#Can’t wait to be on vacation goddamn | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

belokhvostikova · 1 year ago

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𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | What was supposed to be a summer vacation to your boyfriend's hometown, turned into God's greatest test of morality against you. In other words, you basically fuck your boyfriend's best friend, Eddie Munson.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, mention of alcohol, drug use, jealousy, possessiveness, small violence, a threat of murder (little yandere, but not really-ish, I don't know, to be honest), slightly dark (I think, right? Maybe?) cheating, and explicit sexual content: fondling, spitting, dom/sub dynamic, name calling, degradation/praise kink, finger sucking, nipple play, face slapping, pussy slapping, masturbation (male), fingering, handjob, cum eating, squirting, and unprotected vaginal sex.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | I... don't know what this is. Just take, goddamn it, there, take me for all I'm worth! Do I condone cheating? No. But did this idea make me really horny? Yes. And he's a little mean, so be warned.

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐃𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.

Sometimes… you wished he’d never spoken those words.

When two weeks into his summer vacation in Hawkins, Indiana was enough time spent away from the debilitating semesters of university to have his newfound room—proffered by the closest of a distant family member, because two months with the folks would just be too much—smelling of the fresh cologne of clean air and washed linen; the smell that warmed you with the loving memories of ten months of sweet kisses and heavenly whispers.

When his navy blue comforter wrinkled under the weight of tussling bodies, because in those mere two weeks—his half in Hawkins, yours in Indianapolis—both hearts ached for the touch of one another, and he refused to deprive himself from the physical contact of his love, you. Crushing kisses, trailing hands, and connecting bodies to commemorate the rising sun, because a town miles away from the bustling city of beeping traffic and screaming pedestrians left room for the morning songs of the Northern Cardinal.

When the exhaustion of a two hour journey through cornfields and even smaller towns guided you to the place where he relished you in the memories of his boyhood; swing sets on the playground, the arcade after homework, Tuesday performances at the Hideout. Such memories came to life for you when the aluminum stock sign welcomed you into Hawkins. Sore from stiffness, your limbs crashed into the embrace of your lover, where your first night in the cursed town consisted of fucking the Friday night darkness away, until bodies glowed under the welcoming sun of the Saturday morning, where dewy grass freshened the air in contrast to the concrete slabs of cracked busy sidewalks you grew up on.

But then… he spoke those words.

When a stroking thumb against the hairs of your brow elicited the tired whine from your mouth, as you nuzzled your face into his naked chest to shield you from the burning sunshine pouring from the basement window. Your eyes woke to his dozy lips, chapped with pinched corners to show off the crookedness of his teeth that brought such beautiful character to his soul. Puffs of morning breath warmed your somnolent face with his morning greeting.

“I know I’ve told you this like a million times,” he croaked, “but I really am so happy that you’re here. With me.” His heavy hand landed on the apple of cheek to encourage your growing smile. “Can’t wait to show you around, can’t wait for you to meet my friends- the guys.”

Now, a new cologne of ashy darkwood and burning spices tarnished the content bubble of ten months of sweet kisses and heavenly whispers with groping handfuls and filthy intimacy. An anxious pit of guilty dread now eats you alive when the musk of his igniting cigarettes invades your being, but how can you think of such worrisome, when it’s the same scent that has your face torching with flames of desire and heart fluttering with anticipation for a new love- a different kind of love?

Other times… you are happy that he spoke those words.

Because it led you to Eddie Munson.

Her diamond scintillated, shoved in your face by her persistent eagerness to show off the glowing ring that beamed under strobe lights of greens and reds that twirled from the tiny disco ball. Eric Marcher, who couldn’t give you anything more than a nod of acknowledgement when introduced—despite his intimate hand clasp and hug combo with your boyfriend, had been detailed to you as the man needed when small town goers were itching for party favors. Now, in the cul-de-sac of Mirkwood, a lively get-together of strangers, like Cheryl “soon-to-be-Levison” Daniels, bombarded you with the overwhelming hospitality of detailing their personal life to the woman who snagged Braun Peterson.

A large smile matched that of her ring, beaming with a boastfulness of pride for fulfilling that suburban wife “dream” role, but you couldn’t blame her. A fat rock rested upon her finger to symbolize her everlasting love with her partner? Hell, you’d shove it in other people’s faces, as well. “It belonged to Nana Leslie before Oliver got it with her blessing. See, my daddy was never able to give it to my momma, because well, Nana never liked her,” you met her seven minutes ago, “but, anyways, it’s been in the family for two generations, and now it’s mine!”

“Oh, wow.” You liked her and her family drama. Your hands maneuvered to twist her finger, watching how beautifully the jewelry captured the light.

“I mean, it was kinda rash, ya’know, with the war and whatnot.” Her Midwestern accent sang. “Oliver wanted to tie the knot before his deployment, but I was not about to do it in City Hall. Though, he did promise me a big wedding when he comes back from Iraq.” She longingly sighed, as you nodded along. “Ya’know, something that doesn’t involve a smelly courthouse. “What about you?”

You chuckled. “What about me?”

“Have you and Braun discussed when you’d be getting married?”

You nearly choked on your drink despite not even having one. “Oh.” Quite the response to offer. “We’re, um, not exactly there yet. I mean, we haven’t even been dating for a year.” You awkwardly laughed.

“Well, you don’t wanna wait too long!” Cheryl huffed out an airy laugh. “It’s like, when ya’know you know, ya’know?” Her attempt to philosophize the concept of love left your head nodding along to move the conversation, but Cheryl “soon-to-be-Levison” Daniels surely had to knack to keep talking. “And don’t you know?”

Do you know? “Um-”

“Would you quit harassing my girlfriend?” A familiar hand squeezed your shoulder, before the presence of Braun Peterson came from behind the couch, where he bent down to smile at you.

“I am not harassing your girlfriend.” Cheryl scoffed. “And come on, I’ve been your best friend since we were babies! I know you! And I know you always talked about getting married!” She sternly punctuated. “I mean, it’s literally what made you cuter than the rest of the boys on the playground.”

Braun derided. “Okay, first of all, we were never best friends, I just had to endure being in the same grade as you.” You both chuckled, as Cheryl dramatically gasped. “And secondly, in case it wasn’t obvious, I’m not a seven-year-old that’s desperate to propose to any girl who was willing to push me on the swingset.”

“Oh!” You piqued his interest. “I happen to be a great companion on the swingset, I’d love to join you.” You sweetly beamed, an endearing feature that had him devastatingly blushing with love.

“Yeah?” He whispered in your face, where you met his question with a nod, reeling him in for a kiss.

“Ugh, see!” Cheryl’s voice had you separating with a hot face. “Marriage material! At least a proposal by the first year mark.” Her brows teased, forcing him to laugh in disbelief.

But Braun Peterson smiled, nonetheless, and your throat had constricted. While the idea of marrying your first serious boyfriend wasn’t the most unsettling notion, the reality of it coming faster than anticipated from the opinions of those closest to him, who unfortunately were raised in the small town mindset of a white picket fence before the age of twenty-five, had your tummy swirling with queasiness. Freshly out of university, the last thing you needed was a ring waying you down by a man whose loud chewing you were still trying to adjust to. A proposal in two months was not in schedule.

Because dinner was on Saturday. Meeting the parents was next Wednesday. Niece’s birthday party in two weeks. At least three years of dating before moving in. The fourth year, an engagement. The fifth, a wedding. Children? Somewhere long after.

Strict? Maybe. But perfect in your mind of precision? Absolutely.

“Um, could you get me something to drink?” You interrupted the possibility of any more talks of the future. “I just have to, uh, run to the bathroom real quick.”

His hand rubbed down your back so perfectly, calming the nerves that festered in your stomach. “Absolutely.” He assured you, as always. “I’ll find us something to eat, too, baby.”

So perfect, so perfect.

Your legs had guided you away from the living room before you could muster a brief goodbye. Maneuvering around shifting bodies, you found yourself counting the steps of the staircase, feeling the utter disappointment when the last steps came out in odd numbers, but the bathroom was two doors down, and the last thing you needed was to obtain tunnel vision from the minor details that didn’t fit your standards of life.

A knock to the wooden door with a silent response lifted the weight off your shoulders, permitting you to open the door and finally receive some peace. But the breath that nested in your throat lost its chance to be of relief, when a presence carried over from behind you, shoving you into the bathroom, with a determined slam to the door.

A rough hand muffled any of your attempts to yell out, but your stiffened body had luckily learned to vaguely relax when the man behind you turned you against the bathroom counter, and you came face-to-face with someone who familiarly made your body shudder under his stare.

His hands moved to grip the porcelain of the sink on either sides of you. “Eddie…” You gulped, as your chest heaved. “God, y-you scared, um, I- is s-something wrong?”

“You’re making quite the impression out there, aren’t ya?” His lip barely curled into a smile, as he stared down at you. “Everyone just fucking loves you, don’t they?”

You refused to meet his eye, trying to move from the caging of his arms, but his persistence left you trapped. “Um,” you sighed, “y-yeah, all your friends are nice-”

“Oh, no, sweetheart, they aren’t my friends.” He spoke so dauntingly. “They’re your boyfriend’s friends, remember? Your boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat, “um, I should go, Eddie. I need to leave.”

“No, you fucking don’t.” He deeply chuckled, finding amusement in the panicked look of your face. “You just got here.”

“Look, Eddie, I don’t know what you’re trying to do-”

“Me?” He scoffed. “I’m not tryna do anything, you’re the one that fucking started it.” His forehead forcefully pressed against yours, shoving your head back so you’d finally look him in the eye. “Remember?” He tauntingly cooed at you, getting in your face. “Remember you being a slut, and startin’ it? Because I sure fucking do.” He spat. “So don’t ask me what the fuck I’m doing, when you started it.”

Your breath heavied, as his nose ran against yours, and you squeezed your eyes shut to wield the strength to compose your anger, a hatred solely targeted to yourself. You were certain Eddie was feeding off of the visceral pounding of your heartbeat, getting off on the sheer panic of your being.

And you hated yourself for loving it.

“N-Not here.” You thickly swallowed. “Please.” Such a desperate plea, and it had him laughing in your face.

“‘Not here?’” He mocked. “I think I can have you wherever I want, no? It’s sure as hell not like you’re gonna stop me, pretty girl.” A soft kiss planted on your cheek had your eyes opening. “God, you really are so pretty, y’know that, baby? Do you know just how pretty you are?”

“Eddie…” His eyes bored into yours, piercing your desire with a burning itch that had you intoxicated on his strong scent. You watched a smirk etch onto his face, as he watched you follow the outline of his plump lips. Do it. Do it. Do it. You were screaming at yourself to just give in. Thighs clenching, heart racing, mouth salivating for the man that enticed you like no other. Your breath shuddered, as your shaky fingers delicately placed themselves against his shaven face.

Just a taste. Just a little.

You reached onto your tippy toes to feel the soft skin of his lips gently brush against yours. You were dictating this. He was letting you dictate this. Because when it all crashed, you started it, you’d be to blame. All it took was the shy kiss fueled by your hesitancy for Eddie Munson to consume what he wanted, and his tongue shoved past your teeth to ravage your taste. He had you gasping against his lips, nothing touching you but his mouth, but it felt like he was pinning you against your will.

Eddie’s knuckles blurred white from the tightening grip you had him enduring, because frustration coursed through his body, as he fought the restraints keeping him from just giving in and fucking you against the bathroom sink. A guttural growl lurched from his chest, “What are you doin’?” He smashed his lips against you. “I didn’t ask you to kiss me.” He sneered.

His comment forced a lump to be caught in your throat, urging you to push away from his chasing lips. “N-No…” Another breathless kiss smeared against you. “Stop, Eddie, we can’t-”

“Shut your fucking mouth.” He interrupted with his tongue injected into your mouth. “Remember you wanted this.”

You were awful. “No!” You whined, unwilling to face the reality of your cruelness.

“Oh, but, yes, baby.” He humiliated you with his mocking tone. “Yes, remember?” He whispered into your make out. “It was you, you fucking looked at me.” Eddie scorned. “How fucking stupid are you to think I wouldn’t do somethin’ about you lookin’ at me, huh? You remember lookin’ at me?” His kisses were becoming more aggressive. “You fucking looked at me, sweetheart!” You felt the air in your lungs burn from his resistance to letting you breathe. “What the fuck do you expect me to do when you were fucking lookin’ at me like that, huh?!”

And you had been looking at him…

Three days ago, the Hideout had been an unfamiliar experience to you on the night of May 30th. It became evident as such when Mary Jane platform pumps rather distastefully met the abhorrent crunch of breaking asphalt from the gravel parking lot, where beat up cars and pick-up trucks haphazardly parked themselves with no formation, clearly lacking the etiquette for what was promised to you as a “nice” establishment. A wave of regret had drowned you in despair as you walked out of your car, immediately being met with the obscene noises coming from a drunken man nearly hacking a lung out, only to shoot his spit and mucus onto the dead bushes that once decorated the place wonderfully in the 60s. You begrudgingly passed the neglected entrance; its doors open for the sleazy, middle-aged men of Hawkins, Indiana to make themselves right at home, as they littered themselves amongst the breadth of the property, sparsely filling up tables and stools with cold beers to accompany them. A gasp of disgust had petered out of your lips, when each step you took sticky film residing on the weathered wood of the floor clung to the outsoles of your beloved heels, coating them with decades of syrupy beer that had found solace within the bar from the happy accidents that tailored the feng shui of the Hideout.

You were appalled.

It was beyond the definitions of obvious that you had overly dressed yourself for the occasion. It was at this moment, you were mentally curing Braun Peterson for providing the wrong impression, completely overselling the bar he once played in, and disregarding the lack of formality that came with the building and its loyal customers.

“Babe, it’s got a decked out bar, you can order whatever you like, trust me, my boy Johnny will whip it up, and it’s got plenty of tables for you to sit your pretty self down and enjoy the show. Not to mention, the nicest stage where you can watch me perform. It’s gonna be great, I promise!”

With a rush of worriment devouring you, you insecurely hugged your bare arms over yourself in an attempt to shield yourself from the preying eyes of unabashed stares coming from bulky men, old enough to be your father, who proclaimed themselves as regulars and patently peering to you as new meat.

Endeavoring the will to appear not so lost and clueless, you walked with your head held high, a fabricated facade of confidence, and you took refuge onto the high top table that accommodated two uncomfortable stools that shared the same layer of dust as the plastic faux wood of the table.

Yeah, you were definitely going to have it out with Braun Peterson.

Your body felt rigid, guarding yourself from potentially coming in contact with anything biohazardous, while also feeling so small from the persistent scary stares that you felt so strongly were examining your body as if you had no autonomy. And maybe you were being a bit pretentious at this moment, but given the overflow of staggering malaise that was consuming your being and clearly placing you into an uncomfortable environment, there was an absolute negative chance of actually enjoying the night, especially after you were going to dish one out to Braun.

Speaking of which, you caught sight of the slick-back, blond hair that was pursuing your way from a slim hallway that catered to the southend of the building, which presumably led backstage. “Hey, you made it!” Incompetent to your unease, Braun had merely stepped up and shoved you into a tight hug, a kiss swiftly placed onto your lips with a smacking mwah.

While he spoke so highly, clearly excited for his performance, you couldn’t fathom reciprocating his energy, immediately stating your concerns with a whine into his embrace. “What is literally wrong with you?”

Judging by your tone, anyone could have discerned the genuine disturbance from being in such situation, but ever the comedian, Braun merely chuckled. “That could be an hour long discussion, babe.” Your eyes flashed with disbelief at his choice to dismiss your evident worries.

You sighed, resisting the urge to not scream in public to cater to his comfort. “No, Braun, I’m serious. Why didn’t you tell me what kind of bar this was?” You pleaded, hoping he’d acknowledge your troubles rather than brushing them off. That was one thing you had quickly discovered from the months of making it official with Braun Peterson; he had quite the sense of humor, which wasn’t at all particularly harmful, but this “sense of humor” had a funny way of not knowing when to draw the line. The line always seemingly crossing your boundaries. But god forbid you spoke out. Last time you did, his roommate Josh asked you to quit being uptight on Braun’s behalf. “I look like I’m dining at a Michelin Star restaurant, not grabbing drinks at some middle-of-nowhere bar. Why didn’t you specify?”

You really didn’t want to cause such a confrontation on his first night back performing at the place in which he claimed was “the start of everything” for him but, my god, you were seething with irritation.

“Shit,” he huffed, understanding your worries once he took a glimpse of the perverted looks the attendees were more than glad to show off. “Look, babe, I seriously didn’t mean for this to happen-”

“You said this place was nice, Braun.”

“I know, I- I just knew you wouldn’t be into these kinda bars, but I really wanted you to come see me tonight.” He sighed. “I swear, baby,” he secured your shoulders into his hand, “I just wanted you to be here with me, b-but I screwed up. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

You heaved in defeat, seeing the genuine remorse in his eyes. He hadn’t been far off with his assumption; twenty-three years of a city setting in the upper east side, where renovated brownstones of contemporary decor were more of your liking rather than the casualness of a lonesome bar.

Your lips jutted with a mumbled “it’s okay” to pass the tension. But Braun’s hands had worked their way to the fullness of your cheeks, where his thumbs delicately swept under your eyes. “Thank you for doing this.” He poured his eyes into yours. “I know it’s not your scene, but I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this, baby.” Braun leaned in to press his lips to yours, and that loving comfort was enough to ease your body into relaxation against his hold. His hands released for the brief seconds it took to take off his leather jacket and hang it over your shoulders. “Keep this on, and if anyone bothers you or-or does something, please just tell me.” He implored. “I’ll be right on stage, only a couple feet away, I’ll see you, okay?”

Huffing a sigh, you simply nodded, choosing to come to a consensus of trying to enjoy the night. It had been close to reaching a year that you agreed to be Braun’s girlfriend, and from then, he’d been dying to show you everything about himself. Following the end of the school year from university, Braun had made plans to spend the summer back in his hometown of Hawkins, Indiana, where he had adamantly informed you about the band, the one in which he partook throughout his high school career, Corroded Coffin. And there was no denying it, the bubbling feelings of a blossoming relationship, one where your boyfriend had an actual desire to share the intimate parts of his life with, like seeing where he grew up, made you burst with excitement.

Because even with his flaws, Braun Peterson had a gentle touch that filled your heart with a promising future of blissful contentment.

“I won’t leave you out here,” his hand found its way to your thigh, “afterwards, I’ll have drinks brought backstage, where me, you, and the guys can just relax in peace. Away from these creeps.” He gripped with loving reassurance. “And- and, I promise you some of the most incredible food, okay?”

You snickered through your nose with a bit of suspicion. “From here?”

Braun laughed at your wariness. “From Benny’s Burger, got the best diner food for your pretty belly.” You arched your brow, pushing it until he gave in. “Okay, okay, Enzo’s. Seconds, thirds, all on me, baby, whatever you want.”

“Deal.” He sealed your agreement with a playful handshake.

He smiled at you, bringing a comforting hand to your neck. “Thank you, again, pretty.” His thumb caressed. “Just wanna share this experience with you. Wanna let you know how cool I was back in high school.” He teased, as you giggled. “Here, gimme kiss.”

Braun pulled you in for a sweet kiss, letting your worries wash away with his reassurement, because he always had you. “You’re gonna do great, I’m sure of it.” You smiled against him.

