#it’s WEIRD. it’s so fucking weird that he had four kids and the two he didn’t even raise STILL fit into this mould

[bugieeeee]

Can't believe they named the character with the most daddy issues Issac, like the boy who just wanted to be helpful and was let down or abandoned by literally everyone down to his disappearance from the show being left alone in France with nothing paralelled with the biblical story of an obedient son being brought up to the mountains to be slaughtered amongst the rest of the sheep without a second thought from his father

[fingertipsmp3]

My sister messaged me

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Enemies to Lovers (Wolverine)

Description: Enemies to Lovers with Wolverine and Y/N

Author’s note: I had a request for hate sex (which I can still do) but decided to do this for now.

Wade smirked as Y/N walked out in her new outfit that the TVA gave her. She looked really sexy. “Hey beautiful. Don’t you look like you’re ready to get fucked.” 

Y/N gave him a weird look but shrugged it off as Paradox began to tell them that their universe was about to die off. Oh Hell No! 

Wade and her did not like that but when Y/N found out that Logan of all people was the reason why…she was livid. 

The second they find him she punches him in the face. He chuckled and stood up getting ready to face the person that did that. Only to be faced with Y/N. 

He looked down at her, amused by her, “No wonder that punch didn’t hurt so bad.” She went to punch him again but harder. Wade had stopped her before she could. 

“We need him Y/N/N. I sense in the near future you may be under him and not in a fighting way.” He teases. This Logan was a drunk and let down his universe. Y/N wasn’t taking that. 

“Look asshole, you’re coming with us to fix this. Because you’re the reason that it’s happening.” She yelled at him before Wade held the gun to his head. 

He was not taking them seriously at all. He laughed and drank himself to sleep. Y/N gasped as his body hit the ground. “Well this one will do.” Wade said. 

Y/N secretly did a double take at him in the “comic accurate” suit as Wade put it. He did look good but she still hated him. 

She rolled her eyes as Paradox made both of them disappear. “Let’s go.” She said and before she fought Paradox he made her disappear too. 

She ran up to the boys as they were fighting. “Hey.” She kept yelling but they kept fighting. 

She watched and almost came as Logan ran on all fours towards Wade. She stared at him for a good 5 seconds after. 

She snapped out of it and attacked him to the ground. “No time for games, Wolvy.” She said and held her knife up to his throat. 

He would never admit it but he found that super hot. She was super hot but yet she was an asshole. 

When Johnny showed up and started flirting with Y/N. Logan felt a little jealous but he shouldn’t. She laughed at every joke he said while they were tied up together. 

Wade watched as Logan rolled his eyes at the two and instantly knew that he was jealous. “Awww is Wolvy jealous?” He asked, teasing him. 

“Of what?” He asked, annoyed. “Of fire dick flirting with your girl.” Y/N was not his girl. But before he could deny what Wade said, Johnny started talking to all of them about Nova. 

Y/N had never met anyone in the X-men so she never knew Charles or that he had a sister. Wade and Logan didn’t know either. 

“Oh your thoughts were naughty naughty earlier Y/N.” She said to her with a wink. Wade was hella curious but Logan couldn’t give two fucks, thinking it was about Johnny. 

When Nova killed Johnny, Y/N glared at Wade. “Are you fucking kidding me?” She asked him. “You just got him killed!.” Wade was shocked that they were on the same page. 

“Wade, you’re a dick! I can’t believe you did that!” She yelled at Wade after he got Johnny killed. “Boo hoo he got your little boyfriend killed.” Y/N glared at him but Wade had to stop them before they fought.

Nicepool also made an enemy out of Logan after he saw him briefly check her out and drop the biggest bomb ever: “You look just like my wife who just had a baby.” 

Y/N was his wife…well a different Y/N. Wade was shocked by the news as was Logan. “So Y/N you’re married to me in a different universe?” Wade was kind of excited.

Y/N shrugged and walked past them. Logan wasn’t thrilled by the news but why did he care so much? Y/N wasn’t even thrilled by the news. 

The Honda Odyssey where fights and almost fucking happened. 

After Logan’s speech to Wade Y/N did one too but for Logan, “I know you’re not talking Mr. I fucked up in all my universes. Maybe we should have let you drank yourself to death because it’s clear that you aren’t any help anywhere.” 

Ouch that was harsh 

“He lied to me. Oh I’m sorry you guys lied to me.” He yelled back, kinda hurt by her words.

“You’re the reason that our universe is going dickhead! It seems like you’re useless in every universe.”

“Yeah well in my universe you were a whore on the street.” 

Y/N chuckled at that and thus began the fighting. Y/N wanted this no good loser dead but unfortunately that couldn’t happen.  

Waking up to Logan drinking and Wade cuddling her was not what she had in mind. “Thor.” Wade yelled as he woke up. “What the fuck?” Y/N said as she sat up. 

Gambit was another problem for Logan as he also was flirting with Y/N. “Just like in my universe.” Logan groaned as he watched as Y/N flirted with the card guy.

“That girl in there. Do you actually hate her?” Laura asked him. He shrugged, “No but she hates me and it seems like she does in every universe.” 

Y/N and him never got along in his universe and she was still the same here. But they would have to work together to put an end to this. 

A team they made and it was pretty good. Both of them along with the others took down most of the people and Nova…almost 

“What do you mean don’t kill her?” Y/N yelled at him but unlike her Logan knew Charles and this wasn’t what he would want. 

When Nova let him go back to their universe Y/N fell right on Logan. They both groaned and looked at each other. It was almost like the world had stopped before Wade interrupted, “Listen guys you can fuck later. We have a universe to save.” 

Seeing Nicepool again was not a good thing especially when the other deadpools arrived. “Ewww Wade they’re so many of you.” Y/N said and that made Logan laugh. At least they could agree on something. 

The Mask? Oh Y/N felt the hate leave her body while he wore it. It was very sexy and he smirked at her before they fought the pools. 

Once it was over they sighed but unfortunately it wasn’t over and they all got back up. “So only Nicepool could die?” She asked in shock as the others were alive again. 

Peter Pool saved the day and they escaped to Paradox. Y/N felt herself get sick at the thought of losing herself or Wade for this universe. She almost wanted to push for it to be Logan. 

But she cared about him too and also hated that idea. “It has to be toots.” Wade looked at her and held her hands. “Wade, No you can’t.” She said with tears in her eyes. 

“It needs to be me.” Logan said not expecting her to disagree. “It can’t be either of you.” She said which surprised him. “Well it certainly won’t be you.” Wade told her. 

“Why can’t it?” But before he could respond Logan did, “Look I know you hate me and want me dead but I regret us hating each other in my universe. I want you to be happy in this one.” Right there in that moment she fell in love. 

Sobbing at the fact that she would lose one of them until they came out alive and oh boy did she let her jaw drop at Logan’s abs. 

“Like what ya see sweetheart?” He asked with a smirk and she didn’t deny it. “Put on a shirt you slut.” Y/N took the shirt from Wade and shook her head.

Logan chuckled at that and took the shirt from her hands, “You’ll see more of it later sweetheart.” He told her and Wade looked surprised. 

“Oh so now we have enemies to lovers in these films.” Wade said and they looked confused. 

“What?”

[luveline]

hello lovely angel!! humbly requesting zombie!steve au, perhaps more of jealous steve? i love their dynamic so much💗 maybe someone is flirting with reader, and enter protective steve:)

thanks for requesting! fem, 2k

You tend to think of it in two weird halves. You love Steve, and you never would’ve known that without the end of the world, so things are okay. Sometimes you wonder if he ever could’ve loved you if he hadn’t been so close to you for so long, but he loves you in this insane capacity of softness that says otherwise. Like, soulmate style. 

It didn’t begin that way. Steve your reluctant guide, and you his unlikely saviour. You’d stopped him from dying at the very start of it all and he couldn’t leave you behind. And Steve, he’d been mean to you. He didn’t want to take care of you initially, but you’d grown to get along. You’d argue black and blue and he’d still rub your back at night. 

There are so many moments you’ve shared that make what you have all the more special. A hundred different memories from before you’d ever kissed. You think about it now, watching him across the firepit as he shows a young girl, Cassandra, how to braid her hair. 

The one that’s sticking today is when Steve got really bad food poisoning for the first time. When you’d known you were in love with him for a while, and when he’d stopped pretending he didn’t know. He’d been sick everywhere, on both your shoes, and you’d rubbed his back through everything.  

It was nice to take care of him. Nicer that night when you’d shared a bed and he’d hugged you half to death. 

He has no idea how much he means to you, or how much those moments with him kept you going when you were all alone. You’re lucky now to have found community, but those stolen hours in bed with him hugging him and getting to be his support, you wouldn’t have made it here without them. 

“Hey.” 

You look up as a man sits down. A boy, a man —what do you call twenty somethings? You don’t feel like a woman most of the time, but you are. 

“Hi,” you say. 

“I’m Jamison.” 

“You’re Eddie’s friend, right?” 

“Who, Munson?” Jamison makes a kidding face, a disgusted scrunch of his eyebrows that falls away to more friendly fondness. “Yeah, we go back. You’re Eddie’s friend too, right? I saw you guys taking out some laundry a few days ago.” 

Jamison is handsome. He has tan skin, short hair, and a crooked nose. His smile is disarming. If you hadn’t fallen in love with the handsomest guy around, you might feel nervous under his gaze. 

Time spent ugly under Steve’s reverent handling makes you confident. You genuinely feel prettier knowing Steve loves you, and it makes it easier to be yourself with strangers. 

“Eddie’s awesome,” you say easily. “I thought he was gonna kill me when we first met, but he’s too nice.” 

“Nice, really?” 

Jamison is casual, as people go. You wonder what his motivations are for talking to you at first, but as conversation stretches, littered with the cracking pops of the fireplace and brief pauses of surprisingly comfortable silence, you realise he’s just talking. Maybe he’s lonely. You know how that feels. 

He tells you that he and Eddie had been in a rock band together before the apocalypse. You’d known to some extent that Eddie was in a band, but Jamison tells you all the details you’d been missing. They were called Corroded Coffin, four members, Eddie played guitar and Jamison thought he was pretty fucking good at it, actually. 

“I don’t think we would’ve been, like, Metallica. But we could’ve been good. We were gonna make a record.” 

You smoke sympathetically. “I bet you could’ve been.” 

“What were you doing? Before all this?” 

“I honestly barely remember,” you say quietly. Your life before Steve is a blur, and it’s painful, too. “Things are harder now, I know that. I wish every day that we could go back to how things were, you know, I miss TV and grocery stores and my family.” You lick your lips. “I wish things were different, but somehow, I think I like my life now. I have stuff to do. Is that crazy?” 

“It’s not crazy. Everything fucking sucks,” —you both laugh— “but that’s not crazy. I’m lucky, I still have my dad, and my friends. There’s purpose in being here.” 

You nod emphatically, just once. “Exactly.” 

You have purpose, now. You get to be a friend, a girlfriend, a confidente. You take care of people. 

It all comes back to Steve, at the end of the day. Would you change the world if it meant never having met him? 

Nope. 

You glance across the fire for him, but he’s not there. 

You put your arm behind your back and bend, looking for him. 

“Looking for someone?” Jamison asks. 

You deflate with relief when you spot him standing near the gaggle of tents about fifty feet away. He’s looking at you from over Robin’s shoulder. You wave, and he waves back with a big smile. 

Something seems a little wrong. 

“Steve,” you explain. 

“He’s your boyfriend, yeah? Eddie told me you’ve been together since the start.” 

You don’t bother correcting him. He might not mean together as how you’re thinking it. “Yeah, that’s him. Have you met him?” 

“Kind of. We all thought he was a huge dick, back then.” 

“He sort of was,” you say. “I mean, we all had our own stuff going on. I get that I’m biased, but he’s my favourite person I’ve ever met. He’s so kind, I don’t think I could describe it to you or anyone just how much he cares about people. I wouldn’t be here without him, and… I don’t know, I’m not saying you’re wrong, but if you ever wanted to meet him again, he’s amazing. He’s a great friend. He’s so fucking funny, he makes me laugh every day.” 

“He’s sort of giving me the stink eye,” Jamison says. 

You wave your hand weakly. “He has raging jealousy issues.” 

“Shit, am I getting you in trouble?” 

“No, never!” you say, tempted to laugh. “He doesn’t get mad at me for stuff like that. He’s normal, I promise. Just sensitive.”

You tell Jamison that it was nice talking to him because it really was, but you’ve been missing Steve for hours already and you need to get back to him before you go totally bonkers. 

He’s sitting on the floor in the tent. The weather has been beautiful lately, you could sleep under the stars if you weren’t scared of being zombie charcuterie. Steve has stripped down to just his jeans and socks, no t-shirt or shoes to be seen. He has his sketchbook splayed open on his thigh, but he abandons it the moment you kneel down. 

“Hey,” you say. 

Steve folds his book closed, pencil between its pages. “Hi. Have I told you lately how beautiful you are?” 

You shuffle in to take his hand. Clumsy touches, his fingers warm and a tad clammy between yours. “You told me yesterday that I have a smile like an angel. I know you were kidding, but I still felt it.” 

“I wasn’t kidding,” he says, wrinkling his nose with a smile. “You think every compliment is a joke.” 

“Don’t make me laugh so much, then.” 

He squeezes your fingers gently. “Sorry I didn’t introduce myself to Jamison. Just, I knew him already from school. And he did not like me.” 

“That’s okay. He seemed nice, I think you’d get along if you met now.” You kick your shoes off and crawl as close to him as you can get. He looks up at you, but you look down at his lap. “What are you drawing?” 

“I was just trying to touch up that landscape I did of the river,” he says, a sheepishness to him as he opens his sketchbook. 

You read it with affection, trace lines and hatchings in awe. “Steve, I really wish you had time and space to do this stuff properly. Not that you aren’t doing it properly, just, I know you could make something just as beautiful as this with paint.” You slide to be sitting properly, putting you both at the same height, so you can meet his eyes as you continue. “Did you know what you wanted to do, when you were finishing school? Did you ever think about art?” 

“I thought about it.” His lips quirk. “Mostly about how my dad would’ve kicked me out if I said something that stupid.” 

“It’s not stupid.” 

“I know.” 

That would’ve been a nice life. You and Steve living together, with a basement for his paintings, or a garage turned studio. You’d read books together every night like you do now, and you’d scrub paint smudges off of his cheek. 

You love him so much it must give you an aura. 

“I’ve got nothing to worry about, huh?” he asks softly. 

You drift in, tipping your head back for a kiss you don’t take. “I don’t know, Steve, Jamison used to be in a rock band.” 

He scoffs in disgust. You think it might be a mixture of anger at Jamison and himself. “Who wants to date a rockstar?” 

“I might’ve.” 

You’re teasing, of course, smiling as your kiss draws nearer, and nearer. 

“Well, I can be a rockstar,” he says quietly, warmth of his breath on your lips. “Just give me a chance to get there.” 

You brush the tip of your nose against his and hold your breath. “That’s okay,” you say, letting it rush out of you in a huff, your excitement to be kissed too much to bear, “I like my guys all mixed up. Preferably good at track, and swimming, but with a soft side. Kind of guy who fills a sketchbook up with my face.” 

