#solo pov!

[shootingthe-stars]

chapter 66 of nowhere man is out!!

wolfstar do gay things without doing any gay things whatsoever

chapter 66 or from the beginning!

[ghost-proofbaby]

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

HOUR NINE

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

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

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

→ wc: 6.9k+

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

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

9:00 ─────ㅇ──────────── 24:00

DINGUS received a message from BIRDIE. 

BIRDIE: i found out what you said. 

-

HOUR NINE - 12:00 AM

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stop. 

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

A whimper. 

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

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

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

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

Oh, yeah. He’s fucking jacking off. 

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

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

“Oh my- fuckin’ Jesus Chri- my God.”

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

You don’t. You don’t. 

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

“Fuck.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looks even more embarrassed than you.

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

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

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

You’re a shit pretender. 

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

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

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

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

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

“And now I’m not.” 

“That doesn’t mean you can’t.” 

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

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

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

Did he just check me out? 

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

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

Which hand did he use? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How did I never know this?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, shut up.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll tell you another time,” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We should,” he agrees. 

“Goodnight, Eddie.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright, fuck it.” 

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

“Um, Eddie?” 

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

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

“What are you doing?” 

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

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

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

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

“It’s the middle of the night.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

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

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

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

It takes you less than one. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And neither could you.” 

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

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

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

“I hate you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay? We have to take a photo-” 

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

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

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

“Nothing,” you squeak from beneath the helmet. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

DINGUS: what did i say? 

BIRDIE: it’s not bad.

BIRDIE: i promise.

BIRDIE: it’s just not great either. 

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

BIRDIE: jesus okay! hop off the violent train. 

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

DINGUS: jesus christ. okay.

—

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

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

“You like her,” Steve deadpans. 

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

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

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

“I have not-”

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

A smile finally cracks on the boy’s face. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

taglist is now closed.

[yukipri]

I finally got a beta for my fic!! May I introduce: Sabo!

For his first time editing, he deleted my entire chapter and instead wrote:

Wow, he can type with his ass. Skills.

April Fool's (but he really did type that)

Cats tag: #YukiPriASLKittens

[from-a-legends-pov]

Star Wars Legends: Poll of the Week - Out-Of-Context Pictures

Which of these out-of-context pictures from a Star Wars Legends property is your favorite? (Context provided below)

1: “Heat stick”: Oh, no, that certainly doesn’t look like anything else, no….

2. Laser-eyes Leia: Is it possible to learn this power?

3. Hit where it hurts: He had it coming.

4. “Turn off the foam, Threepio!” I don’t know, that looks kind of fun, Luke.

5. Han punches an otter? An otter wearing fancy jewelry, no less.

6. Playing ships with a Sith: Vader plus younglings doesn’t usually go well….

And now, for some context:

1: “Heat stick” - Wedge Antilles and Wes Janson spend a cold night together on a mission, and yes, that is supposed to be a heat stick used to warm them and not a glowing something else (Star Wars - original Marvel Comics)

2: Laser-eyes Leia: Meet Leia Organa II, a replica droid of the Princess, designed to speak, move, and act like the real Leia, and equipped with blasters in her eyes. The real Leia Organa is captured and nearly forced to marry Trioculus, a three-eyed warlord claiming to be Palpatine’s son (he wasn’t – that was a different three-eyed guy), but right before the wedding Leia’s friends switch her with Leia Organa II. At the altar, the replica droid blasts Trioculus with a little pew pew straight from her eyes, killing him, and the real Leia is able to escape (Queen of the Empire)

3: Hit where it hurts: When Black Sun boss Prince Xizor’s attempted assault of Leia Organa (by drugging her with his powerful Falleen pheromones) is interrupted by Chewbacca coming to the rescue, Leia gives Xizor a well-deserved knee to the groin before escaping (Shadows of the Empire)

4: “Turn off the foam, Threepio!” On a mission with Leia and the droids, Luke Skywalker uses extinguisher foam to subdue some Blackhole troopers aboard a Hrakian ship (“Gambler’s World,” Early Star Wars Adventures)

5: Han punches an otter? Han Solo’s evil cousin Thrackan Sal-Solo has imprisoned Dracmus, a female Selonian who has been trained as a diplomatic envoy to humans. He forces Dracmus to fight Han, whom he has also imprisoned, but Han is familiar enough with Mandaba, the Selonian language, to convince Dracmus to go easy on him during the fight without Thrackan catching on. Han still loses the fight, but gains Dracmus’s trust, and when Dracmus is later rescued, Han is allowed to come along (Assault at Selonia)

6: Playing ships with a Sith: Plourr Ilo recalls her brother Harran (Harrandatha Estillo), who from childhood was an evil, vicious person who wanted her dead so that he could become ruler. Harran idolized Darth Vader, and when Harran met the Sith as a child, Vader made Harran his protégé, taking advantage of his sadistic personality and apparently also playing ships with him for hours (Star Wars comics, X-Wing: Rogue Squadron - The Warrior Princess)

Hungry for more Legends content? Follow @from-a-legends-pov and consider signing up for our upcoming fanfiction event, From a Legends Point of View! Signups open April 28!

