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wildfloweroutlaw · 3 months

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Reflections

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pairing: arthur x female reader

summary: arthur returns home to you after long days on the road, and brings with him a fun new idea.

warnings: smut, 18+ MINORS DNI, vaginal sex, i guess kinda soft dom if you squint, maybe not historically accurate terms for clothing?

a/n: sorry if i’m rusty, it’s been a while since I’ve wrote, but i had so much fun doing this! someone throw a bucket of cold water on me.

word count: 1.6K

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The feeling of hot kisses and Arthur’s scruff crept down your exposed collar bone. His form rested heavily atop your own, gently pressing you into the mattress below. You tangled your hands in his shirt, tugging at it with impatience.

“So god damn beautiful…” Arthur murmured between kisses, eyes soaking in your half naked form below him. His hand snaked its way down to your waistband and slid underneath with practiced ease. He palmed you gently through your panties, eliciting a muffed moan from you. He could feel the fabric was entirely soaked through already, “All this ‘cause of me darlin’?”

You could only manage a soft moan, hips jutting up in search of more pressure. Your fingers moved to twine their way into his hair, pulling softly. You felt Arthur pull away suddenly, but quickly returned to yank your pants away from your body, throwing them to the side. Suddenly feeling far too alone in your nakedness, you reached for Arthur’s shirt buttons, popping them open one by one until you could pull the fabric away from his body. You were quick to toss it into the ever-growing pile on the floor.

Arthur closed the distance between you two with haste, pressing his bare chest to you as he reached around your back to unfasten your bra. He leaned back a bit to take in the view, one calloused palm coming up to caress your breast. “Christ alive you’re perfect.” Arthur’s spare hand found the bulge in his pants, palming himself in hopes of a little relief.

“So are you...” You whimpered under his touch, reaching to grab his hand and guide it to your clothed heat. “Please Arthur… need you inside me so bad.” You blushed at your own words, knowing you probably sounded pathetic but you didn’t care. It had been far too long since you’d had Arthur and you thought about him almost every night he was gone. Sometimes so much so that your hands would find their way under the sheets late at night and you’d imagine they were his.

Arthur chuckled softly at you, “needy aren’t ya?”

“You have no idea.”

His breath brushed against the shell of your ear, “oh I think I do… but your wish is my command. Sit tight a minute darlin’.” Arthur pushed himself up off the bed and disappeared into the next room. He returned a moment later, carrying a full length mirror, placing it carefully at the foot of the bed.

“What are you up to Arthur?” Your eyes followed him curiously and you propped yourself up on your elbows to get a better look. You glanced between your mostly naked reflection and your lover’s form.

“You’ll see, just trust me.” He undid his belt buckle and let it clatter to the floor along with his jeans, leaving him standing before you in only his briefs and your eyes drank in his form hungrily. He closed the distance between the two of you, pressing his lips to yours passionately. Arthur then reached down to slowly and tenderly remove your panties, discarding them to the side.

Arthur’s fingers found your most sensitive spots with practiced ease. You studied his handsome face while he pleasured you, but you found his own eyes studying something else. You followed his gaze towards the end of the bed and your eyes met in the mirror. You had almost forgotten the mirror was even there, but now you took in the scene that was laid before you. You, with your legs spread wide, one flung haphazardly across Arthur’s lap. You watched how Arthur’s weathered fingers worked you rhythmically, all with a smug look on his face. You closed your eyes quickly, your face heating up at the lewd depictions reflected in front of you.

Arthur pulled away suddenly and you groaned in protest, eyes fluttering open to find Arthur removing his briefs. He was quick to return to your side, lifting one of your legs a bit to grant him better access. “God damnit darlin’… I’m an impatient man. I’d like to take ya now… if that’s alright with you.” He slid his throbbing member back and forth against your entrance, waiting for your permission.

You agreed hungrily, “yes, oh Arthur please… I-I’ve dreamt of you inside me every night since you left.” Your hand went to caress his bearded jaw tenderly, your gaze meeting his.

Arthur chuckled softly, “and now ya got me.” He pushed inside you, slowly, until he was sheathed to the hilt. You both let out moans at the sudden pressure. Arthur waited in perfect stillness for you to adjust to his size, eyes locked on yours.

Only a couple heartbeats had passed before you were hungrily bucking your hips backwards onto his length, a silent plea for Arthur to move, even just a little. You stared right back at him, eyes filled with desperation.

His broad chest pressed against your back and a well-muscled arm snaked around your waist, the other sliding under your shoulders to cradle you against him. “And I thought I was impatient…” Arthur laughed under his breath, “I always give ya what ya need don’t I?” He moved his hips painfully slow, pulling all the way out and back in.

Finally growing tired of teasing you, Arthur quickened his pace, finding a steady rhythm. A symphony of moans left your mouth, mixing with Arthur’s. You let your eyes flutter closed and your head fall back in pleasure.

“Look.” Arthur commanded while his grip on your waist tightened slightly.

You opened your eyes again and looked to the end of the bed where the mirror stood. You let your eyes freely rove the imagine laid out in front of you. The slight pink tint to your face, Arthur’s large hand sneaking up to toy with the sensitive bud of your nipple, the way his hips snapped to yours, him disappearing inside of you. It was all almost too much. Just as you were about to look away, Arthur gently gripped you by the chin and kept you in place.

“Wanted ya to see how pretty ya look-“ Arthur’s voice was cut off by a groan. “Wanted ya to see how well ya take my cock for me.”

Arthur’s breath was hot against the shell of your ear and when you met his gaze in the mirror, his face was painted with ecstasy. The sight of his beautiful face, and the sight of you making him feel that good, was almost enough to send you over the edge then and there. “You look- pretty too.” You struggled to form words as the haze of lust had already seeped into your brain, but Arthur smiled all the same.

“Jesus you feel so good… my sweet girl.” Arthur cooed into your ear, the pad of his thumb brushing over your other nipple.

“Arthur… getting close.” You managed to choke out between moans, putty in his hands at this point.

“I know sweetheart.” And he did know. He knew your body just as well as his own. “Promise me you’ll keep those eyes open and I’ll give ya what you want, alright?” He moved to press sloppy kisses to the side of your neck.

You nodded furiously, “mmhmm.. I promise.” You could have sworn your entire body was on fire.

Arthur dropped his hand to the crook of your knee, lifting your leg to allow for a deeper angle. “That feel good darlin’?” He picked his pace up a bit.

You were past the point of words as waves of pleasure racked your body and you watched the scene in front of you through half-lidded eyes.

Arthur took the pretty noises spewing out of you as a yes.

You were so close, the pleasure almost blinding. This was exactly what you needed, exactly what you had been missing. You reached a hand between your legs, rubbing small circles and relishing the additional sensation.

Arthur nearly choked at the sight. “You’re gonna be the death of me woman.” His thrusts faltered slightly, growing sloppier as he neared his own climax.

Your fingers kept a steady rhythm, “Arthur I-“

Arthur’s growl in your ear was the only thing keeping you tethered to this universe, ”Go ahead sweetheart, let go for me.”

At his words, your orgasm rolled through you and curses and moans tumbled from your lips. Finally your eyes snapped shut from the pleasure.

The feeling of you clenching around him sent Arthur falling over the edge right after you, rutting into you helplessly as he chased his own climax. Arthur moaned your name like it was the only word he could remember how to say, in that moment it might have been. His orgasm crashed down around him, lighting him on fire.

His pace finally slowed to a stop, and for a long time the two of you just laid there with nothing but the sound of both of your pants filling the room. Arthur wrapped both arms around your waist and pulled you closer to him.

You turned in his embrace, rolling over to stare up at his face. “Where’d you come up with this idea?” You nodded over your shoulder to the mirror that still stood at the foot of the bed.

Arthur shrugged. “Dunno… just thought about it while I was staying at a hotel. I thought it’d be something we’d both like.”

“You have any other fun ideas while you were gone?” You grinned up at him, fingers tracing shapes on his chest.

Arthur chuckled, “More than I can count. You’re just about all I can think about.” Arthur pressed a few tender kisses to your lips. “I love ya sweetheart, I’m so glad I’m home.” He rested his forehead against yours.

You accepted all of his affection with open arms, glowing in his embrace. “I love you too Arthur… and maybe we could try out a couple more of your ideas?” Arthur’s chuckle was his only response.

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rd2 #red dead redemption arthur #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur x reader #red dead redemption x reader #arthur morgan smut #female reader

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criminalmindswhore · 4 months

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Pulling Women

Morgan claims you can't pull so you flirt with Emily...

tw: flirting, sexual tension, mentions smut, praise, brat talk

The bullpen erupted into laughter as Reid failed at saying his pick up line, "Reid just admit it, you have zero game." Morgan said as he sipped his coffee. Reid looked offended, "Look I don't need pickup lines because my smarts do the work for me." Reid shot back from his desk. You looked between the two of them and Morgan took notice. "Y/n, I feel like you are the same as Reid." You faked offense and put your hand over your heart, "I am deeply offended that you think I can't pull women." Just as you finished Emily walked back into the bullpen and went to the kitchen to grab coffee. Morgan pointed at her, "Then pull Prentiss." To Morgan, Emily seemed like the kind of woman no one could flirt with. What Morgan didn't know is that Emily had a big fat lesbian crush on you. Emily wanted you in her bed, under her control, and you knew it, "Oh, I can pull Prentiss."

Emily watched the steam rise from her mug and took a deep breath. She just got done taking a statement from an unsub who really got under her skin. It was music to her ears when your voice hit her ears, "Hey Em." You slid up behind her, your hand barely grazing her lower back, sending a chill down her spine. You leaned on the counter next to her, your eyes grazed over her taking in every single detail. How her belt hugged her waist, the way her fingers grasped her mug, how her bangs sat on her forehead. Emily watched you check her out, she saw your pupils dilate and knew immediately the game you were playing. "You look amazing today Emily," the compliment floated off your tongue in the most seductive way you could muster. Emily set her mug down and took a step closer to you. Close enough for you to notice, but not enough to be considered unprofessional in the workplace. Morgan watched from afar, a teasing smile on his face.

"I could say the same about you, pretty girl." The way it sounded coming from Emily almost made your knees buckle, but you were here on a mission. "Do you want to grab drinks on Friday after work? There's a new bar on my street I've been wanting to try." Prentiss was almost shocked by your offer until she remembered the way you blushed when she caught you during a chase last week. Emily grabbed your arm, her fingers lightly dancing as she ran her hand down it, "I would love to," She quirked an eyebrow, "but it seems you're interested in more than just drinks Y/n." You swallowed the lump in your throat and stood up straight, "I guess that's for Friday Emily to find out huh?" You licked your bottom lip, looked at Emily's lips, made eye contact, and said, "Unless you wanna find out sooner, or can you not put your money where your mouth is?" Emily could hear the brat in your voice and it sent a shock straight to her core.

Reid breathed out, "I can't tell if she's failing or if Emily is a little too into this." Morgan looked at him, "Oh she's failing for sure. Prentiss is untouchable." He sounded so confident that Reid even believed him and averted his attention back to the duo at the coffee machine.

Emily turned so her back was to Morgan and Reid, blocking their view of your face. She leaned in close, closer than she should be at work, "I can already tell I have my work cut out for me with you, maybe you need to learn now who's in charge." Your cheeks turned bright red and you clutched the counter with one hand, desperately trying to pull your brain from the fog. "Maybe I do." That's the best you could get out of your mouth with Emily peering at you through her thick eyelashes and her voice lowering an octave. "Good girl." You gasped and it went directly to Emily's head. A devilish smile graced Emily's face, "My apartment, tonight, 7pm. Do not be late."

With that, Emily grabbed her mug and headed to Garcia's office to get some information from her. You took a moment to compose yourself before returning to Morgan, who still thought you failed. "So how did it go?" Reid looked at you expecting you to say you failed. "We have plans." Morgan's mouth fell open, "With Prentiss?" Reid smiled, no matter the circumstances, he loved seeing Morgan be wrong. Happy that Morgan failed, Reid returned to his desk. You shrugged your shoulders, "I'm hot, confident, and good with words, why are you shocked?" Morgan set down his mug, "Are you saying I can't pull Prentiss because I'm not hot?" You sat at your desk beside his, "Precisely." Emily approached from behind, "Morgan just admit it, Y/n is hotter than you."

#criminal minds #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #criminalmindsxreader #spencer reid #derek morgan

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strangersteddierthings · 8 months

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Daily Ficlet 7

I’m challenging myself to write a little ficlet every day, using the prompts from this list. Today’s prompt is recipe book.

Steve finds Wayne in the hallway, pulling what items he can from the closet there.

"Need some help?" Steve asks as Wayne struggles with a bigger box that seems wedged in pretty good.

"Sure. Just get yer hands up here and ready to catch," Wayne answers, shimmying the box to and fro while Steve moves to follow his instructions. The box isn't by any means light when it falls into his hands, but it's not the heaviest thing Steve's had to catch -don't think about it, don't think about Eddie's limp body awkwardly shoved through a gate. Don't-

"Thanks, son," Wayne climbs back down the stepladder he was on and takes the box from Steve' hands, walking down the hall to place it on the counter. The front half of the trailer is missing, the gate took it, but a decent amount of of the trailer remains (Eddie's room remains) and the government has finally allowed Wayne to return to pack up what he can.

It's better than starting over completely.

"What's in the box?" Steve asks, because it's the only item Wayne hasn't just demanded he load into the moving truck outside.

"It was supposed to be Eddie's graduation gift," Wayne says softly. "'Suppose it'll have to be a 'glad you woke up from yer coma' gift instead."

"Yeah," Steve says, even if he doesn't believe it. Eddie's been asleep months now. They saved the world, killed Vecna, closed the gates, Max woke up, and the kids have started Sophomore year; Eddie remains comatose. "Can I get a sneak peak at the present?"

"It's not much, and ain't nothin' new," Wayne says, opening the box and beginning the process of pulling things out. It looks a bit like the contents of a hope chest. Things to start living on your own with. Robin's mom has one for her that Steve's seen, and even contributed to. There's an envelope of $500 tucked along the side of Robin's chest.

"This was his grandpa's. My dad's," Wayne says, pulling out a belt buckle. "And my ma made this, not for anyone in particular, mind you, but just because she liked to keep herself busy." It's a blanket, thick and a little scratchy when Steve touches it. "And this. This is the most important." Wayne pulls out a binder from the bottom of the box, handing it over to Steve for inspection.

He takes it carefully even though it looks sturdy. Holding it in one hand, he flips it open. He was thinking maybe it would be a photo album or something but it's not. It looks like a recipe book. All the recipes are hand written on looseleaf paper, with post it notes sticking out randomly. "What makes this special?"

"That's his mom's handwriting," Wayne smiles but he sounds sad. "Eddie lost her when he was five. She got real sick, y'know, and never got better. But she wrote out all them recipes. I'm amazed Al kept the thing, but I guess I shouldn't be. No real value in a binder of recipes 'cept to the people close to the author."

Steve looks back down at the binder. He still has both his parents, however distant they might be, so he doesn't know if he'll ever fully understand the significance of getting this piece of someone back. "Does he not have anything else with her writing on it?"

"No, not writing. We got plenty of things they used to own. Eddie's caseworker let us go through the whole house, after Al'd been shipped off to the penitentiary, to gather anything Eddie might want or need. Was supposed to just be his stuff, mind you, legally speakin', but I think that lady knew if we didn't take other stuff, Eddie'd never see it again.

"So, Eddie's got things that were hers. But nothing that's uniquely hers. There's jewelry, and a coupla blankets, but all that stuff is replaceable and not... Well, I dunno what I'm tryin' to say, but that's just stuff that was hers. But this. This was her. Y'understand?"

And Steve does. There's a difference between having something that belonged to someone once, and something that really feels like them when you hold it. Steve doesn't have anything like that, personally, but he knows there will come a time when the difference matters. When everyone grows up and scatters into the future. He imagines a hand written letter from Dustin will mean much more for him to find after a long time of no contact than it would to find his old Roast Beef t-shirt in the back of a drawer or something, moth bitten and musty.

"I can't wait to find out if Eddie's an angry emotional, or a sad one."

Wayne laughs. "He can be both."

#wayne and steve #daily ficlet #just a lil thing for if eddie lived but didn't like... live #bittersweet #my fic

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ddejavvu · 1 year

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james potter has lovely hair and it’s well known that the reader is fond of it. whether this is romantic or platonic poly marauders, or James x reader, it doesn’t matter much but

he decides to prank them by saying he’s planning on getting a buzzcut. genuinely devastating news, cus his hair is so lovely. i think sirius would be in tears, reader sat next to him but manages to say through he sobs that he’d look lovely with a buzz cus he’s so pretty that he could pull anything off. remus returns from his quick “gotta hide the electric razor” trip to yank softly on the back of sirius’ hair and tell him to stop being a baby, cus it’s just hair (even though him and reader are blubbering in solidarity, reader at least tries to be supportive, but sirius treats it like a first degree felony)

idk if he’d tell em it’s a prank so quickly if perhaps (I’d do this I’d do this id do this) reader gets all touchy and just has to bury her face at the top of James head for a bit of a mourning period.

sirius switches tactics and says that no one will have anything to hold onto if he buzzes (not true)(james is fuckin massive)(I’ll hold onto his bicep by my teeth if I have to). if they’re not together atp i could see James being like fine 🙄🙄 guess someone’s gonna have to show me what I’d be missing 🙄🙄 quick, im changing my mind 🙄🙄 (little shit)

nsfw under cut // minors dni.

sirius would definitely throw a fit without trying to be nice to james, like a full on kicking screaming begging no prongs don't do it!!! i'll throw myself off the roof if you do!!

and yes ur trying to be so polite about it, respect his say in what he does with his own body, but you're sooo sad :( there's little tears gathering in your eyes and james is this close to confessing it was all just a tease to get you to stop crying but remus rushes off to the bathroom to 'wash his hands' (read: hide the razor like you mentioned) so he waits until he's back first, but the antics just continue and he never wants to stop getting doted on!!

he's hugging sirius like don't worry pads! it'll grow back eventually. and sirius is like NO. NO YOU CAN'T. PLEASE.

then you ask for just a bit of time alone with his hair. so you get up onto your knees beside him on the bed and drape yourself all over his head (subsequently putting your boobs in his face) and he's like hehe :] yeah say goodbye to the curls baby :]

remus honestly is just sitting there with his head in his hands i think. just. mourning in private. doesn't wanna bother james but is deeply devastated. so he's not quick enough to catch sirius launching his next attack, which consists of 'what are we gonna yank on during sex, prongs?' and remus pops his head up like. yeah this could work.

