#do not steal my graphics or I WILL hunt you down
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western nights
♫︎ western nights - ethel cain ♫︎
pairing(s): eddie munson x fem!reader
summary: You're on a road trip to nowhere. Eddie wants to get the hell out of dodge. It's a match made in heaven- if only it were, actually, heaven.
words: 13k
cw: explicit, smut, piv sex, oral sex (f + m receiving), exhibitionism, light choking, spitting, eddie is 24, reader's age unspecified (over 21), illegal activities, theft, smoking, alcohol consumption, strangers to lovers, bonnie & clyde type dynamic, mechanic!eddie, eddie's trying hard to be a good boy he's just got issues, pining, perv!reader, some slight dubcon/somno for a sec if you squint, there was only one bed, graphic depictions of violence, a drunk guy being nasty to both eddie and reader, bar fight, blood, arguments, angst, hurt/comfort, panic attacks, an overall janky relationship here, inspired by the song western nights by ethel cain
a/n: *slaps fic* this bad boy can be written with so many cold medicines in my head <3 ethel cain if you see this do NOT interact i have done zero justice to your song and also completely disregarded some key aspects of the themes of it lol this is loosely based at best
ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI
He’s never looked more beautiful on his Harley in the parking lot, breaking into the ATMs, sleeping naked when it gets too hot…
You’ve become something of a connoisseur of gas station coffee.
You know which chains have the best. Love’s always has the best and freshest, with the most options of flavors. Pilot is usually a crapshoot, depending on what area of the country you’re in. Occasionally, if you can find it, Bodega doesn’t disappoint. And the worst, by far, is always Shell. Shell coffee, you think, must come directly from the sewers of whatever backwater town you’re trundling through.
You’re somewhere in Indiana, you guess, judging by the state-shaped keychains on the rotating rack next to the cash register. You grab a state map from a magazine stand and toss it in with the rest of your purchase. You were lucky to have found a Love’s so you could finally afford yourself some proper dark roast coffee; all the watered down arabica stuff you’ve been getting since Cleveland has only been making your head ache.
“What’s the quickest way to Indianapolis?” You ask the dead-eyed attendant ringing you up, a 20-something year old guy with bags under his eyes and bad skin.
He chews his licorice like a camel chews straw, staring up at you blankly. “I dunno. Never been.”
You look from him, to the map, and back. “Cool. What town is this?”
“Hawkins.” His bored-by-you attitude is overwhelming.
“Thanks so much for the help.” You afford the attendant a tight smile as you grab your bag of snacks and head out. It’s going to be a long night.
The air outside is stifling, summer heat hanging in the muggy air like a fog. The humidity makes your hair stick uncomfortably to the back of your neck as you peel off your old green hunting jacket and tie it around your waist. You’ve parked your van under the fluorescent-lit gas pump overhang, providing the proper lighting for you to spread the map of Indiana across the hood and bend over it, using your full coffee as a paperweight. You rip open the singular Slim-Jim you could afford for dinner, and pore over it.
There’s commotion across the parking lot, which stirs you from your rumination over the map. You glance up; there are two guys loitering by a telephone booth in one corner of the lot, sharing a cigarette. Teenagers who have nowhere else to be on a Friday night, you suppose. Five yards away from them, a third crouches in front of a badly vandalized ATM, the cause of the commotion. He seems to be hacking at the wiring with a pocket knife.
You ignore it. So far, on this trip, you’ve seen far worse than a guy stealing petty cash from a gas station ATM. Tracing your fingers across the paper, it looks like if you take state route 13 to I-69, you’ll be in Indianapolis by midnight. Shouldn’t be too difficult, as long as you can find the 13, and then you can find a place to crash in the city.
Grabbing an old highlighter from your pocket, you mark your route in bright pink. The guy from the ATM seems to have gotten what he wanted, moving quickly across the parking lot with his head held high, like he has every right to be there. He approaches a motorcycle parked on the opposite side of the pump from you, and begins feeding dollar bills into the machine.
“Hey, do you know how to get to the 13 from here?” You can’t see much more than his leather-clad shoulder and hip jutting out from around the pump, the front tire of his Harley sticking out from behind his leg.
There’s a pause, and then his head pops out from around the pump. A curtain of unruly dark hair frames a long neck, big doe-like eyes and flushed lips pouting at you in confusion. It makes you freeze. “Sorry?”
“I, uh-” What were you trying to do? Get on the right course. Right. Of course. “State- uh- state route 13? I’m trying to get to, um, Indianapolis?” You cringe at your own stuttering, nails digging into the paper before you.
The man stares at you for a long time, dark eyes framed by thick, curling lashes sizing you up slowly. Then, he rounds the pump. “The highway’s just down the road- keep going west and you won’t miss it.”
“Great, thanks.” You grab up your coffee and the map, crunching it between your tense fingers. He hasn’t moved, still leaning against the gas pump, arms crossed, staring at you. It makes you nervous, in more ways than one.
“You won’t get far in that heap, though.”
You pause. Your knees threaten to wobble under you as you look up at him. Your hand is on the door, you could simply ignore him and get in, but something in his gaze makes you stop. Is that… genuine concern? Or is he just putting on a show for you?
“What do you mean?” The heat of the coffee burns through the paper cup and torches your fingers.
“Well, your fender’s bashed in and, I dunno if you noticed, but you have a crack in your windshield,” he gestures at the long crack running horizontally across the glass, just above where your line of sight usually is. “Probably got a lot more shit wrong with it, too, I could hear you coming a mile up the road. Junkyard find?”
“Something like that.” More like, sat in your parents’ garage for so long that you took a chance on the fucked up radiator and bailed. “She’s good, though. She’ll get me another 80 miles, easy.”
“Are you only going 80 miles?” The guy questions, “Or are you going way past that and only doing the 80 miles tonight?”
If he wasn’t so pretty, with a note of flirtation in his voice, you’d be hesitant as hell to tell him. “The second one.”
ATM guy sucks on his teeth, rocking back on heels that creak with the movement. Rubber soled work boots flash at you from beneath torn blue denim. “Dunno if I should let you go alone, then. You might bust your carburetor halfway there and be stranded.”
That puts alarm sirens in your head. You’d back away if your car wasn’t situated between the two of you. “Thanks, but, uh… I think I can handle myself.”
The teasing smile drops off his face quickly, replaced by a look of subtle desperation. “No, don’t get me wrong, I’m not- I’m not saying you can’t handle yourself. Obviously. Or you wouldn’t be trucking along by yourself through Nowheresville, Indiana,” he chuckles. “I just, ah… let me level with you?”
Your face screws up, but you lean your hip against the fender nearest you- the one that isn’t fucked up. What is it with this guy?
“I’m trying to jump ship. Anywhere’s better than here, but I really want to get to the west coast. I don’t know where you’re headed, but I’ve got my sights on San Francisco. And, uh, I have experience fixing cars, working in a garage,” he confesses. “But I don’t have a ride of my own- this isn’t even my bike, really. So, if you’re heading to the city, and you could use someone to make sure your car doesn’t kick it going over 75, I’m your man. Besides,” he bats his pretty lashes at you, his fingers fiddling with the end of his long hair as he brandishes a wad of ATM-stolen cash, “I have gas money.”
“You want to hitch a ride with me?”
“If you’re okay with it. Otherwise, I bid you fair and safe travels.” He bows dramatically, throwing his hand in the direction of the highway you’d asked about. “But if you ask me, I think you’d be doing both of us a favor in the long run if you let me come with. Just for insurance, y’know.”
“Insurance?” You parrot incredulously.
“Yeah,” he grins. He has dimples, a wide smile that stretches across his face and makes him even prettier than you can stand to look at directly. “Just insurance. No other reason.”
“Mhm,” you grunt, going over the positives and negatives in your head.
Positives- your car is a piece of shit and you’re sure he’s right, you’re working on borrowed time and you’re less than halfway to your desired destination. Plus, he’s unfairly nice to look at.
Negatives- you don’t know shit for fuck about him, other than the fact that he’s apparently trying to leave town and makes a hobby of breaking into ATMs. And, hell, even Ted Bundy was supposed to be charming and cute, at first. This guy could be a crazy ax murderer, could be a rapist, could be a junkie who’ll steal your car and leave you stranded, could be, could be-
“MUNSON!”
“Fuck.” ATM guy glances over his shoulder, then ducks quickly around the side of the gas pump as the station attendant comes storming out of the store. He crouches, pressing his hands to the glass window of the passenger’s side and peers through the cab at you on the other side with pleading eyes. “Can you get me a couple miles down the road, at least?”
“What about your bike?”
“Not my bike,” he tells you for a second time. “My buddy’ll pick it up when he hears about this, please.”
The station attendant is making his way across the parking lot now, looking miffed. It’s clearly the most energy he’s put into anything today, but he isn’t moving very fast.
You’ve made worse decisions in your life. You sigh. “Shit. Get in.”
“Thank you, thank you.” He pops open the passengers door as you slide into the driver’s seat, tossing the crumpled up map in the back. You guess you’ve found a GPS, for the time being.
“Does my insurance have a name?” you ask as you peel out of the gas station. The attendant hovers by the pump you’d been occupying, looking lamely at the abandoned motorcycle in your rearview.
“Eddie,” ATM guy says. A ring-clad hand lifts between you, hovering over the gear shift and waiting for your own to settle into it for a shake, “Eddie Munson.”
You eye his outstretched hand, your stomach doing flips, but you’re unsure if it’s because of him or the very situation he’s just put you in. You lift your hand and bat his with your knuckles, a half-hearted acknowledgement without the formality. “Pleasure doing business with you, Eddie.”
Eddie coughs, shifting up in his seat to peer behind you at the station. “Fuckin’ Keith. You can just drop me off at the next exit, it’s no biggie.”
“Hm? I thought you were coming with me to Indianapolis, hot stuff.”
Eddie whips his head around to look at you. “Seriously? You don’t- you don’t have to, I know it’s a big ask-”
“You want me to change my mind?”
“Not particularly.” He sinks down in his seat again. “Guess I figured you think I’m more of a liability than anything.”
“I do, but I need all that cash you swiped from the ATM,” you hum with a snarky grin on your face.
Eddie chuckles, wringing his hands in his lap. His knuckles tighten and relax beneath heavy steel rings. “Yeah, better I do it than you, huh?” There’s an awkward pause, and then he blurts, “Do you have any road music in this thing?”
You reach forward and hit the volume button for the stereo. You’d been halfway through Danzig’s self titled album- Mother kicks in with the chorus. In the darkness, you don’t see the way Eddie’s eyes sparkle with adoration as he looks at you.
“I think you and I are gonna get along great, sweetheart.”
You ignore how your thighs press in on themselves while you sip your coffee, and you turn onto highway 13, headed for Indianapolis.
When you step out of the bathroom in the motel room in Indianapolis, you find Eddie hunched over by the window, wearing nothing but a pair of blue plaid boxers. The chain on his wrist jingles as he smacks at the A/C unit beneath the drawn curtains.
“Everything okay?” You ask, pretty much knowing what the answer is. Your hair drips water down your back, but you can still feel the muggy summer heat in the room practically smothering your pores.
“Damn Motel 6 A/C,” he grumbles as he gives it one last smack on the side, to no avail. “The unit’s broken, there’s gonna be no cool air in the room.”
“That’s okay, we can crack a window.”
“In this part of the city?” Eddie scoffs, looking over at you. “Believe me, princess, I applaud your optimism- I would have just driven away from me there at the gas station, given the chance. But if we crack that window, we’re gonna get fucking robbed, first thing. Believe me.”
“I believe you,” you huff, clutching the itchy motel towel to your wet skin. Usually you would just pull on a tank and a pair of panties and call it a night, but there’s no such luck for you here. You have a backpack full of old, dirty clothes, and no clean underwear to speak of- you’ve been washing them in public bathroom sinks since Columbus. “Well, I’m just gonna sleep naked, then. You do what you’ve gotta do.”
“What- you’re gonna- what?” Eddie blathers, sitting back on his heels. You stare at him for a second- he’s a vision of flushed skin and a cloud of brunette hair cascading over his shoulders. Knobbly knees stick up at awkward angles, hairy thighs disappear into the hem of his boxers drawn tight across his skin. Your eyes glance over the ominous bulge in the crotch of them, not willing to think about those parts of a man you barely know. “You really think- I mean- is that wise?”
“Are you gonna get frisky with me, Eddie?” You ask with a teasing voice. You’d learned enough about him on the way to the city- 24 years old, no prospects, big dreams, ran a D&D club in high school, worked in a garage to help pay the bills- that you’re fairly certain he’s a good enough guy to keep his hands to himself. You just enjoy watching his big eyes go rounder at the insinuation.
“No, of course not. Wouldn’t dream of it.” Eddie looks mortified. He backtracks, “Unless- unless you wanted me to, I mean-”
“Don’t overanalyze it,” you tell him mildly, turning your back to him to rifle through your bag. “We’re both adults, it’s hot, there’s one bed and we’re both paying for it. Something tells me you’ve done worse things than lay next to someone without clothes on.”
Eddie blows a long breath out of pursed lips, not moving from his seat on the floor. He doesn’t deny your accusation, just mutters, “You put so much faith in me, sweetheart.”
“Don’t make me regret it.”
You drop the wet towel on the floor and round the bed to turn down the sheets. Eddie’s eyes trail you; you can feel them burning into your skin, lit by the dim yellow light on the bedside table. It takes a moment for him to finally move, a single trembling hand reaching up to swipe a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the table.
“You gonna sit there on the floor all night?” You muse as you lay back on the bed. It’s too fucking hot. The dampness from the shower hasn’t dried, but now it’s simply growing with the rate your body is perspiring. Your hair and skin stick to the white sheets, which feel pasty each time you move.
“Just getting my bearings,” Eddie says, his voice tight and hollow. “You smoke?”
“Not especially, but I won’t stop you.”
The smell of tobacco hangs in the heavy air more potently than you expected. The humidity dampens the vapor, making it sting your nose and leech into your mouth, even though you’re not the one directly breathing it. It strikes you as devastatingly intimate- the thought that you might be breathing the smoke that’s already touched his lungs.
“Do you mind if I strip down, too?” Eddie asks after a long time of deliberating as he smoked. “Not that- I mean, I don’t have any pajamas, so…”
“Do what you need to do, honey,” you murmur, repeating what you’d told him before. “We can find a laundromat in the morning. Maybe get you a change of clothes somewhere.”
“Right.” He doesn’t say much after that, but you listen to him rustling around, stubbing out his cigarette in an ashtray and flicking off the bedside light.
He straightens up, silhouette looming in the blue-dark from the curtained window. You watch from the corner of your eye while his backlit form hooks its thumbs in the waistband of his boxers, and drops them.
He clambers onto the bed beside you, careful not to bump any part of you. You refuse to look at him, scanning the asbestos popcorn on the ceiling above you with an overabundance of scrutiny, willing yourself to focus on anything but Eddie’s beautiful body, especially what he has below the belt. It’s a bad idea, no go. You don’t want to see it, don’t even want to think about it- what it looks like, how big it is, how it curves, what kind of hair surrounds it, if any-
You’re thinking about it.
And you told him not to overanalyze it. To be calm about it. What a fucking joke.
“You know, I’m not as easy as I might seem,” you blurt out suddenly, unaware of why you even do. You mostly come off sounding like you’re trying to convince yourself of it.
Eddie’s head rustles against the pillow as he glances at you in the dark. “I don’t think you are.”
“Okay. Just- just making sure,” you stutter out. “All evidence to the contrary, and all.”
“I’m not expecting to get lucky with you,” he tells you honestly, a little flatly, like he’s afraid of any inflection in his voice betraying him. “You know, beyond the ride west.”
“Right.”
“Right.”
You both regress into silence. You think you’ve both said your piece on the matter. You might not trust Eddie, not entirely, but you at least know he’s not gonna try anything stupid if you let yourself fall asleep. You actually think that he’s asleep after so many minutes, until he opens his mouth again.
“It’s really fucking hot, isn’t it?” He croaks. His hands twitch by his sides, feet jammed under the downturned covers, but everything else bare to the open room, like you. His pinkie brushes yours, and he nearly smacks himself jerking his hand back toward his stomach.
“Yeah, it’s not… it’s not good.” You blink into the darkness. “Sorry, you must be regretting coming with me all this way.”
“Nah, not a chance.” He brushes it off, waving a hand in the air dismissively. “I’ve been itching to get out of there since I graduated. Feel kinda bad that I didn’t leave a note for my uncle, but it’s not the first time I’ve bailed on him. I can always call him from a pay phone. Kinda wish I had my guitar, though.”
“You play guitar?” you ask dazedly. You don’t have a hard time imagining it, now that you think about it. He has that rocker look about him, the kind that could grace magazines and be on posters on teenage girls’ walls, if he played his cards right. If he got his lucky break.
“Yeah. Pretty good, too, I guess.” He sighs. There’s a wistfulness in it, like he’s reminiscing on something from his past. “It’s okay. I can pick up another one once I get to California. Dropped a mint on the one I had back home, but I guess Wayne can always pawn it. Maybe get himself a nicer place.”
You chuckle. “And you think I’m the optimist here.”
“I never said it was a bad thing,” Eddie scoffs, then deepens his voice quite suddenly. “Two optimists, both alike in dignity-”
A burst of laughter bubbles from your chest, making Eddie grin as you gesture at your bodies. “Or lack, thereof.”
“In fair Indianapolis, where we lay our scene.” He ends his recitation giggling, the flimsy bed frame jolting with the shaking of his chest. “Radiant Juliet, you never did tell me where your chariot is taking me.”
“I’m not sure, really,” you admit, mellowing your laughter into a quiet giggle. “I just wanted to leave home. I was suffocating there, I needed to get out. See what’s out there for me, if anything.”
“And have you seen much?”
“Not much,” you tell him quietly. “Mostly truck stops and shitty roadside attractions. But we’re in the midwest, you know.”
“Don’t remind me.” He lays his hand back down on the mattress beside you.
You turn your body towards him, damp sheets clinging to your skin as you move. “California might not be such a bad idea.”
Eddie turns his head and glances at you, dark eyes finding you in the dim moonlight. “No? I’ll have to fix your car, then.”
“You do that, and I’ll make sure to get you where you’re going,” you whisper.
“Deal.” His eyes linger on your face, just inches away from his on the pillow. Flickering in the moonlight, two voids that hold all the stars in the night sky seem to take you in like you’re more beautiful than they could ever be.
This time, when your fingers brush, he doesn’t jerk away. This time, you don’t avert your eyes when you look down at his cock, but you sure do regret it when you don’t reach out to touch it.
He’s so pretty. You want to.
I watched him show his love through shades of black and blue, starting fights at the bar across the street like you do…
Your underwear and his come out of the dryer wrapped around each other. You spend a minute disentangling them, a small heap of clothes in a rolling laundry basket in front of you. The closest laundromat to the Motel 6 had been a five minute drive down the street.
You’d woken up with your head on his chest, your arm draped across his bare stomach, despite how you’d fallen asleep barely touching him. As if your unconscious body had known more about your wants than you. His hand had been tangled in your hair, palm cradling your cheek and a bit of your neck, like his own unconscious wanted to keep you against him, too.
The morning had been easy- the easiest it’s been since you hit the road. Eddie seems to have given you a sense of purpose you didn’t have before, driving around aimlessly, only stopping for fast food every once in a while when you remembered to eat something other than beef jerky and coffee. Once you had extracted yourself from his grip, you’d gone to buy him clothes from the resale store next to the motel. It wasn’t hard to find a plain black shirt and jeans, but used underwear was something you didn’t want to mess with. You’d brought it back to the motel, along with some food from the Waffle House across the way, and you ate cross legged on the bed while he showered and put on his new-ish clothes.
But now, you can’t stop feeling his hand cradling your head. His hot, sweaty skin against your arm. Your fingernails raking lightly through the trail of hair on his stomach, dragging through his pubic hair, your knuckles just barely brushing up the side of his length- thick, uncut, and so so pretty. Then, stopping nervously when you’d gotten too bold, fingers skimming over sensitive skin too close to his groin, and he’d twitched in his sleep.
You want him. You don’t even know him, and you want him so badly you can feel it even now, an aching blush between your legs turning into a dull throb when you so much as think about him.
You toss all the freshly washed clothes into a plastic bag that you’d grabbed by the door to the laundromat, and haul it out to your van. He’d told you to meet him at the bar across the street when you were done, since he needed to make a few calls on their payphone- he’d even given you his weathered denim vest before he left.
“For insurance,” he winked. “Uh, don’t wash it, though… I stitched it by hand, it’ll fall apart.”
You don’t put it in with the clean clothes. It smells like smoke and alcohol and him, the edges frayed and yellowing a bit. You hold it in your lap for a second, plucking at the stringy bits around the arm holes. Maybe you can convince him to let you soak it in a sink somewhere, hand washed and dried carefully over a working A/C unit, wherever you can find one. You don’t know when he last washed the damn thing, if ever.
When you pull into the parking lot of the dive bar, and you clutch the denim vest in your hand as you step out of your van, something sharp prods your thumb. You hiss, slamming the car door shut and examining what it was. The sharp point of a pin on the vest- which reads Motörhead- had come loose and pricked your skin, which now threatens to ooze blood all over the aged denim.
“Fuck,” you murmur, bringing your thumb to your mouth as you lock the car. You struggle with the vest while you walk towards the door to the dive, trying to resituate the pin so it doesn’t go missing.
You find him loitering beside a billiards table, pool stick in hand, a cigarette in his mouth. When he sees you walk in, his eyes light up, and he nearly drops the stick prancing over to you.
“Told ya I’d still be here- hey, you okay?” His grin turns very readily into a frown when he sees you sucking your thumb like a child.
“Yeah, no, I’m fine,” you mutter clumsily, “your pin just nicked me s’all.”
“Oh, shit,” he curses, reaching for your hand. “Lemme see- no, let me see.” He forces your hand open when you try to close it, and scrutinizes the little pin prick as if it’s the worst battle wound he’s ever seen. “Should’a checked to make sure all the pins were right, this happens all the time. I’m so sorry, baby, my fault.”
Baby. Your brain tries to process it. He called you baby.
He’s also kissing your thumb, cradling your hand with excessive care. He’s tasting your blood, sucking a little on the pin prick like you had been, so your skin is wet with a mix of his and your spit. You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of the way he touches you. Fleeting as his touches have been, anyways. You melt a little under his gaze as his round eyes blink up at you innocently.
