#how did i end up drawing it two days in a row

[smimon]

Käärijätober day 29: It's Crazy, It's Party

This took way longer that I expected but I regret nothing 😎

[gloomysoup]

a secret worth keeping

@steddiebingo prompt: sneaking around | rating: m | word count: 2319 | tags: secret relationship, rockstar eddie, hockey player steve, modern au | ao3

🏒 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 🏒

“I can't believe I let you two drag me to a hockey game,” Eddie grumbled as they moved through the crowd to get to their seats. “It's too cold in here. And I have to watch sports! This is, like, the exact opposite of how I wanted to spend our off day.”

“Come on, Eddie! It'll be fun!” Gareth said, knocking his shoulder into Eddie’s.

“What about this is fun, Gareth?!” Eddie screeched, drawing a few stares from those around them. “It's hockey! It's cold, and it's sports, and you know I can't stand sports! I am already miserable. What makes you think I’m going to have fun?”

“Christ, Eddie, can't you just try to enjoy something someone else likes for once in your life?” Jeff grumbled with an eye roll. He sat in his seat, decked out in his favorite hockey jersey, which he always takes on the road with him. He claims it's for luck, but Eddie secretly thinks he just doesn't want to leave it at home with his slightly psychotic girlfriend. Eddie never did like her. He still doesn't understand why Jeff doesn't just break up with her, but he'd never say that out loud. He's had his own fair share of bad relationships that the guys graciously don't make fun of him for… anymore.

“It's not my fault you guys picked the one thing you know I can't stand,” Eddie shot back.

“Eddie, man, just shut the fuck up for once,” David snapped. “Hockey isn't really my thing either, but you don't hear me complaining.”

Eddie, clearly outnumbered by his so-called friends, huffed and flopped down into his seat at the end of the row. Curse Gareth and Jeff, and their stupid hockey team. Eddie slouched in his seat, arms crossed, as the teams came to the bench. Their manager, Chrissy, had scored them seats in the front row, right behind Gareth and Jeff’s team’s bench. It didn't take long for Eddie’s friends to be on their feet, cheering and yelling with the rest of the crowd.

Eddie couldn't possibly care less.

-

He loathed to admit it, but hockey was actually… kind of interesting? He had zero clue what was going on, like, at all, but there were some moments that he couldn't help but be intrigued. Particularly when the players landed some hard hits on each other.

What really got his attention, though, was the fight.

They were reaching the tail end of the second period. The game was tied, 3-3. Tension was high. A player from Gareth and Jeff’s team— he didn't catch the number— took a shot at the goal just as an opposing player slammed into him from the side. The guy went straight into the glass, and then he pushed the player back. He got a stick to the side for his troubles. Within seconds, they were shoving each other, sticks left forgotten on the ice. It wasn't long after that the refs broke it up, sending both players to their respective penalty boxes. Eddie watched in fascination as the player from Gareth and Jeff’s team pushed his way into the box, slamming his stick into the wall and ripping his helmet off.

It was like a Greek God was walking among them, playing hockey of all things. The man was gorgeous. Eddie watched in pure wonder as he rubbed a hand over his face, combed his fingers through his hair, and whacked the glass with his stick again. He could see the frustration, but he was too absorbed in his staring to care.

“Who is that?” Eddie asked, barely sparing a glance towards his friends as he continued to stare.

“Who’s who?” Gareth asked, tearing his eyes away from the game for the first time since the period started.

“That.” Eddie nodded toward the box, where the Greek God of a hockey player was shoving his helmet back over his head and talking to the guy standing in front of the door.

“The guy in our box? 23?”

“Yeah. Him. Who is he?”

“Steve Harrington. He's from Indiana too, actually. Second overall pick from Ohio State two years ago. He's good.”

“He's hot.”

Jeff whipped around to give Eddie an incredulous look. “Dude….”

“What? Can’t a guy appreciate a good-looking man?”

“And what about your doctrine, huh? Thought you had a thing against jocks? Or does that not apply to dating?”

Eddie shrugged. “Who said I had to date him?”

Gareth wrinkled his nose. “Gross, dude.”

Eddie’s eyes didn't leave 23 for the rest of the game.

-

This was stupid.

What the hell was he thinking.

Eddie laid in his bunk on the tour bus, staring at his phone screen, stuck in an endless loop of internal turmoil.

He hit the backspace button until the message was gone. His thumbs tapped across the screen. Delete again. Type again.

He set his phone down on his chest and blew out a long breath.

This was so fucking stupid.

He picked it back up and looked at the message again… only to realize he’d accidentally hit send.

Fuck.

Eddie sat up quickly, momentarily forgetting where he was, and whacked his head off the top of the bunk.

“Shit!”

His phone tumbled from his hand and clattered to the floor. A string of curses fell from his lips as he scrambled for his phone. The bus turned, sending his phone sliding across the bus and bumping into Jeff’s bunk down at the end of the row.

“No, no, no, I got it,” Eddie rushed as Jeff reached down to pick it up. Too late.

“What's got your panties in a twist?” Jeff asked as he picked it up. He started to hand it back to Eddie, but obviously caught a glimpse at the screen. He snatched it back before Eddie could grab it from his hand, looking intently at the screen and cackling. “Oh my god, you did not!"

“Shut up,” Eddie hissed, reaching for his phone. “Just give it back!”

Gareth poked his head out from his bunk, eyebrows furrowed and clearly still half asleep. “What's goin’ on?”

Eddie glared at Jeff. “Don't.” Jeff just grinned maliciously right back at him.

“Eddie slid into Harrington’s DMs.”

Gareth perked up, much more awake with the new information. “Oh, no, he didn't.”

“He did!” Eddie hid his face in his hands, already feeling his cheeks burn. “Wait, he's texting back!”

“Give it back, Jeff,” Eddie begged hopelessly, knowing it wasn't going to do him any good. Jeff held his phone out of reach, watching the screen for the message that was going to come through any minute.

“Dude, I can't believe you actually sent him a message,” Gareth commented with a laugh.

“And I can't believe it worked,” Jeff added. “He said, ‘Glad to see I have a fan’. With a winking emoji.”

“This is stupid,” Eddie huffed, snatching his phone from Jeff’s hand. “Y’all suck. I'm going to bed.”

Eddie thought that would be the end of it. He sent a stupid message, got a trained reply, and that was that. Oh boy, was he wrong.

He didn't tell a soul. It was their little secret. And honestly? Eddie thought it was kind of fun. Sneaking around, meeting in hotel rooms on the road, texting every day. It was thrilling. Eddie’s never had a secret that fun before. His friends still poked fun at him for the initial message from time to time, but Eddie always blew off further questioning with a simple, “It didn't work out.” But he would sneak off to meet with Steve every chance he got.

Eddie was playing a dangerous game.

With every secret meeting, with every text sent and night spent together, Eddie fell more and more in love with Steve Harrington. He'd probably be more upset about it if Steve hadn't made it so easy to fall. Steve Harrington also made Eddie take risks he wouldn't normally take. Like sneaking him into the hotel room that his bandmates also had a key for.

“I missed you,” Eddie murmured against Steve’s lips, fingers tangled in his still-damp hair. It was late. Steve had an evening practice and went straight to Eddie’s nearby hotel after. A hotel that Eddie specifically asked for, because he knew it was close to the rink.

“Missed you too,” Steve whispered back before kissing Eddie again, hard and deep. “It's almost playoff season. I'll be done soon, 'til next season. I can come see you more.”

Eddie loved how breathless Steve sounded. Loved that he was the reason.

Their clothes dropped to the floor piece by piece as they migrated to the bed, leaving a trail of wandering hands in their wake. Eddie pushed Steve back onto the bed, taking a moment to admire the way his hair fanned out beneath him and his skin glistened with a thin layer of sweat. He couldn't keep his mouth off of him for long, though. He trailed kisses across his torso, sucking a bruise here and there. He slipped his hand between them, toying with the button on Steve’s pants before finally popping it open and sliding the zipper down. Steve’s eyes were closed, eyelashes brushing across his cheeks, and he was already panting. Eddie watched as he pulled his arms up above his head, stretching his torso more. Eddie couldn't help it. He ran his hand up Steve’s abs, relishing in the shiver he received. His hand trailed back down, fingers scratching against the hair beneath his navel, dipping lower and lower and-

Click.

“Yo, Eddie!”

The door pushed open, and there were his bandmates.

“Oh my fucking god.”

Eddie’s head collapsed onto Steve’s stomach as he groaned. Of course this would happen now. Eddie couldn't even bring himself to look up, to face what was happening. He knew he would have to. He couldn't get out of this one. But now he's dragged Steve into it too. Perfect Steve, who has been so good to him and didn't deserve to be put in the middle of Eddie’s band’s bullshit.

“Eddie, what the actual fuck.” Jeff’s voice broke through after what felt like hours of silence.

Eddie took a deep breath and lifted his head, knowing it was time to face this head on. “Guys, Steve, Steve, the guys.”

“Eddie. Dude. You cannot be serious right now.”

“Yeah, man,” Gareth added. “You owe us an explanation.”

“I don't owe y'all shit,” Eddie muttered, still very much aware that he is still in a compromising position. “What I do in my free time is none of your business.”

Jeff crossed his arms and raised his brow. “Uh huh. Sure. So it was none of your business when you caught Gareth losing his virginity to that model? Or how about when David was on that ecstasy kick a while back?”

“Dude,” Gareth hissed, smacking Jeff in the shoulder. “Do you really have to spill our fucking secrets like that in front of Steve Harrington?”

“That's different,” Eddie argued.

“How is that any different than this, Eddie? Is it because this time it's you? You can butt into our business, but when we catch you with Steve Harrington, it's none of our business?”

Eddie grumbles, knowing deep down Jeff is right. This isn't any different than the other times. They've always shared everything with each other. His business is the band’s business, and vice versa. That's how they've always been. No secrets. Well, not until this. Not until Steve. Which… actually isn't much of a secret anymore.

“How long has this been going on?” Gareth asked. “Because, y'know, we asked. How long were you lying, Eddie?”

Eddie knew they were just joking. He knew they weren't taking it that seriously. But still. Did they have to take digs at him like that?

“It wasn't like that, dickbags,” Eddie snarked. “You're just too nosy. Can't have anything to myself.” Eddie couldn't help the small smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips.

Jeff rolled his eyes, but he was fighting a smile of his own. “Whatever, man. We still expect to hear about it later. Don't do anything stupid, because I am not giving up my hockey team for you.”

With that, the guys left, closing the door with a soft click behind them. Eddie groaned into the duvet. He only looked up when Steve started laughing; a little snort turning into a fit of giggles.

“I'm sorry,” Steve said through his giggles. “It's just- it was just- so funny. I'm sorry.”

Eddie shook his head, a smile on his face. “You, Steve Harrington, are absolutely ridiculous.”

“And you're not?” Steve challenged, still fighting through his giggles.

Eddie shook his head again and leaned up to kiss him. “They're never going to let me live this down.”

“Oh, baby, neither am I,” Steve whispered with a smile against Eddie’s lips.

Eddie leaned back a little to see Steve’s face. “That mean you're gonna stick around? Even after that whole debacle?”

“Well, I think I have to now.” Steve’s smile was soft, filling Eddie with a warmth he's not sure he's ever felt before. “Can't make it awkward for Jeff, can I? With the hockey team and all.”

Eddie chuckled before leaning in and kissing Steve again. The heat of the moment was gone, but that was okay. Eddie was content just to be there, in the moment. They spent their night trading lazy kisses and drawing patterns on their skin with their fingertips. In the morning, Eddie knew he’d have to face his friends. He'd have to explain everything, because Corroded Coffin didn't keep secrets from each other.

Oh well.

Sneaking around was fun while it lasted, sure, but now he gets to annoy the shit out of his friends talking about Steve whenever he wants. It was a win-win for him.

The guys were really about to regret dragging Eddie to that hockey game.

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 16

Hi! Ch 17 is done and will refocus back on Batsis 🙃idk when ch 18 will be done because I feel like I'll rewrite a lot of it over and over again until I either like it or get tired of it :))) so, ENJOY!

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 16 >>next

Jason was the first to walk into your room. Not like he hasn’t memorized every little detail. He enjoyed sneaking in to look at your drawings, seeing what he had missed while he was dead, the trinkets you had. Unlike the others who were afraid to touch stuff, to even look around, he walked around like he owned the place. And then his foot fully broke through the already brittle floorboard you broke.

The crime lord pulled his foot out, cussing and swatting away at Bruce’s worried words and helping hand. “Huh.” Jason furrowed his brows, crouching and pulling out two shoe boxes and a few dusty drawings. “Never saw these.” He said while sitting down with one box, the drawings were quickly snatched by Damian and the other box was opened by Duke, everyone taking a journal from it.

Jason’s box was full of sketchbooks and newspaper clippings of her achievements. These sketchbooks seemed to be focused on the family and their bat counterparts. He snorts at a drawing of a Robin where you wrote “Booty shorts are a terrible choice for fighting crime” immediately showing it to Dick. “That’s your robin.” The acrobat mutters, pouting. “What?!” Jason pulls the sketchbook back to squint at it. “Nuh-uh! And even if it was, it’s still your fault! I was trying to imitate and impress you.”

Dick in any other situation would have teased him for the slip, but he couldn’t. He remembers how angry he was at being essentially fired and replaced, not for being unable to continue, but because Bruce felt guilt at how close Dick was to death. And then Jason came, and then he died. Dick remembers how mean he was to both Jason and you, just because he was afraid. Afraid of getting attached, afraid of letting someone in just for them to end up like his parents, and afraid of being replaced and brushed off.

But that’s what he did to you. He and Jason learned to get along, but to you, he was still distant, he brushed you off despite how he was afraid of that happening to him. He remembers always glancing over his shoulder at you after finding an excuse to not interact with you and how it always hurt seeing how sad and defeated you looked, how one day you just stopped even acknowledging him unless he talked to you.

The journals didn’t help his guilt. “I always wanted a big brother. Richard doesn’t seem to like me, but he has started getting along with Jason. I think it’s because I’m a girl and Jason is into gymnastics like him. Maybe he'll spare me some glances if I show interest in that too.” Ignoring how many times you misspelled gymnastics, his fingers traced the words a few rows below simply stating that he refused and yelled at you for getting in the way.

Stephanie and Duke were raking the little books for a mention of them besides “Bruce took in another kid.” They both felt guilty for not trying to get to know you, but while Duke was fixated on him being older and knowing he should have tried, Stephanie thought it was weird how you didn’t come to either. You were still a kid, still young, still curious- so why didn’t you go out of your way to greet them to get to know them, even Damian asked them questions. “Stephanie and Duke do seem nice, friendly. But so did the others. It’ll be another rejection.” Oh- you had given up trying to fit in their lives by then.

Cassandra felt a lot of emotions, sadness mainly. She didn’t mean to come off as rude and mean, like she didn’t care because she did. She cared. She still does- it’s just the anxiety you displayed, the sadness that slipped through- she didn’t know how to deal with it, it was overwhelming to her, so she ran, hid, and watched you from the shadows. Cassandra loved watching you paint and take care of the garden, it was her favorite activity. She handed the diary she finished to Bruce. She has many regrets, but this one she’ll fight to fix.

Barbara and Tim didn’t want to read what you had to say about them, they knew. So, they stuck to Alfred to see the many trophies you had. They brushed you off, brushed off anything you tried to do to impress them, Tim going the extra mile by belittling you. Barbara wasn’t present much, she wasn’t Bruce’s kid. But Tim, like the other, was. He saw how heartbroken you were when they’d have family nights and nobody bothered inviting you, how after Cassandra came and they welcomed her with open arms you just stopped bothering, ignoring everyone, doing your own thing. He didn’t say anything, didn’t fight for you, he saw everyone ignore and brush you off, so he did the same, finding you annoying for no other reason than you simply existed. You existed and were the only person he could be mean with without anyone saying anything. The only person he could express his anger on. Tim cringed at the memories. You were just a child.

Alfred knew he mostly gave you attention out of pity rather than a pure need to take care of a kid who needed reassurance and love. His loyalty and care stood with Bruce, first and foremost- and yet it hurt to see himself through your eyes. Cold, only doing his job, just another shadow, were some of the words you used. He couldn’t read more, it reminded him too much of the words he used to refer to his own father once upon a time, so he carried on with cleaning. His hands shook as he wiped medals, trophies, shelves, dusty paintings, anything he could.

“Why are the science and sports medals hidden behind the others? They’re still first place.”  Tim couldn’t help but mutter out loud. “She didn’t do those because she liked or wanted to. She won those to impress us, specifically, you two.” Jason muttered as his eyes skimmed through the diary in his hand, skipping things about him. He changed, he isn’t running after Dick anymore, there’s no need for him to read what he knows he messed up. You already told him, anyway.

Damian is honestly happy you left before he came to the manor. Seeing the drawing for more than just lines, the subtle way you drew hints that the family were barely strangers to you, always in their shadows, their back always turned to you, their faces always devoid of features, just blank voids- he knew what you were trying to depict, he saw the anger and sadness and despair in every stroke. To him, these were as good as words written in your diaries. He is happy because he didn’t want to see how you would have drawn him, what kind of feeling you’d attribute to him because he knew he wouldn’t have been kind. Damian would have seen you as a threat, an obstacle to his place as the rightful heir. He would have been mean, throwing insults, he would have tried to kill you. He also knows better now, they have lost their chance, he was sure of it, but not him.

Bruce had been clutching the same journal for a while, his eyes unable to leave the little throwaway comment in a long paragraph. “Officer Gordon lied to me. He lied when he said Bruce Wayne is my father, he lied when he said Bruce would love me.” He’s been afraid to see more, but what else could he do? He wasn’t stupid. Emotionally constipated, sure, but he knew his indifference and coldness hurt you, especially at a time when he knew all you needed was warmth and hugs, but he was so scared of the whispers in the back of his head. He was sure keeping his distance would have kept you safer than him being close to you.

His eyes continued reading, and reading, and reading, until he couldn’t anymore, the tears making everything too blurry for him to make out. The younger you blamed herself, deemed herself inadequate for his love and attention, but as you grew you realized that you’re not to blame, you were the child, and he was the adult. “He’s supposed to be my dad but he doesn’t even act like my legal guardian. If it wasn’t for him being a public figure, I would have forgotten how he looks.” And “He publicly recognized everyone else. Everyone but me. Is he so ashamed of me that he just wants me to rot locked away in this hell he calls home?” just kept flashing in his mind as he buried his face in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. He was relieved that he didn’t remember how you sounded... He just cries harder at the traitorous thought.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“-and you know, getting used to the dorms and all of that.” Mark shrugs. Before you could tell Debbie about your day, you covered your mouth, sneezing into your elbow. “Bless you.” Debbie and Mark said after your third sneeze in a row. “Thank you. That was weird.” You hummed while sending Jason a text to stop talking about you. Lately, superstitions have grabbed a hold of you. “Um, anyway- I spent my day like usual, helping around, uh, spent quite a long time at the altar meditating- John taught me how to summon stuff.”

Your smile matched Debbie’s once she complimented you for doing so much in one day, chest puffing at her attention. Your eyes went back to your phone only when the conversation changed, being met with two photos, one of Bruce curled on your bed, clutching one of your plushies to his chest while reading and crying, the second was of Dick in a similar state, but on the ground clutching at your drawing and paintings. “Couldn’t catch the others.” Jay texted after. You cringed and swiped your thumb to text back. “Fuck that’s pathetic. Weirdos. Tell Bruce to stop touching my plushies.”

Your brows furrowed, your other hand immediately zooming in on the picture of the man. “That mother- mmm.” You stopped before you could cuss, texting the crime lord again. “And stop reading my shit! They’re supposed to be private!!!” Jason didn’t respond back.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Damian’s eyes tracked over every single letter his mother wrote, memorizing every word, every phrase, skipping over her displeasure with how his father had treated you, over her questions on how the man had been treating him.

From how effortlessly his mother deemed that his sister had moved cars, buildings, and people, to how Talia had called her a lovely young woman but starved for praise and love, mentions of her lip trembling at the genuine compliment Talia had given to how willing his sister was to help with even mundane stuff such as carrying bags for the elderly- he took it all in.  