"S'true," Remus pretends to deliberate, throwing a pointed look at James, "'Can't tug on those pretty curls if you chop 'em off, Prongs."

with your boobs in his face and now both of his boyfriends talking about yanking on his hair, he's.. coming around. he's definitely not telling you it's a prank now, he just goes right for the belt buckle like 'alright boys, interesting point. i'll need some research to make my final decision.'

you best believe that's the best fuck james has ever had and will ever have, and sirius is generous with his silent treatment after he finds out it was just a prank, too, only ignores him for three days instead of a week <3

#james potter x reader #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #poly!marauders x reader #let's talk about poly!marauders !!

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sissylittlefeather · 4 months

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Come Back, Joe

A/N: The people demanded a smutty one-shot and a smutty one-shot they shall have. Now, this one is for the character Joe Lightcloud from Elvis's movie Stay Away Joe. The movie is not my favorite (at all), but Joe is sexy AF. And honestly, we're kind of kindred spirits in some ways. So, thus, a fic was born. It's a dirty, smutty little ride, lemme tell ya. I hope you all enjoy it!

OH, reader is Native, so just use your imagination if you're not.

Warnings: definitely 18+, minors DNI at all, kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (both receiving), p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, and use of alcohol

Word count: ~4.5k

Unfamiliar with Joe? Here ya go:

"Joe's back!"

"What do you mean he's back?"

"He's back at Charlie's place! He's having a party tonight."

You try to hide your excitement that your best friend is back from wherever he was this time. He does this. He leaves and comes back. Every time he goes, you're worried it's the last time you'll see him, but he always seems to come back eventually.

"We better go get ready then." You walk around the counter of the diner you work at and take your apron off. Bonnie smiles, glad that you're leaving with her. Your boss yells at you from across the restaurant.

"Hey! I told you if you left again you'd be fired!" You turn around as you walk out and holler.

"Guess I'm fired then!" You turn back to Bonnie and both of you giggle as you make your way out of the diner. It's been months since you saw Joe last and he always throws the best parties.

******

You arrive at the party in the middle of a fight. This is not a surprise to you. There's always at least one fight at any good party. Still, you can't find Joe. Eventually, he comes back inside to break up the fight followed by a pretty girl adjusting her clothes. This is also not a surprise to you. And even though you wish it had been you to get to him first, you can't be mad. It's not like you've been a saint while he's been gone. In fact, you currently have the arm of your newest fling wrapped around your shoulders. You take another sip of your beer and wait for Joe to see you.

He finally catches a glimpse of you from across the room. His eyes run up your body from your boots to your low cut jeans and silver belt buckle, up to your pink and green plaid shirt tied up so that your belly button is showing, all the way to your hair in two long black braids.

"Well, I'll be damned." You hear him behind you before you feel him tug on your braid. You slip out from under the new guy's arm and turn to face him. He grabs both braids and pulls on them.

"What're these? Handlebars?" You push on his chest with both hands and then he grabs you and picks you up, spinning you around with your feet off the ground. He sets you down and steps back to look you. "Yep, still as good as I remember."

"Shut up, Joe, and give me a real kiss."

"You don't have to tell me twice, honey." He pulls you in and wraps his arms around you, leaning in to part your lips with his and slide his tongue into your mouth. The kiss is familiar and you both sink into it happily.

As you make out, your newest fling grabs Bonnie.

"Who's the guy?"

"That's Joe. It's not worth trying to fight him. You won't win. They belong together, but they seem to be the only people who don't know that."

"Hmm. You need a new drink?" Bonnie nods and they walk off together, leaving you and Joe to get reacquainted.

You spend the rest of the party together, drinking and dancing and doing all the things that you both love. At the end of the night, you tumble back to your car and slide into the backseat together. You both kick off your boots and he tears at your new shirt. A couple of buttons pop off and he pulls it off of you and then sends your bra flying into the front seat. His denim jacket and yellow button down are the next things to go and you press your skin against his. It doesn't take long for him to get both your and his jeans off as well, kissing down your body. You know where he's headed and you're not complaining. This is his favorite thing and he's so skilled, you'll let him do it as often as he wants. He situates himself between your thighs and drags his tongue up your slit to land on the sensitive spot at the top. He moves his tongue over and around your clit before grunting into you.

"Goddamn, I missed you."

"Don't stop!"

"Yes ma'am." He dives back into licking your pussy and you arch your back and moan. The way he moves his tongue is unrelenting and you feel the electricity gather deep in your abdomen. He slides one finger and then two deep inside you and pushes them in and out quickly.

"Oh, fuck, Joe!!" You scream as your orgasm slams into you, running like wildfire in your veins until your legs shake as he continues to lick you.

"You want another one, baby?" He whispers before going back to moving his tongue on your clit.

"Mhmm." You groan as the sensation overwhelms you. He sucks lightly on your clit and then goes back to running his tongue in circles around it.

"Come on, baby. Daddy wants to fuck you." He does a come here motion with his two fingers inside you and you gasp as another orgasm explodes between your legs. "There it is. Good girl."

He kisses your clit one last time and then moves back up your body, dropping his lips onto your skin periodically as he does. When he gets back up to your mouth, he dips his tongue between your lips and then nibbles on the bottom one.

"Sit up." You say seductively. He follows instructions and sits up on the back seat as you position yourself with one knee on either side of his hips. He holds your ribcage with both hands and lines you up to sink onto his cock. As he slides into you, he groans and rolls his hips forward. Once he's filling you completely, you kiss him on the mouth again and whisper.

"I missed you too." You begin to bounce up and down on him and he grunts. His dick hits the perfect place inside you to drive you wild. After a few minutes of this, you switch to rolling your hips against his, pushing him deeper and deeper. While you work his cock with your pussy, he lets his mouth wander on your breasts, sucking on each nipple gently. He holds your back with both hands and drags his tongue up your neck to nibble on your earlobe.

"Mmm. I'm gettin' close, honey." He flips you over on the car seat hovering over you and fucks into you vigorously. You wrap your legs around him and he groans. "You're gonna kill me."

"Like you don't love it." You moan into his ear as he gets closer and closer.

"I do love you-IT. I LOVE IT." He slams into you one last time and cums hard inside you, shuddering as he does. He stays with his head on your shoulder for a bit, really hoping you didn't catch what he said. But you did. And you're not sure how to respond. You want to tell him that you love him too- always have- but you're pretty sure that's not what he wants to hear. So instead you swallow your feelings, again, and pretend like it didn't happen. You lift his head up off your shoulder and run your fingers through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead.

"You got somewhere to stay tonight?"

"There's some ground around here with my name on it."

"You wanna come with me?" His brain is screaming just say yes, but for some reason he can't. You're not sure why you even asked. He never stays with you.

"Nah, honey, I'm okay here."

"Alright then. Well, I'd better get going." You both move to get dressed and he fetches your clothes from the front seat for you. Once you're both fully clothed again, you slip out of the backseat and stand next to your car.

"Bye, Joe." You smile halfheartedly, knowing it'll probably be a while before you see him again. He starts to walk away from you and you turn to open your car door.

"Y/n, wait." He walks back to you and wraps you in his arms, pressing his mouth to yours. He kisses you two or three more times before he finally lets go of you. "I'll see you around."

He heads back toward the house and you get in your car to drive home.

******

A couple of weeks go by and you're back to working your job at the diner. You had to do something to pay for the small apartment in town that you and Bonnie share. She keeps you informed about Joe's activities. Her brother is Joe's best friend, so she has a direct line to what he's doing. Usually when he's in town you see each other a lot more, but he seems to be particularly busy with the cattle situation and that girl Mamie Callahan. You hear about several parties during this time but you're not excited to watch him flirt with Mamie, so you keep your head down for the moment.

You're not sure why it seems to bother you this much. Normally he flirts with girls and you flirt with guys and then you fuck each other in between, but something changed the last time you were together. He seemed to mean it more. You both did, really, and it seems to have you both a little freaked out.

But more importantly, in that time when Joe's occupied, you meet Paul. Paul is a traveling salesman who happens to come into your diner one Thursday night. He takes you to dinner the next night and a romance is born. He's the complete opposite of Joe and you decide that's probably a good thing. To begin with, he's white, with sandy blonde hair and green eyes. He's gainfully employed and never has more than two drinks. And he probably wouldn't cheat on you even if he could. You're not in love with him yet, but you could be, and he's the kind of guy you should marry. Not Joe. No matter how much you love him.

Either way, about three weeks after his coming home party, Joe wanders into your diner around closing time.

"You didn't come to my party."

"Which one?"

"The big one. After the house fell down and we brought the cattle home."

"Your wedding party, you mean?"

"Wedding... no I didn't get married."

"What happened to Mamie?"

"She went home with her mama. Is that why you didn't come? Because of Mamie?" Somewhere inside him there's a sliver of happiness that you were jealous.

"No. I had a date." The happiness is snuffed out and replaced with something else.

"A date?"

"Yes. It's what real men do when they like a woman." He's been around for your hookups, but a real date is completely different.

"With who?"

"His name is Paul."

"I don't know him."

"You don't need to." You stand in opposition, the air between you charged with anger or sex or love or all three. He tips his hat up and pulls a cigar from his pocket.

"Well, I came to see if you'd like to have a drink with me."

"Sure." You angrily finish your closing duties and holler to the manager that you'll see him tomorrow. Then, you take off your apron and go with Joe. He's bought a new convertible, so you slide into the passenger seat and try to calm yourself. He gets in the car next to you and aggressively starts it up. You sit in your seat and fume silently. He has no room to be upset here. Last you heard he was going to marry Mamie Callahan.

He looks over at you as you stare out the window. Inside he's a mess of anger, jealousy, and confusion. Why should it bother him that you're dating someone real? He's not trying to get into anything real with anyone, even you. Although, if he was ever going to, he always thought it would be with you. Maybe that's what's upsetting him. There's an unspoken promise between you that the only serious thing you'd ever have would be with each other. Now you've gone and violated that. He whips the car into the bar parking lot and jumps out.

"You comin'?" He asks you sullenly.

"I'm not sure why, but yes."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Why are you so angry?"

"I'm not." You walk into the bar together and sit silently drinking shots of whiskey. After four of them, you look at your watch. It's almost 9 and you told Paul you'd call him tonight. You slide off your stool and head to the pay phone right outside the bathrooms.

"Where are you goin?" He hollers as you walk away.

"Phone call." You hold up your change and walk away without turning back. After talking to Paul for a few minutes, you feel Joe come up behind you.

"Paul, babe, I need to go. I'll talk to you tomorrow?" He agrees and you hang up. When you turn around, Joe is looming over you.

"Babe?"

"What about it?" You can tell Joe has had a few more shots since you left him at the bar.

"You never called me babe."

"You never took me on a date."

"What do you call what we're doing right now?"

"You do this with your buddies. This is not a date." He seems a little stricken by your comment. Did he really think this was a date?

"Whatever. Babe better hope I never run into him or I'll-"

"What, Joe? Beat his ass? Why?" The tension is building between the two of you as you yell at each other.

"Because maybe I wanted to take you on a date!"

"Then you should've asked me because it's too late now!"

"Oh, is it?!"

"Yes!" You stand and glare at each other for about thirty seconds before neither of you can stand it anymore and his lips crash into yours in a passionate kiss. Your hands go straight to the buttons on his shirt and he turns you around and walks you into the bar bathroom, locking it behind you. He grabs your ass and pulls your hips into his where you can feel his growing erection. You kiss deeply with your tongues dancing against each other and tear at clothing until you're naked enough for him to turn you around to face the mirror. He bends his knees slightly and pushes into you from behind.

"Fuck, yes, Joe!" You scream as he pounds into you, holding onto your hip and your shoulder while he fucks you. He watches your breasts bounce in the mirror with each thrust and grunts. The heady combination of whiskey and sex has you both speeding toward a climax. He moves the hand that was on your shoulder down to your clit and rubs circles as he continues to rut into you. It doesn't take much longer for your orgasm to overwhelm you and you cum hard on his dick. Once he's certain you're satisfied, he pulls out and turns you around to face him. He lifts you slightly to sit on the edge of the sink and slides his cock back inside you. He kisses your mouth again passionately as he fucks you for a few more seconds before he has to give in, shuddering and filling you with his warmth.

"Yes, y/n, fuck yes!" He cries out before collapsing on your shoulder as you both try to catch your breath. "I want you to be mine, y/n."

"You should've thought of that a long time ago." He slips out of you and you both put your clothes back on in silence. After you're dressed he puts his hand on your cheek.

"Why is it too late?"

"He's a good guy, Joe. He'll take care of me and be true to me. I'm not sure I can trust you to do either of those things." That cuts him; you can tell. But he can't deny it. You unlock the door and walk out of the bar bathroom with him following you closely. You slap a $20 bill on the counter for your drinks and head out to his car.

"Y/n wait!" You round on him and hope he can't see the tears in your eyes. He can.

"What?!"

"What if I-"

"Just stay away from me, Joe. I can't keep doing this. And I don't want one of your half-ass promises. I want something real. Someone who loves me." He stands and stares at you silently willing himself to say that he does. But he still can't.

Just then, Bonnie and her brother pull up. Brock gets out and you jump in the truck with her.

"Can you take me home?"

"Sure? What happened?"

"Nothing." As you drive away, you notice Joe looking at the ground and shaking his head. Then he goes back into the bar with Brock. You ride in silence as Bonnie takes you back to your apartment.

******

Another month passes and you continue to date Paul. You don't tell him about Joe, but it's over, so there really isn't anything to tell anymore.

Joe, on the other hand, spends two weeks in a bar trying to forget you. But no matter how much liquor he consumes or women he tries (and fails) to fuck, all he thinks about is you. After his two week bender, he gets up one morning determined to make something happen.

When it's time for Paul to move on to his next town, he has the crazy idea to ask you to go with him. It's only been a couple of months, but you decide to say yes. You can always come back if you need to, but something tells you you won't be back. If you leave with Paul, he becomes your future. This is okay except for one thing: Joe. You haven't heard anything about him in the month since you've been apart. You're not sure where the disconnect happened, but Bonnie doesn't share any more information with you. So when you decide you need to talk to Joe, you have no idea where to start looking.

"Bonnie, I just wanna say goodbye."

"Why? Why not just go, since you've clearly moved on?"

"I don't know! I just feel like I owe it to him."

"He's still living out at Charlie's place."

"Thank you. Was that so hard?"

"No, but I don't see why you need to hurt him twice." You think about what Bonnie said, but you still need to say goodbye. He's probably moved on anyway.

******

When you get out to Charlie's place you're surprised to see a trailer out there, in addition to the newly built little house. You knock on the door to the house and Charlie answers. He points you to the trailer and says that's where Joe's been living. You're a little shocked because you can't remember the last time Joe had a proper roof to sleep under, but you make your way to the trailer anyway. You put your hand up to knock, but your heart stops when you do.

What are you doing? He did exactly what you asked him to do and here you are coming back to him. You turn to walk away and then hear the door open behind you.

"Y/n, you're here?" You turn back to see him standing in the doorway looking just as good as ever.

"Yeah, I was looking for you." He steps out of the trailer and walks over to you.

"You told me to stay away."

"Yeah, I know."

"I'm not ready for you to be here yet."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"No, not like that. I just... I wanted to have the house out here before I showed you."

"Showed me what? It doesn't matter. I'm leaving, Joe."

"Wait, what? Why?"

"I'm going with Paul." He bristles when he hears the name.

"You're still with that guy."

"Yeah, I am."

"You can't go with him." The old familiar anger washes over both of you.

"You don't tell me what to do!"

"I'm tellin' you what not to do!"

"Same thing!" His nostrils flare and you clench your fists.

"Fine. Now I'm tellin' you what to do. Stay here with me." You see his jaw flex, his blue eyes bright with passion.

"Joe, why the hell would I stay here with you?!"

"BECAUSE I FUCKIN' LOVE YOU, OKAY?!" Your mouth pops open in shock and he rubs his eyes with his hand. "I'm sorry, honey, I didn't mean to scream it at you like that. But look, I've been working the bull riding shows and saving up money. The cattle business is starting to bring in some income too. My plan was to get us a little house out here- with plumbing and everything- and have it all ready before I came to you."

"You've been doing all of that... for me?"

"I wanna marry you, y/n. I tried livin' without you and I just can't do it."

"What about Mamie? And all the other girls out there just like her?"

"Brock can have 'em. I just want you."

"You're sure about that?" He nods his head and walks over close to you.

"I'm damn sure." He puts his hand on the side of your neck and pulls you into him, kissing you deeply. He backs away and looks into your face. "So, what do ya think? You wanna marry me?"

"I don't know. You've changed so much; I feel like I don't even know you."

"Say yes and at the party tonight I'll show you that not everything has changed." He grins devilishly and kisses you again, this time wrapping his other arm around your waist to press your body into his. You throw your arms around his neck and hold onto him tightly. This is everything you've ever wanted from Joe, so you know your answer. When he finally pulls back out of the kiss, he hovers over your mouth in anticipation.

"Yes."

You hear a whoop behind you and you both turn and look to find Charlie there watching you. He hollers from the porch.

"It's about damn time you two kids figured that out." Joe hollers back.

