#and draw her out with the sound signal and just. Be patient!

[blakeswritingimagines]

You're Dealing With A Goddess

Summary: When no offer is made to the old dragon goddess, she takes matters into her own hands.

Warnings: Fear play, Dub-Con, Dom Rhaenyra, Sub Fem reader, Fingering, Aphrodisiac, Anal play, Eating you out if you squint.

Word Count: 3.3k

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

The village is a small farming community located in the Riverlands, perhaps near Harrenhal. The village is largely ignored by the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, however, they do have several run-ins with a dragon that likes to come by and wreak havoc and get its sacrifices from innocent locals. As you step out of your humble home in the small village nestled deep within the heart of the kingdom, you can feel the weight of the oppressive atmosphere hanging over it like a thick cloak. The villagers go about their daily routines with a sense of resignation and fear etched onto their faces. They know all too well the terror that comes with living under the shadow of the dragon that demands a human sacrifice once every year. You hear whispers among the villagers about how the dragon has grown increasingly impatient with the delay in fulfilling its annual demand for a life taken from their midst. It's clear that time is running out and the tension in the air is palpable. "What's going on?" You ask innocently.

The villagers looked at each other with worry on their faces. "The dragon's hunger will not be denied," they whispered. You realize now that the village hasn't offered up their sacrificial victim yet, and the dragon's hunger grows with each passing moment. The large figure of the dragon looms over the village, its massive form casting ominous shadows as it surveys the scene below. Its cold gaze takes in everything, missing nothing as it waits patiently for what it knows will come eventually. As the day wears on and the sun begins to set, the dragon lets out an impatient roar, signaling that its patience is reaching its limits. The sound sends a chill down the spine of everyone in the village, including you. They know all too well what happens when the dragon gets angry - homes are destroyed, livestock is consumed, and people are killed or enslaved. With each passing minute, the tension in the air grows thicker, making it harder to breathe or think clearly. Feeling the weight of the dragon's presence pressing down on you, you start to panic a bit. Your mind races with fear and anxiety as you try to come up with a plan to save yourself and your fellow villagers from certain doom. You look around at the other terrified villagers and realize that they are just as helpless as you are against such a powerful creature. The thought of being chosen as the sacrificial offering sends shivers down your spine, but you know that there's no point in hiding or trying to escape since the dragon can easily detect any attempt to flee. You decide that your only option left is to accept your fate and hope for the best.

The dragon takes a few more steps towards the center of the village, its claws scraping against the ground as it approaches. Its cold breath billows out in clouds that freeze whatever they touch. The villagers huddle together, looking for safety in numbers while also trying not to draw attention to themselves. As night falls and the dragon finally makes its way into the middle of the town square, it raises one massive foot and places it firmly on top of a nearby building, causing it to crumble into dust and debris. The sound of the collapse echoes through the streets, adding to the general feeling of dread and despair. The sound of the collapsing building causes the entire village to freeze in terror as they watch in horror, not daring to even breathe loud enough to be heard. When the dust settles, the villagers look around at each other in fear and silence. No one says anything, because they know that saying something wrong might attract the wrath of the monstrous beast. They sit in complete silence waiting for the inevitable.

The villagers gasped in shock and horror as the building collapsed, their faces filled with terror and disbelief. They realize that the moment of truth has arrived, and anyone could be chosen as the dragon's next meal. You feel your heart rate increase as you try to remain calm and focused despite the fear coursing through your veins. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to find the inner strength needed to face your fate head-on. As the dragon moves through the streets, its gaze sweeping over the gathered crowd of villagers, they can almost feel its power emanating from its body. It takes its time, taking its time to inspect each person carefully before making a decision. The longer it takes, the more nervousness and anxiety grip the villagers. Children start to cry, adults start to pray, and some people start to consider desperate measures in hopes of avoiding the monster's wrath. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the dragon stops in front of you. You find the courage to look into its piercing eyes without flinching.

Your heart skips a beat as the dragon speaks directly to you. You swallow hard and force yourself to look the monstrous creature in the eye, trying not to show any signs of weakness or fear. Despite your bravado, you can't help but feel a bit terrified as you realize that your time has come. "Me?" You ask hesitantly, not quite believing that you've been chosen as the offering. The thought of being eaten alive or whatever was planned by such a massive creature fills you with a mix of horror and dread, but you know that there's no use resisting or fighting back. You must submit to your fate with grace and dignity, especially since the dragon seems to find you acceptable as a sacrifice. The dragon moves with surprising speed and agility, considering its massive size. In just a few strides, it carries you away from the village and deeper into the surrounding forest. As they move further into the darkness, you can't help but feel a mix of fear and curiosity about where exactly the dragon plans to take you. "Stay quiet," the dragon growls warningly, its voice like an earthquake rumbling in your ears. It's clear that any disobedience or resistance would be met with immediate punishment. After what seems like hours of walking through the dense forest, the dragon stops in front of a large cave entrance. With a deft motion, it releases one of its arms from around your neck and uses it to push you inside the dark opening.

As the dragon enters the cave, you can hear the sound of water dripping and see flickering torchlight dancing on the walls. The smell of damp earth and decaying vegetation fills your nose, making you feel a bit queasy. Despite your fear, you remain mostly composed as you follow the dragon deeper into the cave. When it stops in front of a large rock formation that serves as a natural altar, you realize that this is where you'll be offered up as a sacrifice. The dragon sets you down gently on the altar, positioning your legs apart and restraining your hands above your head with one of its arms. Its other hand reaches out and grazes your cheek softly before moving to wrap around your throat, preventing any chance of escape or protest. The dragon moves around the altar, preparing for the ritualistic part of the offering. Its free hand retrieves a small knife from somewhere within the cave, and then it returns to stand between your spread legs. The tip of the blade hovers dangerously close to your throat, ready to make the first incision should you try anything foolish. "Now," the dragon commands, "stay still and let this happen." It leans down and nuzzles against your neck, inhaling deeply before starting the process of cutting into your exposed flesh.

The dragon's massive form looms over you, its presence dominating the entirety of the cave. Its hot breath washes over your exposed skin, making you feel terrified. As the dragon's body starts to shift and change, its scales rearrange themselves into a more human-like form. In moments, the dragon is gone, replaced by a tall and slender woman with long, silver hair that cascades down her back. She wears a flowing black dress adorned with intricate gold patterns, accentuating her curves and highlighting her ample bosom and narrow waist. As the dragon transforms into Rhaenyra Targaryen, you find yourself both amazed and terrified. The transformation is so sudden and complete that it takes a few moments for you to process what has happened. You see the beautiful woman standing before you, her body almost ethereal in its beauty and elegance, and realize that you are about to become a living sacrifice to this mythical figure. The thought of being consumed by such a powerful and alluring creature fills you with fear, and you struggle to maintain control over your emotions.

Rhaenyra Targaryen moves closer to you, taking in every detail of your exposed body with an intense curiosity. Her silver eyes lock onto your frightened ones, studying them carefully as if you were a work of art. As she gets within reach, Rhaenyra's hand extends and gently traces one finger along the curve of your chest, causing your heart rate to accelerate even further. "Do not be afraid," she whispers softly, "for I am not here to harm you… much." Without warning, Rhaenyra's other hand reaches down and cups one of your breasts, squeezing it gently but firmly. Despite your fear and anxiety, you feel a surge of arousal as Rhaenyra's hand touches your breast. The sensation is foreign and overwhelming, but not entirely unpleasant. You find yourself unable to look away from those captivating eyes as they continue to study you with an air of curiosity and desire. You stutter, "w-what do y-you plan to do with me? Eat me or use me as your plaything?" You don't know why, but there's something about Rhaenyra's alluring presence that makes you want to please her, even in the face of certain death.

Rhaenyra's touch is both tantalizing and intimidating, leaving you feeling both aroused and terrified. The combination of pleasure and pain is exhilarating, and despite your fear, you can't help but crave more of the woman's attention. As you hear Rhaenyra's assurance that you're being honored to be devoured by such a magnificent creature, a small part of you starts to believe it too. Rhaenyra's free hand moves lower, brushing against the wetness between your legs before finally settling on one of your inner thighs. She spreads your legs wider apart, exposing you completely to her gaze. You couldn't help but let out a soft moan, unable to resist the sensation of cool fingers teasing your sensitive folds. The combination of arousal and fear creates an intoxicating cocktail of emotions that leaves you feeling both vulnerable and empowered. You wonder if this is how people feel when they're about to be consumed by something so powerful and overwhelming. Rhaenyra's other hand continues to massage and squeeze your breast gently while her fingers slowly penetrate your dripping pussy. The contrast of pleasure and impending doom makes your heart race faster and your breathing become more labored. "I… I'm ready.."

Rhaenyra's hand continues to explore your wetness, her fingers expertly probing and teasing at the entrance to your pussy. She watches with a mixture of fascination and desire as you react to her touch, her own arousal growing stronger with each passing moment. As she feels you start to come apart under her ministrations, Rhaenyra decides it's time to make things official. "Open your legs wider," she commands softly, "and let me see everything." She removes her hand from your breast and moves it to grip one of your hips firmly, pushing you further onto the altar table and exposing you completely to Rhaenyra's gaze. You comply without hesitation, spreading your legs wide open and baring everything to Rhaenyra's unblinking inspection. You can feel the heat radiating off of Rhaenyra's body as she stands above you, looking like an ancient goddess come to life. Your breath catches in your throat as Rhaenyra's eyes fixate on your dripping pussy and glistening clit. The combination of fear and anticipation makes your pussy twitch and leak even more, adding to the visceral display of your readiness. Rhaenyra's free hand reaches down and wraps around one of your thighs, pulling you closer to her face so she can breathe in the scent of your arousal.

Rhaenyra's hand focuses solely on exploring your pussy, running her fingers deep inside of you and gripping onto the outer lips with a gentle force that suggests she won't be gentle for very long. As you come apart beneath her touch, Rhaenyra watches with rapt attention, her expression a mix of excitement and hunger. She pulls her hand away from your soaked crotch and stands up, stepping back slightly to admire the sight of you lying helplessly on the altar table. "Such a delicious offering," she murmurs, "I can hardly wait to taste you." As Rhaenyra steps back to admire her naked and vulnerable offering, you lie there panting heavily, your body still quaking from the aftershocks of your orgasm. You feel like a piece of meat being displayed in a marketplace, and the thought excites and terrifies you at the same time. You watched as Rhaenyra approached a bowl of liquid on the side of the altar table and dipped her fingers into it, coating them with a mysterious substance. "What are you doing?" You ask breathlessly, not able to take your eyes off the woman's mesmerizing movements.

Rhaenyra finishes dipping her fingers into the bowl and walks back over to where you lie on the altar table, your body still trembling from your recent climax. She brings her coated fingers close to your face and holds them just out of reach, allowing you to catch a whiff of the sweet scent emanating from them. The scent is intoxicating, a heady mix of honey and vanilla that seems to cloud your mind and heighten your arousal even further. As Rhaenyra moves closer, she leans down and places one of her coated fingers against your lips, urging you to take a taste of the delectable substance. A predatory grin on her face. Her body looms over your prone form like a predator stalking its prey. With a slow, deliberate motion, she brings one of her slick-covered fingers to just outside of your entrance and then pushes it inside, stretching your walls gently before pulling it out again. "I'm preparing myself," she explains simply, "to consume you."

As Rhaenyra's slick-coated finger enters your tight entrance, you gasp and arch your back, feeling both pleasurable pressure and a sense of dread building within you. You watched in awe as the woman stretched your walls apart, getting ready to devour you completely. The idea of being consumed by such a powerful and alluring creature sends shivers down your spine, making your body tense with anticipation and excitement. "Are you really going to eat me?" You breathlessly ask, unable to contain your curiosity or your growing arousal. And with that, she pushes another finger inside of your pussy, filling you completely with her presence. Rhaenyra nods, her eyes locked onto yours as she continues to insert more fingers into your waiting pussy. She can feel the tightness surrounding her digits giving way slowly but surely, allowing her to penetrate deeper into your warm depths with each passing moment. "Yes, my dear," she replies softly, "I plan on consuming every last bit of you." She adds another finger, pushing even farther into your wet sheath until her thumb is resting against the entrance to your rear entrance. "And once I have tasted you, there will be nothing left for anyone else." Her words are spoken with a mixture of confidence and determination, conveying the unwavering certainty of her intentions.

As Rhaenyra's fingers fill you completely, pushing past the point of no return, you let out a soft moan and close your eyes, surrendering yourself completely to the experience. You feel a surge of heat and wetness flow through your core as you realize that you're being penetrated fully by the alluring woman standing above you. The sensation is both foreign and exhilarating, sending shivers down your spine and causing your heart rate to accelerate even further. "You… You're really going to eat me…" As Rhaenyra's thumb presses against the entrance to your rear entrance, you let out a gasp and open your eyes wide in surprise, unsure of what to expect next. Rhaenyra can feel the tightness and warmth enveloping her thumb. With a slow, deliberate movement, she pushes it inside, feeling the resistance give way as her digit slips inside. "Indeed I am," she confirms, "and soon I will have consumed every last inch of you." Her voice is low and seductive, almost hypnotic in its intensity. She adds another finger alongside her thumb, working to stretch out your tight muscles and prepare you for whatever may come next. "Now, close your eyes and relax," she instructs gently, "and think only of how good it feels to be eaten alive."

Rhaenyra continues to work her fingers and thumb inside your tight rear entrance, gradually increasing the pressure and depth of her penetration. She can feel the tension building in your body as she takes possession of both your front and back entrances, marking her territory and claiming her prize. "Such a delicious treat," she murmurs softly, "to consume someone so completely." Her voice is low and sultry, like a siren's call drawing you ever closer to the edge of climax. As Rhaenyra's fingers and thumb continue to penetrate you deeply, you let out a long, drawn-out moan and tossed your head back, exposing your throat to the altar table above you. Your body is now fully under the spell of the alluring woman's dominance, and you find yourself completely at her mercy. "Oh, Goddess…" You breathe, "I'm yours to do with as you please…" Your words are barely audible, lost in the maelstrom of pleasure washing over you, as you surrender completely to the sensations enveloping you.

Rhaenyra watches closely as you lie before her, eyes closed in anticipation and submission. She can sense your complete surrender and eagerness to be consumed, and it only serves to heighten her own arousal. "Very well," she says with a satisfied smile. With a single motion, Rhaenyra pulls her fingers and thumb out of your puckered back entrance, leaving you completely open and vulnerable to the ultimate act of consumption about to take place. She leans forward slightly, savoring the sight of your spread legs and glistening pussy before her, and then brings her mouth close to the gaping hole left behind by her digits. "time to feast."

Rhaenyra hears the whispered words from you and smiles wickedly, her eyes glinting with triumphant satisfaction. She knows she has claimed this beautiful sacrifice completely, and there is nothing that can stop her now from consuming every last inch of the trembling figure lying beneath her. "Such a devoted follower," she comments, "it's truly a pleasure to have captured someone so willing to be devoured." Her voice is a mix of amusement and lust, reflecting her delight in having complete control over your fate.

"Now." She says firmly, "Prepare for the ultimate act of submission – allowing me to take everything you have to offer." As Rhaenyra's voice declares that the time has come for you to offer up everything you have, you hesitate for a brief moment, then obediently lie still, waiting patiently for the alluring woman's next move. "Please… Consume me…" You whisper softly, not able to resist the overwhelming desire washing over you. The thought of being completely owned and possessed by Rhaenyra fills you with a sense of euphoric abandon, and you find yourself yearning for it with every fiber of your being. "Take everything I have to give…" You add, barely audibly, as you lay vulnerable and exposed upon the altar table, awaiting Rhaenyra's final command.

[americaswritings]

When we fall | Part 3

Warnings (for all parts): Fluff, angst, description of injuries and blood, gun use, cursing, probably unaccurate policing/medicine

Summary: You moved to Chicago to start a new life. Working as a doctor alongside your brother Connor you make new friends and although you swore to yourself not to let any man in your life at least for a while, your promises fail when you lock eyes with a handsome stranger in a bar.

Words: 6k

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Doctor!Rhodes!reader

A/N: And here is the last part of the short series. The events are inspired by a chicago med ep. I really hope you enjoyed it :)

Part 1 | Part 2

“We’ll take care of you and your daughter.” You smiled at your patient reassuringly, noticing someone moving towards you in corner of your eye. Turning your head you saw a man with tousled hair standing at the threshold, his eyes almost hazy as his gaze skipped around the room.

“Where’s Leah?!”, he barked out, his eyes only focused on your patient. Your gaze flickered towards her, taking in the fear in her eyes and the gasp that left her lips. “Jake? How did you find us here?”, she whispered, oblivion dripping from her voice.

“Did you really think you could just leave and take our daughter with you? She’s my daughter too!” He took a threatening step closer, eyes narrowed. “Now, where is she?!”

Your patient’s breathing had quickened and a look at the heart monitor told you she was about to have a panic attack. “Sir, I need you to calm down and take a step back”, you said forcefully, drawing his attention on you. His eyes jumped to you, anger brimming in them.

“Like hell I will! I’m taking my wife and my kid home now!” Your eyes flickered towards the nurse, giving her a little nod to signal her to call the security service, before you met his again. “I can see you’re upset. But your wife and your daughter are sick. They need treatment and rest-”

“Shut up!” You flinched as he yelled at you, his loud voice alarming multiple people around you. “Everything okay in here?” Will appeared at the door, his eyes scanning the room until they landed at yours, staying there as he waited for an honest answer.

The man shook his head furiously, but he took a step back. You almost exhaled in relief. “I want to see my daughter! Now!”, he demanded, but before anyone could gave him an answer, he turned and ripped open the curtain to the next room.

You heard squeals, alarmed voices mixing with the sound of another curtain being ripped open. “Sir, I need you to leave now!” Will leaned forward to grab the man’s shoulder when suddenly he yanked out a gun, twisting around and pointing it right at Will’s chest.

A gasp escaped you as you watched Will stumble back, his hands raised. “Look man, we’re just trying to help, okay?” But the man, Jake, didn’t seem to hear any of it, his eyes filled with hatred and something that scared you even more; desperation and determination. A dangerous combination.

He wouldn’t leave until he got what he wanted.

“What’s going on here?” You heard Connor’s voice, saw him step out of a patient’s room and move towards the intruder. From his angle he couldn’t see the gun, couldn’t know the severity of the situation.

“Connor, no!” Your legs moved forward at the same time as the man turned around, the gun pointed at your brother. Everything seemed to happen so fast and in slow-motion at once as your body reacted purely on instinct, the fear for your brother carrying you forward.

You didn’t know if he meant to pull the trigger or if it was out of reflex, but you had no time to think about it as a shot rang out.

You would have screamed, but no sound left your mouth as the impact hit you, sending your body tumbling backwards until it hit the wall. Only moments before your feet had carried you forward, but now they suddenly couldn’t take your weight anymore, your body sinking to the ground.

Around you screams were erupting, but they sounded drowned out, as if you were underwater. Your name was being called, but it all seemed to blend into a haze.

You tried to peek at where you felt a sudden pressure in your body, shock mixing with confusion as you saw blood staining your clothes. Just seconds ago you had been standing in a patient’s room and now you were on the ground, your own blood pooling around your feet. It didn’t make sense.

From the periphery of your eye you saw people running. Some moved towards you, but most of them the opposite way. Away. They were running away.

And they were pushing, tripping, falling over each other. “Put down the gun!” You saw one of the security men approach, his own gun drawn at the attacker. Another shot cut through the atmosphere, but to your horror it was the security man that fell, blood splattering from a wound to his front.

“Everyone just back off!”

Jake’s sharp voice snapped you out of your shock and all at once reality hit you. Pain sank in, slowly at first and then in a stream of hot sensations. Tears formed in your eyes at the burning pain and you grit your teeth, trying to will it away, because you knew you needed to be aware of what happened next.

Lifting your head slightly you found the ER had mostly cleared out, only a few people remaining. Among them were Will and Connor, both of their bodies’ turned towards you in a way that suggested they had tried to get to you, their hands raised.

“Just let me get to my sister, okay? I’m a doctor and she needs help.” You stared at Connor, seeing the panic he tried to restrain as he appealed to the man reasonably. Jake’s eyes flickered towards you, hesitance written over his face.

“You didn’t want this to happen, do you?” Connor asked, his voice strained. “So let me make this better. Let me help.” He was pleading now and another wave of panic filled you as you realized he was only mere seconds away from doing something reckless.

For a moment you thought you were going to throw up from the sickness that cursed through your body, but you feared you wouldn’t even be able to move your body in the state you were in.

Jake let out a frustrated breath, gesturing towards you with his gun. “Okay. Okay!” Connor rushed over to you immediately, his concerned eyes meeting yours. “Are you okay? How do you feel? Can you tell me where you’ve been hit?”

You tried to follow his questions, your mind spinning. Instead of an answer you let out a groan as Connor found your wound, pressing down on it. “We need to stop the bleeding.”

Now that he was here by your side a weakness took over your body and you welcomed it. Welcomed the dark, because it felt easier to lean into it than fight it. But it never swallowed you. As much as you wished you could just pass out, the pain didn’t end, keeping you caged in your body.

You didn’t need to ask him how serious your condition was. The urgency in Connor’s movement alone was enough for you to confirm it was bad, the seeping hot pain a further indicator.

You saw Jake still waving his gun around, speaking in an animated tone with Will and Maggie. To your left someone had crouched down next to the security guard and you felt a flicker of relief when you saw it was Ethan.

A cough rose up your throat and your body shook, sending an ache through you. When you wiped your mouth you noticed your skin had turned red.

“No, no, no”, your brother whispered, his eyes frantic. “Connor”, you said, your voice a little hoarse. He paused for a moment, both of you locking eyes in a quiet exchange. “I’m scared”, you whispered, feeling a few tears escape your eyes.

Connor swallowed, his eyes filled with desperation. “I know”, he leaned closer, “But you will be okay. I will fix it, okay?.”

You nodded slowly, needing to cling to his words. To hold onto the reminder that you would be okay. That your life wasn’t over when you hadn’t even started fully living yet.

It didn’t make sense. You had woken up a few minutes before your alarm clock, had been in an oddly good mood as you had gotten ready for work and even your patients had been unusually patient and grateful. Today was a good day. Not a day that could turn into such a catastrophe in the blink of an eye.

This didn’t happen. Maybe in books or on tv. But not here, not to people like you.

“Hey!” Dr. Goodwin appeared in your vision, bending down to Connor and you. “What’s the status?” You hadn’t seen her before, but knowing she was here already gave you a sparkle of hope. As the hospital’s executive director it was her job to find solutions, even in the face of the worst possible events. She would get them out of here, somehow.

“She’s been shot in the abdomen. No exit wound so the bullet is still inside. I believe she’s bleeding internally.”

You saw a shadow cloud Dr. Goodwin’s as she looked at you and it was as if you could see the wheels in her head turning as she assessed the situation.

“What’s going on?”, you asked weakly, needing to know if the others were safe. “Mr. Whitman demands to take his wife and daughter and leave. I was on the phone with the Chicago police department. They told me he’s got a history of domestic abuse and violence. The wife filed a report on him and moved states to get him out of her life.”