“S’okay,” you tell him with a wobbly smile. “Did you make your calls?”
He looks at you softly, a reserved smile on his face. “I did. Wayne’s miffed, but he’ll live. Told him I’d send him a postcard.”
You giggle at that, thinking you’d sign it along with him. Sorry for stealing away your nephew; it will happen again. “Good. Buy me a drink, handsome?”
Eddie beams at you, and his dimples crease his cheeks as he turns to the bartender. There’s a sweet, boyish manner in the way he puffs out his chest and orders you a drink, his arm circling your waist as he moves you smoothly toward the bar. As soon as a whisky sour has been placed in front of you, he turns and squeezes your arm.
“Hey, I gotta finish this game,” he nods at the pool table he’d been stationed at. “I got some money on it. Y’okay with hanging out for a minute?”
“Sure,” you chirp, sipping your drink. “Wipe the floor with ‘em for me?”
“It’s in the bag,” he whispers at you conspiratorially. You push his vest at him, imagining he wants to take his insurance back now that you know he’s not taking off on you, but he shakes his head. “No, you wear it. It’ll look good on you.”
His eyes light up when you shrug the vest over your worn out white t-shirt. As you lift your drink, and he turns back to his game, you think you’d do anything to keep him looking at you like that.
Eddie wins. You don’t know how much he bet on the game, but there seems to be hurt feelings when he collects the money that had been placed on the table. You’ve never been much of a gambler, and he hadn’t struck you as one- but what do you know? He certainly bet on you getting him out of Hawkins, and you certainly took a chance on him.
You don’t think much of it. It’s late afternoon- the sun’s going down, and you figure you’d better get going, but Eddie wraps his arms around you and says, “Dance with me.” And you do.
The jukebox in the corner only plays country classics. Patsy Cline croons over the speakers, taking you back to a time in your far off childhood. Eddie sways with you to the music, and even though there’s barely any rhythm to his dancing, you find yourself falling into it with him. Your head on his shoulder, his curly hair tickling the side of your face. His breath on your neck, cool on your heated skin.
That is, until a hand wraps around Eddie’s shoulder and jerks him away from you. A man with blond hair, clearly a few too many drinks in, snarls at him, “That game was bullshit and you know it.”
Eddie blinks at him. “If by ‘bullshit’ you mean I beat you, then sure.”
“You di’int beat me, you cheated,” the man sneers. “I want my money back.”
“Yeah, no.” Eddie claps the man on the shoulder, trying to push him away. “I won the game, I get the money. That’s how gambling works.”
You step back when the man’s beady eyes fall on you, peering at him over Eddie’s shoulder. “What’re you lookin’ at?”
“You leave her out of this, buddy,” Eddie growls dangerously, still forcing the man back with one strong hand on his shoulder. He’s trying to put himself between you and the man, you know. Still, you feel the need to fist your hand in the back of Eddie’s shirt and pull him away.
“I ain’t your buddy. Whatcha lookin’ at, bitch?” The man reaches out and yanks roughly on your arm, making you yelp in alarm.
And that’s when Eddie’s fist connects with the man’s jaw.
There’s a sickening crack. In the chaos, it somehow occurs to you that Eddie’s wearing all those chunky rings. You wonder if they could be considered a deadly weapon, in the same vein as brass knuckles.
It takes you a second to get through the initial shock, finding it hard to focus on who’s doing what. Eddie and the man have barrelled through a couple of tables, knocking over chairs. Eddie has the man pinned to the edge of the pool table, a flurry of fists moving from all sides.
“You don’t touch my girl!” Eddie shouts at the man. “You don’t fuckin’ touch my girl!”
His girl.
They tumble to the floor. The man curses and spits blood at him from a cut lip. A strong fist hits the side of Eddie’s face once, twice-
“THAT’S ENOUGH!” The words are shouted by the bartender, finally intervening, pulling the blond man off of Eddie. As the bartender restrains the unruly man, a second pulls an equally enraged Eddie away from him, separating the two.
By the time you collect a bruised and bloodied Eddie into your arms, you’ve already tuned out the rest of the ruckus going on around you. Someone suggests that you should leave, but the words only barely register. You’re already pulling Eddie out the door and to the car.
You don’t even remember if you closed the tab.
Trouble’s always gonna find you, baby, but so will I. Crying only because I’m happy, hold me across every state line…
You don’t know when you started crying. Maybe it was around the time that Eddie fell unconscious.
Tears burn in your eyes like you’ve poured gasoline in them, but no matter how badly it stings you just keep sniffling and driving, tearing down the interstate away from Indianapolis, toward St. Louis. You hopped on I-70 as quickly as you could, and from there you’ve been lost in a world of your own.
He’d almost look peaceful, if it wasn’t for the blood on his jaw and the nasty shiner on his cheekbone. You keep telling yourself it’s not bad enough for him to need to be taken to a hospital. You can’t afford to go to a hospital, and even if you could, you’d have to explain how he got in this condition. It’s a recipe for jail time. You know that. You know.
You just want to keep him safe, that’s all.
He hadn’t instigated the fight, not really. He’d just swung first. He was just defending you.
His girl.
When it gets to be too much, you pull over. Headlights gleam bright and then pass by in the dark with a whoosh of air. You think you must have crossed over into Illinois by now, or you’re getting close to it. The traffic has lightened considerably.
You rest your head against the steering wheel, taking deep breaths, but the tears keep coming in streams. A while ago, you had a mattress in the back of this van. That was before it started having problems, and it sat in your family’s garage for a year and a half. You should have put a mattress in it when you took off, but you weren’t thinking that far ahead. You were having a breakdown, something like you’re having now, only worse. It was a manic, get-away-or-die-there kind of breakdown.
Breathe in. You’re not gonna die. Breathe out. He’s breathing.
Once Eddie cracks his eyes open, he flexes his jaw with a groan. You can tell he’s confused by the inquisitive noise he makes, but when he looks at you, all that disappears in a heartbeat.
“Hey, what’re you- oh, god. Sweetheart, don’t cry.”
As if that doesn’t make you want to cry harder. His hand lands tentatively on your shoulder, stiff fingered but light in touch. He shuffles closer to you, pulling you against him to sob into his secondhand shirt.
It’s pathetic, you’re sure of it. You feel pathetic, twisting the cheap cotton of his shirt in your hands and saturating it with tears, as he shushes you and soothes a hand over your hair.
“It’s okay, baby,” he whispers into your hair, pressing his aching lips to your scalp in an attempt to calm you down. “We’ll be okay. I’m right here. What can I do?”
For some reason, the question makes you mad. “You don’t fucking fight,” you sob at him, the anger in your voice making him freeze. “You don’t- you don’t get into fights. I can deal with a lot of shit, Eddie Munson, but I can’t deal with that.”
“Okay, honey. Okay.”
“No fighting.”
“No fighting,” he repeats affirmatively, petting your head. Then he adds, “No gambling.”
“No bars.”
“Well-”
“No bars.”
“All right,” Eddie resigns, resting his chin on top of your head. Once you’ve stopped crying, from what he can feel, he tells you softly, “I’m not… I’m not like that, you know. I want you to know. I don’t fight, not usually.”
“You did.”
“I did,” he agrees. “I just don’t like… I didn’t like him touching you. Disrespecting you like that- did he hurt you?”
“No,” you lie. The guy had yanked your arm a little too hard, your wrist still smarting a bit. Nothing near what Eddie had taken. “He hurt you, though.”
“I’ve had worse, trust me.” His tone is ominous, like you don’t really want to know the heavy details of it. “I’m not a fighter. Used to be if I saw danger, I’d just turn tail and run. I usually just take shit on the chin. But I never had anything to fight for before, really.”
You sniffle loudly, grossly. “I don’t want you to fight for me.”
“I’m gonna protect you, sweetheart. No matter what,” he insists. “Long as we’re together, I’m gonna do everything I can to protect you. Okay?”
Long as we’re together. Like you’re a couple, like you didn’t just meet by chance at a gas station a little more than 24 hours ago. Like you’re in love.
His girl.
“My dad’s in prison,” Eddie blurts out, raking a shaky hand through your hair. “He, uh… he was a fighter. And a thief. And a gambler. And a liar. He tried his best to make me be like him, but I don’t- I don’t wanna be like him.” Eddie sighs, a sad sound that rips through your already bleeding heart. “I thought maybe getting out of Hawkins would set me straight. Finally give me a chance to make something better of myself, prove I’m not like my old man. I tried, but after high school I got in some trouble, and Wayne had to sell my old van to pay for my bail. Now I’m here, and… Guess you just take yourself wherever you go, huh?”
“Yeah,” you agree. Your fingers curve against his hip, squeezing the skin there. “So we have to try to change ourselves in the meantime, while we get where we’re going.”
Eddie breathes in, and it sounds an awful lot like a sniffle.
“Eddie. Are you crying?”
“No.” He is.
You lift your head with a wet, coughing chuckle at his futile attempt to hide it. You look up at him, your fingers tucking a lock of unruly, dark hair behind his ear. He’s staring back at you with glassy eyes, the tip of his nose gone red with the tears he’s holding back. He just barely flinches when your knuckles brush the bruise on his cheekbone.
“Hey, handsome,” you coo at him softly, your touch featherlight on his skin. He blinks, a tear dropping from his lashes. “I’m gonna get you cleaned up, okay?”
“Okay.” His lip wobbles. “Let me hold you a little longer, first?”
“Of course, Eddie.” You fall into his grasping hands, yanking you to him like a child searching for the comfort of his favorite teddy bear. You’d let him hold you as long as he liked.
You wash his face in a dirty rest area just west of Terre Haute. In the middle of the night, no one is around to tell you not to, so you follow him into the men’s room and take your time wiping the blood from his jaw and his hands. You gingerly apply a bandage from your car’s console to his bruised cheek, while he sits in the front seat and brackets your hips with his knees.
He gazes up at you like a man seeing God.
The neighbors beat on the walls, while I'm face first in the bed. Show me how much I mean to you while I’m lying in these sheets undressed…
You sleep in the rest area that night, in the back of your van. No mattress, just your backs to the hard floor of the cab. With no A/C again, you shuck your clothes and spread a single white blanket over your bodies, more for modesty’s sake than anything else. Even though it’s unlikely that a cop is going to run you down in the middle of nowhere, you’d rather not get cited for public indecency.
He holds you all night long, his arms around you and his chest against your back giving you peace, but he doesn’t touch you in any of the ways that you desperately want him to.
It takes the better part of a day to drive to St. Louis. Eddie swallows a couple tylenol for his face with his truck stop coffee and eggs, smiling softly at you from across a bright yellow plywood table in a cafeteria. From the look on his face, you doubt that he regrets the fight that gave him his wounds.
By the time your old van rattles up to another Motel 6 at the outskirts of the city, Eddie’s shaking his head. “The car’s not gonna take much more than this. I need to give it a good look, maybe borrow a tool kit and give it a tune up.”
“Whatever you say, magic man,” you muse at him. “Let’s just sleep in a real bed tonight, huh?”
His head tilted back, he looks at you sideways with a lopsided smile. You can tell his face is still hurting, but he puts on a brave face and bats his eyelashes at you. “Sounds good to me, princess.”
His touch lingers on you more, now, than it did yesterday. His fingers grazing your forearm as you open the glass door to the motel office, his hand hovering over your lower back as you sign for the room. His arm slung over your shoulder as he follows you down to the room, twirling the key around his finger.
“You think the A/C will work this time?” He asks you lightheartedly as he turns the key in the lock.
“Only one way to find out,” you return with the same warmth in your voice. If you from two days ago could hear yourself, and that ooey-gooey note of lovesickness in your voice, your past self might keel over and die. When did this happen?
You drop your bag of clothes on the bench by the bathroom door. Eddie bangs around the A/C unit a bit, until something starts whirring, and he makes a gleeful noise.
“It’s aliiiiive!” He announces dramatically, emulating Dr. Frankenstein. You giggle as he leaps toward you, practically throwing you onto the bed in excitement. “We have cool air. We can actually wear clothes to bed tonight.”
“Yeah,” you sigh, not even trying to hide your disappointment at the thought. The best part of your last two mornings has been waking up to his naked body beside yours, warm and soft and littered with tattoos that you just can’t stop looking at.
You mean, I won’t get to wake up to your skin on mine tomorrow? I won’t be able to pretend like I’m not staring at your dick and imagining all the things I want to do to it? How will I be able to admire you for my own perverted gain?
You don’t even realize that you’re stroking your fingers across his bruised cheek until he leans into your touch. Then you take inventory of your current position- your back to the mattress, his body hovering over you, half covering you. Caging you in with his arms. His long hair creates a veil around your faces.
When he blinks his eyes open at you, you can tell where his mind is before he opens his mouth. “Did we have our first fight yesterday?”
You frown, a puff of air exiting your nose. “No, I think I’d call it laying ground rules.”
“Ground rules,” Eddie nods, his sore cheek rubbing against your hand. You’re starting to wonder if he likes the pain, since he won’t stop pushing into it. “I’m not great at remembering rules. What were they, again?”
“No fighting.”
“Right, and no gambling.”
“No bars.”
He squints. “Is that one still up for negotiation, or…?” He trails off, giggling as you smack your hand lightly against his shoulder. “Kidding! I’m kidding. No bars. Got it.”
“And that was it,” you tell him sweetly. “Unless there was another one you wanted to add?”
He stares at you for a long moment, his fingers twirling in the hair right beside your ear as he gets lost in thought. Say what you’re thinking, your mind practically screams at him. Please, god, say what we’re both thinking…
Eddie licks his lips and finally says, “No sleeping with clothes on?”
Gotcha. A creeping smile stretches your face, trying to play coy even when your heart’s beating a mile a minute. Eddie’s eyebrows raise at you, waiting for an answer.
“I’m not easy, Eddie.”
“I know,” he tells you, mirroring your smile. “I don’t expect to get lucky with you.”
“I know,” you hum. Your hand drifts up the side of his torso, a more firm and languorous touch than you’d previously been brave enough to give him. “But do you want to?”
Eddie shudders, and it’s the first honest to god evidence you have that you turn him on as much as he does you. The realization feels rapturous.
“God, yes.”
He kisses you then, open-mouthed and passionate, his hand cupping your jaw to keep you where he wants you. Your nails scratch up his back with a loud tearing sound against his shirt, and he chuckles as you frantically clutch at him with all your strength.
“I know, pretty girl,” he murmurs, pecking your lips briefly before descending to bite at your jaw. “You’ve been wanting this since that first night. Feelin’ me up in the morning, like I wouldn’t notice…”
“I didn’t wanna wake you,” you hiccup as his hand cups the crotch of your jeans, rocking the meat of his palm firmly where you’re dying for friction. “Oh, ffffuck Eddie, m’sorry…”
“And here you were, thinking I was the pervert,” he grunts. “‘Least I can keep my hands to myself, hm?”
“I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry,” you babble at him, hands shaking as they grip onto his shoulders. Now that the aching throb between your legs is back, and he’s finally giving it attention, you can’t seem to come up with a more coherent sentence. Your face grows hot, but not at the fact that you’d been caught in your lechery- just because he turns you on more than you can think to admit.
“Don’t be sorry, sweet thing,” Eddie whispers. His dark eyes are lined up with yours, the curtain of his hair shielding them from reflecting any of the light from the desk lamp- it’s just you and the starry voids of space, locked in your own little world. He rubs his hand back and forth with practiced pressure against the front of your jeans, your hips kicking up against him. “I want you to touch me. Want you to do whatever you want with me, baby.”
“Whatever I want?” Your fingers dragging up his lower back, under his shirt to feel the heat of his skin.
“Anything,” he insists, kissing you again. Wet and sloppy, teeth clacking as you grind up into his palm. Your thick denim jeans are about the most abominable things that have ever existed.
You feel like your head’s on sideways with how pent up you already are. “I want you to fuck me Eddie- jesus chr- can we do that? Right now? Please?”
Eddie laughs. A happy, whole-hearted, almost disbelieving laugh. “Thought I was gonna be the one begging you, after all this…” His breath hitches, the touch of his hand leaving you so that he can push himself back. “Lemme get you out of these clothes, yeah?”
You nod quickly, earning a pleased hum from him. The way he undresses you is touched by reverence; his fingers slow as they drag the cotton of your shirt over your head, grazing your skin all the way. His lips dancing across your collarbone as he undoes the front of your stupid fucking jeans. You just want them off, done with and laying in a pile to be forgotten about by the motel room door, but Eddie has other plans.
“Slow.” He grabs your hip to stop your wiggling, fingers curled around the back of the waistband of them as he pulls the denim down your thighs. “We’ve got all night, baby. I’m not leaving. Not going anywhere.”
“I want you,” you insist desperately, sounding like a broken record. Your distress is evident on your face, in the way you clench your thighs together to hide the obnoxious wet spot growing on your cotton panties. You wonder if he’d felt it when he was touching you over your jeans, if the heat and dampness had soaked through the denim as well. You wouldn’t be surprised.
“You have me, sweetheart,” Eddie ensures. “Don’t… I don’t want you to worry about it. M’gonna make sure there are no worries in that pretty head.”
He yanks his t-shirt off, the one you’d bought him from the resale store. A cloud of frizzy, dark hair obscures his pretty face for half a second, the shirt landing on the floor somewhere off to the side, and then Eddie’s eyes find you again, grinning at you widely with pointed teeth.
You grab for him, your fingers looping around the chain that hangs from his neck. Tugging him down, you press a gentle kiss to his lips. Then to his sore jaw, where a tiny scab has formed on the right side of his chin. Then to his bruised cheek, where he flutters his eyes shut and groans softly at the brush of your lips.
“My boy,” you whisper to him, and you don’t even know if he understands the significance of it to you. His girl. Your boy.
Eddie smiles against your skin. He peppers kisses everywhere he can reach, down onto your chest, dragging his sharp teeth every once in a while just to hear you keen. You’re certain you’ve ruined your underwear now, feeling the wetness grow cool against your skin.
What a fucking concept. Cool air.
Eddie seems to have the same thought as you, as he slips his fingers beneath the white cotton and peels them down your legs. Strings of your arousal stick to the wet fabric, dropping off in thick tendrils onto the sheets below you as he groans lowly.
“Fuck,” Eddie curses, shaking his head in chastisement as he settles between your legs at the end of the bed. He tsks, “Just look at you, poor thing. Should’a said something to me, can’t have you going around like this.”
You shiver as he trails his mouth up the inside of your thigh. His day-old stubble scrapes your sensitive skin, making you break out in a cold sweat. “M’not- I didn’t want you to think-”
“That you’re easy?” He coos with a condescending smile. “No, honey. I know, you’re a good girl.” He nips at the widest part of your thigh, plush flesh indenting with the imprint of his teeth. “But I’m no good. You should know that, better than anyone. No good for you.”
Eddie’s tongue burns and soothes at the same time, leaving your brain a scrambled mess on the mattress beneath you. He gathers all of your collected arousal into his mouth, groaning like he’s been desperate to taste it all this time. “Been dreaming of this since I saw you, pretty girl.”
Pulling your leg over his bare shoulder, he all but crushes you against his face, his sturdy hands wrapped around your hips to hold you still. Your back arched, your hips fully off the bed as he lifts your lower half into the air.
You choke out the first part of his name, your hands fisting in the comforter next to your head. There’s a twist of pleasure deep in your core that makes you whine far louder than necessary, a waterfall of words spilling from you before you can stop them, “Oh shit- Ed- I don’t- s’too good-”
“Too good?” Eddie snickers, eyes bright as he watches you from between your thighs. “Nothing's too good for you.”
Then he spits onto your already soaked and swollen pussy. You sob, positively crying from the feeling of it, drenched and dripping along your sensitive flesh. Eddie spreads the wetness around with his tongue, and your cunt clamps down hard at the lewd squelch of it, the mortifying slurp of his lips closing down and sucking on your labia.
“Oh fuck, what the fuck-” you whimper high to the ceiling, mouth hanging open in shock.
You could have been doing this for days. He could have fucked you like this the first night, when you lay next to him, naked in the dark. Your body aches at the thought of being deprived of this longer than necessary.
“That’s it, baby, just stay still. Let me ruin you, huh?” Eddie murmurs, letting your thigh rest heavy on his shoulder so that he can move one hand, his thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit in front of his face. He watches your cunt glisten and throb for him, listening to your desperate sobs echo through the otherwise silent room, and whispers, “Shit. Like my own little fuckin’ pornstar, sweetheart.”
Normally, you wouldn’t exactly take that as a compliment- but with the way he says it, with his voice thick and dark like that, and with the way the hot, slick velvet of his tongue dips into your channel and shoots electricity along your skin, you figure he must have meant it like one.
He goes slow, thrusting into you gently, taking his time to get familiar between your legs. Still, it doesn’t stop you from positively shrieking toward the ceiling when he licks you from hole to clit, the entire expanse of his tongue sweeping along nerve endings that are charged like live wires.
Eddie chuckles, hot breath spilling out over your feverish skin, and he pauses there. Lets you feel the warm press of his flattened tongue before he just barely rubs it back and forth, back and forth-
“Eddie-!?” You gasp, an erotically loud moan spilling out of your mouth right before you come all over his. You crumble, your hips threatening to buck out of his steady grip as searing euphoria rips through you. He scrambles, ringed fingers locking tight enough on your waist to bruise, keeping you against him as you thrash wildly.
He keeps you like that for a long time, purring into your spasming pussy while an array of unhinged noises pour from your body- your mouth, your hands tearing at the sheets and at your head, your cunt and all its wet filth drenching Eddie’s bruised face.
If it hurts him, he doesn’t let on. He just keeps going, and going.
Until something pounds against the wall behind your head. You hiccup, your dazed, post-orgasm brain unable to comprehend where the sound is coming from. That wasn’t- couldn’t have been me…
“Pretty sounds,” Eddie giggles as he finally pulls his mouth away from you. “Guess the neighbors agree.”
“Oh, god.” Your hands cover your face, hot and sticky with sweat. Your eyes feel heavy, fuck-drunk, your heart still pounding in your chest from the adrenaline of the orgasm Eddie gave you. You feel embarrassed, like you ought to be going over to apologize to whatever sorry person happens to be sharing a wall with you, now.
Eddie has other plans. “Think we should give the audience a good show, huh?”
It’s merely a suggestion- you know that you could always find a way to quiet yourself, stuff your mouth with cotton and stifle your moans- but the implication of it makes your toes curl. Your breath rattles in your chest when you inhale. “You… you want everyone in the building to hear you fucking me?”