"Spread the word. There's gonna be one hell of a party here tonight." He crashes his lips into yours again and you practically drag him into the trailer, your mouths never leaving each other.

You kick off your boots and he does too as you stumble back to the small bedroom. As he undresses you, he presses hot kisses to your skin and then lays you down on the bed. He takes his clothes off too and then lays down next to you, running his hand over your body gently. Then, he leans in and kisses your neck and down your chest to one of your nipples. His fingers tease the other one and he takes your whole breast in his hand and squeezes gently.

"What are you doing?" He's never been this gentle or slow with you before, so you're not sure what's happening.

"I'm making love to you. Don't you like it?"

"Oh. Kinda just want you to fuck me like always." His eyes light up and he looks down at you hungrily.

"I can do that. C'mere." He lays on his back and situates your hips over his face. He starts in on your clit, licking quick circles over and around it. You have to lean your head against the wall and bite your lip to keep from screaming. He slips two fingers into you and pumps them in and out while he sucks on your clit lightly and then goes back to licking circles.

"Oh, fuck, Joe. Goddamn that's so good." The pressure begins to build and the sensation of his tongue on you is about to drive you crazy when he whispers.

"Cum for daddy, honey."

You slam your hand on the wall and do as you're told, walls fluttering and pulsing as your climax pounds into you from every direction. You grind against his face as you ride out the high of your orgasm.

"You want another-"

"No." You pull back off of him and crawl down to between his legs.

"Oh god, baby, yes." He moans as you hold his cock in one hand, rolling his foreskin back, and lick up the shaft to the head, swirling your tongue around the tip. His hand finds your hair and he grabs a handful as you bounce up and down on him. Then, you push as much of him into your mouth as possible, letting him hit the back of your throat as you press your nose into the soft patch of hair at the base of him. He groans and leans his head back, holding your hair a little tighter.

"Honey, if you don't stop, this is gonna be as far as we get." You bounce two more times and then suck off the tip with a small pop.

"Yes sir." You smile and move back up his body. He rolls you over onto your back and kisses your shoulder as he lines himself up with your entrance.

"Now can I make love to you?" You laugh and nod.

"Yes, baby." He pushes into you slowly and kisses your mouth as he picks up a steady rhythm.

"I do love you, y/n."

"I know, Joe. I love you too." He peppers you with kisses all over your face and neck as he pumps in and out of you. It doesn't take much longer for him to cuss and fill you with his warmth. You lay there together naked and wrapped in each other. There's a new satisfaction to the way you are together knowing that it's real and nothing is going to tear you apart this time. You're lost in this post-sex bliss when there's a sharp knock on the door.

"Joe! Get out here! I heard we were havin' a party!" It's Brock and you hear Bonnie holler next.

"Get your clothes on and come on out! We brought beer and whiskey!" Joe looks at you and kisses your forehead. Then you both jump up and dress as quickly as possible. You've never been the type of people to miss out on a good party. He takes your hand and you make your way out of the trailer to a cascade of whoops and hollers. You'll have some kind of ceremony soon, but to your friends and family, you're already married. Joe keeps you close to him all night, but the party rages on. At the end of it, he grabs you and pulls you out to his car.

"Joe, we have a perfectly good bed in the trailer."

"Yeah, but I promised you not everything had changed."

He winks and you climb into the backseat. He might have a job and roof, but he's still your same old Joe.

******

The End

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @aliypop @joshuntildawn13 @rjmartin11 @your-nanas-house

Idk who else would want a Joe tag.

#elvis presley fanfiction #elvis smut #elvis presley fic #Joe lightcloud #Joe lightcloud fanfiction #stay away joe #stay away Joe fanfiction

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zepskies · 1 year

Text

Never Say Goodbye - Bonus Track #2

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader

Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. [Soulmate AU] (18+)

AN: Did I say two parts? I meant three lol. (It got too long, I’m sorry.)

Word Count: 4,300 Tags/Warnings: Angst, supernatural shenanigans, death…

Bonus Track #2: One Last Hunt

“Okay, try not to panic,” Sam said. Dean had him on the phone while he sped through town in the Impala.

“I’m coming now, but I won’t get there for a few hours,” Sam said. “My flight leaves in 20 minutes.”

“Thanks, man, but I can’t afford to wait,” Dean said. “She fucking disappeared. I don’t see her anywhere…I’m gonna have to start at her job. That’s where she first took off from.”

“How did she seem this morning?”

“Fine, I guess. I left before she woke up,” Dean said. He still felt guilty about the fact that he didn’t bother waking you up to say goodbye.

“Okay, yeah, start at the museum,” Sam said. “Let me know what you find, and I’d loop in Bobby. Probably Jack too.”

“Bobby’s meeting me there…but we don’t need to bring in Jack yet.”

“Dean, he’s her dad—”

“This isn’t his thing. It’s ours,” Dean said firmly. “If it’s a demon, I’m gonna find her and exorcize that son of a bitch.”

Sure enough, Bobby met Dean at the museum where you worked. The old man was worried, Dean could tell, even if he wouldn’t say it. But he knew the drill: now they had a job to do.

“I’ll go in first, flash my badge,” Dean said. “Meet me in the library.”

“Roger that,” Bobby agreed.

Dean had a decent rapport with your boss, Jerry. When he explained that you were actually missing, Jerry was concerned for your wellbeing instead of irate that you’d taken a very valuable book from the museum.

It gave Dean a theory to lie about on the fly: that you’d been mugged and taken hostage, presumably by someone who might’ve wanted to steal the ancient text.

“How ancient are we talking exactly?” Dean asked.

Jerry gave him a look. “Ancient Egypt.”

He showed you the inventory log on the new shipment you were supposed to compile into the system. The title missing from the rest was called The Eye of Ra.

“All right. Thanks, Jerry,” Dean said. “Anything else you can tell me about this book?”

“It’s a recording of the great deeds of the Ancient Egyptian gods and goddesses,” Jerry explained. “It was said to be touched by Ra himself.”

Touched by Ra, Dean mused. Ain’t that just fucking swell.

Whatever happened to you, Dean knew it was because you touched that book.

For the next few hours, Dean and Bobby worked together on deeper research in the library. Now that they had a starting point, Bobby was able to find some intel.

“The Eye of Ra was actually a nickname,” he said, earning Dean’s attention. “For Sekhmet, their goddess of war.”

Dean’s brows furrowed at that. “Why’s it never the goddess of peace and fucking tranquility?”

“Among other things, she was the daughter of Ra,” Bobby said, raising a wry brow. “And she was known as the bringer of plagues and death…and sometimes healing. Go figure.”

Fucking hell, Dean thought sourly. This was getting worse by the minute.

“Okay, what does this have to do with the book?” he asked. Though he had some idea.

“Well, she ain’t been alive in a millennium. But she had a husband. The god Ptah, a craftsman,” Bobby said. “According to this, when he was eventually killed, she sealed her soul away until she could find a way to rescue him from the underworld…I’ve gotta think she sealed it in that book.”

Dean sighed, rubbing the now aching spot between his brows. An ancient Egyptian goddess was most likely possessing his fiancé.

And it was much worse than it sounded on paper.

“Okay, which means she’ll be looking for a way to bring back her husband,” he said. “So how do we find her?”

Just then, the police radio buckled to Dean’s belt sounded off. When he listened closely, his eyes grew wide. It was a report of five murders committed at a nearby gas station.

Dean pulled up to the local 7-Eleven. Bobby was on the way, but he’d been caught up in traffic while Dean was allowed to use his police siren to his advantage.

He then used his badge clearance to get behind the yellow tape and over to Jack, who was still on duty.

Dean stepped inside the gas station and surveyed the brutal scene: the nice old man who owned the place, plus four patrons were lying dead.

Their skin was covered with boils.

Jack wore a disconcerted frown along with his crossed arms in his police jacket.

“It’s almost…biblical,” he remarked.

Dean knew just how right he was. Jack seemed to know that too when he glanced over.

“Is this your kind of thing?” he asked.

Dean nodded. “I might know what’s going on here. Let’s check the security footage…but no one else can see it but you and me.”

Jack nodded, leading Dean to the back of the store. Jack was shocked by what he found in the footage. Dean watched grimly, but not surprised as you came into the frame. You tilted your head at the owner, who seemed to ask you something.

You raised a hand, and with a flare of magic, everyone in the station was cowering and screaming as a plague of boils covered their bodies, and eventually ended their lives.

“Christ,” Jack gasped. “What the hell—”

“It’s not her,” Dean told him. “She’s being possessed. I’ll handle this, Jack. Just make sure this footage gets buried, along with whatever prints she might’ve left behind.”

Jack barely had time to agree. As if that kind of thing was so easy. He called after Dean as he took off out of the station.

Dean didn’t see Bobby yet when he got outside, but he didn’t have time to wait.

However, he did spot someone familiar hanging out in front of the department store across the street. Dean jogged across and raised a hand to flag down Jessie Deluca.

The kid was gnawing on what looked like a melting Butterfinger. He groaned in annoyance when he saw Dean coming.

“Not you again,” he muttered.

“Yeah, me again,” Dean said. “You been standing out here long?”

“Look, grandpa. I’m just chillin’ here,” the kid sassed. It sparked Dean’s irritation, as well as his impatience.

“I don’t give two shits if you’re contemplating the great Butterfinger Heist of 2008, all right?” Dean pointed back to the gas station. “You see that?”

Jessie’s expression faded from some of its assholeness, becoming more solemn. “Yeah, I heard someone died or something.”

“That’s right,” Dean nodded. “Did you see anyone walk out of the station?”

“No,” Jessie said. But Dean could tell it was a reflex, not the truth.

“Listen, Jessie. I need your help,” he said, more earnestly. “I’m trying to find someone. So if you know anything, I need you to tell me right now. Please.”

Dean stared down in the kid’s brown eyes. Eventually, Jessie relented.

“When I came out of the store here, I saw some business lady walk out. I think, after it had all just gone down,” Jessie confessed. “She looked fine.”

Dean sighed and nodded. “Okay. What’d she look like?”

“Uh…black skirt. Great legs,” Jessie said, his lips curving a little. Dean raised a brow.

“Anything else?” he asked wryly.

“White blouse, heels…actually, she kinda looked familiar,” Jessie added as he thought harder about it.

“Good. Now tell me what direction she went in,” Dean said. Jessie nodded and pointed him down the street.

“I think she went down there. I saw her turn the corner.”

“Where? What street?”

“Dude, I don’t know!”

“Then show me,” Dean insisted. He grabbed Jessie by the shoulder and guided him forward. The kid looked annoyed, but he begrudgingly agreed to lead him down the street. The two of them walked brusquely, with Jessie trying to match Dean’s longer strides.

Dean glanced over at his companion, who was still working on his Butterfinger.

“When’s the last time you ate something that wasn’t covered in chocolate?” he asked. Jessie didn’t look at him when he shrugged. His winter jacket hung off his skinny shoulders, making him look ten rather than thirteen. Dean’s heart twinged.

“Listen, next time you’re itching to knock over a department store for KitKats, come by the station,” Dean said. “Find me or my partner Jody Mills. Or even my boss, Jack. We’ll get you a burger or something.”

Jessie briefly looked up at him, but all too soon, his gaze returned to the ground.

“What do you care?” he said.

“Maybe I know something about having to fend for yourself,” said Dean. “Sometimes going hungry, not knowing when somebody’s gonna come back for you.”

Jessie’s jaw clenched. He didn’t answer, but Dean hoped he’d gotten through to him.

Jessie led him around the corner at the street he thought he saw you turn down. He and Dean didn’t have to walk too much farther before he found you through the window of a bakery, of all things.

“What the hell?” Dean muttered.

He pulled Jessie to the wall by the window for safety, but both of them snuck a peek inside.

You were once again wielding magic to spread a plague of boils across an entire room of screaming, agonized patrons just trying to get their donuts and cream pies.

Jessie started to utter a cry of alarm, but Dean quickly covered the kid’s mouth with his hand and pulled him back to his side. Dean waited, stock still, until the screaming inside the bakery subsided.

He looked down at Jessie and raised a finger to his lips. Though he was scared, Jessie nodded. Dean led him around the corner into an alley beside the bakery.

“What…the fuck was that?” Jessie hissed.

“Keep your voice down,” Dean warned.

Then suddenly, it donned on the kid as he looked up at Dean. “Oh, shit. That’s your freakin’ girlfriend.”

Dean let out a sharp sigh. “It’s not her…exactly.”

He knew Jessie didn’t understand. Dean sighed again and grasped Jessie’s shoulders.

“Look, you’re right to be scared. There’s something evil in there…that’s why I’ve gotta save her,” he said. “Now you, you’re gonna run. And don’t look back until you’re home, got it?”

After a moment, Jessie nodded shakily. Dean nodded back, patting him firmly on his shoulders.

“Good man,” he said. “Okay, scram.”

Jessie seemed reluctant, like he felt some type of way about leaving Dean behind. But at Dean’s encouraging look, Jessie took off running. Dean hoped he headed straight home.

Then, rolling his shoulders, Dean braced himself. He drew his gun, which was filled with silver bullets. He didn’t think it would work on an Egyptian goddess, nor did he want to pull a gun on you. But for the threat of it alone, he would have to draw it with the safety on.

He entered the bakery, where you were perusing the selections with a dispassionate look. All around you was death.

But you perked up when Dean entered, eyeing him curiously in recognition.

“Feelin’ a snack?” he asked.

“I have been asleep for a very long time,” you replied, holding up a pastry. “What is this confection?”

“Cherry Danish,” Dean supplied. “You’re Sekhmet, right?”

Your lips twitched. “You know of me?”

“I do now,” he said, carefully stepping further into the bakery with his gun pointed down, avoiding stepping on the bodies. He noticed the book you left closed on the counter. The goddess saw him noticing. Her gaze cut to him in amusement.

“Why’d you kill these people?” Dean asked. “Didn’t bow down at the right angle?”

“Among all of my brothers and sisters, I alone was favored by my father,” she said, “because my job was to balance the world, between life and the afterlife.”

Sekhmet brushed her fingers against a glass case, and with a small spark of magic, the glass cracked into thousands of fractals, but didn’t shatter.

“And I did exceedingly well at this,” she said. “Though I see that my work has been undone. This world is rife with imbalance.”

“Mass genocide. Nice,” Dean quipped. “But that’s not all you want, is it?”

Sekhmet’s head tilted at him with reluctant interest.

“I heard you’re looking for your husband, who went an offed himself,” he added.

The goddess’s lips pursed and she slapped a hand on the glass counter, making it shatter. Dean turned and shielded his eyes with his arm. By the time he recovered, Sekhmet was coming around the counter. He took a few cautious steps in the opposite direction.

“My husband was unjustly slain by the very people who once worshipped us in droves,” she said, her tone exacting and harsh. Her eyes, however, were heavy with fury and pain.

“He was an artist. A creator in purest form…his talents were wasted on this abomination of a world,” she said, with disgust at her surroundings. But as soon as her anger came, it diffused into exasperation.

She picked up a glazed donut and took a bite, crossing her arms. She hummed in delight, making Dean’s brows raise.

“Well, I can help you find him,” Dean said. It was a bluff, to be sure, but it still earned Sekhmet’s attention.

“Can you?” she asked in amusement. She didn’t believe him. Yet. But she drew closer to Dean, tilting her head just so. All the while, Dean inched towards the far end of the counter where The Eye of Ra had fallen to the ground.

“And after, you let my girl go,” he said.

“You know of a way to reach the Underworld?” Sekhmet’s gaze roamed over him in disdain. “Unlikely.”

“Well, I’d call it a gate to Hell. But same difference, right?” Dean quipped.

The second he tried to reach down for the book, however, Sekhmet pinned him in place with a vibrant amber coil of magic. Dean grunted as she forced him to the ground, onto his knees between the bodies of a young man and woman, likely a couple.

The goddess stopped in front of him, looking down at his face with interest.

“Dean Winchester, as you are called. I understand why you continue to display such reckless judgment, all but throwing your very life at my feet,” she said. Her lips curved knowingly. “I hold your lover, correct?”

She harshly grabbed his cheek in her hand, and Dean glared in response. She seemed to ponder something as she considered him.

“Soon to be your wife,” she realized.

And Dean had a feeling she was in your head, sorting through your thoughts and memories like any demon would. He didn’t know what was worse: the thought of you being awake in there, unable to fight this bitch’s hold, or if Sekhmet had completely taken over your body and shut you away.

“Just let her go,” Dean said, almost pleading. “You can have me. I won’t even fight you.”

“Such self-sacrifice,” she said. “The only noble act humans are capable of.”

Before she could decide whether to kill him, or keep him for further amusement, the front door of the bakery swung open.

Bobby came in first, followed closely by Sam and Eileen.

Bobby was holding a damn crossbow, which he aimed and shot off at Sekhmet. It was a warning shot, just grazing her shoulder. But it burned her with a sting of flesh that made her hiss in pain. She glared up at Bobby, and after grabbing the book before Sam could, she disappeared in a whirlwind of magic.

The coil holding Dean in place shattered, allowing Dean to catch his break and get to his feet, with Sam’s help. Dean had to admit, it was good to see his brother.

“You okay?” Sam asked. Dean reached over and pat the other man’s shoulder.

“I’m good,” he said, though with a sigh that belied his weariness. “Hey, Eileen. Thanks for making it to the party.”

The pretty brunette offered him a sympathetic smile, rubbing his arm. “We came as soon as we could.”

Dean nodded and turned to Bobby, who still held his crossbow. He wasn’t happy about the old man shooting at you, but he recognized that it had saved his life.

“Why’d that thing hurt her?” he asked.

“The arrow’s dipped in a potent mix of salt from the Dead Sea…and Egyptian wine, among other things,” Bobby replied.

Dean frowned in confusion. “Why the fuck?”

“According to the lore, Sekhmet could be subdued with alcohol,” Sam explained.

