#tired of them only coming around to get cheap weed

[emmett-mchearty]

Me currently:

[butchcarmy]

ALEXITHYMIA CH 1: onions, weed, and pizza

Roommate AU: Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18)

ao3 link ch 2 ch 3 ch 4

Summary: Carmy can’t put into words how he feels about his roommate. It’s only been a couple months, but here he is looking forward to going home and sharing a smoke with them. That’s all it is, though. There are no underlying feelings, none at all, even if everyone around him has something to say about it. 

Or: Carmy is repressed as ever, but through the combined power of vulnerability, weed, and the horny, Carmy too can find love. 

Tags: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, cursing, yearning, repression, SO MUCH REPRESSION, angst, mental illness, canon-typical imagery, unresolved tension, for now, virgin carmy, use of weed, alcohol, all that good stuff, carmy character study, eventual smut, gender neutral reader, nonbinary reader, up to you

A/N: HI I've never posted fic on tumblr before but i deeply love Carmy...please enjoy!!!

CHAPTER 1: onions, weed, and pizza

It always stays the same. 

This is the thought that Carmy has when he wakes up, gasping for a chance to just catch his breath and keep it. It’s a kitchen knife twisting like a lock and key in his chest. It fits just right, as all awful and familiar things seem to do.

No matter how many times he wakes up, he’s never anywhere different. That drowning feeling suffocates him in his sleep and follows dutifully into his waking hours. He can’t remember when that haunting started, only that it’s always been with him.

He hates feeling like a drifter, like he’s lost (even though he is both of those things), so he picks a goal and runs after it like a monster. He’s an animal, hunting and working and bleeding until he fucking makes it work , because that’s who he is, and that’s who he’s always been. He can’t not make it work. Because if he can’t do it, then…then what was it all for? 

What is he even for?

These are the thrilling thoughts that serve as the background music to the swirl of his cheap morning coffee, oils rotating in a slow circle. He thinks about getting a nicer brand next time he goes grocery shopping. But that would mean change. That would mean less money on the restaurant, too.

Yeah, so it tastes like shit, but it doesn’t matter. Even if it mattered once. Less and less matters to him these days.

Mornings in Chicago are not technically quiet by definition, but when compared to other times of day, they are. Especially when most of his day is spent in the kitchen wringing out his throat. It isn’t bad to have a quiet morning by normal means, but for him…

The quiet is dangerous.

It’s not silent, but it’s not enough. There’s distant beeping of impatient cars. The whirring sound of the old AC unit. He tries to listen to them, but his rampant thoughts nonetheless rise above them all, buzzing everywhere with nowhere to land. 

A brief analysis of his thoughts reads as such:

Beef sandwiches eggs flour shipment Michael cigarettes smoking sore throat late shipment so tired not sleeping Michael Sugar Mom coffee tastes bad it’s too early my stomach hurts Michael fucking hates you Michael Michael Michael Michael Michael you piece of shit you fucking ki—

“Mornin’, Carmy.”

Until his roommate wakes up, that is. 

When he moved back to Chicago, there was a fact, plain, simple, and unchanging. He wasn’t gonna make rent on his own, not with the restaurant. Not with everything. So maybe he didn’t need to deal with a new roommate, but it’s not like there was a choice. It seemed bearable, survivable enough.

He keeps waiting for the thing that’ll make him grit his teeth, make him regret not getting a place on his own, but it never comes. They’re easy to live with. It’s so easy, as a matter of fact, that it feels strange. The difficulty that he was so certainly expecting just isn’t there. 

If anything, he looks forward to being at home. For someone who lives at work, that feeling is completely foreign.  

They don’t steal his food (not that there’s much). Instead, they cook him food, leaving heated leftovers on the stove on late nights. In Carmy’s case, that’s most nights. They don’t bring over obnoxious company and keep him up with the noise. Rather, he basks in their company, and they make a ruckus between their laughter. Their presence doesn’t stifle him, it soothes him, just like the candle they leave lit in the kitchen for him when he comes home.  They’re not just easy to live with, they’re good to live with, and that’s…

That’s been a hard adjustment, Carmy would say. It’s too much of a good thing that he’s not sure what to do with himself.

On those late nights, they’re usually fast asleep by the time he’s home. But as he sits and eats the leftovers they’ve kept for him, he wants to say something. Something about how a long time ago, there was once a Carmy who cooked for himself, who looked after himself, but that he’s not that Carmy anymore. That it doesn’t matter that he’s a five star chef and they’re just some guy in the kitchen, as they would put it, because he’s…

He’s grateful. Incredibly so.

And yet, the words will never come out. He feels the words tingling on his lips, but it feels scary. He can thank them as many times as he likes (which he does) but it will never capture what he’s really trying to say when he says thank you . There’s too many words, and it just can’t…it just can’t—

It always stays the same. 

“You’re up early,” he says to them when they enter the room. It’s a rare sight to see them up at the early hours he frequents. He sees the morning drowsiness in their mussed hair and big t-shirt stained with hair dye. They yawn back at him, nose scrunching.

Cute , he thinks, and he stamps it down as soon as it flashes through his mind. 

“Randomly woke up.” They fall into the empty seat next to him on the couch, and they rub at the crust around their eyes. “About to head off to work?”

“Unfortunately, yeah,” he replies. There’s a certain sentiment that lies on the tip of his tongue, something about how he wishes he could have a slow morning with them instead. Of course, he can’t voice it. He can’t even come close.

“The plague of the working man,” they sigh. “Well, I got an idea that might cheer you up.”

“...And that would be?”

“Let me paint you a beautiful picture,” they start. They clear their throat and gesture widely with their hands. He notices their chipped nail polish, the writing callus on their middle finger. “Imagine this—you come home from work, tired. You need to relax —something you need to do more often,” they add with a pointed look.  No comment. “And I have dinner ready. Some sort of soup, pasta maybe. I need to check the fridge.” They pause with a yawn. “And before we eat, we smoke a big, fat joint.”

He snorts as they finish, unable to hold back a laugh. 

“That’s a nice picture,” he admits. He doesn’t remember when he started smiling. “Y’know, I was wondering when the joint was gonna pop in.” 

“You fucking know me, man,” they reply, blooming with his interest, his smile. Not that he can perceive that. “So? Thoughts? Haven’t done that in a while, right?”

“Right, right,” he echoes faintly. His mind is already sorting through the pile of tasks on the schedule. “Well, I gotta go over this new recipe with Marcus, today,” he mutters, partially under his breath. “But before that, ingredient orders. And those invoices before the end of the day—and that, that toilet guy was supposed to come today…I think?”

“Dude, I do like, one task, and the day’s over for me,” they say sympathetically, and the look on their face is so serious that Carmy struggles to hide his smile. “You’re crazy.”

“I, I’ve seen you do tasks,” he argues. 

“Name one,” they argue back.

“You did two loads of laundry and did the dishes all before lunch time once,” he says, the memory clear and instant. “And when I woke up, you were vacuuming the whole place.” The immediacy surprises him, and it seems to surprise them, too. 

“Damn, I said name one , but I guess I’m just that good!” They laugh, a breathy, exasperated sort of thing. “Well, point taken. Anyway, it sounds like you’re not gonna be home early tonight.” 

“It is a Friday,” he says, “but…”

“But.”

“Can’t make promises I can’t keep,” he sighs, and shame melts over him like butter on a stainless steel pain. This isn’t anything new. 

“I know, I know,” they say, gracious as ever. “It’s okay. Such is the life of a business owner, yeah?” He searches for some thinly veiled shred of disappointment, frustration in their expression, but he doesn’t. No matter how many times he lets them down, the explosion he’s waiting for never comes. They remain patient, collected through it all. 

Says more about him than them, he supposes. 

“Yeah,” he mutters, “such is the life.” 

“C’est la fucking vie,” they say, and he laughs with a shake of his head. 

It can feel strange to laugh. He worries that the lightness in his chest will expand like a balloon, and he’ll float away. It’s uncontrollable, foreign. It should be scary, how his emotions lead him when he’s around them, not the other way around, but it’s not. 

It’s not scary to loosen up around them, and that’s the scary part. There are no words to describe why. All he can see is that the fear exists, stubborn and persistent. That fear is what makes him snap out of it, makes him look at the clock. He holds back a sigh. 

“Time to go,” he mutters, and they nod.

“And time for me to go back to bed.” They salute him. “Best of luck with your day, brave soldier. And just shoot me a text if you do end up coming back early, ok?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll try. And, thanks. You, you too,” he gets out. He stands up, readjusting the waistband of his pants. “I’ll, uh, see you later.”

“See you,” they say through a yawn, waving at him from where they’re lying down. They’ve taken his spot, sprawled across the couch, tangled hair flayed out on the pillows. 

Cute , he thinks again, and hearing the thought in his brain makes him wanna panic. 

He doesn’t wanna panic, doesn’t wanna think about it at all, so he nods, shuts the door, and heads out to work with a cigarette hastily lit in his mouth. 

By the time it’s Carmy’s lunch break, he swears his vocal cords must have snapped by how tight he was wringing them. 

The soreness has never stopped him from lighting a cig, though. As he stands outside in the back, finally forced to go on his 30, he smokes rather than eating. There’s a sandwich in his pocket, one that was bearing the brunt of test ingredients. He can feel the aluminum wrapping at his fingertips. 

Eventually, he does eat, though, because he sees the way his hands are shaking when he flicks his lighter. He doesn’t wanna shake when he uses a knife, so he eats. He tastes it, but he doesn’t really taste it.

In truth, he wasn’t even planning on taking his lunch break at all. Most days, he forgets about it. The kitchen’s always busy, there’s always something missing, there’s always something that hasn’t been prepped that’s ruining everything, the lights in the hallways keep flickering because they need to fixed, Fak’s supposed to fix them, but he can’t, because Richie’s still out getting the replacement bulbs, the pile of papers on his desk are bigger than he remembers, he doesn’t have enough fucking time—

But then he’s in the middle of chopping an onion, and the cutting board slips. The half-chopped onion and its sliced offspring scatter on the floor with the cutting board. The sound of its fall draws Sydney in like a whip. 

“You okay? Need a bandaid?” Sydney’s already kneeling by him, helping him pick the onions off the floor. 

“I, I’m fine, didn’t drop the knife,” he explains, and it feels like an ocean current is rushing by his ears. “Fucking, I just—such a stupid fucking—” He sucks in a breath and goes silent. 

His entire body feels tight, wound like a spring. He can barely fucking breathe. 

“Hey.” Carmy turns his intense stare from the onions to Sydney, and when he sees her searching expression, he remembers himself. “Maybe you should go take your lunch break.”

“No, I’m fine, really,” he repeats, and he feels like he’s heard this before. From someone else. He can’t remember. Who was it? “The onions—we’re behind on onions—”

“I can handle onions for 30 minutes,” she interrupts, decisive and firm. “Seriously.”

Carmy’s about to say something, but then he’s looking at the onion half in his hand. His hand is shaking. 

“Okay,” he sighs after a beat. “Okay, yeah. Sorry. For fucking up.”

“It happens. We all have our moments.” She shrugs. When he keeps standing there, she makes this shoo-ing motion with her hand. “Go on. Take your 30!”

So here he is, taking his lunch break a whole hour later than he’s supposed to. Although it’s better than most days where he doesn’t take it at all.

She wouldn’t have had to tell you to take a break if you didn’t fuck it all up, he thinks to himself, eyebrows knitted together. When the last time I’ve fucked up something so fucking easy?

He thinks about his dream from last night. A familiar sight of red fire and flames up to the ceiling, crackling so loud it sounded like screaming. The only good part is that when he woke up, he wasn’t at the stove burning his place down. It hasn’t happened at this apartment yet. Carmy hopes it never happens. 

Just get it together, he thinks. He aggressively taps the ash out onto the decrepit ash tray they have in the back. It’s full. You’re supposed to be at this shit. So just be good.

“Cousin.” Carmy snaps his head up, and Richie’s at the door, stepping out. His presence yanks him out of his inner whirlpool, a quickly descending spiral. “Gimme one.”

Wordlessly, Carmy hands him a cigarette. Richie plucks it out of his hand like a flower.

“You had a lighter, but no cigarette?” Carmy comments, squinting at Richie pulling a busted up red lighter from his jean pocket. 

“Shut up,” Richie mutters, but there’s no heat behind it. “Got the wrong damn light bulbs,” he explains unprompted. 

“Alright,” Carmy sighs. He has so little energy that the frustration bypasses him completely, diving instantly into deflated acceptance. “Just return ‘em.”

“Can’t,” Richie says, and when Carmy gives him a look, he elaborates, “no receipt.” 

“ Dude .” Carmy opens his mouth, but then he shuts it again. It’s just not worth it. “Thanks anyway, cousin. We’ll get it done.”

“Don’t fuckin’ thank me, you asshole. I didn’t do shit.” Richie nudges him, but like before, it’s not an angry thing. “Also, toilet guy’s not comin’ today.”

“The fuck? Why ?”

“Canceled,” he replies simply. 

“Fucking hell,” Carmy mutters under his breath. “Did he say when he could reschedule?”

“Not yet.”

“Great.”

“Yep.” Richie tilts his head up, blowing out a slow stream of gray cigarette smoke. “Might as well wait for Fak to get his ass back in town at this rate.”

“I guess.” Carmy sighs. He thinks about all the things he still needs to do. “I dropped this onion I was chopping, earlier,” he mentions out of nowhere. 

“Okay.” Richie gives him a look. “And? You bitches chop those things up faster than I could cut one in half.” 

“I dropped it on the floor,” Carmy tries again, but Richie’s expression remains unchanged. “I never do shit like that.”

“Well, cousin, you did.” Carmy feels something in him deflate. “What’s the big deal?”

“Nevermind,” he replies, because he’s a coward. “Just—just forget it.”

Silence. The spark of a lighter. 

“I’m gonna leave early,” Richie says, like he can just do that. Which…he can, Carmy supposes. “If no one’s gonna show up, what’s the point?” He slaps Carmy’s back, and Carmy doesn’t watch him as he heads back inside. 

Guess all I need to do later is get rid of those papers on the desk , Carmy thinks to himself, idly moving the shortening cigarette between his lips. Then that’ll be it, I guess.

He doesn’t remember the last time he’s gone home early. It’s hard to even imagine what he does on days like those. Sleeping, probably.  There’s nothing much else for him to do, not with how tired he is—

Shoot me a text, okay?  

He hears them in the back of his head all of a sudden, and he remembers. 

Oh, he remembers, hands moving to take out his phone. Almost forgot.

“Sorry to bother you, chef.” Carmy’s not sure how he didn’t hear the door opening. Marcus’ head pops out, nose covered in flour. “Just wanted to let you know that we’re gonna need more flour for tomorrow.”

“Order’s not gonna come for a couple days. I thought we had an extra bag left,” Carmy tries, but the guilty look on Marcus’ face explains it all. 

“Dropped it,” Marcus grimaces, and Carmy’s already fucking over it. 

“We’re all fucking up today, chef,” Carmy replies, and the day goes on. 

. . . . .

It’s a strange, delightful miracle, but he manages to get out of the restaurant before the sun sets.

Considering their collective track record, the fact everyone was able to leave early was cosmic intervention. It helps that the toilet guy didn’t come, in an unfortunate way, but still. Standing outside of the restaurant in the evening like this feels…weird. 

It’s not that Carmy’s complaining about a nice thing, it’s just that he wasn’t prepared to have anything good today.

Shower, dinner, and weed, he thinks absentmindedly on the way home. He juggles the three around in his brain. Just the thought of it feels like relaxing. A little.

With company , his brain helpfully adds, and his stomach squirms. 

Self control, he thinks. He needs more self-control. He can’t just keep thinking of them so indulgently. He’s not allowed to think of them that way, because it’s not fair to them. Even if no matter how many times he chastises himself, it never works. Even if they remain in his brain like sun-spots in his vision. Even if it’s not his fault that he just can’t help it.

The thing is, though, it always is. Even when it’s not his fault, it actually is. Always.

You dropped that fucking onion , his brain helpfully adds for no particular reason. Fucking loser.

Fuck off , he thinks back as he approaches his front door. Predictably, it does not stop.

Just as his fingers search for his keys in all of his pockets, he hears something that makes him pause, hands stopped on his waist. It’s music, distant and muffled. They’re probably listening to music in the kitchen. He stands, trying to place the song, but he doesn’t recognize it. 

He does recognize the voice that’s singing over the music, though.

Oh, he realizes. That’s them.

The way their voice clumsily layers over the music shouldn’t make him pause like this. He shouldn’t be doing this, standing in the doorway and listening rather than opening the door. The keys are in his hand. This, this is a breach of privacy, he tells himself, feeling a little dizzy with distress, he just needs to just—

There’s an abrupt, loud clang, and he shoves the door open.

Concern is on the tip of his tongue, but it dies there. The source of the noise lays face-down on the floor—a pan sitting in what seems to be tomato sauce. The matter next to it is what makes the words evaporate from his lips, like they were never there at all. 

They’re kneeled down next to the pan, paper towels in hand, but all they’re wearing is an apron. 

His mind blanks. He thinks he stops breathing. He’s never seen so much of their skin at once. He needs to look away, he thinks, but his eyes keep traveling, traveling, and traveling. It just happens so quickly. He doesn’t mean to look, he doesn’t, but they’re right there and he can see right down their—

“No, I—I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were coming back early!” They exclaim, quickly crossing their arms over their chest, and that’s what makes him tear his eyes away. 

“I—I thought I texted you,” he says quickly, hot face turned to the side, “on my lunch—...“ He stops there, the memory reconstructing itself. 

He forgot.

“It’s fine, I just feel bad about dinner, and, uh—okay, I’m just gonna change real quick, and then I’ll clean this up,” they reply, words rushing out. In the corner of his vision, he sees their bare legs dart to their room.

It seems wrong to just stand here staring at the tomato sauce slowly expand outwards on the floor, so he cleans it up. A couple paper towels later, he’s gotten most of it, and they’ve returned with a change of clothes.

“Sorry,” Carmy starts right as they also go “I’m sorry”. He pauses, meeting their eyes. It’s a lot easier now that they’re wearing leggings and a t-shirt as opposed to, well, nothing. Not to say he doesn’t appreciate the leggings. 

“Sorry you had to see me like that,” they sigh. “I don’t—I don’t usually walk around the place naked, I just—I didn’t think you’d be back—“

“I should’ve texted,” he interrupts. He struggles to not think about them walking around the living room naked. “I forgot. But it, it’s fine. You’re fine. Really. Sorry for not texting.”

“Okay. Cool.” They exhale, a tired noise. “And it’s okay. It happens.” They look at the floor and make a sound of surprise. “Did you clean this up?” The look they give him has far too much gratitude, and it feels like a searing hot iron.

“Yeah, uh.” His hands are moving like he’s trying to explain something, but no words crop up. “Felt weird not to.”

“Well.” They smile, grateful. “Thank you. That was gonna be dinner, but…” They trail off, looking at the floor with a sour expression. “I fucked up.”

“It’s just that sort of day today,” Carmy mutters.

“Shitty day for you, too?” 

“Yeah. Lots of shit went wrong.” Especially me, he thinks, but he doesn’t say it. “You?”

“Gotcha.” They shrug. “As for me—yeah. Really not my best day. It was just, uh, some family shit. You know how it is.”

Carmy makes a sound of acknowledgement. “That sucks.” He doesn’t know much about their family other than that they’re fairly shitty. It’s the same the other way around, too. 

“It’s whatever,” they say, even though it really isn’t, and he knows it. They look at the floor one more time before looking up at him. “Do you just wanna order pizza or something?”

“Yeah, I do,” Carmy replies, his words coming out much more despondent than expected. 

They settle on some pepperoni pizza from a place down the street. It’s a tried and true method—they deliver, it’s cheap, it’s oily, it’s cheesy, it’s good. Just talking about it makes Carmy taste it on the tip of his tongue. 

“You can go and shower if you want. I’ll get the door when pizza comes,” they offer. They’re standing at the sink, sleeves rolled up. 

“Okay, thanks.” Carmy pauses then, gears turning. He’s vaguely worried his memory is going to shit. “Did—did I just say I was gonna shower?” 

“Oh, no, you didn’t, you just always shower when you get home from work, right?” They say it like it’s the weather, like it’s familiar, and that’s when Carmy realizes because it is. After several months of living together, of course they’ve picked up on his habits. It doesn’t need to be a thing. There’s no reason for it to be a thing.

“I do,” Carmy replies faintly, and for some reason, that’s all he can say. 

“Thought so.” They look at him for just a moment, but it makes him feel like his body’s gone transparent. “I notice these things, you know.”

“Yeah.” Carmy looks at them when they turn back to the dishes, back facing him. “You do.” 

He tells himself he’s not gonna think any harder about any of it. He’s not gonna think about the singing, the apron, the way they just notice these things, but then he does. 

He’s in the shower, and he thinks about everything.

The water pressure is pathetic, but the warmth still feels nice. Between that and the sound of the running shower, it’s usually enough to quiet his thoughts. This time, though, it doesn’t. To his credit, he does try to think about anything else. 

He thinks about work, because he always does. He thinks about flour, about onions, about knives. He thinks about the shampoo lathered in his hair. He thinks about those lightbulbs they still need to get. He thinks about food. He thinks about them. He thinks about pizza. He thinks about the way they sing when no one’s around. He thinks about the way they know him. 

He thinks about them, knees on the floor only in a—

He thinks of bashing his head into the tile wall until he explodes.

“Shut the fuck up,” he whispers to himself, rivulets of hot water trailing down his forehead and dripping off his lips. “Shut the fuck up.”

The soreness is still present in his body, but that never quite goes away. He does feel a bit better now that he doesn’t have sweaty, sticky skin, though. It gets even better when he puts on a clean white t-shirt and his favorite sweatpants. It’s a nice surprise from his past self who did his laundry for him. 

This amount of niceness is okay. This is what he’s used to—a shower and comfortable clothes when he’s home from work. That’s enough.

He steps out into the kitchen with a damp towel on his head. He finds them sitting by their one shitty window that opens, pizza box in front of them and joint lit. It casts an orange glow to mix with the golden light from the window. 

“Hey, pizza’s here!” They slap their hand on the greasy cardboard box. “Just got this joint started for us, too.”

“So you weren’t gonna smoke it all on your own?” He doesn’t mean to tease, but he does. He slips into the seat across them, arms resting on the table they placed by the window. 

“I couldn’t smoke this whole thing even if I wanted to,” they protest. “Besides, joints are made for sharing. Here—now you get to take it. Isn’t that nice?” With their elbow propped up on the pizza box, they hold up the joint to him. The lit end of it sizzles a bright orange, emitting a thin trail of smoke up to the ceiling. 

“That is very, very nice,” Carmy agrees, taking it carefully from their fingers. Their face spreads into that contagious grin of theirs, and he’s far from immune. Sometimes he smiles so much around them that his face hurts, rusty and unused. 

Sure, he can blame that on the weed, but if he’s being honest with himself (a rare occasion), that’s a complete lie. Obviously the weed lessens the tension, the stress that winds him up tight. It’s not just the weed that gets him to relax, though. 

It’s them. There’s something disarming about their presence, something that makes him loose-lipped around them. Even when he’s sober, he finds himself feeling comfortable. He’s not quite sure how that happened, or if that’s ever happened. He supposes that isn’t a bad thing. Just something he’s noticed. 

He wonders if they’ve noticed. 

“You like the new rolling papers?” They tuck their knees under their chin, propping their feet up on the chair. 

“Hm.” Carmy lowers the joint from his mouth to give it a good look. He rotates it around in his fingers. “Strawberry?”

“Yeah, it’s strawberry,” they confirm, poorly hiding the excitement in their demeanor. Not that they were trying to. “Can you taste it?” 

He pulls from the joint, the edges of the paper sizzling red with the weed. It’s an even burn this time. He rolls his tongue around in his mouth after he exhales a cloud of smoke. 

“Still no,” he decides after a beat, and they sigh. 

“I don’t know why I ever get my hopes up.”

“I do taste something else in this, though.” He takes another hit, stews on it. “Lavender?”

