#today was a mess for me and I need to sleep

[sturniphone]

── ⌗ older!matt . . . bunny!reader

❛ bunny (finally) squirts ❜

You’re curled up in Matt’s lap, giggling between kisses—his hands under your thighs, his lips chasing yours like he hasn’t tasted you in days. The apartment is quiet except for the soft hum of the TV and the sound of your shared breaths. His hoodie swallows you whole, sleeves draping past your fingertips, your body tucked against his like a secret.

He’s older, sure, and it shows in everything he does. The way he talks. The way he touches you. Confident, measured, with a quiet kind of intensity that always makes your stomach flutter. His hands are warm and broad, rubbing lazy circles into your hips, teasing the hem of your tiny sleep shorts.

❝You’re my good girl, yeah?❞ he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and thick with want. You nod, a shy smile curling your mouth, your cheeks heating as you bite your lip. He grins at that, smug and sweet all at once, and presses another kiss to your jaw. Then another. And another—softer, slower, until your lashes are fluttering and your thighs are squirming in his lap.

Matt slips one hand between your thighs, stroking you over the damp cotton of your panties. You jolt, whimpering against his mouth. He groans at the heat, the slick, already soaking through the fabric.

❝So wet already, bunny. You’re really sensitive today, huh?❞ Your only answer is a quiet gasp as his fingers dip under the waistband, finding your bare, puffy folds. His fingertips drag through your slick, teasing your clit before dipping down, down, then back up slow and steady. His mouth never stops moving against your neck.

❝God, sweetheart, you feel so fuckin' good,❞ he breathes, his fingers circling your clit with practiced ease. You clutch at his hoodie, burying your face in his shoulder. Your moans are high and desperate, barely contained, every nerve ending buzzing. And when he slides one long finger inside you, slow and deep, your hips buck forward. He groans again, low and deep in his chest.

❝Fuck… tight little hole,❞ he murmurs, almost to himself. ❝Clenching around me already. You want it that bad, huh?❞ He adds another finger, scissoring gently, curling just right—and your moan is almost pornographic. He swallows it in a kiss, tongue slipping into your mouth, the taste of him as dizzying as the pressure building between your legs. He was hitting that little spongey part real deep inside you.

Then something shifts. The pressure coils tight, sharper and deeper than before. You gasp, panic fluttering in your chest, your thighs starting to tremble. ❝Matt—wait, I feel like I have to—❞ But it’s too late. It hits like lightning—white-hot, devastating. Your hips jerk, your cunt clenches down hard around his fingers, and then you're gushing. A hot, frantic rush that soaks everything... his hand, his hoodie, his lap. You’re sobbing, shaking violently, your whole body collapsing into him as the orgasm tears through you, brutal and blinding.

❝Oh my god—❞ you choke, breath hitching, face buried in the crook of his neck, ❝Did I pee?❞ You're mortified, trembling, and confused, but Matt’s already laughing softly, the smuggest sound you’ve ever heard, hand still stroking you through every pulse.

He's so cocky and proud and already hard as a rock beneath you. ❝No, baby. You squirted. That was you. Fuck, that was so hot.❞ He pulls his hand back just enough to watch your slick drip down his fingers, then kisses your temple. ❝You made a fuckin' mess on me. And now? Now I need to see that again.❞ You squeak when he flips you onto your back, stripping off his sweats in one fluid motion. His cock is thick, flushed, glistening at the tip. Your eyes widen.

❝Don’t hide now, bunny,❞ he whispers, crawling over you. ❝Daddy wants to see you fall apart again.❞ He pushes your knees up, pressing your thighs together and folding them toward your chest until your body curves beneath him. Mating press. Your cunt is soaked, swollen, aching—his cock heavy and thick as it drags through your folds, catching right where you’re puffy and sensitive. He doesn’t even need to look down to line himself up. Your slick is everywhere, dripping down your thighs, coating the base of his shaft.

You gasp when the head notches at your entrance. You're already stretched, and he hasn't even moved. Then he slides in. Inch by inch. Deep. Deeper. Until he bottoms out and your back arches from the burn, hands scrabbling at the couch cushions. ❝Fuuuuck… you’re so tight, bunny. So wet I can barely move,❞ he groans, his voice cracking.

Your walls pulse around him, fluttering with every breath, every twitch of his cock inside you. You feel split open, stretched to your limits, your little hole hugging him like it never wants to let go.

Matt holds your legs together with one arm, the pressure of the press making you tighter—more sensitive—his other hand slipping between your bodies to rub your clit with obscene precision.

He fucks you slowly. Deliberate. Every thrust grinds into your spongey spot. You cry out, head tilting back, mouth falling open. ❝That’s it, baby. Let it take you. Let me feel you.❞ He’s relentless, cock dragging in and out of your slick heat, the wet sounds filling the room, pornographic. Your cunt clenches around him, messy and desperate.

❝Oh god, Matt—❞ you sob, voice high and breathless. He presses deeper. Harder. You squirt. The release is violent. Wet. A gush that splashes against his abdomen and thighs. He groans loudly, biting your neck. ❝Jesus… fuck. Look at that. You’re squirting for me, bunny. Fuckin' soaking me.❞

He doesn’t let up. His cock pounds into you now, faster, the stretch burning perfectly. You’re overstimulated and slippery, crying from how intense it is. Every thrust hits that spot again, again, again, your clit swollen and throbbing under his fingers.

