#ALSO BRIGHT BIRDY

[kiashieart]

Goatee Nick: getting an expert opinion

[image descriptions in read more]

(the setting is after timeskip, after Diego has been released from prison. Diego has specialized contacts to replace his visor)

page 1: in the top 2 panels, Phoenix is wiping his face with the towel around his neck, saying "alright", going into the second panel where he lowers the towel to reveal his face with his freshly cut goatee and ask "what do we think?". the third panel has Diego and Trucy with hands to their chins, both humming in deliberation. in the fourth panel, Trucy cheekily responds with a bright smile on her face: "yup! it suits my dear old daddy!", which Phoenix shouts "hey!!" from off screen in offense to his daughters statement; meanwhile Diego is starting to take a step forward, stating "hold on" - as his judgement will require more inspection.

page 2: the top 2 panels are drawn in a comedic simplified style, showing Diego bluntly grabbing phoenix by the chin, and then tilting Phoenix' head back while he leans in close to inspect the goatee. Trucy stands behind Diego in silence, unprepared for what she is about to witness.

the third panel at the bottom is a more detailed drawing of Diego holding Phoenix by the chin in a way that appears surprisingly and unintentionally intimate; Phoenix is wide eyed and starting to blush, while Diego is calmly assessing the goatee with his lips pouted in concentration, narrating his assessment: "hmm… the cut is clean… looks even".

in the bottom right corner, a 'LIVE TRUCY REACTION' display shows Trucy's face cropped; she is smiling thinly, and her eyebrows are raised to the point of a light crease in her forehead in stunned surprise. she is doing her best to reel it in.

page 3: the top two panels are portrait closeups; Phoenix's blushing and surprised face with Diego's hand around his chin almost as if from Diego's point of view, sparkles around his face - and then to Diego's face, calm but his lips still pouted. he idly thinks to himself '… he's pretty handsome'.

the third panel goes back to Phoenix's face; cropped and more close up to his even more flushed lower face, a bead of sweat rolling down his cheek and Diego's hand on his chin, Diego's thumb slipping to touch the corner of phoenix's lips. Diego thinks to himself 'hmm…', and then catching himself in surprise to the position of his thumb; 'ah-'.

the fourth panel goes back to the comedic simplified style with all 3 of them, Phoenix is wide eyed and full on blushing, Diego has quickly pulled his hand back while also blushing and a creased brow but is trying to play it cool with a smile, and Trucy is behind Diego also with wide eyes and her mouth in a straight line. Diego plays it off, stating: "woops - apologies, hand slipped, anyway-" with his speech bubble captioned with 'smooth recovery!!'.

the final panel is like the 4th but bigger and back to being drawn with more detail. Diego is leaning back with his hand close to his own chin again and a pleased smile and blush, slightly sweating from having recovered his slip up; he makes his final positive judgement on the goatee and says "well done! it looks good on you birdie~". Phoenix is still somewhat blushing but he's smiling and leaning back tilted bashfully, responding with "haha, you think? i quite like it myself!" Trucy has put on a calm and friendly smile one her face, but is turning her head to look away and brought her hand up to shield her peripheral view; above her is a faded crudely simplified drawing of her face that reveals her internalized true expression of a stunned grimace. she thinks to herself both impressed and slightly horrified at the outlandish unintentional flirting her father experience with 'wowwww'.

[eddiesxangel]

She Said Fuck Me Like I’m Famous (I Said Okay) | E.M

WC: 5.9k

Cw: fem!popstar!reader, modern au, fluff, smut, dirty talk, kinda Dom Eddie, oral (m & f), p in v, reader is on bc, creampies.

Summary: when you invite your online bestie over to spend the week with you for the first time, you don’t know what to expect when her over protective friends tag along

Meeting Robin was a happy accident that life sometimes throws at you. Even though she was a stranger on the other side of the country, she was one of the most genuine friends you could have ever asked for. It all started slowly. You had both been on the same Discord server because of your mutual love for an author, and things went from there. After almost three years of friendship, you finally decided to meet in person!

You guys organized everything. She was flying to California and staying with you in your two-bedroom apartment for a little over a week. You had so much planned for the both of you, especially over the weekend, because it just so happened you were also to perform at this year’s Coachella.

It was your first big performance at a festival like this. It would do wonders for your career and hopefully bring you new fans.

Robin was your biggest supporter. She was so excited to see you perform live for the first time, not to mention the VIP passes you had promised her. It was hard to seek out genuine friendships in the line of work that you do. Everyone wants something, so you didn’t disclose your real name and what you did until you could trust her entirely. Robin was one of those people who you couldn't help but love; her bubbly personality and heart of gold were something you latched onto.

You were not taken aback upon receiving a text from Robin informing you that her two extremely protective male friends were adamant about accompanying her to ensure her safety. She had previously mentioned them, and from what she shared, they come across as genuinely great guys. Their concern for their friend's well-being is commendable, and you appreciate their commitment to looking out for her.

She also told you that the guys would rather stay in a hotel with her, but if they felt comfortable, they didn’t mind if she stayed with you for the rest of the week. You weren’t offended. It was unbelievable that you invited someone you’d never met into your home. Still, she was one of your closest confidants, even though you’ve never seen one another in person, primarily through texting and FaceTime.

-

The day was finally here, and you let Robin know that your assistant would pick the three of them up at the airport because you were in rehearsals until 2:00 p.m.

“See, Rob, this is exactly why we came with you!” Steve pointed at the text message as she read it out loud.

“What do you mean?” Robin asked with a scowl.

“She is sending a random person to pick us up? We are about to be human trafficked for all we know!”

Robin rolled her eyes and hiked up her carry-on over her shoulder.

“Men… so dramatic.” She whispered under her breath.

The three wandered down the corridor until they saw a small woman about 5'1" with a bright smile holding a sign that read ‘ Birdie + 2.’

That was cute; you used her Discord name.

“Oh, yes. Here is the woman who’s going to kidnap us,” she jesters, and the two men can’t help but roll their eyes.

“Hi! Are you Kelsey?” Robin approached the woman who she towered over.

“Yes, Hi! If you want to come with me, the car is waiting. She’s so excited you’re finally here; it’s all she’s been talking about.”

Kelsey opened the door for the three friends to get in and made her way to the driver’s seat.

-

It’s been a long wait, but your rehearsal wrapped up right on schedule. You made sure because you didn’t want to waste any time. You’ve been so antsy all day, waiting to go home and meet your best friend for the first time. You were so nervous; what if she thought you were annoying? What if the paparazzi ruined her time here? On your way home, the what-ifs circled your mind, but you tried to shake that all away when you got the text from Kelsey that they made it safely and were on their way to the hotel to drop off their things. Then she would bring them over to your apartment.

The minutes tick by as you wait for them in your apartment. You double-check the fridge to make sure you have refreshments and snacks. They must be tired and hungry from the flight.

Your manicured fingernails tap the cold marble countertop in your kitchen as you nervously scroll your phone, trying to distract yourself until the condo buzzer startles you. You run over and answer the speaker, telling them to come on up.

You anxiously count the seconds as you wait for them to approach the door. When the elevator bell dings on your floor, 17 stories up, you open the door eagerly to see Kelsey get off first.

You’re bouncing on your toes as you half-heartedly skip through the hallway, cheering as you see the freckled-faced girl enter the corridor.

“Birdie!” You clap, jump, and run to her with a smile so big your cheeks burn.

Cheers and squeals fill the small space as you take one another in your arms. If the people surrounding you had known better, your embrace would have made it look like you were lovers.

“I can’t believe you’re finally here!”

"I can't believe you're real." You step back to look at her in full. Finally, after all this time, you are united with your bestie. You tell one another everything. Robin confided in you about how she likes girls, and you said you were so scared that you're not good enough to be here. The imposter syndrome was extreme, but she put your mind at ease.

One of the men behind Robin had cleared their throat, reminding the both of you that they were also there.

“Oh my god, sorry.” Robin jumps.

“This is Steve, and this is Eddie.” Robin steps out of your way, and your gaze falls on the two handsome men standing behind her. Your heart flutters a bit, taking in both of them.

Steve and Eddie were complete opposites in their style. Steve had a preppy look, with a soft smile and gentle, kind eyes that reflected his warm personality. In contrast, Eddie's style was edgy and tough, but his eyes were surprisingly kind and strikingly beautiful, hinting at a depth beyond his tough exterior.

“Hi, I’m y/n, but you can call me Bunnie.” You stuck out your hand to introduce yourself.

“Damn, kinda disappointed you’re real; I had 50 bucks going that you were catfishing Rob this whole time,” Steve giggled as you shook his hand.

“Shut up,” Robin rolled her eyes.

“Me? A catfish? Never,” you giggled.

You moved to Eddie, and he stood there wide-eyed as he tried to speak, say hello, hi, or something, but he felt like his tongue was suddenly too big for his mouth. There was no way you were real. There's no way you were this pretty in real life. There was no way Robin was friends with a celebrity.

Unsurprisingly, Eddie had no idea who you were when Robin told him and Steve she was coming out to see you. However, Steve’s reaction made it seem like you were a big deal, so he googled you and looked at your Instagram beforehand. Never in his life did he see someone so beautiful. The attraction was instant, but now, seeing you in person, there was no denying his inevitable crush on you.

Eddie finally managed to choke out a “hi.” His cheeks heated up as his voice cracked like he was 12 again.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” you smile but quickly turn to Robin.

“Come,” you say, linking your arm with hers as you return to your condo.

“Thanks for letting us tag along with Birdie here,” Steve smiled.

After the initial excitement, you had all settled down. You were lounging on your balcony, eating and drinking to your heart's content.

“No problem, the more the merrier,” you smile.

Robin had told you about her friends back home; you also felt like you strangely knew them.

“What do you guys want to do first? Eddie, any suggestions?” You ask, singling him out.

Eddie hardly knew what to say. It was as if his brain had stopped functioning when you spoke to him. He wanted to woo and get to know you and hoped and prayed that you were as good of a person as Robin raved you to be.

“W-what?" He stuttered and looked at you wide-eyed. "Uh, I'm not sure. What do you have in mind?”

Without a beat, you rambled off the list of activities you had in mind, and Eddie listened so intently to everything; he would go anywhere as long as he was in your company.

“He, man, help me get some more drinks,” Steve said, nudging Eddie’s knee.

“No, please, you’re my guest. Allow me.” You got to stand, but Steve insists.

“Take advantage, let them dote on us.” Robin giggled.

“Dude, you’re really into her, aren’t you?” Steve smirked once the two men were back inside and out of earshot.

“How could I not be? Hello, she’s like the perfect woman,” Eddie half whispered.

Eddie took you in one more time through the sliding glass door. Not only was your style darker and edgy, but you’re witty and funny and don’t seem too vapid for a Hollywood star. He had a preconceived notion about Hollywood starlets; however, you seemed so down to earth, and you loved talking music with him; even if you are a pop star, you know your shit when it came to writing and playing guitar.

“You should ask her out this week and see what happens.”

“No, she’s not into me.”

“Maybe not yet? But how could she not be? You’re a catch. You gotta be yourself; you’re too in your head right now. Just think of her as an extension of Robin.”

“An extension of Robin?”

“They’re practically the same person; just don’t think about how hot she is.”

That’s easy for you to say.” Eddie rolls his eyes.

“How?”

“I don’t know, man. You’re King Steve, Steve 'the hair' Harrington, and you know how to flirt with girls.”

“So do you.”

“Not girls like that!” He points towards you and Robin, oblivious to the conversation, gabbing away about who knows what.

“You’re telling me that a girl who looks like that isn’t going to be attracted to a guy who looks like you? “ he raised a brow.

“I don’t know?” Eddie shrugged.

“Nah, dude, you’re being too hard on yourself. Listen to me, be yourself, and see what happens.”

“Okay,” he sighed, bringing the drinks out for you and Robin.

As the night wore on, Eddie became more confident speaking to you and less intimidated after the talk with Steve in the kitchen. When the night ended, you were all disappointed to say goodbye but excited about what tomorrow would bring.

-

The past few days have been absolutely hectic. Rehearsals for the upcoming show have consumed your mornings, followed by afternoons filled with various outings. It's a whirlwind from sound check to meeting up with your guests at their hotel or wherever they are.

Eddie’s crush was starting to take over his mind. Every night before he went to sleep, he thought about you and watched videos of you. He even went so far as to put your name on YouTube and “cute moments” afterwards.

Nothing could stop Eddie from getting you off his mind. He was so excited when you gave him your number, even if he was too nervous to text you. His excitement doubled when you followed him on Instagram, and he spastically went through all his posts to make sure nothing was embarrassing.

Today, you went to the beach. A relaxing day was much needed after your hectic schedule of rehearsals and entertaining your guests over the past few days.

You arrive to see your new friends secured a great spot by the water's edge. Robin is lying under the umbrella while the boys wrestle in the water.

“Is Eddie single?” you ask after settling down with Robin on the sand.

“The most chronically single person I’ve ever met; dude hasn’t been in a relationship since he confessed his love for a cheerleader in high school, and I wouldn’t even count that as a girlfriend.”

You stop and ponder this newfound information as you watch him from afar. As you observe him splashing around, you see him in a new light. He is lean but has some muscle. His various tattoos and how he looks in a bathing suit is giving you butterflies.

“What’s wrong with him?” You ask nervously.

“Nothing is wrong with him; he’s just… I don’t know how to explain it. The girls in our town aren’t into guys who look or act like Eddie. They’re all stuck up, snooty rich kids, you know? And Eddie has had it rough; he grew up on the poorer side of town and his parents. His uncle raised him, so everyone looked down at him.” Robin sighed, hating the way life had treated her friend.

“Trust me, I know about stuck-up assholes. I live in their capital.” You snort.

“So why are you asking about Ed? Any particular reason?” Robin peaks at you from under her sunglasses. ”

“He seems different from the guys in L. A” You twiddle with the strings on your bikini bottoms.

“Well, I know he has a big fat crush on you.”

“Really?” Your face lit up, giving away your motive for conversation.

“Seems like you do, too girl friend.” She nudged you, and you tried to hide your face under your beach towel.

“Ooooooooooo Bunnie has a crush on Eddie the Freak.” Robin teased.

“What did he do to earn that title?”

“There are many rumours; I’m sure you’ll find out soon.” She wiggled her brows suggestively.

Robins’s innuendo had you giggling so hard that you almost started crying.

You pulled Eddie’s attention when he heard your angelic laugh. Eddie stood distracted by watching you lay out with Robin, your tattoos on display, more than he had seen initially. Your teeny black-and-white bikini was a sight for soar eyes, being stuck with Steve all day and night. With the sudden distraction, Steve had the opportunity to body-slam Eddie into the ocean.

Eddie’s audible “oof” was heard, and before Eddie knew it, he was gasping for air. When he finally got his bearing straight, he saw you looking over, concerned at the two men, then gave a slight wave to ensure he was okay.

“Playtimes over, Harrington,” Eddie shoved Steve off of him.

“Oh, I think it’s just beginning for you, Munson.”

The two men exited the water looking too hot for their own good, like some personal Baywatch episode was coming at you in 3D.

“Like what you see?” Eddie smirked at you as they both approached the both of you.

“Absolutely.” You squint up at him, the sun catching your eyes.

Eddie plopped beside you and shook his head like a dog getting ocean water all over you.

You squeak at how cold the water is.

“Oh, sorry, Bunnie, let me get that for you.” He smirks.

He brushes the water from your face with his towel.

Oh, he knows what he is doing.

Your skin deceived you as the goosebumps arose when Eddie touched your face.

“You cold, Bunnie?” Eddie noticed and pulled you in with him as he wrapped his towel around the both of you. Your bare back pressing against his cold, damp chest wasn’t helping, but hell, you were not about to start complaining.

“Thanks”

Robin gives you a pointed look, then immediately grabs Steve’s hand to yank him up.

“Come, we are getting food.”

Steve leaves without protest, seeing what Robin sees- that you and Eddie should have some alone time.

“So a little Birdie told me you have a reputation back home.” You were leaning up against Eddie’s chest, basking in the sun.

“Oh, did she, now? And what might that be.”

“that you’re a little freaky,” you giggle.

“You sure you want to know about th-"

“Oh my god! It is you! Oh my god, I love you. Can I please get a picture with you?” A girl not much younger than yourself, clearly a fan of yours, looks down at you, and Eddie is cuddled up.

Without missing a beat, you get up and greet the fan.

“Can you take our picture?” She gives her phone to Eddie before he even agrees that he’s getting up to help.

You give him an apologetic look. This was not the kind of day he signed up for.

You pose with the fan and talk with her briefly before she asks, “ Is that your boyfriend?”

You look over your shoulder to see Eddie again sitting under the umbrella.

“No, no, he’s a friend,” you smile.

“Too bad, you guys would be a cute couple.”

You entertain her only a few more minutes before she leaves.

“Sorry about that.” You sit back down beside Eddie.

“That’s okay, I get it. You’re famous and all.” He smiles.

“I’m not that famous,” you sigh.

“Don’t sell yourself short, sweetheart.”

“Well, maybe…” you shrug.

“You have strangers coming up to you complimenting your work; that’s sick as fuck if you ask me.”

“It's something I’ll never get used to.”

“Tell me more what it’s like?”

“What? Having a fan approach me?”

“Yea. I guess being a famous rockstar was all I ever dreamed of until a few years ago when I realized it wouldn’t be in the cards for me.

“What if it could be?”

“What do you mean?”

“I have a crazy idea.”

-

Pictures of you and a “Mystery guy” were planted all over the tabloids the following day. Of course, no one stopped to take a photo when it was just you and Robin or the four of you sitting on the beach.

“I’m sorry, Eddie. I didn’t mean for you to get dragged into my crazy.” You apologized while you were all out to dinner. Eddie was sat directly beside you.

“I think I like crazy,” he smirked and gently touched your knee.

You tried to hide your bashful smile while playing with the stem of your martini glass.

Robin and Steve instantly locked in on the chemistry between you. They tried to look at one another subtly, but you caught it.

“What are you guys up to?” You ask.

“Nothing,” Robin laughs, but Steve isn’t shy about the topic.

“You guys are cute,” he smirks into the glass before sipping the golden bubbly liquid.

“Steve!” You squeak.

“I agree,” Robin concurred.

You wanted to agree with them, but you hardly knew Eddie, but you yearned to know everything about him. The more time you spend with this group, the more you don’t want them to leave. You can’t imagine how it will be once they go home next week. You would kill for them to spend more time with, especially Robin and your newfound crush, Eddie.

-

As the sun sets on the horizon, casting a warm glow over the Coachella stage, you feel the nervous excitement building inside you. In just five minutes, it would be your turn to shine. Every move, every step, every beat was etched into your mind. You had rehearsed and memorized everything, from the choreography to the cues. The anticipation was palpable as you prepared to take the stage. Eddie Robin and Steve were set up in the VIP section, and you had an excellent sightline. You felt the cheers from the crowd pulsing through your veins as you stepped under the spotlight.

“She’s incredible!” Robin cheered.

“I had no idea she could sing like that!” Steve was in shock.

“What do you think, Eddie?” Robin turns, but her friend is nowhere in sight. “Ed? Hey, where is Eddie?”

Steve looks around, and he has no idea.

“Maybe he had to take a leak or something?”

Unbeknownst to them, you had a little surprise for your friends.

“How are we feeling tonight!?” You ask the crowd from centre stage.

The crowd roared in response.

“I said, “How are we feeling tonight? “ you ask again, and the crowd cheers as loud as possible.

“Very good, Coachella! I’m so grateful for you guys having me! this is a crucial moment in my career, a highlight, really.” You paced the stage.

“I’m so grateful for you guys to take time out of your day to come out and see me. It means more to me than you ever know! You guys make me feel like a rockstar!”

The crowd cheers again, even louder, and you can’t seem to break the smile off your face.

“Now, before we get this party started, I need you guys to give a warm welcome to a new friend of mine.” You look over to the side stage and wave a hand.

“Everyone, put your hands together for this rockstar! The best guitarist I’ve ever encountered! Give it up for Eddie Munson!” The crowd cheers as you ask them to, and you swear you hear Steve and Robin above all else.

Eddie cannot believe he is standing on stage in front of a crowd with thousands of people in California instead of 6 drunks in Hawkins, Indiana.

Eddie never imagined this opportunity would come to him, but here he was as if a magical being had granted him one wish in life.

When you looked at Eddie, a smile spread across your face, etched into his memory forever. Eddie looked so hot that you couldn’t help but rake your eyes up and down, taking him in. He wore his black ripped jeans, boots, and denim vest, showcasing his many tattoos.

The way you looked tonight was so beautiful. Eddie didn’t think he could make it through the three songs he’s rehearsed with you over the last two days.

Your music wasn’t Eddie’s usual genre. However, it wasn’t as bubblegum pop as he expected. He appreciated many rock elements and would be an idiot to pass up this opportunity.

“Okay, let’s rock!” And Eddie started the first riff of the second half of the setlist.

The crowd was electric, and Eddie’s heart felt like it would pound out of his chest, especially when it came to the guitar solo he absolutely nailed.

“Thank you, Coachella! Goodnight!” The roar of the crowd doesn't die down.

You grab Eddie by the hand and run off stage. As you make it to the stage, Eddie wraps you in a high so tight it takes your breath away.

“That was incredible! Unbelievable!” Eddie howled in excitement. “I can’t believe that just happened!”

“It’s incredible, isn’t it!” You smile.

“Yes! God, I could kiss you!”

“Who is stopping you?”

Maybe it was the adrenaline or perhaps it was the fact that Eddie would be leaving soon, but you wanted it so bad that you threw all caution to the wind.

“What?” Eddie’s eyes winded.

“Kiss me, rockstar. I know you want to.”

You pulled Eddie in by the guitar strap, and your lips connected. The moment his plump lips made contact with your deep cherry-cola-coloured ones, you knew this was something more than physical attraction. You haven’t felt a kiss like this in a very long time. The both of you pull away regretfully, but you are standing in the middle of backstage, and techs and roadies are running all over the place; you can’t just make out with Eddie here.

“Come home with me to my place tonight? You ask bravely.

Eddie quickly nods his head, at a loss for words.

“Okay,”

-

Nothing could top this moment for Eddie. It was you and him alone for the first time. He was in your bedroom, and the height he was feeling was too much to contain. Eddie pulled you in closer, his lips crashing into yours harder as his hands grabbed the silver material of your mini dress. He pushed you up against the wall, and you felt his tight hold on your body. His hard body pressed up against yours, and the only thing separating you was four layers of thin cloth dawning you and Eddie.

“Fuck you’re so hot.” You moan.

Eddie’s head spun at your confession. You thought he was hot. You, the girl who made all of his wildest dreams come true and then some.

“I want you,” you mumble into his lips.

Eddie didn’t need to be told twice before his hand travelled up between the soft skin of your plush thighs.

The way your skin felt under his fingertips makes you shiver. Slowly, his callused tips found their way to the cloth of your soaked panties.

Eddie moaned into you as his kiss trailed down the side of your jaw to your neck, catching that sweet spot that makes your pussy weep.

Eddie’s fingers delicately stroke up and down your slit like he would break you, but you need more. You can’t help your hips rock back and forth into his touch.

Eddie didn’t think he would end up with a pop star grinding into his hand when he planned his trip to Cali with his friend, but he wasn’t complaining. He would be happy if this was the furthest the two of you got.

“More,” You plead, and your hand wiggles its way between the two of you to stroke his already hardening cock.

Eddie buckles his hips into your hand unwillingly, but the feeling of your hand on his cock had him acting on instinct. The two of you dry-humping one another against the wall wasn’t enough.

“Need you, want you so bad,” Eddie confesses.

You push up off the wall and drag Eddie to your bed. You push him back with a giggle, then fall to your knees before him.

“Holy shit,” he whispers under his breath. Your gaze meets Eddie, and it’s like a siren is looking back up at him, ready to drown him with your lust.

