#hUH uh shUCkS

[mondaymelon]

honestly this entire account is just a circus and you are the captive audience

[faeriekit]

Feet on the Ground

loose phic phight fill for @oldfashionedbattlehymn

warnings for: murder attempt, discussion of child death

********

Danny wakes up in a garbage bag.

It isn’t as gross as it sounds. Danny’s the only thing in there, and it’s not like the lack of air is going to kill him; he could rip his way out, but honestly, going intangible is just as effective and twice as easy.

And, of course, once he’s phased his way out of the dumpster behind the gas station, Danny is very, very grateful that he didn’t even try. Everything else in there is….eeugh. He shivers.

Well. It’s got to be early morning now—it’s dark. There’s no other cars on the highway. Even the gas station itself is closed, and the stars have already lost their spark.

Time to head home.

*

Danny wakes up behind the gas station. Again.

…Okay?

The first time, Danny had just assumed he’d fallen asleep somewhere weird while flying around the neighborhood, but a second time is a pattern. It’s definitely not his fault this time either, because there’s no way he would have duct taped his arms and legs together or slapped a gag on his mouth.

That’s kind of. Ominous.

Danny frees himself of the garbage bag first— and thank goodness he doesn’t have to breathe— he floats himself out of the bag and the dumpster, which had…thankfully been given a good scrubbing since last time? There’s some other trash, apparently, but nothing sharp enough to cut through his durable, tape-based bonds. It takes some finagling and some eye lasers for Danny to finally get his arms free.

And. Hoo Boy. There’s no more liberating a feeling than peeling tape off your mouth, even if your mouth skin kind of comes off with it and you bleed a little. But it’s fine! It’s green, which means it’ll heal.

Fabulous. Danny zooms off invisibly into the night, more than willing to put the night behind him.

*

…Okay, the third time is what makes it more than a coincidence.

Danny shucks out of the bruise-tight ropes around his wrists, torso, knees, and legs, spits out his gag, and flies home. He finally has to give into the inevitable, and attempts the last resort:

“Jazz?” he whispers, slowly rocking his sister in her bed. Jazz mumbles in her sleep.

“Jaaaaazzy…” Danny tries again, trying not to look either too spooky or too imposing. Jazz’s reflexes are such that—

The laser she keeps under her pillow goes off. Danny loses a few millimeters of hair, which means that her aim is getting better.

 He doesn’t have any trouble seeing in the dark (or, uh, not anymore, anyway), but it’s easy to see Jazz’s sleepy squint as she pulls herself somewhat upright. More like a shrimp with scoliosis, but, well. You know.

“Whuh,” Jazz asks. “...Danny?”

“Hey,” Danny whispers, a ghost at her bedside. Jazz grunts. “Uh. What does it mean when you keep waking up in a trash bag behind the gas station?”

Jazz blinks. Jazz rubs her eyes. Jazz blinks again, looking more sleepy than coherent but at least somewhat aware of her surroundings.

“Garbage bag?” Jazz asks blearily. “You were in a garbage bag?”

“Yeah,” Danny whispers back. “My legs were tied down?”

“...Danny, were you murdered?”

Danny stops.

“Huh?” says Danny.

*

“So, if you look here,” Tucker points out, finger not quite touching the glass of his CRT monitor, “That’s when Danny gets murdered.”

There is a collective eeew from the assembled viewers— Jazz, Sam, and Danny, all crowded in Tucker’s room.

“Yeah, Tucker agrees. The light from the black-and-white footage flashes in the reflection of his glasses. “Here’s where he’s tossed in…there. And this is when they tossed him in the dumpster.”

There’s no sound on the gas station surveillance footage, but Danny imagines that his body clanged on the way in. What the hell. Danny got murdered behind a gas station, and he didn’t even notice?!

They watch the archived footage of a Ford F-150 driving off the property, and then Danny’s dead body being unceremoniously tossed in a dumpster. It’s kind of surreal. No one had noticed. There was no one to report the crime committed.

“I can’t believe that guy just clocked you over the head, like that,” Sam points out. “It’s just a regular car jack. It shouldn’t have gotten you in the first place.”

The observation isn’t appreciated.

“Be nice! My brother was just murdered,” Jazz scolds. Danny doesn’t think she sounds as offended as she should be. “Either way, it’s certainly an attempted murder, if not a successful one. We have to do something.”

“…Can’t we just call the cops?” Tucker asks, turning away from the computer. “I mean. Look. That’s proof. We have proof right here.”

Sure enough, there is footage. Right there. There’s Danny’s murder, in 240p black and white.

“Where’s the body?” Sam asks dryly, and. Uh. That’s a problem they’ll have to solve.

Everyone looks at everyone else. No one has a good solution.

“…Do we have to do this?” Tucker realizes at the same second as the rest of them.

Jazz looks at Danny. Danny looks at Sam. Sam looks at Tucker.

Tucker stares back at them, entirely unenthused with the conclusion they’ve come to.

“…Okay then,” Jazz exhales. “How do you want to do this?”

*

Sam ends up on top of the gas station, a cell phone in her hand.

Tucker, PDA in hand, sits in Jazz’s passenger seat. The camera feed is ongoing and recording for posterity.

Jazz taps her fingers on the wheel of her car. There isn’t anywhere better to hide than down the road and around the corner, so she does, hoping that they’re on the other end of the road from whoever’s killing her brother every night.

Danny is, of course, wandering through the neighborhood.

Losing her baby brother—on purpose—is the worst thing Jazz can imagine. She feels sick. She wants to throw him into the car and speed away, and break every speed limit law in the county on her way out. She wants to pack him in bubble wrap and ship him expedited to France.

But she does leave her brother alone. She lets Tucker look over the footage as Danny roams around town, just as unaware and unsuspecting as his last few outings.

Tucker sees the man first.

He bolts upright, eyes on his PDA. “Jazz.”

Her head whips around. They watch, silently, as someone approaches Danny’s lone figure on the doorstep outside the gas station.

They can’t hear anything. That’s the scariest part.

“Call,” Jazz demands. Tucker does.

Doubtlessly, on the roof of the gas station, Sam is dialing too.

*

So. Danny knows this guy.

And. Uh. It’s kind of embarrassing; he’d asked if Danny was okay walking home alone at night a few hours before his dumpster wake-up call, and Danny had said it was fine.

Apparently, no, it wasn’t fine. That being said, Danny hadn’t been expecting a guy in a button-up and khakis to be the guy murdering him on the down low. He kind of looks like the dude who sells you televisions and burner phones at a Wal-Mart.

The guy comes all the way over to where Danny is sitting on the thin concrete step of the gas station. His breath fogs up from the weather and his eyes rake over Danny, up and down; down and up.

“Hey,” he says, looking all the world like any other concerned citizen. Danny’s heart throbs. “It’s cold outside. You need a ride back to town?”

“…No,” says Danny, who doesn’t.

“Your mom okay with you comin’ home late by yourself?” the man asks nervously, hands going to his hair.

Danny thinks about how many times he’s woken up in the dumpster. He thinks about seeing his own body on the camera tape. Prone. Dead.

“You still keep a car jack in your passenger seat?” Danny asks instead.

The man freezes. An attempted murderer he might be, but he’s not exactly an Oscar-winning actor. “What?”

“The car jack,” Danny repeats. He doesn’t know if he’s mad the man keeps targeting him, or whether he’s grateful Danny’s the only one who’s died so far. “It’s got a lot of sharp corners. They hurt, you know.”

The man…carefully laughs the statement off, but he looks. Nervous.

Danny doesn’t really need to confront him; he only has to stall long enough that Tucker or Sam can call the cops, so that they can see this man’s face and get him on the record. But.

There’s a part of Danny…

The man looks so human. Flush with blood. Solid enough to break. Fragile enough to be made broken.

Danny still resents being made dead. This man didn’t kill Danny—not in any way that mattered, but he’s an easy target.

He doesn’t breathe. The man watches a boy sit in the shadows of a building where he’s been dumping bodies, and Danny can taste his fear.

“It hurt a lot,” Danny says, and he isn’t referring to waking up in the bags every couple of mornings in the last few weeks. “It hurt so much. I was screaming.”

The man is silent.

“Do you like to hear the screaming?” Danny asks, suddenly curious. Did he care, if Danny had screamed, or if he had been too unaware to notice he was dying? Would he have cared, if there were others more breakable than Danny that he had hurt?

He doesn’t answer.

“I don’t like it,” Danny confesses. In a horrible way, it’s easy to tell his would-be murderer about his death—unlike Tucker or Sam, who witnessed it, or Jazz, who loves him, this man can’t be affected by Danny’s take on his own death. In fact, if he is hurt by the thought of Danny’s death…good. It’s better if he is. If there is remorse in him. “I don’t like to hear screaming. I screamed for so long, and so loud. It felt like forever.”

The man’s hands curl. He steps back.

Danny can’t help but to frown. If he leaves, the whole point of calling the cops will be for nothing, and he’ll be warier of coming back to where Danny’s body was dropped. “Where are you going?”

The man takes another step back. Danny rockets upright. He’s on his feet in seconds. “Weren’t you here for me?” Danny asks, genuinely confused, arms outstretched. “We’re here. You dumped me here over and over again.”

“Shut up,” the man snaps, startling the both of them with his volume. “He—you’re not real. You’re… Be quiet. I have real things to get done tonight!”

Danny’s dead heart throbs. Is there another dead kid? Did Danny let another kid get killed in Danny’s place? “Do you?”

The man loses his voice.

“We’re already here,” Danny points out. He steps closer—closer to the truck that drove his dead body around town, further from the dumpster where his body had been dropped. The disposal hadn’t been a funeral, but it’s closer than anything Danny’s ever had. “You’re here. I’m here. Aren’t you here for me?”

A choked breath. Danny gets closer. The ectoplasm in his skin is too warm and too cold—but he has no idea what he looks like from the outside. Is he glowing? Is he see-through? Does he just look like any other dead kid: a little too cold, a little too pale?

They’re eye to increasingly shorter eye. Up close, the man just looks like any other guy. Shaved in the face. Wrinkles around his eyes. A nose. A mouth.

Danny’s not afraid of him. His head tilts. “You’ve already killed me three times. What are you going to do now? I’ll just come back again. I won’t even notice. I died. I know what you look like—I know how to find you. It’ll be easy.”

The man’s pupils dilate—

And then there’re hands on Danny’s neck. And. It’s kind of painful, but Danny doesn’t have to breathe. So. He just kind of…pretends to be hurt?

He’s meant to be stalling for time. The cops are coming. All he needs is time.  

So Danny makes some somewhat dramatic sounds and kicks out with his feet, because a fight lasts longer than a passive victim. He lands a hit to the man’s stomach, and another to his chest—he doesn’t drop Danny the way Danny might have expected, but Danny isn’t going to run out of air, so this can last forever until the man lets go. Or does something.

“Stop— coming— back,” the man snarls, and suddenly sounds nothing like the dudes who man the tech counter at the Walmart. “I got you— you should be gone!” 

Danny is gone. But he’s also here. And he’s also been gone for a very long time, and he’s also getting choked out by a guy in a gas station parking lot. It’s been a rough few hours of waiting for this dude. He might as well make it worth it. 

So maybe his body turns a little translucent. Just a little. Just enough to see the streetlight through his skin, probably, and the hazy road behind them. 

Getting thrown to the concrete hurts, but, you know, not as badly as getting tossed into a wall by Skulker on a rampage. Danny’s barely going to be bruised after this. 

The guy runs to his car, and Danny frowns, scrambling back up, and, wait. Wouldn’t having bruises be better? As evidence? They better not heal too quickly, or else that’ll be it of his physical proof. 

“Where are you going?” Danny asks, more perplexed and angry than anything. Isn’t he supposed to try to kill the witness??

But the guy hauls butt into the cab of his truck— and then the lights go on and the tires start spinning, the engine roaring to life. 

If Danny wasn’t actively on camera at the moment, it would be easy to fly after the car. As it is, he’s pretty fast, but he’s not quite quick enough on his feet to chase after a pickup truck careening down the highway in the dark. 

The man’s gone in a few seconds. Honestly, Danny’s kind of annoyed about the whole thing. It would have been nice for it to work. 

Sam climbs down from the roof of the gas station, phone in her hand. “No, I just— he choked out my friend and drove off! Send someone over here already!! You— do you need the license plate again?!” 

Danny just looks at her. Sam covers her phone’s mic with a hand: “They’re saying five minutes,” she mouths. 

Great. 

Danny hunkers down, throat bruising, and Sam sits down beside him. They wait.  

By the time the cops pull into the gas station, the guy’s more than out of sight. Sam’s the one who takes the lead on dictating their story. Danny sort of doesn’t realize how out of it he is until someone tries to throw a shock blanket on him. He almost hits the guy square in the face— and Sam’s the one who has to catch his arm. 

Uh. Oops. 

Jazz and Tucker roll in, hardly pretending to have not been nearby; Jazz wraps her arms around him, and Danny lets her. 

Sue him. It’s late. He’s tired. 

“...And I can’t believe you weren’t able to get down the road in time to catch a man who choked out my best friend,” Sam snaps, which, aw! Danny’s a best friend. The cop she’s attempting to strip down for parts looks less sympathetic than Danny feels. “You’re barely a ten minute drive up the highway! What were you doing, meandering?” 

“No,” the cop grits out, eying Sam like a bug on his shoe. “We were telling the officer down the road what to look out for.” 

Apparently, jamming the gas down hard enough to bust your speedometer gets you pulled over at the speed check. 

The night is over before Danny knows it. Someone gets him to the station, someone takes photos of his bruises and takes his statement. Someone calls Mom and Dad and then Danny’s in the GAV, half asleep and exhausted beyond belief. 

He falls asleep on the couch, Mom’s fingers in his hair. 

*

It’s not like the Amity Park police tell them anything, but Jazz is the one who finds the report on the news. 

She records it on the TiVo for him. 