❝Such a good girl. Fuckin' perfect. Made to take me. Made to be full of me.❞ You cum again, vision white, back arched. Your pussy flutters, then squirts again, harder this time, gushing around his cock. Your thighs quake, body limp. Matt moans, ragged. ❝Fuck—you’re going to ruin me. Keep clenching like that and I’m going to—❞

Another squirt hits him, and that’s it. His rhythm falters, hips stuttering. He groans deep in your ear, cock throbbing as he cums hard, hot and heavy, spilling deep, flooding your cunt. Your walls pulse around him, milking every drop.

You’re sobbing, twitching, a wet mess beneath him. He stays buried inside, holding your trembling thighs up, cock still twitching in your slick, overstimulated heat. He kisses you everywhere—your cheek, your temple, your shoulder—murmuring sweet praises while you come down.

❝You did so well for me, bunny. So good. Fuck, I’ve never seen anything that sexy. ❞ Your legs are shaking. Your cunt is dripping. Your skin is slick with sweat and cum and all the mess he’s made of you. And Matt is smiling like he’s never been happier. He presses your body into his, cock still inside, still hard, like he can’t bear to let you go.

❝We’re not done, bunny. I want to feel you do that again. Wanna see how many times I can make that pretty pussy squirt for me.❞ And from the way he looks at you—like you’re his favourite sin. You believe him.

⋆˚꩜｡ lola talks . . . haha.. im having anxiety about this since so many people want it

── ʚ contacts . . . @chrepsi @ph3ebssturniolo @sturnsxbbyeilish @j21l91 @pip4444chris @mattslutt @sophand4n4 @mattscoquette @mi-co-uk @tezzzzzzzz @emely9274 @oopsiedaisydeer @theowensturniolo @httpssturns @matthewsroses @bugs-tags @mattswrinkleton @victorious8 @h3arts4nat @madz146 @ifwdominicfike @rriverscuomo @ivysturnss @brianaluvschris @mattsgold @sturniolotoast @ariieeesworld @angelicameron @blahbel668 @sturniszn @chriss-slutt @mattsdiva @little-lolaaa @mattsmoth @clairo4life @everythingaboutbags @matts-wife @chrispleasure @ajskorner @mattspillowprincess @freshlovefever @twylas114 @matties-angel @mayax2o07 @sturnsflirt @tonymayor2022 @ifellforanotherloser @sturnl0ve

⌗ © sturniphone

[mejaemin]

can i get junhui and number 16 please??

junhui + person a is upset about something, and they just want to be in person b’s arms, their safe place

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, reader is a corporate baddie getting mistreated by stinky coworkers, o.c.l. cameo, juju is a sweet healing cutiepie angel sweetheart an: idk what to say in the note of this. ALO ALO T H U N D E R ALO ALO 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 oh yeah! 700 words long! because im v passionate about bf jun being the sweetest and best at comforting u when ur upset! ALO 🔥🔥 ALO 🔥🔥

you come home from work, eyes and feet burning, and you freeze as soon as you walk into your home.

your favorite mug is shattered on the floor.

open sits right next to the pile, sitting all cutely and carelessly as if this wasn’t your final straw. the other two are nearby, also watching over the crime scene with mirth. nope nope nope, you think, kicking your shoes off and booking it to your bedroom.

it’s empty, which you could expect being that junhui’s a city over for work, but that just makes everything so much worse. before you can even begin to consider how silly your tears are, they’re falling, your head falling in your arms as you flop onto the bed.

life has been just so stressful today. your boss was being an asshole, as per usual, calling your work inadequate and such as he usually enjoys doing. on top of working extra hard to make sure yours is immaculate, nearly half of your department also piled theirs onto you, and it took nearly all your willpower to not curse the entire building out and pour coffee all over them. and then, when you come home and think about having a warm cup of tea to calm yourself, you can’t! the cats broke it! it truly feels like the universe decided to shit on you today.

just as you get ready to scream into the pillow, your phone rings. you hadn’t turned it off do not disturb so you immediately answer, knowing there’s only one person it could be.

you leave your camera facing the ceiling, head back in your arms as the voice that heals you starts leaving the speaker.

“hi, baby, you must be home now! i do have some news though.. i might be coming home late. there’s..” junhui pauses to take a breath, “there’s a lot of work to be done here. if i don’t do it now, it’ll never be finished. you know me.”

you don’t say anything. you just heave a sigh, a huge one, air hissing through your teeth as you fight the urge to ugly cry. really? the one thing, the sole person who could fix every single problem you have can’t come home to you? literally all you need right now is for him to hold you, to listen to you and talk shit with you about your coworkers, and you can’t even have that.

he calls your name softly, “..are you okay?”

you shake your head, sniffling, before remembering he can’t see you, “no,” you whisper, warbly, trying to hide your tears.

“do you need me?” he asks, all soft and reassuring like he’s ready to sprint home right now. you know he would.

“p- please..” you say, voice breaking, and then you can’t help as you start crying all over again, makeup smudged all over your face and hands.