Eddie crowds you on the bed, your legs still slung over his shoulders so that you’re bent nearly in half. He’s still too fucking clothed for your liking- his leather belt digs into the back of your thighs as he presses a sloppy kiss to your dry lips. “I want everyone here to know you’re mine, sweetheart.”
Your hands cradle his face, pulling him in for a deeper kiss as he slowly lowers your legs from his shoulders. Your over extended legs flop down onto the mattress, and you whine into his mouth as he massages his tongue with yours.
“I’m yours, Eddie,” you moan against his damp skin. “Oh god, I want it- want everyone to know.”
You take the initiative, with one last kiss turning in his grip. His hand slips, catching himself from toppling off the bed as you scoot onto your stomach, your knees planting on the mattress so that you can wiggle your hips up at him.
Eddie sucks in a sharp breath, smoothing a gentle palm over your ass before he kisses your lower back. He pauses, drawing soft kisses up your spine until his breath sweeps your shoulder blade. “You’re so beautiful. How’d I get so fucking lucky?”
A quiet keen is the only answer you give him, shoving your hips backward to get him to just fucking touch you, but he pulls away too quickly. There’s the clink of a belt buckle, a zipper being pulled, and you tense, your hand closing into a fist around the pillow at the head of the bed. Following the rustle of clothes, you hear the crinkle of a condom wrapper- you hadn’t even realized he had one. It didn’t even occur to you, in your dizzying need to fuck him, like some loveblind idiot.
You almost berate yourself for it, but then you feel his cock press against your entrance, and all those thoughts die away. He rolls his hips, and every single muscle in you tightens.
Eddie chokes on air as pleasure positively tears through you. Your eyes roll back, your mouth wide open and threatening to drool onto the pillow you’ve been shoved face-first into.
“F-fuck, you’re so big.” It’s the only thing you can choke out around moans. He splits you so wide, dragging through your slick walls that are still so sensitive from your first orgasm.
“Holy shi- oh my god-” he gasps behind you. “M’so sorry- I can’t- Feels so fucking good-”
You groan, unable to form words to adequately answer him. All you can manage to do is jam your hips backward in an attempt to get him deeper, as far as he can fucking go inside you. Your body blazes, everything coming up smelling of sex and sweat as you wail hopelessly into the pillow.
Eddie snarls, a deep and dangerous noise in the back of his throat as he draws his hips back and presses into you again. There’s no time for you to adjust, each thrust a little more forceful than the last. His cock hits sharp heaven deep inside you, punching loud and guttural moans from you each time his hips impact your ass.
“That’s a good girl- so ffffucking wet, goddamnit,” Eddie praises you through clenched teeth, ringed fingers and bruised knuckles wrapping loosely around your neck to lift your head from the pillow. “Let them hear all those pretty noises for me, baby.”
“Eddie…” You hiccup, your voice kicked up into a shrill whine. You swallow against the press of his fingers on your throat, holding your jaw into the air so there’s no place for your sounds to go but to the wall and through it.
Above your head, the banging on the wall starts back up. Eddie drops your chin and slams his hand on top of the headboard, gripping tightly at plywood that threatens to hit the wall as he ruts into you. Your face hits the pillow again, but your sobbing moans still come out loud and disruptive as Eddie speeds up his hips in retaliation.
“Doing so good f’me. Feel me, princess? So fucking deep,” Eddie groans. His cock licks up a sweet heat inside of you, and you know you’re going to come. He curses lowly, his hips pistoning into yours hard enough that you have to smack your hand into the headboard to keep from knocking into it. “Taking me so well. So perfect- s’like you were made for me, I know it, I just fucking know it…”
Eddie’s arm wraps around your waist from behind, and he hauls your back into his sweat-slick chest. You almost feel weightless, for a moment, before you’re settled back into his lap, your thighs bracketing his as he kneels beneath you, clutching you against him.
A gasp tears from your mouth with a loud, “Shit!” His cock hits a different spot inside you, bursting color behind your closed eyelids as you throw your head back against his shoulder.
Eddie’s breath fans across your neck, sweat-damp hair tickling the side of your face. His hand greedily palms at your breasts, bouncing you in his lap as his tongue traces a wet line along your shoulder.
“Just know you were made for me,” Eddie repeats quietly in your ear, his breath feeling like flames on your neck. “That’s why you found me, baby. You were meant to be mine, my girl.”
His girl.
“Yours, Eddie,” you blubber, reaching back to dig a fist into his hair as his hands squeeze your breasts. “M’all yours.”
“Yeah?” Eddie murmurs, his voice saccharine and velvety. He moans in your ear when your cunt clenches down, a threatening throb at the outskirts of your orgasm. “Say it again.”
A whimper, high and needy in your throat. “I’m yours. Your girl- oh, f-fuck, Eddie- I’m gonna-”
“That’s right. My good girl. Only easy when it comes to me, right?”
Eddie’s hand drags purposefully down, fingernails dragging just through your pubic hair, just barely grazing where you want him- just like you did to him, that first morning. The realization makes you seize up, all tense from head to toe.
“What’s it like, when I do it to you? You like it?” He whispers, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. You suck in a sharp breath, a hiss through your teeth as you nod. His laugh is barely a ghost of a breath on your skin. “Yeah. I did, too.”
Eddie’s voice in your ear says, “Come for me,” and not even a fraction of you would deny him that.
His finger drags slowly your clit, calloused skin catching on the swollen bud, and you come. Your body slumps against him, and you’re so grateful for his arms around you to hold you through it. You’d swear he was splitting you in half with the sounds coming from your mouth. Your head tilted back on his shoulder, every breath is punctuated by a hoarse cry that breaks in your throat. Your hand clamps around his arm, which is still cradling you close to his chest as his own moans ring in your ear, his hips driving up into you as your cunt pulses around his cock. You know that he comes when his teeth wrap around the muscle of your shoulder and bite down.
Silence settles over your sweaty bodies, but thunderous banging is still furiously happening on the other side of the wall. You hear voices, words too muffled by the drywall to be intelligible, but they still sound angry.
Eddie won’t let you go, not yet. He’s clutching you, his mouth still wrapped around your shoulder, even though his teeth aren’t biting anymore. You pet his forearm, and lean forward just enough to knock lightly on the wall.
“We’re done!” Your voice cracks with the effort it takes to call out to the people on the other side.
“Fantastic show, my love. I think we deserve five stars.” Eddie laughs, nuzzling his face into your neck as he finally releases your shoulder from the trappings of his jaw. “I think I’m corrupting you, sweetheart.”
You hum, still petting his arm. “I think you already have, teddy.”
Eddie freezes, his grip on your waist tightening just a little. “No one’s called me that since I was a kid.”
“What, teddy?” He nods. Your fingernails drag dully down his arm, tracing over a tattoo of a swarm of bats, which breaks out in goosebumps under your touch. “Is that… Can I call you that?”
“Yeah,” he rasps. “Yeah, you can- you can call me teddy.”
It’s quiet after that. He rocks you in his arms until you kiss his knuckles and lift yourself gingerly from his lap, earning a pacified grunt from him as his softened cock slides out of you. You watch him as he ties off the condom and tosses it in the wastebasket a few feet away, then flops backward onto the bed so that his head hits the pillows.
You chuckle, sliding forward to run your hands along his stomach. “Honey, you still have your pants on.”
He hadn’t taken them completely off, only pushed them down far enough to free his cock and have at you. What’s more, he still has his boots on, too- big, black motorcycle things that nearly hang off the end of the bed.
Eddie grunts dismissively. “C’n deal with it in the morning.”
“No sleeping with clothes on.”
He huffs petulantly, but the scowl he tries to give you turns into a lovesick grin pretty quick. He tucks his hand behind his head in mock-nonchalance. “Hey, pretty lady. You come here often?”
“Once or twice, so far.” You grin at him as he laughs, rolling your eyes as you move down the bed to finish undressing him. You untie his boots and let them fall with his jeans and boxers onto the floor at the end of the bed, glancing up at him once you’re finished.
His eyes are closed. You don’t think he’s sleeping yet, but he’s flushed, covered in sweat. He’s still so much of an enigma to you, but you adore him. You’re enamored with him.
You crawl slowly up the length of his body, feline-like in your movements. You appraise his tattoos, smoothing your hands over them as you go. You lean down and press featherlight kisses across his beautiful, bruised face.
Eddie cracks his eyes open at you with an inquisitive smirk, just barely puckering his lips to kiss you back when you land one on them. “Feeling me up again, sweetheart?”
You hum, kissing his chest. “You’re hot.” It’s the only explanation you afford him. And once he’s shut his eyes again, you carefully move down his body, peppering kisses across his naked torso.
“What’re you-?” He twitches when you drag your tongue over his cock, still wet and salty with his cum. He groans as you slowly lift it, suckling on the head gently. “Oh… Sweetheart, m’not… I don’t think I can-”
“I’m just cleaning you up, teddy,” you tell him gently. “S’okay. You can go to sleep.”
He hums tiredly, his hand lifting to run through your hair, stroking tenderly against the back of your head. “My girl just can’t keep her hands off, huh?”
“Not a chance,” you tell him, giving him another slow lick. “You’re just too fucking pretty, Eds.”
“And you’re too fuckin’ perfect.” Eddie only really falls asleep after he comes again.
I’m never gonna leave you, baby, even if you lose what’s left of your mind…
A few days later, the car breaks down in Colorado Springs.
It had been acting up for a while, of course. Even though you enjoyed watching Eddie when he was bent over the open hood, bare arms sweaty and streaked with grease in the afternoon heat, you knew it ultimately wasn’t going to end well.
Each time Eddie tinkered with it, more and more concerning things came to light. “One of your cylinders misfired,” he said one time, shaking his head. He’d insisted on driving it from that point on. Another, “The fucking spark plug has gone out. We have to get a new one.” That was $75 you didn’t have to spare.
You guess the car had just fucking had it when you got to Colorado. You went to start it up at a truck stop, and the whole thing just sputtered and coughed at you, and then you didn’t have an engine anymore.
After Eddie paced around and cursed about it for a couple minutes, you both crawled into the back of the van and locked the door. And now you sit cross-legged across from each other, with everything of value that you have to your name in a little pile in front of you.
When you left home, you’d saved up a couple thousand to live off of until you got somewhere you felt comfortable working and living in. Since then, you’ve squandered it on food and motels and gas, never staying put and now rambling along with Eddie.
From the ATM, Eddie had stolen around two thousand dollars. He’s in the same boat as you, now looking at only a couple hundred in between the two of you. Hardly enough to afford a hotel room or bus fare for the both of you. Certainly not enough to get you a new car, or even rent one.
He scrubs his hands down his face, dirty fingernails pressing into his skin. “You should take it.”
“What?” You squint at him.
“There’s enough here for bus fare for you, at least,” Eddie murmurs, his fingers poking at the pile and scooting it toward you. “Getcha where you want to go. Get a nice job at a tourist shop in Vegas or Santa Monica or something.”
“Are you fucking kidding me, Eddie?” you snap. You swat his hand away from the pile, looking affronted. “I’m not taking the money, so cut it out. We’ll figure something else out.”
Eddie shakes his head, like he’s already made up his mind. “We had a deal. I fix your car, you take me with you. And I didn’t fix your car.”
“Yeah, but that was before…” you trail off, scrutinizing his expression. He won’t meet your gaze. He won’t look at you.
Eddie’s mouth opens and closes like he’s a fish out of water. Then, he says bitingly, “Before we fucked?”
You can feel all the emotion drain from your face, leaving you a blank, hollow screen with dead eyes just staring at him. It’s your best defense against bursting into tears at the very tone of his voice.
When he glances at you, you can tell that he wants to take it back immediately. His teeth worry his bottom lip, ripping at chapped shreds of skin. “Don’t do me any favors, sweetheart.”
“It’s not a fucking favor- I thought we were doing this together.”
Eddie talks over you. “You don’t need to keep dragging me around with you, okay? You’re off the hook.”
“Eddie, you’re being mean,” you croak at him. Not exactly the quick, biting wit that you can usually whip out- he’s shocked you.
He drops his eyes, his hands squeezing his knees. “Yeeeah,” he grumbles, his fingers tapping sporadically against his denim jeans. “Well, I told you, I’m no good for you. You didn’t listen.”
You told me that while your tongue was in my pussy. The words are balanced on the edge of your teeth, but they won’t fall out. Your hands itch to reach out for him, grab his chin and force him to look at you, somehow.
Instead, they snatch up the little bit of cash from your side of the pile in between you. You crumple it in your hand and shove the wad into your jacket pocket before you grab the strap of your weather-beaten backpack full of the last things you have to your name, and kick open the back door of the van.
It’s summer, but it’s windy in Colorado. It must be something about the mountains, you guess, and it being early morning. Condensation hangs in the air, making the air both heavy and cool as you breathe. Funny- if you slept naked, you’d probably have to curl up into each other for warmth, for a change.
You’re either vibrating from rage or from the abnormal chill in the air. Standing on the street corner with the gas station sign lit up in neon behind you, you kick the crosswalk pole with your dirty converse. You’re still arguing with him, in your head. We were in this together, motherfucker. I told you, I’m your girl. I put all my eggs in your basket. Whatever fucking martyr complex this is, you can shove it right up your stupid-
“I know.” Eddie’s tattooed arms wrap around your waist and pull you into his chest, his face buried in your hair as he whispers urgently into it. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
So, you weren’t arguing with him in your head. You were actually yelling everything you were thinking, and he chased you as you stormed off. Seems about par for the course.
“Fuck you, Eddie, did it even mean anything to you?” you blather at him, your voice thick with impending tears. “‘Cause it meant something to me.”
“Course it did,” he rasps at you, his arms squeezing you to him so tight that you’re running out of air to breathe. “I didn’t- I was being shitty. I’m sorry. Please, don’t leave.”
“Then don’t push me away.” The tears collect in your lashes, finally dripping down your cheeks. You turn in his arms and whack your hand flat against his chest. “Don’t treat me like some slut, don’t- I didn’t sleep with you just because I wanted you to fix my fucking car, you jerk.”
“I don’t think that,” Eddie insists quietly, wiping your tears away with his thumbs. “C’mon, now.”
“You said-”
“I know what I said,” he cuts you off. “And I didn’t mean it. I have a bad habit of throwing away the good things in my life, ‘cause… ‘cause of that martyr complex, you said-” He jams his tongue against the roof of his mouth when you hiccup, staring up at him with a wobbly lip. “Don’t let me throw you away. You’re the best thing I’ve ever had, ‘n I don’t wanna lose you just because I’m an idiot.”
You sigh, your head falling neatly into the crook of his neck like it’s meant to be there. He’s too quiet, holding you against him at the street corner. Eddie breathes in deep and kisses the side of your head longingly.
“I can get us a car.”
You lift your head to look at him. He wears a disappointed expression. “But we don’t have any money.”
“It won’t take money,” Eddie mumbles as he strokes your back. “I, uh… I didn’t want to end up like my old man, but…” he shrugs, his eyes cast away from you. He chuckles sadly. “Nothin’ I can do about that, now, I guess. I mean, look how you met me.”
Oh. You can infer what he means by the far-off look on his face, like he’s resigned himself to his fate. You lift your hands to cradle his face; the bruise on his cheekbone has faded to yellow, the scab on his chin almost healed. He’s never looked more beautiful to you.
“You’re a good man, Eddie,” you tell him sternly.
Eddie’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t be too sure of that. You might change your mind.”
‘Cause you know I’ll be right there beside you, riding through all these western nights…
The sedan isn’t exactly flashy, or new. It’s a tin can on wheels that’ll crumble into bits if you so much as side-swipe a trash can. You keep a lookout as Eddie jimmies an unwound wire coat hanger between the glass window and the door, and a second later the door is unlocked.
You’re unnervingly calm. How did you get to be so calm about all this? Stealing money, driving getaway cars, stealing other cars when those ones don’t work. Suddenly an accomplice to whatever illegal shit has to happen for you to get where you’re going.
What’s worse, you think, is how badly the sight of him hotwiring the car turns you on. It’s practically horrifying the way your skin crawls and your core burns as you watch his hands fiddle with the wires beneath the console, so quick that your mind can barely process it. You’re not sure if the adrenaline in your veins is from looking to see if anyone’s coming, or if it’s because you want to jump his bones.
"I swear to you," he's saying as he swipes at frayed wires, "I swear, when we get to San Francisco, I'll never- I'm gonna get an honest, real fuckin' job, I'm not gonna do anything to hurt yo-"
The car starts, and you leap into the front seat without giving it any more thought. “Eddie?”
“Yeah, sweetheart?” He looks up at you, his brows tilted up expectantly. He’s still tucking wires back under the dashboard, preparing to take off once he gets the door shut.
“I slept with you because I’m falling in love with you.”
Eddie’s eyes go wide as moons, glittering in the light of a fluorescent floodlight at the corner of the dark parking lot.
“You don’t have to love me back,” you tell him honestly. “I just wanted you to know. I’m with you. And I’m not gonna leave.”
You don’t know if he loves you back- not yet, anyways. He doesn’t say it to you. But he kisses you like he does.
I'll be screaming your name past the gas stations, trailing down the interstate. Please don’t love how I need you, and know that one day, you and I could be okay.
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson fanfic#stranger things#stranger things fanfic#roses*
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Heart of Darkness
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Demon AU)
Word Count: 1.089
Summary: The time to run has finally come but you never expected to find the road to your safety paved in darkness.
Author's Note: This is my entry for my lovely friend @witchywithwhiskey writing/moodbard challenege Horror Movie Hoe-athon! Thank you for hosting sweets! 💕I used one of the quotes which I've bolded in the story and on my crappy moodboard lol! This is mostly super soft- I just can't seem to get away from it lately haha. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the awesome @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy🥰
Warnings: some small angst in the beginning but lots of super soft sweetness mostly and flower talk :)
The sun is warm at your back as you approach your cottage, your basket of wildflowers swinging freely from your arm and the sweet aroma of the blooms carried on the breeze.
As you get closer you notice that the door is slightly ajar, and a chill emanates from within, slithering over your skin and stealing it’s warmth. Even though the hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge, you’re pulled forward by a mysterious darkness, tempting and dangerous in it’s allure.
With tentative steps you move forward, pressing your shaky fingers to the door to push it open. The darkness instantly surrounds you and the chill seeps into your bones. Your mouth opens in a scream but it’s silenced by the cold press of a hand to your mouth.
Deliberate and steady steps have your back to the wall before you can register more than the large form in front of you and as your eyes adjust you can make out the silhouette of a man.
The darkness slowly starts to dissipate and a soft silvery glow fills the room, it’s light gradually revealing what holds you captive inch by inch.
His long, curved horns frame a face with eyes so blue they shine brighter than anything else in the room, and his wings, huge and black, circle around you as a voice, rich like silk, fills your ears.
“Do not scream,” he whispers as he gently removes his hand from your mouth.
Your lips tremble and his eyes drop to follow the movement, his thumb brushing over their outline before he cups your cheek.
“You are not safe,” he states. “You must come with me.”
You can’t find your voice, the terror of what he is overwhelming your senses and your eyes squeeze shut as you drop your chin, silently willing away this nightmare.
“Please,” he begs.
Your breathing becomes ragged and you can feel the scream bubbling up in your chest but then you feel something unexpected, something…oddly soothing.
Your eyes open slowly, lashes wet with unshed tears and you let out a shuddering breath.
“I…I don’t understand.”
He leans closer and his tail continues to wind itself gracefully along your body, the sinuous movements mesmerizing you. You relax into his touch, a feeling of safety overcoming your initial fear.
“I need you to come with me Angel.”
Your eyes fall when you feel the edge of his tail graze the swell of your breasts, the strong appendage moving higher and higher. He pulls you against him, his body a wall of muscle pressed to your soft skin.
“We don’t have much time,” he warns.
“But...who are you…how do I know…”
Your words die on your parted lips as he dips his head, running his nose along the column of your neck with a deep inhale.
“I’ll protect you,” he murmurs, soft and cool lips brushing the shell of your ear.
You shiver in his arms, falling harder under his spell.
“How do I know I can trust you?” you whisper, wavering between the urge to try and flee or fall deeper.
“Even Hell has it’s heroes…and the thing that hunts you is far worse than I.”
His words send a skitter of fear down your spine, different from how you originally felt in his presence and it causes your breath to catch.
“Where will you take me?” you ask, feeling your body become more pliant the longer you’re in his arms.
“Far away from here where you’ll be safe,” he promises. “And there will be plenty of flowers for you to pick and land for you to wander.”
His lips are feather light as they slide from your ear and down along your jaw, hovering just above yours before he whispers, “but…there is a price.”
Your gaze meets his and you fight hard for release, pulling back slightly but finding it impossible to look away. He sees the war in your eyes and the tip of his tail settles just under your chin, bringing your lips back to his before he murmurs, “you’ll belong to me…”
Your eyelashes kiss your cheeks and you let out sigh, the feel of his lips making your body melt into his.
“Forever Angel.”
~Several months later~
The scene before you is awash with vibrant colors and the air is filled with scents of renewal. Beneath the shady canopy of a majestic old tree, the dappled sunlight filters through tender green leaves, casting playful shadows across your skin as his fingertips dance lazily along your curves.
“When can I open my eyes?” he asks, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
“I’m almost done,” you tell him, your fingers moving gently through the dew-covered grass in search of another flower.
His long fingers continue their wandering, every so often sliding beneath your skirt and causing you to giggle.
“James…” you admonish lightly. “I’ll never finish if you keep that up!”
He pouts, shifting his huge, dark wings, a stark contrast against the explosion of radiant color surrounding you, and waits.
“There,” you sigh, adjusting one last flower before you hold up your work. “Open your eyes.”
Blue eyes that match the color in the sky above open.
“Angel,” he croons as his face lights up. “It’s beautiful.”
You carefully lift the flower crown and place it between his horns, tending to anything out of place until it sits just perfectly atop his head. The bright blooms are a rainbow of color against his dark hair and you can’t help your wide grin.
“I think I like this one best,” you decide.
“You always say that Angel,” he teases as he pulls you into his embrace.
You rest your head on his chest, closing your eyes and breathing him in.
“You and the flowers are my favorite things.”
He tightens his grip, your name a whisper on his lips.
“You spoil me with your beautiful things. I don’t deserve them.”
With a soft kiss to his skin you sit up, straddling his waist and taking his face in your hands. Your fingertips lovingly trace along his jaw and then higher to each of his horns before they drop to his wings and you let the silky feathers slide between your hands.