He memorized everything and then let the letters about the few days Talia had observed you go through the flame of the little candle he had lit, the fire slowly eating the paper as he set it in a tray. His eyes moved to the papers branded with Gotham High’s emblem. Damian doesn’t need the letters, not when he’ll crawl his way into your life soon enough.

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxsworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion @lovebug-apple @sillysealsies @tsxukikami @enchantingarcadecreation @alishii @d3nnji @itsberrydreemurstuff @yuyuzi-ling @welpthisisboring @1abi @mxvoid26 @persephone-kore-law @bluevenus19 @ryuushou @asillysimp @aalunar @cxcilla @sirenetheblogger @pinkluv29 @br33zy-blizzardz @victoria1676

[ticifics]

hi im so in love with your writing! I was wondering if I could request an angsty remus fic? maybe with an unrequited love theme where reader has a massive crush on him but he notices and rejects reader before they can even confess? its not that’s ok! mwah tyy <33

Unrequited Love

Remus Lupin x f!reader

Summary: It wasn’t just a crush. It was deeper, more desperate. Every day beside him was a mix of silent happiness and growing pain because, deep down, you knew he didn’t see you the same way. And yet, you clung to any shred of attention. A smile in the hallway or the sound of his name on your lips, which he always responded to with that infallible kindness. You knew you were drowning, but you couldn’t help it.

Warnings: angst

A/N: hi love, you are so kind, thank you so much for the sweet words. I hope I did something that meets your expectations - and gosh, maybe, just maybe I am a little devastated, it's two angsts in a row with my boy Remus (that said, of course I loved doing it)

Unrequited Love | part II

You couldn’t quite remember exactly when it all started, but at some point between shared classes and comfortable silences in the library, Remus Lupin started occupying every thought of yours. Maybe it was that afternoon, weeks ago, when he noticed you were struggling to understand the theory behind a complicated spell. He approached, gentle but not invading your space, and said: "Can I help? I think I have an easier way to explain this."

You accepted, of course, your face warm and words stuck in your throat. He sat beside you, his voice low and firm as he pointed to the lines of the book with a slender finger. Every time he explained something, he’d end it with a quick glance, as if he wanted to confirm you were following along. You were so captivated by the sound of his voice that the actual understanding of the spell came later, when you were alone.

That’s when you started noticing the details. The way he furrowed his brow when reading something particularly complicated, or how he smiled to the side, a subtle smile, but enough to light up your whole day. He was different. He didn’t draw attention like his friends, who were usually the center of any room, but there was something in the restrained gestures, the care in his words, that made him seem more... real.

You began seeking opportunities to be near him. Not that it was intentional at first, but you always seemed to end up at the table next to him in the library or choosing the same time to study in the empty classroom. He never seemed to mind. In fact, he always nodded or gave a polite "good afternoon" before returning to what he was doing.

There was that day, though, that stayed engraved in your mind with almost painful clarity. It was an ordinary afternoon, and you were in the library. You had mentioned, without thinking, that you loved chamomile tea because your mother used to say it had a "comforting taste." He chuckled softly, a sound that made your heart stumble in your chest. A few weeks later, while you were sitting in a class, he casually leaned in and murmured: "Did you know chamomile tea was used in Ancient Greece as medicine? Seems fitting, doesn’t it?"

Your head spun to him, surprised. He remembered. It was just a silly sentence you had said, but he remembered. The rest of the class passed in a blur as you replayed each word, each glance.

It wasn’t just a crush. It was deeper, more desperate. He seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, but you wanted so much to be the one who could ease some of that. Every day beside him was a mix of silent happiness and growing pain because, deep down, you knew he didn’t see you the same way.

And yet, you clung to any shred of attention. A smile in the hallway, a "Are you okay?" after a tough test, or the sound of his name on your lips, which he always responded to with that infallible kindness.

You knew you were drowning, but you couldn’t help it.

The weeks dragged on like a dream, but a dream that never became reality. With every encounter with Remus, you felt like you were floating, but there was always an invisible weight pulling you back to the ground. He was kind, considerate, but never crossed the line. Every gesture, every word, was filled with a cordiality that you desperately wanted to interpret as something more, but you couldn’t ignore the voice in your head whispering, "He's just being polite. It doesn’t mean anything."

It was in this tension that an idea formed. A letter. If you couldn’t say everything you felt to him in words, maybe you could put it on paper. You had already rehearsed so many times, in your mind, the perfect phrases, the declarations that could, perhaps, make him see you differently. But every time you opened your mouth, the words died before they took shape.

That night, sitting on your bed with the curtains closed around you, you held a piece of parchment. The quill trembled in your hand as you stared at the blank page. Your heart was pounding, a mix of anticipation and fear. What could you write that would capture everything you felt? How could you translate in words the impact he had on you, the way he made the world seem lighter just by being in it?

After minutes that felt like hours, you began:

"Remus, I know this might seem strange or unexpected, but I need to say something that I’ve kept to myself for so long that I can’t keep it in anymore. Since I met you, something inside me has changed. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s something in your gestures, in the way you look at the world, that makes me want to be a part of it. You’re more than kind; you’re someone who makes everything seem... possible. I don’t know how to put it any other way, so I’ll be direct: I like you. More than as a friend. And I needed to tell you. Because holding this in is starting to hurt more than having the courage to say it."

You stopped, looking at the words you had just written. Your breath was heavy, and silent tears threatened to fall. It was a relief, in a way, to see it all there on paper. But the weight of what could happen next was almost unbearable.

For a moment, you considered handing him the letter. Not that night, of course, but maybe the next morning, or during the next class. The idea gave you a spark of hope, but also brought an overwhelming fear.

What if he didn’t feel the same?

That question echoed in your mind, over and over, as you carefully folded the letter and hid it in the pocket of your coat. Your hand stayed there, feeling the weight of the parchment like a bomb about to explode.

Remus knew. He had known for some time. There was no way he couldn’t notice.

There was something in the way you looked at him, a hesitant and hopeful gleam, that didn’t go unnoticed. He noticed the moments when you got closer than necessary, like when you sat beside him in the library even when there were empty tables. He noticed how you seemed to hold your breath whenever he leaned in to explain something, or how your words sometimes faltered, as if the weight of something unspoken was too much.

He wasn’t a fool. The subtleties of the heart, however, were a territory he preferred to avoid. Especially when he knew he couldn’t return the feelings.

You were smart, dedicated, kind in a way that made people want to be near you, and you were beautiful. He genuinely liked your company, but not in that way. Not the way you seemed to desire. Remus felt a tightness in his chest every time this reality pressed upon him, because he knew what needed to be done. He knew that the longer he let things drag on, the worse it would be for you.

That’s why, after Potions class that afternoon, he waited for you to finish gathering your things. He didn’t know exactly what he would say, but the words had been weighing on his throat for days.

“Do you have a minute?” His voice was calm, but there was something in his expression, the way he avoided eye contact for a second longer than usual, that made your heart stop.

“Of course.” Your response was automatic, but the nervousness crept into your voice. He was serious, more serious than you’d ever seen him before, and that sent a chill through your stomach.

As you walked beside him, the hallways seemed longer, quieter. You noticed he didn’t look directly at you, and that only made the nervousness grow.

He stopped next to an empty window, where the late afternoon light fell in soft angles. You held your books to your chest, as if they were armor, while he finally turned to face you.

“I... I think we need to talk.”

Your heart seemed to beat too fast, as if trying to prepare itself for whatever might come out of his mouth. You knew he wouldn’t say this lightly. “We need to talk” was never a casual introduction, it never preceded something good. Still, you tried to hold on to the faint hope, that quiet voice in the back of your mind whispering: Maybe he feels something too. Maybe he wants to say he noticed...

“I... I need to be honest with you,” Remus began, his voice low and serious, his words carefully chosen, but they still fell like stones upon you. “I don’t think it would be fair to let this continue without saying anything.”

Your fingers tightened around your books against your chest. Without saying what? Anxiety ran like fire through your veins, and you couldn’t look away from him, even though part of you wanted to run.

“I’ve noticed that...” He paused, biting his lower lip slightly, as if the words were hard to form. He ran a hand through his hair nervously, looking away for a brief moment before meeting your eyes again. “You’ve been... very kind to me, and I appreciate that. Truly. But I... I don’t want you to think that... there’s something here that isn’t.”

The world seemed to silence around you. Only his words echoed in your mind: “Something that isn’t.” It was as if he had ripped the ground out from under you with a single sentence.

“I don’t understand.” Your voice came out quieter than you expected, almost a whisper. You knew what he was trying to say, but at the same time, you refused to believe it. It couldn’t be this. It couldn’t end like this.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He took a step closer, his gaze filled with something that seemed like guilt. “But I think you feel something for me. Something more than friendship.”

You felt your face burn, your chest tightening as if being compressed by an impossible weight. He knew. All this time, he knew.

“I...” You tried to deny it, tried to find some word that could save you from the abyss opening up, but your voice failed.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he interrupted, his voice softer now, but somehow, that only made it hurt more. “I just... I don’t want you to get hurt. You’re amazing. You’re kind, you’re smart, and anyone would be lucky to have your attention.” He sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly, as if the weight of the situation affected him too. “But I’m not that person. I can’t... see you that way.”

It was as if he had pulled the air from your lungs. Every word felt like a blade, cutting slowly but deeply. You felt tears burning in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not in front of him.

“You’re saying that...” You stopped, swallowing hard, your throat too tight to continue.

“I don’t want you to have hopes where there’s no space for them,” he said softly, as if trying to minimize the impact, but the pain was already there, overwhelming and absolute.

You didn’t know what to say, how to respond. All you could feel was the crushing rejection, the weight of knowing he would never look at you the same way. It was worse than you had imagined, because he wasn’t being cruel. He was being honest, and his honesty hurt more than any cruelty ever could.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, almost in a whisper, and those words were the final stone that fell upon your heart already in ruins.

You nodded quickly, unable to trust your own voice, and took a step back. You wanted to say something, wanted to pretend you were fine, but there was nothing that could be said. So, you just turned and left, feeling his eyes on your back but not looking back.

The first tear fell before you even turned the corner.

Each step echoed like a drum in your ears, blending with the disordered sound of your thoughts. You pressed the books to your chest so tightly that your fingers began to ache, but it was better to focus on the physical pain than the agony that was boiling inside you.

The students around you laughed, talked, ran. The castle was alive, pulsing with the energy of carefree teenagers, but everything felt muffled, distant, as if you were walking through a bad dream.

You turned down a random hallway, not even knowing where you were going, just needing to get away from everything and everyone. Your heart pounded in your chest, and the knot in your throat seemed to tighten with every passing moment, as if it were impossible to swallow the weight that kept building there.

Finally, you found an empty corner, behind a worn tapestry that no one seemed to notice. It was a temporary hiding spot, but it was all you needed. You threw yourself against the cold wall, sliding to the floor, the books falling from your hands as the tears you had held back for so long finally overflowed.

They came hot and relentless, streaming down your face mercilessly. You tried to stifle the sobs, biting your fist, but it was useless. The pain felt like its own entity, growing and spreading inside you.

Your chest ached, a physical sensation of emptiness and tightness that almost made you gasp for air. Your hands trembled, gripping your knees as if they were your only anchor. He knew. Those words echoed repeatedly in your mind. He had known all along.

Worse yet, not only did he know, but he had decided to tell you in such a careful, gentle way that the rejection became even more painful. He hadn't looked down on you, hadn't mocked you, but that only made it crueler. He had looked directly at you and said, without hesitation, that there was no space for you in his heart.

You closed your eyes, trying to breathe deeply, but all you could see was his face. The calm expression, the soft tone. The contrast between his kindness and the brutality of what he was saying was unbearable.

What had you done wrong? The question burned like fire, consuming everything around you. You replayed every interaction, every glance, every word spoken. There was no way to erase the moments when your heart raced for something he said or did. There was no way to turn back time and rip the feelings from yourself that you knew he would never return.

In the distance, you could hear other students passing by, carefree voices, laughter filling the hallways. Life continued as if nothing had happened, as if your world hadn't ended in that moment. The contrast was suffocating, a reminder that your pain was yours alone.

You hugged your knees, trying to diminish the feeling of falling apart. All you wanted was to disappear, to become invisible. Maybe, if no one saw you, no one would know how broken you were.

Time seemed to drag on, but it also slipped through your fingers like sand. You couldn’t tell how much time had passed since that conversation. Days? Weeks? Every unavoidable encounter with him felt like tearing the scab off a wound that hadn't even started to heal.

Classes became a kind of silent torture. He was always there, just a few meters away, and you could feel his presence like an electric current pulsing in the air. Sometimes, your eyes would meet for a brief moment, and he’d smile hesitantly, almost as if he were trying to offer some form of comfort.

But there was no comfort to be found.

You started changing seats in classes, picking places farther away. You walked through the hallways with your eyes on the floor, avoiding any chance of crossing paths with him. When he was with James or Sirius, laughing and talking loudly, you found some excuse to leave. Seeing that smile, hearing that laugh, felt like a cruel reminder that his life was going on without interruption while yours was in ruins.

You knew he noticed. Remus Lupin was perceptive, perhaps more than anyone you knew. And that’s why, on an ordinary afternoon, he came over.

The hallway was empty, and you were organizing the books in your bag with slightly trembling hands. When his shadow fell over you, your stomach tightened instinctively.

“Hey,” he began, his voice low and cautious, as if he were walking on glass. “Can I talk to you?”

You didn’t want to. You wanted to turn and run, wanted to scream for him to leave you alone. But instead, you just nodded, because running now seemed useless.

He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “I... noticed you’ve been avoiding me.” He ran a hand through his hair, a habit you knew all too well. “I don’t want things to be like this between us.”

The bitter laugh almost escaped your lips, but you swallowed it. “Like what?” Your voice came out harsher than you intended, but your heart was pounding so hard that it was hard to control.

“Distant.” He took a step closer, but stopped when he saw you recoil, even if it was just a little. “I... hope we’re still friends.”

The word pierced like a sharp blade. Friends. Of course. That was what he wanted from you. What he always wanted. And hearing it, said so gently and sincerely, made it hurt even more.

You wrapped your arms around your body as if that could contain the emptiness spreading inside you. “Friends,” you repeated, testing the word on your lips. It felt strange, bitter, as if it didn’t belong there.

“Yes.” He gave a small, hopeful smile. “I really... I’m so sorry, you know? For everything. I never meant for you to feel like this.”

“I know.” Your response was barely audible. You knew he didn’t want to hurt you. That made it all worse.

There was an uncomfortable silence between you. He seemed to be waiting for something, maybe a confirmation that everything was okay. But you couldn’t give him that. Not now.

“I... I need to go,” you finally said, your voice trembling as you slung the bag over your shoulder.

“Of course,” he replied, a little hurriedly. “But... we’re okay, right? I just want you to know, if you need me, I’m here.”

You closed your eyes for a brief moment, trying to breathe, trying to stop the pain from overflowing once more. When you opened them, you forced a small smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine, Remus. Thank you.”

Before he could respond, you turned and walked quickly, feeling the tears threatening to fall.

As you turned the corner, you leaned against the wall for a moment, your eyes burning and your breath heavy. He wasn’t cruel. He would never be. And maybe that was exactly what made it all so unbearable.

Night had fallen over Hogwarts, and the castle was immersed in a heavy silence. You were in the farthest corner of the common room, where no one seemed to notice your presence. The only company was the fireplace, its flames flickering irregularly, casting shadows that danced across the walls.

In your hands, the letter you wrote weeks ago trembled slightly. The parchment was crumpled and worn at the edges, as if it had been handled countless times but never read by anyone other than you.

You remembered exactly the moment when you wrote it, the words flowing like a confession from your heart. It was everything you wanted to say to him. All the feelings that had been growing, gaining strength and life of their own. You had poured out every thought, every heartbeat, with the naive hope that he might feel the same.

But now, all that remained was a useless piece of paper.

You smoothed the parchment carefully, your fingers tracing the words written in your hesitant handwriting. Each sentence seemed to mock you now, like a cruel reminder of everything you felt and everything that would never be returned.

The flame of the fireplace seemed to call to you, its warmth offering a final solution to the weight you carried. With a trembling sigh, you stood up, feeling your heart tighten in your chest.

You hesitated for a moment, the letter still firmly held in your hands. Part of you wanted to keep it, hold onto it as a reminder of something that once mattered. But another part of you knew you needed to let go, even if it meant releasing something you never truly had.

"I could never be enough for you, could I?" you whispered to no one, your voice barely above a thread.

Finally, you brought the parchment closer to the flame, and it began to burn slowly. The edges darkened and curled, the fire consuming the words that once seemed so important. You watched each line disappear, one after another, until all that remained was ash and embers.

The pain in your chest was unbearable, but you stood there, motionless, watching as the last particles of the letter were carried away by the wind from the fire. It felt like watching the end of something that never had the chance to begin.

You sat on the floor, pulling your knees to your chest, the tears finally falling freely. They burned, hot and relentless, as you wondered how it was possible to feel so much for someone who would never look at you the same way.

Despite everything, you knew you still loved him. That was the cruelest part of all. Even after all the pain, all the rejection, you couldn’t simply turn off your feelings. He was still the one who made your heart race, who inhabited your dreams, who carried the weight of your hopes and fears.

But he would never be yours.

[hawkinsbnbg]

Eddie who did all kinds of odd jobs for extra cash and ended up acting as a mascot for a football team.

He had to admit while he wasn't the biggest sports fan out there, the chaos and overflowing energy of the games made the blood run hot in his veins. The enthusiasm, the booming cheering and the loud music almost compensated for the stuffy red bird costume he had to squeeze into every couple of days.

The only saving grace was that Eddie always ran cold, so unlike some of his poor co-workers, he didn't sweat buckets during his shift, and he got to revel in the fun while being his dramatic and goofy self. He danced around people, teased them, joked with them, and posed for their photos.

One of many things that he enjoyed was the kiss cam. As much as Eddie tried to pretend otherwise, he was a romantic at heart, and seeing so many people having fun and being in love really made his day.

Sure there were awkward moments as well where family members were mistaken as couples, but it was just another thing to laugh at, just another tale to recall when they gathered around the table and had dinner together some days or some years later.

Perhaps, that was why when the big screen showed a pretty boy—and damn, Eddie could spend forever to wax lyrical about those pouty lips and doe eyes and perfect hair and handsome jawline. And Eddie wished he could trace those cute little moles with his tongue, to draw constellations on that golden skin and find the answers of the universe—who got ignored and then brushed off by his boyfriend despite his attempts to tell the guy they were on kiss cam, Eddie felt so offended on his pretty boy's behalf.

Without hesitation, Eddie stalked over to their row, took the popcorn from Pretty Boy and upended the whole box over the boyfriend's head just as the guy finally looked up from his stupid phone, relishing the cheers the other spectators gave him.

He then booed at the fuming bastard who looked two seconds away from blowing a casket, pulled Pretty Boy into his chest, and nearly bumped his fist into the air when Pretty Boy giggled and hooked their arms together.

He didn't think, really, he just signaled for Bob he had to go for a while and took Pretty Boy back to the staff room where he peeled off the mascot costume and finally revealed himself to Pretty Boy.

Eddie slightly regretted his impulsive decision because he wasn't looking his best right now; his hair was put up in a tight bun, his face was flushed and sticky with sweat. He only had on a black Metallica cut-off, a pair of sweat shorts for easy movements, his rings, and nothing else.

In contrast, Pretty Boy looked like a model walking right out of a magazine with his baby blue striped polo, washout jeans, RayBan perched on coifed chestnut hair, and worn sneakers.

"I'm Eddie," he introduced, panting a little because of the heat and the pace his heart was slamming against his ribcage. "I hope I'm not bothering you, pretty boy."

Smiling coyly, Pretty Boy leaned in his space and holy shit, Eddie had to swallow the pool of spit gather in his mouth when he detected the floral and fruity notes from Pretty Boy's cologne and body wash. This close, he could see how those hazel eyes dilated, how those plush lips parted just slightly, tempting him to take a taste.

"Hi Eddie," Pretty Boy said, glancing up at him through those pretty eyelashes. "I'm Steve. But you can always call me Stevie, sweetheart, baby, or pretty boy."

