A sister to him. It would never be more. And it never bothered you until recently. Maybe it was because you were getting older. Maybe it was because your girlfriends were having babies and in serious and solid relationships. Yet you were still here. Drinking barely cool enough beer with the Delta Force ding bats. You loved them. You loved them more than life and would and have put your life on the line for them. But you were getting older. You wanted to be seen as a woman. Not just another teammate.

Santi smirked and ruffled your head like a child, messing up the hair you had corralled into a pony tail, "Chiqitita muñeca is pissy tonight. Heat is getting too much for her."

You rolled your eyes and pushed him away. Frankie looked up from his ever present hat, "Pissed because she is stuck next to you and you won't let her up. Querida vamos. Let's get you another drink. This white boy at the bar has been giving you eyes all night and I wanna put him out of his misery."

Benny and Will whooped and laughed and your eyes widened, "Fish stop no he's not."

Frankie stood up, stretching out his long limbs and shaking his head, "He is. C'mon you haven't been putting yourself out there and it's dumb."

Frankie was right. You hadn't. In the past 3 years you hadn't even gone on a date because you were hoping, HOPING, that Santi would maybe make a move. That he would do something. But he hadn't. And you were tired of waiting. Frankie pulled you by the hand out of the booth and out of Santi's orbit. You smoothed out your cotton sundress, turning to the rest of the boys in the booth you hold yourself out to be appraised, "Yay or nay? Do I look gross?"

Will gave a thumbs up while Beni gave theatrical worshipping bows, "Hot sexy hot sexy hot sexy. Go get em tiger."

You noticed that Pope hadn't said anything, you turned to him waiting, "Pope??"

Eyes stern and cold he didn't even look up from his beer, "Why do you need my approval?"

You stomach dropped, and your face crumpled. Frankie rolled his eyes, "Coño la madre, don't listen to Pope you know how he gets when he's PMSing. You look nice. C'mon white boy is waiting. "

White boy was indeed waiting for you. His name was Connor. Clean cut. Not a Florida native which you clocked before you even made it up there. Worked in financing in downtown. Loved the Florida lifestyle but was still getting used to it. Super polite. Cute. And wanted to get to know you and buy you drinks and call you pretty. Soon any insecurity you had about Pope was miles away.

Frankie was pleased with himself, and brought back a round of beers to the table. Will and Benny were snickering in their seats, and Santi... well... Santi was fuming.

"What the fuck was that Fish?"

Smirking, he took a sip of his drink, "Que paso? No te queires chiqitita si?"

"Cabron, tu sabes quiero ella."

Benny cut in, "Hey hey hey. Don't let the gringos out man! Pope why are you getting pissed off? Nothing happened?"

Will spoke up, "He's pissed because Frankie basically delivered Chiqi to khakis boy over there."

Benny shrugged, "And??"

Will turned to him, looking as if Benny had grown another head, "And... Pope has been in love with Chiqi this entire time?? And Frankie knows that?? Benny did you get too many punches to the head or something?"

Benny’s eyes widen. The pieces fitting together. Will rolled his eyes, but Santi couldn’t care less. He was enraged with Fish. And Fish didn’t even care!! Fish knew that Santi had been in love with you for years. That he wanted you more than anything or anyone. That he had purposefully cut in on past relationships to keep you to himself. That he had building the courage to finally ask you to be his and only his. And yes here comes Fish. Delivering you to some… to some guy at a bar?

Frankie finished his beer and looked into his best friend’s eyes, “Hermano… I love you man. But you’re being a little bitch. No in fact you’ve been a bitch. Chiqi has been free and available for three years and you’ve done nothing about it. She’s clearly head over heels for you and you have been tiptoeing around it for no reason. You’re stupid. Chiqi deserves more. And if you’re angry about it you can go fix it.”

Frankie held his arm opened, lighting the way to you. He saw you laughing, your smile bright, things that he wanted to reserve for him and him alone. The things he had said were for him. The moment he saw Khaki’s hand brush up on your thigh, he saw red. He downed the rest of the beer that Frankie had gotten for him, and pushed his way out of the booth. The whoops and laughs from his brothers faded into the buzz behind him as he made his way to you.

“So… if it’s alright with you, I’d really like to take you out to dinner. Maybe next week?”

Connor was cute you thought. Not the same breathtaking handsomeness that Santi had, but Connor looked sweet. He looked honest. He would do for a boyfriend. You smiled, about to accept and give him your number, when Santi shoves himself in between you and Connor. “Oye Chiqi. Come dance.”

Connor gets up to look at you, “Hey man she’s with me relax.”

Santi turned around, “She’s not actually she came with me.”