“okay, i’ll come. as fast as i can, promise. can i see you?” he waits patiently, smiling when he can finally see your eyes at the bottom of his screen. you can see him packing his stuff up already. “why don’t you go in the kitchen, make some tea, calm yourself down while i make the drive home, okay? i’ll go as fast as i can.”

you start crying even harder, shuddering and sniffling as you try to respond. “i- i can’t, because the cats broke my mug.. and i’m sorry, i just left it there, but i really can’t- i really can’t do this right now, i’m so fucking tired and i just wanted to come home and sleep and have you be there-”

“shh, shh, okay, lovie, calm down.. i need you to go in there and clean it up, okay? if you can’t just watch over the mess for me, we don’t want the kitties getting hurt.. i’ll take care of everything as soon as i get there. i’m already in the car, see? i’ll come home and fix it, and then i’ll hold you in my arms, forever and ever. i pinkie promise.”

and you know he’s telling the truth, because a thirty minute car ride was suddenly fifteen, and he was already cleaning the mess, walking in with a new mug, and holding you in his arms as you vent to him about today’s events.

1 to 13 🏷️ @markkiatocafe @ateez-atiny380

[thepinkpanther83]

Grease And Honey (Pt.9 Final Inspection)

Chapter Nine: “Final Inspection”

Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Masterlist

Find me on AO3.

Read this story on AO3.

Previous Chapter: Chapter Eight: “Overheated Wear and Tear” Next Chapter: Chapter Ten: “Green Light”

Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘

Chapter Nine: “Final Inspection”

You didn’t hear him get out of bed. Didn’t hear the creak of the mattress or the faint shuffle of his bare feet across the hardwood. But you felt it, the subtle shift of air, the quiet hush of his absence as the morning light crept in through the slats of the blinds.

When you stirred, warm and tangled in the covers that still smelled like him, he was already perched at the edge of the bed.

Just watching you.

Elbows on his knees, hair a curtain of loose waves over his face, bare chest dappled in gold sunlight. He looked like he’d been sitting there for a while. Long enough that his coffee had gone cold in the chipped mug he held in both hands.

You blinked up at him, voice rasped with sleep. “You watching me, Munson?”

One corner of his mouth lifted in that familiar, guilty smirk, the one that meant yeah, and I’m not sorry. He didn’t look away.

“You twitch when you dream,” he murmured, like it was something he’d been meaning to tell you. “Not in a bad way. Just… little movements. Like a rabbit.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, pressing your cheek into the pillow. “Are you calling me a rabbit?”

“I’m sayin’ it’s cute, like a bunny,” he said with a shrug. “Kinda made me wanna keep you in a grass filled box with air holes.”

You huffed a laugh, even as heat crept into your cheeks. “Jesus, you’re romantic.”

“I know,” he drawled, placing the mug down on the nightstand before leaning over you, one hand braced beside your head. “It’s sickening.”

He kissed your temple, not quick or thoughtless, but slow and warm and lingering. Like he meant it. Like it meant everything.

You let him go when he got up to shower, tugging one of his old band tees over your naked body before padding barefoot into the kitchen. The shirt was soft, loose in all the right places, and smelled slightly like motor oil and detergent and him.

The coffee was already prepped and cooling, but you made it fresh again anyway, because you liked doing it. For him. Because some quiet part of you enjoyed the way his eyes softened when you handed him a hot mug with that sleepy little smile he claimed could kill a man.

He came back into the kitchen freshly showered, hair damp and curling at the ends, jeans slung low on his hips, a different tee half-tugged down his chest.

He stopped when he saw you.

Didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

Just stood there, staring like you were something he’d found at the bottom of the ocean. Something valuable. Something impossible.

“You wear my shirts better than I ever do,” he said quietly.

You smiled around the edge of your own coffee mug. “Told you I’d permanently steal your flannel next.”

He grinned, stepping forward to kiss the top of your head before pulling you into his chest with a gentle grunt.

And for a long, quiet moment, there was nothing but warmth.

No past.

No gossip.

No fear.

Just the quiet ache of two people trying not to lose something they never expected to find.

The air in the garage was thick with the usual scent of grease and engine oil, but the door was rolled halfway up, letting the early sun spill in. It softened everything, made even the mess look lived-in, homey. A fan rattled somewhere in the corner, and Wayne was off running parts, which meant it was just you and Eddie today.

You were helping reorganize the cluttered pegboard above his workbench, well, mostly handing him tools and giving unsolicited commentary while he pretended not to love every second of it.

“No one needs this many socket wrenches,” you said, holding up a rusted one with a bent handle.

“Blasphemy,” Eddie muttered, tapping it with a grease-stained finger before tossing it into the keep pile. “That one’s got character.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s got tetanus.”

He grinned at that, wiped his hands on the rag hanging from his back pocket, then reached up to hang a wrench. The movement pulled his shirt taut over his back, exposing a strip of skin above his waistband.

You were halfway to making a comment about it when his voice changed.

“Stephanie hated this place.”

The words came out quiet, almost like an afterthought. Like he hadn’t meant to say them out loud, but couldn’t help it.

You lowered the tool in your hand, your attention shifting to him fully. He kept his back to you, focused on the pegboard like it held the answer to something unspeakable.

“She used to come by sometimes,” he went on. “Wouldn’t even get out of the car most days. Just sat there, texting or whatever. Said it smelled like exhaust and failure. I was more of a musician back then, only dabbling in mechanics.”

You stepped closer, giving him space but not leaving.

“She didn’t understand why I didn’t just… get out of Hawkins. Start over somewhere else. But this place-” He gestured vaguely around the shop. “It’s the only thing I had that was mine. After everything else went to shit.”

You stayed quiet, letting him talk.

“She was smart,” he said. “Like scary smart. Career-track, had plans and a five-year outlook and all that adult shit. And I was just… the guy with the guitar and the busted knee and a ‘94 Camaro that barely ran.”