“And he found her now.” You gulped, slowly piecing the pieces together. Dr. Goodwin nodded, graveness written over her face. “So what’s the plan?” It was Connor, his voice urgent.

Dr. Goodwin sighed, taking off her glasses and pinching the brick of her nose. You had never seen her like this, so defeated, and it filled you with unease.

“The police is here and a squad team too. But there is no way we can let them inside or get someone outside right now without Mr. Whitman noticing. Right now they are preparing for getting just one person in. Unarmed.”

“What help is that going to be?” Connor let out a scoff and it annoyed you how quick to judge he was, and more so, that you agreed with him. What would another person talking to Jake change?

“It would be a trained officer, who has the experience and skills to deal with these kind of high pressure situations. The plan would be for him to try and talk to Mr. Whitman first and if that’s not effective either, assess the situation and make a move or get back to the team and share valuable information with them.”

You could see Connor still shaking his head, but Dr. Goodwin stood again. “It’s the only thing Mr. Whitman has agreed to. You know I would prefer to get everyone else out, but he has been clear. If one person leaves, he is going to make use of his gun again.”

“And what are we supposed to do now? Just wait?”

“Connor”, you tried to calm him, but his eyes snapped to yours. “We need an OR now! Monique!” The blonde nurse standing next to Ethan looked over. You could see the fear written all over her face. “Can you take over for a moment?”

She gave a nod, her eyes flickering to Jake who didn’t let them out of sight. Crouching down next to you the two quickly exchanged their hands applying pressure onto your wound, the sensation making you let out a groan.

But you pushed away the pain, trying to focus on Connor. “What are you doing?”, you hissed as you watched him get up, wishing you could hold him back.

“Dr. Rhodes, we should wait for the officer to arrive. Right now the situation is stable and I can’t risk-” “Stable? Is that what you call this?” Connor pushed himself fully up now, the movement catching Jake’s eye.

“Sit back down!” But Connor lifted his hands, taking a cautious step forward. “My sister likely suffers from an internal bleeding. We need an OR to-” “No! Nobody goes anywhere!”

Connor’s face fell, his shoulders sinking, but he took another step forward. The grip the fear had around your heart tightened. “Please, I need to stop the bleeding. You don’t want her to die, right?”

Jake stared at you for a moment before his attention was back on your brother. “I just want my daughter and my wife!”

“And we get that. We do. But she-”, he turned halfway towards you, his eyes not leaving Jake for a second, “has nothing to do with this. Let me save her life.”

“I said no one goes anywhere! You save her here or you don’t save her at all. It’s on you!”

You watched Connor open his mouth again, but before he could say another word Jake stepped forward, his gun pointed directly at his chest.

“Do I look like someone who’s joking?!”, he yelled, making everyone around him flinch. Connor made himself a little smaller, taking a small step backwards while shaking his head. “Yeah, so you better listen to what I’m saying! No get your ass back down there!”

You didn’t have the heart to watch Connor when he returned to you, to see the defeat and hopeless on his face. The fear.

He had barely sat down again when another turmoil broke loose, gaining everyone’s attention. It had to be the officer Jake had allowed in, though you didn’t want to know what he would get in return for the favour.

Although you didn’t feel much hope regarding the plan, you trusted the police to make the right choice. This couldn’t be their first hostage situation, so they knew what to do, right?

What you hadn’t anticipated was that the officer coming in could be someone you knew. Someone you knew very well.

Jay.

No.

You blinked a few times, but it was unmistakably him.

His voice. His physique.

A touch at your hand drew your attention away from him for a moment and you noticed Monique had reached for it. Only now you saw you had balled your hand into a fist, all the tension left in your body visible in that one grip. Slowly she loosened it, taking your hand into hers instead and squeezing it in reassurance.

You didn’t know the young nurse so well- she was a little more on the reserved and quiet side- but the gesture filled you with deep gratitude, giving you the strength to look up again and face this new reality.

Jay hadn’t noticed you yet, his whole focus on calming Jake enough to make an uneventful entrance. When he seemed confident in the situation he scanned the room, assessing the conditions they were dealing with.

He did it with a professional calmness you wished you could have right now, his face only giving away his emotion when they fell on his brother. “Hey, man. You alright?”

He stepped forward, avoiding any rapid movements and Will nodded. “I’m okay. But Mrs. Kaden is in a bad condition. The stress on top of her physical state worries me.”

He said something else, but he had lowered his voice that it was impossible for you to understand anything. Jay nodded. “What about the two victims?”

“The security guard got hit at the shoulder. He’s stable.” “And the other one?” Will shook his head, his eyes filled with sadness. “She’s over there with Connor. It doesn’t look good, Jay.”

It was strange, listening to them and knowing they were talking about you. Waiting for the moment Jay’s eyes fell upon you.

You didn’t know what kind of reaction you were anticipating, but nothing could have prepared you for the utter shock that filled Jay’s face as he looked at you.

You watched him do a double take, every trace of his confidence and expressionlessness gone, replaced by a turmoil of emotions. He almost lunged forward, stopping himself when Jake’s warning voice filled the air.

You could see Connor’s questioning gaze on you, but you were focused fully on Jay as he made his way over to you with careful movements.

When he crouched down in front of you, he was close enough for you to see a hint of fear in his eyes. “What happened?”

Your petty argument, the distance, it all seemed forgotten as you stared at him, not strong enough to hide your own fear. “I got shot.”

Although it was obvious, it was the first time you had said the words out loud, had acknowledged the fact that this was really happening to you. It felt surreal, even with the burning pain spreading through your body, making it impossible to keep your composure.

Jay’s eyes softened as he heard your husky voice, the effort it took you to form the words another sign how bad your current shape was. For a moment his eyes drifted over your body, his face twisting in pain as he stared at your blood, before he looked up again.

“He said he’s going to kill us if he doesn’t walk out of here with his wife and his kid.” Jay nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I know.”

“But- you’re here now…right?”

“Yeah, I am.” Jay tried to force an encouraging smile on his face, but you knew him well enough to know it was strained.

“You’re here”, you repeated relieved, your voice almost giving up at the end and you coughed. Jay stared at you, his eyes a little widened, his pupils dilated in fear.

He was scared. For you. He was scared for you.

“Her pulse is up to 120 and she’s sweating.” It was Monique and you saw her exchange a look with Connor. “What’s her condition?” Jay was talking to Connor now, as if he had only now realized he was there.

Under different circumstances your brother wouldn’t have let go what had just happened right in front of his eyes. He would have teased you until you would have told him the truth about Jay and you. But now he did, just like that, knowing there was no time for it as yours was running out.

The thought sent another wave of fear through your body, but with the hot pain and the growing weakness you felt too overwhelmed to do anything about it. So you tried to focus on the feeling of Monique’s hand holding yours, on Jay’s closeness and your brother’s words.

“The bullet likely caused internal bleeding. She’s losing too much blood.” Connor almost ran a hand over his face like he always did when he was stressed, stopping himself when he saw your blood on his hands.

“What do you need?”

“I need an OR. I need to find the bleeding and stop it.” His voice was a mix of desperation and determination and Jay listened intensely. His mask of professionalism was back in place, the sight having something grounding to it in the midst of this chaos, but you could detect a few flaws where his emotions threatened to pour in.

“I’m here to negotiate”, he began, eyes cast towards Jake, continuing lowly, “but really I think this will take a different ending.”

You wanted to ask him what that meant, but it seemed too difficult and you were forced to watch him get up instead. As Connor tried to get up too you tried to catch his wrist. You failed, but the movement still let him pause.

“Don’t go, please”, you whispered, your body shaking. You wished you could stop it, but you had lost all control over it, and when had it become so cold?

You felt Jay’s eyes on you as Connor leaned down to you, placing his hands on the sides of your face. “You’re sweating and your pulse is way up. Your skin is ice cold and you’re pale. I don’t need to tell you what that means. We need to do something now.”

You felt tears run down your cheeks as you tried to shake your head, silently pleading him to stay. He had already risked it with Jake once. What would he do when Connor tried it again and this time he wouldn’t give up?

“I’m coming back.” Connor stroked your cheek once before pressing a kiss against your forehead. Then he was gone, his touch only a faint memory as your head sank back against the wall.

As the two walked away from you they blurred into nothing more than silhouettes. Muffled voices filled your ears, but they were too drowned out for you to understand anything. Monique was speaking to you too, the level of her tone indicating she was saying something to soothe you, but her words never reached you either.

A part of you wanted to pass out. As much as you wanted to know what happened, with Connor and Jay not by your side any longer all your fight had left you. The pain felt unbearable now, as if someone had lit your body on fire and the flames were eating at you, slowly burning you alive.

Your throat was closing and it was getting hard to breathe. Every once in a while you choked on air, raspy coughs escaping your mouth. And it was so cold. Colder than the winter in Chicago.

The last sound you heard before the darkness finally swallowed you was a gunshot.

-

The first thing you felt when you woke was the heaviness of your body, as if an invisible weight had been placed upon you.

You could hear the steady beeping of a monitor, the sound having something reassuring to it. You listened to it for a while, too tired to pull yourself out of the haze yet.

But then the events of the day came crashing back to you, the image of Jay and Connor both leaving your side to get Jake to let them save you. The sound of a gun going off.

You blinked your eyes open, your vision only slowly clearing. But eventually it sharpened, revealing the inside of a hospital room.

You weren’t surprised at the sight, but you still paused when you took in the IV you were hooked upon. “Look who’s awake.”

Turning your head you found April at the door, a smile on her lips. But you could see it wasn’t as effortless as usual and you wondered where she had been when all of it had happened.

Had she gotten out, left to wonder about Ethan’s and everyone else’s wellbeing? Or had she been hiding in one of the other patient rooms?

“How are you feeling?” She stepped into the room, beginning her check-up on you. You let her do it, squinting when she shone a bright light in your eyes. “I’ve felt better before”, you answered truthfully, growing slightly more aware or the pressure in your abdomen.

At least it didn’t hurt yet. You didn’t want to think of the moment the pain meds would wear off.

“Where’s my brother?” April had finished her tests, squeezing your hand. “He’s still in the hospital. I told him to go home and get some rest, but he insisted on staying.”

April shook her head, clearly disapproving of your brother’s choices. “But I did get him to take a shower. He should be in the on-call rooms right now. Do you want me to go and get him?”

You thought about it for a moment. “No, let him sleep. It’s been a hell of a day for him too.”

April nodded, a small smile on her lips. “What about detective Halstead? Do you want me to send him home too?”

You stared at her in surprise. “He’s still here? Wait- how much time passed?”

“5 hours. And yes, he’s here. Actually, he just got himself a coffee. I might have forgotten to mention how disgusting the one from the vending machine is.”

“You’re evil.” You narrowed your eyes at her, chuckling. April shrugged. “Can’t have anyone know our secrets. So what is it with you and the other Halstead. Is he the one you’ve been texting this whole time?”

You hesitated, ready to deny her words, because you were used to keeping it a secret. But you weren’t sure that was possible after today, and honestly it all seemed so unimportant know that you had almost lost your life.

“We were. But things are kind of- complicated between us so I’m not sure where we’re standing.”

“Well”, April walked towards the door, a smile on her lips, “whatever it is it can’t be so serious. You should have seen the way he looked at you when you came out of surgery.”

Your chest tightened as a wave of emotions flooded you. “He really stayed for me?”

April grinned. “He might have claimed there to be paperwork at first. And then that he wanted to look after his brother. But Will went home hours ago and guess who spend the whole time of your surgery pacing the waiting room.”

April winked at you. “I’m going to search for Ethan now. I wanted to wait for you to wake up before leaving.”

Warmth filled you and you had to blink away the tears, touched by everyone’s concern for you. But the mention of Ethan’s name had also reminded you that you hadn’t been the only one hurt today.

“Is everyone okay? The security guard, did he make it?”

“Oh yeah, we’re all okay.” Before she could say another word someone else appeared in the doorway and April left, a knowing smile on her lips.

“Hey.” You didn’t think you had ever heard Jay speak so softly. It made you want to pull him close and snuggle up beside him, be safe in his arms and forget everything else.

“Hey”, you said, trying to sit up a little, but realizing it was a pointless mission.

You supressed a grin when you noticed the coffee cup in his hand, but Jay had followed your gaze, lifting it up. “That’s the worst coffee I’ve ever had”, he declared, “and we’ve only got a new machine at the precinct last year.”

You chuckled lightly. “We have the good one hidden in the break room. But don’t tell anyone I’ve told you that.”

Jay grinned. “Your secret’s safe with me.” Pulling a chair to your bedside and setting his cup on the nightstand he sat next to you, his eyes flickering over your face.

“I prefer when I am the one taking the bullet.”

He smiled, but it was a sad smile, the stress from the past hours visible on his face. “What can I say? You made it seem so effortless.”

But Jay didn’t seem amused, his eyes heavy. “When I heard about the hostage situation, I hoped you weren’t on shift. I called you, but you didn’t pick up.” He blew out a breath.

“And my brother didn’t either so-” He ran a hand over his face. “It’s why I needed to be the one going in. I needed to know if you were okay.”

“And they let you?” Although you knew they had, you were surprised Jay had been chosen. You didn’t doubt his capability as a cop, but just like you weren’t allowed to be on a personal case you had believed Jay’s involvement would have been a red flag as well.

“Not at first, no. But I was very convincing. And Voight’s not too strict about the rules anyway.”

You didn’t want to imagine the length Jay might have gone to, to get what he wanted. Especially with Voight, who didn’t appreciate anyone speaking up against him or acting out of line.

You stirred a little, your body beginning to ache. “What happened after I passed out?”

Jay’s brows drew together and you could see the graveness in his eyes. “He wouldn’t let you go.” His jaw hardened. “Like I said, negotiations didn’t work with him.”

“Does that mean…-”, you trailed of, your heart heavy. Jay gritted his teeth. “Our backup plan was for me to lead him somewhere the squat team could take the shot.”

“So he’s dead now?” You didn’t know what to feel when Jay nodded his head once. Certainly not regret, not after what he had done, but there was no relief either. Instead you just felt numb, like the turmoil of emotions you had experienced in the past hours had left you completely empty.

“And the mother and her kid?” “They are okay.” Jay seemed as relieved to deliver those news as you felt and for the first you truly allowed yourself to take a big exhale. “As okay as they can be under these circumstances.”

“How could he even walk in with a gun?” You shook your head in disbelief, wishing for answers you know you would never get. “The hospital’s head launched an investigation”, Jay told you and you imagined the stress Dr. Goodwin must be facing even now that it was over.

“That’s good I guess”, you muttered. “Yeah.” But Jay seemed somewhere else with his thoughts and for a moment you feared he would go back to being distanced towards you.

But to your surprise he leaned forward, his hand almost touching yours on the bed. “What happened?”

You scrunched up your nose in confusion. “To you. What happened to you? How did you get shot?”

You took a deep breath, knowing you would have to face that question again once Connor was up. He would be upset, but as much as you regretted your action, wished things had gone differently, you couldn’t say it had been a mistake. Not if you had prevented something worse, like a bullet hitting your brother.

“It all happened so fast.” You closed your eyes, trying to recall the moment. But your memories were hazy, the images blurry, only in fragments.

“I saw Connor coming out of a patient’s room and he- he couldn’t see the gun. Jake would have shot him. He- I- I had to do something.”

When you opened your eyes again you saw Jay’s green eyes staring intensely at you, his brows furrowed deeply.

A shadow covered his face, but it vanished before you could ask about it.

“So you’d rather get yourself killed?” It sounded a little accusing and your face fell, anger filling you. “Don’t you think I know that now? But you would have done the same for Will. I know you would have.”

Jay shifted. “That’s different”, he said, but you tilted your head at him. “I’m too tired for that conversation.”

Jay looked hurt and disappointed, but you didn’t regret your words. You couldn’t take his arguments now, not now when you were still coming to terms with the reality that you had almost lost your life.

“I didn’t know you were so selfless. I mean-”, Jay rubbed the back of his head, “I knew, because of your job and how you treat your patients, but taking a bullet for someone else? I didn’t know you were a hero.”

He was smiling now, trying to loosen the atmosphere, but this words had the opposite effect on you. “I’m not”, you said quietly. “I didn’t even mean to do that. My body just- reacted. That’s not bravery or selflessness.”

This time Jay touched your hand, the unexpected gesture drawing your attention back to him. “It’s always an instinct. It happens too quickly for anyone to make a conscious decision. It can be a reflex and still be brave. Because you didn’t hesitate.”

You hadn’t thought of it like that before and you started at him, your thoughts swirling in your brain as the desire to be close to him clouded your mind once more.

“Does it ever get easier?” You blinked, a little scared to be so vulnerable in front of him. “On tv they are fine after that. They are so cool about it. But what if I’m not fine? What if that was probably the worst thing that ever happened to me and I’m so scared?”

You bit your lip, forcing back the tears. But the truth was you weren’t ready to die yet. And coming so close to death had left its marks on you. You could feel it everywhere, as you gazed around the room, took in all the sensations you could feel, looked at Jay beside you. It was all so much.

“Hey.” Jay squeezed your hand. “That’s acting. It’s fake. You almost died. You’re not supposed to be fine right now.”

A tear escaped your eye and you wiped at it, trying not to be furious at yourself for losing your composure in front of Jay. “I don’t know how you do it. Getting shot at and still running towards danger and not away.”

Jay seemed sheepish out of a sudden, no hint of his usual confidence and wit. “It’s my job. Just like I could never do what you do.” You felt yourself smile a little, his recognition making you feel a little less small in the hospital bed. “And sometimes there are- things that happen on this job that you don’t just get over. We all have things we’re dealing with. Even I.”

Now you squeezed his hand, trying to show him you were there if he ever needed to talk to someone. Jay looked at you with gratitude in his eyes. He understood, even without words.

Silence settled in, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable. There came no pressure to come up with something to say, no need to say anything at all and you could see it was the same for Jay, his thoughts drifting.

“So Connor huh?”

You hadn’t expected the question, drawing your brows together. “What?”

Jay licked his lips, inhaling. “I saw you two together. And then today-”, he trailed off, gazing to the side as he collected himself.

“I don’t know what you saw-”, you began, but Jay raised a hand. “Don’t deny it. I’m not blind. It’s obvious how much you care for each other.”

You started at him, rendered speechless as you tried to imagine what he could have seen. But it didn’t matter, because Jay was- “You’re jealous!”

He twisted in his chair, pulling his hand away. “I’m not jealous”, he said, but you shook your head, grinning. “Yes, you are.”

Annoyance flashed over his face. “I just don’t like to be played with.” Your smile faded a little, but the relief you felt only grew as your slowly began to piece it all together.

“That’s why you acted so cold towards me out of a sudden. You saw me and Connor and you thought-” You almost let out a laugh, only suppressing it as you took in Jay’s unamused expression.

“Well detective Halstead, Connor is my brother.”

You watched with delight how his face turned into confusion, surprise and then hope. “He’s your brother”, he repeated in disbelief and you nodded. “I told you I came to Chicago, because I have family here.”

Jay let out a groan, the previous tension melting from his body as your words sank in. “But Will-”, he paused, clearly rethinking something his brother had said to him, “that bastard. When I saw you together I asked him about you and he warned me not to try anything, because of Connor. He never thought to mention once that he’s your brother.”

“You asked Will about me?”

Jay narrowed his eyes playfully. “That’s what you’re concerned about?”

You let out a laugh. “Not concerned, no. I just- you asked your brother about me.”

Jay raised his brow. “Why is that so hard to believe? I mean, you asked him about me too.”

Your face flushed. “I did not!”

“Yes, you did!” Jay chuckled, clearly enjoying your embarrassment. “Will told me about it. It’s why he got so suspicious so fast when I brought you up.”

“And then he mentioned Connor and you figured-” “he said that if I tried anything with you I would have to deal with Connor Rhodes. And it’s not like you two have the same last name.”

“Different moms”, you explained and he sighed. “I should have just talked to you, but I got so mad and then I heard you two talk and I just- reacted.”

“You should have”, you agreed, “but I should have been more open with you too.”

“So, let’s try again?”

His voice sounded so soft when he said it you felt yourself melt under the covers. “If you’re ready to deal with Connor Rhodes”, you pointed out playfully and Jay shrugged, his natural confidence back.

“After I helped save your life I’m pretty sure I’m well in with him. Which reminds me, you owe me three times now.”

You rolled your eyes, feeling the tiredness return to your body. Soon enough you would be drifting off again. “It’s twice, considering you cancelled our first date.”

Jay grinned. “Fair enough. But I’m taking you out once you’re out of here.”

You smiled. “I’m counting on it.”

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[blueywrites]

Where you and Steve swing with Eddie and Chrissy, and it gets complicated.

TO KNOW YOU'RE MINE (modern!swingers!au) (18+ only)

eddie munson x chrissy cunningham x steve harrington x you

fem!reader, chubby!reader, minimal use of y/n, body insecurity, swingers, smut, oral (f & m receiving), fingering (v), dirty talk, praise kink

chapter three: my curse (14k) | playlist | AO3 | next

🎵 in this au, deftones=corroded coffin. the playlist is a combination of R's sad girl music vibes and some foreshadowing. songs for this chapter include #6-#14 and are all mentioned by name.

There is love

Burning to find you

Will you wait for me?

My Curse— Killswitch Engage

All day Friday, powdery-sweet Chrissy is on your mind as you labor through the shift from perdition. It's like the cosmos had overheard her question about crazy patient stories and generously decided to provide new conversation topics. You've been screamed at, berated, exasperated, and drawn so thin you spend the car ride decompressing in rare silence without your typical Spotify playlist. When you'd finally arrived home, the draw of sweatpants and nostalgia had proven too much to resist. You'd promptly cocooned on the loveseat in thick socks and a knitted blanket, retreating into Breath of the Wild for the umpteenth time. The buzz of your phone on the armrest runs up your elbow, but you're too absorbed to answer until the buzzing starts again, too insistent to ignore.

You glance to see it's Steve calling; you swipe and put him on speaker without pausing your game. "Hey," you answer, voice fond but somewhat distracted.

"Hey, babe." Steve sounds like he's in a wind tunnel. He must be driving. "What are you doin'?"

"Nothing," you answer absently, eyes still trained on the soft pastels of Kakariko Village until he says, 

"Well, I'll be home in forty, so start getting ready."

You frown in confusion, glancing at the contact picture on your phone screen: you and Steve at an NBA game, his anniversary present to you last year. "Ready for what?"

The smile in Steve's voice is audible. "Chrissy called. We're going to Insa tonight." 

You instantly straighten from your comfortable slouch, Switch abandoned beside you as you fumble up the phone. "Really?!"

"Yup." You can hear the happiness in his laugh as you squeal, tearing the blanket from your body and bolting for the bedroom. "She got us a private room for an hour."

You make another little joyful sound, hand already tugging at the shower knob, words spilling like a rush. "Yay! Okay, I'm getting ready, bye!"

"Love you," you hear Steve say.

"Love you!" You drop the phone onto the counter, hips wiggling as you wait for the water to warm. This is even more appealing than spending a night in with your favorite comfort game. You love music and singing, but traditional karaoke bars make you nervous— all those strangers staring at you on stage under the glare of the lights makes you instantly freeze. But Insa is a Korean karaoke bar, and since Chrissy has booked you a private room, it means it'll just be you and Steve, your two friends, and all the soju or sake you can drink. Here you were, thinking about Chrissy all day, and now it feels like you'd unintentionally manifested her invitation. Maybe the cosmos is trying to make amends.