“Great, we’ll just get her drunk and all our problems will be solved,” Dean quipped dryly. He grabbed the radio from his belt. His gaze returned to the dead bodies on the floor with dismay.

“I’ve gotta call this in. Bobby, get the security tapes.”

After Dean finished calling in the deaths to his precinct, he shared a disheartened look with Sam, who grasped his shoulder in support.

“We’re gonna find her, all right?”

They regrouped at Bobby’s house once Jack took over at the bakery. Now the three men and Eileen were congregated in the living room, trying to decide on their next move.

“You told her about the Hell gate?!” Sam said incredulously.

“Damn it, Dean!” Bobby slapped the coffee table in exasperation.

“All right, lay off! I was improvising under fucking duress,” Dean snapped. “At least we know where she’ll probably go next, assuming she finds out where the gate is.”

“She’s a goddess, Dean. One of the oldest and most powerful in ancient history. I’m sure she can figure it out,” Sam said, rubbing at his tired eyes.

And, as Dean remembered, Sekhmet was rooting around in your head. She’d find the gate for sure.

Eileen looked between the brothers, clearly worried. Sam had told her about what you, him, and Dean had gone through to close that damn gate to Hell last year.

“So how do we stop her?” Dean asked. Without hurting you, was implicit. Bobby heaved a sigh.

“We gotta burn that damn book,” Bobby said. “But we’ll need to be smart about it.”

So that was how the four of them ended up driving to southern Wyoming. They stopped along the crossroads by the train tracks, and ventured in on foot into the very clearing where their final battle against Yellow Eyes took place.

Dean thought he’d be able to put his past behind him, but the universe clearly liked to kick him in the balls.

Evidence of this came when he saw you standing at Samuel Colt’s gravestone. Or rather, the goddess Sekhmet.

She was expending large forces of magic to try and open up the gate to Hell. The book that bound her soul lied on top of a nearby headstone.

Dean gestured for Sam, Eileen, and Bobby to hang back and fan out, while he stalked forward. He’d changed out of his police uniform in favor of his familiar jeans, shirt, and a red plaid shirt, hoping that at least would help you focus on him, wherever you were deep inside your mind.

But he called out to Sekhmet from a (relatively) safe distance away.

“Are you stupid or something?” he mocked.

Sekhmet paused in her magic wielding. She craned her head over her shoulder at him in annoyance, with amber rings illuminating her eyes.

“There’s only one thing that can open up that gate, and I’ve got it right here,” said Dean.

He pulled out the Colt from behind his back.

Sekhmet’s gaze narrowed on the gun, then at Dean with a slow smirk.

“Why, by the gods, should I trust your foolishness?” she asked.

“Because we’re about to make a trade,” Dean said. “The gun for my girl. You let her go, or you’ll never see your husband again. In this world, or the next.”

Dean pointed the gun at her and cocked the safety back. She didn’t have to know the barrel was empty.

“You cannot harm me, even if there was ammunition in that weapon,” Sekhmet replied knowingly.

She turned to him and reached out with a magic-fueled hand, but before she could grab Dean, Sam shot his own gun.

It deployed a net of rope that twined around her frame and held her in place. It was soaked with the same concoction Bobby shot her with in the bakery, and it made her fume with outrage.

It didn’t completely weaken her though. Her hands were still free to fling Sam and Bobby away from her with magic.

She then turned to grip Eileen, who was nearly able to steal the book. And the goddess sent Eileen across the clearing, breaking a headstone as she fell.

Sam had been trying to pick himself up from the ground, but he gripped at his chest, feeling his soulmate’s pain. He scrambled over to her prone form on the ground and checked the cut along her hairline.

“Eileen,” Sam called, pressing his hand to her cheek. He had one eye on her, and another on his brother.

Because meanwhile, Sekhmet had broken free of the ropes holding her captive with a cry of fury.

Just in time to grab Dean by the throat when he tried to surprise her from behind. She forced him down to his knees and smirked in satisfaction as Dean struggled against her hold.

He called your name, trying to reach you through the goddess’s hold on your mind.

“She is gone from this world,” Sekhmet taunted. “This is but a vessel for my eternal soul.”

“I don’t fucking believe that,” Dean choked. “If she was gone, I’d know it. Deep in my bones I’d know it.”

Her mouth twitched, but she seemed to enjoy the idea of slowly choking him to death. Or maybe, something was holding her back. Dean could only hope it was you, trying to break through.

He looked into your eyes and tried to find you through the cold disdain of a goddess.

“Whatever happens, I’m not letting go,” he gritted out. He held tight to your wrist, on the hand wrapped around his throat.

“I love you, you know that?” he said. “From the start…you closed the door in my face when I tried to kiss you. Teased me. Never took my shit. But you never left me either. No matter how hard it fucking got, you kept my feet on the ground. You never called it quits…‘cause we never say goodbye. Right, baby?”

Slowly, slowly, Sekhmet’s hard exterior faded. The amber rings of magic receded from your eyes, and the woman he loved was there again, softening your face into shock and horror.

You released your grip on Dean. He stumbled to the ground as he coughed and gasped for precious oxygen.

He straightened enough to grab your hand. You reached out for him instinctively.

“Dean,” you said with shaking effort.

“I’ve gotcha, sweetheart,” he said. He turned back to see his brother helping Eileen to her feet. “Sam, the damn book!”

Sam snapped to attention and quickly looked for The Eye of Ra. It had been knocked over from the headstone onto the ground. He grabbed it and fished out a lighter from his pocket.

Dean’s attention turned back to you when you squeezed his hands.

“I can’t hold her for long,” you said tremulously. Your whole body was shaking. “She’s so damn strong…”

“It’s okay, we’re gonna fix this,” Dean said, brushing your hair back from your face.

You closed your eyes and gasped. But when you opened them once again, they were hard, and glowing with magic.

Sekhmet tossed Sam away from the headstone.

Dean tried to hold her back, but she backhanded him hard. Sekhmet followed where he fell. She reached out and gripped him by the neck again, this time choking him with a vengeance.

But then she gasped, as if in pain. She turned her head and found Sam with the book in one hand, and a lit match in the other. As the book started to burn, Sekhmet weakened.

Dean caught her before your body could hit the ground.

Sekhmet released a shaking breath; she gazed into the dimming sky, painted in its golden, amber hues, and knew that her soul was dying. Hot tears slipped down her cheeks.

Dean almost felt sorry for her. Or maybe it was the sight of your pained, weeping face that tugged at his heartstrings.

“You’ll just have to join your husband this time,” he said.

Sekhmet’s lips trembled, but she nodded. “This world was never made for us…but we shall soon be together for all eternity.”

She looked up at him with a rueful smile.

“You understand,” she said. “A soul bond can never be destroyed.”

And with that, the haze of magic drained from your eyes as your body went limp.

Dean’s brows furrowed with worry as he called your name. Behind him, Sam helped Eileen draw near with a limping Bobby. All three watched with worry at Dean’s side…until your eyes opened, revealing their natural hue.

You took in a tremulous breath. “Dean.”

His eyes burned with emotion, but he closed them as he held you tight. All he could do was press his lips against your forehead in relief.

You clung to him right back, for as long as you needed to.

AN: Fun fact — According to Egyptian mythology, the only thing that could stop the goddess Sekhmet from ending humanity with bloodshed was by getting her drunk on beer, which had been dyed red to simulate blood (which she also liked to drink, apparently).

Egyptians (the survivors) would drink beer mixed with pomegranate juice and get drunk to celebrate not being killed dead. (Woo!)

Anyway, let me know if you enjoyed Part 2! All the fluff is coming in the finale of Part 3, very soon…

Next Time:

Dean brings you home. The two of you figure out how to move on from here...

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munsonslove · 2 years

Note

I was wondering if you could write a smut about Eddie and his girlfriend on Halloween. She wants to be Eddie, so she wears his hellfire shirt with fishnet tights and either a black skirt or shorts over it, with combat boots. If the reader could be plus sized and gains confidence with this Halloween look that would be great, but if not that’s okay too! (Inspired by your angel devil smut) But could Eddie be the dominant one in this?

Late to the Party

(18+ only)

a/n: happy halloween y'all! this idea is super cute so i hope i did it justice xx

summary: Eddie's girl decides to go as him for Halloween as a surprise.

wordcount: 2.4k

tags/warnings: fem!plussize!sub!reader, softdom!Eddite, smut, established relationship, light bondage, praise kink, unprotected p in v penetration, no use of y/n

“Alright, I’m leaving now,” your boyfriend’s muffled voice says through the speaker of the telephone, “I’ll see you in fifteen, sound good?”

“Perfect,” you reply. You were mostly finished getting ready for the Halloween party tonight, there was just one final touch needed. “Hey, can you bring the cuffs?”

“Why?” he asks, his tone turning low and raspy. You can hear the flirtatious smile in his voice. “You wanna have some fun before we leave, baby?”

“No, horndog,” you scold jokingly, “I need them for my costume.”

“Oh god, please don’t tell me you’re being a cop,” he says, “Is that why you didn’t want to tell me?”

You laugh at his distress. “No, you doof. Not a cop, but you’re not getting any more hints! I told you it’s a surprise.”

“Fine. Just know the suspense is killing me,” he complains. “By the way, did you ever find my vest?”

“Yup, it was under my bed,” you answer, “Guess you just didn’t look hard enough. It’s a good thing you’re cute.”

“Ha ha,” he deadpans. “I could’ve sworn it wasn’t there though… Weird. Anyways, guess I’ll get going. See you soon, babe. Love you.”

“Love you too!” you say before hanging up. The truth is, his denim vest wasn’t under your bed. You had gotten up and hidden it during the night so that he’d be forced to leave without it this morning when he crawled out through your window. It wasn’t like you to lie to Eddie, but the garment was an integral piece of your plan for tonight. You were going as your boyfriend for Halloween.

The idea came to you late one night, months ago when your relationship was still fresh. Eddie had snuck you out and driven you to Lover’s Lake. Despite it being summer, the air held an unexpected breeze that left you shivering. He noticed right away, and shrugged his jacket off to wrap it around your shoulders. At first, you felt an ugly wave of self consciousness. The girlfriends you see on TV and in movies would have been able to simply wear their boyfriend’s jackets, but considering your arms were bigger than his, you knew they wouldn’t fit in the sleeves comfortably. Your man always had a way of putting your anxiety at ease though, and you forgot all about any embarrassment when he caressed your face and said that you looked like ‘a prettier version of him’.

That throwaway comment led to this moment, looking in your bathroom mirror and smoothing down your new skirt. It was shorter than you’d ever worn out in public, but you were doing this for your Eddie, and he always said he’s a sucker for your thighs. Still, you can’t help but feel somewhat silly. Since the vest didn’t have sleeves, you were able to slip it on- but it obviously didn’t fit you as loosely as it did him. Fortunately, the Hellfire shirt tucked into your skirt was slightly baggy on you (as per requested when Eddie offered to make you one), so that helped to quiet your confidence issues. The rest of your costume consisted of black combat boots, fishnet tights, a black bandana, and some of the rings Eddie had gifted you from his own personal collection. On the counter by the sink was a belt you planned to wear tonight, waiting for the handcuffs you were going to use in place of a buckle. Once that was settled, your outfit would be complete.

You spent the fifteen minutes it took Eddie to drive his van from the trailer park to your house fidgeting with your hair and wondering if you should apply more makeup. When you heard a familiar pattern of knocks, you called out ‘it’s open!’ and listened as he let himself in and looked around for you.

“Where’re you hiding, babe?” he called out with a relaxed laugh. “You’re not gonna try to jump out and scare me, are ya?”

“In here,” you replied while sticking your arm out the partly open bathroom door. “Hand me the cuffs so I can finish and show you!”

Heavy footsteps get closer and closer until cold metal slips into your hand. Once you grab a hold of it, you retract your arm and slam the door shut, shaking your head at his whining about wanting to see you already. He had graciously unlocked them for you, but threading them through the tight leather belt loops still took a little work. After you were done and satisfied with the way it looked, you fastened it around you where the waistband of your skirt laid and exited the bathroom.

Eddie had left the hallway in the time it took for you to fix up the belt, but you were able to find him easily in the living room. He stood facing the TV that was still playing the ‘A Nightmare on Elm Street’ tape you rented, and he was absentmindedly watching it while swaying his hips and waiting for you. The sight of him in his vampire costume made you chuckle. It was just his usual clothes with a knee length satin cloak and plastic fangs (which were held in his crossed arms instead of being worn). The cloak was black with bright red lining, and had an exaggerated collar that used hidden wires to stick up by his ears. His face lit up and broke out in a smile when he heard you laugh. He looked up from the TV excitedly, but his jaw dropped instantly and his hands dropped the fake teeth when he saw you. Eyes raked you up and down, taking an especially long time to go over your stocking-clad thighs.

“You’re… me?” he finally says, eyes full of adoration and the smile returning to his face.

“Surprise?” you reply, your shyness still lingering despite his seemingly positive reaction. “I thought it’d be kinda funny… but if you think it’s dumb I could always change.”

He doesn’t like that suggestion at all, and immediately surged forward to wrap his arms around you. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he says as he tackles you down onto the couch.

As you fall down onto the cushions, you screech in shock and burst into a fit of giggles as your boyfriend pecks short kisses all over your face and neck.

“You’re so hot. You’re gonna be the hottest girl at the party. You’re the hottest anywhere we go,” he says in between kisses.

“So you really like it?” you ask, though the worry you had has melted away.

“Like it? I love it!” he answers. “Now every single person there will know exactly who you belong to.”

“Eddie, we’re gonna be late!” you complain halfheartedly. In reality, you wanted him to keep going.

“I can be fast!” he promises, “Just give me twenty minutes, babe. You know I can make you feel so good with twenty minutes.” You make a mental note to wash the couch cushions when you get home tonight.

Knowing that you were looking forward to the party, he really does try to be fast. Right away, Eddie sits you up and slides the vest down your arms and the t-shirt up your torso. Then, he reaches behind you and unclasps your bra before practically ripping it from your body. Now that you’re bare from the waist up, there’s nothing stopping him from partaking in one of his favorite pastimes. His lips connect once more to your neck and travel down past your clavicle to your chest. He gently pushed you to be laying down again, continuing his kisses down your body. The space heater in the living room was turned off since you were expecting to leave as soon as you showed off your outfit, so the cool October air drafting in through the cracked windows contrasted by Eddie’s warm presence above you felt magical.

“Gonna let me have my way, baby?” he whispered against your heated skin, his voice low and raspy. “Gonna let me do whatever I want to you?”

Lowering your inhibitions and releasing your control, and knowing that your partner has you and will take care of you, that was the best part of sex in your opinion. Luckily, Eddie’s opinion was the exact opposite, so your relationship worked perfectly.

“Yes,” you moaned, ready for whatever he had in store for you. “God, Eds. Need you so bad.”

Eddie reaches into his back pocket to retrieve a set of keys that you recognize from many steamy nights (and mornings and afternoons). He unlocks the cuffs you fashioned into a buckle and pulls them off of you, letting the leather belt fall without care. You’re completely pinned by his weight as he sits on top of you with his knees bent at your sides, and he stares down at you with excited eyes as he tosses the keys onto your coffee table. He grabs your elbow and lifts your arm up, then takes the now opened cuff and positions it at your wrist. There’s a subtle clicking as he closes it, keeping one of his fingers between your skin and the metal so it wouldn’t be too tight. When one side is done, he moves to the other, repeating the same process.

“They’re not too tight, baby?” he asks when he's done. “It doesn’t hurt?”

You wriggle your wrists to check. “No, they’re okay.”

He shuffles down until he’s sitting between your legs and spreads them apart. It’s hard to get a good look at him from this angle, but you’re pretty sure you hear him undo the button on his jeans. The sound of a zipper reaches your ears, and then you can feel him shimmy his pants and boxers down to his knees. Instead of pulling your skirt and stockings down, he lifts the fabric up to your belly and threads his fingers in the holes of the fishnets. There’s a quiet ripping sound as he tears the netting of the crotch wide open.

“Eddie!” you exclaim.

“What?” he laughs, “Your skirt will cover it. No one else but me is gonna be getting into these pretty little panties, anyway.”

Ignoring your grumbling, he pushes your panties to the side and rubs his thumb up and down your slit, simultaneously stroking his dick with his fist. Your breath hitches in your throat as he lines his head up with your entrance and just waits there, pressing against your hole but offering no relief.

“Eddie,” you whine, “please. Don’t tease.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he apologizes insincerely, “just wanted to hear you beg all pretty for me one more time before I filled you up.”

Finally, he pins your bound wrists above your head as he pushes into you with one deep thrust and starts pumping in and out. He wastes no time starting out slow when you’re already this wet and willing, but speaking from experience you know that he’s holding back. Even still, the pace he sets has you moaning loud enough that you briefly worry about the neighbors until one of his hands moves to rub your clit. His fingers masterfully circle it in just the way he’s come to learn that you like. Tension builds up slowly, and you can feel all your muscles clenching in anticipation.

“I’m gonna cum,” you warn, instantly regretting saying anything. He would surely not let you cum without permission.

“Hold it,” he demands, no hint of leniency in his tone. Typical.

“Fuck,” you whine. “Please, Eddie, please!” The man above you simply rolls his eyes with a smirk.

He leans down to kiss you, but doesn’t take any pity on you. “Sound so pretty, baby,” he coos at you softly when he pulls away. “Feels good right? Being mine?”

“So good,” you answer truthfully. As big of a tease as he is, he knows with confidence that you’re in complete ecstasy. “Please, I wanna cum so bad.”

“Just a little longer, sweetheart,” he promises. “You can do it. You’re my good girl.”

And damn him, he’s fully aware being called that only edges you further. “I- I can’t Eds-”

“Yes, you can,” he cuts you off, “It’s tough, huh? You just want your pretty little cunt to be leaking my cum already, don’t you?”

“Y- yes,” you respond weakly, nodding your head while scrunching your eyes closed.

