#oh and also Vertebrae is there..

[ballpit-bakery]

Introducing Atlas! A disgraced Alpha because he just could not stop being fucked up and selling his research to phantoms despite that being the opposite of his job.

[wasyago]

kakashi and bull 🥺🤲

[gravehags]

happy new years’ eve it’s day drinking time 🥂

[inkykeiji]

me telling my boyfriend he has to be extra nice to me because i’m sick and him responding with ‘sorry baby, i don’t know how to be nice’ is peak dabi

[girls-and-honey]

wait the 'oh cool you collect bones' to 'oh cool you collect bones 😳' pipeline might be real...

[h1ghtechl0wlife]

zoning out breaking down a chicken for our dog, running my thumbnails down the neck to get the meat off and all i can think is god i need someone 2 do this 2 me

[raeathnos]

.

[krawdad]

Okay sweet it feels like I've managed to pull the metaphorical bear trap and/or staples off the back of my head and that's already noticibly woken up nerves in my face and legs

Like it's a hell of a relief absolutely but also ow fuck.

[symbiomancy]

MASSAGE —ryomen sukuna

summary: Step-brother Sukuna is good with his hands. Why not take advantage of it when no one's home? It's just an innocent massage, after all.

cw: stepbrother!sukuna, stepcest, grinding/thigh riding, pet names

wc: ~1,1k

also on ao3

“You’re good with your hands,” you say one afternoon when it’s just you and him. Your mother and his father are at work, Yūji is meeting up with friends to go to a movie, hell, even the neighbors might have left town—it’s just you and him.

Sukuna looks up from his phone, face impassive.

“My back hurts. You’re good with your hands. Simple math.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen how you sleep; how do you even bend like that? It’s unnatural.”

“I’m very flexible.” You hold out the bottle of massage oil to him and shake it impatiently. “Please?”

He considers it for a moment, then rolls his eyes and places his phone on the small table next to the couch armrest. You grin, bright and wide as he accepts the bottle.

“Sit,” he says, spreading his legs, half-expecting you to pull out the ottoman underneath the coffee table. Instead, you straddle his thigh, facing away from him. He jostles his leg for good measure and you almost tip over, latching onto the thigh you’re sitting on to not fall. A laugh bubbles from his chest, low and smooth and rich.

“Dickhead,” you mutter, sitting up straight again.

“I can refuse service if you’re not nice to me, you know.”

You sigh, long and drawn out. “I’m sorry. Please, can I get a massage?” Though you don’t wait for his reply and hike your flimsy shirt over your head, draping it over his other thigh.

Sukuna allows his fingers to skim the length of your spine, from your tailbone up to the base of your skull, feeling the grooves and dips of the vertebrae under his fingertips. He maps out the beauty marks littering the expanse of your skin, tries to commit it to memory.

“Where?” He tips a small amount of massage oil onto the palm of his hand and rubs it around his palms. It smells like vanilla.

You place your hands on your waist and press your thumbs on either side of your spine. Sukuna makes a sound of confirmation in the back of his throat and pushes your hands away, placing his thumbs where yours just were. He presses down, hard, and you make a sound, somewhere caught between a hiss and a moan, hands clamped around his thigh again for stability.

He begins working the knots in your lower back and then you moan, actually, audibly moan—it slips from your lips so freely and he likes it, he wants to hear more of it, drawn out and loud. He needs to hear it again like he needs water. The sound sends a jolt straight to his cock. It twitches beneath the layers that separate it from your pretty pussy. Oh, it’s pretty, he just knows it.

His hands slowly glide up your sides until his fingertips ghost the curve of your breast. He hears the hitch in your breathing—like music to his ears, he wants to hear it over and over and over again until it's committed to his memory—but he doesn’t withdraw his hand. Instead, he lets his hand explore further, cupping your breast from below, a finger swiping over the nipple. You buck against his thigh with a low whine.

“You like that, baby?”

“Y-yeah.” Your voice cracks and you hastily clear your throat.

His other hand finds your other breast and he swipes a thumb around and then over each nipple. A small, broken gasp escapes your lips. Your back arches, grinding your covered pussy against his thigh. Sukuna stills, flexes his thigh muscles, and eyes the not-so-subtle circling motions of your hips.

“Yeah?” He palms your tits, pinches the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You recoil, back arching even more, pussy dragging against his thigh, nails clamping into his flesh so hard Sukuna sees white for a fraction of a second. He can feel the damp patch on your panties and he breathes in slowly to keep his composure from slipping, from pouncing on you like an animal in heat.

He repeats the motion and he’s rewarded with another gasp, this one half a whine, and you fall back, resting against his shoulder.

Sukuna adjusts himself and leans his chin on your shoulder. His mouth rests at the shell of your ear now.

One hand dips from your chest, travels down towards your navel, dragging the massage oil along. He can feel the stutter in your breathing in the still and tacky summer air. He doesn’t stop, goes lower, lower, lower, stops where your skirt begins.

His hand finds purchase on the plush of your thigh, fingers sliding up, under the fabric, and stop just shy of your underwear. You buck your hips again, desperate for any friction.

“What?” He teases, his hot breath caressing the side of your cheek. “Need something?”

“Please.” You nod rapidly. “Please.” Your breaths are heavy, eyes bleary, mid fuzzy with desire.

“Good girl,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear.

Your cheeks warm at his words—so warm and so close he can feel the warmth radiating from your skin. His fingertips ghost over your clothed pussy, just barely applying any force, then over the hem of your skirt, up your body, dragging along the grooves, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His hand finds its place on your breast again, so soft and plush and he breathes in the sweet scent of your strawberry body wash, nose pressed into the junction between your neck and shoulder. Fuck, you’re intoxicating. His cock twitches in his pants, throbbing like he’s about to cum in his shorts—

Voices.

Strange voices draw him from his reprieve. They filter in through the open windows, a female voice arguing with Yuji’s.

Then there’s a key jiggling in the lock on the front door.

Sukuna snatches your top from his thigh, presses it to your chest, and gently pushes you upright. You stand on shaking legs for a moment before the click of the front door’s lock sends you dashing towards the stairs across the room. You reach them just as the door swings open, three voices filtering inside.

“Dickhead!” You shout before you disappear up the stairs and slam your bedroom door.

Yūji pauses as the door falls shut behind him, Nobara, and Megumi, and crosses the few steps from the hallway into the living room. He looks at Sukuna, lying on his stomach on the couch, scrolling through his phone. “What did you say this time?”