You quickly unbuckle and unbutton and unzip everything containing Eddie’s bulge from you, and you’re pleasantly surprised when you finally unwrap him. His tip was already crying for your touch, so red and shiny due to the precum that had been leaking ever since you kissed him when you both got off stage. His long, thick shaft taunted you as if it might not be able to fit.

“Want to teach me why they call you Eddie the Freak?” You smirk.

“Fuck Bunnie, you don’t know what you’re asking for. "

“That’s why I’m asking, big boy.”

You don’t give Eddie a chance to respond before wrapping your warm lips around his fat tip.

“Yes, sweetheart, right there,” he draws out his words as you take him in further.

His hands grip the roots of your hair, pulling them taught as your mouth takes him to the back of your throat.

“Oh god,” He moans again. The way your mouth feels around his cock is making him want to thrust up into you, but he holds back for your sake. He knows you asked him to share why he’s called the freak, but he’s not ready to scare you away with his kinks, not yet.

“Fuck baby, you’re so big” You pull off and replace your mouth with your hand so you can catch your breath. Your lung capacity may be suitable for singing, but you can only hold so much breath.

“You think so, pretty girl?” Eddie brushed a fallen piece of hair from your face, and you swore you had never been so hot and bothered.

You bite your bottom lip and try to grind yourself on your heels for any source of friction as you take him back in your mouth. His taste was addictive, and so was the way he was looking down at you with a look in his eyes that made you feel so wanted.

“Such good girl; you like being on your knees for me?”

You nod your head and hum on his cock in a reference, and that makes Eddie’s head spin. The way your mouth is sending vibrations through him has him pulling you up off of him because he would end the night early if you keep that up.

You giggle as he switches your positions and strips himself. Your head hits your pillows, and you sink into the plush mattress.

“You’re wearing too many clothes," Eddie smirks as his hands find the hem of your dress, pushing it up, up, up, until it meets the lower part of your breasts. Then you take over, folding the fabric over your head.

“Fuuuuuuuuck” Eddie draws out before letting his head fall between them. He presses his face into your chest, kissing and sucking on your tits before he finally takes one nipple into his mouth.

“Tonight should be all about you, Sweetheart.” he nips at your sensitive skin.

“Should worship you like you deserve.”

A low main leaves your throat before Eddie dips down to discard your sodden panties. Finally, he has you where he wants; needy for him and naked.

“Knew you’d have sucha’ pretty pussy, Bunnie.”

“Edddieee” you cry; it’s pathetic how riled up you’ve become.

“Don’t be a brat now,” he warns, but that only makes your pussy throb even more than it has been.

You’re dying to be touched; you craved him so badly that you couldn’t stand it.

Eddie’s mouth dips down to your lower stomach, long drawn-out mouth kisses trailing along your skin around your mound, your under thighs. His teeth nipped and bit at your tender flesh, not breaking the skin but enough to mark you up, to claim you as his own.

“Eddie, please, baby, touch me.” You ask as you stroke the fallen hair out of his face.

“Asking so nicely, good girl.” He purrs.

You can’t help but let out a long sigh as Eddie's tongue makes contact with your swollen bundle of overly sensitive nerves.

He tasers you fully as the flat of his tongue drags itself over your slit. Your slick coats itself on his lips and chin as he sends a rush of pleasure through your veins.

Eddie, the Freak Munson, should be renamed to Eddie the Munch for the irresistible way he’s eating you out. His hands push your inner thighs wider so he has more of you to consume. Your exposed pussy calls to him as he eats you like he’s enjoying it more than you are. He wants you to cum all over his mouth.

Eddie lifts his head and replaces his mouth with his fingers as he pushes up inside of your pussy while massaging your clit with his thumb.

“I know you’re close, baby; give it to me. I need to know how you taste coming on my tongue.”

His dirty words had your head spinning and your core tightening. He was right; you were so close, you wanted- no, you needed to come.

“Please, please, please,” you begged for him to let you have the wave of pleasure wash over your body.

Eddie had you right where he needed you, in the sweet spot of being so desperate that you’d agree to anything he asked. He loved being in control this way; he loved wanting to feel powerful but also loved how much you trusted him to do so.

But what Eddie loved most of all was how you were about to cum all over his face; he loves pussy so much he can’t get enough of it, so he dips back down and has you cumming on his tongue as he pushed it up into your hole and didn’t let up as his thumb rubbed on your clit.

He doesn’t let up until you’ve come twice before wanting to get to the best part.

“Did so good baby, you taste so good. I know you got one more in you for me.”

You can’t even speak; the way he just made you come so quickly, one after another, was mind-blowing.

“Want to teach me why they call you Bunnie?” Eddie mocks as he pulls you up to switch positions.

How were you to ride him after all that?

“Fuck Eddie, I don’t know if I can; my legs are like jello,” you giggle.

“I believe in you, baby,” he creases your ass as you align yourself over his cock.

“Wait, do you have a condom?” He stops you.

“I’m on birth control” You slowly rub your pussy over his shaft, teasing the head at your entrance, threatening to put it in.

“Shiiiiiit” Eddie’s head goes back. “You want to be my little Bunny? Hop on it raw?”

“Mmmmmmm, yes,” you hum as your hips rock back and forth.

“Fuck okay, okay.” And before the second okay is out of Eddie’s mouth, you’re already sinking on his cock. It feels so good that he stretches you until your hips are connected to the bottom.

The only thing filling the room was the sounds of skin slapping skin and the moans coming from each of your mouths. His hands roam your body, exploring the swell of your breasts, your nipples, down around your hips, your back and your ass giving it a tight squeeze.

“Fuck, that’s it. You’re such a good Bunny, bouncing and taking my cock so well.”

“So big.” Your legs were already burning as you worked yourself up and down on his body.

“You going to cum like that, huh?” His hips match your rhythm, and you work together to create the perfect pace.

“That’s my girl, that’s my girl, that’s my girl,” he chants like a prayer as your pussy clenches down on Eddie’s cock, making that your third orgasm of the evening. Your body shutters as your orgasm takes over you, the icing on the cake of the day you’ve had today.

“I’m close. Where do you want it.”

“In me, cum in me, please.”

“Fuck, you sure?”

“Yes!” You had stopped bouncing me, but Edie had you held in place as he fucked his hips up into you.

You can feel his balls slapping your ass and his cock twitching so deeply inside you that tiny ripples of post-orgasm spasms are still running through you.

With a grunt, Eddie collapses, and you fall on top of him. Your hot bodies pressed together, chests heaving, breathing in one another.

“Hey, you wanna stay?” You tentatively as as you curl up next to him.

“Sure baby, I can spend the night”

“No no-well yea, but no…I mean here in California… you can join the band” you bite your lip.

“You-you want me to join your band?”

You nod your head slowly.

“Woah…”

“I know it’s crazy! But you’re so good, and you love it. It wouldn't be exactly what you want, but it also puts your foot in the door, and I kind of don’t want you to leave.” You blab.

“All I heard was you don’t want me to leave, Eddie teases.

“I’m serious,” you playfully swat his chest.

“I’m going to have to call my boss in the morning,” he smirked.

“Really?”

“Id have gone an idot to pass up an opportunity like this sweetheart.

Tagging some mooties @xxbimbobunnyxx @eddiesghxst @munson-blurbs @maisieisaloserr @ghost-proofbaby @littlexdeaths @take-everything-you-can @andvys @userchai @loserboysandlithium @floredaqueen @sexmetaleddie @strangerstilinski @myherometalhead

[dcxdpdabbles]

God danny taking pics at the gala and tim just being enthralled by him while danny is completely oblivious to the fact that this is his birdie

When Danny reaches the podium, he realizes he doesn't have a speech ready. He doesn't even have a topic on what he should be speaking about. He barely knows what kind of art this charity funds.

Is it painting? The theater? Writers? Digital? Music? Who knows, not Danny. He just knows that it was for kids.

He is also still holding Ryan's hand, so the other man is forced to walk up with him. He didn't mean to cling to the overwhelmed ex-waiter, but Danny was really nervous right now, and he forgot his strength when holding on. So, despite Ryan's few frantic tugs, Danny's trembling fingers locked his plam in an iron cage.

A sea of faces is aimed at them, people who make thousands a day, waiting for Danny to open his mouth and deliver a speech on a donation that he supposedly made.

In the front row, Danny can spot Oliver Green and Bruce Wayne, who each recently gave five million to the art programs. Danny knows this because there was a joke online that the two were trying to outdo each other. It was a game to them, yet somehow, Danny Fenton is the name that appears with the most money donated.

The bright spotlight is blinding, to the point that Danny feels like he is going to sweat through his suit.

How much did Lady Gotham donate?

Rayn nervously shifts on his feet, his hand also starting to get sweaty in Danny's hold. He gives the other man what he hopes is a comforting smile and only receives a bewildered, nervous grimace in turn. Danny wishes he could offer to comfort him, but with the very little Gala training he has from the Ghost Nobility Meeting, he knows he can't afford it.

He turns to the crowd, leaning towards the mic with a crooked smile. Danny swears that whenever he had to uphold the duties of his title, it felt like the transformation of Phantom overtaking his body, covering every inch until the uncool nerdy Fenton was gone. All that remains is the High King Phantom.

"Good evening. I am Danny Fenton, and I just want to thank Mr. Wayne for organizing such an important event for the arts. What is art? Art is everywhere- the melodies of our music, the design of our clothes, and the wonder in our stories, movies, plays, and books. Even the shelter of our homes has art. It's proof of humanity, for it was the first way humans ever recorded their existence, and we used it to change our reality."

He smiles at the crows, using one hand to gracefully gesture to the ceiling that Mr. Wayne's family has tastefully decorated with wood carvings. "It's this wonder that we are now offering to our youths so that they may one day look up at a similar world and fine the wonder in it"

He has no idea what he's going on about. Public speaking has never been his strong suit, but thankfully, he has enough regal to make it appear he does.

Danny's articulation has smoothed out, turning each word into a hypnotic, soothing rumble that washes over the party. He knows it's working because the people's expressions have now shifted, looking both surprised and captivated as more and more phrases fall from Danny's tongue.

If you were to ask him how he knows this, well, he would mention that Sam had once taken a video of him while he was practicing his King's address, and he had been stupefied that Phantom had always sounded so confident, sass, and in control. He never raised his voice, but his words were sharper, and an accent from the high class appeared in his tone.

It had been enough to make Phantom look like a King since the start of the human race, and Danny was grateful that, like invisibility, it could pass along to his human side without a full transformation.

It felt like an out-of-body experience—he knew he was speaking, he could see the absolutely enthralled audience, and he could even feel Ryan's hand and the heat of the light, but for the life of him, Danny could not understand what he was saying.

If this was a movie, it would be the montage of a slow pan over the people, dramatic, inspirational music playing in the background to draw out whatever he was saying, and only the visible of Danny dramatically talking, but not actual speech was heard.

It was Lady Gotham. She had taken over his body and set it to autopilot. He knew because Clockwork had once done it to him when Danny was unsure about the move to Gotham.

At least she stepped in when he needed her the most.

"Thank you for your time," Danny finishes, feeling Phantom's confidence melt away as the roaring round of applause echoes through the ballroom. Slowly, he feels the control of his limbs return to him as he pushes away from the podium.

"Wow," Ryan gasps, staring at him with wide shining eyes. He looks like his breath has collapsed in his lungs. Danny feels his face heat up as the handsome man continues to stare. "That was the most beautiful speech I've ever heard. You're... incredible."

"Nah, man, I just really like...the arts." He fumbles. "Like taking photos 'cause I have...a camera." Danny shutters, gesturing to the thing hanging around his neck. "It got lens and everything."

Ryan blinks at him. "Are you nervous?"

"Yeah"

"Why? You just gave the most impressive inspirational speech I've ever heard."

"It's because you're hot and you're talking to me, and I'm not good with people," Danny tells him honestly, dropping Ryan's hand to rub at his neck. I also really want to take the Waynes' photos and be gone, back to the streets."

Ryan laughs, throwing his whole head back and trying to cover his mouth with his hand. Danny's eyes widened, utterly shocked by how bright he seemed now. "You, Danny Fenton, are the strangest man I have ever met, and I've only known you for an hour!"

Danny's face turns hotter. "Yeah...I ugh...I get that a lot."

There is a moment of silence, during which the clicking of people's wine glasses and the slow mutter of voices wash over them. Ryan considers him with a critical eye before he holds out his hand once more. "Do you care for a dance?"

"Dance? With me?" Danny repeats, but at Ryan's answering smile, he feels himself melt. Retaking the hand, he held through the long speech, Danny grins, "I love to. But only one song. I have to find the Waynes afterward."

"Why?"

"I'm on a job, actually. My client hired me to take photos of them."

"That's an odd request," Ryan comments, bringing Danny in close to sway to the music that plays. Danny shrugs his shoulders, carefully following the steps Princess Dora had taught him.

"She's an odd lady."

_________________________________________________________

Across the hall, Jason is watching the pair with intensity. Tim can understand the urge to figure out the new player because he knows who Danny Fenton is and where on earth he had hidden his wealth until this sudden splash.

However, that was mostly due to Tim's upbringing and current CEO job. What made Jason so focused on him? His brother usually never even blinked on any new money or old money.

He thought them too annoying and only came to galas to keep the civilian image up.

"Something on your mind, Jay?" He asks quietly, leaning on the wall and sipping his sparkling water.

"That's Ryan Aetos. One of my...employees."

Ah, a Red Hood Goon.

That could mean two things: Aetos needed more money for whatever reason and took a legitimate part-time job when not making rounds with the rest of the gang, or he was going rogue and planning on betraying Jason.

He was going to break one of Jason's rules, likely where they don't target the crazy rich because the crazy rich could buy the law and bring down it's wrath until the gang's territory.

In Tim's experience, it was seldom the first option.

"Do you think he'll do something?"

"I don't know. He seemed genuine when he spoke about his sick sister- she's why he's been trying to make a quick buck to pay for her medical bills- but he also has a reputation."

"What kind of reputation?"

"Manipulating and one hell of a Romance scammer." Jason grunts. "I've seen him trick three people into funding his lifestyle by batting his eyelashes. I've let him be since he never targeted anyone who didn't deserve it, and it was one less corner boy I had to worry about. But if he's pulling that now on Fenton...."

"Then Fenton may not react very well when he finds out. And we don't have enough information on him to know what he would do to Aetos." Tim finishes turning now to also observe the couple. Fenton is a flustered mess, seeming to be rambling and far too interested in the man wearing the waiter outfit.

Aetos, for his part, is smiling down at him with a content little grin and an adoring expression. It's hard to say if it's an honest one, though, because whenever Fenton glances away, hunger bleeds into Aeto's face.

Is the hunger of a man attracted to another man?

Or the hunger of a man attracted to greed?

Crude.

"What's your call?" He asks Jason since it is his employee. Betrayal or not, Jason has always cared deeply for those he considered his, including the men and women in his gang.

Jason watches for three more songs in silence before sighing. "Separate them. I'll take Ryan and see if I can figure out his plan. You find out more about Fenton. Maybe it is just New Money falling in love with a man down on his luck who's trying to care for his little sister."

"Sounds like a Hallmark movie," Tim jokes, pushing away from the wall. "I've always hated how cliche those movies are"

[brucewaynehater101]

Wing au but Tim doesn’t have any.

dick and Jason had beautiful wings that helped with training, not Tim tho.

and Bruce probably made him do all the same training too, bc the others could do it why can’t you

(I wonder if the joker cut off Jason’s wings, to ground the little birdy)

(I also wonder if Jason belittled Tim for his lack of wings at Tt)

Okay!! Okay!!!! Fudge yes. However, mind if I make it worse (angst wise)?

Tw: wing removal, JJ

Imma change the setting a little bit.

So, the Drakes despise wings. When Tim grew his, they made him wear an amulet that hid his wings. No one in public was to be made aware that the Drake heir had wings.

Was this severally damaging to Tim? Yes.

Anyways, before Jason dies, Tim gets captured by Joker. We have all of the usual stuff with JJ, but Joker discovers this kid has wings.

And... well. That won't do. How can Junior be Joker's son if he's a bird (which is similar sentiments the Drakes have stated to Tim)?

So Joker removes his wings.

Tim gets away somehow, and no one knows that the Drake heir was JJ (if they do know about Junior). Tim tells his parents that he elected to have his wings removed by a trusted surgeon.

The Drakes, ecstatic at Tim's thinking or what not, stick around for a bit. They shower him in love and praise.

Tim internalizes this. He thinks his parents love him now that he's no longer a hybrid.

It doesn't last.

Moving on, Jason ends up dying. Joker, remembering his "son," removes Jason's wings as well. He even sends then to Batman like a fucked up package.

Batman goes berserk (which... fair. I would too if someone sent me my metaphorical kid's limbs).

Tim steps up to be Robin.

He still has hybrid instincts, but he's a pro by now at hiding them.

Batman, in an odd turn of events for Tim, actually wants Tim to be a hybrid. As far as the man knows, though, Tim isn't (and if Bruce, when he's really tired, sees Tim out of the corner of his eye and thinks it's wingless Jason coming back to haunt him... well).

So Tim struggles to be a wingless Robin until he gets the bright idea to make fake ones.

For the first time, Tim can actually fly (and if some part of him mourns that he never got to fly with his original wings, nobody else has to know).

It's rough, and he's had no support from Bruce with the wings, but the grunt of approval at their appearance was worth the electrical burns on Tim's hands.

Tim, when he's alone at TT, doesn't wear his wings. He's not on a mission, and no one is around for him to compromise his identity...

Until Jason breaks in.

[jymwahuwu]

tis i! wingweaver anon again back from the livestream with a vengeance XD.

https://honkai-star-rail.fandom.com/wiki/Transcript_of_Ten-Lords_Commission_Interrogation_With_the_Wingweaver_Xili

but i found this transcript and i realized that some wingweavers have come under the watch of the luofu. imagine a wingweaver reader from xili's clan being left behind on this strange ship. maybe you'd known xili as well, something of a mother to you perhaps, or a rather stern aunt.

even so, you are a proud little thing with your own biases and you are not fond of the xianzhou at all. but you're not one who specializes in any combat or military genius ( perhaps you are a labourer or servant class? ) so you cannot stir up trouble or run your mouth. you can no longer fly either because of the strict watch placed upon you and your clansmen, and you must content yourself with working odd jobs for a living with people who dislike you in equal measure.

but then there is a strange white haired man who comes and meets you sometimes. he likes pulling on your wings and feeding into your curious mind with stories and yummy food. and you can't say you're not impressed by him, xianzhou native or not. maybe at some point you slowly shed away that anger because it's so exhausting.

jing yuan had grown to have his own guilty pleasures, with your company exclusive to him and no one else. you're bright eyes, a little snarky, a little witty and you're such an adorable little birdie to him. surely he's allowed to be selfish, yes? and seeing you soften up and let him hold you, press soft kisses down your neck, he has an air of smug satisfaction.

but now you're trying to be civil with other people? he can't help but feel that bite of possessiveness. perhaps you've been a bit too brave in that regard, a bad little bird who has wandered too close to the bars of her cage.

he coaxes you to his home, to the coziness of his room when he finds out you're slowly going into heat. there were clear orders given to you and your clan that you were not allowed to proliferate...but really now, that was with each other, yes? you should be fine with him? and your mind and instincts do see jing yuan as a good mate. he is strong and he's proven a good companion, so you're more than happy to present yourself to him.

jing yuan does not stop till every bit of you if full with his seed. you'll bear his children soon enough and he's giddy at the thought, keeping you locked up for him to fuss, spoil and fuck. you could try to run but you learn rather quick that he's terribly good at finding you.

soon enough you do slowly give up a little and have him touch you all over, on your belly and breasts, cooing. he's so soft and kind to you and he keeps this nest you've made nice and warm. maybe you did belong here in the end, just for him. so you stay, with his ribbon tied round your neck like a pretty collar.

Thank you wingweaver anon, I absolutely love this series!! This sounds so cute <3<3

tw: dub-con/non-con, forced breeding, bird's estrus, harassment

As you were working part-time and waving your wings, attracting curious attention from the people of Xianzhou, Jing Yuan was also attracted. He's always loved furry and adorable things - kittens, puppies, birds - and now, you, with wings and feathers falling to the ground? Real wings? His heart seemed to be tickled by your feathers. Maybe this is the cuteness attack. The general couldn't help but tug at your wings, which were softer than velvet.

You screamed softly, stepped back, and turned to look at him, your shy blood rushing to your ears and heating up. "Sir, please don't touch other people's wings at will!" Jing Yuan apologized casually, "I'm sorry, I'm just curious about your wings. Are you-" The words stopped. He realizes what planet you are from. You are an enemy being monitored by Xianzhou. A little bird in captivity. So he took time to come to your place of work almost every day. Stories, tips, sweet words. There's no point in getting angry at him, you feel like an ungrateful brat - considering he is Xianzhou's general and allows you guys limited freedom here.

Some occasional display of bird habits is also nice. It felt so good to him. Jing Yuan tentatively picked up some shiny necklaces and shook them in front of you, not missing your eyes lighting up (but then, you looked away and snorted).

Some Xianzhou people, as well as your kind, want to pursue you. You are so popular, you just didn’t notice it. Most people want birdie girls like you. Chirpy, smart, sharp and cute. Jing Yuan decided to take the initiative. He was convinced that given you a chance you would fly to a safe and comfortable nest. He can provide one. On the day when you were particularly grumpy and showing off your feathers, he slowly lured you into the general's palace. Under the influence of estrus (or do you just like him? You don't know.), you can't help but stare at his broad shoulders and chest, suspecting that those are so warm and sure to keep you safe and comfortable. He's huge, too.

There were soft chains on your hands, and you were being penetrated and creampied, the feathers then scattered on his bed. It was a bed specially purchased by Jing Yuan to simulate the space and environment of a nest. "…Jing Yuan-" With the high-speed and deep thrusting frequency, you tried to form words other than moaning. "Maybe-maybe that's enough? I-I'm going back to the nest-" His hands lifted both of your thighs up. And that giggle. The cock presses deeper against your cervix. "No, you're not pregnant yet."

"Pregnant?" You opened your mouth and widened your eyes, but your reproductive instinct inspired you, and you unconsciously wrapped your body tighter around his cock, milking him. He closed his eyes in enjoyment. You rolled your eyes, "mm ah-!"

"Yes. I'm going to be the father of the baby birds," he announced during the creampie.

[ghost-proofbaby]

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

HOUR NINE

when you and eddie can't sleep, he has a bright idea. but only after he's lit a fire in your mind through a bathroom door. also, steve finally finds out what he said that night.

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

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, allusions to male masturbation, minors dni

→ wc: 6.9k+

→ a/n: oops my bad. this chapter is dedicated to @jo-harrington i know it's not exactly what you'd joked about but... i did it. solo eddie for the win.

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

9:00 ─────ㅇ──────────── 24:00

DINGUS received a message from BIRDIE. 

BIRDIE: i found out what you said. 

-

HOUR NINE - 12:00 AM

When Eddie gets out of the bed, it wakes you up. 

In all fairness, you were sleeping lightly to begin with. It had only been about twenty minutes since his quiet confession, an apology that hovered in the air between you two, lingering and plastering itself to the ceiling. He was sorry for everything. And the optimist in you couldn’t help but count what exactly everything entailed rather than sheeps. You were certain it included the events of the night so far, but did it include Steve’s party? Did it include the cruelty exchanged the night this bet was made? Did it encompass the passing in time in which he’d tucked himself away from you after first meetings, letting a sheet of ice separate you? 

You’d fallen asleep halfway through the swirlings of ‘Did it…?’s, hardly realizing you’d left Eddie hanging after he’d whispered goodnight to you. You both knew you’d be waking up soon enough to send updates, or possibly receive a call from one of your friends. You both needed to utilize the time for rest – you were utilizing this time to rest. 

Until Eddie got up. Until you realized Eddie wasn’t sleeping, and now suddenly, you couldn’t even keep your eyes closed for more than ten seconds at a time. 