“Eustace Miller, from Tennessee,” Sam reads aloud, knee to knee on his couch. Tucker adjusts his glasses. “Looks like he was already on the run.” 

“Or as good as,” Tucker agrees quietly. “Looks like they’re pinning a couple of cold cases to him.” 

They watch; there’s pictures of him from his hometown, and from the towns he would visit on his joyride across the country. There were pictures of his family. There were pictures of kids Danny would never meet: kids who were already dead, and who had been for months. Years, even. 

They’d looked so happy in the photos from when they were alive. 

…Danny could relate. 

Jazz turns the report off that night, thumb on the power button. And that’s all it takes for Danny to stop waking up in a trash bag. 

[bucknastysbabe]

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Let's play who's the sidepiece?, Aegon has half of King's Landing and his sister has one (1) man, humor, strong themes of sexism/patriarchy/gender roles, infidelity but casual?, jealous jealous jealous Aeg, who is also a self-absorbed idiot, Aemond just wants peace, pnv!sex, Incest need I say more, manipulation, degradation, rough sex, oral sex (m!receiving), a bit toxic at the end but they do love each other.

Taglist: @arcielee @aemonds-holy-milk @fairysluna @valeskafics @dr-aegon @targaryen-madness @starogeorgina @lovelykhaleesiii @sugarpoppss2 @thought--bubble

Divider by @saradika

Aegon was suspicious. Sure, he fucked whenever and however he wanted. Regardless of outside activities, something was off in his meticulously planned life. Planned by others, of course, he couldn't give a rat's ass. The prince just had been wed to his sister, the less strange one. She was suspiciously…competent in bed. He could swear she was supposed to be a maiden. She was- bled during the bedding ceremony when he first fucked her.

But the way she rode his cock was good. Too good. Aegon knew he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Frankly, it was eating him up. She even gave fantastic head! Who the fuck had taught her that? He narrowed his eyes at her, the fellow blonde looking bored at supper.

Aegon took a swig of his wine, eyes dark as he studied her. Maybe if he looked long enough someone would jump up and act jealous. What if she was secret fuckmates with his nephew? Aegon had a vague memory of a sordid rumor regarding Jacaerys Velaryon's horse cock. He would kill himself, truly. He could imagine the letter, “Sorry mother, I couldn’t take that shame, yes I know I live in constant shame, but this was the final straw.”

His sister-wife was staring now. She raised a brow in question. “Why are you staring at me like that?” Aegon grumbled, “Nothing. Just looking. Can’t have a look, alright then.”

She scoffed, “You can look, but you’re looking as if you’re about to eat my face.”

Oh. Aegon blushed in embarrassment. He drank more wine, mumbling a ‘sorry’. He didn’t want to broach the subject at supper. The prince’s damn family was nosy enough as is, he didn’t need Aemond’s big ass nose in his ear. Or one of those frightful looks from Alicent. If Aegon got lectured by Otto or Criston he would consider stabbing himself.

Aegon mulled over what he should do next between bites of mutton. She obviously wasn’t going to the Street of Silk, because that was his domain. Someone would’ve peeped already. He reluctantly knew when Daemon was visiting. Every. Damn. Time. Why would Aegon want to hear about the fuckhead's potency issues?

Mayhaps he should get her on the cusp of orgasm and demand who her secret lover-teacher-whatever was. That seemed sound enough to Aegon. When he was about to nut? One could ask him anything, there would be an answer. The prince smiled enigmatically, laughing to himself.

To which his sister-wife said, “You’re acting strange tonight.”

Aegon cooed, “Sorry, just dreaming a bit.”

Under the table he put a lecherous hand on her thigh, squeezing over her soft dress. His sister blushed and squirmed, fork awkwardly clanking across the plate. The woman hissed, “Okay I get it!” She cleared her throat, ignoring any stares. Aegon smirked and squeezed a bit higher, plump lips splitting into a grin.

Aegon had immediately crowded her smaller frame in the bedroom, plush lips attacking her neck, impatient hands pulling at her dress. She moaned, walking backward into the bed, yelping when Aegon crawled atop. He murmured, “You looked ravishing tonight, I couldn’t help myself.”

“Uh, huh, the clasps you fool,” she groaned.

Aegon huffed, probably tearing the fabric as he separated the back of the dress. She began to shuck the dress off while he awkwardly pulled off his breeches. They giggled a bit making eye contact; Aegon unbuttoning his tunic and her unlacing the corset. Soon they were both naked, grinning and kissing, her soft skin rubbing against his.

Aegon grabbed her thighs, mouthing at a tit and playfully nipping at it. She squeaked, thighs tightening around his waist, throwing long blonde hair back. His wife cried out, “Aegon! Quit playing!” He pulled off her nipple, murmuring between little kisses, “Why, is the princess needy?”

He slipped a ringed finger between her folds, finding her wetter than expected. Aegon dipped into her cunt, laughing, “Ah she is, little whore.” The princess writhed a bit, leaning up to capture his lips, lapping into his mouth hungrily. The prince returned her eager movements, curling his fingers into her pussy, letting her ride his hand.

“Fuck, you’re a doll,” he swore, “Perfect.”

She whined and arched up into him, hips canting on his hand. Aegon used his other hand to play with her sensitive tits, thumb circling around a budded nipple. She shivered and cried his name again, a pretty blush diffusing across her pallid skin. The prince hummed “Are you going to come for me sweetling? So soon?”

“Ngh, please, yes Aegon!”

He sped up his movements, feeling her tighten and twitch, the princess on the precipice. Aegon moaned before gathering himself, his pulsing cock was scrambling relative coherency. As it did. He panted, “Gonna count down and I want you to let go okay? Then I’ll fuck your pretty cunt.”

She nodded with lidded eyes, mouth hung open. The picture of ecstasy. Aegon smirked as he spoke.

…10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…

“Oh gods Aegon!”

“Who are you fucking!”

She writhed through the helpless orgasm, confusion evident on her twisting features. Aegon couldn’t help but throb AND be quite annoyed. He slurped the juices off his fingers, leaning back with a look. The prince was feeling sullen and not sure if he wanted to play anymore. His wife stared up at him and echoed “Who…am I fucking. What?”

Aegon pouted. This didn’t go to plan. He rolled his eyes and explained, “You excel, frighteningly so, at our bedroom activities. Yes, yes I know you were still a maiden at our wedding. But I am onto you, I don't know much but I do know about fucking, dearest."

“Are you kidding me? This is ludicrous Aegon!”

She had sat up now, crossing her arms, lips pouty. The prince stated as if it was obvious, “You know your way around a cock. Obviously, this comes with experience. I’ve bedded many a maiden and they usually just stare until you flip them over. So who’s the secret mentor?”

She scoffed in horror, cheeks reddening further, “I can’t believe this Aegon! You’re an idiot! I’m not fucking anyone else! Unlike you!”

“Lies you tell, no spring maiden has gargled my balls!” he accused, face growing equally red in frustration, ringed finger pointing at her.

His sister grew quiet, looking away. She mumbled “Fine. Do you want to know who it is so bad? This stays between us.”

Aegon nodded, impatiently gesturing for her to come out with it. She seemed to grow more uncomfortable. Then spit out a name so low and fast he couldn’t hear. Tonight might be the night he explodes. The prince groaned, “Oh my gods, just say it in a normal tone!”

“Larys Strong!”

What?

He burst into laughter. The prince guffawed, clutching his stomach, shaking with humor. She gaped “What? I’m not lying!” Aegon laughed some more thinking about the foot monger, he’s a bigger virgin than anyone in the keep. He breathlessly chuckled, “Good one, yeah right dear.”

She began to pull on her chemise, annoyed now. Aegon grasped at her thigh, pleading between fits of giggles, “I don’t know why you’re hiding this? I don’t care who you go and find pleasure with. Unless it’s truly Larys. C’monnnn love don’t leave.”

“This isn’t a laughing matter. You’re making up things. What if I’m just good at carnal activities hm Aegon? You're an ass!”

Aegon contemplated the possibility, “Sure, that could be true. Now stop being huffy and come here. I said I’d fuck your pretty pussy.”

She stared down at him before taking her chemise back off. The princess hissed, “You’re a right asshole you know that? You better fuck me good. Prick.”

Aegon laughed again, cheeks hurting from his fit of humor. He maneuvered her onto all fours, sliding his cock against her still-wet folds. He pressed kisses to her shoulder, nosing sweet-smelling hair. He placed a hand on her tight stomach, humming, “I’m sorry dear, I’ll make it better Hm?” He slid in, watching her pretty eyes roll up in her head.

Aegon still wanted to know who his sister was fornicating. She probably was still seeing this person. All he knew was that they resided in the Red Keep and certainly not Larys Strong. The prince had to open his mind to the possibilities of women too. There were many a pretty handmaiden who tended to his wife.

He frowned in thought, sipping his wine. Aegon sat next to his stiff bitch of a brother in the library of all places. Secretly, Aegon hoped the knowledge in the room would give him some magical foresight gift- but not that weird shit Helaena did sometimes.

His wife fucking a handmaiden- that felt too overt. He’d only seen his sister gag and moon over visiting knights and lordlings. Next to Aegon sat his irritated brother. Aemond was quiet, too quiet. He and their sister got along quite well? Aegon's eyes turned to his not-so-little brother.

“Aem.”

“Why are you speaking to me? I’m trying to read.”

“I have a question. That's why, you frozen-faced ass.”

Aemond picked his head up and glared, slamming his book closed. He huffed “What, oh, what, could your drunkenness possibly ask from me? No, I’m not covering your ass again.”

Aegon snorted. His brother was such a frigid quim. He acted like Criston Cole, peacocking around the place, chip on their shoulder. The elder asked “Look. I’ll just be blunt with you. Our sister, my wife. She is merely too good in the sack. Are you fucking her? Is she fucking you?”

Aemond’s jaw audibly clicked in annoyance. He struggled over his tongue, face red. The second son stood up, slamming his hands on the stone. He retreated with a swish of hair and growled, “Buffoon.”

Aegon called after him, “Your behavior has not marked you off my list!”

"Fuck you and your list! Drunkard!!"

Icy little prick. Aegon rolled his eyes, pondering on his next target. Perhaps Jason Lannister? He was wooing any Targaryen princess for his sons. Or possibly Ser Arryk, her sworn shield. Aegon would go to them next. Then maybe do a night check on Aemond’s quarters. His wife was busy with their mother all day anyway. How boring.

Safe to say the prince was still vexed. Jason Lannister laughed in his face and Ser Arryk was extremely confused. He replied in that dumb voice of his, “The princess and I? I’m not that simple your grace. Some of us Kingsguard do take our vows seriously, although I can’t say the same for others.”

He refused to elaborate afterward, Aegon throwing his hands up and moving to the next destination. While walking, he pondered Arryk’s words. Could it be another Kingsguard? Maybe Erryk? Criston had already used up his one allotted Princess fucking and it turned him sour. Erryk would stay on Aegon’s list, the other men too plain ugly or on Dragonstone.

Too annoyed to try any decorum, Aegon simply kicked Aemond’s door open. The younger prince squawked in shock, his hair flying around. Why was there a portrait of Daemon? Why was there another half-finished portrait of Aemond obviously in the same style? Aegon spluttered, “What the fuck? You’re so weird! Daemon? Blech brother!”

Aemond, hair tied back and wearing simple clothes smudged with paint— was positively furious. He hollered, “Get the hell out! I’m not fornicating with our sister! She’s your wife! Say a word of this and I’m making you a Eunuch!”

Aegon was booted out, literally, as in Aemond’s big fucking boot kicked him in the arse.

“Should’ve known. Weirdo,” Aegon grumbled.

He limped back to his quarters, dreadfully needing a sip of wine and someone’s lips around his cock. Today was dreadful. He actually tried to do something. Which trying was rare for him! The prince went to open his door, only to step back when Ser Criston exited.

He raised a brow. Criston looked at him blankly, dark eyes placid. Aegon asked, “What were you doing?” The Kingsguard scoffed, “Your sister was having a fit about a spider, I heard her yowling and killed said spider. Goodnight my prince.”

Aegon glared at the surly marcher, shaking his head and entering the chambers. He immediately went to the table and drank straight from the bottle, deep, deep pulls of relief. The blonde placed it down and sighed, turning towards his bed.

His wife sat there, eyes wide, wearing only her askew shift. Aegon bitched, “Oh. Nice to see you too. Maybe a ‘Hello lord husband, how are you?’ would suffice.”

The Princess’ cheeks were pink. He guessed from the embarrassment of having Ser Criston kill a small bug. Then explained again why Ser Criston had to kill a small bug. She mumbled, “Oh, sorry, I thought you were at the brothels.”

Aegon plopped down in a chair, grabbing the bottle. He whined, “Nope! Been trying to find out who your mystery lover is all day. No one wants to pipe up! I should’ve gone.”

She gazed downwards, biting on swollen lips. The princess stood up on shaky legs, making her way to Aegon and kneeling between his lax thighs. She hummed, tracing a finger up one, feeling the muscle twitch. His sister mused, “Can I take your mind off this mystery lover? You’re much more desirable to me. Don't they say the blood of the dragon reaches out to another?”

“Sure, definitely” he whined again. Aegon would pout this out, it was his specialty. He honestly was hurt, why couldn’t he know their identity? Sure he’d get jealous and probably ban her from seeing them but still! He was sad!

“Am I that unappealing to you?” he whimpered, tears pricking at violet eyes, frustration and self-pity leaking over.

She sighed heavily, wrapping her arms around his midsection. The princess laid her head upon his thigh and cooed, “No. You’re my husband, my blood, we are a union now. That partnership…started because I was afraid you would find me boring. So I wanted to know how to please a man.”

Aegon sulked and sniffled some more, taking another deep drink from his goblet. The familiar fuzz was coming along nicely, patching up his insecurities. But it was nice to hear her admit a smidgeon of truth. She kissed his leg and continued, “Aegon dear, have I not pleased you? It was a transaction between the person and me. They wished to make their identity a secret so as not to catch your wroth. I no longer see them like that. I hate that you’re upset, I did this for you.”