“Shoulda known you would’ve gotten it on your first tray. Yeah, it’s lavender. I found some lying around.”

“You made this one pretty nice,” he observes, eyes tracing the shape of the joint. “Between the lavender and the new papers, I mean.”

“Well, y’know.” The smile on their face is small and shy. “I don’t smoke joints often, so I wanted to make it nice, and I, uh…”

They’re paused for so long that Carmy interjects. 

“And?”

“And I—want that joint,” they finally say, outstretching their hand. Carmy has a strong feeling that they weren’t originally going to say that, but he hands over the joint nonetheless.

“Strain?” He asks curiously. He can feel the body high creeping up his shoulders, fluid and light.

“The strain that gets you high,” they reply with a grin.

“Oh, thank god,” Carmy sighs in relief, and the way that makes them laugh… It makes his chest tight. 

“To actually answer your question, though—I dunno.” He likes watching the smoke drift from the tip of the joint as they talk, thin gray wisps in the air. “I think it’s a hybrid? Not sure if it’s more one way or not, though…”

“As long as it’s not the weed that puts you to bed.”

“Um…well, if you smoke enough of it, it can.”

They sit together like this for a while, just sitting and taking turns with the joint. It’s an easy, fluid exchange, flowing between them like smoke. No matter how much they both try to blow it out the window, it always comes back in. The smell of weed is strong in the air, earthy and pungent.  

Although he would never describe himself as a talkative person, sitting stoned across from them makes the words come out. Sometimes, he thinks he likes himself better when he’s high—his mind isn’t running circles around itself, and the soreness of his body just floats away. He feels more like a human than a poor imitation of one like he usually does. 

This weed smells kinda good, he thinks, and when they laugh, nose scrunched up, he realizes he said that out loud. 

“That’s literally what I’ve been saying,” they agree, a bright grin lingering on their face. “That’s how you know you’re a fuckin’ stoner!” 

“Feels weird to call myself a stoner,” he muses. He plucks the joint from their outstretched hand. It definitely looks shorter from when they started a moment ago. “But I guess…”

“If you like the smell of weed, you’re too far gone,” they say with a grave expression. “It’s so fucking over for you.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, equally as serious, and then they’re both bursting out into laughter. He likes the sound of their laugh—it’s unabashed, fills up the space. 

“Dude, I’m high,” they whisper after they both calm down, like it’s some sort of secret, and Carmy can’t stop himself from laughing all over again. “Oh my god. Are you high?”

“I—I think I might fucking be,” he gets out between laughs, and that sparks them straight into another cackle of laughter. He’s not supposed to be able to make others laugh, he doesn’t even make himself laugh—but then he’ll say something, and they’re lit up with laughter. 

“We need to eat this pizza now, ” they yell, projecting over their combined noise. They flip the pizza box open, and it smacks Carmy right in the face. 

“Oh,” he reacts mildly.

“Shit, I’m so sorry—”

“It’s fine, it’s not like you punched me in the face,” he reasons, but their guilty expression persists. “It didn’t hurt, it’s just cardboard.”

“I’m sorry, I’m high,” they sigh apologetically. 

“I know,” he replies with a little smile. His eyes drift down to the pepperoni pizza sitting before them, glorious in its perverse amount of oil. “So, we’re gonna eat this, right?”

“Oh my god, yes we are,” they gasp, and the moment is forgotten. 

When he tears off a pizza slice, the cheese stretches in thin, gooey strings. They grab the slice adjacent to it to snap the strings in half, but they’re both leaned back in their chairs, pizzas in hand, and the cheese is still connected. 

“This doesn’t seem right,” Carmy mutters, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “We should’ve just cut it.”

“How could we have predicted this?” They pull their pizza further back, and the string still doesn’t break. “Wow. I’m honestly impressed. I don’t think it’s ever been this insane before.”

“I think we’d remember.” He’s not sure why he’s still talking and not just running his finger across the string to break it. 

“I think we would, too.” They snort, shaking their head. “This—this is some spaghetti type shit.”

“What? Spaghetti?” He’s genuinely perplexed.

“I—I mean like—that fucking disney movie. With the dogs.” They pause for a moment, mouth silently moving. “Fucking—lady and the, the truck—”

“Uh.” He has to hold back a laugh. “...The lady and the tramp?”

“ Holyshittheladyandthetramp ,” they blurt out in a rush, and the cheese string finally snaps in half. “…Well, I guess it’s not exactly like the lady and the tramp, then.” They take a large bite of their pizza, and it reminds Carmy exactly how hungry he is. 

“You mean lady and the truck,” he corrects, and he can’t stop himself from smiling. Especially not with how good this hot pizza is, delightfully salty and greasy in his mouth. 

“Shut up, I was trying,” they grunt through a mouthful of food. 

“How exactly is this like the lady and the tramp, again? Or, uh, not like it?” 

“Well, it was just like it, but then the string broke.” Somehow, they’re already halfway through their slice. “Could’ve been a beautiful spaghetti moment.”

“Spaghetti moment,” he echoes under his breath, holding back a laugh. “Remind me how that scene goes?”

They go quiet for a moment. It’s like he can see the gears turning in his head. If he’s being honest, he already remembers how that scene goes, but…he wants to hear them say it. He needs to hear them say it. 

“Uh, well, they’re…eating spaghetti. The titular lady and tramp.”  Their eyes are fidgety, flickering back and forth between their pizza and the window. “And they’re sharing the plate, the two of them. They’re eating together, and, um…” 

“...And?” 

They meet his eyes, mouth hanging open, and then they close it. 

“Um, I don’t remember, actually,” they say, shaking their head and blinking. He sees it for the blatant lie that it is, and yet. “Do, do you remember?”

As he stares back at them, unable to look away, he wonders. He wonders about what this really means. About if this really means anything at all, about if he’s going to find out if it does. 

“I don’t remember,” he answers quietly, cowardly, and neither of them say anything else.

Out of the two of them, they’ve always been better with recovering from awkward moments, so they do. They start talking about something else, and the world keeps turning. But in the back of his head, Carmy remains in that moment, unwilling to let it go. 

Why did you say that you didn’t remember? He wants to say. Why didn’t I say that I remembered how it went? Because I remember. They kiss—they fucking kiss. Is that what you wanted to hear? Is that what I wanted to hear?

But because he’s Carmy, he doesn’t say anything. He just eats.

He’s so hungry that the pizza disappears in minutes. It’s delicious, but he’s so high he’s not completely sure he can taste it. Somehow, it remains the best thing he’s ever eaten. 

The rest of the night is a blur. He remembers getting onto the couch at some point. They both decide on a random movie he doesn’t catch the name of. They finish off the joint on the couch together, sinking into its cushions. It burns hot in his throat as it reaches the end. 

And as it turns out, the weed he smoked is the one that puts him to bed. 

“...Ca…Car…” Someone’s calling him. “...Carmy, c’mon. You’re gonna complain about your neck tomorrow if you keep sleeping here.”

“Mhm,” he replies helpfully. He turns his head into the cushion. His body feels like an abstract blob, perfectly molded into the couch cushions.

“Okay, you made a good point. But. ” They laugh quietly, under their breath. “Movie’s been over for like 20 minutes now.”

“Mhm,” he repeats, nearly inaudible. He doesn’t wanna get up. Whenever he falls asleep, it always feels like he’s never gotten an hour of sleep in his life. There’s nothing he needs to think about, worry about. He’s warm and comfortable, and he doesn’t feel like letting that go just yet.

Everything goes silent again for a moment, save for the cars on the road. He begins to drift away again, slipping back into his dreamless sleep. 

But then there’s a hand on his shoulder, and it’s like a smoking brand on his skin. His eyes fly open and he jolts awake, jerking upright. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” they apologize, fretful. Between the dark of night and haze of sleep, they look pretty different. The blue light from the television is streaked across the blurry planes of their face.

“It’s fine,” he replies, drowsy. Speaking feels…heavy. Begrudgingly, he adjusts to sit up. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Weed,” they say with a shrug. 

“How, how long was I—?” He cuts himself off with a yawn, wide with condensation in the corners of his eyes. 

“Only like, 30 minutes.” They yawn back. Typical infectious yawning. “End of the movie sucked anyway.”

“Oh.” Pause. “What was the ending?”

“Love interest died,” they state plainly. “He told her about how he felt, got rejected, and then she died in a car accident. Pretty tragic.”

“Huh.” Carmy makes a face. “That does suck.”

“Yeah, a bit.” They’re idly fiddling with the remote, scrolling through Netflix without reading anything. “I feel like the movie was trying to say something profound about the unpredictability of life or something, but the writing was shit.”

“I guess it’d be too perfect if they got together,” he muses.

“I guess,” they echo. They turn off the tv, and the room goes dark. The only light is from the yellow street lamp right outside their window, wonderful in its inconvenient placement. It illuminates the shape of the back and leaves their face in shadow. “I think I remember how that scene went,” they say suddenly. 

“Oh.” Carmy’s heart feels stuck in his throat. “And how does it go?”

“Well, they’re—both eating spaghetti. Like I said.” They’re not facing him, leaving their face shrouded in shadow. He’s not sure if he’s imagining the shake in their voice or not. It’s beyond him why there would be any shakiness at all. “They somehow get the same noodle, so they, uh, kiss.”

“They kiss,” he repeats for some unknown reason.

“Yeah.” They let out a quick laugh, but it doesn’t sound like they actually find this funny. He wishes he could see the look on their face. 

“I don’t think pasta works like that,” he hears himself murmur faintly. For some reason, he can’t help but think that was the wrong thing to say. But he’s already said it. Maybe it’s the same reason as to why his heart is beating so urgently. 

“No, I, I don’t think so either,” they mumble. He refuses to place the way they’re feeling. 

I can’t fucking do this.

The thought resounds like a gong, hit with a mallet right next to his ear. 

“It’s late, I gotta head to bed.” It feels like someone else is speaking for him, moving his body for him. He can’t stop them. When he stands up, he avoids their face.

What the fuck are you doing?

Another thought resounds. He doesn’t respond.

“Right, I—didn’t even notice the time.” He pretends he doesn’t hear the strain in their voice. No, he didn’t word that right—there is no strain in their voice. “G’night.”

"Night,” he murmurs back.

This is enough, he tells himself as he falls into bed. His sheets are tangled. This is enough , he repeats, and it’s not because he’s scared, afraid, anxious, or any other stupid synonym. It’s because he believes it, needs to believe it. 

He tells himself, this is enough , even though he wonders, what is supposed to be enough? He doesn’t listen. He stamps down the protests, the thoughts that are out of line. The high usually helps with that, but it’s worn off, now just leaving him in a weary, sleepy state of things. 

This is enough, he thinks, and he falls asleep looking at their shrouded face behind his eyelids.

[boizandgurlzinthehouse]

𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍

fandom: alice in borderland

characters: chishiya shuntaro, banda sunato!!

summary: they meet you again in the borderlands, thinking they'll never see you again after getting there.

warning(s): medication, psychiatry, badly written feelings (i gotta get a hang of it, it's my first writing with them )):), past is in italics

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐘𝐀

word count: 1.682k

coming home to the beach after a game, he felt a little tired. nothing special happened, watching other survivors running around in the hallways of a building was quite interesting. 

suddenly, something got into his eyesight. on the beach, on his favourite place on the top of the building, someone stood. they didn’t notice him, they just stood there, looking down at the people without any movement. who was that brave to stand there? it was dangerous, they could fall in any minute, and it was only used by him and sometimes niragi —he knew he smoked some weed up there with his friends, he heard it when he wanted to go up there to think. this person wasn’t a scaredy cat, he thought. who were them? before he began to walk into the building of the beach, where the tárgyaló terem was, he saw the hatter sitting on one of the sunbeds, between pretty girls. maybe he knew, if he let them there. 

“hey, hatter.”

“chishiya, hey! come, sit here, there’s plenty of seats.” the girls beside hatter smiled at him, but he wasn’t affected.

—

before y/n, he wouldn’t think that he could ever feel flustered by a girl, or even a person. he merely knew other people’s reaction, sometimes even by just looking at them. but with y/n, he didn’t know what was gonna be her next move or words that came out from her mouth. she wasn’t even a normal girl, with abilities like hers she couldn’t even be simple. they got to know each other when y/n were at the psychiatry in the same hospital as him. he got to know that she went there with her little brother, but instead of her brother, it was her who needed help in the end. for the first time, he talked to his colleagues from psychiatry. it turned out that y/n had the highest iq in her age in the whole of japan, based on tests. but her emotional intelligence lacked things like guilt, or spaced out and slept for whole days. he got to know that she even skipped school just to sleep or be with herself in her room, generating conflict with her parents and her teachers from school. y/n loved one person and one person only; her brother. her love for him was stronger than anything, she always protected him and even bullied other kids in his brother’s class when she saw them bugging her brother, to the point that some of the kids needed to change schools because of their mental problems. not to say that she was beautiful too; sure, her mother and father were also fine-looking, but as she sat there, in the chair, like a statue of psychopathism, she was something else. 

the first time he met her, it was an accident. he wanted to get some snacks and to relieve stress with a little walk around the hospital. going down to the vending machine, he noticed somebody else. great, now he can wait for another clumsy being to pick out their snacks with high cholesterol and sugar intake. when he got there, he noticed that it was a girl, with the same h/c hair and the same body type. 

it was y/n. 

she waited for her snack to come, but then, the curled steel that could roll out the bag stopped. instead of doing anything, y/n looked at the glass window, trying to press buttons. she really wasn’t the violent type, instead, she analyzed the situation. but with a vending machine, there weren't many things she could do. chishiya walked up beside her, bumping the side of the machine. the snack fell down, so the girl could take it out. the perfume of her crawled up to his nose. her hair smelled good, it wasn’t the cheap shampoo the hospital gave to their patients, her hair was silky and shiny, like she didn’t just lay everyday on the couch of one of his colleagues. 

“it needs a little push.” 

y/n nodded, grabbing out the bag from under. as chishiya picked his snack, she stayed there, just watching him. glancing to the side to check if she still was there, and not just disappearing like a ghost, chishiya saw that she was still standing there, and she didn’t even look away when he caught her red-handed. her eyes were a little bit wide, and they were talking about her feelings. and now, they told chishiya that she was curious. 

“did you figure it out for a long time?” she asked suddenly, breaking the silence. chishiya looked at her, as she pointed to the side of the machine. it was full of handprints and little signs that he and his colleagues as well tried to get out their snacks in a way, until they found the right place to push. she really was smart.

“yes. i’m chishiya, pediatric cardiac surgeon.” he said, as he reached out his hand for her to shake. 

“i know.” y/n answered, shaking his hand. “it’s on your card.” she added. 

“why are you here?” he asked as they sat down. y/n looked away, like she was thinking. 

“my parents think i’m a psychopath. but i just don’t like anybody else other than my family… my little brother.” she said. she wasn’t keeping things from him, her speaking tone was clean and simple. 

“so you think you’re fine?” he asked as he picked a piece from his snack. y/n nodded. she was so small in the big building, yet he knew that she wasn’t there without a reason. sliding her snack on the table, she smiled a little bit. 

“do you want some?” 

a little after that, it came out that y/n was hypersensitive, and since his brother was the closest to her, she fixated on his feelings since his childhood. it was like some separation anxiety she couldn’t beat down when she was a child, and they had nothing to do with her smartness. 

“wait, why are you so interested in her?” his colleague, who y/n’s psychiatrist was, asked. chishiya shrugged his shoulders. 

“just never found anybody like her.” 

and it was true. 

—

“hatter, don’t you know who that person is?” he asked as he pointed up to the top of the building, still seeing his lover. hatter looked up too, nodding. 

“yeah, yeah i know her! she came today when you were at your game, but she didn’t say anything. she had four cards, gave them to us, and it contained two cards we didn’t even have! other than that, she didn’t even say her name. although she didn’t seem troublesome, she didn’t react to anything when niragi or aguni threatened her. niragi fumed and wanted to shoot her, but what could we do with a dead brain as good as hers? we agreed that as long as she stays, we have a better chance to escape from this world. can i ask you something, chishiya?” 

chishiya nodded, eyes not breaking from the girl’s form. 

“what would that be?” 

“please follow her or watch out for her. she didn’t promise that she would stay here, and i don’t want to lose her because of her brain and abilities. might give her a rank between us, but i want you to think about this too.” 

he nodded again. watching out for her is gonna be easy, and deciding that she would have a place between the leaders is gonna be easier. with y/n’s mind, they should watch out, but he didn’t worry. walking up on the stairs and opening the door, she was still there. the wind blew her hair, as she stood right before the sun, her figure curved out black. sure, he would notice if she walked down beside her, but just like their first meet, he wanted to make sure. stepping closer and closer to her, he knew she knew he was coming up to him, but she didn’t turn around. when he was only two steps away from her, she sighed. chishiya felt happiness. calmness. relief. that he can sleep again with her in his arms. that he can hold her hand if he wants to concentrate. that he can look at her for reassurance, as she always knows everything. that she remembered her, against the fact that they didn’t get here together. that she found him again. that he isn’t alone in this world, just like he was before he met her in the empty hospital hallway. before he could know everything about her, before he got to know that the only other person she can truly love is him. and that he can truly love him too. 

stepping behind her, his lips were beside her ear. her hair held the same pure, sweet smell he first smelled. 

“you found me.” 

turning around, he could finally look her into her eyes. they held happiness and the same relief he felt. grabbing a lock of his hair, she smiled a little before she kissed him. bringing y/n away from the edge of the top of the building so nobody could see them, chishiya brushed her face. in the next moment, soft lips crashed into each other, just like they used to, grabbing the back of her head and her waist, she held one of his hands with hers, the other held his face. he couldn’t get enough of her, only her movements and the way she hold onto him woke up the fire in him, what he thought he never gonna feel again as he was separated from y/n. 

“hatter told me to look after you and not to let go of you”, he said as they heavily separated from each other. y/n blinked. “but i wasn't planning on either. how long did you plan to stay on the beach?” 

the girl leaned into his hand that slid from the back of her head to her cheeks, looking up at him. 

“as long as you stay too. i don't go anywhere without you again.” 

—

𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀

word count: 1.954k

she was the craziest girl he ever knew. 

not in the fun and simple meaning of crazy, but crazy crazy. doing things without a second thought, laughing at serious situations from the deep of her lungs, not caring about the meetings with her psychiatrist, not taking her meds. they were friends since childhood, but when y/n moved away, they lost contact, the first meeting as two grown people was when banda’s friends dragged him to a party. there were around thirty people dancing to the music, drinking as much as they could, and doing usual things people do when they’re at a party on a friday night. banda knew he felt something for her even when they were twelve years old, beside that even then, she was showing the signs of madness –burning her skin intentionally, chewing violently at her nails, or doing dangerous things against her parents’ yelling and hollering. maybe this was the cause that she moved away, he didn’t know back then. and now that he saw her again, he couldn’t care less. banda was listening to his friends’ talk, but then, a blood-curdling scream sounded, and as he heard, a bottle clashed against something. 

“i said, that leave me alone, fucker!” a girl screamed, and everybody looked in the way of the noise. for a moment, everybody stopped. banda saw the same girl he used to know; her hair and makeup was different from the past, but it was the same way she carried herself, the same way she screamed, the same way she held something –now the broken bottle, beside her, a guy was lying with a bleeding head, moveless. so he was the one who tried to step over her boundaries, banda thought. y/n looked around, wiping her nose. “what? he… he tried to rape me! don’t look at me, just be busy with your own business, fuckers!” she yelled as she stormed out of the door. 

“that’s a crazy bitch” one of his friends said, sipping from his drinks. 

“yeah, maybe the sex could be good with her, sex is always good with crazy chicks. but i would be scared that she’d cut off my dick” another said, but banda couldn’t concentrate anymore. what if he can never see her again? disappearing into tokyo’s streets, he didn’t know her phone number, where she lived, or what she did. 

“i have to go now”, banda said as he ran after y/n. some of his friends shouted after him to have a good time and good luck with her, and to protect what he has to protect. he ran as fast as he could, hoping she stopped at some point of the street. he had luck; y/n stood in front of the crossway, trying to lit her cigarette. as she cracked again and again her lighter, she became more and more nervous. picking out his own, banda collected all his courage. 

“hey, uhm… do you want mine?” he asked, and y/n turned her head into his way. she nodded. 

“yeah, yeah… thank you” she said, as she accepted the fire and lit her cigarette. “what do you want?” she asked, like she was testing him. banda gulped; she was the only girl from the beginning who could make her nervous, but in a good way. 

“just… saw that you broke that bottle against that guy’s head, and… wanted to ask if we knew each other from somewhere.” he knew that his speech was curved to another way, but she didn’t mind. maybe because her thoughts were the same twisted ones. examining his face, y/n’s eyes began to get bigger. 

“you are familiar from somewhere… but i don’t know, sorry, the meds take away all my memories…” she muttered, holding her temple. banda furrowed his eyebrows. medicines? for what? was she ill? 

“i think… we know each other from the past, i think. childhood? i’m banda sunato.” 

“banda… banda… hmm… i think i know that name. were you the boy who gave me flowers that he stole from the cemetery?” she asked, grinning. banda took away her cigarette, blowing it into her face. 

“i think you forgot that like every other girl.” 

y/n shook her head, laughing, linking her arms around his neck as she took back the cigarette. 

“i didn’t even forget when you said that you love me.” 

later, the night was spent talking, eating, and after a couple of drinks, they ended up having the most mind blowing sex they ever had with other people. y/n scratched his back and clawed at his shoulders and waist, but banda didn’t mind it –after all, he was all hers and never looked after other girls, only for a quick hook up, but nothing else. y/n’s body and soul was eating him up, and he didn’t want to dodge her bites –instead, he wanted to crawl into her mouth to feel the constant tingling in his whole body. y/n slept away quickly, and until banda was awake at dawn, he brushed her hair, kissing her forehead and the crown of her hair often, like they weren’t even met tonight, but they were together for years. banda didn’t want anybody else, he wanted y/n with all of her craziness and little antics that she showed. his mother even asked him when he was going to settle down, but he didn’t say anything, only shrugging his shoulders. he saw the meds on y/n’s drawer, they were all kinds of psychiatric stuff that could control her mind. they were all half empty, but as the dates showed, the last pieces should have been taken a few days ago too. is y/n really crazy? those things that she had as a little girl didn’t get better, but worse? before he could type the names of the medicine into the search bar of his phone, he heard a little shuffle behind him. 

“are you gonna leave me because i don’t take them?” y/n’s voice was quiet, as she crawled up to him. her breasts pressed to his back. banda turned around, kissing him, tilting up her chin as her drowsy eyes drank in his sight. 

“no. but you have to tell me why you gotta take them.” 

— 

he was wanted for killing four women. that’s what everybody knew, as the ‘tokyo ripper’ hid in one of the empty hallways of tokyo at midnight. but the main reason was to see y/n in a sedated state. they come to get her, since she didn’t signed up at her psychiatrist’s session from months now on, and her doctor signed her up into the ward of the incurable. when he went to see her in visitor's hour, she only nodded and looked behind him as banda talked to her; like he wasn't even there with her. the glint and shining went out from eyes, and while yes, she was crazy, but now, she was just an empty body without a soul. banda couldn’t watch her any longer; he felt desperate, and felt the need to change this somehow, but he couldn’t know how. the killing of four women was meaningless to him, he wanted to do the same crazy things so he could get together again with y/n, if he tells the police that he did these things because of some sickness in his mind. without y/n, he felt emptiness that nothing could satisfy; not even murder. 

“i’ll come back, y/n” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she was in his embrace, only a white hospital dress covering her body. y/n tilted her head into the crook of his neck, brushing his neck and hair with shaky moves. 

seeing the red and blue lights of the police cars illuminating on the walls, he began to run again. banda hoped that he could see her again; maybe in the psych ward, maybe before his death sentence. 

—

after the game ended, banda went out to breathe some fresh air. a little blood remained on his shirt, but he didn’t mind it –he could be himself in this world; he could do anything with anyone he wanted to, even in game, even outside of games. as he headed to the next arena and to get some food, he heard little klicks, like when someone wanted to light the cigarette. he slowly walked there; maybe they had weapons, or they were just making sounds to stalk anybody they could find. 

