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zepskies · 3 months ago

Text

Lesson Learned

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Reader

Summary: There’s only so much teasing Ben is willing to take. He has no choice but to punish you.

AN: Here we go! lol. This is the highly requested Part 2 to This One’s For You, over in the BMD-verse!

Word Count: 2.2K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, edging, teasing, fluff, and feels.

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

You gasped, your nails raking through his hair. Your grip threatened to rip out a few strands as you panted into his neck.

“Ben, please…for God’s sake…”

“Please what?” he said. There was grit in his voice when he spoke into your ear, but he was all too controlled. Taunting.

Asshole.

He was relentless, dragging his fingers inside your quivering pussy, rubbing his thumb around your clit, but almost never where you wanted him. Your thighs were shaking on either side of his frame as he had you naked on your back, writhing in the middle of your shared bed. You’d sucked him off until his spine rattled and his eyes nearly crossed, swallowing up as much as you could of what he had to give.

Still, he wasn’t satisfied.

“I’m sorry!” you burst in frustration, but you also had to stifle your laughter. Your husband narrowed his eyes at you, spying the hint of your smile.

“How come I don’t fucking believe you?” said Ben. With his elbow digging into the bed beside your shoulder, his occupied fingers curled inside you, finally brushing against the sensitive ridge of your inner walls. It drew a faltering moan from your lips.

“What exactly are you sorry for?” he demanded. He bowed his head and laid a biting kiss along your throat. “Use your fucking words.”

You exhaled roughly, gripping his hair tight again. Now that he couldn’t see your face, you could allow yourself to grin in amusement.

Three Days Ago…

Ben was tired and more irritable than usual when he stepped into the Flatiron Building. The night before had been a battle of wills between him and his infant daughter, who’d been finnicky, having a hard time going back to sleep. He’d done his best to help her get back to sleep, since you had been dead to the world and unable to leave the bed (or so you’d seemed).

Now, he took the elevator up to the right floor and used his key to get into the office suite, where Butcher and the rest of your delinquent friends were already dicking around.

Some horrible French rap was playing on the Bluetooth speaker. Kimiko was flicking tiny pieces of paper across the dining table, into a “goal” made by Hughie’s hands. Frenchie wore a “Kiss the Cook” apron as he pulled a fresh batch of croissants out of the oven in the kitchenette, while M.M. swept the excess flour stains off the counter.

Annie was trying to get Butcher to smoke his cigarette out on the balcony.

“Really, you had fucking cancer. You’d think you’d try a little harder to take care of yourself,” she said. Butcher gave her a wan smile, and blew a coil of smoke upward between them.

“Nice,” she said flatly.

But all that stopped when Ben strode into the room. They stared at him, each starting to smile, no matter how much some of them tried to hide it (like Kimiko, with a hand over her mouth).

“What the fuck’re you staring at?” Ben snapped. “We got a job, right?”

Butcher cleared his throat and recovered first. He dabbed his cigarette on an ashtray on the dining table and grabbed an iPad to give to the supe.

“Yeah, got us an escapee. Our little slumlord, Sapphire,” he said.

Ben frowned. Sapphire was the supe who nearly vaporized you a couple of years ago, after they broke up her drug ring. While he read the file documenting detailing her escape and what the CIA knew of her whereabouts so far, Hughie shared a look with Kimiko and Annie before he spoke.

“So, uh, how’s Lila doing?”

Ben shot him a look through furrowed brows.

“Fine. She’s with her mother,” he replied. Hughie predictably asked about you, and again, Ben said you were fine at home with the baby.

“Lila’s almost a year old, right?” Hughie asked. “Aw man, that’s gotta be a fun age, right? I mean, fun, but challenging. All the crying, the diaper changing. Getting her to sleep through the night must be tough.”

Ben’s attention piqued at that, and not in a good way. His dark suspicion grew when his gaze flicked up to Hughie’s dumb fucking face, and then the rest of them, with their dumbass smiles. Biting her lip to stop herself from smiling, Annie pressed a button on her phone.

All of a sudden, Ben heard his own voice playing from the speaker.

“H-Hey there, Delilah, what’s it like in New York City?”

“Now ain’t that a lovely warble,” Butcher remarked. Ben shot him a warning glare, but the Brit raised his hands in amused surrender. He crossed his arms and continued to smoke as he watched the scene unfold.

Ben tossed the iPad onto the kitchen counter and strode over to Annie with menacing steps, intending to put an end to this bullshit. She grinned and tossed her phone over to Kimiko, and Ben glowered, changing directions.

“I'm a thousand miles away, but girl, tonight you look so pretty. Yes, you do. Time Square can’t shine as bright as you…I swear it’s true.”

Kimiko’s eyes widened at the angry supe heading toward her. She tossed the phone to Frenchie next. The phone bounced between his flour-stained hands as he yelped in surprise.

“Oh, shit,” he uttered, when Ben began stomping his way.

“Hey there, Delilah, don't you worry about the distance. I'm right there if you get lonely. Give this song another listen…”

“A voice like warm butter,” Frenchie praised. He quickly tried to move from side to side to evade his attacker. “You should be proud, Monsiuer Grincheux! A man soothing his baby is a beautiful thing.”

“Shut your fucking cockhole,” Ben gritted out, but he still reached out when the phone sailed under his arm—only to land in M.M.’s hands. He froze with widened eyes, not wanting to be in the game. But it was too late, for him and Ben.

“Hey there, Delilah, here’s to you,” his voice sang, more quietly, more tender, deep and baritone. “This one’s for you…”

A brief pause. And then—

“What the fuck’re you doing?”

M.M. managed to pause the video. A beat of utter silence, and then...

Everyone burst out into laughter. Hughie started it; he was damn near folded in half, leaning heavily on his girlfriend as he wiped a tear out of his eye. M.M. tossed the phone back to Frenchie, whose entire frame was shaking with restrained glee.

Ben’s jaw worked as he contemplated how exactly he was going to kill every one of these cocksucking morons.

And then you. Because how else had they gotten that video? You had to have sent it somehow before he got ahold of you last night.

“All right, enough!” he bellowed.

The entire room fell silent.

“First of all, erase that shit right now, or it’s coming out your ass,” he barked, pointing at Frenchie. The other man jolted and did as he was told.

“As for the rest of you, I better not hear another fucking word about this, or so help me Christ, I’m gonna do some barbecuing.”

About three days later, Sapphire had been caught and re-imprisoned, and Ben returned home. He found you in the living room. He was taciturn to your happy smile when you welcomed him with a hug around his waist, though your smile fell after he didn’t respond to your kiss.

He slowly lowered his gaze down to you, and you knew.

Biting your lip, you soothed a hand along his cheek. “So, how’d it go?”

“Fine,” he said, but little else.

In fact, Ben didn’t speak to you for most of the evening. You tried cooking him a good hot meal, but he barely said two words to you. The only thing he did, before he was even showered and changed, was venture into the nursery to lay a gentle hand on his daughter’s head as she slept, over her downy brown hair. He bent down to press a kiss to her forehead.

After that, he strode past you in the doorway and slammed the door shut in the bathroom.

Aw shit. Despite yourself, you couldn’t help chortling with laughter. You should’ve known he’d be a great big man child about this.

So you decided to call your mom and see if she could take Lila for the night.

You had some damage control to do.

Now…

He'd brought you to the edge of your pleasure three times before he withdrew his mouth or his hand from your body, not letting you touch yourself, not letting you come—driving you to the point of frustrated tears.

You grabbed his head with both hands and guided him to look you in the eyes.

“Baby, please. Stop torturing me,” you pleaded. You used every tool in your arsenal to make him break, giving him soft, tearful eyes. You leaned up and pressed gentle kisses to his cheek, his chin, the corner of his mouth, and finally his lips.

“I need you,” you whispered, drawing him into deeper, messier kisses. Part of him started to falter. He briefly closed his eyes and breathed into your kiss.

But then, he stubbornly broke from you with a frown.

“Nice try. You’re not getting off that easy,” he said. “Now say it. Why the fuck are you sorry?”

You huffed in aggravation, but you twined your arms around his neck and brushed slightly sweaty strands of his hair away from his forehead.

“I’m sorry for embarrassing you,” you said, even though your mouth began to curve upward. “It was a sweet thing you did, and I’m glad I captured it. But I am sorry that sharing that moment with our friends bothers you so much.”

“First of all, they’re your idiot friends,” he said. You wanted to interject on that one, but you knew he wasn’t in the mood, and you didn’t want to fight with him for real.

“Second of all,” he began…but he didn’t have any more words after that. They were caught between his irritation, and his unwillingness to even voice what it was he felt. Eventually, he found them.

“There’s some shit that needs to stay between us,” he said.

You smiled, but you mercifully drew him down for another slow kiss.

“Okay, okay. I hear you. It’s not that big a deal though. You love your family, and look! Your macho-ness is still very much intact,” you said, gesturing at his very much hard cock pressing against your thigh. “Now are you gonna fuck me like a man, or do I need to find a vibrator that will?”

At that Ben looked down at you with a raise of his brows. His lips twitched, mostly at your audacity. Shaking his head, he slid a hand behind your neck and drew you in for a kiss, fueled by passion and frustration in equal measure.

You wrapped your thighs around his hips, urging him closer. His straining length pressed against your center, the wet tip slipping against your glistening folds. He groaned at the sensation.

“Please,” you repeated, licking into his mouth for a sensuous kiss.

The once-iron grip on his restraint finally broke. Ben slid a hand between you to hold himself to your entrance. With one smooth thrust, his cock buried deep inside you. Your moan of relief echoed his own. If nothing else good came out of this situation, you two hadn’t had the time or the energy to go at it like this in a long time.

He grabbed your thigh and angled you higher, so he could sink in at an even better angle as he began to rut into you.

With all of his earlier edging and teasing, you were already so close. Your inner walls fluttered around him, welcoming him home and gripping him tight. All it took was a few well-placed swipes of his thumb over your clit to have you tumbling over the edge—a delicious cresting of pleasure that made you arch off the bed, biting your nails into his shoulders, a cry caught in your throat.

Ben fucked you through your release, all while chasing his own. His grip on your hip tightened as his thrusts grew ragged, his own breathing shallow and rough, until his balls tightened and his body locked up on him. He spent himself inside you, coating your inner walls until he had nothing left.

He just barely managed to keep himself from smothering you as his body relaxed. You still welcomed his weight on you, soothing your hands up and down his back while you both caught your breath. Your thighs slipped from his hips, your feet meeting bed and sliding out a little.

Ben brushed your sweaty hair away from your face. Looking down on you now, his face gentled from its hardened angles and furrowed brows. You smiled lazily.

“Still mad at me?” you teased.

Ben resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he let out a rough exhale through his nose.

“Something tells me you didn’t learn your lesson,” he said, somewhat incredulous, and yet, amused.

Your smile was undoubtedly cheeky, even as you leaned up to give him a sweeter kiss.

“Sure did, baby,” you said against his lips. And another kiss. “Lesson learned, I promise.”

He really did roll his eyes this time.

AN: 😂 Ben just can't win, can he?

Translation: Monsiuer Grincheux - "Mr. Grumpy" in French

Keep Reading in the BMD-verse:

Coming up next, Ben has his Adventures in Babysitting moment in Green:

Summary: Ben spends the day alone with his daughter, to varying degrees of success. When you get home, it prompts a serious conversation.

▶️ Keep Reading: Green

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Series Tag List (Part 1):

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@spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

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@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420

@tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92 @kazsrm67 @deansbbyx

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thebowieconstricker · 10 months ago

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Sweet Mornings

Lucifer Morningstar x reader oneshot

masterlist link

Request: Them cooking together and it ending in either him cuddling her so much that they forget about the food and it burns, or baking and that ends in a food fight and kisses. Bonus points, if it burns down the Hotels kitchen and Charlie freaks out.

Okay so this is the CUTEST FREAKING THING EVER??? Love this request sm sorry it took a million years whoops lol enjoy