Aegon nodded, feeling a bit better. His sister was good. She easily melted his pouting protocol. The female Targaryen rubbed his thighs and moved her mouth to hover over his clothed cock, eyes looking up as she breathed, “Now baby, just relax and let me make this better, hm?”

He moaned softly as she mouthed over his swelling member, nimble fingers untying his breeches, other hand massaging the soft flesh and meat of his thigh. She eased Aegon’s cock and his sac out, groaning with a flutter of her long lashes. The prince squirmed a bit, breathing heavier, holding off a whine.

“Just you and me, sweet baby.”

She was increasingly convincing kitten licking the ruddy head of his prick like that. The girl’s dainty hand wrapped around his length, the other going to hold his balls, keeping them nice and compressed. Aegon’s back arched when she eased him into a silky wet mouth, tongue massaging the underside as his wife hollowed her mouth.

“Mmm,” she hummed.

Aegon responded with a noise he’d rather not dwell on. It was very…emasculating. Gods, she was so good at this. He needed to get over his qualms and just fuck her so good the princess wouldn't stray again. Good and obedient- all for Aegon. He eased her off gently, demanding, "Lay across the bed. Now."

Wide purple eyes stared at him. She murmured, "What? I- I don't need that, let me take care of you."

Aegon shook his head, grinning, the drink emboldening him. Something about Arbor Red made him impossibly aroused and giddy. He jerked his chin toward the plush bed and laughed. His sister got up, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. She padded and leaned her body over the bed, long legs spread, chemise discarded to display her swollen cunt to him.

Aegon pulled off his breeches as he stalked over, eyes drinking in her pussy. He smacked a hand across her ass and grabbed the stinging flesh. He asked roughly "Did your mystery lover sneak out the servant's exit when Ser Criston heard your yowling?"

"Yes, yes! Sorry, fucking yes!" she shouted.

Aegon's face darkened at her puffy and slick cunt, obvious signs of someone having a feast down there. He ran the blunt tip of his swollen cock across her folds, groaning as he smacked her clit. The prince snapped "You're a goddamn lying slut you know that? A match made in heaven with me huh? Did Ser Criston walk in when you were getting your cunt licked?" He wound a fist in her blonde tresses, pulling it tight.

She shivered and shook her head, whining, "N-ohh, he didn't see!"

"Hm, sure, probably took a peak, the weird bitch. Whatever, I guess I'll have to fuck this person out of your mind? Or you're coming with me to the brothels sister dearest."

He slid into her tight hole, gasping at the ridges and warmth. Aegon tightened the fist in her hair. Maybe he'd fuck a babe in her tonight, then she'd be stuck in his quarters surrounded by maesters and tittering handmaidens. Eugh. Aegon huffed and fucked her at a brisk pace, his other hand smacking her ass every other thrust.

His sister-wife moaned, taking his cock like she was made for it. She fucked back onto him, back arched, tits bouncing. Her cheeks were delightfully flushed as she panted Aegon's name, eyes wet and wide. Aegon leaned over her form and growled, "Don't know who this fucker is but I will find out. He better know whose cunt this is, eh? Shout it, tell the whole goddamn keep who you belong to, sister."

Aegon relished in her little whimper, his fingers pinching her clit as he forced her hips up to drive into her good spot harder. He bit and lapped at her neck, hissing, "C'mon and say it or I'll lock your ass up here with no visitors. Just me and I'll get my fill, fucking snake." She blubbered, seizing around his cock a hair.

"Oh gods, please don't make me howl like that, Aegon, please!"

He fucked the princess rougher, holding her gaze with a tight grip around her chin. She bit her lip, eyes mournful before shouting, "Only you Aegon, I belong to you, yes big brother! Yes! I belong to my husband!"

Aegon grinned like the cat that got the cream. He cooed, "Good little sister, knew you still had it in you." He gripped her throat and refocused on fucking her until she cried. Aegon pinched and licked, played with her tits, circled her clit until she came all over him- yet the prince was still fit to go. Sweet sister was a mess now- covered in bites and hickeys, sweaty hair plastered to her neck. The younger blonde whimpered, "Aeg- Aegon, I- I can't possibly do this again!"

Her eyes were frantic, her cute body shaking and coming apart wondrously. Aegon hummed, "You will come for me again sweetling. I know you can, just whining on my prick like you were paid for it? Does he fuck you like this huh? Make you see stars?"

"N-noooo, only you!"

"Good girl, come on now, wanna feel that sweet pussy of yours cream around me one more time. Then I'll fill you up deep- maybe he won't come around when you are all ripe with," he punctuated his next words with thrusts, "My. Goddamn. Child."

The princess wailed softly, overused and overstimulated. She felt the crest of another burning orgasm flaring up and forcing red hot tears down her blotchy cheeks. It was intense and she cried harder when Aegon's thick seed stuffed her twitching cunt and womb to the brim. He seemed to be satisfied now, cooing at her, "There we go, ffuck, that's my sweet girl. See, don't need anyone else around now hm?"

Aegon wiped her gorgeous tears, smiling victoriously. She cuddled into his arms, letting her husband soothe and stroke her trembling flesh. He even hollered for a servant to grab some water. The prince murmured, "You did so good, such a good wife, yes, maybe just a bit of punishment does sweet sister well." He grew quieter and pressed a kiss to her soft forehead, "I love you, truly, for tolerating a failure like me."

She smiled softly and pecked Aegon's full lips, her own swollen from tonight. Aegon wiped her tears as she sighed, "I love you too Aegon. Buffoon you may be. I hope the seed takes. No more about mystery lovers. The whole keep has heard now sweetheart."

Aegon smirked, hoping every single soul heard.

One soul in particular did, his black gloves tightening in annoyance. He was down the hall before turning back and having to hear the heir...rudely fuck his sister-wife. With a growl and swish of the cloak, the true mystery lover was gone. She'd be back in his arms sooner or later. Aegon couldn't fuck him out of her soft heart.

[vaaaaaiolet]

This summer, you're a swimming instructor. The cute lifeguard that rescued you from drowning in the deep end of the pool last week invites you out for a romp on the beach and you end up getting a little in your head.

Lucky for you, Leon's a dab hand at his job. Especially for you, even if he's off duty.

f / m, fluff, romance, body image issues, banter, tw: eating issues, reader is awkward and body conscious :( but leon is a sweetheart and a TOTAL flirt, slight?? afab nsfw

a/n: title from "my fun" by suki waterhouse! i'm finally reaching the end of my manic writing streak, and since summer's in full swing, you all better know that you look STUNNING no matter what!! your incredible support means the world to me <3

this fic belongs to sketches for my sweetheart the drunk, a collection of bite-sized fics to stretch out my writing muscles :) i hope you enjoy!

word count: 662 // read on ao3

Can’t do it, nope.

You skitter back under the shade of an umbrella blooming on the beach. The water’s beautiful today. Incessant little waves lap at your feet, coaxing you into the turquoise coast. 

The sinking feeling in your stomach outweighs any of its appeal.

He spots you on his way back from his truck. You’re swaddled in a towel big enough for the both of you, buried in a book that you find super interesting (once you turn it right side up), and just as you get into the nitty gritty of how to win friends and influence people, your reading gets swiped up from right under your nose. “Hey!” 

Leon blinks innocently, twisting his wrist to read the cover, “You’re into this kinda stuff?”

“It’s how I’m so winning,” you cross your arms over your stomach, whatareyousaying?, “and influential. To people.”

“To people.” He repeats.

“Uh huh.”

Way to go. If the cute lifeguard didn’t think you were weird for asking if he knew how to swim, he’s definitely going to think you’re weird now. What kind of swimming instructor doesn’t swim at the beach?

And as you think you’ve screwed it all up with the only cute guy who’s asked you out all summer, Leon just chuckles, hunkering down on the sand next to you. “You’re influential, I’ll give you that. Maybe I’ll put my swimming off until later too.”

So Leon saves you again, like he did at the deep end of the pool last week.

“Toss me something from the cooler?” he asks.

He shucks off his shirt, revealing a set of well-earned abs. Jesus, they ripple, they’re waves. You’d happily take a surfboard to his six-pack. 

Sadly, you settle for handing him a Coke instead.  

“Is something the matter?” he asks after a bit. Leon almost sounds shy, his cheeks a sunkissed pink to match as he sips.

You shake your head no as winningly as possible.

“Are you sick? Cramping?” Oh, he’s a sweetheart, “‘Cause we can go anywhere you want. I just thought since you teach swimming…” His fingers inch towards your towel-covered thigh. 

“Seriously,” you laugh, “it’s not a big deal, you go swim.”

“Really? Cause I’m thinking the pretty girl I finally convinced to go to the beach with me is going to run the other way the minute I turn my back.”

Your face sears with heat as you open your mouth and nothing comes out. 

“Kidding, I swear. Wanna make sure you’re okay.”

You wrap the towel a little tighter around your stomach, and Leon’s brow pinches. “What’s that all about?”

“Just not feeling like I look my best,” you admit, glancing over to the picnic basket you brought along, “It’s just for today, I don’t like how I look and maybe I should go easier on the food-” 

“Absolutely not.” 

The sharp pitch of his voice snaps your eyes back up as he plucks a nectarine out of the basket and slips it into your hand. He won’t take no for an answer – did he see how shaky your legs were at the pool this morning? 

“You spent all day chasing your swimming class around; you need energy to kick my ass at Chicken like you promised, remember?”

“Come on, it’s not that serious. I just missed breakfast.” You’re mumbling now, sounding not at all influential or winning, “I had enough energy for today’s lesson anyway.”

“You’ll lose your boobs.” Leon shrugs, sinking his teeth into another nectarine before you smack him on the shoulder. A scandalized gasp tears out your throat as he laughs.

“That’s a stretch!”

“I don’t make the rules. Eat. Land or water, you’re gorgeous both ways.”

And there he was again, doing what he does best. The sinking feeling lifts with each bite you take of the fruit, and just maybe, you might not have messed this all up.

“Attagirl.”

You meet Leon’s grin with an idiotic one of your own. “Charmer.”

“Pretty girl.”

fun fact: i once got flirted with like leon does to reader at the end but that guy did it much worse and it was a total ick 💀 lowkey i might not keep this up either AHGHG

click for my full drabble collection, and find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care!

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Transferrable Skills Part 6

Transferrable Skills Masterlist

Read on AO3

CW: Disrobing, CMNF (clothed male naked female), hamstring stretches (advised by the appropriate medical professional), praise, kink negotiations, kissing, touching over clothes, touching under clothes, explicit consent

“Feelin’ good?”

Simon’s got you laying back on the bed, a thick pillow under your neck and shoulders. You’re still wearing your cami, but he didn’t tell you to keep the pants. You usually don’t wear them for your stretches, so you had shucked them off before it had even occurred to you that maybe you shouldn’t. When glanced at him for his reaction, his eyes had been dark and hungry.

Now, you look at him, looking at you, and feel a bit breathless. “Y-yeah.”

“Green?”

“Green,” you say, a bit more firm. “I’m very comfortable, thank you.”

“Good girl,” he says. “Proposal. Acknowledge.”

“Acknowledged,” you answer, a little startled. “You want to try something?”

He puts one knee on the bed by your feet. “’M gonna help you. Hold your legs and apply a bit of pressure. Acknowledge.”

“You want to help me with my leg stretches.” You can’t help but feel a bit nervous, looking at the muscles in his arms. “You’re going to hold my legs, and also apply some pressure.”

“You’re going to tell me when it feels good, and when it feels bad,” he continues. “Use your scale. Acknowledge.”

God, he’s so good to you. Your lower back releases tension you didn’t know you were still holding. “I’m going to use my scale to tell you how it feels. Three is perfect, one is way too light, five is way too hard. Acknowledged.”

He coaxes you to bend your legs as he climbs fully on the bed, until your left thigh is over one of his, your other foot wedged under his shin. The memory foam dips under your own weight, but it feels like the whole bed is tipping to accommodate him. You’re not sure where to look as he plants a hand by your shoulder, blocking out the rest of the room.

He touches the back of your knee and you jump.

“Easy,” he whispers. His thumb sweeps over the front of your thigh before he lifts with the barest pressure. When your calf is cradled under his arm, he asks. “Good?”

“Yeah,” you rasp. Swallow. Try again. “Yeah. One.”

He pushes your knee up toward your diaphragm, then pulls your leg straight. “Hips,” he rumbles.

You glance down between you at where his shirt and sweatpants are making a valiant effort of keeping everything contained. “Uh huh.”

The hand on the bed comes up to cup your chin. He chuckles down at you. “Keep your ‘ips lined up right, Bambi.”

It’s the eye contact. It’s all the physical contact. It’s the day catching up to you. Whatever it is, your body lights up and your brain shuts off. “Please fuck me, sir.”

“Fuck.” He rumbles, shuffling forward and pulling your ass into the cradle of his thighs. When you try to wiggle, to feel him where he’s half hard against you, he uses his grip on your leg to hold you still. “So polite. My good girl. Can you be patient for me?”

You whine, one of your hands coming up to grip his forearm. “Please?”

“Gotta do your stretches first,” he rumbles. “That was the deal. TV, stretches, then the reward. Acknowledge.”

His grip on you is easy and solid. The way you’re folded under him means you’re well and truly stuck. You push the shin of your bent leg against his inner thigh and shiver when he doesn’t even twitch. “Please?”

“Stretches first,” he chuckles, pressing his thumb to your lips. “When I make you come, I don’t want to hurt you. Acknowledge.”

If he looks down, he is going to see how wet you are through your panties. “Acknowledged. Stretches first.”

“And…?”

And? You freeze in the act of touching the tip of your tongue to his thumb. “Uh. Unsure?”

“Keep your hips even,” he reminds you, enunciating as he stares into your eyes. “Acknowledge.”

“Keep my hips even,” you answer. You lick the pad of his thumb. It’s calloused and salty, and you want it in your mouth. “Acknowledged.”