“I love you James…for exactly who you are.”
He wraps you in his arms and buries his face in your neck. “As dark as I am, I will always find enough light to adore you to pieces, with all of my pieces. I love you Angel.”
@book-dragon-13 @goldylions @blackwidownat2814 @kmc1989 @hiddles-rose @randomfandompenguin @sebstanwhore
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes#demon!bucky barnes#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x female reader#demon!bucky x reader#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes au#demon au#sebastian stan#sebastian stan x reader#horrormoviehoeathon
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5 VIDEO GAMES FOR THERIANS.
i'm going to try to be as inclusive as possible like my last thread :0) enjoy!!
1 •
for my other wolf therians (or canine therians in general) out there — wolfquest !! live the life you were meant to live in this realistic wolf simulator. find a mate, hunt, raise pups, and defend what's yours!! this game is $20 on steam and itchio, it comes with the OG game too if you ever want to play the older version :03
you can play with up to 8 friends on multiplayer, there's a saga in the works (the completed version of the game), DLCs for those with extra cash to spare, and 88 achievements on steam for those who love collecting things!!
as someone who plays this game every day, and has been playing since i was a small child, i highly recommend this game not only from a therian perspective, but also because it's extremely fun to play!!
2 •
for any lynx therians out there, i recommend shelter 2 !! play as a mother lynx striving to keep her cubs alive and fed as you hunt prey, explore the wildlife and prepare for other animals trying to harm you and your young.
this game is incredibly pretty and, from my own experience, runs on even the shittiest computers with relative ease.
and yes, you can name both you and your babies :03
this game is $25 on steam and has a DLC for $10, it has 26 achievements and doesn't take too long to complete!!
3 •
if you're not a wild animal, but still feline, then i suggest you get the game stray !!
control an orange cat as you try to find your way back to your clowder after falling into a pit away from them. explore your environment, which can get pretty dangerous at times, so be careful!! but it isn't all bad out there, you'll meet friends, and people that love you.
story aside, this game is extremely fun to play and easy to control. i'm not a cat therian, but playing the game i felt immersed in the world, i felt like i WAS the cat. this game is $30 on steam :0)
the best part? you can meow. constantly.
i recommend a computer that can handle games with high graphics for the best results.
4 •
for any geese (or ducks) out there, you should get untitled goose game !! love mischief? even better, that's ALL you do in this game. steal things, make things hard for the townsfolk, honk and wear hats!! it's even multiplayer, double the irritability!!
this game is extremely fun and lighthearted, my favorite part is how you can collect things in it!! i love building a mountain of stolen goods and running around aimlessly as a silly little bird.
it runs well on all computers from my own experience, and you can buy it for $20 on steam!!
5 •
and last, but not least, meadow !! this game was produced by the same developers that made shelter 1 & 2 :0)
play as multiple animals in this online world, unlock different skins and new critters to play as, meet and make new friends, explore the environment around you. this game is suitable for all and one of the cheaper ones on this list at $10.
it runs easily on most software and is wonderful to play if you need some time to wind down in the evening after a stressful day due to the muted colors, calm environment and interesting style :03
#canine therian#therian community#wolf therian#wolfkin#theriotype#caninekin#nonhumanity#therianthropy#lynx therian#cat theriotype#cat therian#catkin#canine theriotype#lynx kin#wild cat therian#goose therian#bird therian#hare therian#therian#kinblr#therian help#therian advice#confessions of the dog
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Blurred Lines
Jake kiszka x reader
18+ only! Minors do not interact!
Warnings: graphic sexual content, very light impact play, explicit language, overstimulation, etc.
Just a little something quick I whipped up because my life is now an absolute dumpster fire thanks to Jake and his eyeliner. Fairly lazy editing, my apologies in advance ❤️
Sexy? Yes, you had expected that. A feral crowd calling forth that smirk of his that proves he knows exactly what he’s doing. The wicked gleam in his eye that says ‘they want me and I love it’, you had expected that too.
What you didn’t expect, was the wild, white-hot flame that would be stoked way down deep inside you. The moment he appeared, a rock and roll angel…wings hidden beneath his jacket, you wanted to fall to your knees with a warm, wet, open mouth offering a home for his cock.
Eye liner. A sweep of charcoal along his lash line, expertly applied, rendering his gaze even more beautiful than usual. No man has any business being that pretty. Gorgeous, really. Feminine in the most delicious way. In the way that serves as a testament to the unwavering confidence and security in his own skin he possesses.
You had wanted him then, badly. Wanted to climb into his lap and kiss his lovely face, to suck on his bubble gum pink tongue, to rock your hips against him until he was so hard neither of you could bear it any longer.
Yes, you’d been down astronomically bad then, but now? Watching him destroy his guitar, fingers flying along the frets so rapidly they’re no more than a blur. Sweat glistening and rolling down his chest like diamonds as he flirts with the audience, stealing heart after heart, liner now smudged and messy from exertion…now your need is nearly painful.
If he were to curl a finger at you, you’d make your way over from side-stage and bow to his every whim…audience be damned.
You have to have him, and you don’t want him on the bus where you’re both forced to be gentle and quiet lest the others hear (although you’re fairly certain they still do from time to time). No, you want to fuck, with him behind you, looking like a whore of a pirate who stepped foot on dry land and somehow ended up here.
Never before have you ducked out before the end of their set, but there’s a first time for everything. If he swaggers off stage like usual - an arm will be wrapped around your waist in greeting as he bullshits with his brothers about the show…what went wrong, what went right, what might go wrong and right next time, it will carry on and on.
Normally you don’t mind. In fact, you enjoy it. But if you’re forced to stand around aching and fiending for the fix only he can bestow, you very well might begin tearing into him right in front of the others.
If he leaves the stage and his gaze doesn’t land on you immediately, he’ll forgo the post show back and forth in favor of hunting you down.
And it is to that end, that you find yourself waiting, not so patiently, in his dressing room.
It feels like an eternity, and exasperation is beginning to creep in when the door swings open.
“Where’d you go, baby?” He smiles through heavy pants of breath. “Were we that awful tonight?”
“Lock the door.”
“Why?” He looks confused.
Your patience is wearing incredibly thin. You want him just like this - covered in sweat, post show adrenaline coursing through his veins like the sweetest drug, screams of adoration still rattling about in his head “Just lock the fucking door, Jake.”
He reaches back and pushes the tiny button on the handle, eyes on you all the while, a quiet groan of lust escaping him when you lean over the vanity and hike your dress up over your hips. Panties are next to go, shoved down mid-thigh, blush pink lace as soaked and warm as your cunt.
“Look at you, my poor, pretty little thing. Does baby need some attention?” His voice is slightly hoarse. Always a tell as to how turned on he is. The man has no poker face when it comes to being buried inside you.
His reflection grows nearer in the mirror and your desire kicks into overdrive, shaking through your system until you’re practically vibrating with it.
“Fuck me.” It ribbons off your tongue with a tremble clutching at your throat. Twisting and squeezing in perfect time with the thunderous pounding of your heart.
His hands wrap around the curve of your waist, Chelsea boot kicking your legs further apart.
Your eyes burn into one another’s for a moment, the air in the room so thick with sexual tension that if you closed your eyes you might believe you were wandering through early morning fog.
He jerks your hips back against him, just to torture you with the heat of his hard cock, and that sets in motion what seems like a thousand movements.
Leaning forward, he sinks his teeth into your bare shoulder until you whine out in blissful pain, and then there is his finger, sneaking under the strap of your bra resting beside the mark of his teeth.
“Let me see them.” He snaps the elastic and then slides his hand between your thighs, growling low in his chest when he finds you dripping and clenching around nothing.
You chase his fingers as he teases them around, giving you just enough to pull whimper after needy whimper out of you.
“I said let me see them.” He sounds harsh and demanding, but you can see love behind the darkness in his eyes.
Yanking down on the neck of your dress, you take the cups of your bra along for the ride, leaving you nothing more than a half-dressed disheveled whore for him.
And that’s fine by you. You’d rather be a whore for him than a lady for someone else.
His tongue sweeps over his bottom lip as, at last, he finally slips two fingers inside you. “Look how fucking beautiful you are, baby. Play with them for me, and make it hurt. I know you like it.”
He feels you clench viciously around his touch the moment you take hold of your taught nipples, wrenching and tugging at them.
“You’re sucking me right in,” his breath is catching and hitching in his lungs. “I fucking love your cunt. So tight and hot. Velvet soft. Pink and greedy. What’s got her so worked up? Tell me.”
You try your hardest to collect your thoughts, but with his fingers circling into the spot only he has ever found, it’s nearly impossible.
In the end, it doesn’t matter, he figures it out for himself when you glance up and catch sight of the smoky eye his ruined liner has created…your eyes roll back in your head and he knows.
“There it is.” He sounds like sex drenched detective who has just cracked a case. “You like that? You like it when I look pretty for my sweet little whore of a fuck toy?”
“Yes…” the word drags out of you as you push back to meet his hand frantically. “Fuck me, Jake. Please, I need it. I need it so fucking bad.”
The teeth of his zipper hum open and suddenly you’re stuffed full in one smooth roll of his hips.
“Yeah,” a cocky smirk ghosts over his lips. “You’re soaked, baby. You love it, don’t you? You wanna paint my lips cherry red so I can kiss it all over this gorgeous pussy?”
You smack your palm harshly against the polished wood you’re bent over, biting down on your lip feverishly in an effort to keep quiet.
He reaches around and tugs it free…he wants every sound. Every moan and sigh, every call of his name. “Tell me I’m pretty.”
A flash of heat explodes in your chest, spider cracking all the way down to your toes.
Hand slipping downward, he wraps his grip around your neck, squeezing as if he’s trying to coax praise off your tongue with his touch. “Say it.”
“You’re so pretty, Jake…” each word is followed by a tiny gasp for air as he fucks into you harder and faster “A fucking princess with a cock. You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.
He groans out an animalistic noise that springs goosebumps to life on your skin. His head falls back and you’re reminded of stage Jake, practically fucking his guitar, losing himself in the haunting notes his talented fingers call forth.
Once again, he finds your eyes in the mirror. “Come on, baby, cum for me. I’m so fucking close.” A shiver ripples through him as his cock jerks wildly deep inside you.
“Go ahead, Jakey…” you can’t tear your eyes away from him. “Give it to me.”
He shakes his head, sending his layers whipping around. “You first. I need to feel it. Fuck…be a good girl and do as you’re told…cum on my cock.”
A wail of a whine tumbles out of you, as you tighten around him like a silken fist.
“It's pretty, too.”
You’ve hardly made a sound, but he catches it.
“Is it?” The question drifts out with a hint of a slur - he’s completely drunk on you. “A pretty cock for a beautiful cunt.” He cracks a sharp smack against the outside of your thigh. “Now give it the fuck up, baby girl. I want it.”
Your muscles jerk and tense up tight as a drum listening to his teeth click together with a clenched jaw as he fights his own need. “C’mon sweetheart, please…”
The effort was valiant, but he loses the battle, and with a hushed call of your name, the sinful heat of his release warms you from the inside out and you wish you could keep it there forever. A bit of him secreted away safe and sound within you.
“Don’t stop..” you beg as his cursing cries morph into tiny whines of overstimulation. “Don’t fucking stop.”
He can’t deny you anything, so he carries on, fighting through it in order to get you there while you babble and moan incoherently, words peppered through. Harder. Right there. Keep going. Obscenities you’d be ashamed for anyone else to hear.
With the most endearing fucked out noise you’ve ever heard him utter, he sends you sailing over the edge, nails raking into the vanity, body shaking and squirming so intensely he is forced to wrap an arm around your waist to hold you somewhat still around his cock as it throbs and aches for mercy.
His forehead falls against your shoulder, tired, spent, satiated in the way he’s only ever felt with you.
Right here, you have all you’ll ever need…but soon, the spell is broken when you register the lowered hum of noise on the other side of the door. The place is slowly clearing out, the others are likely already on the bus wondering what the hell has become of you two.
There’s no time to shower, but you do your best at looking at least halfway presentable, futile as it is. They’ll see through you both right away, but it isn’t the first time your indiscretions have provided them with valuable material for their entertainment, and it certainly won’t be the last.
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#greta van fleet#greta van fleet fic#greta van fleet smut#greta van smut#greta van fleet fan fiction#fanfic#greta van fic#gvf fic#jake gvf#jake kiszka smut#jake kiszka imagine#gvf smut#jake kiszka#gvf x reader#gvf fanfiction#gvf#gvf jake
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The Type You Save -
F I F T E E N
James "Bucky" Barnes and OFC Alexandra "Alex" Richards
Detective James Barnes hasn't seen the love of his life in three years. Since the night she was almost caught stealing a painting. He knows it was her and she disappeared leaving him confused and heart broken.
Alexandra Richards never expected to be pulled back into her old life two years after she left it. She had found love and a home and was happy. Until a note blackmailed her to take one last job. Three years later she walked into the last person she expected to see in San Francisco. Because he lived in New York right?
They always put family before everything. And he would do anything to get his family back. Because she's the type you save.
TW: mob, death, smut, rape intentions, angst, guns, family abandonment, dub-con, manipulation
A/N: We are nearing the end!
I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated
Divider by @firefly-graphics
Previous: F O U R T E E N
Series Masterlist ~ Main Masterlist
Christian Grey has always appreciated the finer things in life. Luxurious home, top of the range car, Cristal, 25-year-old scotch, the works. A man of his status and wealth should have a standard. Including the right woman.
Alexandra Richards was that woman.
He stared at the woman next to him as Nate drove, Walker beside him. He watched as she wiped an errant tear that fell to her cheek. She kept her face to the window, studying the country side as they drove. She didn’t bother asking where they were going, they would never tell her.
“Pet, would you like some water?”
“No, thank you.”
“Alexandra, you need to eat or drink something.”
“Not if I want to die, Mr. Grey.” Her tone remained even, never looking away from the window.
Grey grounded his teeth, wanting to force her to drink. But he waited, allowing her emotions. She was different than his pet from before. She was strong, independent before. Now she was despondent, fragile. A mother. She was in mourning for the loss of her son. He would try and change that soon but for now, he needed to break her and change her back to the woman she was.
His Alexandra.
James watched from the doorway of his sleeping son’s room, observing his little body as it curled around his teddy bear. He knew the sleep was from exhaustion, having to have explained to his son that his mother wasn’t going to be here for a while. He was a momma’s boy through and through. He closed the door softly and back into the empty apartment.
Steve was still tracking Alex. He almost laughed to himself again. He went to their bedroom and to his side table. He lifted the necklace from its place. The duplicate he had switched in Alex’s jewelry box was damn near perfect. Either she had noticed and didn’t say anything or she was losing her touch. Either way, the switch had allowed a tiny tracker to be embedded with her. That’s why Steve was on the hunt.
After searching for Zemo at his home and secondary office, it was painfully clear that he had been the mole for some time now. It was too coincidental that Walker had found Alex so quickly. The APB was out for everyone. All he could do now was wait. His phone went off.
Stark: He’s still tracking. They’ve almost made it to Tahoe
Barnes: ok
Stark: We’ll find her
Barnes: I know. Just bring my son’s mother home to him.
Barnes: Bring her back to me
James laid down and clutched her pillow. It still smelled like her. Of strawberries and roses, of her. Finally, twelve hours after she disappeared, he cried.
Alex jolted awake as the car slowed to a stop. She looked around in the darkness, unsure of where she was. She could make out the outline of trees in the moonlight but after that, she had no clue. Until she turned to see a house. It was out of a movie. Stark white, wrap around porch with large windows. Nate and Walker were already out of the car and walking up while Grey was studying her as she took in the home. “What do you think?”
“It’s a beautiful home.” She wouldn’t lie.
“Good.” Grey gave her a smile. “I built it for you.”
“For me?”
“You had a house, similar to this, in that notebook you used to have. Your journal. I found it after you left and wanted to have something ready for you when you came back.”
“I didn’t come back. You kidnapped me.”
“You left voluntarily.”
“To save my husband and son.”
“Your husband?” Grey sneered. “Your husband is nothing compared to me.”
“My husband is a thousand times the man you will ever be.”
Grey reached and grabbed her by the hair, and she squealed in pain. “Listen to me Alexandra. You are mine now. You made your choice.” He pulled a little harder and she whimpered. “I do miss that sound pet.”
“Please, stop.”
“No.” He opened the car door and dragged her out. She screamed and thrashed but Grey gripped her arm. “This is your home now Alex. Let’s get you acquainted.” He pulled her up the steps. She had no time to take in the interior as Grey marched her up to the master bedroom. “I have clothes and toiletries in the bathroom. There is nothing sharp or poisonous in here so don’t try. I’ll be back.”
Grey slammed the door closed and she heard a click as she was now locked in the room. She sank to the floor and cried.
Being a MIT graduate should have been something that Grey had factored into his grand scheme. There is always something sharp or poisonous in everything. After crying, Alex got to work, taking the plastic toothbrush and using the counter to sharpen it. She just had to get past the door, and she could fight her way out. She hoped Nate would help her at some point, but she couldn’t count on that.
Keeping her crude tool close, Alex decided to inspect the rest of the room. The windows were locked, meaning the only way was to break them, attracting unwanted attention. Clothing in her size were in the drawers, no strings on any of them. Slip on shoes negated laces. Bastard really did think of almost everything. She heard footsteps coming and she hid the toothbrush under the pillow. She sat against the headboard, as far away as possible. The door opened revealing Nate. Alex let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Hey Nate.”
“Hey Allie Cat.”
“That’s a new one.”
“Had time to think about it.” He went to sit on the edge of the bed, but still blocking the door. “I told you to run.”
“And I told you that I couldn’t abandon my family again.”
“Were you always this stubborn?”
She shrugged. “Probably. But we were usually on the same team.” She studied Nate. He looked tired, worn. “What is the plan for me Nate?”
“The plan? The plan. Shit Alex, you should know the Boss by now. He’s gonna want his pet back by his side.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“He’s gonna try and break you Alex if you don’t do it willingly. This is why I told you to run. But no, the great Cat Burglar had to do things her own way.” Nate started to pace. “Fuck Alex, I tried to protect you. I found you three times before he sent Walker. And he only sent Walker when that fucker Zemo ratted you out.”
“Zemo? Zemo is yours?”
“Not mine Alex. His.” He cupped her face. “I’m sorry. I’m only up here because Grey asked me to try to convince you. Just give in. Save yourself. If only so that you save your son, your husband from any more pain. Please Alex.”
“I can’t,” she whispered. “I love my husband and my family. I need my family Nate. I need them just as much as I need you. Please help me.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I wish I could.” He stepped back. “I’ll do what I can for you. But unless by some miracle you are found, you are his.” He turned and left the room, locking it as he went.
It was deathly quiet now. And a sob was ripped from room as Alex began to wail.
Nate walked back downstairs, trying to ignore the sobs that were now being ripped from her chest. His best friend. Well former best friend after his act of betrayal. He made it to the living room and walked past Walker and Grey. He reached the bar cart and poured himself a drink. He needed to feel numb now.
“What did she say?” Grey asked, looking up from the papers he was studying.
“That she wants to go home to her family.”
Walker let out a sadistic laugh. “Kitty lost her claws. What a little pussy.”
Grey glared at Walker until the man’s face fell. He snorted. “That’s a shame.” He looked up at the stairs. “Let her cry it out tonight. We start tomorrow.”
“Start with what?” Nate looked at his boss.
“Breaking her.”
Steve could hear snippets of the conversation happening in the home. He peaked in to see the three men sitting and talking before the one with the drink threw it back and slammed it down, exiting the room. Steve picked up his phone.
Rogers: found her
Stark: thank god. She ok?
Rogers: no idea. Security tight no clean entry or exit
Stark: fuck. Ok. I’ll reach out to local
Rogers: roger that.
He looked around and saw the guy who left angrily now standing on the porch, hand on the railing, head bowed. The man shuddered like he was trying to keep his emotions in. “Fucking Alex, why doesn’t she listen?”
“She does that.” Nate swiveled to look at Steve. He went to reach for his weapon, but Steve drew first. “Whoa there, sunshine.” Nate slowly raised his hands. “I think you and I are after the same thing. To help Alex.”
Nate cocked his head. “You’re Steve.”
“You must be Nate. If I lower my weapon, we cool?”
“Yeah.”
Steve holstered his weapon. “Can they hear us in there?”
“No, but better safe than sorry. Garage in the back. Meet you there in five.” Nate went back inside.
Steve made is way around through the woods. He waited behind until Nate called for him. “How is she?”
“She’s scared and probably planning to do something stupid. She’s Alex.”
Steve huffed. “Yeah, typical. Look I have reinforcements coming but it will take until morning to get them here. I need to know how I can get in there and rescue her.”
Nate sighed. “You’ll help with my case?”
“For Alex, yeah I will.”
James was awakened by his phone a few hours later. He reached over, the bright screen hitting his eyes causing him to squint.
Stark: He found her
Barnes: She ok?
Stark: status undeterminable but I’ve sent locals to help
Barnes: give me the coordinates.
Stark: sent. I’m coming with. Be there in 10
James called Natasha. “We found her.”
Oh thank god.
“I need you to come stay with Drew.”
I’m on my way.
James got his gear together as well as some stuff for Alex. He crept into Drew’s room, his boy still sleeping peacefully. “I love you Chief,” he whispered. He slipped Alex’s necklace over his head. “You take care of this for me and Mommy, ok?” He kissed his head and walked out. Nat showed. “The documents you might need are in the safe in our closet. Combo is 03-10-19-17. We left some stuff for Drew when he’s older.”
“Bucky…”
“I’m gonna do everything I can to bring us home but just in case. Please take care of our boy.”
Nate hugged James hard. “Be safe.”
Stark knocked on the open door frame. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
The sun hadn’t risen yet when Alex was awakened by the door opening. She held still. “Pet?” Alex reached slowly under the pillow for her toothbrush and gripped it tight. When she sensed him close, she swung, the sharp point she created cutting the skin on his arm. “Fuck!”
Alex rose and swung her leg around, dropping him as he gripped his forearm to stop the bleeding. She ran to the door and down the stairs. She could see the front door but was grabbed around the middle. “Let me go!”
“I see Kitty did have her claws,” Walker said in her ear as he adjusted his grip. “And now I get to play with the Kitty.”
Alex paled as she was held in place by Walker as Christian walked down the stairs, a towel on his arm. “Let’s get her to the garage. I don’t want to make a mess in the house.” Walker pulled her out and marched her to the back of the property.
