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foreverdolly · 3 months ago

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ೃ࿔ SAVAGE BONDS part 6 『 feyd rautha x atreides!reader 』

summary: destined to one another since conception, your very life belongs to feyd rautha. as a token of good will you are sent to the strange planet of giedi prime a week before your wedding ceremony, only to learn that it is far more hostile than you imagined it would be. a failed assassination attempt has tempers flaring and sparks flying when it is decided to be safer to sleep alongside feyd. you hate to admit it, but he has played the part of a "protector" better than the guards who were tasked to watch over you. whilst you have been dreading this union all of your life, feyd has been anticipating it. meeting you as children had left him awe-struck. . . and a bit obsessed.

warnings: serious blood play ( it only gets worse from here, folks. welcome to hell), the realization that feyd has been scenting her, the harkonnen's have a supernatural sense of smell, minor talk of feelings, lots of talk and show of devotion, the baron, the mention of breeding, dubious consent.

word count: 7.6k

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Something dark was building up- roiling inside of him.

It had a mind of its own.

It didn’t belong to him. . . not really. It was its own entity entirely.

It called to him in the middle of the night, waking him up from a dead, dreamless sleep. For a moment he stared at the slate grey wall, searching for any imperfections. When he found none he rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. He wasn’t quite sure what he was searching for. Maybe a black hole to swallow him up. . . or an answer to his many questions.

It wasn’t in his nature to be good. If anything, it felt off to display any kind of affection. Niceties were always just a means to get something that he wanted. Goodness was something he had to practice. A skill he honed over the years so that he could carry a conversation with those that weren’t raised by the same closed, hard knuckled fists that he was.

It oozed off of you so naturally. Dripped from your mouth and your gentle hands. It was something that you freely created, and with zero effort at that. The thought of it used to infuriate him. He had heard about you, his promised one in passing. He’d always wanted you, from the first moment he’d met you back when you were children.

And while he was. . . infatuated with you? Yearned for you? Loved you? He wasn’t sure himself what it was that he felt, just that it had seeped itself into his very marrow- regardless of his feelings, he resented the fact that you weren’t cut from the same cloth. Feyd never minded the idea of putting you on a pedestal and protecting you. He’d play the part of your knight well, just as long as you’d let him relish in his misdeeds. No, he resented your kindness because he knew that eventually someone like him would use that against you. He had always wondered when it would happen. Had it happened on your planet when he hadn’t been there by your side? Or perhaps that moment had finally come whilst you were out on an excursion with your parent’s, making nice with other nobility.

You see, he hated the idea of anyone inflicting pain on you or inspiring fear in you. He wanted to be the soul owner of those sensations. Feyd could smell your fear in the air, the naturally floral scent of your skin turning slightly powdery the second that your pupils dilated and your heartbeat sped up. When he was in an enclosed space with you, like that damned closet, he could even taste it on his tongue. He often wondered if you were the same as he was in some aspects. If he choked you to the point of total oxygen deprivation would you cum harder? What if he ran his nails along your back and chest until you bled? Would you beg for him then?

No. . . probably not.

You were just as alien to him as he was to you. He didn’t see the world through your eyes, but as of late he wished that he could. Feyd wanted to know you so that he might be able to handle you better.

No. . . that wasn’t it.

Feyd wanted to know your favorite food and to be able to taste it for himself. Did you have animals back on Caladan and did you care enough about them to name them? Did you love anyone other than your family? He wanted you to tell him, in detail, what that was like. How did it feel to care for someone in that way, and how did you always make it look so easy to do so? What did you dream of when you closed your eyes to sleep at night? Did you prefer the night to the day and if you could ever get used to the thick smog that blocked your view from the sky, did you ever think at any point that you might stay with him here once everything was said and done?

He found no answers etched into the ceiling, and if they were really there, well then it was far too dark to tell. Instead he turned on his other side, his eyes instantly falling onto your resting form. He noted the way your lashes fluttered, eyes moving beneath your lids as you dreamed.

Did he haunt you the same way you haunted him?

His hand moved beneath his thin bed sheets, ghosting over your cheek. Instead he moved his finger just below your nose, feeling the warmth of your breaths. Someone had been so close to stopping those sleepy sighs completely, and while he had killed the perpetrators, the culprit was still in his own bedchambers, fat and bloated with greed.

He knew what the Baron dreamt of: death and power.

Feyd doubted that his uncle was finding any sort of trouble sleeping after what he had done. He’d gorge himself on food come the morning, another plan soon solidifying in his twisted mind.

The dark thing moved inside of his chest again, jerking awake so severely that Feyd could only sit up in bed, his hands flying to his sides so that he could grip at the mattress and not your delicate face on accident. The feathers didn’t feel as satisfying as a throat would, but he squeezed down regardless, imagining his uncle’s fat neck breaking beneath his unyielding strength. Would he try to say something to his nephew in his last moments? Would his eyes flash at his own blood’s betrayal. . . or would he stare at him in silent hatred?

No matter. Feyd reckoned that he would soon find out.

People die everyday. The weak had to be culled, that was what he had been taught afterall. Powerful men were able to move the weak like pawns, but Feyd preferred to do everything by himself. That was the difference between him and his uncle.

Feyd liked dirtying his hands. Vladimir had the numbers to command, but those men were all just as intimidated of his nephew as they were of him. The Na-Baron had two things that the “all powerful” Siridar-Baron did not: fangs and the ability to wield them. There was no weapon, unfamiliar or not, that Feyd couldn’t pick up and wield as though he had trained with them his whole life. There was no form of combat that he hadn’t honed his body with. Even worse, the Baron had raised Feyd with particular interest. He’d taught him since boyhood how to intimidate, barter, and kill legions of enemies with as little as a few words and harshly bit out threats. Above all else, Vladimir Harkonnen had taught Feyd-Rautha how to think and move across the game board just as he himself did.

While Vladimir had faceless, nameless pawns to command at will, his nephew had only one other playable piece on his side. If it had just been Feyd against his uncle then he would have already razed the entirety of the empire that he’d been raised in to the ground. He’d deliver the embers up to the black sun as a final offering before leaving. Heading for you.

Feyd wasn’t sure how something so weak could find its way to him. Better yet, that small, weak thing now lived inside of him, just as that nasty, violent entity did. There was once a time where he believed that they would always be separate. One could not live if the other was already inhabiting its host. . . but that was before.

Before that first kiss. Before the first softening of your gaze. Before you.

Slowly he laid back down, his head turning on instinct so that he could continue to watch you. So long as you were breathing then so shall he. He’d never had something that he needed to protect before. It felt heavy, but it wasn’t a bad thing- just a reminder that you were there. Still dreaming. Still loving. Death had always meant that there was something or someone better than him out there. If he had died then that just meant that he didn’t deserve to live. He had always been the type of warrior that craved to die in battle. How invigorating would it be to die by someone’s better trained hands? He’d watch with grave interest and jealousy as they carved him up. Feyd would want to feel everything. Experience it all with wide eyes so that he might learn and better himself even in his final moments.

Feyd laid there in his bed though, the idea of being a coward playing over and over again in his mind. Could he run if it meant that you’d live? Yes. That fact was startling. So much in fact that it threatened to undo absolutely everything that he’d ever been taught. Every unspoken code that he lived by was being erased, replaced by an intrinsic need to be by your side.

‘Could you accept her hatred?’ Yes, if need be.

‘Would you let her paint you as a monster if her conscience called for it?’ Whatever it took. He couldn’t look back.

‘What if it meant that she could never love you?’ Hate mirrored love in the grand scheme of things. He’d take whatever you’d give him willingly and without complaint, so long as you would let him pour his own affections into you.

Feyd would continue to take. . . and take. . . and take.

His next steps would all have to be carefully calculated. If he were in his uncle’s shoes then he would want to wait until after his enemy’s wedding, especially if it were obvious that suspicions were high. The pale man laid in bed for the rest of that night, his mind swimming with every possible step his uncle would take and might have already taken. If this were all going to work out then he would have to make sure that you were able to fight at his side when the time came. Despite his skill, it would be impossible to take an entire army on by himself, even if he timed things correctly. Feyd would have to start sowing seeds of doubt amongst his Uncle’s followers. He’d start with the men that had been assigned to his dimwit brother, Glossu. He’d no doubt side with their uncle when this all came to an end, though he’d be easy enough to dispose of. He was large, yes, but he was slow. He functioned off of anger and anger alone, which made him sloppy. Feyd could slit his throat whilst he slept and watch him gurgle on his own blood and dying breaths with not even a semblance of compassion.

This evening he needed to start small though: the guards that you’d tried to distract at the door and those that saw the two of you fleeing down the hall. Whether or not he wanted to blame the two of you being alone in the Baron’s wing together on a moment of passion, he knew that his uncle would be all too suspicious. He’d have to do away with all of them before they could say anything. Feyd could blame the killings on his recent boredom and the rising tensions before the marriage. Either way, he knew the Siridar-Baron was less likely to become suspicious of his actions if he was to blame it on his own blood lust.

He resented the fact that he’d still have to play the part of the Baron’s “beloved” nephew. Feyd wondered until the black sun rose high in the sky, the moonlight seeping from the room and plunging them in darkness yet again, whether or not he could even play nice with the man for a few more days. Everything inside of him, even now, screamed out at him: kill him. Kill him.

He’d take out your adversaries one by one as the days passed. Whether you knew it or not, Feyd was completely at your disposal.

The memory of home had collected to a single point, dripping from your mind like liquid to pool at your feet.

Your horse’s breath coming from his wide, kind mouth in thick plumes of aqueous smoke. Paul’s careful but unyielding fists flying past your cheeks in the training room. Your mother’s gentle hands cupping your face, the skin of her palms so soft and thin that you were scared that one day they might just tear against your lashes. Your father’s indulgent smile, always curious.

In the moments that you spent by yourself in your now shared living quarters you found yourself clinging to their voices as well as the exact color of their eyes. You wondered if there would be a day that you would forget all of it. You had to stand in front of the mirror just the other day, hands palming your face, trying to remember every point of resemblance between you and your twin that your parents had always so lovingly pointed out.

How long have you been on Giedi Prime? You tried to count on your fingers as you waited for Feyd to come back from wherever he’d stormed off to. How many nights have you slept in Feyd’s bed as opposed to the one that you’d been originally assigned? The wedding had been pushed back a few days due to the attempt on your life, but had your parents been made aware of the act? How many times have you eaten in the large dining room, miles of space between seats, feeling no more than a spectator of the life around you? You tried to imagine each breakfast, lunch and dinner that had been placed before you over the days, but the tan, black, and brown meats and side dishes all looked the same. They broke apart in your mouth and settled on your tongue like sand.

You remembered staring up at that black sun for the very first time with wide, horrified eyes. When did it swallow you up? What day? Hour? Minute? Mentally you turned back the clock, wondering when it was that you lost the will to count down the days, the only thought on your mind being your own survival. You’d been lost to a planet that wanted you dead.

Driven into a corner, you’d given in to your flight or fight instincts. The only thing on your mind at all hours of the day was the “when” and the “how”. When would the Baron strike next? How did he plan on taking you out? There wasn’t much of a reason to wonder why. You supposed he hadn’t taken a liking to you or had grown bored somehow. Vladimir never struck you as a man that followed the rules if he felt as though they didn’t give him a personal advantage, even the ones that the Bene Gesserit set in place.

Shaky fingers reached up to brush against your lips, as though you could still feel Feyd’s brushing against them. That man. . . that infuriating man had done something to you. His constant mind tricks were beginning to wear you down and it seemed as though you were finally buckling under the intense pressure of it all. You nearly fell forward, catching yourself against the side of one of the black settees in the sitting area, eyes closing against your will as the memory of his dominance washed over you, nearly pulling you out into a sea of want and need with the high tides of your own desire. You had been drowning for days, no buoy in sight. Eventually you’d tire yourself, fighting against the power of those waves. Even now your limbs shook with the overexertion of it all.

Your lips still tasted of sea water.

Has this been their plan all along? Were you losing your mind? The non stop seduction had somehow made such a horrific place more bearable. Bearable enough that, even in your own overwhelming paranoia, you’d lost track of how many days, hours, minutes, seconds you’d been away from everything you’d ever known and loved.

When the Na-Baron returned to the room you didn’t ask about the blood that clung to his pale skin, nor the crazed look in his eyes. By the time he was done showering, no doubt scrubbing off more carnage that your eyes hadn’t been able to see in the brief seconds that the two of you had stared at one another, the light had returned to his eyes. He was Feyd again. Just Feyd.

Perhaps even your Feyd.

He stood before you, wearing nothing but a pair of skin tight trousers that reminded you of what he so often trained in. He hadn’t dried off well enough, and you wondered if he’d been in a hurry to be in your presence. ‘Nonsense.’ You thought ruefully to yourself. The skewed view that your mind had created of Feyd Rautha-Harkonnen was nothing but a lie. A farce.

Living so closely with someone that wasn��t completely evil was more bearable than being held in a room with just another Harkonnen that wanted you dead. He was one of them, no matter how many times he tried to tell you differently.

Droplets of water ran down his pale chest. For a single, selfish moment you allowed yourself the time it took to follow one of the ephemeral bead’s trail. Down the line of his neck, pooling ever so slightly at his defined collarbone, before sliding down the harsh lines and planes of his chest and abs. It soaked into the waistband of his pants, dying there without even a whisper.

Would you die there too eventually? Would he split you into two and forget about you? Would he leave you bleeding and broken on your shared marital bed? You had to bite off a sob before it ripped from your chest, especially when he finally opened his mouth to speak after what felt like hours of prolonged, painful silence.

“Everything I do, from this point on, is for you. Even if I have to tell lies, know that my body and my mind would never betray you.” His eyes were searing, burning holes into your own.

He was constantly flickering between personalities. One second he treated you as though you were as fragile as gossamer stretched thin over your mother’s bone china, and then the next it was as though he was staring at his own reflection; like you were a mirror image of every dark desire he’d ever had.

Like called to like.

“How will I know that you’re not betraying me? Feyd, my life is at stake here. I can’t spend what might be my final hours-” He closed the distance between you in a single long legged stride, reaching out to grip your wrist in his large hand. The size difference between the two of you had once made you shake at the knees. At one point he had seemed like an unclimbable obstacle that stood between you and your freedom. What was he to you now?

“Stop talking like that,” He bit out, the muscles in his shoulders visibly tense at the mention of such finality. “I will cross one finger against the other when I’m telling a lie. Something only for you to see and to know.” He held up his free hand, demonstrating for you as he wrapped his middle finger over his pointer.

A signal.

“And how do I know that even that is the truth?” You whispered, the words painful to utter.

Lost. You were so lost here. Somewhere along the way you had forgotten which way was up and which way was down. Would anyone blame you for asking him to prove his loyalty? Was it really so selfish to need such assurance?

The pressure of his hold on your wrist loosened as he looked down at you, his jawline clicking. You could practically see the thoughts flashing behind his blue-grey eyes. Finally he settled on something, letting you go completely so that he could walk over towards the bed you had shared. Slowly he bent his large, broad body down, his pale hand running along the bottom of the frame. He retrieved a long, thinly crafted blade and showed it to you.

‘Every night that you’ve slept here could have been your last.’ It was a confession, you supposed. Was he trying to show you how weak and naive you were? You’d checked the cushions in the seating area, beneath his pillows and mattress- but you hadn’t thought to check the bedframe for any sort of weapon that could be used against you. Shame slapped you across the face, and yet again you were reminded of how weak you were.

Weak and stupid, the worst kind of combination.

He moved back over towards you, the blade still clutched in one of his hands while his other reached back out for you. He took hold of your wrist again, even as you began shaking your head. “No, please. . .” You whined out, your pupils blowing out wide as your heart began to race.

His nostrils flared and for a second he just stood there, the blade in one hand and your wrist in the other. “There’s no need to be afraid.” When he spoke in hushed tones like this it almost sounded like a hiss. You thought back to your first meeting with the Reverend Mother, your stomach clenching as a new kind of fear settled over you.

Feyd had never been a man. He had always been an animal. The person before you wasn’t. . . wasn’t like you. He could treat you softly, but things like that didn’t come naturally to him. Reassuring you at all went against the basis of who he was, and still he tried.

“My flesh is yours,” He told you, holding your gaze as he pressed the blade against his forearm. “As is my blood.” You flinched and tried to wrench your hand away from his as you watched him press against the leather handle. Onyx blossomed from the cut and fell onto your hand. It pooled in your palm as you fought to slide your wrist from his hold. It was so warm. . . and you wanted it to stop.

“Enough.” You barked out, trying your hardest to take a step back from him. He kept you in place, his face displaying no sense of pain or even discomfort.

“You’ve heard of animals chewing off a leg to escape a trap?”

He pressed the blade down harder, the small streams of blood turning into a river. It dripped from between your fingers and began to seep down the front of your linen day-dress. “Everything I am in exchange for all that you have to offer.”

“There’s an animal kind of trick.”

“Feyd, enough.” Your voice shook as you stared in horror at the blood. All of that blood. . . for you.

All that he was. All that he would ever be.

In exchange.

He dropped the blade beside him, the loud clanging sound causing your shoulders to quiver. The pale man stared at your hand for a few seconds and all you could do was watch him, your whines and prayers for him to stop whatever this was dying out on your tongue. His eyes. . . oh, heavens. You felt as though you’d disintegrate into nothing but ashes where you stood. The light in those blue eyes had been completely snuffed out and all that remained was darkness. It was almost as though the shadows that seemed to constantly wrap themselves around him had seeped beneath his skin. There were no pupils. No irises. Just. . . black. As black as his blood that now coated your hands.

He was everywhere. Feyd was everywhere you looked, every scent you breathed in, every touch and sensation- and your chest heaved with some sort of emotion that you couldn’t decipher. It felt as though your heart was ripping at your lungs, at your throat, begging to be let out. You needed to be freed of these horrible, sinful thoughts.

The pale Harkonnen warrior stared at you as though you were the beginning and end of everything. Nothing else existed outside of this room. The sight of his own life essence spilling down your skin, staining you. . . was the epitome of perversion.

This animal- this paragon looked at you with phantom eyes and wished that he could possess you.

He pulled your wrist higher up, his attention dropping down to your dripping palm. Slowly, too slowly, he dipped the tip of his pointer finger into the pool that he had created. He lifted his hand up between the both of you before pressing his thumb against your chin, prying your lips open.

You were too confused to understand what it was that he wanted from you. It wasn’t until the metallic taste of his blood spread over your tongue did you truly understand what he was doing. Your eyes, now the size of saucers, locked on his. For a brief second you thought about biting his finger. Whatever was happening between the two of you was too intense for you to handle, especially with your mental wellbeing hanging in limbo.

But you let his finger caress your tongue. You even opened your mouth wider for him, moaning when his lips curled up at your sudden obedience. His eyes flickered up to your eyes from your mouth when he heard the sound, a responding groan meeting your ears. Deep and guttural, as though he wanted you to know that he felt it too. He felt all of it. He hooked his finger on your bottom teeth, sliding them against your gums and then. . .

Then he released your mouth. “Swallow me.”

And so you did. The thickness of it coated your mouth and tongue, marking you from the inside out. You weren’t sure why you were so willing to do as he told, but there wasn’t a single part of you that didn’t want to please him at that moment.

It was almost as though he had watched the fight and the fear drain from your body. You stood there, languid and malleable before him.

It was odd. . . but it was like you could finally breathe for the first time in days.

“You never ask for permission.” You couldn’t project your voice the way that you wanted to. You had spoken in a barely audible whisper.

“No,” His voice was low enough to be considered a hum in response. “Never.”

And as if to prove that as fact, Feyd lowered his lips down onto yours. His grip was still on your stained wrist and you were positive that if he hadn’t been holding you in some way then you might have just floated away. The floor would have swallowed you up whole. . . or that black, black sun. The strength of his bruising hold acted as a tether, tying you to the floor and to him. Your lips tightened, compressing for a split second against the softness of his kiss. It wasn’t as searing as the other ones had been. A part of you reviled this small shred of humanity that he was showing you, the paranoia still biting at the back of your mind. Was he doing this to disarm you?

But you remembered his blood and his promise. You could feel it beginning to dry on your skin, growing cold and tacky: a reminder. His flesh was yours.

In that instant you yielded- submitted fully to all of it. You assaulted his mouth with your own, lips melting against his as your free hand moved up to cup the side of his neck, pressing him harder against you. The suddenness of your surrender had him staggering, his hold on your wrist loosening in his shock before he finally let you go, his strong arms wrapping around you so tightly that you feared that you might be crushed into his chest.

Would you really mind that though?

You allowed his lips to birth you anew and gave into the deranged desires. If this was what it meant to be mentally insane then. . . you weren’t sure if you wanted to be put back together again. His lips moved against yours, tongue curling into your mouth in such a way that you couldn’t help but wonder what other parts of you he could set ablaze. He owned your mouth, just as he had before when his finger had slipped past your teeth.

No doubt he could taste the metallic film that still clung to your tongue, and you let him. Your newly freed hand slid along the expanse of his chest, and without needing to see it you knew that you were leaving your own marks. Hands, fingers, blood- it was everywhere.

No matter how close he pressed himself against you it still didn’t feel enough.

Feyd was kissing you with a fervent need- not to own you, but as if he truly couldn’t get enough. He pressed his lips against yours as though he could absorb you into his body. It would be safer there, you thought. If he wanted to breathe you in then you would damn well let him.

He broke the kiss so that he could look at you, and after he had gotten his fill he pressed his lips against yours in small pecks. Once, twice, and then his eyes opened once again. The hunger in his eyes was still there, of course, but there was a strange sense of longing there too. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but before he could open his mouth you were stepping up on your toes, pressing your lips against his neck.

You thought of every demented thing you’d wanted to do to him since you’d been stuck on this forsaken planet. At one point you’d wanted to gut him, then silence him and now. . . now you wanted him so badly that your hands shook as they began to pull at the waistband of his pants. The sound he let out was so loud that you were positive that someone had to have heard it. The moan was all beast, no hint of man to be found.

“You’re covered in it,” He panted out, tilting his head to the side so that you could continue biting and licking at his pale neck. His skin tasted of the spicy, herbal soap he had used in the shower. You wanted more of him. All of him, in fact. “On our wedding night I’ll give you even more of it.” He promised, his hands moving to braid themselves into your hair. The tips of his fingers massage your scalp roughly, and when you bite down a little too hard on his soft skin you can hear a few strands of your hair popping as they are ripped from the roots.

“I’ll mark every inch of your body,” He removed your hand from the waistband of his pants, and right when you were about to cry out a complaint he pressed your palm against his straining front. He allowed you to run your fingers along every inch of him, shuddering at the feel of your fingers- so tiny- brushing against him. “Make you drink it even.”

Those words tumbling from his lips sounded, in a fucked up way, as though he was worshipping you. The dam had burst wide open and the two of you could do nothing to keep Feyd from uttering every cursed, demented thought he’d ever had about you.

“I’ll coat myself in it. My blood and cum belong in and on every inch of you.”

You were finally touching him. Not because he was forcing it out of you but because you chose to. Again and again, as your fingers continued their exploration, you reminded yourself that this was what you wanted.

More, more, more.