“Good girl.”

He sits back enough to lift your left leg until your calf is on his shoulder, your knee slightly bent. And then he leans forward, bracing your leg until it straightens, incrementally.

Years ago, even this gentle pull to your hamstrings would have had you crying. Now, there’s the slightest burn as you flex your foot. You let him push until that burn spikes, and then you tap his arm twice. “Three, right there.”

“Good,” he rumbles. “Thirty seconds. You can do it, pretty girl.”

You could hold this position for an hour if he praises you through it. And he does, hushed words and gentle kisses pressed to whatever part of your leg he can reach. Your muscles relax into the position in record time. And then he’s easing back, massaging the back of your thigh and coaxing your knee to bend.

“Number.”

“Three,” you mumble as he switches sides, pulsing your right leg in preparation. “Two point eight.”

“Good girl.”

Your right leg does not want to move like the other one, probably as a result of sleeping on the floor. Simon notices almost before you do, doesn’t push you leg as far back as the other.

“Three point two,” you tell him before he can prompt you. You shut your eyes and take a deep breath as he pulls back the barest hint. “Good, good. Three.”

His hands are large and warm, one on the front of your lifted thigh, the other on your opposite hip. His thumb slips under the edge of your cami, rubbing back and forth. You let yourself focus on the rhythm of it, timing your breaths with the way his calluses drag against your skin. Sooner than you expect, he’s bringing your leg back down.

When you open your eyes, Simon is already looking at you. You’re not sure what he’s seeing. Before you can stop it, your brain says nothing he’s impressed by. Looking at his upper arms, which are almost as big around as your thighs, you feel distinctly unremarkable. Simon is so big. He has so many scars. He’s literally a hero. And here he is helping you with your hip mobility. God, how pathetic-

“Back to me,” Simon rumbles. He drops your legs on either side of his hips and leans forward to take your face in one hand again. “C’n almost see your mind racing, Bambi. Where’d you go?”

He’s hard against you, so big through the few layers between you that your head spins. It takes you a moment to parse out the question. When you do, you avoid his eyes. “M’ sorry.”

Simon’s other arm slides under your lower back, anchoring you closer as he rocks his hips down into yours. “Are you?”

Words gone, you gasp an affirmative noise. When your hands come up to grasp at his arm and his shoulder, he rewards you with another roll of his hips and a deep groan. He lets you grind up against him, startling another soft noise out of you.

This time, when he kisses you, he licks into your mouth immediately. His hand tilts your face where he wants it as his teeth nip at your bottom lip. All you can do is hold on. And even that becomes tenuous when he pushes your panties aside to grab a palm full of your ass.

The next roll of his body into yours is is the perfect friction against your clit. You surprise yourself with the noise you make as your hips buck into him without your input. The leg you wrap around his his waist gives you the leverage to chase the feeling, until the kiss ends as abruptly as it started.

Hands wrapped around your heaving sides, Simon sits back on his heels, his own breaths coming deep and ragged. His eyes are so dark as he looks over you. You gasp as his right slides up, pushing at your shirt, until he can swipe a thumb over your nipple.

“Thought I was ‘aving an ‘ard time styain’ disciplined before,” he chuckles as he squeezes at your skin. “Look’t you.” The flimsy shirt gets bunched up around your collar bones as he pets and pinches gently at you. “So fuckin’ soft, made for spoilin’. ‘Ow’m I supposed to keep focused?”

When he pinches your nipple again, you whine. “Simon, please!”

“Gotta do one more set, Bambi,” he chides, one hand sliding down to tease at the edge of your panties. When you whine again, he shushes you gently. “I know. “Y’re a good girl. Been waiting so patiently for your reward. So I have a proposal. Acknowledge.”

“Yes,” you gasp. At this point, you’ll do whatever he wants. “Okay. We can do it.”

“No,” he corrects, pulling at your nipple, just enough to make your back arch. “Acknowledge.”

“Acknowledged!” You moan when his pinching fingers go light and gentle again.

“Gonna keep doing your stretches,” he tells you, as he tugs your panties over the curve of your ass. He nods, and you can’t help but nod along, arching to let him pull them up your thighs. “An’ since you’re being so good, you can ‘ave one o’ my fingers in that pretty cunt.”

[its-time-to-write]

Hi, first off I want to say that I love your writing. It always makes me smile 🙃🙃.

As for my request, I was wondering if you could please write about Jamie soft launching your relationship on Insta and starting to bring it up in the press. You haven’t met the boys and they are trying to figure out who it is based on his comments and Insta posts. (I may have a Pinterest board with soft launch ideas so…use the screen shots on my page as u wish).

If you don’t have time to write this then no worries. Have a nice day!!!!!!!!!

🫲😇🫱

I listened to “Not All Those Who Wander,” by Miss Lana the whole time I wrote this. 10/10 recommend

it’s just wanderlust

“You’re gonna want to hold off on touching me,” you say as you haul your bags into the house. “Kid fuckin’ spit all over me today and I didn’t even have time to change.”

Jamie wrinkles his nose and takes a step back. “Ew. Fucking gross, that. Is that why you were late coming home?”

You nod, shucking your shoes by the stairs. “Uh huh. Had to talk to the parents post-session. Do a little debrief thing. Thing is, they swore their little angel would never do something like that and next time I should just give him what he wants. Only problem,” you continue as you wash your hands in the kitchen sink, “is that my entire job is not giving him what he wants when he’s displaying inappropriate behaviors. I love that kid, I really do, but his parents are complete twats.”

Jamie nods agreeably. “Was it like projectile or spray?” 

You grimace. “Both. Kid’s got mean aim, but decided to switch it up to cover more surface area.”

You look over at the table, which is set neatly. “I know dinner’s ready and I’m already late, but I really need a shower. I can feel like three inches of grime on my skin.”

“Don’t worry about it babe,” Jamie says. “Takeaway reheats easy.” He hesitates for a moment. “Did you want to shower alone, or..?”

You laugh. Cheeky fucker. 

“Give me three minutes to scrub really well, and then you’re welcome in. You sure you’re good eating late?”

Jamie grins. “Babe, I-”

“Don’t.” You cut him off, finger pointed at him. “Don’t say it. I know where you’re going, and you don’t need to finish that sentence.”

Jamie opens his mouth again but you’re interrupting before he can get his next sentence out. “And if you’re about to make a pun with the word ‘finish,’ I can guarantee it’s nothing you haven’t said before.”

Jamie looks dejected, but his ego obviously isn’t bruised too much because he’s still is on your heels the whole way up the stairs. 

—

You’re showered and back downstairs, the both of you eating dinner in pajamas like proper adults, if proper adults decided that they were allowed to sit on the counter in Jamie’s kitchen. You’re not saying much, just swapping stories about each other’s day. It’s never a dull moment between his time at Nelson Road and your time at the behavioral clinic. 

“Who do you think sees the grossest shit?” you had asked one time. 

“Oh fuck love, it’s gotta be you,” came Jamie’s response. 

“You sure? Because you have like, gross men and stuff. Half of them don’t even know how to do their own laundry.”

Jamie had laughed. “I’m fucking sure. Yeah they smell nasty and shit but like, they’re traumatized by some of the shit you have to deal with.”

He’s got a point. 

Neither of you have a whole bunch to say though, and anyway it’s nice to be in a house that’s quiet. 

Jamie’s the one to break the silence. “What if we started telling people about us?”

You give him a look so he hurries on. “I know you said you weren’t ready, especially with all the press and everything, but what if we just like soft-launched it? Y’know, take a couple photos without seeing your face.”

You chew your dinner thoughtfully. Is this a good time to start carefully introducing your relationship to the world? You’re indispensable to your company, although they may decide to place a higher value on their anonymity than what you bring to the table. It’s not easy providing behavioral therapy to clients who prefer their children to remain unknown. But at the same time, you can’t keep quiet forever. It’s not fair to Jamie. It’s like you’re saying this is only temporary. I’m keeping it a secret because it won’t last so it’s not worth sharing. It’s not true. Jamie is worth sharing, and you have the tiniest spark of hope that this thing you’ve kept going for the past six months is going to last.

Well, maybe not so much a spark of hope as a sneaking suspicion. The kind you feel as a kid when your parents swear they didn’t get you want you wanted for Christmas, but you have the vaguest sense that they’re lying. You don’t want to hope, because what if you’re wrong, but then again, there’s a part of you that can just feel it. 

You’ve been silent for far too long because Jamie says, “Babe? If you don’t want to, it’s ok,” except you can see in his face it isn’t entirely ok.

“I was just thinking,” you reply. “I think- I think I’m good with it. You know, letting people know you’re off the market. Plus it’ll be fun to take more pictures together, My mum keeps bugging me for more.”

Jamie grins. “Mint. The lads are gonna be so fucking psyched.”

—

Ah yes. The lads. Or as they’re better known, the AFC Richmond team. It hasn’t been easy sneaking around them, especially because Ted seemed to Know. Jamie came home one day all spooked because he swore Ted knew he was dating someone.

“Stared straight into me soul, he did,” he said. “Fuckin’ told me he’s surprised I haven’t found a girl yet.”

“That doesn’t sound suspicious, Jaim,” you reply, to which Jamie shakes his head vehemently. 

“You weren’t there, that’s what he said, but he meant somethin’ else. He fucking knows.”

You’d laughed and told him it was fine, even if Ted did know, you didn’t mind. 

After that encounter, there had been vague rumblings that maybe Jamie did have a girl somewhere, or possibly several girls at one time, which prompted a very serious conversation with Isaac and Sam.

“Jamie, you have said that you have changed. You are acting like a better teammate. And yet, dating more than one girl at a time is just wrong,” Sam told him.

“That shit’s sleazy, bruv,” Isaac said. “You can’t be playing around like that.”

So they had gotten Jamie to admit that no, there weren’t multiple girls, just one girl who he had met at a café of all places because he was cheating on his meal plan and she was trying to finish some assessments for work.

You wanted privacy and of course you knew exactly who he was the moment he walked up to your table and said, “hey,” so yeah, it was never going to be easy.

But the way you had wavered ever so slightly when he asked you to dinner was enough to make him realize that this was going to be something different. Something real. Because if the allure of dating national football star Jamie Tartt wasn’t enough for an automatic yes, you must be looking for something deeper. 

Jamie wasn’t sure he was looking for that, but hell he’d give it a go if it meant he got to kiss those soft lips even one time.

So fuck him, he’d fallen for a pretty face in a café on a fucking Sunday and now he has to go home and tell you that people know you exist. That a little bit of your privacy bubble has burst.

You didn’t really care though. You’d been pondering the ethics of a secret relationship for a good long while, so maybe it was good that his teammates knew you existed. 

That was a month before Jamie broached the subject of the soft-launch, so you think maybe you can ease into this. It’ll be fine.

—

The first picture is relatively easy. Just a regular mirror pic, cropped of course, with Jamie’s arms wrapped around you from behind. It’s easy to tell it’s him because his tattoo sleeve is in full view. The caption reads, “soft launch,” with a heart emoji.

The like count is through the roof.

You like it too, because what notice will your account garner in a sea of Jamie Tartt fans?

The Greyhounds lose their minds a little bit, commenting fire emojis and heart eyes and trying to figure out who could possibly be there with Jamie. He comes home after training that day to tell you that there’s a rather convincing conspiracy that he’s dating this famous model they’re all obsessed with.

You’re flattered they think you look like her. Even if they can only see your arms and torso.

“This is gonna be fun, babe,” you say, standing on tiptoes for a kiss. Jamie grins. Anything to torture his team.

—

The second picture is posted two days later, with the caption, “date night.”

You’re sitting at his dining room table, candles and wine glasses strewn about, and Jamie’s kissing you at an angle where you can really only see your hair.

For fun, you comment, “omg, I wish that were me.” Richard Montlaur responds to it, “omg same,” so you show Jamie. He rolls his eyes. 

“Lad thinks he’s funny, don’t he?” he asks.

You grin. “You’d never leave me for Richard, would you?”

Jamie shrugs. “Dunno babe, he is kind of fit.”

You smack his arm playfully and say, “Fuck off, I’m better looking.”

—

You’re almost caught before the big reveal. You’re on a coffee date in a small town, miles from Richmond or Manchester or anywhere Jamie could be easily recognized. It’s a sleepy town, mostly old people, which is why you both decided it’d be safe.

You’re sitting at a table with your coffee while Jamie’s up to grab his, when you see someone go up to him and tap his shoulder.

“Jamie? What are you doing here?” Sam asks.

Jamie jumps a little and places to where you’re sitting before he can stop himself. 

“Oh, um, just getting coffee. You know.”

Sam gives him a quizzical look. “Do you know someone here? This isn’t close to home at all. Are you meeting someone?”

Sam glances around the room and Jamie’s grateful that his gaze does not linger extra long on you. 

Jamie decides the best way to answer is to deflect. “Oi, what’re you doing here? It’s not like this place is fucking famous or some shit.”

Sam shrugs. “I like to try a different coffee shop every weekend. Sometimes I bring Dani, but after last time, I think I’ll have to find someone else.”

Jamie risks a glance at you. You’re hiding behind your latte, suppressing a grin. He’s positive you can hear every word they’re saying.

Sam’s voice breaks through his thoughts. “Would you like to sit with me? It looks like there’s only one table left. Unless your mystery girlfriend is here.”

He laughs and Jamie joins in, just a little too loudly, but he can’t think of an excuse to join you at the table so he follows Sam and tries to send you a subtle I’m sorry with his eyes.

You pull out your phone and send him two laughing emojis, then reach into your bag for your book. Might as well get some reading done.

You let Jamie sit for a good half hour before you decide to do something. You put your things back into your bag and walk over to where they’re sitting.

“Hi, um, I’m sorry to bother you, but are you Sam Obisanya? I’m a huge Richmond fan.”

Sam grins at being recognized, while Jamie lets out a small, “Oi!”