“Only ‘cause I have you here cheering me on.” Braun finished you off with one more kiss. “Remember, I’m only a couple feet away, I’ll come grab you once we’re done.”

With that, Braun Peterson left you to your own accord, securing the warm leather of his jacket around you, as you watched him disappear into the back. Disagreements and solutions. Compromises and sacrifices. This is what it meant for the man who cherished your time, and publicly showed it like no other. Everything was okay. Until the minutes passed of tugging on your lip with anticipation, and the staged lights dimmed.

Everything was okay.

But the center spotlight had rained against a figure, and you hadn’t even internalized the fact that a stranger physically made your body react with a gasp, as you merely took in the sight of him.

Him, who caressed his warlock, fingers teasing the strings, and lips kissing the mic with heavy pants of excitement. “Nice to see some familiar faces!” He grinned, scanning the all too familiar bar that let his amateur band of misfits play every Tuesday night; the regular bar goers seemingly flooding him with memories of his youth years. But then, his eyes landed on you. Front and center. “Even better to see some… new faces.” His lips curled into a menacing smirk, drinking up your stunning face.

Your heartbeat pummeled out of your chest, heat chewing at your cheeks, as his daunting figure had you shying away with a flush state, like you were a school girl receiving her first valentine, forcing you to wrap Braun’s jacket tighter around you.

Shit, Braun!

Quickly, your eyes diverted to the man you should have been gawking at, tuning his guitar before peering up with a smile that held all the good in the world, one he solely dedicated to you on a daily basis. You mustered a shy smile back, attempting to swallow the guilt. And this is where it should have ended. It’d be quite ignorant to dismiss the reality that attractive people come and go everyday during relationships, so this is all it was. You saw something pretty, you admired it, you left it. That’s what you promised. That’s what you committed. So you blinked yourself straight, and gave small claps of encouragement to your boyfriend.

But the eerie feedback from the mic had your head snapping to the front man, and as expected, his gaze hadn’t left your body once; a smirk devouring his face when your eyes caught his. That night, an alluring spark ignited within Eddie Munson, and he was determined to indulge in it.

“We’re gonna perform a couple songs for old times’ sake, bring some life back into you old fucks.” He jabbed comments eliciting some laughter from the crowd that watched these antsy boys torment their ears years before. “So just like back then, as always, I’m Eddie and we’re fucking Corroded Coffin!”

The thrash to his guitar introduced the blaring cords of a song, reminiscent to one Braun typically played for the background noise of when your naked bodies dreamily slapped together. The frontman’s stage performance flooded your senses as you became mesmerized by the fluid movement of his fingers abusing the delicate strings, and his husky voice yelling the lyrics to the abrasive song. He was encapsulating the beauty of metal with such ease and grace, playing his heart out for a dingy bar filled with good-for-nothing men. It felt so utterly undeserving. He was meant for a real stage.

Eddie.

That’s what it was. That’s all it fucking was. It had to be. You weren’t a bad person. You couldn’t be. The familiar tunes matching that of how Braun Peterson would rut his hips into yours was the sole reason for the tantalizing heat that was creeping within your body, not because of the man with the long hair who punctured his hungry glare against you, as he belted the grotesque lyrics of whatever song it was that you never cared to officially learn the title to. But how could you have ever found the will to learn, when Braun would consume your thoughts with the drilling of his cock to the beat of the song? Why couldn’t that be enough? Why had your hips subconsciously rolled to find some needed friction against your seat to the thought of Eddie burying his face between the warmth of your body?

Why did it feel like he was burning you alive?

The disgusting reality of your endeavor to get off on a dirty stool to another man had hit you like a ton of bricks, rightfully slapping you in the face with utter shame for who you were, and you didn’t dare to spare Eddie another glance; eyes fluttering around embarrassingly to look at anything other than Eddie.

Braun. Braun. Braun.

He was right there. He always had been.

The night dragged on for an unbearable hour, filled with the ongoing cycle of desiring something that wasn’t yours and the self-loathing hatred to follow. The burn of Eddie gaze had your body crippling with anxiety, and you engaged yourself to only peer at the man who’d brought you pure happiness for the last ten months of your life. But he was there; torturing you with his eyes that felt laser-cutting from a mile away, despite how adamant you forced yourself to refuse his attention.

You hadn’t even verbalized a word to him yet. And it was devastatingly pathetic how submissive he had you.

The last cord of the night strung out with the fellow patrons commemorating their boys for the nice trip down memory lane. You adjusted yourself to gently cheer along, feeling awful when Braun’s brightful smile had never once dropped because of your presence in the crowd. Just focus on him. It was all you had to do. As the men walked off with their equipment, Braun’s sweaty figure jumped from the stage, heading straight for you.

You immediately jumped from your seat, forgoing the complaints of him being sweaty to hold him in your arms with such fervency. “You did so great!” His hands held your back, delicate kisses pressing into the crook of your neck.

“Yeah?” He searched for your validation, only ever caring for your words, as he mumbled into your neck, inhaling your sweet smell that comforted the adrenaline high he was experiencing. “You, uh, you liked the first song I picked out?” His brows teased.

“Of course!” You cupped his face to bring him into a smearing kiss that he gladly reciprocated. You pulled away, staring into his soft eyes that held all innocence, and you cursed yourself for ever thinking of another man when such beauty was held in the palm of your hand. Your thumbs gently swept on the underside of his eyes, as he smiled down at you. “You were amazing, Braun.” You sincerely spoke. Overcompensating? Completely. But you needed him to be okay, and his happiness was worth it. “You always are so amazing, Braun.”

He brought you in for another embrace, and sealed it with a loving kiss that had you melting in his arms. “You’re pretty fucking amazing, too, Y/N.” He spoke. “C’mon, baby, let's go on back.”

“W-wait!” You steadied yourself within your position, holding his hand tightly. “Um, w-we can just stay out here, I’m sorry for getting mad earlier.”

His head dropped, lips jutting at you before he landed a quick kiss to your forehead. “Don’t apologize where you don’t need to apologize, baby.” He urged. “Don’t gotta make yourself uncomfortable for me- in fact, I won’t allow it. Not after dragging you here in the first place.”

“No, really it’s fine-”

“It’s not, baby, I don’t want you out here.” Braun persisted. “Plus, I’ve been talkin’ the guys’ ears off about you, I’m sure they’d love to put your pretty face to your name. Promise they’re not as scary as you think.”

What a fucking lie.

A journey to the back hallway led you to the chipped door, where Braun relinquished a double courtesy knock before entering the room, where a waft of sweat and cologne welcomed you to the small dressing room that held the members of Corroded Coffin. Shifting behind your boyfriend, your eyes landed around the burgundy painted walls, littered with posters of the previous self-made artist who first established themselves at the Hideout. Where they were now? More than likely not Hollywood, given the cheesy names teenagers thought were cool at the time.

“Hey, uh, guys, gained a new fan today, Y/N, this is Gareth, Jeff, and…” A polite smile to both identified men waving back to greet you was easy enough. “Where’s Ed?” Thank god.

Braun directed you to the couch, leather and torn, with its yellow foam of cushion peering from the tears after years of being broken in by body weight. “Talkin’ to Nicky out back by the stage.” Gareth had answered, as a hand towel harshly rubbed against his head to ease the dripping sweat from his frizzy curls.

“Nicky’s the bar owner.” Braun intimately informed you, graciously bringing you into the loop.

“You enjoy the show?” Jeff, with a genuine attempt at conversation, had gestured for you to engage in. Perhaps it was the blatant stiffness of your body from the wariness of sitting on the couch that surely soaked copious amounts of bodily fluids than you’d like to imagine, that got him to ask for your honest opinion. Or, the other obvious, that you clearly dress far from the usual scene that was typical for a Corroded Coffin performance at the Hideout.

Trying to atone your ignorance to the metal scene, and whatever the hell tension that was between you and the frontman, your head awkwardly nodded in response. “Yeah, um, yeah, I did.” Braun’s reassuring hand landed on your knee. “I’m still getting used to our difference in music taste,” luckily that was receptive to a couple chuckles, “but it was great seeing him, a-and you guys out there, as well.”

Heavy footsteps from the stage announced themselves as they entered the dressing room, and your body hardened at the mere sight of his shining chest, coated in his perspiration, drenching the line of hairs of his abdomen to seep into the low hanging waistline of his pants. Your eyes snapped to the wooden floors, as Braun jumped to give a brief greeting to his friend who ultimately settled against the water dispenser right in front of you.

“Ah, now that you’re all here, babe, this is Eddie; Ed, this is girlfriend, Y/N.” Already accustomed to your presence, Gareth and Jeff felt no need to weigh in another hello, which resulted in an unfortunate silence, after Eddie, himself, decided staring at you was the only formal approach.

But it wasn’t until his intentionally loud, “huh,” that pierced the silent, did your stomach drop with fear. “This is your girlfriend?” Your eyes stung at the inevitable occurrence of your boyfriend’s friend outing you in front of everyone as the girl who just couldn’t keep her eyes to herself.

Braun’s brows cinched at his question, huffing in confusion. “Why’re you sayin’ it like that?”

Eddie had quickly dismissed him with a nonchalant shake to his head. “I dunno, what’ve pictured you with a girl like Mindy, ‘s all.” What an asshole.

You knew it’d be hypocritical to suddenly interrogate your boyfriend on whoever it was Eddie was referring to, especially when it showed Eddie’s intentions were not the purest of them all with the mention of a certain ex. “The fuck, dude, no, that was nearly two years ago.” Braun quickly shut down, evidently not amused with whatever game his buddy was trying to pull.

“Relax.” He chuckled, plucking a small toothpick from the table of plattered junk food into his mouth. “Only teasin’, man, y’know me. Plus, it’s good, shows good progress on your part; movin’ from small town pretty to big city pretty.” Eddie pointed a ringed finger at you.

Braun merely rolled his eyes at the arrogant attitude he’d learned to adjust to throughout his years in high school, but when he turned to you, and saw the tight-lipped smile you gave, he leaned in to comfort you. “Don’t give him a second thought.” He whispered against your hair. “Eddie’s just… out there.”

Patting your thigh, Braun walked to join his friend at the water dispenser, leaving you to heave the tightening breaths of your chest from the sudden suffocation you felt from guilt and anxiety. “C’mon, man, lay off the comments, alright?” Braun quietly spoke to Eddie. “I don’t need you chasin’ her away when I actually love her.”

“‘Love?’” Eddie playfully whistled. “Hm, you must actually care for this girl, huh?”

Braun confirmed with his lovesick smile that made Eddie want to hurl. Soon, Braun was leaning in close to bump his friend in the chest. “So what d'ya think?”

Eddie’s daunting eyes looked past Braun’s shoulder, connecting with your fretful ones, and a sickeningly smile creased his face. He tsked, watching your ostentatious manner refusing to touch the furniture he and his buddies called home. “Seems a little… anal-retentive.” He smirked at Braun. “But, hey, she’s cute, and y’know what, if you like, I like her.” If only Braun Peterson knew of the extent of the underlying meaning his closest friend was alluding to. “You good to her? Treat her well?” Eddie questioned.

“Of course.” Your boyfriend was quick to answer.

“That’s good, that’s good.” Eddie casually nodded along, chewing on the wooden stick between his teeth. “Aye, because y’know pretty girls like her will be quick to look for another man to satisfy her. Gotta treat ‘em well, so they keep their fucking legs closed.” The toothpick snapped at the sudden clenching of his teeth, before Eddie sighed a heavy breath to calm himself. “But I think you gotta good girl on your hands, Brauny, nothin’ to worry about.” Eddie dragged out, before calling to you. “Hey, that seat comfortable for you sweetheart? Need a stool or somethin’?”

A wave of nausea slapped you, as you watched his sinister smile.

Eddie Munson totally saw trying to get off at the sight of him.

His minacious laugh puffed in your face, as he loved watching your eyes crumble in self-reproach from your actions. “Yeah, you fuckin’ remember, baby?” He cooed, as your head dropped with guilt as to what you had just done. But his abrasive hand was quick to forcefully grab your face, cheeks squishing under his tight grip. “Don’t feel bad, princess, it’s okay to share a little.” Eddie smiled, as your eyes frantically looked into his. “Quit the fucking innocent act.” He advised you. “You and I both know how much of a slut you are.”

“I-I,” your thoughts had been racing with the screams of wanting him off of you, but your body was falling limp in his arms, ready to let him take what you so desperately wanted him to take. The words died on your tongue, when suddenly harshing pounding came from the door.

“Yo, anyone in there?!” A drunken voice called out.

“I’ll be out a second!” You managed to rip through your shaky voice, while Eddie breathily chuckled, his hand refusing to let go of your face.

Hearing the partygoer’s footsteps decline in the distance, your heart eased for the slightest moment, and suddenly your nervous system was wailing for you to leave while you could. But before you knew it, unexpectedly, the softest kiss was placed upon your scrunched lips from the man who nearly devoured your mouth so aggressively two seconds ago; you had no choice but to be receptive. “So sweet.” He gently moved his lips against you, it had your tummy erupting with the sensations of a new touch. “So fucking perfect, y’know that? Just how perfect you are?”

Every time he briefly left your lips, you whined for more attention, quickly bringing your lips back to him with a sigh of his name, “Eddie.”

“Mm,” he moaned against your mouth. “I can see why Brauny never shuts the fuck up about you.” The mention of his name had you stiffening. “Tell me, baby, do you suck his cock as good as you kiss him?”

Stunned and repulsed by the jerk you let kiss you, you shoved Eddie’s chest back, finally getting him off of you, and before you mind could process, your hand connected to his cheek with a stinging slap. Your burning hand had trembled, as it slowly clasped it over your mouth in disbelief. Eddie slowly turned to you with a sly grin, but before he could make any movements, your feet finally found the courage to sweep you out of the bathroom with a harsh slam to the door.

On autopilot, you quickly descended down the stairs into the lively living room that did little to ease the bloodcurdling thud of your beating heart that felt as if it was going to rip out of you. It wasn’t until a hand latched itself to the bicep of your arm, reeling you back against a body.

“Hey, hey, you okay, hon?” Braun’s voice echoed into your ear.

“U-Um-”

“Baby, look, if this is about what Cheryl said, please don’t pay any mind to it.” He stroked your arm with concern. “She- everybody here just has a traditional way of thinking, but it’s not what I think. I promise, I’m not looking to shove a proposal down your throat when you’re not ready.” Braun had a fascinating way of calming your worries that drastically differed from the rush Eddie had just forced you through. “Hell, I’m not even ready.” He chuckled, which was able to elicit a small smile from you, at least. “I wanna take my time with you, cherish my moments with you, baby.”

God, you were an awful human being.

Peering behind his shoulder, you watched Eddie saunter his way down the stairs with a lingering stare that quickly found yours. “C-Can we go?” You hastily rushed out. “I’m just a little overwhelmed m-meeting all these new people.”

“Okay, yeah, yeah.” He’s quick to drop off the beers to the living room side tables that were supposed to be your drinks. “C’mon, baby, let’s just take a breather.”

If you knew the guilt Braun Peterson felt for the sole reason of throwing you into a crowd of overwhelming people when you’d literally just kissed his closest friend, you would have pathetically begged on your knees for his forgiveness in front of everyone, and detailed the million ways he was so incredible. But this would stay quiet; suppurating within you, because the peace on his face was more important than wrecking his life. As he guided you to the front door, you looked back to meet the eyes of the man who sparked a match inside you, his arm hanging around a blonde, when you wanted to be the one held under it. Eddie Munson winked at you, cruelly changing the course of your life.

For the days to come, Braun saw an immense amount of affection coming from your part. But who was he to complain, when someone as pretty and sweet as you willingly showed the world how much you loved him? Welcoming the morning sun with your tongue prodded at the slit of his tip, before ferociously waking him with the ride of his life, as your ass pummeled against his thighs, only for the cherry on top to come when breakfast was served like you suddenly became a housewife to your boyfriend. But you’d do whatever if it meant getting the image of his best friend out of your head, despite it leading to the best orgasm you’ve ever had when you pictured it was his cock you were riding, only to realize your lip had been sputtering with blood, because you refused your mouth the need to call out his name, Eddie!

But Friday night came, and it seemed your thoughts satiated under the cuddle of your boyfriend, who agreed to a movie night that entailed buying an obscene amount of candy from the Family Video store, where Labyrinth was purchased alongside the sweets. Wrapped under his embrace, a thick woven blanket swallowed you against the rugged couch of the basement, where you felt yourself sinking deeper and deeper.

For once, peace had come, tranquilizing the tumultuous feelings that consumed you alive. That was until the basement door impetuously flung open before echoing with a slam, that had yours and Braun’s head snapping to the stairs that creaked under the incoming weight. “Mason?” He called out for his cousin.

But it wasn’t the familiar face of his family member who lent you both the basement of his house, and your stomach twisted with fear. “Nope.” He popped the enunciation, as his hair bounced with every step until he reached the bottom step. “But he let me in.”

Braun sat up with a curious look, too occupied with the arrival of his friend to notice the rash way you curled into his side. “Hey, you alright? What’s up?” His eyes followed, as Eddie dramatically plopped himself on the singular recliner next to the couch.

“Ah, nothing.” He made himself at home, clearly lacking the regard of his intrusion to your night. “Just hangin’ around, thought I’d stop by.” His eyes glued to the television screen.

“Not that we don’t appreciate you, man,” Braun began, “but, uh, this is kinda just a movie night… for us.”

Eddie watched the oddity of the movie for a split second, before his head twisted to the both of you, eyeing the closeness with a piqued brow. “Which one of you freaks picked this movie? Was it you, sweetheart?” He smiled, as he watched you shift uncomfortably.

“Alright, c’mon, Ed, seriously.” Braun interjected.

“I’m kidding.” Eddie scoffed. “C’mon, Brauny, it’s been months since I’ve seen you, the least you two could do is spare the couple minutes of whatever touching is going on under that blanket, and let me relax here for a minute.” He argued, sinking into his chair. You watched Braun sigh, for whatever reason suddenly becoming a lap dog to the friend he long admired throughout high school, merely bringing you closer as means to make up for it.

“By the way, driving all the way here seems to be the last resort to relaxing.” Braun poked.

“Aw, c’mon did you actually think I was thinkin’ of you, Brauny?” He wooed, his eyes briefly connecting with you, as Braun rolled his. “Was seein’ Cynthia down the street.” Eddie answered.

“Dude, Ed, doesn’t she have a kid?” Braun grimaced, recalling the moments in which his cousin’s neighbor—three doors down with a minivan and white shutters—threw him an occasional hello with a stroller evident on her walk around the neighborhood.

“So fuckin’ what?” He laughed, causing your stomach to churn with disgust. “That kid made her have massive tits, it’s not like I’m looking to be the stepfather.” Eddie smiled looking back at you, your eyes refusing to meet his. “Just a simple exchange of goods for services.” He proudly announced. “Speakin’ of which, I happen to give Cynthia my last couple’a joints, you got any to smoke here?”

“No.” Braun sighed, scruffing his hair with his hand. “Haven’t gotten the chance to speak to Rick to get some, miss it, though.”

“Then go get some.”

Fuck, you knew what he was doing.

“Me? This is my place you barged into, you go.” Braun retaliated to his friend’s taunting.