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Hard Learned Lesson

Hello everyone!

*cough* so... you all ready for some... angst? ;3

Timeline wise this is in the spring of the first year the guys got the farm! So their first spring in FarmTale <3

First Drabble (Thank @spotaus for the one who started this madness with the original prompt) Prev Drabble Next Drabble

No beta or edits :3 We just going. Again. Angst incoming!

*--------------------*

Nightmare huffs as he looks bored at his stupid math work. He doesn't get it! The teacher jsut... doesn't explain it like when Dusty does. Dust knows how to tell him things that make sense!

Nightmare doesn't like this school he has to be in.

He doesn't like being away from his dads- caretakers- his four. He prefers to be with them and have them decide when it is time to learn and how.

Nightmare knows he can trust them. they are safe.

At least he doesn't have to be here for long... Just a day each week. And just until they figure out his school level or something.

The teacher smiles at him and speaks softly "Hey there night night."

Nightmare glares wiht all his might at her "Nightmare." his name is nightmare! Only his dads- his four are allowed to call him night night or nighty or nightlight!! That is their right! Not hers!

The teacher giggles and smiles at him "I am sorry. Nightmare. How is your math going?"

Nightmare frowns as he looks at the numbers and the drawings of apples. something about adding stuff together and taking a few away or something. He knows he used to be able to do this but how he did it he can't quite remember or figure out.

Ngihtamre shrugs and plays a bit iwht his pencil.

The teacher nods as she crouches next to him "Still hard?"

Nightmare shrugs and mutters softly "Dusty could explain..."

He doesn't like most adults who are here. Most of them imply that his four did stuff wrong or are doing wrong. Nightmare doesn't agree. They did everything right! THey came back so they can't do wrong. This lady is nice. she makes sure her voice is quiet and lets him stay inside when the other louder kids go play outside. She doesn't mind him reading his book instead of drawing.

the nice teacher smiles and nods "I am sure your dad is a great teacher. He seemed like the smart type."

Nightmare nods before catching up with what she said and freezing. He keeps messing up in his head and calling them dads... would that be weird? He doesn't want to be weird.

she smiles and takes a seat next to him "How about we try to do the problems together? We can try to work through them then?"

Nightmare shrugs again. Not really caring that much. He just needs to wait a bit longer and one of them will pick him up and they will go home and snuggle. Killer found a new movie to watch. Probably more cowboys! Nightmare likes them okay but loves to just lay wiht Killer when watching as Killer loves those a lot.

his teacher smiles at him and takes out a pencil. "OKay. the first problem. it is a bit of complex adding with the higher numbers but it works the same as the smaller numbers and-"

a loud knock on the door.

The door opens and one of the older ladies walks in. Nightmare doesn't like her. she is strict and always looks at his dads disapproving. As if they did smething wrong. She is also the one who says it is just a matter of time before Nightmare will like being here. Nightmare knows better and makes sure to tell the interview guy each time he wants to have classes with dusty again.

his nice teacher frowns as she looks up "Is something wrong miss March?"

The older lady huffs but speaks up "Someone came to pick him up. somekind of emergency."

Nightmare frowns and glances over. it are two humans who both look rather official. He immediantly leans behind the nice teacher and mutters "Dusty said to never go with others." One of the rules. Never ever leave this building unless it was with any of them. One of them is usually the whole day in the building with him.

The nice teacher looks unsure "March. I know for a fact those man are not part of the group that was allowed to pick him up."

March waves at one of the man and he shows an official looking document with somekind of symbol on it. Nightmare doesn't like this and inches clsoer to his teacher.

SHe reaches for the paper but the man pulls it away and tugs it away "It is sensitive information. It is a matter of great importance that we leave right this minute."

Ngihtmare doesn't like this. this is bad. These man are lying. he just knows it. Nightmare knows liars and he doesn't like them and these two are lying!

Nightmare looks at the nice lady "I don't want to go. I wanne wait for dad." he is scared. please.

The nice teacher smiles at him before looking at the other three adults "I am sorry. but he doesn't feel comfortable. I am sure we can just wait here for one of his fathers to show up. I will stay late with him to wait." she offers immediantly and Nightmare feels a bit better.

March glares at her "April! Stop that. These man are very important. They say it is an family emergency."

April! That was her name! April looks unsure between them and then Nightmare "I still think..."

MArch sighs loudly "You are a kindergarden teacher. You don't think." she smiles at the two man "I am so sorry for her. I will make sure to give her a talking to. You two make sure the little man gets to where he needs to go!" she grabs Arpil's arm and pulls her along.