Steve lists to the side. Your lips are so close, you can feel the phantom of them against yours as he moves in. “It’s not just your face… it’s your hands, your arms… your everything–”

He cuts his own explanation off with a soft kiss. That softness swiftly hardens, turns rough, ten long seconds of sweetness before his hands coming up behind your head and he’s pressing inward, deepening the kiss, and giving you little room to breathe. 

You have no intention of dating any rockstars, but his jealous streak has nothing but upsides for you. Steve knows that his jealousy over the innocuous is his own problem, his own insecurity that he’s working on, and while you sympathise with him (after all, haven’t you yourself worried he’d find someone else he liked more?), you have to confess to enjoying the edge to his kissing. 

You make a pleased, humoured sound as he breathes you in like you’re a drug he’s been waiting for. He gets sloppier, and you can’t help pulling away to laugh. 

“What?” he asks, thumbing at your cheek in a soft juxtaposition. “Sorry, am I being a dick?” 

“No, it’s fine. Kiss me how you want to.” 

Steve kisses your cheek softly. “He knows you have a boyfriend, right?” 

“He knows.” 

Steve hums like he’s smiling and nudges your nose with his, until you part your lips, and he wades in for another dose. 

[simpjaes]

jungwon being amazed when reader begs to be titty fucked 😇😇 ik jungwon loves boobies, he just gives that vibeeeee

*gasp*

mdni wc: 1.1k tags: they're best friends and jungwon has a staring problem. reader doesn't beg but she definitely encourages it....he fingers her hahahaha……

jungwon, the shyest best friend you've ever had struggling not to stare every single time you wear a shirt that shows the curve of your bust or the cleavage of them.

countless times you've swatted at him, called him a perv, told him to go find a girl to sink into before he makes it weird-- and countless times he hasn't fought you on it.

countless times he's just kept staring. and staring. and nearly drooling.

especially when you sleep over, wearing that fucking tank top. Such huge tits, he shouldn't have been shocked when he woke up and loomed over you, seeing a glimpse of your perky and pretty nipple. Honestly, he's sure that your tits have fallen out of that tank top mid-sleep hundreds of times, at this point you're probably just wearing it so he feels embarrassed for looking, right?

Absolutely right.

Now, weeks after the tit-falling-out-of-your-top incident, you decide to push a little. After all, you love Jungwon with everything in you. It's what any best friend would do...maybe.

"You wanna fuck them?" You ask off handedly, watching as your best friend, once again, won't stop staring.

"Wha-"

"Just kidding," You wave him off, turning on your heel and walking towards his kitchen. You stop short of the entrance though, and turn back to face him. "Unless...?"

It's cute, really, how he basically throws himself back into his bedroom at the mere thought of seeing the head of his cock peek through your tits as he fucks them.

You're not serious though, right? You're just fucking with him again.

Oh, but you're so serious about it. As you walk back into his room with a glass of juice, you make a point to play with the strap on that same tank top.

"You want to." You dead-pan at him, clocking his desires at face value. "And I'd let you."

He watches as you shrug, those same dainty fingers teasing him with the strap of your tank top.

Watching, staring again. Is this why you didn't wear a bra today? Is this why he can practically see how hard your nipples are through that tank? Is this why you turned down his air conditioning?

"Stop fucking with me." Jungwon starts, forcing his eyes away from your tits and trying to look up at your face. "It'll be weird."

"Not any more weird than seeing you stare twenty-four-seven."

Ah, there goes his cheeks. Flushing before reddening at your words. His cock twitches between his legs at the way his mind races through images of doing just that with you.

But...you're his best friend.

"Wonnie, you're thinking too hard about it. See? Look." You chuckle, setting your glass down on his bed-side table and lifting the tank top off of you.

He's in shock when they bounce out, fleshy, heavy. Huge fucking tits. If he's ever stared before, he's only doing it harder now as he rubs his legs together, clenching his ass and pushing his growing cock up and against the inseam of his pants.

You, on the other hand, aren't typically this bold. You've never really been afraid to show your tits but Jungwon is right in worrying about the fact that the two of you are best friends.

The way his mouth falls open though? The way he rubs his legs together? The way you can see his cock twitching?

If anything, he's just a guy who loves some tits, and you happen to have him. It won't be weird....hopefully.

"See?" You repeat your words in a softer tone, feeling more seen than expected. "It's easy."

He slowly nods to you, moving his hand between his legs and pressing his palm down. He releases a seethed moan, eyes squinting as if he's in some sort of pain.

If anything, it's reluctance.

"It'll be s-so fucking weird." He finally manages to stutter out, still pressing his palm against himself, still shifting his eyes between both perked up nipples.

"Not any more weird than watching you practically jerk off to me-" You admit, rubbing your own legs together now at seeing your best friend act so...horny.

After all, yeah, he stares. Yeah, it's cute. But this. Why is he turning you on now?

And those words are really all it takes to have Jungwon standing to his feet and dropping his pants, cock hanging heavy and begging to be slid between your tits.

He's leaking when he does it, gently helping you down to your knees in front of his bed, and there, he sits with his cock in hand, unsure of what to do next.

You chuckle at him, as if the two of you haven't already made it weird. You hold both of your breasts up and rub one of your nipples along his length, collecting the precum until it's dribbling out even more.

His hips press up on instinct, fucking nothing but moaning all the while until you take it upon yourself once again to lean forward and nestle his cock between them.

And he just doesn't stop moaning, hands shooting to the outer cups of your tits and pressing them firmly together before fucking up again, and again, and again. Until he's panting rather than moaning, until his brain spirals into that of wondering how the plush sensation wrapping his cock right now is just as good as having it squeezed by a wet cunt. in other words, it's definitely weird but he also thinks no other pair of tits would feel this good against him. And he makes it a point to prove to you. Proving it by cumming within minutes, spurting his cum all up your neck with trembling hands struggling to hold your tits through it. You're in awe, really, seeing your best friend get off for the first time. It doesn't really pain you to stick your tongue out to catch some of his cum, though it seemed to shock him quite a bit as seeing you do it. And by shock him, you mean it seemed to turn him on more because you thought you'd caught the last of his release. No, oh no no. He kept cumming, repeatedly spurting out more and more up until he's entirely spent and flopping back on his bed.

You're quiet when you stand and hover over him, ignoring the swell of your clit and the thick wet sliding between your legs when you move. "Too weird?" You ask gently, slowly crawling onto the bed with him. He blinks up at you, glowing with his post-nut bliss and shakes his head. "Somehow, no." He smiles. "So...then..." You pause, your own face heating up. "You wouldn't be opposed to...yknow.." He feels you grip his hand and run it down your body, straight down between your legs. What he wasn't expecting was for you to like it enough to get this fucking wet over it. And when he looks at you quirking a brow, it's easy for him to offer you some release. Fingers plunging into you from under your shorts, smiling at you like he always does.

[alchemistc]

Part One

They don't tell anyone. Not about the marriage certificate, at least. Buck comes back from his conference with a new-old boyfriend and money exchanges hands despite protest from the losers that Bobby had inside knowledge.

(He did not.)

They put the rings away. They talk a bunch of shit out that they'd only skimmed the surface of on the patio of that dingy bar.

Buck buys him that beer.

Finally.

Things are - things aren't easy. Buck skips ahead in his own mind and desperately backpedals before Tommy notices (he hopes). Tommy continues to be tight lipped about things, goes with the flow more often than he should and absolutely hates being called out about it.

Eddie is slow to readjust to having Tommy back in their lives.

With Chris back, he swears up and down he believes Buck that they're both serious about this, but he invites Tommy over less, doesn't involve him in Chris's life as often. Buck tries desperately not to let Eddie's hesitancy inform any of the feelings bubbling in his chest, any of the half-formed futures in his head.

Bobby calls Tommy and they go out for coffee and Tommy spends a week pretending to be so fucking fine about whatever they talked about that Buck starts baking again.

Tommy's abs get a little less defined.

Buck takes him to a gay bar, because they never did that before, never explored anything that wasn't just the two of them, never talked about the community or the history or the impact of being queer. The first time someone approaches their spot at the corner of the bar, Tommy seems to be trying incredibly hard not to read into any of the reactions Buck is having, and failing miserably.

But the thing is. The thing is Buck did this on his own. Petty, unhappy, Tommy's words swirling in his head, he's tried a few dozen times to find another person remotely as appealing as the one at his side, and they'd all fallen short.

When the guy asks Buck if he wants to dance Buck blurts out words before he can think about it that he's absolutely certain are gonna send Tommy spiraling. "Appreciate the offer, but I'm here with my husband. We're celebrating."

The guy blinks. He's young. Younger than Buck, slim and attractive, dark brown eyes and light brown skin that glows golden even in the crappy bar lighting. His gaze darts almost eagerly between them, like he's seeing something he hadn't expected. Something hopeful blooms in his gaze, and Buck - oh.

Buck gets it.

That's a lot of weight to carry just for existing in the world and trying to snatch some happiness from it.

Buck smooths a hand over Tommy's knee and smiles at him, something soft and settled that has been harder to find this time around but still curls up against his spine like it belongs there.

The kid buys them a round and leaves.

"What are we celebrating?" Tommy asks, and Buck pretends not to notice the way his thumb is rubbing over the bare patch of skin where Buck had slid a ring, a few months ago. He's not freaking.

"Whatever we want," Buck says with a shrug, and doesn't mention that neither one of them have brought up the marriage certificate tucked away in Tommy's safe since they got back from Vegas.

---

"The Abby thing is still weird," Buck says, breath heaving as Tommy rearranges Buck's legs and tucks himself into Buck's side. They'd spent an evening talking candidly about their exes because Buck can't understand how they went six months without realizing.

Tommy's hands shift through the hair Buck stopped shaving the first time Tommy admitted he preferred it to the baby smooth skin Buck had tried desperately to maintain for the first four months. It's just now feeling normal, after so many years of keeping it smooth.

"I think she'd freak more than you did."

"I managed to implode a six month relationship with my freak, Tommy."

Tommy chuffs a laugh. Slides his calf up and down Buck's lower leg, and despite the fact that Buck has a few more notches in his belt that'd had that same scritch of hair against his, Buck relishes the feel just because it's Tommy.

"You had help." He pauses, though, tips his chin and tucks it against the give of Buck's shoulder. "I'm not implying her reaction was particularly homophobic, but - I think that was the worst part, for her. The fact that I hadn't just lied about how I felt. It was - she assumed I couldn't feel it."

Buck can't help the brow raise. "Tommy, you're a Kinsey six."

"I still loved her."

He's been working his way through romantic vs sexual vs platonic and learning a whole hell of a lot in the process. He gets Tommy's point. He's thrilled that Tommy is still in a sharing mood. It's just -

Tommy shifts, noses into Buck's underarm. Breathes deep, and Buck has to fight the urge to shove him away.

"If I'm totally off base here tell me, but I think you loved her like I love Eddie."

Tommy narrows his eyes. Contemplates. "Tell me again how jealous of his hair you were when you met," he decides on, and shrieks when Buck digs a finger into his ribs in retaliation.

---

They fight, and it's thrilling.

They never did that before. Minced their words and apologized and let it all drop away but never actually let it go, and when Tommy gets on a roll he's bitchy as hell. It drives Buck insane. He wants to wring his fucking neck. He wants to take him to the mat and actually learn enough about Muay Thai to stand a chance lasting two minutes. He wants to throw him against a wall and jack him off until he sees stars.

"He wouldn't do the same for me, Evan, so why should I bother?!"

Tommy's dad is dying. According to Tommy, it's days or weeks, not months or years, and Tommy had said it so emotionless that Buck had jokingly tried to check him for panels and plugs and wiring. Tommy hadn't appreciated the robot joke.

"Screw your dad, Tommy! Do it for yourself."

"I'm not like you, Evan! That bridge burned a decade ago. I don't need - ." He pinches the bridge of his nose. Grimaces and sucks in a breath. Usually that means he's yanking back words he knows he'll regret. Rearranging them in his mind until they're less likely to sting. "I don't want a death bed reconciliation any more than I want to be proven right about him."

Buck takes two weeks off to help Tommy plan the funeral.

Tommy tosses the contents of the urn into the ocean two weeks later, and when Buck asks about it, Tommy gives him a shifty look, like he thinks the answer might send Buck running. "He hated the ocean."

It's the last time they talk about his dad, for a while.

[lilithofpenandbook]

You know what? We needed more of Snape being just a deliberately unhelpful lil shit to the other teachers. He's essentially their adult child. He was raised by pretty much everyone else there. He's not even forty. You get wizards living past a hundred. Snape's literally a kid compared to them, and that was such a missed opportunity imo

Give me Snape being sarcastic and sassy to his former teachers just because. Snape making references or using terms he knows full well the others are too old to get. Snape going "okay boomer" to McGonagall when she's annoyed with him and not explaining what that means. Snape being the only person who knows how modern inventions work. Snape practically throwing tantrums because No I am not a child how dare you keep treating me as such stop fucking PICKING ME UP AND THROWING ME. Snape having to call the older ladies 'Auntie' because he physically can't call them by name alone just because it sounded so weird when he became a teacher and now it's stuck. Snape having to deal with the older teachers still talking to him like he's a child. Snape secretly trying to get their approval and validation. Snape being dramatic and whining when told to do something small by one of the older teachers. Snape being the one they send to do things like getting water because they're too lazy to get it and Snape's right there. Snape having to be the one to physically rescue students because suddenly all the others are too old to go climbing in trees and he doesn't have that excuse yet. Snape having two different voices, the Professor voice and the Severus voice and so the Severus voice is his actual way of speaking and it's much less formal and a lot younger but because, when he started teaching, a majority of his students had been his school mates he decided to act like he was actually about fifty four and make them respect him. Snape who gives himself a resting bitch face on purpose to appear older and more intimidating

Just Snape actually acting like the youngest.

[emacrow]

When danny beat pariah king and Dan, he didn't expect the damn crown and ring to follow him.

He tried everything so far to asking clockwork for help only to be told some cryptic bullshit.

The fucking crown and ring followed him everywhere even in the shower that one time scared the shit outta of him for ancient sake. It seem scolding them like a dog(thanks to tucker advise) actually work for a few days..

It was weird as fuck to see a crown and ring of rage actually look depressed as shit in the corner with a droopy blue coloring in the corner of his room under his dirt clothes a Camouflage.

It was like some self sentient object gone wrong.

Those two were diabolical, almost nearly tricking him into wearing them that one time during the school play, fortunately his ghost sense went off the moment he was about to put on the ring part.

That lead to another scolding that lasted a couple days of peace.

Until the day, he got caught by the GIW while distracted with skulker and techno again...

Being trapped to a table, mouth gagged and limbs binded like a insect held by needles pins with stolen fenton locks for dissection had him full blown out panic as the doctors left to get their new equipments after the scapel broke during the mid cutting.

Only for the crown and ring to appear like a shadow in above him. Danny was mentally arguing with himself about whether to accept his fate or get dissected and organs harvasted before he huffed through his nose and slightly nod as best as he could with the strapped helding his head to the table could do.

The crown floating toward his head, placing itself on his white hair while the ring slipped into his middle finger, before a blinding light nearly engulped the room.