“But you have to be patient,” he orders, amused with your desperation. “Because you don’t have a choice, pretty girl. I’m in control.”

All you can do is continue nodding as you hopelessly tense up in an attempt to hold off your impending orgasm. You start squirming underneath him, trying to focus on the friction of your polyester couch rubbing against your netting covered legs instead of the euphoric sensations forcing you closer to the metaphoric finish line. He pumps into you approximately ten more times before he finally tells you exactly what you need to hear.

“Okay, baby. Cum for me.”

Suddenly, a fuse blows, and electricity pulses through your body. The combined stimulation of your clit and repeated pounding on your g-spot lead to an orgasm that is both intense as well as deep and full bodied. Your toes curl in your boots and your wrists strain against the metal cuffs harshly in a way that will surely leave behind marks.

“Fuck, Eddie!” you cry out, unable to really put words to what you’re feeling.

“Yeah, me too,” Eddie replies, quieter but sounding just as wrecked, as he releases into you.

It takes a few minutes for you to feel like you’ve fully come back to Earth, and when you catch your breath, your boyfriend is collapsed on top of you. His nose is buried almost uncomfortably in your neck, but the closeness that grants you makes it more than worth it.

“Alright, handsome,” you say after finding your voice, “Up and at ‘em. We’re getting dangerously close to being too late for ‘fashionably late’”.

Eddie groans against your shoulder but gets up anyway, pulling out slowly and swiping up any of his seed that leaked out only to finger it back inside you. He’s humming contently to himself as he works on freeing your wrists and helping you get your costume back to looking presentable. The entire time, a satiated smile never leaves your face. ‘I love you’s are exchanged as you both exit through the front door.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things smut #stranger things fanfic

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red-bat-arse · 4 months

Text

I Got a Problem 🎸🎶🎻

AO3

Chapter One

Eddie 'The Freak' Munson, famous for bringing rock to new heights with his band Hellfire, listens to everything but Country. 'King' Steve Harrington, leading light of the new generation of traditional Country artists, has a few thoughts about that.

=<+>=

Eddie Munson did not normally find himself accused of being musically pigeonholed.

He'd played alongside punk bands in his early touring days, and grew up on jazz and the blues from his mum and uncle. His hits on the pop charts prompted a few collaborations with electronic and indie artists, and his sophomore album featured a few rappers who wanted to get experience with rock. Metal was his bread and butter, he had a soft spot for soulful folk ballads, and given his close friendship with Argyle he was more than familiar with reggae and funk and all varieties of stoner music.

Of course, you could probably guess that the exception to all that was the ever contentious genre of country. However that wouldn't be a problem, wouldn't even be on Eddie's radar, if not for the batshit insane decision Hopper made in a diner three blocks away from the studio the week prior.

Eddie scowled and shot Jeff another look when his vocalist snickered at his expense. On the other side of the room this party was happening in, he could see Steve Harrington talking with Dustin and laughing at whatever the kid was frantically gesturing about.

He was dressed in a embroidered beige western shirt with pearls on the long cuffs, blue jeans with a brown belt and a big copper buckle, and honest to god cowboy boots that matched the ensemble. His hair was styled high and his biceps strained the shirt sleeves a little, and when he turned on his heel to follow Dustin's pointer figure Eddie was briefly overcome with lust at the amazing ass in his direct line of sight.

"I don't care," he pronounced finally, twitching as Harrington spun back and ruffled Dustin's hair, grinning wide when the kid squawked in outrage. Jeff outright snorted and Eddie glared harder. "I think doing this before we move to a bigger space is stupid, but all power to the Chief if he thinks we can make it work."

"Don't care at all, got it," Gareth said, coming up beside him. "It's just business concerns. Like, our assets."

"See, why can't you be more like Gareth, Jeffery? He knows exactly what i'm talking about," Eddie slung an arm over Gareth's shoulders -and he must be in a good mood because he didn't duck away. "Business assets."

"More like his ass-et," Jeff muttered, and Eddie valiantly ignored him.

Five days ago Hopper walked into the studio's monthly brunch and introduced them all to one Joyce 'Mama' Byers -which, okay, even Eddie knew who she was -and dropped the bombshell that she signed on with them two days prior. Once the commotion died down she was the one who dropped the next one, informing them all that they'd soon be sharing close quarters with nine other artists from her former label, preeminent among them the one who convinced them all to walk out, that being Steve Harrington.

All ten of them were country artists. Prison Break Records hadn't put out any music that wasn't solely rock or metal in it's entire eight years of existence. To say there was a bit of culture shock going around was an understatement.

"Give them a chance, Ed," Grant passed by with a few cans of coke tucked into the crook of his arm and slapped him on the shoulder, making Eddie stumble. "Half of them are in the middle of doing the bar circuit right now, and it's not like we need the studio space anyway. It's all good."

Eddie huffed, trying not to let Grant's comment sting -he knew he didn't mean anything by it. But at nearly six months to the day, even though the guys would never rush him, maybe Eddie was getting a little bit worried about the future.

"I was talking with the Byers, apparently it's mainly gonna be Joyce and Harrington recording for the next month at least," Gareth piped up again, jabbing a thumb in the direction of country music's leading family -Argyle had somehow struck up a conversation with them and while the younger brother seemed confused, the elder was paying rapt attention to whatever their resident stoner was explaining. "Everyone else is taking a break or doing small shows or one off songs, like Grant said."

"Fine, fine, I get it," Eddie held up his hands in surrender. "But if they start blasting fucking honky-tonk bullshit-"

"Oh come on, Munson, don't tell me you're one of those."

Eddie paused, then slowly turned around, feeling his face heat up only partly in embarrassment to see Harrington standing just behind him, having apparently been abandoned by Dustin in the last few minutes. He had his hip cocked and a hand casually resting with the thumb hooked in his belt, and up close Eddie could see little moles scattered all over his face and neck like flecks of paint. Next to them, Jeff turned and coughed a laugh into his elbow, muffled.

"What, pray tell, are you talking about?" Eddie quashed the instinct to puff up for a fight. Just because Harrington was a good old jock with arms that could bench him didn't mean he had to have his back up, and he reasoned that this was his home turf here. He and Hopper may not always see eye to eye, but if Eddie asked he'd take his side in a heartbeat.

Harrington gave a funny little smirk, the kind you'd give to the family dog who was doing something cute but ultimately futile.

"You're the type who hates Trace Adkins but's never heard of David Allan Coe," he raised an eyebrow, then nodded to Jeff and Gareth, holding out a hand to shake with each of them. "Name's Steve. Good to meet you guys."

"Jeff," "Gareth," his bandmates parroted back, easy as breathing, while Eddie was still stuck on Harrington's little dig about the artists he was or wasn't aware of.

"You do most of the song work, don't you Munson?" he was asked, and Eddie belatedly realized he hadn't actually accepted Harrington's handshake. It was too late now, so he kind of awkwardly answered in the affirmative and watched that hand get pulled back and settled onto Harrington's other hip, so the man was standing almost like a judgy mother hen as he kept talking. "I've been kind of obsessed with Dark Sheep lately -especially the way you captured sexuality in 'Something On Your Tongue'; like how it's all about being confident, and whether it's a stranger at a club or working a job, the narrator's attracted to them in a way that's not gross to listen to. I mean, 'I love the way you dance with anybody' as a line is pretty refreshing when you think about it and... oh. Sorry," Harrington trailed off and turned a little pink, ducked his head. "Didn't mean to ramble on there."

Steve Harrington listened to Hellfire's music? Eddie blinked and the guy was still in front of him, looking earnest as a slice of apple pie or whatever the fuck, and he mentally shook himself. 'King' Steve Harrington listened to his music enough to have an opinion on it, on specific songs from their last record, and he came out the end of it liking his lyrics?

"Dude, get it together," Gareth whispered and elbowed him in the ribs, jolting him out of his fugue.

"Didn't think that was your thing, Harrington," Eddie ran his mouth with the first thought that came to mind, even if it was kind of dickish. "Sexual liberation ain't exactly very prayerful of you," he made the sign of the cross on that last part.

Far from what he expected, that got Harrington to bark out a big, surprised laugh. "Oh, c'mon," he rolled his eyes. "You can't seriously think I'm in with the god squad? They were most of why we left Tiger Studios in the end. Besides," Harrington flashed a charming smile, pearly whites matching the pearl buttons below on his shirt. "It'd be pretty hypocritical of me to preach against sexual lib, considering."

What the hell did that mean? Was it just his brain pulling tricks on him, or did Harrington's eyes flick up and down Eddie's body right then -and where the hell had Gareth and Jeff gone? They were supposed to be his buffer against his least favourite genre, not -ah, there they were -not chatting up the other members of Harrington's little ensemble across the room.

"Consider me told, then. You ain't godly whatsoever, I'll be sure not to disparage your sterling reputation again with that mistake, my liege, cross my heart," Maybe he was laying it on thick here, but there was something about Steve Harrington that got his pulse up; when the other man tilted his head with a baffled smile at Eddie's statement, he had to clench his fist hard so he didn't just -well, he wasn't actually sure. "But I think without the god talk that just makes you a hick, big boy, sexually liberated or otherwise. Is that better or worse?"

Maybe Harrington was just pissing him off with his... everything. His shit genre and his cocky attitude and the way he dressed to impress, it was cringey at best and edging on pretentious at worst. Eddie crossed his arms and scowled, annoyed with this damn situation of having to navigate a whole new set of people in the studio when he was already behind in his work and had no fucking clue how to fix-

"Hicks make some good music, Munson," Harrington said, sounding all kinds of condescending about it. "Especially these days, if you know where to look. Sounds to me like you're a little musically pigeonholed," Eddie went ramrod straight as Harrington threw that accusation in his face, and he felt his cheeks go hot in offense. Harrington smirked, noticing. "But hey, I'm always down to help out if you wanted to explore your options."

Musically. Pigeonholed. Musically pigeonholed!

"Fat chance of that, boots," Eddie swung his foot forward and knocked toes with Harrington, fancy brown tops against Eddie's scuffed workman's. "Sounds to me like the crown's too tight on your head after dropping contract. When you can write a song that's not about beer and trucks and girls, give me a shout, okay? Maybe I'll even give it a listen."

Steve's smirk turned a shade meaner, and he was probably going to say something really nasty -figures -when he got clapped on the back by a big man in a hawaiian shirt and with a thick beard, holding a martini of all things.

"Woah, kids, tone it down a notch. We're here to have a good time," the guy said, part patronizing and part stern -it was a weird combination. "Especially you, Discount Dio. Take it easy on the new guys or I'll ask Wayne to break out the baby photos, tout de suite."

Oh, so this was Murray. Wayne's mysterious drinking buddy who just so happened to be one of the artists who bailed along with Harrington. Eddie had no doubt he'd make good on the threat -not that he needed it, exactly. The interruption seemed to have taken the wind out of both his and Harrington's sails, if the way the guy looked embarrassed was any indication.

"Sorry, Murray," Harrington said, and Murray rolled his eyes.

"Just relax, kid. None of these guys are Hargrove, or even Carver Jr for that matter," he shook Harrington's shoulder a little, and shot Eddie an odd look. "Even the ones that growl and snap at you are just Chihuahuas. And you, puppy," he snapped his fingers in Eddie's face, making him flinch back in surprise. Also, offended -puppy? "I think you've got a hot head right now, so you should remember you know better than to shit on music you've never listened to. Don't you?"

Fuck, damn his big mouth. He felt his cheeks go tight with embarrassment, and he cut a look at Harrington. They were both close to thirty and yet here they were feeling like scolded children.

"Shouldn't have said that, Harrington. Sorry," he offered, ash in his throat. The guy looked surprised, but nodded, accepting, and Murray threw his hands up, sarcastically relieved.

"Thank god! Now come on, join the party," he hooked a hand around Eddie's neck and used his martini arm to bump Harrington forward.

The country boy looked at him one last time before seeming to shrug off their entire interaction, a fake expression of cheer getting plastered on after a flash of disappointment. Why he was disappointed was anybody's guess; maybe he'd thought Eddie would be more repentant in his apology.

Fat chance of that. Musically pigeonholed his ass.

Eddie sighed, flexing his hand, and readied himself to push through a few more hours of socializing. Internally he apologized to Hopper, too -a productive working relationship with the country club didn't seem like it was in the cards for him.

=<+>=

I keep a running list of songs referenced in the notes on AO3 -I don't do tag lists!

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #musician au #country star #rock star #fic #fanfic #st fanfic #fanfiction #enemies to lovers #hurt/comfort #cross posted on ao3

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delopsia · 1 year

Text

Not Rhett | Rhett x Bob x Reader

Word Count: 4,100 Cross Posted On AO3 Warnings & Notes: Brief mentions of food and alcohol, a nifty case of mistaken identity, and just a general elaboration of how the reader met Rhett and Bob. It's also a warmup that got out of hand. This is written to function as a stand-alone fic and as a prologue to Rhett_16 is typing... In other words, you don't need to read one to read the other!

The fliers weren't kidding.

This is the biggest Autumn Festival you've ever seen.

A circus of sales booths and food trucks stretches for as far as the eye can see, curling to wrap around the rodeo grounds and beyond. Reaching right up to the border of the pumpkin patch, visible from the hay rides that cart visitors in and out of the tightly packed parking lots. Pumpkins, gourds, hay bales, corn, scarecrows, everywhere you look, you find them. You think you've seen two dozen booths dedicated to mums, and you haven't even been through half of this place.

Just like you haven't seen your friends ever since you split up. They wanted to stand in that long, winding apple cider line, and you really, truly, cannot handle waiting in an hour-long line for something that will take five minutes to drink.

The world tilts sideways. Ground rising to smack you in the ass.

"Shit, I'm sorry!"

You don't recall closing your eyes, but as you pry them open, you almost wish you hadn't. Dear Lord, why is there a cowboy crouched in front of you?

It's not until you notice your things scattered about the ground that you realize what's happened. The contents of your shopping bags are strewn about the dirt path, wallet lying neglected by your feet. This strange man is scooping them up as quickly as he can, but some people have no issue stepping on them as they walk past.

"I—uh..." his head drops to look at the ground, but just as quickly, snaps back up, allowing you a chance to catch sight of the deep blue eyes hidden away by that cowboy hat, "c'n I get you an apology drink?"

You've never heard of an apology drink before, but something about the slight twang to his words has you muttering a soft yes. Even accepting his big, calloused hand to help you get up, despite the voice in the back of your head that warns against it.

Two o'clock on a Monday afternoon is way too early to be following some strange cowboy to a tent bar for a drink, but here you are. Sitting on the far end of a fold-out plastic table, sipping on your drink of choice while this new acquaintance of yours settles down across from you. His legs are a bit too long to comfortably fit, knocking his knee against the cheap, white plastic and wincing as the entire table trembles.

"I don't think I ever caught your name," you find yourself saying once you're sure the table isn't on the verge of collapse.

"'m Rhett."

To no surprise at all, Rhett's one of the many bull riders on the lineup for tonight's rodeo. The flier you were handed when you first got here even has his name on the long, winding list of tonight's riders. As he explains it, the rodeo is for charity. Aside from a nifty belt buckle, you get nothing out of entering, but it's an amazing opportunity if you want to get your name out there.

"I guess I'll be cheering you on from the stands tonight," you'll leave out the part that you weren't originally planning to stay for it at all, but he's made this event sound like so much fun that now you have to give it a shot.

The last thing you expect is for him to smile like a little kid on Christmas morning, eyes sparkling brighter than the smile that emerges from his once stoic face, "yeah?"

"Yeah," Your fingers drum against the material of your wallet, tiny sounds drowned out by the mayhem that is this oversized festival, "so long as your girlfriend isn't upset by it."

"Well, I ain't had one of those in a long time," hard to believe, considering he walks around looking like that on a daily basis, "so I reckon you should be safe on that front."

And just as the conversation starts getting good, you're interrupted by a man who introduces himself as Rhett's older brother. You don't hear his name; all you know is that he's got the worst timing of all time. You'd been so, so invested in Rhett's whirlwind of a story about how he got a DUI because he absolutely had to prove that he could start his truck with a screwdriver. He was mere seconds away from his grand reveal of how he got caught in that abandoned parking lot in the first place.

"Perry, give me like two more minutes, alright?" But Rhett's plea falls on deaf ears because that sad husk of a man isn't budging on his stance.

Perry's not much of a man. Looks like he hasn't slept in weeks, and his arms seem to be permanently folded in front of his chest. "If you don't get over there early, you won't make it in at all, and this whole trip will be for nothing."

He must be a lot of fun to be around.

Regardless, you suppose you should be heading out, too; your friends should have made it out of that line by now. "I suppose I'll see you at the rodeo, cowboy."

The corners of Rhett's eyes crinkle as he smiles, "I'll be lookin' for ya."

Do you remain seated just long enough to admire those broad shoulders straining against the thin material of his flannel?

Yes.

Yes, you do.

That line is still a quarter-mile long, but you don't need more than a second glance to know that your friends are no longer in it. Long gone from the entire area, too, because even as you twist and turn, you can't find hide or hair of them. They're not in any of the places you expected them to be, not the food trucks or the barn stocked full of old ladies and their craft booths.

You're passing the corn maze when your ears catch the whisper of a meek "excuse me" as feet skitter across the dirt path. It may have been a fifteen-minute meeting at most, but you already recognize that voice.

"Rhett?"

...without his cowboy hat.

And his hair is a hell of a lot shorter than it was a little bit ago. But that face is the same, and yet...

It's not?

"I'm—I'm sorry, I'm not Rhett," there isn't a damn way this man isn't Rhett. He looks and sounds the exact fucking same, only Rhett certainly didn't have a pair of wire frames perched on his nose. The guy looks down at his hands and holds one out to you, "You left this on the bench."

Your wallet.

"Oh." God, were you really that distracted by Rhett's backside that you forgot to grab your wallet? As you take it from this, Not Rhett guy, it seems to be in perfect shape, only a little warm from how long he's been holding it. "Thank you?"