April protests loudly "Wait! Miss March! I really don't think this is a good idea!"

Ngihtmare plans to follow her but one of the man gets in the way. he smiles andit doesn't feel good. it feels dangerous. He knows those type of faces. He used to see them daily. Ngihtmare feels his fight or flight response start to appear as he glances around.

The man speaks ina soft and quiet voice "Hey there. I know this is very scary but we have somewhere very important to be okay? We need to be quick. come now."

Nightmare shakes his skull as he glances around. Panic in his soul and magic. Where is Dusty? Or Crossy? Kills? 'Ror? where are his four? One is always near?

Unless these man knew... unless there are more people and some of them are distracting them!

THe man grabs his arm and pulls him along. Nightmare is once again reminded that he is weak. Weak and powerless and useless as he can't even defend himself!

The leave the building and a van is parked nearby. More panic as he is pushed in and the door clsoes.

--

Cross feels numb as he watches Killer tear the two ladies a new one "What the fuck you mean you let strangers take him!?"

Miss March, the personal assistant of the owner of this whole fucking thing looks insulted "Well! I will have you know that I tried to stop it but that April, the naive idiot girl, decided to trust strangers!"

Said girl, woman honestly even if she is still young sits on a chair in tears. She had been the one to call them in a panic. April looks up wiht a glare and read eyes from crying "I told you not to trust them! I told you not to let them take him but you pulled me away and when i got back to where he was before he wasn't there and and and-" she sobs as she hugs herself, she stares at them begging "I am sorry. I swear i tried! I tried to stay wiht him but Miss march she-"

March hisses at her "shut up you stupid dimwit!"

Killer is seething as he glares at March "Where. is. our. child!?"

MArch stammers and tries to explain that some man came in about some emergency. Killer growls "so instead of verifying that they were speaking the truth you just trust the first person to walk in and way a piece of paper around?"

Cross stares at April. he still can't feel anything. just dread. He walks to her side and stares at her "What did they look like?"

April blinks as she looks at Cross with tears in her eyes. Cross just doesn't care. He needs to find him. Now. a glance shows that Horror and Dsut are talking with police man. Dust is beside himself and keeps trying to pull his hood further over his skull. clearly nearing an actual breakdown.

Cross can fix this. He just needs to get Nightmare back.

April sobs as she rubs her eyes. She thinks for a moment before giving an as detailed description as possible.

Arpil frowns as she pauses "there... there was this symbol on the paper. Wait. let me draw it." she opens her folder and grabs a bright blue glitter pen and starts drawing it. Cross knows a police officer joined him and is taking notes himself.

She shows the symbol "It looks likes this. Some werid snake around a sword. It looked a bit like the medical symbol and stuff but it doesn't quite like it." she frowns.

The police man frowns and starts to talk about this gang named the Viper and how they kidnap children. often political reasons.

Cross however already checked out as he starts thinking. the speed limit is about 30 kilometres an hour in these type of areas. This happened not longer than 20 minutes ago.

If they were pushing their luck and driving hard they couldn't have driven harder than 50 an hour. which means they are at this point about at maximum about 15 to 20 kilometres away.

If they are already known with the police? They won't risk being out long. They know when Cross and the others would be away because they were held up getting food and snacks. Meaning it was planned. Meaning they knew that they would immediantly get the news out.

Cross hums and glances towards the door. They are hiding somewhere nearby. They can't risk being in a car and being searched. This universe has cops that actually care and want to help people. If they are already on their shitlist?

a circle of 25 kilometres. That is what Cross thinks they should be within for now until they will feel brave to search for a spot to... to... do whatever they had planned for Nightmare.

Cross slowly backs away from the othrs. He mutters to Horror that he is going to catch some air. Horror shoots him a worried look but Dust is actively shaking and tears are leaving his sockets so Horror is quick to try and calm him.

Cross feels the air grow more and more static. he steps out of the building and glances up. Very dark clouds, black and purple and some flashes of lightning.

Cross looks around the area around the building. police cars are everywhere but none of them notice Cross. Cross looks at his own arm and can only see himself because he knows what to look for. a slight difference in depth compared to the area around him. His camouflage his active.

Good.

He will need that.

He glances around againa nd finds the cops looking at tire tracks. he gets near and studies them.

He hates what his universe made him. He hates what XGaster has made him. BUt... Cross can admit... It has its benefits. He memorises the pattern of the track in the dirt and considers how deep the track is. Yeah. Somekind of van. A small one but heavy. So probably a two seater and the loading area in the back. Most likely no windows or Nightmare could have waved to get someones attention.

Cross has an area. And a general idea on what to look for.

Time. To. Hunt.

---

Something smashes into pieces and Nightmare shakes as he keeps hiding his skull wiht his arms. Not able to ban out the voices.