The black crown covered in blue flames changed ad morphs into a aurora lights shaped crown designed in frozen ice as the ring changed from a skull to tiny galaxy like marble..

Danny could feel a surge of power nearly engulp his very core as voices whispers him, stars, galaxies, universe, the four dimension, multiple of parallel worlds and all secrets of the entire universe crammed into his brain nearly torn at his human mind before a portal below him opened sucked him in.

By the time the doctor came back, the subject on the table had escaped.

....

....

....

Danny only woke, laying on some type of ground, before he noticed that he was a bit different, enhanced like claws with sharp black nails..

As he noticed the ground was red with drips of glowing green ectoplasm blood before looking up to the sky..

To see stars above, and earth very far off on the right..

Darkness started to swirl a bit as his mind subconscious realize he might not be on earth and he might be on Mars.... first human on mars... before his body exhausted collapse back into the red dirt of mars.

Unawared of the forseen event as the astronaut crew on mars find a alien kid during exploration..

Fic inspired by this link here

[livwritesstuff]

Eddie is holed up in the office of his and Steve’s home working on some writing when he notices an odd kind of commotion coming from upstairs.

Now, he and Steve have three daughters under the age of ten, so commotion is pretty much a baseline for them, but it’s odd because it sounds like Steve might actually be involved this time, and that makes it especially weird because Eddie was pretty sure that Steve was taking the kids to see a movie to give Eddie a few hours to maybe hit that word count goal (he probably won't, but whatever).

It's just about odd enough for Eddie to go investigate further and, indeed, he finds a very much ticked-off Steve standing outside of their middle daughter Robbie’s closed bedroom door.

“What the hell is going on?” Eddie asks.

Steve rounds on him. 

“She’s driving me insane,” Steve says, “That kid is you in a seven-year-old’s body, and I’m going insane.”

“Wait, can you…” Ed shook his head, “What’s happening?”

“I thought it would be fun to take the girls to that new Nanny McPhee movie because they liked the first one, right?” he starts

“Sure.”

“The second – the second – I suggested it, Robbie starts ranting and raving. Ed, do you know what she said to me? 

“Oh god,” Eddie said warily, “What’d she say?”

“She said sequels aren’t passion projects, Papa. They’re just for money. Who the fuck do you think she learned that one from, Ed?”

And yeah, shit, that might be Eddie’s bad.

“Whatever,” Steve says before Eddie has a chance to respond, “So she doesn’t wanna go – that’s fine – but, shocker, the other two still want to go, and just as we’re walking out the door, Robbie demands that we wait for her because she actually does want to come and now,” Steve pauses to hold in a laugh as Robbie scutters out of her room in the direction of the bathroom, one shoe on and an earring half-in, “Now we’re gonna be so fuckin’ late because this one can’t just throw on a sweatshirt and get in the car.”

Eddie knows for a fact that Robbie had spent the entire weekend in the same pajamas she’d worn to bed on Friday night, but now she’s donned a denim dress with a red t-shirt and black tights underneath. She’s got black combat boots on her feet (just one at the moment, actually), and she’s wearing the leather jacket Eddie had found at a thrift shop in New York to complete the ensemble.

“Look at this kid,” Steve says, following Robbie into the bathroom and watching as she tried to fix her earring with one hand and her hair with the other, “Robbie, it’s August. It’s almost ninety degrees outside. Maybe think about ditching the leather.”

“I don’t care,” she fires back, “It’s about the look, Papa.”

“We’re going to a movie theater. It’ll be pitch black. Nobody will be looking at anything other than the movie. Let’s go.”

But Robbie is already pushing past him with a belligerent, “Outta my way. I gotta get another necklace.”

Steve manages to snag Robbie by the back of her jacket and swing her up into his arms.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” he says as Robbie furiously tries to squirm out of his grip to no avail, “Oh, I’m Robbie and I’m four feet tall and I get up-in-arms about everything and I’m gonna wear a leather jacket in August even though I once got heat exhaustion at the mall and gave my dad a fuckin’ heart attack.”

Robbie is in giggling hysterics by the time Steve ends his onslaught of mockery and puts her down.

“What do you think?” Steve asks, “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” she says, and then she asks, “Can you help me find my other shoe?”

“And now she’s asking me for shit,” Steve comments in disbelief as Robbie ducks back into her room. He looks at Eddie, “Seriously, you need to call Wayne and apologize for everything you must have put him through.”

“Alright.”

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One

Steve’s bedroom door is open. He’s perched on the edge of the bed, pretty much everyone else wedged in here with him. Rob is on the bed too, leaning against him. Jon and Nance are sitting at the bottom. All the kids are sitting on the floor.

Everyone's quiet. Waiting. Straining to hear.

El and Eddie are next door.

And Steve has no fucking idea what the hell is going on.

The gates are all closed. Hawkins is a mess, but within the first twenty four hours there was a big push to start repairs. The government is probably pouring cash on this to tidy it up, clean it up, cover it up; make sure everyone knows it was an earthquake.

Gas main damaged in the quake leaked; if anyone saw anything weird, they’re already convinced it was a hallucination. So there’s that.

Everyone got out of hospital within hours; the worst off was probably Steve himself. His wounds from the bats, from their first run in with Vecna, still hadn't healed and one of them had been growing steadily more infected. He has fresh injuries from this time around; all of them inflicted by Eddie. Steve has two broken ribs, and he sounds like he's been smoking 100 a day for sixty years from where Eddie nearly choked him out. He needed twelve stitches in the nasty gash he picked up on the back of his head, but luckily no concussion this time. He's covered in scratches and bruises, but the hospital were happy to let him go with antibiotics and firm instructions to rest.

Eddie, surprisingly, has a clean bill of health. He was filthy, and the scars were bad but...otherwise, he didn’t have so much as an open scratch on him. Everything healed up completely. Which makes...no sense. Steve literally saw him die.

But that also means while they were preparing...planning...working to take down Vecna...he had Eddie the whole time. Potentially, that was nearly a week. The shock they had all had, seeing Eddie again. Obviously they hadn’t planned for that, hadn't factored it into their plans, and it completely and utterly fucked everything up.

They were done for. They were all going to die, no question. But something happened. Something changed. Steve was convinced he was about to get choked to death by Eddie, or maybe impaled on that ridiculous sword but...no. Eddie had blinked awake. And then he’d cut Vecna’s head clean off...which, unexpected, but still a win.

Eddie had dropped the sword, stumbling along after everyone else to get out before the gates closed on them.

Since then, Eddie's been silent. Going where he's told, stumbling through the examinations, sitting on the periphery of the group, staring into space. He looked broken, even to Steve, who realistically didn't know Eddie that well. Eddie had the vacant stare of someone who's just been though something traumatic.

When Dustin had tried to hug him, even, Eddie had flinched away.

No one tried to touch him after that, giving up talking to him pretty quickly. Eddie wasn't going to answer. Steve could practically watch Dustin getting more and more distressed over the state of Eddie. Everyone was aware; all they could do was sit and watch it happen.

Once they were out of the hospital they could look after him; try and figure out what the fuck was happening.

Eddie had disappeared pretty much the moment he had opportunity. He’d mumbled something about finding a bathroom, pretty much the first words he;d spoken, and as the minutes ticked by, it became increasingly obvious that Eddie wasn't coming back. The hospital was a mess, and they were supposed to wait for Owens.

Obviously the kids weren’t willing to let him out of their sight that fast. Vecna’s done something to him, controlled him somehow, that much is obvious. Just...nobody knows what.

When Owens finally showed, it was done and dusted fast. They confirmed Henry/One was dead. Owens had a lot of other shit to sort out; they were no longer his priority and they knew it. Dustin had been ball of barely contained anxiety the whole time, clearly wanting to track down Eddie but...by some sort of group mutual understanding...no one mentioned Eddie was alive. No one said he'd come back with them.

In the confusion, no one seemed to question it. Owens clearly hadn't bothered to look at the hospital's records, or whatever it was he could do. They left as fast as they could without raising suspicion.

The kids had found Eddie again pretty quickly, more through luck than anything, but finding Eddie sitting on the porch of some random house, nursing a bottle of vodka was...well. Everyone’s got their own coping mechanisms, Steve guesses.

Eddie still hasn’t spoken about what happened, but he was pretty quick to pass out on the spare bed.

El’s got that look on her face when she comes back, like she’s thinking big thoughts.

“Is he okay?” Dustin asks first. Obviously there were concerns. Vecna had Eddie for days, there could be anything in Eddie’s head. What if there’s something...lingering...from Vecna? Could be a risk.

El shakes her head, “he is very sad.”

“Sad about what?” Nancy, this time.

“When Eddie was…” she makes a face, she doesn’t have the words, for a moment, to convey what she wants to say, she puts the fingertips of both hands together, making bars, “Vecna put Eddie’s mind in a cage, he doesn’t remember what his body was doing, I don’t think.”

“So Vecna had him as a kind of puppet? He couldn’t get out of the cage?” Robin clarifies, “that’s good right, he didn’t see himself hurting us?”

El tilts a hand from side to side, “he did not want to leave the cage. Vecna made him…” she purses her lips, “love. He was in love. They had a baby, she grew up, she was going to college.”

“That makes no sense, he was there less than a week?”

“Time is different in dreams.”

“Yeah,” Dustin chimes in, “even if a dream feels long, it actually happens really fast.”

Steve huffs, “right, but he knows now, right, that it wasn’t real? So it doesn’t matter, right?”

“It matters to him,” El tells him so firmly Steve feels like he fucked up, “it was real to him.”

“Steve,” Nancy turns to him, “imagine if you got married, had...I don’t know, six kids and a Winnebago,” Steve winces because, yeah, okay, he might have deserved that, “and you come home after years and years of living that, being happy, only to find out it wasn’t real, how would you feel?”

“It’d be like they died,” Robin says next to him, suddenly gasping and making a pained noise, “oh that’s horrible. Poor Eddie.”

El’s nodding, and everyone else is silent, clearly letting that sink in.

And, yeah, Steve figures...that’s got to be pretty awful.

The kids have gone home, but Nancy, Rob, Jon and Argyle have all stayed. They promised the kids they would watch over Eddie, which wasn’t hard since Eddie’s been asleep pretty much since they got back. Steve doesn’t know if is the most of a bottle of vodka Eddie had downed, or the week he’s had but...he’s still asleep.

They take it in turns to check on him, every half an hour, someone comes up. Just to check.

Steve doesn’t know what woke him, but he needs to piss. Robins passed out next to him, snoring her wheezy little snore. Steve gets up and goes to the bathroom, figures he should check on Eddie.

And Steve finds himself suddenly very awake at the sight of an empty bed and an open window.

They split up, heading for likely places. Nancy, Argyle and Jon pile into Jon’s car, heading for Wayne first and then with a vague plan to work through town on the way back if he’s not there.

Steve and Robin strike out in the opposite direction.

“Lets head for the place the kids found him.”

“You think he would have gone back there?”

Robin shrugs, “why did he go there in the first place?”

“You think it means something to him?” A horrible feeling starting to form in the pit of Steve’s stomach, even as Robin shrugs ‘maybe’ at him.

They can’t see Eddie, but Robin insists they check it out. Steve’s glad Robin has half their brain, because she was dead right. There’s smashed glass on the porch and the door is open; someone has broken in.

Part Three

@autumncrocusandladybug @duckyreads @neonfruitbowl @slv-333 @starlight-archer @skys-archive @justdreamersdream @moomkin77 @prazinos

[0mg-bird]

All the Good Stuff ~ B. Floyd x Fem! Reader

Summary: This is basically a list of little imagines of what it would be like over the course of yours and Bob’s relationship.

Warnings: Bob’s the best partner, sweet fluff!, suggestive content, language.

• Bob would be so nervous on a first date because he’s struck out in the past, so when you ask about a second date, he is in shock at your enthusiasm. He’d play it cool around you but would go home and fist bump.

•Being the perfect gentleman he is, he doesn’t expect anything on the first or second date. So when he drives you home on your second date, he’s a little shocked at the way you melt into him at your front door. As soon as you show it’s okay, he’s holding your waist, pulling you into him as he kisses you slowly. He’s the kind of guy to take his time so you’re standing there with your arms around his neck for a while, while you both savor each other.

•This man is in love with you even before you sleep together and that scares him. When the two of you are calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend, he takes you to a beach day with his squad and everyone watches how enamored he is with you. Jake says “The sex must be good if you’re acting this hung up on her” when you’re away with Natasha, and Bob gets soooo red. The boys make him explain his weird behavior and when he admits you guys haven’t had sex yet, they all blow up. They’re asking so many questions like ‘why not?’ and ‘what if it’s bad?’ and at one point Bradley actually shakes his shoulders and asks if he’s stupid or just dumb. Bob explains that you don’t seem like you’re ready and Brad and the guys all share a look like ‘what an idiot’. Then they explain all the signs you give that you want him.

•The sex is not bad.

•It all starts with an argument, you finally break down and ask if he’s just not attracted to you. Bob is so confused and has to ask why you think that, then you just yell ‘because you won’t fuck me!’ and that snaps Bob out of his overly nice guy headspace. You guys end up going most of the night, because by the time one round would finish and you’d rest for a second, you two were back at it again because it just felt too good.

• Bob said ‘I love you’ first, on accident. You’d been dating for a month, maybe a little more, and he’d leave your house after a night in together. You kiss him goodbye at the front door, watching him step away from the threshold. You lean against the open door, looking utterly peaceful and cute to him. “I’ll text you in the morning.” He says because he is always up before you, so you like to wake up to a good morning text. You nod and bite your lip. “Okay, good night.” You’d say, then laugh as he kisses you one more time. When he pulls away, he nudges his nose against yours and then turns. “Good night, I love you.” He doesn’t even realize it right away, he takes about four steps before he pauses with realization. You stand there in shock, realizing what he just said. “I…didn’t mean to say that.” He tries to take it back but you just grin widely. “Do you mean that?” You ask, and when he sighs and nods, you rush back into him.

•Bob never thought that he was a very physical person, but since being with you, he loves affection. He’s like a puppy, honestly. He’s always on you in some way, his hand on your back, knees pressed together when sitting beside each other, his finger twisting around a strand of your hair. You are much like him in this aspect, he makes you feel so comfortable and safe that you are utterly relaxed in public when you’re with him. He lets you play with his fingers, trace shapes on the backs of his hands or on his arms, your head finds a way to rest on shoulder, your finger hooks in one of his belt loops.

•This man is calling his Mama and talking about you, it makes him feel like a teenage kid because of how twitter-pated you make him. He could go on and on about how you’re such a kind person, how big your heart is, how you are so intoxicating. He wants to take bigger steps with you but doesn’t want it to be too soon. His mom has to reassure him that when it’s right, it’s right and when he knows, he’ll know.

•You guys move in together at the six month mark.

•This is when he discovers he has a housewife kink. He comes home to you unpacking a few boxes in some sweatpants and one of his t-shirts? He’s hard. Watching you fold towels or wash dishes? He pushing you up against the counter and dipping his head to your neck.