“Oh yes, wonderful to meet a fan! I’m just here with my friend.”

You smile and say, “I just wanted to let you know that you played so well last game. I think you’re the best player on the whole team.”

Jamie snorts and Sam says, “Would you like to take a picture? My friend here would be happy to take it for you.”

Score. “That would be awesome!” you reply. “Then I’ll get out of your way. Don’t want to interrupt your coffee.”

—

“Can’t believe you just did that,” Jamie says, shaking his head mournfully another half hour later. “Fucking acting like you didn’t know who I was. Any self-respecting Richmond fan knows who I am.”

You knock into his shoulder lightly as you walk to the car. “Lucky for your ego, I was just acting. And anyway, I’m hilarious. That’s like, my number one quality.”

“Number two,” Jamie interjects, “It’s your number two quality.”

You ask, “Number two? What’s number one??”

Jamie zips his lips. “I ain’t tellin’, babe. Not good for your ego.”

You giggle as he grabs your waist so he can press a kiss to your neck.

—

Posts three and four go off without a hitch. There’s one of his hand on your knee and a timer picture of you twirling under a streetlamp. You both decide that as far as social media goes, this is as much as they’re going to get. But as far as AFC Richmond goes…

“Babe, you left your phone in the car,” you say as you stroll into the locker room casually as ever.

Jamie takes it from your hand and kisses you before he says, “Thanks babe.”

The locker room is silent, frozen. Colin’s body spray slips from his hand and clatters to the floor, and Beard’s just standing and pointing with his mouth open. 

Roy breaks the silence as he growls, “What the fuck?”

“Oh my god,” Sam follows. “You’re the girl from the coffee shop.”

You grin and say, “Guilty.”

Jamie wraps his arm around your waist. “Lads, this is my girl. Babe, these are the lads.”

There’s silence for a moment longer before the room explodes into a flurry of questions. Neither you nor Jamie can get a word in until Beard yells, “QUIET! Don’t be fuckin’ weird!” 

They all mumble, “Sorry coach,” while Jamie whispers, “You can go if you want. I know you’ve got work and shit. I’ll handle them.”

You squeeze his arm gratefully and slip out the door. You know he’ll take care of things.

[thedevilrisen]

Prompt Celly - Day Three

Trevor Zegras x Y/N

Description: "Is now a bad time to tell you I'm claustrophobic?" ... "god, here -hold my hand"

A/N: I hope you enjoy! Would be greatly appreciated if you could reblog. I love talking to people so say 'Hi' if you want to. Feel Free to send in requests as well. I'm happy to write for most hockey players.

Warnings: None, I don't think! It should be all fluff and a bit of friendly banter.

-Sincerely thedevilrisen.

"I wasn't being mean-"

"MEAN! TREVOR, you put slime on Jamie's head to wake him up! What part about that isn't mean."

"I-well." he stuttered, smiling.

"How would you feel if I put slime in your hair huh! How 'bout it?" I said smugly, pushing open the door to the apartment block's lobby, sighing at the warmth and holding open the door for my boyfriend of close to 3 years now. We met shortly after he moved to California to play hockey.

Shucking off my waterproof jacket with a sound similar to two pieces sandpaper grinding against each other I draped it over my arm as Trevor walked through the open door behind me, waiting politely so I could straighten out my t-shirt.

Looking up and smiling at him, I offered him my upturned palm which he playfully grabbed and swung around as he pulled me closer so I stood comfortably under his arm.

"All good?" he asked looking down on my small frame.

"All good!" I repeated stretching the 'l' sound in all enthusiastically.

"Ok then, c'mon let's get upstairs I'm starving." he dragged as we started walking toward the elevators.

"What are you going to about that then?" I smiled, nudging his shoulder playfully.

"I'm hoping my beautiful girlfriend will cook me something delicious." He spoke cheekily looking down at me as we approached the lift panel. Pressing the up button and waiting for the lift to come.

The elevator on the left chimed and the doors rolled open smoothly. We walked in onto carpeted floor, I scanned to tag and pressed the button for the 10th floor listening to the methodical beeps and watching the numbers change.

Until with a jolt, the lift stop suddenly and the all the lights but the ones illuminating the buttons cut.

"Trevor. What happened." I tried to ask without a waver in my voice.

"I think the lift just broke." He mumbled, pulling up the flashlight on his phone and clicking the open door button to no avail. "That doesn't work." He spoke quietly to himself walking to the doors, pocketing his phone and trying to pry open the door with his finger. Grunting softly from exertion he turned back to me and look at my tear filled eyes in the dim light emitted from the panel of numbers.

"Is now a bad time to tell you I'm claustrophobic." I whispered, voice wavering significantly more than I wanted it to.

"I-maybe." He spoke quickly, seeing the water in my eyes start to trickle down my cheek, "god, here- hold my hand." he offered said hand to me and with both of mine gripped onto it for dear life.

"It's all good sweetheart. I'll call Jamie and he can come get us out." He spoke gently. To terrified to speak I just nodded, still gripping his left hand. He pulled out his phone from his pocket and opened opened his contacts, hitting Jamie's name and putting it up to his ear.

"Hey Mate, uhm." with a jolt, and a squeal from me, the lift fired back up and continued its journey up to our floor. "Oh, uh never mind. Can I call you back.. thanks, alright talk later bud."

When the doors opened I tore out of the lift and down the hallway to out apartment, fishing the keys out of my pocket I jammed them into the lock.

Slamming the door open I threw my coat off, kicked off my shoes and moved quickly to the living room sofa where my weighted animal was. With a vice grip on the stuffy and a few deep breaths I locked eyes with a concerned looking Trevor and deadpanned.

"We are taking the stairs from now on."

[that-tmr-girl]

Kinktober (Day 24)

One night stand, Newt

Vaginal sex

I know three things about him.

His name is Newt.

He feels good inside of me.

After this we’ll either never speak again or become fuck buddies.

“Fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,”I moaned. He groaned as he pushed into me from behind, holding my waist. My hands were clenched into fists as I bit down on my lap, feeling absolute ecstacy at his thick cock.

“Shuck, Y/N,”He breathed out, his grip on me tightening. I whimpered as I dropped my head, pushing myself further into him. Another groan left him as he shoved into me again, frantically increasing his pace.

I couldn't help but tighten around him as he twitched inside of me, his thrusts getting sloppy.

“Newt, I’m-I’m,”I sputtered out, not even able to finish my sentence.

“Cum. Just cum,”He grunted.

My entire body shook as I reached my climax, finishing all over his cock. He grunted as he slammed into me one more time before quickly pulling out, most of his cum going on my thighs.

“Fuck. That was fun,”I managed to get out through heavy breaths, collapsing on my back.

“Uh huh. We should do this again sometime,”He suggested.

“Yeah. We should,”I agreed.

But I know we probably won't.

[lipglossanon]

What’re Ya Buyin’?

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

The Merchant x fem!reader (follow up, one shot)

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, pussy spanking

not proofread ✍️ but edited cause I forgot to cut out a part I left in til now 😵‍💫

Title from a RE4 Merchant quote 😝

have some brain rot that wouldn’t leave (but don’t expect more! 😜)

part i

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

“I have something I think you’ll like,” his voice calls out to you as you slip around the corner, walking into the halo of his purple torches. 

“Oh?” you return, grinning at him like you’re not covered in dirt and blood and the viscera of someone else’s insides. 

He chuckles and opens his ridiculously large jacket up, showcasing some shiny new baubles and trinkets; however, it’s the dull metal of a scope that catches your eye and pulls you to his table. 

“Thought it might interest ya,” his voice comes out light and teasing making your eyes flash to him, head tilting in curiosity. 

“How much?”

“How much d’ya have to offer, stranger?”

You don’t miss the hungry gleam in his eyes as you look through your pockets. Placing two gold ingots and some sapphires on the table, he clicks his tongue. 

“Doesn’t look like that’s enough cash.”

Heat pulses through your pussy at his rough voice, clit already throbbing in your panties—still dirty from the last encounter.  

“Oh that’s too bad,” you pout at him, body language open, “is there another offer you might accept?”

“There is,” he nods, reaching over the table for your hand.

Once you take his rough hand into yours, he guides you around the wooden furniture to his side. He presses you against the wall, his bulky mass dwarfing you making you moan softly. 

“Haven’t even started yet,” he laughs, low and deep, “can you be a good girl for me?”

“Yes,” you gasp out at him, hips rocking to meet his but growing frustrated with his coat blocking his lower body, “please.”

He shucks his pack off onto the table and slips his jacket off, along with his hood, making your eyes widen in surprise. Turning back to you, he’s still bulky but now it’s just him. Meaty pecs covered in a smattering of chest hair that leads down to his stomach and thick happy trail. Mouth watering, your eyes eagerly rake down his body, taking in how fit he actually is underneath all the wares. 

But you’re more excited to see him without the hood. Dark tousled hair, offset by deep blue eyes watch you in amusement while his mask covers the lower half of his face still. 

“See something you like, stranger?”

“Oh,” you murmur, feeling caught out, “I just didn’t expect…”

You trail off, feeling hot under his gaze as he takes his turn to look you over. 

“Well now, this won’t do,” he murmurs dragging his palms down your sides, grabbing the hem of your shirt and lifting until he’s pulling it completely off of you. 

Shivering, you let him run his rough hands over your bare skin, the heat seeping into your muscles making you relax into his touches until you’re as docile as a kitten. He ghosts over the nipples showing through your bra to cup a hand around your neck and tilt your head back so he can meet your eyes. 

“Pretty little thing,” he murmurs, voice hushed and reverent as your eyelashes flutter, brain pleasantly quiet as he smooths his other hand across your jaw and cups it.

His thumb presses in on your bottom lip and you part your lips to swipe your tongue over it, inviting him to press it into your mouth. 

He obliges you, eyes heated and dark as he presses his thumb into your mouth and down onto your tongue, letting saliva pool around around the warm digit. 

“What I wouldn’t give to taste that mouth,” he rumbles, his voice making your skin tingle. 

“You can,” it comes out softer than you intended since you were aiming for sultry, “I can close my eyes again, if I have to.”

“Oh you can, hmm?” he teases you making you squirm under his gaze which seems much more intense without the shade of the hood to block your view. 

You kiss the pad of his thumb, “Uh huh.”

He sighs a little, hands moving completely away leaving you with a chill.  

“We’ll save it for next time,” he compromises, “now let’s get down to business.”

You pop open the button on your jeans and slide down the zipper, pushing it along with your panties down to your thighs before he’s grabbing your wrists to pin you in place. 

“Allow me,” he holds your wrists in one hand as his fingers glide across your slippery clit. 

“Still wet from last time, ey?” 

You moan when he shoves two thick fingers into your pulsing cunt. 

“Pretty pussy still dripping my cum,” his voice rumbles low in his chest, eyes dilated and heavy as they stare at you. 

His fingers scissor your hole open before slowly plunging back inside your fluttering walls making you mewl. 

“Please, I need you inside,” you gasp as he rubs across the spongy spot at the front of your pussy, “oh, oh god.” 

“Mmm, I’d pay a pretty penny to keep you like this,” his masked mouth presses a covered kiss to your neck.  

He pulls his fingers out of your pussy with a slick noise and shoves his pants midway down his thighs. 

“Fuck you’re so big,” you whine, eyes hazy with need. 

He chuckles and strokes his cock once, the fat head dripping precum. 

“It fit once already, love,” he murmurs to you, pressing his fat tip into your clenching heat and sinking into your body. 

Shuddering as he sinks inch by thick inch deep into your wet pussy, your hips cant towards him until his pelvis presses flush against you. 

“Best cunt I’ve ever had,” he growls, pulling his slick shiny dick halfway out before sinking it back into your fluttering walls. 

You whine, fingers curling into fists as he keeps a tight hold on your wrists. His free hand slips down to pinch and rub your swollen clit until you’re continually squeezing down on his cock. 

“Want me to cum inside this juicy cunt?” his deep voice makes your nipples ache.

“Please, s’only a fair trade, right?” you tease him, laugh morphing into a keening moan as he bullies his cock hard against your g-spot. 

He spanks his fingertips across your pudgy clit, gloves rough against your pussy lips. 

“That’s right, love,” he chuckles as he humps his cock deeper and harder into your squelching hole, “fair is fair.”

He spanks your clit again as he frees up your wrists. 

“Spread that sweet little cunt for me,” your eyes have a hard time pulling away from his mask covered face, the sight making your thighs clamp together. 

Your hands reach down and grab your pussy lips, spreading open your cunt so your pudgy little clit is on obvious display. 

“Beautiful,” he mutters, eyes staring down at your exposed pussy. 

You cry out as he spanks your swollen clit hard.

Again. 

And again. 

And again. 

You’re drooling all down your chin as each slap sends white hot electricity all through your pussy making slick gush all over his thrusting cock. 

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train making you wail as he repeatedly spanks your pulsing clit as you clamp down, milking his fat throbbing dick. 

“Good girl,” he praises, moving his hands to grip your waist, hammering up into your spasming pussy. 

With a rumbling groan, he buries his cock balls deep and cums, hot spurts of sticky jizz filling your cunt until it drips past your stuffed hole. 

Once you both come down from the aftershocks, he slips out making you whine at the empty feeling once again. He only chuckles and helps you pull up your panties, eyes dark and hungry as he covers up your cum dripping pussy. 

You gasp when he smacks your cloth covered mound. 

“Gotta say, stranger, you’re my favorite customer.”