Sukuna scowls and grabs a decorative pillow to chuck at Yuji’s head. “Mind your own business, brat.”

banners from @/cafekitsune

[little-cereal-draws]

If Ghosts had a more mature rating and was able to do more creepy ghost powers/death side effects:

Pat, Humphrey, and Thomas are eternally bleeding. Their clothes are wet, their hand gets wet from touching it, they'll leave trails of blood down the hall, etc. The blood on their hand or the floor disappears pretty quickly as their ghost powers make them reset but their clothes are always soaked

Thomas's whole stomach and the top of his pants are bloodstained. Pat's is all located on his shoulders/necktie and has the most obvious stains due to the color difference of his clothes. There are a few drops here and there down his sleeves and chest. It's pretty heavy because of the major arteries the neck that would've been punctured. Humphrey's is by fair the heaviest and is all over the front of his torso. Like the whole thing. When he died he fell face down into the growing puddle of blood that would've been pooling from his stump

Fanny can turn her head frighteningly far. There's a sick crunching sound that happens when she does this and it always sends shivers down Alison's spine even after years of hearing it. The other ghosts have joked and compared Fanny to an owl because of this and she chews them out every time

Pat coughs a lot because he's got blood stuck in his throat. He'll randomly have a huge coughing fit, cough a bunch of blood into his hand and then go "Oh no. Anyways..." He also has trouble breathing and has to take breaks to sit down during physical activities like dancing or running. It annoying but not too much of a hindrance to his daily life; it's like having asthma or allergies. The blood can make his voice sound a little weird sometimes too, like he's gurgling smth while he talks. He just clears his throat and keeps going

The plague ghosts vomit up bile every once in a while. It's black, steaming, and putrid but disappears almost instantly

Kitty also throws up when she's excited... which is a lot. She also gets chills, lightheadedness, fevers, and uncontrollable shaking. There's not much the other ghosts or Alison can do to help her besides sitting with her/trying to distract her. She'll lay down and try to breathe through it while Alison reads her a story or the Captain infodumps abt smth or Robin holds her hand. Sometimes she falls asleep, sometimes she doesn't. She's always better after a few hours tho

Fanny gets really bad migraines. Alison's theory is that they're caused by her broken vertebra. Fanny doesn't particularly care why they happen. When they happen, she's in an even worse mood than usual so it's best to steer clear of her. She doesn't have the energy to yell at ppl but will remember the slightest fault and wait until she's better to go on a lecture. Again, there's not much Alison or the other ghosts can do to help besides let her lay down and try to be quiet

Mary and Robin's skin peels off. It's white and flaky and leaves raw red spots underneath. The dead skin disappears once it leaves them but the skin underneath is never healthy and flakes off too

Both Robin and Mary smell like burning flesh but only Mary is detectable by living people. Robin only smells when he uses his powers. It really puts a lot of the ghosts off, especially newer ones

Robin's body also gets affected by his powers in other ways. If it's something small like flickering a light, his hair will stand on end. Something bigger like turning a light on/off or flickering a more powerful light will cause him to spasm. It's usually just his arms and wears off after a minute. Smth really big like redirecting that lightning bolt for Mike will be the equivalent of him actually getting hit w the lightning. His body seizes up, falls over unresponsive and twitching for several minutes, but he's always ok in the end. Alison and the other ghosts get very worried but he walks it off

Julian and the Captain both feel remnants of their heart attacks. Shortness of breath, tingling/numbness in the arms, dizziness, heart palpitations, etc. They both choose to keep it a secret from the others and cover it up but if they're particularly stressed abt smth, they'll start getting chest pains which is harder to cover up. The Captain has excused himself from many social situations to go sit on the floor and try to breathe through the pain and calm his heart. Robin's the only one who knows about Julian's because it happened once while they were hanging out. Logically, they both know they can't die again but it's still scary

Mary likes to sit in the lake because even tho she can't feel it like she would if she was alive, the cold water is soothing on her burns

All the ghosts have days where they just lay abt bc the pain is too much to move. From who does it the most to who does it the least it goes Mary, Humphrey, Pat, Fanny, Thomas, Kitty, Robin, the Captain, Julian

[dreamwatch]

STWG daily drabble

prompt: forehead kisses

(I’m trying some prompts out, and also - I wrote fluff! I actually did it! My cold, angsty heart is conflicted by this development.)

****

Wayne’s back feels like it’s splitting in two, muscles spasming, discs crunching. Years of hard labour and a car wreck after he came back from Korea (a little bit angry, a little bit reckless) and what else could he really expect? He was old, and all his chickens had come home to roost right in his lower vertebrae.

He hears the van before he sees it, wheels spitting up grit on the shitty excuse for a road, and then the bassy rumbling of loud music. Iron Maiden, if he’s not mistaken, and Jesus H Christ, he should not know that.

Eddie throws himself out of the van, and practically skips up the stairs, and oh to be fucking young. 

“Hey old man, what are you doing out here?”

“Drowning my sorrows,” he says, waving the beer and Eddie frowns, tilts his head.

“Why, what’s going on?”

“Just my back.”

“Bad?”

“Hmm.”

“Okay, give me a second.”

“Eddie, I’m fine, got a beer, I’m good.”

Eddie scoffs, “sure”, before he heads inside.

Trailers aren’t sound proofed. Every cough, every fart, your neighbour hears it and you hear them. So listening to Eddie on the phone just the other side of the door isn’t prying, it just can’t be helped.

“Hey man… yeah I’m good but Wayne’s not so I can’t make practice tonight… no, it’s his back so I want to be here incase he needs me…”

Wayne shakes his head. The shit people say about that kid, they have no idea who he is. He listens as Eddie hangs up then potters around the kitchen, drawers clattering, kettle screeching. His boy is so many things, but quiet sure isn’t one of them.

“Heads up, old man.”

Eddie takes a seat beside him on the porch, painkillers in one hand, glass of water in the other and a hot water bottle tucked under his arm. Wayne smiles, takes his pills while Eddie places the hot water bottle behind his back.

“That okay?”

And he can’t help it, but it strikes him how fucking proud he is of this kid, and alright, it’s a little thing, but still. He hears it all day long from the guys at work, complaining about their kids, how they’re selfish, how they don’t listen, and you know Eddie’s not an angel, and he’s not perfect, but he’s good, and he cares and he’s not afraid to show it if you let him.

Wayne gingerly raises his arm and pulls him in, hears him squeal “don’t kiss me!” He pulls him close, and lays an exaggerated kiss on Eddie’s forehead, and gets a “not in public, Jesus Christ,” for his efforts.

“You’re a good kid.”

“I know. You’re lucky to have me.”

He laughs, despite the pain in his back.

“That I am,” he says, squeezing his boy tight. “That I am.”

[arminreindl]

Pachycetinae: The Thick Whales

Oh look I'm way behind not only on my work with wikipedia but also in regards to summarizing it on tumblr. Good thing, three of the pages I've worked on these past few months can just be summed up in one post because they are all one family.

So Pachycetinae, at the most basic level, are basilosaurid archaeocetes, the group that famously includes Basilosaurus and Dorudon. Reason I've picked up the articles in addition to my usual croc work, basically a friend and I noticed how lacklustre many pages are and stupidly decided to start revising all of Cetacea (pray for me).

Currently theres two genera within the group. Pachycetus aka Platyosphys aka Basilotritus, which is a whole mess I will get into at the end for those interested, and Antaecetus, which I'll just call "the good one" for now. Among those are three species. Pachycetus paulsonii (or Basilotritus uheni) from continental Europe (Germany and Ukraine mostly), Pachycetus wardii (Eastern United Staates) and Antaecetus aithai (Morocco and Egypt)

Picture: Pachycetus and Antaecetus by Connor Ashbridge

So the hallmark of Pachycetines, as the name would suggest, is the fact that their skeletons are notably denser than that of other basilosaurids. The vertebrae, the most abundant material of these whales, are described as pachyostatic and osteosclerotic. The former effecitvely means that the dense cortical bone forms thickened layers, while the latter means that the cortical bone, already forming thickened layers, is furthermore denser than in other basilosaurids with less porosities. The densitiy is increased further by how the ribs attack to the vertebrae not through sinovial articulation but through cartilage, so adding even more weight to them. Overall this is at times compared to manatees, famous for their dense skeletons.