“Can’t,” Eddie tsked, “kinda fucked around with the blonde Rick had his eye on a couple nights ago at Eric’s.” He laughed. “But in my defense, she never clarified, and was fairly easy, so, I mean…”

“Can you ever learn to just keep it in your pants?” Braun jabbed, forcing his friend to chuckle at the joke.

“Priorities, Brauny, Priorities.” Eddie winked, before reaching into his back pocket, retrieving the loose dollar bills from his tattered wallet to slap against the center coffee table. “Look, it’s on me, we can wait for you here, right, sweetheart?”

No, no, no. Your knees clutched to your chest, as you tried to steady the breaths that were already becoming uneasy from his presence alone. Braun peered down at you. “You can come if you want. Just gotta wait in the car, don’t want you meetin’ someone like him.”

Your eyes flickered to the man who was sickeningly grinning, somehow having the power to pull a pulsating sensation from your pussy that had you swallowing thickly. “I-It’s okay.” It wasn’t. “I can just wait here.” You spoke so meekly, as though you’d been the victim in this situation, when Braun’s pure smile beamed down at you.

“Thirty minutes top, baby.” A quick kiss landed against you, before he stood from the couch. “Don’t let him burn the house down, please.” Braun joked, slamming his hand against the table to pocket the money Eddie provided.

“Gotta good girl’s influence hanging over me,” Eddie smiled, “nothing to worry about, Brauny.”

Your boyfriend chuckled, running a soft hand against the top of your head to wish you goodbye. “Love you, baby, be right back.”

“I love you.” You shared the sentiment, watching him jog upstairs, where the basement door closed behind him with a deafening silence that shot through you. You watched the door for far longer than needed, a pressuring sting coming from your nail digging into your cuticle to get rid of the apprehension that festered in your belly.

Eddie laughed. “What a fucking liar.” Your head snapped, ready to scream at him that your words held truth; the deep admiration for the man who did nothing wro- “That I am.” Eddie added, pulling out a zippo lighter from his pocket followed by a joint. He lavished in the twitching of your eyes, flashing from anger to anxiousness under the action of him shedding his jacket to light what was brought to his lips.

A puff of cloud escaped his mouth before he spoke. “Take a hit, baby, you’re so goddamn tense I can practically feel the stick up your ass.” He stood from his place to sit next to you, immediately rolling his eyes as he found you shifting away from him, until your back hit the far end of arm rest, feet digging into the cushion as your knees stayed glued to your chest. “Relax, alright-”

“Eddie, we can’t-”

“I’m only tryin’ to get you to relax, shut up for two seconds and take a fucking hit.” He scolded, and your eyes widened under his intimidation. His body scooted until your painted toes were trapped beneath the heavy weight of his denim-clad thick thighs, allowing him to bring the joint to your face. “Don’t wanna have to get mean, just put it in your mouth.” You wondered where the anger from your assault to his face was lingering, surely the hit had to have pissed him off to some degree. His fingertips pressed against your lips, as your mouth enveloped the end of the joint, welcoming the burn to your throat. “Look so cute with that shit in your mouth, so good, princess.”

You pushed his hand away when it became too much, trying to control your coughing from the large intake. “T-Too much.”

“Mhm, I know, baby.” He whispered, watching your lips pout, as his hand caressed your leg. Bringing the joint to his lips and hearing it sizzle, Eddie moaned against it. “Fuck, I can taste your mouth on it.”

You pushed your knee away to get his hand to fall back into his lap, where his fingers only moved to hover over the bulge of his pants, as he took more hits. Soon, his sole hand was undoing the buckle of his belt, and your brows arched against his movement, yet your mouth stayed quiet from any protest.

Your lips parted in awe watching his cock spring against his belly, pants coming to hang around his thighs. His finger came to gently tease the head, before his hand wrapped to smear the precum that oozed from the tip. So casually, Eddie Munson began fucking his hand so casually, as if you weren’t sitting next to him. He acted as though he was in the comfort of his own bedroom, and you wondered whether the bit of anger that mixed in with the arousal that pressed against your belly was from the fact that he could get off without even sparing a glance at you.

He smoked and jerked his cock, letting you bask in the glory of his heavy member, where his hand tugged the loose skin of his big balls to smack against his hairy thighs. As casual as he was, Eddie was itching to turn his head and watch your legs clench with need, something his peripheral could only get a glance at, but Eddie Munson wasn’t giving in. He felt your toes curl under his thigh, your body speaking for itself to be touched.

“Fuck, that’s so good.” He twisted his palm against the slick head of his cock, before he squeezed down to his base for more tugs that had him wondering if your pussy felt anywhere near as good as his hand. You watched his fingers pull up his shirt, until his teeth bit down to hold the fabric up, and his toned toros was cramping from the sensation he was bringing himself. “Mmm!” He moaned, wetting his shirt with his mouth, as his hand became relentless against the thumping veins of his cock.

No longer a thought of need, his fingers abandoned the lit joint to the ashtray that stayed stationed on the table with a few cigarettes, and his free fingers traveled to toy with his nipples, pulling the pebbled nubs to spark up his impending orgasm. “Ugh, mm!” His hips were gyrating upward, chasing the fleshlight that was his hand, as his speed increased, and your hands grasped onto the old couch for the needed restraint to not throw yourself onto him.

With an aggressive jerk to his cock, and a stinging pinch to his nipple, the angry red head of his dick sputtered out his creamy cum, dribbling against his belly before the pool collected against his unruly pubic hair.

His shirt slowly slipped from his teeth, as Eddie caught his breath with heavy grunts. “Fuck me, shit.” Taking his fingers, he dragged it around the breadth of his belly to gather the seeping cum, where he finally turned to you with dark eyes, and used his cum tainted fingers to motion you closer.

You body mindlessly complied until those same fingers were pressing into your mouth, letting his salty spent invade your taste buds, before your throat began getting fucked. “Wanna fucking slap me and walk away, huh?” His free hand wrapped behind your neck to keep you gagging at his mercy. “Wanna get mad at me for you being a filthy slut? ‘N drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy?” You whined, holding his wrist in an attempt to ease the thrashing of his fingers down your throat. “God, so fucking pretty.”

His fingers ripped from your tongue, but before your lungs could get a breath of fresh air, his mouth was on you, replacing his fingers with his tongue, as he kissed you with such ferocity, it nearly felt like a punishment. Teeth clashing and biting, you mewled in protest. “Eddie!” You gasped pushing away, but his hands kept your face close.

“What, you don’t want me to?” He mocked, before laughing. “Y’know I don’t give a fuck.” Pushing you back against the couch, Eddie climbed over you where his mouth continued his assault against your lips, and your hands wavered into his sweaty curls.

In the briefest moment your lips disconnected, “W-We need to-” You moaned, feeling his plump lip suction against yours. “Stop, Eddie, we should- ugh!” Eddie pulled away and watched your body crave more, but your eyes stung with its glassy coating of tears that were threatening to spill. “Braun…”

“Aw, he’s gonna come back soon, ‘n you don’t wanna get caught.” He whispered, as his forehead fell against yours.

“He’s your friend.” Your voice cracked with guilt.

Eddie huffed. “You better listen clearly.” His hand wrapped around your jaw to force your eyes to his. “Brauny’s a big boy. Yeah, he may be my friend, but Brauny’s got this pretty, little thing that I need to play with, so being frank with you, baby, I don’t care.” His nose flared with anger, as his words stung. “And I’m gonna need you to cut this bullshit sorry act, because it’s really pissin’ me off, and I don’t wanna have to get angry with you.” He hissed. “Okay, baby?”

You stared into his dark eyes, mouth gulping to reply. “Okay.” And once again, your lips grazed his, letting him groan into your mouth.

“Mm, you really are so pretty, angel, such a good girl listenin’ to me.” He murmured. “Looking like this, how could your boyfriend ever expect me to keep my hands off of you?” He kissed. “You gonna let me touch you- touch that needy fuckin’ clit. I’ve never touched one before, you gonna let me touch yours?” He tormented with the brushing of his fingers against your pajama shorts.

You pouted your lips at him, brows cinching at his words. “I feel like you’re lying to me.”

And Eddie Munson snuck that signature laugh in your laugh that you didn’t appreciate, but your pussy surely did. “What does it matter if I’m lyin’ to you, you’re gonna let me touch you, anyway.” His fingers curled around the scrunchy waistband, before pulling them from your legs to expose your sopping cunt to the cold air of the basement. “Fuck, look at that.”

You didn’t know what came over you, but with a hand over his where he parted your legs, you chin tucked in to delicately ask him a question. “Did you really have sex with those girls?”

Eddie smiled, tongue lapping at his lip as he looked at you. “Does it hurt your feelings if I did?” You shrugged, not really sure why you asked, though clearly agitated by the knowing answer. “Do I gotta tell you pretty things, so you don’t get hurt?”

His hand combed through your patch of pubes, tickling your abdomen in a way that had your body seeking for more. “Please, Eddie.”

“Mm, what is it, baby?” His nails raked down the side of your pussy lips, deliberately avoiding your slit to tease the nerves of your mound. “Need your little pussy touched? It’s so fucking gorgeous.” You nodded, scratching his forearm down to his wrist to urge his movements further. “Gimme another kiss first, princess.”

You pulled him in, letting your kiss spark up the butterflies that loved to erupt in your tummy whenever you saw him. Not so harshly as before, your kiss passionately swallowed you both, with the sweet connection of saliva that strung between your moving lips. But you had an appetite for more, grossly moving the kiss into a heated direction that had him moaning on your teeth. Denying yourself from him was punishment enough, the care no longer festered, you were getting what you deserved.

“Uh, calm yourself, baby.” He spoke between kisses with a teasing chuckle. “Look at you so desperate, shh, calm down. Be slow with me for a second, sweetheart.” You obeyed, slowing your movements into a languid interaction, before your lips latched onto his tongue, pulling it out from his mouth to suck on, as if it was his cock, because you never got the chance to fully taste his musk.

Eddie mewled, cock twitching against your thigh, as your action had him melting with a burning desire. Finally, the squelching noise of your dripping arousal echoed into the room, as his fingers dove into the folds of your pussy. “Is that your fucking clit, baby? Listen to how wet your pussy is for me.”

“Mm, Eddie.” You sucked in a breath, as your fat bud was being toyed with.

“Moaning for me, princess, you’re moaning.” He whispered into your ear. “‘Cause you're mine right now, I’m making you moan, not him, hm. Not your little Brauny. You only moan for me, at least for right now, because you have a boyfriend.” You absentmindedly nodded along to whatever words he was feeding you, too caught up with your pussy being played with to care. “We’ll see about that.” He laughed, before nipping at your earlobe.

“Wanna touch you, too, baby.” You whined, reaching for his hung cock, letting your hands twirl around the heated length that was circulating with enough blood to fuck you for multiple rounds.

Eddie hissed. “Sss, what are you doin’? Grabbin’ my fucking cock?” He smiled, as you stroked him, allowing him to plunge his fingers into your tightening cunt, as both your movements fell in sync with one another. “Grab it, yes, baby, fuckin’ grab that cock!”

“Fuck, that feels so good, Eddie!” His fingers pulled out to rub your clit, before suddenly your pelvis jolted with the burning sensation of his hand coming down to your pussy. “Eddie!”

“Lemme slap that clit, lemme slap that fucking clit, baby.” Your wetness splashed against your inner thighs with each spanking of his hand. “God, you don’t know what you do to me, sweetheart. Such a pretty girl, I’m fucking losin’ my control over you. Got you strokin’ my cock, while my fingers fuck your pussy, and I love it, baby, I love it so fucking much.” He babbled, teeth biting down to keep the worse words in. Your brows furrowed, as his fingers blasted within you, hooking inside to scratch that throbbing g-spot that had you wailing with want. “Smile for me, baby, smile ‘cause I’m making my baby feel so good.”

And you did, letting your head crash back with your mouth hanging open with an inebriated smile tugging at your lips, as you played with each other. His lips crashed down for another smearing kiss that had your tongues desperately pirouetting around each other.

Your thighs began shaking under his control, pistoling his fingers in a way that was bringing you closer to your release. While looking down at your thrusting hips, he simultaneously pulled away from your kiss, leaving you to whine for his return. “No! More!”

He looked back up into those pathetic round eyes and scrunched brows with your bitten lips that nearly had him collapsing with another orgasm, as your hands pulled at the head of his cock and squeezed his balls. “Don’t you fuckin’ look at me like that.” He warned, not ready to release his load if it wasn’t going to be inside of you, but you couldn’t take your eyes off of his sweaty face, beads of perspiration invading his hairline, as his face flushed with a blushing rose that surely made him feel embarrassed with how vulnerable he looked. “Don’t fuckin’- don’t you- ugh- no, no, no, no!”

His large hand slapped your cheek, forcing your face away, leaving you gasping in disbelief. “I’ll fuckin’ slap you.” He spat, watching you merely turn your head back with a sparking revelation in your eyes that made you look even more beautiful. “I’ll slap your stupid fucking face-” Another stinging crash to you cheek that had you crying in pain, but you kept looking for more. “You like that shit?”

You hurriedly nodded, letting your tears pool from the growing pain that tightened your pussy around his fingers. “Yes, more!”

A harsh smack landed on your cheek once more, agitating your poor skin. “Mhm, like that, me fucking slapping that stupid, little fucking face.” His hand felt the wetness of your tears drenching your cheeks with every slap. “Bruisin’ that pretty fucking face, fuck! C’mere, c’mere!”

His tongue lavished against your burning skin, bringing tingles to your body when his spit-covered tongue ran against your hot cheek to lick up your salty tears. “Get your fuckin’ hands off my cock, I’m shovin’ it inside your desperate cunt.” Eddie declared, slapping his tip to your pussy, to let your wetness pour on his dick.

A harsh stab to your pussy lunged his thick cock into your pulsating walls, urging a screaming moan from your lungs. “Fuck! You’re so fucking tight!” His hands clamped around the front of your thighs to fold you in half.

“Ugh, fuck! Slow, p-please, baby, slow!” You wailed.

“Yeah?” He cooed, driving his thrust down to one punctuated one every second. “You want this cock slowly, can’t fucking handle this tight, little pussy getting fucked hard?”

Your trembling hands cupped his face, letting you bring him down for a consuming kiss. “J-Just wanna feel all of you.”

“You are, baby, you are.” Eddie pierced himself into your g-spot. “Feel it deep inside, baby, feel my fucking cock all the way inside! Just for you! You- you fucking dirty, filthy whore!” The muscles of his ass tightly clenched to pound you thoroughly with each stroke. “Gonna let me do it faster? Huh? Fuck you into this fucking couch until your some braindead slut? Look at you taking my cock!” His hips began slapping faster. “Gonna be fucking good for me?”

“Uh-huh! Always, fuck!”

“You will?” He taunted. “You fucking will? You’ll take this cock whenever I want you to? Whenever I want this pussy of mine? In front of your boyfriend? Tie him to a fuckin’ chair, and force him to watch me fuck his pretty girlfriend’s little cunt!”

“Yes! Yes! Fuck me better than him!” Your hips moved to meet his slapping thighs, as you clenched around his cock to milk him with the cum you wanted in your cunt. “Want him to watch me take your fat cock!”

An animalistic growl forced its way out of chest, as the image of his best friend crying over the despair of betrayal elicited him to rut his hips into you fervently. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” His head dropped against your chest, reveling in the commotion of your bouncing tits that were urging to be freed. His hands pulled at your shirt, exposing your boobs that were quickly squished together under his hands, as his tongue lapped around your nipple.

“Ugh, yes, you’re gonna make me cum!” You heaved, finding your hand had landed on his thigh at a weak attempt to slow his crashing movements into your pussy.

“Beautiful fucking tits!” He nibbled on your pointy nipples, forcing those whines that drove him crazy to come out. “So fuckin’ delicious! And just for me!”

“Just for you! Only you!”

“Yeah?” He pouted at you. “Fuck, fucking lick my hand, lick my fucking hand, you bitch.” His palm landed on your mouth, where you dumbly stuck your tongue out to taste the sweatiness of his hand, before that same hand came crashing down on your cheek for the umpteenth time. “Stick that filthy fuckin’ tongue out when I slap you in the fuckin’ face!”

You obliged, letting the wet muscle hang out as another slap landed on your face, forcing your head to the side. But turning your face back with the expectation of one more slap fell short, when instead, a glob of warm spit hit your tongue, one after another.

“Fuckin’ clean that asshole from you fucking holes!” More spit. “‘Cause you’re mine! Not his! With my spit in your mouth and my cum in your pussy, you’ll be fuckin mine, right?!”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, as the rope in your belly was hanging on by a mere thread ready to snap. “Yes! Yes! Just yours!” You cried out. “Cleanse me! Cleanse me with your cum and make me yours!”

Eddie’s hand pressed down against your pelvis harshly, prompting a gushing stream of your hot squirt to wet yourself and his thighs, as you screamed from the highs of orgasmic ecstasy. “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck! I’m cumming! I’m- FUCK!”

Nothing but heavy breaths could be heard in the basement that reeked of sex and bodily fluids. Your hands fell limp around his neck, whereas he sagged the entirety of his dead weight against your chest. His teeth grinded from the continuation of your pussy clenching around him, as your body tried to settle at the unfamiliar size that inculcated itself brutality into your cunt.

It was quiet. It was peace.

Until the ringing in your ears subsided, and slowly began picking up on the maniacal laugh that was coming from the man who slowly picked up his head from your chest to greet your un-whitening vision with a sinister smile, and suddenly you felt the pit in your stomach sink.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’ve just made a big fuckin’ mistake.” He chuckled, harshly pressing his forehead into yours, causing the seat cushion to dent beneath you. “Y’know why?” He tantalized, watching your eyes grow big with fear. “Because if your little boyfriend touches you after you just said you were mine,” he placed a delicate kiss to your lips that you couldn’t muster to reciprocate, too scared to do so, “I’m gonna fucking kill him.” He laughed.

A minute and eight seconds.

Braun Peterson had leaned the weight of his body against the counter, letting the low hum of the buzzing microwave lull his mind to ease, as the fingers of his hand shoved against his eye to wake from the tiredness of the morning day. It hadn’t been until the slap of a heavy hand against his bare shoulder jolted his eyes open to see his cousin slugging his socked feet against the linoleum tiles, before scratching the floor with the chair legs to have a seat at the kitchen table.

Mason had yawned, stretching his jaw from the bitter soreness of having to deal with a restless night of grinding his teeth. “Where’s the missus?” His nails scratched over his stubble. “Sleepin’ in?” Given your gratitude for a place to stay, Mason had spent the few days of your presence waking up to a full breakfast of all the fixins, differing greatly to the two-minute microwave food the young welder had to succumb to for his poor skills behind the stove.

The morning had changed with the sight of Braun in front of the buzzing appliance. “Out, actually.”

“Already?”

“Yeah, couple days ago,” Braun cleared his dry throat, “she met Cheryl- you remember Cheryl?” Not exactly someone from Mason's graduating class, but given Hawkins’ small breadth of streets, a distant young face of hormonal acne and blue eyeshadow was all that could be pulled from his string of memories, as Cheryl Daniels still sported that purity ring that had long gone been switched out for an engagement ring to her military fiance, whom she could relish his fat benefits with. So, Mason simply nodded to get the story along. “Anyway, yeah, Y/N met her, and, well, you know how women are; one giddy introduction, next thing y’know they’re doing 9:00 a.m pilates and leavin’ me behind to eat some shit food for breakfast.”