  You decide that must be so as you choose your clothes: slouchy cardigan over tank top, tight black skirt almost obscenely short, sheer black tights to make up for it, white socks peeking just above Chelsea boots. You're still working on makeup when you hear a creak of the door and the jangle of keys to signal Steve's arrival. 

"I'm almost ready," you call, swiping mascara onto your top lashes. 

You hear him call back in acknowledgment, finishing the rest of your makeup with haste before fluffing out your hair and joining him near the door. 

He's still wearing his winter coat, unzipped to reveal dark jeans and an untucked button-up, his go-to for casual Fridays at the bank. His brown waves are a little windswept as he turns to you, and it matches the roguish sparkle in his eye as he takes you in. "Hey," Steve says, voice low and tinged with heat as you approach him.

"Hi," you answer happily, letting him pull you in for a kiss before you reach for your puffer jacket.

Steve's hand snakes back to your ass, drawing you against him as you tug one arm of your jacket on; you chuckle against his lips, protesting lightly, "Steve, we're gonna be late!" 

"Just wanna steal a minute to kiss my girl," Steve murmurs, and you can’t resist melting as he kisses you again, surrounding you in that familiar citrus cologne. You sneak your other arm underneath his coat to hug him, jacket half hanging off like you're trying to wear his and yours at once. The brush of Steve's tongue against the seam of your lips complements the heat— heat where the jackets drape around your body, heat where his palm grabs your ass, heat in the pit of your belly as his tongue meets yours.

Even without the radiator or your knitted blanket, Steve makes sure you're thoroughly and wonderfully warm before you venture out together into the cold night.

-

Luckily, on-time subway transfers and two powerwalked blocks later have you arriving at Insa with minutes to spare despite your short dalliance. You wander around clumps of people outside until Steve spots your friends near the wooden arch above the building's entrance. Seeing Chrissy's blonde ponytail fills you with effusive eagerness, and when her blue eyes meet yours, your broad smile is echoed on her lips. 

"Hi!" you greet her, arms opening for her tight embrace. "Thanks for inviting us!" 

"Of course!" Chrissy squeezes you affectionately tighter before she releases you to hug Steve. 

Leather creaks as Eddie moves closer, and you can feel his jacket seep cold even through your puffer jacket when you hug him, though his neck is warm as you graze it with your cheek. "Don't you have a better jacket than this?" you ask, running your fingers against the leather at his elbow.

You drop your hand, looking up into dark and twinkling eyes as Eddie replies, "Worried about me, sweetheart?" He smirks, a little crooked thing, and those full pink lips— their sudden phantom press against your own— make color prickle your cheeks. "Don't need one. My blood runs extra-hot." 

You hope your doubtful expression speaks for you and your sudden flush looks like it's from the cold. Judging by the glint in Eddie’s eyes, he’s not buying it.

"Come on, I'm freezing my balls off out here," Steve says, slinging an arm around your shoulders and hastening the four of you inside. 

"Certainly don't want that," you joke, pleased when Steve slants a grin at you as you're ushered to your room.

Inside is one long modular u-shaped couch against the back wall, a small coffee table, and two televisions: one against the front wall and one behind the couch so you can face your companions. Insa is one of the more technologically advanced karaoke restaurants: there’s an iPad for ordering drinks and a dedicated kiosk near the television to select songs. Coupled with its superior aesthetics— rich purple and turquoise mood lighting that avoids the tackiness of other bars— Insa boasts some of the largest crowds in the city, which makes it all the more exciting that Chrissy has surprised you and Steve with this outing tonight.

You shed your coats and watch Chrissy flounce over to the kiosk eagerly before the rest of you have even sat down. She's wearing a babydoll dress— one of those nearly shapeless ones that seem effortlessly chic on the right kind of person. With your curves, you think you'd probably look like you're wearing a potato sack if you attempted it, but you admire how it hangs beautifully on Chrissy. She looks like a cute little sugar-plum fairy as she scrolls through the offerings. 

"I guess Chris is going first," Eddie jokes, sprawling out in one corner of the couch with his dark legs spread, arm thrown against the back like he owns the place. He's in a long-sleeved muscle shirt in charcoal gray, accented by his signature flashes of silver— rings, wallet chain, and earrings that gleam in the neon light. Does he ever wear anything in color? Your eyes sweep him over as you sit, close but not quite sandwiched between him and Steve. Probably not, you think wryly, darting a quick glance at his profile as he grins cheekily at Chrissy when she glares at him.

"Not all of us get to be on stage every week, Mr. Rockstar," she reminds him sassily, plucking a microphone from the lower shelf on the kiosk and planting her feet in the middle of the open floor, hands on her hips. You can clearly see the cheerleading influence in her stance and expression, which is set in a confident mask of gleaming teeth and arched brows. A raucous female laugh begins her song choice, and Chrissy snaps the mic to her mouth to sing the first words: "Yeah, I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want—"

Chrissy owns Wannabe by The Spice Girls as she struts around, flicking her fingers and swinging her wavy ponytail as she exudes attitude. "I won't be hasty; I'll give you a try," she sings, cocking a shoulder as she smolders, "If you really bug me, then I'll say goodbye—" Her voice is a little pitchy, but what she lacks in technique she certainly makes up for in confidence. Chrissy pivots around to face backward for the final chorus, swaying her hips until she hits the last line where she shoots you all a foxy look over her shoulder, cocking the mic to sing, "If you wanna be my lover."

As soon as the music fades, you're clapping wildly, cheering as she spins to face the couch with a broad, sparkling smile. "You did so good! You're, like, a natural," you say, looking up at her as she prances over, skirt billowing. 

"Thanks, y/n! I guess I still got it, huh?" she adds, looking to the men for confirmation.

"I'd say so," Steve answers. "I remember, when I was a senior on the basketball team, Chrissy was one of the best flyers on the squad. It was crazy how much air she'd get!"

You watch Chrissy's eyes sparkle as he acknowledges her skill. Eddie reaches out, pinching the edge of her dress and tugging playfully as he adds, "And she was head of the squad her senior year. Lead them to regionals with her own routine and everything."

You smile up at her again, though it shifts with surprise as she pulls you to your feet with startling strength for such a slight person. "You should go next," she says, squeezing your fingers, expression earnest. "Come on, you can do it! It doesn't matter how you sound; it's all about having fun!"

From someone else, the statement may have felt like a veiled insult. But Chrissy doesn't seem to have a mean bone in her body, so you realize she's just trying to be encouraging. "Okay," you say, a little shy with the exuberance of her glee. You swap places and take the mic, lips pursing as you peruse the options at the kiosk. 

Behind you, you hear Steve say, "She's actually a really good singer." You feel a flattered smile bloom at the praise as you choose one of your favorites to sing during karaoke: If I Ain't Got You by Alicia Keys. 

As you drift toward the middle of the space and the piano introduction begins, you see Chrissy squeeze Steve's arm, thin brows crinkled up sentimentally. "Aw, that's so sweet of you, Steve!"

For a moment, Steve looks perplexed at the comment, and you think maybe Chrissy believes he's just saying that to be nice. But you're not worried about it; you're not thinking about much of anything other than what you're about to sing. Still, you’re always most nervous for the first song of the night, so as you face your audience of three, their expectant stares threaten to make that familiar anxiety begin to frost in your chest. Thankfully, you know what to do in this situation: you simply close your eyes, letting the music wash over you before you begin to sing.

"Some people live for the fortune. Some people live just for the fame."

Your voice is pitched naturally lower than Chrissy's and has a bit of rasp, but it's smooth and practiced from years of singing in chorale in school. Yet it isn't a performance, not really, because it's not about that. You stand still, aside from a subtle instinctual sway, unconcerned about moving around for your audience. You're only interested in borrowing Alicia's words, letting them bloom out of you as if they're your own in a way your words sometimes can't when you try to speak. Once you hit the chorus, a smile kisses the corners of your lips as you feel the emotion in the song, channeling the sentiment: "Some people want it all, but I don't want nothing at all if it ain't you, baby; if I ain't got you, baby—"

Alicia is an incredible vocalist; you don't try to imitate her. You simplify the vocal runs later in the song, letting yourself improvise what feels good instead. And throughout it all, you keep your eyes closed, singing with a peaceful smile until that tinkling piano returns at the end to signal the song's conclusion.

There's a brief silence where you hang suspended in the moment, eyes still closed. And then it's broken by a swirl of spoken smoke.

"Shit." The exclamation isn't loud, but it cuts through the room nonetheless as you open your eyes and smile shyly. Your face flushes as Steve whistles with his fingers; beside him, Chrissy's eyes are wide, dainty fingers clasped as she pops up. 

Chrissy wraps her arm around yours and squeezes you close. "Wow! Steve, you really weren't kidding!" You're hit with a puff of expensive perfume as she clings to you, and her billowing skirt brushes against your tights while she sways you back and forth. "Let's do couples next," she suggests, pulling back to meet your eyes. "Is it okay if Eddie and I go first?"

"Sure," you reply easily, sitting between Steve and Eddie again as she heads to the kiosk. Immediately, Steve leans in, lightly knocking your shoulder with his.

"That's my girl," Steve says, hazel eyes shining with affection, broad palm landing on your knee and squeezing lightly. Appreciative, you kiss him on the cheek, stubble like fine sandpaper against your lips. His smile widens as he pats your knee, saying more briskly, "I'm gonna need to get at least one drink in me before I join you on the next song, babe." 

You watch him scroll through the menu on the iPad for a moment until a light brush against the small of your back has you turning to meet wide brown eyes.

Eddie is no longer slouched in the corner of the couch; instead, he's curved forward, left elbow braced on his knee as if poised to get up, though he seems to have no intention to do so as he leans toward you. "You are really good," he says sincerely. "I was pleasantly surprised."

Your nose wrinkles faintly, somewhat amused and at the edge of offense. "Pleasantly surprised?" A hint of a challenge tinges your voice as you add, "What, did you think I would be bad?"

Eddie's face falls as he stumbles. "I—" His eyes dart away, reminding you of the day you'd met— when, at the ice cream shop, you'd seen that pink on his typical black and white. The idea that it may happen again excites you, and you aren't quite sure why.

But Eddie doesn't turn pink; instead, he huffs a chuckle, slanting a glance back at you as his eyes glitter. "Well, I wouldn't say that."

It's obvious that he's teasing you, so you feign annoyance. "Well, you'd better look out because I might take your place and become frontwoman of Corroded Coffin if you keep talking smack." 

You try valiantly to maintain your pretend annoyance, but it's really quite hard when Eddie grins so manically, brown eyes eager as they flick you over. "I'd like to see that, sweetheart," he replies, and it's not sarcastic at all— in fact, he sounds eager, as if the idea excites him. And you realize, as his fingers twitch against your cardigan, that Eddie hasn't yet taken his hand off the small of your back. 

That pink that you'd been hoping for on Eddie's face colors your cheeks instead as he stares at you intently, and his manic smile tightens to a smirk when he notices. A flutter of wings trembles low when his gaze dips to your lips, and your tongue darts out to wet them just as Chrissy calls across the room, 

"Okay, Eddie, get up here! I picked the song."

The drag of his fingers against your back leaves you with a shiver when Eddie rises, stuffing his hands in his back pockets as he lopes over to Chrissy. As he surveys her choice, the door opens to reveal a server with a green bottle and four shot glasses. 

As she sets the tray on the coffee table, Steve immediately reaches for it, calling to the others; Eddie turns, swaying wild curls haloed by neon light. "C'mon, Chris," he says, nodding over. "I'm gonna need a fuckin' drink for this one."

The sardonic tinge to Eddie's voice intrigues you, and you wonder what song Chrissy has chosen as Steve passes you a glass of soju. You all drink together, and the alcohol is ice cold as it slides down your throat, settling into a comfortable burn in your belly. It lingers sweet on your teeth as Chrissy grabs Eddie's hand to pull him into their performance.

Eddie shifts his weight as he cracks his neck to the side, saying dryly, "Just warning you, I haven't warmed up my falsetto, so—"

Chrissy scoffs fondly. "Oh, come on, Eddie. You always sound good." 

"All right," he concedes, a little self-deprecating grin spreading as the music begins— jaunty bass and a jazzy piano that you'd recognize anywhere. Chrissy has chosen You're The One That I Want from Grease.

Despite his reticence, Eddie gamely gives the song his all. Though at first, his falsetto makes you want to giggle, you hold back, not wanting him to think you're laughing at him when he'd already seemed unsure about it. You soon find yourself smiling widely as they play off each other for the second bridge: "I'd better shape up cause you need a man—" Eddie begins, dark eyes locked on Chrissy as she takes over, drawing her hand down his chest. "I need a man who can keep me satisfied." 

Steve nudges another shot of soju into your hand. "Cheers, babe," he murmurs, warm breath ghosting your face before you both take your second shots. It slides down cold and burns in your belly again, but when it's followed by the quick, eager press of Steve's lips against yours, the burn is accompanied by a slight tingle. 

You break away to applaud as the song ends, watching as Eddie leans close to kiss Chrissy. Her hand finds his cheek when he begins to draw back, and when she presses forward for another kiss, you hear Steve whistle again, though this time it's a teasing, flirty two-tone that makes Chrissy break from the kiss to giggle. Eddie hugs Chrissy from behind, walking with her as they come over to the couch, and you see it again— the gentleness in those brown eyes, the softness in the way his pink lips tilt in a small smile when she sing-songs, "Your turn!" 

Steve’s hand finds yours, guiding you to the kiosk. "What do you wanna sing?"

You don't really care what song you and Steve sing right now— you're just content to be here with him and Eddie and Chrissy, surrounded by affection and music. "Whatever you want, babe." 

His smile widens at your reply, and he lazily drags his finger across the screen. "How about this one?" 

Fondness fills you as you see his suggestion is from Dirty Dancing. It's a sentimental movie for you both— you'd watched it the first time you'd spent the night at Steve's old apartment instead of going out. And while eating Chinese food on Steve's couch and cuddling in your lounge clothes seems so commonplace, that was what you'd valued about it: that it was casual, that it felt normal. That it seemed like the beginning of an intimate closeness that didn't require dressing up or fancy restaurants or showy gestures.

"Yeah," you agree softly. "I love that song."

You nearly forget you have an audience as you sing The Time of My Life with Steve, giggling at his characteristically loud, brassy voice. Steve never holds back at karaoke, though he is— by far— the worst singer of you four. But you couldn't care less as he sings to you, "I've been waiting for so long, now I finally found someone to stand by me." And you know Steve doesn't care how he sounds either, eyes locked on you while you sing to him, "With my body and soul, I want you more than you'll ever know." When the instrumental breakdown occurs, Steve grabs your hand, spinning you, strong arms lowering you into a dip that makes you squeal and laugh with delight before he brings you back up.

When it’s time for the final chorus, you give it your all, hopping as you throw your arm wide and sing with abandon. When the song fades out, Stever snatches you up as you laugh, lifting you briefly from your feet to kiss you before setting you quickly back down. 

"You guys are just so cute!" Chrissy beams at you, sweet and powdery soft as she leans against Eddie's side. You hold out a hand to them, eyes sparkling.

"Get up here, you two," you say, excitement dancing like sparks across your skin. "We have forty minutes left, and I don't wanna waste a second."

You sing several songs as a group, all crowded around the kiosk to decide on your selections. You each have wildly different tastes in music, so there's quite a bit of friendly bickering as you negotiate what to sing together. Still, with the shots flowing and the joy of shared experience, you delight in even that aspect of the process. After a number of group selections, Steve and Eddie shoo you girls off to the couch so that they can, as they say, 'serenade you.'

"Oh, God," you mutter good-naturedly, leaning comfortably against Chrissy as the guys huddle close to conspire. "What are we in for now?"

Apparently something entirely unexpected as the guys stand side-by-side, stone-faced while a guitar plucks along. Their faces remain serious even as Eddie croons, "Yeah…" in the most exaggeratedly whiny boy-band voice you've ever heard. You can't stifle an incredulous snort as you and Chrissy exchange glances, eyes wide as your lips twitch. Your eyes snap to your boyfriend as Steve sings loudly, "You are my fire, the one desire…."

You manage to hold your composure until Eddie whines, tossing his long curls dramatically, "But we—"  

You're cackling before he can even hit the next line, and for a split second, his composure wavers, a chuckle breaking through as he continues, "...are two worlds apart… can't reach to your heart—" 

The sight of Steve— the straight-laced banker in a collared button-up, all citrus and sea salt— and Eddie— the hardcore musician in combat boots and chains, all smoke and ink— singing I Want It That Way by the Backstreet Boys as a pretend-earnest duet is too much for you and Chrissy to take. As soon as the chorus starts, you both flush bright red with laughter, clinging to each other in utter hysterics. Once the song ends, all you can do is curl over into Chrissy's lap, burying your face in gauzy fabric as she collapses onto your back. Your reactions urge each other on until you're hysterical for long enough that Steve exclaims, "Jesus Christ, was it really that funny?"

You hear Eddie snipe, "You both are real fuckin' rude, you know." Your head pops up to see him swaggering around, gesturing widely and theatrically as he grouses, "Here we are, trying to sing about our undying love for you, and you have the gall—" he pauses dramatically, "the audacity— to laugh at us." He turns to Steve, arms crossed, head shaking like a scolding parent. "These girls don't deserve us, Harrington."

"You're right, Munson. Maybe we should find us a new pair of girls who appreciate real culture."

You and Chrissy straighten, exchanging looks of deep indignance as your boyfriends smirk at you. "We'll show you culture," she sniffs, shoulder brushing Eddie's as she pushes by him with you in tow. He and Steve chuckle to themselves, falling back onto the couch as you and Chrissy lean close to assess your options. You find yourself relishing this dynamic— allied with Chrissy against the two guys, conspiring to choose the best song to annoy them. You're giddy with feminine closeness as Chrissy whispers in your ear, though as you notice one particular song, you grab Chrissy's fingers to halt her scrolling.

"That one!" you say, voice hushed but urgent. You turn to her, eyes bright. "That's the one."

She purses her lips, brow crinkling. "Really?"

"Yes," you say firmly. Whereas usually, you would defer to her preference, your desire to provoke the guys has lit you inside, made you bold.

Chrissy must see your determination because she concedes quickly with a little shrug. "Okay."

You grin widely, victory and sweet revenge buzzing in your blood as you grab your microphone; Steve and Eddie’s conversation wanes as they see you standing before them. When you feel Chrissy's dress brush against your thigh, you tip your chin, smirking as you murmur with false sincerity, "We've chosen this song specifically for the country music fans in the audience."

In your peripheral, you see Steve's face crease in confusion, but your eyes are locked on black and white. You buzz with pleasure as Eddie cocks a brow at you, spreading his dark legs to settle into the couch corner, hint of a smirk growing on his lips. Those brown eyes are wide and dark as they hold yours, glittering with approval at the challenge in your stare. 

Your voice is pitched as close to sultry as you ever get as you finish your introduction: "We hope you thoroughly enjoy this."

You never perform when you sing, not really, but now, suddenly, you are. "Right now, he's probably slow-dancing with a bleach-blonde tramp, and she's probably gettin' frisky," you rasp, channeling the drama of Carrie Underwood's delivery. Chrissy sings the next line, high voice also loaded with attitude, and you alternate the verses and sing the choruses together. You play up the growl in your voice as you smolder, any self-consciousness forgotten, "Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats."

As you sing for Steve and Eddie, you suddenly understand the appeal of performance and why Chrissy's face became so luminous after she'd sung Wannabe . Their attention wraps around you, coiling into your blood, coaxing you to rock your hips and shoulders as you sing to them. It's intoxicating, the heat of their stares as you and Chrissy sway together, bodies brushing as they watch you; there's power in it, power that you've just barely tasted. 

And you know, as your gaze flits back and forth between both men, that you want more.

When the song ends, their approval is instant, pretend contentiousness forgotten now. After lavishing you in whistles and applause with Eddie, Steve notes, "We've got enough time for a couple more songs."

"All right," Eddie says decisively, slapping his thighs as he stands. "I'm going."

A flutter of moth's wings begins low at the idea of hearing his smoky voice again— not him singing a song from Grease or the Backstreet Boys, but something that echoes his performance the first time you'd heard him on stage. When, before you'd even known him, his voice had reached inside you, tugging at something that has only just begun to take root in newfound light.

You nestle snug between Chrissy and Steve as you wait for Eddie's song, knee nearly bouncing with anticipation. Impulsively, you take a cheeky swig from the soju bottle, shrugging as Steve shoots you an amused look. The soju isn't as pleasantly cold anymore, but the burn still spreads from your belly, coaxing out a little hazy smile as Eddie returns to the center of the room. You wonder what song he's chosen, thighs pressing together as you imagine harsh guitars or driving drums, as you remember the black and white of his torso on stage at the bar, ink now sadly hidden behind charcoal long sleeves.

You should have known by the mischievous twinkle in those dark eyes what was coming. But when a smooth R&B beat begins, you blink, clouded mind instantly befuddled. Eddie's voice is still that smoky husk, though it's intentionally exaggerated as he drags out the word, "Baby…" You remain perplexed until he sings the next line: "I'm hot, just like an oven. I need some lovin'..." 

Eddie's rendition of Sexual Healing seems to hover somewhere between his real performance at the bar and his joke performance of I Want It That Way. But when he starts slowly thrusting his hips, running one hand sensually across his chest and up his neck, it becomes abundantly clear that he's fucking around. 

Chrissy wrinkles her nose at his exaggerated movements— body rolling, hips twitching with little jerks as his lips curl with amusement. "Ugh, Eddie," she whines, "this is so cringy!" 

And you know what she means— it is cringy, and everyone knows it. But you can't help but utterly delight in the two sides of Eddie Munson that seem to alternate in little glimpses: confident, self-possessed, sharp, and wolfish, but also awkward, goofy, unafraid to be exactly how he wants to be even in the face of others' judgment. And you know Chrissy isn't judging him, not really, but you think even if she was, he wouldn't care at all.

As you watch Eddie gyrate, eyes wide and grin manic, you feel something start to build inside you— a desire to join in his revelry, in this uninhibited display of enjoyment that disregards the opinions of others.

And with your eyes on Eddie's black and white, you act on that desire. 

You pop up from the couch just in time for the music to swell; he holds the mic out toward you when he sees you coming so you can both sing, "Whenever blue teardrops are fallin'…."

Together you turn to face Chrissy and Steve, smiles wide as you sway, arms wrapping comfortably around each other's waists. You extend your hand toward the others, coaxing them with wagging brows and little shimmies of your shoulders to try to get them to join you. "The love you give to me will free me," you and Eddie sing, sides pressed together, hips bumping as you move out of rhythm. Steve eyes you skeptically as you urge him with your extended hand, but he can't keep the curve off his lips for long as you stage-whisper, "Get up, get up, get up, get up," like it's a message directed to him. Steve sighs heavily, smile springing free as he joins on your other side, wrapping his arm around your back atop Eddies. You barely stave off your giggle as you all start to sway back and forth. 