You listened to his footsteps as he left the room, as he crossed the hall and he shut the bathroom door behind him. When you did open your eyes, you focused intensely on the light pouring out beneath the small crack at the bottom of the door, waiting with bated breath for any sign of a shadow without luck. 

Five minutes. You’re awake enough to count the five minutes without any further noise or sign of him returning to the bed. 

You really shouldn’t be so nosey. He’s just using the bathroom in his own apartment. He’s probably just taking a piss, or more, and you hold no right to time him. But without him in the bed, there’s a cold you hadn’t expected. You hadn’t even been pressed up against him, the pillow wall still intact, and yet, his warmth had clearly reached you and kept you comfortable.

Maybe it wasn’t just his warmth. Maybe it was just his presence that made the room light up, swirling with something to wrap yourself up in rather than the chill of loneliness. 

The decision is made by your body first, brain second. By the time your thoughts have caught up to the choice that yes, you need to check on Eddie, your bare feet are already meeting his carpet. It takes mere seconds for you to cross the room, cross the hall. You raise your fist to knock and then– 

You stop. 

A sound completely stops you, freezes you mid-action. 

A whimper. 

Your stomach clenches. It wasn’t a whimper of pain. 

You’ve managed to cross countless lines with Eddie, both tonight and the entirety of knowing each other. You’d blatantly ignored boundaries he set in stone just as he did to you. The two of you had never functioned off of respect. 

It’s what you remind yourself when you take a step closer to the door, when you lean to press your ear against the wood. 

You nearly jump back when you catch onto the sounds coming from within the bathroom. 

Oh, yeah. He’s fucking jacking off. 

You’re familiar with that sound, hearing it both mocked in school and in pornos. The unmistakable sound of a fist gliding over flesh. Just as suspected, the whimper Eddie had let out on the other side of the door was by no means a sign of pain or distress – it was out of pleasure. 

You tell yourself that you’re only keeping your ear pressed to the door to fully load yourself with artillery to tease him with once the time comes. You tell yourself it’s a necessary evil, that you don’t enjoy it. You completely ignore the way your own thighs are beginning to press together when the sound speeds up. 

“Oh my- fuckin’ Jesus Chri- my God.”

Let it be known that you’ve never tried to picture what Eddie’s voice sounds like during sex. You’ve never fantasized about how many octaves his tone might drop, how breathy he might get from desperation, how his words might curl upwards with whines on the tailends. No, you’ve never thought about those things late at night. when you’re alone and have a hand between your thighs. You don’t have those thoughts about the guy you claim to hate. You don’t have the best goddamn orgasms of your life by picturing your hand replaced with his, the way the metal of his rings would nudge against your entrance. 

You don’t. You don’t. 

But something about the way he’s stuttering, sounding like a stereotypical porno in the way his voice is breaking, clearly close to finishing, has you pressing your thighs together tightly. It has your necks and cheeks flushing brilliant red as your chest heaves, recklessly trying to expand against the door you have pressed yourself against entirely now. 

“Fuck.” 

It’s muffled, led into by a heavy panting you can hear, even through the door, before being broken off by a long moan.  

Maybe you would give yourself the best goddamn orgasm you’d ever had again once this was over. And maybe that would be the soundtrack. 

You have to stumble back from the door, your entire body tight with frustration now as you back up away from the invasion of privacy you had taken part in. You don’t even have a chance to tell yourself it’s fine, because somewhere in your fumble to get away, your knuckles meet the door in an eerie resemblance of a knock, on accident. 

You can’t play it off. If you heard it, he heard it. 

“Uh, Eddie?” you nervously call out, cursing the way the words came out more like squeaks than tired syllables, “Everything okay in there?” 

You can hear his panic, between sudden shuffling, the slamming of the faucet turning on, the curses beneath his breath before he suddenly calls out, “Y-Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine! Just stubbed my toe!” 

“Okay…” you trail off, still breathing heavily, trying to return your heart rate to normal, “I, uh- okay. Just checking. Sorry.” 

You scurry, quite literally scurry, back into his bedroom. 

You shouldn’t have listened. You shouldn’t have eavesdropped, because now, this was all so, so much worse. Every fleeting detail of his living space passed by you, and all you could hear was a repeat of his harsh fuck he’d clearly let out on accident. When you’d found his playboys, it was all fun and games. He was a guy, and you knew what he did with those magazines, but you’d never been a door away from him doing that. 

You’re not a very imaginative person, but you’re still trying to picture how his hand wrapped around his dick might look, what his dick in general looks like, when he exits the bathroom and finds you sitting there. 

He looks even more embarrassed than you.

Your apology is on the tip of your tongue, an impulsive I’m sorry is stuck between your teeth. But saying those words is admitting to knowing he didn’t really stub his toe. It would be admitting to eavesdropping. 

You’d be taking this night to the grave to you. 

“How’s your toe?” you question instead, curling your hands into fists and forcing a weak smile. 

You’re a shit pretender. 

“Fine,” he breathes out, the edges of his bangs wet, probably with sweat, and his eyes wide in fear, “It’s, uh, fine. Sore.” 

It’s okay, though, because he’s a shit pretender, too. 

He makes no move to sit down, and you almost laugh at the palpable tension and awkwardness in the room. Both of your chests are still heaving, both of your cheeks are still burning, and both of you are flooded with distrust by your words. 

“I can’t sleep,” you break the silence with the worst possible conversation starter. If the roles were reversed, if Eddie said this to you, you’d just shrug in response.

Eddie isn’t you, though, thankfully, “You just were.” 

“And now I’m not.” 

“That doesn’t mean you can’t.” 

Some habits die hard. Even in the new waves of Eddie’s apology, even as you two entered uncharted territory of unspoken civility, there was still bickering to be had. 

“This argument is just waking me up more,” you sigh, leaning back on your palms behind you, “I’m definitely not getting any more rest.” 

Eddie’s eyes trail over you, head to toe, and your breathing stops completely, “Well, yeah, not wearing jeans. Did you bring anything comfortable to wear?” 

Did he just check me out? 

That starts a fire within your brain. The blush isn’t even a product of him making you flustered anymore, it’s the physical billboard to alert everyone of the flames that will surely consume you within the hour. A warning to Eddie, that if he doesn’t stop, you’ll be nothing more than a pile of ash caught between his carpet’s fibers. 

You’ve gotten lost in your thoughts until he’s snapping his fingers in front of your face, not too close but near enough to get your attention. 

Which hand did he use? 

You choke at the smokey thought, making him worry before you cough out a, “Sorry?” 

“Clothes. Did you bring any?” he questions as he looks down at you in concern, “Maybe some pajamas, or just something comfortable?” 

You don’t understand how it got to this point. How you’re the one so flustered, so embarrassed, when he was the one touching himself in the bathroom. Why are you the one with a fire blazing behind your skull, and why are you the one having to admit that no, you didn’t bring any clothes? 

Your silence is all he needs before he turns to walk to his dresser.

“Eddie, wait, no-” you start to protest but he’s already holding out a black pair of sweats, a similar style to the ones he’s wearing. 

“Here. I don’t know how well they’ll fit but…” he shrugs, almost shyly, before thrusting the clothing towards you with more intense purpose, “They’ve gotta be more comfortable than jeans.” 

“I-I-” I can’t. I can’t wear your clothes because I’m already thinking about your dick, and which hand you masturbate with, and how you’d sound hovering over me as you grind your hips into mine, and- “Thank you.” 

You take the damn pair of sweatpants, you swallow your pride, you continue to wade in his ocean. Maybe it’s all a game to him and he’s trying to break you (it’s working).

He continues to stand there awkwardly until you finally narrow your eyes, and take a single finger, waving it in circles to motion for him to turn around.

“What?” he asks, looking at your finger with wide eyes, still watching the circles it draws in the air. 

“Turn around, idiot,” you try to laugh lightheartedly, but it comes out strained.

You’re still thinking about him inappropriately. You’re still intoxicated by the idea of the sounds you can pull from him with the right moves, the right kisses. But you can’t, you know you can’t. 

You know he doesn’t think of you in that way. This feeling, unfortunately, is not mutual. 

He’s clumsy in the way he turns, even covering his eyes with his wide palm despite it being unnecessary. You notice the way he almost raises his left hand before he hesitates and chooses the right one instead. 

And now you’re convinced you have an answer to one of your burning questions. He uses his left hand, and instead of putting out some of the damaging flames within your mind, it fans them. You’ll definitely be nothing but a charred mess by the end of this night. 

You try not to take long, quickly yanking off your jeans and tossing them beside you before you work the sweats on quickly. Eddie has them a few sizes too big for himself, and it works out in your favor. 

You hate to admit it, but he was right – they’re comfier than your jeans by far. 

“Okay, you can look again,” you mumble as you bend down to grab your discarded jeans, working on turning them back outside right and folding them neatly. 

The turn to face you once more is even clumsier than his turn away from you, his hand dropping and slapping his thigh unceremoniously as he takes you in, “They… You… They, uh, fit. Good.” 

What was once cute tension and easily dismissed uneasiness is becoming too much. He’s still nervous, you’re still burning, and the room is too stifling when filled with both awkward emotions and swirling wisps of smoke that are thickening. 

So you do something about it. You choose to be the brave one and say something, “You’re being awkward.” 

He immediately scoffs, still stiff in his actions, “Excuse me?”

“You’re. Being. Awkward,” you enunciate each word with heavy emphasis, keeping up a faux mask of indifference as you turn for the bed, setting your jeans down on the floor by the nightstand before you climb back into the side you’d previously occupied. 

“I’m being awkward?” he’s following, taking the path from the end of the bed as he already has several times, leaving the wall of pillows intact, “You’re being awkward.” 

“That is such a childish response,” you tease him as you see him begin to warm up once again. The bathroom incident is forgotten, stomachs unclenched and jaws slacking as the two of you rearrange beneath the comforter. Both of you are careful not to disturb the pillows that weigh down the center of it. You convince yourself for a second his returning warmth comes from being closer to you, from being close enough to feel the heat of your flames. Or perhaps he has a forest fire of his own transcending his own neurons, and maybe the feeling is more mutual than you’d believed. 

If you never mention it out loud, he can never deny it, and you can continue to live in this newfound delusion and comforting fantasy.

You both still lie on your backs, mirroring each other with hands folded politely atop your stomachs and eyes glued to the popcorn pattern of his ceiling. It’s quiet. It’s nice. The only thing you can hear is his crashing waves and your crackling frames. You’re wading with your head above water still, not quite fully submerging yet, terrified that once you take the final plunge into him, the flames will be drowned out. Once he drags you under, he’ll settle the heat and the fever that has begun to haunt you, and you don’t know if what will be left in its place will be better or worse. You don’t know if you’re equipped to handle that unknown yet. 

“You remember how you asked about my motorcycle earlier?” 

His soft tone cuts through the white noise of it all. Every wave, every flame, every metaphor falls quiet for him. It’s suddenly just you, and just him. 

“Yeah?” you roll your head to the side, daring to look at him. He’s already staring at you. 

In the dark, you can make out a ghost of a smile as he says, “Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I like to take it out for drives.” 

“Oh?” You’re tempted to twist your body to fully face him, to prop yourself up on your elbow and give him your undivided attention. You don’t. 

“Yeah. I guess it’s why I prefer it over a normal car, or even a van like I had in high school,” his eyes are clouding over with thoughtfulness, with nostalgia. You can picture it fairly clearly; he seems like the type that would drive around an ominous van just to scare a town shitless. “It’s a pain in the ass because now I can’t lug around my own equipment for gigs, but there’s this parking garage that the bike can fit through the closed gates of-”

“Hold on, I’m sorry – gigs?” you take an extra second to process it, but you’re sure he just insinuated he’s in a band. 

He’s giddy, those eyes lighting up in the darkness. You can see the dimples, you can see constellations exposing themself amongst his pupils, “Oh, yeah. I’m… I’m in a band.” 

“How did I never know this?” 

You both know the answer. Because before tonight, there was a clear division between you and Eddie for your friends. Before tonight, you two had never really gotten to know each other, save for the first night. You don’t know if your supposed enemy is in a band. 

He doesn’t say that, though. And neither do you. Instead, he just whispers, “I don’t know.” 

You can’t let the obvious go unsaid. You’d defeated the awkwardness, and you could handle your own brain being on fire from his match strikes, but this? 

You couldn’t handle the heaviness of the past year in the room with you two. 

“I’m sorry, too, by the way,” you should look away, look to the ceiling as he had when he said those words to you, but you don’t. You finally do as you wanted; you turn onto your side, fully facing him, bringing your hands to be folding between the pillow and your cheek, “I’m sorry for… everything.” 

Everything. You wonder if it punches a hole in his chest, too. You wonder if you move like an ocean in his eyes, if your waves are beckoning him within those four syllables. 

Now that the constellations in his eyes have been exposed, they refuse to vanish from your sight. He mimics your position, his hand tucked beneath his pillow. 

When he doesn’t say anything, you have to fill the silence, just as you always do, “It doesn’t mean we have to be, like, friends or anything. I just… We were both jerks in the past. And you said sorry first, but- I’m not just saying it because you said it! I swear. You just deserve to hear that I’m sorry too. I regret it all, too.” 

He nods subtly, licking his lips, “I mean, I don’t regret it all.” 

Oh God, is he about to fuck it all up again?

“What do you mean?” your voice is impossibly small, a phantom of a whisper, clutched in fear and anticipation. 

Please don’t fuck it all up again. I don’t think I can handle losing you twice. 

“I mean… I… It was fun sometimes, wasn’t it?” he looks nervous now, blinking rapidly as if he’s fighting looking away from you, “You’re the only person who’s ever really given me a taste of my own medicine. Everyone else teases me, yeah, maybe banters from time to time, but you? I like the ‘no-bullshit’ policy you apply to me. Keeps me in line.” 

A sigh of relief. A weight off both your shoulders, a heaviness that vacates the room. 

“Fun?” your tone is confident, teasing even, once more, “What about me throwing a glass at your head was fun?” 

“I said sometimes, not all the time,” he laughs, as if the memory of one of the worst nights between the two of you was just a fond tale between friends. Maybe that’s what you two were becoming – friends. 

A brain on fire. Two lungs twisted in vines rejuvenating. He’s beginning to consume all of you, effortlessly, and you question if that’s what friendship is. 

His laughter dies down, and you sigh, breathing despite the greenery and the smoke, “I get what you mean. There was a month there that just sort of felt like it was our thing. Just banter, or whatever.” 

“Is it not our thing, still?” he raises an eyebrow, “I mean, clearly, we still argue. I think the day you don’t argue with me will be the day pigs fuckin’ fly, or whatever they say.” 

“Whatever you say,” you banter back with ease, putting on a face of complete agreement. “Do you need me to check the news for you? See if little Porky grew wings?” 

“Oh, shut up.” 

You’re both cackling as he reaches down to the wall of pillows, grabbing one at random, leaving a gap as he flings it softly in your direction. It hits your chest and you fall dramatically onto your back, wrapping your arms around the fluff of it while still giggling. 

The giggles linger as you pinch the corner of the pillow between your fingertips, rubbing as you glance down at the gap now in the wall. 

You can see his torso now. The sliver of skin that is his exposed hips, the waistband of his boxers. 

“You know, I’ve never met a guy with this many pillows,” you murmur, trying to steer your mind of his hips, his boxers, what’s beneath his boxers-

“I used to only have two. Then one time I brought a girl home, and she left because I only had two pillows.” 

You can’t help but let out a snort of your own this time, “What? A one night stand left you high and dry because you didn’t have enough pillows for her fancy?” 

“Yep. That’s exactly what happened,” he’s chuckling along with you at the ridiculousness of it all, “The next day I went to the store and bought all of these out of spite. Never saw the girl again, though. I like to think she’d be impressed.” 

“Oh,” you’re still laughing, with your entire chest as you subconsciously crush the pillow tighter to your body, “So impressed. You know you’re going to have to tell me all about it now, right? You can’t leave me hanging like that.” 

“I’ll tell you another time,” 

Another time. It almost goes over your head – the first time either of you have even entertained the thought of hanging out after the twenty four hours have ended. You don’t show him that you notice, and just continue on laughing. 

Somewhere amongst your delight, your head falls to the side and catches Eddie in the act. 

An act of total, utter softness. His features are melted butter as he stares down at you, seemingly entranced by your laughter and joy in his tale of a failed one night stand. It’s not the kind of look produced from forest fires, or turbulent oceans, or a garden of vines. It’s the kind of look that is a natural disaster all on its own. It’s devastating – something in the two of you immediately breaks, quietly, desperately. There’s no repairing the damage being done; there’s no want for reparations. 

The first bloom after a long winter finally sprouts on your vines. It’s bright and brilliant red – like scarlet blood, like hot and flickering flames. It’s watered by salt water, slow and warm and enticing. 

You start to believe that even if you plunge beneath his waves, the fire Eddie has lit within you will always remain. 

“We should go to sleep,” you whisper, eyes never leaving his. Trying to find the deep blue hidden within honey brown, to find seafoam green amidst wide, black pupils. 

“We should,” he agrees. 

“Goodnight, Eddie.” 

“Goodnight,” he pauses, and then he adds your name, as if he’s testing the taste on his tongue, as if he’s saying it for the first time.

It feels like he’s saying it for the first time. 

You look back up at the ceiling but still feel his eyes on you. A couple minutes pass, and neither of your eyes close. Just because you should go to sleep doesn’t mean you will. 

“You’re not even trying to sleep, are you?” 

You only hum in response, still clutching that pillow, still counting cracks in the ceiling. 

“Alright, fuck it.” 

Your eyes break to him as he suddenly is leaping off the bed, void of grace as he finally settles on his feet and races to his dresser. 

“Um, Eddie?” 

He doesn’t look up as he digs into a drawer, pulling out a long sleeved shirt, “Yes, sweetheart?” 

Sweetheart. A nickname that once filled you with venom now makes your insides twist in the agony of want. You want him to say it again. 

“What are you doing?” 

The long sleeved shirt flies your way, and he’s walking to grab a set of keys off the top of his dresser, “Getting you something warmer to wear.” 

“And… why…” you’re still lost, looking down at the shirt in confusion. It’s black and fairly thick, the neck hole stretched and a haunting white font sketching out the words Corroded Coffin, “Why do I need something warmer to wear? Your apartment isn’t that cold.” 

“Because it’s barely March, and it’s cold outside still,” he pauses and grins childishly, practically beaming at you as you continue to wearily eye the article of clothing. Once he realizes you’re still not getting it, he sighs dramatically and makes his way to your side of the bed, holding a hand out to you, “Neither of us can sleep. Let’s go for a drive.” 

His palm stares you in the face, an offer of something that should be considered a plain bad idea. There’s a million and one reasons to not go for a drive. And so you tell him exactly that, ready to list them off in rapid fire.

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“Perfect. Means no one else is on the street.” 

“We have to send a photo to the group soon.” 

“The place is five minutes away. We can take a photo when we get there.”

“Place? Oh my God, are you actually going to murder me? You’re taking me to a secondary location and that is in stranger danger 101-” 

Eddie stresses each syllable of your name as he says it, waving his hand that’s still stuck out for you to grab, “C’mon. There’s always a hundred reasons to not do something. Just… live a little. I promise it’s better than laying in my gross ass bed.” 

You narrow his eyes and challenge him, remembering his words about the way you two still argue. He was right – there may never come a day you don’t feel compelled to go toe to toe with him, whether it’s of ill-intent or not, “Why is your bed gross? Jesus Christ, Eddie-”

He moves suddenly. One moment, he’s just standing there, charming as ever with a daring palm that calls to you like his ocean. The next, he’s impossibly close, placing a hand on either side of you as he leans in dangerously close. 

“Change your shirt and meet me in the kitchen in the next five minutes, or I’ll come back in here and take your shirt off myself.” 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

If he had said those words to you nine hours ago, you would have castrated him. But the low tone of his voice, the brush of his breath over your cheeks, against your ears – you’re putty in his hands now as you nod dumbly. 

When he leans back, he even looks shocked in his actions and words. But then he catches that look on your face – the blank stare and wide eyes, the rapid rise and fall of your chest – and a shimmer of cockiness returns.

“Five minutes,” he reminds you, tilting his head as he takes slow steps back and exits the room. 

It takes you less than one. 

The moment the shirt is on you, you’re encased with a new Eddie smell. The scents of the bed, of the apartment, of him still cling to the fabric, but it now mixes with something of fresh linen, lemon and clean laundry. 

As promised, he’s in the kitchen, leather jacket on as he grabs his phone off a charger plugged in at the end of the breakfast bar lined with stools. 

“You charge your phone outside of your room?” you ask as you carefully pad in, immediately heading to grab your shoes and slip them on. He’s already got his boots on, laced tightly. They should look comical against the grey sweatpants, but he’s making the entire look work. 

“Saw some science magazine say it would help me sleep better,” he mutters as he flips the phone open, probably checking for missed calls or texts. 

“That really only applies to smartphones. When did you even plug it in?” 

You’re bursting with questions, nervous and eager to avoid what’s to come. 

Being on Eddie’s motorcycle. With Eddie. Probably pressed up against Eddie’s back. Probably wrapping your arms around Eddie’s waist. 

“When I came to wake you up on the couch,” he nods towards where you’re sitting, snapping the phone shut and shoving it into his pocket, “You ready?” 

You wonder for a moment how he’d respond to you snapping back something bratty. How far would you have to push him for him to threaten you like he did in the bedroom again? 

You’re not quite recovered enough from the first time, so you don’t press your luck, nodding in response to him. 

—

Apparently, by the time you two reach his motorcycle parked on the street, you have recovered enough to press your luck. 

He’d grabbed a helmet on the way out the door, and you’d just assumed it was for him. It made sense, considering the one time you’d seen him ride, he’d worn it. 

But then, he was suddenly thrusting it in your hand. And the argument ensued. 

“I’m not wearing this,” you try to shove it back into his hands, “You’re driving, you wear it.”

“Sweetheart, I’ve taken a dozen hits to the head in my lifetime. I can handle being banged up if something happens, but I’m not risking it with you. Put it the fuck on.” 

You almost spit for him to not call you sweetheart, but it soothes something in you. Something made of your flames, something drowning in his ocean. A conundrum, whatever it is, because he’s just irritating you now. 

“You could not survive a motorcycle crash without a helmet,” you snap. 

“And neither could you.” 

“Why don’t you have two helmets then?” you nearly toss the damn thing to the ground and declare that neither of you will wear a helmet. 

He finally breaks and takes the helmet back roughly, “Because I don’t normally have a passenger,” he’s rotating the bulky, black shell in his hand, the glass visor for the eyes shining under the street lamps, “Consider yourself lucky. Most aren’t tall enough for this ride.” 

You’re about to make an immature sex joke when he takes you off guard, smoothly bringing the helmet up over your head, not even giving you a chance to protest or fight him. 

“I hate you.” 

The words come out muffled to him, crystal clear to you in the helmet. But he still grins, and you can see it through the tinted glass. 

You don’t think you’ll ever be able to miss another appearance of those fucking dimples for the rest of your days. 

“Good. Glad to hear nothing’s changed,” he playfully jokes, rounding the motorcycle before he swings a leg over the seat and straddles it. You try not to watch and check your phone instead.

You’re getting kind of sick of imagining Eddie Munson naked. Something you’d never thought you’d have to think about. 

12:35 AM. Your phone clearly displays the time, just as a text comes in from Argyle. 

ARGYLE 😎: picture time, my dudes! say cheese (and send it our way) 📸

“Argyle just texted the chat, asking very politely for the photo,” you announce to Eddie, already holding your phone out so he could read the screen.

He’s kicked up the stand on the bike, balancing it with both feet on the ground, the entire thing leaning with him when he gets closer to read the text before simply saying, “Okay.” 

“Okay? We have to take a photo-” 

He snatches the phone from you, a terrible habit you needed to start scolding him for. “Well? Don’t just stand there, sweetheart. Get on the bike and smile pretty for the camera.” 

It’s impressive how quickly the man who still has a flip phone has learned to navigate your smartphone. He’s already got the camera open, flipped to be front-facing as he waits for you to climb on behind him. But you haven’t moved.