•You’re trying so so hard to be perfect for him because you just want to take care of him, but somehow you burn dinner often. You never had to cook for another person before, you were completely fine with a cup of ramen noodles. But you loved your Bobby, you wanted to prove you could do this. You got so frustrated at yourself when you mess something up, it honestly broke Bob’s heart. He’d ask for seconds on purpose, just to make you feel better.

•Bob buys a ring a month before your one year mark and he’s so sure about this decision. On your year anniversary, he takes you out to dinner and then you guys walk across the beach as the sun is sinking. Natasha planned everything out, her and some of the boys were hiding on the platform trail that’s on a hill above the beach. Even though Jake pretends it’s too sappy, he is standing with binoculars, watching every move you two make and reporting it to Bradley who’s trying to get the camera ready to record. Natasha ends up snatching the phone from Brad because he’s got his finger in front of the camera. Bob is so nervous that his hands are so shaky and he can hardly breathe. At one point, you stop to walk closer to the waters edge to pick up a pretty shell. When you turn back around to show him, he’s down on one knee, holding a velvet ring box out to you. When you agree to marry him, he pulls the ring from the cushion and goes to slide it on your finger, but he’s still shaking so much that it falls into the sand. Jake is making fun of him for it for two weeks.

•You’re so obsessed with the fairly large diamond on your hand, Bob catches you always looking at it. Even during the times you’re on top of him, hand on his chest while you’re grinding down on his lap, or when you’re gripping his shoulder as he’s knocking you into the headboard, you’re eyes are watching the shiny rock on your hand.

• The crew thinks something’s actually wrong with the two of you because you’re always a ‘yes honey’ couple and never quarrel, but everyone gets to their whits end at some point. You and Bob hardly fight, but when you do, it’s all heated arguments and frustrated sighs. You guys fight when the other is feeling a little insecure about something, the problem is you don’t communicate right, until everything bubbles over. You could be feeling that Bob is hiding problems from you, claiming he’s okay because he doesn’t want to stress you out, then he’ll go and have long conversations with Nat or Brad. You guys eventually spiral until every other little thing that’s annoying you is spilled, and by the end of it you’re crying and storming off. Only once did you ever throw your engagement ring at him and claim that you will not be with someone who won’t take you seriously as a partner, and that broke Bob. He was so hurt that he lashed out and said some unkind words he’d never ever mean, then left home to clear his head. When he came home after about an hour, he found you curled in bed, face red from crying so hard. You guys talked it out, he slide your ring back on and once you two understood each other, he made you promise to never do that again, no matter how mad he made you because it made him feel absolutely horrible.

•He loves waking up on days where he doesn’t need to go anywhere or do anything. You’re always curled into him or sprawled across his chest. He used to sleep with a tank top on because for some reason you could not understand, he was a little insecure about himself. You hated that, he was built to absolute perfection, you could spend hours just running your lips and fingers over his toned chest and the muscles the lightly ribbed his stomach. So, Bob slept in mostly just boxers, flannel pants in the winter. You had convinced him to be bare when you told him you liked feeling his skin on yours, it also helped that you hid those white tanks from him until he felt normal to have you pressed against him.

• He’s always been modest, but you found out just how much Bob had in savings when he told you that when you got married, you didn’t have to work if you didn’t want to. Then, when he bought you the wedding dress you had your eyes on since you first searched through bridal shops, no questions asked. You called your best friend and determined he was sent from above. You were never impressed by money, and you’d love Bob if he didn’t have what he has, but knowing that you were financially secure, it made you want to show your appreciation for all he does, every day.

•The bachelor/bachelorette parties went crazy. You and your party are bar hopping, you’re wearing a plastic tiara that says ‘bride’ and Bob’s never seen you drunk before so when you run into him at the hard deck, all he does is laugh at you. You were scared that he wasn’t going to have fun because all his friends drink and he doesn’t, but he spent the night making Payback and Fanboy do stupid stuff for him.

•You never were a fan of over the top weddings, you liked elegant things but didn’t feel the need for an over the top day. You had planned for what seemed like forever, then the day finally came and everything turned out beautifully. Bob was a nervous wreck, he’s got a little anxiety so that didn’t help his nerves. He stood at the end of the isle, watching all the groomsmen and bridesmaids come down, then when everyone stood and a piano rendition of your favorite song played, he looked up and there you were.

• You’re trying not to cry the entire time even though he is.

• Bradley gets drunk and cries during the first dance and Nat has to make him sit down and drink some water before he makes a fool of himself.

• You and Bob honeymoon in some place like Greece or maybe Rome because you both are huge nerds for pretty sights and history. It’s so peaceful that he totally forgets you guys have a life back home and he has a pretty important job.

• When you guys come home, he drives in the other direction of your house so you think he’s lost his mind. When you ask what he’s doing, he just says you’re going home and then pulls into the driveway of a gorgeous two story house that has a very rustic charm to it. This man had your little two bedroom house packed up while you were away and had everything moved into this gorgeous house he picked out.

• You fall in love with life, everything seems so perfect. You’re closer to your family and friends, the sun soaked hardwood floors are always supporting your bare feet as you dance around. Bob loves music, there’s a book shelf full of records and CDs and he’s always twirling you around or slow dancing you in the kitchen.

•He makes sure you have everything you need before he deploys for over a month on a mission. This is the first deployment you experience with him and it’s the first real test on your marriage. Going from sleeping beside someone every night to falling asleep alone was a strange adjustment. He calls you when he can, you’re always lying in one of his shirts, listening to him talk about his day. “I miss you, Bobby.” You’d say, making him smile on the other line. “I miss you too, honey.” He’d say.

• When he comes back home, it’s like a wrecking ball. Bob’s never been an overpowering dominant person, but there’s nothing calm about him when you two get home after not seeing each other. The front door is practically knocked down, it’s slammed shut so hard that you yelp, afraid the hinges might just snap. He’s pushing you up against the wall in the hallway, backing you up against it so hard that one of the framed pictures falls from the place it was hung. You’re so utterly at a loss for words at his animalistic behavior, yet you’re so excited and turned on because he isn’t like this. You’re pulling at his uniform, leaving parts of it on the stairs. Your sundress is thrown onto the bathroom tile as he pulls you into the shower with him, both of you still half dressed. Soaking wet, peeling fabric off each other, it may start in the shower but it doesn’t end there. He’s carrying you to the perfectly made bed, hair still wet, he’s pushing you into the mattress, his dog tags are hanging above you and you wrap your finger around the chain to pull him closer. The house looks like a tornado ripped through it buy the time both of you are too tired to continue. You honestly think you black out because when you wake up on the living room floor, you don’t remember exactly how you got there.

• You might just die when Bob goes to answer the door, hopping into a pair of sweatpants. You remember getting dressed when you thought you were done…then you remember tearing those sweatpants off of him. He opens the door, eyes immediately widening as he looks at who’s on the other side. “Hi.” He greets awkwardly. “My daughter hasn’t answered my calls, I was just seeing if she was alright.” The woman says, hugging her son in law. You hear your mother’s voice and panic, trying to stand and search for a hoodie to slip on to cover yourself. You limp over, very aware at how sore your body feels, and hide yourself behind your husband. You have to explain that your phone was dead and that’s why you didn’t answer…nothing else. But she looks between the two of you and then behind you to the catastrophe of a home. “You’re going to get pregnant.” She tells you. “That’s sort of the goal, ma’am.” Bob responds.

• You took sex ed in school, you know what happens when you have unprotected sex, but truthfully you believed the birth control that you mixed up the days on had your back. You start feeling a little funny, then when you’re late on your next cycle, the fear sets in. You don’t know why you’re scared, you have no reason to be, but you still are. Standing, looking at all the different tests hung on the shelf, you decide that one of each couldn’t hurt. You debate on who to call, once you decide, your best friend is there within ten minutes. “Why’d you buy every single one to ever be made in the world?” They ask as you lay them all out on the bathroom counter. “I didn’t buy every one in the world…just the ones made in America.” You respond. It’s the longest five minutes you ever experienced, you sit on your bed crying and freaking out, hashing out every little thing that could go wrong. Your best friend is there to call you crazy and debunk every fear. “It’s too soon.” “You got married after only knowing him a year.” “What if Bob decides he doesn’t want this?” “That man sends you onesies with planes on them all the time.” “What if he doesn’t love me after I give birth?” “He’d love you if you were a worm.” “What if I can’t do it? I’ve never raised a kid before.” “You’ll be fine.” After the timer goes off and you dry your face, you two walk back into the bathroom slowly. Every single test you took is positive. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, I’m pregnant.” Is all you could say, first in fright, but soon you’re jumping up and down and screeching like a teenage girl.

• Bob comes home from work, unzipping his flight suit as soon as he walks through the door. You come to meet him in the foyer, kissing him sweetly. “Hi.” He smiles. “I’ll go take a quick shower, then I’ll be down for dinner, okay?” You just nod, keeping quiet so you didn’t burst into tears right away. You hear his shower going, and you pace back and forth in the kitchen, shaking. Every shape and color of the tests you took are laid on the table, you don’t even know what to tell him when he comes down. He’s starting to tell you about something that happened when he pauses, curious as he walks to the table. “What…what’s all this?” He asks, picking one of the tests up, looking at the two pink lines. Then he picks up another, and another before it starts to click in his mind. He looks at you, eyes full of hope. “You’re pregnant?” You nod, starting to cry. “Yeah, Bobby, I’m pregnant.” He immediately wraps his arms around you, kissing you sweetly. He’s so over joyed, he can’t even think straight.

• For nine months, he treats you like you’ll break and though you love him for it, you think it’s all a little dramatic. He’s so gentle and understanding throughout everything, even when your hormones are just totally unbalanced and you’re crying or yelling for no reason. He’s so caring and helps you with anything he can, and when the baby is born he makes sure you’re the top priority too.

•Dad Bobby is hot.

[natalievoncatte]

It took four calls before Lena answered. It crawled across her side table, vibrating angrily like some persnickety insect until she gave it the attention she wanted.

You could just turn it off.

“What do you want, Danvers?”

Alex’s voice was thick.

“We can’t find Kara.”

Lena let out a slow, long, theatrical sigh. “So now you’re accusing me of crimes over the phone. At least your ex had the courtesy to cuff me in person.”

Alex’s patience was clearly short enough, and wearing thinner.

“I’m not calling you to accuse you. I’m calling you to ask for help.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because she’s burned out her powers and we can’t find her, Luthor. Supergirl is missing and she’s powerless.”

Lena licked her lips.

“Is this some kind of weird test to see if I’ll try to kill her? An entrapment scheme or something?”

“First of all,” said Alex, “fuck you.”

“Mutual,” said Lena. “What was the second part?”

“The second part is that I know you. I know you’re pissed off at her. I also know that you don’t react the way you’ve acted because your BFF lied to you, Lena. Just like I know that buying a $875 million company isn’t what friends are fucking for.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” Lena snapped.

“Right. Help us find her.”

“No,” Lena said, coolly. “Goodnight, Director.”

Lena stabbed the end call key with her finger, resolving to herself that L-Corp was going to release a smart phone that made it more satisfying to hang up on people.

Then she very pointedly did not go out looking for Kara. Instead, she boiled water for tea, and spread open a technical journal on her lap.

After ten minutes, she had not drunk the tea, and her attention was sliding off the abstract like the wrong end of two magnets jammed together. Rubbing at her eyes, she decided she’d had too long a day for even light reading, and decided to enjoy a news broadcast with her tea.

Of *course* the lead story was Supergirl. She tried putting on the Lakehawks game, but that had been preempted for Supergirl coverage.

She turned to the science channel. Oh, of course they’d decided that tonight was the night to premier some ridiculous companion documentary for the World of Krypton exhibit running downtown at the convention center, and of course Lena works tune in right as Kara appeared on screen, grinning ear to ear as she charitably gave some literal kid reporter the interview of her lifetime, fielding softball questions about her dead planet.

“What do you miss most?” the kid asked.

Lena saw it, saw it the way only someone who knew Supergirl was just Kara Danvers, the nerdy, dorky, kinda basic goof in a pompous costume, could. The flash of real pain in the hero’s eyes, the softness in her voice, like she was apologizing for the honest of her answer.

“Red sunrises,” said Kara.

Lena threw the teacup across the room, and it shattered across the screen, leaving the dregs tricking down the surface. Lena wished the TV had been knocked out, but the screen was shielded by a transparent aluminum she’d invented herself.

So she changed the channel, just in time to get a face full of The Princess Bride, just as Buttercup was shoving a then-disguised Westley down the hill as he shouted the line the revealed his identity.

“Oh fuck you all,” Lena muttered, as she scooped her keys from the kitchen counter.

Lena decided it was a night for subtlety, so she took the BMW, driving with the top down and and her phone in her jacket pocket, so she could feel it if someone called.

Lena drove for the better part of an hour, reflecting on the absurdity of simply looking for Kara in a sprawling city; National City had about two thirds the population of Metropolis, but it covered nearly four times the land area and was surrounded by sprawling suburbs that extended the entire metro area to the size of a small state.

This was hopeless, unless Lena knew where to go.

You know what you have to do. You know what you’ve always had to do.

Kara answered on the third ring.

“Hi.”

Her voice was tiny and small, and Lena felt like she was clutching some small fragile thing to her cheek.

“Hey,” she said, with all the softness she could muster with the top down. She pulled to a stop on the side of Ocean Avenue so she could soften it further. “I heard what happened.”

“I beat the monster.”

“I know,” said Lena. “You always do. Where are you, Kara?”

There was a beat of silence.

“I don’t know who out you up to this, but you don’t have to do it, Lena. I know how you feel about me now.”

No, you fucking don’t, Lena thought, before she could silence her own frantic mind. If you knew you wouldn’t have lied to me.

“Tell me where you are.”

“I’m where I belong,” Kara sighed, the hint of slurring in her words hinting that she’d been drinking.

Then she hung up.

A wave of anger welled in Lena’s chest, and she clenched her teeth, seizing the shift lever to throw the car in drive and head home; Kara and her sister could handle their own bullshit.

She didn’t drive home.

Lena arrived at the convention center in a frantic five minutes, parking crazily in a towing zone. Finding a way in took another few minutes, and soon the flat soles of her tennis shoes were squeaking as they echoed across the polished granite floors of the lobby.

She found Kara in the exhibit, surrounded by quiet, dark displays as she stood in front of a bannered exhibit proclaiming “RAO, THE SUN OF KRYPTON”.

Kara ignored Lena as she approached, tipping back a sloshing, mostly empty bottle of Jack Daniels to take a hearty gulp.

“Kara?” said Lena.

Kara swayed slightly on her feet. She’d gotten a raincoat somewhere and put it on over her suit, cape and all, and even from a distance she stank of whiskey. She was staring at the display in front of her, an expansive orrery surrounding a lit model of Rao. Lena had never seen her so haggard, even her lustrous hair limp sallow.

“Hi,” Kara said, taking another drink.

“What are you doing?”

“Chasing a red sunrise.”

Lena approached slowly, until they stood side by side.

She stole a quick glance. Kara had a black eye and she was swaying slightly, and Lena wasn’t sure if it was from the booze or the fight. She started to take another drink.

Grasping the bottle by the neck, Lena took it from her. Kara didn’t resist as Lena tipped back a long pull on the bottle herself. It offended her palate in every possible way but one, but it was a good way to numb herself.