“Na-Baron?” No one, not once over the days that you’d spent in Feyd’s quarters, had ever dared to knock on the door. Usually they’d place your meals just outside of it around the same time each day, not wanting to be sliced to ribbons after everything that had happened. The sound of the foreign voice cooled your hot blood so quickly that you swore that you could hear it fizzing in your ears, the heat being replaced by white, cold terror.

For a few elongated moments Feyd stared at you, his breathing labored. You watched as he sucked in a singular breath, caging it in his lungs for a beat before blowing it out slowly. One step at a time he detached himself from you, looking pained all the while. You silently cursed whoever it was that had interrupted the both of you.

This had been the first thing that you had, quite possibly, ever done for yourself. Every day, even back on Caladan, had been spent training with Paul. Since the day of your birth you had known that you would be shipped off, married to someone that you knew very little about. Every day had become a waiting game, filled with meaningless marriage training.

This moment had been just for you. You had wanted him more than anything, and if not for the interruption then you would have more than willingly given yourself to him completely. It was all so complex, and you weren’t sure of the meaning behind it all. Had you come to care for Feyd or was it just the release that you were searching for? Either way, you had wanted it. Whatever it meant.

“What is it?”

You tried to drown out the voices as you slowly moved away from the sitting area and further into the room, realizing now that the two of you probably looked deranged. As you stared down at your clothes you finally noticed that this was all. . . so gruesome. With a small gasp you began pawing at your dress, noticing the sheer amount of blood that had been spilled. How deeply had he cut himself? Was he still bleeding, even now?

You hurried to the bathroom, turning the sink on so that you could wash your hands.

This place felt as though it had already stolen years of your life from you, when in actuality it couldn’t be more than two weeks. Still, you’d lived every hour on edge and in constant earth shattering terror. For the first time in those three hundred and thirty-six hours you didn’t feel alone. In fact. . . you felt good, if anything. A ten ton weight had been lifted from your chest.

You didn’t just have a protector. An Atreides had somehow managed to find themselves a damned champion.

“Our presence is needed at the arena,” Feyd started, crowding the door frame as you continued to scrub at your fingers. One of his hands reached out, as if to stop you, but he let it fall back at his side before his fingers could grip yours. “We need to make an appearance.”

Yes, you should have expected that. Everyone must want to see the sacrificial lamb that had been led to the slaughter.

The black sun had set a few hours ago, and the light of the moon was blinding as you were led down a long black corridor and up a steep, obsidian staircase. The new color palette of your life: black, grey and white- it blinded you now as you gripped Feyd’s steady hand. The balcony had a clear view of the entire arena, the white sand below catching the rays of the full moon that hung high, suspended in the air above you.

A few cloaked figures were seated, their backs towards you as they stared out at the scene unfolding before them. A loud voice that you didn’t recognize was narrating the carnage, the loud screams and voices of the crowd assaulting your ears. The arena itself reminded you of the training grounds that you and Feyd had spent much of your time over the last two weeks. It was so strange to think that it had been two full weeks since the day that you had threatened the Harkonnen man out on that sandy terrain, poised and ready to kill him. Back then you had wanted to spill his blood, especially if it had meant that you could find your way back to your family.

It had been a fool's errand: husband or not, you were never meant to return to the life that you had lived before.

The black gown that had been prepared for you was uncomfortable and so long that you had to kick your feet out just so that you wouldn’t trip on the train. You felt ridiculous and missed the breathable fabrics and gossamer of your home planet. As you looked out at the sea of spectators you realized that you blended right in. If you had been wearing a veil to disguise your facial features then you would have been just another Harkonnen, jowls wide and drooling as you stared out at the bloody terrain. Thirsty for carnage and wrath.

The sun had begun to change you. You were no longer favored by the light.

The hand clutching yours was a stark reminder of that, as was the way that you clung to him right back. “An hour. Tolerate this for an hour.” He whispered in your ear.

His lips were still swollen from your kisses. The moment that had been shared between you had been far from gentle, but it had been the closest thing to loving that you’d ever experienced. You didn’t startle as he reassuringly squeezed your hand.

The Bene Gesserit’s eventual arrival had been expected. You knew, eventually, someone from the Order would come and check on how the marriage ceremony was proceeding. You doubted that they’d been made aware of the recent threats.

It was doubtful that they’d even care.

You’d recognized the old, hateful hag even with her veil on, the downward tilt of her lips visible even from a hazy distance. You squint your eyes against the light, bowing your head ever so slightly as you began to take the empty seat beside her. Imperceptibly Feyd reached out, moving around you so that he could take the seat next to the familiar woman and his uncle. It was a kindness that you happily accepted.

“Mother.” It was a practiced greeting, but she nodded her head in your direction, her eyes still cast towards the arena.

It took a few seconds for your eyes to adjust fully to the light, the white bodies in the sand finally actualizing themselves as your pupils dilated. A man was on his knees, crawling towards a discarded dagger. The white landscape beneath him had been dyed with his blood.

It was nothing you hadn’t seen before. You tried to rationalize that fact with yourself once you discerned that one of his legs had been completely severed at the knee. Still, as he inched forward, digging himself even further into the sand beneath him, you couldn’t help the bile that began crawling its way up your throat.

“The gladiators know how special tonight is for the two of you,” Vladimir said with a sneer, his eyes catching on your face. “They were instructed to make it as flashy as possible.”

You had to turn your head, the disgust darkening your eyes as you cast down your gaze.

“You indulge me too much, uncle.” Feyd’s lips tilted up with a sick grin, one that you recognized from days past.

The warrior- if you could even call him that- gave a final cry as he finally reached his blade. The poor bastard wasn’t even given enough time to grip the hilt in his bloody palm before the gladiator struck down with his own kindjal.

It sliced through the air in a wide ark, cutting through shadows, cloth and bone as it hit its mark. The sound drained from the surrounding stands as the Harkonnens stood up on their feet. Their pale, terrifying faces gaping as they took in the carnage.

Your chest heaved before you could stop yourself as you watched the warrior’s decapitated head roll across the ground, his eyes wide and lifeless. You were too caught up in the moment to even realize that Feyd had gripped the bell-sleeve of your dress, yanking you back down as you began to stand up.

Escape. You needed to escape.

“Your promised one seems eager to get up close.” The baron chuckled in his seat, having seen your reaction.

“Our customs are unfamiliar to her. She will learn in time.” Feyd’s excuses for your strange behavior were becoming second nature to him now.

“Perhaps you are eager to show her how skilled you are,” The Baron leaned forward ever so slightly so that he could meet your gaze, his chair creaking beneath his weight. “Your future husband is the most skilled gladiator that Giedi Prime has ever bore witness to. No one in this entire arena could ever match his might.”

“I feel incredibly lucky.” And you did. Knowing that he was planning to help you fight your battles settled your stomach, but you couldn’t help but imagine yourself in that poor warrior’s place. The Harkonnens were no doubt wishing that you would get pushed onto that cold sand so that your colored blood could paint their arena walls.

As if on cue the animals began to scream, raising their palms up to the sky as the gladiator gripped the severed head by its hair. Slowly he turned, letting every woman, man and child get a good view of the brutality of it. Finally he turned to you, his black eyes seemingly glaring straight through you.

“An offering, lady Atreides.” He called out over the screams.

Beside you Feyd tensed, the muscles in his jaw jumping as he bared his teeth at the other male. The Baron laughed loudly, clapping his hands together in gleeful approval. “It seems Feyd is eager to give you an offering of his own. Why don’t you volunteer yourself to fight?”

The man beside you seemed tempted to take his uncle up on that offer. Whatever the other male had just done must have been a sign of disrespect.

“He’s goading me,” Feyd seemed to read your mind, his blue eyes narrowed on the other pale creature below. “He’s presenting himself to you.”

The warrior continued to grin up at the balcony, his eyes promising bloodshed.

You blinked, stomach churning as you slowly turned to look at the reverend mother. She kept her eyes on the warrior, feigning interest. She must have seen much destruction in her long life because the old crow didn’t even bat an eye at the scene before her. She looked just as disinterested as she had that very first night you had made her acquaintance. Being stranded here with the Baron and reverend mother was a terrifying thought, but you didn’t dare beg Feyd to stay with you. The last thing you needed to do was show weakness to either one of them.

So you sucked in a small breath and straightened your shoulders, looking expectantly at the both of them. You waited for the Baron to stand up and declare that his nephew would be dueling the unruly gladiator. No doubt you’d be cornered the second that he stepped away from the balcony. Not once had you been left alone with the Baron, and you silently wondered if his hatred would slip into his speech the second his “adoring” family member was out of earshot.

“I wish to be married before I present her with an offering of flesh.” Feyd said through clenched teeth, his eyes still on the gladiator. The two of them seemed to be having a standoff with their eyes, communicating something that you couldn’t see nor understand.

“The both of you already smell heavily of bloodletting. It seems to me that the two of you are already bound.” The Baron seemed smug in his observation, especially when you quickly whirled to face him with wide eyes.

Smell? He could. . . smell Feyd’s blood on you?

Feyd’s lips tilted up into a small, cocky smile as he turned to face his uncle. “You wanted us to try for offspring as soon as possible. We have been quite busy these last few days.” He placed his hand in yours as he spoke.

One finger curled over the other inside of your palm. A lie.

“I am pleased to hear so.” And the Baron, despite his apparent hatred of you, did seem pleased. He didn’t actually want Atreides-Harkonnen children running around.

No, he was pleased that his nephew had deflowered and sullied you.

“There will be another time for me to properly show my wife what I am capable of. I will offer her that man’s head as a wedding gift.” Feyd promised, and with the look on his face you were sure that he would deliver it to you on a silver platter.

Your grip on sanity must have slipped. The black sun must have finally tainted your heart because heavens, with the new knowledge that the Harkonnens possessed an unnatural sense of smell, you had to press your thighs together in the hopes that no one around you could smell your arousal.

“Yes,” The Baron hummed pridefully, his lips turning up into a secretive smile. “I have a feeling that our lady Atreides will become well acquainted with the arena in due time.”

ೃ࿔ savage bonds taglist:

@elf-punk @shitfuckeryclownverse @mydarlingelvis @heartarianagran @ohdearmaggie @chalametism @killingboredom @obsessedvibee @avidreader73 @softboo @tedcruzumakii @luminnara @narniansmagic @torchbearerkyle @ziggy-stardust-world @tian-monique @adoxra @zz-snow-zz @tiredsleepyhead @icontrolthespice @itsparksjoyhuh @verveta345 @shegatsby @zae5 @ertepla @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @lotus-888 @meetmeatyourworst @moonchild-artemisdaughter @abswifey @flower-frog @auroranodyssey @forgedfromthestars @moony-artemis @juliskopf @moonsoulk @serrendiipty @atrxidxs @the-ruler-of-death @mintoblobo @just-pure-trash @randominterwebthings @springholland @so-dramatic1 @ashy-kit @aslutforscarletwitch99 @sofia-013 @gamorxa @ricecakeslove @alexandrainlove @selfishlittlebeing @ceres27

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almostempty · 4 months ago

Text

it’s not that deep but it is that serious!

(editing and reblogging to clarify a couple things at the end of the post - edited once more to combine the second reblog into one)

I just want to come to this app to talk about deep throating mean!Joel and to make friends with other hot freaks. But I need my fellow heathens to hear me out for a moment.

I’ve tried to keep this space a little escape from reality, but that’s not a realistic privilege because life and art are inherently political.

I've seen friends and mutuals receiving hateful, racist, and cruel anons recently. I know these issues aren’t new for our Black and brown peers.

I see a lot of folks jumping to offer support and to express their disgust at the racist remarks.

I also see a lot of shock and disbelief and I want to talk about that.

Racism, bigotry, and prejudice are not new issues for Black and brown folks. If you find yourself shocked, surprised, and outraged when folks share the hate they receive I ask that you reflect on this. It’s a privilege to be surprised, to not be used to navigating and experiencing that vitriol.

I know it’s well intended when folks say things like, ‘if you’re a racist piece of shit get off my blog’ or similar messages, and i understand the anger and frustration. (*i appreciate seeing solidarity and i also do not want to police (acab) how people respond to the hate they receive)

I also don’t think anyone who is aware and actively spreading hate will be deterred. I imagine there are 4chan incel type trolls that just thrive on the attention and reaction of using the most inflammatory language they can, and trolls will troll. They inevitably will pop up.

What I want to address is the levels below the overt and active hate. The accidental or inadvertent covert racism. The micro aggressions. The passive silence or enabling of rhetoric that lets folks perpetuate harm without even thinking.

Black and brown creators in our community have been disregarded or overshadowed when they speak up about diversity or inclusion in this fandom or feeling unwelcomed.

They wade through oceans of moodboards with faceless, thin, white women paired with our favorite characters. They power through reader inserts with freckles, red marks, and pink pussies that say and do things they might never feel safe saying or doing in those universes. They scroll through bad Spanish or fetishized latino caricatures and romanticized colonial values. And they still show love and support by commenting and reblogging and uplifting other writers.

Maybe there are footnotes about the moodboards only being for inspiration, but that doesn’t erase the constant messaging that it was easier to find those pictures and add a note than to search harder or leave the pictures out.

When I saw a fic with a detail about the pedro character having a confederate flag in his trailer I had to pause. This is a perfect example. I don’t read this as malicious or intentionally harmful. I understand the stereotype it’s rooted in and the general humor of the story as a whole. I get that it’s a small detail and that racism wasn’t a core part of the character or the story.

But if we sit with this longer.. what does this tell our Black and brown peers? When the reader notices it and it’s just as notable as a calendar on the wall? And she fucks him willingly anyway?

Hate symbols aren’t unserious. Background or not. Imagine writing a Joel fic and giving him a swastika tattoo just as a background detail. Sounds extreme right? Maybe you’re writing an AU felon Joel and just trying to show how hardened and dark he is. Maybe in your headcanon he only got it in prison to protect himself and he isn’t a racist.

But to nazis it says this is a safe place to be. To the general audience it says you don’t care if this makes them feel unsafe or invisible.

To folks reading that a confederate flag isn’t a big deal, it signals that it’s an acceptable symbol. It shows that people are reading and commenting and sharing this story and are unbothered. That maybe people don’t even notice.

I’m not asking anyone to send hate and I’m not writing this as an attack on the author or anyone who shared the fic. We don’t know what we don’t know, but we have the opportunity to learn!

I am asking my peers to step in and step up, because I think y’all are smart and capable of more.

I am not an expert on anything. But as someone who went to grad school for social work — a field that only exists to combat the societal harm of power, privilege, and oppression — I don’t take it lightly. I work in advocacy fighting discrimination and prejudice from institutions built on systemic racism daily. I’m aware that I have the privilege of training, language, and awareness around diversity and inclusion, and that not everyone has the same knowledge or experience.

I also know this fandom is full of incredibly smart and well spoken folks who craft moving stories and analyze characters with nuance and passion.

I’m not interested in censoring what anyone writes and I happily abide by don’t like; don’t read.

If I only wanted to read I would stick to ao3. But I’m here and I stay here because of the community. The friendships and the extra tag games and challenges and support and camaraderie.

I know I make mistakes myself. And I know it can be uncomfortable to be called out for something you never intended to hurt anyone with. I know it can feel like your voice won’t be heard or your experience won’t be validated in such a big space.

I shared a post a while ago by a creator that doesn’t write for this fandom. It was an ode to Black fanfic writers in general, and in the comments Black writers were tagging each other to show love. And I knew there was something wrong when I wanted to share it but felt deeply hesitant about tagging anyone because I didn’t want Black writers to receive hate.

One of my favorite things about this fandom is how global it is. Getting to make friends with folks around the world is such a treat. I also know racism and fascism are not unique to one region.

It’s Black history month in the states and in Canada. I know other countries observe Black history month in other months. It’s an intentional observation for a reason.

For us, this is a hobby. We’re here voluntarily, and mostly anonymously, but we’re all people. Community is so vital to thwarting the dangers of fascism and hateful rhetoric.

This IS a post about racism.

But racism is absolutely entangled with sexism, classism, ableism, ethnocentrism, capitalism, colonialism, imperialism, patriarchal hegemony, etc.

This isn’t just a rant. It’s an ask. I’m asking my peers—writers, readers, gif makers, lurkers, etc.— to help.

Reflect on what you share and post. Think about how others perceive you.

I’m asking my peers to be curious and open to discussions. To ask questions if you see covert racism. To be willing to accept feedback.

We can be gentle with one another.

Like, ‘hey, I saw this and am wondering if you’re aware of the origin or the impact it might have?’ or ‘can I share how this may be misinterpreted or harmful?’

Be kind sure, but be an advocate!

If you see someone posting about a character being their ‘spirit animal’ — send them a DM! If you read something that stereotypes a race, let the author know! There’s plenty of online resources for writing characters from other races without falling back on harmful tropes.

And even better… support your Black and brown peers. Share their work. Show them you value their presence in the fandom.

I encourage folks to read fics with original characters or reader characters with explicitly diverse ethnicities and tell the author you appreciate that character! Recommend the work to friends.

I never shut up about how much I love Heat and the story is incredibly compelling *because* the reader is a Latina written by a Latina.

Anyway, I come to this hellsite to laugh and be horny—but at my core I am an ethical hater and I only wrote all of this because I care and I want this space to be inclusive.

I’m not speaking on behalf of anyone else and I don’t want to speak over anyone. I’m open to feedback or ideas.

I’m tagging some mutuals I interact with and some that I don’t know very well, not to curse y’all with reading my long winded post but to ask: when you have the capacity will you help take action to make this community stronger? Will you commit to being open to feedback and growth?

Bottom line I just wanna read about getting railed by that fictional guy and I want my Black and brown peers to have the opportunity to enjoy the same escape from reality.

I feel like this is worth posting because I think y’all can make a difference. So many of y’all write and analyze stories and characters with such nuance and passion and detail—and that’s why i believe you can help spot subtle and insidious forms of racism and make real changes.

TL;DR: I’m asking everyone to be proactive when you see microaggressions or covert racism in the fandom, and to be willing to accept feedback and learn from each other. Being passive is a luxury and a privilege our marginalized peers do not have. Let’s be more than performative or not racist. Be active. Be anti-racist.

some tags for folks (no pressure to share, I don’t want attention I just want to encourage folks to take time to reflect or let me know what you think idk): *not calling anyone out as having committed any offenses just feeling compelled to share the message i guess

@auteurdelabre @joelmillerisapunk @lotusbxtch @probablyreadinsmut @ace-turned-confused @baronessvonglitter @yxtkiwiyxt @slimybeth69 @bitchesuntitled @thundermartini @sin-djarin @strang3lov3 @mermaidgirl30 @for-a-longlongtime @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @evolnoomym @wannab-urs @sanarsi @yopossum @almostfoxglove @itwasntimethatdidit40 @syd-djarin @miss-oranje-disco-dancer

to anyone: please start conversations or reach out to me or send me an anon ask if you want to discuss something or share, idc but i’m begging y’all to listen to each other and advocate for one another and be open to self-reflection 💗 editing to add: if i tagged you it was not a callout that i think you've done something specific to reflect on-- just a general invite to join me in being intentional and to invite feedback if you have any! if i made anyone anxious i apologize! - to clarify when i said 'it's not that deep' i mean that maybe fanfic is easily brushed off as not that deep, but every blog is a real person (minus the army of porn bots) and we form real connections in this community <3

edit:

one more thing,

first and foremost! a reminder that i am speaking about the inclusivity in this fandom as a whole. i don't want to lose the plot over one specific example that blew up. my point is the bulk of the racism in this fandom is perpetrated through micro aggressions and covert racism EVERY DAY. we can make sweeping statements and tell racists to fuck off, but next week we will be back to the status quo (aka where many non-white folks feel unwelcomed, aren't represented, and are disregarded when they raise concerns, etc.) unless we commit to examining ourselves first and looking for the more subtle things that perpetuate the current culture (e.g. harmful stereotypes and racial tropes, fetishizing latinx characters, bad Spanish, writing reader insert fics with specifically white features and characteristics without tagging, using slurs or coded language, etc.)

(i am behind on everything today and haven’t gotten back to everyone who added insightful thoughts and considerations to my original post yet)

i did see some folks share examples of positive experiences calling-in peers or learning something new themselves and wanted to say thanks and highlight those positives.

maybe other folks have already brought up the rest of my points and if so i do not mean to speak over anyone, but i wanted to add on to my first post:

i originally asked everyone to step up and commit to advocating for each other— but i’d like to explicitly ask white folks to step up and look out for our Black and brown friends (who are tired and don’t get to check out irl or online). i am asking white folks to be open to learning and growing with compassion. i am asking white folks to be persistent, proactive, and brave enough to be uncomfortable or wrong.

when i say we can be gentle with each other i do not mean to minimize pain or anger. i gladly and willingly validate that everyone has a right to be upset and outraged by hatred and racism. i am not asking my Black and brown peers to soften their reactions or dismiss their experiences.

i am (again) asking my white peers to be mindful, to take a breath and listen to what BIPOC folks have to say. to sit with the discomfort and know that seeing hate or racism might be shocking but it is not surprising if you’ve been listening.

i am asking my white peers to be kind and also strategic. if you have the patience and capacity then do what you can to increase the odds that your peers will be willing to listen and learn. it’s free to try at least.

most of us that commit micro aggressions or covert racism don't consider ourselves to be racists. we see posts that say 'racists and bigots aren't welcome on this blog' and we agree! we reblog those posts! we pat ourselves on the back for being an ally and continue on without making any other changes-- not because we are bad people, but because we have the privilege of feeling welcomed, represented, and valued as a baseline.

this is also my call-in to myself because i’ve allowed myself to stay quiet. i’ve relied on the comfort that my close friends know who i am and what my values are, but i have been passive. i have seen comments or posts that i recognized were ignorant or offensive and continued scrolling. i felt like it wasn't worth the drama to speak up.

i’m fallible and open to feedback ! i am also comfortable being an example, being vulnerable and sharing my mistakes or opportunities for growth. i've gotten more comfortable because i have hours of training and practice but i don't expect others to feel good being called-in or to anticipate what might make them act defensively.

i know the core principle of cultural humility is that nobody is an expert on culture, that the best practice is to remain open and curious, to identify your own values and beliefs, and to confront stereotypes. it is an ongoing process of self-reflection and commitment to growth

and so i volunteer to be here for any of my white friends that want to make this fandom a more inclusive space, but are feeling uncertain or uncomfortable. (i am not offering to defend racism or excuse hate)

there is extreme cognitive dissonance in believing you are a good person, a not-racist person, and a friend and ally— and being confronted with the idea you are perpetuating stereotypes, inadvertently causing harm, or alienating folks you care about.

I know it seems like a safe option to stay quiet if you think you might say the wrong thing or make a situation worse.