Eddie couldn't help but laugh at the cheekiness. God, they just met ten minutes ago but this boy was proving to be the death of him.

"Pretty baby, then," Eddie lifted his hand to brush Steve's cheekbone with the back of it, smiling fondly at the blush that crept up on the soft skin. He met Steve's gaze and raised a brow. "What do you think?"

"I think," Steve licked his lips, red and kissable. "I think you should kiss me."

That Eddie could do. He would happily listen to the sweet little noises Steve made for as long as Steve had him.

He told Steve as much and they ended up going back to his apartment where he showed Steve what it felt like to be his boy. His baby.

Some years later, Eddie made sure to kiss the daylight out of his boyfriend when they were caught by the kiss cam. He wanted to brag as loud as he could that he was the man who had bagged Steve Harrington.

And when someone booed at him for showing off, he flipped them a bird through the camera, making Steve giggle against him. He wouldn't have it any other way.

[atyourmerci]

☀︎To the light is to the darkness✩

Abby X reader X Ellie

Prologue to vengeance (can be read alone)

☀︎ ☀︎

Summary: Abby is your childhood best friend, you did everything together, taught each other everything. You were utterly infatuated with each other until Ellie Williams enters your world.

Warning: smut, MDNI, porn w lots of plot, innocence arc, mutual pining, lots of sexual tension, mutual masturbation (in the same room, together), fingering if you squint, useless lesbians, lesbian love triangle, abby needs a hug, phoebe bridgers as her own warning, no use of y/n, no physical description of reader

A/N: okay so holy fuck did I get carried away with this one. I didn’t want to leave yall on a cliffhanger but this dynamic deserves more and I don’t want to rush through it. I hope yall enjoy. This chapter is mostly just abby but there will be lots more Ellie in the next chapter promise :)

✩ ✩

“Someone you couldn’t lose. You said we’re not together, so now when we kiss I have anger issues.”

She asked when it had all started. The truth was you weren’t really sure. There was no definitive date or period of time that signified the beginning or end of it.

A relationship that felt more of interlacing two souls into one that resided in two structures. Shared autonomy of mind, breath, word, and body. Unspoken feelings, touches, and stares.

What started in green fields of pink flowers and brown roots ended in dark rooms and pining embraces. Hand shakes turning into interlaced fingers, laughter filled glances turning into tense stares, and experimental pecks turning into open mouthed pants.

The first time you meet abby was at school at 15. Bright eyed and bushy tailed still untainted from the reality of the world around you. You were quite shy in those years, keeping yourself away from the wild hairs of children ready to grow up and take charge. You were okay with the stability of childhood, the sticky sweet feeling of safety and uncharted terror.

Before Abby’s dad had died, before the muscles and long locks of golden blonde hair she was reserved too. Abby was wrapped in a bubble of comfort, a loving community that doted on her. She felt no need to join the crowd of chaos when she had everything she needed.

Well she thought she did…and then she met you.

In class you had your face shoved into a notebook doodling away of ferns and dandelions you had seen in the fields early that day. If it were up to you, you’d spend every last dying breath in the fields, soaking in sunlight and trailing your fingers through the rows of flowers.

Abby sat next to you in class, always too shy to speak up to you. You always seemed so busy, either reading, drawing, or with your head in the clouds, never truly listening to the lecture ahead. She admired your creativity, attention to detail, and the utter sense of unawareness to your surroundings. She wondered why you didn’t talk to the others, you were so inviting, so pretty. She once wished to look like you, how effortlessly magnificent you looked.

She grew too curious, over zealous at the thought of being close to you, understanding you. She knew she had to speak up.

“H-hey you draw pretty cool- I mean- it’s really good…what you draw.”

You had never taken more than a glance at the freckled girl until then. She always seemed just as busy as you, so you never bothered her.

You let out a bellied laugh at the now crimson red faced girl- completely embarrassed by her attempt at recognition.

And that was that. The two of you were inseparable, attached at the hip from then on out.

Abby seemed to understand your weird quirks and odd fascinations. Even when she didn’t, she was there open minded and wide eyed to hear your lengthy ramblings on about nothingness.

Sometimes it felt like you did most of the talking. Not that it was one sided or you wouldn’t let her butt in, but rather she was completely enamored by what you thought. Sometimes all she wanted to do was to hear you talk, you were her favorite person, the own mold of herself.

She wanted to think what you thought, feel what you felt, see the world through your eyes.

17

As the years went on you only seemed to grow closer to abby as she grew fonder of you.

Some could call it an obsession, the way you treated each other. Not a single thought went by that the other didn’t know. If you were there, so was abby. If you knew something, so did she.

Everyday she would follow you to the fields after school, your special escape you’d learn to share with the other half of your being.

You’d make her lay across the flower ridden fields so you could draw her glistening hair kissed by the whisk of wind. She let her hair grow longer since you’d ask to braid it for her every morning. She liked it short but she wanted to let you have room to make intricate designs and lace them with weeds you’d found.

Abby would playfully nudge you when you’d draw the hump on her nose in the drawings, but you loved it too much to not appreciate it. You loved all the things she couldn’t in herself.

You two spent hours out in the field daily, even when it rained you’d make her dance around like fairies as mud splattered across your shins. Anything you wanted, she’d do as long as it was with you.

That’s when you asked her to try kissing, she’d obliged.

“Have you ever…kissed anyone?” You ask staring off into the cloud painted sky, tall grass framing your bodies.

She lets out a breathy giggle, “no… you would know if I did.”

You shrug, shoulder crashing gently into hers, “I don’t know, maybe it was too embarrassing to say.”

She trails off, “h-have you?”

“No dumbass you would know…” you push your shoulder into her turning to give her a toothy smile, “what if I’m not good when a boy kisses me?”

Her eyes remained trained onto the pillowy cloud, “you can try on me- I-if you want to.”

It was a good idea, she wasn’t going to judge you, she was your best friend, she was only there to help.

“Okay.” And without a second thought your upper body shot up and lent over hers, pressing your lips into her plush pink ones. It was gentle, only a placement amongst the flesh, yet so charged. Butterflies fluttered through your stomach and up to your throat, something you had only felt once before when you and abby went swimming.

Closeness you thought. Being close to someone causes that. How nice it was to be so close to your favorite person, maybe one day you could feel close to someone again.

After that you continued to experiment kissing. At sleepovers you’d talk about the boys you wanted to kiss, then show each other how you would kiss them. It turned into an innocent routine, pecking her before she would leave, kissing her in the fields when you felt the butterflies.

You’d told her about them- the fluttering in your stomach. Whenever you felt them she told you that she wanted to feel them too. Transferring them through the soft pink flesh, she’d say she’d feel them after.

Soon she’d tell you when she got them, to which you’d return the gesture back. As time went on, the butterflies came more often.

People were starting to notice the relationship, started talking about how close the two of you were. You’d shoo off the irrational comments and over zealous accusations, but abby never did. She just didn’t respond.

“Who am I to ask for more? But you’re breathing in my open mouth. You’re the gun in my lips that will blow my brains out.”

18

Abby started spending the night daily, she practically lived in your room at that point. After her dad died your relationship grew stronger than ever. In such a treacherous time she clung to the only person who truly understood her. Many a nights she spent huddled into a ball in your lap weeping as you smoothed the hair behind her ear and rubbing circles into the grown muscles in her back.

Abby had taken to working her emotions out in physical labor. Now being a solider full time out of school she had grown muscular and more rough. Her heart was still the same for you, but had grown caged off to the people around you.

Her pleasantries for the rest of the community had grown stale, only allowing a few to get near her. But you… there was always an indefinite spot inside her for you.

Since abby was always around now, in the darkness of every night, privacy had flown right out the window. Not that you had minded- there wasn’t much of really anything abby didn’t know or hadn’t seen.

But when that eery sense of familiarity crept up, when the butterflies would come at night.

She had started out sleeping on the extra bed in your room. Before she had practically moved in she’d sleep with you, but since her stay turned to no vacancy she’d taken to given you the last sense of space, even when you hadn’t asked.

In the middle of darkness as the crickets chirped outside the window you’d tell her the feeling had come back, and she’d always agree, and the room would fall silent again.

“Abby?” You call out to a darkened room, illuminated by the shine of the moon.

“Yeah?” She’d call back from the other side.

“Do you ever…fix the feelings of the butterflies. Like make them go away?”

“Uh yeah- sometimes…when it gets bad.”

“I think mine are…bad right now,” it felt embarrassing almost, there was nothing she could do to help, fix your issue. Transferring the butterflies to abby only made them worse sometimes, and you were boiling.

“M-mine too,” she admits.

“You can fix it- if you need to.”

“A-re you going to stop yours?”

“Is that okay?” You say reluctantly into the tense air coating you. Every slight move felt with a million nerves.

“Mhmm,” she responds, a rustling heard coming from her direction.

Soft hums filled the air from the feeling of release you had allowed yourself in the presence of your best friend. Abby’s breathy moans would only follow quickly after your own, never before.

Dual release become a routine. Allowing the sticky sweet sensations of climaxing in the same bedroom of your other half. It became another thing you shared with her, another check on the list of the endeavors you’d participated in with her.

Talks of the butterflies and the unleashing of them never left those four chipping walls. Some things were meant for just Abby’s ears. All best friends must do the same. You’d never heard of others talk of sorts so you sealed your lips, a secret kept like a bird in a cage.

As you both had grown accustomed to the routine things gradually got more intense. Sometimes you couldn’t get the butterflies to fly away even when you tried for hours, panting out whimpers of frustration. Even when they would go away sometimes they would crept back in immediately, your body unable to be satiated.

Abby begun sleeping in the bed with you, to calm the frustrating unnerve you felt after no avail. She’d tell you she wish she could help you, make them go away. She’d do anything to make you happy.

That’s when you started touching yourselves next to each other. The routine was upheld for so long that it felt natural to do it even when she was right next to you. First fully covered, then in undergarments, to finally completely bare.

Seeing Abby’s bare flesh only made it worse. You weren’t stupid, the pieces were falling into place before your eyes. But you hadn’t seen anyone else naked before, maybe it would be the same. Her flesh so pale, her nipples shades of pale pink roses, and the hair that trailed down to her folds as golden as wheat. You had never seen something so magnificent, so beautifully crafted.

That was something you didn’t share with her. The drawings of her bare flesh. You made sure to memorize each chisel, line, and freckle to be as accurate as possible once you got to your notebook. With every piece of her revealed opening thousands of opportunities to draw her art. She was so fucking beautiful.

“When was the first time?” The auburn girl had asked you.

It all had meshed into a blur, what had happened and when it did. When you and abby had started sleeping together it started on opposite ends. Heat not close enough to sting your flesh but the air still tense enough to be cut clean with a blade. As time grew on and the routine becoming daily, the space between you started to close in. Knees brushing as your legs wavered, arms transferring sticky sweat in the blistering heat of arousal.

The inevitable placement of foreheads touching as you watched each other fall apart, watching the butterflies flutter out of her throat with every pant.

From what you could call the ‘beginning’ of sorts, rather an act of mercy, came from her.

You found yourself in the familiar position of unnerve. Rubbing aimless quick circles on your abused clit. It became a matter of principle at the point, needing to fulfill the urge even knowing the outcome would leave you more helpless than before. Abby’s butterflies were far gone, now rubbing lazy stripes down her slit in attempt to not let you feel alone. She never wanted you to feel like she wasn’t completely enthralled by your every move.

Your leg sprawled across her own, wide open, bucking your hips into the air as you let out frustrated grunts, eyes sealed shut in concentration. She just watched. She loved watching you touch yourself. Abby felt like the luckiest girl in the world getting to watch you, kiss you, feel you. She wanted to feel more of you, every atom in your body she’d kiss if you’d allow it.

“Let me help” she said, eyes trained on your open mouth.

Your brain was too fuzzy to even comprehend the depth of the act, so pent up and eager.

“Mhmm,” was all you could muster up. As her calloused fingers transferred from her skin to your abdomen, your body jolted up. You had never been touched by another. Not like this. She took her time running the tips of her fingers from your side to the mound, taking your hand and moving it your thigh so she could replace it with her own.

Something deep in your belly erupted when you felt her fingers meet your clit. A flock of doves released from their cage, a gasping goldfish meeting water. An exaggerated sigh of relief came out as a depraved moan. Every nerve in your body heightened by her gentle touch.

She drew cautious and attentive swipes across the newly swollen bud, watching for when your breath would hitch.

“You’re so warm,” she said studying your face as it contorted in pleasure. Your chin raised high, burying your scalp into the frilly pillows below. She had then studied the flesh around your neck, oh why had she never noticed that. How thin the skin was there, how close she could get to you in that space.

“I-it feels b-better when you do it,” you admit to her, water in her hands, hips grinding into the soft touch of her. “Y-yeah really?” She says, perking up, so pleased with knowing she could make you feel better. She’d do anything to make you feel better.

You let your stagnant hand run down her chiseled chest to meet her mound, her sticky slit pooling at her core. You meant to return the favor, an eye for an eye. “It’s okay- just let me help you.”

You shook your head in agreement, but let your hand rest on the pulsing flesh, you wanted to feel her like she felt you.

With every gentle circle she took you closer to release. It was so much faster when she did it. When you did it together before you would lie there for hours flicking at the raw skin to no avail, but in minutes she had you tipping at your edge.

Her strokes felt akin to the ones on your notebook, gentle and cautious direction, seeking a desirable outcome. You’d thought to picture this, able to recreate this on paper shielded from her eyes. What would she think if she saw them? Maybe you’d grown too fond of the other half of your heart.

“Abby!” You scream out, nearing your pending release.

“Y-yeah? D-does it feel okay- are you okay?” She perks up in concern, helplessly worried she had hurt you.

“Yes- Yes! It- it’s coming,” you pant out, body slick with sweat as your arousal pools below you. A sloppy mess of bodies interlaced with remorseless pleasure.

“Let me feel them, I want to feel them,” abby says inches from your face, intently watching the contortions of your face below her. The butterflies, oh how she wished she could flutter in your tummy as they do so effortlessly.

You cave shamelessly, pressing into the soft pink flesh. You try to keep them stable, but as you reach the cliffs edge you can’t help but moan pathetically into her throat. Your hips thrust into the calloused fingers, chasing the lasting feelings of her, escaping your doom and passing the burden through your lips onto hers.

You did draw of this, and every time after that. It became an obsession, mental images snapshotted to accuracy for replication later.

The routine increased in frequency and intensity. Exploring each other’s most sacred places. She would let you touch her sometimes, but only when she was touching you. Abby seemed more interested in your pleasure than her own. But she cared about you, she never wanted you unsettled. She wanted to be your salvation.

“I ask you how you’re doing and I let you lie. But we don’t have to talk about it, I can walk you home and practice method acting. I’ll pretend being with you doesn’t feel like drowning.”

19

“Does she make you feel them?”

She asked when it had all started. The truth was you weren’t really sure. There was no definitive date or period of time that signified the beginning or end of it.

Ellie Williams was so…vulgar, erratic, a ticking time bomb. The pieces of the puzzle connected at last when you lied eyes on the auburn haired girl.

She had entered the WLF as gentle as a bomb to a building. Fiery hot attitude, a chip on her shoulder, and drowning green eyes. At first glance she utterly captivated your ever fleeting thoughts.

When she first walked through the corridors of the stadium your eyes fixed on her, staring rudely at her every move. “Who is that, the girl?” You ask the unfazed blonde next to you, too busy working at sharpening a blade, “names Ellie, they say she’s trouble. By the looks of her, checks out.”

“What did she do? Why is she here?” You continue your glare, taking note of the pink scare rippled along the crest of her eye.

You had never drawn anyone other than abby, but the girls features were so strong, the strokes would come naturally in your grasp. A secret muse possibly, even from a far.

“I don’t know- stay away from her. She reeks of trouble,” she’d remark, finishing off the blade and leading you off to a pending mission.

You tried, you really did. She was so compelling, and you? You were a bee to honey. Was she soft unlike her features? Did she speak of the world beyond her? Did she like to watch the clouds mesh into unlikely objects? Did she know of the butterflies and their ever present existence in your lungs?

Your notebook grew of only her, the short frayed hair, the pink scare, the freckles that littered her face. So effortlessly magnificent she was, unknowingly your own secret work of art.

Until abby found them.

Related to this work

Song lyrics: casual , waiting room , cool about it

Moodboard

If you enjoy the childhood best friend trope with abby highly recommend this fic by @kieranscaren she writes beautifully and gave me great inspiration for this work:)

Taglist: @wishbones999 @bookpagecandlescent @littlegingerperson5 @lookforthelight1 @fict1onallyobsessed @shewantstoknow @a-little-bit-of-everybody

[kunazz]

WEEK ONE: RYOMEN SUKUNA — [public blowjob]

tags: blowjobs, public setting, spit, choking, slight praise, degradation, hair pulling, lowercase is on purpose.

synopsis: sukuna decides he’s had enough of waiting and chooses to take what’s his, even if that meant he did it in the back of the cinema.

a/n: kicking off kinktober with a good start!! Let’s hope I make it through the rest of the weeks :] I HAVENT PROOF READ YET IM SO TIRED. Promise I’ll do it soon..

sukuna breathed steadily through his nose, his eyes shutting tightly as he sunk further down onto your cock, the glow of the cinema screen providing a dim light and helping him see what he was doing. it wasn’t busy, only a few people littering the chairs in the front and middle rows, and half probably weren’t even paying attention to the movie — whatever it was you had definitely forgotten by now, especially with the way sukuna was gagging around you, tongue sticking out to lick the base as he took your cock down his throat to the best of his ability.

“holy shit, kuna..you’re doing so good..” you groan softly, trying to keep your voice down because you were not about to get caught by a random old person who was genuinely enjoying this stupid hero movie.

was it even a hero movie?

at this point you were beginning to think there wasn’t an actual plot to whatever was being shown on the screen, and maybe, having a blow job in the back of the cinema would make this whole trip worth it — and could possibly salvage the last piece of excitement you and sukuna had.

your cock was thick, and heavy, sliding across sukuna’s tongue and trying to fit down his throat, stretching him around your cock until he was sputtering and jerking backwards, trying not to cough his lungs out and draw attention to the two of you. he sighed through his nose, eyebrows furrowed in determination as he trying to swallow all the saliva he could before your hand was pushing him back down, a loud wet gagging sound meeting your ears that was thankfully drowned out by the movies loud and dramatic sound effects, but you were grateful to hear it — sukuna’s struggle was always a pleasure, especially when he was usually so cocky.

“It’s like you’re made for this now..I trained you well” you mumble, hips jerking upwards just to make sukuna gag around you a little more, enjoying the way his body contorts before he pulls back just a little. you can remember when you and sukuna first attempted this, he wasn’t getting half of your cock in his mouth like he was now, his throat contracted way too much, and you can remember vividly the loud burping sound that came from him — almost puking all over you, and that’s when you decided to call it quits. sukuna had a bad habit of trying to do things all in one go, especially things he wasn’t good at, and that ended up with him either failing or trying and trying until he got it right. you’ve told him that it’s ok to get things wrong, but his response is always the same “i never get shit wrong, I can do it”.

but, his efforts to suck your cock did pay off, because now he was able to take you to the hilt, of course he gagged a lot, and his reflex was something that would take more time to work on, but the fact he can fit all of your cock in his mouth and down his throat was an achievement in itself — and you always made sure to praise him for it.

“good slut..you’re doing so well f’me..” you mutter, a soft gasp leaving you when sukuna’s hand comes up to play with your balls, tongue lapping at the base of your cock as the rest fits perfectly down his throat — he’s drooling so much now, and when he comes up for some breath, a large glob of saliva dribbles down your cock, soaking at the cushony seats you sat on; the cleaner was going to have a field day after this.

you sigh softly, petting sukuna’s head as your cock twitches when the cool air hits it, you’re close, so close you could almost cum just from looking at how wrecked sukuna was, but you had more self control than that, and you weren’t about to blow your load unless your cock was so far down sukuna’s throat he could almost feel you in his belly. “g’na make me cum baby?” you question, head cocking to the side as a playful smirk stretches onto your lips — the movie plays in the background, but it’s drowned out to the both of you when the slick sounds of sukuna jerking you off fill both your ears.