You do laugh when Steve and Eddie squish you between them to try to both reach the mic. Steve attempts to convince Chrissy to join you, who's still watching you all reluctantly, though you can tell by the look in those blue eyes that she's close to cracking. 

"Come on, Chris," Steve wheedles, and finally, she relents, smile spreading on her bow lips as she skirts around the coffee table, huddling close to sing, " Come take control, just grab ahold of my body and mind—" 

Uninhibited joy floods you entirely as the four of you sing together, all pressed close, faces shining with bright smiles and laughs as Chrissy finally gives in, committing to the cheesiness of this song. When it ends, Steve and Eddie wrap their arms around you both, squishing you together as you and she shriek and giggle. Still pressed tight, you all shuffle dizzily toward the kiosk to choose your final song.

You lean closer, dragging them all with you as you see Mamma Mia on the list. "Steve loves ABBA!" 

"You would love ABBA, dude," Eddie teases, and Steve reaches around you to shove him playfully. 

"Shut up," he grouses, though you predict trouble as his lips go tight against a smirk. "I could tell them about your guilty pleasure music, Munson—" 

Intrigue blooms as Eddie looks instantly horrified. "ABBA it is," he relents quickly, jabbing the selection to start the music and, you suspect, to avoid any follow-up questions.

Mamma Mia turns out to be the perfect song to end with as even Eddie, who'd implied his disdain by teasing Steve, seems to enjoy it. "Yes, I've been broken-hearted, blue since the day we parted," you all belt together, and when you glance at Eddie to see him smiling widely with dimpled cheeks and little scrunched lines at the edges of his warm brown eyes, it strikes you, for the first time, just how downright pretty he is. When those brown eyes catch yours, you don't look away from him, drawn in as the song concludes:

"Mamma mia, now I really know— my my, I could never let you go!"

And with that, your time at Insa comes to a close— but the night is far from over.

-

Inviting Eddie and Chrissy back to the apartment is inevitable, and you smile as Eddie opens the back passenger door of his van for you. "Comfy?" He grins, pulling the seatbelt down to press into your hand. "Buckle up," he says, voice warm and teasing as you giggle. 

"You may think he's kidding," Chrissy says, sweet voice floating back to you from the front seat as Eddie closes your door. "But Eddie is probably the worst driver I've ever met, so… I'd make sure you heed his advice."

When Eddie practically throws himself into the driver's seat, hand jerking the gearshift into reverse as he peeks back over his shoulder, the wicked mischievousness in those brown eyes has you scrambling for Steve's hand to hold tight. "I'm not the worst driver," Eddie says lightly, eyes glinting as he adds, "but I am the craziest."

Despite Eddie's ominous teasing, you make it back to your apartment happy and in one piece. In fact, you're practically effusive from the alcohol and leftover merriment despite how you stumble trying to toe off your boots on the welcome mat. Your loveseat is still littered with the remains of your planned night in— fuzzy socks and knitted blanket strewn across the cushions, Switch balanced on the arm. You gather your items as your boyfriend and guests shed their coats and shoes. Once the socks have been tossed in your hamper and the Switch returned to its ottoman, you reenter the living room with your folded blanket to see Steve and Eddie seated together on the big couch. 

Chrissy pulls the knit from your hands, draping it over the loveseat with impatience.

"What?" you say, perplexed as she pulls you along with purpose, but all becomes clear as she releases your hand to run her fingers lightly down your cardigan instead, smiling coquettishly.

"Let's give the boys a little show again," Chrissy suggests, hand trailing up your sheer black tights, fingertips skimming your thigh as you glance at the couch. And you see that heated look again in brown and hazel— the one they'd worn as you and Chrissy performed Before He Cheats . Heat that coils into you, that echoes the comfortable fuzz in your head from the soju; heat that reminds you of the power you'd discovered, the taste you'd wanted more of. 

You palm Chrissy's waist, crinkling the shapeless fabric against her lithe body as you slant an alluring glance at Steve and Eddie. "Yes," you murmur, "let's." Your smile stretches as you watch them shift against the couch— legs widening, palms rubbing on knees, heads falling back to observe the show.

Caught in the hypnotic power of their masculine gazes, you and Chrissy undress each other, peeking glances at your men as you reveal skin little by little. She slides your cardigan from your shoulders, air cold against your bare arms as you lift her dress to tease a glimpse of her panties before letting it fall again, giggling with her as the men huff their impatience. 

Gradually, Chrissy sheds each article of clothing from your body: your tank top to reveal your midnight blue bra, your tight black skirt— which nearly gets stuck on your ass, which would have been embarrassing if you hadn't noticed how both Eddie and Steve's eyes were wide and rapt as it finally bounced free— and your white socks. Finally, she peels your sheer black tights down your legs, revealing a matching set of cheeky midnight blue panties cut high on your hips. You run your hands along her clothed waist again as Chrissy smiles at you with pink bow lips, eyes meeting. You know what her expression means because you're feeling it too: the heady desire practically palpable in the air as it rolls off your boyfriends. The sensual feminine control you have over them in this moment, made more potent together.

Chrissy is wearing much less clothing than you, so you gently lift her dress over her head last, revealing a set of aggressively strappy black lingerie. She runs her hand over your bare waist to settle on the small of your back, and your hand settles on her hip, fingers resting against the thin strap of her thong. Together, you turn to face the couch, bodies on display for devouring gazes.

And devour they do— they no longer lean back against the couch, feigning nonchalance. No, Steve and Eddie are so clearly wound tight by your mutual display, eyes dark and gleaming as you both draw closer. 

You and Chrissy have a choice now: begin the night by approaching your own boyfriends, comfortable and safe; or, perhaps, decide to approach the other man on the couch, whose touch is still unfamiliar and thus tempting. As you glance between them— first at the roguish swoop of Steve's bangs over hungry hazel, the look on his face one you've seen many times before, and then to the wildness of Eddie's long disheveled curls, brown eyes darkened like ink, the look on his face one that makes you flutter with nerves— you realize that your emerging boldness isn't yet enough to steer you away from the comfort of Steve's arms.

You gently pull from Chrissy, eyes fixed on the buttons of Steve's shirt. As soon as you get close enough, his hands attach to your hips, warm and broad and not at all timid as he pulls you onto his lap. You settle, humming as he kneads the flesh of your ass. As his lips find the sensitive spot underneath your jaw, your eyes slip closed to work the buttons of his shirt open by feel. The couch dips to your right as Chrissy mirrors you on Eddie's lap, and you sneak a tiny peek at what they're doing. You see Eddie's thumb drag her bottom lip down as her hands dip to the hem of his muscle shirt. "Mmm," you hum again, breathy and quiet, as Steve sucks lightly on your neck, fingers moving faster to pop his buttons so you can feel the press of his skin against yours. 

As soon as you get the last button free, you pull away from Steve's mouth, dragging the fabric down his shoulders, revealing a dense cloud of hair on his chest. It's soft like fur under your fingers as you stroke him— your favorite thing to do when Steve's shirt is first removed— and you get just a glimpse of hazel nearly swallowed by black pupils before Steve's mouth claims yours.

Your fingers continue to drag through the hair on his chest as Steve cradles you close with solid arms, tongue dipping wet and insistent into your mouth. It's a novel experience to be making out on the couch next to another half-naked couple like this. You find with the doubled sounds blending together— the soft smack of lips, the subtleness of deepened breaths, the masculine rumble of low groans, the high, breathy moans to compliment them— that when the throb starts within you, it intensifies quickly, burning in your belly, building insistent need that demands to be sated.

Steve pulls you closer by your ass, the motion dragging your panties against his jeans, catching your clit just right to throw kindling on the burn. When his hands palm your breasts over your bra, your fingers find the buckle of his belt, tugging at it until it jangles loose and you can pull down his zipper. Steve leaves your mouth to press blistering kisses along your jaw; you lift your hips, and he dips lower on your neck to reach his pants, shimmying them down his legs until he can kick them off into a haphazard pile.

You sigh as Steve mouths at your neck, tangling your fingers in the thick waves of his brown hair when he starts to suck a mark, the sting adding to your kindling. And as you tilt your head back to give him more access, you hear it— quiet murmuring, a delicate voice pitched thick and sultry beside you.

"Am I your bad girl, Eddie?"

Your eyes pop open as surprise rushes, and you can't help but dart a quick glance at the couple beside you: sweet Chrissy with her powdery-soft eyes and saccharine smiles, face flushed as Eddie's plush lips drag against her throat when he murmurs back, "You know you are, baby."

Chrissy hums in pleasure, and you suck in a quick breath as you see Eddie's pink tongue dart out to lick at her skin, the sight conjuring the phantom brush against your own throat— wet and warm opposite Steve's sucking lips. You stifle a whimper as you burn hotter between your legs, hips shifting against Steve's lap as he sucks your neck more aggressively. And then Chrissy talks again, still quiet, but yet more shocking:

"I'm just a dirty little slut for you—"

Steve's lips suddenly pop from your neck, and you sway as his nose abruptly drags against your throat when he turns to look. "Damn, Chrissy," he rasps, sounding almost as surprised as you feel. "You've really got a mouth on you, huh?"

Chrissy's blue eyes widen, her gaze darting from you to Steve as she shrinks slightly in Eddie's arms, suddenly bashful. "No, no," Steve assures her, "it's a good thing. It's hot." He pulls one arm away from your back to clasp her forearm, rubbing his thumb soothingly against her skin. When your boyfriend smiles at her, you watch Chrissy's expression soften, a tiny relieved smile curling in return. "No need to be shy," he murmurs, soft and kind, and as you look at his profile— alkaline nose, stubble dusting his jaw, thick dark brows tugged up in an earnest expression of reassurance— you feel a sudden rush of fond affection for Steve Harrington. 

You glance at Chrissy again, smiling encouragingly when she meets your eyes before looking back at Steve. And you notice that Steve hasn't drawn his hand from Chrissy's arm, and Chrissy's gaze is running over Steve's face, and if they're looking at each other, then, well, that leaves you free to search for that pair of beautiful brown eyes.

And you find them— your heart thumps as you look at Eddie to see him already staring back at you, intent on your face. You feel that flutter of wings kick up as your gaze roves over him, heart beating faster at the sight of that dark body armor exposed again, so stark on the pale quartz of his arms and chest. 

Instantly, you need the press of Eddie's inked skin against yours.

You don't know if Eddie can see the desire in your eyes or if maybe he's just thinking the same thing as you— either way, it brings both relief and unbelievable tension when he murmurs, voice huskier than usual, "Do we wanna mix things up a bit?"

The implication is clear, and as Steve's palm drags lightly up your back, lips pressing against your temple, you look to Chrissy. 

Her face is flushed, blue eyes hazy with want as she watches Steve nuzzle against your skin; when her gaze catches yours, agreement flows between you. 

You each slip from your boyfriends' laps, exchanging soft smiles as you brush by one another to switch places. There's so much of Eddie's pale skin on display, so many dark trails of ink that weave across his chest and down his arms. Your gaze drags along them until it travels lower over his abdomen, over his soft stomach, over the trail of dark hair that leads down below checkered boxers, loose fabric obscuring what's beneath. You're willing— more than willing— but looking down into Eddie's dark eyes causes those wings to stir up, to flutter wildly with a potent mixture of anticipation, nervousness, and desire. 

Slowly, Eddie leans forward, gaze locked on your wide eyes, assessing your reaction as he draws closer. He touches you carefully; his fingertips drag lightly over your thigh, feather-light, traveling up, up, up until they brush against the lace of your panties at your hip. And when just the tip of his index finger sneaks beneath it, the touch coaxes you closer, drawing you to his ink and smoke.

When you settle on his lap, the drag of Eddie's warm arms as they close around your back makes you shiver despite their heat, lips parting as you near those brown eyes, that soft nose, that strong jaw, those full pink lips. Eddie tilts his chin up for you, an invitation, and his warm breath puffs against your lips before they finally meet again. 

Kissing Eddie is just like kissing Steve, but also nothing like it at all. His arms are firm like Steve's, and his lips are full like Steve's, and he holds you close like Steve does. But Eddie's curls brush against your neck, teasing your skin; Eddie's scent is muskier, less crisp than Steve's; and Eddie doesn't dive into your mouth like Steve does after three long years of dating. He's more polite— not quite hesitant, but careful as his lips press to yours, not deep or thorough enough to sate the want that's throbbing between your legs. And you appreciate his consideration, but you need more.

You tilt your head, fingers finding his jaw as you press closer, urging him silently to take more of you. Your arousal flutters when you pull that breathy groan again from his throat at your eagerness, and Eddie's arms tighten, pressing your breasts to his chest as he leans into you with his kiss. Your blood sings as he kisses you deeper for a while until he pulls from your mouth to duck to your neck. Eddie licks a path up your throat, slick and hot, and you tip your head to give him room, arms draping over his shoulders, fingers finally tucking into those wild curls you've been admiring from afar. 

Eddie groans quietly against your skin as his hands run over your back, calloused and rough, dragging over your shoulders and spine with a tantalizing rasp. You notice that his fingers begin to linger near the band of your bra, and you anticipate his question before it rumbles against your throat. "Can I take this off?"

Though you'd been prepared for it, as it's voiced, the question makes those wings flutter again, mixing nerves with arousal. A quick breath, the press of your fingers into curls to ground you, and then you answer. "Yes," you whisper, breathing deep as you feel him work at the clasp.

A high moan next to you has your eyes darting to the left for the first time since you'd crawled into Eddie's lap. Steve is sucking at the thin column of Chrissy's throat. You wonder briefly if it's invasive to watch them, but the thought melts as you notice Chrissy's bra is already off, and your boyfriend's broad hand is gripping her breast, fingers rolling her nipple.

Chrissy's breasts are just as delicate as the rest of her: small and perky, with little pink nipples nearly engulfed by Steve's broad fingers. So different from your breasts, different enough to make a sudden flash of insecurity prickle as they fall free from your bra, bottom-heavy.

You turn away from Chrissy, nerves sharpening when you see Eddie's gaze roving over your breasts. The instinctual desire to hide is strong, but Eddie speaks before you can. "Look at you," he hums, practically a purr as he looks up at you, eyes glittering with approval. His voice startles you, and you feel your cheeks flush as he presses you gently closer with his palm against your spine. When Eddie kisses the base of your throat, plush lips soft and warm, your nerves settle; when he nips downward, the flutters take over as you stretch your spine, angling your chest up for him.

As Eddie's lips draw closer to your nipple, you shift your hips unconsciously, body seeking to ease the ache between your legs. When he hums, hands wrapping around your hips, you realize that Eddie is very vocal— you can hear each time he responds to something you've done, and you find you enjoy having that knowledge, that confirmation. When he lifts your hips slightly so he can adjust beneath you, the groan he muffles against your skin when his hardening length presses against your pussy echoes the relief you feel inside but don't voice. He's hot through those loose boxers, firm as he drags against your heat when you shift your hips experimentally again, quietly exploring how he feels. But when his lips close around your nipple, sucking at the same time you use him to drag friction against your clit, you can't prevent the tiny whimper that escapes your lips.

Eddie switches to the other breast, presses his face closer, sucks harder, and you're pleased that he seems to have enjoyed your sound. Calloused hands meet at the small of your back, silently urging you forward; encouraged, you rock against him again. With each shift of your hips on his lap and each hot lave of his tongue against your nipples, you stoke each other's fires, clear in how you throb harder and he hardens further beneath you.

You hear Chrissy murmur again, coquettish and smooth: ""You know, Steve, I can be your little slut, too."  

You don't look, eyes closed while Eddie lavishes your breasts, but you hear your boyfriend chuckle breathlessly, husky and eager. "Yeah?" Chrissy hums, and their lips smack, soft groans and moans falling from them, washing over you. The heat in their voices— the evidence of their pleasure— adds to your own pleasure, and you move your hips more boldly against Eddie's lap as you hear it. You're enjoying how he's sucking your nipples, each brush of his tongue zinging to your pussy, but your desire suddenly shifts. You use the fingers buried in his hair to tug him lightly from you, pussy pulsing as he startles a slight groan, brown eyes snapping to yours as his pupils dilate. 

It only confirms what you'd just realized: Eddie's reactions feed you, and you're hungry for more.

You tilt his head back, ducking to kiss and suck at the edge of his jaw, mouthing at the pale quartz of his throat. You wonder what Eddie would do if you worked a bruise into his skin— would he suck in a delicious gasp of air? Would he moan, chest rumbling against your breasts? Would his hips twitch beneath you, pressing himself up into your heat? 

To experiment, you kiss him sweetly beneath his ear, stimulating the skin before taking it between your teeth, nipping gently. You feel his breath catch in his chest; his hands take firm hold of your hips for the first time, dragging you against his hard cock. 

And oh, is it so utterly satisfying when Eddie's hips press up into you, wanting you closer as you suck and nip at his throat. When he starts a slow, steady grind, pushing you down against his cock as he drags friction along your clit, both of your breaths deepen, quicken, murmuring small sounds of pleasure into each other's skin and hair. Arousal begins to tighten low in your belly, kindling finally catching fire, pussy now slick and heated.

"I need your mouth on my cunt, Steve."

You flush hotter as you hear Chrissy's words and feel Eddie's fingers tighten against your hips. The idea sits loaded between you as Steve murmurs something to Chrissy, presumably about her proposition, but you can't be bothered to listen as you feel Eddie swallow under your lips, chest pressing to your breasts with his deep breath.

Eddie's fingers find your jaw then, gently guiding you up to look into his eyes: brown burnished to warm amber, lit from within by feverish desire. Desire for you. It makes you pulse again, knees squeezing lightly against the outside of his hips.

After looking at you for a moment, Eddie draws closer, soft nose brushing your ear. "You wanna?" he husks, lips feather-light against the skin of your throat. Tantalizing smoke flows, inflating your lungs as he asks, "You want me to go down on you?"

You bite your lip as a thrill pulses through you, and you nod, frizzy curls brushing your cheek. He kisses you again underneath your ear, firmer now, seeming eager at your answer. His eagerness settles into you, and your excitement rises as Eddie kisses a path back to your lips. You cup his jaw as he reaches your mouth, opening your lips for him, tasting his tongue for the first time. 

Eddie's tongue is sweet like soju and spicy like cinnamon gum, but it mostly tastes like nothing you've tasted before— his flavor, you suppose. His tongue is firm and wet as it dips into your mouth, and you press yourself to his chest as you taste him, wanting every inch of his skin against your own, as much as you can touch. 

Beside you, Chrissy squeals as the couch suddenly shifts, and you part from Eddie's mouth in surprise at the sudden movement. You see Steve carrying her to the loveseat; lithe, pale arms wrap around his broad shoulders, ankles meeting at the waistline of his tight black boxer briefs. 

You don't want to, but you start to think about how easy it was for Steve to lift Chrissy, how he never picks you up like that—

Eddie's thumb brushes against your clothed slit, and the thought promptly sieves from your conscious mind.

You find brown eyes by instinct, a little plaintive crease forming in your brow as you look at him. Eddie's lips curl in a smile when, as he brushes you again, you gasp, and your eyes dart down to watch his hand— ruddy knuckles, gleaming silver rings that look aggressive against the dainty lace of your blue panties. You squirm slightly as he palms your thighs, fingers kneading flesh, and you see it at the same time you feel it— the overwhelming wetness of your pussy, the saturation of your panties. The wet spot on the front of his boxers, which you wish was from him but know is from you.

A hot rush of embarrassment pours down your spine as you realize you've soaked through your underwear onto his, but Eddie seems not to share your sentiment. His smile grows, eyes half-lidded and heated as he draws closer to your face. "So wet for me," Eddie praises you, breath ghosting against your lips, inky eyes glittering with approval. When his thumb brushes you again, you shift into his touch, hips pressing it more firmly against your slick heat, seeking more pressure.

A glint of teeth as his smile turns to a smirk. "Mmm," Eddie hums, voice low, husked against your lips. "Good girl."

Your breath catches, pussy clenching as he calls you that— feeling bursts low in your belly, fluttering, blooming up to your chest as you whimper for him. "Oh," Eddie murmurs, voice still quiet but curious now, as if he's discovered something. "You like that, don't you?"

Your face flushes hot, lips twisting as you shrink from a response, but Eddie takes pity on you. "Lie down on the couch for me," he says, releasing you from having to answer. 

You rearrange until you're stretched out flat on the big couch, looking beyond your breasts to the valley of your soft stomach, the curve of your thighs, watching as Eddie's fingers seek blue lace. He pauses before he removes them, on his knees and hovering above you, wild curls like a dark stormcloud around his head, patient as he waits for your permission. 

Your chest heaves with a shaky breath, and then you nod.

The air is cold against your newly-revealed skin as Eddie drags your panties from you, and you bite your lip as you feel them graze your calves. You look up at the white ceiling as his hands softly press your thighs apart, heart thumping as his curls brush your skin, pussy throbbing with the anticipation of his mouth on you—

As Eddie licks a thick stripe up your pussy, your quiet moan expresses your blissful relief.

His tongue is slick fire against your heat, wet and firm on your swollen flesh. Again, it strikes you, just like when you'd first sat on his lap, how he feels different from Steve. The thought fills you with a naughty thrill, the knowledge that you're letting another man lick your pussy while your boyfriend is sprawled out on the loveseat nearby, having given his full permission. You're allowed to enjoy this, to relish the way Eddie's broad tongue parts your folds, the way he drags that slick fire from your entrance to your clit before teasing it with little light brushes of his tongue-tip, little flicks that make your hips shift as he stokes the burn in your belly. 

That burn only increases as Eddie starts to explore you— thumbs pulling your folds apart, tongue dipping into your entrance, lips sucking lightly on your clit, tongue swirling in different patterns as if he's trying to learn you, to seek out your strongest reactions. And when he finds something that makes your thighs twitch, or your breath hitch, or your lips part with a moan or whimper, he does it again and again, a little firmer or lighter, a little faster or slower, curious like he'd been when he'd discovered you liked the way he spoke to you.

It begins to build— the tension inside you, encouraged by Eddie's eager seeking. But it's not the only thing that builds— you're suddenly reminded of what your boyfriend is doing sprawled out on the loveseat nearby when their sounds hit you like someone has turned up the dial and stripped away any filters.

You hear Chrissy first: loud feminine moaning, interrupted as she mewls, "Fuck, yeah— oh, that feels so good, Steve." 

Steve groans, the sound muffled as if against flesh. "Your pussy tastes so fuckin' amazing." 

Another moan, higher. "Oh yeah, shit, Steve— finger-fuck me hard, baby—" 

More groaning, loud and deep. "Oh, fuck—"

Though Eddie's tongue is lavishing you with pleasure, once you hear them, you can't stop the spiral of your thoughts. You're suddenly conscious that you've been mostly silent this whole time. Should I be making more noise? You remember how Chrissy had called herself a bad girl for Eddie, how he'd seemed to like it. Should I be saying things like that? You can feel it: the freeze that begins to creep, to spread along your ribs. And as Eddie keeps licking you, Steve's voice echoes in your head: 'Your pussy tastes so fucking amazing,' he'd told Chrissy. Steve has never said you taste bad or anything— he's never really said anything about your taste before. What if I don't taste as good as her? What if Eddie doesn't like the way I taste but is too nice to say anything? What if—?