Mason peered at the counter to see the empty box of his frozen food. “You asshole, ‘s that my last Hot Pocket?” His mundane voice spoke, too tired to hold any real malice behind it.

“I’ll head to the store and buy you a whole new pack, relax.”

Braun Peterson steadily watched the last couple of seconds tick down. “If anything, man, I deserve that one after you and Y/N kept me up last night.” Mason breathily chuckled.

“Ah, sorry,” Braun stretched his arms, “Y’know Eddie came over, we watched a movie, didn’t realize it was so loud- which if you want any advice, don’t watch Labyrinth high, unless you wanna have a total freak out.”

“Not talking about that.” Mason shook his head with a laugh. “But, aye, next time you bring Munson around and make my basement reek of weed, the least you could do is save me some.”

But Braun’s eyebrows had stayed scrunched with concern to ever consider his cousin’s future word of advice. “The hell are you talking about then?” He curiously poked.

“You and Y/N.” Mason emphasized with a sly smirk to tease. “I mean, you guys are usually pretty considerate, but I guess the weed really got to y’all or somthing, man, you two were fucking loud last night- and I mean that literally.” He laughed. “Would’ve taken her as a quiet girl.”

Braun Peterson blinked. You had went straight to bed last night after the movie. In fact, you heavily implored him to do the same, after swifty prompting Eddie out of the door when the credit scenes rolled. “Y/N and I- we didn’t… no, we didn’t-”

The microwave beeped.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female character #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson blurb #mean!eddie munson #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic

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ronearoundblindly · 6 months ago

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No Promises (3)

Lloyd Hansen x rival assassin!Reader

I Left You Something On The Body (see previous or LH Masterlist)

Summary: You and Lloyd take to leaving consolation prizes for whichever one of you 'loses.' It...escalates delightfully.

Warnings for DARKFIC. Language; descriptions of sexual situations, toys, various paraphernalia. Smut-adjacent (masturbation). MINORS DNI. I have plenty else for you on my Light Masterlist, but this is not for you! WC 982

And you do; you let Lloyd have several open contracts after the keycard incident.

Sometimes you wonder about the man providing the most fun you’ve had in years, but mostly, you relax in a noisy city high-rise with a spectacular view. A small vacation between assassinations. You drop off the network for a month or so, picking up a straight-forward job nearby, and then show up at the target’s house to find him already dead.

Pinched onto the body, overtop a blood-soaked button-down, are golden nipple clamps.

You snort in disbelief.

The sick bastard, he’s really wooing you now.

A thin chain between the clamps sports a tied tag.

To: The Cobalt Cunt

You let out a dreamy sigh, the little tingle in your mind of possibly fucking (with) him again vibrating to life. You even miss him in a weird way.

On the reverse of the tag, it reads, “not safe for lace.”

It’s on obviously and more fun than you ever imagined. At some point, you can’t tell if you two are letting each other get places first on not. The money is, oddly, totally irrelevant, and your career takes on a renewed joy.

Lloyd claims a target. You show up, kill them, and drop off an intricately-packaged Gucci jock strap with “Eat Me” embroidered at the back of the waistband, right above his asshole.

For good measure—and to remind him what he’s missing—you add a spritz of your perfume to the cup.

That’s where you want to be nestled, it implies. That’s where you belong, right against his dick.

Sadly, the next ‘surprise’ takes a while as you two are not after the same jobs. There’s plenty of work to go around till you find an oblong box wrapped in brown paper on the armchair ten feet from an enormous bloodstain.

With an empty scotch glass and a crumb-covered plate beside it, you know Lloyd’s been trolling for your attention. His snacky, sweet-tooth is somewhat notorious.

Your inconspicuous, purposefully plain gift waits patiently, the soft whipped cream of a strawberry shortcake dripping down its serving stand.

There’s no rush though, and you make a little ritual of opening it to reveal a beautiful dildo with golden speckles throughout the silicone molding. It is absolutely from a cast of Lloyd; you’d know that curve anywhere.

If that’s as close as you can get? Fine by you…

The rest of him barely participated before anyway.

Geneva.

Lloyd’s pissed and tired after the flight. Suzanne is the fucking worst and made him repeat the plan three times because her pea-brain is as sharp as a limp dick.

He dances down the plane steps, noticing a welcome party that is not his people. One sunglasses-clad, black-suited fellow walks up to Lloyd with an enormous gift basket.

It’s so goddamn pink Lloyd recoils and squints his eyes.

Good christ, it’s hideous. He loves it in a sick way.

Pink cellophane, fuzzy pink handcuffs, a sparkling fuchsia cock ring, rose gold anal beads with pesto-colored rope connecting them, and strawberry flavored lube.

Mood restored, Lloyd chuckles, turning on his heel to get back on the plane.

He’s going home. He has toys to play with.

He doesn’t bother to explain shit to Suzanne. One of these days, he’s just going to pop her for free.

This one doesn’t coincide with a job at all, but that’s what makes it all the sweeter to you.

Delivered to the place you’re staying for the week is an adorable, yellow stuffed rabbit with a pull-cord. Across its tummy is 'sunshine' in cursive letters.

You honest-to-god squeal in delight as you listen to each of the five custom recordings programed in.

Lloyd tuts then says “should have sized up my ring, you cock-drunk whore,” a deep gasp and a squelch punctuates the end.

Oh boy. It’s Christmas in July. Happy you!

You fake your own shocked gasp at the second soundbite.

“Know you don’t taste like fucking strawberries,“ he grunts before bitterly adding, “but I’ll take one for the team and eat that pussy any day.”

Third: “Bet I was the best you ever had, even when I wasn’t awake, you poor thing. So needy…”

Fourth: “How hard did you come, Sunshine? Be honest.” He laughs like the cat who got the cream to end that one.

Finally, the last of the pulls is just the slapping noise of him jerking off and finishing with a deep moan.

Now, at least, you know what Lloyd sounds like when he comes.

Utterly self-satisfied, Lloyd goes about his life of luxury.

He’ll be damned if he’s going to break and go to you. Fuck that. The thrill of this taco-and-hotdog game is worth it anyway.

He still works, and not every job revolves around you.

For one such fulfilled contract, he’s being paid in artwork and has the delivery men bring in the large framed canvas to uncover in his current villa’s sitting room.

The expectation is a well-known portrait.

It’s a painting alright, but it’s…very modern.

Lloyd crosses his arms over his chest and smothers a proud grin.

The torso and open legs of you stretch out facing the viewer, gold leaf embossed nipple clamps and their chains dangle over your stomach, and the blunt end of a golden dildo sits nestled in your cunt. There are brush strokes and paint visibly raised from the surface.

He wonders whether it was done from a photo or whether you sat there, bare, for some artist to reference for hours, maybe even days.

Lloyd had a spot in mind for his real payment, but this will do nicely. He’s quite pleased with the view. It shall go over the mantle in the bedroom, and he shall fuck whoever he wants—his fist included—while staring right at it.

The half dozen or so other people in the villa’s great room who can all see the painting don’t say a fucking word.

How the hell is he supposed to top this?

A/N: Full disclosure, I'm pretty sure this is the funniest thing I'll ever write, and I'm okay with that. I can't stop laughing 🤣🤣🤣

[Next Part: A Blazer Full of Bullet Holes]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

blue art deco divider by @/saradika-graphics--thank you for your beautiful work!

#lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen fanfiction #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x y/n #dark fic #lloyd hansen drabble #lloyd hansen series #lloyd hansen smut #in a weird way it's fluffy??#lloyd hansen fluff

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tired-biscuit · 2 years ago

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UGH THINKING ABOUT WEREWOLF!STEPBRO!KIBA PLUGGING YOU FULL TO THE KNOT, DROOL FROM HIM DROPPING ON YOUR CHEEKS IN DROPLETS BC HE'S THAT FERAL im so sorry

18+ fem!reader // cw: stepcest, monsterfucking, dubcon

it’s even better if he really tries to hold back but he just can’t help himself.

after your parents leave for their yearly vacation, you’re left all alone at home with only your older stepbrother to keep you company. and while that shouldn’t be a problem — you usually get along super well and are close by default either way — this particular week has caused a bit of a rough patch to appear in your otherwise tightly-knit relationship, from the way he’s been acting all sorts of weird during it.

after all, with each passing day, your dear ol’ brother keeps staring at you in a way that makes you think he’s low-key planning to eat you. sometimes, when he thinks you’re not paying attention and when you gather just enough courage to glance at him from the corner of your eye, you swear that his irises seem to turn yellow in colour instead of their usual, plain brown, and his pupils are nothing more but sharp slits. it’s an eerie sight, but sure enough; when you turn to look at him more clearly, trying to convince yourself that it’s just your brain playing silly tricks on you, he blinks — quickly.

and just like that, they’re right back to normal.

he, however, isn’t.

no, instead, he always seems to linger nearby in whichever room you’re in. you sit in the living room to watch tv, and he’s right there — lounging on the opposite end of the couch, pretending he likes the show you’re watching even though you know damn well that he can’t stand it in reality.

so half an hour passes, an hour, and the sun sinks below the horizon, and he’s still there. with his arm draped on the backrest of the sofa and his head tipped back, he watches the sex scene unfold on the screen with a completely bored expression — albeit with a tense jaw and his legs spread wide open — until you’re the one grabbing the remote; switching the channels to something a bit more decent because it makes you uncomfortable and somewhat hot and bothered at the same time.

and it doesn’t stop there. whenever you open the door to exit the bathroom right after you’re finished with your shower, he just so happens to be passing by at that exact moment; swiftly eyeing you up whilst you stand there in front of him, clearly embarrassed because your curves are hidden by nothing else but a mere towel which you’ve lousily wrapped around yourself just so that you could cross the hall, and water is still dripping from the ends of your hair, making your skin glisten. one time he’d even waited for you, with his back pressing against the opposite wall, and his arms crossed over his chest. he never explained as to why.

he also eats whenever you do. you sit down, plate and fork ready, and he’s already next to you; his leg touching your own under the table, arm sometimes draped across the back of your chair just like he tends to do on the couch. there’s two more empty chairs, now that your parents are on their vacation, but he still chooses to sit right beside you every single time.

it’s a habit, you think, soothe. it’s completely normal. after all, doesn’t everyone like to sit in their appointed seat?

so you try to relax as he cracks jokes and talks while you eat — you always make sure to cook enough food for the both of you — and yet he always finishes it before you and keeps wanting more, more, more. it’s never enough lately, he’s always rummaging through the fridge. especially when it comes to the meat. he’s always been a fan of it, you’re aware of that, but the way he practically breathes it in as of late is almost unsettling to watch.

“sorry, i’m just feeling so goddamn hungry all the time,” he tells you one evening as he’s licking his fingers clean. the face you pull at the sight is hard to hide. “dunno what’s up with that, hah.”

“maybe you’re getting sick?” you suggest, eyes glued to your plate. it certainly has been feeling like that, he’s been nothing like his usual self. “or maybe you’ve just got really bad table manners and they peeked through, now that dad and your mom are away, i don’t know.”

“hmm… maybe,” he hums, seemingly deep in thought whilst he absent-mindedly starts to suck on the leftovers of the chicken drumstick you’ve prepared. you can’t look at him for too long, it’s borderline bestial — the way he eats.

trying to appear busy, a shiver that runs through you when you hear a sudden crack resonate throughout the kitchen, breaks that effort in an instant. whipping your head to the side, you can’t stop yourself from jolting and immediately cringing away from your brother the moment your eyes land on him chewing on the actual bone.

he’s behaving like a feral animal.

“dude, c’mon!” you groan, frowning deeply. the disapproval is obvious. “stop that!”

“what,” he mumbles, ignoring the way you punch his shoulder as he still keeps on chewing. he pauses to look at you at the contact, brow furrowed. “the marrow is the best part… and you stop that, will ya?”

“no it isn’t, and that’s fucking gross, okay? you’re so disgust— hey!” the way he shoves you away from him when you try to punch him in the arm for a second time nearly knocks the wind out of your lungs. you stumble back into your chair from the sudden force he’s just bestowed upon you, fail to grab onto the edge of the table the last second, and fall right onto the floor with a loud thud.

since when did he get so strong? the swing of hand seemed almost effortless, and yet here you are; hurting.

bad brother.

the pain that now throbs in your right asscheek, hip and arm from the way you’ve so clumsily landed onto the wooden flooring is uncomfortable as hell. a small whine leaves your lips as you use your elbows to push yourself up, but before you can even take another breath; he’s on you, kneeling right between your legs, wrapping his hands just a mere inch underneath your ribs so that he can help you up to your feet.

he’s moving so fast and his fingers are still greasy from the food he’s devoured so far, but that’s not what bothers you the most right now.

no, what worries you more and more, is the way how hot his palms feel on your body even if your t-shirt stands in the way between his searing skin and yours. how big his hands seem to have gotten as they hold you still. how big he’s gotten.

come to think of it… has he always been this big?

“fuck, fuck, fuck…! ‘m so sorry, pipsqueak,” he mumbles, evident panic lacing each word. he’s studying every inch of your face almost frantically now as he keeps checking for signs of hurt. “i didn’t mean to, i swear i didn’t, i— you just— a-are you okay?”

his voice sounds deeper than it normally is even as he uncharacteristically stutters, more gritty and gruff to come from the throat. you’ve noticed that it’s been like that for the last couple of days, hence your suggestion of sickness earlier, but hearing it so upclose makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention. truth be told, you’re not entirely sure if it’s a good thing or not.

leaning over you like this, topping you, he even smells different. his scent is still pretty much the same as the one you’re used to, at least the base of it is, but it’s also way more intense, sharper. it almost stings your nose and gives you a headache as you keep inhaling it; it overrides everything you know. it’s pleasant but deadly. confusing. it stirs something within you that you’re not proud of.

and that makes you feel nervous. threatened.

but despite feeling a little bit scared and puzzled by him, anger still manages to turn you foolishly brave as you try and push him away with the most venomous glare you’re able to muster in that exact moment.

“get off of me, you prick,” you screech, kicking your legs against the floor as you try to squirm away. he’s got you locked underneath him; the weight is making you awfully uneasy because it pins you down, trapping you in ways you’ve shamefully caught yourself fantasizing about at night. “what the fuck is wrong with you?!”

are you aiming that question at him or yourself?

nevertheless, your words still manage to cut just as deep. he looks hurt, almost lost as he takes a deep, shaky breath and mutters, “look, i didn’t—”

but you’re not listening to him. he’s touching you almost inappropriately now, fingers reaching under the fat of your breasts, thumbs stroking midst all the chaos, and you’re still fighting against him, still babbling, “get off, get off, get off—”

“c’mon, just lemme expl—”

“GET. OFF.” the heel of your palm slams against his jaw and for a fraction of a second, you swear that you can see a long canine gleaming in the kitchen light as his upper lip curls back and he snarls down at you, snapping.

he pins your wrists to the floor in a single movement that’s much too fast for you to comprehend, slams them down hard. his expression twists into something unrecognizable, it’s insane, feral. all of his teeth are on display now as he bares them. the sharp gleam makes your heart stutter whilst he stares at you, his face so close to your own that you can feel the warmth of his exhale on your lips and the tip of his nose is just merely grazing yours.

the growl that sounds out makes your skin pull taut over your bones. it’s deep, savage, but also clearly agitated and provoked. it nestles deep inside of your gut, invoking your fight or flight response even though instead of doing either one of those, you simply end up freezing like the pathetic prey you are. cold sweat washes over you when he looks you directly in the eye, every pore working overtime, turning your scent bitter, but before a single solution can even begin to form in your now fear-induced brain, he takes one deep breath and — luckily — pulls away from you just like you’ve demanded of him.

there’s dead silence hanging in the air as you try to remain rational and find logical reasoning as to what just happened. the tension is so palpable that you can almost taste it. he doesn’t say anything as you push up to your feet and scramble up the stairs to run to your room and lock the door even if it makes you feel like you’re acting crazy; no, he doesn’t even look at you.

what he does instead, is come knocking on your door that same night.

“hey,” he tries softly, knocking one, two, three times. “would you… maybe wanna open the door so that we can talk…? i wanna apologize; maybe explain things a bit.”

you don’t respond as you lay in your bed, slipping further under the covers at the sound of his still awfully gruff voice, despite the seemingly sweet intention. the thick duvet causes you to sweat even if you’re dressed in nothing else but the t-shirt that you stole from him a while back and a pair of simple cotton panties, but the heat itself is not nearly intense enough to chase you out of the covers’ safety.

unbeknownst to you, he can smell the salt that sits on your skin right through the door.

“c’mon, i know you’re still awake, pipsqueak,” he says slightly more urgently, now. his line of patience is thin at a time like this. “mom fucked up the dates ‘cause your dad confused her, and me being the idiot that i am; i wasn’t paying attention to the cycle… anyway, you’re stuck with me whether you want it or not, so stop pretending like you can’t hear me.”

you have no clue what on earth he’s trying to tell you with the jumble of information he’s just tossed your way, but it’s like he knows you can’t sleep after the events that have taken place downstairs.

he does know. he can hear your heartbeat and every single one of your breaths.

“open up,” he says, banging his fist against the wood quite harshly this time around. he’s transforming on the other side of the door, inhaling your sweet scent, imagining how tight you’ll feel when he finally gets you to sink onto his cock, force or not. he’s always had the hots for his little stepsister, and the rut — that just so happens to appear at the worst of times as well — really tends to mess with his brain and turn those fantasies all sorts of twisted, bringing them closer to reality.

it’s no wonder why you were taken away from him under the pretense of trips and short getaways whenever the transformation and heat kicked in at the same time, and he started getting aggressive. why his mother made sure to have you separated during that time.

but you’re here now because tsume made a mistake when it came to calculating the really important days, and as a result of her error, there’s nothing left between you and him besides this one measly door, now. by the time she’d left with your father, and thus left you alone with her son, the heat had already sizzled every single shred of morality in his already questionable conscience.

to be fair, he’s lasted much longer than he thought he would, pretending and acting, but he’s done with that and he wants you, now; his little sister. he needs you so bad. it’s why he’s been following you around for all this time. why he’s been watching you, preying after you. you’re always there, close by, ready to use. you’re so cute, looking up to him, loving him, feeling so special whenever he gets protective over you. goddammit, you even smell like him; wearing his clothes so often that it all blends together.

you’re his. you belong to him; you’ll become his mate one way or another. he’ll make sure of it.

standing in the dark hallway, looking and feeling much taller and stronger than what could ever be considered humanly possible, kiba can already hear the little squeal you’ll let out the moment he tears the door off its hinges if you keep on refusing him. can hear the little moans and whimpers you’ll voice when he gets you naked and stuffs you full. can hear the sob you’ll try to repress when the knot comes into play.

his skin is so hot; it makes his blood feel like it’s boiling and his teeth are getting uncomfortably big for his mouth. all he can think about is biting you all over until you’re marked and using all of your holes to fuck the pressure out. he will not carry it anymore, lest he die on the spot.

no, instead he’s going to stretch your cute little cunt and bend you in all the ways he can think of. until you’re creaming, leaving multiple rings of milky arousal at the base of him and you’re prepped for him to mount you as you throb, and throb, and throb with orgasm after orgasm. until he’s pounding into you like the dirty dog — wolf — he is, hitting that sweetspot, drool dripping from both of your mouths because you’re so fucked out, and he’s finally gotten the chance to fuck in.

it’ll drip right onto your cheek — the saliva. and right after that, he’ll spit a fat glob of it right onto your pretty pussy, just so that he can feel your hole flutter around him in response. the thought alone is already making him excited. he’s so sick in the head because of the heat. he’ll fuck you until sunrise.

and speaking of sick; the last chance he gives you before he gets ready to hunt you down like the predator he is, is by saying,

“let me in.”