Pictured below, the currently best preserved pachycetine fossil, an individual of the genus Antaecetus from Morocco.

Now there are some interesting anatomical features to mention that either differ between species or just can't be compared. For example the American species of Pachycetus, P. wardii, shows a well developed innominate bone, basically the fused pelvic bones. This is curious as one would think of it as a more basal feature, with derived whales gradually reducing them. The skull is best preserved in Antaecetus and has a very narrow snout. One way to differentiate the two is by the teeth. Pachycetus has larger, more robust teeth while that of Antaecetus are way more gracile and is thought to have had a proportionally smaller skull (in addition to being smaller than Pachycetus in general).

All of this has some interesting implications for their ecology. For instance, why the hell are they so dense? Well its possible that they were shallow water animals using their weight as ballast, staying close to the ocean floor. This would definitely find some support in the types of environments they show up in, which tend to be shallow coastal waters. There are some Ukrainian localities that suggest deeper waters, but that has been interpreted as being the result of migration taking them out of their prefered habitat.

Now while pachycetines were probably powerful swimmers, their dense bones mean that they were pretty slow regardless. And to add insult to injury, they were anything but maneuverable. Remember those long transverse processes? Turns out having them extend over the majority of the vertebral body means theres very little space for muscles in between, which limits sideways movements.

From this one can guess that they weren't pursuit predators and needed to ambush their prey. What exactly that was has been inferred based on tooth wear. Basically, the teeth of Pachycetus show a lot of abrasion and wear, not dissimlar to what is seen in modern orcas that feed on sharks and rays. And low and behold, sharks are really common in the same strata that Pachycetus shows up in. Now since Antaecetus had way more gracile teeth, its thought that it probably fed on less well protected animals like squids and fish.

Below: Pachycetus/Basilotritus catching a fish by @knuppitalism-with-ue

The relationship between pachycetines and other basilosaurids is wonky, again no thanks due to Pachycetus itself being very poorly known. Some studies have suggested that they were a very early branching off-shoot, in part due to their prominent hip bones, but in the most recent study to include them, the description of Tutcetus, they surprisingly came out as not just the most derived basilosaurids but as the immediate sister group to Neoceti, which includes all modern whales. Regardless, in both instances they seem to clade closely with Supayacetus, a small basilosaurid from Peru.

And now for the part that is the most tedious. Taxonomy and history.

Remains of pachycetines have been known for a while and were first described as early as 1873 by Russian scientists. To put into perspective how old that is. The material's history in science predates both World Wars, the collapse of the Russian Empire and even the reign of Tsar Nicholas II. Now initially the idea was to name the animal Zeuglodon rossicum, but the person doing the actual describing changed that to Zeuglodon paulsonii reasoning that it would eventually be found outside of Russia (something that aged beautifully given that Ukraine would eventually become independent).

And this is where the confusion starts to unfold. Because at the same time people unearthed pachycetine fossils in Germany too, which would come be given the name Pachycetus (thick whale) and be established as two species. Pachycetus robustus and Pachycetus humilis, both thought to be baleen whales.

Pictured below: Pierre-Joseph van Beneden who coined Pachycetus and Johann Friedrich Brandt who described Zeuglodon paulsonii. Beneden easily has the better beard.

These latter two names however were later rejected in 1935 by Kuhn and lumped into other species, whereas Zeuglodon paulsonii was elevated to a full on new genus by Remington Kellogg in 1936. For those curious, Platyosphys means "broad loin", in combination with the species "Paulson's broad loin" to the amusement of some friends of mine.

And then people stopped caring and we have a nearly 70 year research gap. Eventually Mark D. Uhen found fossil material in the United States, but interpreted those fossils as being part of the genus Eocetus, naming them Eocetus wardii, a move that many following researchers disagreed with.

Then in 2001 a new species of Platyosphys, P. einori, was named. It's bad, moving on. More importantly, we got the works of Gol'din and Zvonok, who attempted to bring some clarity into the whole thing. To do so they rejected the name Platyosphys on account of the holotype having been lost sometime in WW2 and picked out much better fossil material to coin the genus Basilotritus ("the third king" in allusion to Basilosaurus "king lizard" and Basiloterus "the other king", isn't etymology fun?). They erected the type species Basilotritus uheni and then proclaimed Eocetus wardii to also belong into this genus, making it Basilotritus wardii.

This move was however not followed by other researchers. Gingerich and Zhouri maintained that regardless of being lost, Platyosphys is still valid and can be sufficiently diagnosed by the original drawings from the 19th and early 20th century. And to take a step further they added a new species, Platyosphys aithai (weird, why does that name sound familiar).

Then Van Vliet came and connected all these dots I've set up so far, noting that the fossils of Platyosphys are nearly identical to those of Pachycetus. This lead to the fun little thing were "paulsonii", applied first to Zeuglodon in the 1870s, takes priority over "robustus", coined just a few years later, BUT, the genus name Pachycetus easily predates Platyosphys by a good 60 years. Subsequently, the two were combined. Platyosphys paulsonii and Pachycetus robustus became Pachycetus paulsonii (simplified*). Van Vliet then deemed humilis to be some other whale and carried over Basilotritus uheni, Basilotritus wardii and Platyosphys aithai into the genus Pachycetus. *Technically Pachycetus robustus was tentatively kept as distinct only because of how poorly preserved it was, making comparisson not really possible.

Then finally in the most recent paper explicitly dealing with this group, Gingerich and Zhouri came back, killed off P. robustus for good, sunk Pachycetus uheni into Pachycetus paulsonii for good measure and decided to elevate Pachycetus aithai to genus status after finding a much better second skeleton, coining Antaecetus (after the giant of Greek myth).

And that's were we are right now. Three species in two genera, but only one of them is actually any good. So perhaps at some point in the future we might see some further revisions on that whole mess and who knows, perhaps Basilotritus makes a glorious comeback.

To conclude, sorry about the lack of images, despite the ample history theres just not much good material aside from that one Antaecetus fossil and I didn't want to include 5 different drawings in lateral view. Obligatory Wikipedia links: Pachycetinae - Wikipedia Antaecetus - Wikipedia Pachycetus - Wikipedia

Ideally Supayacetus will be the next whale I tackle, distractions and other projects not withstanding (who knows maybe I'll finally finish Quinkana)

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic feb 26 - bed - 1047words - cw: drinking—aka reg picking up a drunk james from the pub<3

for laurie @itsjaywalkers because she's a gem and also i was listening to wallows typing this out mwah

James wipes a stray tear from the corner of his eye as he straightens back up, belly hurting and cheeks straining as he claps Peter on the shoulder, laughing and shaking with his whole body.

His head feels pleasantly heavy and his vision is a little blurry, alcohol warming him up from the inside and James thinks Peter isn’t far off with the way the flush on his red cheeks starts spreading along his entire face as he tries to catch his breath. 

“Oh god,” James snickers, sucking in a much needed breath, chortling slightly on the way in which makes Peter send him a weird look and then in return makes James break into another fit of giggles. Everything is just so funny right now.

