#Still Halo 17

[soaps-mohawk]

The Angel and The Devil

Kyletober Day 17: Double Penetration

Summary: In the back of the bar in a booth just barely visible, they are seated. You’ve been eyeing them since you first caught a glimpse, almost drawn to them in a magnetic haze. You can’t help but look, even if you run the risk of being caught staring. You have yet to be so unlucky, as their attention seems to be on each other the most.

Pairing: Incubus!Kyle x reader x Incubus!Johnny

Word Count: 6,688 words

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, explicit smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, anal sex, fingering, oral sex (m and f receiving), munch!Kyle, costumes, demons, symbolism, slight coercion, alcohol, language

A/N: And here we are! We've arrived at the end of Kyletober for what I think is my favorite fic of the month. It's been a fun month and I've had a good time with these fics and seeing everyone's reactions. I hope you've enjoyed the last month as well and Happy Halloween everyone!

MASTERLIST

The bar is full of all sorts of characters and creatures tonight. 

It’s Halloween which means the bar is fuller than usual, even on a weekend. It had been a last minute decision which led you to the bar. After a rough day at work you needed a pick-me-up and so you had gone to the nearest store, grabbed one of the few remaining costumes off the shelf in favor of not sticking out, and then headed to your favorite bar. 

“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

You’re beginning to regret not looking closer at the costume you grabbed. The cheap angel wings are too tight, the elastic straps digging into your underarms. The halo bobs precariously on your head with every movement, and you’re half tempted to just take them off and shove them in a bin. 

“Yes, actually.” You say, turning to the Frankenstein that has saddled up to you at the crowded bar. “It means I have to listen to cheesy pickup lines all night.” 

You ignore the jeers of Frankenstein’s friends as you turn back to your drink, casting your gaze around the bar again. You’re just here to numb the sting of a particularly awful day at work, and nothing more. 

At least, until your gaze lands on them again. 

In the back of the bar in a booth just barely visible, they are seated. You’ve been eyeing them since you first caught a glimpse, almost drawn to them in a magnetic haze. You can’t help but look, even if you run the risk of being caught staring. You have yet to be so unlucky, as their attention seems to be on each other the most. 

It’s not fair how beautiful some people are. How blessed others can be with good genetics and decent bone structure. The two at the back of the bar may as well be models. 

They’re...beautiful.

The one with the mohawk is all playful grins and boisterous laughter. There’s a roughness to him, more handsy than the other one, even as his bright blue eyes scan the bar occasionally. The other is softer with near perfect skin, short cropped curls, and the most dazzling smile you think you’ve ever seen. That smile still holds a teasing tilt to it though, but he’s not as blatant with it as mohawk. 

The devil horns on his head don’t fit him. He should be the one dressed as the angel. 

They’re both wearing cheesy devil horns and you suppose the matching tails. There’s a cheap plastic pitchfork leaned against the booth next to mohawk. The look fits him perfectly with his devilish grin, though you suppose the devil is supposed to be beautiful, so perhaps it does fit his partner as well. 

You knew they were together as soon as you laid eyes on them. It’s not hard to tell. How close they sit, the way lips brush ears when they lean in to whisper. Smirks cocking lips in upwards turns as hands move under the table. They’re a beautiful couple. Far out of your league. 

Yet you can’t help but imagine it. Screw the angel and devil on your shoulders, you want two devils. One in front, one in back. You can almost imagine the heat their bodies give off, the push of solid muscle on each side, sandwiching you between them. 

Your teeth sink into your lip at the idea. 

You turn your gaze back to them, nearly jumping as you meet a pair of bright blue eyes. You’re shocked for a moment, not expecting him to be looking right at you. His eyes have passed over you a number of times as he’s looked around the bar, but this is the first time he’s ever looked at you. There’s no mistake. He’s not looking at anyone else. His eyes are locked on yours, almost as if he had read your mind, seen your inner thoughts about the two of them. 

Something holds you there, the magnetic energy that had drawn you to them strengthening. Heat pulses between your thighs as mohawk’s tongue darts out wetting his bottom lip. Those lips lift in a smirk and suddenly the spell is broken. 

You whip back around to face the bar, cheeks blazing. The halo on top of your head bobs at the sudden movement, nearly pulling the headband from your head. You steady it with a hand, taking a deep breath. Shaky fingers curl around your drink and you down the rest of it, ignoring the burning in your throat from the strong liquor. 

Of course eventually you’d get caught staring. It’s not like you were being very inconspicuous, out here eyeballing them blatantly. 

“Can I get you another?” 

The voice makes you jump, the empty glass in your hand nearly clattering onto the bar. Your head whips around, eyes widening as you stare at the angel before you. Well...devil before you.

He’s even more beautiful up close. His skin is perfect aside from the scar on his cheek. His eyes are deep brown, and the longer you stare at them, the more you feel like you’re sinking into their depths. You get a firsthand look at that dazzling smile as he flashes one at you, showing off perfect white teeth. 

There’s an edge to that smile, though, something in the back of your mind starting to itch. 

“Can I buy you another round?” He asks again in that smooth, honeyed tone. It’s captivating, almost floating straight into your ears like a song. 

He’s staring at you, waiting patiently for your response. You clear your throat, nodding before you can even think about it. “Y-Yeah. I could go for another.” Your hand reaches up, steadying the halo again as it bobs back and forth. 

His eyes watch your hand for a moment before he grins, dropping his gaze back to yours. He flags the bartender, giving him your order. You’re too busy staring at him, enraptured by his beauty to wonder how he knew what you were drinking. 

“Would it be too cliche to ask what a pretty angel like you is doing here alone?” He asks, leaning against the side of the bar, blocking you from the werewolf next to you that had been eyeing you as you stared across the bar. 

Your face warms, a laugh leaving your lips. “A little maybe.” You should stop there. “Getting some stress relief from that 9 to 5 grind.” The words leave your lips before you can stop them. You’ve lost complete control of your body and your mind in his presence. 

Something is wrong. 

Alarm bells go off in the back of your mind as he turns to the bartender. He slips a note across the bar, telling the bartender to keep the change. You had glimpsed it before it disappeared in the bartender’s hand. It was far more than two drinks would cost. 

The bad feeling disappears from your mind as he turns back to face you, both of your drinks in hand. “Why don’t you come join us?” 

Say no! 

You nod, almost feeling like you’re in a trance. “Yeah, okay.” 

He grins, his eyes flashing with something too fast for you to tell what it is. “Come on.” He motions with his head. 

You slide off the bar stool, the two words almost feeling like a final signature on a contract, sealing your fate for the evening. 

You won’t be leaving alone. 

Your feet move automatically as you follow him across the bar to the booth where the other is still sitting. A tingle runs down your spine as he continues to stare at you. You feel almost like prey being stared down by a hungry predator. 

Perhaps you are the prey. The angel caught between the claws of a devil.

You slide into the booth without even having to be told to, your body still moving automatically as you wind up between the two. Your drink is set down in front of you, and you don’t bother to notice how the one in front of mohawk hasn’t been touched. 

“Aren’t ye a bonnie little thing.” Mohawk says, draping his arm across the back of the booth. “Call me Johnny. That’s Kyle.” He says, nodding to the one on the other side of you. 

You tell him your name, still feeling like you’re in a daze, trapped under his sharp blue gaze. Your wings move slightly, his fingers playing with the feathers strapped to your back. It feels almost ironic being trapped between them. 

You certainly won’t be feeling much like an angel by the time the night is over. 

“Saw ye lookin’ from the bar.” He continues, a smirk playing on his lips. It sends a shiver down your spine, but you can’t tell why. There’s something dangerous in there, some sort of threat raising alarm bells in the back of your mind. “Pretty little angel hoping to catch the attention of a couple of devils, huh?” He adjusts the twisted elastic strap of your wings. It makes your stomach clench, having his hand so close to you, his knuckles brushing against the side of your breast. 

Something feels off, some primal part of your brain screaming, but you can’t quite hear what it’s saying. You’re too caught up in his magnetic presence to care about much else.  

“Like what ye see, angel?” He asks. 

You nod, still caught under his gaze. Your brain feels foggy, like you’re slipping into a daze. For a moment you panic that someone might have drugged your drink, that Kyle might have slipped something in while you weren’t looking. It’s easily done. All it takes is a second and you let him carry the drink all the way from the bar to the table. 

Hands turn you around, the hazy fog disappearing as you meet Kyle’s brown eyes. Sudden clarity washes over you as you’re turned away from Johnny, almost as if he had been holding you under a spell. There’s still a faint buzzing in the back of your mind as you stare at Kyle and his soft grin. It’s so soft and comforting compared to Johnny’s intensity. 

“Such a pretty thing.” Kyle says, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch is electric as his fingers brush against you, your skin tingling all the way down to your toes and he’s barely touched you. He adjusts your halo as it wobbles, still holding your gaze. 

“Been watching ye since you walked in.” Johnny says, suddenly closer behind you, his breath warm on the back of your neck. 

You know that’s not true. 

You don’t care. 

“Knew ye were watchin’ us.” Johnny continues, his lips brushing the back of your ear. “Knew ye were interested.” He chuckles. “A little angel interested in a couple devils.”

A shudder runs through you as he presses a kiss to the skin behind your ear. His lips are warm, almost hot against your skin. 

You feel warm again, your mind starting to go hazy as Johnny’s lips press soft kisses against your skin. Kyle’s hand drops to your thigh, fingers trailing up your jeans. You almost wish he’d slip that hand between your thighs, but instead he skirts it around to the outside, trailing those fingers up to your hip. 

A couple devils indeed. 

“Well?” Kyle asks, snapping you back into awareness. Johnny is pressed fully against your back, now his lips almost lazily brushing your skin. “Are you interested?” 

Say no. 

Some deep part of your brain is screaming, sounding off all the alarms and raising all the flags, yet you can’t bring yourself to listen to it, much less care. You’re in too deep and the only way out is to go deeper. 

You’re not sure you want to stop. 

You nod, your lips parting as Johnny presses a searing kiss to your skin. 

“Need ye to say it, hen.” Johnny says, his hand closing around your side. 

“Yes.” You breathe. The words feel like the fall of a gavel, the stamp of approval on that contract you signed by agreeing to join them in the booth. You’ve sealed your fate for the night. 

There’s no going back now. 

“Good.” Kyle says, leaning forward to kiss you. 

His lips are soft, incredibly soft as they press against yours. He tastes like liquor, whatever sweet cocktail he had been sipping on. A quiet sound leaves your lips as his tongue presses into your mouth, his hand reaching up to grip your chin. You’re lost in the kiss, mind going blank as your body begins to tingle. Your panties are quickly dampening, the fabric sticking to your skin. Another hand drags up your leg, and you begin to curse your decision to wear pants. Who wears pants to a bar? 

Someone who didn’t expect to pick up anyone tonight. 

Or, well...get picked up. 

Johnny’s hand squeezes your thigh, his chuckle vibrating against your back. “Gettin’ her all worked up.” He presses his face against your neck, Kyle tilting your head so he has more room. “Can almost taste it.” 

His lips brush the side of your neck, his hand trailing higher on your leg. For a moment you hope he’ll take pity on you and slip it between your thighs, but instead he slides it higher, slipping it under your shirt. 

You pull away from Kyle’s lips as Johnny’s warm hand meets your skin. It’s electric, his touch like fire against your body. Your head tilts back against his shoulder, a moan slipping from your lips as your pussy begins to throb. Johnny chuckles again, Kyle’s mouth moving to your neck. One of your hands grips the edge of the table as Johnny’s fingers brush the skin of your stomach, holding on for dear life. 

All he’s doing is touching your skin. What is it going to feel like when he finally sinks his fingers between your legs?

You let out another moan as his hand slips higher, skirting dangerously close to your breasts. Reality slams back into you for a moment. Sure, you might be tucked in a back corner of the bar, but there’s still people around you. You’re still in a public place. You cast a nervous glance around the bar as Johnny’s hand cups your breast under your shirt. 

No one is looking at you. 

It’s almost like they can’t see the three of you at all. 

“I think she’s ready.” Johnny says, pulling his face from your neck as his hand squeezes your breast through your bra. 

Kyle hums, pressing one last searing kiss to your throat before he pulls his head away. “I think you’re right.” 

“C’mon kitten. Let’s go somewhere more private.” Johnny all but growls in your ear. 

You don’t remember the taxi ride home. You don’t remember getting up the stairs to your apartment or opening the door. You don’t remember telling them where you live at all. 

They’re on you as soon as you reach your bedroom, sandwiching you between them again. Johnny in the back, Kyle in front. 

You don’t remember telling them where your bedroom is. 

“Look at her.” Kyle coos, holding your jaw in his hand. His thigh is pressed between your legs, the seam of your jeans pushing deliciously against your throbbing slit as you grind against his leg. 

“Needy little thing.” Johnny groans, his hips grinding against your ass. 

“Could say the same about you.” Kyle smirks, his hand sliding down to your neck. He doesn’t squeeze, just holds it there, solidifying the silent agreement. 

They’re in charge. 

You’re just along for the ride. 

“Want to taste her.” Kyle groans against your lips, his thigh pushing harder against your clothed pussy. 

“Always so impatient.” Johnny says, undoing the button and zipper on your pants. “Yer in for a treat, hen.” 

Your feet leave the floor as Johnny picks you up far too easily. You drop on your bed, the mattress creaking as you bounce on it. His hands curl around the waistband of your jeans, tugging them down your legs in one pull. He spreads your legs apart, staring down at your panties. They’re nothing special, certainly nothing you’d wear if you had been expecting something like this. 

You just went in for a quick drink.

Now look at you. 

“Would ye fuckin’ look at that.” Johnny says, whistling quietly as he stares at the damp spot on your panties. 

“I think you were right.” Kyle says, resting his chin on Johnny’s shoulder, staring down at you as well. “She is ready.” 

“Fuck.” Johnny curses, reaching down to tug your panties off too. You suddenly feel exposed, spread open before them. It’s been a long time since you’ve brought a stranger home from the bar, much less two. 

“She’s thinking too much.” Kyle says, pushing Johnny to the side so he can kneel down in front of you. He tugs your hips until they rest right on the edge of the bed, tossing your legs over his shoulders. The halo on your head shifts at the movement, nearly coming off. You’re still wearing your costume. 

So are they. 

“Then ye best fix that.” Johnny says, pulling his shirt over his head. 

You want to stare at his exposed skin, but you’re distracted as Kyle’s tongue drags through your folds. He knows what he’s doing, applying just enough pressure to make your pussy clench. No time is wasted as he dives right in, his mouth closing over your clit as he slurps at your drenched pussy. He’s like a starving man, pushing his tongue into your hole before licking his way back up to your clit, tasting every inch of you that he can. It’s like only you can satiate him and his need, his hands curling around your thighs to keep you pressed up against his face with no fear of suffocation or drowning. That’s a good thing, because with the way you’re gushing on his face, that may be an actual fear. 

The bed dips as Johnny kneels behind you, crawling up so his knees are beside your head. You tilt your head back, expecting a cock in your face but instead you’re surprised to find him still in his briefs. He’s hard and bulging through the fabric, but still covered nonetheless. His hands land on your chest, slowly dragging down to your breasts. He palms them over your shirt, his thumbs circling over your nipples through the fabric. 

“Johnny loves a good pair of tits.” Kyle says, pulling away for just a moment before his lips wrap around your clit again. 

Your hips jerk, another moan leaving your lips as Kyle gets back to work. Johnny finally relieves you of the angel wings, pulling the elastic down your arms before tossing the cheap cardboard and feathers to the side. His hands slide over your breasts again before trailing downward to the bottom of your shirt. His fingers curl around the fabric, yanking it up, somehow managing to pull your bra with it. Your halo comes off with your shirt and you half expect it to hit the floor with the wings, but instead Johnny pushes it back onto your head. Your shirt and bra get tossed to the floor with the rest of your clothes. 

You’re the only one fully naked, and for some reason that leaves you feeling very exposed. 

You don’t get much of a chance to dwell on that tickling still itching in the back of your mind as Johnny’s hands brush your skin again, his palms cupping your breasts. He leans over you, a set of dog tags hanging in your face. You stare up at them as they dangle over you, swinging back and forth as Johnny massages your breasts. 

“Prettiest fuckin’ tits I’ve ever seen.” He groans, squeezing them gently. 

You glance down, just catching the look Kyle gives him as he licks another line up your slit. 

A yelp leaves your lips as Johnny’s fingers tug on your nipple, a yelp of surprise more than pain. It feels good, something you’ve never been able to feel there before. Then again, everything feels good right now. 

They play your body like an instrument, Johnny teasing your breasts while Kyle licks and sucks on your pussy. They’re so intune with each other, Johnny’s fingers almost a mirror of Kyle’s mouth. It’s almost eerie how they intuitively seem to know what the other is doing, and how to make you feel the most pleasure. 

They’ve done this before. 

Your slick is soaking your comforter but you don’t care, too busy being caught up in the waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You’re just getting started and already your toes are curling, heels digging into Kyle’s back as you get closer and closer to the edge. You’ve never felt this way with anyone else, an energy thrumming beneath your skin. You feel electric, you feel alive. 

“Gonna cum!” You gasp, heels digging harder into Kyle’s back. He offers no complaint, sucking harder on your clit. 

Johnny tugs on your nipples at the same time, intensifying the sensation as your back arches, cumming all over Kyle’s face. He licks up every last drop, pushing you almost to the point of overstimulation. It’s burning deep within you, your fingers curling around the comforter as you pant, sweat starting to bead on your skin. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. 

He finally gives you some relief, pulling away from your pussy before you can reach that point of the uncomfortable sensation becoming pleasurable again. It was right there, right on the edge but you’re denied that feeling as he sits back on his heels. His face is shiny with your slick as he lets your trembling legs drop so they’re hanging over the side of the bed. You can’t move, far too dizzy with pleasure still from your first orgasm. 

It’s only the first and you’re already feeling almost drunk on the sensation. 

“Good?” Kyle asks, pushing himself up to stand. 

You nod, still breathless. “Yeah. Yeah it was.” 

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips for a moment. “Taste good.” He licks his lips. “Sweet like sugar.” 

“I want a taste.” Johnny says, approaching Kyle. 

For a moment you think he’s going to dip down between your legs next, but instead his hand closes around the back of Kyle’s neck, pulling his face close. Johnny’s tongue licks at Kyle’s skin, lapping at your shiny juices still coating his face. Kyle offers no complaint, his lips parted as Johnny licks him. It ends in a kiss, all tongues and teeth as their bodies press tightly together. Your toes curl again, pussy throbbing at the sight of them together. 

You could probably get off just watching them together. 

Kyle’s hands slide down Johnny’s sides to his ass, pulling their bodies closer. They grind against each other, Johnny almost whining into Kyle’s mouth. You’re more than happy to watch them together, leaning up on your elbows so you can see them better. 

“We’re neglecting our date.” Kyle says against Johnny’s lips. 

“That’s not very kind of us.” Johnny responds, pressing another searing kiss to Kyle’s lips before they turn to look at you. 

You gulp, suddenly feeling very small under their gaze as they stare at you like two hungry predators. Excitement thrums under your skin at the promises their eyes hold. The foreplay was exactly that, a warm up for what is to come. 

You’ll certainly be doing a lot of that tonight. 

They break apart, the bulges between their legs prominent as they stand before you. 

“Tell us where ye want us, hen.” Johnny says, stepping up closer so he can drag his fingers over your thigh. Goosebumps form on your skin from the soft drag of his calloused fingers against the sensitive skin. 

Your eyes dart between them a couple times, your pussy fluttering at the ideas flashing through your head. 

One on each shoulder. 

“One in front, one in back.” You stutter out, another rush of arousal coursing through you. 

“Fuck yes!” Johnny cheers, pulling away from you to drop his briefs instantly. 

“You just made his night, love.” Kyle grins, face still shiny from a mix of your cum and Johnny’s saliva. 

Johnny’s briefs land somewhere as Kyle begins to undress, pulling his shirt over his head. You take the opportunity to truly look at them. They’re both fit and muscular, Johnny thicker and broader than Kyle’s lean figure. Kyle’s muscles flex as he reaches down, undoing his belt and jeans, giving you a good look at his abs. You lick your lips, watching his pants fall and then his briefs. 

Both of them are still wearing their devil horns, but neither of them make a move to take them off. 

“Lube?” Johnny asks. 

“Drawer.” You say, pointing with your toes towards the dresser. 

Johnny opens the top drawer, letting out a groan when he sees your panties. 

“You’re going to lose a pair.” Kyle says, maneuvering you on the bed. He’s finally naked, cock hanging heavy between his legs. He’s almost perfectly built, thicker than he is long with a little curve. 

Your pussy gushes at the sight of him. 

He’s perfect. 

He gives you a grin, something shivering down your spine as you stare at him. Warning bells are going off in your head, but they’re too drowned out by the need pulsing in your brain. Kyle lays himself out on the bed, fisting his cock in his hand. He relaxes back against the pillows, slowly pumping his cock as he stares at you with lidded eyes. You kneel between his legs, batting his hand away so you can wrap yours around his length. You lean down, dropping a glob of spit onto the tip of his cock before spreading it on his skin with your hand to lessen the friction. 

You meet his gaze again, a shiver running down your spine as you find yourself captivated in those deep brown eyes. They look almost black in the light of the lamp on your desk behind you. They opted for that light instead of the overhead one. You don’t think too much about it. You always hate the bright fluorescent overhead light anyway. 

The bed dips behind you as Johnny kneels on the mattress, his hands maneuvering you so you’re on your knees, your ass in the air. His hands smooth over your ass as you continue lazily pumping Kyle’s cock. The cool drip of lube on your ass makes you jump, your hand squeezing around Kyle for a moment. He lets out a groan, his head thumping back against the headboard. You keep that pressure as Johnny’s finger circles your hole, spreading the lube around the tight ring of muscle. 

“Fuck,” you breathe, trying not to squeeze your hand any tighter around Kyle’s cock as Johnny pushes the tip of his finger past that ring of muscle. More lube hits your ass as his finger sinks deeper and deeper in. 

You’re going to need more than one finger, from the glimpse you caught of his cock. 

You close your lips around Kyle’s tip as Johnny continues to work you open on his fingers, pushing a second one in with more lube. He’s cautious and gentle, something you wouldn’t have expected from such an eager man. 

Just the fact he’s even prepping you is shocking enough. Then again, they seem more than eager to be the ones giving you pleasure over themselves. 

“Ye like that?” He groans, pushing his fingers into your hole. “Feel good?” 

“Mhm.” You moan around Kyle’s cock, pushing back against his hand as he pushes in a third finger. 

Your pussy continues to drip, your entire body clenching around his fingers as he sinks them in as deep as he can. You take Kyle as deep as you can into your mouth, his back arching up off your pillows as he moans. It’s the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard, like angels singing. 

“Screamin’ Jesus.” Johnny groans. He pulls his free before slapping a hand down on your ass. “Go sit on Kyle’s cock for me.” 

You release Kyle’s cock, licking your lips before doing what you’re told. You scramble up over Kyle’s hips eagerly, taking his cock in your hand again. 

“Hi, love.” He grins up at you. 

You can only let out a groan in response as you line his cock up, slowly lowering yourself onto him. He’s perfect, stretching you open deliciously. It burns a bit, but you don’t care as you continue to work him into your dripping pussy. Your legs are shaking already by the time you’re seated completely on him, your hands pressing against his lower stomach to keep yourself upright. He’s solid under your hands, but his skin is warm, almost hot under your touch. 

He’s still staring up at you with those lidded eyes, his hands sliding to your thighs. “Good girl.” He grunts as you squeeze around him, his fingers digging into your thighs like he’s trying to hold himself back. 

Maybe he is. 

Johnny’s hand pushes between your shoulder blades, bending you down so you’re resting against Kyle’s chest. It moves his cock inside of you, a breathy moan leaving your lips at the change in position. Kyle releases his grip on your thighs, instead lifting his arms to wrap around your back. It feels intimate, the way he holds you. Far too intimate for just a one night stand. 

Your fingers lift to brush the dog tags around Kyle’s neck. He’s wearing them too, the metal shockingly cold despite the furnace-like warmth of his body. You can’t read what’s on them in the dim light, but you don’t really care to know at the moment. 

Johnny’s hand slides down your spine, smearing lube across your skin but you don’t care. It’s the cool drip of more lube on your ass that pulls you from your daze, the bottle snapping shut before hitting the bed somewhere beside you. Something thicker than fingers presses against your hole, your body clenching in anticipation. Kyle lets out a groan, his hips pushing up against yours as you squeeze around him again. 

“Relax for me.” Johnny groans, pushing the tip of his cock against your hole. 

You let out a long breath, willing your body to relax as much as you can. Johnny’s hand presses against the base of your spine, Kyle’s arms still holding you against his chest. His lips press against your forehead, something tingling against Johnny’s hand as you find yourself relaxing more and more. 

A breathy moan leaves your lips as the head of his cock presses into your ass, stretching you despite the prep he’d given you. He’s so thick, almost spearing you open as he rocks his hips, pushing more and more of his cock into your tight ass. Kyle stays still, holding your body as Johnny continues to work his way in. He’s so thick you can feel every inch of Kyle’s cock inside of your pussy. You can’t do anything but lay there and moan in pleasure from the mix of sensations. 

There’s a moment of silence, a deep breath as Johnny’s hips meet your ass. You’ve never been quite so full before, not like this, not so perfectly. They’re perfect, fitting into you like a glove, hitting every spot you could ever want them to. 

It’s almost too perfect. 

The thought is erased from your mind as Johnny begins to rock his hips, Kyle’s arms tightening around you as you begin to move against his chest. 

“Fucking christ.” Johnny breathes as you squeeze around him, pussy clenching as Kyle begins to move under you. 

“Bloody hell, love.” Kyle groans, pushing his hips up into yours, finding the rhythm of pushing in as Johnny pulls out. 

Your nails bite into the skin of his chest as the pleasure continues to build. You were worked up before they stuck their cocks in you, and now having them both inside of you is almost too much. 

Johnny bends over your back, changing the position of his thrusts. It pushes his cock against Kyle’s inside of you, pushing Kyle against that spot, his cock dragging against it with every movement of his hips. Johnny’s dog tags drag across your skin as he thrusts into you, the metal cool despite the moist heat of your bodies beginning to warm the room. Goosebumps erupt on your skin from the dual sensations, the warmth of their bodies, the cold of the metal against your back, the push and pull of their hips. It’s all so perfect. 

They do the work for you, playing your body like an instrument again with that uncanny understanding of each other. Kyle’s cock pushes in as Johnny’s pulls out, keeping you on the precipice of pleasure as they fill you completely. You’re rendered helpless as you lay there, unable to do anything but moan as your second orgasm of the night continues to build. Your entire body is trembling and twitching, all of your weight resting entirely on Kyle, but he offers no complaint. 

It doesn’t seem to bother him at all. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You squeal as Johnny picks up the pace, thrusting into you so hard your headboard begins to knock against the wall. Kyle’s arms tighten around you, holding you still and using you for leverage as he thrusts up into you. “Please, please, please...” You repeat it like a mantra, your entire body on fire with pleasure. 

Something tickles in the back of your mind, getting stronger and stronger the more you get closer to your orgasm. You can’t place it, you don’t care to, as your body writhes with pleasure. 

“That’s it.” Johnny groans, “Fucking take it!” 

“Gonna cum for us?” Kyle grunts, still thrusting up into you. “Gonna give it to us?” 

“Yes! Yes!” You cry, your back arching as you push yourself up against Kyle’s chest. 

The light behind you on your desk casts your shadows along the wall behind the bed. Your eyes watch the way they move and dance as you push yourself up so your back is against Johnny’s chest. Kyle’s arms drop from around you as you push yourself back, the new angle nearly blinding you with pleasure. 

The halo still on your head rocks forward and backward almost violently as Johnny continues to drive his hips against your ass. His arms wrap around you, holding you up against his chest. 

Perhaps it’s the pleasure numbing your mind, but you swear the room starts to get darker, the shadows lengthening as you stare at the dancing shadows on the wall. Johnny’s hand reaches up, tugging the halo from your head, letting it fall to the floor. 

You’re frozen there, captivated as his shadow almost seems to get bigger, the fake horns still on his head starting to lengthen and twist. Something unfurls from his back, spreading across the wall as the shadows continue to press inward around you. 

Wings. They look like wings. 

White hot pleasure blinds you as Johnny pushes your face down into Kyle’s shoulder, his own body folding over your back. You’re sandwiched between them, unable to do anything but take the pleasure they’re bringing you. Your clit drags against Kyle’s stomach as he gives over control to Johnny, letting Johnny’s thrusts rock you on his cock. Your hand curls around Kyle’s dog tags, the metal still somehow cold against your fingers. They feel bigger now, thicker and wider than what they had looked like. 

No, there’s not two of them anymore. 

It’s one pendant on the chain, some kind of pattern imprinted on the smooth metal. Your fingers trail over the smooth surface, tracing the raised lines. You can’t tell what it is, far too lost in pleasure to rationalize what is happening. Kyle’s hand wraps around your wrist, pulling it from his dog tags. He uses it to pull you up, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss. Warmth floods your body at the press of his lips, your mind starting to go fuzzy. 