He finally looked at you. Not smiling. Just honest.

“I really loved her. Dumb, huh?”

“No,” you said softly. “Not dumb.”

His gaze dropped to the floor.

“She told me once I’d never be enough for someone long-term. That no one would stick. Not when they saw what I really was.” He gave a humorless little laugh. “Turns out, if you hear that kind of thing enough times, you start saying it to yourself. You start… living it.”

You reached for his hand, fingers brushing his until he took the cue and held yours tightly, grease and all.

“I fucked around a lot after her,” he admitted, voice rough. “Didn’t want to feel anything. Didn’t want anyone to stay. Easier to get ahead of the heartbreak, y’know?”

He gave a shrug, but it was hollow.

“Didn’t like who I turned into,” he said finally. “Still working on turning that shit around.”

You squeezed his hand.

And when he looked up again, there was something broken and hopeful in his eyes.

“I’ve been trying to figure out why you’re still here.”

You smiled softly. “Because I like socket wrenches with character.”

That pulled a real smile from him. Tired, but grateful.

You kissed his lips, gentle and warm. “And because I’m not Stephanie.”

“No,” he agreed quietly, resting his forehead against yours. “You’re not.”

You didn’t rush him.

You let the silence settle like warm air between you both, thick and thoughtful. He fiddled absently with a pair of pliers, turning them over in his hands even though there was no work to be done at the moment.

His thumb paused against the rusted joint.

“It’s just that I spent years playin’ the part,” he said finally, voice low. “Drinkin’. Acting like I didn’t give a shit about anything or anyone.”

The pliers clicked softly as he set them down.

“And the worst part is…” His jaw flexed. “People believed it. Hell, I did too. For a while.”

You didn’t look away from him. You wanted him to see your eyes when he said these things. Wanted him to know that every ugly, painful piece of him still deserved to be seen.

“I started thinkin’ maybe that was all I was ever gonna be,” he continued. “The guy who could fix your car but not your heart. The guy you hook up with once and forget about before morning.”

Your heart twisted.

“Didn’t matter how hard I worked, or how many people I helped, or how long I kept the shop afloat… once people decided I was just that… that burnout mechanic with a bad attitude and a long string of mistakes? That was it. That’s who I was.”

He looked up at you, eyes glassy, not with tears, but with fear. Honest, grown-man fear. Not of being alone, but of being too much to be loved properly. And maybe not enough to be kept.

“So yeah,” he said, a little hoarse. “I’m scared. That one day you’ll start to see me the way they do. That maybe this whole… this thing between us is just a nice detour before you come to your senses.”

You stepped forward slowly and cupped his jaw with one hand, forcing him to look at you. Your thumb brushed over the rough stubble on his cheek.

“If you were just the guy people think you are…” you whispered, “I wouldn’t be here, Eddie.”

He leaned into your touch, just slightly. Like he wasn’t sure he deserved it, but couldn’t help needing it anyway.

“You show up. You care. You try. That’s more than most people ever do.”

His hand came up to wrap gently around your wrist, holding you in place like a lifeline.

“Don’t let them poison this,” you added, voice firm now. “Not them. Not even you.”

His smile was faint, but real.

“Goddamn,” he murmured, “you’re good at this.”

“At what?”

“Seeing me,” he said. “Even when I don’t.”

Later that day, the bell above the shop door jingled, followed by the scuff of your boots against concrete. Eddie was mid-oil change, halfway under a rusted-out Buick when your voice floated in.

“I brought you something.”

He slid out from under the car, wiping his hands on a rag as he stood. “If it’s a coffee, I’ll propose marriage right now.”

“Even better,” you grinned, holding up a small cardboard box. “It’s sentimental and lowkey embarrassing.”

His brow furrowed, grease smudged across his temple. You placed the box on the workbench, opening it with a flourish.

Inside were three framed photos.

One of you two standing outside the coffee shop, your arms around his waist and your nose buried in his flannel like a walking romance cover.

Another of him under the hood of a car, caught mid-laugh by your phone camera while he threw a wrench over his shoulder dramatically.

And the last one, your favorite, was slightly blurry, accidental. A reflection in the garage window of him kissing your cheek while you made a face at the camera. Pure joy. Pure chaos. Perfectly you.

He stared down at the photos, fingers stilling on the rag.

“You wanna put these up here?” he asked, like you’d suggested hanging them in a police station.

“Damn right I do,” you said, hands on your hips. “I’m claiming my territory.”

That got a chuckle out of him, low and surprised.

“Alright then,” he muttered, plucking one of the frames from the box. “Let’s make it official.”

You helped him hang them in a corner of the office, out of the way of tools and grime but still in plain sight. Wayne passed by once, took a glance at the display, muttered something about “finally some damn decor” and kept walking.

Later that afternoon, you dragged Eddie back to the café, insisting it was his turn now.

“My picture doesn't belong in a cute-ass coffee shop,” he grumbled, but he followed anyway, wiping his hands on his jeans.

You pointed to the blank patch of wall behind the register. “That’s where it goes. Top corner.”

Eddie squinted at the frame in his hand, your favorite of the bunch, and said, “You sure this won’t scare the customers off?”

You shrugged. “If they can handle my burnt scones on Thursdays, they can handle your pretty face.”

He hung it with careful hands, tongue caught in his teeth, trying to get it straight. Then he stood back, hands on his hips, and admired it for a moment before glancing at you.