#kiba smut #naruto smut #biscuit drabbles #cw stepcest #cw monsterfucking #cw dubcon #btw no need to apologize cos i rly enjoyed writing this <3 #kiba x reader #kiba

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anincompletelist · 1 year ago

Text

[ vol i | vol ii | vol iii | fic rec fridays ]

hi all! :D I have slowly but steadily been knocking things off of my tbr list, a few classics and a few newer fics, and they've been AMAZING! as per usual I wanted to share before the list gets too long for next time!

as always, please remember to leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed the fic or show support in other ways, and be kind! mind the tags and if you come across something you dislike, please kindly (and quietly) move on.

happy new year and happy reading y'all! <3

Have you ever been alone in a crowded room? | @hgejfmw-hgejhsf | T+ | 5k

When the Legendary Balls-Out Bananas White House Trio New Year's Eve Party is interrupted by a security threat, Henry, Pez, Nora, June, and Alex find themselves locked in the White House library for their own protection with nothing but time, a few bottles of champagne, and some lighthearted conversation, until a single question threatens to change everything for Henry.

(+ read their first au fic here ahh!)

muscle memory | @dumbpeachjuice | E | 30k

It's been ten years since Alex was in London to stage a PR friendship with Henry after ruining the royal wedding. It's also been ten years since Alex dropped to his knees in front of Henry in a Kensington Palace kitchen. But now Henry's in the Hamptons for the summer, and who should he bump into? None other than Alex Claremont-Diaz, who happens to be working in New York all summer long.

You Are the Wave I Could Never Tame | bleedingballroomfloor | E | 12k

That should be it. Henry is doing his job; the pool is getting cleaned, and Alex shouldn’t think anything more of it. Then why does he feel the slightest bit of disappointment when he walks back to the pool house and Henry isn’t there? Or, the pool boy Henry AU that I couldn't stop thinking about until I wrote it.

if evil, why so cute? | @everwitch-magiks | E | 5k

Alex’s cat hates Alex, but loves Henry, the Bookstagram influencer who’s on vacation in Alex’s quiet seaside town. And while Alex is pretty salty about his grumpy cat’s inexplicable affection for a complete stranger, he must admit he can see the appeal; Henry is fucking gorgeous. It’s why Alex follows him on Instagram in the first place. It's just, Alex had never thought he’d be officially introduced to Henry by his own goddamn cat. Or: Henry takes a two-week vacation to a seaside cabin with the intent to read a lot of books. Instead, he has a lot of sex.

Just like that | @myheartalivewrites | E | 10k

When Henry comes home from a date frustrated by the guy’s lack of expertise, Alex starts having thoughts. And then, because he’s Alex, he sticks his big foot in his even bigger mouth.

(@myheartalivewrites listen I fell down a rabbit hole ok and if I could rec your entire ao3 here I would -- OH WAIT I CAN)

In His Wildest Dreams | @myheartalivewrites | E | 11k

Set in and around the Henry bonus chapter, this is a story about Henry and Alex’s hectic schedules, family appearances etc. pulling them apart, and about what starts to happen between them, in the quiet of night: their sleeping bodies turning to each other, finding their sweet spots and opening up. And Alex and Henry learning a lot about each other in the process

Be Worthy Love, and Love Will Come | @sparklepocalypse | E | 30k

"For Christmas this year, all I would like is a best friend who doesn’t mind too much that I’m a prince. Most of my classmates poke fun because of who I am, or treat me like I’m too special to be their friend. I want a best friend who knows me as much as my family does and still likes me. I know that you can’t wrap a best friend up in a box and put it under the tree, but you’re magic so you know the best way to bring one." (Movieverse canon divergence; Prince Henry, age 8, writes to Father Christmas wishing for a best friend. A few weeks later, he finds one.)

A Picture on Your Corkboard | bleedingballroomfloor | M | 23k

It happens on a random morning in May when Alex, age fourteen, pads into the kitchen to greet his mother and steal a waffle from June's plate and sees a man sitting at their breakfast counter, reading a newspaper, a cup of coffee raised to his lips. Like he belongs. Like it's the most natural thing in the world. June doesn't seem to give the man a second thought. She merely flicks Alex on the forehead and takes back the waffle. Ellen isn't worrying, either. In fact, she's talking to him. Asking what his schedule is like. Making plans for dinner. Alex has never seen this man before in his life.

I want to mark my skin (it is paper thin) | @violetbaudelaire-quagmire | M | 10k

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subj: Tattoo Reference Attached: 1 file (orionsketch.jpg) Hello, Attached you’ll find a line art drawing of the constellation Orion. The shoulder blade is the intended location. Best, H.J. Fox [OR: It's a Tattoo Shop AU!]

(Dil)Do It Yourself | @happiness-of-the-pursuit | E | 16k

“Listen,” Nora starts, turning her body once more so that she’s sitting sideways in the chair with her legs thrown across the armrest. “I did the math. There’s a 79% chance you’re gonna become a slut to the power of the prostate, and while we’re not dating anymore, it’s my duty as your fellow slutty bisexual to get this party started.” Or, when Nora drags Alex to a holiday dildo workshop, he doesn’t expect to find someone to use it with.

just a figure of speech | @congee4lunch | E | 17k

“Like I said: Alphas really don’t know how to fuck.” “And like I said,” Alex sets down his mug and steps closer to Henry. “I can fuck and I know how to fuck you so well, you’ll see stars, baby.” [henry, an omega, hasn’t had good sex in a long time. as his alpha roommate and friend, alex can help with that. in a totally platonic bro way, of course]

saving some for next rec, I'll see you all then! enjoy, and remember to show support if you did! <3

#my fic recs #fic recs #rwrb #red white and royal blue #firstprince #Alex x henry #RWRB fic #red white and royal blue fanfic #firstprince fic

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rippersz · 1 year ago

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𝕴𝖙’𝖘 𝖗𝖔𝖙𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖔𝖔.

«——..✞..——»

(DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT) (TW: Mentions of cannibalism, murder, slight glorification of both, gore, toxic love, smutty/suggestive themes, etc.) (Larissa Weems x Reader)

«——..✞..——»

“The blood on my teeth begins to taste like a poem, like religion, like the way you look at me.” ~ Sean Glatch

«——..✞..——»

Turns out, the maintenance crew was due to leave only about two hours after everyone vacated Nevermore to go to the carnival. The only catch was that Larissa had to turn it back on five hours later; some inane thing about a system catch up and not wanting to blow the lights and blah blah blah. She didn’t really seem too concerned, so you figured it wasn’t worth worrying about. Though then again, her level of reaction is often exaggerated around others. A smooth coverup to her consistent undertone of intense apathy. She’s a damn good actress, you have to give her that. Even when around you, she puts a bit more life into her eyes. Into her voice. Into her breath. It’s forced, of course. Yeah. Most definitely. She doesn’t just magically feel more alive because of you. That type of thing doesn’t happen in real life.

…Cannibals, on the other hand, happen far more often than people like to think.

If you could go back in time and tell your younger self that you’d somehow fall into a weird pseudo-psychotic-relationship with your one day shape-shifting cannibalistic gorgeous boss, you’re pretty sure your younger self would just burst into tears. Or blink maybe- and ask what a ‘cannibal’ was. You wouldn’t have an answer, of course, but that’s neither here nor there.

What’s more important anyway is the fact that you stupidly agreed to meet Larissa by Nevermore’s main entrance at exactly 9:45. You were exhausted after a day of rowdy teenagers and slow classes and it was only at about 7 PM when you remembered that your day wasn’t even over yet. Oh no no no. You still had a game to play. A game that, now as you think of it, standing by the two big doors and waiting for the guest of honor, may just go on well into the night. It depends on how Larissa’s feeling. It depends on what the ‘terms’ are. It depends on if she’s eaten dinner yet and if she has the energy to kill, cook, and clean before everyone gets back.

God you hope that’s not the case.

You really really hope-

“Always on time, I see,” a familiar voice rings through the hall, sounding from the top of the staircase.

Speaking of the fucking thorn in your side.

You turn at the exact moment that Larissa’s kitten heels start click-clacking their way down the stairs… and then promptly fall short of breath at the sight.

You haven’t seen her all day. Not even once. And now there she stands, all 6 feet and however many inches in those shoes and she’s painted against the moonlight that shines through the large windows behind her and the shadows drink her in as the air loses itself in her beauty, stealing away into her lungs and depriving you of oxygen and you, not for the first time, find yourself wondering why it’s so hard to just accept her. To just come to terms with the fact that maybe, if you ignore her insatiable appetite, you may be able to fall asleep in her arms and kiss her peacefully without feeling shame. Why can’t you just push guilt aside and fall into her body and let her pick you up and surround you and finally feel safe? And why oh why can you not take your fucking eyes off of her goddamn body? Jesus you are barely holding yourself together as she drags one slender hand down the bannister, making eye contact with you as she prowls. Those crystal eyes take on a dark, nearly black hue in the grey of the evening and you find yourself ashamed of the fact that you can’t look away from them.

Perhaps some sins are meant to be indulged in.

Her crimson lips curl into a placating close-mouthed smile. Her skin and hair are as pale and pristine as ever. Her perfume, as she gets closer, is heavier- spicier- but the intoxication of scent is the least of your worries. Oh no; the thing you’re most concerned about is the dress. Never have you ever seen her wear red. Not in your five and a half years of working at Nevermore. Not even in your dreams. Larissa doesn’t touch deep colors. She doesn’t wear the darker shades.

And yet?

Yet, there she is. Torturing you. Wrapping her long slim fingers around your attention span and taking all of it for herself. ‘Mine,’ is what she’s silently saying as she gives her hips some extra sway and shows off the loose sash around her waist. The dress reveals the curve of her calves and the tiniest bit of her thighs and suddenly you come to the (stupid) realization that she’s not wearing any stockings. Which she always wears. Which somehow, the absence of, makes your brain short-circuit and recalculate.

“Thank you for meeting me.” And before you even know it, there the Big Bad stands - hands clasped at her waist and head tilted to the side, looking like the cat who did not only catch the canary but also skinned, filleted, and served the little fucker up on a silver platter.

You feel the need to glare at her, to curse her for her beauty and her allure, but you simply can’t muster up the energy to do so. You’re tired- and your emotions are frayed- and you just want to rest- but clearly someone doesn’t want you to be at peace just yet. No, clearly, she wants you all to herself for just a little while. You’re not sure why, you’ve contemplated it before, but dwelling on anything regarding Larissa Weems is a spiraling whirl of insanity and despair that you just don’t wanna go down right now. So it’s better to stay in the present… and give her a little hum while you cross your arms. If she’s noticed that you take on such a defensive stance whenever she’s around, she hasn’t said anything. And she probably won’t either. Cuz she doesn’t care.

“Yup. Are we gonna get this over with or what?” It comes out harsher than you want it to, forcing your organs to immediately crinkle up like smashed paper as you cringe at your sharp tone.

Larissa fairs no better as her expression falls and her lips twist into a frown. The lines of her face become deeper when she looks so depressed, like she hasn’t slept in 80 years. You want so terribly to tell her to suck it up and stop acting like a baby, but you also know that her excitement about fun and friendliness is not a thing she fakes. The Poe Cup excites her. The Nevermore dances and activities and Outreach Day and this, that, and the other all bring her some modicum of joy. The kids themselves make her happy. It’s weird to know a person who has killed another human being and enjoyed the taste of their flesh… while also finding happiness in the simple annual events of their job. Like she has an alter ego; but you know that’s not the case. She’s 100% herself. Which is both admirable and scary.

“If you don’t want to,” Larissa hisses, making you freeze at the sound of undeniable ice in her tone, “then don’t make me force you. Go to bed, if you so wish. I’m not going to keep you against your will.”

Like a monster. She doesn’t say it, but you think that maybe she’s thinking it.

And though you want to respond and say But you are a monster. You have kept people against their will before. You have killed before. you decide to steer the conversation to safer shores and get yourself out of harm's way. Larissa doesn’t often get serious with you, but whenever she does it, you know better than to push her buttons. Certain boundaries have not yet been established. You never know if you are safe.

“Sorry- sorry. I’m just tired. Really, I’m fine. Let’s play and then we can get some rest. That sound okay?”

A dark gaze pins you to your spot, staring into the very marrow of your bones. It’s clear what she’s thinking. It’s clear what she knows. Like she knows you’re just agreeing to save your own hide. She knows you’re complying out of fear. She can’t hear your heartbeat, but she knows it’s running faster than a speeding train. She knows she’s shifted the line once again.

The only thing is that she really can’t bring herself to care.

You’ve complied. That’s all she needs.

“…Fine. Yes. Are you ready to discuss the terms?”

It’s obvious that the tension hasn’t dissipated entirely, but you figure that as the night carries on, that will change.

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

Who knows? It may even be fun.

Larissa smiles.

It’s wide.

It’s.. scary.

Sharp.

A Cheshire grin.

Cold. Steely. It doesn’t reach her eyes. You feel sweat start to bead along your back.

“In the name of saving time, there will be one round. I will seek. You will hide. We will have 45 minutes in total. However, you will get a 20 second head start. Should I manage to find and catch you in under 45 minutes, you’ll join me for dinner. The main course will be poached lamb. And you will be required to eat it.” There’s a pause.

“All of it.”

Okay not fun. DEFINITELY not fun. So incredibly not fun.

You swallow.

“…And if I win?”

Then what? Then what if you win? What the fuck do you get out of this? What could she possibly give y-

“Then I will give it up.”

…What?

You look at her wildly. But there’s no expression on her face. She’s just… blank. White behind the eyes. Nothing. Apathetic.

No.

Practiced indifference.

She doesn’t think you can win.

She doesn’t even want to consider you winning.

But all is fair in love and cannibalism. And she’s never been one to tip the scales.

“I’m sorry, you’ll what?” You’re just not sure you’ve heard her correctly. She’ll ‘give it up’?

Larissa sighs, her lashes fluttering as she purses her lips and gives you a ‘look’.

“If you win, I’ll give it up.”

…And that’s it? That’s all she’s gonna give you?

“What do you even mean? Give up the whole killing people and eating them thing? The-” You look around, suddenly nervous about a creature somehow lurking in the shadows. One can never be too careful. Probably best that you don’t speak so loudly. “-the cannibalism?” Your body leans closer to her as you whisper, though your eyes stray and scan the shadowed columns and walls of the entrance hall.

Larissa of course takes that opportunity to get closer to you and bends down at the waist, lining her lips up to your ear while you’re distracted.

“Yes, darling. I’ll give up the cannibalism.” And her voice is so husky and her breath is so warm, flushed against the side of your neck, that you nearly fall right to your knees.

I’ll give up the cannibalism.

Oh you could laugh. You could laugh and you could laugh hard. She’s joking- she has to be. And you’re about to tell her that, you’re about to turn your head and tell her not to fuck around with you, but then your cheeks brush and suddenly you’re letting out an embarrassing squeak and stumbling back to hit the door behind you.

She blinks, straightens up, and smiles down at you as though nothing ever happened.

It’s infuriating.

“You’re lying. You wouldn’t do that.”

A light eyebrow quirks up.

“Wouldn’t I?”

A heavy staring contest ensues; but you’re the only one trying not to blink - Larissa is just looking. And smirking. And god fuck her for being so fucking gorgeous.

“I’m a woman of my word, Y/n,” she purrs, watching with such amusement as you desperately try to collect yourself and steer yourself back on track.

Not that the track was very clear nor sane in the first place. In fact, the track probably leads to Hell.

Oh well.

You were never getting through the pearly gates anyway.

“Okay,” you decide, looking her up and down. “If I win, you stop it. All of it. No more killing, eating, nothing. The only protein you consume comes from livestock. Not human livestock. Just- livestock.” You nod to yourself, giving her a firm stare.

But just because you reaffirmed what happens if you win doesn’t mean you will. And she knows that. So she hums and turns on one heel, taking her burning gaze away from you and sweeping it over the floors and walls- down into the darkness of the corridors. You don’t know what she’s thinking, but you have a feeling it’s not good. Larissa can be very sneaky when she wants to be… cheating, at least in a playful little game like the one you’ll be having, is certainly not below her. In fact, she’s entirely capable of winning. Like on a level you could not even imagine. She’s been around Nevermore for how long? Counting her years in the Academy as a student and as an adult… knowing her roommate used to be the cunning and sly Morticia Frump neé Addams… well. Her big sexy shapeshifter brain probably has the entire fucking place memorized.

And you haven’t even been there for six years.

So you’re saying you’re doomed.

Yeah. Basically.

“Yes,” Larissa finally confirms, turning back to you with a quick shift of her legs. “And if I win, you dine with me.” Oh she looks so excited about that. Her eyes, somehow, are darker than they were before. No light reflects at all as they carve into your soul. Already you can tell that she’s imagining how she’ll cook the meat.

“…Poached lamb, you said?”

She grins, her smile sudden like she’s surprised (and delighted) that you remembered.

“Yes. Would you like to know what other dishes I’ll be preparing?”

At the sound of her cheery tone, your expression sets into a scowl.

“You’re talking as if you’ve won already. What makes you think that’ll happen?”

Her physical response is minuscule. Barely even there. But you notice the slight way in which her cheek twitches; and you see how her hands tighten around each other. When she responds, her red lips are curved into a smirk and her voice is soft. Soft and kind. It sends a blaze of hot warmth across your body.

“I find acting as though you already have the thing you want tends to result in obtaining it.” Her head tilts. Her eyes run over your body. From your feet to your head, over the swaying black cotton dress you’re wearing and the necklaces you have draped over your collarbones. Slow and steady. Tracing your arms… your legs… your shoulders… your waist… your breasts and your hair… not hungry for your flesh in her stomach, but hungry for your skin against her tongue. Your skin against her lips. Your skin against her own. She lets out a sigh. “And I want you.”

It’s breathed out into the night - and accompanied by the sudden loud chime of Nevermore’s clock tower.

You jump at the sound of it, immediately slapping a hand over your heart in shock.

“Goddammit! That fucking thing gets me every time.” It’s definitely not the thing to be focusing on, but you’re not sure you have the mental capacity to pick through and understand the implications behind Larissa’s words. As it is, the change of the hour means you have even less time to play before the rest of the staff and the children return.

Larissa, of course, did not jump out of her bloody skin. Instead, she watched your body tense and your eyes widen with no small amount of fondness. She thought you were silly. Adorable. Hers.

“I suppose that’s our cue, then. Are you ready to begin?” Her white teeth glimmer when she turns to glance up at the staircase.

You feel your heart start to thump within your ears.

Always the little lamb, aren’t you darling?

Yes.

Always the prey.

Yes.

Meant to be hunted.

Yes.

Meant to be found.

Yes.

No.

Wait. …Meant to be found?

No...

No no no no no no.

Not meant to be found. Not meant to be found at all. The whole point is not to be found. The whole point is to escape.