Steve and Nate were there in the shadows, waiting for the backup promised to Steve. It was getting close to dawn when Steve heard the cries of his best friend. He watched as Alex was dragged into the garage. “Shit. We have to get in there.” Steve and Nate both moved to pull their weapons.
A gun cocking behind them caused them to freeze. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Steve didn’t have time to turn before the butt of the gun hit his head and he was knocked out.
NEXT
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#andy's shenanigans#andy's hea#bucky barnes#bucky barnes au#the type you save#sebastian stan#sebastian stan fandom#sebastian stan fanfiction#bucky x ofc#Steve rogers#detective AU#bucky fanfic#bucky barnes smut
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awww poor Yoichi :(
Hmm, do you have any immortal headcanons?
I felt so sorry for him the whole time I was writing that AU. But yes, I do have some immortal OFA users headcanons.
Note: This time, an immortality quirk got mixed in with stockpile, so the users all had to fake their deaths. The headcanons go from there.
Yoichi had fun writing the books he always wanted to write, but under a pseudonym of course. His brother hates his books of course and vows to hunt down the author. (Yoichi does change pseudonyms and stuff every few years)
Also, once every few years, Yoichi will get HOOKED on some trend. It lasts about twice as long as it takes for the trend to die down.
Second married Yoichi and while he wanted to just steal what they needed; Yoichi convinced him to get money in a more ethical way. So, he became a mechanic. The only bad thing is they have to move every few years as they look the same age they were when they passed on OFA. Like the vampires in Twilight.
I headcanon Third as aro/ace, so this is a duoholders universe.
Also, Third becomes a therapist. He figured he would be qualified after so many years being the therapist friend. And he is good at it, but he also runs into the Twilight issue. Even so, the 3 are never far apart from each other. Third does have his own place, but he's always there if the other two need anything and vice versa.
(I have a weird version of trioholders where, while the first two holders are romantically involved, their friendship with Third runs so deep, that if he died, they would be destroyed. Same with Yoichi and Second. They all need and understand each other in a way so deeply, it goes beyond any normal intimacy. Like, platonic soulmates I guess is the best word for that.)
Hikage lives in the woods. After 18 years of being chased around, he decided to fake his death and give OFA to Banjo. So, now he lives with the forest creatures in peace. Third still drags him out for the occasional family dinner though.
Banjo uses his extra immortal time to become talented at, not just normal hobbies, but really weird stuff like peeling a banana with his feet like a monkey. In addition to bothering Hikage, he decided to try his hand at a childhood dream and become a cowboy. That didn't work out, so he travels the world instead.
My headcanon for En is that he had 5 siblings, so immortality would give him a lot of grieving to do. However, I also headcanon him as a lover of reptiles and technology, so he used his immortal time to get acquainted with all the new tech coming out each year and finally get a pet chameleon. He also got a degree in Graphic Art. However, he chooses to make his money by doing commissions.
Nana did give away her son after her husband died, but only until she faked her death. Then she got him back, so Kotaro doesn't end up being as bad, but there's definitely still some tension between them as she didn't tell him about her plan. She hides away, with Gran Torino helping her try to raise Kotaro as normally as possible. Meaning his last name does end up changed because Torino adopts him, but he co-parents with Nana. It's complicated. At least Hana and Tenko are happy children with grandparents who spoil them and a better dad. Nobody wants to be on the bad side of both Nana and Gran Torino.
Toshinori did not know about the immortality thing. Nana forgot to tell him, and he just thought his master had really good genes. So, he has the same knowledge in canon. In fact, his life is pretty much like canon, as they figured it was best that he goes to America for a bit to keep AFO away from Nana's hiding place. He also gets into the same fight with AFO, but sustains the same damage. You see, the immortality quirk doesn't keep them from getting hurt, it just keeps them from dying.
Oh yeah, remember the family dinners Hikage gets dragged to? Those are between every OFA user. Toshinori just thinks they're historians who love to joke around. He has to believe it at this point. At least they only happen once a year, unless there's an emergency, like a new user or a faked death. Or, AFO dying (is he dead?)
Then Toshinori brings Izuku to OFA family dinner. Cue the awing over the new user (who looks oddly familiar). There was some worry over how Izuku would adjust to the quirk, but they all assumed All Might had it figured out. That man was taught by someone who beat the crap out of him daily. All Might did not have it figured out.
(After the AFO fight, the other users convinced All Might to get a hobby or something, so he decided to try and get the credentials to become a teacher, because he always loved children. The credits to become a kindergarten teacher that is, so the jump to high school is still going to take some adjustment. Not to mention training a middle school boy to handle a quirk you gave them. I don't think there's a book on that.)
After the entrance exams, out of worry for their new user, all the vestiges move to the Musutafu area around UA to help with Izuku's training. The users get along great with Inko (who was told about OFA.) And Yoichi's brother and Inko's husband sure have a lot of similarities. What a coincidence...
From here they get upto all sorts of school-themed hijinks, but I'll let you imagine them. (The eventual meeting with Aizawa is always a fun one to imagine)
Uh... this did not turn out how I thought it would. It was supposed to be random headcanons and not a story outline. I did keep some stuff vague on purpose. Anyway, I hope you liked it :)
#hw ask game#jane's asks#my hero academia#yoichi shigaraki#second one for all holder#third one for all holder#hikage shinomori#daigoro banjo#en mha#nana shimura
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Carry ON
Chapter 1
Summary: It was just a simple hunt, found on a pie festival. It was supposed to be easy. Something they’d all done one hundred and one times a million. No one could have told Y/N, Dean, and Sam that nothing from that point on would ever be the same again.
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader x Sam Winchester
Word Count: 3890
Warnings: Heavy, HEAVY TW: Dean’s final episode of SPN. (Season 15x20 spoilers). Graphic injury. Me botching medical jargon, A lot of pain, blood, and hospital type atmosphere. Injured Dean Winchester. Angst.
A/N: 1 I decided to kind of graze over the ‘death scene’ as it where, rather than focus on it because a lot of people find it very triggering, and even though the whole point of this fic is to have him survive it, I don’t want to trigger someone with having to mentally relive it.
Due to the graphic nature of this fic, and the fact that it will eventually contain Smut. This fic is an 18 + only fic! If you’re under 18 DO NOT read this fic!
A/N: 2 This fic is beta’d by @kazsrm67 Thanks so much love! Please do not copy my work! Feedback is golden! I hope you all enjoy this ride with me!
My Mastlist Series Masterlist
Y/N was always a firm believer in a feeling of admonition, or a forewarning of sorts. Those feelings way deep down that tell you that something, somewhere down the path you’re currently walking, will go very, VERY, wrong. She’d been a hunter too long, and she’d seen a lot, but a lot of times, those forewarning premonitions of sorts, well, they had saved her life on many occasions.
She had that very same feeling when Sam Winchester called her, and asked for her assistance on what they believed was a ring of vampires stealing kids to raise for blood slaves. Literally the vampire version of ‘growing your own food’. He claimed that it was going to be an easy hunt that he and Dean had stumbled on while at a pie festival, and that he simply wanted to make sure that he’d had the hunters needed so that they weren’t outmanned. There was something deep down inside of her gut that screamed this hunt, this very hunt she was packing her bags for, would leave her rendered forever changed, and that something was going to go very wrong indeed, or that this thing would hit so damn close to the heart as it did.
She’d known the Winchesters for a little over a decade, and from the moment she’d met them, she’d fallen head over heels for the green eyed Winchester that seemed to always be just out of her reach. Whether it be because he was with another woman, or the fact that she was quite invisible to him, she didn’t know. A lot of the time, it did feel like Dean never even saw her, no matter how much she worked with them, or what she did to gain his attention. What she did know was that every time Sam called her, she’d go, if for nothing else, to spend just a little time with the man that literally had her heart from ‘hello’.
Y/N had never believed in love at first sight before. Hell, as a hunter, she thought love itself was the one human lore that was utter bullshit, and it was something she shouldn’t think about. Boy, did Dean test that belief from the moment she’d met him.
Still, she never thought she’d witness what she was going to witness, not from something as generic as a vampire hunt. Something they had all done time and time again, being seasoned hunters. Something that, until they walked through the doors of that Goddamn barn had gone so simply, so old school, that she wasn’t even really needed, and that the boys could have taken this very standard hunt on their own. If someone would have told her what was about to happen, and what was to come, she probably would have told them that they were lying.
Now, there were some things that were vivid in her mind leading up to the series of unfortunate events; warning signs that her subconscious wouldn’t let her focus on. Just like there was, and will always be, a lot of unanswered questions in her mind, because again, she simply couldn’t remember everything that had happened before her eyes, it all happened so fucking fast.
What she could remember however, was the sickening thud as she and Sam fought a vamp not ten feet away from where Dean was jostled onto that post and piece of rebar that had been protruding out from it. What she did remember, was standing back in utter horror as she watched Sam and Dean say their final goodbyes; as Dean’s vision started to fail him, his breath became harder and harder to take, and his body started to tremble as he gave into his sheer state of shock. She remembered the pain in his voice increasing, and she remembered the fear that he did his damndest to keep under control so that his baby brother wouldn’t panic. That she remembers very clearly. She remembered every fucking word they’d said to one another, and more than that, she remembered feeling very, VERY, helpless, the most helpless she’d ever felt in her life.
All as she watched Dean start to succumb to what surely was the excruciating pain; the cough got worse, his breaths became more and more shallow, as his words became harder and harder to say, while his strength started to fail him. She also vividly remembered the flashing lights and sirens as Dean’s head dropped onto Sam’s shoulder, and his consciousness failed him.
What she didn’t remember was calling the ambulance, even though she clearly had, because the phone was in her hand with the voice of the 911 operator playing in her head like a white noise of some kind, there, but not really there.
She didn’t remember the police taking pictures of the bodies that littered the dirty barn floor, sporting the mask that they had in their sketches. Just like she didn’t remember telling them that Dean was her husband, and that they were working as undercover FBI agents when the fight escalated, and Dean was tossed onto the rebar that was impaling him, but she did it.
Y/N did remember the sound of the saw as they cut through the post holding him up because his back was fused tight against the rod with the blow of sheer force he was shoved onto the object. She remembered helping Sam and others hold him up and support his weight as they laid him down on his side, a chunk of wood and rebar still in his back.
She also remembered a lot of yelling, so much yelling. Sam was yelling at a cop. The EMT’s were yelling at one another debating over which hospital had a big enough trauma center to take him to so that he might even remotely have a chance to survive. She remembered the sound of the helicopter as it landed in the field just outside the barn as so many hands worked to stabilize him. She did hear words being yelled like pneumothorax, and someone saying they needed to relieve the chest cavity of blood. Then there was talk of a possible spinal injury, but they wouldn't let her get close enough to see what they were doing to him.
What she will absolutely never forget is the horrors that were running through her head as they cut his shirt from his chest, and his lifeless looking face and slacked jaw while his head lulled sickeningly on the gurney while they worked frantically to save his life. Thoughts of him surely not surviving this. Thoughts of being wheel chair bound, and fuck knows what else, IF he lived at all.
She will forever remember doing her damndest to run with the gurney, Sam running along the other side of it, as they rolled him to the helicopter, or the crushing feeling in her chest as she stood there next to Sam watching it take off with her heart in the damn thing, and only a slim chance, if there really was any at all, that he’d make it, or if he would take his last breath in the air.
There it was again, that completely sickening, helpless feeling as her legs gave out from under her, and Sam caught her before her ass could hit the ground. She’d been through a lot. She’d seen a lot. She’d been hunting ever since she was sixteen years old, but she never, NEVER, thought she would see something as horrific as this.
The last thing she doesn’t remember doing, is riding in the Impala while Sam drove them both to Akron General, but it was what the sign said as they climbed out of the car and ran inside the hospital, only to be directed to a waiting area with white walls and hard chairs. So, she assumed that was the name of the place.
She vaguely remembered a nurse handing her a cup of water, and asking her questions about Dean, questions a wife would know, and honestly, she knew none of them, thankfully the nurse passed that off as shock while Sam answered and filled out questionnaire after questionnaire with trembling hands. If he was in as much shock as she was, he was holding it together well, because she felt like she was about to fall to pieces any second.
After that, the nurses left, telling the pair that Dean had been taken into emergency surgery, and a doctor would be in as soon as it was over to talk to them. That’s where she found herself now. In a small, white room, with uncomfortable furniture, a sick stomach, and a chest that felt like it was about to cave in with every breath she took, and the most suffocating silence she’d ever heard in her life.
Sam said nothing to her, he just sat across the room, picking at the blood on his hands while her mind tried to replay what happened in order to make sense of it all over and over again as the hours wore on, and she was pretty sure time stopped moving at all. It was maddening.
“Shouldn’t they have come in and talked to us by now?” Y/N questioned after a while, the sound of her own voice making her jump. Honestly, it was barely above a whisper and she was so hoarse she didn’t even recognize her own self. How long had they been sitting there?
“She said that they would come in and talk to us as soon as they were done,” Sam said, staring at her with a ghostly white look on his face. It made her wonder just what she looked like. Was she just as bad? Worse?
“The damage was pretty extensive,” Sam continued, “they told me that his chances of even surviving the flight to the hospital were slim, so I can’t imagine what they saw when they got the rebar out of him.
Y/N brought her hand up to her mouth to cover the sob that she could feel building in her chest, she’d cried so much that she was surprised that she was even able to cry anymore, but as the sheer shock started to wain and the exhaustion and stress took its place, it was honestly all she felt like she ever wanted to do again until she was able to see his face, cry.
Sam swallowed so thickly that she could hear it across the room, and when he spoke again, his voice was much softer than it had been a few moments ago. Maybe she looked worse than what she thought she did?
“How long?” he questioned, and she ran her hand down her face and released the breath she was holding as she stared at him in confusion.
“How long what?”
“How long have you had feelings for my brother?” Sam asked, a ghost of a smile on his face, and all she could do was look down at her feet as a deep resounding wave of grief overtook her again.
“How did you know?” she choked out, unable to look at him fully for a lot of reasons. The main one being that her feelings for Dean had been what she thought was her best kept secret in over a decade. She’d been with them on hunts countless times, she always made sure she was so careful to not let it show, and then he had to go and almost die on them tonight, and suddenly Sam was able to read her mail as if she left herself wide open and ready for the taking? It was almost cruel and unfair.
“I was pretty sure I noticed it the night we all met up on that Skin Walker hunt for the first time,” Sam admitted, and she blushed furiously in spite of the turmoil inside of her.
“Dean asked to buy me a drink and I told him my girlfriend wouldn’t appreciate that because I was mad at him for flirting with the bartender instead of me,” Y/N laughed at the memory. Dean had thought for years that she actually had a girlfriend until Sam told him she was just dragging him on to get under his skin. In truth, she was just afraid to let him know how she really was feeling, she was afraid; she still was.
Sam laughed to himself and ran his hand down his own face as his gaze drifted off towards the closed door.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Dean so jaded as he was that night,” Sam chuckled, “he sulked for days after that.”
“He just wasn’t used to being told no,” Y/N corrected him with a half-hearted smirk, and Sam laughed with a nod of his head.
“Maybe so,” he agreed as his eyes found hers again. “So, since night one huh?”
She could only nod. What was the use of hiding it from Sam now? When the likelihood that she’d never get to tell Dean just how she really felt about him was greater than the likelihood she’d get to see him smile again, and that fucking hurt, that hurt bad.
“Hey,” Sam said, catching her attention as she leaned forward and covered her face with her hands. She could literally feel herself trembling as she tried to hold it together. The longer she sat not knowing, the harder that got. Each second felt more excruciating than the last, and honestly, she was about to go hunt down some nurses for some answers. She couldn’t accept that the last time she’d see him alive was as he looked over Sam’s shoulder to stare at her while he drew his last continuous breath, she just couldn’t.
“Dean cared about you too Y/N/N, a lot, and if he had time, I’m sure he would have told you that before… before this. He asked about you all the time. He was the one who wanted you to come on this hunt with us, and I think it was because he wanted to see you.”
Y/N swallowed the sudden lump in her throat; looked away as the grief gripped her again, and breathed deeply as she could to keep herself from falling apart. She was just about to argue that there was no way in hell he gave a damn about her, when there was a knock on the door, and a man in scrubs stepped inside, along with a nurse tailing closely behind him. Y/N and Sam stood to their feet, and waited with their hearts on the floors as the doctor closed the door behind him.
“Mrs. Clearwater?” He questioned, and Y/N made a mental note to thank Sam for putting a name down that Dean might relate to enough if he woke up to play along at least until they could get him out of the hospital.
“Yes, that’s me, and this is Dean’s brother Sam,” she introduced them and the doctor reached out his hand, shaking her own as well as Sam’s before pointing to the chairs for them all to take a seat.
“My name is Dr. Martin, I was the attending surgeon for Dean tonight,” he informed, and Y/N was sure she was visibly shaking from head to toe as she waited.
“Is he okay?” Sam asked, his own voice shaking.
“He’s alive,” Dr. Martin informed them, “And stable. But he’s not out of the woods yet, Dean has a long, LONG, way to go.”
If Y/N wasn’t sitting down, even though she didn't remember sitting back down, she was sure her legs would have given out from under her form the sheer relief that he’d survived the surgery as well as the transport to the hospital.
“Dean, is a very lucky man, had that rebar entered his body a little higher, well, we’d be having a completely different conversation, and still, it’s a miracle he’s still here at all. There was a lot of blood in his chest cavity by the time they got him here. The reason I didn’t come out and talk to you while they were stabilizing and preparing him for surgery was because as soon as the helicopter landed on the heliport, his left lung collapsed completely. Had he not been where he was by the time that happened– again, we’d be having a different conversation right now.”
“So, what are we looking at doc?” Sam questioned, Y/N could only swallow thickly, her voice failed her completely, and the doctor took a deep breath before patting Y/N on the back of the hand.
“Hey, we’re not giving up on him, okay?” he attempted to reassure her. “The fact that he made it this far proves he’s a fighter, and we’re gonna do all we can to keep him as stable as possible while he recovers.”
Y/N could only nod, and Sam reached his arm around her to stabilize her as she swayed slightly in her seat.
“I think she will feel a little better once she can see him,” Sam stated, “I think she’s still in shock.”
“Well, let me give you a run down of just what we’re facing, and then I will take you into our critical care unit where you can see him.” Dr. Martin reassured the pair of them, and she did breathe a sigh of relief and the promise of possibly seeing him soon. It did make her feel somewhat better that the next time she saw Dean, it wasn't going to be as a wrapped body prepared for a hunter’s funeral.
“The rod didn’t hit any of his ribs on his left side but the force of the blow that impaled him to the pole in the first place was so hard that it fractured three of his ribs, the rod itself punctured his lung, and three of his vertebrae were also fractured. Somehow, and none of us really understand how, but no other vital organs seemed to be damaged, and the rod came to a stop before it could reach his heart. However, there was a lot of nerve and muscle damage.”
Dr. Martin paused to make sure that the pair of them were still following him before he continued, that or to make sure Y/N wasn’t going to pass out, she wasn’t really.
“I’m gonna dull this down to make it easier to understand, because, again, it’s a lot. Dean’s lung collapsed because of the large puncture wound created by the rebar, his left lung to be exact. I was able to repair the wound in the surgery once we got the bleeding under control, and I’ve placed some drain tubes to control the amount of oxygen in the chest cavity, as well as drain any fluid or remaining blood while he recovers. We run several risks just in this recovery, especially infection and pneumonia. I’ve got him on heavy IV antibiotics to help prevent that as well. Unfortunately, some of the muscle and nerve damage is something he’s going to have bad days and struggle with long after the recovery, but again, we are running a high risk of infection right now, and our goal is to keep him from bleeding anymore, or gaining an infection in the wound, internally or externally.”
“What about the three vertebrae that were fractured?” Sam questioned, “is he paralyzed, will he walk again?”
“There is an impressive amount of swelling around the spinal cord because of the sheer trauma his body experienced, but the cord itself was not severed. He’s most likely unable to feel much from the chest down right now, but we’re hopeful that when the swelling goes down in a few weeks, that he will regain feeling in his lower extremities, and with a lot of rehab, because not only are we dealing with spine injuries, but also muscle and nerve damage, he’s going to have to spend a lot of time in rehab.”
Y/N didn’t know if she was relieved, or if she was more worried, and why the hell did it seem like this just kept getting worse and worse?
“Is he awake?” Y/N questioned; the doctor shook his head sadly.
“No, I’ve placed him in a medically induced coma for several reasons. First, to keep him from even trying to move, because that could cause more harm than good right now, and if he tried to pull himself up with his arms for any reason, then he might tear some of the internal stitching, and bleed out. Also, his body has gone through a great deal of trauma. He was in a deep state of shock, he lost a lot of blood, and his body needs to recover. This is a way to keep him still, and keep his pain levels as low as possible, because if he were awake, his pain levels would be extremely high. I can assure you, it’s kinder right now to just allow him to sleep.”
Y/N looked down at her lap, and tried to control the wave of emotions that hit her in the gut.
“How long will you keep him under?” Sam questioned, and the doctor let out a long, slow breath.
“That kind of depends on him. I’m hopeful for no more than a week, and we can start to slowly wean him off. But right now, I assure you, he needs the rest. His lung needs to heal, and having him on the vent will help take the strain off. Right now, our biggest worry is infection. We don’t need him struggling to breathe, or be in excessive pain.”
The doctor stood, and so did Sam.
“I’m sorry, I wish I had better news for the pair of you, but honestly, I can’t stress this enough, the man is lucky to be alive. He’s probably going to be in the ICU for a few weeks. But once he’s stable enough to move to a private room, we can start monitoring his recovery and Y/N will be able to stay in the room with her husband. Personally, I think he’s gonna need support when he wakes up, because this isn’t gonna be easy. Once he’s recovered, and is able, we will have him transferred to a rehab center to start his recovery. Right now, let’s just focus on getting him to remain stable, and past this window of infection, okay?”
Y/N nodded, so did Sam.
“Okay, Rayne will take you to see him,” Dr. Martin said before bowing out of the door. “I will talk to you again soon, so will some of his other doctors and attendings, but I will be in as well to monitor his progress.”
So here it was, day one of the rest of Dean’s life, and hers, because Y/N made her mind up as they all boarded the elevator in route to see Dean, there was no way in hell she was leaving him and going back home. She’d stay and see this through until the end. No matter how long it took. No matter how hard it was. She was going to be there for him, whether he wanted her to be when he woke up or not.