“That’s it.” Johnny groans, grinding against your ass. “Give it to us.” 

Your ears begin to ring as more and more pleasure builds, drool slipping out from your lips as you pull away from Kyle, your entire body tingling. There’s something coming, something building within you so strong you almost can’t take it. It’s too much, it’s not enough, it’s not coming fast enough. 

“Come on.” Johnny says, pushing himself up just slightly to drive his hips downward against your ass. 

You nearly let out a scream as the pleasure hits you all at once, fluid gushing out of you and soaking Kyle’s lower body. Your entire body writhes and shudders between them, the pleasure never seeming to end as Johnny continues thrusting almost violently against you. Kyle’s hands reach up, gripping your hips as he moans, his head falling back. You’re squeezing around them so tightly you’re shocked at how Johnny is still moving. 

“That’s it.” Johnny groans. “That’s it.” 

You feel like you’re floating, barely registering the way Johnny and Kyle kiss over your shoulder, groaning against each other’s lips. Your body twitches as you get further and further away, almost floating right out of your body. You’re exhausted, the energy and life draining right out of you as you milk their cocks of their own cum. It’s hot as it spurts inside of you, filling you up almost impossibly full. 

Kyle’s hand presses against the back of your head, his voice low in your ear. “Sleep.” 

You’re hungover. 

You can’t bring yourself to open your eyes as you lay there on your stomach. Your head is throbbing, body weak as you groan in annoyance. You forgot to close the curtain last night. 

The sun is streaming in, warming your room. It smells like sex, your skin still sticky with sweat. Memories from the previous night begin to fill your mind as you come more and more into awareness. It barely feels real, almost like last night was a dream. Did you really catch the attention of those two beautiful men at the bar? Did you really bring them home and fuck them both? 

It feels like a dream, it might have been a dream. 

You crack your eyes open, letting out a groan. You are alone, the only remnant of the night before the scent of them still lingering in the air. They smelled good, sweet and musky, so strong you could almost taste it. They smelled good, even sweaty from the heat and exertion.

You can still feel their touch like a phantom left behind in your memory. The brush of their lips and fingers, Kyle’s head between your legs, the fullness of your body as they fucked you into one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had. It was addicting. You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to feel as satisfied as you did last night, even with the way your head is throbbing and your body feels drained of all energy.  

It was all so perfect. 

It must have been a dream. You had too much to drink and fell asleep dreaming about two perfect men fucking you to the point you couldn’t remember your own name. There’s no way two men were such perfect matches for you and for each other. Perfection doesn’t exist. 

You roll over onto your back, your limbs heavy with exhaustion. How long had the three of you gone last night? You can’t remember much past your first orgasm. You’re not even sure you remember your first orgasm. 

It must have been a dream. 

Something catches your eye as you roll over, tugging the blanket up around your chin. You squint through the blurriness and the haze of exhaustion, staring at your nightstand. peripheral vision

No, it wasn't a dream. 

It was very real. 

There's a set of dog tags sitting on your nightstand. 

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[fullychaotichell]

"Alastor is knocked askew by his sincerity - unbalanced by his resolve - and what makes it even worse is how Lucifer is still lit up by the warm sunlight from the stained glass, glowing and radiant, as though his entire being was enveloped in a halo." - Of Saints and Sinners, Chapter 17: The Harp

This scene got stuck in my head the moment I read it last week!! Regret that I couldn't finish it before chapter 18 today, but glad I did make it anyway XD

Quote and inspiration for this art is Of Saints and Sinners, a fic by @morningstarwrites!!

[word-wytch]

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 17

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 17/? 19k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ Finally alone, tensions come to a head and feelings erupt.

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Chapter CW: smut (18+ nsfw), emotional first time, heated conversations, hurt/comfort, love confessions, heavy petting, dry humping, body worship, unintentional edging, nipple play, cock stroking, piv sex (protected), aftercare

✏︎ For reference, here is a bingo score card map of Teach's apartment

✏︎ Special thank you to @the-unforgivenn @munson-blurbs @rip-quizilla @ladylilylost for holding my hand behind the scenes and rekindling my light with your own on a daily basis.

It was nothing like you had imagined. 

In your countless daydreams involving Eddie’s van, it was always things like the breeze gusting through a cracked window, or the bones of his knuckles as they stretched between yours that drew your focus. The details were always fuzzy. Staring into the open passenger door, they were coming into full view now under the yellow interior light. Cigarette butts crowded the ashtray beneath the radio. A nest of candy wrappers cradled naked tapes in the center console. McDonalds bags littered the seat that would soon be yours. Eddie crinkled them into hasty balls beneath his fists, arcing them over his shoulder to clatter against a cymbal somewhere in the back. 

“Sorry, I uh, wasn’t expecting company,” he said with a shameful shake of his curls. Bracing the seat cushion, he reached toward the floor before chucking two empty Mountain Dew cans into the rear abyss. French fry crumbs clattered to the weather mat with a brush of his hand against the plaid fabric. Coyly glancing from under his lashes, he sat back in his own seat and gave the space a final look. “Ok, should—should be good now.”

Like an open maw of caramel leather, it could have swallowed you. Securing your thumb under the strap of your bag, your boots left the salty pavement and found the ledge, lifting you out of the darkness and into the dim chaos. With a gracious smile, you slid into your place beside him. The seat was a comfortable cradle at your back; spacious and sturdy. Sliding your bag between your knees and feet, it found a home on top of the fry crumbs and other mysteries you decided not to entertain. 

You sat there for a beat as the details enveloped you; the scent of old cigarettes and leather, the stale hint of fast food, the exhaust on the cold night air wafting in through the open door. It squealed on its hinges when you shut it, sealing you behind its jaws as the light above you faded to black. 

Then it was just you and him. Just you and him in the dark leather cavern with nothing but the light from the dashboard and the soft floodlights making a halo of his frizz. Nothing but the engine rumbling idly, and the rush of your pulse in your ears. Nothing but short bursts of breath, and eyes that roamed with cautious amazement. 

It was strange for Eddie to see you here. You, in the passenger’s seat of his van. Out of your usual context. Surreal, like a dream he’d woken into. 

“Thank you,” you muttered into the silence, “for the ride.”

Eddie blinked hard, snapping from his trance. “Yeah—yeah. Sure thing.” Chains rattled against the zipper of his sleeve as he shifted the gear to reverse. Reflexively, his right hand braced your headrest, peering over his shoulder as he slowly backed out. “So uh, where are we going?”

His scent sucked the words off your tongue — the acrid remnants of grease on his fingers, the warm musk of his leather-clad wrist. Tearing your eyes away from his tendons flexing inches from your face, you eked out a response. “Oh—just make a left onto Randolph.”

With a nod, he hit the brake, removing his hand to shift forward toward the parking lot exit. Tail lights caught the soft glitter of snow as your small white sedan faded in the ample side-view mirror. There was a view from up here, like the van was swallowing the pavement as it careened out onto the road. Like you were seated in a leather throne, watching traffic below surge like a sea of subjects on the rush hour wave. 

Eddie tapped his hands against the wheel to a nervous rhythm before one of them reached toward the stereo—which might as well have been a button labeled detonate—because the thundering sound could have blasted you both back into 1984.

“SHIT—” he screeched with a manic twist of the volume dial, a stray curl wavering in his ragged breath. “Sorry.”

A laugh bubbled out of you. A wild, cackling thing, as if you were a toy wound up by nerves and the noise had released the crank. It was absurd—surreal—watching traffic lights change from the passenger’s seat in Eddie Munson’s van as Iron Maiden squeaked out the quietest guitar solo you’d ever heard. 

Eddie’s shoulders slacked in relief, hand relaxing against the wheel as he breathed a chuckle. The stoplight painted his cheeks even redder, and your spinning world stilled to a single focus as you gasped for air: his wild eyes, glimmering with soft bewilderment like you were an angel or a ghost he’d picked up along the road. Like he was struggling to believe you were real. Like he was struggling to believe you were here.

And just like that it was quiet again. The van rumbled idly beneath your seat, kicking up a smokescreen of exhaust. His soft lips parted and twitched. Straightening your shoulders and dipping your chin, you prepared to receive any words he had to offer. You even thought a soft smile might encourage their release, but nothing came out. The light turned him green, and with a sharp sigh through his nose he shifted his attention back to the road.

Smoothing your hands across the wool in your lap, you chewed at your own stubborn words as you did your bottom lip. But they were too big to make it out. Too loud, even with the rumble of the engine. Instead you cast your attention over your shoulder with a heavy sigh. Lately it was rare to find yourself out past dark. Even rarer that you looked past your own pained reflection in the glass. Passing below you like a panorama, Christmas lights wrapped stout bushes and glowed under a fresh blanket of snow. Plastic reindeers and light-up Santas crowded lawns amongst nativity scenes. Bright colored bulbs wrapped porches and rooftops. Through these dirty windows, you could almost call it beautiful. 

“Straight?”

You blinked out of your daydream. “Mhm, until Chester, then make a right.”

Eddie gave a single nod, keeping his eyes on the road. Typically by the time he made it past Melvald’s he would be fumbling in the pocket of his coat, pinching a cigarette out of the box and feeling for his lighter on the dash while his knee kept him out of a ditch. Today he had precious cargo. Chin locked dutifully forward, he still couldn’t keep his eyes from staying, from catching the lights as they danced across your holy form. You were watching them intently, lost in some daydream he could only speculate about. It was a vision he could get used to. Secretly he hoped you’d stay distracted, just a moment longer. Long enough to snap a mental polaroid, to shake it and save it for later. Tension splayed his hands on the wheel, and he firmly adjusted his grip with a slow exhale.

Shifting against the leather beneath you, your fingers found the stitching, running nervously along the smooth piping, filing it somewhere deep in your memory. It was good like this. Cruising like a tall ship above the sea of cars as Eddie palmed the wheel. Feeling his presence in the seat next to you; solid and stable like a captain at the helm. It was better than a dream. Absent of clasped palms and open windows, but rich in realness. 

Tin cans rolled hollowly in the back as the van veered right, and you wondered how many other lucky people had been given this place of honor after shows at The Hideout, or parties on the weekend, or long summer nights that bled into day. You could almost picture him pulling up to a gas station; the smoke wafting out of the doors as they opened, the crinkling of Snickers wrappers and cracking of pop cans, the laughter over the roar of the stereo. You were surrounded by remnants of good times past. Closing your eyes, you imagined for a moment that he was taking you somewhere else. Somewhere fun and exciting, somewhere you would surely leave behind remnants of your own.

When the van passed the baseball field and approached the tidy row of lights outside of each apartment door including yours, you wished he would just keep driving. Way out past the farms and forests, straight into the stars. You wouldn’t even look back.

“This lot here,” you gestured as a crushing feeling crept into your chest.

With a solemn nod, Eddie did as he was instructed. He braked and cranked the wheel, drove all the way to the end—to the last apartment on the single-story strip—and pulled into the empty spot in front of it. 

You sat there for a moment, idling as the large headlights illuminated a single red door, the number 8 beside it. Suddenly it was like you were a child again, being dropped off at home after a weekend with Janet. It was the same sinking feeling. With a slow exhale, you worried your lip between your teeth.

Eddie killed the engine. His hand splayed the wheel, brows pinching as his thumb dug into the leather with a heavy sigh. Your eyes connected, and the staring match began. It sucked the moisture from your mouth. All you could taste anymore was your heartbeat. All you could see were those eyes—dark and brimming with a million words behind them, almost loud enough to hear. Let me in, they begged. Please, I’m so close.

The door was right there, glowing and red. All it needed was for you to unlock it. Only you could do that. Words wrestled on your tongue. They grappled with each other, flung each other from the ropes and into the ring. You can come in, one side said. Help me find a mechanic. The angel—or was it the devil—pulled that voice into a headlock, gritted thank you, goodbye in a voice that sounded an awful lot like your mother.

Goodness was a mantle. A weight that kept your shoulders back, your lips pressed tight. In the end it was goodness that moved your hand, grabbed the leather from between your legs and slid the heavy burden onto your lap. It was goodness that placed your fingers on the cold plastic handle and pulled. 

“Wait—”

There was a sparkle in your eyes. It flickered in the darkness as you turned over your shoulder. 

“We need to talk.”

Your fingers left the handle as you settled back into your seat with a sigh. “I know, we do.”

“Like, now.” It was loud and insistent, much more than he intended, but it just leapt out. “I want to talk to you now,” he repeated softer this time, thumb digging into the leather of the steering wheel.

“Okay, yeah. Yeah—no you’re right.” Your stomach did a summersault at the admission.

The knot in Eddie’s gut released slightly. He chewed his lip for a second before continuing. “I mean, we could talk out here I guess but it’s like, twenty degrees out and I’m running low on gas.” 

Your front door glowed in the halo of his headlights. He didn’t have to spell it out. You weren’t going to make him. But it had to be him who was asking, because all your lips had space for were four words, pinning their opposition to the mat, buying just enough time to sneak out. “You can come in.” It was quiet, but clear as you tugged the plastic handle, nodding over your shoulder for him to follow.

Eddie’s eyes grew wide, and in an instant he was throwing off his seatbelt, fumbling his keys into his pocket, and scrambling out the door into the cold.

It was like your fingers were moving through molasses, like they’d never held a key before, less found the right one on your keychain, placed it in the slot, and turned. It didn’t help that he was watching so intently, that you could feel his breath in clouds over your shoulder. Still, despite your churning nerves and roaring conscience, one of the voices—whether it was the angel or the devil, you hadn’t decided—rose up in hope as you turned the handle and pushed in.

It was nothing like he had imagined. 

Then again, he wasn’t really sure what he had imagined, just that there was something—some sign of life—like posters, or paintings, or something that suggested you even lived here. Instead as you flicked on the lights to the narrow hallway, he saw nothing but white walls. He froze for a moment, glancing down at his boots weeping onto your clean white carpet. He was struck by the impulse to remove them, to preserve the cleanliness of such a sterile environment, but when you kept on walking, the impulse was greater to follow. 

In a few strides he was passing a kitchen to his left; plain with a small formica table and chairs. He couldn’t get a glimpse of much else before the hallway emptied into the living room. This space looked slightly more lived in, but barely. There was a crocheted afghan in shades of brown draped over the cream floral couch. A remote and papers on the coffee table. A TV in the center of the room. In the corner by the sliding glass doors were few cardboard boxes labeled with words he couldn’t make out. Even the Christmas tree beside them was bare. It was amazing to him how much nothing there could be in a place somebody lived, how it was even possible. The only piece of furniture that seemed to hold some fragment of personality was the long record cabinet pushed up against the wall to his right. On top there were even a few records leaning between the speakers and the record player. It was hard to make out what they were from the track list on the back, not that he had much time before you turned around.

Eddie Munson was standing in your living room. Right behind the TV. You had to blink a few times to believe it. The dark, broad angles of his shoulders jumped out against the stark wall behind him as if he was a cardboard cutout. Out of place, out of time. He was moving though; stuffing his hands in his coat pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels as he chewed his bottom lip. 

You’d really done it now—invited a wolf inside your den. And now you were alone with him. Truly alone. Hidden from the outside world behind a door you’d locked yourself. You could say anything—do anything—you wanted. Fingers moving to the top button of your coat, they froze just as they did when you passed the front closet. As if removing it would render you vulnerable, would encourage him to do the same, encourage him to stay. Goodness drew your fingers from the plastic, tucked them safely inside your pocket.

“Thank you for the ride, I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, no problem.” He took a step forward, and a knot began to twist low in your belly. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said last week. About it not being a big deal,” he began with a slow, deep breath. “It was like, really fucking stupid a-and just—god,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “insensitive of me and I’m sorry.”

You could tell he’d really thought about it. By the look in his eyes you were sure it had eaten away at him ever since you’d left him in your classroom. “Thanks, I appreciate the apology.”

His shoulders relaxed a little.

“I’m sorry too, honestly. This whole situation is…” you shook your head, breaking his gaze with a bitter sigh, “a mess. I never—” you sucked your teeth, searching for the words like they were stones on a dark path through the woods. “This is my fault.”

Eddie blinked in disbelief, offering a hollow laugh. “No, it isn’t.”

“No, it is.”

He rolled his eyes, unable to mask his annoyance. “What, like I didn’t ask you out? Ask you to smoke with me? Ask you to kiss me?” The last question lingered in the air between you, hanging for a second before you cut in.

“I should have said no,” you doubled down. “It’s my responsibility—”

“Stop.”

“I never should have put you in this position—”

“STOP.”

“No, it is my fault, Eddie. I’m your—”

“What, you’re my superior?” He strode forward, spitting fire like a volcano. “What like—like I’m some helpless child?”

“No—”

“Then talk to me like I’m an adult, because I am.” He was yelling now. Suddenly it felt like you were shrinking, dwarfed by his imposing silhouette. He must have seen the fear flicker in your eyes because he doubled back, raking his hand through his hair with a ragged sigh. “I’m twenty years old,” he leveled. “I’m twenty years old and still in fucking high school for some reason.”

Folding your arms across your thick coat, your lips twitched but nothing made it out. It was swallowed by the emptiness of the room, by the silence he left you in, by his dark eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t come here to argue, I—” he balled his fist and lowered it with a sharp breath through his nose. “I’ve barely been here five minutes and I’m already fucking everything up.”

Tentatively, your boot met the carpet in front of you, approaching as if he were a wounded animal. “You’re not,” you soothed.

Eddie took a deep breath, eyes smoldering like coal. “I hate this.” 

“Yeah, me too,” you stated quietly.

“I hate that has to be like this. That I’m like this and you’re—” he gestured toward you, hand falling dejectedly as if the next word was too painful to speak, “that I can’t—” he swallowed the wavering threatening his voice, “can’t be with you the way I really want to be.”

The heat in his voice could have melted you—leaked you out of your coat, and your boots, and your blouse until you seeped into the carpet. Until there was nothing left but the puddle he had rendered you. “I know,” you breathed. “So do I—”

“Then why don’t we just—?” He stepped forward, a hunger growing in his eyes like he’d glimpsed his first meal in days. Like he wanted to devour you.

And you wanted it. More than you cared to admit. The heat creeping up your neck didn’t lie, but your feet were far more self-preserving, treading backwards on the carpet. “It’s dangerous.”

He took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders with a frustrated sigh. “You know what, how ‘bout I just drop out?”

“Eddie—”

“No, really. As soon as we come back from break.”

You shook your head, pulse pounding in your temples. “I can’t let you do that.”

“Why not? It would solve the problem, wouldn’t it?”

Your coat was suddenly suffocating, the room closing in like the narrowing space between you as he encroached with another step. “No. I’m supposed to be helping you a-and now I’m just getting in the way.”

Eddie fumed, nostrils flaring. “Getting in the way of what, some stupid piece of paper? I mean what the fuck do I need a diploma for anyway?” He gave a hollow laugh. “W-what you think I’m gonna be like, a doctor or some shit?”

His words were like daggers, aimed at himself but they sank into you. “It’s important to you. I know it is because you would have dropped out a long time ago if it wasn’t. I’m not gonna let you throw that away. Not when you’re this close. Not for me.”

The anger was rising again, building like steam in his chest. “Then what do you want me to do? Stay in school, risk your job?”

You paused for a moment, eyes flicking back and forth over the carpet. “Even if you did drop out, how do you think that would look to this whole town? You suddenly drop out of school and then… what? We just happen to start dating? You don’t think that would raise a few eyebrows? Most of my coworkers know that I’m tutoring you. It’s easy to put two and two together. People talk.”

Eddie heaved a sigh, glaring at the tidy stack of papers on your coffee table, the neatly folded afghan on your couch, suddenly swallowed by the order, the evidence of both of your positions. “Then what should we do?” He felt like he was on trial, like you held a wooden hammer, like he was waiting for it to fall. 

In the end, all you could offer was your honesty, like a hollow whisper. “I don’t know.”

It sunk like an arrow in his chest, shocked him with the depth of its sting. “Why not?” The words just shot out, and the pinch in your brow let him know where they landed. “I’m sorry—I mean of course I know why not—like practically speaking but—” His retort was drying up on his tongue, pounding feebly in his chest. “I just thought that, I mean we both—we both have feelings for each other.” A tangible pain flickered in his eyes. “Don’t we?”

“Yes, but—” The words caught in your throat at the sight of him. Those enormous almond eyes that haunted you whenever you closed yours. The way his lips twitched and trembled and begged you to capture and still them. And those hands, capable of so many things. Under stage lights they were sure and nimble, plucking complex melodies with ease and precision. Under fluorescents they fumbled carelessly, left everything they touched either bent, broken, or beaten. Did you trust them to protect you? Trust them with your career, your reputation, your heart? Did he know what he was truly asking you? When you finally collected the words, they came out low, and quivering. “You could ruin me.”

He wasn’t sure what hurt more, the fear in your eyes or the sting of your mistrust. Eddie took a step forward, placing a hand on his chest in earnest. “I would never do that.”

Anger startled you as it rose up, clawing its way out of the grave you buried it in when you slammed your car door shut outside the pawn shop. “I’ve known you for four months, Eddie.” Your lips formed a hard line, tears threatening behind your eyes as you gestured to the boxes in the corner. “I knew him for five years.” 

Eddie seethed, a fury rising in his chest at the man who’d hurt you, at the whole situation. “I can’t change that,” he snapped. “I wish I could. I wish I could just-just wave my hand and make it all better. I wish—” he breathed a hollow laugh, “that everything was different. That we’d met at some bar and I was some—some… I don’t know, just some guy instead of some fuckup who needs your help with his chemistry homework.” His voice betrayed him, fracturing the last few words. He swallowed, tears welling behind his eyes. After a deep breath, he finished. “I wish I could change a lot of things, but I can’t. All I can do is ask for you to trust me because the only thing I want in this world is a chance to show you how much I love you.”

The words bloomed in your chest, stung behind your eyes, hung like the aftershock of a bomb in the space between you. All your life you had wanted so many things. All of them ended up stored in boxes, sitting in drawers, held in secret daydreams. Remnants collecting dust. Fantasies no one would ever know. Eddie Munson stood there in your living room and told you that he loved you, and never in your whole entire life did you want something as badly as you wanted to believe him. To tell him that you loved him too. To crash into his arms and never leave. But fear held its icy grip, kept you frozen in place. Tears burned behind your eyes but you buried them too. “Those are big words, Eddie,” you whispered. 

Molten feelings churned in his gut, came spewing out before he could stop them. “I’m not illiterate,” he snapped.

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know what this probably looks like to you,” he wavered hotly, nostrils flaring as his mouth became a thin, hard line, though his eyes were welling and wounded. “That—that I’m just some young, reckless guy who has the hots for his—” the last word caught in his throat.

“I don’t think that,” you whispered.

“Then what do you mean?”

The pain in his voice fractured the ice around your heart. “I just...” You breathed a deep sigh, searching for the words in the carpet before meeting his gaze again. “I just need to make sure you mean them, like really mean them, because—” your voice snagged. Through the hot blur, you glanced at your full moving boxes. Your empty Christmas tree. Your empty walls. Empty as the day you left Indianapolis. Empty as the day you moved in. “I can’t do this again.”

The crack in your voice could have shattered him, much less the image of you, shrinking in your stiff wool coat, swallowed by the sparseness of the room. You, trembling like prey, smaller than he’d ever seen you. 

“I mean them,” he uttered hotly. “I can’t do anything about your position, or mine, or your past, or how difficult this is for both of us. But…” he drew a deep breath, treading his words like rocks on a river. “I want you to give me a chance. A chance to be like—like a real person with you. Someone who can take you on a real date a-and—” The rest of it snagged in his throat, eyes welling as he swallowed back tears. He clenched his hand into a fist. Steadying himself with a deep, convicted breath, he continued. “I promise you will never have to worry—at least about how I feel—because I love you. And I mean it.” He let it hang in the air for a moment, straightening his shoulders. “All I’m asking for is a chance to show you.” 

You closed your eyes, tears cascading down your cheeks as you stifled a sob. When you opened them to a blurry room, Eddie was standing there, waiting for you. In your whole life you could count on one hand all the truly bad things you’d ever done. This, by any technical account, would be the worst of them all by a long shot. But when you searched your heart for the right answer, all you could find were fragmented dreams of the wind in your hair, and your feet on the dash, and his hand clasped in yours, and the wild open road, and every soft, quiet want you had ever locked away. When you finally opened your mouth, all you could manage were two words—broken, half-whispered, terrifying, and true. “Show me.” 

Swiftly, like a summer wind, Eddie crossed the room in two quick steps, snatched your face in both his hands, and kissed you. And just like that you were swept away. Stunned and breathless and whole all at once. Crushed between his hands and mouth, hot tears pinching through your lashes to cascade over the rough pads of his thumbs. You blindly grasped for him, fisting the leather of his coat to keep him from evaporating, to keep you from floating away. An exhale shook from both of you—wet and shuddering—as he parted just a fraction, just enough to capture you again. You melted there against his lips, wept like melting snow into his palms, dripping toward the carpet as his thumbs swiped the remnants from your cheeks. It was sniffling and sloppy, messy and real, and here—in the absence of bells, and desks, and lights that made everything wrong—it was the rightest thing that you had ever known.

With both his agent hands, Eddie kissed you for every time he wanted to but couldn’t. A thousand fervent daydreams pressed against your lips. One for every time he saw you in the hall, every time you’d brushed against his arm, every time you’d looked at him with kindness when everyone else saw a freak and a waste of their time. 

“I love you,” you whispered against his lips. A shallow sob escaped through the corners of his mouth and you kissed it away, thumbs soothing over his wet cheeks. “I love you.” Kiss. “I love you.” Kiss. “I love you.” And you meant every word.

Eddie stilled against the bridge of your nose and sighed, eyes closed, relishing as the words washed over him like a balm. Your breath mingled in soft pants as you rocked against his forehead, swaying to a rhythm only the two of you could hear. As if on cue, you opened your eyes together and were swallowed by two massive brown spheres. 

His thumbs gave your cheeks another swipe before dropping from your face, and yours did the same. You both took a moment to reset yourselves, wiping your eyes and noses on your palms and sleeves, soft chuckles escaping through giddy, disbelieving smiles at one another. His lashes were wet and clinging in a way that made him impossibly more beautiful.

Until now, your touch had belonged to the shadows. A timid trek across the ridges of his knuckles under the cover of a desk. A fenced exploration over the landscape of his ribs in the dark outside The Hideout. Now—in the gentle glow of the lamp beside your couch—you boldly cupped his face with both your hands. 

He was real, all of a sudden. The oval face that shot you smirks in the hallway and haunted your waking dreams, now here in the palms of your hands. Dragging your thumbs over the apples of his cheeks, they dimpled with a smile. Warm and flush in the golden light, softer than you’d ever imagined. Every subtle angle of his face, drawn together to make him—the ridge of his jaw under your fingertips, the phantom brush of stubble as you traced it. With gentle awe, your thumbs grazed over the crinkles in the corners of his dark, roving eyes. Real. Here. Yours. Now.

“I read your assignment,” you softly admitted. 

Eddie’s eyes widened with a gentle puff through his nose. “Oh yeah, how’d I do?” he murmured playfully. “B minus? I mean I didn’t exactly finish so it’s probably more like a—“

You silenced him with your lips. After a breathless, five second eternity, you parted with a heavy smack and looked him dead in the eyes. “A plus.”

Eddie melted between your palms. Trailing your hands down the soft contours of his cheeks, jaw, and neck, they flattened against his chest for a moment as it rose and fell beneath his black hoodie; steady and strong. He glanced down at your hands through gentle lashes, and then back up at you. With a coy flick of your eyes, you slipped up and over his shoulders, fingers diving under the silken liner of his coat. With both palms, you traced the strong angles, guiding the leather off of them until it thudded to the floor.

There was a single beat before he kissed you. Hard. Drawing the air from your lungs and the sense from the rest of you. When his tongue asked for admission there was no hesitation. You let him in, parting your lips to accept his wet heat, swept away by his current—breaking and cresting over and over. Hands hanging limply at your sides, he captured and devoured you, drawing you into his maw with every slip of his tongue against yours.

Your chest lurched forward as he tugged the buttons of your coat, working them from the thick wool eyelets with an urgency that bordered on frustration with the garment’s existence. His lips parted slightly as he glanced down, noses still touching, panting into the fractional distance as the eagerness of his fingers threatened the strength of the thread. Your mantle fell to the floor in a heap, and his hands—greedy and splayed at your waist—pulled you close.

His kiss came in waves, taking you under, again and again. It was the most delicious thing, to drown. To go slack and let the slick heat of his mouth take you under. You were learning to love drowning. Learning to love the darkness and the lack of air, the crushing of his body, the lapping of his mouth—bringing you to surface just enough before plunging back in. It was safe, to drown with him. 

Both hands twisted into his hair, tugging with fervent desperation as need rose up in you like a bubble that had been trapped at the bottom of the ocean, so sudden and consuming. Your teeth dragged along his bottom lip, tugging the plush membrane with a boldness that earned you a groan, a tightening of hands around your waist, a warm, wet tongue which you eagerly accepted. Yours danced against the gummy muscle, tasting everything—the hint of acrid smoke, the wistful sighs that echoed in the cavern of your mouth, the satisfied fulfillment of being truly alone.