Oh? What are you escaping from? There is no one here to hurt you. There is no one here to get you. You are safe. You are safe.

Oh if only that were true…

If only she could love you without wanting to swallow you whole.

You finally sigh, resigned and tired.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, Larissa.”

«——..✞..——»

Can you tell I’m hyperfixating on her? Thank you so much for the love. (Let’s just pretend Nevermore’s clocktower works. And the power being out will come into play in the next part ;)) - Rip x

(P.S. Tell me who you want to win in the game of hide and seek.)

(P.P.S. Most of the meat referenced in this series is code for human flesh. ‘Long pork’, for example, is the official name for human. Here, the ‘poached lamb’ and other types mentioned in future is also code. Thx.)

«——..✞..——»

#rippersz #fanfictionwriter #fanfic #fanfiction #larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #wlw fanfic #larissa weems x y/n #larissa weems x you #principal weems x reader #principal larissa weems #dead dove #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #dead dove: do not eat #darkfic #cannibalism #cannibal larissa weems

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aenariasbookshelf · 2 months ago

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Fic: The Intern (MCU/911 ccrossover)

Finally posting this here because I have apparently lost my goddamn mind and it's all @typhoidmeri's fault.

(Also I have had an absolutely terrible last few months and could use some validation, pretty please.)

Title: The Intern

Summary: “Okay, wait, why the hell is your name popping up in a SHIELD file, of all places?”

All right, so maybe there are still one or two secrets in Buck’s closet. But in his defense, they’re all Darcy Lewis’s fault anyway, so the blame lies solely in her hands.

a/n: I plead temporary insanity, that’s the only explanation for this piece, which is probably only of interest to me and like three other friends. But, given the last few months I’ve had, I figured it was worth it to exorcise some demons and get this piece out before I chicken out.

Timeline wise (which, dear god, trying to figure out timelines for this show gives me a migraine), this takes place very early in S1. Like first couple of episodes early. As for the MCU, we’re going with a kinder, they all lived in the tower sort of a universe, no Civil War, no Thanos, etc. Because that’s how I roll.

More notes after the piece to avoid spoilers.

“Okay, wait, why the hell is your name popping up in a SHIELD file, of all places?”

Buck looks over Hen’s shoulder at the tablet in front of her, a page of search results front and center on the screen. Halfway down the page, past a few youtube entries of his spiderman interview, is a link to a searchable database full of files from the massive 2014 document leak that emerged when SHIELD had collapsed in on itself.

Ah, shit.

“Why the hell are you googling me?” is all he asks instead, because this is a story that he really doesn’t want to get into.

Actually, he may not even be able to get into it, considering the approximate 5 billion NDAs he had to sign before he closed the book on that so-called vacation. None of which were his fault, thank you. He was just an…innocent bystander. Ish. He really just followed his cousin straight into the midst of trouble. So really, it was all her fault.

“Because that’s what we do with the new people around here, probie,” Chimney adds. “So what exactly were you doing in the UK in 2013?”

Buck just gives them a wink instead, because that’s what they’d expect from him. “Well, I’d tell ya, but then I’ll have to kill you.”

I mean, it’s not like people haven’t heard about aliens by now, especially in light of what happened in New York in 2012. Which was another incident that was also his cousin’s fault, though it doesn’t look like Hen and Chimney have found that link yet. So that’s one small mercy, at least.

“Just like a bargain basement James Bond.”

He’s ready to fire back another retort at Hen, but then the alarm bell goes off and it’s time to go to work, all talk about mysterious files forgotten.

(Though, to be fair, before Buck skips down the stairs he makes sure to wipe the history and cookies from Hen’s tablet. Just in case.)

It’s well after ten by the time Buck gets back to the frat house, which is still buzzing because his taste in roommates isn’t exactly the greatest (look, he knew at least one of them before he got there from Peru, and the room was cheap enough that it totally didn’t obliterate the meager salary he got as a probationary firefighter) and, well, it was a Thursday. Any excuse for a party, really. He doesn’t bother to hang around, just gives them a wave and heads up to his room.

He tosses his duffel into the corner, and is sure to lock the door behind him, because no one needs to witness the call he’s about to make.

With an exhausted sigh he flops down on the bed, but he can’t sleep. Not yet. Not if he’s going to speak to his cousin and annoy the hell out of her in the process. He pulls up Darcy’s entry in his phone, flips over to the text message thread.

>> hey u up?

Is what he texts, solely because he knows it’s going to annoy the hell out of her.

About ten seconds later his screen lights up with an incoming FaceTime call, followed quickly by Darcy’s familiar face. Brown hair tossed up into a messy bun, glasses, pursed lips, and definite dark circles under her eyes from some inevitable late nights. He can’t see much of the room behind her, but there’s plenty of glass and steel and sterile white walls, which doesn’t exactly scream astrophysics to Buck, but then again what does he know?

“Hey, fireboy!” she says, far too chipper for the late hour.

“Really? That’s the best you can do?”

“It’s after one in the morning here, cut me some slack. Science and Jane Foster don’t sleep, therefore neither do I.” To emphasize the point, she picks up an iced coffee and slurps loudly on the straw, echoing loud and clear over the call. “So what’s up, cuz? Why are you calling at this stupidly late hour?”

“Did you know that my name is apparently showing up in SHIELD files online?”

“What??”

Buck nods. “Yep. My co-workers were having fun during some downtime today and decided to google everyone’s names. And there in a database of all the files from the 2014 data leak from the Triskelion is a file that mentions me, the UK, and 2013.”

“Goddamnit,” Darcy mutters, wincing and running a hand over her forehead. “What, you mean you’re not showing up as L.A.’s finest Spiderman knockoff anymore?”

“Oh, don’t start. Also, it’s after those entries.”

There’s the telltale clicking of a keyboard coming from Darcy’s side, then a few seconds later Buck sees her grimace again, looking none too pleased. “Yeah, that is definitely your name showing up in the leaked database. Well, shit.”

“Yeah, understatement. Is there anything you can do about this? I don’t exactly want my new coworkers to…know any of this.”

“I mean, the internet is forever, so I don’t know if there’s any putting this back in the bottle, so to speak.” Buck just groans at that, falling back on the pillows and falling out of the frame of the call. He pulls a pillow over his face, because this is just what he wants to hear. Really. So much. “You mean you don’t want everyone you work with to know that you helped defeat an invasion of alien elves from before the dawn of time in London one year?”

“It’s not exactly something easy to explain,” he shoots back, still offscreen and muffled by his new face covering.

“But it’s still a hell of a story.”

“A story that not a lot of people will believe, even now.” Because even though it feels like the world’s gone mad, more than once, these days, what with aliens and superheroes and killer robots, sometimes it’s still hard to believe the stories when they happen to someone they know up close and personal.

(Happens twice, really, but the first time he legitimately was just a bystander. Not the only one, not by far, but just an observer rather than a participant. Unlike the second time. That one they were well into the thick of it, hence the interviews, NDAs, and eventual SHIELD file.)

Buck sighs again, pulling the pillow off his head and sitting up so he can look Darcy straight on through the phone screen. “Are you sure - are you absolutely sure that even with all of your alleged connections that there’s nothing you can do?”

Darcy glances off camera again, followed by a few more keyboard clicks, and she chews at her lips. “I may be able to tweak the optimization so it gets those entries buried a few pages further back, get the L.A. Spiderman entries further up the list to take priority, but there’s not much else I can do.” She sighs heavily, pursing her lips and blowing air through them. “I might - and this is no guarantee at all - be able to ask someone else to help.” This statement is followed by another grimace from Darcy, and a muttered “I am going to owe Nat so much for this.”

“I will owe you so much for this,” Buck insists. “Even more than the fake ID debacle of 2007.”

Darcy smirks and jabs a thumb at herself. “Bucks County’s finest teenage fake ID forger, that’s me.”

Before any more words can be said, there’s what sounds like a small explosion offscreen on Darcy’s side, followed quickly by an “Oh, shit!” and scrabbling feet.

“Everything okay?” Buck asks.

Darcy flips the camera to the other side, revealing a slender brunette woman whacking at a smoking piece of technology with what appears to be a damp towel. “Lab’s on fire. Again. It happens a lot with our homemade equipment.” She flips the camera back to her face, rolling her eyes at the sight in front of her. A loud, strident alarm sound erupts from somewhere on her side, accompanied by rapidly flashing strobe lights in the reflection of Darcy’s glasses. “And there’s an Assemble call. Just fucking ducky. Gotta go, fireboy, we’ll talk soon!”

With that the call ends, the screen going black and silence descending on the bedroom. Buck flops back again, dropping the phone on his chest with a sigh. “That was not helpful.”

(And what the hell did she mean by an Assemble call anyway? Whatever, half the things Darcy says don’t make sense anyway, and he pushes the thought aside.)

Still, the matter of Evan Buckley’s SHIELD file never comes up again at work, so Buck figures that the matter’s over and done with.

Until it isn’t, of course, but that’s a story for another day.

a/n part two: So while it may not be entirely obvious here, but this universe has spun out in my head over the last few weeks and has become its own, canon divergent mash-up crossover of an alternate universe beast. This is just a little part of it, to test the waters and see the story come to life a little. A kinder, gentler universe where some characters get treated a little better than in canon (because this is fanfic and I can do what I want). Though there may be one or two hints in here about this alternate universe…

And yes, just picture Thor: The Dark World with a younger Buck in there playing the role of Darcy’s intern, with a lot more personality and a bit more sass. The movie would play out exactly the same way pretty much (except for the kissing bits because ewwww no. They are family, people.)

No constructive criticism please, gentle readers. I’m just here to have fun. Thanks for reading!

#fic #my fic #crossover #mcu #911 show #darcy lewis #evan buckley #i have lost my mind #there's no other explanation for this

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bowieandqueen11 · 2 years ago

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Can’t Lose Family / Joel Miller Imagine

Request: Joel request- him helping Reader get her medications and she repays him with a kiss even though they aren't together?

This turned into a much cuter found family fic than I meant it too lmao but also sorry not sorry @miraclesabound!!

Warning: strong language, fighting infected, mentions of guns and knives, mentions of what happens with Sam and Henry, mentions of blood, and mentions of Sarah!

This one’s pushing 4,000 words lads which has to be my longest one shot - I spent all day writing this, so if you enjoyed please support me by commenting and reblogging!

(I do not own the Last of Us or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @manny-jacinto.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

If you found one more goddamn empty first aid kit, you were going to tear a clicker’s head clean off its stupid mushroom neck.

It hadn’t been an easy journey even getting to this point. Despite Ellie’s numerous protests, snide looks, and even grabs at your jacket with a ‘questioning your sanity’ kind of look, you and Joel had both agreed that a supermall was the best next place to look for the specific kind of medication you needed.

‘It’s the only place left in this state we haven’t already scoured’, he had muttered from in front of you, pulling up Callus’ reigns and bringing the horse to a sudden halt. The building seemed to loom up from the corner of your eyes like a shooting spore; beams of light seemed to light up its cracks, spraying dust upwards through the shattered windows and clawed bricks until they flew out and danced across the sky. It whistled with every blow of wind, grumbled and heaved with the weight of its walls, howled with the furious screeches of the horde of infected that vacated the forgotten premises.

From where she was sandwiched between the two of you, Ellie managed to squeeze her head out past Joel’s shoulder and scoff. Your grip on her shoulders tightened as she tried to turn her head back to throw you an averse scowl. ‘If you guys go in there and make it back in one piece’, her words are jolted by her nose face planting into the back of Joel’s jacket, Callus rearing up his front legs and whinnying at the piercing cry of what sounded to be a recently turned runner convulsing about in horrendous pain. You straightened her back up on the saddle, and she let you wrap your arms around the top of her stomach to keep her balanced. ‘I swear, I’ll eat my backpack.’

Joel just looked past his shoulder to give her a bemused look.

‘Still would be better than having to hear another one of them lines from your joke book.’ Ellie slapped him on the shoulder, but she couldn’t hide the fact that she was looking down at the sprouting shoots breaking through the strewn concrete on the road to hide her growing smile. ‘Shut up old man. You can never escape Will Livingstone.’

You tapped Ellie’s shoulder, and when she turned to see the mischievous glint in your eye, she nodded with a grin. ‘Hey Joel’, you started, waiting for his grunt reply. ‘Do you know the last place I went before the outbreak was too a zoo?’

‘Is that so’, he sighs, not even bothering to turn his head with the foresight to realise where this was going. Hearing Ellie snicker into her hand, her other clutching into his shoulder with anticipation also brought some clarity. ‘Yeah, the only animal there was a dog. It was a Shizu. Get it? Get it, a Shit-zo-’. Joel just gave a groan that erupted from the pit of his stomach, pretending not to laugh as Ellie erupted into giggles, throwing her head back against your chin.

Joel gazed forward, looking out past the large stretch of empty highway and over the impending treeline speckled in the distance towards the swirl of dull pink and sweet lavender that had begun to transfigure the sky. ‘Yeah, see, this is the problem’, he grunted, ‘maybe being a runner wouldn’t be so bad.’ He couldn’t hide the fact that he was beginning to grin too.

Ellie snorted, and waved her hand out towards the upcoming building. ‘Well if you go in there, I think your wish will come true.’ Her words brought a fresh wave of silence over the three of you; the kind of forlorn, contemplative stillness that hadn’t shrouded itself over your little makeshift family since you all lost Sam and Henry-. You shuddered, not wanting to go back there anymore. It had been hard enough burying them, let alone trying to deal with the solitude of Ellie’s guilt and the barricading walls Joel had thrown back up at even the mention of the too small grave. It had been hard, the last few weeks, and you didn’t want the people you loved most in this derelict world to fall back into a hopelessness you had fought so hard to drag them out of.

You didn’t miss the way Joel had glanced back down at his watch though, his face hardening as he steered Callus on.

‘It will be alright, Ellie’, you patted her shoulder and winced as the sound of more infected began to ring out through the dusk and pierce your ears. Ellie shook: not with fear of them, but with terror at the thought that it could take just one wrong move, one wrong moment in this life for her to be left alone again. To be left behind. To lose everyone she loved, yet again.

But she was brave, and strong, and ready to fight for every scrap she had in spite of the world’s indifference. ‘I know,’ was all she whispered as the three of you came to a stop in front of the mall’s perimeter. The resignation didn’t last too long, though; as soon as Joel had given you his hand to help you down onto the curb, Ellie had started up again at the groans of the building’s floors constricting with the cold.

As Joel had given you a boost up past the half-blown brick wall leaking frost out from the west side of the building, Ellie had thrown her hands up in disgust. ‘Fine!’, she grabbed Callus’ reigns and led him over to a bent piece of iron fence at the edge of the perimeter. ‘If either of you fuckers decide to become infected, I’m gonna kick your shins!’ Even with the crossed arms and huff that followed, when you turned your head to look back at her, she had given you a silent, pleading nod warning you to both come back in one piece. With a final reassuring smile in her direction, you had left the girl stroking Callus’ back, and leant down to heave Joel over into the grave darkness.

The first thing you heard was the sound of sneakers pounding through the walls, the huffing and sliding of about ten bodies coming running towards you. Drawing out your knife from your back pocket, you readied yourself for the oncoming onslaught, but it never arrived. Instead, you were blinded by the sudden flash of gunfire as Joel stepped in front of you, using himself to shield himself from the infected unhinging their mouths and running into the gunfire. Only when he was sure the last one had stopped twitching on the ground did he lower his gun and turn to look at you, raging frenzy clear in his eyes.

Yet he was so gentle. So, so gentle with you. He clicked on his torch and clipped it onto the lapel of Frank’s old plaid shirt, stained once again with the scent of blood. He reached out a hand towards you, chest heaving as he turned his back to the litter of bodies now staining the linoleum floor.

‘Are you- are you alright?’ He didn’t know exactly what to do, bless him. So unsure as to how, or if he should show affection anymore. His face fell stern as he looked you up and down, yet his fingers itched against his thighs and clawed at his jeans, as if he were desperate to touch you and make sure himself. You reached out to him with one arm, and he tenderly took your wrist within his fingers. He couldn’t quite bring himself to hold your hand yet, to allow himself that sort of vulnerability, to ever give in to that sort of familiarity with another person again, but it was a step in the right direction.

‘Are you okay?’ The question was more desperate now, more sober, and the most genuine reflection of his pounding heart as he flipped your hand over and used his pointer finger to check your pulse. Sometimes, when the three of you got into tough scraps, it would be the only thing that could bring him back from that fear induced rage. You pretended not to feel his thumb shake against your wrist bone, instead nodding and dragging your fingers down to squeeze his own. ‘Let’s keep going. Ellie will be freaking out by now.’

‘Yes, I am! What the fuck was that!’, you heard echoing in from outside, the alarm in Ellie’s voice filling the vacuous hallway.

Joel managed to huff out a laugh, before shouldering his gun back round his side and nodding at you. He swallowed thickly, but even as you brushed past him to head further towards the shops, you could see how desperately he was scrunching his lips to try and push away the worry that flickered in his eyes.

And now? After all that? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

You kick the empty case clear half way across the store, grunting in victory as you hear it smash against the legs of a frayed mannequin and toss it down onto the floor. An ash cloud of dust sprays up at the movement, making Joel cross his arm in front of his mouth and hack a cough as he’s sprayed in white.

‘We still haven’t tried the door behind the counter.’

‘Joel, we’ve tried every damn door in the country. Plus, it’s sealed shut, and I don’t see you packing any shivs to open it.’ You sigh and squat down to the ground, holding your head in your hands for a second. You only open them once you realise the thudding sound you hear is Joel moving over towards the back wall of the pharmacy, straight towards where a huge mass of spasming, bloated fungi seems to be pulsating on the wall.

‘Are you out of your damn mind?’, you seethe, as Joel reaches into his backpack to strap his gas mask on.

‘On the contrary, I seem to be the only one in this room with any sense.’ Although his words seem to bite, you can hear the mocking tone drip through the crinkled words as they rasp out past the ventilator. Joel joins you in squatting down to the floor, although his movement is done a lot less gracefully and with a lot more complaining about sore joints. He moves the light away from where its strewn over the floorboards to land straight in the middle of the heaving mess, and the sight nearly makes you gag in shock.

‘Ugh, Jesus’, Joel mutters, his face contorting in disgust as he clenches his fist open and closed in preparation. The figure clenched into the wall in front of him was barely recognisable: it’s drooping face was now sprouting from behinds its eyelids, mouth open as if in a never-ending frozen scream, its lab coat caked in dried old blood that seemed to suggest he wasn’t the only one to die in this dank room. ‘Well, here goes nothing.’ Tentatively inching his hand forward, Joel waits for the poor bastard to come tearing off the wall and clamp its three teeth left around his fingers. Thankfully, both for his sake and your heart, which had decided to start pounding through your ears, Joel is successful in inching the infected’s hand out of the way. He reaches into the breast pocket, sighing in relief and turning towards round to your expectant face.

Perched between his thumb and pointer finger is the rusted tip of a key.

‘Bingo’, he whistles as he stands up, stretching out his back and clicking his spine back into place. You shake your head as he heads off, following him round the counter edge and butting him out of the way once he reaches the back door. Shaking the handle one more time for good measure, you nab the key out of his hand and ignore the cry of indignation he gives you.

‘It’s my stuff we need, so I go first. Those are the rules.’