I know it’s hard enough to send someone a friendly message or to know what to comment on a fic you loved, let alone to feel empowered to point out something that might make someone else react defensively. I’m not volunteering to be the morality police (acab) but i’m here for all of my friends, mutuals, and peers in the fandom who want support with calling-in others or learning. i encourage and welcome discussion and curiosity.

i ask white folks to make conscious changes so that when these conversations die down we don’t fall back into enabling white ignorance to infect the fandom and harm our friends.

bonus thoughts

i see and am grateful for the folks that called my first post eloquent and at the same time i am deeply aware of the ‘angry Black woman’ trope that undermines and minimizes Black women’s voices (especially when they are rightfully angry). i guess i’m just repeating that i don’t want to speak over anyone but i am committing to speaking up.

i don’t want to harp on the confederate flag example anymore, but i would like to be clear that this isn’t about censorship. Consider the context and don’t turn this into a straw man argument or dilute the message with whataboutery. It speaks volumes if you’d rather argue semantics than listen to your peers about the reality of impact vs intent with that example or others.

thank you for reading and being here <3

#discourse I suppose #pedro pascal fandom this is a call for advocacy #opportunities for growth and learning #I see a lot of well intentioned folks and also we can do better #let’s speak plainly and foster accountability #thank you for reading

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lovebugism · 1 year ago

Note

shy!reader goes to the pool with Eddie and is too afraid to wear her swimsuit in front of him? Maybe she’s wearing clothes over her bikini/one piece and doesn’t want to undress at first because of her nerves lol

hope u like it! — you still get a little nervous showing your body, but eddie takes it all in stride (shy!fem!r, established relationship, cw for mentions of body insecurity, 1.1k)

Eddie’s rubber flip-flops are much too big on your feet. You fight to keep them on and match his longer strides at the same time. He leads you down the scenic trail of the Harrington vacation home with one hand curled intently around your own. He doesn’t seem phased by the dirt clinging to his bare feet.

“Think Steve’s folks will get mad if we skinny dip?” he jokes over his shoulder, wild curls billowing in the late afternoon wind.

You shrug. “I don’t think they own the lake, so…”

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” he scoffs.

“Me neither,” you concur with a quiet laugh.

A set of wooden steps lead off the trail and towards the shore. They creak under your weight, ancient and half-eroded with time. Eddie stands beside you on the dock, lips curled into a pink, lopsided smile. “Well, what they don’t know won’t hurt ‘em,” he quips before reaching for the hem of his shirt.

You giggle when he lifts the fabric up and over his head. His milky white torso is left on display for you, sprinkled with sparse hair and a couple of faded tattoos. His body is lanky and lean — stomach soft with gentle pudge where his happy trail begins. You couldn’t hide your leering if you wanted to.

“You’re crazy,” you say, still laughing.

“Crazy for you,” the boy croons.

You watch him reach for the buttons of his jeans, fumbling with them for a moment. Your chest swirls with a strange, hollow feeling. “Wait— Are you serious?” you wonder with wide, glimmering eyes. You’ve never felt totally comfortable swimming in a bathing suit, let alone naked.

Eddie shrugs his freckled shoulders and tugs his jeans down his scruffy thighs. “Yeah. Why not?”

He’s left in his thin, plaid boxers now. He doesn’t seem nearly as fazed by it as you do. Heart thrumming like an anxious hummingbird, your eyes dart over your shoulder and back to him. “What if the others see?!”

“Then let ‘em see,” he chuckles, golden like the early setting sun. “Who cares?”

I care, you almost say, ‘cause you’re too pretty, and I’m not pretty enough.

You swallow your loathing and instead reply, “Steve would never let you live it down if he caught you out here. You know that.”

Eddie’s bare feet pad against the creaking wooden dock. The sound is mostly drowned out by the waves ebbing and flowing beneath you. Nothing could hide the heavenly sound of his laughter, though. “What? That I’m skinnydipping with the prettiest girl in Indiana?” the boy retorts with a boyish chuckle. “I wouldn’t want him to let me live it down.”

You swallow hard, not swayed by the compliment. Your unsure gaze flits to your feet and the black sandals Eddie lent you on the way down. You see his paler, bare ones come into view just before his calloused palms smooth over your waist — above the oversized t-shirt you wear, which also belongs to the boy in front of you.

“I’m just… I’m just kidding, you know? About the skinnydipping thing,” Eddie assures you, suddenly serious and much quieter with it. His head ducks down to catch your falling gaze. His chocolate eyes sparkle beneath the yellow sun. His lips curl into a lopsided smile. “We don’t have to do it if it makes you uncomfortable. We never have to do anything you don’t want, you know that.”

You purse your lips to the side and think for a moment. You’re not nearly as at ease swimming naked as he is, but you’d be silly to turn down the opportunity to be alone with him. You have spent the entire weekend babysitting, after all.

“Can I keep my bathing suit on?” you wonder sheepishly.

Eddie scoffs. “Of course you can! You can do whatever you want, doll. I’m followin’ your lead here.”

He smacks a kiss to your lips, mouth tasting of nicotine, soda, and strawberries — like nostalgia and springtime.

“Can you turn around?”

Eddie meets your coy look with a wider smile. “Yeah. Sure,” he hums and steps back from you to spin on his heel. You know he’ll see you in your bathing suit before you step foot in the water, but you’ve always felt distinctly smothered by his gaze. You don’t feel half deserving of the adoration always swimming in the deep brown of them.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, you know?” he quips without looking at you.

“It’s different,” you insist, pulling your t-shirt up and over your head. You fold it neatly before setting it gingerly on the dock. You’re left in the pretty one-piece you thrifted before the trip — a floral number that dips low at the chest and ties into a bow at the back.

Eddie doesn’t really understand, but he figures he doesn’t have to. He’ll do whatever makes you most comfortable, no questions asked. “Sure,” he nods. “Can I look now?”

You hesitate for a reason you can’t name. You feel more at ease with Eddie than anyone else in the whole wide world — and besides the fact that he’s seen you in much, much less — you shouldn’t be as nervous as you are now.

“Yeah…” you waver.

Eddie peeks at you over his shoulder for a moment before turning to face you fully. His pink lips purse and a low whistle sounds between them. “Damn,” he mumbles.

You fight back a smile and look away from him, wringing your anxious hands into a knot. “Hush…”

“You’re a total smokeshow, baby.”

“Eddie!”

“Don’t know why you wanna hide from me so bad…” he teases lowly, gravitating towards you without thinking. His hands are warm and wide as they smooth over your sides. His palms curl around your lower back and idle there, fingers lingering just above your ass. “All I wanna do is look at you, and you won’t even let me…” he jokes, mostly serious, but with a playful pout on his lips.

Your arms cross between your bodies. You glare up at him with pretty doe eyes that swim with all the love you have for him. You couldn’t pretend to be annoyed if you tried. “It’s ‘cause you’re so nice…”

His brows raise and disappear behind his fluffy bangs. “You’re shy because I think you’re hot?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “It’s weird.”

“Maybe,” Eddie laughs. He figures it’s on-brand enough for him, as the resident freak and all. But loving you has never felt unnatural or strange. It feels normal, like an instinct he’s always had, something he’s always been destined to do. So he just tilts his pretty head and smiles sweetly down at you. “Can’t help it, though.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble

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janicekao · 21 days ago

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You Will Dance

Pairing: Remmick x Black oc Summary: Lorelei Boone watches the door of the Juke Joint as Cornbread takes a bathroom break. She is approached by the lead banjo player of a white folk band who was denied entry at the door and instead of letting him in, his charm is enough to convince her to come out. Warnings:#Sinners #Fanfic #Supernatural #Vampires #Irish #GaelicTongue #1932 #JimCrowEra #FatedLove #Corruption #InnocenceCorruption #Fluff #PublicS3x #RoughS3x #Cr3amPie #CumW3aring #OutsideS3x #Smut #18+ #IDK #Lol 9104 words Wattpad link Enjoy my babies<3 -----------------------------------

Beautiful black bodies sway and sweat through the Juke Joint's grand opening this Saturday evening. The Smoke-Stack twins really did their big one by purchasing the old sawmill and making it a place to spread black joy.

The blues music reverberates off of all four of the steel walled building. Little Sammie's voice is powerful, a kind of soul ascending blues singing that's never been heard before, the type of talent that has people all over Mississippi pouring inside to hear it— even an interested white band who came by with their banjos begging to perform alongside Sammie on the stage.

But Smoke and Stack cut that idea down quickly. This building is theirs, and if they say that no white faces are allowed tonight, then that's final.

Both young and old are here tonight, most are sharecroppers but all are hard workers. They deserve the freedom of tonight— free to smile, laugh, celebrate, and take up space in something that's theirs, something finally black owned.

The men's pocket-change from a week's worth of little pay bounce and clink around in their tattered pockets. The women ready to spend said change, look sweet enough to cause cavities, wearing their Sunday best and a dash of their mama's prized perfume— probably the same dress they'll be wearing to the church house come morning.

Although their pocket change and morals will be long gone come sunrise, and the crushing weight of reality will make them regret all that they've spent— the same words will be shared across everyone's lips and amongst the entire town of Clarksdale, Mississippi tomorrow, "a time was had last night."

If you're not careful while walking through the Juke Joint, you're bound to get bumped by swaying hips or your toe stomped on by dancing feet. Lorelei Boone walks through the crowded building trying to avoid the injuries that could come from the careless fun around her. She carries her mason jar of moonshine through the Juke, hoping to get some fresh air now that the body heat in the building has made it insanely stuffy and humid. Nearing the front door, Lorelei's free hand is suddenly grabbed at the wrist. She grips her glass tighter, prepared to bash it across whoever has grabbed her, especially if it's a man getting fresh with her. But it's not— instead, it's who she came with tonight, her best friend Nadia Ruth, one of the flirty frivolous women in the Juke who hasn't stopped dancing since they arrived before sundown. "Come on Lye!" Nadia calls for her friend, body being sandwiched and gladly felt upon by two men. "Get in here girl and shake sum serious!"

Lorelei laughs, knowing that her friend is up to no good tonight, but come church service by dawn, she'll be a good little saint with her Bible open and sitting in the first pew. "You doing enough shakin' for the both of us honey, better be careful tho! The mens you with got gold bands on their fingers!"

Nadia drops Lorelei's hand, ready to direct her anger onto the men gyrating against her. "Wait! Unt-uh! Y'all married and got wives!?"

Chuckling as she hears the fading sound of her friend now on a warpath to cuss her dancing partners out, Lorelei finally makes it to the front door and takes a deep breath of the cool night's air. She notices Cornbread pacing and parading at the entry, looking like he's doing the 'peepee' dance that Lorelei has seen her baby cousins do whenever they need to let loose.

"Slim!" Cornbread makes eye contact with the nearest man around him. "Would ya watch the door for me!? Goddamn moonshine went right through me, gotta piss like a racehorse at the Kentucky derby."

Delta Slim makes his way over... However, he sways and can hardly stand from the gallons of beer and corn liquor he has drank tonight. "Eghh." He groans, "yeah ol Slim got it, I got the damn door."

Lorelei rolls her eyes, "just go Cornbread, I don't know why you even asked Slim! You know he ain't been sober since he was thirteen years old."

"Hey girl, I ain't been thirteen in fifty years." The insult flies past his head.

She chuckles, "my point exactly."

Slim continues to slur and sway, "you shoulda asked the gal to do it any damn way, all she done tonight is walk around the Juke like a lost puppy. Ain't done shit else, like she betta than the blues or something."

Lorelei quickly cuts sharp eyes at him. Who knew he had been watching? She crosses her arms over her chest becoming slightly insecure, wondering how many other people has realized that the extroverted activities of the night isn't something her introverted being is used to.

"Aye Slim! Stop picking on babygirl!" Cornbread nudges the old drunk fool. "Maybe not a hoofer or a singer, but you know you're good company Lye, right?"

She smiles, "don't worry Cornbread, anything Delta Slim got to say to me, go in one ear and right out the other!" Lorelei shoos Slim away and takes Cornbread's seat at the door. The old man immediately heads back to the bar for another refill and Cornbread groans, worried that leaving a woman at the door isn't the brightest idea.

"Go Cornbread!" Lorelei assures, "I'm fine! Now go drain that lizard before you get them bladder-stones."

He hisses at the thought, "Ooohwee! You right about that one, I'll be right back! Just don't let no one in!"

"Yeah, yeah." She takes a swig out of her mason jar, getting comfortable in her position. "I got it."

As Cornbread makes a sprint into the darkness of the woods, Lorelei feels a slight breeze come across her. This is exactly why she came to the door in the first place, dying to feel a bit of cool air on her hot flesh. She takes the wooden chair by the two front legs, scooting it further into the Mississippi night across the threshold of the building. "That's much better." She whispers to herself as she lets the gentle breeze caress her.

About a hundred feet away, the folk band that got rejected tonight sit on an old log beneath the street light with their banjos. They play their music lightly. They haven't gone very far, still hoping for an invite inside— 'walking home slowly' as they called it, waiting in hopes that the twins will change their minds and let them inside.

The band consists of Joan and Bert— a husband and wife, and their lead singer Remmick. Sure they could've chosen a white owned establishment to enter tonight, but Lil Sammie's voice caught Remmick's attention, and being the music lover that he is, Remmick won't be leaving here without Sammie's songs... or his soul.

Quietly performing one of their many folk songs together, Remmick's focus is suddenly stolen. For the first time ever, the music enthusiast forgets his lyric and misses a note on the banjo.

Time stands still as his gaze centers in on a girl shaped almost too provocative for eyes to see. At the door of the Juke she wears a tattered milkmaid dress about a size too small, either to intensify the spillage of her buxom breasts, cinch in her tiny waist, and show off the shapely outline of her hips. Or, maybe it fits her small because she simply outgrew it. So very well taken care of and fed southern pound cake to the point of filling out the dress with her near-thirty year old body of a woman fully grown. The kind of stacked that can make even an immortal man lose all of his God given sense.

Only music has ever affected his focus, never a woman. Remmick tilts his head to the side as he continues to swoon from a distance, 'don't tell me after all these centuries the universe has finally directed me to a mate.' His usual shared thoughts with his band have been concealed to only his own.

"I'm guessing y'all can handle Cornbread?" Remmick directs his attention towards the woods.

"Sure can, should we wait for you?" Joan and Bert set their instruments against the log.

He grins, "nah that's okay. I think I'll get acquainted with the new door-woman, see if I can work our way inside."

With a plan in place, the group breaks into two directions. Joan and Bert hold hands, skipping off into the woods as they giggle on a honeymoon high from their new lease on life ever since Remmick turned them into vampires like himself. Poor Cornbread has no idea what is coming his way as he tries to find some simple relief pissing against a tree in the woods. But, Lorelei has no idea what's coming her way as well now that the lead singing banjo player is seen approaching her at the front door of the Juke Joint.

With a slow confident glide in his step, Remmick whistles the tune of 'Steamboat Willy' up to the door. He stops only a foot away from her, taking a longing gaze as he soaks up her image from the bottom of her feet to the top of her head. He could take her right now. The chair she sits in is pulled just an inch out of the building, unintentionally driving him mad with the restraint he has to keep from tasting her blood in this very instant. She's mouthwatering, living her life dangerously on the edge of life and death and she hasn't the slightest idea.

Remmick chuckles lightly to himself, his baritone sly laugh vibrating through his throat. A girl who tickles him with so much amusement, it's comforting to his eyes. He's determined to wait to kill her... He's sure that when he finally gets inside tonight he will get to her last. It will give him more time to watch fear heighten her heart rate and beat out of her ample chest— what a delicious sight it will be to watch her stunned with fright and lifting her breasts with each quickened breath she'll take. "How are you doing tonight darling?"

"Oh no not you again, you're the guy who came with the folk singers." The sweat on Lorelei's skin makes her dark mahogany flesh shimmer that much more beneath the moonlight. She speaks playfully to the young man, hardly fearing him being that she's sure he weighs less than her left thigh.

She recites the tune she overheard them singing earlier, word for word.

"I picked poor Robin clean, I picked his head, picked his feet, I would have picked his body, but it wasn't fit to eat."

"Well look at you! You sure sound good singing my song!" His eyes cut to the shown cleavage of her breasts. "Look good too." He refocuses, "but yeah, that's me. Remmick, and your name?"

"Lye." The tawny minx doesn't hesitate to take his hand, receiving a gentle kiss to the back of her knuckles. "Well— Lorelei Boone, but everybody calls me Lye."

"Lye." He repeats her name like a hymn in a hushed tune, as if he were to begin singing again any second now. "Tell me Lye, do you tell a lie?"

"Never." Being questioned about her character makes her frown in suspicion.

"I like that." He nods, continuing to inch closer. "So you'll tell me why your friends wouldn't let us in tonight. Was it really just our skin color, or they didn't like our song, maybe it was something else?"

Lorelei shrugs, "I really shouldn't get into it with you about it. I'm just waiting for Cornbread to come back to man the door."

With his power of being able to hear even hundreds of miles away, Remmick knows something that Lorelei doesn't as he listens in on Bert and Joan tear ol Cornbread to pieces just a few feet past the wood line. "Right... Right, Cornbread..." He grins, quickly changing the subject knowing soon Ms. Boone will know all about what has happened to her good friend Cornbread. "Well— did you like my song, Lorelei Boone?

"I love music." She smiles an image glorious enough to make Remmick mistake the sound of beating in a heart that hasn't pumped blood through his body in centuries. She continues, "all kinds of music, so yes I did like your song, very much so."

"If you love music so much, why aren't you up there cutting a rug too?" His question catches her off guard. Lorelei turns around and watches the party behind her continue. The joy on her loved one's faces brings a smile to hers too, maybe not the most favored in all of Clarksdale, but this big ol country girl wouldn't ever change her home or the people in it for nothing in this world. "Me? Dance?" She chuckles in sarcasm. "With my terrible two left feet? Oh no, that's not me. But I do enjoy being here to watch." She shrugs, "I guess you've picked up on me being a lil bit of an outcast, huh?"

"You don't have to be." The words almost burst through him. "Lorelei, what if I told you that I know a place where you'd never feel like an outcast ever again? You'd be part of something so much bigger than this— than you and me alone. You can bring all your friends too."

Hearing lies of a fantasy life from the mouth of a white man in 1932 makes her laugh, he may as well tell her that she'd find a pot of gold at the end of every rainbow too. "I'd probably say that I want some of what you've been smoking, Mista Remmick."

"Oh but it's true, Lye." His voice trembles in an overly excited moan. "You sweet thing you, I tell ya what. You seem much nicer than the folks that I met before, so why don't you let me inside and we can continue talking about it. You can spend all of my money on however many drinks you want."

She swirls the last sips of moonshine in her mason jar. "This one'll do just fine."

"You've been drinking that same glass of moonshine for a while now."

"Sip slow and you'll never need a refill." She refuses, insisting on her one drink tonight.

"You're a smart girl." His mind games continue. "A lady should always keep her eyes open and head on a swivel. Some say staying out late at night ain't good for nothing but finding the devil."

She mocks in flirtatious laughter. Her ample hips spill over the sides of a pathetic excuse for a chair and her now crossed legs peak through a long thigh-slit made into the side of her dress. "Is that right? And what? I suppose you're the devil then?"

If only she knew. Her naiveness heats Remmick to his core. "I can be anything you want me to be baby." His blue-eyed gaze lowers quickly to the sight of the big legged girl, finding himself dragging a finger along her thigh and palming her calf enough to rub her leg to the buckle of her short heel.

The interaction is chilling. Lorelei clears her throat, trying her best to hide her arousal. "Where are your friends at? They know that you're over here with your eyes on a colored girl? Don't you think they'd have something to say?"

He reminisces on Bert and Joan's past connections with the KKK. Remembering the white hooded robes that they had stored in their home when they were still human, knowing that the only reason that they've changed is the promise of worldwide love and fellowship that he instilled into their heads— the only reason they aren't shit stained racists anymore. "Maybe they would've had something to say once upon a time, Lorelei. But they know better now, they know that we're all family."

Lorelei sucks her teeth in pure disbelief. She listens to the charming man before her, sure that everything out of his mouth is candy-coated lies.

Remmick kneels before her, placing his prized banjo in the dirt as his focus continues on only her tonight. "Go ahead and uncross them legs for me darlin."

...

She blinks repetitively, unsure if she heard his command correctly. "Excuse me?"

He taps her thigh. "Now."

Lorelei scoffs in disbelief. A rambling mix of emotions stuns her, feeling slighted and disrespected yet also heated by his lack of patience and unshaken stare with an even temper.

...

Although hesitant, Lorelei's crossed legs come undone, her lifted heel strikes the ground beside the other, locking her knees together as closely as her feet are.

Remmick taps the white leather of her shoe, commanding without words for her to widen her stance.

She gulps. The sound of dirt and pebbles crunch beneath her heels as she slides her feet apart, as does her knees. Her heart begins to beat out of her chest, quickened by the fear and rush of their interaction. She listens to him so well... already on a path of corrupting the young woman, Remmick's eyes haven't left the sight of her white cotton panties since her thighs opened for him. Starting at her knee, his open palm and spread fingers ease against her inner thigh until his fingertips probe at her womanhood shielded by fabric— a fabric that's doing quite the shitty job at hiding her warm drenched arousal. He chuckles, "well shit Lye, you make an old man wish for younger days."

His caress has her eyelashes fluttering shut, nails digging into the wood of the chair as she licks her full lips. "Old man?" She gulps, "you couldn't be but a few years older than me?"

A wicked twelve-hundred year old grin that doesn't appear a day over thirty-five stretches across his face. Darkness growls from the depths of his soul, "yeah— something like that."

His probing presses forward, snatching Lorelei's breath as his broad thumb traces the slit of her cunt. His touch and no care of their public display plays a wicked game on her body. Losing herself to this moment of lewd petting, Lorelei drops her cup of moonshine to the ground, shattering it to free her fingers and part her panties to the side— needing to feel his fingers unguarded by fabric.

Remmick's digits seep into what feels like the contents of filling from a fresh out of the oven pie. His trousers become increasingly tight in the groin, feeling his manhood jump with jealousy of his fingers. Her first moan eases off her tongue like Remmick's new favorite song, skilled in the way he touches her, Lorelei looks around for on lookers, knowing that more moans are soon to escape her.

"God." Embarrassment heats her cheeks into a glorious blush, yet having the time of her life, she still manages to chuckle. "Haven't even kissed me yet and your hand's already on my cooze."

"Plenty of kissing to come." His baritoned reassurance chills her up the spine, "tell me Lye, do you want my kisses right here where my hand is? I bet you do, I can kiss you there all night."

A deep plow flexes the muscles in his forearm, his fingers fuck her knuckle deep and strums at Lorelei's gspot.

"You're being fresh!" She gasps, catching Remmick at his wrist. "Not here."

"Then come out." He pleads, "just to the side of the building."

She sighs. "I can't! Didn't I tell ya I'm working right now? And— there's just something off about you."

...

Her words catch his attention. "Oh yeah? And what's that?" He has felt the aura of a witch nearby all night long, someone who practices black magic. But he didn't expect it to be her. Could it be her?

"That lil southern accent of yours." She confesses. "I know it's an act, I know it because I'm Mississippi born and raised. So where are you really from?"

He exhales. Relief fills him as he finds Lorelei not to be a witch after all. "Ireland, my love." He licks her slick heat from his fingers as if it were warm syrup.

He stands from his kneel, stepping forward and teasing her an inch from her face as his lips glisten with her own juices— egging her closer as she leans forward, needy for his kiss.

"Ireland." She repeats. "So whatchu doing all the way here in Mississippi then?"

"Looking for you of course." Remmick lifts her chin, playfully nudging it.

She rolls her eyes, although noticeably flattered.

However, perhaps he isn't lying at all. Remmick has been longing for a mate for longer than he can remember. As his taste for her heightens each second, he'll be able to tell if she's the one by the simple taste of her blood. If it's as good as any other meal, she isn't his destiny, but if it is as pungently sweet and intoxicating as a never before known wine... Lorelei Boone's reason for being an outcast, is because she was meant to be beside Remmick all along.