"What do you mean you don't know who to contact?!"

another shouting voice "It means I don't know! We have had no one react to our messages and codes about him! Our hackers didn't find anything on those four! No schooling. No past lives. No past adresses. Nothing!"

the first voice "Of course not! One of them was tugged away from eye sight to even get that child! Find out who he was with and we know who will pay raw gold to get that little freak back!"

Ngihtmare shivers at that word. He isn't a freak... he isn't... Crossy always says he is special and perfect. that means he isn't a freak.

another voice "What if this was all a waste?"

the first voice "Then we find some other weird fucker that wants a monster child. There is always some sick fuck that likes toys like that."

Ngihtamre is shaking. he wants his dads. He wants to cuddle with his dad and eat food with his dad and watch tv and...

He sobs.

A loud groan "And of course that stupid thing is a whining crybaby and it won't shut up!"

a new voice. much more worried "euh... guys? Remember those clouds i was talking about?"

more groans and the tired voice of before answers "Dude. not now. we are having a crisis here."

THe newest guy continues "No you don't get it... the clouds? Those are completely black... there is no sunlight coming through."

silence before rushing steps and more curses and awed noises.

a moment of silence for another person speaks up "The radios are out...so is the phone service and well... any service..."

A flash and immediatnly loud thunder. Nightmare isn't afraid however... as that was Dusty's storm. He can feel it. the familiar static and magic that circles and seems to hug him. If Dusty's storm has already found him... That must mean Dust is close right? Or that dust now knows his location right?

Nightmare isn't sure how they are getting more powers. but they are so cool...

more sounds of annoyance and grumbles as the humans all take seats. grumbles about how they can't keep looking for a buyer now and that they will be forced to wait or risk being seen.

Nightmare looks around his small cage. he is stuck in somekind of animal cage in a dark room without any window. but he still feels and hears the lightning and thunder. he knows the flashes happen as he feels his own magic notice them. the immediant thunder after it.

They are right in the middle with the lightning right above them.

another crack and flash and suddenly loud shouts as the light under the door turns off. Seems like everything is broken now.

Loud annoyances and grumbles as they wlak around. shouting at each other. Nightmare rolls back up and waits.

He just... he just has to have faith! They found him once... surely they can find him again right? Surely... they want him still right?

right?

---

Cross runs through the forest. letting the static in the air guide him as he follows the tracks. Cross isnt'sure if the storm is leading him or if he is leading the storm at this point.

It doesn't matter.

The effect is the same.

Dust's storm and him move togehter. the lightning and static move in unison with Cross as he rushes through the forest. Everything grows quiet and still around him as he moves. unseen and more one with the world around him than seperate at this point.

It doesn't matter.

Because he found it.

He spots the van first and sees the house it is parked by after. He watches for a moment and the bright purple magic flashes quickly and loudly. flash after flash after flash.

It should be bothersome to him.

It isn't.

Cross moves silently as he reaches the van first. he pulls the door open with one harsh tug and takes the actual backdoor with the tug. he drops it to the ground and looks into the van. Nobody but there are small marks of someone having clawed as the floor.

Cross moves silently and smoothly into the van and studies the marks. He knows those marks. Nightmare tends to try and push Killer away and if they don't help him clip his claws before they get too long Nightmare tends to accidentally scratch Killer.

The scratches are never deep and never take longer than a few minutes to heal. Nightmare still feels bad about it even if Killer doesnt even feel it.

Cross follows the marks with one of his own fingers. He was right.

Cross leaves the van just as quietly as he entered it and walks towards the door. Not marching. More like gliding. Silent. Smooth. Quickly.

He gets to the door and pusehs his knife in between the side and the door. One quick push and the lock breaks and the door swings open. THe hallway is dark.

He hears movement deeper in the building.

Cross moves silent as a shadow. leaving no trail or tracks in his wake.

he moves through the hall and leaves the door open. purple flashes behind him and Cross can't help but notice that his shadow looks weird. almost as if his shadow itself is melting into the other shadows and stuff... weird...

He follows the hall and gets to the living room. He just pushes the door open and sees about seven humans all looking around trying to locate stuff wiht flashlights. one of the flashlights shines over him and the human screams bloody murder. the others turn and scream and yell themselves. something about a demon.

Cross doesn't care. He is here for two reasons. one. get his baby back. two? Make sure these sorry excuses never get the chance to take their baby away ever again.

Cross stares before rushing one of the humans. he has them by the head and throws them into the wall. the wall cracks and the human drops motionless to the floor. Cross slowly turns to the others.

The raise their weapons but Cros has already jumped another. He pushes the human to the floor and grabs them by the head. he smashes the head against the floor once and hears the tiles break just as the skull caves in on itself and the human goes motionless instantly.

Cross rises back to his full length.

One of the humans shakes as they raise their weapon "fuck... fuck!" and starts firing.