Tags: Literally just pure fluff, pancakes, kinda language, whipped-cream-related violence, gender neutral reader

~~~

Warm, soft mornings in bed with your beloved partner were becoming more common ever since you and Lucifer had become a couple. Not only was he excellent at cuddles, but his wings made the most delightful blankets to fall asleep under. On this particular morning, you were slowly waking up, and the first thing you noticed was the gentle grip Lucifer had on your form, clinging to your waist even in his sleep. You glanced at the clock to your right as you laid on your back and softly giggled. It was 3:00 in the morning, aka the “devil’s hour”, as some called it, and here he was, asleep in your shared bed. You shifted a bit to stretch and Lucifer made a small noise.

“I’m just moving a bit.” You whispered, bringing up a hand to brush through his blonde locks.

“Mmm, nah, just stay here.” He reached his arm back over your stomach and grabbed your hip, pulling you against his side.

You smiled affectionately, and while you looked at his quite literally angelic face, you thought of an idea.

“Hey, Luci… you wanna make pancakes?”

His eyes sprang open and his eyebrows shot up. A wide grin broke out on his face and quicker than you could blink, he had pulled both you and himself up and off the bed. With a snap of his fingers, the two of you were dressed in comfortable robes with silly slippers. He wore a bright yellow pair with duck faces, because of course he did. Your slippers were of your favorite animal, which was one of the many gifts Lucifer had given you.

With a wave of his hand, Lucifer had magically transported the two of you to the kitchen downstairs. It was a rather large kitchen, plenty of shelves and cabinets stocked with ingredients. You adjusted your robe and began to move towards one of the cupboards when you felt a familiar pair of arms wrap around your torso. Following close behind was the warm face of your lover, nuzzling into the back of your neck.

“Honey, we can’t cuddle and make pancakes.” You rolled your eyes with a smile on your face. You could hear the smirk in his voice as he replied, “Who says we can’t?”

He snapped once more and suddenly, all of your necessary materials and ingredients appeared on the kitchen island.

“There ya go, now you’ve just gotta stand there.”

You laughed and shuffled to the island.

You quickly realized that this was going to be far more difficult than you originally anticipated. For some reason, Lucifer was determined to make the simple activity of pancake-making as tedious as possible for you. When you measured the flour, he insisted that you had poured too much, leading you to re-measure six times. The eggs that you cracked always had a bit of shell in them, and instead of helping, Lucifer would just magic you more. “I’ll keep my arms right here, thank you.” He said from behind you. He did, however, beg you to add more sugar. You finally had to put your foot down after the 3rd empty bag. Why did you trust his horrible advice? No one knows, but according to legend, he apparently knows what he’s doing when it comes to pancakes.

After you had finally created some kind of batter, you struggled over to the oven with Lucifer’s arms still around you. You carefully poured the mixtures onto the skillet after putting the eye on the ‘high’ setting, and with the warm, sweet smells from the food and the demon snuggling your back, you were starting to get pretty sleepy.

That’s when you noticed it. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw that Lucifer had magicked some whipped cream in a can. Obviously, for the purpose of a topping, but you had other plans. You were sure that Lucifer’s eyes were closed behind you (you had even heard him snore a couple of times). Stealthily, you reached for the whipped cream and uncapped the can. You shook it and poured a bit into your mouth, just for fun. Then, you made your real move. You sprayed a good amount on your hand and put the can down.

“Hey, Luci, is it brown enough?” You asked innocently.

“Hmm..? I uh-“ He rubbed his eyes behind you and leaned over your shoulder to take a look at your pancake. “Yeah, you should probably flip-“

You swung your hand around and threw the whipped cream so it landed squarely on his face.

“AH-“

Lucifer’s arms eat go from your waist as he stumbled backwards in shock. His arms reached for his face to feel the whipped cream. Realizing what it was, he smiled wickedly as a forked licked the sweets off his hand.

“Oh, you have no idea who you just fucked.”

You doubled over as you cried with laughter at the sight of him, and laughed even more at that statement.

“It’s- it’s fucked with, Luci-“

Suddenly, whipped cream had landed on your face, splattering on your robe. You heard his musical laughter in front of you and, just like that, it was on.

Lucifer had summoned cans and cans of whipped cream on either of your sides and the two of you ducked behind and hopped over the kitchen island, throwing whipped cream at each other and throwing any other food you could find in the kitchen. You found a sleeve of graham crackers and started chucking those at some point while Lucifer grabbed some of his fire breathing ducks to melt the sugary ammo before it hit him. You took one of your shoes off and began chasing him with it, half laughing and half threatening him, when he finally, finally, held up a white napkin, and called, “I surrender!”

You kept laughing as you tackled him in a hug, the two of you falling to the ground.

“I’m sorry, Luci, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” You playfully said to him.

“Hurt? I’m offended you think I could even get hurt-“

“Then why’d you surrender?”

His arms snaked around your waist once again and he smirked.

“I guess I missed ya.”

You rolled your eyes and kissed him swiftly, the two of you too wrapped up in each other to care about the hectic state of the kitchen. Your hand went to his hair and carefully caressed it, trying to tidying it a bit. When you finally broke away, he looked at you breathlessly.

“Don’t get so excited there, you just had some whipped cream on your face.” You said to him, smiling.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow and another can appeared in his hand, spraying some on his lips without missing a beat.

“You dork.” You said, and kissed him again.

Then, suddenly, a voice from across the room.

“OH MY GOSH GUYS THERE’S A FIRE VAGGIE GET THE EXTINGUISHER-“

So, the two of you may have forgotten about the pancakes.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer magne #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x reader

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stylespresleyhearted · 9 months ago

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POV: YOU’RE DATING CALLUM TURNER

or the one where i pretend i am Callum’s girlfriend (and also tagging @precious-little-scoundrel on this bc I GOTTA)

liked by yourinstagram and 56204 others

tmznews Callum Turner spotted with a mystery girl! Is the new heartthrob off the market? Link in bio for everything TMZ has on his new gal.

view all comments

user23 the invasion of privacy … yikes

user12 What does it say about me if I read the article because tbh I’m curious

fan12 don’t do it, lets respect their privacy

callumupdates Don’t give TMZ any clicks. Look at the horrible quality of the photos, they obviously weren’t supposed to obtain these. Callum will share when he is ready.

yourfriendsig At least she’s pretty 😍

yourinstagram stopppp haha

liked by rafflaw, anthonyboyle, and others

yourinstagram soft launching my man bc he’s hot and i love him ❣️ (oh yeah and tmz exposed us)

view all comments

fan12 GIRL THIS IS A HARD LAUNCH NOTHING SOFT ABOUT IT!!!!

user41 crrrryingggg omg iconic

user23 lol attention seeker

yourfriendsig It took me three years to be IG official with you, why does he get special treatment 😒

yourusername take a guess 😉

keoghan92 @tmznews you suck

liked by fan12 and 63917 others

deuxmoi Spotted: Callum Turner and his girlfriend at a pub in downtown London. Looks like no more hiding for this couple. Sources tell me they’re in love and don’t care who knows it.

view all comments

fan12 wahhh they’re so cute

user23 i’m so jealous but i also ship it so hard

fan41 my friend saw them making out at a diner last week lmao she said they were eating each other not the food

liked by austinbutler and 36072 others

yourinstagram so proud and moved to tears ♥️ the entire cast and crew did a great job honoring these brave men

view all comments

fan12 we love a supportive gf

fan41 what a great picture fr

user23 I met y/n at the event tonight and she was the sweetest, most HILARIOUS person its easy to see why Callum is in love with her ❤️

liked by yourinstagram, rafflaw, and 78912 others

anthonyboyle One Direction

view all comments

user97 OMGGG they’re so hot wtf

yourinstagram more like Wrong Direction

keoghan92 you think you’re funny huh

yourinstagram Callum finds me funny 🥲

rafflaw he’s biased he’s in love with u

fan91 cryingg she’s a part of the mota fam 💍🥹

liked by keoghan92 and others

yourinstagram hi movie star ♥️ i love you - your biggest fan

view all comments

rafflaw 💍💍💍👀

yourfriendsig @rafflaw LMAO DONT START THE RUMORS

appletv Mr & Mrs Egan spin off?

keoghan92 sappy

yourinstagram @sabrinacarpenter

liked by yourinstagram and 639 others

yourfriendsig good times

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user91 … the hand on her ass … making out … CALLUM TURNER I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE

yourinstagram why would you post this when you know im missing him 🥺

yourinstagram brb omw to ft him

fan23 i love the way y/n loves him she isn’t afraid to be a normal girlfriend

liked by anthonyboyle, keoghan92, austinbutler, and 941633 others

yourinstagram social media making fun of me for this but if he was your man you’d get it 😌 i say that’s my baby and i’m proud ♥️♥️

view all comments

fan12 if i didn’t see my bf for a week i’d react the same way people need to mind their business

yourinstagram it was only three days but yes your point still stands 😆

yourfriendsig y/n you’re an icon

fan92 i love them so fucking much pls adopt me

yourinstagram okay! ♥️

liked by austinbutler, rafflaw, and 76043 others

yourinstagram someone tell y/n not to leave her phone unlocked 🤣🤣🥳 - anthony & barry here!

edit: got my phone back. can’t bring myself to delete my boyfriend looks so cute. i guess barry and anthony look okay.

view all comments

fan23 LMAO PLS HOW DID THEY STEAL HER PHONE !!!😂😂CALLUM TAKE IT BACK!

yourinstagram he was supposed to hold it for me it didn’t fit in my clutch and he sided w the enemies 🥺

anthonyboyle New profile picture?

yourinstagram i’ll kill you

yourinstagram also i think it’s important for everyone to know @keoghan92 stuck his hand down my boyfriends pants pocket to get my phone

keoghan92 and i liked it

anthonyboyle 😂😂😂

—

The End

Ahhhhhh making this was so much fun!!! Y/N is a bit shameless in her adoration for her man but that’s the point!!! I’d be the same if he was mine (I mean look at Vanessa Kirby and Dua Lipa lmao)

Marina this is for us because this man deserves our love we’d make him so happy 🙌🏼

It was supposed to be silly and funny so don’t give me shit obviously celeb relationships would be a lot more private. And for bonus fun check this out ⬇️

#callum turner #callum turner fanfic #callum turner x reader #callum turner ig edit #made by me*#part 2 anyone??? i got more pics #mota fanfic #i purposelly included butt pics bc i love butts btw #and it would be for cal to grab onto

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fight-nights-at-freddys · 1 month ago

Note

hey there! Feel free to block me if you want, especially if you find this rude or anything. This is actually genuine, i’m NOT being sarcastic or anti.

i’m on the fence about proshipping. On the one hand, don’t like it? Don’t read it. I’ve read some crazy fanfiction that teeters on the line, but that’s not the point. On the other hand, it gets to a point where…you’re just normalizing r@pe or inc3st in fiction. And people say it’s just fiction, but fiction can definitely influence reality! But writing shouldn’t be censored. People should be free to write what they want, however they want. It’s art and should be treated with the same diligence. However, the when, where and how proshipping fanfics are presented SHOULD MATTER. It’s not censorship to require warning tags, or restrict it from young readers more severely.

okay, that’s my little rant lol. Again, i’m not gonna think you hate me if you block me and never answer this ask. Just wanted to get some other points of view and share my own.

dwdw. and thank you for being so respectful and nice abt it <3 anti or not, its always appreciated/gen

and i (personally) have some views that are probably pretty controversial LMAO. Which is pretty much, if something is normalized in fiction and it doesn’t breach over into real life, we’re okay.

say for instance, murder is common in fiction, it has been justified, shown as good, etc etc. practically doesn’t get portrayed or seen as bad. yet irl if someone goes out there and kills a random family, ppl aren’t going to go “oh yeah, thats normal” they’re going to be upset and appalled for what that persons done.

same thing with incest and rape, theres been a lot of fanfics over the years that have those two things, yet both are absolutely abhorrent in real life bc they hurt people, and no amount of normalizing it in fiction will normalize it irl.

And we can even get into old examples like with Greek Mythology where rape and the incest were seen as normal(-ish) in the stories, and still, people think that those things are horrible in real life, so fiction didn’t affect reality there. So, why would it change with like, idk, a wincest or willmike fics.

yes writing can influence reality, but only if you let it. Do research, look at studies, don’t rely on words that a random person made up to tell a story, because then, you are at fault, not the creator or the work. (You spoken generally here, not at you anon)

If you live your life and base your knowledge only on fiction and nothing more, then yeah, your reality is going to be skewed, but again, thats not the fictions fault. - 🧁🍕

ofcofc! so, just to clear up any confusion, being proship JUST means being anti-harassment, and pro-ship and let ship. you don't gotta like what other people ship, you just gotta respect them enough to be able to block and move on.

i def agree, tags should be applied correctly, and mature content should be age restricted, but there's a limit to that imo. like, i wouldn't agree with sites making you show your ID or anything, due to the invasion of privacy, when a lot of the issue of kids being in spaces they shouldn't be could be solved by better parenting.

i also don't agree that certain kinds of fiction "normalize" rape or incest. fiction CAN influence reality, sure, but it's never gonna make you go from "incest bad" to "incest good" just from watching, like. game of thrones, ya know? there would 100% have to be a problem with the individual to begin with to even reach those kinda conclusions (and that's largely a problem with lack of parenting, education, or mental health resources)

my point is, if someone reads a yucky darkfic, and rape/murder/incest/whatever is depicted as good, it is still on you as the viewer as to how you react to it.

again, it's totally fine to think those kinds of fics/ships are disgusting! you're allowed to feel your feelings! but to assume that everyone who reads those fics has even the potential to be bad people just because they read those things is, like. objectively the wrong way to go about things

#/nm ofc - 🏁🎸

#proship #pro ship #proshippers please interact #pro shippers please interact #anti anti #profiction #pro fiction #profic #pro fic #anon #🧁🍕#🏁🎸

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sev-on-kamino · 2 years ago

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Y’all thirsty? No? Let’s change that! We’re talking ✨Commander Fox✨ today.

I’ve got Fox on the brain, and you know me: I’ve gotta make that everyone’s problem. (MINORS DNI)

Fox’s priorities: his job, his brothers, making sure the caf machine is always in working order, and making sure no one ever finds out he’s been sneaking Grizzer treats for months (notice that his own well-being isn’t on that list😒)

He hasn’t finished a hot cup of caf in months.

He and Wolffe have a call once every couple of weeks, as time allows, to catch up. Wolffe fusses at Fox for taking crap care of himself, and Fox pretends to be annoyed, but he loves it.

They text in between calls, and it’s mostly just roasting the shit out of each other

Big “I wasn’t sleeping I was resting my eyes” energy

He has a weakness for sweets, like “ooh a piece a candy” right into a trap kinda weakness. Thorn has been known to include sweets with his reports when he knows there’s some shit in there that’s gonna get Fox’s blood pressure up.

Stomach sleeper with one leg out from under the blanket

Amazing card player, like take him to the casino today (Only Cross and Tech are better than Fox imo)

Lowkey loves fucking with people. Wolffe and Thorn the most of course.

He’s a hardass but he will do the sweetest shit for people he loves. Just don’t call too much attention to it because he’s got a reputation to maintain 😒

It ventures into NSFW territory past this point, Minors DNI 🔞

Fox x Reader HCs

some of these are mad specific because of my in progress series 😅

He’s awkward in the transition from friends w/ benefits to an actual relationship

He’s very much the “you? in love with me? sounds fake but ok” type

Even if he’s in love with you, he won’t believe it. You have to show him all the time. He needs hard evidence 🧐

He’s a “let’s be alone together” partner. You’re doing your thing, he’s doing his thing. He likes that he can see you, and that he can reach out and touch you whenever he likes

When he cares for someone, they’re getting all the sweet pillow talk, take notes while he’s in a sharing mood

The post-nut clarity can either take him to a really great place (ah, this person I’m with does care for me and want me for me), or a horrible place (oh, I’m just another notch in their bedpost and why are they still here???)

He enjoys orgasm control/denial

He defaults to positions where he can see your face the whole time because you look pretty while he’s ruining you

Once things are established, and he’s grudgingly accepted that you truly care for him, and he’s done resisting feelings for you, you’ve unlocked soft!Fox

Soft!Fox only exists behind closed doors but he’ll make you fall in love with Fox all over again

More on soft!Fox in a future post 😌

tagging: @secondaryrealm @dystopicjumpsuit @iamburdened @sunshinesdaydream

#tcw commander fox #tcw fox #commander fox x reader #fox hcs #commander fox headcanons #fox headcanons #reader insert #star wars the clone wars #seven writes

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littlespacereader · 1 year ago

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Hi! Can I request a fic of cg! Hobie brown and little! Reader? Reader is shy when they regress, which causes a lot of miscommunications between hobie and them (like needs such as eating,potty, changing etc) so he makes the reader communication cards so they can both understand each other? Thanks!

Ahhhhh!!!! So cute!!! I absolutely love the idea of using cards to communicate. It’s so hard sometimes when your regressed to properly articulate how your feeling or what you need. This idea is so cute and super helpful! I absolutely loved writing this so I hope you enjoy it! Thank you for the request!

The Talking Cards 🕷️🃏

Caregiver!Hobie Brown & GN Little!Reader. (SFW)

Tags - accidents, miscommunication to communicate, comfort, communication cards, dips

Nicknames - darling, sweet one, sweetheart, sweetie

When Hobie first met Y/N he noticed how shy they were about their regression. In fact, he didn’t know about Y/N’s regression until he accidentally stumbled upon them regressed in their shared apartment.

After that day and a long talk when Y/N wasn’t regressed, Hobie officially became Y/N’s Caregiver!

He loves it, every second of it. But lately, there’s been a few bumps in the road.

It started at the dinner table one night. It has been a long day for the two so stayed in for the night and ordered takeout. Y/N sat quietly except for the occasional squirm here and there.

Then suddenly they were in a panic, pulling on his arm and whining.

“Y/N, what’s wrong darling? What’s going on?” Hobie asked but Y/N didn’t say a word. They just kept pulling on his arm and whining.

“Y/N, you gotta talk to me. What going on?”

Y/N just shook their head as tears started to fall from their eyes. Suddenly an answer to the panic became known as Y/N’s lap got darker and the sound of liquid started to hit the floor.

“Oh darling. Oh sweetheart I am so sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you needed to go potty.”

Y/N just continued to cry, unable to talk. Hobie felt horrible, absolutely horrible about the whole situation. He felt like it was his own fault. That maybe he should’ve known somehow.

Regardless he took Y/N into his arms and comforted them. “I’m so sorry Y/N. I promise I’ll make it better. You’re okay.” He comforted. After that he helped them get cleaned up.

The next time it happened was in the afternoon a few days after. Y/N was peaceful playing in the living room while Hobie was tuning his guitar. After a little while Y/N came over and started pulling on his arm to get his attention.

“Hey darling, what’s going on?”

They didn’t say anything. They just looked down and started to blush.

“Alright, ummm…you need to go potty?” He asked, starting to guess.

That got no response.

“Okay, ummmm…you need a change?” He asked again.

No response.

“Huh? Not that either.”

Finally something did the talking. Y/N’s stomach let out a big growl, taking it upon itself to speak up. The noise caused both Y/N and Hobie to giggle.

“I guess your stomach had enough! Alright sweetie, you heard your tummy. Let’s get you some food.” And with that he picked his little one up and carried them into the kitchen.

After that Hobie took it upon himself to come up with an idea to the situation. It wasn’t Y/N’s fault. He knew his little one was shy when they regressed.

He also wasn’t frustrated. He, more than anything, wanted to do everything he could possibly think of to accommodate and better take care of his little one. So, while cuddling up with Y/N one night, the idea struck him!

The next morning he got to work. Y/N watched him with a carful but curious eye. They couldn’t help but wonder what’s got their Caregiver so proactive?

Finally once finished, Hobie walked over and sat beside Y/N on the couch.

“Listen, I’ve been putting a lot of thought into things lately. And I want to start off by saying I’m not mad or frustrated or anything of that sort. I’ve just been worried that I haven’t been able to take care of you properly because I can’t understand your needs. I understand that when it comes to your regression you don’t know how to articulate things properly and it makes it hard for you to speak. So I came up with a solution.”

He handed them a stack of cards. Each card has a phrase or word in bold letters at the top with a picture of whatever it was describing. All the cards were attached to a ring so they could stay together.

“See, everything you could possibly ask for or need is on these cards. And if there isn’t one that’s on the card then I can asked yes or no questions and you can use these card to say yes or no. How does this all sound to you Y/N?”

Y/N looked at the cards in awe. They were the perfect solution! They carefully looked through all the cards before settling on the card that read “good” with a thumbs up drawing.

Hobie smiled and wrapped his arm around Y/N. “That’s good to hear.”

The cards became a huge success! Now they could better communicate with each other without one or the other feeling confused or not being heard.

One night Y/N pulled on Hobie arm and held the “potty” card up. Immediately Hobie was on his feet helping his little one to the toilet.

Another day they were hanging out watching tv. But a new program came on and was too loud, so Y/N pointed to their card which perfectly said “too loud”.

Y/N stomach didn’t need to speak for them because now with the “snack” card they could properly tell Hobie how they were feeling.

Lastly before heading to a gig Y/N pulled on his sleeve and handed him the cards before looking down. The top card read “change” sign a little drawing of a diaper. Even at their most shy moments like a diaper change, they could still communicate their needs.