He presents his hand to take her into the night, now betrayed by his horrible southern impression, he is free to use his Gaelic tongue as sweet pet-names roll off his lips. "Come out A stór (my treasure), I'll make you feel good, sing you something Celtic— have you back at the door in two shakes of a lamb's tail."

With memories of this night sure to be spoken about for years to come, Lorelei would hate to only remember it by spending the night not dancing and sitting alone by the door... But a memory of a forbidden one night stand in the years of her youth is a memory she could keep forever.

His undeniable charm is too hard for her to turn down. "Promise?" She asks.

His hand is placed over his chest. "Cross my heart."

Lorelei accepts his hand, letting the fireflies around them light the way to the dark side of the building hidden by the Magnolia trees.

"If you'll listen, I'll sing you a sweet little song, Of a flower who's lips are perfect a red,Dearest to me, yes, than all of her mates, Tho each holds aloft its proud head."

His promised singing begins. His voice like a prayer in Lorelei's ear as his tongue traces its shell and his lips press kisses against her neck.

"Twas given to me by a lass that I know, Since we've met, faith, I've known no repose,She is dearer by far than the world's brightest star, And I call her my wild Irish Rose."

Undressing her comes quickly, however nothing is rushed. Remmick sings softly as his fingers unbutton the top of her dress with skill, spilling her breasts into their natural droop as he takes an areola onto the suckling bed of his tongue. Lorelei's moans adds to the melody, turning the ancient folk song into a duet of passion.

"The sweetest flow'r that grows, You may search ev'rywhere, But none can compare With my sweet wild Irish Rose."

His hands roam her body as if he had claimed it for himself long ago, naturally knowing each inch of flesh that makes her yip and squeak. The skirt of her dress is lifted above her hips, leaving her bottom half especially bare as Remmick tears her cotton painties from her body in a swift skin-reddening yank.

"They may sing of their roses which, by other names, Would smell just as sweetly, they say,But I know that my Rose would never consent to have that sweet name taken away."

His singing begins to wither as unworldly greed causes him to tremble and ache to take her. Lorelei receives the kiss she had been wanting, accepting the collision of his lips against hers as the taste of sweet corn liquor on her tongue makes him moan. Remmick lowers his suspenders and releases himself from his buttoned trousers as his hardened length lubes itself through the moist lips of her cunt. He presses Lorelei's back against the building's wall, leaving dimpling indents in her plush thigh as he lifts a leg in the palm of his hand. With a leg now wrapped around his waist, and trapped under his affections, the deeper access to her core has made his hips roll with a sharp need.

"Her glances are shy when e'er I pass by the bower, where my true love grows;And my one wish has been that some day I may win The heart of my wild Irish Rose."

Her pussy cries for him, soaking his shaft and pubic hair with each split through her slit. "So beautiful Remmick, please, tell me its meaning?" Her voice is a hushed whisper against his lips.

"Marriage, eternal love— Winning the heart of the woman that I pine for."

"Eternal love?" Her curiosity almost sounds as if it were excitement, as if she had been waiting for the one who could make such promises to her... She gulps, convincing herself to continue ignoring the promises of a white man. "It's just a song, it shouldn't be taken seriously."

"Is that what you think?" He questions.

...

He eases inside, sheathing his cock in her flesh and burying it to her hilt—Remmick nearly goes mindless. "Is that something that shouldn't be taken seriously?"

Her mouth lolls open. Lorelei looks down in shock as if she had been stabbed. His slow bucking begins and she watches the hard cock disappear deeply through her core, parting her flesh like the sharpest of daggers. She finally exhales, "sh-shit that's so deep."

He knows it. Each time he pulls out and plunges back in, there isn't a corner of her cunt that he isn't hitting— pussy tight like a vice as he molds her into what will be his favorite fuck for the rest of eternity. "You're taking it so well."

She nods. The sting of the rough fuck soon eases as her nails release from digging into his shoulder blades and drags across the firmness of his backside as she draws him in deeper instead.

The aid of her touch eats at his soul, they synchronize in a filthy moan as the sex intensifies.

"Fuuckk, that's good." Feeling more alive than ever, Remmick's eyes flutter to the back of his skull.

His pounding strengthens, shamelessly fucking her against the Juke Joint and making the metal sheets of tin that make up the building squeak in loud vulgar cries.

Lorelei bites her lip, trying to contain her vocal praises as she attempts to speak. "Mmuh—Remmick! Y-You'll knock this entire shit hole down with these blows. Slow down!"

"Let it fall, A ghrá (my love)." His jaw tenses, teeth gritted as his voice comes out a tight pant. "Let this building crumble under the force of our love."

Slowly coming undone, Lorelei moans and chuckles in disbelief. The light buzz of moonshine heightens their sex as she accepts his rutting like a bitch in heat. His brusque way of handling her has Lorelei sure that with his steady pummeling and continued profession of love, Remmick must be just as buzzed on moonshine as well. But she'd be wrong. No, Remmick isn't drunk at all. Lorelei sees his romantic blabbering being something to sweeten their one night stand, but truthfully, his every breath across her skin— every thrust against her body is a silent claim, tightening her further in his eternal embrace.

A sudden tightening-ache in her stomach around the same area of his cock's tummy bulge has her vision spotting. Trails of fire heats her skin and she's sure to crash over soon. The crook of Remmick's neck is where she hides as the feeling of coming undone creeps up on her. A shoulder to bite if she needs to and a strong neck to hide her tears depending on the way the orgasm claims her. But he refuses it. "Where are you Lye? Don't hide that pretty face from me."

He lifts her head, clearing the strands of wild sweated out hair from off of her skin. "Mm—There she is." His voice is baritoned honey.

"Remmick, you're— you're drooling."

Also close to his climax, his human masquerade begins to fall as he slowly becomes his true vampiric image. "Is it my fault that you turn me into an animal?" "Sweet pussy like this, I think I owe you the world Lye." His free hand is caught between them as he finds her clit. She gasps, a sharp inhale in as his thumb adds pressure onto her button. "You're close Acushla (darling)."

Her eyebrows furrow, face contorting into an expression of reaching ecstasy. "You are too, we will have to stop here."

"No, why?" He gives an immediate refusal.

"Because! The last thing I need is having to explain to my family come winter why I'm having a baby with far too much cream in their coffee."

Hardy laughter spills from his chest at the thought.

Amused with the idea of having a biracial baby born in the Deep South during Jim Crow. Her looks and charm, his deep Irish roots, their child would be glorious. So very big on family and fellowship, Remmick would give anything to see it— to have children of his own although sadly he's a few thousand years late. "You have nothing to worry about love." He assures. "just keep letting me hear you. Call my name."

His pressured circling against her clit quickens, as does the hammering through her fucked-numb cunt. "Oh shit."

"No Mo léirín (my darling), my name isn't that." He taunts.

Lorelei absolutely soaks his hand, pruning his fingertips, "R-Remmick."

He nods. "Yes my dear, once more."

...

She can't.

Lorelei is nearly blinded by the heat of pleasure. "Say it." He pulls away from her special spot, fingers now grown into their usual monstrous talons as they wrap tightly around her neck.

With eyes half-lidded and nearly closed, the choking doesn't startle her in the least bit. Luckily Lorelei is also unfocused on the fanged teeth and red demonic gleam that has now taken over his appearance.

"Ss-ah! Remmick!" Obediently finishing on the last call of his name, Lorelei's white-burst of hot heat, lays her weakly against his chest.

"Very good, so good baby." He praises.Her after-sex sounds and breathing has become his new religion.

Remmick notices her relieved smile, wanting to kiss her lips and on her pearly white teeth. He does, he kisses Lorelei so deeply that one of his fangs poke through her lip.

"Ow! What the hell?" She sobers up quickly from her drunken after-sex haze, now seeing his fangs and the rest of his appearance for herself.

She immediately pales, inhaling so deeply that her lungs fill with air like balloons. She exhales a guttural scream, a sound so loud that it mimics a siren.

His world spins. The drop of her precious blood on his fang like a bump of cocaine. Her fear locks her entire body, tightening her cunt into a grip that chokes his cock for all that he has. Remmick covers her mouth as his finishing strokes eats at his stamina. "Shh shh don't scream, you'll strain your throat." His eyes lock on her prominent jugular vein. "Such a pretty throat it is."

Ropes of cum shoot from his sensitive tip, aching him with simultaneous relief as his red eyes flutter shut and his jaw laxes open. Remmick fills her cunt with his spend. His cock jolts with each cumshot until he begins to fall flaccid, taking his pleasured member out of her as evidence of their pleasure trickles right behind . Her worry of pregnancy is long gone, realizing that if she were to be impregnated by a man— he'd have to actually be human.

Bert and Joan appear from the woods, their outfits aren't the same as before... now they are covered in blood. "Remmick! There he is!" Bert chuckles, "looks like someone found you first though, who's this sweetheart?"

"Blood... from where?" Lorelei's mouth is uncovered, pale, and trembling with blood dripping from her injured lip. With all that's going on, her only thoughts are of her friend that left for a bathroom break far too long ago. "Where's Cornbread?"

"Cornbread?" Bert laughs, "well little lady— he surely tasted as good as his name sounds." His wife shuts him up with a nudge to his arm, beginning to speak for him instead. "Can't you see him darling? He's coming from his piss break, remember?"

Lorelei, turns her head to the woods. She can't see him very well, but she recognizes his overalls and large height... But what she also notices is the same ungodly gleam coming from his eyes, the same gleam as the three standing in front of her.

She can feel it, that isn't her friend. No, that's not Cornbread anymore.

"Don't you worry Lye, can't you see that everything's fine—" Remmick's lies fall on deaf ears as once he took his hands off of her, Lorelei left, long gone and kicking up dust as she enters back through the front door of the building. He immediately chases her, right on his lover's heels, yet she still manages to get inside just in time.

Bert, Joan, and Remmick are blocked by the threshold from never being invited inside. "Let me in." He demands, angered breath rising in his chest. "Is that the way to treat someone who's promised you the world?"

Lorelei does a half-ass job as she buttons her dress back up. "Keep it." She bites. "If it's from you, I don't want it!"

The loud bang of the slammed metal door leaves the vampires astounded.

Bert can't understand how his creator could let a girl throw him so off of his game. "Remmick, how did she survive more than a second of being out of that Juke Joint?"

"Cuz." Remmick stands very still, full of quiet rage as his face remains only inches from the door that was just slammed on it.

"Cuz what?" Bert scoffs.

"Cuz I felt like fucking the shit out of her." Finally he turns to meet the judgmental eyes of the couple that he turned first.

"You should've just asked the misses and I!" They hold each other by the waist. "Sex is just as good now that you've made us free. You should've just turned the girl! she would have been invited back inside, just like how Cornbread let Mary in."

"Jog my memory, how long have you been living this way?" Remmick asks with a ferocious tilt to his head.

"Well— a day." Bert hesitates.

"'Now tell me..." He grins."And how long have I been this way?"

Joan gulps. "Centuries."

"Ah!" Remmick claps his hands together in sarcasm. "So since I made you, saved you from a mortal life of being a racist sack of KKK shit, wouldn't you think that I might know what I'm doing?"

...

They don't answer him. "DON'T PISS ME OFF!"

"Yes! We're sorry!" The couple submits. "Y-You know best Remmick."

He adjust his suspenders and corrects the zipper of his trousers. "Thank you, I hate to come out of character like that... all I want is to spread a little love." Remmick grins, but as the leading vampire, Bert and Joan fear him, knowing to never cross him again.

"Don't you worry, I nipped her lip." He continues.

"But— is that enough?" They ask.

Remmick sighs with a sarcastic shrug, dusting the dirt off of his clothes that him and Lorelei kicked up while making love. "A bite, is a bite."

———

"SHUT IT DOWN!!!" Blues music comes to an immediate halt as everyone at the Juke Joint lays eyes on the quietest girl in town who is suddenly, far from quiet. "Everyone needs to stay inside!! LISTEN TO ME!! The Devil is out there!!"

Gasps, whispers, and even some snickering can be heard as the crowd gathers around her. "I MEAN IT!" Lorelei swears. The mess she causes has the men of the club on high alert, ready to check on the drama that caused the party to come to a stop.

"The fuck is going on out here?" Smoke, one half of the twins and owners of this club notices Lorelei's cut lip, half-buttoned dress, and evidence of pleasure still dripping down her knees... he sighs, stepping forward and gripping Lorelei's chin as he sniffs her breath and smells the moonshine she's been drinking all night.

"What's going on Smoke?" His longtime lover Annie, a hoodoo healer from the outskirts of town becomes worried.

"It's nothing. Just Lye and that boyfriend Roy Jenkins of hers, been drinking, fucking, fighting... must've gotten out of hand out there is all." Smoke immediately comes up with his own assumptions.

"Roy?" Lorelei squints, nearly boiling over with panted breaths. "Roy Jenkins? Are you fucking stupid Smoke? You and Stack haven't been back here in seven years, I haven't dated that nigga since I was eighteen years old!"

"Watch your mouth Lye. Might not of been Roy but something got up in you girl." Smoke makes light of her disheveled after-sex shimmer of sweat and messy hair. "Listen, Sammie keep playing some goddamn blues! And someone take Lye out the back door. Get her some air, she's probably just had too much corn liquor, she'll be alright."

"Don't dismiss me!" Lorelei's frantic panic continues regardless of the many eyes on her. The crowd gasps as she even lays hands on Smoke and whips him around, back into her direction.

Instantly she remembers what has happened to Cornbread... what seems to be the same thing that happens to anyone who goes outside, anywhere near those banjo players.

"Wait..." She becomes again panic-stricken. "Where's Stack!? Smoke, you gotta understand. Damnit listen to me! Where's your brother!? Anybody who has walked out of that goddamn door since them white folk showed up does not need to be let back inside!? Smoke, your brother, he's not safe! His girl Mary went out there too!"

Smoke scans the room for his brother, becoming slightly suspicious of why he isn't on the dance floor anymore. "They were just here... dancing together, has anyone seen Stack and Mary?"

"I seen em." Sammie speaks up, "they went in the back room. He should be aight, he back there gettin himself some nookie."

Smoke instantly calms down, feeling again at ease. "Yeahhhh, that sounds like Stack alright."

"No..." Lorelei starts again. "NO SMOKE! You need to go find your brother! She— Mary— She shouldn't have been let back in! Listen, she isn't herself anymore and Cornbread ain't either!!"

Although she's right, no one seems to listen...

Suddenly Delta Slim opens the front door to Cornbread who seems to be completely fine, making Lorelei look even more crazy...

"What's going on?" Cornbread asks, shaking his leg as if he had just got done pissing.

"Cornbread?" Slim asks. "You sure took long enough... Lye says you're not yourself no more, you aight?"

"Not myself?" Cornbread lies through laughter. "Don't I look just as handsome as I left? Get out the way ol man, let me in here. I had to take a shit too since you must know... Now uhh— invite me inside."

...

Annie's spiritual connection to black magic and hoodoo makes her skeptical, feeling something in her intuition. "Wait a minute now, why he gotta invite you back inside Cornbread?"

"Because it's polite!" He scoffs. "Now one of you country ass niggas let me in already!"

"Annie, please." Lorelei begins to beg as she grabs hold of the hoodoo witch's wrist. "You understand me, just listen... anyone who's walked out that door, you cannot let them back in."

"Lye... I hear you." Her tone is soft and comforting. "But if that were the case... you were out there too."

...

Lorelei gulps... "But— But I'm fine?" She lacks confidence in her own words. It's as if Lorelei can't even convince herself that she's fine after everything that she just finished doing with Remmick.

"This shit is ridiculous." Smoke becomes impatient. "Sammie get your ass back on the guitar and Slim get on the keys. I want to hear some blues damn it! Nothings going on." He shouts for Lorelei's friend, "Nadia! Come get your girl, take her outside for air she's scaring all the people."

Lorelei notices people leaving... it's the exact opposite of what she wanted them to do, knowing that they are walking into a danger trap. No one is listening to her, and she knows that anyone who leaves won't even make it to their damn car.

"NADIA NOW!!" Smoke yells for Lorelei's friend once more, and being that him and his twin are feared by the entire town, Nadia immediately listens. "Come on Lye, let's just get some fresh air, you're alright girl."

"No wait!" Lorelei pulls from her. "Fine! If you're making me go back out there, don't make Nadia go. Hell, Smoke! Don't let anyone outside, please, them white folk are dangerous."

Annie tries once more to calm her lover. "I don't know Smoke, maybe we should listen to her—"

"Don't entertain this shit!" Smoke interrupts her. "Look at Cornbread at the door, he's fine, and everyone else is good." He turns towards Lorelei, "come on Lye, what white folk you know that ain't dangerous?"

"No... not like that Smoke, NOT LIKE THAT!" Her pleas go ignored.

"Nadia take her out." He shoos the girls away and the party starts back up exactly where it was left off. As her friend pulls Lorelei by the arm, she makes sure to grab the gun beneath the bar before being pushed out of the back door... if she must face the devil again, she'll be doing it this time with a weapon.

———

Outside behind the Juke is even worst... it's far too eerie and too quiet.

"Lye, let me take you home." Nadia sighs, worried that her best friend has had some sort of a mental breakdown from a batch of bad moonshine.

Lorelei hushes her. "Nadia don't move, they ain't like us ya hear?"

...

"A ghrá, my goodness have I missed you." Remmick's voice sends a chill up Lorelei's spine as he sneaks up on them without even a sound. They would've heard the rocks beneath his feet if he had walked up on them... but no, he's different, Lorelei has even convinced herself that he must've flown here from the front of the Juke. He continues. "And would you look at that, you've bought a friend this time."

Their strange familiarity clicks into Nadia's head. "Lye..." Her cheeks fill with air as she tries to contain her laughter. "Don't tell me you've been out here shacking up with the banjo player!?" A drunken Nadia bursts into laughter.

Remmick steps closer and Lorelei fears for her friend's life. "Wait! Please." She begs for the life of her friend. "J-Just, please, let her go back inside, I'll stay."

...

He takes it into consideration, knowing that once he gets inside he'll kill the friend and every other soul in there, so why not wait if his dearest love has asked him to? "Well since you've asked so kindly Lorelei... Sure, I only want you anyway."

"Go back inside, Nadia."

The fear bestowed across Lorelei's face slowly hushes Nadia’s laughter. "Wait, no..." She begins to worry, "Lye, I'm not leaving you with this crazy ass cracka—"

Lorelei can't waste another second of testing Remmick's kindness. She grabs hold of the doorknob on the back door and shoves Nadia inside "JUST GO!"

Nadia hits the dust of the building's floor, staring in utter shock as she watches the door get slammed on her. But the slam wasn't Lorelei's doing... Her very last look inside was a last shared glance with her best friend before Remmick slammed the back door so hard that it jammed shut into the doorframe, assuring that it won't open again and that his Lorelei can never run from him again...

Now sure that her death is near, Lorelei keeps the images of her last human memories dear to her heart.

"Since we're doing each other favors, now it's your turn." Remmick plays at his wicked game. "We're all going to walk to the front together, and you're going to invite me and my family inside."

His 'family' has grown.

Gleaming eyes on familiar black bodies stare at her from all angles of the dark woods that surround them. More victims... The people who ran out of the Juke Joint when Lorelei came inside and startled them all.

She begins to cry, guilt eating away at her spirit. "You're covered in blood now... just like your friends, you won't fool me again."

"Fool you, A ghrá? Never, you see, I needed to eat. I'm a very hungry man... And well— since I wasn't invited inside for a hot piece of catfish fresh out the grease, I had to take matters into my own hands." He smiles widely and Lorelei's eyes widen at the sight of his mouth full of fangs in all of its glory.

"Get back." She raises the gun stolen from the bar an inch from his chest

"Mmm." He groans... "You gonna shoot me baby?" Remmick chuckles, abusing the same charm that won her over in the first place. "After all the fun we've had?"

"I know what you are now!" She cocks the gun, laying a trembling finger against the trigger.

"Do you?" He taunts further. "Then what am I, other than a man who has memorized your every moan, the scent of your skin, and the clench of your cunt as you cum?"

His vulgar display of mind games makes her shudder, reminiscing on all that she gave to this man against the steel wall of this building. "Remmick, I'm warning you." She trembles.

"Lorelei." He calls her bluff. "Just put the gun d—" As Remmick steps forward again, he is lit up with bullets before he could even finish his sentence.

...

His body lays at her feet in the red Mississippi dirt. The sight of a dead body almost makes her ill, never in her life did she ever expect to kill someone, but seeing him lifeless and no longer a threat puts her at an immediate ease...

Until she realizes the devil doesn't die that easily. Remmick eats the bullets like they are candied rocks and peals himself from off of the ground. Onto his feet, he shakes the injury of multiple bullet wounds off as if they were nothing but a chill that fell over him momentarily.

Horror takes over her numbed body. If fear didn't know Lorelei Boone yet, they surely have been well acquainted by now...

"Don't worry." He groans, "I forgive you for that darlin." Remmick presses forward, snatching the gun from her hand and taking hold of her wrist without a plan to ever let her go.

Trapped in his hold, Lorelei wrestles him with all of her might and soon loses her energy as she quickly loses to his strength. Remmick drops both of their bodies to the ground as he cradles her close to him. His arms are a falsehood of warmth and comfort, making her feel safe although knowing her demise is only around the corner.

Familiar faces begin to crowd around her. Sandra Lovings, her grade school teacher. Bernie Johnston, her very first kiss. Jackie Berry, the town's barber. Marlene Douglas, her second cousin on Lorelei's daddy's side... All these faces and more, over twenty people circling them— people that feel like home to Lorelei. But now they are different, now they are like him being that their eyes gleam like demonic headlights of a car coming towards her.

His crowd hums a song around them. Unfamiliar to its sound, something tells Lorelei that it's another Celtic hymn... unsure of how the loved ones she's known all her life know the aged Irish words, she knows that somehow they are all connected through Remmick, now linked at the brain.

"But when ye come, and all the flowers are dying,If I am dead, as dead I well may be,You'll come and find the place where I am lying,And kneel and say an Ave there for me.And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me,And all my grave will warmer, sweeter be,For you will bend and tell me that you love me,And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me."

"Shhh shhh, Acushla." Remmick hushes her. "Save your tears and your fight. This is the second time you've been in my arms tonight, if I didn't hurt you then, why would I hurt you now?" His taloned fingertips comb through her tightly coiled waist length hair. "Close your eyes A ghrá, the pain of this world will be your past as you start anew with me."

"No, please." She refuses it, however her resistance has run low. Now physically tired of this night and mentally drained— hurting from the simple fact that none of her loved ones inside believed a word that she had said. She is almost ready to be taken to the place that Remmick has promised, a life by his side where being an outcast doesn't exist.

He can feel it. Remmick identifies her care for the mortal life beginning to slip from her. "You will feel pain Mo shíorghrá (my eternal love), but the everlasting pleasure of our life together will soothe your aching heart." He sweeps the hair from out of the way of her throat, lowering his head until his lips meet her jugular. Remmick plants a passionate kiss onto her tender skin and lets the sound of her crisp tears excite him enough to disengage his jaw and bite down on her throat as he begins to drink her blood. His fangs seep three inches into her flesh, piercing through her skin like plastic as he drinks her empty.