Peter joins right in, while simultaneously trying to take another sip of his nearly empty cup of beer, his laughter preventing him from actually swallowing. 

Predictably, he ends up coughing and James pounds him on the back with one hand as the other maintains a white knuckled grip on the round bar table to keep himself upright as he tries not to piss his pants from laughing.

Once Peter got himself back in order he clears his throat violently, warily eyeing his remaining beverage, “Shit, I don’t think I should finish that.”

James snorts, “That’s barely two gulps, Pete.”

His blonde friend groans, head sinking into his palms, “I think Benji might already have my head if I turn up back home like this.”

James turns solemn all the sudden, nodding in understanding and rubbing Peter’s back soothingly. Benji loves him though so it’ll be fine, James knows that, but he still wants to be there for Peter, obviously.

The other man grumbles something into his hands that James doesn’t catch over the music and loud noise of people.

“What was that?”

Peter’s head tilts back up, “What about you?”

James blinks, trying to decipher what his friend means through the alcohol clouding his brain.

Pete’s lips tug into a lopsided smirk, “How’re you gonna get home to your loverboy?”

“Oh,” James makes, understanding now. “Regulus said he’ll pick me up.”

“Mm,” Peter grunts into his cup, downing the flat beer, “Premium service.”

James feels himself turn a little more gooey where he’s draping his full weight onto the precariously wobbly bar table, and he sighs long and dreamily, “Yeah, he’s the best.”

“Hi, Regulus,” Peter says, head tipped to the side at a 90 degree angle.

“Yeah, obviously, Regulus, who else?” James makes, nose scrunching in confusion.

“Hello, Peter,” a voice says from behind him and James thinks he might nearly break a few cervical vertebraes in his haste to turn around.

“Baby,” James gasps when he sees Regulus standing there in all his beautiful glory. Head cocked to the side slightly, arms crossed and a mild scowl on his face. He’s in one of James’ grey printed hoodies and sporting some dark green and blue plaid pyjama bottoms that always make his butt look a little bigger, according to himself. James loves Regulus ass though, he loves that it’s perky and petite and perfectly bite-sized for when James is—

“I texted you,” Regulus says in lieu of greeting James, lips pursed into a pout James also would like to bite, “And I called four times.”

Another, softer gasp punches out of James and he fumbles for his phone in his jeans’ back pocket for a second, tapping the screen to see the missed calls and messages. 

James’ expression tips into a frown, a wounded noise coming from his chest as he shuffles closer with his head ducked, palms slowly reaching out to Regulus’ hips. “I’m so sorry, love,” James mumbles, tone apologetic and Regulus’ eyes narrow, “I swear I wasn’t ignoring you, I just didn’t hear.”

Regulus averts his eyes with a small tut, arms tightening where they’re crossed.

James can’t help but whine. The last thing he wants right now is for Regulus to be mad at him, “Baby, please, I promise.”

When Regulus doesn’t budge, James twirls one of his dark curls around his index, playing softly and contemplating giving into the urge of peppering his boyfriend’s face in kisses. He doesn’t want to make it worse though. 

James scrambles together all his might and tries navigating through the drunken haze of his brain and body, concentrating to remind himself what usually makes Regulus fold.

“We were just talking about you, too,” James tries. “Petey can confirm that.”

“Oh, I do not want to be dragged into this, thank you very much.”

James grumbles, rolling his eyes and simply winds his arms tighter around Regulus. It elicits a small inhale and yes, that’s good and it makes James tug his lower lip between his teeth, humming in satisfaction.

Regulus eyes snap back around to him, eyelids fluttering and James slips into a victorious grin. He leans closer and lets his lips brush over his boyfriends, inhaling that distinct citrus and bergamot smell of him, before he breathes needily, “Missed you so much, Reg.”

In the next second there are palms thumping against his pecs, punching a breath out of him before he’s reeled back in by the lapel of his flannel, Regulus glowering at him, cheeks flushed, “Ok, that’s officially enough of you, menace.”

James giggles and quickly squishes Regulus cheeks to plant a kiss on his slack mouth.

They bid their Goodbyes to Peter and make sure he’s got a cab that’ll bring him home safely and then James lets Regulus tug him out of the pub with their fingers intertwined.

Once they’re outside of the crowded space James can’t help himself when he snatches Regulus around the waist and squeezes him with a happy groan.

“James,” Regulus chides, voice tight and flustered, “Let go, we’re in the middle of a sidewalk.”

“But I love you so much,” James slurs into the space between the hoodie and Regulus’ exposed neck, nose nuzzling the skin contently.

Regulus sighs and James doesn’t have to look to see the smile playing at his rosy lips, “Let’s get you into bed.”

“Aw yeah, bed,” James snickers, reaching one hand around to grab at Regulus’ butt.

Regulus yelps and James ends up with a bruise on his ribcage that throbs softly once he cuddles up with Regulus under the sheets half an hour later.

[ruiniel]

What You Choose

Fandom: Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba

Pairing: Rengoku Kyojuro x f!reader

Count: 2K

Rating: T (M later)

Part I

Summary: Rengoku survives the fight with Akaza, but some battles are not so straightforward.

Tags & Warnings: Rengoku lives AU, blood, injury, death, pining, angst, second person POV, demon slayer!reader, tsuguko!reader, Rengoku POV, eventual smut

Author Note: I am not OK and will never be OK about *waves hands* all that, so this is now a multichapter story.

II.

“Once again, you’re a guest in my healing ward.”

Kocho Shinobu speaks softly, as is her manner. She's seated by his bed with the afternoon sun shining gently on her features, highlighting the amethyst in her hair and eyes.

“I seem to be the only one,” Rengoku replies, looking at the empty infirmary. He’s still bedbound and can barely move his limbs. It hurts to breathe more often than not, and there’s a dull ache where his left eye used to be.

Her kind smile never falters as Kocho looks at the liquid in the syringe she’s preparing. Rengoku always admired her decision to honor her late sister this way, by holding on to that smile Kanae loved so much. After all, everyone has a keepsake of their loved ones in their heart, driving them forward. Memories, moments, words that hone one’s spirit and meld with determination, acting as a guiding light in the darkest places. He knows this all too well. 

“At least you won’t be lonely during your convalescence, those three have been coming here every day, even before you’d awoken.” She giggles, seeking a vein in his arm. 

Oh, of course… young Kamado… the boar lad, the yellow-haired boy. All of them gifted, resilient, and unwavering. He’d promised to train them, but…

That was… before. 

Another image appears before his mind’s eye, drenched in fog—you, running towards him. He, ordering you not to interfere. “Kocho. Tell me, please. How long before I can leave this bed? What is lost, what can I regain?” 

She sets the used syringe aside on a tray, then places her hands on her knees. “My, my, impatient already?” 

Rengoku tries a smile of his own, though it hurts the muscles in his face. If not for the strong sedatives and painkillers administered to him since he regained consciousness, he imagines he’d be squirming in pain. “I want to self-assess myself. Besides…I have promises to keep.” 

She understands. He knows she does. The Insect Hashira gazes out the window, and a small sigh leaves her chest. “Your fatal injuries have been healed by the peculiar blood demon art of young Kamado’s sister.”

He nods. Remarkable. He thought that would be his last battle, and he’d have passed without regret into the land of Yomi. Nevertheless, his gratitude is boundless.