Cross doens't know why he doesn't move. Maybe it is... because he kidna knew. the bullets seem to all, just move through him. as if he isn't all the way there yet is. untouchable until cross wants to touch something.

more panicked cursing as Cross holds out an arm. and his own weapon materialises. he goes for his one large sword and gets to work.

It isn't even a fight.

Cross would think calling this a fight would be an insult to actual fights he had.

play fights and spars with killer are more challenging.

Having a verbal debate with Killer is more challenging! and Killer hardly even gives arguments!

Cross dematerialises his sword and stalks around the house. He doens't hear anymore movement of people walking around.

a soft sob.

Cross is by the storage closet in seconds and pulls the door open.

Cross wants to thank his lucky stars he has night vision because he doesn't even need a flash of lightning to see their baby. Cross is on his knees by the cage in seconds as he pushes a hand through the bars and rubs the tiny cheeks to clean the tears. only for fresh tears to appear and Nightmare to grab his hands.

Nightmare sobs "dad... I was scared."

Cross mutters soft praises and reassurances all at once as he just sits by his baby "it is okay nighty. I am here. I am not going anywhere okay? We will just wait here. Your other dads are on their way okay? we will go home and lay in the nest and read stories. You have been so brave and I am so sorry you had to wait for so long." More tears keep appearing and Cross keeps rubbing them away gently.

Cross will stay right there for as long as they need.

flashing police lights and Cross feels himself growl when his phone buzzes. He opens the chat and sees a message from Killer.

'horror texted me to say he sees a broken open car and the police are nervous. Make sure the police can break nightmare out. Stay near but invisible. I know it sucks but please!!'

Cross doesn't like it but he can already feel himself start to disappear from view. He whispers to Nightmare "I am staying right here with you okay? Some people will walk in and they are police man. They will bring you to Dusty and Horror okay?"

Nightmare sniffs and sobs as he looks desperate at Cross. Seemingly not at all bothered by Cross using his weird invisibility. Nightmare keeps staring at him and sniffs "promise? You won't leave?"

Cross smiles and rubs the tiny cheek "I will stay right here with you. Forever." like fuck anyone is going to get any of them to leave their baby. He is theirs and no one elses. Everyone can gets lost and disappear for all Cross cares. He has what he needs with his new family.

Nightmare nods and sits their shaking. his tiny hands not letting go of Cross's hand and Cross keeps holding both tiny hands wiht one of his as he rubs the tiny cheek with his other. The discomfort of how he needs to wiggle his way through the bars not even fully registering as he waits.

Loud shouts of police and slow steps. dead silence as they find the slaughter that Cross left behind. more rushed steps and a panicked voice "Kid?! Kid please be okay! Yell out! We are here to help! please we are worried and your dads are worried too!"

Nightmare sobs and looks at the door. He can't seem to find words and just whines. The sound feels like a shot right through Cross's soul as he keeps holding the tiny hands.

Rushed steps and someone with lights and red and blue reflectives steps in. The officer sighs in relieve "oh thank the heavens you are okay." he takes a step closer but Nightmare obviously flinches and tugs himself in a corner. more sobs and shaking leaves him.

Nightmare mutters sound so loud in the silent room "want dad... dad... where is dad?" more sobbing and his breathing comes out in short pants. slight panic starts to appear on his face.

The officer takes out his walkie talkie "Get one of those skeletons in here..." a moment of silence "I don't care! Lead them in then to make sure they don't touch anything! This child just went through actual hell and deserves someone he can trust." after which he raises both hands. making it clear he isn't hiding anything.

It doesn't help as Ngihtmare keeps breathing quicker and more whines. Cross tries to reassure him but it only helps so much. Cross has no doubt the cage isn't helping either but that would mean that cross would have to open the cage and the other would see that and Cross doubts even Killer can lie their way out fo that one and-

Running steps and a moment later Dust pushes past the officer. He stands frozen before he throws himself at the cage and just rips it open. He has Ngihtmare in his arms wihtin seconds and just. stays rolled up on the floor. shaking.

Cross sees the Nightmare immediantly starts breathing easier as he pushes clsoe to dust. more sobs "dad... .dad... i was scared"

Dust mutters soft apologises and love messages to Nightmare. How he is sorry he wasn't there. and that he swears he will be better and that he and the others all love him so much and that they were terrified and that they won't let anyone hurt him and how much they love him.

Cross just hugs the two for a moment. using his invisibility to give them some comfort. Dust leans into the touch and mutters a thanks for saving him.

the police officer reassurace him it is just their job but Cross knows Dust had aimed it at him.

It makes him feel warm inside. knowing he did soemthing to save their baby. to protect his family. warm and loved.

Cross follows Dust and the police officer out as Dust staggers outside. Still hugging Nightmare close and clearly trying to hide him from the world.

Once outside Horror steps over and easily lifts Dust and Nightmare. Hiding both in his arms as he mutters his own apologises to Nightmare and how scared they had been.