He shudders, groaning into his meal being that Lorelei's blood is as sweet as he expected. He knows it to be true now. He's found his mate and he knew all along it would be her.

Lorelei's weeping ends, as does the pain, and the beating of her heart as she lays dead in Remmick's arms.

...

"Any minute now." He conjures her reawakening, knowing that the transition should be almost instant after death. Her eyes soon begin to open and Remmick is gladly the first to welcome her. "Sweet Lye, welcome to your forever." He coddles her through her confusion with the gentle poetry of his warm voice. "Now, show me your beautiful fangs A chroí."

...

Obedient as ever, Lorelei parts her lips, putting her teeth on a full display. But oddly enough, there aren't any fangs at all... Teeth just as human as they've ever been and so are her large brown doe eyes.

"What's wrong with her? Why isn't she like us?" Joan and Bert are just as concerned.

At a loss for answers, Remmick knew something was wrong the moment she had no reaction from the slight nip to her bottom lip, but this, this is something he could have never expected.

No fangs, no gleam in her eyes, and as he presses his ear to her bosom— still he hears the beating of a strong human heart. Never has he seen something like this in his impossibly long life, not even having heard of it in any ancient Celtic folk tales.

Lorelei indeed died, but has come back exactly the same.

Remmick immediately sinks his teeth into her wrist, hissing at the taste of battery acid. The same reaction he'd get from the taste of another vampire's blood. Oh yes, she is one of them, but maybe his lover was just far too stubborn to let her past life go so soon.

What's done is done. Yet the feeling of fear overwhelms him, a feeling he hasn't felt in many, many years. Does she feel it? His mind is full of worry. Can she feel the freedom that he has bestowed upon her? A life of no fear and only courage? A life anew where she won't feel ostracized or too shy to dance?

Lorelei stands for the first time after her death. Remmick stands behind her, guiding her like a baby deer who's just learning to walk. She walks the length of the building with her family of vampires right behind her, soon getting the hang of her heightened senses as she reaches the front of the Juke Joint. Grieving no more, Lorelei's first sounds to be heard is the tune of her sweet giggle. Joy surrounds her in a diamond-like aura, making her appear as royalty amongst all the other vampires. Each of them can feel Remmick's love for her— now seeing her as their Queen too.

Lorelei hears the blues music strumming from out of the Juke Joint louder and more intimate than she's ever heard. Her feet pick up into a rythmic pace, and she finally begins to dance... A grace of African soul and a hint of Remmick's familiar Irish jig warms his heart... she's all his, made from his rib like Adam and Eve. Tonight, he has created the most perfect monster but most importantly, he's made Lorelei Boone joyful enough to dance.

Lorelei stares at the front door that she had worked this evening as Cornbread went for a bathroom break. The door is now shut again. Funny enough, the twins and the rest of their friends must've came to their senses and shut it on ol Cornbread after all. She sees him in the crowd of people behind her, she smiles and gives him a gentle nod. "Guess they believed me after all, huh Cornbread?" She asks sarcastically, finding humor in all of it now. "But don't you worry, you'll get your invite, you all will."

Lorelei grabs hold of the handle of the front door and opens it with ease... She does the unexpected, walking inside the place without any trouble or blockage at the threshold. She enters like a human— a human whose blood is of the vampire.

The bloodsuckers surrounding the Juke gasp in disbelief of Lorelei's entrance without any issue, but all Remmick can do is smile. Her nature is no longer unknown, he is familiar with exactly what she is. Lorelei is a hybrid, a vampire who is just as human if not more. He realizes the mind-blowing power behind his hybrid lover's gift, the power that she has now given him and all of their kind. Any place, any time, with her walking in and welcoming him inside, there isn't a place on Earth he will ever be unwelcomed. Soon the entire world would be a part of him. Every soul and all of their songs— they'd be his, one big family.

"Remmick, do you lie?" He's instantly caught off guard by the same question he once asked Lorelei only moments after meeting her.

He gulps, finding his tongue tied as he tries to respond. "No." He answers his Queen. "Mo ghás (my treasure), I'd never lie to you."

She smiles sweetly, toes teasing at the line of the door's threshold. "Will you still give me the world?"

Her voice makes him weak, heated in desire, passion, and all of his love. "Yes, and then some."

Lorelei's outstretched fingers asks for his hand, and he doesn't hesitate a second to take it. "Come inside, the night is young." She calls for her people, the ones that her loyalty now lies with.

Like a weight lifted from their shoulders, they feel the invitation working. Each foot stepping inside one by one as the Smoke-Stack twins' Juke Joint, quickly becomes a human buffet for the undead.

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oceantornadoo · 7 months ago

Text

where you’ve been assigned to working with john price on a report and the proximity is getting to you both…

(f!reader)

late nights pouring over reports in the base conference room with price. he tries to bring you coffee the second night and adjusts to black tea after watching the displeased twist of your lips. you start across the table, a respectful and professional distance, but by the third night, you’re shoulder to shoulder, peering over at each other’s screens silently. the information you’re reviewing is grave, life changing to the folks who live it, but you can’t help your laugh when john struggles to turn a pdf into a word document.

you give up on wearing business professional after the incident. the rip of your skirt as you jumped up from excitement, finally finding a breakthrough in your work. john’s eyes practically burned into your thigh, like the sight of your tights over newly bare skin offended him. you didn’t even notice until he pointed it out, swallowing thickly as he muttered “got a problem there, love.” before excusing himself to bring back more tea.

when you switched to wearing jeans, john started wondering if he had offended some sort of god in the past life. why was there so much bending involved in your work? bending over the table to find a report in the mess of papers, your ass practically wiggling in his face. sneaking past his shoulder so you can see if he’s made any progress, the glimpse of your thigh off the chair reminding him of what it would like if- never mind. he swore your perfume was laced into your clothes, a cloud of it remaining after you went home for the night, your familiar scent searing itself into the back of his brain.

“john?” your voice pulled him out of his trance of wondering how he’d gotten here. it had been a week of this proximity torture with no end in sight. “yeah?” your pen tapped the picture in front of you. “this guy’s copying your muttonchops.” snorting, john leaned over, staring hard at the suspect’s picture as he tried not to focus about being six inches from your lap. “nah, ‘s a different style. mine’s more grown out, his is jus’ a shadow.” you hummed thoughtfully. “didn’t realize there was so much discourse in the beard community. seems a bit confusing.” he laughed, that short bark that made you smile despite yourself.

“‘s not all that confusing. here, y’ can feel the difference.” he grabbed your hand and pulled it into his beard, manicured fingers diving into his facial hair. you scratched it on instinct and were rewarded with a low throaty groan and a fluttering of his eyelids. “so soft, john.” the normally serious captain seemed like putty in your hands as your fingers explored the line of his jaw. it was quiet for a long moment, john’s eyes closed as you took him in without his usual surly stare. “yeah, honey?” his eyes flicked open as you stopped your movement, thumb near the corner of his mouth. your mouth gaped open, the moment broken.

“fuck, i’ve made you uncomfortable.” john pulled away fast, your hand dropping his face as he moved farther and farther away. “i can ask the lieutenant to finish up ‘ere, should only take a week more.” he tried to get up from his seat but you were more determined, beating him to the punch with a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down. “john, stop. it’s okay.” you’d never seen him like this: unsure. “didn’t mean to say what i said, love.” you shook your head vehemently. “it’s okay, i just…no one’s ever called me honey before. kinda thought it was a sitcom thing.”

he was doing the math, picking apart every word you said, every inflection of every letter. you could see it in his eyes, the realization that you weren’t uncomfortable. the change might have scared you if hadn’t been so damn attractive. his posture perfect again, thighs flexing as his hands, big calloused hands, laid relaxed against them. he wasn’t grinning but you saw his cheek pull up, the movement of the beard you’d just been touching. it was instantaneous; the captain was back.

“and?” he stood up, your hand still on his shoulder. “and…i don’t mind it.” he was forcing you to look up, a height difference between you that you’d never notice because you both were always sitting.

“c’mere, honey.” you stepped closer, your other arm wrapping around his other shoulder. those hands wrapped around your waist and dipped lower to your upper thighs. he picked you with ease, all protests of your weight dying on your tongue as you let out a squeal. john sat you on the conference table, pushing reports and laptops out of the way to make space for his meal. “fuck, ‘ve been wantin’ you on this table for a week now.” he rubbed his hands up and down your thighs, tracing the denim of your pants. “and these jeans.” you frowned. “you don’t like my jeans?” he shook his head, thumbs exploring your waistline, tucking under your shirt to meet bare skin. “i love ‘em, darling. want t’ see you in them everyday.” he popped the top button then looked up at you for permission. you nodded, lying back on your forearms, restraining your hips from canting.

he chuckled at your confidence, unzipping you then sliding down the denim from your legs and off, along with your shoes. maybe it had been a form of manifestation or delusion, but either way you had worn your favorite pair of lacy black underwear. john seemed to appreciative, growling at the sight as his fingers brushed over your clothed pussy. “were you expectin’ someone t’ see these?” you grinned. “maybe i was hoping.” he brushed over your entrance and your hips chased the feeling, riding up to meet his fingers. “someone’s eager.” he didn’t let you reply, pressing his thumb over your entrance, rubbing up and down around your clit as wetness pooled in your underwear. you whined at his teasing, a coil building low in your stomach. “john…” he dipped his thumb under the fabric of your underwear, tracing the slickness of your slit. “hm, honey?” his low tone sent a rush of warmth into your body, a combination of domesticity and restraint. “want you, please.” he was playing down, putting his thumb inside you but knowing the angle was all wrong, it barely brushing your entrance. “want me where?” he finally pulled down your underwear, leaning his body over you, putting you face to face. “want your fingers inside me.”

john captured your lips with his own, pushing a thick middle finger into you as he pressed his thumb to your clit. you moaned loudly, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him in further. “so wet f’ me, baby. you been wantin’ this?” you nodded eagerly, shutting him up with another kiss. he pumped his finger in and out as he circled patterns on your clit, the feeling of it overwhelming. you were so wet and hot, this big strong man panting into your mouth as he made you feel so good. your nipples scratched the inside of your bra as your cunt clenched around his finger. he added a second one, the fullness of it almost overwhelming. “john, i’m gonna…” he gave you another rough kiss. john pulled you closer using those fingers inside of your messy cunt, thumb pressing hard on your clit. it was so possessive and dirty that you could feel the start of your orgasm. “come f’ me, darling. go’on.” you let go, clenching hard around him. he kept going unless you went limp, finally removing his fingers with a pop. his other arm was holding you up as he tasted you on his fingers. “sweet like honey.” you rolled your eyes at his cheesiness. “you’re so full of shit.” he kissed you again, short and loving. “‘m not lyin’.” another kiss, this one to your forehead. “you wanna stay here tonight? ‘s already late.” you squirmed at the realization you were half naked in a conference room, your colleagues fingers dripping with your wetness as he stood fully clothed, his cock straining against his pants. “is that weird? or too fast? i don’t even know what you want or what i want-“ he kissed you again, this time gruff, like a captain. “jus’ come home with me, honey. ill handle the rest.” and to that, you nodded.

#price is right #price call of duty #captain john price #john price x female reader #john price #captain price #john price x reader #captain price x reader #price x reader #john price x f!reader #john price x y/n #john price x you #price x y/n #price x you #price cod #please dishonor me captain #captain johnathan price #tornadothoughts

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tojisteddy · 6 days ago

Note

Could we please get more general meanie!simon headcannons?

No need to rush but have a good day!

general meanie!simon headcanons

now playing: landslide by fleetwood mac

a/n: I live for this, thank you for requesting!!! You have a good day too!!

Cannot do large crowds. It’s too loud and theres too many people and too many different conversations. He can do loud on the field, quick changes of action when it’s do or die. Just not at home. It spikes his anxiety up ten fold, make him more irritable. So he only grocery shops in the early mornings when the old ppl shop or he leaves it up to you. If you want to go shopping with him for new clothes, it’s get in and get out. Same with concerts. It has to be an artist that’s rare to see for him to go.

He’s extremely chill compared to how he was when he was a teenager/young adult. Hes sent a couple folks to the hospital, used to get into it with his team mates so bad John sent him to anger management and wouldn’t allow him back unless he got his act together. And he despised it at first, hated the happy go lucky therapist who lead the group, the fact that it was in a damned church basement, and that he had to talk to strangers. But it actually did a number on him. In a good way. Healed a few parts of him to make him into a better man, much easier to deal with, he’s slower to anger now. And if it comes storming down on him he might go for a smoke, take a few deep breaths, go walk a few paces. Price is proud of him and for once Ghost— no- Simon is proud of himself. Happy he stumbled upon you after he got his shit together. It makes him want to work harder at improving himself even more. He’s not the best, but he’s trying. He always go to group therapy every Wednesday when he’s back home, right after work. He brings home dinner, a little more- chipper.

Really doesn’t do too much talking when he’s off. He definitely a teaser, playful, but even with you, he doesn’t have much to say. You both like comfortable silence when you’re gone for cuddle together.

Doesn’t complain about the amount of stuffed animals you have or how you decorate. You’ve made his house a home, even after he fixed it up himself, it never felt good to be alone there. These are ghosts hiding there. But you brought a breath of fresh air into the place. Hes more than greatful, hugging onto your stuffed animals when your gone for too long.

Likes to do chores together, even if it’s folding laundry or walking the dogs or washing dishes— he loves being in your space.

hates your dog Fish because he’s a wild thing no matter how hard you train him. The little shit only listens to Simon for some reason when Simon only likes his dog, Slugger. Doesn’t mean the man isn’t gonna pet the cute one year old puppy though.

Squints a lot when reading the coffee signs, he definitely needs reading glasses but says hes too young for them (hes almost 35)

can talk about his favorite movies for ages, loves the classic westerns and sci-fi flicks from the 80s. Knows the actors ages and if they’re alive or not. Talks to you about them like a history lesson, you never get bored though. His voice is perfect.

A little insecure about the scars on him, that’s why he’s covered in tattoos. Some tattoos mean a lot to him, others he just got for fun.

Has a motorcycle, rides it here and there. Has taken you for a drive to meet Alice, an older woman about 80 from anger management. She’s like his grandma, he speaks softer (and smaller) when he’s with her. Alice babies the hell out of him.

His closet is more than casual, multiple black shirts and denim jeans, a few plaids, some leather jackets, bomber jackets— it’s not too serious. He’d rather invest in you, let you play dress up in your closet and watch you twirl for him. And he pays attention to every detail. What you like and don’t like. His cute fucking baby.

When he blushes, which is rare, it won’t show on his face, won’t smile at all or get red in his face— but his ears. Bright red. Be on the lookout when his mask is off.

Can knit and stitch. Not too good at stitching but he knows how to get that job done. Knitting? He joined Alice’s knitting group, club meetings to gossip are once a month of the first Saturday. He never misses a meeting.

Helps out the neighbors with their broken equipment. Broken lawnmower or mixing machine? He can fix it. He’s pretty handy. Stand off-ish but kind to his neighbors.

Spends some days drinking beer or whisky on the couch or going for a drive. Just to think about nothing but sometimes everything. Take a look at the scenic view, he takes you sometimes, kisses your hands and holds them tight without saying a word.

Physical touch junkie, loves holding hands without saying it, brushing fingers, playing with your braids or curly hair, pinching your cheeks, having your legs in his lap— something.

Does not like clowns. Not scared but he finds them annoying. Same with mimes. Stays ten feet away.

Swears by Fleetwood Mac album ‘Rumours’, will always play it and never gets tired of it. It’s brought him out of multiple dark places. Won’t sing but will mumble the lyrics. So cute. Swears by To Noise Making (Sing) and Sunlight by Hozier and Be Quiet and Drive (Far Away) by Deftones.

Two other random hobbies? Lego building and painting. He’s shit at painting, but he does it anyway because he enjoys it. Now Lego building, hes good. As in there are a few self made projects around the house that look like real masterpieces, good. Simon spends a buck and then some on them, Soap teases him for it but he always shows them off to you, they’re amazing.

a/n: I hope this was okay anon. Let me know. Been waiting for someone to ask but meanie!simon going to anger management is like a big part of the reason I don’t write him so toxic (just a little bit like a little extra salt though). I don’t think he’s at that point in his life anymore. Also sorry for all the posts today. My bad.

most recent masterlist past meanie!simon hc

𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱<3: @bruisedfig @tessakate @sevikasblackgf @mocha-the-muse @nightfwn @mims900 @lillybunni

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enyaliuswrites · 3 months ago

Text

➽ By Sword or By Love

Prince!Sylus x Warrior Princess!fem reader 100 followers special. 1.89k words.

Prince LADS Masterlist

Prince!Sylus, who’s feared by everyone—soldiers, commoners and even the royal family. The Warrior Prince, once a small boy holding a sword too heavy for his blistered hands, was molded into the cold and ruthless General by going through hell and back.

Prince!Sylus, who spends nights inside meeting halls, formulating strategies, and days outside in training grounds, sharpening both his own skills and those of his soldiers. Although his looks and achievements could make a grown man cower, the prince doesn’t lack compassion. He watches over his soldiers, ensuring they rest when they’ve pushed too far and offering both guidance and understanding.

Prince!Sylus, who is almost always riding out to battle. Mounted on his black stallion, he leads a trail of soldiers beyond the safety of the capital’s walls. As they pass, the common folk watch—some with admiration, others with quiet criticism.

Prince!Sylus, who makes an effort to engage in royal public affairs but almost always fails. It’s not exactly his fault if an emergency at the border demands his attention or if a riot in the crowd forces him to intervene. More often than not, these events end in the townspeople divided—some casting wary glances and murmured disapproval, while others raise him onto an impossibly high pedestal.

Prince!Sylus, who finds himself on yet another abrupt mission—riding his black stallion to the kingdom’s border to quell a serious rebellion attempt, all while in the middle of yet another failed attempt at royal public affairs. Having spent more years on the battlefield than he can count, the prince has seen many things—but a woman from the neighboring kingdom fighting their rebels is enough to make him raise an eyebrow.

The familiar crest of the neighboring kingdom was the first thing that caught Sylus's eyes after he had cut down the rampaging rebels. Confusion washed over him next but he quickly pushed it aside as he ordered his soldiers to tend to your wounds.

And that’s where you found yourself, waking up to a sore body and the white haired man who was sleeping in a chair in the corner of the room. Instincts kick in and you immediately search your surroundings—nothing but a normal looking inn. Four walls, two windows, a door, a bed, a chair and a table. Looking down, you find your side wrapped in bandages as well as your left arm.

“Don’t move too much, I wouldn’t want the precious princess to be injured.”

The first thing that caught your eyes was his crimson eyes, the second was that cocky smile of his that all you wanted to do was punch it right off his face. You knew who this was almost immediately. You recognized him instantly. The renowned Warrior Prince, ruthless and bloodthirsty. As a soldier, you always knew your paths would cross someday, but never did you expect it to happen like this.

Getting up to leave, that’s when you feel a tug on your right wrist and immediately realized you were chained. “What the heck? I demand to be released at once, unless you want our kingdoms to go to war.”

It wasn’t an empty threat. Sure your kingdom may have been smaller, but you had a team of elite forces that your father had cultivated for decades, even against Sylus's overwhelming numbers of troops and advanced technology, you were sure that victory would be assured.

Sylus smirks, leaning in slightly as he meets your glare head-on, “War? Now, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” He tilts his head, his crimson eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “You’re not a hostage—you're a key to peace. So, why don’t we talk?”

A scoff leaves your throat as your eyes roll. Who in their right mind would hold up a princess, chain her up and say that ‘she’s not a hostage’. The thought alone seems absurd and here the mad man sat, his muscular legs spread as he wore lavish clothing.

“Are you not afraid? Holding a princess like this. What makes you so sure that as soon as I’m back I won’t wage war on you?”

His crimson eyes glinted under the dim inn lights, sending a wave of unease through you. He was too calm, too collected. The sheer audacity of his actions had to be backed by something—otherwise, he wouldn’t have done something this reckless. “I have my ways.”

Manipulation? Torture? Those were the first thoughts that raced through your mind. But nothing—absolutely nothing—could have prepared you for this. The Warrior Prince, feared across battlefields, was… harvesting fruit? Wearing a simple farmer’s hat, he plucked cherries from the trees with practiced care, ensuring the stems remained intact before placing them gently into the basket on his back.

The scene seemed unreal. What was even more unreal was that you were helping him. Turning your head to look behind you, you saw how your basket was half full with cherries and suddenly a plan brewed in your head, “If I collect more cherries then you’ll let me go home.” “And if not?” His deep, husky voice cut through the air as he didn’t stop—his attention was still on the cherry tree in front of him as he continued to pluck.

“Then I might consider not waging war.”

After an hour, it became painfully clear that this deal had never been in your favor. Your basket was full, yet Sylus had already filled two—and he was still going. Only after enduring a few snarky remarks from the prince did you finally, albeit reluctantly, admit defeat.

He took you to a restaurant. At first, you held your ground, refusing to eat as you watched him casually enjoy his meal, occasionally feeding nuts to the crow perched on his shoulder. But then, one particular dish arrived, and its scent hit you like a charging horse. That was the moment you gave in—and what a decision that was. The cuisine of Sylus's kingdom was rich in flavor and creativity, with unexpected ingredients complementing each other in ways that somehow worked out.

You didn’t want to see it, but nonetheless the sigh of Sylus's smirk returns as he leans forward, resting his chin on his hand, “For someone so stubborn, you sure caved pretty fast.”

Ignoring his words, you continue to eat, thinking of a response. Any time wasted on him would be time wasted from eating and you sure as hell weren’t sure when you would be back to eat this. However, before you’re even about to retort, he speaks again, this time his voice lower,

“You don’t always have to put up a front. You can just… enjoy things. No one’s going to think less of you for it.”

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden shift. The way he says it—so casual, yet oddly sincere—makes your heart skip a beat and the gears in your brain malfunction. Sure, you were also a renowned warrior, but this was empathy shown by someone who’s name revolved around being cold and inhumane.

But before you could answer or dwell on it, his smirk returned, "That said, if you keep eating like that, I might start thinking you were starving before I found you."

The tone had shifted back. But that didn’t mean you had forgotten what he said. The whole day had revealed a side of the Warrior Prince that wasn’t so warrior-like. Those rumors were almost instantly shut down, and honestly, you were intrigued with what was more to come.

Prince!Sylus, who spends the next few days with you. Harvesting fruits, cooking and nightly walks were full of competition. Who could harvest the most? Who could cook the better food? Who could run to the other side faster? Who could find the most constellations? Each time Sylus would win, and even though it did sour your mood, it was refreshing to see what he did afterwards. He would never gloat, only being quiet and then asking you something about yourself and your kingdom.

Prince!Sylus, who you finally see when he practices his swordsmanship when you woke up early one day. The sun hadn’t risen yet, yet you heard the sounds of grunts and swinging just outside of the inn. And that’s where the prince was, standing outside in the dark with only the moonlight being his light source as he practiced hundreds of techniques.

Prince!Sylus, who the next day allowed you to win in a contest of who could guess the most ingredients in a dish. He had made it seem close, but you knew he had let you win by the soft smile he thought was discreet when the chef, trembling from Sylus's imposing presence, hesitantly declared you the winner. You surprised yourself when you, in return, asked something about him, instead of leaving. The moment the question left your lips did you realize how much more you were curious about the white haired man.