“... your muscle and organ tissue has regenerated and there was no internal bleeding. However, there is still some damage to several vertebrae in your spine, severe trauma to your head I’ve not fully assessed yet, and you have eight fractured ribs.”

“Hah, I can feel them, too! I miscalculated by one, I thought there were seven.”

She looks his way, with that odd expression people sometimes have when he sounds unreasonably high-spirited. He supposes not everyone shares the same outlook, and that’s all well. But what use is there to bow down in dismay and accept the worst life throws my way? 

“Your left eye was smashed, and irrecoverable,” Kocho goes on. “We removed it with surgery and placed an implant inside to fill the empty eye socket. The recovery period in these cases is typically a year, as now you must adapt to your monocular status. But this also depends on the individual, and… this might mean alterations to your fighting style, of course.” She rises and picks up the tray. “I’m convinced that with time, you can return to a state allowing you to perform your duties. For now, please rest, that is a foremost priority.”

My friend, you know all too well that time is never on a demon slayer’s side. “Thank you, Kocho.”  She is right, though: he does feel exhausted, as though he’d climbed a mountain without rest or ever reaching the summit. Expected, though bothersome.

“We’ll do our best to help your recovery. Aoi will return later to change your bandages,” Kocho adds.

Rengoku turns his head as Kocho greets someone on her way out, and sees you, standing in the doorway. “Hello.”

“Hello.”

“You heard?”

You nod, nearing the bed. “Ms. Kocho told me of it all while you were asleep.”

“I’m sorry.”

You tilt your head in bemusement. “What ever for?”

“Because, I won’t be able to help with your training for a while.”

You’ve been at his side often. While in a coma, even if he couldn’t react, even if his body wouldn’t listen, he knew you were there. The thought is a warm one, a foreign sensation: different from the heat bursting in his body during a fight. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t look forward to your visits even now, to see how you’re faring, to hear the latest news on the Corps.

“No,” your voice brings him out of his thoughts, “but that does mean I can help you. When you’re ready, that is,” you add quickly. “With rehabilitation training.” 

“Of course!” The fatigue in his body is stubborn, clinging to him like heavy wet wool. “And… I don’t believe I’ve told you this yet: I’m happy you returned safely.”

You look away, appearing utterly miserable. It confuses him. Rengoku’s seen that shadow in his father’s eyes countless times, so often he can’t stand it: self-loathing.

“Forgive me, Master. I should have been able to do more, after all you strived to teach me. I… I could barely be of any use.”

But you were there, you helped protect all those people. You did your part. “You were unflinching, fast, and aided those who needed it precisely like I taught you. You are rank Kinoe, and what's your demon kill count?”

“Thirty-two.”

“There… now that I think about it, even without further guidance from me or anyone else, you’ll make Hashira soon! Our numbers are dwindling while demon activity increases. You’ve seen it. This is a struggle that needs all of us.” Rengoku pauses. The word ‘need’ felt odd coming from his mouth. But the statement is true. Why does it feel incomplete when he says it to your face?

You look down at your hands. “How can you do it?”

He blinks, frowning. “Do what?”

“Be so supportive and encouraging even when you’re lying broken in an infirmary bed. Sometimes… sometimes you are so very strange, Master.”

You do say that to him often, though less so than before. A smile trembles on your lips—it took you a long time to smile again, he recalls. 

“I merely speak the truth…” He can barely stay awake. The slow drip of liquid in the IV infusion is magnified, drowning out all other sounds, and your face becomes hazy as he drifts away.

Three years prior

The path of blood leads straight into the farmhouse, looking as though someone had been dragged inside by force.

His eyes narrow, and he centers his breaths as he walks forward with his blade drawn. The silence of the glade is eerie, the reek of decay nauseating in the heat of this humid summer.

Soon, he stands on the threshold. Two, there might be two of them. Near the farmhouse is a toolshed, he’ll look there next. Rengoku covers his mouth with his sleeve, eyes closing in pain.

The bodies lie there, some with scattered limbs. This was a family, no doubt about it. The brutality of the mutilation makes his stomach turn, but Rengoku steels his resolve, extending his senses for any hint of the entity’s presence: there is none. He sheathes his katana and enters the space proper. Three hours until dawn.

He descends to one knee, finding the fireplace in the middle is out, but the ashes are still warm. The tatami mats are sticky and stained dark. This all transpired recently. He reaches out a hand, touches an inert arm: not yet cold. Too late, I am too late. But I’ll find you, wherever you are, you damn beasts. 

It’s only due to his reflexes, honed with endless hours of training, that he turns around fast enough, leaping backward before the descending attack.

At first, he thinks it’s the demon, his katana at the ready.

“Don’t you dare touch them!” 

He pauses, nearly too late in avoiding the second strike. A girl’s voice, a human’s heartbeat. His arm shoots out, catching the wooden staff in a strong grip. 

You’re panting, eyes wild and glimmering in the moonlit night. “Let—go!”

“Wait, I’m not an enemy!” he says, taking a better look at you, still holding your makeshift weapon even as you try to wrest it from his hand. 

“How do I know that! Demon!” Your voice is hoarse. Half your face is caked in drying blood, and there must be multiple injuries on your body judging by the torn clothing and the widening dark stains. 

“I’m not a demon,” he speaks calmly but urgently. “I hunt them. Please, they may still be close.”

You jerk your chin towards a corner of the room. “I had him… I don’t need you. Get out of my home!” you yell, more desperate with each word. “Get out, get out, get out!”

Another body lies there in the dark, slitted pupils dark against its milky eyes. The head had been nearly completely crushed. Rengoku freezes in disbelief. You did this? Alone? “Wait, you don’t understand, there’s another—”

A loud crash severs his words as the ceiling collapses, and he barely has time to leap forward, catch you in his arms, and throw himself outside. He rolls onto the ground, pain erupting in his left shoulder with the impact. When he opens his eyes you’re there, safely held against him, face tearstained and body rigid with shock.

But there’s no time to explain further—he feels it. The gurgle of inhuman hunger as a figure emerges from the wreckage of the farmhouse, eyes fixed on them. It does not speak, but growls in hunger; it must be of the feral kind, no reasoning left as the transformation rotted its memories. 

Rengoku rises, changing his stance. “Stand back,” he urges, looking over his shoulder at you as you struggle with your own body. He looks back ahead, grinds his teeth, his breathing attuned to his thought. 

First Form: Unknowing Fire.

It doesn’t last long. He’s been running from mission to mission, dispensing with different kinds of fiends, and this was yet another run in a long chain that will only end with his own life. 

Once the head is removed, the battle is over. Sometimes there is someone left to check on after the fact; often, there isn’t. But now, Rengoku hurries towards you, descending and slipping a hand under your back, aiding you to sit. “Where are you hurt?”

“Thank you,” you say instead, eyes glazing over. He hopes the Kakushi will get here soon. You point towards your ruined home. “Set it ablaze… please.” 

“Hey, hey, stay awake!” Rengoku urges even as your body turns heavier and your eyes roll back. 

He expected this to come. Kneeling and with his forehead pressed to the ground he sits still, prostrated before the leader of the Demon Slayer Corps. 

A voice like the lull of spring reaches him, setting his worries aside. In his heart, he thinks he’s done what is right.