“You know this makes us real official, right?”

You didn’t answer.

You just tugged him down by his collar and kissed him in front of everyone, Callie, two college kids on laptops, a grandma sipping chai, and Lorraine who dropped a spoon in shock.

It wasn’t just a kiss.

It was a statement.

When you pulled back, Eddie looked stunned. Shy. And also a little smug.

“I’m gonna pretend that didn’t just give me a boner in public,” he muttered.

Callie cheered from the other side of the counter. “Ten outta ten, would watch again.”

You smacked Eddie’s chest with a laugh and kissed his cheek before whispering, “Get used to it, Big Ed.”

He groaned. “You really gonna resurrect that nickname right now?”

“Absolutely.”

And then he kissed you again.

Right in front of everyone.

The café was closed. The lights were low, only the glow of the hanging Edison bulbs warming the space. Outside, the street was quiet, Hawkins asleep for the night, but inside, it was just the two of you, surrounded by the soft hum of refrigeration and the ghost scent of cinnamon and roasted beans.

Eddie stood behind the counter, leaning back against it while you locked the front door and flipped the sign to CLOSED.

“You sure about this? We could just head back to my place first…” he asked, voice softer than usual. Still laced with heat, but quieter now, checking in, not charging ahead.

You turned back to him, eyes drinking him in.

“Yes,” you said, stepping closer. “I want this. I want you. All of you.”

That did something to him.

His breath hitched. His hands, calloused and stained with a lifetime of labor, trembled just a little as they reached for you, cradled your waist, then slid up your spine like he wasn’t sure you’d let him. Like touching you too fast might break the spell.

But you weren’t glass.

You pressed your body flush against his, fingers curling into the hem of his flannel. “Let me love you, Eddie.”

He swallowed hard, then nodded.

You kissed him slow this time. Not because you were trying to hold back, but because you wanted to feel everything. His lips against yours. His hands at your hips. His breath in your mouth. The low sound he made when you dragged your nails gently up the back of his neck.

His heart was beating so fast beneath your hands.

“I love you,” you whispered into the kiss. His body jolted slightly like it was the first time he’d ever heard those words and believed them.

You guided him back into the corner of the shop, behind the counter where the shadows were thicker and the world felt narrowed down to just the two of you. He sat on the stool he usually used for breaks, but this time, you climbed right onto his lap, straddling him, holding his face in your hands like it was something precious.

“Let me take care of you tonight,” you said.

He exhaled, shaky. “Sweetheart, you always do.”

You kissed him again, and this time, you poured it all in, every soft night, every flirty morning, every shared takeout dinner and stolen glance across a crowded shop. His hands found your thighs, your waist, your face. Everywhere he touched, it was gentle but needy, like he couldn’t believe this was real.

He pressed kisses to your neck, slow and savoring. “You’re so good to me,” he murmured against your skin. “You have no idea what that means.”

You reached for the buttons of his shirt and whispered, “Let me show you how I feel.”

Clothes fell away slowly this time. No frantic tugging. No breathless rush. Just steady hands and reverent touches. He stared at you like you were something divine as you undressed in front of him, his thumb tracing a path up your thigh like he was drawing constellations on your skin.

When he finally sank into you, he did it with a gasp, like the feeling of you was too big for his chest.

You rocked together gently, his forehead pressed to yours, his hands gripping your hips with just enough pressure to anchor you both.

“I love you,” you whispered again. “You’re not broken. You’re home.”

He choked on a laugh, pulled your face down to kiss him again. “Goddamn, baby,” he murmured against your lips. “Keep sayin’ that and I’m gonna cry like a bitch.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” he whispered back, voice raw. “You make me feel like I matter. Like I’m worth more than grease and fuckups.”

“You are.”

Your rhythm slowed, deepened, less about climax and more about connection. You held his gaze the entire time, watched his eyes soften and tear slightly with the weight of it all. You kissed them away. You kissed him away. Every fear, every ghost, every woman before you who never saw him right.

And when you both came, it wasn’t loud, it was overwhelming. Quiet and intense, like a wave pulling you both under and leaving you gasping in the warm aftermath.

You stayed there in his lap for a long while, your bodies wrapped up, your souls unguarded.

His hand found yours.

And this time, he held on like he finally knew he was allowed to.

The next morning felt different. Not louder. Not brighter. Just… settled. Like some corner of Eddie’s soul had finally stopped pacing.

The coffee was brewing, your doing, of course, and Eddie sat at the kitchen table in just his sweats, one hand cradling his mug, the other lazily combing through his loose hair. Sunlight filtered in through the curtains, warm against the ink on his arms and the sleep still soft on his face.

You dropped a plate in front of him with a smug smile. “Two eggs, toast, and the last strip of bacon. Don’t say I never spoil you.”

He smirked, leaning back in his chair like a man who’d finally found his throne. “You’re gonna turn me soft.”

“Too late.” You sing songed.

You took your seat across from him, pulling your own mug close, and for a while there was only the sound of forks against ceramic and the occasional sip. It didn’t feel like silence, though. It felt like comfort. Like you were both soaking in the rare peace of being exactly where you were supposed to be.

Then, without a word, Eddie reached into the pocket of his sweats and slid something across the table.

A key.

Worn. Familiar. Slightly warm from being in his palm.

You blinked at it. Then at him.