His hands were burning through your blouse, splayed open at your waist like he was trying to make contact with every atom, pulling you so close it stifled your breath. There was a whole landscape here, a hill under your soft red cardigan where your back dipped toward your spine. He trekked it with his fingers, up and over, back and forth, feeling the muscle bend to his touch, and the subtle arch in your back when he did.

A feeling prickled through him. Up through his fingers, low in his belly. Desire—so familiar, and yet foreign as it ignited in a way that satisfied this time. There was something else too, rippling through his chest, seating somewhere in his sternum as he dipped his fingers—just the middle and ring—beneath the wool barrier of your skirt. The zipper grazed his knuckles, and he tasted something even sweeter than the strangled moan that ushered past your tongue:

Power.

He did it again. Pressing his fingers into the curve of your spine, splaying beneath the wool and pulling back in a firm grip around the muscle of your lower back, letting his fingers drag firmly over your skin like he was trying to claw through the cotton. 

It burned in a slow, delicious way. Burned in a way that made you dizzy, made your pulse jump from your throat and thrum in that low, forbidden place, beating life into a space that could no longer be ignored. You clenched your thighs together, arching your back at the demand of his touch, dipping your tongue into his sopping mouth as a helpless sigh escaped you. 

He lapped it up eagerly. Again, fingers splaying, clawing, burning. Like a sorcerer weaving a spell through the fabric—drawing you nearer, making you pliant. He met your sighs with approving hums. Bright, like the timbre of his voice, but the color was deeper, thick with a coaxing desire. They slipped down your throat like water in a desert, leaving you thirsty for more. 

There was an animal in you. Eager and starving. Pawing at his chest as his lips slid between yours in a rhythmic cadence. His hand burned at your back, clawing with insistence, warring with the few remaining shreds of his decent will. You obeyed with a cant of your hips, more than was proper, more than was chaste. Your rational mind flickered in for a moment, but the throaty, approving hum it earned you and solid mass of his waist molding and conforming to yours hushed it quickly. 

Eddie nipped at your bottom lip—testing, eager. A tingling rush flooded your core, tugged at your wrists like marionette strings, draped them over his shoulders and around his neck. Do it again, you begged with an arch of your back, pressing your chest to the contours of his. Eddie obliged with a drag of his teeth.

There was an animal in him too. Stirred by rocking of your hips, taunted by your boldness. It was like a waking dream, more unbelievable than any fantasy he’d ever had. You, draped around him like a doll, begging him to play. Boldly, he splayed his hand, starting between your shoulder blades and dragging firmly down your soft cardigan as he traced the length of your spine. You, bending like a string on a guitar, molded by his touch to sing the sweet release of your sigh. It ghosted hotly on his tongue, swirled in the pit of his belly. What other melodies were locked inside, waiting for his hand to be expressed?

Boldly, he breeched the barrier of your skirt, palming past the ridge of rough fabric, down, slowly down, over the mound of your rear. He rested there, grabbing with the full spread of his hand. It was sinful, how taught and plump the muscle was, how he’d watched it move for countless days from his station in the back of your classroom, eyeing how it shifted as you leaned on tired feet, etching words onto the board while he memorized your figure. Eddie tightened his grip, drawing upward, letting the swell of it pinch through his grasp.

Music—in the gasp of your mouth against his, the quick suck of air hushed by his lips, relinquished in a sigh. Guiding you closer, rocking you into him with the strength of his wrist, repeating the motion, reveling in the waves he made with every grapple of his palm.

The ice in you was melting, tingling to life like a limb half asleep, radiating through the pinch of his hands to that dormant place again. He was using both of them now—spreading and massaging as his tongue probed deeper. Your arms relaxed, limp on his sturdy shoulders, eyes closed, letting him do as he pleased—mold you like putty in his palms. Letting him lead you with the dance of his lips. Letting him sway you to his own silent rhythm. Letting him, letting him. 

It was like a waking dream to feel him in this way. To feel the angles of his body rock into yours, timed with the rhythm of his mouth. Such sensual movements coming fromthe man whose heated glances often gave you pause to wonder. It was a fantasy you could get lost in. Words—as they had been since you had met—were too bold, too brash, too loud. But here, you could tell him anything you wanted. So you told him, whispered the deep desires of your heart with a slow grind of your pelvis. He answered with a moan—sticky sweet, rippling across your tongue and down your throat. 

Your arms released slightly from their seat atop his shoulders, unable to mask your delight in the softness of his curls against your wrists and fingers, how the ringlets slipped through them like silk. How desperately you’d longed to touch them. How suddenly evident that was. 

It felt so good to feel him with the wholeness of your hands—free now to wander wherever they pleased. Possessed by the animal stirring inside you, they padded up the ridges of his neck, tangled in the hair at the nape and tugged. 

Eddie groaned into your mouth, surprise and delight ghosting hotly on your tongue. It jolted in the space between your legs, aching alive with every movement of his body, every sigh and sound. It ached for more, curious about what else you could coax out of him. Breaking from his lips, yours traveled south, over and under the ridge of his jaw, delighting in the barely-there brush of sandpaper stubble as you tracked it, the way he tipped his head to expose the pale column of his neck. 

His scent was so present here—concentrated, rich, and sweet all at once, clinging to him in the delicate oils of his skin and hair. It spoke to you in a silent language, one that the animal in you was fluent in. Heady and intoxicating with green lights, and safety, and irrepressible desire. You pressed your lips to his neck, inhaling deeply as his pulse thrummed with life beneath them. It was a chaste and reverent gesture, honoring his life-force with your mouth as you trailed slowly down. 

Eddie sighed at the contact, closing his eyes, presenting his neck to you like a feast. It occurred to him here—in the fuzzy, swirling mush his brain was becoming as the blood rushed south—that he had never been kissed like this before. So reverently and lovingly, as if you painted worship with your lips. 

Tendons rippled as he swallowed, and the animal in you stirred to gather a taste. Starting with kitten licks, innocent flicks of your tongue peppered between kisses against his beating flesh, so salty and musky and sweet. His chest dipped in a sudden exhale against yours. Tightening your grip in his silky curls, you angled him to you, jaw unhinging with a mind of its own before swiping a long, greedy trail up his tendons.

“Ohh—” The sound leapt out of Eddie’s throat, surprising even himself. Not that he would have wanted to catch it. He wanted to let you know, wanted to ensure that you continue.

You tasted the velvet vibration under your tongue. Felt the release of his hands, the warmth at your waist, dipping under your cardigan to feel you as closely as he could. Buried in the shadow of his hair and scent, you continued your trek—licking and kissing while his palms pressed you closer. 

Eddie was turning to putty by the second, all logical thoughts escaping out his rushing ears like steam. The animal was stirring below his belt; stretching and yawning, tingling awake. Suddenly he was clawing at the starchy cotton barrier, digging up the fabric from where it was secured beneath your skirt. 

The air was cool all of a sudden there, tingling from exposure but quickly soothed by a clammy warmth. The animal in you preened, arched into his touch, dizzy from the contact with your skin. It bared its teeth, dragging them slowly along the column of his neck with the next pass of your lips.

“Oh fuck,” Eddie groaned, unsure in his haze whether it was from the rush of your teeth or the bareness of your flesh under his fingers. Finally. Lids twitching as his eyes rolled back in his head, a memory flickered in—a bustling, crowded hallway. You, standing front of his locker clutching books in your arms. Him, ushering you forward. The first time he’d ever touched you here. He had stored the memory away safely, memorized the dip of your waist under his palm, played it over and over until it wore out like an old tape. Your skin was alive under his fingers now—smooth and warm and real and reacting. 

With one hand resting on his shoulder, your other twisted deeper into his hair. Silk between your fingers, nails grazing up the back of his skull. You mumbled nonsense into the wet trail of his neck, nipping and kissing and licking, tasting his swallow as his hand splayed across your skin. There was a whisper of perspiration at his hairline as the room became incredibly hot all of a sudden. 

You were reacting. Arching under his fingers, growing bolder and bolder with every pass of your mouth across that incredibly sensitive spot. It made him dizzy, stupid. Absolutely set his blood on fire. With a slow, upward swipe, his hand climbed the column of your spine—up, up, up—until his fingers grazed the clasp of your bra. Jesus Christ. It was hardly the first time he’d touched a bra, but it was your bra, and you were the one reacting beneath it.

Eddie was reacting too. He could feel himself unfurling in his boxers, rising fully to attention. God damn it, Munson. It’s just a bra for crying out loud. But there was no hope of taming it now, not when your teeth were grazing that sensitive spot that made his entire body flush with heat. It throbbed as your tongue dipped below the collar of his shirt, your hips so dangerously close. He wasn’t exactly ready to give you an anatomy lesson, fearful it scare you with its realness somehow. 

But you were gone, lost in the smoke-acrid scent of his clothing, in the salt of his skin yielding under your tongue, in the hiss of his breath as it left his lungs. Lost in the warmth of his hand sliding down your bare spine. Pressing raw, wet kisses to the humming stretch of his neck, you concluded that you couldn’t feel nearly enough. 

You captured his mouth again, and this time the kiss was open and hungry, sweeping and led by your tongue. Hands breaking from around his shoulders, you trailed over the firm swell of his pecks, down his ribs, around his waist. You pawed down his back with a slow, greedy swipe, admiring the firmness of his muscles under the thick cotton, the way his hips tilted from the pressure as you neared his belt. You did it again, more pressure this time, trekking your pelvis upward across the landscape: stiff denim zipper, steel belt buckle, and—

A hard jab to the hip. 

Eddie gasped into your mouth and drew back in horror, lips gaping and sputtering the beginnings of an apology. “I—um—”

Your eyes flicked down at the tent in his jeans, unable to stop yourself. “It’s—it’s ok, we were just—” 

“Yeah I know, but—” he swallowed, face like a roaring furnace under your gaze. His hand twitched with the impulse to cover himself, but he redirected it behind his neck, wringing it through his hair with an embarrassed laugh. “I got a bit carried away.”

Your eyes shot back up to his and you fought to keep them level. “No, it—it was me. It’s ok, we can stop—”

“I don’t want to,” Eddie blurted out.

Your eyes widened, lips parting as the gravity of his words set in. It was suddenly quiet enough to hear the clock ticking in the corner, the heat rushing through the vents in the floor. 

“I think that’s um,” he sucked his lip, glancing to the side before meeting your gaze again, “kind of the problem.”

The look in his eyes was darkly threatening, brimming with a wild heat. A feeling stirred deep in your core, something like fear but it fluttered and trembled like yearning. 

“We can if you do though—want to stop, I mean.”

It was suddenly so real—Eddie Munson standing in your living room, offering himself to you in this very bad way. You wanted to think you’d be good, but as the words left his kiss-swollen lips, all you could think about was how badly you wanted to know how it felt.

Eddie just stood there, forcing his shoulders back against the fear closing in around his heart as he awaited your possible rejection. He followed your eyes as they slowly scanned his form, flushing under your gaze, suddenly so aware of himself. It was a look he’d never seen on you before, a heat that simmered beneath curious amazement. 

He wanted you to look.

In all your years of discipline, there had always been a series of events in between you and a moment like this. Coffees, dinners, chaste kisses outside the door of your apartment. It was a long time before you let anyone in, and even still, it had only been one man. One whose cues and advances had become familiar. Predictable. Monotonous. Boring.

You wondered what he looked like under there; that forbidden line protruding under denim, attentive and alert, made ready by your touch. An offering to you, if you would have it. You thought about his skin under the bulk of that sweatshirt as his chest rose and fell, how good it would feel pressed to yours in the dark. How you ached to feel him move in that way. How badly you wanted to know. So terribly bad. 

Finally, you whispered the truth. “I don’t want to stop.”

Eddie’s eyes widened, face falling in near disbelief. Suddenly he felt like a dog that caught a car. 

Show me, your voice echoed in his mind as the carpet, and your records, and your tree came into focus. Show me, as the lamp beside your couch painted your features with soft anticipation. Suddenly, a dam broke, flooding him with images of Fs thrown face up on a small desk in front of him. Of folded arms and disapproving glares. Of a corner somewhere with his back to his classmates as they played with blocks and snickered as he sulked in time-out. 

Show me.

The memories coiled in his belly like a serpent, struck him with a fear that if he did, you might be disappointed. But the way you were looking at him—like a virgin on prom night with your wide eyes and fingers tangled in a knot in front of you—made it all subside.

Slowly, he closed in, umber eyes flickering with a blended hue of want and trepidation. His hand came to your cheek, delicate fingers tracing your jaw as if you would disintegrate beneath his touch. When you didn’t, his thumb grew bold enough to swipe across the apple, palm sure enough to cup your face, angling it upward to meet his lips. It was chaste. Reverent. Different, somehow, than any other kiss you’d shared. His exhale mingled with yours as you melted against his mouth, hand snaking around your waist to pull you close. Every angle of you against every angle of him. No gaps. 

And then he showed you. Open mouthed, tongue scooping in a desperate rhythm with yours. The kind of kiss that left you bruised and breathless. You tasted every aching unsaid word between you, cupping his face to capture all of them. Tasted the power of his want, the demand of his tongue dancing against yours. The taste was deep, heady and complex with the knowing where all of this was heading. He showed you with his palms, clawing at the fabric of your blouse, bunching it up to slip his eager hands beneath it. 

He showed you with a roll of his pelvis, hardness pressed against your hip, splitting your mouthes into a shared sigh from the satisfaction of the friction. It rippled through every dormant part of you, blooming deep and low. Heat raced to your cheeks, heart thumping in the cage of your chest. It occurred to you then, how deeply love and fear were intertwined. How tangled fascination was between them. How desperate you were for him to show you. Desperate to feel every inch of him. Desperate to experience it all. You responded with a tilt of your hips, reveling in the feeling of his length as it dragged, in the delicious sin of it all. And his touch transformed you, made that deeply-buried need rise up in you full-force. 

You kissed him deeply. Eyes closed, swaying under the direction of his palms, tongue dancing in time to his rhythm. How good it felt to just be led, how satisfying his leadership tasted. Abandoning all thoughts, listening only to the soft desires of the animal in you. Yes. Good. More, it whispered. You arched your back, grinding your pelvis sinfully along his length, lost in the feeling. 

Eddie was gone. Consumed. Possessed. Directed solely by the need to feel that delicious friction spark and soothe. He braced you, tightly gripping your rear, guiding your movements just how he wanted. Suddenly—as if something snapped in his brain—he was pivoting you in a 180 motion to trade places. Lips breaking only to glance where he was going, he backed you into the wall shared by your kitchen. 

“Mmnh!” The noise was pressed out of you as your back met the solid surface. Eddie descended on you, lips locking with your neck, pelvis pressing you firmly to the wall. His hand wandered down your right leg, hiking it up around his hip for better leverage. And you just let him. Pliant like prey, encouraging his savage nature with your sounds. 

It was a position you had never been in before—skirt pooling at your hip, thigh-high stockings and panties exposed like a scene from a book you’d gotten in trouble for reading back when you were in high school. It was something you’d resigned to fantasy, to dog-eared pages illuminated by a flashlight under your blankets. Suddenly you were on the cover—chin tipped toward the ceiling, head dragging against the plaster as Eddie trailed a dizzying path down your neck. He pressed you into the wall with a grind of his pelvis, dragging his stiffness along your most intimate seam. You groaned, eyes rolling into the back of your head as the last remaining shred of goodness dissolved. What was left spoke only the language of desire. A language that felt native, yet foreign, like one you learned before words. Before rules and desks and pencils and report cards and curfews and diplomas. Before your goodness forced you to forget. 

It almost hurt, in the best way though—his fingers digging into your thigh, the muscles threatening to cramp as you squeezed your heel under his ass to hold your position, sweat tingling the back of your knee. A fair price for how good he felt there. Even under the barrier of the stiff denim, you could feel the way he tapered off, the fat ridge of his cockhead as it rutted over your mound. Firm and insistent.

There was a fire in you—alive and insatiable. Stirred awake with every pass of his hips, by the look on his face when you met his eyes—savage and dark, pinching in pleasure, mouth hanging open like he wanted to devour you. His curls were a curtain between you and the light, a shadow both of you could hide in, swaying in his ragged breath. You snaked a hand over his shoulder, tangled it in his mane and gripped hard at the back of his head.

The sound he made was somewhere between a purr and a whine, thick and desperate as he met flesh below your ear again. It rushed through every cell of your body—dizzying, pulsing through the veins in your hand as you raked your fingers across his scalp. You arched against the wall, straining to present your neck to him. 

It was almost too much. You, in his clutches, writhing under the drag of his teeth, the scent of your skin and clothes, the tingle of your nails against the base of his skull. Eddie’s hand wandered down your thigh, swept up in the current of that doughy flesh and the mound of your cunt with only cotton and denim between you. He broke from your neck to get a look at you—stiff blouse disheveled, wool skirt rumpled, skin sinfully exposed, that heavy-lidded, fucked-out look you wore better than all of it. All by his doing. Your breaths exchanged in silence for a moment as his pelvis kept the pace; slow and undulating. His mouth became a gaping O, brows pinching as he reached the apex of his movement before drawing back again.

There was a scent hanging in the air between you. Warm and heady. Deep and complex. One you recognized surely as your own. It was emanating from under your skirt, from that slick, throbbing place. Heat burned your cheeks as Eddie inhaled deeply through his nose, eyes pinching, mouth parting in recognition.

You. So warm and rich and you. Even through the barriers he could feel a slickness, a non-resistance as he thrusted upward over your mound. It drove him absolutely crazy, made the part of his brain that spoke only the language of friction and pheromones take over, made him tingle and twitch and clench with that tell-tale sign of immanent conclusion. Eddie had to brace the wall, close his eyes, collect himself before he lost all sense of control. 

“Oh Jesusfuck—” he panted, “I—ohgod—mmm-hmm-hmm—” Eddie trailed off with a crazed and slightly nervous chuckle, biting his lip as he mustered every fleeting ounce of self-control to draw back from the edge. His cock protested, weeping furiously at the denial. Blood was racing through him at an alarming rate. Sweat tingled his forehead, his chest, his hand still locked under your knee. The animal in him was chomping at the bit, pleading for him to unlatch his belt, undo his zipper, push aside those white cotton panties and slide home. He stiffened his jaw. Clawing into the wall, he hung his head with a sigh. “I want you,” he gritted. “You want me?”

The words throbbed. Buzzed. Ached. You looked up at him fuzzily and responded without a second thought. “Yes.”

“Here?” he breathed before sobering to his own suggestion. “Fuck—sorry.”

The lewd heat of his question sent a pulse deep and low, a question that the animal in you had no qualms about answering. But the human in you wanted so much more. 

“Forget I asked that, I’m just—hah.” He lowered your leg with a deep sigh. Delicate curls clung to the sides of his neck, tingling from perspiration. He cleared them with a wring of his hand, chest heaving beneath a sauna of clinging cotton. “Just need to cool down.” Suddenly he was tugging up sweatshirt from behind his shoulder blades, pulling it up and over his head. It hit the floor with a thud. His shirt went with it.

He stood there for a moment, filling the silence with his breath as you drank him in; a landscape of smooth, pale skin. You swallowed a rush of feelings coursing through you at the prospect of his bareness. A whole new world to your eyes. Ink mapped the space under his collarbone. Delicate curls dusted the valley between his pecks—subtle hills which plateaued to rows of heaving ribs. You followed the trail of dark hair below his navel until it disappeared beneath his belt. A breathtaking vista. 

His skin drew you in like a magnet. Stepping into the sphere of his radiant heat, you traced the swell of his pecks with your fingertips, flattening your palms against the smooth, warm terrain. His heart pounded beneath them. Living, breathing, and bare. With a coy, tentative finger, you traced a path over the ink beneath his collarbone, offering a soft chuckle at the cartoon zombie there. 

“I think he likes you,” Eddie joked, mentally kicking himself the moment he said it. But your smile only grew.

“That’s good, I think I like him too,” you offered playfully, tracing the lines of its wispy hair as your teeth caught your bottom lip.

“Good, ‘cause uh,” Eddie snaked a hand around your waist, eyes crinkling warmly, “he’s not going anywhere.” His words were so suddenly earnest, trailing to almost a whisper.

You melted, eyes flitting to his with a foreign but effortless sultriness as your fingers walked the ridge of his collarbone down into the valley between his pecks. You raked over the delicate curls dusting the path, nails dragging bluntly against his skin. A wonder to explore.

Eddie’s expression darkened at the gesture, filled with a sudden awareness of his own body, his own solid strength reflected back at him through your eyes. Carding your fingers through the whisper of hair, you flashed him a glance before trailing lower. The sensitive skin of his stomach rippled softly under your touch before you hopped the ridge of his navel, entering new territory. 

Thick, dark hair spread between your fingers—down, down over the swell of his belly, following the trail until it disappeared below his belt. There was a hesitance, a coyness that colored your pause before you tucked them curiously beneath it, feeling soft curls against your knuckles. Eddie swallowed thickly, eyes growing wide with anticipation, flitting to yours like a dare.

A strange, thrilling darkness coursed through your hand, gripped his belt buckle and tugged. You were mesmerized by the flex of his abs, by the buck of his hips in response. His nostrils flared, and a sharp puff ghosted over your arms. The tip of his cock almost grazed your palm, flexing against the black denim, perfectly outlined, flooding you with that darkness again. Pulsing deep and low, it bared its teeth and purred its next command.

You obeyed, dropping your hand to the space between his legs. Eddie’s breath hitched, hands freezing in flexed position at his sides. The denim seam stretched out like a runway beneath your fingertips, bulge heavy and round on either side, hot and humid. It was sinful, the way his balls drew upward under your touch, how clearly you could feel their outline, their weight. It filled you with that irresistible darkness, a badness that swelled as your hand trailed upward. His anatomy was evident even through his jeans—roughly six inches, stiff and thick, veering off to the side to seek space inside the tight cage. The ridge of his tip plumed under your palm, fat and damp as your fingers trailed behind. You swallowed, throbbing at the realness of it all.

Eddie hissed, rapidly disintegrating as he watched your hand trace his cock like it was the most mesmerizing thing you’d ever seen. And it was. Watching him fall apart as your fingertips reset themselves under his package, as they drew slowly across every aching inch. The way he twitched as you neared his leaking tip, the strangled sound trapped behind his bitten lips. You pressed against him firmly, dizzy from how sinful this all was, from the ridge of his tip so evident under the denim, from how badly you ached to feel it raw, feel it sink between your thighs and fill you. A purr rippled in the back of your throat as you offered him another slow stroke, pausing at the tip to draw a slow, firm circle with your thumb.

“Holy fuck—“ he breathed, tipping his head back toward the ceiling as his most sensitive nerve endings wept alive. He was desperate—for you, for your touch, for any friction you could offer. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he should stop you. But that voice was distant, tiny, barely a whisper. What was louder was the rush of satisfaction emanating from under your thumb. 

The darkness was growing in you—coiling in your abdomen and stretching through your fingers as you watched his Adam’s apple bob with a thick swallow. Fluid seeped through the denim, and your contact with it flooded you with feelings that made you want to rub harder, faster, to draw other things out of him.

A strangled groan caught in the back of his throat as Eddie tried to tamper down the feelings rising up in him again. The ones that tightened deep within his body, made him twitch and buck his hips to seek your hand. The friction was delicious, overdue, a feeling he was both desperate and fearful to chase. 

“Mmm, yeah?” you purred with a voice you almost didn’t recognize, sliding your thumb right under his heart-ridge where it met his shaft, rubbing up and down in short bursts.

“Yeah,” he choked. It was his favorite spot. The one that sent fireworks straight to his brain, made his brows pinch and knees turn to jelly. He closed his eyes, lost in the feeling, drifting away until the sudden absence of your hand had his eyes snapping open. He whined, flooded with equal parts relief and disappointment.

The rise and fall of his stomach had your body suddenly—violently—crying out for the warmth of his skin against yours. Fumbling with the top button of your cardigan, you slipped it free, working the others until it peeled off of you to join Eddie’s sweatshirt on the floor. Heart hammering with eager anticipation, your fingers met the starch of your blouse.

“Wait—”

You froze over the top button. 

“I wanna do it,” he uttered. 

Hands falling to your sides, you granted him permission with a dip of your chin. 

Slowly, delicately—as if sudden movement would cause you to flee—he feathered the stiff collar with his knuckles, brushing it back to expose the slope of bone beneath it. Tracing the stitching down to the first button, he padded the bone-white plastic, ushering it through the slit with his trembling thumb. 

You swallowed, heart pounding under the intensity of his gaze as the V in your shirt grew deeper. How soft his eyes were—wide and alive but dipping in a way that could only be described as reverent. 

He worked the next button free, exposing a pink satin bow at your sternum, breath fanning the skin beneath it in awe. Like a pearl in the shell of your blouse, nestled between two heaving cups. Unable to help himself, he brushed it with the ridge of his knuckle, smiling as his chocolate eyes lit up.

It was beautiful to watch—the subtle twitching of his cheeks, the angles of his working hands, the curious amazement hiding under his lashes as he exposed you. Such careful movements from a man who could destroy you. 

It was nothing like he had imagined. In his countless daydreams involving him taking your clothes off, he’d failed to capture the subtlety in it. The shy dip in your eyes, the rippling of your heated skin as it met the cool air, the brush of peach fuzz hair under his knuckles as he slowly worked you free. So alive. So real. 

When he was finished, he stepped back and admired his work, checking in with a meeting of your eyes before continuing. With a warm brush of his hand, Eddie slipped the stiff fabric over your shoulder, exposing your bra and the soft, forbidden slopes of it all. You shrugged off the blouse like a shell you’d outgrown, let it fall from around you till it crumpled at your feet. 

You stood there a moment as he drank you in, a sense of power rising in your stillness like a statue at a shrine. With a dip of your eyes, you granted him your divine permission.

Eddie traced the strap with his finger; a shimmering runway of elastic. He’d seen it once before, stored it safely in his memory—black and daring like caution tape, taunting him at a distance as your lips popped from a bottle in The Hideout. Here it was baby pink, rising and falling with the swell of your breath as your lashes dipped shyly toward his roaming hand. He tucked a finger beneath it, impossibly soft skin gliding against his knuckle as he ushered it off of your shoulder. 

Your smile was unstoppable, puffing softly through your nose at such an innocent gesture, the way it made his eyes light up with boyish wonder as the straps yielded to his touch. 

Eddie swallowed thickly, heart racing as his fingers walked along the underwire ridge, across the well-washed pilling satin under your arm and around your back. He located the clasp, eyes dipping down into your cleavage with anticipation as he pinched you free.

The cage fell, straps trailing down your arms until it landed on the ground between you. The chill of the air had you reacting; puckered and alert as you bravely drew back your shoulders.

Eddie’s mouth fell open. 

There was a coyness in your smile that surprised even yourself. A sudden rush of girlishness watching his hungry eyes roam your figure. Not because it was the first time a man had seen you like this, but because it was the first time a man had looked at you like this. Flickering between boy-like awe and man-like heat, you realized that you had never felt more beautiful exposed. 

They weren’t the first pair Eddie had seen. Between all the magazines under his bed and the few real girls that had been desperate or curious enough to show him, he had seen all shapes and sizes. Yours were different. Yours he had memorized from the back of the classroom, dreamt about with his elbow propped against the small desk. Yours had existed as only speculation from stolen glances in the small chair next to yours, as a fantasy just out of reach. 

Jesus.

Christ.

Eddie blinked hard and swallowed. The details were mesmerizing. Holy in their you-ness. The pebbled skin which puckered into hardened peaks, their unique color, the soft flesh around them. Full and round. Rising and falling with shallow, anticipating breaths. Impossibly real. Impossibly you. You, who he adored from far away, trusting him enough to bare yourself up close.

Tracing a featherlight knuckle along the soft underside, Eddie flicked up to your eyes with a heat that could have melted you. All you could muster was a fluttering sigh, and he took his cue. Cupping your breast with his whole hand, he drew his thumb upward across your nipple, watching the peak of it bend to his touch and pop from underneath it. Mesmerized. On the downstroke he captured it against his forefinger, pinching and rolling the sensitive peak. 

A soft hiss escaped you, strangled and desperate to escape. His touch sent a jolt that buzzed through your whole body. All rational thoughts were just noise now, fading away as the angles of his hand came into focus. His hand. There was a roughness to it, a calloused graze that sparked pleasure with every pass. Timid at first, but growing bolder. Through the thickening haze, you watched him watching you—those lust-blown eyes under heavy lids, his features pinched in reverent disbelief. A look he wore unspeakably well.

Eddie swallowed. It was absolutely brain-blanking—the soft, supple skin yielding to his thumb as he cupped that forbidden curve. How your back seemed to arch as though you were a puppet and he held the strings. How your chest—your chest—rose and fell to a rhythm of his making. So much power in a single digit. He extended it in tight circles, studying you, committing every atom to his memory. But watching you slip between his fingers was nothing compared to the look on your face. Your pinching brows, your bitten lip, your begging eyes. A puddle, rendered by his touch.

With sudden animation, both his hands splayed wide, palms clamping over your breasts to grapple in a firm squeeze. Your skin dimpled like dough between his slowly tightening fingers. He did it again, relishing in your fullness, watching with rapt attention the way they yielded to his digits; heavy, soft, and round. Licking his lips, he removed his hands, hovering just above your nipple to rasp a question. “Can I kiss you here?”