“Rank Kinoe Rengoku Kyojuro, you are summoned to explain why you have brought a non-combatant to headquarters, instead of having the Kakushi transport them to a civilian hospital.”

“Master, the girl shows extraordinary potential. Her family has been murdered by demons, and yet she managed to fell one before I arrived, alone, despite grievous wounds and bloodloss. Forgive me if I overstepped, but I believe…” 

“Go on.”

“I believe once her body heals and her focus returns, she will join the fight. I believe she will want to. If I'm wrong, I accept all consequences.”

“You sound fairly convinced of this, young Rengoku,” says Ubuyashiki Kagaya. “Though there is no reason to know for certain one way or the other.”

He stays quiet, his heart raging in his chest. It will all depend on you, of course. You may want to have nothing to do with this. 

“But… you’ve not failed us thus far. I will allow it.”

“Gratitude, Master.” And then, almost in the same breath, “If she chooses this, I will guide her myself.”

TBC

[aurumacadicus]

159 or 139 for the ficlet please!

(Also, do these numbers correspond or a prompt or are we just winging it here, curious minds would like to know how this lottery is working 🧐)

These numbers correspond to a prompt set which I can post a link to after this is done but I wanted the randomness of it. No offense but you guys always go for the same prompts (which don't get me wrong, make sense for the characters/my writing) but I wanted to stretch some writing muscles!!!! So I anonymized the list :3c

--

Steve groaned when he realized he couldn't ignore the constant pinging of his phone anymore. It had well and truly rung through his half-dozing state. He pushed himself up, popping each vertebrae as he attempted to blink the sleep out of his eyes, then yawned, loud, and scrubbed at his eyes.

He took a glance around his room, then squinted in confusion when he saw his lamp had been knocked off the bedside table, there was a... sock? On the ceiling fan? And the ceiling fan was askew, the edges of the blades scraping the paint off on one side and nearly low enough to clip his hair on the other. He stared at it, mouth hanging open in confusion, especially as it finally registered that it was not a sock hanging from the fan, but a ripped pair of tights.

Steve grabbed his phone, still staring at the tights, as he wondered how, exactly, they'd been ripped right down the middle of the crotch and where, exactly, the other half was. He found it as he rolled onto his back to check his phone, one end tied to the foot board of his bed, the other tied around his ankle. He blinked slowly, then thumbed his phone open, peering at the notifications.

[Bucky] If you don't respond, I'm calling the cops

Steve blinked again, then sent a simple 'responding' and scrolled up to see what was going on. He came to the conclusion that he'd disappeared halfway through a party. Bucky and Natasha's engagement party, maybe? They were celebrating something, he remembered. The first messages has been teasing, calling him a curmudgeonly old man, then jokes about him getting lucky, then concern as he'd never replied to any of them. He flipped back to Bucky's messages.

[Me] Yo what happened My lamp's broken? And my ceiling fan? I'm tied to the bed kinda.

He looked around again just for good measure, then did a double-take at his sheets. He snapped a picture and sent it along as well.

[Me] Also, my bed has glitter in it for reasons I do not recall.

Bucky's response came only a few seconds later.

[Bucky] Oh my god the stripper??????????????! I wondered what happened to him!!!!!!

"The stripper?" Steve asked, squinting at the screen in confusion.

The door to his bathroom opened, and a man stepped out, naked as the day he was born. He was beautifully damp. He had a towel wrapped around his hair. Steve understood, suddenly, why half a pair of tights were on the ceiling fan. He immediately wanted to fuck this man so athletically that the other half snapped off his leg and flew onto the ceiling fan too.

"I ordered breakfast," the man said casually, pulling a duffel bag from... somewhere. "It should be here in about fifteen minutes. I'm Tony, by the way," he added, picking a pair of briefs out of the bag.

"You don't have to put those on, Tony," Steve offered, instead of doing the polite thing of offering his name back, or asking if he wanted anything else.

Tony let out a bark of laughter. "Just as charming as last night," he teased, shaking his head.

God, Steve hoped he'd been charming last night. "So... were we introduced last night?" he asked carefully. "And you thought I forgot your name?"

"I was introduced as Bambi last night," Tony said, offering him a smirk. "And you waxed poetic about my big brown eyes until I basically had no choice but to fall into bed with you."

"Bambi," Steve repeated, and then, louder, "Ooooh, Bambi." Suddenly he remembered exactly what had happened last night, up to and including how his room had gotten messed up, and it had started with Tony finally asking, 'Does that make you Faline? Or are you more of a Ronno?' and Steve just picking him up and carrying him toward the door as Tony giggled in his arms.

Well. Food was coming. He'd have time to convince Tony he was more than just a fan of brown eyes. Tony had a cheeky smile. He found those always seemed to get him into trouble in the best way.

[homiesexual-or-homosexual]

Pairing: Slasher! Steddie x reader

Genre: maybe a little angst, some fluff, and leading up to smut

Warnings: some creepy basketball players, Steddie beat the crap out of these creeps, implied mœrder, spiking of the drinks, kissing, a threesome

——

You were being followed.

You had to be.

Theres no other way to describe the crawling up your spine and the faux burning sensation you feel digging it’s way into the vertebrae of your neck.

You knew it was stupid to go outside. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. But you didn’t feel safe at home, not with you being home alone for two weeks now and hearing too many weird noises outside your house late at night. So you’re only option was to take your non-driving self and walk all the way to your friend, Steve Harrington’s, house a couple blocks away. But there seemed to be more blocks at night than there are during the day, and that was one of the other things that unnerved you that night.

A snap of a twig caused an animalistic, fight or flight response of whipping your body around. You flit your eyes around, seeing nothing in the distant dark past the streetlights lining the neighborhood. You turn around and bump into a body that wasn’t there before. Taking one step back, you’re eye meet a white and green letterman, a basketball player. By the name of the shiny green leather, Jake Turner was in front of you.

You step back two more, apologies building in your throat only for you to bump into another body. It’s Tanner Johnson, also on the basketball team.

“Oh I’m sorry,” You speak out around the dryness in your throat.

You step forward away from Tanner, but not too close to Jake. You look to the sides to see four more basketball players have joined the duo, Jason not among them. You remember the news from the day before that Jason had fallen victim to the flu, but that didn’t stop the basketball’s team reign of terror on the unpopular of the Hawkins High’s hallways.

You swallow, nervous. You’re already clammy hands grow clammier, and a nervous heat gathers in your palms and climbs up your arms.

“Where are you off too so late at night?” Jake asked, taking half a step forward.

“Umm- uh.. Steve’s..,” You tell him, glancing at the taller boys around you.

“Harrington’s?” He asks.

You nod.

He only hums, making eye contact with the boy behind you. You feel hands on your hips and the foreign feeling shoots painful jabs of shock from the area of contact out to the rest of your body, overloading your nervous system. You look around again, noting that you’d stopped just at the end of Steve’s block. But how are you going to get away from all the boys and get to safety, you’re greatly outnumbered and outmuscled.

“It’s cold out,” Jake mutters only loud enough for you and the other boys to hear. “No jacket. You wanna stop by and warm up?”

“No-no thank you,” You stutter. “Steve’s just a few houses up.”

“You sure, even with a killer stalking his way around Hawkins?” It sounds almost like the threat.