When the wet heat of Eddie's tongue leaves you, it almost seems like confirmation of your spiraling thoughts— the freeze travels up your throat, brow twitching with distress until you feel the couch shift underneath his weight. And then he's there: fingers brushing back the hair at your temple, brown eyes staring calmly into your own, warm skin covering you as your thighs part to accommodate his hips. 

Eddie's voice is a soft murmur. "You're all tangled up in your head, aren't you?"

Your eyes dart between each of his as you look up at him shyly, swallowing thick against the freeze. But his warm gaze is melting it; the heat of his chest is sinking into your ribcage. You nod for him.

"Focus on me," he says, ducking his head to press his lips to yours. 

And as you breathe slowly through your nose, lips parting to allow him access, Steve and Chrissy recede. You let them fade as Eddie coaxes you back to him, tongue slick against yours, fingers stroking your cheeks and jaw and neck until you make a breathy sound against his lips and your hips shift up into his, seeking, wanting. "There she is," Eddie murmurs, approval clear in that rasp of smoke he breathes into your mouth. He pulls back, curls brushing your collarbone as he strokes your hair again. "I wanna make you feel good," he says. "Will you let me make you feel good?"

"Yes," you whisper.

Eddie hovers nearby, waiting patiently as you look into his eyes, that warm brown burnished to amber. And then you stretch your neck to kiss him. 

As soon as your mouth meets his, he leans in, lips pillow-soft and plush, sticking slightly as you pull away. You're rewarded with a crook of a smile and a smoky purr. "That's it, sweet girl."

It's like 'sweetheart,' like 'good girl,' except it's so much fucking better. Your pussy pulses, hips pressing up into him as feeling blooms in your body, sweet like a rush of rain. You kiss Eddie again, more passionately this time, hands cupping his jaw to keep him close. He groans against your mouth, hips pressing his cock to your pussy, only the thin fabric of his boxers separating your hot skin. Mouths open, wet, sloppier than before, tasting of alcohol and cinnamon and musk— the flavor of your pussy on his tongue. 

And when Eddie, now satisfied that he will sustain your attention, travels down your body— dropping kisses over the peaks of your breasts, the slope of your soft stomach, the wide curve of your hip— you aren't thinking about anything except his mouth on you: where it is now, and where it's going to be as it travels lower, lower, lower.

As his broad tongue parts you again, your hips twitch up into him, less inhibited now. Eddie groans against your heat, vibrating deliciously, and you feel that fire burn hot in your belly as he noses your clit, tongue dipping into your entrance. He moves back up, lips sucking on your clit, and your sigh turns to a moan as you feel his finger press inside, stretching you slowly. You reach down for him, soft fingers weaving with callused where his hand rests against your hip. 

And it's so strange. His tongue is working your clit, and his finger is stretching you open. But it's when Eddie squeezes your hand, fingers holding tightly to yours, that something shifts inside: creeping, extending into peat, quivering down into soil at the bottom of you.

Distantly, you register that Chrissy's moaning and mewling have begun to intensify, to crest in a wave of feminine satisfaction. But you don't think about that. You're thinking about the sound Eddie makes as you tangle the fingers of your other hand in his hair, the way he moans against your swollen flesh, voice pitched higher than before. Discovering that reaction makes you wonder how else you might make him react. You imagine that pale quartz skin flushed as you take him into your mouth; you imagine that strong jaw tensing as you lower onto him, engulfing him in your wet warmth. You imagine those plush lips spilling groans as you rock on his length; you imagine his brow contorting in pleasure as he empties inside you.

And with these imaginings, you're nearly shocked to feel that tightening in your lower belly, the tingling burn that signals your approaching orgasm. You're shocked because this never happens— not from being eaten out. Not from being fingered. And your breath quickens, fingers grasping desperately onto Eddie's as your muscles tense in anticipation, head tilting back as you begin to moan louder, for once unconcerned about the noise you're making—

The creak of the coffee table is abrupt and utterly startling, and your eyes pop open as adrenaline spikes in your chest, gaze darting toward the sound.

It's Steve, sitting on the table, hard cock trapped behind tight boxers, hazel eyes darting intently between your face and your spread legs.

And it's Chrissy, standing beside him, letting Steve guide her onto his lap as her blue eyes rove over your naked body.

Instantly, your muscles tense for a different reason, your arousal withering under the weight of their stares, feeling like you're a bug under a microscope.

You realize, with startling clarity, that the brush of Eddie's tongue and the press of his finger is no longer stimulating you, that your orgasm has been chased away by your audience. Eddie hasn't noticed yet that things have changed for you, and you desperately want to keep it that way. And it's not the first time you've faked an orgasm for Steve. It's not that it doesn't feel good, that Steve isn't good at it— clearly, he must be since he made Chrissy cum. It's because you can never fully relax enough to let yourself go. 

So you do what you always do: you make your chest heave with deepened breaths, tense your legs against Eddie's ears, but not too hard; and then, when you deem you've gone long enough, you throw back your head, drag your moans out as you twitch your hips up into Eddie's face, writhing against the couch.

"That's it, baby," Steve murmurs, and you know you've been convincing.

You open your eyes when the couch dips beside your shoulder, registering Steve's face just before he kisses you. You open your lips automatically, though you balk slightly at the unfamiliar musky taste on his tongue, realizing it's Chrissy in his mouth. You withdraw your fingers from Eddie then, releasing his hair and hand, and your thighs are cold without the tickle of his curls against them as he withdraws from you. You keep kissing Steve as you feel Eddie pull up your panties, lifting your hips for him. And as the kindness of the gesture strikes you, you pull from Steve's lips then, glancing up at the man still kneeling between your legs.

Eddie's arm is wrapped around Chrissy's waist as she clings to his side, pink bow lips happily pressing kisses to his cheek. You watch him wipe his mouth on the back of his wrist, but when your eyes dart up to his, the ink of his stare— its intensity— makes you suddenly want to squirm.

Unnerved, you avoid Eddie's gaze, pecking Steve one last time on the mouth as you brush back a rogue lock of hair that's fallen over his eye. You aren't sure what Eddie's stare means— if he's expecting you to thank him, or if he wants to tell you something, or if, God forbid, he'd found the experience of eating you out less than pleasant. 

As vague nervousness pings in your chest, you know you need to do something to distract yourself from this train of thought, and the question of what to do is thankfully answered by Chrissy:

"All right, Mr. Harrington." She smiles foxily. "Now it's your turn."

Eddie's arm slides from Chrissy's waist as she and Steve move close; when she settles on her knees before him, you sit up, eyes locked with purpose on the front of Eddie's loose boxers, now tented. While part of you wants a distraction from your nervousness, another part conjures the flush of Eddie's face as you again imagine going down on him, and you feel your pussy pulse despite the lingering nerves. 

You choose to let that decide for you.

"I'm happy to return the favor, you know. Since you got me off." You sound more confident than you feel.

Your gaze darts to his, diverting quickly as that strange intensity remains in his eyes. But when you kneel beside Chrissy, looking up at him, Eddie rises from the couch to stand next to Steve, pale hands hanging loosely at his sides. 

It seems whatever he's thinking isn't pressing enough to distract from the promise of your mouth on him.

You draw your fingers lightly up his legs, sparse hair tickling as you reach up, up, up to the waistband of his boxers, dipping your fingertips underneath as you lift on your knees to press a kiss beside his navel. When you look at Eddie again, that intensity in his face has shifted, heated, turned desirous once more as he watches you slowly pull down his boxers.

He pops free from the fabric, stiff and thick, not as long as Steve but flushed a deep, mouthwatering pink at the tip, standing proud from a snatch of dark curls. You suck in a quick breath as you see him, as he steps from his boxers and his length bobs near your cheek with the movement. Beside you, Chrissy is already working Steve, tongue swirling around his head, delicate fingers lightly gripping the base of his cock— but you don't want to watch her, mesmerizing though her technique may be. 

You want to watch the man standing before you.

Your tongue darts out to taste him, dragging slowly along the underside of his head, and you watch Eddie's adam's apple jump with a thick swallow, eyes locked on yours as you take him into your mouth. His precum is briny on your tongue, and you bob lightly on his tip until he's breathing more heavily. You explore him the way he'd explored you, trying to learn what he likes— licking a fat stripe up the underside, flicking your tongue against his frenulum, taking him further into your mouth, jaw clicking as you stretch to accommodate him. And that flush you'd imagined on his cheeks— you're watching it spread now, relishing the sound of his moans as you suck and lick him, lavishing all your attention on his cock.

Eddie's flush and his sounds spur you on, making you bold. And maybe it's the way Chrissy is so expertly bobbing and swirling on Steve's cock beside you. Or maybe it's your hunger for more of Eddie's reactions. Whatever it is, you're possessed to do something you've never thought to do before: as your lips pop from the head of Eddie's cock, you work his length with your hand, ducking your head and gently sucking one of his balls into your mouth.

His reaction is immediate and utterly breathtaking. 

"Jesus Christ," Eddie hisses, hand fisting against his thigh, ruddy knuckles turning pale white above his chunky silver rings. Your pussy throbs, and you hum; he thrusts into your fist, smoky groans slipping from his lips as you lick and suck on his balls until you feel his warm palm clasp the back of your head, fingers tightening in your hair. You release him then, taking his length into your mouth again, sucking him as you work the underside of his cock with your tongue. 

You may not be as good as Chrissy at giving head, but damned if you haven't had plenty of practice these last three years.

The tell-tale sound of Steve's release— a ragged breath, groans stifled in his throat— is unmistakable beside you, and you keep bobbing on Eddie's cock as you glance to see Steve painting Chrissy's perky breasts with his cum. She squishes them together with her hands, sucking his tip as he gasps and moans, and you're distracted until you feel Eddie's fingers tighten in your hair again. You look up at him then, watching his eyes dart briefly to the side before returning to you, remaining there as you take him a little deeper into your mouth. Eddie's fingers in your hair loosen, but not to let go; instead, he drags his palm further down to cup the back of your skull, voice a husky murmur as he tells you, "I'm close."

You hum a moan around his length, and Eddie takes a sharp breath, jaw tightening, brow tensing, dark eyes intent as he watches you suck his cock. You can feel him starting to twitch in your mouth, and you prepare to pull off and swap to your hand to bring him to completion.

And then Eddie strokes your hair as he husks, "You want my cum, sweetheart?"

The answer, before he'd asked, was no, not particularly. Sure, you'd wanted him to orgasm because that was your aim in giving him a blowjob. But did you want his cum? You wouldn't say so. Yet the way Eddie's face looks— framed by those beautifully wild curls, brown eyes hazy and inky-black with his want for you, brow pinched, cheeks flushed— and the way his voice sounds, that smoky timbre that won't stop reaching, tugging, pulling deep inside you….

Suddenly, you do. You want Eddie's cum.

"Mmhmm," you confirm, humming around his cock, taking him deeper yet, eyes locked on his face as those full lips fall open with a deep moan, and Eddie gives you what you want.

He's briny and musky but not unpleasant as he floods your mouth, cock twitching on your tongue. You pull off until just his tip is inside, swallowing him down as best you can. But there's a lot of cum, and you're not used to swallowing, so it's not surprising that a little leaks from your lips as you try to keep up. 

Your eyes open as you feel a brush against your face, and you only realize then that you'd closed them. You blink, realizing that Eddie's hand is on your cheek and his thumb is wiping a bit of cum from the corner of your lips. And that gentleness you see sometimes— it's there now, pouring out in amber brown as he looks at you, eyes deep and framed by long, dark lashes.

A flutter of wings accompanies the brush of Eddie's thumb against your skin, and you find yourself running your palm softly up his calf, wanting to somehow communicate the blooming you feel inside at the tenderness of his touch.

"Damn, Munson," Steve says, and your spine straightens at the loudness. "How'd you get her to do that?" He chuckles, hazel eyes teasing as your gaze darts to meet them. "Gotta give me pointers," Steve jokes, and you pull your head back, suddenly realizing that your lips are still wrapped around Eddie's cock.

Eddie huffs a chuckle, glancing at his friend as his hand drops from the back of your head. "Well, maybe if you tasted better," he ribs lightly, cocking a brow. "I eat my weight in Twizzlers." 

Steve scoffs, shoving his shoulder. "Fuck off."

You'd felt on the edge of embarrassment, but it recedes as their attention leaves you, focused on each other instead. You look at Chrissy to your side, gaze meeting powdery-soft blue and a kind smile. 

A sudden surge of fondness for Chrissy fills you as you kneel side-by-side while the men argue familiarly. Strangely, there isn't any strangeness between you after having blown each other's boyfriends, but you welcome that lack as she rolls her eyes at their antics, fluttering her eyelashes to imply exasperation. 

You giggle, jerking your chin toward the bedroom. "Come on," you say, smiling at her. "Let's get cleaned up and dressed. Forget the bickering dummies."

-

When you emerge from the bedroom, you find the guys have resolved their petty argument and are sitting at the dining room table, presumably waiting for you both. You've redressed in your black skirt, tank top, and cardigan out of solidarity with Chrissy since she didn't have anything but her dress to wear, though you'd pretended it was just for convenience, so she didn't feel bad. You somewhat regret that when Chrissy wants to talk to Steve about her class again— it turns out that wasn't merely a ploy to get you and Eddie to spend together that first time you'd met— and Eddie says he has something for you in his van.

The air is cold against your bare legs as you stand near the back doors, hugging yourself tight, cardigan not nearly enough to ward off the chill. It’s forgotten, though, when Eddie emerges with a swath of black fabric, smiling manically, brown eyes wide as he brandishes his find.

It's a t-shirt with white graphics: an open coffin and swathe of bats that flow across the jagged name ‘Corroded Coffin.’ "If you're gonna take my place," he says, dark eyes dancing, "you gotta rep the merch."

You laugh as you take it from him, holding it up to your torso. It's at least three sizes too big for you, but you don't care; you bunch it in your hands as Eddie explains, "Sorry it's so big— we only have these leftover 'til we order more."

Unconcerned, you pop the shirt over your head. You giggle as you realize it covers your skirt and fits easily, even over your cardigan, arms spreading wide to show it off. 

You thank him genuinely, then follow up with a tease. "When's my first show? I'm free next week."

Eddie laughs, the sound scratchy and thick, and it flutters low in your belly— the knowledge that you'd amused him. "Hold on, now," he says. "You haven't even auditioned yet."

"True," you reply, smiling as his eyes crinkle at you. You don't know what possesses you— it's a total non sequitur, and it makes no sense to ask right now, but you really want to know. "Was it good?" you ask, voice hesitant and quiet. "The, um…" you work to clarify as his head tilts in confusion. "The blowjob?"

Eddie's brow jerks, but his answer is quick and sure. "Yeah," he replies, a corner of his lips curling in a small smile. "Yeah, it was good."

And had you known what would come next, you never would have asked. But you didn't know Eddie would follow up with a question of his own. 

You didn't know he'd noticed.

His head tilts again as he asks plainly, "Why did you fake your orgasm?"

The words strike like a physical blow, and the liquid rush of hot mortification is so overwhelming that your knees nearly buckle with it. Your cheeks heat, blushing bright in the shine of the streetlight, horror flooding your face as you stare at him. The shame of it— of Eddie not only knowing you'd pretended to cum, but voicing it like this— pricks at your eyes, stinging as they water.

Instantly, Eddie looks utterly stricken, eyes darting helplessly over your face. "Shit, I— I'm sorry—" He takes a step forward, brow crumpling, arms extending, fingers flexing as if he wants to grab onto something— you, the van door, his hair. Something. Anything. "Fuck— Look, just forget I said anything—" 

The sight of Eddie's distress just makes your own distress more acute; you stumble to explain. "No, I'm just…" your chin trembles as you attempt to tell the truth. "I'm just embarrassed."

He looks even more horrified. "Was it…." He trails off and swallows, voice hoarse. "D-Did I do something wrong—?" 

Your eyes widen. "No, no! You were great. I… I just felt, like…." You force the words out, hating how his face looks enough to voice them. "When they came over to, like, watch…." Admitting this is embarrassing, but you're already mortified, so the benefit of truth outweighs the sting. "I just felt kind of pressured, and it took me out of the moment." 

Eddie blinks, frowning less fiercely now, but he doesn't look entirely convinced. But you know by now that he’s kind, so you let that strengthen you. You admit, "I… I've never actually gotten there before from… from someone going down on me. So, it's not you." 

You want to make him feel better, but Eddie Munson is too perceptive; he searches your expression, reading something there. "I swear," he says slowly, cautiously, "I'm not trying to be a dick, but.. has he ever made you…?" He trails off, dark eyes free of judgment, sympathy in the tilt of his brow.

You blush deeply, averting your eyes. Eddie isn't being a dick, but the question is too intimate. Your truthful answer is too revealing. 

"Please," you whisper instead, voice trembling. "Just… please don't tell Steve about this." 

You can feel Eddie move closer, though your gaze is stuck to the giant t-shirt hanging from your frame, concealing your clothes beneath a swath of black and white. When he stops in front of you, body close but not touching, you take a bracing breath and finally drag your eyes to his face.

Those bright brown eyes are so big, and Eddie's touch is careful as he pulls you in, folding you in the cradle of his arms. The chill of the outdoors is soothed; hot embarrassment fades as you breathe in smoke and apples. You let him hold you, burying your nose in his collar, chasing that scent until he speaks relief. 

"It's okay, sweetheart," Eddie murmurs. "I won't tell anyone. I promise."

-

Not long after Eddie and Chrissy have left, your phone vibrates.

You're brushing your teeth, swathed in flannel pajamas, squinting in the bathroom light as you hear it, and when you swipe to unlock it, peering down at the text, you smile through foamy toothpaste.

'If you want to take over as frontwoman of Corroded Coffin, you're gonna need to nail your audition song.' Eddie has followed the text with a Spotify link.

You spit, rinsing it down as you plunk your toothbrush into its holder. "I'm taking out the trash real quick," you tell Steve, carrying your phone past the bed where he's reclining, scrolling on his own phone.

The apartment stairwell echoes with My Curse by Killswitch Engage; it trails after you all the way to the trash room. This is better than Lacuna Coil— it's driving but somehow still melodic, and that first howl is so guttural that it quivers behind your ribs. On the way back up, you pause at the third story landing as you open up your text messages and record the voice note, typing, 'You can send in your two weeks now.' 

At first, you feel silly. But when you listen back, your voice sounds full, echoing off the stairwell walls. And you haven't gone overboard; you've only sung about fifteen seconds, your favorite part of the song, enamored by the strength of the singer's baritone, the emotion in his vibrato: 'There is love burning to find you; will you wait for me?'

Before you can let the rising nervousness freeze you, you hit send.

By floor five, he's answered. 'Holy shit, sweetheart. If you can scream, I'll clear out my desk right now.'

You flush and giggle at the choice of words, the sound echoing loudly in the emptiness. At the threshold of your floor, you type back, 'I'll leave that to the professional, I think.' With that, you slip your phone into your pocket, pushing open the door.

When you return to the comfort of your bedroom, soft light illuminates Steve's hazel eyes as he glances up, a broad smile spreading on his lips. "Hey," he says softly, lips crooking higher as you slide under soft covers beside him.

"Hi!" You smile at him before plugging in your phone beside your bed.

"So," he begins, running a palm through his bangs, mussing them against his forehead. You straighten them fondly as he talks. "I was wondering. Was there anything Eddie did today that you really liked? Something that you'd like me to do?"

Steve's gaze is warm as he waits for your reply. You feel appreciation rise at his consideration, grateful that he'd be willing to change or adapt based on today's discoveries, the things you'd appreciated. 

But as you think about the things you'd appreciated most— Eddie's calloused hand squeezing yours, the rasp of his thumb against your lip, his murmured words: 'I won't tell anyone. I promise—'

You realize that you can't really explain it. That it's amorphous; that when you try to grasp it, it slips through your fingers, visible but not yet palpable.

Like smoke.

"No," you answer, "Nothing really." When Steve continues to gaze at you, you realize he may want you to reciprocate, so you oblige, face open and receptive. "Was there anything you liked that you might want me to do?"

Steve's brows raise optimistically. "Yeah, actually," he replies. "I kind of liked the dirty talk. I was thinking maybe we could do that more."

'Oh, yeah, fuck yeah, Steve, lick my cunt, finger-fuck me so fucking hard, shit —'

Chrissy's mewling voice echoes in your head, words she'd said mashing together until they loom large. Self-consciousness prickles as you imagine trying to imitate her, but Steve's kind face stares back at you, hopeful and encouraging. "Yeah," you say, lips tugging into a small smile. "Yeah, I can try that."

Soft, broad fingers weave through yours, and Steve lifts your hand to press a kiss to the back, hazel eyes gleaming. "Thanks, baby," he says. "I love you."

Your smile softens. "I love you, too."

That night, you dream of smoke and ink. Roots creep, deep and aching, burrowing further down into you.

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Hellloooo! I hope you've been doing well! I have a mini-hc request: how would the m6 deal with an mc with a thick accent? Like sometimes when mc says certain words or talks fast or says a word foreign to the m6 (just some examples of what I mean)

p.s. I love seeing your posts! Thanks for the daily content :)

The Arcana Mini-HCs: When MC has a thick accent

~ I'm drawing off my experience moving between continents as a kid and having to learn entirely new ways to speak the same language XD thanks for the prompt anon! ~

Julian: it was one of the first signals to him that you were meant to be his soulmate. another well-traveled soul! his own scramble of accents from sailing around the world gets way more pronounced around you

Asra: doesn't really notice it any more. between being friends with you for nine years and the sheer amount of places they've visited, there's nothing remarkable to them about it. (except that it's yours)

Nadia: Had a little bit of difficulty following your words when you first met, but felt too guilty to let on. You only find out when you reference your early conversations and she doesn't remember what you said

Muriel: it took a while for him to notice, only because he naturally tunes out the sound of anybody talking. he was a little surprised when he started purposefully listening to you and you had an accent

Portia: subconsciously mimics it and picks up your foreign words, which doesn't always pair so well with her own Nevivon accent. she has created some of the weirdest pronunciations you've ever heard

Lucio: "huh? What's that? Talk slower - I still don't know what that means!" struggled to be patient when he first met you, but he's pretty adaptable and was able to understand you quickly. thinks it's hot now

[ssaeri]

your god won't hear you

☆ tags: m!sydney x gn!reader, just a little fallen!sydney, slightly corrupted!sydney, he’s still strawberry blond because I don't want to dye his hair, it's that temple scene where he gets protective of you, I cut out the good night scene because I got lazy, SFW, but the game itself is 18+ so might be suggestive due to the nature of the game, ft. f!jordan, ft. m!sirris ☆

The temple is quiet at night.

During the day, there is always movement: supplies to be transported, shrubs to be cleared, sheets to be washed. But once the sun slips in the sky, a sigh of silence settles over the space, and one by one, robed figures roam along the perimeter, leaving flickering candles in their wake. Sometimes, you sought solace in the embrace of the holy, letting the murmured prayers wash over your frayed nerves like a soothing balm; other times, you skirted around the edges of the temple, the weight of sin heavy on your skin.