[artdcnaldson]

i do a lot of maladaptive daydreaming so i feel like a lot of the things i want to send are too elaborate to subject you to also idk how to write a prompt but i've been thinking thoughts about dodge mason...

and competing against him in bronc riding events. you've just moved to the area and you're good. impressively, frustratingly good. he's heard the old heads murmur about you: 18 years old, feisty little thing, giving some of these seasoned professionals a real run for their money.

dodge doesn't feel intimidated by you—so what if you've won a few local competitions? he's the best in the county. the state, even. he's humble about it, of course, but he's starting to run out of room on his trophy shelves. 

obviously, he's curious though. anyone would be. so he drives to a competition out of town. he’s casual about it, dressed in a black tshirt and jeans, lingers in the back of the crowd, hands in his pockets. he doesn’t know who to look for—no one ever mentioned your name or any physical characteristics (the latter is a bit shocking, really. you must be really damn good for the rodeo chauvinists to speak only on your skill). 

he figures it out the second he sees you on a horse. there’s something enchanting about the way you ride: graceful and confident, your pigtail braids flying through the air as the horse tries to buck you off of its back, a pearly grin on your face. you brush yourself off when you jump to the ground. you walk back around the gate and he finds himself making quite the effort not to stare while you shuck off your vest and remove your mouthguard. he’s not doing a great job, though. you finally catch him staring, his gaze way more intense than he probably intended. you cock your head and offer him an awkward smile and a small wave. 

he swallows when he realizes you’re approaching him. he was hoping you might’ve been walking toward the people behind him or making your way to the bleachers, but your eyes are locked with his as you stride toward him, kicking up dust with your bedazzled cowboy boots. he scans his eyes over your body—with the intention of sizing up the competition. Not to check you out. 

if he were checking you out though, the way your jeans hug your figure would make him sweat. you unbutton your shirt as you walk, the front panels falling away to reveal a dainty little tank top. your chest gleams with sweat and a shiny charm necklace bounces between your breasts. your cheeks, kissed by the sun, burn brighter with the exertion of the ride. you have to tilt your head back to keep eye contact with him. his mouth feels dry. 

“you’re dodge mason. you hold the county record,” you hold out a tiny hand and smile, warmer this time. he takes your hand and nods, wracking his brain for a better response. he’d always been a bit frugal with words, especially around strangers. he was a thinker. conversational skills were never a priority of his. 

however, there wasn’t much thought behind the “uh, yeah,” he finally offers. he scrunches his nose a bit at his own response. you wait a beat to make room for another sentence. he nods again and manages to add, “state too.” you pull your hand away. the third smile you give him is harder to read. 

rodeo is full of needle-dicked assholes. drunk on machismo, their egos enter the room before they do. you’ve met your fair share; they huff and puff and grumble obscenities when you beat them. you think dodge seems like one of them. you purse your lips and nod to yourself. 

“well, i just came over here to tell you that i’m coming for your records. i thought i’d be kind and warn you so you can prepare yourself to lose. most men don’t take too kindly to it,” you don’t give him any time to respond before you turn on your heel and walk away. he shoves his hands in his pockets and watches you go. he looks down at the ground where you stood and smiles to himself. huh. 

OOOOUUUGHGHGHHHH DODGE MASON IN MY INBOX <3 Also I'm a maladaptive daydreamer as well <3 twins <3

And he watches you at the next rodeo— not just during your event, but always. The way you offer smiles like it's nothing, how your clothes always sparkle in the Texas sun— bedazzled across the pockets of your jeans, sparkly rhinestoned cowboy boots, across your tits on your tanktop. It's like you know people are going to look at you, so you might as well give them something fun to see.

He must look like a fucking creep to everyone else— lingering and leering. You crouch down to talk to a little girl who was watching your event, smiling brightly, all sweet and friendly. The little girl hands you a horse plushie, which you try to refuse, but ultimately walk away with. You're nice to everyone you meet... until you spot Dodge.

"Are you stalking me?" The plush is still tucked safely in your arms as you look up at him, and he finds himself uncomfortably nervous to try his hand at conversation.

Dodge blanches, a bit. "No, I'm not st—" He swallows hard, tries to deflect. He had been spending his day following you around, kind of. "You nearly beat the county record."

His county record. You nod, mouth twisted to the side as you look at him. "Mhmm." You glance past him. "Did you need something?"

"Uh... no. Just wanted to tell you I was impressed."

It's meant to be a compliment, an olive branch to soothe... whatever it was that he had fucked up during that first conversation. Instead, your brows knit, and you scoff. "Oh, well, thank you, Dodge Mason. What would a girl like me do without your approval?"

You've heard all about Dodge. Well, rumors mostly. He didn't play well with others— unless they were buckle bunnies lingering around after his events. He wasn't there to make friends, or whatever. Which is fine. You didn't need to be friends with an egotistical, narcissistic dickhead, and you certainly weren't going to give him the satisfaction of letting him fuck you.

Even if he was incredibly talented, and attractive, and his cologne smelled really nice after being surrounded by horses and mud and sweat all afternoon.

"I think a girl like you would be just fine," he says, and you want to scowl at the flutter of something in the pit of your stomach. "Congratulations on the win."

He's competing in the next Rodeo you're at. You watch his event, eyes wide, almost mesmerized by his skill. He's not just good, he's effortless out there. He spots you, tips his hat, and you swear you feel the angry glares of five pretty girls all vying for his affection.

[mouwrites]

Hello again! Let's see... Maybe... Some Creeps again? With... an insecure type character. Think slashers who wear masks in American horror type. Your choice once again, have fun my friend! Congratulations!

~ Shatter

Tysm Shatter!! I decided to do Toby for this one, hope that's cool :3

Word count: 1.1k

Creepypasta - Just Two Slashers ("Ticci" Toby) (700 follower event)

The evening air was heavy with moisture; you were certain it was going to rain. The dark trees along the road all whispered among themselves in the breeze, and for a moment you were entranced. Peaceful, even.

And then came Toby.

“Y/n! There you are!”

Tobias Rogers; the mysterious friend you’d made not too long after moving here. You guessed he lived in the woods too; maybe not these woods (you’d been searching for years for the “huge” house Toby claimed he lived in), but the woods somewhere. He always talked about life in the backwoods; but that wasn’t why you two got along so well. Any two strangers can bond over living in similar biomes—no, you both killed people. Often. For different reasons, sure, but that was something that no one else in the world could bond over.

He was jogging towards you eagerly, his mask and goggles still donned.

“How can you run in those?” You asked as he approached.

“I dunno, how can you do anything with that bulky ass mask?”

You shrugged, backing down immediately. Beneath “that bulky mask” you were reddening.

“C’mon, I was just teasing. I know why you wear it.”

“And I know why you wear your stuff.”

“Yeah. Sucks to be ugly, huh?” He joked. “Not that you’re ugly, though. I actually think you’re pretty hot.”

“You do?”

Instead of responding, Toby gripped your hand and started walking down the road.

For a while he didn’t say anything. He drummed his finger against the back of your hand, hummed, clicked his tongue, but made no conversation whatsoever.

You would’ve spoken up, but a lump in your throat stopped you. So, you took to responding to him in his language. You tapped your finger against his hand.

He glanced over at you, then began tapping rhythmically. At first you thought he was drumming the beat to some song, but then you decided that he was just being sporadic. You tried to mimic his pattern.

“I thought we were doing morse code.”

“Is that what that was?”

Toby shrugged. “I dunno. I don’t know morse code.”

You both burst out in laughter, squeezing each other’s hands affectionately. 

“Anywho, I think it’s gonna rain.”

“Yeah…”

“Everyone else will be inside.” “I should hope they’re already inside; it’s past dark now.”

“Man, don’t say that! I was thinking more, like, shucks, everyone’s inside.”

You quirked up a brow. “Why would you want someone to be… oh, wait.”

Toby nodded slowly, and you could hear the smile in his voice when he said: “Yeah.”

“Don’t tell me it is telling you to… you know.”

“Kill someone? Nah, I just wanted to mess with some losers.”

“Oh. ‘Cause… I mean, I wouldn’t mind if we—if…”

Toby knew what that meant. You had someone in mind. Someone who wronged you in the past, someone who you thought might’ve seen you as you walked the backroads late at night, someone who just gave you the vibe of someone who’d hate you… there were a lot of them. You made lists.

“Let’s see the list.”

Toby glanced over the sheet of notebook paper you’d torn from your journal, then crumpled it up in his pocket. “Got it.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, I’ll get to it eventually…” Toby sighed.

Suddenly you felt a little guilty. “I mean, you don’t have to… I don’t mind… uh, doing it myself. It was nice of you to offer, though.”

“Nah, I’ll do it. Just whenever the man wants some trouble stirred up again. Not tonight.”

“What should we do tonight, then?”

“Hm… let’s go to that one lake.”

“...The one that I live by? The lake that you’ve been to countless times when you visit me?”

“Yeah! That one!”

And so it was decided with an exasperated sigh and a blameless snicker—you’d go to the lake.

The moon was high by the time you reached the lake, and its reflection shimmered on the surface. The clouds were clearing now, but still you smelled rain.

“Let’s swim.”

You clenched your fists anxiously. “The water will be freezing, Toby!”

But he was already walking into the water. Yes, walking, not taking any layers off at all. For a second you watched in disbelief, unable to move at all. Then you huffed, sighed, and followed suit.

“Why doesn’t wearing more layers protect you from the cold? This shit sucks!!” Toby, enraged, started walking back out of the water, but only after he had gone far out enough to submerge his head several times.

“I tried to tell you,” you couldn’t help but laugh as you watched him hold his arms out like a scarecrow as he went, clothes dripping profusely.

“This was a very bad idea! Why did you let me do this? Aw…”

Before the guilt of the accusation could settle in, he was onto a new topic. “That’s crazy, though. Who knew a sweater wouldn’t protect you from cold water? Stupid. Can we warm up in your cabin please?”

Eager to help, you jumped at the opportunity. “Of course.”

You didn’t have much in your cabin, but you had a wood stove and a kettle and two cups. Hot tea warmed your bellies while the fire warmed your skin. You were both wearing pairs of your oversized pajamas, your other clothes being soaked and freezing.

Beneath your respective blankets you both huddled closer to yourselves, rubbing your arms and tucking strands of sticky hair away from your faces. 

Your knee was pressed against Toby’s, and suddenly you felt his hand resting half on his knee, half on yours.

You could see wheels turning in his head for a few seconds before he removed his hand.

“Nah, you’re even colder than I am. I was gonna suggest we huddle for more warmth, but… you’re, like, icy.”

“Unlucky me,” you laughed, nudging Toby good-naturedly. 

“Unlucky me. This totally would’ve been a good chance to hold you without all those bulky clothes on. You’re cute with them on, but with just your pajamas? Yeesh.” He sensed your owlish gaze. “That was a good ‘yeesh,’ by the way.”

You looked down bashfully. “I… think you look good in pajamas, too.”

“Really?! Gah, why do you have to be so cold? I would totally hug you right now.” Toby wrapped his blanket tighter around himself, huffing in frustration.

You had to laugh again. “Maybe next time, tiger.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, lowering himself to lay on his back. “Next time.”

He would be gone in the morning. You never knew where he went—he always insisted it was too dangerous for you to know. But he would be back. And you’d be waiting. 

Thank you so much for taking part in the event!! And thanks for reading, take care duckies <3

[thevoidstaredback]

How To Balance (+guests) as more things that live in my head

Dick: 🎶PTSD... Anxiety... Crippling Depression, there is no question, please just kill me! Let me be with Harambee. I feel like shit every day! I'm asking you nicely, do it by drowning, under the sea!🎶

Tim: 🎶 I've no more fucks to give, my fucks have all run out! I tried to go fuck shopping, but there's no fucks on the shelf!🎶

Brucie Wayne, laying it on thick: 🎶My name is Karen! My hair is shiny. My teeth are perfect. My skirt is tiny. It barely covers my perky hiney. My name is Karen, I might not be smart! That's it.🎶

Bruce: So... who broke it? ... I'm not mad. I just want to know.

Alfred: I did. I broke-

Bruce: No, no you didn't. Tim?

Tim: Don't look at me. Look at Danny.

Danny: What? I didn't break it.

Tim: Huh. That's weird. How'd you even know it was broken?

Danny: Because it's sitting right in front of us and it's broken.

Tim: Suspicious.

Babs: If it matters - probably not - but Dick was the last one to use it.

Dick: Liar! I don't even drink that crap!

Babs: Oh, really? Then what were you doing by the coffee cart earlier?

Dick: I use the wooden stirrers to push back my cuticles; everyone knows that, Barbra!

Alfred: Ok, ok! Let’s not fight! I broke it, let me pay for it, Bruce!

Bruce: No! Who broke it??!

Danny: Bruce... Selina's been awfully quiet.

Selina: REALLY??

Bruce: Yeah! Really.

Selina: Oh, my God!

Bruce: ...

Bruce: I broke it. It burned my hand, so I punched it. I predict ten minutes from now they'll be at each other's throats with war paint on their faces and a pig head on a stick. Good. It was getting a little chummy around here.

Babs: 🎶I 👏 am ready 👏 for a 👏 nap!🎶

Dick: 🎶 I did it, I did. I jumped, I stepped, right off that cliff without a parachute. I looked over the edge and saw the view of something I could never do. And no part of me knew how, but the moment came and it had to be now, so, I did it, I did. I jumped, I stepped, right off that cliff without a parachute.🎶

Dick: Hey, you guys wanna go get some d-e-s-s-e-r-t?

Tim: Yeah, dude, I need me a t-r-e-a-t

Danny: What'chu guys talkin' about?

Babs: Yeah, why'd you guys just spell des-

Dick: No, no, no, no! Shut up!

Tim: Shh!

Dick: Shut up! Don't say it

Babs: Uh, why?

Tim: Oh, god, how do we tell you this?

Dick: Danny..can't spell

Danny: :)

Babs: ...what?

Tim: He can't spell, so when we talk about something he wants, we spell it out loud so that way he doesn't get too excited

Babs: He's a hero, and he can't handle hearing the word 'treat'?

Danny: Treat?

Dick: No treat!

Danny: Treat?!

Dick: No treat!

Danny: Treat?!?

Dick: No treat!

Danny: Aw...

Babs: Okay, what is happening?

Dick: We told you! He gets excited when he hears the word t-r-e-a-t!

Danny: What'chu talkin' about?

Dick: Taxes.