Prince!Sylus, who engaged in more competitions with you; who could shoot the farthest. Who could best each other at the spear. And finally, who would win in a swordfight. The training grounds grew a crowd as you two battled it out. The fight lasted for hours and only stopped because Sylus had urgent matters to attend to, one of his two faithful soldiers rushing over and nearly getting decapitated by your sword.

Prince!Sylus, who apologized to you and gave you a smug smile before saying how he hopes that you don’t wage war on him. He arranged a carriage for you and assigned soldiers to ensure your safe journey back. And just like that, you found yourself back in your kingdom, your mind swirling and trying to comprehend that the last two weeks weren't a dream.

Prince!Sylus, who swiftly sent a message to your kingdom, his loyal soldier racing to deliver the news to your father a mere 3 days after your return. The message conveyed Sylus's intent to form a peace treaty, and he hoped the king would graciously welcome his visit in a week's time.

Prince!Sylus, who kept stealing glances at you during the welcoming banquet. His eyes were practically glued to you, and he didn’t even try to hide it. Shame? He had none. The entire hall could see his intense focus, and even when you caught him, he refused to look away. It was like a silent staring contest, and when you finally broke the gaze, he couldn’t resist the small, satisfied smirk that tugged on his lips.

Prince!Sylus, who announced a marriage treaty. If you married him then both kingdoms would have peace for many more years to come. Peace that even if you betrayed him he still wouldn’t attack you or your kingdom. It was sudden and your father was reluctant, waiting for your answer. However, with your officials only supporting the idea and informing you of how much that would benefit your kingdom, you agreed.

Prince!Sylus, whose vows, even though the marriage was shallow in terms of relationship and deeper in functionality, touched your heart. He vowed to protect your kingdom as fiercely as his own. To cherish every quiet moment with you, even in the midst of chaos. He promised to be your refuge, your unwavering presence, no matter the storms that may come. And to, above all, ensure that you never had to fight alone—whether in battle or in life.

A/N: IM SO SORRY ITS BEEN LIKE A WEEK- I HAVE NO EXCUSE EXCEPT FOR WRITERS BLOCK. I promise Caleb's one will be within 3 day this time T^T. THANK YOU GUYS FOR 192 FOLLOWERS HOLY- honestly I might need to also make this into a 200 followers special soon because of how fast you guys give me love :,). I love all of you guys so much aughh <3333 Dividers by @mikeykuns

Taglist: @seris-the-amious

#enyaliuswrites #enyalius 100 followers special #love and deepspace #lads x reader #love and deepspace x you #lads fluff #lads x you #l&ds #lads sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus fluff #sylus x reader #lads sylus #qin che x reader #qin che love and deepspace

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lexirosewrites · 5 months ago

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Slick Sunday thought. I’ve seen fics where soulmates have legal protections, like, you can’t vanish someone to a black site if they have a mate because it would cause separation sickness and could kill them.

So what about the omegaverse version with a little bit of a Kas for flavor?

A!Eddie gets saved by Vecna and remade as Kas. During the final fight, Eddie breaks through enough that he survives as himself, but with a few of Kas’s traits. Mostly the healing and strength and a little of the claws.

Government shows up, and it’s obvious that they want to take Eddie to a lab, and since the guy was dead, and the paperwork hasn’t been updated, they could pull it off. Because of the upside down leftovers, El has a really hard time tracking Eddie unless she’s within a few hundred yards of him. If he gets taken, they’ll lose him entirely. Part of the governments argument is valid: Kas did kill folks, and was in the hive mind, and is potentially incredibly dangerous still

Dustin is the one who comes up with the idea to bond Eddie to someone. The party isn’t quite to the level of hiding behind a barricade protecting Eddie yet, but they all understand that’s where they’re heading.

It has to be an omega, and it has to be right now.

Will is a recently presented omega, but: as Eddie puts it “absolutely not, that is a child”

Joyce is an omega, but she bonded to Hop not long after rescuing him from Russia.

Robin is an omega, but still a lesbian. She’s the party’s first thought. Lesbian or not, she’s the only omega they’ve got. Except. She looks to Steve, nauseous and scared, and she isn’t asking him, she would never ask him to, but like hell is Steve letting her get caught in that.

“Let me get my shirt off first, Munson”

“Steve, this is serious, stop joking, two alphas can’t form a bond.”

“I know. Not joking. I’m an omega. Surprise.”

The group freaks out. Naturally.

And it works, in the sense that the bond takes, and the feds won’t separate them. Not a perfect plan though.

The feds take them both.

omfg😭

#slick sunday #steddie #steddie omegaverse #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #steve x eddie #a/b/o #omegaverse #anon asks #my asks

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urhoneycombwitch · 3 months ago

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This may not work cos it would have to be like a modern!steddie, but the prompt

“It's only a proper date night if we're all there!”

feels sooooooo steddie to me. Like if eddie was away for a show or something and you and steve were going to dinner, he’d be all pouty until steve put his phone in his jacket pocket and stayed on FaceTime the whole date so he could be there.

- def not @rebelfell she would NEVER

foreword: CAUGHT YA rebelfell in the inbox u knoooooww it’s gonna b good!! okay since I’m keeping my Steddie x R world in the late 80’s/early 90’s I got creative with the pre-FaceTime ways of phone usage! exists in the same world as this Steddie mlist of mine but no need to read beforehand. xx

cw: R is referred to w/ she/her pronouns, R wears a dress + has breasts, Eddie being Pathetic™️, alcohol consumption, lack of restaurant manners

wc: 1.6k

___

It’s ten minutes past the time you and Steve were supposed to leave for dinner reservations but you’re both busy- you with a last-minute jewelry change, Steve with a call that just rang in to the landline.

He’s got the corded phone jammed between ear and shoulder, shaking out the opposing sleeve of his nice dinner jacket while speaking distractedly to the person on the line. “Yeah, I get it. Totally blows and I do feel for ya, I really do-”

There’s a sharp scoff of crackly incredulity from the other end. Steve rolls his eyes. “Right, okay, so maybe I don’t feel too bad since you did this to yourself.”

Steve listens to his boyfriend's stream of woe, using the brief interlude to multitask and pull on one of his black dress shoes before interrupting- “Sweetheart, you know that excuse won’t hold up in her court. Gonna have to take the loss and grovel later, that’s the best advice I got-”

“Smart boy,” you quip, floating into the trailer’s kitchen swathed in red velvet and slipping a second glittering crystal earring into your lobe. “I assume that’s our jilted lover you’re speaking with? Tell him the prison he’s in currently is self-made. And also that we need to leave.”

Steve closes his mouth from when it had dropped open upon seeing the amount of cleavage your dress allowed.

He nods solemnly, fiddling with his tie, honeyed eyes warm and locked on your form even as he speaks into the receiver- “She said… somethin’ about a jail. And that we gotta go. Honestly, man, my mind is mostly blank right now, and if you could see her you’d understand why.”

It’s your turn for a fond eye roll, crossing the laminate kitchen flooring for your pair of navy pumps next to Steve’s feet.

Eddie’s voice is distinct enough through the speaker, though you can’t make out any words- Steve listens, holding out a hand for you to take and balance with as you step into your shoes until Eddie’s words end.

“Hold on, I’ll ask her-” Steve covers the receiver, conspiratorial and faux-serious- “Our boyfriend is requesting I describe the general look and feel of your ass in this dress since he’s not here to see it himself.”

You smack Steve lightly on the arm and he chuckles into the phone, at least having the decency to look flustered when you crowd in to talk to Eddie, using deliberate and spine-chilling emphasis: “If you wanted to come to dinner with me and my spectacular ass, you should’ve requested the night off like I told you, months ago.”

With this final word, you reach past Steve for your overcoat, body pressing into the length of his as he stammers out, “Y-yeah, that’s, uh- that’s all folks. Sorry pal. You heard the judge.”

Steve thumbs gently over the crook of your elbow before hanging up the phone, then helps you into your coat. “Honey, you don’t think you’re being… just a tad harsh on him? He’s even worse than I am, with dates, you really can’t blame the guy for-”

“Two months.” Your voice is unwavering, with a finality that makes Steve want to bend for you immediately, no matter the cost. “He had a whole eight weeks to put a request in for a single night away from the garage. With all the times we brought it up since then and now, I don’t feel bad for him and neither should you.”

Steve smooths a hand down the pretty line of the back of your neck, the soft slope disappearing into the collar of that red fabric. The only ‘bad’ he feels is his errant partner getting to miss out on seeing you. “Heard loud and clear, boss. Your chariot awaits.”

___

Luckily it’s no big issue that your Enzo’s reservation was originally intended for three; you and Steve are seated within minutes of your arrival at a cozy table near the far wall of the room.

Of the three of you, Steve is the designated sommelier (i.e., has stolen enough during high school from his father’s private reserves to know generally what’s what), so you let him order a bottle for the table.

The waiter pours a glass each, and you twirl the stem between your fingers, watching the plummy color slide down the insides of the glass walls.

“Got it to match,” Steve says, taking a sip, sliding his free hand palm-up on the table for you to take.

At the quirk of your brow, he explains further, pulling the back of your hand up to his lips for a quick kiss- “To match your dress. And my cheeks, too, apparently- christ, you’re hot.”

A genuine beam lights up your face; giving Steve’s hand a squeeze, you tilt your head- “Safe to say you’re a little obsessed?”

“A lottle.”

You both giggle at that, until you’re interrupted by a wait staff member who approaches and asks for you by name.

“My apologies, miss- there’s a call waiting for you.” The waiter holds out the restaurant’s cordless phone for you to take, then promptly leaves.

Your eyes cut daggers into the chunk of white plastic in your hand, and Steve clears his throat, shifting uneasily, muttering “Oh boy” before you bring the receiver up to your ear.

“Hello.”

“Princess!” Eddie sounds much too happy for your liking as you’d prefer silent and remorseful thinking to be taking place, instead. “Holy shit, can’t believe they put me through to you. You guys order entrees yet? Stevie talked you into some overpriced ditchwater alcohol, I’m sure.”

You almost can’t hear Eddie over the amount of irritation and upset rushing through your auditory system, heart thumping fast under the gold locket between your breasts, a present from both of your boyfriends. “Eddie Munson. I really, actually, don’t want to hear it.”

“Babe, c’mon-” Eddie sighs. In the background, there’s distant clanking and various car repair noises- you guess Eddie’s using his uncle’s office phone to call. “I’m sorry. Okay? I fucked the date up, that’s on me, but I’m on break right now and I just wanted to hear your voice-”

“Well, you’re hearing it now.” You’re not sure how much longer you can keep up the quickly-thinning veil of anger around your words, tears welling faster than you can keep them at bay, voice cracking three words in- “I just wanted- I wanted you here.”

Steve watches you quietly from across the table, picking up your hand again and frowning when he sees the almost-tears forming. You squeeze back, using his touch as a grounding lifeline when Eddie speaks again.

“Baby. I’m so sorry.” To his credit, Eddie does sound genuinely pained, which eases your anger to a low level, sadness taking the lead.

Your eyes drop to the cloth napkin in swan formation on your plate, and you sniffle. “Well, sorry doesn’t make you magically appear.”

“Give me a week and I’ll build you a teleportation device. Seriously. Dunno if it’s possible but I shall make it so.” There’s a rhythmic tick tick on the other end, familiar to your music-loving boy- he must be tapping a pen against the desk. Your heart aches with love.

“A week’s no good,” you reply, smiling soft at your other boy, holding his hand, still- “How ‘bout now?”

Eddie’s quiet on the other end until he says, cautiously- “I think a quantum crystal’s gonna be a little hard to find this time of night, but I’ll do my best-”

“No,” you laugh, and Steve grins upon hearing it- “I mean, I’ll put you on speaker for the rest of your break. But you better behave yourself.”

Eddie swears his fealty and sings your praises before you hit the speaker button, resting the phone upright on the table. The speaker feature is luckily on a low volume, and with the background music of the restaurant it’s unlikely anyone but you and Steve will be hearing it.

“This is cool as hell,” Eddie says, voice tinny but certainly audible. “Stevieboy, set the scene for me. Exactly how plunging is the neckline you’re staring at?”

Steve leans in as if he’s about to give a genuine answer and you snatch the phone back, keeping it on speaker but growling into the receiver- “Munson. Thin. Ice.”

Playing nice, you set the chunk of plastic back down and ask, demure- “What did you call Steve’s wine choice, again?”

Eddie answers immediately, likely believing the speaker was turned off since it was your voice last- “What, ditchwater? Honey, we’re actively dating a guy who got half his tastebuds singed off in the underworld- wouldn’t trust his recommendations further than I can throw. And you know I’ve got the arm of a Little Leaguer.”

Steve’s mouth drops open again but this time it’s in righteous indignation and shock, a hank of soft hair falling over his brow when he leans in on his elbows to hiss- “Says the guy who drank half a bottle of melon liqueur and passed out in my bushes Sophomore year.”

Eddie chortles, delighted at having been caught- “Whatcha gonna do, Stevie? Spank me about it?”

Speakerphone was probably not a great call but you can’t find yourself caring too much, instead soaking in the bickering of your two most beloveds over a glass of wine that tastes of nothing but its color.

#love u Sarah this one goes out to youuuu #steddie #steddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things fic #mdni

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stellar-constellations · 4 months ago

Text

Heart on the Market (ONGOING SERIES) Chapter 2

WARNING: This series will include; NSFW, dead dove, reader is a serial killer, black market possible inaccurate historical slang and fashion, gore, alcohol, toxic relationships that should NOT be replicated in real life, murder, yanderes, cursing, implications of misandry (male misogyny), perversive thoughts, nonconsensual drugging, gaslighting, possibly more to add.

Inaccurate canon-timeline and setting (Ashley doesn't exist). Modern AU.

Incest is not Wincest.

Andrew Graves x Old school! Serial killer! Fem! Reader

Wordcount: 6,600+ words

Chapters: Chapter 1, current chapter, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5 (in the works)

You grabbed rags from your closet and wet them, using soap and water as you scrubbed the apartment’s carpeted floors stained with blood.

You occasionally kept an eye on Andrew’s apartment door, finding that he hasn’t stepped out of his apartment yet.

He must’ve decided on not working tonight. You thought.

Good. It’ll make it easier to supervise him. He won’t blabber to an unsuspecting customer or call the police on the gas station’s phone and have a SWAT team break into your home.

You couldn’t kill Andrew. The Manson Murderer has never directly targeted someone, so a murder inside of a random apartment complex would be extremely suspicious considering all of the murders were unsuspecting night folk outside.

Having a crime scene inside of your home would be too suspicious, and it would prevent you from sneaking back into the apartments at 3 AM if there’s police stationed outside. If the murders noticeably decrease, the police will know that they’re hot on the murderer’s trail inside of the apartment complex, putting you at serious risk.

So your best chance was seduction, but even you're not sure how long you can keep that up. It was absolutely nauseating kissing a guy you've barely known. Revolting having to shove your tongue down his throat knowing you're not his wife or even courting him.

You shivered and shook your head, getting goosebumps just as the thought of premarital intimacy, focusing your attention to dumping the rag in your bucket of water, wringing it out and scrubbing more of the blood off the carpet.

Of course the bag rips… You thought, groaning. This new age cutting corners in production to save a few bucks.

You got up from the floor, looking at your handiwork.

It’s not the worst, but it’ll save you for now. Besides, it’s not like you’ll just have some random dude with a UV light wandering the halls spraying luminal on the ground to cause a chemiluminescence reaction once it detects hemoglobin found in a person’s DNA… Yeah, that would never happen.

Even still, hydrogen peroxide wouldn’t work on the carpet; not only would it stain the carpet and cause suspicion, but it’s really not guaranteed to 100% remove the DNA, only damage it a little. It’s not like that matters anyways, crime scene investigators don’t need blood to understand where exactly a crime scene happened or how it played out; it’s just a piece of evidence after all.

Besides, with this new technology they’re developing, they’ll eventually be able to detect old DNA particles using eDNA machines that will extract the DNA from the air itself. Pretty spooky to know how far technology will come.

Damn scientists and their new machines… You grimaced, annoyed as you walked back into your apartment with your bucket.

But for now, that technology doesn’t exist, and your apartment has no cameras, so you'll simply just keep on killing.

You entered your apartment and rummaged through your bathroom cabinets, finding old containers of floss you got from the dentist. You stole the floss from the containers, tying them together to make a large string and grabbed a bell from your arts and crafts box inside your room.

You tied the bell on one end of the floss string, adding multiple knots to make sure it was secured, then walked out of your apartment, tying the other end of the floss string onto Andrew’s door knob. You walked back into your room and closed the door, placing the bell onto the floor.

If Andrew opens his door, the bell will move with the door and ring, signaling to you Andrew has left his apartment. That way, he can’t escape.

So far, you’ll just have to trust he hasn’t called the police.

You walked into your kitchen, grabbing ingredients out of your fridge.

It’ll be a quick meal, you don't want to leave Andrew alone for too long. You have plans after all.

You grabbed butter and chicken breasts from your fridge. You placed the butter in a large saucepan and heated it, cutting up the chicken breasts into bite-sized pieces with a knife and cutting board. You cooked the chicken in the butter, adding a generous helping of Cajun seasoning.

You grabbed a pot and filled it with water, adding a tablespoon of salt and letting it boil, before dumping some Alfredo noodles into the boiling water.

You put the cooked chicken on a plate and set it to the side, grabbing heavy cream and an aged Parmesan from your fridge. You poured the bottle of heavy cream into the saucepan to start cooking, then you grated the cheese. You threw the cheese into the sauce a handful at time, waiting for it to melt before doing another handful.

Once the sauce was ready, you placed the chicken back into the pan, adding a bit more Cajun seasoning. You grabbed the cooked noodles and strained them, adding them into the sauce. You grabbed two bowls and scooped some of the Chicken Alfredo into the bowls, and finished it with grated Parmesan on both.

You grabbed a fork and put it on the right side of the bowl. Then you grabbed Rohypnol (a tasteless, odorless sleeping drug commonly used for date-rapes) from your medicine cabinet, grabbing a plastic bag and chopping it up into fine powder.

You grabbed a handful and dashed it on the bowl without a fork, letting the medicine blend in as cheese, then washed your hands good to get rid of any residue. You grabbed a fork and placed it on the left side of the bowl, grabbing your bowl in your right hand, and Andrew’s drugged bowl in your left hand.

You carefully opened your front door, closing it behind you. You set the bowls down on the ground for a moment, grabbing a bobby pin from your hair.

Your father taught you how to open just about any lock using a bobby pin, so you're rather good with it. It’s a nice skill to have to keep the family tradition alive.

You peeked into the room carefully, seeing all the lights were out, although there was a dim white light illuminating the living room.

Silly boy. He thought he could turn off the lights and act like he wasn’t home! You smiled, stifling a giggle.

You crept into the apartment and closed the door behind you, locking it.

Not even a bullock on his door, or even a sliding lock at that. Shows how much he cares about security… You thought, mentally rolling your eyes as you placed the bowls of food on the nearby counter.

The only useful technology that exists, and he doesn't even use it!

You walked into the living room, appearing behind him and reaching for the lamp on his side table, flicking it on.

“Ah!” Andrew yelped, startled.

He whirled his head around to look at you, his eyes widened as he gulped, caught in the act.

There was a computer on his living room table, open with an article of the Manson Murderer. There was a notepad next to him, black ink messily scribbled writing notes to try and string the Manson Murderer to you.

Is he leaving notes for when he’s dead?

“Oh! Now, now!” You smiled, snatching the notebook from him. “Good boys don’t snitch. I have a few friends that’ll stitch that big ol’ trap of yours if you don’t keep it shut.”

“H-hey!” Andrew gasped, a blush spreading across his face, ignoring the pet name as he tried to reach for his notebook.

“Hands to yourself, darling.” You hummed, taking a few steps away, grabbing a lighter from your purse and lighting the paper on fire.

You placed the paper on the ground, ignoring Andrew's surprised face and watching as he stood up and ran into the kitchen for a cup of water.

You smiled, shaking your head and giggling as he left. The notebook was small and already reduced into a pile of black burning ashes, a flame licking the top. You pressed your heel onto the small flame, denying the fire of oxygen as you smushed your foot left and right.

“See? Small fires like these can easily just be stomped out, as long as you’re not wearing anything flammable that is.” You smiled, as if teaching a dog. “By the time you would’ve grabbed water, the unsupervised fire could’ve grown and the whole room would be set aflame!”

“W-what… What are you doing here again?” Andrew questioned. “Have you come back to finish the job?”

“Finish? Oh, I don’t look to finish you! Not in the way you’re thinking, at least.” You purred playfully, stepping over the pile of ashes and walking closer to Andrew.

Andrew leaned back as you got into his space, your body leaning towards his. You smirked as he looked down at you, nervous before you glided past him.

You picked up his laptop from his coffee table, going to his search history and deleting all the information he was trying to look up of you and the Manson Murderer.

Your eyes paused at a few links an hour ago moments after your first visit, before you looked up at him and smirked.

“Huh… ‘(Hair color) (eye color) porn actresses with soft lips?’ Rings a bell…” You teased, before placing the laptop back down onto the coffee table.

“T-that’s not what you’re thinking of! That’s just coincidence!” Andrew blurted out, nervous as he snatched the laptop up, cradling it to his chest defensively.

“I just meant that one famous actress.” You hummed. “Ya know, in every new movie now.”

“Right…” Andrew muttered.

“Of course, only in the movies cause they’re hot though.” You hummed. “Although, movies are so evil, don’t you think? I prefer seeing plays and reading books; there’s just no passion in money.”

“Uh, yeah…” Andrew nodded.

The last play he went to was his own kindergarten musical; his role was a tree.

“It’s only looks that put you at the top. Like Rachel Welch.” You hummed. “Only in movies for sex appeal, but that’s every woman in Hollywood now.” You tutted, crossing your arms.

Andrew looked away from you, feeling a bit called out.

Sure, it’s nice to engage in some eye candy when it’s on the screen, but it’s pretty annoying if you’re not watching a romance or a slapstick/chickflick.

Modern examples of sex appeal would be Megan Fox or Jennifer Lopez; they’re pretty but man do they not bring anything else to the table.

But hey, Hollywood is Hollywood. Everyone’s holly jolly with some money in their pockets.

“It must suck though, practically signing away their rights. Surrounded by paparazzi and the societal standards of what a good actor and celebrity is.” Andrew spoke thoughtfully.

“Well, I suppose everything has consequences. It’s a matter of outweighing the pros and cons. Most enter that career wanting that attention and fame until they realize what it actually means; crazed fans with parasocial relationships and all...” You hummed. “But I didn’t come here to talk with you about that.”

You smiled, walking back to the counter. You grabbed the bowls you left, holding your bowl with the fork on the right side. You held it and gave Andrew his drugged bowl.

“Here. Dinner.” You spoke, not much of an offer as you shoved the bowl into his chest for him to take.

“And how do I know this isn’t—“

“Poisoned?” You questioned, cutting Andrew off. “Oh golly no! Are you really that afraid of me?”

“Yes.” Andrew grumbled, looking at you unamused. “Considering you drug a dead man through the hallways and into my home.”

“Hm? Oh, I don’t recall.” You hummed, grabbing your fork and a piece of pasta.

“Like Hell you don’t—“ You shoved your food into Andrew’s mouth, almost choking him as he shut up and chewed.