He turns and looks at you over his shoulder, “Something wrong?” 

“Nothing,” you squeak from beneath the helmet. 

Just the thought of being pressed up against you after I’ve suddenly started fantasizing about you without shame is madly overwhelming. And if I have to wrap my arms around your waist, I might burst into flames outwardly. 

“Okay,” he draws out, twisting further to watch you, “Need help, then?”

You don’t honor him with an answer, instead roughly grabbing his shoulders as you swing your own leg over the bike. You try to sit with distance between the two of you, but the curve of the seat won’t allow it, sliding you down until your hips are flush against Eddie. 

It’s at this moment it dawns on you that if you are fantasizing about him, if you are indulging in the memory of the bathroom incident, he’ll feel it. You can hide or brush off a blush, you can avert gazes, you can pine just about every way physically without him knowing – you can’t stop him from feeling the heat between your legs as it’s digging into his lower back. 

You swallow hard, and you pray that Eddie isn’t in a teasing mood. 

“Good?” he asks when you don’t remove your hands from his shoulders. 

Even through the fucking helmet you smell his cologne. If you had your phone, you’d be googling images of grandmas like a teenage boy, warding off your unsavory thoughts about the man in front of you. 

“Good.” 

You have to tilt to the side before you both come into view of the camera. Eddie realizes at the last moment that they can’t see it’s you, and he doesn’t even react as he casually reaches up to flip the window visor up, exposing your wide eyes and rosy cheeks. The photo is taken, your blush evident and his smirk not even close to being hidden. 

He doesn’t even consult you before he sends it and passes your phone back, taking to tying back his hair as you fumble to secure the device in your pocket. 

You still haven’t dared to wrap your arms around him as you know is proper protocol as a motorcycle passenger. Instead, one hand is still shoved in your pocket, and the other continues to rest on his shoulders.

“Alright,” he says, producing his eyes and putting them in the engine, not yet turning it, “Just put your feet up here,” he takes a hand to each of your calves and lifts, situating your feet on the small pedals designated for a passenger. Your skin burns through the layer of sweats – the flames aren’t just in your head. They’re everywhere now, licking and nipping and leaving your breathless. “And then hold onto me.”

You return your hand to his other shoulder, giving a squeeze on each for emphasis to say you’re ready. He makes no move to start the bike. 

“What?” you complain, “I’m holding onto you!” 

“If we hit a bump, you’ll go flying.” 

When you don’t comply, he’s rolling his shoulders, shrugging off your touch before both hands fly back behind his back and capture your hands on their fall to your lap. His fingers are tight, warm, secure around your wrists as he pulls your arms to wrap around him in the exact way you’ve been avoiding. 

It pulls you impossibly close to him. If it weren’t for the helmet, your cheek and nose would be painfully smashed into his shoulder. The heat of him radiates off his back, seeping through the sweatshirt he’d given you. 

“There. Now is that really so bad?” His tone is cocky and confident, getting under your skin in a new tactic neither of you had ever broached. 

Flirting. He’s flirting. He can feel the tremble in your palms, and he has the nerve to fucking flirt with you. 

“Awful,” you quip, having to focus an insane amount to not allow your voice to shake, “I might vomit, it’s so bad.” 

“Aw,” he tuts mockingly, hands finally letting go of your arms, clearly pleased when they stay in place as he turns his face to look you in your eyes, “Just aim for the street and not me, okay?” 

Fire and flames dance in his eyes, easily reflected from the flush of your cheeks and the falsification of your glare. He’s going to be the death of you. 

“I’ll try,” your voice does shake this time. You’re not as brave when he’s making eye contact. 

The two of you are playing a dangerous game now. The venom of hatred has leaked out of your words, and what’s replacing it has the capability of breaking both of you far easier. This is no longer a game of who can make the other bleed – it’s no longer a game of you versus him. It’s a game of the two of you versus fate. The world’s worst game of chicken to date. 

A natural disaster. A forest fire that eviscerates all common sense. A rowdy ocean that drowns every version of every possibility ever known. Nature taking back what was once hers, an abandoned haunt of a chest that is now back in full bloom against better judgment. 

You, him, and fate. You always knew he would be your inevitable downfall. You’d always just assumed it would be a lot more screaming, a lot more fighting, and a lot less fantasizing what his lips would feel like against yours. 

He reaches out, and you think for a second, his knuckle will brush your cheek and he’ll whisper that it’s okay for you to just give in, to let Fate have her way. 

He doesn’t. He flips down the visor over your eyes, he twists the keys in the ignition, and he calls out loudly over the roar of the engine, “Hold tight, baby!” 

Your arms tighten around his waist and you hope the flames that encase you char him all the same. 

—

DINGUS: what did i say? 

BIRDIE: it’s not bad.

BIRDIE: i promise.

BIRDIE: it’s just not great either. 

DINGUS: robin. tell me what i said before i come across the hall to your room and break every the smiths record you own. 

BIRDIE: jesus okay! hop off the violent train. 

BIRDIE: i’m going to call you and explain because… context. just trust me and answer, okay? 

DINGUS: jesus christ. okay.

—

The moment the girls have all left for the bathroom, each guy exchanges a look. Argyle nudges Jonthan, who then kicks Steve under the table, who takes his turn in facing his entire body in Eddie’s direction before tapping the boy on his shoulder.

He looks up immediately, only to be caught in the spotlight of his friends, “Uh… yeah? What’s up?”

“You like her,” Steve deadpans. 

“You like her, my dude,” Argyle sing-songs from across the table, “I’m about to start planning a bitching wedding, I swear.”

Eddie freezes up, face scrunching up before he shakes his head violently, “What? No, I just met her-”

“Subtlety isn’t your specialty, Munson,” Jonathan adds in his two cents, “Lost puppy dog eyes are, though. Which you’ve been making at her all night.”

“I have not-”

“You guys think they’re more of a summer wedding couple, or fall? No, no, actually, scratch that – they’re clearly a winter wedding couple, man,” Argyle is teasing, but the warmth of his personality is genuine as he wiggles his brows at Eddie.

A smile finally cracks on the boy’s face. 

Fine, maybe he did like her. Maybe he had been plotting subtle ways to get her number before the night ended. Maybe he had already been trying to silently catch Robin’s eyes to get her blessing without words. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Steve suddenly interrupts, “Tone down the teasing, alright, fellas?” 

Eddie curiously turns his head to him, hiding a smirk behind the lip of his glass, “Why? You’ve already got eyes on her, Harrington?” 

It was a joke. A stupid, stupid joke. A joke that never should have been made, because Steve was drunk and wasn’t in the business of using a filter once he was this many shots deep. 

Eddie knows deep down he didn’t mean harm by the words. He knows that they were the words of a drunk man. But don’t all drunk thoughts have truth to them? 

“What? Nah, man. Not anymore, at least. She was never interested. And I just don’t want us getting ahead of ourselves, because if she wouldn’t go for me, why would she go for you? I think we just-”

Eddie stops listening. Steve continues a drunken rant, and if Eddie had been listening closer, he’d hear about Steve’s grand plan to better feel out how she felt about him. He’d hear about how Steve would get Robin involved, maybe Nancy, how they could talk to her. 

He’d hear that Steve meant more than those awful words that immediately take up residency in Eddie’s mind. But the damage is done. And just like that, a fate between Eddie and this new girl has been decided. There will be no asking for her number. There will be no giddy late night phone calls or terrible nerves when planning a first date. There won’t be anything – Fate clicks with reluctance as Eddie Munson begrudgingly closes the gates to his heart once more. 

“If she wouldn’t go for me, why would she go for you?” 

Steve was right. Eddie shouldn’t have gotten ahead of himself. 

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @amira0303 @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @tlclick73 @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

taglist is now closed.

[viperrot]

⇁slasher season | leon kennedy | pt. 1

re4 remake ghostface!leon kennedy x fem!reader NSFW 18+

MINORS DNI: BEWARE OF THE CONTENT YOU CONSUME.

a few days have passed since you gave leon permission to be a lil creeper. the stage is set, and you thought you were ready, but you couldn’t have been more wrong.

series content warnings: porn with little plot, cnc/dubcon, depictions of chase, stalking, knifeplay, size difference, and possibly more to be added

content contains: stalking, verbal and physical threats (threatens to unalive you), knifeplay, oral (fem-receiving), p in v, cnc, leon is trying to be mean, size difference, voyeurism, masturabation, degradation (use of “slut” and “bitch”), cervix kissing, unprotected sex, implied aftercare

not proofread i am going beddie bye time

????words

song rec: “voulez-vous” by johnny goth

i’m back from the grave. also 300+ FOLLOWS WHAT WHAT I LOVE YOU BIRDIES SO MUCH!! IM SO SORRY I WAS GONE FOR SO LONG T^T IVE HAD A HORRIBLE SUMMER BREAK.

You always felt a sense of shame when you tell your classmates that you don’t work often. At minimum, you work twelves hours a week, and it isn’t for college but more for yourself. It was hard to admit you hail from a well-off family, your rich aunties and uncles all pitching in for your college funding and your quaint apartment, so you never talked about your riches with your friends no matter how close, not wanting to make them feel less-than in anyway.

Time and time again, you’ve offered Leon help with his tuition and summer-class prices, and he always denied it, saying something gruff and mildly misogynistic like, “I don’t need a lady’s money” with a dumb expression. Instead of arguing, you put your extra coffee-shop money into food, clothes, and other gifts for your dear boyfriend, who works far more than you do.

And work means he’s not always around.

In the summer, he’s kicking around in a pool with a handful of little ones, teaching them how to swim “like a better Michael Phelps” as he’d stay at the pool for nearly twelve hours a day. When pool season is over, he's working at the bakery near downtown part-time or focusing on school. Despite the busy schedule year-round, Leon always found time for you, never passing an opportunity to snuggle in the nearly eight months of you dating.

You lazed away on your bed, the summer heat missing as a result of your precious air-con working its ass off in this weather. The bedroom was lit only by the afternoon sun which sparkled in from your balcony a few feet away from your queen-sized bed. You watched the clothes you hung up to dry sway in the gentle breeze as you laid on your side, hands tucked beneath your head as you dozed off.

Rrrrring! Rrrrring!

The sound of your phone going off catches you off guard, the call practically vibrating your entire bed. You sigh heavily and snatch the device from the cotton abyss of your duvet, the screen's brightness slightly stinging your corneas as you squint at it confused.

"Unknown Caller?" You mumble, trying to think of anyone that could be calling you at this time. "Maybe its something about college..." You swipe the screen to the right with your thumb, sitting up and bringing the phone to your ear.

"Hello?" You greet questioningly, eyebrows furrowing together as your free hand comes down to fiddle with the hem of your oversized jumper.

"Hello?" A man's voice responds, deep with a slight rasp. Your confusion worsens.

"Can I help you...?"

"Who is this?"

"(Y/n) (L/n)," you respond curtly. "What do you need?"

"I don't know," they reply. Your lips tug into a slight frown.

"I think you have the wrong number, then. Have a good day!" With a feigned happiness, you quickly ended the phone call and slumped back down into your bed, the springs creaking as your weight pressed into the plush mattress. Your eyes begin to droop once more, breathing slow as you succumb to sleep.

Until the phone rings again.

You grunt and claw around for your cellular device once more, checking the screen to see it was from the same unknown caller. Your eyebrows knit together. Who is this?

“Hello..?”

“Hang up one more time, and I’ll fuckin’ slit your throat,” the mysterious man threatens, his words voiced through gritted teeth and a clenched throat. At that moment, everything clicks.

It’s Leon, your sweet and harmless boyfriend. Leon Scott Kennedy, a man who’s like a giant puppy, is threatening to kill you.

Your mouth grows dry as you ponder on what to say, eyes wide as your hand grips the phone to your ear tightly.

“I-I’m sorry…” You stammer, somehow terrified despite knowing exactly who was on the other end of the line.

“Aww, it’s okay, sweetheart…” you can hear the slight apologetic tone through Leon’s voice changer, and it makes your heart flutter ever so slightly. Even so, he continues this cruel act of his. “I’ll spare you—for now, at least. How about you tell me a little about yourself, hm?” His honeyed voice made your thighs clench together.

“W-what do you… want to know…?” You swallow dryly, tongue pushing out to lick your chapped lips. You hear Leon hum in thought, and you can’t help but imagine him tapping his index finger against his chin.

“Mmm… you gotta boyfriend?” He coos.

“Y-yeah. He’s uhm… very sweet,” you respond shakily, breath hitching in your throat. “I-I’m waiting for him to come home n-n-now, actually!” you hear Leon chuckle at this.

“Really now? Is he making you wait long?” you notice a bit of background noise come through as he speaks, like foliage rustling in the wind. You make a noise signifying your agreement.

“A little, yeah… he works a lot, but I try not to make a big deal out of it,” you clear your throat.

“He leaves a pretty thing like you alone? How cruel,” the “stranger” notes, a teasing tone dripping from his tongue. “A girl with a body like that, I’d do anything in my power to be with you all the time, sweetheart,” your heart beats against your ribcage as you try to figure out what to say.

“How do you know what I look like?!” you sputter out, hoping he can’t somehow hear your blush through the phone. Leon lets out a soft snicker.

“You tend to leave your curtains drawn, bug,” you nearly laugh at his small slip-up, and you’re sure that he realized it too. Even then, you fake your distress, jumping out of your bed in a flurry to stumble into the living room of your quaint apartment. It was true—your curtains were pulled back to let in the golden light of the setting sun, blinds drawn up completely. You fumble with the strings and fabric, nearly falling as you shoo away the natural light from your home.

“You creep! I’ll call the cops-“

“And what? You think they’ll find me?”

“Th-they’ll keep watch of my neighbourhood, an-and-“

“Well, let’s hope they can keep watch of your actual apartment, cuz I’m already here, sweetheart,” Leon’s smirk is evident in his voice, and before you can say anything in rebuttal, you hear a door slide open with a heavy thud coming from your room. Your heart skips a beat as you stumble backwards slightly, nearly dropping your phone in the process.

“Th-this isn’t fucking funny!” You yelp, oddly afraid.

“‘Not funny’? Baby, I never said this was a comedy show,” he chuckles. “You gunna call the cops now? They won’t get here on time, and you know that,” you supposed he could hear you fumbling with your phone, getting ready to dial the police department. Shakily, you begin to bound towards your bedroom, pushing the door open with your hip seeing as it was slightly open. The door to the balcony was wide open, the breeze that dried your hung clothes blowing in gently and causing your curtains to billow in the wind. Apart from the soft drawl of the summer currents, the room was deathly silently. You stood in front of your bed, legs threatening to give out beneath you as your eyes scanned every corner of your room.

“I-I’m not afraid of you!” you call out, phone about to break under the force of your grip.

“Not afraid, huh? We’ll see about that,” the line cuts, and you realize the call has ended. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and yet you’re completely unaware of the presence behind you. Suddenly, a hand presses against your mouth to muffle you as the other wraps under your arm to detain you, a sharp edge pressing into your throat which bobbed in discomfort. Your yelp is bitten back as you teeth at the leather against your lips, trying to bite the hand that kept your pressed against the strangers body. Your eyes as wide as dimes, you decide not to struggle against your attacker, fearing that the blade will slit your throat as he has promised only a few minutes ago.

“You seem pretty scared now, bunny,” he whispers, a shiver running down your spine as a result. His voice is muffled by something, and you realize he’s wearing a flimsy white mask of the iconic Ghostface. “You should be more aware of your surroundings, baby. Otherwise, you’ll find big scary men like me sneakin’ around,” the man digs the blade a little deeper, and you’re thankful that the knife is a bit dull—had it been a sharper blade, you would be bleeding by now.

“You’re shaking, sweetheart… calm down for me. I don’t wanna- ruin this pretty little body of yours,” you can tell he nearly breaks character, his softer side trying to fight for control, but he continues his aggressive front. Your body is practically pudding in his muscular arms, knees nearly giving out beneath you. Your cries are stifled by his gloved fingers as he begins to drag the Buck 120 knife down the length of your neck and against your collarbones. Your attacker pays no mind to the weak punches you throw against his side, barely faltering at the contact and simply holds you tighter against his toned chest.

“So fuckin’ pretty, bunny,” he whispers, admiring the glint of his weapon against your skin. “All for me, too~ You know how crazy it drives me seeing you change in front of that damn balcony door? Sometimes I think you’re begging for me to see this slutty body all the time,” the vulgar languages catches you by surprise, but it quickly leaves when you feel the knife catch between a button of your Leon’s shirt. It tugs upward and snags the thread, popping open the shirt one button at a time, exposing your breasts and baby blue panties to him. He lets out a low laugh, vibrating from his chest.

“My favourite colour, too? Baby, were you expecting me?” His hand drops from your mouth, allowing you to breathe evenly. His free hand immediately finds your breast and gives it a tight squeeze, pinching the perky little bud harshly. “Of course whores like you would welcome a guy like me, hm? You like this, sweetheart?”

“Y-you’re sick…!” you cry, moaning slightly at the pain he inflicted onto your sensitive chest. You feel the blunt end of the knife’s handle push just above your v-line, harsh and brutal as it digs into your body.

“Don’t fuckin’ act innocent with me,” the masked man hisses. “I know exactly what girls like you want—you put up this sweet act around your friends at school so they don’t know you like getting fucked like a toy.”

“Th-that isn’t tru-“ before you finish your sentence, he slams your body into the bed, front pressed into the plush duvet. He leaves his knife laying next to you, taking one hand to keep both of yours behind your back while his other reaches down to paw at the gusset of your underwear.

“‘Not true’? Then explain why it’s practically dripping down here,” the slick gathers on the black leather of his gloves, and you whine as his fingers press against your clothed slit. “Admit it—tell me you love to be used like a little fleshlight,” his voice is rough beneath his mask, and you try to look at him over your shoulder as you struggle against his tight grip. You take note of his outfit consisting of black cargos, an ebony, long-sleeved compression shirt, his leather gloves, and the mask. Its inky black eyes stared back at you as you wiggled beneath him.

“I-I’m not…! I don’t like being-“ you gasp when you feel a sudden intrusion, rendering you speechless. Slick, leathered fingers force their way between your folds and into your hole, scissoring slightly in attempt to stretch you open. He hisses at the feeling of your walls squeezing against his middle and ring finger.

“Christ—Bunny, does your boyfriend not fuck you hard enough? I swear-“ his breathing grows heavy as he thrusts his fingers in and out of your cunt. “You’re tighter than a virgin-“ your thighs clench against his hand as you babble for him to stop.

“P-please… st-stop touching mme,” you hiccup, trying your best to hate the fluttering feeling he was giving you. The man’s fingers curl against your inner walls, pressing deeper and harder into your most pleasurable spots.

“Aww, you want me to stop? But why? You look like you’re having so much fun, baby~” His grip around your wrists grow tighter as he begins to thrust his fingers a little faster. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as you moan at the pleasure. The knot in your stomach begins to tighten you grow closer to your release, the wet sound of your arousal echoing through your room. Just as you feel as though you’ll explode, the man pulls his fingers out completely, leaving you breathless.

“N-no, please!” you cry, squirming beneath him. He makes no sound, instead releasing your arms and flipping you to lay on your back. You watch him get on his knees before grabbing the discarded blade next to you, making quick work of your delicate pair of lace panties. The fabrics tears as he pulls the knife through it, throwing the bits of it to the floor as well as his blade before pulling up his mask. It drops to the ground, too, laying next to the tattered blue fabric before he looks up at you between your legs. Your boyfriend’s attacker’s hands grip the fat of your thighs tight as he gives you a coy smirk.

“What was that, bunny? ‘Yes, please’? Well, don’t mind if I do,” Leon licks his slightly chapped lips before dipping his head down, blonde hair shielding his eyes as his tongue presses against your sensitive clit. Your fingers tangle into his thin tresses of hair, eyes rolling back as you feel his tongue bully itself into your pussy. Leon grunts when your thighs squeeze his head, only urging him to tongue-fuck you deeper.

“St-stop it-“

“You keep telling me to stop, yet you keep pressing your pussy into my mouth like you’re forcing me to eat it,” he says, mumbling onto your cunt casually. “I should punish you for lying to me, but I’m feeling generous tonight. Just take this like a good little bitch and we won’t have any problems.”

Leon continues his work on you, his skilled tongue having its way inside of your tight little hole as his thumb presses against your clit. You beg for him to stop, trying to push his head out from between your thighs, but he makes no effort of moving, continuing his assault on your poor pussy. He devoured you like it was his first meal in weeks, drinking up every drop of your slick like he wouldn’t eat ever again. You grew embarrassed at the sound of your moans mixing with the wet squelches of your juices. Leon could only laugh as he takes quick peeks at your dazed expression, lapping up at the arousal that practically leaked out of your body. Before you could cum, he pulls back, forcing himself out from between your thighs.

“How ‘bout we get to the good part,” the blonde smirks, picking up his Buck 120 before standing at his full height. You watch him unbuckle his belt, the gentle clanging of metal reaching your ears as he then reaches to unzip his cargo pants. Your body stiffens as you take in the sight of his bulge, threatening to burst from the confines of his black cotton briefs.

“N-no way—you c-cant-!”

“Can’t what? I can’t fuck you?” his brow quirks up.

“M-my boyfriend’ll-“ He rolls his blue eyes, annoyed at the mentioning of himself your partner.

“Fine, we’ll play it your way, bunny,” he shakes his head, picking up one of your legs with his free hand. “Don’t squirm, got it? You may be acting like a bitch right now, but I really don’t wanna nick you, sweetheart,” he grunts, setting your knee over his shoulder. You lay there, wondering what he’s planning, and your eyes widen when you see him hold the knife by its blade, the shiny silver in the palm of his gloved hand as he positions the hilt just before the entrance of your cunt.

“W-wait- don’t-“ Leon pays no mind to your pleas, pressing the blunt handle into your pussy. You clench and cry out, the cold material surprising you as well as the sudden stretch. He clicks his tongue is disproval as you whimper beneath him, thrusting the handle in and out of you.

“You’re so fuckin’ worried about your boyfriend, sweetheart. Why can’t you just admit he can’t fuck you right?” Leon fakes his concern. “You know you love this—You just don’t wanna admit that your stalker’s foreplay is better than your own boyfriend’s dick.”

“S-s’not true! Nngh, it’s nn-not truue~!” you claw at the hand that was squeezing your thigh, silently begging for Leon to stop. Even then, your body betrayed you. Your cunt spasmed around the smooth handle, giving Leon a bit of a struggle as he continued to thrust the weapon in and out of you.

“What a fuckin’ slut…” he smirks. “You keep saying you don’t want this, but your pussy is so goddamn wet,” he pulls the handle out of you, and you cry, babbling for him to put it back in. He only chuckles lowly before taking his cock out of the confines of his underwear. It springs out at a nice six inches, thick and cut with a vein trailing up the side. The Buck 120 is left to be forgotten once more.

“You’re taking this—whether you like it or not,” Leon takes your other leg and throws it over his free shoulder before dragging the head of his cock against your wet slit. Your hands pathetically reach for him.

“P-please…” you hiccup. Leon hums, a teasing expression painting his face.

“What’s that, bunny? Oh, you wanna be fucked like a bitch in heat? Well, if you insist…” with a sudden force, he shoves himself into you with one smooth thrust, splitting you open with ease. You cry out, the back of your head craning into the mattress as you begged for your stalker to pull out.

“O-out~! P-please, nno more~!” you sob, tears flowing from your eyes as he pulls out enough to just leave the tip in. With a grunt, his hips slam back into yours, the full length of him back inside of your tight cunt. Leon lets out a slight moan as he begins to jackhammer himself into you, seemingly not having a care in the world for your comfort as he grips onto your hips and folds you in half onto the bed.

“So tight, baby- fuck! This pussy was made for me,” Leon’s eyes squeeze shut as he fucks into you, relishing in the feeling of your cunt squeezing around his thick cock. “You love this, I fuckin’ know you do. You love being my free-use slut, bunny—tell me you love it when I fuck you like my personal- toy!” he chokes on his words, clearly lost in the pleasure.