Danny: Aw, shucks

Babs: So, what, you guys just treat him like a toddler?

Danny: Treat?

Tim: No treat!

Danny: Treat?!

Tim: No treat!!

Danny: Treat?!?

Tim: No treat!!!

Danny: Aw.....

Tim: Dude, you gotta spell if you're talking about f-o-o-d!

Babs: Okay, so, are we getting an s..n-a-c-k?

Danny: Snack?!

Tim: Oh, c'mon!

Dick: Dude, really?

Babs: Come on, I spelled it!

Tim: He knows how to spell 'snack'!

Babs: So he can spell 'snack', but he can't spell 'treat'?!

Danny: Treat?

Babs: No treat!!

Danny: Treat?!

Babs: No treat!!!

Danny: Treat?!?

Babs: No treat!!!!

Danny: God damn it!

Dick: Okay, he's getting fussy; it's time for an n-a-p

Danny: Yeah.. :D

Babs: What does n-a-p spell?

Danny: Party

Dick: LOOK! I'm a teenage girl, I'd rather be anywhere than here! I'm all about long sullen silences, followed by mean comments, followed by more silence! So what's it gonna be: long sullen silence or mean comment? Go on, take your pick.

Tim: ...You got me in a box here.

Dick: AH-HAA!

Dick/Bruce: 🎶Cut my life into pieces!🎶

Danny/Tim: 🎶This is my chocolate bar!🎶

Danny, upon first glance of Wayne Manor: This house is a fucking Nightmare.

Dick: It's Muffin Time!

Danny: Actually, it's 12:30

Dick: Somebody kill me!

Danny: I can't believe giraffes exist but unicorns don't. What's more believable? A house with a horn or a leopard moose camel with a 40 foot neck?

Tim: That's why I switched to caffeine patches. You can stay awake for days with no side effects

Danny: ...

Tim: AHHHH!!!

Danny: January, February, March, April, May, June, July, 🎶Jason Derulo🎶

Child!Dick: ...What if I fall?

Mary Grayson: Oh, but what if you fly?

Danny: No capes! *slap*

Danny: Behold! The spee-i-der

Danny: Objection! Nu uh

Bruce: The fuck you mean 'nu uh'?!

[familyvideostevie]

october twenty-ninth

day twenty-nine: eddie munson a stranger gives you his jacket | rockstar!eddie, flirting, fluff | 1k

God, it's cold. But you can breathe a little better outside the bar than inside, pressed in on all side by fans of the music lineup tonight. Out here it's just you and the wind.

The main band hasn't even gone on yet but it's packed in there, your friends waiting for you to return near the front of the stage. You're not looking forward to wading back to them. Would it make you a bad friend if you just went home right now? They'd understand, right?

“Fuck me,” you mutter. A shiver snakes its way through you.

You've never even heard of the main act. You really need to decide now — you left your coat at coat check and you're getting colder by the second. You creep around the side of the building so you're in the alley, which is a bit more protected by the wind than the front.

The side door of the bar opens and a guy practically spills out onto the pavement next to you.

He doesn't seem to see you. How could he, through that cloud of hair? At least he's in a leather jacket. Damn, it looks warm. He shoves some hair from his face and you see that he's got eyeliner on.

Oh. Was he in one of the bands that already played? He looks the type. All black, ripped jeans, heavy boots. His fingers sport heavy looking silver rings. You weren't paying much attention before this, but you don't think you've seen him before. You'd remember.

He pulls out a cigarette from behind his ear and goes to light it when he finally spots you.

“Oh, sorry,” he says. “Didn't know the alley was, uh, occupied.”

You wave your hand nervously. Nervous? Why are you nervous all of a sudden? Must be the cold. “No, no, it's fine. I'm probably not supposed to be here.”

“Well, I won't tell. Do you mind?” He holds up his cigarette.

“Go ahead.”

He flicks his lighter along his thigh, lights the cig, and takes a long drag, blowing away from you.

“You okay?”

You blink. He's asking you?

“I'm fine.” It comes out wobbly and the guy must think so too, because his brow furrows and he looks back towards the door he came from.

“You sure? Nothing happened? I can get someone, if you want, or call someone if you need help —”

His worry makes you feel a little guilty. You really should just go back inside.

“I just needed some air,” you say, interrupting him. He looks a little skeptical, but hums as if in understanding and takes another drag.

“It can be a lot, huh?”

Somehow you feel like this guy doesn't think it's a lot. He's just being nice.

“Yeah,” you agree. “The music is good, though. I just…I'm not great with crowds.”

“Understandable. The assholes here can get kind of rowdy.” He chews on his lip. “I'm Eddie, by the way.” You tell him your name. He really is handsome. Like the kind of guy you don't want to fuck with but also the kind of guy who smiles at dogs and babies. Weird.

“I might bail, actually,” you say. “My friends really love the main act but I don't know them.”

He perks up at that. “They're okay,” he says, smirking. “You might like them.”

That makes you laugh, for some reason.

“Want some gum?” Eddie asks.

“What?”

“Chewing gum makes me less nervous sometimes,” he says. “Takes my mind off of what I'm nervous about.”

“Oh,” you say. “Sure.”

He pulls out a small pack from his jacket pocket and hands you one. Just then a gust of wind rips through the alley and you shiver.

“Holy shit,” he says. “I didn't even realize how cold you must be. Fuck, here —”

He shucks off his leather jacket and you try to refuse.

“No, Eddie, I'm fine, really —”

“Seriously, sweetheart,” he says. “You freezing would really undermine my whole strategy to make you feel better.”

It's the pet name that sells you. You slide into the jacket. It really is warm and smells like tobacco and cologne.

“Thank you,” you say. He shrugs like it's nothing, but now he's the one shivering. He's in a shirt with cut off sleeves and you can see his muscles, see the tattoos scattered over his bare skin. “Oh, shit, now you'll be cold —”

He waves you off. “Don't worry about me.”

“Okay. I won't.”

He laughs, really laughs, head thrown back and howling.

The door he came out of opens and someone calls his name. “Eddie, come on!”

“Shit,” he mutters. He drops his cigarette and stamps it out with his boot. “You gonna go home?”

You blink. “I might stay.” You tug his jacket tighter around you. “Should I? Do you think the band is worth it?”

His eyes sparkle and you feel like you're missing something.

“They have some good songs,” he says. “They're decent. I'd give them a chance, yeah?”

“Okay,” you say. “I trust you. Here, your jacket —”

He heads for the door without it. “Nah,” he says. “Keep it. Means I might see you again.”

You probably resemble a goldfish when he winks and slips back into the bar through the side door.

Yeah, you aren't going home. Maybe you can find him inside once the music is over.

Eddie's flirting and his jacket fuel you as you head back into the bar and push through the crowds to find your friends right at the front.

“There you are!” one cries. “You almost missed it. They're going to start soon!”

“You're going to love the lead singer, he's so handsome. He plays guitar and —”

“Wait, where did you get that jacket?”

The lights in the bar dim before you can answer and people start cheering. The band walks onstage, just dark blurs until the lights go back up and —

Oh my god. It's the guy from the alley. It's Eddie. He's the lead singer. They're okay your ass.

His black-lined eyes scan the crowd until he finds you and winks again.

Your friends lose their minds.

“Helllllllo,” Eddie shouts. “We are Corroded Coffin!” The bar erupts into screams. “This first one goes out to the jacket stealers of the world.” The drummer counts down and the music starts.

Oh, you will certainly be seeing him again.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here! promptober masterlist, find all fics under #fvspromptober23

[redflagshipwriter]

Hi, it's Tim (just Tim)

Masterpost

CHAPTER THREE.

Kon was waiting when Tim came back, victorious, holding aloft a large bag. "Got it!" He called out.

Kon whooshed over at super speed and took the bag out of Tim's hand. There was a millisecond where he considered tightening his hand to keep it- but he let go. Kon flashed him a brilliant white-toothed smile. Tim subtly tensed and flexed his hand. It was fine. He didn't need to maintain any kind of dignity here. He wasn't Robin: he was just a pretty rich boy that Kon wanted to show off for.

"What'd you get me?" Kon pulled the bag open eagerly like a little kid.

Tim smacked his hand lightly. "Not here," he said, and whoops. He hadn't meant to be bossy. It just came out that way. "They're less valuable as a disguise if someone can see you with them. Let's go somewhere where you can change."

"...but not somewhere that Superboy will be noticed," Kon said, clearly thinking it over. He shrugged. "Middle of nowhere it is!" He refocused on Tim, adjusting his hold on the bag to free up a hand.

Tim sucked in a breath. Honestly, being cradled had been much more comfortable for flight than piggy back. But asking for that was embarrassing.

So he stepped in close, wound an arm around Kon's neck to support his body weight, and used his abs to pull his legs up. Kon reached out to hold under his thighs and back on reflex. "Uh-"

"Let's go," Tim said, as if this was perfectly normal behavior and wouldn't be athletically challenging to the average guy.

Kon looked down at him and sort of wheezed.

Tim raised an eyebrow in question.

"Let's go," Kon said, strangled. He looked up and took off.

He set them back down a couple minutes later. He hesitated just a bit before letting Tim down in … Tim turned a circle and squinted. "Would you classify this as a meadow?" He asked, honestly not sure. He was tramping down tall grass.

Kon barked out a laugh. "City boy," he crowed, which wasn't an insult so much as an observation. It also wasn't an answer. Tim frowned at him. Kon cleared his throat and pretended to be very interested in the contents of the shopping bag. He blinked as he withdrew a leather jacket. "Thanks?" He said, sounding unsure. "But isn't this too close to my normal look?"

Tim scoffed. "Please," he said. "You think I can't style an outfit that you'd like while also creating a different impression? That's a totally different cut from your jacket," he pointed out. "And the rest of the outfit?" He gestured impatiently at the bag.

Kon laughed. "Alright, alright, calm down baby," he said.

Tim considered the merits of hitting him. But it wouldn't be effective. So he crossed his arms and waited for Kon to pull out and blink at pre torn black jeans, black boots, a red belt, and a plain white t-shirt. The last things he took out were sunglasses with a larger frame and more angled shape than Kon usually wore and a little pot of hair wax.

"I'll style your hair," Tim said, before Kon could ask. "I can make it look different from now- change the part, make it fall differently. And those are optional," he added, as Kon pulled out a small box and squinted at it.

"Are these piercings?" Kon laughed, incredulous and delighted.

Tim shrugged. "You like metal," he said blandly. His jacket was full of spikes. Tim could infer.

Kon shook the box. "Yeah, but I don't have any piercings. I'm too tough for needles."

Tim rolled his eyes. "Of course I know that," he said scornfully. "Actually look at them. Those don't require the piercing."

"....Huh." Kon pursed his lips. "I didn't know that was a thing." He shucked his current leather jacket. Then he stuck his fingers in the loops of his pants and gave Tim a coy look, motioning like he was about to pull them down his hips. "Better cover your eyes."

Tim settled in comfortably to watch, criss crossed legs and his hands cupping his chin. "Nah."

Kon flushed bright red. He swallowed, throat bobbing. He whipped around to face the other way and clearly tried to sound sauve when he said, "Just a minute."

Tim did look away, but he snickered about it.

"Done."

He looked up to see Kon pulling the sleeves of the new jacket over his arms. Tim eyed his work analytically. The jeans gave a lot more bulk to his silhouette than his tight suit pants did, changing the striking visual impact of his broad shoulders and trim waist by comparison. There were nods to his favorite colors with the red belt and black base outfit, but the white wasn't associated with the Supers at all. He looked a lot more generic- handsome, yeah, but in a less specific and striking way.

"Piercings yes or no?" Tim checked. He stood up.

Kon rolled his shoulders, checking the range of motion in his new clothes. "Oh for sure."

"Get on your knees."

Kon choked.

Tim ignored it, bending to pick up the accessories and hair wax. When Kon didn't immediately move he let out a bitchy little sigh.

Kon dropped to his knees and turned his face up. He watched Tim step in closer and detach the first faux piercing from the packaging.

"Eyebrow okay?"

When Kon nodded, Tim put three fake piercings along his left eyebrow. He flicked his gaze down to see Kon was focusing on him, pupils dilated. Tim didn't let his face change but he brushed his thumb across Kon's lower lip, inwardly smug. Kon inhaled sharply.

Tim ignored it and dropped the empty packaging. He unscrewed the hair wax and coated his fingers before digging them into Kon's hair. Kon had been wearing it all swept forward and up. Tim added a slanted part and scrunched to add curls. He glanced down. Kon had his eyes closed.

….Hmm.

He was done. He rubbed his fingers over the nape of Kon's neck anyway, digging into the muscle and scraping through the short hairs.

He pulled his hands away and then rested them on either side of Kon's collar. "There," Tim said. It came out husky. "I can be seen with you in public like this."

Kon blinked his eyes open, smiling incredulously like he didn't know how this had happened. He stood in a smooth motion. Tim let his hands fall regretfully. He put one in a pocket and clenched it where Kon couldn't see. It was still warm from contact with Kon's solar powered body.

"Thanks." Kon cleared his throat. He watched Tim with fascination. "Where do you wanna go, sweetheart?" He reached out and telegraphed his intention to scoop Tim up again. Tim let it happen, resting his head against Kon's chest.

"How long would it take you to get to California?" Tim asked idly. He knew the answer when Kon was flying for a mission. But with a regular human passenger he had to go a lot slower. He'd risk snapping Tim's neck if he flew at full speed.

Kon hummed from the back of his throat, clearly thinking it over. "An hour and change?" He estimated. "You'd probably get nasty wind burn, though, probably bruises from the windforce. Maybe two hours is safer."

Tim grimaced. That was a lot of Kon's time to take up. He suggested somewhere a lot closer– not Gotham or Blud, but still on the East coast. It was a good time for lunch at that point so they went to a crab shack and talked over an absurd amount of buttery crab legs. Tim eyed Kon's rapidly growing pile of discards and forcibly shut down his competitive urge. He didn't need to try to keep up.