“Alex send you?”

“No,” said Lena. “She just had to tell me. She knew I’d send myself.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s a lot more observant than you are.”

Kara studied her for a moment, then reached for the bottle back.

Lena looked at it. “How much of this have you had?”

“Not enough,” said Kara, taking another drink.”

“If you insist on destroying your liver, at least let me give you something that actually tastes good.”

“It all tastes like paint thinner,” said Kara.

Lena sighed. “Get in the car.”

Kara shrugged and followed Lena out, flopping extravagantly in the passenger’s seat. Lena drove in silence, using the excuse that the wind noise made it too hard to talk.

When they arrived at Lena’s apartment, she practically shoved Kara inside, and poured the rest of the swill down the drain.

“Hey,” Kara muttered.

“There’s still some of your clothes in the guest bedroom. Take that damned suit off and put on something else.”

Kara complied, trudging into the bedroom. She emerged a moment later, looking small and sad with her hands tucked up inside an oversized hoodie, wobbling giving Lena a glassy look.

As she sat down, Lena handed her a glass of wine and perched on the edge of the couch cushion beside her, gently pressing an ice pack to her eye. Kara leaned into it and let out a soft, unsteady sigh.

“Pain hurts,” she observed.

“It’ll do that.”

Then she went quiet, sinking into Lena’s couch with Lena’s ice pack pressed to her face. Lena stepped into the kitchen and pulled out her phone. Alex answered immediately.

“I have her.”

“Thank God. I’ll be over to get her in a few minutes.”

“No you won’t,” Lena sighed.

Alex didn’t answer her for a too-long pause.

“Yeah. Call me in the morning.”

“Will do.”

Kara had found the wine bottle when Lena came back, and was taking a drink form it. Lena sat down next to her and took it, drawing on it hard before passing it back.”

“What now?” said Kara.

“Is the ice still cold?”

“Yeah.”

Kara curled up next to Lena, bringing her legs up, her toes wiggling in empty air. Lena sighed and found her a blanket, spreading it over her too carefully.

As soon as Lena sat down, Kara spread the blanket over her, too, and Lena noticed that her absurd body heat hadn’t abated from the loss of her powers.

“You have tea on your TV,” Kara observed.

“Yeah,” said Lena.

It took her a few minutes to find something on television that wasn’t Supergirl or The Fox and the Hound.

(Fucking seriously?)

Nature documentaries were Kara’s kryptonite, to turn a phrase, and soon she was sleeping on Lena’s shoulder, the ice bag fallen into her lap. Lena stared down at the soft features of the surpassingly lovely little goddess snoozing against her and couldn’t help it anymore.

She started to weep softly, her shoulders hitching as she struggled to stop it, knowing the attempt was hopeless.

It got worse when Kara began to purr, a deep and soothing rumble in her chest that seemed to seep into Lena’s bones. After a moment she realized that Kara was crying too; she’d woken up.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I’m so fucking sorry, Lena. I can’t… I can’t breathe I’m so sorry. I lost my red sunrise. I can’t lose you too. I’ll do anything. Please let me make it up to you I promise I will, please.”

Lena shifted to a more comfortable position, known this was it for the night, that something had shifted. No, shattered. She was tired of being angry, of being afraid, if thinking of could-have-beens and come-what-mays. Yes, Kara had lied. Lena had lied. They’d kept secrets and been stupid and and they’d hurt each other, but nothing in the world, no principles or closely held rules or petty anger would justify watching her suffer like this.

She was careful as she cupped Kara’s jaw, avoiding the injury, feeling a flash of rage at whoever had done this to her. (That his ass had been throughly kicked by an angry Kryptonian was irrelevant; her vengeance would not be forestalled.)

The kiss was quiet and gentle, at once too soft and quick, more request than declaration, and Kara swiftly answered with one so fierce and honest and hopeful that Lena didn’t care that Kara’s mouth tasted like whiskey and wine.

When it was over, Lena found herself whispering, “As you wish.”

[melancholiaincarnate]

wine and peach chapstick

「 in which ᵎᵎ 」 yuji itadori's mean (and quite attractive) uncle comes to pick him up from school (again) and takes you out on a date

「 words ᵎᵎ 」 2454

「 author's note ᵎᵎ 」 hii :3 sorry for the horrendously long wait for part two of this, i was veryyy unhappy with this, (and still am) but fuck it we ball LOL. that being said, requests r open, check my masterlist, and keep on the lookout for something spooky coming soon.....

「 warnings ᵎᵎ 」 sukuna ryomen, mentions of smoking, three or four slight nsfw references

choso looked at sukuna with a raised brow as the other man pulled on his shoes. "where are you going?" he questioned. choso was currently standing by the door, car keys in hand as he looked curiously down at sukuna, who was tying his shoes.

"to pick up the brat. where else would i be going?" sukuna scoffed as he tied his left shoe, then switched to the right, "i swear sometimes y' don't fuckin' think."

"i thought you said you were never going to pick him up again." choso sighed, hanging the keys back up by the door on the key hook that read 'live laugh love'. "you told me yesterday - verbatim, i am only doing this once, i fuckin' hate the kid." choso slipped off his shoes, hanging his jacket back up on the coat rack.

"yeah? well - plans have changed." sukuna shrugged, adjusting his lip piercing with his tongue before running a hand through his hair. "the brat's teacher is actually cute. i like her. i wan' see her again."

"not his teacher," choso's sigh is strained, "sukuna you can't mess around with yuji's teacher." the male pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "what happens if it ends badly? then yu's gonna be caught in the crossfire and -"

"you worry too much." sukuna picked up two helmets, one large and one small (the smaller one adorned with stickers), before stuffing the smaller one in his backpack. "shut up already, will ya? fuckin' - talk too fuckin' much." he didn't give choso a chance to reply before he slammed the door and swung a leg over his motorcycle.

the drive to yuji's preschool was not a far one - which sukuna, in fact, minded. his stomach felt weird and his hands were a little shaky, (and sweaty), and he would've preferred a bit of a longer ride in hopes that whatever this fuckass feeling was would go away.

helmet tucked between his arm and ribs, he entered the daycare, showed id, signed, and walked up the stairs to your classroom. he could hear the sounds of you singing a song with the kids, and when he approached the doorway, he took a deep breath to steady the growing weirdness in his belly.

nervousness was not something that ryomen sukuna felt. ever. but seeing you, singing and dancing and bouncing a small child on your hip, caused his heart rate to spike to one billion - if that was even possible.

he leaned against the doorway for a bit, (so he could collect himself), just watching with a pleased smile on his face, until you noticed him. "oh! mr. sukuna." the entire class turned to look at him and the smile dropped instantly, replacing with a frown. as much as sukuna may like you, he had a reputation to uphold, and that was yuji's mean uncle.

he didn't reply and instead just nodded once. he tried to look as chill as possible - what was wrong with him? why was he trying so hard? anger flared for only a moment in his chest, but it was soothed instantly by your voice telling the kids softly that it was playtime.

"kuna!" yuji shouted, shaking the boy next to him. "kuna came to pick me up again! megumi, look!" sukuna wondered how the raven-haired boy's brains weren't totally shaken up.

"nice." megumi blinked, letting yuji take his excitement out on him. even throughout all the shaking, his expression and tone stayed blank.

"yu, honey, go get your stuff." your voice sent shivers down his spine. he shook it off, watching as you walked to him with nothing but grace.

"good afternoon. it's nice to see you again." you smile. fuck, sukuna was so gone.

his chest burned as he spoke. "hey there, doll. wore this for me?" he leaned off the wall and picked at the hem, to which you rolled your eyes and swat his hand away. "it's nice, i like it. suits ya. makes your ass look fat."

"i didn't wear it for you." lie. you did. "and watch your language around the children." you scolded, squinting at him.

"kuna today i-" yuji bounded up to the two of you, and tried to show him a paper, but sukuna placed a hand on his head to quiet him. "ope-"

"quiet, brat. i'm speaking. we talked about this - you don't talk when i'm talking." he scoffed and yuji frowned as he looked up at sukuna. "go wait by the door. or - go talk to your friends or .. whatever you do here. i don't care - just stay in my sight."

yuji smiled and nodded quickly, heading back to his friends to talk to them before he leaves. you both watch as yuji talks animatedly to megumi and as megumi just listens, and then sukuna turns to you as you speak.

"you speak to him so mean." you comment, handing him the pen. he takes it, but lets his hand brush against yours for longer than it needs to. "he's nothing but a sweetheart!"

"he's a spoiled brat, that's what he is. choso and his father do nothing but spoil him, tch." he scoffs as he signs his name underneath his signature from yesterday. it looks identical. "i could do the same for you, if you'd let me." he's smooth, you notice, and he hands you your pen back with a smirk on his face. "spoil you, treat you right. hey, i bet you never had a man make you-"

"sukuna! the kids!" you swat at his arm, resulting in a laugh from him. "you're lucky you're not bad looking." sukuna feels his chest swell with pride. "i get off at five, if you want to pick me up." you roll your eyes as you place the pen down on the table with a smile.

"i'll be here, doll." sukuna grins widely, brushing a piece of hair away from your face. "hope you're not afraid of a motorcycle. can't drive a car but i've got me a real nice bike." he fails to mention that he is actually banned from driving the itadori/kamo car because he has crashed it five or six or seven too many times.

"mm, i think i'll live." you laugh, right as sukuna barks for yuji to come. yuji does so, waves goodbye to you, and with a wink, sukuna leaves.

"i'll see ya at five sharp, doll."

relief floods his system, and he finds himself smiling as he puts yuji's helmet on, and picks the boy up to put on the motorcycle. the drive home is usual - yuji yapping about his day, (mostly about megumi), while sukuna drives as safely as he can. sure, the kid is a brat, but at the end of the day, sukuna still loves him, and wants nothing but his safety.

"hey, yu!" choso's face lights up - and so does yuji's - as the two brothers see each other. "how was your day?"

"good!" yuji runs over to choso and he picks the boy up fairly easily, and places him on his hip. "it was good! today megumi and i-" sukuna slips off his shoes, and tunes them out, not wanting to hear the same spiel he just barely heard over the wind.

he goes upstairs to his room to freshen up. although you'll be wearing the same dress, he doesn't want to show up in the same outfit, so he changes, wetting his hair and quickly running a brush and some gel through it. he thought he looked pretty good, and his brows furrow when he realizes that he hopes you'd think he looks good too.

five pm rolls around fairly quickly, and you hear the rumble of the motorcycle before you see him. as he swings himself off, you wave slightly and he responds with a head nod. he takes the helmet off as he approaches you.

"hey doll. what happened here?" he places a warm palm on your torso, where splatters of paint decorate your dress.

"ah, maki and mai got into a paint fight.. and i got caught in the crossfire." you sigh, looking down. his hands are big and - god they're attractive. you feel a small heat building in your stomach before you shake it off, and smile. "so - ryomen, was it? it feels too .. formal to call you sukuna outside of my working hours. it's like if you called me miss."

nobody ever called him ryomen. "nobody calls me ryomen." he removes his hand before slinging his backpack off and placing a second helmet into your hands. it's yuji's but he figures you can fit. "if you want to call me ryomen, do as you please. that's fine by me."

"what if i call you ryo?" you grin up at him and he quirks a brow as he rolls his eyes and begins walking back toward his idling motorcycle. "i like ryo better than ryomen."

he won't admit it but he likes the way the nickname rolls off your tongue - sweet like honey. "i don't care. you comin' or not, doll?"

he helps you get on the motorcycle and as your hands wrap around his torso, your fingers itch to run up and down his stomach. you control the urge though. he's fit and you can feel the outline of his abs beneath his tight shirt.

"ready?" sukuna calls, as he revs the bike, "make sure that helmets on tight, y'hear?"

"it's on!" you shout back - and within an instant the two of you are speeding down the road. you can feel his stomach move with laughter as your arms tighten around him instinctually.

at a red light, he turns to face you, a hand coming off the bars to rest on your upper thigh to rub gently. "y'alright?"

"m fine!" you nod, and he laughs again, "how much longer?" you wouldn't admit it, but you were a little afraid at how fast the two of you were going.

"just a bit longer." you feel his chest vibrate as he hums and the motorcycle is off again as soon as the light turns green. you bury your face in his back, inhaling his slight cigarette and the scent of his cologne. he smells good, he's hot, he has a motorcycle, for christ's sake. you fucking scored.

within five minutes, he was parking his bike and helping you off. his hands wrapped around your waist, firm. you seemed to be at a bar in the city. "look at you." he tsks, his hands coming to smooth your hair down. "such a mess." he tucks a hair behind your ear as he finishes. despite his heavy hands, his touch is incredibly gentle.

"thanks, ryo." he huffs at the nickname (his chest is tight with warmth), and retracts his hands, before grabbing yours and leading you into the bar. men call out his name and he barely acknowledges them. as he leads you to the booth, you notice eyes following him, and then eyes curiously peeping at you. some part of yourself wonders how many other girls sukuna has brought here, and if you're just another tally to these other men.

"you're very well known here." you comment, shaking off the thought. he shrugs, lighting up a cigarette. before taking a puff, he offers you, but you shake your head. "i don't smoke."

"been comin' here since i was eighteen." he angles his head, trying to blow the smoke away from you so you don't inhale. your heart warms at the sight. hot and thoughtful? you're sure he's not even a real man.

"eighteen? isn't that underage?" you tease as a man comes by and pats sukuna on the back. "hello." you acknowledge him, and he just raises a brow and keeps walking after sukuna daps him up. another weird look that you decide to shake off.

"you gonna snitch?" sukuna scoffs, as another man approaches the table. this time, the man drops off a tray. on the tray is a bottle of liquor, some cups of ice rimmed with salt, and limes.

"can i get you anything else, sukuna?" the man asks.

"ask her, not me." he blows another puff, again, away from you. "she's runnin' my tab tonight." he nods at you and as the man explains what they have, you take an order of red wine and some cheese fries.

"wine and cheese fries?" sukuna snubs the cigarette out on the tray that was just brought. "the cheese fries i can deal with but - wine? really?"

"i don't drink much!" you protest. sukuna begins to pour himself a cup of liquor, before he stops.

"not gonna drink." he sighs, placing the ice cup back on the tray, "i gotta take ya home. but in exchange, i want some cheese fries. that a deal?" his finger circles the salt rimmed glass and then his finger comes to his mouth to lick off the salt.

you agree with a smile. despite his incredibly rough exterior, sukuna cares. deeply.

the rest of the night goes surprisingly smoothly. while sharing the cheese fries, (and getting cheese on your dress), you get to know more about ryomen, and he gets to know more about you.

after another short motorcycle ride, you and sukuna find yourselves on your doorstep. he decides then that if picking up yuji every day from school was what he needed to do to see you - he'd do it. some part of him had already decided that the minute that he saw you, though.