Cross can't help but notice that the sky is no longer thundering and while still cloudy and dark all the lightning had disappeared.

Cross then feels his phone buzz again and he checks the message. it is killer. sending him a message that as soon as he can he needs to reunite with him in the police car he is riding with. Make sure to be sneaky.

Cross watches his two mates not mates mates friends fush over nightmare as the police people get to work.

Cross leaves the scene of the crime and follows the road to reunite wiht killer.

He sees a few other cop cars making their way over to the location and eaisly enough spots Killer in one. Killer stares outside and Cross manages to land silently on the car roof.

As Killer ordered Cross manages to wiggle his way into the moving cop car. Killer nudges him in the side and Cross feels his camouflage finally disappear, as it disappears he feels the exhaustian start to creep up.

Killer grins at the humans in front "Again thank you for giving us both a ride!"

The police man blinks confused but as he looks up he stares at both Cross and killer. Killer keeps smiling and the police man ends up nodding "Well... of course! Heavens knows that I would be beside myself if I lost my little girl. My daughter is my whole world and if anything happened to her..." he shakes his head "of course we would all try to reunite you four with your boy as soon as possible!"

Killer continues talking to the human. Cross zones out as he suddenly feels so very tired...

For now? None of it matters to Cross. Let Killer figure out how to manipulate and lie to the humans.

Cross feels tired and just wants to see their mate with thier child. Safely reunite with their other mate.

Nothing else matters right now.

Cross still remains vigilant. He can rest later... Once they are home again. Once they are all safe again.

*--------------------*

First Drabble Prev Drabble Next Drabble

[kasiobite03]

goodbye hug 16.10.23 fits pov

[bellyyearner]

Feedist Kinktober 2024 Day 6: Possesion

Word Count: 1786

Thankyou to @fatguarddog for the theme list!

Solo Stuffing, GN feedee, messy eating, possesion

You had lit the last candle more than 5 minutes ago, feeling dumb you glace around the room taking in the state of it. Open books strewn about, sheets of paper covered in symbols you aren't even sure are real, formerly tall white candles that had melted to half their original height from repeated use, and a red circle lined with runes you had drawn in pig blood. Your legs were growing static from how long you had been sitting criss cross on the hardwood floor, so you close the book you were reciting from and set it down with a frustrated sigh. Unfolding your legs and laying flat on your back, wanting nothing more than to sink into the floor

It had been a rough year to say the least, your ex partner left and took the dog with them, your landlord had increased your rent which only made a bad situation even worse, but the worst part was that you still loved them. Despite how it all came to an end you had this longing feeling in your heart, yearning to be embraced by them once more. But you knew that was wrong. You knew they couldn't accept your desires and that made you question if those desires were a bad thing. You had stopped eating, only doing so when necessary to avoid passing out from exhaustion, starving yourself to lose the 30lbs of relationship weight you had put on during your 2 years together.

Opening up to them about your kink felt like the worst decision you had ever made, they reacted to it as if you said you killed someone, and now a year later you were trying everything from voodoo to devil worship just to try and find answers you weren't even positive you wanted. Just latching on to anything and everything to distract yourself from the fact that your life as you knew it had fallen apart. With tears welling up in your eyes beginning to blur your vision you said

"I just.. I just wish I could get past this"

Every candle around the room that wasn't touching the pig blood gets snuffed out all at once, as if a strong gust of wind came through the room. You sit up quickly, eyes darting around the room with fear and confusion until they rest upon the remaining candles at the circle. The fire burning a deep red you hadn't seen before, growing taller and wider with each passing moment. Stuttering you try and form words but are stopped as the pigs blood pools into a sphere floating mere inches off the hard wood floor. A disconnected voice that sounds like it's from everywhere and nowhere fills your mind

"Why would desire be a bad thing child?"

A tendril of blood reaches out from the sphere, moving closer and closer to you as you're too stunned to move

"I can help you.. all you have to do is say yes.."

This is what you had been chasing, all the money spent to acquire the books, the countless hours you spent researching pronunciation and reading accounts of rituals, all the tears shed over what happened. You blurt out 'yes' with fear in your eyes, completely unaware of what was about to happen to you

The tendril dives its way past your lips and down your throat, filling your mouth and nasal cavity so you can't breath at all. The remainder of the bloody sphere slips further and further into you at an agonizingly slow pace

"Child... Your pain is deep... Though I am certain I can remedy this... You just need to trust in me... Don't fight back... Allow me to take the reigns..."

You know there's no point in fighting back, you accepted its deal, and at this point you couldn't think of any way for your life to get worse. So you relinquish control, relaxing your body and allowing the sphere to completely enter you. After a moment of the blood settling deep within your stomach. Your body begins to move, not on your actions but the sphere's.