“That’s not a nice word, you know. Can’t you show manners? Swallow down that attitude of yours.” You spoke, removing the fork from his mouth.

He was going to argue, but the food wasn’t bad, so he shut up and kept chewing until he swallowed.

“It’s… not bad…” Andrew muttered.

“It better not! It’s rude to say so after I spent the time cooking it for you!” You huffed.

“For me?” Andrew questioned, surprised as he looked at you with suspicion.

“Consider it a truce.” You smiled, putting the same fork that was in Andrew’s mouth into your mouth.

Andrew stared at you as you ate, watching before he sighed, picking up his fork and eating.

“So, you have a girlfriend?” You questioned.

“Excuse me?” Andrew questioned, looking up at you.

“I assume not considering you watch a lot of X-rated videos.” You hummed.

“Could you not while I’m eating?” Andrew groaned, embarrassed as his face turned pink.

“So?” You questioned.

“Why’s it matter to you?” Andrew grumbled.

“To see if you’re available.” You smiled.

Andrew gulped, swallowing his meal nervously as he looked at you with hesitancy.

“If it helps, I’m celibate.” You added. “Not for religion, but morals.”

“J-Jesus! I didn’t need to know that!” Andrew exclaimed, his blush worsening at your words, just thinking about it.

A virgin? Possibly every man’s wet dream if he’s got a corruption kink.

Something Andrew does indeed have.

“Now? Do you?” you questioned, scooting closer to him, their legs now touching.

“Yeah, okay? I’m single…” Andrew grumbled, avoiding your eyes.

It’s not like he hasn’t been pursued before, but he just never saw the interest in dating; at least not until after college. Middle and high school relationships end fast over stupid reasons, besides, it’s just fake dating. How can you date and not go out together outside of school?

Besides, it’s all just hormones and horniness… a feeling Andrew often struggles with by himself.

Andrew tried to scoot away, but you quickly followed and pressed yourself back against his side, repeating the process until he was flushed against the armrest and couldn’t move any further.

“Come on, eat more! I made it for you after all. Don't be mean!” you spoke.

“I can’t eat if you don’t give me space to raise my arm.” Andrew huffed, annoyed at you rushing him before he took another bite.

“So, what do you feel about moving in with me?” you questioned.

“No.” Andrew responded quickly.

“Why not?” you frowned.

“I’m not getting arrested for being an accessory to murder or a murder accomplice.” Andrew spoke.

“But it’s not technically a murder accomplice if you don’t help me kill.” You pointed out.

“However, I know that you’re a murderer and I didn’t tell the police therefore they’ll arrest me.” Andrew huffed.

“I can stop whenever I want.” You hummed. “I can stop if you move in.”

“Yeah, right.” Andrew scoffed, annoyed as he shoveled more food into his mouth.

“Come on, I can be good!” you pleaded, placing your hand on his arm.

“Stop that!” Andrew huffed.

You wanted to try and convince him more with a kiss, but you were a bit worried if the Rohypnol would affect you if it’s in his mouth, so you didn’t risk it.

“Can’t you just leave me alone?” Andrew questioned, irritated.

“Let’s watch a movie instead!” you spoke, trying to distract him.

“No!” Andrew hissed, watching as you grabbed his TV remote and turned the TV on. “Leave my apartment!”

“No!” you huffed, using your arms to wrap around his arm, and wrapped your legs around his torso, clinging onto his side like a koala.

“What’s with you? You’re like a damn koala!” Andrew hissed, trying to pry you off.

“Just let me stay with you!” you whined, starting to get whiny and desperate to stay.

All you have to do is buy enough time for that Rohypnol to kick in.

Andrew heard your whines, his face feeling flushed as a pit of heat formed in his stomach.

“Jesus. Are you touch-starved? Lonely or something?” Andrew commented, annoyed.

“If I say yes will you let me stay?” you questioned, looking up at him, resting your head on his shoulder.

Andrew looked down your pleading face, the expression too much as he felt himself getting worked up.

“Only a movie…” he grumbled, adverting his gaze to the TV so he wouldn’t feel worse.

He can't believe you're actually convincing him. He must be stupid or desperate for a good lay.

You smiled, proud as you placed your bowl on the coffee table, wrapping your arms around Andrew’s torso, forcing him to stay with you as you nuzzled your head against his chest.

Andrew grimaced, before sighing, draping his arm around your shoulder half-heartedly. He watched as you put on some stupid movie of a boy who wants to be an artist. “A Dog of Flanders” or something like that… Some old movie.

The movie was boring and he could feel himself falling asleep, but he didn’t want to sleep in case you tried to steal his kidney or whatever weird shit you're into.

But he couldn’t help it as he slipped unconscious, his head falling to rest on his shoulder awkwardly. You felt his heartbeat soften as you rested on his chest, waiting until the sad part of the movie came.

You turned the movie off before something bad could happen to Patrasche (the boy’s dog in the movie).

You got up from the couch, looking at Andrew to make sure he was still asleep before you opened up his front door. You looked down the hallway to make sure nobody was coming, then opened your front door. You walked back and grabbed Andrew’s collar, dragging him off the couch and into your apartment.

You left Andrew inside your living room, then shut the door. You let out a sigh, checking the time.

2 AM.

Good. Nobody should be walking down the apartments at anytime, so it should be fine for you to spend the next hour packing Andrew’s stuff and moving him in.

You grabbed some rope from your secret drawer in your room, tying Andrew up in case he wakes up (though, you doubt it considering he was drugged, not passed out).

Andrew may be lonely, but you doubt he’s lonely enough to just live with a killer. Manipulation is best, but you just have to try and think of a good way to keep him under control.

You could always use an accomplice…

Nonetheless, you brainstormed ideas as you moved Andrew’s clothes and small belongings into your home, starting to create your perfect scene.

A few tries of reorganizing furniture and stuffing his clothes into your closet and drawers to make it look like he’s always lived here and you succeeded. You added his bath products into your bathroom, along with his hairbrush and toothbrush. You snatched some foods from his pantry and added it to yours, hoping the sight of familiar foods would make it look more like home.

Last, but not least, you fed your cat Georgia.

What? It’s a cute name, and Georgia reminds you of peaches since it’s the state fruit, which is oddly cute…

Georgia was a cat you adopted from the pet shelter you volunteer at. Originally, you only volunteered so you can maintain a good reputation in case of any suspicion against you (like that would ever happen though, you’re a professional).

A few months of volunteering at the shelter, you eventually grew an attachment to the brown ragamuffin cat. She had the sass of a gossipy Southern aunt, hence the name of the Southern state Georgia.

Georgia was an outside cat though, preferring to roam the streets and go on adventures rather than be cramped in a small room. You can’t blame her—it’s probably boring as a cat napping and shitting in litter all the time.

You kept your window open for Georgia to crawl in and get her food. Now onto more pressing matters…

You grabbed some pajamas you took from Andrew’s wardrobe, a simple white T-shirt and grey sweatpants.

You stripped him of his clothing, glancing over and making a mental note of his large, well-endowed package.

It’s a fact you’ll need to know later. You justified to yourself as you clothed him with his pajamas.

After dressing him to looking like he had been taking a planned slumber, you dragged him into your room and plopped him down on your king-sized bed (ah, the perks of being a middle-class citizen).

You tucked him in before smiling, satisfied with the perfect scene you’d set up for Andrew.

Step one: completed.

Now with that out of the way, you needed to focus on the dead body. You opened the body bag that still rested in your apartment, placing the man in the kitchen where the tile was. You picked him up (with a struggle) and got him onto your kitchen counter. Luckily, he didn��t bleed much thanks to the dried blood on his slit neck, but there were still blood splatters on your counter nonetheless.

First, you checked for any belongings. A phone to make sure there wasn’t a tracker, a wallet for identification (and money), and any valuable items such as a ring to not only see if he was married and someone would be looking for him, but to also sell.

What? Money is money.

After grabbing what you wanted, you maneuvered his body so that his head was hanging over the kitchen sink. You carefully, with delicacy and grace, proceeded to make incisions into the crow feet of the male’s skin, using a scalpel to unfold the layers of thin skin and muscle with ease.

Once reaching the bone, you used a handheld bone saw and proceeded to carefully cut small triangles into the bone, making holes. You grabbed some forceps and your scalpel, cutting off the optic nerves and severing them from the eyeballs.

You tilted the dead man’s head forward, catching the squishy eyeballs and delicately placing them in a jar of UW solution so they could be preserved.

Now with claiming your trophy, you had to get to business. You spent hours in the dead of night making careful incisions and cuts, grabbing organs, bone marrow, certain body parts; all valuable in the black market as you plucked them out like a bird would to a worm in the ground.

Preserving all the organs inside different jars of UW liquid, you finally finished dissecting your little money-making machine. You grave your laptop and emailed some colleagues of yours, telling them of your new stock. You emailed your cleaner, setting up a time tomorrow to rid the body before it’ll start to decompose and smell.

You placed the rest of the dead male’s body in a bag, and another bag, and another bag; triple-bagging him like goods at a grocery store, making sure no leaks or spills would happen to the body.

You left him there in the living room, cleaning up your mess in the kitchen and storing the jars in boxes to package up later. You didn’t pack the jar of eyes though, oh no, that was your trophy.

You went to your bedroom and placed the jar to join your collection. The door leading to a small closet in your room was filled with shelves of peering, preserved optic orbs instead of your favorite shirt. It was a collection of your kills, trophies you rightfully earned whilst purifying the world.

You shut the closet door and looked over at Andrew sleeping on your bed. You turned your eyes to look at the clock, letting out a sigh.

6 A.M.

You haven’t even had any sleep yet. Being a serial killer is hard work, but you have bills to pay and dresses to buy.

You grabbed Andrew’s laptop you stole, exiting out of the many porn tabs where the female actress looked like you. You opened his emails and wrote an email to your landlord, impersonating as Andrew and explaining that "he" will be moving in (Y/N)’s apartment and dropping the keys off at the lobby for them to pick up in the morning, so to put his apartment on sale and take his name off it.

You finished with the living situation and now it was time to shower for bed (finally). You grabbed one of Andrew’s sweatshirts and a pair of panties and pajama shorts, walking to the bathroom to shower.

You rid yourself of all the blood from that dead man. The dirt from dragging him through it. Sweat from running around the diner and carrying limp bodies around. And tears from laughing at just how smart you were.

Yet again, you got away with it. It’s to be expected, murdering people runs in your family after all.

You got dressed in your new sleepwear from now on. Usually you’ll wear a silk nightgown, but with Andrew here, it’s best to wear his clothes every now and then to establish a sense of familiarity between the two of you.

You put your hair in stay-in hair rollers to sleep in. You applied lotion on your face and body, brushing your teeth before calling it a night.

You walked into your bedroom, closing the bathroom door behind you. Turning off the lights, you climbed into bed with Andrew, burying your head into his chest and wrapping your arms around his unconscious body.

You snatched his phone, scooting closer to him and propping his head onto your chest. You unlocked his phone with his thumb, taking a picture of the two of you and saving it as his phone screen.

You put his phone on the charger, pushing him away from you before settling down to sleep.

You sat in a bathtub, the water pure red as you relaxed. You washed your skin and your hair, letting the crimson water soak into your body.

Today was your special day. It was your wedding day.

You were getting married to your high school sweetheart, Judah Mot. He was a dashing transfer student from Europe, with gorgeous tan skin, piercing blue eyes, and golden hair gifted from angels. His voice might as well been its own sacred hymn, and his body was one the Greeks used to carve into marble.

The epitome of the perfect man.

Or so you thought.

You sang a soft hum, enjoying the vinyl's soft static of your phonograph's needle softly scrapping against the disc's grooves, creating that peaceful static you could honestly listen to just by itself. You listened to Doris Shore's song "A Guy is a Guy,” humming as you rinsed the conditioner out of your hair.

”Little one?” your mother knocks on the door, “Will you be out soon? Your dress is ready, and all the bridesmaids are so excited to see you.”

”Yes, mama.” You hummed.

“Make haste now, child. The groom is waiting.” Your mother spoke, before her heels clicked away.

You got up from your red bath, smelling of roses from your bath bomb. You rinsed with the shower head to rid any debris of the bath bomb on you, then proceeded to dry off.

You grabbed a white bra and panties, putting them on before exiting the bathroom. Your mother and soon-to-be mother-in-law helped you put on the dress that your mother-in-law chose.

It was beautiful. While it wasn’t completely your style, having an itchy top with no barrier to protect the lace from rubbing against your skin, it was tradition for the mother-in-law to choose the dress. You didn’t mind much, at least the tulle skirt was pretty and comfy, enough so you can walk without tripping.

You put on your dress, letting your five sisters put your hair into a braided bun. You put on the white high heels your mother-in-law provided, smiling as she gave you a necklace.

”I wore this necklace on my wedding day. I was going to give this to my daughter, but I was never blessed with one.” She explained. “Until now, that is.” She spoke, putting a lovely silver necklace onto your neck.

“Thank you, mother.” You smiled.

Your sister tried to put blush on your face, but you stopped her.

“Oh, please. No makeup except the red lipstick. I know that it’ll get ruined later.” You spoke politely.

“From crying of joy?” your sister giggled.

”Precisely.” You smiled.

Your sister put on the lipstick you request, and then you were escorted with your family and mother-in-law to a white limousine. The limousine had red leather seats, black carpet, and some white grape juice (non-alcoholic, per your request).

You engaged in small conversation until the limousine stopped at your destination. Your sisters opened the door for you, your mother-in-law stepping out to help you out of the car.

You were faced with a walkway, wedding music playing as you looked around. There were folding chairs in aisles, leaving space for the walkway, the chairs filled with your family and groom’s family. There was a table with deserts that you will certainly be exploring later. And your father was here, smiling at you as he stood by the limousine door.

He held out his arm, waiting for you to hook your arm, to which you did. You smiled, watching as your niece walked down the aisle with a basket of white petals, dropping them on the ground. They got seated, and it was your time to shine.

You walked down the aisle with your father, feeling all the eyes on you, as all should on your special day. You locked eyes with Judah, happy as you walked to the groom.

Your father took his seat next to your mother as you stood in front of Judah, smiling. Your brother, a priest, was the officiator for the wedding, holding the (L/N)’s family vows in his hand. He smiled at you, watching as you joined with the groom.

You gave vows, just short and sweet ones. Sickness and health, blah, blah, blah. Get on with it so you can get to the fun part.

You exchanged vows and watched one of your little nephews come up with the rings, being the ring bearer as he held up his hands with the rings.

You took the ring and put it on Judah’s right hand. He looked at you, confused. Why didn’t you put the ring on his left hand, closest to his heart? You gave a reassuring smile, saying to trust you. You held right hand up for him to put your ring on.

“Do you, Judah Mot, take (Y/N) (L/N) to be your lawfully wedded wife?” your brother questioned.

“I do.” Judah answered.

”And do you, (Y/N) (L/N), take Judah Mot to be your lawfully wedded husband?” your brother questioned.

“I do not.” You smiled.

Judah’s smile dropped, surprised. “W-what?”

“When you all came in today, you received a quiz of the bride and groom. It came with questions. 'What’s the bride’s favorite color?’ ‘What is the groom’s favorite TV show’ and one question: Who does the groom love?” you spoke.

”(Y/N), now is not the time to be talking about the wedding activities! You just rejected—“

“It’s Delilah.” You answered. “Judah loves Delilah, my best friend.”

Some gasps played out in the audience, but your family members didn’t look surprised. It was if they knew, because you told them. You told them when you saw his eyes stop showing that love and compassion you fell in love with back in high school.

His eyes held nothing now; but when they looked at her, they lit up. You could deal with a broken heart, you can deal with a breakup; but there’s no broken heart in infidelity. In fact, you felt glad.

Glad to see Judah for what he really is, just another piece of meat that fell victim to you. Glad to see your best friend, one who had been with you since middle school and supporting your relationship since the beginning, was nothing more than a home-wrecking skank.

Stay away from what doesn’t belong to you.

“For our first activity tonight, I’d like to begin the hunt.” You smiled.

This island was yours—your family’s. You had private jets to escort all of Judah’s family members for the trip out here. There was no cell service out here, not on a literal island. You told the private jets to accept no passengers in or out for 48 hours. Thanks to the private jets escorting Judah’s family out here, they have no idea where they are, so they were never able to tell anyone a location for where they’re heading; meaning they’ll just drop off the radar. Everyone was isolated, including you and your own family.

Perfect.

“Every family member of the groom has one hour to find a place to hide, or try to run, before you die. The hunt will last for 48 hours.” You explained.

He was the groom, but he was never your groom.

You walked to the desert table, picking up a delicious red raspberry macaroon, taking a bite.

“May the odds and your Gods ever be in your favor.” You smiled.

Your father pulled out a chainsaw from under the dessert table, revving it to start the game. You lifted a silver lid to reveal a 9mm, shooting your husband in the head.

Everyone panicked, getting down on the ground, rushing for cover, pushing each other to the ground, anything to hide from the stray bullets, the chainsaws, the machetes.

You smashed someone’s face in with your heel, watching as blood stained your dress. And you laughed. You laughed till you cried tears of joy, and thank God you didn’t wear a heavy amount of makeup to ruin your beaming face.

You smiled, making eye contact with Delilah as she hid behind a tree. She saw you and ran, but you smiled, holding up your gun and aiming, before shooting for the kill.

Oh, what a romantic day it was.

You had woken up first, you always wake up early, even if you go to bed late. It’s important to keep a routine, even if you’re a killer.

You woke up at 10 AM, but stayed in bed till 12 PM, when Andrew finally woke up. You pretended to be sleeping, still buried in his chest.

When Andrew stirred, groggy and a bit woozy, still seeming to be affected by those drugs you gave him. He finally opened his eyes, confused on where he was and why he was here.

“The fuck…?” was the first thing he muttered, followed by him jumping, “(Y/N)?!”

You pretended to wake up upon hearing him, letting out a tired moan before opening your eyes.

“Mhm?” you hummed, your eyes glancing to Andrew before smiling. “Good morning, my love.”

“What am… why am I—(Y/N)!” Andrew huffed, pissed off, confused, scared. “What the hell?”

“Language.” You frowned. “What are you talking about, dear? Did you have another nightmare?”

“I don’t have nightmares. I’m a man.” Andrew quickly retorted with a frown, before shaking his head, pushing you off his chest. “N-no! You’re distracting me! You killed that man!”

”We killed him.” You hummed, speaking as if it was natural.

”You did.” Andrew rebutted, frowning.

“Dear, get up.” You sighed, sitting up.

Andrew reluctantly got up, cautious as he stood near the door. You got up, Andrew taking notice of your attire.

“Take off my shirt.” He huffed.

“I’m not wearing anything underneath.” You quickly spoke. “Besides, I always wear it. What’s with you?”

“You don’t always wear it! It’s mine.” Andrew huffed, before looking around the room.

His poster of his favorite game was hung up. His pants and belt were on the floor, left lazily scattered on the ground like he owned the place. His shoes were by the bed. His wallet and phone were on his bed stand, unlocking it to reveal a photo of Andrew sleeping on your chest.

“What?” Andrew questioned, confused. “What’d you do to my screen saver.”

“Jeez, hon…” you sighed, pretending to be tired with the conversation and “accusations” already. “Is this about your nightmares again?”

“I already told you, I don’t have nightmares!” Andrew huffed.

“I mean the dreams, or memories, you get of when you were living alone. Without me.” You spoke, resting your head on your palm, watching his meltdown as he tried to decide if this was real or not.

“You’re tricking me! You’re—“

You shut him up with a kiss, pressing your lips onto his lips as you placed your hands onto his cheeks.

It was annoying having to kiss a man so damn much, and you almost felt repulsed having to kiss this damn-near stranger again and again; but you had to keep the act up. You couldn’t just let him run off.

You have to drag him down with you.

“W-what was that for?” Andrew inquired, confusion and a small tint of red visible on his face.

“I can’t kiss my fiancé?” you tilted your head, smiling.

“F-fiancé?” Andrew questioned, surprised.

“Duh.” You smiled, rolling your eyes. “You’re the one that proposed, dummy. We’re saving up for engagement rings though.”

Andrew frowned, looking at his finger. He didn’t have a ring, but it checks out considering you said they were saving money for rings.

“Now, come on.” You smiled. “Get up. We have work to do today!”

Andrew got up from the bed, hesitant as he looked at you. He sighed, getting up from the bed. You watched with a smile as he moved his way to the closet, opening it and letting out a short scream.

“What the fuck?!” he shouted, his eyes meeting dozens of others entrapped in jars.

“Love?” you questioned, feigning ignorance as you ‘wondered’ why he was frightened.

“What is this shit?!” Andrew questioned, holding a jar up to show you, before quickly grimacing and putting it back down on the shelf when the eyes rolled to him.

“Um, my trophy collection?” you scoffed, offended, before quickly correcting yourself. “It’s our collection, duh?”

“No, no. It’s not mine. I didn’t do any of it!”

“Andrew!” you huffed, standing up from the bed. “You know, I’m really not liking your attitude. I understand you have dreams and sometimes mix them with reality, but Andrew you need to stop acting crazy.”

“Crazy?!” Andrew exclaimed, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Me?! Crazy? Woman, there are eyeballs in your closet!”

“And?” you retorted, crossing your arms.

“It’s gross! And immoral!” Andrew groaned.

“Please, you’re not a saint yourself.” You rolled your eyes. “Andrew, you promised when you proposed that you’d join my family’s business. If you’re proposing to leaving me, or telling about the business, you’ll be another body bag in the morgue.”

“B-but—“ Andrew stammered, utterly confused and possibly even starting to doubt it.

Did he really ask her for her hand? Did he really kill someone? Kill more than one?

“You better be dressed when you get into the kitchen. I’m going to get dressed and cook breakfast.” You chirped, a smile on your face before you walked to the bathroom to get your clothes inside of your walk-in closet.

You wore a cute black and white polka dot dress, wearing some shorts underneath and pairing it with black Mary Jane flats.

You undid your hair curls, brushing out your hair to show your perfect curls. You applied hair spray to keep it in place, and put on your signature red lipstick.

You exited your bathroom to see Andrew sitting down on the bed, staring at you with a blank expression. He met your eyes and smiled, standing up.

“So...dear?” he spoke, almost as if he was questioning it as he walked over to you. “Take off your clothes and prove it." He smirked, pinning you down to the mattress.

...What?

Chapters: Chapter 1, current chapter, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5 (in the works)

I don't really have anything important to say. My updates might be a little slow, I have some family issues going on and I just got a new job. We'll see what happens.

Want more Andrew Graves content? Check out the Andrew Graves masterlist!

Inbox is OPEN for questions about the story and new plotlines/ideas, not for requests!

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trickster-archangel · 1 month ago

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Look, I'm not done yet. Not by a mile.

Apart from the Sam slander which was totally uncalled for, totally gratuitous, totally malicious, and which could've been totally avoided by making Sam appear in that pcs with the TB saluting their captain and awaiting for orders…as his new recruits for HIS New Avengers….instead of willingly making him appear like a dumb evil angered black man who's shitting on their precious white boyz team….without a serious motivation for neither of the two parts’ actions’....

(but of course this couldn't be allowed right? God forbid a black man gets the respect and the recognition he deserves and is totally due, as EVEN FICTIONAL PEOPLE IN HIS UNIVERSE CAN DO, because next what will be?? A black woman for President, huh??? O TEMPORA, O MORES! Without even considering all the white cishet women who drools so badly to be in the white boy's pants and can't allow a black man to get to his ass first….).