"well, doll-" he starts, bringing a hand to rub his rough thumb against your lips, "surely you don't expect me to just leave you without a little reward? i took ya out, ya ordered wine, i drove ya home. i deserve a sweet treat, don't i?" his voice is low.

his tongue comes to dart between his lips and wet them, and there's an accompanying smirk. his lips don't touch yours until you nod though, and he tastes oddly sweet. he doesn't taste like cigarettes or the tiny sip of wine he had, but rather like the peach chapstick you'd watch him put on after leaving the bar.

neither of you really want to pull apart but you're both struggling for breath. sukuna's eyes flutter open when you disconnect and he lets out a little rough chuckle.

"if you weren't such a nice girl, i'd take you inside and have my way with you." he sighs, "but unfortunately, you're tolerable."

you laugh, and he shakes his head. "i'll see ya tomorrow, doll. keep yourself safe, hear me?" you nod, and he presses another quick kiss to your lips.

you think that's his way of telling you he likes you.

[charnelhouse]

Thinking of ghost as a dad makes me think of red taking her toddler son shopping for Halloween decorations and seeing a skeleton and the sweet boy is pointing and bouncing up and down like “it’s dada!”

A/N: Ghost x F!Reader (Red Fox). Pure fluff. This ask made me curl up with joy.

She’s a little late. Only ten minutes and it could be anything: traffic, an additional errand, a parking lot shoot-out. Simon’s fingers twitch as his cell phone sits on the coffee table.

It’s only ten minutes.

Ten. Minutes.

He’d lost her in Ecuador for four fucking days, and she’d been fine. Well, relatively fine. Alive.

She can survive anything. He knows this. He feels this. But he cannot shake the belief that one day, his past will catch up to him and take her away. 

Don’t be a fuckhead, Simon. If it’s anyone’s past, it’s going to be mine. 

That makes me feel better, duchess. 

We’re sharing the burden, babe. Lucky for this kid, he’s got two spec ops, hot-ass parents. 

Yah really love a finger gun, don’t you? 

It’s called levity, dude. You’re too damn broody. 

“Don’t call her.”

Simon startles before side-eyeing Johnny, who is spread out on the far end of the couch. “I wasn’t gonna,” he growls defensively. 

“You’re staring at that phone like it’s a bomb.”

“She’s late.”

“She’s running errands with your enormous toddler. Yah know how hard it is to lift that kid? Try wrestling him into a car seat. Took me half an hour.”

Simon scowls. “Of course, I know. I do raise him.”

Johnny wiggles his eyebrows. “He takes after me.”

“Yeah, my enormous son is definitely your kid, tiny.”

“I’m six fuckin’ feet. Thank yah very much.”

“You’re still here?” 

Simon twists around to see Red standing in the doorway. She’s got their son on her hip and an orange plastic bag in her other hand. She leaves him breathless. Her skin dewy, her hair falling in her face. Stunning in a way that burns him. He still wants to shove her over a table and wreck her, but that desire is now weighted with something far more tender. She’s carried his baby.

He knew she’d be a good mother, but he didn’t expect her to excel at it so...perfectly. She can handle a tantrum and peel a man’s skin off.  She can silence him with a look.

“Simon said I could stay for dinner,” Johnny declares.

“I did not,” Simon refutes as he stands, rolling his shoulders. Their son’s tiny lips peel apart into a toothy grin, he claps his chubby hands together. 

“Dada,” he squeals as he opens his arms. 

Ghost smiles back, unable to blunt the joy that unfurls in his chest. Sometimes it’s all too much. 

“He got you something,” Red says as she places him on the floor. When she straightens, she presses her hand to her lower back. “Jesus - that kid is heavy. Remind me to stop having your babies.”

“Uhuh,” Ghost says dutifully. “Of course.”

She’d threatened to leave him a thousand times when she was giving birth. Their son’s head had not been easy to deliver. 

Red pulls something from her bag and hands it to their son, who waddles toward him. Simon crouches and sweeps him up in his arms. The boy squeals again delighted. 

“What have you got there?” he asks as he nuzzles his nose into the down of his son’s head, the soft velvet curls. He smells like Red’s perfume.

“Dada!” he giggles as he lifts a plastic skeleton. Soap barks with laughter. 

“He saw it in the store and lost it,” Red says as she walks toward them, placing a hand on the boy’s back. He shakes the skeleton before hugging it close. “Kept calling it dada. Got a lot of weird looks.” She cocks her head, her tongue darting over her lower lip. “I just wanted everyone to know that I’m getting it from a really hot skeleton.”

“Yah got a filthy head, Foxy.”

“You don’t even live here, Johnny.”

“Dada,” his son murmurs as he burrows his face into Simon’s throat. The skeleton is clutched against his chest, and he feels the boy relax, his damp, milky breath puffing against him as he nods off. 

Simon clears his throat, blinking a few times. There’s a raw snag of emotion in his throat that he can’t seem to swallow. Simon tries to pull the skeleton from the boy’s hands to look at it, but his son yanks it closer. 

“Typical,” Red remarks, her lips quirking in amusement. 

“What is?” Simon smirks because he already knows.

“Do you know how hard it is to shake you off when you’re asleep? It’s like being spooned by a bull slash octopus.”

“It’s true,” Johnny interjects in an empathetic tone. “Remember Siberia?”

“That was a life and death situation!” Simon snaps. “Sub-zero temperatures.”

Red’s eyes widen, her expression intrigued. “Give me the details, Johnny, and I’ll make you dinner.”

[sitepathos]

What if Y/N was a dad before Bruce figured out he was gone? Like would he rush to see him and his grandchild? What if the child was like rose being able to control the mold and Y/N now has to deal with Bruce and his sons?

Ok, wow, was not expecting that! But, this ask was too good to pass up! But, let me do you one better: instead of baby Rose, you have an adopted daughter like Eveline, complete with the need for a family and everything! Have fun with that!

You first met Eveline when you stopped at a pit stop at night, craving a slushee, but you saw her, a ten year old girl in wet, torn up clothing and no shoes to protect her bloody and scratched up feet, on the side of the building, looking incredibly weak and filthy.

You immediately got out and started attending to her, asking where her parents were and trying to tend to her wounds.

“Mommy and Daddy said I had to wait in the woods,” she weakly says, coughing in between words. “They said it was a game.”

You immediately realize this wasn’t a game. They left her for dead in the middle of the woods, either to die from starvation or predation.

“ I waited for five days. Did I win?”

“You did, sweetie,” you responded, not wanting to upset her.

(She does not have long,” the Megamycete said as you tried in vain to keep her awake. (She has been without proper care for too long. But she can be saved. All you need to do is inject her with some mold. It will heal her.)

Part of you didn’t want to do that. That making her like you would be cruel without explaining it to her, but she was dying. And no kid should die that young.

So you do it, placing some mold in her body through one of her scratches, which immediately begins healing her.

When she opened her eyes, she latched onto you and refused to let go, apparently having imprinted on you like a bird.

Your first thought was to take her to the nearest authorities so they could take it from there and arrest her parents, but both she and the Megamycete disagreed whit that.

“No,” she cried while wrapping both arms around yours. “Don’t send me away! I promise to be a good girl!”

(We object to your proposal. Keeping the girl would be the most prudent course of action.)

“Alright, you can come with us.”

“Thank you! I promise to be the best girl ever, Daddy!”

The name rubbed you the wrong way. For fuck’s sake, you’re 18! You should be her older brother, not her “daddy.”

But Eveline wouldn’t call you anything else and after an hour of trying to argue with a 10 year old, you finally conceded defeat.

And that’s how you started your weird little “family,” complete with a sentient mushroom in your body and a moldy 10 year old girl as your “daughter.”

Over time, you learned that Eveline had an obsession with the idea of having a family. Apparently, all she wished was for her parents to be like the ones on cartoons, loving their daughter with all their heart, reading her bedtime stories, walking her to school, and baking cookies.

“But now I have you, Daddy! And you’ll be perfect than my old one!”

Not gonna lie, you teared up at her wish for a family. You know that feeling more than anyone. Maybe being a “Daddy” will be good for the both of you.

You just gotta get use to the looks you get when you say she’s your adoptive daughter.

Over the four years, you two became close, doing everything she thought happy families do, from baking cookies and playing games to reading bedtime stories and kissing her goodnight.

When she started showing her powers (mycokinesis, hallucination manipulation, shapeshifting, and superhuman strength, stamina, and durability), you made it clear that she’s never to use them unless in a life or death situation and helped train her to control them.

She took to her new life right away, excelling in school and showing interest in your hobbies, loving the nickname you gave her Eevee (after your favorite Pokémon).

Of course, her obsession with families never left her, always staying by your side and never straying far from home, even at the tender age of 14.

Of course you told her about your Momma, how you lost her, and were forced to live at Wayne Manor where you were treated horribly.

Hearing her Daddy, the nicest person she knows, be treated like that pissed her off. She wanted to go to Gotham and tear Batman and the others apart.

Of course, you couldn’t let that happen (no mater how much you thought of it).

“We’re here, now, Eevee. And they can’t get to us.

“Ok, but if they ever show up, I’ll rip them apart!”

Then, the night of the Gamer’s Gala happened, and oh boy, was it something to behold.

She had been looking forward to meeting Alfred after all the stories you told her (of course, you didn’t tell the poor butler because that’s something you don’t say over the phone), but when she saw Bitch Wayne (her nickname for Bruce) sit next to her, she screamed so loud that everyone in the hall heard her.

She immediately pounced on the man and screamed all sorts of insults and threat at him, leading to security having to pull her off the legendary millionaire.

She wanted to summon a mold tendril and squeeze his head off or create an hallucination so bad he’d claw his own eyes out, but she promised her Daddy she’d never use her powers unless it was life or death.

It was at the security room that Bruce learned that she, a 14 year old girl, was your daughter. Adoptive, sure, but still your daughter.

And oh boy, did that man have so many questions.

But that girl is your daughter, and therefore a part of his family (holy shit, he’s a grandfather!), so he tries to bring you both back to Gotham.

Now, at this point, I can see this going 2 ways.

One: Eveline remains loyal to you and fights side by side against the Bats.

Or two: Eveline falls victim to the Wayne’s manipulation, tempting the poor girl with a big family that would give her all the love she could ever want.

You’re her Daddy and she’ll always be grateful for what you did for her.

But, she still has an uncontrollable need for a family, complete with a Granddaddy, a Great Granddaddy, aunts, and uncles! And pets! And a huge house! With a huge yard!

So, she helps them bring you back to Wayne Manor, her powers combined with the Bats’ gadgets and skills bringing you down.

Of course, all of them are astounded when you both display your control over the mold, but they have you and her, so what doesn’t it matter?

“We’re a big, happy family, Daddy! Isn’t that great!”

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR NINETEEN

in which everything changes.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, smut (p in v), almost shower sex, talk of male masturbation, oral (f receiving), upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 7.7k+

→ a/n: big shout out to @myosotisa for beta-reading this chapter so that for once, it's not unedited, and it's not just between me and god.

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

19:00 ─────────────ㅇ── 24:00

DINGUS: so either these two are getting along REALLY well or they truly still hate each other’s guts

NANCE: Why do you say that?

DINGUS: when i called to make sure they weren’t dead, it sounded like they were arguing over the line. 

BIRDIE: woah woah woah, hold on. dingus. are you telling me you just SPIED on the lovebirds? or did this ‘fight’ happen during your conversation?

DINGUS: it wasn’t spying! eddie answered and rushed off the line, but it sounded like he forgot to hang up. i was just… curious.

NANCE: No, you were SPYING on them. 

ARGYLE 😎: what did they say, dude? 

BIRDIE: yeah let’s drop the morality bullshit – what’d you hear, my lovely oblivious spy? 

DINGUS: @BIRDIE NOT A SPY. 

DINGUS: but it just sounded like eddie asking her if she was, and i quote, “fucking kidding him”. He sounded weird when he was talking to me, too.

BIRDIE: the most romantic words to ever be spoken. truly. 

NANCE: Was that all you heard?

DINGUS: yeah, i hung up after that. why?

ARGYLE 😎: should’ve stayed on the line.

BIRDIE: what he said.

JOHNNY BOY: Do you people have no morals? 

HOUR NINETEEN – 10:00 AM

It becomes glaringly obvious to you that your comment had been a little too spot on after several minutes of waiting for Eddie to return. 

You hadn’t expected him to really leave you high and dry after that, to just go and take care of himself rather than include you in that process. Honestly, you thought the two of you were finally past hiding behind closed doors. But clearly, you had been wrong. Very, very wrong. And now, the consequences of your own actions were mocking you; there was an insistent, uncomfortable, unignorable burn in the pit of your stomach, and every shift of your thighs that had your underwear grazing your clit had you desperate, nearly mewling and arching your back. The longer you laid on that couch and realized what Eddie was currently doing, the more hot and bothered you grew. 

Fuck him. You’re about ten seconds away from taking care of your own problem right here, right now, on this god forsaken couch. 

Your ears perk involuntarily for any and all noises that may come from the hallway, but five minutes of silence tells you that Eddie had learned his lesson. He wasn’t going to be loud again. 

Fuck him. 

At least if he was falling apart by his own hand, he should have the decency to let you hear such, obviously. If he was going to finish what the two of you started alone with just him and his hand and the polished porcelain of his bathroom, you would have at least appreciated something to get you going, to urge your imagination to roam free through a conglomeration of both fantasies and memories. But, no – the man was so silent, you were beginning to fear he might be dead. 

Maybe he was dead. Death by blue balls. Good. Fuck him.

Your thighs squeeze together once more of their own free will, and you throw your head back violently to groan at the persistent throbbing. You couldn’t even be angry at him, not in a genuine sense, because you had insisted on talking rather than continuing whatever Deftones had started. What a dumb, idiotic, catastrophic decision. What a painful hill to die on. What a shit move on your part. 

It doesn’t take long before you make the choice to stop laying there, wallowing in your misery. If you weren’t going to take care of your problem, and if you were regretting your choices so desperately, you were an adult. He was down the hall, he was here for now, and there was nothing stopping you from just marching up to the door. This wasn’t anything like the beginning hours – the man had seen you bare before him far too many times for you to be shy. He had just been dry humping you like some teenager on his couch. 

No, you didn’t need to have shame right now. At least, not for these last five hours. 

You get up quick enough to make yourself dizzy, swinging your legs and making the soles of your feet connect with the living room floor with resounding slaps. A bit aggressive, and it might startle whoever had the displeasure of living below Eddie, but you don’t care. You have a one track mind, and you force your body into action before you can chicken out. 

You have him. At some wild capacity, the man behind the bathroom door is yours. Whether it be temporary, whether it had started before this night or would last beyond this experience, it was still a matter of fact. You have him – God, you have him so tightly that you don’t even doubt you’re the one on his mind right now as he does what you’re sure he’s doing behind this door – and it was time to accept that he has you. 

He has had you for a while, you realize a few steps away from the bathroom. The moment he had you laughing at his side in some smokey bar all those moons ago, he had first caught you in his web. You hate that it took this long, that it took this moment that should be laced with embarrassment, to let it all settle into acceptance. Like rubble of a destroyed building, the dust is clearing and all you can see is him. Him, with his stupid fucking dimples. Him, with his wide shoulders. Him, with all his twisted words and confusing actions. He’s had you in his grasp – it’s the only way anyone would have been able to get under your skin like he has this past year. 