“L-love it so much~! M-mmore, more pl-plleaase~” you babble, fingers threading into the man’s hair. Your noses graze each as he bucks up further into you.

“Drives me fuckin’ crazy watching you from your damn balcony, sweetheart,” Leon pants, beginning to break his persona. “Watching you hump your pillows, moaning my name—I couldn’t keep waiting. I was pl-planning- f-fuck, you’re so tight, baby-! Trying to…! To creep on you for a week, b-but you’re just so gorgeous…!” His hands grip harder on your hips, bruising them as he pounds his cock harder and harder into your abused cunt.

“You looked so desperate trying to fuck that stupid pillow of yours—I can’t tell you how much I wanted to just jump into your room and take you then and there, bunny,” his breath tickles against your lips as he speaks, and you can only moan and squirm in response, barely able to form words with how good he made you felt. Your fingers weakly tug at the base of his hair as his hips roll into you, and you swear you can feel the head of his cock trying to push past your poor cervix.

“L-Leon-!” You cry, your legs applying pressure to either side of his head as you feel the knot in the pit of your belly begin to unravel. Leon’s grip on your sides becomes rougher, bruises blossoming in deep purples and reds against your skinz

“Cum for me, bunny—please…!” your lover drops the harsh act, fully embracing his typical nature of sweet boyfriend despite his white-knuckled grip on you. A near-scream erupts from your throat as you finally release, your cunt spasming around Leon’s cock. With gritted teeth, he pulls out and releases onto your stomach, the sticky substance staining the wrinkled white button-up and the soft skin of your belly.

Heavy, hot pants filled the room as you and Leon took a moment to pull yourselves together, his lips pressing soft kisses onto your calves and ankle as he gently leaned back to remove you from your folded state.

“You alright, bug? I-“ he gulps, catching his breath. “I didn’t get too rough, did I?” the worry is apparent in Leon’s voice as his gentle blue orbs gaze into yours. You feel his hands gently caress the bruises he left on your skin.

“M’okay, Lee,” you assure him, chest heaving up and down. You watch his eyes trail down to admire the mess he made on your stomach.

“You look good like this,” the blonde comments, picking up a little glob of his seed between gloved fingers. “We should do this more often, bunny,” he teases, pulling away from you and allowing your legs to fall limp. You were about to protest until Leon moved to pick you up bridal style, carrying you towards the bathroom that was just outside in the hall.

“Let’s get cleaned up, though. I’ve got a feeling you’re ready for a good sleep and some cuddling, yeah?” Leon coos, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. You can only hum in agreement, nuzzling your face into his neck as he carries you to the tub.

hi. lol. idk how i’m still alive. i’m being worked to the bone. i hope everyone is well.

[tomurasghoul]

HAWKS (KEIGO TAKAMI) X (G/N) READER

summary: going on a date with hawks <3

A/N: sorry for not posting much, ive been a mix of busy, unmotivated and uninspired, but im back now :3

includes: fluff, mild swearing, innuendos.

When Keigo asked you out, you were over the moon. You've had a crush on him for a while now, and for him to want to take you out on a date, was like a dream come true.

I mean, how could you not have a crush on him? He's absolutely gorgeous, suave, funny and a true gentleman. You and him had been friends for a while, and now you were finally taking it to the next step.

He wanted to meet you at the park, so you put on something casual. Although, you still wanted to impress him, so you accessorized with some jewelry.

Then, it was finally time.

When you arrived at the park at exactly 23:00 like he asked, of course, nobody was there at that time of night, Keigo had specifically planned it that way, so the two of you could get some privacy without him being mobbed by fans.

You sat down on a nearby bench, waiting for your date to arrive.

A few minutes later, you spotted a pair of crimson wings flying towards you.

'Hey there, hope I didn't keep you waiting for too long.' He landed in front of you.

Luckily, he wasn't dressed up either. Just wearing an oversized white sweater and baggy jeans. For some reason, he also had a big backpack with him.

'Now, let's get to walking. I've got a nice spot for us to go to.'

While you were walking through the foresty part of the park, there was a comfortable silence. Both of you guys just looking around, taking in the beautiful view of the red and yellow fall leaves on the trees. The bright moonlight lit up the park, so it wasn't too dark to see.

At some point, you two were walking so close together, you noticed the backs of your hands touching. You were wondering if Keigo noticed it too, when he suddenly reached around and grabbed your hand. There was your answer.

'I'm sure you don't mind, right?'

'No, I don't.' You blushed and looked away.

He must've noticed your blushing, cause he had a cheeky grin on his face the rest of the way there.

You eventually arrived at the spot Keigo had meant to take you to. It was a gorgeous lookout with a view of the lake beneath you.

To your displeasure, he let go of your hand.

He opened the mysterious backpack he had with him and took out a red and white-checkered picnic blanket and snacks and laid them out under a willow tree.

'Did you think I'd let you sit on the ground?' He winked at you goofily.

'You didn't have to bring all this for me.' You said as you sat down next to him on the blanket.

'Only the best for you, birdie.'

You chuckled at the petname.

'Don't laugh at me!' He said, pretending to be offended. 'Now, eat up.' He fed you a strawberry to shut you up.

'Damn, you didn't have to force-feed me.' You punched his shoulder playfully.

'Shut your mouth before I force-feed you something else.' He punched you back a little bit harder.

'Why don't you make me shut up?' You provoked him.

'Don't try me. I'll kick your ass.'

The two of you started play-fighting. While you fought with all your strength, he was actually holding back, cause as a hero, he was much stronger than you. He wasn't letting you win, though.

'Wow. you really aren't gonna let your date win?' You feigned anger.

'You're such a brat.'

That's when he pinned you to the ground and kissed you. It was a short moment, but the feeling of his lips on yours took your breath away.

'That ought to shut you up.' He smirked as he released you wrists from his grip and sat back up.

And he was right, it did shut you up. You were silent for a while as you stared off into the distance.

'Hey, I didn't actually mean the thing about shutting you up.' Keigo spoke up after a little while. He was afraid he'd overstepped a boundary.

'I know, I'm just looking at the view. It's really beautiful.' You tried to distract him from the fact that the kiss flustered you.

'Yeah, it really is.' He said, looking at you instead of the view.

[imfinereallyy]

Tattooed Steve, pt. 2

Part 1 here

Soooo I ended up writing more tattooed Steve. I couldn’t resist. I also realized that Eddie would be the first person to find out but like…other than Robin. But I didn’t count her because Steve and Robin are the same person honestly at this point. Anyway I hope you like it! Pt. 1 is linked above.

—-

It’s two weeks after Vecna when he gets his first one. It’s unexpected, impulsive even, but Steve needs to feel something. He has just spent the past week and half waiting for Eddie to wake up, staring at his pale form, wishing away the anxiety with every beep, beep, beep that comes from the heart monitor. Begging for this stupid, stupid man to wake up.

He isn’t really sure why he wanted Eddie to wake up. Sure the ruggrats love him, and there is the general sense of not wanting any innocent person to die on his watch, but Steve knows deep down it’s about something else. Or more like the potential of something else. He tries not to think about it too hard.

So during that first week and half of watching a comatose Eddie, Steve takes his time studying the man. Learning every curve, and every scar. And eventually, every visible tattoo he can see. They are interesting, not all of them good, but all very Eddie. It somehow makes them better. Some of them are messed up from the bat bites (ironically the bat tattoos remain untouched), but they add to his aesthetic if Steve is being honest with himself.

When Eddie wakes up after that week and a half, groggy and confused (especially towards the fact that Harrington is practically holding vigil at his bedside), the first thing Steve says to him is “Oh thank god you’re awake.” The second is “What the hell were you thinking?” Before Eddie proceeds to pass out again.

Later, when all of the doctors and family and friends have had their time with him, the third thing Steve says to Eddie is, “Tell me about your tattoos.”

And despite the fact half of them are mangled, Steve doesn’t think he has ever seen anyone light up that bright in his life. And when Eddie starts waving his hands in excitement, Steve can’t help but think that he’s never been so close to the sun before.

So, two weeks after Vecna, Steve makes a decision. Or again, if he’s being honest, an impulse. He finds old books in the library about tattoos (which aren’t very helpful), and finds zines hidden between the pages (much more helpful) on stick and pokes.

Steve shows up with supplies from Melvad’s (for a probably very dangerous tattoo kit) at Robin’s doorstep. “Robs, I need you to give me a tattoo.” Then she proceeds to spit all of her morning tea on him.

After a lot of shouting “Did you hit your head again dingus? Oh my god did you get into another fight? Are you having a break down? SPEAK STEVE.”

And a lot of convincing, “Robin I’m fine. No I’m not having a breakdown. Robs, Robbie, Birdie, I swear nothing happen. I just want to do it.”

The end up on Robin’s bathroom floor (because of course all important things happen on the bathroom floor), with a look of deep concentration on her face. “I can’t believe you’re letting me do this, with only twenty minutes from a zine you smuggled out of Hawkins Library. I can’t believe they even have zines.”

“I don’t think they were aware of it honestly.” Steve snorts. His shirt was off, a patch hair already shaved off right where is heart is placed.

“Do you know what you want?” Robin asks, head tilted.

“No, not really. I was hoping you would help.”

Robin hums, like she’s resisting the urge to point out how impulsive he’s being. Like she knows he needs to do this. “Tell me what made you decide to want one.”

So Steve does. He tell her about waiting for Eddie to wake up. Wondering why Eddie got them. Wanting to own himself again, to actually like something new on his body. Put something there he had control of. His curiosity of if it were painful. His interest behind the stories of Eddies tattoos. How Eddie lit up so bright when asked. Wanting to feel like that. Wanting to be close to the sun again.

Robin mercifully didn’t look too deeply (or at least didn’t push on it) about the interest in Eddie himself. “Okay, I think I got it. Just…hold still.”

Twenty minutes later, after three passes with pen ink and a needle, Robin disinfects his tattoo. Before she covers up, she asks “Do you want to see it?”

Steve nods his head eagerly. The tattoo had painful, more painful than he expected, but he found it sort of grounding. Something to keep him aware of himself, almost as if he was able to grasp parts of himself he wasn’t conscious of before.

When Steve stands up to look in the mirror, there he sees off center on his chest, a wonky little sun. It was something a preschooler could have drawn, but it was one of the most beautiful things Steve had ever seen, and it was made by one of the most important people in his life.

Robin says shyly at Steve’s speechless state, “You said you wanted to be close to the sun again.”

Steve scoops Robin up in an instant, ignoring the stinging both on the outside and inside of his chest. “Thank you Birdie.” Which translates, you are the only person I ever need etched in me forever.

“Always, Stevie.” Which means, you’re never getting rid of me anyway.

They pull away with tearful smiles, and silent promises. Steve can start to feel maybe not much like his old self, but somewhere on the way to who he truly is.

Then Robin says, “Okay, me next.”

————

okay I wasn’t sure if really anyone wanted more, or if I was going to do it but I actually really enjoyed where this ended up. Also I apologize for any tense changes. I quite literally type this on my phone and say screw it, without looking it over. Let me know if you want more maybe? Send me prompts even. Thanks for reading :)

[starrystevie]

au where steve is a pop star and eddie is someone who one would assume wouldn't be caught dead at one of his concerts, yet is also slightly obsessed with the steve harrington. if you weren't a fan like he is, you'd see his tattoos and think, "yeah, that checks out." no one looks at a metal head with tattoos and thinks twice. but if you look closer, the bird halfway in a cage on his shin is most definitely a nod to a steve harrington song, just like the bleeding rose on his forearm and the crown behind his ear and the swirling script of lyrics over his heart and the-

eddie's a sound tech, tuning guitars for the concert at the venue where he works when he finds out that steve is the one who's playing that night. he fluffs his hair in the staff bathroom, rolls his sleeves and puffs out his chest, hands steve a microphone at soundcheck and lets their fingers brush. he watches honey brown eyes flick over his arm and learns up close what steve looks like when he blushes and eddie wishes he could get that tattooed, too.

after the show, he gets unexpectedly stopped by a sweaty steve harrington whose grin is so wide and bright, it could have powered the stage lights. fingers wrap around eddie's wrist until his arm is brought up and fingertips tickle over the ink there.

"you have my rose," steve says and it's breathless and hoarse and perfect. "you have my-"

"got it right after 'thorn in your side' was released," eddie says back, and he's breathless, too.

"please tell me you aren't busy tonight." steve is chalk full of charisma and charm and it dances in his eyes, makes him look younger than they both know he is. eddie has half a mind to pinch himself and make sure it's all real. "i don't do this often, or well ever, but you..."

eddie chuckles, "i have your rose, i get it. i umm, i have more? i mean, it's not just the rose, i have the crown from your first album and i have birdie on my shin, and let me tell you, that one hurt like a bitch-"

they don't talk much more after that outside of eddie breaking away from steve's mouth to tell him his name while they're glued together in a very uncoordinated walk to steve's tour bus. he shows steve his other tattoos, the ones he got for him and the ones he got because of him and lets steve trace over them with fingers, kisses, the tip of his tongue.

it's not much, it's just one night. but then the next album comes out and steve sends eddie a signed copy with a bright red circle around the dagger on the front cover with his perfect handwriting next to it.

for the empty spot on your ribs. let me see it when it's done. xo steve

[neoarchipelago]

And they were roommates (Part 10)

A/N : God... part 10 already! i am so so scared to post this chapter i'm torn to be in between this is good and this is trash so... be merciful!

Warnings: VIOLENCE! BLOOD! GRAPHIC !

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

The realization kept spinning in your brain. He was darkends. He had been so close to you from the beginning. Fuck he knew you before you started working on the damn mission! 

"I… Don't understand… you moved in before I started working on this…" you questioned. 

He sent you a look in the rear view mirror. 

"Correct. The mission had started before they asked you to join. I was supposed to simply make sure they were failing. Infiltrating the base, keeping undercover, ruining your search and probably send you on a wrong path." He explained. 

You watched through the car window, trying to figure out where he was taking you. 

While you started thinking about some way to escape, your mind quickly stopped on your connected watch. 

"But then I met you. Such a pretty girl." 

The praise made you nauseous. He watched the road as you started preparing your move on your watch. 

"You started working on the mission and fuck" he chuckled. "You became even more interesting!" He cheered. 

You kept clicking on your watch, sending your location to your contacts. All of them because you weren't exactly paying attention. 

While you were working on your laptop in the hideout, while you kept passing over and over the events that almost got you killed, you had decided to prepare a little safety net. You hacked your connected watch, creating a locking system that would send your live location to contacts of choice. You thanked your past self. 

"You were so bright, so smart, you managed to fully counter my attacks or find every little thing I tried to hide. Your mind… fascinated me." He kept obsessing. 

You could have been flattered if this wasn't said by a psychopath stalker trying to kidnap you. You were loosening the strap of your watch taking it off. You let it fall on the floor making sure to hide the small watch in your pocket. 

"So you decided to try to kill me ?! That makes no fucking sense Peter! If that's even your real name!" You raged. Fuck your throat right now. 

"Oh it is. It's not Hansen though. I didn't try to kill you. You were so sad when I met you… remember?" He spoke in an angrier tone. 

You were trying to figure something out, some way to escape even if you had to jump out of the car. 

"Because of that dickhead." 

"Don't call him that!" You yelled. 

"Shut up!" He roared. 

You were taken aback. It was the first time he actually yelled at you.

"That fucking asshole left you broken. And then he comes back and you let yourself be manipulated by him! You were meant to be fucking MINE." 

You felt your skin crawl. He was turning completely mad. And you were feeling the panic grow. 

"You and me…. Can you think about it? How we'd be the most powerful couple ever? We'd be Bonnie and Clyde…" 

"They fucking died…" you noted. 

"Such a smart mouth. You're lucky I also like that about you." He threatened. 

You bit your lip. Now wasn't the moment to be a smart ass. 

"So yeah. I got jealous. I thought maybe I could make you realize he wouldn't keep you safe. And then I'd propose to be your bodyguard and you know, make you fall for me… make you realize how good we'd be together." He kept explaining. 

You were finally understanding where he was headed. To one of the bases exit. He was trying to take you out of the base. 

"You won't be able to take me far. Even if you leave the base." You said. 

"Don't worry. I have friends waiting for us." He smirked. 

You swallowed hard. 

"What are you going to do with me…" that scary question was the only thing in your mind now. 

"That'll depend on you." 

The way he said it scared you horribly. It was terrifying. 

The tension was broken by your phone ringing. Price was calling you. 

"Go on birdie. Answer. Put it on speakerphone and give. It."

You obeyed, although unwillingly. 

"Sparrow, where are you?!" 

He sent a look in the rearview mirror for you to answer. 

"I'm in the car with Hansen." 

"Are you alright?! We found Soap." 

"Is he alright?!" You worried immediately. 

"He's ok. He said Hansen injected him with something." 

"What?! What the fuck did you do! You said you didn't hurt him!" You yelled, making Price aware of the listener. 

"I didn't. I simply tranquilized him. He took a nap." He laughed. 

"Hansen. What's going on?!" Laswell roared. 

"I'm simply taking what belongs to me." He spoke matter of factly. 

"What are you talking about?" 

"My birdie." 

Silence fell on the call. You knew she had understood. She knew the truth. 

"You won't be able to leave this base, I can assure you that." She said. 

"Ah don't worry. I'll manage. Where's the other disguised idiot? Hand him over. I want to speak to him." 

You closed your eyes. No. This was going to be horrible. You were absolutely shocked to hear Price laugh. You opened your eyes wide, a look of confusion on your face. 

"He's already gone. He got in his Jeep and is hunting you down." 

You saw Peter visibly pale. 

"He doesn't even know who you really are. You hurt his friend. You stole his bunny. You're already fucking dead." 

Peter grabbed the phone in a fury, opening his window and throwing it out. You gasped out loud. 

"Hey!" You scolded. 

"Don't try me!" He threatened again. 

You were getting dangerously close to the exit. You couldn't let him bring you out of base. You couldn't.  The idea of jumping out of the car finally settled in your mind when a glimpse of a vehicle to the left made your head turn. You had very little time to process what was happening when the impact made your seatbelt block. A military car had driven right into the car you were in at full speed, aiming for the driver's seat. 

Both cars were now at a stop, your head ringing. You were hyperventilating, now watching Gaz and Konig stepping out of the car and aiming their guns at Peter. He immediately made the car roar, trying to drive away when a second impact made you shake again. You yelled this time. Peter's car was stuck in between two big ones. You had to get out now, you had to make a run for it. 

Your blood ran cold when you saw Peter reach for his own gun. No nononoo.. FUCK. 

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE CAR!" Soap's voice roared. 

Soap… fuck. They were here. They were here. 

You pushed the seatbelt, finally freeing yourself and opening the car door. 

"DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE BITCH!" Peter Screamed. 

Konig appeared in a flash, grabbing Peter's shirt through the window, taking his attention from you. In another flash a black shadow passed over the hood of the car pushing Konig away and throwing the driver's side door open. 

"Simon!" You let out in between a yelp and a whine. 

He wasn't listening. He had a knife in his hand. He cut through the seatbelt like butter. He grabbed Peter's gun, throwing it somewhere on the ground. He very roughly pulled Peter out. 

You were frozen in place. Your mind was trying to process what was happening. Everything was happening so fast… Your car door opened, making you jump. 

"Y/N!" 

You cried. You let out a broken exhale and you cried. 

"Johnny…" 

"You're ok! You're ok! We're here!" He smiled, wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you out. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck. He was ok. He was fine. God, you felt so guilty. He got hurt because of you. If he had been killed-

"I'm ok! I'm ok… breathe. We need to get you out of here!" He soothed. 

"It's darkends!" You let out loud in between cries. 

He froze. He immediately turned to the rest of the team, catching Gaz's eyes as he wasn't too far. 

"HE'S THE HACKER!" Gaz repeated in a yell.

You looked at Ghost who had Peter pinned against the car, arms behind his back. As soon as it clicked in his brain, he threw Peter to the ground and jumped on him. Your eyes widened. 

You pushed by Soap, surprising him enough to give you a chance to run around the car to keep the fighting men into view. 

"Y/N NO!" You heard him reprimand.

You froze at the sight, Ghost was on top of Peter repeatedly punching him in the face, blood coating his hand. 

Soap caught you as Ghost reached for his firearm, pointing it at Peter's head. It took a second. No hesitation.

"DON'T LOO-" 

The gunshot made you jump. Soap's voice lost in the sound. Your ears ringing. 

It's funny how your brain fixates on the little things during shocking moments. For you it was the little splashes of blood on his mask. You could see them as Simon noticed you, wide eyed. 

That's all you could take in before Soap made you forcefully turn around. 

"BLOODY HELL Y/N" he screamed worriedly.

You tried to catch your breath. More cars came rushing. You could hear Price and Laswell's voices. It was over. He was gone. Darkends… Peter. He was dead. Your were safe. You were shocked. And what terrified you wasn't the fact that Simon just executed him in front of you. He clearly didn't mean to show you such a horrible thing. You knew it. He had tried to shield you from the sight by pushing Peter to the ground. No. What terrified you was how grateful you were that he did it. That he killed him. 

The thought was horrible. But Peter was dead. And you were glad he was. Because that man, who helped human traffickers, drug dealers and other horrible people, had used people to get to you, had tried to kill you and kidnapped you. 

"Hey hey hey!" 

You blinked, finally falling back into reality. Kate was looking at you, features torn in worry. Her hands on your cheeks. You took a deep breath. 

"Are you alright?!" 

You nodded. 

"I… I'm fine. It's… over" you stumbled over your words. 

She held you, her arms now wrapping around your shoulders. Price was behind her, talking to Soap. You could clearly understand Soap explaining how you had witnessed Ghost kill Peter. The shock in Ghost's eyes flashed in your mind. No! Fuck! 

You couldn't be sure but he was probably feeling horrible having done that in front of you. He probably thought you hated him, that you thought horribly of him. 

You pushed Kate off of you. 

"Simon…" you called. 

"Y/N-" she tried.

"I want Simon!" Your voice broke as another cry escaped your lips. 

You needed him. You fucking needed him. You wanted him to hold you. And never fucking let you go. You felt vulnerable. The whole situation, the whole fallback of emotions made you want to be wrapped into his arms.

"Y/N." Price approached. "Not now. You need to leave this place." 

You were going to interrupt him. But he kept trying to reason you. 

"He needs to calm down-" 

"No!" You screamed, you've never heard this desperation in your voice before.

Soap looked divided. But as he looked at you, the way you were begging him through your gaze, he made up his mind. 

"LT!" He called. 

Price and Laswell turned to him furious. 

Your breath quickened. You weren't leaving without him. Fuck. You'd leave with him.

Price turned back to face you this time looking behind you. 

"Simon-" he started. 

But too late you had already turned around. Fucking hell. He looked absolutely nightmarish. His full black tactical clothes, his skull mask bloodied. His black hood casting a shadow on it. Even like that you could see pupils blown out. 

You must be insane. You must have gone completely mad. Because all you could see was his eyes. All you could notice was how hard he was breathing, how his shoulders were incredibly tense. 

Yes. Everyone must have thought you had gone completely insane. Because you ran to him, wrapping your arms around his waist burying your face in his chest. It took him a second before wrapping his arms around you. 

"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry… fuck… I'm sorry…" he chanted repeatedly. 

He held you tightly. You could hear Laswell and Price barking orders. But you blocked it out. You needed this. You needed to be in his arms. He saved you again. He rushed to come to you. 

"I'm sorry…" he let out again. 

"Simon" 

He stopped, looking at you directly, awaiting orders. As if your every word was a command. 

"Take me away…Please... Take me out of here…" You asked. 

He didn't hesitate. He held your hand, pulling you with him towards Price. 

"Price!" He roared, capturing the man's attention. "I'm taking her out of here!" 

He nodded, throwing him his keys. 

"Take her to the hideout!" Price ordered. 

You would have preferred to go home but your home had been trashed… it wasn't the best idea.