“wanna cum on my face or-”

“in your mouth” you’re quick to shut sukuna off, not wanting waste anymore time as the minutes of the movie we’re depleating, and and you’d rather have your pants on when the credits roll and the lights slowly turn back on. you can hear sukuna make a snide remark, commenting something about your desperation, but he takes your cock back into his mouth anyways. this time, it’s clear he’s determined, the way his cheeks hollow when he sucks back up is a distinct indicator of that, and your hips accidentally buck up into his mouth every time he does so.

“such a good whore f’me..gonna make me cum baby” you groan, mouth hanging open as you tug at sukuna’s hair, feeling the soft strands wrap around your fingers before you’re shoving his head back down, liking the way his body contorts and stiffens at the sudden action. “take it like a good boy yeah? use that mouth for what’s it’s made to do” your words are now turning sukuna’s ears red, and you take pride in embarrassing someone as egotistical and cold as him — it’s an achievement.

you use sukuna’s head as a fleshlight, pushing his head up and down your cock, enjoying the way his spit cascades down your shaft, making everything even more wet and messy. you can feel yourself getting closer, and your cock was throbbing, begging for release as you push sukuna’s head all the way down. “cum- fuck i’m cumming baby..” you groan, hips pushing up to make sure your cock was all the way down sukuna’s throat as you came, not wanting to waste a single drop of it.

it was an earth shattering orgasm, one of the best ones you’ve had in a while, and you’re not sure if it’s to do with the fact that sukuna’s finally gotten better or blow jobs, or if it’s to do with the fact you’re in public and you could have been caught at any moment — it’s probably the latter. but even so, you don’t care, not when sukuna’s cleaning off your cock, swallowing your cum with a grimace.

“tastes fuckin’ nasty, the fuck do you eat?” sukuna grumbles, he had half the mind to spit it out, but a part of him didn’t mind swallowing your cum down, it wasn’t as unpleasant as he made it out to be, this was just him trying to scrape at the last bit of dignity he had.

“most of the time it’s pizza or your ass” you reply, sarcasm lacing your tone as you pull your jeans back up — great, just in time for the credits of the movie, at least your timing was right. sukuna didn’t find any humour in your witty response and slapped your shoulder, his eyebrows furrowing as he looked at you.

“then no more pizza” he says, standing up to leave as everyone else did too.

“what about your ass?” you inquired, standing up with him as you raised an eyebrow.

“you know you can’t live without that.”

[losermuse]

CW: non-mc!reader, high school au, angst, unrequited love, hurt/no comfort, insecurity, jealousy, self-hatred, written in first pov, ventfic, unreliable narrator, cliche plot WC: 4.0k

Average. Ordinary. Second best. The plain Jane.

That’s what I am, what I’ve always been. The person who blends into the background, who smiles when I should, laughs when it’s expected.

But never stands out.

So it’s the question of the century: how did I even end up being friends with her? She’s everything I’m not—charismatic, funny, effortlessly pretty, the kind of girl who walks into a room and immediately captures everyone’s attention. The apple of his eye.

I can still remember the first time I met her. It was in the third row, right next to the window. I was awkward, unsure of myself, quietly existing in the corners of the classroom, trying not to draw attention to the fact that I was just another face in the crowd. And then she sat next to me. She was my seatmate, so I guess it was inevitable.

At the time, I couldn’t help but wonder if she had been assigned to me out of pity. After all, who would choose someone like me to be their friend? But she didn’t need a reason. She just…liked me and that was enough.

Initially, I thought it was some kind of fluke. She smiled at me, made small talk, and suddenly, I wasn’t alone in that space. Slowly, I found myself pulling away from the walls I had built around me, allowing her to see parts of me I kept hidden. 

It wasn’t pity in the end. She genuinely wanted to be friends. She didn’t have to choose me, but she did anyway.

Then he entered the picture. Caleb, he was just a name at first, the guy everyone in school seemed to talk about. Star player of the high school basketball team, a natural athlete with a reputation for being both skilled and effortlessly charming. I remember hearing about him long before I saw him. People always flocked to him like he was some kind of magnet.

But when I finally saw him for the first time, it felt like everything seemed to slow down. He wasn’t just a name anymore; he was real. You couldn’t miss him from the way his tall frame moved through the hallways with confidence and the easy smile that never seemed forced. He was the perfect definition of the boy next door. It was clear he wasn’t just someone special to the school, but to her too.

She practically glowed when he was around. I didn’t need to see the way they exchanged jokes or how he called her “pipsqueak” to know she’d known him longer than I had. She was comfortable with him more than I could ever be. And I…well, I was just the audience, watching them from the sidelines. 

It wasn’t like Caleb ever really saw me, at least not in the way I wanted. But then again, he wasn’t the type to make anyone feel invisible. We were both part of her world, after all. So, every once in a while, he’d acknowledge me in passing—small, casual things like a wave in the hall or a brief nod when he saw me sitting next to her at lunch. 

Nothing that stood out. Nothing that made my heart race. But it was enough to make me feel like, maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t entirely forgotten. Maybe he noticed me because he noticed her, and I was simply there, part of the package.

Yet in the end, that’s all it was. A fleeting acknowledgement that never lasted long. Two sides of a perfect coin. Best friend since childhood. 

This is their story, not mine.

—

The school was decorated for Valentine’s Day, with the usual red hearts, streamers and cheesy banners hanging from every corner. It wasn’t anything extravagant, just enough to make the day feel special. It wasn’t a day I particularly looked forward to, but there was something about the way the entire school buzzed that made everything feel a little bit different.

Students milled around, exchanging cards, gifts, and the usual classroom chocolates. I couldn’t help but watch, half-detached as the holiday played out around me. 

I wasn’t expecting anything. Not really. After all, it was just another Valentine’s Day. Nothing more, nothing less.

Then Caleb appeared.

When he finally approached, I saw that familiar smile already on his face. Even in the crowded hallway, he had a way of drawing attention. He reached her first, his grin widening as he handed her a box of chocolates.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said, his tone warm, like this was second nature to him.

She laughed, taking the box without hesitation. “Thanks, Gege. You always know the best ones.”

And just like that, it was the same as always. A tradition between them, something unspoken yet expected, like a habit they had no reason to break.

As she tucked the box under her arm, I noticed her phone swinging gently in her hand. Dangling from the corner was a small green apple keychain, bright and shiny like something picked straight out of a cartoon—playful and fresh, just like her.

I might’ve looked away if Caleb hadn’t shifted slightly then, drawing my eyes to the large red apple charm clipped to his bag. Not the same, but unmistakably a pair. Her green and his red—like they were meant to match, opposite but complementary.

The kind of detail that didn’t just happen. The kind of charm you didn’t buy alone.

I looked at them, then back at the apples. Something sour began to rise in the back of my throat, and I swallowed hard, pretending it was nothing. Just keychains. Just a coincidence.

Before I could fade into the background, she turned to me with a playful grin.

“You forgot this.”

I blinked as she handed me a small box of chocolates. The same kind she had been giving out all day.

“I figured you’d want one too,” she continued, her eyes bright. “Even if you’re not into all this Valentine’s stuff.”

I took the box, a little unsure of how to feel. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate it—she was always thoughtful—but something about it felt hollow, like it could’ve meant for anyone. Just another gesture, wrapped up in politeness. Still, I smiled back and took them.

“Hey,” he said, his voice a bit warmer than usual. “I didn’t forget about you either.”

I froze, surprised. He reached into his bag and pulled out a small, familiar red box—the kind of chocolates I’d seen at the store and always picked up for myself but never expected anyone to remember.

“I remember you saying you liked these,” he continued, offering the box with a casual shrug. “So, here. Happy Valentine’s.”

I stared at the box for a second, unable to believe what was happening. Caleb, the one who never paid me much attention—had remembered this one small detail. The world around me seemed to shrink, and I couldn’t find the words to respond immediately.

“Thanks,” I finally managed to say, my voice quieter than usual. I quickly looked away, suddenly aware of the heat creeping up my neck, my pulse racing.

As I held the chocolates, still reeling from the fact that Caleb had seen me, I could feel the weight of her presence next to him. She had already caught his attention again, her laugh filling the space between us as she leaned into him, brushing her hand against his arm.

And just like that, I was back to being a background character in their routine, holding chocolates, a small token that didn’t change anything.

—

It has been a week, and the tension I had tried to push down only grew stronger.

There she was, her usual energy heightened, practically bouncing into the cafeteria the next morning. “Come on!” she said, dragging me by the arm before I could even get a bite of my lunch. “You have to come watch Caleb’s game with me! It’s his biggest match of the season, and he’s asked us to be there.”

I hesitated. I wasn’t exactly a sports fan, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was just a third wheel. They were practically inseparable, and the thought of watching Caleb, the one person who made my heart do flips without even trying, while she was there at his side… well, it made my stomach twist.

“You know I don’t really like watching sports,” I said weakly, trying to pull my arm back, but she wasn’t having it.

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that!” she insisted. “It’ll be fun! You’ll see. He really wants us to come!”

Before I knew it, we were heading to the gym together, my resistance fading with every step. I couldn’t escape it now.

As we found our seats in the crowded bleachers, the energy buzzed all around us. The game was intense, and the gym filled with the roar of excited fans. But despite all the noise, it felt oddly quiet for me.

There he was, in his element on the court, pulling off play after play, and the crowd was eating it up. I couldn’t help but watch him. He was so…perfect on that court. His confidence, his skills, the way he seemed to shine no matter where he was—it was undeniable.

And then I glanced over at her.

She was watching him too, her eyes glued to him as if no one else existed in the world. Her laughter echoed in the stands every time he scored. She cheered him on, high-fiving the people around her, her whole world revolving around him.

A sharp, unfamiliar sting twisted in my chest, something cold and suffocating, as if green tendrils had coiled around my heart, tightening with every passing second. It was jealousy. I knew it. I couldn’t deny it, no matter how hard I tried. But I didn’t have the right to feel it. They were friends—childhood friends. 

When the game finally ended, Caleb walked off the court, a wide grin on his face. His team had won, and the crowd roared with excitement. She was already on her feet, clapping, her face lighting up as she made her way toward him.

I felt a wave of discomfort wash over me. I stayed seated, hesitating, unsure if I should follow her. I wasn’t sure I wanted to witness whatever came next. I knew it would be the same as always: her congratulating him, them laughing together, the same dynamic that had been in place for years.

And sure enough, as soon as Caleb reached her, they shared a moment that felt like it was pulled straight out of a rom-com movie. He grinned and with a playful nudge, lifted her into a quick hug, laughing.

“Great game!” she said, her voice bubbly as always.

“Thanks,” Caleb replied, his voice warm as he released her, his eyes meeting hers in that familiar way.

I stood there, watching them, the jealousy gnawing at me harder than I wanted to admit. It crept in slowly, the green tendrils seeping through the cracks of my heart, winding their way around it, squeezing until it felt like I couldn’t breathe. I tried to push it down, tried to ignore the way it twisted inside me, but it was impossible. The jealousy was there, growing more than ever.

And I couldn’t escape it.

At that moment, Caleb’s gaze shifted, landing on me where I stood off to the side. His expression softened as he began making his way over, leaving her behind in the crowd of well-wishers. I braced myself for what was coming—another small, casual acknowledgement, just like all the others.

“Hey,” Caleb greeted, his voice as easy as always. “You enjoying the game?” 

“Yeah, it was great,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I forced a smile, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tightness in my chest. “You played really well.”

“Thanks,” he said, casually leaning against the bleachers. “I’m glad you could make it.” He gave me a small, almost nonchalant grin, and I could feel the air between us growing thinner. “You should come to the next one too. The more the merrier.”

I nodded, but inside I felt like I was shattering. His smile didn’t mean what I wanted it to. He was just being nice, casual. Like we were… just friends. That’s all it was.

Just friends.

—

I hate this.

Jealousy and I have become acquaintances. 

It wasn’t always like this. At first, it was just a passing stranger, brushing against my shoulder whenever I saw them together. A quiet, fleeting thing. But over time, it settled in, got comfortable. Now, it lingers beside me like a shadow, whispering in my ear every time he laughs at one of her jokes or drapes an arm around her.

I should be used to it by now. I tell myself I don’t mind being the extra in their story, the one who watches, who listens, who smiles at all the right moments. But jealousy knows better. It sees the way my heart twists when he looks at her like she’s the only one in the world. It feels like the ache that never quite goes away.

And the worst part? Caleb is kind. So when he turns to me with that easy warmth, when he asks if I’m okay or flashes a smile just because—I almost believe it. I almost let myself think I matter, not just because I’m standing next to someone who does.

But jealousy just laughs. Because we both know the truth.

He notices everyone.

And that’s exactly why he’ll never really see me.

I almost wish he were mean. That he’d ignore me completely, never sparing me a glance. Maybe then, it wouldn’t hurt as much. Maybe then, I could convince myself I never cared in the first place. But he isn’t. He’s warm, thoughtful, and good. And that’s what makes this so much worse.

Because how do you let go of something that was never yours to begin with?

—

The rain started without warning, a sudden downpour that sent students scattering in every direction. Laughter and shrieks echoed through the courtyard as people huddled under jackets, sprinted for buses, or shared umbrellas.

I stood beneath the awning outside the school doors, watching the water hit the pavement in relentless sheets. She had left earlier for practice, and I had no umbrella, no ride—just an excuse to linger a little longer.

“You always get caught in the rain, huh, Sunshine?”

My breath hitched at the familiar voice, low and amused.

I turned, already knowing who I’d see.

Caleb stood a few feet away, one hand tucked in his pocket, the other holding an umbrella at his side. Stray strands of damp hair clung to his forehead, his school blazer slightly wrinkled like he had just pulled it on without care. 

I scoffed. “That’s a dumb nickname.”

He smirked. “Says the one who never remembers an umbrella.” Then, without waiting for permission, he took a step closer, tilting his umbrella just enough to cover me. “Come on, I’ll walk you.”

I hesitated. But the cold air bit at my skin, and it wasn’t like I had another choice.

So I stepped in.

It should’ve been fine. Normal. We had walked together plenty of times before, always because of her. The thought sat heavy in my chest, an unspoken truth I tried to ignore.

The space under the umbrella was small. Too small. The scent of his cologne mixed with the rain, something warm and clean that made my stomach twist in ways I didn’t want to acknowledge.

We walked in silence, the rhythmic patter of raindrops filling the gaps where words should have been. It wasn’t an awkward silence—he never seemed to struggle with those. To me, though, it was suffocating, heavy with everything I’d spent so long trying to ignore.

Caleb hummed thoughtfully. “You always overthink everything, Sunshine.”

I glanced at him. “And you don’t think enough.”

He grinned. “That’s why we balance each other out.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, willing my heart to settle. We didn’t balance anything. I was just—there. A background character in his life, a passing moment he’d forget by tomorrow.

Then, just as casually as everything else he did, he reached out.

“Hold still,” he murmured.

Before I could react, his fingers brushed against my forehead, tucking a damp strand of hair behind my ear.

The touch was light, but it sent a bolt of something sharp and electric through me. The world shrank down to just that moment, just that sensation.

I could say it. Right now.

The words were right there, lodged in my throat. Three small words waiting to slip out.

But I swallowed them down before they could ruin everything.

I wanted him to be indifferent so bad. To treat me like I was just another face in the crowd, someone easily forgotten. But he didn’t. He was Caleb. Kind, thoughtful, always saying just the right thing, doing just enough to keep me hoping.

By the time we reached my house, my clothes were still dry, but my heart was drowning.

He smiled, completely unaware of what he’d just done to me. “See you tomorrow.”

And then he was gone, walking back into the rain, while I stood there, watching, waiting, wishing—soaking in everything I could never have.

– 

That moment under the umbrella should have meant nothing. Just a momentary act of kindness. A small thing.

To him, it probably was. A simple gesture, something he’d done countless times without thinking.

But for me, it was the moment I realized something ugly had settled inside me. Something that stretched beyond just longing or jealousy.

It was envy.

Because she had everything.

Everything I ever wanted.

Not just Caleb, though that stung more than I wanted to admit. It was the way she moved through life—effortlessly. She was always the centre of attention, always the first choice and always the one people gravitated toward. She didn’t have to fight for anyone’s affection. She didn’t have to wonder whether she was enough. She simply was.

She was loved without question. She was accepted, admired, and celebrated.

And me?

I was the girl who blended into the background. The one whose laugh was too quiet to be heard, whose smile was lost among the crowd. The one who always had to fight to be noticed, but when she was, it felt like an afterthought.

And it had always been like that. I had always been the second best—but now? Now, it was so much worse. Every time she smiled at him, every time they shared a joke or a look that I couldn’t understand, the resentment inside me only grew. I wanted to scream, to shake her, to force her to see that I existed too, that I mattered too. But I couldn’t. She was my best friend. And so, I kept my mouth shut.

It wasn’t just about Caleb anymore. It was about everything.

It was about the way she lived in a world where everything was handed to her, where she didn’t have to second-guess her place in anyone’s life. The way people respected her for being who she was, while I was left wondering what I was doing wrong. What made me less than her?

And I hated her for it.

I hated the way she made it look so easy. I hated how every compliment she got felt like a punch to the gut. I hated how she never questioned her worth. 

I couldn’t even give myself the comfort of believing I was worthy of anything.

So, I pulled away.

Not because I was hurt or heartbroken. Not because I couldn’t stand seeing them together. But because I was angry. Angry at her, angry at him, and most of all, angry at myself for constantly standing by and letting them have everything I wanted.

I avoided her calls, stopped texting back right away, and made excuses when she asked if I wanted to hang out. I found myself making plans to be somewhere, anywhere, but with her. And when she did manage to drag me somewhere, I was quiet. I’d say as little as possible, smile only when necessary, and just... disappear into the background.

It was easier that way. Less painful.

I started isolating myself. Avoiding her meant avoiding Caleb. And avoiding Caleb meant less of the painful, gnawing feeling that clawed at my chest every time I saw them together.

The worst part was that she didn’t notice. She never did.

She was so used to being the centre of attention, so used to everyone loving her, that the subtle shift in our dynamic went completely unnoticed. She never realised that the space between us had grown wider, that my silence wasn’t just me being distant—it was me retreating from a world I no longer wanted to be part of.

It was suffocating. 

I couldn’t let her see. I couldn’t let anyone see how much it hurt. Because if I did, they’d know the ugly truth. That I wasn’t just a background character in their story. I wasn’t just plain.

I was jealous. And envy had become my constant companion, my closest friend.

And I wasn’t sure how to let go of it.

–

Caleb’s graduation was the moment I had been dreading and expecting all at once. The school gymnasium was decorated with streamers and balloons, the air was filled with pride and excitement. The graduating class stood at the front, Caleb among them, ready to speak as the valedictorian. He had earned the title, of course—everyone expected it.

As he stood at the podium, his easy smile and effortless charm seemed to fill the room, the crowd hanging on every word he spoke. I watched from my seat in the crowd, alongside her, face beaming with pride. So much for distancing myself. She was proud of him, and so was I, in a way. After all, he was her best friend, the boy who had been part of her life for as long as I could remember.

Caleb’s speech was inspiring, warm, and heartfelt. He spoke about friendships, dreams, and the future, words that made everyone in the room feel like they were part of something bigger than themselves. When he finished, the crowd erupted in applause, and she was already up from her seat, rushing toward him.

My eyes followed her, knowing exactly what would happen next. She was always there for him, and he, in turn, was always there for her. The bond between them was undeniable, visible to everyone. They had been friends for years, but sometimes, it felt like more than just friendship. I couldn’t help but feel like an outsider, a silent witness to the connection they shared.

And then, it happened. She reached Caleb, her smile wide, and before anyone could say anything, she leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. The crowd cheered, and Caleb smiled in return, a look of fondness in his eyes. It wasn’t anything new. It wasn’t anything special—at least, not for them.

But for me, it was like a dagger in my chest.

I wasn’t jealous. I am not jealous.

I told myself it should’ve been fine. I had walked with them before, watched them interact, and laughed at their jokes, but this moment? This one was different. This one hit harder than I was prepared for. The way they looked at each other, the ease in their gestures—it was a reminder of something I’d never be a part of.