After changing Y/N into a fresh diaper, Hobie handed Y/N their cards back. “Here you are darling.”

Y/N smiled and flipped through the cards. Finally they settled upon one and turned it towards Hobie. It simply said “Thank you” with a drawing of a heart.

Hobie smiled and winked, “Anything anytime for you darling.”

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tumbleweed-writes · 7 months ago

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Death and the Lady: Chibs Telford X Reader. Chapter Fourteen

Tag List: @youngadult9016 @mrsfilipchibstelford @mamawiggers1980 @ravennaortiz @liveinsteadofdreaming @redwoodmaya

Previous Chapter HERE

+18

Chapter Fourteen: Protection

Being stuck up in the clubhouse away from his ol lady was pure torture. Chibs knew his brothers would give him absolute shit if they knew how he felt in the moment.

They’d most likely call him pussy whipped if they knew just how miserable he felt to be spending one night away from the woman he’d been sharing a bed with for almost a month now.

He was almost certain that he did not care if they would give him shit over it. He’d found a sense of comfort sleeping by Y/N’s side at night and if his brothers had shit to say about it then that was their problem not his.

He’d felt extraordinarily frustrated when he’d been forced to call her earlier this evening and confess that she should not expect him for dinner nor should she expect him to make it to her bed tonight.

Shit with the Irish was keeping Chibs cooped up at the clubhouse later in the day than he’d prefer.

SAMCRO was expecting the arrival of Micheal McKeavy a few nights from now. Their true IRA associate would be arriving expecting to discuss the gun trade with Clay Morrow and Tig Trager.

He was coming to collect money for another gun shipment from the Sons and discuss business. He had seemed to indicate that he had much to discuss with the MC.

SAMCRO had been left scrambling to get every last cent McKeavy was expecting in hopes that they would be able to appease the Irish and continue to do business with them despite the fact that quite a bit of SAMCRO’s funds were tied up in a warehouse rebuild.

They had gathered quite a bit of money, but there still was not quite as much as McKeavey was demanding. He kept insisting that the demands for money were not personal. This was not business for the True IRA, this was war.

The day had been spent in chapel discussing the various ways the club could collect the funds McKeavey was anticipating.

In the end it had been decided that Gemma would hit up Luann Delaney to borrow a large chunk of the funds the club needed.

Gemma could easily convince the Porn Queen to help out SAMCRO.

Chibs gritted his jaw, easily remembering a suggestion that had been made prior to the decision to hit up Luann for cash.

Chibs had almost broken the cigarette he’d been holding in half when Tig had spoken up snarking beside Chibs. “Chibby, your sweet little funeral director seems to live in a real nice place. There’s gotta be plenty of old pricy heirlooms stocked up in that old family home of hers. We should hit her up and see if she might be willing to part with a few antiques at a pawn shop. See if she might hand over the profits. I bet you could convince her; use that love she’s got for you to our advantage. You could tell her to fall in line like a good ol lady and help the club.”

Chibs had spoken his words harsh he glaring at the man beside him resisting the urge to hit him. “If she had a stockpile of fuckin cash layin around she wouldn’t have needed to form a business relationship with the club to begin with ya prick. I will not hit her up fer money. I sure as fuck aint orderin her round and demanding money cause I’m datin her.”

Jax had spoken coming to Chibs’ defense. “Hitting up Y/N for cash isn’t the answer. She’s already doing enough for the club as it is. We know she’s got debts of her own to worry about. Our money shit isn’t her responsibility.”

Clay was thankfully fast to agree. “Pissing off our funeral home connection isn’t a smart move. Pawned antiques won’t be enough to help us out. It’d be a measly fucking penny in the barrel at this point.”

Chibs sighed, his mind pulling from the entire conversation he’d been stuck in about the Sons finances, the stress of it all making his head ache.

He found himself once again longing for his ol lady. The last time he’d felt a horrible headache building in him after dealing with club bullshit, Y/N had gently massaged his temples. He had sat back in her bed soaking up her touch, her fingers rubbing soft circles into the skin, helping delay and soothe the building migraine. He could remember the last time she’d done this for him after a long night taking care of some club business. She’d rubbed his temples softly gently humming to him. It was a tune he could not quite place but he found it soothing all the same, his body relaxing against her touch, he feeling like he could take a breath for the first time that day.

He fell back against the bed in his dorm room knowing that his brain wasn’t the only thing aching at the moment.

He stared down at the lower region of his body mentally cursing his throbbing cock for being such a traitor at the moment. It was unfair for his dick to be perking up when the one woman he wanted was too far away to do a damn thing about it.

Thinking about her loving touch and the sense of comfort he got from her in times of stress had somehow managed to work his body up knowing that there was more than way for her to relieve his stress.

Being frustrated, exhausted, and horny was a terrible sensation to have all together. Especially when the solution to all of these feelings was not here at the moment.

She’d been so sweet and reassuring when he called, breaking the news that he was stuck up at the clubhouse for the night. She’d admitted she had some work she needed to do in the embalming room tonight; so she was fine if he didn’t make it to her place.

He was not fine with not making it to her place tonight, especially when his body was very much longing to be at her place tonight.

He sighed running a hand down his body resting it against his clothed cock giving the waking member a squeeze through the thick denim of his jeans.

He easily found his mind spiraling down a fantasy picturing his ol lady here with him.

He imagined pressing his lips to hers, the kisses slow and loving, his touches lingering along her body. He could picture stripping her of her clothing slowly allowing it to drop to the floor below them. He would stroke her soft skin as his lips slid along hers, the kisses to her lips and caresses to the curve of her body sensual.

He let out a soft sigh imagining cradling her face with his large hands, pressing his hands to the sides of her face as his tongue slid between her parted lips. He would dominate the kisses just as he always managed to do, making her practically melt against him.

It gave him such a thrill to have her practically sink against his touch and kisses.

He could remember how mouthy she was to Jax the first day Chibs had met her. Chibs could never imagine such a brazen woman would submit to him so eagerly and how delightful he’d find her submission. As much as he admired her smart mouth he had to feel a little thrill that she’d so easily become so docile for him. He knew it was a privilege that only he was given.

He groaned his fingers unfastening his belt, making quick work of unzipping and unbuttoning his jeans.

He tilted his hips up sliding the jeans down his ankles not caring if his boots kept them from sliding all the way off his body.

He ran his hand back along his cock caressing it through the thin cotton of his boxers. He sighed at the realization that a wet patch had already developed along them, hinting he was so eager for release. He felt a groan leave his lips as he imagined her soft lips sliding along his jawline alternating between nips to his skin and soft sucking kisses.

He gasped imagining pressing kisses of his own down her body taking one of her perfect breasts into his mouth and suckling with enthusiasm. He could picture rolling her pert nipples between his teeth. He could imagine practically worshiping her breasts pressing wet kisses against her skin and lovebites in his wake.

He could easily imagine the mewls she’d let out at his worship, practically trembling under his treatment, her fingers trailing through his messy hair.

He reached up with the hand that wasn’t occupied caressing his cock, tugging at his own hair, the act not nearly as pleasurable as her nails digging into his scalp as he ate her pussy.

He groaned thinking of her pussy as he lifted his hips up again ditching his boxers, his cock throbbing at the cool air of the room against his heated skin.

He reached out blindly into his nightstand finding a well used bottle of lube clumsily popping it open and squirting what was probably far too much gel into his palm.

His thoughts went back to his ol lady’s sweet pussy as he wrapped his lube slick hand around his cock giving himself a squeeze, a groan leaving him.

He thought of how soft and slick she was when he buried his face in her pussy. He thought of the cries of pleasure she let out when he ate her out, his tongue lapping at her and teasing her clit. He found himself reminiscing about how much heat she put off.

He groaned his words thick with lust as he began to stroke himself. “Fuckin sweet pussy, Hen, all mine. Tastes like heaven.”

He rocked against his palm his words low speaking to the imaginary version of the woman he longed for. “Yer so wet, fuck.”

He imagined his fingers buried deep in her cunt as he ate her out. He could picture spreading her open, she moaning riding his fingers and his face.

He spoke again reaching down to caress his balls as he continued to thrust against his palm his mind still locked on the thought of fingering her. “Does that feel good? Aye? Shite, ye love this, takin my fingers, squeezin me so tight pulling me in, wishing it was my cock. Yer my fuckin slut, jus mine. Shite, moanin fer me like a whore.”

He groaned, his cock twitching at the last part of his statement. The sensible voice in the back of his head barked that she might not enjoy being called something derogatory given her past. No, as soft and as gentle as she was, she might not like such rough words. She liked the sweet little bits of Scottish Gaelic he whispered to her and being called Hen.

He groaned, having to wonder if she would accept the more lewd words though with the understanding that the word mine was attached to the word whore.

He groaned, releasing his balls, his hand running up his body caressing his torso imagining how her cheeks would flush so embarrassed that she loved it as he whispered filth to her.

He said the words he wanted to whisper to her. “Jus my whore to love and please. Fuck, lets me love her so good. Oh, Mo Leannan. Takes my cock like it's all yer made fer. That pussy is made fer me, jus fer me to feel and eat and fuck”.

He thrusted with more enthusiasm imagining thrusting into her his cock disappearing in the wet heat of her body she so soaked as she dripped down his cock to his balls.

He groaned imagining taking her raw, just how soaked and silky she’d feel around his cock with with no damn latex barrier between them.

He groaned the words thick on his tongue. “Ye like that? Fuckin creaming on this cock. Yer so fuckin gorgeous and needy fer me.”

He dug his feet into the floor below him humping his hand desperately imagining thrusting up into her the wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of her, moans of his name leaving her lips.

“Aye, say my fuckin name, Hen. Gonna fuck ye all night. My name is gonna be all ye remember how to say.”

He whined pre cum dripping down his slit with more desperation mixing with the wet mess of lube, he stared at the mess only able to picture her wet pussy making a mess on him. He whined knowing her pussy would feel so much better than his hand. Hell, even her hand would feel better than his own. Her touch was so soft, velvety, and so delicate. Her hand looked so exquisite wrapped around his cock.

He groaned imagaining her wet center wrapped around his cock pulling him in, soaking him, their fluids mixing together, their bodies slick with perspiration, soft gasps leaving them.

He spoke his voice low. “Fuckin makin a mess outta me, Love. Ruining this cock. No other woman is gonna ride this cock but ye. No man is gonna feel this pussy but me, Hen. Shite, yer fuckin mine, my sweet wee whore to love and keep, my ol lady.”

He groaned knowing he was so close the words frantic and harsh as they spilled from him he stroked his cock all the harder his balls throbbing. He felt no shame nor doubt over the words that left him; he too far gone to lust to second guess his words. “All mine, Fuck. My ol lady, gonna fuckin put my crow on ye Hen, let everyone fuckin know yer mine. Gonna put my crow where ye can’t hide it, let everyone in town know yer my ol lady. Fuck, everyone’s gonna know ye love me. They’re gonna know a sweet wee thing like ye loves the dirty outlaw. Yer gonna fuckin love it, knowin they know yer mine. Gonna make ye feel so safe, knowin the outlaw will fuckin kill anyone who touches ye. Yer gonna feel so loved and protected, Lass. I’ll fuckin take care of ye, treat ye like a queen.”

He moaned, having never thought the idea of protecting someone would get him off so hard. He knew it was more than the thought of protecting her that was doing it for him. It was the concept of possessing her with a crow; having the world know the dirty biker who most people feared had a beautiful sophisticated woman who loved him and never feared him.

He groaned knowing he was so close to falling over the edge. His cock throbbed like a broken tooth. “Gonna cum, shite, gonna cum in ye, fill ye up, Hen. Gonna pump ye so full of me it’s gonna drip out and make a mess. Aint even gonna clean ye up, gonna let it drip from ye, down yer fuckin thighs, my cum makin a mess outta ye is gonna remind ye yer mine.”

He cried out as he came harder than he was sure he’d ever cum by his own hand cries of her name leaving his lips his words thick with adoration. “Take it, Hen, Fuck, Baby, take my cum. Take it all, every last fuckin drop in that greedy cunt.”

He whimpered, stroking himself through his release, his cum shooting from him in thick hot ropes coating his hand and making an absolute mess out of him.

His hips thrusted weakly against his palm, his body feeling heavy and satisfied even with the sticky mess he’d left in his self pleasure.

He whined his hand releasing himself gazing down at the mess he’d left a tiny sense of shame hitting him.

He shook off the shame telling himself it was his Catholic upbringing rearing its head in making him feel guilty for the act he’d just done.

He reached out, finding a t-shirt he’d tossed on his bed as he’d scrambled through his dresser the last time he’d packed up a bag to spend the night at Y/N’s place.

He wiped his hand with the shirt, a groan leaving him the sexual satisfaction he felt tapering off leaving him feeling lonely and longing for the comfort of his ol lady.

He tossed the shirt onto the floor, his eyes landing on his cell phone, a deliciously naughty idea entering his mind.

He groaned, so tempted to take a photo of the mess he’d made of himself and send it her way. He already knew what the message would be. One night away from you is one night too long, my body misses you.

He sighed, shoving the temptation to carry out his act from his mind. He was uncertain if she’d appreciate such a filthy text and photo without an invitation from her to send one her way.

He couldn’t help but to feel the need to walk a careful line with her.

He knew her past had complicated her feelings towards sex and he was determined to love her through it.

He had hopes that one day she might feel comfortable enough to get a little dirty with him even if it was something as mild as dirty photos or naughty texts.

In the meantime though, he was willing to romance her and reassure her.

He loved her enough to care about her comfort when it came to intimacy.

He sighed using that same shirt to wipe the lower region of his body hating the empty feeling settling down over him.

He so badly wanted his sweet ol lady resting by his side nude and satisfied by him.

He spoke up to the ceiling knowing no one was listening. “Fuckin greedy Irish ruinin my fuckin night.”

Little did he know an Irishman was about to ruin another night for him very soon.

========================================================

In Chibs’ opinion it didn't rain nearly enough in northern California or at least when compared to Glasgow and Belfast it did not rain nearly enough in Charming, California.

When he had first arrived stateside he’d found the environment to be unwelcoming. California was far too bright and far too warm. He missed everything about his home in Belfast, even the cloudy skies.

With time he’d gotten acclimated to the warmer temperatures and the brighter skies. It didn’t completely erase any sense of homesickness though. For the longest time even a hint of rain had made him long for the homeland he’d been born in and the one he had been forced from.

He’d found that tonight though any sense of homesickness was too far away to grasp on to.

Tonight he found the sound of thunder crashing overhead and heavy rainfall hitting the stained glass windows of Y/N’s bedroom to be pleasant. He didn’t find himself longing for a time long past and out of his reach. He’d found that he was perfectly content to lie here in her soft warm bed listening to the sound of rainfall outside. It felt as though there was no place else he would rather be.

There was a peace to the environment; a peace he’d not known for longer than he cared to admit.

He knew of course the fact that Y/N was currently lying pressed close to him neither of them wearing a stitch of clothing most likely helped this feeling of peace.

He smirked remembering how he’d pleasured himself just the night before when he was stuck up in the clubhouse longing for her touch. The reality of making love to his ol lady was far more appealing than any horny fantasy his brain might cook up.

He ran his hand up and down her bare back enjoying the soft sighs and shudders of pleasure she let out at the gentle caress.

He held her tight against him allowing her to rest her head against his chest the sounds of the storm raging on outside providing a white noise of sorts to their afterglow.

Y/N ran her hand along his left upper arm, her fingers delicately tracing the reaper inked into his skin the words leaving her before she could stop them. “Your reaper is different from theirs.”

Chibs furrowed his brow as she spoke further explaining herself fearing she was only making her statement so much worse. “The reapers I’ve seen on some of the other guys…uh, Jackson, a few nomads. They all have pretty similar ones. The tattoos are all just uh, pretty identical to the reaper on the kuttes. Yours is different.”

She cringed knowing that it was obvious she’d only seen Jax’s reaper tattoo given their past sexual involvement and the same could be implied by her mentioning the nomad’s reapers she’d spotted.

If Chibs was bothered by any implications behind her words he thankfully did not share his annoyance as he spoke. “Aye, the lads in Belfast are a wee bit less uniformed on their regulations fer club ink. It helps that I was the firs prospect fer SAMBEL. There was no real set rule in place fer it then.”

“Was it hard, being a prospect?” She dared to ask, fearing the question was a stupid one. Of course it was hard.

“Aye, it wasn’t fun. It was a fuckin pain in the arse actually. The lads in SAMBEL probably did take it a wee bit easier on me than they mighta had I been too green comin in off the streets wanting to join. They knew me from the cause, respected me fer it. They knew what shite and trauma I came to em with…they knew I was loyal and I was a strong fighter. They knew I knew bout the cause and I’d be an asset.They only hazed me a wee bit, had to make sure I was sure of what I wanted by joinin up with the club. They wanted to make sure my loyalties laid with em firs…though it’s a wee bit hard when it comes to loyalties…Irish club, Hen, they were all pretty involved with the cause in one way or another.”

“Is that normal? The hazing?” She dared to ask, shivering slightly at the mention of trauma knowing just what Chibs was referencing; the scars Jimmy O’ had left him with. She also felt her stomach turn at the mention of the cause.

She pushed the thought of the IRA from her mind focusing back on who Chibs must have been back then; how hurt he must have been.

She could imagine Chibs had come to SAMBEL filled with unimaginable burdens and heartache. She almost had to feel strangely thankful that they had taken him in…given him a purpose after so much loss and pain. She had to fear what might have become of him without the MC.

She could remember him mentioning how he’d wished for death after Jimmy O’s attack. She knew that SAMBEL had given him a reason to keep going.

She frowned, her mind pulling from the man Chibs had been back then, her mind turning to Chibs’ prospect Half Sack. The poor guy did seem to have it rough judging from the few interactions she’d had with him and the interactions she’d been witness to from his brothers.

“Aye, it is. Ye gotta make sure someone wants the top rocker badly enough. Lads who want to prospect gotta put in the work even if it's grunt work and bullshite. If they want to join badly enough then they’ll work fer it. Gettin to the level where someone will let ye prospect is hard enough. Ye gotta find a patched in member to sponsor ye. Ye gotta prove yerself from the start. It’s up to the Sponsor to go to bat fer his prospect, get his foot in the door, then the work starts. After that ye got not only yer sponsor watchin ye, ye got the rest of the club too. Ye follow orders and keep yer mouth shut as a prospect. Ye gotta earn everyone's respect and prove ye got what it takes. If ye work hard enough ye can earn a full patch. The club has a responsibility to work the prospects hard and make em earn their place. Ye gotta put em through hell to make sure they are determined enough to want to wear the reaper. Ye want the man sharin yer patch to be loyal, Hen. Ye don’t want some flakey prick that’s gonna disappear the second shite gets rough. Prospects gotta prove they got the loyalty and the grit to take it all on. It’s that military mindset, Love. Break em down to build em back up better.”

She sighed her voice soft. “Guess that makes sense.”

She frowned thinking of her own brother. She had to wonder if Daniel had never had his accident would he have prospected for SAMCRO.

She was certain Jax and Opie would have both agreed to sponsor him if he had asked to prospect.

She knew her father had been against Daniel’s sorted company back then. She had a feeling though that if time had gone on and Daniel had never had his accident then their father would not have been enough to keep him away from SAMCRO forever.

She had to think Daniel would have prospected at some point. He would have found comfort in that world in a different way than she had after his accident.

She pushed the thought from her mind knowing it was no use thinking about it. Daniel had his accident and would never be capable of living independently.

The man he may have become in some other universe with SAMCRO would never exist in this universe.

She spoke her voice soft, bringing back up the reaper ink. “Was this your first tattoo? The club ink?”

He sighed, shaking his head, his voice drowsy finding it easy to sink into the conversation. “Nah, the iron cross, that was my first. My ma bout fuckin killed me fer it. I was a lad of barely 18 when I went out and got it. I worked hard to afford it, it was less polished then, it looked a little rough fer a while…I went back in a few years ago and had it retouched a wee bit, cleaned up more. The iron cross was my firs tattoo though. I liked it; they call it a bikers cross. I was in love with Harleys even back then. I might go back and have more added to it at a later date, thought bout havin some architecture added in the background behind the cross, Glasgow architecture. Buildings back home they’re gorgeous and it's part of my history. I may have lived in Belfast, but I have always been proud of bein Scottish. Kinda want a motorcycle too somewhere but I don’t know. Haven’t settled on nothin.”

She ran her hand along the center of his chest, her fingers tracing the tattoo she’d been dying to ask question about the most. “And this one? A million dollar bill?”

He chuckled, the explanation leaving his lips. “Means fuck ye pay me.”

She gave his chest a playful swat, she fast to speak. “You’re full of shit.”