He didn’t give you some grand, nervous speech. No dramatic gestures or long-winded explanations. Just a quiet shrug of one shoulder and a glance at the key before he looked up at you again.

“Was gonna wait…” he said, voice low and rough from sleep. “But I think I already know. This-” he gestured between the two of you with the corner of his toast, “-feels right. Like… finally.”

Your fingers curled around the key slowly.

It was small, a simple thing.

But your heart twisted around it like a ribbon.

You reached across the table and laced your fingers with his, thumb brushing over the back of his knuckles.

“I already picked out a drawer, and the right side of your closet,” you whispered.

Eddie laughed, real and bright, and kissed your hand, holding it to his lips for a second longer than necessary.

“‘Bout time, honey,” he murmured. “Welcome home.”

Next Chapter: Chapter Ten: “Green Light”

Who loves Eddie Munson, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list! @justalotoffanfiction, @yorshie, @jackalope-in-a-storm, @v1per1ne, @daveythorntonslocker, @cokepowder55, @kelsiegrin, @ash-stardust, @meankenna, @kellsck, @chronicles-of-koystee, @micheledawn1975, @fckyeahlames, @cantstandya2000, @totallysocially

Masterlist

[luvlybunnie]

CALEB LADS INCEST IR STEPCEST PLEASE PLEASE BRO

a / n : we are on the same mind wave i think. (THIS IS INCESSTT GUYSS RUN AWAAAYYYY!!!!) up to interpretation if its step or bio ! :3c

he doesn't know why you're like this.

he's at a loss for words really, his fingertips shaking. body aches as he stares at your phone, the screen lighting up over and over again— men, no, boys. multiple boys are texting his sister at once.

'link up???'

his brain is foggy, and his head hurts. when you come back to the couch, he watches as you grab your phone and type like nothing ever happened.

"do you have any plans today?" he asks, he knows what you'll say. every time he asks you say the sams thing.

"nope!"

still the same girl from when gran raised you both.

"good. i was thinking, maybe we could spend time together?"

you peak at him from your phone, and he sees your thumb click on the right of the screen— it alerts him in an awful way. to know that you sent that boy—

something back.

the day starts slow, and you do notice something is off with your older brother. the way his jaw tightens when he thinks you look away, or the way you see his smiles immediately fall into deep frowns.

it's night now. all the food already gone, movies already over, and the messes already cleaned.

"it's your bed time now."

"i'm not a kid, caleb."

"mm, i know. don't remind me."

you huff and cross your arms— it reminds him of when you would throw tantrums, although it's a bit different when he sees your breasts push together.

"what's your deal?"

"my deal?"

you glare daggers at his face, "yes, your deal. you've been acting weird all day. i don't know what your problem is but it's pissing me off."

"don't swear."

"i'm grown, caleb." you hiss, "i have been for a while."

you see your brother sigh heavily, his head leaning back against the couch as his fingertips tap at his thigh.

"i'm just wondering what i'm here for— why are you living with me? i don't get it."

you stare at him as he finally opens up, it's been at least seven hours since you noticed something was off.

"you're a beautiful woman. you don't need to rely on— your brother for a house, or food— or anything like that. so why do you do it? when you have other guys?"

your eyes squint for a second, the gears in your head shifting— "huh?"

he turns his head to look at you, his eyes dead serious.

"caleb, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"you have other guys right? you text them every day. why do you need me?"

"you're not my boyfriend, you're my brother."

he frowns.

"does that make you upset? that you're my brother instead of my boyfriend?"

he sighs loudly, and stands up, attempting to have a smile on his face, "you're being ridiculous. let's get you to bed."

"you wanna do what a boyfriend does for me?"

he grits his jaw, "that's enough."

you grin, leaning toward him, your eyes widening with delight as he stands in front of you— his hand reaching out to help you off the couch.

"you're weird." you begin, "my brother is a big weirdo who wants to be his sister's boyfriend. right?"

he can't find the words to speak.

"oohh, so it's true. what does gege wanna do to me, huuh?" you drag out every syllable, letting it sink into his head. letting the steam build up until the pot starts whistling.

"what if i said..."

"you shouldn't be saying anything." he manages out, he hopes you don't notice the tremble in his voice.

you giggle.

"gege. why don't you... touch me the way a boyfriend would touch me?"

"why— why are you like this?" he hisses out, retracting his hand and running it through his hair.

"gege—" you whine, "c'mere, let your little sister be the best girlfriend ever."

"no." he wants to say yes.

"gege, come onnnn. do you think i'm sleeping around or something?"

he stays silent for too long and you giggle again.

"look," you reach onto the table to grab your phone, opening it and showing him the messages— he warily takes your phone and looks through.

'hangin wit my brother today'

'busy w gege'

'brother needs me bye'

'movie night w brother'

excuses? or maybe truths?

'it's like your fucking your brother lol'

he hands the phone back with a soft, "i see."

you read the last message he was on and grin again, "you're so weird." you hum.

you adjust your position so you're on the edge of the couch on your knees, looking up at caleb through your lashes. he's tense.

you drag your hands up his thighs, ignoring the very obvious bulge in his sweatpants— "sooo, you haven't admitted it yet."

he exhales heavily through his nose, "i already feel like your boyfriend. providing for you and such. i cook your food— i work for you."

you hum, fingertips lingering on the waist of his pants. "you seem like such a good boyfriend— my brother is a good boyfriend."