When Caleb pulled away from her, his eyes scanned the room. I could feel his gaze, and for a brief moment, our eyes met. But unlike the usual moments when he would smile, wave, or make some casual comment, this time, he simply looked away, his attention already drifting toward someone else.

No acknowledgement. No wave. Nothing.

I swallowed hard, fighting back the sudden wave of emotion. It should’ve been normal. He was just being Caleb. Kind, friendly, the same as always. But in that moment, the silence felt like a slap.

She was glowing from the attention she got from him and turned back toward me with a smile. I couldn’t bring myself to return it. I just looked at her, at the way she was so comfortable with him, and the heaviness in my chest made it harder to breathe.

I wasn’t part of their world. And deep down, I knew that was never going to change.

I stood up from my seat, moving slowly, hoping to blend into the crowd. My heart pounded in my chest, not from excitement, but from the sharp sting of realising that no matter how many times I told myself it didn’t matter, it did.

I had no place in their story. They didn’t need me. I was always going to be a side note in the narrative that was unfolding before me. The quiet, unnoticed figure in the back of the room while they moved on to bigger things.

And I would remain there, in the background, just like I always had.

Forever. Always. Unnoticed.

[buckyshoneybunny]

Spooky Secrets & Sweet Treats

College!Quarterback!Bucky Barnes + Curvy!College!Reader 

Summary- You and the gang decorate for Halloween and host a Halloween party. During which a heated argument starts up between you and Bucky, revealing some hidden truths. Will these new truths lead to a new relationship and a fresh start between you two, or will it become worse than before? 

W.C.- 3653 

Warnings- Smut, unprotected sex, poorly written smut

A/N- Hi! I really hope you guys like this, I honestly don’t know how to feel about this, like I love it but I also hate it lol. The picture above is roughly what the living room looks like, I designed it myself on a designing website. The other pictures aren’t mine. This will be part one of a series. Part two will be for Thanksgiving and part 3 Christmas, and so on. Not proof read. The back story I used is my own sooo yeah. Anyway, hope you enjoy! Oh and happy Halloween!!  

Masterlist  Series Masterlist

Having not eaten all day, your stomach rumbled in protest. You sat in the middle row of the lecture hall, Nat on one side, Yelena on the other. This was the last class of the day, your ADHD medicine wearing off causing you to be even more impatient. Your right leg bounced mindlessly under the table; Natasha placed her hand on your knee with a warning glance. You stop and mumble out an apology.   

You couldn’t help it honestly, today was Halloween, not your favorite holiday but still. You were sizzling with excitement. You, Natasha and Yelena (your roommate's), Nat’s boyfriend Steve and his two friends Sam and Bucky, were coming over after class. The guys would be making the food while you girls set out the decorations and got everything ready. That’s right, you were having a Halloween party!  

You were never one for parties, not that you didn’t like them you just weren’t ever invited in high school. No one wanted the shy girl at their party. But since meeting Nat and Lena you’ve grown more confident, you were still shy, that was just who you are, but you’re a little more outgoing than you once were.  

There was just one tiny problem, Bucky. You loathed that man, and according to him the feeling was mutual. Every little thing he did annoyed you, he made sure he went out of his way just to piss you off. With his stupid, cocky smirk, sparkling white teeth, gorgeous shoulder length, chocolate brown locks that he let grow out since meeting you. Even those shirts that seem three sizes too small, showing off his delicious abs that you just wanted to li- 

Stop that! 

You mentally climbed out of that rabbit hole, not wanting to go too deep. No matter how much you wanted to get a taste of the star quarterback, you hated each other and that was all it was ever going to be. 

After what you’re sure is another 20 minutes, the professor finally dismisses everyone. You quickly gather your things and dart out the lecture hall, Natasha and Yelena hot on your heels.   

Shivering as you stepped outside, you wrapped your jacket tighter around you, the cool autumn breeze blew about. Fall colored leaves littered the sidewalk, crunching under your feet. 

You smiled. You loved fall and winter, everything just seemed happier. Holidays back-to-back, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. You loved Christmas. The sparkle of Christmas lights, curling up on the couch wrapped in a blanket watching Christmas movies, you just loved it.   

The party started at nine, so you had roughly five and a half hours to get the supplies, set everything up, and get ready yourselves.  

“You excited?” Nat asks, drawing you away from your thoughts. You three walking to your house on the far end of the campus. It was a two story, three bedrooms, two bath house. Nat and Lena’s parents were rich, having some sort of high-end job in the government.  

“Duh,” you laugh.  

“Even though he’s going to be there?” Yelena pipes up. You sigh. 

“I’m determined to not let him get to me; I am going to have a good time tonight.” 

“You say that every time,” Nat snickers.  

“Yeah well, I mean it this time, he’s not ruining this party for me,” you defend.  

“You say that too,” Yelena giggles. 

“Say what?” The annoying voice you know too well asks before you can say anything. Turning around you find Bucky, Steve, and Sam following you guys. Steve wraps an arm around Nat, kissing her forehead. Sam ruffles Yelena’s hair.   

Clad in his signature black leather jacket, the six-foot something wall of muscle wore blue jeans, red henley under the jacket, and his combat boots. This isn’t fair, why does he have to look so hot? His hair pulled into a small bun at the base of his neck. 

“Nothing James,” you roll your eyes. You could see the tick in his jaw, he hated being called by his first name. 

 “Come on, princess,” he spits bitterly. “Keeping secrets from me now?” You just huff and keep walking in the direction of your house.  

Princess. That name made your blood boil, you despised it, and he knew it too. It wasn’t the name that bothered you really, just the way he said it, like you were some spoiled brat. You most definitely weren’t. You didn’t even know why he called you that, but that was the name he’d given you the night you first met. 

You weaved your way through the mass of people, trying to reach the kitchen. Natasha had dragged you to this party, claiming it was way past due to meet the gang. Yelena wasn’t any help, going right along with Nat’s plans. When one sister had her mind set to something, the other backed her up and to say they were a force to be reconned with was an understatement. 

Before you could reach the kitchen, you smacked right into a wall, or what you thought was a wall until two strong, veiny hands shot out to steady you before you could fall. Looking up you see a pair of steel blue eyes boring into yours. The man had a sharp, clean shaved jaw, his brown hair short and fluffy, and stuck up in all different directions. His full, pink lips moved, saying something you didn’t quite catch. You realized you had been staring for too long. 

“What?” You ask loud enough over the music.  

He chuckles. “I said, are you alright, ...?”  

“Oh! I’m Y/N, and yes, I’m fine. Thanks for catching me,” you smile. “And you are?” 

His smile falls. “Bucky,” he says gruffly. “Watch where you’re going next time, princess,” he spits out bitterly before expertly weaving through the crowd.  

You stood there confused for a moment, wondering what the hell happened. Natasha told you to give him some time and he’d warm up to you. To everyone’s surprise, he never did. 

Your shoulders relaxed as you breathed a contented sigh as you stepped inside your shared home. A fireplace with shelves lined on either side. When you moved in Nat and Yelena let you decorate, you had taken interior design in high school so you knew how to make certain things work. A light grey couch sat in the center, with a coffee table in front of it, and a TV mounted on the wall above the fireplace.  

Nat let you take the lead, directing everyone. She knew how your OCD and ADHD could get, especially when it comes to planning things like this, everything had to be a certain way. Bucky rolled his eyes and mumbled some smart remark under his breath. Once everyone was assigned a job you all got to work.  

Steve and Sam went to the store, Bucky started to chop firewood to help keep the house warm-you liked using that rather than the heater, made it cozier, plus it saved money. Nat and Yelena worked on getting the Halloween decorates out of the shed. You did a quick clean, making room for the foldable tables Steve and Sam were getting. You scolded Bucky when he tracked mud through the house, to which he flipped you off.  

Once the boys got back and the decorations were all set up and tables put up, everyone got ready. Natasha and Steve dressed up as superheroes, Sam as a Falcon, ever the nerd he is. Yelena dressed up as a vampire, Bucky was, well you didn’t know what he was. All you knew was he’s half naked and making your panties sticky.  

And last but not least, you dressed up as a bunny, well sort of. You wore a soft pink short cotton skirt with a bunny tail, a matching cotton crop, and bunny ears. Steve painted on a bunny nose. You were very unsure of the outfit at first, but Nat and Yelena, both assured you that your curves look delicious in that outfit.  

Once everyone was dressed Steve and Sam fired up the grill to start cooking, Nat and Yelena setting out the condiments and other various food items. Bucky got the fire going, having paused to help Steve and Sam set the tables up when they got back. You added a few finishing touches to the decorations, moving a few things, stuff like that. You idly wondered why Bucky was so quiet, usually he’d have you clawing your eyes out by now.  

But Bucky was in his own little world. He leaned back on his haunches once the fire was set. He glanced over at you, taking in your outfit. His tight ripped jeans did nothing to hide the effect it had on him. He'd seen you glance at his bare chest multiple times by now, he didn’t have a costume in mind. He just threw on some old, tight, ripped black jeans, if anyone asked what he was he’d think of something.  

He watched as you moved a few decorations, a pout on your soft pink lips. Your brows were furrowed in a frown, he wanted to reach out and smooth it with his thumb. He shook his head to try and clear those thoughts, looking away before you could catch him.  

Yes, he hated you, but that didn’t mean that your curves didn’t make his cock throb and his head fuzzy. The way you looked in those heels, how they made you sexy legs look long and soft. But you were this self-entitled princess who always had to have her way, it pissed him off, everyone loved you. Even your creative writing professor you guys had seemed to adore you, it made his blood boil that you were the teacher's pet. 

If only he knew. 

He remembers how you had him all figured out before you guys even met.  

Bucky scanned through the crowd of people in his house. He, Steve, and Sam threw a celebration party for winning last night's game. Steve had invited his girlfriend, which she invited her sister and their roommate.  

He was quite excited to meet this gorgeous angel Natasha always talked about. He spotted Natasha and Yelena; the third girl had her back to him. He could only assume the third girl was you, your soft Y/H/C pulled into a braid. The blue jeans you wore hugged your thighs, your tank top hugging your chest and curves. 

He smirked, you really were gorgeous. As he walked closer, he could hear your honeyed voice. He frowned when he heard what you were saying. 

“I don’t see how I could like someone like him,” you tell Nat. “He’s probably some fuckboy like every other football player. Some jerk with a high ego.”  

Your tone sounded disgusted; he huffed a breath. Any excitement he had for meeting you was long gone. He was so fucking tired of people associating him with the stereotypical quarterback. He wasn’t a fuckboy, far from it.  

He'd only been with a few women, contrary to what everyone believed. He didn’t fuck them and leave, no, his ma raised him better than that. He took them out, treated them right, the perfect gentlemen. He was dedicated to any and all his relationships, they just never seemed to work out.  

So, when he ran into you later that night, literally, he put up the wall that he hides behind and brushed you off.  

A couple of hours later the party is in full swing, people dancing, music blaring. You step out on the back patio, needing a break from the noise and people. You sit in one of the outside chairs, looking at the stars. You mentally scold yourself for not bringing a jacket as you shiver. You feel fuzzy as the whiskey you’d been drinking takes effect. 

A few minutes later a sweaty Bucky opens the sliding glass door. He pauses when he sees you. He huffs and closes the door, taking a deep breath of fresh air. You turn away from him, ignoring his presence. You hear the door open a couple of times before you feel a warm leather jacket being set over your shoulders.   

The jacket smells of leather and pine, mixed with something else, Bucky. You turn your head to see the man himself standing behind you.  

“I don’t need your stupid jacket, James,” you huff and move to slide said jacket off. He places his big hands on your shoulders, keeping the jacket in place.  

“Can you for once stop being a fucking brat and just take the goddamn jacket?” He snaps, feed up with your constant attitude.  

You shove his hands off you and stand up. “What the hell is your problem?!” You yell, finally at your breaking point.  

“My problem?!” He yells back. “My problem is you’re a self-entitled brat who always gets what she wants. Who thinks she knows everyone, well news flash princess, you don’t.”  

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”  

“You making assumptions about me before you even get to know me.” You give him a confused look so he continues. “That night at the party you told Nat how you couldn’t ever like someone like me, how I’m an egoistic fuckboy. I'm so fucking tired of people making assumptions.”  

Guilt settles into bones; you hadn’t realized he heard you. “Oh, Bucky I’m so-”  

“No, you know what?” He continues, cutting you off. “You’re the one with the high ego, everything just has to be your way, doesn’t it? This has to go there, that over there. Everything has to be perfect for little miss sunshine.”  

“Wh-” 

“No, you’re gonna shut the fuck up for once and listen to me. And it’s not just that, you always get what you want, everyone fucking babies you and adores you. Even the fucking professors love you. I mean it’s pretty obvious you’re a teacher’s pet-” 

“Enough!” You yell, your voice breaking. He goes quiet, panting from his rant.  

“I’m not the teacher’s pet, she checks up on me to make sure I’m okay. After she read my memoir for our memoir assignments, she started to check up on me. Making sure I was safe where I’m at, if I had a trusted adult to talk too.” 

“Awe, did the princess have a few bad memories that she wrote about? Hmm? Well news flash princess everyone has bad memories, that doesn’t excuse that you always get what you want.”  

“You know what, fine! You wanna know why I am the way I am?” You yell. “Growing up I didn’t have a fucking say in anything! I was treated like a piece of property; my own father called me his property! I did everything for them, I was 14! 14 and if I didn’t cook or clean no one would.” Your voice breaks. 

Bucky goes to say something but you keep going. “My own grandmother got my entire family to hate me and I was only 3, it took years for them to finally figure the truth out. My father would guilt trip me, manipulate me. I took care of my mother at her lowest, watched her on the verge of death and she still favors my brother. Nothing I ever did was good enough! I could go on forever about how fucked up everything was, James.” 

Bucky stands there in shock. “Wow...I um...” He doesn’t know what to say. 

“I’m sorry for judging you before I got to know you, I really am. But do not call me a brat and say I always get what I want.”  

You take a deep breath to calm your racing heart. Both of you stand there in silence, filled with guilt at how you’ve both been acting.  

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. You nod. 

“Me too,” you whisper back. 

Neither one of you knows who moves first, but one moment you’re looking each other in the eye and the next Bucky has his tongue tangled with yours. He tastes of beer and cake, you moan softly, Bucky swallows the sound like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever had. 

His hands, both metal and flesh, grip your ass and pull you closer. His hard bulge grinds against your naval, he groans. When the need for air gets too great, Bucky pulls back and starts to litter your neck with sloppy wet kisses.  

“My room,” you shudder. “Now.” 

“So fucking bossy,” he grumbles. He throws you over his shoulder and goes back inside. No body pays any attention to either of you, too busy dancing or too drunk to care. He takes the stair two at a time.  

You get bold and slide your hands into his jeans, groping his bare ass, he had gone commando. He slaps your ass in retaliation, causing you to yelp. He finally reaches your bedroom, kicking the door shut and tossing you on the bed. You slide up the bed, shoving the pile of stuffed animals onto the floor as you go. Bucky kicks his boots off and climbs on top of you.  

Bucky attaches his lips to your neck, sucking and biting. You moan and pull the hairband out of his hair, tangling your fingers in the soft strands of hair. You tug and he groans, you tug harder and he bites down hard.  

He kisses down your collar bone to your chest, yanking the crop top off you and groaning when he sees you aren’t wearing a bra. He takes one nipple in his mouth, sucking and nipping as it hardens. You let out a high-pitched whine, the pain mixing with pleasure. His metal hand kneads the other, causing you to shiver at the temperature difference. He switches, giving them both the same treatment.  

Once he’s had his fill, he starts to kiss down your stomach, hands groping your thighs.  

“These fucking thighs,” he grumbles. “You have any idea how many times I thought of these gorgeous, thick thighs. Fuck.” He’s thought of you? 

He pulls your skirt down your legs, tossing it somewhere behind him. He gently undoes the straps on your heels and slides them off. He slides his hands up your thighs, one hot and one cold, he spreads them and groans. He leans forward and licks at your clit through the fabric of your panties, moaning at the taste of your juices.  

“Bucky!” You gasp and grip his hair.  

“So fucking good,” he mumbles, mouthing at your pussy. He grips your ass, holding you up and shoving his face into your pussy even more. The fabric gets wetter, a combination of your juices and his saliva.  

You whine his name and tug his hair, pulling him back up to kiss him, moaning at the taste of your juices on his tongue.  

It’s a mess of messy kisses and fumbled movements as Bucky kicks off his jeans and socks, pausing to grind his cock against your panties. Your eyes widen when you see him, he chuckles and tells you not to worry, he’ll fit.  

“Bucky please,” you whine.  

“I know, baby, I know,” he presses a kiss to your cheek. “I gotta prep you first.” 

He rips your panties off, flinging the ruined fabric to the other side of the room. He reaches down with his flesh hand, spreading you slick over your clit before carefully inserting one finger.  

You moan and wiggle your hips, impatient. He flicks your thigh and tells you to be patient. He adds a second finger, then a third. He slowly opens you up, teasing and torturing you, rubbing that spot that makes you see stars.  

Two can play this game.  

You reach down and grab his aching cock, thumbing the slit and spreading the precum that’s gathered there. Bucky moans and bucks his hips, cursing.  

“Bucky please, I’m ready. Just fuck me already.”  

He grunts and pulls his fingers out, sucking them clean. “I’m clean but I have a condom in my wallet.” 

You shake your head. “I’m clean and on birth control.”  

“Fuck yes,” he groans. He flips you over, making you face down, ass up. “This fucking juicy ass.” He slaps your ass a couple of time, groping the juicy flesh hard.  

“Please,” you whine and push back against him.  

Finally, he takes pity on you and lines himself up. He slides all the way in on one thrust, both of you moaning. He gives you a moment to adjust before setting a brutal pace. 

He angles his thrusts just right and you don’t think you’ve ever been fucked this good in your whole life. He leans down, plastering his sweat slicked chest to your back and kisses your shoulder and neck.  

You make little noises with every thrust, fueling Bucky, his own groans and grunts right next to your ear.  

“So fucking tight, shit,” he moans into your shoulder. He reaches down and starts to rub tight circles over your clit and you cry out.  

“Fuck! Bucky please!” 

“Can feel you squeezing me, baby. You gonna cum? Hmm?”  

“Yes! Please! I’m so close!” You moan. 

“Cum.” His thrusts turn even more punishing, if possible, focusing on that spot. Your thighs start to shake. His perfect thrusts and the pressure on your clit push you over the edge. Your eyes roll back, hands griping the sheets so tight they could rip.  

Bucky's pace stutters, you clenching his so tight he cums seconds after you do. He collapses on top of you, both of you trembling and panting.  

He rolls off you to the side, pulling the sheets over you both and spooning you from behind. You both succumb to sleep minutes later, too exhausted to talk about what just happened. 

______ 

The morning sun shines through your blinds, the birds chirp outside your window. You groan and roll over, not wanting to get up just yet. You reach out for Bucky, only to find cold sheets.  

Bucky was gone. 

[bellaxgiornata]

A Favor from the Devil |Chapter Two|

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Mom!Reader Word Count: 3.4k [Series Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; Domestic abuse, depictions/mentions of sexual assault, struggles with past trauma, canon-typical violence, angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut (possibly more warnings to come)

a/n: Throwing the second chapter at y'all because I can and I feel like y'all needed some Matt. You get his POV in this chapter, too! Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Tag list: @kee-0-kee @dethspllz @a-half-empty-g1rl @senjoritanana @kezibear @sleepysleepymom @danzer8705 @scriptedmoon @flowher @wanda-maxamommy @guccicloudz

Making your way through the crowded streets of Hell’s Kitchen, you guided Evelyn back towards your apartment. Both of her small hands clung tight to yours as she walked in silence beside you. Every time someone stepped a little too near to the pair of you, you felt her draw herself in closer to your legs, her fingers squeezing tighter around yours. In your opposite hand you carried a grocery bag that held a single container of vanilla moose track ice cream for tonight–Evie’s favorite flavor. Unfortunately purchasing the ice cream meant you’d had less money to spend on groceries for next week, but you’d happily eat another cheap packet of ramen for dinner and skip lunches at work if the frozen treat could manage to put a smile on her face this evening.