You stand and begin to stumble to the kitchen, your shoulder hitting the door frame, hips colliding with the couch, as your body nearly falls to the ground

"Why call upon me with such a weak and flimsy vessel?... Can't even care for your own body.. all for an aesthetic you don't even care for... You humans never cease to amaze me.."

You swing the fridge open, your vision still blurry and tinted red you observe the contents of it. Bottles of wine, left over unseasoned chicken breast, a pitcher of cucumber water, and a few bananas. Your body recoils in disgust as it slams the door closed, immediately walking to the front door of your apartment.

"This shall not do... We must go shopping"

The trip felt like a blur, a montage of grabbing random premade items and bags off the shelves, swinging open glass doors to grab frozen items. Opening the bags and plastic tins with a scowl to anyone looking at you, only for your mouth to contort and force out the words "we shall pay for it"

On the walk home, arms filled to the brim with almost 2 dozen bags, it's not even heavy, the sphere speaks again

"Desire is not a bad thing child... Though you cannot expect others to share it... You do not have to abandon it... Your senses will eventually fade into nothing... So why would you neglect those that you enjoy while in the land of the living?"

The apartment door closes behind you and your legs carry you to the kitchen, dropping all of the bags onto the counter in a single motion.

Immediately your hands rummage through the bags, removing pastries, boxes of cookies, bags of chips, and sodas, opening them all and consuming them at a rapid speed. You can feel your starved belly begin to swell, the shrunken space filling with everything you had written off when your life went to shit. Still stuffing cookies into your mouth, your other hand grabs the bottom of a bag and flips it over, 2 oven ready pasta dishes fall to the counter with a heavy plop. You grab them both and rip the tops off, carrying them both to the oven. A fiery tendril seeps its way from your room and into the oven, lighting the pastas ablaze. Your arms reach for 2 other bags and do the same as the former, a dozen pints of ice cream fall to the counter as the fiery tendril caresses each one.

"Do not worry child... It may seem like a lot but I promise to take good care of you... I shall subdue your mental and physical pain as much as I can... So please... Just allow me to show you what you've been missing..."

Your body swings open the fridge again, grabbing the pitcher of cucumber water before dumping it into the sink. Slamming the pitcher to the counter your hands begin opening the pints of ice cream, one rises to your mouth as the other pours the rest into the pitcher until it's full. Once the pint at your lips is empty it falls to the floor and you grasp the pitcher with both hands, drinking the warm and gooey mix of vanilla, chocolate and pistachio, as the liquid drains down your throat and into your stomach you can feel yourself expanding. Even when stuffing yourself in secret you were never this greedy so the euphoria felt amazing. Pure sugary bliss, you can feel the sphere laugh but the sound of you swallowing was louder. Within a minute the pitcher is gone and your breathing is heavy.

The tendril of fire leaves the oven and floats amongst the ceiling, reminiscent of stretch marks across a pale fatty's gut. You take the pastas from the oven and collapse to the floor, legs spread in front of you with the dishes between your thighs, you dig into them with your hands. Alternating between fettuccine alfredo and a meaty lasagna, the mess you're making is incredible but you don't care, the thought of clean up doesn't even cross your mind. Your growing belly now feeling taut, you can feel the pig blood moving throughout your stomach massaging you from the inside as you force more and more down your throat. Handful after handful scattering sauce across your frame and the floor, smearing your lips and cheeks with white and red sauce

"This... This is what you abandoned... Restricting yourself time and time again... All for someone who was hoping to 'upgrade' you into a gym rat... You do know that right?... You have a desire to be fat... And they had a desire for you to join them at the gym... They chose a chubby person and were surprised when chubby turned to fatty... But there are others like you... Others who not only accept your desires.... But encourage them... Indulge them... Why should you wax and wane over a person who denies you this level of pleasure?..."

The sphere's words hit you like a truck, lost in a self indulgent piggish haze you can feel yourself spiraling. Their words swirl around your mind before fading as you feel your belly expand once more, you didn't even notice you were drinking the Alfredo sauce straight from the pan and the 2 tins were already empty. Your hands reach down and you grope the newly fattened mass that's packed to the brim. A tendril of fire swats a few bags of chips from the counter as the sphere loosens its control over you slightly.

"I believe you know what you must do..."

With a small amount of control released back to you to lean forward and wince, the swell of your middle not used to being stuffed after such a long period of starvation. You grab the bags and pull them close to you, ripping them all open and forcing handfuls to your mouth with no care if all the fried goodness even makes it in.

"Good... I shall still remain here until you rest for the night... Just keep indulging that desire of yours child..."

The pig blood is moving again, methodically soothing the parts of your body that are aching, the bliss of it is all consuming and euphoric, far too enjoyable to question why you ever abandoned it in the first place.

"I doubt you will need to call upon me again... But I shall leave a piece of me within you just in case... If you fall to despair... I will be there to greet you..."