"stop calling me brother."

you scoff, "that's what you are though!"

he places his hand against your hair, tugging it gently to the side— your body immediately following suite.

"don't. call me that. despite what you believe, i could easily remind you what boyfriends do instead of what brother's do."

you place your fingers against your mouth, mimicking a blowjob motion as your mouth opens— you giggle, "i'd do that whether your my brother or boyfriend."

.

.

he stares.

.

.

for a moment you think you've gone too far.

"are you a virgin?"

you prolong your answer to stress him out more.

"answer me."

"yes." truthful.

"good, i'll make sure it's your brother's dick splitting you open before anyone gets a chance."

a / n : IT GOT SO LONG IM SORRY BYE IM STRESSED. HE TURNS ME ON LIKE CRAZY I NEED TO DIE.

[dandydrunky]

In The Absence Of Easy

Content warning: angst, hospital setting, mention of needles

Author's note: this is part of a mini series

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sharp smell of sanitizer and iodine inked the room like sharpie, lingering in the air like bad perfume. You tried to ignore it while the doctor scrubbed the heel of your stump like you had a thousand times before, trying to focus on the friction of cotton, but you couldn’t.

You couldn’t feel it. You could only imagine what it felt like, watching it shred between the doctor’s working fingers. She was quiet today, and didn't try to make conversation as you normally did.

You watched in silent dread, the remnant of your leg propped on a padded stool, skin jagged from the latest injury and progress delayed by another setback. Your fingers curled into the paper lined beneath you, tucked under the edge or the bed. It made you sick, ironically so, other than the phantom ache of a limb no longer attached, it still hurt like one.

You flinched, hearing the skipping of tape, even harder when a cool bandage was lined up around the curve of your stump, being pressed down with tape and then gauze. The roll fluttered through the air going over and under, masking the scarred flesh.

Dr. Harrow patted it down. Then, she paused, eyes flicking to your face, looking for any sign of discomfort. The whole process felt invasive to you, so there’s no way massaging the dressings down would have been the worse part.

She rose to her full height and you noticed her scrubs were tighter than last time, around the abdomen, the hem just barely covering the waistband of her pants.

It was hard to feel joy for her in her current state, surely she knows all of her patients are here because of genetics, some mutation or deformation of the sort.

That you could pass down whatever dormant disorder she’s carrying and unintentionally inflict it on her child, the worst punishment of all, life.

Maybe one day it’ll be her kid sitting here on this stiff bed. Hooked up to monitors or better yet in need of a nurse’s aid just to go pee. You almost pitied her, but you knew she knew better.

She set the tray back on the counter, the tools clinking softly.

Painkillers were typically administered next, but you had refused pills, so you’ve been attached to a morphine drip, feeding you micro doses through the course of the day. “You’re all done with me, I’ll send for Dr. Baylor,” Harrow informs, her usual exuberance muffled by the face mask.

You know the routine, you could do it in your sleep.

Harrow peeled the rubber gloves off with snap, tossing them in the can with your bloodied bandages, bracing her hands against the cart. She wheeled it out in a squeaky silence, letting the door close behind her, leaving you on the edge of your bed, waiting, rotting.

A soft knock on the door echoed through the room, but your lips remained pressed flat, uninviting. If this wasn’t mandatory you wouldn’t have even let him let himself in.

“Good morning,” he greeted, not looking up from his clipboard. “For you,” you countered, falling back across the mattress. He stopped short at the foot of your bed, taking a moment to assess you. Still in the spotted hospital gown, hair’s a mess, one purple sock on, and the machines clinging to your arms.

“Are you following your diet?” Since you were weighed last week, there was doubt of any major changes in seven days. “I missed dinner last night,” you shrugged, not bothering to sit up.

This is not what any of your doctor’s wanted to hear, but maintaining an appetite in your condition was hard enough.

You could hear a sigh under the scribbling of notes. You were bound to run him into an early grave; none of his other patients fought their illness with selectively applying treatment.

But freewill, he couldn’t stop you.

“And have you been taking your medication?” The twinge of hope in his voice was comical, but at least you could report that you have and it was time for a refill.

“How have you been feeling with these?”

It wasn’t what you were feeling, it was what you weren't. They were effective when you did take them, but overall you still felt bad. It wasn’t the illness, just the shitty reality of everything. “They make me tired,” you yawned, shifting against the mattress. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but neither were you.

After a counter-productive questionnaire Baylor scribbled down some more notes, punctuating the last one with the click of his pen. “Kid,” he combed a hand through his salt and peppered hair. He really did mean to help you, but he couldn’t force you to accept it. “If you keep up like this you’re only going to get worse.”

“Good thing I have you to stop that,” you droned, uninterested in another talk about life decisions. You were sick of being sick, but the only cure for you was to let it run its course. No more needles, no more pills, no more antibiotics, and no more pep talks. It was proving useless.

He cleared his throat, uncertainty settling. “Not for much longer.”

What does that mean? You grunted, struggling to sit up to face him, “what are you talking about?” Is there something else you missed? You tried to think over the last few days, but nothing was out of the ordinary. Routine check up for the leg and routine check up for the whole body, then you were left alone unless you needed a nurse.

“Your insurance doesn’t cover extended care.”