Today is an instance of the former. You get to the corner of Wolf Street when the warning bells start tolling, signaling ten minutes before the start of the evening service, and you watch as temple members rush to complete their chores. For once, you're not among them. One lithe initiate pulls sun-dried habits from the laundry line, rolls them into a pile, and stuffs them into her basket in a rush. The head nun of housekeeping is not going to appreciate the unnecessary wrinkles; you've earned her ire enough times to know that ironing out every individual crease is another form of earthly torture. Meanwhile a tall monk hefts bags of hedge trimmings over his shoulder to deposit by the roadside, and when he sees you, he waves with a shy smile.

Cute.

You wink back. You don't know his name.

A line of initiates not much younger than you push open the wooden temple doors with a loud creak, and you cut across the street to trail in behind them, smoothing down the tattered remains of your overalls and hoping that you’re decent enough to not draw stares. A chant has already started. Half of the candles are lit. You're afraid to make a sound.

Like you said, the temple is quiet at night.

Your eyes strain to scan the pews until they land on a familiar figure in a corner of the main hall, knelt in prayer, head bowed over clasped hands. Strawberry blond hair—colored burnt umber in the low light—spills over one shoulder.

Bingo.

The monk to your right greets the entrance with a murmured Welcome to the temple, his eyes closed, his steepled fingers pressed to his lips. You side-step him. You also tiptoe around the sleeping drunkard in the back pew who clutches an empty bottle to her chest, the rumbling exhales smelling of liquor.

Your boyfriend doesn't greet you when you settle down near him—a respectable distance of two and a half feet minimum—but he’s fighting back a smile and you wait patiently for him to finish reciting his lines. As Sydney mouths the last few words, his eyes flutter open and crease at the sight of you. You loved his glasses, but you must admit that he looks better like this, adoration for you unfiltered.

“Good evening, my love,” he whispers, reaching across the space to brush the back of your hand. You catch it in his retreat and intertwine your fingers. “What are you doing here?”

“Praying,” you say simply, though you are clearly not.

Still, he hums in accord, squeezes your hand, and resumes his previous posture. At the altar, Jordan finishes setting up the religious artifacts and does a sweeping glance of the space. You wonder what she sees. Monks on the side processing with a sweet-smelling thurible. Initiates carrying the remaining piles of scrolls to the back rooms. Nuns walking around with a donation basket. Temple-goers lining the wall to confess their sins and seek grace. Jordan’s gaze eventually lands on you, and you swear you see an infinitesimal nod of approval before she descends to her usual place in the first pew, pearl-white and spun-silver robes setting her apart from the rest.

Jordan leads the congregation into the next set of prayers by chiming a golden bell that echoes eerily in the space. The temple isn't empty, but the vaulted ceiling, extending into darkness, morphs the sound into something resembling the pained groan of spirits. You kneel, too, feeling wood against bare skin, the holes in your overalls fresh from a forest adventure. You wouldn't call yourself a believer, but you'll take all the help you can get in this town.

You pray for salvation. For the orphanage. For the math project that you still haven’t finished. Sydney’s expression is concentrated now, troubled by the thoughts that plague his mind, but you can’t spend too much time dwelling on it because your own thoughts drift to hopes for the future and how things could be better. The next hour passes quickly behind closed eyes, and with every exhale, you feel your burden lighten.

The calm is interrupted by a nasal:

“A token of appreciation from the faithful, hm?”

The voice comes from a stout nun who stops in front of you, holding out a donation basket and barely missing your elbow. While her smile is neutral, she scans your outfit with thinly veiled contempt, and it's in that judgmental expression that you realize why she's so familiar—it's the one who always has a bone to pick with you and your faith. She swears that you're a fraud (you are) and that you treat the temple like a playground (you do) and that you’ve been tempting temple members in the chambers (you have)—but honestly, that is beside the point. As a woman of the veil, couldn’t one expect more grace from her?

Sydney reaches in front of you to drop in a crumpled £10, which the nun accepts with a sniff of her upturned nose. Tacking on your best customer service smile, you make a big show of rummaging for your wallet and pulling out the crispest £100 you have, courtesy of your last customer at the massage salon.

“Of course, Sister. Anything to support the temple,” you say with conviction you do not feel. “Perhaps this can help buy new curtains for the west wing.”

At your emphasis, the nun flushes down to her neck and stalks away without another word, coins rattling in her basket. You swear she's muttering something about you under her breath, but it doesn't matter; you've clearly won. There’s a beat of silence before Sydney leans over, shoulders shaking.

“Did you know the curtains were burned down last week because she knocked over a candle in her sleep?”

“Why do you think I said it?”

A suppressed laugh that makes his eyes twinkle.

“Oh, you are bad,” he says, and his mirth makes your skin tingle pleasantly.

“Thanks, I try.”

The golden bell rings again, and as one, the congregation sits back onto the pews to shift into the next prayer. It’s one that you kind of know. The language is foreign, some ancient tongue that you never learned, but the cadence is almost melodic, so you mumble along and hope that it’s enough. Their god is a forgiving god, right? Surely your intentions will win over your execution.

.

.

Another hour or two passes in this way. At some point, during another break, Sydney turns to you and asks what you're praying for. For peace, you reply vaguely. Honestly, as it grows later, you've just been trying not to nod off, the lingering effects of treasure hunting in the lake wearing down your muscles. Your watch reads almost midnight, and soon Sirris will emerge from a hidden corner, offering you a ride home before he returns to the Danube mansions with his son. You're banking on it; walking home at this hour would probably invite some unwanted encounters.

Suddenly, there’s a new warmth at your side. A slender man, dressed in a monk’s habit, leans in close and sneers as his chest brushes against your shoulder. A light but intentional caresss. You tense, biting back a yelp of surprise. He takes that—your silence, your stillness, your deer in headlights look—as a sign to continue, resting a hand on your exposed thigh. The tattered overalls. The bastard leans closer still.

“Don’t cause a fuss,” he murmurs, his sickly sweet tone edged with the promise of threat, “or I’ll say you attacked me. Who will they believe?”

Certainly not you. You've been carefully balancing your notoriety; photography sessions with Niki are now monthly instead of weekly, chef shifts at the local café are limited, no more cabaret shows on Friday nights—you’ve even started wearing conservative clothing to keep a low profile. But none of it feels like it’s enough, especially when you still get recognized on the street for your nightclub shifts and the growing list of crimes that have you in hot waters with the police.

This guy? He has a golden pendant around his neck, the center inlaid with a blue gemstone. You're not familiar with the colored rankings, other than the fact that Jordan’s pure diamonds denote her as the head of this temple, but just having a gemstone places him higher than your initiate level, marked by the plain gold cross pendant that dangles on a simple chain.

Before you can say anything, though, Sydney lifts the hand off your thigh, holding it in a crushing grip. A smile is frozen on his face. Despite not being directed at you, the barely masked fury and crazed eyes send a chill down your spine.

“Belief won’t matter because I’ll attack you for real,” he says lowly. Slowly. Letting the words sink in like stones in water.

And unlike yours, Sydney’s reputation does hold weight in the temple. There’s rumors of him being Jordan’s successor decades down the line, but even without the help of those rumors, you know that Sydney is ready to send this man to hell and back for daring to touch you, much less threaten you. Sydney’s grip is steady; the man’s fingers tremble and redden, seconds away from snapping. Sydney’s hand has been around your neck before, but it was always gentle, never more than a loving pressure. Now you lightly brush your sternum, wondering what it would be like to have this energy turned on you.

The man’s life must flash before his eyes because suddenly he has the strength to rip his hand away and scurry to the back of the temple, the worn monk habit swishing at his ankles. Smart move. You don't know who he is, and honestly, you can barely recall his face, but you doubt that he'll be bothering you for a long time.

“Fucking heathens,” Sydney spits at the retreat.

He waits until the man’s figure completely disappears into the shadows. Sydney isn’t much of a fighter, but from the straight line of his shoulders, you don’t doubt that it’d change in a heartbeat.

Then his attention is on you, and his anger crumbles. “Are you alright, love?”

He cups your face in his palms, and you lean into the touch.

“I’m okay,” you say, giving him a tight-lipped smile.

If this happened a year ago, you would’ve been shaking in your boots, bewildered at the audacity of the stranger, but ever since Bailey insisted on weekly payments, you’ve…seen the world. For better and for worse.

Right on time, Sirris strolls over, blissfully unaware. He swings his car keys from a finger. “Ready to go, kids?”

[jenn0wow]

Nightwing finds out Oracle is human quick fic

Nightwing sat on the ledge of a building, waiting patiently as ordered.

“You know who I wish I could call to help me.” Nightwing thought out loud. “…Batgirl. She’d already be five steps ahead of me. Somehow she’d be in the truck already.”

“That’s…” There was a crack in Oracle’s voice. The thing he once thought was a robot, just a computer, suddenly became human. “That’s too bad. She’s out of commission. Unfortunately, you’re stuck with me.”

“Are you okay?” He asked.

There was silence. Barbara stared at her screen. Her breath felt shaky. It’s been a few months since her and Dick had really spoken to each other. To keep her sanity, she pretended he didn’t think about her much anymore. Didn’t miss her. Maybe even hated her. It was easier that way.

“The arrival time of the box truck is only five minutes according to cctv in the area.” She finally said. “Make sure you have the tracker ready.”

Nightwing started preparing the tracker, pressing a few buttons and twisting it once to ready it for when he needed to place it. He then smirked after he thought for a moment.

“You jealous?” He thought he’d play a small game with Oracle. Test the computer a bit.

Barbara knotted her eyebrows. “I don’t get jealous. Focus on your mission.”

“Do you feel anything?” Dick said, still thinking he was talking to an AI.

Barbara clutched her mouse and bit her tongue before saying, “I wish I could.”

Nightwing saw the truck in the distance. “Care to elaborate on that?”

“No, not really.”

“Someone not program you with emotions?”

Barbara rolled her eyes and sat back in her chair. “Have you ever been in pain for so long that you start to feel nothing?”

Nightwing grew quiet. “Maybe.”

“That’s why.”

Nightwing hopped onto the roof of the truck. “So you are human?”

Barbara smiled a little. “Yeah, I think I am.”

“Sorry, I really thought, ya know…you were a computer or something.” He set the tracker on the top of the truck. It latched on and started blinking.

The tracker showed up on a map on one of her screens. “I got the signal. So you think I’m like Siri?” She replied.

“Yeah, or Alexa. Which ever you prefer.” Nightwing takes a small laser from her belt and draws a circle on the truck’s roof. The metal melts and a perfect hole is created for him to jump into. “You’re just so fast with finding things.”

“I made sure to invest in really good computers.” Barbara said. “Make sure to check the unlabeled boxes.”

He looks around and spots a few with no labels. “How do I know you’re really a real person and not some AI who thinks they’re real?”

Barbara leaned toward and propped her elbows on her desk. “You’re just gonna have to trust me, Dick Grayson.”

The hairs on his neck pricked up at the sound of his name. Every time Oracle said his name it gave him the heeby jeebies. She does it often too like she’s bragging.

“So how old are you then?” Dick started rummaging through unlabeled boxes. “25? 85? 7 years old?”

“I’m not telling you personal information about myself. That’s the whole point of having a secret identity.”

“Okay, hypocrite. I know that because that’s why I have a secret identity and yet you know everything about me so really it’s only fair you tell me something about you.” He moved a box to the side to look inside another one.

“Unfortunately for you, that isn’t how our relationship is supposed to work.” Barbara said. “It works better if you don’t know me.” She crossed her arms close to her body. Really, it was better this way.

“Bummer.” Dick said, “I’m sure I’ll figure out something about you soon. I’m quite the detective, you know.”

“Okay, sure.” She tried not to sound too dismissive. Detective work wasn’t Dick’s strength, but he was better than most.

“You likeeee chocolate ice cream, wear socks to bed, anddddd like scary movies.”

Barbara swallowed a laugh. “No, no, and no.”

Dick smiled. “Now I know three things about you. You don’t like chocolate ice cream, you don’t like wearing socks to bed, and you don’t like scary movies. See, this’ll be breeze for me.”

Barbara couldn’t help, but smile. She missed this. She covered her face with her hands. What has she gotten herself into now?

“Found it!” Dick exclaimed, holding a metal capsule. “Now what?”

Barbara quickly looked up at the computer screen and looked at the map. “Um, get out of there now.”

Dick felt the truck slow to a stop. “Oh, poop.”

[dramioneasks]

HP FESTS: dhr_advent (part 5)

dhr_advent 2023:

Teach Me How To Fall by sodamnrad - M, one-shot - raco forces offers to teach Hermione how to play Quidditch for the Ministry's holiday game.

Keep It Like a Secret by PacificRimbaud - M, one-shot - He regards her with interest, cool as the ice in his G&T. “What do you want?” On close inspection, he's a bit deadly. It's the combined power of self-regard, an open ear, and a cunningly tailored suit. Hermione wants— “An expiration date would be nice.” She suctions up the watery dregs and signals for more. “Let’s say I want . . . a year. Exactly one year of monogamy without the possibility of further commitment."

In Want of a Wife by ambpersand - E, one-shot - Through a few forced breaths, Hermione manages to settle her nausea well enough to slide out of bed, squinting at the bright morning light. The braid of ribbons follows her left hand as she pulls the curtains closed, a giant knot of silver and gold that won’t shake free. While she works on unwinding them from her hand and arm, she checks the papers, finding the signatures she hoped they would be too drunk to remember to complete. Unfortunately not. There they sit, sloppy and side by side. Her’s a little cramped and rushed, his a little too large and loopy. Her lungs squeeze tight. They actually did it. At some point between the first glass of nettle wine and the last bottle of Dragon Barrel brandy, it must have stopped being a joke. She’s still wearing her dress from the night before, which fits the messy carnage that surrounds her. It’s wrinkled and a bit twisted around her waist, but at least it’s not tossed on the floor with the rest of her marriage licence. The only thing missing is her apparent husband.

sweet dreams of holly and ribbon by LovesBitca8 - E, one-shot - The war against the Dark Lord continues on, but Hermione is stuck at Grimmauld Place with the world's most annoying house guest.

From the Journal of Hermione Granger by Catmint and Thyme (Languish_Locked_in_L) - M, one-shot - Only one bed, rainforest edition. In which Hermione Granger goes on an expedition to Costa Rica in search of a magical (probably mythical) poinsettia with her insufferable colleague, Draco Malfoy, who she can't stop drawing. (It's not creepy, he just has good bone structure.)

Not What It Looks Like by eveningstruggle - M, one-shot - A hot, panicky hurt begins to throb inside her chest. This doesn’t make sense. Is it some type of horribly misguided practical joke? Revenge for shutting him down a few months ago? Or—is it a parting gift? A “so long and thanks for the memories, now I’m off to fuck someone else?” ”What—” Her voice croaks. She clears her throat and tries again. “What the fuck is this, Malfoy?” Confusion creases his forehead. “They’re photos of you.” She’s five seconds from bolting back through the Floo. “I can see that. Why have you given me two dozen terrible photos of myself for Christmas?” Or: Draco gives Hermione a Christmas gift.

Sounds Worth It by RoseHarperMaxwell - T, one-shot - The first time Draco seeks her out at the hospital is a crisp October day, which happens to be the six-month anniversary of her divorce. “Hello,” says Hermione, glancing up from her paperwork. “Draco. Can I…help you?” He’s well put together, dropping gracefully into the chair across from her desk without invitation. “Yes. I’m in need of medical attention.” “I see.” Hermione does not, in fact, see. This is quite unorthodox. There’s a triage procedure and rarely does it result in patients coming to her office. “Tell me more.” Five times Draco fakes an ailment as an excuse to visit Hermione, and one time he doesn't. D/Hr Advent 2023 🎄

Penguins, Pebbles, and Other Reasons to Pursue Unemployment by mightbewriting - T, one-shot - “Is that…shit? On my desk?” Granger doesn’t so much as look up from her mountain of teetering parchments at Draco’s question. Her hair: frazzled. Her frown: ominous. The energy in their shared office: frantic. “Penguin shit,” she says. “Specifically, it’s penguin shit.” [In which a penguin-themed mishap at the Ministry nearly costs Draco his sanity.]

O' Little Town Of Balsam Grove by inadaze22 - M, one-shot - Chaos comes to the town of Balsam Grove and wrecks Draco's plans for the perfect proposal.

Most Sincerely Yours by morriganmercy - T, one-shot - Harry has been certain for months that Malfoy is up to something. When Hermione finds a seemingly out-of-character Christmas card, she can’t help but agree.

Chaperone Chaos, Mistletoe Madness: A Yule Ball Tale by scullymurphy - M, one-shot - Professors Malfoy and Granger hate each other. They're also chaperoning the Yule Ball, where Erotogenic Mistletoe makes a timely appearance.

The Path Carefully Tread by HeyJude19 - T, one-shot - The nature of families could shift; shaped by time, trauma, arguments, and reconciliations. She saw how Draco warred with that now, how he battled his instinctual, youthful desire to please his father with his resolve to sever ties with someone who had hurt him gravely.

A Gentleman's Guide to Courtship and Caregiving by ChaosAndCrumpets - T, one-shot - An accident involving a quidditch bat has Draco Malfoy wishing tragic and irreversible misfortune on Blaise Zabini. But he'll leave St Mungo's with far more than just a healed nose; a newly acquired Godmother, an affinity for mince pies, and an inconvenient attraction to a certain Healer, to name just three.

Seasons of Liberation by Misdemeanor1331 - E, one-shot - Unmoored after the murder of his parents, Draco seeks stability in the Muggle world. The woman he pays to anchor him has an agenda all her own.

This fest is ongoing.

[evilwriter37]

Vigcup Week 2023 Day 4

Prompt: Spirit

Rated: teen

Warnings: canonical character death

Pairings: Viggo/Hiccup

Word Count: 1,457

Summary: Hiccup asks Gothi to help him contact Viggo’s spirit.

A/N: Also sharing the story below for anyone who doesn't have access to ao3 at the moment.

Hiccup felt nervous approaching Gothi. It wasn't just that the old sage was a wise and powerful woman (that was exactly the reason he was seeking her out), but that he had an odd request. Well... what felt like an odd request. Maybe she would understand.

Hiccup waited till she was done with her last patient before approaching. He didn't want to get in the way of the sick and injured, or her work.

She beckoned him forward with a hand when she noticed him waiting there at the edge of her little abode, leaning against Toothless. He stepped forward, rubbing sweating hands on his pants, trying to take a deep breath.

"I, uh..."

She drew in the sand.

"You don't appear sick or injured."

But then, Gothi stopped, examined him up and down, squinted. Hiccup's nerves grew, his stomach tying itself into knots.

"Unless we count the sickness in your soul."

Hiccup knew what Gothi was talking about, of course. He wasn't at all surprised that she'd noticed his grief. He'd been trying to hide it from everyone else, save for Astrid and Toothless, but he couldn't keep it to just himself anymore. He was getting desperate.

"I... I want to see him," Hiccup said. "Just... just one last time. Is that possible? Can you...?" Hiccup didn't know what to ask. Again, though Gothi was listening intently, he felt ridiculous.

Gothi nodded, took him by the wrist, and pulled him into her hut. Toothless made to follow, but Hiccup waved his hand at him to tell him to sit. There wasn't much space in Gothi's hut for a dragon of Toothless' size.

Besides...

He wanted to do this alone.

Gothi took a piece of white chalk from a wooden box, handed it to Hiccup, and then took one for herself. She made her hand signals that Hiccup was getting better at understanding.

"Help me draw the circle."

Hiccup nodded, watched her carefully. She drew one side of it, paying homage to the North and South Winds with the runes she drew. Hiccup copied the runes to call upon and respect the East and West Winds. He'd never seen a ritual circle like this before, but he could already feel power thrumming through it. The Winds were listening.

Gothi knelt in the center, began drawing more complex runes. She rose, and carefully backed out of the circle, not smudging a single mark. Hiccup began to back out of it, but she raised up her hand, halting him. He was to stay in the circle.

Gothi then closed her eyes, began chanting. She had no voice to chant with, but the gods and spirits still listened. She was making the movements with her mouth without sound, but to those who could hear, it was probably like thunder.

A mist began to rise up from the outer edges of the circle. Hiccup swiveled his head around, watching as the mist encompassed him, and he could no longer see Gothi. He felt something like the beat of a drum in his bones.

Hiccup's nerves increased. What if this was pointless? What if the spirit didn't want to see him? What had he been planning on telling him again?

He drew in a deep breath, balled his hands into fists. He could do this. He'd fought Dragon Hunters and the Red Death. Speaking to a spirit would be nothing compared to that.

And yet, his hands shook.

Hiccup watched as something began to rise up from the other end of the circle where most of the runes were concentrated. It drifted up and up, rising like a ghostly wave.

As the mist grew taller, it also began to take on features: hands, a torso, and then finally, a face, a face Hiccup now could never forget.

"Viggo," Hiccup breathed. He was in awe that he was seeing him again. He wanted to step forward, try to touch him, but didn't. Not yet.

"Hello, my dear Hiccup."

His voice sounded the same, and that smile was the same. An ache began building in Hiccup's throat as tears pricked his eyes.

"I... I miss you." Hiccup didn't know what else to say, had forgotten everything he'd come here meaning to say.

"As do I, my dear." Viggo was still smiling. Was... was he happy? Was he at peace?

All his scars were still there, the talon markings across his neck, and the burn from the lava. But his left eye shone with sight, something it had not done when he'd been alive.

If only Hiccup could see how beautiful his eyes were--that deep, rich brown--but Viggo's form was a blue-ish gray, almost like the mist around Hiccup.

"Are you... how are you?" Hiccup felt so awkward, even as he felt sorrow.

"If you mean to ask if I'm in Valhalla, the answer is yes." Viggo stepped forward, mist shrouding his feet. There was a coldness about him, not anything like the warmth he'd had in life. "It's good there." He smiled wistfully. "But it doesn't have you. Not yet."

"Some day..."

Hiccup gasped as Viggo reached forward and took his hands. He felt real. Yes, he felt cold, but that was flesh and bone touching him.

"And may that day be far in the future." Viggo gave his hands a squeeze.

"I..." Hiccup had to stop and clear his throat. Tears were now trailing freely down his cheeks. "I wanted to see you. Just one last time."

Viggo nodded, but didn't say anything, waiting for Hiccup to speak.

"Th-thank you." Hiccup's voice was strangled by the pain in his throat. "For saving me and Toothless. You... you..." He couldn't continue. Very suddenly, he found himself in Viggo's arms, embracing him, falling into him with a sob.

Viggo held him back. Hiccup had never experienced his embrace before, but it felt so familiar, so right. This was supposed to be. Or... it had been.

"I'm so sorry," Hiccup gasped out. "I'm so sorry I couldn't save you."

"It was my own choice, my dear. Do not blame yourself for it."

For a time, neither of them said anything. Viggo just let Hiccup cry against his chest.

Then Hiccup felt a cold hand under his chin, and he let it tilt his head upwards. He met Viggo's gaze, blinking to clear his vision of tears. He wanted to see this man as clearly as possible.

Viggo did something he'd never gotten the chance to do in life. He leaned his head down and kissed Hiccup gently on the mouth.

Hiccup wanted to sob when he felt the chill of his lips against his, but he didn't. He stayed firm and strong, and kissed Viggo back.

The kiss was almost perfect, so close to it, and yet so far. This should have been happening with Viggo still alive, should have been happening between two flesh and blood people, their hearts beating as one.