“Eddie?” you call out as you rap your knuckles on that wooden door, a few too many times for good measure. Your ears strain now that you’re closer, thinking you might catch subtle sounds out of him. Heavy breaths, slick skin, mute whimpers. Anything.

You get nothing for a solid ten seconds.

And then, you hear him clearing his throat, obnoxiously so, before answering, “Y-Yeah?” 

Unsure. He’s stuttering, and the footing of his words is unstable. You were fucking right. 

“Are you…” you start, pinching your eyes shut, shooing away that internal wave of heat as your mind runs wild and imagines him behind the door. The way he’d be naked, the way his fist would curl around the base of his cock, the way his tip has never failed to be the exact same shade of pink as his lips- “Are you still alive in there?” 

Because I’m certainly not out here. 

“Oh, me?” he chuckles nervously, “Yeah, I-I’m good. Sorry, just got distracted!” 

By what? you nearly call in response, your dick in your hands? 

You don’t say it outloud. You have some restraint. 

“That’s fine…” you trail off, unsure of what exactly you should say all while biting your tongue. 

Your mind is still reeling for a possible ending for that thought when Eddie calls out, “I’m gonna take a shower, ‘s all. You cool with that?” 

No. No, I’m not fucking cool with that. 

“Oh!” you squeak out instead, “Yeah, yeah. That’s… that’s fine. Sorry, I’ll just…”

You trail off again as you begin to take a few steps back from the door, making your way back to the living room painstakingly slowly. You’ve hardly moved an inch when you hear the shower turn on inside the bathroom, stuttering a few times as the water begins its flow, static rising from the way it splatters into the tub. 

And then it turns off. Mere seconds later, as quickly as the flow of water had begun, the creaking in the pipes cease. You take another step back until your back bumps into the wall of the hallway, across and veered away from the bathroom door – the throbbing between your thighs still irritating and your confusion even more palpable. 

Wasn’t he going to take a shower? Did he just turn it on to get you to walk away? Were you hallucinating just how quickly the seconds were passin-

The bathroom door is suddenly thrown open with Eddie in the middle of calling out your name, those pajama pants hanging dangerously low on his hips. The moment his eyes land on your, his beckoning for you dies in his throat before he has to clear it. “Oh. Uh, hey.” 

Why were you both being so fucking awkward? 

“Hi,” you breathe out, pressing further into the wall. You felt like a child being caught doing wrong, as if he hadn’t been aware of your proximity to the door just moments before. 

Maybe he was going to find it creepy that you had lingered for so long, and were still so close. You don’t know – you can’t think clearly as you look at the bare skin of his chest and try to decipher whether the moisture gathered there is sweat or condensation from the steam of the shower. 

“Sorry, I just-” he cuts himself off this time before a hand reaches up to his hair, now down and unfurled around his shoulders. His palm presses back his bangs and you can see the moment that all the tension of awkwardness finally snaps, “Oh, fuck this. Do you want to shower with me?” 

Once it snaps for him, you feel your own clinging to it release. It slips from between your fingers slowly, and you come to the realization that there’s no heat emitting from the bathroom behind him – that moisture wasn’t from steam, he didn’t even have the water on long enough for it to get that hot. You should have realized that immediately, but your mind was working slowly through the fog. 

“You don’t have to,” you hadn’t answered him fast enough, and you’re watching him backpedal right before your eyes. 

A quick shake of your head and the smile that splits your lips stops all of his backwards movements, makes his head tilt to the side and a smirk graces his features when you finally reply, “I thought you’d never ask.” 

He shifts to the side of the doorway naturally, leaving just enough room for you to brush past him and let your shoulder knock slightly against his chest once you push off the wall eagerly. 

There’s still a puddle of water at the base of the tub, circling the drain as Eddie closes the door behind your entrance. It’s a bit redundant considering you’re the only two here, but you don’t say a word. You just let your eyes trace over the droplets of water racing down his shower curtain, properly focus in on his toothbrush on the sink and the tube of toothpaste beside it curled up over half the length. 

It hits you all at once, how this game of tension is so ridiculous. “We’re so stupid.”

Eddie is shocked by your snort, “Excuse me?” 

“We’re stupid,” you repeat yourself, “Why are we acting like middle schoolers who just held hands? You’ve seen me naked, for fucks sake. We’ve-” you cut off and turn to him abruptly, waving your hands wildly in the space between you two, “We’ve already crossed this line a million times, Eddie. And we just… it’s like, we keep putting one foot on the other side of it, dip our toes into it, and then take it back when it’s all said and done.” 

A boring dance. The two of you were taking part in the most boring dance of tension the world had ever seen, and only the four walls of Eddie’s apartment had the pleasure of being audience to it. 

You expect his laughter to come out in a bark, but it’s subtle instead, face relaxing in realization at what you mean, “Jesus. I- I mean, you’re right. But does that make us stupid? I think it’s kinda cute, personally.”

“Cute?” you lurch forward ever so slightly, grinning with your teeth. Eddie’s eyes squint up a bit from how widely he grins in return at your amusement, “What about this is cute?” 

“The way you keep getting so nervous around me,” Eddie shrugs, killing off the distance between you as he moves in front of you. You straighten up quickly, and he’s fast to tuck the loose strands of your hair behind your ear, “The way I keep getting so nervous around you.” 

“That’s not cute, that’s just… stupid.” 

“Same thing.”

“It definitely isn’t.” 

You’re close enough to kiss him. And you realize easily that this may be your favorite place in the world, toe-to-toe with him and nearly brushing noses, feeling each breath like a huff of wind on the highs of your cheekbones. 

“Agree to disagree,” he whispers before his lips duck down to yours. The hand that had tucked away your strands of hair had never left your face, you realize, palm now cupping your cheek as he tugs you closer to him. 

Warmth spreads across your chest, brings spring to all the vines you’ve been catering to for a year now. Being able to step back and call this for what it was, ridiculous, makes it all a bit easier to bear. 

It’s just his lips against yours, the shower not even running yet, the gasps that emit from both of you serving as a white noise instead. 

“Is this,” he breaks away from you, only pulling back his lips and leaving his forehead resting against yours with his hand still curled on your cheek, “still stupid?” 

“Even more so,” you nod and he moves his head with yours, almost making you laugh more, “So, so stupid.”

More kisses are exchanged, wandering hands trying to find new curves on the other’s body, before Eddie goes through the motions of turning his shower back on. You notice that from the looks of it, he does turn it on as hot as it can get. It occurs to you that these are small details you’d like to know – how hot he prefers his showers, whether he prefers to take them in the morning or at night, what scent of body wash he swears by – and that you only had so much time to learn the answer to not even half of your curiosities. 

Time. Time was not on your side. 

“You know,” you drawl as Eddie finally kicks off his pants, you soon following his lead as if this was nothing. Because it wasn’t. The two of you had been naked before each other. You weren’t two middle schoolers who had just shared a first kiss or held hands – you were two adults who had had sex, who had admitted to being attracted to each other if nothing more, “You never did say what you’re actually doing with the money.” 

“Again with that conversation?” Eddie asks, pausing with his thumbs hooked in the band of his boxers. 

“Again,” you affirm, tossing your shirt into the same corner that his pants had been discarded, “Can you blame me for being curious? Aren’t you curious what I’m doing with my money?” 

He thinks for a second as you strip off your underwear, leaving you completely naked first. “I mean, I sort of am.”

“College,” you supply easily. You don’t even wait for him to properly ask. He purses his lips and you catch the way his eyes sweep over your nude body quickly before he yanks off his last article of clothing, “College, and then all my debt. Then maybe I can start saving like a real adult. Move to some fancy city once I graduate. Make a…” you pause and make a conscious effort to not let your eyes wander as his had, “Make a real life for myself, I guess.”

“You sound so excited.” 

He’s being sarcastic, you know it, but it begs the question – were you excited about the prospective? All you had ever known was school. Your entire personality has been built thus far on being a student.

So what comes next? Settling into some boring nine to five job that hardly satisfies the dreams that were born of your major? Getting underpaid, getting bored with monotony but telling yourself you were satisfied? 

And that doesn’t even scratch the surface of the bigger questions of the future. You haven’t even spared a thought to kids, to getting married, to life past the next two years. 

“I mean… I am,” you shrug and step into the shower first, Eddie following close behind you and listening intently, “It’ll be nice to finally have the damn piece of paper to say ‘hey! I did it!’” 

“But?” he presses, scooting the two of you around in the small space so that he was standing directly beneath the spray of water. His curls flatten against his head immediately. 

“No buts,” you insist. As if you’re trying to convince yourself more of it than him. 

“So that’s all? You just want to get out of here?” he isn’t looking at you as he reaches for a bottle of shampoo, blinking water out of his eyes. 

This conversation is going surprisingly well. 

“Not here specifically,” you clarify. Your chest aches at the thought of just leaving behind all the friends you’d made, the life you had started in this city. The thought of already beginning to preemptively tear it down was enough to dampen your mood worse than the steam of the shower was doing to your hair, “I don’t know. Who cares about the future? What are you doing with your money?” 

He’s about to squirt some of the shampoo into the palm of his hand when you suddenly snatch it from him, holding up a finger and twirling it in a demanding manner. He’s shocked, but he turns for you regardless, even bending his knees as he gets the message. 

He doesn’t question the fact that you’re about to wash his hair. No protests towards something so domestic between previously sworn enemies. 

“I wasn’t lying earlier,” he starts just as you have lathered up your palms and set aside the shampoo on the shower ledge, fingertips digging right into his scalp. Even with the slight bend in his posture, your arms have to stretch to reach the crown of his head, “A new bike or guitar would be nice but– Oh,” a particular scratch of your nails has him faltering in his words, throwing his head back a bit more and humming. The throb, the ache, the burn returns. “Oh, that’s nice.” 

“Keep talking, pretty boy,” you murmur as he hums even louder. 

“Well, I… It’s not a lot of money, y’know? I mean, it is. But it also isn’t. Am I making any sense? Fuck, that feels good,” he stumbles across his point as your fingers continue small circles, and you already know without looking that his eyes have fluttered shut. 

The pit of your stomach can only rally, twisting and tumbling at his satisfaction. Something so domestic and something you had started with sweet intentions was quickly derailing, but you couldn’t be bothered to care. 

You have him. But you don’t have him. The same type of conundrum he faces with the amount of money promised to the both of you if you were to survive these hours. 

“You’re making sense,” you promise with a shy grin you know he can’t see, “Like, I know the money won’t pay off all my debts or college tuition, but it’s a good start. Anyways, as you were saying?” 

Both of you struggle to focus as he continues on, melting even further into your touch, “I dunno. Maybe if I have anything leftover, I’ll send it to my uncle.” 

His voice is strained as he’s occupied with the feeling of your hands against his scalp, and you know it’s a throwaway sentence, but the small detail of his life you’ve been awarded doesn’t go unnoticed.

Uncle? Why uncle? 

“You in debt to your uncle over a bad night of gambling or somethin’?” you try to joke as you finally release your fingertips from his scalp. Your palms come down on his shoulders as you spin him slowly, encouraging him to keep his head tipped back as he lets the water wash away the suds produced. 

Surprisingly, his shampoo doesn’t smell like boy. It’s akin to green apples, maybe something smoother beneath it all like coconut. Something sweet and something innocent. 

Maybe that’s what has him being so open to you as he explains, “I’ll always be in debt to him, but not for gambling. He raised me. My folks… weren’t the best. I owe everything to that man.” 

There are no good words to respond with. You suddenly feel selfish for pushing him to admit it, and for making that joke to begin with. 

But he only cracks open his eyes as the suds are mostly gone, looking at you through squinty eyes as he grins, “Guess I’m the boner killer now, huh?” 

You snort again (fuck, had he always been this funny?) and shake your head, finally glimpsing below his hips. 

Ironic of him to say that he was a boner killer when there he was, harder than ever for you, tip pink and glistening in a taunt towards you. 

You were both going to Hell. You were standing in his shower, talking about his uncle, both far too horny for the topic of conversation. 

“Modern day Bonnie and Clyde, but make it horny,” you manage to get out, still staring at him and resisting the urge to reach out and start something you didn’t know how to finish, “Does talking about money always get you this hard?” 

“Bonnie and Clyde were robbers, not killers,” he corrects you, “And why, yes. How did you know? Do you plan to use this lethal information against me again later?” 

A cavern in your chest screams out, when is later? Later within the next four hours, or later within the next year? Will you ever even give me a chance to use this against you again? 

You laugh along with his joke instead. 

“Absolutely. Also, who the fuck knows that much about Bonnie and Clyde?” 

You make him turn around again, and repeat a similar process with the conditioner. The entire time, you try to not think about the awareness that the same burn in your own gut is alight in him. 

He shrugs a little, bends a little more to encourage your fingertips back to his scalp. It doesn’t work — you’re focusing the conditioner on the drier ends of his curls. “I do.”

“Well, that’s just weird.” 

You work in silence as you finish threading the conditioner through and detangling his hair with just your fingers. You don’t immediately have him rinse it out, and he takes the opportunity to reward you with the same care, the same domesticity. And just as he hadn’t questioned you, you don’t protest when he manhandles you to spin and face your back to him. You let him indulge you in the same massaging motions that you had just pampered him with, let suds of that sweetness surround you as your eyes shut delicately and you lean your head back into his deliberate touches.

Same care, same domesticity, same sensuality. You never thought washing someone’s hair could be something so intimate until his knuckles are between your locks and your back is brushing up against his chest due to limited space.

“It’s not about the money,” he randomly announces to you once the shampoo has been rinsed out and the conditioner takes its place. “I mean, I figured you knew that, but… still thought I’d say.” 

“Figured as much.”

“I also wasn’t pissing,” he continues to overshare, “I know you figured as much there too.” 

Biting your bottom lip to hold back a grin, you keep the rest of your face relaxed as you nonchalantly ask, “No? What distracted you, then?” 

You can feel every deep breath he takes. The expansion of his chest only presses the two of you closer. Soon, you should both rinse out the conditioner. You should stop wasting water. The two of you should get out of this damn confining space and sleep, do something useful, make the most of the final four hours. 

Instead, you’re letting yourself get lost in billows of steam, and teasing him. And maybe that’s something useful for you. 

“You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you?” 

You can hear his grin. God, you can hear his grin and those stupid dimples making an appearance without needing to see his face.

“Say what?” you ploy faux innocence. His fingers are still in your hair. He has no reason to continue to comb them through, but they remain there, grazing your scalp and brushing the back of your neck.

His chin meets your shoulder suddenly, his breath on your ear. “What did you call this earlier, sweetheart? I believe you called it… stupid.” 

Right. Stupid. 

Stupid was the ache that resided inside you for him. Stupid was the way your thighs shook from how hard they pressed together from each soft caress of his breath on the shell of your ear. Stupid was the urge to reach your arm around your back and grab onto him, any part of him, and try to pull him as closely as humanly possible — and then some. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

You’re a bad liar. And he loves it.

“Right,” he draws out the single syllable, hands leaving your hair, drifting at sea as they find comfort on your biceps, touch feather light, “You have no idea what I was doing in here. You weren’t staying by the door to see if you could hear me, trying to get a free show.” 

So you had been right in calling the two of you stupid. Neither of you had been very conspicuous. 