Evie had been silent ever since you’d picked her up after work from her first day of preschool. She hadn’t said a single word, not even when you’d taken her to pick out the ice cream. All she’d done was stand in front of the row of freezers at the store and quietly point to the flavor she’d wanted. You’d tried asking her how her day had gone, what she’d done in class, or if she’d made any friends, but instead of a response you’d only seen her lips draw into a thin line.    

So you’d done what you usually did when Evelyn drew into herself and stopped talking–you talked about your day. Which in all honesty had been horrible because the job you’d managed to acquire was a tedious desk job in which you sat in the tiny confines of a cubicle staring at a computer screen for hours on end. Your boss wasn't great, either. He was always in a bad mood, often making rude comments to you if he wasn't finding a reason to criticize your work. Dealing with his attitude daily for a salary that you could barely survive on usually soured your mood the moment you stepped into the building, but at least your coworker, Amira, made the days bearable. You’d been there for barely two months, but she’d taken one look at you and seen your past written on your face. After that, you’d grown comfortable around her, slowly opening up about your personal life–but not quite all of it.

But of course, you didn’t tell Evie about the bleak and depressing parts of your days at work. You’d always done your best to make it sound like you enjoyed your time there. And even though you didn’t, you were still grateful that you'd found a way to somewhat financially support the two of you.

“Look at that!” you said, gesturing a hand towards your apartment building with the one not currently being crushed in both of Evie’s. “We’re home already!”

Evie remained silent, not expressing a single emotion as to whether she was excited to be back or not. Wordlessly she followed you through the building’s main doors and into the lobby. Once the doors had shut behind you, the sound of the city just a little quieter now that you were off the streets, she seemed to relax. No longer on the crowded sidewalk, Evie’s hands somewhat loosened their grip on yours as you led her over towards the elevators. 

You tried to think of a way that you could cheer her up tonight, hoping to pull her out of her nonverbal phase before it really took hold, but considering your limited funds, you didn’t have many options. The best you could think of was a movie night, though all you had to watch movies on was the cheap cell phone you'd purchased once you'd gotten Evie and yourself out of your previous situation. 

As you pushed the call button for the elevator and waited for it to appear, you did your best to fight back the tears welling in your eyes. If only you could afford to purchase more toys for her to play with. A television and a couch for the pair of you to cozy up on at night. Anything . But all you had was each other. 

The familiar weight of your guilt that permanently sat heavy like a stone in your stomach reared its head. Once more you felt like a shitty mother, failing to provide all the things you wished you could for your child. But yet you refused to break down–at least, not here in front of Evie. You'd wait for the opportunity later tonight when you were certain she was asleep. Right now your priority was cheering her up and turning her day around, not wallowing in your own feelings.

She was the priority, not you.

The elevator doors opened and you forced a smile onto your face, blinking hard a couple of times. You gently pulled Evie along with you, stepping onto the elevator before pushing the button for the sixth floor.

“How about we reheat last night’s pizza and watch a movie on my phone tonight, cricket?” you asked, glancing down at your daughter as the elevator doors closed. “We can cuddle in your sleeping bag and pretend we’re camping. And then we can eat ice cream out of the container for dessert,” you suggested, knowing full well that you didn’t have any bowls in the kitchen yet. “Doesn’t that sound fun?”

Evie’s attention shifted towards you, her expression remaining neutral and impossible to read. She didn’t respond and her continued silence caused the smile on your face to become strained as you fought to keep it there. Your eyes traveled to the numbers above the elevator doors, watching as they changed from a five to a six. At least you’d be back in your apartment soon.

“What’s mute?”

The sound of Evie’s quiet, small voice startled you. As the doors of the elevator slowly rolled open with a ding , you glanced down at your daughter beside you. She was staring up at you with that still hard to read expression on her face. 

“Mute?” you asked, stepping out of the elevator with her. “What do you mean, cricket? Where’d you hear that?”

“School,” she answered. 

A frown settled onto your lips. Had the children there been teasing her? Or worse–the teachers?

“It just means that you–” 

You’d been about to explain the meaning of the word until you’d noticed a man at the far end of the hallway. The unexpected sight of him caused you to instantly grow quiet even though he was just standing outside of the apartment directly across the hall from yours seemingly attempting to unlock his front door. 

Your pace slowed as you observed him, your brain immediately screaming threat at the sight of him. Beneath that tight blue dress shirt he wore you could see that he was broad and muscular, the material pulled taut in various places along his torso. With the way his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, they revealed his thick forearms which hinted at even thicker biceps. Even his thighs filled out the dark slacks he wore, suggesting a strength about him that you couldn’t deny.

He looked intimidating and dangerous. 

You then noticed the cane in his left hand and the dark glasses currently sitting on his nose despite the fact that he wasn’t outside. Watching how he used his hands as he attempted to guide his key into the lock, you quickly pieced things together. Blind, you assumed. He was blind. But his disability didn't matter; he still looked like he could throw a solid punch and that alone had you on edge in his presence. 

Your mouth went dry as you stepped ahead of Evie, somewhat placing your body in front of hers as you both continued down the hallway. Of course you knew this man was most likely going to ignore you both even if he somehow noticed you. He was probably just getting home from work, too. More than likely he just wanted to eat dinner and relax like everyone else in the city. And the likelihood of him being a violent individual seemed slim–because logically you knew that not every man was–but for some reason something about him had put you on alert.

As you neared closer, your heart pounding heavily as the hair prickled along the back of your neck, you caught the way his hands stopped what they were doing. Briefly your feet faltered when you saw his head turn just a fraction over his shoulder in your direction as if he'd somehow picked up on the fact that he wasn't alone in the hallway. 

In that moment, you didn't remotely care if you were being rude or not, you practically dragged Evie the rest of the way towards your door in silence. Already having pulled your apartment key out of your pocket before you'd reached it, you unlocked the door swiftly before ushering your daughter inside. In a panicked rush, you darted after her before shutting and locking the door behind you without a backwards glance at the man.

Standing in front of the door for a moment, you paused to release the breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. Rude or not, you weren't going to offer him help or introduce yourself. Something about him had triggered your instincts to run and that had been reason enough to avoid him.

You felt a tug at your hand and you snapped out of your thoughts, your eyes dropping down towards your daughter. Evie was staring up at you with wide, worried eyes.

“You okay, mama?” she asked.

Nodding in response, you blew out a rough breath and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze in return. “Yeah, cricket,” you answered, still feeling a little on edge. “Yeah, I'm good.” Clearing your throat, you held up the bag with the ice cream in it and tried to smile back at her. “Maybe I should put this in the freezer before it melts on us after that long walk in the heat, huh?”

Evie gave you a single nod in response before she released your hand. 

Turning towards the kitchen, you made your way over to the fridge and opened the freezer. You frowned at the sole bag of dinosaur chicken nuggets sitting on a shelf by itself. They'd thankfully been on sale the other day–another of Evie’s favorites–but that was all you currently had in the freezer at the moment. 

“What movie do you want to watch tonight?” you asked Evie, placing the ice cream on a shelf.

“Little Mermaid,” she answered softly. 

It wasn't a stretch for you to understand why that movie was often her favorite choice lately. 

“Alright, cricket,” you said, closing the freezer door to open the door to the fridge next. “Why don't you get cozy in some pajamas and I'll start reheating the pizza in the oven? You and Barnabas can get settled in the sleeping bag and I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

You weren’t surprised when Evie didn't respond, but the soft padding of her feet through the apartment and to her bedroom behind you was answer enough. 

Launching himself up onto the platform of the fire escape, Matt began his usual ascent up the neighboring building beside his own apartment building. As he scaled his way upwards, heading towards the roof now that his night was over, Matt's mind was busy working over the information that he'd uncovered as Daredevil tonight. Information he hoped to find ways to use as Matt Murdock this week with Foggy and Karen.

But as he climbed his way up fire escape after fire escape, he couldn't help but feel the exhaustion from the night settling into his body. He'd been running himself ragged all week trying to juggle both halves of his life and tonight he was admittedly feeling the repercussions of it. He needed a good night's sleep, but judging by the sounds of the city, it was probably somewhere around two or three in the morning. If he was lucky, he'd manage to get three or four hours before dragging his tired and battered body back out of bed to get to work.

Finally reaching the topmost fire escape, Matt grabbed ahold of his usual footholds on the side of the building and began pulling himself the rest of the way onto the roof. He let out a soft groan when he lifted himself up and over the railing and onto the rooftop. Briefly collapsing onto his knees, he took a minute to catch his breath. It was hot out this evening and his suit wasn't making him any less warm.

After his short break, Matt forced himself back up and onto his feet before jogging across the top of the building towards his own. He was ready to peel off his sweaty suit and be home for the evening, already looking forward to stepping into his shower and washing off his long day. 

With practiced ease he flung himself between the gaps of both buildings and landed with a sharp jolt. He grit his teeth at the impact, taking a moment to recover before rising to his feet and striding over to the roof access door which led back to his place. But he managed to take all of two steps before his tired ears caught something he hadn't expected.

Crying. Soft, muffled sobs coming from just below where he stood.

Matt hesitated, his eyes narrowing behind his mask as he tried to figure out who would’ve been awake and crying at this hour. The only other people who lived on the sixth floor with him were the long since widowed Mrs. Henderson–who definitely didn't spend her evenings crying–and his new neighbors that had moved in just last night.

The strange and short encounter he'd had with you earlier this evening resurfaced in Matt's mind. He'd been coming home from the office and was busy thinking about what he was hoping to accomplish in the city this evening as Daredevil, barely paying attention to much else. But somehow the immediate and overpowering scent of absolute fear he'd been slammed with had managed to break through his distracted thoughts. He'd felt that overwhelming fear from both you and the young girl which he'd assumed was your daughter from the moment you'd left the elevator and noticed him.

The acrid scent of it had instantly given Matt pause. At first he'd wondered if you both had somehow recognized him as Daredevil. But he'd quickly realized that seemed a stupid and impossible thought the moment he'd had it. But why else would you both become so quiet and fearful of him when he was just unlocking his apartment door? The feeling of your combined emotions had deeply unsettled him. No one had ever reacted to him like that before, certainly not as Matthew Murdock, the friendly, blind lawyer.

Matt had considered trying to turn around and introduce himself to you both, hoping that maybe he would appear far less terrifying to you if he’d flashed a charming smile and given you his name, but you'd grabbed your daughter and darted inside your apartment so fast that Matt hadn't had the opportunity.

It had been…odd. You both had been odd. And admittedly your reaction to him had piqued his curiosity. 

Turning around on the rooftop, Matt casually strode away from the door that led to his apartment and over towards the side of the building near your fire escape instead. Curiosity had won out over a shower and sleep for now. He wanted to make sense of that unsettling experience he'd had with you in the hallway. He hadn't liked scaring you both, feeling like he was some sort of dangerous monster.

Tossing himself over the side of the building, he landed softly onto the fire escape below. He stayed low in a crouch, throwing his senses out into your apartment to make sure he hadn't been seen when he’d dropped down. If you'd reacted the way you had earlier to just Matt Murdock, he could only imagine the reaction Daredevil would receive standing on your fire escape in the middle of the night. 

A minute passed and when no one shrieked or otherwise alerted Matt to having been noticed, he slowly rose to his full height. As he stood there, he could still hear the quiet, muffled crying that he'd caught on the roof continuing from inside. Paying close attention to it, it sounded like the sound was coming from just outside of the door of the bedroom who’s window he was standing at. 

Head tilting curiously to the side, he began examining your apartment as best as he could from the outside. And what he found easily surprised him.

Nothing. There was hardly anything in your apartment at all. He didn’t hear the usual buzz of electronics that he often did–like televisions or computers or even toasters. Focusing even closer, it sounded like the air from the air conditioning unit blowing in your apartment was moving with hardly any interruptions. As if you didn’t even have furniture. And judging from the placement of the crying and the sound of what seemed like your daughter’s even breaths as she slept, both of you appeared to be quite low on the ground. Like you were both lying on the floor instead of on beds.

Matt’s head tilted further to the side, a frown pulling his lips downwards beneath his mask. How strange. Had the pair of you not finished fully moving in yet? Or…did you really not have any furniture? 

Something stirred in Matt’s chest as another one of your sobs hit his ears. There was something going on here, there had to be. People didn’t usually react that way to strangers without cause–he would know because he’d never experienced that level of fear from someone outside of his Daredevil suit before. And there was the fact that you were laying on the floor in front of your daughter’s bedroom instead of laying in the second bedroom that he knew was in the apartment. There was only one reason he could imagine a mother doing that–you were protecting your daughter.

But why? And from who?

Matt reached a gloved hand up and gently rested it onto the glass of the window carefully, trying to focus his senses even more closely inside. He found himself desperately wanting answers about his new neighbors, but just as he leaned forward and turned his head to listen better, he heard a rustling inside the room–distinctly that of a sleeping bag. Terrified of being caught, Matt pushed himself roughly away from the window before beginning to quickly pull himself back up onto the roof. 

“Mama?”

Your daughter had definitely woken, Matt realized. He could hear her pulse steadily increasing now that she was awake. There were only a few seconds that passed before he heard a frantic tossing of a blanket onto the floor before the bedroom door had flung open.

“What’s wrong, Evie? Are you okay? Did you have another bad dream?”

There was a faint shift of air that Matt caught–like your daughter shaking her head–before he heard the scared, small voice again.

“Someone’s here.”

Your body immediately went straight into fight or flight and Matt curiously noted the intensity of it.

“Where, cricket?”

“Outside.”

Matt winced, running a gloved hand over his mouth as he stood there on the roof. So your daughter had noticed something. He needed to be more careful. Hopefully she hadn't seen his very recognizable costume. 

“No one’s there, Evie,” came your reassuring voice, though Matt could hear that your body was still panicked. “You’re safe, I promise. Okay? We’re both safe here.”

Shaking his head, he pulled his senses away from your apartment. That was enough eavesdropping on your place for the night. He had a few ideas about what might’ve been going on with you both now, a sick feeling bubbling in his gut at all of the dark scenarios racing through his mind. He hoped he wasn’t right about any of them, but if he was, he’d now become personally determined to make sure you both remained safe here. Because even though he didn’t actually know either of you, you were a part of Hell's Kitchen–the city he loved deeply. His city. And that was more than enough reason for Matt to find himself suddenly caring about the both of you.

[ebongawk]

ok ok ok ok ok HOW ABOUT a drunken kiss with hellcheer 👀 and if u make it sad so help me god i WILL fly to u and beat ur ass

4. A Drunken Kiss

They were playing fucking spin the bottle.

What kind of full-fledged high school seniors played spin the bottle? Wasn't that reserved for, like, thirteen-year-olds? But Stacie Mancini had drunkenly shouted, "Oh, my God, we should play a game!" and someone had suggested this, so now a bunch of almost-twenty-somethings were gathered in a half-assed circle as an empty bottle of vodka spun around and around.

Stacie landed on Andy Fuckface, and she looked mildly disgusted, which. Good for her. She still sucked his face for a solid five seconds. Andy landed on Tracy Mathews, Tracy landed on Jason Carver. Jason didn't even look at his fucking girlfriend before he stuck his tongue down Tracy's throat.

Chrissy, for all intents and purposes, looked like she didn't even want to be there. She flinched when Jason leaned toward the center, but otherwise made no show of being an active participant in the game.

And Eddie, with his front row seat to the action from the dealer's perch in the corner, had to wonder why no one seemed to fucking notice how uncomfortable she was.

Staying sober for these gigs was a goddamn chore. While it used to be fun to watch the chaos and debauchery unfold, being privy to the disgusting nature of inebriated human teenagers got old.

Maybe he was a little cynical. Because this shit had stopped being fun around the exact same time he caught the aforementioned Ball-Fondling Carver sneaking upstairs at a different party with Theresa Peretti.

It was the first and only time he'd ever considered getting involved.

Like, okay, so maybe sometimes he felt a little bad when he caught people who had significant others mackin' on those who were not the aforementioned significant others. But fuck it. Not his circus, not his monkeys, right?

He'd ruined that little unspoken rule of his that Monday at school. Seeking Chrissy out, small and drawn and sad as she was, and had straight up told her what he saw. No beating around the bush, no bullshitting.

Whether or not that had anything to do with the fact that Chrissy treated him like an actual human being was meaningless.

She'd just blinked at him. Then, instead of the anger or upset he'd been expecting, she let out this vague little laugh.

"Oh. Um. Thanks, Eddie, but... Could you maybe keep this between us?"

"What? Did you hear me, Cunningham? That asshole--"

"No, I know. And, truly, I appreciate you telling me. Just... Just trust me, okay? I'll handle it."

He'd wanted to scream. To rip his own hair out and throw it at her like that would lift the starry-eyed curtain she was clearly hiding behind. But that was, like, two months ago, and he still saw her tucked under Carver's arm day in and day out, so Eddie had resigned himself to bearing witness to her silent suffering on the off chance he caught a glimpse of her in the hallway or any of their shared classes.

Why the fuck anyone would stay with a whole ass cheater made no sense, so Eddie stopped trying to understand the popularity masses.

"Oh, shit, that's pointing at the freak," someone whispered, drawing Eddie's attention out of his own head and back into Chance Kinicki's hazy basement. He blinked, meeting Chrissy's gaze from the other side of the room, and put the pieces together.

It had finally been her turn to spin the bottle, and it had landed between two of the nearer bodies and was trained on him.

Which. What the fuck.

"Nah, man, let her spin again," Carver slurred, waving a loose wrist in the air. "She's not gonna lock lips with trash. Right, babe?"

Oh, he was such an asshole. Eddie wanted to knock him down a peg or five. Preferably while sober, so he wouldn't have the excuse of his intoxication to blame getting his ass handed to him by quote-end-quote trash.

Chrissy said nothing. She just stared at him, wearing something in her expression that Eddie couldn't identify. After a few tense, quiet seconds, Chrissy stood, stumbling a little through her own drunkenness, and made her way across the room. Shaking off Jason's grabby hands as she stepped around people and bottles before coming to a swaying stop directly in front of Eddie.

"Hi," she muttered, looking down at him with ruddy cheeks and glassy eyes.

Shit. Shit. What the fuck was happening? Eddie's hands twitched where they were sitting on his thighs, staring up at her like she was an angel come to deliver some new commandment.

Thou Shalt Not Lust After Unattainable Girls Who Are a Little Too Intoxicated to Make a Rational Decision. Or something.

"Uh," he managed, the word strangled up from his throat like she'd wrapped her dainty little fists around it. Like all of his oxygen already belonged to her. Fuck, all the oxygen in the room belonged to her. "Hey, Cunningham."

"'M supposed to kiss you," she continued, tilting her head to one side as her eyes wandered along the grooves of his face. Settling on his lips once she'd taken her fill. "The game says so."

"I wasn't playing the game, princess," Eddie reminded her gently, glancing around her to see the audience watching them with rapt eyes.

Chrissy just shrugged. Like that was enough of an explanation.

"That's okay," she answered. "The bottle knew, Eddie. Right? It knew that I..."

Then, before he could react or breathe or fucking think, she was petting his hair back from his face, leaning down, and pressing a slow, soft kiss right to his lips. Like a fucking deer in the middle of the road, he froze, unable to parse together half a thought that wasn't whoa.

Fucking fireworks.

He finally got enough wits about himself to pull away, because she was drunk and he wasn't and none of this was right, which wasn't fair but that was neither here nor there.

"Oh," she breathed, blinking at him, some of the haze in her eyes clearing. Her cheeks had gone even pinker, lips still half-puckered like she wanted to lean back in and taste him all over again.

"Hey!" Jason barked, struggling to stand from the floor, blazing eyes staring daggers at Eddie. "Get off her, freak!"

Dude, he wasn't even touching her.

"Shove it, Jason," Chrissy responded before Eddie could ask him if he was serious. She leaned toward Eddie, half-shielding him with her body, and he really thought she was gonna fall into his lap, she was so goddamn unsteady. She managed to stay firmly planted, using a hand on his shoulder to keep herself straight, and actually stuck her tongue out at her boyfriend.

Eddie wanted to die, it was so fucking cute.

"Babe--"

"I'm dumping you."

The fucking gasps that erupted across the room were actually comical. Eddie couldn't have stopped himself from laughing if he'd tried. Which, he did not, because it was too goddamn funny. The cackle he let out drew the attention to him, but, Jesus, fucking worth it.