“fucking lighter, again? fuck this!” he heard a murmur. banda’s heart began to beat faster –it was familiar, so familiar. wasn’t dull, but sharp and clear. stepping out from behind the wall, he saw her again. 

y/n was off meds, sparkling and full of emotions –not the very best emotions a person could imagine, but she was there again. her soul in her body. she was fortunately the complete opposite of what he saw as when they last saw each other. before his arrest, before her dictatorial medication, before this strange world. banda gave up the hope to see her, he thought that she stayed in the normal world, if the normal world even existed. as she noticed him, she turned around, grabbing her knife from behind her back, ready to strike. however, as soon as she realized who was standing in front of her, the knife fell out from her hand. 

she began to run, and stopped right before him, stumbling a little. lifting up her hand to reach his face, her hand was slow, like she didn’t believe he was there. banda took her hand, and made it touch the skin of his cheek, dragging it across his face, down to his pulse on his neck. he didn’t know he needed her touch so much; every little brush with her little fingertips woke up parts in him he thought he forgot long ago. y/n’s breath agitated; she gulped with teary eyes. 

“you came back to me.” 

she remembered what he said to her, when she was at her lowest. banda smiled, brushing the hair out from her face. banda felt as if his heart missed a beat at her eyes, full of hope, that only he saw when he promised her on their first morning after that he’s never going to leave her. never going to leave her by his choice. only life was cruel to them. 

“i promised you.” 

before he could say anything else, y/n pulled down his head to kiss him with full force; they were biting, licking and gasping into the kiss as banda gave in everything he could too. pulling her closer by her waist, he wanted to swallow more and more from the familiar, sweet feeling he felt every time he made love to her. 

in that moment, as they communicated with only touches, kisses, moans and gasps, they both knew they didn't want to get back to the normal world, the world they lived in before. y/n didn’t want to take meds, and banda didn’t want to see her again in that hopeless state. whatever tantrum or attack she gets, he’s gonna help her, as he did before. and banda, he didn’t want to get back because of the death sentence, and because this was the most beautiful world he ever lived in –with all its brutal rules and games. y/n didn’t want to be away from him too, they wanted to be crazy and bad together as long as death didn’t take them apart. 

they loved each other stronger than any law and boundary. and in this world, nothing could stop them from being together. 

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃.

author's note: hope you enjoyed it just as much as i enjoyed writin this little thing. requests are open for alice in borderland now, according to this post !! love y'all girliez xoxo

(ask for requests in comment or here)

[bluephoric]

ridiculously long list of larry johnson hcs because fuck you he doesnt get enough love

Tw for depressing ass shit

- larry is a tired clumsy airhead, and as a result he always has SOMETHING spilled, wiped, or drawn on his clothes.

- undiagnosed adhd, and probably a few other things

- both him and sal collect bottlecaps, they like to make pins out of cool ones they find, often trading them like pokemon cards. they have multiple matching friendship ones. on common ones though, he likes to flatten and paint.

- larry's mental health generally sucks, but when things get really bad he stops caring about his physical safety, often pulling some reckless shit. even when he gets hurt from it, he doesnt seem to mind. Times like these kinda scare him, and he tries to avoid falling into them.

- despite seemingly "not caring about anything" (as he puts it) during these episodes, he's still fiercely protective of his friends and tries to be gentle with them, both physically and emotionally.

- callused hands, fingers yellowed from smoking.

- big fan of gas stations when he's high, practically raids that shit. one of his nicknames is "stoner jesus"

- he's openly bisexual and flirts with random people for fun. its usually something light. dorky pickup lines, stupid puns.. he Never expects it to be shot back at him but on the rare occasion it happens, he turns into a giggling mess.

- he actually pissed off travis even worse a few times with it, I could go into it further but this isnt a larvis post so i'll spare you all. For now.

- his favorite horror movies are the funny ones

- he isnt much of a drinker, mostly around holidays and just to get a little buzzed. spiked eggnog and fireball are his go-to's. Drunk christmas karaoke is one of his favorite things (he's constantly giving sal secondhand embarrassment). 2 words, mariah carrey.

- For awhile he genuinely tried to be a good student but because he was so far behind and his undiagnosed adhd, the teachers started to demonize him. Eventually he realized it didnt matter how hard he tried, so he just gave up. The only subject he likes is art, so that's where he focuses all his energy and actually tries.

- skips school sometimes but lisa tends to give him hell for it so he tries not to do it too often, mostly just skips certain classes if hes really not feeling it.

- almost always comes to school high

- his room is such a mess. sal tries to help him with it but he has similar struggles. whenever ash or todd come over, it becomes a group effort and shit gets done rather quickly. luckily no biohazards, so its not like his room really needs a DEEP clean but still. its nice.

- larry fucking LOVES jack black movies, also stupid stoner movies.

- Loves the arcade too, You'd think his favorite would be guitar hero, but that's more for sal. his favorite is mortal combat or those car racing games that you sit in with the steering wheel.

- larry cant cook for shit, hes always burning something, it always turns out gross and inedible. unless he's stoned, in which case he magically turns into a michelin star chef. weird ass combinations, but it always turns out really good.

- despite being shit at cooking, he still tries to help his mom with it, even though he mostly ends up just being in the way and she eventually shoos him out of the kitchen

- he smells super musky, with cheap cologne and the faint scent of weed

- when he was really little, he had a dinosaur onsie that he would wear everywhere, very rarely taking it off until it started to get too tight. he was beyond devastated when he realized he grew out of it, lisa had to pry it away from him in fear that he would accidentally destroy it. She keeps it in her closet collecting dust. Its one of the few things she kept from before jim disappeared. despite it bringing up memories of what things used to be like before he "left", she couldnt bear to throw it out.

- sometimes when larry needs comfort, he sneaks into her room and steals it temporarily. on sleepless nights, he zips it over his pillows as a makeshift pillowcase, its one of the few things that help him relax. It's always put back in place by the next morning. Lisa has no idea, and he's far too embarrassed about it to say anything to her.

- the only person who knows about this is sal because of their sleepovers. One night He was high as balls and got paranoid, when he tried to sleep it off the fear was just too much so away he crept, into lisa's room. Of course he made sal come with him, he sure as shit wasnt going alone.

- when questioned about it, larry refused to answer and so sal let it go figuring he would tell him when he was ready.

- Larry Harbors an obscene amount of guilt. struggles with sh off and on, tries not to relapse unless things get really unbearable. to prevent this, him and the SF gang (primarily ash) regularly doodle and sometimes paint on the places he's prone to harm.

- when he can feel himself slipping into an episode, larry makes it a point to braid his hair so it won't get matted. tries to brush it and rebraid it at least once a week, but often struggles to find the energy and lets it sit in for longer. Not to mention, a lot of the times he stops showering which makes it even harder to braid because of the greasiness.

- has given himself a few amateur stick and pokes. They look like shit, and he knows it but he's still very proud of them.

- the ink he uses for it fades pretty fast

- he's also tried to give himself piercings, but always fucks it up so he takes them out and slaps a bandaid over it

- collects different kinds of flavored chapstick, takes a bite out of them sometimes when he thinks no one is looking (ofc sal has caught him a few times but has never said anything)

- after he first met megan, he was scared shitless. slept with the lights on for the next few weeks and refused to shut the door when going to the bathroom, insisting to his mom on keeping the shower curtain open at all times (he tried to act chill about it around sal and it kinda worked. kinda.) after awhile he eventually calmed down but still finds himself getting really nervous whenever him and sal talk to a ghost, though he would never admit it.

- has a picture of his dad in a locket but rarely wears it because he's afraid he'll accidentally break it. always keeps it with him though, usually in his pocket, holding it as he walks.

- Despite his general demeanor he's quite the gentleman, always holding doors open and really courteous towards women. Most people don't expect it just based on his appearance, but Lisa raised him right.

- also he's hot as fuck.

- we all know larry is a metalhead, but what kind of metal is his favorite? It generally depends on his mood but id say sludge, thrash, and doom.

- You're telling me this man, who is depressed as fuck and also a stoner wouldnt eat up some electric wizard? saint vitus? bitch, please. I know quite a few albums that would bring him to his knees.

- And I know I'm prolly gonna get hate for this but I notice when a lot of other people write about larry (AND sal), they tend to lean towards nu metal or just plain emo. And while I don't think either of them would mind it, The lyrics and vocals of Sanity's fall feels more reminiscent of death or black metal and given the fact that SF is his favorite band, I don't think he would listen to that kind of stuff, at least not on a regular basis. Ash on the other hand definitely would.

[allthesmutl0vers]

Entirely Forbidden and Completely Fucked. Wincest fanfic- Chapter Two

MDNI, 18+, NSFW

Pairing: Sam x Dean, Sam x Reader x Dean, Reader x John

Trigger Warnings: Graphic Wincest sex scene, implied feelings for John by the reader (no sex...yet)

Thank you so much for every like🫶 Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Chapter Two

Y/n

“Come on guys, up at ‘em,” John says, ripping open the curtains. I cover my eyes with my arm to block out the sudden intrusion of light. 

Was this guy raised in a fucking barn? Who wakes people up like that?

Sam groans in the next bed but gets up, and Dean gets up without a word. I sigh, rub the sleep from my eyes, and stretch my arms out in front of me. “I’m going to get coffee, and I expect everyone to be ready to go when I get back,” John says, grabbing his keys. “Don’t be a dick,” he says to Dean, pointing a finger at him before walking out the door. 

I stand up, pull my hair back into a messy ponytail, and put on my black, square-lens glasses. My eye contacts dried out, and I don’t have another pair, which reminds me that I need to get my prescription transferred to wherever John and them live. 

I grab the backpack that I grabbed from the car last night and pull out another pair of shorts, a T-shirt, socks and underwear. 

“Going somewhere?” Dean asks, finally acknowledging my existence. 

“Considering I’m holding clothes, I’m going to say ‘to shower,’” I quip. I’m not a morning person, and Dean doesn’t get to be a fucking asshole and expect me to be nice before I’ve had caffeine. 

Dean rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Sorry, princess. You’re going to have to wait. I always go first.” He says, walking past me to the bathroom. 

I clench my jaw and take a deep breath. I’m too tired for this shit right now.  “Whatever, go,” I wave my hand and set my clothes on the bed. 

“Don’t mind if I do,” Dean says with a mocking laugh and closes the door. 

I exhale deeply and rub my eyes under my glasses. I try to imagine what it must be like for him, going from not having or maybe even not knowing you have a half-sister to having her thrown at you. But at the same time, my Mom just fucking died. I don’t want to be here anymore than they don’t want me here. The only reason I am here is because I don’t turn eighteen for two months. But after that, I’m out of here.

“He’ll warm up. He just needs some time.” Sam says, putting a hand on my shoulder. 

I shrug. “It’s whatever. I’m going to smoke,” I respond, pulling my vape and dab pens from my bag and slipping on my Vans.

“Smoke like cigarettes?” Sam asks curiously. 

I stand up and face him, holding up my vape and dab pen. “No, smoke like a vape and some weed,” I flick them around in my finger and walk by him, opening the door. I turn around and look at him. “Wanna join?” I ask. 

Sam shakes his head, and the corner of his mouth lifts into a smile. “I’m good, maybe next time,” 

“Suit yourself,” I shrug and walk out of the hotel room and into the morning sun, closing the door behind me. I sit down on the steps and let out a sigh. 

Maybe I should just leave. I could say I’m going to the corner store for a vape and just take my shit with me. I have enough cash for a bus ticket wherever I want, and my inheritance will be mine once I turn eighteen. 

I think it over as I hit my vape and take a couple of hits off my dab pen. I have around two grand saved up from the job I had since mom never wanted me to spend my own money but to save it instead. I could definitely make it for two months if I stay in a cheap hotel and don’t go book or clothes shopping. I scoff to myself. 

Maybe just buy a couple of books to kill the time.

I sigh and decide that just leaving is my best option. Maybe I can’t go home, but I can stay in Washington, and that’s all I really want right now. I go to hit my vape again, and it’s dead. “Shit,” I mutter to myself and stand up. I groan in frustration.

I really don’t want to go back in there.

I weigh my options: either go to buy a new one or go back in to grab my backup. I don’t have my bags yet, so backup it is. I walk back to the hotel room and open the door, only to be staring right at an ass-naked Dean and a shirtless Sam. 

“Fuck!” Dean exclaims, covering himself up. “Would it kill you to fucking knock?” He asks me angrily. 

I look over at Sam, who is beet fucking red and throwing on a shirt. “Uh, I didn’t know I needed to,” I respond. 

“Well, get the fuck out,” Dean says as he marches over to me. He towers over me, not as much as Sam, but pretty damn close. 

“Last time I checked, I’m staying here too, asshole,” I push past him and grab my clothes and walk to the bathroom. I close the door and lean against it, the steam in the air warming up my skin. 

I thought Dean was showering. So why is Sam’s hair wet, too? What the actual fuck did I just walk into? Or, almost walk into? Were they…no. No, no fucking way. I’m just tired, that’s all. 

I’m not thinking straight. 

No fucking kidding. 

I hurry up and take my shower, being as quick as I can. Just as I turn the water off and step out I hear John’s voice. “Where’s y/n?” He asks. 

“Shower,” that’s Sam’s voice. 

I quickly get dressed so I don’t keep them waiting. I need enough time to give them my excuse and grab my bags before they realize I’m gone. I curse myself for spending precious seconds wondering why Dean and Sam’s hair was wet at the same time, which was fucking stupid. Men shower faster than women, and I was outside for at least fifteen minutes. They probably showered one after the other. They must have. 

A knock sounds on the door. “Chop, chop, kid. Time to get a move on,” John says from the other side. 

“Coming,” I respond, opening the door and putting my glasses back on. “I need to run to the corner store. What time were you planning on heading out?” I ask John as I grab my bag.

“Right now. We can stop on the way out of town,” he says, handing me a coffee and pulling his keys back out of his pocket. 

Goddamnit. There goes my shot to do it now.

“Oh, so you’ll stop for her but not us?” Dean remarks, slinging his bag over his shoulder. 

“Shut up and load the damn car, Dean,” John says, tossing Dean his keys. “We have a long drive back to Kansas, and there will be other opportunities to stop. So quit your bitching.”

Hold up, did he just say Kansas?

“Need me to carry your bag?” Sam asks me, pulling me from my thoughts on improvising another way away from them. 

“Huh? Oh, no, I’m good. Thank though,” I smile softly and walk past him and John and out the door. 

I throw my backpack in the back seat, pull out my dab pen, take another big hit, and bend over, coughing hard. I don’t know when we’ll be stopping next and I don’t think John would want me smoking in the car, so I want to make it count. 

“You good?” Dean asks, standing next to me by the passenger front door. 

“I,” I cough again. “I’m fine. What do you care?” I ask, blinking away the tears from coughing so hard. 

“I don’t,” Dean shrugs. “Just don’t feel like burying a body today.” He says cooly.

What the fuck?

“Very funny, Dean,” I roll my eyes and take another hit, my head already feeling lighter. 

“I wasn’t joking. I’m not in the mood for it today. What are you even smoking anyway?” He asks, pointing to my dab pen in my hand.

I blow the smoke in his face. “You tell me,” I quip with a smirk before coughing again, this time not as bad. 

“Smells like weed, but not?” Dean guesses. 

“Wow, really perspective,” I say sarcastically. “It’s a dab pen.”

“Dab pen?” Dean asks curiously, sipping his coffee. “What is that? Some kind of new weed or something?”

“It’s weed; it's just processed into an oil, which is what’s in here,” I explain, pointing to the oil in the tank. “It makes it more discrete, the smell isn’t as strong, and I don’t have to whip out a bong and spend twenty minutes finding a lighter. Plus, it’s more potent.” I explain. 

Dean pokes out his bottom lip and nods in interest. “Hm, alright then.”I nod, pull out my backup vape, and take a hit off of that as well. “And what’s that?” he asks.

“It’s a nicotine vape. I hate the smell and taste of cigarettes.” 

Dean actually laughs. “Same here,” he says, looking over his shoulder back at the hotel room. “Look,” he says, facing me again. “I’m sorry about yesterday, I shouldn’t have been such a dick.”

“I get it,” I shrug. “John said you’re a little standoffish.”

“You say John a lot,” he says curiously. “He’s your dad too, isn’t he?”

“Depends on your definition of ‘dad,’” I tell him as I lean against the Impala. “Biologically, yeah, he is. But other than that, he’s just a guy who randomly came around once or twice a year when he had ‘business in town,’” I air quote with my fingers. 

Dean nods, and his jaw ticks again. “Do you know what that business was?” he asks. 

I shake my head. “Didn’t bother to ask, and he didn’t bother to explain.” 

Dean nods again. “Well, look,” he sighs and scratches his head. “I’ve never had a sister before. It’s only ever been me and Sammy, so…” 

“Don’t worry, I won’t be around that long,” I look over the car into the distance. 

“Oh, um, okay,” Dean says with a hint of surprise in his voice. 

“Alright, let's roll,” John says as he and Sam approach the car.

We all climb in, me and Sam in the back and Dean up front with John. 

I wonder if I can get a map of bus routes along the way.

Sam

This morning was too close a call. Me and Dean know how long Dad takes to get coffee, but I got so caught up in the heat of the moment, that I completely forgot she was there when I went to shower with Dean. It was worth every second of it, though, and I can’t bring myself to regret it. 

Having her here has brought up feelings that I wasn’t prepared for. When she walked through the door with Dad… Fuck, I haven’t looked at anyone like that besides Dean in so long. My dick was entirely confused. And I can’t help then whenever Dad mentions that she’s our sister, half or full, it doesn’t matter. My dick swells in my jeans. 

I shouldn’t want her this way. 

To be fair, I shouldn’t want Dean this way, either, but I do. I can still remember the day the dam finally broke between us. We were at Bobby’s two years ago, and Dad had dropped us up for a week. 

“Hey,” I greet Dean, opening the door to the garage. He’s pissed that Dad left us here. He said he had business to take of in Washington and that we had to stay here.

Dean looks up from the car he’s taking apart. “Hey, Sammy,” he says, leaning back over the open hood. His shirt is tucked into his back pocket, and sweat drips down his chiseled chest. I’ve never been so nervous in my life, but this is Dean. If I can tell anyone anything, it’s Dean.

It’s always been Dean.

I clear my throat and step closer, tucking my hands into the front pockets of my jeans. “So, um, I want to talk to you about something,” I start to say, but when he looks up at me with that smoldering gaze, the words escape my mind. 

Dean looks me up and down, wiping his hands on the shirt in his back pocket, and stands up straight. “What?” he asks.

It shouldn’t be this hard, but my hands shake, and the cut on my abdomen stings. I bite the corner of my lower lip. Should I just come out and say it? 

Dean walks closer, noticing my nervousness. “How’s your cut?” he asks, reaching for the end of my shirt. 

“It’s,” I clear my throat. “It’s okay,” I lie. It hurts like a bitch, but I won’t admit it.

Dean lifts my shirt, revealing the cut that he mended last night. “I thought we agreed to never lie to each other Sammy,” he says without looking at me. His fingers graze the gauze taped over the wound.

My skin heats at his touch, taking my mind off of the sting. “We did,” I agree, watching as his gaze moves from my wound and up to my eyes and his eyebrows furrow. I take a deep breath, and Dean watches as my jaw ticks. “But we’ve both been lying for a long time,” I tell him, hoping he’ll know what I mean. 

Dean sucks in a breath, and I know he gets what I mean. Of course he does, he always knows what I’m thinking, as do I for him. Dean backs up and shakes his head slightly. “We can’t go there, Sammy. Once we do, there’s no going back.” He says with a disappointed sigh. 

“Who said anything about going back?” I ask. My heart races in my chest, and my hands shake when I pull them out of my pockets. 

“Sammy,” Dean says like a warning. I watch his chest rise and fall heavily. I know he wants this too, if only he’d just admit it. 

“I’m tired of denying it, Dean. I want you. Only you, all the time,” I admit. “In bed, in the shower, any and everywhere. Stop being so stubborn it’s-”

Dean cuts me off, grabbing my face with his hands and pressing his lips to mine. My lips melt into his, and everything we’ve never said aloud is poured into the kiss. My hands grip the waistband of Dean’s pants and pull him closer. 

Dean’s tongue dips out, licking between my lips and begging for access. I open my mouth and allow him inside, and his tongue licks the roof of my mouth and my tongue making my cock strain against the inside of my jeans. I suck on his tongue and bite it softly, dragging it between my teeth and making Dean groan. 

 Dean pulls back, and we each suck in a desperately needed breath. Our foreheads are pressed together as we share breaths back and forth. “We should stop,” Dean says softly. 

“We definitely should,” I respond, but neither of us steps back. 

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean mutters, his hands slide from my face to my neck, slide up the back and into my hair, gripping it in his fingers. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

“Show me,” I lean down and kiss his neck right behind the shell of his ear. 

Dean groans and tilts his head to give me more access. I bite the sensitive skin behind his ear before sucking. Dean’s fingers grip my hair, making me hiss in pleasure. “Fuck it,” he groans and pulls back out of my grasp. 

Dean rips down his pants and boxers, and my mouth waters at the sight, just like it always has. We’ve showered and slept in the bed together. I’ve seen his cock before, but knowing I get it this time makes pre-cum drip from my tip as I pull my pants down. 

Dean kicks his pants to the side and stalks toward me. He grabs my cock in his hand and kisses me in one fluid motion. I moan into the kiss and pump his cock in time as he pumps mine, rubbing his thumb over my tip, coating my cock with my pre-cum. 

Dean pulls back and spins me around, pushing my chest against the side of the car he was working on. “Pass me that jar, Sammy,” he demands gruffly. 

I pass him the jar of coconut oil and rub my cock as I feel Dean’s lubed fingers rub my ass, pushing in and scissoring his fingers to open me up. “Fuck, Dean,” I groan, my balls tightening and threatening to burst. 

“You like that?” He asks, biting my shoulder harshly and making me hiss as his teeth pierce the skin.

“Fuck, yes,” I moan, my eyes hooding. His fingers leave my ass, and I feel the head of his cock  press up against my tight ass. My fingers grasp for hold on the top of the car, and my head falls back as Dean pushes himself inside deeper. “God,” I moan.

Dean grips my hips and thrusts in fully. “Don’t pray to him, little brother. He’s nowhere near here,” Dean groans, pulling back and thrusting in hard with a moan. “Pray to me, I’m the one fucking you.”

I moan as Dean pulls back and thrusts in again faster. Dean grips my hair and pulls, making my eyes roll into the back of my head. “Fuck, yes, Dean,” I moan between heavy breaths. 

Dean continues to fuck me like a man possessed, his cock hitting a g-spot I didn’t know I had inside of my ass. “Damn, Sammy, Fuck… I’m gonna cum.” Dean moans as I feel his cock swell inside of my ass. 

“Fuck, me too, Dean,” I moan, my balls tightening impossibly tight. I wrap my hand around my cock and pump it with my hand, matching Dean’s harsh thrusts. After a few more thrusts, I feel Dean’s cum fill me as mine paints my hand and the side of the car, our breathing heavy and staggered as he pulls out and spins me around, kissing me again. This kiss isn’t heated. It’s soft and gentle. 

“No going back,” Dean says like a promise, holding my gaze with hooded eyes. 

“No going back,” I agree with a smile. 

I adjust myself and clear my throat. The memory makes my cock swell in my jeans. Y/n looks over at me, one eyebrow raised in curiosity. I smile at her with pursed lips, and she rolls her eyes and looks back out of the window. 

I take a moment to take her in. Her bare legs under her short ripped denim shorts, the black band T-shirt with ‘A Day To Remember’ written across the front. Fuck, she looks so good with glasses too. The black-rimmed ‘nerd glasses’ really do something to me, along with her long, almost black hair that reaches her waist. The perfect length to grab and hold tight as you plow into her. 

God, now I’m hard again. 

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out and see a text from Dean.

Dean: What are you looking at?

Me: Nothing.