His hand rises to scratch the side of his neck, "you're welcome." But his eyes had might as well be on the ground because they don't lift to look at you.

"Are you sure you're not Rhett?" Your mouth is moving on its own; this absolutely has to be the same guy. "Because I swear I just...spoke to you a few minutes ago."

Not Rhett shifts his weight, those eyes finally darting up. Blue as ice, but nowhere near as bold and free as Rhett's were. "I've never met a Rhett in my life if I'm being real honest with ya."

A voice carries across the festival grounds, familiar, carrying with it the familiar ring of your name. As you look over your shoulder, you find your friends scurrying toward you with their shopping bags and towering cups of steaming apple cider.

When you look back, Not Rhett is walking away, disappearing into a group of people that you don't recognize.

"You look like you've just escaped death itself," one of your friends says once she's within earshot, "what happened?"

"I think I've just met some creep who's pretending to be two different guys."

Through the rest of the evening and early into the night, your eyes are peeled. Every corner you come around, every cowboy hat you catch a glimpse of, you expect to see him. Whoever he is. A man who's changed his appearance just to return your wallet to you and pretends not to know a Rhett at all.

A part of you wants to go back to the hotel early, like you'd planned, but a wayward what-if has you climbing up into the stadium and settling down next to your friends. Because if Rhett was telling the truth about being a bull-rider, then he'll have to make an appearance here.

At least, you hope he was telling the truth.

Bronc riders are up first; there's a dizzyingly small amount of riders, too, especially when compared to the long list of bull riders. If their names were written individually on a scroll, then it would have rolled all the way across the stadium by now. Out of all of those names, there are maybe twenty different Rhetts, and those are just the ones you managed to count.

There's an uproar from the crowd that has you lifting your head, training your attention back on the rider clinging to the back of a horse who never has more than two feet on the ground at a time. A familiar face bounces across the big screen.

So Not Rhett does have a name.

"Robert Floyd," the name feels strange on your tongue, but that is absolutely the same guy who found and returned your wallet.

He places fifth out of twenty-six total riders. Not too shabby, all things considered. But your question from before still stands strong; is Rhett real, or is he just this Bob guy?

The first two Rhetts aren't him. One's bald, the other has shoulder-length blond hair so thick that you can't even see his face.

You've got your nose back down in the handout flier, recounting all the Rhetts appearing on the list, when a sharp elbow finds your side. A buzzer goes off so loud that it washes over the booming voice of the announcer.

But you don't need to hear what he's saying.

Because that's him. Curls resting at the nape of his neck, bouncing with every motion of the raging bull beneath him; you've only barely gotten a glimpse of him before his eight seconds are up, but you need nothing more. As he picks himself up off the ground, he turns to face the roaring stadium, head swiveling as he searches for something.

If it weren't for the big-screen broadcasting it in high definition, you almost wouldn't believe that he smiled the moment he spotted you.

And now the only problem you have; is the regret of not being able to find them when the rodeo is over. In such an oversized swarm of people, it's hard to even stay close to your friends; never mind, find a man who doesn't know you're looking for him in the first place.

"Maybe you'll see him at the bar," one of your friends suggests on your way out to the car park; you can hardly recall there ever being a plan to go to a bar after this, but you find yourself humming in agreement anyway.

What's the worst thing that can happen? You meet a third man who looks the exact fucking same?

The bar your friends are dead-set on visiting...isn't much. Easily mistakable for an abandoned building, it's nothing more than four walls, a tin roof, and a cheap roadside sign with sideways lettering. If it weren't for the swarm of vehicles in the parking lot, you would have thought this place was a trap. But it's real, with music so loud that you can hear it as you walk across the gravel parking lot.

Inside, you find yourself bathed in a vivid red light, so vivid and overpowering that it and the golden lighting behind the counter are the only colors you can see. Your friends practically vanish the moment you look away from them, stopping short to take in your crowded surroundings. By the time you lay eyes on them again, they're already on the other side of the room, getting drinks.

Goodie, another crowd to work your way through.

You've just about had it with dodging between people and squeezing into gaps when they can't be fucked to take the two steps to let you past. Or, worse, the good-for-nothings who think you're looking for a conversation and will absolutely stop to have a chat if they give you a compliment or two.

"Damn," you're praying that isn't directed at you, but as you pass this guy with the non-existent eyebrows, he turns to keep facing you; you're the sun, and he's a planet caught in orbit, "I mean, damn."

Just keep walking, just keep walking, just keep—

Your feet tread backward as he inserts himself between you and your path; a nauseating musk follows him like a scorned ex, makes your nose wrinkle the second you pick up on it.

"Aww, c'mon, I'm paying you a compliment!" The collar of his shirt tightens around his neck as he's yanked backward so hard that his feet come out from under him. Falling into a not-so-sober heap on the polished concrete floor.

Maybe you'd hear what else he has to say if it weren't for a familiar face catching your eye. All muscle and long, dark curls that rest against the nape of his neck; if it weren't for the lights, you're sure you'd be drowning in the deep blue of his eyes by now.

"You have impeccable timing, cowboy," at your words, Rhett's scowl lightens into a smile.

"Saw you walk in," his voice is just deep enough to be audible over the thumping music, and you're drawn to it like a bear to honey. "I'm surprised you showed up at this hole in the wall, of all places."

"Someone recommended it to my friends," you say, stepping past the mess of a man on the floor. "It's hard talking them out of something once they've made up their minds."

You don't know if it's reputation or his size, but the crowd parts like the Red Sea for Rhett; those broad shoulders don't bump into a damn thing as you follow him like a shadow. "Whoever told them that was a fuckin' moron."

"This place can't be that bad," as you step out of the crowd and into the empty space next to the bar counter, the noise level drops. So significant that your own voice feels too loud now.

Rhett's got a seat on the very end of the counter, kept occupied by a lone cowboy hat and a jacket so heavy that it looks like it could make winter feel like summer. It's still warm out, but just seeing it makes you wonder how cold it will get once the moon is high in the sky.

"Take a look around," Rhett lifts his hand, gesturing toward the general area around you, "'s a reason why most people here look fresh out the sewer."

And take a look around, you will, because this place didn't look that bad when you first walked in. Sure, the guy on your left could use a bath, and the gaggle of girls squeezing out from the crowd reek of 2000s fashion trends. Now that you think about it, those bouncers at the door did look a little more menacing than usual...

The guy passing on your left comes to a hard stop. So sudden that his shoes squeal against the floor. Eyes wide, frozen like a deer caught in the headlights.

"What the fuck," Rhett's words are the only confirmation you have that what you're seeing is real. Not a lone delusion you're having.

Robert Floyd's gaze flickers over to you, then back to Rhett. "I see why you asked if I was Rhett, now."

Behind you, Rhett orders a double shot of tequila.

The bar is far too loud for you to hear each other talk; Robert—sorry, Bob speaks far too softly to be heard over the music, and Rhett's voice carries so well that the Myspace girls start eavesdropping. It's cooling off outside, but the back of Rhett's truck is the perfect spot to continue your conversation.

Out here, it's easier to tell the difference between them. Bob's a few shades paler and doesn't share the same scars that mottle Rhett's skin. Though they're both brunettes, but Rhett's darker locks make Bob look closer to blonde.

"D'you at least ride horses on a farm?" Rhett presses, sipping his beer.

But Bob just shakes his head, "We mostly use heavy machinery nowadays." Which may explain how he wound up one of the top Weapons Systems Officers in the Navy; if you grow up using farming equipment all your life, a plane can't be that big of a jump once you learn the controls, right?

They're so strikingly similar, only varying in the fine details. Both come from families with generational land; one was a home birth on an isolated cattle ranch, and the other was born in a hospital and brought home to a well-known family farm. Rhett's a bull rider, Bob had bronc-riding as his backup plan, just in case the Navy didn't work out.

Both wanted to fly the coop the moment they turned eighteen; Bob was handed that opportunity to escape on a silver platter; Rhett was roped up and tied down before he could spread his wings. Bob has had vision problems all his life; Rhett's got perfect clarity. They're so easily mistakable for each other, and yet, so, so different.

And when you talk about the places you call home and your backstory, their attention is downright glued to you. Bob finds all the tiny details that somehow align with their stories, and Rhett's so fixated that he's got a million and one questions.

"I'm sorry, but who the fuck, goes to Mcdonald's and orders four sausage, egg, and cheese biscuits?" Rhett's attempt at coming off as annoyed dissolves into a fit of giggles as Bob tries to elbow him, barely able to squirm away from the attempted assault.

"Big words coming from the guy who just admitted to driving forty-five minutes for a singular bacon egg and cheese biscuit," the only thing stopping Bob from going after him is the lack of a lid on his water bottle. "You didn't even get a hashbrown with it!"

"I forgot they had those, alright?"

Much to your dismay, your friends head out at the same time as Bob's do, and Perry has been blowing up Rhett's cell for over an hour now. If it weren't for Bob's suggestion to exchange numbers, you're sure that you would have lost all contact with them after that night.

But now you've found yourself staying up long past your usual bedtime, giggling at rambunctious text messages and bickering over static-filled phone calls. Rhett can't type to save his life and hardly tries to correct himself, leaving you and Bob to try and decipher what the hell he meant to say. But Bob can't complain because he's got a horrible habit of pocket-dialing the two of you.

'Bob, can you ducking learn to lock your home when you put it in your picket?'

'I will, as soon as you learn to spell.'

'Duck you'

In the first month of knowing each other, they take multiple DNA tests. Sending off each one with the expectation that they share a common ancestor, something to explain their uncanny similarities. Every single one comes back with the same answer; they're not related.

With Rhett's long hours at the ranch and the demand of Bob's Navy career, it's difficult to meet in person. Plans always seem to be falling through, whether it be an emergency requiring Bob to be shipped halfway across the country or a small tornado uplifting the fences keeping the cattle in. Something is always in the way.

There's a spontaneous Friday where you all up and decide to meet because your weekends have opened up, end up spending two nights in a city you don't know the name of. Your next two attempts to meet don't pan out so well, leaving you to rely on Bob's next greatest idea.

"There, you two are," Bob all but beams at the sight of you, cozied up in your bed with your laptop resting on the opposite pillow. Rhett's saying something, too; you can see his mouth moving, but not a sound carries over. You don't realize what the problem is until Bob audibly sighs, "Rhett, your microphone is muted again."

Rhett's mouth moves, and even though you can't hear it, you already know that he's quietly muttered a soft 'what the fuck,' as he reaches for the laptop touchpad. "Whoops."

How long you stay up, all depends on scheduling and luck.

Some nights, you're up until the birds begin to chirp; others, you're only there for fifteen minutes before Rhett's internet connection drops or Bob's interrupted by an important phone call. There are a lot of days where you have to be the first to leave because you've got things to do in the morning.

But sometimes, just sometimes, you find yourself here.

Curled up in bed, laptop propped up next to you, fighting the drowsiness that's long since settled in your eyes. Sleep sings your name in the sweetest melody, her arms open, welcoming you to step into sweet, sweet unconsciousness, but you can't take that final step. Too fixated on the blurry screen to hear her siren song.

Bob rests on the upper half of your screen; those glasses have long since come off, his pale face smushed into the pillow. Every time you think he's finally fallen asleep, those soft blues flutter open as if he's waiting for you and Rhett to doze off first. They haven't said anything about it, but you're pretty sure he and Rhett have a bet on who's going to be the first to give in.

Your night owl of a cowboy isn't doing much better, staring up at you with that half-lidded gaze from the bottom portion of the screen. The only thing keeping him awake is the hand he's got propped beneath his head, but he's starting to slip too. Even now, you can tell, all from the way his free arm is slowly pulling that spare pillow closer and closer to his chest.

"Your neck is gonna be sore again if you keep your head propped up like that."

The corner of Rhett's lip lifts, "shut it, Flyboy." But he's already pulling his hand out from beneath his head, properly settling down into his messy bed.

"That wasn't me," Bob's words are stretched around a yawn, barely decipherable.

Much to your dismay, you're the first to drift off.

Making video chats a regular event may have been a mistake because you start catching yourself staying up even later. Clinging to every second you get with them because they're such busy men that you don't get to have these calls as often as you'd like.

Men who certainly don't make your heart skip a beat when they light your phone up with good morning text messages. Always up before you, always bickering with each other and sharing what they're up to, growing excited the moment your good morning text comes through. Two men who look at you like you're their entire world.

But you can only have one.

And maybe that's how you found yourself here. Staring up at the ceiling as time seems to leave you behind completely. Memories flicker through your head like a picture book, comparing and contrasting, searching for something. Anything to find fault in one of them, to sway your decision. There's no point; you're split down the middle, can't force yourself to love one more than the other.

The world around you has long since fallen asleep, leaving you with no escape from your own thoughts. Trapped in an invisible prison, not a distraction around to help you avoid it. You hate these nights.

Because it’s on quiet nights like these, when the world around you has gone eerily quiet, and your phone is devoid of any new notifications, that you truly feel the effects of your heart becoming tangled up in a never-ending game of tug of war.

Optional continuation: Rhett_16 is typing...

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idabbleincrazy · 2 months

Text

Catalyst

Fandom: Smallville

Rating: E

Pairing: Clex

Characters: Clark, Lex, Lois Lane

Word Count: 4503

Warnings: under the influence, pwp, smut, dirty talk, teasing, bondage, bottom!Lex, rimming, anal fingering, anal, Lex is a lil slutty and a lil subby (but only for Clark), coming untouched, Lois is looking *respectfully*, mention of the Justice League, canon divergent

Summary: Turns out all they needed was a little shove in the right direction...

A/N: set in an au where Lex never tried to kill Clark in the Fortress, so no hand issue and no need for Queen blowing him up and no clones needed to repair him. so, I guess, Smallville versions of Clark, Lex, and Lois set in other Superman iterations? idk. I had an idea but it doesn't fit squarely in Smallville canon. Opening dialogue prompted from this list.

"This is wrong." Clark halted his movements, Lex's shirt bunched in his hands, torn open and halfway down the older man's shoulders.

"So wrong." Lex's voice was a husky rasp as he tilted his head up to close the unwanted distance between them, shimmying his way out of the ruined button-up. "And so fucking right, Clark. Kiss me."

Clark gave in, too dazed and aroused to resist the wet, friction-reddened mouth pressing against his. He let the tatters of expensive cotton flutter to the floor, his hands gripping around Lex's hips and tugging him impossibly closer. He knew, somewhere in the recesses of his brain, that this really, really, shouldn't be happening. He tried to ignore the feel of Lex's tongue slipping over his, oh, so sweet, so slick, and the way their cocks rubbed against each other through thin layers of fabric, to focus through the haze of red clouding his thoughts.

"We…we were…fighting, weren't we? How…oh, God, Lex!"

"Tired of fighting, Clark. Tired of secrets, and lies, of pretending I don't think about this every fucking night." Clark felt Lex's fingers grappling at his belt buckle, his teeth scraping along his jaw. His cock twitched in his pants, throbbing at the pleasurable sting and Lex's rough words sounding in his ear. "Don't care why we're not fighting. That was never what I wanted. This. You, here, like this, hard for me. This is what I've wanted for so long, Clark."

“Shit, Lex…we can’t…I was…angry, at you, some…new experiment with Kryptonite, did you-?”

“That was just a red herring, Clark. It always is.” Lex’s hands moved up from Clark’s unbuckled belt, scrabbling at the tie around his throat, tugging it away to work at the buttons of his shirt. Needed to taste more of that golden skin. “Only way I get to see you anymore is if you’re swooping into my office in that ridiculous costume to yell at me, or snooping around LexCorp with Ms. Lane. And, frankly, Superman, I’m starting to run out of schemes. So, whatever this is, magic, a mutant with some kinky grudge, I don’t care, I’ll take what I can get. You can hate me later.”

“You…you know?”

“Oh, Clark, the second I saw the Red-Blue Blur streaking across the skyline, I knew it was you. How could I not? You could never hide yourself from me as well as you thought. I know you too well.”

Clark groaned as Lex's teeth scraped over his throat, surprised by how he could feel the slightest sting of pain beneath the pleasure. He'd come to Luthor's office as himself this time, to pose some questions on the latest batch of tests Lois had caught sight of in her constant digging into LexCorp, wanting to see what he could find out as Clark, before rampaging through as Superman like he always did. The last thing he remembered was the two of them yelling at each other about ethics and repercussions, and a flash of red light beaming through the window. When it had cleared, they were wrapped around each other, Lex's lips beneath his, Lex's hands in his hair, his own shredding through Luthor's shirt without a care of the show of strength.

"Stop thinking, Kent. Use that superspeed of yours and find us a bed before I lay you out over my desk. Not stopping this, Clark, not till we get what I know we've both wanted for over a decade."

Lex's tongue was back in his mouth before he could snap a retort, arms wound around him and clinging. He let himself give in to the desire coursing through him, picking Lex up off the floor and zipping through the tower up to the penthouse. Unerringly, he found the master bedroom, and tumbled Lex onto the orgy-sized bed.

Speeding out of his clothes, he stood bare before Lex, nerves creeping back in as the older man gazed up at him with a hunger more ravenous than any he'd seen in those steel-blue eyes before. His cock, so hard his foreskin had already fully retracted, pulsed out a thick drop of pre-cum, eliciting a groan of want from Lex as he watched it cling from the tip of the jutting erection.

"God, you're beautiful, Clark. Perfect. Just like I knew you would be." Lex tore at his belt as he scrambled further up the bed, desperate to be rid of his pants, to pull Clark to him and feel him, skin on skin. "Shit. Little help?"