[apricustar]

when it comes down to it, when you're really, truly in love, it's about stepping into their life and everything that comes with that--mess and all.

this is the undeniable truth laying the foundation of buddie--the undeniable truth they've woven throughout all the current canon couples. it's a ribbon that's threaded through both buck and eddie's respective list of failed relationships.

in a lot of ways, love is an unfolding—not an undoing, but an unfurling: the slow, achingly tender process of being known, and knowing in turn. it’s feeling safe enough to open yourself up entirely. to love and be loved is to be at rest, at peace; it is not a performance or something you perfect. it is allowing someone to witness your pain, your chaos, your history—and not turning away when they do the same.

take maddie and chimney: from the very beginning, he doesn’t flinch at the weight she carries—doesn’t try to fix it or rush it. he simply stays. he isn’t swayed by the shadow of doug—not even when the shadow becomes far more real. he meets her where she’s at, even when all she has to offer him is friendship. he never asks her to be more than she can give. he’s there—consistent, dependable, loving in his safety and presence. she takes a step, he is right there, taking his cues from her; from everything she says, and everything she doesn’t.

so much of bobby and athena’s love is rooted in mutual understanding, in the depth of the pasts they carry, but i think one of their most raw moments comes when we learn about athena’s ex-fiancé. we know athena to be a powerhouse: independent, fierce, and capable. she gets shit done on her own. she is her own partner. and we see bobby struggle a bit with fitting into that space—with finding his footing in a relationship where the other person doesn’t naturally lean on him. but bobby? bobby doesn’t try to force his way in. his love is in his patience; similar to chim, it’s in his dependable nature and consistent presence. he waits, he listens, he offers himself; and knowing athena as he does, he gives her what he knows she needs even when she herself can’t, or won’t, ask for it. when the case is finally solved, it’s bobby she goes to, whose arms she breaks down in. there’s is an intimacy born from quiet knowing and learning. love, here, is not about rescuing—it’s about witnessing. and staying.

karen and hen!!! again, so many different moments i could bring up. but the one i thought of while first thinking about this post was when we get the background of their relationship—specifically with denny. when hen tells karen she didn’t say no to eva, karen leaves; not because she doesn’t love hen, but because she isn’t ready for the gravity of that choice, for the responsibility that comes with it. and still, when all is said and done, she comes back. love isn’t linear. there isn’t always a clear-cut answer to things. karen returns, ready to choose all of hen, not just the easy parts. and in doing so, they build something solid. they co-parent. they raise denny. they navigate life together, as partners.

so, buddie. what’s wild is that this exact pattern—the showing up, the choosing, the stepping into the mess—it’s been baked in since day one. it is an integral facet of their entire relationship!!!!!!!! from the moment buck helped save the guy with a bomb in his leg during eddie’s first shift, they have each other’s backs. without fault, without expectation.

this is truly set in motion when buck gives carla to eddie. he bears witness to eddie’s problems with finding childcare and doesn’t hesitate to step in and offer a solution that is deeply personal to him. carla isn’t just a recommendation—she’s someone buck trusts, someone who supported him through his own mess. and he hands that over to eddie, because that’s what buck does. he sees a need and he fills it. he steps into the chaos, into the overwhelm, and with his actions says: you don’t have to do this alone.

and eddie accepts it!!! not just carla—but buck’s presence. his help. his heart. and from there, it builds on both sides. not in grand, sweeping gestures, but in steady, consistent moments of being there. of knowing each other’s silences. of anticipating needs. of showing up. of existing together in life’s most happy and sad and scary and terrible moments and knowing being together is better than doing any of this shit alone.

over the course of 7 seasons, they’ve built a life around one another without ever needing to define it. and isn’t that the most honest kind of love? the kind that just is, because you’ve chosen each other so fully, so completely, that no other reality makes sense?

this isn’t subtext. it’s not speculation. it’s the same emotional blueprint we’ve seen over and over in canon couples: vulnerability, mutual care, mess, and the willingness to stay anyway. and buck and eddie? they’re already living it!!!

and that’s why it feels inevitable. because the show has always told us that real love is about staying through the hard stuff, about choosing someone every single day, especially when it’s not easy. love is partnership—being there through it all and helping one another heal. it’s a willingness to hold space for each other’s vulnerability; a willingness to grow and learn together.

like thomas told buck back in season 2, a real love is not something you found, but something you made. buck and eddie have been making it all along.

[worm-angle]

The twins ❤️💜

[enchantedlandcoffee]

.

[floral-hex]

woke up at 4am feeling the weight of my life crushing me, so I’ve been sitting out in my car for the last couple of hours because I just need. to. be. somewhere else.

[snapbackslide]

i've missed so much stuff lately, a few trades, rumours 🤨 never thought that'd happen, considering how plugged in i am to sports news.. LMAO

[the-kipsabian]

i may have a fic to actually upload tomorrow if i can stop being so self aware of all the new shit i write lmao

[solsyss]

BECAUSE marz and elysia cannot fathom the definition of "break" and "self care", theyre both now in "blog hiatus jail" until they learn the full wikipedia page for THE WORD. "BREAK". /j

[megumi-fm]

hi i have been inactive for a while due to the chk chk boom. hope you understand.

[that-was-anticlimactic]

one of the worst feelings ever is wanting to write but your hands hurt too much or the words just don’t want to work so you just sit there staring at a half finished doc with tears in your eyes bc you want to write and you need to write but everything is telling you that you can’t

[bubaboos]

i'm doing as much as i can, i'm doing as much as i can, i'm doing as much as i c-

[elprupneerg]

Save me 2 tums and a glass of water. 2 tums and a glass of water saaaaaave me