But Viggo had no heart to beat with, no blood to warm him, no breath to take. He was nothing more than an apparition, called down from Valhalla by Gothi.

Hiccup eventually pulled away to breathe, and Viggo cupped his cheeks, wiping his tears away. Hiccup looked at him, gave a smile through the tears, and the one Viggo returned was sad and sorrowful.

Hiccup was glad that Viggo didn't tell him not to cry. He must have understood his pain, could have been holding back tears himself.

But could the dead cry?

Hiccup leaned forward to kiss him again, and Viggo's lips latched to his as if they were meant to be there. He kissed like kissing Hiccup would bring him back to the realm of the living.

Viggo began to fade. His touch became less firm, less real. Hiccup grabbed onto him, holding him with every ounce of strength he could muster. If he just held on hard enough...

Mist dropped between his fingers. Hiccup opened his eyes, reality setting in.

He was standing in the circle, alone, Gothi standing just outside of it, holding her staff. She put her staff in the crook of her arm to speak.

"I could not keep him here any longer."

Hiccup crumpled to his knees, nodding, a sob wrenching itself from his throat. Gothi came over, now smudging the circle, the only connection with Viggo that Hiccup had had. She patted him on the shoulder as he buried his head in his hands.

Hiccup didn't need to tell her he wanted to be left alone. Her hand trailed off his shoulder, and then she was shuffling out of the hut to take care of her next patient.

Hiccup was left there, sobbing quietly, feeling the echo of a kiss that never was.

[panda-noosh]

eddie munson x reader

   everyone tells you to stay away from eddie munson. you can be infatuated with anyone besides eddie munson.

   the thing is, those people don’t really understand who they’re talking to.

   to you, eddie munson is more than just a high school friend. you have known eddie from the young age of eight years old, when both of you lived in the same trailer park, struggled for the same things, played the same stupid games with mud and rocks when every other kid was making grand use of their two hundred dollar football nets and matching jerseys.

   you and eddie go way back.

   you moved out of the trailer park after your dad remarried and let you move in with him - a very kind move on his part, but it reaped more negatives than positives. you saw eddie less, and there was a brief period of time where you truly believed the best friendship you ever had was over.

   until you went to high school, and he was there.

   “i just cannot seem to get rid of you,” he said the first time he saw you in his biology class. and then he wrapped his gangly arms over your shoulders and pulled you into a hug that would cement this friendship for a lifetime.

   now, you sit in your english class, waiting patiently for madeline to shut the fuck up. she’s a popular girl, on the cheerleading team - squad, cult, whatever it’s called - and she has this desperate desire to basically dictate anyone and everyone’s life as much as she possibly can. every time you sit across from her, ready to learn, she leans forward and starts spouting shit about how much better your life would be if you just got rid of eddie, kicked him to the curb, you’re a nice person, eddie’s the one holding you back from having an abundance of friends.

    you ignore her.

   “he smells, doesn’t he?” junior, one of the football players, chimes in. your grip tightens on your pen. “he looks like he would fucking reek, man. i’m ninety percent sure he just plays that stupid game rather than showering.”

    “DnD,” you mumble.

   junior looks up. “what?”

   “DnD,” you repeat, firmer this time. “Dungeons and Dragons. that’s the game, and no, he doesn’t play it all the time. sometimes he’s here, listening to your bullshit.”

    junior reels back like you’ve slapped him, a loud laugh slipping past his lips that makes you want to draw back and fell him even more; if eddie was here, he’d put them in their place without the violence, would probably be making some massive scene about the state of the school system and how absurd it is that kids can get away with being so dumb, but eddie isn’t here - he’s probably playing DnD with his other friends.

    and this is where things get bitter.

    just the thought makes you want to retract the comments made in his favour. you love eddie, and part of you knows you always will to some capacity, but the energy you used to share with him has gone, led into oblivion by the hands of his other friends - a group of nice boys who you truly would get along with if you sat and spoke to them, but they make you nervous. they know so much more about eddie’s hobbies than you do, and it’s daunting having to sit amongst them and pretend to know everything they’re saying.

    so you go to english class, even though you lose many braincells doing so.

   thankfully, the bell rings to signal end of the day and you are able to leave. you don’t even wait for the teachers dismissal, because why would you listen to a grown man who’s first name you don’t even know? 

     you ignore the stares and the snickers as you storm down the hallway, ready to head home. you would go to eddie’s house if you knew for certain he would be there, but you don’t.

   you don’t really know anything certain about eddie these days.

   ----

     it’s too early in the morning for someone to be knocking on your door.

   you weren’t asleep, of course. sleep isn’t something you find very easy to obtain these days, but that doesn’t make the sound any less confusing. you’re half tempted to just let the culprit keep knocking, but then your dad or his wife will wake up, and then you’ll have to talk to them, and no.

   so, you pull yourself off the sofa and open the door, maybe a little too wide when dealing with a stranger. 

   but it’s just eddie.

   you narrow your eyes, ready to make a snide remark when you notice how dishevelled he looks, like he’s ran here. he’s barefoot, which makes it even worse considering the rough terrain of the trailer park. his shirt is stained with dirt, like he’s fallen over multiple times. twigs and branches are tangled in his hair. his face is pale, breathing jumpy and wrong.

   you grab his hand and drag him inside.

   “holy shit, eddie,” you hiss. “holy shit.”

   “yeah, holy shit is right,” he replies, slumping on the sofa. you hover, waiting for further explanation, but all you get is a blank look, and then-

   “i’m gonna throw up.”

   and then he throws up. all over the floor.

    you jump back. “eddie!”

   he clutches his stomach and rolls onto the floor, forever the dramatic little bitch. you groan, rush into the kitchen and grab the bin from beside the door. he clutches the edges of it, hanging his head over the side as he struggles mercilessly to catch his breath.

   you kneel beside him. “what the fuck is going on?”

    “i don’t know.”

   “what do-”

   “i don’t know!” he throws his head back, slams his ringed ringers into the side of the bin. “fuck, she’s dead, y/n! chrissy is dead!”

    it takes you a minute to realise who he’s talking about. chrissy.

   “the cheerleader?”

   he nods, pressing his hand to his mouth.

    “chrissy the cheerleader is dead?”

   “yes, dumbass!”

    you pause. “how did that happen?”

    eddie belches in reply, like the answer is too much. you rub his back, still trying to process what he meant by such an odd statement; why was he even with chrissy in the first place?

   “are you high?” you ask.

   eddie shoots you a death glare, and even though that doesn’t necessarily answer your question, you’ve seen eddie high plenty of times before, and this is not one of those times. in fact, you’ve never seen him so sober, so alert.

    you swallow thickly. “so. . . chrissy is dead.”

   “please stop repeating that.”

   “i’m sorry! I don’t know what else to say! what do we do?”

    “they’re gonna think it was me, for fucks sake.”

   you draw back, heart dropping into your stomach. “who? why?”

   “who else, y/n?” he falls against the sofa again, one hand wound in his curls. “everyone! she’s laying dead in my fucking trailer right now, eyes gouged out and everything!”

    “eyes gouged - eddie, what the fuck?”

   “it wasn’t me,” he pants. “y/n, it wasn’t me. i swear to god. i didn’t even touch her! i don’t know what happened!” 

   and that’s when he breaks down into tears.

   eddie has always been an emotional guy, but you haven’t seen him this bad in years. years. you haven’t had to hold him so tight in a very, very long time, but right now, it feels like if you don’t, he’ll genuinely break apart. there will be no putting him back together.

   so you sit next to him and wrap your arms around his shoulders, dragging his head into your neck. eyes gouged out. chrissy is dead. laying dead in my trailer.

   you close your eyes, holding him tighter. you don’t know what to do. you don’t know if you’re comforting a murderer right now. you don’t even know what’s happened - all you’re certain of is eddie munson, your best friend, sobbing uncontrollably after running barefoot to your house in the dead of night. you don’t know how to ignore that. 

----

     eddie doesn’t stick around very long the next morning.

   he wakes you up roughly, shaking your shoulder, kicking your feet as they hang over the side of the sofa. you’re barely awake when he drags you out the front door and into the dim morning, the cold air startling you into reality just long enough to realise what is going on.

   “where are we going?”

   “we need to get out of there before your dad wakes up,” he replies, before shooting you an exasperated look. “have you never been on the run before?”

   you can’t reply, too busy focusing on keeping your footing. eddie clearly has not slept a wink, and honestly, you can’t blame him; it’s a miracle that even you were able to get some sleep, considering last nights events. they come flooding back to you as you follow eddie through rough terrain, frosted grass soaking the underside of your old trainers. you glance over to make sure he’s okay, remembering so clearly the way he sobbed into your shoulder the night before - how can he just get over that so fast? how can he go from one extreme to the other without even batting an eye?

     finally, after what feels like forever, eddie pulls you into a tiny shack hidden beneath a canopy of old trees. he has to kick the door open with more force than you’re comfortable with, but it flies open nonetheless, revealing a single room littered with spider webs. there’s a table in the centre, a blue tarpaulin draped over it; eddie immediately makes a b-line for it, pulls the tarpaulin off the table and drapes it over your shoulders; tiny raindrops slide down the collar of your shirt, making you squeal.

   eddie claps a hand over your mouth. “sh!”

   you shove the tarpaulin to the ground. “what the fuck?”

   “you seemed cold,” he replies, picking it up. “your hand was shivering in mine.”

   and call you crazy, because you really shouldn’t be feeling butterflies in your stomach at such a simple comment, especially when it was made at a time like this. you train your expression into one of frustration, all furrowed brows and a frown to match; eddie simply rolls his eyes and goes back to jerkily inspecting every crevice of the room.

    “where are we anyway?” you ask. “we’re definitely at high risk of early death staying in here.”

    “probably,” eddie replies, throwing an old baseball glove at you. “it’s an a-star place to hide, though.” he leaps onto the table and starts inspecting the roof, tweaking a pair of loose screws. giggling, he looks at you and says, “what does this remind you of?”

   you throw the baseball glove at his crotch. 

   “ay, alright!” he jumps back down and joins you. you wrap your arms around your middle and sigh, watching the fog drift from your lips; it’s freezing. you have half a mind to complain about it, but you don’t think that will get you very far at a time like this. you still have so many questions, so many worries, but you don’t know how to organise them in a way that would make sense. 

   “you still cold?” 

   eddie’s voice is soft now, softer than you’ve ever heard it, certainly softer than it should be at a time like this.

   you shrug. “a little. i’ll warm up.” you push yourself onto the table and swing your legs back and forth. “are you gonna explain to me what happened yet?”

    eddie goes silent, and this time you don’t fill it in with words of pity, or words of comfort. you watch him mess with his bottom lip, the veins popping from his forearm. you watch him pace back and forth before finally deciding to take a seat beside you; his feet don’t swing like yours do. he used to tease you about that, but now he just stares at the ground, nibbling his lower lip.

   “she’s definitely dead,” he says. “and - and whatever happened to her. . .” he inhales, glances at you. “y/n, she didn’t die a peaceful death. she was in pain. mad pain. she was somewhere else entirely.”

    “what does that mean, eddie?”

   silence.

    you grab his arm. “eddie, you have to talk to me. i know how you get - maybe this isn’t as bad as your brain is making you think. maybe i can go back out there and make things right-”

    “there’s nothing to make right, y/n. she’s dead. dead, in my trailer.” he scoffs, shaking back his shaggy hair. “people already see me as a freak. the fact a girl got her eyes blown up at my house probably won’t even surprise them; they’ve been wanting me locked up for years.”

    a sour taste fills your mouth, but only because you know he’s telling the truth. you suppose a part of you always believed eddie was too lost in his own world to understand the cruel things people always said about him, but here you are, listening to him admit that he’s actually listened to every word, and it does effect him, whether he shows it or not.

    you swallow. “so, what? we’re just gonna sit in here for the rest of our lives?”

   he flops onto his back. the table creaks. “i’ll be sitting here for the rest of my life; you, my dear, are free to do whatever you want.”

    “you don’t actually expect me to leave you.”

   he glances at you. you capture the tiniest flicker of his smirk, like he’s impressed by you. “don’t be stupid, l/n. you’ve got a loving family to go home to.”

    you scoff, and flop down next to him. “do i fuck. my dad doesn’t even want me anymore; he thinks i’m holding him back from having a real family with his new wife.”

   “bullshit. that man worships the ground you walk on, and you know it.” eddie shrugs. “can’t say i blame him, either.”

   you roll your eyes, even as the words burn a hole in your chest that makes you feel like you could break down crying at any moment; eddie always jokes like this, little flirtatious jabs that mean nothing to him but everything to you.

   “but i’m being serious, petal,” he continues. “you go. tell everyone i tried to attack you in the woods. get the most out of this whilst you can.”

    “eddie. . .”

    “you’re not gonna go all hero on me, are you?” 

   you frown. he’s right, of course. you have every reason under the sun to just walk right out of this shack and feign ignorance to the rest of the world, to just sit and wait for eddie to get caught and the drama to begin. he’s hardly been the best friend to you these days, and listening to him now makes you realise he might just realise that himself. 

   but doing that doesn’t even feel like an option. leaving him behind like he’s nothing more than some guy you grew up with - it’s a lie. it’s a lie, and you can’t do it.

    “y/n.”

   you glance over to see him staring, waiting for you to respond. “eddie.”

   “i’m serious. go.”

   “if you wanted me to go, you wouldn’t have dragged me here in the first place.”

   eddie scoffs. “you have to be so stubborn, don’t you?”

   “tell me i’m wrong.”

   he shrugs. “i mean, nah. you’re not wrong. i wanted your face to be the last one i see before the cops send me off to the electric chair.”

    “don’t say that. that’s not funny.”

   he laughs anyway, because that’s what eddie munson does in times of crisis. he yells, and he laughs, and he plays along to the nickname of ‘freak’ because it’s so much easier than fighting it. 

   “i’m not going anywhere,” you say after a moment. and then you take a risk, sliding your fingers along the wooden table until you are holding his hand, his rings cold against your palm, his fingers engulfing your own. he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even look your way, but you feel the tenseness in his arm, watch the veins throb in his forearm, like he wants something more but doesn’t know how to ask for it.

    “you know, y/n,” he says, voice hoarse. “i’ve missed you a hell of a lot these past few weeks. a hell of a lot.”

    “have you? why didn’t you invite me to all those hellfire meetings then?” you glance over. “i would have come, eddie. you know that.”

   “i know. i just. . . i don’t know. it’s weird not having you to myself sometimes. i want you to meet my friends, but i also want you to sit with me, on our own. you know?”

   you don’t know, but you let him babble.

   “i should have invited you. it would have been nice,” he continues. “but i like this. just sitting with you. chilling. not a single soul in sight.”

   “being on the run from the cops?”

   “romantic, i’d say.”

   you giggle, even though the mention of romance - once again - makes you feel like there’s a hole being ripped open in your chest. you want to tell him to stop, that you can’t spend what could very well be your last few hours with him, feeling this way. 

    “you’re still my best friend, petal,” he continues, and that’s when you notice he’s rubbing his thumb across your knuckles, a slow and gentle strum that makes your body heat up more than it should. “that’s why i came to you before anyone else.”

    “y-yeah?”

   his head snaps up. “did you just stutter?”

   you look away, cursing under your breath. it’s too late, though - the mistake has been spotted by eddie, and there’s no running from it now. he laughs, loud and oh-so annoying, before grabbing your chin between two fingers and turning your head to look at him.

   you scowl. “i’ll spit in your face.”

   “spit in my mouth, and i won’t complain.”

   “eddie!”

   he laughs again, only this time you can’t help joining in. it reminds you of old times, where you would both say the stupidest shit to each other until tears ran down your cheeks, and people were telling you to shut up. 

   his hand drops from your chin to your collarbone. he can probably hear your heartbeat, a steady thump beneath his fingers, but you’re too lost in the moment to care. you’re also too lost in the moment to notice him leaning forward, not until the room is suddenly blocked out by the curtain of shaggy hair now covering your face. your laughter dies in your throat, replaced by a strangled gasp that makes eddie laugh just that little bit more, but he seems too distracted to laugh like before; it’s a breathless laugh, one that makes you want to do horrible, unspeakable, not-best-friend-like things to him.

    you swallow thickly. he watches your throat bob, his fingers slowly crawling up your collarbone until they rest on the hollow of your throat. 

   “eddie. . .,” you whisper. his eyes slip closed, like his name on your lips is all he needed. “eddie, what are you. . .”

   but he’s already leaning forward, his eyes still closed, but his lips inches from your own. you can feel his breath on your skin. you can feel his fingers trembling on your throat. you can feel everything, and you don’t know what to do with it all. 

   so you reach up and tangle your fingers in his hair. he jumps, eyes snapping open. you give him a tiny, watery smile, too scared to say anything lest he pull away, taking the moment with him.

    “you have very pretty lips,” he whispers.

    you giggle quietly. “do i?”

   “mhm.” he presses on the hollow of your throat - just once - before finally, finally, swooping down and kissing you. whatever hole once opened in your chest disappears immediately, replaced by an explosion you can only describe as euphoric. you groan as if in desperation, which makes eddie laugh against your mouth - because there he goes again, your eddie, forever laughing, even in times like these. 

   his hand travels to your hips, pulling you into him despite the awkward angle. honestly, you’ll take any type of contact right now, as long as it’s eddie pressed against you, as long as it’s his gorgeous hands holding you in place. you trail your fingers through his hair, using the curls to press his lips closer to your own, and the groan he releases into your mouth makes every creaking bone and awkward angle so, so worth it.

    you pull away only when air is getting scarce. the minute your lips are your own again, eddie lets out a howl so loud you wouldn’t think for a minute he was a convict on the run. he flops onto his back, hands behind his head, goofy grin on his face.

    you roll your eyes, still trying to catch your breath. “you really think you’re all that now, huh?”

   “fuck,” he exclaims, placing one hand over his growing crotch. “that was everything i thought it would be, and more! woo!” 

    you laugh. “give it a rest, munson. and keep your voice down.”

   “you can’t tell me to keep my voice down after that.” he shakes his head, still smiling dumbly. “you ever played strip DnD?”

    “no, and i never will.”

   eddie purses his lips, still swollen. “we’ll see about that.”   

[phasmattack]

Visitors (a 65 story) Chapter 6: Reminiscence

Read Chapter 5

Pairing: Captain Mills x Fem Reader

Fic Summary: 65 million years ago, Captain Mills (played by Adam Driver) crashes a passenger transport ship into Earth during the Cretaceous period. You are among three survivors of the crash. Together with Mills, you must make your way to the only shot of extraction through an unknown terrain riddled with deadly prehistoric creatures.

Fic Masterlist

Read on Ao3

___

You

The evening sun began to cast long shadows on the ground, the last light flirting with the horizon. The spot your group currently occupies is obviously an unfit place to spend the night. The scattered boulders don’t provide enough covering from the elements, and being surrounded by darkness in an open clearing doesn’t sound particularly comforting.

This beat of rest has given your mind time to wander. You pull your thoughts back from recalling the situation you fled from at home, knowing the added anxiety won’t help anything. You push them instead towards Mills, not so subtly staring at his profiled face.

His dark hair falls in soft curls onto his forehead and rests along his strong shoulders. Impossibly strong, they seem, despite how much pain they’re in. He draws in a deep breath, the tired and thin clothing covering his chest rising and falling with it. Your gaze rises to the outline of his nose, bold and sharp but perfectly embodying his chiseled features. You settle to his lips, chapped from the sun but yet you still have an urge to run your fingers over them, soft as a whisper but enough to memorize their shape.

Your eyes flick back to his to find them already on you, meeting your stare. Feeling that familiar blush creep up your neck, you clear your throat and start nervously fiddling with your boot’s loose shoelace, trying to pretend like you hadn’t just been caught ogling him.

If he did notice your embarrassingly long stare, he didn’t say. Instead he clasps his hands together and brings the tips of both thumbs to his mouth, softly blowing and releasing a bird-like sound. You chuckle under your breath at the absurdly random act, but you do catch Koa’s attention perk up across from you.

He smiles successfully and blows another whistle. Now Koa turns to face him, a small sparkle returning in her eyes. He motions to show her how to repeat the gesture and blows a third time. In return, Koa lifts her hands into a completely different position and blows through her pinky nails, sending out a tritone whistle twice as loud as his. Mills fakes a look of offense, throwing his hands up as if it was all for nothing. Koa finally giggles, a sound you’ve both been patiently waiting to hear again.

“Move?” Mills asks her.

“Move.” She replies.

____

You settle on making camp in the mouth of a small cave, ‘camp’ being enough room for the three of you to lay and use your packs as stiff pillows. The cave walls block out most of the breeze, and the roof covers you from the rain that starts to sputter. Mills walks around its perimeter, placing spikes into the ground every couple feet. They whir to life as they’re placed, blinking orange to signal there’s no danger nearby.

Mills shuffles around in his pack and hands a ration to each of you. “Eat.” He tells Koa when she gives him a puzzling look. You unwrap your ration and bite into it, showing her what he means. She cautiously peels the wrapper off the protein bar and breaks off a tiny piece, her face scrunching up in disgust. Her hunger must outweigh her pickiness because she continues to bite off small pieces until she reaches the end.

Satisfied with finishing such a gross task, she leans back against the cave wall and opens her small pack, fishing out several small objects that resemble hologram discs. Your head tilts at her, squinting to try and figure out what she’s up to. Before you can, Mills abruptly asks,

“Where did you get those?”

The tone of his voice makes Koa’s smile drop and she tries to hide the discs back in her bag. Not amused, Mills takes a step to her and rips the bag out of her grip. Dumping the discs into his hand, you can clearly see them now. They’re messages from his daughter.

“Mills, she didn’t mean to-” You start to reason, sympathizing with both of them.

“It’s time to sleep.” He coldly interrupts. He stuffs the discs into his own pack and slumps against the farthest wall. You sigh, picking up Koa’s pack and fluffing it like a pillow before placing it under her head. She curls up, turning towards the wall and softly crying. Great.

You’re really not sure how to mediate this back and forth. Koa was simply being a curious child, trying to find a small speck of joy in this traumatic situation. Mills is a hardened man who lost his daughter, and wants to repress any memory of her. That is, you assume so before hearing the sound of his navigational unit clicking open.

Sat between them, you watch as Mills slides in a disc and projects the message into the air ahead. It’s Nevine, sitting cross legged across from you, hair fluffy from sleep and wearing pajamas dotted with stars. She’s holding a figurine of a rocketship, wrapping paper discarded behind her. Swooping the ship through the air around her, she laughs, the delightful noise echoing off the cave walls.

Tears tugging at your eyes, you turn to Mills. His expression is pensive, his view fixed right to Nevine. A little bit of warmth returns to his face. Koa sits up on your other side and grins at the hologrammed image.

“Shooooo” Nevine mimics engine noises, “It’s just like yours daddy! I love it!”

Koa scoots forward and slowly lifts a hand, the projection so real she wants to reach out and touch it.

“I miss you.” Nevine tells her father, toy slumping and sad eyes gazing into the camera.

The message cuts out, returning the cave to silence and darkness.