[hazellvsq]

frank turning into a dragon in the mark of athena evacuation when it was the beginning of the book and when it wasn't even his pov, even though we as readers and camp jupiter as a collective had no clue he could DO that...you really had to be there. even annabeth was like HUH. later books have people fixating on his ability to be a swarm of bees but where has frank seen a dragon before that he could imitate? he'd never shapeshifted in his life until the day before and offpage decided to do a mythological creature as opposed to an animal. he just came up with that!

[knightzp]

my sunshine, you're moonlight

(lyrics tls by rosa @gaaaoooo on youtube and @/withmyhonesty on tumblr)

[cavennmalore]

keefe wanted to be an INFLICTOR growing up oh lord

[shootingthe-stars]

chapter 50 of nowhere man is out!!

(remus gets so jealous he’s 2 seconds from bursting a blood vessel)

chapter 50 or from the beginning!

[lesbianwyllravengard]

Horrible idea. Resident Evil musical with the main six. No one wants that. We should do it

[st4rry-fruitz]

they are at least three kitkats tall

[from-a-legends-pov]

Star Wars Legends Spotlight: The Birth of Jaina and Jacen Solo

In this last week of writer signups for the From a Legends Point of View fanfiction event, we’ll be celebrating Legends by highlighting some key events, characters, and moments from the Legends continuity.

Writers: Help us add to the story! Sign up through Sunday, June 2 to write for the From a Legends Point of View fanfiction event. Together, we’ll build a collection of Star Wars Legends fanfiction set during the time of the Original Trilogy. Use our Signup Form to pitch your story concepts (Signup Guidelines available here), and please encourage your favorite writers to participate!

Our latest Legends spotlight is the birth of Jaina and Jacen Solo, the twin children of Leia Organa and Han Solo, born in 9 ABY on Coruscant.

Why is this important?

The birth of Jaina and Jacen takes place at the beginning of Timothy Zahn’s novel The Last Command, the final book in the Thrawn trilogy, but even before birth Jaina and Jacen were central to the events of the trilogy, with evil Dark Jedi clone Joruus C’Boath and Grand Admiral Thrawn attempting to kidnap Leia while she was pregnant in order to gain control of the twins, and a kidnapping attempt not long after their birth that was thwarted by a still-morally-conflicted Mara Jade. Later on, they and their friends become the center of the Young Jedi Knights series and take on major roles in the Yuuzhan Vong conflict in the New Jedi Order series, particularly since the Vong have a thing about twins. While their ending is tragic (Jacen turning to the Dark Side was never going to end well), they remain important parts of connecting the Original Trilogy and even the Prequel Trilogy to the Legends continuity.

Jaina and Jacen’s birth also represents a type of hope for the galaxy — Leia learning to deal with her mixed feelings about the Skywalker genetic inheritance (as detailed in Tatooine Ghost), Han and Leia settling in to a happy domestic life together while still kicking ass for the galaxy, Luke eagerly awaiting his niece and nephew but also anticipating the next generation of Jedi he will help to lead and teach.

How does it happen?

The events leading up to the twins’ birth are fairly dramatic. Among other things, pregnant Leia goes to Kashyyyk with Chewbacca to hide out from Thrawn and ends up having to escape by hanging on to underside of a Wookiee while they climb through a series of trees; she’s begun to train with Luke and is able to stop her would-be Noghri kidnappers and then even gain them to her side, using her bloodline attachment to Vader, her smarts, and her diplomatic skills.

The birth itself is fairly humorous to people who have experienced childbirth — in the book, Leia is given a light box that she is supposed to focus on during labor to distract from the pain. In the comic version, we can see that Leia is flat on her back, which probably isn’t going to be super-helpful for delivering twins. Throughout the birth, Leia is reassuring her children in the Force, letting them know they are okay, as well as occasionally trading banter with Han.

(Also, the strange mid-birth thumbs-up from a medic who is almost fully covered and masked was too funny not to include.)

Once the twins are here, Leia and Han are both dealing with new parenthood and trying to thwart Thrawn’s plans at the same time, so we get a mix of sweet domestic scenes with battle scenes and Leia’s attempts at figuring out what’s going on with Delta Source, Thrawn, the cloning facility, and C’Boath.

[myfatherswatch]

Fandom: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)

Relationship: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo

Additional Tags: POV Outsider , 5+1 Things , the world is hard but Waverly is soft

Summary:

Alexander Waverly is beginning to suspect that his two best agents are getting along better than they let on. He does not get paid enough to deal with this.

[qsmp-yaoi-island]

To make myself feel a little bit better with everything going on I was looking back on how crazy my first expression of the server was

For the four first months I was exclusively a philza and jaiden pov main, and I genuinely never even knew about all of the other characters and their lore going on. I wasn't super into it back then, and it wasn't until the wedding did I really get intrigued and started watching way more povs

When I found out about Cellbits regret arc, I was like "How was all this stuff going on while I've been watching Phil carve out a hole in the wall for months 💀"