“Aye, I am, but not in this case. That’s what it means.” He insisted, a small smirk crossing his features not helping but to like the way her fingertips traced his tattoos.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had a woman trace them. A couple of the croweaters he’d hooked up with had pulled a similar action, but the pillow talk had been miniscule he only allowing them to soak up the afterglow for a moment before he fell asleep and kicked them out of bed the next day. That was if he even bothered to sleep by their side. Occasionally he’d leave as soon as the deed was done.

He’d noticed of course a few more determined croweaters had attempted to ask him about the ink in an attempt to bond with him, but he’d not played along, not seriously or honestly at least. He’d usually made it known to them that he had zero interest in cuddly pillow talk and less interest in attaching himself to a woman.

He was surprised he enjoyed answering Y/N’s questions about the ink. He was happy to provide answers to her curiosity. He found he enjoyed attaching himself to her. He’d give her all the cuddly pillow talk she asked for.

He spoke the words that left his lips solemn. “Money makes the world go round, Mo ghràidh. If anyone tells ye money aint important it jus means they never wanted fer it. I grew up in squalor, always fightin to survive. My ma kept food on the table but it took a lot out of her. She relied on the government to keep us housed and the housin estates in Glasgow and Belfast weren’t safe. We didn’t have the money fer anything better though. My fuckin Da was a drunk who only cared bout the pub when he wasn’t beatin my Ma within an inch of her life. When he left we were worse off financially but at least he wasn’t there strikin fear in us all. I knew even when I was a wee lad, jus how important money was. I promised myself when I was old enough, that I’d never want fer anything. The tattoo was a reminder, I was never goin to be without money and I was never goin back to the estates”.

She furrowed her brow hating to admit that she could not quite relate to the experiences from his childhood.

Her father had not been affluent by any stretch of the imagination despite the fine family home. She had not grown up in a rough neighborhood doing without. She had certainly never known violence from her father in her childhood home.

She spoke her voice soft knowing that she could at least relate to something from his tale. “I think anyone who says money is the root of all evil has never had debt hanging over their head. They think money doesn’t matter because they’ve never had to fear not having it.”

He felt his stomach turn at the mention of debt. Debt was what had led her to develop her working relationship with SAMCRO, the working relationship that had caused her distress.

He was thankful that she changed the subject, a soft sigh leaving her. “The anarchy symbol is more club related I’m guessing?”

“Aye, got it when I got stateside, wanted to show my devotion. Almost got another reaper, one more similar to the ones the lads wear here. Got the anarchy symbol as a personal compromise.” He admitted his hand continuing to trace her skin as she traced the ink on his.

She gave him a slight smile, her fingers tracing the tattoo over his heart. “And I already know this is for your daughter.”

He felt the smile cross his features though the mention of his baby was a bittersweet one. “Aye, got it when she was jus a month old. Knew I needed her close to my heart even then.”

“You are a surprisingly sweet man, Filip Telford.” She teased, causing him to chuckle his heart lifting at the comment.

“Aye, I’m only sweet fer ye. We already established that fact, Hen.”

He spoke, his lips sliding along hers gently. “Ye got any ink I haven’t noticed, Hen? I am pretty sure I have seen every inch of yer body and aint noticed any.”

She let out a soft sigh shaking her head. “Nope no tattoos. I thought about getting one more than once…especially during my wilder years. It’s probably a blessing I didn’t get one back then given my decisions weren’t always wise back then. Who knows what I would have wound up with. It’s kind of hard in my line of work too…I have to keep my appearance so plain for funerals. My appearance can’t be a distraction.”

He smirked, tempted to point out that her appearance was always a distraction for him. He held the thought in his stomach turning at the mention of her wilder years. “If ye got one, what do ye think ye’d want?”

“I have no idea, what do you think?” She dared to ask, curious to see just what his response would be.

He furrowed his brow, his cheeks flushing somewhat easily remembering his lust drunk words when he’d been jacking off the night before. He could remember stroking himself to promises he would give her his crow.

He bit back the thought knowing it would spook her if she knew just how appealing he found the idea. He had a feeling if she ever did take his crow it would have to be her idea, not his. It would have to be something he definitely coaxed her into given her history with the club.

He had a feeling it was way way way too soon to even entertain the idea even if the idea of her having his crow inked into her skin had helped him cum so hard into his own hand.

He spoke, deciding to tease her. “Ye should get Property of Filip Telford, righ here.”

She rolled her eyes as he caressed the space between her stomach and her pelvis directly over her center.

“In your dreams buddy. Pretty sure my pussy was mine long before you staked a claim.”

He snickered at the comment, giving her a bright grin that could only be described as cheeky. “Aye, so I do have a claim then?”

She gave his chest a soft swat rolling her eyes as she replied. “You’re the only guy that I’m allowing admission to that part of my body, so yeah, you’ve got a claim.”

She didn’t miss him, practically preen at the comment she fast to speak again, unable to keep the slightest hint of possessiveness from her voice. “I better be the only pussy you’ve got claim on, buddy. If you’re allowed to stake claim on me then that dick is mine. It’s only fair.”

He pressed his lips to hers, he fast to speak. “Aye, trus me, Mo Leannan aint interested in stickin my cock in anyone else.”

She gave him a small smirk unable to stop herself from teasing. “The croweaters must be devastated that I took you off the market.”

He shook his head pressing a kiss to her temple as he teased her back. “Aye there was a moment of silence an everythin once they realized my dick was off the table.”

He spoke again, his hand sliding over hers as she pressed it to his chest. “Only got interest in one lass. Pretty sure I’ve wanted her since we met. Can’t get enough of her now that I’ve had her.”

She felt a sense of warmth wash over her at the statement. She hated to admit that she’d felt a little unnerved since Agent Stahl had shown her Chibs’ record the damn file containing a mugshot of his estranged wife.

She hated to admit it but the fact that Chibs had been so eager to burn the file and the photo had soothed her far more than she’d thought it would.

She couldn’t help but to see the burning file as a symbol that he was choosing her. He was not clinging to the past. He was not clinging to a life he would rather have.

He was choosing a life with her.

She pushed the thoughts from her mind knowing she’d drive herself crazy if she allowed herself to hyperfocus on them.

Chibs Telford had a past. It was something she had to accept.

The only thing that mattered was that he did not prefer the past.

She told herself as long as he kept looking to the future with her then she’d be fine.

Chibs spoke, spotting the dazed look on her features it clear that she was lost in thought. “What are ye thinkin bout, Hen?”

She gave him a naughty smile, the lie sliding from her lips. “If I get Property of Filip Telford over my pussy, you have to get Property of Y/N on your ass.”

He snorted at the comment, shaking his head. “That’d be a fuckin pain in the arse to heal, Hen. Shite gets itchy when it heals. I don’t want an itchy arse.”

“Good, I don’t want an itchy pussy.” She pointed out the comment earning a deep chuckle from him.

“Aye, no one likes that. We’ll have to think of a better tattoo fer ye, Love. Maybe a wee Hen on yer hip.”

She shook her head at the suggestion though it did put a slight smile on her lips. “Not putting a chicken on my body, Filip. Do you know how many cock jokes I’d have to listen to.”

“Aye, Fine. Back to the drawin board then.” He remarked a sleepy chuckle leaving him at the comment.

He caressed her hand keeping it pressed over his heart as they settled down the sound of the rain soothing them.

He smiled, his eyes sliding closed the thought of a little Hen on her hip for him making him feel giddy even if she did shoot the idea down.

A wee hen was almost as good as a crow.

================================

Chibs sighed, dressing quickly the next morning knowing he had an early morning church session at the chapel at the clubhouse.

He was not looking forward to being pulled from her bed so damn early.

He watched Y/N dress sliding a pair of dark tights over her legs the sight almost pure torture as he imagined those legs wrapped around his hips.

He spoke his voice showing his frustration as he reluctantly buttoned up his jeans. “Yer sure we aint got time fer a wee quickie? Just a fast fuck over yer dresser or on the sofa?”

“Nope, you’ll be late for church and I’ll be late for my work downstairs.” She remarked giggling at the frustrated groan her answer worked from him.

“Ye fuckin work downstairs so who cares if yer too late. Skeeter knows I’m spendin the night. Pretty sure lad knows I’m up here partin the pink sea wit ye every nigh.”

She groaned, scrunching her nose up at his creative but lewd euphemism for sex and the knowledge that Skeeter was well aware that Chibs’ sleepovers meant he was doing more than sleeping by her side at night.

She shook her head fast to respond. “Pretty sure I prefer calling it giving me a Glaswegian humping than whatever the hell it was you just called it.”

“Aye, I’ll keep it in mind, Next time I visit ye at work I’m askin to give ye a good dirty Glaswegian Humpin no matter who’s around.” He insisted the smirk on his features making her roll her eyes.

She spoke changing the subject before he had a chance to continue this line of conversation. “Will you be back here tonight? Or is it going to be another late night for you?”

“Can’t say, Mo Leannan. We got an Irish friend visitin with Clay and Tig tonigh. Don’t know if the lad will want to come back to the clubhouse and talk business.” He admitted her stomach churning at the comments.

She could admit she still struggled to fully accept just what SAMCRO was involved in.

Chibs had been sharing more and more with her and she had not shut it down.

She found that she did not want to silence him when he shared information with her.

She knew that SAMCRO was a part of Filip Telford. The club made her feel anxious though.

It was not just the knowledge that Chibs and his brothers engaged in activities there were so illegal that it was not even funny.

It wasn’t just the mention of the IRA the thought of the cause Chibs described to her holding an aura of danger and violence.

It was not even knowledge that she’d done some immoral things for SAMCRO in exchange for money, a fact that had been haunting her.

There was also her own past with the club to contend with.

She was no fool. Back when she’d been a special friend of the club, she had been wise enough to know the bikers she hung around were not operating on the legal side of things.

When she thought of the club she was filled with the strangest cocktail of emotions.

She looked back on her time with SAMCRO with a slight hint of fondness.

She had fun when things weren’t so horrible and painful. She liked being taught to hustle pool with Tig even when he tried to get in her pants. She liked sharing pot brownies with Bobby and being given cassettes of what he claimed was good music. She liked the strange conversations she’d had with Happy during his occasional visit to the Sons clubhouse. She’d enjoyed talking to Opie about Donna back then giving him advice on how to romance her. He’d barely met her back then and had been searching for a normal girl’s perspective, it was a perspective Y/N had provided. Y/N even held some fond memories of Jackson Teller even if they’d only used one another for sexual gratification and a strange form of coping with their own lives.

SAMCRO was filled with an equal amount of pain though. The pain outshone the bright happier moments. When she thought of SAMCRO she thought of puking in sinks because she drank too damn much. She thought of smoking so much pot and taking so many edibles the high no longer felt peaceful. She thought of the pills she’d taken in attempts to find a bigger high until she found she was high on pills more often than not. She remembered all her attempts to numb pain and misery and how it had only caused her to sink further down into her miserable existence. She remembered her constant sense of self loathing; just how much she hated herself and wished for death or at least an escape from anguish. She thought of arrests and the way she shamed her poor father. She thought of all the beds she’d fallen into sometimes, not even bothering to learn the guys’ names. She thought of Gunner.

A tiny part of her almost feared what may have happened to her had she stuck around Gunner.

She knew she was the closest thing Gunner had to an ol lady back then.He had treated her like she was his possession anytime he was in Charming.

She had fallen into guys beds when he was not around, but the second he was in town his bed was the only one she wound up in. He was always eager to make his stake on her known even to Jax.

She feared Gunner would have at some point thrown her on the back of his bike and taken off with her and as low as her self esteem was and as high as her self loathing was she would have gone with him and disappeared into whatever world he gave her. She imagined he would have had a crow inked into her skin to make things official even if he didn’t marry her. She imagined being stuck up in Washington with him right now saddled down with kids that he’d most likely knock her up with to further trap her with him.

She imagined the violence would continue both in and outside of the bedroom. She imagined being cheated on and pushed around by him. She imagined a life of despair with him.

A life with Gunner would not have been a happy one. She was certain of that.

Thinking of SAMCRO made her think of this path she could have taken with Gunner.

She feared that somewhere out there in some alternate universe she had wound up Gunner’s ol lady.

In this alternate universe she had not met Chibs because she had been long gone by the time he came stateside.

In this alternate universe she was Gunner’s abused little ol lady who wished for her own death in order to escape him.

She pushed thoughts of Gunner out of her mind knowing it was not the path she had taken.

She had gone away and found herself. She had formed a life outside of him. She had made something of herself.

She may have come back to SAMCRO, but it had been on her own terms.

She had met Chibs and she was with him because she wanted to be. She was not a possession of his. He may have teased her with the property of Filip tattoo, but she knew him well enough to know he’d never treat her as though she was nothing more than a means to work out sexual and emotional frustration on. She was not something for Chibs to use and abuse.

She took a deep breath knowing that SAMCRO was here to stay in Chibs’ life.

She had to ease back into her acceptance of the life he lived.

He deserved to have her support when it came to the stresses of his world.

She may have decided to enter his world, but she knew it could be on her own terms.

Little did she know she might not have much of a choice when it came to how fast she would have to ease into his world.

======================================

Chibs groaned wondering how in the hell the night had gone to hell so damn quick.

He had not thought much when Clay and Tig had headed off to meet with McKeavey.

He’d been focused on helping Juice and his idiot prospect get rid of the ambulance Half Sack had so brilliantly stolen.

Chibs was amused by the choice to steal the damn ambulance. It was a hair brained idea but the kid’s heart had been in the right place. It had been a risky move stealing the ambulance in broad daylight.

The prospect was determined to take risks even if he didn’t have the polish to know that some risks weren’t worth it, especially risks that were impulsive and panicked.

The ambulance had come in handy.

When Clay had called announcing McKeavey was dead it had been a shock enough.

When he’d announced that McKevey’s cousin Cameron Hayes had been sent as the Son’s new contact to the True IRA, Chibs had not thought much of it.

It was the news that was tacked on to this information that had been shocking.

Someone had tried to kill Clay tonight; and had failed only shooting Cameron Hayes right in the ass.

The failed and now dead assailants had worn Mayan ink. It was a sign that war was coming.

A war meant a lockdown for members of the club and associates of the club.

Chibs’ mind was going a mile a second, his focus split between the man lying out on the reaper table with a bullet lodged in his ass and the woman Chibs was dying to go to and retrieve for her protection.

Chibs stared down at Cameron’s bleeding wound, a pair of pliers in his blood soaked hands feeling overwhelmed.

His five month stint as a medic in Her Majesty’s Armed forces did not prepare him for this. He was court martialed before he had much of a chance to learn too much of anything.

He sighed a frustrated groan leaving him as he made a decision. He could not go to Y/N and he could not bring her here himself. He had to take desperate measures. “Prospect get yer arse in here.”

Half Sack managed to enter the room growing pale at the sight of Cameron Hayes and Chibs’ and Juice’s blood soaked hands.

Chibs spoke, not acknowledging the younger man’s discomfort. “I need ye to do somethin fer me.”

“Anything.” Half Sack blurted out cringing fearing he was about to be given a task he would not enjoy at all.

Chibs sighed as angled the pliers he was holding trying to grasp onto the bullet lodged in Haye’s ass without nicking an artery. “I need ye to to Y/L/N and Sons Funeral Home…”

“Do you need supplies from Y/N?” Half Sack blurted out interrupting Chibs.

Chibs glared at him fast to speak his frustration too high to care if he was being cruel. “I wasn’t fuckin finished. I need ye to go and get my ol lady and bring her here to me.”

“What if she says no?” Half Sack blurted out his stomach churning at the thought of being sent to fetch his Sponsor’s spooky ol lady, the thought of being in a funeral home not pleasant sounding.

“Then ye call me and put me on speakerphone. Ye tell her to pack a bag and be ready to hunker down here. Ye bring her here, I don’t want to see ye back here without her.” Chibs snapped, growing increasingly frustrated by the task at hand and his prospect’s questions.

Half Sack shifted in place an excuse flying from his lips. “But Clay said no one rides alone.”

“Then ye bring fuckin Tig with ye, or Happy if he’s around. I don’t give a shite who ye take with ye to get her. Jus go get my ol lady and bring her straight to me. Do ye want yer top rocker or not? I said go and I am not repeatin myself. Go get her and don’t come back without her.”

Half Sack nodded his head looking thoroughly browbeaten by the orders as he shifted out of the room, Chibs calling out. “Shut the fuckin door behind ye.”

Juice spoke up as he watched the door shut behind Half Sack; he almost felt bad for the poor guy. “You think she might be in danger?”

“We’re all in fuckin danger, Juice. Fuckin Mayan war headin our way. Aint about to leave my ol lady out there unprotected in this shitestorm. People round town have seen her on the back of my bike, jus cause she aint got my crow doesn’t mean people don’t know what she is to me. If they came fer Clay and failed, they might retaliate and go fer anyone related to the club.” Chibs explained his grip tightening down on the pliers.

Juice sighed nodding his head his stomach turning. “Do you think she’d going to come along willingly? Your girl doesn’t seem like she takes orders…especially from a half nutted prospect.”

Chibs shook his head, a heavy sigh leaving him. “Oh she aint goin to take orders. I’m fully anticipating a figh from her. She’s gettin here though even if I have to get back in that damn ambulance with this bleedin prick and get her myself.”

Juice nodded knowing the Irishman was knocked out on pills for now, but the situation was looking bleak.

Juice shook his head, continuing to assist Chibs to the best of his ability.

Poor Half Sack was in for the fight of his life.

—------------------------------

“Are you fucking serious? No way in hell am I just dropping everything to go with you two idiots. You have to be kidding. I have a legitimate job that I can’t just abandon to go have some kind of sleepover at your fucking clubhouse.” Y/N snapped glaring up at Tig and Half Sack, the two men having proudly marched down to her embalming room, the first man seeming a little too interested in the room.

Tig shook his head, his eyes rolling. “These two idiots are trying to keep you safe.”

“I don’t need to be safe. Just because someone tried to kill Clay doesn’t mean I need to run and hide. This has nothing to do with me.” Y/N snapped slamming the trocar tip she’d been holding down on to the table beside the deceased man she had been attending to.

Tig glared down at her fast to step forward. “You are a friend to to the club and you’re fucking Chibs. That means this involves you.”

“Fuck off. I’m not in some grave danger.” She snapped, shaking her head rapidly refusing to believe this was happening.

This was a mess. This was idiotic. She was not cannon fodder in some building biker war.

Tig was fast to speak up his voice holding a dangerous edge to it. “I will pick you up and drag you kicking and screaming, Doll. I am not in the mood for your bullshit, not after I watched my Club Pres get shot at. You’re coming with me.”

“Bite me, Tigger.” She snapped crossing her arms over her chest proving she was stubborn as she had been back when she was nineteen having similar arguments with Sons.

Half Sack sighed knowing that this was getting out of hand fast. “Just wait, just chill out for a second guys.”

He dialed Chibs’ number putting the man on speaker phone, his voice frantic. “Chibs, she won’t listen.”

She spoke up, her voice raising annoyance washing over her. He was seriously calling Chibs and tattling. “Seriously guys, calling Daddy because I said no?”

The voice sounded out a hint of amusement evident in it despite his clear frustration. “As much as I like ye callin me Daddy, Ye need to listen to my brother and my prospect. Pack a bag and be ready to stay fer a wee bit.”

“Fuck you, I am not leaving. I have work to do.” She snapped beyond annoyed at the moment.

Who did he think he was bossing her around over the phone and sending his friends to retrieve her like she was a package he wanted delivered.

“She says that a lot, this is the fourth time she’s said fuck you since we told her how it had to be.” Tig remarked, rolling his eyes at the statement.

Chibs was insane to put up with someone this mouthy.

It might be hot in any other situation, but Tig was not in the mood to entertain how sexy a woman who was difficult could be.

Chibs sighed fast to respond to the statement ignoring any rudeness from her. “It’s work Skeeter can manage, Love. I need ye here with me.”

“Why? I am not that involved with SAMCRO. I highly doubt I am on some Mayan douchebag’s radar. I’m small potatoes, Filip.” She whined ignoring the sense of dread building in her at the realization that Chibs might not be such small potatoes.

If Clay was in danger, were all Sons in danger?

Chibs spoke a heavy sigh escaping his lips. “Yer a loved one, Lass. Yer considered family to the club, now. All family and friends are required to go on lockdown at the clubhouse.”

“I don’t give a fuck, Filip. I didn’t sign up for the family lodging situation. I can’t just leave my work.” She snapped her stomach filling further with dread at the thought of going anywhere near the Sons clubhouse after leaving it forever almost a decade prior.

Chibs groaned, wanting to argue that she had signed up for it when she’d agreed to date him.

He held in the comment choosing to just speak from the heart even if he knew a few of his brothers were listening in. “Please, Hen. I know ye got work to do, but like I said, Skeeter can manage it if ye ask. I need ye here with me Mo ghràidh. This shite is dangerous. I got a lad here with a fuckin bullet lodged in his arse, a bullet meant fer my club Pres. The hit attempt failed but this ain't over. Shite is goin to get bad before it gets better.”