“Yes,” you managed, struck with a sudden pang for the fact he even asked. Your answer barely faded out before he descended on you, pressing his pillow lips around your peak, flicking out his wet tongue, taking you into his furnace mouth. You heaved a deep sigh, eyes rolling back into your head. It tingled like a limb that was asleep. You hadn’t known it though, not until he’d kissed you there. It occurred to you—in the thickness of your haze—just how many parts of you had been sleeping. For how long was uncertain, but as you thawed under his touch, the rest of you begged to know what it was like to feel awake.

Eddie lathed his tongue around the peak, pressing his hands to your back to draw you closer, as if he couldn’t possibly be close enough. A hunger had arisen in him, one he’d suppressed on a daily basis since he first laid eyes on you. It coursed through his veins as he latched, surged into his fingertips as he dragged them down your back. His lips locked tight, tongue flicking over that attentive bundle of nerves, sucking it. He was gone, lost in he arch of your back, the heave of your breast against his chin on your sharp inhale, the reward of your moan on your exhale. And just like that, he devoured you. It was sloppy, careless, and yet somehow deeply reverent. The unhinging of his jaw, the way he dragged his whole tongue across your nipple as his bottom lip trailed behind, lathing and sucking again and again until he’d had his fill of one and transitioned to the other.

You’d never had a man consume you in this way; devour you like he was starving. No desire had ever possessed you this badly. But for him, you were a willing feast, and it had never felt so good.

Your nipple left his lips with a pop, eyes darting darkly to yours as he panted through the hanging O his mouth became. This sparked a hunger in you; a fierce desire to taste him again, to feel his bare skin against yours. As if both of you shared the same thought, your bodies collided, slotting at the hips like a puzzle as his arms coiled around your waist. You captured those puffy lips again, delighting in the wet heat behind them. They pressed fervent wishes to yours, ones too bold to utter but distinctive in their taste. His mouth found a rhythm, ferocious and insistent, tongue sliding home against yours, in and out. 

Excitement turned his body to a live-wire at the feeling of your bare curves pressed to his, animated with a sudden urge to rid you of the rest of your clothing, to drag you to the bed and make you his. Images zapped through his brain at lightning speed, raced through his blood with every pump of his pounding heart. Suddenly his lips were at your collarbone, lathing a hot trail up the ridges of your neck as the heat sung through his veins. It came out as a mumble against the skin below your ear. “Bedroom?” 

It was one word. His voice. So heavy and colored with lust that it tingled through your entire body. A million images shot through your head, rippled and throbbed with the want to experience every one. Eddie paused there for the answer, breathing hotly against the skin of your neck, pressing insistently into your hip. It was a sobering word, and yet the weight of it clouded all logic. The clock ticked on in the corner. Your pulse hammered in your ears. The animal in you responded, met his eyes, took his hand, and led him down the hallway through the door on the left.

It was dark in there. Between the glow coming in through the cracked door behind him and the street lamp shining through the slats of your blinds, Eddie could make out the shape of a dresser, a desk, a bookshelf, the rectangular mass of a bed against the wall to the left. And you—a soft silhouette—stopping in the center of the room to look at him. 

There was a small part of you that still could not believe you were about to do this. That Eddie Munson was standing in your bedroom, shirtless and heaving his breath as the faint hallway light made a halo of his frizz. He shut the door behind him, leaving you both in near darkness. There was a pause. A space filled with both your anticipating breaths for just a beat until he descended on you, and then there were no thoughts anymore.

Suddenly it was like you were drunk at a party. Between the wet smacks of his crushing lips, you could almost hear the thud of the bass from the living room, the din of voices bleeding into one outside the door. Every party you had never attended, every bad thing you had always craved to do—flashing behind your eyelids as his kisses intoxicated you.

You surrendered completely. To the fantasy, to desire, to him—parting your lips, receiving his tongue, giving in to the rush of his skin pressed to yours, the waves of him taking you under, his crushing arms around you. In the dark, all hesitance dissolved, all trepidation vanished. His mouth was hot and insistent. His hands, completely in charge. A whine escaped your lips, one that you had never heard before. It was needy and desperate and only stoked the fire in his kiss.

Desire spoke plainly, simply. A language you were learning with each pass of his demonstrating tongue. Soft syllables of “yes” and “good”. Sounds that transcended meaning, reverberated in your chest and throat, distilled down to its essence—love. Pure and true. Rising with each breath. Singing in your veins. You were learning to listen. Learning to forget all you had been taught. Learning to remember. When all was dark and there was nothing left but desire, there was so much to hear, so much to feel, so much to learn, and he was a masterful teacher.

Desire spoke volumes through your fingertips; clawing across the thick muscles of the back of his neck as you collided. It spoke in verses in the breath exchanged between you. Soft stanzas in the rush of skin-on-skin. It moved in daring undulation, a dance laid dormant in your bones, sparked to memory by the soft hair below his navel, by his strong arms around you. 

In the dark, there were only feelings. The tangle of his curls around your fingers, the angle of his jaw between your palms. The friction of your dewey bodies pressed together, nipples dragging against the sparse hair of his hammering chest. The muscles of your hands and mouth burned with desperate heat. Every nerve heightened. Every cell aware. 

Eddie lead the dance with his hips, his tongue, his impatient fingers—free to seek and roam. It was like every fantasy he’d ever had about you was coming to life beneath his palms. In this one he didn’t need to imagine. It could have been any of them—backstage in a dressing room after a sold-out show, at a hotel somewhere along a desert highway, right here in your bedroom just being real people. There was a boldness that came over him, an agency the darkness provided, one where he could be the sort of man he always dreamed he was. One where his hands were sure and stable, never fumbling. One where he impressed you with his prowess, rendered you awestruck and proud. 

Breaking to kiss his neck, you savored the oily sweetness of his skin, the richness of the scent emanating from under his arms—musky and spicy and so indescribably him. You’d caught it a few times in the past when he’d propped his head in his hand on the desk, or stretched toward the sky against the stiff wooden chair. It made you dizzy, filled you with a pang so deep you had to bury yourself in the textbook to sober you human again.

Presently, all rational thoughts were clouded by the tightening of his biceps around you, the tendons rippling under his skin as he swallowed. You flicked out your tongue to taste them, pawing down his smooth back, dragging your nails over his shoulder blades, down, down, down over the dip in his spine, the muscles of his lower back. 

In the dark, only the animals in you remained; ferocious and insatiable. Yours felt like nipping at his jaw, his clawed impatiently at the zipper of your skirt, yanking it down, working it free to pool at your feet. You stepped out of it like an old skin, kicking it toward your dresser. Feeling for the zippers on your boots, you steadied yourself on Eddie’s shoulder, tugging them down with a few clumsy hops before toeing them off. Tossing them into the darkness, they clattered against your dresser before thudding to the floor. The same with your stockings, which landed somewhere by your desk.

Eddie’s kisses became sloppy, erratic, barely a split second before his sweaty palms descended on your rear. They clung to the thin cotton fabric—one at each cheek—and dragged slowly, tightly upward. The burn was delicious, stoking the fire in you as the delicate cotton bunched under his palms to expose you. 

“I have a condom in my wallet,” he mumbled into your neck.

The words struck you dumb, dizzy, rippled up your spine to loll your head backward. He reset his hands, fingertips raking over your naked flesh, clawing into you like dough. All you could respond with was a thick, fuzzy laugh as your cheeks splayed under his touch—back arched, chest sparking against his, brain quickly turning to putty. 

There was no masking his delight as he clawed the cotton fabric, spreading your cheeks like dough under his palms. How pliant you were. Eager. A willing landscape for him to explore. His fingers trekked lower, dipping under your cheek until they brushed a hill of wet cotton. Eddie choked on the sound leaping out of his throat, zapped senseless with need. Snaking his arm around your back, he swiped his fingers slowly over your mound. You were saturated. Soaked through to slick between your thighs. For him. 

The thickness in his breath could have rendered you to ash. You arched your back like a cat in heat; fluttering open, throbbing with emptiness. The sound that came out of you was unrecognizable, rising from that deep, foreign place to purr against his neck. You were learning how much you liked this position—like a ragdoll in his arms, eyes closed as his finger dipped under the seam of your panties, as it slipped against your folds. You loved the way he explored you—heated but tentative. Loved how it made you feel—desired, craved. Loved most of all how it made him react, his breathless cursing, how now two of his fingers were spreading and sliding, parting your folds, exploring your heat. It felt unbelievably good. You spread your legs a little, hoping to encourage one of them inside you. 

But he didn’t. Instead, his hands retreated. Eddie sucked his fingers, eyes pinching as he savored your tang. They left his mouth with a pop. “I need you, now. Like—like right now,” he wavered thickly. Metal jingled, leather snapped against his palm. There was a pop of a button, the sound of a zipper, a sigh of relief that ghosted over your face. He shoved his jeans down around his ass before pausing with an irritated huff. “Fuck, my boots.”

“Let me,” you offered, crouching down until your knees met the carpet. You felt for the laces, padding around his ankle to find the loops, impatiently digging your nails into the tight double knots to work them free. 

It was all he could do just to look at you. You, kneeling before him, fumbling and cursing and so incredibly real. When you finally pried the boots off his ankles, you stood up on your knees, eye-level with his open zipper.

The moonlight bleeding in from behind your curtains made his pale skin glow, accenting the dark trail below his navel. It looked delectable—the swell of his belly before it tapered off to dip below the waistband of his boxers. You pressed your lips to it, nuzzling into the hair before your teeth caught the swell of fat under his navel. It flinched against your lips with his gasp.

You couldn’t help yourself anymore. Your fingers—so trained in good behavior—were suddenly behaving very badly; moving on their own, dipping between his legs to cup his balls. They lurched against your hand, sliding up on either side of the humid cotton. Show me, you begged with your hand as it tracked slowly upward. It felt so bad, in the best way bad could feel. The carpet burning into your kneecaps, the jagged metal zipper grazing the backs of your fingers as you traced upward, the burning stretch of his hardness underneath the cotton, the soaked plume of his tip. So unbelievably bad. Your eyes darkened, and your nose dove into the checkered fabric without a second thought. All remaining fragments of your rational mind were melted by his musk into a fuzzy haze that only understood one thing. It spoke in flutters and wet, aching throbs. Your hand returned beneath his package as you began to track kisses up his clothed, attentive length.

Eddie’s breath hitched, belly ripping in your peripheral as your lips met the ridge of his tip. You pressed a lingering kiss against the soaked cotton. “Fuck,” he hissed, tipping his chin toward the ceiling. He gasped when he felt the warmth of your tongue bleed through the fabric. “Oh—ohhhmyfuckinggod.” 

His whine was almost enough to unravel you. Dragging your fingers coaxingly under the weight of his sack, your tongue got acquainted with his tip, flicking up under the fat, heart-shaped ridge, tasting the slick reward which you lapped through the fabric. It was bad. So terribly bad, yet nothing had ever tasted as satisfying or sounded as sweet as the ragged sighs your bad behavior earned you. 

You purred, giving him a couple generous pecks before your fingers wedged under his waistband. 

Show me, you said as your cool fingers met his molten skin, and Eddie found the strength to open his eyes and look down at you. You, from a thousand aching fantasies kneeling before him with heavy lids and mouth agape as you peeled down the fabric to free him. 

It was a proud thing. Holy in its him-ness. Like a singular painting, the motifs were consistent; a collection of lines and shapes that came together to make him. In the plume of his tip you could almost glimpse echos of the wide, pink bow of his lips, the ball of his nose. It curved attentively upward, bobbing with his breath as you admired it with equal parts reverence and heated curiosity until your hand closed the gap.

There was a breath you both let out together, a silent oh breathed in unison at such intimate contact. Eddie had to bite his lip, close his eyes, tip back his head toward the ceiling as your fingers—the ones he’d ached to touch a thousand times—so intimately explored him. He assumed he was not the first man you’d touched in this way, but the way you were grazing with such delicate wonder gave him pause to consider. 

Desire flooded your entire body, heightened and exhilarated, tingling with curiosity. Fingers trailed over velvet veins, eyes alight as your knuckle swiped upward along the underside, testing its weight and reactivity until it met the dimple of his weeping ridge. A whine left Eddie’s downturned lips; a guttural plea to continue. Obliging, you gripped him, tightening as he bucked into your hand, velvet skin gliding under your firm grasp. “Mmmm,” you purred on an upward stroke, a darkness rousing in you from his complete undoing.

Eddie half-buried his face in his hand, fingers raking across his scalp as your thumb breeched the ridge, padding over his most sensitive spot before circling his slit. “Ohh fuck,” he moaned. “Jesus fuck.”

It wept under your thumb, sticky and gushing another wave of arousal as you squeezed. “You like that?” came a voice you’d never heard before but liked the sound of.

“Ahhhh-hah,” he breathed a crazed laugh as his balls twitched from the friction and the sound of your voice saying that.

His tip was soft and rigid all at once. Slick and inviting to your thumb. You couldn’t stop yourself from rubbing it, from delighting in the way he bucked and melted and breathed under your touch. Your other hand dipped curiously, zipper scraping your knuckles, hair so soft against your palm as you cupped his sack—heavy and actively tightening against his body. 

Eddie’s eyes rolled back into his head, heaving a breath from the pressure mounting inside of him. The animal in him was desperate to chase it—to clench, and spill, and explode—but he wanted to be good for you. Good like he always imagined. He wanted to make your back arch, your toes curl, to drill you till your claws drew down at his back until you howled with your own release.

Mesmerized by his display of pleasure, you pumped your hand, twisting slowly at the top, delighting in the way he rutted into your grip, how effortless his hardness slid within your grasp, the way his breath hissed from behind clenched teeth. 

It felt so good. Ungodly good. Too good. Biting his lip, he sent a silent prayer toward your popcorn ceiling, searching for something—anything—in his bank of horrible memories to bring him back to Earth. But as your thumb settled into the spot that had him seeing stars, a sudden wave of fear crashed over him. “Stop,” he barked, hand clamping tightly on your wrist. “I’m gonna—hah—oh fuck.” Eddie hissed a long breath, drawing himself back from the edge with every last ounce of his will.

“Sorry,” you breathed, releasing your grip. His clammy grasp lingered a second before letting go.

“No, don’t be sorry, fuck, I just—” he released a slow, steadying breath through pursed lips before continuing, “I just don’t wanna totally ruin this. Know what I mean?”

You did, and you imagined it for a second; pumping his cock, feeling his balls twitch against your palm as he exploded to paint your chest white, how it would cream under your fingers as he painted the ceiling with the colors of his voice. It drove you mad with wanting, but the throb between your legs was more demanding. 

“Don’t get me wrong, it—it feels really good. Just… a little too good,” he said, wringing a hand behind his neck. 

With a sensual flick of your eyes, you tugged his jeans and boxers down until he was able to step out of them. Eddie extended a chivalrous hand, and you rose to your feet. Effortlessly, as if they belonged there, your lips found his in the dark, drawing his face between your palms and planting a kiss that lasted a whole breath. His lips parted, tongue seeking yours as his fingers found the waistband of your panties. He looped them through the leg hole with a pointed tug that had you stumbling into him. 

“Mmm?” he mumbled against your mouth.

“Mmhmm,” you sighed. 

He peeled them off of you, leaving a wet trail that clung to your inner thighs as they passed your knees and ankles. Breaking the kiss, you kicked them aside. 

There was a single beat as you both stood naked in the darkness, just breathing as you drank each other in. Bathed in moonlight, stripped away to reveal the truth of what you had been all along: simply a man and a woman. Then, suddenly, as if a trigger snapped in both of you at once, there was a collision. A smashing of lips, a tangle of arms, a slotting of hips as you entwined. 

Your whole body came alive at once, zapping with life as his velvet length pressed to your hip, zinging as his lips tracked down your jaw to seek your neck. It was bliss to come undone, to loll your head back and just give in. To let him lead the dance toward your mattress. To let his hands cup your rear, spread your legs and wedge his thigh between them. To let him do whatever he wanted. The sparse hair of his leg sparked along your delicate flesh. It had you clawing at the muscles of his shoulders, arching your back, grinding your pelvis in a way that would have put the novels you kept in your nightstand to shame.

Eddie propped his foot against your the boxspring of your mattress, kneading his hands against your ass as he made a meal of you. The wet trail you left against his thigh had his brain short-circuiting, leaving nothing but the animal in him to grapple with the living fantasy of you, naked in his arms. He could not possibly touch you enough. There was not enough flesh on his palms, nor nerves in his whole body to feel you in the million ways he wanted to at once. All at once, every fantasy he’d ever had, crashing like a tidal wave as his hands steered your hips in real time. 

It felt better than you’d ever imagined; the rush of his bare skin under your palms as they glided down his back, the estranged pleasure mounting where his thigh met your most intimate seam, the friction of his teeth against your neck. You were drowning in the most delicious way. Drifting toward some place on the horizon that spoke only the language of heavy palms and panting breaths. Letting him carry you there.

You whined when he lowered his leg—quickly replaced by his hand, spreading and exploring, breaking from your neck to watch it happen as his mouth became a silent, hanging O. There was a fire in his blood that was mounting, throbbing in his temples, blinding him with need as his fingers parted slick hair, carded through your folds, slipped against your eager entrance. Every inch of you. The fever broke, and the sliver of his brain that had urged patience snapped silent. Now, a much deeper voice barked. No more waiting. No more wanting. 

Your calves hit the edge of the mattress, sending you tumbling backwards onto the chilly comforter. Eddie was quick to pounce, climbing on top of you, prying your legs open with his. You fluttered eagerly, melting into the heat of his chest as he pinned you to the bed—trapped in the sweetest cage of his arms. 

In the course of your relationship, it was always your position that had wedged itself between you. Yours, behind the big desk. His, behind the small one. Your position—a thing at risk of being lost. A mantle. A standard for you to uphold. This one defied them all. Wrong, by all technical accounts, but in all your life, nothing had ever felt so right as your position beneath him. 

You breathed together for a moment, chests expanding into one another, foreheads pressed together, exploring the bridge of his nose with your own. Thighs splayed open, heart beating rabbit-fast, completely at his mercy. A faint terror whispered in the back of your mind at the prospect of his bareness, at the ways he could ruin you. And yet you ached for ruin all the same.

Eddie’s tip kissed the wet heat of your lips and the animal screamed from the base of his brain to push. But he caught the hitch in your breath, the way your hips flexed backward in response. He bucked reflexively but stilled, biting his lip with a pained huff. “I’m not—I’m not gonna, I just…” 

A soft sense of trust flooded in as Eddie drew a deep breath, dragging himself through your folds. It was a delicious sort of torture, the ache enough to drive you mad. Empty and thrumming with anticipation at the prospect of fullness so near. Drowning in the fantasy of him sinking deep, of feeling him leak from you later. You whined, drawing your fingers down his back as his hips rolled slowly. So dangerously close.

It took all of his strength to hold his position, all his control to keep from sliding in. He liked how it felt; you beneath him, writhing in the cage of his arms. He liked the little sounds you made, how evident your wanting was, how he could feel you almost take him in, how his cock would dip ever so slightly against your entrance like you wanted to. He was stunned by it, delirious from the rush of sensation. “Hmm—” he winced after a few more agonizing seconds, “fuck, I can’t take it anymore.” Peeling himself from your body, he shifted off the side of the bed with a creak of the mattress and into the darkness. 

You laid there on the comforter, staring dazed at the ceiling as he padded across the room. Lifting your head to glance, it struck you just how real this was, and yet more startling than his naked form making his way across your bedroom was how comfortable you felt with all of it. How at peace you were as his belt buckle jingled from the darkness, as his pants returned to a heap on the floor, as his wallet snapped shut. 

It was suddenly all very real—the cool sheets under his knees as you drew back the comforter, the condom wrapper crinkling between his fingers as he felt for the jagged grooves, the anticipating silence filled with both your breaths. The soft metal split, and he fished the rubber from the package with a trembling finger. Tossing the wrapper into the darkness, he felt for the nub that indicated the tip, the ridge that indicated which direction it should roll. He’d done this enough times to know by now but for some reason it felt like a foreign object; clumsy, slippery in his hands as he grasped himself. Finally, he got it; pinching the nub to roll it down over his flinching tip, he unraveled it until it was flush with him.

You watched his silhouette quietly through the frame of your legs, heart kicking up with a sudden, surprising nervousness as you felt the warmth of his hands on your knees. He resumed his position, settling between your thighs, propped on his elbows. The return of his warmth was a welcome thing; comforting and soothing, familiar and indescribably correct. You both laid there a moment just breathing. Just being. Sobering to the tickle of his bangs against your forehead, the sweat beneath them as you rocked against it, the tang of salt when you captured his lips. 

A sudden wave of nerves coiled through his belly as his tip kissed your entrance again, how it gelled with the rush of desire, the fire licking through his veins. His arms trembled under his own weight, the anticipation, the now-ness of it all. “Ok,” he breathed, “you want me?” 

You swiped down his face, clearing the stray hairs that clung to the sides of his mouth and sweaty temples. It was easy to answer. Easy to admit. “I want you.”

It soothed him like a balm, washed over his trembling shoulders, his hammering chest. Imbued him with an urgency that had him splaying his knees, rocking his hips, and inviting himself in.

There was a pressure at your entrance—a filling of that aching space that had you seeing stars. When he asked for admission there was no hesitation. You welcomed him with open thighs and hands that tracked the muscles of his back as you received him in one slow thrust. Your inhale stuttered at its crest, caught in your throat before hissing from your lips as you ached alive, ached awake. Finally, with no resistance. Only the sparks of ineffable pleasure as the emptiness inside you was filled at last. 

A shudder escaped both of you at once, something closer to a sob. Yours directed toward the ceiling, his ghosting over your neck. You stayed like this a moment—locked, seated, stunned by the pleasure of your joining. 

Eddie hung his head with a groan, curls waterfalling around your face as he rutted impossibly deeper. He could have died here, buried himself and made you his tomb. He was crumbling, coming apart, actively deteriorating from the warmth of your body around him, from the all sensations of you, from the stunned satisfaction flooding through every inch of him. Finally, it cried. Finally, finally. The edge was close, a few pushes away. He could feel the components preparing, desperate for release, begging the rest of him to push, push, push. His whole world was spinning, threatening to collapse in on itself. Dragging himself away from the edge with a deep breath, he reeled in the parts that threatened to unravel at at the way you accepted him. How effortless it was, how tightly you hugged him, both inside and out. How your palms gripped his shoulders, soft inner thighs like a cradle for his hips. He swallowed thickly, blinking hard to open his eyes up to you, beneath him, around him like a home he’d been missing his whole life. Finally, he allowed himself to relax into the feeling, to let his weight fall against your belly. Flush with every angle, gasping into the soft crook of your shoulder.

You drew him impossibly closer, tucking your ankles under his rear, raking your fingers across his scalp as he settled. The fullness was ecstatic, the stretch so deep it was like he was burrowing behind your navel, radiating dull pleasure from the space he occupied. It was a perfect fit. Tailor-made to reach the points that pined for pressure in both of you. So full you felt like you could burst. So full it prickled at the corners of your eyes, exited your downturned mouth in a gasp—a silent prayer, a thank you toward one that was answered. One you had asked for in secret, pressed into the folds of linen napkins, whispered into the ceiling of The Hideout as the stage lights touched your face. You could have stayed like this forever, merged and crystalized. Deliriously, you prayed you would, and yet you ached to feel his love animated. To be battered by it. Bruised by it. Bullied by his fierce, frenetic love. By an energy you had glimpsed in stolen moments, witnessed him harness on stage, tasted in the smoke on his tongue.

Eddie raised his head to look at you, admiring the shading of your features in the near darkness, the bliss painted across your lips, your heavy lids. A waking dream. You tipped your chin, feathering his mouth with yours; sensual, playful, eager. He brushed against your parted lips, twin breaths mingling in soft pants before an urge arrested him. It was loud and all-consuming, shouting from the base of his brain, seizing his hips to draw back and roll forward. It had both of you seeing stars, grunting soft exclamations into the fractional distance between you. The sound and the friction gelled like a gas to feed the fire coursing through him, igniting a fierce urge to move, to show you, to deliver his promise. 

And just like that he was gone. Possessed. Arrested by a driving need that had him hunkering forward, rocking his hips to a rhythm older than either of you could imagine. Familiar, ingrained, and almost involuntary. The pleasure had him drilling down to chase it; open-mouthed, eyes pinched, swept away by the current of his own making. He was dizzy with it. Lost in it. Fisting the sheets as his hips met your thighs with quick, heavy smacks. Desperate and frantic, hurtling toward his edge at a terrifying speed.

A moan was punched out of you—guttural, gasping. One that had your neck craning against the pillow as your chin reached toward your headboard. And you just held on; winding through his hair, dragging drown his back, drowning in feeling. Tight ripples of pleasure radiated from every thrust, stirring something so deep you had forgotten you had buried it—the fear that you would go your whole life and never feel this way. It bubbled up through your sternum, burned at the corners of your eyes, surfaced in strangled sounds at the back of your throat. 

The friction roared like wildfire between you, and a tightening deep in his body warned him with flashing lights that looked red but felt green. A blended hue of pleasure and fear coiled its way through his abdomen, but he was consumed by you—warm and wet and tight around him. Gasping to his rhythm, making music that he’d never heard before. He harmonized with it, quickening his pace with grunts through gritted teeth. His mind was a swirling mess, forearms burning and trembling, sweat dripping down his neck, but none of it even registered in the wake of blinding pleasure. So good. So fucking good. How badly he wanted to show you, to hear those sounds escalate to screams. 

You sobbed a moan, splitting at the seams as time and sense slipped away down the current. Unraveling like a spool of thread rolled down a hill. Becoming blissfully undone after a lifetime of being wound so tight. Pleasure sparked through your channel, tears flickered in the corners of your eyes. It felt as though you might break open. “Eddie,” you whined, clawing into his shoulders as you arched against the mattress.

It swirled between his ears, rushed down his spine to throb in that deep, low place. His name, your voice, this way. There was a kick inside. A switch that flipped. An urge that he was helpless but to follow, unable to control. His heart rate quickened, breath heaving as he spiraled down a tunnel with nothing to brace but the mattress. “Oh fuck, oh god, oh no, OH—”

It was the moment right before the release that was the sweetest. The tingle he could feel radiating from deep inside like a big yawn. He drew a deep breath with a skyward tilt of his chin, and for a few precious seconds there were no thoughts; no guilt, no shame, nothing at all in the midst of his blackout collision with pleasure. Eddie fisted the sheets, lurching forward as he slammed into you. 

Colors. Vibrant and rich. Painting the air between you with each shallow gasp. Escalating in pitch toward a spectacular display. It poured out of him. Every ounce of frustration, every bottled feeling, every unlived fantasy, erupting all at once. He buried it inside you. Hips pressed flush against your thighs, burrowing deeper with every pulse. Wave after white-hot wave. Crashing over him, coursing out of him with open-mouthed gasps. Waves of relief so good it threatened tears. 

It was breathtaking—the hue of each pitch. Sharp inhales through gritted teeth that melted into deep grunts on the exhale. Each twitch ignited inside you—sparks that had your eyes rolling back, had you drawing your knees toward the mattress to take it all. You grappled his shoulders, nails bluntly dragging down his sweat-kissed skin, grazing up the back of his neck as his moans faded to soft whines. So full. 

There was more. Still more. Coming out in dribbles now, petering to heaves with nothing left behind them. The spasms sent sparks inside you, and you fought to savor them—spreading wider, tucking in your ankles under his rear to draw him deeper. Finally, he collapsed, ragged with relief. He stayed like this a moment. Spent. Deflated. Chest expanding into yours as sharp pants dulled to steady breaths. 

Slowly, Eddie raised his head from where he’d hung it, sobering to the clock on your nightstand. It mocked him with glowing red numbers, of which he hazily calculated that only three had passed since he’d put the condom on. A surge of guilt rushed into the vacuum that pleasure left behind. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t—” he winced, hips jerking in the echoes of his climax. 

His words almost didn’t register through the fog of your bliss. “Sorry?” you breathed, blinking back into the room. 

“I—” he flinched again, fisting the pillow beneath you. “I came like, immediately. And you didn’t.”

“Oh—oh no it’s ok,” you soothed, running a hand down his back. “It felt unbelievably good. Like… the best I’ve ever had.”

Eddie heaved a sigh, overtaken by a strange mixture of shame for himself and pity for you. Suddenly he felt like he was back in your classroom, like you were ignoring his spelling mistakes, praising the C he got on his chemistry test. He shifted his weight, becoming increasingly aware of his chest sticking to yours, of the hair clinging to his neck, of the rubber around him straining with his own fluid, tight in the midst of hypersensitivity. 

He was quiet. A tense sort of quiet you’d seen from him before. Slowly, gently, your fingers found his temple, stroking away the sweat, tracking down to cup his jaw, settling just under his ear as your thumb busied itself with his soft cheek. “Eddie,” you whispered. 

It was soothing. Attentive. The kind of touch a hurt child might receive. A touch he’d craved for longer than he cared to admit, yet in this context, it was the last way he wanted to feel. “M’ gonna make it up to you,” he mumbled. Drawing on his quickly waning strength, he peeled himself from your body to sit back on his heels, still inside you. 