Before he realized what was even happening, Chrissy was taking his hand, pulling him along behind her as she escaped up the stairs. Her considerable strength barely gave him a moment to grab his box of tricks as she hauled him from his gig as the weekend fun-bringer.

Why he was part of her little storm-out, he couldn't explain. But he wasn't exactly unhappy about it, either. As it was, for effect, he raised a devil horn at Jason's flabbergasted glare on his way out.

"Wow," Chrissy said as they escaped into the chilly April night. "Wow! I just did that!"

"Yeah, uh––"

"Oh, shoot, we gotta get outta here," Chrissy stated, glancing back over her shoulder. Grimacing and rushing him toward his van just as the front door of Chance's house swung open, an absolutely irate Carver standing in the muted light.

They ran, Chrissy surprisingly steady on her feet, and laughed the whole way to his van. He unlocked the passenger seat, diving across the center console and yanking Chrissy in after him. Carver had slipped at one point, the alcohol probably rushing around painfully in his head, and was struggling back to his feet just as the rest of the laundry basket team finally came out. Chance and Patrick were both obviously trying to hold back their laughter, but Eddie didn't bother finding out what happened next.

He started the van and peeled the fuck outta there.

Chrissy was still laughing, although it was much quieter now. No longer filling the night air with little tinkling notes of her joy, it was more like the soft music of wind chimes outside. Following them as they ate a few miles of concrete in the otherwise sleepy town.

"So, uh. You want me to take you home, or––?"

"No." He kinda expected her to be staring out the windshield or her window, but instead she was looking directly at him. Not offering him a modicum of relief from the weight of her gaze. "I do not want to go home like this, Eddie."

"Uh..."

"Can we, like, go to the lake or something? Please?"

Well, how the fuck was he supposed to say no to that?

The back of the van was stuffed full of blankets, pillows, a mattress from Gareth's younger brother's bunk bed and a few couch cushions off the spare couch on the porch, because he and the guys had gone down to Indianapolis to see Metallica during the week and had slept in the van instead of coughing up the dough for a motel room.

Chrissy made herself right at home, making the bed until it was nice and soft before throwing open the back doors of the van where he'd parked at Rick's house. Staring out over the lake as it twinkled with starlight. Like a bunch of white Christmas lights were hidden beneath the lapping waves.

He sat next to her, trying to breathe around the way she cuddled into him like she fit right in the circle of his arms. Which. Yeah. She did, but if he thought about it too much, he'd drive himself crazy, so.

They talked a little bit about how she'd just publicly dumped her boyfriend. About how relieved she was, now that the farce was finally over, because she'd been wanting to do that since way before he told her about the cheating. How happy she was to be there with him.

Which. He didn't know how to comprehend that, really. So he let it sit in the air, soft and gentle as the breeze that made music of the leaves outside, and breathed it in. Pulling it into his lungs like her little admission would coast through the oxygen in his blood and make itself part of his fucking DNA.

"Hey, Eddie?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I kiss you again?"

God, how was she so cute? The sleepy cadence of her tone, still slightly slurred with alcohol.

Shit. Denying her felt stupid as fuck.

"Ask me again when you're sober, yeah?" he said, desperately playing at lighthearted. "Might change your mind in daylight."

"Mmm," she hummed, her voice so fucking adorable. "Doubt it."

Hand to God, he hadn't fucking meant to fall asleep. He didn't know where Chrissy lived, exactly, but he figured he'd let her sleep off the drunk for a little bit before he roused her awake and got her address.

Yeah. Stupid move on his part, awakening when the sun hit his eyes first thing in the morning.

Because now he knew, intimately, the way Chrissy blinked back into consciousness in the morning light. The way the sun's rays, just barely peeking up over the wooded horizon, hit her hair and made it glow like fire. The way she sniffled, looking around in confusion before her eyes landed on him.

The way she smiled, bright enough that her eyes slipped closed and her nose scrunched up.

"Morning," she breathed, rolling over from where she'd been plastered to his side so she could stretch. Said so casually, like she wasn't ruining his entire fucking life just by existing.

"Uh," he started, his voice gravelly. Half-choked and terribly embarrassing. "Morning, Cunningham. Shit. Sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep."

Chrissy hummed, finished with her stretching. Then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, she rolled right back into him. Tucking her face into his shoulder for effect.

Yeah. He was dead. He'd, at some point between school yesterday and Chance Kinicki's house, died, and now he was having those crazy imaginations where his unstated dreams were coming true.

"'S'okay," Chrissy mumbled into his chest. Prompting him to wrap his arms back around her. Because why the fuck not? "I, um. I definitely didn't mind."

Yeah. Heart attack. Stroke. Car accident. Something.

"Hey, Eddie?"

"Yep?" God, the way his voice broke, you'd think he was going through fucking puberty again.

"Can I kiss you again now?" A breath, like she heard the way his goddamn heart skipped a beat, before she added, "I promise I'm sober now."

Oh fuck him.

"You, uh––" He coughed, clearing his throat. "You actually want to?"

Shit, she giggled, and he fucking felt it against his ribs.

"Yeah," she said, easy as pie. Easy as Sunday morning. Easy as anything. "Yeah, I've, um. I've wanted to for, like, a while now."

He would've sworn he felt Cupid's arrow hit his blackened little heart.

"Chrissy, you can kiss me whenever you want," he croaked. "Like, uh. Now, later, tomorrow. Y'know. Open real estate here for you."

Christ, that giggle. He wanted to swallow her whole.

She tilted her chin back, that gorgeous grin lighting up his dingy van better than any spotlight ever could.

"That's good," she murmured, staring up at him. "'Cause I get the feeling I'll take you up on every offer."

Jesus Christ, he hoped so.

(And she did.)

kiss prompt!

(and a very happy birthday to @astorytotellyourfriends 😘🩷🖤)

[atlaculture]

Hi! You are awesome, your blog is awesome, it's a great inspiration and very interesting to read!

(I even want to translate some of the posts, with credits and everything, to share your awesomeness with not-english-speaking part of the fandom, if you don't mind)

I saw you helped other fans with creating looks for their original characters... Please, can you give an advice: where to look for references if I want to draw an AU with Yue being saved by not the Moon, but the Ocean spirit? Just mentioning the general direction would be great! She definitely should have a different hairstyle (+hair color ofc), a different spirit-form and a different name... I barely know anything about asian/ingenious cultures and don't want to make rude mistakes.

I know it's a lot so any small advice will be very helpful.

And thank you for your posts, you are absolutely amazing! ���

Aww, thank you! I'd love it if you translated my posts into German. <3

Interestingly enough, both the Chinese and Inuit ocean deities are women, so there is plenty of inspiration to draw from for Yue. ^_^

Like most mythology, these stories have countless versions. I'll be choosing the versions that are most relevant to Yue. This will be a two-part post, with the first part covering Inuit culture.

Inuit Mythology: Sanna / Sedna

There was once a beautiful and kind girl named Sanna who did not want to marry and turned down many suitors. One day, a seemingly talented hunter passes through her village and demands she become his wife. Her father decides to marry her off against her will, in exchange for the hunter's large haul of fish.

The man reveals himself to be a powerful raven in disguise and carries her off to his nest--- this won't be the only time that The Raven tries to kidnap a pretty girl in Inuit mythology. Realizing his mistake, Sanna's father gets in his boat and steals her back from The Raven's nest. As he and Sanna begin rowing away, The Raven flaps it great wings and conjures up a storm.

Fearing The Raven's wrath, Sanna's father throws her into the sea as an offering. She swims back to the boat and grabs on to its edge to stay afloat. Fearing that she'll capsize the boat with her weight, her (asshole) father chops her fingers off in a panic.

Poor Sanna sinks helplessly into the ocean, her chopped off fingers following behind her. Fortunately, she is reborn as the Mother of the Sea and her chopped off fingers transform into the beloved sea mammals of the Arctic (and a much more substantial food source than fish): Whales, narwhals, seals, sea lions, and walruses.

The waters and animals that Sanna watches over will be good to those who treat animals and other people with respect.

You can see how her tale relates to Yue's story. Physically speaking, Sanna is often portrayed as resembling a mermaid, but with a seal's tail. Yue's hair could be black like a murky ocean. I also think it would be cool if you gave Yue line tattoos on her fingers, to represent the tragedy that befell Sanna.

Additional Thoughts

I like the idea of ocean goddess/mermaid Sanna wearing a parka with mittens; she only takes off her mittens to show off her finger stubs and give people a little fright. She's got a sense of humor about it. ^_^

Chukchi people, who are culturally similar and geographic neighbors to Inupiat people, believe the ocean god is the son of The Raven. I guess their version of Sanna ended up staying and having kids with her bird husband.

Sanna's story is so heart-wrenching. She should spend the rest of her days playing with baby seals and pranking people with her hands.

[marcelllyn]

Rain kiss

I highly recommend this series. A shame it was cancelled.

Synopsis: Descamps is in love but doesn't know how to show it.

Warnings: Smoking (DO NOT SMOKE), kissing, bullying, enemies to lovers.

Studying with boys was disturbing to say the least. The touches, the looks, the smells. Everything was disgusting and irritating, I had asked my mother a million times to change schools, but I had to settle for her big merciless no. I couldn't stand Descamps chasing me everywhere with his gang of idiots. 

    I was sitting on the patio floor, with a sketchbook between my legs. Annick, one of my few friends, was studying. After two math classes in a row, it was necessary for my sanity to rest my mind, even though I constantly cast lascivious glances at Descamps, with that eye patch that strangely enhanced his beauty. Few of the times I looked, he was already looking, definitely plotting something. 

   He could only have a problem with me, always placing his foot so that I would trip, throwing eggs in my hair, disappearing with my backpack. Since the day I arrived, I have been tormented by this half-assed pirate. 

— You should stop looking at him like you want to kill him. — Annick said, poking me.

— I'm not looking at him, just observing the place. And, as it happens, he is in front. — I went back to focusing on my doodles. 

   Annick shrugged and let out a nasal laugh. And then the bell rings. I get up from the floor and let the notebook fall, the single pages come loose and scatter across the floor. As I pick up each one, someone steps on one of my drawings. 

Excuse me? — I say gently. I look up and… —Joseph Descamps. — I wrinkled my nose. 

— You should already be in the classroom. 

— Take your filthy shoe off my drawing. — I rolled my eyes. 

– Of course. — He tramples the sheet even more, tearing it. - Satisfied? 

    I take a deep breath and start to go to the living room. How could he be so handsome but so irritating? 

— You know, something cute, like you should smile more, instead of looking at me like a complete crazy person. — He puts his arm around my shoulders.

I give him a light push, and quicken my step into the living room. But he accompanied me.  I stopped in the middle in front of the room door, which was already closed. I closed my eyes at him, who had that mischievous smile. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and said: 

— What's your problem with me? — I sighed. 

— I have no problem with you. — He took a step forward. 

      Descamps was much taller than me, I had to raise my head to be able to face him boldly. 

— So why do you make me so unhappy? — I put my bangs to the side nervous about the proximity.

  He laughed, bending down a little to get closer to me. I turned around, a little scared, and opened the door, asked the teacher for permission and sat down. Joseph entered shortly afterwards with the same apathetic face and sat down. Sometimes I looked away from the board to watch him, even without wanting to, it was like a mania that I couldn't avoid. 

   When it was time to leave, I took my mobile and headed home. My mother and father had left and left a note on the table that said:

 “Go to the butcher and buy some ham and then buy two packs of cigarettes, we will be late” 

   I rolled my eyes, as always, arriving late. At least I had the whole house to myself. A silent house just for me. I made some bread, jam and threw myself on the sofa, the only noise was from the street. I didn't want to admit how bored I was when I was with or without my parents at home. In the end, it was the same. I wanted to go to my aunt Janine's house, where I have my cousins. 

    I got ready to leave the house. I went to the butcher's shop, being careful not to fall into Jean-Pierre, after the dump I gave him, I preferred to keep my distance so as not to hurt him even more. As I walked to the nearest tobacconist, I saw Joseph sitting on the sidewalk smoking, I walked right past him, hoping he would let me pass. 

— Did your parents never teach you that it was rude to ignore people you know? — He grabbed my shoulder. 

— I don't have time for your nonsense, Descamps. — I snorted. 

— I'm not doing anything, idiot. — Laughed. — Where are you going anyway? 

— It's none of your business. 

— Oh, come on, can you be good just once? 

— What do you want, anyway? — I rolled my eyes. 

— May you be good to me just once. — He raised his eyebrows. — So, is it going to happen or not?

I frowned all over my face as if my mind was simulating what was happening, firstly that his tone was light and somewhat cheerful, and his features light and not heavy and frowning as always. I considered that I was living a hallucination.

It's OK…

— I need to buy cigarettes too. — He smiled. — Shall we? 

     I walked with him in silence to the nearest tobacconist. 

— Do you know that there are already studies that prove that cigarettes are very harmful, due to the tobacco and toxins…  

   I was interrupted by his laugh. It was beautiful. 

— Don't try to act like a doctor now. 

— I'm not acting like a doctor. — I let out a nasal laugh. — Just pointing out that your lungs will be rotten by the time you reach 25. 

— Well, I still have a few glory years left, then. — He pointed to one of the tobacco shops on the street. — That's the best, I'll go buy it for you and be right back. 

  I didn't even have time to respond and he had already crossed the street. I spent the entire time waiting wondering why he was being so nice to me. If that was just another pretext for another one of his dull jokes. 

— Don't you think it's a little dangerous to be on the street alone at a time like this? — Jean-Pierre's familiar voice made me laugh internally.  

  I looked back and it was him, smoking, of course, and a little tipsy from the smell of the drink. 

— It's still late, there's no danger. 

  He smiled, inhaling once more and blowing the smoke away from my face. 

— Any reason to stand around looking at the tobacconists? I thought you hated cigarettes. 

— I came to buy for my parents. - Deep down, I thought it was cute that he remembered that. 

    I looked at the store. Joseph was crossing the street. 

— See you later, Jean. — He smiled a little awkwardly. 

— Purchased cigarettes, give my favorite brand. I think your parents will like it as much as I do… 

   Descamps stopped to look at Jean. They both looked at each other confused, I sat between two bulls about to attack each other. 

—What are you doing here? Jean asked. 

— Accompanying my classmate. And what are you doing here?  

— She doesn't need the company of an idiot like you. 

— Jean! — I snorted. —Stop talking for me.

He looked at me a little confused about the situation, after all it was every day that someone defended Descamps. 

— Are you going to tell me that you are now his friend? — Jean raged. 

  I rolled my eyes, men were so complicated sometimes. 

— I didn't say I was his friend, I just said to stop saying things for me. 

— It's not my fault for being the favorite. — Joseph said sarcastically. —Now, Pierre, if you'll excuse me, I have to escort a beautiful lady home. 

  Jean was about to say something again, but he just turned his back and walked away. At that moment, the sky was already night. I looked at Descamps who once again had that mocking smile. 

-What it was? — I asked while fixing my hair. 

— Nothing. — Laughed. — Come on, it's getting late and it's dangerous for a woman to walk alone at these hours. 

— I think it's dangerous at any time of the day. — I murmured. 

   We were laughing and commenting on some of the school's achievements. But he had a flea behind his ear, where had all that kindness come from? And suddenly I felt scared. 

— Why are you acting like this? — I asked in front of the door of my house. 

-Like this? 

— You know very well what I'm talking about. — A few drops of rain began to fall. — Being nice to me, why are you doing this? 

— Would you prefer me to be rude? Fine by me. — He shrugged.  

— That's not what I said. I just want to know the reason for your drastic change. 

— When I hurt my eye, even though I did something bad, you went with me to the infirmary and stayed there. Even when I cursed you and told you to leave me alone, why did you do that? 

— I'm the daughter of two doctors, it's almost in my blood to help someone who is going through a difficult time. — He laughed, putting a strand of hair behind his ear. — Even so, after that, you put animals in my bag, cut off a piece of my hair, among other things.

An awkward silence ensued, then he smiled, shaking his head down and muttered something incomprehensible. 

—What did you say? 

     The rain began to fall heavily. Descamps took a step closer, bending down until our noses touched. 

-I said. I'm sorry, I'm not good at showing my feelings. —He grabbed my chin. 

   We were starting to get soaked, our lips touched. A sweet and strange kiss. I quickly pushed him away, a little confused. 

— Good evening, Descamps. — She said embarrassed. 

  He immediately opened his eyes wide to say something, but I was smarter and entered my house. Leaving my purchases with him. 

   Leaning against the door, I smiled and covered my mouth as punishment for smiling, even though deep down I liked it, he was a jerk this whole time. How could I know if this wasn't just another one of his lame jokes?

[thepossummoldypasta]

Steady Seas and Welcome Water prt. 2

part1,

Despite the lingering anxiety caused by being locked in an unfamiliar brig with his best friend and an apparent demon from the depths of the sea, Steve slumps in relief. It's Eddie, Eddie's here, For the first time in several long months Steve is safe.

Oh how could he mistake Eddie for something so vile and frightening. The alpha is Still cowed from his run in with the support beam, but he scampers his way closer unlocking the door to the cell.

"Wait," Robin pipes up "Wait wait wait wait, Eddie? As in your Eddie? That's who this guy is?" Steve shuffles over at her nervous fluttering, gently holding her hand in his.

"Rob its okay, Its over, He's Eddie." He soothes before remembering his manners and makes introductions "Eddie, this is Robbin, Robin Eddie"

"Steve if he's Eddie, why did he lock us in here?" Robin blurts.

Oh…

In tandem the two turn to face Eddie, identical looks of confusion reflecting in their eyes. In return Eddie huffs in amusement as he helps them both up from the floor.

"My apologies for the poor treatment, but we were unsure of how the two of you would react when you woke up." The alpha guides them to a small table with a few chairs crowded around it. Eddie waits for both Steve and Robin to sit before lighting a hidden lamp. "The original plan was starting to go south and my inside man needed to scruff you both to get all of you to safety. I can't say I agree with his methods but they kept you safe so…" Eddie trails off as he sits as well.

"what happened?" Robin questions. In some strange way it sooths Steve that Robin is asking all the questions. The omega knows he can rest easy, that robin will piece the tangled puzzle together and he can take a rare moment to breath. Steve catches Eddie making an aborted move towards his had and makes the first move instead. He twines their fingers together softly while Eddie settles his breath.

"Men were coming on deck. "Eddie replies with a slight waver in his voice "My man panicked and subdued you so he could disguise the two of you under the blanket you stashed in the rowboat. I'm not sure of the exact details, but he managed to convince them that he was tasked with disposing of something and it would damage the ship if he just hauled it over the rails." Eddie locks his gaze with the table "I knew something went wrong as soon as the boat rowed up, but it still scared me so much, you were so still, Gareth thought you were dead until we hauled you up."

The omega runs the pad of his thumb across Eddie's knuckles, the alpha hold tighter in response. Steve knows, he can see it flashing through Eddies mind, he knows flashes of Steve slipping away race behind his eyes.

"Is there enough distance between us?" Steve questions hesitantly "did enough go to plan for it to work?"

Eddie looks up once more, smiling just as softly as Steve's words.

"almost better than that," Eddie breaths "We brought you abord well before sunrise and had anchors raised before the quarter hour had passed, the rowboat drifts unmanned in the middle of the sea with nothing aborted." all three allow slow smiles to draw up their faces as the long haired captain continues; " We have traveled far further than we could have dreamed with the extra time, Those pigs would need the fastest ship in existence to make up half the distance by the end of to-day"

Steve is unsure how long they stay there convincing themselves that it's truly over, but its long enough for them to breath a sigh of relief and all become acquainted. Together they whisper happy tales of what came before. Steve tells Robin how he and Eddie met, he speaks of life before Eddie left for the sea. Time easily slips past their notice and soon it becomes time to retire for the night.

The beds the omega and beta were supposed to occupy hadn't been made up so Robin volunteers to spend the night in the infirmary, she Jokingly wishes Steve good dreams as she's lead away by one of The Coffin's crew Steve is lead gently by the hand to the alpha's captain's quarters, hardly allowing two step's distance to fall between them. The room is soft and warmly lit, distantly the omega wonders at the fact that a room so bright and cozy could even exist on a pirate ship.