Forever Tags:
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#Carry On#dean winchester#dean#dean winchester x reader#dean x reader#dean winchester series#dean series#spn fanfiction#spn fanfic#spn series#dean winchester x y/n#dean x y/n#jawritter#jensen ackles
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Hoarding Behavior #4
Masterpost
Previous
Next
Warnings: non-graphic processing of an animal (dead deer)
River woke up with purring in his ear and warmth against his cheek. What? His eyes flew open. He was on the opposite side of where he started, pressed into Master’s chest. He looked around wildly, and Master’s arms were loosely cradling him close.
It wasn’t the worst feeling in the world, but there were better places to be than in the arms of a Master who could tear him apart. He slipped out from the hold. Noct cracked open an eye, but said nothing. He curled up on himself, and went back to sleep.
Now what?
He gazed around the den. His eyes landed on the cooking fire. Pots and pans hung on hooks from the wall. Breakfast sounded good.
He grabbed some eggs from a carton on the counter. He took a pan off the wall, and ran straight into a problem. How would he light the fire? It had long since gone out, and there were no matches or any flint. Of course there wouldn’t be; why would a dragon keep those around?
“Need a light?” He jumped. Master was right behind him.
“Yes, please.”
Master leaned over the wood and puffed a ball of flames. It lit instantly, a low heat perfect for eggs.
“Thank you, Master.” He began to crack the eggs into the pan.
“I am going hunting,” Noct informed him, “I must kill all the bears in the wood to appease the village.”
“What about the wolves?”
“There are no wolves in the forest. I implied there was to make a better deal,” admitted Master, “Wolves are clever, and would not bother sharing territory with a dragon.”
“Oh. Um, have fun?” Noct cocked his head.
“I suppose I will. I do not care for bears. They dig up my garden and steal honey from the nearby hives.”
“You have a garden?” asked River as he scrambled his eggs.
“Of course. Why would I not?”
“I just… thought dragons ate only meat.” It seemed silly in hindsight. He had just eaten the dragon's food last night, and that had potatoes.
“Mostly. But I am fond of many things. I would not buy from humans when I can hunt and grow it myself. Aside from bread, of course.”
“Right.” River imagined Noct kneading bread and getting dough caught on his claws and the patches of scales on his hands.
“I will be back.”
“Okay.”
River ate breakfast slowly. Noct would be gone for at least a few hours. He washed the pan in the marble sink and hung it back on the wall. What to do now? He supposed he could just go back to sleep and wait for him to come back.
River laid back down. He sighed, staring at the ceiling. Even that was clean. Everything was clean. There wasn’t even a cobweb to dust away.
River wasn’t used to just lounging around. Even the servants at his old owners’ houses left messes for him to clean. There was always something to do. But Noct was incredibly tidy.
He sat up, already bored. He eyed Master’s collections on the shelves and displays. A tour of Noct’s things couldn’t hurt.
___________________
He was so fucked.
River stared at the remains of the glass statue. He’d tripped over that damn chain and his elbow knocked it off the shelf.
He heard the distant whoosh of air in the tunnel.
Of course Master would come home now, when he had no time to clean it up.
He watched, petrified, while Master carried in a deer on his shoulder. Noct glanced around the cave as he dumped the deer on the stone. His eyes landed on River and he must have seen something on his face, because he frowned and made his way over.
“What troubles you, my treas-” Master stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the shattered glass.
“I- I’m sorry, it was an accident-” Master whirled on him, snarling. River stepped back, but Noct grabbed his wrist in a bruising grip. He raised a hand-
But the slap never came. Noct’s hold loosened.
River opened his eyes. Master was still clearly pissed, but he dropped River’s wrist and turned back to the shattered statue.
“Go away,” he said, his voice oddly upset, “I will punish you later.”
River left him by the glass, and he sat in the nest. He grabbed a pillow, clutching it tight to his stomach and burying his face into it.
A faint sniffling reached his ears. He looked over. Noct was sitting on the floor, a piece of glass in his claws. He saw Master wipe his eyes.
River couldn’t imagine that a small statue of a horse was sentimental or especially valuable, but dragons were different from humans. They were hoarders, drawn to certain items. Maybe it didn’t matter the object, everything they deemed important was worth crying over.
He really messed up.
Noct cleaned up the glass. But instead of coming over and punishing River as promised, he dragged his catch of deer to the kitchen. He began to butcher it, skinning it and portioning out cuts of meat.
River stewed in anticipation as he watched Noct get up to his elbows in viscera. It made sense to punish him after salting and wrapping the meat. He couldn’t let the dead deer linger in the warm room, but he hated waiting like this.
Noct opened a stone door in the wall, and disappeared behind it. That must be where Master stored most of his food.
He waited as Master returned and cleaned up the blood and gore.
He waited as Master went to dispose of the excess.
He waited as Master washed the pelt.
He waited as Master went to clean himself up.
He waited as Master set the skin aside for tanning.
Until finally, Master turned to him. His face was stern and impassive, and River shrank under his gaze. He took the pillow from River and tossed it aside.
Master hauled him up and dragged him to another part of the nest. He forced River to his knees, sat in front of him, and then pulled River over his lap.
River flushed. He whimpered when Master yanked down his pants and pinned his wrists with one hand.
The first smack surprised him. He gasped, jolting forward in Master’s lap.
His face burned and he tugged involuntarily against Master’s grip. Master barely noticed, his hold like stone as each measured smack landed on his ass. Soon the dull ache of each blow turned into a stinging pain when his hand landed on him. Again. And again. And again.
It was humiliating.
His whines turned to sobs, but Master did not let up. He wasn’t hitting him any harder than before, but it felt worse with each strike.
Until finally he was finished. River lay limp, and he pulled his arms close to bury his head in them. He didn’t have the energy to move off of Master’s lap.
Master rubbed his back and let him cry.
As far as punishments went, it wasn’t… the worst. His ass hurt like hell and he was completely drained. But a spanking was vastly preferable to the cutting torture of a whip. It was more embarrassing, somehow, even though Master had left him nearly dressed. When River got the whip, he had to strip to his boxers and everyone saw everything. But here he was strangely more flushed and ashamed while covered up with only Master to see.
After a few minutes, he could breathe properly again. He sat up and wiped his face with his hand.
“Here,” said Master, handing him a pillow. River pulled it close in a tight hug. Master draped a blanket around him.
Master got up, glancing towards him with pity as he passed. It was over, and he wasn’t mad anymore. His expression puzzled River. Did he regret punishing him?
Noct began to make a meal, and River didn’t know if it was supposed to be lunch or dinner. Either way, he was grateful when Master handed him a plate of roasted vegetables and a tender cut of seared meat.
Master had given him a knife with his food, but clearly he was supposed to use his hands to eat.
River still felt miserable, a headache forming, but it was a little funny when Noct used the claw on his finger as a fork to stab the veggies. He supposed he wouldn’t bother with a fork either if his hands had naturally pointy bits.
But the way Noct ate his venison- sharp teeth flashing and the steak quickly disappearing down his throat- reminded River that he was trapped with a predator. The most dangerous, lethal predator in the world, and River belonged to him. Even if his idea of a punishment was far more gentle than he was used to, Noct was still deadly.
taglist: @paintedpigeon1
#listen im not trying to say dragons have Hoarding Disorder lets get that straight#theyre dragons it's natural not a disorder and also does not meet the threshold even if dragons were human#crying over a broken trinket is just Noct doing typical Dragon things (tm)#also if youre wondering: Noct didn't slap him cause he doesnt want to “damage” River#after all River is part of the hoard so it doesn't make sense to Noct to *really* hurt him#hoarding behavior#my writing#whump#slavery whump#carewhumper#captivity whump
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Happy Father's Day - Nomad!Steve Rogers
Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x female Reader
Warnings: fluff, a tiny little bit sad/angsty, he is a fugitive - having a kid as a wanted criminal isn't the easiest thing and not the best decision, reader knows that and is concerned and stressed out bcs of it
Wordcount: 1.117
If you enjoyed reading this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging. I don't allow for my content to be copied, translated, or reposted on other websites/apps. Please don't steal my work.
A/N: This is part of a 4 series and is a request from the amazing @nana1000night for my 200 Follower Celebration.
The divider is from the talented @firefly-graphics
Steve and Sam were out together on a supply run. Standing in a supermarket, wearing their disguises. It was the middle of the week, between late morning and early noon, yet there was a surprising amount of commotion.
“What’s going on?” Steve wondered a frown etched on his face as he felt surrounded by celebratory items. His cap was pulled down deep into his face, sunglasses obscuring his blue eyes, and the thick beard softened the edges of his jaw. Sam stepped up to him and pointed toward a big display.
“It’s Father’s Day,” he told him. Steve eyed the display with all kinds of cards and other junk advertised for the day. His heart painfully restricted, a heavy sigh sat in his chest. He felt a strange kind of longing in him. One he couldn’t help but feel whenever the topic of children and fatherhood was brought up.
A house, a wife, and kids. That’s all he ever wanted. The idea of it never felt so far away as it did now. He was a fugitive, a criminal. Hunted down by too many governments for the most stupid reason. Even with his dream so far away, he couldn’t help but desperately want it, crave it, to wish for a chance to get to experience it. It was especially cruel and taunting because one part of the equation he already had. Her. He had found his other half. The one he would want to settle down with, the potential mother to any child he would ever want to have. Thinking about it made him even sadder. It made it hurt even more to think about what he wanted desperately with her but wouldn’t get because the universe would never grant him his wishes.
Sam motioned for him to go. They were already there for too long and needed to finish this up, and get back to base. Shortly after they were back in the small hideout, stowing away their goods. Natasha was watching them - watching him - from the small kitchen table. The blatant staring ticked him off.
“What?” he barked, more annoyed than he liked to be at that moment.
“Just go to her. Go see her,” she told him. Steve froze. He was deep in thought before he shook his head. They were in the area and he wanted to go meet her, but he had only been there a couple of weeks ago. It was already a risk for them to come back to a base multiple times. Doing so in such short repeats was even riskier. He couldn’t pull her into the risk.
“Steve, just go.”
And so he found himself in front of her door. He hesitated just a moment longer, contemplating turning around before he knocked. It didn’t take long for her to open, but it was longer than usual. Upon opening the door she looked sluggish and exhausted. He was concerned immediately, quietly entering before he put a hand on her cheek.
“Hi,” she smiled at him, tired. He took her in, noticing how pale and sickly she looked.
“Are you sick?” She shook her at first, biting her lip before she hesitantly nodded. Steve clicked his tongue, taking her into his arms and pressing a kiss to her crown.
“There anything I can do to help you feel better?” He asked her softly, simply holding her in his arms. She drew in a shaky breath, shaking her head this time. It made him frown as she pulled back and turned around. She flitted through the hallway, busying her hands in a way she only ever did when she was nervous or stressed. Sensing that something was off, he stalked after her.
Her bursting into tears wasn’t something he anticipated.
“Steve I’m so sorry,” she sobbed and he had no clue what was going on.
“Baby, no, come here,” he cooed softly, making grabby hands for her. Yet she kept escaping his every attempt to draw her back into his embrace. They flitted around her kitchen island in a game of mouse and cat.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m so sorry,” she repeated as her sobs continued. She was working herself up into a frenzy, he could tell, “I ruined everything.” Steve still couldn’t understand anything and kept shaking his head.
“Nonsense. You didn’t, you could never. Baby, come here and let me hold you, let me calm you down, and then you can tell me what’s going on, yeah?” He was pleading with her, the table between them making him antsy and fidgety.
Still, she refused, instead of coming to him, she fumbled with a drawer, grabbing something from within.
His heart nearly stopped beating as he recognized the small picture in her hands. Square and black and white. He had gotten familiarized enough with modern times to know what it was. The ultrasound picture lay between them on the table. Steve kept staring at it blanky, his heart beating rapidly, every sound drowned out by the rush of his blood. As he looked up at her, she looked heartbroken. Truly and utterly distressed.
“Oh baby,” he mumbled softly, “C’mhere.”
Finally, he was able to draw her back into his embrace, strong arms around her still shaking form, one hand buried in her hair.
“This is good,” he told her. He didn’t know how they would do it, how he would keep them safe, but they could do it. Even if he wouldn’t be able to return to her. That’s exactly what was going to happen. Everything in him was breaking as the realization settled in. He would miss everything important. There was no way he could be by her side or visit regularly without putting them at risk.
“We’ll do it. We’ll manage,” he told her, even as his heart broke into a thousand pieces. She continued to sniffle as she leaned her head against his chest.
They stood there for some time, quiet and basking in the other’s comfort until his phone started to ring. The tone blared through their emotional moment, ripping them straight apart. Steve was frowning again, looking at the unknown number. It was a burner phone he had. Both Sam and Nat he had saved and none else besides them knew of this number. Nonetheless, he picked up, a feeling deep down telling him he needed to.
“Hey, Capsicle. Long time not heard. Happy Father’s Day. Just wanted to give my congratulations and tell you that everything is handled. They won’t find you there. Go have your chance at luck.”
Steve was the one getting choked up now. He would have never guessed to hear Tony’s voice again. No less as a friend and ally, granting him a chance to live out his biggest wish. Steve put the phone down beside the sonogram and pulled her back against his chest. Hiding his face in her hair, his shoulders shook now.
Turns out it wasn’t the universe that would grant him his biggest wish but his trusted friends and the love of his life.
#sly's 200#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers x female reader#nomad!steve x reader#nomad!steve rogers#nomad steve
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Day 6 of @silmsmutweek
Pairing: Oromë x Celegorm | Location: Forests of Oromë
Themes: Smut (Lemon/Graphic)
Warnings/Prompts: Kissing | Foreplay | Sex in an unusual place | Sex in a forest | Age difference | Public sex | Handjob
Word count: 1.9k words
Summary: Celegorm struggles to confess his feelings for Oromë. Does Oromë feel the same?
A/n: Celegorm is well past of the age of majority for elves when this takes place, but there is still a vast age difference given the fact that Oromë is one of the Valar.
Rating: 🔥🔥 | Minors DNI | 18+ | You are responsible for the media you consume.
It all unfolded beneath the stars.
Oromë never thought that it could happen. Despite being kindred spirits, their worlds were too far apart. He was of the Ainur. Celegorm was elf-kind, and his student besides. Such a union was bound to end in sorrow. Oromë knew it would. He sensed the impending doom that would hang over them like a dark cloud. And yet, despite this sense of deep foreboding hanging over them, their cleaving to each other happened all the same, with neither doing anything to stop it.
Let us begin.
They had been resting by the shore of a great lake after swimming off the hunt. Celegorm had tried, and failed, to outswim Oromë, and Oromë, as always, would be ahead of him. Ripples of laughter carried across the still air and through the trees. No one heard. No one else came. Their attendants had returned to the halls Oromë called home. Oromë and Celegorm themselves wished to tarry a little longer, and watch the stars.
Hours passed in companionable silence before Celegorm said, "Father insists that I marry, and soon."
A sharp pang of sadness crept deep into the very fiber of Oromë’s being. He knew this day would come, that Celegorm would go on to wed another. Still, he had secretly hoped it would never happen and that Celegorm would always remain with him. Oromë knew it was supremely selfish of him to wish for such a thing, yet he could not bring himself to part with the one who had gone on to claim a treasured place in his heart.
"What did you tell him?" He finally inquired with feigned indifference.
"I said I had no desire to wed any of the maidens he chose for me," Celegorm began, his eyes never leaving the stars. "And it would not matter how many offers we receive. My answer will always be no."
Oromë propped himself on his elbow and gave Celegorm a measured look. "You do not wish to wed anyone?"
"It is not because I do not wish to wed anyone." Celegorm paused, hesitated, and said, "It is because my heart already belongs to another."
Oromë fought in vain to still the hope spiraling within him. "Does your father know who this other person is?"
"Yes." Celegorm finally turned to face him. "My father was not pleased when I gave him a name."
"Because she is of low birth?"
"Because she is a he. And he is one of the Great Ones. He may not even know how much I yearn for him."
"I see." Oromë, overcome by an abrupt flash of dizzying shock, lay back down with his head resting over his folded arms. He said nothing while he pondered Celegorm's words.
One of the great ones, he had said. He may not even know how much I yearn for him, he had also said. Oromë dared to glance at Celegorm. He understood what he meant. The young elven lord had been talking about one of the Ainur. And Oromë was the only Ainu Celegorm ever sought out for guidance and friendship.
"Does it please you, my lord?" Celegorm probed fearfully. "My answer, that is?"
Oromë said nothing and fixed his gaze on the stars instead. I should not do this, he thought. He is elf-kind, and too young. I should do the right thing and nip this in the bud before it goes too far and destroys us.
Golden leaves rustled when a cooling wind blew across the lake. Oromë could not help but steal another glance at his student. There were the eyes that reminded him of the deep pools found only along the Helecaraxë. There was the golden hair that stumbled loose past lean but broad shoulders. There were the tapered hands he had held often when he first taught Celegorm how to use a bow. Now those same hands came to him whenever he closed his eyes, gliding all over him and setting him alight.
No. Oromë fought to restrain himself and the fire that was slowly sparking to life within him. I cannot do this. I will not do this.
Celegorm had been watching him the entire time. Trying to give word to what had bloomed within him used up what courage he had. And Oromë said nothing in return. Perhaps he had been too hasty and should have waited until a more opportune moment presented itself. Or he should have just let things continue as they were and gone ahead with his father’s plans.
Or perhaps he should just refuse his father’s plans to see him wed. Celegorm looked towards the stars, thinking that it would be a life of the most miserable kind for him, to be married to someone he did not desire in any shape or form.
To be bound to one you did not have a shred of regard for? It was not a fate Celegorm desired for himself. And as his lady mother wisely pointed out when he secretly sought her counsel, it would have been grossly unfair to the one he wed. She encouraged him to speak to Oromë instead and let the dice fall where they may. Perhaps he would say yes, as she had gone on to say, or perhaps he would say no. Either way, the knowledge that he tried would give him some solace. Now he was here, deep within the forests, trying to confess more even as his tongue insisted on tying itself up into knots. Celegorm turned to face Oromë again. The Vala had been watching him the entire time, with fear and hope at war in his eyes. A great silence settled between them, one that seemed to stretch on forever. It was unbearable, the pain of it was indescribable. One of them would have to break this wretched silence, and Celegorm thought it would have to be him. Then, before he could gather more courage and speak, Oromë leaned in without warning and kissed him on the mouth.
The battle to keep away had failed. Oromë kissed long and deep, savoring the sensations of Celegorm falling apart beneath him. When trembling hands reached up to touch his hair and trembling lips parted for his tongue, he sighed. Celegorm closed his eyes. Oromë did not like it. He ached to drown in those eyes.
Perhaps later, he decided. After we return to my halls, and I take him to my bed.
His fears over the future now fully forgotten, Oromë rose to his knees and tugged his tunic over his head. When Celegorm tried to do the same, Oromë clutched his wrists and stopped him.
"No," he insisted. "Let me."
Oromë moved slowly, undoing bright, golden clasps one by one before tugging the soft woolen tunic down Celegorm’s arms and throwing it to the side. The shock of cold air made his skin prickle. Celegorm trembled and trembled when Oromë pushed him back onto the soft grass and moved over him. He kissed his brow, his eyelids, the tip of his nose. He kissed Celegorm’s lips—his soft, pink lips—before moving even lower. The elf hissed, unearthly and guttural, when Oromë kissed the length of his throat and the span of his chest. His breath quickened, and he struggled for what purchase he could find against the soil when Oromë sucked and laved at a hardened nipple.
"Arômêz!" Celegorm gasped.
Oromë merely chuckled. He then reached down to cup Celegorm between his thighs, growling when the elf twitched and swelled beneath his palm. The sweet, low moan he incited with his touch alone was like music to his ears.
"Ready for me already?" Oromë rose to his knees again, this time to undo the clasp of Celegorm’s belt.
Celegorm did not wait. He reared up and pulled Oromë in for a kiss, one that was full of violent hunger. His hands delved into thick, dark hair that often seemed to gleam in the soft light of the stars. They cleaved to each other, the Vala and the elf, exchanging solemn vows and promises beneath the light of the stars.
It was not long before he found himself on soft grass again. Oromë sat astride his hips, finding great delight in the muscles that quivered beneath his palms.
"Mine," he whispered before dipping his head to press a kiss upon heated flesh. "Yours."
The blissful sigh of relief that followed when Oromë loosened Celegorm’s breeches and wrapped his hand around his cock was one he would always remember. Celegorm yielded so easily, moaning and whimpering and arching his back while a patient hand stroked his length with ease. He could not think. He could do little but plunge beneath the waves of euphoria that rose to claim him. He impulsively ran his hands over Oromë’s thighs.
"Soon," Oromë promised, his lips barely brushing over Celegorm’s own. "I will be all yours soon."
A flash of heat crept up Celegorm’s throat. "I will hold you to that."
"Desperate," Oromë purred against Celegorm’s ear. "I like it."
He stopped speaking, turning his attention to the pleasurable task at hand instead. Oromë studied the thick, golden lashes that fluttered faintly, the bow-like lips that had parted in a silent cry. He pressed his lips over Celegorm’s own, drinking in the moan that spilled free.
To think I would have denied myself this, he mused. Denied myself the chance to truly know him. I would have been such a fool if I had done so.
A hand rested over his, to guide him. Hips moved in rhythm with his touch. Oromë was relentless now. He studied the expressions flashing across Celegorm’s face—the ecstasy, the yearning. It was not going to be enough. This moment by the lake was not going to be enough. Yes, he decided. He would take Celegorm back to his halls, invite the elf to live with him for as long as he had a desire to do so. And he would help him weather the tempest that would inevitably follow. Fëanor would not take kindly to one of those he was starting to mistrust fucking his son.
Celegorm writhed beneath him. The waves he plunged under dragged him to their uttermost depths, drowning him completely. Oromë’s name rolled off his lips like a chant. A tremor gripped him, one that grew stronger and stronger, swelling and rising before shattering completely. He bucked and thrashed, the warmth of his spend spilling all over his belly. The world went dark all around him, his body grew limp. Ecstasy and yearning ebbed from him, and lazy contentment poured in.
It was a while before he opened his eyes, and that too when Oromë was cleaning him with water he had gathered from the lake. Contentment slowly gave way to fear. The things they did beneath the stars, if word got out…
"My lord," he shuddered. "What just happened…"
"Was a taste of more to come," Oromë promised.