It was almost a shock—how chilly you felt in the absence of his weight. How bare and vulnerable. A soft cry escaped you, arms drawing around your body to shield against the cold creeping in.

The sound stirred him, dredged up and compounded the gnawing disappointment in himself. The nagging sense that he was fucking this up too, just like he did everything else. Desperate to hear something more satisfied, his fingers found your clit, drawing tight circles there. But you were still reeling in the pain of his absence, could still feel the shame radiating from him, and it dulled any chance of good feeling. 

“Stop, Eddie—” You grabbed his wrist. Eddie sighed sharply through his nose, stilling his hand. 

It was flooding in now, that hot tingling feeling he’d felt countless times under the fluorescents. How he’d fucked it all up, how he was making it even worse now. He could feel himself start to go soft, the condom becoming loose, sticky and uncomfortable. He drew back his hips to exit, but your knees locked around him.

“No, please—” The tears were close, right there. Stored from moments before in the height of your pleasure, just waiting behind your eyelids. You took his hand and tugged it gently toward you. “I just want you.”

There was a twinge in his chest that burst at your words, at how they wavered and threatened to crack. At how honest they were, how they felt to hear coming from you. Lead by your hand, he gave in—to gravity, to exhaustion, to a weight he’d carried for so long it seemed to be a part of him. Settling on top of you, resting his cheek against your sternum as heart thrummed steadily in his ear. The pain in your voice still echoed there, the thought that he’d caused it, unbearable. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—” 

You shushed him, stroking over his temple, clearing the hairs that clung to his face. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Your lips found the crown of his head, pressing a long kiss there, inhaling the soft scent that filled you with an indescribable warmth. “I love you,” you whispered. “I love you.”

The words reverberated through your chest into his ear, softening the clench in his jaw, the tightness in his shoulders. Eddie took a shaky breath through his nose. “I love you so much,” he wavered thickly, “I just—I just want to show you—”

It nearly broke you; the pain behind his words, the sudden realization of where they came from. You shushed him again, thumb soothing over his cheek. “You have.”

A knot released in his chest, undone by your careful fingers, exiting as a shallow sob he’d been harboring for longer than these last few moments. For longer than he could remember. The weight of it shook you, but you still remained. Solid, tangible, real as he collapsed into you, a haven for his tired bones to rest. It was all ebbing now—the adrenaline pounding through his veins since the moment you got in his van, the heightened sensations across every inch of his body, the sudden rush of pleasure, crashing all at once. Softening everywhere. A numbness settled over his limbs, all doubts ushered away by your thumb.

And then it was quiet. Absent of even the hum of the heat through the vents. Engulfed in a protective darkness with nothing but the sound of your own steady breathing—slow and soothing. Chests rising and falling against one another, lulled by a rhythm only the two of you could hear. 

His hand found yours in the dark, trailing across your wrist, sliding up your palm to lace his fingers between yours. The bones of his knuckles filled the empty space with a comforting stretch. Just like he’d done a dozen times in the shadows, like he’d done a thousand times in your daydreams. You squeezed back tightly, and for a still, silent moment, there was no separation. No gap to close between what you had and what you wanted. 

It was good like this. Alone. Together. Stroking his temple, feeling the crinkle of his smile against your palm, the cadence of his breath as it slowed nearly to sleep. Drifting off to some place on the horizon where neither of you had been before. Who knows where it would take you, what perils awaited out over the edge, when the sun eventually rose, when the halls filled once more with the echos of a hundred voices watching. But for now, there was only the soothing sound of your breaths, the rhythmic thrum of your two tired hearts as you drifted there together. 

______

Taglist: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly @kissmyacdc @raccoonboywrites @storiesbyrhi @trashmouth-richie @carolmunson @keeponquinning @blueywrites @alottanothing @bebe07011 @alizztor @godcreatoreli @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @mrsjellymunson @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @big-ope-vibes @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo @eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @averagemisfit03 @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi @sllooney @lunaladybug734 @callingmrsbarnes @ajkamins @mimsthebannished

There will be a celebration hosted by the lovely @teddiemunson86 and @ladylilylost on their discord server next Sunday, Sept. 1st at 2pm EDT where I will be talking about the chapter and what the future has in store for our forbidden lovebirds! If you're interested in joining, the link to the server is here. I also frequently post snippets and memes in the discussion channels. Hope to see you there!

📝 MASTERLIST ⎮📖 AO3 ⎮☕️ KO-FI

[i-will-cry-you-a-river]

Based on this post

The Proud Immortal Demon Way was a clusterfuck. Master Airplane was a fucking hack of an author who should never ever be allowed to write papapa. The characters were complete idiots, so blind and stupid and Shen Yuan suspected the close proximity to the abundance of aphrodisiacs was to be blamed for the lack of intelligence points. The plot was nonexistent, the fantastic flora and fauna was forgotten for more pointless papapa. However!

However…

Shen Yuan had to admit. The fanarts and fan merch did not do justice to the beauties residing in the universe.

That hack of an author could not write porn. But his characters really were peerless beauties. One would think if the beauty standards were this high that everyone was a peerless beauty, they should be considered as normal.

One would think it wrong. If he could, he would take back his comments on this specific topic; their beauties really were peerless.

One, like the blooming peach blossom, charming and deceptively sweet; another like the oak tree, tall and reliable; and another like the prettiest blue iris, knowledgeable and lovely. It was a disaster.

Back then it was only the blackened protagonist and his life sized body pillow that made him go through a sexuality crisis. As a shut-in, the people he met with never really made him feel warm under the collar, so being gay was only a theoretical experience for him, only having crushes on fictional people. Now, on the other hand, it was a completely different experience.

He couldn't even step outside of his bedroom without feeling like an emotional wreck. The minute he does that-

“This discipline made breakfast for Shizun!”

The radiant halo of the protagonist blinded him day after day; his precious white lotus is just the cutest and purest, fluffiest sheep ever. Shen Yuan can see the future Emperor in him, the husband of hundreds of pretty flowers, but he was still just his 17 years old discipline, so filial and full of wonder.

Ah, Binghe, such a good boy for this master…

“This master is thankful. Go along now, your shijie is waiting for you,” Shen Qingqiu waved his fan. His little white lotus pouted as if Shen Qingqiu would believe he wasn't excited to spend time with his future wife. He encouraged the two of them to spend time together, and he was certain that the sweet and touching young love bloomed under his careful watch. He was like a fairy godmother…

[-10 protagonist satisfaction points]

Shen Qingqiu sighed behind his open fan. Luo Binghe started to become a homebody, which, as a past homebody himself, knew was a slippery slope and even with all the lost points, he had to make sure his white sheep left the bamboo house. Staying home was great, but when you were the future Emperor of the Three Realms, defeater of countless monsters and husband of a triple digits harem, you just had to learn how to be open to new experiences. Sorry, Binghe…

“Yes, Shizun! This discipline will leave now.” Luo Binghe bows, and it takes everything not to touch and pat his fluffy head.

“Good. This master expects excellence from his disciples.”

“Yes, Shizun. This discipline understands and will do everything to exceed Shizun’s expectations.”

Such a filial discipline! Such a sweet white lotus! This one is truly a scum villain to do what he needs to do.

[Host is-]

I know I know! You don't have to remind me![(⁠ب⁠_⁠ب⁠)]

Shen Qingqiu sighed, hiding his shame and regret behind his mask. He really was just a scum villain.

With a conscious decision to not think about the future, he ate his breakfast instead, noting the protagonist’s amazing cooking powers. He would miss this after Luo Binghe gets married and starts to cook for his wives instead.

Maybe the guy he finds for himself will be good at cooking… nothing compared to the protagonist, of course, but nobody can be compared to him. That would be unfair for his potential partner.

However, even though he'd been Shen Qingqiu for three years, he hasn't yet found anybody for himself. He tried to flirt, he tried to see who might be gay other than him - statistically, there should be SOMEONE, right?! -, but no results.

The Sect Leader immediately brother-zoned Shen Qingqiu through his and the original good's past bond, which was quite unfair in Shen Yuan's opinion. Yue Qingyuan was a fine specimen of a man. Strong and reliable, just the kindest man Shen Qingqiu ever met. He was the perfect man, THE husband material. Yet, the original good has been so cold to him, cruelly causing his death, even though they were like brothers. Shen Yuan wouldn't have minded the Sect Leader as his husband; someone loyal and powerful, someone who could protect him from his blackened lotus. So unfair…

His Liu-shidi, the prettiest man alive, was so straight, only the protagonist was straighter than him. Shen Qingqiu was honestly sad for him; all the women in PiDW belonged to the Emperor. He was quite tempted to find a way to punch Airplane Shooting Towards Sky in his face for making Liu Qingge straight. Look. Shen Yuan was a weak, weak man; if Liu Qingge would show the slightest inclination to be at least bi-curious, he would be all over his shidi in a heartbeat. That man, honestly… it was no wonder the author killed him before the plot. Liu Qingge was typically the Second Male Lead, who was the boyfriend of all readers. (He definitely would have been Shen Yuan's fictional boyfriend, that's for sure. Maybe if he would have stayed alive in the novel, Shen Yuan wouldn't have minded the lack of plot that much. Liu Qingge would have definitely made the whole thing a thousand times better just by being alive. Like he did it now. The best times of the week were when his shidi visited him to spar or to cleanse his meridians.)

Shen Qingqiu had high hopes for Mu Qingfang. The doctor was quite queer in the sense of being weird. He hoped he was queer as in gay as well. However, the only time Shen Qingqiu tried to flirt with him, resulted in a two day stay at Cang Qiong mountain under constant supervision. That was a quite humiliating result, if he could say so.

Shen Qingqiu bit back a groan. No matter; that was just the peak lords he kept close contact with. He had the whole universe to find that one (1) gay person who would be happy to spend that depressingly short amount of time with him until he was still alive. He might have only five years to live, before he would become a human stick, but he would NOT die as a virgin disaster gay. He would remain a disaster gay forever, but he would lose his virginity before his death, damnit!

Now, volunteer, where are you?

Here they are

[corroded-hellfire]

Prompt Day 17: "This One's For You."

Word Count: 1k

Rating: G

Pairing: Eddie x Reader

CW: None

Summary: Snowed in during a blizzard, Eddie’s daughter Eliza proves just how like him she is.

@corrodedcoffinfest

[As You Wish masterlist]

Eddie hasn’t taken many classes in his life, let alone any philosophy ones, but he couldn’t help but ponder one philosophical question these last three days: how long can someone be locked in the same house as two teenage boys and a four-year-old girl before they go absolutely insane?

The blizzard outside had sealed the five of you in the house together for the third straight day now and it’s becoming maddening. There are only so many activities one can do with a four-year-old that will, one, hold their attention, and two, not make you want to tear your hair out after an hour. 

Some of the things you’ve done as a family have been very entertaining, like when you all played Pretty Pretty Princess and somehow Eddie kept winning and Ryan and Luke were having a great time adorning him with the pink plastic jewelry. The pictures you took of that will forever be cherished—as long as you can keep them out of your husband’s hands. 

Having Luke and Ryan try to teach you how to play some of their favorite video games was amusing as well. The boys more so than the game, though. It quickly became apparent to you that your sons do not possess the patience to teach anything to anyone—let alone a first-person shooter game where they expect you to master the use of a dozen buttons on a controller that you’ve never held before. 

“I don’t think this Hollow game is for me,” you say after “Master Chief,” as your kids called him, gets killed for the fourth time.

“It’s Halo!” both boys shout, one on each side of you so you get it in stereo.

It takes all your willpower not to laugh as you press your lips tightly together to suppress a smile. You remembered the name of the game the second time they told you, now you’re just messing with them. 

An afternoon of you and Eliza looking through an old photo album springs to life an idea in her little mind.

“That Daddy?” she asks, pointing to a picture of Eddie in action up on stage. He’s in the middle of headbanging, so his curls are flying wildly around his head.

“That’s Daddy,” you tell her. “Being a rockstar, showing off in front of everyone.” You smile down at your daughter before playfully poking her in the belly. “Reminds me of you.”

Eliza’s eyes light up at the comment and you can’t help but wonder what sparked in that head of hers. 

“Be back!” she shouts as she hops off the couch. Her tiny feet make thunderous booms as she runs down the hallway, calling out for her brothers. “Ryan! Luuuuuke!”

After dinner, the four-year-old instructs you and Eddie to sit on the couch and to stay still and wait for her. Keeping quiet, you and your husband trade amused looks until the door to the pink princess room opens, and Eliza re-emerges, decked out in her Tinker Bell costume from Halloween. On each of her small legs is a black sock that clearly belongs to Ryan. They are also clearly meant to be knee socks, yet they go up the small girl’s thighs. Finishing up her ensemble is her pink Piglet sunglasses. 

Gripped in her tiny fist is the music player with a microphone that she was gifted as a toddler. The way she enters the room with all the gravitas and confidence of a model walking the runway almost makes you think you’re the one who’s dressed unconventionally. 

Behind her, Ryan has a toy guitar that has been passed down through all three children tucked under his arm and Luke carries the gray garbage pail from the bathroom in one hand and a CD in the other. 

While Eliza takes her place front and center before you and Eddie, Ryan positions himself behind her, yielding the spotlight. 

Luke steps over to the stereo and pops in the CD he was holding before following his big brother’s lead and assuming the position behind the star of the show. Ryan tugs an ottoman over to sit on, the toy guitar resting on his knee while Luke sits on the floor and flips the garbage pail over so he can use it as a drum.

“Are you ready?” Eliza asks, mouth right up against the yellow plastic of her microphone.

“Yeah!” you exclaim.

“Woo!” Eddie cheers. 

“Hit it!” Luke says. 

The music begins, notes floating over from the stereo to this impromptu performance space. It takes a moment, but you recognize the song before Eliza starts singing Part of Your World.

The CD turns out to be a compilation of different Disney songs covered by Disney Channel stars, and Eddie makes a mental note to ask you why the hell you bought that for her. 

Ryan and Luke are surprisingly into it, having fun performing while their little sister hams it up. They’re like their own little version of Hanson. 

The instrumentals of the next song drift through the air and Eliza tosses her pink sunglasses aside and points at Eddie.

“This one’s for you!” she shouts, which is very mismatched with the slow, melodic tune that’s playing. 

You rest your head on your husband’s shoulder as your little girl starts to serenade him with her rendition of Go the Distance from Hercules. 

Once she sings the last note (and you hide your wince as best as possible), Eliza lets the yellow microphone fall from her hand. She bends at the waist, bowing so far down that her curls flip over her head and brush the navy carpet. 

It’s your cue, so you and Eddie both clap, cheering for the adorable performance.

Luke stands and takes a bow next, and Ryan figures he might as well follow his lead. 

Eddie whistles and a rare blush tinges Eliza’s cheeks. 

“Thank you!” she calls, arms raised over her head, addressing her crowd.

The true daughter of a rock star. 

“Goodnight!”

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Not A Verstappen: Sibling Rivalry {1}

Pairing: F1 drivers (platonic) x fem!reader Summary: A little crack!fic as a driver!reader who is Max's little half-sister. Warnings: 18+ only, lots of bad language, protective big brother, sibling antics, daddy issues. WC: 2k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three

There was nothing that irked you more than being called a Verstappen. Yes, you were Max’s sister, but that was where the relationship with the name ended. Your sperm donor, as you publicly referred to Jos, had never been a part of your life and that was one blessing you were thankful for. 

Somehow the bastard's genetics had won and that stupid racer’s blood ran in your veins. You liked to go fast. Your mother said that you could run before you could walk and the same went for driving. At 17 years old you had your super licence before your drivers licence, making it legal to drive at 200 mph around a circuit with insane corners but not 30 mph on the street.

Something about that seemed…odd.

It was worth it in the end. You could still remember the look on Jos’ face when you signed for Alpha Tauri. Oh, how the bastard had tried to credit himself with your achievement. But there were more similarities that you shared with your half sibling than you were willing to admit. One of those shared traits was brutal honesty. And you had let your honest thoughts fly when Jos opened his mouth.

Three years later the sperm donor was still bitter. He would surely have to get used to it, especially since you had just been named as a Red Bull driver, alongside Max.

Round One - Bahrain 2022 “This is a historical first, siblings racing together on the same team,” Ted Kravitz said as he walked along the pit, stopping outside Red Bull’s garage. “The two Verstappen's will be fighting each other for the Driver Championship, once again, while simultaneously working together to win the Constructors Championship. A very, very exciting season ahead I can already tell.”

You had been pulling your helmet on, about to climb into the RB18 when you heard the comment. The short temper you were well known for flared and you sauntered into the pit lane. “Hey, Ted Crapitz,” you called out as he stood writing in that little notepad of his.

He looked up a little stunned and his eyes darted at the camera that was always following him around. “It’s, uh, Kravitz.”

“Oh, my apologies, I thought it was just normal to make up offensive surnames. No?” you asked as you arched an eyebrow at him. “Because Verstappen isn’t mine, so don’t ever call me that again.”

“S-sorry, my mistake,” he stammered, but you were already shoving your helmet on and grabbing the halo to climb into your car. “A bit of a slap on the wrist for me there.”

You had no doubt that the video would go viral and the comments would call you a bitch but you didn’t care. Jos was a piece of shit and your mother didn’t raise you all on her own, working two jobs to pay for your karting years, just for you to be called a fucking Verstappen.

There was no better feeling than pulling out of the garage and heading to the track. The finely tuned car purred beneath you and you could feel the restrained power of it just waiting for you to pass the pit marker so you could push the throttle and free the beast you had worked hard to control.

“Radio check,” your engineer, Nicholas, ordered through the headset.

“Tell big bro to keep his mouth closed during the race. It can’t be healthy to eat my dust.” 

“Understood.”

The jeroboam size bottle of Ferrari Trento looked enormous in your hands as you shook it up and sprayed Charles and Carlos back after drenching you first. You may have been on the bottom step of the podium but you celebrated as if you had taken 1st place. Turning the bottle on the crowd, you spotted Max at the front with a wide grin on his face as he cheered with the rest of Red Bull. 

It was a little disappointing that he had DNF’d but there was always next week to battle it out again. In the meantime you enjoyed the adrenaline of the podium finish and the image of Jos standing to the side with a face like a slapped ass. It was a feeling you could definitely get used to.

Round Eleven - Great Britain 2022 The leaderboard changed almost every week, flipping like hotcakes between you and Max. It was labelled as sibling rivalry, and for once the media got it right. Though you hadn’t grown up with Max there was an innate need to know who was better, who could push the limits harder and who could get away with it. Some weeks it was you, some weeks it wasn’t. It was all part of the fun. 

Fun. Now that was something that came in spades. The camaraderie that came with the competitiveness was always something you enjoyed moving up from F3 and F2 before reaching F1. With only 19 other people sharing the same experience with you, it was impossible not to grow close to them. 

“Can you let Max in front today?” Lando asked as you walked along the grid. “Please?”

“Why would I do that?” 

“Because he’d rather look at your ass than Max’s, if he can hold third place.” You turned to the other McLaren driver to see a grin splitting the Australian’s face. 

“Aww, Lando, the real English gentleman,” you tutted sarcastically as you pulled your balaclava off your shoulder and snickered when it slapped Lando across the back of his head.

“Unnecessary violence, Spitfire,” he gasped before muttering under his breath, “I know who you get that from.”

A growl pulled back your lips and you punched him none too softly in the bicep, which was a double edged sword because it was far harder than you were expecting and you felt the hit in your knuckles. 

“Oh, Lando, Lando, Lando,” Daniel chuckled as he walked off to his car. “When are you going to learn?”

“You know the car goes faster with less weight,” Lando said as he rubbed his arm.

“Yeah, so?”

He shrugged sheepishly. “All that baggage you carry is weighing you down.”

“Well, that’s just stupid, metaphors weigh nothing...” You pulled your balaclava over your face as you walked from the second row to the front where the two Red Bulls were parked side by side. 

“Hey Lan,” you called out as you turned back with the urge to lighten the mood after he had looked crestfallen. “Don’t get too excited when I warm up my tires, that’s not me shaking my ass for you.”

You could see the corners of his eyes wrinkle with a smile that was hidden by the balaclava he pulled on. “A lad can dream, Spitfire.”

You had earned the nickname of Spitfire from dog-fighting your way to the front of the pack and it was one you were proud of, it certainly beat being called a bitch day in and day out. 

“Just keep it to your dreams, yeah? I’m already paying too much for therapy.”

“You can talk about your daddy issues later,” Max interrupted, tossing your helmet into your waiting hands. “Get in your car, zusje.”

You grinned to yourself as the formation lap began and you started weaving across the track to warm your tires. All Lando would be able to think about was your ass as the rear wing swayed side to side and the thought of made you laugh since you lived to torment the guys on and off the track.

“Radio check.”

“I can’t wait to show everyone the upgrades.”

“Understood.” There was a pause before Nicholas returned. “Uh, you weren’t scheduled for any upgrades.”

Your start was terrible as Max flew away at lights out and then you were nearly clipped in the first turn by Lando, the swerve you took to avoid a collision letting Charles slip straight past.

“DRS activated this lap.”

You passed the starting line on the heels of Charles, Lando close behind but not close enough to use DRS just yet. The Ferrari was quick but he was out of Max’s DRS range and your straight line speed was far superior, it was only a matter of time before you reached the first DRS zone and made your move to overtake. 

“Did you just use indicators?”

You laughed as you hit the buttons on your console before pulling out of the slipstream, the rear wing opened to reduce the drag, and flew past the red car. You hit the new button the electrical engineer had rewired before pulling in front of Charles and laughed as you saw the replay on the big screens around the circuit.

“It’s only polite to indicate when overtaking. Have you never read the road code?”

“I’m more worried about the FIA regulations than the road code.”

“You worry too much, Christian can afford a little fine.”

“£150,000 for a laugh! Are you taking the mick outta me?”

You tried to keep a serious face as you faced Christian but one look at Max’s amusement had a smile cracking through. 

“No, you don’t get to laugh about this,” Christian snapped, pulling your attention back to him. “You too, Max. It’s like having a couple of fucking children around here.”

“It was nothing to do with me,” Max argued. “I would never pull a stunt like that.”

“You have something on your nose,” you said as you pointed and he wiped at it. “Nope, still brown.”

His lip twitched before he snickered and playfully shoved your shoulder. 

A heavy sigh of disappointment filled the private room in the motorhome and you both looked at Christian. “With Max winning last year we are going to be under even more scrutiny, and this sort of behaviour isn’t going to earn us any favours. Cut the shit out and pay the fucking fine.”

You started to open your mouth to point out the fine was charged to Red Bull not you but a sharp elbow from Max had you clamming your lips closed again. 

“She’ll be better behaved,” Max promised with a glare that warned you to stay silent to save yourself from lying.

“Fine, get out there before the interviews are finished.”

You were never a fan of the post-race interviews but you left Christian’s office like it was lights out, racing ahead of Max to get to the media pit. 

You skidded to a halt at the side of the stage and Charles patted the empty space between him and Lando just as Max arrived. The other space on the couch was at the end beside Lance and you looked at Max with narrowed eyes before making a break for the better seat. Lando had to jump aside as you slammed into the seat just before Max but it didn’t stop him from planting himself on top and you groaned at the weight.

“Second place again, Max Emillian,” you wheezed as you tried to push him off and looked at Charles. “A little help?”

“Sorry, there are universal rules: we can’t interfere with sibling rivalries,” he said with an apologetic smile.

“Arthur’s my favourite Leclerc.”

Max took full advantage while you were distracted, staring daggers at Charles, and shoved you aside to take the cushioned seat with a smarmy grin. “Remember, best behaviour,” he warned as he got comfortable and accepted the microphone handed to you.

He should have known that the challenge couldn’t go unanswered and so you stood up, but you weren’t admitting defeat. His smile fell when you sat down on Lando’s lap, much to everyone’s surprise. 

“Hands off my sister, Norris,” Max quipped, but Lando’s hands were still in the air from where he froze, not knowing what to do with them or where to put them.

“This is quite comfy,” you noted as you wriggled around. “Maybe this can be my spot every week.”

“Fuck, fine,” Max growled as he stood up and walked down the line to sit with Lance. “Take the fucking seat.”

Charles laughed as you slipped into the seat and he held his fist out. “Everytime.”

You bumped his fist and smirked as the interviews finally got underway. “Every damn time.”

Click here for part two.

[small-sinclair]

Check List

Whumptober 17: Nowhere else to go

A RZ!Michael Myers x fem sleeping!reader Tw: stocker maybe?, gore mentioned, blood mentioned, he might be obsessed with reader if you squint

Nowhere else to go

Michael knew who you were because he’s not only seen you around the neighborhood, but he’s seen you without you spotting him. He wasn’t stocking you, for say, but he wasn’t planning to kill you, either. You were just part of his daily check list for some reason, and he had to see you at the same time every day. If he doesn’t, there’s a new body, a new murder story for the morning news the next day. Michael saw more as a little wondering soul than a person. If anything, he saw you more as a thing to watch for than go after. You’re just as harmless as a bunny.

Which led him to sneaking into your house while the cops were searching for him, trying to stop the freak with the knife, the Boggy Man as some call him. He knew where your spare key was hidden, he knew which door to use, and he knew which path to take to get to your room. His footsteps went unheard as he inched closer to your sleeping form and tangled sheets. As far as he knew, he didn’t know what he was going to do to you. He stood at the edge of your bed, watching you as you slept, thinking to himself all the terrible, bloody things he could do to your body. He could rip you apart limp from limp, break every bone in alphabetical order, kill you swiftly, silently, or he could wrap his hands around that delegate throat of yours and just squeeze. Michael thought over and over on what he wanted to do, but each one made his stomach churn and turn away from you every time he thought of your body in a mangled mess.

No matter how hard he pushed himself, how hard he wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to harm you.

Must be from that cheek list he made.

His grip on the knife loosens and hits the wooden floor, causing you to stir but go back to sleep. His heavy blue and green eyes looked over your skin, perfect as a picture in the moonlight, and marveled at your peaceful from. What were you dreaming about? What beautiful dream were you living in that head of yours? Let him be part of it just for a moment. Spare a thought, a vision of him, then set him free from the cobwebs and chains that held him back for so long. If he couldn’t be part of it, not part of the little thoughts and threads, then stay at peace and still, for he doesn’t want the darkness that follows to engulfed your running water thoughts and gentle breathing.

Michael wished he didn’t have to be here, but the police were closing in like a pack of hunting dogs to a fox. He had nowhere else to go, but he felt thankful in a way. He’s looking over a sleeping angel with the moon tangled in their hair, making a halo of hope and bliss. Apart from breaking into your home in the dead of night with dry blood on his boots, he felt blessed to be gifted with this vision of you.

Gently, he lifts his mask, taking it off, and placing it quietly on your dresser. He two to steps, just striding without effort, and stood over you. He basked in the moonlight view of you, wishing he could take a photo and have it in his pocket. Michael pulls his hair back until it was resting on his shoulder and knelt on the floor in front of your sleeping face. The monster felt human for once. The shadow over this town faded until there was a man just looking back in a reflective surface. Slowly, he inched closer to you, daring his courage and thoughts, until he felt your breath, cool and smooth, on his lip. Michael shuddered at the thought of your lips on his, marveling at the thought of you waking up and embracing him as a man, not as a monster, as a killer, and as a lunitic that escaped. Thoughts of being normal carved into his bones until he felt them turn into dust, and he felt more and more at home as he looked at you.

You’re on his list, his check list.

He had nowhere else to go, nowhere else to call home, yet he found it here with you sleeping in an oversized shirt and gym shorts. He found it sleeping soundlessly under tangled blankets and a small mountain of stuffed animals. The peacefulness that flows from your heartbeat and blood flow...he wanted to be a part of your more until thoughts of him being in you, physical and mentally. He wanted to be a part of your story and live a thousand tales with you. He was just there, right there! So close to your sleeping arms and blissful lips that he began to hunger for—

Not like this. No... he can’t do this like this.

Michael withdrew from your side and stood up, blocking the moonlight from making your skin glow. He licked his lips as his eyes marveled and memorized each curve and mark on your body. He turns, picks up his knife, and takes his mask. He gives you one last glance, one last moment for his eyes to gaze over you like this and leaves your room for the living room. He sits down on the rocking chair and leaned back into the cushion until he felt his eyes drift off. Sleep called for him, for the man who never slept before a day in his life. As his eyes closed, his last thoughts were spared for you and your moonlight haloed hair.

[m1ntch1p29]

My hyper fixation of biology and Halovians combined and this came out of it. Enjoy??? I might add to this???

GENDER DIFFERENCES -Men have bigger halos and smaller wings then women -Women have three pairs of wings(behind their ears, another on their shoulders, and the final at their waist) -Men have just two pairs(behind ears, waist) -Can fly, but women can fly farther and for longer due to having bigger and/or more wings compared to men

BIRD NOISES(???) -Can make a variety of bird-like chirps, whistles, and birdsong, but mostly grow out of it. -If around family or really stressed they'll make them anyways but it's mainly kids who chirp/warble in public -In families, each Halovian has a string of notes that are a sort of callsign. No two are the same. -Is a bit like another language but it's more rudimentary then other languages, which is why most adult halovians tend to speak instead of using bird calls. -Some halovians can mimic other people's voices, kinda like parrots do -Voices(both bird-like and not) can be super loud. Like, way too loud. A group of fifteen Halovians could probably out-screech a concert.