Koa yawns, fallen tears now dried up. She scoots back, returning to her curled up position and resting her head on her pack. Mills carefully tucks the disc into his pack and reclines too, the cave opening so small that it forces either of them within inches of you. You stay sitting up between them, listening to the rain patter against the cave and watching the stars glow in the distance. One star is particularly red, you chalk it up to being an unfamiliar planet since you’re on the other side of the galaxy and pause to take one last look at its glow before you lay back and force yourself to sleep.

____

You sleep much deeper than you would’ve expected to on a cave floor, maybe helped by the fact that Mills has pressed against you at some point during the night. You wake at the feeling of his breath on your neck, his knees cradled into yours, and his heavy arm slung over your stomach. You know he wasn’t holding you on purpose, it was his body reacting to the cold and reaching for any warmth he could find.

But you can’t say you minded it, nuzzling into him to steal more of his heat. As you do, you recognize something else that pulled you from your sleep, a softly ringing alarm. Suddenly wide awake, your eyes open and your vision adjusts to see the perimeter spikes now blinking red. You wipe your eyes and lift Mills’s arm off of you, gently waking him in the process.

“They’re red now.” You whisper to him, voice groggy, “What does red mean?”

“Nothing good.” He replies, grabs his weapon and begins stalking towards the cave’s entrance. Just getting prepared to run, you tap Koa to wake her. She doesn’t budge in response.

“Koa, c’mon wake up.” You shake her harder, rolling her back to face you. She slumps to her back, head limp and eyes unresponsive. Her mouth is full of white foam, and with the sudden change of angle it begins dripping down her chin.

“KOA” You yell, “Mills there’s something wrong!”

He lowers the weapon and jogs over, sliding beside you and shining a flashlight to Koa’s face. Now illuminated, you see a furry bug with hundreds of little legs crawl farther down her throat and clamp its pinchers onto her tongue.

“MILLS,” You gasp, heart sinking. You realize you’re completely unaware of what to do in this situation. You grab Koa’s hand and squeeze it, not ready to let go of her anytime soon. Mills swears and hands you the flashlight, suddenly standing and bolting to the nearest perimeter spike.

“What are you-” You cry as he splits the spike in half, creating an electrified shiv. He cradles Koa’s head in his hand and holds her jaw open with his thumb then jams the spike into her mouth, stunning the horrifying little creature.

Koa gurgles, eyes flying open and foam pouring from her mouth. Your heart still pounding in your ears, you flip Koa so she can vomit the rest of the foam out. Both crying, you hold her to your chest and she grips onto your hands as tight as she can. Mills collapses beside you, trying to steady his own pounding heart.

Before any words can be spoken you all tense even further when the remaining perimeter spikes turn from softly flashing red to strobing and sharply beeping. Whatever set them off is still here, and now it’s found you.

Chapter 7

[kaijuposting]

The kaiju of the Pacific Rim draft script

Travis Beacham's Pacific Rim draft script has a ton of problems, but the kaiju are definitely none of them! They're definitely a little different from the movie kaiju, biologically-speaking. They have red blood rather than blue, and there's nothing to suggest that toxic blood is a standard feature. There's also no reveal that they're clones with identical DNA.

(NOTE: I said earlier that it's unclear whether they have a hivemind, but I overlooked where Doctor Ivo Czerny said that there's a telepathic part of their brain that's tuned to signals from the Anteverse. The script doesn't use the word "hivemind," but the idea's pretty obviously there.) Here's a list of the kaiju from the draft script:

TRESPASSER: The first kaiju to pass through the Interstice. Category 5. Attacked Osaka and killed Mako Mori's father. Description: ...long and crocodilian, scabrously armored with rugged scales and scutes. Notes: This is the first of several kaiju to share a name with a kaiju in the actual film. However, Trespasser - like all of the others - doesn't have much in common with its movie counterpart.

UNNAMED NIGHTMARE KAIJU: Early in the story, Felicity "Flick" Kincaid has a nightmare about her dead fiance Yancy Antrobus, and sees a kaiju. Description: Hundreds of feet overhead, it's jagged jaws glow furnace-like from within. Ignescent saliva drips from it's teeth like molten napalm, fueling the encroaching wildfire. Notes: Yeah, toxic glowing blood is cool, but saliva that sets shit on fire? That's absolutely metal, man. DENGUE: Encountered by Newt and Flick in Miraflores, defeated by Puma Real. Description: Arachnoid legs bristling with hairs. Scores of black eyes above a wide reptilian grin. Some unholy fusion of tarantula and dragon. An obscene, alien spectacle. Notes: Dengue doesn't just resemble a tarantula - this beast can flick hairs like one, too! They don't appeal to be particularly damaging to the jaeger Puma Real, but at the size of arrows they're definitely a problem for the civilian population.

SLATTERN: Appears in one of Raleigh Antrobus and Mako Mori's training simulations. Description: SLATTERN boasts a shape like an armless carnosaur: a thick, serpentine body on mighty raptorial legs. A head vaguely like a moray eel. A long tail, barbed at the end. It draws patient predatory circles around us, lean and powerful as a panther, scales shifting between jet black and iridescent blue in the fog-stifled light. Notes: The way this is described sounds like it would look absolutely goofy if you drew it out, which is the opposite of a problem where kaiju are concerned.

TORTUGA: The kaiju that killed Yancy Antrobus. Shows up a lot through Raleigh's flashbacks. Description: Tortuga is described as "hulking and turtle-like, carapace studded with jagged rows of bony plates." It's also described with a "trifurcated beak" and a "harpoon-like tongue." Notes: On the one hand, Knifehead made a much more imposing figure than Tortuga. On the other... we don't really have enough turtle kaiju.

UNNAMED WOODLOUSE KAIJU: Lets off an EMP in Busan. Description: Described as "a mountain of crustacean armor, like an outsized mole crab or woodlouse." And "Under its semi-translucent carapace, something writhes and shifts." Notes: We were THIS CLOSE to having an isopod kaiju! Oh well, at least the kaiju skin mites look like isopods - I can't really complain too much, can I? INVIDIA: That thing squirming around inside the isopod is the cat-3 kaiju Invidia! Fought and defeated by Raleigh Antrobus and Mako Mori. Description: Described as "a spindly, mantid shape; tall as a skyscraper." She's described as having "a viper-like head" and "a set of long translucent wings." Notes: Invidia can't fly, but her wings give her added mobility - and create vortices in the air that throw vehicles around! Also, Invidia fills the same narrative role as Otachi - she's the first kaiju that Raleigh and Mako defeat together, using their jaeger's sword.

OOLONG: Appears in one of Mako Mori and Raleigh Antrobus's training simulations. Description: ...a chitinous crab-like dragon with black exoskeletal armor and giant pincers. Notes: I think a spider-dragon and a crab-dragon in one movie might be a little redundant, but I feel like this beast has potential.

KOMODO: A cat-4 kaiju that attacks Minato Mirai. Defeated by Duc and Kaori Jessup. Description: A long, lizard-like creature called KOMODO. Rows of teeth curl sloppily from his jaws. A baroque frill of coiled and braided horns embellishes his head. He scrabbles on six splayed legs; tail terminating in a spiked thagomizer. Notes: Do you know how many kaiju have thagomizers? Not nearly enough of them. Also, this GINORMOUS beast (it's taller than Lady Danger!) spits acid. Definitely inspired Otachi a bit.

FULCRUM: A kaiju that attacks Minato Mirai along with Komodo. Defeated by Mako Mori and Raleigh Antrobus. Description: Tentacles hide his jaws. Longer tentacles trail from his taloned arms. A scourge of tails whips the air behind him. He is kaiju FULCRUM -- an alien chaos of tentacles and dinosaurian limbs, his movements fluid and menacing, as much like a predator stalking primeval jungles as like a kraken prowling sunken ruins. He glisters with bioluminescence. He climbs ashore and rises to his full height -- almost a third bigger than the Mark-2. He lashes out with one of his long tentacles. The mech dodges and as the tentacle rakes past us, we see the rows of cruel, hooked claws running the length of it. Notes: Not to sound like a kaiju groupie, but I love Fulcrum. This absolute BEAST tosses around these things called "Berserkers" - small tentacle-covered creatures that grab and rip apart anything they can get hold of before they swell up and EXPLODE. Oh, and when they rip its head off? Its body just keeps going! Role-wise, Fulcrum seems to have inspired Leatherback a bit - and perhaps inspired the tentacles on Leatherback's head? UNNAMED WORMLIKE KAIJU: Briefly attacks Lady Danger. Description: Described as "wormlike" and having "crocodilian jaws." That's all there is to it, really.

TENGU: Appears toward the story's climax, as Lady Danger approaches the Interstice. Defeated by Duc and Kaori Jessup. Description: A horrific skein of dozens of viper heads on long sinuous necks erupting from a body like a naked bat. Notes: Absolutely hideous beast! Makes me think Ghidorah and Rodan. I'd honestly like to see this one on film. PHARAOH: Appears toward the story's climax. Defeated by Kaori and Duc Jessup. Description: Something between a scarab and a bull, with vicious mandibles and long horns like a rhino beetle. Notes: This one just sounds like a scaled-up beetle. It's a little difficult to imagine that it would be anything other than a Very Good Boy if left to its own devices. I mean, it's probably only attacking the jaegers because it thinks they're mating rivals. SCUNNER: Appears toward the story's climax. Defeated by Kaori and Duc Jessup. Description: Beige-hued skin lends it a disturbingly human look; but grotesquely misshapen, joints bulging and twisted. A skull-like face, jaws over-crowded with jagged teeth. Notes: I really think the sudden appearance of a human-looking kaiju would have been very jarring! It wouldn't have worked in the film that was actually made, but part of me wants to see a movie where this could have happened.

[kudosmyhero]

Legends of the Dark Knight (vol. 1) #137: Terror, part 1: The Blood-Bat

Read Date: January 19, 2023 Cover Date: January 2001 ● Writer: Doug Moench ● Penciler: Paul Gulacy ● Inker: Jimmy Palmiotti ● Colorist: James Sinclair ● Letterer: Kurt Hathaway ● Editor: Andrew Hefler ◦ Harvey Richards ●

**HERE BE SPOILERS: Skip ahead to the fan art/podcast to avoid spoilers

Reactions As I Read: ● (cover) Hugo's head sticking out of the water like that amuses me greatly ● (pg 2) that sleeve is pretty damn skintight if we can see Batman's veins ● (pg 3) not a single word of dialogue or narrative yet. very refreshing, considering all the 60s stuff I've been reading! just some sound effects and beautiful art ● (pg 4) waaaaait, what's going on here? ● (pg 5) ha! I didn't expect that when "Batman" turned around!

● (pg 10) I guess there are pros and cons to going after the sellers or the buyers first ● (pg 12) Batman doesn't kill, but he'll light your ass on fire ● "Flamethrower's effective, but too extreme." - Ya think? ● (pg 14) Howdy, Gordon! ● Batman and Gordon at the scene where Bat-Hugo Strange killed a guy ● (pg 15) Gordon is still a captain ● Gordon looks great here:

● (pg 16) Gordon: I hope you're wrong. / Batman: I'm not. - Batman is nothing if not self-confident ● (pg 17) I'd forgotten entirely about Strange's, um, significant other ● (pg 18) a little info about Strange's victim: Sebastian Cole, a widower left with profound grief trauma after the death of his wife. Aww… poor guy :( Underwent 3 years of therapy… with Dr. Hugo Strange. ● wtf are Catwoman's boobs doing? ● Two-Face, Scarecrow, and Joker are still "safe and unsound" in Arkham ● Strange got himself some fake credentials--"Victor Absonus"--and just landed a job at Arkham Asylum ● he is interested in meeting Jonathan Crane asap (yusss Scarecrow!) ● he's meeting with Crane and has put him under hypnosis, and he's giving him a handful of straw every time he visits ● aaaand he's reawakening Scarecrow from Crane's psyche ● 👏👏👏

Synopsis: A man in a Batman costume enters a creepy-looking house which sits secluded on a small hill. He moves into the bedroom upstairs where he kills an old man using a dagger with a bat-shaped hilt. The murderer is Hugo Strange and his revenge on Batman has begun.

At night, Batman is busting some drug dealers and he takes them down using his Batboat. Though he is successful, he warns himself not to go overboard with all his new gadgets. When he sees the Bat-Signal, Batman meets with Captain Gordon who shows him the murdered old man. The dagger and a bat painted on the wall with blood is making it a little too obvious that someone is trying to frame Batman. Both men argue that Hugo Strange may not be dead after all. Indeed, Gordon later finds out that the victim named Sebastian Cole unterwent three years of psychiatric therapy with Hugo Strange as his doctor.

While Batman also goes after Catwoman who draws more and more attention because of her increasing number of burglaries, a disguised Hugo Strange begins his new job as psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum. His first patient is Scarecrow and using hypnosis Strange tries to eliminate the fear Jonathan Crane has regarding Batman …

(https://dc.fandom.com/wiki/Batman:_Legends_of_the_Dark_Knight_Vol_1_137)

Fan Art: DDF2013 - Day 5: Hugo Strange by BloodySamoan

Accompanying Podcast: ● Batbooks for Beginners - episode 10

[a-trench-coat-of-confused-worms]

{the main hall is loud with boisterous music and the sound of party goers chatter and laughter description of Lillian sitting on the throne next to her father the king her head adorned in a golden crown with emeralds and a black and green dress her adopted siblings sit in slightly smaller chairs next to her explain either here or later that this is based on rank of how close their are to being primary heir}

The boisterous music came to a slowing halt as the king of [[placeholder]] rose from his seat and faced the congregation of people that stood in his gaze “my people of [[placeholder]] I throw my hopes upon you that you have been enjoying yourselves most thoroughly but I am more than ecstatic to tell you that the reason you are here, the moment that we have all been patiently waiting for is upon us” his voice boomed through the Great hall “the drawing of names is upon us, for the future of this kingdom,for the future of our people.” 

he reached his hand out and made a quick gesture of his hand to signal the servants to to draw closer unto him the the wide oak doors swung open a beautiful but chaotic medley of trumpets echoed off the hallowed hall, the hall that had seen this tradition ring through for a millenia had seen Kings and Queens of great stature of phenomenal promise, rise or fall to the challenge before them, Lillian had no plan of befaling to the hand of her victim to be. Her darkened black eyes with flecks of gold looked to her father as the crowd dispersed before the small group of people carrying upon their shoulders, her future, this kingdom’s future as her father had so eloquently put it her eyes never faltered off of him waiting for the smallest hint of his approval to move forward and draw the name,the name that shall decide her fate.

Lillian could’ve sworn that time had sunken it’s cold talons into her mind and plagued her with vision of it slowly passing by her even though in her mind’s eye she knew it had been going much faster than how it felt, she watched as her father slowly turned his head just the slightest to tell her wordlessly that the day that she has tirelessly been training for since the day she had escaped the womb for the day to prove to her people she is more than capable of taking care of them that she can be cold and calculating to those that defy her that she will rise to the ranks of her ancestors before her, she slowly raised her self out of her seat, she gave the respected curtsy to her father and her people she stepped towards the crystal bowl its carving of the mythical polar bear that has seen her ancestors through battle for many a generation its legacy carved into the wood that builds the very bones of this castle its claws on the crystal bowl reaching up towards the mouth of the bowl its meaning deeply etched into the mythology of their people it’s guidance and wisdom but also its ferocity towards those who would wish harm it eased her soul as she reached in and gently pinched the silken soft parchment paper between her fingers.

 “Elizabeth the third ,house of black bear” Lillian announced her voice sure and steady “now my target has a name to it,finally” she muttered under her breath as she watched and waited for her siblings to draw their enemies from the crystal glass.

As the last name rang out Lillian stood to her feet she walked to her father and pardoned herself from the party as she made her way to the library with the intent of learning everything she could possibly learn of the lineage of the house of black bear she would know Elizabeth's family and ancestry better than Elizabeth herself, she must prepare her mind along with her body, no matter what it takes the years of pain, the scars that are etched into her ivory skin,she wore them with pride her favorite being the scar that goes from the tip of her right eyebrow down her nose into her left cheek a gift from her mother when they used to spar, it was the only gift her mother ever gave her before her untimely death, her mother wasn't keen on physical affection she believed it would make lillian weak so she showed her love through preparing her for this tradition she trained lillian so she could take her rightful place on the throne the pain the beatings being locked in the dungeon for failing all of it was out of love lillian would tell herself and she would be damned to waste those years of effort from her mother on some privledged princess who has never had to scream for her place let alone  fight tooth and nail, body and soul for a mere chance of living up to her mothers expectations her parents expectations her peoples expectations. “I will find this Elizabeth and wrench her soul from her body. I will watch the lights in her eyes cascade down into Hades' realm, even if it takes my soul with it.”

Chapter 2

The dagger hit the door with a thump “if you have a wish of untimely mortality then please pursue further into my chambers'' lillian said from the floor surrounded by dusty scrolls and piles of books that haven't been touched in ages let alone read “my apologies madam but it is a message from the king..your father” lillian’s handmaiden said calmly she was used to lillian’s fits of rage at this point, lillian’s head snapped back her eyes wide in surprise “my apologies miriam I thought you to be a bumbling party goer who though it wise to take their sweetheart of the night into my chambers” miriam dismissed her apology with a flap of her hand as she turned and yanked the decorated dagger from it’s resting place in the structure of the doorway “no apologies needed your highness I would have knocked upon your door before entrance but as i’m sure my lady can see it was of great importance, i forget myself in my old age at times” miriam said with a laugh. “You are not too old of age, Miriam, you still be the freshest of flowers in this kingdom whether it be your looks, your countenance or purely your stature” lillian laughed as she pulled herself off the floor “for what old maid would put up with me at my times of childish behaviors? None I say to you but a fairly young lady with eyes full of a gleam of hope,well then they might surely deal unto the hand they have been given no?” Lillian again laughed, reaching out to Miriam to receive the letter.

Miriam gently handed it to Lillian along with Lillian’s dagger. Lillian quietly pocketed the dagger as she opened the letter; it contained two letters in the one envelope.

“Dear Lillian I pray to those before us that this letter finds you well, the moment has arrived, the family of black bear have planned a masquerade,although it is in the rules to not to know your  target’s face but nevertheless I’m more than confident in your abilities best of luck”

This message was signed off from Lilian's younger sister, the only one too young to partake in this tradition. It warmed lillian's heart to know that her abilities have been acknowledged by her beloved sister, the second letter merely stated the time and place of the ball and a “loving” message from her father a simple “best of luck, my child” lillian gently placed the letters on her nightstand that stands proudly next to her bed

Chapter 3

Lillian bites down on her tongue as her corset is tied up from behind the hilt of her concealed dagger digging into her ribcage but she wouldn't dare utter a sound of discomfort, she has been taught from a young age that weakness is almost more frowned upon than treason, as the maids finished up tidying her up for the ball they bowed and retreated out of her chambers, before the door could fully close lillian headed towards her cabinet and pulled out a small vial full of an inky red almost black liquid she threads a string through the small clasp at the top of the crystal vial and slips it over her head gently before it can take its resting place in her bosom she gently kisses it “watch over me mother, guide my hand, may your watchful eyes bring honor to our family and to our people” Lillian gently whispers and if someone could hear her they might have also heard that her breath gently caught as she gently almost lovingly placed it under the top of her dark red dress. Lillian sat in front of a gem encrusted mirror as she gently applied a dark red liquid to her lips she rubbed her lips together a couple times before taking a cloth nearby and dabbing the extra liquid off leaving a ruby tint to her thin heart shaped lips,she looked into the mirror her dark eyes were decorated with a dark red powder and her lashes given the illusion of looking longer with mascara her scar was, to her disapproval ,hidden with some kind of liquid specifically made to match her skin, if it weren't for the borderline magic of her lady in waiting it would be apparent of the amount of nights lillian had gone without rest

@waitingforthesunrise

[meetmymouth]

exhibitionism with groupie and harry?

groupie!reader masterlist

warnings: 18+ please– mature content, slight exhibitionism, degradation

Japan.

Harry felt incredibly comfortable and at peace whenever he was in Japan, wandering the crowded streets, going into whatever shop he wanted without caring about being recognised. A beanie and a mask did wonders.

He looked behind and saw her following him along with his bodyguard and Jeff, and he smiled at her, at the way her curious gaze wandered across the beautiful architecture and people of Japan. When it was time to go back, he signalled for her to follow him towards the lift, and they waited patiently as it took them to his floor.

He was at the very top of the hotel, the hotel room big with massive windows surrounding them, giving a clear picture of the traffic and streets below.

As soon as they enter the room, he asks her to get naked and stand in front of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows with a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. She obliges, because what else was she supposed to do, really, and gets to work, taking everything off quickly. Harry copies her, and getting rid of all his clothes, he walks over to her and stands in front of her, hand already reaching for her face.

He touches her cheek, stroking the cold skin before she surges forward and presses her lips to his in a mouth-bruising kiss. It's feverish, hot, and fast, the way they kiss, and Harry thinks he can feel her kisses, hot and dirty, at the tip of his cock.

He kisses her like never before, tongue wrapping around hers as he sucks it into his mouth briefly before he bites her bottom lip, and lets go with a 'pop'.

"Turn around," he says, quietly, and she does.

Not quite.

Harry tuts, hand coming to pinch her ass, making her moan into the stillness of the room. "Press against the window, I want everyone to see."

"You're crazy."

He slaps her ass, hard, leaving behind a red mark which begins spreading like strawberries.

"Do it."

And she does.

She presses against the window, hissing at the feeling of freezing glass against her body, though she stays like that with ass in the air, waiting for Harry to just do something.

Harry grins, a condom already in hand as his other hand draws circles across her ass.

"Look so good," he murmurs into the back of her neck, licking all over her flesh before he bites the side of her neck and lets go.

With her help, he parts her asscheeks and first, rubs her puckered hole with already-wet finger, then drags it downwards to her cunt. She's wet, incredibly so, and it makes him groan into her skin, thumb already stroking her wet cunt from behind. It's so hot, and warm against his somehow-cold fingers, and he knows from the way she's moaning that it feels good. She feels good.

Condom finally on his cock, he aligns their bodies and with on hand on his base, he starts fucking into her wet cunt. Despite the condom around his cock, she still feels so warm and good around him, and it makes the movements of his hips quicken as he begins fucking her like never before. She lets out quite whimpers and moans, her breath fogging up the window as she moves back and forth, so quickly, creating the dirtiest sight for Harry's eyes. He loves it. He loves it so much that he reaches for her boob from behind and squeezes, hard, and she moans, trying to back into him as he keeps fucking her.

"Feels good?" He asks, leaning forward and placing his lips on her shoulder. "Y'feel so fuckin' good– how are you so perfect?"

"God, Harry– don't stop, don't fucking stop!"

He bites into her shoulder. "My best girl," he murmurs into her skin. "My best fuckin' slut, aren't yah?"

"Oh my God, yes– yes, yes, yes!"

"Say it," he bucks his hips, trying to fuck her deeper.

She screams.

"I'm your best girl– your best slut!"

The wet sounds fill the hotel room, sweat dripping down both their bodies as Harry keeps fucking her.

"Now, everyone can see how much of a good slut you are, right?" He looks at the hustling of the cars below them, and the buildings. "Everyone will see, and know how much of a whore you are, letting me fuck you like this– where anyone can see."

"Only for you–" she backs into his cock. "Only your slut, Harry."