Clark smirked a quick Luthor-worthy shark-toothed grin, his eyes flashing red, and pounced. Lex was naked beneath him before he even felt the air whoosh out of his lungs, warm skin pressed against his own from chest to cock. He really didn't know what had triggered the change between them from hurling verbal pain at each other to clinging to each other, sucking face, and he truly didn't care. He'd wanted him for far too long to give up what might be the only chance to know what it felt like to be fucked by Clark Kent. And from the feel of the thick cock brushing against his own as Clark's lips latched onto his throat, he was going to enjoy every inch of it. Arches his head back to press into the mouth sucking bruises into porcelain skin that he hopes will last more than a day or two, legs spreading to accommodate the width of Clark's hips. He trails his hands up the brunette's sides, one digging clawed fingers into a shoulder, the other tangling into thick hair he's only dreamed of learning the silky-softness of.

"Jesus, Clark, just take me already. Trust me, I don't need foreplay right now. We can be soft and sweet next time," Lex groaned half in arousal, half in frustration, as Clark began slowly moving down his body, licking and nipping at random points of skin. "I want it hard, Clark, rough, and raw, and everything you couldn't be with anyone else. You know I won't break so easily."

"Fuck!" Clark didn't curse often, hard to just leave behind the two decades of small-town politeness drilled into him, but it was worth it to feel the subsequent shudder that ran through the lithe body beneath him. He was so hard it hurt, Lex's urgency thrilling him to a level of desire he couldn't remember feeling with any other lover he'd had. "What do you want, Lex? My mouth, my cock…my ass? Tell me, baby. Anything, everything, anything you want, and I'll do it. There's nothing I haven't already imagined when it comes to you, Lex."

And just where had Clark learned to talk like this, Lex wondered as he groaned louder, pulling at his hair to urge him back up, capturing his mouth in a desperate kiss, tongue teasing along Clark's, memorizing the precise dimensions of that mouth he'd spent far too many nights fantasizing about. Superman presented himself to the public as this otherworldly Boy Scout, all wholesome and polite, and here he was, spouting filth that would probably make even Lois blush. Let it never be said Lex Luthor couldn't dish it out as good as it was served.

"Want you to fuck me, Clark", Lex panted against his lips, nipping harshly at the bottom one. "Dreamt about that huge cock filling me, splitting me open so I feel it for days, leaving me aching when I have to sit through meeting after meeting. Want to be spread open for you, taken…make me yours, Clark, make me scream, make me beg."

Clark had to close his eyes at the unexpected burning he felt building up, his control slipping at the onslaught of dirty talk. His heat vision hadn't reacted that way to his arousal in years, but then, he hadn't felt this much need for someone since he and Lex had become embittered towards each other. Only someone like Lex could test his resolve this way. One of his favorite fantasies popped into his head as Lex spoke, fire tingling behind his eyelids at the images flashing through his mind.

Once he was back under control, he did a quick scan of the room and sped off the bed, grabbing what he was searching for from various drawers. Setting the lube beside Lex just as the older man registered the movement, he held up the handful of silk with another shark smile. Lex's breath hitched, and he nodded at the unspoken question in Clark's gaze, limbs spreading out to the corners of the bed.

"Do it."

Before Lex could blink, his hands were secured to the newels of the headboard by the expensive ties Clark had rooted out, tight enough to keep him in place without cutting off circulation, and Lex couldn't help but feel a surge of jealousy at the font of knowledge he didn't know the Kryptonian had possessed. He pushed it aside as Clark laid himself back over him, deciding it better to take advantage of the gained experience rather than sulk or rage at not having been the one to teach him.

"Let's see just how flexible you are, Lex." Using the other two ties, Clark bound Lex's feet beside his hands, folding the businessman practically in half. Kneeling back, he looked Lex over, his cock leaking pre-come at the sight of him spread open for the taking. Lex's cock bobbed, hard and proud and leaking, against nearly-washboard abs, surrounded by a smattering of coppery curls, and as Clark's gaze drifted lower, he could just see the tiny hole twitching from between slightly spread pale cheeks. "God, Lex, all the times I imagined you like this, all the times I've x-rayed through the layers you hide behind, never did you justice. So sleek, and smooth, and yet, still so fit. Look how your muscles flex and strain like this. Gonna put them to a true test tonight, baby."

Lex twisted against the ties holding him in place, wishing he'd turned over before allowing Clark to strap him down. At least then he'd be able to get some much needed friction on his aching cock. All the times he had pictured himself at Clark's mercy, or vice versa, had never been this intense, and he just knew that by the time this was over, he was going to have come harder than he ever had before. He couldn't hold back the moan that fell from his lips as Clark finally reached out and touched him, that huge, warm hand stroking down the back of his left thigh, fingers trailing down to the curve of his up-turned buttocks. God, he must look every bit the wanton slut, trussed up like this, but, fuck, if he didn't revel in it.

"Clark…"

Clark felt a thrill of possessiveness rush through him at the slight whine in Lex's voice, the word full of need, but not yet a real plea. Bending down, he swiped his tongue through the growing puddle of pre-come pooling on Lex's stomach, growling in pleasure at the taste of him, and the twitch of muscles that rippled across his torso at the touch. Nothing was hidden from him now, every bit of skin bared to his sight, emotions clearly written on Lex's face, everything Lex had tried to keep from him, revealed in the depths of those stormy blue eyes.

With his cock throbbing against his own abdomen, Clark followed his own hidden desires, taking the tip of Lex's erection into his mouth, suckling the bulbous head briefly before releasing it. Lex groaned out his displeasure at the too-brief contact of wet warmth around his cock, the sound going high at the end as that slick tongue trailed down the shaft of his aching length.

Clark would've been content to suck Lex down, to taste him as he poured down his throat, but his cock had other plans, needing the tightness promised by that enticing pink pucker teasing his sight from beneath the heavy, full testicles as he licked and teased his way further down between Lex's stretched and straining legs. He relished the whimpers Lex voiced when he mouthed at his balls, engulfing first one, then the other, in the heat of his mouth, letting his tongue roll around each, unconsciously cataloging the weight and give of them.

Releasing the right sac with a hint of suction, he continued his downward path, tongue licking over the sensitive patch of skin beneath them and trailing slickly down, along the perineum, nose pressing into damp flesh and inhaling the musky scent as he neared his target. He braced his hands against the tautened muscles of Lex's thighs as the older man strained against his bonds again at the first flick of his tongue over the furled ring of muscle, keeping him in place as he licked around the rim of puckered flesh.

"Oh, fuck! Clark…shit, never thought you'd - oh, yeah. Yeah, baby, like that, just like that." Lex tried futilely to buck up onto the slick appendage teasing his asshole, his cock leaking steadily at the knowledge that it was Clark, his Clark, giving him the rimjob of his life. That broad, nimble, tongue lapping over his hole, dipping into it, humming noises of hunger and satisfaction like he was devouring a fresh slice of homemade pie. No one had ever eaten him out with such naked enthusiasm. "Christ, Clark, in me. Want you in me."

Ever the people-pleaser, Clark smirked against the saliva-slickened hole, thrusting his tongue into it, deep as he could. Using his x-ray vision to help guide him, he flicked the tip of his tongue repeatedly against Lex's prostate, his grip tightening around his thighs as he renewed his thrashing at the sensation. He'd never done this before, though he knew of the act's existence. Never wanted to. Never wanted to be this intimate with anyone else, knowing he would only have been imagining Lex in their stead anyways. Everyone knew how obsessed Lex was with Superman, no one knew just how much the reverse was also true. He craved every part of the man he'd thought was his enemy, his body, his heart, his soul, everything. He'd stopped fooling around with men after college, realizing it wasn't fair to them when all he saw was Lex when he fucked them. Women were easier, kept him in the moment, with their soft curves and softer voices, not as likely to leave him biting back the wrong name as he shouted out his release. And now he had him. He tasted better than he had ever dared to imagine, musky and masculine, dark and raw and thrilling beyond belief.

"Clark! Oh, God, stop, you have to…too close, Clark. Don't wanna come yet. Not till your cock is in me."

After a final flick, Clark relented, his mouth retreating from the glistening pucker. Quickly, he snatched up the lube he'd set aside, warming the cool gel before slicking up his fingers. As he circled a finger around the twitching rim, he turned his head to kiss along Lex's left leg, nipping lightly at the corded tendons to feel the muscles spasm minutely between his teeth, trailing his mouth up to the slender ankle. Tongue laving over the sole of his foot, Clark slid his forefinger into the twitching hole, pleased to find Lex relaxing into the stretch so easily.

Lex arched his head back into the pile of pillows as Clark's finger sank into him, the slick digit nearly as thick as his tongue. Between that and the attention being paid to his foot, of all places, he felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin, shivers of arousal coursing through him with each new movement from his alien lover. He knew sex with Clark would be far from ordinary, how could it not be? But this…oh, this was beyond any scenario even his overactive imagination could have conceived. He didn't know how he had managed to keep from coming this long, every move Clark made was orgasm-inducing in and of itself. It was merely the thought of that thick, steel-hard cock finally thrusting into him that kept him holding out. He'd never edged himself like this before with any other lover, delayed gratification had never been his thing. But Clark, Clark was worth the wait. After years of it, what were a few more minutes, here or there?

"More. God, Clark, more."

"Shit, Lex, you're beautiful like this. Your eyes, so wild and open, showing me everything. Tell me we won't go back to how it was before, Lex." Clark slipped another finger in beside the first, scissoring the digits as he watched Lex's face, his head leaning against his foot, nosing at the smooth skin. "Tell me we're done pretending. Can't go back to acting like I hate you, Lex, I won't. I'll never be able to look at you and not see this. The honesty on your face as I fuck my fingers into you."

"Oh, Jesus Christ! No, Clark. We won't go back to that. I'm done pretending." Lex was panting, forcing the words out between thrusts of nimble fingers. "Now that I know what you look like underneath those cheap suits and…brightly colored spandex…I can't fake the anger anymore. If you ever yell at me, oh, God, I'll only remember all the other things that pretty mouth can do. Fuck, another finger, Clark, stretch me wide for you."

Clark obliged, the third finger a tight fit as he tried to ready the loosening hole for the girth of his cock. He knew he was big, bigger than most human males, and he didn't want to cause Lex any undue pain, regardless of the healing abilities the older man possessed. They'd caused each other enough unwanted pain to last a lifetime.

"Now. Please, Clark," Lex begged, flexing harshly against the ties strapping him down, growing desperate as he tried to fuck himself on the broad fingers spearing him. "Please, fuck me. I want to feel you, your cock, oh, fuck, please."

Clark growled at the sound of Lex Luthor pleading with him so wantonly, the megalomaniac façade gone, just Lex, as he was always meant to be with Clark, needy and uncaring of showing it. He could feel the last few bits of whatever it was that had overtaken him fading away, leaving him with only the pure lust he had harbored for his former friend, still just as strong, still unfettered and raw. And judging by the growing, uncharacteristic but so obviously honest, desperation Lex was displaying, the effects of the flash of red light were leaving him, too. At least he could come away from this without the guilt of thinking he'd done anything to Lex that he didn't truly want.

Easing his fingers out, Clark slicked his throbbing cock and positioned the head at the rim of the stretched hole, moving to brace his hands on either side of Lex's head. He kept his gaze locked with Lex's as he started to slowly push into him, watching every minute reaction as his cock stretched him even further than his fingers had. Pausing when the body beneath him stiffened, Lex's breath hitching in his throat, he held himself halfway in, waiting for the nod to continue. The feeling of Lex surrounding him so securely, his hole clenching and grasping around the shaft of his cock, set the fire tingling behind his eyes again, and he gritted his teeth against the threatening loss of control. Inch by inch, tortuously slow for both of them, he sank into Lex.

"Yes," Lex gasped out, as Clark finally bottomed out within him, the sting of the stretch only adding to the pleasure of the fullness he felt from the huge cock invading him. He suddenly regretted being tied up, wanting nothing more than to wrap his limbs around the broad body looming above him, clutch Clark tightly to him, keep him from ever leaving his body, this bed. "God. So big. Oh, fuck, never felt so full."

Clark heaved a gusting breath as he took control of himself, fighting back the urge to thrust hard and fast into the still-adjusting body pinned beneath him. He dipped his head and captured Lex's lips with his own, kissing him deeply and hungrily as he felt the tight grip around his cock slowly relax.

"Move," Lex moaned against his lips, trying to buck down on Clark's cock, his own twitching and leaking profusely against his stomach. "Please, Clark, oh, God, need you to move!"

Clark bit at Lex's lip, pulling back at the waist to give him what he was begging for. Faster than Lex could track, Clark reached up and untied the silk wrapped around his ankles, guiding his legs around his hips as he thrust back into him. Lex yelped out in pleasure, his heels digging into the small of Clark's back.

"God, you're so tight, Lex. So perfect. Can't believe how well you take all of me, baby. Never been able to fuck anyone like this."

"Told you, Clark. You don't have to be so careful with me. Want it hard." To make his point, Lex bucked his hips, meeting Clark's next thrust with a deep moan. "Wanna feel you, oh, fuck, yeah, all of you. Everything you can't be with anyone else, be it with me. Let it go, baby, and fuck me."

"Fuck."

Kneeling up and gripping Lex's still-bound hands in his own, Clark did as Lex pleaded, his next thrust going as hard and fast as he dared, Lex's nails digging uselessly into the back of his hand as he held on tight. Lex arched into it with a loud, delighted moan, stretching his neck taut to mouth at the edges of Clark's collarbone. Taking the approval at face value, Clark thrust again, starting a quick rhythm of in and out, speed building up slightly past the limits of human motion.

"Oh, yeah, fuck, Clark, that's it. That's it, baby. Shit! Right there, please, Clark, right there." Lex felt Clark's cock pummeling his prostate, every thrust splitting him open anew, and he could feel his balls pulling up, his climax nearing the point of no return. He hadn't come untouched since he was a teenager, but he knew it was damn well going to happen now. And soon. "Don't stop! Oh, God, fuck, don't stop, baby, please. So close, Clark. So fucking close. Ohh…I love you, Clark Kent."

The last was uttered in so soft a whisper, Clark barely heard it. His rhythm faltered for the briefest fraction of a second, time slowing as he looked down into Lex's face, seeing the truth there. Time went back to normal speed as he ripped the ties from around Lex's hands, needing him free to move with him. Fingers immediately tangled in his hair, tugging him down to a pleading, gasping mouth. He kept thrusting into Lex, arms wrapping around him to pull him close, his own orgasm threatening on the edges of his control.

"I love you, too, Lex Luthor. I never stopped. Oh, God, Lex, I've always loved you, through everything. Come for me, baby, let go. Let me see you."

Lex's eyes, wide and wild, were watery as he cried out once more, his cock pulsing between their close-pressed bodies. Clark rode him through his orgasm, groaning at the renewed tightness of clenching muscles around his aching cock, stray drops of come landing high on his chest.

"Beautiful. So beautiful when you come, Lex. Oh, just fucking perfect."

Capturing sobbing lips with his own, Clark thrust one last time and stilled, his own release rocketing through him. He felt Lex's cock spurt again, an unexpected second climax catching them both by surprise as Clark filled his twitching hole, swallowing down Lex's moan.

Lex's limbs flopped limply to the mattress as he came down from his release, drained of more than just the come that covered them both. Clark, still embedded deep within him, collapsed lightly onto him, taking care not to cause injury, breathing harshly into his neck as he pulled him close.

Neither of them had recovered from their explosive orgasms before the door to the bedroom swung open with a resounding slam as it bounced back off the wall. Lois Lane stood in the doorway, staring at them, her face caught somewhere between disgust and lust as she took in their bare, tangled bodies.

"Dammit! Bruce said the spell would be worn off by now." She started marching across the large room, gathering up articles of clothing at random and tossing them on the bed. "Guess he didn't account for the red Kryptonite enhancement skewing the timetable."

"Lois."

"I don't care what your monkey brain is telling you right now, Smallville. Get dressed and release the evil CEO."

"Lois!" Clark snatched up the pair of pants thrown at his head, scrambling into them to hide his most private bits. Lex, of course, just stretched his sore muscles, spreading out like the Adonis he was, unabashed by his nakedness.

"No, Clark. You may think sex with Lex is what you want, but that's just the red K talking, okay?"

"God damn it, Lois! Stop. Whatever happened, it wore off at least twenty minutes ago. And red Kryptonite has never made me do anything I didn't want to, only took away any reasons I might have had for not acting on it. Now, please, leave."

Lois dropped the torn remains of Clark's shirt, turning back to face them again, unable to stop her gaze from drifting over towards Lex's lithe frame draped across the bed.

"Fine. But you are debriefing the League about this. I am so not going to be the one who tries to make Ollie understand that Lex is now untouchable."

"Goodbye, Ms. Lane", Lex drawled from where he was snuggling into the pillows. "Tell the Bat, no hard feelings, huh?"

With an eye roll and a huff, Lois stormed back out, the door swinging shut with another slam. Clark sank back onto the bed, somewhat deflated. He felt the mattress shift as Lex sat up, his hand sliding up to rest on the back of his shoulder.

"Guess you'll need to head off the calvary before they come barging in, too, hmm?"

Barely pausing to think about it, Clark took Lex's hand in his, tugging his pants back off with the other as he rolled over to face him. Pulling Lex into his arms, he waited until the older man finally met his gaze.

"They can wait. I've more than earned a little vacation time."

Lex smirked and allowed Clark to maneuver them both under the comforter, letting himself fall asleep in the warm embrace of the only man he'd ever loved. If Clark wasn't going to freak out over the events of the evening, then why should he? It had taken them nearly a decade to get here, and they deserved to enjoy it.

*****

@leatafandom

#smallville fanfic #clex fic #lemon #clex

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radioactivedragonbones · 1 month

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Back In The Ol' Days [2014] we had the punk/nerd AU... but I have my gripes with the PNAU; it feels outdated to me. In 2014 I ate that shit up, but it's 2024 and the rampant micro-trends have me re-thinkin modern Hijack portrayals...

So here I am to propose a new PNAU: Grunge X Emo.

Hiccup as a cozy grunge kind of guy- basically just classic comfy casual clothes but with earthy tones, ripped up jeans covered in motor oil stains, and loose flannel shirts over worn-out tees.