HALO/GENERAL BIOLOGY STUFF -Have migraines if halo is detached from their head for top long(Robin gets them often) -Halos are just straight up metal so there isn't sensation in them, like bones. However, if a halo gets snapped/broken however it causes extreme pain. -Have hollow bones that are reinforced with cartilage -Have broader shoulders and stronger upper bodies and cores compared to other human-like species     -More pronounced canines that hook in a bit more compared to regular humans, however not as much as Foxian/Vidyadhara. Have a tooth that replaces the molar behind the canine, that is drastically hook-like and points inwards towards the throat. -Like shiny and bright objects, and their homes will practically be covered in little trinkets and cool rocks. -Omnivores, tend to lean more towards fish and other aquatic animals. -Stupidly good swimmers, despite having four-six wings. -They're technically(???)mammals but like platypus they lay eggs(I'm not weird this is legit just the most logical solution to the God damn halos existing) -Females have flatter chests than other human-like species -Tend to be taller than other human-like species       -Head wing bones are cartilage, like ears

FEATHERS/WING STUFF -Look super gross as children. Look up baby birds. They looked like that but more human-like. No feathers until 3-4 years of age. -Children have more feathers, and look less scraggly, but they are still developing for the first 10-12 years of their life and cannot fly. -Teenagers start growing adult feathers, and can begin practicing to fly. They won't be able to until they reach 17-18 years of age. -Adults have fully feathered wings, and have yearly molts where their feathers shed and they grow new ones over a month period. Children have molts every five years, and teenagers every two years. -Preening sessions are needed to be able to fly, and are typically done in groups with family or people halovians hold close. A bit like braiding hair but more emotionally intimate -Feathers and wing shape vary between different species of Halovian, however they all tend to be on the longer side, with longer wings to help glide and catch air currents on the ocean. -Head-wings are typically the same colour as hair before fading into the colour of the back wings. Head wings and back wings are usually different colours. -Hair has a soft, feather-like texture to it, and there is a layer of down and small feathers on the scalp under the hair, especially near the ears. -Feathers are soft and waterproof for diving.

MISC: -Originated from a planet that has very high cliffs and a lot of ocean, thus Halovians evolved to water hunting and flying.                                 -Use their halos like fishing lures: tossing them into the water, gliding above waiting for fish to be like 'Oh hey shiny' and then diving into the water head-first to grab fish.                                  -Back in the 'ye olden days' of Halovian society men used to use the size and shine of their halos to impress people they wanted to court.  -When scared/embarrassed halovians use their wings to hide their faces and neck from view. Wings flare when stressed, frustrated or angry.                        -Giving somebody a back wing feather is saying 'I want to court you'  -Giving somebody a head wing feather is saying 'I see you as family'    -Halo jewelry is a thing. Depending on the halo it’s either dangling little charms or something winding around it. If there's any others you thought of let me know :D I'll either be doing foxians or vidyas next :)

Edit: fixed the formatting because it got weird for some reason????

Edit 2: still weird wtf, idk what's going on with it

[fullyvisible]

Since I found it helpful for Seasons 1 and 2, I've also made a list of all the songs in Season 3 of Heartstopper, with notes on what's happening while each plays! While I've kept the descriptions relatively brief/vague, there are (obviously) still spoilers below:

1. The Way Things Go - opening, Tori, Charlie rehearsing in the mirror

2. It's Euphoric - arriving at the beach

3. Paradise Calling - Tao and Elle get ice cream

4. Happy, Healthy, Well-Adjusted - sand castles, song in Charlie's headphones

5. A Letter to Myself at 17 - Charlie and Nick in the sea

6. Superinlove (Roll Credits) - Tao cooks for Elle

7. Duet - Charlie looking at pictures and remembering

8. Best Day Of My Life - I love you, kiss under streetlight, Tara and Darcy sleeping, Tao and Elle dinner, end of episode one

9. **It Gets Better - beginning of episode two, Nick leaving for vacation, texting Charlie

10. I'm Not Perfect (But I'm Trying) - exam results

11. Shell - Charlie scrolling insta stories, won't send selfie

12. Abigail - Nick looks at phone and listens to music

13. Vertigo - Darcy unpacks with Tara and Elle

14. My Vine - Nick and his Aunt talk on the beach, end of episode two

15. Car Park - beginning episode three, first day of school

16. Pretty Boy - Nick and Charlie see each other!

17. Genesis - Tao following Elle's every move on social media

18. One That Got Away - zoo!!!

19. complex - Nick goes with Charlie to talk to his parents, end of episode three

20. I Spend Too Much Time In My Room - beginning of episode four, Nick and Tara talk, Nick journals

21. Black Friday -Nick trying to be there for Charlie

22. BLUE - Halloween party, Tao's video

23. I Wanna Know - Halloween party

24. Wide Eyes and Halos - Halloween party

25. Liquer & Cigarettes - Halloween party

26. darkwave sabbat - Halloween party

27. leavemealone - Halloween party

28. Witchcraft - Halloween party

29. Wish on an Eyelash - Visiting Charlie

30. Seratonin - Charlie arrives at treatment

31. That Was the Worst Christmas Ever! - beginning episode 5, Tori waking up and going to Charlie

32. Are You OK? - Christmas montage with the group chat

33. Bruises Off the Peach - Charlie leaves Tori and goes to Nick

34. So Clear - Christmas with Nick's family

35. Too Much Time Together - Nick and Henry getting ready

36. Enjoy Your Life - New Year's house party arrival

37. Rush - New Year's party

38. Devotion - New Year's party (Tao and Elle)

39. Loveher - New Year's party (Tori)

40. In My Head - New Year's party (Imogen and Sahar, Tori and Michael, midnight!), end of episode five

41. I Used to Be Fun - Charlie's birthday

42. A Young Understanding - Charlie's party, tents

43. Just Stay For Once - Charlie's party, drinking

44. good 4 u - Charlie's party, more drinking

45. Sad Disco - Charlie's party, talking future

46. A Running Start - therapy, end of episode six

47. Dive - beginning episode seven, Tara's ballet class, Nick and Charlie heart eyes

48. Pegasus - Tara and Darcy hooking up

49. Heartbreaker - Nick and Charlie in the locker room and rugby pitch, Nick suggests sleepover

50. The Most Beautiful Thing - Tao's movie for Elle

51. Ode to a Conversation Suck In Your Throat - Nick and Charlie hooking up, end of episode seven

52. Love You - Charlie gets to school, montage of Nick and Charlie's exams

53. Right Here, For Now - touring Kent

54. Close One - touring Oxford

55. Joe - Nick and Charlie phone call, Leeds tour

56. A Good Thing - Charlie looking at Head Boy application and choosing outfit for band performance

57. The Outsiders - leaving the fair

58. million little reasons - Nick and Charlie's sleepover, end of season three

[romanarose]

The River

Joel Miller x Black!fem!reader

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Summary: Joel and Sarah's mom! reader the days he's conceived, written to Bruce Springsteen's The River in honor of his birthday today!

Warnings: Virginity loss for both, piv sex, skinny dipping, not a happy end, if you want the spoiler look at notes at the end. Classmate calls reader a name but its never stated so you can fill in the blank however fitting you feel, but its implied its either a slur or a derogatory word towards women. Story starts with joel and reader in HS and 17, but 18 when the smu happens. If this makes you uncomfortable, thats fine. Dont read it.Some drinking but everyone is consenting, and at 18 in the 80's in the us you can drink Immersivity: reader is at least biracial as fitting with the show TLOU. Not super descriptive there bc I wanted it to remain pretty open but I mentioned hair care for curls and dark skin

Happy birthday Bruce!!!! I love you

Dividers by @thecutestgrotto

I come from down in the valley

Where, mister, when you're young

They bring you up to do like your daddy done

  It started at 17, just kids. You were like something out of a dream to a teen. Well, a wet dream. You dressed so unlike everyone around him, showing off skin in a way scandalous to the bible belt you were living in. Joel was taught that impure thoughts and sex before marriage was sinful, shameful.

A year later, it didn’t feel shameful with you. 

When you moved here during yours and Joel’s senior  year, you and Joel met at a party and it was all over for him the second he saw you in that pretty black dress that dipped so low… Dark, thick curls spiraled around your head in a halo and beautiful dark skin. Joel was certain you weren’t looking his way even once. Joel wasn’t unpopular by any means, but if he were honest a lot of his circle came from either playing baseball or being Tommy’s brother . 

Tommy was a linebacker on the football team, something much cooler than baseball was. Joel didn’t think himself ugly, he thought he was decent to look at, but his nose got in the way, just planted large smack in the middle of his face. Tommy had similar features, but for some reason they meshed together better. Tommy was also just so much more extraverted, friendly as they came. And none of it was fake, Tommy was genuine and that's why people liked him. That’s why Tommy lost his virginity long before Joel had his first kiss.

When you walked over and struck up a conversation with him of all people, Joel’s eyes nearly popped out of his face.

“Hey.” You told him your name. “I start school next week with y’all”

“”M Joel,” He reached out shaking your hand, a move that made you grin ear to ear. “Nice t’meecha”

“You’re cute, Joel, wanna talk outside?”

An hour later, you and Joel hadn’t spoken to a single otyour soul. He watched as envious eyes lingered on them, pride swelling in his chest at having the prettiest girl at the party wearing his jacket as you sat on the porch. 

“HEY MILLER!” A teammate of Tommy’s shouts at Joel from below the porch. “Gonna finally score a homerun?”

When you looked at him confused, Joel explained the metaphor. “I play baseball.”

“YEAH AND HE”S NEVER SCORED WITH A GIRL!”

“THANKS DAN I THINK You GOT IT!!” Joel shouted to the jeering boy who’d drawn a bit of a crowd. When he turns back to you, you weren’t weirded about him being a virgin still, instead you were smiling.

“I’m a virgin too, don’t worry. Wanna really show ‘em how stupid they look?” You whisper.

Joel laughs, smiling something dopey. “Please…”

Swinging one leg over the porch railing, a move that spread your legs and rode your skirt up. You grab his shirt, yanking him towards you and kissing him right tyoure in the porch light, getting bitten by mosquitos. This creates a bunch of loud whooping from everyone except Dan, more people gatyouring to watch the show. Joel about passed out, ready to fall off the porch and die a happy man. He didn’t, holding onto your leg as you giggled into his mouth at the reactions of everyone around them.

After that, only death could separate Joel from you. 

Me and Mary we met in high school

When she was just seventeen

We drive out of this valley

Down to where the fields were green

“Hey Miller!” Dan called after him in the hall, but Joel wasn’t interested in talking to him.

That school year had been a wild one to be sure. You joined the cheer team, but admitted later it was so that you could see Joel more, an excuse to talk to him. Joel was absolutely baffled at the concept that you thought you needed a reason to talk to him after he’d kissed you, but sweet nonetheless. 

Dan had tried in vain to steal you out from under him, but to Joel’s surprise you showed no interest. After that, he got mean. Joel frequently found himself telling Dan to shut the fuck up, defending you even though the relationship still didn’t have a name. It was stolen smiles in class, study dates, choosing to spend your 18th birthday with him at the local diner instead of a party.  DIdn’t matter. He wasn’t going to let Dan talk the way he did about you. It’d never escalated to more than a few shoves in the locker room, resulting in being separated by Tommy and anotyour teammate. Their coach said if Dan causes more problems to let him know.

And then, Dan crossed a line. The crowded hallway was loud, people pushing around to get the hell out of school and onto their next event but Joel heard him loud and clear. The hall got real quiet, everyone between Dan and you and Joel hearing with Dan called you, and it was over. 

“Joel…” You warn, feeling him squeeze your hand tighter. “Don-” but he was gone, letting go and lunging at Dan like he was tackling in a game.

The fight didn’t last long, Joel a little better off than Dan was by the time they were pulled apart, which is why the coach suspended Joel for 2 days instead of Dan. They told the coach, multiple students testifying, what Dan had called you but he never go any repercussions. That just makes Joel all the more happy he broke his nose.

You were his after that. Officially. Boyfriend and girlfriend and inseparable. Every game, you were there cheering him on and every night you worked he was there to walk you home. 

When the summer turned warm, Joel decided he wanted to share something special with you.

It was a secret spot, a place Joel grandpa used to take him and Tommy to fish before he passed. They pair had grown up swimming there when they could get their hands on a car in the summer, and it was somewhere that few people knew about. A quiet lake, the perfect place to fish and swim or just relax. Joel managed to borrow your brothers car, people trusting him as he was responsible, unlike Tommy. He even packed you a picknick, making it a nice date. He knew he was romantic as shit. He didn’t plan on what happened happening, but he knew it would be a special afternoon.

The week after graduation in Texas was already warm, the world bright and happy around him as college approached. You and him had plans to move to Austen together, he had gotten a few good grants for low income students and was going to attend the tech school, get into electrician work. He even knew a place where he could apprentice in the city, and hopefully by the time you graduate with your 4 year degree he would have his journeymans. You had gotten an excellent scholarship, and between that and the money saved from the last few years of both of you working, if you guys budgeted well you would graduate almost debt free. Then, find permanent jobs, get a house, get married, have kids… the entire world was in the palm of your hands.

You hadn’t taken the big step, even after 7 months of dating, you were still virgins. You wanted to… but wyoure? On the bottom bunk of the bunk bed Joel and Tommy still shared in the tiny mobile home? Or at your place, wyoure your mom made you keep the door open at all time? Joel certainly wasn’t going to deflower you in the back of a car, he wasn’t a fucking animal. Still, he liked to think what ended up happening was perfect.

You loved it.

We'd go down to the river

And into the river we'd dive

Oh, down to the river we'd ride

“Joel!!!” An excited squeal escaped your lips as he finished setting everything up. There were even a bundle of wildflowers on the blanket he sprawled out on the grass. 

“M’grandpa used to take me  n’ Tommy here ‘fore he died.” Joel explained, standing up and stepping back to admire his work. There was a tinge of longing, reminiscing on those old days, childhood that he was soon to leave behind for a life with you. There'll always be nostalgia, but he had to fear facing the future with you by his side. He’d do it all in your honor. Joel felt your hand on his back.

“He sounds great, baby.”

Joel smiled. “Yeah, he was.” But he turned to hug yo. The smell of your hair was always something he took his time to appreciate. Throughout these months, he’d learned a lot about taking care of your hair, and absolutely adored the smell of coconut oil. He'd gotten pretty damn good at braiding. Sometimes you’d even put the oil in his hair, and Joel loved the scalp massage too much he was practically purring. That;s how you learned he had a sensitive scalp. Very sensitive.

Got anything to drink?” You smiled, trying to distract him.

He paused for a bit, then finally smiled for the first time tonight. “Yeah, yeah I do.”

Joel pulled out the glasses, iced tea, rum, and sliced lemons; Long Island iced tea.

Joel insisted on holding the ice to your lip as You sipped through your straw and drank his own. Joel was more of a beer guy himself, the guys would never let it go if they caught him drinking this, but for your, he’d drink it. Plus, it actually tastes good. Beer does not.

Now, Joel was Joel again. He laughed along to your stories and shared quips about the guys at the shop as they sat on the blanket he laid out by the banks. He braided your hair back for you, tying it up nice and tight so the river water doesn’t ruin it.

“You ready to swim?” You asked.

Joel grinned “Absolutely. I brought some spare clothes, I figured you couldn’t exactly sneak out with swimwear.”

“Actually…” You stood up. “I was thinking we could just…” You took off your shirt. Joel quickly stood up. “Skinny dip?” 

Joel had felt your tits before. Plenty. You and him had explored things before… but never this. Seeing your breasts in that bra had his mind short circuiting. He was only a man. 

You turned away and began walking towards the river. The Texas sun was setting on your back as you slid your underwear off. Joel never really gotten a good look at your ass until now. Well now, he was taking it all in. 

“You gonna join me? Or just stare at my ass like a perv at a gas station?” He looked up at you and saw you glancing over your shoulder as you unhooked your bra. When you turned back and tossed your bra back to the shore, Joel scrambled out of his jeans and underwear comically fast, hopping out of his last pant leg. Joel grinned wildly as he giggled (did he just giggle?) and ran into the river as he pulled his shirt off.

By the time he reached you, you had dove into the water, swimming out. He caught up to you and pulled your wet frame in, finally taking yor in the kiss he had wanted to give all afternoon. He was careful, ever so careful, not to startle you or move too fast, but he hears you laugh. “Oh my god Joel, just kiss me.”

As the lady wished. He deepened the kiss as you ran fingers through his thick curls, massaging into his scalp. He could feel himself getting hard, so he pulled away. “Time to swim, sweetheart.” As he dove into the water, you got a quick peek at his ass before it re-entered the cool water. Oh man, you could not wait to get a hold of that latter tonight. You swam as the sun peaked, until your bodies were too tired to keep changing between kisses and splashes.

The evening was still warm, but could cool quick. Joel grabbed towels and another drink for the two of you on the blanket. While in the car, he opened his windows and turned up the radio. He helped dry off your hair and body before pulling a blanket over the two of you. The area was private, no one would be here except him. Snuggling into his chest, you signed contently. Joel was your safe place. Despite being naked under the blanket, You felt warm and secure. When “Sister Christian” faded out of the car radio, You listened to the DJ.

“This next song is a request, it goes out from Joel in Arlington. Joel wants you to know how much he’s enjoyed your time together and he hopes for many more nights like tonight. Well, isn’t that sweet. Here’s to you, this is You Make Loving Fun by Fleetwood Mac”

You turned to him with a broad smile. “Joel! That’s so sweet” You took him in for a kiss as the opening chords started playing, your dark, naked body pulling up against him.

Joel tried to keep his cool, but fighting his hard-on was getting a lot harder to control. “I wanted to play something by Stevie Nicks, but all the songs I knew that she sang sounded like break up songs.” Joel sucked on your neck.

You moaned out his name. “Oh god… mmm” You tried to keep the conversation going, but he felt so good on your skin. “True, but Silver Springs is a masterpiece…”

“You are a masterpiece…” He murmured between the soft kisses he placed along your stomach. your heart rate kicked up as he crept closer to your sex. 

“Joel…” You pleaded, begging him for more as he kissed the crease of your legs, so, so close to where you needed him to be. Something else entirely. Just when You thought he was finally going to take your in his mouth,  moved past your sex, his beautiful lips tantalizingly grazing over your folds to move towards your inner thighs. “Joel, please, stop teasing…”

“As the lady wants…” Finally, he dove into you.

Then I got Mary pregnant

And man, that was all she wrote

You tasted fantastic. He flattened his tongue as licked up, swirling around your clit, making your whimper. He loved the little sounds You made when he touched you, tasted you. Sliding two fingers inside, Joel worked your lower body with everything in him: his fingers deep inside your, his mouth licking and kissing everywhere in reach, his free hand massaging along your thigh.

In the freedom of the dark night, You felt free to be as loud as You wanted. “FUCK! Fuck Joel, just like that.”

“Fuck, you taste so good”

You gave a breathy laugh “Baby, I taste like river water”

“Like delicious river water” He muttered with an obvious smile;

You giggled “Ew”

Joel hummed “mmmm” the vibration sending another wave through you.

“Oh! Oh God, Joel!” You whimpered when You felt his teeth carefully draw along your sensitive inner thigh.

Joel continued working you, fingering you open carefully until you came on his tongue, tugging on the sweet curl and his oh so sensitive scalp.

You moved your hips up, sending a shock of electricity through him when he felt your thigh rub along his cock.

He kissed into your neck, fighting the strong urge to leave hickies. “If I told you I brought a condom, would you think I was presumptuous?”

“If I told you I brought a condom, would you think I’m easy?”

You could feel a shit eating, teasing grin being pressed into your neck. “I don’t believe in women being easy, I believe in men being lucky.”

With your soft hand, you guided his face back to yours and You gifted him with a kiss. “Do you think you’re lucky tonight?”

He couldn’t help the feral growl that escaped him as he nipped along your neck and chest. “Sweetheart, tonight, I think I’m favored by the gods.” He rolled over and pulled the condom out of his pant pocket and slid it over his length before lining himself up at your entrance and planting a soft kiss on your brow. He touched his forehead to yours. “You want this?” Joel spoke softly in your ear.

You smiled, eyes closed, and nodded, gently tracing the muscles on his back, toned from physical labour.

“More than anything, Joel. Do you?”

When you opened them, Joel was beaming down at you. “More than anything.”

 He felt your grip on his shoulder as he entered your, wet and hot in contrast to the cool air seeping into their little haven. He pulled the blanket over both of their heads to keep the heat between them, to keep the world outside. Right now, only they mattered, only you existed, nothing else could possibly be more important than making you feel beautiful and special and… loved.

You were ethereal. Nothing in the world felt better than you sweet pussy and there was nothing he loved more than you, his beautiful girl giving herself to him, just as he gave himself to you. 

In your little tent, you felt safe, appreciated and adored. Joel always had a way of taking away all your anxieties, his demeanor was always so light and relaxing but fiercely protective. You could feel him hitting deep inside you despite his movements being slow and steady, not wanting to hurt you. He was all kisses: your mouth your jaw, your breasts, your cheeks. As you stretched out your body and put your arms over your head, he ran his hands up your sides, over your breasts and shoulders, along your arms and finally pinning your hand above your. Joel held you to the ground and he picked up his pace, making your toes curl as your orgasm built back up again.

“Mmmm, Joel, baby you feel so good… so good honey”

Joel could feel your tightening around him, he knew you were close. He kissed deep into your mouth that opened for him. You aggressively kissed back, taking his lip between your teeth. “Please baby, I need to feel you.” You wiggled your wrists.

Joel complied, releasing your hands which You returned to his tan skin. When You came around him, he felt your fingernails digging into his shoulder blades, tipping him over the edge. His pace faltered as he rode out his orgasm, pressing tender kisses into your neck.

When they re-emerged from the cover of the blanket, night had completely fallen on the reservoir, the moon shone above the treeline illuminating You’s tan, wet body. “Keep on Lovin You” by REO Speedwagon was in full swing. They laid on the bank of the river, pulling your close just to feel each breath You takes.

There they laid, until Joel heard the rumble of thunder. “We should probably get going, don’t want to get rained on.” No answer. He looked down to see you sleeping against his chest. 5 more minutes won’t hurt… He thought to himself, and watched your sleep for 20 minutes, until you stirred to the sound of the thunder getting closer.

“Hm?” You grumbled into his chest, despite him not saying anything.

“I said we gotta go, it looks like rain.”

“Oh.” You rubbed your eyes and sat up. “Oh shit, I forgot we were naked.”

Joel stood up and gathered your clothes that You had practically stripped off for him, then got dressed himself.

It was that July you told him you were pregnant.

And for my nineteenth birthday

I got a union card and a wedding coat

We went down to the courthouse

And the judge put it all to rest

No wedding day smiles, no walk down the aisle

No flowers, no wedding dress

Everything changed after that, 

Not the love you had for each other, no, not that.

But everything else.

Your parents kicked you out when you told them, and Joel’s family let you move in, kind enough to let you take the couch, until a week later you and Joel were married at the courthouse. You spend your wedding night on the bottom of a bunk bed, Tommy staying with a friend for the night to offer you some privacy.

Life wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t the worst. No trade school, no apprenticeship, no journeymans, but Joel found a union job which was good. You continued working your job at the diner until Sarah was born, the best day of Joel’s life.

The next 5 years would be difficult, late bills and a sick baby, union going on strike, but no matter what, he had you. Always had you, his beautiful girl. Sometimes, Joel would ask Tommy to watch Sarah for a few hours, and he’d take you back to the river, back to where she was conceived. He couldn’t say he regretted it, but when this life brought him his baby. He couldn’t regret anything with you, honestly. Every struggle was worth it for his little family.

It was here you told him about the cancer.

Now all them things that seemed so important

Well mister they vanished right into the air

Now I just act like I don't remember

Mary acts like she don't care

Joel watched as a preteen Sarah swam around the river, Tommy and Joel parked with chairs close enough their feet were wet. Joel supposed she was technically a teen now… but it felt wrong to say his baby was a teenager of all things. 13 could be a preteen, just one more year. He had braided her hair back the same way he always did yours, the memory of which always tore at his chest. There were a few years there he didn’t take her, the last time Sarah had been was when she was 6.

 The chemo had taken its toll on you, but you wanted this last summer with your daughter. Joel had carried you in, your body to weak to stand for long but once you were in again, you were at ease. The water helped you move, taking pressure off your joints and Sarah, as little as she was played gently with you, knowing her mom was fragile. Joel loved how much you loved her, how much Sarah adored you, and it killed him. It killed him to know there wasn’t much longer left. 

Joel watched as you floated, taking in the sun on your skin as Sarah did the same. Two peas in a pod.

You died two days later.

But I remember us riding in my brother's car

Her body tan and wet, down at the reservoir

At night on them banks I'd lie awake

And pull her close just to feel each breath she'd take

Now those memories come back to haunt me

They haunt me like a curse

Is a dream a lie if it don't come true

Or is it something worse

Joel didn’t take her again until she was 10. He couldn’t stomach it, so Tommy did, wanting to keep the family place alive.

“You alright, brother?” Tommy asked, cool beer in his hand.

Joel sighed. “Yeah, yeah. Just….” He shook his head, watching as Sarah went under to do a handstand. “She looks so much like her mom, doesn’t she?”

When Sarah popped up again, Joel and Tommy cheered for her in encouragement.

“Yeah, that she does.”

School was starting soon, and Joel would have less time with her, so he was savoring these little moments, just as their family. Just the three of them. Joel still felt you here, present with him in these ways, even after all these years. 

2003 marked 7 years since your death, and every day Sarah grew to look more like you.

Now those memories come back to haunt me

They haunt me like a curse

Is a dream a lie if it don't come true

Or is it something worse

That sends me down to the river

Though I know the river is dry

That sends me down to the river tonight

Down to the river

My baby and I

Oh, down to the river we ride

SPOILER!!! Reader dies.

Thak you soooo muc for reading, i know my last fic and this one have been downers, and i gonna be honest, my final joel piece before leaving the fandom wil be bittersweet too ;-;

Thank you for all the love you've given me!!!

Taggint htose whove expressed interest. I think. if i mistagged you im sorry!!! its late for me

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @msjarvis @grogusmum @hiroikegawa @jennaispunk @fandxmslxt69 @sweetlummie

[dead-dolphins]

After the birth: a tpp drabble

Set after chapter 17. I hope you like it!

After a gruelling early morning, the tumult of the birth had given way to an unexpected tranquillity that blanketed Shiganshina. It was a serenity borne of winter’s breath—silent and calm, broken only by the soft descent of snowflakes that floated down in an almost reverent dance.

In the hushed sanctuary of Mikasa’s chamber, darkness reigned supreme. It was an artificial gloom, crafted by thick curtains layered over the shutters, put there not only to fend off the encroaching winter chill but also to grant the new mother a tranquil rest. A candle burned softly, tough, its golden light casting flickering shadows on the walls. Its delicate halo highlighted the serene curve of the new mother’s sleeping face. After a night fraught with the trials of bringing a child into the world, the princess could finally find rest.

Where was the babe? Not nestled at her side, nor cradled in the pristine mother-of-pearl crib that stood vigil beside the grand bed, as one would expect. Instead, the child lay in someone’s arms, finding solace in the gentle embrace of that one who was his father.

Eren had assumed the task of caring for the newborn as soon as Mikasa’s eyes had closed in exhaustion. The little one was restless, his tiny limbs twitching and his soft whimpers filling the stillness. Eren had noticed it the moment his wife had drifted off to sleep. The child, barely an hour into his nap after his first feeding, was already squirming and fussing, unsettled by his mother’s warmth. Yet, Eren was determined to let Mikasa rest, hoping a full night’s sleep would restore the rosy glow to her cheeks.

So, he was there, in the dimly lit corner of the room, tackling the task that many men would dread. His movements were deliberate and calm, though fatigue tugged at the corners of his resolve. The weight of the baby, so small and delicate, was a new experience for him. He adjusted the swaddling blanket, ensuring it was snug but not too tight, and gently rocked the infant in his arms.

“I know you want your mother,” he murmured softly. “I want her too, most of the time and all the time. But you must let her sleep first, alright?” His words were tender, carrying the warmth of affection and reassurance, a promise spoken in the stillness of the night.

As he spoke, his fingers traced gentle patterns on the babe’s downy head. His eyes, though weary, were filled with a blend of devotion and tenderness. The small, soft breaths of Lucerys seemed to synchronize with the rhythmic rise and fall of his own chest, creating a lullaby of sorts in the quiet room.

And so, with a couple of slow, deliberate rocks in the chair and a gentle hum of an old lullaby from his past, Eren found a rhythm that soothed both himself and his son. Lucerys’s wrinkled forehead smoothed out, the lines of distress easing away. The baby’s tiny form relaxed against his father’s chest, and as if knowing that there was no danger there, he fell asleep again. 

“There it is,” Eren murmured with a smile, the simple joy of the moment reflecting in his eyes. 

This is my life now, he mused as he stood up to place the child in the crib, a crib that would soon be filled with not only the babe but one of the direwolf pups. 

This was his life, and he really relished in the prospect of what was to come.