"A taste of more…" Celegorm considered his promise, the delights it held, and the implications. "But my father… his council… my brothers"
"Will answer to me should any harm come to you. Stay with me, Tyelkormo. They will not dare come for you then."
"Stay with you? And never leave?"
An indulgent smile swept across his face. "That is my wish," said Oromë. "What is yours?"
Celegorm sat up straight and studied Oromë keenly. He found neither guile nor trickery hiding within eyes as green as velvety moss.
To stay with him. Just him. To live my life how I wish to live it, with whom I wish to live it with.
"Yes," he replied, flushing from toe to head. "That is my wish as well, to be with you."
"Then let us stay here and rest a little longer," Oromë said, "and then we will return to my halls. I desire to know more of you."
Tags: @cilil
#silmsmutweek#celegorm#celegorm smut#celegorm imagine#the silm#the silm smut#the silm imagine#oromë#oromë smut#oromë imagine#oromë x celegorm#the valar#The ainur#The elves
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༄ Gold Gilded Leash
Derek Goffard (The Price of Flesh) x fem!reader
DISCONTINUED.
You really should have killed him when you had the chance.
Once upon a time, there lived an unfortunate woman minding her own business, struggling just to get by. Until one lovely, fateful day, when she just so happened to be at the very wrong place at the very wrong time.
Knocked unconscious. Kidnapped. Auctioned off as property. An item for one lucky bidder to do with whatever they pleased. And her life which was stolen, was traded - for some undisclosed yet assuredly exorbitant price - to one flaxen-haired, gold-blooded monster who paid the top of daddy’s dollars to hunt her down.
It’s funny, looking back.
Right?
It’s funny?
What you’ve been reduced to?
And you thought you had it bad back then.
Tumblr chapter directory: one • two • coming soon...
ao3
Derek belongs to @gatobob
Warning tags: explicit sexual content, forced oral sex, Derek owns you, graphic depictions of violence, obsession, wrath, punishment, yandere, rape/noncon, highly dubious consent, variations of noncon to con, forced orgasm, orgasm denial, kidnapping, escape attempts, bondage, exhibitionism, voyeurism, knifeplay, bloodplay, rough sex, possessive sex, death threats, dead dove: do not eat, sadism, masochism, breathplay, choking, warning: Derek (the price of flesh), Derek might lend you to others, others might steal you for some fun, additional tags to be added as this debauchery continues
CHAPTER ONE: Gold Blooded...
Author's Note: I fully intend to slander this man whilst also paying homage to my inexplicable love for him.
I’m planning on bringing Derek’s brother into this, “Matt” - whom I’m assuming is actually named Matthew, and since I've yet to see his personality fully established I’ll be taking some liberties to make his and Derek’s relationship super toxic and competitive. As for exactly how he’ll behave in this story, what makes him tick, etc. etc… I guess you’ll have to wait and find out~
Please heed the evolving warning tags.
This is to kick things off for a TPOF discord prompt, which is to honor my favorite ending in the game. This is actually my second fav, because my actual fav is perfect just the way it is, I have nothing to add.
Well, actually…
Well shit okay maybe now I’ll have to write about that too.
- ANYWAY -
____________________________________
You don’t remember what happened prior. How you were knocked unconscious, how you were bound and stolen and dragged.
All you remember after the throbbing darkness was that room.
It all started in that dim, octagonal room.
Three windows, each tinted black.
You could barely see the hint of an eldritch glow behind each pane of darkened glass, flicking into life whenever each of its occupants’ voices scratched out from an accompanying speaker overhead; each unseen room beyond pulsing on and off with a different color each time its tenant chose to speak.
Blue. Green.
Red.
“Oh ho~ This is an interesting one!” the cheerful voice of the unseen announcer observed, readying to spout off another question. A list of strange and degrading inquiries you’d already stumbled through a number of, designed - by all appearances - to ‘whet the appetites’ of whomever ended up paying to take a bite. “Are you a virgin?”
You’d been recoiling in on yourself ever since you woke up in this sterile, suffocating place, more and more with every new question asked. But this one really took the cake on the whole ‘what the fuck is happening!?’ scale, taking your thudding heart-rate up a notch with it.
You didn’t want to answer. You don’t know why you did. Maybe because you saw no point in lying? Confused alarum has a way of making it hard to think.
“I…” swallowing against the dryness of your throat, your nervous eyes tore about the room, flicking from one silent, dark window to the next, “...yes.”
A pause, as your answer was digested by those who sought to purchase.
Crimson light glowed into life behind the red window, and with it the sharp, masculine voice of its bidder.
“220.”
Soft blue light flicked behind the darkened room adjacent, with a woman’s voice scoffing through the speaker above the glass.
“Ugh,” she loured, sounding to suppress an eyeroll. “You’re disgusting.”
The red bidder’s wrath was immediate, barked from his speaker, lashing at the walls. “Shove a sock in it bitch!”
“230,” the woman smoothly returned. “You wouldn’t even know what to do with her.”
“If you don’t shut the fuck up I’ll show you first hand! 240!”
You heard the announcer chuckling softly, his amusement somewhat smoothing the tension that was swiftly rising in the room.
“Let’s save our passion for the main event, shall we?" he asked. "And speaking of which… we’ve only one question left for our lovely, special item!” His pause extended only for the length of his unseen smile, as his attention was undeniably redirected from his potential customers to you. “Final question. Who would you like to go home with, sweetheart?”
You stared, nonplussed, from darkened room to darkened room. Staring, as they all stared back. Your fingers curling and uncurling nervously at your sides, scraping at the outsides of your thighs. Your terrified expression barely mirrored back to you upon each hushed plane of glass.
You were alone in standing there, at the center of the octagon, and yet you could feel every pair of eyes watching you. Every person in that room. Waiting. Watching.
You didn't know what to do, hadn't known ever since awakening there. Did it even matter what you said? What you’d been saying? Was there even close to a right answer to anything that would result in your being bought and sold like cattle?
You hadn’t yet determined the answer, if there even was one, when your finger was already tremulously pointing at the room of the current highest bidder; the cocky man in red.
You could still barely comprehend what had happened to you, for you to be standing where you were now; could barely wrap your mind around what was going to happen as a result. But if that man was going to buy you anyway, you might as well try and get on his good side first. You didn’t know what he wanted, but your mind was spinning with horrible, dark ideas.
In truth, he was the last person you wanted to go home with. He seemed impatient, volatile, easily tempted to violence. But you could feel his interest already in your bones. Could feel his eyes scraping over you. The obscured intensity of his presence wrapping fingers round your heart.
Some part of you already knew he wasn’t going to leave this place without you in his pocket. And the smirk in his red-velvet musing seemed to seal the suspicion as truth.
“Ohhhh~?”
The subdued delight which curled his voice bent all your fear in wrong directions.
You were too terrified to hear the bids and bickering which followed. It didn’t matter. In your mind, he’d already won.
“Sold!”
You were knocked unconscious again shortly after that – a sharp jab felt in your ankle that had you seeing double, and once again your world was whisked to darkness.
The next thing you saw was a handsome, chiseled face smirking lightly down at you. Something gritty, like sand, blazing at your back, sticking to your skin. The jewel of a blinding desert sun a halo behind the devilish grin towering over you, his teeth impossibly white against his tanned skin.
Messy blonde hair. Jacket undone. Kohl smeared haphazardly beneath his lower lashes.
He looked excited to see you.
“Wakey wakey…!”
His turquoise eyes edged with harsh amusement at whatever foggy, coming-to expression you barely managed to scrounge together for him – only for your face to twist with pain as he sunk into a crouch, grabbing a rough fistful of your hair, jerking your head up and off the ground enough for you to get a shaky look at your surroundings.
Men in masks, standing in a lazy half-circle in front of you, some holding weapons. You, in nothing but your underwear. And a few more like you – stripped, bound, strewn in the sand, staring about themselves in absolute terror.
Your swift rise in trepidation joined the savage tide of theirs.
“You’re up just in time for the fun~”
Everything that happened next tore past you in a grisly, red-hewn blur. The unfortunate woman bound right beside you, half-crumpled in the sand, singled out by those who brought you there. "First blood," a behemoth man in a lizard mask called it. "It really sets the mood for the rest of them." She was dragged forth by one of her wrenched-back arms as she sobbed and cried and pleaded with them to stop, begging with them not to hurt her.
You saw them crowding around her, the man who bought you angling his knife at her throat.
"Keep begging..."
A man masquerading as a silver jackal stabbed a switchblade in one of her thighs, and her begging seized, clawing out shrilly. Blood in the sand, soaking through with sun-warmed crimson.
You couldn't watch any longer, your stomach twisting so tight it was a wonder you didn't actually throw up. But even with your shaking, with your teary eyes cinched closed, you could still hear them. You could hear everything. How her sobs devolved to senseless, wordless begging. Her screams. The congress of increasingly frenzied breaths and hyenic laughter. The moment mercy at last made her silent.
You were taken to a ledge of cruelty, tossed into its toothy void before you could even process what was happening.
And then those ropes which bound you were sliced through.
You were released, along with those still alive beside you. With nowhere to go but further into the endless, blistering desert sea.
You didn't ask questions. You couldn't even if you'd wanted to.
You struggled off the sand, legs shaking beneath your awkward weight as you made to run - but not before the man who brought you there caught your gaze with a cerulean, soul-piercing smirk.
“Don’t let me find you, rabbit,” he said, seemingly amused, though there was nothing beyond terror about that moment. He seemed to be envisioning something as he eyed you. Something hidden in the shroud of his thoughts. “I’m still hungry.”
His laughter bit at your heels as you stumbled, as you turned, as you ran as far as you could away from him.
Days passed. Sun-drunk days filled with colorful arrays of atrocities you'd rather not recall.
You no longer had the strength to run. You were stumbling blindly, then; skin ragged from the continual beating of the desert heat, with never a cloud to spare you. Your eyes dry, not a tear left to them. Your lips sand-bitten and scorched from lack of water. The constant threat of what might happen to you, of what had happened to everyone else... the constant barrage of adrenaline forcing you, always, toward fight or flight, filling up and shredding through your veins…
It was more than enough to strip your sanity. To leave it hanging by tatters that continually splintered and tore away.
There wasn’t much left. Sanity. Time.
If one of those psychos didn’t kill you first, the heat or lack of water would.
You were going to die out there.
And that’s when he found you.
Again.
'Derek', if that was even his real name. Only, this time…
This time, despite it all, despite everything…
You were a little more prepared.
You’d sunk the dagger in his gut before he really had a chance to stop you. It’s not like he suspected that you’d somehow, miraculously, obtain any kind of weapon out here in the middle of fucking hell.
You’d stumbled back from his complete and utter shock upon sighting the hilt sticking out from beneath his ribs, but not before yanking the knife back out again, unwilling to leave yourself without it. Nearly tripping over yourself with how you couldn’t drag your eyes away from him, his pained gasp and angry breathing filling your ears. From how he uselessly clawed at his freely bleeding wound. The wound you'd just gifted him.
You’d stabbed him. You really did it. And yet, beyond his outrage, his profound disbelief, he was soon to find his usual smirk. Was smirking even then. Gaze half-lidded with the pain, his eyes such a dangerous cut of gemstone that you couldn’t escape them. Held, hunted, snared.
His wrath, his every gritted tremor as he grimaced through the agony, made his eyes glint that much more harshly as they bore like spearheads into yours.
“Oh, rabbit… ” he’d rasply mused, one corner of his lips curling as he watched your faltered steps. “You’d better fucking kill me.”
You couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. The cogs in your mind unturning.
Something in you balked. Panicked. A spark of fright that made you act without thinking.
You'd turned.
You ran.
You'd left him there, hearing him collapse to his knees behind you. Hoping his wound would end him with every beat of you sprinting across the sand, with every painful heave of your lungs. Praying he'd continue to bleed, that the desert would take what you couldn’t.
You really should have killed him.
____________________________________
Author's Note: If I didn’t pick a theme song for every chapter I’d die
derek goffard , bastard playlist (full disclosure some of these are pure Derek slander because it makes me laugh to think about him singing Money by Cardi b) (also there are not one but ~two~ songs named ‘tantrum’. For reasons.)
#derek goffard#matt goffard#the price of flesh#fanfiction#my fanfic#derek tpof#dead dove : do not eat#derek goffard x you#derek goffard x reader#tpof#tpof derek
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Cyar'ika
//OKAY, so this fic depicts acts of intimacy, nothing too horribly graphic, but if you don't want to read something like that please move along.
"Cyar'ika..." you shiver as your lover whispers the Mando'a term of endearment in your ear.
Hunter may share his face with a million others, but you know in your heart that he is as unique as any being in the galaxy, clone or not.
No other clone can make you feel this way, only Hunter.
When your only response to his pet name is a shiver and a smile, Hunter begins kissing your exposed neck. These stolen moments are getting harder and harder to come by, as the war rages into it's third year, Hunter and the rest of the Bad Batch are often out on missions.
But for the moment, you and Hunter have barricaded yourselves away in his bunk, while the rest of the team are out doing who knows what in between missions.
It hadn't taken long for you to find yourself in his bed with only a thin sheet for cover.
Hunter lightly drags a calloused finger down your bare side as he continues kissing your neck. You laugh despite yourself, cursing our ticklishness.
"Hunt, that's not fair!" This gets a raspy chuckle out of him, his laughter always sets butterflies loose in your belly.
"No, what's not fair is you showing up here, looking good enough to eat. Knowing that we only have a little bit of time before I'm called away again." Hunter says, strong arms sliding around your waist and pulling you against his chest.
"That is hardly my fault!" Hunter chuckles again, and once again the butterflies in your belly come to life.
"I suppose you're right," he says suddenly rolling both of you so now he is on top and you're looking up at him from the bed.
"I shouldn't waste such a gift, especially when I know I only have a little time to enjoy it." He captures your lips in a kiss, and moves on from there, trailing kisses down your body.
Which is promptly interrupted by someone pounding on the door.
You groan quietly in response.
"Sarge, you in there?" It's Wrecker, of course, just as loud as he ever is, still pounding on the door.
Considering the doors are locked and you can't find him anywhere, where else would he be? You think bitterly, Hunter sighs but doesn't move to get up, maybe he's hoping to return to what he was doing before, once he gets rid of his brother that is.
"I'm a little busy, Wrecker!" You smile and almost go in to steal another kiss.
"Regs called, we got a mission."
Hunter swears under his breath, and you sigh, so much for having time.
"I'll be out in a minute!" He still hasn't released you, and is looking at you with an apology in his eyes.
Wrecker's foot falls fade away before he speaks.
"I'm sorry, Cyar'ika, I got to go."
You pause for a moment trying to steal just a few seconds more with the man you love.
"I know... promise me that you'll be careful, and that one day when this is all over, we won't have to hide like this anymore."
You never spoke of the future much, with the nature of war, there never seemed to be a point. But you're speaking of it now, because you desperately want to believe that there will be an end to this war, and that you will one day be able to love Hunter openly.
"Hunt, promise me."
He kisses you again, and for a moment you think he's going to stay here with you, to hell with the war and the mission, to hell with everything.
But then he pulls away, forcing himself to get up out of the bed and put on some clothes.
"I promise." He's looking at you now as he picks up your clothes off the floor and holds them out to you.
Taking your clothes, you smile.
Changing into your clothes, Hunter sneaks you out of the barracks by some miracle, not running into his brothers.
Hunter kisses you a final time.
"I love you, I'll see you soon," and then he's gone. Leaving you with the feel of his lips on yours and a stupid smile on your face.
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Cardboard Friend Arc [v2]
Technially a reuplaod/rephrasing of this post but with the notes instead of a summary as we're testing out a new style to these.
What is covered: The plotline of Cardboard Friend's return, not his backstory or intro episode.
Videos: Prop Hunt 18 _ Haunted by Cardboard Friend [with a few gaps]
Important notes beforehand:
These notes are from 2022 and haven't been updated so there are parts missing, quotes not quoted correctly, and lots of missing timestamps.
We use system terms (ex: switching, front, ect) when talking about Ghost, Jimmy, and Gregory as that's just the easiest thing for us to do.
[Divider by @/saradika-graphics]
Prop Hunt 18
“Holy connection batman, the ghost is Cardboard Friend!”
First video where it was stated that Gregory had a connection to Ghost and Casket. That being said, Jimmy and Johnny’s connections were heavily shown already in videos like Creepypasta College.
“You’re looking good. I mean not- not you’re looking good, I mean you look good in the way you are doing what you’re doing.”
[A/N: For some reason this wasn't properly quoted w/ timestamp and character but I'm guessing it was Ghost because *motions*]
Johnny Toasts drinks on the job, but I knew that already.
Ghost tried to call CF Gregory to which they yelled at him stating Gregory was their friend. CF probably doesn’t know the connection between Ghosts and Caskets.
Correction: CF knew about the connection, just did not comment on it.
CF attempts(?) to curse Ghost because they lost.
Max Acachalla: “Gregory, has probably been dead for a long time now.”
CF: “Isn’t Gregory (now) Johnny Ghost?”
Max: “I’m sure he has other forms(?)”
Likely due to CF’s abilities, others fully believe Gregory is dead.
Sidenote: The last line was nearly impossible to hear so I don’t know if he actually said that.
Other Spirits that Appear: Toilet Toucher, Maxwell Acachalla
L4D Slender
Original beginning of the Rake marrying SBJ thing.
Eevee Playermodel
Papa’s Age: 42 years old (7:08)
Papa called in Jimmy to take care of TT rather than calling P.I.E. He also called him “an old friend”.
“Sally doesn’t have an uncle, I’ve killed all the uncles.”
This can mean that Gregory.Gregory, the only one known to possess the knowledge of how/why respawning happens, might actually be dead.
Murder 11
Casket, right before murdering someone, whispers that his real name is Gregory. (14:00)
“My name is Greggory”
“I have secrets, and lies, but my lies are my secrets.”
HbCF
After some time of not appearing in any videos, CF pops up one last time to torment Johnny Ghost.
Ghost was originally from somewhere in New Jersey.
Continuation of the Rake’s wedding one-off.
Though stated in his debut video as being a weird man in a cardboard suit, Ghost states that CF is a level 4 or higher entity.
The original CF case is written down inside Toast’s ghost hunting book, but no known name is stated.
[Old A/N: I’m sticking with the theory that CF is Johnny’s dead brother who is a restless spirit, but my headcanon is a bit more elaborate than that. [PS: No I don't fucking know what this means, they never wrote anything down for this, I just have no memory there at ALL.]]
Ghost has no memory of CF, obviously, but he does remember seeing what they can do before.
He’s in the closet v.v
CF’s reaction to Jimmy trying to steal front feels more like frustration than fear. More “Why aren’t you listening to me” and less “Oh god the person who killed me.”
Amnesia v.v
What the fuck did he do in Italy?
RIP, we never know the outcome v.v
JG: “That man is my father.” [12:40]
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Atari 2600 Chronicles 1980 #1 - Adventure
Let's do a quick switcheroo here. Although Space Invaders seems to have a confirmed release date and Adventure does not, both appear to be from March 1980 and I actually had the chance to play the one earlier in the alphabet on my shiny new Atari 2600+! So do forgive my slight skewing of the chronology here.
Believe me, this system feels like magic in breathing new lives into these old as shit games. Yeah, playing them in a big meaty compilation is still nice and probably controls better in some cases, but nothing beats slamming in a cart, then using the original joystick and levers. You can really feel yourself fit into the mind of someone playing this system in the early 1980s.
As for the game itself? I have conflicting feelings. On one hand, it's a revolution. The ability to reset the game after being 'eaten' by a dragon/duck/abomination and for the progress to be retained after that is incredibly welcomed. I enjoy the puzzle solving aspect of it, very much too. Took me a good half hour to get the route of the full game figured out, and I can't deny and say I wanted more of it.
Then there's also the first BIG easter egg in gaming, the Warren Robinett credit that you get if you poke your head around in the Black Castle and find the tiny gray dot, essentially the final dungeon of the adventure. If you combine that with the randomized mode that comes included with the cart, you could get quite a lot of mileage out of speedrunning this one or challenging yourself via, for example, not using the sword or trying to go deathless.
That is a big *if* however. If you don't make up your own things to do, the randomized mode is all you have. And that one gets old dramatically fast. The bat-stealing-objects-mechanic is the prime example of a headache to me, but the worst part has to be continually going back into the painfully flickering zones this game contains. Whenever you get unlucky with the object spawns, get ready for your eyes to get gauged out!
I liked but didn't love Adventure. For everything it does right, there's another thing that makes it a hard sell. Good thing you can essentially sneeze this game up nowadays.
The Verdict
Graphics (3): Agh, yikes. I will compliment how well the game manages to articulate the extremely simple visuals via it's manual and worth of mouth. What happens on the screen however is crummy to the highest degree. Nothing more primitive than playing as a shape, using an arrow as a sword, while a derpy-looking bath toy hunts you down. The game world is hardly imaginative, the most sucked in I got was the feeling of actually being inside the castles in the first 3 seconds after entering. And i'll insist, the dark zones get so crowded sometimes that the screen flashes heavily and the game slows down! No offense to the legacy of the title, but the level of compensation to fit it on the cart was absolutely too much this time around.
Sound (6): The sounds that are there? Pretty fun. The sounds that aren't? Too plentiful to count. Most of the time, you're walking through silence. Only when there's action on the screen, like say, fighting a dragon, you get graced with some wackiness. Wouldn't have hurt to have a quiet walking noise in there, or even an attempt at music. Unfortunate that it gets bogged down like that, I cherish what was included.
Fun Factor (7): There's some fun left in the tank of this one. I played it largely blind other than knowing that there was that one easter egg of yore and having some bits and pieces of Youtube videos etched in my mind. The way the light exploration clicked in my head was worthwhile as all hell for someone who rarely plays 'complex' titles. Found myself happily surprised whenever I would see a new object or figured out a fast route to one of the castles, refreshing to have that element in there in such an early game.
Comes at a cost though. Once you're near the end game, and the bat has swapped around all your objects, it's exceptionally frustrating to have to go find them over and over again. The dragons start getting increasingly agressive too- the chalice seems to pull in the red one in particular. Pushing the reset button over and then get the enemy stuck in a place where it will kill ya nearly instant is still something I don't like 43 years later in a game like Minecraft. It gets worse in the randomized mode, once got all 3 dragons in the same place (a dark area, no less). Became so unplayable after that I quit then and there.