He paused, not getting a reply from her, taking a deep breath before he spoke again. “Please, Hen. Humor me and come here where I know yer protected even if ye don’t think yer at risk. Give me peace of mind. I am jus tryin to keep ye safe. What kinda man am I if I can’t keep my ol lady safe.”

The words left her lips a strange sense of adoration and anxiety washing over her. “I’m your ol lady?”

Chibs sighed his stomach in knots fearing he’d shoved his foot in his mouth.

He spoke knowing that there was no backing out now. “Aye, yer my ol lady. I need my ol lady here with me, please Love.”

Y/N stared down at the man on her table, a heavy sigh leaving her. Skeeter was going to freak out.

“Fine, Let me pack a bag. I’ll come to you…I will complain about it more than once though.”

Chibs chuckled at the comment he fast to reply. “Aye, I don’t mind complaints if yer safe here with me. Jus hurry up, Love.”

“Okay…be safe Filip.” She replied her stomach turning as the anger she felt began to fade the reality of what this entire mess with the Mayans meant setting in.

“Always am, Hen.” was the reply she earned.

She spoke feeling awkward to be blurting this out in this space here in front of a dead man, Tig, and the prospect who was still holding the phone up for her. “I love you.”

She stared down at the deceased on her table avoiding gazing at Tig or Half Sack as Chibs spoke. “I love ye too, even if yer a pain in my arse.”

She rolled her eyes as Half Sack hung up the phone. She got to work as she turned to the cabinets behind her digging through them.

“What are you doing now?” Tig asked, frustrated that she wasn’t marching upstairs and packing a bag like she’d been ordered to.

She spoke over her shoulder shaking her head. “I’m getting supplies…I don’t have much but I do have some scalpels and suture needles. It’s probably better than whatever you guys are working with.”

She cringed as Skeeter entered the room, his eyes narrowing at the two Sons standing in front of his pissed off boss and a dead man that had been left in their care. “What’s going on? What are you doing?”

“I have to leave. I don’t know how long. I need you take over the care of Mr. Levine. Tell the family I had something come up, an emergency.” Y/N explained still gathering supplies.

Skeeter frowned at the suture needles she was gathering. “What are you doing with those?”

“I’ll explain later, Skeet. Just trust me.” She replied not meeting his gaze.

Skeeter rolled his eyes nodding over to the two Sons in the room. “I trust you fine, them not so much. I don’t like this.”

“Neither do I, but we all have to do shit we don’t like sometimes.” Y/N remarked, sounding exhausted as she accepted her odd fate.

She let out a heavy sigh as she gathered everything she could think of in a biohazard bag hoping she had gathered something useful.

She glared at Tig and Half Sack, her words harsh; she needed to say something to make her feel like she had the upper hand here even if she felt very out of her element. “Next time you come into my embalming room wear appropriate protective gear. Fumes in here are going to give you fucking cancer.”

Tig let out a huff, Half Sack growing stark white at the comment as both men followed her from the room ignoring Skeeter’s glare.

==================================

The trip into the clubhouse felt like a death march for Y/N.

She hated how familiar the place felt. It even smelled the same.

She wanted to turn and run away screaming, but she had a feeling Tig would make good on his promise to pick her up and drag her inside kicking and screaming.

She gripped down onto her duffle bag, her stomach in knots ignoring Gemma and Clay’s gaze upon her as she entered the room.

She followed Half Sack towards the large doors she remembered lead into a room she’d never been allowed to enter during her wild years hanging around SAMCRO.

She felt faint as the doors opened, the sight in front of her shocking. She stared down at the wounded man on the reaper table, the open bottle of alcohol on the table which Chibs took a swig from before pouring contents of the bottle over the man’s open wound, and Chibs’ and Juice’s bloodied hands.

She spoke, shaking her head, a greater sense of anxiety hitting her. “For fucks sake, Filip.”

Chibs gazed up at her, a sense of relief hitting him. Even if she looked annoyed he didn’t mind. He would rather have her here annoyed and safe than have her calm and unsafe at home. “Hi, Hen.”

“Don’t hi me. What the hell is this? Did I walk back into the fucking victorian era? You’re drinking from the same bottle you’re pouring on his wound and you’re not wearing gloves at all…and are those fucking pliers?” She snapped spotting a thousand things wrong with this entire setup.

“Desperate times, Lass.” Chibs replied giving her a sheepish grin not helping but to find her comments somewhat amusing though he knew she had a point.

This was a mess.

She sighed, placing the biohazard bag she was carrying on the table. “Some medical supplies…well they’re technically funeral supplies but it’s gotta be better than fucking pliers and booze.”

“Aye, thanks Hen. It’ll help.” Chibs responded a sense of adoration blossoming in his chest at the action of bringing him something to attempt to help even if she was irritated with this entire situation.

He spoke before she had a chance to start scolding him again. “Prospect, show my ol lady my room. Leave my dorm room key with her. Trust her with it more than I do ye.”

He reached into his jeans pocket fishing out a keyring tossing it at Half Sack.

The prospect fumbled to catch it but managed as Chibs spoke. “Go get some rest, Love. One of us should get some sleep.”

“I could stay and help. I am used to what I work on not having a pulse but I am still pretty knowledgeable about anatomy to be of some help I’m sure.” She offered the words leaving her before she could stop them.

He gave her a fond smile, shaking his head. “Nah, ye get some sleep. It’s gettin late. I’ll wake ye if I change my mind.”

She sighed, reluctantly turning to follow the prospect from the room, her stomach in knots the sights of the clubhouse way too familiar.

How had the place changed so little in her time away? She hated that she could still remember the layout of the place.

Even if she’d been inebriated so many nights here she knew the place like the back of her hand even almost a decade later.

How many nights had she spent here drunk hanging on Jax or some other guy? How many nights had she made her way down this same hallway looking to get fucked and forget her pain for just a moment?

How many nights had Gunner drug her down this hall taking her to whatever room he's shacked up in, she knowing that pills and pain would meet her on the other side of the door.

How many mornings had she made a walk of shame down these same damn halls?

Being here was terrifying. She was so afraid of being back in this god forsaken place that she wanted to break down and cry. She wanted to run away and never return.

She was scared and she wanted to cry in Chibs’ arms, but knew he was stuck patching up some Irish friend of the club.

He was dealing with his own shit and couldn’t take on her fragile psyche at the moment.

She would have to face her mind all on her own. She was scared of her own mind.

She sighed as Half Sack opened a room handing her the key. She entered the space turning on the overhead light and shutting the door behind her.

She sighed feeling a little more at ease in an environment that was not so familiar and so filled with bittersweet memories.

The room was plain but felt cozy all the same. It smelled like Chibs and she felt comforted by this. She could smell a hint of cigarettes and his cologne hanging in the air.

The smell was one that had often brought her a sense of comfort when things felt overwhelming.

There were a few photos taped to the walls mostly from biker rallies he and the other sons must have attended. There was a Scottish Flag hanging on the wall over his dresser and a reaper banner hanging over his bed.

The bed was not overly large but big enough to seem comfortable. He had a gray comforter over the bed and a few thick looking blankets.

She could remember the clubhouse sometimes did get cold if someone cranked up the AC.

She felt her heart ache with adoration as she spotted a small framed photo sitting on the dresser; a younger Chibs his face free from scars with a little baby in his arms. She realized this had to be his daughter. She could not clearly make out the baby girl but could spot the pride and love in Chibs’ eyes.

She felt her heart ache thinking of how old his daughter was now and how many moments he’d been robbed of with her. The thought was heartbreaking.

Someone who was as lovely as him had known so much pain. In her opinion he should be so filled with hatred and rage given what he’d been through.

Sure, he was dangerous and he was capable of brutality. She knew he still had kindness in him though at least when it came to those he loved.

The fact that he was still capable of kindness after how cruel life had been to him made her heart twist and swell with pain and love for him. He was the strongest man she had ever met.

She adored him for that strength.

She dropped her duffle bag on the floor by the bed, relieved to see that the space was not too messy.

There was a little bit of clutter and a full laundry basket but the small hint of mess wasn’t too horrible.

The dressers were cluttered with biker magazines, a dirty magazine or two, a bottle of cologne, lighters, and a few random bits of junk. It was nothing too overwhelming.

She sat on the edge of the bed kicking her shoes off her mind feeling heavy from more than just sleepiness.

She clasped her hands together wringing them her mind a jumbled mess.

This was not good. She remembered Chibs' declaration that this was going to get worse before it got better. She had a feeling that she might have to wait this out for a long while.

A biker war? What did that even entail? If there was some full scale biker war coming then that meant Chibs was in danger didn't it?

The thought made her feel sick to her stomach. She didn’t know what she would do if something happened to Chibs. She couldn’t cope with the idea of losing him, especially to violence.

She frowned realizing this would not be the last time Chibs might be in danger.

Danger was a part of the life he had chosen.

Was danger now a part of her life too? She had chosen him as her partner so didn’t that place her in danger too?

She frowned, realizing that this would not be the last time she had to take shelter in the clubhouse if she was Chibs’ ol lady.

She had once promised herself that she would never return to this clubhouse and now here she was back where she had started.

She shushed the thought, cursing it reminding herself she was not that girl any more.

She was here because Chibs wanted to keep her safe. She was not here to party and escape heartache. She was not here to get lost in chaos. She was not the biker groupie anymore.

She gazed around the room trying to wrap her mind around the fact that this would be her sleeping quarters for who knew how long.

She thought back to Skeeter’s disappointment and frustration as she’d left gathering work supplies with her.

She made a silent promise to replace all the supplies she’d taken from her own pocket.

She made a promise to find a way to thank Skeeter for taking on work all on his own while she played biker ol lady in the clubhouse.

She knew she would have to explain quite a bit to him when she made it back home.

She had a feeling the man would not be pleased that her involvement with Chibs had placed her in danger.

He was already wary of her dating a Son.

She cringed thinking of Old Charlie. What would Skeeter tell him about her absence? She knew she definitely could not tell him about where she’d been and why.

She felt a panic attack begin to swirl in her, her mind going a thousand miles a second.

She wanted to puke, she wanted to scream. She didn’t want to be here.

She gazed over at Chibs’ beside table a surprising sight breaking her mental spiral.

She reached out grasping the small silver photo frame in her hand, the photo within it familiar.

She had seen it a million times as it had come from her very home.

The photo had been taken by her father when he’d gone up to visit her in New York.

They’d gone to eat Chinese food and ehr father had been a huge fan of disposable cameras.

He’d taken a million photos on that trip.

In this photo she appeared so much healthier than she’d been when she had left Charming.

Her hair was clean and braided to the side, her make up was polished and her nails were neat and painted red. The black and white polka dotted dress she wore was flattering even over the leggings and black ugg boots she could remember wearing. It had been winter and she’d bundled up in a black wool coat.

It had been near Christmas and she’d taken him all over the city before they wound up in Chinatown.

She had wanted to show him all the sights he’d never have a chance to see in Charming. She had loved that visit. It had felt so healing given the last time she’d seen her father before that visit was when he had shipped her up north after she admitted wanting to get away from SAMCRO.

Her father had been so proud of her making it in the big city in mortuary school happy and healthy.

She was holding chopsticks in the photo and smiling at her father.

Her father had kept the photo in the living room back home. How had she not noticed it was missing?

She realized how chibs had managed to acquire the photo as quickly as she questioned how he had pulled it off.

Her father’s love of disposable cameras had been aided by the fact that when he got them developed there were always two copies of the same photo.

He had a habit of putting two of the same photos in the same frame.

Chibs must have swiped one of the photos leaving the copy of it behind.

He really did have sticky fingers even as an adult. He wasn’t stealing chocolates and dirty magazines like he’d admitted to as a young lad.

Now he was swiping photos of her apparently.

She felt a warm sense of adoration for him wash over her at the knowledge.

It was the sweetest robbery she’d ever been a victim to…never mind it was the only robbery she’d ever been a victim to.

He really did love her. The realization set in.

He wanted a photo of his ol lady by his bed so badly that he’d stolen a photo of her to make it possible.

She took a deep breath placing the photo back on the nightstand the panic she’d felt swirling in her dying down just the slightest. The realization he kept a photo of her so near his bedside soothed her fear somewhat.

It was at least a reminder that his room was a place of safety. How could she fear a space occupied by a man who clearly loved her?

Being in SAMCRO’s clubhouse terrified her more than she wanted to admit even if Chibs’ dorm room felt safe.

She hated this, there were too many bad memories in this clubhouse.

She knew though that she was no longer the girl who hid here to escape the pain of what had happened to her brother.

She was no longer the damaged young woman who fell into bed with Jax and visiting nomads.

She was no longer the scared girl who Gunner had violated in this clubhouse.

She had grown up and she was never going to be that scared young woman ever again.

She was here because Chibs wanted her here. She was here because he loved her.

She was Filip Chibs Telford’s ol lady and no one would lay a finger on her with him around.

#chibs telford #chibs sons of anarchy #chibs telford fanfiction #chibs telford x reader #chibs telford smut #death and the lady #chapter fourteen #sons of anarchy fanfiction #sons of anarchy fanfic

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spitdrunken · 10 months ago

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I am keeping this post out of the main tags, and putting everything about it under a cut! This one’s for you anon, you probably know who you are <3 Please be warned, this Adam post contains conversion rpe / noncon, homophobia, misogyny, and character death mentioned/implied. Please don’t read this to trigger or upset yourself.

conversion with adam is so horrendous and so hot to think abt asjdfkdsfn. because he's absolutely the kind of guy that'd try imagine him stringing along a sinner reader. convincing them he can get them into heaven (and maybe he can but not for good reasons) but he lies and makes out the only way he can pull it off is if they become straight. and the only way to prove that is rounds of getting fucked into the ground and bred by him i feel kind of guilty sharing that haha not trans so i haven't read detransition works but i like the opposite where the character doesn't want to date a woman and so forces them to become a man. i mostly just write that though because i can't find it how i like it

Don’t feel guilty!! I get it but you don’t need to feel that <3 and I haven’t read what you mentioned! But I totally get writing that stuff yourself, cuz it’s hard to find stuff that Exactly fulfills your desires

He really would try :’)! Adam would attempt it during the extermination, where you’re already horrendously stressed out, because of all the, y’know all the people being killed all around you.

You, in one way or another, end up at the other end of one of Adam's blasts, but , rather than immediately killing you, he can tell you're pretty hot. For a fucking sinner, at least. He's no stranger to raping a couple of chicks during an extermination, like, who cares if they're about to die in a couple of minutes anyway? But maybe he wants to play a little game this time around. (With a high chance of him getting bored just as quickly.)

You squeeze your eyes shut, readying yourself for an impact that never arrives. Instead, when you hesitantly look back out through your squinted eyelids, you are greeted by an angel leering above you.

Adam would tell you that with just one look, he could tell that a pretty bitch like you doesn’t belong here at all! There must’ve been some mistake somewhere, yeah, yeah… You belong up in Heaven, babe. And about half of you knows that this has to be bullshit, but you’ve seen friends and strangers alike die in front of your eyes today, and you are desperate to clutch at any straws, so you listen. There’s just one little thing you gotta do, he tells you.

And… What’s that? You ask, a little breathless, trying to hide your shaking. To no avail.

Adam hums for a moment, a grin flickering across his face, before a hand cups over his mouth, a finger rubbing at his chin as if he were deep in thought. You gotta get some ‘angelic essence’ inside you. Heh. In other words, us, yes, us two, are going to need to fuck. Right here. Right now.

If this were any other situation, you’d be tempted to flip him off, laugh in his face until you were close to tears, and get the hell out of there. But he could kill you with a snap of his fingers. Even then, this specific scenario comes out of left field.

I don’t… I— I’m not attracted to men. Sorry? You end up sputtering. Do… Female angels—

Adam cuts you off before you can finish. Yeah, well, not being ‘attracted to men’ is kinda part of the problem here, babe. Why do you think you’re down here?

You really don't want to do this. You'd rather take an angelic blast to the face. I… Can I not? You say, after swallowing the nervous spit accumulated in your mouth.

"Well, duh, of course you can say no! But I guess that would mean you're not really dedicated to getting into Heaven, and you'd rather stay a demon forever, huh?" He hisses out a breath through grit teeth, as if he's just about to tell you horrible news. "And that means… I gotta kill you, babe. That's just how things work! Either you get fucked by me right here and now, or I blast your soul to little pieces. Is that clear enough for you?"

And that’s how you end up on your stomach, in the middle of corpses and rubble, pants and underwear shimmied down to around your knees. Little rocks scraping at your skin with every thrust, your insides burning with pain. Not so unenthusiastic after all, huh? Adam pants out. I can feel you getting fucking wetter. Stupid bitch. You think any ‘wetness’ in between your legs right now could only be blood.

Adam usually couldn’t care less about his partner’s pleasure, much less when it comes to a sinner such as yourself, but he wants to prove a point here. He wants to have a man such as himself make you feel good, and scramble that brain of yours for the rest of your existence. So, as you sob, a hand clumsily starts to rub in the general area of your clit, eventually figuring out exactly where to touch. He laughs and laughs and laughs as you tighten up around him and beg and plead for him to stop— But he chooses to interpret it as telling him to continue.

Greedy bitch, he hisses out. All you needed was a bit of cock to set your mind straight— I’ll make you cum, don’t you fucking worry. But he finishes before you, filling you up with rope after rope of hot cum, as you shudder and shiver in disgust underneath him. And he does make you cum. It feels more like a release of pressure rather than anything pleasurable, though you can’t stop the strangled cry leaving your mouth, or the convulsion of your inner walls.

Adam pulls out of you, laughter still on his lips. Pity to have to kill a decent pussy such as this one. Ah, well, whatever. And—

#cha.adam #cw.conversion #cw.noncon #cw.death #cw.blood #cw.misogyny

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mydetheturk · 7 months ago

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Hi! My name is Myde, and for @trigunfanfic’s rare pair day, I’m going to rec a bunch of my own fics, because I’ve written an amount of rare pair fics. These are in no particular order, just kind of how I’ve found them in my AO3:

Zazie/Knives:

put your mind in my brain and you'll see (everything is better when you're everything)

Rating: E

Word Count: 2,582

No Archive Warnings, but the warning that it is both Knives and Zazie. My favorite way to describe this fic is “a comically biblical plague worth of bugs brings a (fallen) angel of the lord to climax.” Knives explodes! Semi-Literally, even! Some fun Plant and Worm lore/shenanigans, mostly me going “how weird can I get with this?”

Elendira/Razlo//Elendira/Livio

All my Elendira/LR Fics are post-Trimax currently, in an AU where Elendira lives and goes through some serious recovery from her fight with LR. They all get Attached

give in to this holy terrible mess

Rating: E

Word Count: 1,235

No Archive Warnings, but Elendira is elbow deep in LR’s guts after the boys have a run-in with a Worm Cult. Tender Organ Touching. We love it. (keep in mind this fic in particular was written for body horror week)

Tags Include: Bugs & Insects, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Organ Touching, Declarations Of Love, Body Horror, Mild Dissociation, emergency surgery, Blood and Gore, Intense Emotional Realizations, Elendira having A Moment(tm)

in over my head and she's a high tide (that keeps pushing me away)

Rating: M

Word Count: 1,942

No Archive Warnings, but Elendira’s going through it. The trials of recovering from getting a yard long nail going through you sometimes include setbacks. Sickfic! With that fun aspect of Elendira’s where she can project horrible ways for someone to die. LivRaz are Sweet on Elendira tho.

(also written for body horror week, though the body horror is not the main focus)

Tags Include: Nightmares, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Telepathic Projection, Flaying, Sickfic

Hand Grenades and Razor Blades

Rating: T

Word Count: 1,143

No Archive Warnings.

The Official AO3 edition of my Kissies For Razlo Agenda. I should write more they’re silly and cute and we take the Razlo and we KISS the Razlo!

Features: Razlo being shy and blushy and angy about it because Elendira’s kick ass and he wants to smooch her and for her to kiss him again. I compare Razlo to a sunflower at one point.

Millions Knives/Domina

-leans very close into the microphone- I am unwell about these two. I want her to Wreck Knives. I accidentally created the tag on AO3, and please please please enjoy the fics I write about them. My mainline fics for them have them sharing a body but I do currently have something in the works that’s a little different.

Generally, fics for dominaknives include some fun and sometimes weird, exploratory Plant Stuff.

They’re all post-Trimax, by default, really, and Domina lives, with some caveats of course. The grief is baked in, it’s Trigun.

They have an emotional support alien terrorbird. I gotta include that bird more