You slot the key into the lock and give it a firm twist.

‘Absolutely not.’ You nearly jump when you feel Joel’s hand firmly clamp down on top of your own, effectively trapping you against the doorknob. You glare over at him, but feel the bitter remark you were about to whip out about how ‘he always puts himself in danger before me or Ellie’ dies on the tip of your tongue when you see how scared he looks.

‘I go first.’ You tut. The grip on your hand grows firmer. His breath hitches as he bends and takes a step closer to you. He’s so close now, you can feel the rapid air escape his nose and brush over the side of your cheek. For a moment, neither of you are able to move; you’re both caught in some invisible entanglement, some building consequence the two of you have never been brave enough to breach before, some kind of tender understanding. You nod your head, realising now just how earnestly the two of you had been dancing around it: how the whole time you had known each other, one was always preparing to die for the other.

‘Please...I go first.’ His gaze drops to your lips, and then to your nose, and then finally settles, for the first time in a while, firmly on your eyes. Unwavering. Resolute. He lurches forward on the balls of his feet, and for a second you think he’s either about to headbutt you or kiss you. Instead, he gently uses his side to butt you out of the way, before turning his efforts to shouldering the door open in three abrupt pushes.

He lurches in, the door giving way before he expected it and taking his feet out from under him. He rolls to the floor, grunting with the effort as he nearly side rolls straight into the side of an empty rack of shelves. With the light in the musty room as bright as a grave, you’re left trying to figure out where Joel has gone by the sound of an empty pill bottle rolling across the room.

‘Joel? Joel! Where the fuck are you?’, you whisper, reaching your arms out and crouching down to try and find him in the darkness. ‘Shit, is that you? Are you alright?’ You grip onto something soft and squishy, Joel’s leg? It seems clad in denim, although slightly torn, as if he had skinned his whole knee slamming against the floor.

You realised your mistake only a second too late. Instead of the welcome, gravelly honey voice of one Joel Miller, and perhaps even the calloused fingers cupping your cheeks before taking your own to lurch himself back up, you were met by the spitting shriek straight into your face. ‘Oh, fuck!’

You roll backwards, slamming the back of your head straight into an iron railing. ‘Oh, doubley fu-’ Your shout is muffled by fingernails scraping over your forehead, a hand grasping onto your face and digging in until you could feel blood begin to run down the bridge of your nose. Grappling with your hand, you simultaneously try to pitch your knee up to stop the clicker from completely detaching from the wall and clambering on top of you, and wrestling past its bumpy elbow to reach the knife stuck behind your back. Gnashing teeth leaves drool dripping down onto your neck, and you groan with the effort of trying to stop them from tearing a chunk out of your jugular.

You finally manage to grasp onto the hilt of your knife, trying to lift up your backside to slide it out of your pocket and straight into the skull of the infected on top of you. It doesn’t matter though. A second later, it feels as if molten is being poured in gushes down onto your bare skin; you stifle a shudder as the blood leaks out from the clicker’s eye sockets and sprays over your shoulder blades. You squint, just about managing to make out the outline of Joel’s clenched teeth and furrowed brow as he pulls the crowbar he had managed to find out of the thing’s skull. Pushing it to the side, it flops unceremoniously onto the floor.

‘Jesus...’, you warble out, still slightly in shock that you had come so close to the end right there and then. So clumsily close. So stupidly.

Joel doesn’t give you a chance to finish your thought. You swear it must have hurt when he threw himself down onto the ground, not even pretending to be calm and collected as he comes sliding on his knees over to you.

‘Are you hurt?’

‘H-huh?’

His hands are shaking as they reach up to roam over your face, his movements rapid and rushed and so carelessly unlike him that it only winds you deeper into your confused stupor. Before this - sure, he may have been concerned, but it was always hidden behind a thick wall of confidence and level headedness. But this, this was different. He was gripping onto the sides of your face as if the skin was about to peel away from your body in front of him; he was trembling in the way only a man marred by ghosts could be. As the flashlight blinked across the floor, the glass smashed into fractured shoots by Joel’s fall, all his mind can see with each glare is Sarah suspended in front of him.

‘Are you hurt?’ His voice is shaking as he speaks, tilting your face back and forth as if he’s scanning you for any scrabs and bites, yet his fingers are moving too quickly to truly take any of you in.

‘I’m fine, I’m fine. I just, ah-’, you cup his hands and bring them to rest within your own, both of you using each other’s weight to try and lever yourselves to a standing position again. ‘I think my ankle is twisted slightly.’ You watch his eyes widen, and try your best to shoot him a reassuring smile despite how shaken you were feeling. ‘It’s alright, it’ll be fine once I shake it off. Especially since I see another med-pack over there.’ You let go of one of his hands to point past his shoulder, finally coming back to yourself when you spot another plastic box hanging, squished in between the pharmacist's desk and the wall.

Despite the elated glow that seems to suddenly gleam in your eyes as you hobble over bits of broken glass and clamber over the smashed up computer monitor, Joel doesn’t let go of you the whole way. Not even when you unclasp the lock and throw the lid back, tilting your head back and laughing in near hysteric delight when you see the full bottles still nestled in dust inside. They move from your hands, up your arms and around your shoulders, squeezing your biceps as the two of you make your way quietly back through the supermall and back out towards the hole to freedom.

‘Fuck me! I thought you guys were gonners for sure!’ For a second, as you glanced out and saw Ellie bent over with her hands on her hips with the relief of seeing the two of you dumbasses hobble back into view, you thought the young girl was going to collapse to the ground. Instead, she took a deep breath and turned back to you with a surprisingly serious look on her face. ‘Did you find any comics in there?!’

‘Are you kidding-’ Joel murmurs out with a huff, waving his hand at her in dismissal. Ellie only raises her hand in a shrug before flipping him off, but the two of them are both smiling as Joel offers you his hand. You take it easily, but before you drop down to the grass again, you surprise Joel Miller for about the third time that day.

Before he even has a chance to blink, you lean towards him and press your lips against the side of his stubbly cheek. His eyes widen, but even as you press a second, quicker kiss against his cheek, he seems too stoic to pull away. When you finally do, he raises two fingers up to the wet patch now gleaming on his skin, and looks at you with a rapturous confusion.

‘Thank you. For everything. For still being here’, is all you whisper with a final look back at him, before falling down through the sliver of dark orange that still falls like firelight between the breaks in the pine trees. Ellie welcomes you back energetically, nearly knocking you over with the speed in which she comes running towards you and wraps her arms around your midriff, squishing the side of her face into your chest.

Joel watches the two of you for a moment: the way Ellie looks up at you as if you were pure unbridled hope as she unlatches herself from you, the way you grab her hand and help her hop back up onto Callus’ back, coming to rest on the side of the saddle before animatedly falling into conversation with her, most likely checking up to make sure she was doing okay with all of this.

He blinks back the wistfulness from his eyes as he stands on the stone strewn crag of the building, the soft ground suddenly seeming so far away. As he watches you, he tries to figure out what he feels: love? Longing? Guilt? Before he even notices, he finds his gaze has drawn itself back down to his wrist, the shattered clock face seemingly staring him down and stifling whatever happiness he was trying to feel.

He covers it with his hands, rubbing his fingers over the side as if it were burning his skin and he couldn’t bear to carry the weight of it anymore. But then you call over to him, and Ellie waves her hand up and beckons him to come down with a bright grin and yell, and suddenly the heaviness seems to unburden, to unlatch its grip on his stomach.

Sure, the misery of his past still haunted him, still dragged behind his head as he jumped and landed on the ground with a thump. But as he slowly jogged back over to the two of you, the shadows were beginning to lift. The light was beginning to break through, and Joel Miller couldn’t remember feeling so bullishly light in all his life.

#the last of us #tlou hbo #joel miller #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #the last of us hbo #tlou #pedro pascal #tlou imagine #tlou hbo imagine #the last of us imagine #the last of us hbo imagine #ellie williams #joel tlou #joel tlou imagine #joel the last of us #joel the last of us imagine #x reader

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hairmetal666 · 2 years ago

Text

Steddie Notes BONUS PART

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7)

Eddie wakes up to an empty bed. He’s a little surprised, honestly, since he had his heart set on first anniversary morning sex. Though, based on the smells wafting through their apartment, Steve’s making breakfast, which is an acceptable alternative (plus, if he has it his way, they aren’t leaving the bed again today).

The digital alarm clock on his bedside table is obscured by a Composition Book he doesn’t remember bringing to bed. He reaches for it before his brain registers the red ink dragon sketched on the cover. His hands tremble as he flips it open, but the first few pages are written in his own scrawl. Steve’s handwriting doesn’t appear until 10 pages in and Eddie’s heart stutters at the sight.

March 28, 1986

God, Eddie, I’m so sorry. So, so fucking sorry. I can’t— I’m sorry. I should have been there, I should’ve protected you, I should’ve kept you safe.

You wouldn’t be part of this if it weren’t for me. Robin and Dustin keep telling me that's not true, that Chrissy was already cursed but. Robin is here because of me. Erica-fucking Sinclair is here because of me. And now you. And you’re dying. And it’s my fault.

I don’t even know what I’m doing right now, but I can’t just sit and wait, I’d lose my mind. Anyway. You left this notebook in my trunk, and I hope you don’t mind that I’m using it.

I don’t think I’ve ever been this terrified in my life, Eds.

Please don’t die on me. I can’t live in this world without you.

March 29, 1986

Hey Eds

You made it through the night. I can’t fucking believe it. I ripped Robin’s shirt when the doctor came in to tell us that you were out of surgery and stable, and then he dropped the bomb that your chance of surviving the night was 40%. Forty-fucking-percent. I guess you beat the odds, babylove.

I’m with Uncle Wayne at your bedside. He threw a fit to make sure I could be here whenever I wanted, and that everyone could visit.

You’ve missed some wild shit, Munson, you’re going to be so mad when you wake up.

Come back to me, sweet boy. I can’t take this.

March 30, 1986

Made it through a second night, babe.

I hope you wake up soon.

Miss you like crazy.

I keep looking at you in this hospital bed, and you look so fucking small. I hate it. You’re the loudest voice in the room. You don’t just take up space, you demand it. It’s killing me that I haven’t heard your voice in days. And my brain, it keeps filling in things you would say, and I wait for you to speak up, but of course you don’t. It’s a kick to the balls every single time.

The thing is.

The thing is that I need you to wake up, Eddie. You can’t leave me. I made up my mind a long time ago, we’re spending our lives together. And it can’t fucking end now. It can’t end because of this.

And I need you to open your goddamn beautiful eyes so I can tell you how much I love you. You don’t get to go before you hear me say it, do you understand?

I love you. You’re it for me. I’ve never wanted a forever as much as I want one with you. So, you have to wake up, yeah? You have to wake up so we can grow up, have a family, have a life together.

Promise you won’t leave me, Eds.

March 31, 1986

You woke up, you motherfucker. The doctors kicked me out to look you over and I cried so hard in the bathroom that Robin made El break down the door with her powers.

Thank you for coming back. I won’t ever let you go again.

April 7, 1987

I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m giving this to you, babylove. It’s been a year. Look how far we’ve come.

✏️✏️✏️✏️

September 18, 2015

It’s way too fucking early for Eddie to even be awake and he has the day off. Steve asked him to take vacation months ago, didn’t say why, and now that fucker has the audacity to not even be in the house. And like, sure, they’ve been together for close to thirty years, and Eddie knows that Steve goes for a run at the ass crack of dawn.

Still pisses him off, though.

Eddie huffs down to the kitchen to get coffee started, doing a double take when he sees a familiar black Composition Book with red dragon on the cover.

He walks towards it slowly because this has been framed on the wall since their first anniversary, way back in ’87, and Steve isn’t home.

Eddie opens it, re-reads the panicked, lovesick notes Steve wrote in the hospital, doesn't bother to fight back the tears. He gets to the last letter and the paper is stiff and wrinkled, like it took water damage. Eddie flips the page, grief already pumping through his veins.

What he sees instead is college-ruled notebook paper, glued in place. It reads:

“I fucking hate this class.”

“Tell me about it.”

“trig. You?”

“Algebra 2 :(”

A sound escapes his mouth, something between a laugh and a sob.

“Hey man, I'm pretty sure I fucked things up with us, and I owe you an apology. I've always known who you were, but you had no idea I was me...”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of beautiful, Munson?”

“Watch. The. Movie. This is the last time we get high first if this is how you behave.”

“What are you gonna win me at the fair, Harrington?”

“If you’re nice to me, probably something cute.”

“Eddie…I think I really like you

You’re my favorite person in the entire world

Some days you’re the only thing I can think about

I want to wake up in bed with you everyday

I can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss you

Do you like me? Yes or No”

“What are you doing about Hellfire?”

“Huh?”

“If the game is Friday. Lucas can’t do both.”

“He made his choice.”

“You ever been in love?”

No, but I think I’m falling”

“I love you, Eddie”

All the sketches of the sailor boy and the rockstar are there, even the one Eddie stuck to the poster in his room, though how Steve managed to get that is anyone’s guess.

There are pictures too, Eddie and Max still recuperating in the hospital; Corroded Coffin performing at the Hideout; them holding the keys to the bar, Steve shirtless and hammering something while Eddie looks on, with the increasingly popular bands Eddie booked to play their must-see Friday night slots; Steve on his first day of college and one of him jumping into Eddie’s arms in his graduation gown, mortar board slipping off his head; In the hospital cradling their twin girls with Max giving a weary thumbs-up between them. Shot after shot of their family, their life, their dreams coming true. A scrapbook of their lives together, big moments and small; good and bad.

Eddie’s crying freely as he flips through the rest of the book, still fucking astounded that Steve is the love of his life, that they’re making a forever together.

Eddie flips to the last page. Stops dead.

In Steve’s looped handwriting, unchanged since high school, it says:

“Eddie,

Will you marry me?”

“What the fuck?” He yelps, standing up fast enough that his chair crashes to the floor.

He turns and Steve— his reason for being, the man that brought him back from the dead—Steve Harrington, is down on one knee, something silver glinting in his outstretched hand.

“Eddie,” he says, his voice a wreck. “Marry me?”

Eddie crashes to his knees, shoving at Steve’s shoulder. “You’re such an idiot.”

Steve laughs. “Is that a yes?”

Eddie laughs too, but it quickly morphs into a sob, “Of course it’s a yes, Steve. Of course.”

Hands trembling, Steve slips the ring onto Eddie’s hand. It’s a thin silver band with skeletal hands contorted into an infinity symbol.

They fall into a kiss that rips the breath from Eddie’s lungs, but then that’s nothing new. When they finally pull apart Eddie asks, “why today?”

Steve blushes and grabs at the back of his neck. “Thirty-one years ago, I walked into Mundy’s class and found a note on the window ledge.”

“What the fuck.” Eddie’s mouth drops, his heart stuttering. This man.

“Once I figured out you leaving that note was going to be one of the most important moments of my life? I made sure to never forget.”

“Baby.” Eddie pulls Steve in for another kiss. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

Steve tugs at Eddie’s hand. “C’mon.”

“Where we going?”

“The girls will be here in a couple hours, and I have some things I want to do to you before they’re home.”

“The GIRLS?” Eddie shrieks. “How the hell long have you been planning this? Did they KNOW?”

“Since the end of June,” Steve answers without missing a beat. “And of course they know. Everyone knows. I asked Wayne for his blessing.”

Eddie can’t speak, his heart crashing in his chest as he, once again, thanks whatever entity made it possible for him to have this.

“I’ve been in love with you for over half my life, Eds. I wanted to do this right. You deserve it. We deserve it.”

He pulls Steve into his arms, kissing him hard enough that their teeth clack, but neither of them care.

✏️✏️✏️✏️

When they come home from dinner, as Steve reaches in his pocket for his keys to let the entire family in the house to celebrate their engagement, he finds a gum wrapper tucked in with the metal. He unfolds it, the words within unfurling in his heart, his soul.

"Thank you for giving me forever, sweetheart."

Edited: check out the full version on ao3!

This is officially the end! I hope you enjoyed this little (long) bonus part. Thanks for reading! 💜💜💜

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@trainchomp @anaibis

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zooophagous · 1 year ago

Text

Ursula sat in front of her computer with her trademark weary scowl. She had slain vampires, wrangled werewolves, and even dealt with the FBI on more than one incredibly unpleasant occasion. All of that was fine. All of that was in her wheelhouse.

Scheduling, however?

Grueling.

Mark had asked for Thanksgiving off. Only twenty minutes later, Sabrina had also requested it off. They were both late, and both lacked seniority, and now Ursula was tasked with applying the proverbial wisdom of Solomon to rectify the hole in staffing, and regrettably couldn’t just fix it by cutting someone in half. Both of them were young and had families. Both of them had to be out of town. She could, of course, plug the hole in staffing herself by working a double. Again.

She ran her fingers through her silver curls and rested her head on her hands, and her elbows on her desk. She plugged her own name into the empty spot. So much for a day off. It was fine, it was fine. What better way to spend the day than with unpaid overtime? Besides, Artie was her only real family, and Artie would more than likely still be here. She was always here.

Maybe that was part of the problem. It wasn’t really normal for someone to be this addicted to work, even by Ursula’s standards. She had a few work friends, sure. But one of them was dead. And she wasn’t really supposed to be getting as close to that one as she seemed to be. Codependent relationships with a vampire were certainly unhealthy for both parties. Maybe Artie needed a vacation. Maybe they could take that trip to the Hagia Sophia or the Vatican.

She clicked off the scheduling app and into a search bar for some sort of plane tickets. It would be very doable with the right budget. Spend a week, no- two weeks away from work and research and far away from any Goddamned vampires for just a little bit and maybe the distance would give her some perspective and-

“Miss Harker?”

The intercom buzzed and shattered her reverie.

“Yes, Sandy?”

“There’s um. A Mr. Akeley here to see you?”

Ursula paused. “Akeley?”

Sandy was silent. Ursula slammed the button down hard in annoyance.

“Sandy did he say his name was Jonathan Akeley?”

The intercom clicked on again to a cacophony of muddied voices, Sandy among them loudly protesting “I said wait by the-” and “You can’t all go in there-”

“Hello Ursula.”

She looked up from her desk to see a man, then two, then four, pouring into her office from the hall. They all wore uniforms not dissimilar to the ones on the Institute’s own security team. Their apparent leader was tall and athletic and all too familiar. A lawyerly smile made of porcelain veneers grinned sarcastically down at her from a head of sandy blonde hair.

He always did have an incredibly punchable face.

“Jonathan. I don’t know why I’m surprised. I can smell you coming from the parking lot.” She huffed. “What is this little dress up game you’re all playing? Is this your idea of dressing for the job you want, and not the one you have?”

“Cute. You think I want to work for you. Actually, Harker, you work for me now.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what the fuck you mean.”

“Oh? Haven’t you heard?”

Jonathan produced a manila envelope and made a show of placing a set of reading spectacles on the tip of his nose. “By the order of… oh, how embarrassing. His holiness the pope? We’ve been granted the authority to remove from the control of the Van Helsing Institute a one “Project Symbiosis” and any living, unliving or deceased subject(s) from the premises with extreme prejudice and by any means deemed necessary and likely to prevent further human harm.”

He tossed the envelope to her and it flopped onto her desk. She grabbed it in her fist and furiously began to read it.