Dean: Bullshit. Why are you staring at her?

Jealous much?

I chuckle silently and text back.

Me: Who do you think?

Dean: Not me, and that pisses me off. Stop it.

Me: Jealous?

Dean: Hardly. 

Me: Don’t act like she’s not hot. She’s exactly your type.

Dean: She’s our sister.

Me: Half-sister. And you’re my brother. That didn’t stop you this morning. 

Dean lets out an annoyed sigh in the seat in front of me. 

Dean: Point made. So, what? Do you wanna bring her into this? That’ll go over well. 

Me: I’m just saying it’s an option. 

Dean: She’s leaving soon anyway. Don’t bother.

I stare at my phone, confused. What does he mean? She’s ours now, that’s why Dad went to get her.

Me: What are you talking about? She just got here.

Dean: And she doesn’t want to stay. She told me this morning, so leave her out of it. 

Me: She can’t. She’s not even eighteen yet.

Dean: She will be in 2 months, that’s when she’s leaving. 

Me: That’ll go over well with Dad. 

Dean: What does? Stop texting me. Dad keeps looking at us. We’ll talk about it later.

I look up and see Dad looking at me in the rearview mirror with narrowed eyes. He doesn’t know about me and Dean, obviously, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t suspect anything. Especially when Dean fought going with him to pick up y/n because he ‘needed to stay and protect me.’ I look away from the rearview mirror and look out the window. I don’t want y/n to leave, but I don’t know if I can trust her yet, either. 

What a fucking mess.

Y/n

We finally pull into another hotel somewhere on the boarder of Wyoming and Colorado. I get out and stretch while John goes to get a room. I grab my backpack from the backseat and close the door. 

“So,” Sam clears his throat, talking to me. “Long car ride,” he says awkwardly. 

I purse my lips into a smile and nod. “Yeah, he doesn’t like to stop, does he?” I ask jokingly. 

Sam laughs as Dean gets out of the car, too. “No, not really.”

“He would’ve just kept going if you weren’t here,” Dean says, stretching his arms over his head. 

“Oh,” I respond, trying to ignore the dig at my presence. “Sorry.”

Dean shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. He’s just trying to make sure you’re comfortable. I don’t mind stopping,” Dean smirks. 

I nod and pull out my vape, taking a drag off of it and blowing the vapor into the air above me. “Think he’ll be able to get one with three beds this time?” I ask Sam and Dean. 

They both laugh and shake their heads. “Not likely. But he’ll probably take the couch again,” Sam responds. 

John comes back with the key, and we all carry our bags to the room. I put my bags by the bed furthest from the door and sit down on the edge. Sam and Dean put their bags on either side of the other bed in the room. 

“I’m going to get burgers,” John announces as he sets his bag on the other side of my bed. “Do you want to come with me?” he asks me as he hands Sam and Dean a second copy of the hotel key. 

I’m not sure if I want to leave or not, and I don’t know how to tell him. 

“She can stay here,” Dean says flatly. “We should probably have the talk with her anyway,” Dean says to John with a serious and mysterious tone of voice. 

John narrows his eyes at Dean and nods before turning back to me. “Stay in the room unless one of them goes with you. I’ll be back,” is all he says before walking out of the hotel room and closing the door behind him. 

“What talk?” I ask, looking over at Sam and Dean. 

They look at each other and then back to me. “You said you don’t know what business Dad is in, right?” Sam asks. 

“Yeah, no clue. Is he in like the mob or something?” I ask jokingly. 

“No, he’s a hunter,” Dean responds, clearing his throat. “All of those things you read about in fairy tales growing up are real,” Dean explains. 

I blink a few times, wondering if he’s fucking with me. He has to be. “Right,” I drawl out. “Next, you’re going to tell me you just live in a dragon-guarded castle,” I joke back with a small laugh.

“Not a castle, a bunker,” Sam corrects.

“And it’s not guarded by a dragon, but it is warded,” Dean adds. 

I can’t help but laugh at their serious faces. The first I’ve laughed since I lost Mom. Sam and Dean look at me like I’m crazy, and Dean rolls his eyes. “I’m sorry,” I laugh. “I’m sorry, it’s just,” I chuckle, my laugh dying down. “You can’t be serious.”

Dean stands up and grabs something from John’s bag and sits down next to me. “See for yourself,” he says, handing me a leather-back journal. I look at him with a raised eyebrow, and he nods to the journal in my hands. “Open it, it’s dad’s, you can look at it,” he says seriously. 

I open the journal, and I can’t believe my eyes as I turn the pages. There are what look like entries with names, dates, places, and all different kinds of creatures. “All of this is real?” I ask as I skim the pages.

Sam sits down on my other side. “Yeah. This is what we do. We travel around the country and hunt these things,” Sam explains. 

I look up at Sam, the journal resting open on my lap. “How do you know where they are or what they are?” I ask curiously.

Dean takes the journal from my hands and flips through it before finding the page he wants and shows me. “This is the newspaper article,” he says, pointing to a clipping that’s paperclipped to the side of the page. “It talks about people going on a killing spree, in this case, killing their entire family. Only to disappear and never be seen again,” Dean explains the article to me. 

“But that happens sometimes, doesn’t it? I mean, there’s serial killers and family annihilators in prison for the same thing,” I mention as he flips the article to show the entry underneath.

Dean nods. “Yes, there are. But in this town, it happened to three separate families. That’s what makes it our kind of case,” Dean explains. 

“So, what kind of monster is that then? A vampire?” I ask.

“Shape-shifter,” Sam corrects on my other side. “Vampires can’t come out in the daytime; they’ll burn.”

I nod and look back at the journal. “And that’s a shape-shifter?” I ask, pointing to a still photo of a man, his eyes glowing. 

“Yes,” Dean answers. “See how his eyes glow in the picture? That’s how you can tell.”

“So, what does it look like? Like, not in a human?” I ask.

“Nobody knows. Nobody has seen one in its own skin and lived to talk about it,” Dean responds.

“This is freaky,” I murmur, shaking my head. “So you guys kill these things?” I ask them both.

“Sometimes, but they’re pretty rare, actually. Our biggest problems are usually vampires, werewolves, and demons. And a few ghosts,” Sam explains calmly. 

“Did you say…demons?” I ask, confused. “Like wings and shit like that?” 

Sam and Dean chuckle and shake their heads. “No, they look like regular people because they possess their bodies,” Sam explains. 

“I’m sorry, did you just say they possess people?” I ask, shocked. “Like, they just walk around and act like regular people?” 

“Not exactly. There are different kinds. Some are relatively harmless, just happy to be out of Hell. Some make deals with people, and those are called crossroads demons. Stay away from them,” Dean explains. 

I shake my head as I try to wrap my mind around what they’re telling me. “So you mean to tell me that vampires, werewolves, shape-shifters, demons, all of those are real?” I ask, looking down at the floor. 

“There’s more-”

I cut Dean off. “There’s MORE?!” I practically scream. 

“Calm down, you’re safe with us. Yes, there are more things out there, and you’ll learn about all of them and how to keep yourself safe. We’ll teach you, and Dad will too,” Sam assures me, placing a hand gently on my back and rubbing small circles. 

“This is crazy,” I shake my head. The room suddenly feels too small, and I need to get out. I stand up and grab my vape.

“Where are you going?” Dean asks, standing up too. 

“I need some air,” I shake my head. As I walk toward the door, it opens, and I jump nearly out of my skin. 

“Looks like someone took it well,” John says, walking in and placing the food down on the table. “Knew that  I should’ve done it myself,” he shakes his head and walks over to me. “You alright?” he asks, placing his hands on my shoulders. 

I nod once. “I’m fine. I just need some air,” I mutter. 

“I’ll come with you. It’s dark out,” John says, looking over my shoulder at Sam and Dean. “Food’s on the table; we’ll be back,” he says to them. He puts an arm over my shoulders and walks outside with me. We take a seat on the steps, looking out over the empty parking lot. “It’s a lot to take in when you first learn about it,” John says softly as I hit my vape. 

“How did you find out about it?” I ask, not looking at him. I can tell I struck a cord asking when he sucks in a deep breath and lets it out in a huff. 

“After my wife died,” he says softly. I turn to look up at him, feeling sorry for him. I can’t imagine what that’s like. “She died when Sammy was just a baby, and Dean was about four. A demon killed her,” John explains sadly. 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, wishing I hadn’t asked. 

John takes a breath and sighs. “Thank you, y/n. I loved your mom, too. Sheila was…” he looks out over the parking lot. “Special.”

“Yeah, she was,” I agree, fighting back the tears at the fact I’ll never get to talk to her again. I sniffle, and John wraps an arm around me and hugs me to his side. 

“Cry if you need to, honey, it’s okay,” he assures me, and that itself breaks the dam. The tears fall down my cheeks, and I lean into him for support. John hugs me and shushes me gently. He doesn’t tell me it’s going to be okay, and he doesn’t tell me it’s going to get better or easier; he’s just there. And for the first time in my life, I’m thankful he is. 

After I’m finished crying, John stands up and gives me a big bear hug. We go inside and eat dinner, and for the first time everyone is civil and even joking around. When it comes time to go to bed, I change into my pajamas and climb into the hotel bed. John offers to sleep on the couch, but I tell him that he can share the bed with me. He’s my dad, after all and I feel bad that he slept on a too-small couch last night. John gets under the covers with me, and as soon as my head hits the pillow, I’m out. Who knew crying could make a person so tired?

Chapter Three

[lunarfleur]

Earth 42! Miles Morales General Hcs

Tagging: @juneberrie @hiyaitssans @sluggmuffin

Warnings:Mention of death, fighting, insecurity, smoking weed

A/N: I love my silly little guy

I see a lot of people view this Miles as like this scary tough go who one crosses

But I respectfully disagree

Miles is probably a dork in every universe. He’s quiet, reserved, and put together. Ganke’s is really his only friend, but they don’t hang out. He prefers to be alone.

He doesn’t start fights, because he knows his mom wouldn’t like it, but trust he will finish them ☝🏻

He’s actually really silly. Like he makes funny comments when he’s comfortable and jokes around a lot. And his laugh is contagious, it’s adorable.

People don’t like him, but they don’t hate him. Teachers like him cause he’s a good student. Students are able to like him because he’s not hard to work with. He’s smart and quiet and nerdy.

He has a lot of built up anger. He just doesn’t show it because he doesn’t want to make his mother worry.

He loves his mother more than anything. She always comes first.

He saves up his prowler money for her. Birthday gifts, Mother’s Day gifts, Christmas gifts, etc…

He never argues with. She works so hard to support him and he knows that. She tells him to do the dishes even when he’s tired and doesn’t want to? He does it.

He tells her he loves her. Every day. Because he does.

Miles’s anger comes from his frustration with himself about his mother. She overworks herself, but he can’t do more than just be there? How is he supposed to be okay with that?

When he’s at home and Rio’s working late, he always stays up to make sure she comes home. And when she falls asleep on the couch? He’s walking out of his room, slipping off her shoes is she didn’t get to it, and tucking her in tightly.

He always kisses her goodnight.

best bet he HAS slow danced with her in the living roo

Okay okay moving on from the sappy stuff 😭

The difference between him and his 1610! Counterpart is that his music was heavily influenced by Aaron.

He listens to some modern rap, but a very large majority of it is 90’s hip-hop and rnb.

Also some of his mother’s favorite songs

He has a pretty large record collection

And prefers airpods to any other kind of headphone

Literally has a plain black phone case 😭

I hate to say it but bro’s short 💀

Idc what is or isn’t cannon, bro’s tiny

But has abnormally large hands

Was one of those kids with GINORMOUS ears until he grew into them 🧍‍♀️

Bro has literally nothing on his bed, except for like a thousand pillows and one blanket

He used to play piano (still does at school but no one has to know)

And likes art just as much as 1610! Miles.

Except he mainly draws what he sees?

His mother, the sky, flowers, that kind of thing…

His inspiration comes from the world around him versus in his head

He’s a giggly bitch at heart

If he wasn’t so stubborn, he’d laugh at everything

42! Miles was one of those guys blessed with clear skin. I just know it.

AND the prettiest freckles (every version of Miles has this)

Only ever cries in front of his mother or at night when he’s supposed to be sleeping

He’s not actually afraid of being vulnerable? Like he doesn’t like doing it in front of other people but he doesn’t try to stop it?

Bros eyes are majestic

This is going off topic but I love his nose 🧍‍♀️

He’s really skinny for some reason

And he’s got one of those really pretty waists for some reason

Loves cargo pants

He’s actually got really good style 😭

Miles has a pull up bar in his room I just know it

Works out consistently

Is a sucker for rom com movies (and is very ashamed of it)

Hates going to the pool (he hates the smell of chlorine)

But likes going on walks?

Loves the smell of rain and smoke from like blown-out candles and bonfires

Hates the smell of lavender

Also loves the smell of vanilla because it makes him think of his mom

Uses Old Spice Bearglove deodorant

And semi-nice cologne? Like not expensive but not cheap?

Bro smells gooooooood

Purple is his favorite color

But he also quite likes pink because it goes well with purple

This Miles has lips that are not chapped (1610! Miles does)

Uses lotion multiple times a day so his hands are soft asf

Is a straight A student

And this boy was raised right so he’s not one of the guys girls worry about?

Like he’s chillin

If someone asks him out and he’s not interested? He’s cool about it

“I’m sorry, I don’t see you like that.”

One of the few situations where he says “I’m sorry” instead of “my bad.”

He doesn’t want to be viewed as a bad guy. He actually really cares about it.

Bros locker is boring asf 😭

Really likes cats and stops to pet (and sometimes feed) strays

Is surprisingly alright with kids? He’s got baby cousins and stuff

He’s one of the few guys who’s confident in his masculinity

Would paint his nails black if he didn’t hate the smell

One of those early to bed and early to rise mfs

He’s got a good sleep schedule

He has gotten high before like off a cart (for anyone who doesn’t know what that is, it’s basically weed in liquid form)

He doesn’t do it consistently or often, so he’s not addicted, but he’ll do it if it’s there

Has a lot of one sided friends (??)

Like he’s a friend to them but they’re not friends to him?

A lot of those are guys who are dicks to girl and doesn’t fuck with that

Cause his mother always taught him to ask himself, “would I want someone to do that to my mother?”

He doesn’t go out of his way to correct them, cause (A) it’s probably just gonna start a fight and (B) chances are, they won’t listen anyway

He’s an honest boy, you know?

He’s pretty craft with like machinery and stuff

He’d make a good mechanic

His least favorite class is English, but he’s a pretty good reader

He’s a math, science kind of smart

There’s pictures of him and certain family members around his room, as well as like 2 of him and Ganke

He thinks of his dad every

And talks to him sometimes, too.

After his dad’s death he kind of pushed his mother away?

But he ended up alright.

Likes buying flowers to keep in vases around the house because his mom likes plants and color

He takes care of them for her

He loves the Rush Hour movies

Actually considered joining the basketball team

Snuggles with blankets and pillows at night

And really likes the tight shirt and baggy pants look

He’s got a nice build

His phone’s wallpaper is a picture of him with his parents

He’d never change it.

He really loves The Boondocks

Miles has a collection of small pieces of memorabilia?

Like movie tickets, dried flower petals, polaroid pictures…

His room is always terrifyingly organized

Like more than a normal person’s

He doesn’t even know how he does

Overall, he’s a chill guy.

[devil-doll13]

Bark At The Moon.

(Prologue)

Cw: Swearing, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Weed and Alcohol

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Mid-way through their first tour of the US, the band find themselves stalled by a busted van. Unbeknownst to them, this would be the start of a catastrophic streak of misfortune.

I have been planning on Max’s backstory fic for a while and here it finally is! Or the beginning of it, at least. Hope you enjoy!

Dividers by silkholland

The sky is painted yellow, and a circling flock of birds is flying so close that he can hit them with his chubby fist. Tall white bars imprison him, but he is softly cushioned by sponge-like pillows. A fuzzy brown bear, lined with stitches, is his sole bedfellow.

“Hey, little man,” booms a tired, hearty voice. Above him, a friendly giant is looming over. His moony face is cracked and dimpled in a grin.

Max flails with joy. To his delight, the giant stretches out his massive hands and lifts him into his arms. He smells familiar… He smells of dirt and sweat and cement. He smells of cheap coffee and even cheaper hot dogs. Maybe that’s what love smells like.

Yes. Sense of smell is the first thing he remembers being aware of. The next is colour; the man’s eyes are cornflower blue, just like Max’s.

“Uhf. You’re getting heavier, kid,” he grunts.

“Daddy, when’s Max gonna be big enough to play with us?” Another, higher-pitched voice pipes up.

Standing in the doorway is a smaller version of the giant, his own blue eyes blown wide and curious.

“He’s just a baby, Roger. It’ll take a bit longer for him to start walking around.” He explains, patting Max’s back as he gently jostles him.

“Oh.” Roger blinks.

“Where do babies come from?” He asks.

The giant’s whisker twitches. Max swats at it.

“Dada!” He squeals, mimicking Roger.

Dad stares at him in shock. His eyes are twinkling. The boy’s mouth forms a circular ‘o’ shape.

“Mommy, Max said ‘Dada!’” He yells.

“Linda, Max is talking to me!” Dad shouts.

There’s a rush of footsteps and the other giant bursts in. Her hair is yellow just like the sky. Max babbles happily as a chorus of voices echo around him. Now he realises he can speak and hear, and suddenly the world doesn’t feel so lonely anymore.

It strikes him only several months after the fact that this was the first time he’d dreamt of his father; a man he’d only known through mangled second-hand stories and grainy photographs. Maybe it was an omen of some kind, because several months after the fact, Max would be dead.

But not yet. Just asleep. Or, well, he’s awake now.

“Max! Max!” A familiar voice is shouting for him. It’s drowning out his memory, smothering it in thick fog… What was… Who was that…?

But by the time he’s clambering out of the backseat of the Audi, he’s already forgotten. More pressing matters are at hand, like food and stretching; his body aches from the bumpy upholstery, probably only worsened by the fact that he was lying curled up around their merch box.

“What’s going on?” He calls out groggily.

Now the whole band is gathered in a sweaty quartet, with their bassist, Austin, at the outskirts, swatting at flies buzzing around in the Florida humidity. Then, Max notices his friend Dwayne standing with his hands on his hips by the roadside. He looks agitated.

“She’s making a fuss again,” Dwayne tells him.

And Max knows immediately that it’s their van: a black Ford Transit Custom with LOCKJAW splashed onto the side in big, bold letters. A sour, sulfuric stench is curling out of her painted bonnet. Equally as sour is the expression on their lead guitarist Jett’s twisted face. His ever-present red bandana is askew, and he’s pacing like a caged animal, the way he always does when something isn’t going their way.

“I swear to fuck, if this shitty rust bucket kicks it on us this close to Miami, I’m gonna riot,” he’s fuming. “I’m gonna riot, Max, I’m gonna lose it.”

“Jett, don’t blow your gasket just yet, ok?” Comes a softer and more reasonable voice. It’s Cyndi. Her curly brown hair is so permed up today that she looks rather like a fluffy cocker spaniel.

She casts Max a pleading glance.

“Ok. Let me take a look at her,” he says, and twitches his mouth in what he hopes is a reassuring smile. It’s not the first time he’s played handyman.

Max heaves up the van’s hood and immediately recoils away from the awful smell.

“Ugh,” Cyndi gags. “Smells like rotten eggs.”

“Or one of Austin’s socks,” Dwayne agrees.

“Hey!”

Max grins wryly. He leans over to inspect the damage further, but it’s as he suspected:

“Battery’s dead,” he reports, looking over his shoulder warily at Jett. “But, uh, don’t worry. This problem is definitely and easily fixable!”

Jett swears furiously under his breath.

“…How much will it cost us to get it replaced?” Cyndi asks, carefully eyeing their van.

“Well, I don’t have a replacement on hand, so whatever the nearest mechanic charges us.” He scratches his chin nervously, still glancing at Jett.

“Right. Alright. Cyndi, you’ll…” He straightens his crooked bandana. “Sort the funds out?”

“Yeah.”

Max shakes his head and slams the bonnet down, stifling the odour. The truth was, old girl was a retired workhorse pushed too far past her prime; there were only so many times he could smack her rear into action before she fell fatally ill.

But he understands Jett’s concern well enough. She was screaming out in agony under the weight of all their equipment, and probably the worst of it was Max’s drum kit. It wasn’t as if they could lug it around in their rusted up little Audi, though.

“Hey,” he starts. “We’ll take the car over to buy a new one. Maybe some brunch too, yeah? I saw a sign back there, it can’t be far from here.”

“I’ll stay and watch her,” Dwayne says blandly.

“You sure?”

“Uh-huh.”

Austin gives Dwayne a toothy grin. He seems to have forgiven the slight from earlier.

“Don’t worry, Big D. We’ll bring you back a big sandwich wrap or something,” he says.

“Yup. Thanks, Austin.”

Jett breathes out a puff of air. There’s still an angry blood vessel pulsating on his forehead, but it seems he’s no longer threatening to explode on them.

“Come on, let’s go,” he orders.

They all bustle into the Audi. Jett sits in the driver’s seat - It’s an unspoken rule that he always takes the wheel in situations like these - with Cyndi riding shotgun and Max once again stuffed into the backseat with the merch box and Austin. He stinks of sweat and weed, the same way Jett always has the thick aroma of hairspray clinging to him. But it’s a familiar stink, like the mucky fur of a childhood dog. Max beams at him.

“Hey, man. D’ya think we’ll get to sell more t-shirts in Miami?” Austin slurs out. He’s squinting at Max like he’s still drunk from last night.

“Oh yeah, absolutely,” he reaches into the box and pulls out a scratchy strip of fabric. Their lupine mascot snarls back at him, jagged maw open wide and dripping thickly with saliva.

“If we get there,” Jett mumbles.

“Dwayne did a bang-on job,” Max continues. “Hopefully the new album art can lure in some buyers too.”

“Yeah. Wolves are cool,” Austin says. “I wonder if he’ll do me a tat for free… Y'know, since we’re buds.”

Max feels old ink itch underneath his shirt, and instinctively airs out the collar. The rottweiler Dwayne did for his birthday hurt, but it turned out gorgeous.

“By the way… My socks don’t smell that bad, do they?” Austin gazes longingly at him. This must’ve been what he wanted to ask all along.

“Uh. Only sometimes,” Max says kindly.

They’re abruptly jostled by a bump in the road. Max presses his face against the window and sees a big red billboard with ‘Spoons’ plastered on it.

“Who the hell names a town after cutlery?” Cyndi wrinkles her nose; a habit Max has always found adorable. “Jett, pull in, I think I see a garage.”

Jett grunts and jerks their car over the sidewalk. Sure enough, there’s an auto repair shop squashed between a block of flats and a donut shop, labelled plainly as ‘Mandy’s Motors.’ Max feels Austin writhe beside him as he unbuckles his seatbelt, and shuffles out the cramped backseat with as much grace as he can manage. The shrill screech of metalwork assaults him the second he’s out, and he winces.

“I’ll go in. You guys clear off,” Jett says curtly.

Max figures he needs a little time away from the rest of the band; or maybe he just wants someone to yell at who won’t cause a fuss on the trip to Miami. Cyndi apparently senses this too, because she swiftly corrals Max and Austin away towards a nearby phone booth. The passing pedestrians are dressed as if they’ve never left the last decade - all headbands and bell-bottoms and florals - and they reel away from Max as if they’re nauseous; a reaction he has gotten quite used to over the years.

Austin pats his shoulder with urgency.

“Hey, man. Look.” He points to a bright, eye-catching diner on the outskirts of town. “Brunchtime.”

And that’s exactly what’s flashing them from across the road in large, curly font. Max glances over to Cyndi in a way he hopes doesn’t seem too desperate.

“You don’t have to look at me anytime you wanna spend money, you know,” she giggles. “Go on, boys. I’m hungry too.”

Max feels a sudden rush of affection for his girlfriend, and he slings an arm around her shoulder to kiss her temple, his nose twitching at the smell of her perfume. She quirks a smile and leans into his touch, not caring how Austin pitches a retch at the sight. The doorbell chimes as they step in, leather boots and high-top sneakers clacking on the shiny tile floor.