Here on a Less-Travelled Road

Rating: T

Word Count: 1,927

No Archive Warnings.

Domina and Knives are having breakfast in some quiet, half-forgotten little town when Vash the Stampede slides into their booth.

Domina’s protective of Knives, Knives is afraid, and Vash is Tired. Minor allusions to Vash’s canonical alcoholism.

Six A.M., Mulholland Drive, Moonlight Sonata and I

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,336

No Archive Warnings

My first actually posted fic about the two of them, I think.

Chronica meets that which is KnivesandDomina. It goes about as well as you’d expect, honestly. Lots of tears. Some explorative Plant stuff in this one! It’s got some fun wording that I really enjoyed writing.

Millywood

Haystack Boy and Dust-Cake Girl

Rating: G

Word Count: 1,815

No Archive Warnings

An alternate first meeting, for an AU of mine.

A heat exhausted Nicholas D. Wolfwood collapses at the gate of the Thompson Ranch. Milly nurses him back to health.

They’re cute. I loved writing this. It’s more proto-Millywood than Millywood proper, but shh

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ryujnn · 2 years ago

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► akuma ﾟ｡ ⋆ a photograph without a face.

► chapter summary ﾟ｡ ⋆ closing one chapter in your life means opening the next — starting the first few pages off with gin, tonic and your husband.

► chapter warnings ﾟ｡ ⋆ gojo being flirty. mature language. mature themes if you use a magnifying glass. mentions of death and funerals.

► note ﾟ｡ ⋆ GOJO X READER CONTENT WOO!!! i can’t wait to write their dynamic now that she’s starting a new chapter *cries* i love this series so much. dont forget to send me an ask and lmk how you enjoyed the chapter!

tag list. visual + character board. prev. next.

“Will you be home late, Mrs. Gojo? We’ll have the guard on watch prepare to let you in whenever you arrive.”

You smiled at the lady, bowing slightly to thank her. “Yes, I’ll be home a little later than usual,” Brushing your palms against your black dress, hands shivering just slightly. “If my husband arrives before me, tell him I’m sleeping.”

Not like he’d check anyway. Silly — that’s what it felt like — sneaking in and out of where you lived and making alibi’s. That happens in movies, not marriages.

The lady bows, nodding with your request. She’s not sure what the tension between you were, she’s noticed since you first moved in — newlyweds don’t act or treat each other the way you both do. Is that her business, though? It is not.

“Alrighty,” She sends a warm smile. “I know today’s a rough day. I hate funerals.”

Unaware how to respond, who would even like funerals? All you could muster up was another nod, another small and forced smile, and a wave as you left.

As you exited the entrance, watching your car pull up to escort you to your family home — you’re met with another car, Ichiji to be specific, honking his normal pattern to alert Satoru that he was outside and not waiting fifteen minutes for him again.

With wide eyes, wanting to avoid the man at all costs after the situation last night, you clutch your purse to your chest and run as fast as you could, strapped heels, to your awaiting vehicle. Even with the smallest steps, bag held to your chest to control the movement of your bust and to keep a hold on your purse; the scene was pitiful.

Walk… or Run of Shame to your own vehicle? With nothing to be shameful of? What the hell was this marriage?

Once you were settled in your car, huffing out a breath and tugging your seatbelt on, you prayed and thanked the gods before you that you hadn’t bumped into Gojo, and he hadn’t seen that embarrassing scene.

All the while, your husband had been watching from his window on his side of the house. He’s got a stupid grin on his face, finding the whole thing silly. If you were avoiding him or running late, he wasn’t sure where you were headed, but wherever it was; you must’ve been in a rush.

Cute. He’s been noticing that adjective popping up in his mind whenever he saw you. Even when you didn’t see him catching a glance — he was always watching.

Cute; when you walked into your shared kitchen and spotted your husband with a towel wrapped around his waist, the back of muscles flexing all the scars he had littered on them. He’s never seen you so red..

Cute; whenever you wake up while wiping your eyes, walking diagonally to the bathroom and almost running into the wall.. every morning.

Cute; the way you softened and eased when he arrived as your knight and shining armor around Geto; saving you from the fear of being humiliated in front of your students.

Whatever was in the water, he wanted it out; fast. He has too much going on, has a promise to fulfill and children to look after. He’s gotta try and save his best friend from doing a horrible mistake — and protect Japan of the upcoming war Suguru declared. He doesn’t have time to fall in love with the woman he married.. however that sounded to a persons ear.

But he can care, right? He can care, he can find the things you do cute. Just, not too often. And there goes that honking again — Ichiji! The man’s having a moment here!

You’ve never been to funeral.

The way your clan works, there weren’t funerals unless it was for the head of clans and unfortunately, you weren’t alive when the originator died. Whenever a female baby was born, then unfortunately put to their deaths, they would simply be buried by a guard in a random landfill spot in town.

You’re convinced your mother was only being granted a funeral because she gave birth to another five bearer — two at that. Because she was lucky enough to have kept both kids and died from her condition.

As the people who never spoke to your mother or even cared to check on her condition, only worrying about Ryou and how he’ll become the successor of the clan… they’d take the stand and speak up about her amazing life and how much of an amazing mother she was.

You’ve only seen five percent of the people attending this funeral, and there were over three hundred.

“An amazing healer she was. She healed my son’s foot after our yearly baseball game, the home run Ryou threw was quite the ball.”

“Ryou, I know it must’ve been hard to see and hear about your mothers passing while traveling.”

“Son, your father will teach you what your mother couldn’t finish. All you need is family.”

“My heart aches for you, Ryou.”

Was it mentioned that Ryou Shio sat next to you, his sister, who’s in between her father and brother — front row as if he’s watching a hockey game.. sucking up all the attention?

You quiver. Ryou never even visited your mother while she was sick, only on the yearly athletics. It made you ill knowing he was the only child receiving condolences when you were the one picking your mother off the floor and escorting her to the bathroom. You were the one braiding her hair when she couldn’t do yours or her own anymore. You were bathing and feeding her.

You.

No matter how much she used her healing sorcery and technique, it was never enough — it would never heal her.

Once your third brothers wife’s cousin, who didn’t even know your given name was Shio, cried about the loss of your mother and how extremely broken Ryou Shio must be, it was your turn — the final speech — to lay your mother to rest once and for all.

“Hello,” You clear your throat, catching everyone’s attention. They weren’t amused, they weren’t as shocked as they were when your twin brother was up here speaking. But that’s okay, because this wasn’t about you, or your bother — just your mother. “Thank you all for attending. I’m Y/N.. Gojo, maiden Shio, and Himari Shio was my mother.”

That got everyone’s attention for sure. There was only one Gojo known.. Satoru Gojo. Six eyes. The propaganda— the man everyone wanted to meet, see, touch and maybe even more.

“My mother wasn’t physically the strongest. She’s never trained or fought… she stayed home with me. Nonetheless, she’s stronger than anyone else here.”

The way the faces turned at you. Some scowls, some head turns and a few with genuine confusion on your statement.

“She might not have fought physically, but she definitely fought for me. I could’ve ended up dead, just like some of your daughters are.. but I’m not.”

“She fought for her children unlike any of you did. That makes her strong, makes you weak. Me, the child that should’ve died, I’m going to battle my brother; whether I die or not. Why? Cause my mother trained me not to quit. Trained me to keep my hair tied up because I always needed to be ready to fight.”

“Trained me by hiding my toys around the house and making me able to scope out places that no one would think of — or show me places people would think of. Trained me by purposely asking for things on the other side of our estate, making me run so my stamina could build. My mother did that after fighting for her daughters life. She’s the strongest while all of you… you’re weak.”

“Y/N!” Your father stands, making up for both Ryou’s hard expression and his very own.

“You’re pathetic,”

Next Ryou stood tall as if he could give a shit about his mother to begin with. “Y/N?!”

“And my mother deserved better than this excuse of a clan.. created by someone who couldn’t get it up in the first place.”

The gasps filled the room like music— and it was a song you’d love to hear on repeat. You’ve got some nerve, you know you do.. but you could care less. Just months until your fight and whether you win or lose, you wouldn’t want to have any regrets to begin with.

Like clockwork, your father stormed up the steps and onto the platform, aiming right for you. All you could do was tilt your head, placing both hands on your hips and await for what was next.

“You’ve lost your mind,” You’ve heard that before. Maybe a few screws did go loose. He’s got a deathly grip on your arm, immediately stopping blood circulation in your vessels. He tugs you forward, causing you to stumble on your heels. “You want to be scattered with Himari? I’ll sprinkle your ass right with her.”

Even though his words were low, eyes could read lips like a book if interested enough. “Be careful now,” You match his volume, moving closer to his ear — to the audience, it looks like a hug. “Won’t win ‘daddy of the year’ if you’re abusing your kids publicly.”

As much as Sousuke despises you and the fact your breathing, you have a point. He releases the grip on your arm and sends you another warning look before stepping away to the microphone.

“My deepest apologies for my daughters behavior. She’s handling this pretty rough considering her relationship with Himari,” Sousuke’s putting on a show. Revealing grieving eyes and a painful stare. “The service will start in a few minutes, please meet us out there.”

As the people sitting in their seats stand to make way outside, your father catches glimpse of a figure walking dangerously close and moves like the speed of light, holding an arm out to block your brother.

“You just had to make it about you, huh?” Ryou’s held back by your fathers burly arm, who’s trying to calm him down and beckon him to just leave it alone.

You shrugged, keeping a bored and unamused expression on your face. “That’s rich coming from you,” You almost chuckle. “Considering no one’s here for my mother, and only to see you in the flesh.”

“Sounds like jealousy.”

You roll your eyes. Yeah, you were definitely jealous — it was the whole reason you were going through with the battle. Did your brother have to know that? No, he didn’t.

Sousuke drops his arm from your brother, though he kept an eye on both of you. Considering the tension between you both, he was afraid the fight would start earlier than it should’ve. And from your expression alone — he’s sure he’d be watching a fight and not you just getting your ass handled.

You wouldn’t allow it to go any further. You’ve said your peace, and the only thing really binding you with your family was your mother. Now that she was gone, and this was about putting her to rest — you didn’t have to be here anymore. Didn’t have to talk to your family for anymore arrangements or asking to speak to your mother.

In a way, just a slim way, you were free. Just like her.

A small chuckle left your lips as you clasped your hands behind your back. “I’ll make everything easy, I’ll go. I just ask for one more thing.. after, you won’t have to speak to me until the fight,”

“Keep me some of her ashes. I’d want to sprinkle them at our lake.”

You’ve never had one of these before.

The last time you almost downed an alcoholic beverage, your mother ended passing out. You’ve never had the time to enjoy alcohol, either. Taking care of your mother, wedding planning, funeral planning — and hey, even planning your own death!

(Lmao.)

“Drink the whole thing. If you sip it, you’ll hate it.”

And you’ve taken that advice too literal. Now you’re several shots in, this new foreign feeling giving you pure euphoria. You’ve got a small smile on your face, resting your jaw in your palm, babbling to your bartender.

“I can.. I can shoot water from my nipples too!” A small giggle leaves your lips, using your free hand to point at your breasts. “F’you wanna see, I… I can show you.”

“Ah, no! It’s alright!” He chuckles back, making a mental note to cut you off. He can’t ignore the little grin on your face, eyes fluttered closed with your cheeks burning a faint red. You were cute. “Can I see your phone?”

Normally, you’d say no. But the fact he’s even asking for your phone makes you giggle even more than you were before and you’re sliding your device over to be bartender who’s served you an amazing selection of fruity beverages.

Normally, you’d be thinking: What the fuck? Absolutely not! Asking for my phone to put a tracker on it or something? Creeper.

Instead, you’re thinking: That’s so funny! A bartender asking for my phone.. this isn’t T-Mobile! Silly bartender, bartender so silly.

He accepts, triple clicking your phone for your emergency contacts. The first number he calls, the phone goes straight to voicemail. It then tells him the number has been turned off, and though it confuses him — he goes to the next number.

Ring.

“What’s wrong?”

The sudden question catches the bartender off guard, nonetheless, he clears his throat cautiously. “Hello, Is this Mr. Gojo?” Earning a hum in return. “I have… what’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Pour me ‘nother.. one of those sweet thingies. Want sugar on my cup this time, no salt puhlease.”

“Your name.”

“Mm.. Shio!”

There’s no point trying to get anything else out of you, nonetheless, he relays the message back to the man on the phone.

“I have… Shio here. She’s had a lot to drink. She walked here, and she’s offering a few things I’m sure she’s not supposed to.”

There’s a soft breath on the other line before he speaks up. “Thank you. Could you send me the location? I’ll be there a few.”

And as requested, the bartender does.

Within 10 minutes of the call, there’s a jingle at the door, revealing at six foot man in his work uniform. Ivory hair falling past his cerulean blue eyes. He scoped out the room until his eyes fell on you.

He’s made his way over, leaning against the bar until your flutter your eyes open, your mascara catching under your eyes. Whether you were crying or sweating, it makes his heart pang. He wants to comfort you, hold you and tell you it’s okay — but he doesn’t even know why you were sad today.

Doesn’t even know where you were.

He doesn’t know anything going on with you anymore. Himari’s not here to tell him, knowing you wouldn’t, so now he’s in the dark.

Either way, he wants to get you home.

“You.. mm, hi.” You sit up in your seat, trying to fix your hair subconsciously. His gaze wasn’t intimidating— it wasn’t scary, but you still wanted to make sure you looked nice for him.

All for him.

“Hi.” Satoru responds, squatting down to the ground. He looks up at your from his position, sending you his thousand dollar smile. “Havin’ fun?”

You’re peering down at him, nodding quickly to his answer. “Sleepy.”

He chuckles, shooting up from the ground. He grabs your hand gently, intertwining his fingers with yours. He could coo at the size difference, but he’s gotta keep it together. He’s got to get you home and in bed.

“Thank you, bud,” Gojo bows slightly to the bartender, who returns it. He pulls a big bill from his back pocket, and he’s sure enough it’ll cover everything you had and even slip in a tip, tossing it over to the bar.

“I’m gonna go lock the door, stay right there.”

Of course you wouldn’t. You dropped your stupid, wobbly heels and made your way to the kitchen. You knew you wouldn’t be able to jump on the kitchen island, so you opted to crawling up on it.

You were sure you looked trashy. Black dress riding up as you struggled to get up on countertop, but you could care less right now. You felt great. Warm, happy — free.

Once you were settled, you caught sight of your husband. He’s got his hands covering his eyes, waiting for you to give him the ‘okay!’ to drop them. He probably caught glimpse of your ass, considering you were just on display.

And the cute smile on his lips as if he’s seen underwear for the first time.

The image makes you giggle, shaking your head at him. “M’all covered now,” Gojo drops his hands cautiously, making his way over to you at a comfortable distance. “You could’ve looked f’you wanted. You’re my husband~.”

Now it was Gojo’s turn to turn red. Sure, he’s looked at you in dresses, or those tight jeans you wear to the school.. but imaging you in your underwear? God, he feels like a pervert.

He shakes his head. “You’re only sayin’ that cause you’ve been drinking,” He nods his head over to your side of the estate. “Let’s get you to bed, okay?”

“M’serious,” You extended your leg, attempting to pull him forward. “I.. I wouldn’t mind. But I don’t think you’d want to. S’okay, I jus’.. Don’t care if you look or stuff like that.”

Now his curiosity is piqued. He tilts his head, ignoring your little attempts to pull him forward. “You don’t think I’d want to? What’s that mean?”

You shrug your shoulders, a natural yet drunk pout on your lips. “Y’don’t let me touch you,” You hold your hands out, palms facing him. “I’ve only touched you during the wedding. You always have the.. thing on. But you let other people touch’ya. I know we’re not as close, but, ‘dunno. Guess I was thinkin’ I could too.”

“You wanna touch me?”

Nodding yes, please. Maybe it was the liquid courage, maybe it was the recent thoughts you’ve had. You’ve wanted to touch your husband badly. A hug, a kiss, even if it was a shove, you wouldn’t have minded.

There’s just something intimate about being able to touch someone without feeling uncomfortable, or untrustworthy to the point where your frying your brain just so they wouldn’t be able to lay a finger on you.

You didn’t think you were that bad.

There’s something Gojo can’t miss in your eyes. If he travels away from the intoxication and the sadness.. there’s something else. He wants to see it without the other two— therefore, he doesn’t look too deep.

But he’s caught a glimpse of where your mind wonders.

In return, he raises his palms to yours, leveling himself until you were skin to skin. He watches your eyes widen and soften within seconds. Your hands cup around his wrists, and up his arms. With the little strength you have left, you pull him forward more, until he was between your legs.

Really close.. that’s what he was. You thought you were dreaming for a moment. He smelled sweet yet so masculine, like a woody caramel.

Your hands raise cautiously to his jaw before pulling them away, covering your hand over your mouth. “M’sorry,” You shake your head, squeezing your eyes together until it was painful. “That’s too much. Sorry—”

“I didn’t say stop, did I?”

Gojo knows he’s playing a dangerous game. There’s a slim chance you’ll remember this in the morning, and even if you did — so what? After the day he’s had today, what he’s witnessed alone.. it put a lot on him. And for some strange reason.. all he wanted to do was see you.

Hear your voice, even if it was from an argument.

See you smile, even if it wasn’t for him.

With his invitation, he watched you sit up like a child being offered candy before dinner. Your small hands cupped his cheeks, squishing them together and giggling at the way his glossy, pink lips puckered.

He’s got the prettiest lips.

You wish part of you didn’t hate him. You wanted to know why he married you — you wanted to know why he cared so much yet so little. You wanted to know the relationship he had with your mother — who Suguru Getou was and why he was so stressed out lately.

You wanted to know a lot, you wanted to know too little.

You were tired.

Gojo felt your hands drop from his face and watched the excitement fall from your eyes as he countered this moment over. Even for the few minuets you enjoyed roaming his skin and exploring something you never had, he loved every second.

You look down to your legs, “Sleepy.”

He clicks his tongue, laughing gently at your small words. “Let’s get you to bed then, hm?”

His large palms scoop under your thighs and pops you up into your chest. Your legs wrapped around him stomach cautiously, your head resting against chest once your arms laid over his shoulders.

Satoru made sure his steps were calculated and slow, just to keep you in his arms a few seconds longer — and to enjoy this moment just a little bit more. Come the morning, this would all be a dream to you.. and be his reality.

💭: @torufilms @luckimoon @itxtoyll @96jnie @goldfishesarecute @clreamon @creolequeen11210 @michikoyuu @patchi-chi @chieeeeeee @parkchanyeol-kr @shadowarchon @willowsversion @whoreforfictionalmen18 @weebotaku21 @regalillegal @rahhhhhrs @luckimoon @chuurroo @xiaosie @nonoiix @gh0stwish @ayatoru @zohraaa @dazailover1900 0 @tookiostqr @catoru-s @justwinterlights @kash2 @lightblueexorcist t @tuzuis4thwife @nakachuchu @96jnie @clreamon @emissaire @vernasce-blogs @tsukifv @michikoyuu @oi-loverboy @holeyahsama @sanzuandmikey @vynlover27 @mnoaeiu @ginger0322 @prettyroxy @softiebadbitch @planetmarz @sugurugetosbitch @immikasasgf @reiners-milkbiddies @bebetiny

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worstvideogamesong-poll · 1 year ago

Text

Worst Video Game Song Tournament - Round 2 Match 25

National Anthem - Double Dribble Arcade

youtube

VERSUS

Fun House - Spider-Man: The Animated Series

youtube

FIGHT!

I would recommend listening to as much as you can of each song before voting, but how you choose is up to you! Remember to be civil in the tags and replies!

Propaganda under cut:

National Anthem:

"#double dribble tho... now THAT is some good shit#the way the crowd sounds at the end #the way the vocaloid doesnt even sound in tune #so awesome. beautifu l #chefs kiss"

"#!? ? w hat fkgg #there are actual tears in my eyes #go national anthem go"

"#Laughed SO hard at national anthem #I hope it wins the whole thing"

"#look miku’s grandpa is trying his best alright #his best is uh #not very good #but he’s trying"

Fun House:

"this song is so horrible I love it. it's full of samples that are so dumb like screaming and WOOHEE hehehehehehhehehehhehehehhehe"

"...Anyway this song speaks for itself. Funhouse sweep."

"#anyways. fun house fuckin ROCKS #my friend showed it to me last weekend actually and it fuckin slaps SO hard was laughin my ass off at this shit#the way the samples are so exactly on beat the audio totally clearly cut off #someone went onto free sound dot com and got FUNNY with it and it ROCKS #thank you to whoever submitted fun house soooo fuckin good"

"#there are certainly. sounds? in fun house?"

"#[Fun House] is one of the fartiest things I've ever heard. and the screams..."

"#I love fun house but it does make me feel like I’m going insane"

"#fun house my beloved ❤️ #on one hand the song's called 'fun house' so you gotta know what you're getting into #on the other hand HAVE YOU HEARD THOSE SAMPLES DUDE #this is the second-most hilarious song in this tournament and I accept no substitute"

"#EVERYBODY VOTE FUN HOUSE IT NEEDS TO TAKE HOME THE ENTIRE TOURNAMENT"

"#shit fucking spiderman song that i love"

Feel free to add more propaganda in the tags and replies, or send it to me in the ask box and I'll try to share it as soon as I can!

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waywardrose-archive · 2 years ago

Text

THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY | 8

stranger things | eddie munson x reader | rated e | 8.9k

spotify playlist | for @punk-in-docs

fem/witchy/goth!reader, magic, slow burn (for me), friends to lovers, no y/n only pet names, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, masturbation, fantasizing, one-bed trope, making out, fingering, dirty talk, consensual pursuit and capture, oral sex, handjobs, condoms, piv sex, reader’s father is a dirtbag, mild spanking, tags will be updated as needed

Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird?

Weird weird?

He shrugged. He liked weird.

In other words, you’re the new girl in town, and Eddie is intrigued.

note: This chapter’s got everything: fantasy sharing, insecurities, intimacy, horrible parents, Capri-Sun, and smut! 🖤 Check the #em tagd tag ⬇️ for previous chapters! Please comment (or critique), like, and reblog. I truly do appreciate any and all interaction. I promise I don’t bite — unless you want me to.

Eddie sat across from you in another diner for second breakfast. The sun blasted through the thin cafe curtains to warm your side. He’d said little during packing or check-out. Your gaze kept snagging on his. He’d present a quirk of his lips. You’d grin and go back to whatever you were doing.

He appeared to be mulling over something. You doubted he regretted having sex. You certainly didn’t, even though you felt deliciously used. Maybe because you felt deliciously used.

When the waitress took your order, you opted for coffee — just like Eddie. She returned with an insulated carafe, mugs, and creamers.

With a gentlemanly flourish, Eddie said, “Milady, may I pour you a cup of our finest bean juice?”

You smiled.

“Why, good sir, I’d be delighted.”

He left enough space at the top of the mug for cream and sugar. As you seasoned, he poured for himself. You watched his nimble fingers as he went about seasoning his coffee. Your gut tightened as you remembered those fingers had made you come, those hands had cupped your breasts. You watched his lips as he swallowed. You had kissed those lips. You had sucked a faint hickey on that neck.

Before he could catch you staring, you sipped at your coffee. You met his gaze over the rim, though. Light reflected off the table, causing his eyes to turn mahogany. You’d seen those eyes dark and hazy with desire.

You wondered if he had the same thoughts as you. Did he keep picturing you under him? Had he memorized your sounds? The way his come looked on your skin?

His stomach gurgled, which made you both laugh.

“Guess pop and chips don’t last long,” he said, hand over his stomach.

“We burned a lot of calories this morning.”

He gave you a devious smirk.

“We did.”

You found his leg under the table and crossed your ankles around it. He pressed his calf to yours as he drank his coffee.

You were nearly at the Indiana border when he lowered the music to half-ask:

“This is going to sound stupid, but that wasn’t your first time.”

You laughed — short, but loud. “No, obviously.”

“Then I gotta ask: Is it always like that?”

“Like what?”

“Intense? Hot?”

From anyone else, you’d think that flattery. From Eddie, it felt genuine. It was still flattering, of course. You liked the thought of rocking his world.

“Could ask you the same,” you said as you took off your sunglasses since the sky was becoming more overcast the farther east you drove.

He adjusted his position in his seat, putting an elbow on the windowsill. He’d also blocked the view of his crotch with a lifted knee. You changed your grip on the steering wheel as tension rose.

“For the record, no,” he said. “I’m not, uh— I’m not the most experienced guy.”

“I’m not the most experienced girl.”

“So, you’re saying we lucked out back there?”

“Or maybe we lived up to each other’s expectations?”

“You had expectations?”

“I told you I’ve fantasized about you.”

“What do you, you know, fantasize about?”

There had been so many in the past few weeks. From rough to tender. Sometimes it wasn’t even about sex. Sometimes you thought of sitting with him and talking. Just talking. Maybe holding hands. Those scenarios didn’t turn you on, per se. They were a comfort, especially after the nightmares of red lightning and cold soot and chittering of unseen predators. Nightmares where vines wrapped around your limbs until you couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Nightmares of mental vivisection. Nightmares as warnings.

You couldn’t tell him that. There was nothing he could do about them. Only you could face those dreams, because they had a message you alone could decipher.

But dreams had meaning, and he’d had dreams about you.

You asked, “What about those dreams I supposedly invaded?”

“No suppose about it. You had.”

“Had. Past tense.”

“And will again. Believe me, this entire trip is gonna haunt me.”

You wouldn’t forget this trip for a long time, either — maybe ever. However, the way he said it had a touch of grief.

“You make it sound so... grim?”

“Look, we’re going back to Hawkins...”

“‘There is no real going back,’” you said, quoting Tolkien. “‘Though I may come to the Shire, it will not seem the same; for I shall not be the same.’”

You glanced at him again to see his fist pressed to his mouth.

He finished the passage:

“‘I am wounded with knife, sting, tooth, and a long burden. Where shall I find rest?’”

You sighed. “Do you want to go back to how it was? Like we’d never done it?”

“Hell no.”

“Then why are you talking like things won’t be different in Hawkins? We’re different now.”

He was silent for too long. You looked at him once more. He stared out the windshield, face blank. You steeled yourself for his excuses to rationalize rejection, fishing a Djarum from the fresh pack and sticking it between your lips. He pushed in the car’s cigarette lighter for you.

Softly, he said, “It’s not that I don’t want it to be different, but I’m trying to be a realist here.”

“Oh, so you’re the only one with that capability in this car?”

“No, what I’m saying is the reality of being together in front of the whole school isn’t good. For you.”

You shot him a glare.

“The fuck?”

“No, hear me out. In Chicago, we’re just people. There’s no baggage. There is baggage — capital-b baggage — in Hawkins.”

The cigarette lighter popped, ready. You snatched it from the dash before he could and lit your cigarette.

“I get it. People are dicks—” You shoved the lighter in its holder. “—And you’re being one right now,” you said, cracked the window, and exhaled.

“I am trying to protect you.”

“By pushing me away?!” Your fists strained around the steering wheel. “Dammit, Eddie, don’t you get it? I want you! I want to get to know you and talk about stuff. And watch stupid TV.” You waved a hand in the air. “And, okay, have sex when we can. I...” You took a long drag from the cigarette to keep from crying. “I don’t care if the whole school knows about us, alright? We know about us.”

He crossed his arms.

“I’m not pushing you away.”

“Sure sounds like it.”

“It’s hard to forget a lifetime of bullshit.”

“I’m not asking you to forget it,” you said as you ashed the cigarette through the open window.

“I know, okay, I know.”

He retrieved a Djarum. You offered yours to light his. He took it with a ‘thanks,’ pressed the cherry to the unlit cigarette, and handed it back.

You said, “I know you’re an outcast. I pay attention at school, you know? I’m not deaf or blind.”

“Or stupid.”

“Neither are you.”

You smoked and navigated the interstate off-ramp and tried to think of something to soothe both your ruffled feathers. Evidently, he had been thinking the same thing, because he grumbled:

“I guess nothing has to change.”

“Right? You have lunch with your friends. We go to O’Donnell’s class. We hang out after school—”

“That’ll be different.”

“That bad?”

“No.”

“Cool,” you said. “And sometimes I go to The Hideout to watch you play. That’s it.”

“When would you want to... you know?”

“Whenever we can?” You shrugged and ground your spent cigarette in the ashtray. “My parents have date nights. What about your uncle?”

“He works second or third shift.”

“See? We’ll be together when we can.”

“But you get where I’m coming from, right?”

“Yeah, of course.” You looked to see his expression had softened. “I know you want to protect me, but I’m not one of your little sheep. I appreciate it, but you don’t have to.” You held out your hand, which he took. “I’m not new at being a weirdo.”

You threw him a wry grin.

He deposited the butt of his cigarette in his empty soda can, leaned closer, and brought your hand to his lips for a kiss.

You smiled at him.

“So, you told me about a dream,” you said and wet your lips. “The one where O’Donnell is Samwise. What about another?”

“Shit, I... I don’t really remember. That one stood out.”

He was blushing and too still, which most likely meant he was lying.

You gently withdrew your hand, saying, “Tell me about the latest one.”

After a beat, he said, “You know those dreams that are jarring? Like a bunch of snapshots pieced together? It was like that.”

“Scary or sexy? Or both?”

“Sexy. Deeeefinitely sexy.”

“Okay, and...?”

“I woke up— Shit.” He rubbed his face. “I was so hard.”

You bit your lip as heat spread through your body. You pictured him like that: in his dark, messy room, waking with a gasp, his cock throbbing and oozing.

“What did you do?” you asked.

“I jacked off.”

His ‘duh’ was silent, but undoubtably there.

Despite the brief retort, you grinned.

“To what? What did you imagine?”

“Fuck, baby.” He put a hand between his legs. “You, okay? I thought of you.”

“Was I naked?”

He hummed. “Naked, your ass bouncing against me.”

“I was riding you?”

“No, bent over. I held your forearms and fucked you from behind. Shit, I...” His breathing deepened. “I got my dick in so deep, and you squeezed around me, moaning for it. And I pushed you down. Your ass in the air for me.” He covered his eyes. “I spanked it, too.”

“I’d let you do that,” you said as your cunt pulsed.

“Yeah? You into that?”

“With you, yeah.”

“Yeah, holy shit, we can do that. I came in you, too. Watched it drip out of your little pussy.”

You whispered, “Fuck.”

You squirmed in your seat, underwear stuck to your now-wet slit. That had been more than you thought you’d hear. You could see it, too, almost feel it: his pelvis slapping the underside of your ass, his cock ramming deep, his strong hands on your arms, then at the center of your back, then cracking against your upturned ass.

“I shouldn’t have told you that,” he said. “But I really can’t say no to you.”

You met his eyes, his gaze dark and hungry. You must’ve looked the same, because he cursed.

“Come home with me,” you said and forced your attention to the road.

“Wha—”

“Come home with me. My parents won’t be back until tomorrow night.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

You frowned. Most guys would’ve jumped at the chance to have sex again. Did he think that wasn’t on the table? Because that was very much on the table. If he told you to pull over and get in the backseat, you would. There hadn’t been another car on this stretch of road in nearly ten minutes.

Perhaps he had deliveries to make. It was Saturday night, after all.

“Only if you want to, of course,” you said, giving him an open look. “I get it if you’ve got plans or whatever. I can take you home.”

Ahead, leaden clouds gathered. A storm was settling in. If he were to make deliveries tonight, he would get soaked...

Eddie hoped it wasn’t obvious he couldn’t take his eyes off you. It probably was, though. You had a glow. Your eyes shone in the midday light, lips still puffy. There might be prettier girls out there, but they couldn’t compare to your radiance.

No one had kissed him like you kissed him. You made him feel like his thoughts had been put in a blender. He felt invincible yet defenseless, accepted yet under scrutiny, but most of all treasured.

He didn’t know if that was normal. His parents hadn’t seemed to treasure each other. He thought Wayne loved him. He loved Wayne. His flock looked to him for guidance. His bandmates treated him as an equal. None of that compared to what he felt for you.

He didn’t know if he liked it, honestly. It disrupted everything. You’d occupied his thoughts before this. Now, he feared, you would dominate them.

Then what would happen when you discovered he was trailer trash?

You’d feel sorry for him, that’s what. Oh, poor Eddie living in a one-bedroom trailer with his uncle.

Fuck that. Fuck pity. And fuck fearing heartbreak.

Fear was the mindkiller.

The look you gave him begged him not to hide even as you rolled back your offer of another night together. He didn’t know how long you’d think that. It didn’t matter, either. That wasn’t up to him, however much he wished it were. You weren’t a character in a campaign.

“No, no plans,” he said as he scrubbed damp palms on his thighs.

“Oh, okay, well... I can still take you home.”

The first heavy drop of rain pinged on the roof.

“Wayne can pick me up from the park.”

“Eddie, it’s starting to rain.”

He knew that. He could see the freckled pavement and how dark clouds obscured the sun.

You turned on the headlights, saying, “It’s no big deal.”

Big deal or not, he’d look like a crazy person if he insisted you leave him at the park. In the middle of a storm. With no ride waiting for him.

He had to be strategic here.

“No, let’s go to your house,” he said. “I’ll give Wayne a call when we get in.”

You nodded.

“If that’s what you want.” You gave him a sweet smile. “I just want to spend more time with you.”

Jesus Christ, he couldn’t deny you. Not when you said adorable shit like that. Not when you were the first person to say anything like that to him. Not when the possibility of having you all to himself was available.

He cleared his throat, wishing he had more to drink.

“I wanna spend time with you, too.”

You looked at him again, your gaze so warm. That alone made whatever would happen in the future worth it.

Twenty minutes later, you drove past the Hawkins welcome sign. The storm let loose shortly thereafter. Instead of continuing east, you turned into the older section of Loch Nora, where brick houses sat back from the road and the utility lines were buried. Eddie’s spidey senses started tingling. He tried to recall ever having driven through this part of the neighborhood and found a vague sense of familiarity.

Richie Riches liked their nose candy, after all.

The wipers sloshed across the windshield. Beyond the windows, rain melted the light and blurred architecture. It didn’t change his awareness of how out of his element he was.

He wondered how he hadn’t noticed you were a rich girl. He’d been mindless to the Munson Doctrine, because ladies — especially pretty, smart, funny, rich girls — shit, he was screwed — like you were out of his league. It all made sense, too: moving from New York, the expensive cigarettes, your gently used car — which had probably been a parent’s — and your lack of a part-time job. You’d offered to buy drinks for his bandmates at The Hideout. You’d paid for the motel room, gas, and snacks. You hadn’t even blinked at prices or told him to put food back at the convenience store.

You turned onto a circular driveway. Ivy climbed the side of a sprawling red-brick house. An old oak grew nearby, its golden leaves scattered over the manicured grass. Eddie tried not to gawk at the three-car garage tucked to the side as you hit the door-opener remote.

The garage could accommodate his entire trailer.

There were two open bays, and you pulled in next to a glossy maroon sedan.

“Well, this is me,” you said, and turned off the car.

As nonchalantly as he could, he said, “Nice.”

“If you want, you can call your uncle.” You pointed to the interior door. “Phone’s in the kitchen next to the fridge.”

“No, I’ll help.”

“Oh, cool, thanks. I need to check the mail. I’ll be right back.”

He nodded and began gathering the food wrappers and empty drinks into a plastic bag. You left the driver’s door open before dashing to the mailbox. He shook the car’s ashtray into the bag, looked at the tidy garage, and cursed. He was so out of his element, beyond the edges of the map.

Here be dragons.

Here be the loaded.

Who were about as dangerous as dragons.

He hadn’t realized he’d stilled until you returned and closed the garage door. To act normal, he continued gathering until there was nothing more to gather. He shouldered his duffle and carried the plastic bag, following you into the house—

Which smelled of citrus and laundry detergent. The tile floor gleamed under the kitchen lights. Everything was so clean and proper and spacious. Floofy valences capped the windows. Paneled appliances blended with the cabinetry. The refrigerator had a built-in icemaker.

Your voice pulled him from touching the lever for ice.

“What?” he asked.

“Are you thirsty?” you asked — again.

“No, I’m good.” He glanced around, looking for the trashcan. “Need to throw this away,” he said as he swung the plastic bag.

“Yeah, of course!”

You took it to the sink cabinet, where you pulled out an under-counter trashcan. He watched your ass, but averted his gaze before you turned to him. The blinking 02 of the phone’s answering machine caught his attention.

He thumbed at it, and asked, “You want to check those?”

With a sigh, you dropped your bags on the island in the middle of the kitchen.

“I guess I better.”

The first message was from your mother, dated yesterday at 4:18 PM. She reported they’d arrived without a hitch. With excitement growing in her voice, she said they were having dinner with Jerry Springer. However, she was concerned you weren’t home and gave the phone number and address of the hotel. The second message was from a telemarketer.

You grinned.

“She gave me all that before they left. I’ll talk to her after you call your uncle.” You bit your lip as you looked around. “Do you want to get settled first?”

“Up to you, milady.”

“C’mon, I’m on the third floor,” you said as you plucked your bags from the island.

“Your tower.”

With a laugh, you asked, “Ah, but am I a wizard or a spider?”

“Well, neither’s as hot as you, so there a third option?”

You hummed as you turned off the kitchen light. “You tell me.”

Only your silhouette was discernible in the gray murk, as though you were made of shadow. There was something mysterious and alluring about that. It made him want to reach into the darkness to feel what reached back. Rain drummed against the windows, tapping a persistent rhythm and softening the edges of the silence.

“Siren,” he said. “Definitely a siren.”

You blew a laugh through your nose as you stepped closer. “What does that make you?”

He thought, A sucker, a sailor, yours, ensnared.

He said, “I’ll get back to you about that.”

“Please do.”

You were now near enough to touch, so he did. He cupped your cheek, his thumb skirting the corner of your mouth. Your lips parted, and he couldn’t stop himself from caressing the curve of your bottom lip. Your beautiful eyes gleamed like glass.

He couldn’t believe you let him touch.

You leaned in and tilted your face to his. Your overnight bag nudged his leg, setting off a chain-reaction of memories. He’d kissed you in public. He’d shared a high with you. He’d lain next to you in a foreign bed. He’d chased you, caught you, and carried you back to that same bed — where you’d clawed at him and moaned his name and came on his dick.

He could have that again.

He met you midway, kissing you once, twice. He tasted smoky clove and soda on your tongue, smelled the rain in your hair. It was addictive. He wanted more. He dropped his duffle to snake an arm around your waist and pull you even closer. You swayed against him before dropping your bags. Your hand slid under his jacket, pushing away his previous uncertainty.

After a long, heady moment, you broke the kiss with a sigh. Your hand remained on his back while the other held the side of his neck.

Voice low, you said, “Let’s go upstairs.”

Staying just as low, he said, “Yeah, call your parents, and I’ll call my uncle.”

“And then...”

You shrugged.

“And then,” he agreed.

He didn’t know what then, but he wanted to find out. He grabbed his duffle and your overnight bag from the floor, which you thanked him for. You led the way through the shadowy house to the grand staircase in the foyer. With your back turned, he let himself finally gawk.

Outside the kitchen, the floors were dark hardwood with lighter area rugs to define the spaces. The living room had a big-screen TV tucked into a corner with a velvet modular sofa oriented towards it. In the dining room, an honest-to-God crystal chandelier hung above the large table.

The second floor was as cushy with thick carpet and tasteful art. Not a family photo to be found. You pointed out your bathroom before opening the door next to it and flicking a switch at the foot of the stairs beyond. Golden light brightened the white stairwell.

He climbed the stairs behind you as the automatic door closer fizzed the door shut. He’d half-expected your bedroom walls to be some dark, moody color, yet they were white. However, posters covered most of the white, much like his own—

Though your room smelled better than his.

You clicked on the lamp by your big bed and on the dresser across the room before setting your purse on the desk under the wide window. His eye caught on the stereo cabinet between the dresser and double bookcase. He itched to peruse your vinyl and tape collection. You must’ve seen it on his face, because you smiled and gave him free rein.

“You sure?” he asked, dropping the bags near the bed.

“Yeah, go for it,” you said. “I’ll call my mom while you shop.”

He checked the time on the bedside clock. It was early afternoon despite it looking almost night outside. Wayne wouldn’t be awake for another hour.

“Cool.”

He crouched in front of the cabinet as you slipped off your jacket and sat at the desk, where a phone waited at the corner. He concentrated on the music in front of him while you talked on the phone. There was Bowie, classic Zeppelin and Rolling Stones, Deep Purple, INXS, Siouxsie and the Banshees, The Cure, Cocteau Twins, Depeche Mode, Sisters of Mercy (of course), Bauhaus, Metallica, Dio, and a bunch of indie goth bands.

Your voice sharpened, catching his attention.

“I told you I forgot to check the messages when I got home from school,” you said.

A male voice snapped through the phone. Obviously, your father.

“I stopped by the convenience store after school.”

Your father replied, though Eddie couldn’t make out the words.

“No, I wasn’t being irresponsible.” You rested your forehead in your hand. “I just didn’t check the mess—”

Your father interrupted, his voice getting sterner.

“Apologize to Mom for me, plea—” You took a deep breath as he interrupted again. “No, I didn’t—”

Your father said something to make you shoot to your feet, chair scraping across the floor.

Eddie straightened and took a step to you.

“I didn’t sigh,” you said. “I breathed. I do that sometimes, like—”

Your father’s voice became louder as he cut you off, ending the scathing reprimand with a ‘young lady.’ A panicked feminine voice said something in the background.

You were quiet for a beat.

Your voice was thick as you said, “I’m sorry. I was stupid and didn’t take you or Mom into account. I apologize, sir. Sincerely. It won’t happen again.”

Your father grumbled, sounding appeased.

“I’ll see you tomorrow— Yes, sir.” You nodded. “Good night, sir.” You slammed the phone’s handset on its base. “Asshole.”

“You okay?” he asked, which he belatedly realized was dumb.

Of course, you weren’t okay.

“I’ll be right back,” you said, ducking your head. “Call your uncle, if you want.”

You darted around him, too quick to stop, and rushed down the stairs to leave him gaping like a fish.

As the door shut, he didn’t know if he should follow. Maybe you needed a minute to yourself. When things were rough for him, he preferred to handle the aftermath alone. It gave him privacy to get his shit together.

He picked up the phone’s handset to call Wayne, which should give you enough time.

Instead of a dial tone, there was a garbled, muddy babble. It wasn’t words, per se. It was rhythmic, like a busy signal, but also an echo of language. Or a backwards phrase repeated.

“What the hell?”

He hung up and tried again, yet the babble remained. He pressed the hook switch a few times, though it didn’t solve the problem. Unplugging and re-plugging the phone didn’t help, either.

With a huff, he slung his jacket over the desk chair and went to the second floor to find you. A wedge of light from your open bathroom door illuminated the landing. You whined a curse and banged a small bottle against the side of the faucet.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said gently and reached for the bottle. “Let me.”

“Fucking childproof caps.” You stilled as your chin wobbled. You looked at the ceiling with watery eyes. “My head is killing me.”

He withdrew the bottle from your limp hand. It was a nonprescription painkiller. He lined up the triangle notches on the cap and bottle and popped it open.

“I should’ve taken something when we first got in.”

“You’ve had a headache this whole time?” he asked and shook three pills into his palm.

You croaked a ‘yeah’ and took the pills, putting them on your tongue and swallowing them with a mouthful of tap water.