But the killer. Your stupid, afraid lizard brain completely forgot of a killer roaming Hawkins as you speak, killing a few non-important people of Hawkins that were on the news for three days max, only to be forgotten when that 72 hour timer was up. Only two of your classmates had been killed, but no one of note.

“I’m sure i’ll be fine. Steve’s is just a few houses up,” You say again, a little louder this time.

“C’mon,” Tanner purrs, pushing your hips forward causing you to stumble forward. “Let’s just get your warmed up.”

Jake falls in beside you, a hand coming up to grip the nape of your neck to push your forward.

“No-no!” You struggle, trying to elbow the body behind you. “I don’t wanna go! Let me go!!”

The boys only surge your body forward and you fall into the grass of a nearby yard, it’s cold and wet. You do your best to scramble away but your hands slip on the wet grass.

“This wouldn’t be so hard if you didn’t struggle,” You feel a weight on your body and it only overloads your senses even more.

You decided to take a chance and take advantage of the quiet night and yell.

“STEVE!! STEVE!!”

“Shush,” One of the boys says, shoving you down and your face pressed against the grass. Tears, that’d flooded your eyes, spilled over your lash line.

You claw and kick, trying to dislodge whoever was holding you down.

It works, or so you think. You barely hear a hard kick, an “oof”, and the the weight is no longer there.

“Shit-“ You hear a voice.

Another hard thud against a body and a groan of pain.

“Guys, it’s-“

You turn around, sitting up. Your met with a tall, black clothed figure. No distinct features other than the knife in their hand and the paper white mask that features a sad scream.

“Oh shit-“ Tanner backs away, only to be shoved forward by another dark clothes figure, identical to the first one, but they hold a blood stained bat, nails dotted the fat part of the bat.

The first figure with the knife pulls Jake, who was laid on the ground, up by his hair. He’s placed in a sloppy downward dog position and his face is twisted in pain.

“There’s two of them??” One of the basketball guys mutters.

“C’mon man, we gotta go.”

Theres a shuffling of feet and you watch as the four unnamed basketball players sloppily panic sprint away, leaving behind Tanner and Jake.

The figure with the bat swings and you advert your eyes as a sickening thud and a yell of pain is ripped from Tanner’s body.

“I’m only gonna hurt you a little bit,” The ghost with the knife mutters. “Not enough to kill you, but enough for you to remember.”

You’re to scared to back away, but you want to think the knife ghost is mindful. They’re positioned in a way of blocking your view of both his victim and the bat ghost’s victim.

It’s a painful few minutes of whatever happens to both the basketball players, your eyes screwed shut and hands over your ears. And it’s a hand that shocks you out of the barely safe haven. It’s gentle, and you scramble back when you make eye contact with the white mask. You can’t tell which one it is, but whichever one it is, they make no move to hurt you.

They stand to their full height, there’s a knife in their hand. It’s bloody. But they reach their opposite hand towards you.

“C’mon,” The ghost speaks. “Up.”

Despite your mind saying no, you take their hand and the ghost hoists you up. They’re tall, intimidating.

“Let’s get you home.”

The ghost blocks your view of the basketball boys, walking you to the sidewalk and up towards Steve’s house.

The other ghost, the one with the bat, joins on your other side. Both lead you up the way to Steve’s house. It’s silent until you speak up.

“Did you kill them?” You don’t look at either of them.

The ghost on your left, the one with the bat, speaks up, “Only the one that touched you.”

Tanner. Tanner touched you.

And now he’s dead. Because he touched you.

It’s silent again. And they walk you all the way up to Steve’s lit up porch. But you grow confused when the ghost with the bat opens the door, waits for you and the other ghost to walk in, which you do cautiously. But it’s Steve’s house, nothing bad ever happens in Steve’s house.

You watch as the bat ghost shuts the front door, locks both locks, and set the bloodied bat against the wall. They bring their hands up to the mask, pull it up, and they reveal their face.

You can barely believe it. It’s..

It’s Steve.

Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington just murdered a classmate, all because he harassed you and touched you.

You turn around and the other ghost is shaking his hair out, black curls flying about. And then you catch his face. It’s Eddie. Eddie Munson.

Steve and Eddie are the ghosts that have been terrorizing your town for a few weeks now. Murdering town folk and classmates, and they’ve just added another to their list. And these ghosts are also your best friends.

“But why?” You asks, not caring which one answers.

“Why?” Steve starts, pulling the dirtied robe from his body. “Why do we kill or why did we kill Tanner?”

You pause, “Why do you kill?”

“For you,” Steve answers, he pulls the long sleeved shirt that he had on under the robe off, blood had soaked through and gotten it messy as well.

You blinked, mind blank with shock. For you? But why?? Why would someone kill for you? What reasoning could they possibly have?

"Why?" You ask.

"Because, we care about you," Eddie's come up behind you, his mask and robe tossed aside but he still has on a tight fitting long, black sleeved shirt, the sleeved are pushed up to just above his elbows. "Anyone that cares about you enough would kill for you."

"You care about me?" You pause. "That much?"

"Of course," Steve answers.

Eddie gently turns you around with his hands on your shoulders, and you see the same, dark chocolate eyes you've always seen. They look at you with adoration. These don't look like the eyes of a killer, they're just the eyes of one of your closest friends.

"You remember Cody Durrington?" Eddie asks.

Cody Durrington. You'd met him at a party you went to with Steve, Robin, and Eddie. You don't remember much, only that you'd separated from the group and Cody Durrington had been nice and offered you a drink. The next thing you remember is drinking a bottle of blue gatorade through a straw in Steve's bathroom. Robin stood in the doorway and Steve was holding your drink. The next morning, the news had reported Durrington dead, just a block away from the house where the party was at.

"You came crying to me cause you didn't feel good. I figured you drank too much until a little bird told me that Cody Durrington had spiked that drink that he gave you," Eddie told you, still holding you by the shoulders and making strong eye contact. "Apparently he had planned on bringing you home with him that night, but couldn't after you came wobbling over to Steve and I. Obviously, I just couldn't let all that slide, not when it came to you. So I had Steve and Robin bring you home to sober you up and I dragged Cody away and killed him."

"That was you?"

"Of course," Eddie seemed to have a bit of pride swimming in his eyes at his declaration. "I tell you all the time, sweetheart, I won't let anything happen to you."

"It's cause we care about you, baby. But you know that, right?" Steve is still behind you. He's so close that you can feel the heat radiating from his bare chest. Though you're sure that the thin shirt you threw on before you left your house isn't much of a barrier anyway.

You nod. Words aren't forming in your brain because of the close proximity of the taller men, and also probably because of the shock of the current situation. But it's most definitely because of your two very tall, very handsome best friends that are sandwiching you in the living room right now.

You'd always found your two best friends attractive, ever since you met them. But now? That you know that they'd do anything for you? You can't help but see your boys even more attractive. They always told you that they wouldn't let anything happen to you and that you're always safe with them, but now you know positively mean it. You know that they'd do anything for you, and more.

"You okay?" Eddie asks, his hands are on your upper arms, rubbing up and down in a small motion.

"I uh- Yeah," You stutter, smiling. It's not a confident smile, but you're very nervous all of the sudden.

"You sure?"

You move your hands up to grip onto Eddie's arms and nod, "Yeah."