He held your hand as he pulled you to the passenger seat, making sure to block your view of the mess behind him. 

"Close your eyes…" he ordered softly. 

"But-"

"Please. Fuck. Bunny, please." He pleaded. 

So you did. You closed your eyes. You heard the car door open. You trusted him as led you in, sitting you and buckling you up. You kept your eyes closed as he closed the door and until his opened. Even then and until you were rolling away, you kept them closed. 

"You can open them now…" he softly let out. 

You batted your eyes, adjusting back to the light. You turned to him. His grip on the steering wheel was rough. 

"Simon…" you called. 

He flinched but didn't look at you. He was clearly speeding. Very clearly. 

"Simon!" You whined. 

"We're almost there. Please." 

You took a deep breath, Falling silent. 

"You did good…" 

You almost thought you imagined it. 

"I.. did?" You asked. 

"Yes. You did so good. Sending me your location. Being brave. You did good." 

The praise was oddly comforting. 

You had managed to arrive at the hideout in a crazy time frame. You both walked out. You were slightly calmer even if your heart still played drums in your chest. You walked to the front door, two soldiers standing in front of it. You walked in, Ghost behind you. The door closed, leaving you both finally alone to face the inevitable. 

After several seconds he spoke. 

"I'll tell the men to keep guard. Laswell should be joining you soon." 

You looked, appalled, as he turned to leave. 

"You're leaving?" 

For the second time, you didn't recognize the heartbroken tone in your own voice. He was running away. He didn't want to face you.

He looked at you immediately, worry in his eyes. 

"You… Want me to stay?" He asked in dismay. 

"Yes.. please… you're the only one I want to stay with…" you admitted. 

He looked completely lost. You wanted to make him understand how badly he mattered to you. That you found a peace in his violence that was insane. Unreal.

"I. Just executed someone, in front of you." He started, fully turning to you. "I will never fucking forgive myself for it" 

"You don't have to! I ran to you! You tried to hide it!" You knew where this was going. You could feel it. 

"You should have been taken away right away! I should have ordered Soap to do it! You didn't deserve it- " 

"I RAN TO YOU! " You cried out. Your poor throat reminding you that it was a terrible idea. 

You were both out of breath. He was slipping away from you… he was slipping through your fingers every second that passed he was pulling himself away from your embrace. He was trying to break everything, trying to save you from himself. He didn't seem to understand that you needed to drown in him.

"Don't…" you desperately asked. 

"Don't what…" he asked in a hopeless tone. 

"Don't do that to me… Simon please…" you wanted to cry. You wanted him to feel how helpless you were feeling. How much you loved him. How much you needed him. 

"Don't walk away from me…" your tear stained face begged. 

He closed his eyes. 

"I'm a fucking monster." 

"No. You're Simon!" You stepped closer to him as he opened his eyes. 

"You're lieutenant Simon Ghost Riley!!" You captured his clothed face in your hands. 

"You're my Simon ghost Riley…" you whispered. "Please… tell me you're not giving up on me… please… tell me I'm yours too…" 

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you incredibly close. 

"Are you not scared of me?" He asked in a breath. 

"No…" you answered. 

"Don't you hate me? Despise me?" 

"Never.." 

"You're fucking crazy." He concluded. 

You giggled bittersweetly. 

"You make me crazy…" 

"I am a monster." 

"Simon-" 

"I am. You should find better. You would be happier…" 

"I want my monster. I want all of him, I only feel safe and important with him…" 

He choked on a breath. 

"You wanted an answer." He started. 

You frowned a bit in confusion. 

"You wanted me to make up my mind. To tell you." He explained. 

You finally understood. Yes. You had asked him. You held your breath. 

"I want you in my life. Fuck you're all I want in my life. Tell me you want to be mine… I swear I'll never fucking leave you… I'll be as loyal as a dog, I swear I'll do everything to make you happy." He pleaded in a dark tone that contrasted heavily with the vow he was preaching. 

"Simon." You called making him look at you in the eyes. "I'm already yours." 

His hand left your waist to lift his mask up to his nose. Your breath hitched, time slowing when his lips fell on yours. You felt dizzy. His lips against yours in a desperate kiss to ground you both to each other. His soft tongue pleading access to more, that you willingly admitted, your own craving of more, of him, burning through you. The world disappeared. You had read this many times in books. You had never thought you would ever get to a point where you finally understood it. 

He groaned against you, you wrapped your hands around his neck. He lifted you up, sitting you on the table. You spread your legs, trapping him in between and pulling him closer. You were addicted. Absolutely lost. He kissed you like you were the only reason he'd ever inhale and exhale again. Desperately. His taste on your tongue was something you wanted to imprint in your mind forever.

You almost pitied the fact that you had to breathe when you separated to catch your breaths. He remained there. His forehead touching yours. You remained eyes closed. 

The atmosphere had entirely changed. It was as if you weren't being kidnapped thirty minutes ago. 

"Simon… don't leave…" you begged in a murmur. 

"Never." 

The night had fallen very quickly. Laswell had indeed passed by. She was relieved you were fine. She also fully understood that you needed time and decided to leave you two alone for a few days. The day had been terribly long. Horribly. You and Simon didn't let go of each other for hours, even dining with you sitting on his lap. Poor man hadn't even changed when it was finally time to go to bed. 

"Hey… bunny…" he called softly. 

You shook your head, knowing what he wanted to say. 

"Bunny come on… I need to change… you're gonna get dirty." 

"Don't care…" 

He chuckled. He sounded relieved. 

"Y/N, I promise .. I hop in the shower and I come to bed with you if you want. It'll take five minutes, I swear." He tried to convince you. 

You didn't want to let him go. But you understood he probably wanted to wash away all reminders of what happened. You nodded against his neck. He walked to the bed and softly dropped you. He grabbed Reaper from the ground. 

"Here doll, your plushie."

"Reaper…" you corrected him. 

He chuckled. Taking out his gloves, he let one of his thumbs run over your cheeks, brushing your hair away.

"I'll be right back." 

He was already ripping off his tactical gear as he walked out. You had time to catch a glimpse of his back, various bruises and scars, more or less recent painted it. It made you want to follow him and kiss every single one of them. Maybe it was too much… everything that was happening was confusing but fuck at the moment you couldn't care less. 

He had kept his promise, around 5 minutes after, he was back in the room, a towel around his midsection. 

Your breath caught in your throat. 

You sat in the bed. He was wearing a new balaclava. 

"Simon…" you called. 

You watched the bruises and cuts on his chest with a worried look. He stepped closer to you, grabbing your chin in one hand softly. 

"Hey. Eyes up." 

You obeyed.

"It's nothing. It's just a scratch. Alright?" 

You whined. 

"Shu-huhu…" he soothed. 

Fuck… your mind was a fucking blurr. You weren't drunk this time. But the adoration, the heart eyes were back. 

"It's nothing, little one…" 

You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch. 

"Fuck…" he cursed under his breath.

You opened them back slowly. 

"Turn around love, let me just grab some pants." 

You blushed, nodding. You turned around facing the wall. You heard him open his bag that he had brought into your room earlier. A few seconds later you felt the bed dent. You glanced back as he slipped under the covers with you. His arms immediately wrapped around you, pulling you to his chest. 

You both sighed at the same time. 

"Simon…" you called. 

"Yes bunny…" 

"Thank you for coming to save me…" you let out in a whisper.

"Darling… I will always come for you." He whispered in your ear. 

"I'm so glad it's over" 

"I'm glad too…" 

You smiled. 

"Let's sleep, little bunny… It's late." 

You whined a bit. 

"I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. " 

You closed your eyes at that. The warmth and the comfort of his arms and body pulled you  to sleep. 

The two next days felt out of reality. Laswell didn't contact you and the rest of the squad didn't pass by. It was only the two of you. And you couldn't let go of each other. Especially Simon. You didn't fully understand what was happening. You honestly didn't care. A silent agreement stood between you two that nothing mattered. No questions on the relation, no questions on behavior, nothing. 

You just basked in each other's presence. 

That night, you tried to get up to go to the bathroom. After close negotiations he had unwrapped his arms from you. You went to the bathroom, glanced at his dirty gear on the ground, and tried to put it in the washing machine. Tried. Because he had already crawled out of bed to find you.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"I'm just putting this in the washer for-" 

"Forget about that…" 

He picked you up bridal style. 

"S-simon…" you blushed. 

"Fuck that. Come back to bed." 

And you did. Not getting out of bed before 11 am the next day. 

You had shared brunch. He stood behind you, hands over your stomach and face in your neck while you washed the dishes in his shirt. Then he pulled you to him making you follow him on the couch where you both laid down, a blanket over you, some tv show on screen. 

When you went back to bed that night, you made the mistake of stepping inside your bedroom without him. 

"Where are you going?" He asked. 

"Oh.. hum… I thought you might want to rest without having me annoying you…" 

He had stepped closer to you, incredibly close. 

"One more night… please…" he whispered. 

"Anything…" you whispered back, gladly pulling him after you. 

It calmed down for a bit the next day. You were able to walk around the house without having Simon attached to you or running to pick you up to immobilize you against him. Though none of this bothered you, you tried to focus a bit on what happened. You also tried to buy a new phone. Even like that, he made you sit on the couch in between his legs, with your laptop on your lap. 

He was watching TV, fingertips drawing circles on your naked thighs. You had first cursed yourself for wearing PJ shorts, and then had lost all track of your search for a new device, leaning back against him. 

On the third day, things seemed to fall back into your old ways. Playful, kind, sweet. Again a silent contract linked you both, as if the two last days were yours to keep. It was a moment needed for the both of you, after a painful time. You still put off a serious conversation about your new relationship to a later time. 

The boys were finally allowed to pass by. Soap and Gaz had immediately hugged you. 

"Little Sparrow!" Soap cheered. 

You hugged them back. 

Konig was also here and even though you didn't know him well, you couldn't stop yourself from hugging him. He saved you too. 

"Thank you konig." 

He had rubbed the back of his head, giggling. 

Price had held you in his arms for a little while before planting a kiss in your hair and stepping back. 

You all sat in the small living room space. Simon was still very possessive and made you sit in his lap on the ground, hands wrapped tightly around your waist. 

"Thank you everyone. For keeping me safe and saving me. And… I'm so sorry johnny…" 

"No no! Don't worry. I've gone through much worse. I'm the one who should be apologizing. I fucked up…" 

You shook your head. 

"No… we were all under pressure… no one suspected him." 

"I did." Interrupted Simon. 

You smiled. 

"Yeah… you did…" 

You could see the boys looking at each other, obviously a question on their mind. The burning question. Soap felt the bravest.

"Soo… what's this?" Soap asked changing subject and pointing repeatedly in between the both of you. 

You blushed heavily. Soap's grin growing. 

"She's my girlfriend." 

You were? Fuck. 

"Am I?" You asked, looking at him. "You never asked" You teased. 

"I asked you to be mine. You said you were. So, mine." He stated without a worry in the world. 

The boys laughed and you nestled closer to him. You spent the rest of the day hanging out together, finally at peace. 

In the next few days you met with Laswell. A few things had to be resolved. Your room needed a makeover. You wanted darkends's devices to gather information. 

"We'll keep his devices but you can't have them now. You need some time away from all of this." 

You had rolled your eyes but deep down you agreed. This had been a close call. Way too close. She had told you she would keep you informed about the apartment so for now you remained in the hideout with Simon. The boys passing by very often. 

You had been very happily shopping, the military giving you a huge amount of money as reparation for almost being killed in their care. You had bought new components for a brand new PC, a new phone, clothes and other things. One thing that you seemed to absolutely love doing was asking Simon's opinion on everything. 

"Simon, do you like this shirt?" 

"You'll look adorable in it." He kissed your forehead. 

You even used this new hobby to tease him. 

"What do you think of this skirt?" You smiled innocently. 

It had entirely backfired. 

"If you promise to wear no panties with it, it'll become my favorite piece of clothing." He growled.

You had blushed and thrown him a pillow. 

Some moments of serious talk had also been present. 

"You know I'm doing something dangerous… it could put you in danger… Are you sure you want to be with me?" He asked. 

"Simon I don't need to date you to be in danger. I'm the one who keeps getting attacked and almost killed, you're the one who should be having second thoughts!" 

The Best moments were the ones where He would steal kisses from you whenever he could. He'd stare at you from afar, making blush. He'd always stare into your eyes, asking for permission to kiss you. As if you needed to ever say it out loud to him.  Sometimes it would heat up very fast, but he would always stop. Much to both of your frustrations. 

But you did have this conversation. He had wanted to, and asked to take things slowly. He wanted you to be sure of things before heading to more. 

You had wanted to go spend some money at the shopping center, asking him to come with you. He had politely declined, offering to call Soap, Konig and Gaz to go with you. Shopping wasn't particularly his favorite thing to do. He sat on the couch, legs spread, a file in hand, looking down at you. The sight was particularly comical yet extremely exciting. You had dropped to your knees in between his to get his attention, he had immediately tensed. He looked at you like he wanted to devour you. You kept asking for him to come with you, he'd decline, his voice deepening more and more each time. 

"Y/N. Get up." He ordered. 

"Please… Simon come with me shopping…" you whined again, biting your lip. 

It was obvious. So obvious. But he played through, adoring the sight before him. 

It had been interrupted by Price and Soap walking in. You remained on the floor, now turning your head to Soap. 

"Soap! Ghost won't come with me…" 

"Try taking his pants off, it's easier to cu-" 

You had blushed heavily. Price tried his best not to laugh. You had never seen a man run so fast in his life. You had gotten up, after ghost had gotten up as well , walking out the door behind Soap. Price had finally laughed, you were heavily embarrassed but you had won, thanks to Soap. 

Today Simon was particularly quiet. He walked around, stealing kisses and touches every now and then. You were writing on your laptop, some things about darkends needed to be reported for the full file. Laswell had told you it wasn't urgent, but you wanted to finish it. You were also getting annoyed. The tiny place was starting to get on your nerves. You wanted to go back home. 

It was an antagonizing thought as you also were uncomfortable going back in that space. It felt different. Peter had been there. You had opened your door to him and he had broken in and trashed your stuff. You had talked about it with Simon, about your anxiousness. He had understood and tried to comfort you. 

So here you were, sitting in the small, now crowded space with everyone. Laswell, price and squad 141 including Konig. 

"Sparrow, ghost told me about your thoughts on your apartment." 

You sighed. Of course he did. You looked at him as he looked at you with a soft expression. 

"So we came up with something and I'd like to ask you if you'd be alright with it." 

You were now visibly curious. Price took the lead after Laswell. 

"Until we can find a new and better way to keep you safe, we thought about moving you closer to the base. Some place you'd feel safer." 

"What are you saying?" You asked. 

"There's a house in a residential area, very close to the base that's free. It's a family house so it's quite big." Laswell explained. 

"And we're all moving in with you guys!" Soap cheered, interrupting her, Gaz nodding. 

"It's temporary, it doesn't have to be permanent. It's an option, after everything that happened." Price added.

You looked at Ghost with a smile on your face, brows rising. 

"You accepted this?" You asked, a hint of a laugh in your voice. 

"It's safer if we're all there. I can't always be with you… and maybe you'll feel better in a new environment." He explained. 

You had mixed feelings. It sounded fun. But you'd have less privacy with Simon. You had started to accept them as a family. And after everything that happened it was perhaps best. 

"Alright… let's do that." 

[eiightysixbaby]

rise and shine

pairing: farmhand!jonathan x farmer’s daughter!fem!reader

jonathan works on your father’s farm, and you’re strictly forbidden to mess around with him. but on a sweltering summer day one thing leads to the next, and i guess what your father doesn’t know won’t hurt him… (5.5k)

cw: 18+ ONLY - SMUT. oral (m + f receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, use of petnames, jonathan’s nickname for reader is ‘birdie’, this is filthyyyy so pls let me know if i forgot anything lol

a/n: farmhand!jonathan was born during a conversation with @onegirlmanytales, so this one is for you gia. our beautiful beautiful boy <3 as always, reblogs are so incredibly appreciated! love u guys xoxo

The heat is already unbearable, and the sun is barely even up. The kind of dry, suffocating warmth that steals your breath and makes you feel sluggish.

A golden morning glow is cast across the fields as Jonathan stomps towards the barn, the rubbery soles of his boots crunching against dry grass. He heaves open the heavy metal latch to the thick wooden door, inhaling the stale, overwhelming scent of the animals. He’s mostly used to the smells by now, though they’re amplified on the brutally hot days like this one.

He starts his path from one stall to the next. His favorite horse, Nimbus, presses her hoof into the dusty dirt of the barn floor, chortling at him. A smile graces his features as he reaches a hand out to stroke her long snout, palm flat against the bristly softness of her coat.

“Hey, girl. Good morning,” he speaks softly to her, and she nuzzles into his hand. He gives her a few extra scratches for good measure before he continues to walk through and greet the rest of the bunch.

There's three other horses in this barn, along with the cows. The rabbits have their own coop outside, as do the chickens and ducks. He knows the morning routine like the back of his hand, and he floats through his tasks as if on autopilot. The animals get kisses and pats from him, snacks and fresh water. Even as he sweats through his clothes, he feels at peace caring for them all.

All of the animals seem to like him; even the ones with the wildest tempers turn mild when he's around. He tries to be modest about this, but his mom and brother definitely hear him gush about it when he comes home from a long day. He can’t help it, he’s a little bit proud of himself.

He's collecting eggs from the hens when he spots you. Beautiful, bright, perfect you flouncing down the porch steps in your pretty sundress, the fabric adorned with what he assumes are tiny flowers but can't quite discern from this distance. The yellow metal watering can sways in your hand, clanking against the concrete slab beneath the water spout as you set it down.

He doesn’t realize how hard he’s been staring until you turn to him with a cheery wave.

“Mornin’ Jonathan!” you call, and he feels his cheeks flush with warmth at the realization of being caught.

He waves, a half smile gracing his lips. “Morning, Birdie.”

The nickname is one he’d given you after he caught you awake early one morning, feeding the birds and taking notes about each type that visited your porch. He’d approached as quietly as he could so as not to disturb them, and he let you show him the feathers you’d collected and the sketches you’d done of the creatures. He marveled at it all, really, and unbeknownst to you it only made him more smitten for you.

If he's honest with himself, the best moments of his days working the ranch are when he sees you. He thinks about you constantly, and he has - on more than one occasion - come home smiling giddily about an interaction he'd had with you only to blush profusely when his brother would tease him.

The problem here, is your father. He’s the owner of the ranch and thus is Jonathan's employer, an under-the-table type of situation, and the man is protective as all hell of you. The last thing he needs to do is breach your father’s trust and risk his job. He thinks maybe he'd also be risking his life.

But the way the sunlight makes your complexion shine, bouncing off your skin radiantly makes his knees buckle. Your smile when you look at him makes his palms sweat. The soft sound of your humming floating towards him makes his heart soar.

You make him forget all of his inhibitions. And it's equal parts exciting and terrifying.

The water trickles from the can’s spout, sparkling in the sunlight as it falls over the beautiful flowers surrounding your porch. You’re careful to give each plant more than enough water, and he watches you intently as if this is some incredibly riveting task.

When you go to refill the can a second time, he realizes that he hasn't moved in far too long. He promptly forces himself to turn on his heel, heading back to let the animals out of their pens to graze. His footsteps feel mechanical, like he has a tinier version of himself controlling his body from a panel inside of his brain.

Don't be a moron, he thinks to himself. Be fucking cool.

He busies himself by cleaning out each of the pens within the barn, sweeping the old ruddy broom along the brown dirt floors, watching as its dry bristles occasionally fall off in its trail. He doesn't even flinch as he shovels waste from each stable, his once squeamish demeanor having been tampered with time and experience. He brings the back of his hand up to wipe the sweat from his forehead, his stringy bangs soaked beneath the wide brim of his hat. He can feel the fabric of his soft cotton shirt already clinging to his back, a sensation that’s entirely too much in this kind of heat.

He turns around, peeking out of the barn doors. There’s no sign of you anymore, and he doesn’t see your father or anyone else either. He supposes it’s alright to take his shirt off, given there’s no one near to offend.

Little does he know, as he reaches an arm around to his back and hoists the fabric up and off, you’re watching shyly from your kitchen window. Peering through the patterned curtains, chewing on your lip. Your fingers absentmindedly twirl a straw around your glass of lemonade, lost in a trance.

Jonathan has more muscle on him than you expected, though you aren’t sure why this is a surprise to you given the hard work he does. You can see the distinct lines on his arms where his tan doesn’t reach, the result of too many days working in the sun with t-shirts on. He stretches, his shoulder blades protruding like wings, and you nearly feel yourself start to drool as his muscles flex and pull. He bends down to retrieve his hat, the unmarked surface of his back on display.

You long to feel his skin beneath your palms, to reach out and touch his back, trace a finger from one freckle to the next until you’ve created a constellation only you can see. You want to leave marks, dig your nails in until you’ve left evidence that you’ve been there.

The longer you stare, watching him as he continues tidying up, the warmer you become. You can feel a searing desire forming between your legs, bare thighs squeezing hard together beneath your tiny dress.

You aren’t sure where your father went, but you know you haven’t seen him around the barn at all this morning. How bad could it be to go out there with Jonathan, really?

The skin of your lip grows raw as your teeth wear at it further, debating your next move or rather, hyping yourself up to make it. Your body buzzes with nerves, clenching your hands into fists before opening your palms once more.

Screw it. Screw it, you're going out there.

Before you can convince yourself to stay inside and hide away from the man, you're pouring another glass of lemonade to take out to him. Slipping on your shoes and swinging open the screen door that spits you out onto your porch. Bees buzz at your sides when you pass the flowering bushes, sun searing your skin the second you're exposed to its harsh rays.

It's sweltering, that's for certain, and coming out here under the guise of bringing Jonathan something to drink is innocent enough.

He doesn't hear you approaching, your footsteps barely making a sound as you trod across the grass. He's hunched over slightly, rinsing dirt from his hands with the garden hose and a bar of soap he keeps in the barn.

“Hey,” is all that comes out of your mouth at first. He spins to face you, visibly startled by your presence. Water runs from the hose that's now soaking the parched grass where it lays, before he hastily shuts off the water supply. “Sorry, I didn't mean to sneak up on you. Just thought you might be thirsty,” you hold the glass out to him, twisting your lips.

“Oh, t-thanks,” he stammers, accepting the offering. The glass is cold in his hand, already sweating from the heat. Droplets of water fall from the bottom of the cup and onto the ground by his boots, unable to cling to the warming surface any longer. His mouth suddenly feels dry, whether from the heat or your proximity he can't decipher, but he suspects it's the latter.

You don't move from your spot in front of him, your pretty eyes nearly sparkling as you watch him take a sip of the drink. You look like you want to pounce on him.

You watch intently as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he takes a few greedy swallows, your cheeks hot and feverish at all of the thoughts that swirl through your head.

“Mm,” he hums, pulling the glass rim from his lips. His eyes can't help but rake over your frame, focusing too hard on the way your dress flatters your body. “It's real sweet,” he says, gaze zoning in on your lips. How the soft layer of shiny gloss makes them look enticing, like ripe fruit ready to be picked.

Your teeth sink into the plump skin of your bottom lip, batting your lashes at him. You're toeing a dangerous line, but both of you want nothing more than to cross it.

A small noise dies in his throat, like he was going to speak but can’t bring himself to. He sets his glass down, his hands trembling slightly. You step closer to him, the heat unbearable, but you’re no longer sure if it’s the sun or your own desire warming the atmosphere. You feel two-hundred degrees, and you can guess Jonathan feels the same.

“Do you want to… take a break? You work so hard, and you must be so hot,” you say, saccharine and faux-innocent, your index finger trailing featherlight down his chest. You know what you’re doing, and he knows it, too.

“Birdie...” he warns. “Your dad—”

“Don't worry about my dad. He's not around, no one has to know,” you gaze at him, watching as he rubs a hand down his face. “I won't let anything bad happen, even if he finds out,” you add, taking his hand in yours.