“Oh, wow. It smells just like my grandma’s angel cake in here.” Cyndi says, shrugging off a cuddly Max. They all slide neatly into an empty booth.

“I always thought angel cake stank like a wet dog.” Austin offers up unprompted, and Max can’t help but crack a silly grin.

“Austin!” She slaps his arm half-heartedly. “I’ll have you know, our late and great Ellen Richardson would’ve beaten you with a spoon for that!”

“I’d sit up on the countertop while she whipped up the batter…” Her eyes dim like they have shutters on. “Jesus, that was so long ago.”

Cyndi lays back in a daze, as if the memory had threaded a ghostly hand through her hair.

“Not that long ago,” Max comments.

“Well, ok, I guess not. But still, it tasted way better when I was nine,” she says breezily.

“Oh,” Austin smirks. “Y’know, I read in a magazine before that our senses of smell and our memories are like, super connected and stuff.”

“Uh-huh?” Cyndi humours him.

“Yeah. Yeah, so basically it has to do with the brain and… Like, the parts in it.” He fumbles slightly.

“What kinda magazine are you talking about, anyway?” Max asks him, curiosity piqued.

Austin brightens up again.

“Dude, it’s called ‘Strange US.’ I have a subscription, and it’s cheap, too! I’ll lend you a copy. There’s so much that the government is hiding from us, you don’t even know the half of it, man.”

“You mean UFOs? extraterrestrials?” Max quickly starts filling in the blanks.

“Max, don’t you start with the aliens!”

“But there’s gotta be something out there, Cyndi! I mean there’s nothing to disprove it, right?”

“Yeah, sure, but that doesn’t mean…”

Cyndi narrows her eyes dubiously.

“Where did you find out about this, Austin?”

“Guy about a year ago from our old campaign,” he scratches his nose. “Like, tabletop.”

Max nods eagerly. He remembers him, even more so since he was DMing at the time.

“Yeah. His name was Trey, right? He used to go on about how our system wasn’t like ‘real magic…’”

“There’s a whole bunch of these secret organisations, too,” Austin continues. “Working behind the scenes, y’know, making sure we don’t find out…” He waves his hands around, almost bowling over a nearby bottle of ketchup. “Like, men in black, in disguise.”

Max leans forward, lowering his voice:

“Austin, it’s totally a thing… There used to be this super tall bald dude that always hung around our local playground. He’d just sit and watch us.”

“Woah. For real?”

“I never found out what he wanted from us, though. He was creepy, but not in your usual way, more like in a… I don’t know, he was like a hall monitor. I could never make out his face, y’know?”

Then, Austin pales into a papery white.

“Oh. Max… There’s an entry in one of the issues…”

“It’s a load of bologna,” Cyndi interrupts. “Come on, you two don’t really accept this crap, do you?”

But their awkward faces seem to imply that they do.

“Unbelievable…”

“Have ya’ll decided what you want yet?”

Max turns to see a young, blonde-ish waitress who’s chewing bubblegum. He quickly fiddles with a menu, only realising now he’d been too distracted to look.

“Oh. How about… Um, eggs and bacon?”

Cyndi sheepishly blurts out a request for syrupy pancakes and Austin orders a cheeseburger. The waitress jots it all down with a smack of gum and roller-skates away. Max is rendered dully aware of children in other booths craning their heads to stare at their patched jackets and band shirts, tightly-laced parents urging them away with disgust. He guesses their small town world just isn’t ready for this much rock n’ roll yet.

“Hey,” he says, already feeling uncomfortable. “Keep it for me, will ya? I’m gonna go check on Jett.”

“Ok, Max. But don’t take too long.” Cyndi warns him.

The oppressive atmosphere lessens somewhat as he steps outside. Damn, at least city folk are better at hiding their contempt for you... It was a bit stuffy in there, too, all boxed in and clouded heavily with tobacco smoke. He wonders when they’ll ban it.

Max cuts past a throng of people and hurries over the road, hands stuffed casually in his jacket pockets. On an empty block near the outskirts of town, there’s a construction site. It’s developing a mould of apartments that are about half-way formed, manned by sweaty, red-faced workers chewing on sandwiches and leaning idly against the scaffolding. While passing by, Max catches a whiff of cement, and for some reason it smells painfully nostalgic.

Next

(Taglist: @rottent33th, @slaasherslut, @the-pinstriped-hood, @goldrose-star, @soupbabe, @bluecoolr-main, @flower-crowned-lady, @solmints-messyocdiary, @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better, @probably-a-plant-thing, @myers-meadow)

[i-used-to-wear-the-fedora]

Hellcheer Week Day 3 - Role Reversal

@hellcheerweek Role Reversal where Eddie died instead of Chrissy

"Eddie, are you okay?"

Chrissy watched the metalhead snap around to face the cheerleader, both of them jumping as the older boy stared down at her. A confused look on his face as he glanced around the forest nervously.

"Yeah." He replied quickly. "Sorry I just...I know what you mean. The whole losing your mind thing." It had been a few years since Chrissy had directly talked to Eddie Munson but that didn't mean she didn't know about him. He was hard to miss. Outgoing and loud, as soon as he stepped into a room the goth made his presence known. But lately he'd been off. Watching him from a distance the whole day before she asked to meet up with him, she was surprised by how quiet he'd been. He looked tired. Like, extremely tired. The pronounced bags under his eyes made her worried as he shuffled his feet. "So...you got your weed. Maybe I'll see you later?" He asked with a small smile and Chrissy hesitated for a moment before looking down at the baggie in her hand and deciding.

"Actually...my parents aren't home tonight. And I've never done this kind of thing before. Maybe you could come over and we could do it together?"

"I must be hearing things now, because I swear I just heard the Queen of Hawkins High invite this wayward vagrant into her house to smoke up." Eddie grinned teasingly and she laughed.

"You don't have to if you don't want to."

"Oh no, I very much do. Maybe a little weed could help take my mind off...everything. " He got the same look in his eyes from a few moments ago before shaking his head and turning to the path beside them. "Your carriage awaits my good lady."

~~

The ride to the Cunningham house was spent in an awkward silence. Eddie's beat up minivan pulling into the gated community earned disapproving stares from the neighbors. Getting out, their neighbor Mrs. Conner glared down the metalhead as Chrissy pulled him in behind her.

"Nice welcoming party you have here."

"Don't mind her. Mrs. Conner hates everybody except her cats. And even her cats only stick around for the food." Chrissy joked to which Eddie snorted.

"So how you wanna do this? I could pre roll a few or..." He trailed off, looking to Chrissy for what to do next.

"Yeah sure, you can get started. Just need to change upstairs. Be right back."

"Um, okay." Chrissy glanced back at Eddie as she went upstairs to her room. Closing the door behind her, the cheerleader tried to calm down as her back hit the wall. Her heart beating a million miles a minute. She invited Eddie Munson. The school freak. To her house. To smoke drugs. And for some reason whenever she was around him, it felt like butterflies were in her stomach. Walking over to her dresser, Chrissy stared at her reflection in the mirror just above it.

'You can't be serious Chrissy.' Her mind told herself as she looked her reflection in the eye. 'You have a boyfriend...who you didn't trust enough to talk to your problems about....but he's still boyfriend. You do not like Eddie Munson. He's just here to smoke some weed with you and everything will go back to normal.' The girl repeated this to herself as she changed out of her cheer uniform. Tossing the skirt to the side and grabbing a pair of jeans and and her baggiest, most unsexy sweatshit. 'You don't want to give him the wrong idea. Everyone already thinks you're cheap slut '

Chrissy shoved past that nasty voice in the back of her mind as she made her way back downstairs to the waiting drug dealer. Hoping maybe the drugs would quiet it, at least a little.

"Hey, Eddie, I'm..." Chrissy trailed off as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Freezing in place when she saw him, in the middle of the living room. Floating. "Eddie? What the hell?" She cried out, running towards him. What was happening? How was this happening?

Eddie didn't respond. His body hitting the living room ceiling with a loud thump. She watched in hee horror as the lights around her began to flicker. His blank face unmoving as his body twitched and jerked around. Chrissy's eyes widening in horror as his limbs began to snap in unnatural directions and his face...oh God his face....

Chrissy couldn't hold back a horrified scream as she scrambled back.

'What's going on? I can't help. I-I....'

Not knowing what else to do, Chrissy ran.

[melis-writes]

First of all, love your writing!! I appreciate so much that you keep taking prompts and giving us Pacino girls so many amazing things to read! Now in the hopes of joining your list of prompts, if it inspires your muse, could you write a brotherly fic about Bobby and Hank? maybe Hank sticking up for Bobby? or just anything about their sibling relationship, thank you!!

Thank you so much, lovely!! 🥰💖 I appreciate that from the bottom of my heart! I also think this is the very first time I’ve received a prompt for Bobby/The Panic in Needle Park?! Aaaaaaah he really doesn’t get enough love, poor baby! 😭 This prompt is really heavily reminding me of the current chapter I’m writing for my Bobby fic, Eyes Like Stars because it goes so much more into depth with Bobby and Hank’s sibling relationship! Anything for the Pacino girlies!! 😍✨

“What? You think this is some kind of ‘he’s not heavy, he’s my brother’ crap? Well, let me tell you somethin’ man, you are heavy.” It didn’t matter how many times Hank grew frustrated with his younger brother Bobby or vice versa—his words out of anger would never hold nor did they remain true or effect Bobby. 

The brotherly bond Hank and Bobby had was unbreakable—the only strength in the last bits of broken family they had was with each other. 

Bobby and Hank both grew up with emotionally unavailable parents who were too preoccupied with petty arguments over money and verbally abusing one another to even bother to kiss and teach their sons what’s right and wrong. 

The sights of seeing their parents tear each other apart, having no sense of a loving family, finding solace on the streets with other kids coming from broken families made Hank and Bobby who they were and although Hank wasn’t the kind of person to baby or chaperone anyone, it would mean crossing him in hell before he’d let someone hurt or cheat his brother. 

As a teenager when Bobby picked fights with the neighborhood kids because they didn’t pay Bobby what they owed—buying stolen, cheap cigarettes off of him—Hank would join in to pummel alongside his brother like a team. 

“Man, calm the fuck down.” One of Bobby’s old dropout classmates who owed Bobby twenty dollars for all the weed he took had said—completely unphased by Bobby’s anger. “I said I’ll pay you when I pay you—I ain’t got the money on me right now. You’re gonna be up my ass about it all the time?” 

“That’s what you said last time, asshole.” Bobby rolled his eyes, extending out his hand. “I know you got some shit on you so empty your fuckin’ pockets and give me what you got. I shouldn’t even let your ass walk around here in peace knowing you owe me so much.” 

“I ain’t giving you shit, how about that?” Bobby’s classmate spoke back in a mocking tone, taking one step forward. “I said I. Don’t. Have. Anything.” 

“Better back the fuck up before I beat something out of you.” Hank spoke up, tossing his half smoked cigarette onto the pavement before approaching his brother and the classmate. “You fucking heard him. Are you cheating my brother?” 

“No man, what the fuck?” The classmate scoffed, backing up immediately. “I’m broke! I don’t have--” 

“ARE YOU CHEATING MY FUCKIN’ BROTHER, MAN?!” Hank hollered, grabbing the classmate by his neck. 

Bobby smirked and crossed his arms, watching the punk crumble like a cheap aluminum can under Hank’s rough grip. “Twenty dollars is twenty dollars.” 

With one swift movement, Hank used all his might to throw Bobby’s classmate back against a pile of garbage bags he was standing next to—causing some to burst open from the impact of him hitting them. 

“Empty your fuckin’ pockets.” Hank scowled, pointing a finger at the guy. “You owe Bobby.” 

Hank was kicked out of the house once Bobby and his parents begun to realize Hank was selling weed around the neighborhood, but Bobby left willingly—sick and tired of the roof above his head he could no longer call a “home”. 

When Bobby was out on the streets for good, meeting new people, sustaining himself off petty theft, selling cigarettes, weed and cheap booze, Bobby found his way back to his brother again who was just as part of the streets as he was and nothing had changed. 

“Finally left, huh?” Hank looked up and down at his brother’s baggy clothing ridden with holes—seeing him for the first time in two years. “Didn’t think you’d last that long.” 

“Cut me some slack, man.” Bobby rolled his eyes and gestured to the cigarette pack peeking out of the pocket of Hank’s leather jacket. “Give me a cig, will you?” 

Hank chuckled, taking a cigarette out of his pack but not before patting his brother’s shoulders and pulling Bobby into a side hug as they made their way down the streets of Upper West Side Manhattan. 

That brotherly bond meant Bobby and Hank would never snitch on each other no matter the cost, they’d always have one another as support no matter what grimy street they were in New York just as much as it meant that the two brothers would have to make a living through crime for the rest of their lives. 

Some people changed, but Bobby and Hank never did. 

[mbb-project-entity]

Chapter 42

[sukirichi]

sweet lies (m.)

His lies were way too sweet – and you were too addicted to make him stop.

cw. oral (f receiving), fingering, slight body worship, public sex, multiple orgasm, orgasm denial, dirty talk, praising, titty sucking, nsfw, toxic megumi, fwb, slight angst, the traditional unedited fic

note. choose your fighter, megumi or sukuna 😈 and thank you to besties nie and ellie for editing this STOP SHOWING YOUR ANKLES CHIRREN

series masterlist | 01 | 02 | 03

Megumi slides your shirt down your shoulder to press kisses on the bare skin. Your head tilted to the side to give him easier access. You hate that you feel so weak around him, your hands gripping his thigh you’re currently straddling, already so breathless from his teasing ministrations. 

“You should move back closer to campus,” he mutters at the juncture of your neck, pulling another soft gasp from you the moment his fingers dip inside your damp underwear. You feel him smile at your skin, using his deft fingers to push two of them inside your sopping hole. He pumps them in slowly, teasingly slow, coaxing your arousal to coat his fingers while you grind against his palm, eyes shut tight from the pulling knot in your stomach.

“It’s hard to fuck you when you’re a half-hour drive away.”

You scoff against him and roll your eyes. “I wonder why I got kicked out from the dorms in the first place.” Exactly two weeks ago, Megumi snuck in drunk and horny into your dorms, shaking you awake to get rid of his boner. 

It was a sloppy quickie, mostly because he’s eaten brownies and got fuck drunk before stumbling beside your bed. The insensitive idiot left his rum bottle under your bed just as he wobbles back to his frat house, and as if things couldn’t get worse, there was a surprise dorm inspection the next day. Not only did they find cum stains all over your sheets, but your bed also reeked of weed and alcohol, resulting in a quick expulsion from the dorms.

If it weren’t for the help of one of your professors, Gojo-sensei, you wouldn’t have been able to find a decent, cheap apartment. It came with the price of rooming with one of his old acquaintances, a muscular, heavily tattooed guy who seemed to be a few years older than you.

He really wasn’t a bad roommate. Other than the fact he seemed really intimidating, the dude mostly kept to himself, either locked in his room or away for work that you don’t really get to see him that much. His place was decent too, your room bigger than the last, so it was a good deal, but as Megumi said, it’s really hard to fuck around when you’re so far away.

“Not my fault, you’re so weak for me, baby,” he taunts as you tighten around him, his pace increasing with his lips sucking love marks on your skin. You can’t help but snicker at his actions; if you didn’t know better, you’d say he was jealous. 

But this was Megumi you were talking about – everyone knew he never got jealous. 

“I don’t like you here.”

“Aw, sucks for you.”

“I’m serious,” he grips your waist tighter, drawing a drawled-out moan from you. Megumi rubs your clit with his thumb and swallows your moans through open-mouthed kisses, your fists balled into his hoodie. Fuck this, you’re completely aware he’ll never like you the way you like him, but it’s so hard to feel sad about that when he’s knuckle deep inside you and playing you like a violin. As much as you hated him and his pretty face, you have to admit his fingers were fucking magical.  

Megumi nips at your lower lip before thrusting his fingers in and out of you at a numbing pace, not taking long until you’re creaming all over his hands. You pant at the orgasm, head falling back into his shoulder. 

He brushes your hair away from your eyes and kisses the side of your head, the gesture way too sweet for someone who insisted on a ‘no-strings attached’ sexual relationship. But you don’t complain – this is like a dream come true for you – allowing him to leave a trail of kisses down your jaw instead, his wet hands squeezing your thighs in a possessive grip.

“You should just live with me. I’m not comfortable with the fact you live with a man.”

There’s a trace of jealousy behind his voice that you’d normally swoon at, but he’s pushing you to the edge and fucking around with your feelings so much that you can’t even enjoy the rare moment. You push yourself off him and reach for your discarded shorts on the floor, sliding the material over your legs while Megumi shamelessly stares at your ass behind you, his head resting on his hands.

“Megs, I barely even talk to the guy; he’s always away at work. You’ve really got nothing to worry about,” you tell him, making quick work of tidying your school packets just to ignore his heated gaze. “Besides, you and I aren’t even dating. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“You never hold back with your words, huh?”

You shot him a look, an angry glare that should be threatening, but the glint in his eyes just tells you he’s enjoying every second of it. “You like it.”

“Hmm, maybe I do,” Megumi tugs you back to the bed, effortlessly, as he flips you under him. In this position, he’s situated right between your bodies, hands clasped against one another. He’s absolutely stunning, bathed in the sliver of the moonlight, in your bed, no less. You’re a flurry of emotions – stuck between wanting to fuck him and kissing him, and then scream at him to let him know he should stop playing with your heart. 

Megumi’s eyes darken as he traces over your silhouette, watching the way your chest falls heavily at his touches. He uses one hand to trace the tip of his finger from your breast down to your clothed core, a smirk painting his lips when you buck your hips up at the contact. 

Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him. 

“Just promise me you’re not letting others see your pretty pussy okay?” he tugs your shorts to the side, tongue darting out to lick at his lips at the sight of your glistening folds. You’ve lost count of the times he’s made you cum tonight with just his fingers; the raging hard-on hidden behind his sweatpants is proof that he’s quite different today by letting you get fuck-drunk on him first. Perhaps it’s his way of keeping you so helplessly wrapped around his finger, fucking you good enough that no one else comes second to him, and he knows this. He sees this from the desire pooled in your eyes. 

Megumi scoots down lower to stare at your pussy, which is already embarrassing since you’re so wet down there. He simply sighs at your bare cunt before him, using two fingers to pull the lips apart, followed by a groan at the apparent slick. “This is all mine.”

In your lust-filled haze, you scrunch your eyebrows and sneer, “How about you mind your own business?”

“The fuck did you just say?” he chuckled, his warm breath tickling your inner thighs. “You’re mine, babe. Haven’t I fucked you enough to drill in that in your pretty little head?” Megumi doesn’t waste his time diving straight to your eager, awaiting core. Your hands fly down to tug at his hair as you grind your hips to his face, legs weak from his lips wrapped tightly around your clit. “You know I’ll get mad if you touch anyone else.”

“Fuck off, Megumi,” you spat out, “We’ve been fooling around for a year, and you still refuse to date me every time I ask you out officially. Listen, I understand you’re not ready for that kind of relationship, so you could at least respect that you don’t get the exclusivity of keeping me all to yourself.” Truly, this rebellion is so uncalled for and unexpected. The moment you had your eyes on him and made it your life’s mission to win him over, not once had you complained that he never wanted to take things a step further. But it’s been too long, too fucking long, and too many no baby’s already – your pride was beyond crushed. It was about time you set the boundaries this time, and you quiver around his skillful tongue, strong and firm as you rasp, “I’ll fuck whoever I want.”

“You’re lying.”

“What?”

“You love me,” Megumi pulls away from your clit with an audible pop, his face glistening from the smeared juices all over his cheeks. However, his eyes are narrowed, almost as if he’s scrutinizing you. You can’t focus on the fact he denied you of your orgasm because he’s looking at you so seriously, only to tilt his head to the side, a smirk playing on his lips. “It’s written all over your face.”

“Maybe I do, but are you deserving of it?” you push his head away and ignore the aching in your chest. Megumi shuffles close to you, pulling you in for another cuddling session before you hide under the sheets, making it clear you were not to be touched anymore. “Go home, Megs. I’m tired.”

In all honesty, you want him to stay. You want him to fight harder to win your approval back. He’s not a big cuddler, more of the type to pass out beside you after he’s gotten his own orgasm, but you’ve been so sure that maybe he might be different today. Under the sheets, your lip trembles in anticipation, eyes blinking wide at the dark silhouette outside your metaphorical shield. But as Megumi playfully slaps your ass, his warmth leaving the bed, you’re not really surprised. 

He never stayed the night before – why would he do that now? 

Silly girl, you chastised yourself. 

“Fine. But I’ll be back tomorrow,” you hear him scuffle for his shoes outside, a smile evident in his voice as his words float around the silence of your apartment. “Wear my favourite set like a good girl for me?”

“Go away!”

Megumi’s laughter echoes all the way to where you curl yourself into a ball. You hate that his laughter alone makes your heart skip a beat, even if it doesn’t carry any affection behind then. “See you then, baby,” is all he says before the door slams shut, leaving you alone to your thoughts and insecurities all over again.

His lies were way too sweet – and you were too addicted to make him stop.

You’ve really hit rock bottom; that’s the only explanation for your actions. Megumi was coming over in a few hours, unsurprising that he chooses 3 AM of all times. Not only did it mean his frat brothers would be asleep, but it also meant that his other side bitches would assume he’s doing the same. You know, of course, you fucking know you’re not the only one, but it didn’t hurt any less.

The pain just keeps getting worse every time you think of him, said thoughts always comprised with your shirt trapped between your teeth and your hands down your pants. There’s no denying you’re addicted to him, though being addicted to a never-ending heartbreak was a different story. 

A story which you’re not ready to find out yet, so you dress up in your sexiest dress and take the nearest cab, heading to a place where you definitely shouldn’t be.

Two more hours before Megumi arrives. Two more hours before you fall into that endless cycle of fucking and him leaving you alone, promising he’ll be back tomorrow, before it all repeats and traces back to square one. He’s not going to stop, and neither are you, so where was any of this supposed to go now? He doesn’t want you, not in that way, that very much is clear – so why was it so hard to let go of him?

Deep down at the back of your mind, you know your answer. It’s because, like the lovesick fool you are, you’re still hoping that maybe someday he’ll look at you the way you look at him.

Fuck it, is all you think of as you flash the bouncer your ID, not missing the way his eyes fall down your tits that are so close to popping out of your dress a minute longer than welcomed. Snatching your card away from him, you push against the crowd, immediately regretting coming here as the loud thumping of music and stench of sex and alcohol washes over your senses. 

You make a beeline for the empty bar, save for the bartender who had his back turned to you as he wipes the glasses over.

You clear your throat to make your presence known. The first thing you see is a broad back, thick lines of dark tattoos outlined even in his white button-up shirt. He places the glasses down and moves expertly before you, sliding shot glasses next to others before procuring a drink out of nowhere, a greeting about to leave his lips when you both make eye contact.

The drink stays still on his hands, blinking for a moment at your equally stupefied face before he says, “It’s you.”

“S-Sukuna,” you greet back, smiling at your roommate. You’ve barely seen the guy the past few weeks other than sleepy good morning’s, and I’ll take the trash out tonight before both of you disappeared into your own worlds. 

Sukuna is...well, you don’t know, exactly. It’s not like he’s around much for you to make a proper judgment of, but he’s a pretty nice roommate, filling up the fridge whenever you guys run out of beer. There were times he nods at you as a greeting before leaving for work, too, leaving you alone at the house from midnight all the way to the morning. Other than thinking your roommate is pretty unique from his face tattoos and roguish handsomeness that contrasts his rather frequent sleepy mumbles, you’ve failed to realize he could actually be like a normal human. Seeing him stand before you, his forearms lined with veins and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, taut waist emphasized by a black vest, you swallow audibly.

He’s entirely different from the guy you often see passed out on the couch, but it’s a welcomed sight, nonetheless.

Sukuna’s actually...pretty hot.