[riality-check]

for the mini fic thing! 17 with Steve & Eddie? i love your drabbles!!

This is exceptionally late, and I'm slightly adjusting the prompt, but here you go!

17. "Things I wish you hadn't said"

"You know you gave me the nickname, right?" Eddie says.

He does that a lot, Steve has learned. Starts conversations in ways that sound like the middle of them. It's one thing among many he's noticed about Eddie, since March '86.

"What?" he says, half to make sure he heard him right, half because he's a little slow from the joint they've been passing back and forth.

"The Freak," Eddie explains. He says it like he's talking about the weather and takes another drag of the joint before he passes it back to Steve. "You regretted it right after you said it. Well, right after Carol shouted it loud enough for the whole cafeteria to hear. Could see it right on your face."

Steve remembers that day. His sophomore year, so Eddie's junior. Daniel McCain had gone up to Eddie, angry as anything about something Steve just had to know about.

He's glad he's not that guy anymore.

"Do you know why he came up to me? Danny?"

"No," Steve says. He interrupted that would-be conversation before he could hear any of it. He had to make himself the star of the show, all the time.

A sophomore, and already king.

He was such a prick.

He passes the joint back to Eddie without taking another drag.

"Do you remember my nose being broken?"

Steve has a flash of a memory, of a younger Eddie with hair curling just under his chin, bandages on his bruised face.

He nods.

"I kissed him the day before," Eddie says. He extinguishes the joint in favor of picking at his fingernails instead. "He didn't take too kindly to it."

Oh, shit.

"And you asked him what he had to talk to The Freak about."

For probably the hundredth time in his life, Steve hates the person he used to be. Because not only did he give Eddie the nickname that stuck with him all through the rest of his high school career, not only did he add insult to literal injury, but Steve couldn't even remember this particular cruelty in a sea of cruelties.

He wants to go back in time and shake that kid by the shoulders until his head's back on straight.

"I'm sorry. I wish I hadn't said that," he says, and it doesn't sound like nearly enough.

Eddie waves him off. "Can't go back. Besides, if you didn't say it, someone else would have. Probably me, to be honest."

Steve leans back, propping himself up on his elbows on Eddie's bed. He looks up at Eddie, sitting near his nightstand, cross-legged and still in a way that he never is when he's sober. The way he's backlit makes his hair seem like a gold halo, makes every stark detail of his silhouette stand out in a way that keeps Steve from looking away.

Not that he wants to.

He doesn't think that logic holds up. It's not worth thinking about "what-ifs," but he can't help it. He can't help the thought that if he had watched his mouth for once in his life, Eddie wouldn't have been tormented with that particular phrase.

Eddie doesn't seem to resent him for it, though. Robin always says that no one is as hard on Steve as he is, and this seems to line up with that.

Still.

"If you're not mad about it, then why-"

"I couldn't think of a better way to tell you I like boys," Eddie blurts.

Oh.

Steve has had plenty of people interested in him. He knows how to flirt back, even when they're as awkward as Eddie is, eyes burning a hole through his mattress.

It's not often that he's interested back. Really interested back.

Huh.

Guess I like men, he thinks to himself, and while thinking can wait for the morning, when he's sober, he knows that what he feels isn't going to fade along with the high.

And he knows exactly which moves to pull.

He sits up and moves a little closer to Eddie.

"Why do I need to know that?" he teases.

Eddie's head snaps up. He studies Steve's face with slightly reddened eyes, and when he finds, or doesn't find, what he's looking for, he relaxes. "Because I like you."

"You gonna do anything about it?"

"Yeah," Eddie says, leaning closer. "I'm gonna kiss you, and I hope you won't bre-"

Steve runs out of patience. He grabs Eddie's face with both hands and pulls him in.

It's a good kiss. Definitely not one worth punching over.

"You asshole!" Eddie laughs when they break apart. "You didn't let me finish my line!"

"Are you mad about it?"

"A little!"

"Too mad to kiss me again?"

Eddie pauses, grabs Steve's face, and kisses him fiercely.

Something tells Steve the answer to that last question is a resounding, "Not at all."

Prompts here.

[flowersofnaivete]

Happy releasiversary to the Halo 17 twins And All That Could Have Been & Still

[sinner-sunflower]

A HH Lucifer-centric AU 19/?

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14, PART 15, PART 16, PART 17, PART 18, PART 20, PART 21, PART 22

Hello!!! How's everyone's weekend?!

I had the most relaxing trip of my life. Me and my best friend went on a picnic and the place was so gorgeous I wish I was rich enough to have that kind of landscaping.

Anyway!

Here's my update. I hope you all enjoy.

As always: likes, reblogs, and ESPECIALLY COMMENTS are so appreciated and it honestly gives me motivation. We're near the end meaning this might end this week :((

Disclaimer: I did get some help with chat gpt for some paragraphs just to get my ideas across and also because English is not my first languagee. I edited them of course myself because u know how automated shit can be.

I'm learning I promise!

-------------------------------------------------

Every denizen of Hell held their breath in anticipation as each agonizing minute passed without a word from the King. Some feared he had met his demise the moment he entered, leaving them grasping at false hope. The Overlords pondered the same grim possibility but dared not voice it in the presence of higher demons.

Amidst the tension, the task of pacifying Paimon fell upon the Goetias, who found themselves ensnared in his relentless tirade about their illustrious King and their collective duty to fix Hell's problems, a duty he believed lay solely with them, not Lucifer.

The Sins, meanwhile, remained vigilant, their eyes fixated on the entrance through which Lucifer had disappeared, searching for any subtle sign of their brother's fate.

Satan, ever watchful, kept a peripheral eye on Goodie. The Good of Humanity had fallen into an unusual silence since Lucifer embarked on his suicide mission. Unlike the rest, she wore neither worry nor despair on her face, hell, not even of glee; instead, there was a knowing glint in her eyes the Sin of Wrath definitely did not like. He could only hope Lucifer emerges from all of this still himself.

At the very back, Vox stole a glance at his rival, noting the whatever-the-fuck thing he had with the King. He half-expected the radio demon to remain his usual apathetic self. And he was half right. The guy was smiling with no care in the world. Yet, to his surprise, a strained smile is etched the demon's face. It's not as noticeable but if you've been looking at Alastor as closely as Vox had been for the past how many years, it's like a giant pimple you can't ignore. There was a glassy look in his eyes, as if the radio demon is going to-

Vox wonders incredulously if his wiring got fried by that shockwave earlier because there is no fucking way.

The media demon is silently thankful he couldn't finish that thought as they are knocked down once more.

----------------------------------------------

It all unfolded in a blink, leaving them no time to respond. The ground quaked with a force that they realized was from the towering tree that's trembling before them. Roots and branches contorted, twisting inwards and outwards like a well-oiled machine, as if the very essence of the tree was tearing itself apart. Red flowers all around withered as the oppressive miasma dispersed. Then, with a thunderous crash, the colossal tree collapsed into a single heap.

The dust clears presenting a lone figure stands in the center of it all.

Belphagor: Lucifer!

There stood the King of Hell, his horns protruding proudly and his corrupted halo casting an ominous black glow. His six wings spread wide, a testament to his power and dominance. It was Lucifer. But... something seemed off.

The Sin of Pride appeared altered. His once pure white attire had transformed into black, adorned with accents of red. His porcelain skin, once flawless, now bore a grayish, melancholic hue. However, the most striking change lay in his hair—it was no longer the radiant gold of angels, but a sinister black with tendrils of creeping red, moving like of the deadly miasma.

Lucifer looked like a shadow of himself.

Before anyone could react, the fallen angel lunged towards Goodie, swiftly pinning her to the ground.

Lucifer: Ẏ̷̨̖̯͎̤͎͖̪̆̀̊͌͑̓̇o̵̻͗̔͊̃͘̚͠ṳ̸͎̍̊͗̌̈ ̵̱͙͇͛͑i̴̳͈̗̺͒̏̃̀̚͝n̸̢̧̖͖͚͉͙̤͇͆̃͛͊̿͛́̚͘s̸͇͚̱͍͈̤̘̒̂̈́̆͗̈̆ͅó̵̇̅́͜l̶͇̝̞̜̰̘͊̒͂̓͝ë̶̮͔̰́̀̑̔̽͊̐n̶̡̧̗̤̘̞̑̇̀t̴͙̲̳̦̦͎͔̠̔ ̵̮̰̞͐̌͌b̸̧͚̾i̴̧̜̪̳̤͔̹͉̦̇͠t̴͖̐̀̾̌̽̎̂̅͜ͅc̵̛̞̳͛̋̆̏͆̏h̷̟̺̬̗͗̉̓̍!̴͉̲̼̀̊��͓̻̪̻ ̷͇͓̲̬͍̦̙̹͓̔̈́͊̇

Goodie chokes from the stench of hellfire on her skin.

Goodie: I never lied to you, angel. I told you that you were the key.

Lucifer: Y̷̢̘̻̩̲͐͋̐̌́́͝ŏ̴͎̌́u̷̟̯͋ ̶͔̝̘̓̈́̄̈́́̀̐ǵ̸͍͌͝͝á̵̧̫͔̤̘̹̓͗͂v̶̢͕̘̼̦̰̐ẽ̵̝̥͈̝̓͋̌̋͠ ̸̝͙̐̓m̵̩͖͍͒͌͛̔e̸̤̹̻̪͇͔̽̇ ̵̜̬̰̟̖̘͈̐̆̀á̸̻̜̬̫̝͇͚ ̷̢̗̠̮͊ͅf̶̡̩̟͘͝a̵̢͎͆k̷̲̰͓̤̐͌̽͐̿̕͠e̷̛̪̖̅̒̀̓͐͜ͅ ̸̭͙̫̂̚ͅs̴̩̝̺͕̲̯͒e̸̮͍̤̦̯̎̈́̔̌̇͌ä̷̳̖͓̒̕l̶̦̬̙̘̝̉̏̔̈́͆͘͠.̸̨͓͉͒̄̚ ̶͈͆̽̿̋̑̈̕T̶̗̹̱̞̭̩͉̍͆̀̚é̵̹̗͖ļ̶̜̬͍͓̗̿͑̾̋̏̕l̸̛̀̆̓̾ͅ ̷̡̗̼̀̿̓m̸̛̗̞͕̠̟ę̵̬̰̻̮͎̉̓ ̵̥̩̞̮͈͖̅̃̑͜͝ŵ̷͈̥͕̦̘̙̏h̶̝͈̬͖̲̯̝͊̓̕ȳ̴̱̓̄̎͝ ̵̛̣̭̘͔͋̏́̀̋I̵̡̦̬̬̫͓̭͆̍͌͗̍́̀ ̶̛͈͆s̵̛̗͙̙̭h̷̝͌͌͜͝͠ȏ̴̝̹̻͚̾́̃̔͘͝ư̸̮͓̰̖͔̙̇́͊̽̐̔l̶͙̟̙̣̮̱̞̂͌̏͗d̴̢͊͒̉̈ ̸̠̠̮̉̿n̴͚̯̜̫̊ō̴̡͉̪̥̗̹̲̽̄̀̕t̴̢̺̱̊̉̎̕͜͠ ̷̛̹̜̿͝ķ̴̻͚̙͔̈́͊̍í̸̥̼͕̮̾̿͌l̷̢͂̏͆͊̃͠l̷̡̨͎̪̝̖̱̽̽̓͐̀́̈́ ̷͖̿̋͛y̶̻̝̆͂͝ỏ̸̧̹͇̫̀̐̀̍͋̃ų̶̟̩͔͇̝͚̎̈́̑̕͠ ̵͍̃͗͠ẁ̷̝̟̥̰̘͎͒͛́͒h̵̦̜̩̬͋͐̋ė̶̃͜ṙ̸̡̧̟͉̻̬͚̅e̵̤̮̟͌̓ ̴̹͕̮͍̺̲͇̉y̴̨̛̪͛̍̓̏ô̴͔͍͉̅̈́̌u̴̙͖͖͎͐͛̒ ̶̟̙͍̖̭̃̌́l̵̙̽̈́̐͝á̷̡͔̞͈̜͎͒͌̑̐͝y̴̼̹̪̻̒̓̽̀̚?̴̛̻̘͈͍͕̒̃̀̓̏

Goodie: It was not a fake. Without it, you would have perished the moment you set foot in-ah!-side.

Lucifer: H̵̹̩̗̑̎̈́́̕o̷̘͝ẇ̷̢̨̛͇̞̝̦̠̎ ̸̯̹͋̃͑͘͝d̴͉̭̟̫̙̠͂à̶͎̮̝̺̺̥͙̓͛͂̒́ŗ̴̡̺̬̭̝̳̓̈́̑̍͝ĕ̷͓̕ ̸̺͈̖̣̳̃y̴̜̞͆͑̉͠o̴͓͋ủ̸͈͎̳̥͈̞̍̀͜ ̸̥̑͐̇̂̈́̐͝t̶͓͋r̶̼͠ỉ̸͍̻̫̩͍̓͌̍̄͝ċ̷̞̤̭̳̈́̓́̃k̶̖̹͙̋̓̑̀̅̔͊ ̵͙̠̻̜̎ͅt̵̛͇̀̑̀h̴̛̥͉̲̬̰͛̊̀̅͝e̵͇̮̫̟̗̍͊̓ ̶̰͎̟̜̗̈̋͂̓K̶̞͉̰̫̂͂̋͝ͅi̷̯̟̤̽͛̈͑n̵̬͙͑̉̍͊̕͠ģ̸͖͍̪̉͗̂͠ ̷̣̯͖̭̜̀ͅǫ̵̨̣̿̽̑͜f̶͔͖̬͐͌ ̸̼̅̿͒̎́Ḣ̴͎͕̳́ͅe̶̛̞̱̦͈l̴̡̲̯͔̰̱̂̅̀̄̈͗͋l̸͍̩̯̗̏?̴̯̥̭̦͙̃̏!̸̼̹͍͖͒̊̅̊̌̔̍

Goodie: Do not delude yourself. There was no chance that this could have ended differently.

Lucifer was heaving so much that Goodie could sense his energy waning. Seizing the opportunity, she managed to escape his clutches. Despite the danger surrounding her, (such bothersome loyalty) she couldn't resist letting out a chuckle, teasing the angel one last time.

Goodie: I gotta say, angel, I do like your new look. Corruption definitely suits you.

Lucifer: F̸̢̨͔̲͖̖̳͍̑̽͜U̵̼̪̰͈̟̜͙͌́́̅̈́̔C̷̢̯͓̘̬͖̝̎K̶̳̖͓̘̝̗̀̓̈́̾̉̾̾͊͠͝Î̶͇͕͚̪̭̎N̴͉̟͍̻͇̚G̵̠̲̰͈̖̎͂͋̾ ̴̧̥͕̹̭̘̜͍̟̎̂̔͗̋̿̒B̶̢̦̤̥͕͉͋̂͌́́͂̈̔͠I̸̗̭̼͊̐͂̀̈́̐̏̐T̸̠̹͓̮̱̻̹̯͉̦̍̔̽̍̄͌̆C̸͍̩̉̈́̈́̄͒̓͑̾͝ͅḨ̴̦̙͉̫̪̫̇̀̄̈́̋͘!

Lucifer then collapses to his knees, clutching his throat as if he's drowning in searing heat. Confusion and desperation fill his voice as he struggles for breath.

Lucifer: How? *gasp* why? *gasp* -trusted-

There's a flurry of movement around him, voices overlapping and blending into a chaotic white noise. Amidst it all, someone speaks with a commanding tone, their words cutting through the haze.

Alastor: Listen to only me, my dear.

There was a faint humming of music? Was Alastor here?

Alastor: I'm here, my Majesty. Calm yourself. You need not to panic.

He's trying, he really is. But his ears are muddled and he can't understand anything anymore. Everything is happening all at once, leaving him disoriented and terrified.

As consciousness begins to slip through his grasp, the Sin of Pride feels a sense of detachment. A new presence moves in front of him, accompanied by a chorus of apologies that echo faintly in his ears.

A cool sensation brushes against his fevered forehead, offering a brief respite from the overwhelming heat and chaos. And with that fleeting moment of relief, Lucifer succumbs to the darkness.

Roo: How fun~

--------------------------------------

Transformation central! (Transformation central!)

Reformation central! (Reformation central!)

Transmogrification central!

[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Interlude.

GIFs by uuuhshiny

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: Flashback to the first erotic phone call between our favorite couple.

WORD COUNT: ~5k

RATING: 18+ Minors DNI.

TAGS: more phone sex to satiate our horniness, dirty talk is a given, masturbation (f&m), porn with feelings, lots of terms of endearment, javi thinks she's really pretty and perfect, fluff at the end because these two are in love and it sickens me (in the best way possible), you don't really need to read the main fic to enjoy this, if there's typos/grammatical errors just pretend that there's not, other things that i'm probably forgetting.

A/N: okay, listen, i couldn't help myself from writing this because it was living in my head rent free since i mentioned it in a previous chapter. this takes place between chapters 15 and 16 here on tumblr (17 and 18 on ao3 bc they don't match up, sadly) so, um, yeah 🙃 idk when the next real part of this will be out... but just know blood, sweat, and TEARS are being poured into it. lol anywho, my thoroughfare baddies, i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it 🖤 and alliigator tears by beyoncé definitely fits them like a glove. as always feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or ao3. i'd really appreciate it <3

♰  read on ao3. ♰

♰  playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

Javier leans back against the sticky leather of his couch, the phone pressed against his ear, his voice low and teasing. “So, is this the part where I’m supposed to ask what you’re wearing?”

Her soft giggle floats through the receiver, and he can almost see her biting her lip, playful yet coy. She shifts on her bed, the soft rustling of her sheets barely audible. “You can if you want,” she flirts, “but m’afraid you might be a little disappointed by my answer.”

He chuckles, “I doubt that. You could be wearing a potato sack, and I’d still think you’re the most beautiful girl to ever walk this godforsaken planet.” He’s anything if sincere and it makes her cheeks flush.

She toys with the cord of the phone, fingers tracing the spiral absentmindedly as she tries (and fails) to suppress the smile spreading across her face. “Y’know, Marilyn Monroe did that once,” she informs, leaning back into her pillows. “Just to prove a point.”

“Yeah?” he questions, taking a sip from his beer, “And what point was she trying to make?”

“That she looked good in anythin’.”

“Seems like you two have that in common, then.”

Her laugh is magnitzing, drawing him in. “That’s like, one of the best compliments you can give to a girl.”

“Being compared to Marilyn Monroe? Really?”

“Mhm.”

“Well I’ll tell you right now— you run laps around her.”

Her blush deepens, staring up at the ceiling in a futile attempt to calm the butterflies fluttering wildly in her stomach.

“Oh, stop it.” He always makes her feel like she’s crushing for the very first time.

The soft hum of the phone line hangs between them, a balm against the ache of being apart. Talking over the phone just isn’t enough anymore. Not after tasting each other, not after knowing what it feels like to reach euphoria together.

It’s become almost unbearable to stay away, more difficult than ever before.

He can almost feel the heat of her skin, the way her chest rises and falls with each breath. He imagines her sprawled out on her bed, hair fanned out like a halo, lips parted just so.

“Just saying how it is.”

Her hand tightens around the receiver, heart pounding in her chest. She isn’t exactly sure how to navigate this type of call. She can sense it escalating it into more… naughty territory just by the way tension is building over the line. 

It’s something she’s always been curious about, eager to explore, but she’s never had a boyfriend or lover who made her feel bold enough to try it.

And now she has one of the two who is more than willing to indulge.

“What about you?” she whispers in a sultry tone— an attempt to sound confident and not embarrassed. “What are you wearing?”

“Not much,” he admits, the shift in her voice enticing him, which in turn has blood pooling at her cheeks. “Sweatpants, a college t-shirt,” he pauses for a moment, “Thinking about you.”

She bites her lip, the image of him lounging comfortably in his space looking handsome as hell without trying, so close yet so far, sending a thrill through her. “I’m flattered… what exactly are you thinkin’ about?”

“How one of these days I’m going to be selfish enough to keep you in my bed all night. Treat you the way you deserve.” His cock stirs at his own imagination, memories of their date clouding his mind like a beautiful and welcomed storm. “I’m always thinking about you, sweet girl… every inch of you.”

She blinks rapidly. “Javi,” she breathes, “can’t say things like that. Makes it real hard to wanna stay in my own bed tonight.”

“That’s the point,” he replies lowly, using a seductive tone that sends shivers dancing down her spine. “If I didn’t give a fuck about your dad, I’d sneak over and climb your window to show you just how much I want you.”

“I mean… you could…” Her eyes flit over to the open window of her bedroom, imagining his broad frame climbing through and taking her right here on her bed. Her thighs rub together.

“I don’t have a death wish.”

“Honey, dontcha think we’re past that by now?”

He smirks, taking another sip of his beer. “Not entirely in the clear.”

Right. And at the rate they’re going— he’ll never be.

Another bout of silence before he asks, “So… what are you wearing? Told you what I was sporting, it’s only fair that you return the favor.”

Her voice is soft, almost shy, as she answers, “Just a camisole and some sleep shorts.”

He paints a vivid picture of her in those simple clothes, clinging to her curves. It gets him hot all over. “You wearing any underwear?”

There’s a pause, her hesitation makes his pulse quicken. Then, her angelic whisper replies “... No.”

A grunt escapes his lips. “I just know you’re looking real cute right now laying in bed.”

Her lips curl into a small, mischievous smile, “Who said I was layin’ in bed? Could be on the couch… or in the kitchen…”

Javi chuckles knowingly. “You wouldn’t be speaking so freely if that were the case.”

She hums, the sound vibrating through the line, “Hmmm, I guess you’re right.”

Her fingers play with the delicate bow at the front of her camisole, a teasing thought crossing her mind. “There’s a bow tied to the front of my top,” she murmurs seductively, “If I undo it, my tits will spill out.”

A low growl rumbles in his chest. “What a fucking sight that’d be. They’re gorgeous.”

She chews on her lower lip, lightly tugging at the tied string, the tension in her body building. “Yeah?”

“Hell yeah,” words drip with intent. “Love feelin’ them in my hands. Wanna bite and lick all over them, mark them up. Know I’d be able to make you come just by playing with ‘em.”

Her thighs twitch instinctively, a wave of arousal washing over her. She can almost feel his hot breath against her skin, the way his teeth would graze the hardened nub of her nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive area before suckling it into his mouth. The image sends a jolt of pleasure straight to her core, her breath growing ragged.

His smirk is damn near audible as he hears her reaction over the line. “What’s wrong, baby? Wasn’t expecting that?”

She swallows hard, “You and that fucking mouth of yours, Javi.”

Another dark chuckle, words coming out in a low purr. “That’s not even the filthiest thing I could have said.”

Curiosity and arousal bubble within her. “What is, then?”

His voice drops even lower, “I’d latch right onto those pretty tits, querida. Fuck you with my fingers ‘til your pussy is crying for my cock.”

Her hand tightens around the phone, eyes fluttering closed as she lets the scenario he’s planted in her mind take over. The thought of his fingers inside her, stretching her, teasing her, making her lose control, is almost too much to bear.

“Wouldn’t take much— I promise you,” she tells him.

A satisfied laugh rings through the receiver. “Gotta build your tolerance up. It’d be too easy to just give you what you want every time.”

The faint thudding of her neglected clit is slowly but surely driving her crazy. She needs to touch herself, or hell, sneak out her damn self and drive to his place just to have him fuck her.  “S’not very nice to torture me, cowboy.”

“I’m not torturing you, my spoiled girl,” he tilts his head, fingers drumming along the tattered fabric of the armrest, “It’s gonna make it that much better when I finally give you what you need. Gotta warm you up first. Tease you.”

She blows out a breath, heart skipping a beat as he calls her his spoiled girl.  “You do enough of that by not doin’ a goddamn thing. So fuckin’ annoying.”

“I can say the same to you. Damn near half hard any time you’re around.”

She giggles and he smiles, “Does that mean you tug one out when I leave ya?”

“Sometimes… most of the time…”

“And now?” She asks a little boldly.

“With the direction this call is goin’ in, I was hoping we could indulge in that together.”

Her breathing picks up again and attuned as ever, he notices. “You ever done this before, palomita?”

She hesitates, her thumb tracing the curve of the phone. “No,” she admits, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. “Not like this.”

There is a beat of silence, and then his soft, reassuring voice breaks her nervousness.  “That’s okay, hermosa. I’ll talk you through it. Just listen to me, and I’ll take care of everything. I’ll take care of you.”

I’ll take care of you. His words are like a warm embrace, wrapping her in a sense of assurance. Her body tingles with curiosity, nerves, and growing desire. “Okay,” she whispers, her voice small but eager.

He hums, finishing off his beer and placing the empty bottle aside. “Now, I want you to do something for me. Pull the string on your top. Let your tits spill out, princesa.”

Her fingers tremble slightly as she tugs at the string, letting it fall open, pulling the fabric beneath her breasts. The cool air kisses her bare skin, making her shiver.

“Okay, they’re out.”

“So compliant. Me encanta.” He praises tenderly. “Fuck me, I wish I could see you right now. Bet you’re lookin’ good enough to eat.”

A soft whimper spills from her lips, the praise stirring something deep inside her. “Javi,” she breathes, body already aching for more and nothing has happened yet.

“Shhh, just keep listening, baby. Now, slide your shorts down. I want you laying there, all soft and naked, just for me.”

She follows his instructions again, mind swimming with ardor as she kicks off her shorts. She lays back against the pillows, her body exposed for whatever he’s about to throw at her. “Okay, they’re off.” She informs, coyly.

“There we go. Don’t be shy.” He hears it plain as day in her voice. He’s so used to her sharp tongue, her playful teasing when she’s strutting around town like she owns the place. But here, on the phone, she’s different— modest… compliant. He fucking loves that he can elicit this facet of her personality. 

His large hand palms at his erection over the fabric of his sweatpants. “Doing so good. You ready to hear what I’d do to you if I was there?”

Her breath is ragged as she nods, realizing he can’t see her. “Yes,” she whispers.

“I’d kiss you slow at first,” he begins, “down that pretty neck of yours, taking my time, tasting your skin. Always so sweet. Like strawberries and honey all over.” He grunts, squeezing his dick, practically tasting what he’s just described on the tip of his tongue.

Her eyes flutter closed again, her body responding to his every word. Picturing him hovering above her, his lips grazing her neck… she can’t help but let her hand come down to grope her own breast, kneading the full, warm flesh with her free hand. “Oh…” an airy gasp tumbles from her.

“You touchin’ yourself, palomita.”

“Mhm.”

“And when did I give you permission to do that?”

Her eyes snap open, “I-I—”

“It’s okay, I’ll let it slide this time,” he licks across his teeth and she shudders.

This time. Will there be more times? God, please let there be more times.

“What are you touchin’ on?”

“My tits.”

He groans, squeezing his cock, “Fuckin’ perfect. Could spend hours between them. I’d suck those pretty nipples into my mouth, just the way you like.”

Her body arches as if his mouth were already on her. She moans his name and he revels in it, “It feels so good… just hearing you.”

“I know it does,” he says, a cocky smile in his voice. “ I love hearing all your sweet noises. Making me so proud, cariño. Reward yourself by rubbing your clit.”

His words make her bolder, her inhibitions slipping away as lust takes over. “I wish you were here so bad,” she whines, manicured fingers moving down her toned body until they’re between her legs and she spreads her thighs, exposing herself.

When she reaches her clit, her eyes widen at how wet she is— almost not believing how worked up he’s able to get her. Her tone grows needier as she begins to rub wide, slow circles against her sensitive pearl. “I wanna feel you inside me, Javi. Want you to make love to me.”

His breath shudders, the tenderness in her voice slicing through the heated tension. Make love. The words hit him in a way he’s never felt before. He can’t remember the last time someone asked for that— hell, he doesn’t think he’s ever done it. Not with Lorraine, not with Helena, not with anyone. He’s always been about the rough, fast release, the urgency of a quick fuck.

Slowing down, savoring each moment? It never seemed like his thing.

Too intimate.

But now, with Paloma’s soft moans in his ear as she touches herself under his guidance, it’s different. She’s saying his name like it’s sacred, begging him not just to fuck her, but to make love to her. And for the first time, the idea makes him want to lose control in the gentlest way possible.

What a sight she must be sprawled out with her hand between her thighs. “Fuck, I’d love nothing more. You’d feel so damn good wrapped around my dick. I’d go slow. Let you feel every inch of me stretching out your tight cunt, chiquita.”

She mewls, clenching around nothing and slowly picking up the pace with her fingers, smearing her sticky arousal around her pussy, spreading her folds and massaging her labia. “No one’s ever made me feel the way you do, honey. I’ve never wanted anyone like this.”

Her words hit him like a shot of adrenaline, stroking his ego. It drives him wild. “Don’t tell me that,” he growls, his voice strained. “Not when I can’t do anything about it.”

His head falls back against the couch, his teeth gritting as he forces himself to slow down, schooling his hand movements so he doesn’t come so soon. That’s how much power she has over him— how much she gets under his skin in the best way possible.

And it’s killing him that she’s not here, that he can’t reach out and feel her, make good on all the promises in his head and on his tongue.

“You’re everything, Paloma. I’d make you feel like the only woman in the world because that’s what you are to me.”