You pushed Santi’a shoulder, “What the hell bro? Connor I’m sorry. This is Santi, we grew up together and he’s stupid protective and drunk. Santi can you please go back with Frankie I’m talking to someone.”

Without looking away from Connor Santi answers, “mm not drunk. I’m just making clear what’s mine.”

Connor looks at you and then Santi. Before he sheepishly smiles, “It was nice meeting you. I hope you guys figure things out.”

Connor walks away and you feel the rage building inside you, as Santi triumphantly turns back to you. You shove Santi’s shoulder, barely moving him, “You’re such a fucking asshole Pope. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Dance with me.”

“I’m not fucking dancing with you.”

He rolls his eyes and pulls you to the dance floor despite your protests, your skin burning in shock and anger where his hand clutches your wrist. You make it to the center, him hungrily grasping at your waist. You’re pissed off but also so confused at this change in temperature. Santi won’t stop looking at you. Those dark lashes attempting to hypnotize you back into his orbit. He brings his mouth to your ear, “When’s the last time you danced with me Chiqi?”

You scoffed, but brought your arms to wrap around his neck as he tugged you closer, chest to chest, “Senior prom. After Michael Vazquez left me for Torrence Sheltzer. And I stepped on your toes all night.”

He laughed, “Michael was such an idiot.”

You stay like that. The bass coursing through your body, right in time with the pounding of your heart against Santi’s chest. He was always a good dancer. Too good of a dancer, it was almost obscene the way he had you moving against him. You don’t know how long you had been spinning, and you had to rest your head on his shoulder because of how light headed you became.

“You shouldn’t have done that Pope. He was nice.”

“He was a wimp. Wouldn’t be able to take care of you.”

“What you’re going to chase away any man who comes up to me? I’m tired of being alone.”

“You’re not alone. You have me.”

“You know what I mean.”

He pulled your face off his shoulder to make you look in his eyes, “I do know. And i know what I said. You have me. You’re mine. I’m yours.”

You feel tears in your eyes. Either from the smoke, the alcohol, or the embarrassment, “Santi stop being stupid. You’re being mean. You know I love you and you’re making fun of me.”

He presses his dry lips to the tear that escapes your eye, then puts his forehead to yours, “I’m not Chiqi. I’m not. Chiqi I’ve loved you since the 8th grade. I’ve hated every one of your little boyfriends and I’ve coveted you for years. I’m not joking.”

“Then why haven’t you said anything? Why didn’t you come get me when I was right here?”

The tears fall more now. And he keep kissing your cheeks to remove them, “Because I’m an asshole. I’m a fucking asshole who was too afraid of you saying no. Too afraid of when you left. I didn’t want to lose you. But I can’t take it anymore Chiqi. I can’t take another boyfriend. I’m selfish. I’m a selfish asshole. I want you for myself. I want you to yell at me and call me stupid as long as it means you never leave my place and you never leave my side. Cmon Chiqi…. Let me call you mine.”

You stared at him. He was telling the truth. He was being raw and real and you knew that this wasn’t some act. This was Santi in his rawest form. He wanted you. You brought your hand around to squeeze his cheeks together, “I want you to take me on a date. A real one. Not the bar or the bowling alley with the boys. I want dinner that you pay for. And flowers. And for you to wear a real shirt.”

He shakes your hand off and smiles, “Tomorrow night. I take you to The Colombia. I pick you up. With roses.”

“Do I get to order flan?”

He smiles even wider, “Only if you let me feed it to you like those stupid romance books you read.”

You shove him and he laughs and pulls you closer, “Kiss me and seal the deal Chiqitita. C’mon don’t be mad. Kiss me and tell me you’re mine.”

You couldn’t keep yourself from laughing, making him work for your kiss. You finally relent, pulling him in for the best kiss ever. The best kiss of your life. Until tomorrow’s

[vikinglanguage]

An assortment of more or less ridiculous Danish phrases to incorporate into your day-to-day life! (part the 2nd)

strømpesokker (noun, fk. pl.) – socksocks Or stockingsocks, if you will. It's socks either way.

(hjemme)futter (noun, fk. pl.) – (home)choos I literally had no idea how to translate this, but basically futter (fut in singular) are like slippers or any kind of cozy, comfortable shoes you'd wear indoors. I don't know why we sometimes call them that, but fut is also the sound a train makes. Thus: choos.