It'll be a long post plus spoilers, so the rest under the cut. Please bear with me because I'm DISGUSTED.

There's another thing that's nagging at me, more specifical, and which makes Bucky’s actions even more OOC and indefensible and unwarranted. And it’s the presence, in that ragtag team, of Alexei and John. And not only because they are assholes pieces of shit. But because they're supersoldiers. Follow me, please.

We know specifically from Bucky’s words in CABNW, and also from Steve’s whole attitude towards Sam, that Sam Wilson has been chosen as Captain America because of his moral and ethical qualities, because of his heart, because of his mind. Having or not having the serum, as pointed out multiple times also in TFATWS, is irrelevant. The serum doesn't make the hero, if the hero isn't already there. Captain America doesn't need to be superpowered to do what he does, because sure, he must fight, but mostly he needs to make the right calls, take the right decisions, the hard decisions nobody can make because they aren't super partes, talk to people instead of fighting, and never killing, not even when justified.

Even more, Captain America has his own code and doesn't answer to any governments beck and call, but only to justice and compassion. As proved many times by Steve Rogers, White Boy Extraordinaire, when going rogue and even when abandoning the Captain America name for the Nomad identity. Right? And that's exactly why Steve chose Sam Wilson. Sam is brave, is strong, is compassionate, is fair, is human, but most of all, he's intelligent, he's brilliant, he's charismatic, he's a strategist and a tactician. He has the brawn but most of all, he has the brain.

And this is dangerous. To every government, to every established power, to every organization, people who can think and decide on their own, especially if these people are adored and worshipped by folks and masses, ARE DANGEROUS. They can't be controlled. They can't be lured. They can't be coaxed. They can't be threatened. They can't be bought. They can't be manipulated. They are a threat to any government because they don't answer to the Government's rules, which have all to do with law and nothing to justice.

Dike VS Themis. It's an ooooold debate.

Sam Wilson doesn't have the serum, so he must be super smart and super intelligent to compensate for his disadvantage in battle, and we see it multiple times during the Celestial Island battle and the Red Hulk fight (thank you @staying-elive !). The amount of synapses needed to coordinate body, wings, weapons, shield, Redwing, and to fight to disarm and defuse instead of blowing up and killing, is insane.

This alone makes him a threat. They know they can ask Captain America to cooperate and help, but he'll never bend his neck and he'll never wear a sanctioned collar, and he'll never act against justice only because The American Government, God Save The President, says so. They all know it.

Back to the AvengerZ (sorry but that's the only appropriate name to this bad copy). I only really thought about it recently, I couldn't quite pinpoint it, until I read @imomnba-x07 and @thevibraniumveterans posts. There are two lines of thought that really scare me, here, and that's because I've worked as a government's little cog my whole life and I notice the clues.

Even leaving the whole Valentina’s issue aside, even ignoring the (dangerous) fact that her stunt saved her ass and brought a part of the government on her side, even ignoring the fact that the TB could've easily exposed her and handed her to justice but they chose not to (wow….that's a lot to ignore!), let's stick to the fact that the Government now has its own “Superhero Department” with people on payroll they can send around to do its dirty, dangerous job, per its request, every time someone or something is deemed a threat to Earth's safety, no questions asked, no doubts raised, no objections made.

I'm choosing to leave the Bucky issue aside because we agree he's so OOC and his actions and choices are so indefensible (unless he's working undercover for Sam, but even like this, he should've acted differently in that last scene, even if he's very bad at lying), that it doesn't make sense that he might yearn for freedom then chain himself to a Government's beck and call, and that he worked months to expose Valentina (HE SPECIFICALLY, not Yelena nor the other mercenaries), and right when he had his chance….he went puff….

The problem here is the presence of Alexei and John.

First. An ethical reason.

Antonia was introduced only to kill her senslessly right at the beginning. Shock value and cruelty, sure. Bad, cheap writing, indeed. But! By choosing to keep John, White Male Extraordinaire, and killing Antonia, they made another choice: they killed a victim, a trauma survivor, an abused woman, who surely had superpowers but which powers she never could choose to have, never asked to have, and were forced onto her by harming her. She has made bad calls in life, but just as Bucky, as Yelena, as Ava, she didn't have much of a choice or a saying in the matter. Abused, manipulated, traumatized. I bet her mind rooms wouldn't have been very nice.

She died, though, and John survived. This is extremely worrying and dangerous, as a concept, because John ISN'T A VICTIM. Let me phrase it better.

JOHN WALKER HAS NEVER BEEN A VICTIM, HAS NEVER BEEN A TRAUMA SURVIVOR, HAS NEVER BEEN ABUSED, HAS NEVER BEEN EXPERIMENTED UPON, HE WILLINGLY CHOSE TO TAKE THE SERUM BECAUSE HE WANTED TO BE MORE.

In fact, and this is horrifying in a movie which claims to be about mental illness and depression and how to magically heal by the powers of hugs and friendship, we only see one mind room about John. Oh yes. What is his trauma? Thank you for the question.

JOHN FUCKING WALKER'S SO-CALLED TRAUMA is that he's been an abusive asshole to his family because he was so obsessed about the fame and glory and respect he had lost (because, you know, he murdered a surrendering man in broad daylight because he couldn't control himself), that he couldn't even rein his emotions in and care about what should've really mattered to him. A selfish, self centered, violent, abusive piece of shit, who apparently considers himself a victim because his wife didn't wait to be beaten to death during one of his rage fits and run away to save herself and her baby.

You see why this is dangerous? A true victim gets killed, an abuser gets saved and praised and rewarded. And the audience should empathize with him and feel sorry because that stupid woman left his sorry ass and made him a sad little meow meow?! Rewriting history is always a danger. You know what I'm talking about. Victims being depicted as culprits, and abusers being portrayed as victims.

Another thing is dangerous. And this is reconnecting to Sam Wilson. Alexei and John are supersoldiers, even more, they've always and only been Government employed supersoldiers. The other TB? Not so much. They have been rogue and mercenaries, Yelena surely has worked for her government too, but mainly they are wild cards. Not these two.

These are enhanced individuals (the same ones we still see a part of the government is still wary about, right during the process against Valentina) who have always worked as some sort of elite forces for their Government's black ops. They don't need finesse. They don't need strategy. They don't need intelligence. They don't need tactics. They don't need synapses. Why should they, when they can simply hammer down and shoot and maim until no opponent stands? Why should they plan things ahead and control damage, when they can simply shoot first and ask questions later?

THEY DON'T NEED TO BE INTELLIGENT AND ABLE TO THINK AND MAKE AUTONOMOUS DECISIONS BECAUSE THAT'S NOT PART OF THEIR CONTRACT.

Never has been. The orders arrive. They obey. They kill. The government doesn’t need to worry they'll object and go rogue. You know that thing so many TB apologists say about “oh but they didn't choose to form the team, they didn't know about each other, they just found themselves together and were forced to collaborate to save their asses and in the end they were put into a team!”

Yes. That's what I'm saying. They cannot think. They cannot decide. They cannot collaborate as a single unit if not to survive. Fuck!! The only time they had one fucking chance to act intelligently and take their own decisions, THEY DID NOTHING! They could've fucked Valentina sideways IN FRONT OF ALL WORLD but they didn't. Because they can only obey orders, not plan in advance, not take the right decisions on their own. They are servants, not heroes. And Bucky chose to be a servant, too.

You see why this team, Valentina’s team, and not Sam’s, is convenient to a Government? Do you think a Navy SEAL would restrain himself from killing a bunch of unharmed sheep herders in Afghanistan, if he thought they could be a potential threat? Read some books (I did), and learn about what the US Government really asks of their elite forces.

Sam Wilson would never comply.

But Alexei and John?! Fuck. That's all they've done for their whole adult life. Hell! Alexei would trade his daughters for a minute under the spotlights! That's why we couldn't see any mind room for him, he hadn't any! He too, like Walker, is the abuser, not the victim. The manipulator, not the victim. He, too, only seeks public cheering at any cost, a picture onto cereal boxes (HAVE WE EVER SEEN STEVE ROGER'S OR TONY STARK’S FACES ON CEREAL BOXES?! SINCE WE WANT TO TALK ABOUT WHITE BOYS), and would obey any order if it means he can get his reward. Like Walker sacrificed his family, too.

Do the trick, get the treat. You know, the way I trained my dog out of bad habits like shitting inside.

Last thing. There's A HUGE DIFFERENCE between the way the TB save people in New York and then accept to become Valentina’s tools instead of exposing her, out of necessity and/or because they want to be praised, and the way Sam Wilson saves people because it's the only way he knows how to live.

For my aesthetics exam, more than twenty years ago, I had to study a bunch of Freud texts. Sure, the man had issues. But one thing I remember, albeit not in full details: it's a metaphor of sorts. He makes the example of two different men reacting to the same situation: a child falls into a river and is in drowning danger. Both men throw themselves in the cold waters and drag the child to safety, but then die in their place. Apparently, the situations are identical, except for the intent and the motivation: one man did it selflessly, instinctively, because he valued life, every life, worth the risk of losing his own. Even if nobody ever knew his name, ever saw him, ever remembered him, he would've done it anyway, because only the child mattered. The other man, though, did it because he hoped to be seen, to be noticed, to be remembered, to be talked in high praise, so that the child's life mattered nothing to him because his own life didn't, in face of potential glory even after his death. The difference is, Freud said, that the second man wouldn't even have hesitated to throw the child into the water himself, if it made it possible for him to pull his glorious act.

You spot the difference between Alexei saving the girl on the street, and Sam talking down Ross, right?

That's all. Sorry for the verbosity. But I'm horrified by the implications, and what they might mean for Doomsday, but mostly, about the social, sociological, and ethical implications of choosing Walker over Antonia, and choosing Walker and Alexei (specifically) over Sam.

#long post #my meta #anti thunderbolts #sam wilson #captain america #sam wilson is captain america #cabnw #fuck john walker #fuck alexei shostakov #and fuck all the Thunderbolts #give us back our true bucky barnes. we want no skrulls

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popeabbot · 4 months ago

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Evil In Bed

note: omg I haven't posted on here in like a year, I'm trying out a new thing by doing charactrer x reader stories so feel free to leave constructive feedback! :) 2.8k word count

~your favorite regular at the diner you work at turns out to be an interesting character

CW: violence, gun violence, sexual assault, harassment, hurt/comfort, fluff, cursing but thats not that crazy, wound care, age gap (You're early 20s he's late 30s), Frank being calm until someone lays hands on his favorite waitress

Frank Castle x fem!reader

You weren’t sure when exactly the stranger who always sat at the back of the diner became a regular. Or more specifically, your regular. Being not only a collage student but a student nurse meant you worked the job that paid your rent, at night. It was a small diner in a busy part of Brooklyn but it was a surprisingly good gig, you liked your co-workers and most people that came in were regulars so easy to work with and they’d always leave you good tips.

A few months ago a guy started coming in around the beginning of your shift, and he’d stay until you left. He always wore all black, kept his baseball cap pulled down where you could only see a small glimpse of his face. He’d sit at the back of the diner, facing the door and nurse a pot of coffee the whole time. No food, just coffee. Like clockwork. After a pretty light start to your shift you noticed your regular at his normal booth. You grabbed the coffee pot from its stand, a bowl of cream and sugar and headed his way.

“Evening stranger. Just coffee as usual?” You questioned with a warm smile, you caught his smile as he curtly nodded his head. The two of you had built a small relationship, sometimes he’d ask if he needed to rough up a weirdo after a bad shift. You’d always laugh, but he was serious and you knew it. “Well looks like it’s gonna be a boring night, got any jokes for me? Or hot gossip from wherever you come from? Something to keep me going?”

You’d asked for his name several times but he never gave one. Which would probably seem weird if you didn’t live in New York, so you just called him Stranger.

He quietly mulled over a few ideas in his head as he sipped his coffee. He drank his coffee black but you always brought the cream and sugar for yourself, in case you joined him. You scanned his face and noticed some new bruises and an ugly gash across his nose.

You couldn’t see his face very clearly with his cap but you did catch his big brown eyes gazing up at you before he finally answered. “Boss is callin’ your name sweetheart.”

You cursed under your breath as you were pulled away from him. You turned on your heel in the direction of your nagging boss, a group of bikers had come in and were also beckoning you over.

“Sorry about that folks. Welcome to Casey's. I'll be your waitress. What can I get everyone to drink?”

Each man made some form of a lewd joke about you being on the menu before giving their actual orders. You smiled through grit teeth and quickly went behind the bar.

“I’m going to murder them. Can you please please take these guys Joey?” You begged the head cook as he flipped some pancakes on the grill.

“And you cook? Sorry sister but no. If it’s that big a deal, make Casey deal with them.”

“Casey will tell me to suck it up and flash them if it means getting good tips! Joey please! I’ll never ask for free food ever again!” That’s a lie. After another hard ‘no’ you huffed and took the group of brutes their drinks.

“So what’s a fine piece of ass like you working in a place like this?” One of the men asked, referring to the slightly dingy diner you’d come to love.

“Just trying to pay the bills.” You replied curtly, trying to keep your eye from twitching. “Does everyone know what they’d like to eat?”

Before they could make another joke about you being on the menu, a sharp whistle cut through the air, you whipped your head around to see your favorite regular holding up an empty pot of coffee.

“If you’ll excuse me I just need to step over to that gentleman’s booth for a moment, take a couple more minutes to look over the menu.” You smiled before practically bolting to the other side of the diner. “Thank god for you and your caffeine addiction,” you sighed, wiping his table down and picking up the empty pot. “Want another one?”

“Those guys bothering you?” If looks could kill every man in the booth on the opposite corner would be dead. You looked back at the men and then to your stranger with a soft smile.

“Nah, Joey may act like he hates me but if they get too mouthy he’ll kick em’ out. Promise.” You placed your soft hand on top of his rough knuckles, the murderous look on his face flickered to a softer one for just a second. “Look at my favorite regular being worried for me!” Before he had the chance to reply you were being called back over, you sighed and took a moment to fix your hair. “Duty calls! I’ll be back.”

“Don’t worry about another pot, I'll be fine!”

You nodded as you pulled your order book back out.

“Sorry about that guys, what can I get started for ya?”

As each man gave their order they were surprisingly…nice? No lewd comments, no smart remarks, no staring directly at your boobs while you took orders, until the last man who was sitting closest to you ordered.

“Yeah I’ll take the burger all the way, with curly fries and a soda and for dessert I’ll have a piece of you!” Before you could even react his hand flew up your skirt and firmly gripped your ass, you screamed, dropping your order book. As you raised your hand to smack him, a tall shadow hovered over both of you and the man instantly let you go.

“That’s not how you treat a lady.” It was your regular. “Now apologize.” He stepped in between you and the man, his broad body covering you completely. It was then you realized just how large he was. His shoulders were broad like a man who spent his whole life working, his jacket smelled of leather and gunpowder, something you’d never noticed until he was right up against you. The men argued and in a flash the group was headed outside, your regular having the perv that grabbed you by the throat.

“Oh my god Joey!” You yelped as a hand gently grabbed your arm. “He’s going to kill him!” You practically squealed. Joey shrugged and dragged you behind the bar.

“Wait here.” He mumbled before turning to follow after the fist fight waiting to happen. Joey was much older than you, he’d been working at Casey’s since it opened.

He thought you were an annoying brat when you first started working. Eventually you stopped asking for free food because a plate would be waiting for you at the end of your shift, he’d become a father figure of sorts. But you two still butted heads so of course instead of doing what you were told you ran after him.

“What the hell is going on out here?” Your boss asked, stepping out of his office. You yelled something about a fight as you ran past him, he quickly followed behind. You threw the back door open to the sight of your regular dominating over the gang of bikers, most of them were on the ground but two of them had him cornered. He moved swiftly and efficiently to knock them on the ground, yelling about how their mothers should’ve raised them better.

You covered your mouth in horror, eyes wide from shock. Joey stood to the side with a toothy grin as he recorded the massacre.

“Joey!” You shrieked, slapping his arm. All the men turned to look at you, including your regular who was now splattered with blood. The man he had beaten slowly stood with a gun in his shaky hands, and fired. Joey and Casey both pushed you to the ground, your ears rang sharply even though you’d thrown your hands over them at some point. When you finally pushed the two burly men off of you the bikers had scattered leaving your regular bleeding on the ground.

“Oh my god. Oh my god.” You ran to him, picking his face up gently. “Hey, I need you to talk to me. Please, please talk to me!” You slapped his face lightly before moving to lay your head on his chest, it moved up and down but his breathing was ragged. You moved to assess the damage as Joey dialed 9-1-1, the bullet hadn’t gone through all the way and seemed to be lodged in between two of his ribs. You let out a sigh of relief but yelped when he grabbed your hand.

“No hospitals.” He spat through gritted teeth.

“Are you crazy?!” You sat back on your heels in disbelief as he began to stand, and caught him before he hit the ground again.

“You're a nurse aren’t you? You fix me.”

“I’m a CNA, that’s not a nurse.”

“Well I’m sure you can figure it out, I’m running out of time here sister.”

You gawked at him like he was a pure mad man before saying something you’d never catch yourself saying. “Joey tell him everyone ran off. I got this.”

Joey now wore your gawked expression. “Now I knew you were crazy but I didn’t think you were this crazy! Absolutely not!”

“Joey. Trust me.”

He stared at you before hanging up the phone, grabbing Casey and going back inside. Maybe he was just as crazy as you were. But deep down you knew this guy wouldn’t hurt you.

“I only live a few blocks from here. I walk to work every day. Just stay with me and we can make it.” He nodded, screwing his eyes shut at the mere movement of walking. “You know, I could’ve handled those guys without making it a fight.”

“No darlin,” he grunted. “Not when that asshole had a gun.” He gripped his side tightly as you hobbled through the streets of Brooklyn. You couldn’t believe you were taking this man you didn’t really know to your apartment because he’d insisted on no hospitals. Who was this guy? He grunted at every step as you climbed the stairs to your apartment.

“Why do you have to live on the third floor?”

“It’s good cardio, sue me.”

You finally reached your door without leaving a bad trail of blood and as you fumbled with your keys your elderly neighbor stepped out from her door across the hall. You lightly laid your hand on your new companion's chest to let him know not to make any noise.

“Mrs. Dabney? Is everything alright?”

“Oh darling I was just about to ask you the same thing, I could hear you struggling up the stairs and had to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh Mrs. Dabney thank you for asking, I’m perfectly fine, Joey sent me home with a big box of cooking supplies so it was a pain to bring up the stairs with the elevator not working. I’ll be there to help you with your grocery shopping tomorrow!” Your lovely neighbor wished you goodnight and went back inside, you quickly pushed your regular inside and locked the door behind you.

“She’s blind,” You seemed to answer his question before he even had the chance to ask. “She’s blind but I have a feeling she knew you were there..I’ll come up with an excuse later.”

He stood in your studio apartment awkwardly, not wanting to sit and get blood on your couch but also losing blood at an alarmingly fast rate and trying to not fall over. You quickly grabbed your medical kit and helped him to the bathroom.

“Shirt off.” You demanded, setting him on the seat of your toilet.

“Hey now sweetheart, at least buy me dinner first!” He partially laughed and partially grunted at the pain that shot through his chest. Except you didn't laugh like you normally would, you shot him a look that had his shirt hitting your bathroom tiles in an instant despite how much it hurt. You stopped for a moment to really take in the sight before you. His cap was off and his hair fell just above his eyes, but the sides were shaved, his face was perfectly chiseled like it had been handcrafted.

His nose had clearly been broken multiple times but for you it just added to his charm. Your eyes trailed down to his equally sculpted chest, he wore a pair of dog tags with a gold band threaded in them. He was a soldier, which made so much more sense. His abs rippled with every tense breath, his right side was drenched in the blood that seemed to be oozing from his 8th rib, in that moment you remember why you were here. He’d been shot and he wanted you to fix him.

“Don’t care if you drool over me as long as you get the job done darlin,” He grunted, snapping you from your daze. You ran back to the kitchen and returned to him with a bottle of whiskey.

“Drink.” You raised the bottle to his lips and he gratefully took it from you. You pulled your hair back tight and sighed as your work uniform would be totally trashed. After washing your hands and sanitizing your tools you got to work kneeling between his legs and resting your arms on his upper thighs. “I’m not gonna lie, it’s pretty nasty, I’ll do my best.”

He said nothing as you worked to clean the wound, you silently prayed that the bullet was lodged in his rib and not somewhere worse. Either way this wasn’t going to be fun for either party involved. You tried your best to feel for the bullet, but you didn't have the right angle with him sitting upright.

“Hey- wait what is your name anyways? I've been trying to get it out of you for ages but you’re always so mysterious at the diner.”

“Frank,” he grunted, taking another swig of whiskey, “Castle.”

“Well Frankie, I’m gonna need you to slide your hips forward I need a better angle.” He nodded and slipped his hips closer to you until you were practically face to face with his hip bones. You had to drown out the hisses and groans that he let out as you carefully sliced his skin and removed the fragmented bullet and the pieces it left behind. Despite the situation you were in, it was hard to work with him being so close to you. He was so caring, and so fucking hot. It was going to be hard to keep him out of your bed. You finished suturing the cut you had to make and sat back on your heels wiping your brow.

“Need anything else patched up while I'm sitting here?” You looked at the gash in his nose and lip and then to the cuts on his knuckles.

“Nah I don’t think it’s anything major, but you could always kiss it to make it better?” You shot up to look in his eyes, and at the big shit eating grin on his face. Was this his plan the whole time? You couldn’t help but giggle as you took his hand and slowly peppered kisses on his knuckles, before slowly moving up to his rib, he hissed at the contact but didn’t pull away. You perched yourself on his lap and peppered kisses, intertwining ‘thank you’s’ between the kisses. You helped clean him off and wrapped his hand and nose before bringing him to your room.

“I have some of my brother’s old clothes, the shirt might fit.” You helped pull it over his head, pulled his boots off and helped him lay in your bed. He laid down but was tense as you changed out of your bloody work uniform.

“I’m so sorry,”

“For what?” You asked, crawling into the bed.

“For dragging you into this whole...mess.” He sighed, dragging his bandaged hand over his face. You sat in front of him frowning.

“I may not know you Frank, but if I didn’t trust you, you wouldn’t be here. I don’t know your situation but get some sleep, let your wound heal up for the night at least.” You caressed his face, he leaned into your touch and you sat with him until he fell asleep. After a few hours you got a text from Joey, the headline read:

The punisher of New York attacks a biker gang in a small Brooklyn diner - ‘This your guy? Nice.’

You turned your head to face the man whose face was nuzzled in the cook of your neck, how could someone the world saw to be evil be curled up in your bed? That would be a question for another day, for now he was all yours.

note: AHHH this was so fun to write I have a couple more im working on as valentines day approaches so stay tuned! I hope yall enjoy! Muah ;)

@ebodebo @fun-k-boards @jjenthusee @sceletaflores @starsofang

#fanfiction #~abi writes~#frank castle #frank castle x reader #yeah I named the line cook after Bistro Huddy mind your own #I NEED HIM #save me frank castle save me #fanfic #writing #trending #the punisher #Its a miracle I actually posted cause i've been fighting my wifi

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