Her chest tightens, lust and emotion wracking against her ribcage. “You’re the best I’ve ever had,” she admits shakily, words laden with sincerity. And I’ve only fucked him twice!

He lets out a low groan, finally pulling his cock out from the restricting fabric and he pumps slowly, tightening his fist around the heated skin as precome squirts out from his slit. “Damn, palomita. You don’t know what you’re doin’ to me. You’re so perfect. Everything about you is perfect.”

Her confidence soars at his words, body humming. “I’d do anything for you.”

“You don’t have to do a thing but be yourself,” He says this so sincerely, it’s almost painful. “You’re already everything I need, nena. Just you, laying there, listening to me… that’s all I want. Still touchin’ on that pretty pussy?” Just asking her has his shaft twitching in his calloused palm.

The intimacy of his words makes her feel cherished and adored in a way she had never felt before, yet the crudeness of his question makes her feel sexy and desired.

“Y-Yeah.”

“She wet?”

“You know she is.”

“Suck and spit on your fingers then, fuck—” he cuts himself off with a groan, adjusting the phone to rest between his shoulder and ear to bring his hand down to cradle his balls while he picks up the pace at which he’s fucking his fist, “put two inside. Slowly. I want to hear you spit on them.”

She can only assume that he’s also touching himself, and envy curls in her belly— jealous of his hand for being able to have him in a way that she hasn’t yet. 

Her skin prickles as she obeys, her digits messy as they slide up to her mouth. She licks them deliberately, exaggerating the motion so he can hear the wet suction of her lips around her fingers before she spits and some of it dribbles down her hand. The sound is shameless, and it earns her a sharp curse in Spanish from him.

“Dios mío...” His voice is ragged, barely holding on to control. “I want you to spit on my cock like that when I fuck your throat, corazón.”

“Oh my god,” her back bends as she sinks two of her fingers inside her cunt, and while it feels good— it’s nothing compared to how his had felt. So thick and full and calloused. “Javi,” feeling more comfortable, she continues, “I know you’ve got your cock in your hand,” another grunt from him and a ghost of a smirk haunts her plump lips, “Wanna hear you spit in your hand and wrap it around him. Can you do that for me?” She asks, oh so sweetly, almost echoing his words to a T.

He almost comes then and there, that lilt in her tone and the presumable pout on her lips making him feel like he’s dreaming.

He can envision her looking up at him through those thick lashes of hers, mouth parted while his heavy cock hovers over her face. “‘Course baby. Anything for you.”

He brings his palm to his mouth, spitting into it obscenely, and the sound earns a quiet, satisfied sigh from her. The added wetness makes it easier for him to stroke himself, his grip tightening as he imagines her lips around him. “Add another finger,” he demands, “Know you can take it. Just how you take this dick, babygirl.”

Her ring finger joins her pointer and middle, a slight burn comes with the stretch, the pad of her thumb grazing her clit and it makes her hips buck upwards, breasts swaying with the movement and she almost lets the receiver slip from her grasp. “Oh honey, this feels fuckin’ amazin’.”

“The things I’d do to be there with you. Wouldn’t even touch you. Just stand there watching as those pretty fingers get swallowed by that tight pussy.” She gasps, curling her fingers and just barely brushing up against that soft spot that makes stars dance in her eyes. The spot he so easily finds and pleasures as if it’s nothing. Like a fucking expert.

“Turn over. On your stomach,” he instructs, twisting his wrist and shuddering at how good the motion feels on his dick. “Put that fine ass in the air.”

She’s dizzy, his instruction almost muddled from the pleasure she feels by fingering herself. She pulls her digits out, core aching from the sudden emptiness. 

She lets the phone slip from her grasp, shuffling onto her stomach, her knees trembling as they dig into the mattress while her ass lifts into the air. The texture of her comforter brushing against her sensitive nipples makes her keen and he hears the faint whine over the crackle of the landline and that makes him dizzy.

She’s never gotten herself off like this before, and her nerves dissolve into excitement as she calls out for him again, phone tucked against her ear, one cheek pressed against the mattress, fingers eagerly awaiting further instruction.

“Put those fingers back inside, baby. I want you to pretend it’s me. Feel how tight you are, how badly your pussy needs me to fill her.”

She writhes under his command, cheeks flushed with arousal, as her hand moves between her legs once more. She slides three fingers inside again, her wet heat wrapping around them, hips instinctively rocking to meet her own touch. “Oh God, Javi,” she moans, quivering as she imagines it’s him, his cock stretching her, buried deep inside her completely.

“That’s it,” he growls, his own hand moving faster, jerking himself with the same intensity he imagines she’s giving herself. “Now bounce on them, pretend it’s my dick.”

She swivels her hips, keeping her wrist locked tight to keep her fingers upright as she begins to ride them in this position. It feels so good, better than anything she could have ever fucking imagined. “Oh jesus fuckin’ christ— Javier I’m not gonna last long, oh fuck—” her words taper off into a loud moan.

He chuckles, dark and husky. “Quiet down before your daddy hears you,” he warns, the thrill of being caught only adding to the fire between them.

She bites her lip hard, body trembling as she tries to keep the pleasure at bay, stifling the sounds that threaten to escape. The phone digs into her ear, his voice the only thing keeping her grounded in the storm of her own lust. “I can’t… it feels too good,” she whispers, breath ragged as her hips buck uncontrollably against her hand.

“I know, princesa,” he purrs, soothing yet commanding. “But you’ve gotta be quiet for me. You don’t want anyone knowing how dirty you’re bein’ right now, do you?”

She shakes her head, even though he can’t see, teeth sinking into her lip to keep her moans at bay. The phone slips slightly from her, resting inches away from her face, his voice still filling her ear as if he were right there with her.

“Wanna ride you so bad,” she’s so drunk off dick she’s getting through a phone call and lewd instructions, “Might not come close to any of your previous whores but I promise I’d make it worth your while.” 

The second she says it, a flicker of insecurity tightens her chest. She doesn’t know where the jealousy comes from, but it’s there, bubbling up from the small pit of doubt she carries inside. Being with a man like Javier— someone who’s been engaged, lived a life so far removed from her small-town world, who knows his way around a woman’s body like second nature— it makes her feel out of her depth.

He’s been with women who’s entire job was to know exactly how to please a man. He’s so confident, so sure of himself, and here she is, fumbling through dirty talk over the phone, trying to measure up to whatever came before her.

How could a small-town girl like her ever compare? She bites her lip, feeling the weight of that doubt creep in, even in the middle of something so intimate.

But she says it anyway, wanting him to know. Wanting him to understand that despite her uncertainty, she’d give him everything.

“Not come close?” He scoffs, “fuckin’ crazy, palomita. You’re already lightyears better than any of ‘em.” He leans over, letting a string of spit fall onto the head of his cock before his fist returns to the quicker strokes he craves. Each movement is fueled by the mental image of her submitting to his every command. “I’d bend you over and pound into you so hard, you wouldn’t be able to think straight. I’d watch that sweet ass bounce back against me, see the way it moves with every thrust.”

His reassurance cuts through the lingering haze of her insecurities. The doubt fades away, replaced by a surge of raw desire. She moans, body rocking against the bed, imagining him behind her, his hands gripping her hips as he takes what he wants.

“Oh yes!” she gasps, her free hand finding her clit, fingers circling it in sync with the thrust of her other hand buried inside her. She’s desperate, moving faster, harder, matching the intensity of his voice in her ear. “I’d take you any way you want. Any way, just to feel you inside me again.”

He curses under his breath, large hand moving with a newfound urgency as he tries to prolong his own orgasm, wanting to hold on just long enough to hear her come undone first. “You’d let me fuck you from behind, wouldn’t you? Let me spank that pretty ass ‘til it’s red, leave my handprints all over your soft skin.”

“God, yes,” she cries, her body trembling with every thrust of her fingers. She feels the pressure building, the tight coil in her belly about to snap. “I’d take it all, Javi. I’d let you fuck me so hard. Scream ‘til my throat is raw, ‘til the only thing I know is your name.”

“You’d be so loud,” he grunts. “I’d have to cover your mouth to keep those pretty screams quiet, wouldn’t I? You’d be cryin’ for me, beggin’ me to stop, but you wouldn’t want me to. You’d love every second of it.”

Her body jerks at his words, digits moving faster as her climax approaches. “S’hard to keep quiet when I’m bein’ fucked by a cock so good. Need you to fill me up,” she gasps, her voice breaking as the pleasure overwhelms her. “Oh shit, I’m gonna come.”

He curses, his own body teetering on the edge as he imagines himself pumping her full of his cum, pulling his cock out and watching his spend drip down onto her pretty pussy. Fuck. “Go on, get yourself off,” he urges, his tone both commanding and tender. “Let me hear you fall apart. You’re doin’ so good for me. I wanna hear you come, palomita.”

With a final thrust of her fingers, her body shatters, her orgasm ripping through her as she mewls his name, her entire being convulsing, shuddering from head to toe. “Javier… oh my God,” she moans, barely contained, as she buries her face in the pillow to muffle the sound.

He lets out a low, primal growl as he follows her over the edge, his body tensing with his own release. “Fuck, Paloma,” he pants, milky spurts dripping over his knuckles, voice filled with both relief and satisfaction.

Hearing her name fall from his lips like that damn near takes her out.

“You’re perfect, baby. So fuckin’ perfect.” He babbles, trying to even out his breathing.

She lies there, her body utterly spent, her breath coming in stuttering gasps, the aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through her like soft waves.

“Jeez, that was…” She tries to find the words, but they seem to hang just beyond her reach. Heaven. She feels like she’s floating somewhere between realms, tethered only by the soft, steady tone of his voice.

“Yeah,” he breathes, understanding and satisfied. “You don’t even have to say it, nena. I know.” He pauses for a second, and she can almost hear the smile tugging at his lips. “Fuck, give me a second. I gotta clean up this mess I made.”

She giggles, a playful note in her voice as she bites down on her lower lip. She slowly pulls her fingers from her sensitive pussy, savoring the last of the sensation. She brings them to her lips, licking at them. “Take your time. I just cleaned my mess up.” The purposeful loud, wet pop of her lips around her fingers makes him groan in appreciation.

“Evil woman,” he mutters, leaving the phone by the couch as he rushes to clean up in the bathroom. The sounds of running water and his quick movements fill the background before he returns.

She turns to lie onto her back, stretching her limbs like a lounging cat while fixing her top.

“You there?”

“Mhm,” she hums, content and satisfied.

“You did so good, princesa,” he praises very pridefully. “Especially for your first time doing this. You were amazing.” His words are sincere, the tenderness unmistakable.

She feels a flutter in her chest, her heart skipping at the praise. Hearing how pleased he was makes her glow with pride. “Really?” she asks a bit bashfully.

“Really,” he confirms, the smile in his voice clear. “I knew you’d be amazing, but damn, you blew me away.”

She’s over the moon, her cheeks flushing with excitement. “I can’t wait to do it again,” she admits, her eagerness bubbling to the surface now that the initial nervousness has faded.

“We won’t have to just do this over the phone for much longer. We’ll have all the time in the world to do whatever we want together. No rushing, no holding back, no sneaking around.” There’s a warmth that coats his words, that speaks to more than just the physical side of their relationship. While the thought of tangling up with her in the comfort of his sheets sounds like fucking paradise, it’s not what he’s most eager for.

What he’s looking forward to, more than anything, is being able to walk hand-in-hand with her in the open, to take her out in public, proudly. To share with the world how happy she makes him, how proud he is to have such a remarkable woman by his side. Never one for public displays of affection before— he’s always been too guarded, too private— but with her, everything’s different. She’s shifting his perspective on so much, and though it unsettles him sometimes, he’s found he doesn’t mind the change. Not with her.

“Anything you want. Whether it’s in bed or out. You being content is all I care about.”

Her heart stirs, fluttering with emotion at the way he always puts her needs first, making sure she’s more than content. It’s that selflessness of his, the way he cares for her, that has her falling even harder. He always brushes it off, insisting he’s the opposite, but she sees through that. He’s good to her— so much more than he gives himself credit for.

“You make me feel so special,” she murmurs softly as she stares up at the ceiling, a dreamy smile playing on her lips. “It’s like you always know exactly what I need.”

“That’s because you are special, Paloma,” the sincerity of his words making her chest ache in the best way. “You deserve that and more. I just wanna make sure you’re always happy.”

She swallows hard, feeling the weight of what he’s saying. There’s no doubt in her mind anymore. She’s in love with him— completely. How could she not be? He’s everything she never knew she needed: protective, caring, and so damn thoughtful, even when he’s not trying to be. It’s like second nature to him.

He lets out a soft, almost bashful laugh, a sound so rare it makes her stomach tighten. “You just don’t know how lucky I am to have you.” There’s a vulnerability in his voice that catches even him by surprise. “I adore you so much.”

The openness in his confession after everything that’s just transpired between them, hits her like a wave. She’s used to the way he keeps his emotions guarded, but this side of Javier— the unguarded, raw version— is something new, something precious. Maybe it’s the clarity that comes after the release, or maybe it’s been simmering inside him for a while now, but he feels compelled to express it, to let her know how deeply she’s embedded herself in his life.

And it’s uncharacteristic for him, this kind of vulnerability. He’s always been the strong, silent type, the one who doesn’t talk about his feelings unless absolutely necessary. But her, in her gentle, unassuming way, has a way of bringing it out of him, coaxing him to show sides of himself he’s kept hidden for years. Just like he can draw out her vulnerability in sex, she shines a light on his softer edges, the parts of him that long to be known, to be seen.

“Now get some rest,” he continues, his words a tender caress. “I’ll see you soon.”

She blinks rapidly, her vision blurring as her eyes well up with unshed tears. There’s an overwhelming sense of gratitude and love swelling in her chest, making it hard to breathe for a moment. He’s not the kind of man to throw words around carelessly— when he says something like this, it holds weight, it means something.

A part of her, the cautious part that’s been guarding her heart, once would have hesitated, would have put up a wall to protect herself from getting hurt again. But there are no warning bells going off this time. No second-guessing that they’ve both crossed a threshold where they’re truly seeing each other for who they are— flaws and all. And it’s enough.

“And I adore you, Javi.” They’re not saying the word love just yet, but it’s there, nestled between the lines of their words. For now, this is enough. It works for them

“Goodnight, cowboy,” she adds with a soft smile, the familiar endearment laced with warmth and affection.

“Goodnight, palomita. Sweet dreams.”

They linger for a moment, neither one wanting to hang up just yet, their shallow breathing filling the line.

“Thank you… for everything,” she murmurs without really thinking, not just thanking him for tonight, but for proving to her that she was more than just another woman being used to exorcise his demons.

He lets out a soft snort, “If anyone should be thanking someone, it’s me to you, cariño,” he says, his voice gentle yet firm. “For giving me a second chance. I know I don’t deserve redemption, but I’d move heaven and earth for you. You know that, right?”

Her heart skips a beat, overwhelmed by his convinction. She knows, without a doubt, that he’s telling the truth. He’s already done enough to show his sincerity, and she feels that trust settling in her bones now.

There’s no hesitation. Just a quiet, steadfast belief that this— whatever they’re building— is real, and it’s good.

“I know, Javi. I know.”

And with that, they finally hang up, leaving both of them with a sense of newfound sense of peace. Hearts feels lighter, fuller, and as she lies back against the pillows, she can’t help but smile, knowing that with him, she’s found that something she’s always yearned for.

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

I'm Your Man - Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal x OFC - Chapter 17

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 |-| Chapter 18

AO3

Warnings: None!

Word Count: 2.9k

Tags: @mads-weasley @xxluckystrike @curaheehee @footprintsinthesxnd @dcyllom @storysimp @latibvles @love-studying58 @justheretoreadthxxs @ginabaker1666

A/N: I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE, TURN IT UP!!!

The hut door was thrown open with a slam, sunlight flooding inwards in a long, warm streak, forming a halo around Frankie's head as she marched inside, still stained with an unsightly combination of sweat and oil after a long morning's work. Rosie and Croz were stood around the end of a bed, arms folded and paying close attention to the familiar blonde as he rose to stand. At her arrival, the three turned, a grin creasing Cleven's cheeks.

"He-hey!" She cheered, arms outstretched as she reached him, enveloping one another in a tight embrace. "Didn't think I'd be seeing your ugly mug around here any time soon."

"Frankie!" Buck let out a low chuckle, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. "Holdin' down the fort, I see. Although, I've heard I'm supposed to be callin' you Sergeant Rosenthal now?"

Loosening their grip on one another, she glanced back over her shoulder to where Rosie was sporting a self-satisfied smile. "Eh," Frankie shrugged teasingly. "He'll do."

Croz let out a snort at this. But they could talk about these things later - for now, there was a much more pressing matter at hand. Ponytail rolling over her shoulder, Frankie turned her head this way and that, scanning the bunks for another familiar face, one she was desperate to see more than anything.

"Where's Bucky?"

'Cleven's back', they'd told her.

She'd never imagined he could have come alone.

It had never been the way of things - Buck and Bucky, they came as a pair, always. It was losing Buck that had driven Bucky away on that final flight, losing Buck that had sent him to share his fate. After all that, the thought hadn't even occurred to her that one would make it back without the other.

But the room was empty.

"Frank," Harry sighed. She felt Rosie's hand on her shoulder, instinctively reaching for it, but it wasn't until she saw the look on Buck's face - brow furrowed morosely - that she truly realised her error.

"... Oh."

"He got turned around," Cleven frowned. "Took down a guard before he could stop me from runnin'. He's the reason I made it back at all."

"That sure sounds like him," Frankie forced a chuckle, her smile never reaching her eyes. She hadn't quite realised how deeply she had missed her friend until, for a moment, she'd thought he had returned. Now every moment without him felt like torture. "... He's ok though, right?"

"Yeah, when isn't he?" Buck shrugged.

They mirrored the same, grim expression.

He wasn't fooling anyone.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"You sure you're all good about this?" Rosie asked the next morning, standing beside her at the sink in the mechanics' hut, holding one of her filth-covered hands in his as he splashed some more hot water across her palm, scrubbing at the dirt. The first time he'd tried to do this, Frankie had laughed, finding the ritual of it somewhat ridiculous. But she had to admit, an extra pair of hands got the job done much better.

"About you helping to prevent the Dutch from starving? Pretty good about it, honey," Her brow furrowed, reaching for the brush to get at the grime beneath her fingernails.

"About me flying over while the Krauts aren't stickin' to the flak truce," Rosie stated, and she could feel him staring at the side of her face.

After he'd been shot down, she had refused to step foot inside a plane, only returning to her regular work the week after the wedding. Nothing felt the same anymore, not when it was almost impossible to look at the bombers without imagining that terrible moment when Rosie realised he was going down - that if he didn't jump, he'd never survive the fall. Having him here, beside her again, made it bearable, but she couldn't find that love she'd once had - that passion for planes she'd discovered as a girl, propelling her all the way here, to the job that brought her all of the very best people in her life. That was heartbreak in itself.

And now that there was a chance he could go down again? She wasn't entirely sure how she was managing to breathe.

"Y'know," Frankie sighed, skin growing slightly sore as she scrubbed hard at it - he was always gentler. "I wasn't gonna tell you this in case it went to your head, but Kidd told me once that you're the best B-17 pilot he's ever seen. Ever."

Rosie smirked, shrugging nonchalantly. "Well, baby, you didn't need Jack to tell you that," He teased.

"Thank you for always proving me so right," She huffed, delivering a quick, casual peck to his lips, so fast that he was still tilting his head into the kiss by the time she'd pulled away. "My point is - you always come back. Every single time - it doesn't matter what's happened, you've always made it back sooner or later. You told me once that you thought I was the reason you're still alive. D'you still think that?"

"I married you, didn't I? Gotta keep my good luck charm," Rosie tugged her freshly cleaned hand away from the sink, bringing it to his lips as he pressed a long kiss to the back of her still-wet palm, soap bubbles clinging to his moustache. Frankie laughed, tearing her hand from his grip to wipe them away, too distracted to notice the way he beamed at her - the way he always did.

"Get outta here, go do your job," She chuckled, shaking her head slightly.

"Yes ma'am," He grinned, cupping her cheeks with dripping wet hands as he pressed another kiss to her forehead. As he began to walk away, she splattered a handful of water at him in retaliation, leaving dark patches across the back of his jacket as he let out a laugh of his own.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The jeep radio hummed softly, muffled by the general buzz of the airstrip nearby. George and Frankie sat silently, arms folded across their chests, feet propped up against the dashboard, watching on silently as they sipped from a shared flask of tea.

"... How long does it take to get there and back, d'you think?" Frankie asked after a while, piercing the quiet.

"Fuck if I know. Never been to Holland," George shrugged, picking at a slight fray in the cuff of her jacket.

"We should go on holiday together when this is over."

George snorted. "Oh, yeah, 'cause we get paid so well - we can definitely afford that."

"You forget I'm married to a hotshot lawyer now," Frankie smirked.

A glint shone in George's eye. "... I like your thinking, Rosenthal."

She was about to speak again, when the familiar humming of plane engines split the air, her brow beginning to furrow. It wasn't even close to when she'd expect the mission to return. Furthermore, the plane that gradually came into view was definitively not a B-17. A frown creased Frankie's expression.

"What the...?"

Beside her, George had begun to grin. "What's that face for?" Frankie prodded.

George's cheeks were flushed red as she sat up straight, turning in her seat to face her. "Ok, please don't be pissed at me for not telling you about this, I just... I really wanted to see your face."

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

"Will you just go over there?" She scoffed, turning to watch the runway as the plane came in to land. "You're so bloody clueless."

Frankie's frown seemed a newly permanent fixture on her face as she clambered from the jeep, glaring at George all the while as she wandered closer, footsteps thumping against the tarmac. The plane had rolled to a stop, the hatch flung open as men began to pile out, each one more bedraggled looking than the last. At first, they seemed a sea of equally unrecognisable figures, but as she drew closer, their features began to come into focus.

... Is that DeMarco?

"Shortcake?"

Frankie turned at the voice, eyes wide.

And there was that familiar head of curls again.

The sound that escaped her throat was some kind of terrible, bird-like screech, but neither of them found time to dwell on it as Bucky bounded towards her, sweeping her clean off the ground as they leapt into an embrace, spinning until they were dizzy.

"Holy shit!" Frankie laughed, face burning as she wrapped her arms around the back of his neck, squeezing hard enough to leave bruises. He didn't care.

She fell suddenly quiet, pausing for a moment before she wrenched herself out of his grip, stumbling a little as she landed back on the ground. "You didn't write me!" She cried, shoving him by the chest. "Motherfucker!"

Bucky's eyes widened into saucers, mouth flapping open and shut like a dying fish. "I-... I thought you were mad at me."

A look of abject horror contorted Frankie's expression for a moment before she let out an outraged huff, throwing herself back into his embrace. He accepted without a moment's hesitation, arms pressed against her so hard she thought she might burst.

"John Egan, one day you are gonna make some lucky girl very very irritated," She huffed, burying her face into his shoulder as a chuckle vibrated through his chest. "... You smell like shit, by the way."

"Thought so - at least it's me and not you this time, huh?" Bucky teased, grinning as she slapped him across the shoulder.

"You don't still have a bed... but you can shower in my hut, it's closer anyway."

"Show me the way, serge," He nodded, following alongside her as she beamed up at him, almost giddy at the prospect of having her friend returned to her.

"George!" Frankie yelled across the tarmac to where her friend was chatting with some of the mechanics. "I'm stealing the car!"

"I'm driving," Bucky stated.

"Hey, I've gotten better!" She protested.

"I didn't make it all the way back here to die at your hand. I'm drivin'."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The sound of shower spray echoing from the bathroom at the end of the hut cut off suddenly, and after a few minutes, Bucky reappeared, fresh shirt clumsily buttoned, tousling his hair with one of the towels. They were the only people in the hut, and Frankie waited patiently, sitting propped up against the headboard of her bed, feet tucked beneath her. As he reached her, he let out an exhausted groan, collapsing backwards onto the mattress with such force that she was almost catapulted upwards by the springs, a laugh escaping her throat.

Bucky lay there for a moment, damp hair leaving a mark on the sheets before he pushed himself upright, sitting cross-legged at the other end of the bed. The jacket he'd left behind was strewn across a chair in the corner, and she could tell he'd noticed it when he opened his mouth to speak before suddenly falling silent.

"... Is that my jacket?" He asked.

"Mhm," Frankie nodded, resisting the urge to smile at the way his eyes slowly narrowed.

"Do you... want it back?"

"Yes," Bucky nodded, bolting from the bed as he hurried to grab it, wrapping the familiar sheepskin around his shoulders.

"You kept this thing the whole time?"

She shrugged. "Cold winters."

"Tell me about it. Try Germany."

Frankie smiled up at him as he resumed his spot, hands folded in his lap. It was far too warm to wear the jacket today, but it seemed the novelty of having it returned was still too fresh for him to realise that.

"Catch me up, then. Gimme the highlights."

"Alright," She grinned, leaning back on her elbows. "Uh, ok... Y'know Rosie?"

"Rosenthal?" His brow arched. "Yeah."

"Well me and him, uh..." Frankie trailed off, shooting him a look as if to say 'y'know'.

Slight disgust distorted his expression. "Oh, Jesus Frank. I wanted you to make friends with the guy, not sleep with him."

A sharp guffaw escaped her. "In that case, you're really gonna hate my other news."

Reaching over to the nightstand, Bucky's gaze followed her hand as it dipped into the drawer, pulling out a plain wedding band tied to the end of a loop of ribbon.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" He blurted, glaring at the ring as if it had personally insulted him. "You got married without me?!"

"Well, I wanted you there!" Frankie protested. "But in fairness, love, it wasn't really about you."

"Oh, that's just rude. You should redo it."

"You want me to divorce my husband and re-marry him just so you can watch?"

"I think so, yeah... Does this mean everyone calls you Sergeant Rosenthal now?"

Frankie chuckled. "Well, it is my name."

He frowned. "Disgusting."

She let out a laugh, yanking away one of the pillows from behind her and swinging it at his head, making contact with a muffled thump. Before Frankie had time to think he'd swung it back, smacking her in the face as she let out a faint shriek, the pair sniggering at one another, hair standing on end from the static.

After a moment of this, she sobered, smile fading. "... I'm sorry, John."

Bucky's brow furrowed. "For what?"

"For what I said to you before you left. For making you feel like you couldn't write to me."

He sighed. "That's not why I didn't write to you."

"... It's not?"

"No. I didn't write to you 'cause I wanted you to remember me like I was before. I knew being in that place was fucking me over, and I didn't want you to think of me like how I was in there."

Frankie didn't quite know what to say to that. Pushing herself up on her knees, she leant forward, pulling him into another hug, his arms wrapping around her without hesitation.

She felt him suck in a deep breath, the air brushing against her neck as he readjusted his arms to hold her tighter, cheek pressing against her shoulder.

"Love ya, kid," Bucky muttered, so quiet it was hard to hear.

"I love you too," She assured him, rubbing a comforting hand against his back.

"Ah, this is so great," George's voice suddenly echoed, the pair leaping apart in surprise, brows raised as they turned to face her.

"How long have you been standing there?" Bucky asked.

"We should go to the pub tonight, when the others get back from Holland. Get the gang back together, yunno?" She declared as she crossed the room towards them, utterly disregarding his question.

"Oh, good idea," Frankie nodded, simply going along with the intrusion as if nothing had happened. "We'll invite Ken, and Harry - oh, you should see if DeMarco can come-"

"Benny ain't comin'," Bucky shook his head.

"Why not?"

"After eighteen months away you couldn't pry him away from his girl at gunpoint. Trust me, he's busy."

Frankie chuckled. "Fair enough. Just bring Cleven - drinks are on me."

"Yes ma'am."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The table they'd gathered around in the corner of the pub was scarcely big enough for half of them, but they made do - chairs pressed in so tightly it was near impossible to stand up, empty pint glasses filling every available space on the tabletop as they spoke over each other in a cacophony of chatter.

"- and so I spent two days pulling bird feathers outta the grille," Ken explained, the others laughing along with his story.

"Frank, you told me you'd gotten better at driving!" Bucky cried, shooting her an accusatory look.

"I have! Not my bloody fault that pheasants can't look where they're going!" She protested, oblivious to the way Rosie had met Egan's eye, shaking his head to confirm that she had not. His arms rested across the back of her chair, knuckled brushing against her back every now and then, their chairs forced so close together that she might as well have been sitting in his lap.

Nothing would ever be the same as it was. Every person at that table had changed in one way or another, for better or worse - but deep down, weren't they all the same? Weren't they all still the people they'd first met nearly two years ago, still the friends and family they'd fallen in love with? Their faces were tired. Their stories were of wartime, not the before. But they could still make each other smile. And as long as they could always sit at a little table like this in a dingy old pub and laugh together, what did it matter?

Frankie leant back in her chair, feeling Rosie's arm sling across her shoulder as she tilted herself towards him. Bucky's food brushed against her own beneath the table, and she met his eye with a smile. Ken told another stupid joke, the table erupting into laughter as George whacked him across the head with a flimsy cardboard coaster. A guilty, selfish part of her almost didn't want this all to end - didn't want them all to go their separate ways, knowing they'd likely never sit at a table together like this again once it was over.

But even if it was different, the love would always be the same.