Jack as a casual emo kind of guy- Skinny jeans with rips (often on the end of the legs cause they annoy them when they're too long), tight band tees, and his classic hoodie he can disappear into the shadowy hood of to sulk.

Elaboration ⬇️

I think it could be fun to explore the way Hiccup has a ton of hand-me-downs and spends a lot of time patching up old clothes, or adding custom painted patches to his bags. Maybe he knows how to sew just from patching/mending. I like that in the movies we see him doing bith heavy work in the forge, and having gentle hands as an artist. I think he'd be good at a ton of different diy skills and put them to practical use with his wardrobe.

In canon, Hiccup does have a lot of leftist and punk ideology; The Edge is literally equal-ownership equal-imput everyone else just decides he runs the show. And he literally changes the dominant mindset of the society he lives in to better the life of both his people and the ones they've been at war with for decades. Hes pretty punk... but I don't see him going so far aesthetically as to be a full Spiky Punk TM. He's always on the move, working on something, or chilling outside with Toothless, so I think a more casual comfortable style suits him. Though I do think he would like jackets with extra straps and buckles on the pockets and stuff, and maybe a good belt bag + leatherman combo. Totally the type to always have a pocket knife. He'd paint himself patches and slap a few of em on his bags, coats, maybe over that burn hole in his jeans that's been annoying him. He'd favor practicality over aesthetic, but he still has a sense of style. As he gets older he probably leans into the edgier style, wearing more black and red combos, more strappy belts/coats/bags, and even gets a few tattoos. But I do see him as a grungey earthy engineering guy with comfy, often oversized silhouettes.

Jack I could see being super impulsive and latching onto pop culture; something emos were notorious for. I, personally, was clamoring for a branded tee shirt the moment I deemed a band good enough to youtube->mp3 to my ipod. I could see Jack doing that kind of thing, and latching onto this misunderstood invisible-yet-visibly-different identity. He probably favors dark blue, brown, and black. Deffinitely the type to get on the colored jeans trend when it hit. Maybe he even doodles little swirling patterns on his clothes when he's bored- an adhd habit I know all too well.

Without being, yanno, dead, Jack's Different Look would probably come just from him wanting to express himself. He feels isolated and finds it hard to make lasting friends because when people *do* notice him, they tend to see him more as a silly little jester than a person worth getting to know. He copes with humor and trying to get attention every now and again but ends up with a closer knit group of oddballs. He's good with kids, of course, and tends to take on a cool-big-brother to anyone in need of one. All of this playing into this casual and easy-going but edgy, kinda emo look. He probably listens to sad emo music while sitting on a roof, staring at the moon, contemplating his purpose in life. He pretty much does that in his movie so it isn't much of a stretch lol.

Anyways, feel free ro give your 2 cents and build onto or off of this as you please, I'm just brainstorming I guess. Thinkin aloud... visually. I tend to like psychoanalyzing characters and it's interesting to me to think of Hic & Jack's canon portrayals and what they would mean in a modern-human AU.

#mad ramblings #grunge/emo AU #hijack #AU ideas i guess #i psychoanalyze pixels #because i love them #frostcup

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kawaiichibiart · 8 months

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Okay, let's get into this.

The new outfits, starting with Leo/need:

I, for one, do prefer the new designs over the old one.

I like the uniformity while still having things that make them them. I like that, so far from what I can see, they all have a star somewhere on their outfit (I say so far because Ichika's guitar blocks part of her outfit, so I'm not 100% sure they all have stars), with Shiho's and Honami's being more obvious and Saki's less so. They all still have their signature colors and I'm hoping that in future designs, we can see more of those colors come in, not the same shade obviously, I'm thinking lighter/darker depending on the person (like Shiho would have a dark green shirt, while Saki's is a pastel yellow).

I'm thinking about in terms of Huevemeber, where we have one color to work with (the hue changes every day) and we can only use different shades of that one specific color, you can't change the hue at all, vibrancy, intensity, sure, but if you're using red and you go towards orange, that's a new hue.

Now onto individual designs:

Okay, one: I love that Ichika's guitar also got a bit of a redesign. I like that they kept the belts on her thigh, it does look like the ones on her new design are a bit thinner and you can't see the ends of the belt, which leads me to assume that maybe these have a loop or a snap somewhere to make it look like that, or that they don't unbuckle and it's just a band.

As I said before, everyone seems to have a star somewhere on their outfit but we can't see if Ichika has one somewhere. If I had to guess, I'd say the buttons of her jacket.

The changes in her expression is something I also enjoy. Ichika feels more comfortable and confident. In her old design, she looks like she's a bit in shock, maybe considering things??? It's more... pensive I guess? So her standing there with more confidence shows how much she (and the rest of L/n) have grown.

First off: happy we can see more of her body standing upright rather than leaning over.

Second: I like the added details on her socks. As I said, so far, Saki's star detail is the most subtle. It's on her socks. It's something I don't think people will catch at first glance, unlike Honami and Shiho who both have it somewhere it's more notable.

I like that Saki's the one who got a bow tie in this redesign, I think it suits her. While I do like her old tie, I think the change is nice.

The double belt is a nice touch to the design, the only change I'd make is adding another star motif. Like having a metal star pinned there, or having one larger buckle that was shaped like a star.

Saki comes off as playful in her old design and calmer in her new one. The best way I can describe it is: ticking off something from a bucket list vs finding something new you want to pursue. I wouldn't think Saki wanted to be a professional just looking at her old design. I'd think she enjoys the keyboard/piano. Looking at her new design, it does come more across her being more pro.

That being said, I like that in both she comes across as the cheery one. Like, she just looks like the happy member of the band. It comes across differently in both, but it's the same general idea.

One thing I wish they added was a pair of ribbons, kinda like Honami's ↓ I dunno, I like having it look like something is holding her pigtails up.

Much like Ichika, one thing I notice is the confidence and being more comfortable. Honami looks a bit uneasy in her old design, like she's not sure if she's meant to be there, but she's there and she's going to try god damnit.

Not gonna lie, I'm going to miss her music note scrunchie. But the ribbon is a nice touch.

I need to point this out, but it looks like the red of her clothes have shifted to a darker shade. Like, in her new design, the red reminds me a lot of MEIKO, which I think it a nice nod to Honami's first event (iirc).

The star buckle and buttons on her sleeves are a nice touch. While I do like the star charm from her old design, I think the new design makes the star(s) work better.

The only thing I'm not too sure of is the belt/strap hanging on her skirt. I don't know if I'd rather move it so it's more on her hip or waist, or if I want to get it rid of it completely. I also wish they kept her fingerless gloves, but that doesn't bother as much as the belt/strap.

Out of all four redesigns, Shiho's is the one I like most. While I never had a problem with the color she's wearing, the overall outfit just never stuck with me. The thing I disliked the most was the bow, it looked so stupid. I genuinely like Shiho with the tie a lot more and I think she suits the blazer/suit jacket.

Again, I've never had a problem with the color, that being said, I do like that we've shifted to a darker green color (much like how Honami's shifted to a darker red).

As mentioned earlier, Shiho has stars in her outfit that are notable. One is on the cuff of her sleeve and the other is her bracelet on the same arm. I kinda wanna know if the bracelets match, so we have another star on her hand holding her bass.

I also like that she looks more relaxed, as opposed to her looking like she's trying to stand apart from the others. Which, thinking about it, is very telling of Leo/need's journey to becoming pros. In their old design, Shiho is the only one who's standing like she's working on being pro. Ichika and Honami look more like this is something they're unsure of but want to try, while Saki looks like she just wants to have a good time. It's very much a difference between career vs hobby. Shiho was the lone wolf before, but now she's able to stand with the rest of the pack, knowing that they're doing this together. She can relax. She looks confident in both, but again, like with Saki, there's a difference between the two.

On a side note, what's hanging on the side of her skirt? I wanna say it's a belt but I'm not sure...

....anyways!!

All in all, I like the uniformity (seriously, I like them in the same outfits, any time I play/watch a song with 3DMV, I make sure their outfits match otherwise it bothers me). I like the stars put throughout their outfits. I like the shift in Shiho's green and Honami's red. I like that they all look more confident. I like that they actually look like a professional band. I do think adding a lighter/darker shade of their signature color would have made their designs just slightly better, but other than that, I really like these designs.

#project sekai #project sekai colorful stage #hatsune miku colorful stage #proseka #prosekai #colorful stage #leo/need #ichika hoshino #hoshino ichika #saki tenma #tenma saki #honami mochizuki #mochizuki honami #shiho hinomori #hinomori shiho

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bonniebird · 1 year

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Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

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Everything between you and Billy was awkward now. It had been awkward when you broke up when you tried to remain just friends and it was awkward when you bumped into each other because Hawkins' teen population was so small that you could never hang out without running into each other.

When you’d broken up he’d been calmer than you expected as if he had thought it would happen. He’d asked for a last hug and clung to you for a moment before letting you go. You’d hesitated while getting ready for a party. Heather was insisting that you go. Saying that you were the one that broke up with Billy, that you needed to get over it. While digging around at the back of your wardrobe, looking for something to wear that was warm but cute enough that Heather wouldn’t say anything, you knocked over a box. Pulling it out you sighed. It was a box of Billy’s things. It had been too long for you to give them but you didn’t want to throw them out. An old shirt, a belt buckle from California that he’d given you, half a packet of cigarettes and an old earring that you’d been fixing for him. You sat on the edge of your bed looking down at the shirt as you pulled it out of the box. It still smelled like him and it made a wobbly lump lodge in your throat as you tried not to tear up. It had been your choice. You reminded yourself.

Unable to put the shirt down you put it on over a vest top. It was blue, with pearly buttons and a floral pattern on the collar. It didn’t fit perfectly but it was comfortable and the smell made you feel secure.

You hadn’t thought any more of it until you quite literally bumped into Billy. He’d turned to yell at whoever he’d backed into and stopped when he saw it was you.

“(Y/N)...” He muttered as he looked you over. You greeted him awkwardly and quickly moved off into the house party, not wanting to linger and feel even more awkward. It wasn’t until you decided to walk home an hour later, finding yourself feeling bored and wanting your bed more than anything, that you bumped into Billy again.

This time he was waiting next to his car. He’d been putting his cigarette packet back in his packet when you passed.

"Does my shirt still smell like me?" He asked as he spotted you. Stopping, you turned back and looked at him. His face was soft, his eyes curious and filled with wistful longing.

“A little.” You mumbled and he gave a small smile, the unlit cigarette between his lips bobbing as he did. An awkward silence filled the air and you shuffled your feet.

“Yeah… huh… you’re um. Your old pillowcase doesn’t smell like you anymore. I didn’t even realise.” He admitted. When you spotted a thin blush over his face that had nothing to do with the few beers he must have had you smiled kindly.

“It’s kind of comforting, isn’t it? The smell. I didn’t realise I miss…” You stopped yourself from going on and Billy looked amused. He nodded slowly and unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it off as he approached you, cigarette still hanging from his mouth. He stepped close to you and unbutton his old shirt. You watched his face, his eyes focused on what he was doing. His eyelashes were long and his freckles made you think of all the times the two of you had lay close together and you traced them.

He slowly pulled the shirt off and then draped the one he’d been wearing over your shoulders.

“You uh. If you ever want a new shirt that smells like me you could just ask.” He said as he looked up at you, taking the cigarette from his mouth as he fiddled with it. He looked up at you and your eyes met. Before you could second guess yourself you’d leaned forward and kissed him softly on the lips. He let out a breathy gasp as you pulled away and froze, realising what you’d done.

“Hey, Billy! Come on! We’re going to the mall to get some food.” Tommy yelled. Billy glanced his way and gestured to him that he’d need a minute.

“You know if you wanted… to go see a movie or get something to eat sometime…” Billy stuttered out. There was no confidence in the way he spoke as if he was overly nervous about being rejected.

“I’d like that.” You said quietly and he smiled.

“I’ll call you after work tomorrow?” He asked. When you nodded and agreed he grinned and hurried off after his friends.

Billy tags:

@emily-roberts @kitty-marie725 @savagemickey03 @zoomdeathknight @pheonix4269 @bloodrose @sarahbullet235 @lovelyy-moonlight @stellasblog @DeanWinchestersgirl87 @thekayarlene @linkpk88 @babypink224221 @lisainhell @spiderwebs-blog @gryffindorqueensworld @rockyrascal @twerp8999 @theletterhart @boardstomymood @big-galaxy-chaos @greekktragedyy @ietss @alexxavicry @daughterofthenight117 @sarcasm-n-insomnia @multi-fandom5 @skylermoyer @justice-for-the-kaldorei @favmeyou @kaylantus @supernatural-wolfie @yougottalovefandoms @alwaysadreamingoptimist @love1deandra @archaeologydigit @im-eating-rn @bucketbunny @littlefreakingfangirl @hardladyheart @gillybear17 @lchufflepuffcorn @prettyplant0 @hardladyheart @slxthxrxn-sxmp @jamie-c-bower-simp @aw--heck @amournoir @boardstomymood @heeheehoohoohahahihi @elenavampire21 @lastwandastan

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #bonniebird #valentine2023

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getinmylap · 9 months

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favorite fantasies: the stranger in the club

It’s a little late and I’m a little drunk when I find myself flying solo in a dark, hot, crowded club my friends dragged me to. Guess they finally got so wasted and dipped unannounced. Fine with me — all night, all I’ve really wanted to do is find a girl who wants to dance with me the way I want to dance with her.

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I’m crossing the dance floor toward the bar to grab another drink when someone grabs my wrist and insists I turn around. Without saying a word she presses her back into my chest, gently winding her hips as the intoxicating bass line of “Ass Drop” starts pumping out of the speakers. As the beat kicks into gear, my new friend, poured into suffocating cutoffs and an equally tiny black tank, dips and grabs her knees, teasing my zipper while she peeks at me over her shoulder.

THIS is what I’ve been craving. Finding her waist, I hook my thumbs through her belt loops, yanking her closer as she drags her beautifully thick ass, barely contained by denim, up and down my rapidly growing cock. There's no question she feels it. The harder I get, the nastier she grinds, faster and faster until we're nearly fucking her through our clothes.

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She snaps back up, turns around, straddles one of my legs and starts riding hard to the beat, working her thigh in rhythmic circles against my swelling cock so perfectly I start twitching against her hot skin. She snakes a hand around the back of head and forces my ear down to her mouth. I run my fingers down the small of her back and into her shorts, gripping her ass to help her grind me even harder. She’s not wearing panties.

“I need you inside me. NOW,” she whispers, running her tongue along the back of my ear.

Grabbing me by the wrist again, she pulls me around the DJ booth to a nondescript door, opening it and shoving me inside. It’s a storage closet that’s empty, save for a waist-high stack of boxes, some cans of paint, and a dimming lightbulb dangling from the ceiling.

I scoop her up and she instinctively wraps her legs around my waist. In one motion, I lurch forward and slam her back against the door to close it, pinning her tight while I suck and bite and drool all over her collarbones and neck. She braids her hands around my head as I rip both sets of straps down her shoulders to get at her sweaty chest. I work her black lace bra down with my teeth far enough to expose the very tops of her nipples, which I taste and drench with my tongue before greedily gnawing on them.

I hear and feel her moaning, her hips slamming on my belt buckle as I chew on her heaving tits. She drops her feet to the floor. I unbutton the shorts that got me into this situation and peel them off her like shrinkwrap. They’re soaked, from both sweat and the juices that started seeping out of her seconds after we met.

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I undo my pants and drop them, free my insanely throbbing cock and immediately move to ram myself inside her, but she stops me. Without saying a word, she walks over to the stack of boxes, rests her elbows on top and kicks her legs out in a V. The DJ’s just put on “Play,” and we can hear it, slightly muffled, through the walls. She starts twerking hard, perfectly on beat, giving me a peek of her swollen pink pussy with every slutty jiggle. She looks back over her shoulder again.

“Fuck me as hard as you fucking can.”

Two steps across the room, pants and boxers still bunched at my ankles, and I’m there. Usually I start slow, but that’s not what she requested. She shrieks as I plunge every last rock-hard inch of me inside her, gripping her sharp hip bones as I rail her from behind.

“That’s it. That’s fucking it. HARDER,” she ekes out between labored breaths. I bunch up her long, drenched hair in my fist and yank her head back, pushing my other hand down on the small of her back to give myself some leverage. I’ve got an amazing angle now, so I speed up to as fast as I can possibly go. The sound of our skin slapping sounds like whip cracks, and I feel her legs start to quiver. I pound her dripping pussy with every last ounce of force I’ve got, craving her hot cum all over my raw cock.

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Seconds later, her body violently trembles and contorts, her pussy lips constricting as she lets out an unbelievably carnal scream. “I know what you fucking want,” she states right after, without turning around. The DJ’s just cued up “Act Right,” and she seamlessly transitions back into dance mode, except this time she working her ass to the music with my primed cock buried all the way inside her. The filthy moves that first got my attention have a new purpose now: coaxing her thick, hot reward out of my aching balls.

“Cum inside me. Fill me up all the way,” she commands over her shoulder, locking her eyes into mine as she braces against the boxes and throws her entire body into it, pumping my cock to the bass while I stand and watch her work. “Fucking GIVE it to me.”

A satisfied smile spread across her wet, reddened face as she feels my first burst, and I instinctively lean all my weight on her as I pump every single drop of an enormous, head-spinning load inside her, grunting and panting. I pull out, dizzy euphoric, but she doesn’t move a muscle.

“I know you want to see,” she declares proudly, and once again she’s right. Still bent over and shaking her ass to the music, I watch as a thick strands of my milky seed slowly roll down the insides of her thighs.

“Mine to keep,” she announces matter-of-factly as she picks up her sopping cutoffs, smearing my still-steaming cum back up her legs as she yanks them back up. Without another word, she casually runs her fingers through her hair, readjusts her bra, turns the doorknob and disappears back into the crowd.

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