“What the Hell is the meaning of all of this?! And they sent you of all people! Why?”

“Oh, something about how your little pet project has been running amok in the city, claiming victims and otherwise being out and about without a chaperone. More than once I may add.”

“His victims are alive and unhurt and were fairly compensated by the-”

“Oh?” Jonathan cut her off and reached into his coat pocket for yet another envelope. “So these photos I have of a father Gregor White flayed like a fish in his own home aren’t anything to you?”

She blanched. “Gregor… I don’t. What do you mean flayed? Father white is dead?”

“Yes, very dead. Incredibly dead. And it just so happens that we have some pretty clear photos of the director and… Strauss, is it? Leaving his house via one of the Institute’s vans. The body was discovered just a few hours later. Pretty damning stuff, Harker.”

“I don’t understand.” She breathed heavily and began to reach beneath her desk for the emergency security button.

“Of course you don’t. It is the belief of the church that you all have fallen under the sway of a powerful elder vampire you thought you could control, and now you’re enabling him instead. Don’t be embarrassed, you aren’t the first weak minded thrall to be a victim to these predators. You couldn’t be given any advance warning of the project’s takeover, or the specimen would have time to mount a defense, you see. Don’t worry though Harker. I’ll take it from here.”

“Like Hell you will.”

“We thought you might say something like that. Hell can be arranged.”

The floor shook. Picture frames rattled on the walls behind Ursula’s desk. She gripped the arms of her flimsy office chair as if they could catch her. A dull roar like a crashing semi croaked through the frame and foundation of the building.

“What… what have you done?!”

“Don’t worry about it Harker. Worry about yourself. You’re under arrest. And so is everyone here. You’ll all come quietly if you know what’s good for you.”

Strauss stood in a corn field. It was not unlike the one he had nearly lost his life in, not that long ago- except that this one was green and soft. It was sunny here, but not painful. A figure approached him, wading through the swaying crops. It was Artemis.

“I’m happy you found me.” He approached her with a smile. She opened her mouth to speak.

A harsh siren escaped from her open jaws. Strauss opened his eyes. The emergency alarm was going off, but it was different this time. There was a secondary noise to it, one of a higher pitch, quickly throwing off his equilibrium. He clamped his claws over his ears and desperately fumbled for his ear plugs, dropping one, inserting the other and making his way to the hall with one hand clamped over the unprotected ear.

This alarm was not one of Troy’s outbursts. A loud pop, a flash of light, and a thick shroud of painful, acrid smoke filled the hallway. He struggled still half asleep to parse what was happening. Red light, loud noises, and smoke could only mean one thing.

Fire.

There were shapes moving in the haze- not the staff, armored shapes, the likes of which could have fallen out of his old memories of war. The pain of the smoke and the siren and the anger at what could only be some manner of attack was outweighed only by the deep, instinctual fear of flame. It wasn’t a fight he could win.

He turned away from the intruders and he bolted.

Artemis and Troy sat at the plastic dining room table with their phones in their hands. Artie’s phone buzzed, and she huffed a little quiet laugh through her nose. “Where do you keep finding these stupid sad cat memes?”

“Instagram literally will not stop recommending them to me.” Troy replied as he casually hit send on a couple more. The quiet moment was interrupted by a loud clunk! And then a clank! And then a pop, bang, fizz. The hall outside the commissary lit up with a white flash, and then became opaque with gray smoke.

Artemis jumped to her feet and furiously waved for Troy to follow, though he was already halfway out of his own chair. The path to the dorms was a wall of haze. It hurt to look at, and it was already making her throat close. The fire alarm screamed to life in an instant. Distant hollering could be heard bouncing chaotically through the facility.

“What the fuck is that?!” Troy yelled.

“Be quiet. Something is wrong. Really wrong. We need to go. Emergency exit in the south garage bay.” She grabbed his shirt and began to power-walk him down the hall.

“We can’t just leave everyone behind in a burning building-”

“We can’t do very much to help them. The staff will have to remember their training.”

“What about Strauss?”

“The dorms are a fire break. If he stays put he can wait it out.”

“Does he know to do that?”

“I sure hope so Troy.”

The pair met with a herd of staff moving towards the garage bay in a very organized panic. The presence of the director gave at least a tiny semblance of control.

“Wait.” Troy broke away from the pack.

“Where the fuck are you going?”

“The mice! Strauss’ mice!”

“You are not risking your life for some Goddamn MICE Troy!”

“I’m not leaving an innocent animal behind to burn to death.”

Artemis grunted in annoyance and ran down the bay after him.

Ursula stood at her desk with her hands pinned behind her back. Her trademark snark was eerily silent. Partially because she was worried deeply for the staff- Sandy was already getting hauled away despite her protests. Poor girl. There goes another receptionist- And partially because the more clever parts of her brain were busy working on the next steps.

One thing she was not worried about was Artie. Artie knew what to do and how to do it. No doubt she was already leading an evacuation with Troy and Strauss in tow. Though really, would it be a bad idea to leave Mr. Strauss? Dead weight, in more ways than one, after all.

“Ok granny. You got anything in your pockets that’s going to stick me if I frisk you?”

“I certainly hope so.” She replied to the dull man who had her arms in a lock.

“You gonna cooperate or do we need to make this even harder?”

“I don’t care if your job is hard. I don’t care if you die today.”

“Alright. Lets get to the car then.”

“No.”

“Wasn’t asking.”

He yanked her up rudely by her arm and began to ‘escort’ her to the front door. This was all so stupid. If Mr. Strauss were truly a formidable vampire, a REAL one, like the good old days, this sort of thing would already be dealt with. A REAL elder vampire wouldn’t suffer fools so well, or be such a lousy dead weight.

Hm. Dead weight. Now there’s a thought.

She did her best impression of a sack of sand and went limp in the ersatz cop’s hands. He struggled to keep her up. It was harder playing dead than it looked, being dragged by one’s arms was actually quite painful- but so was breaking your lower back trying to haul a body that very much did not wish to be hauled.

He dropped her with a grunt.

“Lady, enough with the drama. Just get up and get in the van.”

Ursula was silent.

He leveled a kick at her gut. “I said get the Hell up, fatass.”

She swung her leg and knocked him off his feet and onto the floor. He landed flat, and before he could get up, she raised that same leg up and brought it down hard into the man’s temple. The heavy heel of her sensible office appropriate shoe struck him like Cain slaying Abel.

He was probably dead. Ursula didn’t much care. It took some very uncomfortable shimmying to scoot her hands to his belt, and to free the keys to the handcuffs. It was taking minutes- minutes she didn’t have. Finally her hands were free, and she busied herself retrieving the weapons from the increasingly corpselike man who oozed saliva onto her freshly mopped floors.

“Tch. Of course. Jonathan would give his lackeys the cheapest possible service weapons.” She mocked.

“It will have to do.”

She set off down the hall to her office. The weaponry was almost certainly gone, but her gas mask might still be there. She would have to do a sweep and make sure none of the more flighty or panicky staff members managed to get themselves stuck in a dark corner and suffocated to death. Or worse, Mr. Strauss using the opportunity to run off yet again. She’d have to find him first.

It hurt to breathe, so he didn’t. Strauss held his breath and blinked through the annoying haze of the smokescreen that filled the dormitory. It destroyed his sense of smell, and what was worse- his hearing was overwhelmed by the incessant alarm. He wanted to run from it. He needed to run from it. He kept one hand clamped over his unprotected ear, and with his eyes, ears and nose all shut he groped along the wall with his free hand, looking for the door.

There were more people here, all likewise clad in the ugly armor of the slayer. These were not the uniforms he had seen when he or Troy came abreast of security. Two of them spotted him and immediately leveled a rifle in his direction.

His senses were overwhelmed, his head swam in agony, it was easier to submit. He raised his hands and spread his claws wide.

“I yield! I yield! Please, do not harm me-”

A bright flash came and then a searing hot pain tore into his collarbone. He clamped his claw over the bullet wound and fell to the floor with a shriek of pain. He could feel the bullet inside of him like a slug of red hot metal. A silver munition. The gunman prepared to fire again. Strauss bolted forward and narrowly escaped a second shot. He never weighed much, but now, with sour adrenaline churning in the pit of his stomach, gravity barely touched him.

Down the hall at a sprint, and then a leap and a snarl, arms wide, landing and enveloping the shooter in a cloud of sharp edges. The silver threads of the armor stung his fingertips. Pain was a motivator. Break the shell, find the sweet nut-meat in the center. The second gunman was leveling his weapon. Strauss held the mauled body aloft in front of him.

Loud shots echoed in the smoky hall. Strauss felt the vibrations of them wrack his human shield. He threw the limp corpse into the second gunman who crumpled, pinned beneath the weight. Strauss bent over the heap and yanked the rifle from the struggling fool. He broke the weapon over his knee, sending bullets scattering. He took the spent butt end of the broken thing and rammed it into the remaining gunman’s head. Then rammed it again. And again.

The gunman’s skull gave way to a soft pulp. There was a lot of good blood in that pile. Blood he’d have to leave behind. He dug his claw into the wound in his chest and ripped out the burning bullet, along with a not insignificant hunk of his own flesh.

Pity. He liked this shirt.

Others were coming. That was not a quiet kill. Another shot narrowly missed the vampire. The haze and chaos had spared him their aim. He took off again down the hall. He thought of Artemis, and Troy, but there was little to be done. Besides, it was him they wanted. The further he was from his friends, the better. He escaped the dorms and ran towards the library.

Troy ripped the lids off of the screened aquariums that held the white lab mice that made up Strauss’ meals. He’d always sort of dreamed of doing this, truthfully. Strauss had to eat something, but that wasn’t important at the moment. Hopefully he had figured out what to do and got the Hell out.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to try and take them with you.” Artemis pleaded.

“No, just letting them go. Give them a fighting chance. They deserve that much.”

He upended the cages onto their sides and let the colonies of white rodents run free. Hopefully they, like Strauss, could be guided to safety by their instincts. Artemis set to work freeing the rest of them. Whatever. They’d deal with it later. If there was a later.

“Hold it right there.”

The two of them turned around to see a stranger in a strange yet oddly familiar outfit.

“The fuck are you?” Troy demanded.

“Director Van Helsing?” The stranger, demanded, ignoring Troy.

“Yes?” She stepped back, answering with a guarded tone.

“By the authority of the papacy and the Witchfinder’s alliance, I’m afraid I have to place you under arrest.”

“Bullshit.” Troy squared up.

“Troy, please. You’re making this worse.”

“What, you’re just going to listen to this fucker? Who even are you? The fuck is a witch getter or whatever your stupid name is?”

“Troy.”

The stranger drew a yellow taser from his coat. “I really recommend listening to the director on this one.”

“You’re not taking her.”

POP!

“Troy!” Artemis screamed as the taser sent electricity arcing through Troy’s body. He went stiff and fell to the ground with a grunt. The witchfinder grabbed him by the wrist and wrenched it behind his back to cuff him.

“Stop resisting!” He demanded, while Troy continued to groan in pain and struggle beneath him. “Stop resisting or you’re going to get tased again!”

“Stop! Stop! You have no idea what you’re doing! Get off of him!” Artemis grabbed the stranger and began to pull. The witchfinder dropped Troy, now cuffed, and turned to her.

“Interfering with the process isn’t gonna win you any favors Van Helsing.” He grabbed her by the wrist.

“Just listen to me! I’m trying to help you! We have to get away from him! We have to get out of here now!” She pleaded.

“He’s in cuffs, relax. I have it under control but I need you to-”

Clink- clink- clink. The sound of metal bracelets hitting the floor in pieces. There was a momentary silence, punctuated by ragged, heavy breathing. The witchfinder turned slowly to see Troy had burst from the cuffs, burst from his clothes, burst from his entire skin. A massive, hairy head full of massive pointy teeth gleamed down at him with ropes of angry drool framing the heaving jaws.

He fired his taser. The bolts hung uselessly in the thick hide of the lycan. Troy lurched forward and took the man’s entire head into his mouth, hoisted him into the air and began to shake him furiously.

Artemis curled into a ball and backed into a corner. Blood arced over the walls as the beast whipped his trophy back and forth until it was broken to gory pieces. He dropped the headless corpse with a disgusted grunt. The creature glared at Artemis, who only stared fearfully back at him. He turned from her and began to run back down the hall. Back into the smoke.

Strauss ran down the hall like a bat out of Hell. He knew he was being chased, he knew the building was full of these people. These slayers. Any corner could have an armed death dealer around it. The lighting in the halls grew a dull orange, and the smoke had not abated. The institute was on fire, well and truly, now.

He remembered the library, the criss cross pattern of ugly pipes on the embossed ceiling tiles from the fire suppression system. The brick walls and heavy door separating it from the newer portion of the building. He lacked a clear escape route, but this was the next best thing. Fire at least he could run from.

He burst through the library doors and finally allowed himself to take a breath. The world was quiet here. The sirens were a distant dull roar. He began to hunt for a hiding place. A shelter. The door swung noisily open behind him.

Another gunman stepped in. Strauss ducked his head and began to run. A dangerous breeze sailed over his head and tore through the pages of old books behind him. Another just missed his head and shattered a bookshelf, sending splinters into his face. Strauss grabbed a heavy tome, “Thurgood’s Illustrated Guide to the Erotic Vampire.” Ew. He threw it as hard as he could into the gunman. It struck true and bought him a moment of time.

He fled into the backroom of the library. The medical wing. He startled as the door opened, there was someone here? No. The figures were skeletons mounted on displays. Mummified heads. Skulls with mouths open in silent screams.

He was not, it seemed, the only vampire housed in the institute. There was precious little room to hide here. He was cornered. The shooter arrived looking angry and slightly bruised from a leather bound book to the head.

“Come on out Mr. Strauss.” He ordered.

The room was silent and still. Quietly, carefully the slayer made his way inside, weapon drawn. “I’ll take you alive if you surrender now. Make it easy on me, I’ll make it easy on you.”

The silence was unbroken, and the library was still. The slayer scanned the shelves and specimens with a quiet intensity, looking for movement. He stopped at one display. Very lifelike. He looked at it hard a moment and then raised his rifle to fire.

Strauss ducked from his makeshift hiding spot as the bullets ripped into a shelf of jarred specimens. Yellow preservative spilled across the floor in an explosion of glass and ruined organ meat. The gunman kept firing. An errant spark from the barrage caught the flammable fluid on the floor. It caught and spread in an instant and blanketed the floors and shelves in a tower of flames.

A loud alarm screeched to life. The pipes rattled and hissed, and the library was bathed instantly in a haze of fire suppressant.

No water came from the pipes. Dear Mrs. Harker, in all of her wisdom, would never risk her library to the perils of fire or water. Gas filled the room and smothered the flames. The slayer gasped and began to cough and choke as he was doused in it.

Strauss stepped out of the cloud of smoke and nitrogen and argon. The gunman fell to his knees and looked up with watery eyes at the predatory face that loomed above him. Strauss tilted his head curiously.

He grabbed the stranger by the scalp and raised the struggling man into the air. His jaw clicked as it opened wide, and he tore into his would be killer’s exposed neck. He had once watched Troy tear into a sweet, ripe watermelon with incredible gusto. He pictured it now. The red bits and fibers tearing and falling away. The pink juice, so incredibly sweet, running down his chin. So delicious, and yet so insubstantial, one could almost eat the entire thing before realizing it.

He dropped the spent body carelessly to the floor. Slowly, he padded towards the exit. He swayed in his steps as the heaviness of the meal and the intoxicating thrill of the kill swam in his system. He messily licked his claw clean and sucked his fingertips with a messy smacking sound. He leaned on the walls for support and left a trail of bloody handprints behind him.

The fire in the hallway had spread. The building wouldn’t last much longer. Strauss held his breath and began to jog through the halls. He cared little about the slayers anymore. They’d be dead soon in this, if they were foolish enough to stay. A burning ceiling collapsed in front of him. He stopped and ran back the other way. Fire climbed the walls. He began to panic. Had he escaped death by firing squad only to be burnt at the stake?

It was impossible to see through this, and increasingly impossible to even guide himself out by gripping the walls as the heat behind them built up and broke through as fire. He fell to the floor and began to crawl, finding a small gap of air beneath the blanket of smoke that he could see through.

Another figure appeared in front of him. He stopped- another slayer? This one wasn’t dressed like them. This figure wore a gas mask, and wasn’t in armor, and wasn’t armed. They came to him and began to pull him to his feet.

Could this be the fire department? He clung to them like a scared kitten. Fire caused another wall to noisily collapse behind him and he fell to his knees shaking in apparent terror.

The firefighter bent down and grabbed him, and hoisted him up and over their own shoulders in a fireman’s carry, and began to slowly but steadily plod with determination towards the south garage bay with the petrified vampire in tow.

They turned the corner and were met with a short wall of gunmen guarding the last of the exits. Three rifles in a row leveled and ready to make an end of their quarry. The firefighter skidded to a stop. Strauss held on for dear life.

Behind the gunmen came a terrible noise. It was something deep and reverberating like the motor of a large vehicle. The lycanthrope burst through the garage doors and slammed into the nearest slayer like a freight train, sending him sprawling. The other two began to fire in a panic but heedless of the crossfire. One struck the other, before a mighty paw came down on top of him and slammed his head into the concrete floor. The last, wounded gunman was grabbed and dragged screaming back into the garage.

The firefighter hesitated a moment, but then resolutely went into the bay after them. They stumbled over a shredded limb, and followed the trail of blood deeper into the bay. They dumped Strauss onto the floor.

“Get up and walk. I’m too old for this nonsense.”

“Frau Harker?”

She pulled off the gas mask. “I was hoping I’d find you with Artie. Where is she?”

“I hoped she was with you. What is happening?”

“I’ll tell you when we have a moment. Needless to say it is ENTIRELY your fault but I’ll kill you myself later when this is over.”

A vehicle was chosen. An SUV. Strauss climbed into the back seat and curled into a nervous ball with his knees against his chest. The truck began to move, but Ursula slammed on the brakes and opened the door.

“Artie! Artie over here!”

Artemis came out of her hiding spot and ran to them. The screams of Troy’s victim were silent, but his infuriated roars were filling the bay with sound.

“We have to help Troy. We can’t just leave him here!”

“We’ll leave the door open and he’ll find his own way out. Do you want to go grab him?”

It was all the convincing she needed. She jumped into the front seat and they began to speed away before the garage door even opened completely. There was a ring of strange trucks around the door, and many more strangers in strange uniforms. They lept out of the way of the speeding car, but were quickly distracted by what appeared to be a grizzly bear tearing out of the building and into the terrified rabble.

“We’re just going to leave him to fend for himself?” Strauss demanded as the scene grew smaller and smaller behind them.0

“Lycans are much harder to kill than vampires. He’ll be fine.”

“The town might not be if he gets to it.”

“All we can do is hope he remembers his training.”

“Frau Harker, what happened? Where are we going?”

“I don’t know. We’re going to drive till we can’t and then we’re going to figure it out. Are they following us?”

Strauss looked out the back window. “No. I think they are distracted by Troy. If they harm him in any way I will kill them all.”

“They’re probably going to be on the receiving end of the harm, given how poorly equipped they were.” Ursula huffed. Artemis sat in stunned silence in her seat.

Strauss reached his hand up to hers, she grasped it, and held on, and continued holding on for many miles.

#wayward souls #writing #original fiction #this one is a doozy

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