There was a stutter when the bill came. Tim could see the moment Kon faltered and started to sweat at the realization that being in civvies meant he couldn't rely on celebrity freebies. He hid a snort and pulled out his personal card, flipping the bill case shut before Kon could see the total or the full name on his card. "Here," he said, lifting it to the waitstaff. "Thank you."

Kon let out a subtle sigh of relief. "Thanks for getting this one."

Tim eyed him sideways. Kon never had any money. He just got stuff for free all the time in exchange for being used in promotions because he was Superboy. "No problem," Tim said, choosing mercy just this once.

They left and walked along a cold beach. The wind pulled right through Tim's sweatshirt. He was too composed to get caught shivering, but Kon slung an arm over his shoulder anyways. It felt nice.

Tim gave him a shitty side eye for trying such a cliche. "Does that work?" He asked.

Kon winked at him. "You tell me."

Tim narrowed his eyes. He wrapped his fingers around Kon's wrist and used the grip to tug his arm down. Then he turned his head and bit down into the meat of his forearm.

"Ow!" Kon laughed, ripping his arm away. "What the hell, man?" He rubbed his forearm theatrically.

"That didn't hurt you at all," Tim said primly, and eyed the ring of tooth marks he'd left on the leather jacket. That gave it more character, actually. Kon ought to be grateful.

"You're feral," Kon said appreciatively. "Marry me?"

Tim bent down to scoop up some rocky sand. He lobbed it at him. Kon dodged with a delighted shout and threw his hands up in mock defeat. "You didn't even pay for lunch, you can't propose," Tim criticized. "Don't you have any romance in your big body?" He threw more sand. Some of this spray clipped Kon's boots.

There was an instant where Tim realized he'd fucked up. A normal guy wouldn't be able to get one over Superboy even if he was distracted. Surely Kon was going to figure it out-

Kon dove for two fistfuls of sand and flung it at Tim with a playful roar.

Ok, he didn't think about it for a single second. Tim fell into a play fight with enthusiasm and careful control to not let his reflexes come out. Kon was playing with kid gloves on as well. So it wasn't that hard to match and not do anything too athletic or Robin-y.

Tim's pocket buzzed. He ignored it. Then it went off again, again, again.

Kon paused. "You wanna get that?"

Tim frowned as he dug it out to see what was on the screen. He expected and dreaded a call, maybe from Bruce demanding an answer about what he'd been doing with Superboy.

It was his Twitter mentions.

"Oh no," he said weakly. He opened one alert with dread.

He was tagged in paparazzi photos of himself at the lunch restaurant. Kon's face was out of frame, but Tim was front and center. "Ugh!" Tim exclaimed, disgusted. He looked so soft. Was that what he looked like when he was on a date? Christ. He was never smiling at anyone ever again.

"What's going on?" Kon asked.

Tim angled his phone over to show him. "Well, you weren't recognized," he said, bitter but pleased with himself. "You're anonymous hunk."

"....What?" Kon snatched the phone away and scrolled up and down. He glanced at Tim with disbelief. "Are you famous, dude?"

Tim rolled his eyes. "Obviously." He took his phone back. "Annoying," he muttered.

That was when a text from Bruce landed, an ominous, "we have to talk." Tim closed his eyes. He rubbed at his temples. He considered it.

He turned off his phone. "Fuck it," Tim decided. "I'm already going to get hell for being here with a guy when I'm supposed to be a state away." He cut himself off before admitting too much. Kon was watching him with wide eyes, shocked and delighted. "Wanna hook up?" Tim asked.

Kon stopped breathing.

"I'm in trouble either way," Tim clarified in explanation. Plus this was probably his last chance to get his hands on Superboy, since Kon's interest lasted like 48 hours at most and Tim was definitely not going to be freed from Bruce's hovering for at least a week after he was taken into his family's grips.

'We better move,' he realized. 'If Bruce doesn't come here to get me, Dick would.'

Yeah, nope. He was not going to endure that teasing just yet.

"Yeah," Kon said, strangled. "I wanna."

Tim nodded, brisk and businesslike. He was in mission mode. "We should leave the city," he ordered. "So people aren't looking for us there. I want to get a hotel and not leave until tomorrow morning." He was going to have to face the music, but it didn't have to be now. Given the choice, Tim would never surrender into parental custody. It was a matter of principle.

Kon went white. "Y-yeah," he agreed, nodding vigorously. "That sounds so cool."

Tim tapped his fingers impatiently. Kon took the hint and picked him up. His hands were uncharacteristically sweaty. Tim nobly forgave it, just this once. "Go to Blud," he ordered, inspired. They wouldn't expect that, not when he was obviously dodging them. "We'll check in, and you can go out and get supplies for us to bunker down."

"Whatever you say," Kon said, starstruck.

Tim patted his face and then settled in for the last flight of the day.

[lov3m3darling]

Friendship Bracelets (Howdy Pillar x Reader)

Heyy! So I wanna start trying to write some stuff for the other characters and I can't help but notice there's not NEARLY enough stuff written about Howdy! I mean look at him! HE IS PRECIOUS 🐛💚

Anyways, an idea just popped into my head! What if you were hanging out with Eddie and making some crafts and decided to make friendship bracelets for you and your bestest friends..? What could go wrong?

You guys are friends in this, but you do have a crush on each other💚

No warnings for this one and reader is gn of course 😊

💚🐛🧡🐛💚🐛🧡🐛💚🐛🧡🐛💚🐛🧡🐛💚

Making stuff with Eddie was one of your favorite things to do in The Neighborhood. It was how you managed stress and anxiety, plus it gave you a chance to make fun gifts for your friends!

Well...and Howdy, of course.

You did consider Howdy a friend, but lately you found yourself thinking about him a little too often and staring just a little too much when you'd go to help out at the Bugdega.

You'd tell each other jokes in between customers, he usually let you have snacks and such for free, and he was always fussing over you. He was very insistent about taking breaks and he never let you carry the heavy crates...

Come to think of it...it almost seemed like he liked you, too!

You shook those thoughts away just as quickly as they'd entered as Eddie held up the flower crown he'd been making.

"What do you think, (y/n)? More daisies? Less daisies? ...does Frank even LIKE daisies?!"

You gave him a knowing smile.

"I don't really think it matters, Ed. Frank is going to love it no matter what because it came from you"

Eddie blushed and smiled down at the crown.

"You're right...hey, how are those bracelets coming along?"

"Huh? Oh! ...oh dear"

It was then that you realized you'd made far too many. You were personalizing them for each neighbor, but because you spent so long thinking of Howdy, you'd accidentally made him 4 of them!

Eddie laughed and gave you the very same knowing smile you'd given him.

"Well...Howdy DOES have 4 arms. One for each! I'm sure he'll get a real kick out of that"

You hoped so, because if he questioned it, you'd die of embarrassment on the spot.

Glancing at the clock, you realized it was nearly time for your shift at the store, and you wanted to make sure everyone got their bracelets before you headed off.

You gave Eddie his on the way out. It was the same colors as his postman uniform, with a charm of a butterfly hanging right next to one of an envelope. He rolled his eyes.

"Gosh, wonder what that's supposed to mean"

"I don't know, but I think I accidentally put an envelope on Frank's bracelet too. Oopsies!"

You snickered and skipped out the door as he glared playfully after you.

Barnaby happened to be walking by, and you waved to him.

"Hey Barnaby! I made you something!"

He stopped and smiled at you.

"A present? For me?"

You nodded, holding out the colorful bracelet with a hotdog charm. His tail wagged as he slipped it over his paw.

"Aw, shucks (y/n), ain't this just perfect? And just the right size for a little guy like me!"

You shook your head and laughed before Barnaby picked you up in a big bear (beagle) hug.

"Hey, have you seen Wally? I made him one too"

"Sorry, kid. Haven't seen him all day"

Suddenly a swirl of blue hair popped up over Barnaby's shoulder.

"Uh, Barny?" you said, pointing to it.

"Huh? I got a bug on me or something?"

He turned around so you could check, and there was Wally hanging onto Barnaby's back.

"Something like that. Wally, what are you doing?"

"Eh? Wally's back there?"

Wally smiled.

"Looks like I win, Barnaby"

A look of realization crossed Barnaby's face and he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh, that's right...we were playing hide and seek, huh? Fair enough, buddy, you win"

He reached into the pocket of his vest and pulled out a nice red apple. Wally hopped down from Barnaby's back and took it, staring at it contently.

"Oh, you wanted to give me something (y/n)?"

"Ah, yes, I made you a friendship bracelet!"

You fished it out of your pocket and gave it to him. It was red and blue with an apple charm hanging from it. He took it, but seemed slightly confused.

"That's a very small apple"

"That's because it's not real, pal. You're supposed to wear it on your wrist" Barnaby explained.

Wally seemed to understand, and slipped it on.

Everyone else loved theirs too! Julie's nearly flew off from all the happy stimming she did when you gave it to her, and Frank said friendship bracelets were dumb but accepted it anyway (you're absolutely positive you saw them wearing it later on, along with Eddie's flower crown).

Eventually, only 4 remained and it was time to head to the Bugdega. Weirdly, you felt kind of...nervous? Flustered? Hard to say, but you sure were shaky when you walked in.

"Heya, (y/n)! Right on time as always!"

You smiled and grabbed your orange apron, tying it around your back and joining Howdy behind the counter.

"So, what's new?"

You looked down at your shoes anxiously and let out a nervous laugh.

"Well, actually I just came from Eddie's..."

"Ooh, craft time eh? What'd you make?"

"I made everyone friendship bracelets just for them...including you"

"Me? Golly, (y/n), you shouldn't have! Let's see it!"

You pulled them out of your pocket and held them up to him. You waited for him to laugh at you or ask why there were so many, but when you dared to sneak a look up at his face, it was bright red.

"4 of them..?"

"F-For each arm! S-See, this one has a caterpillar charm...and this one is a little shopping bag...and this one is a heart-"

A HEART?! You must have clipped that one on while you were daydreaming!

Your whole body flushed and you bit the inside of your cheek in anticipation.

A smile spread across his face slowly and he grabbed you up in a huge hug, all of his arms wrapping around you.

"I love them..."

Later on, as Howdy was stocking shelves, he looked down at them and smiled once more, hearts in his eyes and a happy sigh escaping his lips.

"They really are something..." he whispered to himself as he watched you wipe down the counter.

Maybe one day, he told himself, he would tell you how he felt...

But regardless, he never took them off

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Anyone else think Howdy would be a good dad? Idk he gives off dad vibes and he is quite large.

I trust him with my life tbh

ANYWAYYY hope ya'll like this 💚

[thestobingirlie]

Somewhat tangentially related to that other ask but I wish fandom would just acknowledge that Eddie is also bully in his own right and just because he's antagonist towards jocks doesn't mean they deserve it by virtue of being jocks (no matter how much fandom likes to pretend it's warranted because Eddie is bullied himself- this is nowhere near canon and I'd go so far as to say it goes against canon if we're basing it off of Eddie's own behavior) and beyond all that; like the other asker and yourself said Eddie isn't just antagonizing jocks! He openly scorns band kids, geeks and pretty much everyone that isn't his specific brand of nerd which is not about academics so much as nerdy interest like fantasy and "non-conformist" music.

I put that in quotations because Eddie is actually probably the one that buys into the whole high school hierarchy spiel more than any other character on the show; by setting himself up as such an anti-establishment non conformist (all within the high school setting mind you we see nothing to make me believe his ideals go beyond that setting and it makes sense to me considering he's a Peter Pan archetype stuck in a state of arrested development- but I digress) because he sets himself up in such a way that his entire persona is built off of the abject refusal to adhere to societal expectations he's by and large helping to perpetuate them. He's cosplaying this attitude more than living by it because the societal norms still very much dictate how he views himself and how he approaches others.

Ironically Steve is the real deal in this regard by shucking what others expect from him and living his own life the way he wants it divorced from the excepted norms he used to let dictate him as late as mid s3 while changing the things he didn't like about himself behaviorally while still retaining his core personality and interests without the need to revise himself fully.

But because he doesn't have an alt style or interests that go against the mainstream, fandom refuses to see him in this light. He also doesn't let his new friends change his own interests nor expect them to change theirs for him.

I guess this rant makes me sound like I don't like Eddie but I do! I think fandom Eddie is entirely separate from canon Eddie however, to the point where his only recognizable qualities are his interests and aesthetic. Fandom really seems to martyr him in that regard and fully drink his kool-aid which is hilarious because it's largely performative with no substance lmao (even the "woe is me hunt the freak huh 🥺" falls flat narratively when a whole ass dead girl was found in his home).

I think the duplicitous nature of his personality and his hypocrisy (while still fully being a good guy! If you ignore the whole uh selling hard core drugs to a 17/18 year old girl who clearly never did them before thing) I think it's this dual nature and slightly shady actions while still having a caring heart and good intentions is what makes him a good character and we don't get to see that hardly ever with the way a laaaarge portion of fandom worships at his freak alter.

god, beautifully written. i agree with every single point. honestly, you anons just know how to word exactly what i’m feeling.

yes! eddie pretends like he rejects societal ideals, but he just reinforces them to the next generation. he’s built his life on being the freak, he plays it up to get attention, and to rile up his classmates. i honestly think eddie won’t know who he is post high school. which is, like you said, ironically the way the fandom tries to portray steve. but we see that he’s much more secure in himself and his life than eddie. does he have everything figured out? of course not, he’s 18!! but he knows a hell of a lot more than eddie.

but because he isn’t a nerdy outcast, the fandom would have us believe that he actually hates his life and who he is, and secretly doesn’t want to be a jock. fanon steve is honestly way more like canon eddie than i think the fandom wants to admit.

(and yeah, chrissy is found dead in his home. people aren’t just witch hunting eddie for no reason lmao)

all this is what makes canon eddie an actual interesting character!!! and the fact he (and steve) are entirely stripped of these characteristics is one of the reasons that i just can’t vibe with the fandoms rendition of steddie.