It's almost like a staring contest between you and Eddie. You breathe, barely, but it fully stops when Eddie's hands move to your face. They're warm against your cheeks, and big. His palms hold pretty much the entirety of your cheeks and his fingers place themselves comfortably around your ears, his pointer resting above your ear while the rest slot themselves underneath your lobe. You blush and Eddie can feel it cause you see the small smile grow on his face. You've never been this close with Eddie, and you're extremely nervous. You can feel your heartbeat pick up and the hint of sweat glossing your cheeks.

Then, Eddie starts leaning in. For what? Is he going to kiss you? Oh you so dearly hoping that the hands on your cheeks and him leaning in are strong telltale signs of a kiss from Eddie Munson. And he only leans closer and closer until your lips meet, and he's kissing you! Eddie fucking Munson is kissing you!! The only thing you can do is kiss him back. Your heart feels like it's beating 100 miles per minutes and you pray to whatever higher power there is in this moment that you don't go into cardiac arrest cause that would be super embarrassing.

Eddie kisses you and kisses you, holding your face so gently in his hands. He keeps pulling back, but you push forward in eagerness. Eddie's happy to be just as eagered as he starts kissing you a little more harshly. But before you get too eagered into kissing, Steve speaks up.

"Hey, can I have a turn now?"

You and Eddie separate, and you turn. Your vision is blurry and your legs feel like jello. You blink a few times and smile up at the older man.

"Of course," You tell him and grab his cheeks to pull him down to your height.

Steve places his hands on the junction where your neck and jaw meet and your lips meet his. You feel the same feeling as you felt when you were kissing Eddie, nervous and like you were about to pass out but oh so excited. Steve is softer, he's eagered to meet your lips but you can tell he likes to take things slow. He places one last, slightly wet kiss to your lips before fully pulling back. You take a moment to realize that you little kissing session with Steve has ended, hopefully temporarily.

"Eagered, are we?" Steve asks, a smirk on his face.

You nod.

"Words, baby. You know I like hearing you talk," Steve gently orders, rubbing your jaw with his thumb.

"Yeah," You breathed out.

Steve nodded, satisfied with your answer.

Your concentration on Steve is interrupted by a pair of hands on your upper waist. You jump, not expecting the touch.

"Sorry," You hear Eddie mutter as he noses your neck, pressing his body into yours from behind.

Both of these boys are so warm, and oh so tall. It makes you extremely flustered and nervous for whatever is going to come out of the current situation.

“You wanna lock up and I’ll bring our pretty girl upstairs? Get her started?” Steve suggests, looking past you at Eddie.

“Sure. I’ll bring up a water or two as well,” Eddie presses a soft kiss to your neck and pulls away.

The action spreads head throughout your body, but it’s centered at the area between your legs. Your legs are a little wobbly as you follow Steve up the stairs, your hand in his. You can’t help but admire his back. It’s muscly and you like how his shoulder blade has adjusted to the way his arm his pulled back to keep contact with you. Your eyes glide down the dip where his spine is located and along the symmetrical lines that located the tops of his hip bones that disappear under Steve’s denim jeans.

You barely register the blank walls of the hallway and the semi-empty room that Steve calls his bedroom. You sit obediently on the soft unmade bed. It smells like Steve; woody, a little bit of expensive cologne, a hint of hairspray, and an underlying smell of musk. There’s also a lingering smell of weed and cigarettes, and you make a mental note that Eddie must frequent here as well.

“Arm’s up,” Steve tells you, standing in front of you.

You do as your told and Steve pulls your t-shirt up over your head and drops it onto the floor beside you. Steve brings his hands to your face and leans down to kiss you again, letting his hands roam down your neck, over your shoulders, and down to the middle of your back to unhook the clasps of your bra. He pulls the straps of the material down your shoulders and you help him get your arms out of the loops so Steve can drop your bra on the ground with your shirt.

Steve pulls away from you. You watch as Steve stalks around the bed and goes to settle on the left side of the bed. He adjusts so he’s sitting up against a couple pillows on the headboard, his legs parted and only a few strands of hair falling over his forehead.

“C’mere, baby. You wanna come sit on my lap?” He asks, watching you.

You nod, getting up from your spot and making your way to the man. You’re hesitant as you swing your legs up over Steve and you hover, not sure where to sit.

Steve puts his hands on your hips and pulls you forward and down. As he pulls you down, the boy pushes his hips upwards. He groans a little at the feeling. He slides his hands up your abdomen to your cheeks, cradling them.

“Kiss me?” Steve asks, still holding your face.

You nod.

Steve pulls you down gently. Your hair gets in your face a little and Steve adjusts his hands so your hair stays out of both of your ways. You kiss and kiss, using only a little tongue. You’re letting Steve guide you and it’s obvious he doesn’t want to push you too much, which you’re thankful for.

You’re interrupted by a knock on the doorframe of the bedroom.

“Knock knock, lovebirds,” It’s Eddie. “Water delivery.”

You sit up from kissing Steve, shyly brushing some hair behind your ear. You watch as Eddie sets the two glasses of water on the bedside table. He plops down on the bed, still in his black long sleeve shirt.

“Dude,” Steve deadpans, looking at his male companion.

“What?” Eddie looks back him.

“Your shirt,” Steve points out.

“These sheets need washed anyway,” Eddie waves him off. “You’ll be fine.”

Steve scoffs and turns his head to you. He give you a “this guy” look.

You only smile.

“Sooo…,” Eddie trails. “My turn?”

He looks at you, awaiting your answer.

“Sure,” You shrug, still smiling.

You carefully make your way over to Eddie, being mindful of your knees. You settle on Eddie’s lap just like you did Steve’s but you actually sit down this time.

Eddie pulls you down. He’s a little more aggressive than Steve, you note, but still caring. Eddie dives right into the kiss, using tongue and only a hint of teeth.

After what feels like forever and seconds at the same time, you’re pulled away from Eddie by your hair. You groan, not really in pain but not in too much pleasure either. Steve gently maneuvers you between them, laying you on your back on the bed.

“Off?” Steve asks, sitting up on his haunches beside you. He gently pulls on the pj shorts you have on.

“Uhmm..,” You hesitate for a moment, nervous. “Sure.”

“You sure?” Steve senses your nervousness.

You nod, “No time like the present.”

Steve nods, checking one more time before he pulls your shorts off.

You’re left there in your thin pj shirt and panties. The cold air of the room makes goosebumps erupt on your skin.

In light of exposed skin, Eddie pulls off his own shirt. He shakes out his hair, fluffing it up. You’d only seen Eddie shirt a handful of times, but now was the only time you were only really paying attention. He had a slightly toned chest and a soft tummy. Below his belly button, you followed his thatch of hair that disappeared into his black jeans. Back up to his chest, there was the demon head and the black widow. On the right forearm were his bat tattoos. On his bicep, was the puppet master and on his left bicep was the serpent.

“You like what you see?” Eddie asked, a smug expression on his face.

You averted your gaze in embarrassment.

“There’s no need to get embarrassed,” Eddie told you, turning your head back towards him. “Now let’s get this party started.”

———

A/N: Hello! This has been in my drafts for forever and it’s been getting a little long so I decided to end it where it was. If yall want more eye-pœrn then please please please beg for it cause I honestly have no motivation to write smut for Eddie anymore. But if yall beg for a part 2, I will give yall a part 2