blamsefi (noun, fk.) – blasmephy Blasphemy, but wrong because it sounds funnier like this

idyd (interj.) – indeed This is what we in Danish tend to call an undersættelse (see below) of the English indeed. I 'in' and dyd 'virtue', but it kind of sounds like deed. Again, I don't know anyone who uses this except from my immediate family

undersætte (verb) – transearly (extremely not literally) Allow me to explain: in Danish translate is oversætte (lit. over + set, likely a calque of Latin trādūcō via German übersetzen). When you underdo the act of oversætte, so when you translate something badly, especially if you do it too literally, you have not translated it – you have transearlied it (excuse my creative liberties here)

hils (verb, imperative) – tell them I said hello You can use this in literally any situation when someone announces they are going anywhere at all. To Austria? Hils! Grandpa's uncle's dog's funeral? Hils! The restroom? Hils! (even better if it's not a public restroom). However, this is traditionally used to tell someone to tell the person on the other end of a phone call hello from you

knep (interj.) – fuck (literally) Literal translation of English fuck. This is considered extremely vulgar in the same way that I think fuck is to especially older speakers of English (?)

stande (verb, dialect) – refurb An alternate way to say istandsætte (long, boring, standard Danish) in the dialect of the area of Jylland where I'm from (Salling). It means to fix, repair or refurbish

slo (adj., dialect) – stale Literally means the same as stale, which (imo) doesn't have an actual word in standard Danish. Your crisps got old and soft? Slo. Bread old and dry? Slo. Straw wet and moldy? Slo. Soda lost all its fizz? Slo. Again, this is sallingbomål <3

goddawsbjerg (interj.) – g'day-hill Say this when it is clear someone has not been following what has been said or has happened around them, kind of as to say "thrilled you decided to join us mentally as well as physically". As for the prevalence, I literally don't know anyone outside of my immediate family who uses this

idyllerisk (adj.) – idyllicish Literally just idyllic but funnier

bajselademad (noun, fk.) – pinchocowich Bajselademad is a portmanteau of the words bajer/bajser 'beer' (slang, so I used pint instead of beer) and chokoladelademad 'chocolate sandwich' (open faced, obviously). It literally just means a beer

puttesove (verb) – tucky-sleep A sorta cutesy, joking way to say sleep. Putte is the word for tucking someone in, as well as just chilling in bed – with at least a blanket or duvet if not several in addition to pillows

diskodaskoluderbenzin (noun, uncountable) – disco dasco whore gasoline Excuse the misogynistic overtones, but I just genuinely think this is a very funny was of describing low percentage vodka- or rum-basesd drinks (for example Bacardi Breezer)

kodyl (adj.) – aspirin Kodyl means great or exaggerated, and you can also use it as an interjection kodylt! like you would use 'swell!', because it is pretty outdated. Kodyl was originally a brand of painkiller

hurtigkneppersko (noun, fk. pl.) – fast-fucker shoes Expensive men's shoes, usually of some kind of skin, be it leather or snake. It implies the wearer of the shoes is a braggart with nothing to really brag about. This was added to the dictionary fairly recently, to the great amusement of many Danes

slam! (onomatopoeia) – whack! An onomatopoetic word imitating the sound of being hit. Used not unlike the (now somewhat outdated) English "oooh, burn!" or just "ouch!" to indicate that something said to someone in your company was (perhaps unnecessarily) blunt, rude, or just shut them down really quickly – like a slap to the face

hjemmebragt (adj.) – home mrade Or, more accurately, home brought. Most commonly used for baked goods (originating from hjemmebagt 'baked at home') that you intended to make yourself, but you just didn't have time, so you bought it at the corner store instead. Its use has, however, in my experience been extended to include most anything that """should've""" been homemade, but isn't

konge (adj.) – king When something is really good, it's konge. Anything can be konge, from a chair to the meal your mother cooked you on your bi-annual visit at home.

brugsvildledning (noun, fk.) – user misleader · deceptions for use A play on the word for 'user guide', brugsvejledning, swapping out the nominalised form of the verb vejlede 'guide, lead' for that of vildlede ' 'mislead, decive'

ork (noun, fk.) – bear An ork is something that you just really cannot be bothered to do, because it would require some kind of effort. Doesn't matter how much effort, as it could be anything from getting your drink that you forgot in your kitchen, only realising this after you sat down, to explaining to your homophobic uncle why it's not acceptable to call gay people slurs, even if it is "just a joke". Most often, it is the former of those two scenarios

dak (noun, uncountable) – boom* Short for dakkedak, which is an onomatopoetic name for music with a strong, repetitive bass rhythm. *this is a bad translation, but it's the best I could come up with

gråssenollike (noun, fk.) – greyish feather-brain A joke-y name for a house sparrow, gråspurv. Gråsse is presumed to either originate from plain gråspurv or gråsset 'grey-ish', and nollike is a word that can mean fool, but also be used about animals or women in jest.

skemad (noun, uncountable) – spoon food Literally anything you can eat with a spoon. I believe its most common use is for the food you first give babies when they are moving on from nursing to real food, but I know quite a few people who use it for cereal because we literally only have the word “morgenmadsprodukter” for it, which is a mouthful to say.