Hiding the thumping of your heart – whether out of nervousness or it’s just trying to match the beat of the music – you beam up at him,  eyes glossed over with curiosity as he reciprocates with a more mischievous grin. 

If he’s easily read your mind that you are indeed attracted to him, he makes no comment about it, focusing on hearing your voice over the music instead. 

He leans over to you, not pulling away even as your lips faintly graze his ear. Fuck, he’s got piercings too. You greedily drink in his masculine scent, thankful that the music thumping is so loud he won’t hear the frenzy mess inside your ribcage. 

“I didn’t know you worked here. Heck, I didn’t know you were a bartender, but I guess the irregular sleep patterns make sense somehow.”

“What did you think I was, sweetheart?”

His deep voice reverberates all the way down to your toes, his throaty chuckle hoarse. “I-I don’t know,” you pull away nervously, blinking up at him way too innocently. “A gangster, to be honest,” you blurted out. Sukuna tilts his head to the side, and you immediately raise your hands beside your head as you mull over how offensive your words might’ve been. “I don’t mean anything offensive by it, I swear! It was just my first impression!”

“First impressions are usually false. Anyway. It’s fine,” he shrugs, resuming his task of wiping over the glasses. 

His hands were so big, his fingers long and slender...your attention is drawn to the adept manner of how he wipes the cloth using the tip of his finger, reaching behind him to get another glass, all without keeping his eyes off of yours. It leaves much room to muse about what else he could do with those hands, and you squirm at your seat, opting to look at his face instead since that would be more polite than eye-fucking his hands.

Sukuna smirks, that cunning twinkle in his eyes matching the dim lights of the bar. Somehow, you suddenly feel so lightheaded. 

“If it makes you feel better, I thought you were a shy girl at first, but your boy toy brings a different side of you every time he comes around.”

You squeak in embarrassment, “You’re home by then?!”

“Only sometimes,” he reassures with a laugh. “But I’ve heard enough,” Right. He’s older and definitely more experienced than your sexual escapades with Megumi – this must be nothing new to him by now, and yet, your skin flushes heated. “Don’t look too flustered, sweetheart. It’s not the first time I’ve heard of that,” he nods at you, “You don’t look very happy with him, though.”

“Tch, now you’re assessing my relationship status?”

“I don’t have to,” he shrugs, the gesture so damn reassured. Chuckling at your apparent frown, Sukuna shakes his head to himself. “It’s written all over your face you’re not satisfied with something. You wouldn’t be here if you were feeling good in the first place.”

“How much have you heard?”

“Oh, I don’t care about how you scream his name. That’s none of my business,” he grumbles under his breath rather bitterly – but that could just be the music messing with you. Sukuna holds your gaze as he sets the final glass down before you, his elbows languidly resting on the counter that separates you both. You’re left staring at him in wonder, watching the way he pours the drink right in front of you, the movement of his lips so intoxicating and even erotic you nearly didn’t hear him say, “But as your roommate, I wish you’d stop inviting him around and just kick him out already. He doesn’t like you, you know.”

He doesn’t like you. Megumi doesn’t like you – you know that already.

Glare deepening at your surprisingly nosy roommate, you take the glass from him and down it in one go. Sukuna’s brows shot up in awe, arms crossed against his puffed-out chest as you slam the glass down. 

You were fuming. 

“You don’t know a single fucking thing about me.”

“That’s right, I don’t,” he answers without skipping a beat, “But we men, we understand each other,” You open your mouth to retort, silenced by Sukuna’s finger pressing against your lips. You freeze at the contact, and Sukuna makes use of your state, continuing right where he left from. 

“Listen, take it from me as free advice. I’ll even put your drink on the house.”

Really, nothing is stopping you from biting off this guy’s finger, but he looks like he knows something you don’t that you just choose to keep your mouth shut.

Satisfied at your decision, Sukuna smiles sweetly, reaching over to tuck your hair behind your ear. The gesture puts you under his spell, and he lingers there a little longer, massaging the lobes of your ears before he pulls back just as fast, almost as if he never touched you in the first place.

You fight back the urge to huff. 

Why were men so complicated? One moment, they were hot, then cold the next. You would just never get it.

“That guy you’ve been mooning over for who knows how long? He doesn’t give a fuck about you. You’re just someone who warms his cock every now and then, but I guarantee he’s thinking about someone else in his head when he’s with you,” he announces straightforwardly, not giving you the time to recover before he shrugs like his words didn’t just slap you in the face. “Just call quits on him, sweetheart. There’s really no need to waste such a pretty face. Ever heard of the saying – there’s plenty of fish in the sea?” he pushes another drink to you, “Drink up and loosen a little. With a face and body like that, you’ll find someone better soon.”

“I highly doubt I can find someone better when all everyone sees is my appearance.”

“I don’t,” he hinted with dark eyes, “But I assure you it might be what people see first. You do have a face of an angel; men are into that shit.”

Taking the drink from him with a loud sigh, you feel yourself weaken. You bury your head in your hands, replaying all the memories you’ve had with Megumi. It’s foreseeable that almost all of them consisted of you two fucking, nothing but a faint memory of two where Megumi actually cared enough to perform aftercare. The thought makes you wince; he really is an ass, but you’re also so hopelessly infatuated with him that you refuse to acknowledge the truth.

“Megs and I...we’re just complicated, okay?”

“Sure.”

“I swear!” your defenses are hopelessSukuna’s knowing smirk, the man holding back a snigger from your silent rage. “Besides, maybe his disinterested nature is what made me attracted to him in the first place. I like the mystery. It’s not bad for a girl to enjoy searching for answers every now and then.”

“Except he’s already given you a concrete no, and you’re the only one still hanging onto him,” he reminds you. At your dropped jaw, Sukuna has the audacity to wink. That motherfucker –“Pressed a button, kitten?” he pats your head, leaving you to be even more riled up. “Don’t be sad. It’s not like he’s the only guy who can make you feel good.” As if a light bulb went up in his head, Sukuna hid his smile by turning his back to you, pretending to be engrossed in the drinks all laid out in front of him. But even with his face obscured from your view, his words rang thick and clear: “In fact, I bet you your cute ass someone else can change your former perspective on what pleasure really is.”

“Yeah, like who?” you snorted sarcastically, “You?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” he faces you, absolutely shameless as he eyes your cleavage. Sukuna clenches his jaw at the tempting view before him, sliding his gaze back to yours to look for the answers in your face. “If you want a demonstration, that is.”

Sukuna hasn’t really touched you or even spoke explicitly, but you’re breathing hard anyways, subconsciously clawing the countertop. 

You don’t know if it’s your voice or his that’s ringing your ears, the words what’s holding you back? the last thing you hear before grabbing him by the collar, leaning over the counter to taste his lips. Sukuna smiles at the kiss, his large hands cupping your face in them. His thumb traces circles over your jaw as you greedily suck on his lip, uncaring that you’re making out with your roommate in a public place.

As if remembering that he’s still at work, Sukuna pulls away for a moment, diving in for one last peck that has you giggling adorably. Sukuna’s grin grows wider at your flushed cheeks, snapping his fingers at someone from a distance. “Geto, break!” 

The guy who must be Geto popped his head out of the backroom, frowning at Sukuna’s words when his gaze lands on you and the not-so-subtle needy grip you have on Sukuna’s collar. His mouth forms into an ‘o’ shape before he gives a thumb up, disappearing afterward. 

That’s all Sukuna needs before he’s leaving the counter, breathing in your panicked squeals as he picks you up, your legs flailing to wrap around his.

You’re giggling and laughing all the way to the back of the club, your hands tugging at his undercut and his own squeezing at your ass. Sukuna kicks the door of the restroom open, which is thankfully clean (you made the right choice choosing a luxurious club), settles you down before him, and locking the stall.

His lips are on yours in an instant, his hands tugging off your dress and scowling at it as if it’s offensive. “Calm down,” you tease him, “They didn’t do anything wrong.”

“They were a fucking tease the whole night,” he glares at the lacy cups of your bra, his breathing laboured as he cups them. You throw your head back until it thumps at the door, teeth muffling the moans that threaten to erupt. Sukuna unclasps the material in one swift movement, surprising with just how many times he’s done this before. “Fucking gorgeous tits – why the fuck does your boy toy not want to keep you to himself?”

“He’s – oh fuck,” you scrape Sukuna’s scalp, his tongue wrapping around the swollen bud. He caresses the other one not to leave it unattended, and he’s grinding you against the door so hard, his dick poking at your dress leaving very little to the imagination. 

Sukuna chuckles at your broken response, rutting his hips in such a sensual manner you didn’t think he was capable of. “You were saying?”

You glare at him from under your chin, but he can’t take you seriously while he’s sucking at your tit like a child. This man is brave enough to nip it with his teeth, the sting making you hiss and buck against him. “He’s possessive,” you breathe through your mouth, a little in disbelief you’re casually thinking about him while Sukuna gets down on his knees. “He wants me to be exclusive with him, but he’s free to fuck who he pleases.”

Sukuna rubs both palms in front of his face as if preparing to devour a meal, which he’ll do so soon enough. He pushes your dress and bunches it at your waist, tugging your underwear to the side before he groans. The sound is so deep and masculine, so utterly frustrated for some reason you can’t understand.

“Now that’s unfair,” he mumbles absentmindedly, peppering your pelvis with kisses. The feverish touch of his warm lips on your already burning skin has you clutching at the door, feeling your legs weaken.

His eagerness and distrait acts of body worship drive you crazy. Megumi is good at making you feel desired and fuckable – that much you know from his habits of pushing his pants down at pretty much anywhere as long as you were around, claiming you’re a walking ‘boner trigger.’ Sukuna, on the other hand, was a lot more patient and attentive to his movements, taking the time to make you feel you were more than just a body and a hole. It’s odd, hella fucking odd, because this man is older than you and a friend of your professors, but did you care? No. Did you want him to fuck your brains out in a public restroom? Fuck yes.

A wanton moan paints the wall as Sukuna slides your thong off just above your knee, his eyes closed as he buries his cheek in it. You look down with wide eyes, hands grabbing at nothing and everything at the same time. From the looks of it, he’s sniffing your sex, the sight so outright erotic that you only moan louder.

How was it possible to be this much turned on?

By the time he’s opened his eyes, his entire demeanour’s shifted. Gone was the enthusiastic and sly bartender, now replaced with a much more animalistic entity residing beside it. 

Before you could make yourself comfortable, Sukuna hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, the tip of your heel grazed against the tight walls of the stall. He licks a flat stripe from your hole that clenches around nothing, moving upwards in such a passionate, languid manner he’s making you forget you’re literally in a fucking restroom. Your breasts heave up and down from how you’re struggling to breathe, his tongue pushing past through the tight ring of resistance until he’s plunged through your core. You wobble above him, remaining upright only by his arm pushing your back flat on your under boob.

Sukuna slurps at your cunt yearningly, the hums he gives every now and then, making your core vibrate. You grind your pussy on his face, the black marks lined on his face glistening.

He moves to suck at your clit, transitioning after each beat to slurping the swollen bud and kissing your lips as if he was making out with it. You’re sure you’re making a mess on his face, but he doesn’t give you time to feel embarrassed about it. He spreads your legs further until your muscles ache from the stretch, the pain accompanied by your stomach tightening.

“S-Sukuna, oh, oh yeah,” you bang your fist on the door, his smug chuckles sending you over the edge. Your pupils blow wide as you feel the impending orgasm weigh down on you heavily, about to send you into overdrive by his tongue swiping at your lips, teasing you to give it to him more, give it to him harder. Turning your head down to warn him you’re coming, the words die on your throat because he’s already looking at you, his cheeks and nose smothered with your shining slick, and the brat is smirking. “Shit, you’re a little—” Sukuna cuts you off by generously sucking your clit one more time, pulling the muscle taut just to show you that it’s rolling between his lips. It looks fucking insane and filthy that you come right there and then. 

Your orgasm is so strong that you actually slip from your heels. A scream from you is knocked back into you just as fast, Sukuna moving quick and graceful in one fluid movement. He catches your leg and shoves you against the door, gripping at your hips until you’re bending forward, ass perked, and wiggling just for him.

For a split second, you’re sure you hear the unbuckling of a belt, but it all fades in your clouded mind.

Sukuna enters you in one thrust, the sensation of being filled up so soon rendering you speechless. Literally absolutely silent, palms flat on the door and tongue lolled out, all the burning in your body focused on your centre.

He releases a grunt at finally being inside your plush, warm walls. Sukuna allows you to get used to his length for a solid minute, both of you catching your breath in the meantime. Your tits are sprawled out, and you’re a shaky mess, feeling nothing less of dirty yet so aroused that you can’t do anything about it. Sukuna thrusts in slowly at first, and that’s when you feel the size difference between him and Megumi. Megs was definitely blessed in the dick department, and he’s always been so cocky about it, but goddamn, Sukuna was beyond huge.

You think you could cum again just from him filling you up. He was stretching you out so well that he leaves behind a faint burn, making you feel as if it’s your first time all over again – all for the good reasons.

He soon begins to set his pace, one of his hands tugging at your ponytail so he could see your glossy eyes and mouth hanging open. Sukuna scoffs at your fucked out state, too cock-hungry even to form coherent sentences. His length is slipping past your folds in such a tantalizing, delicious state, the prominent veins of his cock kissing the bumpy ridges of your walls. He was right – you’re definitely changing your perspective on pleasure because you don’t think you’ve felt this good in your life. 

With Megumi, it was mostly always about his own release. With Sukuna, he’s making sure you get to feel inch by luscious inch slipping out of you before he slides them back in, his deep moans the dirtiest thing you’ve ever heard.

“Aw, look at you,” he coos, kissing you sideways sloppily. Sukuna reaches the edges of your lips but licks at your skin anyway. His canines revealed to graze at your skin. It’s so animalistic, so carnal, and he’s fucking you with such primal need that you forget everything you once knew about sex. “Your pretty pussy is drooling for cock, sweetheart. Such a dirty little thing, taking me like this.”

Now, this was lust as its purest form, the rhythm of his hips so sinful you’ve lost faith in everything but how he’s making you feel. 

The walls are pounding with the bass boosting outside, but soon even the loud volume of the synthesized music is drowned by your whimpers. Sukuna lets go of your hair to place his hands on your hips. If he was dominant before, he only encourages you to scream his name louder, realizing that he was still being nice seconds ago, but now he’s the one controlling you. 

He pounds roughly into you until you’re crying, your drool dribbling from your lips and small patches dropping to the floor. It’s the same with your cunt. You’re so wet that you can feel squirts of cum staining his pants and your legs. Sukuna doesn’t stop praising you on how you’re so perfect, how your cunt is the tightest he’s ever fucked, and now he gets why your boy toy could never really let you go. In the middle of it all, he manages to slip in a comment that maybe Megumi’s dick isn’t big enough to stretch you out because you’re wrapped around him like a vice, to which you respond that he’s just massive.

“Fuck yeah, I am,” he agrees cockily, eyes narrowed at where his length kept being swallowed by your pussy. “I’m fucking destroying you, sweetheart. You’ll be broken by the end of this, fuck.”

His words are like ambrosia you’re getting drunk on, the filthiness of his mouth fuelling your desire. Your body heats up at the same time that familiar tingling tightens in your stomach, and you blindly stretch your arm out behind him. Sukuna easily reads your mind and takes your hand, looping his fingers with yours. His palm is right above your knuckle, and the angle hurts your arm so bad you cry harder.

“Please, please, please,” you beg him and snap your hips back to meet his dick thrust by thrust, “I’m so fucking close, please—”

“I got you, sweetheart,” he leans down for a quick peck at your hand, increasing his pace as he twitches inside you. Sukuna is thrown off rhythm by the way you grip down on his dick harder, his breath stuttering as a result. You wrap your fingers around him as your second orgasm that night crashes down onto you in waves, his cock on the brink of being spent from how you’re milking him. 

He pounds deep and slow into you, relishing in the warmth of your cunt that he’s losing his mind, basically in the same state as you are now. You’re panting and sweating, cursing at each thrust, and he stills for a moment, pulling out so fast that you wince at the emptiness. Sukuna pumps his dick with his free hand and shoots his load onto your back, his moans guttural and hoarse. You grimace at the warm cum now coating your back because there’s no way you’re using your dress to wipe that away. 

Sukuna chuckles at your silence, probably noting in the way you frown at him. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he runs a hand through his hair, his cock growing hard despite releasing a huge load. “Next time, I’ll cum in your mouth. I want to see you swallow me like a good girl.”

“Next time?” 

You think you’re so sly by scoffing at him, but Sukuna isn’t stupid. He sees the way you light up at his implications, and he walks closer to you, a hand wrapped around your throat before you pull you flush against his chest. You gasp at the lack of air, blindly patting behind you, but your hand only grazes at his cock, which twitches excitedly at the contact.

“Yeah, next time,” he affirms with a low growl, licking from your jaw down to your neck. It’s so hot, he’s so hot, and you’ve never felt this sexy in your life that you soon become on par with him, pussy clenching around nothing. “I’m not done with you yet. You’re not leaving unless I’ve changed your mind,” he teases the base of your throat to squeeze it tighter, the swift movement of him filling you once more escalating to a tenfold. Your struggle to breathe causes you to clamp down on him hard and Sukuna’s chuckles falter into a quick inhale that’s so satisfying to witness. “What do you think? Still need more demonstrations?”

“Yes,” you choke out. Sukuna’s victorious and award-winning smile is hidden at the sweaty column of your neck where he leaves little kisses in its wake, ones that soon turn into something of a harsh bite. “Yes, please, show me more. Need you, need you so bad, you fuck me better than he does.”

Sukuna does more than show you that night. He makes you feel a thousand more nerves set on fire until you’re nothing but a moaning mess. After all, what better way to change someone’s mind than to mess with it on the inside?

In the end, when it comes down to it, your lies were way too sweet – and he was too addicted to make you stop.

[breathing-dystopia]

I'm half doomed and you're semi-sweet

Pairing: Eddie Munson × (female) OC

Word count: 5.2k

Summary: Getting to know the real Eddie can be both the most exciting and inspiring experience. Mostly, he feels like home. We follow the protagonist as her relationship with Eddie transitions from being indifferent to one another to falling in love.

Warnings: fluff, slow burn, weed is mentioned once, a fire is mentioned, someone faints.

Available on AO3

A/N: This is my first fanfiction (and probably also my last). I've been thinking about Eddie 24/7 and needed to put those self-indulgent fake scenarios into words in order to move on. English isn't my first language so I apologize for any mistakes. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it ♡

gif credit @nowadayz

1

I could already smell the cigarette smoke and that unmistakable scent of cheap alcohol as I made my way through a dimly-lit corridor, pushing past people idly standing by and nodding along to the loud music coming from the next room. This Hawkins bar was a haven for anyone who appreciated fast and loud music, especially on Friday nights, when its basement welcomed up-and-coming heavy rock bands from around the area. 

My friends and I had made a habit of coming here every week, to the point where it almost felt like an addiction. Every Friday morning we were buzzing in anticipation for this escape, the only place in this small town where we could reunite with like-minded people. Every time our van pulled up in the front and we’d see the rusty metal slabs on the bar’s façade, a weight was lifted off our chests; it felt like coming home.

The place was packed tonight. Reaching the counter felt like oaring in a sea of people. As I sat on one of the stools, I felt my studded leather belt digging into my ribs and I wondered what band could cause so many people to come. As I ordered cold beers for the group, I chanced upon a flyer on the mirror behind the bartender which indicated Corroded Coffin was playing tonight. I had never heard of them, but this turnout meant they had to be really good. When the beers arrived, I called over my friend Aileen to help me carry them to our booth.

Even though the show wouldn’t start until later, we knew that if we didn’t get to the basement early enough, we would have no place up front and be relegated to the back, where you could barely see the stage and the sound was muffled by the mass of sweaty bodies jumping and headbanging in unison. So we chugged our beers and went downstairs. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror on one of the walls lining the narrow flight of stairs that led to the basement. I was wearing a miniskirt over black stockings, along with lace-up combat boots and my favorite Metallica T-shirt. It seems we had overestimated our chances of finding a good spot within the crowd. We ended up on the side, right behind a column that blocked our view of half the stage.

My friends and I had nothing to talk about as we all went to Hawkins High School and saw each other every day, so while we waited we observed the sound technician frantically carrying amps and cables from one end of the stage to the other, visibly nervous and eager to do a good job in front of so many people. After a while, the band finally walked onstage, and when the first strum of a heavily distorted guitar resonated in the room, the crowd went wild. I couldn’t quite see the guitarist or the drummer, though, as they were blocked by that annoying column.

Their songs were energetic and enthralling in a way I had never experienced with any other small band. I mean these were songs meant to fill arenas, not to be played in a tiny basement for a bunch of metalheads. They had already captivated a small legion of fans, and they would no doubt gain a lot more. I was especially interested in such an amazing guitarist, as I had started to play guitar a while back, but I was nowhere near as proficient as him. As they were reaching the end of their set, I grew tired of only seeing half the band and asked my friend Slater, who had a better spot, for a piggyback. He agreed, and as he lifted me, I banged my head against the ceiling, since it was so low. When I recovered from the hit, I looked at the stage and was immediately astounded to find out the guitarist was Eddie “The Freak” Munson from school.

2

“Hey, guys! Isn’t that Munson from school?” I shouted at my friends, trying to make myself heard over the loud sound coming from the speakers. “Satanic cult leader by day, prodigious guitar player by night!” Aileen yelled at the top of her voice, making all of us laugh. We all knew Hellfire was nothing more than a D&D club, but whenever a new paranoia whipped up Hawkins in mass hysteria, we always joked about it. Only after I saw Eddie did I realize the other members of the band were also students at Hawkins High School, I was sure I had seen them sitting at the so-called geeks' table in the cafeteria.

After the show, my friends and I went round the back of the bar to congratulate the band on a great show. We found the members of Corroded Coffin loading their gear onto the back of a van. Eddie caught my sight as he moved his long hair out of his face with a swift movement and bent down to pick up a guitar amp. I could tell it was really heavy by the way the muscles on his arms tensed and his veins swelled. “What. A. Performance. Guys, you were great,” Aileen said, applauding cheerfully. Eddie turned towards us with a beaming smile on his face, radiating confidence and charisma despite his exhaustion from the show. Drops of sweat were slowly running down his neck, and for some reason, I couldn’t look away. “You’re the best band that has ever played here,” I said. “Yeah, we always come here and we’ve never heard anything better,” Slater was quick to add. Eddie approached us with his hand extended in front of him “Thank you, I hope we can play here again soon, there was such a great crowd tonight!” he said, as he shook our hands. When he went to shake mine, though, he furrowed his brow, a bit confused. “Have we met before sweetheart? You look familiar,” he asked. “Well, I know you from high school, you’re the notorious Eddie Munson,” I replied. His confident mood seemed to wither, suddenly retracting within himself. “Oh right, yes, I know who you are… I’ve seen you around school. I didn’t know anyone from Hawkins High School frequented this bar. Um… well, glad you enjoyed the show, see you around”. As he said this, he turned around and quickly got on the band’s van, closing the door behind him. My friends hadn’t noticed the change in his attitude as they had distanced themselves a few paces to smoke.

When we got in Slater’s van, my friends and I silently looked at each other in disbelief. So, scary, intimidating, seemingly unapproachable Eddie Munson was the charismatic frontman of a heavy metal band. We joked about it being a case of multiple personality disorder but quickly moved on to other trivial things. However, his strange attitude stayed with me, not only for the rest of the drive home but for the rest of the weekend. Why had he suddenly become so flustered?

3

Monday morning. I was getting ready for school but still thinking about what had happened on Friday. I couldn’t get Eddie out of my mind, how he had looked playing guitar, how charismatic he’d been, the warmth of his hand when I shook it, his deep brown eyes staring confusedly at me. It felt exciting to think about him, as if I was an explorer who had made a paradigm-shifting discovery. Still, I didn’t understand why he put up an act at school, always showing himself as a tough guy, someone you wouldn’t want to mess with, an authority-defying freak; when in reality he kept hidden a completely different side to his personality. 