Eddie makes his way over to the plush bed before flopping onto his back and gleefully wiggling up the mattress, like a puppy asking for belly rubs, until he scooches his way up to the headboard. still turned on his back the typically intimidating alpha sticks out his hand and calls Steve over.

"C'mon Stevie, let's sleep like otters again!" Eddie laughs handsomely "just like we used to, remember?"

it takes a second for it to click and the omega bursts out with laughter, he hopes it hides the sob hidden in his chest well. Because he does remember.

he remembers all to well, lying on their backs holing hands when they were teens. He remembers the fear of being swept apart, how is scared him even more than what would happen if his father ever caught the omega acting so improper.

Oh, how he remembers the blissful day's before he was expected to marry well or master a craft he would never get to finish learning after he presented. Soft memories bubble to the surface as he recalls days before Eddie had to leave and the glee he felt knowing he could hold someone so close while they laid together in the green grass fields that made up their not-quite-puphood together.

Steve flops onto the bed in just the same playful manner as Eddie had. Shuffling over to Eddie before being briefly overcome with the joy of never again having to worry about the currant puling Steve away from his beloved.

"Yes," he chirps grasping the alpha's hand. "like otters"

Steve allows the subtle rocking of the ship and the comforting presence of the man he loves lure him to sleep. It's the best one he's had in years.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------Please forgive me but this part is going up un-edited right now and the ao3 chapter won't be going up until later today because Ao3 is fully convinced I'm clicking on thinks at the speed of light.

the tag list for this is open so just ask below and I will gladly add you =), in the meantime, @wheneverfeasible @kitkat0928-blog @ellietheasexylibrarian @bxnghy

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

For Never Have I Ever, nude model Peeta, please!

Well. I've written stripper Peeta, and half naked Firefighter Peeta posing for calendars, but not exactly this trope? So here's a little something? Maybe? I dunno, I feel kinda indifferent about this one, but that might just be me in a funk. Hopefully you all enjoy it!

Never Have I Ever

<3 kdnfb

RATED E: explicit language, nudity, mild sexual content (sort of?)

“God, I’m so tired of drawing dicks,” the girl in the front row mutters and Peeta has to bite back a laugh. She makes his job difficult sometimes, but he honestly looks forward to hearing the girl’s supremely snarky remarks whenever he models for this class.

And tonight, he needs it. The slowly growing ache in his back tells him he’s been posing for longer than normal. Without breaking pose, he tries to catch Annie’s eye, but she’s distracted. Standing on the top level of the terraced classroom, she’s engrossed in a discussion with one of her students, who keeps gesturing towards Peeta and then tilting his head as if trying to make sense of his own drawing.

Peeta tries not to smile or laugh. His own days of trying to make sense of human anatomy aren’t so long ago that he’s already forgotten the frustrations, or the hilarity that sometimes ends up on the page.

Still, Annie not paying attention stresses him out. He only agreed to model tonight because his favorite former professor was in a jam. The model she had scheduled backed out just yesterday, and she’d practically begged Peeta to fill in, promising class wouldn’t go over time by even a second. He should’ve known better. He took this class with Annie, only a few years ago, and it rarely released on time. Not only that, but because it’s an evening class, Annie almost always lets students linger to ask questions or touch up their work, sometimes forgetting the models altogether.

He bites the inside of his cheek and tries not to freak out about the fact that he’s supposed to be somewhere thirty minutes after this class ends. He has an extremely important dinner date tonight.

“Did I say something amusing?” Front row asks, and Peeta’s not sure it’s even aimed at him until she goes on. “One of these nights, I’m going to break you and get you to laugh. I can tell you want to.”

He fights with his face, forcing his expression into neutrality, and she scoffs.

“Obviously you’re not tired of whipping it out for a bunch of strangers to examine proportions and crap. You’ve modeled for us how many times now?” Peeta hears paper flipping and bites harder into his cheek to keep from smiling. “Ten classes. I’ve got ten classes worth of drawings of your dick and your ass. Christ, if I wasn’t constantly shoving my tongue in her pussy, my girlfriend might actually start to get jealous of you.”

Peeta stays silent, as he’s expected to, but it takes some doing. He’s thought before about talking to the smart mouthed brunette after class. For non-romantic reasons, obviously. He’s completely taken, for one. Two, she obviously is as well. This isn’t the first time she’s mentioned a girlfriend. But she seems like she’d be a lot of fun to hang out with, like maybe their senses of humor could vibe together pretty well.

“Ugh stop complaining, Jo. Just ask Madge to pose nude for you one night. Then you can draw all the tits and pussy you want,” her neighbor mutters. The stunning blonde, who is probably a model of some kind herself, normally sits in the back row, but Peeta noticed her moving her things to the front row when he came out from the back room to take his first position on the dais. “I, for one, prefer it when Blondie here is our model. You gotta admit, if we have to draw a plethora of penises, his is rather nice to look at.”

“Ugh. Straights. Can you make it any more awkward for the poor penis poser?”

“And I thought you’d appreciate the variety of… bodily representation,” the blonde presses forward. Peeta feels his cheeks heating slightly at the reference to his leg.

“Still didn’t ask you. And what the fuck?” Snarky brunette snaps.

“Everything all right down here? Johanna? Cashmere?” Annie’s voice approaches and Peeta tries not to let his shoulders slouch in relief. But it’s short lived. “Oh, nice work on the shading this week, Johanna. And… Cashmere… it’s always interesting when students show some artistic creativity.”

Peeta wonders what that means, and can feel his skin flushing with even more heat, especially when Annie moves on and Johanna cackles a little. At least he knows their names now? Normally, being naked in front of a group of art students like this doesn’t bother him, but Annie is rarely shocked by what students produce. So Peeta is both massively curious and massively afraid of what Cashmere may have drawn.

“Alright, pencils down,” Annie announces, and her words are met with a flurry of activity as students hurry to pack their things. For his part, Peeta slips off the platform and shrugs into his robe as he’s leaving the classroom. He sneaks a glance at the clock on the wall and curses under his breath, making a beeline for the back changing room where he left his clothes and his phone.

Once he’s got his shorts on, Peeta snatches up his phone. He’s technically not late yet, so there’s nothing from Katniss. He fires off a quick text to her.

Had to help out a friend. Took longer than promised. Gonna be a few minutes late. I’ll pay for any appetizers you and your friends want until I get there.

You know how dangerous it is to tell me to order what I want…

Peeta smiles when the answer comes in quickly. He’s busy typing a response and distracted.

“Oh! Peeta! I thought you’d be dressed by now,” Annie says, stepping back and whipping the curtain closed between them again.

“Got distracted,” Peeta says and sits on the chair to get his pants on over his prosthetic. “Did you need something?”

“Um, well… I was wondering if you could do this again in two weeks? It pays double.”

Peeta pauses and hangs his head, remembering the syllabus enough to know what happens in two weeks.

Pairs. He’ll be modeling with another person, usually in intimate or amorous poses. Normally he wouldn’t care a lick about it, and would jump at the chance to bring in that much money for an hour or two of work. But last time, several of the poses were intensely erotic. Even if they weren’t, he’s not sure how Katniss would react to him doing that.

His cheeks burn and he yanks on more of his clothing as he admits to himself that he has no idea what Katniss would think of any of this. She knows that he does modeling work for art students, across several mediums, but he never really mentioned that it often involves him being naked or only partially clothed.

“I’ll um… I’ll think about it,” Peeta tells her and finishes getting dressed. “When do you need to know?”

“The sooner the better,” she says as he opens the curtain. She smiles at him and reaches up to fix his hair. “Good luck, tonight.”

“Thanks,” he says and leans forward so she can kiss his cheek. “Tell Finnick I said he’s a puffed up merman reject.”

She laughs and shakes her head, but Peeta’s smiling as he leaves. It’s kind of their weird thing, him and Annie’s husband, trading whacky insults they don’t necessarily mean.

He checks his phone again as he’s leaving the building, cursing under his breath and picking up his pace, hoping he hasn’t missed the bus, because then he’ll be forced to wait fifteen minutes for the next one. He’s already going to be a few minutes late.

When he reaches the bus stop, it’s empty, and just up the street, he can see the taillights. Smacking his fist on the panel advertising some kind of energy drink, Peeta curses and pulls his phone back out to text Katniss.

****

“I need something not phallic shaped to eat, right the fuck now,” Johanna announces as she flops into the booth and Katniss smiles at the second, and the last, of her friends to arrive. She taps her phone to send her reply to her boyfriend’s frantic apology text and sets it aside to focus on her friend.

“Would you stop complaining?” Madge teases and waves towards what’s left of the stuffed mushrooms they ordered. “You know you love that class.”

“You love anything that involves nudity,” Katniss reminds Johanna, and Jo snorts.

“Unless it involves dick overload.”

“You don’t have to act so disgusted, you know? It’s not going to gain you any brownie points,” Madge says and pushes her glasses up her nose with one finger. “We’re all fully aware of your sexual history.”

“You handed out Cliff’s Notes the first day of our friendship,” Katniss jokes and Johanna shrugs.

“I felt like you could learn some valuable lessons from my experience.” Katniss averts her gaze and spins her straw in her water glass. “Wait… I know that look. Fuck, no. Katniss!”

“What?” Katniss whines and Johanna glares at her.

“Tell me you’ve at least moved past kissing with him?” Madge chokes on air and Johanna’s gaze darts between Katniss and her girlfriend. “Oh my god you haven’t.”

“We’re taking things slow!”

“But why?” Johanna asks through gritted teeth. “You’ve been aggravatingly horny for this one for months now.”

“He’s had his hand under my shirt,” Katniss admits and Johanna shakes her head, moaning a sound that can only be called pained.

“Let her go at her own pace,” Madge says and soothingly rubs Johanna’s back.

“I can’t. At this rate, she’ll be in menopause before she gets dicked down.”

Madge rolls her eyes and Katniss purses her lips, fighting back annoyance at her friend’s insistence that Katniss have sex with Peeta already. 

She could tell Johanna that the last time they went on a date, they’d wound up in a secluded spot where heated kissing led to her unfastening her jeans so Peeta’s fingers could slide into her panties. She could tell Johanna how thrilling and terrifying it was, kissing him and whimpering into his mouth when he whispered questions to her. All she could manage were yes or no answers, but it was enough. She’d shattered on Peeta’s fingers and clung to his jacket, buried her face in his neck and moaned in exquisite relief as the pleasure unfurled inside her.

But she won’t tell Johanna, because Katniss refuses to let her friend demean or cheapen what had been a beautiful experience to Katniss. Her entire body heats to unbearable as she remembers the way Peeta had slid his fingers from her and whispered in her ear that, if she’d allow it, he wanted to taste her orgasm. That if they were at her place or his, he’d be on his knees, begging for the privilege of burying his face between her thighs and kissing her until he’s drowning in her orgasms.

“Can we not be talking about my sex life when Peeta gets here? Please?”

“Do you even know what a dick looks like?” Johanna asks and Madge rises to Katniss’s defense. “No, I’m serious. Have you even seen one before? As in, not a drawing in a health textbook or hospital pamphlet your mother made you read, but an actual, real dick.”

“Of course I have,” Katniss lies. Johanna can tell, lifting one eyebrow and scoffing. “Alright fine, no. I haven’t. What’s wrong with that?”

“Hold on. We’ll try baby steps. Not to brag, but my anatomically correct drawing skills fucking rock,” Johanna says and starts rummaging in her bag. “And this guy who keeps modeling for my human form class has got a choice looking dick, not gonna lie.”

“Thought you were tired of drawing dicks?” Madge asks, smirking and sipping her drink. Johanna glances up at her girlfriend and leans forward to kiss her on the mouth.

“So tired of drawing dicks.”

“Again, can you not be making me look at porn when my boyfriend shows up here?”

“It’s not porn, it’s art,” Johanna states in a snotty voice. “Besides, unless you’ve somehow found the unicorn of a man whose libido is as glacial as yours, I have to question a dude who is willing to meet your two best friends before he’s even so much as touched or seen your pussy.”

Katniss schools her facial features into a bored expression, but she must be off her game, because Johanna’s jaw drops and she makes an indignant sound.

“You’re holding something back! What happened? What did you do with him?”

Thankfully, Katniss is saved from answering in that moment by the sight of her boyfriend walking into the restaurant.

“Shut up and behave yourself, Johanna. He’s here,” Katniss says and walks ten feet away to greet him. Far enough that Madge and Johanna won’t be able to see them from where they’re seated. She’s not even a little ashamed when she slides her arms over his shoulders and melts into his embrace.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“I’m just glad you made it,” Katniss says. 

There was a part of her that worried that Johanna was right. That Peeta wouldn’t be willing to face the inquisition her friends would undoubtedly put him through when they still haven’t even slept together yet. She shivers slightly when his lips graze over her neck, awakening the hunger she’s felt more and more often around Peeta.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she admits only to herself that part of the reason she’s been putting off having sex with Peeta isn’t because she’s afraid it won’t be good enough, but because she’s terrified it will be so good. So very, incredibly good that she’ll be irrevocably changed by it. That she’d be handing Peeta the power to absolutely destroy her if it turns out he doesn’t care for her as much as she cares for him.

“Ready?” she asks and Peeta releases her. He’s smiling, and Katniss takes that as a good sign. He knows how important her friends are to her. Katniss takes his hand and walks with him back to the booth. 

Johanna is showing something to Madge, a stack of what look like drawings.

“Peeta, these are my two closest friends,” she starts the introductions.

“Oh my sweet fuck,” Johanna says when she looks up, and Madge spits out her drink, barely catching it in her hand over her mouth.

"Not on my homework!" Johanna says and yanks the pages up against her chest.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Peeta mutters. 

[syneilesis]

Hey, I'm the one who asked previously to make the scene in my dream into a happy ending one. 😄

Sorry for not asking clearly 😅 I think it would be great if you include prompt 30 + 39 and do your magic, I believe in you.

Hello, anon! Thank you for your patience! This got longer; I hope you enjoy this one! (proofread once; any mistakes remaining still my fault.)

dinner mate There’s a popular romantic spot on campus. Zayne invites you there.

It's a popular spot especially during spring, when they’re in full bloom. The peach trees—located behind the architecture building, after a set of winding pathways designed to filter out students who intend to loiter there at length (architecture students, when it comes to the fully blossomed trees, are surprisingly territorial—not that it could stop the loiterers). They've become an iconic fixture in the campus, born out of word of mouth ten years ago by an alumni couple who had been looking for their perfect pre-nuptial photoshoot site.

When Zayne asked you a week earlier to come with him to the row of peach trees on this day, the significance of it had not escaped you. The peach trees had been mythologized in such a way that even high school students chose this university as their first option largely because of the trees' reputation.

It seems that everybody wants to experience love like how peach blossoms give color to the world.

You keep glancing at Zayne as the two of you walk along the pathway towards the peach trees. Some architecture students pass you by, hastily shifting their blueprint tubes. One is loudly complaining about their plates. The walls are filled with murals, painted by former fine arts students as part of their degree requirement. It had been several years ago and you were still in high school then, but Zayne mentioned them once as an afterthought to a topic you've already forgotten, and now, seeing the art, you think that it would have been cool to watch them work.

The breeze hits your skin as you emerge from the building, the peach trees coming into view. The blossoms sway in accordance to the wind, petals dancing in spirals. Like reflex, your hand gropes for your phone, lining it up and taking a snap. Next to you Zayne hides his laughter by pretending to cough into his hand.

Notably enough, there are no other people around.

“The first time I was here,” Zayne begins, “was for a class homework. I had to sketch different plants and label their parts. It was spring, so I thought to come here to draw the peach blossoms—never mind that I was the only person alone and the rest were couples.” A twitch of his mouth hints of reminiscence.

You imagine Zayne, sketching. In your head, his back is straight, posture perfect, as he looks up at the flowers, one arm supporting the drawing pad, one hand holding a pencil, each stroke drowned by murmuring couples around him. He must have made an effort to ignore all other people doing romantic stuff as he sketched the peach blossoms. “How lucky for your professor to have a copy of your artwork!”

He smiles. It lights up his face.

“I didn't come back here after that,” he continues, “because I saw no reason to. Now, though ...”

You take a sharp inhale, blinking rapidly. There must be a reason for Zayne's invitation, his words about this place, the implications of it—the anticipation. There aren't any words for you to say; the nerves pull you into keeping silent. Just looking at him, feeling your eyes widening by the second.

And then—

And then his phone rings, and the anticipation crumbles. Zayne's frown could dampen even the mood of an excited dog. He pockets the phone, lost in thought.

You bite your lip and ask, “Did something happen?”

His focus on you returns, and it is troubled. “Nothing significant. Just ...” He exhales, pained. “I need to check something. I'll be back. Don't leave here; wait for me.”

You reach out, attempting to stop him by grabbing his arm. But midway you falter, your hand dropping back to your side.

And then you're watching him rush back to the building.

When his shadow recedes into the hallway, another breeze whips by, and the rustle of flowers follows. Having no choice you turn back to the peach trees, surveying them more closely this time, solitary in your marveling.

A small part of your brain worries at you; an itch that manifests at the base of your neck crawls upward. You glance back at the architecture building again, the beginnings of apprehension squirming inside your gut.

He's coming back, you tell yourself. Why wouldn't he? Something must have happened, something important. Otherwise he wouldn't have left you here.

This uncertainty urges you to follow him, your feet ready to pivot. But.

You trust Zayne—you'll wait for him.

The wait prolongs. Seconds turn into minutes. Ten. Twenty.

Thirty.

The peach blossoms undulate with the wind, unaware of your concerns. You're pacing at the end of the row of trees, ready to dial Zayne's number. When your whirl around—

Flowers. A bouquet of them. Roses. And the one holding the bouquet—

“Zayne!”

His breathing is a little uneven, and a trickle of sweat lines down the side of his face and down his neck, where it disappears inside his shirt. He must've run all the way back here.

“Apologies for my sudden departure,” he says, mostly level. “I hadn’t foreseen the possibility of a ... problem in my plan.”

The knot between his brows indicates how much he's troubled by this; but now that he's here—and the weight that's borne you down finally lightens—you find his worried expression cute.

You take the roses and inhale their scent. Zayne exhales, relieved, and you smile at him, slightly ruefully.

“Can you tell me what's going on now? I got a little worried there, you know.”

“I'm sorry,” he says again. And then: “I believe you already have an idea of what I was—still am about to do.”

You have, but you do not want to utter it out loud. He has to be the one to say it.

“I have an idea,” you agree, “but I'm not sure if I’m right about it.”

A smile of his own emerges; Zayne shakes his head. “I believe you are. And I would have done it already, were it not for the matter earlier.”

“And what matter would that be...?”

He doesn't answer you right away; just stares at you at length. The quality of his gaze stirs soft warmth within you, and you feel a splotch of blush creeping onto your cheeks.

“I wanted to invite you to dinner, so I made reservations—both here and at a restaurant,” he says. “But due to an unforeseen circumstance, the restaurant had to cancel my reservation.” A pause. “I had to act quickly.”

“So what did you do when you left?”

“I had to call in a couple of favors. And now ...” His hand reaches out and trails down your hair, then tucking a stray lock behind your ear. “I can start over.”

The hand migrates to your hand that's cradling the bouquet; encloses it over yours. Zayne steps closer, head tilted down, close enough for his breath to warm your skin. The strands of his hair mingle with yours. He smiles.

“The peach blossoms surrounding us are beautiful. It's a good decision to bring you here,” he says. You remain looking at him, heart pounding loudly in your chest. “May I take you out to dinner?”

You draw a breath. “Just dinner?”

A laugh, low and clear. “Not just dinner. That’s only the beginning.”

You feel your mouth stretch into an elated smile. The bouquet crinkles as you close the gap between you and Zayne, resting your head on his shoulder. His free hand comes up to settle on your back.

“Yes,” you say into his neck. “Yes to all. Yes to everything. For you of course it’s a yes.”

He chuckles. “You still don’t know what I’ll ask next.”

“Don’t care.” You step back and show him your joyful expression. “It’s you. What else would be my answer?”

Around you the peach blossoms paint a picturesque scene, vivid, alive, and with Zayne in the foreground—smiling, happy, the center of your vision—the world in your eyes glows with such radiant colors.