“A free show to what?” you keep up the act of innocence and swallow down the delighted hun when his hands move down your arms. You’re fully flush to his chest now, almost to the point of leaning your weight back against him.

“To me touching myself to you,” bold, crass words leave his lips, “To me fucking my fist to the thought of you. Squeezing my fist around my cock, trying to make it feel like that sweet pussy.” 

Your knees nearly buckle. You try to play it cool, “Oh? Is that what you were doing?”

His playful chuckle is the final straw, and his hands now on your waist are the only thing keeping you upright.

“I was.”

“And were you successful?”

How you kept your tone so steady, so even, was lost on you. 

“I wasn’t.”

One hand stays planted on your waist firmly, as if he knows he’s the only thing keeping you from collapsing in this heat between the two of you. The other dares to round to the front of your stomach, fingers splayed and fingertips almost tickling you as he lets them run down the center of your navel. He’s taking his time. Slowly, painfully, his hand travels. Down, down, down. Until his fingertips are grazing right over that fire he built inside you, mere inches from where you need him to touch you most. He has you right where he wants you, and he knows it.

And so he stops. Inches, maybe less, from where your cunt is throbbing for him. 

“Didn’t you say you were good with your fingers?” you’re trying to keep up a cool facade, but it’s becoming useless at this point. Your voice comes out a whine, and your hips subtly buck against empty air to try to encourage his touch lower.

“I did,” he hums directly into your ear. The hand on your waist becomes an arm fully wrapped around your front, and the press of your back to his chest becomes far more intentional. All of it to hold you in place as he moves his hand right over where you want him. He avoids your body’s pleas, and jumps straight to teasing his fingertips over the tops of your thighs. “Wouldn’t you agree?” 

It’s almost funny to remember how flustered he was when he’d first made the comment, how quick he had been to defend it against being something dirtier, only to now be using it against you in anything but an innocent context.

“Please,” the beg falls from your lip as you give up on the game.

It’s a combination of all his gentle touches, the feeling of his curls between your knuckles, the steam that is smothering the two of you without notice, the way you can still feel every damn breath of his. Both through his mouth now softly kissing at the lobe of your ear, and his chest that only presses more tightly to you. That tightening arm around your waist, and the subtle change of position of his knee.

You aren’t expecting it, and your feet slide apart quickly, nearly dropping onto his sweetly placed leg between yours. 

“Please what, sweetheart?” 

You can’t even recall the feeling of hatred you used to get at the nickname. Now, in its place, is something buzzing, something buttery, something contradictory. You’re dizzy with satisfaction from the way he murmurs it directly into your ear. 

“Please touch me,” you gasp when his knee brushes upwards, not quite reaching where you need him. You swear there’s a pulse now, a throbbing cry that would do just about anything to feel those hands on you, “Please, please.” 

You’re losing focus as your thoughts start to fuzz at the edges, suddenly only able to manage the words please and his name.

And it isn’t lost on him. “Look at you. I haven’t even touched you yet, and you’re already going so dumb for me, aren’t you?” 

Your stomach churns, everything in you tightens, and your pride isn’t above dropping yourself down properly onto his knee and grinding. You would if you could — his fucking arm won’t let you.

When you glance down, you realize just how tight his grip is. You can trace each vein along his forearm, catch the white of his knuckles as they curl against you.

He’s holding onto you for dear life, and yet his death grip doesn’t so much as hurt. You only feel safe, you only feel wanted. 

“Please just touch me, Eddie,” you whimper out, not caring about how desperate you sound anymore. You have no shame, no pride, no careful calculations left for the man behind you. 

His hands stop their dance across the apex of your thighs. One moment, you can barely feel his fingertips running over their softness, and the next, it vanishes completely. 

You open your mouth to protest, but all that comes out is a gasp as his fingers are suddenly on your cunt, spreading you apart at a leisurely pace. You move to grab onto his forearm for leverage but he suddenly tsks and stops all of his movements. 

“You can either have me touch you, or you touch me. But you can’t have both, sweetheart. Not right now.” 

Through the haze, you’re unable to use your words to answer, instead cracking your eyes back open and trying to crane your neck to see Eddie properly. But he’s only chuckling into your ear again, arm around your waist tightening. 

“C’mon, baby. Use your words. Which would you rather have?” he taunts, tilting his chin down and letting his nose nuzzle against the peak of your shoulder, lips barely brushing the skin. 

You would have expected to not even catch the subtle feeling of plushness on you right now between your ever-growing frustration and the water still raining down on both of you. But you do; your body is growing acutely aware of every single point of contact between the two of you as the minutes go on. Every inch of your skin is tuned into his touch and where it flows, where it leaves you, where it presses deeper. 

You open your mouth to respond to him, but you can’t. You can’t explain it: there isn’t a tightness in your throat, a pain grasp on your chest, a fear that is swallowing the words whole. It’s the opposite. All of your taut strings have gone slack, waves of surrendering to him having overcome all of your deepest anxieties. In this moment, amongst the white noise of a shitty apartment shower, all that there exists is him. The time limit slips away, the bet is a thing of the past, and the road taken to bring you both here is completely forgotten. 

His touch is able to remain light when he decides to turn you in his arm, the grip once around your waist now pressing into your lower back as you face him. You’re completely malleable for him to do as he wishes. 

Facing him, you watch all of the amusement and cockiness melt away from his features. His smirk goes soft and his face falls in awe, mouth parted as he takes in that look in your eyes. He knows. He knows that in this moment, you are completely defenseless and utterly his. 

You watch all the air leave his lungs, and feel the consequential breath that releases hit the bridge of your nose due to the proximity. “You really are cock drunk for me right now, aren’t you? I haven’t even given it to you yet and you’re just… gone.” 

If you weren’t completely under his spell at this moment, you would have burned with embarrassment down to the bone. 

You just nod. 

With this revelation, his grip on you completely transforms. It’s not just a matter of keeping you upright, but a matter of keeping you tethered to him. As if he’s afraid that the moment he lets go, he loses you. 

If you could find the words, you’d assure him that he wouldn’t. You weren’t something so fleeting, so passing. 

Without words, all you can do is show him. So you press up onto your tip-toes and kiss him. Hard, then soft. Fervently, then patiently. Achingly, and then assuredly. Every flash of contradiction between the two of you and all that has accumulated goes into the kiss as you let him find his breath again, solely by stealing yours. 

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs against your lips, before his nose rubs against the tip of yours as it begins a journey. Across your cheek, down your jaw, into the crook of your neck. You feel spouts of warm water trickle over his collarbones and against your own. 

This time, you do have the words for him. Or rather, the word for him.

“You.”

There’s no other way to put it. You just want him. 

He pulls back and stares directly into your eyes, his own brown ones swarming with varied emotions. You’re finally able to start deciphering some of them – lust, want, surprise – but not quite all of them yet. 

Before you realize what’s happening, he’s sinking to his knees. Somehow, he’s twisted you so that your back meets the cool tile of the wall, careful in watching the way it supports you during the entirety of his descent. 

He doesn’t say a word, his eyes doing all the talking necessary through wet lashes as he guides you to balance a foot on the edge of the tub and hook your knee onto his shoulder. Just as you realize what he’s doing, his mouth is on your hot cunt. 

For all the talk and thoughts about just how good his fingers were, you seemed to have forgotten just how good his mouth was. 

His tongue works away at your clit, tracing patterns before alternating to suck it sharply between his lips. He seems to have forgotten about his earlier threat, or maybe he’s just feeling merciful, as your hands instinctively reach down and wind into the roots of his wet hair. Curls matt in your grasp instantly. A harsh tug, and he’s moving his attention elsewhere, nose now nudging your clit as he circles around your entrance, pulling whines from deep within you at the teasing. 

“Eddie,” you throw your head back hard enough that you’re sure that there will be an ache to feel once all is said and done, “Fuck. Right there.”

“I see someone’s found their words,” his voice is muffled and you can feel his smirk rather than see it. 

It’s a damn pretty sight. Him, on his knees, wet curls plastering down his shoulders and back as his face is buried between your thighs. 

You can trace over each indent of muscle across his skin through half-lidded eyes, memorize the way it looks dazzling with the moisture, watch as water pools where his fingers dig into your thighs to keep you balanced. 

When his tongue finally slips inside of you, slow and stretching as the tip of his nose digs deeper into your clit, you swear you’re seeing stars. You were going to snarkily reply, but you don’t have the capacity to reply with anything other than chants of his name. Mixtures of praying to him and praying to God fall from your lips alongside curses. All muddled, all strings of whimpers and moans as he continues to bring you closer to your edge. When he finally resorts to bringing his hand back into the mix, sinking two fingers into your cunt with little warning as he returns to lazy work on your clit, you gasp out – your body lurches forward as your curl into him and your back leaves the now sticky, warm wall. 

The arm that was wrapped around your lifted leg to help you balance is quick to throw over your hips, keeping half your body still pressed to the wall. “Careful, princess.” 

Each word reverberates through you, both physically and somewhere deep in your mind, sending you even further reeling as your fingers grab onto him deeper and try to press him impossibly close. 

Princess. Somewhere along crossing all these lines, you have ventured into new territory. A territory where the nicknames get under your skin in a brand new way, slipping into your subconscious for the better rather than arising any irritation. 

Baby, princess, sweetheart. 

You’ll take whatever you can get from him. 

“Wouldn’t want you slipping and falling,” he murmurs as he pulls back, face now slick with you rather than the steam or water, “Can’t have you ruining that pretty face, getting blood all over my bathroom, now can we?” 

He’s right. God, you fucking hate when he’s right. As much as every part of your body is screaming for him to take you right here against the shower wall, you know it’s not a good idea. And you’ve really, really succumbed to enough bad ideas in these last nineteen hours. 

“Bed,” you manage to gasp out, quick to detangle your fingers from his hair and try to grab onto his shoulders without purchase due to the water still tumbling down, “Bed, now.” 

He gets the message. Rises to his feet and lets your leg fall back down, shaking as he turns to cut the shower abruptly. Without asking, he’s the one to exit into the fierce cold of the apartment first, grabbing at the flesh of your hips and guiding you out along with him. He doesn’t even bother with towels – once he has you out of that potential death trap of a tub, his lips are on yours, nipping and passionate as you breathe him in. He’s the one that maneuvers the two of you out of the bathroom, you don’t even notice when he reaches behind himself to open the door, impressively never tripping as he walks backwards and keeps your lips on his. 

It occurs to you that this is how you two work best. No overshadow of being honest with each other, no clouds of feelings getting in the way. And yet, somehow, it’s the most vulnerable you’ve managed to feel with him yet. 

You don’t want it to only be this easy when both your clothes are off. You want it to be this easy in the early mornings that you wake him up for work, you want it this easy over late night take-out and horror movie marathons. You want more cigarettes at sunset with him, soft confessionals over a rising sun. 

You can’t keep pretending that nothing has changed. You simply can’t. The fierce promise of his protection, the way his eyes stay trained on you even in the busiest of rooms. Nothing could ever erase the blooms left from him hooking his pinky with yours at the parking garage. 

All of the night is flashing through your mind, and even in the trance he has you under, you’re seeing with perfect clarity. 

It’s why just as the backs of your knees connect with his mattress, before he can throw you down and continue what was started in the shower, you’re pushing your palms against his wet chest and forcing him to look into your eyes. 

“If we do this,” you shakily begin, watching his chest rise and fall in sync with yours. Once you say these words, you can’t take them back. You’re vividly aware of it before you continue to force your voice to come out the most steadily it has the entire night, “It changes everything.” 

He blinks, eyes owlish. Once, twice. More of that emotion you finally can single out but never identify swirls like storm clouds in his vision. You wait for him to run, for him to take it all back. You wait for it all to be over – for him to deliver the final blow and leave you to collect the rubble and blood money so you can pretend this night never happened. 

“Okay.” 

Those aren’t the words of a fatal blow. You think they might send you reeling even worse, though. 

“Okay?” you clarify. If your tongue wasn’t so heavy, you’d say more. Remind him of what exactly it means to change everything. 

It seems he already knows as he parrots back, “Okay.” 

Lips meet again, and this time, they’re charged with everything. With a promise of change and a promise that maybe there isn’t a ridiculous time limit here. There is no doomsday clock between the two of you. When the clock strikes 3 PM, neither of you will vanish into thin air. 

You let him throw you back onto the bed. Your bare back meets the surprisingly soft sheets, and they erupt in the scent of Eddie. Cigarettes, a hint of weed, whatever cologne he seems to douse himself in. You can even pinpoint his shampoo amongst the fragrance now. 

It’s no longer the smell of boy that you once ran from. His hand is behind your back, but not trapped. It’s there willingly and it is caressing every inch of you that he can find, tracing out any dimples in your back he can discover as he lets your legs curl up onto his hips, kisses dappling your neck, jaw, and lips alike. 

Your vines stretch high and proud, and drink in his waves with every passing of his breath on your skin that raises goosebumps. 

You want to live here forever. In the feel of him pausing right before his cock presses into you, in the way his face scrunches up and his mouth falls agape, the haze now spreading from your mind and across both of you. Nameless chants and pleads for what was already both in the palm of your hands before you even knew what to do with it. The roll of his hips and the way his wet skin sticks to your own. Your heels digging into him, bringing him in closer, closer, closer.

Every time, it has felt this way. Something beneath the surface that has you surrendering over yourself. He has hurt you, time and time again, and you’ve let your knives be just as sharp – but the wounds scab over now when it’s just the two of you like this. 

You’re best like this for a reason. Because for once, neither of you are overthinking it. You are vulnerable and you are bare, not just physically but emotionally. Honesty isn’t a request; it is a given. You don’t just have him, you know him. Across oceans and across gardens, across midnight skies and across soft morning light. 

You have him. You know him. 

It’s enough. 

Smokey bars. His protection. Slamming doors and the clicking of locks released. The night air surrounding you and the warmth of his back as you cling to him on a motorcycle that seems to be going faster than light in your memories. That parking garage, and that hook of his pinky – a way to get closer, but also a whisper of a promise. 

He’s bled for you. He’s bled from you. 

This changes everything. 

When his hips movements become sloppy, when the knot in your stomach tightens one last time, when your nails dig into his back and leave their mark, you know it to be true. 

Everything, everything, changes. 

Eddie never really hated you, never really could, and you realize now that the feeling is mutual. 

—

You hadn’t considered exactly what the aftermath would be when Eddie first dragged you out of the shower, but you surely never could have imagined the scene now playing out. 

Him, on his back, content and humming a song you’re too tired to ask him about. His fingers are trailing mindlessly up and down your spine as you splay out across his chest. You both probably need another shower, but neither of you are willing to leave his bed for it. 

It’s not you who remembers the photo. No, you’re tired, one foot already in the door of sleep as you curl yourself tighter into his side. 

He doesn’t use your phone this time. You didn’t even realize his outdated flip phone had a camera on it. You’re not even sure if you dreamt the soft click that sounds like a camera as you nuzzle deeper into his chest.

“Everything,” he whispers, just as the edges of your consciousness begin to blacken, “Yeah, this changes everything.”

Your last thought is a curious one; will he send the photo he just took? 

Would he dare to admit to everyone how everything has changed?

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