Yeah, mixed feelings!
Longevity (7): Enjoyment may vary. Either you wanna keep playing this after one finish in the second mode... or ya don't. I see myself popping this one on once or twice in the future. Having a randomized mode, flawed as it is, is very novel. In the 80s, this would've been like a 9/10 for that reason and the discovery of the easter egg some time later. Say it with me now, 'it's good compilation fodder'.
In Conclusion
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𝐌𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐢 𝐅𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞
Starring: Eric Sohn (TBZ)
Naya travels to Miami for a summer holiday with her sister in hopes of bonding and spending time with her before college, where she finds herself stealing glances and daydreaming about the hot surfer she met at the beach.
➵Pairings: surfer! Eric x oc! Naya
➵Genre: romance, summer, vacation-fling
➵Word count: 0.8 K
➵Warnings: mostly fluff, a lil' suggestive, no graphic depictions of violence
➵a/n: Okay so I haven't been active fore sometime since I'm preparing for college and writing three books on wattpad so I apologize for that. But anyways I hope you enjoy this work, and if u do, then a like and reblog would be very appreciated . Also my first time writing romance so apologizing in advance for any errors and cliches.
Disclaimer: This work is fictional and does not portray the celebrities lives in any way. Please separate fiction from reality.
PART ONE
Naya inhaled the humid air, a smile forming on her lips as she glanced at the picturesque view of the coast through the balcony of her hotel room as her hands held the railing. Her heart felt giddy like it could erupt any minute. And why not, after all, she was on her dream summer getaway with her sister, whom she hadn’t met for quite some time. Staying alone at home wasn’t doing much of a favor for her, and she wanted to spice up her life before she began college in the upcoming fall.
Her older sister had been accepted into the prestigious Miami university a couple of years back, and had moved there. Hence aware of her little sister’s beach obsession and in need of a vacation herself, she aimed to book a hotel in the tropical paradise and spend some quality time together to make up for the missed days.
Stretching her body as a yawn escaped her lips, Naya realized she desperately craved a little swim before her sister came back from her restaurant-hunting expedition, especially with how blissfully blue the water looked. Buckling her sandals, she sprinted down to the lagoon, the footwear filling in with masses of grainy sand. Pulling out a band on her wrist, she gathered her hair and tied them up into a ponytail. As her hands were busy with the hairdo, the corner of her eye caught something rather interesting.
Or someone.
A colossal wave rose in the distance, carrying a relaxed surfer as he skillfully rode it, the pressure of the water curving above his head. He turned according to the rhythm of the magnificent waves, before he wiped out and swam back to the sandy shores with his surfboard. Naya could see his face clearly. The male ran a hand through his wet dark hair as he ruffled them, splashing out the excess water on the dry gravel. His bare sun-kissed skin shone in the pleasant sunlight as water dripped down his athletic body. He shoved his dark strands out of his face as he whipped his head in her direction.
Horrified, Naya turned away in a flash of a second, glancing upwards at the colorful fleet of exotic birds flying.
“Excuse me?” A raspy voice called out from beside her as she glanced at the source. It was the surfer guy, now standing inches away from her.
“Oh, uh yes?” Naya answered in a slightly trembling voice, for which she wanted to kick herself.
“I haven’t seen you around before.”
He stated, a cordial smile crawling up his face.
“Oh, me and my sister are here for the summer vacation.” Naya smiled as she replied, trying to calm her giddy heart down. It was at that moment where she focused on how bewitching his eyes were as he looked into hers.
“I see…” He clamped the surfboard under his arm. “I’m Eric, by the way.” His gaze landed on Naya, eyes not breaking the contact.
“Naya.” She answered, glancing at the alluring man before her as they gazed at each other. Everything seemed to halt. What seemed like minutes was actually seconds, as the two held their irresistible stares, when suddenly, her sister Lia’s voice echoed through the breezy air.
“Naya, come on, time for dinner!”
Eric lightly clicked his tongue, a hand brushing the side of his neck. “Well then, catch you around, Naya.” He remarked as he shot her a wink before taking off in their direction.
There was something so enthralling about Mr. Surfer that she couldn’t explain, as pink color rushed to her face as she inhaled a deep breath, lips curving into a grin. “You too.”
In the evening, Naya laid on the couch, overlooking the balcony which showed off the breathtaking Miami night sky. Lights from stalls illuminated the seaside, which now looked rather peaceful, accompanied with the bustling city view in the far distance.
However, she didn’t pay any attention to the scenery or the stalls, as the one and only Eric devoured her mind. Her finger twirled a bunch of hair strands as she recalled the little interaction with him.
“So you’ve made a friend, huh?” Her sister asks, raising her brows and showcasing her interest in the interaction at the beach. Naya gasped, her mind flashing her soul back to reality as she cleared her throat. “Yeah. I did.” She replied, to which her sister nodded, her eyes fixed on her phone as she messaged her friends. Naya grabbed the plate of fish tacos, shoving a big morsel in her mouth.
“You know…” The older began, as Naya glanced over at her, her brows furrowing slightly. “… it’s a good accomplishment for someone who barely steps foot outside the house.”
Naya choked on the spicy seasoning as Lia patted her back, offering a glass of water, which she promptly accepted, chugging it down her burning throat.
“Calm down dude.”
Naya nodded profusely, her mind drifting off to dreamland again when her sister’s voice interrupted. “The beach is stunning at night, you know, Naya. You should go down and see.”
➵a/n (2): Hi, thankyou so so much for reading this work. Let me know your feedback through a message or reblog ;)) Thankyou 💕
#the boyz#kpop#writing#the boyz imagines#tbz#tbz imagines#tbz au#tbz scenarios#eric sohn#sohn youngjae#the boyz scenarios#the boyz au#tbz eric#the boyz eric#the boyz fluff#the boyz drabbles
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Love Host - Chapter 3
SUMMARY: A prequel to my fic, “Good Boy.” Takes place during the final scene of the game and the journey home afterwards. Miles becomes the host and the Walrider intends to consummate their bond. No beta. Read at your own risk.
RATING: E (for graphic depictions of violence / gore / character death+rebirth / psychological torture / xenophilia / masturbation / handjobs / anal fingering / tentacle sex)
PAIRING: Walmiles (WalriderxMiles)
WORD COUNT: 3,349
Read on Ao3: Here
A/N: I swear this fanfic has a plot, we just haven't gotten there yet because we need to cover a lot of smut first (I am almost joking).
Also, if you haven’t seen it yet, you can check out the progress of My Wamiles Art, but be warned, it's NSFW!!
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It's early afternoon by the time Miles wakes up. The sun is shining through the blinds, bathing the messy geometric contours of his modest, modern-esque flat in a golden glow.
Miles rubs the sleep from his eyes, yawning loud and wide despite having slept half the day away. He's stretching out the cricks in his limbs when the Walrider exits sleep mode and powers on, attune to it's host's internal clock.
The man recoils at first, startled by the dark, imposing figure, somehow forgetting the human-sized nanobot was still there despite having shared a bed with it, ensnared in the possessive hold of claws and tentacles.
The dissociation only lasts a heartbeat, his body remembering even if his jumbled mind took a moment to catch up, becoming calm again.
The brunette suppresses a chuckle as he turns towards his companion. This evil bio-weapon looks so out of place in the daylight, in the domestic setting of his bedroom, holding him like he's something precious.
Such a stark contrast to the Walrider that stalked under the cover of darkness, illuminated by neon emergency beacons and cold laboratory testing facilities. The same fearsome weapon that hunted patients, ripped out spines and spattered blood across narrow halls looked almost cute, charming in photographic filter of a beautiful autumn day.
Miles tilts his head, eyes catching the odd reflection of colors skittering over the obsidian skin, giving it the appearance of labradorite. He runs a finger over it, seeking the brilliance hidden underneath, his inquisitive tendencies getting the better of him.
He traces the jut of the Walrider collar bone to the curve of it's shoulder, rolling his palm over the joint there, the vibrant streaks of bio-luminescence shining like the trails of shooting stars.
The Walrider is more than happy to let Miles explore, an excitement decorating it's features as it's host dedicates himself to the task.
The brunette continues down the line of the monster's arm, sliding his hand over well-defined muscle, the same teal patterns spread throughout it's bizarre anatomy. Miles is in awe over it, of how it could change consistency, function and appearance, wondering if this iteration of it's skin meant it was left open, unarmored.
The Walrider was developed as a weapon after all and Miles could certainly see the advantages of a thick, abrasive exterior, but if his partner chose to convey it's trust by lowering it's defenses to show him this secret, well, Miles' heart twinges just a bit at the possibility.
The reporter guides his hand back up to stroke at the sharp angles of the entities' cheek, gazing into it's striking eyes situated behind the exoskeleton. The gentle caress of Miles' thumb along its jaw is lulling it's eyes closed, and soon the demon is leaning into it's host's bandaged palm, a chitter of contentment escaping through it's jaws.
Faced with such unabashed adoration, Miles dares to steal a kiss, the compulsion to do so proving too strong to resist. Pink lips purse against the side of it's mouth in not quite a chaste peck, but a firm lingering indulgence. The dark skin is warm under his lips, but it feels rubbery and plastic, an imitation of something inadvertently human.
"Thanks for staying with me," Miles says, a gentle smile on his face as he pulls away, blue eyes staring fondly at his handiwork.
His choice of his words is absurd really, ridiculous. The Walrider couldn’t leave him even if it wanted to. They’re both viscerally connected, permanent implants to each other’s existence, unable stray too far apart from each other without the consequence of death. Not that Miles had any concrete evidence to back this intrinsic theory up, it was really more of a hunch, and while his inheritance of the Walrider failed to come with a disclaimer or a user’s manual (he wouldn’t have read it even if it did), Miles wasn’t about to test the physical range of their limitations any time soon.
The machine is frozen and Miles swears he hears a cursed dial-up noise as it processes the kiss he had just given it and the man hopes the machine won't try to bite his face off in a misinterpretation.
Thankfully, it doesn't. Instead, it mimics Miles actions, claws outstretched to clasp the human's cheek in return. It leans forward, but without any lips of its own, all it can manage is a brush of teeth. The sharp points of it's canines sting only a little as they graze over his skin, sometimes chipping open a superficial mark.
A purr reverberates from inside it's throat as it rubs the softer sides of it's misshapen face all over Miles, a little too roughly in it's exuberance, the man's brunette locks of hair in total disarray.
"You're in a good mood, huh," Miles says with an amused chuckle, trying to push the Walrider's face away from his to gain some reprieve, although halfheartedly because he can't say he's had too many pleasant "morning afters" like this one.
The man doesn't know what prompts him to ask, or why he's hit with the sudden spike of anxiety, but the words are leaving his mouth before he can swallow them back.
"Did you enjoy last night, too," he asks in small, quiet voice that is entirely unlike him.
There’s an infinitesimal, but rapidly becoming larger part of him that wants the Walrider to have a choice in the matter even if Miles didn’t have one when it came to becoming the host. He wants to be a better master than Wernickle was, to honor Billy by being magnanimous in his mission, one that allowed the Walrider some semblance of free will and independence as unfathomable and ludicrous as that may be.
The Walrider squeaks with indisputable affirmation, pressing closer, smothering the human with the dense mass of it’s bulk. Their legs are tangled together, claws wrapping around his clothed back to bring them as close as they possibly could be and that should be enough of an indication to set Miles scattered mind at ease.
"Hey, hey, easy now, tiger! We can't stay in bed all day! We're on the run from an evil corporation remember," Miles exasperates, prying the entity off before they spend another few hours engaged in some awkward rendition of coitus that involves a number of tentacles.
"No offense," Miles tacks on for good measure. Murkoff was it's creator and he didn't know if the Walrider had any lingering attachments to the private group that designed it however doubtful the probability seemed.
"We have a lot to do today and the clock is ticking."
We? Did he just say we? When did it become we? He chews on the word in his mind and it doesn't taste entirely unsavory, just different. Miles leaves the thought alone for now because he can always return to it later if he really needs to, but he has more pressing matters that don’t involve an existential crisis.
The Walrider seems to understand the situation all too well as it's lanky form deflates into the mattress, whining in annoyance as it mopes and pouts like a neglected pet. Miles gives his companion's slumped behavior an inquisitive brow, reaching over to pat the sulking dip of it's cranium in consolation.
"Hey, I'll try to be quick. A few hours tops. Just be ready if someone comes knocking," Miles tells it with an air of impending dread and the Walrider snorts at him dejectedly, not nearly as concerned with the threat of assassins as it was with the denial of cuddle time.
Miles sighs, dismissive, getting out of bed to go about his routine. He stops by the bathroom to brush his teeth and raid the medicine cabinet for some aspirin. His hangover isn't quite as bad as he anticipated it would be, but he could still feel it's lingering effects the moment he started walking around.
He cups his hand under the faucet, bringing the water to his lips as he swallows down the chalky white pills. That done, he decides to take a quick shower, thinking It might be the last opportunity he gets for awhile.
He leaves the bathroom door open and it's not long before he notices the Walrider curiously peeping in on him, it's dark outline huddled around the door frame as Miles stands behind the clear liner of the shower curtain.
Every now and then the reporter flicks his eyes over to it, watchful, wondering if it would try something to distract him, but to his surprise, the entity remains a respectable distance away, simply observing. By the time he steps out of the shower, the Walrider has disappeared, probably so Miles wouldn't catch him outright for voyeurism.
The brunette dries off, wrapping the towel around his waist as he heads in the direction of his dresser for a change of clothes. He fits his arms through the sleeves of a white collared shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles and yanking it into place.
A gasp escapes Miles as a rugged masculine form sidles up to his back, spooning him before he can finish fastening the first button closed. Claws glide over his hips, dropping the fuzzy towel down his thighs to fall to the floor.
The beginnings of arousal stir in his belly and Miles internally chastises himself for it, knowing he can't afford to get carried away again.
"We can't do this right now," Miles reasons, "I promise I'll show you more later, but we have more important things to take care of first."
The Walrider extracts itself by a few centimeters, digesting this information, but as it wrestles with the concepts of self-restraint and carnal desire, the newly awakened heat the human had perpetuated eventually wins out.
Miles finds himself pinned to the wooden dresser he's standing in front of, the machine roughly keeping him in place with the superhuman strength of it's body. Miles hisses, the metal pull handles of his dresser drawers digging grooves into his flesh. He cranes his neck around, glaring at the machine from over his shoulder for it's excessive use of force.
"Didn't you hear me? I said we have to go. There's no time."
The Walrider seems to think there is.
Instant and wild sensation, molten and all-consuming as a pair of clawed hands trap the reporter's half-hard dick by the hilt. Miles jumps, involuntarily bucking his hips into it's firm grip and he cries out in a broken moan, the machine squeezing around him just the right amount, stroking him to fullness in rampant succession. Miles' resolve is diminishing faster by the second, growing less and less important the more those gruesome claws slide over his shaft again and again.
This probably wasn't a good lesson for the Walrider to learn, that Miles would eventually give in with enough prodding and persuasion, but he can school the machine on the importance of boundaries and mutual consent later because by comparison, this shouldn't take nearly as long as a discussion on complicated human relationship dynamics would.
Tentacles are wriggling against his entrance now, pushing in, caustic and raw, about to tear him open.
"Wait," He begs, his legs shaking, "Fuck -- just wait -- you --you need to wet them first. It makes things easier, more enjoyable."
The tentacles in his ass cease their advances, retreating backwards. One fully withdraws, soothing around the abused muscle with alleviating touches while the other remains a few inches inside, biding it's time.
Another set of tendrils travel up to Miles lips, recalling what the man did with his fingers the previous night, seeking the wet crevice of his mouth.
Miles shudders, accepting one of them in, licking over the surreal, jelly-like appendage, studying the taste and feel with his tongue. He sucks on it, wanton, the round tip lashing against the the roof of his mouth then tickling the back of his throat. His jaw is pushed to open wider as the second tentacle sneaks inside, and he can't help the strings of saliva that drip down from his chin, practically drooling over the two phallic-like limbs.
Having been sufficiently lathered, the tentacles leave the warm sanctity of the man's mouth and Miles misses them almost immediately, his jaw feeling stretched and empty without their residency. As if reading his mind, more come to replace his supply, delving past his lips, dancing along his tongue and Miles is hooked on the sensation.
The spit-slicked tentacles return to Miles' ass, allowing the smaller one keeping him loose, acting as a plug, to slip out first. The reporter moans around the tentacles in his mouth, trying to still his trembling body as he's filled to the brim, his insides now slackened and offering little resistance to the bigger girth.
Thick roots come to wrap around his weak, buckling knees, sturdy and more fortifying then the others and Miles can't do much besides hang on for the ride, his hands clinging onto the tall wooden dresser for support.
The Walrider's claws abandon his erection in favor of toying with the pert nipples obscured by the open flaps of his shirt and Miles can't even spare a complaint because the tentacles in his mouth slither out to coil around his dick, shrinking and expanding in sleek, velvety transitions.
"Ahh aha aah, fuck," His voice is raspy, strained so, he swallows, wetting his throat.
"There! theretherethere -- ahhh, fuck yesss."
Miles' howls of ecstasy spur the Walrider on, fueling it, accelerating it's movements, driving harder, pumping faster, matching Miles voice with a guttural thrum of it's own.
The demons makeshift tongue licks Miles' ear, his cheek, stroking down the side of his neck until it' jagged circle of teeth sink into the juncture of the man's shoulder, ruining a perfectly good shirt. Miles screams, feeling the rivulets of blood pour out from the love bite.
The man let's himself go, somehow finding the sense to warn the Walrider of his release.
"I am -- I am coming," he groans, muffling his words into the cuff of his wrist as he convulses, splattering the tentacles and the dresser in hot, sticky fluid.
Miles is attempting to catch his breath as a cum-smeared tentacle bumps the curve of his bottom lip and the man can't say he’s keen on the taste of himself very much.
"Eck! You can clean them yourself, you know," he grouses, batting the soiled tentacles away.
The Walrider applies this recommendation, tasting it's host's seed and Miles can't deny the blush that dusts his cheeks as he ogles the machine drinking up what's left of the milky white on it's tentacles.
The brunette shakes his head, clearing it, remembering what he was doing before he was so rudely interrupted.
"Fuck, now I have to change and clean up again."
------------------------------
It takes him about another few hours to pack, to condense his entire existence into four black duffel bags, the lot of them placed conveniently near the front door.
He'd sent out about a dozen encrypted emails to what reliable connections he had, shared all the notes he'd kept of his experience at Mount Massive, about Murkoff's dirty little secrets. He made copies of what he could salvage from his glitchy camera footage, plans to drop the snuff film in the mailbox of every local news station and then some.
As a final hurrah, a eulogy for what was once a normal life, Miles is having a smoke, leaning his elbows on the pane of his open window. He takes in the details of the neighborhood, the concrete jungle of domestication and cramped run-down buildings that he had never really cared to appreciate before. The only reason he finds himself doing so now is because he doubts he will ever lay eyes on this city street again after today.
The Walrider was tame, well-behaved and non-invasive while he worked to sort though his files, the baggage both figuratively and literally so Miles doesn't mind when it approaches him from behind with claws wrapped around his waist, teeth nuzzling the back of his neck.
"I made copies of everything. I going to tell everyone," he tells it solemnly, "I don't know what's going to happen after that. I don't know what's going to happen to us."
The Walrider growls low, showing it understood, offering encouragement to it's host.
Miles makes a sardonic smiles at that.
"Yeah, I hope we'll be alright too," he says, reaching an arm up to curl around the demon's neck, giving it a small peck on the cheek.
There's only trace remnants of tobacco left in the filter of his cigarette, but he takes a long, lame drag on it anyway. Most of it had been wasted, burned off in tiny clumps of ash because he had been too busy being lost inside his own head, but he still liked the feeling of it in-between his fingers, the comfort the familiarity brought.
He snuffs out his cigarette on the window sill, dragging black streaks across cracked paint before flicking the butt down onto the sidewalk below.
He shuts the creaky window, latches it closed.
“Hey, when we’re outside in public, please try to be discrete. The last thing we needs is someone calling in a cryptid sighting,” Miles remarks, turning around, beholding the ominous form of the Walrider.
Obliging, the Walrider dissolves into a mist, thinning out until it becomes nothing at all.
Miles takes one last tour around his apartment, trying to take a mental picture of the memories he'd made over the past few years. He's leaving so much behind, but he can start over again if it means giving the world a better future by bringing Murkoff down.
Locking the door behind him, Miles descends the blocky stairs with two heavy bags on each shoulder. He takes one final look up at the building that he called home, focusing on his third story window before he rips his gaze away and faces forward again.
It's then that he recognizes the suspicious silver Audi parked in his spot, right out front on the sidewalk.
Holy Shit. Was he an idiot? How did he not notice it here before?
This was Trager’s car. It had to be.
Miles tries the door handle. It's unlocked. He tosses his bags into the back seat and then slides into the driver's side, looking for the car keys. Nothing in the ignition, but he keeps searching, a distinctive metallic clack resounding in the interior when he opens the fold-out mirror and they fall to the mat by the break pedal.
Fucking. Score.
Just for the hell of it, Miles takes the keys and bounds around to the back of the car. He opens up the trunk and just like he knew there would be, an expensive set of golf clubs and caddy are laying there to greet him, neat leather toppers, no doubt painstakingly chosen for each one of the ritzy driver clubs. Miles is going to use those later, but whether it's to pawn them, use them in an act of vandalism or put them to recreational use, he has yet to decide.
He slams the trunk closed and he can't believe his eyes when he sees the word, "BUDDY," inscribed on the rear goddamn license plate. He offers a chuff of disgust, rolling his eyes on his return trip to the drivers seat.
He turns the key, revs the engine and just takes a moment to breathe it all in, hands gripping the steering wheel to reiterate the fact that he had jacked Trager's motherfucking car and had brought it home with him, thinking that it must've been during one of his many mental blackouts. He doesn't know if those catatonic episodes are going to be an ongoing, reoccurring thing, but he hopes the answer is less and not more. Either way, Miles is not the type to kick a gift horse in the mouth.
Forget any thoughts he had about bittersweet departures. They're all replaced by giddy spouts of laughter because this feels like revenge, like he's pissing on Trager's grave and it's motivation enough to lay on the gas and do a burn-out, speeding straight towards the nearest news station.
{End Chapter 3}
#walmiles#walrider#miles upshur#walrider x miles#outlast#outlast fanfiction#walmiles fanfiction#my writing#love host#my walmiles fanfiction
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