You flip his palm up, running your thumb along the rough skin. He's quiet, but breathing too heavily for someone who's standing still.

God, he might regret this. But he can't bring himself to care quite enough to do anything to stop it. He knows what your next move is before it happens.

And then, in one swift motion you're pressing your lips to his, closing the gap between your bodies. His bare chest pressed to your clothed one, his breath catching in his throat. He feels himself melt into you just as you pull away.

You blink at him, having stepped just slightly backward. Instantly he's wishing you'd come back. Like now that he’s had one taste of you, he can’t fathom going another second without it. Your gaze stays focused on his lips and it makes him feel like jelly, you look like you could devour him and he wants to let you. His eyes search your face rather frantically before he makes a decision.

His hands reach up to cup your face, pulling your lips back to his. He pushes you back easily until you're pressed against the outer wall of the barn, mouthing hungrily at one another beneath the scorching sun. One hand glides up your thigh, rucking up the fabric of your dress as you expose your neck to him, letting him kiss and bite at the tender skin. Tasting the sweat that beads, lapping it away with his tongue like he'd dreamt of doing for weeks.

Then, as if suddenly remembering where he is, he draws back, looking around behind him to ensure no one's there. That typical skittish demeanor creeping back in. One of his hands remains at your hip, his eyes searching yours. His nervousness makes your heart flutter.

“Should we… could we… take this into the barn?” he asks softly, making your lips twist into a small smile.

Wordlessly, you hook two fingers into his belt loops. You walk backwards, pulling him along with you until you’re sheltered inside the building. Instantly, you’re coaxing his face to yours again, pressing your lips to his in an urgent, pleading kiss.

“No one’s gonna catch us,” you murmur against soft lips. “I promise.”

And there’s no way you can be sure of that, he knows it too, but your voice sounds so soothing that he nods in agreement.

He shuts one of the rickety barn doors just to be even safer, leaving the other open for airflow before he lets his lips attach to yours once more. You kiss each other like you’re starving, affection-deprived, and before you know it he's walking you backwards and coaxing you onto the hay bales that rest in the corner. They're stacked in neat, cut rectangles, and you perch your bottom on the top one, letting Jonathan's frame slip between your legs.

The hay is scratchy against the plush backs of your thighs, but it's only a minor annoyance in your current state. A well worth it trade-off for the way Jonathan's hands caress your knees, sliding up your legs until they're pushing up the fabric of your dress. His fingertips are searing against your skin, branding you. Now that you've felt his touch, you can never go back.

Your head spins when he drops to his knees before you, your brain lagging in its attempt to catch up with what's happening. Palms splayed on your thighs, his soft brown eyes gaze up at you, pupils wide with lust. He continues to hike up your dress until it's bunched up at your hips, your pretty cotton panties staring him in the face. An index finger reaches out to flick the tiny pink bow that rests on the waistband, a soft smirk spreading across his kissable mouth.

He leans his face forward, breath fanning out over your clothed core. You flinch, eagerly anticipating his mouth on you. He sticks his tongue out, tentatively allowing it to lick a flat stripe over your panties. Gasping, your hands haphazardly push his hat off of his head, fingers tangling in his damp mop of hair. A strangled whimper clambers from his throat, his lips mouthing at your clothed cunt. The cotton fabric grows more and more moist by the second, his tongue pressing tantalizingly against it, making your back arch.

“Jonny, please—”

His fingers loop beneath the waistband of your underwear at either hip, beginning to tug them down as if to quiet you.

“Shh, angel. Don't have to beg,” he murmurs softly, shifting to bring your legs together momentarily, pulling the small bit of clothing completely off.

Back between your thighs, he eyes your bare pussy hungrily before shifting his gaze up to meet your eyes. “Gonna take such good care of you, like you deserve.”

His mouth presses a soft kiss to your mound, tongue poking out to test the waters; to get its bearings. He licks and sucks experimentally, repeating actions when you moan or whine in favor of one in particular. Perspiration prickles on every inch of your skin, the heat of the growing afternoon coupled with the fiery blaze he's set across your nerve endings making you swelter.

He grows more confident with every second, letting his tongue lick inside of you, collecting the sweetness that pools just for him. He lets out a satisfied grunt, lapping at you ravenously, your fingers pulling roughly on his hair. He seems emboldened by this, spurred on by each tug to his soft locks. Your head tips back, moaning his name at the vaulted ceiling of the barn while he teases your clit with his greedy mouth.

He pauses to take a good look at you, his cheeks beautifully flushed, his body heaving slightly as he catches his breath. The look in his eyes makes it seem like he's trying to commit your every feature to permanent memory.

“Jonathan...” you mewl, letting your hands fall loose from his hair and cradle his face instead.

Your core throbs for him, a deep incessant ache that commands to be quelled. He reads your mind, his desperation matching yours. He rises just enough for his lips to meet yours, letting his tongue slip into your mouth. The sweet tang of your arousal has you moaning into the kiss, your hand reaching down to paw at his crotch through his jeans. You gasp at the bulge that awaits you, his impatient cock pressing against its confines.

He hisses in a pleased sort of agony, the friction so glorious yet not nearly enough. Your fingers work to undo his belt, the clunky metallic buckle falling to the side. He watches you, lips parted, as you unbutton and unzip the dust-covered jeans, pushing them down his thighs. His thin boxers do very little to conceal the shape of his cock, the size catching you off guard. Your delicate palm squeezes it, reveling in the pleased noise that escapes him in response.

“Shit,” you murmur, letting the pad of your thumb roll over the head, precum leaking through the checked fabric.

His body jerks against his will, hips bucking pitifully into your hand. Your hand slips beneath the boxers, mercifully, fingers wrapping around the base of him once his cock is fully free.

You give it a few slow strokes, watching the way his eyes flutter closed. Encouraged, you pump his length faster, the corner of your mouth kicking up when he groans.

“I've - ah - I've wanted this for so long. You have no idea,” he says. “You’re so beautiful. I swear I think about you every day.” His cheeks are rosy, shy with his confession.

“I bet I’ve wanted this just as long as you have,” you reply softly, letting the pad of your thumb swipe over the leaking head of his cock, pearlescent arousal making the motion slick.

He lets out a shuddering breath, his fingers digging hard into your thighs as you tease. You’re entranced by him, your eyes focused in on the deep blush pink of his erection. You can feel saliva collecting in your mouth, your nerve endings vibrating with a desire to taste him.

“Why don’t we switch spots? Come sit here, so I can take care of you,” you murmur, batting your lashes up at him as your fingers gently squeeze his shaft.

His eyelids flutter, the warm brown of his irises rolling back at the touch and at your words. He rises on shaky legs and you follow suit, guiding him to sit on the stacked bales. The perfect makeshift throne for him to sit upon, the perfect spot for you to kneel before him and worship him the way you so badly need to. Your knees touch the dusty ground, the rough barn floor uncomfortable against them. You pay it little mind, however, simply itching to get your lips on the prize that lay before you.

Jonathan looks down at you with his lip tugged slightly between his teeth. His hand brushes hair out of your face, cupping your head gently as you gaze starry-eyed up at him.

His cock twitches as if in a plea, and it draws you to him. You grip the base in one hand, sticking your tongue out flat to collect the pearly white beads of precum that drip from the slit. You make direct eye contact as you lick at him, his body jolting with pleasure at the first touch of your tongue to his most sensitive part. His hands grip at the earthy yellow straw beneath him before finding their way to your hair, conscious of keeping it out of your face.

“Oh, fuck,” he exhales, your soft lips wrapping around him, engulfing him in the warm, wet cavern of your mouth.

You hum, pleased, before beginning to bob your head. Your tongue glides along his shaft, coating him in your saliva. You take him as deep as you can, until there's a pressure at the back of your throat and your eyes water in warning. He groans in spite of himself when you gag, catching himself instantly to ask if you're okay.

You nod wordlessly, cheeks flushing at his sweetness. You want to pull more noises from him, and you continue to take him into your throat so that you gag again. His head is thrown back, cock twitching in your mouth. Your saliva drips down it, pooling at the corners of your mouth and dribbling down your chin. He notices this, wiping at the wetness on your chin with his thumb.

“God damn, Birdie. M-making such a mess,” he stammers, looking down at you with those glorious lust-blown eyes.

You hum around him once more, hollowing your cheeks and sucking. He whines at this, the tendons in his neck straining, putting all of his effort into not spilling down your throat.

“Please,” he pants. “Please let me be inside you.”

Pulling off of his cock, a string of spit connects your bottom lip to his red tip for only a moment before you swipe it away. He's bending down in an instant, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. He grips your face with both hands, a strained noise clawing at his throat when your tongues dance around one another.

He pulls back after a moment, but he does so in a way that makes it seem like it physically pains him to do it. His hands paw at your waist, encouraging you up. You stand, moving between his spread knees. Climbing atop his lap, you can feel yourself throb with anticipation, your body begging to have him fill it.

His rosy cheeks, flushed from both heat and exertion, dimple slightly when he smiles at you. His eyes are flecked with gold from the sunlight that trickles through the slits in the walls, looking at you like you're the most ethereal being he's ever laid eyes on.

His hands hold your hips, bunching up your dress so it pools at the juncture between hip and thigh. You grind yourself on him, your wet heat teasing his cock.

“Oh fuck, you're so perfect,” he murmurs, lips pressed to your hair, his face burying itself at the side of your neck.

A tiny content moan escapes you, your skin ablaze where his lips press to your neck.

“Please, Jonathan,” you whine, rolling your hips again.

“Didn't I say you don't have to beg, sweet girl? I'm right here, do what you want with me,” he says, and this time he's the one who sounds like he might be begging.

Do what you want with me.

Your breaths come out heavy as you raise up just enough to line him up with your entrance, beads of precum dripping down his cock and making your palm slick. He twitches at the contact, his blunt nails digging in to the meat of your ass.

A long, low grumble of a moan slowly leaves his lips the second you guide his tip past your entrance. Your lips part, head thrown back as he slowly pushes deeper inside. The stretch is euphoric, your walls expanding to accommodate him with little resistance.

“Oh, fuck—” Jonathan hisses, tilting his chin to kiss at your jawline.

Outside, you hear the hens clucking contentedly, mourning doves cooing softly from trees. For a fleeting moment you remember the possibility of getting caught, hoping you maintain your privacy at least long enough to finish what you’ve started here.

Your skin is sticky where it touches his, sweat collecting in every crease and crevice. He’s bigger than you had anticipated, and just when you think he can’t possibly have more to give you, he’s pushing in the rest of the way. He grips you tightly as he bottoms out, pressed to the hilt inside of you. You both moan in unison, your hands holding loosely to his shoulders.

He’s still for a moment, eyes pinched shut as his chest heaves with his panting.

“Just— just need a second. Sorry, you feel so fucking good,” he says, willing himself not to finish right here right now. “God dammit, you’re squeezin’ me so tight.”

“Take your time,” you purr softly, simply enjoying the feeling of being so full. You let your hands travel to his neck, thumbs tracing down the column of his throat before reaching his chest. Perspiration beads on his soft skin, pink flush reaching down his neck to his chest.

Slowly, he starts to encourage the movement of your hips. Gripping them firmly, he aids you in finding a good rhythm. You let yourself rock lightly on top of him, his strong arms helping you along and making your head spin. The soft head of his cock presses so deeply inside of you you practically start drooling, unable to stop yourself from bouncing faster.

He doesn’t discourage your increasing pace; instead his head falls back in ecstasy, curses tumbling from his kiss-bitten lips. The quicker you move the tighter his hands seem to grip your hips, fingers digging into the plush skin, sure to leave a sore spot.

You’re drenching him, easing the movements with your arousal, and each slick glide feels better than you could’ve imagined.

“Jonathan, oh my god—” you cry, hands pawing desperately at his bare chest. Your nails drag marks down the soft skin, and he groans in response.

Your body grows fatigued, thighs burning, and he notices the steady slowing of your bouncing. He takes over with ease, wrapping his arms around you and rising to a standing position. You gasp at the different angle, his cock seemingly pressing deeper still, and then you feel your back hit the wall.

He cages you in tight against the wooden slabs, your legs wrapped firmly around his thin waist. Your stomach flips in a new wave of excitement, taking him at this brand new angle. You surrender any control you had, letting him take the reins. He so desperately needs to, to get out all of that pent up frustration from day after day of watching you from afar. Wondering what you’d feel like, sound like, taste like.

Now that he has you like this, pliant and eager, he wants to give every ounce of himself to you.

He doesn’t start slow, doesn’t need to ease into it in this new position like he did at first. His thrusts come hard and fast, sending you reeling. You watch the way the tendons in his neck flex and pull, straining with exertion. He grunts with his effort, little noises escaping in time with each thrust.

He leans in to bite at the lobe of your ear, his face twisting in a sort of growl; a snarl. He’s primal in the way he fills you, claiming you as his in a surge of power he doesn’t typically possess. It’s like a switch has flipped, his shyness and hesitation disappearing. You wonder where this side of him has been hiding, and you can only hope you’ll get to experience it again.

“You feel,” he grunts, gritting his teeth for a fleeting moment as he delivers a particularly harsh thrust. “So fucking good.”

All you can do is moan in response, a high-pitched little sound that spurs him on further. Your nails sink into his back, clawing down the surface, sure to leave marks in their wake. He bites at your bottom lip, tugging on it until you whine.

The sounds your bodies make together are obscene, slippery wet squelching coupled with the slap of skin on skin. If anyone were to walk by, there’d be no doubt about what’s going on.

Every single thrust has you crying out for him, the way he hits that perfect spot inside of you each time making you tremble in his grasp. The pleasure is white-hot, lapping at every inch of your body. You can feel yourself inching closer and closer to your release, and you’re so desperate to have it.

“Jon, ‘m so close,” you whine, barely clinging on to him while he fucks you senseless.

“Ah fuck, yeah? Y’gonna cum for me?” he asks, near breathless as he continues to pound into you. He looks so fucked out and perfect; bangs stuck to his forehead and his eyes heavy-lidded in bliss, watching you carefully.

And the way he asks the question, it sounds like he’s dying for you to finish. Like he’s begging you to clench around his length, squeeze him so tight, drench him with your arousal. Like he can’t possibly believe you’re about to cum for him.

But you are, and with a few more quick and sloppy thrusts of his hips you’re crying out his name; screaming so loud you can hear the birds in the tree outside flutter away in a frenzy.

“Fuck, oh god, oh god,” Jonathan pants, and you’re certain he’s about to lose it as your walls tighten around him in a rhythmic pulsation. “Where can I cum? Where do you want it?”

“Inside, has to be inside,” you whine. “Please.”

You barely get the final word out before you can feel him hurtling to an abrupt halt, hips stilling as he twitches inside of your warm wet cunt. He paints your insides, giving you every possible drop that he has.

“Shit, Birdie,” he says, nearly gasping for air. “You’re unreal. You know that? You’re absolutely incredible.”

You stay panting like that for a while, joined together, your sticky skin against his. He noses at your cheek, pressing soft kisses to it as you try to regain a normal breathing pattern.

He pulls out slowly then, a slippery mess formed where your bodies met. Your legs fall from around his waist, standing up on wobbly limbs that barely contain the strength to support you. His hands reach up to cradle your cheeks, his eyes wild with delight as they search your face.

Your heartbeat still hasn’t quite settled, fluttering rapidly with the way he’s looking at you. Before you can say anything he’s smashing his lips against yours, a slow and passionate kiss that rivals all the others that came before.

It lasts for a while, but you don’t feel like it’s been nearly long enough when he pulls away.

“I don’t want this to be over. I don’t want to act like this never happened,” he says, an almost frantic look in his eyes.

“Jonathan—”

“I want you. And I don’t care what your dad thinks. I want to take you on nice dates, and watch the birds with you, and kiss you like this every single day.”

You feel like your heart may explode, like it’s swelling larger and larger with each of his words.

“I want that, too. We’ll figure this out, okay? I swear,” you reassure him, kissing him again. Pouring all of your affection into him and hoping he feels it.

“Promise me.”

“I promise you. I couldn’t stay away if I wanted to,” you say, smiling lightly. He laughs, pressing his forehead to yours, slick with sweat.

You know it’s time to let him get back to work, but you’re reluctant to end the moment.

“I should really get back to it,” he says bashfully, as if reading your mind and feeling sorry he had to.

“Yeah, you should,” you agree, kissing the backs of both of his hands before letting him pull away.

He redresses while you watch in silent awe, studying the way his body moves. He catches you staring, his cheeks reddening adorably.

Both of you step out of the barn, back into the unforgiving sunlight. You’re about to head inside when you stop yourself, turning on your heel.

“I know you usually go home around four. Could you be back and freshened up around five-thirty?” you ask him.

“Uh, sure. Why?”

“Because, we have a date to go on.”

“Are you sure you—”

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life,” you say earnestly, and the grin that breaks out on his face is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. You don’t know what exactly you’re going to say to your dad, but you’ll figure it out.

“Okay. Five-thirty. See you then, Birdie.”

With a little wave, you’re heading back inside. He doesn’t miss the slight wobble in your legs, or the trail of his release that runs down your thigh. And when he hears your dad’s car pull up the drive, he gives him a smug little wave.

What a way to start the day.

[waywardangel-wilds]

“Mrs. Katniss? Mr. Peeta? If you could please follow me?” The young girl asked

“Well… alright,” Katniss said hesitantly, sharing a confused look with her husband. “But there’s no need for Mr. And Mrs., our names are just fine.”

“As you wish, ma’am” the girl held a door open for them. Where had it come from? “Right this way.”

“Okay…” what a bizarre dream. She had to be dreaming, Katniss reasoned. What else could this possibly be? “Peeta?” She reached blindly for her husband’s hand. Maybe it wouldn’t turn into a nightmare if he came with her?

With Peeta’s familiar hand linked securely to her own she took a hesitant step through the darkness of the strange doorway. She tensed, expecting the worse, but was surprised to find herself in an impossibly bright room with white walls, white tiled floors, and a single white round table surrounded by three equally white chairs.

But it wasn’t the room that confused her, rather it was the only other person in the room with them. They sat at the table, facing her head on, with deeply mistrustful expression.

“What the hell is this?” The other person sneered, glaring at her. “Why are you so old?”

Katniss’s face wrinkled with confusion, “How do you exist?”

“I don’t want to do this, I have enough on my mind,” the other person said, shutting her eyes and opening them quickly. She groaned, “what do I have to do to wake up!”

“Mrs. Katniss? Mr. Peeta?” Katniss turned in surprise back towards the doorway, where the young girl from before stood halfway into the room, a pleasant expression on her face. “Please take a seat with young miss Katniss. We’d like for you all to have a conversation.”

“I-but- what’s is-“ Katniss stuttered, but the young woman turned and left the room, shutting the door behind her.

“Well..” Peeta spoke for the first time. “I suppose that is that.”

Katniss almost laughed and smiled at him helplessly. She turned back towards the table and considered her younger self. “Sit up straight.”

“Ugh,” sixteen-year-old Katniss replied, but she obeyed nonetheless. She watched them with critical eyes as Peeta and her came to take a seat at the table, Peeta pulling out a chair for her and helping her into the seat.

“So we got married after all,” Younger Katniss said bitterly, taking in her older counterparts 9 month pregnancy belly. “And you’re pregnant.”

“Yeah, I am.” Older Katniss smiled softly at her younger self. “It isn’t what you think.”

“It looks to me like you’re doing everything I told you I didn’t want.” Suddenly, her younger self blushed, having just looked at Peeta. “Uh, no offence.”

Peeta grinned winningly, “none taken.”

Older Katniss took her husband’s hand and set them both on the table. “It really isn’t at all what you think. This was our choice.”

“You twos? Are you insane?”

“No… well obviously yes, but also you and me’s. We decided this.” She smiled at herself, “really. I am happy. Things are safe.”

Younger Katniss’s eyes watered, causing her to look self consciously at Peeta.

“It’s okay, we’ve cried in front of him a lot.”

Her younger self laughed, rubbing her eyes furiously. “Everything’s okay?”

“Yes,” she reached out to take her other self’s hand. “I swear it. We’re okay.”

“Thank you,” young Katniss smiled but she was still crying. Peeta reached out to take her other hand. “Oh, um, thanks.”

“Everything’s okay, birdy.” Peeta smiled and young Katniss blushed deeper.

“T-thank you,” she looked down at her hands, taking in both of the adults hands too. “You’re burned.”

“Yes,” Older Katniss confirmed.

“Everywhere,” the young girl looked at their faces. Older Katniss nodded.

“Yes. We went through a lot, I won’t lie. At times, I wanted to die. We both did.” She looked over at Peeta who nodded soberly. “But I’m glad that we didn’t. That we got to keep each other.” She looked back towards her younger self. “I should tell you, this is our second baby.”

“Two?” Sixteen-year-old Katniss chuckled. “How dare you? Our figure!”

“Ha!” Older Katniss snorted, laughing nice and deeply. “You’ll be disappointed to know that we lost our figure a long time ago.”

Peeta grinned at them both, “we all like to eat.”

“We do,” both Katniss’s smiled at him affectionately before turning back towards each other.

“Tell me about your first baby? Is it a girl?”

“She’s perfect,” the adults said in unison. “She looks just like you,” older Katniss added. “But she has the most perfect little blue eyes, and the most adorable little chin. Like her father.”

Young Katniss smiled, “is she happy?”

“She’s never wanted for a single thing,” Peeta reassured her. “She loves to dance and sing and play. She’s never gone hungry, and she never will if I have anything to do with it. She’ll never see a reaping either, no one will again.”

“Really?” Young Katniss asked with a childish type of hopefulness.

“Really.” Older Katniss nodded. She reached across the table to brush her younger self’s cheek.

“W-what about Prim? Mom? Gale?” She looked into her own eyes hopefully.

Older Katniss’s eyes shifted with compassion. “Some things… changed. But… keep Prim close. Don’t leave her side, if you can help it. I know it’ll be hard, but all is not lost. Maybe you can change things?”

“What do you mean?”

“I—”

“Mrs. Katniss?” Katniss turned around in her chair, surprised. The young girl from before was at the door again. “Maybe that’s enough for today. You don’t want to stress the baby.”

“N-no, wait. Katniss, listen to me—“

“It’s time to wake up, birdy.” The young woman said, her voice morphing, changing into something familiar. “You’ve slept like a rock.”

“No, please, five more minutes?”

“It’s already ten in the morning.” The young girl smiled ruefully and Katniss blinked. When her eyes opened once more the room was gone. “Hey? I’m serious, time to get up.”

“Peeta?” Katniss blinked again and her bedroom came into view. Their curtains, which did a poor job of blocking out the morning light. The light fixture, which Peeta swore he installed correctly. And Peeta himself, dressed and ready, sitting on the corner of the bed. “What happened?”

“You slept like a rock is what happened.” He smiled. “I gotta go, there’s some sort of cinnamon emergency. The whole bakery’s gonna burn to the ground if I don’t show my face this instant, apparently.” He pecked her goodbye. “Willows downstairs.”

“You left her on her own?” Katniss sat up immediately.

“Haymitch’s down there, don’t worry.” He helped pull her up. “I’ll see you at dinner, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Go already, I got it.” She huffed, having to catch her breath after putting in the hard work required for standing. “Oh! Don’t forget to pick up more diapers!”

“I won’t!” He called back from halfway down the stairs.

“Haymitch!” She shouted as she made her way out of the bedroom. “A hand please?”

“What?” Her mentor replied.

“I’m dizzy! Help me down the stairs!”

“Prim!” Katniss’s heart must have stopped. “Go help your annoying sister.”

“Lovely as always,” and there she was. Smiling. Prim walked out onto the downstairs landing and looked up at her sister as she climbed the stairs. “Are you okay? You look scared.”

“I’m okay,” Katniss whispered in reply.

“Do you feel faint? Katniss! Oh my god,” Prim leapt up the stairs. She looked just like their mother used to, when they were younger. “I got you. Haymitch! I think she’s going to pass out!”