Walking to class along the corridors at school, I noticed I was looking at everyone I found on my way, subconsciously expecting to meet Eddie if only to say hi to him. After the school day ended, I felt frustrated because I hadn’t seen him at all, which in turn made me feel appalled at how much my mood depended on seeing him or not. As a result, I resolved to forget about him. So, I wouldn’t be able to uncover the great mystery that is Munson’s personality. Big deal. We'd go back to being indifferent to one another.

That afternoon, my friends and I were going to a record store to find new albums to listen to. As soon as we arrived, I put on a pair of headphones and started browsing through the piles of records. I was completely entranced by the music when I suddenly felt a tap on my shoulder. I thought it must be Aileen, so as I turned around I began to say “Aileen, look at these records I found-” but was interrupted by the sight of Eddie Munson standing there looking at me with a grin on his face. My eyes widened in embarrassment and I could feel I was blushing. I saw his mouth move but couldn’t hear a word he was saying. He motioned me to take off my headphones, which I did.

“Fancy seeing you here!” he said, with a slightly ironic undertone. “Hey, Munson”, I replied. “Oh,” he tsked, “everyone calls me Eddie”. “Okay, Eddie. It seemed like you ran off on Friday after learning we go to the same school. Were you just embarrassed you never noticed me before, yet I knew exactly who you were, or…?” “Well you can’t blame me for not having noticed you before darling”, the way he said darling made me tense my stomach, he went on: “I mean you look like you listen to, I don’t know, Phil Collins and Duran Duran, not…” he looked at the records I was holding to my chest. “Black Sabbath and Mötley Crüe. Those are great albums, by the way.” “I know, I picked them,” I said in a cocky manner.

I felt a bit offended because of his comment, but if I had to be honest he was right, the way I usually looked didn’t match my music taste or my personality at all, usually throwing on a pair of jeans and a sweater and tying my hair neatly back to go to school. It was different at the bar on Friday nights, there I could actually express myself. But I knew my life at school would be much more difficult if I expressed individuality in any way, which is why I was so quick to comply and look as average as possible. Eddie is living proof that if you are different, you’ll be judged harshly and you need to have a strong personality to withstand the humiliation the popular kids make you feel. In that respect, I can say I am a coward, but conformity sure made my life at school easier.

“Listen, about Friday… you just caught me off-guard, as I said I didn't expect people from school to go there. And you guys were being so nice about our band! People from school are dicks about everything,” he said, apologetically. “It's OK, I think I understand,” I told him. “I mean, I know what it feels like having to act differently at school than around your friends. Don't worry though, your secret's safe with me. I won't tell anyone you're not intimidating, and mean, and scary, and angry all the time," I said playfully as I counted the items on my fingers. He laughed and jokingly thanked me. He spent the rest of the afternoon with me and my friends, picking out records and discussing our favorite bands.

I was surprised at how pleasant he was to be around. I often caught myself staring at him, lost in thought, a warmness filling my stomach. But it wasn’t a crush. I felt drawn to him because of mere curiosity, maybe because he felt like danger, a bad influence, someone my parents would warn me about. Or maybe, just maybe, I was actually into him and in denial about it.

4

On Thursday, as Slater and I were walking down one of the school’s corridors, I noticed people were acting a bit weird but decided to ignore it. Later, at the cafeteria, the geeks’ table was empty, so I asked my friends whether they knew what that was about. “Haven’t you heard? Yesterday during the game, a fire broke out in the theater room, where Hellfire was holding a meeting,” Slater told me. “Is everyone okay?” I said with slight desperation. “Yeah, they’re fine. They just got suspended”, he answered nonchalantly. Aileen started to ramble about how if our team had won the basketball game, people wouldn’t even care about the fire, but since we lost, the jocks were on a witch hunt to redirect everyone’s negative emotions towards the freaks from the ‘satanic cult’ instead of their perfect team. They succeeded, and Hellfire was banned. “Hold on, banned? Eddie must be devastated. We should invite him to the bar on Friday with us,” I said. “Can't they just get together at someone’s house to play D&D? Besides, why do you suddenly care about Munson?” Slater replied with a questioning look on his face. The tone of the question made me choke on my food, I started coughing and my eyes got watery. I quickly recovered, however. Aileen put her hand on my shoulder, giving Slater a menacing glance. “You’re right, it would be a nice gesture. Slater, since you’re the only one of us that owns a van, you’ll swing by his trailer after school and invite him. Won’t you, Slater?” He wouldn’t answer, so she kicked him in the shin under the table. “Okay, okay, jeez!” he blurted out. “I’ll go, no need to get aggressive about it.”

That Friday at the bar, we welcomed Eddie into our usual booth and drank beer. “How do you manage to get a booth every weekend? This place is always full,” Eddie asked. “Well, I guess one could say I have friends in high places,” Aileen said. The conversation eventually made its way toward the club’s abolition. “I mean, without Hellfire how am I supposed to bring fantasy into the mundane lives of a bunch of high school students? Why shan’t there be escapism for a poor, tortured soul like mine?” Eddie was drunkenly rambling on, clearly joking about the situation even though I could tell that deep down he was upset. He loved that club, and stupid small-town paranoia (and a little accidental fire) had taken it away from him. “By the way,” I said, “how did the fire get started?” “Uh, I don’t really wanna talk about it, let’s say someone did something stupid trying to show off and the whole group took the blame,” Eddie said, clearly implying it was one of the freshmen’s fault. “Look on the bright side, Munson,” Aileen said, “at least now you won’t be cataloged as a satanic cult leader, that’s gotta count for something.” Slater added: “You need to stop moping, man. Go listen to some heavy metal.” “Now that’s an idea!” Eddie practically shouted and stood up so fast that he almost fell. 

He hadn’t drunk so many beers, but he clearly felt tipsy as he put an arm around Slater’s shoulders and the other around mine to steady himself. The smell of alcohol in his breath made me think he had already been drinking something stronger before even arriving at the bar. We went to the basement like that, though it was a bit hard to squeeze down the stairs. The place was packed and the music was good (though not as good as Corroded Coffin’s). The basement was always so dark you could see nothing except for the stage, but I knew Eddie was standing next to me as we jumped and shouted. He was so close I could feel his sweaty skin against mine, and some of his hair got into my mouth when he headbanged. 

After a few songs, my face started getting hotter and hotter, my ears felt like they were on fire and I couldn’t hear a thing. Everything suddenly went black. When I woke up it took me a few moments to find my bearings, but as I started coming to my senses I realized I was laying on the curb in the parking lot with my back on the ground, and Eddie was holding my legs up, one to each side of his body, so the blood would flow to my head. Thank God I was wearing jeans and not a skirt, otherwise, this would have been awkward. “You woke up! Are you okay? Holy shit, you collapsed on the floor and we got you out here for some cool air. I was so scared, I mean, we were all scared, your friends went to find you some cold water. Are you feeling better?” I had never seen Eddie be so garrulous before. “I’m okay, you can let my legs down now,” I replied. He gently put them down and helped me sit up. He sat next to me. “You can rest your head on my shoulder if you want.” I took up his offer, immediately feeling a warm tingling in my stomach. “Does this happen often?” he asked. “Not really, but it’s happened enough times for me to know it’s nothing serious. There were probably too many people and too little oxygen in that basement. Thank you, by the way.” “Don’t thank me, sweetheart, I should have noticed you weren’t feeling well before you fainted.” Before I could reassure him, he continued: “Sometimes I let my problems swell up until they explode, and then I forget there are other people around me who are also dealing with their own shit.” We stayed like that, in silence, for a few minutes until Slater and Aileen returned with some water.

On the drive home, we had to make a stop along the way so Eddie could puke on the side of the road. When we dropped him off at the trailer park, he suggested we all watch a movie together on Sunday, which we agreed to. Once he was gone, Slater said: “So… I guess we’re friends with Munson now?”

5

“Don’t let her choose the film or we’ll end up bored to death watching some old silent Russian film or something” Slater told Eddie, as we browsed through the Family Video aisles for a film to watch that evening. “I would have never guessed you were a film snob,” Eddie turned to me, with a quizzical look. “I am not! Don’t listen to Slater. I just think we could all learn something from the classics, you know, Godard, Fellini, Eisenstein���” Slater pretended to fall asleep and Aileen laughed at his antics. “She’s not a film snob, more of a film dork,” Aileen said. “I mean she can go on and on about aspect ratios and focal lengths and a bunch of technical things I don’t understand.” Eddie turned to me: “So, I guess you wouldn’t enjoy popular films like Star Wars or Back to the Future?” “On the contrary, The Empire Strikes Back is one of my top ten films,” I replied. By the way in which he was smiling at me, I could tell he was a big science fiction fan, which made sense since he also enjoyed fantasy. “We could re-watch Pretty in Pink,” Aileen said, to which the rest of us immediately opposed. We ended up settling on a horror film with elements of science fiction none of us had heard of before, and which actually seemed terrible. Since we couldn’t reach a consensus on what would be a good film to watch, we decided to rent a really bad film which we could, at least, laugh at.

Eddie and I walked up to the counter to rent the film and were greeted by Steve Harrington. “I don’t think anyone’s rented this one before,” Steve told us. I frequented Family Video, as I tried to watch as many films as I possibly could, and knew Steve as he had attempted to flirt with me a few times, however, I was quick to shut him down. He simply wasn’t my type. Not that I have a type in particular, but if I did it would be far from Steve. Another employee, a shorthaired girl named Robin, had her legs propped up on the counter and was singing along to a Blondie song that was playing through the store. While Steve was ringing up the VHS, I asked Eddie what his favorite film was. “Is it a trick question? I’m scared I’ll say the wrong film and you’ll judge me.” “I would never judge you, especially not over something as trivial. Never mind,” I said. “No, wait, I was just joking,” Eddie laughed. “Hmm… I guess I can’t pick a favorite movie, but the one I’ve watched more times is Mean Streets. Heard of it?” I opened my mouth in astonishment “Heard of it? Scorsese is the greatest American director!” I replied. His eyes were shining excitedly at my words. If you asked me, it seemed as if my approval was important to him.

When we arrived at Eddie’s trailer, he welcomed us by saying: “This is where I live. If you find a cockroach, please kill it,” which I thought was very in character. Aileen opened the fridge, claiming she was starving, only to find a jar of mayo and some rancid butter. She eventually found a packet of crackers in one of the cupboards, though. While Eddie was putting the film on, we all sat down; Slater and Aileen on the loveseat in front of the tv, and me on an armchair next to them, with my legs crossed and without my feet touching the ground. As there was nowhere left for Eddie to sit, he simply plopped down in front of my armchair, resting his back against it.

The movie, which was supposed to be scary, was so terribly done that it had us laughing on the verge of tears and mocking every bad decision the characters made. The monsters were the highlight of the film: they were the cheapest, most atrocious puppets we’d ever seen. By the second act, the film was dragging and I could tell we were all bored. I think Slater had fallen asleep and was snoring faintly. My eyes wandered away from the screen and down towards Eddie’s head, which was right in front of me. His curls looked incredibly soft by the glow of the TV. I bet they felt just as soft as they looked. One thought entered my head and, all of a sudden, I couldn’t think about anything else: if I simply extended my arm, I could play with his hair. My cheeks immediately reddened, though nobody apart from me could tell, as it was very dark. Without realizing what I was doing, I reached out and placed my hand on his head, twisting a strand of hair between my fingers. Eddie tensed his shoulders nervously at first, as he probably wasn’t expecting me to do that, but proceeded to relax. I kept playing with his hair for a while longer, during which time my heart beat incredibly fast. When I removed my hand, he turned his head to look at me, grinning, and immediately turned to look at the TV again.

After the movie ended, we ordered a pizza and smoked some weed, courtesy of Eddie. I felt I had never laughed so much in my life. Afterward, Slater dropped me off at home and I went to bed, however, I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about Eddie, about his eyes, and his hair, and the way he smells, and his smile, and his stupid jokes. I can’t believe I’m admitting to this, but I think I have a crush on Eddie Munson.

6

After what happened on Sunday during the movie, I was a bit scared things would be awkward between Eddie and me. However, I was relieved when he greeted me as usual at school on Monday. “I was thinking you could sit at our table for lunch, I mean, if you want to, of course. Invite Slater and Aileen too,” Eddie suggested. I took him up on his offer, and we started sitting together at lunch. It was nice to meet his friends, a few of them members of Corroded Coffin, most of them former members of Hellfire. Eddie’s behavior at the cafeteria was very different from how he acted when we hung out outside of school. He’d provoke the jocks and, at times, pretend to be deranged just to incite a reaction from onlookers. I could tell it was all just a big game to him; he lived for these dramatics. He either didn’t realize that it would be reasonable for people who didn’t know the real Eddie Munson to consider him a freak, or he simply didn’t care.

A few weeks later, one Wednesday right after lunch, I was walking to class along a corridor when Eddie ran out of the cafeteria to catch up with me and tapped my shoulder. I turned to look at him and he held his index finger up, indicating he had something to say as soon as he could catch his breath; he was bent over and panting exhaustedly. “I… am… never… running again,” he said, drawing breath between words. “I’d tell you to take your time, but I really can’t be late to class,” I said. “Okay, hear me out sweetheart, it’s just a minute. As you may or may not know, Hellfire has been meeting secretly at Wheeler’s basement since it was banned. We’re short a player for today’s game because Sinclair has something to do with his basketball friends I think, so… what do you say, wanna join us?” he must have sensed I would refuse from the apologetic look I gave him, so he quickly added: “It’s okay if you don’t know how to play D&D, I’ll teach you the basics before we start. Please join us, do it for me?” I couldn’t resist his stupid puppy eyes and so I agreed. He jumped and waved his arms in excitement, and he had the brightest smile as he thanked me.

I rang the bell at Mike’s house and Nancy opened the door. She looked surprised to see me there. “Hi, I’m here to play D&D,” I said, a bit unsure. “Eddie invited me.” “Oh, I didn’t know you were part of the club. Come in,” she said in a confused manner and stepped out of the doorway to let me through. Eddie came out of the kitchen to greet me “Hey, I heard you arrive!” He gave me the warmest hug. “By the way, what was that about with Wheeler’s sister?” “Oh um… we’re both at the school paper, you know, The Weekly Streak. I mean, she’s an editor and I’m a photographer. It’s a bit awkward being here since she’s sort of my boss.” “You never told me you were a photographer! Of course, it makes sense, with your passion for cinematography.” I helped Eddie carry some food into the basement.

“Everyone, let’s welcome our new player,” Eddie said, making me feel embarrassed. He walked me through the basics of the game while the rest of the guys were setting everything up. “I almost forgot!” Eddie jumped from his seat and returned with a paper bag. “Open it, it’s for you,” he said, handing me the bag. Inside was a Hellfire T-shirt. He started explaining: “look, this was all very last minute and I didn’t have time to make one your size, that’s just one of my T-shirts, but it’s clean. Uh, I understand if you don’t want to wear it though.” I answered him by putting the T-shirt on over my own clothes. It was a bit big for me but it didn’t matter. It smelled of laundry detergent mixed with Eddie’s own characteristic yet indescribable scent. It drove me wild with yearning.

I tried to play as best as I could, though I didn’t understand much of the game. Eddie was dungeon master, and I often found myself staring at him, in particular at his hands and the rings on his fingers. I had never actually focused on them, but now I did, taking in every curve and fold of the skin, the shape of his fingernails, his knuckles whitening as he made fists, indicating concentration. It was a lot of fun being let into this world of fantasy, and by the end of the game I was a bit sad it was over.

We had played for quite a long time, which I hadn’t realized as it went by so fast. Eddie offered to walk me home so he could make sure I arrived safely, and even though I didn’t want to inconvenience him, he insisted. My house was just a few blocks over. We walked in silence, taking in the cold air of the night. “I had a lot of fun tonight, thanks for inviting me,” I said, as we got to my front porch. “Thanks for being there, sweetheart. Actually, I wanted to tell you that if you ever want to join Hellfire, our doors are open. You were amazing today,” “Beginner’s luck,” I said. He chuckled and said: “and, if you join, you’d have a T-shirt your size” “Oh I forgot to give you your T-shirt back, sorry” As I was about to take it off, he interrupted me. “It’s okay, keep it. Looks better on you than it does on me anyway.” We were both smiling and staring deeply into each other’s eyes. Eddie took a step forward. He was very close. His eyes wandered from my eyes to my lips, and back to my eyes. My heart was beating so fast it was about to explode and I was breathing short nervous breaths. He took my face in his hands. “Can I kiss you?” he asked. I nodded. He moved his face closer to mine very slowly, and planted a soft and tender kiss on my lips. I felt warmth pass through my whole body. We looked at each other and smiled like a pair of idiots. I had never felt such bliss. This was the beginning of something new and exciting for us.

Epilogue

Two months later

So… Eddie and I are together now. It was a bit awkward at first because of how many people would stare at us at school, but now people’s attention has moved on to the next piece of gossip, we can finally be ourselves and feel comfortable when we’re together in public. I became Corroded Coffin’s official photographer, I go with them to every gig they manage to get (even a couple out of state!) and take a few photographs of the guys looking cool and playing with their characteristic explosive energy, which helps a lot with the publicity for the band. They’ve even had some discussions with a possible future manager, which Eddie is very excited about. I really think they’re gonna hit the big time. Also, I’ve joined Hellfire. I’m having a lot of fun just learning to play D&D.

Right now I’m laying in Eddie’s bed and he’s next to me playing his guitar, preparing for a gig they have tomorrow. Admiring him while he plays has become my favorite pastime. I wish this moment could last forever.

[michael-aftons-nonbinary-lover]

Hello :) I saw that your requests were open so i’m taking the chance now but if they aren’t feel free to ignore this by all means!!

William with a child who’s normally really quiet and shy that has been holding in everything and when they eventually can’t anymore they just scream and cry and break just a bunch of things and he kinda just lets them because he knows how much they need this? and he lets them take as much anger out that they need on him if they have to and when they finally pass out from exhaustion he just brings them to their bed?

Sorry if this is a weird as i just thought it was a nice idea :) if you’re uncomfortable with this ask due tell me.

That's it. You guys keep sending me painful asks so this is what you get>:(/lh

Smile for the Picture

-(Dad!William Afton and Afton kid!reader)-

-(Summary: the ask, eel oh eel)-

-(TW: mentions of child death and missing sibling, underaged drug use, divorce/split parents, slight religious mention)-

-(I know Crying Child doesn't have a canon name, so please pretend his name is Evan for sake of the fic. Also, sorry for any spelling/grammar mistakes, I don't wanna fix that rn🤩)-

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Everything was getting to be too much.

Your younger brother, Evan, had died last year. The devastation of his death still haunted you daily, and you had frequent nightmares about the incident. Your sister Elizabeth was still missing, probably dead in a ditch on the side of the road in some place only God knew of. Your older brother Michael was constantly high, never making time for you. Any time he did try to, he smelled like weed and was completely out of it. His eyes were always red and watery, a tired, melancholy smile sometimes gracing his face.

You wanted to slap the shit out of him just thinking about it. It wasn't fair that he got to forget his problems all the time. It was his fault Evan was dead. His fault that you and your father went to see Evan's grave once a month instead of being able to see Evan whenever you wanted to.

Speaking of your father, it felt like he was never there either. He went to work early in the morning and came home late at night, sometimes completely forgetting that you and Michael even existed and spending days at his job instead of home with his children where he needed to be.

You both needed him. Of course, Michael had given up hope that your father would come back home and give two shits very early on.

"Eventually he'll turn out just like Mom and up and fucking leave us for some big city life in New York or some shit. Here, come take a hit, it'll make you feel better."

Michael was a dumb 16 year old, but maybe you were an even dumber 15 year old.

You were just so mad and so tired. You never let anyone know that you were mad or tired or anything. It would just cause more problems for everyone you knew.

Stomping down the stairs, you went to grab a glass of water. You let yourself fumble with the tap as you waited for the glass to fill. You had just woken up from a dream about your father leaving you and your brother. Just like your mother had. You didn't want him to leave, but he kept spending more and more time away from you. What if Michael was right?

Emptying the glass, you set it gingerly on the counter, debating on filling it again. You stared at it for a while, as if it would make all your problems go away. As if the glass could make your sister return home. The small 7-year-old, would have to be around the age of 10, by now. As if the glass could make your mother return to you, make her come home and return to smothering you all in her love and warm gestures, instead of modeling and drinking wine with strange men in New York. As if the glass could make your older brother stop going to bonfire parties with his friends, only to come home at the ass crack of dawn, smelling like weed, cheap beer, and cigarettes. As if the glass could make your father love his family more than his business.

The thoughts enraged you, causing you to raise the cup over your head and throw it to the ground as hard as you could. The tempered glass shaped into a cup shattered easily, scattering a million tiny shards all over the floor.

That wasn't enough. You were still so fucking mad. As you began to pull dishes of all types out of the cupboards in which they were stored, you didn't notice your father's mauve Mercedes pull into the driveway.

You continued your rampage of blind rage, knocking over end tables, chairs, coat racks, shoe racks, and anything else that was in your way. It wasn't until you had accidentally broken the picture frame of the last sibling photo with all of you in it that you came back to your senses.

The summer of '81, when your family had taken a trip down to California. The picture was taken at Santa Monica Pier by your father, and you vividly remember him and your mother making silly faces at the four of you to get you all to pay attention to the camera. The best part of it, though, were the contents of the photo itself. It featured Evan sitting on your hip, eyes watery from lightly crying about the roller coaster Michael had made him go on. He made a brave face for the camera, laughing at both the silly faces of your parents and the kisses you had bombarded his forehead with. The then 9-year-old was small for his age, very short and seemingly malnourished compared to the other kids in his class. But he was happy, usually playing by himself anyways. Michael, being the rambunctious 13-year-old he was, held your 7-year-old sister on his shoulders, was sticking his tongue out at the camera and crossing his eyes. Elizabeth laughed from her seat on Michael's growing bones, head thrown back, a large smile evident on her face.

She had gone missing three months later. Then Evan had died two years after that, and now everything was shit. Complete and utter shit.

"NO, no no! Please, please go back! GO BACK!" you yelled, trying in vain to fix the broken frame.

"What in the bloody hell are you doing with that?"

Your head snapped towards your father's booming voice, tear-streaked face looking up at him from your place on the ground.

"Let go of that, you've hurt yourself! What are you thinking?"

A new fit of rage stormed inside of your heart, a fresh wave of tears clouding your vision.

"THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! All of this is your fault! Lizzie's gone, Evan's dead, Mom fucking left us, and it's all. YOUR. FAULT!"

Your father took light steps towards you, gently dropping to his knees and shrugging off his suit jacket.

He tore off the left sleeve, then ripped it in half, trying to quickly get his hands on a makeshift bandage.

"Come here, come here, you're all right, it's ok. Let me see your hand, please."

"NO! All of this happened because of you. I- I don't know why but it did, and it's all your fault, and it can't ever go back. WHY CAN'T WE JUST GO BACK TO HOW IT WAS? Everything hurts, Dad, I hate this. I hate this, and I hate Mom, and I hate Mike and I hate you too!"

William's felt his heart nearly stop at your words. Things like this were never supposed to happen. You were all supposed to grow, and live long, and be happy, but now his youngest two were dead, and his second eldest was crying themselves to near dehydration near the family sofa.

He pulled you into his arms, and you gave into your exhaustion quickly, loud sobs slowly turning into quiet sniffles. He rocked you gently, petting your head, and shushing you every so often.

Eventually, you passed out from crying. Michael had gotten home from tutoring in that time. Your head hurt and your hand was still bleeding. William carried you to the kitchen first, washing and bandaging your hand before it could be hurt more.

He trudged up the stairs lightly, softly opening the door to Michael's room. Mike had fallen asleep with his head on his desk, pencils digging into his cheek. William placed you gently onto Mike's bed for a moment, shaking Michael awake.

"Hm?" Michael zipped around, dazed.

"Go to sleep, grades can wait."

Mike nodded, flopping down onto the part of his bed not being occupied by you and instantly falling back asleep.

William lifted you again, carrying you back to your own room. Placing you down on your warm duvet, he tucked you in lightly, kissing your forehead and hugging you once again.