At a loss for words, he put the bottle aside and pulled you into a hug. You rested your hot cheek on him and looped your arms around his middle. Your chest shuddered with sharp inhales. He rubbed your back, wondering why he hadn’t noticed you weren’t feeling well earlier.

Probably because he’d been too in his head about his insecurities and the possibility of future disasters.

“Dads are dicks,” you said once your breathing calmed.

He grunted in agreement. “Tell me about it.”

“He’s so concerned about me embarrassing him — embarrassing him more. Or doing something, I don’t know, just for me?”

Your father sounded like a controlling asshat.

“You’re not embarrassing. You’re the coolest person I know.”

Voice small, you asked, “Really?”

“Absolutely.”

You gave him an affectionate squeeze that he returned.

He said, “You missed a phone call. It happens all the time.”

“Yeah.”

“I can sleep through the phone ringing.”

“You’ve never missed my calls.”

“Of course not. I have a sixth sense about these things.”

You snorted. “Naturally.”

“Naturally.” He swayed you a little. “Uh, speaking of: your phone’s acting up.”

“Acting up?”

“Yeah, dial tone’s weird.”

“Huh.” You loosened your hold, yet kept your face tilted down. “It’s a new phone. Maybe I broke it.”

“I can use the kitchen phone,” he said.

“No!” You hugged him again, though your fingers now dug into his back. “No, it’s okay. I’ll fix it or replace it. Then you call your uncle while I get us something to drink.”

He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and kissed your forehead.

“Hey, whatever you want, sweetheart.”

You sighed, sounding content. Tension drained from his neck and shoulders. He didn’t like you upset or in pain.

“Okay, phone,” you said despite not moving.

“Gonna have to let go of me first.”

You made a disgruntled sound before sliding your hands away. Your fingertips found his skin between his waistband and the hem of his shirt. Goosebumps rose at your easy caress. His gut tightened, too.

He leaned back to get his hands on your jaw and eased your head up for a kiss. Conscious of your headache, he stayed gentle. He brushed his lips across yours, nudged your cute nose with his. You grinned against his mouth. He opened his eyes to see your face relaxed.

Sounding dreamy, you whispered, “Thank you.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“Yes, you have.” You looked into his eyes as you pulled away. “You have.”

“Then you’re welcome,” he said, grinning.

With a smile — a tired smile, he noted — you took his hand to walk him out of the bathroom, turning off the light as you went. He trailed after you and felt like a puppy. Granted, if he had a tail, it would be wagging.

Once in your room, you crawled under your desk to mess with the phone wall jack. You muttered to yourself, but he didn’t catch the words. He sat at the foot of your bed and stared at your upturned ass. It was a nice ass. He’d like to touch it again — maybe when you felt better.

You shuffled from under the desk and lifted the phone’s headset. The regular dial tone droned from the speaker.

“There,” you said and got to your feet.

“Wow.”

“You sound surprised. Like a girl can’t fix things.”

He held up his hands.

“No, that’s not—”

“Did you think I couldn’t handle it?” you asked, your eyes sparkling with humor as you approached.

At your teasing manner, he spread his knees and urged you close by the hips.

“Oh, baby, I know you can handle a lot.”

You bit your lip, looking pleased, and smoothed his hair from his face. He let out a deep breath, letting his eyes go half-mast. You yawned suddenly and covered your mouth, then wiped at an eye. It smudged your eyeliner a little, yet it hardly mattered. You were perfect and sweet.

“Sorry,” you said as you suppressed another yawn.

He turned his head to bury his own yawn in his shoulder.

“Want to take a nap?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Get in bed, then. I think I can figure out where you keep the drinks.”

“Call your uncle.”

“I will, sweetheart.”

He backed you up, stood, and gave you a quick kiss. You made a satisfied sound before kissing him again.

His heart couldn’t take this. It absolutely couldn’t. You were so adorable when sleepy. And he wanted to make you feel good any way you needed, any way you’d let him. He’d make you tea, fetch you extra blankets, rub your back, fork over his whole damn stash. Fucking anything. Anything.

He left you perched on the bed with the assurance he’d be right back. He made a pit stop in the bathroom to pee and wash his hands. In the kitchen, he found Capri-Suns in the fridge and grabbed a couple.

By the time he returned, you’d turned off most of the bedroom lights and were sitting in bed. He dumped the Capri-Suns on your nightstand save for one, stabbed the straw into the pouch, and gave it to you.

You thanked him and snuggled into the pillows.

He snatched a Capri-Sun for himself and turned away before he did something ill-advised, like kiss you too hard or propose marriage or worm between the sheets and yank your underwear off and eat you out until you cried. Maybe all three.

Instead, he drank his juice while calling Wayne, who sounded as if he’d been awake for a while. Wayne didn’t seem surprised when Eddie said he was at yours and would stay the night. Wayne asked for your number in case of an emergency. He recited it from memory.

Wayne reminded him to use protection.

He sputtered and averted his face as heat crawled up his neck.

He then cleared his throat before saying, “Yeah, yeah, of course.”

“Good. No mini-Munsons just yet.”

“No, not yet.”

“Alright, kiddo, keep that thinkin’ cap on, and I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

“‘Kay.”

Wayne ended the call, and he placed the phone’s handset on its cradle.

“Your uncle sounds nice,” you said.

“He’s a good guy.” He sat at the desk to slip off his boots. “Took me in when no one else would.”

“Their loss.”

He looked at you, finding you curled on your side and watching him.

“That’s what he said.”

You gave him a wry grin.

He remembered ‘two idiots, one thought,’ and grinned.

After stuffing his socks into a boot, he stood to undo his belt and unclasp his wallet chain. He lay his wallet on your desk and piled his jewelry on top, feeling your gaze the entire time. He draped his belt over the chair, turned off the last light, and came around the bed.

As he lifted the blanket, you rolled onto your back and asked:

“Aren’t you going to take off your jeans?”

“Do you want me to take them off?”

“I want you to be comfortable.”

With a shrug, he said, “I’m comfortable.”

“Eddie... I’ve seen your legs before.”

“And a whole lot more.”

“Yeah, so take them off and get in here.”

“Yes, milady.”

He left his jeans in a heap on the floor and slid under the blanket. It was already warm and smelled like you: your soap and shampoo, your perfume and musk, your laundry detergent, and that dark headshop scent. The sheets were soft as only fine cotton could be. The pillows were fluffy like his hadn’t been in years. He hardly needed to adjust anything.

You asked, “Comfy?”

“Almost.”

Your brows pinched.

“Almost?”

“Back to me,” he said. “If that’s cool.”

You gave a little nod, the corners of your mouth curling up, and faced away. He closed the short distance to mould himself against your back; a hand on your hip with his other arm crooked under his pillow. You stiffened, yet didn’t protest.

“This okay?” he whispered.

“Mm-hm.”

Little by little, you relaxed and adjusted your legs. He matched your even breathing until his eyelids became heavy.

He’d never held someone. He’d been to sleepovers and slept next to friends, but this was different. Last night he’d stayed close, but hadn’t held you — though he’d yearned to. He hadn’t wanted to spook you, as if you’d realize who he was, remember what you’d done with him, and flee in disgust.

But this? This felt right. You were warm and soft against his front. You fit him.

A crash of thunder jolted him awake. He lifted his head to look around. The room was still dim from the storm. You weren’t in bed, which he didn’t approve of. You stood in front of the dresser, hanging a necklace on the jewelry stand.

You met his gaze in the mirror.

“Hi, honey.”

He wiped at his face with a groan.

“Hey,” he said, voice scratchy. “What time is it?”

You glanced at the nightstand and reported it was 5:32.

He grunted and flopped onto his back. “How long you been awake?”

“Maybe ten minutes?”

You wore a new pair of pajama pants under the t-shirt you’d napped in. They were cute. You were cute. He wanted to wrap his arms around you.

“Come back to bed,” he said as he scratched his stomach through his shirt.

“I need to finish unpacking.”

He rose onto his elbows as thunder rumbled.

“Did you mean come back to bed?”

“No,” you laughed.

He drew out an ‘I don’t know’ and knee-walked to the foot of the bed.

You spun to face him, eyes glinting with mischief.

“I need to unpack, sir.”

“That sounded a lot like ‘take me to bed.’”

He planted one foot on the floor and rose from the bed.

“Those don’t even have the same amount of words,” you said.

“I guess I have a bad ear for that.”

“Somehow I doubt it.”

As he prowled to you, he asked, “You calling me a liar?”

“No, I think you knock your own talents when it suits you.”

“Oh, ouch, sweetheart,” he said, and put his hands on your hips to back you against the dresser. “You wound me.”

You attempted to hide your smirk and asked, “Should I kiss it better?” while bracing your hands on the dresser.

Though he’d been sleeping next to you, he hadn’t gotten to touch you enough. He pushed himself against you, making you arch. Your breasts pressed against him.

“Later.”

His dick grew heavy, and he bent to kiss your covered chest. He worked his way up until he reached your neck.

You softly groaned with a tilt of your head.

You were his now — with no one to interrupt. Your skin was his to taste — and he did. He kissed the salt from your skin, trailed his teeth down the cord of muscle at the side of your neck.

You fisted his hair and brought his mouth to yours. Your lips smeared across his, your tongue peeked out, tasting of Capri-Sun’s fruit punch. He could devour you whole like this. His hips copied the back and forth of the kiss. God, his dick felt strained and hot between his legs.

You began to slide onto the dresser top, but he stopped you.

“Don’t,” he said. “Turn around.”

Barely giving you enough room, you turned in his hold, rubbing against his front. His gut tightened. He caged you in with his arms and nosed around your hair to kiss your neck again. You smelled so good, like sleep and spice.

He looked at the mirror to see you biting your lip and watching him. He straightened, keeping his front to your back. His erection snugged into the cleft of your ass.

You rested against him, looking more alluring than he’d ever seen you.

He murmured a ‘fuck’ and slid his hands up your sides, catching your flimsy t-shirt as he went.

“You wearing a bra, baby?”

You shook your head, making him curse lowly.

He ran his hands over the satiny skin of your stomach. Your nipples poked underneath your shirt. He stared at their reflection, remembering the feel of your tits in his hands and against his face, the way your nipples jabbed at his palms. He needed to refresh his memory, needed to brand the feel of your flesh in his hands.

When he cupped your tits, you inhaled. He stroked your warm skin with gentle fingertips, kneaded the supple weight of your breasts, then grazed his thumbs over your peaked nipples. Your ribs undulated gracefully with your breathing; so alive and all his.

You arched into his touch, putting your hands on his forearms. He squeezed your nipples and rolled them just a little. You moaned and ground your ass against him.

He ground back, moving counter to you. The inside of his boxers rubbed at his length. Precome made the thin cotton stick to the tip of his dick.

“Eddie...” you whined as you canted your ass.

“How’s the headache?”

“Gone.”

Before he could reply, you nudged him to the side and spun to face him. You steadied his head by the jaw to kiss him hard. It was like you wanted to eat his soul. You kissed him with tongue and teeth and spit. He held onto your bare back, because his knees trembled. He hoped you couldn’t tell. Your lips were perfect. Your skin was warm and soft. He wouldn’t mind if this was all you two did for the rest of the night.

Your hands left his jaw, and you broke the kiss to say, “Want you.”

His gut tightened again.

“Where?” he asked as he swept his hands down to your ass.

You pulled up at his shirt until he had to lift his arms. You tugged the shirt off and dropped it to the floor.

Cooler air cleared his head, but then you ran your hands over his shoulders and into his hair. He kissed you, feeling breathless and buzzing, vibrating like a tuning fork. Your parted lips lured him closer — that siren status confirmed.

You touched him from neck to chest to stomach to the waistband of his underwear. The moment dilated as anticipation increased. He wanted to roll his hips to get you to touch his cock.

Instead, you went to your knees.

He slapped a hand on the dresser to steady himself. Because holy shit. No one had ever— But you were— And, holy shit, he was going to come so fast.

“Okay?” you asked, as if you didn’t look like a wet dream.

He nodded numbly.

You kissed above his bellybutton, nuzzled his stomach, caressed his hips and sides. He lurched forward when you squeezed his ass. His cock bumped your chest, sending a ripple of sensation down to his toes. You palmed him through his boxers to make his knees tremble anew. He thrust into your hand and bit his lip. The muffled touch was enough to weaken him further.

You crooked your fingers under his boxers’ waistband to ease them down his thighs. His erection flopped out, almost hitting you in the cheek like some gangly appendage. He whispered an apology, but you replied it was okay. You called him honey, and he had to swallow a groan.

With gentle hands, you helped him step out of his boxers. Then he was naked save for his sole necklace. You purred and ran your hands up his thighs. He got harder, which seemed impossible, and the room heated — or he was so hot, he couldn’t feel it anymore. Your touch practically seared him.

You moved in to lick the precome now dribbling down the length of his cock. He put a hand on your shoulder to balance himself. It was a shock how good it felt: the velvety texture of your tongue and the tease of your breath ghosting over his dick.

You then steadied his cock with fingers around the base and wrapped your mouth around the tip. He moaned at the heat, the way you burned him with muggy, hot suction. You tongued at the crown as you twisted your head. Your spit-wet lips clasped around his girth. The head of his cock slid along the hard roof of your mouth to the soft palate at the back.

If he thrust, you’d gag and sputter. He didn’t want you retching. He didn’t want you to stop.

He rocked with you, and that had you moaning. He kept tight control of his movements, only nudging the same place of your soft palate.

“This what you want?” he asked. “Want me to fill your pretty mouth?”

He’d fantasized about doing it, too. He imagined how your cheeks would hollow as you sucked, how you’d hold his driving hips, how you’d take every inch of him.

You hummed an affirmative before fisting the base of his cock. He rolled his pelvis forward as you closed your eyes. Your smothered groan reverberated through him, making it difficult to keep it slow and easy.

Shit, he loved the way his cock pumped into your mouth again and again. Saliva drenched your chin. Your hand on his hip pulled him forward, urging him to thrust faster despite his intentions. You sucked and lapped, getting him all slick.

“You’re gonna make me come...”

You moaned an agreement.

He stilled his hips and gripped the nape of your neck.

“Shit, wanna fuck you.”

Because he did. He wanted inside your sweet pussy once more. He couldn’t get enough.

You moaned again and met his gaze. He couldn’t stop from shifting his hips, teasing you both. You whined around his dick, and he nearly forgot his earlier desire.

“So good to me.”

You sucked harder and pushed your tongue on the underside of his dick. It made his eyes roll back. It was so perfect, so good, he could lose himself and spill down your throat.

But, no... No—

He pulled your head away with a gasp, back hunched. Your mouth remained open, a thin string of spittle connected your bottom lip with this cock. Beyond that, the neckline of your t-shirt sat askew on your heaving chest. He wanted to shove himself in your hot mouth until your nose met his stomach, or to fuck your tits — or your tight pussy.

Shit, whatever.

He wanted you so bad.

As he caught his breath, you flicked your tongue out to taste him one more time.

He inhaled through his nose.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” he asked.

You licked your swollen lips with a nod. Your eyes were huge and glassy, drunk on him. He pulled you up as he bent to meet in the middle for a sloppy kiss. The spit and precome on his dick smeared across his stomach. He wiped at the saliva on your chin and fed it back to you.

“So sweet, baby.”

You mewled around his fingers in reply.

He hoisted you to your feet and kissed your talented lips. You stumbled a bit against him, knees obviously numb and stiff, and held onto his shoulders. He shushed you, wrapped an arm around your waist, and cradled your warm cheek.

“I got you,” he said.

You nodded, saying, “Take me to bed.”

He grinned, which you returned.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he said, and walked you backwards to the bed.

Once there, he turned you around, urged you up, and told you to bend. Your pajama pants hid your ass and thighs, but your t-shirt slid up your back to expose the feminine curve of your torso. He swept his hand down your spine. You lowered your chest to the bed, your ass jutted out to graze his cock. He took hold of your hips and ground himself against you.

“Eddie...”

He grabbed the globes of your ass to knead them. You hummed and wiggled. Then he gave one cheek a grazing smack. You gasped as your flesh jiggled.

“Like that, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Do it again.”

And he did.

You groaned softly and shimmied to encourage him to continue. However, he didn’t want to get distracted. He felt the heat between your legs and needed more. He pulled your pants and underwear to your knees, then kissed the small of your back.

With a shaky, needful voice, you said, “Please, don’t make me wait.”

“My lady’s wish is my command.”

You breathed a laugh.

He smoothed his hands up your thighs to frame your ass. He could eat you up, you looked so delicious. Your skin was so fine. He kissed one cheek, then the other.

You made a small, desperate sound. In response, he nosed at the crease where your leg met ass. He breathed in the heady scent of your arousal and musk. It had his pelvis flexing, cock twitching.

You arched to push against his face. He spread your tender pussy to see it all flushed and wet.

“Sucking my cock got you so worked up.”

You froze.

He said, “God, that’s fucking hot,” and dragged his tongue between the glistening folds of your pussy.

You moaned.

He licked up to the little furl of your asshole. Your breath hitched. He did it over and over, licking all your holes. You ground against his mouth, trying to get more. He angled your hips, tucked his face between your legs, and swirled his tongue around the petite bud of your clit.

You gasped a few ‘please’s and his name, but he didn’t want to stop. He sucked on your clit, its hood. You spread your legs as far as your pants would allow and tried to ride his face.

“Eddie, c’mon! Please—!”

You muffled the rest in the mattress.

He pulled away, and you moaned with disappointment.

“What was that?” he asked before swallowing the salty-sweet taste of you.

“Please, I...”

“Whatever you want.”

“Please fuck me.”

He cursed loudly as a surge of pleasure raced down his spine. He clenched every muscle below his bellybutton to keep from coming right there. Resting his forehead on your ass, he breathed through the near miss.

When the surge abated, he scrambled for a condom. He told you to hang on as he tore through his duffle to find the condom box. In the meantime, you snuck a hand between your legs to play with your clit.

He almost came again at the sight.

At this rate, he was skittering into two-pump-chump territory.

Holy shit, don’t think of pumping.

He found a condom, ripped it open, and rolled it on — all the while thinking of roadkill and long division and the dirty dishes he’d left in the sink. He then took hold of your pants and underwear, tugging at them and sending you forward.

You meeped, yet squirmed to help undress from the waist down.

He tossed the clothes away, crawled over your prone body, and settled above you. With his dick nestled right against your sopping pussy, he rocked his hips. He couldn’t help himself — especially not when you rocked back. You were slick and hot and so ready.

He mouthed at your neck. The bite of your sweat added to the intoxicating taste of you on his tongue.

He realized then your rocking had a purpose: you were attempting to catch the tip of his dick. You made a tiny distressed sound as you continued to fail.

He shushed you. “I got you.”

“Want you.”

“Me too, baby.”

He reached between your bodies to angle his cock just right. You tilted your hips at the same time. It felt like wild magic to push inside you with one long stroke. Your cunt was tight and silky hot around him. He let his head fall forward with a groan. You quivered under him as though on the verge of orgasm.

He kissed and nibbled his way up your neck until reaching your ear. He sucked on the lobe and kissed the corner of your jaw.

“Eddie...”

“You ready?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Talk to me, baby.” He kissed your neck. “Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me. I want it.” Your cunt squeezed around him, and he couldn’t tell if it was voluntary. “Take me, make me come.”

His stomach swooped. Your words spurred him on. He drew out just enough before letting the full weight of his lower half drop. You panted a ‘yes’ and braced. He set a punishing pace, fucking you in earnest. The clutch of your cunt had him losing himself to the rhythm. He didn’t care, not minding to drown in you.

You buried your face in the mattress, muting your growing moans. He needed to hear you, though. He gripped your neck and tilted your head back. You tensed with a startled gasp and clawed at the bedding.

He’d felt you tense like that before and knew what it meant.

“Gonna come, baby?” he asked.

“Don’t stop!”

He ignored the burn in his muscles as he hammered his cock deep. You struggled under him, breath ragged, ass grinding. Then you let out a sharp cry. You shook against him, shrieking curses as your cunt quivered and gushed around him.

With a growl, he cupped your jaw to keep your head against his shoulder. He pistoned his hips faster and harder. You rasped out a stunned, drawn-out ‘fuck’ as your orgasm continued to unravel. Your scalding, drenched cunt milked him until it started to be too much.

He couldn’t catch his breath as every muscle locked up. Ecstasy simmered at the base of his spine, growing hotter with each clap of his hips meeting yours. It was a staccato beat to his groans. Then it all boiled over. He gritted his teeth and threw back his head as climax poured out of him. He felt scalded from the inside out.

All that remained was his singed heart beating out the syllables of your name.

He sagged on his elbows and lay his damp face on your rucked t-shirt. There were probably things he needed to say or do now, but he couldn’t remember them. He didn’t think he could form words between his harsh breathing.

Your soothing fingers touched his cheek, his temple. He turned his head to kiss them.

When his erection started flagging, he held the condom and pulled out slowly. You gave a wordless protest, yet didn’t stop him from rolling onto his back beside you. He should tie off the condom and dispose of it. He knew that. However, he didn’t want to look away.

In the mottled light from the window, your skin shone with sweat, your hair was in disarray — no doubt like his — and your eyeliner was a mess.

With no small amount of pride, he privately admitted he enjoyed being the cause of that.

You met his eyes and smiled lazily as rain pelted the glass.

He took your limp hand and pulled it. You grumbled, but scooted closer to rest against his side.

“Goddamn,” he said. “Thanks for that.”

You laughed, “You’re welcome,” and put an arm around his middle.

“Want to order a pizza?”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things #em tagd #waywardrose writes

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