“What?” Her mentor shouted back, and in the back of her mind Katniss knew he must of jumped to his feet and come running for them, but she didn’t notice. It was Prim, her sister. All grown up and right in front of her.

“Prim!” She teared up. She enveloped her in a bone crushing hug despite her massive baby bump. “Oh don’t let this be a dream.”

“Katniss, you’re scaring me. Can you walk? I need you to come have some broth, okay?” Her sister turned to look over her shoulder. “Hurry up!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Her mentor grumbled.

Katniss pulled back, gripping her sister shoulders. “I had the worst nightmare.”

“What happened?” Prim asked, adjusting her grip on her sister as Haymitch managed to shoulder most of Katniss’s weight.

“It was the war. You died, and I burned, and mom left me.” Katniss sobbed miserably.

“Oh, Katniss. I’m so sorry.” Prim combed back her sisters hair. Her fingers were pleasantly cool and familiar. “This is all my fault, I shouldn’t have been watching the news last night.”

“No, no, don’t apologize! It’s just me. I’m—” Katniss made a face. “And I’m pregnant too, so nothing makes any sense.”

“Pregnancy is an emotional time,” her sister reassured her with a squeeze. “But guess what? Someone’s been waiting for you to wake up to show you her new special skill.”

“She’s been yapping non stop since seven this morning,” Haymitch interjected.

“She’s an early riser,” Prim corrected.

“Why’s mama crying?”

“Don’t worry baby, mamas being a little silly is all.”

“I need a drink.”

“Not in my house, Haymitch!”

“It’s just coffee, jeez woman.”

“I’m getting you something to eat”

“But—“

“I don’t want to hear it!”

[nathaslosthershit]

[3] Who is Birdie Hughes?

Mat Barzal x Hughes!sister

Part of the Birdie Hughes AU

Here is the link for the Masterlist 

Summary: Why Birdie is out of the limelight and the 3 times the Hughes brothers talked about their big sister

The three Hughes brothers becoming huge hockey stars and seemingly getting those talents from their parents, was a story told over and over. 3 out of 3 Hughes boys ending up in the NHL at the same time truly showed the talent this family possessed. But there was a fourth child, the oldest and only daughter of the family, that wasn’t so much in the limelight. This was on purpose, Birdie never wanted too much attention on herself, and she thought that with three famous superstar hockey brothers, she wasn't interesting enough to warrant attention. It was shortly after Jack was drafted, and the family began to gain much more popularity, that they were all asked to be interviewed, when she sat them all down to talk.

“I don’t want to be interviewed.” She stated, firm but not unkind. “I don’t think I could handle that.”

“Well, Birdie, we will have someone there to help you out and talk you through it ahead of time.” Her dad said.

“I know that, and I know if I said anything stupid or whatever they wouldn’t include it. I just think I don’t need to add my input. They don’t want to hear what I have to say.”

“Sweetie, they asked you to do it because they want to know. They want to hear what you have to say as the oldest.” Her mom reasoned.

“Come on dude, you are part of the family, it would be weird if everyone but you were interviewed.” Jack argued. They didn’t understand, which wasn’t their fault. Birdie didn’t know how to articulate how she was feeling. She loved her family, she loved hockey, and she loved how her brothers were talented and had bright features ahead of them. What she didn’t love was the guilt she had always felt for quitting. She was good and she enjoyed playing, but she simply wasn’t competitive enough. She didn’t feel the need to practice day in and day out, she never stressed about whether her team was going to win because she simply enjoyed playing. After a particularly bad season had ended in high school, her coach had sat her down and berated her. Accusing her of not caring enough, of letting down her team. She vowed then and there that the only times she would be playing was for fun. She didn’t want big arenas full of fans and the best hockey equipment money could buy. She wanted the public rink and to play with her family for fun during the weekend and days they had off. 

When Birdie had finally told her family she was done, they were confused. After a bit of pushback they finally decided that if she wasn’t going to be happy, then there was no reason to make her continue. She missed it, of course, and she felt terrible for quitting, but over time she felt less and less guilty. 

She didn’t want to talk about that though, she didn’t want to explain. She also didn’t want to feel like she was less then because she chose a different life than what her brothers did.

“You can mention me, I don’t want to totally not exist from your lives publicly. I just don’t want to be interviewed right now.” She said firmly. 

Silence filled the room, till they all began to nod.

“Also, just call me Birdie. I don’t need my name out there so some crazy fan can dox me or something.” This she passed off as a joke, but they all knew she was serious at the same time. 

Ever since then, the public has known little about the mysterious first Hughes child. Comments here and there from the boys or their parents about their sister and daughter, but not much more. A childhood photo here and there, but since Luke’s draft day, there hasn’t been much of her, unless it was a hockey game she went to support her brothers at. 

Over time though, this began to change.

It started with Jack.

Out of everyone, Jack hated interviews the most. He knows it has become somewhat of a joke and over the years he just couldn’t bring himself to care about hiding his annoyance. Luckily, Jack was only doing a small sit down to talk about his family. Nothing about a game he had played where they would ask if he was sad they lost or some shit.

“Now your whole family is very close it seems. How have they impacted your career and helped you grow?”

“Uh yeah, obviously we are close and they all mean the world to me,” what the fuck is he supposed to say? “Growing up with three siblings has honestly really shaped me as a person. I owe so much to my brothers and sister. Beyond hockey even. Having three people you are sort of forced to love and grow with has been a blessing, even if they are annoying. Birdie, my sister, has had the most impact I think. She has always been kind of a, um, mentor, I guess- I don’t really know how to say it. She helped me become a better person, I don’t even want to know who I would be if I didn’t have her to somewhat keep me in check growing up. She lives not too far from me, compared to the rest of my family, so when I moved to New Jersey she helped along the way. She also did so much to help me when I was younger. Driving me to practice, driving my friends to practice too. Also school, she is the smartest person in the world, I swear. Always gave me shit for tests I would do bad on, but would always offer to help me study. And I gave her every single essay to proofread, which led to more bullying from her, but I never got too bad of a grade after she put her input in.” He was actually smiling and laughing, which is not common for Jack during an interview.

“She must be your favorite huh?” The interviewer said laughing.

“Oh she is everyone’s favorite. Although we all know Luke is her favorite. That's only because he is the youngest. She calls him ‘her baby’, which she has said since she was 6 and he was an infant.”

Luke

“So, Luke, a lot of talk from Jack about your sister. Something about you being her favorite?” The interviewer asked.

“Oh, of course I'm her favorite. Not even a question. She loves to tell me how I will always be her baby brother, despite how old I get, which is kind of annoying.” he laughs.

“Most people would find it endearing.”

“Yeah until she visits you in college and starts yapping about how you are ‘her baby’ to all your new friends. They all thought it was hilarious and I had to put up with them calling me ‘baby Hughes’ for like a month.” 

Quinn

“Tough game today, Quinn.” The reporter said, not really a question but he still waited for the captain’s response.

“Yeah. I have family here today so the loss is a little more upsetting.” He said somberly. He really hated interviews sometimes.

“Your brothers were here?”

“No, uh my sister. She surprised me last night. Didn’t know she was coming till then. She works in New York so I don’t get to see her as much as my brothers do. Something that I am jealous about.”

“Ah yes, the first Hughes child. You two being the oldest- are you guys close?”

What a weird question. But honestly, Quinn would rather talk about his sister than the game.

“Of course. It was just us for a little bit and I was more of her younger brother then, but once the other two came along we became each other’s confidant. I love it when she visits, and she is a better guest than my brothers so,” he laughs.

“You said she works in New York. Is she also involved in hockey like her siblings? Seems like a family trend so I wouldn’t be surprised.” The reporter said. 

This pissed Quinn off and he knew he had to be careful with how he answered this. Being so close, he was the first person she told when she was thinking about quitting hockey. He knew why she felt awful and he hated it. He also knew that this question would upset her, so he had to do something to make his answer one that wouldn’t hurt her even more.

“No, she actually works at a museum. She is easily the smartest out of all of us.”

“Ah so sort of a ‘black sheep of the family’, right?”

“Not whatsoever. We all love her, and since I was young she has been like the coolest person to me. It's honestly hard to explain what she does because it is much more sophisticated than me playing hockey or you asking stupid questions for a living.” Honestly, he would have dragged the interviewer more, but was soon let go because they could tell he began to have an attitude that wasn’t very good for a captain. 

“Fucking idiot” Quinn muttered after he left.

“What's wrong?” Birdie, who had waited outside for him to be done, had asked.

“Nothing, just- you are smart and talented, and everyone is so proud of you for what you do. Don’t forget that, okay?”

“Quinn, what happened?” 

“The interviewer was just stupid. I had said you were here and they asked if you were involved with hockey. When I said no they were rude about it. Then I got mad. Fuck them though. Your museum shit is much cooler.” “Cooler than being a professional hockey player that makes millions of dollars? I don’t know about that, Quinn.” She teased. She was used to it. It was worse when people who actually knew her had added their two cents in, but some random interviewer wasn’t going to upset her. She wouldn’t let it. “But thank you. I am not upset, I promise.”

“Love you, B.”

“Love you too, Q.”

[cvpiddszn]

𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝐣.𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬

a/n: first time writing on tumblr, just needed some angst. it's an au that i made, sorry if the names are confusing. might make a part two.

summary: birdie is tired of feeling like jack doesn't love her anymore

warnings: babies, swearing, angst, a whole lot of frustration

word count: 2.7k

series: part one, part two, part three

I never thought that after five years I would’ve gotten into a routine with my children but with time, I did. I loved my two boys but with our newer arrival; Amara Lane Hughes, being born in the summer didn’t have all the perks. Sure it meant that Jack was around for her birth and there to help me but it also meant that Amara became more codependent on her father being there every waking moment.

It seemed only a minute ago –it had been two hours– that I had put down the little hothead. She was falling asleep in my arms after crying out. It was clear that she missed her father. Sometimes I wished that Jack had just left the girl alone, but he always caved desperate to hold the little girl. He refused to let her sleep in her crib, setting her in between us late at night when I was only too exhausted to argue. I often wondered if our spark was gone, that we didn’t have any of our youth left and with Jack constantly with our baby, there was never a second alone for us. Kisses on the cheek and small praises were all that were exchanged between us.

I knew that it was wrong to feel this way. Especially when I knew that I loved Amara with my entire heart. I should be thankful that I have a husband that loves their kids so much but some part of me was selfish. I just wanted a minute with my husband, but it seemed that when he was home and when it was time for the little girl's nap, Daddy always tucked her into our large bed and fell asleep with her.

The loud cry from my daughter’s room snapped me from my daze. I blinked at the screen, Jack’s hockey team’s highlights playing on the screen. I pushed myself from the couch, the twins; Lowen and Lake, sitting on the other end of the couch happily watching their father’s game highlights, pointing at the people they knew. 

I flipped the lights of Amara’s bedroom on, I knew that the little girl preferred our bed now, after too many times that Jack took her in there. It didn’t help that I had just finished breastfeeding, resorting to formula now. Amara was not okay with the change in her life. I picked up the girl whose eyes adjusted to the brightness, realizing that it was her mother rather than her father, she instantly began to cry.

I bounced her softly, cooing in hopes that it would calm her but she continued to cry, “Sh, Mara. It’s okay, Daddy’ll be back tomorrow. How does that sound?” I spoke quietly, admiring her blue eyes much like J’s. At the mention of her father, the girl’s eyes frantically looked around searching for her protector upon realizing that he wasn’t there she cried louder.

I hoped that at the sight of her brothers, she calmed, so I took her into the living room settling on the couch. Lake perked his head up at his little sister, settling beside his little sister and I but the little girl only whined further. The little girl’s head snapped at the sound of her father’s voice, she perked up towards the TV, showing an post-game interview. A gurgling noise came from her as her smile came shining through. Amara’s other hand –that was not gripping onto my finger– made a grabby motion at the TV. 

“Do you boys mind finding me your sister’s soother? I think it might be in Daddy and I’s room on the bedside table.” I asked, to which Lake and Lowen both nodded being the angel children they were. I couldn’t remember a time that they never listened to me, being momma’s boys all the way. I was beginning to miss that stage when my babies needed me and didn’t cry constantly. They were good babies. Upon the boys' leave, Amara only cried harder, the echoing sound beginning to hurt my ears. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I wish your dad was here too,” I began to speak, feeling the knot at the back of my throat, “You should be lucky, Mara. Daddy loves you so much. If he could steal the world for you, he’d do it.”

Tears of frustration began to fall as my daughter threw her hands out in a tantrum, I laid her back against my thighs, and the girl squirmed from side to side unsatisfied with how everything was going. I attempted to keep my voice light, but with tears continuing to fall I couldn’t help but feel my heart get lodged into my throat, “I don’t know how to make it stop, sweetheart. You’re probably just tired.” It wasn’t a lie, she hadn’t gotten much sleep in her bed which she had never gotten used to, but it was always me who had never gotten any sleep.

Lake stopped in front of me, noticing my sadness, he frowned. “Don’t cry, Mommy.” He said, his thumb coming forth to wipe away the tears falling. With the pacifier in his hand, he placed it into Amara’s mouth, whose crying began to stop. Lake crawled in beside me placing a pillow under his arm patting it softly and I took his hint. Passing Amara over to her older brother who had this gentle look in his eyes as he stared at the infant.

All the while, Lowen Hughes had gotten ahold of my phone, calling his father immediately. Pressing the phone over his ear, to listen to the ring. It wasn’t unusual that Lowen called his father, they made sure to check in on each other constantly, talking to their father through my text messages or calls. 

“Hey, Bird I’m kind of busy right now. So I’ll need to call you back. Later tonight with the boys-”

“Dad?” Lowen asked gently making sure to keep his voice down to that I wouldn’t hear. The last thing he needed was to get in trouble for calling Dad while he was working.

There was a silent pause for a moment, one filled with confusion on the other end. “Hey, bud. What’re you doing with your mom’s phone?” A door shut on the other side, for privacy.

“Lake said that he saw mom crying with baby Amara,” Lowen stated quietly, he peered out the door checking to see the three of them were still occupied. “Mara is giving Mom a hard time. When do you get back?”

“I get back tomorrow morning, bud. I’ll be there when you wake up. Do you want to hand the phone to Mom?” At his father’s question, Lowen nodded, not realizing that his father couldn’t see him. The younger boy walked out into the living room, holding my phone out to me. I raised my brow in question and he mouthed back “Dad”.

With Lake and now, Lowen, being preoccupied with their little sister that was sleeping soundly in Lake’s arms. “Hey,” I spoke into the phone, my voice soft as a small smile finally graced my face, warmth filling my body at the thought of Jack calling me to check up on her.

“Lo called,” my heart dropped, “How’s my girl doing?” Jack’s voice was a comfort to hear, better than the screaming cries of our daughter on the couch. 

The warmth was back, “Good, she misses you,” I spoke, clearly talking about myself as I kept hushed over the phone like it was a secret that I couldn’t share with anyone else, certain that Amara would scream in jealousy at me getting to talk to her father.

“Really? Lo said she was giving you a hard time. I’ll be home soon, babe.” The tears began to well up in my eyes again as I crouched into the corner, away from the sight of my children but my eyes were always trained on them. I had truly thought that he meant me. It was an honest mistake. I felt so fucking stupid and selfish thinking that I deserved more effort from my husband. This was the life that I had wanted.

My hand covered my sobs over my mouth, letting out a half hum of a reply. Everything was tuned out as I could hear the beeping of the other line completely missing everything that my husband was blabbering on about. Too focused on trying to slow my heart rate and compose herself for my children.

Through blurry tears, my finger hovered over the contact before pressing it, listening to the rings go through one after the other. The one person I knew would be there in a second without hesitance. Her best friend. And she would be sure to call Isla right after, knowing that she would want to know exactly what happened, though I didn’t need a mediator right now, I needed comfort that I was right to know that it was okay for me to feel like this rather than having to talk to my husband about it.

“Hey, Bird! Did you see that picture I sent you? Holls is a little troublemaker just like her father is.” Kiera cooed softly at her child, but I couldn’t hold it in, I sobbed into the phone curling my hands before pushing my nails deeply into my palms like I did when I was younger. “Oh my god, Bird! Are you okay? Fuck, I’m coming over, bringing Holls with me. You’re telling me everything!”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Holland and Amara were sleeping soundly upstairs. Kiera used one of the twins’ old cribs for Holland. Amara was quiet most of the time, having her Aunt Kiera set her into her bed while I cuddled up to Holland who was rather fond of me. Kiera soon took up her daughter –who had fallen asleep in her my arms– into a crib. 

The brunette let me lean my head against her chest, listening to her heartbeat. The twins put on some movie that they liked but eventually, it was going to be their bedtime too. “I swear, babies like everyone but the person that birthed them.” The brunette commented, her hand running through my hair in a soothing manner that I was sure could have me falling asleep in a few seconds.

“I don’t know how you do it, Kie.” I sighed, my body comforted in warmth between her sister and a blanket that my boys had placed on us. 

Kiera just laughed, “Bird, you’ve got two amazing boys. And they’re twins by the way! With Amara, you’ve got three kids to take care of you. One isn’t even a year old yet! You’re doing great, Bird.” She kissed the top of my head letting me be lulled to sleep. “I’ll put the boys to sleep, Bird. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Her arms tightened around me, squeezing me every once in a while to let me know that she was always there and when I could hear hushed whispers and small steps on the floor I finally calmed to sleep. The first time that I had in three days.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"You listen here Jack Hughes,” Kiera Finch’s finger pushed against her brother-in-law’s chest, “I’m taking your three children sometime this week. You are going to take out your wife, and show her that you still love her.” She spoke quietly, looking rather intimidating as baby Holland was placed onto her hip.

Nico kissed his wife on the cheek to which she smiled softly, patting his cheek gently before he grabbed onto the diaper bag pulling it up onto his shoulder. “Let’s go, firecracker.” He joked, beginning to poke Holland’s sides to which she giggled, hands reaching out towards her father.

Kie hummed, snapping her head back as she glared at Jack. “Understand? I’ll text you the details and when you will be doing it. Don’t screw this up, Hughes.” Despite his confusion at his sister-in-law’s speech and rather harsh scolding, he nodded along wishing nothing more than to curl up with his baby girl.

When the door shut, Jack smiled at the smell of his home knowing that his wife would be asleep in their bed. He decided that he didn’t want to wake her up, he would take some weight off her chest, get the two boys ready for school and little Amara up from her sleep. 

He learned that he shouldn’t question when Kiera Hischier came over to their house, though he at least thought that she would’ve stopped with the nine-month-old but she never did. No matter how young the baby was or how tired they were Kiera always made time to see her big sister. Sometimes they even had Flora and Wren –Flora's step-daughter– come over with them. Wren was good with the younger girls, and it wasn’t a surprise when Bird told Jack that Wren had asked Flora when she and Dawson were going to have a kid.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

I didn't sleep as long as I wanted to. If I could’ve stayed asleep in a coma, I would’ve, but the overwhelming smell of bacon filled the room. I realized that early on during my pregnancy with Amara, I hated the smell of bacon, the sad reality was that it turns out that it was something that never ended after she was born. Which was extremely upsetting because I really loved bacon.

After getting ready, I walked into the kitchen. Smiling at my children, Lo and Lake sat at the table chowing down their pancakes. Their appetites were quite large for five-year-olds but it wasn’t something unusual. Ellen said that J’s eating habits were the same as a kids.

“Babe, you’re up! I thought I’d let you sleep in a bit.” Jack’s voice made me jump. I knew that he was supposed to be back but something in my mind had pushed it back. As he leaned forward for a kiss, I turned my face allowing him to kiss my cheek. No ‘I missed you’ or ‘I love yous’ from either of us, a tension filling the room.

I ignored my husband, kissing my boys on their heads. Smiling at Amara who giggled softly, in a much better mood with her father home now. Pressing a kiss to her head, I ran a hand over her head feeling the amount of hair. There was quite a bit, especially for so young but I loved her regardless, certain that she picked it up from my younger sister; Flora, who had a full head of blonde hair practically as soon as she was born. 

The two boys placed their dishes into the sink, grabbing their lunches that had been packed the day before. The three of us had a routine down by the start of October with Jack’s morning skates. Normally they consisted of Amara tagging along with us but I assumed that Jack wanted the little girl to himself for a while. Getting in their constant father-daughter bonding time.

I grabbed my phone off the charger, seeing the missed call from last night. I could the van door slam shut outside. “Shit, sorry I missed your call.” I frowned, shoving the phone into the back pocket of my jeans. At the sudden grasp on my waist, I gasped, steadying myself by holding onto Jack’s shoulders.

“We should do something today. You, Amara, and I? What do you say, Mama?” His charming smile almost made me want to say yes. To spend the entire day together, hoping that the hole that was in my heart filled with borrowed time. A sudden whine interrupted Jack from saying anything more, he sighed leaning his head onto my shoulder.

“Your girl is calling you,” I teased, and I know that I shouldn’t have made the dig. It was our baby. It was my baby. It felt wrong that I felt so jealous of something so small, something so big in our life, something I knew might’ve happened. I didn’t have a right to feel like this, it wasn’t right to feel like this. “I’ve got errands to run today. Maybe some other time?” 

“Yeah, okay.” It wasn’t my fault that I didn’t see the sadness on his face, our daughter squealing in anger needing some sort of attention from her father, but Jack couldn’t even stay focused watching me, his wife, walk out of the house like there was nothing wrong when we both knew deep down that something was so very wrong.

[smallgodseries]

[image description: A tiny Oriole sits cheeping on a branch. But this wee bird has tied a big colorful toucan beak over his own, and added a bright red-orange comb. We see him against a bright green rainforest background. Text reads, “18, YUCAN TU, the small god of faking it until you make it”]

Sometimes education isn’t enough.  Sometimes you can study and study and try and try, and never quite cross the last bridge between where you are and your heart’s desire.

Sometimes you need to tell the perfect little lie to get there.

Once upon a time there was a small god of orioles named Yucan who wanted nothing more in the world than to be a god of toucans, to manifest himself as a big, beautiful, tropical bird that people would stop to ooo and ahh over when they saw it in the trees, something impressive.  It was a good thing to be a god of songbirds.  There weren’t as many of them as there had been before cats became quite so popular as house pets, and the ones remaining needed all the divine intervention they could get their wings on.  He appreciated their attention and their worship, but he wanted, so very badly, to be more than his nature was allowing him to be.

So he hatched, over the course of several slow decades, a plan, and one night, with no warning whatsoever, his faithful woke and found him gone.  He had abandoned his divine duties, flown the coop, left the nest, and no one could find a single feather left behind!  All the little birdies were distraught…but not for very long, as little birdies have short memories, and there were other gods of songbirds around to serve.  If it wasn’t quite the same, well, nothing ever is, not even following the same god from one day to another.  They adjusted.  They adapted.

And far away, a very small god with a very big dream put his plans into action. He donned a false face, he told everyone who met him that he was the god of endangered tropical birds, and if no one had ever seen him before, well, some of those birds were very endangered.  Deforestation and poaching, don’cha know?  So many dangers to evade.  So many fledglings to protect.  So he lied, and lied, and pretended, and did his best to live up to his own lies.  He protected those who came to him, he spread his wings over the nests of species unknown to science, and he tried, and he lied, and he tried.

Until one day, the mask would not come off when he went to go to nest.  One day, he noticed that his wingspan was greater, and he no longer heard the prayers of songbirds, but of the birds he had claimed…and of more than them. Of frightened high school drama students and would-be figure skaters, of novice computer programmers and new-made lawyers.

They had their own lies to tell.

And Yucan Tu would be with them every step along the way, singing goldfinch songs in their ears and spreading his wings to defend them from the risks of their own actions.

He is a god of falsehood, yes, but also of sincerity, and of effort.

___________________________________________________________

Artist Lee Moyer (Trident of Aurelia, 13th Age) and author Seanan McGuire (Wayward Children, October Daye & InCryptid series) sincerely thank to each and every one of you who share Small Gods!

Tumblr: https://smallgodseries.tumblr.com/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/smallgodseries/

Homepage: http://www.smallgodseries.com/

Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.