You softly hugged him back.

"Goodnight, Dad. I'm sorry I broke so much, and I'm sorry I said I hate you. I don't hate you, I-"

You cut yourself off with a sob, William patting your back once more.

"Just go to sleep for now, Sweet Pea, we'll work all this out in the morning."

You nod tiredly, laying back down and turning away.

William stood, flicking the light switch off and closing your door.

He had a lot of cleaning to do.

(sorry this is so long. Also, since I've gotten so many angsty requests, you guys finally get angst. This is my first time writing angst tho, so please be nice, ok bye!)

[slasherrabbitmadness]

Bo Sinclair x Female Reader

Sinclair College AU Part 3

Part 1 Part 2

Woo, NONCON ELEMENTS! This was written by demand. Seriously, bug me to write the AUs if you want to read them lol

Underthecut - NSFW, NONCON do not read if you do not like noncon, Dark fic, Vaginal sex, brief mention of anal, Bruises, creampie and Brief mentions of pregnancy

You shivered as Bo brought the blankets over you, cooing at how tired you must be, how you'll need all the rest you can get.

The dull ache throbbed throughout your body. Your toes hurt from curling them repeatedly, your hips hurt, from Bo's near incessant pounding and nails digging into your hips. Your breasts were sore, nipples teased and played with so long, his stubble scratched along your valley. Your neck was bruised, a feint handprint along the front mixed in with hickeys. Your lips sore and dry, lip gloss smeared around your mouth.

Dried tears over your cheeks, into your hair, onto the pillow.

"Hey, c'mon Sweets." Bo leaned in to kiss your cheek, making you squeeze your stomach in response, "Hey, you're good." He sat next to you, lightly patting your cheek, "Y'did so good for me, hm? So perfect." He leaned in, lips inches from your cheek, "Just like you've always been."

Bo looked down at you, bit his lower lip as your eyes remained vacant, body reacting out of an impulse to his touch, but emotionally wrought.

"You can rest for a lil while but then we gotta clean ya up, Sweets."

You cringed at the nickname, what was once a cute endearing term made your stomach turn.

"Rest for a bit, then we shower." Bo leaned in to kiss your temple, kissed your cheek ad a chaste kiss over your sore lips.

You curled into yourself, letting the motel blanket, stale smell, and lull you into a weak state of slumber.

Bo walked over to the chair, grabbing his crotch as he sat down, letting his chub rest against his thigh. He tapped his foot on the cheap carpeted floor. He leaned back to rummage through his stuff on the table, grabbing a joint and lighting it up.

He took a hit, leaned back. He listened, listened as the cars outside drove by, tires hissing along the wet pavement. A random dog barking, its deep thundering barks upsetting another tenant enough he heard a woman shouting for the thing to shut up.

The rain hit along the window, repeated taps along it felt commoning to Bo. The dull noise helped with his racing thoughts.

Bo wanted to curl into you, wrap his arms around you, kiss along your shoulder, laugh as you playfully reprimand him "Bo, stop! Your stubble is tickling me!" He smiled, "Bo, least you could do is just kiss me."

He coughed, smoke sputtered out through his lips. A deep hum rumbled from his chest, the image of you and him on the bed, curled into each other came so easily. Just like that one Valentine's day...

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

Bo held you in his arms, hand running up and down your back. He kissed your lips, groaning as you let him slip your tongue in.

He cupped your cheek, tilted his head to deepen the kiss. Your moans spurred him on, his thigh pushed in between your legs, spreading you out for him.

"Bo...again?" You asked in a whisper.

"You know you got another round in ya." He kissed you again as he angled his cock at your entrance, grunted as his cock head was met with your warmth. "Ah, sure feels like you're ready." He pushed in, his hands grabbing your wrists to pin them above your head.

Deep intimate strokes have you cantering into him, "Bo..."

"Daddy, c'mon you know how we do this."

"Daddy, please, I want more."

Bo pulled out all the way and bucked forward, a quiet laugh as you squirmed under him.

He picked up speed, huffing and moaning above you. Placed sloppy kisses along your neck, sucking and biting, groaning at the fresh bruises forming along the skin.

"Daddy, ah, more." You freed your wrists from his grasp and ran your hands down his back, resting your hands on his ass. You pushed him further into you, "Daddy please, deeper in me."

His cock twitched in response, "You like when Daddy fucks you? You just need me fuckin' you always."

He kissed you as you moaned in response, hands traveled to the back of his hair, fingers threading through his brown hair.

Bo's hips grew sloppy, your pussy clenched around him as he pushed in deeper and deeper. He wanted to scream out his release, get another call from the front desk. Telling him that there have been noise complaints coming from his room.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him in, his movements became shallow, you felt his cock throb within you.

Bo moaned into the kiss, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself into you. He grinned as you sobbed under him, mewling out praises, whimpering how full he was making you feel.

"Daddy, you keep coming in me, and it might just take." He wheezed, running a hand over his forehead to brush away the sweat.

"Would that be such a bad thing?" His smile fell as you gave him a mortified look.

Reality hit him, "Bo, I can't get pregnant. I'm only in my second year of University! I need my degree first. How in the hell can I have a baby? I can't afford it, I can barely afford my classes."

He groaned at your rambling, he knew you were right, knew that realistically you could never afford a baby, that a degree gave you and your children together with a better shot.

He hummed in agreement, pulled you back into him, "Shh, we'll figure it out later." He kissed your forehead, growled as you nipped at his neck.

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

Bo sat up and walked over to you on the bed, "C'mon, we need to shower now."

You remained still, eyes closed, face turning into the pillow.

Bo pulled off the blankets, a hard breath through his nose as he took you in. He lifted you into his arms, pressed kisses to the top of your head, mumbling at how sweaty you smelled and tasted.

He walked into the shitty motel bathroom, a far cry from the last time you ever shared on together on Valentine's day.

The yellow light and avocado green sink, toilet, and tub held a nasty hue.

Bo looked at himself in the mirror as he held you, his eyes held a light pink hue (the weed), bags under his eyes, his hair sticking to his forehead. He grinned taking in the bruises along his shoulders and chest. A mixture of teeth marks and fists.

He set you down, an arm around your waist to steady you.

"Okay, Sweets, gonna get you clean. How many days has it been?"

You swayed in your spot, eyes downcast.

"About five days, best to get you clean." He leaned in to place a sloppy kiss on your cheek.

He turned on the water, the steam rising up to the ceiling. "Let's step in."

The water felt euphoric on your skin, washing away the last five days of bodily fluids. Bo's dried saliva, the dried semen on your front, the bits you couldn't fully wipe off your face. The hot water kissed your bruises, a pleasant ache from the hot touch.

You stared at the yellow shower tile, steadying a breath as Bo rubbed his hands over your body. You let your mind race, let it fall into a day more pleasant thoughts.

You thought of Vincent, his arms around you, holding you close, outside the library. Tears spilled as you cursed yourself, wishing you blew off Dan to accompany Vincent. Wanted to sleep in Vincent's arms like you had been almost every night since you started dating.

"Sweets?" Bo patted your cheek, "You good?"

You snapped your attention to Bo, his thumb whipping away your tears, "Might be in the shower but your red eyes are giving you away." He kissed you, tongue running along your lips.

Bo retched back, hand raised up to his cheek, he looked at his fingers, the blood trailing down.

You held a feral look, your eyes hed a feral glare, your nails with blood being cleaned by the running hot water.

"I. Want. Vincent!" You punctuated each word. Teeth bared to the tall man in front of you. You looked through him, not taking in his baby blues, his confused expression.

Bo gave you a booming laugh, you jumped as he grabbed your wrist, "Five days of this and you still want him. I thought I could get you cock drunk on me."

Be spun you around as he pushed you against the tile. Your front pressed into the slimy uncleaned surface had you gagging.

You steadied a breath again, letting your mind race to Vincent. Not Bo poking his cock along your entrance.

"Y'know, you should be pregnant by now, I think the other whole is a little lonely." You fought back a scream.

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

Vincent ran through the campus, running up to the Flamingo dorms. He had no time to think about how silly it was that the campus dorms have animal mascots.

Brahms burst through the dorm's door. Pulling on his jacket as he scratched his stubble.

Vincent ran up to him, knowing his girlfriend was a friend of his own, "Hey, Brahms, you seen Y/n? Has your girl seen her?"

"No, Princess hasn't seen her."

Vincent would normally smirk at Brahm's nickname for his girl. It was fitting, Brahms did treat her like a Princess. The gifts, the lavish vacation he took her on, she was even invited to a family wedding.

"She did mention that she has yet to get ahold of her though, apparently Dan is upset that they missed their study dates."

Vincent slapped his leg in frustration.

"I haven't seen her in five days. I've talked with my brother but I haven't seen him either." Vincent breathed in heavily, he staggered back.

Brahms reached for him, steadying his friend, "Bo probably took her."

Vincent's eye went wide.

"I mean, think about it, is it that hard to get to that conclusion. You fuck her, start dating her, flaunt how good you've both been to each other. Bo's always been, Bo. Masking his insecurity with macho bravado, hitting on pretty girls, and when they take the low-hanging fruit it fuels his ego. For a day, at least. And the one girl who managed to escape his low-level bullshit falls into his brother's arms, of course, he's pissed."

Vincent clenched his fist, "You justifying my brother?"

"No," Brahms stood up straight, arms over his chest, "Remember when I punched him for bugging my Princess? He tried to jump me a week later. For me," Brahms gave Vincent a cocky smile, "Was nothing. I can only imagine if he had anger towards a female."

Vincent's blood went cold at Brahms words. "Y'sure?"

"Hm, I am an actor! I observe people constantly, I am not known as the best method actor this school has ever had for nothing!" Brahms puffed up his chest, his cocky smile faded as he watched Vincent's shakes become near tremors.

"Look, Vincent, Have you been to the police, her parents, sibling? or whatever?" Brahms leaned closer to Vincent, a sympathetic hand remained on his shoulder.

"Yeah...her parents said...she sounded a little shaken up but fine. They said it was stress. The police are useless."

Brahms laughed, "When are they useful?" He frowned when Vincent shot him a glare.

"Okay, no joking, though not a joke, Look, I'll get Princess later and us three can go around asking for her, okay. I'll even ask my drama teacher to put pressure on the campus police."

Vincent nodded a weak defeated nod.

His hope had been diminishing day by day. He missed class and called into work. The past five days were spent on you, finding you, wanting you back in his arms. The sick feeling in his gut knew you were being held by him...the other half of him.

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

You sat on the bed, your clothes back over your, the warmth they offered little comfort.

"Okay, Sweets, we're gonna get going, alright?" He nudged your shoulder.

"I need to get back to class, Bo. I need to finish my degree." You said lifelessly as if on autopilot.

"You will don't worry." He kissed the crown of your head, inhaling your scent. "Sweets you smell so damn good. So clean for her Daddy."

Your throat felt tight, the urge to barf suppressed as you pinched yourself.

"Why did you cheat on me?"

Bo looked down at you, head cocked, "Cheat on you?"

"Yes."

"I never cheated on you."

"Don't fucking lie to me, Bo!"

He stepped back, hand running over his bandaged cheek. He composed himself, leaning over you, "You better watch your tone." He growled.

The past five days had gotten to you, a resentment, and anger bubbled to the surface, "You date me, Cheat on me, on valentine's day. And you expect me to never be angry, never be upset. And you get mad when I cheat on you. fuck you, Bo. I meant nothing to you. You're nothing to me."

You screamed as Bo shoved you down onto the bed, his large hands pressed hard into your arms, he huffed above you, "Nothing to me? Did I not just spend the last five days lovin' you? Being intimate with you? Shared the most wonderful experience two people together could experience together?"

He shook you as you failed to answer, "Hm? That Valentine's day meant everything to you. This meant everything to you." Bo kissed your tears, gritted his teeth and he shook your head under him.

Bo cheated, he knew this. Knew why he cheated. Self-sabotage as always.

How could someone so sweet, caring, friendly, and loving as you fall for him, why would you? Bo was awful, downright awful, his own parents even said so.

"You'll see, Sweets, you'll see our love grow within you."

You sobbed under him, you murmured Vincent's name, repeating it over and over, as if you said it enough he'd burst through the door, saving you from Bo's hell.

[toonblabbers]

Getting High with the Bois (part 2)

Warnings: recreational drug use, sex under the influence, alcohol mention, orgasm denial, Dom/sub undertones, choking, cockwarming, spanking, light name calling, cumming untouched, multiple orgasms

Pairings: Matsukawa x Hanamaki x GN! Reader, Sakusa x Atsumu x GN! Reader

Rating: M (Mature)

Find part 1 here

Hanamaki and Matsukawa

·         The chilliest duo to get high with, but be warned: they can out smoke you so please know your limit

·         Honestly not much changes about them. They have the highest tolerance to THC because they’ve been smoking the longest of anyone. Even back in high school they indulged a little bit during the off season of volleyball and during finals

·         They even knock back a few beers after you all had a hefty dinner of cheap takeout and convenience store snacks. Can’t be crossfaded on an empty stomach

·         Sometimes they’ll invite Oikawa and Iwaizumi over for a smoke sesh, but it’s rare enough when they’re all in town at the same time

·         Usually they’ll just throw on a movie or play some video games to pass the time with you in one of their laps

·         They do love to spoil you as much as they tease you so be ready for the one or the other, or even both at the same time

·         Mattsun already looks tired and his eyelids set even lower when he’s feeling a really good high. You and Hanamaki like to tease him saying he’s an old man or that its past his bedtime even though he almost always works graveyard and night shifts at his job

·         Mattsun simply grunts in response or smirks, knowing he’ll get back at you both eventually

·         Hanamaki is the schemer though. He’s either messing with you or egging you on to go mess with Mattsun. He just loves to hear you whine and take a swing at him. It gives him an excuse to pull you close and get back at you tenfold

The sound of your character dying on screen for the nth time was barely heard over your soft whine that turned into a moan when a heavy hand smacked your ass. You were currently situated on Mattsun’s lap with his fat cock buried deep inside of you, your thighs stretched open over his long legs and controller visibly shaking in your hands. You had just got finished getting fucked by Hanamaki, but you didn’t get to cum yet as “punishment” for distracting him from his game. Now you were forced to sit on Mattsun’s much larger and fatter cock as punishment for accidentally calling Makki “Daddy” during your haze. You wouldn’t get to cum until you beat the level on screen. Nothing you did would sway Mattsun into fucking you like you wanted either. Every grind of your hips or clenching of your core earned you a swift smack on your aching cheeks or your thighs. Even looking back at him with teary puppy eyes and calling out to him would only get you a deep chuckle from him along your nipples pinched and pulled.

“What’s the matter pretty baby? I thought you wanted to play this game so badly? That’s why you distracted me right?” Makki’s teased, his fist slowly stroking his still sensitive dick, but he was cut short by Mattsun looking over at him with a wide smirk.

“Don’t get too arrogant Makki. You’ll be choking on this cock next once I’m done with them”

Makki choked down a moan as he involuntarily squeezed the base of his cock. He wasn’t the only one affected however. The thought of Makki’s lips wrapped around Mattsun’s cock still coated in your juices with tears streaming down his cheeks was enough to make you clench hard around Mattsun. Both of you let out a shuddering moan, the hands on your hips tightening. Suddenly a hand wrapped firmly around your throat and you were pulled back against Mattsun’s chest, his voice ringing deep into your ear. You could practically hear the devilish smirk in his voice

“Oh now you’re really gonna pay for that my little cock slut. Better hold tight.”

~~~~~~~~~

Atsumu and Sakusa

·         Interesting duo right? It actually took some convincing for either of them to get high with you. Especially Sakusa.

·         For Atsumu, he was actually against doing anything that could tarnish his reputation of mess with his mind and body he worked so hard on

·         It took seeing you getting all snuggly with his brother behind Onigiri Miya and sharing a joint that got him to try it

·         Now he only smokes a little during the off season in the safety of his high rise apartment. Sometimes he’ll have an edible his brother made after a really stressful match or bad interview

·         He stays at his place and smokes only with you because, surprise surprise, Atsumu is touchier and clingier than his brother. Like he’ll actually whine and make grabby hands at you. Just let him play with your chest like a squeeze toy and he’ll shut up

·         Sakusa on the other hand has never gotten high nor has he ever thought about it. He was one of those pompous people that associated smoking with trashy, disgusting behavior

·         It took a lot of pleading and bargaining form both you and Atsumu to get him to join you guys. Then Atsumu pointed out that Sakusa was always staring at you 2 when you both left together in Atsumu’s car, giggling about the fun you’d get up to that night. Now that even a hint of blackmail was involved, Sakusa was game

·         The first time Sakusa got high, you’ve never seen him so relaxed and expressive and…mouthy. Like his filter was nonexistent once the THC settled in. From spewing insults at people he complained about to his favorite kinks, he just let it all out. With a smile on his face no less! The next day you swore to every Deity in existence to never share the pictures you took with anyone else or so help you. A threat like that from Sakusa was not to be taken lightly

Atsumu couldn’t believe even if it was right in front of his face; which it was. One of his hottest fantasies actually happening before his eyes. He swears he could die a happy man right now with what he was watching: both you and Sakusa, 2 of the hottest people he’s ever seen together, slobbering and mewling over his dick to get a second load of his cum in their waiting mouths. 

He was first ready to blow his load in his pants when he came back from the bathroom and saw you and Sakusa making out, touching each other over your clothes. The second time he was ready to blow was when he sat down in the armchair across from the couch and saw Sakusa open his eyes to stare at him intensely while kissing you. Sakusa deepened the kiss then coaxed your tongue out so Atsumu could see his tongue swirl and mesh together with yours; a mix of your saliva dribbling down your chins. The third time he almost lost it was when he watch you both strip down to just your underwear and began to rub yourselves against his body whispering in his ears about how much you both want his cock. The moment both you and Sakusa slide down to your knees and pulled off Atsumu’s sweatpants and underwear, he came. Hard. You both watch as his taunt abs were paints white by thick ropes of cum. Atsumu could’ve sworn he just had a weed induced wet dream, but he was proven wrong when he felt 2 warm and wet tongue lick up his cum from his stomach and then move to give kitten licks to his overly sensitive tip.

”’Tsumu” the sweet melody of your voice made him look at you both; you gently wrapping your fingers around his still soft length and Sakusa who was nuzzling his nose against Atsumu’s balls.

“Please ‘Tsumu. Please come in our mouths. You taste so good”

You smiled when you felt his cock pulse to life in your grip then shifted to give Sakusa a little more room to work. Sakusa stared deep into Atsumu’s eyes, pleading with an adorable blush on his cheeks. He even added on a small “please Atsumu”. As soon as he got permission, Sakusa swallowed him down to the hilt causing Atsumu to let out a loud whimper, his whole body shuddering from sensitivity. He was completely at your and Sakusa’s mercy tonight and if he thought you’d both be satisfied with him cumming on your faces, then he’s in for a very long night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Admin note: nothing like being high and horny, amiright boys?... Anywaaay I felt like this was kind ooc for Sakusa, but this was purely self indulgent so who cares? Hope you guys enjoyed reading. If you have other Haikyuu duos you’d think would be fun to get high with, let me know!

Taglist: @chaotickatts​ (send me a dm if you want to be added)

[honeyxmonkey]

Douxie grunted when the man smacked him, taking in a heavy breath as he played up the pain. He'd taken worse hits, but right now he just needed this to look believable.

"This is not how I wanted this evening to go." The old man said, pacing in front of the younger man, glancing down at him with what Douxie could only peg as smugness.

"I know how you wanted this evening to go." Douxie retorted, tasting blood in his mouth from all the punches to the face he'd taken earlier. "Trust me, this is better."

The man chuckled, shaking his head with an amused smile. "Who are you working for?" He asked, a more serious tone taking to his voice. "Doerr, yes?"

One of the man's lackeys stepped forward, grabbing onto the chair he was tied to and tipping it back, threatening a nasty fall onto the ground many stories below.

"Does he think," the man said, stalking around in front of the boy, hands held behind his back with an air of regal arrogance Douxie didn't see in most men. "We have to go through him to move our cargo?"

Douxie feigned incompetence, looking surprised at him. "I thought the General is in charge of export business?" He asked innocently, confusedly, playing them like the cheap dollar store kazoos they were.

The man laughed, as if he found the boy's stupidity amusing. He probably did. "The General? He's nothing but a bagman, a front if you will." He stopped in front of him, chuckling. "The famous Shepherd of Fire." He said, leaning in front of the boy for a moment, looking amused. "So disappointing that you're just another pretty face."

Douxie couldn't help a sarcastic smirk. "You think I'm pretty?"

The man rolled his eyes, but the amused smile remained. "Tell Doerr," He said as he walked away again, slowly making his way to a table full of tools, the nameless lackeys grabbing Douxie by the face and holding him still. "That we don't need him to the move the tanks. Tell him he's out. Well..." He looked at the boy with a wicked grin, holding what looked to be the object he intended to torture the young man with. "You may have to write it down."

The intensity of the moment was broken when one of the mens' phones began to ring. They looked at eachother in confusion.

The man picked up the phone, brows furrowing together at whoever was on the other side of the line. He looked at his boss quizzically. "Its for the boy."

The elder dropped what he was holding, snatching the phone. "I don't know who you think you're dealing with-"

"You're at 1-14 Silenzky Plaza, 3rd floor."

Douxie watched curiously as the man listened to whoever was on the line.

"We have an F-22 exactly eight miles out. Put the kid on the phone or I will blow up the block before you can make the lobby."

With terrified apprehension, the man slowly approached Douxie and handed him the phone. Douxie held it to his ear with his shoulder.

"We need you to come in."

Ah, Jim.

"Are you kidding? I'm working." Douxie hissed into the speaker.

"This is important."

"Im in the middle of an interrogation." Douxie said, glancing around the room, a little smug to see that they were all confused at his nonchalantness. "This bloody moron is giving me everything."

"I dont... give everything." The old man said, looking at his lackeys with confusion.

Douxie gave him a look before turning his attention back to the phone. "Look, you can't pull me out of this right now-"

"Douxie." Jim sounded... tired? Scared even? "Claire's been compromised."

At that Douxie stopped arguing, feeling absolute rage rising in him. "Let me put you on hold."

He glanced up at the old man, waiting for him to take the phone before he kicked him right in the balls, sending him to the floor. He broke out of his bonds, using the chair to smack the other men in the faces.

It didn't take him long, just a few more punches and a kick or two to the gronknuts and the rest of the lackeys were unconscious on the floor.

The leader got up after a moment but was quickly unconscious too when Douxie hit him over the head with a broken chair leg.

"That was a disappointing fight." Douxie huffed, picking the phone up again along with his staff which had been confiscated when the man had grabbed him, although they hadn't known what it was or what it was for, which had been the plan. "So what's happened?" He asked, casually walking away from the unconscious bodies.

"I'll explain when you get here, just make it back as soon as you can." Was all Jim had the time to say before the phone line went dead.

"I leave for one year and they get themselves into trouble." Douxie muttered under his breath, chucking the phone behind him.

He had hoped that they'd be able to get along without him for a little longer this time, atleast hoping there'd be no world ending catastrophe. After all, they were all young adults now, they didn't need him babysitting 24/7. After the titans and the Arcane Order, they'd all agreed to stay in Arcadia, the kids finishing up school and Douxie sticking around for a bit longer while they figured out the team dynamic. The Guardians of Arcadia, that's what Toby started calling them officially, were now an actual team with a headquarters and everything, keeping magical and human evils alike from doing anymore harm to the world.

Jim had naturally taken up a leadership role for the team and for the last few years everything had been running smoothly. So smoothly in fact that Douxie felt confident they could fair without him for a while.

He had gone to weed out some corrupt wizards from a few larger mafias around the world, but he got caught in between a human run mob war, which had led to that predicament. But he'd been having fun with it, fooling them and taking them out from the inside.

But now... he was worried about what had happened to his sister. After all, a year is a long time to be apart from friends you used to see everyday. He didn't know how much had changed, or what he was diving headfirst into. Not that he cared. That was his team, he'd do anything for them.